I Always Wanted to Say That

So as it turns out, I have this uncanny knack for remembering movie lines and reciting them within the context of everyday conversations. Sometimes they're extremely quotable lines and most any moron would recognize it. Sometimes they're so obscure that if it goes unrecognized, I don't bother to point out that what I've just said isn't actually an original thought. I figure, if you're not savvy enough to know I didn't come up with it, well then, chalk one point up on the board for me, baby. It's the same principle behind explaining the punchline of a joke...if I have to tell you I just performed an incredible feat of verbal gymnastics, it somehow deflates the whole concept and sucks the fun right out of it. You either get it, or you don't. There is no in between. In most cases this leaves people under the mistaken impression that I'm clever. Whether it's due to attributing movie lines to my own particular brand of wittiness or because they're impressed with my ability to work in a quote...well, that remains to be seen. In either case, it tickles me tremendously. But other than an inflation of my own sense of ego, it rarely amounts to anything.

Having said that, if you've seen the movie Lucky Number Slevin and you have a decent memory, then this little anecdote might be somewhat meaningful to you. If not, well then, like the book shop owner in my little story here, the significance will be completely lost on you (sorry about that).

So the other day I was on a hunt for one of the Stephanie Plum novels (which I'm currently re-reading, see side bar) and in an effort to save time, I decided to call a few used book stores to shop around first. I got lucky on my first call and had the store set the book aside and told the dude I'd come by to get it some time that day.

As promised, I showed up to the store a few hours later and the proprietor was chatting with a customer. Since I knew he already had my book behind the counter and their conversation seemed deeper than a simple inquiry, I thought I'd browse in another section for a bit instead of immediately interrupting. But that got boring after about 30 seconds, so I reconsidered and decided that interrupting was the way to go. Really, I just wanted to get my hot little hands on the next Plum book and get on with it (I'm in the middle of a series here people!). Turns out a little meaningful lingering near their conversation did the trick and, as expected, the store-owner asked me if I needed any help.

"Oh, yes, umm, I'm the one who called earlier about the Stephanie Plum book...." I said.

"Oh, that was you?" He said with a smirk, "You sounded much taller on the phone."

I smiled to myself, already knowing the perfect response, and without missing a beat I said, "Well, I'm short for my height."

A tickled sense of satisfaction bloomed in my belly. I didn't think I would ever be set up so perfectly as to use that one in a real, on-the-fly conversation. I was quite pleased with myself for coming up with it and delivering it right on cue. I felt like I'd just passed a pop quiz with flying colors. I was beaming. It really gives you a comforting sense of satisfaction to discover you're prepared.

Too bad it was wasted on an overweight, mid-50s, slightly creepy bookstore owner in downtown Kent who has no idea I've just pulled one over on him, instead of some hunky stud with rock hard abs and dreamy eyes who immediately recognizes the quote and gives me a slightly surprised yet intriguing look. Sigh. No, no. That would be the beginning of some adorable chance meeting in a romantic comedy. This is just my crummy real life.

At least I got to use a Lucy Liu line though. That was pretty cool. And the book store dude things I'm funny...so that's a something.

High Fivin' White Guy

Last weekend while in Bellingham, I had kind of a kooky experience. I wasn't feeling particularly worky-outy, but I didn't have any major plans (read: I was planning on sitting on my butt and reading the whole day) so I figured since it was a nice day and all, I might as well at least pretend that I was making an effort to be fit and get a short run in. Actually, I talked myself into this gig by only guaranteeing that I'd go on a walk. Walking is better than nothing, right? But once I got my sneaks laced up and my ipod clipped to my hip, I thought I could muster the energy for a run (read: jog), so I headed out on the interurban trail toward the Alabama bridge at a pretty decent clip (read: faster than walking).

For feeling lazy and unenthused, I actually made a pretty decent go of it. I think it's about two miles from Andi's house (where I was staying) to the bridge. I ran (jogged) 95% of the way there and was feeling completely satisfied with the effort. Once I was at the bridge I caught my breath and did a number of strength building exercises; one-legged squats, lunges, etc. (I promise this story has a more interesting point and I'm not just talkin' up my half-assed workout.)

In reality, I was pretty pooped by this point. I felt the beginnings of a cold coming on and I wasn't highly motivated to really push myself, so I told myself I only had to run (jog) from the bridge to the train trestle. I'd guess this was somewhere between half a mile and a mile from the bridge. The thing about it though, is that it looks deceptively short. From the bridge there is a long straight stretch, followed by one corner, and then the trestle. In my mind's eye, it's only a minute or two away. In reality, the straight stretch is pretty darn long as it takes at least a whole song length to run (jog) it.

Nevertheless, this was the deal I made with myself: run to the trestle, then you can walk the rest of the way home. So I took a deep breath and took off from the bridge. Immediately I saw the flaw in my logic, as I didn't really have the energy to run (jog) another step and I already wanted to stop, but I'm actually pretty stubborn when it comes right down to it and darned if I was going to back out of my deal with myself (how could I face myself later?). So I did my best to trudge on.

By this time it was getting to be early afternoon and I was seeing more and more people on the trail. Generally when I'm out running (jogging), I try to make eye-contact with people and smile or say hi. Especially in Bellingham. There are so many less crazy-eyed locos and so many more genuinely normal people.

Today was no exception and I was doing my best to do my civic duty as I slogged my way toward my goal. About half-way down the never-ending straight stretch, I observed a young guy on a dirt bike heading toward me. (I say "young guy" meaning, I have no idea how old he was, only that he was over 15 and less than 30. It seems that as I age, I am losing what little ability I possessed to accurately age other people. Go figure.) In any case, you know the type I'm talking about, right? Backwards baseball hat, brown hair sticking out all wonky, white t-shirt, oversized shorts, seat riding super low so that his knees practically come up to his chin, kind of like a toddler on a trike....can you picture it? So I had already done my first observatory glance and I was preparing to time my eye-contact to just before we passed in order to give him my obligatory grimace smile/head nod of acknowledgment when out of the corner of my eye, I see him extend his arm across the neutral zone of the trail, over to my side, and present his palm face out toward me.

If you know me at all, you know that all my emotions register across my face before I can do anything about it. My thought in that moment went something like this, "What the heck...?? Ohh. No, I'm not gonna...well, (mental shrug) why not!" So in the .2 seconds it took for my brain to recognize the gesture as a pro-offering of a high five, I'm sure this guy saw confusion, recognition, rejection, and finally a cautious acceptance of what I saw before me (or at least, he would've if he were paying attention, which he probably wasn't). So a split second later, I too extended my hand and connected with his palm in a respectable sounding high five.

I smiled as soon as it happened. (How could I not?) It hadn't been one of those perfect high-fives where your hands connect just right to get the really good snapping clap sound, but it hadn't been one of those lame, barely make contact, do we need to try it again? gestures either. Suddenly, I felt motivated and like I was doing a good job on my run (jog). I was a part of a greater team! I was young and healthy and taking advantage of the trail system! I was alive and free, who wouldn't want to be me? (Okay, so maybe Keith Urban might've randomly come up on my ipod right about then, but still). It was cheesy and stupid, but it was true. I felt great! Before I knew it, I was at the train trestle so I slowed to a walk, but I could still feel a big, toothy grin plastered to my face and a slight bounce in my step.

But why the heck had he done that? Was I looking so red and puffy-faced that he thought, man, that girl needs some help? Or perhaps he's just a rogue high-fiver making the world a better place one high five at a time? Maybe he's just über high-five happy and slaps some skin anytime he gets the chance? Perhaps it was a divine appointment and the Lord knew I just really needed the giddy-up? Maybe I just look like a high-fivin' kind of girl? Honestly, I don't know. I turned to see if I could still see the dude - I was half tempted to flag him down, tell him thanks, and give him the third degree about it - but he was long gone (being that his mode of transportation was significantly faster than mine, this was no surprise really). So I just shook my head in wonder thinking, well if that wasn't the darnedest thing!

I thought about it almost the entire way home (that is, until I got close enough to Andi's house to consider what kind of sugary, baked goods would be waiting for me in the fridge) and darned if I could figure it out. I have no idea what motivated that guy to give me a high five, but whatever his intentions, it left me feeling like the world was a slightly better place. And at the end of that day, I gotta believe that's a good thing. So perhaps the next time you're out and about and you see someone who looks like they need it - give 'em a high five. What's the worst that could happen?

Who Cares?

If you've been wondering what the heck I've been doing and if I'd ever blog again, you're not the only one. It's no coincidence that I've dropped off the face of the blogosphere. The truth is, there's not much to tell. Once home from the excitement of my sojourn to Italy, I suddenly became a wee bit self-conscious about blogging; who the heck cares about my thoughts now that life has resumed an inordinate amount of mundanity*? I've had nothing to tell you; no job to speak of (although, not for lack of trying), no new romance, not even a true place to live! Life with my extremely friendly and exorbantly nap-prone cat at my mom's house hasn't been any particular hardship, but it seemed unsatisfactory material to share with the world. Suddenly, I was gun shy: I had lost my confidence. Because really, why would anyone be interested? Who the heck cares?

Eventually, I did come across a few "blog worthy" events, but I just couldn't bring myself to post about them. I knew that if I gave it a go, it would only be a half-assed effort and, like it or not, I'm an all-or-nothing kind of girl. Needless to say, you readers (if there still are any) have been given a big fat dose of Nothing.

But at the end of the day...I really missed it. I wanted to be writing; sharing my (supposed) wit and (hopfully) clever stories with the world. But I was no longer sure how to do it. It felt like an unsurmountable obstacle, how could I possibly write anything interesting now? Especially when I'm convinced I'm a) uninteresting, b) at a complete loss for material and c) sure that no one is listening anyway (because who wants to write if no one is listening?).

But I've come to realize that none of those things make one lick of difference. Who cares! Who cares! is right. It doesn't matter if I'm uninteresting, have no real content, and no one is reading what I type - that is the whole point! I've been given free reign to write as much (or as little) as I want and instead of sulking about my so-called "hardships," I'm going to seize that freedom with both hands. Writing ought to be for my own explicit satisfaction. So now, I'm going to write because I enjoy writing! If others care to follow along with me, well then, please do. This is intended as a forum of sharing so I plan to do just that.

The truth is, the only real obstacle up to this point has been my own deluded, non-linear form of thinking I often mistakenly term "logic." Because the thing is, more often than not, I make up and apply a million different rules and sets of criteria that I force myself to follow (thinking this will of course make life better/easier/more enjoyable), but in reality it makes life more difficult/a pain in the arse/disproportinately stressful. Why, you ask, do I do this? I know. Perhaps it's simply where I fall short as a Stabilizer. I can recognize patterns, but fail to apply a useful or appropriately named rule to the patterns. Or perhaps I've just been doing way too much internal processing and I need to get out and talk to real people more often. Either way. (Insert shrug here.)

The fact of the matter is I'm no longer defining success as simply entertaining you the reader (though, admittedly, it's still a priority). Instead success will be the art of craftily breaking my own self-imposed invisible rules. Success will be reminding myself to take risks and try something different. Success will be disciplining myself to write more often and become a better writer. I felt as though I had gained quite a bit of ground in this area while on my sojourn, but I've come to realize I'm looking at a 4th and long scenario instead of 1st and goal. (Insert sigh here.)

Fortunately, I'm a tenacious and incurable optimist! :D

So who cares? Turns out, I do. And maybe you too. But either way, I'm going to write for the fun of it. I'm going to write because I like it. I'm going to write to improve myself and (hopefully) become a better writer. I hope you enjoy it, but if you don't...who cares?

*Yes, I totally just made that a word; roll with it people.