So, this blog sort of went by the wayside because I'd been so busy. I THOUGHT I'd want to blog when I was in Europe, but really? There were way better things to be doing than to be sitting at my computer typing about what I'd already done. And before I left for Europe, Crew and class projects, and work, etc., etc. -- there was no time to sleep, let alone write.
But now, I am the opposite of busy. Like, pathetically unbusy. Here's the story--
The school requires that you actually PAY them to attend. They're pretty strict about it, actually. I guess they're what you call a "business," or whatever. It's due by a specific date and time and if you DON'T pay it, they drop all of your classes. Usually my dad takes care of this, but with my parent's big move to Canada, my sister starting school at UTSA, and the fact that I didn't tell him that it was due at 5:00 pm sharp until 5:03 pm, I guess he forgot.
"No problem," I assure him. "I can just re-register later this week. All of my classes are upper-division so I should be able to get back into them pretty easily." That's seriously what I thought, until I actually went to re-register and realized it was a TOTAL mess. Also, the advisors did not respond to my e-mails or calls.
Then, I saw this amazing opportunity for an internship at the company that I work for, Bazaarvoice. Full-time at the Austin offices, working in Business Development. Everything that I want to do for a company that I really love. I took a giant leap of faith, applied for the position... and did not re-enroll in classes.
Then, I didn't get the job. Actually, Bazaarvoice decided to discontinue the position, so I'm pretty sure nobody got the job (and yes, that does make me feel better about it.)
So, a lot of things are different this semester. It's weird going from really-super-busy, so-tired-I-just-want-to-cry-all-of-the-time to just... nothing.
But, then I realized: I have ALL of this free time, so I'm going to make something of it. I have time to do all of that stuff that I never had time to do before and, after that, I have time to do stuff I never even thought of doing before. So this is my blog of all of it -- The Nothing Chronicles.
Tuesday, September 15, 2009
Wednesday, May 27, 2009
First Class
I'm at JFK. Finally. I got to fly FIRST CLASS and it was AMAZING. It was probably the most comfortable place I've slept in the past week (which might not be saying much seeing as I've slept at various Motel 6's, a minivan, Tristan's couch, and on a chair at the airport.) The chair folded out into a bed. While the chumps in Coach paid $5 for a can of Pringles, I got a lovely salad, a brownie, and a fruit bowl with REAL silverware on glass plates. I was served a warm towel and unlimited glasses of Diet Coke in a REAL glass.
I almost whipped out my camera and took pictures, but I didn't think that would be very classy...
I've tasted the sweetness of BusinessClass and I don't want to go back to Coach.
But I will. In about 2 hours. :(
FINALLY going to London! Yippee!
I almost whipped out my camera and took pictures, but I didn't think that would be very classy...
I've tasted the sweetness of BusinessClass and I don't want to go back to Coach.
But I will. In about 2 hours. :(
FINALLY going to London! Yippee!
Stuck in Atlanta
I've been in the Atlanta airport for about 12 hours now and I've got about another 6 hours before my flight to JFK. From there, I'll take a flight to Heathrow and make it to London by 7:00am tomorrow. Less than 24 hours behind schedule... not too bad!
My back is REALLY hurting. Probably a combination of lugging my bag around airports for a day as well as sleeping on the not-so-comfortable benches of the Atlanta airport. (As a reference point, sleeping on benches at the airport is slightly less comfortable than sharing a motel bed with 7 people.)
I was SO close to making that flight last night. Just as we touched down in Atlanta, my connecting flight was taking off. Literally. Like, I could see it taxiing on the runway from my airplane window. If my flight in was 10 minutes earlier or my flight out was 10 minutes later, I probably could have made it.
Delta, btw, is probably the most inefficient airline ever. First of all, there were only FOURTEEN people on my flight to Atlanta. I was literally the only person in the first 10 rows of coach. I shudder to think of the fuel costs per capita on that flight. Yikes.
Then, once I got off the plane, I joined about 250 people in the line for the Delta Help Desk. Apparently, I was not the only person who missed my connecting flight. I talked to 5+ people who all had the same story I did: our flights into Atlanta ran 1-2 hours late, but our connecting flights left on time-- without us. One guy I talked to told me that he got to the gate only to have the door shut in his face!
The forever long Delta Help Desk lineSeriously, Delta! Why not just delay your flights out of Atlanta a little bit, too? I thought that they had extra time built into the flight plan for stuff like that, too.
I just feel bad for the customer service representatives at the Help Desk. The girl who helped me, Monique, looked like she was about to cry. She was screaming back and forth with one of the other CS reps about getting people blankets and people were seriously just BITCHING at everyone. Honestly... what can the CS reps do? They can't make the plane turn around, people!
I also feel terrible for the people who are actually traveling on a timeline. I met one girl who's going to miss her sister's wedding rehearsal-- and possibly the wedding-- because of her delays. Three guys behind me in line are missing their first day of Basic Training because they couldn't get to Fort Knox on time. (But, because they are military, they automatically got comped hotel rooms. They graciously yet creepily offered me space in their room. They were SUPER sketch, though, so I vetoed that idea. No reason to be needlessly risky just for a hotel bed...)
I don't really have anywhere I NEED to be right now. For me, all this means is that my 2 month trip to Europe will start a day later than planned. Boo-hoo, right?
Tuesday, May 26, 2009
Oh, hey... btw: This is going to be my travel blog for the summer.
So, I’m sitting at Hobby Airport waiting for my flight to Atlanta. Alone. Yep— Nessie, Sarah, and Matthew are already in the air on the way there. The ONE good thing about this is that I didn’t MISS the flight. Apparently there is just stuff going on with delays and problems with air traffic control at the Atlanta airport, so all flights into Atlanta are running late. They moved Nessie, Sarah, and Matt to the 3:30 flight that actually left at 4:20, but I'm stuck on the 5:45 flight that may or may not leave on time.
I really have no idea WHAT time I’m leaving for Atlanta. The monitor at gate 32 said that the flight is “On Time” to leave at 5:45, but it is 5:08 and there is no plane at the gate… Wait... as I typed that, the Gate monitor went blank. Hmm… I wonder what’s going on?
-----
Ok. Now the flight is officially delayed until 7:30 ☹. Oh well. What can you do?
Khalib, the guy at the Delta help desk, told me this was probably going to happen. If the flight from Atlanta to London is running late, there's a chance that I can make it. BUT, if that flight is running on time, I’ll be spending a night in the Atlanta airport and catch a plane to Heathrow tomorrow night.
I’m staying optimistic, but whatever happens, happens. Hopefully the next time I’m writing to you will be from London. Or it might be from the airport in Atlanta. Who knows?
I’ve realized that worrying about stuff like this isn’t going to make anything change. It will only stress me out. (A lesson it’s only taken me 20 years, 240 days to learn).
To be honest, I'm actually kind of relieved to have some alone time to give me a break between the 40-some hours in the car to and from Tennessee and the 2 months traveling with Matt and Sarah. :)
I really have no idea WHAT time I’m leaving for Atlanta. The monitor at gate 32 said that the flight is “On Time” to leave at 5:45, but it is 5:08 and there is no plane at the gate… Wait... as I typed that, the Gate monitor went blank. Hmm… I wonder what’s going on?
-----
Ok. Now the flight is officially delayed until 7:30 ☹. Oh well. What can you do?
Khalib, the guy at the Delta help desk, told me this was probably going to happen. If the flight from Atlanta to London is running late, there's a chance that I can make it. BUT, if that flight is running on time, I’ll be spending a night in the Atlanta airport and catch a plane to Heathrow tomorrow night.
I’m staying optimistic, but whatever happens, happens. Hopefully the next time I’m writing to you will be from London. Or it might be from the airport in Atlanta. Who knows?
I’ve realized that worrying about stuff like this isn’t going to make anything change. It will only stress me out. (A lesson it’s only taken me 20 years, 240 days to learn).
To be honest, I'm actually kind of relieved to have some alone time to give me a break between the 40-some hours in the car to and from Tennessee and the 2 months traveling with Matt and Sarah. :)
Sunday, May 10, 2009
Lessons Learned this week
10. Don't take baths when you are really tired. Bathtubs do NOT make good beds.
9. Store brand "Diet Classic Cola" or "Diet Dr. B" is 3.55 times less expensive than CocaCola. When you drink Diet Coke and DDP though an IV like I do, this adds up to a savings of about $15-25 a week.
8. Sometimes, infomercial products work just as well as they say. You really CAN bedazzle anything. But bedazzling one's finger really hurts.
7. Rachael Ray never gets less annoying.
6. Fiber One bars are a good "sometimes" snack, but eating a whole box in one day is not good for your system.
5. Especially when you have a 2k test the next day...
4. I can find a way to make a 3-mile car ride take 1.5 hours.
3. No matter how tired you are, sometimes it is worth staying up for 24+ hours just to see Sarah Owen attack a plate of taquitos at Taco C. Especially when the taquitos fight back.
2. Do NOT get "lackadaisical" with your birth control to secretly get pregnant to force your boyfriends hand in marriage. On a related note, don't think you can keep ANYTHING a secret from your roommates. The walls at the Block are too thin for that. (We all know you're preggers.)
1. When you are mad/sad/angry on the inside, smile on the outside. You really DO feel better. (I'm still working on implementing this one... :-) )
9. Store brand "Diet Classic Cola" or "Diet Dr. B" is 3.55 times less expensive than CocaCola. When you drink Diet Coke and DDP though an IV like I do, this adds up to a savings of about $15-25 a week.
8. Sometimes, infomercial products work just as well as they say. You really CAN bedazzle anything. But bedazzling one's finger really hurts.
7. Rachael Ray never gets less annoying.
6. Fiber One bars are a good "sometimes" snack, but eating a whole box in one day is not good for your system.
5. Especially when you have a 2k test the next day...
4. I can find a way to make a 3-mile car ride take 1.5 hours.
3. No matter how tired you are, sometimes it is worth staying up for 24+ hours just to see Sarah Owen attack a plate of taquitos at Taco C. Especially when the taquitos fight back.
2. Do NOT get "lackadaisical" with your birth control to secretly get pregnant to force your boyfriends hand in marriage. On a related note, don't think you can keep ANYTHING a secret from your roommates. The walls at the Block are too thin for that. (We all know you're preggers.)
1. When you are mad/sad/angry on the inside, smile on the outside. You really DO feel better. (I'm still working on implementing this one... :-) )
Thursday, April 23, 2009
This... is EXACTLY something I would do.
So, today I had an appointment to look at apartments with my future roommate, Max. Our realtor (Ari at West Campus Living--use her! She is awesome) was nice enough to pick Macks up at Jester and me at my apartment. I went down to wait outside my apartement at 12:05, buck Macks and Ari were nowhere to be seen.
12:07: Nothing
12:10: Nothing
12:13: Finally, the car pulls up and stops. I tug on the handle, the lock pops and I get in. Weird, though, that the front passenger door is opening, too. Why is Macks getting out? Weird, too, that Ari's hair got so much lighter and longer in the two weeks since I've seen her last. Even weirder: Macks has a ponytail.... WHAT'S GOING ON!?
Finally, the driver of the car turns around and gives me a quizzical look. I GOT INTO A STRANGERS CAR!
"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry! I thought you were my realtor!," I say.
"I'm not."
"Well... yes. That's become apparent. I'll just... go then."
The driver really has nothing to say. I don't know what I would do, either, if some stranger came and sat in the backseat of my car. How awkward. And probably kind of scary, too.
What else is there to say? "I'm really sorry about this," I tell her. "REALLY sorry." I awkwardly climb out of the car and return to my place on the sidewalk, waiting for my real ride to arrive.
So that's MY awkward moment of the day. What's yours?
12:07: Nothing
12:10: Nothing
12:13: Finally, the car pulls up and stops. I tug on the handle, the lock pops and I get in. Weird, though, that the front passenger door is opening, too. Why is Macks getting out? Weird, too, that Ari's hair got so much lighter and longer in the two weeks since I've seen her last. Even weirder: Macks has a ponytail.... WHAT'S GOING ON!?
Finally, the driver of the car turns around and gives me a quizzical look. I GOT INTO A STRANGERS CAR!
"Oh my goodness! I'm so sorry! I thought you were my realtor!," I say.
"I'm not."
"Well... yes. That's become apparent. I'll just... go then."
The driver really has nothing to say. I don't know what I would do, either, if some stranger came and sat in the backseat of my car. How awkward. And probably kind of scary, too.
What else is there to say? "I'm really sorry about this," I tell her. "REALLY sorry." I awkwardly climb out of the car and return to my place on the sidewalk, waiting for my real ride to arrive.
So that's MY awkward moment of the day. What's yours?
Wednesday, April 22, 2009
Reason I consider the trip to Tennessee a success
I did not lock myself in the bathroom on the charter bus and need help getting out.
In all, I would say it was an "....OK!!!" trip.
(Oh yeah... It was also pretty cool that we made it to the Grand Finals!! Woo!)
In all, I would say it was an "....OK!!!" trip.
(Oh yeah... It was also pretty cool that we made it to the Grand Finals!! Woo!)
Wednesday, April 15, 2009
News Flash
Hey Everyone!
I just wanted to let you know about a special opportunity here on the UT campus tomorrow.
My friend, Sarah, will be competing in a legit fencing tournament tomorrow night, April 16th, at 6pm in Belmont Hall.
I urge you all to go and support Sarah's quest for a passing grade in fencing.
Now, I've personally never seen her fence, but if it is anything as awesome as my imagination tells me it will be, rainbows and wizards and fairies will fuse into one and create milk.
(Hint: After her practical, she was confident she had pulled off some really awesome fencing action. Her teacher then asked her why, exactly, she was having trouble catching on.)
If Sarah's pure talent and love for the sport (activity?) aren't enough to draw you in, there are rumors that Lindsey Lohan will be reprising her talents!
LiLo? Or @sarahownage? The world may never know.
It's going down April 16, 2009. 6pm. Belmont Hall. BE THERE.
EDIT EDIT EDIT: I forgot the MOST IMPORTANT PART. I'm going to be out of town for a regatta, so if anyone can TAPE this, I'll pay you back. Like... take you out to lunch. Or pat you on the back. Or something.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
My new friend, Bubba Bubba
When I went home this weekend, I went out on Friday night with my sisters and mom and left my phone at the house. When I picked up my phone when I got back, I was shocked to see that I had five missed calls and three new voicemails! So popular!
Shockingly, these calls were NOT all from Max, either! No, indeed. They were from a number I didn't even know! Curious.
Here is an mp3 of the voicemail.
Uh.... what?!
So many questions ran through my mind: who is Bubba? who is Pookie? WHAT is Bubba? A human... a pet... a feral animal? With what did Bubba cut the fish in half? Would Bubba survive the night? Could Oma possibly be even more upset over the chain of events than the caller was?
Naturally, I had to find out. I called my caller and inquired as to his identity. He still seemed upset over Bubba's actions and gruffly demanded "Who is THIS?"
As I respond "This is Shannon. I got a call from this number...?," my mother has a conniption fit in the corner because I gave out my first name on the phone. (SCARY!) Even though I'm so open and truthful, I still don't get his name.
I ask if Oma's available. He is not. "Ok, I'll call back later, then," I promise.
So, my initial quest for knowledge was shot down and I sort of forget about it for the rest of the weekend. Then, last night at @sarahownage's, I share the curious voicemail with everyone and that makes EVERYONE curious. They persuade me to call again.
I dial the number, but get off to a bad start.
"Um... hi. Who is this?" I ask.
"WHO IS THISS!??" the other side of the phone demands. He's still pissed. Maybe he'll warm up to me if he thinks I know him.
"Um... this is Pookie."
"No. It's not"
"Yeah. It's not... How's Bubba?"
"Excuse me?"
"How's Bubba? I got a call from this number the other night and it seemed like Bubba had committed quite a massacre. I just wanted to make sure he was okay."
"...."
"I mean... Oma seemed pretty mad. I just wanted to make sure he didn't do anything rash."
"Well, he's not buying any more damn fish, that's for sure!"
"Well, that's understandable."
"Do you wanna talk to Bubba?"
"Yes, that'd be great." For a second I was FREAKING OUT because I thought that perhaps Bubba WAS a person. A person who ripped fish in half out of a pond and ate them!
I don't think he expected me to say yes, though, because he was all quiet for a second. He calls for Bubba. The line is silent. Then I hear "Bubba. Bubba Bubba. Bubba."
I'm still processing that part of the conversation because I don't know WHAT that was, other than hilarious.
"So... Bubba's okay then? Still alive?"
"Well, Bubba's seeing stars."
It was a little hard to hear at this point because the room was kind of loud. Misunderstanding. "WHAT? Bubba's being starved??!!"
"No! That would be wrong. No No. Oma just whacked him with a cast iron frying pan. He's SEEING STARS."
Question: Is being whacked with a frying pan better than being starved? I don't know. I'll acquiesce to the humane society on that one.
I've been on the phone with this man for about six minutes now. I consider us friends. "So, what's your name again?" I ask.
"Bubba Bubba."
Denied AGAIN.
On the one hand, I'm glad that Bubba is okay. On the other hand, I'm still unfulfilled by this experience. I made it my goal to find the first name of my caller and I failed.
The way I see it, I have three options: 1) I can give up and admit that I'll never know. 2) I can use the internet to reverse lookup his phone number for $1.95. 3) I can call him again, try to gain his trust, and continue on my quest.
Decisions, Decisions.
EDIT: Oops! Too obsessed with Twitter. Called Sarah @sarahownage. If you DON'T have twitter, go get it. And follow me.
Shockingly, these calls were NOT all from Max, either! No, indeed. They were from a number I didn't even know! Curious.
Here is an mp3 of the voicemail.
Uh.... what?!
So many questions ran through my mind: who is Bubba? who is Pookie? WHAT is Bubba? A human... a pet... a feral animal? With what did Bubba cut the fish in half? Would Bubba survive the night? Could Oma possibly be even more upset over the chain of events than the caller was?
Naturally, I had to find out. I called my caller and inquired as to his identity. He still seemed upset over Bubba's actions and gruffly demanded "Who is THIS?"
As I respond "This is Shannon. I got a call from this number...?," my mother has a conniption fit in the corner because I gave out my first name on the phone. (SCARY!) Even though I'm so open and truthful, I still don't get his name.
I ask if Oma's available. He is not. "Ok, I'll call back later, then," I promise.
So, my initial quest for knowledge was shot down and I sort of forget about it for the rest of the weekend. Then, last night at @sarahownage's, I share the curious voicemail with everyone and that makes EVERYONE curious. They persuade me to call again.
I dial the number, but get off to a bad start.
"Um... hi. Who is this?" I ask.
"WHO IS THISS!??" the other side of the phone demands. He's still pissed. Maybe he'll warm up to me if he thinks I know him.
"Um... this is Pookie."
"No. It's not"
"Yeah. It's not... How's Bubba?"
"Excuse me?"
"How's Bubba? I got a call from this number the other night and it seemed like Bubba had committed quite a massacre. I just wanted to make sure he was okay."
"...."
"I mean... Oma seemed pretty mad. I just wanted to make sure he didn't do anything rash."
"Well, he's not buying any more damn fish, that's for sure!"
"Well, that's understandable."
"Do you wanna talk to Bubba?"
"Yes, that'd be great." For a second I was FREAKING OUT because I thought that perhaps Bubba WAS a person. A person who ripped fish in half out of a pond and ate them!
I don't think he expected me to say yes, though, because he was all quiet for a second. He calls for Bubba. The line is silent. Then I hear "Bubba. Bubba Bubba. Bubba."
I'm still processing that part of the conversation because I don't know WHAT that was, other than hilarious.
"So... Bubba's okay then? Still alive?"
"Well, Bubba's seeing stars."
It was a little hard to hear at this point because the room was kind of loud. Misunderstanding. "WHAT? Bubba's being starved??!!"
"No! That would be wrong. No No. Oma just whacked him with a cast iron frying pan. He's SEEING STARS."
Question: Is being whacked with a frying pan better than being starved? I don't know. I'll acquiesce to the humane society on that one.
I've been on the phone with this man for about six minutes now. I consider us friends. "So, what's your name again?" I ask.
"Bubba Bubba."
Denied AGAIN.
On the one hand, I'm glad that Bubba is okay. On the other hand, I'm still unfulfilled by this experience. I made it my goal to find the first name of my caller and I failed.
The way I see it, I have three options: 1) I can give up and admit that I'll never know. 2) I can use the internet to reverse lookup his phone number for $1.95. 3) I can call him again, try to gain his trust, and continue on my quest.
Decisions, Decisions.
EDIT: Oops! Too obsessed with Twitter. Called Sarah @sarahownage. If you DON'T have twitter, go get it. And follow me.
Monday, March 16, 2009
Nike Shorts are Good/Bad
I'm SERIOUSLY losing my mind. I think it's the lack of sleep combined with long hours of strenuous activity.
Because downtown is all atwitter with hipsters for #sxsw, we're running to the boathouse for afternoon practices. I didn't want to run with my wallet and car keys in my hand but I also didn't want to leave all of my stuff with the coaches. I am wearing my So-Comfortable-It-Almost-Makes-Sense-To-Pay-$25-Dollars-for-These Nike sorority Shorts. Among their awesome features, they include a built-in lining and a teeny-tiny storage pocket. So, I decide I have a GREAT idea: I take my apartment key and my car key off of the ring and stick them both in the mini-pocket of my shorts.
Now, Kelsey and Erica are in the room while I’m doing this, but Kelsey is mesmerized by our psychedelic cupcakes and Erica by her new favorite movie Sky High, so there is no one around to talk any sense in to me. At first, the logical side of me says, “You can’t even keep track of your shoes on your feet or remember what seat you are in the boat. Surely having two keys NOT on a key ring is just asking for trouble." But, my heart tells me (as it does before every bad decision I make): “This time, of course, will be different!”
Which means, of course, that this time was no different: I lost my apartment key.
I walk to my apartment door and search my mini-pocket for the key. NOT. THERE. I run back down to the car. NOT. THERE. I check the trunk and every little crevice of the car. I check the in ground around my car. I drive back to the parking lot by the Rec Center and check the ground around my parking spot. NOT. THERE.
Skip forward yadayada. No keys. No cell phone. No ID. They’re all in my apartment!! I do not have a spare key. And all three of my roommates are out of town for Spring Break and won’t be back until Sunday. SO SCREWED!
I went to see if I could jump up onto my balcony from the courtyard. After multiple attempts, people started giving me weird looks, so I stopped. I didn’t know where to go! What to do? I had NOTHING. My only form of identification was a handwritten form from the DPS saying that I was not liable for my handicapped ticket. And all that form was good for was to tell me how dumb I was: just three days ago I SAVED three hundred dollars because I got my parking ticket dismissed. Now I was going to have to pay that much to hire a locksmith and get all the locks in my apartments changed. (Surprisingly, I was a lot less upset over this than I was over the parking ticket. I think I’m just numb to my own stupidity now. ☹)
So I go over to Kelsey E.’s place and I tell her the story and she’s all like “Oh NO!” but on her face I can totally see this look of “well I’m not surprised, that seems like something your dumbass would do.” Which is true. Because this is exactly the type of dumbass thing I would do. She lets me use her phone to call the locksmith and he’s like “We’ll be there in 45 minutes.” (Aside: Do you think he’d REALLY open the apartment for me? I didn’t have any ID and I looked like a smelly vagabond off the street! Super Unsafe!)
I’ve pretty much bounced back and I’m ready to go to Sarah’s to wait for the locksmith while eating some Potluck food. Kelsey graciously lends me some clothes AND
When I take off my shorts, MY KEY FALLS TO THE GROUND! YES!
And so my love/hate relationship with Nike Shorts continues -- Curse you, Nike Shorts and your deceptive lining! But also: Thank you, Nike Shorts, and your awesome key-catching lining!
(And then I found five dollars.)
Because downtown is all atwitter with hipsters for #sxsw, we're running to the boathouse for afternoon practices. I didn't want to run with my wallet and car keys in my hand but I also didn't want to leave all of my stuff with the coaches. I am wearing my So-Comfortable-It-Almost-Makes-Sense-To-Pay-$25-Dollars-for-These Nike sorority Shorts. Among their awesome features, they include a built-in lining and a teeny-tiny storage pocket. So, I decide I have a GREAT idea: I take my apartment key and my car key off of the ring and stick them both in the mini-pocket of my shorts.
Now, Kelsey and Erica are in the room while I’m doing this, but Kelsey is mesmerized by our psychedelic cupcakes and Erica by her new favorite movie Sky High, so there is no one around to talk any sense in to me. At first, the logical side of me says, “You can’t even keep track of your shoes on your feet or remember what seat you are in the boat. Surely having two keys NOT on a key ring is just asking for trouble." But, my heart tells me (as it does before every bad decision I make): “This time, of course, will be different!”
Which means, of course, that this time was no different: I lost my apartment key.
I walk to my apartment door and search my mini-pocket for the key. NOT. THERE. I run back down to the car. NOT. THERE. I check the trunk and every little crevice of the car. I check the in ground around my car. I drive back to the parking lot by the Rec Center and check the ground around my parking spot. NOT. THERE.
Skip forward yadayada. No keys. No cell phone. No ID. They’re all in my apartment!! I do not have a spare key. And all three of my roommates are out of town for Spring Break and won’t be back until Sunday. SO SCREWED!
I went to see if I could jump up onto my balcony from the courtyard. After multiple attempts, people started giving me weird looks, so I stopped. I didn’t know where to go! What to do? I had NOTHING. My only form of identification was a handwritten form from the DPS saying that I was not liable for my handicapped ticket. And all that form was good for was to tell me how dumb I was: just three days ago I SAVED three hundred dollars because I got my parking ticket dismissed. Now I was going to have to pay that much to hire a locksmith and get all the locks in my apartments changed. (Surprisingly, I was a lot less upset over this than I was over the parking ticket. I think I’m just numb to my own stupidity now. ☹)
So I go over to Kelsey E.’s place and I tell her the story and she’s all like “Oh NO!” but on her face I can totally see this look of “well I’m not surprised, that seems like something your dumbass would do.” Which is true. Because this is exactly the type of dumbass thing I would do. She lets me use her phone to call the locksmith and he’s like “We’ll be there in 45 minutes.” (Aside: Do you think he’d REALLY open the apartment for me? I didn’t have any ID and I looked like a smelly vagabond off the street! Super Unsafe!)
I’ve pretty much bounced back and I’m ready to go to Sarah’s to wait for the locksmith while eating some Potluck food. Kelsey graciously lends me some clothes AND
When I take off my shorts, MY KEY FALLS TO THE GROUND! YES!
And so my love/hate relationship with Nike Shorts continues -- Curse you, Nike Shorts and your deceptive lining! But also: Thank you, Nike Shorts, and your awesome key-catching lining!
(And then I found five dollars.)
Friday, March 13, 2009
My Car
So it’s a little after 10 am and I’m sitting at Panera Bread on Bee Caves waiting for (my hero) Ross to come give my car a jumpstart. The internet wasn’t working in my apartment when I had to start work* this morning, so I packed up my things and headed out to Panera to take advantage of their free Wi-Fi. I typically have to do this three or four times a month because the internet at the Block is really crappy. The thing is, though, that when you go somewhere to use “free” Wi-Fi, they expect you to BUY something and I’d already eaten breakfast so I was just gonna sit in my car and listen to some music while working. That was a dumb idea because of course I drained the battery and now it won’t start. It isn’t even making that “trying to start” noise. There is just the sound of my turning key and my broken heart. Wait. Ross is on the phone… needs help with directions.
---------------
Ok. So scratch all that. Ross was on his way, so I went out to my car to hold a parking spot open next to it so he could pull in to jump it. Being the optimist** that I am, I tried to start it again AND IT WORKED. Soooo sorry for wasting your time, Ross. (I stole you some equal packets and perhaps I’ll buy you a drink at Serrano’s later for your troubles.)
But, that’s my fickle car for you. I think he (she?... what is the gender of a car?) is acting out because I’ve been kind of a bitch to him lately. This is the first semester I’ve had my car up in Austin and we’ve already been through a lot together.
Turns out I am a terrible driver. I just never knew it because I was surrounded by so many other terrible drivers (ex. My sister, who drives like she is the only one on the road; Sandra, who still asks me which way to go on I-10 to get to Austin; Jacob, who just scares the shit out of me). I might have been okay by comparison, but driving in Katy is a WHOLE different deal than driving in Austin. So, I think my car’s gotten a little pissed at me.
First, I make my car work really hard to get into a parking space. The first time I drove up to Austin, it only took me about five minutes to find a parking spot. It took me 30 minutes to fit into said parking spot. I had NO IDEA what to do! I’d never learned how! So I had to scooch in little, then get out of the car, assess my progress, and repeat. I think both Erica and Sydni can attest to just how terrible my parking was in those first few days. That first night, my car was really mad at me. It only took me a fourth of a tank of gas to make it from Houston to Austin. It took me a fourth of a tank of gas to park.
Second, my car’s a little out of shape. My car is made of plastic (nice experiment, Saturn. Thanks for that!). It’s light as a feather, flimsy as a used condom. (too far?) It does NOT like the potholes in West Campus, but I feel little sympathy for its wants and needs. I fly over those potholes with enthusiasm, determined not to be late to practice (again). As such, my car wheezes and clunks its way down the road. Poor baby. Not only that, but it is covered with three months worth of bird poop and stale beer as a result of being parked on the street in front of a frat house.
Third, my car is probably embarrassed. Since I’ve gotten my car, it’s never been stopped a cop or gotten in any (real) accidents. I set the cruise control at 5-7 mph over the speed limit so that it doesn’t get caught speeding and never forgot to slow down to 55 when I go through that horrible speed trap in Ellinger. I’d like to think my car is pretty proud of itself. Or was. Until this week.
I think it was Saturday morning when Kelsey and I were driving to practice and the light went red a little faster than I thought it would. And then there was a bright flash of light… so I may or may not get a red light ticket in the coming weeks. But the REAL embarrassment for my car was when he was slapped with a $300 ticket for “Blocking Disabled Access” (overlapping a sidewalk ramp) on Monday. THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS. To put that into perspective, blocking a fire hydrant is a $70 ticket. The Americans With Disabilities Act is a powerful piece of legislation, my friends. Don’t mess with it. (Although, I’m not sure who will be having the last laugh when the firemen can’t put out the fire in the handicapped person’s house because someone decided to park by the fire hydrant for a lesser fine… but whatever.)
Given all this, I can’t say I blame my car for teaching me a little lesson and refusing to start this morning. I’d be pissed, too!
So this is an open letter to you, car. From now on, I promise to treat you better. I’m going to take you to get an oil change and maybe even check your tires and axels. I’ll stop running you over curbs and stop making fun of your murky grey plastic exterior. Maybe I’ll even go crazy and wash and vacuum you. Who knows?
____________________________________________________________
*I work for this company called Bazaarvoice. I read product reviews online. I work from home. Or the parking lots of Panera Breads.
** And by “optimist” I mean “really desperate for SOMETHING to work out the right way”
---------------
Ok. So scratch all that. Ross was on his way, so I went out to my car to hold a parking spot open next to it so he could pull in to jump it. Being the optimist** that I am, I tried to start it again AND IT WORKED. Soooo sorry for wasting your time, Ross. (I stole you some equal packets and perhaps I’ll buy you a drink at Serrano’s later for your troubles.)
But, that’s my fickle car for you. I think he (she?... what is the gender of a car?) is acting out because I’ve been kind of a bitch to him lately. This is the first semester I’ve had my car up in Austin and we’ve already been through a lot together.
Turns out I am a terrible driver. I just never knew it because I was surrounded by so many other terrible drivers (ex. My sister, who drives like she is the only one on the road; Sandra, who still asks me which way to go on I-10 to get to Austin; Jacob, who just scares the shit out of me). I might have been okay by comparison, but driving in Katy is a WHOLE different deal than driving in Austin. So, I think my car’s gotten a little pissed at me.
First, I make my car work really hard to get into a parking space. The first time I drove up to Austin, it only took me about five minutes to find a parking spot. It took me 30 minutes to fit into said parking spot. I had NO IDEA what to do! I’d never learned how! So I had to scooch in little, then get out of the car, assess my progress, and repeat. I think both Erica and Sydni can attest to just how terrible my parking was in those first few days. That first night, my car was really mad at me. It only took me a fourth of a tank of gas to make it from Houston to Austin. It took me a fourth of a tank of gas to park.
Second, my car’s a little out of shape. My car is made of plastic (nice experiment, Saturn. Thanks for that!). It’s light as a feather, flimsy as a used condom. (too far?) It does NOT like the potholes in West Campus, but I feel little sympathy for its wants and needs. I fly over those potholes with enthusiasm, determined not to be late to practice (again). As such, my car wheezes and clunks its way down the road. Poor baby. Not only that, but it is covered with three months worth of bird poop and stale beer as a result of being parked on the street in front of a frat house.
Third, my car is probably embarrassed. Since I’ve gotten my car, it’s never been stopped a cop or gotten in any (real) accidents. I set the cruise control at 5-7 mph over the speed limit so that it doesn’t get caught speeding and never forgot to slow down to 55 when I go through that horrible speed trap in Ellinger. I’d like to think my car is pretty proud of itself. Or was. Until this week.
I think it was Saturday morning when Kelsey and I were driving to practice and the light went red a little faster than I thought it would. And then there was a bright flash of light… so I may or may not get a red light ticket in the coming weeks. But the REAL embarrassment for my car was when he was slapped with a $300 ticket for “Blocking Disabled Access” (overlapping a sidewalk ramp) on Monday. THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS. To put that into perspective, blocking a fire hydrant is a $70 ticket. The Americans With Disabilities Act is a powerful piece of legislation, my friends. Don’t mess with it. (Although, I’m not sure who will be having the last laugh when the firemen can’t put out the fire in the handicapped person’s house because someone decided to park by the fire hydrant for a lesser fine… but whatever.)
Given all this, I can’t say I blame my car for teaching me a little lesson and refusing to start this morning. I’d be pissed, too!
So this is an open letter to you, car. From now on, I promise to treat you better. I’m going to take you to get an oil change and maybe even check your tires and axels. I’ll stop running you over curbs and stop making fun of your murky grey plastic exterior. Maybe I’ll even go crazy and wash and vacuum you. Who knows?
____________________________________________________________
*I work for this company called Bazaarvoice. I read product reviews online. I work from home. Or the parking lots of Panera Breads.
** And by “optimist” I mean “really desperate for SOMETHING to work out the right way”
Thursday, March 12, 2009
It seems that ANYONE can blog, so why not me?
Very recently (I’d say about 5 minutes ago), I decided to start keeping a blog. It’s just that sometimes I have something to say and there is no one around to say it to. If my random musing is more than 140 characters, I can’t put it on Twitter. If my current activity isn’t formatted as “Shannon is…” I can’t put it on Facebook. I could call someone, but I really don’t like talking on the phone; it’s exasperating. I could walk to OrangeTree and talk to Sarah, but that is a surprisingly long walk (all uphill) and I’m just not willing to do it. Texting seems to be a viable option, but it makes my fingers hurt and takes a long time.
The great thing about a blog is that I can say whatever I want without necessarily requiring, expecting, or even wanting a response. This is not the case with conversation, phone calls, or Facebook messages. With those forms of communication, I’m going to get a response. And it is normally not what I want to hear. One example of this comes from a recent conversation with my mother. We were discussing Scott McIntyre’s awkwardness on American Idol.
Me: Whatever talent he MAY have is offset by his general awkwardness. Also, given that both he, his sister, and his brother have similar developmental problems, I can only assume that the problems are a result of generations of inbreeding in his Podunk Arkansas hometown.
Expected Response from mother: How insightful! You really see through the surface of a crappy television program like American Idol and use the limited exposition given about each character to create a structured argument about the American family structure.
Actual Response from mother: That’s an awful thing to say about someone! Who taught you it was okay to say things like that?!
Um… you did, Mom.
Anyways, I think you can see where I’m going with this. Actual human interaction is usually a disappointment, so I’m going to try to supplement that disappointment with this self-indulgent blog.
So here are a couple ground rules:
That’s about it for now.
Shannon
The great thing about a blog is that I can say whatever I want without necessarily requiring, expecting, or even wanting a response. This is not the case with conversation, phone calls, or Facebook messages. With those forms of communication, I’m going to get a response. And it is normally not what I want to hear. One example of this comes from a recent conversation with my mother. We were discussing Scott McIntyre’s awkwardness on American Idol.
Me: Whatever talent he MAY have is offset by his general awkwardness. Also, given that both he, his sister, and his brother have similar developmental problems, I can only assume that the problems are a result of generations of inbreeding in his Podunk Arkansas hometown.
Expected Response from mother: How insightful! You really see through the surface of a crappy television program like American Idol and use the limited exposition given about each character to create a structured argument about the American family structure.
Actual Response from mother: That’s an awful thing to say about someone! Who taught you it was okay to say things like that?!
Um… you did, Mom.
Anyways, I think you can see where I’m going with this. Actual human interaction is usually a disappointment, so I’m going to try to supplement that disappointment with this self-indulgent blog.
So here are a couple ground rules:
- I estimate that around 45% of things that I say are generally awkward, 25% are offensive, 35% are mundane and not worth your time, 12% are funny, and 3% are quite funny. Perhaps <5%>
- Back in high school, I attempted other forms of “internet self-expression” such as Xanga and Livejournal. Both of these ventures were complete failures. I expect if I write two more entries in this blog in the next two months, it will be considered a success.
- This is designed to be a BLOG. Not a “diary.” If this divulges into some play-by-play of my day-to-day activities, please GOD someone stop me. It’s pathetic enough that my nightly routine consists of watching the Food Network Challenge at 6pm while cooking dinner followed up by whatever Reality Television programming is gracing the TV lineup and ending with me crashing into bed before10pm. Nobody else should be subjected to that. Keep me in check, friends.
That’s about it for now.
Shannon
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