cabbie, you suck!

so i capped off my shitshow of a weekend by taking a trip into the outside world (aka palo alto - 5 minutes from campus...this is huge if you don't have a car) and dining at a local sushi restaurant. it was nice - comfortable seating, friendly service. but my friend insisted on taking a cab because she was too sore, hung over, and starving to ride bikes, and since i made the disclaimer that i was broke, which i am, i simply went along for the ride. you know, taxis are pretty cool. there's something about being chauffered around that makes me feel really smug, especially when i'm not paying for it. so we had a nice, somewhat dazed meal, as we were both exhausted from the prior festivities, but on the whole, it was a lovely night out on the quaint little town. lovely late afternoon out on the town would be more appropriate, as we joined our local senior citizens for the early bird special because we were both too impatient to wait much longer to eat, and are both overachievers that had other engagements around the dinner hour.

i'll just cut to the chase. our cab driver on the way back was a douche bag. first of all, i had to wait a few minutes inside the restaurant to retrieve our credit cards because the cashier was a little behind, so my friend ran outside to tell the cab to wait. but no. she races back in a few seconds later to tell me that this cab driver is having a tantrum outside because he's blocking traffic. blocking traffic my ass. true, the street layout in palo alto is comprised primarily of one lane, often one way streets, but let's be honest. this dude was not "blocking traffic" on the little side street next to the sushi restaurant. so when i finally signed for the both of us and grabbed our cards, i frantically raced out the door and dove into the back seat. now this was a nice cab - black, leather interior, tinted windows...the guy scored some points for this. but then he starts taking the long way home. the trafficky way home. what an ass! for as much as he complained about the traffic before...so after heckling us for directions to the campus (note: the campus virtually is the town we were in) he proceeds to completely ignore what we say. yeah. well, perhaps he knew better. but after a series of wrong turns, we started to get angry. i then told him several stop signs in advance, as well as at the stop signs themselves, where exactly to turn. and he still screwed it up! finally, when we pulled up to my residence he came to a screeching halt and sat their silently. we weren't sure quite what to do until he reeled around toward us and shouted, "11 dollars! is that ok? 11 dollars! is that fair?" no it's not ok, you bastard! you drove terribly! but he was quite a scary fellow so we decided to pay up. (yet our new friend did not merit a tip, so we did not give him one. so there.) anyhow, after this whole ordeal - and we were all giving each other bad vibes...he didn't like us either - he had the nerve to give us his business card. what was this excuse for a cab driver thinking? i don't know...

this weekend was good.

Cheers!

I met Carla at a random, three day weekend getaway to Lake Tahoe. I had just endured my first week of classes after winter break, and again I needed more than ever to escape the fast paced monotony of college life. True, I was a straggler – merely “going along for the ride” with my friend Matt. Out of the twelve people on the mountain hiatus he was the only one I knew, as the trip was the design of his distant cousin. I didn’t even have the time or the money to put into the excursion because my private school (and private school tuition) had devised to pick up its slave driver mentality within the first three days back, thus leaving me with a bombardment of papers to write and important articles to read. But I didn’t care. This provided me even more incentive to get away and live under the disillusionment that break could last just a little bit longer.

After enduring a sore, crowded, six hour drive through winding roads, I piled out of the car with the rest of my travel cohorts in Stateline, Nevada. The distant cousin had rented a charming mountain cabin, and I was more than ready to indulge in the night’s debauchery. We quickly piled into the house, set up camp, and whipped out the alcohol that our token 21-year-old had purchased for the trip.

Shot one: As we entered our ceremonial circular formation, on the brink of screaming “Cheers!” a girl to my left turned to me. “Hi, I’m Carla!” “Oh hey…my name’s Kaitlin.” “Cool. So how’s it going?” “Pretty good – just excited to get this weekend started.” “I know, seriously! This is going to be a lot of fun. Whelp, cheers!”

Shot two: Carla and I carried on a light-hearted conversation, quickly getting to know each other. She lived in Vista, California, liked to take lots of pictures with her digital camera, and enjoyed meeting new people to party and have a good time with. She fluctuated between extremes, smiling and laughing as she described her friends back home, and frowning and rolling her eyes while she lamented about the snobby girls that attended school with her. Best of all though, she was a huge classic rock fan, a lot like me. This was ample cause to “cheers” for.

Shot three: Seven minutes into my Tahoe vacation had me playing air guitar for my enthusiastic new friend. We loudly “da na na na’d” to the legendary solos of The Doors, Pink Floyd, Led Zeppelin, and even a little Guns ‘N Roses. Carla danced along and burst into uncontrollable, shrill laughter as I busted out with the famous windmill strumming and played behind my back. It wasn’t long before we were singing “Cheers!” between invisible riffs.

Shot four: By this time I had smashed the guitar and Carla and I were on to more important things, such as telling dirty stories. She mischievously relayed to me the latest Vista gossip while donning a huge smile between her chubby cheeks. We playfully flirted with the guys in the room, bouncing jokes off of each other as though we had been friends for years. Soon we started to feel like big, bad 19-year-olds, playing house in the middle of nowhere for the weekend, and decided to “cheers” with the boys to an exciting few days.

Shot five: Carla decided she loved me. “I love this girl,” she cried, “I really do love her!” It’s amazing the bonds that underage drinking often facilitates. It’s fun breaking the rules and it’s fun having someone to break them with. Better yet, Carla and I had become fast friends and I had found my partner in crime for the next few days. Cheers to that!

why i love my little brother so much

a text conversation:

trevor: sister! i need rescuing from this trip to iowa!
me: haha are you there now?
trevor: no. at DIA
me: that sux, how long are you there for?
trevor: 3 long ass days! i miss you even more in times like these!
me: aw, i miss you too lil bro, but be strong. don't stray the course.
trevor: haha! i shall stay strong! and stand my ground when approached by freaky relatives!
me: ok. and keep uncle louie at bay, lest he incite you to rub his head.
trevor: haha! and thus i board!
me: have a most wonderful and safe trip, dear brother.
trevor: i shall fair as best i can. and when the walls of this world come crashing down, i shall say "i was there, and i survived it!" goodbye dear sister!

oh, t. homies forever.

so it goes

rest in peace, kurt vonnegut;

think about this one...

When whole races and peoples conspire to propagate gigantic mute lies in the interest of tyrannies and shams, why should we care anything about the trifling lies told by individuals? Why should we try to make it appear that abstention from lying is a virtue? Why should we want to beguile ourselves in that way? Why should we without shame help the nation lie, and then be ashamed to do a little lying on our own account? Why shouldn't we be honest and honourable, and lie every time we get a chance? That is to say, why shouldn't we be consistent, and either lie all the time or not at all? Why should we help the nation lie the whole day long and then object to telling one little individual private lie in our own interest to go to bed on? Just for the refreshment of it, I mean, and to take the rancid taste out of our mouth.

-Mark Twain

mexico = crazy delicious

and what happens there stays there...but i'll tell you of course ;-)

i had an amazing time - and after five term papers, a final, a sorority house, and balancing two jobs, i thoroughly enjoyed this well-needed escape.

but to begin, i must note the wonderful time i had in san diego with my family and friends. san diego is so cool! mary knows everything about...pretty much everything there, so we made the rounds both before and after the trip.

the first night we got to mexico was crazy! it was saturday, and coupled with the fact that it was spring break, the night was sheer mayhem. our hotel was kickass: we stayed in some condo that we rented. we had a pool, we were right on the beach, we had the MOST COMFORTABLE BEDS EVER, and we even had some guards at the front gate to keep us safe at night. that one backfired on us though when they didn't allow us any visitors, and since ten of our friends were staying down the street, it made planning stuff much more difficult since they couldn't come visit us as well. they were staying in some ghetto house in a weird neighborhood, so the walk was a little frightening, but we met up with them and decided to get food! mexican food of course! the first place we went to was just nasty. so we tried again, and found a place with very delicious quesadillas. as i told my brother, mexico, rife with sketchy gringos, was a blur of whistles and sombrero guy-administered tequila shots, stray animals, horny (and very touchy feely) dudes - both native and tourist alike - billboard top rap songs from three months ago, good looking people, people who should not be baring their midriffs, and greasy food. food meant tacos, burritos, quesadillas, etc. really, they're all synonomous for each other, they just have different prices. the intelligent (and frugal?) person figures this out quite quickly.

i'm really not one for clubs - i think they actually get really old really quickly, but somehow it just stayed fun. we frequented papas and beers most of the time, and went to iggy's once, which was pretty lame. so between the constant inebriation, the "free" drinks, and the beach location, i had a fabulous time. AND!!!!! i rode the bull. that's right. me. and it is arguable that i stayed on longer than anyone else. and then i guess you can argue that that wasn't too difficult since everyone was too much of a pansy to try it out, but i was on there for a good minute or so. and let me tell you, that is hard, mostly because it's so damn painful. i still have a bruise on my arm from getting flung off.

enough about mexico, i can't think straight right now (class started today). san diego was wonderful also. we went to the beach, to hookah bars, up to los angeles for a night, to the aquarium, shopping, and all up and down the san diego coast and the little beach towns. it was sad coming back last night.

BUT...for once, i'm actually excited about the quarter. i'm taking classes that are actually pretty cool, the weather is beautiful, and i've been meeting A LOT of cool people lately. it will be fun.

sorry for being a slacker.

i'll post some pix to ease the pain once tim, our designated photographer, puts them up online.

later fools.