Erindipitous Encounters

Airplane Encounters

2012-02-07T15:47:00.000-06:00

I had to leave town for a weekend conference recently. The last time I traveled to said conference I got several good blog topics out of my journey. (Like this one and this one.)

Here are some things I thought of during my trek this time:

- They should limit the kinds of odiferous foods you can bring onto airplanes. Especially if it's a small airplane. The lady next to me on one of my flights was enjoying a wonderful sandwich from Subway but it was loaded with jalapeno peppers. I mean, really loaded. Not cool. Literally. My nostrils were burning.

- This whole thing where you have to pay money to check a bag has got to go. End of story.

- Also, the airlines have these new signs slash posters where they say "enjoy a drink on us!" and then they list all the drinks you can have while on your flight. How generous! You mean I can pay you almost $500 for a ticket, $50 to check my bag, and surrender my dignity in one of those creepy scanner things and you'll give me half a Coke?? I can't get over your giving spirit!
I'm not old. Or at least not THAT old, but I can remember the days when if you bought a ticket you could check TWO bags FREE, and you got a meal on every flight. Like a real meal. Served with actual metal utensils. CRAZY.

- I think all airport toilets should have those nifty automatic seat covers like they have in Chicago. It should be a standard requirement. I will add that to my list of goals for a future political campaign. (By the way, it just occurred to me that my award winning, undefeated campaign slogan will no longer work. "Vote for the Learned one," took me to the highest reaches of high school government. With my new last name, it no longer packs a punch. Heavy sigh. Oh well, Ghata get used to it.)

- Lastly, I wonder what they do with all the liquids and gels they confiscate from passengers at security. If it's more than 3 oz., they will take it from you. They must have piles of shampoo, deodorant, toothpaste and hair gel somewhere. I hope it's being put to good use. When I was little I used to think there were little elves who sorted the luggage and put in on the right plane and then back on the right conveyer belt. Maybe the elves get to use the products... One can only hope.

Unique Encounters

2012-01-18T15:00:00.001-06:00

Sometimes it's good to feel unique. Sometimes it's not.

Here's a few places/times it's nice to feel unique/different/special:
- When you're an artist at an art show. Your works stands out as something different, people notice you and you make more money.
- When you have a million siblings and there's something that you do that no one else does. You don't have to share, which is always fun whether you want to admit it or not.
- When you're applying for college scholarships or trying to get into med school or law school or something. You have to stand out from the crowd.
- When you're trying to get a job. Same song, second verse.
- If you're Waldo and the whole point of your existence is your ability to be found in large crowds of people, animals or barbarians.

Here's some places/times you DON'T want to feel unique/different/special:
- High school. I don't care what people say. No one wants to truly stick out in high school. The trend is to blend.
- At the doctor's office. The words "I've never seen anything like this," are not comforting in the least.
- Ditto for the dentist.
- The witness protection program. Duh.
- And you certainly don't want to feel unique at the Apple store when you're taking in your computer for repair. "Take a look at this!" is not something you want to hear one Genius yell to another.

Heavy sigh...

Restroom Encounters

2011-12-14T15:18:00.000-06:00

Question: Why are department store bathrooms always located in a seemingly abandoned part of the building?

Seriously.

It seems like every bathroom is at the end of some scary deserted hallway, filled with half-empty cardboard boxes and clothing racks with nothing but empty hangers on them. The stores could be filled with people, but there's never anyone in the hallway leading to the bathroom. Even though I'm an adult, I feel like I could get kidnapped every time I embark on this frightening, but clearly necessary, adventure.

It's creepy. And I don't understand it.

Injustice Encounters

2011-12-06T10:06:00.001-06:00

I'm not a feminist. I'm not a sexist. I'm not (too) crazy.

BUT.

Having a wedding/getting married opened my eyes to a world of gender-based discrimination and injustice. Ok, maybe those words are harsh, but hear me out. Take a look at an abbreviated version of our boy and girl to-do lists (all because of the wedding):

Boy:
- Get fitted for tux.
- Recruit other boys to get fitted for tuxes
- Help parents plan rehearsal dinner
- Show up
- Assure girl that the wedding will happen not matter who decides to be late
- Wear fitted tux
- Take pictures
- Marry girl you love
- Go on honeymoon
- Carry gifts into new house
- Change address on driver's license
- Change address with the Post Office
- Go to work
- Come home

Girl:
- EVERYTHING ELSE
No, really. Everything else. Watch:
- Plan the WHOLE wedding and all the details that are too long to list
- Assemble and send invitations
- Pick wedding dress
- Endure three fittings of said dress
- Pick bridesmaids dresses
- Find shoes, earrings and all other accessories
- Get hair and make-up done
- Freak out just a little
- Manage the personalities of everyone in attendance. particularly family
- Wear thrice-fitted dress
- Take pictures
- Marry the man you love
- Go on honeymoon
- Retrieve certified copy of marriage license
- Open and record all gifts
- Wash and find a place for aforementioned gifts in new house
- Return 4 of 5 crock-pots and 6 of 7 coffee percolators.
- WRITE THANK YOU NOTES
- Decorate interior of house
- Change name and address on driver's license
- Change name and address on social security card (this involves traveling to some kind of alternate universe where time moves at a glacial pace and nobody smiles.)
- Change name on EVERYTHING ELSE (credit card, health insurance, bank accounts, dr's office, dentist, FACEBOOK, twitter)
- Go to work
- Come home
- Be thankful for everything (including the fact that you in no way involved your last name in your blog title)

Tell me how that's fair. You can't. Because it's not.

The things we do for love. (heavy sigh)

p.s. I love being married. Really. "I do." I mean, "I have" (Orthodox pun intended).

Coffee Encounters

2011-11-03T10:22:00.003-05:00

Panera is usually a happy place. Even if it's super early in the morning, people have coffee, bagels and classical music to start their day out right. And later in the day they serve their crazy good mac and cheese. Who can't be happy when there's crazy good mac and cheese in the room?

Anyways, I go to Panera every Thursday morning to pick up bagels for a weekly meeting at the church. The people in the bakery know my order before I get to the counter. (It makes me feel like I live in a small town - even though Panera is a huge chain and OKC isn't too tiny either.) They assemble my bagel packs and I go on my merry little way.

But this morning tragedy struck Panera. Their coffee machine BROKE.

Did you hear me?

The COFFEE MACHINE BROKE.

They had signs posted all over, but people still approached the counter asking for coffee. Hoping and praying it couldn't be true. They came for coffee. They need coffee. THERE WAS NO COFFEE.

I don't drink coffee so I was unaffected by this caffeine famine, but man were those other people upset. Their facial expressions ranged from devastation to anger, sorrow to rage, and a few who just stood stunned, unable to process the news they just heard.

The moral of the story?

Drink more tea.

Courthouse Encounters

2011-10-26T14:12:00.003-05:00

Suppose you had to go to the county courthouse the other day to apply for a marriage license.

Suppose you had never been there and you had kind of an adventure within those walls.

Suppose your adventure went something like this:

You approach a building that looks all nice and friendly from the outside, but the people going through the doors with you don't look so inclined to be nice or friendly.

You have to go through security and get your bag x-rayed and they say you can't bring any knives in, but you make it through with TWO swiss army keychains in your purse. Two. When your cousin went there they stole her deadly weapons - also known as bobby pins. But not your knives.

Again, the inside of the first floor looks all nice and clean and people smile at you. Then you get in the elevator and go to the 2nd floor, where you think the office for marriage licenses is, and you meet a delightful lady who tells you you have to go to the 9th floor. You say thank you and she wishes you a good day and you saunter out feeling pretty darn good about this place you had obviously misjudged.

But then, THEN you get on the elevator and ride to the 9th floor. And when the doors open, it's clear you have been transported to an alternate universe. You know the office where Tom Hanks works in Joe vs. the Volcano? It's like that. But filled with even creepier people. People who stare at you. Some people in handcuffs. People who make you feel tiny and terrified. And they are all in this big line that fills the whole hall. And you see this tiny sign at the end of the line that says "Marriage Licenses." So you try to sneak through the crowd and work your way toward the door and the light at the end of the tunnel - no really, the marriage license room is bright and the hallway is long, it's actually a light at the end of the tunnel.

Anyway, you make it inside. There's no line in this room. There's a fairly friendly lady behind the counter who takes your information and gives you a worksheet to fill out. She makes a little small talk as you sign a paper and submit your paperwork. Then she looks at you and says "It's time for the oath." You laugh because she has to be kidding, right? Then she stares at you, totally unamused, and tells you to raise you right hand. You do it, because she will kill you if you don't, and you proceed to promise all the information you have provided is true. You also promise that you aren't related to your husband-to-be. So help you GOD.

Then you get to leave. But you can't breathe easily quite yet. Why not? Well, because you have to go back sometime in the next two weeks and pick up the actual license.

Wonder what you will see then.

Busy Encounters

2011-10-15T22:53:00.003-05:00

If anyone out there has any extra projects or crises they need help with in the next few weeks, please let me know. I'm totally bored and don't have very many things going on in my world. Just give me a holler!

Ok, so I'm being a little sarcastic. Actually I'm being the most sarcastic that it's humanly possible to be.

That being said, if I know you, and we are going to speak to or see each other soon, please refrain from any and all forms of the following phrases:

-"Erin, do you have time to (insert meaningless task that could wait a million years to be completed)...?"
-"Erin, could you help me with (insert thing that has absolutely no importance and requires a ridiculous amount of time)...?"
-"Do you have plans on (insert any day before November 12)...?"
-"Are you busy (again, any time before Nov. 12)...?"

Your cooperation is greatly appreciated.

Cow Encownters

2011-09-27T16:33:00.002-05:00

Joe and I were driving on a road trip this weekend and we began discussing what animal we would least like to be. Everyone always talks about there favorite animals or which one they would love to be, so naturally we had to do the opposite.

Anyways, I confidently answered that I would hate to be a cow. It would be the worst. I listed the following reasons I thought being a cow would be a miserable existence:

1. You would have to stand in a field all day. Rain, sun, snow - no shelter.
2. You weigh a bagillion pounds and have super skinny legs.
3. You are alive and being fed just so you can be slaughtered and eaten.
4. Flies would get in your eyes all the time and you have no hands or any way to get them off of you.
5. If someone tips you over you could die because you have too many stomachs.
6. No one would ever talk to you or pet you unless they were about to eat you.
7. People would tug on your nipples all the time.
8. You would only run because someone is chasing you with a hot iron and trying to brand your skin with their initials or made-up symbol.
9. People would staple tags to your ears.
10. You would walk through poop all the time.
11. The most famous cows are the Chik-Fil-A cows and they are only famous because they are desperate and don't want to be eaten. Pitiful.

Joe? well he laughed so hard he nearly drove off the road. I thought I made a pretty good argument, but he just found my answer hysterical. I was being serious! I would hate to be a cow.

He said he would least like to be a sloth. How boring. Sloths aren't on the menu at any fast food places AND they get to sleep all the time. Seems like a pretty sweet gig to me.

Help me out people/person. Cow totally wins, right?

(These are the things that consume my thoughts. So much better than weddings or house buying. Seriously.)

Advice Encounters

2011-09-16T11:43:00.002-05:00

(warning: this post has serious "rant" potential)

I know people mean well.

I know that they've lived longer than me.

And I know they want to be helpful and prevent me from making the same mistakes they did.

BUT if one more person offers me unsolicited and totally obvious advice on getting married, or buying a house, I will probably cause them or myself bodily harm.

Again, I know people mean well, and I know I don't know everything, and I'm all about learning and preventing trouble, but for the love! This is driving me mad.

Here are some examples of the precious gems of wisdom I have been offered as of late and the thoughts that run through my head as I force a smile:
- "You know, buying a house is one of the biggest decisions in life." Really? It's a big deal? I had no idea. Thank goodness you told me! I probably would have just drawn out of a hat.
- "Buying a house is a huge investment. Make sure you are smart about it." Again, thanks. I would have never known. Also, glad you told me to be smart about it because usually I prefer to be dumb about things.
- "You know, once you buy a house, you're stuck. You can't just move if you don't like your neighbors." Rats. I can't count how many times I've moved as a renter because of pesky neighbors. Guess I'll have to break that habit.
- "It's a buyer's market. Be sure you get a good deal." No thanks. I like bad deals better.
- "I have a house. You will love it. You should probably buy it." If you don't want it, why would I?
- "Your wedding is getting so close!" YOU THINK??? I hadn't noticed.

Ok, so I'm a jerk. I'm just not a big fan of Master's of the Obvious.

I am however, very grateful for our support system and extended family and people who care enough to chime in. Really, I am.

Fraction Encounters

2011-08-31T13:45:00.003-05:00

Well, I saw another one. Custom license plates sure are plentiful these days.

This one is a little different than the past few I've posted. It wasn't difficult at all to figure out what they were trying to say. BUT trying to figure out why they said it proved fairly entertaining.

Take a look:

Here's a few of the possibilities I came up with:
1. They have five kids. One made it to college - just barely - and they are holding their breath as the other four navigate the wiles of middle and high school.
2. The car is being driven by a hit man/woman. They are out to exact revenge on a gang of five playground terrors who made middle school a living nightmare. They "took care of" one of them. Only four more to go.
3. They watch The Office and feel real connection with Creed. Since Creed wants three chairs, they decided to up the ante and go for five.
4. They are over-zealous and instead of just wanting to win an EGOT (Emmy, Grammy, Oscar and Tony) they have come up with a fifth prestigious award. Probably and Okie or something equally awesome and made up. They have secured the fictional award, now there's just four biggies to go.
5. They own a hotel and have earned one star. While this is certainly an accomplishment, they really need to get the other four. I mean, who wants to stay at a one star hotel?

I could go on for days, but I'll spare you.

Watching You Encounters

2011-08-25T10:13:00.004-05:00

I consider myself to be fairly observant. I mean, I notice things other people don't. Mostly things that don't matter in the least, but I still notice them. This special talent can come in handy. "It's, uh, all about reading people."

But yesterday I was put to shame by a woman who observes and reports everything. EVERYTHING. I see her often and she always has the latest news. It's actually quite frightening. It has inspired a secret game I play: How long can you keep this information from so-and-so. I'm pretty good at this game. Shocking, I know. How could I be bad at a game I invented in which I am the only player?

Anyway, yesterday I left my house without my rings and my watch. It was just one of those mornings. I was at work for about an hour before I noticed my naked hands and wrist. I was thinking, "Oh well. It happens. Doesn't really matter. I can deal. It won't affect anyone else."

WRONG.

Last night after church, so-and-so walks up to me and says "I see you forgot your watch today. And your ring"

WHAT? How did she notice? Why did she notice? Why did she tell me she noticed? What am I supposed to say? What else did she notice? Is she going to tell people I'm not wearing my ring on purpose? This is why I sleep in my jewelry!

Needless to say, I was beyond uncomfortable and taken back. I smiled and nodded, "Yep, just rushed out of the house this morning and totally forgot them." (Shoulder shrug and walk/run away)

I have a new goal in honing my observation skills: never let your freakish attention to detail scare the bageezes out of someone else. It's not nice.

Old Encounters

2011-05-17T14:53:00.002-05:00

In my line of work, I get to feel young frequently. I go on retreats, work at camp, go bowling, play laser tag and eat an ungodly amount of pizza. It's great.

However, there is another side to this equation.

For each youthful moment, there undoubtedly comes a moment when I feel... old. Like when I try and say some cool catch phrase that apparently went out of style decades ago. Or when I ask the kids if they have any Grey Poupon in their cars and they give me blank stares. BLANK STARES. Like I'm the crazy one. (Oh, and don't even get me started on T.V. sitcom references. The days of Uncle Jesse and Zack Morris are not even on their radar.)

Anyways, such is life. I've come to expect it. Good thing, too, because according to most adults it's probably just going to get worse along with everything else about my body or life. (Older people provide such optimism sometimes.)

BUT. Yesterday I had a "wow, I'm really old" moment that I'm still trying to get a mental grip on.

I was driving down my street and I saw the neighbor kids by the curb holding a sign. They had a little table set up and were waving at the cars going by. I thought they had a lemonade stand. It was adorable. I got all excited about it officially being summer time and kids being kids, but before I could even look for spare change I got close enough to read their sign. My idyllic thought bubble immediately burst into a million particles. Do you know what it said?

"WE CHARGE BATTERIES"

Seriously. What in the world? I don't even know where to begin with this extremely flawed business plan and what it says about kids these days, so I think I'll just abruptly end this post.

Geesh.

Spotted Encounters

2011-04-28T16:44:00.003-05:00

Sometimes I write stuff at my desk and then put my pen down and forget to put the lid back on. And sometimes I then proceed to type things on my computer and do other "desky" tasks. And then sometimes, my arm looks like this:

Only sometimes, though.

Repetitive Encounters

2011-04-07T10:22:00.003-05:00

I promise this isn't a license plate blog. I promise, promise.

But I also let my yes be yes and my no be no. So no, this isn't a license plate blog, but yes, I'm going to write another license plate post.

Check this out:

Here's what I've got:
1. Clearly the Bible Belt is full of license plate sermons. This person wants to go home. "Oh, to be in heaven!" They way they were driving, their wish could be granted sooner than later.
2. This was a newer van, and it could be some new scientific experiment. It might be an O-2, Boron, Nitrogen, Hydrogen V(a)n.
3. The driver is from Connecticut. They want to be back in New Haven. Oklahoma is alright, but oh, to be in New Haven...
4. Probably more likely they are from Kansas, and used to live in Haven, which is right next to Amish country. They moved here and miss the cinnamon rolls. Who wouldn't? Those things are gianormous and gooey and just generally great.
5. The van wants to be a New Hampshire van. They have more fun. Or so it's heard...
6. The driver wrote a song. It's called "Ode to Bee Hivin'." Nothing like fresh honey and epi-pens.

WOW Encounters

2011-03-29T16:08:00.002-05:00

It happened again.

I saw another custom plate that sent my mind aflutter.*

It said:

WOW - OK

My possible, yet highly improbable interpretations:

1. The driver is in awe of Oklahoma. They are literally at a loss for multi-syllable words to describe the splendor of this state. "Like, wow, Oklahoma. Just Wow."
2.The driver is extremely distressed by the state of the state. As in "Wow, Oklahoma, are you really ranked as the 6th most obese state? Really? With just under 3.7 million residents in the entire state, this is the kind of recognition you're getting. WOW."
3. The driver is gamer and only mildly impressed by WOW - that would be World of Warcraft. They probably prefer Dungeons and Dragons or Halo or some other game. WOW** is just OK.
4. The driver's name is William Oswald Wentworth and he wants you to be OK with that. If you have a structured settlement, and you need cash now, call his cousin JG. WOW can't help you, so back off. OK?
5. It's an encrypted message to the driver's mother. If you turn WOW upside down it clearly spells MOM. If you turn OK upside down, you realize this tangent is a dead end.
6. The driver is a fan of Christian music but is constantly underwhelmed by the quality of the WOW worship albums. They are just OK. They've put out an album every year since 1996, but they still don't have the hang of it. He's disappointed, but supportive.
7. The driver is just generally sassy. I can hear their voice in my head: "Wow, OK? Just wow. I can't believe you went there. WOW."

What do YOU think it means?

*I really have no intention of turning this into a "check out this license plate I saw" blog, but I can't help it at the moment.
** The more you say "wow," the less it sounds like a real word. Try it. "Wow, wow, wow, wow, wow, wow." Told ya.

TRI Encounters

2011-03-22T15:20:00.004-05:00

Saw a custom license plate this morning while driving on the highway. It read:

TRI GOD

Now, if you haven't bothered to notice, I'm a little oenery and tend to play devil's advocate when things are obvious but not obvious enough to be beyond question. It's a bad, but mildly entertaining habit of mine.

So, given my propensity to ponder the irrelevant, I came up with the following list of possible meanings for this not so encoded message:

1. The person driving the car is a hard-core Trinitarian and, like St. Patrick really wants every one to know God is one God in three persons. He's a TRI(une) GOD.
2. The person would like God to put a little more effort into something. As in, "Try, God. Please!" Maybe they are the type who have been praying to win the lottery for decades and are convinced that a little more effort from the big man just might seal the deal on their luxurious retirement.
3. They want you to give God a try. Give Him a go, if you will. If you try God, you might like him. Just a suggestion from your fellow driver. I'm not the betting type, but I would wager that if you asked the driver, they might offer you a satisfaction guarantee.
4. The "i" in TRI could in fact be pronounced as a long "e." That would make this driver a fan of the Tree god, which is probably someone like one of Dionysus' friends or something.*
5. They are a photographer, and a devout believer in God and they want everyone to know that just as a tri-pod steadies a camera, God steadies their life. God is their Tri-Pod.

Yep. Ran with all five possibilities in a matter of 2 minutes.

There's a fine line between genius and insanity. (I have no idea what that has to do with this post. It's just something I've been told.)

*You think this one is the biggest stretch, don't you? Well my senior year of college I took a class on the history of religion and the first day the professor made us say which religion, if any, we associate with. People said the typical answers, Baptists, Catholics, Atheists, Agnostics and ONE Hellenistic Polytheist. Yep, as in Zeus and all his buddies. I've learned not to be surprised anymore.

Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, strike three.

Talking Encounters

2011-03-18T11:28:00.003-05:00

Do you talk to your TV?

I do.

I like to think most people do. They are either yelling, "Don't open that door! He's in there!" or they are screaming at the ref who obviously didn't see what they saw on that last play. Talking to the television is probably one of the more common abnormal behaviors these days. So, it doesn't make me that weird, right?

The thing is, lately I've noticed that I talk quite a bit while I'm driving too. Not to my fellow passengers, or on my phone, or even to the other drivers who are clearly out to ruin my day and test my patience. No, instead I talk to animals I see.

Now I'm weird.

It's fine.

At least I know it.

I can't help myself. If there is a dog hanging out of the window of the car at a stoplight, I can have a full conversation with it. No lie. And heaven help whoever is in my car if there's a stray dog on the side of the road. My inner moral dilemma is immediately vocalized and I start to make up a story about why the dog is on the side of the road and what will probably happen to it if I don't intervene. And if there's a dog that has been hit, well you might as well open the flood gates. It's not pretty.

The same thing happens in movies. People can drop dead left and right, but if something happens to that dog, we are turning it off. Have you seen Gran Torino? People kept getting killed and there's all this tension and the whole time all I could think was, "They had better not hurt his dog." And in war movies like The Patriot, I can see soldiers get slaughtered but if something happens to their horses, I hide my eyes. Sick, right?

I credit this, and many of my other idiosyncrasies, to my mother. Our dog at home is most definitely her favorite child, and since my brother and I have flown the coop, she talks to Rascal about his day all the time. He's there and he has ears. Silky ones, in fact. I have to admit, my mother's love for animals is definitely ingrained in me. I love Rascal, too. How can you not love this face?

It just seems I also love every other animal I've ever seen.

EXCEPT for the neighbor's cat who lurks around my porch. Every time I see him sitting on my patio table, I yell "YOU DON'T LIVE HERE."

St. Paddy's Encounters

2011-03-17T15:52:00.005-05:00

Since my name is Erin, I always feel especially celebratory on this day.

Considering it's not a work holiday, St. Patrick is really good at managing to have an eventful day.

Allow me to list a few things that have happened to me on or around St. Patrick's day the past few years:
- I was called "a legend of a woman" by an actual Irishman in a bar in Chicago. After he told me I was a legend, he asked if he could "lift me." Before I could even ask what that meant, my feet were off the floor and he just held me in the air. Super awkward. Still have no idea why that happened.
- I was in Ireland, and learned that they make fun of Americans for saying St. PaTTy's day instead of St. Paddy's Day.
- Also witnessed the St. Paddy's parade in Galway. There were alot of people dressed like bishops and even more people dressed like snakes. See:

- I spent last year in Chicago with my parents and my best friend. We went to the same pub where the lifting incident took place, but went in the afternoon. It was much more calm and my feet got to stay on the floor. BUT we ran into these loud obnoxious boys who just happened to attend a certain loud and obnoxious university. Should have known the Jayhawks would try to ruin a lovely day. We did not let them succeed.
- My dad carried this around in his man-bag all day while we were in Ireland. He found some clovers and just had to take a pic.

- My mom earned her nickname on St. Patrick's day. She was cold during the parade and went to find a hat to wear from a local shop. She wanted "anything but a Guiness hat." Instead, she bought this:

For those of you who don't know, Murphy's is knock-off Guiness. Basically my mom bought a Natty Light hat. Now we call her "Murph."

St. Patrick's Day has always been a good day for me. Many thanks to those who helped make hilarious memories. And most importantly to the Bishop who helped a nation and taught us the complexity of the Triune God with a simple clover.

Arguing Encounters

2011-03-09T14:02:00.002-06:00

Some days feel like this. Some days you are Tom Hanks. Others you are Dan Hedaya. And some days you get to be Meg Ryan.

"I'm not arguing that with you."

Glowing Encounters

2011-03-02T15:51:00.003-06:00

I just got off the phone with my Sitti (that would be my grandmother for those of you who are random creepers... I mean, readers).

She's a funny lady. She had a busy day today, and was, when I called, having coffee with two of her friends. These two girls are her cohorts. The three of them are always doing something. In fact, they've been so close for so long they were supposedly the first ones to see me when I was born.

I've heard the story a million times: It was a snowy Sunday in January. They were in church, my parents and grandparents weren't. They whispered (reverently, I'm sure) up and down each pew and left right after communion (tisk tisk) to make it the hospital to see me. Aunt Viviane always makes sure I know she was first. It went Dr., dad, mom, sitti, jiddi,my mom's sister Aunt Cheryl, Aunt Viviane then Aunt Beverly.

Anyways, they are funny.

I was talking to Sitti and they were hollering in the background about how they had better be invited to my wedding since they were the first people on earth to lay eyes on me and then Aunt Viviane took the phone and the following conversation unfolded:

Aunt Viviane: Erin, what are you wearing?
Me: ummm, what?
Aunt Viviane: What are you wearing?
Me: Like, right now?
Aunt Viviane: Yes. Right now. What are you wearing? Jeans?
Me: ...yes. I'm wearing jeans.
Aunt Viviane: Well you still look like a bride! Even in jeans! You're just glowing!

I almost couldn't contain myself. Not only was she unknowingly asking very awkward questions, but she could see my glow through the phone and the 200 miles that separate us.

Like I said, they sure are funny.

Love it.

Cursive Encounters

2011-02-21T11:36:00.002-06:00

I have a serious problem.

Really.

Like a "complicate your life multiple times a day" kind of problem.

This. Is. Serious.

You see, in a short while, my last initial will change. I'm going from an L to a G. That's right, moving up in the alphabet. My children will be so grateful.

BUT.

I CAN'T WRITE CURSIVE G's.

Not pretty ones, anyways.

It's very difficult.

I'm doing that crazy girly thing where I practice writing my married name and I'm failing miserably. This is not good, people/person. Every credit card transaction will be painful. Each purchase will strike a tone of anxiety and uncertainty. Who hesitates when they sign their own name? Criminals and people in witness protection, that's who.

I'm going to need more spiral notebooks.

Thoughtful Encounters

2011-01-20T16:04:00.003-06:00

It's not often that I get a contemplative blog itch. I mean, I guess I'm always contemplating things that happen and then writing about them, but most of the time it's pretty trivial. And that's a good thing. But today I have an itch that leans toward the serious and I intend to scratch it. Even if it's just for a moment.

Seekers of triviality, you have been warned.

Life has felt... heavy lately. Even the good things going on are BIG good things that come with a sense of gravity. There's so much to do. So much not to do. So much that seems like it can't be done. It can be overwhelming.

Forget that. It IS overwhelming. Or at least it was until I was reminded of six simple words spoken by Mother Teresa:

"Do small things with great love."

Life really is a series of millions of small actions and it's the emotion and drive behind those actions that makes them important. When tackled one tiny action and small step at a time, tasks don't seem as daunting. And when you throw love into everything you do and say, well that my friend is when greatness happens. Because that's when life isn't about you anymore. And when life isn't about you, the craziest thing happens: YOU reap the benefits.

It took a weekend in Wagoner, Oklahoma, with 140 teenagers to remind me that life might feel heavy but the light of Christ makes everything...well, light. Getting outside yourself changes everything. Owning your humanity makes everything different. It changes the way you see the world and the way you see other people. Our lives are short, and our to-do lists are long, but they aren't unconquerable. With faith, love and a heaping dose of perspective, maybe we can actually learn what it means to live. What it means to be alive.

The quote I mentioned above is something Mother Teresa said many times. It's part of this amazing quote that pretty much sums up my thoughts at the moment:

"What I do you cannot do; but what you do, I cannot do. The needs are great, and none of us, including me, ever do great things. But we can all do small things with great love, and together we can do something wonderful."

In other words, teamwork makes the dream work. We are here together for a reason. Let's do a bagillion small things with great love.

You in?

Cool.

Commercial Encounters

2011-01-04T12:25:00.003-06:00

I miss jingles.

Almost every commercial used to have a snappy tune for you to sing along to as you were bombarded by subliminal messages to buy things you don't need. Those were the good old days.

Nowadays, commercials just scream at you or confuse you with the rapidly-read fine print at the end. I wonder how much that speed reading guy gets paid. He's super fast. (NOT as fast as the Micro-Machines guy. He was the fastest. So fast, in fact, that he landed a role on Saved by the Bell as a teacher who gave impossible tests and lectures. I can still see Jessie Spano's pen making smoke as she rapidly took notes in his class.)

I really do miss good jingles though. I have an auditory memory, so they help me remember things. I can still sing most jingles from back in the day. Not that it does me much good. But it's kind of a cool party trick when you are hanging out with people from your age group. It almost becomes a trivia game.

Someone should make a game like that! A theme song and jingle trivia game. I would definitely buy that game. And even if it turns out like Scene-It and my cousin refuses to play with me, I will still love it.

Hmmm. Let's try to play via this blog. Here's a list of products/jingles that jog my memory. Do you remember them too?

Double-Mint Gum

Big Red

7-Up

Creepy Crawlers

My Buddy

Pepsi (there are like 10 for this one, this one was my favorite)

Dr. Pepper

Coca-Cola

Mentos

Toys 'R Us (that Steve Urkel on the swing at the end!)

That's only a few. I could play this game all day. This is dangerous...

Famous Encounters

2010-12-28T14:56:00.004-06:00

Well, thanks to Orthodixie, the little brother and I are famous!

Check out our ghosts of Christmases past on his latest podcast. (We're right after the story about the boy his encounter with a doctor.)

We used to be so cute.

What happened?

Absent Encounters

2010-12-10T10:30:00.003-06:00

Wow. It's been more than a month since I posted on here. Some sort of update is definitely in order, but how should I present this? Hmmmm.

Poem? Poems are great but that could take a while.

Narrative? Always dangerous with a logophile like me.

List? Lists are always good.

At the risk of sounding braggy, here's a list of things I acquired over the last month and a half:

1. A fake case of strep throat.

2. Mononucleosis. Doing "nothing" might sound fun, but when you are forced to do it for three weeks, it's not. Trust me.

3. A large knowledge base of other people's experiences with mono. TMI, people. TMI.

4. A fiance. He came with a diamond ring. Bonus.

5. A wedding date. (I'm not telling. So don't ask, creepy Asian hooker.)

6. A love/hatred for the TV series The Tudors. So fascinating, and so depressing.

7. A panicky feeling because my Christmas shopping wasn't done before Thanksgiving.

8. A date with my husband and my fiance at the same time. Yeah, try and figure that one out. (hint: Michael Buble may have been in town recently)

9. A thrice-daily phone call with my mother. She is determined to be the most hands-off, well organized, non-opinionated wedding planner ever. We'll see how that goes.

10. A realization that wearing flats on my wedding day would send said mother up the wall. Who knew?

I'm sure there are other things, but I think that covers the highlights. Plus ten seems like a good stopping point. If you go past ten, who knows how long the list could get.

So, consider yourselves updated.

Boom. Updated.

Fall Encounters

2010-11-02T15:36:00.003-05:00

I feel like everyone has fall fever. I mean everybody. They are either literally at home in bed trying to sweat out an actual fever, or driving around looking more closely at the changing leaves than the road in front of them.

Don't get me wrong, I love the autumnal equinox. I suffer from fall fever with the best of 'em, but as with anything else in life, it has it's drawbacks. For your reading pleasure, I present my list of fall pros and cons:

Pros:

- LEAF CRUNCHING. I don't live on campus anymore, so this pastime is unfortunately more of a rarity these days, BUT crunching leaves under my shoes is one of my favorite things ever. Especially if the leaves are all curled up (kind of like a folded potato chip with air trapped in the middle). It's the best.

- Jeans. I love wearing jeans. They are just so multi-functional. Fall means I won't sweat up a storm when sporting my favorite pairs that are frayed just a little at the bottom. Ah, comfort.

- Warm drinks. Again, cooler weather makes enjoying hot beverages much more enjoyable. Pumpkin this and Cinnamon that, I love it all. As long as it doesn't taste too much like actual coffee. That stuff is gross.

- Football. Enough said.

- Walks. I love strolling without sweating. It's blissful.

- Jackets. Jackets are awesome. They can totally change your outfit. You can wear the same thing you wore yesterday but with a different jacket and most people won't even notice. Plus they usually have pockets, and pockets are pretty amazing.

- Scarfs. (Or is it scarves?) They keep your neck toasty, and just like their jacket friends, can totally change a get-up. I heart them very much.

- Chili and other fall foods.

- Fall means you are getting closer to Christmas.

Cons:

- Allergies. Until the first freeze, my nose and I are not friends. Also, the top of my mouth itches. No bueno.

- With the drop in temperature, the water in my house takes forever to heat up. It's not the newest place and the really hot water only lasts for a few minutes when it's cold outside. Not so fun.

- Bye bye flip flops. My feet are claustrophobic, and fall means they have to get tucked into all sorts of closed-toe shoes. While I love my cute assortment of closed-toe flats, my feet much prefer the freedom of flip flops and bejeweled sandals.

- People start freaking out about the holidays. I love the holiday season. It's really grand. But every year the Ebenezer Scrooges of the world try to squelch my jolly spirits. Once fall arrives, they start in with their whining and worrying. It's exhausting.

- The drastic temperature difference between day and night can be quite frustrating. I refuse to turn on my heater because in the day it can be in the 70's, but at night it gets really frigid. My frugality wins out over my frozen toes, but a smaller 24 hour temperature range would be so much easier.

- Scarecrows. Don't like 'em.

- 19-year-old Trick-or-Treaters. Give. Me. A. Break.

And because I am a good Kappa, and good Kappas always end on a positive:

Fall reminds me of Manhattan and all the people there. And THAT makes me smile.

Artsy Encounters

2010-09-22T14:13:00.005-05:00

I like it when restaurants have paper on the tables and provide you with crayons for doodling.

It makes me happy.

Probably because I'm slightly fidgety and have to have something to play with: the hem of my dress, or my rings, or my watch or something of the like. But when there's paper and crayons on the table it's like "Here, Erin! You get to be fidgety and no one will even care. You could even slaughter your fellow diners in a game of tic-tac-toe!" It's great.

The only problem is this seems to be a dying trend. All my favorite doodle-table joints are closing. I mean, Macaroni Grill is still going strong, but it's not the same. Their waiters take up too much canvas, I mean table, showing off while they write their names upside down so you know what name to yell when you are out of water or your bread mysteriously disappears. It's so presumptuous. Braggarts.

Luckily, I'm a problem solver. No, really. Where there's a will there's a way, and boy do I usually have the will. So, even though most places don't offer me crisp white table paper with sharp crayons, I have found a way of my own to doodle onward.

Condensation.

Seriously. It's amazing. Every water glass has it. It gets all over the table and then you can use your finger and doodle like crazy. I mean, you have to be a little subtle. you don't want the whole table to be wet. You also don't want the waiter to think you're five. And you REALLY don't want my mom, I mean your mom, to glare at you with one of those looks thats says, "Grow up. People are staring."

AND if you mess up it's easy to start over. The drawings don't last long anyways so it makes things even more imaginative. It's crazy to watch them fade or shrink before your very eyes. It's almost enough to make you awestruck or down-right contemplative.

It's improvisation, people. It's fun. And in a weird way, it's like you get to stick it to the man and all the fun haters in the world. All while eating lunch. Or dinner.

It's a win win win.

Lame-O Encounters

2010-09-14T15:43:00.003-05:00

Do you ever have one of those days where you feel like doing the opposite of what people expect?

Not like bad things. Just opposite things. Or maybe just different things.

For example, yesterday I was purchasing a sandwich for lunch and I paid with cash. The total was something like $4.94. I pulled out a five and four pennies, but I really wanted to pull out a five, a one, and three dimes just for fun. Or when I answer the phone, sometimes I'm tempted to say something other than "hello." *gasp* Something like "howdy," or "greetings," or "yo," or "Erin's Pool Hall. Who in the hall do you want?"

I think this sudden desire to change things up might mean I'm stuck in routine rut. It's not a bad rut. Just a predictable one. I have discovered that such ruts are a common occurrence in adult life, and this fact terrifies me.

I don't like routine ruts. They are boring. And really really lame. And they make me feel old and unexciting. Not that old = unexciting, I have a 84 year-old grandmother that proves that wrong, it's just.... blah. And I hate blah. Nothing blah is good.

Blah food = miserable.

Blah conversations = snore.

Blah relationships = lame.

Blah movies = painful.

Blah is the worst.

New life goal: avoid blah like the plague.

So, if you call me and I say something goofy, you know why. Consider yourself warned.

Maddening Encounters

2010-08-11T15:43:00.003-05:00

What does this mean?

I hate stuff like this.

There are at least three of these signs on about a ten minute stretch of highway and I have no idea what they mean. There's not even a way to find out either. No website to visit. No date to Google. What am I supposed to do? Google the letter M?

It's maddening.

On a brighter note, there's a 40% chance of rain this weekend.

If you don't think that's a bright note then you clearly don't live in a place where it's been 105 degrees for three weeks.

Creeper Encounters

2010-08-03T16:17:00.002-05:00

If you are someone I know, or even a somewhat normal person that happened upon my blog and for some reason continue to read it, this post is not directed at you.

HOWEVER...

If you are an Asian hooker, I'm talking to you.

STOP TRYING TO COMMENT ON MY BLOG.

I don't speak your language and will not be giving you any business, so save us both some trouble and get lost.

This blog is NOT about THOSE kinds of encounters.

Sheesh.

Simple Encounters

2010-07-30T14:48:00.003-05:00

Lately I feel homesick.

Not for my hometown, my parent's house, my bed or even my parents - although, I do miss and love them loads and loads.

Instead I think I feel homesick for a time. A time when life felt a lot less rushed. A time when things just fell in place. Not that things are terribly difficult at the moment, it's just different.

Everything these days is either a really big deal, or nothing at all. When did life get so big? When did things become so heavy? It's just unnecessary if you ask me. Very few things actually qualify as "big deals." Why must we give the honor to undeserving candidates? It's exhausting. I'm starting to yawn just thinking about it. (either that or I'm boring myself with my own post, which would not bode well those of you suckers actually reading this...)

I feel too young to be this nostalgic for "simpler times," but I can't help it. I just want things to be simple when they can be. None of this blown out of proportion business anymore. Is that too much to ask?

Guess I'll have to employ the advice of the great Michael Scott via Dwight Schrute and remember to KISS. "Keep it Simple, Stupid."

Far be it for me to give lofty advice to others, but I strongly suggest you do the same.

Asthmatic Encounters

2010-07-14T10:44:00.002-05:00

Kids do strange things at camp. They are out of their normal environment and routine, and it makes them.... Well, interesting. For example, a 12 year-old girl walked up to me at camp and started the following conversation:

Calm Kid: I'm having an asthma attack.

Me: Right now?

Calm Kid: Yes.

Me: Like, right this instant?

Calm Kid: (takes deep breath, waves at friend, nods) Yep. I'm having an asthma attack.

Me: Right now? At this very moment, you are having an asthma attack?

Calm Kid: (smiles, nods again) Uh huh. I'm having an asthma attack.

Me: Ok...

Now, unlike my boyfriend, I'm not an MD, so I might not be very well versed in asthma symptoms. BUT I checked WebMD (which is practically the same as being in medical school), and here's what they said:

An asthma attack is a sudden worsening of asthma symptoms caused by the tightening of muscles of your airways (bronchospasm). During the attack, the lining of the airways becomes swollen or inflamed and more and thicker mucus than normal is produced. All of these factors -- bronchospasm, inflammation, and mucus production -- cause asthma attack symptoms such as difficulty breathing, wheezing, coughing, shortness of breath, and difficulty performing normal daily activities. Other symptoms of an asthma attack include:

Severe wheezing when breathing both in and out
Coughing that won't stop
Very rapid breathing
Chest pain or pressure
Tightened neck and chest muscles, called retractions
Difficulty talking
Feelings of anxiety or panic
Pale, sweaty face
Blue lips or fingernails
Or worsening symptoms despite use of your medications.

If you have asthma, you may go for weeks to months without having any asthma attack symptoms. Then suddenly, when you least expect it, you might have asthma symptoms such as shortness of breath, coughing, and wheezing.

Guess they forgot to mention those asthma attacks disguised as normal breathing patterns.

Crazy-Busy-My-Life-Is-Not-My-Own Encounters

2010-06-24T10:15:00.002-05:00

When I was in high school, our theater department did a production of Annie - shocking, I know. Being the theater nerd that I was/am, I was heavily involved in the show. No, I did not play the title role, despite the red tint in my hair... instead, I was the stage manager. For the purpose of this post, all you need to know about stage managers is that they have to be at all the practices. As a result of my perfect practice attendance, I STILL no every line in that show. No joke. (I'll save my thoughts on how my memory is waisted on trivialities for another day.)

Anywho, there's this line that Miss Hannigan - played by one of my best friends to this day - says:

"It never rains, but it pours."

Those words are so true. Really REALLY true.

Lately I feel like I can't have just one thing going on in my world. It's either a million things, or nothing at all. What's with that? What happened to "everything in moderation"?

Don't get me wrong, I'd rather be busy than bored, but I'd also rather have a butler than a vacuum cleaner. Most days, I'd love to have the butler, but every now and then you just need to vacuum yourself. Or at least have time to vacuum for yourself. (my brain is so fried, I'm not even sure that made sense... this is me not caring)

So, blogoshpere and my nine faithful followers, I apologize for my lengthy leave of absence. Following my upcoming two week adventure, I shall try my hardest not to neglect you again. I shall also try to return with more coherent thoughts and some lighthearted erindipitous encounters.

Prego Encounters

2010-04-21T10:18:00.003-05:00

It seems like everyone is either engaged or pregnant. Don't drink the water, people! Clearly there's something pretty dangerous floating around in it.

I would normally ride out this epidemic with a quiet encouraging smile on my face, but the effects of this plethora of engagements and pregnancies have begun to take their toll on the youth of our church. I felt the wrath of the engagement plague within my first few months of working with kids (You can read about it here), but without a diamond on my left hand and a man on my right, I've managed to escape the pregnancy inquiries. That is until I saw Gloria last weekend.

Gloria is six. She's a spunky young thing with little control over her vocal volume.

As I was corralling children in the communion line before Sunday School, Gloria decided to try and cut in front of some of her classmates. Needless to say, that didn't go over well, so Gloria got to come stand by me. She stood quietly for a few seconds then looked up at me started the following very brief, not-so-quiet, and incredibly painful conversation:

Gloria: (loudly) DO YOU HAVE A BABY IN YOUR TUMMY?

Me: Shhhh! Um, no, I don't have a baby in my tummy.

Gloria: (louder) OH, IT CAME OUT ALREADY?

Me: SHHHHH! No, I don't have any babies. EVER. Cross your arms and stay quiet!

On one hand, the people in the pew behind us got a good laugh out of it, and the high school boys in my Sunday school class got to pester me with questions as to whether or not I had a "bun in the oven."

On the other, all high waisted dresses are officially stricken from my wardrobe.

Mower Encounters

2010-04-12T10:34:00.003-05:00

I'm fully aware of how t.v. commercials are strategically placed to appeal to certain age groups. If you're ever home to watch daytime t.v., all you'll see are commercials for JG Wentworth, life insurance and denture cream. The commercials for prime-time target a much younger demographic and late, late night t.v. commercials are all about lonely singles. But I'm trying to figure out what the main demographic is for Sunday night television.

Last night, as I was watching Shrek 2 on TBS, I saw six lawn mower commercials. SIX. On a Sunday night. At 9:30. Is that the time of the day when married men ages 30 to 45 sit down and watch t.v.? If so, my dad has been an anomaly for my entire life. I think it would make sense if they were airing episodes of "Family Guy," but Shrek 2?

Oh well, at least I now know the different options available for my next riding mower purchase. And with 0% financing, there's no better time to buy.

Murderous Encounters

2010-03-30T09:42:00.003-05:00

I must have Holy Week on the brain.

I was driving to work this morning behind a black car that had custom silver lettering on the back. (The letters were in the place that usually designates the model of the car).

Anyways, I could have sworn that the letters read, "BARABUS." And although that clearly would have meant someone forgot to use spell check when they picked out their letters, I spent a good 45 seconds wondering why in the world someone would plaster the name of Barabbas on the back of their car. Maybe he wanted to be constantly reminded that he is like the thief/murder who got a second chance at life while an innocent man was put to death. Maybe this "Barabus" thing would be the next trend in Christian wrist wear. Maybe it was his last name. Maybe it's his dog's name...

My ponderings came to a halt when I glanced again at those shiny letters. Turns out they actually said "BRABUS."

I don't even want to know.

Close Encounters

2010-03-10T10:54:00.002-06:00

Well, she's at it again.

My adorable adopted niece - previously featured here and here - has gotten more adorable. Much like the toddler who thought Fr. Jeremy was God, she too has her own perception of the Big Guy and His Only Son.

While listening to a children's song that talked about the Emperor Constantine, Ana's mom asked her if she knew anyone by that name - which was a total setup, considering our head priest is named Fr. Constantine. Ana replied with a confident nod, "Yes, I do." When her mother asked her who it was that she knew, she again nodded confidently and said, "GOD."

You see, Fr. Constantine is an older man, with grey/white hair and a white goatee. He works at the church and serves in the altar. Plus, he has sparkly robes and a sometimes booming voice. Makes perfect sense that she would think he's God.

But the kicker is what she thinks about Fr. Jeremy, our much younger assistant. One morning they ran into Fr. J. at Panera and on the way home had a conversation about Lent and the upcoming celebration of Christ's resurrection. Ana's mom asked where Jesus is. Olivia, Ana's older sister, answered by saying "He is in our hearts." Ana answered and said, "Nuh uh. We just left him at Panera!"

The older senior priest is God and the young tall one is Jesus.

I love three-year-old theology.

Merry Men Encounters

2010-02-05T10:47:00.002-06:00

We got a new office copier a few weeks ago.

The fact that this was big and exciting news makes me feel so old and trapped in corporate America - even though I'm really not that old and I don't work anywhere near corporate America.

Anyways, we got the new copier and this copy-wizard man came to train us and show us how to use it. So, there I was, standing with our secretary, our accountant and our deacon, listening to this copy guy give us the low down on the new machine. Totally boring, except for one thing: the copy guy kept referring to our deacon and our two priests (who were not present) as "friars."

He would say things like, "So, if Friar Jeremy wants to print something, all he has to do is..."

Over and over, it was "Friar this," and, "Friar that." I don't know why I was insanely amused by this. Maybe I was desperate for entertainment. Or maybe I was just giggling because even though I know what "Friar Jeremey" really looks like, I kept picturing this guy:

"Ooo de lolly, ooo de lolly, golly what a day..."

Rhythm Encounters

2010-01-12T16:06:00.004-06:00

I have no rhythm.

Well, I have some, but it's not a very big portion. God gave most of my rhythm to someone else. (I feel like I've written that before....Ah, yes, here it is)

Despite my lack of innate rhythmic ability, I often find myself tapping my toes to the beat of whatever music I am listening to. I have even been known to do a little hand drumming on a desk or table from time to time. I once accidentally started tapping my foot to a song while I was driving my car, which proved to be very dangerous as I quickly discovered I am rhythmically right-footed as well as right-handed. I have found steering-wheel drumming is a much safer alternative when driving.

All that to say, I know what it's like when rhythm just kind of sneaks out of you. It needs an outlet. I'm even guilty of a little bit of quiet pew-drumming during church (where all the music is acapella). It just happens.

But I saw a boy the other day who opened the floodgates of his rhythm reservoir in his car. It was like watching a drumming maniac pilot the vehicle directly behind me on the highway.

He took rhythmic expression to a whole new level. We are talking a full steering-wheel drum set, complete with several imaginary symbols. Not to mention some intense headbanging.

With my recently confessed need for a rhythm release of my own, I must say I salute this young lad for keeping the beat.

BUT with my not so recent concern for personal safety and protection of my lovely car, I must say, "KEEP YOUR EYES ON THE ROAD, YOU DRUMMING LUNATIC."

Marital Encounters

2010-01-08T11:37:00.002-06:00

I'M GETTING MARRIED!

Not really.

But everyone else I know is, and I thought the title of this post might confuse some people. So in typical Erin fashion, I would much rather perpetuate confusion than clear it up. My (not-so) sincere apologies.

Seriously though, I heard a story on the TODAY show yesterday (kinda fun to say, "Yesterday, on TODAY...") and it was about marriage. Exciting right? The thing about this story was that it was entitled, "Can Your Marriage Survive an Affair?"

Seriously. SERIOUSLY. What is the world coming to? Are we supposed to expect unfaithfulness in marriage now? This story didn't highlight ways to keep marriage healthy, or even how to prevent or discover cheating spouses, it was all about making sure your marriage could survive a cheating spouse. That's the goal, people. Your marriage is only healthy if it can survive an affair.

Color me old-fashioned, but I thought marriage was all about being with ONE person for the rest of your life. Maybe I'm living in a fairy tale, but when I hear the word marriage I think of things like commitment, faithfulness, promises, sacrifice...MONOGAMY.

Guess I should take my place in the knitting room with all the grannies and their rocking chairs, because this kid is officially disgusted by "where the world is heading."

Misty Encounters

2009-12-30T09:51:00.002-06:00

The last thing I want to do is turn this blog into an outlet for my frustrations and annoyances - although, that would probably result in more frequent posting - but I must vent for a few brief lines.

We have gotten a decent amount of snow over the last week. The air has been pretty consistently misty, which is a nightmare for curly-haired women like me who parade around pretending to have straight hair; but that's not the problem in this case. Allow me to tell you what is:

When it's misty outside, and you are driving in your car, your windshield gets drizzled. It happens. If you are driving behind another car, they kick up more water from the road and add to the drizzle. It happens. Neither of these things are insanely detrimental to life, nor are they avoidable, BUT my problem comes in when we introduce windshield wipers into the picture. Such a handy invention, those wipers. Too bad there is never an adequate setting for the amount of drizzle on my windshield. They are always too fast or too slow. Without fail.

If they are too slow, you can't see. Not a good thing.

If they are too fast, then they make that horrid rubber skidding sound - which, to me sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard.

So, I am forced to choose between risking my life, blinded by mist for a few dangerous seconds, and cringing from spine chills several times in a minute. These are not good options, people/person.

Does anyone feel my pain? Or am I alone in my insanity?

Ok, I'm done whining now. I promise not to write any other pointless rants for the rest of the year. Cross my heart.

More Shameless Encounters

2009-11-10T10:19:00.003-06:00

The mall is already playing Christmas music.

There are Christmas lights up and ON at the shopping center next to my house.

I've had "Grown Up Christmas List" stuck in my head for a good two weeks now.

Christmas is coming, my friends.

We must be ready.

I beg forgiveness from all of you for what I am about to do. I've stood on my Christmas-is-totally-commercial soapbox more times than I can count. I even wrote a Sunday School Christmas play all about finding the "true meaning of Christmas" at an advertising agency and I'm about to undo it all.

Let the hypocrisy begin:

I want to introduce you all to the brand new line of Erindipity Holiday Cards! These are my first attempt at seasonal greeting cards, and I ended up with a wide variety of ideas. Some cheesy, some funny, some sarcastic (shocking, I know) and some that most people won't even understand. But regardless, they are available for purchase online or at Bradley Paper in Wichita.

I can't thank the BP gang enough for their help with this creative endeavor in my life. They are awesome and their store is filled with awesome things. I encourage you to look to them for your paper needs, and also for your stock pile of Erindipity Cards, of course.

So, that's it. Check 'em out. Here. Let me know what you think. What you love. What you hate. And what you want for Christmas.

Forgive my contribution to the downfall of this sacred Holiday. But I'm hoping a card or two can brighten someone's day or offer a chuckle or five.

If you are seeking actual Nativity cards, check here.

But Erindipity cards are here. HERE. (There's more than one page, so make sure you click "next.")

Done. And. Done.

Greatness Encounters

2009-11-08T16:56:00.003-06:00

If any other females ever want to ride in this car, they are in trouble. You see, this soonertastic Camry LE only has room for 1GR8TGAL.

Fruit Encounters

2009-10-20T14:16:00.003-05:00

I discovered a funny t-shirt a while ago.

It had a picture of an apple on it, and the apple has a bite taken out of it. It pretty much looks like the Apple logo, but I'm sure it's just different enough that no one can get sued. Anyways, below the apple there is a single line of text. It reads:

"My bad." - Eve

Funny, right? I thought so. But then I got to thinking about it a little more - shocking, I know - and I have decided the apple has been unduly hated for decades.

All theological and philosophical ponderings aside, the account in Genesis simply mentions a "fruit." Who decided an apple was the forbidden fruit? It doesn't say anything about an apple.

Why not a persimmon or something that mothers don't generally pack in their children's lunches? Or even a durian, which apparently is a thorn covered fruit that has a very strong smell. Doesn't that seem more fitting? Shouldn't the fruit that led to the fall of mankind be more sinister than an apple?

Whoever had some kind of chip on their shoulder toward apples should really apologize for starting an irreversible slanderous campaign against an innocent fruit.

So, there.

Snoring Encounters

2009-10-08T15:47:00.002-05:00

It happened again.

What?

This.

I went to a movie - The Informant to be more specific - and someone decided to snore through the entire second half. Not just a heavy breathing snore, either. We are talking a full fledged wake-yourself-up-because-your-sudden-snorts-are-so-loud kind of snore.

Listen, if you want to pay nine buckaroos for a nap, that's your business. I don't have to approve your monthly budget. But I would appreciate it if you could splurge on a package of Breathe Right strips too.

Oh, and I haven't even told you about the worst part yet.

Ready?

He wasn't alone.

The snorer had a friend with him.

Wait, actually, it couldn't have been a friend, because I am certain an actual friend would have woken him up and kept him from disturbing everyone in the theater. That's what friends are for. Clearly Sir Snores-Alot was accompanied by a foe, not a friend. (Yep, I just used the word "foe.") I have no other explanation for how a friend could possibly let the person they are with be that obnoxious. A foe, on the other hand, would have reveled in the glares from the other theater patrons.

Yes, he must have been a foe. A very successful foe.

On a separate note: you should see The Informant and tell me what you think. It's different and has a crazy story. I liked it just because of Matt Damon's inner monologue. Absolute hilarity.

Fishy Encounters

2009-10-06T14:44:00.004-05:00

Did you know that Swedish fish are made in Canada?

It's true. I'm sitting here at my desk with a bag of SWEDISH fish and it clearly states they are made in Canada - not Sweden. False advertise much? I don't know why I care about this. Maybe I need to get over it, but for the time being I'm going to stew and feel cheated. It's a grey, cold Tuesday, what else do I need to be doing?

I think it's my duty to turn this traumatizing moment into a life lesson. What good is a moment of shock and disappointment if you can't learn anything from it?

Life Lesson: there are many things that ought to be questioned.

Believe it or not, this is a difficult lesson for me swallow. You see, I'm a rules girl. Always have been. Sure, I've been known to push the limits a little. For example, there were these stairs in my sorority house that we weren't supposed to use unless we had guests or were graduated. (They said something about keeping them clean and yada yada yada...) They told us not to walk on them, but they never told us not to ride down them in a laundry basket. So, being the rules girl that I am, I went ahead and cruised down in my trusty RubberMade sled. But aside from my moments of childish genius, I'm content to just follow the rules.

They say, "Don't open this door," and I say, "OK. Anybody wanna go get a snack?"
Don't swim til 30 minutes after you've eaten - no problem.
Be home by this time - fine by me.
Make sure you get this grade - sure thing.
Eat this, it's good for you - if you say so.
Enjoy these candied fish from Sweden - Absolut....Wait just a second.

While I have no intention of developing a rebellious streak, I think I'm going to ask more questions, because clearly I don't over analyze things enough...

I will, however, say one thing for my fishy friends: they have an interesting website.

Racing Encounters

2009-09-30T13:25:00.002-05:00

We've had a rainy September. The sun seems to be holding its own this week, but I would say about 70% of this month was spent with grey skies and oodles of puddles for pouncing.

Last week I was riding in a car on a rainy day - not driving, mind you - and I was reminded of an old pastime of mine: Raindrop Races.

Am I the only kid who used to ride in the backseat on rainy days and turn my window of water droplets into an intense competition? The rain drops would trickle down the window and gain speed as they absorbed other little drops. They would race down the glass until they crashed into that little black rubber window guard at the bottom. My drop always won - go figure. It was very exciting.

As far as what this says about my obession with competition and victory...well, I'll let you be the judge. But I have to warn you, if you judge me, I will challenge your judgment and win.

Yes, it's that bad. Yes, I'm working on it. And no, it's not easy. But I'll make it. Mark my words. I will overcome this challenge, just like I always do...

I mean...

Aw, fiddlesticks.

Aunt Encounters

2009-08-26T11:54:00.004-05:00

My adorable adopted niece, previously featured here, has been having a tough time lately. Her little sister was born in March and I'm afraid she's suffering from middle child syndrome. She has been unusually grumpy lately. Really grumpy. So grumpy, in fact, that has refused multiple cookies on multiple occasion. We are talking seriously grumpy here, people.

Two weeks ago, she was in a particularly terrible mood while I was hanging out at her house. The events of that evening are etched in my brain. Why? Well, I'll tell you. On that fateful night, my dear, sweet, adorable adopted niece was giving goodnight hugs and said these words: "I don't like Aunt Erin." Not only did she not want to hug me, she actually said she didn't like me. At all. Out loud. Part of me died inside.

Her parents were quick to jump in and tell her that wasn't nice and tried to comfort me by telling me that every other day she says she doesn't like one of them. But it didn't really help. I mean, they are the parents. They punish and yell and make you do chores and say please and stuff, but I am the cool aunt. The word "no" is not in my vocabulary. I felt so betrayed.

But then, last week, something changed. I was at her house again (I'm there quite a bit), and I was sitting on the couch in the living room. All of a sudden, I heard a call from the bathroom down the hall. It was Ana. She said, "Auuuuunnnnnnntttttt Errrrrrrrrrrrriiiinnnnn!" My heart leapt up inside me. She wanted me. ME.

I was ready to jump up off the couch and get her the moon if she needed it when I heard her little scruffy voice finishing her statement. She yelled, "WIPE ME!" I put my moon lasso down and plopped back on the couch and died laughing.

The good news? Looks like I'm back on the nice list.

The bad news? I have a feeling it's going to be several months before she is a fully competent wiper.

Musical Encounters

2009-08-20T12:24:00.002-05:00

I am now accepting applications and submissions for my music library. I feel like I used to be really good at finding new tunes and adding them to my life's soundtrack, but lately I feel out of touch.

This may be wishful thinking, but I feel as though fall is just around the corner and it's my favorite time of year to discover new tunage. There's just something about the cool breezes and fall leaves that demand a repertoire of perfect songs to fit any and all possible moods and thoughts. During the autumn months, more so than any other time, my thoughts and journal writings are generally always accompanied by a stellar song lyric or moving melody. I don't want to have a short supply this year.

So, I welcome your thoughts and suggestions (assuming someone actually reads this). I am pretty eclectic and would love a wide range of genres - however, punk rockers, country bumpkins and metal heads need not apply.

My headphones and car stereo thank you.

Flying Encounters

2009-07-27T12:56:00.002-05:00

Yesterday I flew on an airplane - well, two airplanes to be exact - and I feel I must report the presence of an unticketed passenger. Who, you may ask, could possibly sneak past the gauntlet of security guards and x-ray machines? I'll tell you who: a fly.

With no regard for the law, the TSA or my personal comfort, the fly boarded the plane and settled in on my row for the duration of the flight. At first, I was extremely annoyed - I readily admit that I have yet to discover the beauty of God in this tiny creation of His - but after some thought, I began to feel sorry for the little fella. I mean, he was on a plane from California to Colorado. Leaving behind his fly family and all his fly friends. Not to mention the drastic temperature change I was certain would send his tiny body into shock.

On the other hand, maybe this was a planned escape. Maybe he had set out on a journey to make a new life for himself in the Rockies. Maybe he was tired of the hustle and bustle of California life, and was ready for some relaxtion and a sweet gig at a ski lodge.

OR maybe I really need to come up with better things to occupy my thoughts.

More Shamelessness

2009-07-15T12:15:00.003-05:00

Maybe I just got back from two weeks at camp - yes, I am actually an adult.

And maybe when I got back I found out my cards are now available for purchase online.

And maybe I am freaking out.

AND maybe you should look at them HERE.

A Shameless Plug

2009-06-19T11:42:00.003-05:00

At the risk of sounding way into myself and slightly self-seeking, I would like to announce the release of "Erindipity Greeting Cards."

I got insanely frustrated with Hallmark and other card producing types while my best friend was living in Ireland for a year. I would go to the store to find cards to send to her and would always leave disappointed and empty handed. So, I took matters into my own hands and started making my own cards to send to people. I showed them to a few family friends and long story short, they ended up in the hands of the fine people at Bradley Paper in Wichita, KS. They were kind enough to believe in my insanity and randomness, and have made the cards available for purchase in their store. It will be interesting to see if there are actually people out there who have the same kind of ridiculous sense of humor that I do. They actually sold eight cards the very first day, but I have a feeling my family had something to do with that. Only time will tell...

Moving on, here's a pic of the initial display:

We are working on some art and a tag line to place over the cards. Here's what we have so far:

Anywho, if you are in Wichita and in need of a card to send for some occasion, or really no occasion at all, you should stop in and check them out. You should check out Bradley Paper regardless. They are wonderful, talented people who really know their paper!

Ok, my advertisement is now over. As you were.

Edgy Encounters

2009-05-29T15:26:00.004-05:00

This is my dust pan.

I bought it (and my broom) at Target in the "going to college" section, where things are super useful and super cheap.

THIS is said dust pan's saber-toothed edge.

I offer insane cool points to the person who can tell me its purpose.

I mean, besides helping me fend off ferocious dust particles and other fierce forms of filth.

4th Grade Encounters

2009-05-13T10:49:00.003-05:00

Last year, I took on the task of teaching the 4th grade Sunday school class.

Wait. Let me rephrase that: Last year, I got suckered into teaching the 4th grade Sunday school class. While I realize many people prefer to work with elementary students, I actually prefer working with teenagers. I just really need a group that can understand certain things. Important things. Things like sarcasm.

Anyways, my time in 4th grade was not a total loss. I got some grey hairs out of it, as well as this little gem of an encounter:

One day we were talking about St. Simeon and how God had promised he would see Christ before he died. In the same lesson, we talked about St. Anna who lived and worked in the temple. Now, Anna was a widow. Her husband died after they had been married for only seven years. Just to be sure we were on the same page, I asked the kids if they knew what a widow was.

One girl raised her hand to answer.

Girl: Yes! It's like what my Sitti (Grandmother) has to write on papers when it asks "married, divorced, single or widow..." since my Jiddi (Grandfather) died.

Me: Exactly.

Other girl: Man, Erin, it must really stink to be a widow.

Me: Yes. It is very sad. Wait... I'm NOT a widow.

Other girl: But you're not married.

Me: Right, but I have never been married. My husband didn't die.

Girl: So, you mean, you're JUST single.

Me: Yes. Yes, I am... So, back to St. Anna...

It seems the only logical explanation for me not being married is that my husband must have died.

Thank you, nine year old girls, for your insightful comments.

Innocent Encounters

2009-05-06T15:32:00.004-05:00

Our church recently started a Mom's Day Out Program.

Two days a week, the halls are filled with tiny people toddling their way around. My ears ring with their joyous laughter and giggles and, of course, their shrieks and screams when they realize their mothers are leaving them....FOREVER. No, not really. But sometimes the way they scream sure sounds like that's what they think.

Anyways, today one of our priests was walking down the hall and passed the toddler room. He walked by and waved and as he moved past the door he heard one of the kids say, "(gasp) I just saw GOD!" I love the genuine amazement in kids. The priest is always here, in God's house, and for all they know he sleeps here. So, naturally he must be God.

I miss the way the world, and people, looked through my childhood eyes. As the priest was telling me about this encounter, I couldn't help remembering my childhood vision of the Big Man Himself. I used to think that God looked like my dad. I vividly remember having dreams about God and even though I never saw his face, He was always wearing a robe just like my dad's and He had on my dad's slippers. Maybe it's because the first prayer I learned was the Lord's Prayer.

I would be the kid that took "Our Father," to mean "the father of my brother and I."

"You Too" Encounters

2009-05-05T15:32:00.003-05:00

I think my brain has a short circuit. Lately I've been saying things without thinking and it's getting a little out of hand. No, not like insulting things or inappropriate things - just the wrong thing for that moment. I feel like I'm stuck in a Brian Reagan sketch. Particularly the "you too" one, which can be enjoyed here.

For example, yesterday was my day off. A mom called me with a question and after talking to her for several minutes we were wrapping up our convo and she said, "Enjoy the rest of your day off." Without thinking, I enthusiastically said, "You too. Bye." It wasn't her day off. I knew that. But I just blurted it out and there was no turning back.

Seriously, this has happened to me five or six times in the last three days, and once was at a funeral:

"I'm so sorry for your loss," I said.

"Thank you. You are so sweet. Have a nice day, Erin," said the lovely mourning lady.

"You too!" said the babbling idiot that has been running around in my body.

Really? I said have a nice day to a woman who was burying her husband in a matter of hours.

Totally appropriate, right?

Everyday Encounters

2009-04-30T15:18:00.002-05:00

As we have already established, I work with kids. Teenagers to be exact. They fill my life with joy, always keep me on my toes and puzzle me to no end.

I offer a conversation I had yesterday as an example:

Me: How was your day?

Teen: Good, but I'm really tired.

Me: I'm sorry to hear that. Did you have to be at school early?

Teen: Yes. And I've been tired all day. I could just lay down and take a nap right now.

Me: You should go for it. (Inner monologue: I mean, you did show up an hour and a half early for tonight's activity. It might help both of us if you got some shut eye)

Teen: I can't sleep now. I'm wide awake.

Me: But you just said you could take a nap right now.

Teen: I know, but I'm wide awake, so I can't. I've been wide awake since five this morning.

Being a teenager is much more difficult and confusing than I remember.

Easter Encounters

2009-04-22T12:52:00.002-05:00

For 40 days following Easter it is customary for Orthodox Christians to greet each other by saying "Christ is Risen!" and then the other person responds by saying "Indeed He is Risen!" We say it in all kinds of languages and sometimes even make up our own. (You may recall the scene in "My Big Fat Greek Wedding" where Toula is trying to teach Ian to say "Christos Anesti"...) In fact, I bet if you found an Orthodox church in your phonebook right now, someone would answer the phone by saying, "Christ is Risen," in one language or another. It's a pretty big deal.

Anyways, at the Eater service this past weekend, there was this adorable 10 year-old altar boy who was holding a basket of bread after church on Saturday night (apx. 2:30 a.m.). My friend walked by and said, "Christ is Risen, Daniel!" He didn't respond, so she explained to him how he should respond when someone greets him in that way. I mean, he is so cute and he has to learn sometime. She was trying to do him a favor. You know, help him get more candy in his Easter basket.

Later, while everyone was feasting in the hall, she saw him and again said, "Christ is Risen, Daniel."

He looked and her and said, "Yeah, yeah. So I've heard..." and walked away.

It. Was. Priceless.

Periodic Encounters

2009-04-21T11:21:00.004-05:00

It's Tuesday. Again. The kids are here. Again.

This time they didn't bring chickens, but they are working VERY hard on their periodic tables. How do I know? No, I am not creepily lingering outside their classroom doors. I am just sitting here at my desk listening to them sing all about the elements. Over and over and over and over...

I would like to invite you to join my world for a moment:
Warning: you can check out any time you like, but you can never leave.

(This is sung to the tune of "This Old Man." You know, "This old man, he played one. He played knick knack on my thumb..." No? Your memory can be jogged here.)

"Hyrdogen.
Helium.
Lithium, Barillium, Boron, Carbon.
Nitrogen, Oxegen, Florine, and Neeeee-On...."

Also, keep in mind that the teacher/mom who is leading this songfest has an amazing falsetto range.

I. Love. Life.

Chick Encounters

2009-04-14T10:10:00.003-05:00

Every Tuesday, a homeschool group rents out the building I work in for their "co-op day." (My thoughts on how you can be called "homeschoolers" and have classes in a big building with a zillion other kids will have to wait til another day.)

Needless to say, Tuesdays are loud and always an adventure. I'm used to it. I am used to hearing ridiculous songs about the periodic table and the order of the presidents. I am used to walking down the hall while hugging the wall because the children insist on walking side-by-side in groups of eleven when they venture from room to room. I am even used to seeing breast-feeding mothers - EVERYWHERE - with or without blankets to cover themselves. Doesn't even phase me anymore.

But today - oh, today - today is different. Today, Tuesday, the 14th of April, is the day that the kids brought chicks to school. No, not hot teeny-boppers or twenties somethings, like real chicks. Baby chickens. How do I know this? Well, the chicks have been chirping and tweeting ever since I walked in the door this morning. Don't get me wrong, they are adorable, and it makes me sad to think about how many of them will probably die before they make it to the "big farm" all the mothers are taking them to on Thursday. I just wish they could be cute and adorable in a room that isn't right next door to my office. Is that too much to ask?

Joyful Encounters

2009-04-09T15:57:00.004-05:00

I'm just going to say it: I love Christmas music. I don't care how typical it makes me. Or how annoying it might be to other people. It's true. And that's all that matters. So what could make me write about Christmas music in the middle of April? THIS:

(sorry about the wind noise - it was very blustery)
This is my dear adopted niece singing her heart out on the swings at the park two days ago. She loves to sing, but usually only sings Christmas carols. What can I say? She's a woman after my own heart.

Anyways, she just kept singing this song and every now and then she would stop and say things like, "It looks like spring over there," or, "there's the mailman," and then she would start all over. Again and again and again. She is two and I love her.

If that doesn't make you smile, well, then I'm sorry, there is no hope for you.

Pirate Encounters

2009-04-01T16:05:00.003-05:00

Today I was driving and I saw this cute old couple driving in their minivan. They were probably in their late 60's. They had on matching track jackets and I imagine they were going to take a few vigorous laps around the mall or something equally classic like that. (It's probably sad how I let my imagination play out other people's lives as well as my own. Then again maybe I'm just like Meg Ryan in "You've Got Mail," when she sees the butterfly on the subway and imagines it is on its way to Bloomingdale's to buy a hat that will turn out to be a mistake. Not that that makes it any better, it just means I'm not alone in my insanity - I have a wonderful fictional character to keep me company.)

Anyways, I saw this couple driving in their lovely minivan that probably holds all their perfectly behaved grandchildren, when I suddenly noticed something. They had a license plate on the front of their van, as many people do. But this license plate didn't say "Florida," or have a smiley face or an airbrushed name on it. Instead, it had this. No lie. There was a skull and cross bones on the front of their van. Totally didn't see that coming.

Clearly my imagination and I have a serious problem when it comes to the accuracy of our visions. Oh well, can't win 'em all.

Frigid Encounters

2009-03-27T10:12:00.002-05:00

Dear Weather,

Please make up your mind. If it's going to be a really long winter, stop teasing us with 80 degree days and then blasting us with blizzards (the kind not from Dairy Queen).

Your indecisiveness makes my head hurt and really irks my feet. They aren't too happy about getting to spend a week and a half in flip flops and then being forced back into socks and boots. They are claustrophobic.

Your speedy attention to this matter is greatly appreciated.

Please and thank you.

Cozily,

Erin

Littering Encounters

2009-03-14T21:44:00.002-05:00

I just treated myself to a chocolate chip cookie dough milkshake from Braum's. If you live in a part of the country/world that doesn't have Braum's, well then I am very sorry. Their ice cream is amazing.

As I was pulling through the drive-thru tonight, I paid the nice man at the window and then he asked me if I wanted my receipt. I said no. I have this terrible habit of getting receipts and then leaving them in my car. It gets pretty ridiculous, so I opted out of this opportunity to add to my mess. Anyways, when I said I didn't want it, he crumpled it up and dropped it outside the window. Seriously. I wanted to shake my finger at him like a disappointed, enraged old woman, somehow blaming him and his entire generation for the downfall of the entire world. But I restrained myself and just looked at him with my disappointed eyes.

I mean, why would he do that? And is it my fault that there is now one more piece of litter on the streets of my city?

I should have just opened my door and picked it up and handed to him and said something insanely witty and over his head. Oh well, shoulda coulda woulda...

Knit Encounters

2009-03-12T14:38:00.004-05:00

Today it was snowing, so I busted out my trusty knit hat to keep me warm on my treks to and from my car - and, who am I kidding? to help keep my hair from turning into a giant frizz ball. Anyways, I ran into this lady I know and she asked me if I made my hat. My first instinct was to laugh and say, "Ha. Do you even know me? Do these hands look coordinated enough to use knitting needles as something other than giant metal chopsticks?" Instead, I just smiled and said no.

But the more I think about it, the more I can't decide if I should be offended by her question. (Yes. Yes, I do have a terrible habit of over thinking things. Thanks for asking.) Seriously though, did she mean that my hat looked shabby and the only possible reason I would actually wear it would be if I had poured hours and hours of sweat and tears into its creation? I mean she didn't say, "Did you make your hat? It's really cute," or, "what fine craftsmanship that is." For all I know, she was appalled by my choice in headgear and will promptly be mailing the people at Banana Republic a letter chastising them for creating and selling something as abysmal as this hat.

Or maybe she just likes to knit and was ready to offer me an invitation to her next knitting party...

Explosive Encounters

2009-03-11T14:20:00.002-05:00

I don't know why, but I've always loved gadgets. Not like those crazy gadgets "as seen on tv" that can be yours for one small payment of $19.95 (plus shipping and handling), but real gadgets like my iPhone and my camera and other cool electronic gear.

I recently watched Ocean's 11 and it was at the part *spoiler alert* where they blow up the vault door using those little stones that look like giant emeralds... Anyways, Danny has this cool little trigger device that sets off the bombs, and, call me crazy, I want one.

Now if you are from the FBI and you are reading this, I assure you you have nothing to worry about. I don't want to blow anything up. I just want one of those trigger things to do something amazing like start my dishwasher or dispense my laundry detergent. I just feel like life would be way more exciting and dramatic if I had a button that took care of these menial tasks.

Aw, geez. Now I sound lazy. Go ahead, world. Judge me. I'm still putting one of these on my Christmas list.

More Character Encounters

2009-02-04T11:49:00.003-06:00

As "great" as the Fonz was, he was no match to the character sitting on the other side of my lovely middle seat on my 3 hour flight last weekend.

Folks (or folk), I would like to introduce you to Holly Hangover. Holly was probably in her early 40s. She entered the plane with her sunglasses on and her puka shells securely fastened around her neck. She was sporting a black tank top, a cute little skirt and some serious bed-head hair. Holly needed to sleep. She knew it. I knew it. But unfortunately, the Fonz was out of the loop.

Turns out Holly was on the same cruise the Fonz was on. It was destiny. They chatted for a few minutes about how great everything was, while Holly safely stowed her brand new over-sized straw bag under the seat in front of her. Once they had finished their small talk about the cruise, the Fonz (who was a master of the obvious) looked at Holly and said, "So did you have a little too much fun?" Holly gave him a half smiling, half "if-I-had-a-Dramamine-I-would-drug-you-just-so-you-would-stop-talking-to-me" kind of look and laid her head back on the headrest.

When the drink cart came rolling by, Holly opted for the Bloody Mary mix. Those expensive little bottles of vodka were calling her name, but her body was threatening to go on strike if she took another drink. She had been sentenced to a slow and painful death by hangover, and there was nothing she could do about it.

Throughout the flight, it became more and more difficult for her get comfortable. She was in pain, and it showed. She became progressively more and more bent over, until her head was resting on the lovely touchscreen in front of her. It was pretty funny to watch her forehead accidentally push buttons. I swear I'm not a mean person, and I don't like seeing other people suffer - but every time her head pushed a button, the picture on the screen would change and it would shine in her eyes. She was so confused and so miserable. It was difficult to witness.

By the time the plane landed, Holly's head was in her lap, and every breath she took was accompanied by a painful groan. She gathered all her belongings and her straw bag and made her way down the aisle, using every row of chairs to support her along the way. I felt so bad for her.

But I would have not even mentioned Holly if it weren't for what happened next: as she was leaving the plane, the Fonz asked if she would be on the same cruise again next year. She turned, smiled as best she could and said "Hell, yeah!" and walked off the plane.

She had had a great time. It was obvious. There's no way she was missing out another experience like this one.

People make so much sense.

Character Encounters

2009-01-28T13:38:00.002-06:00

I've said it before, but I'll say it again: I love traveling. You meet and see all kinds of crazy people. Last weekend I was traveling to a conference and met several such characters. I think I will dedicate the next few posts to introducing you to them.

I think we will begin with my friend from my 3 hour flight. We'll call him "the Fonz." He sat next to me in the window seat. He was around 60 years old, but he still had dark curly hair and a dark mustache. He had on gold rimmed glasses, a gold watch and a gold chain necklace, as well as a muscle shirt covered by a Hawaiian print shirt and a brown suede jacket.

Like most of the people on the flight - except for me, of course - Fonz was returning home from a week long cruise. But not just any cruise, he went on a Rockin' 50's Cruise. Apparently they only play music from the 50's and you just dance your life away. The Fonz loved it, except he now had a song stuck in his head and he couldn't get it out. I know this not only because he told me, but also because he sang it for a good part of our time together and it was then stuck in my head. "There she was just a walkin' down the street, singing do a diddy diddy dum diddy do..."

Now, in order for you to fully understand my interactions with the Fonz, you must first know that I had gotten about 4 hours of sleep the last night of the conference and I was not in my usual conversing mood. So, I plopped down in the chair next to the Fonz and he looks at me and says, "I'm sorry if I snore, I'm so tired and I plan on sleeping the whole flight. I'm exhausted and slightly hungover. Oh and I have to keep these shades closed because I'm extremely photosensitive." Fine by me. I had headphones and planned on zoning out as soon as the plane took off. I was, however, a little confused as to how his photo sensitivity affected his time on the CRUISE SHIP, but whatever....

The wheels leave the runway and I reach for my headphones so I can watch a movie on my personal little screen built into the seat in front of me - side note: Continental Airlines is my new favorite. They have actual food and On Demand video, meaning you can start and stop any movie whenever you want. And they actually had a really great selection. - Anyways, I started watching my movie and saw that the Fonz was playing with his screen too. The only thing is, he didn't have headphones, and he wasn't going to drop a whole dollar on the ones they sell on the plane, so he was limited to the games. Turns out the Fonz is very passionate about inflight electronic games. I felt so sorry for the person in the seat in front of him because he was literally punching the "touchscreen" on the back of their headrest. He was doing very well at checkers. I know this not because I was watching his screen, but because he did a fist pump after each good move he made. No joke. He would do the fist pump and then say "yes!" and look at me. I, of course, smiled the first few times but then quickly learned that it would be to my benefit to pretend that I didn't notice.

After he tired of checkers, he gave bowling a try. Bad idea. He couldn't figure out how it worked, and he wasn't happy about it. His frequent fist pumps turned into exasperated gestures. At one point he threw his hands in the air and over the back of the chair and grabbed onto his headrest and started shaking it. The only problem with that - aside from the fact that he was behaving like a two year old - is that he messed up the screen of the person behind him. That poor soul actually had to tap him and ask him to move his arms. All for a bad game of bowling...

Several games later, the Fonz got bored with his little screen. I thought maybe he would make good on his talk of snoring, but I'm not that lucky. Instead of sleeping, he took a vested interest in what was playing on my screen. Awkward. First off, there's a glare coming from the window behind Fonz, so he has to lean toward me to watch MY movie, without sound, and totally violated what little personal space I was entitled to in seat 26B. Secondly, he would look at the screen and then look me expecting some kind of reaction to what was happening in the movie. So so awkward.

Needless to say, I breathed a sigh of relief when my time with the Fonz was over. What planet do these people come from?

Family Encounters

2008-12-04T15:31:00.004-06:00

It's the holiday season. And along with my annual servings of turkey, mashed potatoes, ornaments, gifts and general Christmas merriment, it's also time for a heaping dose of.... family.

There's nothing quite like Christmastime in my family. I'm sure we're pretty much like most other families who spend holidays together. That is, of course, assuming that most families can relate to the scene in "While You Were Sleeping" where the whole family is gathered around the table and each person is engaging in their own off the wall conversation. One of my favorite pastimes is to just sit back and listen to how many different conversations can go on at once. I think the record was 9, which might not seem like a lot, but you have to keep in mind there were only 7 people at the table. We might be small in number, but we have more than our fair share of quirks. That's not to say I don't bring my own truck load of idiosyncrasies to the table. God knows I have to if I want to fit in - not to mention survive.

Anyways, all that to say, there's never a dull moment during the holidays with the fam, but that's not good enough for us. No. We can't just let it go and have everyone go on with their crazy little lives. Instead, we force ourselves to do the one thing that especially tends to accentuate our insanity: we play cards. Not Hearts or Spades, or even Bullshit - no, we play a game called Shanghai. Heard of it? Didn't think so. I think they outlawed it in most cities because of its tendency to rip families apart. It's not that it's a complicated game with a massive amount strategy involved - it's far from that - it's just that when we play cards, we pick each other apart. We beg shamelessly for cards that we need to complete our hand. We bring up past grievances and cast "you owe me" glares across the table. (I'll admit it; I often play the "perfect daughter" card in order to get what I want.) We steal cards from people simply for the sake of depriving them of something they need. "Cards is cards," we say, and then five seconds later we beg like 3rd graders for something we want. It's pathetic. It's family.

The best part is, we often invite guests to join us in our friendly card games. If you play cards with us, you're in for good. It is then, and only then that you see our true colors. We get vicious. There's often yelling involved, and there's always cheating. Just this last weekend, I was home for Thanksgiving, and of course we played cards several times. One night, my Sitti (that would be a word for "grandma" in Arabic), who is one of the most gracious and kind people I have ever met, tried to cite a rule that had never been mentioned in over 20 years worth of card games. "It's a rule!" she exclaimed. "What? We've never even heard of that!" everyone else shouted. And the argument went on and on and on. All I know is, it's a good thing my dad enjoys playing bartender, because you need a drink or two to make it through a game of Shanghai. (In case you are wondering, I looked up the definition for the word "shanghai," here's what I found: (verb) "to enroll or obtain (a sailor) for the crew of a ship by unscrupulous means, as by force or the use of liquor or drugs." Yep. Sounds about right.)

Oh, Shanghai. Such a wonderful holiday tradition.

Intellectual Property Encounters

2008-10-29T09:31:00.003-05:00

Last night I attended a high school fashion/variety show - I know you are jealous. As fascinating as the actual show was, the person I went to see was only in about five minutes of the hour and a half program, so naturally I found other things to capture my attention. Luckily, I didn't have to look too far.

There was a group of girls who were sitting right in front of me enjoying the show. They were your typical high school senior bunch - laughing at inside jokes and screaming at inhuman volumes for their 75 best friends who were on stage. But one girl stood out among the rest. She knew every word to every rap song they played, as well as the dance to go along with it. However, as impressive as her lyrical prowess was, it was her commentary on the show that I found most amusing.

The students in the skits kept using popular phrases like, "that's so legit," and other teen-speak, and every time they said something like that this girl would freak out and say, "Man! They keep stealing all MY phrases!" or, "Ugh! That's my word!" Yes, ladies and gentleman, last night I met the author of half of our modern catch phrases - jealous again, aren't you?

Now, it's been a while, but during my undergrad, I took a class on Mass Comm Law and we studied all kinds of things like intellectual property and trademarks and copyrights. I might not remember very many specifics from the course, but I did get an A and I'm pretty sure that the girl from last night would have a legal nightmare if she actually tried to claim all "her phrases" in court.

On the other hand, I wonder how much all eBayers would be willing to pay for an autograph from the creator of the word "legit"?

People can be so funny sometimes...

Delayed Encounters

2008-10-15T10:43:00.002-05:00

I don't want to brag or anything, but I have always been a fairly successful procrastinator. I can put things off for days or weeks and still have everything turn out great. I never did homework and always got good grades. Call me crazy, but doing, well, anything that wasn't studying was always more important to me when I was in school.

Yes, I'm one of those kids who skated through my academic career with little to no effort and only one B - stupid criminal justice elective... - but life has finally caught up with me. That's right, I have finally found something that destroyed my perfect procrastination record.

People (or person), listen to me carefully. You cannot, I repeat, CANNOT procrastinate when it comes to taking care of these two things: TOILET PAPER and TOOTHPASTE - especially if you don't have any roommates you can steal from. So, just don't try, ok? I promise, you'll thank me later.

Favorite Encounters

2008-09-17T15:52:00.003-05:00

Being a logophile - that would be a lover of words - I often find myself puzzled by the words people choose to use in their day to day conversation. I'm not so much interested in the extent of their vocabulary, or even their grammar, I'm just intrigued by the words they use to convey their point or make their stories more interesting.

Lately, I've noticed that people take words that are supposed to be very meaningful, and they beat the meaning out of them by kicking them around like an old pair of tennis shoes that you don't have to untie to put on or take off.

For example: let's consider the word, "favorite." If used correctly, we should all only have one favorite thing. Of course, we are also entitled to a favorite movie, a favorite food, wine, song, etc. But really, only one favorite "thing." In the last week, I have had several people tell me something is their "favorite thing." One person even claimed four different favorite things in the span of two hours.

Favorite doesn't really mean favorite any more. Nowadays it's just an adjective used to describe any number of things a person happens to enjoy. It has lost its emphasis, and it makes me sad.

One man said his favorite thing was to rearrange furniture. While I don't doubt his odd, but sincere love for moving heavy pieces of furniture, I somehow doubt it is actually the one thing he loves to do in this world more than anything else. As much as I try to separate my facial expressions from the ponderings of my inner monologue, I highly doubt I was able to keep a straight face while he was talking to me. I just kept thinking to myself, "Really? THAT'S your favorite thing in the world? I mean, if you had a bumper sticker on your car, would it say 'I'd rather be moving furniture'?"

Don't get me wrong, people are entitled to love whatever activity they want to - I don't have to agree or even understand - but please, people, be stingy with your favorites.

Audial Encounters

2008-08-12T11:03:00.005-05:00

I've never had the best hearing. I mean, I can usually hear you if you're standing next to me and talking and my selective hearing works great. But chances are, if you ask me, "did you hear that?" I will do one of two things: 1. say no, look at you like you are a little loony and start a new conversation. or 2. say yes and change the subject before you have time to start a discussion about what "we" just heard. However, I have found that my hearing ability is drastically improved in certain environments and scenarios. One of which, unfortunately, is the theater. I say unfortunately because my hearing isn't just improved in terms of the actual show, it also starts to pick up any and all distracting sounds around me.

Allow me to provide two examples:
1. A few weeks ago, some friends and I attended a play presented by Shakespeare in the Park. It was a lovely evening. The show was hilarious. Lord Benedick was more than easy on the eyes. But one man ruined the entire show. He was sitting in the center section laughing hysterically through the whole play. Now before you go thinking I'm a kill joy and I can't let other people laugh, let me explain. You see, his laugh wasn't normal, or even loud. No, he laughed like an oxygen machine. You know those portable oxygen tanks that Sittis and Jiddis (that would be grandmas and grandpas) carry around? The ones that make a sound every five seconds that sounds like a brief shot from an air compressor? He sounded like that. The whole time. He didn't stop. He just kept making that horrid hissing sound and ruined every laugh line in the play. It drove me out of my mind.

2. Then, just last weekend, I attended a movie theater to see a movie. The lights were down, the movie was playing, and what do I hear? No, not talking, or a cell phone. Snoring. I heard snoring. One hour into a two and a half hour show, this man started snoring. It was horrendous. And the thing is, the people with him didn't make him stop. I mean, if you went to a movie and someone in your group started snoring really loud, wouldn't you nudge them or shake them or throw your $12 drink on them to wake them up? It was pathetic.

Considering the things I endure when my hearing is at peak performance, I think I much prefer partial deafness.

Endearing Encounters

2008-08-07T15:10:00.005-05:00

Question: Do you ever meet someone and instantly you both feel like you've known the other for years? Me too. It's strange and inexplicable, but I'm pretty glad it happens.

Second question: Do you ever meet someone and THEY instantly feel like they have known YOU for years while you are still at the "I just me you" phase? ME TOO. It's strange and uncomfortable, and I get weirded out when it happens.

I find that most people express their premature comfort level through various pet names and compliments in conversation. Like the lady at the Braum's drive-thru window the other night. I placed my order and she called me "Darling" after she told me to pull around to the window. THEN, when she gave me my ice cream, she called me "sweetheart." I wouldn't have been too weirded out if she was some sweet older lady, but there's no way this lady was much more than 40. It was strange and slightly awkward.

But our waitress at lunch today takes the awkward cake.

I went to have lunch at a sushi place with two friends. I arrived last, and when I sat down my friend informed me that our waitress would be very happy to see me and that she was very excited about serving us our lunch. Not knowing what to expect, I chuckled and waited for her to come by. Four seconds later - she popped by and said, "Oh, our third has arrived! I'm so glad you're here. What can I get you to drink, darling?" At this point I am mildly entertained and just laugh and continue with conversation.

She came back and said, "are my girlies ready to order?" Not only were we not really her girlies, but we were not ready to order. So she cracked some joke and did this insanely ridiculous laugh where she tilted her head back and slightly to the side while shrugging her shoulders and showing too much teeth. It was painful. Really painful. But she was our best friend. She just knew it. She was so certain, that on top of countless other insanely uncomfortable pet names, she at one point called my friend "Shnookems." Really. She said Shnookems. To my friend. Whom she had never met or seen. I wanted to die laughing, but at the same time a part of me wanted to run away from the scary lady as fast as my legs could carry me.

On the plus side, my friend has a new nickname. She doesn't know it yet, but she will soon learn I have every intention of calling her Shnookems for the next few weeks.

Bold Encounters

2008-07-24T16:06:00.004-05:00

Confidence.

What a funny thing. I mean, I have always been taught to be a confident woman. I don't know about you, but I can do anything I put my mind to. My mom told me so. And so did my grandma, and my aunt and my third grade teacher.

But, let's be honest, confidence is not always the missing ingredient when things aren't going so well in life. One must arguably have some kind of talent or skill to back up their confidence, otherwise you just look... well, stupid.

For example: I was recently walking through the streets of the Ann Arbor art fair, where artists from all over the country and the world showcase their talent with confidence. Instead of being that kid that took the time to appreciate every piece of artwork around me, I was that kid who spent most of the time appreciating the display of people around me.

One man in particular caught my attention. While he didn't have a booth at the fair, he was still able to secure a space to show off his talent. He had positioned himself on the sidewalk next to the porta-potties - we are talking some prime performance space - and he was dancing. Not just dancing, but dancing in a style similar to a style resembling a Michael Jackson dance. This guy was taking on the classics. We're talking "Thriller," "Billie Jean," you name it - he did it. The thing is, he didn't do them well. None of them. Not even close. I would usually never dream of criticizing a dancer - God gave all my rhythm to someone else - but this dude was seriously struggling.

There was one thing he had no problem with though: confidence. He danced like he was giving MJ himself a run for his money. He was there. He was dancing. And he was good - or at least he thought he was. It was incredible. It reminded me of those tone-deaf people who try out for American Idol and completely crumble when the judges suggest they aren't right for the show.

It's confidence gone awry, my friends, and I find it terribly entertaining.

Hostile Encounters

2008-06-24T15:45:00.006-05:00

After a little less than a year on the job, I have discovered several unexpected occupational hazards associated with my current state of employment. (I have to be vague here because my mother is convinced I will inadvertently disclose important personal information in this blog and then someone will steal my identity and probably my soul. Yes, I am a grown woman. And yes, she sorely overestimates my reader base.)

Let's suffice it to say my job requires constant corralling of young people and generally has me begging for some semblance of order and/or normalcy. While these things are fairly hazardous, there is something even more dangerous that I am required to do. Ready?

I have to.... go to Sam's Club. Alot.

I personally find Sam's scary enough on its own - I mean, who builds shelves that high? and do they ever actually pull stuff down from the top shelf? or is it just supposed to look monstrously ominous and leave everyone in awe at the massive amounts of massive quantities in one building? - but, really, it's the people at Sam's that scare me the most. I am NOT talking about those sweet little ladies who hand out the samples - God knows I love them. No, I am talking about my fellow Sam's patrons.

Now before you write me off as chronically over dramatic, let me explain.

I only go to Sam's when I have to buy huge quantities of junk food and other sugar laden products, which happens surprisingly often. As I am minding my own business, pushing my flat bed cart up and down the aisles, I get the most disgusting glares from people. They squint their eyes and grit their teeth and look at me as though I alone am to blame for childhood obesity in America. Have you ever been held responsible for an epidemic? It's not fun.

I try my best to just smile and go on my merry little way, while at the same time glaring back with a "you-try-appeasing-forty-teenagers-without-junk-food" kind of look, but I have a feeling that one of these days I am just going to explode. I'll throw down my ten pound bag of chocolate, walk over to their cart and look as judgmental as possible as I stare at their stock pile of fruits, veggies and other Kashi products. Then I will come to the unfortunate yet inevitable realization that I am pushing a heart attack on wheels and they are single-handedly saving the planet. My bad.

I knew Sam's was scary, but I didn't know it could be so hostile.

Airport Encounters

2008-06-03T14:34:00.000-05:00

I love traveling.

Sure, it's a headache sometimes. I definitely hate having to put any and all liquids in tiny ziploc bags when I go through security, but it's also kind of adventurous and, in my opinion, insanely entertaining. There is just something about being around people you know you will never see again.

For example, I was traveling to a wedding this last weekend and had a bit of a layover in the Dallas airport. I decided to get a small snack - luckily I wasn't too hungry because it was all I could afford - and I was sitting at the gate waiting for boarding to begin. One chair to my left, there was an older woman - probably 65 or 70 years old - who was reading Newsweek. She seemed fairly normal and nice, but first impressions can be deceiving.

So the older lady - we'll call her Gladys - is sitting next to me reading an article on the latest advancements in sperm science, when another lady - we'll call her Betty - enters the scene.

Now, Betty also seems quite normal. She is probably about 55 - 60 years old and she took a seat on the row of chairs attached to the back of the chairs Gladys and I were sitting in. Betty put down her bags and got all settled in. Then she did the unthinkable. She pulled out her cell phone. (insert ominous music here)

Turns out Betty's son and his wife had a baby the day before and she was on her way to go see her new granddaughter. Good for Betty - bad for Gladys. You see, Gladys was really trying to focus on that sperm science article. It was apparently very important to her.

After Betty had talked in a not-so-quiet voice for about five minutes, Gladys began to get very perturbed. She started turning her head and twitching hoping that Betty would get the hint, but Betty was far too excited about her granddaughter to notice. Unwilling to let Betty have her moment of joy and determined to get her point across, Gladys chose another course of action: she put the riveting article down in her lap, raised both arms and stuck her index fingers in her ears. Now, it's important to understand that she didn't keep her arms at her sides while she was doing this. No, she had both arms protruding from her head.

It was priceless. There is nothing like seeing a grown woman act like a three year old. And the best part was that Betty didn't give a hoot whether or not Gladys was annoyed. She kept talking, raised the volume of her voice and finished her phone call with a huge smile on her face.

Like I said: I love traveling.

Security Encounters

2008-05-28T15:43:00.001-05:00

Hello, internet browsing champions. (I figure if you found this blog out of all of the millions and trillions of web pages out there, you deserve to be called a champion.)

Welcome to my blog. It has taken me a while to get this off the ground. I have considered joining the blogging world for quite some time, but just never took the leap until now.

In my many years of life experience I have noticed that one of two things must be true: either strange things happen to me more often than most other people, OR I have a strange way of looking at things that are perfectly normal. Either way, I intend to use this blog to tell about my many strangely normal encounters.

Here goes nothing:

I have noticed recently that there are a great number of things with locks on them in this world. I mean, think about it: doors, gates, boxes, lockers, drawers, cabinets, cars, safes, fences, and even stores that sell locks.

Naturally, I am generally unopposed to this simple fact. I like my car, and I don't want anyone else to have it. Also, I like to feel safe when I'm at home and I am pretty gosh darn glad that there is a lock at the bank where my money is. However, I think we have gone a little lock crazy and started locking things that should never be locked.

For example, church doors. I hate that they have to be locked. I think they should always be open. But I understand that people suck and sucky people might come in and take stuff, so I've learned to deal with it. Still, there is one thing that I think should NEVER be locked:

Toilet paper dispensers.

Seriously, I am having a very hard time controlling my emotions on this issue. You see, here at my place of employment - as in most places - there are locks on the toilet paper dispensers in the stalls, which wouldn't really bother me except for the fact that our janitor has managed to lose every single toilet paper key. Yep. All of 'em. Gone. This means that all the dispensers are empty and there is no hope for having them filled anytime soon unless we get a toilet paper locksmith.

What's the point of the lock in the first place? If your life is so sad that you have to steal toilet paper from a non-profit office building then I think you can have all the toilet paper you need. But why must I suffer just because nobody trusts anyone in this world? This whole thing gets me everyday....multiple times. What can I say? I have a small bladder.

Here's to hoping your toilet paper is plentiful and readily available.