Meditation I

The other day I walked near a beautiful, blossoming plum tree and took in a big whiff of the sweet fragrance. Summer is here, I so gayly (that one 'gay' that doesn't mean homosexual) noted. Then, I realized what I was smelling was really the open box of Froot Loops in my arms. So I shoved a handful of Froot Loops into my mouth, shrugged, and walked upstairs.

Well, needless to say, those Froot Loops put me in a pensive mood, prompting both reflection and ingenuity. Below is a list of said ideas:

Life's Questions Unanswered:

1. Am I addicted to ice cream or to Mcflurry spoons?

2. Are tomatoes REALLY a fruit? And why does everybody know that?

3. If I were to eat while walking, something would have to even out, right?

4. Why do people persist in naming their children nonsense words?

5. Can I name my baby Peanut Butter Anderson? Mmm... peanut butter.

6. Are there any butlers not named Martin or Jeeves? Just because I have a friend named Martin can I treat him like my butler? (Martin, if you are reading this, you forgot to fold my socks)

7. I forgot about Toblerones. Those are delightful. Nut Rolls too. But Nut Rolls are unexpectedly delightful. Oops that's not a question. Or is it?

8. Pirates, time machines, unicorns, and lasik eye surgery... real or imaginary?

9. Where did clementines come from? Rhode Island?

10. Canadians???????????????

Life's Questions Answered:

1. What do teachers really discuss in the teachers' lounge?

Your assumptions are completely correct. They complain about you.

2. Did we really elect a man named Barack Hussein Obama Hitler as President?

What a silly mess we got ourselves into! Oh well. What's in a name?

3. Why does everything smell like toots on car trips?

Those really are toots that you are smelling.

4. Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

I'll tell you when you're older.

5. Was it cool to like Power Rangers when you were a kid?

Maybe. If you also thought Pokemon and having no friends was cool. (Just kidding, my popular/dynamite fiancé)

6. This is pathetic. 22 years and I only know 5 things. My investigative efficiency is clearly lacking.

Signing off.

That's my new phrase that means, "Ending? Who wants to think of an ending when it's taken you 22 years to think of the answers to 5 life questions?"

Pigeons

I foster an unorthodox degree of animosity toward pigeons. In fact, when I think of pigeons, I think of stupid. Prancing around, warbling nonsense, their big heads sliding back and forth.

I think what bothers me most is their lack of self awareness. They don't understand their current position as bane of the bird species or bane of all the earth species. They don't even look over their shoulders when you tell them how stupid they look standing around like that.

Well, to be honest, I am not proud of my unwarranted loathing of pigeons, but surrendering my hostility toward them is impossible. I promise I've tried. I stared at a group of pigeons for two whole minutes the other day searching for redeeming qualities. The only redeeming qualities I could find were that:

1. There were nine of them standing there instead of ten

2. They didn't bully me with their warbling (this time)

3. They all flew away when I happened to tread briskly in their general direction

Not redeeming enough, pigeons. Upon closer observation, I also discovered that pigeons look like fish with wings. They also have pig in their name and they eat trash.

Pigeons. Hmm... I suppose they rocked Home Alone II. How did they get them to sit on the bird lady like that?

Not Putting a Title Here Might Make Me Seem Edgy

Four score and seven years ago, I found myself faking originality. For instance, nobody likes burnt popcorn. I thought I did, but nobody does. Because nobody does, I thought I did. In truth, it tastes like a blossom of ash and smells like a carcinogen. There's no getting past that.

Sometimes deciphering originality from the mainstream can be nearly impossible because of originality's widespread popularity. A paradox, indeed. In fact, I still can't decide if I'm for Obama or Socialism. Oh, whoops, same thing.

Oh yeah, and what the heck am I supposed to be wearing these days? Skinny jeans? Psh... try NOT finding those in every store you walk into. Obnoxious looking geek glasses? A headband across the middle of my forehead? Footie pajamas and a cowboy hat? (wait... that was one of my unintentional fashion statements).

At least I can count on Disney Channel movies to keep me original. Especially High School Musical. I mean, nothing's more unheard of than a college student obsessing over High School Musical.

I suppose my originality comes from doing things nobody else wants to do. Like spraying cooking spray directly into my mouth or actually eating that mystery concoction.

I have also convinced myself that being dubbed "Designated Brownie Batter Spoon-Licker" each year of college isn't at all degrading. I am not too proud to look like a starving lard consuming the dregs of the brownie bowl.

So, friends, Romans, countrymen, give me your batter-dipped spoons, your over-hyped adolescent films, your blackened ashy cancer-causing popcorn...

and I will show you true originality.

(On an end note, I invented blogging.)

What's Good

I'm getting married so my brain won't function. Or perhaps I am getting married because my brain won't function. That's what all the non-mormons think, anyways. The contrast between a mormon response to a wedding announcement and a non-mormon response continually reminds me that mormons are, indeed, a peculiar people.

"I am getting married about five months from now in July."

Mormon Response: "Perfect. You're engagement time will about quadruple your dating time. Ever consider moving it up to May?"

Non-Mormon Response: "Wait. July of THIS year?!?"

"I am 22-years-old"

Mormon Response: "Man, you sure are lucky to have found a man older than you up at school. You barely dodged the relationship limbo they call the singles' ward."

Non-Mormon Response: 'Oh, how sweet. She genuinely thinks it will last!'

"He and I are both going to be English teachers."

Mormon Response: "I hope you don't mind being poor."

Non-Mormon Response: "Very, very, very poor."

"We've been officially dating since Thanksgiving."

Mormon Response: "Oh yeah? Well my cousin dated for ten days before she got engaged and my grandpa proposed after three dates and my mother's aunt just ran into this guy and she knew she'd marry him so they went and got married and..."

Non-Mormon Response: (Grin, blank stare, exhale, exit room)

To mormons and non-mormons alike, marriage might mean the death of independence, a plea for poverty, or an onslaught of annoyances; but, to me marriage will mean one simple thing: incredible blog material.

Student Teaching Update

You know all those times when you've fallen asleep in a room of people and they start talking around you whispering, "She's asleep," and then you have to concentrate really hard on keeping your eyes closed because you think you've fooled them but the joke is really on you because now you are forced to lay there with your eyes closed for an honorable amount of time just so they think you were, indeed, asleep when they were talking about you? That's sort of what student teaching feels like.

Is There an Echo in Here? I Wish. That Would Make Conversation a Whole Lot Easier.

You know what I love? Repeating myself. Not only does it double the duration of hearing myself talk, but it also doubles my chances of being heard. It's a good thing I am going into secondary education.

Coming home from school offers bounteous opportunities for repeating myself. You know what I love? Repeating myself. A common conversation at my house goes as follows:

Me: "Mom!!! Phone's for you!"

Dad: "What?"

Mom: "Okay, I'll get it!"

Dad: "What? Are you calling me?"

Me: "No."

Dad: "Anna! Is the phone for me?"

Me: "No, Dad."

I also enjoy telling stories that only get interesting toward the end. That way, people are bound to say, "wait, who did this?" or, "hold on, what happened?" right when I start wrapping things up. Seeing as my stories change with every telling, this gives optimum opportunity to add a little flavor to my tales. It's like getting to roll the bowling ball three times on the last frame. At least, it seems like it would feel like that. I guess I wouldn't know.

My stories often feature the same characters that always make up my life, yet they remain faceless strangers to my parents each time I begin a story.

Mom: "So, who all was there?"

Me: "The usual. Martin..."

Dad: "Martin Milius?"

Me: "No, Dad. The other Martin we know. Plus Kelsey, Brittney, Tom*..."

Dad: "Tom who? Tom Selleck?"

Me: "No, Dad. The one you always say, 'Tom who?' about."

Mom: "Now, who was there?"

Dad: "Tom Johnson? Oh, that Tom boy in our stake?"

Me: "Oh, you know what? Actually nobody was there."

Dad: "What?"

Unfortunately, this conversational trend seems to be genetic. My mom asked me, "Anna, jfwa io fjlkds take down Christmas decorations today?" I can't possibly understand what she was asking of me. It sounded sort of like, "Anna, jklw vni empty jlki the dishwasher," or, "Anna, afie you're fjiofaeio; too old lkanv watch cartoons."

I have concluded that hearing is a gift not to be wasted or overused.

*Name changed to protect the innocent

Annimezing

Welp, it happened. I was invited to see an anime movie. I am not sure what the protocol is on responding to this type of invitation, so I had to think fast. Lucky for me, I am an expert at speaking before thinking.

One time while observing a larger man mount a mechanical bull I remarked, "He shouldn't be riding the bull, the bull should be riding him!" to none other than my larger colleague who merely glanced awkwardly in my direction. "umm... cuz he's so good," I said to clear up the miscommunication. I don't know what he thought I meant by it, I mean the guy was quite the bull rider.

Another time when my mom tried on a shirt in the store dressing room I said, "It's kind of cute but a little worn," to which she remarked, "This is the shirt I came in."

After careful consideration, I have chosen to keep the third example under wraps. See, I am learning from past mistakes!

I knew when my friends started calling having a big mouth "pulling an Anna" that it was time for a change.

In conclusion, watching anime means you are a weirdo and I want nothing to do with it. No amount of thinking is going to change that statement.