Heck [10.13.08]

Today's observation happened on the move. I was still on fall break, and my friend and I were taking a lap around the development in her golf cart. To say that we were enjoying ourselves would be a definite understatement, for we were downright rebellious. We refrained from breaking around the turns and drove over the speed bumps at a whopping four miles an hour. On our home stretch, my friend and I were busy pointing out the scenery, when something suddenly caught my eye. A Jeep was slowly but steadily backing out of its sandy driveway. I tapped my friend, who immediately slammed on the breaks. Out of nowhere, a decrepit lady emerged from the house's flower garden. "I'm so sorry girls. That man is such a trouble-maker." Her immediate giggle made it obvious that she knew him. Then her decrepit finger shook as she said "give him HECK!" So I did. I thrust my non-wrinkly finger toward gramps and screamed "HECK!" The feeble woman snickered with a wheeze, and returned to tending her shrubbery. Of course, the entire occurrence jolted a hidden angst against elderly drivers and their lack of, well, everything drive-related. So why don't old people have to get re-examined? Isn't it entirely probable that more than half of them shouldn't be driving? What kind of country are we running when golf carts need to compete with Jeeps?

Vengeance is Mine [10.12.08]

During fall break, my friend and I stayed at the beach house that belongs to her family. When referring to the weather, we couldn't have asked for a nicer vacation. However, it came at the price of having several flies buzzing amidst our presence. I know some believe in complete symbiosis with nature. Buddhists, for example, believe that meditation can help one overcome the suffering of this world, even in the case of an annoying creature. However, I respectfully disagree with this lifestyle and fully believe in the meditative power of the fly-swatter. So there I was, leaping across the living room into the dining room, taking gaping strides every step of the way. I poured every ounce of my power into each SWAT - simply because flies are way more than just flies. They whir around strategically, as if they have a game plan in mind. Their most popular targets are facial orifices, and they won't stop until your day is as ruined as they can make it, which is why they must be obliterated. I walked around the house with a vengeance, and they put up a good fight. "You're mine, ya piece of crap!" Three haggard sighs, two irritated groans, and nine swats later, the house was peaceful.

Greyhound Mania [10.11.08]

Once we arrived at Bethany Beach, one of the first locales we visited was the boardwalk. Since we are all poor college students, none of us had the intention of spending an obscene amount of money. However, during our window-shopping, we happened to pass a greyhound. And then another. And then three more. We kept walking...and kept passing an outrageous amount of greyhounds. Finally, my friend blurted out what we were all thinking. "What is this?" Her sister jokingly replied. "Maybe it's greyhound weekend or something." After a few short giggles, we realized the actual reliability of that last statement and halted. Since I was the most outgoing and there were more than enough resources to work with, I buckled: "Fine. I'll ask someone." I walked up to the next greyhound and asked its owner bluntly: "So what's up with all of these greyhounds? Is it greyhound weekend or something?" He replied, matter-of-factly, "Why, yes it is!" Half of me was not expecting that reply, so I uncomfortably say, "Oh...well, alright then. I was just curious, you know, because my friends and I saw a lot of greyhounds." "Well, it's to raise awareness of the specific health problems that greyhounds face during their lifetimes. They can't speak, so we're speaking for them." Like an oaf, I said, "Well, that makes sense. I was just seeing a lot of dogs." I thanked the old fogey, and he and his dog went on their way.

Arachnaphobia [10.10.08]

This was the start of a beautiful weekend, for my friends and I were going to the beach for fall break. It was only my good friend and her sister, so it was going to be an amazing time for us girls to relax and reboot before classes resumed. I knew that the trip up would be eventful, simply because of its nature, but I had yet to anticipate just how unpredictable the ride down would become. Three minutes after we left my friend's house, her sister asked us to pull over. The windows were down, and thus she was getting chilly. Of course, she had no better solution than to open the trunk and retrieve her sleeping bag, which she then opened up on the side of the road and squirmed into. The next challenge was being able to close the car door, and once she had, another problem made itself known. My friend turned off her four-ways and headed back onto the country road, only to hear her sister scream. "There's a big-ass spider back here!" "Well, just kill it!" "I can't! The wind's blowing it all around! Oh my god! It's crawling up your seat!" Since I was riding shotgun, I was not all that concerned with my personal well-being; the spider was countless inches away from me. However, when the driver started wiggling around to avoid an arachnid attack, I was forced to become involved. "Geez...it's just a spider! Just kill it with your flip-flop or something!" "I'm trying!" "Do I have to come back there? Because I will!" This was how the next few minutes played out. Finally, I heard a loud THWAP - and knew that the deed was done. Needless to say, the rest of the trip was filled with piercing boy-band karaoke and fist-pumps out the window. Who knew that a measly spider would be just the beginning?

Waking Up [10.09.08]

Today's observation happened in the dead of night. Walking to my car, my nose twitched in the breeze. I sniffed something new, and yet familiar. As a strolled along the sidewalk, I realized what the odor was and where it came from. I could not believe that I didn't notice it before - it was there for the longest time. I peered up - it was there in the trees as they changed their color and fell to the ground below them. I glanced down - it was there, wafting up from the earth beneath my feet. I stopped and stood and simply took it in. My eyes closed as the essence glided over my face, and my hair whipped in the bellowing wind. My sense of smell was heightened, and there it was - crisp and clear and wonderful. The smell of fall.

Concert Fake-Out [10.8.08]

In the game of life, some days are easy, while others are just the beginnings of emotional roller coaster rides. Today was the latter. I, along with others, are in the beginning stages of planning a concert in the spring semester. Our first and perhaps most important mission is to book a band. Fortunately, since this concert is going to be supported by a department of the college, we had sufficient enough funds to get a decent band to come. However, we still had to track down agencies and fill out contracts and finally get a band to accept our offer. As of today, we had the first two steps completed and we were simply playing the waiting game with the requested band. To check if there was any progress, my friend and I visited the Chaplin in his office. We entered the chapel and walked by his office just in time to hear him say "yep...we got 'em!" My friend and I looked at each other and screamed: "we got them! They're coming!" The chaplain hung up the phone and joined us out in the lobby. "Who is coming?" We ceased the jumped and collectively said "um - the band?" The Chaplin winced and replied "Oh...no...no...no. I was talking about the riders. They just came through, so I called the agency to let them know we got them." "So we have yet to hear from the band?" He nodded, and we frowned. What a let-down.

Stand Your Ground [10.7.08]

The 'muter life is one of constant metamorphosis; one day could be spent studying in the library, while the next could be spent eating dinner at home with the family. However, to most 'muters, evenings prove to be the only constant. Since my home allows me to be an exception to the rules, I find that my evenings are as flexible as my days. One could be spent watching a Star Wars marathon in the lounge, while another could be spent doing homework in one of the many dorms. Nowadays, I find that one of my favorite spots is Silver Hall, simply because some of my best friends live there. Once I get through all of my classes, I simply call her to let me in. Sometimes I get lucky, and others happen to be going out when I am trying to get in, so they politely hold the door open while I oblige their offer. Today was the latter, and I headed to the staircase. Once in the stairwell, I glided up one flight and prepared myself to do the same thing with the next. However, I was forced to freeze as I simply looked at a couple trying to go down the flight. I understand that this seems like an over-emphasized problem, because many encounters consist of both parties forming single-file lines and heading their separate ways. Tonight was a completely different story, for tonight, the couple silently refused to cease their hand-holding, and boldly started down the stairs as I was walking up. Of course, when we connected eyes, I courteously offered them a smile, as if nothing was wrong. Maybe, just maybe, they were unaware of the rules and regulations of proper stairwell conduct. However, my mind couldn't resist tracing this awkward debacle to that quote from a western. This staircase is not big enough for the three of us, I thought. And I was right - it wasn't. Mid-way through the flight, I had to pause my travels just so both of them could successfully continue on their way. If that's not ridiculous, I don't know what is.

Fifteen Minutes in Heaven [10.6.08]

This semester, I finally branched out and signed up for a night class. I never realized that the class would consist of two hour-long lectures and one fifteen-minute break. Contrary to the regular schedule, tonight consisted of an hour-long exam, followed by the regular fifteen-minute break. After the test, everyone in the class collected in the heart of Lynch to discuss the test. Overall, the class decided it was an epic fail, regardless of the fact that most of us studied. A couple of us disbanded from rest of the group and sat in the lounge chairs to discuss the test in more detail. "What did you put for the question that talked about the child's average age?" "I think that I picked the answer that talked about the average age being twelve years old." I groaned in regret, knowing that I selected the wrong answer. To de-stress, I took my laptop and turned to a familiar form of therapy - Family Feud. After a few seconds, some of my peers overheard the commotion coming from my PC and decided to join me. The next few minutes were classic - my classmates and I were instant relatives. We even mimicked the simultaneous revealing of the answers: "...and number three? Mailman." Sadly, short moments later, after the fast money was won, we disbanded from our make-shift family and returned to reality. After it was all over, I got to thinking. Why did our short escape from night class mean so much? What did the online version of the Family Feud really have to offer? And perhaps the most important question of all - come next week, would we play again?

Fortunately [10.5.08]

We've all come across it at one point or another. You go to any Chinese restaurant and leave with a fortune cookie. It sounds simple enough, but lately, I have come to realize a sad fact. Instead of conveying some future happening, fortunes have become fortune-less. Today was no different. The cafeteria special was stir-fry, and every platter came with a complimentary fortune cookie. Following Chinese tradition to receive good favor, I wait until after my meal to break open my fortune cookie. Once it snaps in two, I set it aside and read the fortune: if the shoe fits, it's probably your size. Is that even a fortune? Another fortune I have received in the past has stated "a thrilling time is in your immediate future." That one might as well have been called a common-sense cookie. I am not surprised that something thrilling would happen in my future - I would stop reading this so-called fortune and continue living my life. The fortune should have just told me to resume breathing and call it a day. Another fortune I have received in the past went something like this: you will make a fortune with your friend. If a fortune speaks of a future fortune, does it even count as a fortune? If someone said "I have an idea for you - you will have an idea with your friend", would that be praised as a good idea? Regardless of its quality, would anyone even look at that as an idea? Since this is my journal, I am going to answer myself with a resounding no. The same goes for fortune cookies - either start filling them with real fortunes, or halt the false advertising.

Crappy Bass [10.04.08]

Today was the day of the multicultural fall picnic, so we were all whisked away to Deb Bishop's house for an autumnal celebration. We carved pumpkins, roasted veggie burgers, and constructed s'mores. We also fished in Deb's stocked pond, conveniently located in her backyard. People, including me, were catching fish left and right, while I was more concerned about observing my one friend. He has a history of being an Eagle Scout, so I was obviously eager to see if he could earn his fishing badge. After I caught my second sunny, my friend had yet to get a nibble. Maybe he just starts slow and tapers off, I thought. The next few minutes consisted of me catching yet another fish, while he managed to snag the muck at the bottom of the pond. The longer we (or should I say "I") fished, the worse he got...and the more I laughed. An hour passed, most of us called it a day, and my friend had yet to catch anything. Finally, I heard him chant "fourth time's the charm" as he waved a meager sunny over the rippling water. We all gathered 'round to take a look, and some smart-mouth asked my friend how his fishing badge was coming along. After I think of it, I would have asked the same question...but probably in a less moronic way.

The S Files [10.3.08]

Today's observation was one of exceptional creepiness, as if it was a past episode on Unsolved Mysteries. Throughout the day, I had noticed a peculiar happening: everywhere I went, there were slugs. Everywhere. Of course, one could blame the weather, but in all honesty - how often do any of us come across a slug? Even if one was to assume that seeing a slug per day was a natural occurrence, more than one slug sighting would still be labeled as uncanny. If the day itself wasn't spooky enough, my walk to Blair was. My peripheral vision was lured to the sidewalk as I saw not one slug...but eleven. (Yes, I stood there and counted them.) It was as if the sheriff of Slugville had called a mandatory town meeting. After taking role, I traipsed over them like an oaf. Apparently, it was the day of the slug, and I just happened to miss the memo.

When 'Muters Ruled the Earth [10.2.08]

Most of us down in the 'muter lounge consider ourselves the same family. Spending time in the windowless dungeon could be a real drag to some, but to us, it is one more opportunity to spend time with each other. Today was of particular interest to me, simply because we found a new way to pass the time. Usually we revert to doodling on the white erase board or playing the top 100 song game on the i-Tunes web site, but today was the first day we had ever considered playing Family Feud - as a family. We gathered ourselves in the back corner of the room and warmed ourselves up by owning new identities such as "Auntie" or "Grampa" followed by our names. To make today's journal even more interesting, a laptop camera was set up for comedic effect. Yet, come to think of it, we wouldn't have acted any more or less normal than we did on camera. Perhaps the on-line version of "the feud" was so thorough that we ceased to remember the fact that we were being recorded. Nevertheless, we found ourselves faced with the possibility of earning triple point values during round four. The question was challenging: name something that one would expect to receive in the first class of an airplane. With a full twenty-five seconds on the clock, I screamed "hot towel!" Being the Aunt, I felt like I had just led my family to victory. Alas, my answer was quickly met with that annoying buzzer - the universal sound of failure. Regardless of my poor judgment, our dysfunctional and completely unrelated family found success in the first of two "fast money" rounds. After winning the hypothetical twenty grand, we let out a simultaneous screech of dominance similar to that of a family of velociraptors - or at least that was what the computer microphone had portrayed. All in all, I learned that fake families are interchangeable with real ones: they are sometimes wacky and maybe even ridiculous, but once they are in, they are yours to keep, and there is nothing you can do about it. Then again, if you could change it, would you?

Crap Metal [10.1.08]

Tonight was the night of the surprise party. The schedule was strategically planned around our mandatory club meeting, and people were specifically instructed to show up a couple minutes before the start of the meeting. The members of the club were also distinctly instructed to show up with a half-hour to spare, in order to decorate and such. In theory everything would go off without a hitch, but in reality, that was definitely not the case. For starters, home base was locked, and the only person that held a key was running late. So there we were, the gang of party animals, standing awkwardly in the hall. The only thing that was preventing us from entering our haven of happiness was a lousy piece of scrap metal. So when the guests started to arrive, all of us had to uncomfortably tell them to join our crammed clump. Finally, the key holder showed up and we all burst into the room with panic. Trying to delegate was like trying to lasso a butterfly: "Streamers! We need to hang up streamers!" "Well, what about the cupcakes? Don't forget the candles!" "Well when are we going to sing? Can anyone play the piano?" "Where are we supposed to hide?" "Should we have the lights on or off?" Streamers were hastily thrown as people army-crawled under the few pieces of furniture they could find. We waited in silence - or almost silence, as one of our friends warmed up his jazzicised birthday theme on the keyboard. It's volume resonated as a low hum, while it was loud enough to block out our chaos-ensued hurried breaths. Finally, the birthday girl opened the door, while everyone popped out and yelled that all-too-popular phrase. We sang as she basked in the limelight, and she kindly appeased our efforts by thanking us. Perhaps the best present of all was not the mini cupcakes or the blobs of streamer hung about the room, but the account of the few minutes prior to her arrival. It was surely not the best surprise party ever, but it was definitely the fastest.

The Price of Cutesy [9.30.08]

It was the day before my friend's twenty-first birthday, so some of us decided to plan a surprise party for her. We went to the nearest store, where we found a plethora of alcoholically themed products. There were cookies and cakes and candles [oh my!], so it was obvious that we weren't going to come to a unanimous decision right away. However, I never thought that our errands would take the next forty-three minutes to execute. There we stood, in the bakery corner of the local Giant, while my friend and I fired back at one another: "I like the martini candles." "Well, I think we should get the margarita glasses - the martini ones are WAY too expensive for our budget." "I don't care if they're cheaper. The martini candles are too cute to pass up!" "I don't care how cute they are! They're only going to be seen for thirteen seconds. Then she's going to blow them out and yank them off whatever kind of cake we get her - if we ever get out of this store!" My friend wasn't about to cave, and I wasn't about to stake out in the bakery section, so I folded and we splurged for the mini martinis. We burned such a hole in our pockets because of them that we had to settle for mini cupcakes as well. As we left Giant, it seemed like our birthday blowout was looking more like a mini merriment. Were the martini candles just the beginning?

Finding the Voice [9.29.08]

Today's observation was found in what I deemed one of the most unexpected places - my snooze-fest of a psychology class. Sitting in the midst of my two-hour lecture class, my tool of choice to combat my exhaustion was Minesweeper. Everything in the real world was non-existent, while my new reality was planting bombs in a gray mine field. All of a sudden, I heard this booming voice come from above...or was it beside? My ears took a double-take...was that God? But wait - could God be asking the professor a question about child psychology? Pausing my game of Minesweeper, I went on the search of finding the booming God voice. It turns out that the person asking questions was not God revealing himself to my night class, but rather the very bassy student sitting behind me. Fortunately, the entire experience was in my head, so all possible embarrassment was eliminated. The one glitch in my sting operation is what I like to call the "mind-filter": it is the one boundary that keeps the embarrassing comments in, while it lets the relevant comments out. I firmly believe in the power of the mind-filter, and I can honestly say that I do not possess one today or any day prior. I turn around and say "Geez...do you know that your voice is BOOMING?!" "I guess", he awkwardly affirms. After what I had done, I realized that I shouldn't have said anything - curse that filter! But really, was it that terrible? After sharing this experience with some friends, it turns out that I was simply stating the obvious, so why the immediate embarrassment? Why does guilt ensue after an unspoken truth is spoken?

Pitch Black [9.28.08]

Today's happening came about because of pure procrastination. Both my friend and I needed to complete big assignments for tomorrow, so we headed over to the computer lab, where we stayed until the wee hours of the night. We sat in silence as the wheels in our brains were turning as loud and as fast as they could. It was one of those moments where we both knew what we needed to get done. We were no longer people - we were machines. Hours later, we returned from machine to human; we took a collective sigh as our souls re-inhabited our bodies. It was the final stretch: I simultaneously pushed the familiar key combination CONTROL and P to send my assignment to the printer. My friend did the same and logically hoped for the same results. However, immediately after she sent her paper to the printer, her computer's screen went black. Panic set in: "No...no...no..no..no-no-no! What just happened?!" I asked if her paper at least printed; she walked toward the printer, peeked inside, and attempted to lure it out: "Her-ro? Hey paper - are you in there?" Of course, there was no answer. While her computer was re-booting, she expressed frustration through every profanity under the sun. This was followed by a hefty complaint about the correlation of our high tuition and the expectation of reliable hardware. I told her to find the silver lining - perhaps her paper was saved before the crash. She dramatically forced me to take over and look for it in her student file. But alas, there was no trace of it. As unreliable as technology was, my friend made up for it by being a reliable wreck. After several throaty giggles, I simply persuaded her to do the only thing that she could do - start over. Of course, the remainder of our stay consisted of my thorough search of Facebook and her mumbled self-talk.

The Fountain Frolick [9.27.08]

Sometimes the funniest happenings are those that you knew would happen. One night, my friends were feeling bold, so they decided to take a pilgrimage to the fountain in front of the New Student Center. When we arrived, I knew what was coming. It was a simple equation: one mischievous boy and one fountain equals pure unadulterated entertainment. He quickly decided that he would go for the gold and jump over the rising and falling monstrosity. I told him to keep in mind that the fountain was a timed contraption, and that chances are, it would rise at exactly the wrong time. Against my advice, he slowly backed up and prepared for take-off. The fountain dropped; it was safe to jump over, but only for the next few moments. He took off and leaped - only to have the fountain rise when he was in mid-air. Landing on the other side, it took a second or two for my friend to realize that his pants were slightly wet - but only in a very inconvenient and questionable place. Before I could say "I told you so", he returned to the fountain and drenched his entire body in it. This brought up an interesting question. Frankly, it is autumn and it is cold outside, so why would anyone consider making their entire body wet versus one small patch of crotchness? Is that really the fixer-upper?

Fairs of Our Lives [9.26.08]

Today was the day above all others, for it was the Activities Fair at good ole LVC. One would think that the pinnacle of observations would be found in the middle of the event. However, the moment of pure lackadaisical enjoyment was unexpectedly discovered during the conclusion of the fair. The middle of the quad consisted of many tables and few people, so I volunteered to stay and help. There I was, tearing down tables in the middle of the quad, when I found myself in the center of a very intimate conversation. It was one of those moments where je ne sais quoi took over...similar to that clip from A Bug's Life regarding the mystical quality of bug zappers. The one mosquito says "Harry, no! Don't look at the light!" "I can't help it. It's so beautiful." My moral compass was pointing me in the opposite direction, and yet I couldn't look away. Of course, I kept my ears open and my hands busy by sprucing up the grass around me. "Look...I just don't see how we can be together anymore. I'm sorry." "Well...um...I - I guess." After her low blow, she started on her way. I honestly thought the soap opera was over and the credits were rolling.
I was wrong.
By now, she was fifty feet away. In a last-stitch effort to show his devotion, he lamented "If you ever change your mind...you know where to find me." Now she was a hundred feet away. His efforts increased to a literal scream: "I love you...I still love you!" So there I was, awkwardly and obviously standing in the midst of this modern-day soap opera. I, of course, exercised the first rule of accidental snoopage: never make eye contact with those involved.

Super-sized Digits [9.25.08]

Tonight's observation came from the most peculiar place...the floor. During small talk with one of my friends, I noticed that his toes were of a supernatural length. My eyes went from his face, and then back to his toes as I did a speedy double-take. I tried my best to portray attentiveness, but alas, I could not. His mouth was moving, and words were coming out, but all I could hear was Charlie Brown's teacher going "blah blah blah". I attempted to refrain from saying anything, but I couldn't help it: "Oh my word! You're toes are super long! I've never seen toes that long before! Geez - they may even pass for fingers!" I even went as far as to point out my find to some of our friends that with us. Collectively, we cocked our heads to the side and took a long, hard look. Moments later, my outburst was appeased when they awkwardly agreed: "Wow...she's right...they are kinda long..." Of course, by the time I realized what I had started, my friend was past the point of mere embarrassment. All of our visual poking and prodding led him to resort to drastic measures. Curling his toes under his feet, he hobbled away with his dignity intact. But was that really the case? Did my naive intentions leave his dignity untouched? When it comes to super-sized digits, can one really keep their dignity post-hobble?

Second Base: A Spectator Sport [9.22.08]

There are two types of people in this world: those that hate surprises, and those that love only the improbable ones. If you knew me, you'd know that I am the latter of the two, and today, my preference was unexpectedly appeased during a game of Wii Tennis. For those of you who don't know, the Wii game system was designed to work hand in hand with human motion. Since the games require movement, the general advisory consists of giving the players enough elbow room to play in. Regardless of the reason, I find that people usually ignore this warning. Tonight, I happened to find myself in my friend's apartment, watching him play Wii Tennis with some other people. Those who were spectators were watching intently from the side, as those who were playing were swinging and smacking the guts out of the invisible ball. After a few moments, the spectators began to feel comfortable in the environment, so they subconsciously came closer and closer until they were standing right next to our own Andre Aggassi. Unknowingly, our friend winded up and swung overhand, just close enough to graze the chest of my friend. She automatically responded by arguing her defense: "Did you see that?! He totally BOOBED me!" Our friend paused the Wii, lowered his voice and fist-pumped "second base!" It was one of those instances where a second could seem infinitely longer. I waited for my friend's rebuttal - certainly his inappropriate comment would be stricken from the record! I laughed, nervously. He laughed, playfully. And she? She just shrugged. We departed minutes later, and I was completely stumped. I know that "the touch" was an accident, but the comment afterward was anything but. When did second base become a thing to be taken lightly? Who died and made surroundings the changing factor in appropriateness?