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.

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.

Tumbleweeds

I'm still looking for some random crap to write about. Unfortunately, this holiday was void of any family get-together disasters. Actually, it was probably one of the better Christmases because a bit of family drama has finally been left in the past.

The only interesting thing that happened, happened on Christmas Eve--my sister and I were driving to the gym to get our workout on (you know, to prepare for all those cookies we were about to eat/already had eaten/it didn't matter anyway because I still gained 5 pounds). The wind was unusually strong for West Tennessee, maxing out around 40mph. We passed a graveyard on our left when...all of a sudden...a tumbleweed shot out in front of our car! I slammed on the breaks and we both screamed.

"What the heck was that!" I said, flashing back to Fival Goes West.

Katie looked back and started laughing.

"It was a flower thing from the cemetery!"

No sooner had she said it that a Thanksgiving colored bouquet rolled out in front of me. I swerved to miss it, only to run over a poor little scarecrow lying in the middle of the road.

"I just ran over a scarecrow!" I shouted. And we burst out laughing again. "Poor thing! That's sad!"

Every time I hear the word scarecrow I think of my dad--that and the Wizard of Oz. Come to think of it, my dad's nose kind of looks like the Scarecrow's. It's not red; it's just big. And its okay for me to say that because he makes fun of my mom for having a pineapple sized head.

On Christmas Eve my family always goes out to eat and to a movie. Afterwards, we come home, decorate Christmas cookies, open one present, then watch movies. This year, instead of watching a movie right away, we decided to play Loaded Questions--a game that has a headline which reads: "Expose Yourself." Probably not the best game play with your parents.

Everything was all fine and dandy until we got to the last question: "What is your most annoying habit?"

"Oh," my mom said. "well your dad has a lot."

We finished writing our answers and handed them to Dad to read. Mom had to guess who wrote which answer.

"Number one!" he said. "Talking to fast.

"Number two...talking back to mom.

"And number three... asking, "do you want some?"

Mom fell on the floor laughing.

Now, you should know one thing before I continue this story. Every night at dinner, my dad tries to force me to eat more. It's always, "do you want more potatoes?" or "do you want some of my steak?" or "eat some peas." It's so annoying, but clearly that's not where my mother's mind was going.

"Mom," Katie said as my mom pounded her fists on the ground and shook with laughter. "What's so funny?"

I glanced over at Katie.

"Nothing!" I said. "he's talking about food!"

That only made things worse. My dad's face turned red and he couldn't breath under his chuckles, while mom shouted something about being scared for life.

"Well," I said, "you're the one who went there."

Oh yea....and I forgot one thing. My dad's AOL screen name is Scarecrow40, only he misspelled it as "Scarcrow," and this Christmas Eve, I truly was scared for life. Almost more than the time I.....well, I think I've already given you too much information.

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

stuff that happens

Let me tell you about something I read at Barnes and Noble on Monday. A woman in Massachusetts was cooking Thanksgiving dinner when her daughter went into labor. The mother called 911, but the baby was already crowning so the paramedics had to talk her through the birth of her grandchild!

Now isn't that sweet...grandma got to deliver her very own grandbaby on Thanksgiving!

Right now your probably smiling on the inside, holding your hand to your heart, and if you're really emotional, you might even be dabbing a few tears from your eyes. But before you breakdown completely, let me relay a few more details of the story:

Remember when I said that grandma was cooking Thanksgiving dinner when her daughter went into labor? Well...she didn't stop. Yep, that's right--even though she was delivering a baby, she didn't stop cooking lunch.

Now that's what I call multitasking. If only I could cut the umbilical cord of a gooey newborn baby while basting the turkey and stirring the gravy that I will be feeding my family, then I might be able to get some things done.

Does anyone else think this violates some sort of health code?

Random crap like this happens all the time, not just in the home of a pregnant Massachusetts woman. And that's why I'm starting a new blog...a blog dedicated to the random crap that happens in my life and yours:

Like the other day, right after I read the article, I was sitting in a chair reading about "things white people like" when a bluetooth headset wearing business woman asked a chubby clerk to help her find a book of poetry. Sounds pretty normal, right? Well it would have been if he hadn't been wearing reindeer antlers on top of his bald head.

Or like woman who just dropped her garlic cheese Starbucks pretzel and let out a disappointed "ooohhh...." in the middle of the Barnes and Nobel cafe. Glad that wasn't me. She took it back and asked for a new one. The barista merrily obliged. I, on the other hand, would have just wiped it off and pleaded the 5 second rule. After all, if people can eat food with baby juice all over it, I can surely handle a little bookstore floor crud.