Week 3

Everything continues to be grand, dandy, and several other antiquated synonyms for spiffy. I continue my eternal struggle to feed and clothe myself and generally be self-sufficient. This week, I continued this trend by taking part in the age-old tradition of stockpiling for winter. I went and picked berries.

And let me tell you, was it great. I haven’t picked berries in over a decade, so I was itching for the chance to pluck and pick my own body weight in the sweetest of God’s creations: the blueberry. As you may or may not know, I have an unhealthy obsession with this most fickle of fruit. I crave it with the same undying hunger a zombie has for brains, and I will accept no substitutes. Do not give me blueberry ice cream or blueberry candy. You just can’t imitate the flavor with chemical machinations. Nope, I want the fruit itself. Unfortunately, it’s usually pretty pricey, so I have to satisfy myself with half a pint a month. But no longer!

I’ve wanted to pick berries for a few weeks now, but either it’s been raining or I haven’t had the cash or I don’t think I can afford to drive anywhere or what have you. But today, I could resist no longer. I researched patches online, then hopped in my car and navigated the needlessly complicated network of interlocking, overlapping, and criss-crossing highways known as the New York road system.

Unfortunately, after driving 20 minutes, I could not actually find the berry farm. I was devastated, but not deterred. Using the power of the internet and a smartphone, I located another nearby u-pick farm. This time, I was successful. And it only took me twice as long as originally planned! I arrived at stately Hafner Farms, hop-stepping with glee. I attacked those bushes, pulling out handfuls of berries.

Only a few minutes after I arrived, it began to rain. Everyone else on the field ran like a bunch of wicked witches from the water. But me? Heck no, girlfriend. I’m from Colorado; abrupt weather patterns don’t scare me. I wrestled on unphased through the rain. I was a little worried about my phone getting soaked, but luckily it was tucked under the protective shelf of my muffin top, and thus kept relatively dry. The rain continued for about twenty minutes and then went away. I continued picking a little longer. I would have stayed indefinitely, but you had to pay in cash, and I only had like a five dollar bill and a glove compartment full of change. But that was enough to get me a bucketful of berries.

 

Sweet, sweet, Cyanococcus

This is only about a third of the actual berries I picked. The rest made it to my mouth before they made it to home. If a small child ever saw the way I funnel blueberries into my mouth, they would probably be irrevocably scarred for life. So yeah, these puppies aren’t going to last long enough to freeze. However, I plan to go picking again next week, this time with TWO buckets and a lot more cash. And then in a couple of weeks raspberry season starts. It’s gonna be sweet.

Week 2

I never liked the idea of a journal blog, because quite frankly I think my personal life is boring. I mean, if I could choose to read my own autobiography or a neo-noir cyberpunk novel, I’m gonna go for the cyberpunk every time. But alas, if I do not post frequent updates, how will my dearly beloved family know what sort completely tame and uninteresting shenanigans I’ve been up to? So here goes.

This is a picture of my dining room. I like to live on the edge.

Well, it’s been two weeks now, and things are pretty swell. Being my father’s daughter, I am always on the lookout for ways to earn money on the side. So I poked around to see if there was a plasma donation center in the area. Not gonna lie, that was a pretty sweet gig back in college. You go read on a comfy little bed for forty-five minutes, and then they hand you some cash and a juice box and tell you to beat it. It made selling your body both fun and convenient!

…Unfortunately, my research has yielded nothing. Alas, if I want extra cash, I’ll probably have to earn it. Bleh.

So yeah, I’m thinking of making and selling dolls. Just last year I sold a pretty shitty doll for, like, 60 bucks. It’s not quite as easy as the liquid gold my body produces, but hopefully it will allow me to support my anime addiction.

This is a picture of the little dude that sold for bank.

In other news, I have been feeling that writing spark again. It’s less of a spark and more of an uncomfortable itching. In fact, I might just have a rash. But either way, I’ve been doing some writing here and there. Haven’t felt up to writing another novel, so mostly it’s just been really bad fanfiction. I want to start a webcomic, but I am hindered by my inability to render even the most basic of recognizable images. Still, that hasn’t stopped some people. So yeah, that is a distant possibility that I may or may not follow through on.

Hey, speaking of really shitty drawings, I’ve almost gotten all the art done for the base set of that card game I made. I say “really shitty” because I am finishing up the last of the cards that no one else was interested in drawing. So once that is done, I’ll be very happy for a few days, probably giggle to myself at random intervals, and just generally be on an elevated level of happiness.

As far as being a strong independent woman who don’t need no man goes, I managed to check all the fluids in my car successfully. I was pulling dipsticks and everything. I am proud to give my car a full bill of health, while also reminding it that I am not a licensed car doctor and it can’t sue for malpractice in the event of an accident.

That’s all I have to report for this week. Maybe I’ll take up some sort of self-destructive habit so I have something more interesting to write about next time. Anyways, hugs and kisses from Syracuse.

Week One

I’m not one to write about my life and publish it on the internet, because I think it’s kind of crazy to assume that anyone is going to care. But since I recently went through some life changes, and since I am separated from my loved ones by half of the United States, I decided to start a blog to post weekly updates.

My apartment. So sugoi.

My life in Syracuse has been pretty sweet. I’ve learned a thing or two (four, according to the numbers below) in my time in the city. Here is my wisdom, condensed into an easily readable list format.

1. People assume I am an idiot as soon as they see my Colorado license plates. I guess they think I’m some sort of Southern hick that came to the big city. Everywhere I go, people ask why the heck I would move up here, and ask if life in the city is a big change. It’s kind of funny, considering Colorado Springs is much larger than Syracuse, albeit with a much lower population density. I feel super self-conscious driving these unfamiliar streets, because I can feel the other drivers watching my blunders. Silently judging. I should get a bumper sticker that says “Not a statistically accurate representation of Colorado driving skills.” This leads into number two.
2. There are no straight lines in the city of Syracuse. If you want to get from Point A to Point B, prepare to take twice as long as you think it should. All the roads here are hella crazy, with no real distinction between a residential road and a thoroughfare. Also, construction sites grow like weeds, popping up overnight and then taking a lifetime to go away. I distinctly remember one morning deciding to take a different route to work, to avoid a certain neighborhood. Well, theoretically it would have been a fine idea, taking me barely a minute longer according to my GPS. But then I ran into a construction site. And then another. And then another. I literally kept turning down one street, running into a roadblock, and then trying to take a different street just to run into another. Good thing I leave for work neurotically early.
3. Everyone is crazy obsessed with Wegman’s. It’s this grocery store, and yeah, it’s pretty cool. But to hear a New Yorker talk about it, it sounds like the mystical gateway to a fairy realm where the tea is magic and every day is sunshine.
4. Syracusians(is that a word?) are very friendly. I was told by a handful of people before I moved that the average New Yorker is very cold and reserved, but I have not found such to be the case. Everyone I’ve met, from cashiers to people on the street, is very patient and understanding. Especially the parking attendants. Probably because they see my license plate and know I have no idea what I am doing.

The view from my window. Very green.

All in all, I’ve really been enjoying my time here. My apartment is luxurious, my job is awesome, and I feel like a strong independent woman who don’t need no parent’s basement to live in. I’ll write another update in a week, unless I forget. Or am lazy.

Cheers!