opazazzyzenClumsy and Comical

I’ve always been pretty good about occupying myself; I’m also easily entertained so it makes for a great combination.

Although quick side story because my mom would tell you I’m bull shitting. I’ll admit this “self entertaining” thing came with age. You see for the first year of my life, I wouldn’t nap or sleep through the night. I would always cry for the mere fact I was bored and “wanted to party” (as my mom says).

Now that I reclaimed my character I can move on.

Today while walking to class, I was doing what I typically do: watch people creepily as they walk pass me. (Actually let’s just call it being “observant”). It’s always entertaining to do this because people can be very interesting.

My favorite type of person to watch as they go to class is the runner. You have to picture the runner the way I see them: heavy book bag pulled tight against their body, tennis shoes tied tight, electric watch quickly ticking away at their side and they are RUNNING, running with a purpose!

I’m personally a big fan of the speed walker. I have been a speed walker several times this quarter because 1) I either run into someone I know on the way to class and take up too much time or 2) I don’t want to leave my bed/TV; therefore I leave too late for class. As a speed walker, I usually have to remove my jacket because I’m breaking a sweat. I should also wear a helmet because my big feet are just asking to be tripped over.

The ipod-wearers are my least favorite people to watch. They are so mysterious and cut off from the rest of the world (obviously trying to be emo and misunderstood). I want to walk up to these people, pluck out their earbuds, yell “I like pink elephants!” (or something just as random) and run away quickly.

My second favorite person to watch is the life-is-perfect-smilers. These are the people who walk around with big, goofy grin. They are obviously thinking about something you would find very entertaining; unfortunately they won’t shout out what they are thinking because society says that’s weird. I might not know what is going on in their head but at least these random smiles are contagious.

The no purpose walkers should probably walk with the life-is-perfect-smilers. The no purpose walkers usually shuffle their feet to class, have their hood pulled up and look down at the ground. You just want to shake them and yell, “IT WILL GET BETTER!” Maybe if the life-is-perfect-smilers yell what they are thinking about, then the no purpose walkers would take down their hood and smile.

So whatever type of walker you are, do me a favor and at least be a walker with a purpose.

Last night from 10:00-2:00 a.m. I entered the magical world of GLOW BOWLING!

I must say an interesting array of people came out of the corners for Glow Bowling. I saw families who probably get together every week to enjoy the pitchers of soda, escape their screaming children and catch up on each other’s lives. There were 14-year-old boys who were littered in tattoos and believed they were hard asses at bowling and life. One of the boys even had a tattoo of the state of Ohio with “614” (Columbus’ area code) inked inside; he’s going places. The same 14-year-old gang thought bowling well meant going into the system and changing all of their scores to strikes.

My favorite group was the parents who brought their 16-years-olds along so they could attempt to bond. The parents were throwing the fist bumps and doing victory dances after every bowl. After their 16-year-old would bowl they would shout, “That’s my boy!” and stretch out for a high-five.

The group I was with last night didn’t fit into any of these categories; we were college students seeking out a different atmosphere than the bars. My friends grabbed some pitchers of beer and I grabbed a pitcher of Sprite (this really shouldn’t shock you if you read my last post).  We then staked out lane nine and prepared for six games of bowling!

(This is the time I brag about my amazing bowling skills.) I ended up getting numerous strikes and spares to get named the bowling champion by my drunkest friend (yea, maybe that doesn’t hold much weight but I’ll still take the label). I have to admit though, the more games we played the more tired my arm got and the worse I bowled.

At one point, we decided as a group that we were going to give our main arms a break and begin bowling left handed. For most of us this actually was an improvement from our recent bowling. For others we found ourselves doing weird foot dances trying to find the right steps and staring at the bowl in amazement thinking, “How does this work in the opposite hand?!”

By our last game my arms were tired and my eyes were ready to go to bed; so I decided to try a grandma bowl. I threw the ball with both hands while practically sitting on my bum. When it eventually made it to the end of the lane I stood up and said, “Grandma is tired.”

I might have been exhausted by the end of the night but I would do it again. (Especially with the hope of witnessing more than one person drop the ball behind them mid-swing and watching it go flying past an innocent bystander…)

Food and I have a love/hate relationship.

I love it.

It hates me.

Our relationship can be compared to the well-known story of “The Giraffe and the Food Tree.”

W-h-h-h-a-t! You’ve never heard of “The Giraffe and the Food Tree,” (the tree that bears all sorts of foods)? In that case I’ll give you the shortened version of the tale:

“The Giraffe and the Food Tree”

A giraffe trots up to the food tree, just like all generations before him had. He expected to enjoy a loaf of bread that he could see at the bottom most branch of the tree. He gobbled up the bread and ended up getting sick! A few days later he was admiring a gallon of milk a little further into the tree. Once again he got very sick. He gave it a few more days and then decided to try to reach a burger patty far into the tree. He stretched his neck up and ate the burger patty. You guessed it- he got sick.

Finally the giraffe came to the conclusion that he must be one of those rare animals that could only eat the things furthest in the tree and hardest to reach. Sure enough his theory was right. For the rest of his days he would have to struggle finding things to eat because he could only eat the gluten-free, dairy-free, red meat-free and low in fat foods.

-THE END-

And there you have it, the story of “The Giraffe and the Food Tree.” That must have resonated somewhere in your memory, right? No? Alright, I’ll admit it. I totally made up the story in order to make a parallel between the giraffe and myself (not sure why anyone would want to be compared to a giraffe but it was the only animal I could think of that could stretch up like silly putty).

You see I’m the giraffe! And everyday I struggle with my body to feel ok and make sure to eat the right things.

Because of this, I have named myself “The Queen of Lent!” Over the past few years I have given up gluten, dairy, red meats, fast food, alcohol and caffeine.

Slowly I’ve become ok with this but as a college student it often gets in the way of life. (Can you imagine being at a bar, surrounded by drunk people, and trying to get hyper off of Sprites?)

So give me this one thing: let me be the Queen of Lent.

Over the weekend when I was hiking around Hocking Hills I was given a peek into the world of pregnant women. This sneak peak was brought on by my need to keep my Nikon nice and warm; basically I zipped up my baby into my jacket (Is that child abuse?).

What a scary image for a 22 year old college student- luckily it’s just a Nikon baby! It was actually my mom who brought the look of my “condition” to my attention (“You look pregnant.” AHH!).

I decided to take advantage of my costume and conduct an experiment. I was curious to see if I would notice a change in the way people treated me. Surprisingly I did notice a few advantages and disadvantages.

Advantages:

1. You are always given the right away. I guess when someone sees a protruding belly they figure if they don’t let you go first across a bridge they are an ass hole.

2. You are always given those “thank you for gracing the world with a baby” smiles. I’m going to go ahead and insert in that these smiles usually came from women.

3. You get to cut in front of everyone in line for the latrines. People are probably thinking, “If I don’t let this woman go first, she’ll probably burst all over me.”

4. You get looks of envy as people realize you’re continuing an active lifestyle while 7 months pregnant. I might have been a fake but hopefully I motivated some people to get healthy.

Disadvantages:

1. You receive really disapproving looks when you slip and almost fall on ice (if you fall you’ll dent the baby’s head).

2. You receive really disapproving looks when you are hiking on a dangerous path (if you fall you’ll dent the baby’s nose in).

3. You receive really disapproving looks when you almost fall down the mountain (if you fall you’ll dent the baby’s legs/arms/elbows).

3. You receive really disapproving looks when you eat yellow snow and wild mushrooms. (Oh, you aren’t supposed to do that regardless if you’re pregnant or not?)

So from this experiment I can now claim two things: while most people find pregnancy something to marvel over, they also see it as needing to live a very cautious lifestyle. I guess one day I’ll have to stop my secret career as a Nascar driver…

This Valentine’s Day will be spent a little differently than other ones- it will be spent with my mother.

For all of you who already judged before I could put in the disclaimer, “Before you judge, let me explain,” pinch yourself. My mom and I both happen to be alone this Valentine’s Day weekend (her husband is in Asia and my boyfriend lives in California). So instead of sitting at home watching Serendipity while eating a gallon of ice cream, we decided to head to Hocking Hills and go hiking for the weekend. Problem solved.

In no way will this be my worst Valentine’s Day. In fact I think it will be quite enjoyable (especially compared to what I consider my worst Valentine’s Day).

My worst Valentine’s Day was when I was in sixth grade. I had been dating a boy named Nick for a few weeks. It was pretty serious (I mean come on, we had at least three conversations in those few weeks AND waved at each other frequently). A few days before Valentine’s Day rolled around, Nick wrote me a note, which probably went something like this:

Hi.

I can’t drive and my mom doesn’t know I have a girlfriend because I’m not old enough. So my friend Tyler is going with his mom to get your Valentine’s Day present for me.

What do you want?

Luv ya,

Nick

P.S. I like the duck earrings you’re wearing today.

My sixth grade self probably told him that he didn’t need to get me anything. (I was more than likely thinking ahead and figured not getting anything would outweigh the embarrassment of my boyfriend giving me something IN PERSON). Unfortunately on the big day my boyfriend had my gift in hand. He walked up to me, gave me a plastic CVS bag and walked away…

Yes, a plastic CVS bag was the gift-wrap.

Anyways, my girlfriends surrounded me and I opened up the plastic grocery bag. Inside was a box of chocolates, gel pens, nail polish and one of those multi-colored, tattoo bracelets that were crazy popular back in late 1990s. Oh, he also accidentally left his wallet in there from when he had his friend purchase the gift[s].

At this part of the story the whole event sounds pretty innocent; in fact if I stopped here it might sound kind of cute and you would probably think I was a mean troll in sixth grade for calling this my worst Valentine’s Day ever. Again don’t judge; listen to the whole story.

A few hours later a rumor started around our sixth grade class: Nick had gotten all of my Valentine’s Day gifts, except for the chocolates, by stealing from his younger sister. The pressure must have been too hard to handle because soon enough Nick admitted to me that I in fact had stolen goods. It was at this point that our 3-week relationship ended and he and his friends called me a “freezer” for a few weeks afterwards. (Urbandictionary.com explains what a “freezer” is perfectly: “A prude; someone who “freezes” all the action or won’t put out; someone who is abnormally reluctant to engage in sexual activity.”)

I’m going to assume that these young boys didn’t really understand what they were saying when they called me a freezer; they did know how to get under my skin though. Whenever I walked out of the room they would ask the teacher to “open a window” because it just got warm in the classroom. When I returned to the classroom they would start to shiver and ask to close the window.

So whether you’re in sixth grade and terrified of what Valentine’s Day will bring, single and celebrating “Singles Awareness Day,” happily taken or even spending this weekend with your mother, I hope you have a wonderful Valentine’s weekend and don’t steal.