Now I'm in California, Love.

I made it, and boyfriend lovingly met me inside the airport.  (I think he read previous post).  It's been lovely since I came back, apart from Green, my best friend, running off to San Diego.  Damn her.  I'll just have to lure her to hang out with my with Panda Express.  She can never say no to greasy Chinese food.  Not the main, but a rather vital aspect to our friendship. 

It's orientation week on campus, and I am happy to say I am in no way involved in any aspect of it.  Hands-off this year.  After spending ten hours in the ninety degree heat handing out rented grocery shopping carts to Freshman (who more times that not had way too much attitude for the campus babies).  Even worse were the parents.  "Well, I just don't understand why I can't just cut to the front of the line or just march up to my daughter, Tiffany's, room right now.  I don't want to have to deal with everyone else.  We came all the way from LA. We don't have time for this."

And it's just too damn hot.  All I want to do is sleep.  But instead I watch reruns of Barefoot Contessa and Giada at Home.  Nothing like food porn on a hot Thursday afternoon.

It hasn't all been unproductive though.  We had breakfast at Cafe Lucca's. (Gearing myself up for Italy).  Boyfriend had a shot of espresso.  He said it was too sweet, I think it tasted like tar.  Then went out searching for an apartment.  Most people wouldn't let us past the front gate.  But eventually we meandered our way away from campus, where it's cheaper and safer.  I fell in love with a little one bedroom by the tracks.  Of course there's no way to tell if there will be openings in January (apparently you can't just look that up on the nifty office computer).  But I'm hopeful.

And desperate.

California

So tomorrow I'm leaving at the ass-crack of dawn to catch a flight to California where I will be undoubtedly met by my many ardent admirers.  If I were to venture a guess I would say there will be at least twenty people waiting anxiously as I descend the escalator (yeah, I'm lazy what of it?), down to the baggage claim of John Wayne International Airport.  (I'm not sure if it's actually international, but it's got like four baggage carousels, so that's impressive for an airport named after a man who starred in westerns.)  There will be hugs, tears, and a mass amount of rose pedals thrown beneath my feet. 

I paint quite the picture don't I?  In sad actuality, the only person who will be there is my boyfriend.  Who does love me but is more or less obligated to pick me up.  And instead of my baggage claim fantasy I'll probably have to run and try (very hard) to catch him outside near the taxis.  He should come in and actually see me, but his father never taught him proper airport etiquette.  I would try to correct this, but I have to choose my battles and getting him to quit smoking takes precedence over chivalry anyday.

Anyway, I'll probably have to wait for him outside of the large golden statue of John Wayne.  This is the brilliance of their "pick-up" area.  It's this dank tunnel with three lanes, so if party A (those who are doing the picking up) is not in the closest lane to the curb, then party B (person sans a car of their own) has to frantically wave them down knocking over her two suitcases, hitting an Asian tourist in the face and making small children cry, all while party A just drives on by unaware.   And yes, this may have been a personal experience. 

But at least I get to see this boyfriend.  I mean he's pretty cute.  Funny.  Charming.  A soon-to-be-non-smoker.  And I don't know anyone else to pick me up, so guess he's my knight in shining armore. (Ha, see what I did there?)

So in summation, to whomever reads this, that will be one aspect of my day tomorrow.  Have a good sleep.  (...Or morning.  I don't know where my fanbase is located.  I figure I have more of an East Coast vibe).

Tomorrow Starts in 36 Minutes

Things I need to get done tomorrow:
* Return library books.
* Get my hair done, and with it a brand new vote of self-confidence.
*  Do all my laundry and begin to pack for Italy.  Minimalism will be my motto for the next three months.
* Buy whatever else I need for Italy.  This will require a very reluctant trip out to Wal-Mart  (I can't believe I just admitted that on the interwebs).
* Dinner with my grandparents.  Mock Chicken legs ... yum!
* Write something... anything.
* Sleep.


That sounds nice.  Doesn't it?

Foreward

I think I should start from the beginning.  Rather, I should start this entire blog over.  So let's begin, shall we?

Hi.  My name is Elizabeth.  I'm originally from a small town in Washington state.  And when I mean small, I'm not talking about a suburb outside of a city.  When I say small, I don't mean 50,000 people.  I mean 4,000 people.  Instead of a mall we have a Super Wal-Mart.  Instead of restaurants we have a McDonald's.  Instead of art galleries, museums, and culture, we have rodeos, backyard barbecues and shot gun weddings.  While, this may appeal to some, it didn't to me.  So I left at sixteen, moved to California to a boarding school.  Now I'm at college in LA and about to take another culture dive.  In exactly eleven days, I depart America to spend three months (three entirely glorious months) in Florence, Italy. 

I realize blogs are the hip new thing to do.  And normally, I'm not "in" enough to partake in such activities, but, I'm a writer, and this is a way for me to feel productive in my "craft" (I hate that word) without having to beg publishers, producers, agents, actors, and the general public to give me the time of day.   You see, it really doesn't matter to me if anyone reads this.  In fact, if I make myself believe that no one is (which won't be difficult), I can be honest about everything.  So, while I appreciate anyone who reads this thoroughly, for my own sanity, I'll just pretend you're imaginary, like my other friends.

Did I mention I'm twenty years old?