Better than fruit salad

Well, I’ve returned from Greeley. And Ireland.

Not a great deal of sleep during the trip. Every single day I woke up early, stuffed the day with high-octane activity, and went to bed late. Anthony picked me up from the airport which was a bit of a harrowing experience for him (he isn’t much of a driver, so for him to drive somewhere he hadn’t driven to before, at night, in the rain, was epic. I drove for the rest of the weekend.) I think I smiled for the entire three days I was there, interrupting conversation to place my hands on him and exclaim you’re here!

The trip also saw me playing the role of tour guide. I never really fancy myself all that streetwise until I try and go somewhere with other people. I really am not the queen of public transit, I’m really not, but you’d think I was born and raised on the stuff judging by how inept other people can be. Or rather, how inept people let themselves be. I spent a good portion of pride weekend babysitting one or two very sloppy drunks. People who get very trashed very quickly. People who cannot make sensible decisions sober. People who wear things that I would consider inappropriate for walking around downtown in a chilly city at 2am (lightweight, no pockets, complicated shoes). People who actually started responding in earnest when a Shady Character started making Overtures on the bus, and was very nearly spirited away, forcing our party into an unscheduled emergency stop (zoom in on me, jabbing Anthony in the ribs hissing PULL THAT CORD) and an extra 6 block double march to make the last train. You’re welcome.

I don’t want to dwell too much on that though, because I really did have so much fun. The bar was blissful, I hadn’t been tipsy with all my peeps in a long time, and there were so many of us! And we were so happy! And so drunk! The festival itself was colorful as one would expect. At one point we were ambushed by the protesters that are always there, and people around us retaliated by getting very genuinely excited by the signs. “Oh my god! Julian! Take my picture next to this guy!!” The protesters were so thrown off guard that they actually backed away from us and ended up crossing the street. Ha!

We also piled fourteen people into a minivan to drive down to a mexican restaurant. Yes. Somewhere there is a video of us all getting out of the van, which I would dearly love to see but as yet I have not tracked it down.

Drama happened with people, it was hot, and I spent one day doing laundry and watching musicals while everyone was at work. One night Dani was talking at Old Chicago’s about having real allies. That was so wonderful. They were touched to have us there, and I was touched to hear it. And I thought to myself: why haven’t I actually become involved with PFLAG yet? I probably should.

And oh Ireland. I do love you. For your climate, for your goofy natives, for your jubilant pubs. This leg of the journey was also hectic as Mom had us touring so fast around the country we scarcely had time to enjoy it. Only one night in each B&B, sometimes we didn’t even have time to walk around the city we were in. I enjoyed the trip for the learning experience — one can see how exactly to do a trip like that — but I also felt myself looking wistfully at the touring young people with their backpacks staying in hostels. That’s the trip I wanted. That’s the trip I will do next time.

There really is too much to just urp out right now, and I’m afraid most of Ireland will have to bubble out in due time, or when I am asked to talk about it. For the moment I am still kind of recovering from TALKING to people for two weeks. And directing traffic.

BORING BEAUTY THING

I’ve had noticeable under eye circles for most of my life, but after the strain of the last two years of college (during which period I lost enough sleep to lop years off the end of my life) my pools of inky darkness combined with a slimmer face sometimes made people look at me nervously in the grocery store, particularly in early spring when I hadn’t seen much sun. I sort of looked undead, like a cockroach person. I am not one for feel self-conscious about my looks — I have been stoutly makeup free most of my life and have a wardrobe that is clearly not dictated by the current mandate — so it was strange to find myself purposely going out in my glasses, opting to shrink my eyes to pinpoints behind foggy lenses rather than subject people to my sagging eye flesh. Now I am out of school and much happier, but still I find that about 4 nights out of 7 in a week my under-eye skin actually hurts from the strain of invisible forces pulling downward. And this will not do.

But what to do? I have an ancient Mary Kay jar of some blue translucent gel that is for the under-eye area, but the name has long since rubbed off and I also don’t really like the idea of buying a fancy beauty product at the same moment I am seriously considering washing my hair with baking soda emulsions in lieu of shampoo. A little Googling led me here, which is not particularly helpful since a lot of the bullet points seem disparate. Cold compress. Hot compress. Turmeric. Mint. What? Most of the advice seems to boil down to live healthier which I’m trying to do anyway, but in the meantime I need some actual topical relief, since for me it’s less about what it looks like and more about how it feels. Which right now is painful. Sore. I made some notes of things that made sense to me: cucumber, mint, (cooling things) almond oil (something to hold it together), and I will experiment a little after a trip to the store. Something needs to happen, because I cannot be traipsing after cold cream or something at age 22, but more to the point I cannot go on every day feeling as though my skin is sliding off my skull.

AND FINALLY

Happies. I watch this whenever I start to feel like the world is becoming cold and uncaring.

Happy pie, beer and explosions day.

This journey will be unlike any I’ve ever been on, really.

In many ways it will be familiar — a long flight, a long layover in Atlanta, (as the niece of a Delta pilot I’ve enjoyed discount stand-by tickets for years, meaning I have spent many a long day in the Atlanta airport. It would be a lengthy entry in its own right about horror stories and also the joys of that, which perhaps will surface here in about four days when I am doing that very thing.) and the excitement for seeing a new place. The anxiousness, the checking and double checking packing lists, and the shaky sleep I will receive just before.

But in many ways it’s new. I disembark (and eventually return) to a new home, my new home, independent of school and my Mom’s house. I am visiting Anthony and going to Pride before we leave the country, which might be a strange taste-of-the-old-familiar. And then of course, leaving the country. (!!) I am struggling to pack for the two climates — hot and brutal in one location and pleasant and misty in the other. I am trying to gauge how much reading material to bring. Do I bring several smallish books or one big meaty one? I am grappling with what music to have with me on the plane and in the airport. How to remember everything. How to make sure I get everywhere on time.

But this is for the most part surface level worry-wart stuff, because mostly I am incredibly excited.

The other thing I would like to mention is this: I am packing serious snacks.

I have not done big air travel in several years. I was trying to remember if I have ever actually flown anywhere with Anthony and I don’t think I have, which is a little baffling considering all the places we have gone. He would be a great flying companion. But yes: the last few big vacations Anthony and I did were in the car, and before that it was via TRAIN, which was all sorts of exciting/not-even-remotely-timely.

But as I think I mentioned a few entries back, weekends often found us in different cities, particularly in Summer when there is more daylight. I have become a master of both the small and large ice chest, and always kept an eye out for good hardy cheeses, dried berries, bread, etc that one could bring to snack and picnic on. For one thing it saves you from making stops at gas stations (and as I’ve mentioned, that’s the way to travel if you can,) but it is also so much nicer to be in a meadow next to a stream somewhere on highway 36 eating really good Gouda and an apple vs. ripping open a bag of doritos. Much healthier too.

I’ve looked a little, but I’ve not found much writing on what people bring in terms of non-perishable foodsnacks on an airplane. Come on people, what’s your travel food? Mine is usually something savory, some sort of cheese, and something sweet. For the plane, I’m thinking the standard: crackers, dried cranberries, the like. I made a batch of granola last night which will be coming with. I really want to bring carrots as well, since I picked up some gorgeous ones at the farmer’s market last night, but I can’t figure out how I would swing that in a carry-on. I will probably put them in my checked luggage and then munch on them over the course of the four days in Colorado, where I can stick them in the fridge or something. I’m also a bit gutted that I can’t bring cheese but I also can’t figure out how I would do it, what with restrictions on gel and weird items that undoubetly include those blue freezer keep-you-lunch-cold things, although there is no mention of them on the website. I would ask a desk person on my way in, but I think overall I’d rather just Not Fight about stuff. Particularly since I suspect bringing homemade granola in a zippy bag will be weird enough. Do you think if I label it they won’t hassle me? One can hope.

Packing today. I leave tonight for Denver.