walkingshadow (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
walkingshadow) wrote2005-01-04 02:09 am
walkingshadow) wrote2005-01-04 02:09 am
the people all call her Alaska
On Saturday I told my dad I wanted to leave by eleven on Sunday; naturally, we were out the door at about twelve-thirty, with only a little teeth-grinding on my part. OY.
It was a lovely day for driving, and I'd like to say the trip was uneventful, but the holiday drivers were out clogging the Turnpike and comprising the infamous holiday traffic. We passed quite a few accidents on the way up, and one particularly horrible one: we must have come to it just after it happened—we all slammed on our brakes, and then a few seconds later we rolled past it: on the other side of the median, southbound; one car overturned, completely smashed up; another sitting sideways across the road, roof torn off, a man sitting in the driver's seat and someone speaking to him; debris along the side of the road, and another car obviously gone into the ditch on the far side; a dozen cars had pulled off onto the median and both shoulders, people were milling around; we called 911 when we got past it and were told that vehicles were already on the way, but we were at least able to give them some details. The traffic was backing up as we watched—it's like watching the kids open the door in the horror movie; from your theater seat you want to shout at them not to go in there. I was twitchy for a while after that, and kept looking at the mile markers with a view of how far we'd gone; thirty miles from the accident, forty, sixty. My nerves settled eventually, but I still felt like crying. Two hours later we slowed down again for another bit of traffic. In the rearview mirror I saw the electronic sign over the southbound side reading that all lanes were blocked—still—at mile-marker 160.
We got into Gainesville at about five-thirty, my dad checked into the hotel, and we got my stuff up the stairs and into my room. Then we bolted out the door for food because I, for one, was starving. The first two places we tried were closed for the tail end of the holiday season, and we just happened to drive by Stonewood and my dad wanted to try it. Fabulous place and fabulous dinner: the staff was friendly, the decor was dark and comfortable, the salad plates were chilled, the dessert fork was icy, the bread was warm and direct from the oven, the pork chops were tender, and everything was DELICIOUS. I might get back there on my own, because while most of the entrees were a bit outside the college student's budget, their salads looked fabulous and reasonable.
We killed some time strolling around before catching The Life Aquatic. Quirky! as expected. I enjoyed it.
I'd met the first roommate (N.) when my dad and I were bringing my stuff in; met the second one (P.) when she popped in for a minute after I got back. She and her boyfriend were moving something into her room and we all said hi, but she didn't introduce him. At least I was friendly. And then I managed to stay up until after four a.m. doing absolutely nothing at all.
Unfortunately, the scarf weather has, for the moment, disappeared.
My dad came round again this morning at about nine-thirty to take us off to breakfast. Then I dropped him at the National History Museum and took myself off to Target, Michael's, and the essential Publix. I picked him up on the way back and he helped me unload before he headed home.
The new roommates are . . . nice. They seem very young. One (N.) is a transfer student from USF; the other took this past semester off. N. came into my doorway at about four this afternoon and asked if I was busy. I was crocheting and glancing up at the computer every once in a while at one challenge story or another, so I could answer, "not very." She wanted me to take her around to find her classes; and I didn't have anything else to do, so I did. Showed her the buildings, pointed other things out, answered questions. Was a good little ambassador.
The aerobics class I'd wanted to go to tonight was an hour later than I thought it was when I'd looked at the new schedule, so I was just in time to change my clothes, have more interaction with P., and get out to the gym. Crocheting is great for your fine motor control, but not so good at getting you to your target heart rate. That is, the new Step and Sculpt class (45 minutes of Step, 30 minutes of weight training (mostly upper body) and then standard abs and stretch) kicked my ass. It also triumphed over just about everybody else (all seven of them) including the instructor. As I told her, it's a great class and will be even BETTER next week when we can keep up.
Came home and cooked! Made my mother's soup and the dressing for the Chinesey cole slaw she'd made double of and sent home with me, MMMM.![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
gjstruthseeker came home some time in there. We're going to have to find some time to have lunch together during the week, or she will become only some faint memory of the girl at the end of the hall.
I'm only registered for three classes at the moment. I don't know which one I have tomorrow or where it's taking place, but I do know it and my day don't start until 1:55. Sleeeeep.
It was a lovely day for driving, and I'd like to say the trip was uneventful, but the holiday drivers were out clogging the Turnpike and comprising the infamous holiday traffic. We passed quite a few accidents on the way up, and one particularly horrible one: we must have come to it just after it happened—we all slammed on our brakes, and then a few seconds later we rolled past it: on the other side of the median, southbound; one car overturned, completely smashed up; another sitting sideways across the road, roof torn off, a man sitting in the driver's seat and someone speaking to him; debris along the side of the road, and another car obviously gone into the ditch on the far side; a dozen cars had pulled off onto the median and both shoulders, people were milling around; we called 911 when we got past it and were told that vehicles were already on the way, but we were at least able to give them some details. The traffic was backing up as we watched—it's like watching the kids open the door in the horror movie; from your theater seat you want to shout at them not to go in there. I was twitchy for a while after that, and kept looking at the mile markers with a view of how far we'd gone; thirty miles from the accident, forty, sixty. My nerves settled eventually, but I still felt like crying. Two hours later we slowed down again for another bit of traffic. In the rearview mirror I saw the electronic sign over the southbound side reading that all lanes were blocked—still—at mile-marker 160.
We got into Gainesville at about five-thirty, my dad checked into the hotel, and we got my stuff up the stairs and into my room. Then we bolted out the door for food because I, for one, was starving. The first two places we tried were closed for the tail end of the holiday season, and we just happened to drive by Stonewood and my dad wanted to try it. Fabulous place and fabulous dinner: the staff was friendly, the decor was dark and comfortable, the salad plates were chilled, the dessert fork was icy, the bread was warm and direct from the oven, the pork chops were tender, and everything was DELICIOUS. I might get back there on my own, because while most of the entrees were a bit outside the college student's budget, their salads looked fabulous and reasonable.
We killed some time strolling around before catching The Life Aquatic. Quirky! as expected. I enjoyed it.
I'd met the first roommate (N.) when my dad and I were bringing my stuff in; met the second one (P.) when she popped in for a minute after I got back. She and her boyfriend were moving something into her room and we all said hi, but she didn't introduce him. At least I was friendly. And then I managed to stay up until after four a.m. doing absolutely nothing at all.
Unfortunately, the scarf weather has, for the moment, disappeared.
My dad came round again this morning at about nine-thirty to take us off to breakfast. Then I dropped him at the National History Museum and took myself off to Target, Michael's, and the essential Publix. I picked him up on the way back and he helped me unload before he headed home.
The new roommates are . . . nice. They seem very young. One (N.) is a transfer student from USF; the other took this past semester off. N. came into my doorway at about four this afternoon and asked if I was busy. I was crocheting and glancing up at the computer every once in a while at one challenge story or another, so I could answer, "not very." She wanted me to take her around to find her classes; and I didn't have anything else to do, so I did. Showed her the buildings, pointed other things out, answered questions. Was a good little ambassador.
The aerobics class I'd wanted to go to tonight was an hour later than I thought it was when I'd looked at the new schedule, so I was just in time to change my clothes, have more interaction with P., and get out to the gym. Crocheting is great for your fine motor control, but not so good at getting you to your target heart rate. That is, the new Step and Sculpt class (45 minutes of Step, 30 minutes of weight training (mostly upper body) and then standard abs and stretch) kicked my ass. It also triumphed over just about everybody else (all seven of them) including the instructor. As I told her, it's a great class and will be even BETTER next week when we can keep up.
Came home and cooked! Made my mother's soup and the dressing for the Chinesey cole slaw she'd made double of and sent home with me, MMMM.
gjstruthseeker came home some time in there. We're going to have to find some time to have lunch together during the week, or she will become only some faint memory of the girl at the end of the hall.I'm only registered for three classes at the moment. I don't know which one I have tomorrow or where it's taking place, but I do know it and my day don't start until 1:55. Sleeeeep.
no subject
no subject
scarfaliciousness...
P.S. Would you like a Gmail invite?
Re: scarfaliciousness...
Thanks for the gmail invite, but I've actually got an account; it's mostly dormant at the moment because they make me nervous.
(And those clouds are gorgeous.)