What do I want to talk about? Carrie's party was fun tonight. I wish I had taken some pictures so that I could frustrate myself by trying to figure out how to get a freaking photo posted on this blog! Vivid description will have to suffice:
The fire was hot, and had orange-ish flames. There was a narrow walkway made
of retaining wall stone that went through the yard. It was hard to navigate
sometimes. The woodwork was simple, clean, overall attractive. They had a
kick-ass dining room table.
Anyway, there was a lot of good food there. Someone brought their child, a little girl, and she was speaking fluent Spanish and I thought it was just so adorable. When her mother or father weren't around (the little girl kinda just flew in and out of the house, so these times were common), I would try to communicate in her native tounge. "Hola!", "Como say llama?", "Bailas!". She ran away. Later on during the night, she was back in the kitchen, this time accompanied by an adult, and speaking in fluent English. So Impressed. SO IMPRESSED! There wer some cute men there, so that was good. Also, Carrie gave me a plant! She thinks it's iris, but she dug it up from her yard and put it in a pot and gave it to me! So Nice. So NICE! I wish more people gave me plants. I think I should give plants to people. And it's even more fun when you don't know what's in the pot. It'll be a surprise, like mine will, like my plant from Carrie.
It's been a long, crazy year, and now it's come down to the last three weeks. I feel joy and I feel pain. Some professors inspired, some professors sucked (one in particular: TouchDown); some essays soared, others died before they were even conceived; most days were "good" as in "sane", a few followed the gook down the drain. An expectation died (and hit hard), a blog was born.
It's wierd when people you think you know reveal to you what you don't know, and you never would have guessed it, or you might have and hoped you'd never see it. Or worse yet, when you want so badly to like someone, and have it be reciprocated, but then they do something that makes you realize you don't want to be friends with any person who could act like that or say those things. And why? And how could you ever understand her? You thought you could be the one, but it just couldn't happen. What will I do the next time I see her, after the way I see her has changed so drastically?
Oh, God, I almost forgot: Roo-mi (pronounced "roomy")! My Korean roommate! The following photo montage is a small example of the food I live with:
Shrooms? Well Room-mi, I had no idea.
These are bags full of old, crusty rice that she scrapes out of her giant rice maker. She saves them. And leaves them on the counter. Eugh.
Ha! This one is my favorite. Notice the Betty Crocker cake mix on the top shelf. Her one, American indulgence.
I live with this shit - on the counters or the stovetop, just sitting for days, out in the open sometimes, stinking up the entire place, so much so that my clothes have the permanent weird-food stench. It's like living in a barn, when I get into the city, among the cityfolk with their startched up Sunday bests, I can smell the manure-y cloud of stank emanating from my clothes. By I can't smell it in the farm, in the middle of all the farm-scented air. Point: my clothes stink. Lydia said she smelled it in my car, "big-time". I smell it as soon as I unzip my duffle bag back home. But it all blends in here in #733. I cannot wait to be rid of her and in my own place next year.
If you'll indulge me in a brief brainstorm about the things I will not miss about Room-mi:
the smell
the food (on the counters, overflowing the freezer, and even on the porch)
the phone conversations at 2AM, shouting Korean and laughing that annoying half-laugh
the pink rubber gloves that are stored ON THE SINK, like you can't put them UNDER
THE SINK
the freaking dishes - put them away!
the shuffle-walk
the never getting your own mail deal. you're welcome. again.
oh yeah, the not being able to speak English deal, too. that's annoying.
Ha! Hearty chuckle! Room-mi just came out into the kitchen and was surprised to see me. "Oh, hi" she says. Then I flash her a goofy smile with my eyes half shut that probably lasts a little too long. She gets into the kitchen and says, in that so odd whisper in english that isn't quite soft enough to not be heard, and is just english enough to be understoond, "HeHe...she's drunk..he". Ooooo Room-mi! Yes, yes, I am drunk. And burning insense. And flicking a lighter. Oooo she bugs me. And I'm a reasonable person - it takes a lot.
In summary, I hope this long, winding, rambling road has been a fun one at least, and that through it all, you see the true path, straight as an arrow, quick as a clear thought, that was there all along.
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