The WTF Moment

Today I'd like to discuss something I call "the WTF Moment." WTF Moments occur when people say something so far departed from the conversation at hand or so out-of-the-blue that you can't figure out how they reached the subject.

There's no graceful way to ask the speaker to explain himself, and generally these statements either create uncomfortable conversation vacuums or result in a total brick wall which stops the conversation dead until someone can awkwardly steer the talk back in a less WTF direction.

It's not that I'm against discussing the bizarre or the taboo - I'll talk about anything you want to talk about, so long as it's brought up in a way where I can understand the train of thought. But when someone turns to me and drops an unprecedented conversation topic out of nowhere, I have two general reactions - I either nod slowly and uncomfortably until I can regain my footing, or I act like I didn't hear them in the first place. If they really want to discuss it, they can try again in a much clearer way.

This afternoon, I had a hardcore WTF moment. Tuesdays and Thursdays, I have my honors class. The honors department in general tends to attract an eclectic group of students, and my current class (Androids, Aliens, Robots and Cyborgs: The Other in Science Fiction) increases that factor tenfold.

I got to class early (mistake) and sat down to re-read a few passages from the book we were currently discussing. A few minutes later, one of my classmates (way, way left of center, this one) came in and took a seat right beside me.

After a moment of silence, he heaved a huge, wistful sigh and said tragically, "I miss the dinosaurs."

And that was all. Seriously.

I had to look around the room - there were no book, posters, or other media that would prompt "dinosaurs." Nothing I was wearing or reading would suggest "dinosaurs," and the same goes for him. Eventually I ascertained that no, there wasn't a damn thing in the room with any remote connection that would make him nostalgic for dinosaurs.

By now, about a full minute of silence had passed; it was waaaay too late for me to ask him why, exactly, he missed the dinosaurs. Moreover, I honestly didn't want to know the answer to that question - this guy intimidates me in ways I can't explain, and his effort at a conversation starter really wasn't doing it for me.

Thankfully, a guy friend of mine showed up for class right at that penultimate awkward moment and asked me to join him outside while he had a quick smoke. I can't stand cigarette smoke; however, I'd rather brave the secondhand smoke and chat with a friend than sit in class awkwardly trying not to notice dinosaur-guy trying to catch my eye.

By the time we got back, it was time for class to start up and my new seatmate had apparently forgotten his melancholy memories of those good ol' Jurassic days. Thank God for small things.

I < / 3 Housekeeping

I do NOT love housekeeping.

I just got back in to my apartment after having been out of town since Thursday morning. I got out my keys to unlock the door.

Except it's already fucking unlocked.

Apparently, after cleaning my apartment Thursday afternoon, the housekeeping women left my apartment unlocked.

For three days straight.

I am absolutely furious. I could have been robbed stone blind! I had to search my whole apartment to ensure that A) my shit wasn't stolen, and B) no one was hiding in my apartment. Thankfully, everything is as it was when I left.

Normally, I take time with these posts to make sure they're articulate and clever; however, I'm apoplectic right now. I am without words (and that's saying something for me).

Tomorrow, I will be going into the Housing office and raising a little hell until they can tell me what they're going to do about this. I know I'm not the first - a friend of mine also lives in my complex, and came back to an unlocked place.

Not cool, Housekeeping. Not cool.

Watch out for Hop-ons (you're gonna get some Hop-ons)

This is a quick post - I've been up since 6 am and I am fading fast, but this is such a great fluke thing that I have to share it before the funny wears off.

The other day, I bought a pair of magnetic earrings. I sort of need them for a Halloween costume, but I also like the idea of looking a little edgier than I currently do without all that unpleasant hole-poking. I have my lobes pierced, and that's fine; the idea of piercing my cartilage, however, makes me a touch squeamish.

Anyway, I decided to wear one home today and see if my parents clued in. Sadly, I knocked it loose when answering my phone and the magnetic back tumbled away. I started to look around for it on the floor, but realized I looked crazy crawling around on the airport floor. For all I knew, the little magnetic bit had snapped onto someone's suitcase, or underneath a table leg. I gave the back up for lost and opted to save the piece I had (I'm kind of a magpie; shiny objects are hoard-worthy).

So I spent all day traveling home and catching up with my family, and a few minutes ago I finally got upstairs to get undressed and grab a shower before bed.

And there, magnetized firmly to the underwire of my bra, was the back of the earring.

Apparently when I knocked it loose, it rolled down the front of my shirt and caught on the metal underwire. It just kind of hopped on and hung out there all day, and I had absolutely no clue.

Migrating accessories - who knew?

Edit: Today, being more awake, I remembered an incident last fall that also involved migrating accessories, although on a slightly more noticeable scale.

The purse I carried back then had a velcro clasp on it, and somehow I left the house one day with a pair of underwear stuck to it. Not even sexy or cute underwear - no, it had to be a painfully ugly pair of granny-panties that is NEVER supposed to see the light of day. Those things are, in all honesty, a rape deterrent in and of themselves.

And no, I didn't immediately clue in to my little hop-on. I rode the CART shuttle, sat around the South Oval, and walked to class before I noticed them and stuffed them safely out of sight, actually. God only knows how many people spent the rest of the day snickering about the poor clueless girl they saw on the bus with the thunderpants hanging off of her purse. Needless to say, I subsequently retired that bag ... and the fugitive underwear, too. Just in case.

Traveler, Here Lies All-World

I am so excited! Last night, I submitted a new article to blogcritics. It was a class assignment - describe a place, any place. As enthused as I was about my new gunslinger poster, I decided to describe the Way Station from the first book of the series.

I had a lot of fun with it - I got to play with King's language and sentence structure, and I described the Station as if I'd brought someone there who'd never seen it before. I wrote it at a moment of suspended action, with the man in black and the gunslinger poised on the horizon.

It's part prose and part review, and I was proud of the end result, but it didn't seem like something they'd publish.

Well, they published it.

Not only that, the editor that published it suggested I write a whole series, one for each book!

This is a dream for me - out of all of King's works, the Dark Towers are the ones I turn to most often for comfort reading, and the ones that get into me the most. After reading them, I always catch myself speaking in the cadenced and archaic structure of his characters, especially in the later books. As much as I love this story and these characters, I can never write them. They don't belong to me. I can, however, take that love and use it to pull others readers into the story the way I was pulled in.

My first installment can be found here, and hopefully I'll have the others up a few days at a time. Depends on if the rest come to me as easily as this first one did. But please - read them, comment on them, and let me know what you think.

If I can attract even one new reader to this series, I'll consider these articles a success.

No (Dallas) Love

Thursday morning, I'm taking advantage of OU/TX weekend to fly home and see my family for a little bit. It'll be nice to catch up with my parents and vegg out at home for a few days. And watch the game, of course. No one knows how to berate the Longhorns quite like me and my dad.

However, I've got one big barrier between me and my family. The Dallas-Love airport.

Me and Dallas-Love don't get along so well. I'm jinxed whenever I'm in that place. Last time I flew through was May of this year, for my little brother's high school graduation (May 25th ... a day which will live ... in travel-infamy ...).

I think our plane landed at Dallas-Love a bit late at around 9:45 pm. Six hours later, I was still. Friggin. There. Our plane kept getting delayed, and delayed, and delayed, and through some loophole of the airline system they didn't have to buy us hotel rooms (or provide us with food, for that matter. All I got for dinner that night was a package of pizza-flavored Combos from the gift shop. Nasty).

Thank God I'd carried my bag on. Around 3 am, I gave up and changed into my pjs in the bathroom and tried to find a place to sleep. The benches were a no-go, unless I wanted to spoon with some creepy stranger guy (no. No. Doesn't matter how tired I am, no). The airport lounge was too far from our gate; if, by some fluke of fate, our plane did come in, I wouldn't be near enough to hear the announcement.

I ended up along the wall, using my robe and a dress as a blanket, my duffel as the most uselessly solid pillow EVER, and hugging my laptop bag to my chest so no one messed with me or my stuff while I slept. Not that I slept, mind you. The spirit was willing, but the flesh said "hell no. Not comfortable. Ask again later."

We finally got out of there around 5 or 6 am (about time, too; I was beginning to worry I'd miss seeing Alex graduate). I ended up sleeping all morning to make up for my long night on the airport floor. And then, a few days later on the return trip, I got stuck in Dallas-Love AGAIN. I'm amazed the PA system didn't go all horror-movie and start laughing maniacally at me. It really wouldn't have surprised me at that point, though.

So do me a favor, guys. Keep your fingers crossed for me and my next attempt to get through that airport. I've only got a few days at home, and I really don't want to waste any of that visit laying around Love again.

Sleep-Deprived

Unlike many college students, I need sleep in order to function. I need a lot of sleep, actually. And I didn't really get that much sleep last night. When that happens, I'm either A) sullenly annoyed about being awake, or B) absently dumb about simple things.

So today, I got up around 10 and went to church (it wasn't an early service, even), and got back home around maybe 1:00.

And stood in the breezeway in front of the door to my apartment, blankly but patiently pushing the "unlock" button on my car keys and wondering why the door wasn't unlocking.

No lie - I was that tired. It took at least half a dozen clicks of the button before I clued in. Someone, quick - shoot me before I breed.

I very much need to get caught up on my sleep tonight. I've got a lot to do this week, and if I'm busily using the wrong key to try and open my front door, it's gonna take a lot longer to do it all.

Rock of Love Finale - Sunday!

The girls and I are total Rock of Love slaves. When it's on, nothing else is going on so far as we're concerned. The building could be on fire and we'd still have to wait for a commercial break before we ran to safety.

Sunday night is the big finale! In the final two we have Jes, my personal favorite who again is waaay too cool for this show, and Heather, who is (to quote Jes) a "hungry f-ing stripper." Applause all around!

And of course, being VH1, there will probably (hopefully) be a marathon of all the episodes prior to mark the occasion. And, of course, we're going to have to watch it. So to add a new twist to the old episodes, I give you the Rock of Love drinking game.

1. Anytime there is innuendo (theme song included - touch my backstage pass, ride my limousine!), drink.
   
2. Anytime one of Bret's semi-popular eighties hits is played, drink.
3. Anytime Bret kisses a woman for slightly longer than is proper, drink.
4. Anytime Heather's chosen profession is called into question, drink.
5. Anytime Lacey does something totally bitchy and unnecessary, drink. Then fling the empty container at her and try to knock that ugly lip-piercing loose.
6. Anytime the girls have to take part in a challenge which either a) results in partial nudity or naughty attire, b) results in jiggling of the breasts, or c) results in Bret being unnecessarily turned on, drink.
7. Anytime Bret does or says something so dumb that there's actually a pause for thought before the laughter starts, drink.
8. Anytime Sam cries (poor emotional thing that she is,) drink.
9. Anytime a girl whines about the lack of time they have with Bret, drink.
10. Catfights, censored nudity, and breaking stuff always merits a drink, no matter the circumstances.
    

Now, seeing as will be a Sunday and we are by and large not of drinking age, this drinking will probably involve water/Coke more so than liquor, but the idea still stands firm.

This game is second only to the drinking game for the second season of Arrested Development, where you drink every time someone makes a joke at Ann's expense (IE, "Who?" or "Her?") and the Wizard People, Dear Reader drinking game where you drink every time a name is changed or a spell is cast.