from the vault: my new way of expressing frustration, or "life goals"

I wrote this on Facebook almost exactly a year ago (3-15-08) and got a huge kick out of re-reading it just now. Thought I'd give it new life here on my blog. Enjoy.



I've come to the conclusion that most of the awkwardness I experience is self-induced.

That is why I am not returning to ORU after spring break. Instead, I've decided to become a nun.

I'm pretty much cut out for a life of habit-wearing, chastity, and praying the rosary at 5 am...hopefully I'll wind up in an order that allows undercover lounge singers who perform Motown songs during mass.

That would be wicked sweet.

Unfortunately, I'm not Catholic--nor do I care to become one (no offense to my Catholic friends). Also, as much as I really wanna run away and not live under the expectations of having a career and/or a family after having nearly earned a bachelor's degree, I'm pretty sure I could never be a nun.


So instead...I think I'll aspire to becoming a crazy sweatsuit-wearing cat lady who drives a station wagon, has 20 cats, and wants all her groceries double-bagged. In paper. And I'll write nutty poems on those paper bags and stow them away under my tube socks and rain bonnets, and someday I'll be hailed as a modern-day Emily Dickinson.

Also, most of my poetry will be dedicated to my cats. It's not like I'll have anything else to write about.

priceless

A friend of mine received this in an e-mail and posted it as a note on Facebook. It's just too crazy not to pass along. I found it a bit too ironic after we talked about credit card bill collectors last night in our Financial Peace University class at church...

This is so priceless, and so, so easy to see happening, customer service being what it is today.

A lady died this past January, and Citibank billed her for February and March for their annual service charges on her credit card, and added late fees and interest on the monthly charge. The balance had been $0.00 when she died, but now somewhere around $60.00. A family member placed a call to Citibank.

Here is the exchange :

Family Member: 'I am calling to tell you she died back in January.'

Citibank : 'The account was never closed and the late fees and charges still apply.'

Family Member : 'Maybe, you should turn it over to collections.'

Citibank : 'Since it is two months past due, it already has been.'

Family Member : So, what will they do when they find out she is dead?'

Citibank : 'Either report her account to frauds division or report her to the credit bureau, maybe both!'

Family Member : 'Do you think God will be mad at her?'

Citibank:
'Excuse me?'

Family Member : 'Did you just get what I was telling you - the part about her being dead?'

Citibank : 'Sir, you'll have to speak to my supervisor.'


Supervisor gets on the phone :

Family Member : 'I'm calling to tell you, she died back in January with a $0 balance.'

Citibank : 'The account was never closed and late fees and charges still apply.'

Family Member : 'You mean you want to collect from her estate?'

Citibank : (Stammer) 'Are you her lawyer?'

Family Member : 'No, I'm her great nephew.' (Lawyer info was given)

Citibank: 'Could you fax us a certificate of death?'

Family Member : 'Sure.' (Fax number was given )


After they get the fax :

Citibank : 'Our system just isn't setup for death.. I don't know what more I can do to help.'

Family Member : 'Well, if you figure it out, great! If not, you could just keep billing her. She won't care.'

Citibank: 'Well, the late fees and charges will still apply.'

(What is wrong with these people?!?)

Family Member : 'Would you like her new billing address?'

Citibank : 'That might help...'

Family Member : 'Odessa Memorial Cemetery, Highway 129, Plot Number 69.'

Citibank : 'Sir, that's a cemetery!'

Family Member : 'And what do you do with dead people on your planet???'



(Priceless!!)
You wonder why Citi is going broke and need the feds to bail them out!!

scrappy

At long last, I have dusted off my blog again. Yes, it's been a whole six months since I've contributed anything of substance--scratch that--anything at all. I'm a little further off the mark than I thought I'd be right now, having finished school three months ago. A couple dozen job applications and one job interview later, I'm still living at home but building up my financial independence one paycheck at a time. I returned to my "first real job," running a cash register at a grocery store, still only part time.

As you can tell, lately I've fallen into the habit of measuring my success in time and numbers. It's easy to do when I'm waiting for something and I don't know what it is. With every day that passes without a single response to the scores of applications I've sent out, I get a little more restless. It seems funny to me that I'm not making enough money right now for Obama to deduct federal tax from my paycheck. Like he's doing me a favor. Like that's any consolation for the fact that I have a college degree and very little to show for it. Like I need a handout from the "rich."

Is this what being an adult is all about? Scrounging away every dollar I can squeeze out of my paycheck? Succumbing to the welfare state or fighting to rise above it?

An hour or so ago I was chatting on Facebook with an old classmate. We've known each other since preschool or kindergarten and truly brought out the worst in each other at times. But like most kids are prone to do, we've grown up a bit. He's learned some kindness and respect and I've learned to keep my chin up and keep a tighter rein on my tear ducts. Now we can talk to each other like civilized adults, something I would never have foreseen back in high school.

Anyway, in the midst of encouraging one another in our individual pursuits, this person said something that astounded me:

"You've always seemed scrappy. I'm sure you'll kick some a** once you get your foot in."

This is high praise coming from someone who used to tease me until I was in tears. Life really does come full circle.

So I guess maybe I'm scrappy enough to make something of myself, even if it means I'll be counting back change and stocking shelves for a little while...it's just a season and a time to discover why I'm here...

Step outside

My blogging habit (or lack thereof) needs some serious work. This is basically a guilt post, because I really have nothing specific to blog about today.

My semester has been off and running for a few weeks now. By mid-September the time doesn't feel as though it's flying by or dragging along...just kinda strolling, taking in the scenery. But a month into my last semester, I wish life would slow down. Half the time I'm trying to wake myself up, and the other half I'm trying to stay on top of everything...homework (mostly Strat-related), meetings (again, mostly Strat-related), Oracle and exercise...somewhere in there I manage to find time to eat and sleep. Oh yeah, and breathe.

All the while, I'm like, "God? Um, mercy?"

And my friends wonder if they should send out a search party.

Once things slow down...I'll be done. Sorry guys, outta here.

Bummer.

Yesterday I kinda zoned out (don't worry, it didn't last long) while I was walking to class and -- this will sound crazy but just play along -- I felt like someone else. I know that's really weird, but I don't know how else to describe it. My head felt like a balloon that escaped a child's grasp and slipped into the sky (which was clear blue and cloud free at the time, by the way). I started wondering, "What if the last 12 months have been nothing more than a really trippy dream? What if I wake up any minute and I'm laying in bed in Frances 107, smelling coffee brewing next door and hearing my neighbors arguing in the bathroom?"

Maybe I'm still asleep. But more than likely, I really did lose two friends and my cat -- who was "only" a cat but just as much of a friend. I walked the streets of a broken neighborhood, past little rooms full of hungry, angry, lonely humanity, clutching the grubby hand of a child who "nobody" wants. I survived the summer of "the flood," a ride in an old plane, a maze of gravel roads in a forgotten county. I caught glimpses of better days gone by in my grandma's clouded eyes...glimpses of better days to come as I wandered familiar streets with a brother I once thought I'd never see again.

I put my heart on the line and it got bruised, but certainly not trampled.

The way I see it, we've never really lived until we've stepped outside...whether "outside" is North Tulsa, another continent or the front step, it doesn't matter. Wherever you go, I hope you step outside yourself.

Baby steps

I don't have many words of wisdom this week, no startling insights or revelations. (Not that I usually do.) I've seen, done, said and heard things since I last posted that served as painful or reassuring reminders that I am still alive.

Splashing through a slip 'n slide and always landing where it hurts, sitting alone in my dorm room with tears in my eyes as another country song reminds me how torn I am, laughing so hard I can barely breathe as my friends hone their skills of song improvisation.

And I revel in the small accomplishments. Not losing my temper with, er, boisterous people. Going to bed well before 2 a.m. (my favorite bedtime, but not conducive to a schedule full of 8:50 classes). Doing laundry before I run out of clothes. Praying, in my own quiet way. Letting go. Letting God.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I am only one, but I am one. I cannot do everything, but I can do something. And I will not let what I cannot do interfere with what I can do. -Edward Everett Hale

Planes, trains and cardboard boxes

Geez, has it been two months already since the last time I updated? Well, pardon me, I've been working full-time all summer and had neither time nor inspiration enough to think of any reason to blog.

I'm back at school now; day two of the first day of my last semester is complete. Still with me? Good.

Oddly enough, I'm actually a bit excited about some of the classes I'm taking this fall. It's only day two though, so whether or not I come home bald at Christmas after ripping out all my hair in frustration remains to be seen. I'm working with a stellar team in Mass Comm Strat (which is pretty much the make-or-break senior communications class). The team selection process yesterday was extremely scary, I won't go into detail because it's hard to explain, but I think I handled the pressure of helping choose my team pretty well. I felt like I was on a reality show the whole time, though. Or in the middle of a human trafficking sting. We were paying with fake money to outbid each other and get the teammates we wanted. It was a bit disturbing. Seriously. I kept waiting for Donald Trump or somebody from "48 Hours" to walk in with a camera crew.

I'm also working with another small-but-mighty team in PR workshop to boost readership and community support for the University Oracle. I'm also taking Interviewing, Principles of Advertising and Volleyball.

And speaking of the Oracle, I've willingly been demoted from section editor to staff writer. It's not like I'll have a whole bunch of free time this fall, right?

After one or two brushes with awkwardness and some really ridiculous reunion scenes, I'm hanging out with my friends as much as possible before Strat consumes my life. They've reminded me just how much I miss being here, but is it silly of me to want to put down roots in Tulsa because of them? Because most of them are moving away after graduation and scattering to the four winds. And I'll kind of need to get a job and eventually move out of my parents' basement into something that is not a cardboard box. The nice thing about a cardboard box, though, is I can pick it up with surprising ease and carry it a remarkable distance. I could get some job that would allow me to work from anywhere in the world, but then I'd need a wireless connection and some way to charge my laptop battery. The cardboard box's electrical and wireless capabilities have not yet been perfected, I'm afraid. Also, it's terribly drafty and not at all weatherproof.

I could try strapping myself to a lawnchair propelled by helium-filled balloons, like that guy in Idaho or Oregon or wherever. Then again, a priest in Brazil tried the same thing and they found his body in the ocean several months later.

Too bad I can't be some rich jetsetter and fly somewhere different every weekend to spend time with all of them. Like I just wake up one morning and say, "I'm going to see Aandra in California." Bam. I'm there. Then I'll go see Rhema in action at her newspaper job in Colorado. After some hiking and taking pictures of mountains and whatever else is in Colorado, I'll fly back to Tulsa.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is why I need to marry a wealthy pilot.

Obama "rules"

I found this online and got a kick out of it...

Obama Rules
It is forbidden to distract people with the following Obama facts:
-His connection to Rev. Jeremiah Wright
-His connection to Tony Rezko
-His connection to William Ayers
-His connection to Rashid Khalidi
-His connection to Hatem El-Hady
-Hamas' endorsement of his candidacy
-His appeasement policy towards America's enemies
-His father's Communist ideology
-His childhood Muslim ideology
-His liberal ideology
-His Chicago background
-Bitter-gate
-His "sweetie" gaffe
-His "57 states" gaffe
-His middle name
-Anything his wife has said in a press conference
-Anything his wife has said at an Obama rally
-Anything he has said at a press conference
-Anything he has said at an Obama rally