Seconds?

Not this weekend, but last weekend, P&AF took me dancing. We were sitting at a table with another couple, and I asked them if they were getting married some time soon. The woman said that she didn't really know; they had a couple kids between them, and there was a lot to be worked out to get married. She then went on to give me their plans for the wedding, whenever it happens. They live in a small town and plan on roping off the parking lot of their favorite bar. They will then do an open wedding invitation to the entire town, the parking lot ensuring that there will be plenty of room. They'll just find an officiant to come out to the bar parking lot and marry them. She justified this entire plan by saying that it is a second marriage for both of them. Of course. P&AF thought that was a lovely way of saying, "Honey, I really love you and these vows mean a lot to me." I don't know; I understand doing what means the most to you for your wedding, but seriously, a parking lot???

Quote of the...(4)

You need to take this one in context to get the full effect. In the middle of my Physio class, Dancing with the Stars comes up. After this comment is said, a 10-20 minute discussion occurs on the subject, in the middle of lecture of course. From the instructor (emphatically):

"Now let me tell you something about Jerry Rice and dancing."

Plucky

I've decided that my entry titles are often filled with misdirection. As in, by plucky you might be thinking of the GRE word meaning brave or spirited. But, in this case, I am referring to eyebrow plucking. Maybe "plucker" would be the more appropriate term. I was walking back to my car yesterday after lunch, and I walked by the mailboxes at my apartment complex. The postal truck was sitting there with a small postal woman in the front seat. As I walked up, I tried to figure out what she was doing. It definitely looked like she was plucking her eyebrows---little mirror in her left hand, right hand poised over her left eye, ready to go in and make the grab, her eyebrows lifted, and face contorted to give her the best angle. I got right next to the truck, and sure enough, she was giving herself a little eyebrow treatment right there in the parking lot. It gives a new definition to multi-tasking.

Airport Love

You might think this would be about some sappy love story in an aiport. It's not though; it's mostly just my love of airports. The funniest things happen there. I think people act out of the ordinary because a lot of them are stressed out. On last Friday, I flew down to Ontario with R. I was pretty excited about this because I feel like I never fly anywhere with anyone; I'm always flying alone. That's fine too, but it's more fun with a buddy. The first funny thing that happened was that the security line was so long that it went all the way through the usual security line area and out the airport doors into the parking garage. I left R to check in, and I went to stand in line. I was stunned when I had to go outside. I got in line ahead of two guys that were both about my age or a little older. They weren't together or anything. This was the conversation:

Nervous Guy: Have you guys ever seen anything like this before?

Other Guy: Maybe once or twice. In Phoenix.

Me: No...well, actually in DIA, and Dulles too, now that you mention it, quite a few times.

Nervous Guy: Oh, so what time are your flights at?

(It was 5:40PM at the time)

Other Guy: 6:15PM

Me: 6:05PM

Nervous Guy: (sounding sort of letdown) Oh, I see.

Nervous guy never said what time his flight was at, but I'm assuming that it was 8PM or something, since he didn't divulge his flight information. He probably just felt like a fruitcake at that point. I saw him behind security later on; R accused me of flirting. I'm just friendly though.

The other funny thing was that there was one long security line that then broke into two lines at the ticketing area. They had a security person holding back the one long line, and then each line that it broke down into had a security person. There was one woman directing it all. She would tell one gate to open up, and then move a few people from the long line to the open gate. And then she'd switch to the other when the lines moved a little. One unfortunate man had the bad luck of not paying attention when the long line gate was opened and he was supposed to move. The director woman went nuts on him.

Line Director: Sir. SIR. SIR. Quit daydreaming. Sir, you need to move now. Move, move, move. Over here sir. You need to pay attention. Move.

I just walked down the hall laughing at that one, I mean the guy was oblivious, and she was just a drill sergeant taking things a little too seriously. People must think I'm crazy.

Big Red Wagon

Recently, due to a complex I have developed from my Excercise Physiology class, I gave up most drugs---ibuprofen and Claritin D being the main players in my life. The instructor keeps talking about how we shouldn't really need drugs, and all healing should be internal. I don't exactly believe that, but for some reason, I just decided I'd give up the drugs anyway. So, as of last Thursday, I quit. I really was not that reliant on drugs to begin with, but I definitely use ibuprofen for various ailments and Claritin when the pollen count is high. This experiment didn't last long, since I fell off the wagon this morning. Since giving up the Claritin, my allergies just kept getting worse. Yesterday I had gotten to that stage where after running it sounded like I had a major head and chest cold. I also had a headache all day. I woke up this morning, and the headache was still here, only it had gotten to the point where I couldn't move without feeling completely dizzy and disoriented. So here I am doped up on Claritin D and ibuprofen, just an unhealthy druggee after all. Yeah, I don't know why I believed him that I should give up on all drugs either.

Happy Valentine's Day!

I thought this was funny: http://channels.netscape.com/atplay/jokes.jsp?joke=3

My funniest Valentine's Day was the year that I received a "Happy Valentine's Day" note written on a piece of hotel stationery (from the hotel we were staying at) along with a Crunch bar from the vending machine. It doesn't get much better than that. (Don't try to deny it E, you know it's true!)

The best thing about Valentine's Day that I can remember is from elementary school. I don't remember what they were called, but we could send little secret admirer notes to our classmates on cute telegram-style pieces of pink paper. My second-grade "boyfriend" sent me several of them; I think I read them last time I was going through all the wonderful mementos in my old room. They were very sweet; I'm not sure a Valentine's Day has really measured up since. What can really beat 9 year-old love though?

Cut Them All

I got a haircut and highlight yesterday. It was at this really nice salon north of where I live. I had a separate colorist and stylist, which was pretty exciting. It started out on a funny note because I was a little late getting there due to traffic on the 101. I went up to the counter to check in, and the greeter said she'd show me around the salon, which I will admit, was huge. She then realized that I was late, and brought me back to the changing area straight away. She left me in a little changing room with a robe to put over my clothes and instructed me to wait for the colorist. I put the robe on, which was nicer than your usual hair-cuttery robe--it had one snap in the front and tied around your waist, and then I sat there to wait for the colorist. After a bit, I wondered if the colorist would knock, or if I should open the door. I opened the door and sat back down. Probably five minutes later, the greeter came back and said I was supposed to come out of the room and wait in the waiting room. The colorist had been waiting for me! Oops! The colorist introduced himself, and brought me to his station. He then apologized several times that since we were running a little late, he might be a little quiet during the session, but that didn't mean that he didn't want to talk to me. After having all the color applied, I waited for it to process, and then had my hair rinsed and washed by the stylist. They had a weird set-up where you actually laid down on a table, rather than sitting in a reclining chair with your head in a sink. It was very comfortable on the neck. The stylist was good and pretty funny too. The oddest part of the cut was that she mentioned how she thought I had beautiful eyelashes that were very long and curly. She asked if I did that, or if they were naturally that way. I was a little baffled because the only thing I ever do is use a little plastic eyelash curler, which I thought was pretty ordinary. Anyway, I think it all turned out well overall; I swear I look younger...

Blunt

I am taking an Exercise Physiology course this semester. It's pretty interesting so far, though I've only had one class. Last night, we were discussing how some people end up being very sedentary, and their reasons for it. The instructor described his mother, who recently broke her arm. She was being inactive because movement caused pain in her arm. The instructor didn't think that was a very good reason for inactivity. So one of the students brought up his mother.

Student: Well, how would you like to trade mothers? My mom is 5'4" and 310 lbs, and she's 85 too!

Instructor: (animatedly in an amazed tone.) And god bless her. She's WAY outside of the bell curve. She should be dead.

Does anyone else find it unnerving that the instructor just told a student that his mother should be dead???