Car troubles

I'd like to welcome you all to my first LIVE blog post! Well, sort of live.

What I mean by LIVE is that I just toted this here laptop out to my car to

yep, you guessed it,

inventory the items of my car! Yay!

Per a reader's (hi Dave!) request, I spent a good ten-twelve minutes clearing the mountain of snow off my car, then pulled it into the garage to clean it out. So, back by popular demand, here's the list of items that have accumulated in my car over the past several months:

In the main cavity of the car:

• a lamp
• wallet
• 6 CD cases
• 1 pair of shoes
• 3 receipts (one dated as late as Sep. 26)
• applesauce container and lid
• 11 used napkins/tissues/paper towels
• 6 unused napkins/tissues/PT's--which did remain in the car for future nose blowing
• Greater Kansas City "Street Finder" atlas
• my medical insurance info (safe place, there, underneath the seat, buried under:)

• Wonder Woman notebook
• various food, water bottle, and straw wrappers
• 1 (of 2, total) water bottle(s)
• lip gloss, interestingly not entirely frozen

Also. Yeah, we're not done here yet. That was just the front passenger seat. Did I not remind you to get a snack before reading this? My bad. In the rest of the car there was:

• 2 pairs of gloves
• bracelet
• 12 earrings
• Kleenex pack
• $1.11 in change
• industrial staples (Dad put those in there, btw...But, no, I haven't removed them since summer)
• bobbi pins
• hair ties
• 3 scarves
• 2 sweatshirts
• another tube of lip gloss, seemingly a little more frozen than the other, Sprite-flavored, one
• 2 dresses
• 2 hangers
• hat
• optical mouse
• 2 newspapers
• lotion
• sinus rinse bottle
• chapstick
• food processor
• 1 pair of sweatpants
• 7 cups
• 2 pens
• pastry bag with partially eaten donut (hi, Caitlin :)
• marker
• 18 socks
• 2 pieces of gum
• what I believe to be, but cannot be entirely sure it is: a yellow m&m
• a "Warhead" candy, stuck to the little "well" on the door, aka a door handle
• quality check sticker from...something...clothing, I assume
• tag from car dealership when I had service done on the car (this summer)
• straw
• coffee sleeve

And...there are paper towels in one of the cup holders. I will not tell you why they are there because believe it or not some things do embarrass me, and besides, if you contact Caitlin she will be more than happy to exploit me and my ways, I'm sure.

Um. But we're not done here. Oh no. I haven't told you about what I found in the trunk. Hold onto your hats, here we go!:

• a backpack (full of items which I am not going to inventory)
• a bra ;)
• 2 muffin tins
• cat litter
• 4 cups
• Cherry Coke can
• bowl (been there since Nov. 2, when I brought candy to the newsroom for election night. Maybe Nov. 3, if it was after midnight when I left the newsroom. Is that a little better? Saving face at all here?)
• microwaveable plate with lid
• green apron
• piece of tulle ribbon
• Charlie Brown notebook (not to be confused with the Wonder Woman notebook found in the main vehicle cavity), with notes inside from the Supreme Court case I covered--holla!
• 2 parking tickets (shhh)
• more paper--mostly school stuff
• 12 newspapers
• 2 (unused) napkins
• desk organizer tray

And, issues of the following magazines (keep in mind I am part of a journalism program, so the majority of these were free--if you're scratching your head at some of the titles):

Endless Vacation

Columbia Woman

Ladies' Home Journal

Better Homes and Gardens

Farm Journal

News China

Information Week

Columbia Magazine

New York

Communication Theory

Global Journalist (Univ. of Missouri production! Art Director=our very own DB reader, Mary!)

Milwaukee Magazine

The Week

Real Simple

Rolling Stone

Trust

Harvard Business Review

MBQ

The New Yorker

Emerging Photographer

Ahhh. So, my reflections on this particular cleaning session. Well, I have to say,

and I'm being honest here,

it wasn't as bad as I thought.

Quit laughing, Dave.

It has been worse. Don't believe me? Read this and then this and then cast your vote.

That could be thanks to Caitlin and Riley's pre-cleaning session, mentioned in a December post.

Also, I honestly thought I needed to buy more socks. I was just telling Mom I would like some more, and I only had four pairs with me in Chicago. Looks like I'll be good to go for my upcoming restricted-spending plan (stay tuned).

And, my meal choices may well be expanded if I bother to take some of the above items into my apartment. J-school friends, anyone up for muffins? Cupcakes? Anything requiring a food processor? I'm also coming back with a kitchen table, so we don't have to eat on the floor anymore! Yay!

Here's to second semester, with new cuisine and a--MORE than likely--still messy car. Cheers.

3 Hollas--aka Holla Holla Holla

Can I get a holla for Bill Bryson?

My neighbor and dear friend Carly (who will be home from Turkey in 6 days, holla!!) lent me his book, A Walk in the Woods, last year, and there were multiple occasions while reading it that I was lost in hysteria.

I was at a coffee shop with Riley and had my first outburst, and Riley, who is usually unaffected by my volume level/general-making-people-uncomfortableness, looked at me and asked, "Are you done?" I embarrassed the poor boy, and to be honest, I think he was more embarrassed for me.

Then, less than 48 hours later, Reggers and I were again reading side by side (yes, we are that naturally precious; and it doesn't hurt that we are practically twins) at home, and I reached a particular sentence--preceded by pages of hilarious paragraphage--that had me unable to do anything but laugh for two solid minutes. Riley demanded to know, "What is wrong with you??"

I'm telling you, people. Hilarious. I knew that I would become quickly addicted (and most of his books are about traveling and world/nationwide adventures, which I don't get to do a lot of, so I get jealous hearing about it), so I have avoided his collection for over a year now. But I came across The Lost Continent in the library two days ago, and caved and checked it out. Two years ago I read four Anne Lamott books in a row (with one Don Miller book in the middle--holla!) because I was, let's face it and go ahead and admit it, addicted. The obsession just swelled and I couldn't stop until I was finished reading every piece of nonfiction she had every published. Check. on that little to do item.

So here it comes. The Bill Bryson obsessive reading extravaganza madness rampage. Join me. (But read all of Anne Lamott and then Don Miller's books first. Then join me.)

Pillow Prayers

I am listening to Foo Fighters at 6 am.

That is because I did not sleep last night. Again. I finally gave up at 5 and got out of bed. This is the second time in 1 week that I haven't slept all night. I also just realized that I haven't eaten more than 2 little pieces of pizza and half a donut since around noon yesterday. You know when my neighbors say they worry about me, I usually roll my eyes, but sometimes I think they have a point.

In other news, Michael Jackson. Go ahead and judge me if you have strong opinions on the matter, but I am super sad about this. I don't care who you are, premature death is always going to cut me straight in the heart. Heath Ledger, Natasha Richardson, I still think about them and just have to stop in my tracks for a moment to fathom God's timing, His hugeness, His control, not ours.

I said a few real hard prayers this morning before deciding to call it quits in the snooze department, telling God I don't understand why he allows me to be deprived of sleep sometimes but asking me to trust Him. I know that probably sounds ridiculous to some of you, but guys, some days that is all I know. I guess I'd just rather go through it all, the sleepless nights, the angry days following, with someone else in charge. I never have been (to my knowledge) much of a control freak. Which works to my advantage, I think, in the believing in God department.

I am what we call an ENFP, for those of you Myers Briggs fans, which means I am extroverted, intuitive, feeling, and perceiving. For those of you who are not fellow M.B. freaks like me, ENFPs (along with other personalities, I won't steal all the thunder here) have a pretty rough go of it sometimes. For instance, our minds will not. shut. off. sometimes and we can't sleep. Then, because we're extroverts and friendly and addicted to people (yet here's the catch: we need time alone), our friends see us the next day and treat us normally. [Oh good, Bubbly Bailey's here, let's chat about her earrings, or the book she's reading, she's always so excited to chat.] So we have to be friendly in return, yet I'm not going to lie to you guys--we're gritting our teeth on those days, trying to keep it together, praying for a return to bed. And you know what's funny, just hilarious? Sometimes when you are free to return to that bed, after 36 hours of awakeness, you're not gonna believe this but it's true: you still can't fall asleep. Because you have new things to think about first.

I remember being in high school Sunday School class and we were talking about silence as a spiritual discipline. I asked, "what's that like?," and my youth director gave me a look of grave concern. Which is comforting at the age of 17.

So, my point (something ENFPs don't usually have nor feel the need to have, btw). While on the surface we may seem all together and happy-go-lucky, there is a lot going on under the surface there. Constant brainstorming, meditating, rethinking, evaluating relationships, examining of self. So go easy on the ENFPs, please.

Also, I hope this brief little bit of insight into my brain helps you understand why I have conversations with God at 3 am about sleep, instead of world peace, war, politics, issues of the church. Sometimes there is enough turmoil and dialogue in my head alone that I don't have room for the rest of the world. Which is why I pray for stillness, and silence. I pray you all receive the same.

I get overwhelmed trying to understand all the nooks and crannies of the whole Bible, so I often just hang out in the Psalms, where it's poetic and musical and cushy:

"Be still, and know that I am God" (Psalm 46:10)

Rescued Flushies

When I was in 6th grade, my class went on two field trips on Valentine's Day. In the afternoon we went to a museum, and as I recall there was a Chinese exhibit. In the morning? We went on a tour of...

the sewage treatment plant.

That's right. On Valentine's Day. That was the day that James brought flowers and maybe a teddy bear to Meryl, even though I had a big fat crush on him. But that's okay, he became my boyfriend in 7th grade, so we're all good now. So back to real sewage, and not my emotional sewage.

Some various memories from the trip: I remember our tour guide showed us some fish that they kept in one of the offices in a tank, fish who were flushed but became the pets of new owners. Rescued flushies, precious. He also shared with us a heartbreaking story about an iguana who was rescued, then one of the workers decided to clean his tank and cleaned it with bleach, so then Mr. Iguana died, and thus one hundred 6th graders cried during their field trip. I remember a circular pool, at one of the final stages when the water is relatively clean, with a horizontal sprinkler tracking over the top of the surface. But y'all know I am telling you about the clean parts. Let's get to the good stuff.

I remember the stench. My favorite, most lasting memory, is a vivid image I have of my math and science teacher, Mr. Morgan, openly smirking amidst the rest of us hysterically giggling 6th graders, observing one particularly large piece of poop on a conveyer belt, recently sifted out of the incoming water flow.

Mr. Morgan was a hysterical person as it was. He used to stand at the front of the classroom as we were doing silent study, shuffling our pages, scribbling answers in our Trapper Keepers. He would rock up and down on the balls of his feet, raising his heels a little and then touching them back to the floor. He would grit his teeth and ask us, "Do you know what I'm doing?...I'm intimidating you."

He had some sort of electric device (people I do not know what it was called), and he would have us stand in a circle holding hands, with two students' fingers on each end of the generator, and then he would wind the crank and a clicking electric tingle would run through us and scare the crap out of me.

His best trick by far, though, was his gas in the can prank. Early in the school year, he pulled out an empty Folgers coffee can, with the lid on, and a hole cut out of the side, toward the base. He took the can over to the gas pipeline that we would use for our bunsen burners and filled it with gas (methane? Again, don't know, not a scientist). Then he took a match or a lighter to the hole. We all gasped in true terror, and then laughed, relieved, when nothing happened. Then class carried on as usual. Eventually, about 20 minutes later, the lid of the can popped off into the air and we all jumped again. We all got a good scare, followed by a good laugh, most especially enjoyed by Mr. Morgan.

Months later he decides to pull the same trick again. We all think we are so cool at this point, we know what's going to happen, "Whatev, Mr. M, go ahead and light that thing, we're not scared." This time, though, after he lights the can, he tells the class we are going to read aloud from our textbook, as a group. This was another one of his favorite pasttimes--group reading. Especially on the days he was bored, I think, and didn't feel like teaching. We would go around the room, paragraph by paragraph, and as it was your turn you would have to stand with your textbook. I really never felt that he was a mean teacher, I don't think he was trying to mock or belittle us. I think he was just trying to have some fun, and it worked because we all thought he was hilarious. So when it was your turn to read, not only did you stand, but you read in a particular manner. Each textbook-reading-class-bonding-session would begin with some added scholarly instruction from Mr. Morgan. In his measured vocal gait he would command us to "read with feeling and emotion." About amoebas. And hydrogen. If anyone got too monotone in their performance, he would pipe up, "feeling and emotion!"

Mr. Morgan always liked to pick on Matt, because he liked him and he was kind of a trouble maker but not a horrible kid; a future heartbreaker. So during Operation Gas in a Can Take Two, he asks Matt to read. Matt hesitantly picks up his book, looks over his shoulder nervously at the can, and we all laugh. He shifts his weight to be able to look at the can while reading. Mr. Morgan says, "please look at your book, Matt," and we all laugh some more.

The best part of this all is, Mr. Morgan never bothered to explain the scientific scenario. Or maybe he did, and I was just so distracted by the hilarity of it all to ever bother taking notes on the chemical reaction. That sounds accurate.

Miss Bailey & the Books Half Read

Okay so I've decided that I've lost my energy for telling the water mane break story. So unless there are major protests, I'm going to post about something else. After all, I am in charge of this blog. (That sounded a little snotty, didn't it? Hmm.)

So is anyone else having a horrible time finding a book that they want to read? The last time I finished a book was early May. I think perhaps I have read so much that I have lost my excitement about any particular book, and I also haven't made a lot of time for reading so it is no longer a habit. This saddens me greatly, and also annoys the crap out of me. I keep picking up a book, read a few chapters, put it down, try another, same thing. Even the library doesn't get me excited, and Brad and I spent a whole hour in a bookstore on Friday and both of us left empty handed. Ridiculous.

Last night I started reading the novel How the Garcia Girls Lost Their Accents, and I've made it past page 50 so that's a good sign. I think I'm going to force myself to finish it. It's not even that I don't like these books I'm reading, I just can't seem to finish them. None of them suck me into their vortex of awesome reading pleasure. The Awesome Reading Pleasure Meter has been extremely low lately.

Riley and I went to this big used book sale last week, and I did find one of the greatest children's books ever, Mrs. Frisby and the Rats of Nimh!!! So perhaps when I finish Garcia I will make that my next read. Mmm, what a great book! Mice, rats, cats, so descriptive, so adventurous, so entertaining. Loved it and still love it! Can I hear it for Miss Frisb? Holla!

Good luck to all of you in your book searches.

2 Gross Things You May Want to Try

First. The fish pedicure. Heard of it? These little fishy fish nibble on your feet before you get the traditional lotion/polish procedure. They chew off the dead stuff. I think that sounds AWEsome. But it seems to be hit or miss with people I discuss it with, mostly miss.

Also, I was reading Spirit Magazine (the official magazine of Southwest Airlines, one of my favorite publications) about a year ago, and there was a whole article on Korean spas. Everyone walks around completely naked (at the spa, not Southwest flight cabins), there are hot tubs, and there's this whole body exfoliating scrub that I guess hurts like craz-ee but then your skin is amazingly soft. The article was kind of written from a neutral, I-the-author-didn't-hate-it-but-you-the-reader-try-at-your-own-risk standpoint, but I was up in the air sippin' my Dr. Pepper thinking, "Let's do this!! Right now! Awkward naked vulnerability? Potentially heinous procedure with baby-butt soft results? Sounds like an adventure to me!"

I like things that are untraditional.

[Also preferably a little gross and/or messy. My freshman year of college I was squishing into my dorm room after what I believe was my third impromptu mud football game of the school year. As I pinched my towel with two fingers on my way to the shower it occured to me, "maybe my roommate doesn't always appreciate me coming into the room covered in grass and mud after my little escapades..." Our mocha syrup at Starbucks expires after 24 hours and when Brad and I do the dishes and dump the product that is no longer good, we dump it all over our arms and squish our hands in it. We have goals, and I do mean goals, to be on Ellen, to share "the mocha bath" (trademark Brad) with the world. And, ideally, with Celine as well, if we can manage to make her the musical guest that day. But we're still in the planning process.]

Where were we? Oh yes. I like things that are untraditional. As well as a little crazy, way fun, a little scary and therefore exciting, and certainly worthy of a story. One thing I know for sure about myself is that while I would never sacrifice the experience, I usually enjoy telling the story better than actually doing the activity. Except for petting my kitty, who's at my feet right now. I love to live in the moment of his purrs. Nothing beats that.

Supervision

Today's post involves my friend Karl. Karl is a fellow barista of mine, and he's fantastic and precious. Now I know that perhaps I overuse the term "precious," but really if there's one word to sum up Karl and/or his family, it is "precious."

Karl reminds me a lot of my baby bro, Riley. They are both the babies of their families, very smart, interested in literature, bright eyed and bushy tailed, musically inclined, hang out with cute, smart girlfriends, etc. etc. Both of them are just downright pleasant and fun to be around. Karl graduated from high school this weekend, and today I attended his graduation party.

Now. Karl's family. Karl's dad (Eric)? Pastor. My dad? Pastor. Eric comes into Starbucks just about every other day, at least, always pleasant, kind, but certainly with a vein of sarcasm in him--today when I said I needed to use his bathroom, he said "we don't have one." Then upon entering their bathroom (because for those of you who don't pick up on sarcasm very well, they do in fact have a bathroom), I was pleased to find a vintage South Shore Line train poster featuring the Lake Michigan Dunes, holla!! But I digress. Recap: Eric. Sweet. Loving. Nonjudgmental, Jesus mentor, coffee lover, sense of humor. Loves all baristas.

BONNIE. Wow, Bonnie (Karl's mom). Sweet beyond sweet. Seasoned culinary artist. Published author. Ray of sunshine. Sweet. Pea. Bonnie.

Today I had the pleasure of meeting another member of the Karl family. G'pa. That's right. Bonnie's daddy.

Picture with me this: A van pulls up to Starbucks (I was working, behind the counter, to help you visualize your perspective here). Woman driving (presumably Bonnie), older gentleman exits the passenger door, plaid jacket, i.e. his Sunday usual (I assume, and for the sake of this story we're going to assume this is the case because it's better that way). Van drives away (this is an important detail, take notes). Older man saunters in, heads directly to the newspaper sale rack. Eyes the local publication, gives it a little sneer, says quietly, "they said you guys would have the New York Times," and returns it to the top of the stack. He shifts his attention to the excessive coffee menu above my head, and I divert the man's attention back to the paper. "Are you looking for the NY Times?" I ask. "What?" He didn't hear me. ... I explain that we usually sell out pretty quickly on Sunday mornings, and that we are probably out. He is hardly listening, he's over it. He wants to talk coffee. "What's the difference between a mocha and a latte?" I explain. He has trouble hearing me, we take our time getting to our decision. He decides on a latte. I ask if he would like any syrup, vanilla, hazelnut. "What do you like?" he asks. I set him up with a traditional latte, sans syrup.

"Do you guys know Karl?"

"Yes, we love Karl!"

"I'm his grandpa."

"HI!!!!!!!"

Precious man sits with latte and inferior local paper, girl baristas whisper about his cuteness. Approximately 15 minutes pass. Old man gets up to leave. Gives some sort of "holla" goodbye greeting. Okay, so he didn't say "holla," but I wish. More excited chattering about the cuteness. (It is at this point that I stop and wonder, "how is he going to get home? I didn't see the van come back to retrieve him. Hmm...")

...Time passes, frappuccinos are made, business as usual. In walks Eric. Uh oh. Where's grandpa? Eric asks, "Is Karl's grandpa still here?" (He actually said that. "Is Karl's grandpa here." Not, "is my father in law here?") Uh oh. We're in trouble. We didn't watch him!!! "No..." my voice trails off. Eric considers this, turns to leave. This is odd, Eric never comes in just to say hi, unless he is picking up Karl from work (go ahead and say it: "awww").

"Did you lose Grandpa?" I ask.

This is the BEST part of the story, pay attention.

Eric looks at me, his face so hard to read I have no idea what's about to come out of his mouth. It was part dad, part pastor, part customer-who-loves-all-his-son's-coworkers, part silly, and part Bailey's-a-little-bit-terrified-of-Eric-right-now-and-she-doesn't-know-what-to-do-with-that-because-she-never-thought-she'd-feel-that-way. After cocking his chin in towards his neck, at an angle, with a father-to-daughter, "Bailey, you know you shouldn't steal cookies from the cookie jar" look towards me, he says,

"Did you lose Grandpa?"

For a split second I honestly thought I was in trouble (kind of like the way I thought maybe there wasn't a bathroom in his home. Just kidding! Man, you people who can't read sarcasm are so easy!). "I just let grandpa walk out of the store, I knew I didn't see the van outside, I should have made sure he knew the way home!" When Eric laughed, I became relieved, but let's be honest. I wasn't entirely sure Grandpa was okay until I saw him later at Karl's graduation party, in his precious cardigan, holding a glass coffee mug in his aged, wise hands, not a care in the world.