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!

Weirdness

I think we've established that people are weird and weird things happen. Nevertheless, I want to introduce a couple weird people I encountered last week (other than myself and my friend Michelle).

On Sunday morning after church (it was around 10:45), I decided to go to the grocery store to get a few things I was out of and buy my friend some flowers--her senior project presentation was that afternoon.

Columbia has three different grocery stores not including Wal-mart and the two discount stores on the North side of town. The first and nicest store is Hy-Vee. Hy-Vee has an excellent produce section, a Starbucs, and a clean atmosphere (not to mention the free samples). While I like Hy-Vee, it is also the most expensive (although it was recently argued that Shnucks is actually more expensive than Hy-Vee).

While Hy-Vee is slowly taking over Columbia (they just built a new store on Nifong- it is the epitome of food heaven--and they're building another one by the Wal-mart on Broadway....its funny how all 3 Hy-Vee's are all by the 3 Wal-Marts), Shnucks still remains a prominent player. I don't shop there very often but it has a down to earth feel that I like, and its right on my way to my friend's house in case I need to stop and pick something up for dinner.

The third option of grocery stores in Columbia is Gerbes. Gerbes has three locations: Nifong, Paris, and Broadway. Although I've never been to the one on Paris, I've been told that the one on Broadway is close behind in 2nd place for shadiest grocery store in Columbia. Fortunately for me, I live right across the street from Broadway Gerbes and happen to like it for several reasons:

1. Its cheaper than Hy-Vee

2. Its run by the same company as Kroger, which means I can use my Plus card at both locations

3. I get a little nostalgic every time I walk in. It reminds me of the old grocery store I went to when I was little--the Kroger on Parkway back in Tennessee: same smell, similar setup, same dismal lighting, and same strange people.

I didn't notice the strange people until I got a little older and started making Kroger runs for my mom when she forgot an important ingredient for our family dinners--hamburger buns for grill night, flour for the cookies, Italian dressing for the salad, baked beans for BBQ night--giving my 16-year-old self a reason to drive. In fact, much like the Gerbes on Broadway, my parents now prefer to go to the newer Kroger at the other end of Highland. "Its nicer and safer," they say.

Anyway....back to the weirdness. I parked my car last Sunday morning, dressed in a plaid dress and brown boots (the dress either makes me look like a 2nd grader or a 2nd grade teacher...I can't decide, but I like it and I'll say I'm somewhere in between).

I'm walking up to the door and dropping my keys into my blue mailbox purse when I look up and feel my facial muscles tense as I try to keep the chock from creeping across my face.

A tall (like 8 feet tall!) skinny (almost skeletal) man (I'm using a lot of parentheses in this post) with long, stringy hair under a beat up cowboy hat was walking out of Gerbes. He had on faded, light-wash blue jeans, some sort of boots, a long, used to be black trench coat, and no shirt. He swaggered out the door, moving with a snake-like smoothness, hair brushing from side to side with each step. His lips remained pursed, and he kept his eyes focused on the horizon. No Gerbes grocery bag was in his hand so I can't imagine what he had gotten in the store--maybe a pack of cigarettes? Either way, this man was strange, and he made me laugh.

"Hmmm....maybe this store is a little weird," I thought. "But i like it nonetheless!"

**Yes...I said I was going to write about a couple weird encounters, but that was before I decided to give you a short history of grocery stores in Columbia. The running UPS man will have to wait for another post = )

Bambi

Look how happy Bambi is. He's so cute and smiley.

Meanwhile....Prancer and Vixen are having a throw-down over Rudolph's ex-girlfriend. But Bambi doesn't seem to mind. He's footloose and fancy-free.

"Oh look!" Bambi says. "A tiny blue bird is fluttering over head. I think I shall follow it."

Prance prance prance....frolic bound prance. "Here I go! Dancing through the woods," Bambi says. "Oh little blue bird where are you going?"

Bambi's forgotten all about Prancer and Vixen's squabble. He's just so content with his life. He loves that little bluebird.

"Tweet tweet tweet," says the bluebird, "tweetly-tweet tweet."

"Oh I'm so happy!" says Bambi.

"Little bluebird," he continues, "you're my new best friend. I think I feel like singing. La la la...lalalalala LA LA LA LAAAAAAAAAAA!"

Little bluebird sings along. Bambi prances beside her.

Little bluebird flies over a fence, and Bambi, still stuck in lala land, closes his eyes bounds right over into someone's backyard.

"Ruff...ruff...."

The little bluebird flies away. Bambi opens his eyes.

"Oh no!"he says. "Little bluebird, where did you go?"

"Ruff....ruff..."

Back in the forest, Prancer and Vixen talk smack.

"Yo mama so fat, she sat on a rainbow and skittles popped out!"

"Oh yea? Well yo mama so stupid, she got stabbed in shoot out."

The fighting ensues....

"Ruuuuufff....rrruuuuufff..." Over in the corner of the big backyard, Chloe the dog wakes up from a nap.

"Oh," she says. "What is that?"

Chloe stands up and sees Bambi hop over the fence.

"I've never seen one of those before," Chloe thinks to herself. "I think I'll shall go say hi."

Bambi hears a strange noise...

"Rufff...ruff..."

"Little bluebird, where are you?" he says. "I'm getting scared!"

"Ruff....ruff..."

"Oh no!" Bambi says. "A monster!"

Chloe approaches Bambi, tongue hanging out of her mouth.

"Hello!" Chloe says as she licks Bambi in the face.

"Ahhh!!!" Bambi kicks Chloe in the snout.

"Ouch!" Chloe says. "This kid must not be nice."

Chloe growls and bites. Bambi screams and squabbles and kicks some more. But Chloe is bigger and stronger and Bambi can't get away. And soon, little Bambi is dead and Dad is left to clean up the mess while Chloe resumes her day as usual.

You may be wondering what the heck just happened. You're heart might be a little broken and you're probably searching for some way to resolve what just happened....to find peace amidst the madness...to convince yourself it just isn't true and that all is right with the world.

Fortunately for you, this can remain a bizarre made up story. But if you want to know the truth...keep reading. If not, STOP.

My mom called me today around 1:30 in the afternoon. I was already a little emotional and was excited to see that she called. Mom's can always make sad situations better. Or at least we tried to convince ourselves they can.

"I just called to tell you a story," she said.

"Okay..."

"Its about your dog."

"What happened to Chloe?" I asked.

"She killed a baby dear this morning."

"SHE DID WHAT?"

"Yea," my mom said. "i woke up this morning and heard what sounded like a cow screaming. I got your dad and said, 'listen, that sounds like a deer.' Your dad disagreed, but I was sure it sounded like the sound of a deer that I'd heard on a tv show or something. So he went to check it out and Chloe had killed a baby dear."

My heart dropped. I imagined a cute little Bambi lying in our backyard and Chloe walking around like nothing bad had just happened.

"You don't think she did it on purpose do you?" I asked. Chloe had killed things before....a bird, a rabbit, an attempt at a turtle whose shell she couldn't crack.

"No," my mom said. "I think the deer probably jumped over the fence and Chloe went over to play. The deer probably got scared and attacked so Chloe attacked back. It was just a little old thing and Chloe was bigger than it. You're dad cleaned it up and called the sanitation people to come pick it up. He said it wasn't really that bloody."

I hung up the phone and felt a wave of sadness. Chloe is not a bad dog. She's a really good dog. Sweet and funny. She's just curious. I don't think she intentionally hurt a deer. In fact, I've never seen her growl or snap at another dog unless the opposing party did so first. But the voice of a dying deer keeps echoing in my head and I can't help but think that Chloe has no idea what just happened. She's a dog. She doesn't know what she did was wrong. Heck....she probably doesn't even know that she just ended another life. It makes me mad a Chloe for being so vicious. For know what other people will think of her when they read this post, but I know that killing was not her heart. And while I hate her for killing the deer and I feel so sad for the deer, I want Chloe to know that I forgive her. Or do I? But the thing of it is....she doesn't even know she needs to be forgiven.

So now I'm left with this dilemma...to love my dog or to stay angry at her for doing something she didn't know was wrong. And it seems so silly, because after all....she's a dog. But maybe there's some sort of lesson to be learned.

I don't want to get all philosophical and start preaching about forgiveness. In fact, I don't even want to end on a sad note. But life isn't always funny. Sometimes it sucks and sometimes its hard. And sometimes we have to face reality.

Chloe killed a deer. That's all there is to it.

And Prancer and Vixen got shot with an arrow because they were so busy bickering that they didn't see Robin Hood swinging through the forest. Now they're roasting over a fire for someone else's dinner. The End.

Conspiracy Theories

What do you think about the idea of brainwashing? Is it possible? If you are an immature person and have bad boundaries, then it totally is.

Last week me and some friends were talking about this group of business men that like to hang out in Memorial Union on the Mizzou campus. All of them have gelled hair and perfectly groomed eyebrows (they probably hang out at varsity clips on their off hours; every time I go in there to get my eyebrows waxed, I laugh at all the "macho" men that grab a piece of candy on their way out as a reward for enduring the "excruciating pain" that us females have fearlessly faced for decades).

These men wear suit jackets with bright colored Polo's and pastel printed ties. Their skin has a glow that rivals Jessica Alba's and I'd almost bet a baby's bottom is rougher than the skin on their faces.

You know what kind of men I'm talking about....the same white-toothy grins that grace the cover of a J-Crew catalogue. Only these men lack the carefree spirit of the J-Crew clan, but they posses something more--a desire to feed on the souls of desperate college students.

I overheard one of their sales pitches while working on my new staff training. They had an answer to every question and pitched their company in an "all good, no bad" way that left each student no choice but to sign their summer away selling books in hopes of making a buck or two.

"One guy made $50,000 his first year," Mr. spike haired purple Polo said. "It's so easy. Its all a matter of how much work you put into it."

I thought about my own job and how I also pitch a plan for summer project--"go live on a beach with 50 other college students; raise your own support and you'll be lucky if you make $.50."

Its a little sad, the amount of students that sign their life away to the promise of money. I know their summer will be less than fulfilling. And I also know that if they were to go on summer project, a window to their soul would be let open and they'd have no choice but to be happier and more carefree. But that's another story for another time.

My friend Katie got roped into selling Cutco Knives the summer before she came to college.

"They made it sound so great!" Katie said. "But I hated it!"

Cutco knives are proudly made in America and the makers stand behind their products for a lifetime! I just wonder what happens when one of them dies?

Katie's experience reminded me of my own theories of brainwashing. I read George Orwell's 1984 my sophomore year of high school and was fascinated by Big Brother's success at brainwashing an entire nation through something so seemingly innocent as a television set. While I don't remember any exact quotes from the book, I do remember the main character getting tortured by rats because he chose act on his feelings rather than follow the systematic way of life that Big Brother had set up for him.

A year later I read Rad Bradbury's Fahrenheit 451 and marveled at the idea that books good be abolished.

"I love books!" I thought. "That could never happen!"

Well, Google is trying to make it happen by digitizing every single book ever printed. (for more information click here). It sounds like a good idea at first--creating an online library where you can have access to any and every book you want? But if every book is digitized and printed versions of the book no longer exist, Google would have the ability to change these works of art at their own pleasure. Now why would Google want to do this? Some people say that Google owns the government, or visa-versa.

I know....I sound like a freakin' crazy person and you might be thinking that things like government take over and complete eradication of the individual self are impossible. To those of you, I would say, rent "The Red Chapel" on Netflix and learn a little about North Korea.

I would like to think that United States is a little to far gone to undergo that type of governmental overhaul, but then again....TV is already trying to convince us that high-fructose corn-syrup are good for us (click here if you need a refresher). Big Brother wants us to get fat and die. That way, we will be unable to draw on our social security when we are old. Likewise, if the government ever does pass the public health care option, they're promotion of high fructose corn syrup consumption will prevent them from having to dish out the funds to sick people because all of our illnesses will have been caused by a pre-existing condition called twinky-itis. Who needs death panels when you have a Hostess Bakery?

It was never my intention to get this political. In fact, I tend to ere on the side of hatred towards politics. Its not that I don't think you shouldn't have an opinion, I just think people's opinion's sometimes get in the way of what's really the matter with the world.

That being said....let me offer one more insight into the government's deceptively sly step into the realm of our individual psyches: 3-D movies.

WHAT?!?!?!?!?!?!?!

Now before you yell at me, hear me out. The purpose of films, books (if there are any left) and any other entertainment is to offer an escape from reality. Jon Landau broke new ground with the breath taking visuals in his 2009 flick Avatar. But for some, the world was a little too convincing and they found themselves spiraling into despair (again, don't believe me...click here).

I personally enjoyed the movie Avatar, and I'm not ashamed to say that when I saw the glowing leaves of Pandora trees, I found myself wishing that I could live somewhere like that.

And that's where the brainwashing starts...with innocent hopes and desires of a better world that the government and media promise to give you. They create these worlds in films and on TV, which is fine when it's two dimensional because we're able to separate ourselves from it. But when the images pop out of us and engulf not only our sense of sight but also the very being of who we are, that's when we know that all is lost.

Now that I've taken up 15 minutes of your precious life, I hope you walk away with a little more caution. Did your television just turn on without your permission? Is someone lurking outside your window waiting for you to make a misstep? Is Big Brother watching you?

My advice to you would be read books and never use Google again. In fact, you should probably refrain from using the Internet at all. Yes, that includes reading this blog. How do you know that I am even the one writing it? For all you know, Google has misconstrued everything I have said and your brain is now being morphed into that of a zombie. QUICK! Pull out your ear plugs! Turn off your laptop!

And most importantly....don't put on the 3-D glasses!!!!

Walking

This post actually began on Wednesday night when I was working out at the ARC (Athletic and Recreation Center). Without even mentioning the less than aerobic aerobics class I attended, I hope to give you a little taste of the....unique...atmosphere that is the ARC by telling you about my walking experience.

I understand that unless you've participated in or watched the duck-waddling sport that is Olympic Speed Walking, walking, as subject matter for a blog, might be boring.

Oh Contrare!(sp?) On Wednesday night, I had finished my 30 minute stint on the elliptical and still had 25 minutes left on my podcast.

"Perfect!" I thought. "Just enough time to walk a mile or two around the track."

The ARC has a brown track that circles the entire second floor of the building: 6 1/2 laps= a mile.

I've walked on this track before, joining the other fitness-crazed and not-so-fitness-crazed individuals in a clockwise rotation, and I stepped onto the track with confidence to begin my trek.

At first, no one was around and I thought nothing about it until I saw an elderly gentleman in a white t-shirt walking towards me.

"That's funny!" I giggled in my head. "He probably doesn't know he's walking the wrong way!"

I passed him, smiled, and continued my walk. Up ahead, a skinny girl in a tank top jogged towards me.

"Weird," I thought. "Two people in one night, going the wrong way."

Next, I saw a group of people coming towards me: a middle aged couple, three teenage boys, and a jogger passing on their right.

What is going on?

I maneuvered my way through the herd as they gave me strange looks. Then it hit me....I was the one going the wrong way. Everyone else was moving in the other direction, and I was disrupting flow.

What the heck? Every other day people walk the other way!

I casually stepped off the track by ab workout equipment and started doing some crunches. I wanted to make it look like I had walked the wrong way on purpose, that i had taken a "short cut" to the ab machines.

This kind of reminds me of the time I made fun of a kid for swimming so far out into the ocean that he had to get rescued.

What made him think he could swim that far? Stupid kid.

The next thing I know, my boyfriend and I are caught in a rip-tide being swept out to sea and an ambulance is rolling onto the beach.

"You hear those sirens?" asked Grandpa Lifeguard as he struggled to pull me on a boogie board. "Those are for you.

I had planned to continue my shpeal about people and their strange walking habits. I was going to tell you that the next day, the current of people was flowing in its original direction. I was then going to tell you the story of a slow walking man down the halls of Stephens College at the True False film festival, but none of that seems that funny right now.

I recognize that I make fun of people way too much. Sometimes its for the sake of comedy (i.e. this blog) and others its simply to make myself feel better (maybe). Unfortunately, I often find myself to be the ultimate butt of the joke. However, that doesn't seem to stop me.

Maybe someday I'll learn my lesson, but until then....happy reading!!!

Airplanes I

You know what sucks? When your sitting in a window seat on an airplane and you have to pee really bad, but the person in the aisle is asleep. I've always wondered what I would do if this happened to me and Monday I found out.

I was minding my own business reading Harry Potter when the grande vanilla latte and 20 ounces of bottled water I had before the flight kicked in. Probably a stupid move on my part.

The lady next to me was snuggled up under her coat, and her head flopped to the left.

Crap. I thought, and tried to tell myself I could make it the final 30 minutes. I quickly realized I couldn't.

Nevertheless, I whipped out my pocket journal and began scribbling about my current dilemma, knowing that it would make excellent fodder for my blog. As soon as I put the pen to the paper, Sleeping Beauty lifted her head and opened her eyes.

Oh no! I thought. I'm not done writing. And so I scribbled faster, glancing sideways every now and then to make sure she was still awake. Sure enough, half way through the writing process, she closed her eyes and let her head sink back to her shoulder.

Dang it! Now what do I do?

Oh the things we do for art.

Luckily for me, the flight attendant must have felt my pain because her angelic voice came over the intercom and said, "We are about to make our final decent. If anyone needs to make a final run to use the facilities or stretch they're legs, please do so now, as we will be turning on the seat belt signs soon. Thank you."

Rumpelstiltskin stirred in her seat, and I jumped at my chance.

"Excuse me!" I said standing. "I need to use the restroom."

She nodded and smiled, then got out of her seat.

"Thank you!"

I rushed to the back of the plane. Relief. Why the heck did I think writing was more important than going to the bathroom. Next time I'm just going to wake her up and you should too. The aisle seat is a crappy seat in the first place, so the person sitting in it shouldn't expect the luxury of sleeping anyway.

Rat Tails

Rat tails are a no no. If you don't know what a rat tail is, then look to your left and try not to throw up.

Kaldis is one of my favorite places to go in Columbia. I enjoy the busy atmosphere, sitting on the couch, reading and writing, drinking vanilla lattes, and chatting with friends.

But today, things at Kaldis took a turn for the worst. I was meeting my friend Jasmine at 1pm, but decided to go a couple hours early to get some work done. I sat down on a couch in the back and pulled out the articles I was going to read. Just as I was starting to read, a guy walked past me. Don't get excited....it was nothing special. Dude was wearing a rat tail.

Oh no! I thought. That is disgusting.

I don't know who first thought the rat tail was a good idea, so for some reason I thought it would be fun to look online and find out.

Apparently, the rat tail originated many many years ago in Eastern countries such as China and India. The style was worn mainly by religious leaders and high class gurus of various kinds.

Somehow, the stringy strand made its way across the ocean and became popular in the U.S. during the 80's. Those who wanted to rebel sported the look making it a symbol of non-conformity.

Today, the hairstyle that was once revered as a status symbol in the Far East has now been abated to rednecks and greasy-euro-wanna-be.

I think the rat tail should be banned. If its not, we should all carry lighters and set them on fire when we see them. Of course we would put the fires out before they actually burned the person. I'm merely suggesting that the only way a rat tail can look good is if it's reduced to ashes.

Multiculturalism is cool

Okay....first, I really wish this woman would stop singing in Barnes and Noble. It's really annoying. I don't know if she's trying to sing her kid to sleep, impress the man sitting next to her, or hope that Simon Cowel is hiding in the American History section, looking for the next American Idol.

Anyway, Barnes and Noble seems to be a hot bed for random crap. That and places like Wal-Mart.

When I say, "like Wal-mart," I actually mean "Walgreens." The fact that they both contain the word "wal" puts them in the same category in my brain.

I spent the first 12 days of January in Denver, Colorado at a conference. One night, I went to dinner with my friend Katie (hi Katie!) On the way back to the hotel, we stopped at Walgreens to pick up a few things I had forgotten for my trip. The line at the cash register was unusually long so another worker offered to check me out at the cosmetic counter.

"I can check you out over here!" she said in what I imagine an Argentinian accent to sound like (no, I'm not being culturally sensitive here).

Katie and I walk to the cosmetic counter and I set my things down.

"Oooooo, I like your purse!" said the Argentinian cashier about my bright turqoise-blue purse.

"Thanks!" I said. "It was a Christmas present."

"Yes, very pretty color. They go nice together!" she said, pointing to my mustard yellow wallet.

I smiled and handed her the money.

"Oh! And you're earings! Those are very nice."

"Thanks!" I said. "They were actually a birthday present." (My birthday just happens to be one week after Christmas).

"Oooooh," she says, handing me my change. "You are so popular!!"

AndI lost it. Language barriers and awkward multicultural interactions are the best.

I burst out laughing as we walked out of Walgreens, as did Katie.

Last year me and my friends went to Haiti for Spring Break. I recently learned that everytime my friend Betsy introduced herself, the Haitians snickered because the word "bet" means "beast of burden" in Haitian Creole.

Essentially, she was walking up to people saying, "Hi! My name is cow!"

Last week I emailed a Chinese girl to see if she would be interested in helping out with Bridges International. Bridges is Campus Crusade's ministry to international students. This g

irl, Ying (pronounced "Wendy" in English...hehe...) was on staff in China and is interested in being involved in our movement at MU.

"Oh yes!" she responded. "I would love to be a part of The Bridge!"

If you find yourself bored and lacking humor in your life...look around. If you're surrounded by white people, that is the problem. Get yourself some international friends and they will be sure to brighten your day!

Our brains are shrinking

The problem with writing about random crap is that too much of it happens and if you don't write about it everyday, it piles up on you.

Have you ever noticed that people are just about as dumb as a herd of cattle? Seriously. And they can be goaded around just as easy...no horses or prodding sticks needed.

I was headed home from Denver just over a week ago. The line at the United Airlines kiosk was incredibly long and weaved back and forth through a series of black ropes. All faces in line were solemn like that of a pig being lead to the slaughter and the bodies that held them diligently stayed between the designated lines.

"So where ya headed?" Doug, a man i had met at my conference asked. He was in line in front of me.

"Back to Tennessee for a couple of days."

Shuffle, shuffle, shuffle. We made our way through the winding maze.

"Oh yea, you're on staff at Mizzou, right?"

I nodded.

Walk walk, sharp turn left. Bag getting heavier.

"Yea, we already have a staff meeting tomorrow," he said.

"Oh," I said. "I'm glad we don't have anything until Friday."

Piddle paddle piddle paddle. A woman in the shoot next to mine almost dropped her kid on its head. The man beside her caught the baby before it hit the ground. Doug gave me an astounded look.

"The line's moving pretty fast," I said as we neared the final left turn. I watched as people rounded the corner, avoiding the pole that held it up.

As we got closer to our pivot point, I noticed that the pole had been moved back and the rope sagged under the lack of tension. However, no one else seemed to notice. It was as if an invisible line existed where the rope had once been and people stayed on one side of it weaving around the imaginary pole at the end of their line.

Doug stopped in front of me to observe the their actions. I cocked my head in confusion and recalled a book I read about how malls and amusement parks were set up to make people walk in a certain area without them even realizing that their being told what to do.

"They have a sense of freedom because their in an open space," it said. "But really, the paths are set for them and they don't have a choice."

That's silly. I thought. You don't have to stay on the path. You can walk wherever you want. People aren't that dumb.

Clearly I was wrong. I watched as one after another, men and women rolled their suitcases in smooth arches around an area that they could have walked straight across.

Doug and I didn't move. We waited until everyone completed their lap and ended up on the other side of the "rope" then we just stepped behind them. No long walk necessary.

That was weird. I thought. And I felt embarrassed to be a human being. National Geographic was right...our brains are shrinking.