My life is like the movies

I have a crazy story for you. 

It was lunchtime a few weeks ago on a workday. I was chasing the last of my food with my fork when I got an odd text from my friend, Macie.

“Cherise, have you ever been to Pine Cove?”

And then, two seconds later—“And did you ever live at [insert address]?”

Um…yes. I had been to that family camp many times, but not since I was in high school. And that was my old address.

Immediately, my mind started running through bizarre explanations for why she might be asking. Did the camp release some ancient video online that showed pictures of me? Did I lose something at Pine Cove that had my old address in it? Why would she have it?

The truth was stranger than I guessed.

Macie is the kind of girl to whom encouragement is like air: she breathes it in eagerly and then exhales it to everyone around her. Just standing near her is like a fresh breeze to your heart. When I met her, she was a week away from marrying one of my hubby’s best friends. Our apartments stand facing each other now across the street, just right for five-minute conversations if we happen to be getting home at the same time.

Because words hold such weight for her, she has kept a growing stash of encouragement in a burgeoning drawer somewhere in her house. On the day of the weird text, she’d been doing some spring cleaning and decided to sift through a stack of notes from 2003, the year she had become a believer in Jesus.

One of the notes was from a camper she met while working at Pine Cove as a counselor. It was written in careful cursive on notebook paper decorated with gel pen swirls.

It was chatty, talking about summer plans to go camping and about how the writer was about to get her driver's permit. It told Macie she had a beautiful heart and that the note-writer was praying for her. 

It was signed, “Cherise Beekman”.

Y’all. That camper was ME.

It's seriously like a movie! I can picture it in lights: “Girl discovers that she knew her friend before she really knew her.” We had a first class freak out on the phone as we uncovered our secret past.

That summer in 2003, my dad had been out of work nearly eight months. My sweet grandma had died of cancer only a few weeks after the layoff, and our family had been feeling the strain of change, grief, and uncertainty. Some kind person paid for us to go to Pine Cove as a family. The counselors were wonderful—so grown up and so kind to the bony fifteen year old and her three younger sisters.

One of them was a bouncy person with flaming hair and a big smile who went by—wait for it—“Hip Hop Anonymous”. Isn’t that a great name for her?

So our friendship didn’t actually begin in 2008 when Macie bounced in to Jenny’s apartment with leftover wedding shower cake to share. In reality, I met Hip Hop Anonymous in 2003, before our husbands ever laid eyes on each other and before Macie ever joined our church!

God knew we were meant to be friends. J

My sister's secret is out!

I've been itching to blog this news for what feels like forever, but it wasn't my secret to tell. However, now that the real owners of the secret have put the news on facebook, I can tell the world that...

MY SISTER, SHARON, IS HAVING A BABY!!

**Cue the flash mob dancing, fireworks and other means of extravagant celebration!!**

Sometime shortly after Christmas, she and my brother-in-law will welcome a new little Someone, and all of us are thrilled! It's grandchild #14 for his parents, but for mine, it's #1!

Every grandchild will be special of course, but this one, by simply being first, gives each of us a new label.

Mom is now also Grandma.
Dad becomes Abuelo.
We three sisters are suddenly Aunties. (I became an instant aunt to the most adorable kids on the planet when I married hubby, but now I'll be an Auntie on both sides!)

Being the creative genius that she is, my sister came up with an adorable way to announce the pregnancy. Mom had been wanting a photo album of their wedding pictures for several years, so my sister created the books for both sets of parents and then placed a small card in the pocket in the back cover.

The front of the card said, "The adventure continues..."

...and here is what they saw on the inside!

My brother-in-law secretly caught their reactions on video, and it's absolutely priceless. Enjoy!

Texas isn't so big after all

After our recent camping trip with our homegroup, I am re-convinced of two things:

1. Food cooked over a fire just tastes better!
2. And God has a sense of humor that is as generous as it is mischievous.

Eight of us drove over the wildflowered Texan countryside to finally arrive after dark. It was the first camping trip several of the girls had ever taken, but they were great sports about the bugs and sleeping on the ground!

We even pitched our tent before before the guys had theirs up. (Not that it was a race or anything.)

I'm no outdoor expert, but my childhood is crowded with memories of helping Daddy set up our big three-room tent, of marshmallows browned to perfection over dancing flames, and of milky air full of morning sunshine as we rolled out of our sleeping bags. Other families went to Disneyland or Vegas--this was our vacation of choice. We reveled in the gloriously unscheduled freedom of unexplored woods and lakes and the chance to play with learn how to responsibly build a fire.

That weekend the weather was straight out of a camping magazine: crisp and cool evenings, with warm, breezy middays that made you wistful for a hammock. The night was cool and bright with stars. The group built a fire and talked for hours as the moon traced a path on the lake.

 The next morning, we had just finished some delicious breakfast tacos when it happened.

Hubby slyly tugged on my shoulder and pointed to the road. There, walking along toward us were my AUNT AND UNCLE and two of their dear friends!

My Uncle Dave was able to film my reaction with his iPhone. Enjoy this short clip of my shock:

Apparently, my aunt and uncle were camping with their friends only six campsites down the way. My husband and uncle had bumped into each other earlier that morning at the bathroom shared by all the campsites in our loop. They walked past each other before recognition kicked in, but once they realized the connect, they cooked up a plan to surprise the rest of us.

We even got to Facetime my parents and let them in on the reunion!

 

Book Review::Surprised by Motherhood

I am not a mother, but odds are I will be someday.

 

Someday my fridge will be covered with crayon masterpieces, my walls with jelly stains, and my floors with cheerios. Someday hubby and I will be entrusted with one or more miniature humans and I know deep in my gut that our lives will never be the same.  

 

Honestly, it’s terrifying.

 

Even though I love children.

Even though I get wistful over the soft curls of my friend's kids.

Even though I pray for the ones who will someday look like me and my husband.

Change has just never been my favorite, and the knowledge that two little pink lines will one day change absolutely everything--well, it scares the bejeezus out of me.

 

When that day comes, I will be so thankful for moms like Lisa-Jo and brave, hope-filled words like hers that come straight from the trenches. Which is why...I'm unashamedly doing my very first book review/promo for her!

 

Surprised by Motherhood reads like a heartfelt conversation on the couch with the author, a girl from South Africa who married a "cowboy-green eyed" man from the Northwest on the firm understanding that she would never bear his children. Ten years and three kids later, she bravely bares her heart and invites you into the messy, hilarious journey all laced with truth and wild hope.

 

 

She writes for you mommies. You, the ones who feel caught on the exhausting treadmill of life wondering, "will things ever slow down?" She believes you deserve a super-hero cape and a cheering squad and she's volunteering to wave pom-poms for you.

 

"I would throw away most of the parenting books that made me feel like I was somehow failing this most important test of womanhood—being a mother. I’d throw out the advice about what I was doing wrong or should be doing differently or should aspire to be doing. I’d just revel in the daily, sleep-deprived merry-go-round and eat a lot more chocolate cake.(p. x)"

 

She puts it this way:

This isn’t a “how-to” book, it’s simply my “you can” story.

 

She writes for you daughters too, especially for those who feel the absence of their mothers. When she was entering high school, her own mom was entering a hospital. Now, more than eighteen years after her mother's death, Lisa-Jo understands the pain of working through the unsaid, the unexplained. Whether the absence is literal or emotional, the wounds are real and she offers her own journey in all its confusion and healing.

 

She also writes for the not-yet mommies and someday mommies, the ones of us who need someone to say, "I was scared too. Yes, it's hard--but it's glorious and beautiful and worth it."

 

“Parenting is not for the faint of heart. And it’s especially not for those type A personalities accustomed to having all their ducks in a row, all their check boxes checked, and their sofa cushions, cereal boxes, and entire lives neatly arranged.” (p. 4)

 

  It doesn't hurt that she is type-A like me. Just an added layer of commonality to make me believe dying to self in the area of perfection might actually be possible.

Grab the first three chapters here for free!

The Case of the Missing Mailbox

 Who on earth would want to steal a mailbox?

This is what hubby and I have been wondering, ever since our mailbox disappeared almost six weeks ago.

And we’re not talking about a little hump-backed classic with a red flag and a wooden post. Oh, no. This honker is a huge metal contraption with a honeycomb of mailboxes that serves nearly 20 families on our street.

It all started one night in October when I came home from the gym to find a police car flashing blue and red in front of our house. The policeman was inspecting a huge dent in our poor mailbox, which was lying flat on its back.

“Looks like y’all had a hit-n’run” he said. “No witnesses, so I really don’t have anything to write up.”

Two days later, it disappeared. We assumed the post office had collected its damaged property, but when the hubs went to pick up our mail, a postal worker informed us that some scalawag had stolen it!

The vacant spot where our mailbox once stood

Again, who would steal a mailbox, especially one so huge? Isn't that a federal offense? Is this some new level of thrill-theft, like stealing street signs?

Until they decide to lug another one out to our street and install it, we are braving the Christmas lines once a week to pick up our mail.

This whole saga is making me appreciate postal workers so much more than I ever have before!

Five Minute Friday :: "Laundry"

Today I am linking up with Five Minute Friday, a writing exercise where you set a timer for five minutes and write on a specific topic until it chimes at you to lift your fingers from the keyboard. No edits, no back-tracking, just writing for the fun of it. You can join in here!

Today's prompt: "Laundry".

___________________________________________________________


Hi. I’m a sock.

My friends call me Houdini.

I’m fuzzy on the edges and worn at the toe and I’m an escape artist. My mate and I aren’t really tight these days, so it’s a miracle if you find us clean in the same load.

My cousins are nubbley sweaters and your favorite t-shirts and those jeans that you bought back in college that now look outdated but you love them because nothing else is as comfortable on a Saturday.

We’re a motley crew and we haunt your closet floor, the corner in the bathroom behind the door, and the hidden pockets of your suitcases that you always forget to check after a trip.

Like I said, I’m an escape artist, so I’m the one who missed the basket.

 Again.

 STOP

Soggy

Only three weeks on the job, and already I’m part of an office-wide adventure. In my head, it’s called Operation Soggy.

 

 

If you live near us, you probably woke in the middle of the night this past weekend to torrential rain and an electric light show that shook your house. It was fantastic. When I peeked out the window, the street was a single writhing river of silver and the shadowy trees were bending double under the wind. I grabbed some earplugs, covered my eyes against the lightening, and went back to sleep.

 

 

The next day, I learned that the awesome storm had caused some not-so-awesome flooding in our basement office. 

All the rubber baseboards were removed and thrown in a pile.

They brought in an ARMY of green industrial fans.

Check out the water line outside!

  For now, several of us are temporarily working from the sixth floor of the campus library as the sheet rock is replaced, soggy documents are rescued, and the army of green fans blow round the clock.

The Point of Bridesmaids

Seven times.

I counted this weekend, and was amazed to realize that I have been a bridesmaid for seven beautiful friends. How can I have been so blessed? These girls considered me close and wanted me there on their special day. They wanted me as a witness to sacred vows, to their new beginnings.

This weekend I stood as a man and woman made a forever promise to love, honor and cherish each other. (Isn't she stunning?)

As I looked at the list of women, I felt a growing resolve to continue to stand with them. Because we don't need friends only for pretty faces in the wedding album, or to help us bustle the dress. After the cake is eaten, after we're no longer newlyweds, after student loans and stretch marks and burned crock pot meals and PTA and decades of living life, we will need them more than ever. I will never outgrow the need for women beside me, for sisters' prayers, for witnesses that will hold me to my vows when they no longer make sense.

In the ceremony, my friend spoke of waiting eleven years for this day. I had only been her friend through half of that waiting season, but I had seen the tenacity and love and endurance of her heart.

A hope fulfilled is so beautiful. But even more beautiful was the beauty produced in her heart because of hope long deferred.

Switching gears...I have to share the funniest moment of the ceremony. (Because remembering these stories is another reason bridesmaids exist.)

Get the scene in your head: the bride and groom are on stage, each taking a turn kneeling and washing the other's feet in a ceramic bowl, symbolizing their commitment to serve each other in the manner of Christ. Her feet are washed, shoes replaced; no problem. Then the groom sat, and the entire room began to realize that his well-heeled, well-socked feet might be more difficult than her simple slippers.

 Looking back, a lot of it could have been avoided if foot-washing practice had actually happened at the rehearsal. That's what a practice is for, right?

The socks came off inside out...and then utterly refused to go back on damp feet. We in the bridal party started to giggle. The band started the refrain again, to buy time. As both bride and groom tugged on the stubborn dress socks, the giggles rippled out and engulfed the entire chapel. The photographer was laughing so hard she could barely hold her camera steady, but if she was able to take pictures of the hilarity, I'm sure they will be awesome. 

Teller Tales (In this case: Veggie Tales)

Kids really do say the darndest things.

As a bank teller, I have the distinct privilege of providing a listening, supportive ear to anyone who needs to complain about their day, talk about the weather, or brag on their grandkids. They don't know us beyond a four-minute transaction, but we are a comforting constant in their daily routine.

One day at the bank, in walked grandma. She had checks to cash, a deposit to make, and she couldn't wait to tell us the cute thing her granddaughter said.

"She said the cuh-yoot-est thing last night!" The wrinkled, rose manicured fingers flashed back and forth with emphasis, and she grinned, full of story.

"I asked her, 'Sweety, do you like green beans?' 'No, Grandma,' she said. So then I said, 'Well, don't you like any vegetables?' Guess what she said then."

We didn't know, so grandma went on.

"She said, 'Not since the accident.' Now, I was wondering, What on earth? So I said, 'What accident?' And my little granddaughter said, 'Well, when I accidentally ate a vegetable!'"

Poor thing. Accidents happen. 

Teller Tales :: Fortune Cookies

Conversation overheard at work:

"My fortune cookie says that Fortune is smiling at me."

"That's kinda creepy. Who is Fortune and why is she smiling at you?"

"Why didn't you get a cookie?"

"I always eat too much when I go there; I never have room."

"That's why you're supposed to get ten of them--to eat one hour later when you're hungry."



There you have it, ladies and gentlemen: the secret musings of bank tellers when there are no customers in the lobby.

Word Fun:: Kerfuffle!

Ever been in a kerfuffle?  

Say it: "ker-FUFF-ul". 

Say it again, faster. You're smiling, aren't you? I can't help but grin absurdly when I say kerfuffle. There are certain words in the English language that tickle the tongue, that come out Dr. Seuss-esque and make me feel like I'm five. 

The online Merriam-Webster dictionary defines kerfuffle as "a disturbance, a fuss." Something like an ado, a bother, a bluster, a ballyhoo, a furor, or hoopla. 

For example, "When my co-worker found out that they were out of Pumpkin Spice lattes, she raised quite a kerfuffle." (FYI, this is a true story from Wednesday.)

It's a chiefly British word, but the origin is probably Scottish Gaelic, a combination of cearr (wrong or awkward) and fuffle (to become disheveled). I am becoming increasingly convinced that the ancient Gaelic and Celtic languages might be the coolest on the planet. 

Apparently, I'm not the only person who thinks kerfuffle is a fun word. Google revealed that there is a website devoted to kerfuffles, a slew of rather cheesy memes, a musical band, and even a board game by that name!  Family game night, anyone?

But my favorite definition of kerfuffle comes from urbandictionary.com:

Kerfuffle: a cough that makes you fart. 

Instagram-y fun

Ever since I first discovered the Instagram app on my smart phone, my photos have reached a new eschelon of coolness!  (Ok, well at least I think so.)  I love the daily deliberation between the Sutro, Lo-fi and Valencia filters, and the finished product seems to elevate everyday scenes to something I might see in a magazine. 

At the very least, I'm taking more pictures, which is always a good thing. 

Last Wednesday, I walked with a small group of thirty others into Chicago's, a cheerful hole in the wall that serves burgers, gyros, and pizza. The murals on the wall portrayed the Rocky Mountains in the best colors of every season, and the kitchen was only an arm's length away from where we stood. This man was fully absorbed in his work, brow furrowed with intensity as he mixed and poured and clanged dishes. I wondered how his day was going. 

A few days ago, hubby and I stole away from the YMCA for an afternoon date at a coffee shop. Like kids hiding away in a tree house, we took our drinks up the twisty stairs to a cluttered and cozy upper nook above the shop. They had checkers. We played four games, sipped our mochas, and let the world turn without us. I love that man so much. 

You know what else I love?  Skype!  Blessings on the inventor, whoever he or she was. I have missed my friends so much this summer, and last week I had a fabulous two hours chatting with this wonderful girl. Love you, Lissy!

Most cities have traffic jams, but I bet an ELK JAM is unique to this part of the country. This herd of thirty elk was leisurely crossing the road to Estes Park last Wednesday. 

Every once in a while, God gives me "valentines" through nature. Check out this fluorescent green lichen heart that I spotted on a rock the day we flew balloons. 

Tiny bits of colored glass and rock are sometimes as good as a canvas when I get the urge for self expression. (I can't show the finished product here because it's a birthday present for my sweet 22-year-old sister, but I promise--I will once she gets her package!)

And...I saved the best for last: the Trash & Tray Creature! The staff that work in the dining room will sometimes create odd structures out of fruit and send them through the tray conveyor to us. This one had quite the personality.

That's all for now! :)

A Wild First Anniversary

As I typed that title, I realized that it could easily be misunderstood. If it helps, just insert the word "memorable", "unexpected", or "ridiculously crazy". Because those words certainly apply. 

As mentioned in an earlier post, my man and I had made some pretty awesome plans to stay at a ski resort after I picked him up at the airport Sunday afternoon. Apparently those places have awesome deals in the summertime!

We were so happy to see each other at the baggage claim! But when we got in the car, we were less happy to see a new light flashing on our dashboard. Our transmission fluid was low. Uh oh. 


[Hubby, the take-action man] "Quick--look up an auto parts store. We need to take care of this pretty quickly."
 [Me looking at my phone] "ok....here's one that looks close."

We arrived and were about to make a left turn into the parking lot when...the car refused to shift into drive. So close! Some kind guys helped push us the remaining few yards.

The next four hours were a hilarious comedy of errors:

• I bought transmission fluid, but it was for a different type of car. 
• We next bought the right fluid and lifted the hood, but there seemed to be a cap for every type of fluid EXCEPT transmission fluid. 
• It turns out that our car doesn't have access to the transmission from the hood area. Instead, you have to craw under the car, unscrew a bolt in the pan, and use a hand pump to get fluid in. 

Getting under our car. I felt like a grease monkey!

• I crawled under, but the nuts we had were too small for the bolt. 
• Got the right nut, but the ratchet was too short/I was too weak to turn it. 
• Got a longer ratchet. 
• Took off the bolt...and transmission fluid poured out! Oh noo! Lesson learned: the car needs to be running so that the fluid stays in the turbines. 
• Hose was too large for the hole. 

Hand pump we tried to use

• Smaller hose didn't have a good seal (aka: big mess)
• Broke the pump because the fluid was so thick.
• Finally pumped about two quarts in. Yay!!!  
• Let's try driving! Umm...it will only go into reverse. 

After consideration, we decided against driving backwards three hours to our resort.

By that time, the sun was down, we were hungry, and we realized that there was little chance of a rental place being open.

We suddenly remembered a good friend who happens to live in Denver. Maybe...?  Yes!  She came to our rescue, let us stay at her house and use her bed, shower, and car! So much better than sleeping in our broken car in the Autozone parking lot. We felt so incredibly loved, and we had a wonderful visit!

The next day was our anniversary. We used her car, got a tow truck to a local repair shop that quoted us a reasonable price, and found a rental place.

Then, we picked her up from work and all three of us went to see The Avengers in 3D!  (totally recommend it. :)  )

Now, this is a crazy story, and it might seem like everything that could have gone wrong did. But as hubby and I reviewed the day on our way to the resort, we noticed how God had really protected, provided, and given us wisdom!

We could have broken down in the middle of nowhere. Instead, we broke down within yards of an autoparts store.
We could have had to push it ourselves, but those guys helped us.
The guys who worked at Autozone were so friendly and helpful. They even loaned us tools and helped us pump!
We were actually laughing and having fun the whole time we worked on the car. Not stressed!
Our friend, "Aladon", rescued us and we had a great visit!
We had a free tow service.
We got a recommendation to a good repair shop that didn't insist on selling us an expensive warranty.
Our emergency fund was enough to cover the repair!
And...(this is the icing on the cake!)...our resort let us move the reservation, allowing us to stay for two nights even though we had technically been no-shows the night our car broke down!
We had a great, relaxing time at the resort, and then some good friends came to get us and bring us back to Estes Park after we dropped off the rental. 


An anniversary celebration that has no glitches or snags and is full of chocolate, romance and flowers is really nice. Really really nice. 


But this first anniversary felt like a celebration of the real life we share with each other. We're messy, things break and don't go as planned. But God is good, and we have fun. :)

The sunset on our way to the resort.

"Brain Child" and Transitions

 My paper-as-pregnancy analogy almost got a baby rumor started on Facebook this weekend when I posted this as my status:

“I feel like I just gave birth! My paper...this ginormous brain child...is finally all out on the page (ok, all 18 pages). Momma needs to sleep for a week.”

One of my overseas friends (who speaks Romanian as her first language) thought that I was talking about a REAL baby. Apparently the Americanism “brain child” doesn’t translate clearly.

Right now, the only school-related thing standing between me and graduation is my Spanish final exam. I wish I could say it will be a breeze, but my mind gets so turned around when confronted by the minute differences between the zillion verb conjugations ….  So it’s safe to say I have one more heavy day of study before I’m in the clear. I know that God will give me strength to persevere!

“Skillful Navigation of Transitions”

As I recovered from the sleepless night on Thursday, I was reading friend’s blogs (what else do you do when sleep-deprived, right?) and I came across a post by my Uncle Dave.

Aside: This particular uncle is like a walking, balding skyscraper chock-full of wisdom, witticisms and puns. He is the pastor of a large church in Houston, and granddad to five. He is also an excellent writer. In this case, he was sharing his thoughts on a book called Transitions by William Bridges. Ok, on to the article.

In it, he writes about something that all of us have experienced: losing something we didn’t want to lose.

It may be severe—like losing a parent. 

It may be mild—like getting a stubborn stain on a favorite T-shirt. 

But in every case, there are three stages:

1)    Death—this is when “something ends.” It may be a literal death, or simply the end of a loved season of life, a job, etc.

2)    Chaos and Confusion—the emotions we feel in the aftermath, like confusion, anger, sadness and anxiety because we don’t see a solution in sight.

3)    Rebirth—In this stage, the void we felt is now filled, even if the precious thing or person we lost can never be exactly replaced. We no longer feel confusion, and the grief has faded into acceptance or even beauty.

This resonated with me, because it gave a name to my recent emotions about friends, and about graduation. As friends move away, something ends, even if the friendship lives on in facebook chats and blogs. As I graduate, something ends, even if the next phase is full and beautiful. I guess I’ve been...grieving...in a mild way. 

His advice for each step can be boiled down to one thing: “Stay close to the Shepherd”.

In stage one, we can’t ignore the pain or say it doesn’t hurt. We have to be authentic with ourselves and let the grieving happen. Oh, and this is a biggie: “resist the urge to self-medicate”. Above all, get close to God.

In stage two, we have to fight the tendency to withdraw or give in to pessimism. Stay connected to people. Test their advice with clear thinking and prayer. (Aka, stay close to the Shepherd again).

Stage three is all about thankfulness for the rebirth that has happened (to who else? Jesus). Cherish it and share the story—it might encourage people who lost something similar but are still in stage 1 or 2.

Good stuff for my heart. To read the full article, click here. 

Laugh Collection

I have a pocketful of really funny stories from the past few weeks to share with you.

#1: The other day, my sassy, pregnant, and highly intelligent professor of Communication couldn't wait to tell us about what had happened to her.

Earlier that week, she had walked into an 8:00 class to fill in for one of her grad students who was in the hospital. Immediately, two young guys in the front row looked up at her, declared "It's a sub!"...and promptly began acting classically immature.

Remember how your friends acted in middle school when you had a substitute?  Yeah. This was the college version.

They began to discuss--loudly--a number of stupid things they had done or were planning to do, including the jello shots they planned to serve at their house party that Friday. They even got rude with Dr. J-B, asking her, "have you ever taken jello shots?" "Of course, not while you're pregnant." "You ARE pregnant, aren't you?"

She was shaking her head in disbelief as she related the story. "I had never been so amused by college-level stupidity in my life!" she said.

The best moment of her story came when she called the class to order. She stood up and announced, "Hello, my name is Dr. J-B. I am the course director for this class."

She said you could have knocked the two jerks in the front row over with a feather. Their eyes widened and their spines slumped down in their seats with mortification. This woman controlled their destiny.

"You-you wouldn't judge a book by it's cover, would you?" they asked.

"No" she smiled. "I won't judge either of you by a cover. I'll judge you by the many stupid things you've said to me over the past ten minutes."

Oh snap.

The irony is that they judged her by her pregnant belly, her youth, or simply the fact that she wasn't the usual guy, and made a huge mistake!

#2. My second story happened to me last week in a dark parking garage at around 2am.

Yes, it sounds creepy, but don't worry.

I had been studying for hours in the campus library, head poked into a tiny cubicle table just big enough for my laptop and the stack of books I was referencing for a research paper. The plan was to stay there until the bitter end. But...my growling stomach and my need for some free caffeine finally won.

As I walked through the garage to my car, two guys passed me in the opposite direction.

"Woah, you're just now going out?" one asked, amazed. "You party hard-core!"

My tired brain took its sweet time to recognize that they were talking to me. a) Random guys don't usually talk to me, and b)I was thinking about citation formats.

I think they pitied me when I told them the truth.



#3. I saw this sign by the library.  Not so weird...except that I saw it last week.

Maybe the campus staff was pulling a late April Fools prank?

That's all for now!  Do any of you have some funny stories from recent weeks? Share 'em!

Letter to Louise

Dear Louise Erdrich,

The fact that you are a living author makes it very hard to write your biography. 

Please don’t get me wrong; I want you to have a long happy life! But it’s the nature of the thing. However popular your work may be, no one knows nearly as much about your life while you’re living it as they will when you’re gone.

Fame is ironic, isn't it?

Of course, it’s better this way.  You’re a normal person who deserves your privacy. You want to choose how much of your life to reveal.

But for all of us poor college students who have to write 5-page biographies about you, could you please reveal a little more?

-That Poor College Student

[picture credit]



[I have put in about 4 addtional hours of research since originally writing this letter of mild frustration. Since then, I've found enough about her life to easily fill five pages. I was simply looking in the wrong places. 
Lesson learned: don't blame the subject if your research is bad. :) ]

Rich man, Poor man

Two nights ago, hubby and I spent a hilarious night of goofiness with another couple and friends from their homegroup. With six of us crowding close around their kitchen table, the sugar rush from the homemade ice cream compounded the goofiness factor several times over.

The game we played was one of those hybrids that combines a standard deck of cards with the individual silliness of the players.   For a group of un-selfconscious people, (or for people who become that way when hyped on sugar), it is the perfect game!

Which I will now share with you. Ahem. 

"Rich Man, Poor Man"

SETUP:

The dealer gives cards to every player in the circle, starting with those on his/her left. If the number of cards does not deal evenly, those on the left will have more than the rest...and this is part of being "poor". :)

GOAL:

You want to get rid of all your cards as quickly as possible.  This is called "going out". 

PLAYING THE CARDS:

1) In your hand, arrange the cards by number, with 2 being the highest card, three being the lowest. (Example: 3, 3, 7, 8, 9, 10, 10, Jack, King, Ace, 2)

2) The dealer places a card (usually a low card) on the table, face up. The person to his left must then match that card (by playing the same number) or beat it (by playing a higher card). Obviously, you want to get rid of your low cards if you can, while keeping your high cards for later. 

3) 2 is the trump card! If a 2 is played, the one who played it moves the pile of cards to the side and plays whatever new card they choose.

4) Sometimes, the first one to play a card may choose to play 2 of the same card (eg. two sevens). If they do, the person to their right must play two matching cards that are also sevens or a higher value.

5) If you are unable to play a card, you must say "pass".  There is no penalty for passing, but you lose the chance to play a card. 

6) The first person to "go out" will be the "rich man" for the next round and will sit in the chair designated for this position. The next person to "go out" will be the next richest, and will sit to the rich man's right, and so on, down to the poorest person. 

7) At the beginning of the second round (as in real life) the poor get poorer and the rich get richer. The poorest person gives their two best cards to the "rich man", while the rich man gives the poorest their two worst cards.  The second-richest person also exchanges one card with the second-poorest person. 

THE FUN PART:

When you are "rich", there are certain privileges...and these can be as silly as the imagination of the rich person.  

For example, last night, I was richer than JC, so I made him sit for the rest of that round with his knees up close to his chest, looking pretty silly.  Another dude who likes to wear his hair long was told by a richer person that he had to put his hair in pigtails. (see pic!)
At one point, I had to make, um, farting noises every time I "passed" in the card game.

Obviously, these privileges are not limited only to the single person who is "richest". Anyone sitting to your right is poorer than you, and you can order them to do silly things. (One caution: DON'T make anyone do things that would make them sick, injured, or do something that goes against their conscience.)

You can imagine the chaos as we played. Pure awesomeness.

Coolness

What does a resourceful husband do when his food is too hot and he is in a rush? He uses his wife's hair dryer--on the cool setting--to blow on his food.

May I please call your attention to the fact that very few men know about the cool setting. Yes, my man is awesome.