miracles, schmiracles

Miracles are overrated. People who pray for them ought to seriously consider the possible ramifications. (I started to say they should be shot, but wholesale execution seems a bit harsh.) When I think of miracles, I think of headaches.

What would I do with a floating axe head? I need mine to grind. Water to wine? I can get myself kicked out of college without any help from the Almighty. All the water turned to blood? No thanks again, 'cause that's just plain sick. Raise someone from the dead? See, now, that would mess with my head. A creepy hand apparition writing on the wall? Wrong on so many levels. Miraculous conception? Seriously now, I've got enough on my plate without an unplanned pregnancy.

I think I'll pass on miracles. Maybe they're not all they're cracked up to be.

think you're a leader? look behind and see who or what is following.

New phenomenon at my house: Suddenly, I have (apparently) taken on some kind of big sister mystique. You know, the big sister is always the coolest, and the younger ones want to be just like her and go where she goes and have cool friends like she has.

It started with a spaghetti sauce jar. We thought we'd try out the upscale sauce that comes in a more square shaped decanter with measurement notches etched into the glass, similar to, but only three-quarters the size of, those old Mason quart jars your mom used to can the summer harvest of green beans and zucchini relish. As a teenager, I shunned soda (still do) and drank only water. My mom used to have cupboard full of jars like this, and I insisted on drinking my water out of them, because they're much more romantic than neon colored Tupperware tumblers. So, I cleaned up the jar when we finished our spaghetti sauce, and nostagically began using it as my drinking glass.

A few days later, I noticed my jar sitting on the counter at work. At least, it looked like my jar. But I was holding mine. . .so how could this be? It turns out one of my co-workers, who is also my dearest friend and one of my housemates (hitherto referred to as Homie, Bubbles, or Cream Puff) had admired my new water vessel and claimed one of her own.

Yesterday, I had a bottle of some weird herbal lotion with me at work. Cream Puff thought her hands felt a little dry. . .could she try some? I was happy to share, and glad that she liked my weird-consistency, oddish smelling herbal balm. My heart was furthered warmed today when she called asking me to bring it with me to work. . .she said, "Yesterday I got used to having soft, sexy hands. Today I feel like a lizard."

I'm fairly certain that she may post some sort of exculpation over on her blog, but don't let that vindicate her, because guess who got a blog first, partially inspiring her friend to hop on the blog bandwagon?

Seriously, if you fancy yourself a leader, just take a sec and see what kind of stuff may be trailing behind. . .

Why, indeed?

It's the middle of the night. Good little girls are snugly tucked in, fast asleep in their cozy beds at this unsanctified hour.

Oh, how I wish I were good.

Instead, I am Procrastinator of Procrastinators, Slacker of Slackers, the Alpha and Omega of putting things off. I waited until the last minute to retrieve an online exam due at midnight. Apparently, the administrator of the site is something of a deadline Nazi and at 11:30, the test was no where to be found. And, oh, how I looked. I'm now Aggravated with myself. I've had close to 178.74 hours to retrieve this exam, take it, and email it back to the professor. Why, oh why did I wait until it was too late?

Let this be a lesson. Never put off today what you could only safely put off the day before yesterday.


(Good news, though. I've found something to make me feel all better.)

wistful for the ephemeral

Ever find yourself homesick, yet uncertain for what you long?

I don't want my family, nor old friends. . .it's more of a longing for something I've not quite tasted. I've felt this feeling before, though I didn't realize I was feeling it today, until I began listening to Over the Rhine's melancholy melody, Mary's Waltz.

Is it a longing for heaven that leaves me not quite woeful, but not quite whole?

Got bike?

Today I headed to the filling station for the first time since coming back from China. The last time I filled up was more than five weeks ago, when the price was, as best I recall, 1.73. Then, I left the country for two weeks. I was slightly alarmed to discover that prices had shot up to 2.20 by the time I returned. (Thank goodness we didn't have a 27% increase on all other goods.) Strange. I had a full tank, though, so it really didn't affect me.

Until today.

My poor little VW Jetta with an oil leak and a propensity to eat, rather than utilize, fuel is suddenly an expensive little beast. I would complain, but heck...I'm glad I have a car. And at least my little Zippy's fill-up bill wasn't anywhere near the total at the next pump over. . .$60 for a full tank in a Hummer.

Untitled

The package read "Inside Out," and I discovered that's a bizarre version of one of my favorite guilty pleasures---The Reese's Peanut Butter Cup. (What is, perhaps, more bizarre is that I've never seen this version of the snack sold anywhere except for our on-campus bookstore. Furthermore, the bookstore has notoriously high prices--they actually sell all their products at the msr [which means I buy all my books online instead], except for the snacks. You'd think the on-campus bookstore would really jack up the snack prices, like the gas stations along toll roads do. But they don't--and that makes me happy, because when I need a snack, I need it immediately, and cheap enough that I can scrounge under my car seats for change enough to pay for the blessed hope in a wrapper.)

But I digress. Today, I felt compelled to try the Inside Out Reese's. My friend ate one cup and I the other. I decided it tastes like Easter. She agreed. Which led us to analyze the chocolates from the various holidays. Easter candy is just plain good. So is Valentine's Day candy (except for the cheap little boxes that fancy themselves on the level of gold foil wrapped imports). Halloween candy always seems on the verge of staleness. Christmas candy can go either way--if it's in a candy dish in the home of someone over 50, or of someone any age who wears Odor-Eater inserts, then consume at your own risk (I'd steer clear, myself).

Unfortunately, we're in between candy holidays right now.

No matter...until another one rolls around, I shall happily consume the good cheap stuff from the bookstore.

where wal-mart dots the landscape like starbucks in seattle

I'm embarrassed that the dates show up. I'd like to pretend I just created this blog yesterday. Imagine that along with me, would you?

So, I've been living in Missouri for about three and a half years now. I realize that few in the world would consider the culture here to be much different from my northcentral Ohio roots, but I assure you the differences are a reality.

For one thing, no one makes 90 degree turns here. They veer. Veering, by Ohio drivers' ed standards, is for forks in the road, not for turns.

In the same vein as veering is another southwest Missouri turning anomaly: the lack of turn signal usage. It's so easy, I'd always thought, to alert other drivers that you'll be making a turn/veer. This is especially important if, say, you'll be slowing down before the turn/veer or, say, you'll be coming to a complete stop in the middle of the road for absolutely no reason before making your turn/veer.

Food is different too. People here eat weird things. Like gravy. Before life here, I thought gravy was typically brown, thickened, savorily seasoned beef broth. Not so, I've discovered. The folks here consume a thick, white, hot paste and have the audacity to call it gravy.

All-U-Can-Eat buffets are considered fine dining.

One wouldn't expect a language barrier here, but I'm afraid it's true. I learned what I thought was standard, American English, but it's not exactly what they speak here. In most regions, the word "whenever" is used to imply a recurrent event or action [I become frustrated whenever I lose my keys. ], while "when" suggests a one-time event. Here, however, "when" is typically reserved for questions [When er ya goin varmit huntin? When is the kids comin home from school?], while the word "whenever" is broader [I got these new pots and pans whenever Steven and I got married. Grandma looked really peaceful whenever she died.].

I realize now that it was presumtuous of me to assume that just because "Missouri" ends with an "i," that it necessarily takes the long "e" sound. I've since learned that any word ending in "i" should end with "uh."

Growing up, we went to real cities like Columbus or Cincinnati for a nice dinner or more shopping options. Here, my town of 48,000 is the shopping, entertainment, culinary, and cultural epicenter for four states.

Along those same lines, within a 25 mile radius of where I presently sit, we have seven Wal-Mart super centers. I believe I failed to mention that in southwest Missouri, it's not just my city but rather Wal-Mart specifically that is considered the shopping, entertainment, culinary, and cultural epicenter.

(For my friends with cross cultural backgrounds and those living in another culture now, my sincerest apologies for cheapening your legitimate culture shock experiences.)