My Friend, the Cash Register

The semester is progressing further and further--farther and farther? Meh. (I'm listening to John Mayer aka I could care less what proper grammar is necessary.) My life consists of the following: music, work, church, work, a tiny bit of homework, and did I mention work? Sounds really tedious right? Right. However, I've found joy and company in my reflection. Why is this? Let me explain:


My best friends are so busy if I ever have that prestigious opportunity to see them, they're sleeping. I've found good conversation a rarity. I mean, I barely have acquaintances, of which I lovingly refer to as "good company." What happened to being cool? Remember when I was younger--as in a few semesters ago--when people would plan their lives around me? This can't be happening to me of all people. It's all about me and I'm way too much of an extrovert to be alone for an extended period of time (usually about two days). The thought of trying to become an introvert makes me feel queasy. 


Immature? I gently refer to the name of these symptoms as Loser-a-phobia. So what do I do to compensate? I talk to myself--everywhere. No, I'm not really that psycho. However, today I found myself with a lot of spare time and two things happened to me that I'd like to share with my cyber-based messaging system full of hypothetical enthusiasts: 


1. I went to the efficient self-check out stand at our homely local grocer. As the cashier watched my transaction, without my knowledge, I listened to the instructions of the personified computer system. 
         "Welcome! Please enter cash or select payment type."
I was thrilled! Someone was talking to me. And not only this, she had such a friendly voice. Quickly looking around before I answered, I simultaneously reached into my hippy bag for my wallet. As I was completed the transaction I answered her. 

       "Okay I only have a few quick questions. Answer them 

         and I'll flip my plastic for you:

         1. Will my husband be able to handle my extremities? 

         2. Do I have friends?

         3. If the answer is no to the prior questions, who's the fairest

             maiden in all of Rexburg?" 

Her response?

  "Item has been removed from bagging area. Please ask an associate for assistance."

I muttered under my breath several expletives as the cashier walked over cautiously. 
      "Do you need help, ma'am?"

      "More than you know..." I muttered. 

After questioning my response to no avail, she swiped her card and I began the process all over again. And to think the only thing I wanted from this stupid machine was a little advice! Defeated, I walked out with my eyes sweeping the walkway in front of me. The sunshine hit my face. 'I'm losing my mind,' I chuckled. 


2. I got into my car. 'Oh, car. How I loveth thee. Will you be my friend?' 

No response. 

Turns out inanimate objects tend to have a better understanding of my sense of humor than people do. 


I laughed at the awkwardness of my logic and drove away drinking my diet coke. 

Gene Kelly in a Dentist Chair

The scene started out with Gene. Beautiful Gene Kelly. Why was I not blessed to be born in that era? He was singing as I was reclined, watching him in his suave ways. Yes, he was projected on the ceiling. You'd think a girl couldn't be happier.

What Gene didn't know is I was laying in a dentist's chair that was rather uncomfortable. I was nervous and excited. Yeah, you've met those people that actually like the dentist? I'm one of them. Weird, right? Nevertheless, I was distracted by his buttery voice and 100watt smile. Bliss. 


Then it happened. The next thing I realize I had some lady's hands in my mouth while she persisted on asking me questions when, clearly, it was impossible to make any sense out of what I was attempting to say. 


'Mmmhmmm," she'd say. Or "No kidding!" If she could understand me at this point I'd like to see her have a conversation with Chewy from Star Wars. Yes. That just happened. You're welcome. 


At any rate, Gene still strummed on my cute little heart-strings. My mouth was being torn apart by this bilingual-ist yet, I was grateful. No cavities. No toothaches. I passed. 


On the drive home, I felt my jaw, ouch. Like, my life is like, so like hard and stuff. O-M-G. 
-__- Puh-leaze. I imagined a life in which I'd shovel plaque out of someone's mouth. A life listening to children gag, throw up, cry. And the looming thought of everyone loathing your career which directly corresponds with your personality and therefore leads to your lack in forming any sort of normal friendship.


And suddenly: 
my life was luxurious. Thank you, Gene Kelly and tired dental assistent. 

Thunder

There is something extremely dissatisfying about a storm without the deafening result of thunder. Thunder is something that consistently reminds me of how small I actually am. I'm nothing in this world. I am simply a child; a child with hopes and dreams of becoming something bigger and better. I am the soil to this wonderful thing called earth.

Ironically, in my inadequacies, the thunder also teaches me that the being who created life itself, created it solely for me. And He would have done it for me, alone. Call me egotistical but I've come to realize that there are people are individually significant. We are known by the author of our lives.

And each etching of the pages He writes consists of a different template and font. We are unrivaled in one another. None alike. However, I am so appreciative that we are so unique. Our author's hand aches at each stroke we attempt to erase. Yet, I know He loves me. In my faults, weaknesses, strengths, and fortes. It's the process to understand this that is so tedious and everlasting.

We can read and read this book that is being divinely recorded. We can search with all of our strength but it ultimately comes down to this: We will have to learn our heritage through a process like the anticipation for thunder.

First, we start off with the wind. It rages, on and on. And then the silence before the change--which calls for pondering and gratitude. Then the rain. It slashes against the pavement yet the fragrance is so sweet. Soon, lightening. Brilliant light flashes across the night sky--sometimes day--creating a path amidst areas of darkness.

Silence comes. Again. We feel the beat of the thunder arise and brace ourselves. Then it happens. The crack so loud you feel it in your bones. And you feel small. So small and insignificant, yet so important to Him that loves us. But only after the cycle repeats.

The journey for me thus far consists of the prior. Never once does the storm hit without bringing me to humility as well as gratitude for the Almighty being. So what do I do in return? Think of my personal wealth, blessings, and virtue; Think of those whose fonts work so well with mine; Think of windy moments that make me fray around the edges; Think about the light directing my path in no particular direction apart from the good; think about the One who did it all for me.

So, in short, I am nothing. But to the true Master of thought, I am everything.

Hilarity Amidst Monotony

The man began his slow and tedious shift. He was just working another day; earning another dollar.

Cereal was his task. It's tower that lay ahead. He knew that he'd be earning the money for the sole purpose of his wife and children. One. Box. At. A. Time.

As he turns to pick up the next box, two girls are down on the ground. One is tall, freckly, and red in the face. The other is also tall, freckle-less and crying. Both awkward.

You would suspect they were in pain; that something was terribly wrong. When gasps of air were finally taken, he realized this this wasn't a moment of heartache. They were laughing hysterically. The attempted explanation was given in vain.

Their story:

Two best friends. Walking in a store, shooting the breeze regarding their one true love: food. They weave in and out of the isles, debating on what to purchase for the night of entertainment. While looking through the the cereal they both glance down the isle that contains marshmallows and soup.

In this split second they see a father holding a bag of the fluffy goodness and his son's back facing him, coveting this childhood delicacy. As the dad observes the bag of mallows, he frowns, looks at his son, then chucks the bag at the back of the boys head. Causing the boy to tip awkwardly into the shelf.

Who would have thought bad parenting would have been something so fulfilling?

Well, let me tell you. These three individuals found this moment of hilarity amidst monotony.

Hyperbolic Communication

I say stupid jokes; things that don't makes sense; things that sound weird; things that make people double-take.

"Justine, you missed an episode of Psych tonight."

My response? "Well, I guess that makes me 'Psych'-o! Haha! Get it?!"

Obviously the converser checked out of the conversation...3 and a half minutes ago.

I erupt into what I like to lovingly refer to as my old man version of PeeWee Herman's laugh. It's not a pretty sound. Some girls who laugh sound delicate and polite--cute even. Me? No. I sound like a man who recently encountered a wall of helium and didn't know what else to do aside from laugh. And laugh awkwardly, might I add. It makes people very uncomfortable.

Another problem in my communication:

"How's your day been, Justine?"

"It's been so good. I bought a jamba, read my scriptures and soaked up some Vitamin D *snicker snicker* OH! This one time my mom told me that if you close your eyes while looking at the sun that you'd retain more vitamin d. Look at the size of this apple! So juicy. Also, that guy over there, dang, he's attractive. My foot itches... Do you scratch a foot or do you itch it....etc."

A.D.D, much? Yes. SQUIRREL!! Just kidding...kinda.

Another unnecessary conversational "tool" I use involves talking with my hands: on the phone, in person, in the shower, to myself, you name it..my hands are flappin as much as my gums (which, who came up with that phrase anyway? Gums don't flap). But why? Because if I don't use my hands words don't come...at all. I've tried not using my hands; I've even practiced in the mirror. The result? Exaggerated facial expressions. Talk about humiliating.

So where does this leave me? A hopeless conversationalist. I'm never taken seriously and honestly, I completely understand why.