Force of Habit

A strange thing has been happening to me lately. I find myself trying to unlock my apartment door, my mom's front door, my mailbox, and various other locks with my remote control key for my car. All of my keys are on the same ring, so whenever I approach something that needs unlocking, I sometimes look down to realize that yes, I am aiming the remote at it and subconciously thinking it's going to open somehow. It's one of those moments where you glance around and hope no one saw you, though I've been doing it so frequently, I'm sure I've been caught at least once. I can't wait until the day my mailbox actually does swing open at the click of my remote. That'll be a shocker. Until then, I'm probably just going to have to try to uncondition myself from this strange habit of mine. It's funny how the brain works, isn't it?

Florence in all her glory

Guy was able to make a recording of the greatest answering machine message ever. Here it is.
Enjoy!

The Circle of Life

Sometimes I look at life and think, "Is there any new thing that really new?" Every movie, every book, every style of clothing...they all seem to be retellings of and twists on their ancestors. If you keep your clothes long enough, they're bound to come back into style at some point (hopefully with the exception of tapered jeans). Whether you will still fit into them is a different story, but there's only so much designers can do with fabrics, colors, buttons, and trims. Same goes for movies. Most movies I see remind me in some way of another movie, be it in the simple details, the repeated use of the "it-list" actors, or sometimes just the whole plot outline. If you've seen one romantic comedy, you've seen them all. (But, guys, that is no excuse not to take your girlfriends/wives/lonely platonic friends to see them. Women like predictability.)
I'm just waiting for something truly different to come along one day, but maybe that's simply impossible. Without new material, the best we can do is recycle the old.

Bow-chicka Bow-wow

While satisfying my hypochondrial nature, I came across this illustration.

Me: (reading caption) "Moderate scoliosis..."

Guy: So, that's what they're calling it these days.

Top 100

Yahoo news just informed me that Eva Longoria was number one on Maxim's most recent Top 100 list. Various stages of emotion ensued.

Stage 1: Curiousity -- Who else did they choose for this elite list? Must click on headline link to find out more.

Stage 2: Envy -- Skimming the list of names from Jessica Alba down to Angelina Jolie and Scarlett Johannsen, it's hard not to feel a slight tinge of jealousy at the sight of seemingly perfect women. And I don't care what any girl says, I think anyone would consider it a compliment that a major men's magazine has chosen you as one of the 100 best-looking people they can think of.

Stage 3: Contempt -- My eyes stop and linger on the name I knew would be there, but in no way will ever understand why it is -- Lindsay Lohan. Everything about that girl is unattractive to me. From the start, I have never been able to comprehend what Hollywood/the general male population sees in her. The grand attempt at covering up her freckles, the unnatural weight/hair color changes, the voice that sounds like a 70-year-old chain smoker...I just don't see the draw there.

Stage 4: Rationalization -- Reason starts to kick in and I realize that not only have most of the photos I've ever seen of these people undergone intense touch-up sessions, but hair stylists, professional makeup artists, personal trainers, and dietary consultants can do wonders if you can afford them. Maybe, just maybe, underneath all of that glitz and glamour is a normal-looking person. (We'll probably never know.)

Stage 5: Real-life application -- A recent controversy at a local high school revolved around a "top 25" list that some boys made about their female classmates. Last I heard, they were suspended and possibly awaiting a lawsuit. Vulgur and inappropriate, yes, but surprising? No. If Maxim can openly rate the top 100, why can't they? In their minds, at least, it seems like a perfectly acceptable pasttime.

Stage 6: The bottom line -- I really hate lists that rank people on looks. Not only does it cause definite self-esteem damage to normal, healthy girls, but it encourages men to look at women as objects. While all that is well and good, I have come to accept that in America, what will be will be, and these lists will probably keep popping up as long as people like me have the curiosity to peruse them in the first place. It's one big vicious cycle.

Answering Machine Ignorance

Since Guy and I have only had our new phone number for about a year now, we tend to get a lot of calls to wrong numbers. It gets annoying sometimes, but we do get some real beauties from people who don't actually listen to our answering machine message and leave words for someone who definitely doesn't live here. I don't know how you could leave a message for Christopher Blackwell that he does not have strep throat, but he should continue to take his antibiotics, when the answering machine says, "Hi, this is Guy and Caity. We're not here right now, but leave a message, and we'll call you back." Usually when the person you're trying to get in touch with is in no way named on the recording, you should check the number and dial again.

I also got a message on my cellphone which was along the same lines -- "Kathy, it's your aunt Kat. Call me." And the lady proceeded to leave her phone number. A few days later, a familiar sounding voice called and asked for Kathy. I bet she was probably wondering why her niece hadn't called her back.

But by far the best wrong number call Guy and I have gotten so far was as follows...

"Brian, this is Florence. If she keeps stomping on the floor, will my ceiling come down? If it does, I don't know what the hell I'll do. Thank you. Bye-bye."

What??!??! That is one message that will never get erased.

Achy-Breaky Heart

Have you ever listened to a song that just physically makes your heart hurt? That's how I feel when I listen to "Breathe" by Sia. Of course, it could be the context in which I first heard the song that makes me feel that way (during the Six Feet Under series finale death sequence), but I really think it's just a painful song. It makes me think about time passing and people that I miss, and sometimes those are sad things.

I don't really consider myself a very sentimental person. Maybe I don't have a lot to be sentimental about, but looking back on high school and college doesn't really bring tears to my eyes. There are some people who would probably stay in those periods of life forever and a day if they could, but I was always ready to put them behind me. Sure, there were meaningful people and events, but I don't really have a desire to reconnect to the things that made me who I was then. I even get bothered sometimes by people who constantly want to keep in touch with old friends, even though they've got nothing in common anymore but the past. Maybe I'm just a hypocrite though, because I can think of two people whose friendships I dearly miss. And while I am reminiscing about the past with them, they could just as well be on the other end, wondering why I'd even bother. One of these people just became totally different and didn't like what I had to say about it. The other was a natural friend-magnet and eventually became too busy/popular. I think about them both often, especially while listening to heart-hurting songs.

Missing Talents

"Can't dance, can't sing, but always feel like you wanna." My mom summed up my life's story with these few words. After going to Greek Sing at Grove City on Saturday, I got to imagining how great it would be to be able to sing well. And I'm not talking Britney Spears level where you can sing enough to get a record deal, but your albums are so electronically altered that you sound more like a robot than a human being. I want to be able to sing like, say, Jennifer Knapp, for instance. I know some people might not know who Jennifer Knapp is, but she is a Christian singer who I've seen live enough times to know that she really can sing. I just think it would be enjoyable to be able to sing along to a song at the top of my lungs and know that it sounds good when it comes out.

As far as dancing goes, I really like watching good dancers. Since my mom is as unartistically talented as I am, I blame my lack of ability on bad genes. Yes, it is fun to flail around to music and dance as a joke, but boy would it be even more fun to dance and know you look sweet doing it. I think I need to clarify something, though. When I am talking about dancers, I guess I'm referring more to hip-hop style rather than ballet or ballroom. Sure, those styles might be just as difficult, if not more, but I like things that have a bit more bounce to them.

So, if I got one wish in life where I could bless myself with a talent, my first choice would obviously be singing. And if the talent Genie decided to throw in a freebie, then my life would be complete when I grooved to the beat. :)

If Shoes Could Talk...

Every morning and every afternoon on my commute to work, I pass under a scene not unlike this.
The classic "shoes on a telephone wire." The shoes I drive under each day are much nicer than the ones in the photograph, though. They're those nice Adidas basketball shoes that were a big trend a few years ago. When I see them, I have to wonder how they got there. Now, don't be a smart alick like Guy and say/think, "Well, obviously someone threw them up there." Maybe I should say that I wonder why they got there, or under what circumstances they arrived in their current position. Was the owner part of the game to see who could land the perfect toss, or was it a cruel prank? Is there any possible way they got there by accident? I once knew a boy who had a bad key-twirling habit, and consequently ended up with his lanyard tangled in tree branches all around the Grove City College campus, so I guess anything's possible.

Maybe it's sad that shoes dangling from a wire on my way to and from work is the most interesting thing I have to write about, but if shoes could talk, we might think differently.