In which there are two miracles and I sing in front of people and WE WIN!

Hey

Dr. Wilson always wants us to say "hey" in response to her "hey" when she walks into the room. And she made reference to my morning glory eyes AGAIN . . . I'm pretty sure Nick was looking at me like I was crazy when she said that a line of poetry she had read was like "the morning glory eyes line." Oh my goodness . . . I think it's going to be a LONG semester.

Miracle Number One
Tara asked me to take her to Bremer bank yesterday. She asked me at 10:05 and she said that she needed to be back by 10:55. I told her to try to find someone else and meanwhile, I would take a shower and if she didn't find anyone, I'd take her. We left at 10:39. We got to my car and climbed in and I said "Tara, you're going to have to tell me where to go. I don't know where the bank is." She said, "I don't know where it is . . . " So we drove around. I was going to go toward downtown but at the last minute, I decided to go the other direction, and like 23 seconds later, we found the bank. We got back to campus only one minute after she said that we needed to be back.

Miracle Number Two
I needed my birth certificate. I had to have it absolutely no later than Monday. I asked Mom to send it to me on Thursday and she sent it that evening. I was so worried it wouldn't get here and called all over the place trying to see if I could have the post office look for it and I left messages at Commons for them to call me the minute it got there. It turned out that it got there yesterday, less than 24 hours after Mom sent it. Yay! :-) God was in that one!

We went to the Vine (in Sioux Falls) last night. It was awesome. Wow! I went with Lisa and Nikki K. We had so much fun. We went to the Firehouse after it was done and they had karaoke. Nikki and Lisa and I and some others sang "I can only Imagine." It was really cool. Our entire group was the last song. We did "Days of Elijah" and everyone was dancing and Alyssa and I were the singers. It was pretty cool and I wasn't nervous at all. Yay!

I had bonding time with my Nikki K. and Lisa. It was so awesome. I've never had friends like them. The third miracle is that we managed to get back in one piece even though we were all sleep-deprived, we had been exposed to every bacterial infection imaginable ('cept, we weren't exposed to some of them because we're nice girls and nice girls don't put themselves in situations where they're exposed to those bacteria.), and I got us incredibly lost.

You know you're in college when . . . the influenza virus, mono, walking pneumonia, strep and bronchitus haunt the hallowed halls of your fine institute of learning. In other words, when your school becomes a hospital.

Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness! Oh my goodness! Eeee! WE WIN!!!!! It was so, so fun! Oh my goodness! It was the most exciting game ever! It was Hawaiian Night and everyone was really drunk except for a very few of us. Nikki K. and I sat at the top of the bleachers because we didn't want to risk being vomited on. Oh my -- Athletic Math Boy was sick but he played anyway, and I think that almost everyone on the team was sick because they switched people around like ALL the time. The wildcats stink. They were really tough. Wow -- we would have won but the other team scored in the last few seconds and tied the game up and we went into overtime. We won, 97-95. It was really funny cuz the other team called two full time outs in a row when there was only 2.5 seconds left in the game. Then we called a full time out before they started the clock again. It was really sad. But we won! Eeee! :-) Yay! Yay for Athletic Math Boy. And Tall Boy. And everyone else! Yay!

~MK

In which . . . I think too much

Me: I hate being a girl.
K: Aww. Me too
Me: Not for THAT reason necessarily, although it IS a good reason to hate being a girl.
K: Oh okay. Hehe well i'm going to go to bed.
Me: Wait?
Me: I hate being a girl because it's unbearable to think about being alone but it's unbearable to think about not being alone because it hurts too much when you come back to reality and realize that you really ARE alone and it's always been that way and it may not ever change.
K: It might...always be positive.
Me: I didn't say it was definitely NOT -- but there's always that chance.
K: Well yeah. Same with all of the rest of us
Me: I don't think he's that cute, but he completely intrigues me. He's an athletic math boy. I don't understand either of those things so I am completely awed by this boy. I want to know him -- but it scares me and I don't want to make him have to put up with me if he doesn't WANT to.
K: No one is forcing him chica.
K: So this is okay.
Me: But I don't even see him.
K: Don't over analyze. Turn your brain OFF
K: Okay?
K: hahaha
Me: I "worship from afar"
Me: But I CAN'T! I have HOMEWORK!
K: Turn your feelings side off.
K: Goodnight
Me: But I've done that too much and it gets sad
Me: Ok. Sweet dreams.

Nikki K., you understand, yes?

To everyone else: I'm sharing this because sometimes, I feel like I'm not a typical girl. I probably look/act/talk etc., like I don't care and I don't like guys at all. That's NOT the case. I'm only like that because it's too hard to let myself hope and dream. It always ends up hurting.

An athletic math boy. I love how I word things sometimes . . .
~MK

In which I was distressed and then became destressed

Destressed to some extent . . .

I was distressed because we lost. It was a thrilling game, no doubt. The Bison beat us by ONE point. There were 14 lead changes, if I remember correctly. It was so sad. BUT -- the fun thing is that Nikki K. and I are going to go to the game on Saturday night.

I don't have to write my Knitting article! Yay! I absolutely hate writing articles because AP (Associated Press style) stifles creativity. AP kills me. I hate AP. I hate it, I hate it, I hate it. End of story. On another note (related to the paper), Debbie says that I'm supposed to take her spot as head copy editor this issue because she's going to be gone. For serious -- that's scary. That means that this chick isn't going to sleep much on Tuesday night . . . Unless Lindsey decides that she should be in charge, which she probably will.

Class was torturous. Well, I guess it wasn't too terrible. Short Story was ok. Speech was fantastic. Over the weekend past, my speech prof's wife had a baby, so he took the entire week off -- hence "speech was fantastic." I decided to be an irresponsible student and forget about reading my Nutrition book and took part in Spa Day instead. Every year, we have one day where the cosmotology students from Pipestone come on over and the SMSU students get free hair cuts and styles, manicures, eyebrow waxing and massages. Sadly, I found out last year that I'm allergic to the wax they use so I couldn't take part in that part. I didn't have time to do a massage, but I got a manicure, a haircut and a style. I asked the girl to trim a half inch and then layer my hair. I didn't know how long I wanted my layers, so I asked her to make them long and then we could cut them shorter if I deemed it necessary. She got done with it and it was absolutely perfect. I love it! I've never liked a single haircut I've gotten. She took off a LOT of hair, but it wasn't nearly as traumatic as the one I got 18 months ago. At that time, they told me they were cutting 4 inches off, and when they were done, it was 12 inches shorter than when they started. I cried for a month. The style they did today didn't suit my personality, sadly. Everyone else liked it -- but maybe they thought it was absolutely awful and felt obligated to tell me how much they "liked" it to make me feel good about it.

I forgot about my food service meeting. :-/ Sad . . .

I found out in Choir that I might actually get to go to Scandinavia in March! BUT -- that's only if I can manage to raise um . . . a thousand dollars. By . . . Friday. Hm . . .

And then Creative Writing. We had to write a description of eyes during our last class. I hated my description. I thought it was pathetic and I hoped that no one would ever see it other than me and Dr. Wilson. No one else SAW it. But they heard about it. Dr. Wilson handed back our quizzes first (I got 100%! Yay!) and then she said, "I'm going to hand back the writing exercizes, but first, I'm going to read them to you and comment on them so you can learn from each other." I was like, "Oh my goodness . . . Maybe she'll think mine is so bad she'll skip it." She didn't say who had written them as she read them. She got to the fifth or sixth one and she said, "This one is perfect. Listen to this: 'a blue as intense as the blue of a morning glory.' Have you ever heard eyes described like that before? You can see it! It's very visual. You know EXACTLY what it looks like. It's simply perfect!" And it was mine. Whee! Creative Writing is a very, very emotional class for me. I walked out of the class today and I wanted to laugh and cry and scream at the same time. I've never, ever had anyone tell me that something I'd done was perfect. Not when they knew what they were talking about and had seen hundreds of people try to do the same thing. What made it more thrilling was that I was the only one that she said was perfect. She'd read something and she'd say "that's nice. That's nice. It's nice, but . . . too sentimental. Too sugary." Everyone got a comment. Everyone's work was "nice." But mine was . . . perfect. Eeee!

Nutrition was awful. I hate science.

So, I'm not quite as distressed as I was. I only wish I didn't have so much to do . . . :-/

Whee!
~MK

In which . . . I discover that I don't need them after all

We had a meeting last night for my commons job. We have a new receptionist this semester, so we all had to introduce ourselves and tell a little about ourselves at the beginning of the meeting. Of course, I had to make it a little interesting. This is what I said:

"Hello. I am Mari Jo J. but you can call me M.J. -- kinda like J. Lo. I hail from the lovely city of Fargo in the beautiful state of ND. I'm a junior majoring in . . . I'm not sure exactly what right now, but possibly double-majoring in psychology and creative writing. And my favorite color is purple."

Michael and Nick (my bosses) both laughed and Nick said, "Wow Mari Jo -- you sounded like you were a contestant in a Miss America pageant!" We had a grand time at the meeting and I was so happy and bubbly when I left.

It's sad how talking to one "Christian" girl can change it all. I went to my Campus Crusade for Christ meeting last night. There was a girl who lived in my dorm my freshman year and was best buds with my RA who was also a "Christian" girl who absolutely hated me and made it very clear to everyone that she did. The girl was a nice girl before she got to know my RA but my RA poisoned her and now she is one of the most horrible people I know. This girl transferred to another school last semester and my RA had graduated so last semester was awesome. (Even though I broke my foot and had many other unfortunate things happen to me.)

But then she transferred back here. Last night was the first time I had talked to her since last Spring, and she made fun of everything I said. It's sad how one "Christian" girl can change it all . . . I had talked to her during the ice breaker thing and then they did some music and during the second song I started to cry and I wanted nothing more than to leave and never go back to Cru. It would have been very obvious had I just walked away so I stayed but I left as soon as I could after Cru was over.

I walked back to my room, tears pouring down my cheeks. Why do people have to be so mean? Why did my RA have to hate me so much? Why are Christians so hypocritical? This girl has gone on mission trips to tell others about Christ's love, but she ridicules and belittles the ones that she is around every day. I don't understand! I got back to my room and I called Nikki K. Nikki K. and Lisa told me that I should go with them to Perkins for pie and we would sit by ourselves away from all the others if that was what I wanted. We went out to my car and Nikki K. and Lisa took my ice scrapers and scraped my windows for me while I protested and told them that I could do it and they didn't have to. They said, "But we want to! We like to do it!" We had a grand time at Perkins and I actually talked to Andy, our basketball boy, which was cool. They're playing NDSU tonight in Fargo. Timmy told me that he wanted to go and cheer Andy and Jeremy and Matt on, but he probably won't get to cuz he's still little and he can't go to college basketball games all by himself yet. (Timmy said that if he goes to the game, he's going to find Andy and tell him that he should ask me out on a date. Silly boy . . . Why does everyone think I need a boyfriend???)

Nikki K. and Lisa are the only people I've ever known that I felt that I could call, in tears, and ask them to cheer me up. It's really cool. After finding them, I don't need the others anymore. As of today, I'm officially done with the Plastics of SMSU. (See the movie "Mean Girls" if you're not sure what Plastics are.) It's a great feeling. It's been nice knowing them, but "I have better people to do than you" (to quote KB). Whee!

~MK

In which I am forgetful

No wait -- I'm not forgetful in this one (at least I hope I'm not) -- I was forgetful in the last entry. Hence, this post.

We had an ice storm. It was a very interesting storm. We had no classes after 12:30 on Friday. I was fearful toward evening that we were going to lose our electricity because my lights kept flickering. I was going to take Nikki and Jaclyn out to do stuff after my 1:30, but then classes were canceled and someone told me that the cars were covered in ice. I didn't want to go anywhere because it was trecherous out there. I didn't go anywhere on Saturday either, but I knew that there was ice on my car, so on Saturday night I decided that I should go out and scrape the ice off so that I would be able to make it to church on Sunday. This notion occurred to me at 10:30 p.m. so I ran out there, thinking I'd probably take 10-15 minutes to get that done. No such luck. The ice was a half inch thick, and even though I had my defroster on the entire time, it still took me 15 minutes before any of it came off and a total of 45 minutes to get the windows done. We were only 10 minutes late for church yesterday. (That was on account of the lousy groundskeeper people who didn't bother to clear the sidewalk or put deicer stuff on the sidewalk from the dorms to Rape Lot. We had to be very careful so we didn't kill ourselves.) And shucks -- I noticed on Sunday morning that the metal blade on my ice scraper got bent, too.

Dr. Wilson is learning me how to write. She told me today that she was going to convince me to add a Creative Writing major to my Psychology major. I told her that I would enjoy being convinced. I didn't mention that if anyone wants to convince me of something, they have to be very pursuasive, very challenge-oriented, and very creative. She has it in her to succeed in that endeavor.

One last interesting anecdote: The most interesting thing at the game last night was when the guys kept touching each others' derrieres. (Is that how you pluralize derriere?) It was very interesting. I don't think I could handle being a basketball person because every time someone tried to touch that delicate part of my anatomy, I'd stop and say "I know my derriere is tantalizing, but you don't have to touch it!" Meanwhile, the other team would get the ball and we'd lose. It would be sad. And that is why I could never be a basketball player. I think, too, that the reason my parents never let my brothers and myself attend sporting events was because they didn't want us exposed to that kind of behavior. It's quite interesting -- when I attend games, first I laugh and then I think to myself, "why?" What purpose does it serve to touch someone else's posterior?

And then there's the ones who stand there during the Time Out and rub another teammate's lumbar region like he's in pain. That was disturbing . . .

~MK

In which I fail to mesmerize the men's basketball team and attend a tragic funeral

Whee! You know, there's just something about basketball. I mean, I mean, aside from all the stuff I don't get. Like, the buzzer goes off and interrupts the pep band. It's so sad cuz the pep band is really funny cuz half of it plays off-key -- and they play Beach Boys songs. (Note: Lisa wasn't one of the half that played off-key.)

So, I've decided that the reason that the home team always loses when I go to games is because they are mesmerized by my beauty. Then I thought about it and decided that can't be true because if that was the case, then both teams would have to lose. Nikki K. says that the other team just deals with it, because they know full-well that they don't have a chance with me anyway, and they concentrate on the game rather than on me.

It was sad today. I went to a lot of trouble to make myself mesmerizing. I even wore makeup. But we won anyway. How sad! (Lol -- I'm kidding!) It was tons of fun. I kept telling Nikki K. things about muscles. Like, "See #32? He's got a nice sternocleidomastoid!" I had to explain what a sternocleidomastoid is and she was telling Shannon D (#2 -- I know three Shannon D's) about it, but she called it a sternomastoidclavicus.

When the other team stole the ball, I said, "You're not supposed to do that! Meanyhead." Nikki K. was so impressed with my "trash-talk."

Cool quotes: "I want a duck on my head!" ~Nikki K.
"Don't ask me to explain, there will be pain if you don't go and get that duck!" ~Me (singing -- from VeggieTales)
"Don't ask me to explain, there will be pain if you don't lose this game!" ~Me (my version of the aforementioned song)

Andy, Jeremy and Matt are so modest . . . they wear t-shirts under their jerseys so we can't see their deltoids. It's so sad . . . Aw, well. It's cool that they care enough about the thoughts running through the ladies' minds that they'll do that. :-) (I'm pretty sure that's why they do it -- it's not like they have an opportunity to get cold . . . )

The coaches looked very distressed. One started to yell at a player, and I said, "Nikki K., I wonder if coaches die young of heart attacks. They seem very distressed all the time . . . " It's very sad. They should learn some anger management skills . . .

Lisa was playing in pep band and when it was over, she and Nikki K. and I were walking back to their dorm. Lisa was playing all the songs that Dave hates -- you know, Taps and . . . that other one. It so happened that Lisa and Nikki K's goldfish, Tot, had passed away suddenly and very unexpectedly. We were much saddened by this turn of events, and Lisa and Nikki K. decided to have a funeral (aka a fish-flushing party) for poor Tot. Lisa was playing Taps in the tunnel (it was very echoey) and she decided to play Taps at poor Tot's funeral. It was so sad. I laughed until I cried. I can't begin to describe it to you -- it was one of those things that you would have had to witness to get the full impact.

{Sigh} They weren't mesmerized . . .
~MK

In which I have an issue

I have an issue. My issue is Josh. I went to class on Wednesday and when my professor got to my name on her attendance sheet, she said, "Are you related to Josh?" Oh no! From what I hear, Josh is a genius. AHHHH! It turns out that Josh was in my professor's class at Mankato.

Apparently, Josh did very well in Prof Zarzana's class. Each student has to do a 5 minute presentation on the author of the day, one student per class period. I asked if I could do the one next Friday. Prof Zarzana was talking to me after class and she said, "I'm so glad you're going to be one of the first people. I know you'll set a very high standard for all the others."

I hope she's right, and I certainly am going to try very hard. Maybe having to live up to Josh's reputation might help my GPA a little. That and the fact that my classes are ones that I find interesting.

~MK

In which we discuss "Hero"

Once upon a time, I was going to Pizza Hut with David. I don't know when it was and I don't remember anything about this trip except that we were listening to Superchic[k] and he was talking to me. Suddenly, the song "Hero" started to play. I had heard the song before, but I had never really listened to it before. Halfway through the song I noticed what the words were saying and I turned my attention to the song, completely amazed by its message. When the song was done, I was sitting there, silent, spellbound, pondering the meaning of the song. Finally, Dave said, "Mari Jo, are you listening to me?" Startled, I pulled my attention back to what had been going on and replied, "I'm sorry. Dave, that song is amazing!"

Hero
No one sits with him, he doesn’t fit in
But we feel like we do when we make fun of him
Cause you want to belong do you go along
Cause his pain is the price paid for you to belong
It’s not like we hate him or want him to die
But maybe he goes home and thinks suicide
Or he comes back to school with a gun at his side
And a kindness from you might have saved his life

(Chorus)
Heroes are made when you make a choice
You could be a hero
Heroes do what’s right
You could be a hero
You might save a life
You could be a hero, You could join the fight
For what’s right for what’s right for what’s right

No one talks to her, she feels so alone
She’s in too much pain to survive on her own
The hurt she can’t handle overflows to a knife
She writes on her arm, wants to give up her life
Each day she goes on is a day that she is brave,
Fighting the lie that giving up is the way,
Each moment of courage her own life she saves
When she throws out the pills a hero is made

[Chorus]

No one talks to him about how he lives
He thinks that the choices he makes are just his
Doesn’t know he’s a leader with the way he behaves
And others will follow the choices he’s made
He lives on the edge, he’s old enough to decide
His brother who wants to be him is just nine
He can do what he wants because it’s his right
The choices he makes change a nine year old’s life

[Chorus]

Little Mikey D was in the one class
Who everyday got brutally harassed
This went on for years
Until he decided that never again
Would he shed another tear
So he walked through the door
Grabbed the 4-4 out of his father's dresser drawer
And said I can't take life no more
And like that life can be lost
But this ain't even about that
All of us just sat back
And watch it happen
Thinkin' it's not our responsibility
To solve a problem that isn’t even about me
This is our problem
This is just one of the daily scenarios
Which we choose to close our eyes
Instead of doing the right thing
If we make a choice
And be the voice
For those who won't speak up for themselves
How may lives would be saved, changed, and rearranged
Now it's our time to pick a side
So don't keep walking by
Don't wanna intervene
Cause you just wanna exist and never be seen
So let's wake up
Change the world
Our time is now

[Chorus]

This song became one of my favorites. One may read those words and think "how depressing!" I have to agree -- it is depressing. But it's so true! I have gone through some pretty rotten things in my life. I was belittled and ridiculed a lot when I was growing up. I thought that going somewhere else would make it better. But it didn't. It only got worse. People at school found out that people at home didn't want me and they treated me even worse. It's almost as if they believe that if you didn't have a perfect life growing up, then you don't deserve to have a life at all once you get away from your imperfect past. It's so sad. And it really never goes away. The song Hero is one that everyone should ponder. One may think that his or her words or actions won't make such a big impact on someone. There's a verse in Proverbs that says "Words kill, words give life; they're either poison or fruit - you choose" (Prov. 18:21, The Message translation). Words make a huge impact on the people who hear them. The tongue literally holds the power of death and life.

Not only is a person's life impacted by what others say, but it is also impacted by how other's behave. Maybe you don't like someone -- but did you ever stop to think about how the way you treat that person makes them feel? They feel alone. They feel empty. They feel defective. They begin to think that since everyone treats them horribly, it must mean that they aren't worthy of life. How do I know this? I've been there. My first couple of years in college were rough. If just one person had come to me and said, "You ARE special. You ARE cool. You ARE worthy enough to go on living" it would have been so much better. But no one did. It hurts so much. You want to die every day.

I wrote this to my grandmother earlier this Summer:
Knowing that you aren't important is indescribably painful and leaves you feeling empty beyond words. I think I understand the ghetto and why they exist. Destructive behaviors begin as a result of rejection. In an effort to numb the pain and fill the emptiness, the poor souls turn to drugs, alcohol and violence. Drugs and alcohol only leave them more empty, in more pain, and more alone. Violence ultimately leads to more empty, hurting people when the lives of loved ones are taken. They go to bed with strangers, thinking that by doing so, the pain and emptiness will go away. But they only create more emptiness and more pain -- in their own lives and in the lives of the children that they didn't want in the first place. They begin to abuse themselves -- either over-eating or starving themselves. They eat to comfort themselves. They starve themselves thinking that if they're small, they'll be accepted. When it doesn't work, they begin to think that everything is completely out of control, and it's never going to get better. They have nothing to lose. They're completely incapable of feeling anything but emotional pain and emptiness. They become frantic in their need to feel. They cut themselves. They put themselves in physically painful situations. It hurts -- but at last they can feel. Even that ends up being empty for them. They come to a point where they look at where they are, why they're there, and what could be done to control the situation. It ends in their death. They see how they've failed at everything they've tried, and they don't see the point of going on. They make a plan. Overdose . . . Hanging . . . Shooting . . . Cutting their wrists . . . In the end, they die. They are just as empty as they ever were.

It's something I wish I didn't understand. But perhaps because I DO understand, I can help those who hurt. Those who have been rejected. Those who have been scorned and ridiculed. Maybe I can make someone else's life better and easier and worth living.

Won't you join me in being a hero?
~MK

In which I ramble

Wait, I ramble all the time, don't I?

Tonight we didn't have Cru, so I suggested to Nikki K and Lisa that we should call Nate and ask him if he'd play for us and then get people together and do a Praise and Worship thing. We did and it turned out SO awesome! God is so good! AND, Matthew B. told me that I should volunteer for our Praise Band because I "have a GREAT voice." That was pretty cool to hear, because sometimes I feel so rotten about myself and my abilities. (AND I am completely exhausted and my voice was and is almost gone, that's a pretty cool thing to hear.) I'm not going to volunteer though. I have three reasons.
~I don't want to force myself into it because I believe that God blesses our efforts more when HE puts us in those kinds of things than when we just take over and say "This is what I want and you should let me do it."
~I know next to nothing about music and would completely hinder the work of the Praise Band while I was learning the ropes and figuring out how it's done.
~They probably don't need and/or want me anyway.
It was completely fun tonight though. I couldn't be there right away when it started and it was half-hearted. It was more like a murmer than a joyful noise. It was so sad! When I showed up and started singing, everyone else got a little more bold and sang much more freely and it turned out SO beautiful! :-) Whee! Yay for us! I didn't think anyone would come, but there were 14 people there by the time it was done! :-) :-)

I've become little Miss Popular in the past few days. Having a landline and a cell is going to cause my demise, I think. The past two nights, I've been on the phone constantly. I was on one line with someone and then the other phone would ring. I'd hang up to talk to the other person, and then the other phone would ring. Finally, I just left my room and locked the phones in it. Goodness -- I had all four of my brothers attempting to call me at the same time on Sunday. Tonight Tim called me just as I was walking out the door -- on two separate occasions. When I came back he called me again, and then my landline rang and then my cell phone and then the landline again. It's crazy!

Classes this semester:
Short Story (Lit is growing on me)
Speech (shouldn't be too traumatizing)
Choir (like, totally fun!)
Creative writing (See above, but with much more enthusiasm)
Nutrition (EW! Science!)
Freshman Seminar in Psychology (Eee!)

I start tomorrow and I only have my Freshman Seminar tomorrow, so it's cool. :-)

Beddy-bye time. My friends tell me I'm a hero after last night. If that's the case, I'd rather not be a hero very often. Heros don't get much sleep.
~MK

In which we discover all the adventures that occur at 2:00 in the morning

I was just drifting off to sleep when my phone rang at 1:06 this morning. One o'clock in the morning is a very magical time when you have been in bed for only 10 minutes and the only reason you were in bed is because your eyes wouldn't stay open one more minute. I was very confused. I thought perhaps someone had died or something. No one calls me at 1:00 in the morning . . .

Until last night.

I had been pondering the notion of dropping my friends because most of them don't have any idea what friendship means. I was going to drop them all because if you want to be friends with any of them, you have to be friends with all of them. It's much easier to drop them all than to have to be friends with the ones who just want you around so you can do things for them. Take them places. Be the person who makes the group an even number so they can break up into teams. They don't want you for you. They want you for what you can do for them. It's very very difficult to be friends with these people.

I woke to the sound of my phone ringing. Half awake, I jumped out of bed, grabbed the phone and when I said "hello" no one said anything. I put the phone back and crawled back into bed. Two seconds later, the phone rang again, and when I answered, I heard Jaclyn's distressed voice saying, "I'm sorry for calling so late but you are the only person I could think of who would know what to do." More confused than ever, I replied, "Jaclyn, hon, what's wrong?" Jaclyn had gotten a piercing on her upper ear a week earlier. She had bumped it and it had started to bleed. She said that it had been gushing for 10 minutes and it wasn't letting up. I told her I'd be right over. I put my clothes back on, grabbed my keys and jacket and ran up the flight to Jaclyn's room.

I found Jaclyn nearly hysterical with blood dripping from her ear. I asked her if she had a towel or washcloth and I went to get cold water. We put the cold cloth on it, which did absolutely nothing. Then I ran around trying to find someone who had an ice pack. The ice pack didn't help either. Off to the emergency room . . .

I waited for about an hour before the nurse came and told me that Jaclyn wanted me to come back. They had taken the ear ring out and it had almost stopped bleeding, but the area was very swollen. The nurse asked me if it had been swollen before, and it hadn't been. (I had looked at it on Saturday when we were on our way back to school.) I think it was swollen because it was irritated, not because it was infected. It was just so sad! Jaclyn's vitals weren't so good. Her blood pressure was extremely high and heart rate was over 100. When the doctor and nurse left, I told Jaclyn that her blood pressure and heart rate were way too high and that she needed to calm down a little. I said, "Take slow, deep breaths. Pretend like you're having a baby." Jaclyn laughed and said, "If I was having a baby, I'd really panic!" The doctor came back and told Jaclyn that they were going to put a pressure bandage on her ear and he explained that the only way to do it was to put a bandage on the ear and then wrap an elastic bandage around her head. Jaclyn became very distressed again and said, "How long do I have to wear that?" The doctor and I both assured her it would only be for a few hours, until it stopped bleeding completely. He also told us that the reason it had bled so much was because the piercing had probably gone through a major vessel or artery (not a major one like the jugular or corotid, but a larger one in the ear) and the ear ring was keeping it from clotting. They checked Jaclyn's vitals again before we left and they were back to normal. When she stood up, she looked like she was going to faint, but we managed to get her to my car and then from my car to her room without any problems. No one had any ice packs, so we improvised and got a bag and put snow in it. Then I came back to my room and went to bed.

Forty-five minutes later, Jaclyn knocked on my door and asked for Tylenol. Uh-oh! I forgotted!!! But it was ok. I gave her my bottle of Tylenol and then went back to bed.

We had to go back to the doctor this afternoon and he told her that it looked fine and removed the other ear ring she has.

Now, my question is, how can I just drop all my friends when they keep breaking themselves? I can't. I have to fix them because if I don't, then no one will, and that would be sad.

~MK
P.S. Never Been Kissed is the bestest movie. Everyone should see it.

In which Erin and I rock -- and other random thoughts

Whee! Erin and I rock. We had someone order a cake for last Sunday and then they decided that they didn't want the cake after all. It was already decorated by the time they told us that, so I took the writing off and tried to fix the spots where the neon pink writing had bled into the icing and then Erin air brushed the blue area that had had writing on it. It turned out splendidly. Yay! Erin and I rock! Yay for doorbots!

The orange ate buns with pizza and pineapple.

Are y'all familiar with old-school Pooh stories? I mean, like before Disney got it's greedy little fingers into it? The original Pooh stories were written in chapter form and compiled in two (maybe more -- I've only seen two) volumes of delightful stories. In these books, the titles of the chapters begin with "In which . . . " For example, "In which Eeyore has a birthday and gets two presents." That is the inspiration for my titles.

I'm back at school now . . . It's so sad. That means that I have to figure out what classes to take. And Sarah is here again this semester. That's kinda sad. She's too good to be friends with someone as scummy as me. I absolutely LOVE her attitude. Or not.

On a more positive note (only because it's sadly funny), I made Jaclyn late for her editor meeting because I FORGOT MY DORM KEYS AT HOME!! I realized it when we were 10 miles from home so we went back for them. Jaclyn was 20 minutes late for her meeting. :-(

On a way more positive note, I got spiffy gloves at Kohl's today. I have a dark purple coat, and I wanted to get some gloves to wear with it. I got black leather gloves with trim and stitching that is the exact same shade as my coat!

Time to unpack and clean up my room.
~MK

In which we discover how much difference 24 hours can make

Last night, I was convinced that I was absolutely ugly. That it was hopeless. That no one could like me. That I would forever be alone because I'm not "regulation hottie" (as Janis on "Mean Girls" described it) so the world of Plastics (also from "Mean Girls") could never accept me. To be good enough for Plastics (aka Mean Girls), you have to be drop-dead gorgeous. You have to be hopelessly attached to your lip gloss and your weight loss aids. The world is full of Plastics. Everywhere you turn, you meet a Plastic. They take on different forms, and some of them aren't as bad as others. But in the end, every girl has a Code. And always, ALWAYS, they exclude SOMEONE.

I'm not Plastic material. I realize that like me, everyone else has feelings. Everyone else is sensitive to something. Everyone has their quirks -- but that's what makes the world a beautiful place. Like the dcTalk song says, the beauty of a bouquet of flowers is the different colors. The world would be very dull if everyone was the same.

In the end, what you look like and how pretty you are doesn't matter. It's how you treat others. It's about how you influenced those around you. It's about whether or not you treat those around you with dignity and respect.

Deep down inside, everyone wants to be wanted. I realize all those things I said above, but way down deep inside, I want to be wanted. And I realize that for the average American, the average Plastic, it doesn't matter what kind of person you are. It only matters what you look like. And on the contrary, for the Plastics, the more horribly you treat those around you, the better. Those two factors are my undoing.

Or so I thought.

I had a day off for a change. I woke up this morning and I threw off my Customer Service mentality along with my uniform, my cutsey little nametag and hairnet and my awful updo. I dressed like a normal, every day girl. I put on my makeup -- after my third try (not so good at that -- I don't do it too often) I got to the point where I felt like maybe I might be pretty enough for the average Plastic to treat me with at least a LITTLE dignity. I went about my day like a normal person would. And guess what -- it wasn't too bad. Yay!

I went to work to talk to Sylvie, and Blaine and Gregory kept telling me how beautiful I was and how cute and sweet I am, and they reminded me that even though my parents don't care, I have tons of other people who DO care. I received "Beauty tips from Gregory" -- which was rather strange for me -- and he and Blaine asked me if I liked Petra and Jars of Clay. (My bakers are on the up-and-up with Christian music? That's scary! Apparently, Greg used to listen to Petra and Blaine listened to Jars of Clay at one time.) After that, I went shopping. My mother wanted to go to VW Hornbacher's. That is something I will never, ever understand. VW is EVIL. (I can say that -- I worked there for about a month and it was the worst 4 week period of my entire life.) What made it even stranger today was that when we were in the check out line, the bagger dude was totally checking me out. I know this because we were the only people in the line and our stuff had already been bagged, but he walked over and stood there looking at me. I played it cool and just walked away like any Plastic would (Bad, bad me!), pretending like I never noticed. It was freakish -- but kinda cool too. Maybe it was just one of those things. I felt so ugly yesterday, and I wasn't too convinced when Blaine and Gregory were talking to me, because they seem to hit on EVERY girl they see. (I must admit that their noticing my makeup was unusual though.) I think the bagger dude was there to show that maybe, just maybe, you don't have to be Plastic to be considered pretty or worthy. Maybe . . .
~MK

In which we explore the attractiveness factor

Black and white. White and black. After 6 days of the black and white uniform I have to wear, it gets depressing. Hair up -- for SIX DAYS. Or maybe only 5 -- I don't remember. Updos are not particularly becoming to me. White makes me look like I'm about to die. I was convinced that I was horrendously ugly last night. (Thanks to Timmy taking a picture of me in my unniform.)

I have a day off for a change! I can try to be pretty today!

And I learned something. My issues with my uniform ARE fixable. First, ditch the uniform for something more becoming. Jeans and a sweater. MUCH BETTER! Then throw out the updo. Gel with a zig-zag part and a barrette on each side. I'm liking this . . . Then fix the ashen complexion with a little makeup, some mascara and lipstick and we're ready to go! Yay! Maybe I'm not ugly after all! :-)
~MK

Creases

At church, Dave was showing off his dress blues to Pastor Kent. He said, "Look! I even have creases!" Pastor Kent said, "It makes me feel really good as an American citizen to know that you're walking around in creases . . . You'd meet up with someone and say, 'I'd shoot you, but you might shoot me back and I might stain my creases . . . '"