Sunday, September 25, 2011

Great. Now I can't 'Go cry about it' until next year.

Past advice: Clean your room! That laundry isn’t going to do itself!
Present reality:  You obviously don’t have Kayla Eash as a roommate.
After folding my clothes, she made me breakfast for the second time.
The first time she made eggs. I hate eggs.
This weekend, my church decided to put up a sign on the lawn that said, “Free Pancakes!” for anyone that was both driving to the James Dean Festival and hungry. This sounded like a nice idea in theory, but I was skeptical of its practicality.
Pastor: And, anyone who stops can stay for the service if they want.
                I’m pretty sure they’re going to go to the fair and get an elephant ear instead…
Plus, very few people are going to stop at a church and eat their food, even if it is free, because they probably think the only goal is to convert them.           
            Church: Would you like some pancakes?
Hungry man: Sure!
Church: Would you like some Jesus?
Hungry man: I will just take the maple syrup for today… To go.

At lunch, I overheard two little girls talking with their family.
Little girls:  “Raise your hand if you don’t want to be adopted!”
That must have been the most democratic family I’ve ever seen.

I have a crying quota of once per year maximum. The last time I cried was January 2009 when I told coach I wasn’t going to run anymore (they were tears of joy). Before that, it was after the Holly Invitational in September of 2005. I thought I had a good streak going. Maybe I can go the rest of my life without crying ever again. That prospect crashed and failed this week.
                I signed up to take one of my last required classes: Public Relations Project. I ended up being the last one to sign up for case study presentations, meaning I had the first slot and no partner. I had to talk about “campaigns”, “critical evaluation”, and “strategery”, all terms with which I was only vaguely familiar. I went up after class to ask the new professor, Dr. YoungAh Lee, what the deal was.
                Audrey: Could you explain this assignment to me please?
                Dr. Lee: [explains]. Do you have any idea what you’d like to do it on?
                Audrey: ……………I……HUH!...oh no....HUH!......ERGH!..ha…ha…
                Then the tears came. I do mean tears plural, but only two. I’m an awkward crier because I do it so infrequently. Basically, I try to talk as I choke on air and attempt to suck liquid back into my tear ducts by sheer willpower (so far, I’m pretty successful).
                Dr. Lee: What’s wrong?!
                How should I know?! I'm not in touch with my emotions!
                Apparently, I’m overwhelmed. She kindly reminded me I’m crying over a 0-credit class.
                Later, she said she felt she knew me better because I cried to her. My plan is to now sob to every professor I have so we can bond and I can get As.
                I did my project on the Akron Zoo’s public relations campaign of 2002. I started the presentation with a yeti call, so I was golden.
                Everyone thought Akron Zoo was only for children, so they decided to rebrand it by using the phrase, “You’ve never been this close!” It’s like how McDonald’s wants you to think “healthy food fast” instead of “obesity on demand” when you hear its name, or IWU hoping that you think “an open and diverse campus” when really we still feel like “I’m trapped in a bubble with a plethora of Caucasians!”
Too close! He's about to eat my future child!

If Suite 203 were an event, it would be a middle school dance, because it is awkward, like the awkward moment when:
1)      Someone you just met waves at you and you try to greet them normally, but then end up saluting. And then they never wave at you again.
2)      You laugh during the prayer of a memorial service.
3)      Someone thinks that you’re picking your nose when you’re actually just clearing a path for Vicks Vapo Rub.
4)      Shawn Howse says, “I don’t understand why we just don’t take people who die in car crashes, cook them up, and eat them.”

Tuesday, September 13, 2011

The awkward moment when a twelve year old has his life figured out and you don't

I feel like I’ve been on an excruciatingly long vacation for nine months due to studying abroad. I could have gestated a baby in that time.  Instead of bringing a newborn to school, I showed off my cool scar I received over the summer. Here’s what went down:
I was treading in the ocean when a shark with its jaws barred hungrily swam toward me. I could tell this was a shark with an ego.
Audrey: Hey! I bet you can’t draw blood without biting me.
Shark: Wanna bet?
And he smugly dragged his snaggle tooth against my leg.
And then I ran into a dishwasher.

[Normally I wouldn't show this picture, but I'm pretty sure it's going to gross out my mom.]

My roommates and I decided to live in the lodges this year so we could be around other people. It’s like an apartment complex with a lobby for all residents to use. We chose this over the townhouses, which is a two story condo with three bathrooms, a full closet for each person, and is a half mile closer to campus than the lodges.  The closets are so small that a girl accidentally locked herself in one and had to call campus police to come save her. This is what happens when you don’t pray about where to live.

 If Suite 203 had an education, it would be homeschooled, because it is awkward, like the awkward moment when:
1) The people at Taste of Marion think you’re interested in their organization but you really just want their treats
I have a church. What I don't have is cookies.
2) You move to the lodges instead of a townhouse because you want community, and then remember you don’t have any friends outside your suite.
3) You ask someone, “How was your summer? Did you get engaged?!” only to receive the reply, “We broke up…It wasn’t my choice.”

Before this first week ended, I attended a church I haven’t been to before, Exit 59. The pastor told a story about how he lost a teenager on a youth group trip in 1985. The group was from a small town of 2,000 in Canada. They drove to Chicago, which is where they lost Hopkins. It wasn’t until Pennsylvania that they realized Hopkins was missing, and that was only because no one had recalled telling him to pipe down in the past nine hours. They were a bit scared out of their wits, seeing as how cells phones, ATMs, GPS, or anything remotely useful did not exist in 1985.
“Now I’m telling you this story,” he said, “to show you how freaked out Mary and Joseph were when they lost Jesus for two days in Jerusalem.”
Mary: Where’s Jesus?
Joseph: What do you mean? Isn’t he on your donkey?
Mary: No, he’s not on my donkey! Oh my lanta, God gave us the Savior of the world and we LOST HIM!
They found Jesus in the Temple two days later.
Mary: Son! Why've you treated us like this? Didn’t you know we were searching for you?
Jesus: Why were you looking for me? Did you not know that I had to be in my Father’s house? (Luke 2:48-49). Boom. Roasted.
You see, at twelve years of age, Jesus knew who He was: the Son of God. When I was twelve, all I knew was that I played with imaginary horses all named after nuts. Except the first horse. His name was Dusty. Now as a senior, my personal and family finance professor has made it quite clear that I should have my life a bit more together than I do right now.
Professor: I want you look up a salary of a job that you’d like to have. If you’re a senior, this should be really easy. You should have some sort of idea figured out by now.
I’d like to be employed. That’s really as far as I’ve thought.
I hope that by the time I graduate at age twenty-one, I’ll be closer to the point where Jesus was at age twelve.  

Monday, September 12, 2011

Drop it like it's hot, or a theatre class.

There’s a new professor on campus with a freshly printed doctorate teaching scriptwriting this semester. She sent us a brief email introducing herself prior to the beginning of the semester.
On the first day of class, she strode over to me.
Professor: Hi! I’m Dr. Katie. I don’t believe we’ve met yet.
Audrey: I wonder if she’s related to Dr. Laura. Hi, I’m Audrey.
Dr. Katie: What’s your major?
Audrey: Communications. What’s yours?
Dr. Katie: Well, I teach this class… My major was… (etc.)
I almost transferred out right then and there. If Dr. Katie can’t understand my sarcasm, how can I expect her to understand my soul?
Jim was just kidding, Leonard.
He knows you're solely a doctor.
I didn’t drop the class then. I thought I could move forward. Then I realized what the class was about.Dr. Katie: So who are your guys’ favorite playwrights and characters?
Oh no. This is a theatre course.
Student: Shakespeare!
I then tuned out, because he stole the only relevant word I knew in that discussion.
I figured I could keep quiet and she wouldn’t notice that I despise plays and nearly everything associated with theatre.
Dr. Katie: Audrey, who’s your favorite character?
Audrey: …Hermione.
Strike 2. One more, and I’m dropping this class.

Hey, look at me, I'm a moron!
Prof: What do you guys like to see in plays? What are you passionate about?
Animals. But I’m going to keep my mouth shut in case my opinion is wrong.

Student: Love.
What?  I thought we were talking about objects, like mullets and the color green. You can't see love. Student 2: Good conquering evil.
Wait. We could read Twilight based on these answers.
Strike 3.