day nine.

I spent the day with Hannah, the girl who came up with the name for this blog! Golf clap, everyone. She was a tad annoyed that I've strayed from the original intent of the blog in only eight days. I haven't exactly been telling my tales of ONE specific activity and the like, I've been just describing the day in detail. But it's much easier and simpler, and GOSH DARN IT AMERICANS ENJOY SIMPLICITY, like McDonalds and Red Box and Wal-Mart.
Anyways, Hannah came over to swim. So we swam. After getting cold and hungry, it only seemed logical to drive 20 minutes to our neighborhood Coldstone Creamery. Of course, that required us to get dressed, and since Hannah's such a stickler for following blog rules, our new thing was dressing up ridiculously. From my recent jet-setting trip to Africa, we donned some wrap skirts, t-shirts, and a nice bun atop our heads, finishing our look like a cherry on a sundae. We deemed ourselves respectable and hopped in the van. SIDENOTE: It's a Honda Odyssey, so I named it Homer. Get it? No? Go back to 7th grade english, kid. Anyways, we arrived at Coldstone with only minimal curb bumpage and directional challenges. While munching on our delicacies, and frugally buying them with a gift card, something was wrong with the machine and Swaja or Sanjaya or Mr. Manager Man needed to be called out. He ended up buying our gift card from me and giving me the remaining balance on my card in cash. A win for the day!
We ventured outside, decided against sitting on the grass and chose the curb, and ate away. I finished with a fury, and realized I was still starving. Chik-Fil-A beckoned me, and I simply couldn't resist. My first drive-thru experience was what anyone would expect it to be: average. I ordered a medium fry, $1.75. I drove around, handed the guy my money before he even said hi, and eagerly awaited my fries. The exchange was made, first a thank you, then a my pleasure, and I much too excitedly chowed down.
Our drive home consisted of developing a theory of hipsters. It goes a little something like this. Hipsters are really easy to make fun of, and everyone does it, including hipsters. This is because if a hipster called himself a hipster, that would defy the whole purpose of him being a hipster, and he'd obviously be a poser. Assuming said hipster is a man. Thus, the way being a hipster works.
Hannah leaves for Haiti tomorrow to make tarp shelters and give out SillyBandz and the like. Send her your prayers!