Hiding in the candle isle.

So every Christmas I have to go shopping with both of my parents to help them shop for one another. This seems to forever leave me in the worst positions, including but not limited to:

• Being stuck in an isle full of cranky people trying to pick what color jacket to buy someone while none of us can actually reach said jacket because there are to many people are trying to reach it.
• In the most crowded shampoo isle I have ever seen in my life. Who needs shampoo for Christmas and why is all of the White Rain hairspray my grandmother uses gone?
• In that really crowded isle with all of the junk bath time gifts you buy for people who you don't know that well but are obligated to buy a present for. (Or maybe you know someone who loves three dollar bath soap. Who am I to judge?)
• Hiding in the candle isle.

I wind up hiding in the candle isle because that is the last place most people go when they are Christmas shopping. This is both convenient and fun for me because it lets me smell all the candles, create random flower arrangements and hide from the hoards of Christmas crazy people.

So if you need somewhere to hide in Wall-mart before Christmas try the candle isle. (Unless I'm there first. I call dibs.)

Christmas Pageant

I will be the first to tell you that there is no bigger critic of my small church’s Christmas pageant than me. In my humble opinion our pageant is a necessary evil that is always scraped together at the very last moment in order to please parents and and grandparent while annoying me to death. (Of course, I have been known to be prone to dramatics.)

I do not enjoy the bath robes, the people who read their lines from the paper that they got for the first time ten minutes ago, or the fact that I myself can never seem to play my part correctly aside from my own practicing. I do not like the choir arrangements that are both cheep and have poor musical arrangements and I absolutely abhor the hand bells. (Because no one can play them. No. One.)

Aside from all of my personal objections I understand that this pageant is not about how well we go through the actions of how the birth of Christ was described in a historic and holy text. (Because believe you me, if it were about talent and presentation someone would surly come in and shut us down.) It’s a lot less about presentation and how cute the kids look and a whole lot more about how we are going to give thanks for another year that we have lived in our lives underneath the grace that is Jesus Christ.

Because even though it’s not really anywhere near when he was probably born it’s important and even endearing that we can keep up a tradition that is so obviously flawed and painful for all parties involved. It’s important, it’s memorable, and it’s another reason to be glad that Jesus was born for us, not so that we could run around covered in glitter during the worst play ever preformed ever, but so that we can take a moment out of the church year where we don’t have to feel guilty, sad, or repressed and be glad that something has been done for us. We have been given freely a gift of redemption.

Sideways Christmas Trees.

My family's Christmas tree is leaning. This is normally not a problem. as I like to pretend it means we're the type of artsy people who find such a thing abstract and exhilarating. Even though we are nothing like that it's still nice to pretend.

There was no real issue until the tree fell onto mom the other day. She was nowhere near as amused as me. Part of the problem was that she was under it when it fell. She had been rearranging presents with ought the thought that they might possibly be what was holding up the thought that they might be what was keeping the tree in an upright position.

It's back upright now, but the damage has been done. So, you know, I think we might get a new tree.

The storm of the century is coming.

My part of the county is in the pink on the weather map. Pink has been saved to represent the scary part of the snow storm that is coming to eat me. The largest part of the storm is still in middle Tennessee and headed my way.

The news is doing nothing to pacify me from my fear of dying of boredom while being snowed into my house in the middle of nowhere. The anchorman told me to make sure that I have a "snow kit." I'm not sure if this is a kit made of snow, or perhaps a collection of things to help me survive a snow storm. I'm not entirely sure what such a kit should be composed of but unless said kit includes salsa I want nothing to do with it.

Parking Meters

So I already posted my photographs from First Friday but while I was there with three of my best friends I realized that I had gotten used to the idea of the parking meter. I was leading everyone down the sidewalk towards the old city when Ashley stopped the group to admire a parking meeter. She was really excited about it. Ashley was all "This is a parking meter!" and I was all "Correct!" Then I realized that this time two years ago I was really excited to see them too.

I would see a parking meter and become overly excited. Obviously this was a good parking place, you had to pay for it. PLUS the idea of the meter itself was so cool. To think that they had made something like that just in order to take change in order for you to park there. It was an incredible amount of awesome.

Now I see parking meters for the thinly veiled evil that they truly are. They just seem awesome if you've never seen one before, but they really exist to make your life difficult when the garage is down. The great thing about Knoxville is that on nights and weekends the parking garages are free, so when you can't park in one of them it's extra sucky to have to pay a meter.

This is what happens when I try to study.

This is what happens when I try to study with my computer.

On the survival of mankind.

It has recently come to my attention that the survival of all humans lies in the hands of girls who wear shorts in the wintertime and hipsters who want to be Davy Crockett.

I have had a revelation. The girls who wear shorts in 28 degree weather and manage not to look cold are actually going to save humanity. But this will only happen if they mate with hipsters that like to farm.

Now, I know that none of that made any sense, so let me elaborate. The girls in shorts are obviously a new species of human. They are able to withstand lower temperatures with minimal clothing. This will come in handy during the next ice age when humans have little time to make clothing and have no means of electricity to keep themselves warm.

I have also noted that several males walk around in the same weather as the girls with no coat in short sleeves and shorts. They, however, look cold. They must be inferior. Because of this I have started categorizing those who wear shorts into “specimen” and “non acceptable specimen” categories. Those who do not flinch and have obviously not been working out will be quality breeding stock.

For breeding partners I have chosen the farming hipster. My roommate informs me that these are people who can not only farm, but also find themselves quite at home with no electricity and a v-neck shirt. (I myself can grow things but fear a lack of electrical energy, making myself a “non acceptable specimen.”) These specimen's dedication to growing food for survival and not depending on 'the man' for their energy needs will make them a useful people during the next ice age.

Should the two specimens successfully create a hybrid we will be able to save humanity from the next ice age. The resulting human will be able to sustain cold temperatures in minimal clothing while growing all of it's own food and producing it's on energy. We're going to be ok guys, we're going to be ok.

I don't understand. I really don't.

First Friday!

Yesterday I went downtown and did my normal first Friday thing, but this time I had a camera, recorder and a cause.

Conversations with my bladder.

Just to set the scene for you imagine me in my bed in my dorm room as herds of what I can only describe as water buffalo wearing high heeled shoes run up and down the hall at 2:30 am because it's ladies night and that's when the water buffalo put on their heels and go dance. (It only makes sense.)

So here I lay and all of a sudden my bladder interrupts my frustrations toward the water buffalo.

Bladder: Hey! Can we go to the bathroom?

Me: No, there are watter buffalo outside wearing heels and I"m afraid that if I go out there I'll kill them.

Bladder: That's a fair thought, but we're still going. Nice try though.

Me: No, I'm serious, we are not going.

Bladder: How attached are you to this bedding and your sense of dignity?

Me: Fine, but if I kill the water buffalo it's your fault.

Sleep

Sleep, I need to sleep.

Why dose it sound like their is a chainsaw upstairs? Is there a spy coming to kill me? Is that not unfortunate after I spent all this time studying for that test?

For real, ninja spies, get your priories straight.