the Dalaverse

This is a prime example of how stuck in HP I am right now: I just tried to take OotP into the shower.

When I describe my childhood reading habits by saying I read in the shower, people often look at me blankly and say, "You mean in the bath?" And I say no, in the shower. It's really not all that difficult: I'd have the book in my left hand, turning pages with my pinky (or with the other hand if it was a particularly battered book that could take a little dampness) and perform all the usual shower duties with my right. Usually I'd stand on the sides of the tub so I could stick my head directly under the showerhead, which means less splashing. I did this all the time. The only remarkable thing is that I did it before I got contacts, without glasses - and my vision is so bad that I had to hold the book no more than six inches in front of my face.

Tonight I was wearing my contacts, but unfortunately OotP is, of course, nine thousand pages long and the weight of a small child. This complicated matters so much that I was only able to get through a couple of pages - I got in with the next page held ready by my pinky, but found I couldn't turn the page after that because the book was just too large. It wobbled dangerously, so I decided to chuck it on the hamper rather than risk dropping it. So there you go. Also, I can't possibly be the only child in the world who did this; I'm probably never going to find a likelier group of kindred souls than you guys, so tell me, did you ever read in the shower? Or anywhere else that was sort of weird?

Aside from devouring a much-beloved children's book, I've spent some time engaging in actual social interaction this weekend (with actual people!). Yesterday Megan, Katherine, and I drove up to Baltimore, which took longer than anticipated because we hit summer Friday traffic (also Katherine, who possesses the world's smallest bladder, had to stop at Maryland House even though she'd used the bathroom at Meg's house just before we left). We hauled our stuff to Kat's apartment and proceeded to tart ourselves up while waiting for Tina. The four of us then piled into a cab to get to the Mexican restaurant Kat wanted to go to. First time I've been in a cab in a reeeeeally long time - the weird thing was that our fee coming back was twice what the going fare ended up being, but Meg questioned this and the guy didn't make us pay what was actually on the meter (he also stopped for gas along the way).

We didn't get seated at Nacho Mama's until 10, at which point we were so hungry that we stuffed ourselves on chips and salsa and a huge order of nachos, making our actual orders completely superfluous. Meg and Kat sensibly split a quesadilla, but Tina and I each got two enchiladas and couldn't manage to eat more than a few bites. What we did do was drink a hubcup, Nacho Mama's speciality: basically a deep-dish pie pan filled with margarita. It was as delicious as it sounds. We got back from our crazy overpriced cab ride around midnight and debated going out elsewhere, which had been the original plan. We eventually decided to just hang around the apartment, which was fine with me because the food had made me feel kind of ill. We did walk around the block in a valiant attempt to find more liquor, but failed. With glasses of Triple Sec and Sprite (ugh, it was sweet), we sat around and had one of those three-hour soul-searching conversations. I love my friends. Eventually we talked ourselves into falling asleep where we sprawled.

Tina had to leave early in the morning; the remaining three of us dragged ourselves out in early afternoon to wander down to the harbor. It was hellaciously crowded and annoyingly hot, but! I got to see my Constellation again! I did not drag Kat and Meg aboard, which I think shows remarkable restraint on my part. We weren't there for very long because none of us were too keen on spending money and there's basically nothing you can do without it. Plus we were starving. We finally found the Irish pub Kat kept mentioning, but my shepherd's pie was pretty disappointing -- all nasty beef grease rather than actual gravy. Immediate application of frozen Starbucks concoctions helped, and then we packed some of Kat's things into the car and journeyed home. Whereupon I took a nap, and I suspect the other girls did too.

Tomorrow's the Folklife Festival, where I assume Dad and I will run into Meg and her family at some point. Other than that...::yawns:: I'm beat. I can't write, but for five days in a row now I've had really vivid, interesting, meticulously-structured dreams. I guess that's how the creative part of my brain is getting its kicks? Last night there was a part of the dream where I was running from a dog-sized, evil crab. I blame the Mexican.