Singin' In the Rain

Does anyone else feel like it's been ages since we've had a nice day out? Granted its winter and all, but I feel like we're due for an un-seasonably nice day. If one should happen by, I might even play hooky. I make it a point to not call out, especially if I don't desperately need to; I have a strong work ethic. (Read: "I'm broke.") I'll come in to work under-the-weather so long as I'm not contagious and I'll come in drunk so long as I'm not barfing. But one of my favorite things to do is, on one of the first beautiful days of the pre-Spring season, to ignore all things I'm responsible for (minus walking the dog) and go somewhere(anywhwere) and do something(anything).

One of my favorite Spring ditch memories is from high school. My junior year I was like a ghost. Rarely there. It was March, maybe, and I had been warned of my sporadic attendance. "Pffff!," I thought at first, but later had decided to avoid failing and become a more regular fixture in my classes.

But then the next day was bright, breezy, and beautiful. I had decided on the bus ride in to approach Meg about a possible ride to Cape May. For some reason I needed to be by the sparkly ocean, squinting to keep sand out of my eyes, listening to gulls, and running my hands through marsh reeds.

The last thing Meg wanted to be was in school, but she had actually already been issued several notices due to her own class-cutting habit. She often signed in late after driving 2 counties over to score her particular brand of drug. She had been proud of herself that she had actually made it in on time and declined my offer of a sea-side picnic.

I went to homeroom coming to terms with the fact that I was going to be stuck in hallways with green lockers and rooms with florescent lights and broken clocks. Moving toward first period I saw Meg moving toward me.


"Let's get the fuck out of here, I can't do this."

Word.

On our way out we saw Kate signing in late. I wasn't sure if she had ever been on time. Her mother drove her in everyday. Ever since grade school even though she lived less than half a mile and had a bus stop at her corner.

"We're going to Cape May."

She finished signing her name, dropped the pen, and joined us in the parking lot. Three lit cigarettes, sonic youth in the tape deck, and the mini van pushed on.

The only things I remember from what we actually did involved us stopping at a ghetto grocery store to use the bathroom where we stole the sign that said "Please stop flushing underwear down the toilette. We can no longer afford plumbers for this problem. No underwear in toilette." I can only assume that Meg still has this.

While there we also bought chicken salad. It was way gross and so we made up a new driving game. We rode up along other cars on the parkway and would fling our lunch substance at or in their windows.

mint royale effing rocks