Tuesday, September 26, 2006

Archives: An Interesting Hygiene Experience

September 26, 2006 - Tuesday
Current mood: numb

Last night I stayed at my friend Misti's house. No big deal. I had all my stuff (except I forgot my pillow, but she had an extra), I made sure I set my alarm with plenty of time for me to get up and get ready in the morning. I ate dinner before I went...I was just looking forward to spending a relaxing evening in front of the television with one of my best friends...just like college (and virutally every other evening of my life right now).

Around 9:30, I decided I wanted to go take a shower...Again, no big deal. I brought all the necessities to the bathroom with me, paying careful attention not to forget anything.
I have a horribly wasteful habit of running the water for a few minutes before actually getting in the shower...I like the water to be nice and hot before I jump in. So I started the shower and proceeded to do whatever it is that one does while waiting for the water to warm up.
All of a sudden, I noticed that the atmosphere in the bathroom felt very heavy. I looked up and I was engulfed in a cloud of steam. It was so oppressive that I found it difficult to breathe...strange, I know. The mirrors were long gone, covered with that opaque white fog. And even the shower curtains were completely clouded.

At this point, I decided that the water was probably too hot for a normal human's skin. And although I do enjoy being slightly scalded when stepping into a steaming shower, I figured second degree burns and a trip to emergency would present more of an inconvenience than anything.

I approached the shower, pulled the curtain back, and extended my arm toward the faucet in an attempt to turn the water cooler, but just as my fingers reached the knob, I was sprayed in the face with searing water...this shower was not turning out like I had anticipated...and I wasn't even in it yet.

As I continued to struggle with the faucet, I had moved out of the line of the spraying shower head, and while I was saving my face (literally), water was still spraying all over the bathroom, soaking the toilet seat, toilet cover, and the floor next to the tub. I continued trying to turn the knob, straining to keep my face out of the stray water stream. Were my hands really so wet that I couldn't grip the stupid faucet and turn the water down? After a couple more minutes of struggling, I determined that the problem must not be with my hands, but instead, with the faucet itself.

I turned the water completely off in order to assess the situation. After much careful observation, I realized that while the faucet looked like a normal everyday, turn-in-a-clockwise-fashion-to-make-it-hotter spicket, but instead, you were to push the entire knob to the right or left, depending on your desired temperature...weird, I know.

Three minutes later, the water was at an appropriate degree, much of the steam had cleared, and the shower was as satisfactory as any other shower. And then I noticed something intriguing. Hanging from the shower head was a large plastic container filled with a silverish-clear liquid. Its large blue button was right at eye level, staring me in the face, commanding my attention. "Hmm," I thought, "that must be one of those cool soap dispensers like they have in those junk mail catalogs." After about 15 seconds of deliberating, my curiosity got the better of me and I pushed the button. I placed my hand under what I thought was the nozzle of the soap dispenser.

Nothing happened.
The thought occurred to me that this may in fact not be the soap dispenser I thought it was, and I looked at the back of the container.

"Automatic Shower Cleaner"

Oh great.

And not five seconds after I read the label on the back, I was sprayed, in the mouth, on the face, and all over with shower cleanser.
So after the shower from hell, I proceeded to do my normal post-shower routine, and then mopped up the floor and toilet seat that were still soaked from the afore-mentioned stray stream of water spraying from the shower head.

The moral of the story: Even if you enjoy regular showers, and consider yourself rather an expert at the task, it's probably a good idea to ask the host the essential workings of the shower in a foreign-bathroom situation.

Currently listening : Good Monsters By Jars of Clay Release date: 05 September, 2006

Friday, September 15, 2006

Archives: And to the Emo Boys in Girl Pants

September 15, 2006 - Friday
Current mood: amused

Dear Emo Boy:

Please allow me to begin by saying that I love you and your kind. Emo boys bring a new sense of pride in male emotion. Where other men are rugged and tough, emo boys are not afraid to display their feelings through music, eyeliner, clothing, etc.

You are a group of trend-setters. You create the pace for other men. They are just slightly behind you in terms of fashion and appearance. You have brought back the comb-over. Where once this hair style was thought of as a method for the elderly to hide (or attempt to hide) their bald spots, you have now turned this follicle masterpiece into a staple of Emo pride. I love how you begin approximately 4 inches above the left ear, create a part, and then swoop the hair across your head. The rest of male-kind is slowly following suit. But nobody can execute the comb-over quite like you.

As much as I adore you, Emo boys, I must take a moment to share one critique. A piece of advice regarding one very minute and insignificant detail of your appearance...

Why must you wear girl jeans?

I have yet to find a boy who actually appears more attractive while wearing pants designed for the female body. Why do you do this? You have to understand, your body is not created like a woman's body. Women have curves. Women have hips and extra padding in the gluteal area. Boys...especially you skinny emo boys...your lower halves are basically straight. Although you may be thin enough to fit into a women's jean size 0 or 2, you lack the curves for which they were designed. What ever happened to the days of wearing baggy carpenter jeans? Those would look great with your black T-shirts.

I'm just afraid that boys' bodies are not the type to be showcased by tight jeans. And it is particularly tragic when you choose stretch girl jeans as a piece of your ensemble. These jeans don't even look good on women...why would you think that hugging every curve (or lack thereof) of your body would be a good thing?

Emo boys, let the ladies love you for your sensitive hearts and your mysterious souls. Let us love you for your brilliant hair and amazing eyeliner technique. Allow us to delight in your music and your troubled minds. But please, don't try to make us love you for your tushies! Boy butts just aren't that great. I'm sorry to have to tell you like this. I wish there were some other way...but please, I implore you....please stop shopping in the women's section. I am begging.

Just find some 28 x 31 pants at American Eagle and let that be enough.

Any woman who would love you for your butt in tight girl jeans is no woman who needs to have you.

Sit on that for awhile...It's for your own good.

Remember I love you, Nicole

Currently listening : Albatross By The Classic Crime Release date: 23 May, 2006

Friday, September 8, 2006

Archives: Ah...Home Crap Home (Literally)

September 8, 2006 - Friday
Current mood: contemplative

Tonight was my first trip home from Nashville. It has been four weeks since my presence has graced the town of my birth, my childhood, my teenage years, and my early twenties…the town I have affectionately coined "Dequator".

As I entered Illinois, I was instantly hit with a pleasant aroma. A combination of freshly cut farm grass, mixed with manure from a range of various livestock creatures. Where normally these smells would implicate a severe bought of sneezing and wheezing relieved only by taking a couple of puffs of the ever-sustaining life force known as a nebulizer, tonight I welcomed them with open arms. The smell of grass is the smell of life for me…and the smell of manure is the smell of home (well, not my house…but definitely home). This is probably a concept only those of us born and bred in the Midwest could possibly comprehend.

Where once I was simultaneously bored and utterly disgusted at the sight of farms and crops and silos and combines, I now welcomed these features. I gazed to my right: corn about two feet taller than me...and to my left: soybeans. And I thought, "Wow. This isn't so boring afterall. Thanks be to God for crop rotation, for only a quarter mile up the road, each crop had switched sides...the corn was now on the LEFT and the soybeans were on the RIGHT. How....exhilarating!

My drive home was filled with…what else but music. And as I drove the music lifted my emotions in a vast array of directions. I went from misty-eyed conviction to righteous indignation, to self-reflection, to outright laughter. The playlist went as follows:
-Kendall Payne – Grown
-Adam Watts – The Noise Inside
-Michael Olson – Long Arm of Love
-Hyperstatic Union - Lifegiver
- Jimmy Needham – Speak
- Disciple – Special Dual Disc featuring 4 new (incredible) songs
-Ginny Owens – Without Condition
-Day of Fire – Cut & Move

I am pleased to inform you all that I am now suffering from an extremely hoarse and cracky voice as a direct result of singing at the top of my lungs for 6 ½ hours straight.

The low point of my drive home tonight occurred around mile 224. I was under the impression during my trip and up to this point, that the trip from Nashville to the afore-mentioned Dequator, was approximately 300 miles. Much to my dismay, around mile 224, I remembered that the trip is actually about 397 miles…adding another hour and a half to my ETA. I was pretty bummed.

But not for long, because the high point of my trip occurred around mile 300 when I discovered a Starbucks in Effingham. Who knew a grande Chai Tea Latte could once again make everything okay.

As I finally approached Decatur, I was hit with that ever-memorable scent of our fine town. It is the reason for the town slogan, "Decatur, we like it here." It is our daily sustenance and the way we identify ourselves. The very corn and soybeans I had seen only a few miles before, were now being processed in the thriving community I had left only weeks before. I was shocked to find that everything was exactly the same as I had left it. I suppose I was expecting some sort of ghost town because the city could not possibly thrive without my presence here. But, alas, nobody waved or honked at me as I passed through Mt. Zion and onto Eldorado street. And they have even started some much-needed roadwork near my house. It's good they're still concerned with making this town a better place, even though I'm not here to keep everything rolling.

One final thought: During my six hour drive tonight, I had a lot of time to ponder life…and I came to this conclusion:


Courage = Skinny Jeans


And I'm sorry to say, my friends, that is one trend I am not brave enough to try. This fashion fad is one that is not flattering to anyone above 110 lbs. And for those under this weight, legs wind up looking like bird legs or stilts or twigs or…you get the point. Ladies, what ever happened to wearing loose clothing that ever-so-seductively brushed your curves as you passed by a non-suspecting, but soon to become slack-jawed man? What ever happened to leaving something to the imagination? There is NO, I repeat NO benefit to showing the world every bump and lump you have to offer…and yes, thin girls have bumps and lumps, too….and they're not cute. And for those of us who….how shall I say….are not lacking in the calf and cankle department….these jeans are a virtual impossibility. Ladies, I implore you, please stand with me, and rise against this trend. I WILL NOT SUCCOMB TO SOCIETY'S PRESSURE TO SQUEEZE MYSELF INTO A PAIR OF TAPER-LEG, HIGH WAISTED JEANS…I REFUSE TO ADOPT FASHION IDEAS THAT COULD EASILY BE TAKEN FROM MY AUNT LOIS'S GARAGE SALE. What's next? Front pleats? Ankle length? Tight rolling?

**And don't worry, gentleman, an editorial on "boys who wear girl jeans" is coming your way soon.