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.