C'est Non Un Blog

So, I’m officially not homeless. Ross hooked me up with someone he met in Seattle from stuntman school, who knew of a old roommate who was looking for someone to rent out a room in his West Seattle condo. My cousin checked it out and all looks good, so I’m going to be moving in a week from now and using that place as a hub for finding myself a more permanent settlement. My new roomie sounds cool and I’m just happy that I have one less thing to worry about. I have a place to live!

Now all I have to do is just pack all of my damn stuff. Sigh….

The first episode of this show was merely so-so, but the second? Hilarious. If the show keeps up like this it is going to be must see. Is anyone else watching this?

So the plan so far is to leave Monday and try to get to South Dakota by Wednesday. Then it is time for a little fun, after two days of neverending driving. First up, the Corn Palace, then the Minutemen Missile Silos, the Badlands, Wall Drug Store, Mount Rushmore and Deadwood. Sounds like a lot of fun. But I’ll be sorely disappointed if I don’t get called a Cocksucker at least once while in Deadwood. After that it is two more days of driving until I’m relaxing in Olympia, and then hopefully I’m off to my new place in Seattle.

Yesterday I was looking up possible routes to Seattle for our roadtrip, and I discovered that I-90 was by far our best bet. It goes all the way from Albany to Seattle, no turns, no fuss. Obviously I want to get the trip done as fast as possible, but you can’t travel across the country and not see ANYTHING. So I looked up Mt. Rushmore and discovered that it is right off I-90 in South Dakota, and on your way out you can visit Deadwood. Sweet! Anyone else know any quick pitstops one can make off of I-90?

It’s a weird time in my life right now. In exactly a week I will be hopping into my car with my dad to drive across this semi-great country of ours, fighting all sorts of weird leftover weather patterns from this winter, to go to Seattle in order to start a new life. I (still) have exactly nothing prepared for this trip. Still no apartment. No place to sleep, no stuff to put into an apartment, no clue as to what I’m doing. On top of that I still have nothing packed. My procrastinitis gene is kicking in nicely lately.

On top of that, today I went to probably one of the weirdest funerals I will ever have to go to. My grandma on my dad’s side passed away on Wednesday and so I got off work today to go with my family and pay last respects. The pastor who came to do the service was retired but knew Grandma from back in the day, so he seemed a good fit to do the honors. At first when he talked to all the immediate family in the sitting room he seemed like a good fit, calm, well spoken, and showing an experience that he has been doing this for a living for most of his life.

Unfortunately, or I guess fortunately depending on how you want to see it, he wasn’t quite so good once he got up in front of everyone. Sitting down he was fine, but he did mention he was suffering from vertigo before we entered the church. As the service started up he seemed OK, but then some of the stories he told us before started to blend into other ones, and didn’t make quite as much sense the second telling.

For example: In the sitting room he told us that this wasn’t a time to be sad, it was a time to grieve, and that there was a difference. He then went into how we were here to celebrate her life and remember her how she was, not is. In the church the story came out a little differently. This time he said that some of us were sad, and that some of us were here to grieve, and there was a difference. What that difference was, I’m not really sure, because he then went into a long tirade about how lawyers sucked and how his daughter was having problems of her own with a lawyer during (I’m guessing) divorce proceedings.

He went on and on about lawyers for a while, but before he finished what he was saying he stopped talking and just stood there. Then he yawned. And then he yawned again. Amen.

No one was really sure what was going on. My aunt Tiger used that opportunity to jump up and read some of the things the family remembered about my grandma. The poor guy didn’t even seem to know where he was at that point.

The whole thing was rather hilarious at that point. Everyone sat there, looking up in disbelief at what was happening. My other aunt, who was expected to be crying like a broken fire hydrant in the city in July was instead trying to hide her fits of laughter in the otherwise silent church. We all were. It was bizarre, like something out of a movie.

At least it gave everyone something to talk about once the service was over. Every once and a while you could see someone snickering with someone else, and you knew what it was they were talking about.

You ever meet someone who looks just like you? The other day a guy came in with his friend and their girlfriends, and I swear he looked just like me, only with shorter hair and a more narrow jawline. Of course Garth, who was working with them, didn’t notice the resemblence until I brought it up. His excuse? Our hair wasn’t the same color. Bull. It was the same color brown as the highlights in my hair. Of course his friends noticed. I couldn’t the other guy’s girlfriend staring at me at one point. Garth said that he heard them saying something about me, but he couldn’t tell what, but after I mentioned it Garth agreed they were probably talking about how much we looked alike.

That’s really weird. I really don’t like meeting people who look like me. I like to think I’m unique. One of a kind. The only jackass like this out there. I have to keep myself from going all Highlander, there-can-be-only-one! on him.

Team Karen all the way, baby.

I won’t ruin it for people who haven’t seen last night’s Lost yet, but for those of you who have, Wasn’t that the best final shot ever in the history of Lost? I don’t think there has ever been a better use of shock, followed by the “boom” and the big Lost over black.

What I can never seem to understand is how quickly my room turns into a mess. The place is a dump. And it never takes me more than two days after cleaning to make it that way. Am I doomed to forever be a slob? Once I get an apartment (IF I get an apartment) is that going to look like a dump too? Why is it that I feel the need to keep EVERYTHING…on the floor?