Midnight Madness Part 2

Well last night was just as interesting as the one before. When I first got there, Shawn came up to me and said, "I missed you last night." I didn't hear him properly at first, so I didn't say anything. He said again, "I really missed you." Barf. I was mad. I decided not to say anything at all, and instead make good use of the eye-contact lecture from Rhetoric. I looked hard into his pleading, puppy dog eyes, then deliberately looked away, slightly turning my back on him. He left. I ignored him for the rest of the night.

Around 11:00 P.M. I had to chase a box out to the dumpster. It had been tossed before we could read what department its contents needed to go to, so I ran out there. Shawn was there, along with Enon and Kwaku. Enon and I had talked about the Alice in Wonderland movie, and I told him he should read the book. So when I came out to the dumpster, Enon said, "Hey Kathleen! Where's my book?" "What?" I asked. "Where's my Alice in Wonderland? You were gonna give it to me!" I hadn't said anything about that, but I knew he was messing with me. Before I could answer, Shawn cut in in a whiny tone, "Man, she ain't givin' you NUTHIN'!" It was then that I determined to give Enon a copy of Alice. It just so happens that we have an extra copy sitting in the give-away box. So I will give it away.

On my way back into the building, Mr. Perry, the security guard, stopped me. "You didn't say hi to me when you came out," he exclaimed. "Sorry, I was on a mission," I responded, "but I was going to say hi to you on the way back in." "No, you didn't say hi to me when you came out," he huffed. "So I'm not taking you to Burger King now." I almost died laughing. "So is your 'boyfriend' here tonight?" he asked. "Yeah, he's right down there." "What? I missed him?" "Yeah, he's wearing the dorky blue hat. Can't miss him." "Oh, OK. Well, you want me to..?" He smiled and gave me a questioning look, and smashed his fist into his palm. I laughed again and told him to feel free. He grinned again, and said, "Well if he asks you again, you tell him you don't need his Burger King, because you got someone who'll take you to Red Lobster!" He winked at me, and I laughed and said I'd keep it in mind. Apparently Red Lobster is Mr. Perry's idea of fine dining.

Today as I told this story at breakfast, Lindsey said I should give Enon the book and Shawn a scrap of paper with the Rejection Hotline number. Then my mother, my dear sweet mother, had a different idea. I really can't believe she said this, either. "No, what you need to give Shawn is I Kissed Dating Goodbye." We all choked on our cereal and bagels and dubbed it a cunning plan. Lindsey said, "For that plan, I will give you my copy!" So tonight, Enon is getting Alice, but I think I'll wait until Wednesday night to give Shawn his present. Wednesday is the last night of this job, and I don't need to get myself killed before then. Oh yes, life is so much fun!

A Night at the Nordstrom

Well I haven't posted in about a million years, but life has been crazy. This Summer, I'm employed both by a temp agency that will send me wherever the money is, and by a company that provides banquets with servers. Last night was my first job with the temp agency. I was bummed that it was on Sunday, but they swore up and down that won't ever happen again, so I got over it. My shift was from 4:30 P.M. to 1:00 A.M. Nordstrom is renovating all of their fixtures (read: the things they hang the clothes on), and needed folks to offload the boxes, assemble the fixtures, deal with the garbage, etc. We ladies were told we'd be dressing mannequins, but that turned out to be a serious mis-communication, so we were doing the grunt work, too. That didn't bother me, since I'd done so much of that with Pottery Barn. Last night was just a reminder of how much I really love this kind of work. I had never worked a night shift like before, so it was quite the experience. I was the only white girl on the temp team of twenty five (there were other white girls working there, but not much with us), there were two middle aged white men, and one white guy from London in his twenties. Everybody else was black, but that didn't bother me. I hung mostly with the black girls, until they got too whiny about how we weren't dressing mannequins, and how "mean" the Nordstrom people were, blah blah blah, so I started working more with the guys. At 11:00 P.M. Nordstrom fed us dinner. We had salad, lasagna, and canoli, which I hadn't had in forever. Dinner was when the night got interesting.

I sat at a table with one of the white men on my right, and the London guy on my left, who had some black guys around him. There was an unopened soda sitting in front of me that no one came back to claim. Then a black dude named Shawn sauntered up and sat at that spot, saying, "Am I taking someone's seat?" I told him no, I hadn't seen anyone there. "That's 'cause I put it there," he said. "I don't believe you," I laughed in reply. "You don't? What you say if I told you I put it there just so I could sit across from you?" he asked. "Well, thanks for the compliment," I said, "but I still don't think you did." At that point, one of his buddies came up and asked Shawn to go back to the other table with him. "Would you miss me if I sat over there?" he asked. With dripping sarcasm, I said, "You'll break my heart if you go." "Well damn! I can't go now!" I laughed again, sure that he was just kidding around like I was. "You'll break his heart if you stay," I told him. "Either way, someone's heart is getting broken. Will it be mine or his?" Shawn thought for a minute, then got up and left. Ten minutes later, he came back, and this was our dialogue.

Shawn: So when we goin' on our first date?
Me: Excuse me? I'm not going out with you!
Shawn: You not?
Me: No!
Shawn: I've got a really big truck.
Me: I like really big trucks, but no. I'm not going out with you.
Shawn: I'll take you to Burger King.
Me: ...No.
Shawn: What, you don't like Burger King?
Me: I like their fries. No.

At this point, he finally got the idea and gave up his little game. Naive me thought he was still kidding, but I thought about it for a few minutes, then turned to the other guys and asked, "Wait, was he serious about all that?" "Yeah, yeah he was serious." I couldn't believe it. "But why?" I asked. "We don't even know each other!" "Well how's he supposed to get to know you unless you date him?" one of the black guys asked. "What's wrong, don't you date?" "I don't date unless I'm thinking I might marry the guy," I responded. And from there we launched into a huge debate about love, dating, marriage, etc. that I found highly amusing. They found me highly ridiculous, but that's fine. I got the typical don't-buy-the-car-until-you've-tested-it shpeel, the marriage-is-just-a-piece-of-paper lecture, the how-can-you-put-boundaries-on-love argument, the dang-you're-21-and-still-a-virgin deal, and so on. The British guy stayed 99% out of the argument (he chuckled occasionally), one black guy named Sheldon was my debator, and the other two were the peanut gallery, only good for laughing. So we went round and round, and at one point, Sheldon randomly said between arguments, "You know, the world needs more women like you." What? That totally blew me away! Here he was, totally bashing my standards and the Reason I hold them, and then basically congratulates me for it. It was so weird! Then we all headed back to work, and one of the two guys that laughed the whole time came up to me and said told me good job, keep it up. "You have no idea what a blessing you'll be to that man one day," he said. He's a Christian. When he laughed, I think he was laughing at the other guy. So he encouraged me, and we talked for a few minutes, and he was encouraged, too. I was completely shocked. It was interesting to think that if I had kept my big mouth shut, we wouldn't have found that common ground. A while later I was dumping garbage, watched by the security guard who had been in Vietnam, when Shawn came back. He said something to me again about going with him, then walked to the dumpster. The security agent said to me, "I think that guy does crack." I laughed and told him, "Yeah, he asked me on a date." "What? That dirtball?" "Yep. He wanted to take me to Burger King." "Burger King," he scoffed. "Well, for him, that would be pretty expensive. He'd probably make YOU pay when you got there!" He was pretty funny. But anyway, yes, I love my job, for all it's craziness. Off now for another round! I'll be home around 3:00 A.M.

A Fable

This week, we had to write a Fable, in preparation for writing one in Latin at the end of the term. I had lots of fun with this assignment.

Philosophy According to Weasel

Once upon a time, there lived a very chipper Weasel. Nobody knew why he was always happy; life rarely went well for him. Just today he had escaped being Dragon’s lunch, literally by the skin of his tail (Dragon was still coughing up flaming hairballs). That night, Cat, being curious, visited Weasel to discover his secret. “It’s something my Mama taught me,” Weasel said. “She said, ‘Son, take your time, don’t live too fast; troubles will come and they will pass. Be a simple kind of man.’” Weasel uncorked a bottle and poured the ruby contents into two mismatched goblets. “It’s all about perspective,” said Weasel, raising his glass. “When life gives you sour grapes, make wine.”

I have to give my friend Bekah credit for giving me the alternate take on "When life gives you lemons, make lemonade" because of how difficult that would be to translate, and also for throwing a dragon in there.

Conclusion to the Novel I Probably Won't Ever Write

This week for Declamation, we had to present the ending of the novel we started last week.

Ever since That Day, Janet’s life had never been the same. That Day, she had cursed the stars, so obviously aligned against her. Now she laughed, thinking over all that had happened since then. Her life had not been unusual or beyond her wildest dreams; it had been better. True, life hadn’t been all sunshine and rainbows, but rather hard and stormy. But thanks to That Day, she couldn’t see the clouds for the silver lining. Years ago, she was too old for fairytales. Now she was old enough for them again, and was living as they all promised: Happily Ever After.

The Intro to the Novel I Probably Won't Ever Write

I'm back at school now, and classes are in full swing. This week's declamation assignment is to write the intro to the novel I've always wanted to write. So here it is. I can't say I've always wanted to write it, since it all came together within the last hour. I don't even feel like I can take credit for it; my Muse kicked in, and this is what came out.

“This has got to be one of Those Days,” Janet muttered darkly. She had never had one of Those Days, being a normal person, and she didn’t know how to cope. It was 3:00 in the afternoon, and she had had a string of embarrassing firsts. She had burnt her toast, dashed in late for an interview, and given a great impression of a bull in the china closet on the way out to her car, where she’d found her first parking ticket. That was bad. But bad had become worse when she’d realized her purse was locked inside, along with her keys and phone, leaving her way up an unfamiliar creek without the necessary equipment. That was when she’d banged her head against the window, much to the amusement of a few pigeons. But that was hours ago. A stranger had lent her a phone, the locksmith hadn’t broken anything, her ticket was paid, and she had coffee. Janet savored the last sip of her mocha. This headache Day would be over in less than nine hours, if she could last that long. Janet took a deep breath, then marched outside. Half a block later, her purse strap snapped. The bag hit the concrete with a thud, erupting its contents everywhere. She rolled her eyes and chased her belongings. “Honestly, doesn’t Prada know how to make a purse anymore?” she snapped, fishing for her lipstick underneath a Chevy. She grabbed it and pulled back, then stopped as she caught sight of something in the mud next to her hand. “Wow,” she whispered. She looked around quickly, then picked it up, wiping away the grime. This Day was definitely refusing to be normal.

A Dog, a Rope, Some Kids, and What They Did

This week for Declamation, I had to write a cautionary tale with a moral. Here it is.

A Dog, a Rope, Some Kids, and What They Did

Once upon a time, a grandmother and her spastic mutt lived across the street from five of her grandchildren, named Lindsey, Kendrick, Kathleen, Maggie, and Seamus. The oldest was about fifteen, and the youngest was two. This parallels my life in a very suspicious way, but I’m sure there’s no connection. Anyway, the older three were sometimes asked to walk said mutt, but these ‘walks’ were more like all-out running, because the dog would tear down the street at top speed once the leash was clipped. These children were inventive, however, and realized that there had to be a better way to walk the dog that didn’t involve getting their arms pulled out of their sockets. So, they discovered that, by using a long rope for a leash and putting on their rollerblades, they could get a pretty fun ride around the block and wear the dog out at the same time. They had this down to an art.

One day, their mother left to do errands, and Grandma called and asked if they could take Lil’ Hon for a run (nobody bothered calling it a walk anymore; everyone knew there was no such thing with that dog). Lindsey said they could, but only if Grandma didn’t mind watching Maggie. She didn’t have rollerblades, and couldn’t be left alone. But what to do about Seamus? Lindsey knew he’d be way too much for Grandma to handle, but they couldn’t just lock him in the house, either. They decided to bring Seamus along in his stroller, and Kathleen was told to push him around the block and keep up with the other two. Seriously, whom else would they give that job to? She was the youngest of the older kids, and therefore not as entitled to fun things like getting pulled around by the dog. But I digress. It soon became apparent that Kathleen could not keep up with them, so Lindsey had a brilliant idea, as usual. She and Kendrick stopped the dog, and he held her down, while Lindsey attached the lead to the foot rest of the stroller. That way, the dog could pull the stroller and the other three could skate and keep up. And Seamus was buckled in anyway, so what could possibly happen? Well, Lil’ Hon bolted, and the stroller shot down the road, bumping and careening, which actually made them more amused than alarmed. The dog got a head start because they were laughing too hard to skate, but once the front wheels of the stroller bounced up and the entire thing tipped back and flew down the street on the back wheels, they realized this wasn’t such a good idea after all. They caught up just in time; Lil’ Hon ran into a neighbor’s yard and up a small hill, which made the rope go slack. The stroller slowly tipped backwards, and Lindsey dove and caught it just before it hit the ground. Kendrick tackled Lil’ Hon and untied her from the stroller. Everyone started laughing again, except for Seamus. Their pale-faced brother was wide-eyed and gawking the entire time, too scared to cry. Kendrick took charge of the dog for the home stretch, and Lindsey pushed the stroller, which was very bent and wobbly, hardly functional at this point. Their mother was home by now, and rapidly put the pieces together. She was accustomed to deducing the most ludicrous answer possible and being right. Sherlock Holmes had nothing compared to her. Needless to say, she was most displeased with this event, and alternately lectured the culprits and comforted Seamus, who had found his voice by this time.

So the moral of the story is: Never attach hyper dogs to baby strollers, especially when there’s actually a passenger.

"I Love this Crazy, Tragic, sometimes almost Magic, Awful, Beautiful Life

That song line sums up the past few weeks pretty well. It has been crazy, slightly tragic as far as grades are concerned, almost magical, awful sometimes, and always beautiful.

It's never enjoyable to come face to face with failure. Again. I don't know why, but Natural History (Biology) just will not stay in my head. It all makes sense on paper, in lecture, while talking and studying, but take it all away and give me a test and I fail. Royally. This is the second term, and the second time I've failed a midterm for this class. But, as frustrating as it is, it's not the end of the world. I remember when I had a terrible time with Algebra II in highschool, and, after a similar experience, the lady that taught me said, "Well, thankfully your salvation does NOT depend on your Algebra grade!" Amen. It doesn't even depend on my Natural History grade. This term is better than last. Last term, I also failed the Logic midterm. This time, I aced it. There's always a silver lining, and His mercies are new every morning.

On Friday, we had our first snow. Not a whole lot, but enough to make it beautiful. That night, NSA had a volleyball game, and the Sophomores were the worst class. We really were not with the program. We had fun, though, and we had something none of the other classes had: Our personal bugler to (loudly!) proclaim a goal on our part. I don't know who brought the bugle, but a spectator absconded with it and put it to good use. The funniest part to me was that he even knew how to play it. Who learns to play the bugle anymore? Apparently Jonathan. About thirty of us went to Arby's afterward to re-fuel and enjoy each others' company. (What a great segue into my next ramble!)

Today was the Sabbath, and that makes up for anything that happens during the week. Sunday is my favorite day of the week. I love getting up, going to church, worshiping, confessing my sin and being reminded that Christ paid for it all, eating the bread, drinking the wine, feasting and fellowshipping. Since my Moscow Family is scattering to the four winds for Thanksgiving, we had a pre-Thanksgiving Thanksgiving today. It was fantastic. I'm still stuffed, and probably won't even have a snack before bed. A few family friends came too, to fill out the table. As always, the fine china and silverware came out, cloth napkins, the works. It's the Sabbath; it's a feast. "This is the day that the LORD has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it!"

It's amazing how food smooths the way for fellowship. We're relational creatures, and food is one of the best catalysts for fostering the atmosphere of fellowship. Shared food always tastes better. I think about Mr. Scrooge and his "melancholy meal," or his lonely, tasteless dish of gruel in his apartment. Even Scrooge might have loosened up a bit around good food, if he'd taken a chance and gone to Fred's Christmas dinner years earlier. Is it any wonder that we are told to fellowship as we celebrate the Lord's Supper? We're commanded to "recognize the body of the Lord." What does that mean? His broken body symbolized by the broken bread? Absolutely. And yet, the "body of the Lord" is also His Church, the people around us in the pews. If we zoom in on the bread and forget His body, we sin. Likewise, if we focus on His body and forget the meaning of the bread, we sin. I love the concerted effort of the community here to recognize the broken body of Christ, and His body at large. At Trinity, before Communion we pass the peace, which is about five or ten minutes of hugging, kissing, hand shaking, body squashing greetings in the name of the Lord. We recognize the body, then sit down and recognize the body before eating it. Then, after the service, many, many folks have Sabbath Feasts, inviting family and friends to celebrate the day of rest. It's hard to keep up with people; our lives are so busy. But Sunday is for resting, for praising God for His faithfulness, and, second to going to church, what better way to do that than by eating together, recognizing the body of the Lord? I have come to love feasting on the Sabbath, and it is definitely a celebration I want to carry into my own home. Food is one of the best body builders.