I lost my car today. I'm ashamed to say it, but it's true.
My roomie and I went on campus to eat dinner, and I parked my little blue Ford in the rec center parking lot. Dinner was great. I have a distended stomach as a result. That has nothing to do with the story.
We walked back to the parking lot, and I expected my car to be exactly where I'd left it. It wasn't. Confused, I turned to my roommate and asked her if this wasn't where I had parked.
"Uh, I don't know...I think so..." she said. Helpful.
"I think so, too," I replied, "but then, where is it?" My roommate simply shrugged her shoulders and gave me an embarrassed grin, as though she had been the one to lose a car.
"Lol, where could it have gone!?"
*it must be noted here that, as a result of spending too much time on instant messenger when I should be doing my homework, I have come to use "lol" in everyday speech. I am not proud of this.
I was beginning to get frantic. How on earth can you lose a vehicle in broad daylight? I began to fear the worst...had my car been towed? Could someone have actually stolen it? Why would anyone want it?
I held my keys up in the air and pressed the panic button on my little remote (That's what its for, right?). No good. No rudely blaring car alarm would guide me to my ride.
Ok, God. What are you doing to me? Where'd you hide my car? (I was beginning to suspect "Candid Camera." The situation was getting desperate!)
The wind-tunnel-of-a-campus was making this a very chilly search.
Finally, I decided to search more methodically, and assigned my roomie a few nearby rows and myself a few others. We began walking up and down the rows, examining every single jalopy, SUV, and sports car (in case one was my car in disguise!). All of a sudden, there it was! (My baby! Where have you been? I looked everywhere for you!)
"I guess this is where I parked..." said I, sheepishly.
"I guess so..." said my roommate.
We quickly got ourselves into the substantially warmer and wind-breaking interior.
"Let's not mention this to anyone--"
"Not a word."
On the way back to our apartment, a funny-looking stubby green car/truck thing crossed our path as we stopped at a light. It sent me into a fit of hysterical laughter. It felt really good to just let the stress of the day fly away (back to campus where is sucked into that wind-tunnel I mentioned and evenly distributed among unsuspecting students).
Tuesday, October 9, 2007
Friday, October 5, 2007
The Sidewalk's Seeing 20/20
So it's a beautiful late-summer afternoon, and I'm just getting done with my daily (okay, okay...not quite daily) workout routine at the campus rec center. I walk up the stairs to the main floor where they keep the exit and...well...it was a beautiful day....
Now the sky is darkly overcast, and I can hear the beginning rumblings of a t-storm. I jump as a streak of lightning flashes across the sky.
Great. Just great. I only parked a mile away. I take a deep breath and bum rush it. If possible, the sky looks even darker, and (even better!) the wind has begun to shove its weight around.
I pick up the pace. A short distance ahead I see a girl and guy standing still and staring at the ground. They must be pretty dedicated Entomology students to be studying ants in the middle of a tornado! Seeing no ants as I draw near I ask, "Whatcha looking for?"
"My glasses," says the guy. (I want to ask, "How do you expect to be able to see them without them?" but I restrain myself)
"Oh," I say. I make a quick survey of the surrounding area and send up a little prayer that the glasses will turn up safe. I have to shield my eyes from the now torrential rainfall. I don't see any glasses.
*At this point, I am experiencing a severe dilemma: Should I stay and help them find his glasses (as I know God would want me to), or hurry along and get my sorry drowned-rat-looking self out of the elements before I get pneumonia?
I really just want to get to my car before I drown. Why am I being so selfish? I decide to stay a little longer. I make a sweep of the grass around the sidewalk. No glasses.
Once again a get that really strong urge to walk away. It was just a bad time to be losing glasses! I can't be expected to risk my life looking for a pair, they'll just have to understand.
"Sorry, I hope you find them!" I call to the guy through the howling wind. He gives me a pained look, then resumes his search. Guiltily I walk away.
I take no more than ten steps or so when I almost step on a pair of eyeglasses. What are these doing h?--oh! I grab them and make a beeline back to the still-searching duo.
"Here, *pant pant*, I found them!"
"Hey, thanks! Where were they? Wow, I wasn't even over there! Cool."
A happy ending. Had I followed what I thought God wanted me to do, we might never have found the glasses. They might have just blown away to that place where coat hangers and missing socks go. I've learned to listen more carefully for God's voice, because we can count on him to not always use the same methods of accomplishing things we humans think are the best!
Now the sky is darkly overcast, and I can hear the beginning rumblings of a t-storm. I jump as a streak of lightning flashes across the sky.
Great. Just great. I only parked a mile away. I take a deep breath and bum rush it. If possible, the sky looks even darker, and (even better!) the wind has begun to shove its weight around.
I pick up the pace. A short distance ahead I see a girl and guy standing still and staring at the ground. They must be pretty dedicated Entomology students to be studying ants in the middle of a tornado! Seeing no ants as I draw near I ask, "Whatcha looking for?"
"My glasses," says the guy. (I want to ask, "How do you expect to be able to see them without them?" but I restrain myself)
"Oh," I say. I make a quick survey of the surrounding area and send up a little prayer that the glasses will turn up safe. I have to shield my eyes from the now torrential rainfall. I don't see any glasses.
*At this point, I am experiencing a severe dilemma: Should I stay and help them find his glasses (as I know God would want me to), or hurry along and get my sorry drowned-rat-looking self out of the elements before I get pneumonia?
I really just want to get to my car before I drown. Why am I being so selfish? I decide to stay a little longer. I make a sweep of the grass around the sidewalk. No glasses.
Once again a get that really strong urge to walk away. It was just a bad time to be losing glasses! I can't be expected to risk my life looking for a pair, they'll just have to understand.
"Sorry, I hope you find them!" I call to the guy through the howling wind. He gives me a pained look, then resumes his search. Guiltily I walk away.
I take no more than ten steps or so when I almost step on a pair of eyeglasses. What are these doing h?--oh! I grab them and make a beeline back to the still-searching duo.
"Here, *pant pant*, I found them!"
"Hey, thanks! Where were they? Wow, I wasn't even over there! Cool."
A happy ending. Had I followed what I thought God wanted me to do, we might never have found the glasses. They might have just blown away to that place where coat hangers and missing socks go. I've learned to listen more carefully for God's voice, because we can count on him to not always use the same methods of accomplishing things we humans think are the best!
Saturday, September 29, 2007
The bike that held 2,000 lbs
So, if the first entry didn't clue you in (the random sense of humor, the juvenile-ness, the fact that I work at a Pizza Parlor), I should tell you that I am a college student. A nice, dirt-poor college student. Due to this fact, I love to ride my bike to class (no, I really do...but that's another story). Unfortunately, I've noticed that cars on the road have but one goal: to kill a cyclist. Okay, maybe that's a little harsh. They don't really want to kill us, they just wish someone else would. The motorists in my college town almost got their wish last week...
I'm riding along to class, minding my own business, and I come up to this apartment complex. (Note: I am on the sidewalk, not anywhere near the fast-moving vehicles on the highway.) I come up to the driveway of this apartment complex, and am promptly hit by a car.
It's not a very big car, just a little white Ford Contour ("little" meaning: weighing only a ton) . It's only going about 20 miles an hour, but, as anyone who has been hit by a car going only 20 miles an hour, it's no light matter!
I experience it in slow motion: my bike is jerked toward the car. I feel myself losing balance. The force of the car shoves the bike in the other direction, but traps the wheel under its tire. I hear the ping of the spokes bending, and I hit the ground. For some reason, I hold onto my bike, which ends up saving my arm from being broken. The bike is shoved along the pavement, and the plastic end of my handlebar is literally scraped off.
All this time I'm talking to myself. I'm so shocked that I don't have time to be scared or in pain. Actually, I'm convinced that I am being murdered. I'd read somewhere about crazed bike-hating motorists running down innocent cyclists (maybe it was just a nightmare...?). I couldn't believe it could be happening to me. Didn't this person see my bright purple-and-green bike? I was wearing a neon-pink helmet, for cryin' out loud!
Returning to real-time, I find myself horizontal (it's such a unique view of the world!). I am aware that my knee hurts. I hear the door of the car-that-is-practically-on-top-of-me open, and a young (and really cute!) college guy jumps out.
"Omigosh, are you okay?!!" he yells. "I'm soo sorry! I can't believe it--I'm so sorry!" He runs to pick me up out of my undignified position. "Are you alright? Is your bike alright?"
"Sure, yeah. I'm okay..." I mumbled (Looking back, I was most definitely in shock). "I'm really sorry I hit you..."
He looked at me with a confused face. "But...I hit you...well, if you're sure you're okay..."
I assured him most profusely that I was, picked up my own bike, wished him a nice day, and road off, wobbling horribly.
I was later advised that I should have "gotten his information" and filed a claim with his insurance. My friends were incredulous that I actually wished the guy a nice day! (I really couldn't believe it either, but, after all, I was in shock). Besides, I didn't want any trouble. The way I look at it, if God used that experience to show this driver that he needed to be a little more careful, so be it. Or...maybe God was just messing with me...
I'm riding along to class, minding my own business, and I come up to this apartment complex. (Note: I am on the sidewalk, not anywhere near the fast-moving vehicles on the highway.) I come up to the driveway of this apartment complex, and am promptly hit by a car.
It's not a very big car, just a little white Ford Contour ("little" meaning: weighing only a ton) . It's only going about 20 miles an hour, but, as anyone who has been hit by a car going only 20 miles an hour, it's no light matter!
I experience it in slow motion: my bike is jerked toward the car. I feel myself losing balance. The force of the car shoves the bike in the other direction, but traps the wheel under its tire. I hear the ping of the spokes bending, and I hit the ground. For some reason, I hold onto my bike, which ends up saving my arm from being broken. The bike is shoved along the pavement, and the plastic end of my handlebar is literally scraped off.
All this time I'm talking to myself. I'm so shocked that I don't have time to be scared or in pain. Actually, I'm convinced that I am being murdered. I'd read somewhere about crazed bike-hating motorists running down innocent cyclists (maybe it was just a nightmare...?). I couldn't believe it could be happening to me. Didn't this person see my bright purple-and-green bike? I was wearing a neon-pink helmet, for cryin' out loud!
Returning to real-time, I find myself horizontal (it's such a unique view of the world!). I am aware that my knee hurts. I hear the door of the car-that-is-practically-on-top-of-me open, and a young (and really cute!) college guy jumps out.
"Omigosh, are you okay?!!" he yells. "I'm soo sorry! I can't believe it--I'm so sorry!" He runs to pick me up out of my undignified position. "Are you alright? Is your bike alright?"
"Sure, yeah. I'm okay..." I mumbled (Looking back, I was most definitely in shock). "I'm really sorry I hit you..."
He looked at me with a confused face. "But...I hit you...well, if you're sure you're okay..."
I assured him most profusely that I was, picked up my own bike, wished him a nice day, and road off, wobbling horribly.
I was later advised that I should have "gotten his information" and filed a claim with his insurance. My friends were incredulous that I actually wished the guy a nice day! (I really couldn't believe it either, but, after all, I was in shock). Besides, I didn't want any trouble. The way I look at it, if God used that experience to show this driver that he needed to be a little more careful, so be it. Or...maybe God was just messing with me...
Platypus?
I'm convinced God has a sense of humor. How else would you explain the duck-billed platypus? Or the Giraffe? Or, for that matter, me?
Now, I'll be the first to admit I'm not gorgeous. Average-looking is how I'd describe me...and on good days I'd even venture so far as to call myself attractive. I do have this nose, though. It's a little too long and is bent as a result of playing "superman" on the swings of the playground way back in kindergarten. (Oh, if we only knew what curses we could wreak upon ourselves through our actions when we are young) I know that those who love me dearly see right past the nose, but it's hard for me to at times. Especially when I have it affirmed publicly that my nose is crooked, as it happened one evening while I was waitressing at the pizza parlor where I work (I relate the conversation as it actually happened):
Me: Are you ready to make your order?
Group of fairly-hot guys: Yeah. they all look at each other and giggle (yes, they giggled)
Me: Okay, what can I get for you tonight?
Fairly-hot guy #1: We have a question for you
Me: Okay...
Fairly-hot guy #2: Yeah....we wanted to know if you're, like, Italian or something.
Me: It's the nose, isn't it?
Group of fairly-hot guys: NO! No--it's not--we didn't-- they look nervously at each other
Me: It's okay, I get that a lot. Actually, I'm Dominican.
Fairly-hot guy #3: Oh! Dominican...ok. feigns complete understanding
Me: Okay, what kind of pizza would you like to order?
Fairly-hot guy #2: We didn't mean to be rude...or hurt your feelings...actually, I like your nose. It's cute.
Aww, that was very sweet of him! Doesn't take away from the fact that I do, indeed, have a crooked nose. Worse, it is very noticeable. I love the fact that saying I am Dominican somehow explains the nose completely! However, I must forgive the ignorant. (Besides, I really liked Fairly-hot guy #2!!)
So, to sum up this random entry, I have found in my twenty years of living on this earth that conversations like the one just related, certain events, some animals, and people in general are often inexplicably amusing. What is God up to when these things happen? What is he thinking? I've come to the conclusion that he must have a great sense of humor.
Now, I'll be the first to admit I'm not gorgeous. Average-looking is how I'd describe me...and on good days I'd even venture so far as to call myself attractive. I do have this nose, though. It's a little too long and is bent as a result of playing "superman" on the swings of the playground way back in kindergarten. (Oh, if we only knew what curses we could wreak upon ourselves through our actions when we are young) I know that those who love me dearly see right past the nose, but it's hard for me to at times. Especially when I have it affirmed publicly that my nose is crooked, as it happened one evening while I was waitressing at the pizza parlor where I work (I relate the conversation as it actually happened):
Me: Are you ready to make your order?
Group of fairly-hot guys: Yeah. they all look at each other and giggle (yes, they giggled)
Me: Okay, what can I get for you tonight?
Fairly-hot guy #1: We have a question for you
Me: Okay...
Fairly-hot guy #2: Yeah....we wanted to know if you're, like, Italian or something.
Me: It's the nose, isn't it?
Group of fairly-hot guys: NO! No--it's not--we didn't-- they look nervously at each other
Me: It's okay, I get that a lot. Actually, I'm Dominican.
Fairly-hot guy #3: Oh! Dominican...ok. feigns complete understanding
Me: Okay, what kind of pizza would you like to order?
Fairly-hot guy #2: We didn't mean to be rude...or hurt your feelings...actually, I like your nose. It's cute.
Aww, that was very sweet of him! Doesn't take away from the fact that I do, indeed, have a crooked nose. Worse, it is very noticeable. I love the fact that saying I am Dominican somehow explains the nose completely! However, I must forgive the ignorant. (Besides, I really liked Fairly-hot guy #2!!)
So, to sum up this random entry, I have found in my twenty years of living on this earth that conversations like the one just related, certain events, some animals, and people in general are often inexplicably amusing. What is God up to when these things happen? What is he thinking? I've come to the conclusion that he must have a great sense of humor.
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