Protected: Not for you!

This content is password protected. To view it please enter your password below:


Being at home :)

Here are a few pics from going home (and being here, too!)

This is when I was camped out on I-5 right after Roseburg. As you can see, it’s a lovely picnic spot, and super dangerous because of the flashy curve right around the hill. Stupid car.

This is from Shasta as I was driving back. Most of the snow was gone, which is really weird. It must’ve been hot this year, and they also must not have gotten much snow.

Here’s me and the Gib on the floor of the kitchen. Isn’t she cute?!

Ok ok, this is an old picture, this isn’t recent at all (because there isn’t any fringe in my eyes). I just thought it was a cute picture of my little brother, Stevie, and I 🙂

Holy Lord.

Why can’t I have a normal trip home, for once?!

My engine blew up.

No, no, wait, it’s okay, I did get home (eventually), but I was stranded in Roseburg for… two hours? I sat on the side of I-5 with a sandwich, bottle of water, and 1984. If my hood weren’t up, it’d look as though I was having a picnic. The tube connecting the manifold and the air intake blew off, and I lost the metal thing that attached the two together, so I couldn’t go anywhere. No air means the computer would say no more gas, which means my car backfired and scared the living poop out of me. I didn’t cry, but I was damn close. Eventually, a family pulled up behind my car and they were sooo helpful. The dad actually found my metal thing, and put my car back together (all before the bloody towtruck got there), and the mom wanted to take me home with them so she could feed me and let me sleep there since it would be relatively late once I got to Palo Alto (yeah, it was 12:30am when I got home). They were like angels! They selflessly helped me out and cheered me up 🙂 I just wish I got their names so I could send them flowers or a basket.

Next, a boat became unhitched from the Surburban that was pulling it. Oooh that was scary. I got past it without dying.

If I had anyone to play roadkill bingo with, I would’ve kicked their butt. I saw a dead wild pig. Who sees those everyday? Oh, and a dead fricken Lynx or something. Giant cat-like creature. It was sad, because it reminded me of Capone, but at the same time, I wanted to get out and poke it with a stick.

When you drive out of the Klammath Range and you see Mount Shasta in the distance, bathed in golden sunlight… It’s one of those times where you say, “Yeah, there could be a God. That’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.” And it was. I should’ve stopped and taken a picture, to be honest. There were a few people stopped off the side of the freeway with their expensive cameras. I don’t think my camera phone would’ve done it justice. *sigh* It’s that moment where you wish you had all the time in the world to stand there with your significant other, wrapped in each others’ arms, enjoying the view as the sun slowly sinks below the horizon. The sky turns into a kaleidoscope of pinks and oranges, and the warmth envelopes you like a familliar blanket… Sorry, I’m getting a bit sappy, even for my tastes. I think I’m depressed because I actually got home. For a second, while I was stranded, I was happy I couldn’t go home. I was excited at the prospect of being able to turn around and drive back.

Ok, so I’m not really making any sense. I had four energy drinks, four cans of pop, and only a little bit of water. I’m shaking like a leaf in a tornado. I think there really is a limit as to how much caffeine you can put into your body at once, and that much just isn’t good for you. Actually, I think I put a hole in my stomach.

Well, here I am. Might as well make the best of it and go to REI to replace my Tevas.

Guess What?

(17:28:37) Stevie: you know whats really funny?
(17:28:38) Stevie is no longer away.
(17:28:43) Me: your mom.
(17:28:45) Me: what?
(17:28:49) Stevie: yer face!
(17:28:53) Me: is not
(17:28:57) Me: guess what?
(17:29:53) Stevie: que?
(17:29:56) Stevie: quoi?
(17:29:59) Stevie: como?
(17:30:02) Stevie: comment?
(17:30:09) Stevie: question?
(17:30:13) Stevie: what?
(17:30:15) Me: chicken butt
(17:30:19) Me: hehehehehehehhee
(17:30:24) Stevie: yer a tard
(17:30:29) Me: guess who?
(17:30:35) Stevie: your mom
(17:30:53) Me: NO
(17:30:58) Me: play the game right.
(17:31:08) Me: humor me
(17:31:14) Stevie: chicken poo!
(17:31:16) Me: yay!
(17:31:18) Me: guess when?
(17:31:26) Stevie: chicken hen
(17:31:29) Me: guess why?
(17:31:35) Stevie: chicken pot pie!
(17:31:40) Me: guess where?!
(17:32:11) Stevie: chicken STARE o_o
(17:32:13) Me: hehehe
(17:32:19) Me: no, its chicken square!
(17:32:37) Stevie: ___
(17:32:49) Stevie: | |
(17:32:50) Me: guess why?
(17:32:52) Stevie: ___
(17:32:57) Me: aww i ruined it
(17:32:59) Stevie: YOU MESSED UP MY SQUARE!
(17:33:05) Stevie: ___
(17:33:11) Stevie: | |
(17:33:13) Stevie: ___
(17:33:16) Me: now guess what?!
(17:33:16) Stevie: eh
(17:33:18) Me: why>
(17:33:21) Me: dammit
(17:33:27) Stevie: CHICKEN POT PIE
(17:33:35) Me: where!?
(17:33:38) Stevie: ___
(17:33:44) Stevie: | |
(17:33:50) Stevie: —-
(17:34:00) Stevie: my sqaure sucks
(17:34:03) Me: who?
(17:34:07) Stevie: poo
(17:34:08) Stevie: face

Mutiny, I say!

Mums are annoying, especially mine. She uses this false calming voice that patronises you into either a fit of frustration, or actually calms you. Usually it’s the first rather than the second. An example, if you will:

Me: Do you think I’ll be able to bring my inhaler on the plane with me to London?
Mum: I don’t know. Why are you looking at that right now, anyways? Shouldn’t you be doing homework?
Me: It was just a question! Can’t I ask questions?
Mum: Of course you can. But why aren’t you doing your homework?
Me: But maybe I didn’t understand what TSA said…
Mum: Why are you getting upset? I can hear your tone of voice.
Me: I was just asking a question!
Mum: Calm down, Kristin.
Me: Mum! I’m calm!
Mum: Doesn’t sound it. Why are you upset?
Me: Honestly, your calm tone of voice drives me crazy. I hate it when you use it! Stop patronising me!
Mum: Fine. This conversation is over. Goodnight.

Gah, she’s so touchy. That’s sort of what we said – I left out loads of stuff too. Argh. Makes me want to slap her.

You shouldn’t drive with a golf club.

Yes, that’s right. Driving with a golf club. Now, you can be witty and say, “But Kristin, how would I drive the ball without a Driver?” *snorts* Ok, so that’s cute. But I’m talking about a man, probably in his 50s or so, driving an old, green Ford minivan with a driver in the seat next to him, waving it at cars that don’t go 85 on the highway. True story.

Mom and I were driving back to Corvallis on April Fool’s Day [the first for all you stuffy people], and we were putting merrily up Hwy 680, after the 580 interchange and nearing the Sacramento exit for Hwy 24 or whatever it is. We were in the fast lane, going 75-78, and here’s this douche behind us in an old minivan, tailgating my car. The first thing I thought was, “Oh please hit my car so I can finally get my bumper replaced.” [Hey, I backed into a mountain two years ago, and totally didn’t see it coming. That’s another story for another time.] The second was that sign on 4th street as you pull into downtown Corvallis from Circle, which says “We’ll make you later, tailgater”or something. It’s an ODOT safe driving billboard, and they’re all so… Profound. I actually enjoy seeing what they come up with, even if they’re slightly morbid.

*Example: One has a boy with his arm slung around a dotted line silhouette of a girl, and the caption reads: “He sped, she’s dead.” Very alarming, but good.

Ok, so Mr. Man is tailgating. I merrily ignored him for awhile, and then couldn’t any longer.
“Mom, he’s up our butts, maybe it’s time to get over.”
“I will, Honey, just wait a second. I need this jerk to let me over first.” She was referring to another jerk which was in our blind spot. Lots of crappy drivers reside in California, apparently.
So, just as she was about to pull over, Mr. Man decides to whip around us at lightening-fast speeds, giving us a dirty look as he drove by. So, I did what any red-blooded Cali girl would do. I flipped him off.
That was the worst possible, but somewhat silly, mistake to make. I’m a 20-something college student living in Oregon. You can’t possibly take anything I do seriously. [At least, no adult I know takes college students seriously, regardless of their major.] He slams on his brakes like a child ran infront of the car, and begins to match our speed next to us, signaling me to roll my window down. Hell no I’m not rolling my window down for the douche that was tailgating us.
“What’d you do, Kristin?”
“Uhm, I flipped him off.”
“Don’t ever, EVER do that to anyone! You don’t know what kind of crazy response you’ll get!”

Well, ner, I got my crazy response.

He rolled his window down and started screaming at us to pull over, probably so he could beat two women presumably from Oregon [I have out of state plates on my car because I wanted residency]. I gave him my snotty “I’m so much better than you, and you’re no better than dog shit” look that comes with growing up in a well-off community. Well, that made him angry. He pulled a golf club from his passenger seat and began to swing it outside his window, while we were going 80 down the highway. WTF. It wasn’t a driver, actually, but with my limited knowledge, I’d guess a chipper at the way the thingie was angled. Who drives with a golf club in the front seat!? Someone like that shouldn’t be driving, let alone playing golf. I’d hate to see what he does to the poor green.
I actually got scared for a second. I thought, if he got close enough, he’d actually swing it at my car, and bringing up that I’m a college student with no job, surprise surprise, I wouldn’t be able to afford to fix that. He had some serious anger issues. Thankfully, he looked to be overweight, and probably had a heart problem, and high cholesterol, so with stress levels like he has, he won’t be around much longer. I just hope he dies a fiery death. No one should get that upset over a gesture.

Mom wouldn’t let me call the CHP on him, even though I really wanted to call 911 and rat him out. Instead, I called 1-800-EXHAUST, which is a Bay Area emissions hotline that you can call and report a smoking car. The offender will get a ticket in the mail, and a demand to get their car re-smogged. Daddy does it every now and then when people drive crappy, so that was somewhat of a consolation. I still wanted his ass thrown in jail. But, if I had called CHP, I would’ve had to admit that I flipped him off, which I don’t think we’re supposed to do. *sigh* Oh well.

The moral of the story is: Don’t drive on 680. There are WAY too many nutjobs on that highway to safely get anywhere. I never really appreciated the smaller highways of the Willamette Valley until that day. I think we take the lack of congestion for granted, and after that “experience”, if you will, and others that day, I don’t think I’ll ever want to live in the Bay Area ever again. …Well, if I do, I want a driver so I don’t have to deal with that shit.