The traffic inches along. Just fast enough that I can’t e-brake, release the clutch, and relax my tensed leg muscles.
“Thank goodness for the gym,” I mumble to myself. But it’s worth it. Shortly, so shortly, I will be off the highway, and rolling into the parking lot of Viacom – aka, the MTV and many other tv stations headquarters.
I finally arrive. The elevator drops me in the lobby. The receptionist points. And there’s my band.
The only band whose every song they’ve sung, I’ve liked.
The guys who take the time to get to know their fans, to recognize them when they see them again.
A band who’s gone the extra mile by hand-delivering their first EP to my dorm door; and put my friend on the VIP list when I forgot to get her a ticket to their House of Blues concert.
A band where my friends and I have gone to concerts, and we left after Hunter Hunted played – as we had no interest in the headliners.
A band who’s growing whose stardom is catching up to the stars they’ve always been.
We all troop up to the MTV floor, into a little music studio, where Hunter Hunted will be giving a mini concert.
To some of the staff of Viacom.
And me. The only non-Viacom member.
I tweeted like mad a bit. Instagrammed a little.
The set was short – only a couple numbers, including one of my favorite of their new songs:
The staff filed out – back off to their jobs (don’t I wish I could have a musical break in the middle of my day!).
I was able to do a one-question interview. (No pressure!)
A little more time spent chatting with Michael and Dan – about their lives, my life. Whatever – because these are guys who make you feel comfortable.
All too quickly I had to leave to meet up with friends at UCLA. But every time I meet with this band, it’s memories I’ll never forget.
Thursday night my favorite band Hunter Hunted (originally from UCLA) posted a facebook status:
Having followed this band since I first saw them as a freshman (7 years ago), I felt the need to tell how I felt about them. I couldn’t go to the performance, as UCLA’s Spring Sing (the BEST talent show around!) is tomorrow night, but I wanted to let everyone know how great this band is:
Four score and seven years ago (minus the four score…) I remember standing in the Grand Ballroom at UCLA, waiting for Sugarcult when a band, Mikey G and Dan from Danville, came onstage and sang about Career Day at school. From that moment on I fell in love with the band and did such embarrassing things as sit in the front row for an hour at Festival of Books, just to make sure I wouldn’t even miss the tune-up; scream like a schoolgirl when their van pulled up outside the House of Blues in SD; and force my Greek coworkers to listen to LDs songs non-stop on repeat. Why do I love Mike and Dan so much? Because these are guys who care about their fans. Recognizing faces, taking the time to talk to people, hand delivering their first EP to my dorm door because they happened to be in town; when they take time like that and invest in their fans, well, we fans are powerless to resist. I too will be unable to attend on Friday (as it’s Spring Sing at UCLA!), but I hope whoever gets chosen loves these guys as much as those of us from the beginning have.
And with that, I tucked myself into bed, and went about my day today.
Opened my facebook account to discover:
WHAAAAA?!
At first I wrote to thank them, but deny the invitation, but then I received the reply,
“Could you make it at 11 am?”
Why yes. Yes I can.
The other request they have for me?
“Perfect! We want you to Tweet and Instagram your experience, start tweeting now!”
Well, I’ve never used Twitter, and I’ve instagramed one photo… but for this. I will do it.
So if you’d like to add me; if you wouldn’t like to, you should totes do it anyway.
Twitter: @GiggsMcGill
Instagram: GiggsMcGill
I didn’t promise them followers. Or quality. But I’d sure like to try!
But I figure, in the end: I CAN promise them a blog entry about it!
So I sent a suggestion to Combat Babe when she had some writer blockage going on, and now, I'm stealing the idea back. I cannot help it, it has been brewing in my chaotic mind and I need to unleash it.
It's going to be a story, and YOU are going to help me write it. To participate, I need email addresses.
As you may have noticed, I have what looks like gibberish, but is actually Greek writing as my blog title. Cause you know, I started this when I was living in Greece.
But I’m no longer IN Greece; so I can’t really ask Greece if it’s ready for adventure anymore.
So it’s time.
Time for a new blog title!!
I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. Trying to think of what would be my inspiration.
Weirdly enough a Robert Frost poem kept coming to mind.
Why is that weird? Because 1) I haven’t seen this poem since 8th grade when we had to memorize it. And 2) I am seriously not a poetry fan.
But I think it fits my life. Well, really, just life in general.
The Road Not Taken
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
So I’m sure most of you know of the concept of 6 Degrees of Separation, or if you don’t, well, I guess we’ll forgive you and I’ll give you the handy-dandy Wikipedia link.
Of course I’ve heard about 6DoS. But never really thought about it.
Until recently.
Sometimes you never know what commenting can lead you to learn!
Thinking, “Hm, that’s interesting she feels that way, I gotta ask…
“What if we had class together once?” I so innocently asked at the end. Because as two UCLA alums, that’s definitely how we would’ve gotten to know each other, right? CLASS!
Without thinking too much about it, I click through my other internet pages.
AKA: Facebook.
Ah, more planning for the Surprise Birthday Party for a friend.
I read through the messages, and come across one that catches my eye:
Wait a minute.
Wait a minute!
A girl named Vyvy? That’s funny, I read a blog by a girl named “Vyvacious”.
We’ve met on WordPress, been commenting on each other’s posts for months.
And we share some of the same friends!!
So this weekend, both Vyvacious and I prepared to celebrate our friend’s birthday.
And we prepared to meet in person.
This is what WordPress Badasses look like!
As with many of the blogs I read, I often found myself thinking as I read Vyvacious’ blog, “Man, I bet if we ever met in person, we’d totally get along!”
And you know what? We did.
And just like that, blog friend became real friend.
The little red light above the red car is all you can see of my car.
It was Friday night, my dad and I were helping with the finishing touches on the airpark’s float for the Christmas parade. We were about to start home and we decided to do a dinner and movie night; he’d get dinner, I’d get the movie.
I ran to the nearest Redbox.
“Abraham Lincoln Vampire Hunter, or The Amazing Spiderman?” “…um … either…”
Knowing my mom wasn’t home for the movie, and since she would hate it otherwise, vampire hunter it was!
I jumped in my car, and started out of town. Stopped at a red light, started when it turned green.
I approached the bottom of a hill, almost out of the town’s boundary.
And from the left a car speeds through its Stop sign. It’s powering across the road.
*impact*
I’m stopped; against a fence.
*whoosh*
Water is pouring on top of my car – I’ve hit a fire hydrant.
I vaguely notice that there’s a white bag in front of me – the airbag deployed?
I grab my phone, my first panicked thought is to call my dad. But my second panicked thought is he won’t be able to hear me while I’m in the car.
I struggle to open the door and water comes cascading in, and slams the door.
Breathing heavily, I slam my body against the door and struggle through the waterfall – drenched within seconds.
The paramedics show up, the firemen show up, and eventually the CHP show up.
We’re all checked out in the ambulance. A few bruises, a fat lip, a slight cheek burn from the airbag, and me shivering from being cold and wet, I’m ok.
The other driver and his passenger are ok.
Everyone’s ok.
It takes 45 minutes to shut off the 40 ft mountain of hydrant water, but once that’s shut off, my dad grabs my purse and the car insurance info, and we’re told we can leave.
Today the insurance company had my car towed to my house; where it will wait for an adjuster to come out and examine it.
The car slid back off the tow, and all I could do was stare at the smashed front.
Dad: “Like I thought, it’s totaled. The price to get it fixed is worth more than the car.” Tow-man: “How many miles?” Dad: “Near 200,000” Tow-man: “Yeah, definitely done for. Looks like it would’ve been fine if it hadn’t hit that hydrant, but that tore up most of the inside.”
The Tow-man looked at me, “but it did what is was supposed to do, the car crumpled and it saved you.”
Yes it did. My car had saved me.
The Tow-man left, and my dad went back to work, and I started the process of cleaning out my things from my car.
My Blue Belle.
And since no one had to been hurt, I felt ok mourning.
Mourning the loss of my car. My first car. My companion for 8 years.
She’d been the one we picked up my dog from the pound in.
She was there when I got my driver’s license, and blasted the music proud on my first solo ride. And has blasted the music on every ride since then.
She drove hundreds of my friends home as I most often was the transporter.
She’s seen me dressed up, dressed down, and practically naked. (From changing for sports activities – nothing dirty gutter minds!)
She’d kept me safe through the (thousands) of idiotic things I did as a teenage driver.
She’s been up the West Coast, through Oregon, through Washington, and lived with me in British Columbia for a couple months.
She’s taken me on many a spontaneous outing – including spur of the moment drives to Arizona and Nevada. And has been lost everywhere with me – in rice paddies of central Cali, the forests of Yosemite, and once we almost ended up in Mexico.
She was the car for my first drive-in movie theater.
She was my source of privacy when I had none at work.
She’s been a part of my independence since I was 16.
Every time I come home from abroad, she’s waiting – waiting for me to slide into the driver’s seat and feel at home.
I know her quirks. Exactly when to stop, when to start, how to turn on a dime, how to fiddle with the radio without looking.
She’s been the second home that carries all the things I need during the day and night.
And her last act saved me at the expense of herself.
So as I cleaned her out I felt sad. I mourned the loss. For no car will ever again be my first car. No car will ever again claim my heart as she did.
So a week ago, out of the blue, my ex writes to me.
We exchange a couple emails, he gives his phone number (since he’d apparently gotten it changed), and in return I give mine (cause there’s NO way I’m gonna call/text him first – and I’ll admit a morbid curiosity for what he wants to talk about).
I receive a text soon after.
And out comes the WHOLE story about our summer break-up. The final explanations of why the break-up came out of the blue.
And it wasn’t for any of the reasons I thought it was going to be.
The Story The ex liked to talk out his frustrations and worries with friends (as we all do). And he confided in one friend – we’ll call her A (important fact to remember: she was on deployement in KOREA) – about how he was worried about whether I really wanted to move to Minnesota, and how difficult it was doing a long distance relationship.
A said that no, I probably didn’t want to move, and really it would be better if we broke up. (I think you all see where this is going…)
So we break up, he’s “a mess” and a week later A declares that she wants to date my ex.
So they start dating.
But remember my fact above: she’s in KOREA, and one reason he broke up with me is because of the long distance relationship… Right.
So then they date long distance for two weeks, but she decides maybe she didn’t want to date, and they break up. He goes into super-sad-hibernation-because-he-let-an-old-friend-break-up-his-relationship mode (his words).
And that brings us to the recent texting, and the, “I was dumb, etc.” speech.
But the main reason for this post, is that I have a question for the audience. For my blogging friends.
The Question
When we broke up, one of the things the ex asked was why I didn’t “fight harder to stay together.” And with the reconnection, he reiterated this.
He stated that if I’d come to Minnesota to see him, things would be different. If I had chased him, things would be different.
To which I believe: he broke up with me.
Why should I believe that going after him would be welcome?
Aren’t the girls/guys that don’t take “we’re over” as an answer considered cray-cray? Don’t we all hate when they just won’t get it and quit?
If I chased him across the country, wouldn’t that give him the free liberty to post memes on his facebook/twitter/pinterest/every social media page depicting me like this:
Ok, I do kinda love pokemon – but don’t count that into your crazy quotient!
Or:
OR!!
They’ll start thinking you looked this way too!
But even his family wondered why I hadn’t still come out after the break up.
Of course my friends and family think that it would’ve been crazy to go.
And I still think it would have been crazy to go.
But I’m curious as to what others think. What would you have done? If you were the relationship ender – would you want them to fight harder? But why break up in the first place?
Disclaimer: There will be no getting back together will this ex; I do know that I’m better without him.
So as I’m sure many of you already know (but this is my first time) – getting published on another blog is just super duper exciting, and fills you with happiness and warmth!
If you’re like me, you might need a little push to get there.
So I made myself a promise on my 20th birthday.
If your birthday isn’t going to be exciting, MAKE it exciting!
Because let’s face it, after 21, what is there to look forward to?
So for my 20th: I cut off 20 inches of hair (the first time I’d significantly cut my hair since I was 5!).
For my 21st: I celebrated in Scotland.
For my 22nd: I went skydiving and drove a NASCAR racecar.
For my 23rd: I celebrated in Greece (and went bungee jumping later)
And this year, my 24th – I decided to go hang gliding.
Luckily for me, the hang gliding season has been quite bad, but this past weekend, the bright sunshine disappeared, and the high winds came.
We showed up at the Gliderport around 12:15, and I was planning to get in the air pretty quickly (because that’s what all the reviews said would happen).
Filled out 6 pages of “I won’t sue the company if I die” paperwork. And was told to expect an hour wait.
An hour? Ok, I’ll wait.
So I did.
But at 1 they stopped calling names.
”The winds are too high! We’re going to wait for them to calm down.”
While I didn’t disagree that it was a bit windy (ok, more than a bit – I was positively shivering and chattering my teeth), I was disappointed at the time lapse. My dad had a meeting to get to later, and we had to leave by 2:30.
We waited another hour, and 2 pm rolls around.
The guy who signed up with me walks up to us, “I just asked them about the wait time. They said I have 4 people in front of me, and to expect another 2 to 3 hours before I go up. I’m leaving – just wanted to let you know it sounds like you have a while too!”
With a heavy heart I watched him leave.
I turned to my dad, “Well… we have to leave in a half hour, and I don’t see that I’ll be called in that time. So I guess we’ll come back another day…”
My dad just looked and me and we turned and walked towards the front office.
We reached the sidewalk, were about to step inside, when a man comes out with a clipboard.
”Jillian!”
“That’s me.” ”Well this is John, he’s your instructor. Best pilot we got, and he’ll be taking you up!”
And so I followed John to a hang glider and prepared (which involves lying on the ground and pushing your body from one side to the other, because that’s how you turn a glider).
John went down to the edge, studied the winds, came back, and asked my dad and me to help him wheel the glider down to the edge.
We went down the hill, and the winds were strong enough that holding onto the wing wire, I was being pulled off the ground!
The third time my feet left the ground, three men came running up to take over.
We finally got the glider down to the cliff edge. Clipped in. And the man holding the nose down turned to John, ”John, what do I do? Keep backing up?”
John just stared and him and yelled, “DUCK!”
And straight up we went!! No going down off the cliff edge – the winds just went Straight. Up.
(My lack of video cutting talent patience means that you should just skip ahead to the 2:00 mark. Seriously.)
We flew out towards the sea, and swung around the head back to the cliff.
“Smile, the photographers waiting,” John informed me.
We flew a ways down the coast, and he pointed out the ridiculously expensive houses, the Salk Institute, and the nearby college.
We got to a hot spot and went from 600 ft about the ground to 900 ft in less than a minute.
”If you didn’t know it was windy before, you sure would now!”
And then I got to take over.
Now I may have an adventurous spirit – but I’ll admit that with that spirit comes tons of trepidation! While I’ll trust pretty much anyone to handle something (bus, hang glider, plane, etc.) when it comes to me, I’m less than trusting.
But I took the reins (eh hem, well, Handle if we’re going to be technical) and after a few bouts of almost sending us spiraling downwards to a horrendous death minor problems, I figured out the gist of how to steer.
We sat above the world. Hanging in place like the birds do, and I appreciated how good the birds got it.
The ocean was stunning. The view was stunning. The world seemed calm. Life was good.
We slowly made our way back to the cliff – coming in at an angle that made it seem like the ocean waves were curling in place and not moving anywhere.
We swooped one last time over the ocean, and came speeding into the land.
I slid forward in the harness, going from a lying down position to an almost standing position.
We were out over the parking lot and John turned a strong 180 again.
We gained speed as the nose rushed towards the ground –
Then, Boop. The nose tilted up. Our speed abruptly slowed. And we landed gently on our feet.
I unclipped with a beaming smile on my face, shaking from the cold and the thrill of flight.
Unlike my other flying adventures, hang gliding was relaxing as well as thrilling.
And left me with a pretty sweet Facebook profile picture.
It just so happens that my old college roommate lives in Winston-Salem, NC. The site of the Dixie Classic Fair!
So of course we had to go!
We planned to go on a Monday – so Sunday night, we spent at least an hour pouring over the schedule of events. Planning.
”Ok, dog show first. Then the pig races. Then we’ll find the woman on stilts. Ok, then the woodcarver display, then…” (and so on)
Monday dawned – dark and rainy.
But we were glad! Because rain meant the fair was empty. We didn’t fight crowds, we didn’t fight lines, we didn’t fight for seats. Everything in the fair was at our fingertips!
So our plan started off fine – we hit the first couple shows we’d planned on. Found the woman on stilts much faster than we’d planned on – and ended up with some extra minutes.
We wandered over to the “Town of Yesterday” where all the demonstrations were being held – tin making, loom weaving, etc.
We walked into the hut holding all the award-winning wines. As we’re purusing a man walks in and starts setting up some tables.
“I’m just setting up now, but if you guys come back in a half hour, I’ll let you help me.”
“With what?” “I’m a glassblower!”
An offer to watch glassblowing? Heck yeah!
So we go wander around for a half hour, then scurry right back to the glassblower’s hut.
Jeff – the glassblower.
Melting glass!
Fascinating guy. FULL of stories. Full of facts.
He let us choose colors, and then turned on a blowtorch to make us glass jewelry.
As we were in 200 year old houses, he couldn’t really do full glassblowing. He could only use a small blowtorch – but it was still impressive!
So we chose some colors and he made us some glass beads. Told us to come back in a half hour when they’d cooled.
Because what’s sexier than eating deep fried reeses balls?
So we went off to eat (deep fried PB&J, deep fried reeses, and chili cheese fries. Yes – that is my arteries you hear clogging up).
Then we went back.
We all chatted some more. He made us a couple more beads. Showing us some different techniques like adding glass drops on the outside.
We left again to entertain ourselves (petting zoo, pig races).
And we returned AGAIN! And he made us MORE glass pendants.
As we left to allow him to get some dinner (and check out the Kellie Pickler concert) he told us that if we came back, he’d let us behind the blowtorch!
Some of the glass swag
So what could we do but go back?? And of course, try our hand at glass making.
I went last of the three of us. And it was exhilarating and terrifying. So cool to be holding molten glass – but I was holding molten glass and my hands were next to a pure blue flame!!
(All right, picture story!!)
This face: the trepidation of that flame
The face of amazement – the “this is SO COOL”
Molten glass – it’s dripping!
It’s a bead shape! Happy face!
Pretty much – I amaze even myself with how cool I look (ha, ha. Get it? Cause I’m cooling the glass??!?)
It turns out – I’m apparently a natural at glass bead making. Jeff complimented my skills, and the woman next to him looked at me and said, “Seriously – I’ve seen lots of beginner students and they don’t make beads that look that good.”
I know – I can hardly believe how perfect it is too.
*self-pat on the back* If I ever really find myself completely unemployable, at least I can make awesome glass beads to sell!
At the end of our 12 hour fair day we trudged home. More tired, wetter, and colder than when we’d first started out.
But in the end it was one of the better fairs I’ve been to! How often to you get tons of free glass swag, make a new friend with an awesomely talented artist, and try your hand at creating something in 1500°F flames?
