But Then the Smell Hits 'Em

One night, my roommate and I were on one of our many late night trips to Food4Less. it was just before Halloween and, like most other stores, there was a huge pile of pumpkins under the ugly fluorescent lights.

As we left, I commented on how easy it seemed it would be to steal one of these pumpkins. Something posessed me and as we walked by, I just kinda grabbed one.

I'm not sure how it happened, really. But the pumpkin was the perfect size. The stem made a great stealing handle. I would be ashamed, but it was like maybe we were meant to be together.

I bestowed upon this beautiful pumpkin the name "Pumpkin Joe" and vowed to make it the best jack-o-lantern, ever.

Unfortunately, my mother had never allowed me to carve a pumpkin. She's an art teacher and somewhat anal about things and she wanted her jack-o-lanterns to be perfect. Of course she used the "I don't want you to cut yourself" excuse.

In any case, though I had never carved a pumpkin, I was determined to do it right. After hours of designing his face and transferring that into the hard rind of Pumpkin Joe, "Jack-O-Lantern Joe" was born on the thirtieth day of October, 1998.

Here he is. My beautiful, beautiful Jack-O-Lantern Joe.

Now . . . I'm not saying he's the most beautiful jack-o-lantern ever created, but I was pretty proud of myself. We enjoyed how hilariously wasted he looked and on Halloween, had a lit cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Which was funny until the rain put out the cigarette.

A couple of days after Halloween, we stepped outside to see that Jack-O-Lantern Joe looked a little funny.

In fact, it seemed Jack-O-Lantern Joe had an exciting Halloween, also. It appeared he had contracted herpes.

Yeah. I know. It's scary.

You can't really see it, but there was some sort of white fungus all around his mouth and he was all saggy.

So of course, we were worried, but more so, we were disgusted.

And so we watched Jack-O-Lantern Joe's descent into hell. We couldn't touch him. It was really scary to do so. He just rotted on the corner of our balcony.

One night, as my friends hung out inside, I snuck out and lit a Doritos bag on fire and placed it inside Jack-O-Lantern Joe.

I then yelled for help and as my friends poured outside, they all stopped in their tracks.

I started rambling about how Jack-O-Lantern Joe had spontaneously combusted. I'm not sure if I should admit that I hung out with people like this, but they believed it.

This is Jack-O-Lantern Joe in all his burning glory.

After that, Jack-O-Lantern Joe just got scarier and scarier, as you can see in these last two pictures.

Eventually, I got up enough courage to pick him up (with a spatula) and salute him as he dropped three stories into the bushes below.

Perhaps it was Karma. My punishment for stealing was just a brief time with Jack-O-Lantern Joe.

Or maybe it's a lesson in looking at the bright side of things. Anyone who reads this story can't be too sad about finding their jack-o-lantern smashed in the road on the first of November!

Happy Halloween!

Rearranging Your Face

Last week, I started in with customers.

Unlike when I worked in the banking center, with my new position, I deal with customers strictly on the phone. Which I thought would be awesome.

But after working my first ten-hour Monday, I can tell you that the first day of the week is just as busy and the customers are even more grumpy.

I didn't think it was possible!

Me Gusta Punk Rock

Dammit! He was right!

You End Up with No Teeth

I am so so very sorry. It appears I have spread my evil to others. It just radiates and envelopes people.

Tonight, I was hanging out at a friend's house and we ended up watching the news.

There was a story on yet another soldier killed in Iraq. This time, the soldier came from Kansas.

As we were watching the grieving mother talk about how brave her son was, I heard my friend say something.

"And you don't have teeth!"

It Makes Me Mellow Down into My Soul

I love office supplies.

Paper clips, pens, highlighters, drawer organizers; I have some weird love for them all.

Some of my favorites are: Post-it pads (especially the super sticky and little ones), steno pads and Sharpies.

Luckily, my love for Sharpies put me on my current career path.

When I went in to interview for my job at the banking center, the manager asked me the normal "Why should I hire you?" questions.

Then she pulled out a surprise. "This is something I have all my interviewees do. My manager made me do it, so I know what it's like."

At this point, I kinda started freaking out. She made it sound so scary!

She pulled out an orange Sharpie. "Sell me this marker."

No problemo!

I pulled out my most obnoxious Forensics/Debate attitude. "This, my friend, is no ordinary marker!" I held the Sharpie up and started Barker's Beauties-style showcasing it with my hands. "This is a Sharpie!"

I went on and on about how durable it was and how the orange color was perfect for getting attention. Not to mention it would be awesome for cautionary messages! Just like the orange construction cones!

I'm really quite surprised at all the uses I found for a Sharpie. I thought I was captivating, but the manager kept looking around and didn't smile.

Which, of course, encouraged me to go on and on.

When I finally wore myself out, she said "Thank you," and called the assisstant manager over to her desk.

"This is OlaMae. Please sell her the Sharpie."

So off I went again. This time, it wasn't as spontaneous, which, as Michael will agree, means I wasn't as entertaining.

Which was obvious to me since OlaMae wouldn't smile at all! She just kept staring at me. I was, frankly, a little frightened.

" . . . and that's why you need this Sharpie," I finished.

OlaMae broke into laughter. "That was so good!"

"I know!" Jill cried. "I had to call you over so you could see it!"

Later that day, I had the job offered to me.

And you thought I was crazy for loving office supplies!

Took You from Dirt Bikes to Hondas

You're all such kind, caring souls.

I can tell you're all concerned about my state of mind and about poor Michael getting slammed into my car door by the emails you sent asking what "Get on the Bus" is.

I guess I must be rubbing off on all of you.

"GOTB" is another car game developed while at KU. All the best ideas for car games originate on that campus.

Whenever we drove somewhere on campus, we were most likely going to pass by a bus stop. Usually, there was at least one person satnding there.

While passing by one such bus stop, Raw growled "Get on the bus!"

I laughed. She laughed. It turned into a game.

See, the idea is that our vehicle is the bus. And we're telling them to get on the bus. But we don't actually stop.

Get it?

Yeah. I'm telling you we were easily amused. We had to be. We were poor.

Hell, we're still poor and this stuff will always amuse us!

And He Knows He is Badder

I had this dream the other night. It was creepy.

I guess I was living at home. In my bedroom back home, there is a quilt hanging behind my bed. For some reason in this dream, I was looking at the quilt.

I noticed some weird dark spots on the wall. Upon closer inspection, I realized they were holes in the wall.

And these holes were filled with bugs!

But not just any bugs. They were nasty scarab beetles!

I didn't want to tell anyone because I felt it was my fault for not cleaning. I quietly got some spider spray and crossed my fingers, hoping it would work.

One fell out of its hole, so I sprayed him first. I wanted to do them one at a time because I kept thinking of The Mummy and was afraid they'd swarm me and pick my bones dry.

So I sprayed the sucker and he ran away and over my foot. Ew! I had to keep spraying and spraying. I used the whole can.

And there were hundreds of bugs! How hopeless!

I'm not sure why I had this dream. Maybe I feel like my mom should clean her house.

Just kidding, Mom. We all know it's because I need to clean my home.

I Slit the Line

I've been a big baby here and crying my heart out to you about my devastation over losing a friend so suddenly. So what do I get emails about?

"What's 'No Gas/No Brake?'"

I feel your love.

No Gas/No Brake is possibly the greatest game involving a car, ever.¹ The only thing you have to do is pretend you've run out of gas and have no brakes.

Now, you don't play the game just anywhere. It's silly and dangerous to play on open roads.

The game is most effective when picking someone up in a parking lot.

While at KU, all my friends lived in the dorms or apartments. We played No Gas/No Brake a lot.

Since I was usually driving, I was the biggest instigator. "No Gas/ No Brake?" I would ask as we pulled into the lot.

We would pull up to the curb and wait impatiently for the victim to come out. We would roll down all the windows and open the door then let the car go, yelling "No Gas/ No Brake!"

Michael seemed to be the victim a lot. He was also the grumpiest about it. He would stand at the curb with his arms crossed until we stopped.

But we never stopped.

One night, I swear we played the game for twenty minutes. Michael's dorm had the best slope to the parking lot. The car could go forever.

We were yelling and laughing hysterically until he finally decided to take the jump.

The door shut on him as he landed in the backseat, on top of two passengers.

"OW!" He shouted angrily as we all fell silent. "See? This is why I hate this stupid game!"

Did we apologize? Did we stop to make sure he was okay?

Of course not. We just broke out into laughter again.

Oh, the eveil things that amuse me!


¹"Get on the Bus" is pretty good, too!

You Know I Almost Lost My Mind

Two reasons why I'm not feeling too bad:
1. I have several really good friends. These are steadfast, loyal friends I can't imagine would ever not be friends with me.
2. I think maybe October is unofficially "National Drama Month." There seems to be extra drama in everyone's lives.

Two of my friends fit in both these categories. Raw and Casey have stuck with me at my worst. And they've been doing what every young married couple does; bickering.

Casey, deciding he was going to figure out the root of the problem, calls Raw up.

I happened to be on the phone with Raw when he called. We were discussing the guy she saw on the side of the road with a sign that said "I bet you can't hit me with a quarter."

"Hang on. Casey's calling."

I sang my own hold muzak while I patiently waited.

"Oh my God! Casey decided he knows why I am so moody! He's bringing home a pregnancy test!"

Guys are so sensitive to women's feelings!

You Shine Like Stars, and Fade Away

I'm sorry to be such a downer lately. But I'm really not so bad off.

I've been having a really good time and hanging out with a lot of friends, old and new.

I've only had an evening or two at home since my new job started, so that could explain why I can't stay awake in my training.

On Sunday night, Allie and I went to Old Chicago for a few drinks. I hadn't had alone time with Allie in forever, so we had a lot to talk about.

We were talking about babies and boys when she said "The one time I got pulled over . . ."

"Only once???"

The one time Allie got pulled over, she was driving down a highway in the dead of night. Without her lights.

I can't say I've never driven without my lights on at night. There have been times when I'm leaving a brightly-lit parking lot and don't think to flip them on, but once I hit the road, I notice that I can't see the road.

Allie didn't ever eventually notice.

I guess I should tell the story differently, because there was a good part: she did have her parking lights on. The bad part is that she thought if she flipped the switch all the way over, it would turn on her brights.

So the cop not only had to write her a warning, he had to show her how to operate her vehicle. "You turn your lights on by turning the knob all the way to the right. To turn on the brights, you pull back here on the blinker arm."

My first year in Lawrence, I developed several car games; No Gas/No Brake and Let's Get Lost, to name a couple.

Another game I played really didn't have a name. If it did, it might be called "No Lights" or "I Can Make It" or maybe more likely "Peer Pressure."

The object of this game was to make it home before the sun set so low that I would have to turn on my headlights. I didn't like feeling pressured if, in the middle of my drive, everyone had their lights on.

Just because everyone else was doing it, didn't mean I had to! I mean, if everyone else decided to jump off a bridge, should I jump, too?

I still play this game subconciously. Raw is the only one who notices.

I was on my way to Newton to see Raw a couple of years ago when I noticed it getting dark. I kept thinking "It isn't much further. I can make it!"

Then I saw a cop car pull a U-turn from the other side of the Interstate. This was a time when my speedometer didn't work, so I figured I was speeding.

"Ma'am, did you notice you don't have your headlights on?"

Dude, I'm still wearing my sunglasses!

Like Allie, I ended up with just a warning. But I didn't get the operating instructions.

I'm not sure what's worse, being cluless or being stubborn and childish.

I Know I'll Walk Out of Here Again

I thought I was fine, but I'm starting to get sad again and it's driving me nuts! Why can't I just let go of this?

It's because all this childish crap never ends.

A couple of weeks ago, Jennifer was telling me about the catty girl behavior with which her daughter is already having to deal.

"Oh yeah. They start young," Marques told her.

"She's only eight!" Jennifer cried. Then all us girls gathered around to tell our tales of woe.

I remember being very "grown-up" even as kindergarten student. The claws started really coming out in first grade.

I don't remember dealing with a lot of it myself. I didn't enjoy it and would rather just play by myself than participate.

Every now and then, a girl reaches her limit.

Third grade had my limits peaking a lot. I snapped in very diva-like fasion, which was strange coming from a shy girl.

"Jessica! I have had it up to here with your bullshit!" I yelled in her face. I even punctuated the "here" I'd had it up to by flinging my hand far above my head.

Even worse, I got violent.

My friend Suzanne was all up in my face, making fun of me and wouldn't back off, so I slapped her. That got her to stop. That also got her to wail "Why would you do that to me???"

Much worse, it wasn't the last time I slapped her. But that was in sixth grade and going there would skip the great years.

The years where we were boys.

During my fourth and fifth grade years, most of us girls turned into total boys. At recess we threw off our coats and played football in the freezing cold. We got out our frustrations on the field. We were all right there in the fist-fights.

It got so violent that each class had to have some sort of group counseling sessions with our teachers.

Outside of school, I was apparently oblivious to the catty stuff.

I always thought the girl across the street, Cassie, and I were like sisters. Everyone even thought we looked alike. We both had long hair that my mom painstakingly braided into cornrows so we could do a Milli Vanilli lip synch. Yes I am that old.

It wasn't until just a few years ago that I found out I had been the victim of several counts of ill-will.

My mom told me about a time when I was playing outside with my brother. Suzanne and Cassie emerged from Cassie's house and started laughing and playing.

That night, Suzanne felt guilty and confessed to her mother that she and Cassie had gone outside and purposefully been extra loud in an effort to get me to feel jealous.

I guess it didn't work so well.

Then sixth grade came along. The worst of all the years.

In sixth grade, I had twelve best friends! You know how girls are. We're too afraid of hurting someone's feelings, or worse, of not being cool, so we don't want to deem just one person our best friend.

The reality is, probably only a few are your good friends. In my case, I had three close friends.

Cassie had moved back to California, so she wasn't in the picture anymore. Now, my most frequent playmates were Suzanne, Ashlee and Apryl.

Let me try to explain how this circle of friends worked. Every week, there was a different outcast.

I tended not to go about things the way they did, so I never really knew why one or both were mad at the other, but there was always one girl getting the silent treatment.

One day, I got my lunch and sat at our table. I started jabber-jawing away only to realize I was finally the victim.

"Are you kidding me?" I bellowed, getting up from the table. "You can kiss my ass, because I'm not playing this game!"

It got so bad that they all ended up hating each other and complaining to me about it. Miss Fraser, our fed-up teacher, sent us to the school counselor.

I was mortified. How could I have ended up in here when I hadn't done anything?

Mr. Cromwell kept asking us stupid questions, even though no one was responding. He would then look at me like he expected me to lead.

"I'm neutral," was my only response.

Then someone finally decided to break. "Quit saying you're neutral!" Ashlee exploded. "It's not some kind of a war!"

To me, though, it felt like some kind of war. I was in the middle and didn't want to say anything about anyone for fear of getting bombed with hatred myself.

The rest of my middle-school years were relatively calm. As was high school, really.

Most of the catty behavior I endured occured as a result of debate and forensics. Yeah. Totally nerdy.

I also remember the day our seating arrangements for The Singing Christmas Tree came out, I got the position of second from the top. A certain friend of mine didn't speak to me for about a week after that. Yeah. Still nerdy.

After that, things were okay until I went to KU. There were several small instances of malevolence.

The focus feature was the Lisa blowout. Someday, I'll try to figure out what all went down to put an end to our little family. But finding out how it really all began has hurt enough. Like, thinking Lisa and I started hanging out because we had common interests and then finding out all she ever wanted was to get close to Jackson. Ouch.

The rest of my life, until recently, has involved me laughing at others for being so immature. When my friends Cassie and Tonya managed to bungle their friendship, most of us attributed it to the fact that they were young.

We, as old foagies, could relate since we had been through similar stuff, but we were so over that stuff.

Or so I thought. My idea that all this cattiness goes away with age has been shattered as of late.

Take a Look Around, Look What I've Found

The Nietzsche Family Circus

Take a Look Around, Look What I've Found

This video is equal parts bizarre and awesome.

From Motionographer, by Run Wrake.

Mercy, Mercy Me

I'm suffering from insomnia and some sadness. So, sorry about all this.

I like technology. I like to have the newest toys and try new things. But it seems to me we are starting to get out of control.

I'm starting to feel like people are too often avoiding face-to-face communication, by instead hiding behind technology. People break up by email and propose via webcam.

Which isn't to say I'm not to blame. I'm the worst! I'm really big on text messaging. I even learned about Sohpia's impending arrival via text message.

But never did I think a friend would terminate our friendship through texting.

One More Cup of Coffee for the Road

As you probably already know, I'm pretty much a Starbuck's fan. I've already had about eighty pumpkin spice lattes.

Unfortunately, there's not a Starbuck's on the way to my new worksite, so I'm falling asleep during my training sessions. It was really horrible today. We were all nodding off because all we did was read through a book.

We had a break and I just couldn't take it anymore. I ended up drinking a regular plain ol' cuppa joe and, much to my parents' disappointment, I didn't hate it. I enjoyed it, even. Once I put a little sugar in it, anyway.

As a result, I'm changing my Christmas list. Now I think I need a coffee maker!

And some bleach for my teeth.

Singing That Sad Song

Soon after I started working at the bank, the chick who trained me gave me her keychain. Her trainer had passed it on to her, and for more than two years, it was mine.

I thought it only proper, then, that on my last day, I should pass it on, too.

Do you see how happy Nighat is to be honored with such a torch?

That doesn't mean she was happy I was leaving. I think everybody was bummed. But none so much as me.

As I counted down the days, I became more and more sad and nostalgic.

But Marques cured that by scaring me.

"I forgot to tell you a lady from your new department came in yesterday."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

"She said it's horrible. She said everyone hates it and they jump out windows."

"I'm not sure there's any windows to jump out of at that building."

"She also said they spend their time building windows just so they can jump out of them."

You Can't Always Get What You Want

Seriously, Google, leave it alone! Poop week is long gone. It's seriously over.

Could This Be the End?

This weekend, I stayed at the Hotel Chez Grandparents. They were quite hospitable as I drove in circles around Lamar, Joplin and Pittsburg.

I managed to fit in quality time, not only with my grandparents, but also with my cousin Allison, my friend Jackson and his family.

This is a video of one of the several baby tornadoes I ran into on the way home.

I took the video sideways, not thinking about whether or not I could figure out how to turn it upright. So just turn your monitor on its side for optimum viewing pleasure.

We'd Be Together All Day Long

"I don't remember that."

"Well, I told you."

"If I knew about it, I'd remember."

"Well, I told you, so you must not remember."

"But I'm the one who remembers everything, remember?"

"No I don't remember."

And I Cannot Lie

Tonight, Nadia and I went to Ali's flag football game.

I did see Ali get hit in the FACE and then fall on his FACE. But for most of the game, our view was obstructed.

And I Rock Well

I like monkeys.

In high school, my friend Jacob started drawing a little stick-figure monkey. His name was AFUBU!

AFUBU gained quite a lot of notoriety. In fact, there was soon an AFUBU Fan Club.

There were more members in attendance at the AFUBU Fan Club meetings than at any of the sanctioned school club meetings I attended.

For the first meeting, we took up several rows at our local movie theatre. We were there to watch the film Jumanji.

The only reason we decided to go to that particular film is monkeys. We saw monkeys in the trailer and decided we had to go.

Intoxicated by nothing more than the thrill of seeing a monkey on the big screen, we were a rambunctious group. Each time a monkey showed up in the movie, we would stand and make loud monkey noises, which as you may have heard, I'm quite awesome at making.

At another meeting, we gathered at my friend Ashlee's house. We had a giant bowl of banana pudding, which no one ever ended up eating, because a battle began.

See, there were a group of jealous people. They were jealous of the happiness AFUBU brought us. They were so bitter, they created the Anti-AFUBU Club.

Their club had gathered the same night and began threatening us. This was something we weren't going to take. They were going to share in our light and love and happiness, whether they wanted to or not!

Off we went to Pesha's to gather secret weapons. Her mother, rightfully worried since the last time Pesha and I had gone out of city limits in the same vehicle, said vehicle was rolled, started in with the questioning.

"So what is it you're doing?"

"Um . . . getting revenge on the . . . Oh it's too hard to explain!"

"Pesha. This is the second and last car we are buying you."

I hopped in the backseat, and Jacob navigated from the suicide seat. As our caravan approached the enemy headquarters, Jacob pulled out a lighter and aimed our weapon: a roman candle.

The chaos was beautiful. Water balloons. Shaving cream.

Never will I forget the image of Kirby leaping for his life over balls of fire.

And still today, I can hear Jacob's evil menacing cackle as he continued to aim at him after Kirby had fallen to the ground.

I love monkeys.