Metaphor

The world can be a confusing and scary place through the eyes of a six-year-old. Sarah Jane is the youngest of our DeGraffenried clan and she, like most kids her age, is easily laden with metaphoric concepts. One Sunday after noon she was sitting on my dad's lap during church. Her arms were folded, and she was listening with unusual intensity to the speaker. This particular story the speaker was telling happened to be centered around a man who went into a series of massive seizures and ended up in a coma. Three weeks later after the seizures, the man's parents were told by the doctor that their son was a vegetable; they would either have to pull the plug on their son or risk months and years of financial expense due to the extended time spent in the hospital. Looking at my youngest sister a few minutes after the story was finished, my dad noticed that she had a particularly confused look on her face. As the meeting wore on, fat pools of moisture were gathering in Sarah's big, blue eyes and her hands were out, palms facing up in a gesture of utter helplessness at the situation. Whispering to my dad she said, "That's so sad. SO sad. He will just be...squash."

The Anti-Facebook Club's Constitution

OK. Take note- I did join Facebook but out of obligation more than choice. Yes, some people in this world have taken Facebook to the extreme and made it their only reliable form of communication.
The Constitution of Anti Facebook People
This is our declaration against Facebook. As stalwart warriors paddling upstream in a river of Facebook pollution, we refuse to make our friends into trophies, participate in cyber popularity contests, and define our world by how much money we make off of Mafia Wars. This federation is designed to take a stand against conformity in all its forms. Comparable to the HIV virus sweeping Africa and the obesity infecting America, Facebook has become the pathetic new excuse for claim on connection with the rest of the world. Our hearts go out to those few, floundering souls who feel as if they are alone- friendless in their lack of Facebook. This solitude could be due to the fact that they are not officially any one's friend. To be official, one needs the "friend status" of Facebook.

It really doesn't matter.

I admit to having the terrible habit of overdoing things. From my colossal pile of laundry that has been neglected for weeks, to the dishes spilling over from the sink onto the counter- its all irrelevent. It doesn't matter whether or not they are never done. In fact, it doesn't matter if I am in school or not or even if I am dating anyone. Empty Fridays or crazy nights- they don't matter. It's silly to think that they do. The fact of the matter is, the only thing that really matters is that I am trying.

The cooling...

I think one of the worst emotions to go through in life is a cooling. It's like going down the runway at moc speed, and as I try to put extra umph into the last lap and progress into the thick of the race, moving with the winning crowd, my car starts to slow down. There is really nothing I can do about the backwards force pulling at my bumper. Why is it the word "cool" has connotations of awesomeness, while if people are cold, they loose what affections they had towards another? Then there is the thing about being hot- if someone calls you hot, you are cool for being good looking. On the other hand, if your husband says you've been cooling over the years, its time to see a marriage counselor. It's an early frost on feeling ruining the crop of relationships that have taken so long to plant. Cooling could be the equivalent of disinterest, forgetfulness, loss of heart, loss of feeling- loss of blood. Its a life force being ripped out of the corners of my happiness. I can't stand the cooling.
"This is cooling faster than I can." -The Cooling by Tori Amos

The boy shoveling grass.

It snowed again. No surprize. I walk outside and instead of this boy shoveling snow off of his walk, he is shoveling it off of his grass. Apparently he can't wait for spring. The prospect is overwhelming for us all, but it was him who started shoveling his grass. You go, kid!

Have some corn chips...

I don't know if it was this way for you growing up, but in my day, the kid with the best snacks was the one whose house you wanted to go to. My mom didn't believe in spending money on snacks like Twinkies (too many preservatives), Cheetos (yellow grease all over your clothes), or fish sticks (who would eat something from a box that you could just as easily go catch yourself?). We would come crawling into the kitchen with our friends, begging mom for something sickly that would make our heads swim in a fit of sugar. Without fail, she would say, "Have some corn chips." I don't know what it was about corn chips but for some reason, they were the solution to our every hunger need. I am convinced that if the world was made of corn chips, the phrase, "There are starving children in China," would not exist.

Strippers and awkward moments...

Normally, possessing a desire to relive awkward moments could be classified as masochistic. This is an exception. Last semester two of my roomies left the nest to become "Mrs.____". One of the girls helping to plan the bridal shower, bless her heart, thought it would be a novelty to get a stripper for the occasion. Funny how none of us who enthusiastically agreed to this scheme had boyfriends/fiancées to worry about. Upon the arrival of the stripper, I was mortified not only to see that the guy was posing as an LDS missionary, but he also was the off spring of a very prominent family from my tiny home town. Needless to say, by the time he had finished the deed, I don't think I could have gotten to know him any better (or worse?). Avoiding any eye contact with me, he left and I prayed I wouldn't see him for at least twenty millennia. Strangely enough, when the fiancées found out about the rendezvous, they prayed this very same prayer-- but out of rage rather than embarrassment. I chuckled to think about what his mother would say if only she knew what her valedictorian son was accomplishing at college...
Fast forward a couple of months. I run into the library, and get into the elevator. I look across the cubical and it was just me and the stripper. He cleared his throat. “Um…it always smells like paint thinner in this elevator,” he said. I just smiled. This moment was too juicy to say anything much.
Fast forward another couple months. He is engaged to a beautiful girl. The kind that probably has never heard of a stripper. Let alone imagine she would marry one.

The Reeeek of the Riting Center

There are several things I could whine about several people. Thus far, in my career as a blogger, I have avoided such nasty entries due to the rude response they trigger. For my buddy Dallin, I will make an exception. Note: He is well aware of these criticisms...
Item 1: Wax apples- stick to the locally grown brands. The process they go through is much more pure. Take it from someone who worked in a plant.
Item 2: Who eats meat like it's going out of style? What kind of a person likes the flavor of bacon with their tuna?
Item 3: Captain America- Batman is better. He could kick Captain America's trash.
Item 4: Name tag ignorance. The real question is, does Dallin not wear his name tag to rebel against the Writing Center norms, or is it because he doesn't want the chics to know his name?
Item 5: Cynicism (as much as we all adore Dallin's humor). It went out of style with tweed and Heath Ledger.
Item 6: Oranges are nutritious, but what self respecting, lazy-to-their-guts college student takes the time and energy to peel them? Ok, on occasion this work is justified, however, on a daily basis...pushing it.