Okay. How did I get here? Well, I think I got here from picking up some sickness last night at Texas State. Or maybe it was from the river? Where do I start…
Last week I didn’t do much blogging because I was in San Diego. Let me tell you – that place is so beautiful. The architecture, the weather, the greenery, the palm trees, the flowers… The smells of the foods, the sounds of the trolleys, the randomest of random findings! (I plan to include a little scrapbook of these on my website, if I ever get a second to get around to it). Just thinking about it makes my nose stop running a little.
However, the two hour time difference between home, the three hour time difference between me, my mother, and older guy were making it a bit difficult. No matter, I am a fabulous young woman and he will receive my texts, whether he likes them at 2 a.m. during the week or not! 🙂
Trying to come home was another story. Since I require (and insist) to have a myriad of things running at all times on my blackberry (I think I’m up to 14 ways you can get in touch with me through it), I find myself spending 20% of my day looking for a wall outlet or charging my phone. Plus, I’m pretty much addicted to it – I swear I can feel it in my blood before it Mario Coins, Sings, or Buzzes. If we’re out having dinner or at a bar, and my friends pull their phones out – I have to pull mine out. I mean, what are they looking at that I’m missing.
Whatever.
So after my delayed, three-hour flight from hell (I’m sorry, lady, you really need to get a better hold on your kids in which I specifically, and strategically, picked a window seat as far away from the “early boarders” that had kids, like any completely judgmental person who’s never had kids, would do, right? Okay, so, I pick a window seat. Then, as if some Rosa Parks Against Children announced, or something, the same family I avoided, plus two other crying pods of people, had pulled up ship and were moving back to my area.
NNOOOOOO!!!!
Anyway, after escaping from said direct flight, since now my iPod is battery is dead from trying to drown out “STTTTTOPPPPPPPPPP ittttt!!!” “LLEETTTT GOOOOOOO!!” *shiver* while I’m trying to read, I’m b-lining for the bathroom and making it to baggage. I quietly compliment Austin-Berg Airport on how much better their baggage unloading has improved and make my way outside.
Well, since I’ve been walking around all week, yeah, I can totally walk out to my car in long-term parking. It’s 9 at night. I’m fine.
Okay, 45 minutes later I’m at my car. I’ve completely melted, removed my first layer of clothing, gotten lost twice walking with my giant suitcase, giant purse, and dinosaur-sized work laptop; and gotten into an argument with the bus driver because I can’t remember where my car is. Give me a break dude. I’m walking around in the no-man’s land that is long-term parking, mostly because it’s 9:30 at night. Awesome. I’m supposed to be at Carissa’s in 20 minutes and I have a big, beautiful rock in front of me for the fourth time this year (don’t get me started on the attitude black betty’s been having this year).
A brief, damsel-in-distress conversation with two grease monkeys (seriously, I could fry bacon on their skin), an uncomfortable, judgmental phone call later about how my Cadillac isn’t working (don’t judge me, lady who’s working at 9:30 at night, yes I drive a Cadillac, I have paid dearly for it) to dispatch, and I finally have the help in an older guy named Manuel.
I finally show up at Carissa’s at 11. I have a bag of junk food in one hand, a bottle of vodka in the other, and the look in the eye of a crazy person who was just about to go apeshit on her weird, effing neighbor who kept flashing his lights at me. I envisioned myself screaming, diving on the hood of his weird old car, screaming “CAN I F*&^(ING HELP YOU!”, but instead, continue to dig for what I need to spend the night. We then cuss and discuss the past week… Bla bla bla. I pass out from either alcohol or exhaustion and leave Carissa’s the next day.
After she jumps it.
A little later I am flying down I-10 hoping I have enough gas to make it to Weeza’s, a virtual country oasis, and she fills me in on what’s been going on with her lately, says ta-ta and leaves me to wait for my Houston friends. It’s the first time I’ve had two hours to literally, not do anything for two hours.
I then spend two days or so down at the Frio River. I tear a contact, somehow avoid managing to get sunburned, climb directly up a wall of rocks, jump off twice, and manage not to kill myself or harm another person. Judging the way the week was going (by this time I hadn’t seen my license in days and managed to have the only track across Texas that completely avoided all Wells Fargos and locations that did not do cash back). Mission accomplished.
Last night, however, is how I think I got sick. I get over to Texas State and, due to having spent some childhood days, some visits to my sister, and a handful of wasted nights in San Marcos, I kinda know my way around there. I confidently walk past this giant line of people, down to 2-9 or wherever they’re making ID’s. Me and three gay guys are the only people in the world getting their ID’s at that moment. I ask if anyone knows what’s going on upstairs.
“Oh, that’s the graduate student orientation. Looks like that’s where you’re headed next, grad student!”
Rats.
I was hoping I was smart enough to avoid standing in the line.
Whatever! I stand in line in front of the only chick who has problems she needs to completely vent over the phone. I haven’t been in this position since before they made iPods and I was catching the bus in Aggieland. We all make nice after I mention the three people behind me are interested in validated parking. We are then escorted with our fun bags to linen tablecloths in the LBJ Student Center ballroom… Covered in pizza boxes. I sit at a table with a bunch of women and they all look very intelligent! We go around and they all claim how they’re social workers and teachers. Shit. Really?! ALL OF YOU? I specifically picked this table because you people looked homely and nerdish! I could be sitting next to the next Steve Jobs with eyewear I fall in love with! Damnit.
That and… Which one of you damned women made me sick…
Whatever.
We sit there and listen to 45 minutes of presenters from everything about networking, parking, life as a grad student, etc., and it’s short and sweet. Good deal. I thumb through my paper and realize there is ONE grant I can apply for, out of seven, because I’m a grad student. What is this all about?! Seriously, I make NO money with my bachelor’s! In fact, my pay has consistently gotten LOWER since about summer of 2007.
Okay, I knew I’d be in for this. Luckily, the average costs of tuition for grad students is lower. Thank God. Let the stress begin!
