Don't be so uptight?

Baristas at Barnes and Noble are way too friendly. Tomorrow, I started this blog exactly 11 months ago sitting in the exact same seat I'm sitting in now with no intentions of finding inspiration from the ceramic tiled floor of a Barnes and Noble Starbucks. But that's exactly what I found last December and that's exactly what I'm finding now.

Tinkershlinkershankslansplash.

That's the best way I can describe the sound of a delicate teacup falling from the wooden bookcase next to the "Pick Up Order Here" bar. A petite blond woman had knocked it off and is now smiling her embarrassment off as she grasps her brown shoulder bag and bends daintily to pick up the rolling pieces. Her friends stare at her.

"Oh," she whimpers like a mouse. "I'm, I'm so sorry." She says to the barista. I really do feel sorry for the woman. Its never pleasant to be the object of a situation where everyone around you is paralyzed either by the lingering memory of the time they were the ones who knocked the glass off the shelf or an innate desire to never be associated with something so embarrassing.

(Okay....that last sentence didn't come out the way I had hoped. But I've been off from writing for 6 months. Give me a break and give me some time to warm up. If you haven't noticed, my voice is changing and its a little difficult to hold onto this snarky tone.)

Anyway...the blond haired barista bent down to pick up the pieces and said, "Its okay...they fall off all the time."

Do they? I wonder. Because obviously I come here a lot and I've never seen or heard a delicate tea cup hit the ceramic tile floor the way that one did until today. I think the barista just lied. All for the sake of some lady's feelings who is still walking away with her down, desperate to get home and laugh as she tells her husband what she did.

Life, its a funny thing. Don't get mad at me for pointing out the obvious. Just sit back and laugh. Because that's what I would do if the same thing happened to you.

For those of you who know me, you know I am skeptical of new technology. I get overwhelmed by email and Facebook and staying connected. I theorize that 3D movies are going to be the downfall of American culture (as if there hasn't already been a downfall). I don't like the idea of digitizing all printed media; it leaves too much room for "minor" alterations. And in the back of my mind I think that all this On-star, GPS, update me on where you are 24/7 mess is the governments way of keeping tabs on us.

While I don't allow these thoughts to alter my daily life, I have let it prevent me from delving into the techno-savy world that is the 20th century...or wait, its the 21st, isn't it?

Unlike most of my 21st century colleagues, I don't have a twitter account and I don't follow 27 blogs a day. I don't regularly read the paper, and I find politics incredibly boring. I have kept my mind clouded with things in my own world--basketball games, the friends I wish I had, and books that I should read. The world is a scary place, believe it or not. But I think the longer you keep yourself out of it, the scarier it gets. I'm beginning to conclude (is that an oxymoron?) that the way to really live life is just to dive head first into whatever gimmicks and gadgets are out there.

For too long I have made excuses for why I don't watch Lost or Tweet my life away on my iphone (well...I don't have an iphone). But all this living on the outskirts of society has got me curious....what's it like to know how to digitize, fraternize, and chatterize? I wanna rub shoulders with the best and the brightest...all those brain geeks and hippy hipsters who know where its at.

When I can afford it, I'm going to buy and iPhone. When I get the time, maybe I'll start tumbling. Twitter is something I may never catch onto, but Google will always be my friend. Last week, I finally gave my 1990's 6-disk CD changer complete with cassett tape dock and two large speakers to Goodwill. It wasn't a sad goodbye...mostly I felt guilty because I knew my parents paid a lot for it back in the day and I had wanted it really bad. But that's life.

And now...I've signed up for netflix and I'm on my way to society. The end

Cinnamon Twists

Here I am again sitting at Barnes and Noble. Only this time, its a beautiful day so I took my passion-fruit iced tea lemonade outside to write in my journal and work on my "homework."

A mom walks out with a stroller (complete with baby) and a little girl by her side. I don't even notice them until I hear the little girl scream. I look up and she's an adorable blond in a blue seer-sucker sun dress. I notice her scream, not because its that of an annoying brat, but because its one of a little girl who has just had her heart broken.

She jumps up and down and says, "No!"

Her mom yells, "There they go! Go get them."

A plastic bag blows across the side walk and brown Taco-Bell cinnamon twists scatter on the ground. The little girl cries.

"Stop!" her mom says.

But she can't. All she wanted was to eat some cinnamon twists. She runs to the edge of the sidewalk where the beloved snack lays besprinkled along the concrete.

"Waaaaaaaa e e e e..."

Mom and baby roll up beside her.

"It's okay!" Mom says. "Just pick them up. The ones in the bag are still okay. Pick them up. The birds can eat the rest."

But the plastic bag is empty. No cinnamon twists remain and the girl is devastated. She takes hold of her mommy's hand and cries across the parking lot. I hear the mom telling her to stop and telling her that it will be okay. Mommy's voice is harsh and my heart aches for the little girl. Doesn't the mom realize that in her world, those cinnamon twists were everything? She was probably so excited when her mom bought them, but the wind took them away, dashing her hopes and ruining her day. I feel sorry for her.

I know I cried like that when I was a little kid for some reason or another. But today, all I could recall was some random crap story about rabbit rag doll and a little blue dress.

I'm somewhere around 3-4 years old (who can really tell when you're that small?) and I'm lying in my full sized bed trying to go to sleep. It's not happening so I reach over and turn on the lamp by my bed. Its blue and white flowered shade illuminates my peach walls.

Mrs. Bunny Rabbit lays beside me. Her white head flops to the side and her ears spread out beside her temples. She looks at me with her beady black eyes.

I pick her up and her arms sag.

Gosh! I think. That dress sure is pretty.

I stand up and turn her from side to side, up and down, then begin to undress her. The dress looks a lot like my lamp shade. Its a navy blue sundress decorated with delicate white flowers and trimmed with white lace. I pull the dress over my own head and squirm until it settles on my own body.

There! I look down at my new dress. "That looks nice!"

I stand in my bed swaying back and forth, watching the skirt flow. I'm just like Mrs. Bunny Rabbit.

Okay! I say. That's enough for now. Time to take it off.

I pull up on the body of the dress. The neckline rises above my shoulders, then stops. I hold up one arm and pull at one of the dress straps. It comes up a little, then stops. My right arm is stuck in the air.

I try to put my left arm inside of the dress so I can force it off. I hear the seams stretch. I'm stuck--bouncing up and down on my bed in a tangled mess. Suddenly, Mrs. Bunny's dress isn't so fun anymore. I don't like it. This was a terrible idea.

"MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

I scream and bounce up and down a few times.

"Mom! Mom! Mom! Mom!" I yell in unison with my bounces. I'm starting to cry.

"uhhhhhh......help me! help me! wa wa wa wa."

The door opens and both of my parents walk in the room.

"Rachel," they ask. "What are you doing?"

"I just wanted to wear Mrs. Bunny's dress," I respond.

It takes both Mom and Dad to wiggle me out of the dress. Several minutes pass and my face is squished a thousand times before I am finally free. Dad puts my pajamas back on my and mom holds the dress in her hands.

"What made you do that?" she asks. "I don't know. I just wanted to."

She puts the dress back on Mrs. Bunny Rabbit. I sit down in my bed and hold her in my arms when Mom is done. The dress is stretched out. I look at Mrs. Bunny in disgust. What would she let me wear that dress if she knew it was too small? Ugh....

I stick my thumb in my mouth and go to sleep.

***Ya know...they stupid rabbit picture actually looks alot like Mrs. Bunny Rabbit.

I just needed something happy to look at after the two pictures on the previous post...

Happy Easter to You

Well....things just seem to get weirder and weirder. I got home last night to an empty house. My parents decided to go to Gatlinburg for a few days after Easter, leaving me in Jackson for a night by myself. Its totally fine with me. I like being by myself and doing whatever the heck I want, which is exactly what I did.

I piddled around the house, ate dinner, then went to workout while I watched Dancing with the Stars. When I got home, I decided to let my deer-eating dog, Chloe, in the house since she had been all alone all weekend. Apparently she hadn't had any water all day and was dying of thirst because when she came in, she didn't do her usual dance around the living room like a crazy woman. She just walked to the kitchen and stood by the sink until I filled up a metal pot with some water. She then proceeded to drink not one, but two pots of water in a matter of minutes. Fully satisfied, she sat down beside my recliner and let me pet her while Butler gave Duke a run for their money.

At half time, I got on the computer to check my email and buy a book from Amazon when I heard a weird coughing/hacking noise in the den

. Chloe had thrown up all the water she had just drank and a gooey pile of white lumpiness sat on top.

Gross.

I cleaned it up and texted my sister.

"Chloe just threw up," I said. "And there's a lump of white stuff on top."

"That lump is leftover Bambi," she said.

Disgusting.

But I'm still laughing.

Of all the family get-togethers, Easter is usually the most uneventful. Since my sister moved to Johnson City, my family has made a habit out of traveling to see her play softball for the weekend then spending the holiday with My mom's sister's family in Knoxville. The first year the tradition started, I stayed in Columbia because me and my friends were traveling to New Orleans the next day. Last year, my spring break was spent in Haiti, but Easter fell on a different weekend and I was able to make the treck Knoxville with the fam. Unfortunately, the weather was anything but springy and Katie's games got rained out and they had to play on Easter so I didn't even get to see her. The church service must have been uneventful because all I remember from the day is going out to eat at Calhoun's and listening to Uncle Bill's funny stories about life in a 1960's Southern Baptist church.

"The Pastor would do an alter call every service," he said. "And we'd sing all 6 verses of 'Just as I am' over and over until someone walked down the isle.

"And ya know what?" he continued. "That person was usually me because I knew Nana had a roast in the oven!"

I'm sad to say that Uncle Bill died last summer so he wasn't with us on Easter. Fortunately, this year's Easter Service made up for the missing humor that Uncle would have normally provided.

First of all, the white haired preacher opened up the service with the same story about talking to a woman at the grocery store that he told last year....and the year before that and on Christmas Eve.

"I may have told you this story before," he said. "But one day I went to the grocery store and I was talking to the cashier as she checked out my groceries.

'What do you do for a living?' she asked me. And then I said to her, 'I'm a pastor. I've got a church up here on Kingston Pike and we're expecting about 5,000 people this Easter.'

'Well,' she said. 'You better not mess that one up!'"

A low rumble rolled through the audience, but no one laughed too much. I wonder if he made that story up so he would have a way to break the ice. My Uncle Eric wonders how many times he goes to the grocery store and talks to that clerk.

One thing I hate about church sometimes is how serious everyone is. I mean, I get it, we're in the house of God and I understand we need to honor and revere him as our Father. But if you truly embrace what Easter is all about--the fact that Christ rose from the dead, conquering death, and rescuing us from our sins--then don't you think people should look a little happier than they do?

At the end of the service, everyone stood while the choir sang the Hallelujah chorus. The church was filled with stiff faced mannequins who refused to crack a smile or hug a loved one, let alone sing and dance and "praise the Lord!"

Everyone, that is, except one little boy sitting a few rows up and to my left. He was busy booty dancing to the slow melody of the Hallelujah chorus and me and my cousins couldn't keep a straight face. He had his hand on his hip and rolled his body up and down like a music video girl on BET.

"What his he doing?" I whispered to my sister. "That is so funny!"

The four of us continued laughing until the boy's grandmother grabbed him and held him close to her side. I don't know why she was worried. He was probably just filled with the spirit!

I walked out of church laughing, believing that that was one of the funniest things I've seen in a while until my Aunt Denise said, "Well, didn't you see the lady with with the binoculars?"

"Binoculars?" I asked as we climbed into the car.

"Yea!" she said. "Some old lady couldn't see the screen during the worship time so she had these big black binoculars held up to her face."

Oh man.......if only I had

seen it. Then I'd have a lot more to say about that one. Happy Easter everyone.

By the way.....don't google image "dog throw up"

FYI....

I've been reading the newspaper a lot this week (its spring break, I have time), and I've read several articles that inadvertently back up my theory that Google and the government are in cohorts to take over the world....and your life. Just thought you might like to be aware of that before you go to another 3-d movie (which I did last week....I would totally recommend Alice in Wonderland. But if you know me at all, that doesn't surprise you).

Run Girl Run

When I'm feeling stressed out or a little under the weather, updating this blog is always the perfect medicine. It provides me with a little laughter without using too much brain power (somehow, reading something funny is more difficult than typing out an odd encounter pulled straight from my daily life).

When I was in high school, my best friend Ginnie and I wo

uld make fun of this girl named______. I put a blank, not because I want to keep the girl anonymous, but because I do not actually know her name. We simply referred to her as Go Girl Go! Why? Because every time she went anywhere, she would duck her head, pump her arms, and walk like an 80-year-old woman running the 100-yard-dash. More recently, my memory has dubbed her Run Girl Run! But Go Girl Go still provokes more chuckles.

Our high school lunch room was actually a gymnasium....and our chapel and our auditorium. My sister's friend Emily affectionately referred to it as our "cafegymatorium"--a perfectly accurate description. No tables were set in the middle of the court for fear of damaging the

hardwood and affecting the play of the upcoming weekend's basketball game. Therefore, each side of the gym was lined with benched white tables flanked with hungry high schoolers--juniors and seniors on one side, freshman and sophomores on the other. As a freshman, you dreamed of the day you would graduate to the other side of the gym.

I believe Go Girl Go was a freshman when I was a senior. Perhaps she was younger and a class of 8th graders had managed to crash our lunch hour, thus annoying the heck out of us cool kids with their juvenile antics. Either way, I loved watching Go Girl Go rise from her seat and jet across the lunch room to retrieve her food from the concessions stand turned Taco Bell or Dominos or whatever fast food restaurant was playing caterer for the day--such is the life of a school on the impoverished end of the private school food chain.

"Look!" Ginnie would shout. "There's Go Girl Go!"

"HAHAHAHAHAHHAHA!" we'd both laugh. "GO GIRL GO! GO GIRL GO!" Sounds more like a spoof on Dr. Sues than a term of endearment, but we really did love that Go Girl Go. She brought joy to our lives and laughter to the otherwise mundane lunch room conversation (that last phrase was there for effect and could be argued as inaccurate, even by myself).

I hadn't thought about Go Girl Go for several years until an interesting observation of my neighborhood UPS man. It was a Thursday morning and I had just gotten out of the shower after a long workout at the Columbia Athletics and Recreation Center. Still in a bathrobe and dabbing my dripping hair with a yellow towel, I heard the door bell ring.

Crap! I thought. And I scrambled to find some blue jeans lying somewhere on my floor.

Don't leave! don't leave!

I reached for a long sleeved t-shirt then stopped, paralyzed by what I should do next.

They're going to leave before I get there! What do I do? Look out the window!

I dropped the shirt, ran to my window, and peaked out just in time to see a bald headed man in brown darting across my front yard. He lept into the open side of his trusted truck and sped away.

Hehe....that was weird.

Puzzled, I looked out the window again to see if he was gone and re-imagined the scene I had just witnessed.

Why the heck did he just run away? Did he not want to talk to me?

Who knew that UPS men were professionally trained in ding-dong-ditching. I thought those days flew away with middle school dances and bad boy crushes. I guess I was wrong.

I went to the door to see what he had left and was surprised to find the package of envelopes and EFT forms I had ordered from the Campus Crusade staff store.

Oh good! I thought. Those got here fast.

But for some reason I couldn't get that guy out of my mind. Why in the world did he run away? I would guess he has a fear of talking to people he doesn't know. Instead of having an awkward conversation with a girl in a blue bath robe, he'd simply rather flee the scene and avoid any sort of human interaction. People are weird. People are isolated. And its that self-isolation that makes us fear what we do not know, and that thing is personal relationship.

Now I don't know what this guy's family life is like. He could be married, he could be divorced

, or he could be pulling a Matthew McCoonaughey--single and still living with his parents. Whatever the case my be, his sprint across my front yard reminded me of my own struggle (and quite possibly the struggle of many others) to connect with other people because we fear their judgement. And instead of taking risks, being ourselves, and experiencing something good, we run and hide in order to avoid the bad that most likely doesn't exist in the first place.

So, this is my call to all you readers and writers out there: stop running. Take the challenge to confront whatever people or persons or circumstances that might come your way. You might be shocked at what surprises life has for you!