but I found a driver and that's a start

My impromptu trip to Chicago, in photographic form.

Let's start at the beginning, shall we?
[Apologies in advance for any bizarre spacing or formatting here. It's my first post involving extensive photographs on Blogger. I used to post pics on Xanga pretty regularly, but this site is slightly different to operate, as I'm sure some of you know. And when I say some of you, I mean my lone reader. Irrelevant tangent over: on with the show!]

Chillaxing in Fort Wayne "International" Airport. Blogging it up. Note how the hair actually looks decent at this early point in the day.

Reading all the hotel literature. I have to admit, I LOVE hotel amenities. I steal the pens and paper from every hotel room I've ever stayed in. And my family is really into traveling... so that rather makes for a lot of hotel pens. But they always write so well... [that makes it okay, says KleptoHolly. You all agree, right?]

What I love about my trip: I went with absolutely no idea what I was going to do upon my arrival in the city. I browsed some of the touristy literature available in the hotel lobby; that, combined with my memories of my fifth-grade field trip to Chi-town led to choose Navy Pier as my evening destination. The front desk clerk was extremely helpful and called a cab for me and everything. I adore people-watching.

I took this for my dad. Well, my whole family, really. We're really into cycling as a sport; my family recorded every single day's full coverage of the Tour de France on Versus. My dad and sister created fantasy teams [it's a real contest online during the Tour, they're not just insane] to compare to the winners, and we made predictions each day. We've been doing it for years. The commentators are bloody brilliant. I did immediately think of my dad when taking this photograph though; this is a bike rental shop, and they have a veritable HORDE of Treks! Those are REALLY EXPENSIVE BIKES! No wonder renting them is pricey, too.

I found a place to eat at the rail of Charlie's Ale House, inside the Pavilion at Navy Pier. It was a small, but bustling restaurant (I think it had a much larger outside patio, but I didn't really look that closely, I must admit. Too much fodder for observation indoors). The bartenders were both Hispanic, and the one that waited on me in particular was Francisco and spoke at approximately ninety miles an hour. He moved about that quickly, too. Very thorough, though, and quite funny as well. I struck up a conversation with a woman who inquired what I was eating and ordered the same thing for takeaway. She informed me there were fireworks that night at nine-thirty; naturally, I had to stay for the show, mainly because I love fireworks. And also Strongbow. If you haven't had it before, it's hard cider from England, and is TASTY. Best on draft, second best in a bottle, worst in a can. Unfortunately, it's rather hard to come by here in the States. Trust me, though, it's worth the effort.

I realize it's blurry, but I have to admit, after staring at it for awhile, I realized this photograph is perfect the way it is. This is exactly what it was like on the Pier. I was strolling along, basically letting the crowd shunt me along as people flew by in all directions. I love how the woman in white in the left foreground looks like she's just flying. It's amazing how a place that's meant for entertainment and, presumably, a good time, turns into such an occasion for stress and hurry for some people. It's definitely enjoyable to watch the hustle and bustle whilst meandering along, letting the cool breeze off the lake play with my skirt. Beautiful.

Snarky self-portraint on my way out of the hotel the next morning. I have a really crappy camera and shiny skin, okay? Step off. Seriously, though, I've been meaning to get a new camera for years. Mine is ancient and bulky and slow. But I do desperately love that jacket I'm sporting. Mmm. Nice and cheap, too! I've had it for months and haven't really had an occasion to wear it, so I'm glad I finally got to.

I'm quite confident I have one more post coming out of this random adventure of mine, but I did want to experiment with posting a series of photos, so I'll go ahead and let this one end nicely. Also, I've been watching "Friends," and the disc ended, so I have to switch it out for a fresh one. I work a double tomorrow at the 'bee's, so that'll be a fun one. Oy. Back to the real world, I suppose.

nothing you can do but you can learn how to be you in time

I woke up this morning dissatisfied with my lot in life, and by the time I got Starbucks, had decided to leave town for twenty-four hours. That's right, this self-declared spontaneous gypsy is finally living up to her name. I felt a strong pull to get out, to just up and leave, pack a small bag and hit the road. I've felt restless before, but never in such a tangible way. It suddenly occurred to me that I can really do this. It's Wednesday morning and I don't have to be at work at the 'bee's until Friday morning, and the work I have to do for the office can be done in a hotel room or on a plane or wherever the hell I want, and the possibility of just up and leaving like I so desperately desire to do is a VERY REAL ONE.

So I did it.

I'm writing this in the Fort Wayne International Airport, which is kind of hilarious for those from around this area, simply because "international" refers to a flight to Canada that's available approximately once every few weeks. There are only eight gates; four downstairs, next to the single convenience store/deli/bar, and four upstairs, near the "museum" consisting of about twelve framed photographs stuck on mobile display cases. When you fly in to Fort Wayne and head to the baggage claim, a trio of old ladies greets you with individually wrapped sugar cookies. When you depart, you are probably the only person in line for security, and the employee who helps you find your ring after you drop it [apparently the metal detectors are so sensitive these days, a freaking underwire bra might set them off. That could get awkward.] strikes up a conversation about how women should remove bracelets when going through the metal detectors, but rings are usually okay, because he wears his wedding ring every day when he goes through and is almost always fine.

I can't believe I did it.

After I got Starbucks, I returned to my apartment and immediately started texting the BFF, who, in true KM fashion, encouraged me wholeheartedly to DO IT, JUST GO. I decided on Chicago as a destination rather quickly, due to proximity/travel time/excitement and whatnot, and immediately started Googling like a fiend - hotels near the airport, flights out of Fort Wayne, the balance of my bank account. I have to admit, after the initial rush of ohmygosh this could actually happen, doubts settled in, as they are wont to do. However, justification crept in right afterward... my roommate is out of town... she won't be fretting about me [she lives to fret]... the bf [look for another post in the future regarding why I hate the term "boyfriend," but that's what he is, bless his heart] is seriously sleep-deprived/working really hard on multiple projects/seemed kind of put off that I wanted to hang out with him so much last night that I went over to his place at bloody twelve-thirty in the morning/and therefore could probably use a break from such an insane girlfriend. It's perfect timing.

For the past few years I have felt a call to travel. I spontaneously decided to study abroad in London, and I loved it. It was exactly what I needed at the time; although I was also using it as an excuse to run away from all that was troubling me at that time. As a result, it helped, but it didn't. Paradoxical, I know. In the end, it was an incredible, worthwhile, culturally enriching experience, but only served to increase my thirst for travel and adventure and spontaneity. Ever since then, I have claimed to love spontaneity, to be a gypsy at heart, to live for the thrill of the chase of adventure - but I have done nothing to live up to those titles. Last fall, a friend I was getting close to at the time constantly retorted that I couldn't be random at heart, as I insisted I was - I didn't do anything but work, and go home, and read, and consume the occasional glass of wine. He declared that he was more random than I, due mostly to his impulsive desire to learn a musical instrument, upon which he purchased a ridiculously expensive bass and proceeded to teach himself a song way out of his talent margin.

Who's random now, bitch?

I'll keep you posted on my adventures. I hear my hotel has free internet tonight... gotta love this technologically savvy world we live - and travel - in these days.