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Anomalies.

1 Feb

Monopoly.

Au gratin.

Onomatopoeia.

Abnormally.

Origami.

Cacophony.

Apostrophe.

Saskatchewan.

Say them out loud. They’re fun to say, but not often used. Especially apostrophes. Which also irritate me. Those who can’t use apostrophes should be stripped of the privilege of internet usage.

I’m not normal. Perhaps you’ve noticed. That alone makes me an anomaly.

But wait…there’s more!

I’m not a morning person, but with my work schedule, I now have trouble staying up past 1am. If I’m not a morning person and I’m not a night person, am I even a person?

I’m not the 99%. I’m not even the 1%. I’m just 1 person, which makes me 100% myself. And compared to myself, I am totally normal.

But compared to all you weirdos, I’m an anomaly.

For example, I don’t drink alcohol…don’t even desire to.

Iridescent. 

I wear skirts like it’s the unbreakable rule, except the truth is that I really do it because I want to. It makes me feel pretty, and like most girls, I like to feel pretty.

I have had the same best friend for two decades, yet I’m only 23 years old. That’s because loyalty is my strong suit, and loyalty is my downfall. I hold on to people long after they’ve walked out of my life. I also hold on to receipts, almost-empty favorite lotions, and cell phone pictures of every wonderful meal I’ve ordered at restaurants.

The front door I walk through every time I go to work and return from shopping ventures is the same door my parents brought me through when I was a newborn. I haven’t moved. I haven’t moved out.

Misconstrue. 

I’m always right. Which means you can’t always be right. Unless you’re agreeing with me.

I rarely brush my hair. After it’s washed, I run my fingers through it a few times, and that’s it.

I go to church three times a week. That’s why I have every single Sunday off and why I don’t work on Wednesday nights.

Sometimes my brain sends me a picture of what I’m trying to say, instead of words. When I force words out anyway, they come out jumbled and I get really frustrated and stop talking.

Effervescence.

I wear polka dot knee socks with striped shirts. In public. And I smile to myself at the kindergarten girls who are jealous of my rockin’ style.

I make my bed every day. That way I know one thing in my room is neat.

I’ve never liked my thumbs and toes. Ever.

I don’t like compliments. I have a high enough opinion of myself that when someone tells me something nice, I feel like it’s boring and repetitious because I already knew that about myself.

Spontaneity.

I like to smell my hair. In fact, I switch up my shampoos and conditioners every day to spice things up.

I have a mole on the back of one of my ears. I didn’t discover it until I was a teenager. Seriously, who looks at the backs of their ears?

I drive stick shift and change my own oil, when the weather permits. Oh yeah, and I’m a girl. Girls are capable humans too.

Immensely.

I live in a bakery and I’m not obese.

I take daily multi-vitamins. They’re gummies. Because somewhere inside me is a five-year-old girl who is still completely infatuated with candy.

Regardless of my age and maturity level, I do not and will not like peas. Not by themselves. Not in soup. Not in mixed veggies. Only in the trashcan.

In order to stay hydrated, I drink flavored water. Often it is carbonated as well. Clear, tasteless water is for those who are more committed to hydration than I am.

Astronomically.

Inordinate.

Ricochet.

Serendipity.

Chasm.

Volatile.

Plethora.

Expand your vocabulary. One word at a time. Try one word a day.

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Theory of Distraction

18 Jul

I am easily distracted. Some call it forgetfulness; others say I sidetrack with little effort. I have given it some thought and formed a theory. No, it is not a scientific theory, for if it involved science, it would still be a hypothesis….and even that is being generous.

I have taken several brain-activity tests to determine whether my left or right brain is dominant. Neither is. They affect my life and thinking habits equally.

My analytic left brain allows me to memorize number sequences, see patterns where there are no obvious/visible/existing patterns, use words proficiently, be a painstaking perfectionist in my fashion pattern making; my artsy right brain is what enables me to be creative in my pattern making, draw with exquisite detail, enjoy a vivid imagination and exotic sleeping dream world, be inspired by the simple things like ribbons, fabrics, buttons, shapes, colors, etc.

I frequently switch between analyzing and creating. Mid-nerdy-sentence, a creative thought will strike me and I must stop talking and chase that train of thought. To the onlooker, I was distracted. To me, it made perfect sense. It was a momentary switch from left brain to right.

For example: A guest approaches the front desk of my hotel with two questions. First, would I print out a bill for them and explain the intricacies of tax refunds and rate changes? Sure! My logical left brain starts thinking through the best way to explain our tax and rate policies.

As I begin pulling up their bill on the computer, their second question descends. They are afraid that their pet has carried fleas to the hotel room, would I be so kind to bring a flea spray to their room as soon as possible?

My right brain’s vivid imagination kicks in. This time it’s a Pixar-style animation of me in a Monsters Inc. orange exterminator suit walking in slow-motion to their room, armed with Home Defense spray. As I open the door, the background music grows louder and more sinister; their poor pooch cowers in the corner and the room is obviously infested with fleas hopping wildly. I hook up the hose to the Home Defense spray and push the spray release. Looks of terror cross the faces of the fleas as they die mid-hop and flop onto the floor, where miniature x’s replace their eyes as death settles in. Music becomes triumphant again as I turn to see all the guests from the hotel standing outside the room with rousing applause, a shower of roses, and blown kisses. I smile to myself as I imagine some of my guests with their disproportionate Pixar-style features. Of course, dear guest, I’ll bring some flea spray to your room.

And already I forgot why I was looking at their bill, so I exit it. The guest asks for their bill again, and they can’t believe it’s taking so long.

The problem is not a deficiency in my brain that causes me to forget or be distracted. Rather, my brain is so advanced that it switches so quickly from left to right brain and back again, that my brain does not have time to log information in its short term memory. It appears as though I have forgotten. The truth is that I have yet to be able to control my brain. It’s almost as if my own brain is too amazing for me to handle. Scary, huh? It’s still a theory I’m playing with. I haven’t even thought of a good way to word my theory, which makes it obviously very unscientific. Even so, I felt the need to inform my general public of the reasons behind my frequent distractions.

In other news, I’m still thinking about my amazing carnitas burrito from Chipotle several days ago. Life-changing.

100 is a big number

6 May

I can count to 100 in English, Spanish, and French. Most kindergarten children of average intelligence have learned to count to 100.

100 seconds is pretty short. But try holding your breath for 100 seconds going through a tunnel. Some can do it, others cheat. Either way, those 100 seconds seem to stretch endlessly.

In 100 minutes, you can drive from my hometown of Emmaus, PA, to the Newark airport, with just enough time to grab a coffee before getting stuck in line for security. I hope you’ll send me a postcard from wherever you’re going.

If you think staying awake for 100 hours is no small feat, then you’ve never been in my shoes preparing for a fashion show getting minimal sleep for 4 days. 4 days is a mere 96 hours, while 100 hours takes it to the next level: the fifth day of sleeplessness. I don’t recommend trying this without interspersed naps and superfluous caffeine.

100 days will take you from the shivery days of January to the windy days of April, and another 100 days will usher in the heat and humidity of July.

Not many people can boast of living for 100 years, but kudos to those who can. That’s big.

Andy Warhol’s One Hundred Cans

100 pennies will make a 5-year-old boy feel rich, and make his pockets all jingly.

$100 is enough to buy a nice coffee grinder, or yardages of exciting fabrics, or a sale-priced Coach purse, or an overpriced Walmart purse.

If $100 is mere pocket change to you, how about $100 thousand?! Still petty? Eh, I’d settle for $100 million. I mean, $1 million is impressive, but $100 million is 100 times better. Literally.

100% A+ is a big deal. Celebrate it, you smart cookie you.

Let’s pretend that Pongo is at the vet. We’ll take 100 humans, pair each human with each of the remaining 100 Dalmatians, and put them in a 100-square-yard balloon at the top of a 100-yard hill where the sun pelts down at 100 degrees. Get the balloon rolling down the hill at 100mph, and watch as they fly off the cliff and drown 100 leagues under the sea. Be prepared to answer questions by the 100 reporters who flood the scene, and hope you have a good alibi or 100 to clear your good name. (It was Pongo.) At some point in this fictional debacle, you might begin to grasp the magnanimity of 100.

100 is a big number.

So thank you for reading my 100th post. I thought it was a pretty big deal.

Light Reflectors

12 Jan

How many times have I driven past those two-inch-wide reflective markers on the curves of Route 100 and hardly noticed them?

Tonight I drove home in the snow. It was about 2 inches at the hotel when I left, and at home, the accumulation was already 4 inches. During one section of my drive home, there were no street lights. The windshield wiper blade was not getting all the snow off my window. And I could barely see more than 10-15 feet in front of my car. I tried to just follow the tire tracks in the unplowed road, but it was difficult to differentiate between the tire tracks that were ON the road and the tire tracks from the cars before me that had veered OFF the road.

What kept me on the road? The reflective markers. I could usually see one at a time. And as I would pass the one I could see, another one would blink its reflectiveness at me. From such reflective blinks, I found my way home.

It also helped that I was going about 20mph. (I only slid around once on a totally unplowed section of road that was an inclined curve. I’m blaming the road for that slip and letting my car off the hook.)

But I thought about those light reflectors.

They needed the light source of my headlights. But even my headlights could not reach very far.

This isn’t going to be a perfect analogy, but listen anyway! We are all like I was, driving with poor visibility and only reflective markers to guide me home. In life, our poor visibility is caused by our shortcomings, our lack of faith, or maybe just a trial that God has allowed in our lives. The headlights are like the light of God’s Word. It illumines our pathway, but not the whole path. Just the part that we must tread upon soonest. The reflective markers are the promises that God gives to us. But we won’t see those promises unless we “turn on” the light of God’s Word in our lives. Make sense?

nameless thoughts

30 Aug

I wrote this poem before I graduated from high school. I still haven’t thought of a name for it. :-) But it’s kind of how I’m feeling again. You’d think I’d have figured out a fool-proof plan to dealing with the unknown future by now! But no. God thinks differently.

When the path before me disappears

and I can’t retrace my steps,

And the silence of unanswered prayers

is all that I have left,

Then my grief-torn face is moistened

by the slowly falling tear.

Behold! One standing by my side;

my whispered name I hear.

The mystery of unknown ways

He shows me bit by bit.

The once-dark corridor I tread

now seems to be well-lit.

To walk a single path in light

quite easily is done.

But I am unprepared to face

three roads formed from my one.

I strain my ears to catch the voice

of One so calm and wise.

Why does He tarry? Why so long?

My time is passing by.

At last I set my feet on one;

the center path I choose.

I have everything to gain hereby

and even more to lose.

What are my plans after college? It’s becoming more and more trying to simply smile at the interrogator and say, “I’m not sure yet.” People don’t understand that. I should have a plan! I shouldn’t just glide through my last semester without thinking ahead!

And then of course come the suggestions. People who don’t know me think that they can tell me what to do with the rest of my life. Whatever happened to smiling back at the poor confused soul and saying, “I’ll pray for you” ? Hmmm? Cause I could indeed use more prayers and fewer interrogations.

Dissertation on emoticons

7 Aug

(**Update: WordPress changes my common emoticons from their punctuation form to an animated form. Unappreciated, WordPress. There’s probably a setting to change that, but I couldn’t find it. Hence the “spaced-out-smile” look. You know what I mean. Carry on…)

(**Update #2: Rachel has enlightened me as far as how to turn off the automatic animated emoticons.Yes!! Thanks, Rach! For the rest of you, ignore my previous update. It remains there purely for memory’s sake. And as a tribute to Rachel’s genius.)

Everybody has that one favorite emoticon they use and overuse in emails, texts, twitters, facebook statuses, etc. Or maybe more than just one. But everyone has a specific way that they emoticonnote, that is to say write emoticons.

Some people use the = as the eyes. Such as =) or =D . These display a certain amount of excitement. Constantly. I know several people who use = consistently and I love it. It shows a zeal for life and total wide-eyed excitement. Love it. This is probably my favorite way of emoticonnoting ever. However, I can’t usually pull that off because I tend to be more blah in my emotional swings.

Some people use noseless emoticons. When the eyes are big, as they are in the above example, going noseless is acceptable. Otherwise it’s just lazy. :( See? Sorry to disappoint. It really takes little effort to fill out the face with a nose of sorts. Could be like :-) or :o) or :~) or :+) or :<) . Noseless emoticons rank on my list of pet peeves. One more mark of punctuation, that’s all that’s needed.

Mine always have noses. Always. Whether the nose be a “-” or an “o”, the nose is there. To those noseless emoticons, I attribute the name “lazy smiley.” I refuse to use them. My emoticons deserve a nose.

The :-) kind of nose is what I usually use. It’s basic enough that no one reads into my smile and think I’m too anxious, too sarcastic, not genuine enough, not happy enough. It’s complete, hardly deserving a second thought.

The :o) kind of nose is cute. For some reason I equate it with eating, cute kids, or hidden frustration. Like when I use it, I’m usually thinking, “I should probably put a smile there, but I’m not really happy and I don’t feel like smiling.” This is as close as I’ve come to smiling sarcastically.

The :~) kind of nose screams “broken.” I wince when I see it and have been known to audibly whimper upon such seeings. Do not abuse your emoticons! They may come back to haunt you and break your nose in your sleep!

The :+) nose says, “My emoticonnotor broke my nose, but then had the decency to put a bandaid on it. Thank you, dear emoticonnotor.”

The :<) nose is obviously Italian. Or Roman. Or swollen Swedish. Wait, isn’t Rome in Italy?

Lately, tragedy has struck. As mentioned before, my keys stick occasionally (both on my phone and on my laptop). Thus sometimes when I press a key once or twice or thrice, there is still no resulting character.

And I trimmed my fingernails the other day and chopped my left thumbnail entirely too short, thus hampering my texting speed.

Furthermore, through an amazing display of ballet unlearnedness, last night at work I broke not only my second and last unbroken thumbnail, but also the lid and the cup with which I was twirling around behind the counter.

Thus, those who may have texted me within the past week (or month for that matter) may be confused at my dislike of noseless emoticons. Because I’ve used them. Inadvertantly. And it pains me. But sometimes I hit the punctuation key five times, hoping for a smile complete with a nose, and I get merely a noseless smile. So frustrating. Half the time I don’t notice it until it’s already been sent. The other half of the time, I notice it and continue hitting the punctuation key until my poor broken thumbnail is screaming for a break. Relief is given, and the text is sent with a noseless emoticon.

Now I have a confession. The noseless emoticons have grown on me recently. I even labeled one as cute the other day. I was shocked at myself. It is highly unlikely that I am no longer peeved by this long time pet peeve. However, perhaps I have become more tolerant? More importantly, is it totally weird that I have such qualms and unusual things to say about emoticons? Am I please not the only one who reads into them so deeply and attributes such inane characteristics to them?

Advice for today about my tomorrow

13 Jul

“Find God’s will for your life and do it.”

I heard it from preachers, parents, teachers at my Christian school, older friends, and even a dear teacher at my secular art school.

As I near the end of my college days, I once again ask, “What is God’s will for my life?” It has been two years since I graduated from high school. Mere weeks before I graduated, God made it clear to me that LCCC’s fashion design program was the next step for me.

This December I plan to graduate from LCCC with my associate’s degree in fashion. And then what? The next step in God’s plan for my life. Which is what? I wish I knew. I wish I could answer the question of what I’m doing after graduation. But since I can’t, I am “stuck” with waiting for God to reveal the next step to me. Ah, but which is more tragic? Being blindfolded in the arms of God or having clear sight to see the multitude of trials that inevitably will waylay me?

I will choose to wait on God.

Even though the thought of where I’ll be next year puts me into a pondering quandary, I’ll just wait.