Lmkaiser's Xanga

Why football is never just football

Sun, 24 Sep 2006 06:00:34 GMT

When most people go to a football game, they cheer for their team, boo at the ref, maybe eat a pretzel or a hotdog and then go home a little stiff from sitting on cold, metal bleachers for two hours. Not me. That would be too normal and my life has never been confined to the boundaries of normality.

Meredith and I had been sitting around watching movies for most of the day, so we decided since the rain had let up, we should go to the Bison game. It would be our first game as non-students. We were walking through the gates, discussing where to sit, when suddenly, a tall student approached us.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“You guys wanted your faces painted?Ã¢â‚¬Â the tall student asked.
Merb and I barely skipped a beat as we said Ã¢â‚¬Å“no thank youÃ¢â‚¬Â and continued walking.
The tall student stepped in front of us.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Aw come on, itÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s free!Ã¢â‚¬Â
I am sure this reasoning had worked on many a college student, but Merb and I were no longer college students. So we laughed awkwardly and tried to step around him. Merb made it safely, but before I could safely skirt the tall student, he reached out and put his arm around my shoulders and began to steer me towards the face-painting table. I looked up in shock thinking that surely I must know this tall student who was forcefully propelling me towards Ã¢â‚¬Å“school spirit,Ã¢â‚¬Â but I am quite certain I had never seen him before.
Was he going to put me in some sort of sleeper hold while he tattooed HU across my forehead? Merb followed slowly behind usÃ¢â‚¬Â¦close enough to keep an eye on things, but far enough away to avoid the tall studentÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s other arm and the half nelson that could have awaited her. All the while, the tall student kept talking, explaining the reasons we should wear face-paint. I kept saying Ã¢â‚¬Å“no thanksÃ¢â‚¬Â but his evangelistic fervor continued until finally someone else asked him a question and I wriggled away from his death hold to freedom. And this all before the opening kick-off.

Shortly after halftime ended, I decided to go use the restroom. I can never remember which side of the concession stand the womenÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s room is on, so I made sure to read the signs carefully. As I rounded the corner of the bathroom door, I stopped dead in my tracks. There in front of me was a 6-foot tall, green boll weevil, the mascot for the other team.
Now, I donÃ¢â‚¬â„¢t know if anyone else has ever happened upon a giant, green boll weevil in a public restroom, but let me be the first to tell you, it is an awkward situation. There was no one else in the bathroom, and I was horrified that I had possibly walked into the menÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s room. I walked quickly back outside to make sure I was in the right place. I was. I walked slowly back into the bathroom, hoping that maybe the giant, green boll weevil had disappeared. It had not.
I started at it.
It stared at me.
At this point, I came to three possible conclusions:
1. The giant, green boll weevil was a girl. This, naturally, brought up a whole other set of questions about how she would even be able to use the restroom in such a costume.
2. The giant, green boll weevil was a boy, but because of the limited visibility in the costume, he had misread the sign and ended up in the wrong restroom. If this were true, the poor thing was probably feeling just as awkward and confused as I was.
3. The giant, green boll weevil was a boy. A pervy boy that used his giant, green disguise to sneak into womenÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s restrooms. If this were true, I next had to decide if the sleeper hold that the tall, face-painted student had used on me earlier could be used on the pervy boll weevil.

I suddenly realized that the giant, green boll weevil and I had been staring at each other for a longer-than-appropriate time.
Ã¢â‚¬Å“Are you, um, in line?Ã¢â‚¬Â I asked.
It shook its head and moved to the side. As I rushed pass, I realized that I has just solved one of lifeÃ¢â‚¬â„¢s greatest mysteries: Why do girls always go to the bathroom in pairs? Because when dealing with giant, green, potentially pervy boll weevils, there is always safety in numbers.

Books, books, books

Wed, 06 Sep 2006 19:53:58 GMT

Well, Elrod tagged me and I need a little break from work. I will stay 10 minutes late tonight to make up for doing this on the company clock :)

One book that changed your life: Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Robert Persig. I first read this book in 11th grade AP English and I think I have reread it nearly every summer since. This book pretty much changed my entire view on life, truth, God and countless other things. It's not that this book addresses all these issues, but it definitely has acted as a catalyst for some serious pondering in my life.

One book that you've read more than once: The Screwtape Letters, C.S. Lewis. This book was another revolutionary one for me. I have read it many times, and often use it when teaching classes or making presentations (to females only of course!) Also making this list: Utopia, Thomas More and All Quiet on the Wester Front, Erich Maria Remarque.

One book that you'd want on a desert island: Hmm...probably something that would make me think a lot...like a collection of the works of John Locke or David Hume or something along those lines. Then I would just read and ponder all day. Come to think of it, that doesn't sound so bad. Sign me up.

One book that made you laugh: America the Book, Jon Stewart. I laugh ridiculously hard when reading this.

One book that made you cry: I can't think of many books that have made me cry. It is my stone heart I guess :) I believe the first book that made me cry was The Bridge to Terabithia, Katherine Paterson. I read it when I was 10 or 11 or so.

One book you wish you had written: Blue Like Jazz, Donald Miller. I love the way Miller writes. It is like he is just sitting there talking to you.

One book that you wish had never been written: I am going to go with most of the cheesy romance books.

One book you're currently reading: Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus for the Office Place. This is a book our whole office is reading together. It seems a little "duh" so far, but maybe it will get better.

One book you've been meaning to read: The DaVinci Code. I am still trying to decide if I want to jump on the band wagon.

Tag five others: ha. I don't even know if there are five people that will read this. :)

Hmm...

Sat, 19 Aug 2006 22:11:56 GMT

I just spent the past two hours cutting out heads on photoshop. This is an incredibley tedious task. Especially when girls have hair going thirty directions at once. I accidentally gave one girl a beehive while trying cut out her hair. The good news is that by the time I did my 6th head, I could complete it in about 15 minutes, which is good for non-artistic people with unsteady hands like myself.

I think we are working our construction crews to hard. This is a sign in the heritage that I thought was xanga-worthy:

In other interesting news, there was a certain high school boy at Uplift this summer that declared his undying love for me nearly every time he saw me. This wasn't a first time thing for me. If I had a nickle for everytime I was proposed to by and underage boy, I would have about....85 cents. At any rate, I just assumed he was teasing, but the other day a girl came up to me and said "you're Laura Kaiser, right?" (for the record, no good ever comes from a conversation started in this manner). I said yes. She said "A boy that goes to church with me came to Uplift and he talks about marrying you all the time. He is so in love with you." Great. You know, I can get the underage boys, and the men my grandfather's age...it's just the boys my age that don't get me I guess. Ha. I should just get a sugar daddy...and his son? ew. I make myself laugh.

Last night I was babysitting and we ordered pizza. The pizza pro guy that delivered at an lip ring.
Little Girl: "what's on your lip."
Me: "um, let's go eat, aren't you hungry?"
Pizza guy: "A lip ring."
Little Girl: "You're silly. Laura, doesn't he look silly?"
Me: "yum, pizza. Let's go inside and eat."

Whew, awkward turtle. The pizza man left laughing and as soon as he was out the door I fell on the floor laughing too. Oh the joys of youth...you can say just about anything and get away with it cause people think you are so cute.

Workaholic

Wed, 16 Aug 2006 02:32:14 GMT

Sign #56 that you work in an office of workaholics:
Your boss comes in at 10:30 p.m. and does not seem at all suprised that you are still there working away. In fact, he sits down to discuss work with you.

I love my job. I work with the best people doing stuff I love. Who can help but be a workaholic in an envirnoment like this?

And now, an e-mail my dad forwarded me entitled "employee of the month." It seemed appropriate for this entry.

Random thoughts

Sun, 13 Aug 2006 19:25:36 GMT

The students are coming back. This is probably my least favorite part of summer. People never believe me when I say this, but summers in Searcy are absolutely amazing. And this summer has been the best one so far...and ironically the worst one. I have had to say goodbye to most of my best friends and I think the realization that they aren't coming back will really hit me full force in the next week or so. At the same time, I have come even closer to the friends that have stayed...so much so that I can't really remember how things were before we spent so much time together.

I am out of the closet now. My former office (a closet) is now serving it's rightful purpose and I am in a real office with a window. I look out on the science building. It has big refelctive windows, so it's kind of like I have my own big screen to watch the clouds collide on. Sometimes people make-out in front of my window. I don't so much appreciate that. I think having a window has helped me havev a better attitude about work. My favorite time of the day is right around 10 a.m. That's when the sun comes right through my window and it is the one time of day I am actually warm at work. Plus, it is hard to get down when the sun is shinging right on me. It is usually my most productive 45 minutes of the day.

I have seven nametags for work. We are supposed to start wearing them everyday, I guess I can wear a different one for each day of the week?

Issue two of the magazine goes to press in one week. No one will see me this week. I think I will keep a change of clothes in the office, cause I will be logging a ton of hours.

I think I like living by myself, but that kind of scares me. I was reading a book about how people that live alone slowly go crazy without even knowing it. I hope I don't go crazy (crazier?).

India.Arie is amazing.

Renee asked me last night if I was happy. I didn't know how to answer. I am not unhappy. I stay busy. That keeps me from thinking too much. Staying busy makes me not unhappy.

LA

Sun, 30 Jul 2006 20:39:03 GMT

So, of course, a trip to LA for a business meeting could not just be a simple trip to LA for a business meeting...not in my life anyway. I am going to steal the chapter format to retell this pathetic tale.

Chapter 1: It was a Dark and Stormy Night...
Yes, that is really how this story started. I had to leave for the airport at 3:30 a.m. on Friday morning during the midst of a lightening storm. I drove along, sometimes in torrential downpour, sometimes in a light shower, dodging the literal hundreds of little white-ish frogs that were jumping across the road. I was on the empty stretch of road between Beebe and Cabbot when an especially bright flash of lightening ripped across the sky. It the momentary flash of light, I saw a very large, menacing man standing on the shoulder of the road. Now I have seen many a hitchhiker in my day, but this man was somehow different. He just stood there, with his arms at his side, in the pouring rain at 4 a.m. without moving a muscle. There was no car nearby that could have been his, no city or town from which he could have come. I screamed and hit the accelerator, my mind retelling every ghost story/psycho mass murderer story I had ever heard in my life. It all sounds silly now, but it was really one of the most frightening things I have encountered and I really can't explain why.

Chapter 2: It Never Rains in California.
I arrived at the airport, parked my car, grabbed my two carry-ons and headed for the ticket counter. As I stepped onto the crosswalk, I thought to myself, "I should be careful. The ground is wet and I am wearing flip flops." I took one step and was suddenly staring up at the sky. I had bit it hardcore and was now laying on my back in the middle of the wet road with my bags strewn about me. Oh geez. I made an awkward roll onto my feet with as much dignity as I could muster and quickly began to look around to see if anyone had seen my tragic flop. Luckily, everywhere I looked, the few people that were out at this ungodly hour seemed occupied with their own issues. With a sigh of relief, I resumed my march to the ticket counter. It was then that I noticed half of the Arkansas National Guard standing near the door, trying to hide laughter as I walked along. Perfect. I stood in the ticket booth with a bleeding foot and wet pants feeling thankful that my misfortune had occurred in LR. Now maybe my trip to LA would go perfectly.
My flights to California were uneventful, I slept a little, worked a little, fretted a little. Once at LAX, Dustin picked me up and we drove to Malibu where I fell asleep on his couch and he went back to work. The ground in California was not wet. Later, Dustin dropped me back at the hotel and I got ready to meet Relient K for dinner.

Chapter 3: Why it is so Hard Not to Stereotype Cab Drivers.
I got a cab and told the driver where I needed to go. He had no idea how to get there so I handed him the mapquest directions I had printed off before I left. We drove along in silence for a while, but I could tell he was the talkative sort and I needed to practice my small-talking skills, so we began a conversation. He was the nicest person I had met in LA and his Jamaican accent was very fun. He told me he was afraid to fly but loved to drive:
Cab driver: Once, I drove to Maryland in less dan two days.
Me: Wow. You must not have stopped much. How did you do it?
Cab driver: I smoke pot de whole way dhere. Pot makes me drive much fasta.
Me: uncomfortable laughter.
About that time we pulled up to the resident, so I pulled out my wallet, paid my huge fare, and rushed into the restaurant (I was running a little late thanks to traffic, but thankfully so was the band).

Chapter 4: Relient K and Sushi.
Surprisingly, this was once of the least eventful parts of my trip. The guys in the band were super-nice and gave me sushi lessons. They all seemed tired. They had been in the studio for most of the day and were headed back after dinner. The only bad part about the dinner was that it was extremely loud, which made recording the interview a little more difficult, but they were really good about passing the recorder around. All in all, I am AF of Relient K. After they left, I waited outside for my taxi and called a few friends to inform them of the successful interview. Soon, the taxi arrived and I hopped in.

Chapter 5: Tragedy Strikes.
I decided to check my bag to make sure I had my wallet (something I do a lot no matter where I am. I am OCD about having my wallet). I couldn't find it. I tried not to panic as I asked the driver to turn around. I went back into the restaurant and looked around. Nothing. I went back outside to tell the driver. He gave me a dirty look and sped off. Crap. I was in the middle of Hollywood with no money, no credit cards, no ID and no clue what to do. I called Dustin and he said he and some friends would come and get me. Next I called the cab company because the last time I had seen my wallet was when I had taken it out to pay the driver. I was transferred at least 7 times before a very rude woman told me that the driver was probably off duty and that they couldn't do anything until Monday. "But I have to fly home tomorrow..." I started to say. This was met by a click as the woman hung up on me. About this time, Dustin and friends pulled up. In my mind, they should have been driving the batmobile and wearing capes and tights, because they definitely saved the day. My other alternative was busing tables at the sushi restaurant until I had earned enough to get me back to the hotel. One of the them called the airlines and was told that if I had a police report, I could get on the plane. So, our next step was to find a nearby LAPD.

Chapter 6: The Pride of LA--the LAPD.
Oddly enough, one of Dustin's friends just happened to have the number of the LAPD programmed into her cell phone. She had put it in there a few days earlier when she had seen a naked man taking a dump on the side of the road. We found the station without too much trouble and headed inside. It was about 10:30 by this point and the station was pretty quiet. I had never been in a police station before, so I was little excited. A middle-aged woman named Ms. Rogers that looked like she hadn't smiled in about 80 years greeted me with a tired sigh as I explained my predicament. She began filling out the report, sighing each time I had to stop and think too hard about a question. She asked if I knew what cab number I had been in or what the driver's name was. I told her the only thing I could remember is that he had a Jamaican accent. She laughed at me. Apparently this isn't the kind of lead the LAPD goes off of. She called the cab company. At this point I was the one trying not to laugh. Ms. Rogers was quite the tough talker. She had a sarcastic comment for every excuse the cab company gave. I think my favorite part of the conversation was when she called the person on the other end of the line of stupid skank. Needless to say, she got a lot more info out of the cab company than I had. We left the station with a police report, a cab number and the name of my driver. After that we went back to my hotel and Dorthy (one of Dustin's friends) continued to call the cab company. She, like Ms. Rogers, was much more forceful than I was. Finally, the driver was contacted and he swore he had never seen the wallet. Part of me wanted to believe him, but the other part of me believed he had a bag of pot and was halfway to Maryland.

Chapter 6: The Fun Isn't Over Yet.
The next morning, after not sleeping well, I started calling to cancel credit cards. I went to the airport about 5 hours before my flight in case my police report wouldn't work to get me on the plane. In fact, it was quite easy. I was through security in less than 20 minutes (and that was including the time it took to frisk me and search my bags since I was "randomly" selected for additional screening. I wonder who they are trying to fool by saying it is random. Everyone knows there is nothing random about it.) The next four hours were spent working and sitting and staring at strange people in the LA airport. Finally, it was time to board the plane. I was standing in line in front of a guy and a girl about my age. The guy wreaked of alcohol and spent the entire 15 minutes we were in line describing to the girl how amazing her butt was. Of course, his language was much more colorful than mine, and the fact that he was drunk certainly didn't help him keep his voice down. Some people use punctuation or adjectives or adverbs to help liven up their sentences, he used curse words. He was even pulled out of line twice and told he was too drunk to fly. Each time he returned each time with a string of cuss words and an enthusiastic "I'm going to Iraq in three weeks." Apparently that gave him the right to be a vulgar person. As you can probably guess by now, I had the good fortune of sitting right behind this guy, giving me the opportunity to smell his beer and hear his extensive vocabulary for the entire 2 1/2 hour flight. Finally we arrived in Denver and I quickly hopped on my plane to LR. This time I sat in front of a high schooler who thought he was cool by making up raps about Little Rock. His best one went something like "Yo Yo Yo, Little Rizzock is my tizzown and everyone knows that's where things always go dizzown." It reminded me of the movie "Malibu's Most Wanted." Ah the joys of white rappers. At any rate, I finally got to LR, found the money Renee had left me so I could pay to get my car ouf of long term parking and drove home and crashed.

The moral of the story is that I am a small town girl. Every time I go to the big city I am reminded of this. So give me my deep-fried twinkies and Wal-mart...I'll stick to my small towns.

On the company clock

Thu, 20 Jul 2006 20:34:49 GMT

I am updating at work. This feels slightly unethical, so I will make it snappy. Just thought I would put a little something up here.

This morning, Melissa and I found a lizard in the office bathroom. He was very cute, about the size of my pinky. We tried to scoop him up in a cup to free him outside, but sadly, his tail fell off....and then the tail proceeded to move around by itself...wiggling all over the place. At this point, the lizard ceased being cute and became disgusting and disturbing.

Penny played me a song today that was pretty much incredible. It was a new Steve Miller Band song--It was the words of "Take the Money and Run" put to the music from "The Joker." Holy monkey nuggets. It was amazing...combining two things that good is pure genius...it was like a musical peanut butter, mayonnaise and tomato sandwhich...things that seemed like they shouldn't go together are suddenly mashed between two pieces of bread and the results make you tear up with joy.

I have found myself beginning lots of sentences lately with "I was reading in 17 Magazine (or Teen People, or Elle Girl) that..." This slightly disturbs me. I must admit, as someone who never read teen magazines growing up, I am slightly enjoying reading all the celeb gossip and learning the dangers of nail salons. At the same time, I don't particularly like using teen magazines as a basis for my opinions. It just seems slightly unscholarly.

So, one week from tomorrow, I am flying to L.A. to meet Relient K for dinner in Hollywood. Wow. I am pretty pumped, and also quite nervous. Not about meeting famous people, more about eating with five people I don't know (it's the introvert in me) and not looking/acting professional enough. I am sure TC magazine is a far cry from some of the magazines they have spoken with. It is a good opportunity for the mag, I hope I don't blow it. Hmmm. An e-mail just came in. Relient K wants sushi. I am going to eat sushi...with a famous band...in Hollywood...I don't even know how to use chopsticks.

This begs the question: What does one wear to eat sushi in Hollywood with a popular band? I think I will go consult my teen magazines for the latest styles...Any suggestions?

Lonely Day

Fri, 30 Jun 2006 14:36:29 GMT

Today is a lonely day at work. No Dustin or Renee to have random conversations with on IM and, more importantly, without either of them here, there is no good music to listen to on iTunes. :(

I was also at work at 6:45 a.m. today...a new record. Then I went to the radio station and had to be flirty with an old man on air. Oh dj's...

Daniel failed the US citizenship test...that's what he and Dustin get for wanting to close the borders. hahaha...naturally, I passed with flying colors. It's because I am a political scientist. Boy, that is kind of fun to say. And obviously is very important...which is why my college degree is currently burried under a tent and a change of clothes in the back of my car.

Got my first real pay check today. Which leads me to sing/lament: "It's another Friday night and I ain't got nobody, I got some money cause I just got paid. Oh how I wish I had someone to talk to, I'm in an awful way." haha....come home renee! good luck dustin! Meredith, we are going to have to do something fun and spontaneous tonight. I have some ideas...hay bales? midnight dip? augusta? haha...I crack myself up.

This was a horrible entry. Someday, I will write something meaningful again. Back to lonely work. Thank goodness for Penny. 3 p.m. dance party can't come soon enough....

The Strange Happenings of Today

Wed, 28 Jun 2006 03:38:21 GMT

I am lying on Renee's bed while she packs. And by packing, I mean she is making a list of everything she will need for each day...eventually she will get to the packing. This is a foreign idea for me. When I pack, I put the bag on the bed, figure out how many days I will be gone and then open drawers and start grabbing. For example, for a five day trip, my bag would contain: 5 t-shirts, a polo, 2 jeans, 1 jean alternative, 7 pairs of underwear, 3 socks, a jacket, pajamas and hygenic products. I roll all items tightly to conserve space, and I am on my way. I just hope that when I get to my destination, my clothes will match and that I can layer according to tempature. Totally packing time: five minutes. Watching Renee make her list and lay out piles is cracking me up.

Today, several odd things happened. First, I had to call the military base. The man who answered the phone shouted...a lot. I just wanted to say "please stop scary man." Instead, I just mumbled my way through a request for a flag ceremony at the July 4 celebration. I probably sounded like I had no idea what I was talking about, which would be the truth.

Later, when Penny checked the mail, she handed me a postcard that was addressed to me. It had an advertisement for Freedom Fest on the front. It is being put on by a church here in town on July 2. The highlight of this festivity is an appearance by the "Russian Nightmare." That's right, I am sure you have heard of this international wrestling phenom...he will be in Searcy at this great event. Anyhow, on the back of this postcard was a personal, handwritten note from the russian nightmare that said, "laura, hope to see you there" It was bizzare. I don't know how they got my address, but I was the only one to receive said postcard. Hmm...

Next odd thing. I was in the restroom using the same stall I always use (I am a little OCD about public restrooms) and had finished my business so I was getting ready to flush, with my foot of course. I forgot, however, that I was in a skirt that limited my ability to lift my leg very high. So, in the process of flushing, I lost my balance and fell backwards, yelling and slamming quite forcefully into the stall door. Naturally, the bathroom was full of other people and I am sure they were wondering exactly what was going on in my stall.

Keith Urban is married. I guess I will have to move on to plan B. Ha!

Renee has begun packing her third bag...will the carnage continue?

Goodnight friends.

EDIT: Mad props to Elrod who had me completely fooled. It turns out he is the Russian Nightmare. Yet another mystery solved.

Friday, June 23, 2006

Fri, 23 Jun 2006 14:08:00 GMT

I think I am going to move to Canada and become a hemp farmer. To supplement my hemp income, I will smuggle 1 gallon toilets into the US. I will never lock my doors at night and I will say "eh" and hug polar bears.

Now if only Canada weren't so cold...