The experiences and exploits of a college grad trying to make it in the "real world:" leaving school and friends in New England, moving south, and living with her boyfriend. Watch as I pretend to be an adult.
I can't seem to muster up the mental fortitude to write a long, coherent post. So instead of trying to tie all of the events of my weekend together, I'm going to present you with some vignettes.
----------- Friday afternoon I come home early. As a "Thank you" for helping her study the night before, my little sister has offered to buy the necessary ingredients for a steak dinner if I will cook. I am relatively sure this has less to go with her wanting to show her appreciation and more with her wanting a steak dinner, but since I also want steak I don't put up too much of a fight. After we get home Caroline heads upstairs and I put the steaks in a marinade. A few minutes later her "non-boyfriend" shows up and they disapear into her room. I sit on the couch reading, wondering if I will ever get used to the idea of my little sister hooking up. I suspect not. ---------- Saturday I head out to meet a couple friends for the incomparable sport of Mini-Golf. After a bit of "will it-won't it-will it rain" we brave a room full of screaming children to get our clubs and balls (how phallic) and walk out onto the astroturff. I am wearing completely inappropriate shoes (brown strappy sandels with a 1 1/2 inch kitten heel, if you must know) and am forced to take Peg Bundy-like steps. I quickly discover that my min-golf skills are nonexistant, and decide not to care. In that spirit I procede to golf with one hand, jauntily swigging from my gatorade bottle with the other. Surprisingly my score improves. I think how much cooler I would look if that bottle of gatorade was replaced by a long neck, cheap, one-syllable domestic beer. My transformation into white trash would then be complete. ---------- I return home 5 hours later after dinner and some browsing at McKay's Used Books. My dogs felt it necessary to show their joy at my safe arrival by barking madly and then running in between my legs in what I can only assume was an attempt to bring me down to their level so they could slobber over the rest of me. After fighting them off (not too difficult, as neither of them tops 8 inches) I became aware of a peircing, regular beeping. Upon entering the kitchen I realize this is coming from our freezer. Two steps further brings me into view of the floor around the freezer- or rather, I should say, the soupy mix of melted ice cream, ice and other wonderful now liquid contents of the freezer covering the floor. I experience a flashback of Hollywood caliber, recalling my sister and her friend getting ice out of the freezer for their cooler-o-booze as I was walking out the door that morning. Resisting the urge to turn green and start smashing things (Hulk mad!) I grab some towels to mop up the mess.
After 22 posted at 1:43 PM
