It’s fine to act depressed until something truly bad actually happens. Then you suddenly find that it’s not really all that glamorous to cry all the time.
This dude and the piano.
I’m in the OU student union, which is the only place I can get Internet until we set up our Cox (heh, heh) cable and Internet service. Usually I sit on the second floor of the union, which looks like a glorified hotel lobby, but they’ve closed that section for some private event. So I’m in the cafeteria. There are fruit flies that keep dive-bombing my face, and there’s no one else around, except for this dude and the piano.
See, OU is big into pianos, I’d venture to say that they occur with a prevalence in this building that is rivaled only by football paraphernalia. Every other time I’ve been here they, the pianos, have just been left alone, lurking in corners like reminders of the potential union between money and sound. But today there’s this motherfucker playing the shit out of this piano. Who puts a piano in a college cafeteria? Where there’s a miniature Wendy’s and graffiti that says “OSU SUXX” carved into the arms of the chairs? This guy, this…prodigy, is playing so loud that I can’t even use my earphones to drown him out. And I’m here, hiding out in the OU student union, because later on today, this afternoon, in a mere matter of hours, I’m to attend the wedding of a woman who broke my boyfriend’s heart. The girl who took his virginity. The woman that my boyfriend, when still young, idealistic, and pimply-faced in high-school, wanted to make his bride.
I’m feeling uncomfortable, even though they broke up a decade ago, even though I’m living with him, and we’re anti-marriage, and she’s a blond academic. I’m awkward. I don’t wear dresses well. I want silence for an indefinite amount of time, I want to be alone, to press reverse and try to start again, from back when I was in high-school, back when I still had some sort of hope for adulthood to be a gentle transition, not a daily ice bath, but this guy on the piano, here in my hide out, he’s reminding me, with his classical prowess, that the band plays on. And on.
Learning to drive manual is a metaphor for the rest of my life. I don’t understand what’s going on, but I’m trying to blindly take direction while indavertently pissing someone off. Then, if I’m able to get things going, I panic, downshift, slow down while apologizing, and come to a complete stop out of abject terror that I will be required to continue on, getting in other people’s way, or worse, having everything come to a mortifying and sudden halt with little more than a sputter and a bunny hop.
Carrots Raw Peppers
Tofu Sauteed Mushrooms
Rice Steamed Kale
Apple Sliced Avocado
Salad Tossed Tabouli
Raisin Dried Nori
I DO NOT UNDERSTAND CHICKEN FRIED STEAK
I think that vegans are the only people less welcome in Oklahoma than Democrats, gays, and Dallas Cowboys fans.
Things You Could Do If You Hogtied Me
1. Catch up on reading those old issues of Architectural Digest.
2. Conveniently carry me to the gynecologist’s, Six Flags, or Church.
3. Eat rocky road ice cream without fear of being judged.
4. Continue the rodeo fantasy by completing the calf roping event of the competition, branding my ass with your initials, and then retiring to the ranch to hang up your belt and eat some grits, yee-haw.
5. Finally leave.
6. Donate to charities in my name. I recommend Charitini, the most badass and brilliant charity of all. Also, as an alcoholic, I say hell yes to spending drink money for a cause other than tossing your cookies.
7. Serve high tea to your parents using me as a coffee table.
8. Read a Candace Bushnell novel aloud to me until I swear off Scrabble/bouldering/veganism/whatever you want just please stop please stop please.
9. Do the dishes, you lazy sack of shit.
10. Make love and listen to Death From Above.
![“Fraidy Hole - [Slang] Term for a basement, cellar, or other supposedly protective location where people hide when the tornado shows up for a visit. No part of a mobile home should be used as a fraidy hole, better to find some below-ground protected structure.”
from Spotter Fictionary](http://media.tumblr.com/Ri8Fhj6swhymeljwKSS7uG5Co1_r1_500.jpg)
“Fraidy Hole - [Slang] Term for a basement, cellar, or other supposedly protective location where people hide when the tornado shows up for a visit. No part of a mobile home should be used as a fraidy hole, better to find some below-ground protected structure.”
from Spotter Fictionary
merry whatever, y'all
A big hug to all of you out there in the Innertubes from lil’ me in Oklahoma.
New, Southern post to come at the end of the week. Fifteen hours sleeping in a van, a preteen Texas state trooper, and some of the worst pork chops ever consumed, but we made to Norman.
Happy holiday(s) and all that.
oxox
Ainsley Drew
There is a lot of camouflage in Oklahoma. Too much? That’s for you to decide.
I am scared. My feelings about this impending move can be adequately expressed by this kid’s face.
We have to leave tomorrow night because it’s going to fucking snow.
