American soil

Two years ago, Katrina and I celebrated the Fourth of July eating a pechuga (chicken breast) sandwich at the McDonald's in Antigua, Guatemala, and saying, "Yay America!" to each other.

Last year, Amy, Hannah and I wore flags and "I heart USA" stick-ons on our arms while we walked around the Roman Colosseum and Roman Forum. Italian folks would give us the thumbs up and Hannah would respond, "It's the fourth of July in America!!!" (We had to remind her that it was also the fourth of July in Rome...)

So this year, I was ready for some real live American-ness on the Fourth.

And I got it.

Yesterday was one of those days where you realize that God's giving you freeze frames, pictures; blessings to remind you of how good life can be and how good He is.

I got to a cookout at some friends' house last night, walked up to the door and didn't see anyone inside. When I let myself in and walked through and out onto the patio, it was like walking into a scene from a movie. Their backyard sprawled down to the bluff and then dropped off, with an amazing view of the city below. You could see other folks' fireworks going off in the distance, and rows of people stood at the back fence shooting roman candles off into the expanse.

(I shot one out of my hand - first time ever. I didn't die, though I thought it could happen at any moment...) ;)

I spent the morning in the woods with good friends, some time at the house with Lauren and Scooter, the afternoon at the pool grilling with good friends, and ended the day endangering myself with explosives with more good friends.

It was beautiful.

Sweet.

Not that my three "hometowns" have to compete or anything, but two of the things about Birmingham that give it a leg up over the Mississippi Delta are, in my mind, the lack of mosquitoes and the lack of humidity. (But Mom, you and Dad definitely earn points for Clarksdale just by being there - Happy Mother's Day.) ;)

Today, though, thanks to all this rain, the humidity's at about 120 percent. And mosquito bite count = 14.

But you know what? The air's never smelled sweeter in Birmingham.

This past academic year's been the first time I've had to juggle work with school with life. I've never done well with major competing demands. It stressed me out more than I even realized ... that is, until the weight was lifted off. It's funny how a little freedom goes straight to the brain. Everything feels different. I'm pretty sure my biological makeup is only 10% caffeine rather than 88%. The air tastes good even when I'm running behind a Chevy. There's more life in the moment, without all this having to think about how much schoolwork will be waiting on me when I get home. I don't have to wonder who I'll have to let down in order to get something done for someone else. I think I actually felt my blood pressure get lower.

Sweet release. Hallelujah for summer.

(Come fall, I may run away, but we'll deal with that when it comes.) ;)

Westie + backyard = crazy

My awkward twin

Do you ever have those weird moments when people act like they recognize you, then before you realize that it's not really you they recognize, you're already too deep into an awkward place to know how to extract yourself?

Here's what I mean.

Recently I went into Subway and was walking through the line. The guy behind the counter (who didn't really speak in a fashion I could understand) looked at me and said, "Hey ... HEY." (The first "hey" being the token "hey, welcome to Subway" hey, and the second "HEY" being the "HEY, I know you!" hey.) After that ... things spiraled down into pure awkwardness. Here's how it went down:

Subway guy: "Hey ... HEY."

Me: "Hey, how's it going?"

Subway guy: "Great! I've missed seeing you around here!"

Me: "Um... yeah... how have you been?"

Subway guy: "Good! How are mmphmmphnuh?" (I couldn't understand that last part.)

Me: "What's that?"

Subway guy: "How are mspmmfph friends?" (At least that's the best I could understand.)

Me: "Um, great." (The best I could figure was that he was talking about Myles and Lauren ... they used to go in there a lot, and that guy knew them.)

Subway guy: "We miss y'all now that you're not mpsmphphph."

Me: "Uh... Haha... yeah..." (Awkward "I have no idea what you said but I don't want to keep asking you to repeat yourself" laugh.)

Subway guy: "So, are you working with the same store?" (What store? I'm pretty sure at this point that he doesn't recognize me after all.)

Me: "Uh... yeah." (I was paying at this point, so I didn't think it worth it to explain or try to backtrack.)

Subway guy: "Where's it at now?"

Me: "Um... right up the road?"

(He looks at me quizzically.)

Subway guy: "So do you still like selling DVDs?"

I didn't even know how to respond. I think I might've said something weird but truthful like, "No, I've never... thought I'd like selling DVDs..."

There are those times. Or sometimes... there are those times you know they can't possibly recognize you, but they think they do.

For instance, on Friday, I stopped at a Publix in a different part of town, a new one I'd never been to before. The checkout lady greeted me in an overly friendly fashion, so I responded with a slightly over the top enthusiastic response. Then ... it was on.

Publix lady: "HEY, GIRRRRRL!!!!!"

Me: "Well, HEY! How are YOU?"

Publix lady: "GREAT! Hey, you're wearing your glasses today!

Me: "Uh... yeah."

Publix lady: "That's so weird! Why?"

Me: "Uh... sometimes you just gotta see, you know?"

I think I have a twin in Birmingham who doesn't wear glasses but sells DVDs. If you see her, tell her she's making my life really awkward.

Calling it even

One of my new year's resolutions has been to pay better attention to where my money goes and be more aggressive about not getting stuck with needless expenses. In the past, if it caused a hassle, I've been more likely just to take the hit than to complain. So in '09, I'm trying to bone up and not be that girl.

So, of course, what this means is now Dave Ramsey's arch-nemesis has been loosed upon me, stalking me around every corner to take away my cash.

An example.

I went to Newk's (which I love dearly) on Monday for lunch, and when I got up to the register, I ordered what I normally get - the half sandwich and soup combo. I get it every time I'm there, so I know it's $7-something.

Lady behind register: "That'll be $10.90."

Me: "Um ... I don't think that's right."

Lady: "Well, that's what it says." (Stares at me.)

Me: "I think it's supposed to be seven-something."

Lady: "Well, it says $10.90."

(Meanwhile, 10 or 15 people are waiting in line behind me. They're hungry. And aggravated. The ones outside the door are cold.)

Me: (Pointing to the menu) "Well, it says on the menu that it's $7.25. I don't think it should be ringing up as $10.90."

Lady: (sigh) "I'm new here. I'll have to go get someone from the back to void it." (Stares at me.)

Me: "...OK."

(She leaves. Comes back with someone, and he voids it for her. He leaves. She rings it up again the same way.)

Lady: "It still says $10.90."

Me: "I'm so sorry. I just know that's not right."

Lady: "Well, do you want me to just give you a drink and call it even?"

(WHAT? Are you serious? Who says that? I feel like I'm back in Guatemala, bargaining for my food. Who at a restaurant makes you pay more than what you order and then wants to throw in a drink and "call it even"?)

Me: "No...um...sorry...that's like three more dollars, and I really didn't want to spend that much."

She had to go get him from the back again, but she finally relented and just let me pay for what I ordered - $7.25.

Above and beyond provision

Today was one of those days where I feel so humbled, so intrigued by the provision of God orchestrated in the midst of mundane daily problems. I never understand why He chooses to take such good care of me ... on a daily basis I feel unworthy, so when He shows up in a normal but very obvious way in something little (by comparison to Gaza or the economic crisis or that crazy guy who jumped out of his airplane over Birmingham today), it's like a double whammy. A couple of months ago, in the midst of two weeks of heavy travel, my car battery died -- at Wal-Mart. The guy just walked out there, jumped me off, I drove around to the back and they replaced it. Today, I was driving to Tuscaloosa to class, and I got a massive S-hook lodged in my tire. I got out, looked at it, and before I even had time to think, "Hmmm ... should I try this myself? Maybe I'll dial *HP ... ," the roadside assistance truck was pulling up behind me. I started laughing and said, "I didn't even call you yet." He said, "I know, I was passing on the other side of the Interstate and I saw you get out ... I figured you had a flat."

QUOTE OF THE DAY:
"You know how you kind of like have a visual of people, like it's not always their face but maybe a little icon when you're thinking about them in passing? Well, your icon is a teapot, like on top of a body ... like your head is a teapot." -- Emily

I sure do wish I could sneer.

There are a lot of facial expressions that I don't understand when I read them in print. Like in the Twilight series, author Stephanie Meyer is always saying that a character's "eyes tighten." I don't really understand what that looks like (if you can help me out, I'd love a demonstration).

I feel that way about sneering, too. What does a sneer look like, anyway? I have an idea in my mind, like some ridiculous version of the Elvis lip with really haughty eyes (perhaps "tightened" eyes?) ... is that accurate? And if it is, has anyone actually seen anyone DO that in real life? Or done it yourself? (This is not rhetorical = please comment if you have.)

I don't think I have. But today I kind of wanted to, not really aimed at anyone, but just to prove that I could. I am on this new kick where I want to get disciplined and get rid of as many limitations as reasonably possible (time-wasters, money-wasters, excessive crazy heavy breathing that happens when I exercise, etc.). So the idea that I couldn't sneer if I wanted to kind of bothered me today.

Here's what happened.

Tuesday I didn't have my car at work, so I had to carpool with Lauren ... so I didn't get to run in the neighborhoods in Homewood after work like I do most days. Thankfully her gym is kind of lax (meaning the desk isn't manned - or womaned - it's an all-girls gym) so when she went there on the way home after work, I could go with her to run on the treadmill. I was grateful. She even brought me a towel - what a roommate. :)

I should've known better. I mean, I've used a treadmill before. I've used a towel before. But when I decided to crank up the speed, the excessive sweat that accompanied the excessive heavy breathing made me feel the need to wipe my face excessively - I mean, that's what the towel is for, right? Might as well use it.

Tuesday, just after gym: "Hmmm ... my upper lip is a little raw. Maybe I wiped it too much with the towel."

Tuesday night, before bed: "It's a little bit red. Maybe I'll put a little lotion on it HOLY CANNOLI THAT STINGS."

Wednesday: "Still a little red. Weird."

Then came Thursday.

This morning I woke up and was getting ready for my first day of class in a hurry, so I didn't get nearly as close to the mirror as I apparently should have when I was putting on my makeup. When I got to Tuscaloosa, parked and flipped down the mirror to put on some lipstick, THAT'S when I saw it.

My upper lip and chin - kind of in a goatee shape - were like one big flake. I tried to smile, and it was like that little section between my nose and my upper lip was made of cardboard. Flaky cardboard. It wasn't going anywhere. I mean, people. It was a towel. Seriously. What the heck.

So let's just say that after some panic:

1. My new classmates thought I was flaky.
2. My old classmates were probably like, whoa, what happened to her.
3. Sneering was out of the question. I tried.

Thankfully ... there's always tomorrow. Or Sunday. Or Monday. It may take a while for me to molt.