Story hour

Our campus hosts conferences during the summer, so oftentimes our cafeteria is packed full of odd combinations of people like barbershop quartets and nurses, basketball players and quilters, and my favorite, cheerleaders and mormon pre-teens.

Today, the cheerleaders have taken over, so my seating options were limited. I chose a table with 8 chairs around it, which is just asking for strangers to join me. Sure enough, two elderly gentlemen in shortsleeves and ties asked if they could sit at my table. I commented that it can be difficult to find a good spot.

The man to my left said, in a polite southern drawl as he gestured to a ridiculously adorned chili dog, "Well, I'll tell you somethin' Miss. As soon as I take a bite of this, it'll have no trouble finding a good spot." And then he chuckled and patted his belly.

From what I can tell, they sold insurance for a living and were simply on a little jaunt over to our cafeteria for a snack. They spent their (and my) lunch hour telling all sorts of gruesome tales.

"I knew a woman who ran over her son with a lawn mower. It ripped all his insides out onto the grass. He lived, but he's kind of slow, and I bet his mom feels pretty bad."

They thanked me for sharing my table and went on their way.

Good times in higher education.

This is my dance space.

I have a genetic predisposition towards getting stuck in close proximity to less than desirable individuals. They may be smelly, touchy-feely, or any other version of annoying. At the movies, they are loud-talking, seat-kicking adults who should know better. Or even worse...confrontational pre-teens.

In fact, I'm on a plane right now and my preciously limited space is seriously being encroached upon. The man next to me would most certainly be offered a lude public bathroom stall service, judging by the wideness of his stance. His arm is slowly but surely creeping past his fair share of the arm rest, which I have chosen to not even touch. When he first sat down he gave me a dweeby smile that said "Hey new friend. Are you ready for some fun?" No. No. I'm not. We're not friends. Here, have some bitch-vibes.

Then he flipped the arm rest between us up and leaned into my space. Oh hell no. I require that barrier. I like to envision a germ-blocking forcefield directly separating my dance space from whatever strange human's I am unlucky enough to be assigned next to. If this man deactivates it, I will probably cry, sissy slap him until he scoots over, and then develop a severe case of whatever disease I happen to imagine him having.

I looked at the man like, "Uh. No." and then flipped it back down. We eyed each other awkwardly. Awesome. Now we get to share this yard of airplane for the next hour. I can't wait. Now please move your effing elbow back to your side. Thanks.

Here Comes the Sun, Doo Doo Doo Doo....

This past weekend was absolutely gorgeous, which meant it was time to break out the summer dresses, flip-flops, sunglasses and a ridiculously high spf sunscreen.

On my way to a lovely outdoor cafe where I planned to meet up with Yvanka to enjoy the loveliness of the day, I realized my car was pretty much devoid of all gas. Whoops. I pulled into the station, which was highly populated with other weather-appropriately clad folks.

Full sunshine is a rare commodity here, so when it graces us with its presence, our vitamin D deficient brains turn us all into silly, jolly, grinning fools. I love it.

One dude at the gas station, who on any other gloomy day is probably a badass motherfucker, was practically frolicking he was so drunk on sunshiney goodness. Picture cornrows, wifebeater, prison tatts, and a big dopey grin. He exited the convenience store with a spring in his possibly gang affiliated-Nike shoe wearin' step. He was so smiley in fact, that I had to return the kindess with a little "hello" and a wave. He began filling his junker of a car, which was blasting the scary kind of hip-hop. Something about "smackin' yo' bitch on the way to the club where you're gonna do it with a ho on the bar after layin' a five on it (which apparently has something to do with drugs)." Whatever. Have I mentioned how very, very white I am?

"Gonna go enjoy this nice weather we're having today?" says Snoop Double Jizzle

"Why, yes, I certainly am!"

"Me too. I'm gonna go out on my yacht right after I take a shower."

"That sounds nice."

"Yeah...and then I'm gonna get fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucked up."

"Well.....enjoy!"

Happy Summer!

Religious Complexities

I work at a church. I am in the very regular habit of questioning EVERYTHING the moment I step through the doors of "God's house." It takes every ounce of my will power to not roll my eyes and let out big 'HARUMPH" noises during the service.

I'm an awful heathen.

I remember the paycheck and the appreciation of all of the devout old folks in the congregation and muster up just enough grace to behave appropriately.

And then the pastor says the most ridiculous crap!!! He's testing me! How long can she keep a straight face? How long before she completely loses her shit, takes her shirt off and screams profanities all the way out the sanctuary?!

Not long folks, not long.

But really...

"Reason is the devil's whore." He actually said these words on Sunday. How do I apply that to my life? What am I supposed to do with that? I mean, other than repeat it to everyone I have ever come into contact with, preach it from the mountaintops, and tattoo it on my ass?

No joke, I am ridiculously tempted. It's just too good.

I am not there for God, the Father, Son, or Holy Ghost. I am a little there for the money. And a lot there for the golden nuggets of absurd wisdom. Amen.