The following is another unconventional writing style about the best/worst day ever. Also, some mild content is involved. I would rate this blog a PG-13. And if any of this seems like a big, long, ridiculous inside joke-- it is. Enjoy!
This morning has been one from hell. I must have walked under a ladder, or broken a mirror, or crossed a black cat (most likely). Bad luck is following me today.
Now it's a distressing phone call. After I hang up feeling extremely saddened, I hear my name called.
Smiling Nathan Detroit strides over to me in his teeshirt-- clearly a city kid. He's quite the opposite of me with my coat and scarf-- clearly a far East Bay resident.
At this point in my day after so many mishaps, I'm processing emotions inappropriately. I blurt out that I sat in a puddle, and almost died twice, and other things, and missed the train, and even more other things, and spilled my coffee-- showing him my skirt to prove it. I tell him about the awful call. I start giggling. Then laughing, then I can't stop. It's loud laughing. Nathan says I'm a horrible person. I agree. We go get coffee. It's better than potentially crying or processing emotions like a psychopath.
We have five hours to kill at SFSU. It's a nice day. It's also five hours.
He munches his scone and leads me through throngs of sorority girls and club presidents. We shout "No" at everyone. We don't want to join their stupid club.
It's a nice day. No one goes on the grass because it's wet. We rebel.
Soon, everyone is following our lead. We caused this. We're heroes! We high-five. We make fun of people. We commiserate. We're both miserable.
We point at others. Make up names and stories, try to see if the brunette in the dress is a man. He is. His shoulders are too rounded for a female we decide.
Nathan wishes he were taller. I ask him about being a smooth criminal. We possibly burst into song a few too many times.
A scene from a movie appears before us. The leading man holds the leading lady's hand as they bashfully look away from each other. She jumps into his arms. He catches her. He's even holding her books. We agree that they're @$$#*!&$ and shout as much as they pass. No one can hear us anyway. There's too much loud music and sororities.
Millie joins us in the sun. More college humor is brought up. Especially about floral patterns.
The photography major takes my picture in the sun. There is talk of tents and drool. We all have to pee.
After we take full effect of the buddy system, we sit up the hill and watch pretty-Thor slack-rope. We have a soundtrack and a good band. Later Dredlock-Thor slack-ropes. So does Millie. She's as good as both Thors. No one is great. Millie has to go "table" for her club.
I suggested that Nathan go slack-rope while we continue to kill 5 hours. He won't. But he cartwheels.
I haven't cartwheeled since I was 8. I'm going to get grass stains. I don't care.
In 3 minutes Nathan has taught me to cartwheel. I've lost my coat, watch, scarf and cardigan and am 8-years-old again, cartwheeling all over the wet grass. It's exhilarating. We still have 2 hours. We're still miserable.
We verbalize our fears. We get angry at causes. We don't know what to say. We're talkative, and we're speechless, and we're upset. So I teach him how to make grass whistle.
The trick behind Quail-Calling is to make others either look confusedly in your general direction or to shout at you. The grass is not long enough. We have a bit of success. We get some looks and someone screams "Shut UP" as we laugh maniacally and give ourselves away. The grass is too short though. We'll wait for Thursday when the grass will be longer. Thursday will be epic we decide. We're going to do this again.
We're miserable. We're happy. We look into the cloudless sky. We are grateful for the other's company. We break into song and high-five a bit more.
As Nathan Detroit and I part ways, I realize that I am also sun-burnt-- through my shirt! The metaphorical bad-luck black cat is apparently going to follow me the rest of the day... But at least the five hour intermission was quite epic.
This morning has been one from hell. I must have walked under a ladder, or broken a mirror, or crossed a black cat (most likely). Bad luck is following me today.
Now it's a distressing phone call. After I hang up feeling extremely saddened, I hear my name called.
Smiling Nathan Detroit strides over to me in his teeshirt-- clearly a city kid. He's quite the opposite of me with my coat and scarf-- clearly a far East Bay resident.
At this point in my day after so many mishaps, I'm processing emotions inappropriately. I blurt out that I sat in a puddle, and almost died twice, and other things, and missed the train, and even more other things, and spilled my coffee-- showing him my skirt to prove it. I tell him about the awful call. I start giggling. Then laughing, then I can't stop. It's loud laughing. Nathan says I'm a horrible person. I agree. We go get coffee. It's better than potentially crying or processing emotions like a psychopath.
We have five hours to kill at SFSU. It's a nice day. It's also five hours.
He munches his scone and leads me through throngs of sorority girls and club presidents. We shout "No" at everyone. We don't want to join their stupid club.
It's a nice day. No one goes on the grass because it's wet. We rebel.
Soon, everyone is following our lead. We caused this. We're heroes! We high-five. We make fun of people. We commiserate. We're both miserable.
We point at others. Make up names and stories, try to see if the brunette in the dress is a man. He is. His shoulders are too rounded for a female we decide.
Nathan wishes he were taller. I ask him about being a smooth criminal. We possibly burst into song a few too many times.
A scene from a movie appears before us. The leading man holds the leading lady's hand as they bashfully look away from each other. She jumps into his arms. He catches her. He's even holding her books. We agree that they're @$$#*!&$ and shout as much as they pass. No one can hear us anyway. There's too much loud music and sororities.
Millie joins us in the sun. More college humor is brought up. Especially about floral patterns.
The photography major takes my picture in the sun. There is talk of tents and drool. We all have to pee.
After we take full effect of the buddy system, we sit up the hill and watch pretty-Thor slack-rope. We have a soundtrack and a good band. Later Dredlock-Thor slack-ropes. So does Millie. She's as good as both Thors. No one is great. Millie has to go "table" for her club.
I suggested that Nathan go slack-rope while we continue to kill 5 hours. He won't. But he cartwheels.
I haven't cartwheeled since I was 8. I'm going to get grass stains. I don't care.
In 3 minutes Nathan has taught me to cartwheel. I've lost my coat, watch, scarf and cardigan and am 8-years-old again, cartwheeling all over the wet grass. It's exhilarating. We still have 2 hours. We're still miserable.
We verbalize our fears. We get angry at causes. We don't know what to say. We're talkative, and we're speechless, and we're upset. So I teach him how to make grass whistle.
The trick behind Quail-Calling is to make others either look confusedly in your general direction or to shout at you. The grass is not long enough. We have a bit of success. We get some looks and someone screams "Shut UP" as we laugh maniacally and give ourselves away. The grass is too short though. We'll wait for Thursday when the grass will be longer. Thursday will be epic we decide. We're going to do this again.
We're miserable. We're happy. We look into the cloudless sky. We are grateful for the other's company. We break into song and high-five a bit more.
As Nathan Detroit and I part ways, I realize that I am also sun-burnt-- through my shirt! The metaphorical bad-luck black cat is apparently going to follow me the rest of the day... But at least the five hour intermission was quite epic.
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| On the grass, in the sun, enjoying a five-hour intermission. Picture courtesy of the photography major. |
