Heh!
Today, the 26th is Bobofett's 3 year anniversary (note: I think the word "journalversary" is unspeakably lame. Not that that really has a whole hell of a lot to do with anything, but, that was sort of a by the by for you), if you can believe it. I hadn't really planned on writing an entry, because I don't really have a whole lot to say, but I'm going to give myself a half hour from start to finish, and we'll see what we can come up with. Three years! Congratulatory emails, perverted well wishes and, as always, gifts are welcome, but certainly not expected.
We've had company since Thursday, which was fun, except that sometime around 5am Friday morning, I was awakened by a feeling of general unrest in my stomach. Ever dream about not feeling well, and then wake up not feeling well? In my dream, I was like "Woah! My stomach feels BAD!" and soon thereafter, I woke up with a pressing need. I ran to the bathroom, where I spent a great deal of time over the next several hours. Being a little work-loving trouper, I got all dressed to go, keys in my hand and everything and then realized that I didn't really want to spend any time with my face near toilets that are infected with stranger's ass stink. On a good day, keeping the retching down in a toilet at work is a battle, I didn't want to do it when I just didn't have to. So, home it was. I figured I just had some weird little food poisoning type thing, but as the day went on, I got sicker and sicker, chills, aches, high fever. I may have been a little delirious, because there were some definite made up conversations. My mother called, I don't remember what we said. Ugh, it was nasty, and I'm still feeling a little unwell today. So, whatever it was, it sucks.
(16 minutes to go)
Saturday, we drove into New York. I hadn't driven into Manhattan since last August, and so I was a little bit unprepared for how I'd feel when I neared the WTC site. It was awful. If I was a better writer, I'd be able to make you all understand how I felt as though someone had taken the breath from my body and how all I wanted to do was stop driving and cry, but couldn't. It was bad, really, as soon as we passed the Intrepid, where you'd usually be able to start seeing them. Since the day was cloudy and rather foggy, it was almost like I could pretend that I couldn't see them because they were obscured by fog. We drove around the site, still a smoking pile the last time I was there, now a clean, somber construction site. Only the surrounding buildings, wrapped in some kind of material, the police still checking ID, and the heartbreaking amount of memorials scrawled on all available surfaces told the story of what had happened. It was terrible. I guess I'd thought I'd founnd a place for it, and I haven't. Maybe I never will.
(9 minutes)
We drove towards Chinatown (can you think of something better to eat when you've got some horrible stomach tapeworm than dim sum? Nope, me either!), parked and punched our way through the always obnoxious crowd. I both love and hate Chinatown for reasons I can't even explain. We had a nice lunch (and, in my defense, I didn't eat anything that would be considered really strange or stomach taxing), even though Rhonda, our company, a good Southern girl from Virgina passed on everything politely ("Bless your heart, you go on and eat that now, do they have sweet and sour chicken here?") until we hooked her up with the lunch time Chinatown staple pan fried noodles with chicken, and happiness was restored.
Since we weren't planning on doing any real tourist stuff, opting instead to head right for New Jersey (it had been a long time since I'd been to Picachu Plaza!), I decided to drive uptown through the streets rather than getting back onto the West Side Highway to get onto the George Washington Bridge. Can I say that I LOVE driving in Manhattan? I do. It is perhaps my very favorite place to be behind the wheel. I am just as agressive a driver as a cabbie, so their antics are more funny than frightning. I can not speak for the amusement of either Nick or Rhonda, but I suspect they were less chuckle-filled than I. Whatever, though, I mean, we got to zip past all the things she wanted to see, and no one had to pay that retarded $2.00 plus each additional mile bullshit the cabs charge.
(2 minutes)
Haiku for Deletion:
where there were once words
now there is gentle haiku
too much sharing: bad
(1 minute)
So, yeah. Three years. I was going to go through my archives and pick out entries of mine that I really liked the most, but am too lazy.
Thanks for reading.
(done!)
the other day - home - email - tomorrow