Thursday, August 28, 2008

59 days, five hours and a decent amount of minutes

Last time I saw my guy, it was about exactly two months ago.

I firmly believe in the awesomeness of our long distance relationship, but I want it noted, somewhere by someone in our universe, that not seeing your significant partner person thing for a little over SIXTY DAYS? SUCKS.

Tomorrow, we are going to the Greek festival in Columbus, with a brief stop at Target so I can pick up a few things I still need for the dorms. (I like eating my cereal out of bowls and my sandwiches off of plates. Call me crazy. Could I get bowls at Wal-Mart or Kroger? Yes. But the ones at Target are a nice turquoise-aqua-y color that I really, really, REALLY like.)

Jon is going to meet us at the festival and then I am going to spend the weekend a little further north, hanging out with him.


I mean, erm.... Hey, I've not seen my boyfriend in almost an entire quarter's worth of time. Indulge my slight madness. Please?

Wednesday, August 27, 2008

This little piggie went to market...

I have two younger brothers - one is fifteen and the other is nine. The younger of the two recently decided he wanted a guinea pig. When he sets his mind on something he wants, he focuses on it in a way that makes me hope that he doesn't become a lawyer one day - because I don't want to be on the wrong end of his focus.

An example of this happened about a month ago. Our fair city was holding a beer fest week, culminating in a festival on the main street that cuts through uptown; we don't call it 'downtown,' no, we call it 'uptown.' It's one of the ways we identify out-of-towners. That and the fact that they actually obey the crosswalks with the little flashing men and hands.

Anyway, Iz had made some jewelry to sell at Boogie on the Bricks. There was beer, which you didn't get in trouble for having as long as you stayed on the bricks, live music, food and vendors selling jewelry, soap and all the other things you find at events like that. He was hoping to make enough to buy a bicycle, as well as a long list of other things. I sat uptown with my parents and Iz and watched as my little brother proved that he would have made an amazing girl scout, had he been a girl: he caught peoples' attention, told them how he was hoping to make enough a buy a bike, and the bemused man, woman or couple would often walk away with a set of earrings or a little clay creature he'd made.

By the end of the day, he'd made enough to buy the bicycle he wanted.

So my family knew that it was a matter of time before we ended up at petland, picking out a guinea pig and all the things that go with the little things. The only problem is he wanted one sooner rather than later and the holidays are still months away.

Enter Facebook and its marketplace.

Facebook's marketplace, for the uninitiated, is a little like what I've heard craigslist is like. You create a listing, putting it under a label of choice, from 'free' to 'wanted' to 'for sale,' and wait for someone to contact you. I love the Facebook marketplace and often peruse it, hoping to see a cheap futon or something else. It's like going to a million micro yard sales, only you don't have to deal with the grumpy or indifferent people perched in their beach chairs, waiting for you to find something your willing to buy mixed in with all the pairless earrings and shoes that seem to turn up at yard sales.

One day last week, I logged into Facebook and the mini-feed that is your front page when you log in (I really hope all this explanation is unnecessary), the wonderful mini-feed, informed me that one of my friends had just listed his two pet guinea pigs. For free. Complete with a habitat and food and pretty much everything you need when you decide to become a guinea pig papa or mama.

I messaged him and to make an already long story short, my brother is gonna have his guinea pigs. The look on his face when I told him this was so worth it - I had told him he was going to get something he had wanted, had been reading up on and learning about and attempting to convince our parents would be a good idea, without having to lift a finger.

At least, not until they're here.

Tuesday, August 5, 2008

Thunder, leaks, crappy sleep, oh my!

Last night, a thunderstorm blew through town. A loud, moving the trees outside my window, gushing water thunderstorm.

Normally, I sleep through storms. The only thing that can wake me up is my phone buzzing, but that's because my phone is no more than two feet away from my face when it buzzes. Storms are not even in my room, so I don't even budge. In mid-May, a major storm blew through and my classmates discussed how they were forced to sit in the hallways of their dorms until a tornado warning expired. Lightning struck several trees and there was a brief touchdown at a lake a few miles out of town. I slept through the night.

Jon and I went camping, at this fighting event thing that he attends nearly every year. It was during the last week of June, and I'm afraid it's ruined my ability to sleep through storms.

June was an extremely wet month for Ohio. We were in a tent. Tents are not, apparently, completely and totally water PROOF. The rain turned a loaf of banana bread into mold, and messed up several novels I had brought with us. It also strained my already severely cracked patience; the camping trip will not be filed in the 'successful vacations' anytime in the future. I woke up on several occasions because I rolled over and found my foot suddenly cold and damp, the sheet on our inflatable mattress damp anywhere it touched the floor of the tent. I remember moving books that were at least slightly damp, and avoiding a part of my pillow because a few of the seams of the tent were also leaking.

So, last night, during the house rattling thunder, I woke up and thought 'I have to save the books!' I didn't think 'oh, a storm,' nor did I think 'ehhh...' as I normally do, instantly falling back to sleep. No, I had a panicked stricken thought, one that grates on me because it makes no logical sense, and, yet, that is what I woke up and thought. In reality, my books are fine and I don't have to avoid any part of my bedding to get a good nights sleep. But I'm rattled, and that feeling aggravates me.