Belief

I wasn't going to write tonight but after four cups of coffee (varying in size) and maybe a few sips of a diet cherry coke, fine, an entire diet cherry coke, I'm too wired not to.

What happens in life when something you believed in falls so far short? I'm not talking about the system, politics or government here, but what happens when people fail you? That's like, life failure. It's the greatest let down of all. Maybe I'm used to it but being used to it doesn't in any way, shape or form mean I'll continue to settle for it.

Belief, according to Merriam-Webster is defined as a state or habit of mind in which trust or confidence is placed in some person or thing.

So what happens when that confidence or trust is broken? What next? Well, that's exactly what i asked, what next? Let's face it, people and things we believe in fail us all the time, ask all those Catholics in Delaware whose Diocese had to file for bankruptcy due to all the out-of-court lawsuit settlements. Ask them, what happens next? Do they give up their religion? I don't know but what i do know is that peoples' individual beliefs will define how they respond to those sorts of situations. Adversity will test your character, beliefs and ultimately some how shape your future-directly or indirectly.

That's what my beliefs do, anyway. They chart the course. Have they changed in time? Certainly. But in my short time on this earth, I've learned that belief isn't something you can be taught, it's something inertly based within you, you're in charge thus you learn by experience and adjust as necessary. Sure, people can TELL you what to believe or what to believe in (read:religion, presidents, people in general) but at the end of the day, what you decide is entirely up to you. It's what makes us unique, it's what gives us and builds character. Choice. No matter what it's for or what it stands for.

I posted two quotes on my twitter account today and I'll re-post them here because they are ultimately relevant:

“The secret of a good life is to have the right loyalties and hold them in the right scale of values.” - Norman Thomas

"Let us not be content to wait and see what will happen, but give us the determination to make the right things happen." - Horace Mann

Keeping everything in perspective while holding your beliefs and values in line, at the end of the day defines and drives us towards success.

Food for thought.

Road Trippin’ – Part Three

So this brings the installment to a close. I should be studying for an exam right now but i'm wired and frightful i might forget all the crazy stuff that went on Saturday night before recounting Sunday for you. Enjoy. It truly was a magical weekend. I can't begin to thank everyone involved enough.


Saturday Evening - Don't be tardy for the party...
Saturday has been an eventful day. We’ve had drinks, watched softball, seen bits of the town and visited a local mainstay. Now, it’s time for the real deal. It’s our last night in town and we’ve been invited to a party. Technically, Bberry and Sprinter were invited to a party but informed the hosts that four visitors would be tagging along and thus we’re heading off to their friends’ house.

After the puppies were returned safely to their porch, Sprinter and Louise have earned nice hot showers and extremely cold beers. Bberry does her best two step in the kitchen while Wrangler finishes dressing and I desperately search for my brown argyle socks. My outfit calls for significant amounts of brown, including shoes and wearing black socks with it just doesn’t seem right to me. Turns out, I never packed them, and after serious Bberry convincing, I just put the black ones on anyway. She's good like that-at diffusing unnecessary crises.

After pulling teeth, getting six women dressed in under two hours is somewhat miraculous. I myself am super low maintenance but I distinctly recall, the entire party piling into the car as Louise continued blow drying her hair while searching for her shoes. We’re off in black beauty with BB’s owner in the trunk with the booze, three in the back seat, myself riding shotgun and Sprinter, driving.

Now, I’ll go on record and state that if you have a gps in Blacksburg, going to an address may pose a problem for you. The GPS doesn’t necessarily pick up juts in the road and new developments which haven’t been added yet. Looking for this house was presenting a challenge. Perhaps because I was too busy singing with Jamie Foxx about blaming things on the ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-alcohol but also admiring the disparity in homes ranging from trailer park to million dollar mansions, all in the blink of an eye.

We’ve missed it. We have to turn around. And to make a long story short, the house is located at the top of a tiny alleyway off the main road, easily becoming one of the nicest hidden homes I’ve ever had the privilege of driving up to. The cars parked in the vicinity are enough to make you trade your four years of collegiate athletics and make a prompt swift and change for something different, something, warmer. I jest, everyone loves their jobs, its just fun to play a clean game of what if? If the exterior was anything to go by, things are about to get a lot worse in a good way when we walk in. The finished basement is adorned with multiple big screen tvs, a professional pool table (including professional sticks as highlighted by Louise) and a very nice bar stocked with top shelf booze.

We enter. Say our hellos and meet the nice people, some of reside in this lovely abode. Spade and Louise had the good sense to purchase an extra copy of the ESPN Body Magazine for the party hosts. This was immediately presented upon entering. I think we may or may not have monopolized the issue before leaving it to them to enjoy once we’d left. As always, it's a brilliant conversation starter, like, "hey did you see this naked woman with one leg?" or "Page 62 is amazing, well you just have to see it, no seriously, just LOOK at this" and so on and so forth.

These people are spirited southerners, again, we get to appreciate some fine accents, though these are clearly decipherable and formally educated. I’m not sure how but in an instant, I’m taking a shot of crown royal with another party goer. My life circle shrinks a little tighter, when I learn I have two people in my immediate life who have been affiliated with nearly half the room!! SMALL world, right? Needless to say the discussions give me a few bargaining chips for the future.

Shots give way to the longest game of pool in the world. No joke, I walked away from this game MULTIPLE times, assuming it had ended only to return and find it still operating! I finally sink the eight ball and win the game with one of our hosts, though all of us agree it was the absolute WORST game we'd ever played in our lives, like ever. Our host has a keen ear for music as she puts on the new Jay-Z album, apologizing for the fact that it isn’t the edited version. Little does she know, my mouth occasionally rivals that of a sailor and it takes a lot to offend me. I proceed to rap a spot of Jay-Z to keep some of the folks entertained. Bberry makes me take my sweater off even though I don’t want to. We do a second shot of crown royal. The room is getting even hotter. There’s a decision to play guitar hero. I lose playing right handed because the controls are reversed and I’m drunk. The loss is only worsened by the fact that my opponent is almost old enough to have birthed me. I should also note that said woman has been pouring me cranberry-vodkas with a seriously heavy hand all night long. So, she is partially to blame for my downfall.

We've been watching the football game which now ends, our team loses, and they should have won. So now anyone who supports college football on the trip is in the same boat because their team has lost. The gloating can officially end for Bberry who politely rubbed my Scarlet Knights’ loss to Pitt on Friday in my face (:)). It’s time to go home. We load the cooler back into the vehicle, pile in and ride home. More beverages are consumed, I think. I fall asleep in a recliner before Louise wakes me up to pull out the couch. I look up grunt and fall back asleep and wake up in the middle of the living room the following morning.

Sunday Bloody Sunday…
Bberry is awake getting Gatorade, a smart choice, however every footstep she takes reverberates within my head. To say I’m hungover is a severe understatement. Generally when I go on a 24 hour bender as I had the day before, I sleep in till noon and order Chinese takeout unless i'm able to get to Wally Waffle before noon then that too is a viable option for curing me. Since we’re on vacation and since it’s our last day in town, neither of these are an option. We are given 15 minutes to get ready for the day ahead. I feel like I’m living in a surreal reality tv program. And at this point I’m not sure that I’m speaking English and my head is pounding out of its skull.

Spade walks downstairs in unusually high spirits. She stopped drinking at a decent hour apparently. Me? Not soo much. Most of us are living and we shortly learn that Wrangler will be heading home directly from breakfast. We head to Famous Anthony’s for our final group meal. Tear.

Louise, digging through Sprinter’s music collection finds the U2 Singles album. I don’t know if you know this about me, but I love U2 so it’s only fitting I get to play with the setlist as we navigate towards our destination, with zero hiccups. We sit down to eat breakfast just after 8:15 am which is impressive by all standards, considering my condition upon waking up. I’m contemplating what I should eat because after talking a big-BIG game about my ability to shrug off hangovers, I’m immediately put to the test. This won’t be easy. The menu is overwhelming me so I decide to wing my order and select three things I know will HAVE to be on some sort of combination meal: toast, bacon and eggs, thankfully they come with homefries.

I’m not sure if I’m having a language barrier but I order a water with my meal as well as a coke. Turns out they don’t have coke so I have to settle for pepsi. The waitress for some reason wants to give me a sweet tea, I correct her and say I’d like a water, she CONTINUES to write down sweet tea before Bberry has to tell her I just want a simple water, in plain American English.

I think everyone except Sprinter goes with omelettes, who opts for sausage gravy and biscuits. The meal takes me back to my all too distant past where I recall consuming amazing gravy and biscuits on fairer occasions. When the waitress returns with our drink orders, she has most certainly brought me a sweet tea, despite repeated memos that I didn’t want that beverage, she missed the boat. Since Wrangler didn’t want a water but received one anyway, I get hers and the unwanted-unordered sweet tea is returned to the kitchen.

As we sit around chatting, briefly recapping the night the post-early church going crowd starts rolling in. Louise and I who have been on a steady-southern-accent search since arriving, both widen our eyes as we see a group seated behind us. I think we’re eating at this juncture when an elderly man, named Leonard (pronounced Liiinard) pays their table a visit. Something is wrong with Liiiinard’s hand. Cue elderly woman: “Oh Linnnard, what hipppend to your hiiind?? (read: Oh Leonard, what happened to your hand?). I about die while Louise ponders whether or not the group will record a blackberry voice message in their southern accent for her phone. We decide it probably isn’t the best idea and that while we all find these accents highly amusing, the people have had them their entire lives and probably wouldn’t like being made fun of for it.

Bberry is off to work again and we’re deciding what we can do post breakfast. Sprinter needs gas, as does Wrangler who we say goodbye to upon paying our checks only to say hello then goodbye at the gas station moments later. She’s lucky to have a two hour drive ahead of her, in comparison to our six hours later in the day. Wrangler was fun, and as you have hopefully gathered by now, she drives a fun Jeep Wrangler, token lesbian-mobile (nothing but love behind that statement, besides, you know it's true. Quickly, count how many of your gay friends drive jeep wranglers. Exactly what i thought.)

Sprinter is my favorite plan coordinator. She is amazing at this job and upon getting gas, decides we can not only tour the campus, head home for a quick cat nap, pack up and get coffee but also visit the bookstore and go watch some more softball before heading home. She's good at her job :). At this point in the morning, my brain was still wrapping itself around the fact that I had kept breakfast down but Sprinter was 10 chess moves ahead, as she was all weekend long, hats off to Sprinter. I am content in the front seat, commanding the U2 album.

We take care of the tour, getting an in-depth look at all of the facilities and buildings, in addition to Sprinter’s office, a converted dorm which brings her back to freshman year on a daily basis. The highlight of the tour occurs when we stop and check out the memorial for the 32 members of the Tech community who lost their lives in 2007. PS: I bought a book on the VT tragedy and have been seriously moved by what I learned about that day, the individuals involved and how the community rallied around one another and still do to this day. It was truly incredible. We get to see the memorial for those lost, appreciate the enormous drill field and take in a bit more of the campus on our way back home.

After a quick pit stop at the house which involves watching an episode of Glee, we load up the car and Sprinter proceeds to pack us care packages including cookies and beer before tragedy strikes, our gift coozies are MIA!! We scratch our heads but thankfully my hazy memory recalls that they have to be in the back of black beauty, we’ll have to check once we get there.

On our ride to the softball field, our first goal is to get coffee but upon parking, we realize the bookstore is open so we’ll get gear first and coffee later! I love campus bookstores, this one especially since all the gear is a mix of Nike and Under Armour which is wicked comfy and sweet-looking. Entering the store, Spade vows to drop $200-$300 dollars, a figure completely unfamiliar to me, a poor graduate student, since that dollar amount roughly translates to paying rent!! We waltz in and I immediately want everything in sight but settle for a hoodie, a sweet Columbia beanie and a couple of t-shirts. After making my first payment, I realize I want a key chain and two books so I have to go back for a second purchase but keep my total feasible. Standing around with Wrangler, we note that the Snuggy (please search my blog on this henious invention) has invaded college campuses across the nation. Now instead of buying a blanket with your school colors, you can get a snuggy with them instead! Barf! Spade, who tried on a significant amount of gear, including shorts I may or may not have yanked from a wall because she couldn't reach at some point, came away with most of the store, hitting her target price on the head. In all fairness to her, she was buying for two.

Starbucks is next on the agenda when Louise realizes there’s a Cabo Fish Taco in town and immediately sufferes a case of FOMO (fear of missing out) to boot after learning that we were supposed to meet there on Friday night. You know, before we decided to detour, driving into North Carolina limits!! We get to the game and I promptly decide to change into my new purchases because I like to gobble. I look the part, sort of. And we enjoy another softball game, shortened due to awesomeness!

Somewhere in the contest, a foul ball appears to be sailing directly at me…while I’ve flinched the entire weekend, there is now legitimate cause to start panicking and/or throwing people out of the way to avoid getting hit. Thankfully, the ball sails north of me and I’m safe without spilling a drop of my hot chocolate. Louise makes a valid point that had alcoholic beverages been involved, to the extent they were the day prior, she would’ve been soaked through with my drink due to a failure in depth perception. The moment none of us want is nearing as time for goodbyes rapidly approaches. The game ends and a group of ladies turn to ask me, specifically, if the concession stands are open today. Not being from the university or familiar with what’s going on, I admit, I’m just a poser, and impostor for the weekend who has absolutely no clue about what they’re asking. I’m dressed the part but factually cannot provide them with any guidance. I steer them in the direction of individuals who may or may not be better able to address their concerns.

We head down to meet Bberry before we depart because Sprinter has scheduled a photo op involving all of us for a frame they’ll definitely place in their home. We hug and say goodbye. Spade notes that this goodbye, unlike the one that happened months prior at the Big Fish will be tear-free, mostly because alcohol has instead been replaced with hot chocolate or coffee. Christmas morning has officially come and gone, sadly it’s time to head back to reality.

All good things must come to an end…
The journey ends almost the same way it began, with us getting lost! Less than a minute we’ve been separated and we’re already taking a detour through campus instead of getting on the highway. Thankfully, Sprinter, following in the rear picks up on this fact too, calls us and rights our path. We hit RT-406 and the rest is smooth sailing. For quite some time, we are very quiet. I’m in the back reading. Quietly recounting the weekend while Spade drives and Louise rides shotgun.

We chat, Louise snoozes, we recount the tales of southerners past, including Liiiinard and the gas station attendant and we laugh, reveling in all the moments-big and small, that made the weekend magical. The final hilarious moment of the journey occurs when determining where Louise lives. She keeps saying “Brewster” however all the signs on the road say “Wooster”. I ask for clarification, stating that it’s really weird way to pronounce the town, specifically saying, "where I come from, things that start with the letters W O O, are pronounced WOO", at which point I’m told, “Wooster” and “Brewster” are two separate towns. The car erupts one last time before pulling up to Louise's house.

The trio is reduced to a tandem as Spade drives me back to my place but not before we get on the highway, going the wrong direction. How could we possibly end the trip without one last wrong turn or adventure? Louise swears she used her hiiind to indicate which way we should go but neither of us saw it.

The weekend was nothing short of amazing. Our hostesses rocked and were incredibly accommodating. There aren’t enough words to adequately describe the weekend and all that went on. After all, what words would adequately describe a reunion with some of your favorites?? No combination of sentences could possibly do the weekend justice, however, hopefully, just hopefully these blogs might have served a purpose by giving you a wee glimpse into how fantastic the whole experience really was for us.

Thank you Sprinter. Thank you Bberry. Thank you Louise, Spade and Wrangler. Thanks to all the people, including Leonard, who we encountered last weekend that helped make the journey a complete and utterly memorable experience. I think we all needed it. Now, I ask you all, what’s next??

Road Trippin’ – Part Two

Here’s part two in the three-part series blog detailing our amazing road trip. It spans most of Saturday’s daytime activities.

Saturday
Saturday morning comes quicker than I imagined. After a brief cat nap, I’m awoken by a combination of puppy greeting me in my face with kisses and Louise and Spade shouting at me to get up. The entire gang is together for once, and awake to converse. We’re camped out in the living room and I pick up where I left off with petting the puppies. I’d scared the younger pup off the night before so I wanted to make amends, I desperately seek approval from peoples’ dogs, and it’s something I’ll never be able to explain. Thankfully, she forgot my previous derelictions and shows me lots of love.

The puppies are interesting, they are Siberian Huskies and thus like the cold, and they literally sit outside on a cold porch (their porch) for hours on end and LOVE it! I’m completely mesmerized by this act and the fact that they like to come in, say hello and dart back out to their porch. They are QUICK, QUICK animals. Duh, they’re used to pulling really heavy people and stuff through lots of snow but don’t let the fact that they’re not pulling anything these days fool you, it’s in their genes.

Wrangler joins us and informs us that she is indeed the reason there are no bud light limes left. Sprinter and Bberry inform us that we may or may not have been slightly loud in our World Peace talks the night before as we may or may not have expected.

We’re planning out the day when it becomes apparent that Spade is the high maintenance contingency on the trip. Whilst making plans for the day ahead, an element of which included breakfast, Spade required a pregame to breakfast (she eats six meals a day). Add excessive drinking to the equation and well, she simply couldn’t wait. Bberry kindly makes her a Thomas English Muffin and we sit around the tube talking and appreciating the fact that the reunion is in full effect.

Starbucks is in order so Sprinter and Wrangler depart to pick up everyone’s drink order. Louise, to this day is annoyed by the fact that a Starbucks drink order can define a person? Don’t you think?? It doesn’t matter what you think because I just told you! White Chocolate Mocha, baby, mmmm, mmmm, mmmm!

After viewing some Sports Center with the gang, Bberry sods off to work. The day is cold and to get through chilly conditions at the games, two things are required: beer and layers. Once reunited with Sprinter and Wrangler, the plan quickly progresses to putting the plan in action. All at once everyone is dressed, ready to go and we’re off in Sprinter’s vehicle with Tegan and Sara supplying the day’s soundtrack. The wonderfully eclectic sounds of The Con send us on our way.

Breakfast
We are taken to an awesome hole in the wall type breakfast spot called Lefties. Lefties, I later discover, garnered its named from the famous clientele that adorn the walls of the establishment, myself excluded, who are left-handed. We’re special and we include the likes of Bill Clinton, Ronald Reagan, Arnold Palmer and well, Michael Vick. But unless you plan on invoking a mini riot, addressing the state of affairs regarding animal rights and how you may or may not have just offended every lesbian dog owner (perhaps including your gracious hosts) don’t celebrate the fact that Vick is on the list or on the bloody wall! It’ll just incite unnecessary pseudo-drama which will take several minutes to diffuse.

Breakfast starts off on a high note with the fact that there is a brand-spanking new waitress handling our table. The owner sends over an order of breakfast-like hush puppies covered in powdered sugar and syrup. My mouth just started watering, recounting their funnel cake-like consistency, melting all warm and gooey in my mouth. Ummm, party with my taste buds!!

The menu at Lefties is fantabulous, Wrangler settled on a breakfast sandwich and immediately catches my attention when she orders her egg fried over-hard, and I personally, cannot STAND runny eggs. It’s just not for me, or her apparently, and I can get behind that. Moving counterclockwise, Sprinter, the only person who’s ever been here before has been raving about their pancakes with cinnamon sugar butter which is just to die for, she orders them. Spade, Louise and I all custom order omelettes.

As we continue talking amongst ourselves, a lovely young mother enters the establishment with her cute son decked in a mix of Polo and North Face; I imagine she drives a BMW or Mercedes Benz cross over vehicle just to get the young man around safely. You know, like Brody from the BMW commercials?? Within minutes, I’ve mentally envisioned her back story and the life which she leads. They sit down and the boy appears wise beyond his years as he’s asking for his normal waiter, whom he addresses by name multiple times. He reminds me of a well-behaved Grayer from the Nanny Diaries.

The food is in the preparation stages when Spade’s demands continue. She must have Tabasco sauce with her meal…We MUST find a Barnes and Nobles because she desperately needs a copy the ESPN Body Issue (if you’ve got it, turn to page 62, it’s a hot topic of interest shortly). Looking at our tight schedule ahead, we all decide to shoot the Barnes and Nobles idea down, primarily because once I’m inside one, like a good one night stand and unlike a gold star lesbian, it’s hard to pull me out and reunite me with the land of the living. Also, time isn’t really permitting for such activities. We’ve got a tight agenda which allots for a brief stop at Kroger to purchase beer before the games, that’s it!

The food is amazing but home girl, our waitress isn’t the brightest of bulbs. She immediately starts showing signs of being new on the job. Namely, when she brings someone’s meal out without homefries that should come with the meal, or when she doesn’t know the answer to something, like whether or not the establishment serves cinnamon butter, so she just says no (when they really do); or when she doesn’t check the condiments before seating groups in the restaurant!! All things aside, the food is delicious, we’re all stuffed and waiting for the check when, SWIPE! Louise picks up the tab! Crazy amazing, we’re all slightly infuriated but completely appreciative.

We bid adieu to the amazing mother-son moving-Ralph-Lauren photo op, who we also deduce is related to the ownership as they don’t pay a bill or leave a tip, but simply waltz out as they came. We follow their lead but not before I’m forced to insert my foot in my mouth after slightly acknowledging the presence of Michael Vick on the wall.

Next door, Kroger’s alcohol aisle has no idea what’s about to happen. Wrangler notes the fact that we need a buggy, also known as a shopping cart in other areas of the country, is sort of unacceptable for what’s about to transpire. Some of us proceed to the beer aisle while two members dart off in search of the magazine section because Louise, “feels like this grocery store has a good magazine section” to look for the ESPN Body magazine issue.

In the beer aisle Sprinter, Wrangler and I move quickly and efficiently, amassing a collection of Bud Light, Bud Light Lime, Stella Artois, Sparks, and Michelob Ultra (regular and with lime) in less than a five minute time frame. As we finish the selections, the ESPN Body magazine is flying towards us, actually, three of them are moving rapidly in our direction.

Page 62 was some how magically opened and as such, we stood there gawking at a mostly naked Natasha Kai (US Women’s National Soccer Team, pictured below), her tattoos and what not. I need not mention what everyone’s internal dialogue sounds like but I can guarantee you, it included words like damn, wow and please God, let me have that, even just a slight fraction of that one day. After what seems like an eternity, we catch a glimpse of the softball page and pretty much all I have to say is, Oh heyy Under Armor, heyyy Wilson, you go ahead and get your sponsorship dollars out of this photo op! If you don’t know what I’m talking about, Google Cat Osterman and ESPN Body Mag. You’ll get the idea.


As the group is ushered towards the self-checkout aisle, normal families conducting regularly scheduled shopping trips likely look on in a mix of confusion. We pay for the goods but not before Johnny ID checker personally scans or verifies everyone’s age. Wrangler who also carries a rather southern accent, originally hailing from Southern Georgia, asks for ice in a way that I myself wasn’t too clear with so Sprinter, who doesn’t hail from the south and has called Blacksburg home for quite some time goes ahead and purchases it with zero confusion. The group has beer and ESPN Body to stare at so we’re just about set for a day of softball.

It takes roughly two minutes to situate the cooler in the back of Sprinter’s vehicle and I realize she’s officially a pro at this. This isn’t her first rodeo. In fact, this cooler may or MAY not have seen time in Akron this summer, during a series in which I may or may not have broken several rules to gain several individuals admission to our newly created beer garden aka the leftfield bleachers.

The drive to the softball field serves as a mini tour of the campus. We get a peek at the bookstore and the Starbucks we’ll eventually drop dollars in, we get to stare at the football Stadium and appreciate the signature brickwork before finally reaching the softball field. It’s cold as balls, but with the contents in the trunk, socks for gloves and multiple layers, most of us are ready.

Softball
Few things rival drinking beer at softball games, no matter what the temperature. Drinking at great softball games makes it THAT much more fun because you truly get to appreciate the caliber of the game. Seeing as how it’s fall, you’re not expecting the greatest of the great but you can assume there will be home runs, great pitches, maybe the ump will get hit in the nuts, maybe Brita will flinch at every foul ball-near or far, net or no net, and there will be a general excitement because I’m watching one of my favorite sports with some of my favorite people!

The game is underway, our team is well ahead in the bottom of the second and much in the same as Friday evening, Louise and I begin our day with Sparks, it’s only fitting. It’s cold, it’s beyond cold but the general idea is that if we drink enough, the coldness will drift away, becoming a figment of our imaginations. I take this to heart. We are a hodgepodge of fans with each of us sporting different apparel but all of us supporting the same team. After several individual trips to the car for refills, Louise comes up with the brilliant idea of donkey-ing beverages back into the park. The general concept is that whoever needs to pee next when the bag is empty, must go to the vehicle and replenish what has been consumed. I take my turn and handle the responsibility diligently, stocking the bag to capacity, like no prior Donkey had done before me.

A significant amount of beer is consumed in the doubleheader which produces several homeruns, several fist pumps and stool-to-player hi-fives. Some of Sprinter’s work friends come by and we quickly establish a post-game plan which includes going to a local eatery to continue alcohol and food consumption.

Bberry is done with her job for the day and can now officially play, she shall meet us there so the original group, plus three, head to the Cellar. The Cellar is exactly what you expect of a local college town eatery, good food, and cheap beer which is equally as good and just a good energy-which we mostly supply. We order, and the fun begins. Initially no one’s really around, the place is somewhat quiet, but that’s about to change. Ohio State, Spade’s favorite team is losing to Purdue. Purdue is not very good at football. Ohio State is ranked seventh in the nation (at the time). They lose. I make the point loudly as the bar quiets to a whisper and some people celebrate the situation not knowing a similar fate awaits their very own football team later that evening.

At some point Bberry shows up. YAY!! Excitement! Reunited and it FEEELS so GOOOD! We’ve all been eating, drinking and chatting, having a grand old time. Bberry officially earns her name at this juncture. For those of you unfamiliar, the Blackberry is capable of handling several applications, including twitterberry which most of us use in conjunction with our crackberries to get through the day. Bberry until this moment in time had limited tweets to once a week, typically on a Monday, and only from the internet. Introducing her to Twitterberry enabled her to tweet right then and there at the restaurant! Small miracles people, small miracles!! It is our hope that with twitterberry in her life, she might tweet more often (hint, HINT).

Sprinter, sad that she is without a blackberry, and unfamiliar with mobile twitter capabilities via mobile text, earns the amazing moment of the hour when she wanders away. We’re not sure where she’s gone but I assume it’s to utilize the facilities. It’s NOT. She utilizes the establishment’s computer to post a tweet regarding her lack of a blackberry! Amazing! Style points for creativity and wittiness!! Sprint and Bberry’s friend Kandy is attempting to convince me that her ancient Zack Morris mobile is better than my crackberry. It’s got about 90 pounds of armor which she removes as we begin a battle of transformers in the middle of the restaurant. Cell phones begin stripping down to their bear minimums as we duke it out to see whose phone really is the shit. I win, not because of my phone (which would’ve won anyway due to superiority) but because of my transformer like sound effects which completely kick arse!

Someone is screaming profanity at the table and our server comes over to hush us a few times. Eventually we’re told we’ll have to leave if we don’t get our act together which is FINE because we’ve got a PARTY to go to anyway! We pay a group bill individually, with a single file line which goes a lot smoother than I’d anticipated. And we’re off again. I get to ride home in the beautiful black beauty with Bberry and Wrangler riding shotgun. A quick discussion and we’re back at the mainstay.

The idea is to get changed, get ready and get off to a party within an hour. There are six individuals who must shower and dress in an hour time frame. Wrangler and Bberry get first dibs in this process as I sit waiting my turn. Vehicle number two commanded by Sprinter returns and before I can realize what happens, the two puppies, get out. Remember how I said they were quick? Well these two sprint and before I even hit the door, they are down the street and round a bend! Sprinter, gains her name as she immediately understands the graveness of the situation and darts off running, her form rivaled Flo Jo aka Griffith Joyner aka Sprinter which is where her name comes from. Louise follows shortly after while I, the least likely member of the travel party capable of long distance sprinting, period, let alone after quick and nimble dogs, stand guard at the door, constantly calling after both animals. It sort of works! The older dog starts bounding towards me and quickly enters the house, half way there. Somewhere down the street, Sprinter tackles the second puppy, mid poop, securing her by the festive Halloween collar to bring her home. The activities for the day are complete. Only after both dogs are safe and sound inside do we understand the magnitude of what could have been, the dogs once got out for like a three-day stint before being reeled in!! Talk about a small miracle.

The Bose sound system is cranking and we’re drinking while others get ready. We’re about to discover we’ve all entered the wrong profession and that we probably should have rethought our game plan as far as sport selection. There’s a party in the making but you won’t get to read about it tonight. It’ll make for a nice opening to our final day in VA. Saturday is almost two thirds complete but don’t be tardy for the party, it promises to be spectacular!

Road Trippin’ – Day One

Generally speaking, nothing is more exciting than a three-day weekend slash reunion with some of the greatest people ever! When you throw in copious amounts of alcohol, softball, impromptu dinner outings and parties, well, that’s just icing on the cake. That said, we embarked on a trip to Virginia this past Friday to do some much needed catching up or ‘visiting’ as they say here in the States.

This is the first in a three-part series which serves to recap the madness that was the trip and all its glory, southern hospitality, scenery and just SOUTHERN-ness in general. Some highlights included major detouring, ipod glorification, guitar hero, touring the campus and much, much more. For now, you’ll get the first day. Per the usual, all the names of people mentioned or referenced in this blog have been changed.

Friday
The journey before the official journey down to VA began at 4 p.m. on Friday afternoon. The week, which crawled by for others, flew by for me and the hour finally arrived. I liken the entire experience of the road trip to anticipating Christmas morning. Now matter how old you get, you’re still giddy, sick with anticipation and excited for whatever you may or may not receive!

Spade called me and said she was downstairs in front of my house, only she really wasn’t. She was actually five streets away. Once the problem was remedied we were back on the road to meet Laquisha aka LOUISE to mark the real departure, only one major problem arose: MAJOR ACCIDENT. Fast-forward and we get to Louise’s residence, do a quick drive by walk through to see how she’s living, switch cars and keep it moving. We’re officially off…ONLY an hour later than initially anticipated.

Our gracious host, Bberry is on the other end, awaiting our arrival and texting or bbming to determine where we are. We aren’t even close. We technically haven’t even left Ohio so in retrospect at the time, we were being pseudo-cryptic on accident. The journey is moving along and our first major stop was in Marietta, Ohio just outside the West Virginia state line. We use the stop to get gas, drinks, some highly debatable snacks before continuing the voyage.

The drive down gets interesting when we actually get into West Virginia. Not only do the roads rival a formula-1 race course but we’re looking for a RT-406 it’s supposed to surface somewhere but we’re not exactly sure where. Since I’m not behind the wheel or in charge of directions, I assume everything is on task. Besides, I’m in the back seat trying to make my blackberry modem work so I can actually ‘work’. I’ve been to this part of Virginia once prior in my life, spending a week in Roanoke with a RUSB player. I’m not sure about many things but I’m aware that Roanoke and Blacksburg are fairly close since the last time I visited.

A mini dispute arises when two members of the travel party, Spade and myself debate whether or not to take 81 towards Roanoke. We are quickly shot down as Louise tells us 406 is ahead. On we go!! The music is flowing, energy and team morale are high in the car and then we notice the mile marker…32 miles to go. 32 miles to where? Translation, 32 miles left in the state! Translation 32 bloody miles to the North Carolina border!

Panic mode ensues as we all mentally compute how far backtracking will even further delay us. We know our hosts are tired from long days themselves and from waiting up for us so the burden is heavy. Coincidentally as I reprogram my GPS, it finally dawns on me that in this day and age with a group of well versed travelers in this vehicle, that the fact a hard copy of directions to the location isn’t on board, is unacceptable.

By this point, communicating with Bberry becomes even more critical. Our timing has been off all night, and now we’re WELL out of our way. The GPS directs us to turn around so to be sure we stop at a gas station for clarification. This is perhaps the best turning point in the whole evening. We should have been in Blacksburg an hour and a half before now. Instead of going inside with Louise and Spade, I stay inside and get some concrete directions from Bberry to get to her house.

As soon as I receive the coordinates the dynamic duo returns, Louise has a bag. “Brita, do you want the good news or the bad news?” before I can answer she continues, “WELL the bad news is that we’re still an hour and a half away, according to the gas station attendant BUT the good news is we got SPARKS!” For those of you unaware, Sparks is an adult beverage, think Red Bull meets orange-y alcohol awesomeness! (Don’t judge me or us!)

To tell a story within a story, when the two women entered the gas station they were super pissed about the detour, cursing and what have you so the lady knew they were obviously driving, before Louise decided to pick up four cans of Sparks in one purchase and then two cups in a separate purchase cause they weren’t free. The lady, sensing there might be some drinking and driving going on (not knowing a third person was in the car) said, and I quote, in the thickest southern accent, “Ya’ll be careful now, they patrol it heaavvvy” translating to, don’t be stupid and drink and drive tonight, the cops are out. This is officially the first southern phrase of the weekend which will garner heavy use. I’m sure you’ll read it again.

Despite the poor news, the attitude in the car is immediately improved now that there is an actual address we are working toward. We tell Bberry and Sprinter (all in due time) to go to bed and not wait up as we’ll be there shortly. The music selection is adjusted as the mile markers tick down. Time is moving much more quickly and I’m not sure whether it’s sheer excitement, sparks or cabin fever getting the best of us. In all likelihood, a combination of all three is to blame.

We hit the exit and dial Bberry to coordinate as the GPS takes us so far and no further when cabin fever kicks into full gear. Driving through the quaint town we see a cat cross the street, someone yells, “P-word for a cat”, laughter erupts; there’s a mini stop sign in the middle of the road, as Spade drives past it, she cries out, “wait, am I suppose to stop at those?”, laughter erupts; we’re driving down a dark road with small street signs, we nearly crash, laughter erupts; we reach the residence in one piece and the greetings begin!

We visit momentarily, meet the puppies, say hello to Wrangler who passed out hours earlier, after consuming six bud light limes. Sprinter bought us Tech coozies for the following day as much drinking was planned. After a quick tour, a looking at pictures and evaluating a dvd collection we say goodnight to our delightful hostesses.

As we all sat there prepared for bed it dawned on me that I still had work to finish due to the issues I suffered with my WACKberry modem on the ride down, we put our sleep deprivation and buck up with a mini celebration of our feat. Naturally, one beer turned into a few as the most philosophical lesbian discussions ensued. “Define hook up for lesbians”, “Should lesbians marry?”, “Where is my life going?”, “Have you met ‘THE ONE’ yet?” and other such discussions kept us talking well into the morning.

Christmas morning has arrived. Sleep comes easy.

Stay tuned for segment two, detailing the events which unfold on Saturday. It’s a jam-packed day from sun up to sun down, literally. And I know you can’t wait to find out.

Journaling Growth...

I spent a significant portion of my afternoon journaling. For some reason, the calling came and I decided to write. One grows tired when writing becomes a task reserved strictly for school work. Writing or blogging is different from journaling in the regard that, for me, what goes in my journal rarely sees the light of day; or in this case the illumination of a screen. So I wrote, for a short while and before i knew it, I'd reached the end. Not that i stopped writing or decided to pack it in but that I literally hit the end of my journal.

This is a significant feat for me as literally closing a journal is like closing a chapter in your life. This chapter began in 2007 and ended in 2009. Naturally, I had to flip back to the beginning. What I learned was that change comes, subtly, slowly. Healing occurs; mistakes are made, remade and then remixed to be made again. But at the end of the day, the progression, from then to now, the lessons learned earnest or otherwise, are how we mark the changes in our lives and assess their worth.

I laughed and cringed going through the pages lackadaisically, half wanting to recall what I did or was doing at that stage in my life, what I should’ve been doing or how I felt. I wrote. I wrote this. These are my memories whether they include puking at O’Hare Airport in front of Mexican workers or whether I’m lost in DC, drunk off my arse. It’s all a measure, a very fucked up scale of monitoring where we are now; a cruel assessment of progress, regression and self-development.

But it’s true. There’s no denying what you’ve done or what you’ve written. You judge yourself. Sometimes you’re critical of who you were, what you did. Are you that person now? Who are you now? How did you change? What made you change? A few of these questions race through your head as you quickly search for the answers which lay within yourself. Still, it’s the questions. The questions that reinforce change has indeed occurred.

You are your biggest playmaker. You hold the dice. You place the bets and in the end you’re the big winner, or loser. It’s interesting to decide now, a few years later, where you stack up to your former self. These changes needn’t be good or bad. Not everything’s black or white in that sense. But as the person charting the course, you generally have the best idea if you’re lost or on track. If the decisions you made were for better or worse, or if they were entirely inconsequential. You know.

So I know. A few years ago, well since I turned 21, I lost track of age. Not in the sense that I don’t know how old I am. Just that nothing really mattered. What really happens after the year 21 but before age 30?? What does it matter? You’re 22 or 27, so what?? You’re legally old enough to drink and that lost its luster well before you even realized it, so what next? What’s the next landmark in life and what do we do till then to pass the time?

Today, looking back through this journal I realized, we grow. We become the people we’re meant to be. Age and growth are congruent. I understand that while our years become hard to measure without landmarks or things to look forward to, we evaluate the change in years by our growth as people. A fact I hadn’t truly thought about until today, until now as I try and place a word to what I’d define as a marked improvement of my former self from two years ago.

What’s changed since then and now is who I am, who I’ve become. My growth has marked the changes since 23 to 25. Someone said to me yesterday, “you’re a baby, you have your whole life ahead of you,” and to an extent I see how they’re right. I don’t know where I’ll end up in life or what exactly I was put here to do but it seems like whatever it is, I’ll find out as I learn more about myself, as I grow.

I forced so much. I wanted things in life for other people and for all the wrong reasons. So now I live. I do. I act. I write. And in retrospect, I love it.

My Monday Night Debacle

Let the record show that it’s Thursday, early evening and I still haven’t adequately recovered from what was a pretty interesting Monday evening. The plan had been to meet up with some friends from the summer for a mini reunion. Since we all live in the Akron area, we probably shouldn't call it a reunion but it seemed harmless enough at the time so we did. We all live within reasonable driving distance, so what was the harm? There was no foreseeable danger at that point in the evening. We decided we’d pregame at a bar downtown Akron and then head over to a ‘popular’ gay bar (but only on Monday nights) to get things started. I've now decided that pregame for me, should be redefined to encompass the terms, pre-sloshing and debauchery.

I’ve made this mistake twice in the past month. Drinking heavily on a Monday night can lead to no good…lot’s of fun but no good! For intentional purposes, the names of all participants in this blog, save me, have been changed! Spade picked me up at my house around nine. At this point in the evening, I’d had a few Bud Lights and a Sparks, to get the system flowing. Spade and I departed, to pick up Jasmine, a resident at a nearby hospital and acquaintance from the tangled web that is lesbian dating. With the pickups complete, our second to last final destination was the bar for a pregame.

We arrive and meet Laquisha the final piece in the puzzle for the evening's festivities. As we arrive she appears to be in the midst of ordering her first beer so for the most part, I think I’m the only one with a slight advantage in drinks consumed department. (Pay attention, for this will come in handy momentarily). We say our hellos and I provide Laquisha with a pair of highly anticipated CDs. I’m cheap, they come as is, with no packaging whatsoever. We discuss music for some time, the impending surgery Spade must undergo which will likely sideline her from evenings such as these and just reminisce about the summer. The summer was crazy. Whether I was caught up in the moment or in reliving my not-so-distant wildly wacky summer, I took my drinking game to a new level.

As I ordered my second Tall-Boy 25 ounces of Bud Light yumminess, an obnoxious drunk college kid tells me its his cousin’s birthday. Generally, I would ignore this sort of riff-raff, continue ordering my beverage and leave but since I had an unmistakably high level of frisk in my system that night, I opted to do the unimaginable. I bought two Jagger bombs for myself and the birthday boy before returning to the table to join my compadres with my beer. The evening wound on and maybe around 11 pm, we opt to head over to the gay bar.

Gay bars are all the same. If you’ve been in one, you’ve been in them all. The same can be said of the clientele (that’s what she said). There’s this thing about timing when you arrive at gay bars. Lesbians operate on a different time continuum, one which tends to fall later than anyone else’s in life. So while we imagined 11 pm would be a suitable time for people to stumble in, there was virtually no one there when we arrived. I don’t know if everyone sits at home drinking and then says, “Great, two hours left of drinking at the actual bar, move!” but it happens everywhere I go and this bar is no different.

Since there was no one around, we opt to drink and play pool, maybe one or two games. During this time frame, I consumed roughly four-five beers, a red bull-vodka and captain a coke-double. I think it’s safe to say that I’m ahead of everyone in the group drink-wise at this point. People arrived! I don’t know how or when, but I looked up and there they were!! It’s as if I’d missed them all file in, as if they were hiding in the bar somewhere because all of a sudden, the bar was abuzz with LGBT members bumping and grinding. It was a surprise party and I was the guest of honor. I was sloshed and the festivities were about to begin!

Dancing is typically my favorite point in the evening. I won’t lie, I’ve got rhythm, I’ve got some moves. For the most part. The night was in full swing, it had to be after midnight, closer to one. I’m sure I was drunk texting off the chain because I was in fact, drunk. It’s easily my biggest flaw. My ability to maintain normal discourse during normal hours dissipates as I suddenly become chatty Cathy with the desire to text and/or call individuals I generally have no real business texting or calling, at least not after hours.

So we’ve been laughing, dancing, laughing, texting and we take it back to the dance floor. At some point we decide to make a video and send it to B-wire. Again, B-wire probably doesn’t appreciate the fact that a video of us screaming on a dance floor is being transmitted late but it’s the last major thing that occurs before my life nearly ends so it’s important in this retelling. The video is sent, there is more dancing and then it happens. Brita goes airborne…like four feet off the air. If you’ve seen or met me, you know the importance of this fact. I don’t defy gravity. I’m not built for take offs of any sort, unless I’m sitting in the aisle on an economy flight heading anywhere.

Some how, a sloppy gay had poured an entire beer on the floor, little did I know, in the darkness of the club, my rainbows were about to encounter said collection of liquids on dark dance floor. Now, had I made a more apt choice in the footwear department, there is a slim chance this entire endeavor might have been avoided, slim chance. However, since summer is winding down and Fall approaches, rather quickly I might add, I went with the Rainbows. The Rainbows have next to no traction on the bottom since there are worn in and obviously NO ankle support since they are sandals.

Within an instant of feeling the wetness beneath me, I was airborne and landing on left-back with my elbow leading the way. It was not pretty. Thankfully I was in the company of a nurse and physical therapist, and an overzealous EMT who just HAPPENED to be at the club. Still, the damage was done. I was laying on my back, cradling my elbow, all the while wondering how the hell I’d hurt my toe. The injury is still a mystery.

Spade and the EMT helped me back to my feet as the EMT ushered me to the front of the club and asked if I needed to go to the emergency room. Um, lemme think about that one, no?!? What on earth could the emergency room tell me that I didn’t already know at that point in my drunken stupor? Half my body hurt. I would need a prescription of medication of some sort to alleviate the pain. I ordered another double Captain and coke and called it a day.

With stale beer coating the back half of my body and pain cropping up every time I moved in locations I didn’t know could hurt from an embarrassing fall on the dance floor, I did the next logical thing, I tweeted. Informing my followers of what transpired was apparently high on my priorities list that evening. And Laquisha’s too for that matter, since I distinctly recall beating her to the punch though she had an obvious time advantage on me as I needed to reject the EMT’s visit to the hospital offer and order a stiff drink!!

The bar was closing down, or so I think and we decided to leave. I closed my tab and Spade was in the process of driving me home. The only thing that would make me like life more that night and hate it less in the morning would be food. I had my order all mapped out in my head from McDonald's. As we drove by the lights shone bright and we rolled into the drive thru to place it when some woman from inside the machine kept rudely talking over me. I couldn’t get my order out but I was determined, as Spade informed me, it wouldn’t be happening a state of confusion and mild panic swept over me. What did she mean they were closed?? What the fuck does that even mean? It’s McDonald's, and you shouldn’t leave your lights on if you’re closed, it’s deceiving, especially when drunk.

With my hopes of McDonald’s dashed, Spade recommended Taco Bell. I’ve always wondered who their “Open Late: Fourth Meal” campaign targeted. Turns out its not just for stoners, but for those who have drank too much, need food and can’t get McDonald's since they’re closed. I fell into this demographic that evening and not by choice. I typically know that Taco Bell can wreak havoc on my digestive system, so why I ordered extra fire sauce was beyond me. Let’s just say the pain in my elbow, back, and toe in the morning weren’t the only pain I was struggling with.

Spade and I said our goodbyes as she and Jasmine departed. I consumed Taco Bell and an unbelievably late hour, showered, and went to bed in only my penguin pajama pants. I was either too tired or exhausted to put on a t-shirt or whatever. By the magical powers that be, I awoke at 8:10 without the grace of my alarm clock I’d clearly forgotten to set. If I hurt the night before, the morning after felt like I’d been run over by a semi and then immediately run over by a Mack truck. I hurt. I’d never known pain of this magnitude. It was everywhere; the pain in my toe was especially nagging because when I finally mustered the strength to start my engine, it hurt every time I moved. With sun light beaming into my bedroom, a full day of work and school ahead, the luxury of rolling back over and falling asleep was nixed before I even thought it through.

I showered…again. Hoping the hot water might free up whatever kinks had formed overnight. No such luck. I got ready in the most painful manner and rode the shuttle to work, despite the fact that it’s a three-minute walk. Sort of disoriented I arrived at my desk and quickly replayed the night. I stopped when I realized my recollection of alcoholic beverages was indeed making me nauseous. It’s one thing to go to work hungover but a completely different story to puke in the office, not the bathroom, the office. I didn’t need that in my life so I thought out the positives, like how I only lost moderately in pool and nearly came back in both games. I thought about how I had only a billion things to do at work and a non-functioning laptop (now fixed). I thought of all these things then bowed my head and took a micro nap at my desk.

The thought of going to the emergency room just for the sake of getting a drug stronger than Tylenol-codeine crossed my mind. Then I had a brainchild of an idea and decided to walk over and see the athletic trainers and nurse practitioner and team doctor on call if necessary to get some formal diagnosis and a script. Well the good news is that I didn’t break my elbow; I did however manage to dislocate my shoulder!! It’s cool, I’ve completely broken my shoulder blade once before so this really doesn’t compare. It still hurt though. As for my toe, well it was and still remains badly bruised, I may take a picture and post it just for clarification. It looks like the sandal divider thing, wrapped around my toe when I landed and thus bruised it. I don’t know. I don’t know the logistics of these things. All I do know is that a kind man wrote me a prescription for some helpful drugs and now the pain doesn’t bother me as much.

It’s Thursday. It’s been an eventful week. It’s been a week in which I’ve found myself missing sleep or wishing for more of it. Despite the injuries, my pending recovery and return to optimal health, I wouldn’t trade my Monday night debauchery and debacle for anything! I heart Laquisha, I heart Spade and I suppose Jasmine as well. They completed my evening well before my fall and the need for this blog!!

Well that just about does it, have a safe and happy Labor Day everyone! Enjoy it for me as I’m fairly certain I’ll be spending a significant portion of it in the office.

Dear Reader...

who keeps leaving comments on my "Reading's FUNdamental" Blog in Japanese. I don't read Japanese and sadly, when i translate in Babblefish, it never turns out the way it should. Please write in english or stop posting before I'm forced to disable comments or delete the f'n post!

Kind Regards,

Brita