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.

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.