Category Archives: Anecdotes

Dec 30 2011
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Anecdotes, Humorous, Three minute read

The Job I Want

What I would wear as a professional square dancer, sans backpack

I just finished the book my mom had forced me upon me in an attempt to help mold my ethereal career path. It was a book called Quitter, in which Jon Acuff outlines the process of chasing, catching, and devouring your dream career. Aside from the fact that the book was casually written and could have used a good edit—this coming from a girl who is the published author of nothing—I found its advice helpful.

I am certain, however, that much like Plato in The Republic, Jon Acuff was advocating the opposite of what he stated directly. He encouraged people to be smart, evaluate risks, and continue working hard at one’s day job, all of which I interpreted as, “Follow your impulses, throw caution to the wind, and treat your co-workers like crap and your current job like the joke it is*.”

That brings me to my next point: skinny jeans.

I was astonished when I finished the book and found that Acuff had not addressed wardrobe renewal. Since wardrobe is the most important part of a career and because of “Dress for the job you want, not the job you have*,” I decided to update my wardrobe to match my dream of moving to San Francisco and being an indigent writer.

In a bold first move, I purchased a pair of dark skinny jeans. This inaugural pair of denim marks my transition from the oh-so-square world of boot leg and flare jeans to the hip, edgy, sub-world of skinny pants wearers. For years I have resisted this trend, and finally I realized that it was obstinacy in the denim department that was holding back my writing career.

As I wear these skinny jeans and they slowly age, fading, fuzzing, and developing holes in various places, I will not be able to replace them because I will be poor. These might very well be the only pair of skinny jeans that I will be able to afford for the next 5-7 years. However, the ragged appearance will only add to my credibility as an author and therefore this is a great investment.

In addition to the skinny jeans, I should also make improvements in other areas such as hair symmetry. My hair style is currently symmetrical, or rather, boring as all hell. Since hair-dos are the cherries on clothing sundaes, I will need to edge it up by going asymmetrical and highlighting its asymmetry with neon. This will, of course, be accompanied by a nose ring instead of a nose stud. I’ll know I’ve hit the mark when I get at least one or two blatant gasps out of my grandparents.

Final touches will include tattoos I can’t afford and a tube top, though I’m not sure if indigent writers wear those or not. More research is necessary. I also can’t decide if smoke-stained teeth are mandatory or merely a plus, but I’ll be sure to learn more after my initial visit to the West Coast in a few weeks.

Thanks for the career book, Mom! Can’t wait to go shopping! Can I borrow some money?

*Joke semi-borrowed from Parks and Recreation, a wonderful show

*Just to be clear, he doesn’t recommend those things, and the book  is actually good.

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Dec 24 2011
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Anecdotes, Humorous, Two minute read, Wedding

Turns Out I Hate Crafts

The first of thousands. Literally thousands.

Having recently arrived home, where my nuclear family lives, including one bride-to-be, I have been confronted with some uncomfortable realities. One of these is the fact I don’t have my own room. Another is that there countless people (5) saying good morning to me in the  early hours when I would rather hear only the sweet hum of my aging computer. The most pressing one, however, is the fact I will physically have to do things to help my sister in her wedding preparations, and it is going to be much more work and much less glamorous than I had previously supposed.

Though I spoke boldly about how much I was looking forward to the wedding stuff and being a best maid, etc. while stationed abroad, I had no concept of what that would entail. At a distance from the nuptial hubbub, I played to my talents, which are blogging. While at home, however, I can no longer blog it in. My blogging in no way, shape, or form helps my sister. If anything, it’s a distraction and a nuisance.

Oddly enough, what my sister actually needs are people to work like indentured servants on a variety of craft projects, since she’s into the “make it right the first time” movement. It’s also cheaper than buying things from Martha Stewart. Currently we’re making big yarn globes, which will look pretty cool whenever we’re finished with them. But that’s not the point. The point is that I don’t like crafts. I’m also not very good at doing them. Consider this: the most artistic thing that I do regularly is doodle, and I only do that when I’m incapable of focusing on something else. I never choose art or crafts as an activity in and of itself, and almost as soon as I start one, I wonder when I can stop.

Here’s what’s going to happen: as soon as we start making another one of those globe things, I will instantly regret being a part of the project and begin counting the minutes until I can leave. This will to lead to me doing a poor job, which will in turn lengthen the project as we drape and re-drape strand after glue-soaked strand of yarn over the balloon. Secretly I’ll hope that by doing such a poor job you will never ask me to help out again. I recall all my former valiant words with chagrin as I’m faced with these simple tasks that prove too taxing for my attention span, which barely rivals that of a goldfish.

Instead of pretending I’m capable of attending to detail or caring about any aspect of a craft project except for finishing it with speed, from now on I’ll only do the most mindless of tasks so I will be free to distract others. This is my true gift to the wedding enterprise. My hands may be clumsy and my mind distracted, but my comments and interruptions are endless.

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Dec 22 2011
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Anecdotes, Travelling, Two minute read

Home Again. Police Coming Soon.

They made me throw my peanut butter away. You’ll be hearing more about this.

One mad dash in an airport, one jar of forcibly discarded peanut butter, my inaugural first-class experience complete with whisky, five days in a beloved city, three haphazardly finished final projects, a handful of not-so-final goodbyes, and one eager familial greeting at an airport after watching my airplane acquaintance, a man, walk into the women’s bathroom…..and I’m home.

Have I missed Oklahoma? Of course not. I’ve missed the humans that inhabit its suburban sprawls, specifically the ones that populate a small brick structure in an unremarkable town known for its ability to grow children well and then make them to want to leave.

The feeling of home, for me, is a combination of extreme fondness coupled with the intense panic at the thought I might never escape. Escape might seem a strong term to those who find Oklahoma’s tender chicken fried steak more toothsome than even the most succulent Kobe beef. And that’s fine. Here in America we have the sometimes ill-advised freedom to maintain and revel in our ignorance though we risk people on the coasts mocking us for it. I, however, have always needed to get away from Oklahoma, my efforts landing me most recently in Egypt where I have had a most rewarding experience.

Nevertheless, towards the end of the semester, I was looking forward to being in America, where I could walk down the street without turning even one brow, where honking the horn is the exception not the rule, and where there are sidewalks–usable, beautiful, sidewalks. America was once again the promised land, and my home, the most familiar place on earth, was now the object of my yearning.

Despite all this, as soon as I got off the airplane in Oklahoma City I remembered why I had wanted to escape. It’s not because I suddenly recalled how much I resent my dog or the fact my family only got a big screen tv as soon as I had left the country after waiting 18 years to upgrade. It’s not the annoying Central Plains female haircut or the cowboy boots that are as plentiful as Cairo street cats on a garbage pile.

It’s the fact I’m a wanted criminal. Forget all that sentimental mumbo-jumbo. I’m on the run and have been ever since my senior year in high school. After all that crazy revolutionary time in Egypt, I forgot the charges have not been dropped and that police officers with gravy still wet on their whistles will be hot on my tail as soon as I step foot inside my county, which I have already done.

So…thanks for the soup, Ma, and I hope you enjoy the cannolis since I won’t be coming back until some kind of computer virus destroys the record databases, expunging me of all crimes. PEACE!

Note: this is a joke. To my knowledge, I am not a wanted criminal.

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Dec 08 2011
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Anecdotes, Two minute read

The Season’s Latest Look

Barbed wire is very in right now

I was walking downtown the other day and I have to say I was quite impressed at what the army has done with the intersection at Mohammad Mahmoud and Fellaki Street. What used to be a drab old street corner before the most recent demonstrations and raging street battles on Mohammad Mahmoud St., has now become an tasteful, chilling reminder of the political tension in the country.

Beforehand, the intersection was laughably pedestrian friendly and full of usable sidewalks. Would you believe that you could even pass through, as if it were a thoroughfare made to ease transportation of humans and goods? It was almost like an intersection in a regular metropolis, where people live normal lives under a functioning government. Thank goodness that has all changed, and a small, though not insignificant, portion of the population can fully grasp the eeriness of the current situation in Egypt.

Someone in the army clearly has a keen eye for aesthetics, since the piles of barbed wire that now block the intersection have ever so delicately trapped a good amount of rubbish, beneath their delightful spurs. Though razor wire would have obviously been the more luxurious choice, I wouldn’t say the atmosphere loses anything by using its cheaper, more standard cousin. The grey color is also breathtaking and provides a welcome contrast from the brown buildings and black streets. Finally some variation!

Another benefit of having the Mohammad Mahmoud Street completely blocked off are the creepy vibes that seem to seep from the numerous, inexplicable puddles and ooze from the silent streets that used to roar with traffic. If you walk for just a moment near the once bustling avenue, you can’t help but get spooked and want to hide and weep!

But perhaps the best part about the entire affair is the continual company the soldiers blocking off the street provide. It’s like having riot-gear-wearing houseguests that never leave or talk to you and help intimidate your friends and family. In short, nothing could be more welcoming. I feel like an entire Martha Stewart Living magazine could be written based on this one intersection and the creativity dripping from it.

Say what you will about the situation in Egypt, but these people know how to spruce up a place. I’m going to recommend them for my sister’s wedding, but I can already tell you we’ll need a lot of barbed wire and cinder blocks.

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Nov 28 2011
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Anecdotes, Fiction, Two minute read

An Automated Response to the Rainfall

visual evidence of what may have been the end

Alert. Alert.

This is an automated message addressing the near-apocalypse that occurred last night in Cairo, Egypt from approximately 17:30 to 20:30 pm.

What could have been the end of the world took the form of a heavy rain descending upon Egypt’s capital. The moisture falling from the sky proceeded to form large lakes and puddles on every uncovered surface in the greater metropolitan area due to a complete lack of street drains. Thankfully, the inconveniently tall sidewalks were still of no use since they are pocked with various pits and sudden changes in height and existence.

As the night progressed, the (temporary) bodies of water became foamy, a result of both the physical movement of cars and the multiple chemical reactions going on between the various air and ground pollutants that include but are not limited to: soap, animal feces, garbage, and car exhaust. This foam can and will be used by the Egyptian government as a new form of riot control.

Though the streets have suffered considerable damage from the acidic mixture eating away at the concrete and asphalt, their physical appearance is almost indistinguishable from what it was before the quasi-Armageddon and the new potholes will likely go unnoticed.

Mild panic reigned over much of the populace during the moisture-time, resulting from an inability to identify the bizarre tapping sound that pervaded Cairo’s various boroughs. Once the sound and the substance causing it were identified, the panic was replaced with a sense of bewilderment, wonder, and hunger as entire families gathered round to watch the sky water drip down the sides of buildings and make the streets unusable.

Though Cairo’s streets were predicted to bloom today as the result of this rare rain, it appears the only thing blooming this year is Egypt’s democracy, and even that has a chance of getting stuck in the chemical muck left behind on both major and minor thoroughfares.

In response to the widespread fear that such a scathing indictment of the quality of the roads and sidewalks will cause the government to respond, an official has reassured the populace that, as in the past, nothing will be done to change the infrastructure’s current condition and that there is no cause to worry.

Happy Election Day. Please do not respond to this message.

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