per aspera ad astra

I’m a runner. Have been…well, ever since I was able to run. So, needless to say, it’s something I’m used to doing and something I’m easily capable of doing.
Or, you know, so you’d think.

Last spring, I was running Track. Distance events, of course [Why, that's the only way to do it. ^^]. While at a practice, he had us running a 1600 on the two innermost lanes. This girl who’s a year or so younger than myself was in the outer of the two, while I was in the very innermost. Apparently, the moron was incapable of running in her own lane. So, she runs into me. I had been trying to avoid her–to no avail–but instead, I lost my footing, fell, and she steps on my right ankle.
So, I’m down. I tried to run an 800 next, but…y’know. Not a good idea. So I explained to our coach what happened, and was like, “Hey, I think I need a week or of taking it easy so I can recover.”
He goes, “Well, can you move it?”
“I can.”
“THEN YOU CAN RUN ON IT. GET BACK OUT THERE.”
…after almost a week of trying and failing to run on the injured ankle, he approaches me.
“Jenn, I don’t think you’re cut out for this.”
“Beg pardon?”
“You’ve been having all this trouble..”
“…er…because Kasey tripped me up and stepped on me…and because you’ve had me running on an injury.”
“Well, you need to come out of your comfort zone, and you aren’t doing that.”
“I DON’T HAVE A FUCKING COMFORT ZONE AT THE MOMENT, DAMN!” …so, I limped away, rummaged through my bag for my phone, and called for a ride. While this is occuring, the coach is yelling at me to get back on the track and run a 400. And then do twenty pushups.
Excuse me? You pretty much just kicked me off the team. Like I’m gonna finish practice? FUCK you, buddy, I don’t know where you get your drugs. And uh, also–I’m 5′9″, 115lbs, and ALL LEG. Where do you get off telling me that I’m not cut out to run? Especially since I’ve been doing it my whole life…
So, I was sorely frustrated for about two weeks. Chalked it up to losses and shrugged it off, eventually. Had a little neoprene sports wrap on the thing, and I was doing okay.

A few months pass, and it’s cross country season! Hell yeah. [Definitely XC Season, not Volleyball, not after that fiasco of last year...]
So, I’d been running independently, and I’d randomly attend a Captain’s practice…but these were all on relatively flat ground. My ankle would twinge, but it was nothing bothersome. Team banquet last Tuesday evening–my coach is not an accomplished cook, so it seems–and first official with-the-whole-team-and-coach practice the next morning at Loriella [which is a park in a county neighboring my city].
Okay, that’s not bad. Mile warm-up? I’d expected two. He’s going easy? So then we run the main course, which is about 3.1 miles. Again, not bad. A friend of mine is on the team, but she’s having huge trouble with it–she can’t pace herself, and she fucks up her breathing…so it was bad for her. About halfway through this odd course, downhill, in the woods, my ankle just goes out, and I fall. I tried to get back up–no such luck. So I sat there for a minute or two, and tried to limp off after the others.
And then I got lost, because the trails in the woods aren’t marked. GREAT.
And then I get un-lost, and run–haha, yeah right, limp–into said friend, because she was lagging terribly behind. We tried to run a bit, but I couldn’t. I insisted she try to go ahead, but she was like, “Look, I suck at this, etc.” And then we got lost again.
So, we make it back, finally, and coach is like, “Well, you never told me about your ankle,” which, surely I did, the night before, at the team dinner.
So he’s like, “Well, go see a Podiatrist.” Well, sure, except I don’t have $500 to simply limp into the podiatrist’s office, let alone the money to get anything fixed. And then he tells me to go to the school and see some Phys. Ed teacher. Er…okay, except what’s she going to do? “Well, she’s a sports doctor,” he tells me. Except I’ve never heard of DOCTOR Clark, MD. So…no. Just because you can give CPR, ice a sprain, and use a defribulator does not mean you can mend my ankle.
I went into work that evening. Horrid idea, I ended up leaving early.
I had to call out the next day, because I couldn’t walk.
Got a sturdy brace for my ankle on Friday, so I can walk now. Received my shirt that I ordered and the copy of XP Pro Phix sent me so I could fix this machine. Went into work late, much to the celebration of the mid-shift manager. xD…

So, at the moment, I’m doing okay.
Very frustrated that I can’t run and that I’m a gimp, but oh well.
My coach said that I can remain as a team manager so I can still get recognition for being a part of the team. Nifty. I have to go talk to him at 3:30.

So, from August 10 through the 17, I spent a week in Sunset Beach, North Carolina, with my friend Rachel and her family. That’s less than 20 miles from Myrtle Beach, South Carolina, straight down US Route 17. It’s lovely, down there, the weather wasn’t stifling, it’s clean…Pretty nifty, huh? Psyche.

When I said family, I meant the entire paternal side of her family. So…in this eight-bedroom bungalow that we had for the week, were crammed..22 people?
Rachel, Charlotte [her sister], Stacy [her mom], Andrew [her dad], me.
Greg [Andrew's brother], Didi [his wife], Chris, Tyler, and Amy [Tyler's girlfriend].
Becky [Andrew's sister], Tommy [her husband], Alison, Sarah-Brooke [henceforth S-B], Braiden [S-B's 5mo. old.], Patrick, and Jaimie [Patrick's girlfriend].
Matt [Andrew's brother], Dorothy-Charlotte [aka DC--his wife], Sally, Ginny, and John-Douglas [aka Jodo].
I had not been forewarned that we would be spending the week with the whole lot of everyone. It is reasonable to say that I am not a people person..and it is also reasonable to say that I am by no means religious. Two deacons and two ministers–all Presbyterian.

Tell me how it makes sense that the minors are not permitted to use the stove and oven ‘without adult presence and supervision’ but they are told to slice limes for their booze AND permitted–encouraged, even–to consume alcohol to the point where their friend-and-guest is fucking holding their hair and confiscating their phone? Oh, it must be because they haven’t taught their lot to make anything but Easy-Mac in the fucking microwave.
In fact, a fight ensued, between Alison–who is my age–and her twenty-year-old sister, Sarah-Brooke. They were both inebriated, and in our side of the house, and S-B sneers something about some item Alison brought over. So Ali went to get it…and S-B storms upstairs, yelling occurs, then a scream, then all the sudden, Alison is tumbling down the stairs, thrown by her sis, and next thing I know, they’re brawling at the foot. Their brother Patrick dives on them and pulls them apart, drags S-B outside and tells his girlfriend to make sure Ali’s okay…how ’bout THEM apples?

It wasn’t all negative, so I’ll take a few moments to note the fun stuff:

1. I learned to ride a bike. Can you believe that I couldn’t? Well, I could…just…very, very badly.
2. The ocean was fantastic, and I am pleasantly tan–and Phixious can vouch for this.
3. My bed was comfy.
4. I found–gasp–glass bottled Dr. Pepper. Made with sugar. I should’ve bought the entire store out, I only bought six. It was so incredibly delicious…I wanted to cry. xD My dad used to live two blocks away from a Dr. Pepper bottling plant when he was a kid, so he’d brag about how yummy they were, just off the line…man.
5. Non-cheesy souvenirs for the family were easily obtainable, to my surprise.
6. Eating at Hooters is always hilarious. Rachel’s mom bought everyone shirts, so Alison, Rachel, and I have matching Hooters tanktops. It’s kinda ironic for Alison and I…but Rach does her’s justice, ha.
7. I hate seafood, but oh my god, the hushpuppies at this one place are to die for.

Back to the rant.

I dislike seafood. My mother does too, and when dad would try to have me eat seafood, my mom would be like, “That’s gross,” and you know how things just impress upon kids. So, I guess, it’s an acquired distaste. [That, and I'm allergic to something, but I can't remember what. So I generally steer clear of the stuff, a) because I don't like it, and b) because I don't want to die.] I KNOW why I don’t like it, and I’ve tried several times to get past it, but I still find myself disgusted.
So, just my luck, seafood was constantly eaten. At the house…we had two nights of shrimp and bacon-wrapped scallops. Nevermind that the scallops and bacon were only halfway cooked. Then three of the restaurants we attended were strictly seafood. Blargh.

I’d never been to Myrtle Beach. It’s a huge tourist trap. I hate tourist traps; I’ve lived in two of them. [Florida, and Las Vegas. Ugh.]

Oh, to Hooters. So, Sally jokingly suggested we eat there. The menfolk were like, “HURRAH!” Now, I don’t object…except for every time I’ve been to one, the food was horrid. Well, I lucked out. Rachel’s dad did something unforgivable, though. He ordered fried pickles! Don’t get me wrong. I like fried food as much as the next likely-to-have-a-heart-attack American. And I LOOOVE pickles. But there are just some things you should never do, and that’s one of them.

Needless to say, I was more than ready to go home on Friday. They woke me up at six in the morning, even though I was already packed. So I assumed we’d be departing soon. No such luck! We didn’t leave the house until ten. And instead of heading for the highway…they headed for this Wal-Mart Supercenter of Souvenir Shops, Callahan’s.
And we were there for almost two hours. My. God. It was awful! They asked me when I needed to be home, and I was like, “Four would be nice, because my shift manager called me and said that the GM goofed and scheduled me for five, even though I was supposed to have off.” A five-hour drive, that would put leaving at eleven even being okay. But no. So, I sat in the cafe of the place pretending I’m obese [by consuming obscene amounts of different fudge], gulping down glass-bottled Cheerwine[For those of you--and I assume that it is most of you--who don't know what Cheerwine is, it's a NC\SC 'specialty' soda. It's cherry flavored--just cherry, not like a cherry coke--and it is lovely.], and I called Phix. I didn’t get home until six, and then I had to throw on my uniform and go into work.
Meh.

I think I’ve had my fill of traveling with other people’s families. >_<

Two weeks since Otakon. Okay, that’s weird. It seems like a whole hell of a lot longer, and the only thing passing the time is work. Not that it’s a good distraction; I think of him to distract myself from working!
And do I need a distraction from it…gosh.
From Friday through tonight [Sunday], we’ve had a great mess of people in, every night. Steady, busy, unrelenting. Okay, fine, I can deal with that. I work just fine under pressure–and often, I’ve found, I work better under it. With constant things to do, the night passes quicker, I get my hours faster, and then I can come home, call Jeremy, and crash.
On Saturday night, in the brunt of our rush that was the evening’s business, our [WORTHLESS] dishwasher comes by to [get in my way by] slowly put my fountain dishes away. I’m dealing with customers up front, and I turn to come back…and this fucker thinks it’s a good idea to cop a feel of my ass.
Bad idea, because almost immediately, I spun and punched him. [Call it a reflex?] The people up front who witnessed the exchanged applauded me. For comic relief, I bowed..before I followed him into the dishroom raising nine kinds of Hell. I told him that he’s more than welcome–encouraged, even–to press assault charges against me…so long as he’s got a Godly lawyer to deal with the charges and\or suit I’d bring down on him. I also made it very clear that he was to be promptly fired…or if they so chose to fire me, that they were losing me AND my mom–and they really cannot afford to lose my mom–and that they can deal with my wrath, too.
So, I went back up to deal with my job. At some point, I could’ve sworn my mom was about to turn the prick into a pretzel and send him through the machine. I don’t see how customers DIDN’T hear her…oh well. Well, some customers [besides the ones who witnessed it] must have heard, because I wound up with two business cards from lawyers looking to represent in sexual harassment cases.
Later that evening, right after he had been Spoken To, and was about to leave, he brings up more of my dishes [although sense would dictate to stay the fuck away from me] and proceeds to get in my way again to put them away. So, at the other end of my station, I’m doing something, and all the sudden…I hear glassware shattering, him howling. He’s clutching his bleeding hand. Right there, right up front in plain view. Thankfully, no one was around and my cases were closed so nothing was contaminated. So, I rang for the ambulance because Chris was busy. Meantime, there’s blood all over up front, so I’m running back and forth, trying to clean, sanitize, sterilize, etc, anything that MIGHT have gotten fouled up. Ambi gets there…and that fuck REFUSES to take it. As if I weren’t livid before…well, I can’t even describe how I was then. It was obscene. So, I was like, “Okay, I can’t be here, mentally, so, I think I’ll be elsewhere,” and proceeded to actively think of…things that needed–and still need–contemplation, while droning on with my work. Then the guy has the nerve to come ask me to make something for free for his wife [yes, wife], and I was like, “Uh, where exactly do you get your drugs, man?” Turns out, he needed 11 stitches to close the wound, and he fucked a tendon, so he has to go see a specialist. Ha ha, this is called Karma, idiot.
Later, I talked to Jer [Phix] for a while, and he made it better…He always makes it better. He wants the guy dead–and I don’t blame him or anything. I’m spiteful, though. Death is too good for some people.

Meantime, I’ve been making tips, now, and I’ve been getting more hours…and Chris, being 1337, gave me a raise. It might not stick because the GM is a dick, but it might. I’m hoping it does.

I leave for the beach in four days, for a week. I sincerely hope I have internet access.
I have five essays to write in four days. Well, more like three. Maybe even two. It’s no big deal, though. Just history stuff…and I rock history. ^^
Ooh, and running. I’ve been running–OFFICIAL practice begins tomorrow [Monday], but I haven’t gotten a physical yet–ooh, hurrah–so I can’t join in team practices. So I have to get one. Bleh.

I got my bikini, by the way, and my card. I somehow think the ‘kini looks better on the model, but hey, everything looks better on airbrush and silicone, I suppose. x3 Well, you know, in the superficial sense. Most of those models have really, really fucking retarded looks on their faces. I enjoy laughing at them and giving them little captions.

Phixy, come give me a hug. I’m tired. X_X;
[Oh, heck, you're probably reading this from work. Merr. I'll be calling you soon, if I haven't yet, then...]