1) Today I'm giving you a link to a new blog that I strongly recommend. Organized Randomness is written by a friend of mine that I've known since the 4th grade. Actually, saying that he's just a friend seems kind of like I'm saying he's just a guy I know. It's way more complicated than that, but I'm not sure I can explain it to anyone who didn't know us back then. Jordan was my first love. He was my first real boyfriend and the first guy I ever had a dramatic, heart-rending, break-up with (as only kids who are really too young to understand what is going on can have, anyway.) We were friends, then enemies, then friends, then dated again briefly in both junior high and high school, then enemies, then friends, then enemies, and then finally friends again and have been ever since. See, I told you it was complicated! I think I horrified him in a lot of ways, but he made it up by pissing me off on a regular basis, so it all evened out! At any rate, no matter what was going on, he was always one of the people I liked the best (even when I hated him - go figure.) Now he's an Associate Dean in the College of Education and Professional Studies at Jax State, he has a gorgeous wife, and two sons who are cuter than they have any right to be. He's also really freaking funny. There aren't many entries so far, because he initially started to write the blog to chronicle his experience with a recent tonsillectomy, and work keeps him busy, but I hope he keeps writing.
2) Oh, heavens, I was so embarrassed at church yesterday. There is an older man that goes to church with me, and I like him great deal. He's funny, he always calls me his "Movie Star" and he's always quick to give me a big hug. He is also one of my Facebook friends, and he had a question about something I had recently written as a status update. It was during the whole "Chick-Fil-A" debacle, and since I have friends on both sides of the debate, I was trying to alleviate a bit of the tension by making a joke. Part of what I said was that "I didn't care who my friends were shagging..." Apparently this dear old man didn't know what the word "shagging" meant. Of course, when he first approached me he couldn't even remember what the word was, so I didn't know what he was talking about. However, during the service when we have the time to shake hands and everything, he walked back to the sound booth and said, rather loudly, "Oh, I remembered the word. SHAGGING!" I almost died. Not only had he practically shouted the word across the church, I then had to define it for him. There was just not enough floor to sink into.
3) The other day I was walking through the mall when one of those kiosk people stopped me. Usually, I try to run away when they get near me because it never fails that they want to smear stuff, spray stuff, or put a device on me. I don't like it! This time the guy stopped me because he said he wanted to give me something. I tried to walk by, but he said "Hey! Wait!" and held out his hand. I figured I'd just take whatever it was and scram, but he looked at whatever was in his hand and said "Wait." and walked behind the kiosk as if he couldn't give me whatever it was in his hand and had to get another one. It was a bait and switch, of course, and I felt like a moron for getting pulled in, but I figured that I might as well listen to his spiel, say no to him, and be on my way. However, before I realized it, the dude grabbed a handful of my hair in one hand and a big flat iron in the other, and he started running it through my hair. Years of training kept me from slapping the taste out of his mouth and running the other direction, plus, he had a hot iron clamped on my hair. I thought maybe he'd iron one section of my hair and let me go, but no, he proceeded to do my entire head. He kept talking about how smooth it made my hair and how straight it was. All I could think was...duh.
I have the straightest hair in the universe. I inherited my great-great-great grandmother's Native American hair, and it's almost impossible to even curl it with heat and/or chemicals, so I do not need a flat iron. I kept telling him this. He also clamped the thing down on a clump of hair and steam started coming off of it. He said that it was utilizing the moisture in my hair to allow the iron to do it's work. However, I'm smart enough to know that what he was doing was frying my hair, as well as flattening it, but it was too late for me to do anything about it at that point. I finally got away from him, and when I got home I saw that he had made my hair look greasy and flat, which isn't a good look for me. Not only that, I ended up having to get my hair cut because the ends started to split and break off.
Moral of this story: If an effete little man with a fake British accent tries to hand you anything in the mall, please punch him in the throat. Do it for me.