In Case You Needed Further Proof that I am an IDIOT…

"Oh, my God! I was in the bathroom at school today minding my own business when I come out of the stall and there is a girl standing there in another stall staring at me with her pants down. That was weird enough. Then, she says, 'Sorry, I thought you were someone else.' Who on Earth did she think I was that she stood there in the stall with her pants down and the door open? Weirdo"—That is what I imagine the poor girl who saw me in the bathroom today with my pants down and the door open told her friends. Bless her heart.

 

But there are two sides to every story, here's mine, even though you will still probably side with the random girl who witnessed this because my story is stupid. I need to be smacked.

 

There is a haunted bathroom in Martin Hall. I almost always go to that bathroom because it is usually not crowded. Every once in a while you can hear strange things, like there is someone else in the bathroom with you, but there isn't. Toilets will occasionally flush by themselves. I had just had a meeting to register for Spring classes with my advisor Dr. Wiggins. She has many ghost stories from Martin Hall. One of them is about footsteps on the stairwell which is right behind her office. As I was sitting there I heard footsteps on the stairs (real ones) and thought about that story. Then, I wondered if she had ever heard anything in the haunted bathroom, which is practically right across the hall from her.

 

After I left her office, I went to said bathroom. It appeared like I was in there alone, and I heard no sounds. I assumed I was in there alone. So, I was all pants-down when a toilet a few stalls down flushed. I freaked out and opened the door to see if there was a closed door in the mirrors or if they were indeed all empty and open. No sooner than I open the stall door, the girl who was responsible for the flushing came out of the stall.

 

Like a big idiot I said, "Hi!" and she didn't respond. I spouted, "Sorry, I thought you were someone else." She didn't respond to that either. I don't know why I said it. I should have added that the someone else was a ghost, but I think I had done a good enough job of earning the crazy label already.

Flip-Plops

I have this pair of Fit Flops that I got in 2008. I paid roughly $70 for them. They were black, shiny and looked good with almost everything, not to mention that they were super comfy as opposed to your run-of-the-mill flip flops. I think I got my money's worth out of them because since I got them I wore them to pieces. Literally. The bottom of my left one has a mouth now and it was talking smack while I walked by a dozen or so patrons that were waiting outdoors at the Brass Lantern. It was bad enough that I was having to high-step like a Walking Horse to keep the bottom lip from folding backward underneath the sole and tripping me, but then, while I stepped up on the sidewalk to go into the door, my Fit Flop tried to take a bite out of the concrete. This sent me slamming into the door. Okay, so it wasn't that bad, but it did catch the attention of a few people. I gave them an embarrassed grin and shrug, but I strode forward, undefeated by my hungry shoe's antics and high-stepped my way in past two dozen more people to register "Barnett: Party of Three." Don't feel bad for my newly personified Fit Flop, it got to eat off the floor.

Hate

Today, in 20th Century Poetry, I discovered that I hate a lot of things. I kept whispering to my dear friend Savannah things like, "I hate shrimp," or, "I hate rap." (When those things were mentioned, of course, I didn't just spout them out randomly) Afterwards, I thought that she probably thinks that I am a really hateful person. She wouldn't be totally wrong to think that, I suppose. I do hate a lot of things. I hate not having money to buy a flipping snack if I want one. I hate spiders. I hate arrogance and haughtiness. I hate greed. I hate it that I'm not good at anything. I hate being hot and sweaty. I hate it that time goes by so fast. I hate it that by the time we have enough extra money to take Asia to Disney World, she will probably be too old to care to go. I hate mayonnaise.

So, YES, I am a hateful person. But is there anything wrong with hating THOSE things?

I know that there is a lot of hate in the world, just look at the Middle East. Look at how hateful political parties are toward each other right here in America. Listen to what "best friends" say about each other behind their backs... even in church. There is enough of that kind of hate in the world. I try not to involve myself in any of that. SO many people are hateful. I try to love and respect everybody, and believe me, it's hard. I think as long as I do not partake in that kind of hating, that I can be forgiven of my hatred of such trivial things. Am I wrong?

Sure, I hate lots of things, but that's just it, they're THINGS. Things do not matter, people do.

Fish & Secrets

This past weekend I learned that keeping a secret is a lot like keeping a fish alive. You can try and try to keep it, but sometimes you kill it anyway.

I had planned a sort-of-surprise party for Shannon's birthday. It was also sort-of-short notice. Asia found out about it when she heard me on the phone. She actually did really well keeping the secret. In fact, up until Friday night, you'd not have known she knew anything about it. After her softball practice that night, we went to eat at the Brass Lantern. While there, she told Shannon that he would be so happy about his surprise that he would "hug all of us."

When we got home that night we checked on the fish. I had taken them out of their bowl and put them in a jar while I cleaned the bowl. I added the clean water to the fish water a little at a time to adapt them to the clean water. Asia had been doing a much better job at caring for these fish. At least she wasn't trying to scoop them out with a glass or trying to feed them popsicles anymore.

The next day, I sent Asia and Shannon out for a few hours where I could finish cleaning the house, preparing for the party, and finally get the fish back into their bowl. I did all of this. When I put the fish back in their proper home, they were more active than they'd ever been. Lilly was attacking Goldy. I guess it was because they could finally see each other; it must have been easy to hide from each other in the old nasty water.

Shannon and Asia came home before 2:00. Goldy had to be removed from the bowl and put into protective custody, away from Lilly. She had scales missing from one of her sides and her fins looked like the sails of a ship that had just encountered a hurricane. Randy and Martha (Shannon's dad and stepmom) came a little after 2:30. Right away, Asia started whining about being hungry. I took her into her room and told her that we could not eat until the other guests got here in an hour. She kept whining and got sent to her room. Shannon went in her room to see what her problem was and she said, "I'm so hungry and Mama said I can't eat until the other guests get here in an hour." That secret was on life support already, and Asia just pulled the plug.

Then, I discovered Goldy had nose-dived to the bottom of the jar and was straight up like a sunken submarine stuck in the abyssal plain. She wouldn't budge. We all checked her out; we shook and tapped the jar. She was dead, just in time for the aforementioned guests to arrive. I left her just as she was, nose down in her vessel of death, in the middle of the kitchen table. Sounds a bit morbid, I suppose, but it sure made a good conversation piece when the other guests arrived shortly thereafter.

It was fun. I think Shannon was happy people came to see him for his last birthday in his twenties. There couldn't have been a more beautiful day for it. Asia went to Wal-Mart with Dad and Kendra afterwards. While she was gone, Shannon flushed Goldy. We met Asia at Wal-Mart when we went to go get groceries. The party was over; the surprise was spoiled; Goldy was dead, but to say my surprise efforts were unsuccessful would be wrong, at least somewhat. I mean, who expects to come to a party and snack while you stare at a dead fish (one that you're not about to eat for dinner)?

Plans

Spring Break. I had plans this week. My mental agenda had been perfectly mapped out. I would finish my story for the newspaper Saturday. I would deep clean my house Sunday and Monday. I would take a big long nap Tuesday. The rest of the week I would finish my research paper on the Canterbury Tales (which would mean I would actually have to start) in a leisurely manner. But that didn't happen. I was having trouble condensing all the information from my story into a small enough portion for the newspaper AND making it sound good. If you ask me, it sounds more like a glib timeline than an actual gripping story. Time will tell as the paper comes out on St. Patty's Day. I sent that in and waited and waited for a response. When I didn't hear back within a day or two, I investigated. Silly me, I must've clicked "X" again instead of "Send." I am a genius, what can I say?

Monday I had lunch with Mom, Amy, and the twins at Chaparral's. I wish I had gotten rice instead of green beans. Then I went to Wal-Mart with Amy to get some baby food. By the time we were finished, it was time for me to get Asia. Once Asia is home, it is hard to do too much.

Tuesday, Nanny came to visit. Amy came with Russell and Delilah. Nanny kept the twins at my house and Amy and I went to town. We went to Walgreen's first to get my passport photos taken. It looks more like a mug shot, as all my other photo IDs do, but that is how I look I guess. Like a felon. Then we went to the post office for Amy to get stamps and a box, to the county clerk's office to get me a passport application, and then to Big John's for BBQ. We came back and ate lunch at the house with Nanny. By the time all that was over, it was time to get Asia again.

Wednesday, well, I don't really remember what I did Wednesday, but I assure you it was nothing productive. I don't even think I took a shower Wednesday. But our neighbors who were moving out gave us their pet fish.

Thursday, Shannon let me sleep in. He was supposed to call me and wake me at 10 so I could get to work on deep cleaning the house once and for all. He forgot. I slept until noon. I had to get the pictures that go with my newspaper story to the school and get back in time to get ready for dinner. I got Asia from school early and she went with me to Pulaski to drop off the pictures. We met Nanny and Gaylon at Fiesta at 4:30. Asia's softball practice, originally scheduled for 6:00, had been cancelled due to all that dreary weather. After magnificent cheese dip, we went to Wal-Mart and got food for the fish
.
Friday, Asia was running a fever and coughing, so I kept her home from school. Mom took her to the doctor and I went with Dad to turn in my passport application and we went to Wal-Mart to get Asia's medicine. Dad stayed a few minutes and visited with Asia. She gets to missing her grandpa now that he works on Friday nights. Mom, Asia, and I placed an order at the Brass Lantern (since it only a mile from me) and we had a good lunch. That evening, I finally got started cleaning on my bedroom.

I pretty much finished cleaning the house today, but that was about it. Asia was feeling much better, even though her nose is still stuffy and she has a cough.

I didn't get my paper started, but I don't guess I did all that bad. It was a pretty good week, with good company, even though things didn't go as I had planned. But they never really do…

Qu'est-ce que c'est? (What is it?)

This is the news some of you have been waiting to hear. I am sure many of you thought that I was pregnant. well, GOTCHA! I had a meeting this afternoon with the business office at school. It was about an amazing opportunity that was really hard to pass up. I had to see if I could get the scholarships and aid for this. What was it? A study abroad program where I would be studying at the University of Montpellier in Montpellier, France for three weeks this summer.

Montpellier is in the South of France on the Mediterranean Sea. The university is one of the oldest in the world. The program is not just for college students. Businesses from all over the world send employees there to learn the French language. College professors go to learn how to teach French, or maybe to learn more of it. We would be staying in the residence halls of the university. On the weekends, there would be excursions to places like a walled Medieval village, Roman aqueducts; Barcelona, Spain; or the mountains of Italy. On the off days during the week we could go where ever we choose, like the beach, or shopping, or just where ever we can go in a day. To top it off we end the adventure with a weekend in Paris at what Dr. Ireson says is one of the best hotels in Paris. I do not know the name. Breakfast is included in the price, along with tuition, room, a metro pass for the duration of the stay, the weekend excursions, airfare, and the Paris weekend. If I do not get all the funding, I do not get to go.

So did I get it? Yes. I am very excited. I am aplying for my passport later this week. I will be gone from July 30th to August 22nd.

Sticky Situation

I decided to clean out the cabinet earlier and get rid of some things that were out of date, like the jug of peanut oil that expired in 2006. There was an oversized candy cane that Asia got for Christmas in there, but it wouldn't budge. Upon further inspection, I discovered that a bottle of Hungry Jack pancake syrup had gotten turned over and spilled all over the back corner of the cabinet. Now, it is easy for stuff to get lost and overlooked in my little food cabinets because there really isn't a lot of room. I was standing in a chair to even see that. Considering this stuff had almost hardened, I'd say it'd been there a while. As it turned out, lots of things had syrup on it, but none were stuck like the candy cane. I called my mom (who didn't answer), my grandma (who didn't answer), and then my Nanny who answered and I asked her what to do about my sticky situation. She told me to use a hair dryer. The hair dryer helped enough to pry off the candy cane box. However, in the process of sending high speed hot air at sugary syrup, it blew a few of what I can only name Syrup Bubbles. I imagine that is what it must me like hand blowing sugar glass. After the mess it made, I would not want to ever try it on purpose. Then, I came up with a completely "brilliant" plan. I wet a dish towel and put it on top of the syrup. Then, I got my iron and cranked it up as high as it would go and tapped it on the wet towel. In a matter of seconds I smelled burning syrup and smoke was billowing out of the cabinet so thick that I couldn't even see into it. Fortunately, most of the syrup came up, the rag was not burned, and the cabinet was not on fire. The iron however had gotten syrup in the little steam holes. I did not know it would evaporate through the towel and into the iron; I swear! I used more of my "brilliance" to determine that if the iron was already ruined I might as well go for round two and get the rest of the syrup up. The same thing happened as in the first go-round and the rest of the syrup came up leaving the cabinet clean as if nothing had ever been there. My kitchen is still a little smoky and I think the syrup odor has permeated everything in my kitchen and living room. I learned two lessons from this: 1: This is a great way to get up hardened syrup and 2: This is a great way to ruin your iron. The moral for you is: If you come to my house this weekend and smell syrup, don't assume that I am making you pancakes.

Ugly.

I hear quite often men introducing their “beautiful wife.” That is alright.  Then, many of them elaborate a little more, “How did I get so lucky as to find a wife that good-looking?” or “She keeps herself pretty for me.” Maybe I am being overly analytical, but these things hurt me to hear. What if he met my husband and me? Would he think poor guy? It feels as if being beautiful is the only thing women have to offer to the world. I am not beautiful, not even close, so is my husband unlucky? Would this person pity my husband for being married to such an ugly woman? Even if I were good-looking, I wouldn’t want to be put on a shelf, as if I were a prize awarded to a man. Since I am so hard on the eyes, does this mean I am worthless? If any of these men HAD to be married to me how would they introduce me, …and this is my…um…wife, or would they even introduce me at all, maybe hide me in a closet or make me duck down as not to be seen with me in front of people who would pity them?  I am likely never to be introduced as “Shannon’s Beautiful Wife,” but maybe people can dig deeper and say, “This is Lauren, she is, smart, sometimes goofy, but always kind.” I have many good qualities, and for too long have I let them go so unnoticed, but those cannot be put up on a shelf like a trophy, those are not things that your husband’s friends can ogle. I guess that is why I do my best in school, to try to offer something to the world, even though to the shallow I will still just be seen as ugly and never anything more.

On The Road

For the past few years, I have read Kerouac around my birthday. It's like a present to myself. An escape, really. My own personal birthday adventure. While I am firmly planted right here with no hope of new atmospheres anywhere in the future, Kerouac never fails to take me on his adventures. He tells of them in such a way that I feel I am riding in a limo going 110 or that I am in a jazzy lounge breathing in music right there with him. As exhilarating of an experience it is to read my favorite novel, On the Road, it always leaves me saddened. When am I going to get to have an adventure of my own? Now, I know it is not plausible to drive across the country on a whim just to find a "Dean Moriarty", but it would be nice to do something.


Earlier, I was staring at the books piled up on my dresser; then, I looked over at the picture of newborn Asia. I looked around our humble home, at the snow piled up outside on the cars. I thought about me going to college to try to make things better. I decided that I am on my own adventure, right NOW. I am "on the road", if you will. Sometimes we all like to complain about our journey. Sometimes it seems like it is taking forever to get to our destination. But like Sal (Kerouac's fictional self), in On the Road, what if we get there and it is not what we thought it would be like? What if we find what we are looking for and it is not as good as we'd counted on it being? That's why the journey is important. The journey is where we have the most fun, learn the most, and meet those crazy characters we eventually call either a friend or a memory. The journey IS the story; Kerouac knew this. That is why he called his novel On the Road. You hear constantly that it is about the journey and not the destination, but once it really plants itself inside of you and you really grasp it, the journey is so much more fulfilling…and appreciated.

What Day Is It?

Today is January 5^th. I mention that not to remind or inform you, but rather myself, because the fact that it has been nearly two weeks since Christmas hasn't quite registered in my brain yet. Back in November, I was so consumed with papers, essays, and finals that it became an insistent chant in my mind, just get through finals just make it through finals. I was convinced that once I had taken my last final that I would have the time to sit down and look at my Christmas tree and listen to Christmas carols and the spirit of the season would fill my heart. Simply, I would just have time to absorb the season, enjoy it. But that didn't happen. My last final was on the 16^th of December, and our first Christmas gathering was on the 18^th. From there out it seemed that time itself had sped up and I was left a spectator of events. It was like I reached the platform just in time to watch the Christmas Train speed past, the wind catching my hair, standing there a whirlwind of glitter, paper, and twinkling lights.

Now here it is three weeks past my last final. I finally have the time to sit and enjoy and absorb, but it is all over. They say time flies when you are having fun, and considering this Christmas was fantastic, I would to assume that is the reason. I'm not worried; if this year goes by as quickly as last, it will be Christmas again tomorrow morning.