Why do Canadians (and others, too for that matter) always refer to my country as "the States"?

My eyes have decided that goobering up is a great idea for Wednesday, May 24th...apparently they are feelin' the need to annoy.

I went to a coney island for lunch...got a greek salad. While I was standing at the counter waiting for my order, a woman came up to the cash register right near me. The women was quite pleasant looking...like a teacher. She had bright honest eyes, a toothy smile, and was wearing a cute dress. She handed her tab to the girl behind the register and said, "Honey...I think you forgot to put my pie on the bill."

She whispered it. I could barely hear her. Granted, she had a bit of extra weight on her...but nothing that would consitute a whisper of the word PIE, for crying out loud. She said it as if she was ashamed that she ordered, consumed, and was about to pay for a piece of cherry pie. It saddened me to think that this woman was embarassed.

I can't say, though, that if I was in her situation I would have reacted differently. I surely wouldn't scream out, "Guess what guys...the fat girl just ate some pie. Why don't you oink at her as she walks past you on the way out," like Zuba would. I started thinking about why I would be embarassed and why I would feel the need to whisper. I couldn't come up with an answer and that, in and of itself, bothered me more.

Am I overweight? Certainly.
Am I ashamed of who I am? Not in the slightest.
Should I be embarassed about ordering a piece of freakin' pie? NO!

My outfit feels sloppy. I'm walking sloppy. I'm dripping and bumping and stumbling and messing. My hair is mega messy.

Look out Madison...HERE I COME!

24 hours from now I will be on the train, halfway to Chicago. 36 hours from now I will be IN Madison...partying like a rock star...well, maybe not quite like that...but having some hardcore fun, damn it!

I packed last night. I'm so weird when it comes to packing. I gotta try and pack clothes that will a) be comfortable b) pack well (no rayon items...wrinkle factor) c) be able to be worn in cooler and warmer weather d) look cool.

That, my friends, is quite a standard that each piece of clothing must meet before going into the bag. Oh, and did I mention I have to try and make outfits out of this mess? It's not easy being neurotic.

Then, of course, there is the small matter of hair products. I am a product addict. I admit it openly. If there was a Hair Products Anon (HPA) I would be the first member. My family and friends would surely have an intervention to be sure I realized that I have a problem. They'd send me to the meetings with wet hair, no money, and with no salon stops on the way.

HOW am I supposed to choose which products I'm going to need while I'm there? I can't possibly know how humid it's going to be or how my hair's going to behave after being washed in different water. I just have to bring it all, I guess...shampoo, conditioner, spray gel, hairspray, pommade, and anti frizz stuff.

I'm really not high maintenance...really.

So that means that I will be away until Tuesday...no blogging. True, C & D have a computer...but I don't think I'll have much to blog about or care to while I am there. I think I am still too new to warrant a guest host.

"Hi Chandler, this is John from Austin, Texas. Please cease and dissist on ticket number [ticket]."

The drops sailing down from the clouds hit my skin in two phases. The first is the initial impact. My flesh is tricked into thinking the rain is making an indent of some sort. Next I feel the distinct spread of the water. My skin soaks it up, thirsty. The entire process is over in milliseconds, but I can feel each stage individually unfold.

The drops are warm...comfortable...lovely. It isn't the type of rain that makes you blink blink blink to keep it from getting in your eye and smudging your makeup...it's more the type of rain that's a fuzzy sort of pleasurable damp. It's not cold or harsh or stinging to the skin. There's a hypnotic rhythm to the splashes.

I am drawn in.

Apparently it's a major tragedy around here when there's construction on I75 heading towards snooty Rochester.

Apparently the restaurant people told my mom that last night's meal was, in fact, vegetarian. Liars. They best prepare to hear me bitch.

Apparently losing Tupperware is cause for a co-worker's wife to kill him. A Tupperware lady killing her husband over lost items sure seems extreme to me.

Apparently I don't have the patience to be here today. I am counting the minutes until I get to leave.

Apparently I am most attractive to men that are married or otherwise taken. What gives?

Mom also emailed me today about work related stuff.

My mom did the coolest thing, too. Before I got to the restaurant she ordered for me. She looked on the menu, decided what I would like, and ordered it so it would be there when I arrived. Pretty dern cool of her. She even got it right...spinach and basil gnocci with red peppers. It was deeeelish. I think there was some sort of unknown animal product in it though cause I have a stomach ache now. Feh.

Anyhow, the point of all this...?

On the way home I drove down Mound Road...the road that I had to drive on every day while growing up. We lived in a little sub off of Mound my entire life. The first house was on Bob Jean (insert banjo music here) and then we moved two streets over several years later cause mom liked the neighborhood so much. Anyhow I drove down Mound and this is what I saw...

Hey...that used to be a business...a flower shop I think...hmph...guess it's not anything but an abandoned building now. Oh and look...there's the street where my sister's friend's parents live. Is Four Bears Water Park closing down or are they just remodeling? I remember in junior high everyone used to say it was all a big mafia front and that Jimmy Hoffa was buried underneath the water slide. Then in highschool everyone just thought it was a big mafia front; nix the Hoffa corpse. Now I realize it really *is* a mafia front but no one ever says it.

Look...that's the street we used to FLY down in the middle of the night cause the hills were just so fun to drive over really really fast in the dark. Whoa...that plaza never used to be there. And I remember when I used to take dance lessons over there on the right. Last I heard my friend Eracka used to live in the apartments right behind there...wonder what ever happened to her. Ooh the touchless carwash that I used to never be able to afford or care about but my sister and mom insisted on going to so it wouldn't scratch their paint.

Now here's the sad part...that was my very first back yard right there...and the field that I used to think had snakes in it...and we'd chase the fireflies and catch them in leftover Mason jars that my mom always used for canning tomatoes and jam and fresh grape juice made from the grapes that grew on the back fence. My dad got us a two story play house and we used to keep it under that tree right....well I guess they had to tear the tree down so that someone could park there. The field isn't there any more either. It's a doctor's office now, and I think an industrial tool supply shop or something.

There's a subdivision in the field across the road from the sub I lived in...the field that had a patch of trees next to a creek where all the big kids used to go to and smoke cigarettes and say dirty words. I went back there once when they weren't there so I could see where they hung out and committed all of these sins. They caught me and almost beat the snot out of me but thank god I heard them coming in time to get a head start.

The ditch is still there that I fell into while riding my bike. Of course...one of the *bad* memories still has a reminder. Damn, that thing felt about ten feet deep when I was a kid. I was always so scared to ride next to it because I thought some sort of swamp thing was going to jump out and grab my ankle and pull me in. I found out the hard way that there's no swamp thing in the ditch...only lots of mucky water and leaves. I had to go home after I fell in; you just can't look cool with ditch slime sticking to your leg.

There's the party store that we used to walk to during the summer. We'd take back a few bottles and with the money we got (Michigan has a ten cent bottle return) we'd buy some candy or, if we were lucky, an ice cream bar. Our treats would be gone by the time we got home so mom didn't get mad that we'd eaten junk food.

And I decided to dip into the Madison Fund and take out 10 bucks so I have enough money for gas to get to and from me mommy's house. Huzzah yet again.

On a different note, I noticed on my stats that I got 4 referring hits from the Feminist Media Watch. Uhm...why? how? where? who? I read it every day and there's not a'one thing about this here page. Weird.

She thinks I'm staying home so I can blog. *buzz* wrong again.

If I hear that Tori CD one more time I think I just might go postal. Ugh. Time to switch it.

No bad dreams last night that I remember...HUZZAH!