thatnight.net

Back when I ran off with the noncitizens for a few months during the summer, I wasn’t familiar with Nutella. I always thought it was the sort of thing that only New Yorkers had in their cabinets, something they bought on Sundays at their deli along with feta and oolong.

But sure enough, anytime any of us complained of being hungry, no matter our location, somebody would reach into their backpack or purse or glove compartment and pull out a container of the stuff as if it were our ticket to survival. And that’s how I learned to stop complaining.

It was something we could all agree upon, which was somewhat uncommon, given the language and cultural barriers. During our first stop in D.C., I became aware that since I was the only American in our group, I was the only one with a functioning cell phone, and when I realized that we all wanted to see different parts of the city, I nearly had an panic attack on the stairs leading up to the Lincoln Memorial.

My first thought was, literally, I’m never going to see them again. I was certain that even if we set a time to meet, there would be confusion, and we’d end up never finding one another. Ever.

A few of us did get lost, and had to wait around by the car for five hours because besides the Nutella, that was one thing we all shared.

A couple nights ago when I was grocery shopping and saw it on the shelf above the peanut butter, I thought back to one of those days on the road when I was bold enough to ask if anyone had silverware I could use to spread some of it on bread, and the South African dude was all, Rachel, you just washed your hair in the Atlantic ocean and changed your clothes in the backseat of a car while Ana stood at the windows and yelled Russian obscenities at anyone who got too close. So I used my fingers.

And that’s how I came to own my first jar.

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This picture was taken around this time in 2006 in Ocean City, Maryland.

I’d just left a job on the Chesapeake Bay and was accompanied by a guy from Turkey who was leaving the states in a few weeks and wanted to absorb as many American cities as he could. We decided that before kicking off a tour of the East Coast we would settle down in Ocean City for a week. Having no place to stay and very little cash, the majority of our time was spent on the public beaches. My hair was perpetually tangled and loaded with sand.

As we walked one afternoon on the main strip, he saw a tiny Turkish flag hanging from an old yellow and blue house and immediately called out to the few people hanging out on the front porch. The group of girls living there spoke very little English and cleared a bed for me as soon as I was introduced.

I remember not saying much the entire time I was there, and somehow learned about Islam and gender roles and how to cook and belly dance. I sometimes wonder if I could forgo a couple of my college’s mandatory diversity credits and just relive that experience a few more times.

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I can’t stand gambling. I lost $20 the first day I was here and I am done. That got me a good 40 spins on a slot machine, which equals about five minutes, at the end of which I was all that’s it? Where do I get my refund? No refund? But I didn’t win anything.

So that’s it? I don’t understand.

Twenty dollars. That’s like a new shirt. Or 1/10 of an iPhone. Or enough gas to back out of my garage.

I did get to see Phantom, though, which was probably one of the best things I’ve ever done.

I’ve been waiting since my freshman year of college to see that show, which was the year the movie was released, which I saw twice in the theater, and proceeded to watch about forty seven more times when it came out on DVD.

I probably should have added that to Monday’s list.

I was pretty surprised about how true to the play the movie was (excluding Emmy Rossum’s crazy hotness, which was plastered all over the back of my dorm door. What?), and even though I was sitting there reciting the lines in my head as they happened, which was probably the most annoying I’ve ever been to myself, when that chandelier came crashing down, my face melted off.

On the way to the theater yesterday, as I sat next to my cab driver Mei Ma and twittered my excitement, he asked what I was doing, and, having no better explanation for Twitter, said, “Telling all of my friends what’s going on.” He replied, “Tell them I said hello.”

So, from the mouth of Mei Ma, there you go.

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“yesterday i woke up early and babysat, drove to the mall, grabbed some jones soda, and then babysat again till 11. i definatly need to find a job. stupid college students took them all. hey that’ll be me next year! yay! i decided im staying close to home, and i would like to get an apartment, rather than dorm. but we’ll see.”

I wrote that on one of my older websites on June 14th, 2003. I would happily link it, but isn’t it the general routine for my generation to block out and delete proof of our early internet presence? Because we’re so much more intelligent now, and when I turn 27, I’ll be all, what? 22? What did I do then, go to college? How juvenile.

At the time, I would have just turned 17. And besides that one brilliant remark (”i decided im staying close to home,” which I should have done, but didn’t, though really, who “decides” things when they’re 17?) there’s not much I would ever worry about salvaging. I was living so fast and hard that I didn’t have time to capitalize my i’s.

Anyway, I’m in the middle of writing something sort of extensive, a large portion of which took place in 2003. I found that the best way for me to remember the little things I may have forgotten about — car rides, dances, lacrosse games — is to download the Top 50 Billboard chart (full list available in iTunes) for that year and cycle the playlist.

So I’m sitting here in my rat-free hotel room (who knew they’d have one in Philadelphia?), elated with landing this job, burnt from a sweltering, sunny day on the field, playing 50 Cent and The Ataris and Fabolous and Blink-182. As always, the songs easily send me back to the time I wrote things like “i was wearing my ‘lost’ shirt and thinking of how lost i am right now” and “i just watched all the surfer girls episodes” and “SATs suck,” and I don’t think I’ve ever been so aware of a difference of five years.

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I’ve been across the country but I’ve never been across the state, and as I write this, I’m on my way to Philadelphia for work-related things, and I’m pretty excited about it despite all of its inferiorities.

I’m just kidding, Philly. I can’t say anything bad about the birthplace of Will Smith and…cream cheese.

I left the puppy with Derrick, which wasn’t difficult at the time, but now that I’m sitting here thinking about it, it’s kind of getting to me. He knows I’m coming back, right? Will he forget about me tomorrow and move on? Little punk is probably chilling out by the pool already, unaware of my absence, all I don’t remember there being a girl in my life. Was she hot?

I swear, I could live in the most glorious, well-kept house and I would still find excitement in leaving. What makes hotel rooms so fantastic?

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As I nervously shuffled down the aisle of my second flight yesterday, trying to lift the large black suitcase I should’ve checked, my boarding pass hanging out of my mouth, I looked up towards my row to see if I could scout out the people near me and evaluate how awkward I’d be for the next two and a half hours.

There was a girl my age, maybe a year or two younger, in the outermost seat. I would be by the window. No one in the middle yet. I finally made my way back and, looking down, noticed there was someone in the seat next to me. Just hanging out. Sitting up, looking forward, clutching a banana like he’d be using it to taxi the plane to the runway.

After taking my seat and suppressing the urge to gnaw on his curiously tiny feet, he smiled with his whole face and used his sticky-from-banana hand to make sure the fabric on my right knee was denim. His mom pulled him back, but I was totally cool with it.

Against what is normal for me, I stared along with him out the window during takeoff, and had an unusually calm flight home.

Related to this post

Tweet: [Second plane. The guy in the seat next to me is a baby. A BABY. Sitting! Like an adult! But a baby!!!]
Photography: [More plane shots from Houston]

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Tonight was probably the most fun I’ve had so far in Austin, and it didn’t really even have to do with SXSW. Next time, I’m going to just use the money and spend the whole week with Leah, who is outgoing and hilarious and gorgeous and all things wonderful.

As it turned out, she ended up working at a wedding event that was also going on at the convention center. After wrapping up there, me and Richie met her for the first time, said hi to Taylor, and drove to a little pizza place and ate delicious food. We talked and talked and talked some more. And we took pictures. And then we talked about everything else.

It was really incredible. Leah and I read a lot of the same things, we don’t understand a lot of the same things, and we’ve both been publishing our lives online for a pretty long time. It was completely comfortable and very satisfying to talk to someone who not only understands what blogging is, but can relate to everything it entails when you’re a 20ish girl. It was another crazy moment, since Leah’s was one of the very first blogs I ever started reading, back before Wordpress and Flickr and Facebook.

It was the perfect change of pace to get away from the crowds and into the city with an Austin native, especially one that awesome.

(She wrote about it here.)

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Both flights went pretty smoothly. The first had me a bit shaky — we were forced to wait an additional hour to board due to “maintenance problems.” They dissected the engine right in front of me, and I rocked back and forth. Luckily, after that, I was asleep through most of the trip, awakened only a couple times when the person behind me used the top of my head for stability when leaving his seat.

But I’m here, and it’s beautiful. Sunny. The hotel room is lovely. As wonderful as sleep sounds at this point, I’m waiting on a cab to deliver me to the convention center. If there’s anything left to see, I need to see it. I missed most of the day, but there is still much stalking to do.

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My laundry isn’t finished, my bags are not packed, and the city is expecting an ice storm to roll in at around, oh, right when I’m scheduled to take off. The adventure hasn’t even begun and I’m already rolled up in the fetal position on my still-unclean hardwood floors.

I would, however, like to share something besides fear and whiny angst. A good while ago, I began talking to this kid Richie. He was an awesome blogger back then. Now he’s just the best designer in the world. Loser.

As it turns out, we were both scraping together the necessary funding to attend SXSW for the first time. Richie, being intelligent, innovative, and out of his mind, decided on Monday to throw together a website. It would pull and compile our individual blog posts, tweets, movies, pictures, and everything else pertaining to two clueless and young SXSW attendees. He designed, coded, and published it. I picked out the background pattern. We’re both exhausted.

It’s called threenightstand.com, and I’m excited about how it’s turned out. If you’re interested, it’s also running as a podcast, downloadable through iTunes. As we’ll both have a ton to say, I’m sure, the goal is that it provides a decent window into our “different” conference experience.

I hope you like it.

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I was emailed a video this morning, and I’m somewhat perplexed as to his identity. Anyone? Anyone?

At this time in two days, I will be somewhere between flights on my way to Austin, TX for the SXSW Interactive conference and 2008 Bloggie Awards. I am excited, and I am petrified. If I’m not high on Dramamine by the time the plane leaves Pittsburgh, I plan on recording takeoff so you can witness pure terror.

I can hardly even focus on the enthusiasm I have hidden somewhere for all of the people I’ll be seeing. The actual bodies of people. Internet people. In real life. I’ll be making a whole album just of Heather’s hair. And also? Convincing Leah to become a polygamist, because I totally want in on that marriage.

There are also a couple little things I’m working on that should come out this weekend, and if you’re easily annoyed by reader updates, I would almost recommend removing me, just for the weekend. Almost. Because I’m going to be constantly bugging the hell out of you. Think: Some girl running up to you on the street, ripping out pages of her well-documented diary, and throwing them relentlessly at your right ear. Hi, I’m Rachel.

I also have a secret. Perhaps about my personal life? Perhaps that will especially surprise my PodCamp friends?

Now you’re looking for the secret, but you won’t find it because you’re not really looking. You don’t really want to know the secret. You want to be…fooled.

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