other than DJ Douche...I can't stop listening to this!

Another reason I will inevitably die young (borrowed from my Facebook, with permission)

I opened a card at 2:00 to find that it contained a candy bar, which, clearly, I ate immediately. Someone just asked me why I got it, and I just realized that I had no idea, because I never even pulled out the card. I mean, the card could have said "Dear Shannon, I hate you, so if you eat this, you'll definitely die. Hope you do! Love, Tina" (I don't really know any Tinas) and I would've never known. My thought process was just this: "Oh, a big envelo...CANDY!!!!!!!" And that was it.

finally admitting it

I'm in an abusive relationship





with Long John Silver.


I love it so much when I'm there and eating those chicken planks...but then later, I hate it because I feel like I'm going to vomit it all up...but even through that hate, I feel it calling me, loving me...and I love it too.

Stop cracking your neck around me, because you're not a professional athlete warming up for the big game

So I was coming home from an especially tiring trip the other day, and landed in Vegas at 330 with plans to connect to get home to sunny SD at 5. When I landed, I checked my handy Southwest iPhone app and saw that my connecting flight was delayed until dot dot dot 830 p.m.

That's inappropriate.

I also used said app to find that there were three flights out to San Diego before that 830 flight, so I decided to track down the first one and see if I could get on stand by (because SW is the best and don't charge you to change your flight if your initial flight is delayed).

So we deplaned (still not sure I buy that as a word), I found the right gate for the SD flight out at 430 and hightailed (but somehow I'm okay with THAT as a word) it over to the earlier flight's gate. There, I saw that I was one of about forty (and while we're having parenthetical asides about words, why doesn't forty have the "u" necessary for "four"?) people with the same idea. I was quick about it, so I was number 12 on the list of 42 (just gonna stick with the numbers this time).

The 430 flight was oversold, so not only did no standby passengers get on, three actually ticketed passengers didn't get on either. They got vouchers to give up their seats. It was at this point that I met a new friend. Let's call him Pete (his actual name).

I should preface this with the fact that I was tired, I really wanted to go home, and I'd had a gooooood amount of human interaction of the previous few days, so I was totally content just reading my book for the whole night.

So Pete had been on the first flight, but accepted a voucher to leave a little later, and was stoked about it. He sat down next to me and asked how flying standby worked.

Hmmm?

So I told him that I wasn't actually on a standby ticket...my flight was just delayed, so I was trying to leave early. He asked why I didn't get a voucher?

Hmmm?

So I tried to explain...nevermind...and I said that I was going to head over to the next gate.

I went to the next gate, got in line to be sure I was still on standby (SW also keeps the same standby list for situations like these, which is amazing, so I was still number 12), and guess who pops into line behind me? A stranger who wasn't Pete! Just kidding. Pete. "Fancy seeing you here," he says.

"Not really, because we're both trying to get to San Diego...so...it actually makes a lot of sense..." But I didn't really say that. He was really nice, so I just fake laughed and said something non committal like "Oh ha ha fancy fancy fancy."

Not really like that, actually. Something that made sense.

I sat down with my book, this time in the corner on the floor, and didn't see him again. On that flight (now the second standby), two people from the list got on, making me shiny number 10 now. Also at this point, my initial flight was delayed until nine.

So at about 740, I was now on the standby list for the THIRD flight that was leaving before my delayed flight, and Pete sat down next to me again. He just happened to LOVE who I was reading, so he asked about the book, then talked about how I should try and get a voucher out of all of this. I didn't even try to explain why that wouldn't work. So lucky Pete was boarded on that flight, and somehow, they managed to board nine standby passengers, and then called my name. I was so excited to be on the flight that I didn't even care that I was going to inevitably end up in a middle seat, because I was the last one on board.

So with only one seat open on the entire plane, guess who I sat by?

Two strangers that weren't Pete.

Just kidding.

Pete.

I got my book out, but knew that I wouldn't really even be able to crack it, because he was talking as soon as I sat down. I was in a MUCH better mood, so I didn't mind engaging at that moment, and talked back. He then proceeded to fulfill every white-guy-from-state-school-you-meet-on-a-plane stereotype EVER, including:

--ordering a Heineken
--talking about how he loved (where is it you're from again?) San Diego, and wants to move there,
--loving Family Guy and American Dad and watching them all the time,
--wishing that the girls in his hometown were more quality, cooler, and had more in common with him,
--asking "so what's there to do for fun around where you live?",
--sharing about his love of the gym, and the schedule on which he works out,
--making broad "applies to whichever way you are" statements, like "Yeah, I love to go out with friends, but I'm not, like, a partier.",
--describing his large and impressive home, and
--cracking his neck, loudly, several times.

Awesome.


And it's not that I dislike anyone from state schools...I just wish I knew a one that wasn't all of those things.

Happy to be home. Again.

best.

In talking to a student who, if he's admitted, will be admitted in our provisional program because of his really low SATs:

"Yeah, that makes sense, because I'm borderline special ed anyways."

LOVE.

the other side of the SATs...not dark though...still pretty legit

So I proctored the SATs on Saturday for the second time, and although I was bored for a while, I've decided it's totally worth it. So many entertaining-maybe-only-to-me things happened...I can't even begin to describe.

Just kidding--I totally can. That's what I'm doing here.

So envision with me, if you will...a college campus that's a little complicated to navigate (aren't we all?), where all the buildings look the same, and where they all have lovely large wooden doors. Also, envision a bunch of clouds and rain. That was USD on Saturday.

Now take that campus and insert me, my friend Jimmy, who works at USD, my friend Nick, married to my friend Mindy (this matters later), a couple of other grown ups, and about 15 college students who work for Jimmy. That was the proctor pool at the SATs on Saturday.

NOW that you have all of that solidified...add about 300 super nervous kids, all with big ziplock bags full of pencils, calculators and granola bars, and their overprotective parents.

And that was Saturday.

For those of us who haven't taken an SAT in, I don't know, more than ten years, here's how they worked.
On the walls of the the hall where students walked in, room assignments were posted for SATs and SAT IIs. Once a student knew what test s/he was taking (you'd think they'd all know, because the tests are REALLY, REALLY different), s/he would just look to see where, on the list, their name fell in order to see their room assignment.

Por ejemplo: one sheet said SAT, Room 308, Francisco--Herman. So if you are Ben Francisco, Jackie Herman...hell...even Guadalupe Garner or Ajumbe Hopkins...you're in 308.

Get it?

No worries if you don't...neither did a bunch of 16 and 17 year olds.

Oh, here's something else cool to envision--you enter on the second floor of this building. Floor one is below us, and floor three is above.

So I get there at 7 (amazing!), and as I'm getting out of my car a kid comes running over to me and says "Do you know where Serra Hall is?," to which I reply "Sure--it's to the right. I'm headed that way if you want to come along!" He said "Ok let me tell my dad."

He pops back into an SUV to tell his dad, who zooms off, then comes to follow me. Here's our conversation:
Me: "Are you taking the SAT?"
Him: "Yeah...........are you?"
Me: "No...I did that a little while ago. But it was a good time. Are you excited?"
Him: "Ha ha...sure."
Me: "Have you taken the test before?"
Him: "No...and I'm a senior."
Me: "Awesome. Well good luck, man."

P.S. That is NOT awesome. It's basically too late to get in any college with the January SAT.

And that was just the beginning of the awesomeness. The following things also happened throughout the day:

--I saw a boy with jeans tucked into his Uggs.

--I was a hall proctor, which meant that in between breaks, I was hanging out with Jimmy in the main room. Nick was in a room with a reader, so he checked for cheating in that room, while that girl read the instructions. The girl in his room came into the main room (where I was sitting with Jimmy) to turn in her roster, and I said "Ha--Nick sent me a text saying that it's real boring in there." Apparently, that girl read a LOT into that, because she went back and told Nick he could go to the main room and hang out with his wife if he wanted.
This is the ring I was wearing that day.

Yes, everyone. We are married...he got a platinum band, and I got a big owl ring.

--after explaining repeatedly to EVERY group that came in "Just find where your name falls on the wall and that will send you to your assigned room. We're on the second floor," a mom came up to me in a panic and said "Our name isn't on the wall!!!!!!!!" Really, Gina? You really think we post everyone's name on the wall? You really think only 12 people are taking the SAT today?

--Again, after REPEATEDLY saying "Just find where your name falls on the wall and that will send you to your assigned room. We're on the second floor," at least ten people said "Where are the stairs for the second floor?" Right here, kid. You're on them. They're invisible, and they don't go up or down.

--A mom very confrontationally asked me "So when is the SAT going on the computer? Because it's the last test to be on paper." First of all, no it's not, which I happily told her, and second, I had a handwritten name tag with "SHANNON" written on it in colored Sharpie. Do you really think I speak for CollegeBoard?

--Another mom (see a theme?) came to me, also in a panic, and said "This says his ID has to be the same as his ticket...he signed up as Mark G. Smith, but his ID says Mark GORDON Smith!!!!" Oh noooo identity thefttttt!!!

--A mom (what?) and dad sent their son off, and were still staring at the wall, looking extremely concerned, so I walked over and asked if I could help with anything, and no lie, the mom said (in one breath) "Well I see that there are 7th and 8th graders taking the test today [more on that in a sec] and my son is a freshman and this is his second SAT and he's only scoring in the 700s on each section and I know he can perform better than that so we're signing him up for more so he can get those perfect scores but I'm so worried that colleges will see these first few tests and see those low marks and think that he isn't very smart and that the perfects are just flukes!!!"

**Even though the SATs have added a writing section, each section is still out of 800...soooo scores in the 700s are pretty good...especially for a friggin 13 year old.**

So I tried to console this mom without being incredulous and told her that in my office, we'd view that as motivation, and that it would show that he's a hard worker. I thought she was going to hug me.

--So yes, 7th and 8th graders can now, as a part of a Johns Hopkins program, take the full SAT. They're 11 and 12 years old. COME. ON.

--After everyone had gone to their rooms, IDs checked, kids in seats, a fellow hall proctor came walking in with a disheveled looking girl and said "I found a lost one!" She was looking at the wall, so I asked "Do you know where you're headed?", to which she replied "Uh huh...I'm here for the SAT?" Yeah girl...yeah.

And my favorite...

--If a test site is full when you sign up, you can still sign up to take the test on stand-by--it just means you have to check in, then wait to see if people don't show up, so you can take their spot (was that insulting that I just explained "stand-by"? Sorry about that). About five stand by kids were eventually assigned rooms, but of course, it was after all the other kids were in rooms, so when they came out into the hall with their assignments, it felt like they were late, because the hall was empty, even though all the rooms were waiting for them. That made them more nervous than they already were.
So this one guy had pencils, a calculator, snacks, his ticket and his ID in one hand (most in a bag), and when he was walking, knocked over a Wet Floor sign--one of the triangle-sandwich-board-style ones that sits up, then folds down (was that also insulting?? I just don't want you to think it's one of the cone-pyramid ones!!). He bent down to pick it up, realized that he couldn't open it up to stand it back up, looked around, saw all of us looking at him, laid it back on the ground where it had fallen and ran.

Hilarious.

I'm always doing this!!!

My problem with Alicia Keys:

#1--If the lyrics are, as everyone online claims, "concrete jungle where dreams are made of," I'm pissed about it. That doesn't even make sense. Why not just "concrete jungle, what dream are made of," or even just the ever-musical "concrete jungle where dreams are made, oh..." or even "concrete jungle where dreams are made up." All of that makes more sense than what's out there.

I'm really hoping those aren't the real words, actually. Somebody prove me wrong.

Pumpkin mask.

So I found this pumpkin face mask in my cabinet from like a year ago, and I've used it several times. I haven't noticed a thing it's done for my skin, but I keep using it because when it's on, my face smells like it's covered in pumpkin pie.

Delicious pumpkin pie...

This one's titled "that kid fell."

the long awaited, much requested (not really either) rules of the combo word

Good morning, America.

Is it weird that saying that makes me feel as though I'm being untrue to The Today Show? XO Meredith.

I just llooovveee a good combo word--my own or someone else's...as long as they follow the rules. But the masses (two to three people) keep accusing me of changing the rules on them, so here you go, jerks. I'm writing down the rules (only two) that have always existed no matter what you people say, AND...for the first time in print (does this even count as print??), including the new rule number three, that originated outside of myself, but finally made enough sense that I added it. But it really took me a long time to be convinced. Good work, Frankums (and better work on that nickname, Mindy).

First of all, for the unknowing (no one that would ever read this, I'm sure, because I see most of you basically every other day), the combo word is two (or three, if you're awesome) words combined. Hence the name. Right? Right.

So here are the rules:

Rule 1. Saying the combo word has to be more efficient than the original two (however many) words (in length or just in tongue flowage),
Rule 2. the words combined have to either share a syllable or have a rhyming syllable that serves as the bridge to the combo, and the new and equally important rule...
Rule 3. an cool, uninvolved third party would have to recognize, without explanation (but context can be provided), which words are combined.

Easy


Peasy


Go crazy.


But not yet.


For the purpose of not being accused of changsies again, let's go into too much depth.

If I love a good combo word, I sure hate a bad one. For example, calling a chicken taco a "chaco." That's maybe the worst combo word I've ever made up as an example. Let's check it against the rules.

Rule 1--Sure, it's more efficient. Two syllables saved.
Rule 2--Hell. No. You tell me which of these syllables rhyme: "tac," "o," "chick," and "en." That's right...none of them. There can be no syllable replacement, ergo no way to properly combine the words.

So it's already not a real combo word, but just for fun, let's ask a cool, uninvolved third party what "chaco" means.

Rule 3--"Um...Chad taco?"

There you have it.

So what if someone wants to get dinner this week, and asks when you're free. "Sure, sure, I have a freevening on Thursday!"

Rule 1--Yes--you just knocked a whole syllable off of "free evening." Excellent job.
Rule 2--Why yes! "Free" and the long "e" of "evening" DO rhyme. Thank you for asking!
Rule 3--"Free evening, of course." And that was his first guess. Just perfect.

As a small, but very important side note, there is one small subcategory. Don't get so mad about it...I'm not watering down the combo word. This just important. Some combo words can follow all the rules, but must be classified as a "best-in-print" combo word. You can call it a B.I.P. if you want.

Here's what I mean. "Know what I just love to get at Rubio's?"
"Fish tacos."
"Yeah, that's true. But something else."
"What?"
"The delicious chicken buwheato."
"Ah...a wheat burrito. That's such a great combo word, really, but it's more of a B.I.P., wouldn't you say?"
"I sure would, dinner friend."

That convo actually happened (more or less). So why the subcategory? Because that one is just funnier when you read it.

Rule 1--Yep...you save a syllable.
Rule 2--Mos def. The "-rit-" in "burrito" rhymes the hell out of "wheat."
Rule 3--This one could be up for debate, depending on how cool your third party is, but my third party totally got it. That's what I mean, though, about the B.I.P. Because even uncool third parties get it on paper. In fact, if I was a band named B.I.P., that would be my first album title. "New from B.I.P.: Because even uncool third parties get it on paper."

But it's still a combo word.

Fin! No more rules can be added unless there's complete consensus. Stop it.

the great drawerganization of 2010

So I was caught up on emails and phone calls yesterday (a brief but celebrated moment in this season), and decided that it was about time for me to completely clean out my drawers. I have six in my desk and four of the four-foot long file drawers. After three hours, I got through five of my desk drawers.

I may be a hoarder. Not sure yet, since I just added the show to the DVR, but it's a real possibility.

Anyway, I was just so pleased with the things I found that I thought I'd share them here, as to never forget them, ever, in all of time.


1--a bunch of choco-coins from my grad program's noncommittal holiday display-not-party...in 2007 (I licked one. Still good)

2--a picture I took of my brother pretending to be falling in some sort of battle, complete with Taco Bell mild sauce special effects

3--a photo booth photo of me and a friend from high school with scrunchies and Phoenix Suns t-shirts

4--three pages of quotations from a really crazy guest speaker in my business comm class when I was a college sophomore who said things like "Ok, say you and I are golfing together...I'll be you and you can be...me..." (more on this below)

5--a Valentines Day card to "My Beloved Husband" (me) from "your adoring wife" (my friend Jessica)

6--three pairs of different kinds of scrapbooking scissors (I have never scrapbooked, or wanted to)

7--unmailed Thank You notes from Fall Travel 2005

8--a really old sign that, after an especially formative day in Freshman Psychology, my roommate and I posted on our dorm door that said "My id can kick your id's @$$"

9--A card for a free FroYo, from back when it was called FroYo

10--a joke from an old Chinese New Year cracker that reads: "Why is an elephant large and wrinkly? Because if it were small, white and smooth it would be an aspirin!"



And so I can finally throw these papers away (key indicator that I am not a hoarder...my life is so confusing!), here are all of the quotations from Crazy Julie, written on pages from my college planner in 2003, from her presentation on job interviews.

"Barbers! These guys don't go barbers! They have someone...just cut their hair."

"You say to me 'Julie, you are gonna be a BB in two seconds.'"

"So you're standing there, looking at me glassy-eyed, saying nothing...who's the winner? No one! You are the loser!"

"PowerPoint is easier, right? Yes, I think so too. I like overheads."

"See this paper? It records names AND companies AND family AND cell phone. If you can find an better way to keep track of that with a computer, you let me know!"

"Stand out, or else you look like...Cheerios. And not even the honey nut kind."

"These keys are a comp-u-lation of other keys."

"So you're in a room with a professional...is it a big room?"

"If she didn't come...oh man. OH MAN!"

"He kissed people...but it was so much easier when I talked to him...I didn't feel like he was going to kiss me."

"They bug you and all you want to do is grab their jaw and squeeeeze..."

"Know why you're not like Westpoint here? You don't fight in wars. Here, you all fly around like...rolling BBs...and you forget your friends."

"OK, so picture me as an accountant. I'm an accountant...I have very few personal skills."

"I don't knooooow if I have a job because I don't knoooow if you speak English. Yikes!"




So I'm pretty sure some of those were taken out of context, but really, even in context...what the hell? That was a weird day. All of the BB references alone made it weird.

And this lady used to be in charge of the Business Center. That thought just made me smile.

getting dressed without double checking

So I laid in bed this morning, thinking about what I was going ot wear (if I don't have it pre-thought, it turns into a really long, horrible process that leaves me pissed and my room a mess) and mentally imagined a new combo of clothes. I got up, put that isht on, then left for work...

...without double checking in the mirror that it actually looked like I wanted it to.

In walking back into my office today, I saw a reflection of myself in the glass and my first and only thought was:

"What the...did I think I was trying out for High School Musical 4 today?"

Wwwhhhyyyy do I forget how old I am sometimes??? Late-20-year olds cannot wear leggings and really high heels and skirts from Urban Outfitters and tank tops that are too low cut for work and baggy sweaters. Seriously, self?

The best horoscope I've ever gotten.

As a Leo, I literally cannot wait to see how 010 pans out.

Mindy called it my Whore-o-score.

I hope yours is just as amazing!!

From:
What's in the stars for 2010? :: CHICAGO SUN-TIMES :: Horoscopes

Leo (July 23-Aug. 22)

You'll be restless, wanting to explore and experience all that you can physically, emotionally, mentally and spiritually. Your passion and desires will not be denied. You will attract partners of all kinds who will help you find your way and reach your objective. Constant change will inspire you to think big and leave an imprint that will motivate others.

Love: Open your heart and feel the love. You will be desirable and in demand.

Money: Mix and match the old with the new, and you will turn a profit.

Health: Living right and by the rules will lead to emotional and physical strength.

Best months of the year: March, June, August and November.

What you should strive for: The big ticket, the top of the pile, the first on the block.

Fashion: Make a statement that oozes with success but isn't pompous.

Your lucky numbers: 5, 11, 16, 24, 33, 37, 41.

ho pans!

My friend Kate and I were just talking about someone, and came up with the following insult. Use widely.

You really put the "ass" in "embarrassing."

an old phone conversation worth reliving here

In cleaning out my email folders, I found this little (huge) email that I sent to some coworkers about two years ago when this crazy phone call happened. I'm so glad that it's recorded, because it was so
flipping
weird.





I could not stop myself from spending 30 minutes transcribing the conversation that I just had on the phone. Typically, I would write it as a conversation between this man and myself, but this 30 minute phone call consisted of him talking and me going "Mmm hmm," "ok," and awkwardly laughing, so I'll spare you from most of my comments and just write what Mr. Donald D said to me this morning.

To those of you who believe that the big JC purposefully send these people my way for my own entertainment, I am beginning to agree with you, as this man, who I have never met, who is not from my recruiting territory and who was interested in a program to which I am not connected, specifically asked for me.

Phone call as follows:

"Hello there, this is Mr. Donald D. I'm a veteran of three wars and I live up here in Scripps Ranch. I have a few questions for you...but it's a little bit of a story, so do you have a moment? Ok. I have three children, all in their 50s and 60s now. Well in 1990, I had radical prostate surgery, and they ended up freezing my sperm. My wife was very ill, and the doctor said 'What if you marry a younger woman? 'You never know when you'll want to have more kids!' Before my wife passed, one of my daughters and her husband found out that they couldn't have kids, so they decided they wanted to use some of my sperm."



Pause for a moment for my thought when he said this: "SICK."



"I mean, they already knew what kind of kids they were, so it was a safe bet. Well my son-in-law said he would start saving for the procedure of fertilization, but if you knew him like we did, you would know that he never even saved five cents in his whole life! I mean, he worked with the San Diego Opera and didn't even save the tickets he earned! Anyway, we decided to pay for the procedure, and we worked with an egg donor and after five attempts in '99, we got a little girl! We were excited, but my daughter and son-in-law really wanted a boy, so we used the same donor and surrogate and in 2002, we got twin boys! Around that time, my wife passed away and my son-in-law died unexpectedly, and my daughter couldn't handle it, so she gave up all three kids to me. Now I'm a single parent, and I'm 82 years old! Well when my daughter gave up those kids, I tried to call her--she lives in Kensington--and she never answered and I haven't even heard from her in five years. Anyway, I knew I could use some help, so I found a nanny from Scotland. Rosalyn came over here on a work visa and she was with those kids for almost three years! We knew she was perfect when we went to visit one of the twins in the hospital--he was born without an anus and with a double urethra"



Pause for a moment for my thought when he said this: "Incest...in spirit at least."



"--and when she saw him in the hospital, he had blood all over him, and she said she would never leave him there again! She stayed by his side every time he went into that horrible place. Anyway, while she was here, she found out that she had family in Vancouver, so I bought her a ticket to visit them, and when she tried to come back, they wouldn't let her back in! Her visa was only for San Diego, they said, and that was a lie, because visas aren't for one city. But they deported her back to Scotland. Well she tried to get a visa and they denied her, but they wrote a letter to MISTER C. Looks like they don't even know the difference between a male and a female over there! So she wrote a letter to the first lady, and it got returned to her too with a no. Well I want her to get back here to help me...I made her the sole executor of my will and my childrens' guardian...and she went to Nursing school in Scotland, and I hadn't considered PLNU because of your high costs, but I just need her back here for those kids!"



Pause for a moment for my thought when he said this: "It took 12 minutes to get to the reason he called."



"Several other schools I've talked to suggested I just marry her to make the process easier,"



Pause for a moment for my thought when he said this: "SICK."



"but I can't do that to her, that wouldn't be right."


At this point, he paused for the first time, so I felt like I had to say something, but all I could come up with was "Yeah, that doesn't seem like it would solve the problem. What a story!"



"Well you wouldn't believe it, it's just like a soap opera! I don't know if you're aware of this, but when you have a surrogacy birth, you all have to go to the judge so the surrogate gives up all legal rights to the kids. Well we did that, but when our surrogate found out how much money I was worth and that I have a six bedroom two bath house up here, after my wife and son-in-law passed, she sued me for custody and said that she was the only mother figure in their lives, which is a lie! My housekeeper will tell you...she only showed up when she was pregnant for more money! Well we had a liberal woman judge who believed her, and the woman got partial custody of those kids, and support from me all because of that woman judge! She's a mess. I hired a private investigator to follow her"



Pause for a moment for my thought when he said this: "We're really about to go into someone else life story...minute 21"



"and I found out that she had been married five times and committed welfare fraud. Apparently one night, she and her second husband were in a hotel with her 10 year old from a first marriage and the police were called and the kid had blood on his head and was taken from her. Well she divorced that second husband and got married again, but she divorced the guy in Guam, and a Guam divorce isn't even recognized here in California, so on top of all this, she's a polygamist! Can you believe it?"



Pause for a moment for my thought when he said this: "Yes."



"Well finally last year, I took her back to court with this new evidence, and we found out that when the kids were there, they slept in a utility closet on a foam mattress. She tried to enroll them in a Lutheran school up there in Escondido just so she would have more kids there and get a break in tuition. Well she sent some woman to pick those kids up for Lutheran school with all sorts of studs all over her face and I told her 'No way are you taking my kids and my vehicle...I don't know you from Adam!' So anyway, when we took her back to court, we had a male judge and he said 'Why are we even here? She has no legal claim to these kids!' So I got my kids back. Oh my god my housekeeper just handed me a check for $4000 dollars."



At this point, I cannot contain my "What the hell?"



"I don't..." "This is from 1970! She just found a check from 1970 under the chest in the boys' room! I'll have to call the IRS on this one! My housekeeper is telling me what to do over here!"



Can't help it: "Maybe that's a sign...first tuition payment!"



"You're right!" "Well anyway you better believe that while the PI followed the surrogate, he found out a lot of things. First, she'd had her eyes operated on so she would look like an innocent little teenager. She was 200 pounds when the twins were born, and she was down to 120 because of an intestines [pronounced "en-TEST-tynes"] staple. And the worst of it is that after she birthed 11 children, her breasts were down to her belly button, so she had those things put back up where they were supposed to be. Can you believe it?"



Pause for a moment for my thought when he said this: "Yes."



It was at this point, 31 minutes in, that I realized that I had to stop this, so I basically interrupted, told him about Nursing and gave him their phone number. He was so great--he had me write down his name and Rosalyn's name, and I ended the conversation with:


"Well you know my name, so you call me back anytime you want to!"



I hope he does.




Two year later update: He never called back, and poor Rosalyn never applied. I hope everything worked out, but really, how can thing work out when you have no anus?

really weird conversations happen here

So corwoker Chad and I were in the mail center on campus, and I was just skimming The Good News (worst “news source” of all time…this week they include an article on why it’s ok for Carrie Prejean to have a sex tape, because it was a youthful indiscretion. Really? I’m pretty sure that they didn’t say that about Paris Hilton’s sex tape. Christian newspapers always let me down. It's not like real news isn't Christian news too, right?), and a faculty member walked in, and the following conversation ensued.

Faculty member: Hey! What are you guys doing?
Me to Chad: Just reading The Good News!
Faculty member: We sure could use some right now!
Me back: Yeah, well I guess this isn’t good news…it’s about abortion…downer! (jokes)
Chad: Downer.
Faculty member: Yeah, real downer, especially for the baby.
Me: …Yeah…
Chad: Haaaaayeah

Sidenote here—that was not meant as an endorsement of abortion, or a stance against it…just a comment that it’s not what one would necessarily think of as “good news.” I'm pretty sure both sides aren't sending congrats greeting cards on anyone's abortion.

So Chad and I jump back into our own conversation about something else entirely, and the faculty member, on the way out the door, says

Faculty member: I know it’s cool to have an open mind…especially about abortion…but I just can’t do it.

Us: Nothing (because what do you say to that?)

Faculty member: I know, it’s not cool.

And that was it.

Ah...the Naz.

a lesson in professionalism

This morning, I received this email in my inbox (where else would I receive it, really?):

FW: Holiday E-Card - Boomers!

Hi Shannon:

Have a very safe & Happy Holiday Season!!

Best regards,

Bill Bolen

Sales Manager

Boomers ! San Diego

6999 Clairemont Mesa Blvd.

San Diego, CA 92111

858-560-4211 xt 11

Fax: 858-560-5347

www.palaceentertainment.com

________________________________

That's it, exactly. No pictures, no colors, no cool fonts...nothing.

Let this be a professionalism lesson to us all.

#1--Leaving the FW: in the subject.

It's like he's saying "you're special because you're getting this, but not that special, because other people got it too." I like how it also totally negates my name in the first line.

#2--Inappropriate use of capitalization

There's no reason to capitalize Happy, Holiday or Season in the middle of a sentence. That makes me think you're yelling at me. This guy is a manager, for goodness sake. Grammar it up over there.

#3--"&"

Really? Typing out "a-n-d" was too much for you in this one line email forward?

#4--This is a one line email forward.

If you've already resigned yourself to being that guy who just forwards the same message to everyone and changes the name in the first line, couldn't you at least make the holiday wishes SEEM heartfelt by making it more than one sentence? I mean, you only have to type it out once, and then you can just insert the names in email merge.

#5--Oh yeah, learn email merge

The fact that the "FW:" is in the header means that you actually forwarded this out, one by one, to every person who's done business with you in the past year. Come on...email merge does that in one click, and it can even put my very individualized name in each e-card.

#6--We need to talk about what an e-card is.

I'm not sure that just because you are wishing me a Happy Holiday Season, an email turns into an "e-card."

this one time, I almost got arrested

I've always wondered what kind of pull-over I'd be, since I've been fortunate enough to never have a real-cop-pull-over while driving.

I know that all of you who have driven with me are pausing right now and thinking "Hmm...really? Because she is SUCH a bad driver!"

I know! I've been really lucky ("blessed" for those of you holier than I am). But despite my typically poor driving performance, I have yet to be pulled over.

Or HAD yet to be pulled over, before this last Saturday.

Let me start off (do you like how I'm "starting off" on the fifth paragraph?) by saying that I know the craziness of this whole story is negated by the fact that I'm even telling this story right now as opposed to sitting downtown in San Diego lock up, and you all know I would do almost ANYthing to make a good story great...but that was really put to the test this time, because I did sacrifice the better story for my freedom and clean criminal record.

So Saturday, I woke up early to the sounds of my neighbor cleaning house (sorry to all of you who I convinced that she was dead--she's not), and laid in bed, not happy about it (I did just write "pissed" here, but had to erase it in case any of you thought I actually peed the bed...Shy Ronnie), until I got a really happy text from Mary asking if I wanted to join her out shopping.

Yes. Always.

So I got ready really fast (no shower, cleeearly) and drove over to Mission Valley. To make this part of the story short, we also wanted to go to Fashion Valley, and by sheer chance, my car was closer than hers, so we took my car over, shopped there, and headed back to Mission so I could drop Mary at her car.

As we're turning onto that street that runs by the mall (Camino something? I don't even know.), I noticed that there was a police car behind me, but did not think twice about it, because there were SO many people on the roads...there was no way to speed or run a stop sign or anything. But right as I was starting to signal that I was turning into the parking lot outside of the Rack (for those of you who are here...just picture that parking lot and its tiny one-way aisles and overwhelming number of visitors), he turned on his lights and followed me in. I saw him and said to Mary "Am I getting pulled over???", and we tried to figure out what I could have done to warrant a pull over while I tried to figure out where I could pull over in the first place, because the lot was totally packed. There were no open spots...no empty spaces to stop in...clearly...it's December at the mall. So at the end of the first aisle, Mary just said to stop.

Thanks, by the way, Mary, because I was so nervous about finding a spot that I probably would've just kept going. I just want to do it right!!

So I just stopped, blocking in three cars, and opened my driver door because I'm an idiot and my driver's window has been broken for like three months. What can I say...it keeps me out of the drive thrus, so I haven't gotten it fixed.

The officer came up to me, I explained the window and apologized, he asked for my license and registration, then told me that the reason I was pulled over was because my back tail light was flickering. Keep in mind that since I have never really been pulled over, I'm trying to remember what, exactly, a "registration" looks like, and sifting through Sea World maps, Wells Fargo deposit envelopes and cassette mix tapes, all of which were on top of it in my glove box.

During this, Mary is helping me look, and we find my proof of insurance, which is outdated (not the insurance...just the proof. I have insurance. Promise. I have Geico, almost entirely because of their commercials). For some reason, I say, out loud, to Mary, "Oh, I think this is expired. Yeah, it is." At that point, the officer, who had not, up until that point, asked for insurance, heard me, and asked for insurance. Awesome. I told him (directly this time) "Oh...this is an old one. I didn't print out the new one. (Pause...pause) I can look it up online if you want...?"

He didn't want.

Then he took my license and registration, and asked me to pull up into the red zone. Why didn't I see that before?? So I did.

While sitting in the red zone, I'm just chatting with Mary, waiting, and I told her she could go to her car, which she did not, because she is a good friend, which I ended up really needing because, the officer came back up to me, and at the same time that we see that there was not only just the one officer who pulled me over behind me, but three police cars, all with lights flashing, sitting behind me in the red zone, the following conversation transpired:

Him: Where were you coming from? (serious)
Me: Fashion Valley mall. We were just mall hopping! (happy, like I like to be)
Him: And where do you work?
Me: Point Loma Nazarene (always throw in "Naz" if it's something serious...with a smile)
Him: Oh, I was just over there the other day
Me: No way! Why? Oh, I guess I can't really ask you that. Sorry! (still my good old happy self with the widest, most innocent eyes I can muster)
Him: No--I was taking a statement from Kerry Fulcher--I guess his daughter was threatened by some crazy guy.
Me: Oh yeah, we all got an email about that.
Him: Did the guy ever show up?
Me: No, not that I know of.
Him: Good. So did you know that your license is suspended?
Mary: WHHAATT???? Oh sorry...sorry.
Me: Wait what?? I don't even know what that means!
Him: Yeah, your license has been suspended for four months.
Me: Wh...no...seriously...I don't know what that means.
Him: Well, it mean that you can't drive your car unless you're going to and from work.
Me: (no WONDER he wanted to know where I was going...I thought that was weird). Uh...I...I don't even know what to say. Why??
Him: We don't have a reason here--just that your license was suspended. The DMV has record that you were served.
Me: I was what?? What does that mean?
Him: That means that a peace officer (really? so they're really sticking with that title?) or a DMV employee presented you with notice that your license was suspended and you signed it.
Me: Wait...I never signed anything...I wasn't even shown anything!

Mind you, Mary and I are still both half shocked, half smiley/laughy at this point, because this is so flipping crazy. I mean, unpaid parking ticket? THAT I can imagine, because I'm totally that person who would forget to pay a parking ticket or something. But driving on a suspended license?? I literally didn't even understand the offense. He may as well have told me that I was driving with a hibbidy gibbidy.

Him: Well sometimes the DMV makes a mistake, but not usually...
Me: Right...right...I mean...I know you can't just take my word on it, but this is the first time I've ever even heard about this!
Him: Well I'll get some more information.

At this point, Mary says "I'm so glad I didn't just go back to my car," I agree, and he steps back to confer with the TWO ADDITIONAL OFFICERS who were called in for back up, talks on the little shoulder radio, and comes back with another officer who's older and looks meaner (I should say just plain old "mean," because the first guy wasn't mean at all).

New guy: When was the last time you were in court?
Me: I was there for jury duty about a year ago...?
Him: No...when did you last have to appear in court?
Me: Appear?? Never??
Him: The system is showing that your license was suspended for failure to appear after you failed to report an accident.
Me: I haven't even been in an accident!
Him: Well the DMV doesn't just make this stuff up.
Me: (again) I know you can't just take my word on this one, but I have no idea what this is about.

Original officer: So...we're going to have to impound your car...
Mary: nervous laugh
Me: What?? Like...right now? You have to take my car??
Him: Yes. Could you turn off the engine and step out of the car?
Me: Right now???
Him: Yes.
Me: Ok...can I get my new boots? (I haven't purchased anything in almost four months...this was the first...more about that later...but I have no idea why I was worried about that at the moment)
Him: In a moment.
Me: Ok...ok...do you need my keys??
Him: Yes, if you could just leave them in the front seat.
Mary: But take off your house keys first.
Me: Oh yeah (thanks for that, because I'm sure I would not have)...really?? I haven't even ever gotten a speeding ticket! This is my first pull over!
Him: Yes. Please step out of the car.

So Mary and I fully step out of the car and onto the sidewalk, and the first officer opens up my drivers' side backseat door, pops the trunk and starts to fully search my car.

As I'm getting out, I hear the lady in the shoulder radio say my name, and ask if I was out of my car.

So it's really me they're after. Cool.

I am in awe of whatever is going on, and Mary and I are basically laughing, because what else do you do in this situation???? At some point, the first officer must have asked the other two guys to help, because we overheard the meaner one (who really wasn't mean either...the first guy was just so nice) say "No way man, this is your citation." But then they all laughed, and started searching my car together. I mean, we were laughing, so why wouldn't they be laughing?

Pause here for a shout out to Mary, who is SUCH a good friend. She just kept saying "we're going to go to my house, get a bottle of wine and make a plan. We're going to have a plan so on Monday, you can get this all cleared up. This is just a paperwork issue, I'm sure." So happy she was there to experience this with me, and to keep me from...I don't know...crying or something. Whatever I may have done, had I not been able to say "What the heck. What the heck. What the heck." to someone who agreed with me.

And she knows that that's exactly what I needed in that sitch...just a plan.

So anyway, the second officer was looking in the passenger seat and said "Uh oh, whose marijuana is this?," very clearly joking (which, later, I thought about and got real nervous, because that shouldn't be a joke that you make with a police officer searching your car, right??), and Mary said "Oh no, I was the passenger!" also joking, and I said "Come on guys...what would the Naz think about that?" and we all shared in a laugh.

What????

Then the first officer asked Mary if she also worked at Point Loma, to which she could not have more innocently replied "No, I'm a stay at home mommy!"

Looking back, I'm pretty sure that there were several times when they all looked at each other and said "Really? This isn't making any sense at all." This had to be one of those times.

They were looking in my truck about this time, which is, at the moment, full of clothes for Buffalo Exchange and Goodwill, and I felt it necessary to apologize, so I said "Oh sorry about all the clothes...that's embarrassing," and "Well, this is my first pull-over. At least it will be a good story." They liked that. Or hated it. I'm not really sure. That may have been another point that they had second thoughts about all of this.

So one officer was standing, listening to Mary and me talk (maybe to try and figure out what the heck was going on, or maybe waiting for me to admit it all), and I said "I can't believe they're taking my car," to which he replied "You should be glad he's not taking you to jail. This is a misdemeanor offense, and you could be arrested."

I could be ARRESTED??????? I could be arrested. I could be arrested!! That's about all that went through my head. Mary and I laughed more about this, because it was just too much.

I then noticed that there were two mall security "officers" standing about 30 yards away, staring at us, talking conspiratorially to each other, and not coming over. The real police also noticed this, and started making fun of them. One guy literally pretended to talk into his shoulder radio and said "Yeah, can we get mall security over here for back up?" We also all laughed about that. We were really having a great old time together.

So at this point, we're standing on the sidewalk beside my car, and there are three police cars with lights on behind me, so CLEARLY people walking around the mall parking lot were intrigued. I'm sure I would have been. But, in the spirit of the ridiculousness of the whole situation, for some reason, I was moved to wave at the people who had stopped to stare at me until they were embarrassed for being called out and went away. I did this to several people, until the first officer popped up from the car search and said "Do you know those people?" I told him I did not, but wanted to acknowledge them, because they were looking at me. He also thought that was funny, and told the other officers who were

searching

my car

for drugs.

Another group laugh.

I'm also, throughout all of this, working out with Mary what on earth may have happened to get me to this point. We had pretty much decided at this point that it must have been an issue with one of my 20 rental cars this Fall. Maybe someone right after me had crashed and not reported an accident. Maybe I had accidentally backed into someone in a car and didn't realize it. Maybe this was all a huge mistake.

So while we're talking through our "plan," the car search ends, and the three officers go back to the first officer's car, and I overhear--hold on--you know how sometimes you hear something, but it doesn't make sense, so you don't process it right away? Then later, when you get it, you think "OHHHH...so THAT'S what they were talking about when they said...."--so I overhear without processing: "What do you mean, you didn't run the number?"

So Mary and I are talking about how I need a ride home, how she and I are going to work this out (oh man, thanks again Mary...I'm not sure I would've handled this well without you there), and how I will have to pay SO MUCH MONEY to get my car out of impound, when officer the first comes back up to us.

Him: Well girls...I'm gonna give you a break.
Me: What?
Him: So...so they gave me the wrong information. Your license is not suspended.
Me: What?
Him: Yeah, you're just fine. There's Ashton Kutcher...you've been punked.
Me: (after I actually turned around when he pointed, because I was so confused, and also after I had to actually fight an urge to hug him, which, as you all know, is a HUGE deal for me, and shows how out of it I was, and then had to fight the urge to ASK if I could hug him). Wait, seriously?
Him: Yes. I'm sorry about that...they gave me the wrong information.
Mary: just laughing
Me: So I can take my car?
Him: Yep. You're good to go.
Me: This was my first pull over (why was it necessary to communicate that again??)
Him: Well I'm Officer ____. I'm glad I could be here to walk you through it.
Me and Mary: just laughing. More out of relief, but also because that was funny.
Him: So you girls are free to go.
Me: Thanks for not taking me to jail.
Him: You would never make it in jail.
Me: (I know...that's why I didn't want to go to there) laughing
Mary: Wait...which tail light was flickering?

Thanks again, Mary. Let's bring it back to the actual problem, because all I could think about was "I almost went to jail today."

So I took my keys, and pulled out of the red zone with such extreme caution (because I would be that girl to get out of this situation, then hit a police car), dropped Mary off at her car, laughed and laughed and laughed more our of sheer nervous energy than anything, and went to her house, just to continue to share in a few moments of disbelief.

That just happened, everyone.

I know that, like I said, the story is totally negated because I'm actually writing about it, which I would not be doing if I was in jail...but somehow, I was almost in jail...and I needed to pass that along.

things i'd eat right now if they were in front of me

1. cake
2. cupcake
3. birthday cake
4. fried chicken
5. a baked potato
6. any piece of candy except for a cinnamon disc or peppermint
7. a grilled cheese

oh sweet ass i just remembered that my coworker has candy in her office!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Here's my favorite thing about Thanksgiving:

gravy.

Condotel video...I think...I don't understand the internet...which may explain why it's sideways...

more isht to not buy

So I wrote this one on my last night on travel...but didn't have internet at the Condotel, so here it is...late...but who cares...because I'm finally home!!!!

By the way...the no shopping challenge has taken me to some strange places.

So my week on Oahu was no big deal, because I literally had not one second of free time to even try to go shopping. My few days on Kauai was easy too, because they don't really have malls or shops there. They do have a lot of free-roaming chickens, though. But I've been super-ready-to-be-home on the last two islands, and I got some bad news about sweet g-ma Faye, and those times are the times that aaaallll I wwaaannnntttt in the world is to buy something (everything).

Also, I ran out of clean chonies on Wednesday.

Weird--I thought I packed enough, but apparently, I did not. Why do I always pack the day I leave?

So I got out of my last high school visit early on Wednesday (because of a security lockdown--awesome. I was locked in the library with no students, and after ten minutes, the counselor came back and had security escort me to my car. I have no idea why. But there were six cop cars there, and all the buildings were chained shut. Did anyone hear anything about King Kekaulike High on the news??), so in my last pair of cleans, I ended up at a mall. And this was after I tried to waste enough time until my flight with a shave ice. No luck. The mall was not a very good one, but somehow, I ended up in American Eagle (??), and bought five pairs of awesome undies. I'm tempted to post a picture, but who knows when President Bob might find this, right? And you know I'd think of that every time I saw him.

So I left, $25 lighter, and was overcome with guilt. Like serious, serious, want to go to confession even though I'm not Catholic guilt. I haven't bought anything at a mall (or anywhere but the grocery, really) for myself since...I don't even remember...the first week of September?? All I could think was about how I ruined the No Shopping Challenge, and how horrible that made me. Yikes. I was basically like some sort of crazy person.

So I took them back.

Seriously.

With no cleans in my suitcase, I returned them. Interesting looks from the lady who'd just sold them to me. I told her that I bought them for a lingerie shower, but realized that I actually needed to get another size...from somewhere else.............

I got on the plane, made it to really creepy condo-tel, and the next morning, as I was fully prepared to go free-balling, I found two pairs that were hidden because they were black and looked like suitcase.

It was as though Jesus was like "Good job on the No Shopping Challenge. I want you to wear underwear today and tomorrow. Here you go."

things and things, Hawaiian radio and my haunted condo

Interesting times on the road.

I think I might have opened up some other blog with that same line...I'm not sure. I often think that...that line...not that I opened up another blog with the same line.

What?

Dear Hawaiian Airlines,

I love that you still have free movies and free meals. I love that even on my 15-minute-in-the-air inter-island flights, you give me juice, and even though it's only 12% juice, I still love it. I'll have two, actually. I also love how nice your employees are. Seriously nice--and I don't think they're talking about me behind my back when they leave the aisle. But really...REALLY...Hawaiian airlines...I can't handle the fees. Your tickets aren't cheap in the first place, but then to pay $15 for the first, $25 for the second bag from the mainland, then $17 from island to island, and $25 for overweight bags (p.s. the weight limit changes from mainland and inter-island--not fair), then $150 for any ticket change...you're killing me softly. I'm pretty sure I could have purchased another full ticket with what I paid in fees on this trip. And all I want to do is leave a day early...I'm so willing to pay the difference in ticket cost...but the change fees alone for my flight back to Honolulu, then to SD, is $175. That's unreal. Literally. I don't pay that much for a round trip ticket to Las Vegas.

And, consequently, Las Vegas is way more fun that the Big Island. Like, 100 times more fun. Maybe more.

In conclusion, I cannot love you, Hawaiian Airlines, because I hate you. And I cannot hate you, because...you get it.

I would just like to go home please.

Mahalo (they love that),

Shannon

Unrelated--I'm at Starbucks, and a girl just rang up for $13.49. She doesn't have any ground or bean coffee. What the hell can you order at Starbucks to total that much? "Hi, I'll have two large frappucinos. You know what? Let's make it three. With 20 pumps of hazelnut."

So, interesting times on the road. I've been driving a lot (surprisingly--the islands are not big), and my first rental car didn't have one of those little pluggers where you get to listen to your iPod, so I was stuck with the radio. Hawaiian radio is not good...no question. I listened to a lot of NPR. But I really, really, really love to sing in the car, so on Oahu, I resorted to listening to my iPod, earphones in, and singing. Even I realized that this was reeedic, so, also for my own amusement, decided to record myself singing to music no one else could hear, then listen back to myself singing along to nothing. Can't lie to you, I was laughing a lot about this. At myself. Singing. Now I know what some select few passengers experience when I get going. Sorry, by the way, to you guys. I did that for a while, left some people some singing messages, then went back to NPR.

Second rental car had a plug, so I listened to my iPod with much joy until it died, then I listened to the torrential rain that almost led to my death on the road (several times). Worst storm in four years? Sign me up. My hotel didn't have power when I checked in, or phones for that whole day.

Did I already tell you that? Sorry. Bad news when I'm repeating stories in a blog. I need human interaction so bad right now. I went to Costco with a youth pastor today. More on that later.

It wasn't until rental car four that I realized that I left my cord in rental car two. This has happened twice now, and oddly enough, no one at the rental place ever has record of someone turning in a cord. Assholes. They're like $10 at Target!! Stop stealing from me!! So I'm back to singing to myself through headphones. I did mess up one ear of the headphone with too much volume, I think...it rattles a little now. Oops. And I'm also back to NPR. I do love it, but I am at the point that I'm re-hearing stories about racial tension between Italians and Latinos on Long Island...so...so that's when I play the radio scan game. It's of my own invention, there are rules, and they're complicated. No one since three boyfriends ago will play it with me. But I got 21 points today.

I also talked to Chip for like an hour today. Remember Chip? I sure miss that guy. He was the perfect audience for my latest Naz church visit, which is a story best told in person. Or via voicemail, I'm told. Eric, are you reading this? Thanks for sharing that in staff meeting.

In my radio scans, I have been stuck on Hawaiian music from time to time. I have learned one major thing about Hawaiian music: a lot of it is non-Hawaiian music, re-recorded to sound islandy. I've heard Elvis, church hymns, Jason Mraz, Tina Turner...basically every style of music redone Hawaiian style. It's not good. But I did catch one real gem--a Hawaiian rapper. No lie, the rap started with "Yo yo...it about time dat we bring some jamz from da 808...uh-LOW-hah!" Unreal.

Finally: I am staying at the weirdest place ever.

I booked this place on Expedia and got a pretty good rate, which is always a key sign of danger. I have never, ever been pleasantly surprised by some random place I booked on Expedia. Am I the only one? Although I think if I were a--not alone, b--not at the end of like 5 million weeks out, c--on another, cooler island, and d--in a different state of mind, this place could have been cool. Maybe. Except I'm convinced I may be killed in my sleep tonight.

I'm pretty sure that only girls will understand this. Lucky for me, I am pretty sure that only girls read this. In fact, it may only be Mindy (see comments on every post...xoxo MVega!).

So anyway, I landed on the Big Island last evening, got my car, and put my hotel address in el GPS, and it's 45 minutes away. At this point, I just wanted to be home, so this was annoying to me. Even more annoying--the airport is surrounded my like 30 miles of just lava. Black, ugly lava. It's not cool or pretty. I hate the lava. And people take some white rocks from somewhere and write their names and things like "just engaged!!!!!!" and "aloha!!!!!!!" in the rocks, and it looks like graffiti, and I hated that too. I also passed a man on a recumbent bike, and hated the bike and him also. So my hotel is in the middle of nowhere, really...no shops or town or anything on my way there. It's also made up of many buildings, and is very spread out, which was, again, annoying. So I found the check-in place in some building in the middle. While checking in, I was going through the drill, initialing here, signing there, making up a license plate number for the rental car, the girl threw in this: "Would you prefer skim, 2% of whole milk?"

What??

So I told her that I preferred skim.

From there, she took my fruit juice preference (guava), my bread preference (wheat) and if I preferred butter or margarine (butter...unless I'm baking...then marg all the way. I didn't tell her that last part).

I think that, after 5 million weeks of alone time and personal reflection, that one of the reasons I get into so many crazy situations is because I HATE being out of the loop...so often, when I am, I just pretend like I know what's going on to see where the situation goes. This is often a mistake. Why not just ask what's going on?? I don't know. I just don't do it.

So girl was talking like I should know why she was asking me all these questions, and I went along with it, and she said "Alright, these items, a dozen eggs, and half a pound of bacon will be delivered to your condo tomorrow morning at nine."

What to my what?

But I didn't ask that. I just fake smiled and said "Great."

I don't even understand what she's talking about at this point, but I know that I will eat a total of none of that. I leave every morning I'm there before 8...I am not going to get up early for some 6 a.m. bacon and eggs with butter on wheat.

Then she gave me a map to my room (another thing I hate--if I need a map to get there, it's too far. I don't want to stay at places that need maps.) and I went back to my car to drive to building B.

Oh yeah, she also asked me if I minded being on the second floor. I said no, but I wanted to say yes. I hate dragging luggage up stairs! But I felt like saying yes would put her out in some form, so I said no. I am an idiot--who thinks those things?

So I drove to building B, dragged my overweight suitcase (according to Hawaiian Air...jerks) upstairs and unlocked my door to a condo that's bigger than my house.

At this point, anything other than what I expect is disaster, so my exact thought was: "What is this Iiiiiii hhhaattteee iiiittttttttttt!!!!!!!"

I am definitely not a tantrum thrower, but I did have a moment. I was just tired, and tired of not being home. I was over it quick. :) And I didn't throw one thing.

So I walked into a full kitchen with dinner settings for six, nicer knives than I have at home and a dishwasher, a dining room with seating for six, a living room, a full balcony/patio, a small door under the stairs, and don't worry--that was downstairs. Upstairs, there was a master bedroom, a bathroom and three locked doors. Awesome. Oh wait--it would have been awesome, if I had five friends with me. Maybe.

There is no better way to remind oneself that one is traveling alone than to walk into a dining room for six.

And I'm a great alone traveller...for two or three weeks. On week five million, I'm over it.

Sidenote--I'm SO over being on my own that I had lunch with a youth pastor today (who I met for 5 days at camp this summer), then went with her on her errands, including going to Costco, purchasing two large hams, and picking up her son from school.

So in order to feel at all at home (home being "in a hotel room," right now), I immediately went upstairs, grabbed two pillows and a blanket, went back downstairs and set up camp on the couch in the living room. My suitcase is on the coffee table, I brushed my teeth in the kitchen sink...I'm pretending like I don't even have an upstairs.

Also, there are three locked rooms, and I'm pre-he-hetty sure that some sort of criminal or Sloth from Goonies is living up there, just waiting for me to settle into the master bedroom.

Also, there are no restaurants nearby my creepy condo hotel, so I had to go to a grocery last night and bought the necessary items to make turkey tacos.

I made turkey tacos alone in my condo in Kona last night. After that, I loaded the dishwasher and went to sleep on the couch.

Get.me.out.of.here!!!!

I made a video of it (why do I feel like a grandma for saying that??), so once I figure out how to post videos...you can experience it for yourselves.

And there is no internet of any kind...ergo embarking on hour two at Starbucks (and that's just this visit--doesn't count my hour earlier in between visits).

I left this morning at 7 and haven't been back yet. Partially because it's boring...partially because I know someone dropped off a half pound of bacon there this morning.

an extremely long post that will likely bore anyone but me or my mom, who doesn't read this blog, to my knowledge.

I have a feeling that this is going to be the least interesting blog ever for everyone.

So Fall Travel in Hawaii has been so flipping busy. I think I mentioned this—the traffic is the worst I’ve ever been a part of, and I traveled in LA for a year.

Most of my first morning visits were 15-20 miles away, and I had to leave, on average, two hours early, and I was almost late one morning. I think it’s a combo of several things:

--they don’t have a lot of lanes here. The major freeways are like four lanes.

--the speed limit is 50 on those little freeways, so even when you’re the only person on the road, it feels like you’re stopped in traffic.

--everyone is a horrible driver. I feel like I can say that because my wonderful host Lindy said that too, and she’s from here. But really—no one merges. They just stop with their blinkers on. And people don’t signal to get in or out of lanes. And no one honks, and in my book, that’s not a good thing. I honked once, and people looked at me like I was a huge bitch. Maybe don’t stop on the freeway and I won’t honk.

--people are allowed to ride in the backs of trucks and aren’t required to wear helmets. I’m not sure about anyone else…but that makes me want to drive slower so I don’t kill anyone…or everyone.

Sidenote—it’s never encouraging to see a security guard and gate attendant running, with walkie talkies raised, to your gate in a panic. It makes me feel like we may all die on this flight. This could be my last blog…what do you think of that, America? So now, potentially FROM THE GRAVE…

So traffic is horrible. But the schools…the schools are so…I don’t even know how to describe them. In order to make any sense of them, I have to describe private schools outside of public schools entirely. So private schools. I went to 15ish this week. They are:

--BEAUTIFUL. No lie—some of these high schools may as well have been colleges, because their grounds, their buildings…everything about them is just amazing. I felt a little out of place at a couple, because it seemed like I was at a country club.

--really old. Seriously. Many of them were founded in the 1800s. One of them is the oldest school (SCHOOL—not just high school) West of the Mississippi. That’s right…the Ol’ Mississip.

--HUGE. Huge. So huge. I went to a school that’s 700 acres. That’s the size of a town. All of the Naz’s campus is 92 acres. I was lost at least four times just on their campus.

--super secure. I had to check in at a security gate everywhere I went, and they had my name on a list, pre-printed nametags, etc etc etc.

--challenging. I asked one student what class he was missing, and it was SAT/ACT prep. They have an in-the-day test prep course. That counts for credit. Unreal.

--really nice. Every place I went gave me a gift—usually a little package with mac nuts, other snacks, pens and post it notes, etc. One gave me a meat rub that she’s famous for (so she tells me—I imagine she’s famous for it among the PTA or something). Two places gave me flower leis. They all acted like I was doing them a favor for stopping by. Seriously? My CA schools sometimes don’t even have a counselor there to tell me where to go.

So all of that to say that if I ever have (someone else’s) kids, they’re going to private school in Hawaii. Swears.

Public schools, however, are a different story. Not even “a different story”—more like HI private schools are to HI public schools as finding $100 in a pocket of designer jeans that you didn’t know you had is to getting peed on by a homeless man. In the face. And he was never even wearing pants, so you have to watch it all happen to you.

The public schools I went to were:

--designed to look like prisons. I am not kidding a little bit. I drove past one school, despite my GPS bitching at me, because I thought it was a prison.

--despite above, not secure at all. No gates, no security guards…nothing. I didn’t even have to check in at one place—I just wandered around, and no one stopped me.

--dirty. There was just a lot of trash on the ground.

--not challenging. Or maybe too challenging? I’m not sure. I just know when I mentioned our minimum GPA to be considered (and it’s a 2.8—come on, America), almost every student I talked to said “…oh…like…that’s the lowest I can have…?” and basically ruled us out. Which is for the best, because they would’ve had to pay $50 for me to say “So the minimum is a 2.8……”

--poorly outfitted. Most of the career centers I was in had computers from the late 80s.

--uninformed. When I asked why students came to hear about Point Loma, only one of the twenty-something I spoke to said anything other than “I want to go to California.”

So the pisser of all of that is that I was getting so frustrated with these public school visits, because I’m pretty sure that I will be able to admit none of the students that I met with (if any even apply, which is unlikely), but those schools are default for the normal kid! Some of the private schools have scholarships (see Barack Obama), but most of the kids there who are getting these amazing educations are rich already. I don’t know how a real smartie could even do well in a public school setting there. And those are the kids I want to work with in my ideal dream world where you get paid to do whatever you love—those who don’t really have any way to understand the college process in the first place. It just sucks that these kids start off at such a disadvantage—most of them (at least the ones I spoke to) have GPAs too low to be considered at most good colleges. Where do you go from there?

I’ll tell you where…riding on freeways in the back of someone’s truck. BTW--I'm no longer in the airport. That was a while ago. I lived through the flight!

Do I need to get a flu shot? I never know.

So anyway. Oahu was cool enough, but I didn’t even get to step foot on the beach for a second. It rained a little almost every day, so it wasn’t super sunny. The real reason it was cool is because I got to stay with two of my favorite people in the world—the Furushos! They’re like a really fun, cool aunt and uncle, and I could live with them. They’re super mellow, Lindy is a really good cook and taught me how to make spam musubi (Google it, because you’ll just tell me I’m gross if I tell you what it is), they like David Sedaris and Glee and they laugh at all my stories. What more could you ask for? Having familiar faces to come back to every night made fall travel totally un-lonely and great. They also took me to a sweet farmer’s market in Chinatown on Vet’s Day where I saw more dead animals and exotic fruit than I’ve ever seen, and they didn’t even laugh at me when I touched it all. I don’t know…I’m a toucher. Weird, because I’m not a hugger.

Another potentially boring tangent—I LOVE the food here. I posted about 50 pics of it on Facebook already, which should be embarrassing, but isn’t because I love food more than about 99% of things in this world. But seriously—I asked my friend who’s from there for some local recs, and I planned my days to include the places she suggested in between high schools. I had the BEST pad thai I’ve ever had (I’m not going to lie—it sort of made me mad at every other Thai place I’ve ever eaten for lying to me), amazing Hawaiian food (poke ahi…please find me some), really good seafood, Indian food, noodles, and as much shave ice as I could fit in. I won’t go into detail, just because I just spent so much time going into detail on Facebook.

ANYWAY anyway, I left Oahu today for Kauai, and had free time, which was wild. I can’t even believe this place—it’s so unrealistically pretty. I basically had my ideal afternoon driving through super green, super beautiful roads listening to music and singing really, really loud in the car. It started raining about 10 minutes in, then pouring, then I had to pull off the road for a little while, then I kept going, then I saw all these waterfalls, then I took a couple pictures, then it was pouring again, then the bridge I was going toward was closed because it flooded, then I turned around and went to my hotel to check in. Tonight I walked on the beach in the rain for a little—my first step onto sand!—which was pretty, and then ate at this local saimin place, and it was amazing. I love noodles, I love soup, I LOVE noodle soup.

Is it weird that eating is sometimes my greatest joy on the road?

Also, I saw someone’s house get hit by lightning, light on fire, then get put out by the rain. That was wild.