Lately, at stoplights, I've taken to counting off seconds in my head. I guess I'm trying to see how long it takes for the light to turn green, but I found myself doing the same thing in the elevator today.
I haven't heard from Katie for a while. Either A) it was, in fact, Joe that I spoke to via IM, and she's pissed, or B) (and this is more likely) she's busy.
I'm losing readers again. Guess they don't like the new deal, and want me to update more, and hold their interest. Tough stuff, darlings. I'm in a really antisocial mood right now, because of PMS and residual pain.
Okay, my week-end. On Friday, Dirk and I went to the Tower Records in Tyson's Corner, to meet Potential New Lead Singer DoShu. We were supposed to meet him at 8:00 near the book section. At about 8:15, a short looking Asian guy with a mustache, short dyed-blonde hair, combat boots, and an old army jacket came in. I figured this was the guy we were looking for, but I didn't want to just walk up to him and say, "Hi, are you DoShu?" I could imagine his response: "What the fuck's your problem, you racist bitch? Just because I'm Asian, you assume I'd have a name like that?" And then he'd tell me his name's Gary. So, I kept my mouth shut, and covertly watched him covertly watching us. At about 8:40, I gave up, and announced loudly to Dirk, "It's 8:40 already. Either this guy has ditched out on us, or he came in, scoped us out, decided he didn't like what he saw, and left." Of course, the short Asian guy came up to us with a sheepish look on his face and apoligized for not coming up sooner. But he hadn't been certain we were the right people either.
We went to a restaurant, and he turned out to be an imminently likeable guy. We talked for about an hour, then we had to leave so I could take Dirk to work and go to bed early (since I had to get up at 4:00 the next morning and drive for three-four hours)
I got home, packed a few last-minute things into the pack, and went to bed. I didn't get on the road until about 5:30 the next morning, and I stopped by to see Dirk, since I was going south anyway.
I had to drive over to the Blue Ridge Parkway, and thence look for Three Ridges Overlook. Of course, the airhead professor had gotten the directions wrong, and I drove about 10 miles past it before turning around and finally finding it. When I realized that only about a third of the class hadn't opted out of this one, I debated leaving. Then, I decided I didn't want to put up with my parent's shit if I didn't go, so I stuck around. Man, did I ever live to regret that decision.
We were told it would be about 10 miles, and the first day would be going straight down the mountain, and the second day would be straight back up. That sounded bad, but not unbearable. Well, she lied about everything. First of all, the first day was not straight down. It was down, then up, then down, then way up, then very steeply down for the last 3 miles. That first day alone was 10 miles long. When we got to camp, I was in pain, in a bad mood, and there were reports of a bear in the near vicinity. See, some genius had been leaving chocolates along the trail for their irritating little girl to find. Nothing draws bears like the smell of chocolate. Add this to the fact that the lady was carrying fresh-baked brownies and handing them out on the trail, and you've got a problem on your hands. I hope that lady's kid got eaten by the goddamned bear.
We made camp, and then I had to climb down in a gorge to get freshwater from a spring. See, I calculated how much water to bring by estimating how much water I used last time. That wasn't even close to enough. That was about half of what I should have brought. So, I had to filter some more. Suprisingly, it tasted better than the water I'd brought. I was expecting to taste essence of bug, I guess.
We sat around the camp fire, and I listened to the guys talk about farts until about 11:00, then went to bed. I had a dream about Chucky, but I refuse to share dreams based on the overwhelming amount of Chucky advertising there's been lately. Hello? It was a lousy movie, and it didn't need to have so many sequels.
The next day was utter misery. It started out alright, but after I'd been hiking for about an hour, I felt as horrible as I had at the end of the day before. I ached everywhere, and my breath came in puffs. If this is what Joe does for fun, I think he's a masochist. The professor caught up with me, and proceeded to lie to me to get me to keep going. Quite frankly, I was on the lookout for a road so I could hitchhike back to my car. But she kept saying that it was just a little further ahead, and it was evening out....lies, all of it. There were parts of that goddamned trail where I was climbing fucking boulders.
When I got to the meeting place, I had the rest of the class cheering me on (because I was the most out-of-shape person in the class). This didn't cheer me up very much. The professor swore that the last two miles were all downhill. More lies. The very last mile was downhill, but it was all uphill before that. The professor went ahead of me, so I was left pretty much on my own, endlessly climbing a mountain, it seemed. I finally broke down, took out my cell phone (brought for emergencies) and called Dirk up to cry. I think I cried hysterically on the phone to Dirk for about fifteen minutes. The poor guy was bewildered, because he'd just been woken up rather rudely by his mother to listen to me cry. I calmed down, said goodbye, and wouldn't you know it? Five minutes later I came to the top of the mountain, and it was all downhill from there.
I got back to my car at about 3:30, and got home at 6:30. I would have gotten home sooner, but I got lost while getting gas in Charlottesville. I called Dirk up from home, took a shower, bolted down some food, then went to Dirk's house. I think we ended up getting Taco Bell and taking a nap in my car.
On Monday, I actually got money from Roachboy. It wasn't enough to cover the whole bill, but he did send $30. I'm impressed. Now lets see if he sends the rest. His mother was the one who wrote the check, so I think Roachboy doesn't have any money. He probably spent it on utter garbage, as usual. I haven't checked my aol e-mail recently, so he might have e-mailed me about it.
It was also my mother's birthday, so I hauled Dirk outta bed at 3:30 (4, really, by the time I got him up) to go shopping for ingredients for her "cake". I didn't want her screaming at me, so I used a recipe from Weight Watchers for a frozen yogurt/brownie deal that was only 100 calories a serving. I thought it tasted nasty, but she liked it. Who knows what goes through that woman's mind?
I didn't get her a gift, because there wasn't time.
So, we did the birthday thing, I called Dirk at 7:30. We were both sleepy, so I agreed to call him tomorrow and took a nap until about 9:00. Then, I was rudely awoken to put away the clean dishes, after which I took another nap until 10:00. I watched the last hour of wrestling (WCW, for those interested), watched the X-files, and went to bed for the night.
I almost didn't come back to work today, because I hurt so badly. My upper leg joint gave out as I was getting out of the car, and I almost fell on the asphalt. I shouldn't have come in. Alex is busy typing up religious garbage for his church (oh, he had no right to bitch about what I do on my computer. At least I try to uphold the constitution--separation of fucking church and state), and helping coworkers set up illegal screen savers on their computers.
I'd like to say that I am so proud of myself for not writing up philisophical happy-crappy entries titled "It can't rain forever". I hate everyone who does that bullshit. Introspective I can handle, it's a good thing in an online journal, but I don't like philisophical bullshit regurgitations.
Oh, this was special. I was kidding around about giving myself an Indian Name (ala Dilbert's Wallyina), like Booger Dooger (don't ask, I was half asleep). Dirk piped up suddenly with, "That really offends me, because I'm part Native American." Well, whoop-de-doo. So the fuck am I. I just don't make a big deal of it because I figure once you can't tell by looking, you shouldn't obsess anymore.
I told him this, and kept sticking my tongue out and repeating "I can give myself all the damned Injun names I want because I'm part Injun and it's not racist." So Dirk wanted to compare exactly what percentage Native American we were, to determine whether he could be offended or not. My grandmother was half Native American, so I'm about up to a quarter (maybe an eighth). Supposedly, Dirk's grandfather was full-blooded, but we know that wasn't true because all the full-bloods died of smallpox long ago. (Or maybe not, who knows?) Anyway, I determined that he had no right to be offended, (he didn't agree, but who cares?), and we found out something interesting. Both our grandparents were Blackfoot. We could be distantly related. Dirk didn't find this thought as intriguing as I did; in fact, he was disgusted. We probably aren't, though, because I remember hearing somewhere that the Blackfoots were a tribe noted for their willingness to intermarry with settlers.