It's just me. Rambling
Let's see. . I am young, much younger than you. I promise. I am from New York City but decided to leave the glorious city of Manhattan and go to school in Indiana. I'd love to hear what you have to say. . Email me. Caitlinkeating89@gmail.com
Whole foods heaven.
While Sweeny is downstairs working out, I am in her room trying on all of her crazy headbands. I feel like Blair Waldorf/ A little kid. Head band is coming off now.
I hate packing. Especially when I don't want to leave.
I am SO buying this shirt. For those of you who have taken the Fung Wah bus, or the numerous other Chinese/Japanese buses to Boston, DC, or wherever else they go, you know why this shirt is perfect. For those of you who are confused by this shirt, well then consider yourself lucky.
I have always loved taking buses for one reason. As a writer, it is the perfect place to write. Why? Because you’re sitting next to the most interesting/depressing/hilarious people ever. While I am either sweating or freezing to death I take out a pen and write on random sheets of paper, normally because I always tend to forget my notebook when I really need it. The 50 year old man behind me whose whiskey breath I can smell from a foot away with my back turned towards him, the Chinese women next to me who is talking to me and either hasn’t realized yet I don’t speak Chinese, or simply just doesn’t care. It goes on and on and on. .
One time when I took this bus, I can’t even remember where I was headed since the journey getting to my destination was so awful. First of all, when I walked on the bus they gave everyone a quarter. There were signs all over the bus that read, ” If you’re dissatisfied or pleased with your ride today on Fung Wah, please use this quarter to call us at this number to let us know.” There are so many things wrong with that statement. A) I would never be satisfied with my Fung Wah trip. B) A pay phone!? Do those even still exist?? C) If they do, aren’t they at least like 50 cents now!?
We then stopped at a rest stop, where when I left to come back to the bus, it was slowly pulling away, back onto the highway. I had to run for dear life while my cell phone and bags almost traveled without me on I 95.
The moral of of this story is that unless you are looking for a good story to tell, or write, or laugh about at least a year later, than take the Fung Wah or any of those other cheap $10 buses to DC or Boston. ( When I took the Bolt bus to DC a few months ago it took 9 HOURS and when I walked off the bus, lost in a foreign city to me, they gave me my piece of luggage, soaking wet. Of course this is after the bus was late to leave by 2 hours, and broke down. )
One piece of advice. Save your pennies and take a plane, or at least Amtrak.
A holiday must-read. This book is amazing. Try to make it through without getting a bit teary eyed. I hope everyone at some point in their life reads this story out loud in a room filled with people they love…there are no words. It truly is a magical experience.
My dad reads this book out loud every Christmas. It really is an amazing story.
I could blame finals,
or my busy schedule, or I could admit that even though I have a thousand things to do, exams to study for, bags to pack since I am going back to New York in less than 2 weeks, I have still had time to blog even though I haven’t. This blog has become hard for me because I want to be honest and I don’t want to hold back, but I know that being honest always has it’s consequences and I would rather not turn this into an online diary ( I dislike that word. Let me rephrase. Journal.) I hang out with people I don’t mention on Tumblr, I stay up later than I probably should, and sometimes fall asleep way earlier than a fun 20 year college student should let her self.
To tell you the truth this is the first semester in college that I don’t want to end. I am leaving so soon and will return in late August to warm weather, a new house, a new mindset, way more experiences behind me, a passport filled with new countries, stamped with assurance that I traveled around Europe and made some decisions that in the end I hopefully never regret. When I return, there will be others who don’t, and that in itself is freaking me out.
When I was flying back to Indianapolis after a quite eventful week in New York, where I at some points didn’t even recongize myself hailing a cab with such ease, swiping my Metrocard with one try, something only an experienced New York subway rider can really do, and of course, walking extremely fast down Fifth Avenue, letting the tourists know I didn’t have time for their standstill photo sessions in front of Saks, I wrote a little something in one of my numerous ” journals.” ( That was quite a run on sentence, and I’m supposed to be a writer?)
“ It always is a sight, a sight that you could stare at for hours until your eyes get dry and you’re forced to blink without straining your eyes to stay open. It’s the feeling you get when you’re looking at something beautiful and the expiration date is near. You try and get it for all it’s worth because you never know when you will see it again. The sun is either shining in this moment or it is setting, and the romantic sky wants you to get drunk off of its delirious beauty. It wants you to write a love letter to your secret admirer, or feel inspired, or emotional, or desperately lonely. It wants you to remember, because no one ever really wants to forget. It wants to you see those skyscrapers when you’re looking out on empty still fields and know that those buildings will be there when you come back. At least this is what you tell myself as you drive to LaGuardia on a Saturday night as the sky turns a yellow that makes you believe in the color, as you snap a cheap photo on your over price Blackberry. You want to capture it in a jar and take it with you wherever you go. You look out on organized chaos, and noise that is muted naturally from the far distance that separates you and the crowd. We all secretly enjoy watching our worlds from afar, jealous and yet content at the same time that we are on the sidelines watching in from the bleachers. ”
I wrote until I was forced to turn my computer off. I never know when to stop. Writing, or running, or talking. . I guess I should shut my computer, or my thoughts, because I feel another a few run on sentences coming along, and who knows, I might accidently let my crazy brain slip a few secrets or worries or hopes. .
OVERHEARD: While walking by a Christmas tree stand on 72nd and Broadway
- Girl 1: Ah, I need a Harry in my life
- Girl 2: A Harry?
- Girl 1: You know, from When Harry Met Sally. When they go Christmas tree shopping together.
- Girl 2: You're such a loser. But yes, very true, you can NOT buy a Christmas tree by yourself.
A blurry photo of one of the numerous unbelievable window displays at Bergdorfs. Yesterday I legit was convinced I was a tourist after I snapped this photo.
At a 2 hour lunch yesterday with my fabulous aunt Cynthia. If you haven’t been to The Modern restaurant at the MoMA, go! It is amazing. It was my 2nd time there and believe me, I will go back again.
I love love love trees lit with Christmas lights. I always smile when I walk by.
It looks so delicious and it hasn’t even gone in the oven yet!
Shopping yesterday with my dad at Tiffanys. I tried to convince him to let me go to the 2nd floor ( engagement rings..) and he told me I should only go when it’s the real thing. Hm, I care to disagree. I’m not even thinking about marriage, but I still would love to try on beautiful rings and think ” One day Caitlin.. One day!”
Good morning, I mean afternoon. I have been up since 9, but am still drinking endless amounts of coffee.
