I need to buy waterproof mascara.
Yeah. I was driving home from Birmingham a few weeks ago, and I got something in my eye. As my eye watered, my mascara started running, and then IT was in my eye. I had to drive with one eye closed (on the interstate, in the dark) for ten minutes while I tried to make my eye water enough to flush the make up out. And this is what I looked like when I got home.
I have a friend who is relatively new to me (as compared to others I know). Like so many other people I’ve befriended in the past year, we met at a concert. We converse mostly by e-mail because we live several hundred miles apart, but we do hang out when in the same city.
Oh, and said friend has released two CDs and will have a third to her name in June.
The thing is, Tara Leigh Cobble is as regular a person as Alisa Lauren Smith or Brandon James Cozart. She’s funny, she’s laidback and she’s not pretentious. These are all qualities that I appreciate in a friend, though I may not always possess them myself.
Truth be told, I have a number of interesting friends. Take my roommate, for example. Alisa’s job may not be as “glamorous” on the surface as Tara Leigh’s, but it too is infinitely fascinating.
Alisa spends an average of seven hours a day working at a Christian bookstore. I’ve never done well as a retail employee; I have too many opinions and too little stamina. But this roommate of mine spends hours standing on her feet, and rarely does she come home to complain. (By way of contrast, after standing at a fantastic concert for three hours, I’ll sleep extra hours.) She adores her co-workers and she’s always bringing home some interesting book from the shelves of GSH. I have an idea that these things, along with her friendly demeanor, make Alisa a dang good employee.
What about Chrissy? She works double duty, busting her tail (and entertaining me on IM) as an office employee by day, but making the “big bucks” at night as a bartender. A single day in Chrissy’s life probably consists of more intensive labor than I’ve exerted in most of mine. But she works hard to live a worthwhile life. It looks like that life will be taking her to Ireland in the next year – she’ll be working as a missionary in some creative arts ministry positions. I can’t wait for her to leave so I can hear all about the ways God is using her unique gifts.
When I’m in need of entertainment or I just want to be impressed, I need not look further than my family. Cristin is an actress who is always “on” – her antics will bring you to the ground in laughter. Cheryl is the moody artist. I’ve got a sketch of hers framed on my living room wall. Chad daydreams of being a scientist and cartoonist, as well as of the day he’ll be big enough to wrap his arms around that abandoned guitar of Cheryl’s. Neither talent nor personality are lacking among this bunch.
The moral of the story is that having CDs with your name on them or even spying your byline in a newspaper or magazine does not make you a more worthwhile person. (Tara Leigh will attest to that – check out her journal entry entitled “Rolling Up the Red Carpet” on 120103. I need to remind myself of that whenever I get excited about my tiny byline in a university paper.) The intricacies of the people I know are a blessing to me, and I only hope some of their humility rubs my way.
Bad things happen at the end of books. You have no more plot and no more characters, and suddenly you’re left there alone.
audio post powered by audblog
Avoid I-75 at all costs.
I’ll admit I was running a bit late this morning. I rolled over at 7:36 to hit snooze for the fifth time – and realized that it was the fifth time, and I’d better get out of bed already. I spent less time than usual on my hair and make up, and was in the car by the time that I should’ve been in class.
I parked my car in a one hour space at 8:22. With a review in one hand, I shuffled off to class, reading all the way. (Multi-tasking is my specialty.)
I finally strolled into class around 8:28. I figured it was better to be late than not to show at all.
Wrong!
Two of my classmates were talking at one of the computers. Otherwise, the room was empty.
“Um… what am I doing here?” I asked, confused.
“He told us about his retirement, to sell ads and write stories and then left,” they explained.
I looked at the clock. “Yes, it was only five minutes,” one of them said.
“Well, at least I’m out of bed and can be productive for the rest of the day…” I said, attempting to look on the “bright side.”
The dark side exists, of course. I’ve spent $1200 on this class and learned next to nothing. (I know some might argue about putting a price on education. But the university does just that, and it comes out of my checking account twice a year.) This is a subject that I truly wanted to learn about, and I’m disappointed that I’ve been cheated out of that experience.
But y’know… at least it puts me three hours closer to graduation.
My roommate loves to remind me that I’m high maintenance. I think she enjoys the contrast between our personalities in that way. While I take at least thirty minutes to get ready in the morning, she doesn’t mind rolling out of bed and throwing her hair in a ponytail from time to time. She borrows my lipstick for fun – it’s not a part of her daily routine.
Appearance isn’t the only way that I’m high maintenance, though. I’m somewhat particular about my car. My bedroom has to be just so – it takes a great deal of restraint for me to go to bed without perfecting everything. I kill myself to make articles perfect, and if they fail to meet my standards, I don’t want to share them with you. I’ve been called the music snob for my particular taste in tunes.
Oh – and I am extremely picky about men. We couldn’t forget that, now could we?
Those of you who know me or who read me often are familiar with my numerous complaints about the opposite sex. Part of my motivation for whining about them all the time is pure entertainment value – y’all comment, I laugh at myself and we all win in the end. My rants are also partially rooted in truth.
But don’t let the chip on my shoulder fool you – I’m aware that the problem is just as much my own (if not entirely so).
I made a profound statement to my friend Jesse many months ago. We were searching the aisles of Albertson’s for a specific brand of chips during a late-night grocery run. I couldn’t settle for the almost-right brand – I wanted the correct product. It was then that a certain truth hit me.
“I’ll probably be the last of my friends to get married,” I claimed as I plucked items from the shelf.
Jesse looked at me quizically.
“I’m so picky that I’ve not only got to find a guy who fulfills my specifications – I’ve also got to find one that will put up with me!”
He laughed my statement off as we paid for our items, but that truth has stuck with me over time. As I’ve toyed with the thought of various flirtations in the past couple of weeks, it’s wormed its way back to the front of my mind.
When I moved to Alabama, I joked that I might finally find myself the Southern boy that I’d been searching for. I didn’t want a Floridian man for fear that it would mean staying in the state I was finally breaking free from.
So I’m in Alabama. I’ve been here for – what? – 12 and a half months. And after going on my first date with a “Bama boy,” I’ve been thinking about how much that kind of guy is not what I’m after.
If you’re not yelling, “Make up your mind, woman!” by now… you’re entirely too sympathetic to my side.
I do have issues with men. My friend Natalie sort of asked me that a few weeks ago, and now I’m ready to admit it. I joke about wanting one, but I’m not sure that I do. Whenever they show the slightest bit of interest, I run.
If a cute boy sits next to me at church, I rush out at the end of the service without making eye contact. When a classmate wants to set me up with his friend, I’m quick to find all the reasons it won’t work out. (And let’s face it, sometimes those reasons are genuine.) It takes a lot to get me warmed up to a guy, and so when I do, that’s something pretty special.
Maybe I need to go back to junior high and learn how to be friends with guys again. I’m realizing how much they freak me out. As much as I love to play up the role of neurotic CJ… this is an issue that I probably need to let go.
I wanted to let y’all know that my computer is broken, so I may not offer to entertain y’all for a few days.
However, I did want to mention that I broke my four and a half year dating fast yesterday. (Okay, okay – it’s not a fast if it’s not intentional. 😉 I know that. But it’s so much more fun to be obnoxious and say it that way.) The hoops were present, albeit in their smaller form. I had a nice afternoon with this guy, but I doubt we’ll be going out again. He was friendly enough… but eh. I’m not chomping at the bit for another date.
On the other hand, Alabama did win yesterday – both in football ( 😉 ) and basketball! Roll tide roll!
The hoops certainly worked their magic today.
As it happened, Alisa and I were right on with our decision to find Nickel Creek. We intended to park it at a nearby coffee shop and work while we waited for the band to make an appearance. I figured that they’d drop by, since they’re coffee lovers who are anti-Starbucks.
I was wrong on one count: they didn’t just “drop by.”
As we slowed near the shop in search of a parking space, Alisa exclaimed, “I think I saw Chris setting up his laptop!”
We parked behind the building and hurried in, anxious to see if she was correct. I thought we were merely playing games, up until the point where she whispered “there they are!” after we crossed the cafe’s threshold.
But when my eyes adjusted to the indoor lighting, I saw Chris Thile and Sean Watkins across the room. After we ordered our drinks and spread out at a table, I decided I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood and approached them, and from there we chatted with the fellas for ten or fifteen minutes.
Hours later, I whispered to Alisa, “I’m sure glad we decided to dress cute today.” (Sean and the band’s road manager, Fielding, were still just several feet away.) And cute we were, indeed, in our skirts and tank tops. (Alisa’s skirt was long and flowered and her tank top blue; my skirt was shorter with a blue pattern, and my halter top was white.)
After I finished the article I was writing, we returned home, still jazzed from the afternoon. I was supposed to attend a play (for class) before the evening’s concert, but I went ahead and dressed for the show. I donned my “going out” jeans and borrowed one of Alisa’s cutest tank tops. With my make up freshened and my hair pulled back, I set out for the play.
Unfortunately (?), I found the theater a bit too late. There was no seating after the show started, and I was five minutes past that time. So I instead, I bid my time until the Nickel Creek concert by allowing those hoop earrings to get me into more trouble.
Yep, I got digits and plans to meet up with a certain fella sometime in the near future. Okay, okay – it’s not as exciting as I make it sound. But there’s possibility there, and I may just follow where (if) it leads. 😉
Yes, the hoops were successful – so much so, in fact, that I’m reluctant to take them off.
Tonight Alisa and I discussed – briefly – our freedom in singleness. I was checking out a cute guy across the room (who I think ended up standing next to me during the bus-side concert). I’d remarked to her, “We’re so bad,” and she corrected me. “No we’re not. We’re enjoying our singleness. Is it wrong for us to talk about cute guys because ‘that’s not what Christian girls do?'” Interesting thoughts, no?
I made an important self discovery the other day.
I wear diamond studs in my ears most days. They were a gift from my parents on my 21st birthday. They’re simple, they’re classy – I dig ’em.
But on occassion, you’ll spot me with silver hoops dangling from my ears. Sounds innocuous, sure.
Guess again.
Those hoops are a secret code – a warning of sorts. If you see those rings in my ears, you better watch out, ’cause I’m in a flirting mood. The bigger the hoops, the bigger the trouble.
Tonight’s gonna be a silver hoop night.
Why does my printer refuse to produce pages of black text when my magenta ink cartridge is empty? 🙁 Grrr…