If you are in a hurry to get somewhere, but you really don't want to talk to the person walking ahead of you, there are several options:
- Forsake your schedule and pause to tie your shoe (don't worry, no one cares enough about you to notice that those flip flops don't have laces) or execute some other unnecessary task. Give Undesirable No. 1 a little head start, then maintain the 13 feet between you as if they are sacred. Try not to make any sudden movements that would cause this person to turn around and realize the seriousness with which you are avoiding them. In case of such an emergency, look as surprised as you can in front of those accusing eyes and say something like, "Did you get a haircut? Totally didn't recognize you..." Great success.
- (Douche option): Skip all this nonsense and hurry by the person to get to class. Girls, keep your gaze fixed on your gigantic abyss of a purse as if the thing you are searching for inside it will cure cancer. Guys, you're kind of screwed. Tie that shoe.
P.S. If anyone has been reading the Point Weekly, I want you to know that I'll be suing their arses for copyright infringement on that awkward sea lion.
P.P.S. Just kidding, I helped create that bad boy. Hope you enjoy. Oh the tangled web of Loma media...
Sunday, October 2, 2011
Sunday, September 4, 2011
get awkward party!
Good morning, fellow Lomans and random assortment of people who are obsessed with me, it's good to be back. Another year, another world of Point Loma potential! I think I'm going to start a pool for who can correctly guess the number of times Mark Carter will cry this semester. He's on the schedule four times, so I'm gonna say about 12. Don't get me wrong, I love his sensitive side! I love it so much I might as well profit on it.
Since I have been away from my blogging post for a fortnight, I thought it'd be good to do some back to school catch up with my Five Top Awkwardnesses of Week One. Follow me!
5. Sitting five feet away from yet another student wearing footie pajamas to the movie in the Greek, Olivia and I debate the merits of such fashion. It ends with a too-loud declaration of, "Footie pajamas? Come on Loma. I thought that was funny three years ago..." Hope I didn't hurt those fragile 12-year-old feelings.
4. An acquaintance of ours who will remain nameless (whose last name is violent!) makes his way through the caf innocently enough. He glances in our direction, appraises, does not reciprocate our friendly eye contact and nods, and walks by. We giggle at our inadequacy. Meanwhile, acquaintance boy (let's call him Justin) continues his quest for caf seating to no avail. We watch him pause mid-ramp, consider his very limited options, and very half-heartedly turn around and come crawling back to us. "Oh hey guys!" Oh hey my arse, Justin Munches. We know utter desperation when we see it.
It turned out to be a very pleasant conversation, and I am actually a big fan of old Justin, but next time RECOGNIZE FRIEND GLORY WHEN YOU SEE IT.
3. This is more like a daily battle than a weekly highlight, but raise your hand if you've ever experienced the walking-past-each-other-conversation. You know, that thing where you're walking towards each other and care just enough to make contact, but not enough to pause your life in any way for this person. (Now Simon says put your hand down). I'm as guilty of it as the next person; I'm walking, I see that girl I took communication with when I was too young to know better, I throw out the requisite, "How's it going?" and pray that her answer is two words or less. Really, people, think of it as a challenge to sum up the entirety of your being into a handy phrase like, "Fine, thanks!" or, "Hanging in!" That's the courteous thing to do. But just once I want to try a response like, "Planning to jump off sunset cliffs later, you?" to spice things up a bit.
2. More of my favorite caf drama: The Beverage Showdown. I wait patiently on one side of the Pepsi machine, cup in hand, when all of the sudden some hussy gets in line on the other side, plotting her move! Cue 8 Mile theme. The guy innocently filling his Mountain Dew in front of us steps out of the line of fire, unaware of what he is narrowly missing, and it's on. She moves forward, hesitates, and decides to play the Loma way instead: "You go ahead :)" Honey, two can play at that. "Oh no, you go :D" She glances at the growing crowd behind us (okay, the sad freshman just wanting to get a damn soda), and submits.
That's what I thought, inferior lower classwoman!
Yes, I realize that I originally wanted to get my drink first, but it became so much more. It was about the principle.
Besides, all of this became a moot point the next day when that machine started vibrating uncontrollably...really, if the thing explodes we all lose.
1. My moment of shame. It pains me to write, but this is a place for full disclosure: I, who know the names and background stories of so many many people who will never know mine, forgot someone's name. Not just anyone, a girl I've had three classes with. What would Katie Purcell think of me?
It started off in class the other day. (To make matters worse) she greets me by name: "Hi Hallie! I like that shirt." No need for a first-name response, so I'm in the clear. She's such a nice girl too! But the really great thing about her is this canvas and leather, neutral tone, perfect-sized backpack that I have been searching for all summer. Really. So here comes the ethical dilemma: to keep my mouth shut, know that I have not called her by the wrong name, and allow the most wonderful backpack in creation to slip through my fingers? OR, to take a stab at the name, query about the backpack, and find out where to purchase such a piece of accessory heaven?
I figure the spirit will move me toward the right name. So I think about it. Stare at that face waiting for it to speak to me, scan the skin for a very narcissistic yet helpful identifying tattoo...nothing. Then a little voice in my head says Kat? Hmm, Kat. Sounds plausible, nice and short, backpack in arm's reach...yes, Kat will be your name! As we are leaving class, I see her walking away and I almost miss my chance. Desperate for double-strap comfort, I call out, as indistinguishably as possible, "katilikeyourbackpackwheredyougetit?"
She frowns a little, pauses, and says, "Urban."
Great success!
3 hours later, mid-Problem Solving, it dawns on me: Katie!
"NOOOO(slow motion falling from chair, papers flying, heads turning)OOOOO!"
And I wake up in the wellness center.
Okay no. But I did feel sort of bad about it.
And that, my friends, is just the first week. Stay tuned.
Since I have been away from my blogging post for a fortnight, I thought it'd be good to do some back to school catch up with my Five Top Awkwardnesses of Week One. Follow me!
5. Sitting five feet away from yet another student wearing footie pajamas to the movie in the Greek, Olivia and I debate the merits of such fashion. It ends with a too-loud declaration of, "Footie pajamas? Come on Loma. I thought that was funny three years ago..." Hope I didn't hurt those fragile 12-year-old feelings.
4. An acquaintance of ours who will remain nameless (whose last name is violent!) makes his way through the caf innocently enough. He glances in our direction, appraises, does not reciprocate our friendly eye contact and nods, and walks by. We giggle at our inadequacy. Meanwhile, acquaintance boy (let's call him Justin) continues his quest for caf seating to no avail. We watch him pause mid-ramp, consider his very limited options, and very half-heartedly turn around and come crawling back to us. "Oh hey guys!" Oh hey my arse, Justin Munches. We know utter desperation when we see it.
It turned out to be a very pleasant conversation, and I am actually a big fan of old Justin, but next time RECOGNIZE FRIEND GLORY WHEN YOU SEE IT.
3. This is more like a daily battle than a weekly highlight, but raise your hand if you've ever experienced the walking-past-each-other-conversation. You know, that thing where you're walking towards each other and care just enough to make contact, but not enough to pause your life in any way for this person. (Now Simon says put your hand down). I'm as guilty of it as the next person; I'm walking, I see that girl I took communication with when I was too young to know better, I throw out the requisite, "How's it going?" and pray that her answer is two words or less. Really, people, think of it as a challenge to sum up the entirety of your being into a handy phrase like, "Fine, thanks!" or, "Hanging in!" That's the courteous thing to do. But just once I want to try a response like, "Planning to jump off sunset cliffs later, you?" to spice things up a bit.
2. More of my favorite caf drama: The Beverage Showdown. I wait patiently on one side of the Pepsi machine, cup in hand, when all of the sudden some hussy gets in line on the other side, plotting her move! Cue 8 Mile theme. The guy innocently filling his Mountain Dew in front of us steps out of the line of fire, unaware of what he is narrowly missing, and it's on. She moves forward, hesitates, and decides to play the Loma way instead: "You go ahead :)" Honey, two can play at that. "Oh no, you go :D" She glances at the growing crowd behind us (okay, the sad freshman just wanting to get a damn soda), and submits.
That's what I thought, inferior lower classwoman!
Yes, I realize that I originally wanted to get my drink first, but it became so much more. It was about the principle.
Besides, all of this became a moot point the next day when that machine started vibrating uncontrollably...really, if the thing explodes we all lose.
1. My moment of shame. It pains me to write, but this is a place for full disclosure: I, who know the names and background stories of so many many people who will never know mine, forgot someone's name. Not just anyone, a girl I've had three classes with. What would Katie Purcell think of me?
It started off in class the other day. (To make matters worse) she greets me by name: "Hi Hallie! I like that shirt." No need for a first-name response, so I'm in the clear. She's such a nice girl too! But the really great thing about her is this canvas and leather, neutral tone, perfect-sized backpack that I have been searching for all summer. Really. So here comes the ethical dilemma: to keep my mouth shut, know that I have not called her by the wrong name, and allow the most wonderful backpack in creation to slip through my fingers? OR, to take a stab at the name, query about the backpack, and find out where to purchase such a piece of accessory heaven?
I figure the spirit will move me toward the right name. So I think about it. Stare at that face waiting for it to speak to me, scan the skin for a very narcissistic yet helpful identifying tattoo...nothing. Then a little voice in my head says Kat? Hmm, Kat. Sounds plausible, nice and short, backpack in arm's reach...yes, Kat will be your name! As we are leaving class, I see her walking away and I almost miss my chance. Desperate for double-strap comfort, I call out, as indistinguishably as possible, "katilikeyourbackpackwheredyougetit?"
She frowns a little, pauses, and says, "Urban."
Great success!
3 hours later, mid-Problem Solving, it dawns on me: Katie!
"NOOOO(slow motion falling from chair, papers flying, heads turning)OOOOO!"
And I wake up in the wellness center.
Okay no. But I did feel sort of bad about it.
And that, my friends, is just the first week. Stay tuned.
Monday, June 13, 2011
hearing older people talk about technology
Overheard conversation:
Woman 1: Well, you don't have to send it to all of them, you know.
Woman 2: Oh is there a way to do that? I was wondering--
Woman 1: You just hit 'Reply.' Not 'Reply to all.' Yeah it's really easy. (Crosses her arms and nods wisely.)
Such an interesting thing. Has that same strange mixture of amusement, pity, and discomfort that comes with seeing a teacher outside of school.
Woman 1: Well, you don't have to send it to all of them, you know.
Woman 2: Oh is there a way to do that? I was wondering--
Woman 1: You just hit 'Reply.' Not 'Reply to all.' Yeah it's really easy. (Crosses her arms and nods wisely.)
Such an interesting thing. Has that same strange mixture of amusement, pity, and discomfort that comes with seeing a teacher outside of school.
Friday, June 10, 2011
[insert graduation pun]
Okay, so maybe you all thought I was the only one raptured up, but actually I'm still here. And maybe you all thought that when I said I would be blogging in the "next few days," I meant I would be blogging in the next few days. But I was going for the loose definition of the term, and what is time anyway? Lesson 1: do NOT trust a writer to follow through. Lesson 2: when she comes crawling back with peace offerings of witty social commentary, embrace her into your virtual arms! It's what Jesus would do.
On these notes, I am putting off my caf rant for a bit to tell you about the delicious awkwardness of elementary school graduations. In particular, my little sister's graduation yesterday.
It started off well enough with an electric guitar rendition of the national anthem ("boy have things changed since back in my day," amirite?) and a mass orchestral throat-clearing. I'm not sure how everyone knows this code, but apparently, "Please take your seats" also means, "and take care of any bodily noises you must make in the mass chaos of sitting down." The coughs were top-notch, really. And then a messy pledge of allegiance in which all of the adults forgot that at an elementary school, there must be at least a two second pause between lines: "I PLEDGE allegiance...................... ...............TO the flag (which flag?) ...........................................................of the uNITed STATES of aMERica..."
Then, of course, came the technical difficulties. Microphones not working, wrong songs playing, speaker feedback, oh my! But the worst part was how embarrassed the coordinating teacher was about all of this. "I'm so sorry; I swear we practiced!" You'd think one of the kids had ripped off her clothes to reveal a glitter pasty* or something... Look, lady, it's a sixth grade graduation. My standards really weren't that high.
The theme for this graduation was "Set the Future on Fire!," which led to a number of analogies that were stretches at best. Stuff along the lines of, "Your education is the spark that ignites you to burn brightly for years to come," and, "Our friendships are like fireworks of many colors and shapes. They intertwine in the sky, representing our relationships that will last forever." You know, like all those eternal fireworks you still see in the sky every day. And this insightful theme culminated in a performance by the entire graduating class of (any guesses? Think painfully obvious.....) "Firework" by Katy Perry. Bhtcsbimd, air? (See paragraph 3, line 2.) Gotta love children who are even less enthused to be singing Katy Perry than you are to be hearing it.
As the kids got their diplomas, each had to say how he or she would "set the future on fire." None of their answers were quite as good as my friend Trevor's when he finished elementary school ("I'm going to be a power ranger"), but there were some winners. Except if all these kids' predictions come true, then about half of the population will be going to UCLA or becoming veterinarians. I kept tally: eight people setting the future on fire with their animal care skills. Really, how many veterinarians do you think there are in the world? Probably about eight.
I'll leave you with some of my favorite wise quotations from sixth grade graduation:
- "School is not just about really fun experiences, it's also about lessons."
- "I'm going to set the future on fire by helping all the poverty countries of the world."
And, the ever ironic:
- "I'm going to set the future on fire by becoming a firefighter."
* I researched the singular form of "pasties" for about seven minutes. Results are inconclusive. If you want to stand up for "pastie," we can discuss later.
On these notes, I am putting off my caf rant for a bit to tell you about the delicious awkwardness of elementary school graduations. In particular, my little sister's graduation yesterday.
It started off well enough with an electric guitar rendition of the national anthem ("boy have things changed since back in my day," amirite?) and a mass orchestral throat-clearing. I'm not sure how everyone knows this code, but apparently, "Please take your seats" also means, "and take care of any bodily noises you must make in the mass chaos of sitting down." The coughs were top-notch, really. And then a messy pledge of allegiance in which all of the adults forgot that at an elementary school, there must be at least a two second pause between lines: "I PLEDGE allegiance...................... ...............TO the flag (which flag?) ...........................................................of the uNITed STATES of aMERica..."
Then, of course, came the technical difficulties. Microphones not working, wrong songs playing, speaker feedback, oh my! But the worst part was how embarrassed the coordinating teacher was about all of this. "I'm so sorry; I swear we practiced!" You'd think one of the kids had ripped off her clothes to reveal a glitter pasty* or something... Look, lady, it's a sixth grade graduation. My standards really weren't that high.
The theme for this graduation was "Set the Future on Fire!," which led to a number of analogies that were stretches at best. Stuff along the lines of, "Your education is the spark that ignites you to burn brightly for years to come," and, "Our friendships are like fireworks of many colors and shapes. They intertwine in the sky, representing our relationships that will last forever." You know, like all those eternal fireworks you still see in the sky every day. And this insightful theme culminated in a performance by the entire graduating class of (any guesses? Think painfully obvious.....) "Firework" by Katy Perry. Bhtcsbimd, air? (See paragraph 3, line 2.) Gotta love children who are even less enthused to be singing Katy Perry than you are to be hearing it.
As the kids got their diplomas, each had to say how he or she would "set the future on fire." None of their answers were quite as good as my friend Trevor's when he finished elementary school ("I'm going to be a power ranger"), but there were some winners. Except if all these kids' predictions come true, then about half of the population will be going to UCLA or becoming veterinarians. I kept tally: eight people setting the future on fire with their animal care skills. Really, how many veterinarians do you think there are in the world? Probably about eight.
I'll leave you with some of my favorite wise quotations from sixth grade graduation:
- "School is not just about really fun experiences, it's also about lessons."
- "I'm going to set the future on fire by helping all the poverty countries of the world."
And, the ever ironic:
- "I'm going to set the future on fire by becoming a firefighter."
* I researched the singular form of "pasties" for about seven minutes. Results are inconclusive. If you want to stand up for "pastie," we can discuss later.
Thursday, May 19, 2011
caf files 1
Hello friends. Today I have a very special topic that is near and dear to my heart: the awkwardness of the caf. Since the place is being renovated for next year, I thought, "What better way to enshrine it than to pick apart its awkwardness on the internet?" So for the next few days I will be bringing you the highlights of my folly in our beloved Nicholson Commons.
Number 1:
Probably the greatest source of rosy cheeks in the cafeteria is the ominous task of finding the people you came with. You know you have to; you know it's going to be impossible, like they sat at that one table downstairs around the corner completely out of view, or decided for the first time in three years that it was a nice enough day to sit outside. So you linger at the silverware cart (Those are some nice spoons...) in apprehension.
Sometimes I try to find my friends from that safe zone of the cart, but it almost never works. God laughs in my foolish face: "If you want the comfort of a social group, you better pay your dues meandering. It's not like these things are given freely." Touché, Lord.
So I begin the journey, employing a practiced look of Glancing Nonchalantly, and not Desperately Scanning to Avoid Social Destruction, and I see a lot of nice people who I could sit with. They even give me the "There's a seat right here!" look, but alas. The unwritten friend code (section 93) says that you do NOT betray the people you came with. Don't be a Boromir, be a Sam.
So I continue on my quest, passing table after table of people who have no doubt been watching my progress and are judging me for spending such a long time confused and alone...until finally I see that waving friend like a rescue helicopter over the choppy ocean of failure. See, masses, I belong to someone!
And the thing is, the thing that gets me every time in my irony bone, they're sitting at the table right-the-eff in front of where I began my search! It's like I have a blind spot to those tables that are right in front of the silverware. Man, do I hate that discovery. But at least at this point I am safe in my cocoon of snuggly acceptance. Now I am free to begin whatever new awkward experience old Nicholson throws at me (sly dog). Stay tuned.
Number 1:
Probably the greatest source of rosy cheeks in the cafeteria is the ominous task of finding the people you came with. You know you have to; you know it's going to be impossible, like they sat at that one table downstairs around the corner completely out of view, or decided for the first time in three years that it was a nice enough day to sit outside. So you linger at the silverware cart (Those are some nice spoons...) in apprehension.
Sometimes I try to find my friends from that safe zone of the cart, but it almost never works. God laughs in my foolish face: "If you want the comfort of a social group, you better pay your dues meandering. It's not like these things are given freely." Touché, Lord.
So I begin the journey, employing a practiced look of Glancing Nonchalantly, and not Desperately Scanning to Avoid Social Destruction, and I see a lot of nice people who I could sit with. They even give me the "There's a seat right here!" look, but alas. The unwritten friend code (section 93) says that you do NOT betray the people you came with. Don't be a Boromir, be a Sam.
So I continue on my quest, passing table after table of people who have no doubt been watching my progress and are judging me for spending such a long time confused and alone...until finally I see that waving friend like a rescue helicopter over the choppy ocean of failure. See, masses, I belong to someone!
And the thing is, the thing that gets me every time in my irony bone, they're sitting at the table right-the-eff in front of where I began my search! It's like I have a blind spot to those tables that are right in front of the silverware. Man, do I hate that discovery. But at least at this point I am safe in my cocoon of snuggly acceptance. Now I am free to begin whatever new awkward experience old Nicholson throws at me (sly dog). Stay tuned.
Thursday, May 12, 2011
addendum
How could I forget the awkward-orgy known as passing the peace?
Every time the pastor says those fated words, I have a 2-second panic attack. Sometimes some good samaritan will come to my rescue-- I turn around, scanning in desperation, she meets my gaze with a Christian smile that says, "It'll be okay. I will shake that socially inept hand of yours," and we complete the act with little psychological damage.
But on some days, when maybe my hair is not combed quite right or my smile is not radiant enough, I can't get any peace. I look to my right, the nice young man is shaking hands with the couple in front of him. I look to my left, my best friend is the life of the pew party. I turn around and see only the backs of heads. Even the old people who can hardly see whose hands they're shaking are cooler than I am. I am an island in the middle of peace and rejection. Sometimes I don't shake a single hand.
Don't let this happen to you on Sunday, friends.
Every time the pastor says those fated words, I have a 2-second panic attack. Sometimes some good samaritan will come to my rescue-- I turn around, scanning in desperation, she meets my gaze with a Christian smile that says, "It'll be okay. I will shake that socially inept hand of yours," and we complete the act with little psychological damage.
But on some days, when maybe my hair is not combed quite right or my smile is not radiant enough, I can't get any peace. I look to my right, the nice young man is shaking hands with the couple in front of him. I look to my left, my best friend is the life of the pew party. I turn around and see only the backs of heads. Even the old people who can hardly see whose hands they're shaking are cooler than I am. I am an island in the middle of peace and rejection. Sometimes I don't shake a single hand.
Don't let this happen to you on Sunday, friends.
Saturday, May 7, 2011
nazarawkward
Sorry I have been so absent from the blogging world lately. But to make it up to you, I'd like to talk about something that I think you'll appreciate: the unending awkwardness of church and chapel. This isn't to say that I dislike church; I love it. Awkwardness and all. Awkwardness especially. And I think God wants us to have a sense of humor about these things. So without further ado, my top five musings about our beloved body of believers.
1. Admit it-- it's pretty freaking awkward when the whole crowd is sitting and people start to stand one by one. How do you know when it's time? Ahh, this verse convinced me! That's right, we'll enter in as the wedding bells ring!
And then there's a certain point where you feel your Christ Credit is going down, like when that guy who picks his nose and believes women are only useful to make sandwiches and used to torture kittens as a child--he's standing and you're not, and you had better feel that holy spirit move your butt out of the seat. And then worst case scenario, you just have to stand because the people in front of you are obscuring your view of the screen.
2. When you close your eyes in prayer and then when you open them the worship band has materialized on stage as if by magic. Sneaky little buggers!
3. I don't know if this is awkward for anyone else, but sometimes when someone (usually a student) is praying in chapel, I play the Count the "God"s game. I don't know why, but some people here seem to think that Jesus suffers from short-term memory loss. Example: "Dear Father God we thank you for your word, God, and that you have come to us, Jesus, in all the glory of your overwhelming love, God. Father, we wanna lift up our brothers and sisters, God, to you and your almighty plan, Lord, because we know that you meet all our needs, Jesus." (grand total: 8. Or 9 if you count "Father God" as 2. My personal record is 34.)
Pretty sure He knows who you're talking to.
4. The Communion Catwalk. Okay, Communion is a wonderful thing. It's a time of reflection and thanksgiving. But the people at our school are so damn stylish! At church on Sunday too. It's a sunny day, you want to get your praise on, so you wear your best new Forever 21 dress. For Jesus. I feel ya, I am a big fan of dressing up, and when communion time comes, the whole congregation gets to do our favorite thing: judge. Some people know what's up, and they come to church ready. New boots, that dress you saw on sale at Target (come on, we're not heathens), some kind of indie patterned tights...perfect. Others, not so much-- Aw honey, a t-shirt and your mom's sweater? You'll do better next week.
5. Speaking of communion...One of my favorite personal faux pas happened during Point Loma communion. It must have been freshman year, when I was so young and naive, when I first encountered that mystical Cup O' Christ. See, my home church makes life easy for me with those cute little disposable plastic cups (filled with real wine--holla) and designated disposal trays. But at Point Loma, they're fancy. At what must have been my first college communion, I pranced down the aisle like a champ, ready to greet the holy host, and was stopped in my tracks by one big, beautiful communion pimp goblet (if you will). I stared blankly at the poor faculty member who was serving me that day.
Hesitantly, I grabbed a piece of sanctified pita bread and approached the chalice. Server man smiled, eager to complete his mission.
"Uhh...may I?" I asked, bread in hand, eyes on the cup. I started leaning in.
I don't know if he knew what was coming. "Well, I suppose--"
I went in for the kill. Grabbed that ornate glass right out of his hand and chugged my blood of Christ right down. Delicious and satisfying.
I smiled as I placed it back in his confused palm and walked away.
Since then I have perfected the Advanced Dipping Technique decreed by the Nazarenes.
Welp, those are my thoughts of the day. Don't worry, chapel and life are still rife with uncomfortable moments to be enshrined. Stay tuned, my lomawkward population. The journey has only just begun.
1. Admit it-- it's pretty freaking awkward when the whole crowd is sitting and people start to stand one by one. How do you know when it's time? Ahh, this verse convinced me! That's right, we'll enter in as the wedding bells ring!
And then there's a certain point where you feel your Christ Credit is going down, like when that guy who picks his nose and believes women are only useful to make sandwiches and used to torture kittens as a child--he's standing and you're not, and you had better feel that holy spirit move your butt out of the seat. And then worst case scenario, you just have to stand because the people in front of you are obscuring your view of the screen.
2. When you close your eyes in prayer and then when you open them the worship band has materialized on stage as if by magic. Sneaky little buggers!
3. I don't know if this is awkward for anyone else, but sometimes when someone (usually a student) is praying in chapel, I play the Count the "God"s game. I don't know why, but some people here seem to think that Jesus suffers from short-term memory loss. Example: "Dear Father God we thank you for your word, God, and that you have come to us, Jesus, in all the glory of your overwhelming love, God. Father, we wanna lift up our brothers and sisters, God, to you and your almighty plan, Lord, because we know that you meet all our needs, Jesus." (grand total: 8. Or 9 if you count "Father God" as 2. My personal record is 34.)
Pretty sure He knows who you're talking to.
4. The Communion Catwalk. Okay, Communion is a wonderful thing. It's a time of reflection and thanksgiving. But the people at our school are so damn stylish! At church on Sunday too. It's a sunny day, you want to get your praise on, so you wear your best new Forever 21 dress. For Jesus. I feel ya, I am a big fan of dressing up, and when communion time comes, the whole congregation gets to do our favorite thing: judge. Some people know what's up, and they come to church ready. New boots, that dress you saw on sale at Target (come on, we're not heathens), some kind of indie patterned tights...perfect. Others, not so much-- Aw honey, a t-shirt and your mom's sweater? You'll do better next week.
5. Speaking of communion...One of my favorite personal faux pas happened during Point Loma communion. It must have been freshman year, when I was so young and naive, when I first encountered that mystical Cup O' Christ. See, my home church makes life easy for me with those cute little disposable plastic cups (filled with real wine--holla) and designated disposal trays. But at Point Loma, they're fancy. At what must have been my first college communion, I pranced down the aisle like a champ, ready to greet the holy host, and was stopped in my tracks by one big, beautiful communion pimp goblet (if you will). I stared blankly at the poor faculty member who was serving me that day.
Hesitantly, I grabbed a piece of sanctified pita bread and approached the chalice. Server man smiled, eager to complete his mission.
"Uhh...may I?" I asked, bread in hand, eyes on the cup. I started leaning in.
I don't know if he knew what was coming. "Well, I suppose--"
I went in for the kill. Grabbed that ornate glass right out of his hand and chugged my blood of Christ right down. Delicious and satisfying.
I smiled as I placed it back in his confused palm and walked away.
Since then I have perfected the Advanced Dipping Technique decreed by the Nazarenes.
Welp, those are my thoughts of the day. Don't worry, chapel and life are still rife with uncomfortable moments to be enshrined. Stay tuned, my lomawkward population. The journey has only just begun.
Friday, April 22, 2011
so fresh, so clean
Today I'd like to tell you about an awkward experience that is probably unique to me. I was getting ready to take the train home yesterday when it occurred to me that I would not survive five days in my house without coffee creamer. I feared that my family would have none, or worse--sugar free ("I'll stay dehydrated"). We had a good half-bottle of Vanilla Nut, a flavor Sarah and I picked to be adventurous, in our mini fridge, so I closed it up tight and threw it--no, placed it gently--in my tote.
I also packed several copies of the Driftwood, the literary magazine I work for (holla if you want one! Although you might not after reading this...) because I thought some kind relatives and church folk might be interested. So we have in one bag: five new books and a bottle of sticky milk-like liquid. If you're not a literature aficionado, this is what we call foreshadowing.
The train ride went well; the highlight was two teenagers standing on the platform flipping us off (with smiles!) as we departed. When we got to LA, I organized my three small bags and hobbled awkwardly out of the train. As I was hurrying through the endless tunnel of Union Station, I got kind of stuck behind a little girl in a princess outfit. That's the kind of person who you are actually pleased to be delayed by. As I was admiring her Cinderella rolly-backpack, her dad started looking at me. I thought maybe I was being too creeperish by staring at his kid, so I looked away. Then he said something to me that I couldn't quite hear, so I just kind of smiled at him and tried to keep walking.
"You're leaking," he repeated. This could be a problem for many reasons. But I figured it out quickly enough when I turned around and saw the spotty white trail going all the way back to my platform. I hadn't even noticed it dripping all the way down my thigh onto my pretty little combat boots. On the inside, I did one of those slow motion "Noooooo!"'s, but in real life I just thanked the man and snuck off to a corner to adjust my bags. As I was walking away, some station personnel came hurrying over, as if they sensed in their bones that there was a spill. I tried to be invisible, but somehow they saw me anyway. "I'm so sorry," I said with a shrug/grimace, and they just glared and walked faster.
Once I had closed the traitor lid, I composed myself and tried to walk through the station as if nothing was wrong. But every pair of eyes I met seemed to hold an accusation. They knew. They just knew. Like I was wearing the scarlet letter of train station sin.
I finally made it out to meet my mom in the parking lot and was able to pause and assess the damage: five new books thoroughly soaked in sticky milk-like liquid. My mother, ever the resourceful one, pulled a child's sock out of her purse to help me clean them. It sort of worked, too, but the books still smelled delicious.
And that is the story of how I made a fool of myself yesterday. Don't worry, we still have four more days of break and endless potential for awkwardness. Hope you enjoy your vanilla nut Driftwoods.
I also packed several copies of the Driftwood, the literary magazine I work for (holla if you want one! Although you might not after reading this...) because I thought some kind relatives and church folk might be interested. So we have in one bag: five new books and a bottle of sticky milk-like liquid. If you're not a literature aficionado, this is what we call foreshadowing.
The train ride went well; the highlight was two teenagers standing on the platform flipping us off (with smiles!) as we departed. When we got to LA, I organized my three small bags and hobbled awkwardly out of the train. As I was hurrying through the endless tunnel of Union Station, I got kind of stuck behind a little girl in a princess outfit. That's the kind of person who you are actually pleased to be delayed by. As I was admiring her Cinderella rolly-backpack, her dad started looking at me. I thought maybe I was being too creeperish by staring at his kid, so I looked away. Then he said something to me that I couldn't quite hear, so I just kind of smiled at him and tried to keep walking.
"You're leaking," he repeated. This could be a problem for many reasons. But I figured it out quickly enough when I turned around and saw the spotty white trail going all the way back to my platform. I hadn't even noticed it dripping all the way down my thigh onto my pretty little combat boots. On the inside, I did one of those slow motion "Noooooo!"'s, but in real life I just thanked the man and snuck off to a corner to adjust my bags. As I was walking away, some station personnel came hurrying over, as if they sensed in their bones that there was a spill. I tried to be invisible, but somehow they saw me anyway. "I'm so sorry," I said with a shrug/grimace, and they just glared and walked faster.
Once I had closed the traitor lid, I composed myself and tried to walk through the station as if nothing was wrong. But every pair of eyes I met seemed to hold an accusation. They knew. They just knew. Like I was wearing the scarlet letter of train station sin.
I finally made it out to meet my mom in the parking lot and was able to pause and assess the damage: five new books thoroughly soaked in sticky milk-like liquid. My mother, ever the resourceful one, pulled a child's sock out of her purse to help me clean them. It sort of worked, too, but the books still smelled delicious.
And that is the story of how I made a fool of myself yesterday. Don't worry, we still have four more days of break and endless potential for awkwardness. Hope you enjoy your vanilla nut Driftwoods.
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
feeling like a 3rd-grader
when you can't tear out your notebook paper along the perforated line.
Can I get an amen?
Can I get an amen?
Monday, April 18, 2011
"never put much stock in suavity"
So I'm back from the weekend with a fresh-baked batch of social dilemmas.
In this bloglet, I'd like to focus on that moment when you're the only one in a crowded room making any form of noise. I don't know how many times I have been the one idiot who starts clapping at the end of a worship song while everyone else is bowing their heads in prayer. Or that tool in the theater who just needs to have her M&Ms during the crucial plot twist scene (What? It's not like you need to hear whether the top falls...)
But in very serious settings, I tend to find a way to make a fool of myself. Murphy's Law or whatever. And I'm betting that I'm not the only one.
Inspiration credit: Michael Clark for ever so gracefully opening his canister of mints in the middle of an awards ceremony.
In this bloglet, I'd like to focus on that moment when you're the only one in a crowded room making any form of noise. I don't know how many times I have been the one idiot who starts clapping at the end of a worship song while everyone else is bowing their heads in prayer. Or that tool in the theater who just needs to have her M&Ms during the crucial plot twist scene (What? It's not like you need to hear whether the top falls...)
But in very serious settings, I tend to find a way to make a fool of myself. Murphy's Law or whatever. And I'm betting that I'm not the only one.
Inspiration credit: Michael Clark for ever so gracefully opening his canister of mints in the middle of an awards ceremony.
Friday, April 15, 2011
the friend fadeout
So I was wracking through my awkward archives, and I figured this was one we've all executed or been subject to throughout our lives: the friend fadeout.
It's a subtle thing, and she who does it right will have you questioning your own sanity. It begins like this: you have a class with someone and you strike up a conversation. Something simple, like how 'bout those irregular verbs? and you're in. You've entered into the elusive class-friend relationship.
Now throughout the semester you have an ally every time the teacher says those fated words, "You're going to be working in groups." And you have someone to giggle with every time the prof says something that everyone knows merits a "that's what she said," but no one is brave enough to say it. You're living the dream.
But alas, such things are not meant to be. You both knew you were star-crossed from the beginning-- no common friends, no common living area, shoot, probably not even another class together to give your friendship some kind of a chance. It's time for the friend fadeout. Now, the extremity of the fade varies based on the dispositions of the participants, the length of the relationship, and maybe the weather. But usually the timeline goes something like this:
Semester 1- You're still in the honeymoon stage. Every time you see your class-friend, you smile, wave enthusiastically, and say hello by name (this is key). You may quote class inside jokes or say that you "really should get together soon." And maybe there is some small part of you that believes this.
Semester 2- You still see each other fairly often around campus, but Class-Friend seems more like Campus-Acquaintance-At-Best. You get a smile, maybe a wave, but never a conversation.
Semester 3- You've pretty much reverted to your pre-class stage-- seeing this person on Caf Lane but having no interaction with him or her and no illusions about your closeness. From Semester 3 on, you will treat each other like strangers. You may try to rekindle the small spark you had in Semester 2, but notice the determination with which this person ignores you. It's over.
But hey, not to worry. You had a good run. And don't forget there're always others out there just waiting to become your next awkward social experience.
xoxo,
Awkward Gurl (I accidentally typed that 'u,' but I think I like it)
It's a subtle thing, and she who does it right will have you questioning your own sanity. It begins like this: you have a class with someone and you strike up a conversation. Something simple, like how 'bout those irregular verbs? and you're in. You've entered into the elusive class-friend relationship.
Now throughout the semester you have an ally every time the teacher says those fated words, "You're going to be working in groups." And you have someone to giggle with every time the prof says something that everyone knows merits a "that's what she said," but no one is brave enough to say it. You're living the dream.
But alas, such things are not meant to be. You both knew you were star-crossed from the beginning-- no common friends, no common living area, shoot, probably not even another class together to give your friendship some kind of a chance. It's time for the friend fadeout. Now, the extremity of the fade varies based on the dispositions of the participants, the length of the relationship, and maybe the weather. But usually the timeline goes something like this:
Semester 1- You're still in the honeymoon stage. Every time you see your class-friend, you smile, wave enthusiastically, and say hello by name (this is key). You may quote class inside jokes or say that you "really should get together soon." And maybe there is some small part of you that believes this.
Semester 2- You still see each other fairly often around campus, but Class-Friend seems more like Campus-Acquaintance-At-Best. You get a smile, maybe a wave, but never a conversation.
Semester 3- You've pretty much reverted to your pre-class stage-- seeing this person on Caf Lane but having no interaction with him or her and no illusions about your closeness. From Semester 3 on, you will treat each other like strangers. You may try to rekindle the small spark you had in Semester 2, but notice the determination with which this person ignores you. It's over.
But hey, not to worry. You had a good run. And don't forget there're always others out there just waiting to become your next awkward social experience.
xoxo,
Awkward Gurl (I accidentally typed that 'u,' but I think I like it)
Thursday, April 14, 2011
this could get akward
When you are sitting in class, taking notes ever so diligently, and you come across a word that you're not sure how to spell. i.e. genealogy. There are several options in such a crisis:
- Suddenly switch to a much smaller, sloppier, more intellectual font.
- Be ambiguous with your letters. Make the tail of the 'a' so small, or the 'o' so lopsided, that it could go both ways. (Yeah).
- My personal favorite: Choose an opportune moment to lay your pen down as nonchalantly as possible over the offending word. Works every time.
Inspiration credit: Miguel Covarrubias for being the first to admit he does this too.
- Suddenly switch to a much smaller, sloppier, more intellectual font.
- Be ambiguous with your letters. Make the tail of the 'a' so small, or the 'o' so lopsided, that it could go both ways. (Yeah).
- My personal favorite: Choose an opportune moment to lay your pen down as nonchalantly as possible over the offending word. Works every time.
Inspiration credit: Miguel Covarrubias for being the first to admit he does this too.
Wednesday, April 13, 2011
signature walking moves
1. Pretending you're yawning to hide the fact that you're out of breath from walking up Nease or Young Hill
2. The who-has-the-right-of-way-at-the-crosswalk dance
3. "Pulling out your cell phone to avoid people that you only kind of know" - Sarah Kounter
2. The who-has-the-right-of-way-at-the-crosswalk dance
3. "Pulling out your cell phone to avoid people that you only kind of know" - Sarah Kounter
the [awkward] introduction
I was (as usual) running about three minutes late to a philosophy class, and in no particular hurry, when I was struck by divine inspiration.
A fellow Loman, who will remain nameless, was walking about twenty feet behind me. Then ten. Then two and a half. You know where I'm going with this...
This guy was a pro. He needed to pass, to assert, to give me the finger of foot traffic, but he did it like a true artist. Once he got within passing distance, he veered left. Slowly, steadily, politely, he created a space. A space that said, "I'm just taking a little stroll. Oh, are you the sorry loser moving at the speed of a '90s DSL modem? Didn't even see you there!" And he made his move.
As he paralleled me for those dragged out three seconds, it dawned on me: this is awkward.
I continued my walk and endured the strange mix of heart twisties and indigestion that make up the awkward feeling as I watched him escape. And I was all alone.
Well, that's about to change. My friends and I have long been connoisseurs of uncomfortable social situations, and it is high time that these little retarded cousins of daily life be thrown into the forgiving arms of the Internet.
Stay tuned for more of the plethorawkward of college life.
A fellow Loman, who will remain nameless, was walking about twenty feet behind me. Then ten. Then two and a half. You know where I'm going with this...
This guy was a pro. He needed to pass, to assert, to give me the finger of foot traffic, but he did it like a true artist. Once he got within passing distance, he veered left. Slowly, steadily, politely, he created a space. A space that said, "I'm just taking a little stroll. Oh, are you the sorry loser moving at the speed of a '90s DSL modem? Didn't even see you there!" And he made his move.
As he paralleled me for those dragged out three seconds, it dawned on me: this is awkward.
I continued my walk and endured the strange mix of heart twisties and indigestion that make up the awkward feeling as I watched him escape. And I was all alone.
Well, that's about to change. My friends and I have long been connoisseurs of uncomfortable social situations, and it is high time that these little retarded cousins of daily life be thrown into the forgiving arms of the Internet.
Stay tuned for more of the plethorawkward of college life.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)