1 year-old and 30 year-old Bunnies

How is it already Wednesday? And mid-April? When do I get my tax refund? I only have one more month of classes? Who's writing my thesis? Wait, I have to write it myself? What will I do after graduation? Who will hire me? Can't I just blog for profit from home and populate the interwebz with pictures of my favorite birthday bunny and wee little bunny as a career???

C'mon, Baby Girl. The hat's not THAT bad...

Bunny cake for my 30 y.o. Bunny

30 y.o. King for a Day reading his birthday memory book

Hot to Trot

Saturday was an example of how I should not be allowed out of the house by myself any longer. I drove to a Red Line station. I glanced to ensure no pocket change was visible in any cup holders. Off to a decent start.

Forgot Charlie Card pass for train riding (strike one), but had proper change for purchase of to and fro ticket.

Arrived at Yelp Event at Mizu Salon. Dramatically underdressed compared to chic minions (strike two).

Glanced at chic early twirtysomethings. Received defensive glances back as if they thought I was examining their outfits all So this is what the young people are wearing out disco dancing these days! Which is, actually, exactly what I was thinking, but not snobbishly, rather earnestly, because, as we have established, I think REI fleece vest paired with every.single.outfit is haute couture. (strikes three through eleventy seven).

I then tried to initiate convo-chatter with the only two people I recognized and evidently that should be a new challenge in Cranium because both exchanges resulted in my finding a cupcake and finding a corner and finding myself the girl alone in the corner with the cupcake and icing all over her face. (strike infinity).

The only bright light was finding my friend Melissa and talking hysterically about the cuteness of Baby Girl which made me feel like I needed to leave immediately.

So in my huff to leave, I spilled ice all over the lobby of the salon. I then, feeling bad for self, bought a sale shirt at ATay and a book at B&N and lo! Where the nelly be-eth my car keys?

(Strikey McStrikerforker.)

I retraced every step, made mates with every security personnel at mall place. Found keys where left them in salon.

Back on train. Busy people watching. Miss stop at worse possible turnaround point. (STEEE-RIKE).

Find car, no pocket change stolen. Pick up last minute grocery items. Receive txt from Loverpants GETTING WORRIED, arrive home in one piece.

What, you are begging to know, were my favorite people doing while mama bird flew the coop?

Just chillin'...

Also noteworthy is the cranking of neck the wee one does every time I unleash the camera. It's new, it's cute, it's inexplicable.

Greyhound from DC to Meadville

I rode the bus all night. I walked from my apartment in the posh heights of DC Northwest - an apartment I could only afford because I was paying student tuition and they had an overflow in the dorms - to the Metro stop at 10 p.m. on a Thursday night. I carried a backpack full of swag and a fleece blanket hobo-rigged to the top of the backpack. I ran into some of my intern friends going up the Metro escalator, out for a night of carousing on Capitol Hill. I looked like a girl running away from home, but I wasn't embarrassed because I was, in fact, going home.

Home to Meadville where my boyfriend was finishing out the last semester of his senior year at Small Liberal Arts College on a Hill.

I rode the bus all night long. I thought I might catch some sleep, but I was worried about the other passengers stealing my fleece blanket. Or my wallet. A man with an unkempt face and few teeth got on the bus at Breezewood (hotel capital of the world!) and claimed the seat next to mine. He offered me a sip from his styrofoam coffee cup. The highway lights scanned the windows of the bus like the flashlights of police officers looking in on an abandoned vehicle. I couldn't nod off because the lights were too bright. I couldn't find a comfortable position because the coffee guy was making me nervous.

Somewhere my mother was saying a novena for me, since she knew I'd be riding the bus all night long. We finally pulled over at a truck stop where the layover was 45 minutes in some godforsaken town in Pennsyltucky. I was too tired to do anything but use the restroom and give a sideways glance to the sad stuffed animals at the gift shop.

We finally arrived in Meadville just as the students would be clambering around to dining halls and class on a Friday morning. I walked from the Meadville Mall (where you can buy such things as crystal dreamcatchers and taxidermy skunk hats) up the hill, that lofty hill, to campus. The dew on my skin mixed with the tears in my eyes -- oh to be coming home!

I slept all day in my boyfriend's bed as he went to classes and meetings and what I allege was a frisbee game that he no longer remembers. I inhaled the intoxicating smell of his deodorant from the fibers of his bedsheets and I was the happiest I had been in months since I was finally, finally home.

It was then that I knew I didn't want to be apart from Lovey Loverpants any more. He was home to me, and he is still the place that I return to, whose cold toes run into the crooks of the backs of my legs which I protest, but only momentarily, since that is where they belong, since I am his home, too.