"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?

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?

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.

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."

R.I.P.

Unless you've been living under a rock, you would have heard the news. The king of pop is dead. But wait...so is Farrah Fawcett...and that Billy Mays, whose voice always seemed to scream from the infomercials. Then there's Ed McMahon, who was almost summoning death at 86. And what about that funny impersonater guy, Fred Travalena? He kicked the can too. It seems to me that these past couple days have been filled with an overwhelming amount of deaths. I can't remember hearing about anything so peculiar - all of these deaths being reported as quickly as dominoes plink onto the dining room table. With the Charlie's Angels being shorted a third, and the king of pop having to cancel his London tour - it's almost too much grief to bear. I mean how will we ever live without the rhinestone glove or Oxi-Clean? Who is going to say "Herrrrrrrrrrrreeeeeeeeeee's Johnny"? And who will we have to give us impossible standards of the 70's blowout? I mean, we might as well just call it a day and stop living right now ;)

Food for Thought [1.9.09]

Today I came home to find a card on my bed. A good friend gave it to me, and I was surprised at how great it made me feel. It's not like I thought any different of that friend before the card, so why feel so different after? What gives? Was it the thought that counted? And if it was, what thought was the specific one that counted? The thought of simply sending someone a card? The thought of specifically picking me to send it to? Maybe it was a combination of all of that. Whatever it was, it was powerful because it was thoughtful. I never realized how much that kind of stuff meant: to go out into the world and do something small that means something big.

Love Hurts [11.26.08]

Today I went with my dad to pick up some of our family members at the Harrisburg airport. My dad is one of those people who cannot be late to anything, so we showed up at the terminal approximately fifty minutes earlier than their scheduled arrival. I was in no mood to be bored out of my mind, so I proceeded to search the web on my laptop. However, my dad had different plans for the two of us, and we proceeded toward the escalators. We went up, then down, then up, then...you guessed it...down. The third time up, my dad started taking steps down the escalators. When I asked him what he was doing, he simply responded with a chuckle, "It makes the ride longer." What I did not know was that the rest of our night would be spent bonding in the way that only we can bond. After picking everyone up and driving them home, we came home and turned on the television. He flipped to TCM (Turner Classic Movies) where we watched two black and white movies together. During the intermissions we would joke back and forth with each other. He would brag about how the sixties were the best decade to grow up in, and then he would say "Oh, that's right, you weren't around in '61. You wouldn't know." Of course I would fire back "That's alright, dad. If I were around in '61, I'd be OLD." Then we would laugh. I never realized it, but I have the same sense of humor as my father. In all honesty, I would not trade it for anything, especially because it's a good sense of humor.