July 25, 2001
Home, home on the range (rover)
The prodigal daughter returns. Did you miss me?
Captive Audience: (something that sounds remarkably like "hell, no" muffled between coughs)
I have pillaged New England and returned unscathed. I cannot say the same, however, for that coastal region.
I like flying. Once I recovered from the elevator feeling it was rather nice. My flight up, I mean. I was cursing the Pittsburgh airport yesterday when my flight was delayed until the time when I was supposed to arrive at home. And then I got to sit next to the propeller. The window there was basically pointless, unless one is fond of staring at metal casing. It didn't really do it for me.
Flight Attendents baffle me. The women really did have three inch hot pink nails and blue eyeshadow, and they really do display the safety booklet like they're straight off The Price is Right. I thought that was a joke, but apparently I was wrong.
And whoever bet me, you lose. I didn't bother to write entries while I was away. Not even about Ryan. But I did miss him. A little.
Grandma and Barry took me to see the mansions, er, "summer cottages" in Rhode Island. Crazy opulent shit. At the turn of the century the Vanderbilts and the J.P. Morgans and all the rest of those heavy pursed capitalist bastards built summer homes in Newport, Rhode Island. These things are crazy huge, with eighty rooms and a forty person staff and everything gilded and made out to look like French palaces. It was nuts, but it was cool.
I am overjoyed to be home, though. It was neat while I was away 'cause I could tell (to some degree) how I was going to feel at college. For one, I enjoyed calling my mother and talking to her. I really did. There wasn't anything to fight about, I could just tell her about my day and joke with her. It was sublime. And I made her cry when I told her that.
What can I say? Before I started fighting with Mom and Dad all the time we were really close. We still are, it's just kind of hard when she wants to ask prying questions about my relationship with Ryan. And it's not like she really wants to know the answer, anyway. She'd faint.
I also cannot believe I have friends. People actually signed my guestbook and put me on their favorites list. I am stunned beyond belief. For those of you who are reading, imagine I just planted a big wet kiss of gratitude on you. And if that kind of grosses you out (which is totally understandable), imagine it was Heath Ledger. Ooo, Heath.
Oh, and if you're a guy, pick some random female icon. But she has to have real boobs. I don't endorse that shit here.
Down with Britney!
astera at hoorah