June 01, 2006
At First I Was Afraid, I Was Petrified
Oh, Lord, I'm turning into Fresh, with the song lyrics as blog titles. But who doesn't hear that song in their head when they hear the word survive?! Or is it just me?
Oh, suuuuure, and I suppose I'm the only one who puts on glitter eye shadow and rainbow leg warmers, whips her hair around and sings into her thumb. Whatever. You guys are such liars. You all do it -- you know you do.
Anyhoo, now included in the vast array of Ways That Wenchie Is a Crappy Blogger is Reason Number 37: Didn't answer the question that Queen of Ass' earned by being the 900th commenter until it was nearly time for the 1000th comment.
If you were moving, and had NO internet connection for 10 WHOLE DAMN DAYS, how would you survive?
I'm double-awful because this question bears a sense of personal need and desperation, like she's actually seeking an answer, and yet, I totally forgot about it. It's a wonder I have any friends, isn't it?
But luckily, Marty is stalwart enough to put up with me because Marty is how I'd survive without Internet for ten days. When I had my surgery -- what is it, three years ago now? -- and couldn't move around much and couldn't go to work for six weeks, Marty hooked me up with a laptop and remote access and the whole works. And several seasons of "Buffy" on DVD. Marty rocks.
But that doesn't help you because Marty is here, and he's mine, and you can't have him.
The surgery is a story for another day. Remind me. (Man, I keep thinking of good lines for other entries -- not this one, obviously -- so I have to keep stopping and writing in other entries before I forget. So annoying!)
My other answer is a long, boring story about my childhood. Excited?
My family owns a summer home, a.k.a. log cabin, a.k.a. dilapidated shack, in Wisconsin. Yeah, it's a shack. My tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiin roof... rusted. But it definately has its good points, such as: BEACH FRONT PROPERTY, BAY-BEEEEEEEE! Oh yeah, private beach. Also? Upkeep is minimal because why clean a dilapidated shack? Which leaves more time for drinking. And swimming. And napping.
Of course, those are grown-up activities. When I was a kid, Billi and I did kid activities. Biking, hiking, building a tree house, shooting beer cans off a log with a slingshot and a BB gun. (Older Sister was a teenager at that point and was no doubt too busy feathering her hair to hang out with us kids.)
I grew up in a beautiful, huge, old woodframe house built in 1908. It has servants' quarters. The woodwork is to die for. The lack of air conditioning is to die from.
When the weather went above 80, the house became unbearable, so Mom would pack us kids into the faux-wood paneled Mercury station wagon and take us up to the cabin, where Dad would join us on weekends.
And here's the stuff that makes Heather the Wisconsin-Hater weep softly. We bathed and washed our clothes in the lake. There are bats and mice and raccoons. There are four churches, three taverns, one grocery store and no movie theatres. And? We have no phone, no television and no radio.
(Actually, I'm going up there this weekend, and I'm bringing back a corn husk doll for Heather. And she'll be obligated to keep it because it's a sentimental gift from her dear friend.)
And the weird part? I never missed those things. And when I go there as an adult? I still don't miss them. So, yeah, Wenchie secretly has no problem living without technology (for pre-determined spans of time). I'm kinda embarassed by it, actually. It seems not to fit my persona, along with Fear Of Flying and Makes Herself Eat Yogurt Once a Day. But it's those little anomylies on my personality that make it so rich and fascinating, right? Right?
Don't get me wrong. I love my blog. LOVE, in the purest, strongest, most spiritual sense of the word. And I love eBay. I hate the thought that auctions are ending without me bidding on them. But... I just so love peace and quiet and stillness and doing nothing, that I'm pretty much okay without the Internet for ten days.
God, this turned into some gay, zen-like Glimpse Into Wenchie's Childhood. I'm so sorry, Queenie.
Of course, if I didn't have the Internet at work, I would impale myself right now on a company pen. But that's hardly good advice.
Hmm. I'm gonna have to think of something really special to do for the 1000th commenter. It's a landmark number that deserves special recognition. Any suggestions?
Comments
oh, come on, wenchie! I don't just hate Wisconsin, I hate ALL nature!
anywhere that one has to drive themselves (instead of take a cab, or a train) is excruciatingly horrifying to me!
When we were forced to spend our summers (and our Octobers) in Door County, I would count the days until I had television again. sweet, sweet television.
goats on a grass roof, hiking in the woods, catching frogs in our private pond, and riding the family horses was so boring I nearly died every year.
EVERY YEAR.
Is it any surprise to any of you that I enrolled into summer school the first chance I could?
"Sorry Mom, Sorry Dad, I suddenly have an interest in the space program - and, funny, there's a science and computers Summer Course!!!!!"
Posted by: heather at June 1, 2006 01:21 PM
I liked all that 'up nort' stuff when I was a kid, now it sounds absolutely horrible to me. I don't go in lakes because now I know of all the dangerous crap that's in them. Plus, secretly I think Jaws is hiding in the weeds.
Posted by: Hope at June 2, 2006 11:52 AM
I love it when you get all possessive of me...
As far as a special 1000th commentator present, how about a package of 1000 Barbie shoes. I bet you have that many...
Posted by: Marty at June 5, 2006 10:57 AM
You can't get possessive of him! What if I need him for something???
Posted by: Queen of Ass at June 6, 2006 04:45 PM