I blame Thomas*

So there I am, minding my own business at my carrel in the library. I'm prepping for my negotiation class and going over an assignment for the class before that. My friend Katelyn comes running over to my carrel to tell me that John Cougar Mellencamp and Meg Ryan are apparently at the Bakehouse (a local cafe), and do I want to go see them? "Naw," I say. "I need to get more work done before class."

She says, "Seriously?"

"Yeah, I've got to prep for this negotiation."

COME ON, she says. WHEN ARE YOU EVER GOING TO GET TO SEE MEG RYAN, she says. I HAVE MY CAR HERE COME OOOOOON, she says. Okay. We run.

Down the library stairs, out the law school, down the street to her car. We zip over to the square, find a parking spot RIGHT across the street. Awesome. The "Don't Walk" hand is already lit up, but the light is turning yellow. "We can make it," she says. We run. I catch some imperfection in the pavement with my shoe, some crack in the pavement or lump in the sidewalk, do the old cartoonish giant slapping steps while trying to catch my very off-kilter balance, and I eat it, hard, in front of a wall of cars, in the middle of the cross walk. She picks me up, while the car occupants surely snicker, and we get across the street. We (I) limp into the Bakehouse, unsure of injuries.

Meg Ryan and The Coug have already left. Maybe 20 minutes ago. Shit.

My left palm is blue and tender, my right knee is a little scuffed up and purple, and my left knee is purple and red and missing many, many layers of skin. All of the material that ripped out of the right knee of my jeans worked its way right into my shredded knee, giving the abrasion an odd blue denim ring. Awesome. That's the last fucking time I try to see Meg Ryan ( because screw The Coug, am I right?).

*Thomas, though not the culprit who peer pressured me into celebrity chasing, is apparently the source that discovered the presence of The Coug and Meg Ryan out in public in my little town and spread the knowledge amongst my friends. Thus, to blame for my injuries.

A shitload of suffering is what I'm saying. (Also Days 1, 2, & 3 South Island)

Did you ever see the movie 500 Days of Summer? You should. Most women I know love it because Tom is so darling and uncharacteristically emotional for a man, and most men I know hate it because they are scared to death of ever falling for a woman like Summer. I just netflixed it, and I'm seeing it for the first time since the theater. Love it.

[Edit: Michael, the last time we talked about this film, I sort of allowed you to be all down on Summer, but to be honest, I hadn't seen the movie in ages. After watching it twice in the last couple of days, I would like to argue with you (and the many dudes I know that agree with you) about your reactionary views of this movie. Okay I'm done.]

Anyhow. Jesse and I decided to rent a campervan to tour the south island after finals. We had some friends in the travel industry that gave us a good deal, and we hired the van for two weeks. Jesse was an amazing planner and had a good week and a half all planned out, and then we sort of left the last leg unplanned in case plans needed to change. We flew from Auckland to Christchurch to pick up the van, and then our first stop was Kaikoura. We had a big coastal hike on some high rock faces, saw a farmer herding sheep down a street, found a sweet free camping spot, threw the frisbee for a while, played charades after dinner, watched the full moon rise on some railroad tracks, witnessed the stars twinkling their asses off, and hiked to a spot where baby seals play underneath a waterfall.

sweet campsite

seal pup just kickin' it

one lookout in Kaikoura

another

life in blue

I've had a really hard time posting here since returning stateside. Obviously I haven't posted in ages, but it's not because I decided to quit or just didn't have any interesting experiences since the last post. The last six weeks in New Zealand, from the day of my last final exam to the day I boarded a plane bound for SFO, were so filled with adventure and exploring and growing and life that it just felt impossible to go back to posting here and there about fun days and funny conversations.

My mom always reminds me that when you go on vacation you should, at the very least, keep a little journal and jot down the events of the day and funny stories that you know will slip your memory. I've never been very good at that. Vacation is just too exciting to waste time journaling! But for the first time ever I faithfully kept a record of all of the jokes and sights and meals and adventures that filled my big NZ tour. I made no effort to journal in any kind of emotional way; I just made lists of all of the things that happened. Even that simple goal filled pages and pages of a small journal.

So even though it's emotionally hard at this point to relive those magical days as I skate to tax law class over two inches of ice, I think maybe it's time to share. For you and for me.