Game

Here is something you may not know about me:

For a brief period in my last year at college, I considered joining a convent.

And by "brief period", I mean like 20 or 30 minutes tops.

No, I’m not Catholic, but the thought of not having “a traditional family, career and everyday life” and just pursuing God really appealed to me one day, working late on an auditing project.

I think I could have gotten over the celibacy part, and the never having a husband thing, and I loved the idea of not having to earn my own living or pay rent or go grocery shopping and all I had to do was just worship God all day.

Then I thought about how dumb it was to try to escape life struggles like paying rent and grocery shopping. For some reason, I thought of my dad, and like Mufasa appearing from the night sky, I remembered who I was and that there would be struggles in any life that I chose. 

Also, I'm pretty sure that I could not tolerate living among a bunch of girls. Nuns are probably different than the catty, socialite kind that I hate, but to be living with SO many and the only male influence being… the pope? 

No, thank you.

I guess the point I'm trying to make here is that auditing homework will make you consider nunnery. 

Just kidding. 

The real point is that it's the struggles in life that makes it interesting and the way you deal with struggles that makes life even interestinger.

I was in the Wal-Mart pharmacy line today buying pseudoephedrine because I finished watching Breaking Bad and wanted to try my hand at making meth.

Just kidding- they didn’t use pseudophedrine in the show because of the impurities.

(and, yes, also kidding about the making meth part. I'm struggling with a second sickness. See previous post.)

Anyway, so I was standing there in line, and there was this woman probably not that much older than I with two young children in her cart. 

That’s right, folks, Wal-Mart now sells children.

I’m kidding. Oh my goodness, there so many kiddings going on in this post.

The woman wasn’t facing me, but her young girl just looked up at me with these huge brown eyes like she was a creature from those Serendipity books.

Press X to interact.

Instead of ignoring her like normal adults probably would, I decided to have some fun standing in line. So what did I do to those giant brown eyes? I stared right back with my own giant brown eyes. I did things with them. I winked; she blinked. I widened them and squeezed them tight. She was entranced by my face, and I thought I bet I look like a fool but whatever I’m in Wal-Mart buying pseudophedrine.

A little bit later, her older brother noticed me, too. So I made a face at him. He giggled. His mom said, “Whachoo lookin’ at?” while she turned around, and I averted my eyes very quickly so she wouldn’t know it was me.

When she turned back around, I made an even goofier face at him: 

This face right here.

And he squealed with delight. His mom then wheeled around, "Seriously? What are you looking at?"

And, of course, my eyes were off in the distance, giving nothing away while I was dying on the inside from trying not to laugh and also from sickness.

So when she turned back around I motioned for him to be quiet. I was running out of faces, and my maturity was dropping near dangerously low levels. 

But whatever. I made some kid's day better. 

I've decided to be an interesting stranger.

People won't be people when they hear this sound,

TWS

Battles; Atlas

Elderberries

Every time there are children, I get sick.
Every single time.

My list of reasons why I never want to have kids just got a little bit longer.

I was trying to be a fun aunt,
TWS

Postmark

Getting on the Flight of the Hippogriff ride at Islands of Adventure:
Me: Oh my goodness, this is a tight fit. Probably because my butt's so big.
Mike: Your hips don't lie.
Me: You're right. My hips only tell true stories.

I set my guitar pick down, and Sam started chewing on it.
I took it out of his mouth and said, "No! That is NOT allowed! It is DISALLOWED. This pick is a passive activity loss and you, Sam, do not have any income, so you can't take it."

He seemed to understand because he didn't chew on it anymore.

And I did kind of put it on the other side of the room.

He wants so badly to be mailed.

Roasting is like baking and broiling at the same time,

TWS

Haiku About A Piece of Fruit

This tangerine has
So many seeds that I could
Plant a vast orchard.

And here you thought my titles were irrelevant,
TWS

Pants and Carrots

Well, this is embarrassing.

I look like I'm 45 years old today.
That is a 23 year differential from my current age.

Normally, I'm stylin'. I usually aim to sport a youthful appearance, whether it be by sprightly shoes, a cray-cray-adorbs skirt, or a chic top or dress.

But today I awoke, and it was a frightful 69 degrees in the house.
I had already decided that I was going to wear brown pants today because I wanted to wear my new, nice, comfortable brown booties.

Now about these brown pants.
I bought them because:
1. They fit
2. They were $2
3. They are wide leg
4. They were brown and my old brown pants were too tight

Unlike other pants made in the 21st century, these pants close at the waist. It's like they're high-waisted pants without even trying to be fashionably high-waisted. Like old lady pants.

My school of thought was that I'll just wear things that cover my waist so I don't look like Bill from the post office at Georgia Southern.
But somehow, this charade does not mask the facade.

It's weird when you wear underwear that's not granny panties with granny pants. Because then you have like two different waistlines going on.
It's weirder still that 'charade' and 'facade' both end in 'ade' and are pronounced completely different.

To quote Mike, "These pants don't even make your butt look good."

But wear them I did.

Since it was cold, I pulled a sweater set from my closet that I haven't worn in a while.
A sweater set. Like- why do I even own things like this?!?!?!?
I guess it was because of the color. I'm a sucker for orange things. Even carrots. We're going to talk about carrots in a little while.

And I like to take apart the sweater set and wear the orange pieces with different things. So, yeah, normally I don't wear sweater sets because there's just something about wearing a color on top of another color that makes you look about 30 years your senior.

Sweater sets and calf length skirts.
Stay away, my friends.

So I went to the bathroom to change clothes, and I put on this orange sweater set over a white collared shirt while wearing the granny pants.
I looked 55.
I took off the cardigan.
I looked 45.
This cardigan virtually added 10 years to my face.

NAGL

And for some reason, I thought that was good enough and proceeded to go to work looking like a middle-aged mother of four that drives a suburban, subscribes to Family Circle and gets a mani-pedi every six weeks. The more time goes on today, the more self-conscious I become.

Never again.
I would rather go without brown pants than look like this.

So let's talk about baby carrots.
I formally enjoyed baby carrots with my packed lunch every day. But then these bags of baby carrots I bought became excessively saturated with water, which made the carrots slimy and taste like toad juice.
So then I switched to the big, whole carrots which are both:
a. cheaper
b. sweeter-tasting (in my opinion)

But my, oh my, how they are so inconveniently shaped! You have to wash them, then you have to peel them, and then you cut them, and since they are so honkin' big at the ends, it's impossible to get nice, uniform carrot sticks. You get some, nice carrot sticks, and then other chopped up bits of carrot.
Big carrots are so annoying. Unless you are making a salad.

Or a snowman.

Since I finally finished my five pound bag of carrots yesterday (it took me 2 months), I decided to take a leap of faith and buy some baby carrots again on the off chance that they won't be slimy and taste like toad juice.

Unfortunately, this story does not have an ending like you thought it would.
I was just talking about carrots.

I'm going to go home and dress like a 13 year old to make up for all my iniquities today,
TWS

NFC vs AFC vs Why do people care about this

I am so tired of football.

football

I honestly do not understand how it can still hold people's attention at this point.
"It's the playoffs! It's exciting!"
nooooooooooooooooooooo it's notttttttttttt
In fact, it's even worse because it's January, and it's cold, and so at the end of the first half, the score is like 0-3.

wow.
much excitement.
very football.
such punt.
wow.

And people are all like, "I can't believe this season's almost over. It feels like it just started."
And that's the part where my jaw hurts from dropping on the floor so much.

I feel like there is TOO MUCH football after a certain point.
Like, August through November, it's tolerable.
Then in December, it's like, ok, we should really be wrapping this up.
Then in January it's like, hold me down and kill me slowly with a spork.
And then the superbowl is like, a lame party.

I am surrounded by football.
I feel like everywhere I go, there is football.
Restaurants, dive bars, rodeos, the fabric store...
(ok, I don't really go to dive bars. Or rodeos.)

But football is everywhere, invading the privacy and comfort of my life.
Oh, look! A perfectly nice weekend! Let's ruin it with football!
Hey, what do you want to do for dinner? We have to figure it out soon because football is going to be on later.
Throwing a football outside is fun, but watching other people throw a football is even more fun.

Large, enormous sigh.

They should do a show about me on NFL Network.

Because this is what I have to live with.

Then there's college football. And watching college football is like diet coke. It's terrible, but people really like it for some reason.
Like- there are  kickers that cannot make 30 yard field goals.
It's like the players don't even have legs.

And I hate how the games start at 8:30 on some weeknight and people stay up past midnight watching amateur hour, and then text their friends that have to go to work in the morning about the "epic" game and how "epic" and "legit" everything was.

I think it is astounding that the word "epic" is actually used to describe a game of college football.

"You keep using that word. I do not think it means what you think it means."
-Inigo Montoya; The Princess Bride

And then there is all the sports commentary which is where people somehow find a way to take a boring subject and make it even more so.
We just watched a three-hour game. Let's spend the next 18 hours analyzing it!

credit to xkcd.com

See, football starts off sort of exciting, but then it gets belabored and ruined by people never shutting the heck up about it.

Baseball, on the other hand, is never exciting no matter how much you do or do not talk about it.

And I'm done.

Fantasy is a whole other post,
TWS

Parallelograms

I was reading in Acts the other day about Stephen, and one verse stood out to me in particular:

"And all that sat in the council, looking steadfastly on him, saw his face as it had been the face of an angel."

Acts 6:15

So turns out Stephen was an authentic angel-face.

Then, on my Taylor Swift Pandora radio station today because there's no shame in that, "Hey Stephen" came on, and, of course, I started singing to it because there's also no shame in that.

'Cause I can't help it if you look like an angel!

And I was like - haha- Stephen's an angel face.

And then I was like - omg. Stephen WAS an angel face!

And then it got even spookier:

Hey Stephen, I know looks can be deceivin' but I know I saw a light in you

Stephen, a man full of God's grace and power, performed amazing miracles and signs among the people. (Acts 6:8)

Hey Stephen, boy, you might have me believin' I don't always have to be alone

(during Stephen's speech) You stubborn people! You are heathen at heart and deaf to the truth. Must you forever resist the Holy Spirit? That's what your ancestors did, and so do you! (Acts 7:51)

And then the real kicker:

Of all the girls tossin' rocks at your window! 

They rushed him at him and dragged him out of the city and began to stone him. (Acts 7:57-58)

Coincidence? 

Probably.

But still eerie.

It's even spelled with a Ph and not a V,

TWS

Smart Mouth

A long, long time ago, I can still remember...

A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...

Once upon a time...

When I was a young warthog!!!!!!!!

That was John McLean, Star Wars, a fairy tale, and the Lion King.

All great ways to start a story.

I was in elementary school. Maybe in first or second grade. This was probably before I requested to be called "Sabrina". That's like Walt Jr. just randomly deciding to call himself "Flynn". But whatever. That's all behind me, but I still occasionally think about it and subsequently laugh about it.

I think Little Allie did it for the lolz of Future Allie.

Anyway, I was a wee lass at one point. And a smart one at that. 

In kindergarten, I was tested for the gifted education program, and apparently I got in, but I decided to not do it for a couple years. At the time, I didn't see it as an "opportunity" for "growth" and "advancement" but rather as a terrifying event because riding on a rickety old bus that has seatbelts and a mean bus driver to go to a school that's unfamiliar and spend all day with kids you don't know and read TIME for Kids is really REALLY scary for a six year old. 

And this is one of the reasons why I love the band Frightened Rabbit so much. 

In the words of Scott Hutchison on why the band is called Frightened Rabbit:

"I was a solo act and, unfortunately, Scott Hutchison is not a catchy band name at all. I thought of Frightened Rabbit because it was a nickname given to me by my mum when I was younger. I was incredibly shy as a child, almost chronically so. My parents would take me to their friends' houses and I'd be expected to play with their kids -- I guess the idea was to socialize me -- but I had no interest. These kids weren't my friends.Why did I have to play with them? I'd end up just sitting silently by myself. So out of that, my mum called me her frightened rabbit." 

I love when I find out that other people are introverted like me.

I cried a lot about having to go once a week to this scary school with scary people, and I finally got out of it until my friends were admitted to the program with me in 3rd grade.

But I did cry a lot. 

A lot, a lot.

More on that later.

So anyway, at the ripe old age of six, I was labeled a "smart girl" and a "joy to teach", etc, and so on and so forth. Somewhere along the way, someone thought it would be a good idea to put me in the school-wide spelling bee. 

I was pretty good at spelling. Sounding things out. I knew how letters worked, even the silent ones. I even knew pneumonia started with a P. It was all good.

But I had this extreme paranoia stage fright, and thinking of spelling words in front a full cafeteria tied my s-t-o-m-a-c-h into n-o-t-s. 

Whoops, I mean k-n-o-t-s. 

My dad suggested closing my eyes and focusing on spelling the word instead of all those dead eyes watching and waiting for me to fail.

That might have worked, if it hadn't have been for that dang microphone which projected and amplified my quivering voice all over Perry, Georgia.

So, it came my turn, I stood up, said the word, started crying, spelled the word correctly, said the word, sat down.

And everybody just had this weird expression on their face. One of like pity and curiosity and worry and amusement. 

It was strange. 

It's like the kind of expression you have on your face when you accidentally throw a Frisbee square into your nephew's forehead.

#beentheredonethat

It's like they couldn't figure out that I had a stage fright SO INTENSE that it made me burst into tears.

But it was also amusing because I was crying...at a spelling bee.

And then my second turn came around, and I failed so hard. I don't even remember what the word was, but I definitely missed a letter or eight. However, instead of feeling defeated and sad, I was actually relieved and happy that I could just chill and relax and wait for the thing to be over and not have to stand up and talk anymore.

Like a frightened rabbit.

For years after that, I was no longer just the "smart girl". I was "the smart girl that cried at the spelling bee".

The whole reason of me telling you this story is this:

I remember the winner of said spelling bee was rewarded with a shiny, sparkly, brand spanking new Merriam Webster's hardback dictionary. They took pictures with the book for the newspaper and yearbook and everything. 

I just think it's ironic that the winner of the spelling bee gets the dictionary. 

I mean, don't the losers need it so much more?

While I'm alive, I'll make tiny changes to earth,

TWS

Head Rolls Off; Frightened Rabbit

Dust Bowl

I had a dream that I was a teacher, my name was Stacy, and that I really liked my job.
I worked in a high school that pretty much looked like the business building at GSU. Except that it had hot tubs.
I was walking through the halls, and one of my students came up to me. She called me "Miss Stacy", and we started talking about classes and such, and she told me I was a really good teacher.
She said she was thinking about applying for the honors program and asked if I had ever considered teaching those classes.
I said, "I would love to! That's where all the smart kids are!"
Then she gave me a weird look.
I said, "Not that you're not smart. I mean, you totally belong there...."
Total faux pas.

"I dreamed that we were travelling on a bus
Speeding along an unnamed plain towards somewhere and nowhere there was us."
-Darren Hanlon; I Wish That I Was Beautiful for You

 So anyway, we were on this bus, and out the window, I see someone in a Miata driving pretty much vertically on just the two right wheels of their car. Instead of thinking, "That's impossible. This must be a dream." and enter into awesome lucidity, I thought, "That person must not have been in honors classes."

And then I was talking with some marching band kids, and there was totally some dirt that was going down, and I was going to find out all about it.

Me: Sam has that new kitty smell.
Mike: That's because it's a new year. He refreshed. He hit F5. Or is it F4? Next time you tell this joke, it's the right key.

Tiny fireworks,
TWS