I went to see Dear John tonight with some girls from work. The company was great. The movie, not so much. Like it was even worse than I expected. I don't like mush and love and sweetness and tenderness. I'm on team Jacob. The movie made me feel awkward and embarassed and quite frankly, a little grossed out. Two great things did happen that made the whole evening worth the bad movie.
On the way out of the movie this young guy tripped and hurt his ankle. His little girlfriend kept trying to get him to keep walking and he just couldn't. I tried not to laugh until I got to the bottom of the stairs and was sure I wouldn't fall since I did happen to be in heels. But once I did get to the bottom, I promptly informed the injured boy's friends that he was still at the top of the stairs sitting down because he had tripped and hurt himself. Then I laughed way too loud and kept moving.
The best part happened before we even got into the theater. Our movie started at 7:15 and we were just a little late. However, Carolyn, the girl who sold the tickets, told us not to worry. We had plenty of time for concessions, or the bathroom, or anything we wanted to do because there was like 30 minutes of previews. So we trusted Carolyn and got in line for Diet Coke (and maybe popcorn). I have a certain knack for picking the best lines. My definition of best does not mean fastest or friendliest. I can always seem to find the wackiest or grumpiest, or dumbest cashier. They always give me the best stories though. Tonight was no exception. Our concession cashier was a young man who clearly enjoyed his job...especially when cute girls came through his line. He took special care to make sure my friend got the "freshest popcorn in the batch and none of those mashed up crumbs". And he was all to happy to give me a large Diet Coke for less than $5.30. I felt slightly ripped off, considering you can buy a 12-pack for a lot less than that. However, I walked away feeling it was worth it when our excited cashier sent us on our way saying, "Only classy ladies come to my line." Yeah, that's right. The popcorn boy thinks I'm classy.
Thursday, February 11, 2010
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
Girl, I Gotta Watch My Back, Cause I'm Not Just Anybody
Tonight's post's title comes to you courtesy of Young Money's song entitled, "BedRock". Haven't heard it? Well, you're missing out on some...poetic lyrics. "Call me Mr. Flintstone. I can make your bed rock." Sometimes I'm jealous of how clever these folks are.
I've always been what some might call "high maintenance". I won't deny this, but I would like to explain that only my grooming is high maintenance. I don't need anyone to take care of me and cater to any ridiculous requests (except for closing the lid on the toilet and putting the Diet Coke in the very back of the fridge and keeping my closet organized by color and sleeve length). But yes, my grooming rituals are somewhat..."involved". Sadly, however, I have realized that at some point, and I'm not exactly sure when it happened, but at some point, I have gotten a little lax in my rituals.
I will spare you the details of the obsessive-compulsive manner in which I shower, and how many pumps of lotion get applied to each limb, and the specific method I use to wrap my towel around me. I will tell you however, that it's always been pretty hard work to be Hannah and to get ready to go places. Apparently, I'm getting wiser as I get older. (Read "lazy and tired"). Instead of shaving twice a day, I'm down to once a day. The other day I actually went to work without shaving at all. (I promise I won't do it again. It was awful!) But an event that happened last Thursday is where I draw the line.
I was in the bathroom washing my hands (for the amount of time it took me to sing the ABC song in my head, which is the appropriate amount of time to properly clean one's hands), and I checked out my hair as I reached for exactly 3 paper towels--two to dry my hands, and one to turn off the faucet. I swear I'm not high maintenance. Anyway, as I turned in the mirror I was absolutely horrifed at what I saw. My neckline was a scraggly, furry mess. I find when something like this occurs, I want everyone to know about it so they don't think I'm walking around looking like a mess and don't realize it. So I bounded out of the bathroom and scolded everyone around me letting me walk around looking like a raggamuffin. (Aside...One time I taught a class at the gym at lunch time. I forget to pack a clean pair of undies and I couldn't bear the thought of wearing sweaty undies for the remainder of the day, so I went commando. Unfortunately, I was sitting with some people at work for the rest of the day. I was sitting in front of them and I was absolutely horrified by the thought of one of them gatching a glimpse of my bare booty. So instead of risking an accidental mooning, I felt the best thing would be for me to announce to everyone that I would be working sans panties for the rest of the day. I think it went over well.)
Anyway, the ah ha moment came for me when I accepted that I just didn't have time to get my neckline trimmed every week like I used to. It was liberating to be at peace with my body's hair growth rate. The old Hannah would have skipped lunch and gone that very day to get things cleaned up. The new Hannah cracked jokes about her manly neck line. Lest you think I have abandoned my true self, please note that at 9 am the next day, I was on the phone with the salon to squeeze myself in to Sheri's schedule to get my bangs trimmed and neckline cleaned. After all, I gotta watch my back, cause I'm not just anybody.
I've always been what some might call "high maintenance". I won't deny this, but I would like to explain that only my grooming is high maintenance. I don't need anyone to take care of me and cater to any ridiculous requests (except for closing the lid on the toilet and putting the Diet Coke in the very back of the fridge and keeping my closet organized by color and sleeve length). But yes, my grooming rituals are somewhat..."involved". Sadly, however, I have realized that at some point, and I'm not exactly sure when it happened, but at some point, I have gotten a little lax in my rituals.
I will spare you the details of the obsessive-compulsive manner in which I shower, and how many pumps of lotion get applied to each limb, and the specific method I use to wrap my towel around me. I will tell you however, that it's always been pretty hard work to be Hannah and to get ready to go places. Apparently, I'm getting wiser as I get older. (Read "lazy and tired"). Instead of shaving twice a day, I'm down to once a day. The other day I actually went to work without shaving at all. (I promise I won't do it again. It was awful!) But an event that happened last Thursday is where I draw the line.
I was in the bathroom washing my hands (for the amount of time it took me to sing the ABC song in my head, which is the appropriate amount of time to properly clean one's hands), and I checked out my hair as I reached for exactly 3 paper towels--two to dry my hands, and one to turn off the faucet. I swear I'm not high maintenance. Anyway, as I turned in the mirror I was absolutely horrifed at what I saw. My neckline was a scraggly, furry mess. I find when something like this occurs, I want everyone to know about it so they don't think I'm walking around looking like a mess and don't realize it. So I bounded out of the bathroom and scolded everyone around me letting me walk around looking like a raggamuffin. (Aside...One time I taught a class at the gym at lunch time. I forget to pack a clean pair of undies and I couldn't bear the thought of wearing sweaty undies for the remainder of the day, so I went commando. Unfortunately, I was sitting with some people at work for the rest of the day. I was sitting in front of them and I was absolutely horrified by the thought of one of them gatching a glimpse of my bare booty. So instead of risking an accidental mooning, I felt the best thing would be for me to announce to everyone that I would be working sans panties for the rest of the day. I think it went over well.)
Anyway, the ah ha moment came for me when I accepted that I just didn't have time to get my neckline trimmed every week like I used to. It was liberating to be at peace with my body's hair growth rate. The old Hannah would have skipped lunch and gone that very day to get things cleaned up. The new Hannah cracked jokes about her manly neck line. Lest you think I have abandoned my true self, please note that at 9 am the next day, I was on the phone with the salon to squeeze myself in to Sheri's schedule to get my bangs trimmed and neckline cleaned. After all, I gotta watch my back, cause I'm not just anybody.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
It's a Small World After All
I say it all the time, but it really is a small world. I seem to come in contact with the same people over and over and over again. It happened again today. As part of my job, I review addresses for guys and girls who will be receiving a statement for their fraternity or sorority dues. Today I was looking at a chapter from Texas Christian University. I came across an address from my home town, Slidell, Louisiana. Of course it caught my attention, so I looked to see who it was. Lo and behold, I knew it who it was. It turned out to be my older sister's and my high school Trigonometry teacher's child. My mom also taught this lady's youngest son first grade 11 years ago. I sent her a quick email and said she remembered two of her favorite students and our crazy mom. This may seem small, but if I had a dollar for every time one of these random encounters occured, I'd have like ten dollars. That may not seem like a lot, but how many times can YOU say something that happened? I got more for you.
Last April I was sitting in the back row at church when this family bustled in. I recognized the lady who was clearly the mom of this clan, but the person I thought she was was the mother a friend who lived in Utah. I thought nothing more of it until Sacrament was over and one of girls came up to me and asked me where she should take her children for Primary. I told her I would tell her if she told me her name. Before she could even get it out, I said it for her. It turned out that one of my very good friends from Utah had a little sister who married a boy who is in the Army and was stationed at Fort Benning for several months. So, there it is again. I got two rounds of this awesome family in my life. I've kind of stopped being surprised by these random round-abouts in my life.
My very first roommate at BYU sent me an email last summer to let me know that we would soon be neighbors. Yes, this girl who was from Utah and had been living in New England moved right up the road from me to Newnan, Georgia. I could seriously keep going, but I'll spare you. I will say that I don't think these people come back in my life by accident. If for nothing else other than it makes me smile when they come back to see me, I'll take it.
Last April I was sitting in the back row at church when this family bustled in. I recognized the lady who was clearly the mom of this clan, but the person I thought she was was the mother a friend who lived in Utah. I thought nothing more of it until Sacrament was over and one of girls came up to me and asked me where she should take her children for Primary. I told her I would tell her if she told me her name. Before she could even get it out, I said it for her. It turned out that one of my very good friends from Utah had a little sister who married a boy who is in the Army and was stationed at Fort Benning for several months. So, there it is again. I got two rounds of this awesome family in my life. I've kind of stopped being surprised by these random round-abouts in my life.
My very first roommate at BYU sent me an email last summer to let me know that we would soon be neighbors. Yes, this girl who was from Utah and had been living in New England moved right up the road from me to Newnan, Georgia. I could seriously keep going, but I'll spare you. I will say that I don't think these people come back in my life by accident. If for nothing else other than it makes me smile when they come back to see me, I'll take it.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
No More Monkeys Swingin' from the Bar
So as I was thinking of what I would write about today, my mind went to something I saw at the gym this morning. Then I realized that all of my posts thus far have been happenings while I'm actually wearing Nikes, not high heels. I think it might be because when I'm tip-toeing around in my heels, my guard is completely up. Not because I want to keep people our or seem intimidating. It's because I have to concentrate so hard on not rolling my ankle or tripping. I'm so far in the runway walking zone that I don't stop to enjoy the funny little things that happen. It's when the heels come off that I'm fully able to observe my surroundings and take in the humor all around me. When I'm wearing my Nikes, I'm usually at the gym. And trust me...there are plenty of humorous happenings going on in the gym.
This morning, my work out buddy and her husband met me at the new YMCA for a pre-work work out. There was just a handful of people there, so we pretty much had free reign of the place...just like we like it! One of the best things about the gym is watching people and the crazy stuff they do to "work out". It's also one of the most frustrating things about the gym. Imagine if you were _________ (fill in the blank with your favorite famous singer) watching the American Idol auditions that are going on now. You're probably really frustrated and embarrassed for these people and appalled at what they're doing. Okay, so not that I know everything there is to know about proper form and technique at the gym, but I know enough to be dangerous.
Okay, back to this morning. So we are hustling through our work out when we come to an exercise that requires a step. Work out buddy strategically places the step where it's easily accessible to all three of us. Completely oblivious to the fact that we are using the step, an older gentleman (and by older gentleman, I mean old man) comes up and stands on our step to hoist himself up to the bar one might hang from to do chin ups or ab work. But he does neither of those exercises. He hangs from the bar, lifts his knees slightly, and begins to flutter kick his big white tennis shoes. Work out buddy and I make no effort whatsoever to hide the fact we are mocking his "exercise". He seriously looked like a monkey hanging from a tree playing a game with his monkey buddies.
My work out buddy and I have decided we need to come up with a code signal to indicate when we see something awesome going on at the gym. We especially love to see people walking around with the big stick that resides with the balance balls at the DA Turner YMCA. Or the lady who sat on the hamstring curl machine with no weight and kicked the bar like she was sitting on a porch swing with a glass of ice tea. Part of us feels the need to maybe help these people and show them how to perform their exercises efficiently and safely. But the better part of us enjoys sitting back and watching the nonsense ensue around us. After all, what would talk about while we're doing mountain climbers or plyo push ups? For now, I'll maneuver around the monkeys and try not to get hurt by their shenanigans.
This morning, my work out buddy and her husband met me at the new YMCA for a pre-work work out. There was just a handful of people there, so we pretty much had free reign of the place...just like we like it! One of the best things about the gym is watching people and the crazy stuff they do to "work out". It's also one of the most frustrating things about the gym. Imagine if you were _________ (fill in the blank with your favorite famous singer) watching the American Idol auditions that are going on now. You're probably really frustrated and embarrassed for these people and appalled at what they're doing. Okay, so not that I know everything there is to know about proper form and technique at the gym, but I know enough to be dangerous.
Okay, back to this morning. So we are hustling through our work out when we come to an exercise that requires a step. Work out buddy strategically places the step where it's easily accessible to all three of us. Completely oblivious to the fact that we are using the step, an older gentleman (and by older gentleman, I mean old man) comes up and stands on our step to hoist himself up to the bar one might hang from to do chin ups or ab work. But he does neither of those exercises. He hangs from the bar, lifts his knees slightly, and begins to flutter kick his big white tennis shoes. Work out buddy and I make no effort whatsoever to hide the fact we are mocking his "exercise". He seriously looked like a monkey hanging from a tree playing a game with his monkey buddies.
My work out buddy and I have decided we need to come up with a code signal to indicate when we see something awesome going on at the gym. We especially love to see people walking around with the big stick that resides with the balance balls at the DA Turner YMCA. Or the lady who sat on the hamstring curl machine with no weight and kicked the bar like she was sitting on a porch swing with a glass of ice tea. Part of us feels the need to maybe help these people and show them how to perform their exercises efficiently and safely. But the better part of us enjoys sitting back and watching the nonsense ensue around us. After all, what would talk about while we're doing mountain climbers or plyo push ups? For now, I'll maneuver around the monkeys and try not to get hurt by their shenanigans.
Monday, February 1, 2010
I Got a Feeling
I got a feeling that I have the coolest family ever. Last night I came in from doing laundry, only to discover Granny sitting in front of the TV watching the Black Eyed Peas perfom on the Grammy's. I stood behind for a few minutes to make sure she wasn't just flipping through channels. She so was not. She had a made a conscious decision to enjoy our favorite legume in musical form. When I asked her what she was doing watching the Black Eyed Peas and Fergie and said, "Oh, I didn't know Fergie was a Black Eyed Pea." So she didn't know who she was watching, but she definitely knows who Fergie is.
A few years ago, my mom came to my sister with her cell phone and said, "Um, can you show me how to get these free Fergie ringtones?" Because she was a loyal American Idol text voter, she got special AT&T text messages with offers such as free Fergie ringtones. I'm pretty sure mom's don't get any cooler than mine. Allow me to further illustrate my point.
Each year my mom gets to help write a play for the first graders at her school. This year's play is loosely based on Alice in Wonderland. Mom, as always, is the mother. Her costume will include a huge necklace...shaped like a clock...like Flava Flav's. It gets better. At some point during the play, she plans to sing Atlanta Housewive Kim's song--"Don't Be Tardy for the Party". Haven't heard of it? You're just not as cool as Mommy.
My mom is more than just a pop culture junkie. She is the strongest, kindest, funniest, most generous lady I know. She has given my sisters and me much more than we have ever deserved. She puts up with a lot of people's crap. She's awesome. I'm glad she's mine. Sorry...you can't have her.
A few years ago, my mom came to my sister with her cell phone and said, "Um, can you show me how to get these free Fergie ringtones?" Because she was a loyal American Idol text voter, she got special AT&T text messages with offers such as free Fergie ringtones. I'm pretty sure mom's don't get any cooler than mine. Allow me to further illustrate my point.
Each year my mom gets to help write a play for the first graders at her school. This year's play is loosely based on Alice in Wonderland. Mom, as always, is the mother. Her costume will include a huge necklace...shaped like a clock...like Flava Flav's. It gets better. At some point during the play, she plans to sing Atlanta Housewive Kim's song--"Don't Be Tardy for the Party". Haven't heard of it? You're just not as cool as Mommy.
My mom is more than just a pop culture junkie. She is the strongest, kindest, funniest, most generous lady I know. She has given my sisters and me much more than we have ever deserved. She puts up with a lot of people's crap. She's awesome. I'm glad she's mine. Sorry...you can't have her.
Saturday, January 30, 2010
Livin' the Right Life
Music plays a huge role in my life. There is rarely a moment when I don't have at least one song stuck in my head. My mental iPod is usually on shuffle, switching all the choruses of my favorite songs back and forth. I find my motivation to work from music. I can find peace from music. I can find entertainment from music. I can also find parallels to my own life from music.
The Group Ride song for the last RPM release was a song called "Livin' the Right Life". Today was one of those days that I can sit back and review and think to myself, "I'm livin' the right life."
The day started early with a text from Karen to Nadean and me about when and where we were running this morning. If you live in Columbus, you know the weather was nasty all day. I don't think it has stopped misting all day long. But we threw comfort in the backseat and set out. As we made our approach the park, we were running in a live about 20 paces behind one another. I looked up and saw a biker approaching us. I felt kinda proud to have someone see my running friends and me on a friendly run. As the biker got closer I realized it was our friend Brian and then was just excited to see him. I squealed and waved like a little kid. At that moment I was completely overwhelmed by how lucky I am to have friends who share the same goals and aspirations and values as I do. I am so blessed to have friends who make me want to be harder, better, faster, stronger.
Presently, Granny and I are in different rooms. We are, however, watching the same movie. It's one of our favorites--The Parent Trap. Not the old, waaaay better, one but the one with Lindsay Lohan before she was a skank. Apparently, my "overgrown teeny bopper-ness" (to quote my dad) is genetic.
Before we discovered our favorite movie was on, Granny reminded me again how I am livin' the right life. I came in from church and she looked at me in my new Target dress and told me how good it looked on me. I believe she said the dress was made for me, to which I replied, "I love you, Granny." She said, "I love you, too, Hannah." She got me. There's something about hearing your name after those words that makes it real. She loves me. Yep, I'm livin' the right life.
The Group Ride song for the last RPM release was a song called "Livin' the Right Life". Today was one of those days that I can sit back and review and think to myself, "I'm livin' the right life."
The day started early with a text from Karen to Nadean and me about when and where we were running this morning. If you live in Columbus, you know the weather was nasty all day. I don't think it has stopped misting all day long. But we threw comfort in the backseat and set out. As we made our approach the park, we were running in a live about 20 paces behind one another. I looked up and saw a biker approaching us. I felt kinda proud to have someone see my running friends and me on a friendly run. As the biker got closer I realized it was our friend Brian and then was just excited to see him. I squealed and waved like a little kid. At that moment I was completely overwhelmed by how lucky I am to have friends who share the same goals and aspirations and values as I do. I am so blessed to have friends who make me want to be harder, better, faster, stronger.
Presently, Granny and I are in different rooms. We are, however, watching the same movie. It's one of our favorites--The Parent Trap. Not the old, waaaay better, one but the one with Lindsay Lohan before she was a skank. Apparently, my "overgrown teeny bopper-ness" (to quote my dad) is genetic.
Before we discovered our favorite movie was on, Granny reminded me again how I am livin' the right life. I came in from church and she looked at me in my new Target dress and told me how good it looked on me. I believe she said the dress was made for me, to which I replied, "I love you, Granny." She said, "I love you, too, Hannah." She got me. There's something about hearing your name after those words that makes it real. She loves me. Yep, I'm livin' the right life.
Friday, January 29, 2010
Run it out
I want to know what it is about a girl dressed in all black Nike apparel and a hot pink bandana on her head that doesn't say, "I will bust you up if you try to mess with me." After my work out this evening I went to Walmart to buy groceries for next week. When I came out of the store it was raining. In an effort to keep my groceries from becoming totally saturated, I sprinted to the car, unloaded the buggy as quickly as I could, and sprinted back up to the door to return my buggy. Not only did this give me a few extra calories burned, but I also intended to save the Walmart buggy boys one less buggy and give a Walmart patron a dry buggy. On the sprint back to my car I dashed past a group of boys approaching the entrance with a slow swagger (a la "Pants on the Ground") that could not be disturbed by the rain. As I zoomed past them, one of them said, "Run it out. Ooo...girl, run it out." Now, I've seen what I look like after the gym. I've smelled what I smell like after the gym. (I'm smelling me now. It's not sweet.) There is nothing cute or sexy about sweaty Hannah. Are these guys really that desperate for some attention from a girl that they would try to holler at me in my current condition? Not only do I stink and have mascara running down my face, but I know I look like I could hurt someone, even if it was a minor hurt. I think there is something about a running girl that turns guys on. Let me tell you why.
Last Sunday one of my friends was out for a run around the park. She had plotted out her 8-mile journey and was booking along when suddenly, she had to change her game plan. On Sunday mornings the local newspaper sends employees to various places around town to sell the weak excuse of a Sunday paper. As she passed by the man assigned to the park, she felt him slap her booty. Yes, he actually moved his hand and made contact with her butt. He clearly had no idea who he was messing with. She turned around immediately and asked him what he thought he was doing. He, of course, pretended like he didn't know what she was talking about. Here's the thing though. Before I became friends with this lady, I was terrified of her. She's one of those girls who also looks flawless, regardless of whether she's at work, playing tennis or at the gym. Could this man not tell she could rip his arm off and beat him with it?
I just don't think I will ever understand what it is about girls like us that doesn't scare the poop out of these losers. The thing about us though, is that you can't shake us. We'll tell our friends how stupid you are. We will think about how nasty you are. We will roll our eyes in disgust. But we will not stop. We will keep going. So, I guess we will "run it out". But not for you. For us.
Last Sunday one of my friends was out for a run around the park. She had plotted out her 8-mile journey and was booking along when suddenly, she had to change her game plan. On Sunday mornings the local newspaper sends employees to various places around town to sell the weak excuse of a Sunday paper. As she passed by the man assigned to the park, she felt him slap her booty. Yes, he actually moved his hand and made contact with her butt. He clearly had no idea who he was messing with. She turned around immediately and asked him what he thought he was doing. He, of course, pretended like he didn't know what she was talking about. Here's the thing though. Before I became friends with this lady, I was terrified of her. She's one of those girls who also looks flawless, regardless of whether she's at work, playing tennis or at the gym. Could this man not tell she could rip his arm off and beat him with it?
I just don't think I will ever understand what it is about girls like us that doesn't scare the poop out of these losers. The thing about us though, is that you can't shake us. We'll tell our friends how stupid you are. We will think about how nasty you are. We will roll our eyes in disgust. But we will not stop. We will keep going. So, I guess we will "run it out". But not for you. For us.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
About Me
- hannah
- Just a busy girl trying to make the world a better place one group fitness class at a time.