My Little Gremlings,
In hindsight, it seems that I probably would make more of an effort to update this rather than read Questionable Content at night if people actually read this. But after a while, the tiny little specks of reader in my soul wore me down into taking a break.
I urge you, now, in order to set the right mood, to recall the immortal words of one Bob Dylan:
To be on your own
With no direction home
Like a complete unknown
Like a rolling stone?"
Admittedly, as I set off from Ellsworth, Maine (Yes, I went on vacation without telling the vast, nameless internet. Keep up!) this morning, I had a very specific direction home -- but I freely roamed the very set course that Interstate 95 allowed, so we're going to allow me to be a tad more ridiculous that is usually considered acceptable. I'm sure this is a great surprise to you.
Let's do the checklist, then. We are allowing some freedom on the "direction" issue, but I am definitely a complete unknown. I was really counting on my blog to get me famous, but after three full days of painstakingly keeping a record of my life I am seeing very few results. Maybe I should go become famous on YouTube or something. THEN people will read my blog (I'm sorry for the million and a half links to hayleyghoover -- and by million and a half I mean two. It's just that I read her blog, see? I feel a blog kindredship with her. No, that's not a word).
God, I am RAMBLY today. I'm even rambling in parentheses! However, this leads into my next checkmark quite nicely. RAMBLING is another word for WANDERING. LIKE A ROLLING STONE! See? All the crap I put you through eventually (sort of) has a point. But really. I am like a rolling stone. The wheels on my car rolled a lot today. Just ask them -- three different states is no light bundle. And I, personally, am STONE COLD. Like that movie about biker gangs or Clint Eastwood or something. No emotion whatsoever (everything I have said and will say from here on out contradicts this sentence).
So, as I said, after my parents dropped me off at my car and I set off down Interstate 95 (if only, if only it could have been Highway 61) -- at this point I would like to point out that I was, in fact, ON MY OWN (eh? eh?) -- being a rolling stone seemed like a pretty idyllic position to be in. It was sunny, the windows were down, I was lightly tanned/sunburned and still slightly damp and salty from running into the ocean one last time.
Several hours down the road, I learned that, at least for me, being a rolling stone REALLY means being a little too overzealous on the "not falling asleep while driving five hours" front, and slightly overdosing on iced coffee and those slushies that they sell at 7 Eleven (blue raspberry is literally my second biggest weakness after theoretical facial hair). This, of course, means that I become a one-woman air band throughout the entirety of southern Maine and New Hampshire. The situation only escalated when I entered Massachusetts and sang loudly, "I'M A LOCAL NOW I'M A LOCAL NOW" and screamed a little every time I saw a sign for a Dunkin' Donuts off of the highway (In Massachusetts there are Dunkin' Donuts at every exit, in case you're wondering).
Still, despite this odd hysteria that always manages to last many hours after I return home, I really do love driving places, and this vacation was excellent for such things. On Saturday afternoon I drove all the way up to Camden (another air-banding session that will go down in history -- no doubt in 40 years it will be remembered as the one-woman Woodstock). The days in between the drive were filled with some of my favorite things -- lots of hiking, camping, ocean-ing, kayaking, and LOBSTER. But you don't want to hear about THAT. You sadistic little figments are only interested in hearing stories about me when I buy stupid things covered in les moustaches and when I greviously over-caffinate myself.
P.S. Stone Cold Steve Austin? SHAPE OF A WIKIPEDIA MASTER.
P.P.S. Scrubs references out the wazoo!
P.P.P.S. If anyone in the future reads this, I became a vegetarian allowing myself one night of shellfishy lobster goodness a year, and BOY am I glad I made that decision. Lobster is really good. To read a full excuse on why this practice is ok, please see this link.
P.P.P.P.S. If you clicked on that link, my sincerest apologies.