I used to like my brown corduroy pants. They had style and attitude. I only wore them when I wanted that extra edge. In one way, they were in some sense my comfort pants, making me feels warm and fuzzy in my knowledge that they were attractive, or more accurately, I was attractive in them. I especially liked this particular pair of pants because I acquired them without paying a cent. And no, I didn't steal them. They were in fact given to me by a kind and compassionate friend. However, after these pants have failed me in the most basic way, I not only do not like them as I used to, I will forever be wary of free clothing.
I put my brown corduroy pants on this evening because I felt I should dress up a bit more than the usual jeans outfit. I was feeling pretty good about my looks and apparel and left the house happy and unawares. The first part of the show went smoothly -- smoothly, meaning that nothing went drastically wrong, although most of the performers did seem a bit off. I should have taken warning and run away as quickly as I could. But, alas, I am forever learning things the 'hard way,' as I believe some refer to my way of learning.
Anyway, I made my bathroom break earlier than intermission, or half time as I repeatedly called it because I spend too much time around exercise science nerds, so as to miss the crowds that I knew would soon clog up the restrooms. When that time of performance break did come, I stood to move out, but then opted to stay in my seat instead of mingle with a crowd of which I only knew a few people. To my detriment. I made a swinging movement to sit down, caught the edge of the arm rest, felt some pretty intense resistance, and heard a terrible sound.
(There is really no point to you reading the rest of this story. No doubt you have guessed what happened, and there is no need for you to read of my humiliation).
Being an optimist, I greatly hoped that I had just popped open my snap pockets. I made a very discreet motion to check the situation out, in other word, grab my own butt to see what the trouble seemed to be. If you are an optimist, than you know what a let down I experienced upon my findings, and if you are a pessimist, then you already know what happened. I didn't pop the pocket open. I did in fact rip a good sized hole (good sized, meaning large enough to pull a car through) in the seat of my pants. Now, if I had been wearing jeans and a sweatshirt, there would not have been a very great problem. I would have simply tied my sweatshirt around my waist and went on my way. But I was wearing a button up shirt and, as I have said, my brown cords. And a winter coat. I find it humorous the way in which you get all cute to go somewhere and then put a big ugly winter coat over the whole outfit so as not to freeze, and so the outfit is almost invisible. There is another problem with this situation, beside the invisible outfit dilemma, and that is that winter coats do not tie around waists very well. They tend to, in addition to looking utterly ridiculous, sneak out of the knot you try to put them into and trickle their way off your waist and onto the floor where it does you absolutely no favors whatsoever.
As I sat, trying to evaluate the damage and determine whether I might just pretend it didn't happen successfully or not, I saw a girl who was in a dance with my sister. I called her over to ask about my sister's whereabouts. She told me that she was outside, and most obligingly asked if she should go get her. I said no, it was fine and after a moment of dead air, blurted out the state of my pants. She immediately started laughing, as I'm sure you are right now. I decided that I needed my sister's sweatshirt, and so girded up my loins, or rather tied the slippery coat around my waist and went in search of my sister. I must have been a rich sight. But I'll leave that to your imaginings. After taking an unnecessary trip outside, I found her inside and told her the state of events. Surprisingly, she was unsurprised. I suppose she has known me long enough to know that I am a Master of Scrapes. I successfully got her sweatshirt around my waist and over the gaping hole and could have gone on my merry way. However, being who I am, I like a few people to share in my troubles, or at least be able to laugh at them. So I told the friend who had accompanied me to the event. She responded with a hysterical, breathless, crying laugh. At least I can entertain. And of course, this lead to questions from other friends whom we were standing with. And then another dance girl came over to laugh at me, because dancer #1 had told her what I'd done. And after all that, it would be no great surprise to me to find out that everyone there heard one way or another that some girl had ripped her brown corduroy pants. If they didn't know from hearing, they knew from the green hearted sweatshirt I wore around my waist as an accessory to my brown corduroy pants.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Thursday, January 29, 2009
Nap Time Adventure
A nap is possibly the greatest adventure a young (or old) person can take in any one day. So much can take place over the course of one nap. Let us start with the first of these: you may fall asleep. This may not sound as though it is all that big of an adventure, but looked at from the right perspective, there are numerous possibilities for excitement and stimulation, of the sleepy variety. First of all, you will probably assume a position of rest, whatever that may mean to you. Many lay down, but there are some who prefer sitting, child's pose, fetal position; it is really up to you to decide where you will find the most rest and adventure. And so, you lay your head down, adjusting the pillow, sweatshirt, blanket, cardboard box, or whatever you may be using to cushion your head and fall to sleep, and so the adventure begins (for real, because you might try to consider the finding of a pillow and comfortable position to be a part of the adventure, but they are not). I find myself in an in between place, in between sleep and awake, in a dream land where things become quite surreal and I'm not sure what is reality and what is dream. This makes for great excitement as I can hear everything that goes on, but nobody knows I can hear everything that goes on and I'm not even sure I really can hear what goes on. In this phase, there is the added adventure of being awoken and then falling back to sleep... 12 different times. Perhaps not a pleasant part of the adventure, but just think it is as getting snowed in on a camping trip.
The next big adventure that can take place is that the sun may very well set, as the sun has a habit of doing. This is very likely to happen during the winter months, when the sun sets so early. I caution you to be very wary of this for it can be unnerving, even terrifying. Let me see if I can make you understand. You go to bed innocently while the sun is yet up. Perhaps it is an impromptu nap, or perhaps it is part of your regularly scheduled day. Regardless, it could happen to you. After all the afore mentioned steps of preparation, you are now asleep, enjoying or being disturbed by some dream or other (apparently you always dream, you just don't always remember). When you awaken to find that the day has grown dark, there are a plethora of common reactions. Perhaps, you think, I slept into the night and should just go back to sleep. Or perhaps it is actually only 5:30p and you must instantly jump up off the couch, chair, floor, counter to rush to get ready for your 5:45p class. Then your thoughts may grow more intense. Perhaps the sun burned out, or you have been blinded. This is usually when the feelings of panic start to initiate irrational actions, like taking a shower at 2am, thinking it is 2p, because you must get ready for class at 5p. Other actions may include tearing your clothes off and running outside to offer up the sacrifice of a moonlit naked dance to make the sun come back on. Of course, I have never done anything so irrational, but there are people likely to react in just such a fashion.
Finally, there is the dream portion of the adventure you are thrown into during this daytime rest. I don't know about you, but the dreams I have during the day are ultimately more random and perturbing than those that occur at night. There is an odd quality to these, usually, in my case, something motivated by haunted dance halls and creepy dance professors. Also, they are quite often influenced and motivated by the pain in my body, brought on by 5 hours of dance and laying in awkward positions on the couch. This is not a part of the adventure I can describe to you, but one you must experience on your own, and so it is at this point that I will set you free to experiment with your own dreamland.
And so you see, there is no end to the excitement that can take place during a day time nap, and I wish that I had realized it a younger age. But because I have realized it at this point in my life, and realized it rather acutely over the last few years, I intend to take advantage of this easily accessible adventure as often as possible.
The next big adventure that can take place is that the sun may very well set, as the sun has a habit of doing. This is very likely to happen during the winter months, when the sun sets so early. I caution you to be very wary of this for it can be unnerving, even terrifying. Let me see if I can make you understand. You go to bed innocently while the sun is yet up. Perhaps it is an impromptu nap, or perhaps it is part of your regularly scheduled day. Regardless, it could happen to you. After all the afore mentioned steps of preparation, you are now asleep, enjoying or being disturbed by some dream or other (apparently you always dream, you just don't always remember). When you awaken to find that the day has grown dark, there are a plethora of common reactions. Perhaps, you think, I slept into the night and should just go back to sleep. Or perhaps it is actually only 5:30p and you must instantly jump up off the couch, chair, floor, counter to rush to get ready for your 5:45p class. Then your thoughts may grow more intense. Perhaps the sun burned out, or you have been blinded. This is usually when the feelings of panic start to initiate irrational actions, like taking a shower at 2am, thinking it is 2p, because you must get ready for class at 5p. Other actions may include tearing your clothes off and running outside to offer up the sacrifice of a moonlit naked dance to make the sun come back on. Of course, I have never done anything so irrational, but there are people likely to react in just such a fashion.
Finally, there is the dream portion of the adventure you are thrown into during this daytime rest. I don't know about you, but the dreams I have during the day are ultimately more random and perturbing than those that occur at night. There is an odd quality to these, usually, in my case, something motivated by haunted dance halls and creepy dance professors. Also, they are quite often influenced and motivated by the pain in my body, brought on by 5 hours of dance and laying in awkward positions on the couch. This is not a part of the adventure I can describe to you, but one you must experience on your own, and so it is at this point that I will set you free to experiment with your own dreamland.
And so you see, there is no end to the excitement that can take place during a day time nap, and I wish that I had realized it a younger age. But because I have realized it at this point in my life, and realized it rather acutely over the last few years, I intend to take advantage of this easily accessible adventure as often as possible.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Closet Contemplations (Of The Dancer Variety)
The nifty thing about this blog is that it is actually coming to you from my closet, where I have spent a good part of my day, thinking. The first thought that really strikes me while sitting in my closet, and strikes me in the form of my walking boot falling on me, is that I should probably attempt to ebay the said walking boot because its worth is close to 400 dollars. I wore it for 3 weeks and it miraculously healed my tendonitis, leaving my insurance 400 dollars poorer and my right leg 4 shades whiter than the left. I am thankful for the full use of my leg, as I have been using it daily since the incident, but now feel rather compelled to take actions towards recovering those funds. I shall see what I can do.
The next thought that strikes me (just so you are forewarned, this is, as the title implies, a contemplation, meaning there is no rhyme or reason to the direction my thoughts take me, but rather the direction my closet takes me, as it has full hold of the till at this current juncture in time), with impressive force, in fact, is weight loss. I come to find that this particularly sensitive subject is much on peoples minds. Small wonder if a good long look is taken at the overweight rates in our country. I could go on and off about why this is and what is to be done, but I'm not going to. I'm sure you probably have your own opinions about it and don't need mine to add to or change the pile. My thoughts are actually about my own weight and loss thereof. I actually took pounds off over Christmas break, probably the most ironic time to do so, but the time I like to do it best, very probably because it is so ironic to come back from the feasting season 2 pant sizes smaller. I made the choice mostly because I'm tired of not being able to get my fat ass off the ground in dance class. I thought that losing weight would solve all my problems. In reflection, it has solved a great many. Ballet is going swimmingly, which is saying much, because I have been incompatible with ballet since I was 12. Its just easier the skinnier you are, probably the reason so many ballerinas are skeletons. Its just easier to do impossibilities with your body when there isn't any body to fight with. More power to the girls who forge ahead in ballet carrying those 'extra pounds.' This said, modern is another story. While ballet is done entirely upright, on your own two legs, a great deal of modern is spent on the floor. A greater deal of modern is spent getting up from the floor and back down again. What I'm trying to say is that there is impact involved. We do learn, just like skateboarders, snowboarders, martial artists, and anyone else who makes a profession out of falling, to allow our bodies to be taken by the fall and be in contact with the floor. However, this does not negate the fact that we are in fact... falling. Having lost weight, the bitter truth is that I no longer have the padding I once did to protect my joints and bony parts. I am, to put it lightly, one big bruise. I bruise pretty easily as it is, and having taken away the comfortable pads, the natural barriers... I am beaten by the floor. The count runs, floor 1, Jessie 0. I am ashamed to admit this, but thats the way it has to be.
The even more pathetic part of these events is the fact that in some sick masochistic way... I enjoy it. I show my bruises off with pride and count them in the shower. None of my muscles are working properly, and yet I continue to beat them into submission with unrelenting brutality. I enjoy rehearsal when everything hurts, but I can continue to move. The problem comes when everything hurts... and refuses to move. This is what happened to me yesterday. I knew the arm movement... my arms just wouldn't do it. To return to the pain topic, perhaps I enjoy it so much because I am exploring unchartered territory. And I'm not talking about the movement, even though it is just that. I'm talking about muscle groups. Over the course of this week, I not only witnessed once again how truly ugly gossip is, I found whole groups of muscles that I never knew existed. I am achieving physicality and doing moves in rehearsal that I never would have thought possible, and discovering things about myself, like when you do 300 handstands in one week you are all of a sudden unable to move your arms... at all.
At this point in time my closet contemplations lead me to a rather touchy subject, touchier, in fact, that weight loss, if that is possible. I hesitate to bear all to you, even though you know much already. But my hesitation must be put aside for your benefit, to open your eyes and make you ponder. Laundry is probably the most frustrating thing I deal with. Laundry for just anybody, meaning me, say, in the summer, when I am not dancing 5 hours a day, is not such a big deal. You wear a pair of jeans a few times and then wash them. Shirts probably only get worn once, because of the whole armpit issue. But when I am dancing all day and soaking through layer upon layer of clothing, I am required to change my clothes as many as 4 times a day. This poses a little issue to the whole clean clothes thing... I simply do not have the storage to hold all the clothes I would need to change my clothes 4 times a day and do laundry once a week, which is the most convenient time frame. And so, I am left to feel like I am either doing laundry all the time or have no clothes to wear.
Finally, I would like to discuss peanuts with you. You perhaps knew already that peanuts are the lowest fat nut... and yet they have a higher concentration of fat than potato chips. Okay, that may be a little bit of an exaggeration... I don't in fact know that for a factual fact, but I'm sure its pretty close to accurate. I love peanuts, especially the raw red Spanish ones that taste like the dirt outside. But the fat content does bother me a little. This is not because I'm paranoid about fat intake (well, maybe just a little...), because the rest of my diet consists of fruits and veggies. This is more simply because I think that something so healthy should be healthier. I have this rare disease called Eating Paranoia, I'm sure in part due to the fact that I'm a dancer. I often resort to eating a spoonful of peanut butter for a meal and sadly, I feel a little guilty when I go in for seconds. Ridiculous, I know, but its life as a dancer.
I know I said peanuts were my final contemplation, and yet I am forced to continue onward with my thoughts on new age music. Its weird... and yet so calming. I have recently discovered the calming, focusing power of new age music. Of course, reggae has this same quality and perhaps people wouldn't think I was so weird if I resorted to that instead...
So there you have it. These are the disturbing thoughts that I have while sitting in my closet, contemplating.
The next thought that strikes me (just so you are forewarned, this is, as the title implies, a contemplation, meaning there is no rhyme or reason to the direction my thoughts take me, but rather the direction my closet takes me, as it has full hold of the till at this current juncture in time), with impressive force, in fact, is weight loss. I come to find that this particularly sensitive subject is much on peoples minds. Small wonder if a good long look is taken at the overweight rates in our country. I could go on and off about why this is and what is to be done, but I'm not going to. I'm sure you probably have your own opinions about it and don't need mine to add to or change the pile. My thoughts are actually about my own weight and loss thereof. I actually took pounds off over Christmas break, probably the most ironic time to do so, but the time I like to do it best, very probably because it is so ironic to come back from the feasting season 2 pant sizes smaller. I made the choice mostly because I'm tired of not being able to get my fat ass off the ground in dance class. I thought that losing weight would solve all my problems. In reflection, it has solved a great many. Ballet is going swimmingly, which is saying much, because I have been incompatible with ballet since I was 12. Its just easier the skinnier you are, probably the reason so many ballerinas are skeletons. Its just easier to do impossibilities with your body when there isn't any body to fight with. More power to the girls who forge ahead in ballet carrying those 'extra pounds.' This said, modern is another story. While ballet is done entirely upright, on your own two legs, a great deal of modern is spent on the floor. A greater deal of modern is spent getting up from the floor and back down again. What I'm trying to say is that there is impact involved. We do learn, just like skateboarders, snowboarders, martial artists, and anyone else who makes a profession out of falling, to allow our bodies to be taken by the fall and be in contact with the floor. However, this does not negate the fact that we are in fact... falling. Having lost weight, the bitter truth is that I no longer have the padding I once did to protect my joints and bony parts. I am, to put it lightly, one big bruise. I bruise pretty easily as it is, and having taken away the comfortable pads, the natural barriers... I am beaten by the floor. The count runs, floor 1, Jessie 0. I am ashamed to admit this, but thats the way it has to be.
The even more pathetic part of these events is the fact that in some sick masochistic way... I enjoy it. I show my bruises off with pride and count them in the shower. None of my muscles are working properly, and yet I continue to beat them into submission with unrelenting brutality. I enjoy rehearsal when everything hurts, but I can continue to move. The problem comes when everything hurts... and refuses to move. This is what happened to me yesterday. I knew the arm movement... my arms just wouldn't do it. To return to the pain topic, perhaps I enjoy it so much because I am exploring unchartered territory. And I'm not talking about the movement, even though it is just that. I'm talking about muscle groups. Over the course of this week, I not only witnessed once again how truly ugly gossip is, I found whole groups of muscles that I never knew existed. I am achieving physicality and doing moves in rehearsal that I never would have thought possible, and discovering things about myself, like when you do 300 handstands in one week you are all of a sudden unable to move your arms... at all.
At this point in time my closet contemplations lead me to a rather touchy subject, touchier, in fact, that weight loss, if that is possible. I hesitate to bear all to you, even though you know much already. But my hesitation must be put aside for your benefit, to open your eyes and make you ponder. Laundry is probably the most frustrating thing I deal with. Laundry for just anybody, meaning me, say, in the summer, when I am not dancing 5 hours a day, is not such a big deal. You wear a pair of jeans a few times and then wash them. Shirts probably only get worn once, because of the whole armpit issue. But when I am dancing all day and soaking through layer upon layer of clothing, I am required to change my clothes as many as 4 times a day. This poses a little issue to the whole clean clothes thing... I simply do not have the storage to hold all the clothes I would need to change my clothes 4 times a day and do laundry once a week, which is the most convenient time frame. And so, I am left to feel like I am either doing laundry all the time or have no clothes to wear.
Finally, I would like to discuss peanuts with you. You perhaps knew already that peanuts are the lowest fat nut... and yet they have a higher concentration of fat than potato chips. Okay, that may be a little bit of an exaggeration... I don't in fact know that for a factual fact, but I'm sure its pretty close to accurate. I love peanuts, especially the raw red Spanish ones that taste like the dirt outside. But the fat content does bother me a little. This is not because I'm paranoid about fat intake (well, maybe just a little...), because the rest of my diet consists of fruits and veggies. This is more simply because I think that something so healthy should be healthier. I have this rare disease called Eating Paranoia, I'm sure in part due to the fact that I'm a dancer. I often resort to eating a spoonful of peanut butter for a meal and sadly, I feel a little guilty when I go in for seconds. Ridiculous, I know, but its life as a dancer.
I know I said peanuts were my final contemplation, and yet I am forced to continue onward with my thoughts on new age music. Its weird... and yet so calming. I have recently discovered the calming, focusing power of new age music. Of course, reggae has this same quality and perhaps people wouldn't think I was so weird if I resorted to that instead...
So there you have it. These are the disturbing thoughts that I have while sitting in my closet, contemplating.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Food Expenses
Protein is expensive. Even the cheapest protein, the egg, is expensive in comparison to the amount of carbohydrates you can get for the same price. Anything carb is available for practically nothing! I smiled at a grocery store clerk the other day, and he handed me a carb. I can buy numerous fruits and veggies for a very small price, but as soon as I start buying anything related to protein, my wallet is suddenly found empty. Goat cheese and milk, tofu, peanut butter, almond butter, soy milk, all rather expensive items. It is an odd thing to realize, but nonetheless true. Something must be done. I believe a revolt is in order... Now, just let me think of how.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Girl Power
Despite my being a girl, which many of my friends question anyway, I have a very hard time spending time around large groups of females. Somehow I can't get into the over abundance of physical affection and spattered compliments of how beautiful everyone looks. Its not that I can't engage in these activities, I'm actually rather good at it, its that I hate the person I am when doing so. Girls pose certain behavioral temptations to me that spending time with guys simply doesn't. I'm not talking about anything weird, I only mean that I turn into a back biting, friend stabbing bitch when I allow myself to be an active part of a group of girls like that. Although I have always done so, it has only been recently that I have recognized the problem and decided to make a change. And it has not been easy. In trying to eliminate harmful gossip from my life, I have simply turned to a different avenue... and once again find myself in a position where people think I am willing to be that person when I'm not. I want to be better than I have been, and not be someone who destroys others with my words.
On another note, I just can't get into the girl affection. To me, girlfriend physicality is somewhat limited. Its not that I am uncomfortable touching girls, cause I'm not. Within a dance context, I can roll all over the floor with a girl and not find anything weird or uncomfortable about it. Even in a chill, hanging out context, its not that I'm squeamish about such things, its just that, to me, that sort of thing, meaning cuddling, holding hands, telling each other how beautiful you are, is reserved for a dating relationship. I have been in "friendships" with girls that felt more like we were dating. And they suffocated me. I think this is just because I have a very low tolerance for estrogen. I have enough or my own, and chose not to act on it very severely, and so I don't give others much room to do so. And don't want to have to deal with girls who do act on their girly hormonies.
Perhaps it is not even the physicality and words, but the attitude behind it. I tell my roommates they are beautiful and notice when they look especially nice, as do they to me. But it doesn't feel weird like it does when there are 50 girls in a room together all telling each other how hot they are. Perhaps it has more to do with the fact that I get snarky, bitchy vibes than it has to do with the words themselves. The problem is that anyone of those girls is great if I'm hanging out with them one on one or with a couple other people. But you get half of a hundred girls together in a room, and I start to feel like I can't breath and need to run screaming for the door.
As hard as it is for me, I believe the things I am learning and the person I am becoming is totally worth the struggle I have. First of all, I get to dance, and that is the number one thing. Secondly, it is chipping away at certain ugliness in my character, something I am thankful for as much as it sucks. I believe through screwing up every time and trying to make a change that I am becoming stronger and more of the person that I want to be. And I suppose, in the long run, that the pain and discomfort is worth all of that.
On another note, I just can't get into the girl affection. To me, girlfriend physicality is somewhat limited. Its not that I am uncomfortable touching girls, cause I'm not. Within a dance context, I can roll all over the floor with a girl and not find anything weird or uncomfortable about it. Even in a chill, hanging out context, its not that I'm squeamish about such things, its just that, to me, that sort of thing, meaning cuddling, holding hands, telling each other how beautiful you are, is reserved for a dating relationship. I have been in "friendships" with girls that felt more like we were dating. And they suffocated me. I think this is just because I have a very low tolerance for estrogen. I have enough or my own, and chose not to act on it very severely, and so I don't give others much room to do so. And don't want to have to deal with girls who do act on their girly hormonies.
Perhaps it is not even the physicality and words, but the attitude behind it. I tell my roommates they are beautiful and notice when they look especially nice, as do they to me. But it doesn't feel weird like it does when there are 50 girls in a room together all telling each other how hot they are. Perhaps it has more to do with the fact that I get snarky, bitchy vibes than it has to do with the words themselves. The problem is that anyone of those girls is great if I'm hanging out with them one on one or with a couple other people. But you get half of a hundred girls together in a room, and I start to feel like I can't breath and need to run screaming for the door.
As hard as it is for me, I believe the things I am learning and the person I am becoming is totally worth the struggle I have. First of all, I get to dance, and that is the number one thing. Secondly, it is chipping away at certain ugliness in my character, something I am thankful for as much as it sucks. I believe through screwing up every time and trying to make a change that I am becoming stronger and more of the person that I want to be. And I suppose, in the long run, that the pain and discomfort is worth all of that.
Thursday, January 8, 2009
Magnetics
People are drawn to me. I don't mean this egotistically at all, but actually mean it literally to where people just know my bubble isn't that big. For the most part it doesn't bother me. People can stand close to me when they talk to me, or give me a hug whenever they say hello and goodbye. The one place I cannot stand it is in a line. I inevitably end up in front of that person who thinks its okay to press awkwardly into my back. Well I have news for these people... IT'S NOT OKAY! It's not that I am uncomfortable being in close proximity to people. I find it incredibly humorous and tragic how people scamper out of your way in grocery aisles or book stores. The thing that irks me is the attitude behind this little act. It's so blatantly pushy and impatient and rude and immature. I get that these people are in a hurry, but more than likely I am too and you don't see me spooning with the person in front of me in line.
These rantings are brought on by a little incident that occurred in the University Bookstore today. I knew exactly what books I needed, so took a short trip to the back and immediately jumped into line. It wasn't a minute before Spooner Lady jumped in behind me. I was instantly aware of the problem. She was in such close proximity that I could feel her breath and the fine little hairs on the back of my neck. Of course, everything within me revolted against the rude way she was trying to get me to spoon with the guy in front of me and made me want to hang back conspicuously, widening the gap so that Spooner Lady would see that I can be just as pushy and rude. On a side note, I'm not really sure what that accomplishes, but apparently in my mind at the time, something... Things were going along as well as can be expected, standing with some lady breathing down my neck and some guy 3 feet in front of me, when I felt a subtle hand brush... across my butt. My first reaction was one of jumping away, smacking her with my books, and shouting, "Woah, woah, woah, nobody touches my butt!" Before I responded with this reaction, however, the thoughts in my head ran thus; "Wow, I wonder if she did that on purpose. That's awkward... this is a really odd place to put the moves on me, but if thats what floats her boat. Actually, I don't really care if she feels up my butt. It'll just make her feel awkward if it doesn't make me uncomfortable at all, which is really doesn't. Of course, she probably just moved her hand and accidentally touched my booty. Well, what does she think is going to happen if you try and spoon with someone? She got what she deserves."
With these thoughts in mind, I did not react with a pullback, but rather shifted the weight in my hip slightly, moving myself closer to her. Spooner lady, on the other hand, made a very obvious motion of pulling away, hopefully embarrassed by her faux pas. She gave me a little more space after she felt up my butt. I, on the other hand, took great pleasure in continuing to hang back from the guy in front of me, and lean on her a little.
I actually learned a valuable lesson from the experience (at least, I hope it's valuable, namely, I hope I will use the information I acquired). I learned that sometimes our initial reactions are not the actions that will get the reactions that we can act upon. At least, that is what my reaction tells me.
These rantings are brought on by a little incident that occurred in the University Bookstore today. I knew exactly what books I needed, so took a short trip to the back and immediately jumped into line. It wasn't a minute before Spooner Lady jumped in behind me. I was instantly aware of the problem. She was in such close proximity that I could feel her breath and the fine little hairs on the back of my neck. Of course, everything within me revolted against the rude way she was trying to get me to spoon with the guy in front of me and made me want to hang back conspicuously, widening the gap so that Spooner Lady would see that I can be just as pushy and rude. On a side note, I'm not really sure what that accomplishes, but apparently in my mind at the time, something... Things were going along as well as can be expected, standing with some lady breathing down my neck and some guy 3 feet in front of me, when I felt a subtle hand brush... across my butt. My first reaction was one of jumping away, smacking her with my books, and shouting, "Woah, woah, woah, nobody touches my butt!" Before I responded with this reaction, however, the thoughts in my head ran thus; "Wow, I wonder if she did that on purpose. That's awkward... this is a really odd place to put the moves on me, but if thats what floats her boat. Actually, I don't really care if she feels up my butt. It'll just make her feel awkward if it doesn't make me uncomfortable at all, which is really doesn't. Of course, she probably just moved her hand and accidentally touched my booty. Well, what does she think is going to happen if you try and spoon with someone? She got what she deserves."
With these thoughts in mind, I did not react with a pullback, but rather shifted the weight in my hip slightly, moving myself closer to her. Spooner lady, on the other hand, made a very obvious motion of pulling away, hopefully embarrassed by her faux pas. She gave me a little more space after she felt up my butt. I, on the other hand, took great pleasure in continuing to hang back from the guy in front of me, and lean on her a little.
I actually learned a valuable lesson from the experience (at least, I hope it's valuable, namely, I hope I will use the information I acquired). I learned that sometimes our initial reactions are not the actions that will get the reactions that we can act upon. At least, that is what my reaction tells me.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Thoughts On Movies and Wasting Time
I'm an expert time waster. It is one skill I think I can safely say I have down pat. And that isn't pride talking, its just the truth of the matter. If you give me a task, I am more than likely going to put it off and waste time instead. I'm not really sure where this skill came from or when my development of it became complete, but regardless, it is a favorite pastime. Just like now... I have a stack of applications that need to be filled out that I have been chipping away at a very slow pace, but instead I decided to write about how well I waste time... and movies.
I don't watch many movies, simply because I have better things to do, like waste time. I feel like this makes me enjoy the occasional movie more, but also makes me super picky. I like an odd assortment of random individualized movies that have not the most remote things to do with each other. Currently in my collection are Die Hard, my first Christmas movie, Garden State, a modern classic, Shall We Dance?, dumb but entertaining, and While You Were Sleeping, cause Sandra Bullock is just cute. See, random... But I like variety in my movies. I think that what frustrates others, and myself, is that there is no rhyme or reason to my like or dislike of a movie. For some unknown reason, I love Dodgeball, but I hate Anchorman, Wedding Crashers, and Zoolander. I can't explain it to you, its just how it is. My two top hits in movie genres are probably musicals and man movies. The person who finally sees the light and makes a man musical, will be my hero forever. But it probably won't happen in my lifetime. I feel the two genres are still fundamentally separated. Call it what you will, that's the way it is. Anyhow, I would love to continue the stream of random thoughts and reflections, but I really have some time to waste and perhaps a movie to watch. Until next time...
I don't watch many movies, simply because I have better things to do, like waste time. I feel like this makes me enjoy the occasional movie more, but also makes me super picky. I like an odd assortment of random individualized movies that have not the most remote things to do with each other. Currently in my collection are Die Hard, my first Christmas movie, Garden State, a modern classic, Shall We Dance?, dumb but entertaining, and While You Were Sleeping, cause Sandra Bullock is just cute. See, random... But I like variety in my movies. I think that what frustrates others, and myself, is that there is no rhyme or reason to my like or dislike of a movie. For some unknown reason, I love Dodgeball, but I hate Anchorman, Wedding Crashers, and Zoolander. I can't explain it to you, its just how it is. My two top hits in movie genres are probably musicals and man movies. The person who finally sees the light and makes a man musical, will be my hero forever. But it probably won't happen in my lifetime. I feel the two genres are still fundamentally separated. Call it what you will, that's the way it is. Anyhow, I would love to continue the stream of random thoughts and reflections, but I really have some time to waste and perhaps a movie to watch. Until next time...
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
Bicycle Drama
I love my bike. I really, honestly do. It is a pristine instrument of speed and destruction that rattles when the wheels turn and squeals when I break. We have grown very close over the past several months. Where I live, in a small college town where all the way across town is a mere 10 minute walk away, it is pointless to drive, for the most part. I spent the greater part of the summer commuting on my bike, often at 2 or 3 o'clock in the morning. Recently, it has been sitting outside in the snow and yesterday, namely the first day of classes, we were reunited and it felt so good... It has a few more shakes and pains since I last rode it, which makes sense considering its been roughing in out in the cold. But it still stops when I tell it and goes when I bid, the only thing I can really ask of the quality piece of Target equipment, I suppose.
As I said, yesterday was the first time I had ridden it in some time. I rode it to school, and gained a compliment from my modern instructor cause I wasn't driving my butt to dance class. Of course, being in a heightened state of over mind stimulation I had some very smart response ready. That being, "There's no point walking, this town is so small." I meant driving, of course, but that was not the word that came out. Oh well, so now she thinks I'm an idiot, at least I do well in her class.
The afternoon was spent delightfully running errands with a friend and previewing the toys in Dollar Tree to see if they were up to par, time spent neglecting my poor bike... who got back at me for it. My last activity for the day was an exercise class at the gym. It was dark when I set out on my bike, so I threw on both the lights (rear red blinking light and front solid white light, the proper way of night bike riding), went to my class, took the class and came home.
Fast forward to today...
I popped out of bed this morning after the tremendous amount of sleep I got last night and proceeded to get ready for ballet class, not my favorite, but better today than I had expected. I was actually getting my ish together quicker than I had thought I would and was ready to leave for class 10 minutes early. I said a farewell to my roomie and jumped outside to get on my trusty bike... The trusty bike that was not in its place... Or anywhere else to be seen or heard...
I stood for a moment, shell shocked. Where was my bike? It was right there last time I looked... So, before the door was even fully closed behind me, I returned inside and announced that I would not be riding my bike to school because my "trusty" bike was in fact gone. My roomie, who always has a joke ready, and is a joke most of the time, laughed, because she thought I was joking. After an uncomfortable pause of about 5 seconds, she asked if I were serious. Yep, I was serious... someone must have jacked my bike... As shocked as I, my roomie proceeded with the phrase we mostly use when we are shocked, "Whaaaaattttt?!?!"
"Yep," I replied. "Chris had his bike stolen too, a couple weeks ago." That, to me, was just and reasonable cause to assume the bike had in fact been stolen.
Now, I don't know your life by any means and so I have no way of knowing if you have ever lost anything. However, judging that in reading this you are probably human, I'm going to go out on a limb and say you have probably also lost something in your life. If not, this does not apply to you. I know I have. Usually its nothing big, just something that makes life a whole lot more convenient, like my phone. I lost my phone for 24 hours once. And I found it exactly where it should have been, on my car seat because I drive with it tucked in between my knees. That is usually how the story goes. I lose something, I'm calm for a short period of time, I begin to flip out, and then find it somewhere stupid. Water bottles... I always lose water bottles. I don't think I've owned one for more than a couple weeks at a time.
So, once I had concluded with absolute certainty that my buddy, the bike, had been stolen, and had actually resigned myself to walking to school from now on, I remembered that I had been in possession of it recently and where I had last seen it...
In a stunning feat of physical defiance, specifically the defiance of physics, not standing with my arms crossed when my roomie asks me to do the dishes, I had ridden my bike to the gym last night and WALKED home. Imagine that, if you can. It is indeed a stunning feat... one I cannot say I'm proud of, despite how cool it may sound. Fortunately for me, I remembered that I had accomplished this feat, though. My first thought was, Crap, I wonder what they did with it? After I realized they had probably just left it where it was, assuming that the dummy who left it would be back for it, my second realization was that the general manager would be there and see me in my confused state on non-bikeness. I was about to determine to go get it later this evening, but then realized I had better get it now before they wonder who the crap's bike it is and sell it for profit.
So, I skulked down the street to the gym and sneaked in very quietly to grab the item. As I kicked up the kickstand, which I believe is the appropriate use of a kickstand, the rust began to show... or rather be heard, as it squealed with impressive force, temporarily knocking out the hearing in my right ear. This was not what concerned me, but rather I was still trying to avoid being seen as a fool, and had just made a rather irregular, oddly loud noise. So, without looking up, and hoping they weren't looking at me, I hobbled sheepishly out the door, jumped on my bike as fast as I possibly could without bodily injury, and rode away at top, mission impossible speed.
Needless to say, sometimes I scare myself ...
As I said, yesterday was the first time I had ridden it in some time. I rode it to school, and gained a compliment from my modern instructor cause I wasn't driving my butt to dance class. Of course, being in a heightened state of over mind stimulation I had some very smart response ready. That being, "There's no point walking, this town is so small." I meant driving, of course, but that was not the word that came out. Oh well, so now she thinks I'm an idiot, at least I do well in her class.
The afternoon was spent delightfully running errands with a friend and previewing the toys in Dollar Tree to see if they were up to par, time spent neglecting my poor bike... who got back at me for it. My last activity for the day was an exercise class at the gym. It was dark when I set out on my bike, so I threw on both the lights (rear red blinking light and front solid white light, the proper way of night bike riding), went to my class, took the class and came home.
Fast forward to today...
I popped out of bed this morning after the tremendous amount of sleep I got last night and proceeded to get ready for ballet class, not my favorite, but better today than I had expected. I was actually getting my ish together quicker than I had thought I would and was ready to leave for class 10 minutes early. I said a farewell to my roomie and jumped outside to get on my trusty bike... The trusty bike that was not in its place... Or anywhere else to be seen or heard...
I stood for a moment, shell shocked. Where was my bike? It was right there last time I looked... So, before the door was even fully closed behind me, I returned inside and announced that I would not be riding my bike to school because my "trusty" bike was in fact gone. My roomie, who always has a joke ready, and is a joke most of the time, laughed, because she thought I was joking. After an uncomfortable pause of about 5 seconds, she asked if I were serious. Yep, I was serious... someone must have jacked my bike... As shocked as I, my roomie proceeded with the phrase we mostly use when we are shocked, "Whaaaaattttt?!?!"
"Yep," I replied. "Chris had his bike stolen too, a couple weeks ago." That, to me, was just and reasonable cause to assume the bike had in fact been stolen.
Now, I don't know your life by any means and so I have no way of knowing if you have ever lost anything. However, judging that in reading this you are probably human, I'm going to go out on a limb and say you have probably also lost something in your life. If not, this does not apply to you. I know I have. Usually its nothing big, just something that makes life a whole lot more convenient, like my phone. I lost my phone for 24 hours once. And I found it exactly where it should have been, on my car seat because I drive with it tucked in between my knees. That is usually how the story goes. I lose something, I'm calm for a short period of time, I begin to flip out, and then find it somewhere stupid. Water bottles... I always lose water bottles. I don't think I've owned one for more than a couple weeks at a time.
So, once I had concluded with absolute certainty that my buddy, the bike, had been stolen, and had actually resigned myself to walking to school from now on, I remembered that I had been in possession of it recently and where I had last seen it...
In a stunning feat of physical defiance, specifically the defiance of physics, not standing with my arms crossed when my roomie asks me to do the dishes, I had ridden my bike to the gym last night and WALKED home. Imagine that, if you can. It is indeed a stunning feat... one I cannot say I'm proud of, despite how cool it may sound. Fortunately for me, I remembered that I had accomplished this feat, though. My first thought was, Crap, I wonder what they did with it? After I realized they had probably just left it where it was, assuming that the dummy who left it would be back for it, my second realization was that the general manager would be there and see me in my confused state on non-bikeness. I was about to determine to go get it later this evening, but then realized I had better get it now before they wonder who the crap's bike it is and sell it for profit.
So, I skulked down the street to the gym and sneaked in very quietly to grab the item. As I kicked up the kickstand, which I believe is the appropriate use of a kickstand, the rust began to show... or rather be heard, as it squealed with impressive force, temporarily knocking out the hearing in my right ear. This was not what concerned me, but rather I was still trying to avoid being seen as a fool, and had just made a rather irregular, oddly loud noise. So, without looking up, and hoping they weren't looking at me, I hobbled sheepishly out the door, jumped on my bike as fast as I possibly could without bodily injury, and rode away at top, mission impossible speed.
Needless to say, sometimes I scare myself ...
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Um, Not Funny!
I realize of course that it is harping on the same old juze (if you don't know what one of those is, you're a loser) to even bring this up, but who was the idiot who coined the phrase 'funny bone' in reference to ones ulnar nerve? Incidentally, if he did indeed 'coin' it, specifically, if he is indeed making money off the sadistic comparison, I would personally like to traumatize the rest of his life by way of his ulnar nerve. Of course you laugh when you hit it, because of the name. It's so ridiculous to say you hit your funny bone, while you are really one emotional measurement away from crying. (On a side note, what would that be called? There are decibels, light years, kilometers, and such. What is the measurement of emotion called?)
I had one very such experience t'other day. I was almost done with work for the night. All I had left to do was drop bank, which is always something I look forward to. The people that work at the hotel are very entertaining individuals and I always enjoy my time spent dropping bank. It is my habit to always bring my purse in with me and lock my doors. Call it what you will, it's paranoia, but a justifiable paranoia. I had reached into my car to do just that and then brought my arm over and around my door to close it. While doing this, I hit my ulnar nerve squarely on the corner of my open door. Now if you are familiar with the way a funny bone pain makes progress, which I believe most people are, you know that it doesn't hurt that bad at first. It's kind of like, 'Ow, I could have done without that', and then you begin to go about your business. Which is what I did. Until it started to hurt worse. I shook my arm and bent down in the middle of the parking lot, trying to talk myself out of passing out, which is not a very cool thing to do, partly because it's so unpleasant, and partly because it's not so tough. All I knew was that I needed to get inside, because I could not just lay down and wait for the dizziness to pass in the middle of the parking lot. Again, not cool, and not safe. So i stood shakily up, and began to stumble into the hotel. There are of course several kinds of stumble. There's a stumble when you get drunk, which is definitely not cool, there's a stumble when you first wake up and stumble into the bathroom to relieve your bladder. Then there is a stumble that happens when you've been hit with excessive force on your head... or when you've hit your 'funny bone'. That is the stumble that barely got me into the hotel, past the guest at the front counter, and through the coded door that leads to the staff area. I was awaited by one of the hotel employees, who we shall call Adrian, who promptly asked me if I was okay. "Okay?! Okay!? Do I look okay?" I shouted back...
Actually, I moaned a negative response and thereby collapsed to the floor, my belongings scattering unheeded across the floor. Oh, the sweat was so cold, and the stars were so bright that they blinded me. But somehow, I remained more conscious than not, and moaned my way back into existence. Somewhere in this while, Adrian found it in his big kind heart to ask what I'd done. My response was a mumbled explanation that I had hit my funny bone. At which time he started laughing. What are friends and co-workers for but to laugh at you when you hit a nerve? I was aware of a muffled apology, and a 'I'm not laughing' from the said co-worker. I responded that I didn't care if he laughed, as long as he let me lay there. Within a few moments, I was able to roll to a sitting position and laugh with Adrian and Kevin, the other guy working who had seen my entry from the front desk. I'm just glad that I can bring a little excitement into their boring hotel job. And now I can proudly boast that I hit my funny bone so hard that it almost knocked me out. Now, THAT'S cool...
I had one very such experience t'other day. I was almost done with work for the night. All I had left to do was drop bank, which is always something I look forward to. The people that work at the hotel are very entertaining individuals and I always enjoy my time spent dropping bank. It is my habit to always bring my purse in with me and lock my doors. Call it what you will, it's paranoia, but a justifiable paranoia. I had reached into my car to do just that and then brought my arm over and around my door to close it. While doing this, I hit my ulnar nerve squarely on the corner of my open door. Now if you are familiar with the way a funny bone pain makes progress, which I believe most people are, you know that it doesn't hurt that bad at first. It's kind of like, 'Ow, I could have done without that', and then you begin to go about your business. Which is what I did. Until it started to hurt worse. I shook my arm and bent down in the middle of the parking lot, trying to talk myself out of passing out, which is not a very cool thing to do, partly because it's so unpleasant, and partly because it's not so tough. All I knew was that I needed to get inside, because I could not just lay down and wait for the dizziness to pass in the middle of the parking lot. Again, not cool, and not safe. So i stood shakily up, and began to stumble into the hotel. There are of course several kinds of stumble. There's a stumble when you get drunk, which is definitely not cool, there's a stumble when you first wake up and stumble into the bathroom to relieve your bladder. Then there is a stumble that happens when you've been hit with excessive force on your head... or when you've hit your 'funny bone'. That is the stumble that barely got me into the hotel, past the guest at the front counter, and through the coded door that leads to the staff area. I was awaited by one of the hotel employees, who we shall call Adrian, who promptly asked me if I was okay. "Okay?! Okay!? Do I look okay?" I shouted back...
Actually, I moaned a negative response and thereby collapsed to the floor, my belongings scattering unheeded across the floor. Oh, the sweat was so cold, and the stars were so bright that they blinded me. But somehow, I remained more conscious than not, and moaned my way back into existence. Somewhere in this while, Adrian found it in his big kind heart to ask what I'd done. My response was a mumbled explanation that I had hit my funny bone. At which time he started laughing. What are friends and co-workers for but to laugh at you when you hit a nerve? I was aware of a muffled apology, and a 'I'm not laughing' from the said co-worker. I responded that I didn't care if he laughed, as long as he let me lay there. Within a few moments, I was able to roll to a sitting position and laugh with Adrian and Kevin, the other guy working who had seen my entry from the front desk. I'm just glad that I can bring a little excitement into their boring hotel job. And now I can proudly boast that I hit my funny bone so hard that it almost knocked me out. Now, THAT'S cool...
Saturday, January 3, 2009
I'm Not Mature Enough to Grow Up
It has been a long time since I have written simply for the sake of writing. It is something I used to do often, almost everyday. But somewhere over the last several months it just fell off the radar. It shouldn't have happened, as now I find myself in great need of that outlet. Overwhelmed with thoughts and observations, I pick up my keyboard pen once again to disclaim things about my life and perspective that you would never get out of me in normal conversation. Call it a fourth wall or whatever, I am able to communicate quite effectively through words on paper, a gift I have long been aware of, but have neglected of late. My thoughts turn to this last term and the crazy things that went on. My lack of writing has definitely not been for lack of material but simply a lack of time and inclination. Because of this, I now find my thoughts so backed up that I don't know where to start. The term is what you could easily term miserable. I was far too busy and far too starved for normal human interactions and so completely lost focus of the things I truly believe to be important. The first of these being dance, I was unable to focus in rehearsal for the greater part of the term. It was a chore to even be there, since my heart wasn't in it. I don't know if that is quite accurate, actually... Nowhere along the line have I lost my love and desire for dance. But my relationship with it has been changing drastically, and that is hard to take when it has been very consistent for my entire life. It hasn't even been a bad change, rather it has been very positive and maturing. It is just one of those things that is hard despite how much I desire it. I finally did get into it at the end of the term, when a performance required it of me, but then my other classes suffered. I think the biggest thing for me this term was that I was completely overloaded. I always thought I was one of those people who could overload and still be happy and get stuff done. Well I discovered an important truth about myself this term.... I'm not. I dreaded everything I had to get done, including getting up in the morning and eating. Every task that required something of me was just another thing pulling on me and making me tired. And so I just didn't get stuff done... which is definitely not like me. Of course, because it was such an awful, dramatic experience, I know I have grown from it. In fact I've had several 'growing up' experiences in the last couple days that have terrified and unnerved me. I came to the realization that I am now fully an adult. I will always have that 'inner child,' if you will, but as far as my core, and especially my appearance, there is nothing about me that is kid-like anymore. Its kind of sad, to come to that realization that your childhood is gone. But at the same time, I'm ready for it to be so. More than anything, it is just odd. Like all kids, I never appreciated my childhood while it lasted, which was not long, and now that it is gone, I'm not sure how to adjust. I was looking at some pictures from a few months ago and had to stop and scream... literally, scream, actually, because that is what we do in my house (just because I'm fully an adult doesn't mean I'm fully mature:) because the person who I thought was me isn't me anymore. I have changed so much since I moved out of my house and started fending for myself, that I feel as though I'm not even the same person. That person is part of who I am now, but there is so little of that girl in me anymore, that I just had to scream. I wonder if I met the person that I was a year ago if we would be friends...? Huh... The third realization, and by far the most terrifying and unnerving, enough to make me throw up my hands and scream I surrender to the big scary life monster, was that there is nothing within me that is at all interested in boys anymore. It was just a little over a year ago that I saw a guy from my childhood who had become a man and my first reaction was, “Ew, a man!” And now the only humans of the male variety I will ever be interested in my life, ever again... are men. What is it that makes someone stop being a child and start being a man or woman? I think that the change is for the most part subtle and steady, but the final product has a way of coming up behind you and throwing a lasso around your neck, pulling tight until your emotions turn purple and you are required to scream, as I was the other day, with the minimal amount of air left in your lungs, after seeing pictures from my childhood... Which was still in existence only 6 months ago. It has been happening a lot lately, too. I have casually seen pictures of people from my childhood and it is interesting (by interesting I mean terrifying and unnerving) to see who have become adults and who are still just kids. It is odd to me that so many of the people I am friends with now have been witnesses to the change, whether they have been aware or not. When I came here to dance, I was a kid. Now, under a year later, I am an adult. There's really no going back from that...
Baloop!
Often times I wonder what it would be like to be a really brilliant and celebrated writer. I will sit and wonder for a time if new ideas come to them like a bolt of lightning, waking them up in the middle of the night, or if it's more like an hour glass, filling their brains slowly until they realize they have a new idea. I sit and wonder, and then realize I will never have such ideas, so it doesn't really matter, and return to my bowl of breakfast cereal. At such a time as this, I realize that sometimes it is the old standbys that do us the most good. They are not, for example, going to suddenly turn hostile and steal my wallet. And so, for this entry I will submit myself to using a classic opening line.
Once upon a time, before the fatal events of my becoming an adult, my dad decided that it would be a brilliant idea for us, that is he, my older brother Nigel, and myself go for a little backpacking trip. Backpacking in this case does not refer to packing somebodies back for your trip to the coast, but instead putting all your necessities, namely food, drink, clothes and the like, into a bag which hangs upon your back and walking away from civilization in order to set up a tent and hang out in the wilderness for a piece. This struck Nigel and I as a fantastic plan and we got into the swing of things with great exuberance. Unfortunately, being perhaps half the size I am now, I could not possibly carry all the things I would have liked to have with me. Half my room, in other words, and my dad said no repeatedly to the things which were not absolutely necessary. After a month and a half of planning and packing (you don't know my dad) the set date came and we set off. We did not in fact simply sling the bags over our backs and set off for the wilderness. We had to get in the car and drive for a bit. It is not as easy as it used to be to get away from civilization. After driving for an hour or more, we got out and then began walking away from what was left of civilization. A lake and three miles later we arrived at our campsite. We then proceeded to set up our tent. It grew dark rapidly and we sat contentedly, if not a little loudly, around a campfire. And now comes the time to tell you what I have written this to tell you. Our dad left us at the campsite to go down to the lake and filter us some water. Nigel proceeded to entertain me in the best way he knew how, namely by farting. He cocked his arms, and stuck out his rumpus ready to take aim. At this point many things happened at once. First of all, he did fart, but it did not come out as a normal sounding gas expulsion. If you are unfamiliar with that sound, you can synthesize it by placing your open mouth on a soft part of you arm and blowing as hard as you can. This is known as a Zuber, the synthesizing of a fart noise, often used for entertainment purposes on babies stomachs. Look it up. But to get back to my story, Nigel's fart did not come out this way. It came out sounding exactly like, 'Baloop'. That of course would have been hilarious in itself, but at that exact moment a large group of people-'large' meaning 'many' rather than 'obese'- came around the bend of the trail and into full earshot of his baloop. I held my breath while they passed, and then promptly broke into hysterical laughter. "You balooped at those people!" I gasped between shouts of laughter. I then ran over to where I could see our dad and half whispered, half yelled, "He balooped at those people!" Strangely my dad could not make head or tail of my shouts of Nigel's baloopage, and all the while Nigel kept insisting that he hadn't balooped AT them. Of course he had balooped and they had walked around the bend, but they couldn't have heard him and he didn't in fact baloop AT them. And then we went to bed and slept very soundly. All in all, it was a very successful camping trip.
Once upon a time, before the fatal events of my becoming an adult, my dad decided that it would be a brilliant idea for us, that is he, my older brother Nigel, and myself go for a little backpacking trip. Backpacking in this case does not refer to packing somebodies back for your trip to the coast, but instead putting all your necessities, namely food, drink, clothes and the like, into a bag which hangs upon your back and walking away from civilization in order to set up a tent and hang out in the wilderness for a piece. This struck Nigel and I as a fantastic plan and we got into the swing of things with great exuberance. Unfortunately, being perhaps half the size I am now, I could not possibly carry all the things I would have liked to have with me. Half my room, in other words, and my dad said no repeatedly to the things which were not absolutely necessary. After a month and a half of planning and packing (you don't know my dad) the set date came and we set off. We did not in fact simply sling the bags over our backs and set off for the wilderness. We had to get in the car and drive for a bit. It is not as easy as it used to be to get away from civilization. After driving for an hour or more, we got out and then began walking away from what was left of civilization. A lake and three miles later we arrived at our campsite. We then proceeded to set up our tent. It grew dark rapidly and we sat contentedly, if not a little loudly, around a campfire. And now comes the time to tell you what I have written this to tell you. Our dad left us at the campsite to go down to the lake and filter us some water. Nigel proceeded to entertain me in the best way he knew how, namely by farting. He cocked his arms, and stuck out his rumpus ready to take aim. At this point many things happened at once. First of all, he did fart, but it did not come out as a normal sounding gas expulsion. If you are unfamiliar with that sound, you can synthesize it by placing your open mouth on a soft part of you arm and blowing as hard as you can. This is known as a Zuber, the synthesizing of a fart noise, often used for entertainment purposes on babies stomachs. Look it up. But to get back to my story, Nigel's fart did not come out this way. It came out sounding exactly like, 'Baloop'. That of course would have been hilarious in itself, but at that exact moment a large group of people-'large' meaning 'many' rather than 'obese'- came around the bend of the trail and into full earshot of his baloop. I held my breath while they passed, and then promptly broke into hysterical laughter. "You balooped at those people!" I gasped between shouts of laughter. I then ran over to where I could see our dad and half whispered, half yelled, "He balooped at those people!" Strangely my dad could not make head or tail of my shouts of Nigel's baloopage, and all the while Nigel kept insisting that he hadn't balooped AT them. Of course he had balooped and they had walked around the bend, but they couldn't have heard him and he didn't in fact baloop AT them. And then we went to bed and slept very soundly. All in all, it was a very successful camping trip.
Back in Black
So, here I am again, in the attempts of unloading my thoughts, which more than likely ought to be kept to myself, upon you, the reader, whoever you may be. I am assuming that if you are reading this, you are willing, that you are here of your own accord, but if you are not, than I will try and make this as painless as possible. My goal in starting a new blog is threefold; two of these goals have to do with you, namely I hope to make you either laugh or think. The third is purely selfish in that I need a place to unload my thoughts. I've tried journaling but find that I never want to see my journal entries again because they are too heavy and depressing. When I have an audience (or when I believe I have one, as you, the reader, may not even exist) I am able to unload the overwhelming amount of thoughts I have while not taking myself too seriously. And not taking the crazy events that seem to follow me around too seriously. It is a humbling experience, but oddly, one I rather enjoy. If you can find humor in my experiences, than my life is complete... almost...
I have not written for quite some time, so am sorely out of practice. I tried to write yesterday and the experience was so overwhelming, I got a stomach ache from it. Of course, that is not saying much... most things give me a stomach ache. However, it was an especially bad stomach ache brought on by stress and the reason for this was that my thoughts have been cooped up in my own brain for so long, namely almost 4 months, that I began to put them down and they all started scrambling for first spot on the outbound express. In other words, my thoughts were crowded and chaotic, to say the least, each vying for first spot on the already full and scratched out piece of white paper in front of me. Everything wanted to exude at once, and I would have gladly and willingly allowed them all out, but the writers callus on my right middle finger has grown soft and began to hurt after not much time. That and my wrist began to burn. So, you see, my beginning to write again is far overdue.
I hope and believe that I have learned a great deal since last writing. Obviously, I have learned that I sorely need writing in my life. I hope that the struggles I have had in moving out and starting to grow up are ones that will enrich my communication with you, the reader, and give you something, again, to laugh about.
My hope is that by having a blog I will be spurred to write again. This is probably an unfeasible hope, and yet I am charging forward with it. So here it is, once again, good, bad, or ugly, the world accordion to Jessie... I will do my best to fulfill whatever it is any of you have come to expect of me and not terrify you with the plethora of thoughts that spill out onto the page.
I have not written for quite some time, so am sorely out of practice. I tried to write yesterday and the experience was so overwhelming, I got a stomach ache from it. Of course, that is not saying much... most things give me a stomach ache. However, it was an especially bad stomach ache brought on by stress and the reason for this was that my thoughts have been cooped up in my own brain for so long, namely almost 4 months, that I began to put them down and they all started scrambling for first spot on the outbound express. In other words, my thoughts were crowded and chaotic, to say the least, each vying for first spot on the already full and scratched out piece of white paper in front of me. Everything wanted to exude at once, and I would have gladly and willingly allowed them all out, but the writers callus on my right middle finger has grown soft and began to hurt after not much time. That and my wrist began to burn. So, you see, my beginning to write again is far overdue.
I hope and believe that I have learned a great deal since last writing. Obviously, I have learned that I sorely need writing in my life. I hope that the struggles I have had in moving out and starting to grow up are ones that will enrich my communication with you, the reader, and give you something, again, to laugh about.
My hope is that by having a blog I will be spurred to write again. This is probably an unfeasible hope, and yet I am charging forward with it. So here it is, once again, good, bad, or ugly, the world accordion to Jessie... I will do my best to fulfill whatever it is any of you have come to expect of me and not terrify you with the plethora of thoughts that spill out onto the page.
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