I was listening in on a conversation with a guy who owned a truck which he had installed a 27 inch lift kit on. The floor boards were about to my shoulders. It was rediculous. He commented on how he got alot of attention from the police, how little his gas milage was and how many times it had been broken into. He talked about how much it cost him to get everything the way he wanted it.

When he was asked if he enjoyed the off roading he got to do, he said, "Oh, I haven't done any. I'm afraid I might break something."

What the . . . ! That is alot of hassel and exspence to go to for someone too afraid to use the equipment he's installed.

I don't even know what to call that, overblown consumerism, a need to grow up, or at least enjoy your toys.

I don't get it. I'm not a collector. I get something, a collector's edition, I have it out of the box in three seconds. I don 't want to collect it, I want to play with it. I want to enjoy it. Got a pretty candle, burn it. Beautiful soap, wash with it. A truck that will bounce all over creation, drive the crap out of it, go home and assess the damage.

That's how to live.

The other day I saw a cowboy running down the highway shoulder. He was running fast like he was chasing something, or something was chasing him. But there wasn't.

Sometimes I just don't get Texas.

Independence day 2003: I had a pretty darn good day. I got up at 9:30, opened a pina colada wine cooler and enjoyed my first taste of the day. I took a shower and scraped off all the hair from the offensive parts of my body. I then ironed a periwinkle, strapless, floor length formal (crinoline included) gown. I put on the dress, called my friend, agreed to attend a lunch party with her, and warned her of my full intent to wear the formal all day as part of my Independence day celebration. She said it was a good idea, she would wear a formal as well.

Before she came I had time to finish my pina colada and run to Walmart for a hat to complete the outfit.

The lunch party consisted of a set of Iranian twins, Amir and his brother Amir, (no joke) and their father who was visiting from Iran. (Interesting to me was the fact that their father had been the third highest commander for the Iranian Navy before the Revolution) two Indian fellows (one I could not understand for the life of me, and the other, named Robin Alex. That was actually his given name, he was born in India, raised in Bahrain and had a perfect American accent.) my friend Catherine, who told us all how to pronounce her Chinese name correctly Yan He: (Yawn Hu(h) Not Yan Hee, never Yan Hee, just call her Cathy and don’t worry about it any more.) the international students minister of First Baptist Church Arlington, and me.

Amir and Amir declared themselves Agnostic, their father Muslim and the rest of the group claimed Christ. We discussed everything from fire works to Iranian poets. We talked about Sunnis, Shi’ites, Sufis and Ismiles. Amir-1 said the Sufi’s wrote great poetry to God, but he really thought that it was opium induced dancing and love poems about women they couldn’t have.

His brother Amir-2 said he heard that mystics could do many strange things, even stop a train with their eyes, (but, oh, how tired his eyes must be when he had finished.)

I think the Indian boy I couldn’t understand said he had once seen a holy man charm a rope out of a basket as if it were a snake. Or maybe it was a snake that looked like a rope . . .honestly every sentence that came out his mouth sounded like one very long, strongly accented word.

I think the best bit of conversation was this exchange:
The Iranian father (Baba) said, “Yes, many things were very different in Iran before the Revolution, it all changed with Khomaini. Now the priests run the government and the people who should be running the government work in the bazaar.”
Amir-1: “Khomaini was a very bad man.”
Baba: “Yes he was bad.”
Catherine: “I hear about Khomaini a lot, but who was he, what did he do?”
Amir-2: “Khomaini was very terrible, if there is a hell, he is there. He is burning at the very bottom, in the fire, he is the charcoal that burns other people in hell, he was the worst man.”

Now that is serious! Not since Dante of Judas have I heard of such things said about anybody dead or alive. “He is the charcoal that burns other people in hell.” I’ll have to remember that. I can only imagine who well the curses and insults would have come off in Farsi if they were that impressive in his second language.

The next party was a pool/cook out affair. I was not half impressed with the conversations which were by a bunch of adult missionary kids who were newly married, or about to be married or really wanted to get married and about their dogs and/or babies and going to church. (“Gag!” I mean, “cough, cough, excuse me, I need to leave this conversation now.”)

I had changed into my swim suit before most of the guest had arrived so they missed out on the formal, but I put it back on before we left and walked out in all my glory, floppy white hat and all, everyone looked, no one spoke. I smiled graciously, but didn’t say a word. I can only imagine what might have been going through their tiny little mk minds.

At the third party of the day we shot off fire works for an hour or so, I came away with only one small hole burned in my dress near the hem.

I’d have to say that dress was well worth my $4.00 investment at Thriftown.

I had an interview today. I don't think my interview was at all impressed with the fact that I'm a grad student. Drat. It's always something. At least that's a better excuse for not getting a job than "because your name is Shannon" which is why I didn't get the last job. They actually told me that! Losers.

At work tonight I was holding my bucket of shinning, glowing, blinking, flashing feather roses doing my job with the same enthusiasm I always have at work when this girl looked at me, patted me on the shoulder and said, “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry.”

I said, “Thanks.”

I was inspired to write down all the jobs I can remember having:

1. baby sitting
2. McDonalds—kitchen crew, until the day I forgot to put the meat on the cheese burgers, then I was moved to register
3. Geneva College cafeteria worker—food server,(describer of mystery meat) salad wench, (kept the salad bar stalked)click chick (counted people entering cafeteria) and clean up crew
4. BSU summer worker—home repair supervisor/shelter counselor (ha-ha)
5. Day care kindergarten childcare provider
6. Dallas Christian College library assistant
7. Dallas Christian College recruiter (torture, it was like torture!)
8. Dallas Christian College Camp team
9. Tutor at LCC
10. sales associate for some crappy mall store for X-mas
11. Day care floater (substitute/helper for which ever class needed me)
12. UPS quality controller
13. IMB journey man—strategy coordinator intern/ESL teacher/community development ie tourist
14. register/stock clerk at Dollar General
15. Interlibrary Loan coordinator at GGBTS library
16. customer service at florist
17. Kirby bastards
18. guest services at Meryvan’s
19. customer service at Temp Glass
20. paper shuffler at Verizon mail center
21. telemarketer for AOL/Time Warner
22. paper shuffler at Adessa Auto Auction
23. customer service at UTA SECC
24. customer service at Dish Network/Digital Link
25. customer service/sales Feather Rose of TX

I saw a Jew today, complete with long beard, tassels, fedora hat and Harley Davidson T-shirt. He walked by twice muttering something to himself, oddly enough he came from the same direction both times.

I get the words evanescence and effervescence mixed up.

I am now registered for fall classes, all in good faith that I will have $1,000 to pay for it when the time comes.

I would like everyone to be duly informed that Summer's parent's dog doesn't like pickles.

I went to Sunday School last week. As I was filling out the visitor's card the single's minister asked me where I was from. I told him I was from PA origionally, and he started up with a 20 point quiz about PA history. I think I passed it. At least I did alot better on PA history than I would have on TX history.

As soon as the quiz was over I was introduced to the minions, and was immediatly handed an invitation to a party. Ummm, friendly little baptists. When I actually looked at the invite I noticed it had two dates on it, and I couldn't figure out what the intention was until I saw it said, "bring your pillow" a sleep over. This girl invited a total stranger, who just happened to show up to Sunday school to her sleep over? (She's 20 something and having a sleep over?!)

Anyway, the class was good, I argued with the teacher about the total depravity of man and predestination while the rest of the class sat there and looked stunned. One girl told me she thought I was "really brave" for showing up to Sunday school and church alone. Yeah, well, I could tell her a thing or two about showing up places. Sunday school was one of the least of my adventures in showing up.

an email I sent last night:

I would like to take a moment to vent:

My feather rose boss says to me tonight, "You know, you really need to be more talkative to the customers when they come to the stand."

He blah-blah-blahed about it, but that was the jist of the lecture. and I'm thinking, "I am not a people person! I hate selling things! If you had interviewed me before you hired me you would know these things!"
Man, people come up to the booth, they are talking among themselves, I don't feel the need to interrupt them with a witness about the obvious! The freaking stand says "Feather rose"

So I'm supposed to walk up and say, "Hey, it's a feather rose. It's a rose made out of feathers-- even the leaves are feathers, because it's a rose, and roses have leaves, but FEATHER roses have Feather leaves. And it's scented, like a rose, get it? Rose? You want to know why it's scented? because these are made out of goose covering, and when they aren't scented they smell like a drowned goose! Isn't that cool? You want to buy one? They are only $4.84 each, including tax"

Okay, so I need to be more personable. I'm simply working under the premise that sales people should be available to answer questions, not necessisarily volunteering information out the wahoo.

They can bite me. I hate people. I want a job working with nobody. Just minding my own business and doing my work which has been carefully explained to me, and me doing exactly what I'm expected to do, no more, no less. ok

good night

Sometimes I find myself doing something, and even while I am doing it, I am wondering
“why . . . what possesses me to do such things as this?”

I was driving down Collins the other day, munching on French fries as I went, listening to Cake (the band) when I noticed an Arlington police officer behind me. I immediately checked my speed. I was actually under-speeding in a 35 zone. I was okay with that, what- with the fries and all.

When I got to the light, it was just turning yellow, so I stopped. (I got a ticket one time for going through a yellow light that happened to turn red while I was under it.) Well, I had every intention of turning right. I was in the turning lane, and the police officer was still behind me. When the light turned red, I couldn’t remember if I could turn right on red or not. It seems like it was illegal somewhere I had been. But I couldn’t remember where. I spent some time considering it, and came to the conclusion that I could turn right on red here in the great state of Texas, but inexplicably I was compelled to sit right there in the turning lane in all of my blue Buick glory with my turning signal on, not turning.

Now it was a LONG light. One of those ones where everyone gets their turn, people going straight, people turning left from the south, people turning right from the north, people turning this way from that direction an “obey your traffic signal only” kind of intersection, right there before you get on 30. It was the kind of intersection where anyone who wanted to turn right on red had every opportunity to do so.

Every once in a while I would eat another fry and look in my review mirror to see what the cop was doing. He seemed very patient at first, but after a while, at least a full minute of sitting there for no reason, he started getting fidgety, looking out the window, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, and I just sat there and looked at him like it was a movie in my mirror.

I was wondering about things like:
1. why am I still sitting here?! I’m already late for work!
2. does he have somewhere specific to go?
3. if its not illegal to turn right on red, is it not illegal to not turn right on red?
4. is he going to keep on following me now because I made him mad?
5. does he think I’m some old person driving this Buick?
6. he’s kinda cute.
7. these fries need more salt.
8. is this light ever going to change?
9. would I still be sitting here if it weren’t a cop behind me?
10. someday I’m going to . . . finally, he interrupted my thoughts when he turned on his siren for about a second.

I moved along, feeling somewhat defeated. I’m not sure why.

Yeah, I'm just waiting on the edge of my seat for something exciting to happen. . . . when it does, I'll be sure to write a blog about it.

You are... Shrek - "Well I have to save my
ass!"
You walk tough and talk tough, but inside you're
just a gooey ball of mush. Your friends are
important to you (whether you admit it or not)
and you'd do just about anything for them (but
you wouldn't like it). Trust is important to
you, and so is respet. Looks don't matter to
you; it's the gooey ball of mush inside that
really counts.


What movie quote are YOU?
brought to you by Quizilla

"Nooo! Not my gumdrop buttons!"

I am infinity You may worship me, but from afar _

what number are you?

this quiz by orsa

Huh . . . I was thinking I would have been a natural number.

Random thoughts from a tired mind:

I like the names Edwin and Skyler Porter, which were my grandfather’s and grand mother’s father’s names.

I also like the name Lucian, which I’ve never met anyone named

I think the toilet paper is too hard, my butt hurts now

I want a stuffed animal caterpillar from a Six Flags game, a blue one

I need a license plate holder for my car

My new plates say “YPH” . . . if

I’m hooked on phonics

Last night I had a dream that I was dreaming, and in my dreaming dream, I was dreaming.

I woke up confused

Miss Venezuela is now Miss Universe

Venezuela is kinda hard to spell

I’m glad I have globe on my desk

I went to a grave yard on Memorial day. There was a celebration going on, but I missed the whole thing as I was only there to pick up a friend (a live one). As I was waiting for him, I decided to look around.

I like looking at the older stones. It seems 100 years ago, people had such interesting names. I suppose it’s a morbid idea to go to a cemetery to pick names for children. But I wouldn’t put it past me.

I found one grave marked, “Dred Greef Widdon.” Dred Greef? What was happening in that family when he was born? That’s a terrible name! It reminded me of the “Not Loved,” “Not Wanted” children in Hosea.

I’m amazed at the stories a grave site will tell, just the name, sometimes an epitaph, flowers or abandonment. I think I would prefer to not have a gravesite or to have it unmarked.

I think I’ve mentioned before the slave yard I saw once in TN. There was a stone that read,
(her name)
She the Suns-
hine of our
house.
She was a second wife, with the information of the first wife engraved on the same stone, just above her name. All the stones in that yard had engravings with spelling mistakes and like this one, hyphenations out of place making it look to be read “Suns hinie.”

But when I consider the time and/or expense it took to engrave that epitaph for the second wife of a slave man . . . when I consider what it must take to be the “Sunshine” of a household that is in every way owned by another man, even down to the last baby, when I consider the losses they surely must have already experienced, I know her stone, and her epitaph are important, historically. Even if none of her descendents know of her, or what she did to be the sunshine of a slave household, at least I know she did it.

She is an encouragement for me.

Dred Greef is a warning.

I watched SuperStar last night and I think I understand now why Catholics like to confess to the priests. I'm sure there is something to be said for confessing and having someone give you penitence and forgiveness on the spot.

I mean, sure we can confess to God and forgiveness is already ours, but it's not the same as when someone with skin says, "You are forgiven."

Yeah-- I think I will make a few confessions to you . . .

Forgive me World for I have sinned –

I watched Bubble Boy for the 4th time this weekend, Super Star for the 3rd time and Office Space for the 2nd time.

I thought they were all really funny. (I was told I needed to admit to myself that I was watching "some really crude stuff") I admit it to you.

When I was driving the other day I called the woman who pulled out in front of me a "little bitch."

I got “hit with a tennis ball.”

I took a job selling a ridiculous product that not only would I never buy for any serious purpose, but that I would mock others for purchasing. (I'll be working at Six Flags this summer at the "Southern Rose of Texas" I will be hawking feather roses. That's right, roses make out of feathers. They look and feel real, except that they are made out of bird parts. There are even some that light up and blink in an epilepsy-inducing kind of way. Yeah, I get and extra fifty cents each for pawning those puppies off on people whilst I walk around the park in the heat of the summer night in the great state of TX.)

I forgot to lock the door last night.

I stayed in bed for 13 hours straight last night/today.

I stayed up until 5:30am the day before engaging in “tennis” related actives.

I checked the mailbox yesterday, it was all for my room mate, so I left it there.

I watched a soap opera this week which included a love circle that involved a Mexican cop, a blonde heiress, a psycho brunette, a lesbian lunatic and an orangutan named Precious.

I've driving a car that is unregistered, uninspected and has out of state, expired tags. (and needs to be vacuumed)

Alright, that's all I have to confess for now.

O wait, a typo I just made (I typed lishp instead of list) reminded me I have on more confession:

I was thinking unkind thoughts toward the televangelist with the lisp this morning.

Okay.

Freedom in nothing

Because New Year’s resolutions are too hard, I decided to make a series of New Month resolutions. This month it is an experiment in poverty and plenty.

I’m certainly not alone in my hand to mouth experiences, but sometimes I wonder if people realize that sometimes there really isn’t any benefactor in sight who’s going to help us out of whatever crisis we may find ourselves in. There’s not working mom and dad to help with the rent this month. There aren’t any retired grandparents with great credit and a some extra to lend a little to get the car fixed. No brothers or sisters who could scrape a little together for the electric bill.

Nothing. Nothing to be seen in any event. All my friends are equally as poor as I am.

Fortunately, I’m an optimist. I have hope because I have a provider. I always have. I’ve always had a provider, sometimes I lose sight of the hope.

But this month I wanted to see it again. To aid in my quest, I decided to spend nothing for one week. Nothing, not even one penny. I started Tuesday, the 20th. I have come across some inconvinences. 1. I have to do careful research in my cook books to find a recipe that contains only the ingredients I have (or can find a substitute for in my pantry) 2. I went to the library (cheap and free entertainment) however, I cannot check out a book, I have a fine on my card.
3. My habits of looking at adds and wandering around stores for that “really amazing deal” is useless. Even if I find that really amazing deal, I can’t have it.

That’s fine. The point of the exercise it to remember how much have already. I don’t need to buy anything, even if I can afford it.

I did go to the mall yesterday. I tried on a key-lime-pie-green formal gown.

The strategy is to only look at and try on things you would never buy. But much to my surprise, it was kinda cute once I got it on! DRAT!
Ah . . . were would I have to go to wear a key-lime-pie-green formal gown anyway?

I have freedom in needing and buying nothing.

When I was a little girl, I was convinced I could fly. Well, not really fly, but float. I could float down the stairs, as long as nobody was looking. I could move down the stairwell without ever touching a step. I could do it because I was a little girl, and that made total sense to me. I knew that adults couldn't do it, and that they would never understand if I told them, or if they saw me. I knew that someday I would get too old to do it anymore.

It happened one day when I was between three and four years old. (I find it amazing that I can recall a lucid thought at that age) I stood at the head of the stair well, and nothing happened. I remember thinking, "I must be too old for that now." Accepting it calmly I walked down the stairs for the first time in a long while. Always before it was an unwilled action. I stopped at the first step, and it happened. I let it. It never suprised me. It just was. I never asked why or why not.

I've read that young children often confuse their dreams with reality. I've thought that was the case with my floating. I wonder now though, if it wasn't my first taste of the magic and fantastic qualities of life that the reasonable mind refuses to believe, the logical eye refuses to see, what the responsible life refuses to live.

Sometimes I find myself in the most unreasonable, illogical, irresponsible circumstances--
I wonder if everyone lives the same sort of rediculous life I lead. If they do, I wonder if they know.
I wonder if they see it as magic and fantastic too.