Earlier this week, I called Elizabeth and asked her to send me the keys to her apartment where a good chunk of my belongings are being stored. She very wonderfully agreed and told me they should be there by Wednesday, which ended up being perfect because I was going to leave for Mama and Daddy’s on Thursday, and I could just swing by her apartment on my way home from work and go pick up the dress I planned on wearing to my friend Kelly’s wedding this weekend.Well, thanks to the postal service in Jackson, that did not happen. I would also like to point out that because of my awesome/not so awesome job, I didn’t get to leave until this morning. I checked my mailbox compulsively all day Wednesday and Thursday, and there was nothing to be found. It dawned on me last night that maybe the mail carrier had decided we don’t have a mailbox at our house because it’s around the back. Then I realized I had to get up early, early, early and get my happy little self to the post office to see if I could pick up my mail.
I woke myself up at about quarter after seven this morning, jumped in the shower, and hit the road. I stopped at the local post office, waited impatiently in line, and asked the clerk my question. However, I realized about midway through his response that he was staring at my boobs the entire time I was talking to him — what a creep. Upon learning I’d have to stop by the big post office downtown, I hightailed it out of Creepy McCreeperson’s post office and promised myself never to return without being clad in a turtleneck or similarly conservative clothing. (That’s not to say that I was dressed inappropriately by any means … and it’s not like I have big boobs because I definitely do not.)
I arrived at the big post office and waited to ask where I could get my mail. This man was much less creepy and far more helpful and explained, much to my frustration, that my address does not officially exist on the route and that my university is the proud recipient of any and all mail shipped to my sorority house. I thanked the least creepy mail clerk I’ve met and gunned it back to campus and ran to the mail room and made a mad dash to Elizabeth’s apartment to get my dress.
The best part? I left my house at just barely after eight, and I hit I-40 at exactly nine. All that running around took less than one hour.
As for the rest of the trip, I made pretty good time coming back. I also learned there is a gelato place in the middle of Kentucky. (It’s the Dinosaur World exit on I-65, by the way.) I’m definitely stopping there on my way home to Jackson. Also, I know I work in radio, and I love my radio stations — mostly — but the radio on the way back to Indianapolis this morning was terrible. I think it might finally be time to break down and buy an iPod. It’s good timing, too. Ingram Hill is just about ready to release their new album, Cold in California, next month. (The day before classes start — what better way to start out my last year of college?) Check out their MySpace to listen to my new favorite song, “Why Don’t You.”
I guess that’s all. Elizabeth and I are already planning our Thanksgiving extravaganza — the last one of our college careers! Also, I should probably get some sleep soon because tomorrow’s the big day: I am going to the first wedding for a high school friend. When did I get so old?
