A very bad thing. I went shopping. And I bought the store.
You see, I put myself on a STRICT clothing budget last June. $100 a month. And I've been sticking to it. (Excuse me, I stuck to it.) You may say, "Hey, that's not strict at all! That's pretty reasonable."
No it's not. I'm DYING here, people! That is a stifling, dream-crushing, soul-consuming meager $100 a month budget. I can barely buy the essential make-up in that budget! And my roots look atrocious. (I guess I should elaborate and say that my $100 budget wasn't just for clothes--it was for making yourself beautiful.) And if the proof of the number of dates I've been on lately means anything, my $100 budget just isn't cutting it.
So you know what I did? I blew it. Absolutely blew it. I blew it the same way an extreme dieter who has eaten only 200 calories a day for 3 weeks goes to The Cheesecake Factory and orders the Orange Chicken dinner dish with the triple layer chocolate cake for dessert.....and eats the whole thing. That pretty much sums up the damage I did today.
But to my credit, I did save over $380 dollars today! You see, I'm a sale shopper. They get me every time. But all of this is for work...so it's basically a lifetime investment anyways. And if I have cute clothes for work, then I'll want to work more and probably end up making more money than I spent today anyway. And I deserve it, damnit! I've been working so hard this year. SO HARD. I am taking 12 hours at SMU, on the rowing team (practice 20 hours a week getting up at 4:50 AM every day) and I also work about 16 hours a week at 2 jobs. I DESERVED THIS!!!
I told two of my friends what I did today...by spreading out everything on my bed and sending them a picture. I got back, "Thata girl!" and "You need help." Can you guess which one buys Prada?
Anyway, I gave all of my excuses (see above) to Friend-who-does-not-buy-Prada and she responded, "Whatever you need to tell yourself..."
Ugh, no support I tell you! If she had come with me when I had asked her, then she could have stopped me. But no, she had to go and fall asleep on her couch. Good Lord, where are your friends when you need them to steal your credit card from you?! I can tell you: Las Vegas, Houston, Florida, Wisconsin and asleep on her couch (it's currently Fall Break).
Soooooooo I basically blew through my budget for the next few months...we'll see how long this holds up. I'll call for back-up if I need it.
Showing posts with label Mis-hap. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mis-hap. Show all posts
Sunday, October 9, 2011
Sunday, September 25, 2011
The Cutie at Work
So a wave of new people started work at my office on Monday. Among them was an attractive 20-something male. I immediately cursed my decision to not do my hair that day.
I was sitting at my desk doing my work when my boss brought him over to meet me.
"Haley, I want you to meet Walker."
I acted like I had never seen him before in my life and had no idea a hottie was now in close proximity 3 days a week.
"Hi!" I stuck out my hand. "Nice to meet you! Welcome to Swingle Collins!"
My boss gave me a funny look like: 'Why are you in such a good mood at 9 am? P.S. you're doing bitch work today.'
"It's nice to meet you, too Haley," he said. He might as well have gotten down on one knee because, well, he sounded really sincere.
"Haley," my boss started, "We are going to have to move you. Since Walker is a producer (aka a higher position than you), he's going to need your desk."
"Oh no problem at all!" I said. "Let me just grab some of my stuff!" Que big smile. My boss looks at me like: 'Who smiles about getting kicked out of their desk??'
I get up and follow my boss out into the lobby. She then turns to me and goes, "By moving you, I meant that you actually have no desk and no computer now. This is just until the renovations are done in two weeks. For now, just ask Fara, Misty or April if they need help with anything."
Super. All of the stuff I usually do demands a computer. That damn cutie!
"Ok, will do."
So I get work done and Monday is over. P.S. I still haven't found out if he is married yet so that is on the to-do list for Wednesday.
Wednesday rolls around and without a computer or desk, I don't have anything to do. Therefore, I go over and wait by my boss's desk to ask her for something to do. Then, a producer walks up behind me to wait as well and then starts asking me questions: where do I go to school? Why did I choose SMU? What's my major? I start thinking this is odd because I've been here for over a month and everyone in the office already knows about me.
He then asks, "What do you need to ask Michelle (our boss)?"
"Ohh well that new producer needed a desk to work at so I got kicked out of mine so I need work to do that doesn't require a computer," I say.
"Right," he says, "I'm the new producer. Walker, remember?"
My face drops. WTF? I have issues.
"Ohh, right, I was just....umm...I meant that...wellllll..." Thankfully Michelle walks out of her cube and starts asking Walker if he had any trouble signing in. Meanwhile, I am literally cursing myself in my head using any four letter word I can think of. I'm such an idiot.
He turns to go and as he does he says, "Bye, Haley, see you later." Que red face.
I find work to do and then Wednesday is over. I was so embarrassed that I didn't even look for the ring on his finger. I had suffered enough to risk being caught on that.
So it's Friday. I have binders to make and I need my three-hole-punch.
'Perfect!' I think. 'I'll have to go over to my old desk (aka Walker's desk) and get my three-hole-punch.'
I calm down and remind myself what his name is and what he looks like so I don't look so dumb again. I walk over to my old desk and ask him where my three-hole-punch is.
"Umm..I have no idea," he says.
"WHAAAT? You gave away my three-hole-punch?!"
"Ohh, I had no idea they were so important." He smirks.
Trying to gain some composure, I say, "Well, all the other ones in the office suck and that one was brand new." Seriously, if only he knew how awesome that three-hole-punch was and how good ones are so hard to come by, then he wouldn't be looking at me like some psychotic freak who has a mental breakdown over her three-hole-punch. But he doesn't understand. Sigh.
"I think someone may have put it in the supply closet," he says. He is now looking at me with a blank look on his face. I am quickly losing points.
"Ohh, well, that makes perfect sense then. Thanks."
As I am about to turn and walk away, he takes a sip of his coffee with his left hand and there, on his ring finger is a solid gold ring.
"WTF??" I start to think, "WHO drinks using their left hand?? Doesn't he know that when you set a table, the drink goes on the right because everyone drinks with their right hand? I bet he did that on purpose to show that he was taken. Whatever, I can't be with anyone who doesn't understand the severity of a missing three-hole-punch. It obviously wasn't meant to be. It just sucks that our relationship had to come to an end over office supplies...oh and the fact that he's already married. I guess it could have ended over worse things."
I walk back to April's desk, use her three-hole-punch (which isn't as good and I'm having separation anxiety) and resolve that I'm going to be single for the rest of my life.
Oh well, I'm single now and still having the time of my life right? RIGHT!
I was sitting at my desk doing my work when my boss brought him over to meet me.
"Haley, I want you to meet Walker."
I acted like I had never seen him before in my life and had no idea a hottie was now in close proximity 3 days a week.
"Hi!" I stuck out my hand. "Nice to meet you! Welcome to Swingle Collins!"
My boss gave me a funny look like: 'Why are you in such a good mood at 9 am? P.S. you're doing bitch work today.'
"It's nice to meet you, too Haley," he said. He might as well have gotten down on one knee because, well, he sounded really sincere.
"Haley," my boss started, "We are going to have to move you. Since Walker is a producer (aka a higher position than you), he's going to need your desk."
"Oh no problem at all!" I said. "Let me just grab some of my stuff!" Que big smile. My boss looks at me like: 'Who smiles about getting kicked out of their desk??'
I get up and follow my boss out into the lobby. She then turns to me and goes, "By moving you, I meant that you actually have no desk and no computer now. This is just until the renovations are done in two weeks. For now, just ask Fara, Misty or April if they need help with anything."
Super. All of the stuff I usually do demands a computer. That damn cutie!
"Ok, will do."
So I get work done and Monday is over. P.S. I still haven't found out if he is married yet so that is on the to-do list for Wednesday.
Wednesday rolls around and without a computer or desk, I don't have anything to do. Therefore, I go over and wait by my boss's desk to ask her for something to do. Then, a producer walks up behind me to wait as well and then starts asking me questions: where do I go to school? Why did I choose SMU? What's my major? I start thinking this is odd because I've been here for over a month and everyone in the office already knows about me.
He then asks, "What do you need to ask Michelle (our boss)?"
"Ohh well that new producer needed a desk to work at so I got kicked out of mine so I need work to do that doesn't require a computer," I say.
"Right," he says, "I'm the new producer. Walker, remember?"
My face drops. WTF? I have issues.
"Ohh, right, I was just....umm...I meant that...wellllll..." Thankfully Michelle walks out of her cube and starts asking Walker if he had any trouble signing in. Meanwhile, I am literally cursing myself in my head using any four letter word I can think of. I'm such an idiot.
He turns to go and as he does he says, "Bye, Haley, see you later." Que red face.
I find work to do and then Wednesday is over. I was so embarrassed that I didn't even look for the ring on his finger. I had suffered enough to risk being caught on that.
So it's Friday. I have binders to make and I need my three-hole-punch.
'Perfect!' I think. 'I'll have to go over to my old desk (aka Walker's desk) and get my three-hole-punch.'
I calm down and remind myself what his name is and what he looks like so I don't look so dumb again. I walk over to my old desk and ask him where my three-hole-punch is.
"Umm..I have no idea," he says.
"WHAAAT? You gave away my three-hole-punch?!"
"Ohh, I had no idea they were so important." He smirks.
Trying to gain some composure, I say, "Well, all the other ones in the office suck and that one was brand new." Seriously, if only he knew how awesome that three-hole-punch was and how good ones are so hard to come by, then he wouldn't be looking at me like some psychotic freak who has a mental breakdown over her three-hole-punch. But he doesn't understand. Sigh.
"I think someone may have put it in the supply closet," he says. He is now looking at me with a blank look on his face. I am quickly losing points.
"Ohh, well, that makes perfect sense then. Thanks."
As I am about to turn and walk away, he takes a sip of his coffee with his left hand and there, on his ring finger is a solid gold ring.
"WTF??" I start to think, "WHO drinks using their left hand?? Doesn't he know that when you set a table, the drink goes on the right because everyone drinks with their right hand? I bet he did that on purpose to show that he was taken. Whatever, I can't be with anyone who doesn't understand the severity of a missing three-hole-punch. It obviously wasn't meant to be. It just sucks that our relationship had to come to an end over office supplies...oh and the fact that he's already married. I guess it could have ended over worse things."
I walk back to April's desk, use her three-hole-punch (which isn't as good and I'm having separation anxiety) and resolve that I'm going to be single for the rest of my life.
Oh well, I'm single now and still having the time of my life right? RIGHT!
Thursday, September 22, 2011
The time I got hit by a car and lived to tell the tale...
This occurred last night.
First, I must preface this story by saying I did this to myself. Usually all of my mis-haps occur because of some idiotic situation I put MYSELF in. Ehhh whatever - at least I keep things interesting.
So I rode my bike to a friend's house last night for a house-warming party. I had just finished a grueling practice and was exhausted, but I wanted to go anyway. I get there, have a great time, and then it's time to leave.
I walk out with a few friends and they're like, "You rode your bike here?!" Let me also say that everyone at this party was over the age of 25 and a few years out of college. Therefore, they only ride bikes when they are stationary at the gym and have lost all touch with the concept that people actually enjoy riding bikes rather than driving their car and spending money on gas.
Anyway, I'm like, "Uhh yeah, so?"
"Well, that's just stupid. You can get a BUI."
"What's a BUI??"
"Biking Under the Influence." (HAHAAHA)
"I only drank water here."
"But still. It's dangerous."
"I ride on the sidewalk."
"Well, do you have a helmet?"
"No."
"Lights?"
"No."
"A bell?"
"What?? No."
"Haley! Please tell me you at least have brakes on your bike!"
"Do you think I'm stupid?! OF COURSE I have brakes!"
"That bike looks unsafe. How old is it anyway?"
"Well, it was my grandmothers so I think it was made in the mid 1950s."
"You. Are. Joking. Me."
My friend Matt walks over.
"Here, Haley, I found this for you in the garage."
*Holds up a hideous neon green vest with reflectors on it*
"What the hell is that?! I'm not wearing that!"
"How are people going to see you? You are going to get hit!"
"I'm not going to get hit. I already told you I ride on the sidewalk and no cars ride on the sidewalk. If they do, they are going to be in some trouble, not me. Besides, I'm wearing a hot pink shirt - it's good enough."
"Haley, that's not hot pink. That's a faded baby pink and it basically looks white in the dark."
"Same thing."
*all sigh in exasperation*
"I feel like we should follow you home in our car."
"Don't be silly! I'll be fine. I do this all the time."
"This just doesn't seem safe to me."
"Don't you talk to me about safety, missy! If your sister only knew some of the things you did."
"If you tell her, I'll kill you."
"I won't tell her. Just let me ride in peace."
"Ugh fine, but text us when you get home."
"Will do."
So I'm riding home and it's a really nice ride. People out at bars are giving me funny looks like they've never seen a bike before. Seriously, people.
So I'm about to cross a street and I totally have the right-of-way. I'm watching the cars to make sure they see me and I see them and they aren't going to run this red light and hit me. I have a feeling in my gut about this one car and my gut is telling me just to wait a little but then all of a sudden my feet start peddaling.
Then the car starts to go! I'm right in front of the car and he doesn't see me! So I put my foot out in front of the car to keep him from hitting my bike and then he finally sees me but not in time. Contact is made.
I'm knocked off my bike but I don't fall over. You can thank my stabilization exercises from rowing workouts for that. The man rolls down his window starts apologizing immensely and is about to get out of his car when I convince him I'm fine. I cross the crosswalk walking my bike and I try to get back on but the seat is all twisted. DAMNIT! I spend a few minutes trying to sit on my all twisted up seat and resolve that it's just too uncomfortable and I'll have to walk my bike the remaining mile home. I take a few steps and I'm like, "This is ridiculous. I'm not walking all the way home." So I take a few minutes, fix my bike, and then it's ride-able again. I go home and go to bed and check the status of myself and my bike.
No blood, no bruises, and the bike is fine. Ok, all good. Time for bed. I was tired!
The End.
First, I must preface this story by saying I did this to myself. Usually all of my mis-haps occur because of some idiotic situation I put MYSELF in. Ehhh whatever - at least I keep things interesting.
So I rode my bike to a friend's house last night for a house-warming party. I had just finished a grueling practice and was exhausted, but I wanted to go anyway. I get there, have a great time, and then it's time to leave.
I walk out with a few friends and they're like, "You rode your bike here?!" Let me also say that everyone at this party was over the age of 25 and a few years out of college. Therefore, they only ride bikes when they are stationary at the gym and have lost all touch with the concept that people actually enjoy riding bikes rather than driving their car and spending money on gas.
Anyway, I'm like, "Uhh yeah, so?"
"Well, that's just stupid. You can get a BUI."
"What's a BUI??"
"Biking Under the Influence." (HAHAAHA)
"I only drank water here."
"But still. It's dangerous."
"I ride on the sidewalk."
"Well, do you have a helmet?"
"No."
"Lights?"
"No."
"A bell?"
"What?? No."
"Haley! Please tell me you at least have brakes on your bike!"
"Do you think I'm stupid?! OF COURSE I have brakes!"
"That bike looks unsafe. How old is it anyway?"
"Well, it was my grandmothers so I think it was made in the mid 1950s."
"You. Are. Joking. Me."
My friend Matt walks over.
"Here, Haley, I found this for you in the garage."
*Holds up a hideous neon green vest with reflectors on it*
"What the hell is that?! I'm not wearing that!"
"How are people going to see you? You are going to get hit!"
"I'm not going to get hit. I already told you I ride on the sidewalk and no cars ride on the sidewalk. If they do, they are going to be in some trouble, not me. Besides, I'm wearing a hot pink shirt - it's good enough."
"Haley, that's not hot pink. That's a faded baby pink and it basically looks white in the dark."
"Same thing."
*all sigh in exasperation*
"I feel like we should follow you home in our car."
"Don't be silly! I'll be fine. I do this all the time."
"This just doesn't seem safe to me."
"Don't you talk to me about safety, missy! If your sister only knew some of the things you did."
"If you tell her, I'll kill you."
"I won't tell her. Just let me ride in peace."
"Ugh fine, but text us when you get home."
"Will do."
So I'm riding home and it's a really nice ride. People out at bars are giving me funny looks like they've never seen a bike before. Seriously, people.
So I'm about to cross a street and I totally have the right-of-way. I'm watching the cars to make sure they see me and I see them and they aren't going to run this red light and hit me. I have a feeling in my gut about this one car and my gut is telling me just to wait a little but then all of a sudden my feet start peddaling.
Then the car starts to go! I'm right in front of the car and he doesn't see me! So I put my foot out in front of the car to keep him from hitting my bike and then he finally sees me but not in time. Contact is made.
I'm knocked off my bike but I don't fall over. You can thank my stabilization exercises from rowing workouts for that. The man rolls down his window starts apologizing immensely and is about to get out of his car when I convince him I'm fine. I cross the crosswalk walking my bike and I try to get back on but the seat is all twisted. DAMNIT! I spend a few minutes trying to sit on my all twisted up seat and resolve that it's just too uncomfortable and I'll have to walk my bike the remaining mile home. I take a few steps and I'm like, "This is ridiculous. I'm not walking all the way home." So I take a few minutes, fix my bike, and then it's ride-able again. I go home and go to bed and check the status of myself and my bike.
No blood, no bruises, and the bike is fine. Ok, all good. Time for bed. I was tired!
The End.
Friday, July 22, 2011
Flying on airplanes is dangerous
And not because they might crash.
No, you have much more to fear:
The plane is finally ready for us to board. We get on and are ready to finally get home....until we sit there and wait for another 45 minutes. We are given no information as to when we are going to leave, the stewardesses haven't done anything, and people are moving around. I have to go to the bathroom so bad, so I decided to get up and go. Everyone else is.
When I reach the front of the plane, the stewardess decides (rudely, mind you) to blame the entire delay on me. "Oh, no no no, young lady. You are holding this whole plane up! Sit back down." I am extremely embarrassed and walk back to my seat in shame...as another person gets up to use the restroom and isn't scolded like a school girl. What the heck?!
The plane takes off. The captain says we have reached our cruising altitude YET he doesn't turn the seat belt sign off. I'm confused. This is when the sign goes off. I know this. Apparently, so do others. They begin getting up and using the restroom. By now, I have been holding it for about 1.5 hours and it is really, really mad at me. "I'm so sorry, bladder, but I am scared out of my mind of that stewardess. The claws almost came out. We can't go."
I'm fidgeting in my seat when my friend goes, "Haley, didn't you have to use the restroom?"
"Erm, yes but that stewardess is still giving me the evil eye."
"Well, look! Other people are going. It's ok; we've reached altitude."
"No, I really don't think it's ok. The seat belt sign is still on."
"Haley, seriously, come on. It's fine. Other people are walking all over. Plus I have to go so I'll go after you."
"Ok, you're right. This is silly. This is a vital need and I need to fulfill it." (Ok, I didn't really say that but I was thinking it).
So I go to the bathroom and am walking back when the same stewardess is in front of me handing out drinks. My seat is right there. I can see it. Just...let...me....sit.....WHACK!! IN THE FACE.
While I had been patiently waiting behind the stewardess, she suddenly whips her tray around and hits me straight in the face with her drink serving tray. 7 rows of peoples' mouths drop in shock. Instead of apologizing, she immediately gets angry and harshly says, "UGH! What are you doing up??" and hurries back to the front of the plane. There is no, "Are you ok? Can I get you anything? I'm sorry..." NOPE.
I sway back to my seat and sit down. I. Am. In. Shock. I have never been treated like this in my whole life. Obviously the tray-to-the-face thing was an accident, but actually blaming me for it when they tray was in your hands? I don't understand.
People around me were asking if I was ok. I was, but my head hurt. So my friend read Cosmopolitan to me to make me feel better. And it worked. Because some of the stuff in there is just ridiculous--it doesn't make any sense.
But the stewardess NEVER apologized, never asked if I needed ice (when a bump started forming) and never looked me in the eye the next 3-4 times she passed my seat. Don't worry, I gave her the stare-down. She knew.
But for real, what the heck was she thinking?? Did I have a target on my back? Why was I the only one not allowed to get out of my seat to go to the bathroom and the only one scolded for it twice?? Ok, Southwest, I'm not a big fan anymore. Your low rates aren't that low anymore and the last 4 flights I've taken have been delayed. And then THIS?? Excuse me, but I do believe a re-evaluation is in order.
So this is the most exciting flight experience I've had since last Christmas when I slept through my flight and almost missed the second one. And November when I shamelessly flirted with an Air Force pilot for 2 hours. I'm sure I'll have many more to come. I'm flying back to Kansas City August 5th so I'm sure I'll have a story for ya then.
Until next time, listen to the seat belt sign. It could mean life or death...or an altered physical appearance.
No, you have much more to fear:
- Who should I sit next to? Will the cute guy think I'm hitting on him (when I clearly am) if I offer him my peanuts (even though I want the peanuts)? If an old guy sits next to me, am I in for hell for the next 2 hours? (No, sir, those remarks aren't appreciated). I personally always choose a middle-aged lady to sit next to. It's the safest bet. Unless they don't have a wedding ring on--then you might be sitting through a kitty-cat slide show for the duration of the flight.
- The endless line to go to the bathroom (or trying to get up and out of your seat before the other person does as soon as the "vacancy" sign goes on). Sometimes awkward eye contact is made and a stare-down for the toilet ensues.
- Trying to decipher what the 'wear your seat belt' sign really means. "Is this sign intended for everyone or just for those people whose bladders aren't going to explode? Is it ok if I get up? Will I die? Will I accidentally trip and burst into the cockpit and cause the plane to take a nose dive? It can't be that dangerous. If it was, then the ladies tottering on high heels while trying to juggle pop, alcohol, straws, nuts, and napkins would be done for."
- Exactly how loud is the engine? Can my surrounding neighbors hear me whisper Cosmo articles to my friend? Will they judge us?
- Will I cause the plane's route to accidentally veer into the Bermuda Triangle if I forget to put my phone on airplane mode?
- Will I get in trouble if I don't sit in my assigned seat?
You may think these are all irrational fears, yet I have had the pleasure of personally experiencing each and every one of them. I fly quite a bit and I sometimes think I have everything figured out. Then I am proven ridiculously wrong.
I was lucky enough to get to experience the 'what does the wear your seat belt sign actually mean' conundrum last week when I was flying from Houston back to Dallas.
My friend/coworker and I had spent the two-hour delay in the only "restaurant" in the Houston "Hobby" airport: Buffalo Wild Wings. In my opinion, Buffalo Wild Wings was very confused. It couldn't figure out if it was a bar, a restaurant, a night club, or a eating facility in an airport. (Hint: it was the latter). The tables were uncomfortably close together, the music was loud and fast, and there were lights flashing on and off. "What the heck?!" I thought, "It's Thursday afternoon in the Houston Airport. It's not 1am Saturday in a club downtown Dallas. Get your act together Hobby."
The plane is finally ready for us to board. We get on and are ready to finally get home....until we sit there and wait for another 45 minutes. We are given no information as to when we are going to leave, the stewardesses haven't done anything, and people are moving around. I have to go to the bathroom so bad, so I decided to get up and go. Everyone else is.
When I reach the front of the plane, the stewardess decides (rudely, mind you) to blame the entire delay on me. "Oh, no no no, young lady. You are holding this whole plane up! Sit back down." I am extremely embarrassed and walk back to my seat in shame...as another person gets up to use the restroom and isn't scolded like a school girl. What the heck?!
The plane takes off. The captain says we have reached our cruising altitude YET he doesn't turn the seat belt sign off. I'm confused. This is when the sign goes off. I know this. Apparently, so do others. They begin getting up and using the restroom. By now, I have been holding it for about 1.5 hours and it is really, really mad at me. "I'm so sorry, bladder, but I am scared out of my mind of that stewardess. The claws almost came out. We can't go."
I'm fidgeting in my seat when my friend goes, "Haley, didn't you have to use the restroom?"
"Erm, yes but that stewardess is still giving me the evil eye."
"Well, look! Other people are going. It's ok; we've reached altitude."
"No, I really don't think it's ok. The seat belt sign is still on."
"Haley, seriously, come on. It's fine. Other people are walking all over. Plus I have to go so I'll go after you."
"Ok, you're right. This is silly. This is a vital need and I need to fulfill it." (Ok, I didn't really say that but I was thinking it).
So I go to the bathroom and am walking back when the same stewardess is in front of me handing out drinks. My seat is right there. I can see it. Just...let...me....sit.....WHACK!! IN THE FACE.
While I had been patiently waiting behind the stewardess, she suddenly whips her tray around and hits me straight in the face with her drink serving tray. 7 rows of peoples' mouths drop in shock. Instead of apologizing, she immediately gets angry and harshly says, "UGH! What are you doing up??" and hurries back to the front of the plane. There is no, "Are you ok? Can I get you anything? I'm sorry..." NOPE.
I sway back to my seat and sit down. I. Am. In. Shock. I have never been treated like this in my whole life. Obviously the tray-to-the-face thing was an accident, but actually blaming me for it when they tray was in your hands? I don't understand.
People around me were asking if I was ok. I was, but my head hurt. So my friend read Cosmopolitan to me to make me feel better. And it worked. Because some of the stuff in there is just ridiculous--it doesn't make any sense.
But the stewardess NEVER apologized, never asked if I needed ice (when a bump started forming) and never looked me in the eye the next 3-4 times she passed my seat. Don't worry, I gave her the stare-down. She knew.
But for real, what the heck was she thinking?? Did I have a target on my back? Why was I the only one not allowed to get out of my seat to go to the bathroom and the only one scolded for it twice?? Ok, Southwest, I'm not a big fan anymore. Your low rates aren't that low anymore and the last 4 flights I've taken have been delayed. And then THIS?? Excuse me, but I do believe a re-evaluation is in order.
So this is the most exciting flight experience I've had since last Christmas when I slept through my flight and almost missed the second one. And November when I shamelessly flirted with an Air Force pilot for 2 hours. I'm sure I'll have many more to come. I'm flying back to Kansas City August 5th so I'm sure I'll have a story for ya then.
Until next time, listen to the seat belt sign. It could mean life or death...or an altered physical appearance.
Thursday, March 3, 2011
Hi.
It's me.
Do you remember me?
Probably not.
I barely remember me.
But, yes, this is real life. I'm here. I'm writing. I'm doing it...despite the totally inappropriate hour where I will be waking up in 3 hours to go to a 2 hour practice to do what enables me to be in this wonderful city doing what I love surrounded by the people who keep me going every single day. (Except for all of you at home reading this, of course. Even though I don't talk to you, you keep me going. I do think about you. And I'm not just saying that. I think too much. About you. And about things. Which is why I'm here instead of sleeping and preparing my body and mind for the grueling practice awaiting me. I can't sleep when I think. And vice versa.)
Do you ever wonder about that? Do you ever wish you wouldn't think so much? I do. All the time. I think way too much. About a lot of things. Which is why, in my room, there are journals hidden all over the place full of stories and thoughts and things that I think about when I lie awake at night. I'll never get this time back. I'll never get this time to sleep back. And it's ok. It's what I choose.....I suppose. Unconsciously.
Anyway, I have lots of stories for you. I was thinking about them today as I ran. Running is my blogging time. And I've been meaning to get back to you. It's been a month. AKA too long. You need to know what I'm up to, right? I figured. Well, the answer is: lots of things. Too many things. Which is why I have many stories to write for you. But not now. I need to take a little nap before practice. But how about a little taste, eh? Ok, that'll do.
I'll give you the titles of the stories. They are: "The Date"; "The Fight"; "The Dedicated Starbucks Customer (and it's not me)"; "The New Melrose Place"; "The Bad News Bears"; "The Sacrifice"; "The Happiness"; "The Process"; "The Power Struggle". Enough? I thought so. Hopefully I'll be able to pound these out soon. And, I'll be honest. It's not just for you. It's for me too.
You see, I'm obsessed with recording things. I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's a self-preservation thing where, if I forget, it'll be there in writing and/or recording to remind me. My friends look at me like I'm psycho when I shove a video camera in their face BUT they are incredibly happy when I capture the insane moments of our lives that show us exactly who we are. And, yes, I'm not overexaggerating. You see yourself in a different way when you are recorded. Trust me. I never thought I was an idiot UNTIL I saw myself looking like an idiot.
Check yourself before you wreck yourself.
Nah, I think I'll wreck myself. That way I can pick up the pieces and write about it. That's what it's all about, right?
Do you remember me?
Probably not.
I barely remember me.
But, yes, this is real life. I'm here. I'm writing. I'm doing it...despite the totally inappropriate hour where I will be waking up in 3 hours to go to a 2 hour practice to do what enables me to be in this wonderful city doing what I love surrounded by the people who keep me going every single day. (Except for all of you at home reading this, of course. Even though I don't talk to you, you keep me going. I do think about you. And I'm not just saying that. I think too much. About you. And about things. Which is why I'm here instead of sleeping and preparing my body and mind for the grueling practice awaiting me. I can't sleep when I think. And vice versa.)
Do you ever wonder about that? Do you ever wish you wouldn't think so much? I do. All the time. I think way too much. About a lot of things. Which is why, in my room, there are journals hidden all over the place full of stories and thoughts and things that I think about when I lie awake at night. I'll never get this time back. I'll never get this time to sleep back. And it's ok. It's what I choose.....I suppose. Unconsciously.
Anyway, I have lots of stories for you. I was thinking about them today as I ran. Running is my blogging time. And I've been meaning to get back to you. It's been a month. AKA too long. You need to know what I'm up to, right? I figured. Well, the answer is: lots of things. Too many things. Which is why I have many stories to write for you. But not now. I need to take a little nap before practice. But how about a little taste, eh? Ok, that'll do.
I'll give you the titles of the stories. They are: "The Date"; "The Fight"; "The Dedicated Starbucks Customer (and it's not me)"; "The New Melrose Place"; "The Bad News Bears"; "The Sacrifice"; "The Happiness"; "The Process"; "The Power Struggle". Enough? I thought so. Hopefully I'll be able to pound these out soon. And, I'll be honest. It's not just for you. It's for me too.
You see, I'm obsessed with recording things. I'm not sure why. Perhaps it's a self-preservation thing where, if I forget, it'll be there in writing and/or recording to remind me. My friends look at me like I'm psycho when I shove a video camera in their face BUT they are incredibly happy when I capture the insane moments of our lives that show us exactly who we are. And, yes, I'm not overexaggerating. You see yourself in a different way when you are recorded. Trust me. I never thought I was an idiot UNTIL I saw myself looking like an idiot.
Check yourself before you wreck yourself.
Nah, I think I'll wreck myself. That way I can pick up the pieces and write about it. That's what it's all about, right?
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Oh, Leo!
The sun was shining through the windows as I slowly opened my eyes and stretched my arms. My sheets and blankets were crisp and clean after just being washed and it felt sooo goood to be snuggled in them. I awoke from a wonderful dream where I just met Leonardo DiCaprio in Central Park and he asked me out on a date. It was a beautiful day in Dallas and I thought, "Finals are over! What should I do on this wonderful day?".......
"Wait.......it's light outside.........wasn't I supposed to do something when it was dark outside.......? Yes, yes, I'm pretty sure I was supposed to wake up when it was dark out and do something relatively important....."
OH SHIT
I was supposed to FLY HOME!
I immediately grab my phone. Yep, my flight left an hour and a half ago. I have 15 missed alerts. The cab driver called me 8 times and left a few voicemail messages. My dad called twice. Immediately dialing my daddy to see if he can offer any condolences, he answers, "Good morning beautiful!" obviously not realizing I am supposed to be thousands of feet up in the air without phone service. "DAD! I SLEPT THROUGH MY FLIGHT!"
"Well what are you talking to me for?! Call Southwest immediately! And pull out the works. You've been sick with food poisoning; you just finished a stressful week of finals; you're just trying to get home to your family. Do whatever it takes." Thanks, dad.
I hang up and call Southwest. Already condemning myself to either having to chill in Dallas for a few more days or fork over 300 dollars for a flight home, as soon as someone picks up on the other end I begin pleading: "Please-please-please-I-missed-my-flight-and-I've-been-really-really-really-sick-with-food-poisoning-and-I'm-just-trying-to-get-home-for-the-Holidays-and-I'm-so-so-so-so-stressed-because-I-just-finished-finals-and-I-am----"
"Honey, relax. What's your name?"
*Gives full name*
"OK, let me pull up your confirmation."
After waiting on the phone for 20 minutes (where I am multi-tasking by brushing my teeth, getting dressed, and doing some last-minute packing) she says another flight is available at 9:15 AM---would I like that one? "YES OF COURSE!" At no charge, she puts me on that flight and says I should have no problems flying home.
*Fist pump into the air*
"Thank you so much! You have no idea what this means to me."
"You're welcome, sweetie. We know you have lots of options when you choose your airline, so we thank you for flying Southwest." (Yes, I have flown with them that many times so I have it memorized, thank you.)
Oh, wait, you thought the fun was over? Look who you're talking to! Guess again.
So I book a taxi online for 8:10 AM (yes, I naturally wake up at 7:30 AM with no alarm. That's sleeping in when you get up at 5 AM every morning for practice). I receive a confirmation e-mail saying my taxi will be there at 8:10. So I throw all my luggage down the stairs, pull it outside, and wait for my cab.
8:15. No cab.
So I call. "Yes, I booked a cab online for 8:10 and they aren't here yet and I'm kind of in a crunch." She responds, "Yes, is this *Says name* at *says address*?" "Yes, that's correct." "Ok, your cab is on it's way." "Great, thanks."
8:21. No cab.
So I call. "Hi, I called a little while ago and you said my cab was on its way, but it's still not here yet. I'm *gives name* at *gives address*" It's the same lady. "I'm sorry, we don't have a recorded reservation for you." WHAAAAT?! I just talked to you on the phone and you confirmed it! She tries to sort it all out but I just say, "Ok, it doesn't matter if you lost my reservation. Can you get a cab here soon, please?" "Yes ma'am. It'll be there in 5 minutes." "Super. Thanks."
8:29. No cab.
Another cab from another cab company drives by. I flag him down. After waiting on a cab that is 20 minutes late, I have 45 minutes to get to the airport, check my bags, get through security, find my gate, get my boarding pass, and get on the plane. It's gonna be close.
To avoid morning traffic, I ask him to go through the neighborhoods to cut down the time. Little did I know that going 20 MPH in a school zone meant 15 MPH for him. That was a MISTAKE.
I check my bags. One is over-weight and the baggage guy says they might not make the flight because I checked them 25 minutes before the plane takes off. I don't even care anymore--I just want to get on that plane! He says they'll do their best. I say, "I hope so," and give him a big tip. He smiles and says, "We'll make it work."
I run to the security line and take off my hat, scarf, gloves, coat, and shoes like I'm about to jump into a freezing-cold pond to save someone's life. I then take out my computer and get it all situated according to airport security's specifications in record time. All the jewelry comes off as if by magic. I practically run through the metal detector and just as quickly put everything back on, grab my stuff, and run to the gate.
When I arrive at 9:05 for my 9:15 flight, they're already boarding B class (out of A-C) and I still need to pick up my boarding pass from the desk. Waiting behind a few ladies with children (families on flights, arg!), I finally breathlessly say, "Boarding pass for Haley ********" She easily hands it to me. 9:09.
I run up to the guy who scans your ticket and onto the plane. It's packed. If I sit near the back, I'll vom. I shove my bag into an already stuffed overhead compartment and hope that no one had anything fragile up there. I then slump into a middle seat between two old guys.
And then I do a fist pump into the air. I DID IT!
To sum it all up, I was in Kansas City by 11:00 AM, my bags DID make my flight, and I blame beautiful Leonardo DiCaprio for all of this. Because if he wasn't so beautiful, then I would have left that dream a long time ago and probably would have made my first flight. But then, I wouldn't have this great story and my life would be that much more boring.
So I guess, Leo, you're welcome in my dreams anytime.
"Wait.......it's light outside.........wasn't I supposed to do something when it was dark outside.......? Yes, yes, I'm pretty sure I was supposed to wake up when it was dark out and do something relatively important....."
OH SHIT
I was supposed to FLY HOME!
I immediately grab my phone. Yep, my flight left an hour and a half ago. I have 15 missed alerts. The cab driver called me 8 times and left a few voicemail messages. My dad called twice. Immediately dialing my daddy to see if he can offer any condolences, he answers, "Good morning beautiful!" obviously not realizing I am supposed to be thousands of feet up in the air without phone service. "DAD! I SLEPT THROUGH MY FLIGHT!"
"Well what are you talking to me for?! Call Southwest immediately! And pull out the works. You've been sick with food poisoning; you just finished a stressful week of finals; you're just trying to get home to your family. Do whatever it takes." Thanks, dad.
I hang up and call Southwest. Already condemning myself to either having to chill in Dallas for a few more days or fork over 300 dollars for a flight home, as soon as someone picks up on the other end I begin pleading: "Please-please-please-I-missed-my-flight-and-I've-been-really-really-really-sick-with-food-poisoning-and-I'm-just-trying-to-get-home-for-the-Holidays-and-I'm-so-so-so-so-stressed-because-I-just-finished-finals-and-I-am----"
"Honey, relax. What's your name?"
*Gives full name*
"OK, let me pull up your confirmation."
After waiting on the phone for 20 minutes (where I am multi-tasking by brushing my teeth, getting dressed, and doing some last-minute packing) she says another flight is available at 9:15 AM---would I like that one? "YES OF COURSE!" At no charge, she puts me on that flight and says I should have no problems flying home.
*Fist pump into the air*
"Thank you so much! You have no idea what this means to me."
"You're welcome, sweetie. We know you have lots of options when you choose your airline, so we thank you for flying Southwest." (Yes, I have flown with them that many times so I have it memorized, thank you.)
Oh, wait, you thought the fun was over? Look who you're talking to! Guess again.
So I book a taxi online for 8:10 AM (yes, I naturally wake up at 7:30 AM with no alarm. That's sleeping in when you get up at 5 AM every morning for practice). I receive a confirmation e-mail saying my taxi will be there at 8:10. So I throw all my luggage down the stairs, pull it outside, and wait for my cab.
8:15. No cab.
So I call. "Yes, I booked a cab online for 8:10 and they aren't here yet and I'm kind of in a crunch." She responds, "Yes, is this *Says name* at *says address*?" "Yes, that's correct." "Ok, your cab is on it's way." "Great, thanks."
8:21. No cab.
So I call. "Hi, I called a little while ago and you said my cab was on its way, but it's still not here yet. I'm *gives name* at *gives address*" It's the same lady. "I'm sorry, we don't have a recorded reservation for you." WHAAAAT?! I just talked to you on the phone and you confirmed it! She tries to sort it all out but I just say, "Ok, it doesn't matter if you lost my reservation. Can you get a cab here soon, please?" "Yes ma'am. It'll be there in 5 minutes." "Super. Thanks."
8:29. No cab.
Another cab from another cab company drives by. I flag him down. After waiting on a cab that is 20 minutes late, I have 45 minutes to get to the airport, check my bags, get through security, find my gate, get my boarding pass, and get on the plane. It's gonna be close.
To avoid morning traffic, I ask him to go through the neighborhoods to cut down the time. Little did I know that going 20 MPH in a school zone meant 15 MPH for him. That was a MISTAKE.
I check my bags. One is over-weight and the baggage guy says they might not make the flight because I checked them 25 minutes before the plane takes off. I don't even care anymore--I just want to get on that plane! He says they'll do their best. I say, "I hope so," and give him a big tip. He smiles and says, "We'll make it work."
I run to the security line and take off my hat, scarf, gloves, coat, and shoes like I'm about to jump into a freezing-cold pond to save someone's life. I then take out my computer and get it all situated according to airport security's specifications in record time. All the jewelry comes off as if by magic. I practically run through the metal detector and just as quickly put everything back on, grab my stuff, and run to the gate.
When I arrive at 9:05 for my 9:15 flight, they're already boarding B class (out of A-C) and I still need to pick up my boarding pass from the desk. Waiting behind a few ladies with children (families on flights, arg!), I finally breathlessly say, "Boarding pass for Haley ********" She easily hands it to me. 9:09.
I run up to the guy who scans your ticket and onto the plane. It's packed. If I sit near the back, I'll vom. I shove my bag into an already stuffed overhead compartment and hope that no one had anything fragile up there. I then slump into a middle seat between two old guys.
And then I do a fist pump into the air. I DID IT!
To sum it all up, I was in Kansas City by 11:00 AM, my bags DID make my flight, and I blame beautiful Leonardo DiCaprio for all of this. Because if he wasn't so beautiful, then I would have left that dream a long time ago and probably would have made my first flight. But then, I wouldn't have this great story and my life would be that much more boring.
So I guess, Leo, you're welcome in my dreams anytime.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
What a Finale!!
And by "finale", I suppose I mean "finals". And by "finals", I suppose I mean the one I missed this morning.
Yep, you guessed it: didn't quite make it to my 8 AM Marketing Final. Not by choice, however. My body decided to have a complete and utter breakdown from 9:30 PM last night to 4:00 AM this morning on account of one tiny, itsy-bitsy, little, "harmless" slice of cheese pizza. This is the piece of pizza that I almost didn't eat after reading that one tiny, itsy-bitsy, little, "harmless" slice of cheese pizza costs you over 700 calories. But I was hungry, my salad wasn't satisfying my loudly growling stomach, and the 5 kids I was babysitting were helping me burn more than those 700 calories soooooooooo.....I ate it. MISTAKE.
Fast forward one hour later and I am glued to their couch. I feel really bad because I usually am a lot more fun when I babysit and I like to do stuff with the kids. But I couldn't...do...anything. I have a really sensitive stomach so I figure it's just my stomach being sensitive to the fact that I don't usually eat that many carbs or greasy cheese in one sitting. "It'll pass," I think. WRONG.
Then, one of the boys laying on the couch goes, "Are you guys sick?"
"yES!" I say in a crescendo like I have just made a huge discovery and found humanity's missing link. The other two boys go, "Yeah, I'm really sick too. I feel terrible." I ask, "Do you guys feel weak? Do you feel like you're going to throw up?" "Yes," they respond. "Did you eat the pizza?" "Yes," they respond. "Oh no. Oh no no no." I say as I shake my head. "What's wrong, Haley?" they ask. "I think we all have food poisoning". "WHAAAT?" They're concerned. I try to calm their fears but inside I am freaking out.
I have had food poisoning once before. It was the day after my 16th birthday and I was in Universal Studios in Florida with my family. The entire Hard Rock Cafe had just sang me "Happy Birthday" as I stood on a stage and then I had the most amazing milkshake ever. It was one of the best days of my life.
So we were walking around after that and I start feeling sick. So I get sick. EVERYWHERE. I pretty much covered Universal Studios with my milkshake and whatever else was in my tummy. I couldn't control myself...or find a trashcan anywhere---their fault, not mine. A policeman sees us and immediately gets me some water. But I can't keep it down. I start feeling so incredibly weak that I can't walk anymore. Therefore, I sit down and lean against a huge concrete pillar barely able to keep my eyes open with a red SOLO cup of water in my hand while my family tries to find help. Yes, I look like I'm WASTED. People were walking by me, pointing and mumbling, "It looks like someone's had too much to drink..." I wanted to yell, "I'M SIXTEEN! I DON'T DRINK!" but I didn't have enough energy.
My dad comes back with a wheelchair. I look at him like, "Don't you think this is a bit excessive?" but inside I am jumping for joy. What a genius. I am so thankful.
I spend the rest of the evening in our hotel bathroom trying trying trying to feel better for our 6 AM flight home the next day. I'm not.
So my family gets up the next day and is trying to help me get ready to leave. I can't do anything. Then my brother who is 18 months younger than me starts getting sick. My parents look at each other like, "WHY US?!" and try to help their sick 16 and 14 year old get ready for a 3 hour flight. They also have an 8 year old they have to deal with who doesn't really know what's going on.
We're late to turn our rental car in. I throw up in the parking garage. Then Spencer (my brother) does too.
We're late to the security line. Of course it's excessively long. All of a sudden out of nowhere and without any warning, Spencer leans over and throws up ALL OVER my brand new hot pink suitcase. Not having time to be even a little mad, I see the throw-up and start feeling sick. I run across the airport to the closest trashcan and barely make it. My parents are dumbfounded. People in line are pissed at us. Hayden (my other brother) is about to cry.
We're late to the gate. There aren't any seats together so we all have to split up. My dad politely tells the airline stewardess that his son is very sick and needs to sit with one of his parents. I'm feeling better and can manage to sit by myself, but Spencer is getting sick every 20 minutes. She is very rude and says, "You were late; there's nothing I can do. He'll have to manage." My dad looks very solemn and in his head is thinking, "Ok, but don't say I didn't warn you."
We're all situated and about to take off when the stranger sitting next to Spencer starts freaking out because, yep, he's getting sick. The airline stewardess runs to my dad and says, "Would you mind switching seats with this gentleman? I think your son needs you." He looks up at her and thinks, "REALLY?!" haha ohh goodness.
A middle-aged lady is sitting between Hayden and I. I get a little sick during the flight and Hayden is plastered against the window. He's freaking out. He doesn't know this lady, his big sister is really sick, and he doesn't know where his family is. Poor guy.
My mom is stuck in the back of the plane for 3 hours worried sick about her children who she can't take care of next to another lady who is talking about her cats and her knitting hobby.
I laugh every time I tell that story to someone. A lot happened and it's crazy that we even made our flight and stayed alive. Last night was different. All I have to show is 5 grocery bags outside my front door that I'm sure my neighbors are pissed about and a lack of sleep. Ohh, and I look like poo, my room is an utter and complete mess, and I have to take an Incomplete in one of my business school classes until I can sort it out in the spring.
AND I have a 6 AM flight tomorrow. I feel like this is a pattern. I hope I don't get sick.
Yep, you guessed it: didn't quite make it to my 8 AM Marketing Final. Not by choice, however. My body decided to have a complete and utter breakdown from 9:30 PM last night to 4:00 AM this morning on account of one tiny, itsy-bitsy, little, "harmless" slice of cheese pizza. This is the piece of pizza that I almost didn't eat after reading that one tiny, itsy-bitsy, little, "harmless" slice of cheese pizza costs you over 700 calories. But I was hungry, my salad wasn't satisfying my loudly growling stomach, and the 5 kids I was babysitting were helping me burn more than those 700 calories soooooooooo.....I ate it. MISTAKE.
Fast forward one hour later and I am glued to their couch. I feel really bad because I usually am a lot more fun when I babysit and I like to do stuff with the kids. But I couldn't...do...anything. I have a really sensitive stomach so I figure it's just my stomach being sensitive to the fact that I don't usually eat that many carbs or greasy cheese in one sitting. "It'll pass," I think. WRONG.
Then, one of the boys laying on the couch goes, "Are you guys sick?"
"yES!" I say in a crescendo like I have just made a huge discovery and found humanity's missing link. The other two boys go, "Yeah, I'm really sick too. I feel terrible." I ask, "Do you guys feel weak? Do you feel like you're going to throw up?" "Yes," they respond. "Did you eat the pizza?" "Yes," they respond. "Oh no. Oh no no no." I say as I shake my head. "What's wrong, Haley?" they ask. "I think we all have food poisoning". "WHAAAT?" They're concerned. I try to calm their fears but inside I am freaking out.
I have had food poisoning once before. It was the day after my 16th birthday and I was in Universal Studios in Florida with my family. The entire Hard Rock Cafe had just sang me "Happy Birthday" as I stood on a stage and then I had the most amazing milkshake ever. It was one of the best days of my life.
So we were walking around after that and I start feeling sick. So I get sick. EVERYWHERE. I pretty much covered Universal Studios with my milkshake and whatever else was in my tummy. I couldn't control myself...or find a trashcan anywhere---their fault, not mine. A policeman sees us and immediately gets me some water. But I can't keep it down. I start feeling so incredibly weak that I can't walk anymore. Therefore, I sit down and lean against a huge concrete pillar barely able to keep my eyes open with a red SOLO cup of water in my hand while my family tries to find help. Yes, I look like I'm WASTED. People were walking by me, pointing and mumbling, "It looks like someone's had too much to drink..." I wanted to yell, "I'M SIXTEEN! I DON'T DRINK!" but I didn't have enough energy.
My dad comes back with a wheelchair. I look at him like, "Don't you think this is a bit excessive?" but inside I am jumping for joy. What a genius. I am so thankful.
I spend the rest of the evening in our hotel bathroom trying trying trying to feel better for our 6 AM flight home the next day. I'm not.
So my family gets up the next day and is trying to help me get ready to leave. I can't do anything. Then my brother who is 18 months younger than me starts getting sick. My parents look at each other like, "WHY US?!" and try to help their sick 16 and 14 year old get ready for a 3 hour flight. They also have an 8 year old they have to deal with who doesn't really know what's going on.
We're late to turn our rental car in. I throw up in the parking garage. Then Spencer (my brother) does too.
We're late to the security line. Of course it's excessively long. All of a sudden out of nowhere and without any warning, Spencer leans over and throws up ALL OVER my brand new hot pink suitcase. Not having time to be even a little mad, I see the throw-up and start feeling sick. I run across the airport to the closest trashcan and barely make it. My parents are dumbfounded. People in line are pissed at us. Hayden (my other brother) is about to cry.
We're late to the gate. There aren't any seats together so we all have to split up. My dad politely tells the airline stewardess that his son is very sick and needs to sit with one of his parents. I'm feeling better and can manage to sit by myself, but Spencer is getting sick every 20 minutes. She is very rude and says, "You were late; there's nothing I can do. He'll have to manage." My dad looks very solemn and in his head is thinking, "Ok, but don't say I didn't warn you."
We're all situated and about to take off when the stranger sitting next to Spencer starts freaking out because, yep, he's getting sick. The airline stewardess runs to my dad and says, "Would you mind switching seats with this gentleman? I think your son needs you." He looks up at her and thinks, "REALLY?!" haha ohh goodness.
A middle-aged lady is sitting between Hayden and I. I get a little sick during the flight and Hayden is plastered against the window. He's freaking out. He doesn't know this lady, his big sister is really sick, and he doesn't know where his family is. Poor guy.
My mom is stuck in the back of the plane for 3 hours worried sick about her children who she can't take care of next to another lady who is talking about her cats and her knitting hobby.
I laugh every time I tell that story to someone. A lot happened and it's crazy that we even made our flight and stayed alive. Last night was different. All I have to show is 5 grocery bags outside my front door that I'm sure my neighbors are pissed about and a lack of sleep. Ohh, and I look like poo, my room is an utter and complete mess, and I have to take an Incomplete in one of my business school classes until I can sort it out in the spring.
AND I have a 6 AM flight tomorrow. I feel like this is a pattern. I hope I don't get sick.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Interpret What You Will
It's a gift, really. Bullshitting, that is. That's my gift.
Well, I suppose not so much "bullshitting," but more so "making shit up off the top of your head that makes absolutely no sense at all....and yet, people still buy it." You see, I am actually really terrible at lying. Basically ask me a question and you will get the answer. Truth: this was not so helpful in high school when my mom would ask me about certain things....
I had two options: lie to her face and have her know that I was lying OR tell her the truth. So I always had to tell her the truth.
ANYWAY, back to tonight.
I don't know what came over me. I really can't tell you. When the guy at the bar asked what I did, I really really was about to say, "Well, I'm a student at SMU," but somehow it came out as, "I'm an interpretive dancer."
HE: "Really! You're an interpretive dancer?! I've never met one of those before!"
I: "Yeah yeah, we're not that common, really. It's a rare profession I must say."
HE: "Interesting! So like, what do you do?"
I: "Well....we dance....interpretively."
HE: "Yeah, I think I get that. But what do you mean? Like, how?"
I: "Well, we just listen to the music and try to understand what it's saying and then we move our bodies to try to describe how we are feeling in relation to what the music is saying."
HE: "Wow. That's deep."
I: "Yeah. It really is something."
HE: "So what kind of music do you dance to?"
I: "Anything, really. We try to listen to a lot of different kinds of music to try to expand our dancing abilities."
HE: "So you can dance to alternative-rock?"
I: "Sure, why not?"
HE: "Well I'm in this band that performs and we're trying to get a larger fan base than we have right now. We're looking for something that would make us stand out."
(((OH shit.)))
HE: "Do you think you and your friends would be interested in performing during one of our concerts?"
I: "Sure! Why not? We'd need some practice and exposure to the material beforehand but I think it could work out."
HE: "Cool cool. So, do you need like a certain beat to be able to perform? Do you have requirements for that sort of thing?"
I: "Not really. I mean, it is interpretive so all we really need is music and then we just go with it. It can be fast or slow; we dance to what is going on around us."
HE: "Great! So are you with a particular company?"
I: "Oh...actually, it's kind of a touchy subject. We were with the company here in Dallas but they started working for the money and all of this corporate crap and they weren't doing it for the feeling anymore. We didn't like that and we were getting into all of these arguments so we broke off from them. Yeah, it sucks sometimes not getting paid, but at least I know I'm not a sellout."
HE: "Wow, yeah that's gotta be rough."
I: "Yeah, the exposure in that company was great, but it just didn't feel right, you know? It should always be about the music, not the money right?"
HE: "You're totally right. That makes perfect sense. Good for you."
Then we talked for a little while longer about dancing and blah blah blah until my friends got sick of his friends and dragged me away. As we were walking away, I realized just exactly what I had been talking about for the last 20 minutes and about started peeing my pants.
"Haley!" they yelled, "WHAT is so FUNNY?!"
"I just told that guy about my profession as an interpretive dancer," I managed to say between grasping for air during my hysterical laughter.
They immediately stop walking, look at each other, and say, "I swear....the stuff you come up with. How do you think of this crap? And why do these people believe it?"
"I have no idea. I wish I could tell you."
To be honest, I have no intention of stopping this nonsense. It's too much fun.
Well, I suppose not so much "bullshitting," but more so "making shit up off the top of your head that makes absolutely no sense at all....and yet, people still buy it." You see, I am actually really terrible at lying. Basically ask me a question and you will get the answer. Truth: this was not so helpful in high school when my mom would ask me about certain things....
I had two options: lie to her face and have her know that I was lying OR tell her the truth. So I always had to tell her the truth.
ANYWAY, back to tonight.
I don't know what came over me. I really can't tell you. When the guy at the bar asked what I did, I really really was about to say, "Well, I'm a student at SMU," but somehow it came out as, "I'm an interpretive dancer."
HE: "Really! You're an interpretive dancer?! I've never met one of those before!"
I: "Yeah yeah, we're not that common, really. It's a rare profession I must say."
HE: "Interesting! So like, what do you do?"
I: "Well....we dance....interpretively."
HE: "Yeah, I think I get that. But what do you mean? Like, how?"
I: "Well, we just listen to the music and try to understand what it's saying and then we move our bodies to try to describe how we are feeling in relation to what the music is saying."
HE: "Wow. That's deep."
I: "Yeah. It really is something."
HE: "So what kind of music do you dance to?"
I: "Anything, really. We try to listen to a lot of different kinds of music to try to expand our dancing abilities."
HE: "So you can dance to alternative-rock?"
I: "Sure, why not?"
HE: "Well I'm in this band that performs and we're trying to get a larger fan base than we have right now. We're looking for something that would make us stand out."
(((OH shit.)))
HE: "Do you think you and your friends would be interested in performing during one of our concerts?"
I: "Sure! Why not? We'd need some practice and exposure to the material beforehand but I think it could work out."
HE: "Cool cool. So, do you need like a certain beat to be able to perform? Do you have requirements for that sort of thing?"
I: "Not really. I mean, it is interpretive so all we really need is music and then we just go with it. It can be fast or slow; we dance to what is going on around us."
HE: "Great! So are you with a particular company?"
I: "Oh...actually, it's kind of a touchy subject. We were with the company here in Dallas but they started working for the money and all of this corporate crap and they weren't doing it for the feeling anymore. We didn't like that and we were getting into all of these arguments so we broke off from them. Yeah, it sucks sometimes not getting paid, but at least I know I'm not a sellout."
HE: "Wow, yeah that's gotta be rough."
I: "Yeah, the exposure in that company was great, but it just didn't feel right, you know? It should always be about the music, not the money right?"
HE: "You're totally right. That makes perfect sense. Good for you."
Then we talked for a little while longer about dancing and blah blah blah until my friends got sick of his friends and dragged me away. As we were walking away, I realized just exactly what I had been talking about for the last 20 minutes and about started peeing my pants.
"Haley!" they yelled, "WHAT is so FUNNY?!"
"I just told that guy about my profession as an interpretive dancer," I managed to say between grasping for air during my hysterical laughter.
They immediately stop walking, look at each other, and say, "I swear....the stuff you come up with. How do you think of this crap? And why do these people believe it?"
"I have no idea. I wish I could tell you."
To be honest, I have no intention of stopping this nonsense. It's too much fun.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
I'm Sneaky
1) Soooooooooo I think my neighbor is very attractive.
2) We have three lights in our kitchen. A few days ago, only one worked. It was impossible to see in the kitchen. We were living like this for a few weeks, barely able to see what we were making to eat or what was on the floor.
3) The other day, my roommate sent me a facebook message saying that she had knocked over my wine glass and there was glass all over the floor. She tried to get most of it up but wasn't sure if she got it all because it was hard to see. I immediately thought, "Time to get those lights fixed. I DO NOT want glass in my foot."
I replaced one of them but the other was too high to reach from the ground and it looked really heavy. It was a dome light and I had no idea how to take it apart and fix it. And I knew, I knew that if I tried to fix it, I would certainly break it into a tiny million little pieces. You know me by now; that's how my life goes.
Therefore, I decided to text my landlord to have his handyman come over and fix it for us. It wouldn't be that big of a deal, it would take him like 5 seconds, and he wouldn't break it. Piece of cake.
I had the text message all ready to send when, all of a sudden, a light bulb goes off in my head. "Hey!" I start thinking, "Neighbor Boy is tall and he's a guy so he should be handy and since he lives next door he probably has the same lights and knows how to fix them. I'll run over and ask him instead. It will give us an excuse to talk!"
I start getting really nervous and run into my roommate's room to ask her if the idea is dumb and if I'll look like an idiot. She says no; it's perfectly rational. So I check myself in the mirror and realize that I'm still in the clothes I went running in 20 minutes ago: tennis shoes, spandex, pony tail and all. "Meh," I think. "I have a natural flush to my face, I'm in workout clothes so it looks like I'm in shape, and it won't look like I'm trying too hard as opposed to going over there all dolled up." Convinced my plan is fool-proof, I march outside and down to his door.
Almost shitting my pants as I ring the doorbell, Surfer Dude (a very, very attractive modelesque friend of Neighbor Boy) answers...but he's on the phone. He says hi and is polite, but he's still on the phone. Neighbor Boy comes around the corner of a room and he's on the phone too! Oh crap. This is awkward. "Oh...uhhh...I...ahhh...uhhh...I just had a...um...a question but...uh...it's no big deal soooo....ok bye." I turn to leave when he goes, "No wait! Just let me finish this call and then I'll come to your apartment. It'll be like 5 minutes." Ok, so I'm not a loser. Good.
I start cleaning up the kitchen in preparation for their arrival when he knocks a few minutes later. I show him the light, ask him if he knows how to fix it and if he could help me.
Ok, then I really started feeling like an idiot because as soon as he looked at it, it was clear that all you had to do was unscrew this really, really obvious part and it came apart easily. And it wasn't heavy at all. Making small talk and laughing at things, it takes him only a few minutes to change the light bulbs. Damn. Not much face time. But we're still talking.
Then Surfer Dude comes in.....and we all hang out and talk in my kitchen for the next 45 minutes. They're so nice! I mention I have to go get ready for dinner plans when Surfer asks what I'm doing tomorrow night. "Umm...I have no plans for Wednesday night yet, what about you?" "I don't have anything planned either. We should grab drinks in the evening if you want to." My tummy does a flip and my heart about jumps out of my chest. (YES YES YES!!) "Yeah, ok, I guess that sounds cool. I have something I have to do until 7, but I can go anytime after that," I say. "Ok cool," Neighbor boy says. "We'll stop by around 7 and then we can all go somewhere."
Perfect.
They leave, I do a fist pump in the air, and I jump in the shower and get ready for my dinner plans.
Did my plan work? Yes: it's outcome was above and beyond what I even expected.
Did they know I did that on purpose? Most likely.
Does it matter? Naaaaaaah.
2) We have three lights in our kitchen. A few days ago, only one worked. It was impossible to see in the kitchen. We were living like this for a few weeks, barely able to see what we were making to eat or what was on the floor.
3) The other day, my roommate sent me a facebook message saying that she had knocked over my wine glass and there was glass all over the floor. She tried to get most of it up but wasn't sure if she got it all because it was hard to see. I immediately thought, "Time to get those lights fixed. I DO NOT want glass in my foot."
I replaced one of them but the other was too high to reach from the ground and it looked really heavy. It was a dome light and I had no idea how to take it apart and fix it. And I knew, I knew that if I tried to fix it, I would certainly break it into a tiny million little pieces. You know me by now; that's how my life goes.
Therefore, I decided to text my landlord to have his handyman come over and fix it for us. It wouldn't be that big of a deal, it would take him like 5 seconds, and he wouldn't break it. Piece of cake.
I had the text message all ready to send when, all of a sudden, a light bulb goes off in my head. "Hey!" I start thinking, "Neighbor Boy is tall and he's a guy so he should be handy and since he lives next door he probably has the same lights and knows how to fix them. I'll run over and ask him instead. It will give us an excuse to talk!"
I start getting really nervous and run into my roommate's room to ask her if the idea is dumb and if I'll look like an idiot. She says no; it's perfectly rational. So I check myself in the mirror and realize that I'm still in the clothes I went running in 20 minutes ago: tennis shoes, spandex, pony tail and all. "Meh," I think. "I have a natural flush to my face, I'm in workout clothes so it looks like I'm in shape, and it won't look like I'm trying too hard as opposed to going over there all dolled up." Convinced my plan is fool-proof, I march outside and down to his door.
Almost shitting my pants as I ring the doorbell, Surfer Dude (a very, very attractive modelesque friend of Neighbor Boy) answers...but he's on the phone. He says hi and is polite, but he's still on the phone. Neighbor Boy comes around the corner of a room and he's on the phone too! Oh crap. This is awkward. "Oh...uhhh...I...ahhh...uhhh...I just had a...um...a question but...uh...it's no big deal soooo....ok bye." I turn to leave when he goes, "No wait! Just let me finish this call and then I'll come to your apartment. It'll be like 5 minutes." Ok, so I'm not a loser. Good.
I start cleaning up the kitchen in preparation for their arrival when he knocks a few minutes later. I show him the light, ask him if he knows how to fix it and if he could help me.
Ok, then I really started feeling like an idiot because as soon as he looked at it, it was clear that all you had to do was unscrew this really, really obvious part and it came apart easily. And it wasn't heavy at all. Making small talk and laughing at things, it takes him only a few minutes to change the light bulbs. Damn. Not much face time. But we're still talking.
Then Surfer Dude comes in.....and we all hang out and talk in my kitchen for the next 45 minutes. They're so nice! I mention I have to go get ready for dinner plans when Surfer asks what I'm doing tomorrow night. "Umm...I have no plans for Wednesday night yet, what about you?" "I don't have anything planned either. We should grab drinks in the evening if you want to." My tummy does a flip and my heart about jumps out of my chest. (YES YES YES!!) "Yeah, ok, I guess that sounds cool. I have something I have to do until 7, but I can go anytime after that," I say. "Ok cool," Neighbor boy says. "We'll stop by around 7 and then we can all go somewhere."
Perfect.
They leave, I do a fist pump in the air, and I jump in the shower and get ready for my dinner plans.
Did my plan work? Yes: it's outcome was above and beyond what I even expected.
Did they know I did that on purpose? Most likely.
Does it matter? Naaaaaaah.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
My Bathroom Loathes Me
This is not a real blog post. It's just a short little story showing that my bathroom will never, ever be ok...even if it is "fixed".
I was showering the other day in my bathroom that (after 4 months) finally has a ceiling. All of a sudden, I hear something scraping the (also newly fixed) tile and then BAM the shower curtain and rod basically attack me while I'm trying to wash my hair. I let out a loud scream as I fumble with soapy hands to grab ahold of the askew shower curtain while conditioner runs from my silky locks into my eyes and mouth. Blind and trying not to die via soap poisoning, I manage to tame the crazy curtain, but only after it's managed to knock everything off of the counter, arrange itself in such a way as to channel the water from the shower right onto the floor, and knock me straight in the head.
Seriously, has my bathroom taken on a mind of its own? First it tries to electrocute me with the wires in the ceiling. Then, it invades my privacy by refusing to let the door shut any time I try to go to the bathroom. And now it tries to knock me unconscious while I'm trying to take a shower. Really! What has a girl got to do to groom herself?!
I was showering the other day in my bathroom that (after 4 months) finally has a ceiling. All of a sudden, I hear something scraping the (also newly fixed) tile and then BAM the shower curtain and rod basically attack me while I'm trying to wash my hair. I let out a loud scream as I fumble with soapy hands to grab ahold of the askew shower curtain while conditioner runs from my silky locks into my eyes and mouth. Blind and trying not to die via soap poisoning, I manage to tame the crazy curtain, but only after it's managed to knock everything off of the counter, arrange itself in such a way as to channel the water from the shower right onto the floor, and knock me straight in the head.
Seriously, has my bathroom taken on a mind of its own? First it tries to electrocute me with the wires in the ceiling. Then, it invades my privacy by refusing to let the door shut any time I try to go to the bathroom. And now it tries to knock me unconscious while I'm trying to take a shower. Really! What has a girl got to do to groom herself?!
Sunday, November 7, 2010
I'll probably find it AFTER I buy a replacement
This is a silly little story, but I'm going to share it anyway.
I have been looking for my eyebrow tweezers for over two weeks. TWO WEEKS. For two weeks, I have searched through my make-up bags, my desk, dresser, all the drawers in my bathroom, my closet, everywhere. Why, you ask, did I spend so much time looking for something that can easily be replaced for two dollars from your local Wal-mart? Well, it's two dollars, DUH! I'm not about to waste that cash.
Anyway, just as my forehead was beginning to resemble that of the caveman from the Geico car commercials, I decided that purchasing a replacement was necessary. I complained to my roommate, "You just watch; as soon as I buy those freaking tweezers, I'm going to find my old pair. I know it." So I decided having two pairs of tweezers was better than none at all and that I should buy a new pair so I could find my old one.
So I went to the grocery store today, scrutinized a few models of tweezers while comparing prices and structure (haha), and I finally bought a new set. Tweezing your eyebrows in the daylight is the best because it's natural light. Therefore, I got in my car and pulled over into the back corner of the Tom Thumb parking lot so no one could see me. It's kind of awkward when you make eye contact with someone watching you tweeze your eyebrows in your car. (Trust me, I know.)
I finish a some-what professional job and begin to think about where I am going to keep these tweezers so I don't lose them again. "I know! I'll put them in the center console so they'll always be in my car since I always tweeze my eyebrows in here anyway. Easy acce----shit."
I think I know where my tweezers are.
Sure enough, I open up my center console and there are my tweezers! I found them right after I bought a new pair just like I knew I would. A mere FIVE MINUTES after.
So where did I put my new tweezers? Well right next to my old ones, duh. That way I can tweeze my eyebrows in the car in broad daylight. And also so I can buy another pair of tweezers in a few weeks.
I have been looking for my eyebrow tweezers for over two weeks. TWO WEEKS. For two weeks, I have searched through my make-up bags, my desk, dresser, all the drawers in my bathroom, my closet, everywhere. Why, you ask, did I spend so much time looking for something that can easily be replaced for two dollars from your local Wal-mart? Well, it's two dollars, DUH! I'm not about to waste that cash.
Anyway, just as my forehead was beginning to resemble that of the caveman from the Geico car commercials, I decided that purchasing a replacement was necessary. I complained to my roommate, "You just watch; as soon as I buy those freaking tweezers, I'm going to find my old pair. I know it." So I decided having two pairs of tweezers was better than none at all and that I should buy a new pair so I could find my old one.
So I went to the grocery store today, scrutinized a few models of tweezers while comparing prices and structure (haha), and I finally bought a new set. Tweezing your eyebrows in the daylight is the best because it's natural light. Therefore, I got in my car and pulled over into the back corner of the Tom Thumb parking lot so no one could see me. It's kind of awkward when you make eye contact with someone watching you tweeze your eyebrows in your car. (Trust me, I know.)
I finish a some-what professional job and begin to think about where I am going to keep these tweezers so I don't lose them again. "I know! I'll put them in the center console so they'll always be in my car since I always tweeze my eyebrows in here anyway. Easy acce----shit."
I think I know where my tweezers are.
Sure enough, I open up my center console and there are my tweezers! I found them right after I bought a new pair just like I knew I would. A mere FIVE MINUTES after.
So where did I put my new tweezers? Well right next to my old ones, duh. That way I can tweeze my eyebrows in the car in broad daylight. And also so I can buy another pair of tweezers in a few weeks.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
The reason you think I'm a Strawberry Blond....
...is because I accidentally keep dying my hair strawberry blond. And by "strawberry blond", I mean orange.
As a poor college student, I refuse to fork over 150+ dollars it takes to maintain my golden locks. So I settle for the 7 dollar box of hair dye at my local Target.
For some reason--be it my cheap hair dye or lack of beautician skills--it never comes out right. EVER.
My first experience was with one of my best friends Angie. I had never dyed my hair before and I always thought people who did it looked soooo coooool. And looking back on it, they were cool because they actually dyed their hair the right color.
Anyway, on my hair's maiden voyage of being killed and bleached by terrible chemicals, my mom was like, "Tell me again why you're dying your hair? If you want highlights, I'll buy them for you. You don't have to do this." She pleaded in a drastic way like I was cutting off my arm or something. I was 19 at the time--and oh-so-wise in the ways of the world--and responded with: "Mom, please. Angie and I have to do it. This is like a right of passage. Everyone dyes their own hair at this age," in a semi-sassy tone that sounded like she should have known better. Duh, mom.
Anyway, I let Angie have free range over my hair. I sat down like a good little guinea pig that I was and let her squirt God-knows-what over my perfectly healthy hair. We were moving a little slow (since it was our first time) and by the time we got to the back of my head, the hair dye had been sitting on my roots for about 15 minutes. The box said, "When you've covered the entire head, wait 20 minutes and then rinse." So we waited another 20 minutes, thus leaving the hair dye on my roots for a grand total of 35 minutes. MISTAKE.
After I rinsed, I was so excited to see the new blond me! I got out of the shower with pure excitement....leaped over to the mirror....and looked at my reflection with horror. My roots were now a beautiful shade of copper. SHIT.
Well, maybe it'll get better once I dry it. So I blew my hair dry, straightened it, and then it was kind-of ok. At least that's what my mom and Angie said. But they were probably trying to make me feel better.
The next day, I walked into the house of the kids I babysit for. They see me and immediately say, "Your hair is orange." They obviously have not matured enough to know that sometimes you need to look people in the eye and lie through your teeth. I laughed, shrugged it off, and said, "Well, that's what you get for dying your hair for 7 dollars."
For the next two weeks, every time we went to the pool, I brought Sun-In hair highlighter and doused my hair with lemon juice hoping that the sun would bleach out my hair to the beautiful blond I wanted to be.
It kind of worked.
So anyway, I dyed my hair again the other night (this is like the 3rd or 4th time by now). And I accidentally left it on the roots for too long again. And it semi-resembles the shade of copper.
So I made my roommate promise that she will never let me dye my own hair again. I have matured (a little) and need to fork over and pay the high price that is Dallas haircare.
So please don't call me a "strawberry blond". Because it's actually copper.
As a poor college student, I refuse to fork over 150+ dollars it takes to maintain my golden locks. So I settle for the 7 dollar box of hair dye at my local Target.
For some reason--be it my cheap hair dye or lack of beautician skills--it never comes out right. EVER.
My first experience was with one of my best friends Angie. I had never dyed my hair before and I always thought people who did it looked soooo coooool. And looking back on it, they were cool because they actually dyed their hair the right color.
Anyway, on my hair's maiden voyage of being killed and bleached by terrible chemicals, my mom was like, "Tell me again why you're dying your hair? If you want highlights, I'll buy them for you. You don't have to do this." She pleaded in a drastic way like I was cutting off my arm or something. I was 19 at the time--and oh-so-wise in the ways of the world--and responded with: "Mom, please. Angie and I have to do it. This is like a right of passage. Everyone dyes their own hair at this age," in a semi-sassy tone that sounded like she should have known better. Duh, mom.
Anyway, I let Angie have free range over my hair. I sat down like a good little guinea pig that I was and let her squirt God-knows-what over my perfectly healthy hair. We were moving a little slow (since it was our first time) and by the time we got to the back of my head, the hair dye had been sitting on my roots for about 15 minutes. The box said, "When you've covered the entire head, wait 20 minutes and then rinse." So we waited another 20 minutes, thus leaving the hair dye on my roots for a grand total of 35 minutes. MISTAKE.
After I rinsed, I was so excited to see the new blond me! I got out of the shower with pure excitement....leaped over to the mirror....and looked at my reflection with horror. My roots were now a beautiful shade of copper. SHIT.
Well, maybe it'll get better once I dry it. So I blew my hair dry, straightened it, and then it was kind-of ok. At least that's what my mom and Angie said. But they were probably trying to make me feel better.
The next day, I walked into the house of the kids I babysit for. They see me and immediately say, "Your hair is orange." They obviously have not matured enough to know that sometimes you need to look people in the eye and lie through your teeth. I laughed, shrugged it off, and said, "Well, that's what you get for dying your hair for 7 dollars."
For the next two weeks, every time we went to the pool, I brought Sun-In hair highlighter and doused my hair with lemon juice hoping that the sun would bleach out my hair to the beautiful blond I wanted to be.
It kind of worked.
So anyway, I dyed my hair again the other night (this is like the 3rd or 4th time by now). And I accidentally left it on the roots for too long again. And it semi-resembles the shade of copper.
So I made my roommate promise that she will never let me dye my own hair again. I have matured (a little) and need to fork over and pay the high price that is Dallas haircare.
So please don't call me a "strawberry blond". Because it's actually copper.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Where's the excitement in planning ahead?
I'm not sure if I subconsciously crave mass chaos, but I somehow always seem to attract it.
And no, I'm not talking about last night when our whole program went on our last Booze...ahem, I mean BOAT Cruise. And no, I did not get drunk. Nope nope nope. I took care of everyone else. Gold star for me. This post would be way too long if I told you everything that happened last night. But I suppose that means I've attracted two instances of chaos within the last 24 hours...great.
I'm talking about today. Yes, today when I tried (key word: tried) to book my train tickets to and from Euskirchen, Germany. I sound like a fool when I try to pronounce it. Either way, after searching online for a few hours over the last couple of days comparing times and prices, I finally have my route and timeline figured out. I was so proud. I go to book it and have everything planned out when they tell me....
Roadblock Number 1: They have to ship the tickets to me and want to know when I'm leaving The States. Can't ship the tickets anywhere BUT the US. Hmm...that won't do me any good...I'm already in Europe. So I think shipping them to the person I'm staying with in Belgium is the smartest idea--that way I'll get them in time. Also, since I'm so responsible, I don't know my address here in the UK where I've been staying for the past 5 weeks. So Belgium it is. Of course you can't do ANY of this online, so I decide to call RailEurope via Skype. It's free. That's literally the only thing I had going for me today.
Talk to a nice lady and she helps me figure everything out AGAIN. We had to re-figure everything because some trains are already booked, my luck is bad, etc. Almost done and ready to pay when...
Roadblock Number 2: Call is dropped. UGH! Knowing that RailEurope has over a thousand employees and chances of talking to the same lady again are about a million to one, I resolve to Skype call them again to start over. What else was I going to do? Gotta get to Germany.
So I talk to a different lady and tell her my last call was dropped just to prepare her. This time she gives me a confirmation number to track my itinerary just in case. This was a good call. Because, yet again, we are ALMOST finished when...
Roadblock Number 3: Call is dropped. Again.
I call back. The first two ladies were super nice. But this man is mean. Very mean. I came to the conclusion that he hates his life. He has to help other people prepare their awesome European adventures while he sits in a cubicle all day long. I'd hate my life too. We look up my already-planned trip and--surprise!--it's actually there. And it's a whopping 400 dollars. WHAT?! For two trips? Interesting. He e-mails it to me and.....
Roadblock Number 4: I find a ton of extra charges on each ticket. The lady thought I wanted First Class. Wait, you couldn't hear the poor-college-student's-desperate-need-for-money dripping from my every word? She also thought I wanted rail insurance. False. Finally getting my fare filed down to only 300 dollars, I feel better. A little. Scrooge on the line asks the address in Belgium so they can ship it. Realizing...
Roadblock Number 5: I asked my friend in Germany for her address--not the lady in Belgium--so I have to to say I don't have it. Ignoring the disappointment and frustration in his voice, I apologize and hang up the phone. I stare at my computer screen for at least 10 minutes contemplating exactly how I just spent the last 4+ hours. When finals are on Friday. And I've done nothing to prepare.
Don't worry, I'm sure everything will turn out fine. That way, I can be surprised and thrown for a loop when it doesn't! I can't wait for the excitement to continue...
And no, I'm not talking about last night when our whole program went on our last Booze...ahem, I mean BOAT Cruise. And no, I did not get drunk. Nope nope nope. I took care of everyone else. Gold star for me. This post would be way too long if I told you everything that happened last night. But I suppose that means I've attracted two instances of chaos within the last 24 hours...great.
I'm talking about today. Yes, today when I tried (key word: tried) to book my train tickets to and from Euskirchen, Germany. I sound like a fool when I try to pronounce it. Either way, after searching online for a few hours over the last couple of days comparing times and prices, I finally have my route and timeline figured out. I was so proud. I go to book it and have everything planned out when they tell me....
Roadblock Number 1: They have to ship the tickets to me and want to know when I'm leaving The States. Can't ship the tickets anywhere BUT the US. Hmm...that won't do me any good...I'm already in Europe. So I think shipping them to the person I'm staying with in Belgium is the smartest idea--that way I'll get them in time. Also, since I'm so responsible, I don't know my address here in the UK where I've been staying for the past 5 weeks. So Belgium it is. Of course you can't do ANY of this online, so I decide to call RailEurope via Skype. It's free. That's literally the only thing I had going for me today.
Talk to a nice lady and she helps me figure everything out AGAIN. We had to re-figure everything because some trains are already booked, my luck is bad, etc. Almost done and ready to pay when...
Roadblock Number 2: Call is dropped. UGH! Knowing that RailEurope has over a thousand employees and chances of talking to the same lady again are about a million to one, I resolve to Skype call them again to start over. What else was I going to do? Gotta get to Germany.
So I talk to a different lady and tell her my last call was dropped just to prepare her. This time she gives me a confirmation number to track my itinerary just in case. This was a good call. Because, yet again, we are ALMOST finished when...
Roadblock Number 3: Call is dropped. Again.
I call back. The first two ladies were super nice. But this man is mean. Very mean. I came to the conclusion that he hates his life. He has to help other people prepare their awesome European adventures while he sits in a cubicle all day long. I'd hate my life too. We look up my already-planned trip and--surprise!--it's actually there. And it's a whopping 400 dollars. WHAT?! For two trips? Interesting. He e-mails it to me and.....
Roadblock Number 4: I find a ton of extra charges on each ticket. The lady thought I wanted First Class. Wait, you couldn't hear the poor-college-student's-desperate-need-for-money dripping from my every word? She also thought I wanted rail insurance. False. Finally getting my fare filed down to only 300 dollars, I feel better. A little. Scrooge on the line asks the address in Belgium so they can ship it. Realizing...
Roadblock Number 5: I asked my friend in Germany for her address--not the lady in Belgium--so I have to to say I don't have it. Ignoring the disappointment and frustration in his voice, I apologize and hang up the phone. I stare at my computer screen for at least 10 minutes contemplating exactly how I just spent the last 4+ hours. When finals are on Friday. And I've done nothing to prepare.
Don't worry, I'm sure everything will turn out fine. That way, I can be surprised and thrown for a loop when it doesn't! I can't wait for the excitement to continue...
Thursday, July 29, 2010
Is this real life?
Alright, did I do something to seriously piss Karma off? I'm confused. I can't recall...
Oh wait, yes. Ok, now I remember. Dang. Well, I hope it ends soon. Because this is getting ridiculous.
I'll take you back a few days in order to explain my unfortunate evening tonight.
We were on a break in between classes. And one of the advisers made an announcement about an extra dinner. About politics. And there were only 20 spots. Ok, these dinners are AMAZING. Best food I've ever had. Only drawback is that you have to sit through a lecture. But it's worth it.
Either way, I wanted to go. And so did a few of my friends. So, being the outgoing and assertive one, I volunteered to sign us (5) all up for the lecture. I trudged through the crowd and stuck my hand up amidst all the other people and scribbled a few names down before anyone else could. I got death glares and elbows to the sides, but I got the job done. Good deal. We're in. Can't wait for the free food and drinks.
So we get all dressed up and go to the reception. Champagne and mimosas are served. Ultimate score. Reminds me of New Years Eve, except it's summer. Double ultimate score. We find out that the dinner is assigned seating. My friend and I joke about our luck with sitting by teachers we don't like. Her: "You just watch, I'll be sitting next to Smith! Just wait!" ME: "YOU watch. With my luck, all of you (5) will be sitting with each other and I'll be sitting by myself at the end. Just wait."
Go up to the room where dinner is served and look for our seats. You know when you scan a list for your name and you usually recognize a letter and easily find your name? Yeah...didn't happen. So after scanning, I look through the list...once...twice...three...four times. My name's not on it. Really? Like, this is for real? My friends are all laughing as I stand there like a fool and everyone has a place and is starting to sit. I don't know what to do. A professor I like asks what's wrong. I have to say that I don't have a place. I'm embarrassed. He's embarrassed. The caterers are embarrassed. It sucked. They had to scoot everyone down a few inches and make a place for me. Really? I was the one who signed everyone up while they sat on their butts and I'm the one who doesn't get a seat. And I know I wrote my name down. Dang.
Dinner goes on and it's fine. I still feel bad, but what can ya do? After dinner, everyone's going down to the beer cellar for a drink. Not wanting to pay 5 pounds for a coke (and knowing I have a 2 liter in my mini fridge in my room), I say I'll be back in ten. Go upstairs, open the fridge, and find that my 2 liter is frozen solid. I throw my head back, raise my arms up in the air, and shake as I say, "WHYYYYYYYYYY?" All I want is diet coke. I leave it out as I make a trip to the bathroom. I come back to find that, yes, it's still frozen solid. Alright, I can fix this. Ironically, there is a blow-dryer next to the mini-fridge. And please tell me you would have done the same.
Yes, I took the blow dryer to the 2 liter bottle of coke. For literally only 10 seconds. And everything was going fine at first. The coke was melting.
But then it kept melting. And fizzing. And melting. And fizzing. And the blow dryer was off. And fizzing. And fizzing. And exploding. Oh crap. It starts over-flowing all over the place. My roommate and her friend walk in to the image of me with an overflowing bottle of coke in one hand and a European hair dryer in the other with a confused/panicked look on my face. Coke is literally going all over our common room. I quickly fill up all of the cups in the room with coke.
It's still overflowing.
I find the trash can and hold it upside down to empty it out. Then hold it right-side up. Still overflowing. After 5 minutes. It was like the never-ending bottle of coke. They're rolling on the floor laughing. I'm covered in coke. I finally give up and just put the coke IN the trashcan. It's still overflowing. I throw my hands up in the air, pour myself a huge glass of coke, and resolve to slowly watching it disappear into my trash can.
So now I have cups of coke all over my room. And a distorted half-full bottle of coke. And everything smells like coke.
Does anyone know when bad karma stops haunting you? Help.
P.S. Inspiration for title of post:
Oh wait, yes. Ok, now I remember. Dang. Well, I hope it ends soon. Because this is getting ridiculous.
I'll take you back a few days in order to explain my unfortunate evening tonight.
We were on a break in between classes. And one of the advisers made an announcement about an extra dinner. About politics. And there were only 20 spots. Ok, these dinners are AMAZING. Best food I've ever had. Only drawback is that you have to sit through a lecture. But it's worth it.
Either way, I wanted to go. And so did a few of my friends. So, being the outgoing and assertive one, I volunteered to sign us (5) all up for the lecture. I trudged through the crowd and stuck my hand up amidst all the other people and scribbled a few names down before anyone else could. I got death glares and elbows to the sides, but I got the job done. Good deal. We're in. Can't wait for the free food and drinks.
So we get all dressed up and go to the reception. Champagne and mimosas are served. Ultimate score. Reminds me of New Years Eve, except it's summer. Double ultimate score. We find out that the dinner is assigned seating. My friend and I joke about our luck with sitting by teachers we don't like. Her: "You just watch, I'll be sitting next to Smith! Just wait!" ME: "YOU watch. With my luck, all of you (5) will be sitting with each other and I'll be sitting by myself at the end. Just wait."
Go up to the room where dinner is served and look for our seats. You know when you scan a list for your name and you usually recognize a letter and easily find your name? Yeah...didn't happen. So after scanning, I look through the list...once...twice...three...four times. My name's not on it. Really? Like, this is for real? My friends are all laughing as I stand there like a fool and everyone has a place and is starting to sit. I don't know what to do. A professor I like asks what's wrong. I have to say that I don't have a place. I'm embarrassed. He's embarrassed. The caterers are embarrassed. It sucked. They had to scoot everyone down a few inches and make a place for me. Really? I was the one who signed everyone up while they sat on their butts and I'm the one who doesn't get a seat. And I know I wrote my name down. Dang.
Dinner goes on and it's fine. I still feel bad, but what can ya do? After dinner, everyone's going down to the beer cellar for a drink. Not wanting to pay 5 pounds for a coke (and knowing I have a 2 liter in my mini fridge in my room), I say I'll be back in ten. Go upstairs, open the fridge, and find that my 2 liter is frozen solid. I throw my head back, raise my arms up in the air, and shake as I say, "WHYYYYYYYYYY?" All I want is diet coke. I leave it out as I make a trip to the bathroom. I come back to find that, yes, it's still frozen solid. Alright, I can fix this. Ironically, there is a blow-dryer next to the mini-fridge. And please tell me you would have done the same.
Yes, I took the blow dryer to the 2 liter bottle of coke. For literally only 10 seconds. And everything was going fine at first. The coke was melting.
But then it kept melting. And fizzing. And melting. And fizzing. And the blow dryer was off. And fizzing. And fizzing. And exploding. Oh crap. It starts over-flowing all over the place. My roommate and her friend walk in to the image of me with an overflowing bottle of coke in one hand and a European hair dryer in the other with a confused/panicked look on my face. Coke is literally going all over our common room. I quickly fill up all of the cups in the room with coke.
It's still overflowing.
I find the trash can and hold it upside down to empty it out. Then hold it right-side up. Still overflowing. After 5 minutes. It was like the never-ending bottle of coke. They're rolling on the floor laughing. I'm covered in coke. I finally give up and just put the coke IN the trashcan. It's still overflowing. I throw my hands up in the air, pour myself a huge glass of coke, and resolve to slowly watching it disappear into my trash can.
So now I have cups of coke all over my room. And a distorted half-full bottle of coke. And everything smells like coke.
Does anyone know when bad karma stops haunting you? Help.
P.S. Inspiration for title of post:
Julius Caesar drinking game??
So yesterday we went to Shakespeare's birthplace: Stratford-upon-Avon.
I've been there before so, to be honest, I wasn't too thrilled to go. It's just a little old town with a grave and some old houses. I know, I know, I'm being difficult/taking this for granted. Sorry. Either way, I never thought such excitement could come from a small town way out in the middle of nowhere that celebrates a dead poet. I know, right? It's a long shot. WRONG.
We did see Shakespeare's grave, I'll give us that. But instead of going to his house and the museums and stuff, we decided to rent a rowboat for a little while. I know how to row, obviously, and my friends thought it would be very easy. Wrong again.
I started rowing first and we were going along smoothly. Then my friends wanted to try so we switched (only one person can row at once). We weren't too smart about shifting our weight around in the boat, so after almost flipping our boat a few times, we were finally settled. Amid screams of terror that we were all going in, I assured them that our boat would not flip. No I wasn't 100% positive we were going to stay afloat, but it worked in calming them down. And no, we did not flip. And, yes, sorry to say it, but they're not too good at rowing....
Then we tried to find a place to eat dinner before we saw the play Julius Caesar. Well, everyone and their mom and their mom's dog was out trying to find a place to eat, so we went from place to place for about 45 minutes just trying to find some FOOD. We finally settled on one and it was delicious. When we saw our professors walk in, we knew we had hit the jackpot in picking a place to eat. They've been doing this for 30 years so if they ate at that place, it must have been the best place in town. And it was super good.
We get to the theatre. I have a terrible stomach ache. I can't walk, stand, sit down, or anything. So, yes, the only thing I can do is lay down. So as the show begins, I'm lying down in the aisle. I lay there for about the first 2 acts (there's only 5) until I have to go to the bathroom so bad! I drank waaaaay too much water at dinner. And I'm starting to second-guess our restaraunt selection. Luckily we were in the balcony and my aisle was at the very end so no one noticed me lying down or leaving. It was only until I was drying my hands in the bathroom when I saw a sign that read: "If you have left the theatre for any reason, you will not be readmitted until an appropriate time." Great. So now I'm locked out of the play I not only missed the first 2 acts of, but one that I'm supposed to be writing a paper on for class. Super.
So I go back out to the lobby and wait for about 30 minutes to be readmitted into the play. I find my way back to my seat and watch it for another 30 minutes (3 hour play...ugh) when a HUGE CRASH sounds from across the theatre. My friend turns to me and goes, "Did someone fall off the balcony?!" We see some scrambling on the other side of the theatre, but no one fell off. It sounded like they did though.
Later, I find out that a frat boy was playing a "game" where he took a swig from his flask every time someone in Julius Caesar died. Julius Caesare is a Shakespearean tragedy. And in Shakespearean tragedies, the stage is literally filled with dead bodies by the end. Well, it was near the end of the play when the boy decided that he wanted to stand up. Not for any reason, no, he just wanted to stand up and stretch. In the front row. Of the balcony. Totally disrespecting the actors on the stage and distracting all the people behind him trying to enjoy the show, he stands up and (surprise surprise) can't hold his balance. He falls on a boy from SMU who...ahem...isn't the friendliest guy and thus pushes him off. Well....the drunk boy can't control his body or recover from the shove, so he almost falls over the balcony railing and onto the stage. Someone else grabs his shirt and pulls him back before he goes overboard and ups the dead body count by 1. The security guards come over and try to help him out of the theatre, but he insists on staying for "just ten more minutes, lads." They insist he leaves.
You know, I would be disappointed in the boy--because honestly that is very disrespectful and stupid--but I'm actually impressed that he came up with such a clever drinking game to Julius Caesar. You gotta admit: that takes some creativity.
Some advice, however: don't play a drinking game to a Shakespearean tragedy where you drink every time someone dies. You will be wasted by the end.
I've been there before so, to be honest, I wasn't too thrilled to go. It's just a little old town with a grave and some old houses. I know, I know, I'm being difficult/taking this for granted. Sorry. Either way, I never thought such excitement could come from a small town way out in the middle of nowhere that celebrates a dead poet. I know, right? It's a long shot. WRONG.
We did see Shakespeare's grave, I'll give us that. But instead of going to his house and the museums and stuff, we decided to rent a rowboat for a little while. I know how to row, obviously, and my friends thought it would be very easy. Wrong again.
I started rowing first and we were going along smoothly. Then my friends wanted to try so we switched (only one person can row at once). We weren't too smart about shifting our weight around in the boat, so after almost flipping our boat a few times, we were finally settled. Amid screams of terror that we were all going in, I assured them that our boat would not flip. No I wasn't 100% positive we were going to stay afloat, but it worked in calming them down. And no, we did not flip. And, yes, sorry to say it, but they're not too good at rowing....
Then we tried to find a place to eat dinner before we saw the play Julius Caesar. Well, everyone and their mom and their mom's dog was out trying to find a place to eat, so we went from place to place for about 45 minutes just trying to find some FOOD. We finally settled on one and it was delicious. When we saw our professors walk in, we knew we had hit the jackpot in picking a place to eat. They've been doing this for 30 years so if they ate at that place, it must have been the best place in town. And it was super good.
We get to the theatre. I have a terrible stomach ache. I can't walk, stand, sit down, or anything. So, yes, the only thing I can do is lay down. So as the show begins, I'm lying down in the aisle. I lay there for about the first 2 acts (there's only 5) until I have to go to the bathroom so bad! I drank waaaaay too much water at dinner. And I'm starting to second-guess our restaraunt selection. Luckily we were in the balcony and my aisle was at the very end so no one noticed me lying down or leaving. It was only until I was drying my hands in the bathroom when I saw a sign that read: "If you have left the theatre for any reason, you will not be readmitted until an appropriate time." Great. So now I'm locked out of the play I not only missed the first 2 acts of, but one that I'm supposed to be writing a paper on for class. Super.
So I go back out to the lobby and wait for about 30 minutes to be readmitted into the play. I find my way back to my seat and watch it for another 30 minutes (3 hour play...ugh) when a HUGE CRASH sounds from across the theatre. My friend turns to me and goes, "Did someone fall off the balcony?!" We see some scrambling on the other side of the theatre, but no one fell off. It sounded like they did though.
Later, I find out that a frat boy was playing a "game" where he took a swig from his flask every time someone in Julius Caesar died. Julius Caesare is a Shakespearean tragedy. And in Shakespearean tragedies, the stage is literally filled with dead bodies by the end. Well, it was near the end of the play when the boy decided that he wanted to stand up. Not for any reason, no, he just wanted to stand up and stretch. In the front row. Of the balcony. Totally disrespecting the actors on the stage and distracting all the people behind him trying to enjoy the show, he stands up and (surprise surprise) can't hold his balance. He falls on a boy from SMU who...ahem...isn't the friendliest guy and thus pushes him off. Well....the drunk boy can't control his body or recover from the shove, so he almost falls over the balcony railing and onto the stage. Someone else grabs his shirt and pulls him back before he goes overboard and ups the dead body count by 1. The security guards come over and try to help him out of the theatre, but he insists on staying for "just ten more minutes, lads." They insist he leaves.
You know, I would be disappointed in the boy--because honestly that is very disrespectful and stupid--but I'm actually impressed that he came up with such a clever drinking game to Julius Caesar. You gotta admit: that takes some creativity.
Some advice, however: don't play a drinking game to a Shakespearean tragedy where you drink every time someone dies. You will be wasted by the end.
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
If you're going to be my friend...
...you're going to need medication. And probably an endless supply.
I don't know why I do this to myself. Or how I manage to. But lately I have had to come to terms with my horrible, horrible luck. And I'm just going to call it bad luck because if I blame myself, it's just depressing. Because I try so hard. I try so so soooooo hard to not let anything bad happen. I double check everything, make sure I'm doing it all right, and yet.....still fail.
To help you understand, I'll use an analogy: It's as if I triple-knot my tennis shoes and, yes, still trip and fall flat on my face.
This weekend, my friends and I went to Amsterdam. And I was doing really well! I was so proud of myself! We were in London Wednesday through Friday, then flew to Amsterdam on Friday and returned to Oxford on Sunday. I brought everything I was supposed to: clothes, running shoes, homework, copies of my ID and Passport, notes to study for class, enough money, and a very positive attitude.
London went smoothly. I had a great time. I did some exploring on my own, which I love. I figured out the underground system in no time at all and was racing across town to different shops and areas the entire time. I felt so free. And didn't lose anything!
We were almost late for our flight to Amsterdam and while Ashley (as in my twins, Mary-Kate and Ashley) was freaking out, I was surprisingly calm. I just knew we weren't going to miss our flight--there was no doubt in my mind. And we didn't.
All weekend, everything was fun! No mis-haps Friday night (despite the cab driver creepily hitting on me at 4am) and Saturday we awoke to a beautiful, if a little chilly, summer day in Holland. We went to the Anne Frank House and it was really cool and very humbling.
We were near the end of the tour when I was separated from Mary-Kate and Ashley. I had just entered the room that talked about Auschwitz and who in the Secret Annex survived and who died. There was soft music playing as real-life footage of the camps showed on a few screens around the room. There were tears in some people's eyes as they thought about the terrible fate of so many Jewish people. It was serenly silent until.....BOOM BOOM BOOM. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a girl slip on the three metal stairs you walk down upon entering the room. Seeming to have no control over her body whatsoever, she bounced up and down on each of them until she came to the bottom and was sprawled out all over the floor on her back. In the Auschwitz room. In Anne Frank's House. Thinking, "Oh my GOD, how embarrassing! Glad that's not me!" I look over to see if the poor girl is all right.
And it's Ashley. Slowly trying to pick herself up off the floor, she is so embarrassed. Laughing hysterically (silently, of course--we ARE in Anne Frank's House) I help her up. 30 people in front of us and 30 people behind us turn to stare and murmer, "Ouch, that's gotta hurt," "Ohhh man that sucks," "Wow, that's embarrassing," "Whew, glad that's not me," etc. One man even mockingly yells out, "OHHHHHHH!" Thanks, bud, that helps A LOT. She can't look at anyone. Especially me. Tears are coming out of my eyes, not for Anne Frank at the moment, but for Ashley. Because that shit was hilarious.
Throughout the rest of the weekend, we laugh until we cry whenever we think about it. Our mantra for the weekend was, "She BIT IT in Anne Frank's house!" invented by clever Mary-Kate.
Later that day, Ashley broke her toe. It was not her weekend. The weekend before, in Paris, I managed to fall on my face in a bathroom, whack my head on the door to our hotel room, step in a huge pile of donkey poop, and lose my cell phone charger, among other incidents that can't be repeated. Again, I was thinking my poor luck had rubbed off on someone else. WRONG.
Upon returning to Oxford Sunday evening, I immediately brushed off the rest of my homework, reading, and unpacking to watch The Big Bang Theory. I. Was. Exhausted. Amsterdam will do that to you.
Monday morning comes. Can't find my notebook anywhere. Panic-stricken and running late, I grab my keys and a pen, hoping I can bum a few sheets of paper off a classmate. Later, after hours of looking for my notebook, homework, ID and Passport copies, class handouts, information on upcoming finals, I give up and figure I left everything I need for school in Amsterdam. EVERYTHING.
So, no, I didn't have an unlucky weekend. I just managed to screw myself over for the next three weeks.
So, as the English say, "Cheers."
I'll drink to that.
I don't know why I do this to myself. Or how I manage to. But lately I have had to come to terms with my horrible, horrible luck. And I'm just going to call it bad luck because if I blame myself, it's just depressing. Because I try so hard. I try so so soooooo hard to not let anything bad happen. I double check everything, make sure I'm doing it all right, and yet.....still fail.
To help you understand, I'll use an analogy: It's as if I triple-knot my tennis shoes and, yes, still trip and fall flat on my face.
This weekend, my friends and I went to Amsterdam. And I was doing really well! I was so proud of myself! We were in London Wednesday through Friday, then flew to Amsterdam on Friday and returned to Oxford on Sunday. I brought everything I was supposed to: clothes, running shoes, homework, copies of my ID and Passport, notes to study for class, enough money, and a very positive attitude.
London went smoothly. I had a great time. I did some exploring on my own, which I love. I figured out the underground system in no time at all and was racing across town to different shops and areas the entire time. I felt so free. And didn't lose anything!
We were almost late for our flight to Amsterdam and while Ashley (as in my twins, Mary-Kate and Ashley) was freaking out, I was surprisingly calm. I just knew we weren't going to miss our flight--there was no doubt in my mind. And we didn't.
All weekend, everything was fun! No mis-haps Friday night (despite the cab driver creepily hitting on me at 4am) and Saturday we awoke to a beautiful, if a little chilly, summer day in Holland. We went to the Anne Frank House and it was really cool and very humbling.
We were near the end of the tour when I was separated from Mary-Kate and Ashley. I had just entered the room that talked about Auschwitz and who in the Secret Annex survived and who died. There was soft music playing as real-life footage of the camps showed on a few screens around the room. There were tears in some people's eyes as they thought about the terrible fate of so many Jewish people. It was serenly silent until.....BOOM BOOM BOOM. Out of the corner of my eye, I see a girl slip on the three metal stairs you walk down upon entering the room. Seeming to have no control over her body whatsoever, she bounced up and down on each of them until she came to the bottom and was sprawled out all over the floor on her back. In the Auschwitz room. In Anne Frank's House. Thinking, "Oh my GOD, how embarrassing! Glad that's not me!" I look over to see if the poor girl is all right.
And it's Ashley. Slowly trying to pick herself up off the floor, she is so embarrassed. Laughing hysterically (silently, of course--we ARE in Anne Frank's House) I help her up. 30 people in front of us and 30 people behind us turn to stare and murmer, "Ouch, that's gotta hurt," "Ohhh man that sucks," "Wow, that's embarrassing," "Whew, glad that's not me," etc. One man even mockingly yells out, "OHHHHHHH!" Thanks, bud, that helps A LOT. She can't look at anyone. Especially me. Tears are coming out of my eyes, not for Anne Frank at the moment, but for Ashley. Because that shit was hilarious.
Throughout the rest of the weekend, we laugh until we cry whenever we think about it. Our mantra for the weekend was, "She BIT IT in Anne Frank's house!" invented by clever Mary-Kate.
Later that day, Ashley broke her toe. It was not her weekend. The weekend before, in Paris, I managed to fall on my face in a bathroom, whack my head on the door to our hotel room, step in a huge pile of donkey poop, and lose my cell phone charger, among other incidents that can't be repeated. Again, I was thinking my poor luck had rubbed off on someone else. WRONG.
Upon returning to Oxford Sunday evening, I immediately brushed off the rest of my homework, reading, and unpacking to watch The Big Bang Theory. I. Was. Exhausted. Amsterdam will do that to you.
Monday morning comes. Can't find my notebook anywhere. Panic-stricken and running late, I grab my keys and a pen, hoping I can bum a few sheets of paper off a classmate. Later, after hours of looking for my notebook, homework, ID and Passport copies, class handouts, information on upcoming finals, I give up and figure I left everything I need for school in Amsterdam. EVERYTHING.
So, no, I didn't have an unlucky weekend. I just managed to screw myself over for the next three weeks.
So, as the English say, "Cheers."
I'll drink to that.
Monday, July 19, 2010
Recovering.
Never in my wildest dreams could I have planned a weekend so amazing.
You know how you get so excited for an event or something so you build it up in your mind, romanticize it, and literally CANNOT WAIT for it to arrive? And then when it does, it always fails to live up to your expectations? This always happens to me. I always dream about something that's going to happen and I set these extremely high hurdles for it to surpass and it never does. Ever. So when in Paris, France with two of my best friends my weekend went above and beyond anything I had ever hoped, I was shocked.
All weekend I was saying, "I could not have planned it better in my mind." Seriously, that good.
Of course there is a price to be paid for such an amazing experience. And that price has been my day today.
First, I wake up with a third eye right in the middle of my two natural eyes...yes, a pimple the size of the state of Texas. It's massive. I've honestly never had one so big. Oh, and yeah did I mention I have another one right under my lip? If that's not enough, I woke up with a swollen lip from being stung by a bee in the middle of the night! I put an ice pack on it as I was getting ready this morning and that helped a little. But it was still really swollen. So at breakfast this morning, my friend gave me all of her Benadryll.
I wish she had only given me one or two.
Because I took two big pills. The swelling was so bad so we decided that was the right amount. Until about an hour and a half later, when I was still waiting for my lip to go down, I decided to take another pill. It did make the swelling go down, but it also made me extremely tired. And, unfortunately, I couldn't go to sleep because I had about 3 hours of class left, so I had to fight through the drowsiness.
And have you ever been forced to fight through being so extremely exhausted that you literally can't keep your eyelids open? I have. Many times during the school year when about 5 papers are due and you have practice two times a day and every single school club you're in decides they need to have emergency meetings all around the same time and you run out of gas and food and all you want to do is sleep for a week? Well this was worse than that. Way worse. Because I had to fight through the drowsiness, I fell into an altered state of being. The room was never stable ALL DAY LONG. It was as if chairs and couches could move all on their own. And instead of having one professor speaking in front of me, I had two of them walking around the room. Whenever I tried talking to my friends, they began to sway back in forth in front of me. I volunteered to act out Shakespeare for my professor and stood in the middle of the room and acted out a monologue for about 5 minutes.
So I tried to participate in class. And I took notes. And I just looked at the notes, and they are all a bunch of scribbles that weave in and out of lines all over the paper. Some lines go up, some go down, some go diagonally, some go backwards....you literally can't read anything. I'm not even sure if it's English....
It was literally like I was on drugs. It was so weird. One of my friends went to Amsterdam a few weeks ago and she got a bug bite that got swollen so she went into a drug store and asked them for Benadryll. The pharmacist started yelling and waving his hands rapidly, "What kind of place do you think this is?! What kind of person are you?! Benadryll is ILLEGAL here!!" Really? She was shocked. Even more so to find out that in the bar that night people were LEGALLY smoking weed. And Benadryll is illegal? Interesting.
Luckily, I was able to pass out at my desk while writing (starting and finishing) a paper on a book I was supposed to read this weekend but didn't. It was due in a few hours...well, since I fell asleep it was then due in one hour. Fortunately I woke up in enough time to read over my paper and find a bunch of stuff that didn't make any sense. So I quickly edited my thoughts and ran over to The Common Room to print out my paper. I had 5 minutes to run, print, and turn it in. I made it over there fine and started printing out my paper until....yep, you guessed it...the printer ran out of paper when I only had one page left to print! I was like, "Are you serious right now?!" So I tore out some notebook paper, hoped against hope that the printer would take it, and after about 15 tries at printing it on notebook paper, it worked! I was pretty impressed with myself.
So now I'm going to procrastinate even more and not read my Shakespeare play and not write my paper for tomorrow. Why? Because I'm so exhausted, drained, and just don't care about school right now. How can you care about school when you're in Europe having the time of your life? Advice on this matter is accepted.
You know how you get so excited for an event or something so you build it up in your mind, romanticize it, and literally CANNOT WAIT for it to arrive? And then when it does, it always fails to live up to your expectations? This always happens to me. I always dream about something that's going to happen and I set these extremely high hurdles for it to surpass and it never does. Ever. So when in Paris, France with two of my best friends my weekend went above and beyond anything I had ever hoped, I was shocked.
All weekend I was saying, "I could not have planned it better in my mind." Seriously, that good.
Of course there is a price to be paid for such an amazing experience. And that price has been my day today.
First, I wake up with a third eye right in the middle of my two natural eyes...yes, a pimple the size of the state of Texas. It's massive. I've honestly never had one so big. Oh, and yeah did I mention I have another one right under my lip? If that's not enough, I woke up with a swollen lip from being stung by a bee in the middle of the night! I put an ice pack on it as I was getting ready this morning and that helped a little. But it was still really swollen. So at breakfast this morning, my friend gave me all of her Benadryll.
I wish she had only given me one or two.
Because I took two big pills. The swelling was so bad so we decided that was the right amount. Until about an hour and a half later, when I was still waiting for my lip to go down, I decided to take another pill. It did make the swelling go down, but it also made me extremely tired. And, unfortunately, I couldn't go to sleep because I had about 3 hours of class left, so I had to fight through the drowsiness.
And have you ever been forced to fight through being so extremely exhausted that you literally can't keep your eyelids open? I have. Many times during the school year when about 5 papers are due and you have practice two times a day and every single school club you're in decides they need to have emergency meetings all around the same time and you run out of gas and food and all you want to do is sleep for a week? Well this was worse than that. Way worse. Because I had to fight through the drowsiness, I fell into an altered state of being. The room was never stable ALL DAY LONG. It was as if chairs and couches could move all on their own. And instead of having one professor speaking in front of me, I had two of them walking around the room. Whenever I tried talking to my friends, they began to sway back in forth in front of me. I volunteered to act out Shakespeare for my professor and stood in the middle of the room and acted out a monologue for about 5 minutes.
So I tried to participate in class. And I took notes. And I just looked at the notes, and they are all a bunch of scribbles that weave in and out of lines all over the paper. Some lines go up, some go down, some go diagonally, some go backwards....you literally can't read anything. I'm not even sure if it's English....
It was literally like I was on drugs. It was so weird. One of my friends went to Amsterdam a few weeks ago and she got a bug bite that got swollen so she went into a drug store and asked them for Benadryll. The pharmacist started yelling and waving his hands rapidly, "What kind of place do you think this is?! What kind of person are you?! Benadryll is ILLEGAL here!!" Really? She was shocked. Even more so to find out that in the bar that night people were LEGALLY smoking weed. And Benadryll is illegal? Interesting.
Luckily, I was able to pass out at my desk while writing (starting and finishing) a paper on a book I was supposed to read this weekend but didn't. It was due in a few hours...well, since I fell asleep it was then due in one hour. Fortunately I woke up in enough time to read over my paper and find a bunch of stuff that didn't make any sense. So I quickly edited my thoughts and ran over to The Common Room to print out my paper. I had 5 minutes to run, print, and turn it in. I made it over there fine and started printing out my paper until....yep, you guessed it...the printer ran out of paper when I only had one page left to print! I was like, "Are you serious right now?!" So I tore out some notebook paper, hoped against hope that the printer would take it, and after about 15 tries at printing it on notebook paper, it worked! I was pretty impressed with myself.
So now I'm going to procrastinate even more and not read my Shakespeare play and not write my paper for tomorrow. Why? Because I'm so exhausted, drained, and just don't care about school right now. How can you care about school when you're in Europe having the time of your life? Advice on this matter is accepted.
Thursday, July 8, 2010
Evidence
Evidence that either I'm insane or St. Nicholas exists:
This morning I woke up early to go running with a friend. I don't think my head is screwed on quite right because I have been losing my keys at least once if not twice a day. And it's driving me nuts. So I made a promise to myself that I would put them on my nightstand right when I walk in every time I walk in. EVERY TIME. So at 6:30 this morning when I was supposed to be meeting my friend--yeah you guessed it--I couldn't find my keys. ANYWHERE. I turned my room inside out looking for them. Literally. I dumped out all of my bags and purses. I took all of my clothes out of my closet and off of my shelves. I took everything off of my bed--including my comforter which I carried into the other room and put onto our living room table to make sure it wasn't hiding in my bed. I cleared everything off my desk, unplugged my computer and moved that too, and looked all around my chair. I also checked my nightstand about 5 bajillion times. And I was so frustrated. They seriously had to have evaporated into thin air because I KNOW I had them last night. So I gave up and decided to take a break and run....and pray really hard to St. Nicholas.
So when I came back I asked the porter for an extra key. He said, "Alright I won't make you sign for it, but bring it back STRAIGHT AWAY." Oh great. This could take all day and then the porter will be hunting me down around campus. So I scour my room for another 15 minutes and although I'm 100% positive it's not on my nightstand because I already checked it 20 million times, I decide, "What the hell? I'll check it again."
And.........yes......they were on my nightstand. Wow. I've hit an all-time low.
So, thank you St. Nicholas. I'm thanking you because I believe in you. I believe that you magically put my keys there for me. And I believe this because I don't want to believe that I'm insane. But I almost do....
On a better note: I ran along the Thames River today. And saw three different boats: people in a four, a double, and a pair. And I got so excited. I just know that while I'm over here I have to row on the Thames. That's just an experience that needs to happen. So I was debating whether or not to say something to these people when all of a sudden my mouth yells out: "WHO DO YOU ROW FOR?!" They looked at me like I was crazy. The two women said a name, but I couldn't understand it.
"I'm sorry....WHAAAT!?"
"Llsnfneknanld"
"I'm sorry...I can't hear you." I could hear them fine--just couldn't understand them. They were speaking with marbles in their mouths, I swear.
"FKNElskdnfe"
"I apologize...can you spell that for me?"
After about 5 more minutes of yelling, I finally got the information from them. And I'm so excited! I hope it works out! These are the times that I'm glad I'm a bold person. Because not many people would have the guts (or weirdness) to yell from the banks of a river to people sitting in a boat. It's a little intimidating, to be honest. But I'm glad I did it.
Head of The Thames:
Oh yeah, and stuff I forgot to show you:
Don't make fun of me.
This morning I woke up early to go running with a friend. I don't think my head is screwed on quite right because I have been losing my keys at least once if not twice a day. And it's driving me nuts. So I made a promise to myself that I would put them on my nightstand right when I walk in every time I walk in. EVERY TIME. So at 6:30 this morning when I was supposed to be meeting my friend--yeah you guessed it--I couldn't find my keys. ANYWHERE. I turned my room inside out looking for them. Literally. I dumped out all of my bags and purses. I took all of my clothes out of my closet and off of my shelves. I took everything off of my bed--including my comforter which I carried into the other room and put onto our living room table to make sure it wasn't hiding in my bed. I cleared everything off my desk, unplugged my computer and moved that too, and looked all around my chair. I also checked my nightstand about 5 bajillion times. And I was so frustrated. They seriously had to have evaporated into thin air because I KNOW I had them last night. So I gave up and decided to take a break and run....and pray really hard to St. Nicholas.
So when I came back I asked the porter for an extra key. He said, "Alright I won't make you sign for it, but bring it back STRAIGHT AWAY." Oh great. This could take all day and then the porter will be hunting me down around campus. So I scour my room for another 15 minutes and although I'm 100% positive it's not on my nightstand because I already checked it 20 million times, I decide, "What the hell? I'll check it again."
And.........yes......they were on my nightstand. Wow. I've hit an all-time low.
So, thank you St. Nicholas. I'm thanking you because I believe in you. I believe that you magically put my keys there for me. And I believe this because I don't want to believe that I'm insane. But I almost do....
On a better note: I ran along the Thames River today. And saw three different boats: people in a four, a double, and a pair. And I got so excited. I just know that while I'm over here I have to row on the Thames. That's just an experience that needs to happen. So I was debating whether or not to say something to these people when all of a sudden my mouth yells out: "WHO DO YOU ROW FOR?!" They looked at me like I was crazy. The two women said a name, but I couldn't understand it.
"I'm sorry....WHAAAT!?"
"Llsnfneknanld"
"I'm sorry...I can't hear you." I could hear them fine--just couldn't understand them. They were speaking with marbles in their mouths, I swear.
"FKNElskdnfe"
"I apologize...can you spell that for me?"
After about 5 more minutes of yelling, I finally got the information from them. And I'm so excited! I hope it works out! These are the times that I'm glad I'm a bold person. Because not many people would have the guts (or weirdness) to yell from the banks of a river to people sitting in a boat. It's a little intimidating, to be honest. But I'm glad I did it.
Head of The Thames:
Oh yeah, and stuff I forgot to show you:
Don't make fun of me.
Sunday, July 4, 2010
I Really Did it This Time!!
For a person going to Oxford, I really am dumb.
Is it honestly that hard to mis-read something as simple as a time and date that you need to be somewhere? Guess so!
So I scheduled the wrong flight to Oxford. I thought I was really cool and everything that I got myself out of paying for a flight from KC to Dallas. So, instead I bought one ticket that connected from KC to DFW and I thought I was on the group flight.......but no. I scheduled my flight for A DAY LATER THAN I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE THERE. Can you believe that? No, me either.
So my dad and I tried to figure it out. We called American Airlines to see if I could switch my flight to a day earlier. First, they were going to charge us $250 just to push a few buttons to change my flight. No sir! That was not going to fly with us (hahaha, I'm so funny). So they waived that fee. Then, they told us that I booked my ticket at a great time and a great price (told you, Dad--and I was feeling really good about this compliment) but unfortunately, I would have to pay the ticket price for the other flight. Which was, I donno, an extra 700 DOLLARS! Hahaaa yeah right! I don't need to pay an extra 700 dollars just so someone older than me can tell me to do what I already know how to do. I'm pretty sure I can get myself from Kansas City, USA to Oxford, UK all on my own. Sort of.
So I called my program director and student advisor and they convinced me everything would be fine. And it was. Sort of. I still don't really know what all is going on with my classes or where ANYTHING is on campus (because I missed the whole "Intro" day) but whatevs. All I know is that I'm completely exhausted and got tipsy off of one little glass of champagne because I was sooooo dead tired and didn't have time to eat today. (The champagne was in celebration after our induction ceremony at Oxford where, yep you guessed it, I feel asleep....3 times.....and had dreams. One involved Harry Potter and another involved cabbages. Don't ask.) We had dinner afterwards where they served a different wine with every course. I was like, "Hey! I'm really starting to like Britain!" I traded some of my food for my neighbor's wine. I believe I am the winner in that transaction.
But really, I am very proud of myself for finding my way from KC to Oxford. I first landed in Big D after an hour and a half flight of the boy sitting next to me professing his love of and dedication to Jesus. Hey, don't get me wrong, I'm a Jesus fan just as much as the next person....just not when I'm trying to do my homework that I had all summer to do. Just sayin'. I guess it was my own fault in a way because I sat next to him because he was cute and I thought we could hit it off. Walked myself right into that one. Maybe that's a sign from God that I should be thinking less about boys and more about Him. Probably.
Then when I landed I had to find my other gate, which involved getting on the SkyLink and getting myself to another terminal and gate at DFW which, if you didn't know, is a massive airport. So I felt accomplished after that. Then I boarded a NINE HOUR FLIGHT to LondonHeathrow Airport and sat between a lady who loved her red wine and a little girl who probably loved Hannah Montana just as much as that lady who loved her red wine (we're talking a couple of bottles and at least 60 dollars worth of wine on the flight). She thought we were best friends after that! And the little girl was drivin' me nuts with "The Best of Both Worlds" by good ole' Miley Cyrus. In the middle of the flight I was beginning to think I got the worst of both worlds sitting between two females who were WAY out of my age range. I started wishing that there was something I had on the flight that I loved as much as those two loved wine and the beloved Disney Star who is currently trying to make the leap to real stardom (sorry, hunny, I'm not buyin' it). So I looked around.....but there were no boys. Only old ladies taking girls' trips abroad and European/Asian people who didn't speak English. Go figure. I slumped back into my chair and proceeded to watch 3 more movies while I put off my homework even more...which is also what I'm doing now.
Then, I successfully got off the plane...sort of. I left my beloved and expensive camera in my seat. So after I waited 30 minutes for everyone else to get off (the plane was loaded), I tried to re-enter when the nice British Airport Folk kindly informed me that it was against the law to re-enter a plane after you get off. I almost burst into tears. Convinced one of the 100+ people who got off the plane after me had seen my amazing camera and swiped it as they walked by, the airport people said they would go back on board and look for it. It was taking forever and I was getting so nervous I started shaking and my stomach hurt so bad! Mom and Dad were gonna kill me! That camera was expensive! I told God that if He let me have this camera back again I be really, really, extra good on this trip. And then I was like, "Crap. That was a sucky promise to make while you're in Europe. Oh well, I really want this camera." And then I got it back! And then I was really regretting my promise to be extra good.....but I'm gonna try and stick to it!
Then I found ALL of my bags at baggage claim and THEN found my way to the bus terminal! Which took about 30 minutes of walking down hallways underneath London Heathrow Airport and going up and down elevators. I was amazed I did it! Then I got on the bus, got off on THE RIGHT STOP in Oxford, found my room and everything! I'm so proud of myself. Look at me, world traveler, gettin' myself from country to country all alone.
Sunday, June 20, 2010
Note to Self: Start Thinking More
SO I took my kids to the pool the other day (the six kids + my brother I watch every Tuesday and Thursday) and I was reviewing my Oxford info booklet because I LEAVE IN TWO WEEKS!!!! :) :) :) And when I say review, I mean I finally read the booklet we were supposed to read first thing back when we got it in April. Hey, I'm pretty proud of myself for reading it at all. Anywho I was almost to the end when I read, "Required reading assignment with complimentary essay due upon arrival." I cringe a little. Ok...at least I have two weeks to read this book and crank out an essay. Totally do-able. Then I read that I have FIVE books to read plus an essay. FIVE BOOKS in, yeah in case you don't remember, TWO WEEKS. Ughhh..oh well. It's my own fault. Whatever.
So I'm still reading it when I get up to help the kids with something. Then, all of a sudden, my papers go flying! They could have flown into the chair, against the fence, into the yard next to the pool.......but no. As if by instinct, they make a bee-line for the pool. It was like they were saying, "Ahhh yes! Haley hasn't had a screw-up moment for at least a few hours, so here is our opportunity. Seize it and go for the pool. Hopefully we'll be unreadable by the time we make it in there." I scream and dive into the pool to get my precious Oxford materials. These are the plans for my whooooole stay there and include some very important documents. Like umm say my flight information including my confirmation number that I absolutely cannot lose. Oh and yeah the piece of paper from my program director that says I am a student at Oxford; I can't get in OR out of the country without it. These and about 5 other equally important and informative papers decided to go for a little dip in the pool. I might as well have taped my passport to my back and used it as a fin as I swam! WHAT was I THINKING taking this stuff to the pool?!?! I wish I knew. So I get them out and everything is in tact. Luckily. "So, ok, I lay them out to dry," I think.
I lay out a few white papers along with a blue one and a purple one on the white plastic pool chair next to me. (These specific details are important, I promise.) When I go back a few minutes later to check on them (they are a little dry and are threatening to go back into the pool again) I notice the purple and blue papers have successfully dyed the white plastic chair.
This is when I throw my hands up in the air and start banging my head against the fence. I look around to see if anyone has noticed as I reluctantly put my papers away and angle the chair away from anyone at the pool.
I finally retire to laying down and not doing anything. I can't possibly screw up anything if I'm not doing anything right??
And I haven't started reading yet. Maybe tomorrow.....afternoon.
Or the next day.
So I'm still reading it when I get up to help the kids with something. Then, all of a sudden, my papers go flying! They could have flown into the chair, against the fence, into the yard next to the pool.......but no. As if by instinct, they make a bee-line for the pool. It was like they were saying, "Ahhh yes! Haley hasn't had a screw-up moment for at least a few hours, so here is our opportunity. Seize it and go for the pool. Hopefully we'll be unreadable by the time we make it in there." I scream and dive into the pool to get my precious Oxford materials. These are the plans for my whooooole stay there and include some very important documents. Like umm say my flight information including my confirmation number that I absolutely cannot lose. Oh and yeah the piece of paper from my program director that says I am a student at Oxford; I can't get in OR out of the country without it. These and about 5 other equally important and informative papers decided to go for a little dip in the pool. I might as well have taped my passport to my back and used it as a fin as I swam! WHAT was I THINKING taking this stuff to the pool?!?! I wish I knew. So I get them out and everything is in tact. Luckily. "So, ok, I lay them out to dry," I think.
I lay out a few white papers along with a blue one and a purple one on the white plastic pool chair next to me. (These specific details are important, I promise.) When I go back a few minutes later to check on them (they are a little dry and are threatening to go back into the pool again) I notice the purple and blue papers have successfully dyed the white plastic chair.
This is when I throw my hands up in the air and start banging my head against the fence. I look around to see if anyone has noticed as I reluctantly put my papers away and angle the chair away from anyone at the pool.
I finally retire to laying down and not doing anything. I can't possibly screw up anything if I'm not doing anything right??
And I haven't started reading yet. Maybe tomorrow.....afternoon.
Or the next day.
I think I need to get this and tape it all over my room, car, locker room, and body. Haha but seriously, I'm glad things like this happen to me: I rarely ever get embarrassed or mad and always get to laugh at myself. It makes life a lot more fun.
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