Alright, so I know these are horrible pictures, but I took them on my camera phone, which is nearly ancient technology compared to my old camera. As soon as I can get to Costco, hopefully tomorrow, I can promise better pictures to appear shortly.

The concert was nice. Marilyn Manson is the most over-rated “metal” musician out there. The concert was about as hardcore as a high school punk band performing. It was something that I had fun enjoying, but I also had fun looking around me. Metal kids, punk kids, all of them decked out in their gear enjoying the music are funny to watch. They all think they’re so hardcore, and it flashes me back to high school. Ah, we used to over do the eyeliner and put on red and black and go out and act all bad. Cute, really.
But seeing Marilyn Manson in concert is something I can now cross off my list of things to do before I die, so that’s nice.

We were driving home exhausted and had to pull over to sleep because neither of us could stay awake. We set an alarm and locked the door and were woken by a knock on the window. Police officer with a flashlight. We answered all the questions, not on drugs, just sleeping because we’re trying to get home, Chicago, 21, 23, here are our IDs. He checked, told us we were parked in a roadway (although it was a “roadway” between a closed Wendy’s and a closed other fast food place that we thought was a parking lot) and that we weren’t in any trouble. We drove home after that, thankful for the rest.

Home safe. Tired. But safe.

I felt the first wave of homesickness hit. It was late, I was exhausted. Emily’s mom always says, when you’re upset, just go to bed. I’m never upset like that. Not about that. All of a sudden, it was that strange urge for Mom, the need for a hug, for something. And I turned and found only my moldering apartment. Emily heard my unsung cry, before I even started crying and came and held me while the tears rolled down. And then instead of sleeping, I stared at the night.

I have just purchased my very first frequent flier redemption ticket. Instead of feeling joy, I feel nothing. Just robbed. Now I won’t get into my rant about Frontier Airlines right now (I’m procrastinating Spanish homework) but trust me, I feel like I deserve more than crappy seats after four years of traveling. But maybe that’s just me. With their new fare categories, they make the flier choose the impossible: pay more upfront or pay more later. I always spend more upfront (getting the free bag and the choice of seat [nothing worse than being stuck in the middle; with my luck, it’s always crazies] is well worth that extra $20 each way). But now that I’m redeeming my ticket, 20,000 of my miles can’t buy me that. Instead, I’m economy. I’m the lowest of the low. I’ll get my seat assignment when I get to the gate. I’ll be sitting in row 23B, right in front of the bathrooms or crammed between a crying child and a widow. My backpack will be crammed under the seat because I wasn’t able to check a bag because that would cost me. It’ll be wonderful. I’ll curse Frontier but be grateful I’m not flying Southwest. I’ll arrive, annoyed and crumpled, ready for a hot bath and some Wendys.

Tonight is the Marilyn Manson concert in Wisconsin. Hunter and I are at eleven months today, but I’m somewhere else. You know when you hold onto something you know you no longer fit into because you like the way it used to look/feel? It’s like that. We’re scraping, pulling, twisting threads together trying, but I’m not convinced I’ll be able to get back into it. But that is life, isn’t it?

I told Dad I was going to Rome. His first question was, “What does Hunter think about that?” My answer was that Hunter can think anything he wants. I’m 21. I’ll be 22 and in Rome and I’ll have the rest of my life ahead of me! I’ll travel through Europe. I’ll stay at hostels. I’ll eat crazy things, drink crazy things, meet crazy people. I’ll take too many pictures of things no one wants to look at. I’ll be made fun of by locals. I’ll make fun of locals. Hopefully some things will get lost in translation, hopefully I’ll be swept away by some beautiful foreigner, and I’ll send postcards home and write of our tragic, star-crossed love. I’ll come home smiling, dirty, reeking of Europe, elitist, humbled, and most importantly thoroughly and irrevocably changed. And Hunter, well, he’ll be here.

I’ve edited twice now. Not editing, really, adding.

I want to live. I’m worried that no one will ever love me and it’s become a strange fixation lately. I no longer want to be married and settled so soon (not that it was ever soon, but it was soon enough). I want to wait and draw it out and be sure. I want someone who gets me, who’s not afraid of my baggage (there’s quite a bit), who’s not unsure–about themselves or anything, who’s strong and capable yet sweet and snuggly, who’s funny, charming, handsome, devilish, wild, driven, but most of all, intelligent. I want someone to capture my mind. To challenge me and enthrall me and leave me shaken and breathless not just because of a kiss but because of an idea. I want someone who wants to talk philosophy. I want someone who walks that middle line, though, someone who’s not all play and who’s not all talk, someone who’s not too pretentious, yet not uncultured. I want that person to love me and adore me while realizing that maybe I’m not perfect, I want more than “you’ll do.” I want equality, connection, completion. Does he exist?

I do my best work completely distracted or completely under pressure. At this very moment, I am tending to my crops on my imaginary Facebook farm, updating my status, listening to a new band from Colorado called Pretty Lights, updating my blog, watching a show on the Food Network, emailing Aunt Sally and going between the internet and two different word documents trying to get a script done.
But that was intended to be a real blog.
I went to see about Rome. They aren’t accepting applications until the end of October. : (
Rarely do I use the emoticons but this called for one.
Tired. Exhausted really. This semester has been wild already. It’s going to be a long haul.
Ugh. More later, I’m guessing.
I wanted to write all about the city tonight, the way it looked and my experience in the American Girl Store (the very first time!)
But that will have to come tomorrow.

After a rather tumultuous weekend that included me losing my keys (still haven’t found them) and Hunter breaking up with me (first time being broken up with, wasn’t that bad), we’ve decided on a better course of action (obviously we were back together [I hate that word] in about 20 minutes) and have decided that we’re going to try and have more fun together.
The problem was this: I am 21. Now legal, the world is an endless source of party fun. He is nearly 23 (the 18th) and has 2 jobs, which limits his ability to have fun. He gets jealous of me getting to go out and also the guys I go out with (started with the Irish) and then we fight. It’s reminiscent of the Billy Joel and Katie Lee Joel (I think that was her name) marriage. He was 60-something and she was like 25. Problem.
Anyway, for his birthday, we’re going to go up to Milwaukee and see Marilyn Manson perform. Tuesday night will be a hectic one (next week, not this one) because we’ll have to leave immediately after I get out of class (fiction writing, the one I still hate) and then drive all the way there, see the show, and then drive all the way back so that Hunter can get to work by like 6am.
So that’s the plan.
It should be fun. I’m nervous. I’ll probably be the only person there in a cardigan.

Escuela hoy. En la clase de espanol, tengo un examen. Despues de la clase de espanol, tengo la clase de escribe de fiction. En la noche, mi y Simon (mi carro guapo) voy a la Northbrook a retrieve mi telefono de la UPS.

That is probably terrible grammar but I’m going with it. Just to prove to you I did my Spanish homework.

Oh, also, I’ve decided I don’t like the tumblr thing for writing. I’d prefer to have it on a Blogspot page. I’m going to have it switched over soon, so don’t worry. I just feel like tumblr should be used for more of text updates, like this blog. (I’m not going to be moving this one though, I think it’s quite happy where it is.)

Hello.
I hope the weekend is going well. My keys are still missing, which isn’t turning out to be such a great thing.

However, I do have good news.
I have begun posting my writing to the internet.

http://www.katiebarry.tumblr.com

This isn’t edited like I edit this blog, so don’t be surprised to find different subject matter, the possibility of cursing, and other artistic license.

Enjoy! I’ve been trying to layer different sets of writings, so you’ll be getting some recent and some very old. So I’ll be playing with the layout and stuff for the foreseeable future.
I don’t know very much about Tumblr, so we’ll see how this adventure goes.

Have a great day!

I’m going to Rome. I’ve decided it. I will not let the Denver semester ruin any study abroad chances for, so, here is the plan:

This semester: 18 hours.
Next semester: 15 – 18 hours.
May 13-15 (not scheduled yet, but definitely that weekend): Graduation (I will walk and we will all celebrate)
Then I will fly to Rome.
May 22-June 25: Finish my college experience in Rome.
June 25-??? I play in Europe.
??? – August 2009? I begin graduate school. In theory. If not, I’ll get a job or something like that. But I think grad school is going to be the way to go. I’m going to stay in Chicago though.
My options at the moment are:
Masters in Fiction Writing (Columbia College Chicago)
or
Masters in Social Work (Loyola) –obviously the better choice.

Anyway, just wanted to let you all know that you’re welcome to come and visit me in Rome or wherever else I go.
Word is the Irish might be coming back to the US or Mexico for spring break. I’m hoping that we may continue corresponding enough that we can go and stay with them when we’re all in Europe next summer. Imagine the partying that we could accomplish. New levels, I’m sure.

It’s been a fairly long week and this morning I had to pitch a music video treatment to a local singer/songwriter. It was terrifying although he told me that my idea completely embodied the experience that he had gone through during the break up that the song described. That was pleasant.

Driving downtown this morning was a purely sublime experience. The fog was rolling in off the lake as I sped down Lake Shore Drive, and it was partially obscuring the downtown skyline. You could see the tops of the buildings peaking up but the middle was completely covered, surrounded, blanketed in this fog.

Our mediocre weather remains. Long sleeves for all.
Madeline’s family is in town this weekend, so I’m looking forward to going out with them again. We went out to dinner last night and then hit some bars. More like one. It was interesting because the bar looked familiar and it turns out that we had visited there when we came to Chicago my senior year of high school.

to the weekend ahead: relaxation and rest. hopefully some fun and peace too.

It’s been decided. Well, I’ve decided. I can’t live without a camera. I really don’t think of myself as a photographer, but the lack of access is driving me nuts. And yes, there have been moments that I would love to capture but haven’t been able to.
So I’m going to shell out the $160 for the 12 megapixel Exilim, the newer version of the same camera that I’ve been in love with for the last four years. It’s only about two weeks of babysitting money, and who really needs that, right? (That was a lame attempt at a joke.)

I’ve been exhausted. Hunter’s wisdom teeth came out Friday. He moved all of his stuff into my apartment and then lived here for a few days while everything was being sorted out. He couldn’t sleep and was generally miserable, which of course affected me quite a bit as well. And then there was the moving. And now there’s the settling and the Starbucks at 6:30 every morning. I’m talking shift beginning at 6:30. This has been quite the adjustment for both of us.

School this semester is really what I thought college would be like. We’re talking legitimate homework, reading I can’t skimp on, etc. I’m exhausted from trying to keep up and it’s week 2.
However, this is all stuff that I’m excited about. Even Spanish.

Today, I proposed my semester-long project for Critical Ethnography, a class which I will explain in greater detail later. However, my project, a 20 page paper culminating 3 hours per week of work for the duration of 15 weeks, is this: (brace yourself, Grandma)

A feminist look at the bondage/fetish scene in Chicago, starting with the Leather Archives & Museum three blocks from my house.

This is going to be a thrilling sociology look at the subculture. I’m thinking about starting a blog to blog specifically about this project.

Anyway, tonight is $6 electric lemonade pitchers at our campus bar. I’m also not going to let too many classes ruin my fun!

Love to all.

Interesting last first week of classes. I’m taking 18 hours, spread out over all five days of the week.

There’s also been a switch in the babysitting routine. Instead of Fridays from 8:30 onward, I’ve switched over to Mondays from 8:30 until about 3pm, as I have class at 4:15. This is going to prove to be interesting, as Sunday nights are my only established “party night” of the week. We play trivia. We drink beer. We play trivia. We drink beer. These actions are repeated as necessary until it gets late. Sometimes, Hunter and a group of friends play poker on Sunday nights. Since I am new to poker and especially inclined to play, I have begun ending up at his house after 10pm (when trivia ends) playing poker. I love poker and trivia, but I also love sleep.
It will be interesting to see how this predicament plays out over the course of the semester.

I was very excited about my English 318 class, The Writing of Fiction. Now, I am sorely disappointed. That might be a rant to save for another day, but I shall begin with the statement that he made to us. “We will not be writing genre fiction. We will be writing serious fiction. Take romance novels for instance. They are forgettable….no literary value….plotless.” Ha, I beg to differ sir.
And while I cannot substantiate my claim because I am seemingly incapable of getting a writing project off the ground, I can say that ALL fiction is genre fiction of some sort. Even the greats fall into something. Poe: Horror. “Pride and Prejudice”: arguably a romance novel.
This speech and also the 7 books he made us buy may bother me throughout the semester. Also, he’s a fan of “The Sun Also Rises,” which I consider terribly uneventful and, well, forgettable.

Hunter surprised me with a beautiful bouquet of sunflowers yesterday. He’s holed up at my apartment since he’s in the middle of moving. His wisdom teeth came out today, so I’m hoping that he’ll be feeling better soon. The whole ordeal seems to have gone alright though, with manageable pain and the ability to coherently watch football.

Busy day tomorrow. I applied online tonight to blog for Loyola, which could be an interesting experience. At the end of it, it pays $250 (not in cash, but in AmEx giftcard), so that would also be a nice welcome respite from the Loyola-induced knowledge debt. I hate textbooks, for the record.

I’m also finishing up working on that short film “Hers.Theirs.Ours.” tomorrow downtown in the afternoon.

Also, hints of a summer abroad?
More later. Seemingly much to tell. Need new camera. Badly.

Somehow the Irish incident seems to have um, adjusted, the lens of my camera and it no longer works. I sat down yesterday with Mom’s camera taking pictures of the apple tree in the yard and Lucy(fur) the neighbors adorable dog. I swore I’d never love a small dog. More on that later, though, once you can appropriately understand my obsession.

Today. Today. Waiting. Passing time. Killing it. Two thirty. Hopefully they won’t see me until two thirty three and I’ll feel better about things, but time is just a number anyway.

Killing time is a nasty expression, really.