After graduating college, it's easy to lose touch with friends, so my friend and I went to Park City to catch up with one another. While we were there, we did the usual: sniffed every scent in the Yankee Candle store, sang along with the musical cards in Hallmark, and bought smoothies...
Oh, and we got attacked by kioskers.
Now, don't get it twisted - I know everyone needs to make a living. But no one equates "making a living" to swindeling others because they're uncomfortable. If you sell scarves, people who are cold will probably buy them. If moisturizer is your product, cracked heels will be headed your way. You don't have to corner every person that accidentally makes eye contact with you. But that's what usually happens, and that's what happened tonight.
We were having a good old time walking past Hollister, trying to smell that oh-so-good cologne scent seeping from the shutters (you know the one...) when I looked toward the center of the hallway. Big mistake, for here comes kiosker #1 with her nail buffer...
"You get nails done?"
My friend and I robotically responded, "No, no thank you."
But she wouldn't quit. "I show you. Nails look like new."
Hating confrontation, I started to flounder with "ums" and "errs", but my friend stood her ground. Firmly, she said "No thank you," and we managed to escape.
I know that occurrence probably sounds all-too familiar to most of you, but that wasn't the end. After seeing our rejection, another kiosker thought she could reel us in, so she stormed up to us with her hair straightener.
"You straighten your hair?" she asked.
Get enough already! I thought. But I simply replied, "Nope...never."
My friend looked at me, knowing full-well of the existence of my straightener at home, but I didn't care. The nerve of this kiosker brought out the worst in me, what else was I to do? The lady kept pressing on, but when we started to break free, she grumbled: "Well, good day!" I knew her farewell was less than amiable, but I didn't care.
We were free.
Monday, November 1, 2010
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Animal Highway
The last couple days, I've been a busy girl. I've picked seashells, celebrated my birthday, and graduated. However, all of those experiences have been riddled with the same curse:
the animals-popping-out-of-nowhere-while-I'm-driving curse.
I don't care who you are, or where you drive, in the past week, I rest assured that you have not come across the amount of possible roadkill opportunities as I have. Yesterday, I swerved to miss a possum. Last night, I saw a skunk crawl across the road. The night before, deer. The list just goes on and on. And today was no different.
I was driving on 322 toward Ephrata and the driver in front of me hit his brakes and attempted to pull over onto the shoulder. I slammed on my brakes as he turned on his four-ways. I had no idea what he pulled over for, but then I see a small family of ducks crossing the road. The mommy duck hops over the curb and continues on her way, while the seven (yes, seven) ducklings are pummeling over each other trying to make themselves tall enough to climb the curb. The entire situation was ridiculous. And what happened to those ducklings? I know it's killing you, so I won't spare you the torture - all of them made it safe and sound.
Major highway +confused drivers +ducklings attempting to conquer their own Berlin Wall = priceless.
the animals-popping-out-of-nowhere-while-I'm-driving curse.
I don't care who you are, or where you drive, in the past week, I rest assured that you have not come across the amount of possible roadkill opportunities as I have. Yesterday, I swerved to miss a possum. Last night, I saw a skunk crawl across the road. The night before, deer. The list just goes on and on. And today was no different.
I was driving on 322 toward Ephrata and the driver in front of me hit his brakes and attempted to pull over onto the shoulder. I slammed on my brakes as he turned on his four-ways. I had no idea what he pulled over for, but then I see a small family of ducks crossing the road. The mommy duck hops over the curb and continues on her way, while the seven (yes, seven) ducklings are pummeling over each other trying to make themselves tall enough to climb the curb. The entire situation was ridiculous. And what happened to those ducklings? I know it's killing you, so I won't spare you the torture - all of them made it safe and sound.
Major highway +confused drivers +ducklings attempting to conquer their own Berlin Wall = priceless.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Meow It Forward
I am one of those people who live a very bizarre life. Sometimes things just seem to happen to me that would only happen on an episode of Seinfeld. I've been skunked, I've seen a town meeting comprised of 17 slugs, and I've seen unrequited love happen across the quad. None of these events are normal - thank God none of them are annual. Yet here I sit, thinking they are just part of life. Recently, something occurred that was so bizarre, I just had to add it my list of unforgettables.
I found a kitten. It's small, gray, non-descript. I thought passing it on to my grandparents would add a little spunk to my life. Grampa loves cats, while gram says there's nothing better than a dead one. However, she put up with it for his sake. Frankly, it simply made him happy. One day, I asked her how they were doing with Asher (grampa loves using Biblical names for animals). Gram informed me that she passed it on to a college professor, one who recently took a leave of absence because she was ill. Keep in mind: gram didn't know her before. They just bumped into each other on the streets of Annville and happened to get talking. Before she knew it, gram offered Asher as a comfort to the professor, and she accepted.
I know the professor; I had actually taken a class with her, and by the time gram told me this, I was rolling over with laughter. The next few days I couldn't tell enough of my friends about it. "That is so bizarre", they would say. "How strange", others would add. And there I would be, nodding in disbelief. And yet, the story is not over.
Last weekend was my gram's birthday. When we were eating, I asked gram how the professor was doing with Asher. She told me that the professor's dad recently died, and that she had to find a new house for Asher so she could finalize things. "So...where does that leave Asher?" I asked. My gram explained how my professor passed him on to a visiting musician at college. Now, this wasn't just any musician. He is a certified, internationally-acclaimed pianist...who now has our cat. Apparently, he bought Asher a first-class ticket and sat his carrier on the airplane seat next to him. When he came home and started playing a symphony on the record player, Asher hopped up his piano seat and sprawled out on the grand piano. In the words of this prodigy, Asher has become his "inspiration".
After hearing this, I completely lost it. I told all of those friends the update, and none of them could believe it. But then again, who would?
I found a kitten. It's small, gray, non-descript. I thought passing it on to my grandparents would add a little spunk to my life. Grampa loves cats, while gram says there's nothing better than a dead one. However, she put up with it for his sake. Frankly, it simply made him happy. One day, I asked her how they were doing with Asher (grampa loves using Biblical names for animals). Gram informed me that she passed it on to a college professor, one who recently took a leave of absence because she was ill. Keep in mind: gram didn't know her before. They just bumped into each other on the streets of Annville and happened to get talking. Before she knew it, gram offered Asher as a comfort to the professor, and she accepted.
I know the professor; I had actually taken a class with her, and by the time gram told me this, I was rolling over with laughter. The next few days I couldn't tell enough of my friends about it. "That is so bizarre", they would say. "How strange", others would add. And there I would be, nodding in disbelief. And yet, the story is not over.
Last weekend was my gram's birthday. When we were eating, I asked gram how the professor was doing with Asher. She told me that the professor's dad recently died, and that she had to find a new house for Asher so she could finalize things. "So...where does that leave Asher?" I asked. My gram explained how my professor passed him on to a visiting musician at college. Now, this wasn't just any musician. He is a certified, internationally-acclaimed pianist...who now has our cat. Apparently, he bought Asher a first-class ticket and sat his carrier on the airplane seat next to him. When he came home and started playing a symphony on the record player, Asher hopped up his piano seat and sprawled out on the grand piano. In the words of this prodigy, Asher has become his "inspiration".
After hearing this, I completely lost it. I told all of those friends the update, and none of them could believe it. But then again, who would?
Monday, March 1, 2010
"You can't miss it."
"Whoever he is, I'm going to find that guy and rip his FACE off!"
That was my friend's go-to line as we were on our way to the theater. Admittedly, we were given lousy directions, and yes, we should've left earlier, but the fact of the matter is that we didn't. So there we were, my two guy friends and I on our way to see Avatar. We left 45 minutes ago, assuming we would have more than enough time. However, when you're looking for an invisible destination, things can get pretty ugly.
We were sandwiched between I-81 and 39, and the voice on the other end of the line kept repeating "Kogg-nee Roadddd - Kogg-nee Roadddd". That's what you get for trusting automated operators. So we kept our eyes peeled and our fingers crossed - and yet no road seemed to be the right one. My friend's next move was to call the theater - they said the cinema was right off of Progress Avenue - and I quote: "You can't miss it." So there we were, running out of options and running late, looking for this "Kogg-nee Roadddd".
I couldn't help but laugh - the entire situation was absolutely ridiculous. My one friend kept repeating "Kogg-nee Roadddd" in his Target-lady-from-SNL voice while my other friend promised to rearrange whoever's face was responsible.
Seven U-turns and a phone call to my friend's brother (A.K.A. the Obi Wan of navigating) later, we arrived at the theater. Sprinting inside, we paid and entered theater 7. We didn't know what was on the other side of the door. Hopefully the movie hadn't started already; I've heard once you miss the beginning of a movie, there's no hope. But in the cosmic humor that is God's, we found ourselves joining the others right as the previews were coming to a close. We eased into those plush stadium seats, put on our obnoxious Cyndi Lauper-esque 3D glasses, and enjoyed what was waiting for us at the end of our unprecedented goose chase.
The movie was alright (no offense to those Na'vi cult followers), but I wondered something throughout the entire movie. Clearly, the directions from the popcorn guy were wrong...so was he the reason that there were only seven others who joined us for the movie? What happened to being qualified? No, actually, what happened to simply being aware of your surroundings? And why didn't I bring my GPS?
That was my friend's go-to line as we were on our way to the theater. Admittedly, we were given lousy directions, and yes, we should've left earlier, but the fact of the matter is that we didn't. So there we were, my two guy friends and I on our way to see Avatar. We left 45 minutes ago, assuming we would have more than enough time. However, when you're looking for an invisible destination, things can get pretty ugly.
We were sandwiched between I-81 and 39, and the voice on the other end of the line kept repeating "Kogg-nee Roadddd - Kogg-nee Roadddd". That's what you get for trusting automated operators. So we kept our eyes peeled and our fingers crossed - and yet no road seemed to be the right one. My friend's next move was to call the theater - they said the cinema was right off of Progress Avenue - and I quote: "You can't miss it." So there we were, running out of options and running late, looking for this "Kogg-nee Roadddd".
I couldn't help but laugh - the entire situation was absolutely ridiculous. My one friend kept repeating "Kogg-nee Roadddd" in his Target-lady-from-SNL voice while my other friend promised to rearrange whoever's face was responsible.
Seven U-turns and a phone call to my friend's brother (A.K.A. the Obi Wan of navigating) later, we arrived at the theater. Sprinting inside, we paid and entered theater 7. We didn't know what was on the other side of the door. Hopefully the movie hadn't started already; I've heard once you miss the beginning of a movie, there's no hope. But in the cosmic humor that is God's, we found ourselves joining the others right as the previews were coming to a close. We eased into those plush stadium seats, put on our obnoxious Cyndi Lauper-esque 3D glasses, and enjoyed what was waiting for us at the end of our unprecedented goose chase.
The movie was alright (no offense to those Na'vi cult followers), but I wondered something throughout the entire movie. Clearly, the directions from the popcorn guy were wrong...so was he the reason that there were only seven others who joined us for the movie? What happened to being qualified? No, actually, what happened to simply being aware of your surroundings? And why didn't I bring my GPS?
Monday, February 15, 2010
Man Munchies
I am not about to climb onto my high horse, but I know a lot about the world. I'm pretty good at math, I have creative bouts here and there, and as you can hopefully tell from this blog, I'm also a darn good writer. However, there is one thing that I will not even try to understand:
the "man's man".
I mean, I thought I understood the opposite sex. I know that men and women have completely different trains of thought - I get that. But apparently, there's a huge, clear difference between being a "man" and being a "man's man". I'm at dinner, and my one guy friend remarks that he is so hungry he could eat a pizza. Thinking that it was simply playful banter, I jokingly told him to prove it. Now, he argued by saying that a simple "man" wouldn't go through with it, but he wasn't a simple "man" - he was a "man's man".
Twenty minutes later, he was working on his 7th piece, while my other friends were getting paranoid at his possible impending sickness. But there I was, surprising myself at how supportive of him I was being. I was the one egging him on: pounding on the table, getting him a glass of water like those competitive hot-dog eaters. What was going on? When did a "man's man" become such a magnetic trait? And where did that entire pizza go?
the "man's man".
I mean, I thought I understood the opposite sex. I know that men and women have completely different trains of thought - I get that. But apparently, there's a huge, clear difference between being a "man" and being a "man's man". I'm at dinner, and my one guy friend remarks that he is so hungry he could eat a pizza. Thinking that it was simply playful banter, I jokingly told him to prove it. Now, he argued by saying that a simple "man" wouldn't go through with it, but he wasn't a simple "man" - he was a "man's man".
Twenty minutes later, he was working on his 7th piece, while my other friends were getting paranoid at his possible impending sickness. But there I was, surprising myself at how supportive of him I was being. I was the one egging him on: pounding on the table, getting him a glass of water like those competitive hot-dog eaters. What was going on? When did a "man's man" become such a magnetic trait? And where did that entire pizza go?
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
Batting 1,000
Today was a day like any other, 24 hours long, the sun shining, and the blustery wind to tell me that winter has indeed arrived on my campus. Other than the cold snap, nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Minutes before my last class, I shuffled through the door and took my seat only to find that someone had switched my seat with one that wobbles. So now, during my professor's initial lecture, I am spotted fiddling with my planner to try and make some sort of wedge with a stack of paper. I don't know, it seemed like a good idea at the time, but then I just gave up. So, there I sat, defeated with my chair rocking back and forth with every breath I took.
To make matters worse, the kid sitting next to me decided to take out his textbook and use his thumb to every so carefully flip through the pages. That sound, although minimal, played over and over again, as if what he was really looking through was one of those rad comic flip-books. But no, it was just a textbook that he was doing this to - over and over and over. Flipping, flipping, flipping - it was enough to institutionalize me. I looked around, and no one else seemed distressed. A look of disbelief dripped over my face, and I was sure the professor knew I was anything but focused, but I didn't care. And yet, I didn't say anything. I just let it happen...for FIFTY minutes. By the time we were dismissed, I wanted to take that textbook and burn it, but I couldn't get over the fact that I said nothing. Why didn't I say anything? Would that have been rude? And if so, why couldn't I even look annoyed? After all, HE was the one inconveniencing ME, so I couldn't have been wrong. Right? Ugh, I don't even know any more. I just can't wait until next class - and YOU BET I'm changing seats.
To make matters worse, the kid sitting next to me decided to take out his textbook and use his thumb to every so carefully flip through the pages. That sound, although minimal, played over and over again, as if what he was really looking through was one of those rad comic flip-books. But no, it was just a textbook that he was doing this to - over and over and over. Flipping, flipping, flipping - it was enough to institutionalize me. I looked around, and no one else seemed distressed. A look of disbelief dripped over my face, and I was sure the professor knew I was anything but focused, but I didn't care. And yet, I didn't say anything. I just let it happen...for FIFTY minutes. By the time we were dismissed, I wanted to take that textbook and burn it, but I couldn't get over the fact that I said nothing. Why didn't I say anything? Would that have been rude? And if so, why couldn't I even look annoyed? After all, HE was the one inconveniencing ME, so I couldn't have been wrong. Right? Ugh, I don't even know any more. I just can't wait until next class - and YOU BET I'm changing seats.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
It's Official: I'm a Hobo
For the past couple months, I've been spending a lot of time teaching children. I've been working my entire life up to this one mere experience, and it was stressful to say the least. I had to wake up every day knowing that I could mess up my life's work at the drop of a hat. Not to mention the everlasting murmur of childrens' jibber-jabbering when they're actually supposed to be listening to me. Teaching is my job and learning is theirs. I didn't think it would get much more complicated than that. However, I slowly started to expand my heart for them, maybe without even knowing it. Every day, I went in wondering how that baseball game went or whether or not she really did get what she wanted for her birthday. Moments passed, and the day came when I had to leave. It's funny, because when I started, I couldn't wait to leave. I imagined myself waving goodbye to the stress and the yelling and the bus duty and the misspelled homework. But, to my surprise, when I left, I yearned to stay. Without my knowledge, every one of those kids got to my heart. I was petrified. If they only knew their strength, they could very well run the world.
During my time there, I read a book called "The Family Under the Bridge". It's about an old hobo who stumbles upon a homeless family and initially finds the children detestable. However, with a little time, it turns out that all he needed to do was face his fear.
"I can't abide children", grumped Armand. "Starlings, they are. Witless, twittering, little pests." Mireli shook her finger at him. "You think you don't like children", she said, "but it is only that you are afraid of them. You're afraid the sly little things will steal your heart if they find out you have one."
During my time there, I read a book called "The Family Under the Bridge". It's about an old hobo who stumbles upon a homeless family and initially finds the children detestable. However, with a little time, it turns out that all he needed to do was face his fear.
"I can't abide children", grumped Armand. "Starlings, they are. Witless, twittering, little pests." Mireli shook her finger at him. "You think you don't like children", she said, "but it is only that you are afraid of them. You're afraid the sly little things will steal your heart if they find out you have one."
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