#5 (Monday Pants)

Over the break I went jeans shopping, as I realized my existing pairs were starting to fall apart and were faded to the point of total loss of color.

I bought skinny jeans (Target, $10 on sale) in two colors. But, as anyone who has ever worn them knows, they are not at all user-friendly. By this I mean to say that getting into a pair of skinny jeans is really an art form, or perhaps a new form of aerobic dance.

I was trying on my second or third pair of jeans when my mother entered the dressing room to check my progress (I should note that my family's pretty open, and there isn't much that will bother us with that whole personal space thing). She nearly fell to the floor laughing at my "get into the skinny jeans" jump-up-and-down-to-make-them-fit dance. I was not so amused. (Note: once on, the jeans actually become normal pants, and one can breathe. But the initial putting on of the skinny jeans requires some effort).

When she had stopped laughing and repositioned herself on the chair, she started the laugh-and-fall process all over again at the following statement of mine:
Me: These are so not Monday pants.
Mom: *laughter* What are you talking about? *laughter*
Me: You know, Monday pants. You get up on Monday morning and you want pants you can throw on in  two seconds and be good to go. These, take too much effort. I need like 5 minutes to get them on, therefore not Monday pants.
Mom: *gasping for air because she is now laughing harder* You could wear them to dinner on  Monday? They could be Monday dinner pants, just not Monday morning pants?
Me: In theory, yes. But only if I have all of Monday afternoon to get them on!
Mom: So could they then be Tuesday pants? Since once you've worn them once they go on much easier?
Me: possibly, but only if I have had the time on Monday afternoon/evening to get into and wear them.

She finally quit laughing long enough to see that they fit, and the end result was the purchasing of two pair of jeans. One normal, one dark wash, but she laughed at me all weekend about my Monday pants.

As tomorrow is Monday this seemed a fitting late-Sunday post.

The lesson of the story is: skinny jeans don't make Monday pants, but they can be Tuesday pants, and they do make family shopping interesting.

#4 (Driving Habits)

I drove home for Thanksgiving break. That's about an 8 hour drive, if I don't hit traffic, roadworks, storms, wind, accidents, etc... I have been called an aggressive driver more than once. This is simply not true, I am a kind, patient, considerate driver, until you do something stupid in front of me that results in the adding of time to my trip. Also, if you think you are God's gift to women, or your car is clearly compensating for something you're physically lacking...I may be more likely to whip around you and leave you in the dust of my versa's exhaust.

Tuesday was no exception to the established driving pattern, but instead of finding myself the recipient of several gestures, honking, and shouting by other drivers, I added a new experience to my repertiore of road tales: paper throwing.

Yes, you read that correctly. Traffic was worse than normal, and it was aided by AR-DOT and TXDOT scheduling road maintenance on THANKSGIVING WEEK. The geniuses... I was about midway in my trek and found myself approaching a segment of highway that narrowed from 3 lanes to 2. This isn't anything to be worried about, the powers that be routinely do this on highways that I travel, I think they enjoy watching the ensuing traffic jams. BUT as it got to the point where the cones that cut off the "fast" lane were visible a hot-shot (in a piece of junk car I might add) comes out of nowhere from behind me and goes all the way to the cone-line in a matter of miliseconds. This driver, a 20-something male from what I saw, then proceeded to attempt to cut in front of me, without indicating, and by sheer force of will.

I was tired. The drive was taking forever. I had "miles to go before I slept" to paraphase an old poem. I did not let him in. Why should I let this idiot who clearly had ignored the warning signs over a mile behind us (which stated the lane ended) go in front of me?

He angrily pulled in behind me (his glare apparently got the appropriate response of terrified braking from the car behind me), and spent the 5 miles of the 2-lane stretch glaring at me through my rear-view mirror.
I could have handled that, after all, that's really nothing new, and I have been known to do that to other drivers.

The roadway widened to 3 lanes again. The driver pulled even with me, and glared for a full 15 seconds, his eyes not on the road at all during that time (mine were, as I have peripherals, and was using them to see his glare). Then, this driver went one further.

He pulled in front of me. He braked. And just when I thought I'd see his tell-tale one-fingered gesture of rage (which I'd honestly expected during the 15 second side-stare), he threw paper.

Yes, ladies and gents, this man of at least his mid-twenties threw a piece of paper out of his window at me. I can only assume he hoped it would fly onto my windshield in a moment of movie-perfection and show me some obscenity? Because, you see, it merely fluttered to the road and was spat out the other side of my tires, leaving me laughing at the childish display of road-rage that also amounted to a misdemeanor (littering).

My family thinks that perhaps he was in anger management and was supposed to find other outlets for his anger than gestures and cussing?

I can't be sure.
But, along with tales of drivers who have cussed, braked, honked, flipped me off, etc...during my marathon drives home, I now have the entertaining tale of the man who threw paper.

So thank you, paper-throwing moron for making my drive slighty more entertaining by using a non-environmentally friendly method of showing your distaste for my driving etiquette.

#3

I suppose I could try coming up with witty titles for these. One of these days when life slows down its rapid-fire pace and gives me a moment to breathe I'll try that out. Until then, I'm going to continue doing what I do best: balancing a two jobs (workstudy and newspaper editor) with an honors thesis, a double degree, and a life. Oh, and sleep....the blessed thing that I'm currently lacking and cannot seem to ever catch up with.

It's what, 2:30 a.m. or so?
Yeah.

I can't sleep again, so I'm awake wondering how late the newspaper will keep me up tomorrow. And if I should try to keep focusing on my massively important paper (due Friday, and currently less than one of its 15 pages long), or give up for now because anything I write will be pathetic.

Funny. I had something funny to say, that's what sparked the move from paper to blogspot. Can't remember it. Oh well. In it's place: here's an on-the-spot poem (I'm good at those, that and changing the lyrics of any song to fit just about any situation in less than a minute).

Hasta pronto (since I have to get up again soon), I'm off to TRY to acheive the elusive slumber that my body craves, but my mind has a love/hate relationship with.

~Nanda

Late Night:

It's late again,

past 2 a.m.

And here I sit.

Awake.

It's well past time,

to end these rhymes,

and send myself to bed.

To sleep.

But here I sit,

My mind unfit,

to venture into dreamland.

Awake.

This stupid mind,

It's quite unkind,

It will not power down.

Unfair.

You'd think it'd learn,

That I do  yearn,

for rest, and sleep, and peace.

Reboot.

But here I sit,

typing this bit,

of late-night rhyme,

Awake.

                                                        © Ananda M. Boardman 2010

#2

Here's a piece of poetry I wrote several weeks ago. It sparked from a family situation, and an article I read for a class about the decline of  marriage, families, and courtship (note: the article is "The End of Courtship" by Leon Kass). Ruth's already posted this on her blog, but I figured I'd stick it up here too, so here it is. It, also, was the product of a fit of insomnia and an itch to write. Sometimes I wish I had more control over when I got that itch, it's rarely at a time convenient to my life. More people should understand what it's like to be a slave to one's pen. :P
The poem's called "Pieces" and is probably one of the best I've written in recent years. Give it a look?
~Nanda

Pieces:

There’re cracks in the façade I show to the world,

Screams shouting silently, yearning to be heard.

But I’ll play my role a bit longer.

There are shattered sharp splinters of broken-down heart,

Piercing through the costumes that keep them in the dark,

But I’ll stitch up the tears a bit longer.

There are tears running silently down the walls of my soul,

Longing for the day they burst forth, break a hole,

But I’ll bottle them in a bit longer.

There are words yet unspoken, lurking there in my core,

Waiting deep down inside, for the day they’ll spill out,

But I’ll keep them stored up a bit longer.

There are moments of sadness, of grief and of pain,

There’s no time to deal with them, to watch them spill down a drain,

So I’ll shore up the dam a bit longer.

There are tiny, twisted, terrors that peek through my eyes,

Trying to show the world I’m pretending, that it’s lies,

But I’ll blink so you miss it a bit longer.

There are nights wasted sleepless, unable to dream,

Circles beneath my eyes are not just what they seem,

But I’ll cover them up a bit longer.

There are days when the mask I wear slips from my face,

When I look as I feel, tired and failing in the race (to look okay),

But I’ll wear my mask a bit longer.

If there’s an end to this tunnel of darkness and hurt,

Where the pain should all stop and the words not seem curt,

But until then I’ll hurt a bit longer.

There’s a hope springs eternal, or so I’ve been told,

Where grace heals up the wounds that until then bleed cold,

But I’ll stop the bleeding in place a bit longer.

There’s a place where the scars of what’s happened so far,

Fade into the background and don’t show somehow,

But until I get there, they’ll show a bit longer.

There’s a time when this struggle will end in a draw,

When everyone’s lost and they’re at the literal last straw,

But I must not be there yet, it’s a bit longer

But to make it there, I must last a bit longer.

God is it close? I can’t do this much longer.

© Ananda M. Boardman 2010

#1

So, I did it. For all of you out there who insisted that my often humorus adventures in everyday life be documented: here it is. I make no promises that it will always be funny, or witty, or wise, but I will try to be entertaining as I detail the quirks and random happenings that make up my day-to-day existence. And of course, given my propensity to spit forth written works, it will inevitably include excerpts and snippets from my literary endeavors.
Comments are welcome, as are ideas for posts and short stories etc...