You don't know me and you shouldn't, 'cause that's just weird. But I've had some thoughts about you lately that I thought I would share.
See, before two years ago, the most I knew about you is that you were a bit of a druggie (am I understating this?). That's all that really mattered to me. I grew up in a pretty straight-laced household, you see, so I didn't hold with those shenanigans. Then you fell off the radar and I forgot about you.
Until a couple years ago when you made my day.
You see, I was pledging for my honors/service co-ed fraternity (stick with me here) and had volunteered to do something that made me very uncomfortable. I hate admitting this because it makes me seem like an insensitive monster, but I'm very awkward around the developmentally challenged (am I being PC here?). I want to treat them with respect, but I worry that I may treat them too much like an adult or too much like a child. My nervousness stems from the most beneficent of sources, believe me. I want to be able to make their lives better but am at a loss as to how.
Anyway, for some reason, I ended up volunteering to help out at the ARC. It was definitely against type, but without more participation, the day would have fallen flat for those kids. Didn't want that on my soul. So I went to what turned out to be a movie day. And what movie did we end up seeing?
Yep, The Shaggy Dog. The last movie I had ever wanted to see.
And it wasn't because it was a kid's film. Please. I worked at a camp at the time-- you can't be a counselor without having an appreciation for kiddie movies. No, it's the movie poster (click on the link-- if you dare). I'm sure that you've seen this, sir. The cute dog, the wet nose, THE EYES OF DOOM!!!
No, sir, I can't stand human eyes on animals. It's the creepiest thing I have ever seen. That, more than anything, made me cry a little inside as we approached the theater, me clutching the hand of my assigned child, who looked blissfully unaware of the demonic force we were about to encounter.
It also didn't help that-- you're wondering where you come into this, I know, but stick with me-- the movie was bad. Just terrible. The bacteria in my stomach could have written a better script than that. Ugh. The kids seemed to like it, though, so I slouched into my seat, growing more depressed by the second, when-- like a heavenly ray of light-- you appeared on the screen.
I'm going to admit, my first thought when I saw you was, "Holy crap, he's alive?!" Not the most promising start. But you delivered the most deliciously evil performance of a scientist gone mad with power that I had ever seen and stole the show. Now, I might have been so glum that a pratfall on a banana peel would have cheered me up, but you went farther than that. It's ridiculous to say it, but because of you, I managed to cheerfully make it through the day. The rest of those memories from that event are fond ones mostly because my attitude had improved.
Now, it's fickle for me to say it, but I promptly forgot about that day, much like a man who promises G-d to donate half of his income to charity if only he is able to keep his job, then when everything is sunny again, is too distracted by everyday minutia to perform the task. (That was a long sentence.) But a part of me remembered, waiting to resurface.
And, lo, it has! You're back on the map, apparently healthy, and armed with a sense of humor about your darker days. I'm not blowing smoke up your ass when I say that I am genuinely pleased for you. Please don't blow it.
Oh, and call me. There are few men that I find attractive with facial hair, so I have to take advantage of this.
While I should be doing other things, I thought I would stop by and share some of the interesting happenings of the week. Normally, I try not to be so absent, but it was unavoidable. So here's a short catch up.
You already heard about my A. Nothing makes your day like an A. They need to bottle it and sell it as an anti-depressant.
I had an interview with an initiate yesterday that turned into a two-hour religious discussion. The kid was a Born Again and, by definition, they like to talk about their experiences in religion. I, by definition, like to listen. So I leaned my chin on my knuckles and looked pensive for a good long time. It's not that I wasn't paying attention-- it's just that I had heard it all before. I then shared my philosophy-- that I wasn't arrogant enough to say that there is no G-d (though I kept that I wasn't arrogant enough to say that there definitely was, either. Some things you just keep to yourself) and that, frankly, I have no idea about anything. And I'm happy with that. The initiate then asked me a startling question:
"But aren't you afraid?"
"Afraid of what?"
"Of what happens after you die."
That pulled me up short. I guess I had never been asked that. I know that I've never been asked that. So I was honest. I told him that no, I was not afraid. What I didn't tell him was that he just said a lot about himself in that single question. He had just told me that, while he had been expounding the joys of G-d and Christ, he believed because he was afraid. And that made me sad.
For the record, I used to be afraid when I was younger. But I now figure that everyone I love will be wherever I am, be that Hell, blackness, or something I can't comprehend. Nobody in my life that I absolutely couldn't live without believe the same thing as this initiate, so it seems to me that whatever happens couldn't be that bad.
In Tai Chi class, my instructor brought up "filling the well," which immediately brought to mind Chelsea Talks Smack's wonderful post about her playdate with herself. Some things are just meant to be, I suppose. Of course, my friend ruined the moment by saying that having our own playdate equaled the phrase "playing with ourselves." Real cute.
Finally, my father was dropping a van-load of Israelis off at the Philly airport tonight and decided to drop in on me at our campus Starbucks. I knew that he was coming, but I was looking in the totally wrong direction, which meant I made that awkward squealing noise when he surprised me. Being the awesome dad that he is, he bought everyone I was with overpriced coffee drinks. I love him.
13 Things That I Have Done That Are Pretty Awesome
1) I have traveled to Israel and Scotland by myself and survived. 2) I've been published and am still sending out material. True, my Wall o' Rejection is growing, but that's an achievement in itself. 3) Decided to go the AWP Conference, planned most of it, and ended up going by myself (again). 4) Went to a Billy Joel concert. 5) I have friends on 5 out of 7 continents, all met on study abroad. 6) Put all of myself into the organizations I have joined. 7) Taught Israeli soldiers how to play Red Rover at a Bedouin camp under the stars. 8) Climbed Masada and seen the sun rise. 9) Had the worst travel experience ever... and survived! 10) Have survived for most of the school year in my first apartment. 11) I've kept up this blog for nearly three years more than I thought I would. 12) Planned and executed my own Burns' Night for my fraternity. 13) Got great grades at the University of Stirling, all while taking the hardest classes I've ever experienced!
I was just sitting in the computer lab, minding my own business, when a swarm of freshmen swirled into the room. The hormones, the confusion, the undeserved sense of worth-- possibly my most frightening experience in recent memory.
But that's not what this post is about. I just find it funny how your opinions and outlook can change in four short years.
Anyway, while it wasn't the most frightening experience (see above), last night was indeed one of the strangest few hours I had ever spent on the streets of West Chester. In an attempt to garner more PR (and free tee-shirts) a seven of my brothers and I signed up to help the Off-Campus and Commuter Association hand out soft pretzels to the drunks in an attempt to get some food into their stomachs. We were to stand on the streets from 12 AM until 2:45 AM, act cheerful, and exhort the soberness-impaired to pleasepleaseplease be careful. The Bum Grabber had struck again that night and managed to score his first complete robbery (good for him, I guess. You shouldn't have to spend your entire criminal career as a loser.)
Just a note: OCCA, in a moment of outrageous naivete, begged us to wear our flimsy green tee-shirts under open jackets, either for easy identification or sex appeal, I'm not so sure. But you can bet your little yellow booties that few--if any-- people did. What OCCA failed to take into account was that it was the middle of November. Sure, I wore my shirt, but it was under two sweatshirts, a scarf, and a pea coat. I looked like bowling ball balancing on two skinny legs.
We set off at about 11:30 and settled in front of the local Baptist church on the high street, the main migratory route for all breeds of drunk. We were given a rickety table, a sign (which read "WCU Free Pretzles"-- spot the error there), and about 50 rock-hard, frozen pretzels. Two Pi Kap boys joined us, one who was the president of IGC, the organization we had been trying to get into. So we female brothers used our undeniable charms to woo this young man, though I believe we were slightly hampered by 20 layers of clothing and a sheen of newly-frozen sweat. Then, we waited.
It took a while, but college students began to appear. Most of them were already stuffing their mouths with pretzels, so OCCA had seen fit to place a pretzel table on every other block. we managed to stuff pretzels into the hands of a few, less vigilant souls, but most caught on to our plan. Not that we could blame them-- why would you want to pay to go the bars if free pretzels kept you from being nice and slobbering. One girl, who had obviously gotten an early start on the festivities, took a pretzel, broke it in half, then told us to save it for her return. She became hysterical when we insisted that she just take it with her and come back for more. More on her later.
Over the next few ours, we watched as a bewildered man in a nice suit got arrested (our bet is on public urination), meatheads proved their manhood by throwing our pretzels on the ground, and girls in short skirts and little tops trotted by. Several littles came to visit us (including one of mine) and one of the Pi Kaps bought us all coffee.
I would be lying if I didn't say that the main reason for volunteering was to watch my normally serious brothers acting giddy with exhaustion and frostbite. We danced, sang, touched each other inappropriately-- the normal things girls do when out of our minds. I got to know people that I had only seen in meeting settings and showed them that I wasn't the goody-goody people think I am. It was the best bonding experience that I had ever participated in since I joined PSP and I wouldn't give it up-- even if I do end up losing my frozen toes.
Towards the end of the night, the girl who refused the other half of her pretzel came back, this time towing a friend with her.
"Where's my pretzel?"
"Seriously?"
"Yeah, I told you that I was coming back! I want my half of pretzel!"
For her sheer chutpah, we gave her a whole new pretzel and offered one to her friend. It should be noted that this girl was absolutely hammered and staggering. At the sight of the pretzel, she shrieked.
"Nooooooo! I have a date party on Friday and I can't have any carbs!" She ruffled her hair and staggered off.
I would like to find her sometime and show her the carb content of whatever she had been swilling that night. I don't think one pretzel was going to tip the scales.
I only managed to get home around 2:30 AM, nursing frozen toes and fingertips.
