Best comment to a table, EVER.

I wait tables. Sometimes, it sucks. Today, I worked 13 hours. I did get a ten-minute break, though, and I got to go to the bathroom once, so maybe I shouldn't complain. My feet are the feet of an 80-year-old woman that have somehow attached themselves to my 27-year-old legs. A coworker, who was sharing a similar schedule (and similar feet) made the following comment to a lady at his table today:

Lady: "We have been waiting THIRTY MINUTES for our table!"

Co-worker: "I've been working for seven hours! I win!"

It happened one night...

Disclaimer: despite what you may think after reading this post, I am not on hallucinogenic drugs of any kind. That being said, take my hand, and venture with me into the wild world of Wednesday evening Philosophy class.

In addition to the disclaimer, I also need to preface this by saying that I will be referencing the girl who sits in front of me as Pickles. This is because last week, she brought a Pickle Pak to class and proceeded to eat sweet pickles for two hours straight. That is, until she knocked the Pak over, sending sweet pickle juice cascading over the desk and onto the floor. Fortunately, she was able to mop up...with her gloves...and then clamp the pickle-juice-covered gloves over the noses of her friends for the remaining forty minutes of class, causing them to squeal and recoil in disgust.

6:00 p.m. Class begins. Girl who had been pregnant comes in quite obviously not pregnant. Professor: "Wow! You must've had your baby! Are you sore?" Now, how exactly is New Mom supposed to answer this? She had a baby on Sunday. It's Wednesday. I've never had children, but as I see it, she has one of two possible responses:

1. "You'd be surprised, really - pushing something the size of a watermelon out of something the size of a lemon really isn't all that bad!"

2. "I sure am - that episiotomy was a real b*tch!"

Of course she's sore. But why are you asking?

6:05 p.m. Class commences. We continue adding to our list of "Things to Get Off The Moral Hook, Spring 2008." The premise: come up with reasons that we are not morally responsible for hitting a small child with a car. Included in the list so far: "My prosthetic leg got jammed under the brake pedal." "I was high and thought the kid was a monster." "I'm driving Christine."

6:27 p.m. Pickles pulls out a can of pineapple and a spoon and starts a-snackin'.

6:42 p.m. Pickles wraps up dinner and commences cleaning out her hairbrush, dropping wads of hair on the floor.

7:00 p.m. A discussion on our responsibility to vote begins. Professor Bill points out that the voting machines are all made by one company with ties to a certain political party, and the possibility exists that they operate a master control somewhere.

7:16 p.m. A strangled scream comes out of the heater vent next to me. I think it's the guy one classroom over being exceptionally animated. I THINK.

7:31 p.m. Professor Bill launches in to a detailed synopsis of Moby Dick.

7:33 p.m. Professor Bill wants to know if we know the first and last lines of Moby Dick. The first line? "Call me Ishmael." The last line, according to him? "Call me fish meal."

7:39 p.m. Wrap up synopsis of Moby Dick and begin synopsis of The Neverending Story. When Professor Bill begins talking about Fantastica needing a hero, he does a little leap and bursts into a rendition of Bonnie Tyler's "Holding Out for a Hero." With arm motions. (There is no way I could make this up. I'm not that good.)

7:42 p.m. Weird noise from the heater vent again.

8:03 p.m. Pickles pulls a wad of hot-pink Silly Putty out of her bag, fashions it into eyeballs, and affixes them to her glasses, where they remain for the better part of ten minutes.

8:22 p.m. More strangled screams. I begin to think that someone is actually being tortured in the ductwork.

8:39 p.m. Professor Bill wraps up class with the following statement: "In order to be a moral agent, you must be convinced of your moral responsibility. Chickens might be moral agents, but until you get more evidence, I'm not buying into it."

8:40 p.m. Another day in Philosophy draws to a close.

Why study when I can blog about the weekend?

Last weekend, I got to escape the frigid plains of Kansas and hop a plane to sunny L.A.

Despite my arrival at an insanely early hour, Andrew oh-so-cheerfully picked me up at the airport and we commenced spending the Perfect Weekend together. Granted, the Perfect Weekend mostly consisted of homework, but it was really fantastic to be doing homework where the distance between us was the length of the coffee table, instead of the length of most of Kansas, Colorado, Utah, and Nevada. Just to give you a glimpse of what life in California is like (and to reassure all of you Midwesterners that yes, 80-degree weather will indeed come again someday...) I've included some photos. Note: I've also included a photo of Andrew and I for everyone who keeps asking who this Andrew person is, anyway. Note II: I did not suddenly become insanely talented with a camera. All photos by Andrew Johnson.



No, this is not a postcard.


Look, Mom! No mittens! No shoes either, for that matter.


Yes, it really was this idyllic.

Meet Andrew! (Confession: I think we're cute.)

I think I'm done pouting now.

Note to self - don't blog while tired. The world tends to look better after 8 hours of sleep and a cup of green tea.

Leftovers

I've been completely emotional lately for no reason whatsoever. I feel unsettled, off-center, whatever you want to call it. The problem is, it's not consistent - I can deal with feeling consistently one way or another, but I go back and forth between being pretty content and being completely, totally sad.

I think it has something to do with being back in school after such a great break - and not only am I back in school, I'm at Real Actual Nursing School instead of just at small friendly JuCo, and it's a different atmosphere. I also think it has something to do with feeling like I never see people anymore - I spent so much time over break with so many people I love, and now I feel like I bounce between class, work, and homework with no time to do anything else but sleep. I also think it's partly that I feel like I don't know anyone well enough to be real yet - I mean, sure, we spend six hours a day together, but it's not exactly like I'm going to be anything but cheerful.

I think I just need some time to get used to everything. Maybe? Is that it? What's going on?

It makes me think of something New Friend Ben said in class today - "Drama is kind of like Chinese food. It's OK sometimes, but not very often, and you definitely don't want it sitting in your fridge."

I need to clean out the fridge.

Be not of those who doubt.

My biggest challenge in relationships has always been jealousy. Initially I thought it started in college, when my first "real" relationship ended after a planned camping trip was canceled early due to rain, resulting in a late-night visit to a boyfriend's house. This visit culminated with me walking in on him in bed with a girl whose name I will not mention here, though I still remember it, and her, as vividly as I remember the feeling of complete and total betrayal. When it comes up, I've always told this story with a twisted sort of amused self-deprecation, as if I didn't really mind, and as if the memory of that night doesn't cause my stomach to twist a little even now.

I've carried those feelings of betrayal and jealousy into every relationship I've had since then, always expecting that any sentence that begins with "I love you," will surely be followed by "but ________."

I wonder sometimes if this insecurity blanket that I carry with me goes back to my childhood, to the weeks when mom was gone on business trips and dad would wonder aloud what she was doing, or if she would come back. I wonder if it has to do with knowing that sometimes dad would search for nonexistent clues that mom was cheating, or if it's due to the fact that I realized before I turned ten that at least for my parents, "I love you" did not mean, "I love you and the person you are because you are independent of who I am, and I love the life that our separateness will enable us to build together." Instead, "I love you" implied possession, control, suspicion, and ultimately, failure and loss.

I am determined to fail. And I will lose. I am determined to fail to perpetuate this cycle. I will lose the feelings of jealousy and suspicion that have tainted former relationships. I refuse to hurt those I love by applying past behaviors to current situations.

I've been using a journal as part of my periods of prayer and meditation for some time, and two phrases are beginning to establish themselves as a clear theme.

Be not of those who doubt.

Act as if.

Clearly, negative associations from former relationships can no longer apply. Further, acting as though I must protect myself from being hurt may do just that - but it will most certainly prevent me from realizing the complete happiness that comes from being willing to trust. I will focus on accepting, learning from, and letting go of past experiences. I will make wise choices in the future. I will choose not to wallow in the past, or fear being hurt again. And I will believe that the Divine Someone who has planned everything to this point has also planned everything that is sure to follow. Because His vision is far superior to mine, I am giving up. I cede my desire to control to His ability to do so.

I will not be of those who doubt.

Hiatus

By the looks of things, I'm taking a bit of a break from blogging.