Woah, hot border chick... Jesus, her mom's hot too!!
Colder than Martha Stewart's gaping black-hearted vagina in my apartment when I woke up this morning. I'm really looking forward to tomorrow, when it'll be two hours earlier and the hot water will be slower in coming on. Discuss.
Hey, guess what's starting right now? Guess where I'm not? That's right, history lecture. Give yourself a biscuit.
Topic for today is Meiji Reforms. Still. I hereby reiterate my earlier arguments regarding my opinion of that class. Seriously, if I'm having trouble sleeping at night, I remember sitting in that class listening to that man talk about Tokugawa society.
Besides, I'm hungry, and I agreed to help cover some shit at work tonight (stupidstupidstupid), and seeing as how I've no cash left, and I'm not really looking to pull out more, I'm just going to have to restrict myself to the slimpickin's here in the Jasonocave. I'm seriously considering going grocery shopping. Like really. Really seriously considering it. Yyyeah. After I get paid.
So over the weekend I hopped a Greyhound and made my presence felt in Bellingham. First I have to recount the bus ride itself and how awesome it felt. Pulling out of the station and heading north, especially once we got past Seattle, I couldn't help but grin, just watching everything go by and to be going somewhere that wasn't part of a routine or a schedule or something or some place that I'd been to and seen every day for godknowshowlong. I started out reading my logic and political philosophy assignments, but soon opted out for Iron & Wine and dozing in and out of watching the road. It felt good. I just like that feeling of motion, of going somewhere, of just going. It felt like something I could do again, but on a much grander scale. Like maybe one of these days I'll hop one down to California. Or over to Chicago. Just to be along for the ride.
Upon arrival, Friday night consisted of drving 'round, Team America: World Police (not exactly the best movie I've ever seen, but definitely a good dose of awesome), a shitty grocery-store-deli sammich, and flirting with Vince's sweet-faced neighbor. Oh, and Dad's Home. The wee hours of Saturday morning consisted of some place called the Horseshoe cafe, almost getting run over crossing a street, and hurling obscenities at the driver and his passenger.
Fuckin cocksmokers.
Saturday morning consisted of waking up much earlier than anyone else in a four-mile radius (that floor is friggin un-com-fort-able) and waiting for His Wopness to follow suit. Then we sped off to Canada before getting stopped at the border. A long-ass delay, but it went by well enough. I walked out on the grass and took a few pictures of the peace arch and the border marking and Peach Arch Park or whatever it's called.
Then I saw the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. A two-year old girl chasing seagulls and crows. And her daddy picked her up and tossed her into the air and swung her around and set her back down.
Upon our arrival, Vancouver entered a state of emergency kthx Vince-driving. After the usual tomfoolery, we ended up trekking all across the city. I was just itching to get out and walk around. I just like being immersed like that, it makes everything feel more real. Taking steps and all that. Kind of hard to explain, I guess, but I feel closer to being alive when I'm at least a small part of it all with nothing between us. After hitting the compass points (along with an unexpected detour out to Prospect Point, making for awsum view and some more pictures), we settled on Gastown: Cuban cigars, coffee, walking and oogling. Hoping to do our parts as Yankee-haters, we made it a point to find a place to watch the game. Started out with a pint of black n' tan at the Irish Heather (pubs=teh awsum), before trapsing over to Deighton's Well, along with BBQ bacon burger, shootintheshit with a couple of locals, pounding on the bar when the Sox scored (alas, for naught), flippin the bird to a Yanks fan, and Irish whiskey. Mucho gusto. Sobriety remained intact, however, thank you very much. The border crossing back was fun, seeing as how we were smuggling illegal Cubans back. OMGOMGOMG FUGITIVES. The guard made us nervous.
We headed out for more driving and late-nite dining upon rearriving in Bellingham, and Sunday morning meant early wake-up again. Then out for a drive to the far reaches of the surrounding area, using up the camera, and speeding back to the Funk after tuning in to hear that the Seahawks had pulled to 17-23 with six minutes left. Alas, again, for naught. Bad weekend for sports (FUCKIN ASTROS).
The Greyhound ride back was a bit different this time, I didn't have as much room to spread out, but I still had my music, and had an incredible view of the sun setting as we covered ground between Mt. Vernon and Everett. A fitting conclusion, I think, although once I was back in the city it meant walking six blocks burdened down with bags to catch the metro. And my phone is a bit on the broken side. I don't know why, but the display won't show anything other than.. well, nothing. It still works as a phone, I can send and receive calls, but... yeah, can't look through my saved numbers or get text messages or anything. This is a difficulty, because, sorry to say, I don't have numbers memorized, that's what the saved numbers is for. Sooo yeah. Hopefully it's repairable, either that or I'm dropping cash on a replacement. Ah well.
All in all, it was a good time. I needed some time to relax and recharge. It's the first time off that I've had in a while, and I enjoyed it. Sometimes it feels like I'm spread too thin, give so much of myself (more phone sessions with Sheena, for those who are interested), that there's hardly anything left for me except for the shitty angsty parts.
mmmm po-tay-toe. After this I head downtown to see about the fone, maybe getting a heavier coat, and, yeah, work.
Hey, guess what's starting right now? Guess where I'm not? That's right, history lecture. Give yourself a biscuit.
Topic for today is Meiji Reforms. Still. I hereby reiterate my earlier arguments regarding my opinion of that class. Seriously, if I'm having trouble sleeping at night, I remember sitting in that class listening to that man talk about Tokugawa society.
Besides, I'm hungry, and I agreed to help cover some shit at work tonight (stupidstupidstupid), and seeing as how I've no cash left, and I'm not really looking to pull out more, I'm just going to have to restrict myself to the slimpickin's here in the Jasonocave. I'm seriously considering going grocery shopping. Like really. Really seriously considering it. Yyyeah. After I get paid.
So over the weekend I hopped a Greyhound and made my presence felt in Bellingham. First I have to recount the bus ride itself and how awesome it felt. Pulling out of the station and heading north, especially once we got past Seattle, I couldn't help but grin, just watching everything go by and to be going somewhere that wasn't part of a routine or a schedule or something or some place that I'd been to and seen every day for godknowshowlong. I started out reading my logic and political philosophy assignments, but soon opted out for Iron & Wine and dozing in and out of watching the road. It felt good. I just like that feeling of motion, of going somewhere, of just going. It felt like something I could do again, but on a much grander scale. Like maybe one of these days I'll hop one down to California. Or over to Chicago. Just to be along for the ride.
Upon arrival, Friday night consisted of drving 'round, Team America: World Police (not exactly the best movie I've ever seen, but definitely a good dose of awesome), a shitty grocery-store-deli sammich, and flirting with Vince's sweet-faced neighbor. Oh, and Dad's Home. The wee hours of Saturday morning consisted of some place called the Horseshoe cafe, almost getting run over crossing a street, and hurling obscenities at the driver and his passenger.
Fuckin cocksmokers.
Saturday morning consisted of waking up much earlier than anyone else in a four-mile radius (that floor is friggin un-com-fort-able) and waiting for His Wopness to follow suit. Then we sped off to Canada before getting stopped at the border. A long-ass delay, but it went by well enough. I walked out on the grass and took a few pictures of the peace arch and the border marking and Peach Arch Park or whatever it's called.
Then I saw the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. A two-year old girl chasing seagulls and crows. And her daddy picked her up and tossed her into the air and swung her around and set her back down.
Upon our arrival, Vancouver entered a state of emergency kthx Vince-driving. After the usual tomfoolery, we ended up trekking all across the city. I was just itching to get out and walk around. I just like being immersed like that, it makes everything feel more real. Taking steps and all that. Kind of hard to explain, I guess, but I feel closer to being alive when I'm at least a small part of it all with nothing between us. After hitting the compass points (along with an unexpected detour out to Prospect Point, making for awsum view and some more pictures), we settled on Gastown: Cuban cigars, coffee, walking and oogling. Hoping to do our parts as Yankee-haters, we made it a point to find a place to watch the game. Started out with a pint of black n' tan at the Irish Heather (pubs=teh awsum), before trapsing over to Deighton's Well, along with BBQ bacon burger, shootintheshit with a couple of locals, pounding on the bar when the Sox scored (alas, for naught), flippin the bird to a Yanks fan, and Irish whiskey. Mucho gusto. Sobriety remained intact, however, thank you very much. The border crossing back was fun, seeing as how we were smuggling illegal Cubans back. OMGOMGOMG FUGITIVES. The guard made us nervous.
We headed out for more driving and late-nite dining upon rearriving in Bellingham, and Sunday morning meant early wake-up again. Then out for a drive to the far reaches of the surrounding area, using up the camera, and speeding back to the Funk after tuning in to hear that the Seahawks had pulled to 17-23 with six minutes left. Alas, again, for naught. Bad weekend for sports (FUCKIN ASTROS).
The Greyhound ride back was a bit different this time, I didn't have as much room to spread out, but I still had my music, and had an incredible view of the sun setting as we covered ground between Mt. Vernon and Everett. A fitting conclusion, I think, although once I was back in the city it meant walking six blocks burdened down with bags to catch the metro. And my phone is a bit on the broken side. I don't know why, but the display won't show anything other than.. well, nothing. It still works as a phone, I can send and receive calls, but... yeah, can't look through my saved numbers or get text messages or anything. This is a difficulty, because, sorry to say, I don't have numbers memorized, that's what the saved numbers is for. Sooo yeah. Hopefully it's repairable, either that or I'm dropping cash on a replacement. Ah well.
All in all, it was a good time. I needed some time to relax and recharge. It's the first time off that I've had in a while, and I enjoyed it. Sometimes it feels like I'm spread too thin, give so much of myself (more phone sessions with Sheena, for those who are interested), that there's hardly anything left for me except for the shitty angsty parts.
mmmm po-tay-toe. After this I head downtown to see about the fone, maybe getting a heavier coat, and, yeah, work.