So . . . I made it to Virginia Beach . . . without any major cuts or abrasions . . . and still with the semblance of sanity intact.  Although how much sanity can be attributed to a person who consciously considered the character development possibilities of creating an imaginary friend to accompany one on the last half of one’s trip.  Does that even make sense?  I didn’t think so.  Sigh.  I refrained from the imaginary friend, however, yay for me!!!

I did get pulled over in West Virginia.  The best way to start one’s trip.  Less than two hours in and !what do you know! there’s a flashing blue light that I am sure is not for me.  But it is.  And there’s a sheriff walking up next to my car and informing me that I am going over the speed limit by 11 miles per hour.  Okay, funny, my cruise control was set at 9 over.  Luckily for me, I did not get a ticket.  Jesus and I had some real quality time, however, as I watched the officer write something out, and we ascertained together that if that was an actual ticket that he was writing . . . I was turning around and going home.  Mainly because I don’t have enough money for a ticket AND quality Cori time.

Not that Cori is expensive, by the by . . . oh sigh.  I don’t think that I can explain this all properly, so I’m going to depart this topic as quickly as possible before I lose my cheap friends.


I got my hair trimmed before coming here to VA Beach . . . and I HATE IT!!! It’s really cute and fluttery and scraggly and cool but it’s driving me nuts.  It doesn’t curl the same, the front looks funny, the back looks cute . . . it’s in my eyes.   I feel like Meg Ryan.  Unfortunately I weigh like eighty pounds more.  But I’m wearing cute pants from GAP. 

Katie Turner informed me the other day that I had changed dramatically and did not any longer seem to be the innocent homeschooler I arrived at Asbury as.  Funny, I’m not.  The insinuation, however, was that at least my coolness factor has improved.  Uh . . .no.  Have you talked to anyone recently?  I’m not any cooler than I ever was, I’m just more comfortable, and my personality is better defined.   Hey, I’ve had 3 extra years to define me.  And I don’t think that pants from the GAP make me who I am, thankfully.

But now I’m going to go.  We’re supposed to be headed to Panera (*cough*Bread*cough*) and we still don’t know how to get there.  Sigh.  I love Cori. 


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