08/21/2003 - 12:07 a.m. | because you can't make a sound from six feet under ground

Last night, I fell asleep in sort of a strange position. I was sitting in my chair, and I tipped over sideways, rested my head on my bed, and conked out for 3 or so hours. Then I got up and drank a lot of water. It wasn't a restful night. And I guess I'm used to being on factory time (more or less) because my big sleep in was until 7:15.

From there 'til about 11, it was one big happy cleaning and packing fest. Cleaning, sorting, boxing, etc. I am a pretty slow packer (because I typically read or play with everything I encounter), but I am very methodical. With any luck, I should be able to fit all of my stuff in the wagon tomorrow. I was too lazy to turn Winamp off repeat, so I'd hear a song like five times before I'd go nuts and pick another one to hear five times. Universally good plan. By the time I got into the shower, I only had to find some way to get all my freaking clothes packed up.

Mom had IM'd earlier and asked if I wanted to go to lunch, so I drove to Ottawa to meet up with her. I <3 Stick-It t-shirt. It gets me such friendly (angry) looks from people. We ate at this little Mexican place. The decor was cute, prices were good, and food was decent. Mom's sangria was crap, though. I contemplated buying one of their t-shirts, but it doesn't really fit in with my whole dark period, so I abstained. Yes, I am making this up as I go along.

Stopped at Wal-mart to get a big stupid bin to put clothes in, put clothes in it. I'm more or less set to go now. Just gotta move stuff out to the car. And pray I don't forget anything too imortant (like my brain medicine!) Drove to the bank to tally up all my loose change and see how I fair on the Roomba scale. $177.57!! Aw, yeah! That little bastard is practically mine!

Upon returning home, it was pretty much time to get ready to go. Now, listen. I don't care what any of you fuckers say about me (especially about how slowly I iron!), but I am pretty damn cute when I spruce myself up a little. Purple long-sleeved button-down shirt (sleeves rolled up, untucked), white undershirt, khakis, brown Skechers, greenish sunglasses. I am a badass.

Took the wagon up to Chicago. Drive there seemed pretty slow, 1) because it was so freakin' hot and 2) because I was under the distinct impression that Dad would've much preferred Mom there. Oh, well. So it goes. Also traffic. Arrived in Chicago, parked, walked to restaurant to wait for everybody else (late, of course). Brief restaurant review: Food (chicken picatta, namely) was good; service was terrible. Well, this is not the restaurant's fault entirely. Just our waitress was a complete spaz. I guess with parties of eight or more, they don't normally hand out individual menus. You're supposed to work out some big crazy family style thing and everyone shares. Well, we're not for sharing exactly (By the way... WHOOSH! That's the sound of all my jokes going over everyone's head), so we asked if they could make an exception (please note that they were making an exception at the other tables of 8+). The lady acted like it was a huge deal, had to go see her manager, forgot to give us the other menus, forgot to take drink orders, forget to deliver most of the drinks ordered, and so on and so forth. Plus her voice was sort of annoying. And not in the fun way. Everyone was annoyed, which I guess is understandable, but I was pretty amused and in no way eager to go see the ABBA musical, so I had fun with it. It seems as though dislike might be inherited because I can see where my mom is coming about my aunt. Sometimes I'd like to give her a good whack across the head myself.

With only minutes to spare until the start of the show (OHS NOS), Dad and I walked to the theatre, 6 or so blocks away, right past the buildings from the cover of "Yankee Hotel Foxtrot." Yes, I am a lame tourist. We arrived before anyone else in our party, but we had already taken two tickets. Aisle ones, we thought. Nope. Center. Not just center. Second row center. The best seats I've ever had for anything ever, and it's for fucking "Mama Mia!" I could see the conductor bob his head as he worked in the pit (and the drummer who had a Nine Inch Nails sticker and totally hates ABBA, I bet). I could see the microphones the actors were wearing in their hair. I swear I even saw the main girl point directly at me during one number (like, "All I want is you!" *point*). And it was all such a waste really. It's like when I'm at a concert I really like, and I'm all pissy because there are these people up in the front row and they don't even seem excited and how do they deserve that fuck fuck fuck hate you? Yeah, that was me this time. I mean, I didn't hate the show by any means. It was energetic and sort of cute, and the story was all right. But the music is just not to my taste. And I got to thinking. Couldn't anybody with a bunch of albums by any band sort of link together the songs to make some sort of weak musical? Sorry, too cynical. It was a bright and colorful, bouncy little show, though. I kept being blinded by strobe lights, so I popped on my sunglasses (I wear my sunglasses at night! Why haven't I downloaded that yet?) The guy next to my dad, however, did deserve his seat. He knew every word, and he was dancin' and singin' and clapping louder and longer than everybody. Crazy Asians. Even their obsessions are taken to an art.

At intermission, I went to see if they had any good, uberexpensive "Mama Mia!" t-shirts. There were some black ones with glitter writing, which does equal good in my book, so I got a large. Problem? It's a girls' babydoll tee. Small as hell. I mean, it fits, but serious questions would be raised about how much I enjoy sucking dick. It certainly confused the relatives.

Wondered back with a throng of people to the parking garage, where everything is pretty much done by robots and the internet now. That's great, but where's my flying car already? Dad decided that I needed big city driving experience, so I was put behing the wheel of the wagon. When exiting the parking garage is nuts (a tight spiral with patterns on the way specifically designed to make the driver dizzy), you know you're screwed. Hobos and bicyclists leaping out in front of me. Insane motorcycles weaing between cars at 70 mph. Merging and passing on insane narrow downward ramps. But here I am, so I guess I made it. Unless I'm a ghost and merely don't realize it yet. Crap.

Tomorrow morning I'll be heading off to U of I, and since no one really listened to me when I said there might be a problem with the internet (namely, we won't have it?), it might be a bit before another update. I would tell you to call me, but I'm not gonna have a phone either. Since when did I become a Luddite?