I've Been Tagged!: 5 Unknowns

Here I am, delivering fresh bloggery while chilling in Houston with time to spare! So far my time in this gignormous Texan town has been thumbs-up. In every big city I visit, I always make sure to make a stop by Hard Rock Cafe so that I can eat some overpriced food and get a t-shirt. Come on, sporting a Hard Rock Cafe t-shirt from any city is your quintessential "been there, done that" statement. Anyway . . .

I have been tagged before, and now I've been tagged again by fellow blogger Brian LePort. This time I've been tagged to mention 5 things people may not know about me. Here goes:

1. I was baptized in the Adriatic Sea. I was 11 years old, and my family was stationed in Italy. I waded out into the cold water in white pants, a white t-shirt, and with my hair in two french braids and was immersed in a rush of salty water in Jesus's name.

2. I was involved in a serious, life-threatening car accident almost 5 years ago. I was a sophomore in college, on my way home after staying up late cramming for final exams and packing my half of the dorm room into my car in sweltering heat. I fell asleep at the wheel and smashed into a telephone pole in the middle of nowhere. Not only did I escape with nothing more than a fractured pelvis and broken collarbone, 2 1/2 weeks afterward, I took a trip to Spain as if nothing had happened. See evidence of the miracle here.

3. I'm obsessed with Curious George. I don't know what it is about the guy. I've got a Curious George stuffed toy, I have Curious George pictures and calendars, I have a Curious George flashlight, I have Curious George as my computer wallpaper, and I have a collection of classic Curious George stories that perhaps I'll read to my kids someday.

4. I like loads of mayonnaise on sandwiches and burgers. If it doesn't have mayonnaise, it's just not good. I have to have it.

5. I met a celebrity in Spain. Well . . . sort of. I was obsessed with this game show that came on called "Madrid Reta." It was a Spanish version of "Who Wants to Be a Millionaire." I loved it because I could answer some of the questions and what not. Anyway, there was this dude on there who won zero money because the first question he attempted to answer he got wrong. But I remembered him because he had a very distinctive face and wore these very thick-rimmed glasses. Very geek-chic. Anyway, on my way back to Madrid from a side trip to Paris, I saw him at the airport. I nearly freaked! A guy who was on my fave Spanish show, in the flesh! (Even though he won zero money.) I mustered up the courage to ask him if he was on "Madrid Reta" and when he said yes, I got my roommate to take a picture of us. I was ecstatic. I'm weird. I know.

Okey dokey, I guess it's time to tag 5 other bloggers? Here ya go: Shana, Ramblingrose, Brittanie, Jewel, and C., have at it.

Santa's Little Helper

Merry Christmas to all! The day after Christmas I'm heading out to visit one of my college buds in Houston. (Details upon my return.) Hope yours is a happy one!

Ho, ho, ho! Merry Christmas!

It’s the Thought That Counts, Seriously

Beauty and the Beast
First things first. Beauty and the Beast was superb. Oh, it was so magical. Some of the ladies around me were shedding tears. (And I’m woman enough to admit I’ve shed my fair share of tears over the Disney cartoon version. Anyway . . . lol.) The Beast wasn’t as ferocious in the beginning as I would’ve liked for him to be, but I let that slide. Yet, I have to be for real and say that if I were Belle in that production I might have given in to Gaston and said forget the Beast. I’m sorry, but Gaston was hot. When the Beast had his little transformation in the end, I had hoped he’d look . . . I dunno, better. But of course, that’s the whole premise of Beauty and the Beast. Seeing the beauty within. But the beauty “without” ain’t nothin’ to sneeze at either, though, youknaamean? Ahem.

It’s The Thought That Counts, Seriously
As of about 2PM today, I had done zero Christmas shopping. I know I’m not alone. But I finally got off of my lazy derrière and went to contribute my humble part to the commercialized, capitalism-crazed madness of this time of year. Yeah, ‘tis the season.

As of about 6PM today, I finished 99% of my Christmas shopping, my pops being the only one I have yet to buy for. I just don’t understand why people get all in a tizzy over Christmas shopping. I have my girly moments, for sure. But when it comes to shopping, especially for other people, I can be really guy. I don’t agonize and comparison shop and wonder and fret do the mental equivalent of a Myers-Briggs Type Indicator on each potential gift to match the recipient. Let me back up and say that I don’t buy things without putting any thought, care, and selection into it; it’s just that I don’t make each purchase an event.

I kind of get a general idea of the stores I want to hit and do a perfunctory browse. If I come across something that catches my eye, and that I think a person on my list may like . . . check! On to the next. “It’s the thought that counts” is like my mantra. Seriously. Are they going to care whether the gift perfectly fits every aspect of their being? (And I’m not advocating, like, expecting your grandmother to be happy with a Switchfoot CD. Come on.) I lean towards “no.” I think people are simply grateful that you remembered them. At least I am. Or is it that I’m just easy to please? Hmm . . . maybe I shouldn’t advertise that too readily.

In any event, if you’ve done all your shopping, good on ya, mate. And if you haven’t even thought about it yet, all’s not lost. You still have three more days! (Cue “Carol of the Bells.”) Ding-ding-a-ling, ding-ding-a-ling . . .

Hee, Hee, Hee . . . I'm an Elf!

Yesterday kicked off my two weeks of do-nothing bliss. This week is my bum week, and next week I'm going to visit a friend in Houston. Being that this is my bum week, I have time to do . . . well, stuff that you do when you have a lot of time on your hands. I've undergone an elfamorphosis. Check me out here.

Anyway, the Alabama Shakespeare Festival is putting on this huge budget production of Beauty and the Beast, and a bunch of gals from church are going to see it tonight. I cannot tell you how much I adore Beauty and the Beast. It's almost up there with Julius Caesar. Almost. Anyway, it's supposed to be superb, it's gotten rave reviews and all of that, so I'm really looking forward to it!

Christmas Banquet 2006

Saturday night was our church's annual Christmas banquet and guess what? The Banquet Babe is back! (The Banquet Babe's beginnings here, and the subsequent proof here.) Geez, I can't believe it's been a year already since her last appearance. Anyway . . .

The Pics


Catherine and me!




Me and Maurice (baby bro)!



Me and the Christmas tree!

Bonus Features
My dad was the MC/joke-teller of the night, and he gave us a couple of "quotes to think about." Here's a pretty funny one:

"I was going to buy a copy of The Power of Positive Thinking, and then I thought: What good would that do?" -- Ronnie Shakes

But here's the one that had me rollin'. My laugh is very boisterous when something is downright hilarious and I sort of embarrassed myself after he said this one:

"I know that there are people in this world who do not love their fellow man, and I hate people like that!" -- Tom Lehrer

It was just so . . . oxymoronically amusing. Ah, well. I ate good food, had good laughs and simply had a good time. That's a wrap!

Broheem

I’m big sis. I have two younger brothers—a 20-year-old (baby bro), and a 22-year-old (“younger” bro). This time, I’m talking about my 22-year-old bro. My broheem. That’s how I answer my phone when I look at my caller ID and see it’s him. “Wassup, broheem!”

Growing up, my younger brother was the classic misunderstood middle child. He was worst antagonist of the two brothers and the hardest to get along with. He wasn’t just annoying, he was tricky and sneaky. He would turn the faucet on hot in my parents’ bathroom to make the water run cold while I would be taking a shower in the main bathroom. He would jump out of dark corners to scare the living daylights out of me for no reason at all. Indeed, I could go on. Once puberty hit and growth spurts and such sort of put a halt to my ability to push him around, it got even worse (for me, anyway). He developed a football player-like hulkiness and began to dominate and hog everything. When he finally moved out, I honestly breathed a sigh of relief.

But weird things happen between siblings once they hit their twenties and become more independent. (Both of my bros have since moved out.) They grow up. They begin to look at one another as adults rather than as rivals. It’s finally happening between my broheem and me. Like, today, I treated him to lunch. We sat down and had a civil, entertaining conversation, and actually had a nice time.

Despite the antagonism of our years growing up, now, he got my back. And I got his.

“We cool?”
“Yeah, we cool.”

On Bad Dreams

I had the worst dream last night. I woke up crying. I mean, I am a 24-year-old woman, and I woke up crying like a child.

My dreams are always really scattered. I mean, really scattered. But this is what I remember: There was some kind of . . . contest. Don't ask me. What I remember is that this huge, threatening, burly guy was going to crush little shrimpy me, but I somehow knocked him down. Then, while he was face down, I began to smash his face repeatedly onto the hard, marble floor. He became limp, and blood was just everywhere, but I didn't stop. Each time I brought his head down, I could hear a sickening thud. I killed him.

When I finally stopped, I looked up, and I heard gasps. Everyone around me was horrified. Like, they couldn't believe I was capable of doing that. But the worst part is that the next person up . . . to try to beat me in this contest, I guess . . . was my own brother. He tried to grab me, but like the other guy, I outsmarted him and knocked him, face-down, to the ground. Then, like I did the other guy, I began to smash his face onto the hard floor. But after maybe two or three times of smashing his face onto the ground, when I brought his head up to smash down again, I saw his face. It was bloodied and bruised, and he had a mouth full of blood. He said, "Chantell, please, my teeth are coming loose." He had this pleading look in his eyes, and I stopped and began to cry. How could I do this to my little brother over a contest? (Mind you, my "little" brother is a 20-year-old who could easily lay the smackdown on me, but I always think of him that way, and probably always will.) How could I do this? I'm a monster.

I knew it was just a dream (thank God), but it was just so violent and revolting. (And I'm one of those kinds of people who get squeamish around blood and seeing people get hurt. It took everything in me to stay composed when a 4-year-old had a bad nosebleed during class yesterday.) I was horrified because it was like, something was telling me, "You have this in you. You have the potential do to terrible things, even to people you love." And, in that weird stage between awake and asleep, the image of the pleading look in my brother's eyes stuck in my mind. Oh, it was awful. I began to really cry. Maybe crying helped bring me completely back to reality.

Where do things like this come from? I know we all have the potential to do evil, and I don't believe myself above wrongdoing, but I would hope I would be above committing such violence! I've been trying to think of things that may have contributed to this. You know how little snatches of our day will metamorphose into weird dreams at night? Maybe the 4-year-old's nosebleed was part of it. I recently read a book called The Ordeal of Running Standing, and in the very end, the main character scalps his antagonist. That's pretty violent. And last night I was watching (for the millionth time) Ben-Hur. I saw the chariot racing scene right before I went to bed, and that's pretty much a "contest" if there ever was one.

I'm hoping I just have an overactive imagination, and that there's not some more sinister, Freudian, "id rising up" kind of thing going on. Sheesh.

It's Done!

I have officially submitted my application for admission to Washington University. I was waiting for one more letter of recommendation from a professor, and she sent it in today. I have since sent everything else in, including two applications for fellowships. I have also inquired into receipt of my GRE scores and official transcripts, and now, all that is left to do is wait. And wait.

I still haven't revealed to folks at work my intentions. I figured it would be wise to wait until I got an acceptance letter and/or confirmation that I've gotten financial support before I go announcing I'm not planning on returning next year. Just the thought of possibly having to announce it eventually, though, is a tad unsettling. I know people are going to be surprised, but not only that, I know my position may be difficult to fill because of my unconventional schedule and range of ages that I teach.

I'm Pontius Pilate. I've washed my hands of it. It's in His hands now. Here's hoping my plan goes according to plan!

On Self-Absorption

I think I’ve hit upon something. And I can only speak for myself, but I think I’ve finally nailed it: When I think too much about myself is when I get down. Self-absorption becomes depression.

This epiphany happened when I was in a depressed slump yesterday. Someone said something to me that I normally would have laughed off; in fact, it was about something that I often joke about myself—my single status. I bought one ticket to the annual church Christmas banquet and the sister selling them said, “Only one? You’re not coming with a beau?” It was so innocuous. Ordinarily, I would have had a cute quick comeback. But for some reason, that particular time, it threw me into a funk. The “poor me” credits began to roll.

It was all me. Everyone tells me “I can’t believe no one has just snatched you up yet.” Everyone always asks me “Why?” when I tell them I don’t have a boyfriend. When I broke off the last relationship because I thought I was doing the right thing, why did I remain alone? If I’m as pretty, intelligent, fill-in-the-blank, as people say, why am I unnoticed while all my friends are either dating, married, or about to be? I’m 24 and still living at home and clueless about what I’m really supposed to be doing. I feel like I’m not doing enough at my job, I feel inadequate, I feel unsure, I feel insecure, I feel immature . . . I, I, I, I, me, me, me, me. What I’m doing. What I’m feeling. How I measure up to others. My issues. It was all ME.

I had a “wait a minute” moment. I was sitting there, wallowing in pure, unadulterated self. When I realized it, it was so repulsive. I began to think about the other things that are okay to care about, but disastrous if cared too much about: my appearance, what others opinions are of me, being successful, this blog . . . the list goes on. Also, it's never cool to compare yourself to others. I should know better.

I never did finish reading The Purpose Driven Life, but the opening sentence of the book is so true, it’s almost become legendary: “It’s not about you.” I think if I really grasped that, I would feel down a whole lot less. I have a long way to go, I guess, but at least I realized something I need to work on.

A Week in My Life

So, I've been tapped for A Month in My Life again for 90&9 (I did a stint before in May), except that it's just a week this time. In December, readers get a sampling of several former 90&9 bloggers, and this week, it's me! So, never fear, bloglings, just click here for Chantellian musings until I return.

This Is Hilarious

Check out this article from "America's finest news source," The Onion:

Boyfriend Ready To Take Relationship To Previous Level

Hee, hee, hee!

Hardee’s Cheeseburgers

Man, sometimes I just have a craving for Hardee’s cheeseburgers. I tore one UP today after work. I’m sorry, but those suckers are delish. I know Hardee’s is not exactly in the upper echelons of fine cuisine . . . I mean, it’s probably considered somewhere on the B-list of fast food establishments themselves, but once I got a taste of one of their cheeseburgers, I was hooked.

It happened by chance. Late at night, on a nearly two-hour road trip with a friend. We hungered. Hardee’s was open. What do you want? Umm . . . a cheeseburger and a shake. Have you ever been so hungry and eating something so good that your throat ached from swallowing so much? It was like that. Aw, man. Maybe it was the surrounding circumstances, i.e. being famished and at a point where perhaps anything would have tasted good, but I really felt like it was the best cheeseburger I had ever had in my life.

So today, after another one of those no-lunch days, I hit up Hardee’s, and, as aforementioned, tore something up. And their fries are tasty too.

Velvet Elvis and Third Day

Velvet Elvis
I just finished reading this phenomenal book by Rob Bell called Velvet Elvis: Repainting the Christian Faith. Please, do yourself a favor, buy it, and read it. I'm terrible about summing things up, I really am, but I'm telling you, if you care anything about authenticity in your walk with God, if you care anything about Christianity's relevance in a post-modern society, if you see this Christian life as a journey rather than a destination, read this book. It will get you at the core and move you. Rob Bell is pretty cool. He has a website/organization called NOOMA. It's basically a series of spiritual short films. Check it out.

Third Day
I must also talk about how much I love the most recent Third Day album, Wherever You Are. If you're ever feeling down, just pop this puppy in and listen. It is so hopeful and so real at the same time. And I just love Third Day. Go here (their official website) to listen to excerpts of all the songs, or here to read a very well-articulated review as well as sound clips. "Mountain of God" has gotten a lot of radio play and it, for whatever reason, brings tears to my eyes almost every time I hear it. My un-radioed faves though, are "Keep On Shinin'" and "How Do You Know."

When I get excited about stuff I like, I just have to share!

I always wanted a polka-dotted shirt . . .

. . . and you can never have too many denim skirts. I don't care what you say. Make as many "you might be a Pentecostal" jokes as you want. lol!

I'm the type that can't wait to wear new stuff that I buy (see previous post). I'm sorry. It's a tragic flaw. Don't ever cast me as the hero in a Shakespearean tragedy.

Forever 21

Part of the Thanksgiving weekend is taking advantage of all of those post-Thanksgiving Day sales. So, since today was another glorious day off, I splurged a teeny bit at the Galleria.

My store of stores has always been New York & CO. It's got that career-chic thing going on. But today, I was smitten with this store called Forever 21. Some of y'all know what I'm talking about. It's got this funky-chic thing going on. Not as juvenile as, say, Aeropostale (I love me some Aeropostale, now, don't get me wrong), but definitely more light-hearted than my tried-and-true NY&C.

Though I definitely don't consider myself an overly-effusive girly-girl—all frills and pink and thinking I can walk long distances in stilettos and flirtatious high-pitched laughter (though a girlish giggle has been known to slip out every now and then)—old girl does like to shop. I cannot tell a lie.

1st Grade Apology Notes

This is too funny. I just have to share. I just want to show a taste of the quirky, cute, funny things that happen as a result of working with little ones.

Yesterday, I was playing an active counting game with my first graders. It's basically "Four Corners," except I make them count and choose the corners in Spanish. When one boy named Karsten got out, another boy named William said, "I feel sorry for you, you're out," and Karsten hit him. Another boy named Stephen also threw his two cents in, so I told all three of them that they were all out and to sit down. That did not make them very happy. When their classroom teacher came for the class, of course I let her know what had transpired. This lady is an excellent teacher, she always has her class in order, and she does not play. "Thank you for telling me," she said.

After coming back to the Elementary School from teaching three periods at the Middle School, I found these three notes, written on that classic 1st grade lined paper (the kind with the dotted line between two solid ones) on my desk. Homegirl made her boys write me apology notes for their behavior, and they were so funny, I almost couldn't help myself. Here they are, transcribed exactly:

Karsten
Senore Smith
Sorry for disruptibing your call and I am sorry for hiting william.

I am so so sroy intruping your class. I will never listen to Karsten
and Stephen ever ahgin. from William

I am so sorry that I disruptive your class. I pomis i will never do
it agan. and ruinde your Thanksgiveing

Stephen

The last one is what really got me. I mean, how could the little guy think that he "ruinde" my Thanksgiving because of that? lol. It was too much. I can assure you though, that it didn't. I fully intend to use these days of respite (we have today, tomorrow and Friday off) to their fullest!

Deck the Halls with . . . What?

Disclaimer: The parody of this timeless tune is meant to make fun of no one but myself.

Deck the Halls (Channy’s version—this year, anyway)
Deck the halls with insecurity and awkwardness
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
‘Tis the season to bring home new girlfriends
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-la
Those still without one by their side
Fa-la-la, la-la-la, la-la-la
Wish to stay at home and hide
Fa-la-la-la-la, la-la-la-laaaaa!

Christmas time isn’t here yet? No, but Thanksgiving is. Right around the corner. Besides, I couldn’t think of any “Thanksgiving songs" to parody, if there is such a thing.

Oh, and only somewhat related, but band director is going to be in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade as the drum major! I told you he was the golden boy. It’s like, what can’t this guy do, you know what I’m saying? So, if you’re interested, you might catch a glimpse of his gorgeous mug on camera.

Anyway, despite my self-deprecatory humor, I know that I have a lot to be thankful for. I do. I think we all could stand to set aside a minute or two to count our blessings. Hope your Turkey Day is a happy one!

To-Do: The Unveiling

Call me anal-retentive, (one of my favorite Freudian phrases, right up there with the “Freudian slip”) but there is nothing more satisfying than knocking a bunch of tasks off of a to-do list.

I spent today, Saturday being the only day I really have time to devote to this task, doing grad school stuff. I have hinted around about it, but now that things are just about ready to be launched out into the deep (one more letter of recommendation submission pending), and since I’ve accomplished all that needs to be done except actually dropping these little application packets off in the mail, I feel more free to talk about it.

The Unveiling of My Hoped for Plan . . .
First a bit of a preamble (I know, it drives my friends nuts). It took me five years to finish undergrad. I double majored, in two Education fields at that, which have a boatload of coursework and requirements anyway, and to top it off, I studied abroad for a semester. I don’t regret the extra year and the extra stuff I did for a minute. But I will say that I was nearing burn out. Graduation couldn’t come soon enough. After a making a very agonizing decision to work instead of blazing on into graduate school as I had previously planned, I landed my Spanish teacher job. It’s been an ideal situation and a lot of fun, but I never planned to work indefinitely—I always intended to go on with my education.

Enter Washington University. I’ll spare you all of the details, but my desire to 1. go to graduate school, 2. get a change of scene, and 3. try out St. Louis conglomerated into a mesmerizing idea. Why not? Wash U began to look more and more like a winner. On my second foray into St. Louis territory (during my UGST J-Term) I took the opportunity to visit the campus and a lot of things began to come together—I felt like I could almost see the pieces of the puzzle interlocking.

So here I am, one step away from casting my bread into the waters and hoping it will return to me after many days. Here are the conditions. 1. I must actually be accepted into the program, and 2. I must win a fellowship. There is a particular fellowship that I’m especially banking on—if I got this particular fellowship it would cover everything; I probably wouldn’t have to worry about having to work or anything at all, just concentrate on my studies. Wash U is a private university and tuition itself causes one to have to pay out the ying-yang. So, no money, no go. At the risk of sounding like I have an inflated head, I’ll say that I’m not terribly worried about getting in. It’s the fellowship part that’s got me a little worried. But this is where I leave it up to Him. I’ve done all I can do, and once I put those little guys in the mail, it’s in His hands. To be continued . . .

My Theological Rant of the Day

There are two main things I can’t stand about the way (many, some, whatever—so that I’m not in danger of generalizing) church people look at these two things:

1. The purpose of serving God
2. The whole concept of “soulwinning”/ witnessing

A “Heaven or Hell Issue”?
I can’t tell you how much I dislike religious conversations with people where things are brought down the this: “Well, that’s not a heaven or hell issue, but _______is.” Why do we even use that phrase? To me, it seems like our whole modus operandi is completely warped. If your relationship with God boils down to fire insurance, is that really serving God for the right reasons? The greatest commandment, according to Jesus is “thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and with all thy soul and with all thy mind,” and not “thou shalt do everything your preacher tells you to because thou art fearful of the fiery pit.”

In some ways, I am so glad I was not born and raised in the church. I was about 13 when I received the gift of the Holy Ghost. I am so glad that this was not the only thing I ever knew of my whole life. Why? Because I feel that I’ve taken things in for myself. I wasn’t indoctrinated from birth. I made choices. I had revelations. That is not to say those born and raised cannot ever have revelations or make choices for themselves. I think there is a point where everyone does, born and raised or not, but I would venture to say that it is so much easier to take things for granted and at face value without ever questioning or understanding when you don’t know anything else.

Okay, back to my point . . . what I’m trying to say is that it grieves me that so many people seem to “live for God” out of coercion. They do what they do simply because they fear hellfire if they don’t. It doesn’t have to do with trying to get close to God. It doesn’t have to do with loving your neighbor. It has to do with tell me what I can and can’t do so my butt doesn’t become toast when I die. Okay, let me back up and say that I’m not in disagreement with the idea that if there are certain things you do or don’t do your butt will become toast when you die. I’m just saying that it can’t be the basis of a relationship. What if the whole idea of everlasting flames of torment was just a metaphor? (Make sure you read the first two words of the preceding sentence—what if, okay?) Would your relationship with God just dissipate because the fear of hell is what it anchored on?

I can honestly say that the way I live my life, most of which makes me a pleasant (I hope) oddity to the mainstream, is because I feel that my lifestyle is one of many ways to draw closer to God. If I were not to live this exact lifestyle that I live right now, do I think I’d be buying myself a one-way ticket to perdition? Not at all. Then why do I do it? Because I love Him and want to be close to Him. Period.

When people talk about things being “heaven or hell issues,” it reminds me of my middle schoolers when they ask, “Is this going to be on the test?” I hate answering that question because then it gives them the idea that if it happened to not be on the test that it is irrelevant to their learning. Whether it’s going to be on the test isn’t the point. Learning and retaining the knowledge is. Heaven or hell isn’t the point. Loving God with everything in you, doing His will, and drawing close to Him is.

“I Won People to the Lord!”
Aargh! YOU don’t win anyone to the Lord. God is reconciling the world unto Himself, right? You are an instrument, yes. You are an influence, yes. You are a light, salt of the earth, all of that, yes. But was it anything you did in your power alone? No, no, no.

I hate it how people use the concept of soulwinning as some kind of Christian self-worth meter. I guess what I’m opposed is not the concept of soulwinning, but the way we look at it. To some, the goal is to get ‘em in, make sure they get dunked in the baptistery, and hear them speak in tongues a bit. Then on to the next conquest. Like you’re Julius Caesar or something. Veni, vidi, vici. “How many souls have you won to the Lord?” How many conquests have you made for Churchdom?

We do need to say the right thing at the right time. The Bible says that the Holy Ghost will tell us what to say. But what about being a living witness? I always figured the way you live in front of others and your actions were always 100% more valid than a rundown of Acts 2:38 or whatever other scripture that people throw out to get people on “our side.”

I am sorry for sounding so cynical. I hate ranting. It makes me feel like a mean little rat on the defense. Just listen to the word. Ranting. But anyway, this is not out of a general dissatisfaction—it’s more of a passive-aggressive response to certain people who don’t even read my blog. Go figure.

The Verdict

I stepped out of my comfort zone a little bit this past weekend. Yes, despite my conference-cynical, singles-events-aversionist tendencies, I broke out and went to the Alabama District Singles Conference. I don’t have any grand ideas about the amount of people who read my blog, but I sure hope anything I say doesn’t come back and bite me in the rear.

On a scale of 1-10, I’d have to say it was about a 6. 5 being completely unbiased one way or the other, 6 meaning just a shade more positivity than negativity.

In Its Defense
This particular conference proved me wrong on a few points, but namely, that it was not desperation-filled. I was not accosted, never pressured. And that was a big plus. Cuz I tell you, if some needy dude had tried to awkwardly thrust himself into my life, I would have dipped out of singles conferencedom quicker than a Ninja Turtle could take a bite out of a slice of pizza.

There was a candid moment when the ladies had a little break out session and we did an open-discussion type thing. I was able to speak up (read: hop up on ye olde soapbox) about how the church pits “doing a work for God” against desiring marriage (especially for women) as well as pits the ideas of education and career against marriage and family. So, it’s like, okay, on one hand, I’m cool if I ignore the fact that I do desire marriage and am happy just passively doing “God stuff,” but on the other, I’m uncool if I try to better myself in the interim because by doing so I’m shunning marriage and family. What’s a girl to do? So, we discussed. That was good.

Things I, Uh . . . Wasn’t Crazy About
Not that I expected this “conference” to be bursting at the seams with people—I mean, it was held in a rather podunk Alabama town. But I did expect there to be more 20somethings. So that was a tad bit of a downer. I mean, not that it was crawling with old geezers. There was a sprinkling of 20somethings. I just wished there were more.

I hate to get . . . racial, but I’m going to be for real. I was the only black person there at first. A black dude did show up the next day, but come on, two out of the whole Alabama district? Remotely related to that is that a man asked me if anyone had ever told me I looked like Condaleeza Rice. Come on. #1. I do NOT look like Condi Rice. #2. Homegirl is a sharp lady, but it just didn’t feel like a compliment to me. The only thing Condi and I have in common (well, looks-wise, I guess) is that we’re both . . . you guessed it. Ah, maybe I’m being nitpicky. I’m sure the guy was just trying to be nice or something and he couldn’t think of anything else to say.

The main (male) speaker was a good speaker as far as speakers go, but the things he had to say I could have heard at camp meeting or something. I thought this was a singles conference. It seemed to me his messages weren’t really tailored to singles issues.

The schedule was kind of whack. I’m sorry. But why would they have Friday night, Saturday morning, a big break in-between, and Saturday night? What about out-of-town folks who have to make a 2 ½ hour drive back to Montgomery, and then get up and go to church the next morning?

Some Cool Things Despite the Above
The female speaker at the conference was a really neat lady. She spoke some things to me in the Holy Ghost that were encouraging and confirming about what God is going to do in my life. That was a super plus.

During the above complained-about super-long break between Saturday morning sessions and Saturday night service I went with some others to Books-a-Million to chill. This dude sitting in the chair next to me struck up a conversation and we had a really good talk about the church and Jesus matters. It turns out that he was raised in the same faith I am now, but later on broke away for various and sundry reasons. But it was great. It felt God-ordained or something. He told me that he is glad that I happened to sit next to him and that from talking to me he has a better understanding of some things. Awesome.

I ran into a guy who just happened to have relocated to St. Louis. He also did J-Terms at UGST and is attending now, he knows a bunch of St. Louis-connected people I know and attends the same church I visited the times I’ve been up there. I’m not checking for this guy in the least bit, but it was so uncanny because my future plans are currently leaning St. Louis-ward. (More on that later.) It felt like a sign or something.

And lastly, I did meet one of my goals, and that is that I did break out of my comfort zone and made an effort to talk to people that I probably wouldn’t have ordinarily. So . . . maybe I should knock the rating up to a 7? Okay, okay. The final verdict is 7 out of 10.

Have You Ever Seen a Manatee?

I'm mid-Singles Conference trip. It's too soon to give a definite verdict yet. I'll just say this . . . I got a really cool pen for pre-registering, so that's already making me lean towards thumbs up.

My friend "Diane" revealed to me that she had done something special, something that not many people can say that they've done. She's seen a manatee. Now, as inconsequential and insignificant as that may seem, think about it for a minute. Have you ever seen a manatee? How many people do you know that have? That's what I thought.

So, I told "Diane" that the next time someone tried to talk down to her, if anyone ever tries to act like they're all that to her, she can use her experience of manatee sighting to counter it. Example:

Mean person: So, yeah, like I went to Paris and bought this really cute purse from Louis Vuitton on the Champs-Elysees this weekend. But you wouldn't understand . . . you've never done anything like that, have you?

Diane: I can't say that I have, but have you ever seen a manatee?

Mean person: Umm . . . uh, no.

Diane: That's what I thought.

Mean person: (silence)

Being able to say you've seen a manatee can silence even the most supercilious.

UPC on Borat?

When I first heard about the now-playing in-theaters-near-you movie, Borat, I was like, okay, there's one I can put on my Do Not See list. It made a small sensation in Alabama because he had duped a local etiquette expert in a ruse which culminated with a most disgusting antic.

Anyway, when I read on Collideoscope in this post that Borat had fakingly recieved the Holy Ghost at a United Pentecostal Church (UPC) campmeeting, I was floored. What? UPC on Borat?! The whole premise had an amusing oxymoronic tang. Screen caps shown on this post were proof, and I was further enlightened by an interview with Borat on the Today Show linked on the same post.

The truth is I don't really know what to make of it, but I'm deciding to throw my $0.02 in due to a little tap from ninetyandnine.com's almighty editor. But the more I thought about it, the more I thought about a satirical response that birthed itself out of the innerworkings of my sometimes cynical mind.

Picture a quintessential hicktown preacher who incessantly harps on "goin' to the pit." This is an excerpt from his Sunday night sermon after finding out about the UPC bit in the movie:

Now, I done heard about some devilish thing they're showing in the moviehouses of the world called BO-rat. And I know you probably know he's done cut the monkey and blasphemed the Holy Ghost by his pretendin' and carryin' on at a campmeetin' of our'n. And now this is being broadcast all over the world! At first, I was mad as a hornet. How dare this sinner boy mock the Most High, I thought! But then I thought, naw, Lord, I see, I see why You done this. The Lord works in mysterious ways. Ya see, some of our very own wanted to be able to be seen on hellivision, and this is the Lord's way of punishin'! God said, 'Oh, you want to be on the one-eyed devil, do you? Well, I'm gonna do that an' more—I'll plaster you all over the world bein' made to look like fools! Not on ol' devilvision, but through the very mother of all things evil herself—Hollywood!'

The idea was hilarious to me. That someone would laud Borat's poking fun at A/Ps as punishment from God. Anyway . . .

How I really feel about it, I dunno. I guess I sort of second the feelings of Scott Phillps in his exclusive mid-week article. Speaking in tongues and Pentecostal-esque worship being made fun of is nothing new. It happened on the Day of Pentecost, the mother of all Pentecostal experience, for crying out loud.

But it's kind of weird . . . I also felt some kinship with Stu Kent of House Calls in his post about the Blues Brothers. I when I was a child, got my first knowledge of Pentecostal-y stuff from TV. For whatever reason (during our B.C. days) I was watching Cape Fear with my folks. Not the 1960s, Robert Mitchum, black and white one, but the early 1990s Robert DeNiro remake. Though it was a minor part, all I remember is Robert DeNiro speaking in tongues while he was drowning in the end. Not the most savory of images, I know, lol, but . . . perhaps this is the point of all of this: Even though the image of a really sinister guy speaking in tongues while drowning is less than ideal, it introduced my nine year old mind to the idea of speaking in tongues, it made me curious about it, I asked questions about it, and in the end, it wasn't something alien when the Pentecostal experience became more important in my family's life.

Maybe the whole Borat deal, as crude, offensive, and unrelentingly satirical as it seems to be (from reviews that I've read), might be someone else's Cape Fear. Though "getting the Holy Ghost" (among many other things) is being made light of in this film, perhaps to someone out there, Borat will spark a light of curiosity that may lead to a life-changing experience. Who knows? God has a crazy way of turning things around in His favor.

Telenovelas, Small Miracles, and Post-Cartum Depression

Telenovelas
Remember this: If you’re ever feeling down and want to have a gut-busting laugh, watch a telenovela. It will have you rollin. A telenovela is basically a Spanish-language soap opera. But these shows take ‘soap opera’ to the next level. In every scene, someone is crying, fighting, having a nervous breakdown . . . it’s like uberdrama. I was hanging with some Panamanian friends of mine, and I was over there watching Univision with them. This novela was on called “Mundo de Fieras” or, “World of Beasts.” lol. It was great. The main lady in the show is just nuts . . . she pulls a gun on her husband and shot at him, first of all. But the most hilarious part in that episode was this dude with his leg all wrapped up, hobbling around on a cane who was threatening the lady to tell her husband about her infidelity. I asked my friends what happened to the dude, and they told me that she shot him too. Homegirl just goes around shooting guys she gets fed up with. There was even a scene where the lady’s father (the lady doesn’t know this man is her father—yet another dramatic twist) says to himself, “Necesita ayuda profesional urgentemente.” She needs professional help badly. Understatement of the year.

Small Miracles
Okay, so I’m applying to graduate school. To make a long story short, one of my former professors is notoriously absent-minded, never checks his email, and is always impossible to catch up with. He’s a nice guy, but you have to basically beat down his door to get anything from him. Homeboy has a paper of mine that I wrote in Spain (he used some of my Spain stuff for his research), and I really, really wanted to use that paper to turn in as a writing sample to the program I’m applying to. I misplaced whatever floppy disk I’d saved it on (now, two years ago), and so the hard copy he had was my only hope. I emailed my boy at least a gazillion times, and left voice mail messages, but to no avail. I was determined, so I eventually pleaded with his office assistant to take up my cause. In the end, they found the paper! Yes! So it’s in the mail to me now. (Thank God I didn’t have to take a road trip up to Tuscaloosa to beg for a paper I wrote. lol.) Persistence pays off, yes, indeed.

Post-Cartum Depression
I bought a new car. Well, it’s new to me. It’s a 2005 Hyundai Elantra. I sold the 97 Mazda 626 to my bro. We went up to the probate office to get all the legal business straightened out, and in the end, I turned over the keys to him. But upon doing so, I felt a pang in my heart. I almost wish I hadn’t sold it to him. That car was my baby. I paid that little darling off with my hard earned money. It took me places. It was there for me. It was my road dawg. Literally. Even though I had to put her in the shop a time or two, she never broke down on me. She never left me stranded on the side of the road. I experienced so many things with that car. I knew her little quirks, the little imperfections that set in on a car with over 125,000 miles. But I was comfortable in it, I leaned into it and embraced it, I trusted it. I mean, it was a part of my life. Now, I have to get used to this little new(er) thing. I miss my old baby already. I never thought letting go of my old, mile-burdened, paint-peeling car would perturb me. It was almost like breaking up with someone you still love (though not nearly as painful). But you know, in the end, it was for the best.

Plan B?

I’ve never been a fan of backup plans.

Despite how methodical and analytical I can be at times, when I’m trying to achieve a goal that I really want to attain, I usually adopt an all-or-nothing attitude. It’s like I pour all of my energy into setting out to do what I plan to accomplish, and I throw all of my hope into believing that it will happen.

That is not to say that I don’t ever think about how the state of affairs would be or a possible plan of action should I fall short of my goal. No, I do have a . . . theoretical Plan B of some sort, I guess. But I don’t really construct a safety net out of it. It’s more something that I hazily formulate and hope that I never have to take back out and reexamine. Part of my reasoning, I guess, is this: What’s the use of Plan B when Plan A is the only thing in your sights? Why plan for a course of action that you never intend to take? Why put any energy into formulating your own personal second best? I figure if Plan A falls through, Plan B will take place by default.

Let me back up and say that this is not like . . . military strategy or a rescue operation or investing money or anything where anyone’s life/well being would be at stake. I do think Plan Bs are helpful with event planning and such, though. Having a fall festival or whatever in the rain is not cool. But I’m not talking about any of that. I’m talking about personal/academic/career goals that I’ve set for myself. I have a little theory that if you really want something, part of making it happen is believing that it will. And for me, (I can only speak for myself) carefully crafting a Plan B represents not believing in Plan A wholeheartedly.

I know that may sound . . . kind of reckless to some. And in a way, I guess it is. Don’t put all your eggs in one basket, right? And maybe it’s just that I haven’t lived long enough to experience being crushed by failure. But so far, putting all my eggs in one basket (caveat: a carefully chosen basket) has been what drives me to do everything in my power, with God’s guidance, to make it happen.

My main example of this is the semester I spent in Spain. I set a goal, and I did everything in my power to meet it. My parents aren’t Sam Waltons, so knew I was going to be funding this puppy on my own. I applied for every scholarship I could get my hands on. Did I think about what I was going to do if I didn’t earn and win enough money? Not really. Plan B was “If I don’t get enough money, I just won’t go. I’ll finish out the school year here.” But the weird thing is, I found that money came my way from places I didn’t even solicit. It’s like when your plans and God’s plans align and mesh with your desire to do them, I feel like God does everything to make sure they happen. You know the rest—I spent a semester in Spain and had enough money to support myself as well as extra money to travel around while I was there.

There’s a little something in the works . . . and though I don’t know how it’s going to pan out, I’m not going to bother with Plan B. I’m putting all my eggs in one basket, and I have faith that God’s not going to let them fall out and get splattered all over the road while I’m skipping along to Grandma’s house.

I Am So Scared

As I exit my comfort zone . . .

I really hate it when I begin to do things I said I'd never do. And I'm not talking like, things that are off, as in "I said I'd never become a stalker, and here I am, spending my last dime on surveillance equipment." No. It's more like, "I said I'd never try 'chitlins,' and here I am, eating a hot sauce-doused second helping." Except, the "I said I'd never" in question isn't the prospect of eating 'chitlins,' but rather (dun-dun-DUUUN) . . . going to a singles conference.

Oh, blast it all, I said I wasn't going to do it. But here I am, registered for the Alabama District Singles Conference which takes place next weekend. How did I get from this to this?! I got a mass email from a single lady at my church asking who was planning on going. Ordinarily, I would've hit delete and moved on, but this time, I stopped. One of my post-IQ Forum resolutions was to get out of my comfort zone, and something nudged me and said that here was the perfect opportunity.

I don't need to rehash my aversion to all things 'single'. In addition, I'm a self-professed conference cynic. But the fact of the matter is, I've never been to a single's conference, so what gives me the right to knock it if I've never tried it? Who has the right to profess their distaste for chitlins when they've never even had any before, hot sauce-doused or not? (By the way, my mom said I ate some when I was little, but I don't remember. I don't think it had any hot sauce on it, though.) So, next weekend, I'm going to bite the bullet and go. For good, bad, or ugly. If I have a good time, well, then, I can say I had a good time. And if I have a God-awful time, well, then, I can rightfully knock singles conferences. At least the Alabama District one.

The only thing I pray is this: God, please, whatever You do, do not let my decision to timidly test the waters of singles conferencedom be the begining of the end. Do not let this represent my dive of abandon into the deep, murky waters of Desperado, from which there is no return. In Jesus's name, amen.

What I Am and the UGST Verdict

What Are You?
That was a question asked of me by my darling 7th graders today, God bless their souls. Their final project for the rotation is to choose a famous Hispanic person to do a report on. I had a ready-made list (which included those with more noble claims to fame like Nobel Prize-winning authors and such), but I approved of others they wanted to do that weren’t on the list. One chose Jennifer Lopez, another Albert Pujols, and other various and sundry Hispanic actors, musicians and sports figures were named. One boy raised his hand.

“Could we do you?”

“Me? (laughs) Ummm, no. I’m not Hispanic.”

That resulted in a chorus of “You’re not? I thought you were!”

I rolled my eyes and sighed, “Just because someone speaks Spanish doesn’t mean they are Hispanic.”

“Well, what are you then?”

If anyone else had asked me that question I may have been a little perturbed at his or her brazenness. But I realized they’re 7th graders. They probably don’t know any better. I was a little surprised, though, and I kiddingly said, “What am I? I’m a citizen of these here United States of America just like you are!”

“But no, what is your . . . heritage?”

“Uh, my heritage is . . . African-American.” I mean, that’s what they really wanted to know to begin with. It’s not their asking about my “heritage” that bothered me. I was raised to be proud of who I am. I don’t know why, but it just slightly unsettles me when people have a need to place me. For some reason, it’s hard for people to fathom the existence of a non-Hispanic, Spanish-speaking black girl whose parents don’t know a lick of the language.

Another question my kids always ask is, “Señora Smith, what kind of music do you listen to?” It’s like, they would have a better grasp of me if they knew what I listened to. They would be better able to place me.

I’ve been in Montgomery for 12 years, but as soon as I open my mouth when I meet someone new, they ask where I’m from. It’s weird because Montgomery is basically home. It’s where we’ve lived the longest. Yet anytime I’m asked that question, I have to give a back-story because I’m not really “from” anywhere: “Well, I was born in Mississippi, and then we moved to Italy, and then we moved here, so . . . I dunno. But my parents are from Philly.”

On one hand, it kind of bothers me that people are so caught up in trying to figure out “what” I am, but on the other hand, it’s kind of amusing that they seem to care so much.

UGST Verdict
I was so scared to get my final grade from my UGST class. Straight up and honestly, I was ashamed of my final paper. It was not my best work and I felt like the lamest dork turning that in. My prof was inundated with PhD comps, so it took him a little longer to get things graded, but I finally talked to him today. The overall verdict: A.

I was flabbergasted. I was praying I’d get a C, and I would have been satisfied with it because I was convinced my final paper was atrocious. I guess I’m a little hard on myself. My prof was teetering between giving me an A- or a B+ on the paper, but I didn’t have the heart to try to convince him to give me the A- when I didn’t even feel that I deserved to get the B+. I told him I was completely satisfied with the B+ for my conscience's sake. And the word is that my prof for this class is not a gracious grader. He is no joke. So, I guess he saw something in my paper that I didn’t. I am just so thankful for God’s grace and mercy and longsuffering despite my procrastinatory spirit. I really am.

A Few Cool (to me, anyway) Things

1. This sounds really awesome: Godblogcon. I mean, just say it. It sounds pretty innovative. It's a conference about using the media force of the blog "to engage the culture as thoughtful, articulate, and winsome witnesses of the redeeming work of Christ in every area of life." Hmmm . . . blog = witness? And my pops says it's a waste of time. Ah, the generation gap.

2. Isn't it weird when you realize things for the first time that have always existed? Like, when something just dawns on you all of a sudden, and you're like, "I should have known that!" As trivial as it is, I just realized that one of my favorite daily comic strips, For Better or For Worse, is set in Canada. The characters are Canadian. I mean, who cares, but it was like, all this time, and I never knew that! It almost makes me feel ashamed.

3. I got my Malcolm Gladwell fix watching this video of him (scroll down and click the very last one) at the recent New Yorker Festival. He's quite an engaging speaker. He's Canadian too, by the way (but I always knew that). And to think, (my claim to fame . . . ) I got an email from him. (All right, it was only one line, but still!)

4. I really love this song by Starfield called "My Generation." It's a classic blast-at-full-volume-and-sing-along. Check it out here! And weird, but they're Canadian too. The Canada connection amongst my few cool things was not intentional, but sometimes it works out that way, I guess. The chorus:

How do we feel?
How do we feel?
My generation is aching for real
Dying for love
Crying for truth
My generation is aching for You.

Post-St. Louie Musings

Okay, so I went to St. Louis this past Thursday for IQ Forum 2006 and returned Sunday night. I had a doggone blast. I mean, that was inevitable for any and all who participated. And I promise I’m not saying that because I was a little panelist this time around or even because I expected it because I had a blast the last time, but rather because people who came who were kind of iffy about attending at first said that it exceeded their expectations. I won’t get into all the nitty gritty of what each speaker said ('speaker' not 'preacher' because this was not, I repeat, was not, a preaching conference), but I came away with several little nuggets that I’m going to try to put into practice: prioritize and don’t try to do it all—God hasn’t called us to do it all, make it a point to stay aware and relevant to the culture around me so that I can better respond to it (not reflect it), and make it a point to get out of my comfort zone.

Aside from the Forum, I was allowed to connect and reconnect with like-minded and goaled people, which is always refreshing. I mean, how often do you get to talk about non-Euclidian geometry, the possibility of Bono having the Holy Ghost, and the implications of mayonnaise consumption and feel at home? (Of course, more serious and spiritual things were discussed amongst my friends as well, but just to give you an idea of the dorky/nerdy trivial things that I find fun to talk about and how great it is not to feel like a dork/nerd while doing so.)

The following are just some jumbled conclusions, observations, whatever, in no order of importance or significance:

1. I did not meet “the one” as I subconsciously hoped. Or, maybe I did or already have and he was hiding from me.

2. St. Louis is in my future. If all works out according to plan, it will be. If all does not work out according to plan . . . umm, we’re going to think positive here!

3. Pantyhose are frowned upon in some church circles. Rather than being “unholy” not to wear them, it’s uncool to wear them. Pantyhose pooh-poohers unite!

4. Andy Smith is one of the coolest speakers I have heard in while. (And it’s not just because we share the same last name.) Maybe it’s the deep voice and magnetic presence. The man has a very profound ministry, for sure.

5. U2’s “How to Dismantle an Atomic Bomb” and Jonny Lang's “Turn Around” are must-haves.

6. The Cardinals are no joke and Pujols is the man.

7. Even cheese slices can be grated in an emergency if you own one of those Pampered Chef grating things.

8. There are times when certain laughs are over the top. I know my laugh can be boisterous, but some laughs cross the line.

9. Having a CSI-connected guest at the house may cause cleaning neurosis.

10. Having a Gabriel García Márquez novel in tow could rival the iPod when attempting to make a statement of airport gate waiting area sophistication.

The quotation

posted on this week's edition of 90&9.com kind of melancholically resonated with me:

The thing that makes you exceptional, if you are at all, is inevitably that which must also make you lonely.

–Lorraine Hansberry

Fair Foul: The World's Smallest Lady

"Fair is foul, and foul is fair: / Hover through the fog and filthy air" (Macbeth I, i, 11-12).

Those are the chantings of the Weird Sisters, otherwise known as the witches in the play Macbeth before they proclaim to the play's namesake their self-fulfilling prophecies.

That has not much to do with what happened today except that I went to the fair, and I ended up leaving in a bit of a foul mood because I did something that I'm really ashamed of but that many seemed indifferent to.

I love the fair. I rode bunches of rides until I almost made myself sick, I ate corn dogs and funnel cake, I was having a great time. But then I came across a booth with a painting of a lady sitting on the palm of someone's hand which advertised The World's Smallest Lady. "See the world's smallest lady for only a dollar!" shouted the loudspeaker. Those I was with were eager, and, thinking it was some kind of cheap hoax, I went along and paid my dollar just to see for myself.

I went around the corner to see the "World's Smallest Lady" and found a very short, slightly disfigured woman who obviously was affected by dwarfism. As soon as I rounded that corner, it hit me that this is a real, live person. A person with feelings and a mind and a life. God, I felt so ashamed. She just sat there and nodded at people who walked by. I quickly acknowledged her with a pitiful nod, averted my eyes and walked on. Some people were actually stopping right in front of her and staring. What were they thinking when they saw her? Look at that freak. I can't begin to imagine how humiliating that must be. To have people ogle you like you're an animal in a zoo.

I couldn't believe I had done that. I watched a human being being exploited at the fair. And not just that, but I partook in the exploitation. I did pay a dollar, didn't I? I hated that. Passionately. And it undid the fun I had up until that point. I tried to explain how I felt to my friends, and maybe they felt a pang of remorse, I don't know, but they must've put it out of their minds because then they wanted to ride the thing that suddenly shoots you up in the air, suspends you and then unexpectedly drops you back down.

"The World's Smallest Lady" or not, that woman is a human being, and created by God just like the rest of us. It made me feel sick that her condition was being exploited for the entertainment of others.

When It’s Just Me

Okay, I know I’ve blogged about this thing several times, but it’s an upcoming event of special interest to me that has been at the forefront of my mind. A week from today, I will, once again, be in St. Louis to participate in the IQ Forum.

There are several questions that I, consciously or subconsciously, ask myself each time pre-embarking on a trip:

1. What am I going to wear? If this question isn’t settled, I’m going to feel uncomfortable. I have to pick out stuff that’ll make me feel comfortable and confident or else, I’ll be squirming and feeling self-conscious the whole time.

2. How should I plan to do my hair? This is akin to #1, but even more personal.

3. What should I plan to do in my free time? I’m going there for a particular purpose, but I’m also going to have pockets of free time here and there. If I were coming with a friend, the resolution to this one would be much easier, but since I’m by myself, I’m going to have to make a bit more of an effort and probably plan ahead a bit more to have something to do during down time.

4. Am I going to meet “the one”? Hold on . . . I’ll discuss.

These four questions almost always go through my mind when I go anywhere, like on a far away trip by myself. Numbers 1-3 are kinda shallow, in the big scheme of things, I guess, but somewhat understandable considering the circumstances. But I hate number 4. I hate the fact that number 4 even goes through my mind just because I’m going somewhere “new,” but it does.

I really do everything in my power to not seem . . . you know, desperate. I don’t think I am. I honestly don’t think I’ve gotten close (I hope). I try to disassociate myself as much as possible from anything resembling in the slightest a, shall we say, “man-huntress” type of aura. But number 4 silently slips through my mind when I go on a trip because I guess since the social landscape where I am looks pretty bleak (not just guy-wise, but just people my age and like interest-wise in general), I think things are brighter somewhere else. And not just that, but I guess trips in general kind of have this . . . expect-the-unexpected, magical kind of air to me.

When I travel by myself, I feel like a woman about to take on the world. I bought my ticket. I’m driving myself to the airport. I’m checking whatever bags and making whatever connecting flights. I feel so self-sufficient. But on the flip side of all of that self-sufficient, I-can-go-anywhere-in-the-world feeling, is this wondering. A million what ifs swirl around me. It makes me heady with anticipation, but at the same time, a lingering self-doubt and self-consciousness set in. Not just because of number 4, but this time especially because I’m going to be a speaker during two of the sessions. What am I going to say? How will people react to what I say? Is what I have to say relevant? Will it connect with anyone?

Anyway, it’s coming up oh, so soon. I guess I need to figure out what I’m going to plan for my poor substitute to do with the kids during my absence.

For all who are fired up about

meeting me in person at the 2nd annual IQ Forum coming up in St. Louis next week—October 20-21 to be exact—this post is especially for you!

A banquet spread with a feast for the mind will be available during the newly instituted Roundtable Discussions at the Forum this year. Topics ranging from Christian fiction to politics will be discussed, and if you plan on coming (one of the main reasons being, I’m sure, to see me), you’ll need to check out the suggested readings and summaries here.

Is your brain suffering from an intellectual drought? Is your spirit running on E? Well, why don’t you, as they say, kill two birds with one stone and mosey on over to the IQ Forum to satisfy both mind and soul? Plus, I’ll be there. And you know how cool I am:










Come to the IQ Forum. Fo' shizzle.

Weird Things I Think and Malcolm Gladwell

Like, today I was sitting in my room, imagining how I would function if I had no arms. Why do I think of such weird things? But there really are people in the world who have no arms. And somehow, they function.

I thought that perhaps many things we do with our hands, an armless person would do with his feet. A pad and pencil were nearby. Could I write just using my feet? With my left foot, I slipped the pencil between the big toe and pointer toe of the right. I was surprisingly able to grasp the pencil that way. But when I began to write, it was a complete disaster. I tried my hardest, but the results were nothing but unintelligible scribble scrabble.

**************************************************************************************

I wrote Malcolm Gladwell. He’s the author of The Tipping Point and Blink, two New York Times Bestsellers that I’ve been raving about lately. Monday, I finished reading The Tipping Point and was so excited about it that I went to his website, found an email link, crafted a complimentary message, and launched it out into cyberspace, not expecting a response from such a brilliant, New Yorker contributing, dazzling, popular persona. He was voted as one of Time Magazine’s 100 Most Influential people, for crying out loud. Homeboy is an entry on Wikipedia.

In short, I told him that I was deeply inspired by his writing and that I hope I will have the opportunity to meet him in person one day. Today I received a response:

thank you Chantell. I'm flattered. best, m

(sigh.) That one line made my entire year. (lol, I’m such a dork, I know.) I know I’m not the only one who has ever received an email from Malcolm Gladwell. But how many people do you know can say they’ve gotten an email from him? Yeah . . . I guess then that would raise the question as to how many people would actually care enough to blog about a one line email. And of course, that would lead into the question of how many people are so obsessive that they would’ve emailed the guy in the first place. Okay, I’m done.

Tetris

A while ago, I downloaded Tetris onto my cell phone, for those in-between times when I’m waiting for whatever reason and needing something to occupy myself. It’s a really old game, quite simple, but mesmerizing. Turn a falling shape every which way so that it will collaborate with other shapes to form a line. My thumbs have gotten pretty nimble because of it.

On one occasion as I was engrossed in Tetris, I realized how intense I was about the whole thing. My determination to make the pieces fit. I was surprised at how irritated I would get if a piece fell out of place. If I didn’t fit where I wanted it to, or worse, if there weren’t any other options and my only choice were to let it fall out of sync with the others. Yet, interestingly, I was also surprised at how relieved I would feel once I realized that the supposedly out-of-sync piece didn’t impede my progress and that it eventually worked out with other falling pieces to come.

Then, I began to see Tetris as an allegory of my life. I’m always so determined to make the pieces fit. And I get upset when they don’t fit together the way I want them to. I just have to keep reminding myself that there are other pieces to come—it’s just that I don’t yet see how they’re all going to work out together.

Ups and Downs

Ups
1. Band director wants to attend the free Spanish class I teach at my church! (He’s going to try to make it next week.) I was pleased that he was interested, but I don’t want to make that a bigger deal than it is.

2. The Middle School football team is undefeated. I went to their game last night and it was so sweet to see the boys’ faces light up when they saw me there. I told them I would come!

3. I have a big block of free time in the afternoon today through Thursday because of SAT testing.

4. I’ve finally gotten the ball rolling in applying to grad school. More details on that as they develop . . .

Downs
1. This crazy woman rear-ended me last week. I didn’t care too much about being rear-ended—my car is still drivable and she’s at fault so her insurance should patch up the scrape. But what bothered me is that she tried to intimidate me and tell me that I didn’t have on my turn signal, which I did. But even if I did not, she should have been a car length behind me, which she obviously was not, and SHE hit ME. You at fault, girl. You gonna have to pay. Siddown.

2. One of my precious 5-year-old little babies at church was hit in the face with a golf club while playing with a neighbor kid. It broke his jaw in two places—in one place it was so bad the bone went through and was poking him in the gum. They’re going to have to wire his jaw shut for a few weeks. His parents are really torn up about it. So am I. I love that little boy. He’s so small and innocent. I hated to see him lying there with his face all swollen and stitched up. I told him that when he comes home, I was going to come over and read to him and play games with him, and that I love him so much. It was heart wrenching to see him attempt to say “I love you” in response.

It’s More Spiritual This Time

I’m sorry for this continuing saga on His Musical Hotness, but this time, instead of descriptions of adrenaline rushes (or lacks thereof), it’s more . . . spiritual.

Girls have to give all the background details. (Girls, you already know this.)

It was simply gorgeous today. Just exquisite. The notoriously oppressive Southern heat and humidity has passed, and today it was sunny, moderate and ever so slightly breezy. During lunch, I decided to soak it up and read my Bible on one of the benches along the quad of the school campus.

Who comes walking out of the Performing Arts Building, crossing the quad, but His Musical Hotness himself? I didn’t have a quasi-heart attack. Self-consciousness didn’t inch its way up my throat. I felt completely normal and almost . . . serene.

When he approached closer to where I was, I called his name, Mr._____, and he came over and commented on the weather, (seriously, it was a downright perfect day), asked what I was doing, was it Middle School’s lunch break now? I told him that it was, and that I was just sitting here reading my Bible. He asked what I was studying, and, with a sheepish smile, I told him that right now I was reading Luke, and that I try to read the Bible through every year with one of those chart things, but I don’t always make it. He said that he does too, the same thing happens with him, but at least he makes it through the New Testament. But then he turned and said, with a laugh, that he’d better go to his meeting with Dr._____, he doesn’t want to get in trouble, and walked on. Then he stopped and came back.

Him: “Hey, do you go to a church around here?”
Me: “Yes, I do.”
Him: “Really? What kind of a church is it? Is it near here?”
Me: “Oh, yeah, it’s a Pentecostal church. You know where EastChase and stuff is on Taylor Road, right? You just get onto I-85, take a right at exit 11—“
Him: That’s the Mitylene exit, right?
Me: Yeah! You know where it is. You take an immediate left onto Hwy 80, and there’s the church, you can’t miss it.

He thanked me and walked on to the High School. He came back out minutes later and we waved and told each other “see ya” and “have a good one.” He started whistling a gospel tune as he walked on.

Okay, from this exchange, I gathered:

1. He’s a Christian that actually reads his Bible.

2. From the way he asked, he’s looking for a church.

3. From his reaction after I said, “it’s a Pentecostal church,” he must be somewhat familiar with Pentecostalness in some way or another, or at least know what it entails.

4. It wasn’t as hard to carry on an actual conversation with him as I thought. In fact, it felt natural. How my hair looked didn’t cross my mind not once. And for me, that’s a big deal. lol.

Maybe God is trying to teach me to see people as people. Instead of looking at band director as simply a good-googa-mooglingly fine, unattainable golden boy, why not see him as a human being, as a soul?

10 Things All Single People Must Do

before settling down . . . check it out here.

I've done 1, 2, 3, and 4.
5 and 6, not quite yet.
7, I'm working on it.
8, well, I can't say I've quite gone there with my money yet.
9, I guess my Spanish ability and activities count.
10? Boy, am I the winner on that one.

The Thrill Is Gone, or Impression: Sunrise

Oh, hep me, B.B. King, hep me.

There was another band director sighting today. There he was, talking to the secretary about the Auburn game when I made my Middle School entrance. We acknowledged one another with hellos, nods and smiles. He had all the same cute mannerisms, dazzling smile, and lively eyes as I sat there, waiting for the 4th period bell to ring, an innocent bystander to their conversation. I discovered that he has the same unconscious habit of cracking his knuckles as I do.

But instead of an unnerving adrenaline surge, all I felt was a resigned detachment. He became Impression: Sunrise by Monet. He’s a beautiful masterpiece only truly appreciated from a distance.

Older Guy

Why I have been contemplating this lately, I cannot exactly say.

I have briefly touched on this in other entries, but now, I shall put forth my theory on what I think I might want, the pros, and then the cons.

What I Think I Might Want
I think I might want an older guy. I’m 24, so I’m talking a 30+ guy. All of the guys I have had any type of relationship with/attachment to/crush on/ fill in the blank with whatever you want/ has been older. From one year older to eight years older. If you include my professorial infatuations from my college days, well, the gap substantially widens. lol.

I do not believe I am ultra mature. There was a time when I really liked an older guy and I discovered that the feeling was mutual, but in the end, I couldn’t deal with him any more because he was serious and ready to settle down and I was flighty and immature. But I was 16. Now, I think I have reached the point where I’m more serious and ready to settle down.

I do feel, however, that I may be more suited to someone older because of my goals and interests. I do not mean to generalize, and perhaps I just haven’t gotten out enough, but it just seems like guys in my peer group are not quite as mature. They still talk about . . . videogames and stuff. They’re still trying to “find themselves.” I don’t mean to down them for that. In a way, I’m still trying to find myself too, but I feel that I have clarity about my goals in life and what it will take to accomplish them.

The Pros
I think the big pro is that the older guy would be more stable, emotionally and financially. By this time, I think he would have himself figured out, and would be sure of what he wanted. He probably wouldn’t be as apt to be impulsive and varying. He would probably also be more apt to be financially secure and stable. He probably would have established himself in a career by now and be concerned with investing his money in more lasting things rather than . . . the latest shoes, videogames, cell phones, cars he can barely afford, and other flashy gadgets, all of which are wrapped up in trying to be ‘cool.’ Stability and security are the key words.

Secondly, I kind of like the idea of being partnered with someone with more life experience. He could teach me things I don’t know, introduce me to things I’ve never experienced. He would be more likely to intellectually stimulate and engage me, and that is such a must. I don’t want him to be like, “Hemingway? Oh, yeah, I remember reading something in high school about how this old dude caught a big fish and died in the end. Hey, let’s play Halo!”

The Cons
The big con is that, well, he’s older. It might be cute when I’m 20 something and he’s 30 something, but what about 10 years down the road? When I’m still considered relatively young in my mid-30s and he’s entering his 50s? And kids. Will he be too tired and rusty to play and keep up with them? I would want him to teach them how to throw a football and catch a baseball and shoot hoops. Would his knees be arthritic by the time the boys were old enough to play some one-on-one? And connected to his age, it’s almost a certainty that I’d outlive him. Would I be prepared to lose someone earlier than I’d want to?

And like, what if I wanted to blast TobyMac and lip-synch while dancing around the house? Would he be turned off and think I was immature? I’ll admit, my taste in music is kind of different and he might not like it. Sometimes I get really giggly and laugh uncontrollably, and sometimes I get moody and cry uncontrollably. Would he tire of my girlish ways? Would he ever have fun going to an amusement park and riding roller coasters over and over and over? The cons definitely have some good points to think about.

In the End
I really don’t know. I always put forth these theories of mine very tentatively because I don’t have that much experience in order to say that I definitely know what I want. It’s just something I’ve been thinking about. And really, who knows? I might marry a guy who’s 45 (though I must admit, my pops would have a really hard time with me being with a guy only 5 years younger than he is.) or, I might come across this super mature 20-year-old who’s my dream come true (though I think I would find it hard to be with a guy the same age as my youngest bro. ::shudder::). I really don’t know.

Coming Soon . . .

There’s something special happening October 20-21, and I intend to be a part of it.

The 2nd annual IQ Forum 2006 is nearly a month away! “IQ Forum? What’s that?” you may ask. The IQ Forum is a symposium-like conference, sponsored by ninetyandnine.com and Gateway College of Evangelism, which is geared toward college and career-centered young adults seeking godly success in the 21st century. (Read: not a singles conference.) All details can be found at the IQ Forum website.

I took a road trip to St. Louis last year for IQ Forum 2005, the very first time it was ever held, and gained so much insight. I was enlightened, inspired, and spurred into action—I was challenged to start something that contributed to the work of God. (I wrote a ninetyandnine article about it and also blogged about it in a previous entry.) What really hit home with me was the Creating Your Own Ministry panel. I did just that by teaching a free beginning Spanish class sponsored by my church. The cool thing about it was that God used it to bring one of my mom’s co-workers to Him—it simply opened the door. (I’m starting the classes back up again Tuesday, and I’m excited to see what else God is going to do through it.) I can honestly say this was a life-changing conference for me. I say ‘conference,’ but in reality, the IQ Forum is so . . . un-conference because of the fact that it is an intimate, symposium-like format where the audience actually engages with the speakers.

For IQ Forum 2006, not only will I be in attendance, but I will also contribute as a panelist in two sessions—The Integrated Church: Issues of Racism and Redemption in Pentecost and Creating Your Own Ministry. I’m really excited about it (as if you couldn’t tell). Other topics this year range from Starting Your Own Business to 21st Century Apostolic Music. They’ve also added a roundtable book discussion session (one of the books being the one I’m reading now—The Tipping Point), which is SO me.

If you are searching for fresh spiritual and practical takes on living a godly, successful life, then the IQ Forum is for you. C’mon, you know you need a break. You’ve got over a month to take a couple of personal days off of work and plan to take a trip to St. Louis. You won’t be sorry you did!

In Memoriam

September 11, 2001: In Memoriam

What I Want More Than Anything

There have been so many times that I thought I wanted something, and then when that desire finally became a reality, I was left disillusioned. What I thought I wanted more than anything somehow always turned out to be less than what it was cracked up to be.

If this guy would just like me. Come to find out, the guy did end up liking me, but . . . I was young and he was older and was a bit too serious for my immature state of mind. I tired of him.

If I could just have clear skin. I had an acne problem that turned horrid after I entered college. It was something that plagued me. After taking the right medicine, things got 100% better, but why didn’t I feel 100% better about myself? Acne wasn’t the problem, my self-image was.

If I could just go back to Spain. I went to Spain once and would have done anything in the world to go back. In the end, I did go back, but the reality that life is still life wherever you go was uncomfortably sobering at times.

If I could just have a boyfriend. I finally entered into a relationship serious enough to be considered part of a pair. But being in a relationship is about so much more than how each person feels for the other. Relationships take sacrifice and commitment. In the end, I decided with great agony of mind that the relationship was not something I was willing to commit to anymore.

If I could just finish school. Well, I finished. But getting a degree or two is far from having “arrived.”

There are a million if-I-could-justs.

But I think there is one thing that I want more than anything that I wouldn’t be disillusioned by when it came to fruition: I want to be able to say that I changed someone, something, somewhere in this life, for the better. I know that sounds so . . . on-the-back-of-a-box-of-girl-scout-cookies, but there’s no other way to say it. I want to make a lasting, positive impact in this world. I’m not saying that I want to be famous. My goal is not to make it into the encyclopedias of ages to come. I just desperately want to spark something. To do something positively different, not just glide along with the status quo of mediocrity. I don’t want to have lived my life in vain.

The Inevitable Question

Coworker: So, did you do anything special over the break?

Me: Actually, I took a trip around the world, you see. First, I stopped in Egypt to see the pyramids, and then I went to Greece to climb Mt. Olympus. After that, I stopped by the Coliseum in Rome to see a gladiator fight. Soon after that, I went to Israel so that I could dive down to the deepest part of the Dead Sea. Then, I went to Australia to eat some kangaroo steaks and shrimp on the barbie. Next, I went to China and I walked the entire length of the Great Wall. After that I went to India to drink some authentic chai tea. Finally, I went to the heart of Brazil to learn the ways of the Kraho Indian tribe in the Amazonian Rainforest. And I got back to Montgomery just in time. Amazing, huh?

Coworker: Oh, that’s nice. We went to the beach.

Okay, okay, what I really did was drive out to Augusta, GA to see my aunt and uncle and beautiful little cousins. I had a great time, slept in a bit, ate lots of nice big Southern breakfasts, got lots of love, hugs and kisses from my darling cousins and . . . what would Labor Day be without a barbeque? Ribs, chicken, hamburgers, hotdogs, potato salad, greens, baked beans and corn on the cob. Good times.

I’ve also started this book that I bought when I was down there called The Tipping Point by Malcolm Gladwell. I already read another of his books called Blink and I was wowed, so my next quest was to read his previously written book. The guy is brilliant. He proposes in very sparkling and understandable prose his theory that ideas, trends, fads, phenomena, etc. spread in the same way viruses spread. It’s basically the epidemiology of ideas. It sounds weird, but it really makes a lot of sense, and it’s highly interesting.

Anyway, (sigh) work continues on the morrow. I might use my outlandish answer to the inevitable question just to get a reaction out of someone.

From the Archives of Standardized Test Samples

Why haven’t I been blogging lately?

a. There’s so much going on I don’t have time.

b. There’s absolutely nothing going on, so there’s not much to say.

c. The band director googled me and found my blog and told me that he’s read everything I wrote about him.

d. I’ve been consumed with testing out my newly discovered telekinetic powers.

The correct answer is b.

Status Quo

status quo n. the existing state of affairs

Lately, I've been getting fed up with the status quo. The problem is, however, that sometimes I feel like everything I'm doing is simply contributing to it. How can I justifiably complain if I'm a part of the thing that's bothering me?

I don't mean to sound . . . flippant about this, but so many times people have given me a "word" telling me that I'm going to do something great for God's kingdom. That God is going to use the gifts and talents He's given me. Don't get discouraged. Your labor is not in vain. Stay faithful to Him.

That's great, and I receive it. I accept it, and I feel that I am willing to do whatever He has for me to do. I don't plan on throwing in the towel any time soon. But why do I feel like I'm the servant the lord gave the 2 or 5 talents to, but instead am behaving like the one he gave only one to (See Matt. 25:14-30)? It's unnerving and frustrating to feel that I'm not doing what I should be doing with what He's given me.

Is there anything wrong with what I am doing? And if so, what in the world am I supposed to be doing? Because right now, I feel lost at sea.

The 'Cool' I'm Not

I don’t write this to gain sympathy at all. It’s just the facts.

The fact is that I’ve never been cool. I know, that sounds ridiculous, like, who in the world cares or even thinks about whether I’m cool other than me? But I was just thinking (a dangerous activity sometimes), and that was one of the thoughts that crossed my mind.

As a child, I was a teacher’s pet in school and outside of school I spent the days skinning up my knees as a tomboy. As an adolescent, I was a bit of a misfit because we made a big move back to the States after being overseas for most of my formative years, and I was looked at like I had just come from Pluto. That was back when my family first found a church home, and even there, as the new girl, I was out of place. In high school, things got a little better. I was always a nerd, but I went to an all-nerd high school (an academic magnet school), so at least I fit in. I then became counted as a nerd among nerds, and in that environment, it wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. (To my credit, I did get voted as “Most Likely to Succeed” as a senior.) But now that I was a “church girl” I was also a goody-goody. And “goody-goody” doesn’t usually equate with “cool.”

But the problem was that, though I was a goody-goody at school, I wasn’t counted much differently among my peers at church. I was never one of the ones that took glee in courting the edge, and many kids (most of them a few years older than me at the time, now that I think about it) did. Yet, it wasn’t just my aversion to courting the edge that branded me as uncool church-wise as a young(er) person. I was never the one to have the “diva” thing down either. Some of y’all know what I mean. I never developed a following for my singing ability. I never swapped badges with any boys at Youth Camp. I never had a date to the pizza party. I never owned a set of hot sticks. Let me back up and say that I was not an outcast. I had friends, good times, all of that. It’s just that I was never cool.

But then I went off to college. College was really freeing, because nobody cared. I really recommend college to everyone. I still felt slightly uncool, though, especially on the weekends. I was never a football fan, and I never frequented The Strip. Except to go to the Crimson Café.

And now? I don’t think I’ll ever be cool, but that’s okay. (I mean, one look at how many people I’m linked to on EC is proof of that.) I guess if I somehow became cool, that would mean that I was somehow not being myself.

But you know, I guess what it all boils down to is one’s definition of ‘cool.’ Maybe the ‘cool’ I’m not is only one definition of many.

Back to School Night

Tonight we had Back to School Night at the Middle School, and, as I'd hoped, "His Musical Hotness" was there.

What is it about being around him that makes me revert to my junior high self? With everyone else I was smiling, talkative, etc. With him, I couldn't do it. The liquid electricity that shoots through me in those moments has some kind of paralyzing effect. Of course, I greeted him when I walked in, but beyond that, no small talk.

The principal was going to put us at a table together to meet and greet the parents, but at the last minute decided I should have my own table and moved my little sign. He jokingly said, "Oh, I've been abandoned." lol.

There were a few caught glances, but otherwise, nothing. Honestly, it's not that I want "something." I just want to get over my junior high-ness and be able to talk to the guy. Ask him how his first year is going so far, just chit chat. But I haven't even been able to do that. And I don't see him very often. We both work at the middle school but our paths rarely cross since I'm going back and forth between middle and elementary and he's always in the Performing Arts Building unless he comes to the MS building to check his box or whatever.

I feel sort of girlish and immature talking (blogging, whatever) about him the way that I do, but he really does seem like a genuinely good guy. He's cute, yes. But from how I've seen him interact with people, he's more than just a handsome face. I would be okay if he were cute and shallow. But he's cute with substance. (From what I can tell so far, anyway.) And that's what makes it worse.

Can You Relate?

I wrote a silly little list for 90&9.com—Top Ten Things Said to the Single Church Girl.

I got a kick out of writing it, so I hope some folks get a kick out of reading it. And I wonder . . . what kinds of things are said to single church guys? "Will you marry me?" Bwahhahahaha! Due to their scarcity, I wouldn't be surprised. When supply is low and demand is high . . .

(sigh.) It's the age we live in.