"Big Box Girl"

Wednesdays and Fridays are recycling days for me at the office. We don't have a recycling bin at the office, yet I pass a recycling depot a couple blocks away on my way home. I've figured since it is convenient for me to recycle, I'm going to at least make the effort for a better world.

But it comes with a price.

On this particular Wednesday evening, I tasked myself to recycle not only my usual bag full of paper, but also a large, flat box I had filled with more paper that used to contain a Wal-Mart side table which required "minimal" assembly. (As the assembler, I now possess serious doubts against that phrase.)

The start of my journey was fine. I was, however, smiling to myself as I imagined how I looked to everyone as the "big box girl." My arms grew tired, but at least I had a good grip on my load...until the bag broke.

The comic situation is not that an obstacle happened; it's where it happened. And as fate would have it, my bag broke in the middle of the driveway leading to a bank's ATM. With two cars waiting on the ATM and one car wanting to pull in, I prayed no one would hit me in the three-minute interval it took for me to gather all papers and hold them in between me and this box.

With one more block to go, I am now waddling and hugging a box that I can't see around along one of the busiest streets in town. I now have no doubt in my mind I could be unnoticed.

So, if you saw a girl carrying a big box on Colonial and 22nd around 6 p.m., it was me. I have the papercut to prove it.

I swear...it could only happen to me.

Out of Tune

I recently joined several musical organizations within the community, like the Hanover Concert Band and our church orchestra.

Saturday, the HCB had a performance at the War Memorial. My saxophone worked. Sunday, the church orchestra had practice. Not only could I not play notes in the middle register, I could not get in tune even if my life depended on it.

Those who know me well, my saxophone is one of my most prized possessions. If something is wrong with the notes in the middle register, there is a serious problem with the horn.

So, here I am, trying to figure out the problem by pressing keys and searching for loose screws (FREAKING OUT) when I decided to look inside the horn. I found wadded paper stuck in between the "B" and "A" key holes!

The paper was the size of an index card, advertising an HCB event in May. I have never seen it before, and everyone from the event (so far) has denied pulling a prank on me. Therefore, I blame the leperchans. Immigration has been a hot topic lately.

I swear...it could only happen to me.

A Close Trim

Today as I was getting "dolled up," I knew I needed to shape my eyebrows. I have a personal electric trimmer to help with such things.

I had a brilliant idea come to me. I was going to carefully trim the under part of my eyebrows instead of tweezing them. In my mind, it was a more effective and less painful option. Carefully, I began... On the way to my eyebrow, I ended up sawing off the ends of my eyelashes on my left eye!

Fortunately, no one can tell unless you get inches from my face. But I won't be wearing any mascara anytime soon.

I swear...it could only happen to me.

DNB Quote of the Day

The following statements are recorded accounts of quotes I said (many I had forgotten) around my friend Chris:

1) I shed like a dog; it's really gross.

2) You don't realize how blind you are until you are without your eyes.

3) I have the complexion of a Native American. (Meant bone-structure.)

I swear...it did happen to me.

Graduation Adjustment

I graduated from Purdue University. Finally.

I hate polite ceremonies. Even more, I hate dressing in "costume" for them. I'm talking about the dreadful cap and gown. For $30, you receive a used wrinkled gown, stuffed into a compact Ziplock bag and a cap made of cardboard that makes your face look wide. Optional for females are pathetic white strips of fabric you can attach to the gown with a weak adhesive. Since, my hair is dark and my gown was black, I preferred to use the collar.

For Commencement, I played saxophone in the band. You see, the band department allows graduating musicians to play for the band with two major incentives: 1) $$ and 2) you get to take a personal photo with Purdue President France Cordova.

After the ceremony, Pres. Cordova came over and called my name first for the picture. My sax neckstrap caught and detached my collar from my graduation gown. I was fussing with it the entire journey up to her, but couldn't quite get it. Without much thought due to frustration, I asked Pres. Cordova if she could help me. Being a mother of college graduates, Cordova jumped right in and fixed my collar in front of the entire commencement band.

After all was said and done, all I could think of how the President of Purdue fixed my collar, while her body guard waited patiently to the side.

I swear...it could only happen to me.

Heels

Last Sunday, I went to Indianapolis for business. Because I knew there was much walking, I wore chic yet comfortable pumps. The toes came to a point, but the heel was less than an inch tall. However, the diameter of the heel was approximately three centimeters wide. In other words, my greatest fear was to get my heels stuck when walking outside.

What I particularly liked about Downtown Indianapolis was the sidewalks. I felt that they were designed to take account of the modern business woman. The gaps in sidewalks, grates, and sewer covers were minimal and far-spaced apart. I literally walked everywhere without much problem. But, of course, my shoes inevitably found the right gap to trip me.

Toward the end of the trip, I toured the Circle Monument. I was amazed at how I could walk over the cobblestone with ease. Feeling overconfident and in control, I began to talk to my friend. I realized my shoe had gotten stuck when my body pitched forward, causing me to stumble nearly to my knees. Looking back, I saw my right heel had disappeared in a hole just large enough to embarrass me. It was a perfect fit.

The problem, though, was to get my shoe out. I had to remove the heel at the exact angle it went in. Not famous for my balancing acts, I hopped and flailed around for twenty seconds trying to get unstuck while my friend did nothing but laugh at the situation. The moment I decided humble my pride and take the shoe off was the moment when my heel became free. Still, surrounding spectators got quite the show.

I swear...it could only happen to me.

Echo Circle

Purdue University, like many other universities, exhibit interesting architectural structures. A favorite among students are a series of cobblestone mounds I call the Echo Circles. They are located along Oval Drive between the Heavilon and the Union buildings on campus.

These circles are special because when people stand in the center, they can create a chirping echo when they clap their hands. So, thanks to the carefully-engineered layout, one might be subjected to find random groups of people clapping then giggling in public.

Yes, I am to admit that I had exercised this practice of nonsense. Purdue traditions are instilled and branded in students within their first year of admission. Besides the clapping, I learned that the person standing in the center could clearly hear anyone whispering on the edge of the circle. However, I recently tried to show this trick to a friend of mine and forgot that the person in the middle was the LISTENER and the one elsewhere was the TALKER. Therefore, after a clapping session within the echo circle, I whispered, "Hey, can you hear me?"

My friend (looking bewildered) whispered back, "Yeah, I'm standing in front of you."

I swear...it could only happen to me.