Unlikely Contents & Same Fish, Different Pond

Quick funny story:

My last blog entry highlighted the fantastic vacation T and I took in Michigan. Anyone who knows me, especially my parents, will appreciate this story. You see, I MIGHT be a little forgetful…sometimes. Just a little. Actually, I’m so forgetful that my folks started calling me Hansel and Gretel – the little kids who left a trail of bread crumbs behind them wherever they went so they could find their way back. I have this oh-so-slight tendency to leave my stuff wherever I go. MI was no exception.

Turns out, we didn’t even make it 15 miles away from the house when my Aunt calls me and says, “hey! You left some stuff here! Do you just want me to send it back to you in a care package?” Laughing, I said, “absolutely.” Sure enough, about a week later, I receive a package in the mail. I open up the package. Inside the box was my curling iron…and a sock. Not a pair of socks. A curling iron and ONE sock. One sock…REALLY!?!?!?!?! The sad thing is, I don’t think I ever found his buddy in the stuff that DID make it home. It’s probably in the garage or the back yard or something. Geez. Huge thanks to Aunt K for sending me my curling iron…and a sock :-)

So anyway, if you’ve been following along, I started classes at George Mason University this semester. I received my Associates degree in a rather lackluster way – they sent it to me in the mail. So now I move on to Phase II - finishing my B.S. in Biology. I guess it would be about right here in the ol’ blog that I’m supposed to sit here and revere on being a little fish in a bigger pond. I guess that would be the case if I was having the “normal” college experience, but clearly I am not. Instead, I’m just commuting from my giant work pond to a comparatively bigger school pond that has really crappy parking. There are, however, some notable differences between a “real” University and a Community College that I’d like to take a moment to mention.

Community Colleges are usually filled with the following subpopulations: 1) Adults like me who, for one reason or another, got busy after high school and didn’t go to college right away; 2) Kids who really want to go to college, but are trying to find the most inexpensive way to do it; 3) Kids whose parents said, “get off your ass and get a job or take some classes before I kick you out on the street.” I only met one or two people who fit the latter description; the rest were mostly normal folks just trying to “get their learn on.”

Then you observe a “real” University setting. There are too many subpopulations to list here, the stereotypes run the full gamut at this school. There are the kids with the Mohawks/”faux”hawks with skateboards and studs, the really dweeby types who haven’t grown out of “nerd” yet, “mean girls,” jocks, band geeks walking around with their instruments, hippie types playing anti-war songs on their guitars in the courtyard. You name it, George Mason has it. It’s just an extension of high school. It’s really kind of funny, especially when you consider that these people will get out college, start real lives, trading their guitars and Mohawks for briefcases and baby food. They just have NO idea – and that, to me, is hilarious. I love the irony that these kids of all types spend so much time trying to be "individuals" that they all end up looking the same. Me? I'm just trying to survive organic chemistry.

One thing I can say for the student body that I have noticed in just the short amount of time I’ve attended classes there – they sure do have some school spirit. I see at least a third of the people walking around with George Mason gear on: sweatshirts, shorts, t-shirts, back packs, all adorned with the school name right on them. I can’t say I haven’t fallen victim to a bit of pride – I definitely own a couple items bearing the school moniker. I was just really psyched about being at a “real” school. You don’t see anyone running around NOVA with a whole bunch of NOVA spirit. Hell, it’s a good day if you can get most people to put their trash in a proper receptacle.

The concept of school spirit in and of itself makes perfect sense to me. I think a lot of what drives school spirit is the sports programs at a particular school. VA Tech has tons of school spirit because they have a kick ass football team. University of MD has a great football and basketball program. Schools with great sports teams drum up that sense of competition that leads to solidarity and, thus, school spirit. However, George Mason doesn’t quite fit the bill of a school with a robust sports program. There is no football team and the basketball team did something cool for the first time (made it to the NCAA Tournament Final Four when they shouldn’t have had a prayer of winning) only 2 1/2 years ago. I’m not sure if the abundance of Mason spirit I see today is residual from that event two years ago, or if people are actually proud to be attending the largest university in Northern Virginia. Whatever it is, it’s pretty cool to be surrounded by a bunch of people so enthused about their school, however unsubstantiated it may be.

The last and most awesome defining aspect of being at George Mason is the shocking availability of condiments at this school. Not just any condiment. I’m talking about the sweet and tangy goodness that is honey mustard. I’m not sure who sat on the George Mason University Dining Board and decided that there shall be honey mustard wherever there are students, but they should get the Nobel Peace Prize. Seriously.

I bought a plain ham and cheese sandwich from their little convenience store to stave off some I-missed-dinner hunger pains. Seeing that the sandwich was as dry as the Mojave on a Tuesday in August, I decided to hit up the condiment bar for some yellow mustard or some mayo, whatever was available. As I’m scoping out the selection, which I’m sure you’d agree is generally pretty poor wherever you go, my eyes fell upon a beautiful sight. It was as though the heavens opened up and rained sunshine into the room packed with oblivious students. I thought I heard angels sing as I feasted my eyes upon a never before seen phenomenon: there, in all of its glory, was a big, giant dispenser of honey mustard. I couldn’t believe my eyes! I rubbed my eyes to be sure it wasn’t a chemistry-induced mirage. I pinched myself to make sure I was awake. Then, after people around me started looking at me funny, I finally dispensed the inaugural tablespoon of golden yummy-ness onto my sandwich. That was the coolest thing ever!

Oh, but it gets better. A few weeks later, I stopped in at Chick-Fil-A to grab some chicken tenders. As I’m paying for my trans-fat-laced lumps of breaded nutrition-free fowl, I ask the kid at the register for some barbeque sauce. He reaches into a bin behind him and grabs a couple sauce packets. I noticed another bin of sauces sitting next to the one from which the BBQ sauce originated. Could it be? Oh, yes, it can! Sure enough, it was honey mustard. I asked the kid to peel me off a couple of those, too. [Incidentally, Chick-Fil-A does NOT live up to its hype. Why does everyone rave about it so much?]

I can’t believe my good fortune, really. I mean, I’m at a really good school that continues to quickly increase its national acclaim (but not enough to drive up tuition prices), I’m on an academic track that will serve to ultimately fulfill my dreams and, best of all, I don’t have to very far from my favorite condiment/salad dressing/dipping sauce.

Does it get ANY better than this, I ask?

A Holiday In The Mitten State

At last! A new blog! [And the fans go wild!! Well, all six of you anyway.]

So what the heck have I been up to for the last month that I couldn’t write in me blog, you ask? Well, a little bit o’ work training, a little bit o’ school, but most importantly, a lotta VACATION! Finally!

Yes, “T”, and the dogs, and I stuffed the Explorer full (including our bikes on my outstanding new bike rack) and made the 650 mile journey to Michigan to visit my family.

What a great week, I gotta tell you. It’s always so nice to go out there because there is absolutely nothing I am obligated to go do. I don’t have to be anywhere, I don’t have to do anything, and anyone who needs something from me is over 600 miles away – so “nana nana boo boo, I can’t hear you!!!” Plus it was very nice to hang out with everyone since I only get to see some of them every other year or so. We had a great time (dogs included!). A huge, hearty thanks goes out to everyone out in MI who made our trip so enjoyable!

Some highlights from my trip:

1. While in Michigan, I got to hang out with my cousin, “R,” who I hadn’t really gotten a chance to hang out with since he graduated boot camp with the Air Force Reserves a year and a half ago. As a former active duty Marine, it’s kind of cool to have this kind of bond with a family member of this generation, as we are the only two, so far, who have served in the Armed Forces. Naturally, amongst all the bonding, there’s plenty of ribbing about each other’s choice of service branch, but, truthfully, he picked the better one. That’s where I’d send my kids (but only after college so they could be commissioned as officers). However, I can still shoot better!!! (Ducking as R throws a virtual flip-flop at me!)

While we were out there, R took me to his local shooting range and we had a blast (pun not intended)! It had been five years since I’d been to a range or shot a weapon, period, so I figured I’d be a bit rusty. However, once I got my mags loaded and rounds chambered, it all came back – Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! – first five shots decimated the 10 ring. Awesome. I love the smell of gun powder after dinner. I had brought my Glock and my little Taurus Titanium ankle-biter revolver with me. This was the first time that R got a chance to shoot a pistol - I was pretty geeked to have been there for that. He did pretty well, too, considering he'd never shot a Glock before. He had this really cool semi-automatic, composite body mini-rifle, I think it was called a "Storm." That was really fun to shoot, too. Thanks again, R, for taking me to the range!! I can’t wait to return the favor!

2. “M’s” food. That boy can cook!! It’s the only place I can think of going where I can pig out all day long on really great cooking and not gain a single pound. That guy is my hero!

3. A popular hang-out on the family homestead is the front porch. Plenty of cozy seating and shade for 2/3 of the day makes for a great place to sit and shoot the breeze. One day after dinner, while sitting around letting our digestive systems ruminate M’s fabulous meal-o-the-day, attention turned to my dog, Zoie. Now, you’re all familiar with my “dumb” dog, Tucker. Well, this one is the “smart” one, but she is not, by any means, without her idiosyncrasies. Having spent much of her life as an “only dog,” and thus the sole recipient of her mama’s undying devotion (mama = me), she’s developed the darnedest tendency to want to mount/hump anyone who dares trump her status. Not entirely an unusual occurrence amongst the canine species until you realize, “hey, this dog has been spayed!” Upon consulting an animal behaviorist about this “habit,” I was told that this is a display of dominance. Unfortunately, the most targeted member of our “pack” to fall victim to these dominatrix tactics is “T.” T, being the boyfriend and all, naturally sucks up a lot of the attention she used to receive. Ergo, the “bitch” retaliates by attempting to make T “her bitch.”

So, on this particular evening, Zoie was feeling particularly saucy and decided to let T “have it.” What makes these events so hilarious (or perhaps disturbing) is that when she goes at it, she gives it her all. I mean, she just GOES TO TOWN on T’s leg. If you ever heard the term “grudge f***ing,” this is the “caninification” of this phenomenon (“personification” didn’t really seem like the appropriate word choice there). Of course, it doesn’t help that T lets her do it and laughs the whole time. Way to train, her baby, way to discourage the “unwanted” behavior. Geez.

Well, at the exact moment that Zoie’s doing her thing, my very proper, Victorian-raised Grandma appears at the front door. Oh. My. Lord. I wish I could bottle up the look on her face and open it up when I need a good laugh. It was a look of pure, unadulterated HORROR. Her jaw dropped so low, it was petting dust bunnies and, at the same time, she managed to scrunch up her nose in a look that only a lady brought up Victorian-style could pull off. I felt bad for having corrupted my grandmother with such an awful sight, but at the same time, I had a cathartic fit of laughter that I haven’t had in what feels like forever. It was almost one of those pee-inducing fits of laughter, like the ones that make tears flow out of your eyes. Words cannot possibly do justice to the hilarity of the moment. Take it from me, it was “oh-my-God” hysterical.

4. By the very nature of a “road trip,” things are bound to go wrong and you spend the next year telling everyone about the time you broke down on the side of the road and your dad made a head gasket out of your notebook cover (true story, by the way). Well, thanks to much advance planning, the acquisition of a Garmin GPS, and beaucoup dollars spent getting the Explorer road-ready, it was really looking like we were doing to have the unprecedented “perfect” road trip. The whole way out there, smooth as a baby’s bum. The return trip was going rather peachy as well. It was looking like we would be robbed of a cool road trip story. Well, not-so-fast kiddies! The last pit stop we made quite worthy of road-trip-story glory. Maybe not road-trip-story Hall of Fame, but at least an Honorable Mention.

At around 6 pm, we finally made it to Breezewood, a popular road stop along the I-70 route toward D.C. The way it’s set up, for those who haven’t seen it, is that basically it’s a built-in place to take a breather as you have to exit I-70 onto Route 30, only to get back on I-70 about 500 yards later. Long this short stretch, there is a plentitude of gas stations, hotels, fast-food places, and, yes, a Starbucks – a drive-thru Starbucks, even (go figure!). We were due for a gas up and a new round of soft drinks so, naturally, we stopped. We chose to stop at a Sheetz because they have an awesome made-to-order food service and their gas is usually the cheapest.

Well, when we arrived, it became clear that the local trailer park had cancelled the weekly hoe-down, so everyone flocked to the Sheetz for some “innertainment.” As I was pumping gas into my trusty steed, I look over at a vehicle pulled over to the side of the gas station. These people must have had at least 13 beagles of all ages traveling with them. The younger ones, around 4 or 5 of them, looking to be about 12 weeks old, were in the back of the SUV. The rest of them were kept in the plastic dog crates used for air travel…on the back of an open air trailer!!! There must have been 6-8 of these poor beagles, full-sized, sharing two average-sized dog crates. I wanted to vomit. Then, as the poor dogs are howling and barking, the fat ass that apparently owns them yelled at them to “shut-up” very loudly, as pieces of chili dog came flying out of his mouth. Attracting my attention, I gave him a VERY dirty look. He then put down the hot dog and got up to let some of the animals out. I’d like to think that my stern façade prompted him to act, but I think he was more afraid I’d call the cops on him. Clearly what was happening was not legit.

Then came time to use the potty. Wouldn’t you know it, there was a line for the facilities. Natch. So, I’m waiting in line in to use this disgusting bathroom (a bathroom so gross, even the soap dispensers are suspect), and I notice that these two girls, around 17-20 years old, were pointing at me, whispering, and snickering. Yeah, I’m sure I looked like a bucket of ass…I just got done driving 500+ miles! I don’t really give a flying crap what Joe Public thinks of me, so I ignored them. Then it occurred to me that they might be jealous – because I still had teeth. I managed to use the facilities quickly and without touching anything with my hands. I swear someone wrote “Ebola wuz here” on my bathroom stall. Ugh!

Just when I thought I was through being stunned, it came time to buy some hot chocolate. One would think that this would have been a quick transaction and they’d be right – if the person in front of them wasn’t inquiring about yesterday’s lottery numbers like most do about sports scores. She was at it for about 10 minutes…and there was only one person at the cash register. The line wrapped around the store. I was SO close to screaming, “Oh my God! I’ll give you a freaking hint – YOU DIDN’T EFFING WIN, LADY!!! NOW CRAWL BACK UNDER YOUR ROCK!!” Thank you, USMC, for instilling some presence of military bearing in my body. Surely I would have been arrested that night for assault with intent to harm.

The icing on the cake was when this huge, hulking guy walking past me with a cigarette dangling out of his grill hawked a giant wad of lung butter and spit it all over the store window. Peristalsis nearly failed me there. I almost lost the couple sips of hot chocolate I’d consumed while waiting in line behind the lottery woman.

Holy crap. I said to T, “ba-dee, ba-dee, ba-dee – that’s all folks! Let’s get the hell out of here!”

At around 10 pm, we made it home, safe and sound.

Thanks, again, to the entire MI crew for hosting me and the “family.” Your hospitality is always like none other and we can’t wait to come back in a couple years!!

Next post: My first week at George Mason University!

That's all for now. Thanks for reading!!

I Think I Can, I Think I Can...

I'm horrible! I'm awful! I'm the world's worst blogger!!!

I'm also really, really sucked into school work right now and am having to dig down deep for time just to eat and sleep. Bear with me guys...I'll be back soon, a-blazin' and a-bitchin'.

Much loves to all :-) Miss you!!