It’s “Back to School” time.  I’m in the South, so you could also call it August.  But it was, more specifically, the week that all the local colleges are beginning.  I live in Nashville and we have a fair amount of legitimate Universities for a a less than large city so that means that my usual haunts are over run by 18 year olds.  If you don’t know me that well, my usual haunt is Target, but I frequent two Targets that are within 5 miles of each other so I had to make it plural.  I was warned by someone (that I assumed to be exaggerating) to not go to the aforementioned haunt because of the hordes of young people buying extralong fitted sheets (shout out to Cranky Tea) and $50 couches that probably won’t last until Labor Day.  Crowds don’t bother me in general and it’s going to take a lot more than a long line to keep me from buying $80 worth of unnecessary things.

But I shouldn’t have gone.

I learned a hard lesson that day.  Everyone looks alike.  Well, not “everyone” – I’m not racist.  Just white boys.

I usually have a mild anxiety attack everytime I recognize someone in public.  I’m not completely socially inept, but I’m not a butterfly either.  If I know I’m going to see people, I can handle it because I’m prepared.  I get a stomachache and wish that I was in bed sleeping just like everyone else does when they go out for a fun evening.  But, when caught off guard, my first instinct is always to hide.  God made me well-equipped with the sensory system of the perpetually hunted.  In a past life, I was a merekat amidst a plain filled with lions ..or wait.  They get along, don’t they?  I was a merekat facing an evil skinny old lion that’s duped a group of hyenas into following him and ruining their pridelands.  And, while I was at Target, I hid behind every row of greeting cards, coat rack, and HDTV possible to avoid what could have been an awkward “Hello” and smile.  It’s hard to shake that unnerving rush.

The weird thing is, I was only seeing people I knew from freshman year of college – as they were when I knew them during their freshman year.  I’m two presidential terms away from freshman year in college, so unless they time traveled…. No, no way.  None of them could afford that.  So, my point is – - why do people in college always look the same??  Why did I see my group of friends * (*random groups of friends – not actually groups that included me) at Target 8 years later buying new things for their dorms??  Okay, so I know your first thought is the same as mine.  They are vampires that don’t age so they have to keep restarting their lives over, but forgot to relocate before enrolling in college for the 50th time.  But, as plausible as that sounds, I don’t think that’s it.  It’s that dumb shaggy haircut is what it is.  So this wasn’t a hard mystery to solve, but knowing the reason everyone that age looks the same doesn’t change the fact that I can’t leave my house for fear of running into the ghosts of my past.

This even leaves me wondering how bad my eyes are that I think every person is someone I know from the past with a similar haircut.  I’m not bad with faces and I don’t normally lump people together into such generalized groups.  I can tell the difference between Urkel and Carlton.  (About 30 lbs and some awesome dance moves, am I right?!)  The moral of this story?  Young male caucasians are my Scar.

There.  I said it.  (And apparently “alterers” is not a word, but I’m leaving it.  Artistic license, right?) 

I never have been and I’m pretty sure I never will be.  I’m no drug connoisseur.  I’m actually more of an ignoramus according to the thesaurus (which is claiming that to be connoisseur’s antonym, but I find that choice of word to be debatable).  To stay as vague as possible, my few run-ins during my dark alley days have always left me saying, “Now, what exactly is supposed to be pleasant about this?”  Prescription medications that I’ve been given for various ailments have always left me puking and much more keen on withstanding the pain of yet another pinched nerve than coming near pills that some people happily pop all day long.  What can I say?  I like to be high on life. (Man, that’s hard to even type as a joke.)

I came to that conclusion more than a few years ago.  I’ll have a cocktail or two to liven myself up for a social gathering, but that’s about the extent of any alterER that I find enjoyable.  That was until I tried Ritalin.

It was the typical story.  College kid needs to stay up all night to study.  My time during the day to study was always pretty limited – so my night hours were the best to hit the books.  But guess what?  I was TIRED when night came.  So I’d heard others talk about taking some Ritalin or Adderall in order to study because it kept you awake and you stayed extremely focused.  A friend of mine had some 5+ year old Ritalin from a prescription during highschool and he offered me some to pull an all nighter for an exam.  He said he had used them, but they weren’t very strong anymore so it might not have very much effect.  I took one and felt nothing so two hours later I took another.  Then I went to sleep 30 hours later.

I was living at home at the time and I clearly remember being extremely exhilarated when talking to my mom when she woke up that morning.  I couldn’t wait to tell her about my new found love.  Uppers.

The point of the Ritalin that night was in order to stay up and transfer all of my notes to notecards to prepare for an Art History exam I would be having later that week.  The process is extremely time consuming.  Thank god I wasn’t actually staying up to retain information for an exam the following morning because I don’t think that would have panned out so well.

Being a somewhat Type A personality (maybe more than somewhat…but who is keeping track…), I like to be in control.  Yes, I like to control others, but I also like to be completely in control of myself.  I don’t like the way mood altering takes away one’s authority over oneself.  I want to be able to function at the same speed and with the same mental capacity as I always have.  The beauty of Ritalin is that I can do everything I do on a normal day…except BETTER.

I am about to say the following without a shade of sarcasm.  Ritalin makes me high on life.

When on Ritalin, everything that you need to accomplish feels within your grasp.  Finish my 50 page paper in one night?  Of course I can!  Read this 700 page text book by my 9 am class?  Why not!  Learn how to do sign language?  Sure!  Alphabetize my nail polishes?  Let’s do it!  Unfortunately, it’s that enthusiasm and focus for everything that can also be a hindrance if you are intending to have an all night study session.

I’d heard tale of Ritalin’s power to focus you on even the dullest subjects.  Kids that are normally unable to read their text books for more than half a page before wandering off into no man’s land suddenly find themselves riveted and glued to the pages like it’s the last half of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.  What I was not warned about, however, was your mind’s inability to realize what the Ritalin was intended for.  You walk accidentally by your computer on your way to studying and suddenly its 5am and you’ve just memorized the script to “White Men Can’t Jump” and painted a mural of Weird Al in your bedroom, but you haven’t started on those exam notes.

Sure, I was up all night.  I was sitting on a heater, wrapped in a quilt yet still shivering.  I hadn’t eaten in hours and my appetite was no where in sight.  And I was more optimistic than I’ve been in years while gluing pixely printouts of cave drawings and color coordinating my time periods, but that wasn’t the only thing I was interested in.  I found myself taking breaks quite often – 2 or 3 hour breaks – to do things like write poetry and watch Pee Wee Herman’s Big Adventure.

Maybe that’s not odd to you, but I don’t write a lot of poetry on a normal basis.  And I certainly don’t write pages and pages in a row for 2 hours.  But, for some reason, you couldn’t stop me that night.  Oh wait, I know what the reason was.  Prescription drugs.  Anyways, I felt like my mind was on fire with creativity.  And I wrote a 17 stanza poem about cabin fever that wasn’t half bad, but that’s really not the point.

It may seem as though I’m complaining about the unexpected directions my focus went throughout the night, but I’m not.  It’s more of warning to others that this will probably happen to you.  The good thing about it is – it doesn’t matter.  You have more than enough time to spare.  Why not rewrite your recipe book ransom note style?  You’ve been wondering what you were going to do with all those old magazines you have laying around and you’ve got more than enough hours because you are no longer wasting them on sleep!

Trust me, no matter what you choose (or just end up doing for no logical reason), you will do it with confidence and a lust for life that you have never had before.  It was the best idea you’ve ever come up with and the end product will be your best work because Ritalin doesn’t leave you with a whacked out version of yourself that thinks they are getting things done only to find the next day that you’ve watered your plants with Gatorade.  Ritalin helps you achieve your best while feeling your best.

This post was brought to you by the makers of Ritalin.

Afterthought:  It should probably be said that I have only taken Ritalin one time and Adderall one time during the same year in college.  I am not addicted.

I’m not normally one to toot my own horn (and I suppose I’m not really going to be doing that now…), but I think I could write reviews and they would be adequate.  Claiming one’s self to be adequate isn’t exactly boasting, is it?  I will be quick to point out that I’m not blown away by most reviews I read so I feel that I am capable of reaching (and dare I say it — surpassing?) the current level of “okay”.

I mean…if he can do it…

My career (goal) is graphic designer.  Yes, I am a graphic designer.  I design things.  People pay me to do it.  Since I’ve never worked in a firm and put in my time in hell, I often don’t feel like I can call myself a graphic designer.  But that is what I do.  So there.

My dream job is being the designer for a magazine that I also write articles in.  I feel like becoming the designer for a magazine is feasible and then weaseling my way to becoming a freelance writer for them is only a matter of time.  Actually, being the designer for a magazine is reality because I am the new designer for Local Table ( A Guide to Food and Farming in Middle Tennessee ).  So, step one of two is completed.

Now on to step two: Weaseling.

If there is one thing I’m good at, it’s estimating what size container I’ll need to store leftovers in.  It is unbelievable how good I am at this.  Unfortunately, I’m not sure how clever I am.  Fortunately, the woman who runs the magazine is extremely nice and the all the contributors are freelance writers so it might not take more than a writing sample and her deciding whether or not it sucks.  I had plotted to disguise my articles in emails, imagining her thinking, “God, if these are what her emails sound like – think of how amazing her story could be about the 12 South Farmer’s Market Scandals!”  And the next thing you know, I’m interviewing Mark Ruffalo and designing the layout of his pictures and deciding on the font I’m using for the amazing pun I just came up with using his name.  “Mark my words, You are about to be Ruffalo-ed Up!”

That’s not what it will be.  Something way better.

The things on my shelf seem like a reflection of me.  I anticipate people coming in to my home, perusing through my belongings, and then making their own judgment on who I am and what I’m about.  Sometimes, before a new guest comes over, I look around with fresh eyes thinking, “Is this the Lucy I want them to be acquainted with?  Will they know at first glance that I was given a copy of Twilight as a present before it was even popular?”  I want to leave a good impression.  Actually, not so much good as accurate or more like in keeping with whatever persona the given person associates with me.  You are probably wondering why I feel the need to impress these people.  I don’t really.  People that know me are given no thought at all.  It’s the new people.  I’m not so much worried or insecure about my interests.  It’s more that I’m not confident in their ability to correctly assess me.  I feel like the things that I own are an extension of me in a way.  They are a part of my personality and if said people are unable to realize that owning Heroes season 1 and 2 does not mean that I just haven’t gotten around to purchasing the following seasons but really that they make me sick – I’m in for a world of trouble.

Everything is highly calculated.  Most of the time.  Sometimes.  Well, when I feel like it and only in some places.  I own very few DVDs, but they are all movies/tv shows that I love so that doesn’t really pose a problem…unless they somehow forget that Eli exists and think I have a weird obsession with Thomas the Tank Engine.  In case this happens, I place them next to The Royal Tenenbaums and hope they just think I collect movies Alec Baldwin narrates.  I have the Karate Kid trilogy on VHS and DVD just to drill the point home.  You will find no where in my home a Karate Kid movie with a girl or a black person with a Chinese guy as the lead characters.  If I wanted to see that, I would have just gone to sleep and watched my nightmares.  I have something called a Harry Potter corner, but that doesn’t mean that Harry Potter memorabilia can be contained to one corner.  I mean, who can contain magic?  The only thing that might be misinterpreted is my owning two copies of The Lovely Bones.  And two copies of *David Sedaris’ Squirrel Seeks Chipmunk.  My fear is that people will make the mistake of thinking that two copies of a book means I like it more when actually two copies means that I hate it.

Maybe I’m not confident in my new friends because I’m making myself impossible to interpret…

Who needs friends anyways.

* Don’t assume I dislike David Sedaris.  I love me some David Sedaris, but I hate me all of that book.  I’ve seen him read twice and it was amazing both times.  If you have a chance to go, don’t pass it up.

“I think it’s parents asking ‘Do you want toys or us?’ “

The biggest corporate ultimatum in history.

Of course I had to ask him what he would choose.  He picked parents.  But only if he could still have stuffed animals.  I said it was a deal.

Anyways, while on my way there, I saw a semi-truck pulled over on the highway and two hitchhikers were being picked up.  I immediately exclaimed (to the driver, Nick) that I felt like I should be crossing this experience off of some sort of bucket list.  I just witnessed hitchhikers being picked up by a truck driver!  This was followed by disbelief by my chauffeur that my list had me watching someone else successfully hitchhike rather than include hitchhiking myself.  This was followed by lame jokes including many exciting things that I could watch others do.  Apparently I should add “Watch someone sky dive” to my list.  Maybe it’s just me, but I think it’s okay that I don’t want to stand on the side of the road and put my thumb up issuing the international sign for “Murder me.”  It may make me seem dull, but how dull can I be?  I was taking a daytrip to the fun capitol of Tennessee.  I was also able to cross #49 off of my bucketlist.

…..

46. Eat a peanut.

47. Wear jeggings.

48. Go to Rock City and see seven states at once.

49. Witness murder victims be picked up by their future killer.

He also said that they have nighttime ghost tours.  If you know me at all, you know that I am pro-ghost.  One of the first questions I asked Nick was if he believed in ghosts because I didn’t want to even bother cultivating a friendship with someone who didn’t.  I mean, I’ve wasted enough time on non-believers…. I’ve sorted out my priorities since my adolescence and I know to get the big questions out of the way before moving any further.  If it has to do with ghosts, I’m interested.  However, I couldn’t agree more with Lucas’ choice to opt out of the tour.  To be honest, it wasn’t much of a “choice” for Lucas.  He would opt out of any ghost tour.  You are probably wondering why I haven’t disowned him as a brother given my extreme standpoint, but he is not going on the tour because of his real fear of the paranormal – which means he is acknowledging their existence and that’s all I’m asking for.  ( That being said, I have heard Lucas say that he much prefers slashers over ghost movies when it comes to scary flicks because ghost movies seem too much like something that could happen.  Cause we all know murders aren’t real… )  While I am a zealot when it comes to ghost hunting and anything of the like, I also am very cautious when it comes to willingly putting myself in situations where angry spirits could come in contact with me.  When asking me what I wanted to do when the weekend came, my first response used to always be “Seance” – but times have changed.  Having Eli is the main reason my ouiji board is collecting dust.  That and that it doesn’t work.  My primary fear (when referring to paranormal activity) is having a spirit come to the home where my child lives.

If it were someone like Casper (aka if Devon Sawa wanted to haunt me…), I’d be all for it.  But nine times out of 10, I’ll be taking on the role of Devon Sawa and it will be more like Final Destination or Idle Hands.  Which has way more of this:

And way less of this:

(If you haven’t seen enough Devon Sawa movies to get these references, they are most likely on streaming Netflix, but I’m only basing that on how bad they are.)

I’m not even sure how any of it really works.  I don’t know if anyone really does know, but, if there is a possibility that a ghost will follow me home, I’m not taking the chance.  That being said, the idea of angry prison ghosts following me home is even less appealing.  Maybe Lucas would have lost them on the 132 hour flight back to Nashville or somewhere in Customs, but we Kanes were never risktakers.  Why start in a Tasmanian prison?

You know what’s NOT fun?  I’m sure you can see where I’m going with this.

I go through moments where I actually think that this is doable and I get slightly excited about the possibilities.  Those moments are fleeting.  Obviously, most of the problem revolves around money.  If I had tons of money, forget about it.  This would be just as fun as planning it in my head as a lonely single person!  But, alas, we are “budgeting” …I don’t think anyone has ever had fun doing anything while working on a budget.  Okay, that was overly dramatic, but look who you are talking to (actually reading writing from…).

I’ve never planned a major party before, but I’m not completely naive about all that is involved.  I have attended them and worked them and read magazines that give you lists of things to do for them.  As you can well imagine, A LOT of crap is involved.  To provide a short list, there’s the venue (ceremony and reception), chairs (for the ceremony and reception), decorations, flowers, tables, linens, food/caterer, drinks, flowers, decorations, cake, attire, music…and many more incidentals.

I seem to be finding ways to make every part of this difficult.  I heard a song on the radio and thought, “I should write that down.  It would be good for the wedding playlist.”  That thought was immediately followed by, “But my wedding isn’t until October.  This song is going to be so 10 months ago!”  I also have taken to a mild form of stress eating which is perfect for my wedding diet.  I actually took a sip of half/half instead of regular milk the other day to see what the real difference was in flavor.  WWJLoD?

The hardest part of all of this is choosing a venue that is in our price range and that has the features that are most important to us.  We really can’t decide on anything until we get a venue and set a date…I guess that also means that this is the only real aspect of the wedding that I’ve had to decide on.  So, theoretically, every other part could be just hard as this and I just haven’t dealt with it yet.  OH MY GOD.  That was the worst realization ever.  So glad you could be here for that.

However, this experience has made me want to open up my own wedding venue.  It seems like a lucrative business.  I mean, you can seemingly charge people a fortune for very little and they will pay it since they have no options and they think it may be the most important day of their lives.  Or I could open it to give people a lovely, but also affordable option….naaaahh.

I’ve had way too many hours to fret about this over the past week because Eli is at home sick.  He’s had a mild fever and nasty cough for a few days, but this morning he started getting nauseous as well.  He told me he was really hungry this morning so I made a huge breakfast of biscuits, blueberries, fake bacon, boiled eggs and orange juice.  Right as he sat down, he told me he was going to throw up and his face turned a lovely grey and he started lurching.  He couldn’t throw up so his body was hurting him and he told me he was getting really dizzy.  Then he started screaming because I think it was freaking him out and his eyes rolled back in his head a little.  I was holding him up because he was so light-headed and then he yelled with true concern, “I’m turning into a zombie!!!”  I had to assure him that it was just because he was sick.  He hasn’t really been dizzy from illness like that before… I guess it’s pretty terrifying.  I decided to google “Things to do with a sick child” to see if they had any fun activities since this is day 3 at home in bed.  I clicked the first link and got this list:

1. Read or tell Islamic stories.                                                                               2. Watch Islamic videos/DVDs.                                                                            3. Write a letter to Allah                                                                                           4. Encourage him or her to make a Dua
5. Do some Islamic arts and crafts                                                                      6. Start preparing Eid cards                                                                                   7. Write up thank you cards for Eid gifts                                                          8. Count blessings                                                                                                      9. Do puzzles                                                                                                              10. Visit a virtual exhibit                                                                                            11. Play board games                                                                                                12. When your child gets better, remind him to thank Allah

I think we are going to go with virtual exhibit…. does that mean website?

I got home from work last night at 12:30am and while walking to my door I happened to look into my neighbor’s apartment (who was asking for it since she had her blinds all the way open with her lights on when it’s dark outside).

I saw three girls in their twenties in a massage train (two sitting on the couch and one on the floor) watching an Eddie Murphy movie.  Victory.

2.  Eli thinks the game Blockus is called Boongus and he refers to Banangrams as Scramble Banana.  If you play either or both of these games, please use these new titles because they are far superior.  If you don’t play Scramble Banana, what is your freaking problem?  Get on that.

3.  At the mall today, I overheard one man tell another man that he needed to watch the show “Two and a Half Men” ….and he meant it.

4. On the way to school the other day, Eli told me that the wisemen brought baby Jesus “Frankenstein, martians, and gold.”  Normally, I would correct a mistake like this because I want him to be informed, but it was too cute.  And I will punch anyone who tells him what myrrh is.  The part that really confuses me in retrospect is that Eli knows who Frankenstein is.  He also knows what a martian is.  Why does he have no problem with the fact that these things were given to baby Jesus as a birthday present?

Like many old people, she also (another thing that you may remember from a former entry) has a problem with expiration dates.  While we are at it, let’s throw in there that her reasoning skills are whack.  We went to her condo because she told me she really needed some things there.  When we got in the car and started driving, I inquired about what things she was in dire need of.  That’s when she replied, “I need a comb.”  I don’t mind taking her to her condo even just for the sake of going to hang out at her place.  It’s the trickery that I mind.  Once we got there, she started to go through the million things that she wanted to give me or have me do and the important papers she wanted to store under my bed against my will.  She also tried to give me a cantaloupe that was completely black on one side and I refused it.  Then she proceeded to tell me about how it’s supposed to be like that and she always buys them that way.  Sure you do.  Then she gave me some frozen fish that I put in the trash upon arrival at my apartment.  I’m not taking any chances.  Finally, I had to force her to leave because I had a meeting to get to.  I’m important and I have meetings, for god sake.  She was standing by an open drawer in her bathroom getting the infamous comb.  I told her to please hurry up and in an effort to make things “easier” she pulled the entire wooden drawer out with ALL the stuff in it and gave it to me to carry with the two heavy boxes of papers and carton of bottled water I was already holding.  “What are you doing, Grandma?” (That’s what I said to her.)  “I’m just trying to be fast and this is easier.”  (That’s what she said to me.)  You know what I think would be faster and easier?  Just pulling the comb out of the drawer and carrying that.

Later that evening, I persuaded her to take a shower because she hadn’t taken one yet and she was on her sixth day at my place.  She has been wearing the same white nightgown everyday and when getting in the shower she said, while showing me the collar of her nightgown as proof, “I’m not really that dirty.  I don’t sweat or anything.  See?  My nightgown hasn’t even turned black.”  If only we could apply that same reasoning to the cantaloupe.

Man, if I only showered when my clothes turned black from grime….well, I have nothing clever to say.  That would just take forever.

In conclusion, this is just a few events from one day.  Do you know how many days are in a week?