Inside and Out

September 3, 2006--

I must look like quite a sight. When I got onto the first bus headed towards the Union, I was wearing a 'Kiss Me, I'm Irish' t-shirt with pink silk pants that make me look like a backup dancer for a pop video. I was told I could keep the pants ('They seriously look better on you') but I don't know about that. My shoes weren't cooperating with me either, and they had woodchips in them, so I couldn't even get them on all the way-- it was like walking with slut-boots on. To top it off, I had a leather jacket with one pocket bulging with my phone, wallet, notebook, pens, keys, silly putty, lipbalm, and all that; and I was carrying my proper clothes in a tangled, soaking heap in my hand. They had spent all last night in a hallway, so they smelled like seaweed and there were a few spiders on them. So yeah, needless to say, when I got on, the busdriver started saying, 'You know, I don't leave for another six minutes or so,' which to me sounded more like, 'You know, today's a fine day for walking to wherever you have to go, weirdo, don't you think?'

Finally, I got on my bus to go to my boonies apartment. The sick thing is, I was still the most normal-looking person on the Green. What the hell? I guess it might've been a close call between me and this sixty-year-old man who came on with a huge box of romaine lettuce and manilla envelopes-- but still. What a circus. I hate the Green. Middle-aged men asking if you're married, inviting you back to their apartments and all. I'm living on campus next year, I swear.

Yeah, so long story short, it was a pretty bizarre night, that's all I'm going to say.

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