That's right, folks. I'm off to go camping for the next 2 nights. We're going to Martin's Cove in Wyoming, and I'm going to sleep in a tent.
When I told my mom this the other day, she just laughed and said, "You're going camping? You're tenting?!" Then she laughed a little harder, a little longer. I rolled my eyes and agreed how surprising it was to me, too.
But it's time for me to put aside my ingrained distaste of camping, grown from 6 summers of Girls Camp in Wisconsin humidity, with Wisconsin mosquitoes, and try it again. Who knows, maybe camping in sporadic Wyoming weather, with bears and rattlesnakes will turn me into more of an "outdoorsy" person.
I told my brother today on the phone that I considered roughing it as much as possible so that maybe I could keep feeling justified in disliking camping by having a miserable experience. He laughed at me, stopped for a second as the sensibility of my plan sunk in, then laughed harder at me for even considering such a rational idea.
But it will be fun. I'll be with some of my favorite people. Some girls promised me we could tent near each other so I could enjoy their cocktails and fancy glasses with them as they "glamp" it up - it's a real thing, friends, look it up. And the purpose of the trip is good, so I can at least appreciate the point of being there. And if I need to, I can always go sleep in someone's car. So I should be fine.
We'll see you Saturday! If I haven't been eaten by a bear or dropped off a cliff, of course...
Thursday, June 24, 2010
Thursday, June 17, 2010
I LOVE THE 80's!
My random obsession of the moment - acoustic covers of sweet 80's music!
For the two of my three readers who really know me, it's a known fact that I absolutely love 80's music. While everyone else around me - kids who don't remember the 80s enough to give it the proper respect - is always looking for the 'new' song and bashing on rockin' 80s and 90s music, I've stayed true to the music that raised me. That reminds me of being too young to be as in love with the radio as I was; hanging out with my older siblings, singing songs as loud as I possibly can - knowing the words better than someone as young as I was probably should. These were the songs of my siblings, and therefore my songs as well. I remember listening to 94.5, "home of the 80s and 90s" all growing up (they added, "and Today" once we hit 2000). I knew the old by heart and the new before anyone else. And I loved them both.
Every once in a while I get a little embarrassed by my rapture when a really good 80s song comes on. Some people give me weird looks when I start singing out loud to Heart's 'Alone,' or when I have to stand up and bust a move to 'Bust A Move' (obviously. You gotta do what the song says). But those people are idiots, and I get a little more into it once I remember that.
And now I get a sweet, glazed look across my face everytime I hear an old-school 80s hit remade with a contemporary twist. It's the uniting of my two music worlds - the old AND the new. It's great because I already know all the words, but the acoustic beats that the covers usually have are a nice touch to really make the song sink in. Because I have to admit, sometimes I'm just not up for the electro-keyboard beats that most of the songs are made of. But the sultry guitar rhythms and pure voices make the songs a little more relevant. And they make my lame friends realize just how great an old song really is.
Which is why I can't stop listening to Jamestown Story's "Take Me Home Tonight" - I already loved that song, but now I extra love it (and this band has a few other good ones, too). And I found another new favorite tonight: Florence + the Machine covering "Addicted to Love." I'm really feeling this one. Seriously Flo, nice touch with the backup strings. And hello, whether you like him or not, that crazy guy Adam Lambert did a rockin' 'Mad World' on American Idol. I'm not much of an American Idol fan, but I was impressed when that song came on my Pandora - its the only AI song that's ever graced my station...and I was totally okay with it.
My Wednesday night recommendation to you, my three readers: blast your rad 80s music, hunker down with some sweet 80s covers, and remind all your lame, jaded, "too cool for old school" friends just why the 80s ruled the school!
For the two of my three readers who really know me, it's a known fact that I absolutely love 80's music. While everyone else around me - kids who don't remember the 80s enough to give it the proper respect - is always looking for the 'new' song and bashing on rockin' 80s and 90s music, I've stayed true to the music that raised me. That reminds me of being too young to be as in love with the radio as I was; hanging out with my older siblings, singing songs as loud as I possibly can - knowing the words better than someone as young as I was probably should. These were the songs of my siblings, and therefore my songs as well. I remember listening to 94.5, "home of the 80s and 90s" all growing up (they added, "and Today" once we hit 2000). I knew the old by heart and the new before anyone else. And I loved them both.
Every once in a while I get a little embarrassed by my rapture when a really good 80s song comes on. Some people give me weird looks when I start singing out loud to Heart's 'Alone,' or when I have to stand up and bust a move to 'Bust A Move' (obviously. You gotta do what the song says). But those people are idiots, and I get a little more into it once I remember that.
And now I get a sweet, glazed look across my face everytime I hear an old-school 80s hit remade with a contemporary twist. It's the uniting of my two music worlds - the old AND the new. It's great because I already know all the words, but the acoustic beats that the covers usually have are a nice touch to really make the song sink in. Because I have to admit, sometimes I'm just not up for the electro-keyboard beats that most of the songs are made of. But the sultry guitar rhythms and pure voices make the songs a little more relevant. And they make my lame friends realize just how great an old song really is.
Which is why I can't stop listening to Jamestown Story's "Take Me Home Tonight" - I already loved that song, but now I extra love it (and this band has a few other good ones, too). And I found another new favorite tonight: Florence + the Machine covering "Addicted to Love." I'm really feeling this one. Seriously Flo, nice touch with the backup strings. And hello, whether you like him or not, that crazy guy Adam Lambert did a rockin' 'Mad World' on American Idol. I'm not much of an American Idol fan, but I was impressed when that song came on my Pandora - its the only AI song that's ever graced my station...and I was totally okay with it.
My Wednesday night recommendation to you, my three readers: blast your rad 80s music, hunker down with some sweet 80s covers, and remind all your lame, jaded, "too cool for old school" friends just why the 80s ruled the school!
Monday, June 14, 2010
Yes I Do Judge a Book By Its Cover
I have a confession to make: I always judge a book by its cover. Literally.
I recently got done reading the 2 book of a trilogy that I am absolutely overtaken by. I was completely uncomfortable, concerned, and physically itchy with angst after finishing the 1st book. And that angst just continued through the second book. It seriously took over my thoughts for 3 days after turning the last page - both times. A book that takes me wholeheartedly out of this real world and transports me to its own world, making me actually feel, think, love, fear, question, obsess, act, breathe just like the main character is a good book. A very good book, in fact.
And, I'm happy to report, I also like the covers of these books.
Had I not, I might've been hesitant to read them.
I'm certain I still would've loved the books, but when I wasn't reading them, I probably would've turned them upside down, covered them, hidden them behind other things. And they wouldn't be in such a viewable spot in our bookcase - in fact, they probably wouldn't have made the public bookshelf at all.
I read a book the other day that I liked well enough. But I was NOT a fan of its cover. It felt like a cheap young adult book, from a cheap place, with a cheap designer working there. I kept thinking of some of the ugly paperbacks we have from the 80's and 90's, that used hideous colors, and just plain looked dumb. And that kept nagging at me, everytime I put the book down. I feared the random visitor who would come upon me reading such a cringe-inducing thing. But the book was good, so I shouldn't judge a book so harshly.
My very sweet and thoughtful neighbor came over with a book she wanted me to read. It's sitting on my desk in my room, covered by some necklaces and a few random pieces of paper. I have no idea whether its a good book or not. But I don't think about it positively quite yet.
This poor book also has the unfortunate quality of being sized similar to pocketbook, but with countless pages filled by innumerable words, squeezed closely together to fit as many as possible on one page. Apparently the publisher ran out of trees in his attempt to publish this book, so he had to shrink and scrunch the words to keep the book under 1,000 pages.
I've also got a total bias against paperback books for the sole reason that paperbacks get so ratty so quickly. I'm all for books showing the love they've received from readers - underlining of great lines, dog-ears on pages left off at, notes and thoughts written in the margins - but I prefer to keep that love on the inside. I don't want the cover falling off randomly or getting bent in all directions. UGLY.
Plus, hardback books just look more quality. So I automatically think the words inside them are likely more quality as well. Trust me, I've learned my lesson from that poor assumption before. But it doesn't stop me from judging each book I pick up. I still float toward hardback books, figuring they will at least look nicer on my "purely for aesthetics and a snooty desire to look bookish" bookshelves. I just want to present myself as the right type of nerd, you know?
If I may get all psycho-logical here, I'd have to say the root of my problem lies in my mother. The woman who, when we moved to this new house (complete with a library to entertain the random short-visit guest), went through my dad's oodles of books, picked all the good-looking and interesting-sounding books and organized them nicely upstairs, while she banned the rest to live out their days in my dad's basement office. With the door closed. She taught me early on that pretty book sets and pleasing covers are an integral part of any decorating scheme. And ugly books, no matter how good they are, get the cupboards and nightstand drawers to live out the rest of their days.
No wonder I'm so picky when it comes to dating.
I recently got done reading the 2 book of a trilogy that I am absolutely overtaken by. I was completely uncomfortable, concerned, and physically itchy with angst after finishing the 1st book. And that angst just continued through the second book. It seriously took over my thoughts for 3 days after turning the last page - both times. A book that takes me wholeheartedly out of this real world and transports me to its own world, making me actually feel, think, love, fear, question, obsess, act, breathe just like the main character is a good book. A very good book, in fact.
And, I'm happy to report, I also like the covers of these books.
Had I not, I might've been hesitant to read them.
I'm certain I still would've loved the books, but when I wasn't reading them, I probably would've turned them upside down, covered them, hidden them behind other things. And they wouldn't be in such a viewable spot in our bookcase - in fact, they probably wouldn't have made the public bookshelf at all.
I read a book the other day that I liked well enough. But I was NOT a fan of its cover. It felt like a cheap young adult book, from a cheap place, with a cheap designer working there. I kept thinking of some of the ugly paperbacks we have from the 80's and 90's, that used hideous colors, and just plain looked dumb. And that kept nagging at me, everytime I put the book down. I feared the random visitor who would come upon me reading such a cringe-inducing thing. But the book was good, so I shouldn't judge a book so harshly.
My very sweet and thoughtful neighbor came over with a book she wanted me to read. It's sitting on my desk in my room, covered by some necklaces and a few random pieces of paper. I have no idea whether its a good book or not. But I don't think about it positively quite yet.
This poor book also has the unfortunate quality of being sized similar to pocketbook, but with countless pages filled by innumerable words, squeezed closely together to fit as many as possible on one page. Apparently the publisher ran out of trees in his attempt to publish this book, so he had to shrink and scrunch the words to keep the book under 1,000 pages.
I've also got a total bias against paperback books for the sole reason that paperbacks get so ratty so quickly. I'm all for books showing the love they've received from readers - underlining of great lines, dog-ears on pages left off at, notes and thoughts written in the margins - but I prefer to keep that love on the inside. I don't want the cover falling off randomly or getting bent in all directions. UGLY.
Plus, hardback books just look more quality. So I automatically think the words inside them are likely more quality as well. Trust me, I've learned my lesson from that poor assumption before. But it doesn't stop me from judging each book I pick up. I still float toward hardback books, figuring they will at least look nicer on my "purely for aesthetics and a snooty desire to look bookish" bookshelves. I just want to present myself as the right type of nerd, you know?
If I may get all psycho-logical here, I'd have to say the root of my problem lies in my mother. The woman who, when we moved to this new house (complete with a library to entertain the random short-visit guest), went through my dad's oodles of books, picked all the good-looking and interesting-sounding books and organized them nicely upstairs, while she banned the rest to live out their days in my dad's basement office. With the door closed. She taught me early on that pretty book sets and pleasing covers are an integral part of any decorating scheme. And ugly books, no matter how good they are, get the cupboards and nightstand drawers to live out the rest of their days.
No wonder I'm so picky when it comes to dating.
If Summer was a...
So, once again I've turned to a prompt from my friend (even though she has no idea who I am...), Tiffany, over at thewouldbewritersguild, who is quite a good writer. This prompt is one I've been thinking about more now that Summer has started, because it's about Summer. I wrote this pretty quick, but I'm posting it anyway, so that I can force myself to take more responsibility for my poor writing by knowing other people have to read it, too. So hear it is:
If Summer was a color, it would be a vibrant yellow, perfect in its obviousness. It would be such a bright yellow that it would overwhelm any room painted in it, but that wouldn’t keep people from eagerly brushing it onto their walls. It would be a welcome warmth at any time of day. It would always be in mode, quickly becoming a staple color for all designers; it would become as necessary as white, black, and tan in decorating. And although my eyes would never get used to it, I’d stare at Summer all the time, inspiration and energy reflecting on my skin. It would look best in daisies, and I’d overwhelm my garden with it. But it wouldn’t look tacky – my garden would be the envy of the neighborhood. It would be an instant pick-me-up every time I saw it; the sight of it anywhere, on anything, would always make me nostalgic, reminding of the time when…and that that one time that I…and when I was 15 and… If Summer was a color, it’d be the perfect shade of happiness.
If Summer was a teenager, he would be an anomaly among his friends. He wouldn’t sulk or complain more than he smiled and laughed. His parents would show him off to their friends in triumph, celebrating in the jealous gawks of less lucky mothers and fathers. He would have his off-days, of course, but even his stormy looks and sad days would be accepted – they’d be so infrequent that he’d be forgiven and tolerated easily. Is Summer was a teenager, he’d be full of energy, yet completely easy-going, amazingly multi-talented, adorably humble, and kind to everyone. He’d be a genuine friend to everyone he knew, and he’d bring out the best in all he met. Every girl would be in love with him - his picture would have a heart around it in each girl's yearbook. He’d be the perfect romance, and every girl he dated would be a little sad, but never angry or regretful, when it was over. He’d be Class President, Homecoming King, Valedictorian, and Team Captain. If Summer was a teenager, he’d be the perfect small-town hero.
If Summer was a color, it would be a vibrant yellow, perfect in its obviousness. It would be such a bright yellow that it would overwhelm any room painted in it, but that wouldn’t keep people from eagerly brushing it onto their walls. It would be a welcome warmth at any time of day. It would always be in mode, quickly becoming a staple color for all designers; it would become as necessary as white, black, and tan in decorating. And although my eyes would never get used to it, I’d stare at Summer all the time, inspiration and energy reflecting on my skin. It would look best in daisies, and I’d overwhelm my garden with it. But it wouldn’t look tacky – my garden would be the envy of the neighborhood. It would be an instant pick-me-up every time I saw it; the sight of it anywhere, on anything, would always make me nostalgic, reminding of the time when…and that that one time that I…and when I was 15 and… If Summer was a color, it’d be the perfect shade of happiness.
If Summer was a teenager, he would be an anomaly among his friends. He wouldn’t sulk or complain more than he smiled and laughed. His parents would show him off to their friends in triumph, celebrating in the jealous gawks of less lucky mothers and fathers. He would have his off-days, of course, but even his stormy looks and sad days would be accepted – they’d be so infrequent that he’d be forgiven and tolerated easily. Is Summer was a teenager, he’d be full of energy, yet completely easy-going, amazingly multi-talented, adorably humble, and kind to everyone. He’d be a genuine friend to everyone he knew, and he’d bring out the best in all he met. Every girl would be in love with him - his picture would have a heart around it in each girl's yearbook. He’d be the perfect romance, and every girl he dated would be a little sad, but never angry or regretful, when it was over. He’d be Class President, Homecoming King, Valedictorian, and Team Captain. If Summer was a teenager, he’d be the perfect small-town hero.
Friday, June 11, 2010
Maybe you don't want to hear all about my trip...
Apparently you don't want to hear all the details of my trip of 1sts to California. Shoot, I don't even want to retell all the details. I'm glad we could get that awkwardness cleared up...
Let me just say that the beach was beautiful. I could've sat on the warm sand forever, had I not started sweating to death and gotten really hungry at the same time. The ocean though - a little cold, and still full of scary, unknown animals lurking nearby. My irrational fear of sharks and jellyfish (irrational because I've never lived close enough to an ocean to fear their presence in my life) kept me out of the water. Plus, I'm not a huge water person. I like land. I'll let water people have my spot in the ocean. I wouldn't want to crowd anyone, you know? And to think, China's just on the other side. That was a weird thought to me, when I grew up with only having Michigan on the other side of the water...
And Disneyland? Awesome. Truly awesome. Especially when you get in line for Splash Mountain, randomly see a tall guy's back and accurately guess that said back belongs to a guy you attended college with (I know, I was a little freaked out at my latent ability to pinpoint people as well), and randomly have 3 nine-year-old girls just behind you become your best friends, while one's dad cracks jokes at their expense through the whole line. I sure miss those little girls - one gave me the greatest self-esteem boost with her innate ability to read people. She got me spot on with her comments of "You're really pretty. You're really smart" and the like. I wish I could just have follow me around, reminding me that at least a total stranger can think I'm really cool. I think I got more hugs from those girls in line than I've gotten in the last 2 years of my life.
And the drive to and from California? LONG. REALLY LONG. And I still don't really get the 'drive through 4 states to get 3 states away' deal. What's up with the 25 minutes of Arizona in the middle of it? It is a gorgeous drive, though, through Southern Utah, part of Arizona, and various parts of Nevada and California. Noted: Las Vegas is A LOT cooler at night than at day. In the light, it just looks like a heap of trash left to decompose in the desert heat. Maybe that's a little harsh...but I don't think so.
Oh, and we got a picture with Minnie Mouse, which was all I really wanted, so it was a great trip.
Let me just say that the beach was beautiful. I could've sat on the warm sand forever, had I not started sweating to death and gotten really hungry at the same time. The ocean though - a little cold, and still full of scary, unknown animals lurking nearby. My irrational fear of sharks and jellyfish (irrational because I've never lived close enough to an ocean to fear their presence in my life) kept me out of the water. Plus, I'm not a huge water person. I like land. I'll let water people have my spot in the ocean. I wouldn't want to crowd anyone, you know? And to think, China's just on the other side. That was a weird thought to me, when I grew up with only having Michigan on the other side of the water...
And Disneyland? Awesome. Truly awesome. Especially when you get in line for Splash Mountain, randomly see a tall guy's back and accurately guess that said back belongs to a guy you attended college with (I know, I was a little freaked out at my latent ability to pinpoint people as well), and randomly have 3 nine-year-old girls just behind you become your best friends, while one's dad cracks jokes at their expense through the whole line. I sure miss those little girls - one gave me the greatest self-esteem boost with her innate ability to read people. She got me spot on with her comments of "You're really pretty. You're really smart" and the like. I wish I could just have follow me around, reminding me that at least a total stranger can think I'm really cool. I think I got more hugs from those girls in line than I've gotten in the last 2 years of my life.
And the drive to and from California? LONG. REALLY LONG. And I still don't really get the 'drive through 4 states to get 3 states away' deal. What's up with the 25 minutes of Arizona in the middle of it? It is a gorgeous drive, though, through Southern Utah, part of Arizona, and various parts of Nevada and California. Noted: Las Vegas is A LOT cooler at night than at day. In the light, it just looks like a heap of trash left to decompose in the desert heat. Maybe that's a little harsh...but I don't think so.
Anyway, that recap actually fits my log pretty well. I kept a very accurate log the whole drive up...and then promptly switched to my mental log, which holds general thoughts and hazy memories more than bullet point details. One hazy memory logged was the car fire that closed down the freeway we were on as we attempted to make it to Disneyland in the 50 minutes it should've taken. That created a lot of haze. And it was California - for all we know, we just saw a movie being shot. At any rate, that stupid hazy memory cost us 3 more hours on the road, trying to make it to the park before it closed! 4 hours later, we were at the park for a nice afternoon of fast passes and It's A Small World After All.
Oh, and we got a picture with Minnie Mouse, which was all I really wanted, so it was a great trip.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
What? You'd like to hear all about my trip to California?
I must say, this trip of 1sts did not disappoint. Luckily, within the first 2 hours of our drive, we could already tell this would be a grand adventure, so we made sure to keep a log. (The physical log didn't last long after we made it to California, but a mental one was maintained through the whole trip.) See figure 1.
Oh, you'd like to know what we made sure to include in our physical and figurative logs, respectively? Well sure, I can definitely tell you all about it! Let's see, how to start? I suppose the best way to begin would be from the beginning, and then slowly work through the middle, until we reach the end...
DAY 1:
We plan our departure for 3pm and find ourselves driving out of Salt Lake City at 4pm (pretty good, I thought). We stop for dinner at a Subway about an hour later, only to find a giant Moose statue, on the corner of the adjacent gas station, howling at the moon - I assumed it was recently bit by a werewolf and starting to show wolfish tendencies; it was a full moon that night after all. Turns out, not only humans can be bit by those pesky devils. We promptly took a picture of our new friend, the Weremoose.
We pull off the highway again another hour later, after reaching the world's largest rocking chair (not actually as large as I expected, interestingly). We seek the aid of a young station attendant who was happy to oblige and get out of pumping gas. He's apparently a professional giant rocking chair picture taker, which makes me feel so much like a tourist in my own state that I want to turn on my british accent so I can act like I really am a tourist. But I don't. We get back in the car, armed with photo proof of our sightseeing.
We drive for a long time. And then we drive some more.
We see cars and trucks with license plates from 27 different states and 4 Canadian provinces. I seem to get checked out by numerous drivers (Liz can second this) and a dirty look by an old man with one tooth.
Berkley opens bag to eat beef jerky. I smell something foul as I pick a new song to listen to. I put down IPod to find out what reaks, and hear Berkley giggle embarrassedly as Kristen and Liz wonder the same question aloud. The smell of beans quickly overtakes the car and windows are opened. Berkley apologizes and quickly puts the bag away. Odor settles in the car for another 5 minutes until we ban it with fresh air and vicious rhetoric (oh wait, that's Tad Hamilton, sorry. Getting my memories confused. Just open windows. And maybe some choice words).
Time change confuses me. I'm unprepared to live 8pm over again, and check my log numerous times to make sure I didn't mess my hours up. Someone reassures me that I'm not losing my mind - just my ability to cope with change. I feel better and worse at the same time.
We make it to Las Vegas - another 1st for me. I'd never seen the glittering lights before. We drive through, my head flipping left and right to catch all the hotels and casinos. I don't. There are too many of them. I silently wonder if Las Vegas's electric bills could single-handedly cover the national debt if we applied it.
3 hours later, we arrive at Kristen's house in California (another 1st!), tired and momentarily pained as we stretch our legs. We are received into the house by her giant horse-dog, who's already tipped over a plant in his excitement. I take my place on the horse and let him give me a tour. When I dismount, I fall into bed and fall into sleep.
Coming Up Next: Day 2...(in case you want to pick and choose just what day you want to read about, if a certain subject is more enticing. I'm trying to be thoughtful).
Figure 1.
DAY 1:
We plan our departure for 3pm and find ourselves driving out of Salt Lake City at 4pm (pretty good, I thought). We stop for dinner at a Subway about an hour later, only to find a giant Moose statue, on the corner of the adjacent gas station, howling at the moon - I assumed it was recently bit by a werewolf and starting to show wolfish tendencies; it was a full moon that night after all. Turns out, not only humans can be bit by those pesky devils. We promptly took a picture of our new friend, the Weremoose.
We pull off the highway again another hour later, after reaching the world's largest rocking chair (not actually as large as I expected, interestingly). We seek the aid of a young station attendant who was happy to oblige and get out of pumping gas. He's apparently a professional giant rocking chair picture taker, which makes me feel so much like a tourist in my own state that I want to turn on my british accent so I can act like I really am a tourist. But I don't. We get back in the car, armed with photo proof of our sightseeing.
We drive for a long time. And then we drive some more.
We see cars and trucks with license plates from 27 different states and 4 Canadian provinces. I seem to get checked out by numerous drivers (Liz can second this) and a dirty look by an old man with one tooth.
Berkley opens bag to eat beef jerky. I smell something foul as I pick a new song to listen to. I put down IPod to find out what reaks, and hear Berkley giggle embarrassedly as Kristen and Liz wonder the same question aloud. The smell of beans quickly overtakes the car and windows are opened. Berkley apologizes and quickly puts the bag away. Odor settles in the car for another 5 minutes until we ban it with fresh air and vicious rhetoric (oh wait, that's Tad Hamilton, sorry. Getting my memories confused. Just open windows. And maybe some choice words).
Time change confuses me. I'm unprepared to live 8pm over again, and check my log numerous times to make sure I didn't mess my hours up. Someone reassures me that I'm not losing my mind - just my ability to cope with change. I feel better and worse at the same time.
We make it to Las Vegas - another 1st for me. I'd never seen the glittering lights before. We drive through, my head flipping left and right to catch all the hotels and casinos. I don't. There are too many of them. I silently wonder if Las Vegas's electric bills could single-handedly cover the national debt if we applied it.
3 hours later, we arrive at Kristen's house in California (another 1st!), tired and momentarily pained as we stretch our legs. We are received into the house by her giant horse-dog, who's already tipped over a plant in his excitement. I take my place on the horse and let him give me a tour. When I dismount, I fall into bed and fall into sleep.
Coming Up Next: Day 2...(in case you want to pick and choose just what day you want to read about, if a certain subject is more enticing. I'm trying to be thoughtful).
The Laws of Physics are Beyond Me....
How do you go to sunny California, lay on the beach reading all Saturday, forget to put on sunscreen, and come back with only a slight sunburn on your shoulders and nowhere else to show for it?
By being Kate Barlow, that's how.
It's against all I grew up being taught. If you don't put sunscreen on, you fry. Apparently, this fact is only true for most - normal - people. I'm an exception to the rules of science and pragmatism, it would seem.
I have a slightly annoying sunburn on my back and upper chest (and maybe on my left ear, from the drive home...), and that's all I have to show that I was in California for 4 days. Awesome. I came home from the beach with a tinge of red on my nose, making me look like I recently caught a cold, but even that bit of sun seemed to have gone away by the next afternoon.
Seriously, can I please get some color this summer?
In other news, my trip of 1sts was a blast! I'll be back with more about it later. Right now, I must go to bed, for I am exhausted. It's amazing how doing nothing for 4 days, and then sitting in a car, doing nothing, for 10 hours, can wipe you out so much...
By being Kate Barlow, that's how.
It's against all I grew up being taught. If you don't put sunscreen on, you fry. Apparently, this fact is only true for most - normal - people. I'm an exception to the rules of science and pragmatism, it would seem.
I have a slightly annoying sunburn on my back and upper chest (and maybe on my left ear, from the drive home...), and that's all I have to show that I was in California for 4 days. Awesome. I came home from the beach with a tinge of red on my nose, making me look like I recently caught a cold, but even that bit of sun seemed to have gone away by the next afternoon.
Seriously, can I please get some color this summer?
In other news, my trip of 1sts was a blast! I'll be back with more about it later. Right now, I must go to bed, for I am exhausted. It's amazing how doing nothing for 4 days, and then sitting in a car, doing nothing, for 10 hours, can wipe you out so much...
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