Last week, I was in class and fumbled in my pocket for the quarters that were there. In a 4 hour class that runs in the evening hours, it is almost impossible to go without a bottle of water or a snack. I was living on the one slice of peanut butter coated bread I’d brought with me that was supposed to last the whole day, but my mouth felt like sandpaper and my lips like little cactus pricklies.
Pricklies is a real word. And if you don’t believe me, don’t you dare play Scrabble with me, ever. I mean it.
It’s hot here.
That was a redundant statement. It’s hot like those peppers that if you eat the whole pepper it will eat your stomach from the inside out are hot.
Everyone was smart enough to bring water to class, but I had a peanut butter sandwich. Not just any peanut butter. The stick to your friend if you blow them a kiss while eating it peanut butter, which is also known as Peter Pan. Because of “the Pan” the SmartWater the size of Mexico I brought with me was gone within 10 minutes of class starting which also necessitated me leaving class an average of 12 times per hour.
So, I ran out of water and I didn’t exactly trust the water fountains. No, there was a time I walked by and there was poop in one of those fountains. I’ll get bottled water. Sometimes, I have no quarters, but, by golly, I had a single dollar and 4 quarters. On break, a scheduled one, not a Smartwater necessitated one, I grabbed a water and threw the quarters in my pocket.
Later, as I was thinking about the “England!” incident with A.J. and the quarter question at trivia, I pulled the remaining quarters out of my pocket and examined them closely. One was from 2006 and had nothing that made it different than any other quarter. Another from 2005 was the same. However, the third was an old style quarter with the eagle on the back. This one I examined more closely. The edges were worn smooth and George Washington’s hair had no definition. The year was 1966.
1966. Long before I was born. How many hands held this quarter? How many pockets? How many wallets? Had anyone famous held this quarter? Infamous? How many children bought something special with this quarter? Had it been in piggy banks? Jars for saving? Retirement funds? How many cans of soda had this quarter bought for someone as thirsty as I was? That quarter has been around through so many historical events, just traveling the world. Or has it been sitting in someone’s home collecting dust until someone cleaned out a carpet or a couch? Was it in a landfill?
The one thing I know is this: That rough edged quarter has seen more life than I ever will.
I slowly put it back in my pocket and wondered where it will go when it leaves my hands.
I’m ok with it and I’m not sure why others aren’t, especially when I’ve embraced this aspect of myself. Is it no longer cool to go with the self-acceptance? Dork has such a negative connotation, but there is something to be said for people that are eccentric, quirky or don’t go with the flow. We tend to stand out. Some may say that it’s not in a positive way, but I don’t think that the way I am presents itself in a bad manner.
Last week, I was in class and one of my friends was talking to another cohort about the highlights she’s had all semester. She has spent a lot of time on her outer beauty this semester and I’ve really noticed. She’s beautiful. I don’t swing that way, but if I did, I’d give her a second glance. She’s a precious, sweet, amazing, funny woman and I think that she is special. She’d commented that it took almost the entire semester for this other person in the cohort to notice that she’d had her hair done. I made the comment that I’d noticed and that I’d “been digging on her all semester.”
Not only did she smile, but she came over to me, hugged me tightly and then she and another girl made me an “Oreo sandwich.” Apparently, this is where two amazingly precious African American sweethearts hug a confused Caucasian girl and make her the cream filling. Needless to say, there were some interesting comments about what I said, but I shrug them off. I’m an equal opportunity flirt and this girl deserved what I said. Yes, it took cajones to say it, but it’s part of being quirky: You say things that others might not and it changes the outlook of the group, one way or another. She needed to hear that she is adored and accepted. I met the need and was rewarded by her, kindly.
It’s part of being a friend.
I sing in the car. Loudly. With hand gestures. Cars around me either laugh and point or join along.
I wear my heart on my sleeve and it gets me into trouble more often than not. I get hurt a lot. It’s who I am.
I will eat chicken pot pie 4 days in a row and then convince my twitter friends, they should, too. Don’t lie. You know you ate the pot pie.
I laugh at fart jokes. I tell them in public.
I’m the girl who doesn’t wear the camisole under her shirt and doesn’t realize she’s flashed people until after the fact. It wasn’t that I was trying, I just didn’t realize the shirt went down that far. It didn’t occur to me. I’m glad you enjoyed the show. They ARE beautiful.
I rarely spend more than 5 minutes on my makeup and if my hair takes more than 10, I leave it where it’s at.
I wear sneakers most every day. Screw dress up shoes.
I’m a jeans and t-shirt girl.
My perfume smells like lemons. Not a girlie smell, a CLEAN smell.
I hate to cook and clean.
I literally just played rock, paper, scissors with a presenter while the professor took over her presentation and we got bored.
I make inappropriate jokes. All the time. At the wrong times. In company where it’s wholly inappropriate.
I named my car “Betty” because anything I spend that much time with deserves to have a name.
I make fun of my education. I have to. 22 years of education makes me a nerd, along with being a geek and a dork. Yes, it also makes me smart. I’m proud of it, but not so proud that I have to make you feel stupid. I may be stupid for sitting my butt in desks made for a 7th grader for so long. We can all be happy about our education.
I wear braids, pigtails and buns. I go out in public like this. I think I look cute.
I wear the friendship bracelets my 13-year old sister made me with pride. I’ll wear them until they wear out. If you don’t like them, don’t look at them.
I want people to be my friend. Including my professors and people that may not necessarily want to be friends with someone as free with their words as I am. I have no problem joking and cajoling until people give in and become my friend. I can be charming when I want to be. Not in the typical manner. I will run up to people and invade their personal space by hugging them before they know me. Sorry about that.
I’ve done the time warp.
I’ve made, worn and given out warm fuzzies.
Butterfly and eskimo kisses are my favorite to give and receive.
I spend way too much time on my computer, but I do it because I miss the people I’ve met on here when I don’t.
For most places in the South, I think this summer and fall have been the rainiest we’ve seen in a long time. Besides my ire at nobody knowing how to drive in the rain, it has necessitated some other factors. It means I can’t carry some of my favorite bags, because rain splatter isn’t in fashion. I’ve been relegated to sneakers instead of my standard flip flops much earlier this year. And I’ve been forced to carry my trusty Gustbuster umbrella with me everywhere.
However, there is a problem. I lose things on a regular basis. This is my 2nd gustbuster and my 4th umbrella in 2 years. It doesn’t matter if it’s an umbrella I grabbed as a cheapie at Wal-mart on a rainy day or an expensive Gustbuster that I adore. Chances are, someone is going to walk off with a new umbrella when I’m around.
I’m not this forgetful with anything else in my life. I’ve managed to keep a multitude of planners, every cell phone I’ve ever had, and an 8-year old boy without losing any of them permanently.
Umbrellas are elusive, sneaky little bastards.
I get rained on alot.
The good news is that the people at my school and in my office building are in the money. I have single handedly supplied them with rain gear for the next several months.
Those of you that have been around forever, and some of you know you have and I love every single little inch of your being for it, remember that I had a number on here for a while that you could call and leave me a voicemail if you wanted to do so. I could never find a good spot for it on the site so I took it down.
I know.
I’m neurotic.
I’m very, very picky about how the site looks, which was especially important while doing the site redesign. Luckily, I had an angel for a designer, bless her sweet little heart.
My friend Natalie called me the other day and reminded me of how much I missed her voice when my eyes welled up after talking to her. Sometimes, it’s nice to hear a voice. I get your comments and I love all of them.
Except for the porn spammers who keep sending me things that make me question what kind of illegal drugs they are taking. Quit sending me that stuff.
Anyway, if you would like to call and leave me a message, please do. In fact, I’m begging you, leave me a message! Unless you are in prison. Then send me a comment. Or if you are the kind of person who does bad things to animals. Then you should probably read other blogs.
I have unlimited messages and I will listen to them over and over and over like a crazy cat lady.
You can call me on your phone at (615) 807-0376 or click on this button and you can use the microphone on your computer (if you have one) to leave me a message. If you have long distance charges, they may apply, but if you go through your computer, it’s free.
This isn’t my cell phone number, so I won’t ever answer, no matter how often you call it. But I’ll get your message and cherish it, I promise. Unless you leave crazy messages. Don’t do that. I won’t like it.
Are you having a good weekend? I hope so. Mine has been a rollercoaster, but the rain is softly falling outside and part of me is honestly considering going out in it to sit on the swing in my backyard and soak it in. Do you ever just want to do that?
The leaves are turning red, and the rain falls and the wind blows and I’m out there with it.
Edit: My friend, Neil, called and left me a message as Barack Obama that is HYSTERICAL. He asked me to post it because it was an awful lot of work. I don’t ever post things without permission. Have a listen:
When the people we love are in trouble, we react quickly and emotionally. We don’t always step back and assess the situation with a calm head. There isn’t always time to do so. I’ve watched Intervention and some of the other shows that highlight families in crisis, and the general first reaction that people have when their loved one objects to help is to bow down to tears and cave. It’s one of the reasons that people usually have some kind of objective facilitator who helps with those kind of things and keeps everyone on track.
When AJ had hisKentucky incident, I didn’t think. I smacked Leon to get his attention and then I ran. I haven’t ran in years, but I ran to him. I couldn’t help him or make him better, but he needed me and I needed to be with him.
When the people we love are in trouble, we react quickly and emotionally.
Recently, I was watching footage of the Dallas motorcade with JFK and Jackie and I reacted to it rather strongly. Warning: Graphic language coming.
I’ve probably watched the grainy footage from Dallas 100 times in my 30 years. I’ve noticed many things about it and have looked at it from various mental angles. However, this particular time, when I watched it, what kept coming back to me was that Jackie reacted quickly and instinctively to keep Jack safe. I have no idea what the state of their marriage was. By all accounts, it was not the most functional, but whose is? However, she recovers from shock quickly and scrambles to the back of a moving car to grab pieces of his brain matter and then pulls him down to keep him safe.
Brain matter isn’t like a finger or a toe. You can’t sew it back on. Once Jack was hit and it was exposed, it was gone. He was gone.
When the people we love are in trouble, we react quickly and emotionally.
It wasn’t rational to scramble across a moving vehicle when bullets were flying around her, but love motivates people to do things they wouldn’t otherwise do. It gives us strength to do things that we don’t know we can.
Life is like a game. We all have challenges, thoughts, opinions and beliefs. Often, it feels like something out there, life, karma, catty people, or blue shells (for the Kart lovers), seeks to bring us down. Luckily, we always get up. This is where I wear my heart on my sleeve and my foot in my mouth.
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We are members of one great body. Nature planted in us a mutual love, and fitted us for a social life. We must consider that we were born for the good of the whole.
Lucius Annaeus Seneca
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Last week, I was in class and fumbled in my pocket for the quarters that were there. In a 4 hour class that runs in the evening hours, it is almost impossible to go without a bottle of water or a snack. I was living on the one slice of peanut butter coated bread I’d brought with me that was supposed to last the whole day, but my mouth felt like sandpaper and my lips like little cactus pricklies. 
Life is like a game. We all have challenges, thoughts, opinions and beliefs. Often, it feels like something out there, life, karma, catty people, or blue shells (for the Kart lovers), seeks to bring us down. Luckily, we always get up. This is where I wear my heart on my sleeve and my foot in my mouth.
