Saturday, March 29, 2008

Missed connections

While studying today, one of my friends from school came over and started talking to me. I was quite relieved to talk to someone because I was about to reach my quota of life in contracts. He said, "I can't study anymore. I don't want to study anymore. I just want to fall in love and brunch." He then proceeded to tell me that this upcoming wednesday he has a date with a girl that he has never met. Apparently, his roommate posted a personal ad for him on Craig's List as a joke and a decent girl responded, so his roommate is going to fix them dinner & be all matre'de. We got to talking about Craig's List. Did you know that there is a portion of Craig's List called "Missed Connections"? It's completely dedicated to people posting about someone that they see on a regular basis or have seen in passing that they wish they would get the nerve to talk to them, or wish they would've talked to them while they had the chance. It's weird to think that Craig's List has a whole section dedicated to the documentation of lost opportunities and individual hesitations. People post their hopes on Craig's List, but it's like they preemptively acknowledge that they lost their chance and that moment will never return. It's just sad to me. Granted, some of these people post their "missed connection" simply because they want to hook up (even though there is a whole nother section of Craig's List entitled "Casual Encounters" for these individuals), there are obviously some individuals that were truly impacted by such a happenstance encounter with an individual that they didn't even approach. For example:

"At the Field Museum today our eyes met, more than once. I felt it. I know you did too as you caught me, looking for you around every corner of the exhibit. You looked stunning in those black boots with your green jacket tied around your waist. All I could manage was a smile as we both were leaving. Give me a shout back to save me from wondering..."

"We kept on eyeing each other even though people sat next to us. Wish we could have introduced ourselves."

I don't know. I think that this is just fascinating stuff. So much so that I'm having a difficult time sorting out exactly what I want to say about all of this. Maybe it's because I can relate to these missed connections so well. Not necessarily in the realm of experiencing this overwhelming emotion in passing with a stranger (although I've definitely experienced this before. I mean seriously, haven't you?), but just in life in general. Or in relationships in general. I feel like there are so many relationships, whether it be with family or friends or dudes or dogs or whatever, that I have let be missed connections. I either don't take the initiative to keep up with the relationship, or I just let my passive and insecure nature overcome me and keep me from actually pursuing or pushing a relationship to that deeper level with another person. I can think of maybe 2 or 3 people that I have actually worked at the relationship and set aside my apathy to really strive for a connection. That's pathetic. Why do we get so guarded and so nonchalant about these kind of things? I mean, seriously, one little step could pretty much alter your entire fate. Think about all of these people on Craig's List. They realize that, which is why they are now trying to backpeddle fate to see what might've been. I don't know. Maybe I should've waited to write this when I wasn't so brain dead and actually had the time to sort out my thoughts.

I guess what I'm saying is that I don't want to have any missed connections in my life. Or, I guess a more accurate declaration would be that I don't want to have anymore missed connections in my life. I think this is going to be a bigger task than I realize. You know, you just have to go for it. Who gives a rip. (what does that mean? Is it short for something? I never really knew.)

Oh, also when I was reading through these I rather narcissistically wondered, "Are any of these about me?" I know that's incredibly self-centered, but seriously, you can't help but wonder. It's weird to think that maybe I was someone's missed connection, or that I was the person that left such an impact that they went searching for me on Craig's List. It's incredibly flattering, if you think about it. Someone was so intrigued by you that they are looking for a way to bring you into their life. I know to some degree it could reach a level of stalkerdom, but it's still pretty crazy. I wouldn't mind being someone's missed connection; the only downside is thinking about the fact that you're not as hung up about the situation as the other individual is. Except if it was a mutually missed connection. My friend that I was talking to actually said that he knows a guy that posted a "missed connection" and the actual girl responded. They ended up dating for 3 years or so. Pretty incredible. As someone on the site said, "I know it's pretty stupid for me to post this, but it's Craig's List so anything can happen!" or something along those lines.

Also, this got me to thinking, I shared a moment with a dog yesterday. It had his head sticking out of the backseat passenger window of an older Honda Civic. It was a beagle. I really like beagles. Should I post this on Craig's List? I'm so lonely, I shared a moment with a dog.

Saturday, March 15, 2008

What's Your Metaphor?

This pretty much sums up my life right now. You could substitute pretty much any element, accessory, weight control attempt, extracurricular activity, hope, or dream for the balloon animal that I am trying to wield and control to form some impeccably made teddy bear. Yep.


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Does This Thing Have 4-Wheel Drive?

What I got for Christmas:

fondu set (for cheese!)
a palm pilot that is strictly for the use of presenting me with sudoku puzzles
an orange peeler
a star cookie cutter
a "law school survival kit" (which will come in handy if I'm actually in law school this next semester--complete with a red swingline stapler)
my grandma telling me that she would disown me if I actually got a tattoo, literally, out of the will disown me

My brother got a wii for Christmas, and we decided to create lots of little mii's to run around. We made Teddy Roosevelt, Rudy Giuliani, Kim Jung Ill (spelling?), and one of those kids you always see on the commercials asking for donations for the village (we called this one "adopt mii").

I just saw a 3 second clip from the remake of "King Kong" and I think I might want to see it. The girl that Kong lusts after looks really happy when Kong snaps her out of her apartment and carries her around. She's not screaming; it's quite to the contrary. She's rather enjoying herself and almost looks like she's going to turn the movie into a musical.

My brother was reading the paper today and saw an article about a guy in Frankfort, Indiana that just bought a truck for $25,000 and he paid for it strictly in coins. Quarters and dollar coins. That's 100,000 quarters. And this isn't the first time he's bought a car in coins. He bought a dodge ram and a dodge neon 13 years ago for $34,000 and paid for those vehicles in all coins. I've decided that I'm going to stop using my debit card and paying strictly in coins from now on. I'm going to embrace the fact that the US mint has provided us with those beautiful Sacajewa coins.

the johnny appleseed of coins

My Christmas Wish for Dinociety

Yesterday I was at Soma thinking about what I needed to be thinking about when studying for my Torts exam when I ran into a my fellow law student and friend, Pete. I went up to Pete and asked, "Hey Pete, how gung ho are you studying for tomorrow?" "How gung ho?" he replied. "Well, right now I'm looking up the Bedford Wal-Mart on Google Maps so that I can go and pick up an N64 with 27 games that I bought off of Craig's List from a redneck guy who thinks that I'm some homosexual internet predator. So, about that gung ho." From there Pete and I decided that we really didn't need to study and we talked about other stuff as if we had a life outside of law school. it was kind of like imagining kids talking about the stock market with their plastic cash registers. Pete asked me what I was going to ask for for Christmas. I had no idea. That's nothing new for me though because I rarely want anything. I feel like my dad used to get and might still get mad about me never wanting anything for Christmas or my birthday. So I decided that this year I would start thinking of stuff that I wanted." Here's what I have so far:

1. a counter--like what they have at theaters to find out how many more people they can let in. They make a clicking noise. I would just go around counting things all day long. That would make me oh so happy.

2. one of those things that you put your deposit in at the bank when you go through the drive-thru. That tube; not the tube that sucks it up, but the tube that has that revolvable lid and smarties used to magically appear from within.

3. an N64 with Mario Kart, and Zelda; and I want my brother to play Zelda while I just sit and watch him beat it.

4. saddle shoes

5. more kitchen toys; preferably more little gadgets for baking. I really want a sifter. I used to play with the one at my grandma's all of the time. I loved that thing. I also want a wooden spoon. Recipes always call for me to use wooden spoons, and I never have one.

6. Tickets to one of the Spice Girls reunion concerts

Also, yesterday I went to Backstreet Mission to look for something to do, and I found this book called "If the Dinosaurs Came Back." We all know my stance on dinos, so I'm not going to get into that, but lately I've been kind of warming up to the little guys. (babies, dogs, and dinos...weird) Anyways, this book has just gotten me even more confused about the whole race. Here's what the book says dinosaurs could do it they came back (my thoughts are in parentheses):

-carry your dad to work and back (but not your mom?)
-we wouldn't need lawn mowers (don't families have neighbor kids or their own kids for that?)
-house painters wouldn't need any more ladders
-they would scare away robbers (this is probably the best contribution they would have, really)
-they would make it easy for farmers to plow their fields (don't farmers have kids for that?)
-they would help lumberjacks chop down trees (I don't think any more trees need to be chopped down)
-they could help fire fighters put out fires (weren't dinosaurs scared of fire? I thought cavemen always used fire as a defense mechanism against the ferocious creatures. And what about fire breathing dinosaurs?)
-they could help build big skyscrapers (come on, dinosaurs aren't that big)
-they would make great ski slopes (is this reliable? I can just see so many tortious law suits as a result of dino slopes)
-they could take swimmers on rides at the beach (and then never come back...)
-they could rescue kites stuck in very tall trees (okay, this one is good too)
-mountain climbers would have new mountains to climb (mountain climbers have new mountains to climb when they come home and their wife wants a divorce because that mountain climber's never around)
-they could be a big help at the circus (I don't understand...)
-they could help librarians get books from the top shelf (apparently ladders no longer exist, even though dinos are chopping down enough trees to produce ladders for painters, librarians, and firefighters)
-dentists would have plenty of teeth to work on (the picture of this one has a dentist lying inside a t-rex's mouth on top a bed of bottom row molars--that's just not safe)
-giraffes would have someone to look up to (animals don't care about heros. we care about making animals into heros, like Simba)
-they could push away rain clouds so the sun would always shine (first of all, clouds are not made of mallow puff and therefore cannot just be shoved around. second of all, if it didn't rain we'd all be dead. way to go dinos)
-they would make great pets for people who love dinosaurs (this is supposedly the best reason of all. did this person not see Jurassic Park?)

As Becky pointed out yesterday, it appears that dinosaurs would be taking away a lot of jobs. Dinosaurs would become the new Chinese, or the Indian (from India) for the U.S. I think I want to like dinosaurs, but it's just not working out.

Jesus is My Homeboy

You know how sometimes you just don't want to go to church because it just sounds boring and you know you have so much to be doing for the day and it's all rainy and gloomy like it usually is on sundays (which I always thought God did that on purpose to test your dedication on the sabbath) and your sinuses are all swollen and you have 4 really big exams and you're surrounded by people who are non-stop studying and you just don't have time for God? Those are the best times to go to church. We sang this song today at church. How could this not just make you happy and thankful for everything that God has done so that you could be so busy in life? I was a little disappointed that I wasn't back home at church so that I could just jump up and down and clap and run around like those crazy people used to do (that's what you get when you grow up in a church with a pentecostal background with people speaking tongues all around you), but unfortunately I go to a church with a methodist background and they're so suppressed. Why wouldn't you go buck-wild when you sing this song and realize what you're singing?

I'm so ready to study 24/7 for the next 2 weeks and kill my exams now. Yeah, this song is the shit.

In Christ alone my hope is found;
He is my light, my strength, my song;
This cornerstone, this solid ground,
Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.
What heights of love, what depths of peace,
When fears are stilled, when strivings cease.
My comforter, my all in all--
Here in the love of Christ I stand.

In Christ alone, who took on flesh, fullness of God in helpless babe.
This gift of love and righteousness,
Scorned by the ones He came to save.
Till on that cross as Jesus died,
The wrath of God was satisfied;
For every sin on Him was laid--
Here in the death of Christ I live.

There in the ground his body lay,
Light of the world by darkness slain;
Then bursting forth in glorious day,
Up from the grave He rose again.
And as He stands in victory,
Sins curse has lost its grip on me;
For I am His and He is mine--
Bought with the precious blood of Christ.

No guilt in life, no fear in death--
This is the power of Christ in me;
From life's first cry to final breath,
Jesus commands my destiny.
No power of hel, no scheme of man,
Can ever pluck me from His hand;
Till He returns or cals me home--
Here in the power of Christ I'll stand.

Just Stuff I'm Thinking About

Why was it such a big deal when you spilled milk on yourself as a kid? I remember this one time when my brothers and I were sitting at "the bar" in our kitchen having our late night snack of oreos and milk (yes, we really had an organized "late night snack" every night and it usually consisted of something incredibly unhealthy. Looking back I realize that perhaps these late night snacks contributed immensely to my childhood obesity, which might be why my mother always snuck in "reduced fat" oreos on my plate) and I spilled my milk all over my pj's. My mom flipped. She told me not to move, like there was an arachnid crawling on me or some poisonous creature that could strike at any moment. She told the boys to run as fast as they could to the laundry room and grab as many towels as they could find, and then whoever wasn't getting the towels to get me new pajamas. It was quite the fiasco. I thought that maybe the milk had this power to eat away my skin like some sort of acid or if the milk was not contained within a certain amount of time and was exposed to the air rather than my belly it would form some crazy mutant that would take over our kitchen and eventually the world if it was not contained. I mean, sure, its no fun when you spill something and you want to clean it up as fast as you can, but why is milk such a big deal?

Yesterday I finally cleaned out my voicemail on my phone. I had 16 unheard messages. The call to my voicemail lasted 7:43.

On Thanksgiving I made a 2-year-old frown. It was probably the saddest thing I've ever seen, and all I could do was laugh.

At school I was talking to this kid and he started talking about "doing the deed" (honestly, the conversation was headed nowhere near that topic) and I said something along the lines of, "well, I really wouldn't know," and he goes, "Wait. Really? Are you? Seriously, you're joking, right? No way." I responded that I was a pretty strong Christian and that I don't really believe in that sort of thing before marriage and whatnot, and then he proceeded to "not believe I was a Christian because I wasn't lame." Clearly, this was all a bit offensive. First of all, I was so confused about how I of all people could be perceived as a "ho." I mean, seriously there is not a "ho" bone in my body. Nothing in my appearance suggests ho, and I'm pretty sure that my childlike personality cannot be ho-like because how many kids do you know that are hobags? Plus, I was kind of mad at myself for not seeming like a Christian. I wasn't so much offended that he didn't think I was a Christian as much as I was upset that I wasn't portraying the image of Christ in my life and emitting Christ's love unto others. It really made me evaluate how I act at school and in other public places or even with friends and family. Why would I want to hide my Christianity from others? It's such a huge part of me that it should be very apparent when people meet me that I'm a Christian. I think I'm going to change that.

I know Thanksgiving is over, but I really feel that we should not bottle up all of our gratitude into one gluttonous day of thanks and food, and it get lost in the green bean casserole. While driving back to Bloomington on Saturday morning, realizing that my life was about to be over for the next 3 weeks as I dedicated every waking (and sleeping) hour to the study of law I just started giving thanks. It's so easy to forget the great things that God blesses you with when you're tired and been groomed to have such a cynical outlook on the world, as they do in law school. I started to remember that night when I received the call from the Dean asking if I wanted to go to law school. I realized that I would not even be in the position of preparing for finals if it weren't for God's intervention. I reminded myself that even though things are not going the way I want them to go, or that I am stressed or unhappy or am experiencing much hardship and confusion and anxiety in my life that I should still give thanks. If there's anything that I've learned from my past it's that it's the hard stuff that ends up giving you the most joy in life. If it weren't for the hardships life would be so mundane. I am pretty glad that I always seem to have something bad going on in my life because I know that it's not going to last forever, and when it's over God's going to bless me in a way that I never expected. I really love giving thanks. Now, I hope that the way God blesses me is by helping me Ace my finals.

Kids Say the Darndest Things

One of the extracurricular activities that I take part in here at the law school is "OLL," or Outreach for Legal Literacy, where we go into 5th classrooms and teach kids about the U.S. legal system. I was really excited to do this because I really like teaching. It's so rewarding and brings me such genuine joy. Plus, I remembered when I was in elementary school and the high schoolers came over and would teach us or put on a Christmas musical spectaculare and I thought they were the coolest people on the planet. I wanted to be that for these kids...the cool law school student that comes and teaches law.

Today, our lesson was on the 14th amendment--equal protection and affirmative action. Our lesson plan suggested that we play "marsopoly" the game where centuries of racial tensions, segregation, and discrimination come to life as you and your friends try to create a utopian society--but watch out for those supreme diktats who make up arbitrary rules that keep you from being integrated into society! (the actual rules of the game are too difficult to explain, and I still have yet to figure out how to really play the game. All I knew is that I got to bully around 5th graders for the hour)

Jared made these great hazard cards that were to be issued to certain groups in order to hinder their efforts to achieve the perfect community. Some of the "best hits" of hazard cards included, "Daniel Stern comes to town to be grand marshall of the town bicentennial parade. He robs the bank with sticky gloves, and "high school basketball team turns into wooves...teen wooves." Just before I was going to make the orange team, who was on the verge of bankruptcy due to our incessant bullying, do 10 jumping jacks and grass-pickers, I made them pay 25 "Paino Pesos" to the other 3 teams. That was all it took.

CRASH! "What was that?" my fellow teacher asked. All of the sudden, one of the citizens of team orange shot up from his desk after throwing said desk over, kicked the trash can, and then moved on to the fan leaned up against the wall where he proceeded to kick his foot into it over and over. Then he stopped, looked at the "supreme diktats", and said, "Shut the F*** up, you A**holes!"

"Well kids, we just witnessed how inequality can control our emotions. And what do we think of inequality and the importance of the 14th amendment?" "Next week we're going to talk about your right to protection and self-defense."

Kids DO say the darndest things--even if they make you fear for your personal safety.

Pen on Face

As I was writing notes to myself in the margin of one of my books and I was returning my right hand to its position on my chin partly holding it up and partly contributing to my intellectual prowess my pen swiped the side of my face. I didn't want to just start searching for where it might have been and rub my face until it was all red and go to class looking like I'd just eaten an everlasting gobstopper and reached the tomato soup when the malfunction occurred, so I wrote on my hand "pen on face." That way I would remember to wash off the pen I had gotten on my face. After I got to class and forgot to stop off in the restroom to wipe off the pen on my face I realized that not only did I have pen on my face, but I also had it on my hand too. And where would I write "pen on hand" to remind myself that I needed to wash the pen off of my hand?

After class I got the pen off of my face and semi-off my hand. Then I went back upstairs and was reading again and marking up the margins when my pen made contact with my face again. I feel like there are some people out there who always get pen on their face or hi-liter on their nose, but I'm not one of them. This never happens to me. What are the chances that I would go probably 7 years without getting pen on my face and today I get ink on my chin twice? So, I traced over the left over "pen on face" that I had previously written on my hand with fresh ink.

While I looked at the writing on my hand I wondered if people were looking at it trying to see what was written on my hand. I thought someone could think that it said "prima facie," which is a frequently used legal term. Then I got to thinking about the time when I joined the "Pen 15" club. Well, actually, I joined the "Pen 15" club every year from 6th-11th grade. I honestly never caught on, and I never remembered what it was. Someone would ask me (the first person that asked me was Sam Miller in Ms. Bushnell's 6th grade class) and I would know that I shouldn't do it, but I couldn't remember why I shouldn't do it, and the culprit would always be able to talk me in to doing it. It was kinda like that "game" that teachers gave you every year the day before Christmas break for a time filler so they wouldn't have to teach something that you wouldn't remember anyways with all of those riddle drawings that when solved gave you the name of a Christmas carol. I always got the same ones wrong, every year. You would think that I would write down the answer somewhere so that I wouldn't forget about it. Actually, I think I wrote it on my hand, but then I saw that I had pen on my hand, so I washed it off.

A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes

Two nights ago I had this dream. It was a culmination of everything that's happening in my life right now...well, except for the weed...and the bears.

So it all started with me hanging out with some friends, who I think were mostly from high school and with whom I wasn't particularly friends with while in high school or thereafter. Anyways, I get home to my old house and my mom has this subpoena/blackmail letter with pictures of me smoking pot and being drunk and and all that ballyhoo but the thing is the pictures were just of me hanging out. There was no alcohol or any illegal substance in sight. Attached with the picture was this letter saying that if I didn't testify at this trial then these pictures would be released and my reputation ruined. (this is not how a real subpoena works, kids) So this trial was of a kid that I apparently worked with at Sam's Club (where I have never worked, nor been a member) and he was killed and they thought that because I worked with him at Sam's Club, in different departments, and apparently went to high school with him but had never talked to him in either environment that I would be this crucial link or that I had something to do with his death (which I didn't). So I told the people to go ahead and release the pictures because I didn't care and I hadn't done anything wrong but then I ended up at the trial anyways. (confused?) But, the trial wasn't in a courtroom, it was in an auditorium where stage performances would take place. I'm sitting in the audience with my mom and my Crim Law professor gets up and is trying to get everyone's attention and is dressed in some crazy costume with a horn that those clowns that don't talk use to communicate. So I'm sitting there, and this person hands me their jacket and I'm like, "I don't know you. I don't want your jacket." And then I unfold the wadded jacket and inside are approximately 10 bears that are the size of hamsters, or a little bigger. They were crazy. They had the bear paws with the long claws but they were so little. They started running around the courtroom theater and one of them curled up all cuddly in my sweatshirt that I had set on the floor because I had gotten hot, and another crawled up my clothes and his claws really dug in to my sweater and he just hung there like a mountain climber. Then this handicap girl in a wheelchair with those throat respirator gets up on stage to testify and she shows this weird video and then talks about how she's in love with this guy that's has apparently been killed and that I somehow know but dont' know (who, by the way, is actually alive and is sitting in a wheelchair with one of those crazy halo things that they give you when you've broken your spinal cord). So then when this girl gets off the stage I hear my professor mispronounce my name (as he always does--Meggie Pino) and I get out of my seat and start walking up to the stage. While walking up there some dude says under his breath out the side of his mouth, "Good luck following that one." So I get up on the "witness stand" and instead of asking me questions about this guy's death (who obviously is not dead) these valley girls start asking me questions about relationships, and in particular threw out these hypotheticals about "what would you think if the girl in the wheelchair and the guy in the wheelchair dated? What would you say to them getting married?" I had them repeat the questions a few times and my crim law prof was trying to wave me down to say that I shouldn't answer the questions as though they would be detrimental to the case and my defense and that I would end up incriminating myself. So I responded, "well, I think it's fine if they date but if they find out it doesn't work then they shouldn't feel pressured try and make it work just because society thinks 2 handicapped people should be together (what is this logic?). And I think that if 2 people love each other and get along and have fun and you know, really like each other, then they should just go for it, and if these 2 want to get married they should be allowed to." Then I looked over at my professor who was just shaking his hand as though I had just moved my king into "check mate."

(enter one clogged nostril that required me to flip sides so that it could take a break and the other nostril could have a turn at being stuffed full of mucus, leading to the onset of my consciousness and the abrupt ending of my dream)

When I Grow Up, I Want To Be (Fill in the Blank)

Growing up I never really had any normal ambitions. I never wanted to be successful. I felt bad when we had to fill out those information sheets on the first day of school in elementary school, or when we went around and introduced ourselves in high school and the question was asked regarding what we wanted to be when we grew up, or what we wanted to go to college for and I didn't have an answer like everyone else. I never wanted to be a doctor, or a lawyer, or a teacher, or a movie star. My answers were never definite and clean answers. I would just say, I want a job where I can have one of those old cash registers that dings, or I want to be on broadway, but not as a stage actor but in the orchestra pit and be the first saxophonist in the orchestra. I've always been way more into the aesthetic aspects of jobs than the actual substance of what I'd be doing. I remember one time I answered that I wanted to be a professional cup stacker. I saw these kids stacking cups really fast in crazy triangles, and I said to myself, that's what I want to do with the rest of my life. I want to stack cups really fast. Not just as a hobby, but as my occupation. I figured that I could use that skill at parties as a caterer, or at a department store as a display constructor and demolisher. My turn around time between the Thanksgiving and Christmas display construction would be incomprehensible.

I still have no idea what I want to do when I grow up, and lately people have been asking non-stop. While in undergrad I said that I wanted to work for the postal service delivering mail, because that was what I really wanted to do. I didn't want to go work for some politician as a campaign manager, I wanted to people's faces light up as I came to their doorstep with my mail pouch and I give them a letter from their friend that they weren't expecting. It would be so exciting! And those outfits are by far the greatest uniforms. I don't know what to do with my life, but what I do know is that I really want a bowl of fruit loops. Or maybe fruity pebbles. I don't know which form I want my artificially flavored serving of fruit presented to me.

Babies, Dogs, Werewolves, & Jewish Traditions

Lately I've noticed that I'm enjoying little kids more, as they toddle around. I also feel that little kids are on the same level as dogs in their social appeal. They're something you dress up and show off in order to make other people jealous that you have one and they don't.

I was walking out of the law school to get a bite to eat when I saw this dog running around in a plaid pale purple parka. It wasn't a very cute dog, but any time I see a dog I get excited. I just really love dogs. Anyways, I turn the corner and the owners of the dog were walking towards me (who I didn't see until I turned the corner) and the man nudges his wife and says, "Honey, get Layla over here; this lady wants to pet her," implying that I wanted to pet their dog. I didn't know these people, I didn't approach them or give them a head nod or some other cordial gesture, and I most definitely did not clearly state to them that I wanted to pet their dog. He just saw me walking towards them and assumed that I wanted to pet their dog. I was stuck. It was quite an odd situation for me, so I pet the dog, who looked ridiculous in the coat it was wearing because it was quite a husky dog, and it had ripped it apart (kind of like Chris Farley in Tommy Boy), and then the dog jumped up on me and was really friendly so I said, "You're great," like I was trying to break up with the dog or something. I don't know why this through me off so much. I suppose it's because I'm so used to the dog approaching me for affection rather than the owner forcing me to give it up to their dog.

But you never really have parents forcing their child on you...well, unless it's kind of an ugly baby or something. Then you're stuck holding this unattractive blob whose future of social torment flashes before your eyes and you find yourself whispering to the child, "Oh, look at you! You're going to have such a great personality when you grow up! It's on the inside that counts!" all in that goo goo gah gah voice that people automatically speak in when dealing with human beings whose age is still referred to in months.


Riddle Me This

Q: What do you get when you combine the aromas of dirty feet, patchouli, B.O., nasty stringent starbucks coffee, sugar, Oliver (Becky's dog), and the smell of panic after you realize that you have 3 hours worth of legal research to do and you only have 45 minutes to do so?

A: Maggie, the morning after Halloween, where she borrowed Becky's clothes in ordeer to dress like a Hippie-ed out Bloomingfood's employee, and then had to wake up at 6am and skip out on showering for the 3rd day in a row in order to get her homework done that she didn't do the night before because she was too busy eating airheads and hershey's take 5's, and therefore had to resort to drinking Starbuck's coffee in order to stay awake when she loathes the Starbucks enterprise and has to gag down the coffee because it tastes like burnt hair but didn't have time to get proper coffee before class.

Hallelujah, It's Halloween!

Being a pastor's kid/grandkid/niece I had quite a few social obligations at church as well as social expectations to live up to. In general, I was expected to avoid anything demon-possessed or satanic, including Michael Jackson, Dungeons & Dragons, jeans, ouiga board, New Kids on the Block, and of course Halloween. As you can tell, it was very hard to function in the normal kid world when you weren't allowed to enjoy the sugary, candy-coated night of ghouls and goblins like everyone else.

Luckily, our church hosted a spiritual alternative to the heathen holiday called "Hallelujah Night." Instead of dressing up like witches, serial killers, and movie starts we decided to pay homage to biblical characters and concepts. As we all walked from room to room down the sunday school hall all dressed up we answered questions about out particular garb, its correlation to the bible, and its importance in the great book. We were then rewarded with pencils, bouncey balls, and anything else that you could buy in bulk from that Super Trading Post magazine. We even got candy like the other "secular" kids did...even though they were called "testa-mints" and the more recent "NEW testa-mints." I remember being surrounded by some of the greateset costumes I've ever seen. My friend Andrea taped purple air-filled balloons all over her persona nd went as a "fruit of the spirit"; my friend Anita dressed like a cute '60's (1960's, not 60 B.C.) girl with her 2 stuffed animal pets on leashes trailing behind her--she was "Shirley" and her pets were "Goodness & Mercy" following her (see Psalm 23); and my brother's friend Gabriel went as John the Baptist's head. (this was really good--he sat in a rolling chair, put a big piece of cardboard that rested on his shoulders so as to look like a table with a table cloth draped over it, and his head was sitting on a silver platter)

It wasn't until 7th grade that I stepped outside the church walls into the world of neighborhoods and door bells. I was so excited! This was going to be great--trick or treating always looked like so much fun; I had this grandiose image in my head of how the night was going to go. After dinner I put on my bumblebee costume, which was a big black & yellow striped body suit of sorts with legs holes and a hula hoop in the bottom to give the bumbley affect. I walked over into the neighboring neighborhood with my plastic halloween bucket that looked like a purple witch jack-o-lantern in which I was served a happy meal from McDonald's to my up with all of my friends. I walked in the door, having to maeuver the hula hoop so I could fit through the door frame, and I was shocked to see the pathetic costumes that awaired me. "I'm a 70's girl." "I'm an army guy." Where was the creativity? Then they all strapped on their rollerblades. "What's this all about?" I asked. "Oh, we rollerblade so we can hit more houses." So they bladed and I stumbled behind to the house next door. "Trick or Treat!" I shouted in a choir of one. Everyone kind of stopped and emitted this vibe which let me know that that was soo 6 year old. They thrusted their giant pillow cases which allowed for maximum candy acquirement in the face of the homeowner awaiting their entitled candy. These kids weren't even working for it! So there I was, on my first Halloween night, running to try and keep up with my friends on wheels, burning off the calories from the caramel apple I snuck in after dinner, and catching the fun-size snickers and necco disks that were billowing out of my overflowing McDonald's bucket along the way, all while dressed as the biggest, most bumbley bumble bee.

Sadly, I think that the Evangelical Christians caught on to the spirit of Halloween more than the kids that had been celebrating it their whole lives. Perhaps they just became disillusioned by the holiday...I just wanted to pull a Linus and explain to all of these Charlie Browns the true meaning of Halloween. At the end of the night I wanted so badly to return to Hallelujah night, and thank Uncle Art and Aunt Alta for teaching me that the world sucks.

Good Video

Who remembers the episode of "The O.C." where Marissa shoots that scummy dude and they played Imogen Heap's "Hide and Seek" over the footage? Well, there's an amazing parody of this scene on youtube that was found via best week ever involving some footage from "Step by Step" and it's absolutely hilarious. I saw it a few weeks ago and thought it was something that everyone should watch. My favorite parts are the jelly donut and the pie in the face. I hope you enjoy!


Yesterday I went to every thrift store in Bloomington, and even traveled to Martinsville to look for some good deals. I was on a mission to find furniture, since I am in desperate need of some formal seating in this joint, but walked out with a book, 2 vhses, a board game, and a toothbrush holder. A synopsis of what I bought:

1. "Honestly, Katie John!," by Mary Calhoun. (description on back cover): "I hate boys!" says Katie John. "They're terrible, awful, nasty things!" So Katie John forms a club--a Boy-Haters of America Club. All the girls join, but nor for long. Soon all they talk about are clothes and dancing, and of all things--boys! But not Katie. "I'll show them," she says--and dreams up a wild plan. But nothing ever happens just the way katie John expects it to. Honestly, Katie John, the funny trouble you get into!

2. "The Donut Man with Duncan and the Donut Repair Club." The VHS bos has a picture of a man talking to a glazed yeast donut with cookie monster eyes and no mouth. I'm assuming the hole is the mouth, but I don't understand how they make the mouth move without the donut breaking in half. I remember this video from the church bookstore. I never watched it as a kid because I was too caught up in "Psalty, the Singing Hymn Book" to fuss with a talking donut. What does a donut even have to do with Christianity? I don't remember donuts in the bible, but I perhaps they should've been.

3. "Mannequin Two: One the Move." I have never seen "Mannequin," but I've seen "Mannequin Two," the sequel, more times than I can count on TBS during my youth. My favorite part was the flagrantly homosexual but the producers tried to make seem straight on the inside character's glasses that were scissors. They were so cool. I remember thinking as a kid that this was one of the worst movies I'd ever seen, and I loved every minute of it. If you haven't seen the movie, perhaps this little tid bit will help you get a feel for the movie: on the back of the box, the plot summary ends with this sentence, "It's showtime...and "Hollywood" and Jason are going to show up the sorcerer but good!" Just as this sentence is a paradoxical structure, so is the movie itself.

4. "Landslide: Parker Brothers Game of Power Politics." "In LANDSLIDE your challenge is to become President of the United STates. The road to the top is wild and full of surprises. You must corner a majority of the electoral votes for a victory and it's going to take luck, guts, charm, brains, and a gambler's instinct to do it. You'll be manipulating millions of popular votes and trying to use them to capture states. It's comething like the real race--but you don't have to wait 4 years between games!" Little did Parker Brothers know that as time progressed the turn-around time between election preparation would decrease to about 2 months after said election, so election season becomes ad nauseum and the general public wants nothing to do with politics after year 2 of primary talk and therefore have no desire to play a board game involving them in the drain the politics have become on our everyday lives. I can't wait to play it!

5. Toothbrush holder. It has 4 holes in the top for 4 different toothbrushes. I only have 1 toothbrush, so I think I might put other things in the 3 remaining holes, like one of those new cereal straws that are made out of cereal and you drink milk with them. The holder is a pleasant blue shade and has a nice little drain at the bottom so that bacteria and toothpaste gunk don't get trapped in there and get all over your toothbrush causing you to contract sars. Your mouth is like an oven where you cook bacteria, you know.

Music is Confusing Me

okay, so this kid that I sit next to in class sent me a link to this music video of a Swedish duo called "Averni & Danny." This video is so confusing. I don't really understand what's going on. I'm sure you have all seen it before, but this is my first time ever seeing it, and my mind is still a little out of whack. While trying to watch it, it wasn't downloading properly so it just stopped at the same point and I didn't get to see the ending, which forced me to watch it over and over until I felt like I was a duck that just swalled a tablet of alka-seltzer. My thoughts on the concept of this video is that it's supposed to be a sort of futuristic "Grease," but futuristic turns into galactic disco, and "Grease" turns into creepy dudes with chest hair singing while the dancers perform the best choreography I've ever seen in my life. Here's the video:

Next point of business, song lyrics have just gotten ridiculous. That Fergie song where she states that "I'm gonna miss you like a child misses its blanket," is bad. What does that even mean? I don't know if I would want to be likened to a child's blanket. I mean, my family took away my brother's blanket and threw it in the fire. I don't want to be thrown in a fire! And then last night when I was driving home I heard a new song that makes the Fergie lyrics look like K-Fed in the Britney Spears v. K-Fed feud. The lyrics went something like, "You're like a tatoo. You're on my heart forever, and I'll never be able to get rid of you." Just awful. I guess it's nice that they're trying to create new analogies in love songs, but is that really creativity? I guess it's the new trend, or maybe this is what people felt like when Shakespeare and Pope started using roses and summer days as metaphors for beautiful women, or hearts as stones. Perhaps I just need to embrace the contemporary metaphoric use in poetry. Okay, maybe I shouldn't say that these songs are poetry. See what I mean, I'm so confused!

Duz God Likz Cheezburgerz?

King James, The Living Bible, NIV, The Message, LOL Cat Version, New American Standard,...LOL Cat?

Just when you thought that they had translated the bible in every method possible to appeal to every kind of person, pop culture goes and does something extraordinary like this and changes the religious perspective of the collective whole. I have decided to trade in my NIV Student Bible for the new kitty pidgin translation (aka-lol cat language translation). There is a project out there where people are translating books of the the bible in the ever-growing, ever-elusive lol cat dialect. Here's the link:

teh holiez cheezburger bibul

Spoken as a true Evangelical Christian, I think this is a great way to win souls for Christ, and have fun while doing it. Okay, not really, but I do think that it's really funny. Job is really good...and so is Genesis and Revelation. I'm interested to see how they're going to translate Leviticus.

(I have to give credit to Jim Walsh for finding this project. Thanks, Jim!)

Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Today during Torts I was on the BBC website when I saw the headline, "Gay Bomb wins the Ig Nobel Prize." Apparently some scientist created a bomb that when dropped o the enemy makes them irresistable to one another and they turn away from their guns and masculinity and become homosexuals on the battlefield. I thought about the "Don't Ask, Don't Tell" policy and how that would work out after the effects of the bomb started to wear off and all of these men found themselves all cuddled up to one another in their bunks in the platoon. Then I thought of this funny thing the girl that cut my hair said to me. "The hardest part of buying rollerblades is telling your parents you're gay." I then pictured all of these enemy combatants skating around on rollerblades, because what is more gay than rollerblades. They'd be all skating as soon as the bomb drops rollerblades just magically appear because somehow those blades knew that those soldiers had the desire to roll. But what do they do about women in the army? Do they feel the bomb too? I wonder if women are immune to the effects of the gay bomb. It mentioned nothing of this.

I think this is an interesting way to spread peace and love around the, man-lovin, rollerbladin love.

Lots of Little Stories

This weekend my mom tried to cheer me up by telling me how my grandma "used to" be the biggest bitch in the world. I quotified "used to" because my grandma can still be kind of a bitch, but in a good way. Mom said she got better once she found Jesus. She told me this story of how my grandma got really mad at people cutting through her yard to get to Northcrest shopping center which was located directly behind my grandparents house. One time this woman with a baby stroller cut through their yard and my grandma went out on the porch and started yelling. When the woman and the baby ignored her, my grandma went and grabbed the hose, turned the nozzle, and hosed down the woman and the baby. Thank God she found Jesus.

My friend Mike came to visit this weekend. He and I had some great times in London together. I honestly think it was fate that we were in London at the same time in the same education program. He and I just click, and it's not one of those friendships where you need to be around each other and hanging out constantly to have anything to talk about. Mike and I were sharing homeless people stories when he said, "you know, I feel like I was way more sympathetic to homeless people in London than here at home. I mean, the homeless in London really seemed homeless. I mean, I remember one guy that didn't even have a foot." This made me laugh a lot. Mike has a different kind of logic than anyone I've ever met, and I love him for it.

Last week we had another fire drill at law school. I had left to get lunch at Bloomingfoods and when I came back everyone was standing outside of the building, so I went and sat on the stone wall across from Dagwood's and ate my veggie delight. While I was sitting there this guy rolled by on his bike, turned to look at me, and said, "Fire drill?" "Yep," I responded with a half-masticated biteful of herb cream cheese, red onion and wheat bread pressed up against my cheek. He just shook his head and pushed out his breath in a perturbed manner. He never once stopped pedaling or riding on his bike, which made the whole transaction incredibly funny to me. I don't know why.

Last wednesday I went out to lunch with one of my professors. He's the professor that looks like the bad Nazi in "Raiders of the Lost Ark." (are there any good Nazi's? Why did I feel the need to specify "bad") The lunch date started with my fellow student Henry and I analyzing the sex of the robot that decorated the table. "Well, it's pink, which would suggest that it's female, and there's a baby robot next to it which points to the maternal instinct of the robot." "Ahh, but there's a tool in its hand...what do you say to that?" This lasted for quite some time. Then some of the girls started talking about their favorite kinds of alcohol. "I love grey goose martinis." "I love wine." "Me too!" "I love drinking red wine in the winter time by the fire." "I love white 'zin.'" Then I decided to join the conversation. "I like the wine that comes in the box." Yet another conversation I have killed in my law school career. Then I decided it was time to talk to my professor. That was the whole reason I was there anyway. "Professor Gjerdigan, what do you think about making a tort comic book?" That's what I asked him. I thought it was a great idea, and surprisingly, so did he. He then went on to talk to me about what a tort music video would look like. (this made no sense to me. a comic book is understandable because it makes sense to draw the stories in 6-panel form, but a tort music video? where would you get the song? what would happen? I didn't get it) So, I've decided that I'm going to make a tort comic book. I'm thinking about calling it "A Comic Book of 'Torts'" playing off of a comic book of "sorts." It needs work, I know. I welcome any suggestions.

I think that within one weekend my political ideologies have polarized to the complete opposite side of the spectrum. I'm finding myself believing in more liberal policies. I don't know if it's the legal education that's having this liberal effect on me or what. Perhaps it's that I'm realizing that it's more probable for a liberal policy to succeed than my illogical application of Libertarian policies. While I feel that the Libertarian philsophy is what the founders had in mind for this country, I think we've strayed too far from the original intent and have abandoned all hope of ever achieving a Libertarian state. I'm thinking I'm going to support Hillary. I like her.

Last night I watched some episodes of "Stella." I love it. I also watched "The Squid and The Whale." I love it. I'm also starting to love little kids. I used to hate them because I didn't know how to talk to them, but now I understand that it doesn't matter what you say. They don't care. And, they're way more interesting than any adult I've talked to in the past 6 months, or even one of my peers. I'm at school. I need to do work. Have you heard the new Kanye? I think I'm in love. I also saw that he's blogging now.

On BBC they reported that Nike has now made a shoe specifically for Native Americans. These shoes are supposed to work for the Native American foot, which is wider than the normal foot. I believe they're called the "Air Native," or "N7" for short. ?? I saw a picture of them and they looked like something Joey Gladstone wore on Full House. They're solid white with hints of neon lime green. There may even be a feather on the tongue of the shoe that you can pump.

Law School High

Yesterday in the middle of Crim Law we had a fire drill. It was funny watching everyone react. No one had taken part in a fire drill since high school, which for some was over 15 years ago. Some people just sat there, others tried to save their lap tops from the ensuing threat that all of their case briefs might go up into flames. My professor just shut his book, mumbled something, and inconspicuously walked out of the room down the side aisle. It made me laugh really hard watching him. Probably because he's this genius that helped Rehnquist write his opinion in Roe v. Wade and he is now partaking in a fire drill. I could just see him having to cross his arms over his chest like we had to do in elementary school. Once we got outside, it felt just like high school. People started smelling smoke in the air due to the influence of the surrounding elements. The big red fire truck pulled up in front of the building. We started referencing a tort case that we had studied earlier in the semester where some girls were lighting paper towels on fire in the bathroom which led to the entire school burning down. Perhaps a student was a kinesthetic learner? Some started freaking out about their homework, as they hadn't backed up their computers since the weekend, others thought about ditching class and getting a beer. We were talking about this smell that's been in Peru and killing animals and making people sick. It came from the atmosphere, and I suggested that the smell was alien farts.

My Professor, the one who clerked for Rehnquist, told us about a Christmas revue he and Rehnquist put together complete with song and dance numbers, but Chief Justice Burger didn't like it so he punished Rehnquist by making him write the opinion of an Indian Tax case. I started doodling the other day, and drawing my professors. My one professor looks like the bad guy from Indiana Jones: Raiders of the Lost Ark. He even has a fedora that he wears.

This morning I woke up at 7am and checked my email before heading off to class. I found there an email stating that my 8am was cancelled. It was like when you wake up early to watch the ticker on the news to see if you had a 2-hour delay. I miss that emotion you felt when you saw your school district scroll across the tv. This was my lucky day.

Yesterday I had 2 weird homeless people experiences. First: I was walking home and past by the public library. I was wearing a shirt that said, "No one can make your dreams come true (on the front) but you! (on the back)." This homeless guy popped out of nowhere and just stares at me and yells, "NO..." He was trying to read my shirt. I didn't know if I should stop and let him read it as an inspiration to him, or if that would completely backfire, seeing as he was homeless." Luckily, he ran into a woman and I picked up my pace. About a block after that I saw another homeless man listening to his walkie-talkie and singing when all of the sudden he just puked right on the sidewalk. I swallowed down my gag reflex and just kept walking. Luckily, Becky Drolen pulled up and saved me. Who knows what I would've run into next.

One More Reason to go to Wal-Mart After Midnight

The other night some friends were talking about how you sometimes just get the urge to go to Wal-Mart just because you can. This urge is intensified in the early morning or late night hours, however you prefer to look at time. In high school we used to go to the Wal-Mart to hang out because there wasn't much else to do after about 11pm. Little did I know that our Wal-Mart which we frequented was...HAUNTED.

That's right. The Wal-Mart in Ft. Wayne on Coldwater Rd. is haunted. I found out on a website after I was trying to find out the story of Devil's Hollow (another scary place in Ft. Wayne). So, here's the gist:

Around 3-4am in the morning, shoppers and workers have heard bagpipes playing a Scottish tune. Shortly after the song ends, a man in a green plaid-kilt appears and paces down the aisles and walks around the store. Apparently when he walks by you, you will get a cold, eerie feeling. But don't worry, this ghost is said to be friendly. (

I guess I'm baffled as to how a Scottish bagpiper ended up in the Ft. Wayne Wal-Mart. Don't spirits usually haunt someplace that had a prominent role in their life or in their circumstances of death? Also, of all of my friday and saturday nights spent at Wal-Mart I never remember running into a Scotsman.

(sidenote: my high school, Carroll High School, was also on the list of haunted places in Indiana because of the junior year curse. This website stated that the ghosts of the juniors that were killed (that's the junior year curse--every year a junior was killed) would come back and haunt the school. The website tells a story of a kid that went to sit in the desk of a girl that was killed and he fell out onto the floor. When the teacher asked him if he was okay he said no...he didn't fall, he was pushed. I never heard anything of the sort in my 4 years of school there.)

Splish Splash

I think that you can tell a lot about your current place in and outlook on life by looking at your bathing patterns. I started thinking about this application while walking to class this morning, not having taken a shower and forgetting to put on deoderant.

Bathing, Its Role, & Your Life (in particular, my life)
Baby/Toddler stage--strictly for photo ops, because that's all you're good for at this stage...being cute and splashing around in a tub, or sink, or bucket, or wherever your parents/grandparents think it would be funny to put you.

Ages 3-5--still tubbing it up. Mostly serves the purpose of extension of playtime, while you learn to hold your breath under the shallowest amount of water possible and play with that cool happy meal toy that you got because it was advertising the movie "Hook." This was a chance to escape and ultimately defy authority, as you continuously sat there watching your hands prune up while your mother protested that you were wasting her time, and that your skin would persist to look like a box of raisins if you didn't get out of the tub right this instance.

Ages 7-11--this is sort of a transitional stage. You find yourself starting to progress into the more adult realm of showers rather than baths. This is also the stage where the identity of the smelly kid starts to surface. At this stage I refused to take a shower because I was scared that Pennywise of Stephen King's "It" was going to come out of the drain and kill me. This is a very scary and self-conscientious time of your life as kids start to make fun of you for packing your lunch and for playing on the monkey bars instead of the gliding/sliding thing that transported you from one end to the other with little to no effort. You're scared of embracing the world of adolescence that confronts you just as you're scared to leave behind your fun in the tub surrounded by toys and instead pick up a bar of soap.

Ages11-14--you're so lost that you just give up on hygiene all together. You have no idea what's going on in your life, as every last bit of innocence is lost to puberty. At this stage I hardly showered and only washed my hair in the kitchen sink after eating a bowl of cereal for breakfast and before running out to catch the bus. The only reason I did this was to appear as though I kept up good-hygiene. I wasn't too smart as I didn't realize that people would be able to detect my nastiness from the smell that followed me around. I think this shows how confused you can get during this time of your life, and how your perceptions of yourself and your world are completely wrong.

Ages15-18--image is everything. After being made fun of for being gross for ages 11-14 you decide it's time to change. After all, you're in high school now. Fresh start. You wake up at 5.30am so that you have time to blow dry and style your hair. For me, this routine lasted for about 1 year. I still woke up at 5.30am after my mom or dad would come in and wake me up, but then I would proceed to the bathroom, turn on the shower, and fall asleep on the bathroom floor instead of actually taking a shower. At this time in your life you hide everything from your parents, and try to keep everything from being exposed. Your parents don't need to know who you have a crush on, that you drank some of Mrs. Ramsay's vodka on friday night, or that you're not going in to school early on wednesday to work on homework but rather because you got a detention for making fun of the substitute teacher.

Ages19-22 (these will be treated independently for me..a lot went on during the college years for me)

Age 19--freshman year & dorm life. You don't shower until the weekend, and you dred doing it. It's a miserable experience. The nasty shower curtain attacks you, you have to wait in line, your flip flops never stay on your feet and you constantly lose balance. You can't leave any of your showering supplies in the shower. At this time I was majorly depressed and hated life. I had just left everything I knew, and nothing was permanent in my life. Being clean was too optimistic, and forced me to think well on my life, which I didn't want to do.

Age 20--sophomore year & apartment dwelling. You have your own bathroom, and your life is more stable. You decide it's time to change your life. You shower on a regular basis and actually start respecting yourself. I mean, you're longer a teenager. I had short hair, which for some reason increased the frequency of showers for me. Showering became an identity thing, and was a way to wash off that depression and bad gunk from freshman year.

Age 21--junior/senior year & real life. You start to realize that your undergraduate career is over, and you're ready to experience "life". You take showers to emit your professionality, but when you're not having to keep up appearances you rough it, traveling, drinking, staying up late, doing a lot of outdoorsy things, etc. I went to London, and through the week I went to classes and worked at a political lobbyist firm. Showering was a duty; it was treated as another part of my job. But on weekends I would be out traveling to other countries and cities and would stay in a hostel or some rugged place and would be too busy to care about being clean. Showering just got in the way of life.

Age 22--law school & relaxation. You're too busy in life. You have no time for yourself. You've started making a dent in your future and realize that in search of your personal success you lost your life. Taking a shower is a luxury. You look forward to it because it's the one place where you can be by yourself and the immediate threat of your future can't reach you until you've crossed the threshold of the shower curtain or tub base. I come home from a long day of being shut in the law library or classrooms with stuffy old men, sniffly sick students, and teacher's pets and all I want to do is turn in my 2 weeks and quit this life. But then I take a shower and sing to my heart's content and don't worry about the water bill because my landlord pays for it. Law can't find me in the shower. Life can't find me in the shower.

Love at First Sound

After last night's VMA's I was feeling a little down about the current state of music video production and how much it has digressed over the years. The videos that won were either incredibly bland or incredibly tacky. And that judgment is based strictly from the 15 second blurb that was shown during the awards ceremony to inform people of the nominated videos. I had honestly never seen any of the videos that were nominated, let alone any other music video made within the past 3 years.

I decided to get on youtube to try and make the insatiable desire for quality music videos, like A-Ha's "Take on Me," or any Foo Fighter video, subside. I typed in Michel Gondry's name because I absolutely love his work. He's a genius. A cinematic John Cage. I watched some videos he made for Chemical Brothers, Bjork, Daft Punk, Massive Attack, The White Stripes, and Kylie Minogue. All amazing. I would highly recommend the video for Chemical Brother's "Star Guitar." Anyway, following the modern-day internet-surfing routine, I then went to wikipedia to learn about other music videos Michel Gondry produced/made/whatever. I saw "Oui Oui" listed a few times so I clicked on it. Turns out it was the band that Gondry was apart of in the 80's. I looked them up on youtube and I instantly fell in love. There have been quite a few things that have been changing my life lately--ginseng gum, Jenn Jameson's word abbreviations--and now Oui Oui.

Their album is out of print and I have yet to find a source that has anything related to Oui Oui for sale. If you come across anything, please let me know!

Here are the videos on youtube:

Bippity, Boppity, Boooo

One of my friends said they were shopping for princess accessories for a 3 year-old girl. I said that they should buy a wand. Wands are not particularly princess gear. Princesses are more tiaras/crowns, jewels, high heel shoes, puffy dresses, and make-up. Wands are for the people that allow for the princesses to acquire all of this "goodness." Wands are for the fairy godmothers.

I guess I suggested the idea of a wand because when I was a young lass I preferred the wand over the tiara. I always wanted to be the fairy with the magical powers. I always related better to the fairies rather than Cinderella or Sleeping Beauty in Disney movies. Now that I'm an old lass I'm starting to realize that my patterns as a child were only setting up for what my future was supposed to be. I'm not supposed to get a makeover. I'm not supposed to be the damsel in distress. I'm not supposed to get the guy. I'm not supposed to live happily ever after. I'm supposed to make it so that everyone else can achieve all of these things. I am, in essence, supposed to be a fairy godmother to others. With the wave of my wand and a wonderfully choreographed song and dance number that Julie Andrews would die for I will make everyone else's lives better.

But I don't think that the princesses truly understood how hard it is to watch everyone else be happy while you're stuck being a sort of figment of people's imaginations. You don't really even exist when you're a fairy godmother. I guess this is the part of the fairy godmother lifestyle that I need to work on. How did they do it? Didn't they ever feel resentment towards these beautiful young girls and wonder why no one ever popped out of thin air to perform magic tricks and set them up on a blind date that was more successful than an eharmony personality match up test? I suppose all of these fairies were so doped up on anti-depressants and sedatives that they just didn't even care anymore (case in point, Fawny the green fairy in "Sleeping Beauty").

I realize that all of the opportunities in my life have been to help me build up my skills so that I can work magic in other people's lives, and ultimately I wouldn't be happy doing anything less. So why can't I be like Cinderella's Fairy Godmother with all of her jollyness and rosy cheeks? I guess Tinkerbell had quite a bit of resentment towards Wendy--but she still helped her because she knew Peter loved Wendy and good ole Tink wanted Peter to be happy regardless of if it meant she would be miserable. And Merriweather, the blue fairy in "Sleeping Beauty" gives me hope that I do have what it takes to be a fairy godmother while still embracing the pessimism and sarcasm that God has so bountifully blessed me with.

Duelling Banjoes

It has come to my attention that the authority of the "Honda Guy" is in question. For those of you who are not from Bloomington, let me explain.

For the past few years there have been multiple sightings (actually they are very hard to avoid) of an older gentleman that cruises down Kirkwood, up 4th St., sometimes hits up 6th St, and comes back around to Kirkwood in his maroon Honda Accord while listening to TuPac or some other early 90's rap music while wearing a cut off or A-Tee in particularly bright colors. Normally, these sightings occur on weekends during the afternoon, or late at night when the IU student populace is lined up outside of Nick's waiting to play Sink the Biz. There is an entire facebook group dedicated to said "Honda Guy" because people have become so obsessed with him and the mystery that follows him, ironically like a man in a honda.

Lately it seems that there is a new kid in town and he's definitely ready for a challenge. His name? Ken Nunn, attorney at law. Not only is his face on the back of every phone book issued in Monroe County and on numerous billboards in town, but he has decided to take it to the streets in his cherry red convertible mercedes-benz accessorized with a novelty plate with his name "Nunn." (I feel like he may have even thrown a "z" on the end just to make it more ghetto.) Ken Nunn, attorney at law, has been driving around the square and it seems as though he is on the tip of everyone's tongue. Now, I don't know if this is because I'm starting to recognize him more because of all of the buzz he creates in the halls of the law school or if it is truly because he is becoming more popular than the Honda Guy. I have spotted Kenn Nunn, attorney at law, 2 times within this first week of classes; Honda Guy, zero. People have texted me when they experience a "Nunn Sighting." I've heard no word of anyone encountering the Honda Guy. No one in the law school even knows who I'm talking about.

(sidenote: I just looked over and the guy in the carell next to me is playing solitaire. That makes me feel so much better.)

Perhaps it is too soon for the Honda Guy to come out of his summer hybernation. I have this feeling that when he does surface again, there's going to be a battle over the turf of the downtown area comparable to the rumbles between the greasers and socs, the Hatfield's and McCoy's, and dare I say the Jets and the Sharks.

An Addendum

I hope that you all read my last entry and realize how incredible God is, and how we can never predict or understand what He's doing, but in the end it will all make sense. (so cliche, I know) I know that the call I received was something God had up his sleeve, or behind my ear. God knows me well enough that He knew that if I would have known for the entire summer that I was going to law school I would have been a bundle of angst and I would've had to call the ol' psychiatrist for a boost in meds. I don't know what direction I'm going to head with this whole law school education, or whether or not I will even still be in law school this time next year, but I'm not worried because I know whatever is supposed to happen will happen and I have no control over it because I don't want to have control over it. It's more fun when God's doing all the's kind of like a goodie bag, and I love goodie bags.


So, here's a story for you.

I had just finished working a 13 hour day at Bloomingfoods and was driving over to work on a plum-wasabi salsa for the salsa competition here in town. I was working hard for the money. I decided to lie down on the couch for awhile to rest my paws before Jim and I began to give our best impersonations of the people on Top Chef. I would be dicing those tomatoes faster than the time it took them to film "High School Musical: 2," and Jim would have that whole wrist action down when sauteing the plums. We were in the middle of a conversation about knowing what we wanted from our lives when my phone rang. It was a 317-number that I didn't recognize, so out of curiosity I picked it up...and I never pick up my phone. When I answered there was this crazy voice that was twangy and yet professional at the same time.

"I'm looking for a Maggie Paino."
"This is she."
"This is Dean Long from IU law school. Ya still want to do to law school?"
(uncontrollable laughter from my line) "Are you serious?"
"I'm dead serious. You start monday."
"Whoa. I was totally not expecting this."

I had to let him know by 9.00am the next morning. I had less than 12 hours to make a decision about the next 3 years of my life. And 3 minutes before I had everything in my life sorted out and put into little organizational bins like you buy at Target in the home office section. Working at Bloomingfoods was in the paper clip holder with the magnet that makes it easy to get a hold of those pesky things, grad school in education was the pencil holder, moving to a big city and teaching inner city high schoolers was the tape dispenser, painting my house and buying cool clothes from anthropologie was the stapler, and the whole family thing was the 3-tiered document holder. There were no more desk paraphenelia to represent law school.

I spewed out more explicatives individually and in unique phrases that I had no idea I was capable of producing. I sent out text messages to everyone in my phone trying to see what they thought I should do. I called my parents and listened to them get parentally proud on the other line. I received numerous recalls from my dad singing something along the lines of "Maggie got into law school." Poor Jim and Torlando had to sit there and watch my anxiety reach levels that no drug could repress. I wanted to eat. I needed to eat. So we packed up and went to Steak N' Shake. I got a hot fudge brownie sundae, which they don't even bother including in the Weight Watchers pointsfinder booklet.

The next morning I woke up around 7.00am and called Dean Long.
"Hi Dean Long, this is Maggie Paino returning your call from last night. I would love to take you up on that offer."
"Great. See you monday."

So, now I'm a law student. I have sold my soul to academia and my income for the next 15 years to SallieMae. The first day I was talking to some kid and told him about just finding out about law school 3 days prior to the commencement of class and he looked at me and said in his best attempt at a smug lawyer voice, "Well, we're glad to have you here." This completely irked me. A fellow student speaking on behalf of the faculty and staff of IU law school. What the hell was that? "Oh God, please don't let everyone here be a lawyer." Unfortunately, about 95% of my fellow students are just that...or at least on their way to being the biggest assholes you'll ever meet. I think I'm just going to make friends with my professors, because it seems as though they are just as disgusted by these individuals as I am. Everything is about oneupmanship. One kid has a laptop that can cause a solar eclipse when opened, and when he doesn't need it anymore it turns into a briefcase. The environment has made me want to become this extreme version of myself that is so far out there asthetically, intellectually, and artistically. It's not that I want to stick it to the man; I want to stick it to my peers.

Besides the people, law school has so far been the best academic experience I've ever taken part in. I've only been in class for a week and a half and already I notice my mind processing things in a completely different way than it has for the past 22 years. I'm learning Latin, I'm realizing that (almost) everything can be proven right or wrong depending on how you want it to be, and I'm learning about what I don't want to be when I grow up, or now.

It's Motivational. Period.

I was in my room on the computer. My roommates were dallying on their own computers. I checked to make sure that they were glued to their computer screens or asleep or listening to some tunes so as they wouldn't notice me walking through the common area with my feminine product which would be accompanied by a feeling of awkwardness rushing through their entire beings (which usually presents itself when the male species encounters pads and/or tampons, and even midol). I got into the bathroom when I noticed that the plastic wrapping that holds the tampon had some writing on it, so I decided to spend some time reading it before discarding it.

"Have you been working out?"

That's what my tampon asked me. I then found myself responding to the tampon.

"Well, of course I haven't been working out. I mean, you should know this. If I'm associating myself with the likes of you, tampon, then that means that the only thing I can fit into are elasticized, my ovaries just commenced round 6 of their ultimate fighting match, I'm more bloated than Liz Taylor, and I'm in the process of polishing off a quart of pumpkin pie ice cream, after which I will be eating an entire loaf of bread with butter. Way to kick me when I'm down, tampon."

I reached an all new low during the time of the month that produces nothing but low self-esteem and pessimism.

I decided to check out the rest of my tampons, just to make sure I wouldn't have another spat with a plastic applicator. And what did I find? The cheesiest motivational statements ever...even cheesier than those posters in your high school pre-calculus classroom with monkeys surrounded by flowers or hugging a cat. "Luck is a matter of believing"; "Push yourself to the limit";"Go for your personal best"; "Stay focused on what matters most"; and my personal favorite,"Sports build character." Rather than encouraging me to go out and be active and "trust my tampon" (also one of the statements) I wanted to ring the doorbell of the company distributing this trash and kick them in the tibia, but I just didn't have the motivation to get out of my bed.

Incomplete Thoughts Written in Complete Sentences

I currently have 7 books checked out from Monroe County Public Library. The books I have are "The First American: The Life and Times of Benjamin Franklin" by H.W. Brands; "Forbidden Faith: The Gnostic Legacy" by Richard Smoley; "Foxe's Book of Martyrs" prepared by W. Grinton Berry; "Biloxi Blues" a play by Neil Simon; "The Dharma Bums" by Jack Kerouac; "The Complete Spice Book" by Maggie Stuckey; and "Moosewood Restaurant Book of Desserts" by the Moosewood Collective.

I really miss Kristin Peach.

The last 25-30 minutes of "Singin' in the Rain" are just as bizarre as the last hour of "Apocalypse Now."

Cincinnati Fire Kites are fun when they want to be. I like the way the newspaper looked when it was burning in the grass. It reminded me of earthworms.

I think I'm going to get a car. I am leaning towards a Ford Focus Station Wagon.

I had a sleepover with the smore-eating Rat King a few nights ago.

I miss landline telephones.

One of my students, Shakeel, is very funny.

When I was younger, I used to want to go to church solely for the "Praise & Worship" segment of the service because "it was more fun." Now I just want some good preachin'.

"A Goofy Movie" is a good movie.

I wish I were better at correspondence.

My grandma told me that one day she walked by a picture of my grandpa hanging on the wall and stopped and said, "Paul, you know I'm so mad at you. Why didn't you take me with you?"

Shakeel & Shikira Dialogue during tutoring:

Shikira: Man, I had the biggest roach in my room last night. This dorm always has the biggest damn roaches!

Shakeel: Naw, you ain't seen nothin'. Back home in the projects, a roach held me up.

Paul (other tutor): Held you up? What does that mean?

Shakeel: Yeah man. He just walked into the room and was like 2 feet tall. I just put my hands up and threw my wallet at him...said, "Here, just take it. I ain't even gonna fight you for it."

Paul, Maggie: HAHAHAHA

Shakeel: But we cool now. He came back like 2 days later and gave me my wallet back. No cash missin' at all.

Shikira: Shaq, you messed up man.

I need to do laundry, and I wish I had a faster metabolism.

Always a Guestbook Supervisor, Never a Bride

This past weekend I headed back up to the Fort to attend one of the many 7/7/07 weddings across the country. It was a very pretty traditional wedding, and was buckets of fun and excitement as it was the first wedding I've attended where one of my friends got married. I felt like I was in the plane getting ready to sky dive, and I wasn't even the one getting married.

This got me thinking about my own wedding. Now, I've never really seen myself getting married, but I also like to be prepared in life. Therefore, I decided to put some consideration towards my wedding plans.

First things first, this will not be a traditional wedding. You will not have to sit through any sort of ceremony (unless you're family or the judge, because I'm afraid my grandma will have a kanipshick (spelling?) if I don't have some sort of formal declaration); just a party, in every sense of the term. My wedding will be a prom, partly due to the fact that I never had a real date to any of my high school dances (except for one Michael T. Vorick, who went with me in order to save me from going with the guy that had already asked 14 girls prior to me; and Ryan Lough who went with me because we were "best friends"), and partly because some of the best times of my life were on the dance floor at semiformal and prom. There will be dancing…oh yes, there will be dancing.

Pictures will be taken at my parent's house with disposable cameras. From there, my "date" and I will head towards the garage where my dad's freshly washed car will be sitting waiting to take us for a ride. The bridesmaids and groomsmen will actually be a part of the prom court (as will I and my date/husband, naturally), and will join the caravan of cars leaving my parent's house heading towards the Allen County Fairground building.

All guests will receive tickets rather than invitations, which must be presented in order to gain admittance to the prom wedding. Refreshments will include pie, cookies, those colorful mints that instantly dissolve in your mouth and have "butter" in the title, and punch that requires many 2 liters of 7up and lime/orange sherbet. No suspension or punishment will be issued if someone "spikes the punch."

There will be a photo station with plenty of fake plastic ivy and roman columns, where guests and their dates can get their picture taken. I have yet to decide whether or not there will be the option to get your picture taken with cardboard cutouts of my husband and me. Let me know how you feel about this.

About 2/3 of the way through the prom, the prom court will be introduced. I won't tell you who gets crowned King and Queen.

There will be no wedding music staples played over the speakers. That means no electric slide, no bad 70's (Brick House, etc), no Etta James' "At Last," and screened Frank Sinatra. You can count on KC & JoJo, The Darkness "I Believe in a Thing Called Love," Boys to Men, lots of Phil Collins, and many others.

As 7/7/07 was such a popular date, I tried to come up with another numerically cool date on which I could have my prom wedding. Some ideas were 01/23/45; 10/10/10; 86/75/309e-ine; and 11/15/13, but I came across a few flaws with these selected dates:
1. In 2045 I will be 60 years old. I don't want to have to wait that long to cash in my "V" card.
2. 10/10/10 is too similar to 7/7/07, and people might think I was copying their great idea. Plus it seems pretty soon.
3. 86/75/309e-ine doesn't exist on any calendar, eastern or western.
4. 11/15/13 is not in sequential order, which is part of its appeal, but may cause problems later in life as I recall the uniqueness of my anniversary is due to the fact that the date follows the order of odd numbers.

I have yet to come up with a theme for my prom wedding. Any and all suggestions are welcome. Don't think that just because this is not a traditional wedding that I'm throwing out the whole gift registry thing, because I'm not. That's like reason number 2 people get married. And, if I don't end up getting married before the age of 40, I will still be registering and having a prom…there just won't be a prom King.

All Signs Point East

Last night I had a dream that Becky and I were planning a trip to Japan, which we would take in January. I remember feeling unconsciously excited about the trip outside of "Dream Maggie." Like, real life Maggie that was lying in bed comatose felt excitement. I think I even woke up with a grin on my face, like the one I had when I first got off the airplane, claimed my luggage, and hailed a cab outside of Heathrow. Also, Jim found another video of some Japanese game show which is just as ingenious as the Japanese Human Tetris Challenge I posted in my last blog. I think it's finally time for me to expand my travels outside of the occident and enter the world of the orient. I think I should brush up on my Edward Said first, though.

crazy cat/fish game

Japan Rocks

I really really want to go to Japan...

Phillip Paino...If you Say it Fast Enough, it Sounds Like Phillipino

When I was about 8 months old my dad was involved in a horrible car accident where his car ended up looking like an acordian with all of the air out of it. By the grace of God, dad made it through the accident but broke his spinal cord and became paralyzed from the waist down as a result of the collision. We have pictures of my dad recovering from his accident, which coincidentally can also be found under the category of "Maggie's baby pictures." When my dad got back from the hospital and started physical therapy, my grandpa had a miniature staircase built for my dad to practice walking. (If you've ever heard my dad preach, you've probably heard this story and I apologize for the repetitiveness) He was so down on himself and felt like he'd never walk again, until I came along as a baby and started crawling up those steps. Dad said that he told himself, "If my little baby girl can climb those steps, surely I can get off my butt and go up those stairs." And with that, I taught my dad how to walk. As I grew up dad slowly repaid me for teaching him how to walk by showing me how to live for Christ through honesty, compassion, and self-sacrifice. I've never known anyone as well-versed in theology as my dad...he's seriously the best bible teacher I've ever had the pleasure of learning from (sorry PauPau). He should be teaching at some first-rate seminary of sorts, and I'm not just saying that because he's my dad. It's true. When we were younger my parents decided that a good idea would be to have family nights every tuesday. It really wasn't a great idea because we really weren't a great family back then with me calling Anthony stupid and then Anthony punching Andrew and mom eating a whole bag of oreos. We would have devotions and whatnot and then go and play Bible Trivia. This board game placed you on the beams of a rainbow working your way through every color on the spectrum by answering different topical questions from the bible until you ultimately reached the dove holding an olive branch in the center of the board. All of us would play the easy cards and never get farther than yellow. Dad would play the hard and be done in about 7 turns. There was one time that we played and we asked dad a question, he gave his answer, and we all got excited because he got it wrong. "The card's wrong," dad casually responded like one of those people who make dinner and then shout out the answers to Jeopardy from the kitchen. So we looked it up in the bible and sure enough, the game creator and distributor had made an error.

Dad has never admitted to being perfect, and has definitely paid the consequences for being honest. Growing up he was never afraid to tell us all of the different mistakes he made in his life, as well as stories from his crazy college days and whatnot. This past January I flew out to San Francisco to visit law schools and see if it was where God wanted me to be for the next 3 years of my life. I called my dad at the end of one of my days on the town and asked him about the time in his life when he lived in San Fran. He always talked about how much he loved his time in San Francisco, so I thought it would be nice to learn a bit more about dad's life. "So, what neighborhood did you live in dad?" "I didn't. I lived on the streets and slept on the beach until I got picked up." "What!? I never knew that! The way you talk about San Fran and how great it was, I just assumed you lived in an apartment or something." "Nope, sure didn't. Actually, there was one time when I was on the street and I went in to a fast food restaurant where they gave me some crackers, ketchup (from the squirt bottle), and water. That was my meal for the day."

Dad taught me to keep smiling and laughing. If you know my dad, you know that he's always the life of the party. He can always make me laugh. He's like a little kid sometimes with his expressions of surprise. Oh, and he also loves to torture his kids in return for a good hearty laugh. Because of my dad's personality, we always have these wackos calling our house for advice or just to talk to my dad. There was this one guy who my dad pastored during the Adam's Apple revival in Ft. Wayne (where a bunch of hippies came to know the Lord) that still held on to one aspect of the Hippie lifestyle...pot (marijuana). He would always call when he was stoned, and most of the time my dad wouldn't answer forcing the man to leave messages on our machine that lasted for over an hour sometimes, and even mutiple messages in one sitting. But every once in awhile when dad felt really awnry (phonetic spelling) he would make my brothers or me answer the phone. (this was right after we got caller id). I had just gotten home from school and was in dad's room talking to him when the phone rang. I clumsily yelled the man's name to my dad, seeing if he wanted to talk to them. "Oh! You answer it, and tell him I can't get to the phone." This was usually a sign it was an important phone call. I'm not very good at talking on the phone, but I had a mission. I answered it. "Hello?" I said, opening my routine of "Dad can't get to the phone, can I take a message?" but I was instantly thrown off by the crazy voice on the other line shouting ingredients in my ear. "2 spoonfuls of honey. Sage leaves, chopped up. 4 shakes of tabasco sauce." The list went on and on. Stranded, I looked to my dad for help, but he just stood in the doorway laughing at me. I was stuck. I didn't know if I should start writing down the ingredients, ask him questions about the cooking process, or try to slip in my "dad can't get to the phone, may I take a message?" line during breaths (which were very few. I swear the man didn't gasp for air once). Finally, after about 3 1/2 minutes of ingredients, the under-the-influence man stopped abruptly and just hung up. Click. I felt like I just went through a black hole. "What was that!?" I exclaimed. Dad couldn't stop laughing. Finally, about 5 minutes later when he caught his breath and wiped his eyes, dad told me about the man. "Well, I talked to him earlier today and I told him I wasn't feeling so hot and he said he was going to call with a home remedy."

Dad always wanted us to be a perfect family. He never wanted us to be without, and tried to keep us as normal as possible in spite of our family dynamic. He taught me so much about what a family should be. My friends were always shocked at how much time we all spent together, and that we actually sat down every night and had dinner around a table, without tv, and with lots of interactive and thought-provoking discussion. On one occassion, dad arranged to take us to Disney World, which was a true sacrifice on behalf of my dad because he tried to walk with us throughout the park and at the end of the day his legs would be bleeding from his leg braces digging into his skinny, atrophied legs. When we first arrived at Disney World there was a driver at the airport to take us to our lodgings. While on the plane, dad sat next to some Disney conosseiur who told him the history of Walt and Roy and the Magic Kingdom. Dad was very intrigued by the fact that Walt first drew Mickey Mouse on a trainride. As we circled the entire Disney community in the car and we all gazed with gawking expressions of amazement dad decided to take advantage of the moment and use his newly acquired knowledge to make a profound statement to confirm his patronage status. Dramatically, he gathered our attentions away from Cinderella's castle and the EPCOT globe. "And to think this all started with a man...on a train...drawing a picture...of a monkey." After he said it he looked out the window, contented by his deep reflection on imagination and entrepreneurship. "Mouse." We heard from the front seat. "It was a mouse, Mr. Paino," said the driver. Dad snapped out of his pensive stare. "Excuse me?" "You said monkey. Mickey is a mouse."

I love my dad. He's always been there to fight for me when there's something that I believe is worth fighting for and I'm not strong enough to carry the burden alone. He's there to sing the male parts in the duet songs. He's there to listen to my stories at the dinner table when my brothers dominate the conversation. He's there to remind me that I'm his daughter. He's there to encourage me to follow my dreams rather than leading a lifestyle that others want me to live. He's there to comfort me and let me know that he loves me no matter what I do. He's there to encourage me in my walk with God. He's the Winston Churchill calling me over the phone saying, "Never, never, never give up." He's there to sing me the "Animal Fair" song. I've never been so proud of someone else as I am of my dad. I'm sure there are other great dad's, but I'm pretty biased and spoiled.

S'more Ingredient Update

I just spoke to Jim about the missing marshmallows. He didn't eat them. Stacie then came down stairs and I asked her if she knew what happened to the mallows. She had no idea. This sparked quite the forensic search in our kitchen, and made me feel as though more attention needed to be given to the situation rather than just mentioning that they've (marshmallows) disappeared and not question how such an occurence happened.

Background: Last night, while watching Freaks and Geeks with Jim, I decided to make myself a s'more in the microwave. We had lots of leftover s'more ingredients from camping, so I figured it'd be a good idea to make a dent in the amount of grahams, mallows, and choco bars. I used 1/2 of a hershey's chocolate bar, 1 graham cracker sheet, and 1 marshmallow. All of the supplies were in a green plastic bowl that usually sits on our dining room table. When I left I considered returning the bowl to the dining room table, but then I figured it would be okay in the kitchen...I mean, it was food. I left behind about 2/3 of a bag of large-sized marshmallows, 1 packet of graham crackers with about 5 sheets left, the other 1/2 of my choco bar, as well as about 5 whole unwrapped hershey's bars. This morning I woke up and the entire bag of marshmallows was empty. No remnants anywhere. Later, I realized that all of the graham crackers, which were placed in a ziploc bag so as to avoid staleness, were missing.

About 1:00pm, 10 June 2007: After Jim and I returned from church I asked him if he ate the marshmallows. He said no. I then proceeded to question Stacie, who worked the night shift last night and returned around 7am this morning. She said no. We inspected the crime scene, and I went on to find the missing ziploc of graham crackers...empty. It was resting in the gap between the countertop and the stove. The chocolate bars went untouched. There were no crumbs. The bag of marshmallows was not all torn up, and resting just as it was the night before sans mallows. The graham cracker sleeve was still puffed up as if the graham crackers were still in there.

The crime scene led us to consider a few different possibilities, as well as possible points to disprove these theories:

1. We have a rat, or a mouse, or many rats and mice. Problems with this theory: The bowl never moved. If it was a mouse or rat they would've had problems getting into the bowl and then keeping it steady and not flip it or knock it off of the countertop (see picture below). Also, there were no crumbs in sight. A rodent would leave behind a trail of something.

2. Either Jim or I sleptwalked last night. I think it was Jim because he watched me make a s'more and subconsciously wanted one too, but didn't act. Therefore his desire for a s'more manifested itself during a sleepwalking fit.

3. The soul of Kristin Peach is still living in our house and it was hungry. The fact that only the marshmallows and the graham crackers were gone led us to believe that the culprit was lactose-intolerant, since the milk chocolate bars went untouched. Kristin, did you feel bloated this morning?

4. Somehow Mike Dixon broke into our house, while asleep, and on finding that we had no popcorn in the cupboard went for the most accessible food product, which would be the s'more ingredients as they were sitting right on the counter. If not Mike, then someone on ambien.

If anyone has any other possible scenarios in the case of the missing mallows, please share.

picture 1: crime scene with empty marshmallow bag
picture 2: crime scene. note the empty ziploc baggie in the back. that was the home of the graham crackers
picture 3: Jim holding the empty ziploc, graham cracker bag with the plastic wrapping inside, still inflated. No way it was a mouse
picture 4: the untouched chocolate bars