In My Head

[Rahsash Geldich]

((This contains small language usage that may be offensive, which I apologize for but wish to say this of. When I use such words, they are pretty much adjectives for when simple, childhood phrasing like "dangitt" just isn't going to satisfy that urge to scream.))

 

It was Sunday. That in itself was almost enough for me. It was also the end of spring break, which had been about the worst one ever. It was second only to the time we drove to Lake Cumberland and the van broke down to leave us in Rock freaking Castle Kentucky throwing Cheese-its into the road and watching them be run over by cars for amusement. And then finishing the rest of the drive in a five-person car with seven of us. And then having it rain the whole time we were there, while we were locked out of the house and told to “go hike or something.” This is the true reason I drag my friends on these trips. If I have to suffer, so do they, damnit. We ended up dubbing it “The Hell Trip.”

 

This spring break seemed to want to remind me brutally of the past one, weather wise. The sky opened up and poured rain down the Ohio Valley until every piece of greenery seemed to burst form the earth in an attempt to be the first to reach the sky. I worked my way through three sappy romance novels, which to much of my chagrin, I am beginning to like.

 

My dad had outlawed seeing my boyfriend the entire week, which I thought was stupid as all hell considering I had been out the entire week before at a New York trip with the drama class in my school. I was brimming with wonderful stories of the big city and its many interesting wonders. Mainly the phenomenon of the pedestrians, which if I got started on, I could write more than anyone cares to read about such a thing. Let it suffice to say I found the war of attrition interesting. Not being able to share any of the wonderfulness of buildings taller than any in my home city put me in a sulk that was brutally ruffled by my ever-present siblings. Ten years is apparently not long enough to have gained any real sense on this earth.

 

My grandma was having hip replacement surgery, which left my mom in a foul mood and her Chihuahua at our house. Stupid spoiled ratdog. Babysitting with a dog and ten year olds. Woot.

 

So here I was, Sunday, the first beautiful day all week. Getting up early for work with the time change sucked. Seven comes a lot earlier when your body is telling you that it’s six. I got home and remembered that I had a wonderful (this being a sarcastic implication) convention to go to with my commercial arts class. Saying that computers are not my forte is like saying that Britney Spears wears skimpy clothing. Accurate, but definitely not descriptive enough to give an appropriate impression. I had surprised myself by being rather good at the class, and I have it to fall back on since I was to be a theater major. It will ease the starvation, I’m hoping at least.

 

I had designed a pin, as in those dorky things that go on your lapels and are apparently traded by people that have no lives. I may not have much of one, but at least I have not sunk that far yet. It was a fairly interesting layout and I was recruited to go to this thing since everyone else’s in my class pretty much sucked too much to show to the general public.

 

I ended up being late to the meeting time by ten minuets. Since I am almost always late, I didn’t feel too bad and missing the trip due to my own tardiness only would have made my day better. And that’s not being sarcastic.

 

Unfortunately, it had apparently been a whole lot of ‘hurry up and wait.’

 

The situation at home had gotten worse during my frantic packing because of a cousin of mine being in an accident. The first person to have told us was my psychotic drug-addict aunt who was the mother of one of the ten year olds, the other actually being my sibling though both live with us. We knew from her half demanding, half grieving mother (which we found hard to believe considering she’d left the sixteen year old nine months earlier to move to Nevada without any notice to live in the house of her ex-husbands parents) routine that my cousin was badly injured, but nothing else about her condition. My live-in cousin took it hard, which was hard on me and the combination of his crying-puffed face and my parents possessive clinging was hard to leave and left me fried before I got there.

 

After about ten minutes of sitting and doing nothing I got a mountain dew, which soothed me only because it gave me something to do. Most of the kids I had in class, the others were from the morning session. I didn’t know any of them really well, since I went to a different school, but they were nice enough to me. I had some beads and made an entire necklace before we finally left two and a half hours after we were supposed to.

 

The hotel was like the one from the shining, minus obnoxious decorating. It still had a lot of seventies architecture, like holes cut in walls for decorations and the bathrooms being tiled in the particular shade of green that was only produced in that particular era. The beds were only a minor amount softer than the floor and we had a smoking room. It didn’t smell too bad but I am allergic to the stuff, and breathing it too much gives me a sultry rasp to my voice that’ll turn into strep throat if I don’t stay away until it returns to normal.

[Jareena Faye]

Nice sentence structure. Good spelling, good grammar, all that good stuff!

 

Oh, for future reference--- sometimes I use swear words too, for the same reason that you do, or so I can use them to make a point. Another option would be to say "he cursed," etc. Just a fun fact. *NOT trying to lecture you*

[Rahsash Geldich]

There was very little originally to do, except get dressed for our first meeting. The "mandatory attire" for this meeting consisted of an itchy red blazer (mine was also too big for me), a white dress shirt (which I bypassed by wearing a tank top), and black pants (of which I had none). So, as an alternative, I wriggled into a pair of pantyhose, which I personally believe to be one of the great nessicary banes of a female's existence, and a black skirt. Skirts and I have just recently started complying with one another, mostly due to the fact that I am abnormally small in the waist for the breadth of my hips.

 

I'm sure you can imagine my comfort. So we all go down to this meeting, which is in the Queen room. Whoever designed the names for this place was dense. A hallway directory would read more like a sentence phrase, in this case "Mary" "Queen" of "Scott". Anyways, back to what I was really talking about.

 

There is an ocean of about six hundred people in red coats. And only five hundred chairs. Every one of the officers has an accent that makes the stereotype of Kentucky proud to exist and those who don't have it cringe in their chairs. Two muderous hours later we burst out with more enthusiasm than children deserting a school on the last day.

 

Fast forward to about noon the next day.

 

After a brakfast of a biscut, an apple and coffee, we had gotten dressed and accomplished our one purpose for this confrence at all by trying out for the Trading Pin Design. It was too early, and I with too little sleep, to be nervous. Stairs are hell in new pumps, by the way.

 

So everyone had split their seperate ways, and I was left to entertain myself. Uht o. You can guess my absolute thrill of the idea of spending the next six hours flipping through bad daytime television in our toom, so I chose to take the least direct route there in hope something would attract my attention long enough.

 

Wow o Wow did it. In the form of a male, whom obviously was well built under his white tee, and was going swimming from the looks of his trunks. He also had bare feet and sandy brown hair spiked up. I was admiriably casual, I thought, for my next move. Also gutsy, since I am about one of the shyest people in the world when it comes to meeting new ones.

 

"Hey." He turned and glanced my way, sizing me up in a general manner. I gave him one of my biggest smiles and a hair flip to boot. I'm not a... how shall I put this... person who treats relationships lightly. I just think flirting can be very amusing for both parties involved if done properly. "Do you mind if I follow you around? All my group left me."

 

"Sure, I don't care. I was just lookign for the other guy in my group."

 

"There's only two of you?"

 

"Yeah, what about you all?"

 

"Eight or so, they're still trickling in."

 

The thing that really hit me the hardest was his height. He couldn't have been taller than five nine, but I'm pretty short. Five four usually puts me eye to eye with a guy's collarbone. It was definitely nice to be looking at someones eyes and not craning your neck at the same time. They were brown, by the way.