I grew up in a household where every occurrence became a story. Not in a fictional way, but man, we would make the most mundane things seem so dramatic and exciting. Which made life pretty dramatic and exciting, because somewhere in the back of my mind, I was usually thinking about how I would tell this story.

It was also especially easy for me to pick up stories while I worked at Arby’s. For example, let me tell you about the cat man.

One night, I was working drive through at the end of a long shift full of frustrating customers. Really, in the drive through, frustrating customers are the norm. The headset beeps–yet another car preventing me from doing my clean-up duties so I can finally go home. But none of that comes through when I greet him.

In response, I hear a person clearly attempting to imitate a cat’s meow. I get angry and yell at him–but not actually at him. I haven’t yet pushed the button that lets him hear me. Fortunately, before I can say something inappropriate, one of my coworkers hears me.

“Is he meowing?”

“Yeah, I got an insane idiot at my speaker meowing at me.”

“Don’t say anything!” she says quickly. “This guy comes through a lot. He wants a regular sandwich without the bun. He gives it to his cat.”

Just as she finishes speaking, the insane idiot on the speaker says, “My kitty says she’d like a regular sandwich without the bun.”

Let me assure you, there was nothing endearing about this incident. Especially by the time he got to the window–actual face-to-face interaction–and he meowed at me again while I was cashing out his order. Minimum wage simply does not pay you enough to deal with things like that.

But the whole point of this is I’ve stopped living in storytelling mode, and my life is the poorer for it. I’ll work on fixing that immediately.


“You Belong With Me”

It seems as though all I’ve been blogging about recently is my personal life, which is more than a bit boring. I got to thinking about what I used to write about, and I remember many rants about the stupidity of pop songs. However, I rarely listen to pop songs nowadays, and the only one that’s ever playing on the radio now, all the time, ever, is Taylor Swift’s “You Belong With Me.”

There’s not a whole lot of ranting material there. It’s basically just an uncomfortable reminder of when I put myself in a similar position and the times I watched my friends go through similar problems. But I’m going to write about it anyway, because I’ve been thinking about it for a few days and it’s pretty much the only idea I have.

The song is about a girl who loves a guy who’s with a girl who obviously makes him miserable. She wonders why on earth he’s with the girl who makes him miserable when the singer obviously makes him happy. It’s so obvious to the girl. He confides in her, comes to her when he’s in trouble or upset, they understand each other intimately. And so the singer waits around, continuing to invest all of herself into this relationship, assuming that eventually the guy will come to his senses and wake up one day realizing that he’s been with the wrong girl and the right one’s been there all along.

To any girl who’s been in this position, it seems so simple. Of course he’ll realize he should be with you.

But it never happens.

Part of the problem, I think, lies in the thinking of the first couple lines of the chorus: “She wears high heels, I wear sneakers. She’s cheer captain and I’m in the bleachers.” We assume that guys judge us girls by the same standards we girls measure ourselves against each other by. Which is kind of silly. How very few girls judge guys by the same standards guys measure themselves against each other by? How many girls actually pick a guy based on the size of his muscles, his superior athletic prowess, whether he can bench 250 pounds, etc.?

The truth is, we’ll never know why the guy who seems to be perfect for us and seems so happy with us would choose to be with–or even love–a girl who drives him crazy. And if it is for those superficial reasons, would you really want to be with him anyway?

Guard your heart and don’t give it to anyone–even the perfect guy–who isn’t willing to chase after you with the same ardor you’re willing to chase after him.

Fiber Fun

No, it’s not what you’re thinking. “Fiber Fun” does not involve sitting around and eating bran muffins. It’s a group of people who are doing all kinds of needlework projects, but mostly crocheting. Tonight was my first gathering with them.

I arrived early with bright, garish yarn to begin a new project I found on I got a mug of hot tea to warm my stiff fingers, claimed the coffeehouse’s couches, and got to work. Then the others began arriving and the fun began! There were a couple of young, quiet girls who were so talented I was incredibly jealous. Ok… I was actually just jealous of the very warm-looking sweater she was finishing–she’d already knitted all of the pieces and was stitching the sleeves to the body and the front to the back. There were a couple others around my age and a couple others who were older but just as young at heart.

I actually went out of my way to meet new people, and the common activity made it surprisingly un-awkward.