This is the 13th Embarablast from the Past. In order to really freak out any of my readers who might have triskaidekaphobia, I'm going to tell a story of something that happened to me when I was 13 years old. Well, it didn't happen to me as much as it happened around me...but it's still pretty funny.
So when I was 13 years old, I went to Disney World for the first time (and the last time...BUM BUM BAAAAAAH...unless I, uh, like go again or something). This was a big deal. This was a huge deal. When I was 13 years old, I was in love with Disney (I still like Disney, but I think we should just be friends). I wanted to grow up and be Belle. Like, the real Belle--not a cartoon voice or a character dressed up like Belle. I actually wanted to be the actual Belle. And I wanted to find some magical castle with magical clocks and talking candlesticks who sang showtunes at every meal. I wanted to look THAT spectacular in a yellow/gold ball gown. I mean, I knew that the whole package deal came with an extremely hairy boyfriend, but that was all right. In fact, I kind of still prefer the Beast's looks to the prince's looks. What is WITH that Prince's eyebrows? I mean...did the magical transformation just forget to change his eyebrows back? Makes me wanna attack that guy's face with an Epilady. But I digress...
Yes, I know. I knew it at the time too, but I didn't care. I knew that most 13 year old girls were into boys or clothes or celebrities--which aren't exactly real, but they were more real than Disney Princesses.
Anyway, I was super uber stoked to finally get to go to Disney world. I think I hyperventilated as I walked through the park gates. The people who were with me, two girls from Pennsylvania (it's a long story, and not funny, so I won't tell how I ended up with two girls from PA), probably thought I was nuts, but I didn't care. This was the moment I'd been waiting for all my life...I was at FREAKIN' DISNEY WORLD, BABY!
I dragged the two girls from PA with me to ride on cheesy stuff like "It's a Small World" and "Haunted Mansion." We rode cool stuff, too. I honestly don't remember much about that part because, well, it was way back in 1993. I do remember that I had a pink fanny pack. It was the shizzle.
I also remember what happened when we all got tired of riding rides. We went to eat lunch. That's when I found out, for the first time in my life, that I had a KY accent (you would think that I'd have figured that one out before then since I had lived in KY for 13 years at that point)! These two girls from PA kind of cornered me over my cheeseburger and said, "Do we sound weird to you?" I said, "Noooo?" Then I thought about it for a moment. "Why? Do I sound weird to you?" They both nodded emphatically.
So I got self-conscious for the next several moments and didn't talk much. We went window shopping. I'm not sure if it's still this way now, or not, but in 1993 you could go to these little stores in Cinderella's castle. And a few feet away from these stores was a stage that opened out in front of the castle. And of course it was roped off and stuff, but my yankee friends and I were within hearing range of the performers who were about to go out on stage.
The performers were none other than Cinderella and Prince Charming.
They looked spectacular. Prince Charming looked...well...charming in his princely uniform. Cinderella looked beautiful and shining in her signature blue dress. They were obviously about to go out to perform some kind of song and dance number on that stage. But Cinderella's head wasn't in the game that day.
My friends and I overheard the conversation that Cinderella and Prince Charming were having.
Cinderella: ...so then my cat just hacked this enormous hairball all over the carpet. I am going to take him to the vet tomorrow, but I don't know....
Prince Charming: Um...I think we're on.
Cinderella: Oh! Let's go.
She smiled, daintily took his arm, and let him lead her out onto the stage.
My friends and I all exchanged strange glances. "Did YA'LL just hear THAT?" I asked, no longer caring about the accent.
They nodded. I didn't imagine it. Some things are just too weird to make up.
But I tried to make sense of it all in my head. Cat? Cinderella? Cat...? OH! Lucifer! That's who she meant. Lucifer had obviously hacked a hairball on the carpet to impede her efforts to go to the ball! "Lucifee meeeeean!" OH NO! What if the hairball he had was because he had eaten Jaq and Gus! NOOOO!
But wait. Vet? Did they have vets back in Cinderella's time? Probably not. Could it be...could it be...?
Yes.
Cinderella. Isn't. Real.
"Cinderella" was just some aspiring actress who liked to rant about her cat puking on the carpet. And "Prince Charming" was just some guy who needed a job and who was probably sick to death of hearing about "Cinderella's" cat puking on the carpet.
All I can say is, I'm glad it wasn't Belle who was talking about her cat puking. It would have crushed me. But...pssh! Belle doesn't have a cat. She has a horse named Phillipe. And one day I'm going to have a horse named Phillipe. And he's going to take my father and his new invention to the fair. And they're going to get lost and trespass into an enchanted castle, where a Beast will take my father prisoner. Then I'm going to be brave and take his place. After several months of bursting into song at seemingly random times, the Beast and I will fall in love. Once Gaston is out of the picture, the Beast will become a prince and we will live happily ever after--after I give him a haircut and pluck his eyebrows.
...but Cinderella. She's not real.
Monday, May 30, 2011
Thursday, May 26, 2011
SAA: Episode #33: Short Story
It's reached some kind of record-breaking hot temperatures here in the grand state of NC this week. I've worn capris. I've even worn shorts--and that's unusual. I usually don't break the shorts out until July.
The reason why I wait until it's unbearably hot to wear shorts is because I don't like the reactions I get from people when I wear shorts. I mean, most people are grown up enough to keep their thoughts to themselves, but there's always AT LEAST one rude person who makes some kind of rude comment EVERY summer...usually when there are several other people around to overhear it. The comment ALWAYS goes something like this:
"GOOD LORD, CHILD! YOU HAVE THE MOST FREAKISHLY HORRIFIC PALE-WHITE LEGS I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!!!!!"
Yes. Thank you, rude person. Thank you so much for pointing out my ghastly/ghostly white legs. I obviously wasn't aware of my insane paleness before you told me about it in front of several innocent bystanders. I mean, after thirty-one years of living inside my fair skin, staring at my pasty reflection day after day, I honestly didn't know I was pale. So thanks. Thanks for that.
But, no. Rude person is usually not done. Rude person often feels the need to give me advice.
"YOU NEED TO GET A TAN! GO GET SOME SUN IMMEDIATELY!"
Yes. Thank you, again, rude person. Getting a tan! Getting some sun! Why didn't I think of that? Oh! That's right! Because in the thirty-one years of living inside my fair skin, I've learned that it's physically impossible for me to get a tan. All I can hope for is painful sunburn, probable skin cancer, and the eventual sweet release of death.
Yay. Sunshine.
Think I'm being overly sarcastic? You try having third degree sunburn all over the majority of your back when you're seven years old. That's the sickest I've ever been and hopefully will ever be. I was in feverish pain for weeks. I was delirious and kept talking to people who weren't there. My shirts kept growing into my open sores and had to be painfully separated. ...and every time I get even the slightest touch of sunburn (which can happen to me with only a few minutes of sun exposure), I relive it all. So yes, as a matter of fact, I am good buddies with my SPF 85. The sun and I have a very cautious relationship. And I don't like it when people question that relationship.
I guess it's not SO bad. I have learned to accept peoples' reactions to my paleness over the years, but it's taken a while. In middle school, I got picked on a lot. Racism is horrible and stupid, and I'm not comparing my trivial plight to any real racial prejudice that anyone has had to endure. But let me tell you--it's just plain WEIRD to get ridiculed for the color of my skin by other white people. The other kids called me names...like "Casper Legs"...and wouldn't let me join in any of the tan-people games. One girl even repeatedly told me that she hated me because I was "too dumb to know how to get a tan."
Then in my early twenties, I worked in the One-Year-Old room at a summer preschool program. One day I wore shorts, and the entire preschool staff (not exaggerating) took turns coming down to the One-Year-Old room just to see my pale legs. I felt like the freak show. Okay. Apparently, I was the freak show. Maybe I should start charging money. "Step right up! Five dollars! Just five dollars and you can get a glimpse of the whitest legs on God's green earth!"
Okay, so I know there are other solutions. There are self-tanners and stuff. But apparently my melanin deficiency doesn't allow for a "natural" tan color from an "unnatural tanning" product. Self-tanners (and I've tried more than a few kinds) all give me the gorgeous complexion of an Oompa Loompa. Seriously, if I have a choice of being freakishly white or vividly orange, I'll just be pale, thank you very much.
And I could just wear long pants all the time, but when temperatures get up in the mid-90's, that's hard. Just because I'm pale doesn't mean I should have to sweat all summer, right? Right.
So if you see me wearing shorts this summer, don't look at my legs. AVERT YOUR EYES! The garish whiteness might cause you permanent blindness.
That's right. Super-human paleness. Just one of the super powers that Socially Awkward Girl provides!
The reason why I wait until it's unbearably hot to wear shorts is because I don't like the reactions I get from people when I wear shorts. I mean, most people are grown up enough to keep their thoughts to themselves, but there's always AT LEAST one rude person who makes some kind of rude comment EVERY summer...usually when there are several other people around to overhear it. The comment ALWAYS goes something like this:
"GOOD LORD, CHILD! YOU HAVE THE MOST FREAKISHLY HORRIFIC PALE-WHITE LEGS I'VE EVER SEEN IN MY LIFE!!!!!"
Yes. Thank you, rude person. Thank you so much for pointing out my ghastly/ghostly white legs. I obviously wasn't aware of my insane paleness before you told me about it in front of several innocent bystanders. I mean, after thirty-one years of living inside my fair skin, staring at my pasty reflection day after day, I honestly didn't know I was pale. So thanks. Thanks for that.
But, no. Rude person is usually not done. Rude person often feels the need to give me advice.
"YOU NEED TO GET A TAN! GO GET SOME SUN IMMEDIATELY!"
Yes. Thank you, again, rude person. Getting a tan! Getting some sun! Why didn't I think of that? Oh! That's right! Because in the thirty-one years of living inside my fair skin, I've learned that it's physically impossible for me to get a tan. All I can hope for is painful sunburn, probable skin cancer, and the eventual sweet release of death.
Yay. Sunshine.
Think I'm being overly sarcastic? You try having third degree sunburn all over the majority of your back when you're seven years old. That's the sickest I've ever been and hopefully will ever be. I was in feverish pain for weeks. I was delirious and kept talking to people who weren't there. My shirts kept growing into my open sores and had to be painfully separated. ...and every time I get even the slightest touch of sunburn (which can happen to me with only a few minutes of sun exposure), I relive it all. So yes, as a matter of fact, I am good buddies with my SPF 85. The sun and I have a very cautious relationship. And I don't like it when people question that relationship.
I guess it's not SO bad. I have learned to accept peoples' reactions to my paleness over the years, but it's taken a while. In middle school, I got picked on a lot. Racism is horrible and stupid, and I'm not comparing my trivial plight to any real racial prejudice that anyone has had to endure. But let me tell you--it's just plain WEIRD to get ridiculed for the color of my skin by other white people. The other kids called me names...like "Casper Legs"...and wouldn't let me join in any of the tan-people games. One girl even repeatedly told me that she hated me because I was "too dumb to know how to get a tan."
Then in my early twenties, I worked in the One-Year-Old room at a summer preschool program. One day I wore shorts, and the entire preschool staff (not exaggerating) took turns coming down to the One-Year-Old room just to see my pale legs. I felt like the freak show. Okay. Apparently, I was the freak show. Maybe I should start charging money. "Step right up! Five dollars! Just five dollars and you can get a glimpse of the whitest legs on God's green earth!"
Okay, so I know there are other solutions. There are self-tanners and stuff. But apparently my melanin deficiency doesn't allow for a "natural" tan color from an "unnatural tanning" product. Self-tanners (and I've tried more than a few kinds) all give me the gorgeous complexion of an Oompa Loompa. Seriously, if I have a choice of being freakishly white or vividly orange, I'll just be pale, thank you very much.
And I could just wear long pants all the time, but when temperatures get up in the mid-90's, that's hard. Just because I'm pale doesn't mean I should have to sweat all summer, right? Right.
So if you see me wearing shorts this summer, don't look at my legs. AVERT YOUR EYES! The garish whiteness might cause you permanent blindness.
That's right. Super-human paleness. Just one of the super powers that Socially Awkward Girl provides!
Friday, May 20, 2011
SAA Ep. #32 Shopping for Awkwardness
There are two places that I normally shop for all my groceries. Wal-mart and Target. Both of them Super. Now, it's true that I will occasionally visit a Lowe's for a half gallon of milk or something, but I generally stick to the Super Target and Super Wal-mart--because they're Super!
Wait. Let me pause to explain something for anyone who doesn't live where I live, because the last sentence of my first paragraph might not make too much sense. When I first moved here, someone told me they were going to Lowe's to get some milk. I was like, "Since when do home improvement stores sell milk? Are you drinking white paint without your knowledge?" See, everywhere else I've lived, Lowe's has been a home improvement store. I think my dad used to have an affair with that store...but that's neither here nor there.
The thing is, where I live now, there are places known as "Lowe's Foods." There are lots of them. In fact, there are at least two Lowe's Foods on the way home from two of my jobs. I literally cannot drive home from work without passing at least two of these grocery stores...and I live within 20 minutes of where I work. So sometimes it's just more convenient for me to run into a Lowe's to get a half gallon of paint...or milk...or whatever. We also have a Lowe's home improvement store, which has added to all of the confusion--especially when I try to give people directions.
I'm not very good at giving people directions.
Well, there are several other places where I can buy groceries in this area. There are Food Lions and Aldis and Krogers, oh my! There's also this really uber expensive grocery store that caters to those I like to refer to as "Grocery Snobs." This grocery store is called Harris Teeter. I've probably only set foot inside a Harris Teeter like...twice, even though there are THREE Harris Teeters within a five minute drive from where I live.
One of my excursions to Harris Teeter was this week. They've got this triple coupon thing going on all week. I was thinking...hmm. I have coupons. Hmm. I could have them tripled. Hmm. I could save money like those "Coupon Snobs."
Turns out, I didn't do my research. They're only offering that coupon tripling thing on coupons with a face value of 99 cents. The vast majority of my coupons were for $1.00. That 1 freakin' cent is what got me. The few coupons I did have for under $1.00 were already expired...because I fail at shopping.
Add to this disaster was the fact that Harris Teeter is just like the Taj Mahal of grocery stores. I don't belong in the Taj Mahal of grocery stores. I belong at Wal-mart. I seriously wandered aimlessly around the aisles like a lost puppy. See, I can navigate Wal-mart like a pro. I'm almost as good at finding my way around Target (I just get confused because they don't have an official craft section, so what's a girl to do when she NEEDS glitter glue?!). But at Harris Teeter, I kept having to look at those little "aisle guides" like an amateur. I never could find the peanut butter...not that I needed it, but that store was totally freaking me out, and peanut butter felt safe.
And the "Grocery Snobs" and "Coupon Snobs"?? They knew it. They could smell my newbie-ness. They knew I didn't belong there. They were all getting their 99 cents or less coupons tripled, or else they were so rich they didn't have to care about saving money. I'll bet they even knew where the peanut butter was...if a store that hoity-toity even has peanut butter...which I'm starting to doubt.
Okay, so apparently they do. But it's that ostentatious peanut butter...the organic kind...with organic Valencia peanuts.
I found out they do have pickles, and they weren't THAT expensive. And I thought, eh, what the heck? I could go for some pickles. Then one way or another, I mysteriously found myself in the ice cream aisle (funny how that ALWAYS seems to happen).
I figured that ice cream at Harris Teeter would cost me a literal arm and leg, which might mean it was the only ice cream in the world that would actually help me LOSE weight. But to my surprise, the Harris Teeter "brand" non-ostentatious ice cream was only about $2.50. $2.50 for ice cream is a good deal. And it was even "light" ice cream, so I bought some.
Then came time to pay for my stuff. This was confusing to me. I didn't have a cart; I was carrying a basket. And I didn't see anywhere to put said basket. Even the checkout lanes mocked me. So I just awkwardly stood in line holding my basket, letting the "Grocery Snobs" in line ahead of me think their nasty nasty thoughts about me.
Fortunately, I was saved by a dashing cashier who informed me that his line was empty. I must not have noticed because the social awkwardness was making me hyperventilate. The cashier took my basket from me so I didn't have to worry about it. I appreciated that.
He also noted that I didn't have a VIC card (one of those cards that grocery stores give out to make you think you're saving money, when all along the stuff you're buying is cheaper at Wal-mart WITHOUT any kind of special card) and offered to just give me the VIC card discount on the stuff anyway. Then he noticed what I was buying.
Pickles.
And.
Ice Cream.
Dude totally thought I was pregnant.
Some people have mad coupon skills. I am not one of them. From now on, I'm sticking with what I know. Wal-mart and Target.
Super.
Wait. Let me pause to explain something for anyone who doesn't live where I live, because the last sentence of my first paragraph might not make too much sense. When I first moved here, someone told me they were going to Lowe's to get some milk. I was like, "Since when do home improvement stores sell milk? Are you drinking white paint without your knowledge?" See, everywhere else I've lived, Lowe's has been a home improvement store. I think my dad used to have an affair with that store...but that's neither here nor there.
The thing is, where I live now, there are places known as "Lowe's Foods." There are lots of them. In fact, there are at least two Lowe's Foods on the way home from two of my jobs. I literally cannot drive home from work without passing at least two of these grocery stores...and I live within 20 minutes of where I work. So sometimes it's just more convenient for me to run into a Lowe's to get a half gallon of paint...or milk...or whatever. We also have a Lowe's home improvement store, which has added to all of the confusion--especially when I try to give people directions.
I'm not very good at giving people directions.
Well, there are several other places where I can buy groceries in this area. There are Food Lions and Aldis and Krogers, oh my! There's also this really uber expensive grocery store that caters to those I like to refer to as "Grocery Snobs." This grocery store is called Harris Teeter. I've probably only set foot inside a Harris Teeter like...twice, even though there are THREE Harris Teeters within a five minute drive from where I live.
One of my excursions to Harris Teeter was this week. They've got this triple coupon thing going on all week. I was thinking...hmm. I have coupons. Hmm. I could have them tripled. Hmm. I could save money like those "Coupon Snobs."
Turns out, I didn't do my research. They're only offering that coupon tripling thing on coupons with a face value of 99 cents. The vast majority of my coupons were for $1.00. That 1 freakin' cent is what got me. The few coupons I did have for under $1.00 were already expired...because I fail at shopping.
Add to this disaster was the fact that Harris Teeter is just like the Taj Mahal of grocery stores. I don't belong in the Taj Mahal of grocery stores. I belong at Wal-mart. I seriously wandered aimlessly around the aisles like a lost puppy. See, I can navigate Wal-mart like a pro. I'm almost as good at finding my way around Target (I just get confused because they don't have an official craft section, so what's a girl to do when she NEEDS glitter glue?!). But at Harris Teeter, I kept having to look at those little "aisle guides" like an amateur. I never could find the peanut butter...not that I needed it, but that store was totally freaking me out, and peanut butter felt safe.
And the "Grocery Snobs" and "Coupon Snobs"?? They knew it. They could smell my newbie-ness. They knew I didn't belong there. They were all getting their 99 cents or less coupons tripled, or else they were so rich they didn't have to care about saving money. I'll bet they even knew where the peanut butter was...if a store that hoity-toity even has peanut butter...which I'm starting to doubt.
Okay, so apparently they do. But it's that ostentatious peanut butter...the organic kind...with organic Valencia peanuts.
 |
| CURSE YOU HARRIS TEETER! YOU MOCK ME WITH YOUR OSTENTATIOUS PEANUT BUTTER! |
I found out they do have pickles, and they weren't THAT expensive. And I thought, eh, what the heck? I could go for some pickles. Then one way or another, I mysteriously found myself in the ice cream aisle (funny how that ALWAYS seems to happen).
I figured that ice cream at Harris Teeter would cost me a literal arm and leg, which might mean it was the only ice cream in the world that would actually help me LOSE weight. But to my surprise, the Harris Teeter "brand" non-ostentatious ice cream was only about $2.50. $2.50 for ice cream is a good deal. And it was even "light" ice cream, so I bought some.
Then came time to pay for my stuff. This was confusing to me. I didn't have a cart; I was carrying a basket. And I didn't see anywhere to put said basket. Even the checkout lanes mocked me. So I just awkwardly stood in line holding my basket, letting the "Grocery Snobs" in line ahead of me think their nasty nasty thoughts about me.
Fortunately, I was saved by a dashing cashier who informed me that his line was empty. I must not have noticed because the social awkwardness was making me hyperventilate. The cashier took my basket from me so I didn't have to worry about it. I appreciated that.
He also noted that I didn't have a VIC card (one of those cards that grocery stores give out to make you think you're saving money, when all along the stuff you're buying is cheaper at Wal-mart WITHOUT any kind of special card) and offered to just give me the VIC card discount on the stuff anyway. Then he noticed what I was buying.
Pickles.
And.
Ice Cream.
Dude totally thought I was pregnant.
Some people have mad coupon skills. I am not one of them. From now on, I'm sticking with what I know. Wal-mart and Target.
Super.
Monday, May 16, 2011
Just Sayin' Ep. #5: No Hairs Were Harmed in the Making of this Blog
When the sun roof is open on your car and it suddenly starts raining, make sure your hair has not "floated" into the sun roof's opening before trying to close it.
It kind of hurts.
And you get wet.
And it hurts.
Just sayin'.
It kind of hurts.
And you get wet.
And it hurts.
Just sayin'.
Wednesday, May 11, 2011
No Time for an Update Episode #2
I have no time for an update, so I thought I'd post something I wrote in March of 2003. I was going to post a link to the article, but it doesn't seem to exist anymore on the interwebz (404'D! File NOT found!). This was originally published in "The Skyliner," a newspaper put out by my Alma Mater, North Greenville University (though it was still North Greenville College when I graduated--I was actually in the very last graduating class of NGC before the name change). NGC/U's little motto/slogan is "Where Christ Makes the Difference," which I would say was pretty much true for most of the time I was at the school...
But then all the money-donators at my college tried to ban flip flops because they thought flip flops weren't hygenic or professional or something stupid like that. This resulted in mass hysteria, including a satirical letter to the editor by a certain socially awkward flip flop wearer.
Foot Nudity Ravages North Greenville Campus
"I transferred last semester to North Greenville. What attracted me to this institution was the belief that North Greenville was set apart from other schools by high Christ-centered values. The moment I set foot on campus (no pun intended), I found this belief to be sadly untrue.
I was shocked and appalled when I realized that the students of North Greenville College were allowed to wear such revealing footwear as sandals. Not only were all students allowed to show daringly excessive toe cleavage by wearing these sandals, but also no one seemed to mind in the slightest that the entire student body was being allowed and even encouraged to practically flaunt their entire foot by wearing such a shoe as a flip-flop, also known as a THONG shoe. The thought that the school is only now making such a rule as against demonic footwear is quite frankly alarming. The dangers of flip-flops are obvious. How many of my Christian brothers and sisters have confided in me that they suffer from this dreaded addiction, foot pornography? The allowance of flip-flops on NGC's campus has only served to heighten this problem that has caused so many Christians to stumble. If you ask me, it's about time flip-flops were banned.
The problem of foot nudity is not the only reason flip-flops should be forbidden. Flip-flops are a constant distraction in my classes. The revealing nature of the flip-flops diverts my attention from the professor. When I go to my room and try to study, I find it difficult to concentrate because images of nude feet constantly float through my mind. I have even been having trouble sleeping at night because of flip-flops. When I close my eyes, all I see is FEET! Thank you, once again, NGC, for banning flip-flops.
I know that many students at NGC have expressed great anger at the banning of flip-flops, and quite frankly, I find their reaction troubling. After all, sandals are, and have always been, the DEVIL'S shoes. As Christians, we are to always follow Jesus' examples and he would never wear such a sultry shoe as a sandal. Of course, one must wonder what John the Baptist meant in Luke 3:16 when he said"that one was coming whose sandals he was not worthy to untie."
I think those students who have a problem with the new flip-flop rule need to seriously reevaluate their beliefs. It makes sense that NGC should begin implementing this new rule right now. Flip-flops are attracting the "wrong kind" of people to NGC, and repelling those students who actually yearn for a Godly atmosphere and a Christ-centered education, free of feet.
Those who wear flip-flops, yet profess a faith in God, are doing much more harm than good. I, personally, don't want to associate with anyone who wears flip-flops. This new anti-flip-flop movement excites me greatly. Those heathens who wear flip-flops will be eventually forced to leave, which will make more room for Godly students who understand that it's our footwear Jesus cares the most about. It is certain that the condition of our shoes is what is most important to God, even more important than the condition of our hearts. North Greenville is finally beginning to realize this, and I am very glad that the school is taking action against flip-flops, so that the flip-flop wearers will go back to the heathen lands from whence they came.
I would again like to express my full support of the anti-flip-flop movement. I, for one, have seen too much partial foot nudity. It is wonderful to know that I can be a part of this wonderful, flip-flop hating school. Long live North Greenville College: Where FOOTWEAR Makes the Difference!"
A few weeks later, we were allowed to wear flip flops again. I like to think that I had a little something to do with that.
But then all the money-donators at my college tried to ban flip flops because they thought flip flops weren't hygenic or professional or something stupid like that. This resulted in mass hysteria, including a satirical letter to the editor by a certain socially awkward flip flop wearer.
Foot Nudity Ravages North Greenville Campus
"I transferred last semester to North Greenville. What attracted me to this institution was the belief that North Greenville was set apart from other schools by high Christ-centered values. The moment I set foot on campus (no pun intended), I found this belief to be sadly untrue.
I was shocked and appalled when I realized that the students of North Greenville College were allowed to wear such revealing footwear as sandals. Not only were all students allowed to show daringly excessive toe cleavage by wearing these sandals, but also no one seemed to mind in the slightest that the entire student body was being allowed and even encouraged to practically flaunt their entire foot by wearing such a shoe as a flip-flop, also known as a THONG shoe. The thought that the school is only now making such a rule as against demonic footwear is quite frankly alarming. The dangers of flip-flops are obvious. How many of my Christian brothers and sisters have confided in me that they suffer from this dreaded addiction, foot pornography? The allowance of flip-flops on NGC's campus has only served to heighten this problem that has caused so many Christians to stumble. If you ask me, it's about time flip-flops were banned.
The problem of foot nudity is not the only reason flip-flops should be forbidden. Flip-flops are a constant distraction in my classes. The revealing nature of the flip-flops diverts my attention from the professor. When I go to my room and try to study, I find it difficult to concentrate because images of nude feet constantly float through my mind. I have even been having trouble sleeping at night because of flip-flops. When I close my eyes, all I see is FEET! Thank you, once again, NGC, for banning flip-flops.
I know that many students at NGC have expressed great anger at the banning of flip-flops, and quite frankly, I find their reaction troubling. After all, sandals are, and have always been, the DEVIL'S shoes. As Christians, we are to always follow Jesus' examples and he would never wear such a sultry shoe as a sandal. Of course, one must wonder what John the Baptist meant in Luke 3:16 when he said"that one was coming whose sandals he was not worthy to untie."
I think those students who have a problem with the new flip-flop rule need to seriously reevaluate their beliefs. It makes sense that NGC should begin implementing this new rule right now. Flip-flops are attracting the "wrong kind" of people to NGC, and repelling those students who actually yearn for a Godly atmosphere and a Christ-centered education, free of feet.
Those who wear flip-flops, yet profess a faith in God, are doing much more harm than good. I, personally, don't want to associate with anyone who wears flip-flops. This new anti-flip-flop movement excites me greatly. Those heathens who wear flip-flops will be eventually forced to leave, which will make more room for Godly students who understand that it's our footwear Jesus cares the most about. It is certain that the condition of our shoes is what is most important to God, even more important than the condition of our hearts. North Greenville is finally beginning to realize this, and I am very glad that the school is taking action against flip-flops, so that the flip-flop wearers will go back to the heathen lands from whence they came.
I would again like to express my full support of the anti-flip-flop movement. I, for one, have seen too much partial foot nudity. It is wonderful to know that I can be a part of this wonderful, flip-flop hating school. Long live North Greenville College: Where FOOTWEAR Makes the Difference!"
A few weeks later, we were allowed to wear flip flops again. I like to think that I had a little something to do with that.
Sunday, May 8, 2011
SAA Ep. #31: The Awkward Auto-Reply and the Resulting Reactions
This post doesn't have to relate to Mother's Day, but since today IS Mother's Day, that's the direction it is going to go.
In all seriousness, this day is hard for some people. Some moms have lost children. Other moms have miscarried before even getting to hold their children. Some people have recently lost their mothers--or even if that loss isn't so recent, this day can still be painful. Some people have strained relationships with their mothers. Some women can't have children, either because they're single or because they just haven't been able to get pregnant. There are a lot of reasons why Mother's Day can be painful. I understand that.
I'm just not one of those single people who gets sad on Mother's Day. I happen to have an amazing mother who raised me well and is now one of my best friends. So I love having another excuse to just celebrate her. I also enjoy celebrating all the other remarkable moms I know. Mother's Day is a great idea. I know some people can't appreciate it the way I do because of different emotions is brings up, and I understand that perfectly, but I happen to like Mother's Day a lot. There are SO many amazing moms out there who deserve to be celebrated. That's how I see it.
But I've just so happened to see a lot of moms in the past few days...you know, because I work with kids. So I thought it would be nice to at least give these moms a sincere, "Happy Mother's Day" greeting. So over the course of the past four days, I've probably wished about 50 different women, "Happy Mother's Day," and I've noticed something funny that happens.
You see, it seems to be human nature to respond to a "Happy Wish Greeting" such as "Merry Christmas" with the words, "Thanks, you too!" (Unless the words "Merry Christmas" offend you, and then you might respond "Bah, Humbug!") So about 9 out of 10 times I've wished someone a "Happy Mother's Day," I've gotten the traditional, "Thanks, you too!"
Then comes the funny part.
About 0.3 seconds after the other person responds, "Thanks, you too," she realizes that I'm not a mom. Then comes the reaction. One of two things typically happens. 1) The mom just awkwardly smiles and walks away as fast as she can, or 2) The mom starts with the apologetic explanation that goes something like, "Oh, I realize you're not a mom, but...thank you so much for taking care of my kids. I hope you have a...truly great day...uh...bye."
I think both of these reactions are funny.
Rest assured, I'm not offended if someone wishes me "Happy Mother's Day." I'm not a mom, and I don't believe that there is any such thing as a "part time mom." But if there WERE such a thing as a "part time mom," I would be one. With that being said, I don't deserve to be wished "Happy Mother's Day," but I definitely don't mind if someone wishes me that anyway. For one thing, I do take care of a lot of kids and feel pretty motherly most of the time. In fact, some days, I feel like the old woman who lived in a shoe who had so many children she didn't know what to do (but then I go home from work and can sleep without someone waking me up in the middle of the night to get them a drink of water...so I'm NOT a mom). I would like to have kids of my own someday...I don't hide that fact. But if I never get to be a real mom, I'm okay with that, and celebrating Mother's Day doesn't make me feel bitter or sad at all. As my life is right now, I get to experience all those happy kid smiles and laughs without being the mom who has to sit up all night and worry when her kid has a fever. I can't complain. God's blessed me with a lot of kids, as per my request. I just didn't realize HOW He was going to grant that request...God has a sense of humor.
And another thing, I've already said that I see this day as a day to celebrate moms. I have an amazing mom. I know a lot of amazing moms. If someone wishes me a "Happy Mother's Day," I see that as an encouragement to celebrate the amazing moms I know.
But that awkward auto-reply and the resulting reactions...too funny. People are hilarious.
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!
In all seriousness, this day is hard for some people. Some moms have lost children. Other moms have miscarried before even getting to hold their children. Some people have recently lost their mothers--or even if that loss isn't so recent, this day can still be painful. Some people have strained relationships with their mothers. Some women can't have children, either because they're single or because they just haven't been able to get pregnant. There are a lot of reasons why Mother's Day can be painful. I understand that.
I'm just not one of those single people who gets sad on Mother's Day. I happen to have an amazing mother who raised me well and is now one of my best friends. So I love having another excuse to just celebrate her. I also enjoy celebrating all the other remarkable moms I know. Mother's Day is a great idea. I know some people can't appreciate it the way I do because of different emotions is brings up, and I understand that perfectly, but I happen to like Mother's Day a lot. There are SO many amazing moms out there who deserve to be celebrated. That's how I see it.
But I've just so happened to see a lot of moms in the past few days...you know, because I work with kids. So I thought it would be nice to at least give these moms a sincere, "Happy Mother's Day" greeting. So over the course of the past four days, I've probably wished about 50 different women, "Happy Mother's Day," and I've noticed something funny that happens.
You see, it seems to be human nature to respond to a "Happy Wish Greeting" such as "Merry Christmas" with the words, "Thanks, you too!" (Unless the words "Merry Christmas" offend you, and then you might respond "Bah, Humbug!") So about 9 out of 10 times I've wished someone a "Happy Mother's Day," I've gotten the traditional, "Thanks, you too!"
Then comes the funny part.
About 0.3 seconds after the other person responds, "Thanks, you too," she realizes that I'm not a mom. Then comes the reaction. One of two things typically happens. 1) The mom just awkwardly smiles and walks away as fast as she can, or 2) The mom starts with the apologetic explanation that goes something like, "Oh, I realize you're not a mom, but...thank you so much for taking care of my kids. I hope you have a...truly great day...uh...bye."
I think both of these reactions are funny.
Rest assured, I'm not offended if someone wishes me "Happy Mother's Day." I'm not a mom, and I don't believe that there is any such thing as a "part time mom." But if there WERE such a thing as a "part time mom," I would be one. With that being said, I don't deserve to be wished "Happy Mother's Day," but I definitely don't mind if someone wishes me that anyway. For one thing, I do take care of a lot of kids and feel pretty motherly most of the time. In fact, some days, I feel like the old woman who lived in a shoe who had so many children she didn't know what to do (but then I go home from work and can sleep without someone waking me up in the middle of the night to get them a drink of water...so I'm NOT a mom). I would like to have kids of my own someday...I don't hide that fact. But if I never get to be a real mom, I'm okay with that, and celebrating Mother's Day doesn't make me feel bitter or sad at all. As my life is right now, I get to experience all those happy kid smiles and laughs without being the mom who has to sit up all night and worry when her kid has a fever. I can't complain. God's blessed me with a lot of kids, as per my request. I just didn't realize HOW He was going to grant that request...God has a sense of humor.
And another thing, I've already said that I see this day as a day to celebrate moms. I have an amazing mom. I know a lot of amazing moms. If someone wishes me a "Happy Mother's Day," I see that as an encouragement to celebrate the amazing moms I know.
But that awkward auto-reply and the resulting reactions...too funny. People are hilarious.
HAPPY MOTHER'S DAY!
Saturday, May 7, 2011
Embarrablast From the Past Ep. #12: Bad CARma
I never learned to roller skate. Ever.
(Ice skating? Pssh. No.)
I didn't learn to ride a bike until I was fifteen years old and pretty much said, "Man, it's pathetic that you never learned to ride a bike. Go learn now." And I did. I haven't ridden one SINCE I was fifteen years old, and I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't be able to anymore. That's right. I don't buy into that "oh, it's like riding a bike...once you learn you never forget" nonsense.
I tried a skateboard once. Two seconds of that ridiculousness, and I was done.
So when it came time for me to learn to drive, I was pretty sure it was going to be an adventure. And it was. I learned that if I let my dad teach me to drive, I would NEVER learn. He and I are too much alike in too many not-so-good ways, so my driving lessons became shouting matches, and I decided mom would teach me to drive. So we spent a lot of time with me driving in parking lots, around subdivisions, on the main road driving 25 mph in a 55 zone.
And then I figured I was ready for my license. I passed that written test to get my permit so easily, but I didn't do so well on the actual driving test. I failed it. I failed it once. I failed it twice. Third time was finally the charm, and I did amazingly well that third time. The other two failures were not entirely my fault (they were mostly my fault--but one of the people I tested with was really soft-spoken and I couldn't understand what she wanted me to do. The other was a drill Sergeant who screamed at me the entire time and made me nervous), but I think it was good they failed me. I wasn't ready to drive.
When I did get my license, I had a good few years of backing into parked cars and driving into ditches and running into concrete walls. It got so bad that I prayed I wouldn't hit anything EVERY time I started the engine. My poor parents. Those accidents were just bad driving on my part. But then there were all these weird incidents of me getting rear ended while "safely" stopped at red lights, of tires just going flat for no apparent reason. And I began to realize that while I definitely wasn't the greatest driver in the world, part of my problem was just that I had bad CARma.
Now, I don't know too much about cars, but I can accurately diagnose a few basic problems. The reason I can diagnose these problems is because I have had a LOT of car trouble in the fourteen years (or so) that I've been driving. I've had alternators go out and brakes just completely disintegrate. I've had bad starters and computer malfunctions and leaky radiators that make my car look like it's on fire. I've even had my cruise control go bonkers and try to kill me...that was fun.
I've probably ridden on a tow truck about a dozen times. AAA is a necessity for someone like me.
Well, I had to take my car into the shop this week--for an annual inspection which is required by law in NC. I knew it wouldn't pass inspection because that silly check engine light was on. It needed some work done that wasn't too outrageously expensive. But I also needed new tires, an alignment, etc. So I ended up paying about $500 on auto stuff in two days time. Ouch.
And because I knew my car needed work, I had a friend/coworker drive me to work yesterday. We got done working and got in her car. It wouldn't start.
Apparently, bad CARma is contagious.
It is also apparent that I need to marry a mechanic. Taking applications...
(Ice skating? Pssh. No.)
I didn't learn to ride a bike until I was fifteen years old and pretty much said, "Man, it's pathetic that you never learned to ride a bike. Go learn now." And I did. I haven't ridden one SINCE I was fifteen years old, and I'm pretty sure that I wouldn't be able to anymore. That's right. I don't buy into that "oh, it's like riding a bike...once you learn you never forget" nonsense.
I tried a skateboard once. Two seconds of that ridiculousness, and I was done.
So when it came time for me to learn to drive, I was pretty sure it was going to be an adventure. And it was. I learned that if I let my dad teach me to drive, I would NEVER learn. He and I are too much alike in too many not-so-good ways, so my driving lessons became shouting matches, and I decided mom would teach me to drive. So we spent a lot of time with me driving in parking lots, around subdivisions, on the main road driving 25 mph in a 55 zone.
And then I figured I was ready for my license. I passed that written test to get my permit so easily, but I didn't do so well on the actual driving test. I failed it. I failed it once. I failed it twice. Third time was finally the charm, and I did amazingly well that third time. The other two failures were not entirely my fault (they were mostly my fault--but one of the people I tested with was really soft-spoken and I couldn't understand what she wanted me to do. The other was a drill Sergeant who screamed at me the entire time and made me nervous), but I think it was good they failed me. I wasn't ready to drive.
When I did get my license, I had a good few years of backing into parked cars and driving into ditches and running into concrete walls. It got so bad that I prayed I wouldn't hit anything EVERY time I started the engine. My poor parents. Those accidents were just bad driving on my part. But then there were all these weird incidents of me getting rear ended while "safely" stopped at red lights, of tires just going flat for no apparent reason. And I began to realize that while I definitely wasn't the greatest driver in the world, part of my problem was just that I had bad CARma.
Now, I don't know too much about cars, but I can accurately diagnose a few basic problems. The reason I can diagnose these problems is because I have had a LOT of car trouble in the fourteen years (or so) that I've been driving. I've had alternators go out and brakes just completely disintegrate. I've had bad starters and computer malfunctions and leaky radiators that make my car look like it's on fire. I've even had my cruise control go bonkers and try to kill me...that was fun.
I've probably ridden on a tow truck about a dozen times. AAA is a necessity for someone like me.
Well, I had to take my car into the shop this week--for an annual inspection which is required by law in NC. I knew it wouldn't pass inspection because that silly check engine light was on. It needed some work done that wasn't too outrageously expensive. But I also needed new tires, an alignment, etc. So I ended up paying about $500 on auto stuff in two days time. Ouch.
And because I knew my car needed work, I had a friend/coworker drive me to work yesterday. We got done working and got in her car. It wouldn't start.
Apparently, bad CARma is contagious.
It is also apparent that I need to marry a mechanic. Taking applications...
Monday, May 2, 2011
SSA Ep. # 30: The Low Blood Sugar Monster
Today at work, I got really hungry. I've been dieting all year...and I dieted a lot last year until Thanksgiving and Christmas took over my eating life. Anyway, I've kind of had a rhythm going. Breakfast, snack, snack, (late) lunch, snack, snack, dinner, then NO MORE EATING TILL BREAKFAST TOMORROW. I've known exactly how many calories to eat and exactly when to eat them.
But lately, I've gotten pretty close to my weight loss goal. I wouldn't mind losing another five or ten pounds (preferably ALL from my tummy and/or thighs). But I'm starting to notice that my body is changing a little. It's shifting from "OH HECK YEAH! LET'S BURN OFF ALL THIS FAT!" mode to "actually, we kind of would like to keep just a little of this fat, if that's okay with you" mode. What that means is that I'm getting hungrier. My body is demanding more calories.
But I'm a creature of habit, and today I just didn't want to deviate from my snack/meal routine. The problem was, I was at work with a whole lot of little short people (aka children) running around. And I got hungry. I got very hungry.
No worries. This story does NOT end with me eating a child.
But it did end up with me turning into the Low Blood Sugar Monster. This monster is no where near as fun as the Tickle Monster...or the Hug Monster...or the Brainzzz-Eating Monster.
Yes, today, without warning, I turned into the Low Blood Sugar Monster. Well, okay...so there were warnings. For one thing, I was ravenously hungry, and should have, well, eaten something, instead of being so determined to stick to my eating schedule. Then, I was also ridiculously cold. I'm usually a pretty hot-natured person, so the fact that I was having to steal a kids' blankie to trap in my body heat should have clued me in that there was a problem.
And then came the really interesting part. One of the other grown-ups was trying to tell me that one of the kid's parents had come. I heard her the first time she said it, but I couldn't find the child. So I started walking towards the front of the room to see if the kid was up there. The other grown-up kept saying "So-and-so's mom is here" as if I couldn't understand her. I nodded to let her know I understood. Again, this grown-up said, "SO-AND-SO'S MOM IS HERE!"
Well, the Low Blood Sugar Monster came out in full force. "I KNOW!" the Low Blood Sugar Monster growled fiercely. "I CAN'T FIND SO-AND SO!"
The other grown-up realized that I had transformed from mild-mannered child care professional into a dangerous beast of some sort, and immediately left the lobby area to join me in the play area. She was probably running an escape plan in her mind..."How do I get the kids away from the evil Miss Ruth without alerting her to my plans?"
Then she pointed. Little so-and-so whose mom had just arrived was standing directly behind me.
I decided it was time to go have a snack.
Later, after my blood sugar and sanity had returned to somewhat stable levels, the other grown-up described the Low Blood Sugar Monster scene to me from her perspective. It was frocked with humor. That's right, I just used the phrase "frocked with humor." Get over it.
She described the Low Blood Sugar Monster as looking somewhat like a bag lady, with her hair tossed up into a messy bun and a raggedy child's blanket around her shoulders. She didn't seem to have a very good grasp of the English language since she didn't realize she was supposed to be getting a child that was standing directly behind her. When she attempted to communicate, her "words" came out in a series of loud, angry, gutteral growls. She was like a mental patient.
All in all, I'd say the Low Blood Sugar Monster would be a LOT of fun at parties.
On a side note, when I finally did get my snack, this kid came up and asked me to help him with a Wii game. I told him this:
"Have your parents ever told you that it's dangerous to disturb an animal while its eating?"
The kid shrugged. "Yeah."
I smiled sweetly at him and said, "Well, don't disturb me while I'm eating, either. I will be with you in a moment."
I think I need to start upping my calorie intake, lest the Low Blood Sugar Monster make another appearance. Hooray for eating more!
But lately, I've gotten pretty close to my weight loss goal. I wouldn't mind losing another five or ten pounds (preferably ALL from my tummy and/or thighs). But I'm starting to notice that my body is changing a little. It's shifting from "OH HECK YEAH! LET'S BURN OFF ALL THIS FAT!" mode to "actually, we kind of would like to keep just a little of this fat, if that's okay with you" mode. What that means is that I'm getting hungrier. My body is demanding more calories.
But I'm a creature of habit, and today I just didn't want to deviate from my snack/meal routine. The problem was, I was at work with a whole lot of little short people (aka children) running around. And I got hungry. I got very hungry.
No worries. This story does NOT end with me eating a child.
But it did end up with me turning into the Low Blood Sugar Monster. This monster is no where near as fun as the Tickle Monster...or the Hug Monster...or the Brainzzz-Eating Monster.
Yes, today, without warning, I turned into the Low Blood Sugar Monster. Well, okay...so there were warnings. For one thing, I was ravenously hungry, and should have, well, eaten something, instead of being so determined to stick to my eating schedule. Then, I was also ridiculously cold. I'm usually a pretty hot-natured person, so the fact that I was having to steal a kids' blankie to trap in my body heat should have clued me in that there was a problem.
And then came the really interesting part. One of the other grown-ups was trying to tell me that one of the kid's parents had come. I heard her the first time she said it, but I couldn't find the child. So I started walking towards the front of the room to see if the kid was up there. The other grown-up kept saying "So-and-so's mom is here" as if I couldn't understand her. I nodded to let her know I understood. Again, this grown-up said, "SO-AND-SO'S MOM IS HERE!"
Well, the Low Blood Sugar Monster came out in full force. "I KNOW!" the Low Blood Sugar Monster growled fiercely. "I CAN'T FIND SO-AND SO!"
The other grown-up realized that I had transformed from mild-mannered child care professional into a dangerous beast of some sort, and immediately left the lobby area to join me in the play area. She was probably running an escape plan in her mind..."How do I get the kids away from the evil Miss Ruth without alerting her to my plans?"
Then she pointed. Little so-and-so whose mom had just arrived was standing directly behind me.
I decided it was time to go have a snack.
Later, after my blood sugar and sanity had returned to somewhat stable levels, the other grown-up described the Low Blood Sugar Monster scene to me from her perspective. It was frocked with humor. That's right, I just used the phrase "frocked with humor." Get over it.
She described the Low Blood Sugar Monster as looking somewhat like a bag lady, with her hair tossed up into a messy bun and a raggedy child's blanket around her shoulders. She didn't seem to have a very good grasp of the English language since she didn't realize she was supposed to be getting a child that was standing directly behind her. When she attempted to communicate, her "words" came out in a series of loud, angry, gutteral growls. She was like a mental patient.
All in all, I'd say the Low Blood Sugar Monster would be a LOT of fun at parties.
On a side note, when I finally did get my snack, this kid came up and asked me to help him with a Wii game. I told him this:
"Have your parents ever told you that it's dangerous to disturb an animal while its eating?"
The kid shrugged. "Yeah."
I smiled sweetly at him and said, "Well, don't disturb me while I'm eating, either. I will be with you in a moment."
I think I need to start upping my calorie intake, lest the Low Blood Sugar Monster make another appearance. Hooray for eating more!
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