Monday's Golden Treasures

Today has been a fairly normal day...nothing really monumental, or even blogworthy for that matter. There were, however, just a few things I would like to bring up:

First, you might recall my blog post about people sleeping in the bathroom. Many of my friends and fellow bloggers share the same feeling. Well, this afternoon I braved the Wasatch wind and walked to the ASB to turn in the last document for my BYU Grad application (drum roll please) and naturally had to use the restroom. I roamed, somewhat aimlessly, around the rarely visited halls of the Administrative building, until I came upon one. When I opened the door, I was immediately greeted by a girl sleeping on a coach. And not only was she sleeping, but she was in full on "I'm in bed" mode. Her shoes were strewn across the room, the lights were out, and she was covered with a blanket (I can only hope that blanket is not stored in that bathroom. The thought makes me shudder). But don't for one second think that I am about to complain yet again about another bathroom sleeper. Oh no. Today is a day for JOY, people! In the ASB on this last day in January, I found what appears to be a happy medium to a rather disturbing public health issue. Let the sickos sleep in the bathroom, but put a door between them and the toilet spray. It is, to say the least, revolutionary. Naturally this brilliant idea would develop in the building that houses the big dawgs. While I might disagree with certain aspects of bureaucracy, this time they did good. We can be friends (but not with the girl sleeping in the building -- because from the looks of her an hour and half a go, she's probably still there.)

Second, I walked up the stairs to the LRC in the Library today and witnessed a sight I would have rather not have had to be subjected to: A large boy in a bright red shirt was sitting at his table picking his nose. Let me rephrase that: DIGGING in his nose. I'm not sure how deep his nostrils go --he could just have stubby fingers -- but he was going at it. And I was disgusted. There are certain things one should do in the privacy of their own bathroom, where tissue is readily available. For all I know, he probably wiped it under the table. Again, I shudder.

So really, in a otherwise mundane day, I have been able to extract little golden treasures -- just like the golden treasures under the table.

I love Mondays.

Mass-ive Adventure: Day 3

Boston would not be Boston without Dunkin Donuts. Apparently, everyone eats them out here. This is evident in the fact that you can find one on pretty much every corner (surprising since I don’t remember seeing very many obese people). There may not be any gas stations, but by golly, they have doughnuts. We drove to the coast to Marblehead, Bucket’s old stomping grounds, and the first thing we did was pick up a box of 25 Munchkin doughnut holes. Oh yes we did. We would eat on them all day, sucking down every single one. After we had stocked up, we headed to Salem to check out our digs for the night, family friends of Buckets who were going to Maine for the weekend and were kind enough to let us take over their house for the night. They are amazing, and again, I was greeted with even thicker Boston accents! What’s an “r” anyway? Loved it. Our first stop of the Saturday adventure was to Waterside Cemetery, the cemetery where Charlie St. Cloud in the book works and lives. We had to see it, of course, and Bucket also wanted to say hello to her grandparents who are buried there. True to Francis luck, on our way out of the cemetery, the Saab got stuck going up the hill. The tire was off the ground stuck in a snow bank, and no matter how much we tried, the rubber just burned behind us. Our first stop in Marblehead and we were already defeated! Between laughing and panicking, and attempting to push it up the hill (yes, we did) and dig out the tire, we were loving it! Finally I got in the driver seat, and with Thompson luck ahead of us and Francis luck behind me pushing, we got the Saab up the hill and out of the cemetery. This was the mark of the beginning of an incredible day!

            We drove around for awhile, going out to the Neck of Marblehead, where we saw castles and houses bigger than the state itself. But it was beautiful! We also saw Marblehead’s grand lighthouse, which, well, wasn’t so grand, but a lighthouse nevertheless! Next we ventured into Old Town. We were walking among houses built in the early 1700s, belonging to fisherman and original townspeople. While it may have started out as a working-class city, it, like so many New England coastal towns had become a little hoity toity and the Old Town was flanked with little expensive shops and restaurants. It was incredible, nevertheless, and I even found out each spot that Bucket had peed her pants or kissed a boy or gotten in trouble. It was extremely enlightening. (:         

            During this whole time, I had been worrying about the cost of going to grad school in Boston if I were to get accepted. As we were going up to Sewall Fort, the place where they hid the US Constitution from the British during the Revolutionary War, a mailman got out of his car and started talking to us in his thick Boston accent. He asked us where we were from, told us something about George Washington’s hidden rum (??) and then asked what we were doing. I told him I was looking at grad schools, to which he responded – without hesitation – “Don’t worry about the money. You’re only this age once.” With that, he basically tipped his hat, wished us luck, and got in his car and drove off. It was like a little angel had come to address my exact worry about going to school in Boston. And it was in the form of a Marblehead mailman.

            Two ponds later, we reached yet another cemetery (do I sense a disturbing trend developing??). But hold your horses, because we found a tombstone from...are you ready? 1692. That's right. That's a six first, not a nine. Fate would have it that we would run into Wilmot Redd's grave, the only "witch" from Marblehead hung in the Salem Witch Trials. She was but a lass. I felt a special kinship. No comment. Anyway, Old Burial Hill was beautiful and it was so serene as our day was approaching dusk. Dusk meant dinner, and the growling in our stomachs met dinner NOW (those munchkins go straight from your stomach to your butt, I tell you!) Having been highly recommended by a man who knows his food, we headed to a small roast beef shack in Salem. Upon opening the doors, we were blasted by the aroma of FRIED GOODNESS. We must've stared at the menu for hours, because finally a guy standing near the corner began to talk to us, hoping to help somehow. We asked him what was good there, in what must've been strange accents, because he said, "You're not from around here, are you?" I wanted to protest, but I knew it was true. He recommended the "Regular" and so that is exactly what we got...with a side orders of fries and onion rings of course. When the food was spread out before us on the table, the site was as though a cow had been slaughtered before our eyes and cooked to perfection. BBQ sauce dripped down our faces as we devoured these sandwiches like heathens -- but happy heathens, nevertheless. So we got a picture, naturally. A man in the shack took it. And they say Bostonians are so cold!

Well, after that bombshell of a dinner, our wearied bodies needed a rest, because on the agenda later that night was Maddies, the local Marblehead bar down by the waterfront. And we needed to bring our A game for that one. When 9pm rolled around, we headed into Marblehead and entered another world -- one with which Bucket and I are quickly becoming familiar. It was dark, and loud, but Bucket knew the bartender, so it was indeed amazing. We ordered Shirley Temples, and who would have known that Joey could make the best Shirley Temples on the northeastern seaboard? He told us that it was his first time, in fact, and that chances were good that it would be his only time. We thanked him oh so much. 

Bar life was good. Sometimes it suits me. Should I be worried? Meanwhile we still smelled like fried goodness, which after the goodness is gone, merely smells like fried staleness, which is absolutely and utterly disgusting. So what to do? We threw our clothes in the dryer with a million dryer sheets (don't tell Jackie and Phil!) and awaited the results until morning...........

Mass-ive Adventure: Day 2

Friday morning I felt slightly like I had been hit by a tow truck. My body was still shaken up by the time change and my eyes felt plastered into my face. Nevertheless, I got out of bed because today was to be a grand adventure. Nothing says welcome to Boston, enjoy your stay like a Fluffernutter, which Bucket made us at breakfast to take on the road. A fluffernutter? Yes, a fluff-er-nutt-er. While some may eat peanutbutter and jelly sandwhiches, people in Massachussetts eat peanutbutter and marshmallow sandwiches. The fluff is made in Massachusetts, and boy is it grand! Apparently some eat it every day for lunch at school (and have a million fillings, I am sure). I was excited to eat it later on.
Using Tom Tom, we ventured into Boston. What should have taken us 20 minutes took us an hour and a half. Basically we took a roundabout (oh sorry…the correct New England vernacular is “rotary”) three million times looking for exit 4! But it worked out great because we got a great too-er of the industrial zone of Boston (with doors locked) and Charlestown, a quaint little neighborhood. Finally, Tom Tom having been slapped across the screen a few times, we arrived at the Boston Common and parked the Saab. We were in BOSTON!!! Once up on the street, I was happy to find the subway quickly since I was afraid I would have to whip out my GPS on my phone and have the lady talk to me about where to find the subway – and then I would be a tourist! This wasn’t a tourist trip, people! We were locals all the way. So we took the subway like locals and hopped on the wrong line. Errrrrrr. We didn’t realize we were on the wrong line until we had almost reached the end. We made quick friends with the train driver who directed us back to the right path, and we were able to get back on track and on the right train this time. So maybe we were just a little too eager and hopped on the first train that came by!

We got to Boston College 25 minutes before my interview with the help of the Russian/Italian/Bostonian security guard. He had friendly eyes and tried to explain to us how to get to the social work building. Bucket wasn’t listening to half of it because she was trying to figure out his accent. After he explained it, we nodded our heads and headed to the first map we saw. Apparently neither of us take directions very well. With the clock ticking, we suddenlty heard a yell from a car behind us, and it was our Russian/Italian/Bostonian friend. He said he was headed in that direction and would give us a ride. My first thought was to not get in the car with strangers. But of course we got in, anyway! Where would the adventure be without a little danger, right? He drove us across the campus and began to exit the campus, and Bucket’s first thoughts were, “Well, I guess he’s taking us home with him. Good thing Jess is in the front seat; he’ll get to her first.” When she revealed to me her thoughts later, I pushed her into the snow. Some too-er guide! But we made it to the building safely. Don’t worry mom.

My interview went great. The head of admissions, Dr. Howard, was a nice bearded man and we talked for 40 minutes. I came out of his office excited about the program. It’s a pretty selective program, so I want to be optimistic about getting in, without getting too excited before I do. I hate the disappointment! But campus was beautiful, and to use a friend’s jargon, even “regal.” It was actually everything I ever wanted a college campus to look like. Harry Potter: Eat my dust.

We took the T back to Boston, deciding to stop at Boston University on our way back. The only problem was that there were three BU stops – East, Central, and West. When we stopped at the East stop, Bucket and I decided to get off, but I got off at the front and she was headed to the middle door. I waited for her outside the train but she never got off! Just as the train was about to take off again, I jumped back on, looking for her! She was just standing there by the door, looking sheepish among the throng of people. Apparently she hadn’t known how to get that door open and was knocking on it, at one point exclaiming in her trademark whiny voice, “I’m stuckkkkkkkkkk.” People around her just stared at her. She contemplated yelling to me, hoping to prevent a separation, but she was afraid she had already looked ridiculous enough when she knocked. It. Was. Hilarious. We took the Central stop, searched for the BU social work building, and found it looking somewhat like an innter-city apartment building spruced up with some ivy. Bucket decided that they were tyring to give us the real world feel of how we might live as social workers. Haha. It was a beautiful campus, though, and I’m thinking of applying there, as well.

We were starving by the time we got downtown again, and we ventured out to find the Cheers bar, a must-see on our Boston adventure. When at first we couldn’t find it, however, we paused, and I said, “You know, I’ve never even seen Cheers.” Bucket paused, thinking for a moment, and replied, “Yeah…me either!” So we let go of our need to sit in an old bar with probably bad food, and set out to find a hamburger place, following our acute senses of smell. After trudging around the narrow streets of downtown, we came upon a restaurant in a small alley called Kennedy’s. The place wasn’t busy, and two men outside told us it was good. So we trusted them, went upstairs, and ate burgers with Irish bacon. Mmmmmm….I would taste that burger for two days.

After that stone in our stomachs, we needed to burn the calories off like a hamster in a cage wheel, and went to find the skating rink in the Boston Common. At this point it was about 19 degrees outside and we were feeling it, but we put on the hockey skates and skated around the small rink with the rest of the rodents nevertheless. I got to see Bucket’s mad skills on the dullest blades in the world when she fell on her butt. The dull skates, I realize now, were merely an excuse.

When stomachs began having undesired reactions to the Irish bacon, we headed to the Saab for our trip back to Billerica, cold, tired, but oh so happy to have just spent the day frolicking through the city.

Mass-ive Adventure: Day 1

I knew I wasn’t in Provo anymore when I entered the plane to Boston in Denver and was hit with a strong accent from aisle 3 talking about the news in Gloucstah’. I smiled. I was on my way to Beantown! I found my seat in the VERY back of the plane (you know the seat that is against the wall of the bathroom and can’t recline? Yeah…that seat. And I was sitting in the middle. AND of course the person in front of me leaned his chair back. Just perfect!) After a long 3 ½ flight from Denver, I finally landed as the sun was setting in the beautiful city of Boston. I was more than a little giddy to be there. After getting my bags, I was greeted by my awesome, amazing, marvelous, talented, spectacular, and all-knowing tour guide Ms. Bucket Francis, who had maneuvered 5:00 city traffic like a native, and together we forged into the Boston wind to find the car that would become our loyal and dear friend over the course of the next several days – the Saab convertible. It was a 20 minute or so drive from downtown Boston to Billerica, where Bucket’s dad lives, and when she informed me that pizza was awaiting our arrival, I did a little dance of joy. My granola bars and diet coke just hadn’t hit the spot and United was too cheap to give me free food ($10 for an airplane sandwich?!?). In the car I was introduced to Tom Tom, the sexy Australian GPS man with whom we developed a love/hate relationship. Sometimes he was right on with his directions. Other times he was just plain ridulous. Luckily, that night he was helpful, and we navigated the Boston freeways and tunnels with ease and eventually arrived to our destination in Billerica, a quieter suburb in Northern Massachusetts. The neighborhood had cute colonial-style houses, many of them with metal sideboard (Buckiet referred to them as “trailers,” and I realized the East’s interpretation of a “trailer” was much different from the heaps of junk found in South County in Oregon. But let’s talk about the snow for a second. It snowed SOOOOO much the day before! The snow banks on the side of the roads were higher than the car. We are talking feet here, people. Luckily the roads had cleared enough to let us drive safely. I think Providence was smiling upon me, since many flights got canceled, and the guy at the Delta counter told me I was lucky to have gotten one to Boston. Coincidence? Or fate? Well, to make a long story short, pizza never tasted so good, and Boston accents never sounded so great. I relished in the moment as we ate, listening to the banter of the Bay Staters in their thick New England accents. After pizza, we found ourselves all dressed up with nowhere to go, so Bucket came up with the brilliant idea of CANDLEPIN bowling. What the heck is candlepin bowling, you might ask? Don’t worry I was clueless, and Bucket, I later found out, was a little clueless about the game, herself. Haha. BUT, it was an East Coast novelty, so we drove north to New Hampshire to a small little bowling alley and hung out with the local Hampshire kids. We must have been intimidatingly good, though, because none of them talked to us. Either that or our underware was hanging out and lighting up under the glow of the black lights. But that doesn’t matter! What is important to note, more important than anything else in this post, is the fact that I, Jessica Thompson, IV, beat Bucket by one point in the second game. The first game she cheated, so we don’t count that win. The second one, however, demonstrated real talent and skillmanship. Candlepin requires great finesse and accuracy – two things I pride myself in. You throw a small bowling ball down the lane and hit skinny bowling pins. You get three tries. I brought my A game that night and soundly took the victory. It doesn’t matter that we had no idea how the scoring worked. All that mattered, like I said, was that I won. She owed me drinks at Cheers the next night. That night, we slept soooooo hard. Candlepin wore me out. And we needed our energy for the days and events ahead. Bring it on, Boston.

Vacation

Vacation: A period of time in which an adult pretends that he/she is a child again and has no responsibilities to tend to, spends money like the world is ending, and relaxes. Vacation is usually followed by a period of financial instability, hundreds of emails, and depression from the lack of vacation.


It's Sunday, January 2, 2011. In laymen's terms, it is the END. My two weeks of pure relaxation have ended, and I must resign myself to the fact that tomorrow I have to return to work, and Tuesday I start school. Soon I will be waking up at 6:30; soon I will be pressured by the fact that I have a gym membership and it's just down the street and feel obligated to go; I will be eating Gardenburgers; and soon I will be studying in my cave of an office with no windows. But let's not get ahead of ourselves! I'm still sitting in Oregon. And it's still raining. And I still love it. 


It has been an amazingly relaxing vacation, and here is why:


I have watched the following movies (more than I watched all year!)
-True Grit
-Gulliver's Travels
-Penelope
-Avalon High (with the little brother)
-Salt
-Wall Street
-Everybody's Fine
-Hey It's Me Esther Blueburger
-Sabah
-The September Issue
-Funny Farm
-Mighty Ducks 3
-The Man from Snowy River
-Unbreakable
-Romona and Beezus


(Ok, that's just sick)


I have read the following books:


-The Glass Castle
-Charlie St. Cloud
-A Thousand Splendid Suns


I have slept at least 10 hours a day
I have eaten homecooked meals every night, including (but not limited to):
-Tacos
-Spaghetti
-BBQ ribs and garlic mashed potatoes
-Enchiladas
-Ham, potatoes, pie -- the works
-BBQ Hamburgers
-Goulash
-Minestrone soup
-Pizza
I have curled up on the couch with an electric blanket
I have played in the snow
I got great gifts
I went to Midnight Mass
I got to spend time with amazing friends (some smellier than others...)
I took the back way to Fred Meyer 
I took a long walk every day, breathing in the fresh, Pine smell
I read in bed with my window cracked open so I could hear the rain coming down outside.
I sometimes didn't shower until 3:00 in the afternoon


I laughed a lot, cried a little, and fell even more in love with being home. I love my family! (Even our transexual cat).


So now as I head back to reality, the vacation officially over, I have the next year to look forward to. And despite the fact that 2011 brings me a twinge of anxiety every time I think about what lies ahead, I know it's going to be amazing. Bring. It. On.