laugh out loud

Future Entrepreneur

2007-12-17T20:42:00.000-08:00

Parent Visit Day--Lockwood Girls High School in Nakuru, Kenya
July, 2007

We send care packages to Rosa as often as possible. But, while she is away at boarding school, it is difficult to get something to her since there is the chance that it could become lost or stolen. So I've discovered that mailing a card and/or envelope is a safer bet. Last Spring, I sent Rosa some stickers, thinking she could use them to decorate her textbooks.

When I had the chance to spend quality time with her in August, I asked her what she had done with the stickers I had sent. She informed me that she had been selling them to her classmates. I was not very happy with the fact that she was using my gift to make a profit. But then she continued. Rosa explained that she was saving the money to pay for her brother and sister's school fees (since they don't have the means to pay for tuition). Needless to say, I felt like a shmuck.

A few months ago I sent Rosa another fresh supply of stickers thinking she could make some more money to pay for Wycliffe's and Martha's school fees. Here is the e-mail I received from Rosa a couple of weeks ago:

Hi,

I am back for holiday and I will call you when I go to Hurlingham this weekend. I cannot call you from here because of the bad connection. I miss you and say hi to Casey. Thanks for the package and the stickers . I sold many of them and made 1200 shillings . I am also started on the business but people keep buying on credit so it has not grown yet . I am also selling shirts and my friends like them a lot. I go to the market and buy them for like 20 or 30 shillings and then I wash and iron them and then sell them for like 150 or 200 shillings, depending on how many people want it. I may as well do business after school.

Have a good day!

Love,
Rosa

Conversion Chart:
20 shillings=$0.50
150 shillings=$2.50
1200 shillings=$15.00

It won't be long before I have her begin to plan our retirement for us....

Conversations in the Car

2007-11-24T21:21:00.000-08:00

I love my husband, but he can begin "talking" about the most boring topics.

Exhibit A...our conversation in the car last Sunday:

Casey (in a monotone voice with little/no expression): I got my new trail shoes in the mail the other day and tried them out. I ran along my usual path, but then I began running on the grass alongside the trail. I began running up and down the trenches. Every once in awhile I would run on the path again...but mostly on the grass. I heard there's a book out there that has a list of all the trails in Illinois. I think that would be a cool book. I think I'm going to get that book. Then I would know where all of the trails are and I could run them in my new trail shoes. It would be cool to just go running in the woods. I'm thinking that when the golf course closes for the season, I'm going to start running on the golf course...what do you think?

At this point, I turned to look at him and shouted:
I can't take it!!!! Please shut up! This is so boring!

We both broke out laughing, but I know this won't be our last "conversation" about trail running. When Casey gets excited about something, it tends to invade our everyday discussions. Right now, it's trail running.

I guess we all get a little obsessive sometimes, right?

Terrorist Threat

2007-10-18T19:02:00.000-07:00

In the Spring of 2002, I flew to Arizona to visit my friend, Nicole. She had a plethora of frequent flyer miles, so she used them to get me a ticket. I had only been married over a year and my friend had unknowingly booked my ticket under my maiden name, "Karen Applehoff." When I stepped up to the airline counter at Midway Airport, the attendant informed me that she didn't have a ticket reserved under, "Karen Beckley." I quickly figured out the mistake Nicole had made. Luckily, I had my passport on me (which had my maiden name on it), so I was still able to catch my flight.

One week later...
Nicole dropped me off at the Phoenix Airport to catch my return flight. I checked my baggage and carried my backpack to the terminal. If you've ever flown Southwest Airlines, you know that you're not given a seat assignment. Instead, you're forced to stand in line. Seats are given first come, first serve.

I was standing in line waiting to board. I decided to rest and leaned against the glass wall behind me that looked out to the tarmac. The moment I rested, an incredibly loud alarm began to sound. Now, keep in mind this was a few months after the September 11th terrorist attacks. I instantly looked around to see if there was a safety threat in the area and quickly realized that everyone was staring at ME! I looked behind me and noticed that I had leaned on the emergency exit door.

It was amazing how quickly everyone turned on me. The airport and Phoenix city police instantly ran over to me and pulled me aside. At the same time, the airline began to board the plane. People walked right past me checking me out; and one woman even asked me if I was a terrorist!?!

The police asked to see my boarding pass and my identification. I had totally forgotten that the names didn't match. This did not work in my favor. After carefully explaining to them that I was harmless (and clueless), they let me go. At this time, the plane was waiting for me. Because I was the last to board, I ended up with the worst seat on the plane. I will never forget my "walk of shame" down the aisle. Everyone (I mean everyone) stared at me as I walked to the last row of seats in order to make sure I wasn't going to make any sudden moves. I overheard one person whisper, "That's the terrorist!"

I sat down and pulled my Pocket Yahtzee game from my backpack. The woman next to me watched to make sure it wasn't a bomb. She continued to stare at me for the next three hours.

It was a long flight.

Designer Cut

2007-09-25T16:41:00.001-07:00

This is what today's conversation with my husband sounded like:

Casey: I got my haircut at Wal-Mart today by Pat.
Karen: Why did you go to Wal-Mart to get it cut?
Casey: I also needed an oil change.

Precious.

A Weekend in Chicago

2007-09-06T22:55:00.000-07:00

My mom's 60th birthday was last Friday. Realizing that nothing had been planned for that day, my sister and I decided to take my mom out for dinner. As the week progressed, plans evolved and my Aunt Paula decided to join us. I decided to research performances downtown, knowing that we all enjoy the theater. I found a play called, "The Book of Liz." Here is the synopsis taken from their website:

This comic play, penned by David and Amy Sedaris, follows the adventures of a female cheeseball-making expert with a sweating problem who escapes a religious community and finds work at a family restaurant run by recovering alcoholics.

Any play that revolves around a woman with a sweating problem is worth seeing. I looked at many of the reviews and critics claimed we would be on the floor laughing. And the icing on the cake...tickets were only $15. I couldn't wait!

After taking the train into the city and eating dinner (quickly), we arrived at the Cornservatory, a small, hole-in-the-wall-type theater on the Northside. There were only sixty seats and we arrived late, so everyone watched as we took our seats. There were three seats together in the back row and only one in the very front. My sister volunteered to sit in the front row by herself.

Midway through the play, we realized that it was a bomb. My mom turned to me and whispered, "I'm not following the storyline. Am I looking too deep?" At which point, I burst out laughing. I looked over at my aunt who, apparently, was sleeping. We began giggling and took several minutes to control our laugh attacks. I think we had a total of four.

My poor sister missed out on all of our fun and shared with us later that she felt obligated to laugh at the "funny parts" since the actors were looking right at her. Needless to say, my mom's 60th birthday was memorable, but really a disappointment.

In the photo below, you will see a picture of me with the cheeseball in the background (look very closely). The second photo is of an actress dressed in a Mr. Peanut costume.
Yep, that's right...A Mr. Peanut costume.
Do not ask me how this fit into the story, but I almost wet my pants when it came on stage.

The next day, my mom wanted to redeem our horrible evening by attempting to get tickets to one of her favorite musicals, "The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee." It was ending its run in Chicago last weekend and she had already seen it twice. Since tickets were about $80 a piece, we decided that if we could get discounted tickets we would give it a try. We boarded the train (again) and arrived at the theater several hours before the curtain call. We entered our names in a drawing to win $25 tickets (2 max./winner). The three of us each entered our information thinking it would increase our odds. We were asked to return to the theater lobby at 6:00 pm for the drawing. Winners must be present to win.

We killed some time in the Loop. When we returned to the theater at 6:00, we noticed that we were the only people who had shown up. The theater manager approached us, smirked, and said with an effeminate voice, "Well, it looks as if this will be easy."

He continued to go through the entire spiel, "Should your name be chosen at random, you will have an opportunity to purchase up to two tickets for $25 each. Blah, blah, blah, blah." We crossed our fingers and hoped for the best.

He pulled out the first entry. In a loud and clear voice, he said, "Sarah Conroy? Is there a Sarah Conroy here?"

"That's me!" My sister began to jump up and down. He then asked, "Sarah, would you like to purchase one or two tickets?"

And then my sister said something SO profound, I'll never forget it...
"I'll take two...just in case."

As if our names wouldn't be drawn.

He pulled out the second entry. "Karen Beckley? Karen Beckley?" "Yahoo!!!" I couldn't believe it! I never win anything!

He then asked me, "Karen, would you like to purchase one or two tickets?" I told him I'd take one...since Sarah had already covered my mom.

William (the theater manager) looked at my mom. "Would you like me to draw your name, ma'am?"

"No, that's all right. There's really no need since I already have a ticket," she explained. Apparently, he was required to pull her name from the bin anyway.

"Diane Applehoff? Diane Applehoff, would you like your discounted ticket? No? People, let it be known that Diane Applehoff has declined her ticket."

Although the play itself was hilarious, we found the raffle in the lobby beforehand to be more entertaining!

Here is a photo of Sarah crossing her fingers before the drawing....

...and then trying to break into the secured entry box.

Tears on a Plane

2007-08-27T20:13:00.001-07:00

So, I recently flew home from Kenya. It takes 24 hours from Nairobi to Chicago, so needless to say I always dread my flights abroad...especially when I'm flying them alone. One of the great features is the individual television screen that offers a large selection of new release movies and television shows.

I had completed the first leg of my return flight (Nairobi to London). After a 7-hour layover in the London Heathrow Airport, I boarded my second flight home to O'Hare. The flights home are difficult for me for many reasons:
1) The change in time zones really throws my body out of whack. I'm completely exhausted and it is difficult to sleep sitting upright.
2) Flying makes me cranky. It is so hard to sit in one place for so long.
3) I've just said goodbye to Rosa (again) and my mind begins to wander back to last July and the failed adoption.

Needless to say, I look forward to watching several movies to get my mind off of these things.

I found my seat...in the bulkhead...in the aisle. Perfect. I would have plenty of room to move. The flight attendants eventually began their familiar spiel on nearest exits, flotation devices, yada...yada...yada. Most of these procedures were demonstrated on our personalized television screens. Mine suddenly went blank.

I informed the flight attendant of my malfunctioning screen before take-off and he said he'd take care of it right away. The head flight attendant reset the entire screen, but still no luck. He tried again. Nothing.

Two hours later, the head flight attendant came by. He explained that they had tried everything and, for some reason, I had a dysfunctional system. He apologized and offered me some magazines.

Within seconds of him walking away, uncontrollable tears fell from my eyes. I wasn't even really sure why I was crying, but I figured it had to be because this was "the straw that broke the camel's back." I wanted to keep my mind off things and now I had 8 1/2 hours of sitting and thinking ahead of me. Complete torture.

My flight attendant approached me and asked if someone had been by to explain what had happened. I nodded my head and said, "I understand. It is difficult to have any control over technological problems." He asked, "Are you crying? Are you all right?"

Oh my gosh. I was so embarrassed. "Follow me." I wasn't sure where I was supposed to go, but I thoughtlessly followed my new friend to the galley of the plane. He unfolded his special flight attendant seat and directed me to sit down. "Now, what can I get you? Chocolate? Coffee? Tea? How about a bottle of water?" I declined his offer, but I was given water anyway. He sat down next to me and asked, "Tell me what's wrong. Is it the television? I'm so sorry about that!"

The tears started flowing! Have you ever cried and wanted to stop so badly, but you weren't able to? I explained to him how I had left my daughter in Nairobi. He asked all about her and told me of his frequent flights to Nairobi, hoping that would offer me some peace. "My name is Arwon. If you need anything, let me know!"

I returned to my seat and attempted to look at borrowed fashion magazines for the next eight hours. Arwon continually checked on me to make sure I was OK (and not crying). It was nice to know I had someone looking out for me with a shoulder to cry on...literally!

Sinks Road

2007-08-20T08:05:00.000-07:00

When we were still dating, Casey and I decided to drive cross-country. My best friend needed someone to go with her as she drove her car back to Phoenix. Casey and I figured it was a great opportunity to see the country and see if we could stand being around one another for an extended period of time.

We decided that our first stop would be Lake of the Ozarks, where Casey's grandparents lived. We would spend the day tubing and water skiing at their lake house. Before arriving at the Ozarks, however, we had to make a vital stop in Florrisant (a suburb of St. Louis).

Casey grew up in Florrisant. I was often told about his warm memories growing up in his childhood home on Sinks Road. The road was called, "Sinks Road" because it was paved around giant sink holes that had formed in the ground.

His family lived on a large piece of property and Casey would tell me about how it would take him and his brother 3 days to mow the lawn. Or how he and his brother would build forts in the surrounding woods.

I knew it was important for me to see this place that had held such a special place in his heart....

As we drove along Sinks Road, it was almost as if Casey were a young boy again. He couldn't sit still knowing that it had been at least ten years since he had been there. I was wondering what we would tell the new tenants when they saw us trespassing on their property, but apparently Casey wasn't too concerned.

We rounded the curve and pulled into his driveway. It was surrounded by overgrown weeds. Whoever lived here, obviously wasn't taking good care of the property. His driveway was long and we continued on until we reached the house.

I watched Casey's expression, kind of like when you watch a groom's reaction as the bride walks down the aisle in her wedding dress. Casey looked as if he were going to cry....and these were not tears of joy.

The house was gone.

Nicole and I looked at each other. We didn't know what to do. Then suddenly, I burst out laughing. "Where's your house?" I asked him.

"I don't know." He sounded six years old again. He slowly got out of the car and began walking the property with a confused look on his face. We followed. A few minutes later, Casey began giving us a "tour" of the house.

"This is where the living room was."

"This is where our pool was."

I didn't know what to say. So, I suggested taking a photo of him in front of the house. What else could we do?

Here's that photo....I think he's standing in the kitchen.

Sheer Laziness

2007-08-16T05:43:00.000-07:00

I was over at my best friend's house one day. Her mom needed to run some errands and asked us to do some chores around the house while she was gone. She offered to pay us for our efforts, so my friend agreed.

My simple assignment was to vacuum the living room floor. I asked Nicole for the vacuum cleaner. She said it was down in the basement. Knowing how heavy it was, I wasn't too excited about lifting the heavy beast up the stairs.

So, I improvised....

I walked into the living room and began dragging the side of my foot along the carpet in straight lines. Up and down. Up and down.

When I had finished, the living room carpet looked striped and "vacuumed." I was so proud of my accomplishments.

Nicole's mom returned from the store and I was excited to show her my work. She asked me if the vacuum was broken. I asked her, "Why?" with a pained look on my face. Had my new vacuuming method been discovered? She responded by saying, "Look at the floor! Nothing was picked up by the vacuum. The floor is still filthy." She looked stressed. She obviously didn't want to splurge on a new vacuum. I didn't know what to do. I didn't want to confess my lazy ways. "Great! Now I need to go get a new vacuum!"

"WAIT!" I cried. "I didn't use the vacuum. I just dragged my foot up and down across the carpet to make it look as if I vacuumed!" I had to confess. A puzzled look came over her face. I know she was wondering why in the heck I would go through such trouble. But all in all, she was relieved that the vacuum still worked.

In the end, it took me twice as long to drag my foot in neat rows rather than using their dumb vacuum. It sounded like a good idea!?!?

Abandoned

2007-06-24T20:23:00.000-07:00

Our family had a lake house in Twin Lakes, Wisconsin. We practically lived at the lake house each summer and spent most of our days fishing, skiing, tubing, and swimming in Lake Elizabeth. One weekend, my parents had invited some friends (and their three children) to stay for a couple of days. We had all been out on the boat for an entire day when my dad realized we needed to refuel.

Lake Elizabeth has a gas station right on the pier so that you can pull up and fill up without leaving the boat. I stepped out of the boat onto the pier and quickly ran to the bathroom inside the building while my dad refueled.
When I stepped back outside, I looked toward the water to see our boat speeding away from the pier. My worst nightmare had come true. I felt helpless. I had to think quickly. I ran to the end of the pier and started shouting, "Mom! Dad! Come back!" As a seven year-old, it seemed like the only logical thing to do.

I suddenly looked to my left and, as if they were my guardian angels, an elderly couple started shouting toward the water and waving their hands in the air to grab my family's attention. My parents were already out of sight when my mother counted heads and realized that I was missing. Terrified, they turned around and returned to the pier to find me traumatized in the arms of my new elderly friends.

Apparently we were told to stay in the boat. I must not have heard those directions.

For years afterwards, I couldn't trust my parents. I felt as if they would leave me in strange places. It got so bad that when I went into a public restroom, I made my mother stand on the outside of the stall door with her nose pressed against it so that I could see her feet. This visual would reassure me that she wasn't going anywhere. She said that she received many stares from other women in the restroom. Now that's love.

Scary Sleeper

2007-06-17T12:12:00.000-07:00

When I'm asleep, I'm known to do strange things. One morning, I had woken up inside my closet; another time I walked right out the front door while fast asleep.

Just recently, I was disturbed to find that my awkward sleeping habits still plague me. I woke up last night, around 3 a.m., to discover that I was cuddling my stereo. Apparently I had unplugged the speakers, placed the stereo on top of the bed, and wrapped my arms around it before falling back to sleep again. I guess I even had time to disconnect the wires. The scary thing is that I don't remember any of it. Would anyone like to try and analyze this one?

The Great Movie Ride

2007-06-15T22:12:00.000-07:00

If you know me well, you know that I can slip into a "laugh attack" rather easily. At which point, I have a difficult time controlling my laughter. Usually it gets so bad, that I'm perceived as rude in certain settings...but I just can't help it!!!!

For some reason, we chose to ride "The Great Movie Ride" at MGM Studios. It was the lamest thing I've ever witnessed. There were scary mannequins and singing puppets from outdated movies. Worst of all was our tour guide, Jessica. Jessica couldn't have been more than 19 years old and 95 lbs. I would guess that she was an aspiring actress because she delivered all of her scripted lines with too much enthusiasm and facial expression.

"Good Afternoon Ladies and Gentlemen. Welcome to the Great American Movie Ride. You couldn't have asked for a better guide because...well...I love movies (giggle)!"

Barf.

She led us through scary mannequins with marionette-type mouths. Towards the end of our journey, we entered Oz. Jessica was excited to tell us all about the Wicked Witch and the munchkins. On cue, the mechanical munchkins peered out from hiding and began singing "Follow the Yellow Brick Road." Their faces were disturbing and somewhat scary.

When the song ended, Jessica began to look uncomfortable. Something was apparently wrong.

"Um...folks. Let me tell you more about the munchkins. All of the munchkins, except for the coroner, are now dead."

It was obvious Jessica was trying to stall and divert our attention. The boy sitting in front of us began to cry. This ride had become torturous and it was now clear that it had broken down and we were stuck.

"Folks, Maintenance should be here any minute. Hopefully they can fix the problem."

Jessica felt helpless. Looking around me at the scary munchkin faces, Jessica's look of discomfort, and the tearful third grader, I couldn't help but bust out laughing. My shoulders began to shake. I put all of my effort into muting my laughter, but it tended to leak out every once in awhile.

Minutes later (although it felt longer), the maintenance man emerged from "Oz," pressed a few buttons and we were on our way again.

My laughter didn't cease.

As we approached the exit, I wanted to gag as Jessica recited her final lines:
"Ladies and Gentlemen, we have now reached the end of The Great Movie Ride. When I say 'ACTION,' Don't forget to applaud for your favorite star of the show--ME........Action!"

I couldn't get off of the ride fast enough.

Although this photo is horribly blurry, you can see the maintenance man (on the ground to the left) attempting to repair the ride as Jessica (in the red beret and suspenders) looks on in despair. The photo is blurry because we weren't allowed to take photos, so this was taken without a flash.

Security Threat

2007-06-13T12:15:00.000-07:00

My best friend offered to use her own frequent flyer miles so that I could visit her in Phoenix, Arizona one spring. I was looking forward to a relaxing spring vacation. She had reserved my ticket at the airline counter. When I approached the woman working behind the desk and told her my name, she informed me that nothing had been reserved under my name. I began to panic, knowing that my flight would be leaving in a matter of minutes. We finally figured out the mistake. Although I had already been married for a year, my friend had accidentally reserved my airline ticket under my maiden name. Luckily, I had my passport with me (which still had my former name on it).

The trip was quite enjoyable. When it came time to return home, Nicole dropped me off at the curb of the Phoenix Airport. Since I was flying Southwest Airlines, I was forced to stand in line with the hundreds of other passengers waiting to claim a seat. The wait was getting long and I soon grew tired of standing. With my backpack strapped to me, I leaned against the glass wall behind me.

As I slowly leaned to rest, the loudest alarm began to sound. I looked around to see what the commotion was all about. Since it had been only a matter of months since the September 11th attacks, all passengers in the airport were already walking on eggshells. Where was the security breach? My worst nightmare came true when I instantly saw hundreds of strange faces staring at ME!

I turned around to see that I had leaned against the glass door leading to the tarmac. The door was clearly labeled, "ALARM WILL SOUND." An awkward smile came across my face and I tried to use body language to communicate to the fearful passengers that I was innocent. Apparently it wasn't enough.

The Airport Security and Phoenix Police approached me and asked to speak with me in private. They pulled me aside and asked to see my boarding pass and driver's license. Trying to look calm, I pulled both from my backpack and handed them over. Looks of confusion covered their faces as if they were given a puzzle to solve. I had forgotten that my boarding pass was under my maiden name and my driver's license read my married last name. The inconsistencies in my identity did not play in my favor.

After explaining to them that I was just a clueless traveler who had accidentally sounded the alarm, they decided to let me go. They explained to me that the plane had waited for me. I was thrilled, thinking I had missed my opportunity to get home at my scheduled arrival time.

Soon after, I realized that it would have been better to take the next flight. All of the passengers had already boarded, which left the last seat of the plane for me. I had to walk down the aisle as all eyes watched me. I heard whispers...

"Is that the terrorist?"
"She looks harmless to me."
"Should we be worried?"

I now refer to that long walk down the aisle as my "Walk of Shame." I quietly sat down and reached for my Pocket Yahtzee inside my backpack. The woman across the aisle from me watched my every move and literally stared at me the whole flight home.

I make a lousy terrorist.

Fist Fight

2007-06-11T16:05:00.000-07:00

So, from what I've gathered, Disney World is supposed to be the happiest place on earth, right? Not the case. For the most part, the "Disney Experience" was pleasant as long as you don't factor in the bratty children who displayed ungratefulness or the numerous adults wearing Mickey Mouse ears. Despite all of this, there was a group of middle-aged women who decided that they apparently owned the park.

Let me explain...
We had just gotten in line for the "MGM Backlot Tour." It began with a water spectacle in which they used fire and special effects to create an air attack. We stood and watched as two teenage Disney employees explained to us how they create such a spectacle in the movies. Afterwards, we were directed to move along and board a tram for the remainder of the tour. As three lines merged into one, we heard a nasty voice yell out, "Who do you think you are? What kind of person steps in front of a wheelchair?" I turned to see who was screaming and noticed that it was a woman yelling at my sister and her husband. Craig turned around and replied, "I'm sorry...I would never do something like that intentionally."

His answer obviously didn't satisfy her. She continued to rant and rave and swear at the two. At this point, I couldn't stand by and not defend them. I explained to the woman, "Why would you talk to someone like that? They obviously didn't get in your way on purpose. When hundreds of people stand in a line, it is going to get crowded." To which she responded, "You are a B*#%@&!" I decided to ignore her and continued moving in line.

The woman sitting in the wheelchair was somewhat embarrassed by her friend's reaction, asking her to settle down. The three women were overweight, which is why I think the one was sitting in a wheelchair, the other one was using a cane. I was shocked that these women thought they could take us on.

As we proceeded toward the tram, I thought the feud had ended. The woman began ramming her friend's wheelchair into Craig's ankles and then Sarah's. They quietly moved aside, which then left my ankles as bait. The woman began to run the wheelchair into my ankles. After 3-4 hits, I turned around and asked/yelled, "Would you please stop ramming your wheelchair into my ankles?" At the same time, I grabbed hold of the wheelchair armrest to ensure that it wouldn't hit me from the front as well. At this point, Ms. Cheerful began shouting, "Let go of that wheelchair! You better let go or I'll call Security!" To which I asked, "Would you please call Security so that I can report you?" I really thought she was about to throw a punch at me.

The third woman (the one with the cane) eventually moved forward in line and placed herself between me and the wheelchair. As we continued on in line, my "buddy" continued to shout, "I'm reporting you! I'm going to kick your a$@!" I couldn't keep from laughing, but ignored her as much as I could. It all seemed surreal. When we finally had the chance to board the tram, I heard the woman complaining about me to one of the ride operators. They didn't seem to care at all. In the end, I looked back to see the woman in the wheelchair stand up and walk perfectly to the front of the ride. Perhaps she was healed miraculously?!?

Here is a photo of poor Craig's ankle. I'm keeping it as evidence should the Disney Police ever come knocking on my door....

Our Kooky Neighbor

2007-05-17T19:45:00.000-07:00

This post is dedicated to my cousin Jill (who is on bed rest indefinitely). Hopefully it makes you chuckle.... :)

My parents had gone to bed one summer night. All of the lights were out when the doorbell rang at 11:00. You can imagine how scared they were thinking something was wrong. To their surprise our neighbor, Mr. Logan*, was standing at the front door in his bathrobe with an encyclopedia under one arm. In the other hand he was holding a block of a wood in which he had speared a cockroach to it using a large hat pin. The first words out of Mr. Logan's mouth were, "What do you think...is this a Japanese cockroach or an American cockroach? I have an encyclopedia with me. Let's look it up together."

*Name has been changed to protect his poor defenseless children.

Shout Out

2007-05-14T21:14:00.000-07:00

I have to give props to my cousin Ami, my biggest fan. Ami checks my blog everyday (if not multiple times throughout the day). She enjoys reading my stories probably more than I enjoy writing them. Considering my own sister doesn't read my recent posts, I figured I would give Ami credit where credit is due. I've also factored in that Ami is probably the only person who will read this post anyway. Hi Ami!

Khaki Pants

2007-05-10T14:32:00.000-07:00

Throughout my childhood, my older brothers continually informed me that I was adopted. My oldest brother, Scott, would call me "Kishme Ishmael" and said that my "parents" had purchased me from the gypsies. I began to believe this theory because, as a child, I didn't look anything like my siblings.

Even though my mother would pull baby photos of me to prove them wrong, I still always had some small doubt in the back of my mind that told me otherwise. I thought I had worked through this scarring memory...until Christmas morning, 2004.

My family had gathered around the Christmas tree, too many presents spread throughout the room. My parents have always done a fantastic job of purchasing "equal" presents, spending the same amount on each sibling and their spouse. Some years the gifts were more generous than others. From the look of things, it looked as if this would be one of them. I seriously had not asked for anything for Christmas that year, so I was somewhat curious as to what was waiting for me under the tree.

My brothers went first. They opened their gifts together since they were the same. My mom and dad had bought them snowblowers since they had both just purchased new homes. My younger sister went next. She was heading to college so my parents gave her a new computer.

My turn....what could it be? Karaoke machine? Theater tickets? Video camera? Mp3 player? I slowly unwrapped my single gift. I was shocked at what was inside. I pulled out a pair of Dockers khaki pants. They were nice. I needed khaki pants for work. These would be very functional. But, something didn't seem right.

Khaki pants?

Because I hadn't asked for anything specific; and because I didn't need anything, I quickly said, "Yes, thank you," when my mother asked whether they were the right size. A tear fell down my face. I struggled internally with whether or not I should bring up the issue. At first, I thought I wouldn't say anything because it would only make my parents feel crummy AND I didn't really need any additional presents. But, I had also been working on being a better communicator and expressing my feelings.

Later that night, I brought up my feelings to my mother. She responded by saying, "All I got you was a pair of khaki pants? That's it? I meant to get you a day at the spa and tickets to the theater!" She explained that she had forgotten.

Well, of course, I never let her live this down. For the next year, "Khaki pants" became my staple answer to simple questions...

"Karen, would you like something to drink?"
"Khaki pants."

"Karen, what time will you be coming over?"
"Oh, I don't know...Khaki pants."

As the next Christmas approached, my parents made it clear that they would be making up for last year's snafu. I couldn't wait. I was about to receive a gift that was bigger and better than my siblings. What could it be?

I eagerly anticipated Christmas morning as if I were a five year old again. When it came time for me to open my gift, my mom announced that she needed to go get it from the garage. The garage? Wow...this must be a large gift!

As she rounded the corner, I saw in her hands a set of used golf clubs.

I don't golf.

Don't Look Now!

2007-04-17T17:28:00.000-07:00

I love my mother...she just tends to worry about everyone and everything. I know it's because she loves me.

Driving is not her forte since she drives as if everything around her car is a hazard as it moves down the street. As a result, the Buick doesn't make it even close to the posted speed limit. Precious.

I remember driving the family minivan with my parents to college one Fall. The entire van was stuffed with unnecessary items, but precious to any college student who would call them her possessions. My sister listened to her walkman, while my dad snoozed next to her. My mother had the privilege of sitting in the passenger seat beside me during our trek up to Minnesota.

I'm sure I was rockin' out to some classic rock when my mom suddenly froze in fear and attempted to get my attention without being a distraction. Her voice quivered as she tried her hardest to let me focus on the road.

"Karen! Don't look now...but there's a deer driving that car!"

How am I not supposed to look? Excuse me? A deer? Driving a car? I quickly turned my head 90 degrees to see a deer in the driver's seat next to us. I must admit that I, too, was taken aback at what I saw.

Upon closer observation, I noticed that the car was being towed by the SUV in front of it. The driver thought it would be humorous to put a deer head in the driver's seat. I started to chuckle. Not so much at the fact that I saw a driving deer. But more at the fact that my mom expected me to continue driving without distraction.

High School Musical

2007-04-15T16:50:00.000-07:00

My freshman year of high school was difficult, and quite honestly, I try to block the entire year from my memory. One memorable situation, however, will not go away.

After hearing me audition for a solo in class, my choir director encouraged me to audition for a role in the spring musical, "Brigadoon." It was a play about a town in Scotland that only appeared for one day every 100 years. It was a magical tale with a bit of love and violence thrown in the mix.

The only role I had had prior to entering high school was as a hobbit in fifth grade. I wore a green tie-dyed shirt and large ears. The beauty of the part was that I didn't have to memorize any lines.

The thought of auditioning for a role in the spring musical intimidated me, but I figured it would be a good experience.
The day of the audition will forever be imprinted on my mind...

I waited outside the auditorium doors to hear my name called. Upon entering, the "panel" (consisting of the director, choreographer, and my choir teacher) sat in the middle of the vast room while I stood on stage by myself, alone.

"Okay, Karen. Please sing the song we rehearsed."

I belted out the musical's ballad and felt pretty good about how it went. The three adults were grinning ear-to-ear, apparently impressed with what they heard. My choir director glanced at them as if to say, "See...I told you."

Unfortunately, the audition wasn't over.

"Great job, Karen. Now we'd like you to read some lines from the script. You'll notice that your lines are written in Scottish dialect. This will make it easier for you to read with the proper accent."

The director continued to read my lines with the appropriate accent and then encouraged me to give it a try. The line read, "Oh Tommy. Ye don't have to if ye don't want to."

Sounded simple enough.

At that moment, I lost all respect from everyone in the room...including myself. I proceeded to recite the lines I had in my hand. However, instead of reading these simple words with a simple Scottish accent, I recited them with an Indian accent.

A look of terror came over me. I looked out into the audience and there were stares of confusion. I'm sure they were thinking, "Why would she use an Indian accent? If she can't read it with a Scottish dialect, why wouldn't she just read it without any accent at all?" I have to admit that the same thoughts were going through my head too. But, for some reason, I felt that I HAD to read the lines with an accent (whether it was accurate or not), and this was the only accent I knew.

"Okay, Karen. Let's try this again. Listen carefully as I read the lines with a Scottish accent."

A look of pain covered my face as I repeated eloquently (with an Indian accent, of course), "Oh Tommy, ye don't have to if ye don't want to."

Why were they doing this to me? Please make it stop! I obviously am incapable of speaking with a Scottish accent. Apparently, the "panel" was determined to give me a lead role and had a difficult time accepting the fact that I embodied an Indian actor.

"Karen, we're going to try this one more time. I want you to listen carefully as I say the lines."

Please no. I can't go through this again. I followed the direction I was given and delivered the lines in the same dialect I had used before, except this time I posed it as a question, "Oh Tommy. Ye don't have to if ye don't want to?"

"Thank you Karen. Roles will be posted on the bulletin board on Monday."

I hung my head and left the stage.

Sure enough...the posting showed that I had been placed in the "Acapella Choir." It was obvious that such a role would not have any speaking parts.

Let's just say I didn't let this experience ruin the rest of my life. I can now produce a mean Scottish accent.

The Vacation of a Lifetime

2007-04-04T21:06:00.000-07:00

We just returned from our first vacation in six years. We had the best time hanging out with my best friend and her husband. There wasn't a dull moment throughout the week, but I think you need to read her blog to get a true perspective of what went down.

Check out her most recent post (April 2, 2007):
http://nicoletardiworld.blogspot.com/

Grounded

2007-04-03T19:41:00.000-07:00

Being teased by my older brothers was a natural occurrence growing up. One of my favorite stories has to do with the time my best friend (and next door neighbor) came over to play on a cold winter day. She asked my mom, "Why is there food hanging outside Kevin's bedroom window?" Of course this puzzled my mother. Kevin (my brother) had been grounded and punished to his bedroom for a couple of days (something he considered to be torturous).

When my mother went upstairs to inspect my friend's claims, she found a 2-liter bottle of soda and a ziploc bag of deli-sliced ham hanging outside his window from a 12-foot piece of string. Apparently Kevin felt as if he'd been "imprisoned" for days on end, and stored his rations outside his bedroom window...which only makes sense. At least he had the decency to keep the ham in cold temperatures so that it wouldn't spoil. Now that's thinking ahead.

Beached Whale

2007-03-27T21:10:00.000-07:00

Newport Beach, CA

Casey returned from a run on the beach yesterday morning and said that he had seen a seal lying up on the shore. After asking him many questions about whether or not it was dying, old, dangerous, etc., I decided to check it out for myself.

Casey, Nicole, and I neared the marine mammal and watched as it lie still on the sandy beach. It was obviously "out of sorts," but continued to move and brush sand from its hairy blubber (blubber is quite possibly one of my favorite words ever). We took some photos of it from afar and then grew bolder in getting closer to take some additional pics. That is, Casey and I felt bold enough to go near the seal....Nicole did not. See photos below. I figured it couldn't possibly attack me considering it would have to shift 800 pounds of its blubber.

As we approached the seal, it would bend its head backward to itch its white back. And, for some reason, it didn't want to open its eyes unless there was something nearby worthy of it. A lifeguard approached in his Baywatch-like truck and began to yell at us, "STAY AWAY FROM THE MAMMAL! STAY AWAY FROM THE MAMMAL!" I rolled my eyes and proceeded to pose for a photo near the animal. I wasn't a threat to the animal in any way and kept a healthy distance.

It was an exciting day and we celebrated the fact that we had witnessed something unusual. Later that day, we glanced out at the beach to see yellow "Caution" tape marking off the spot where the seal had been. We quickly returned to the familiar spot and saw the seal lying closer to the water near the roped-off area. A sign near him read, "Do Not Disturb Marine Life." As we took a closer look it was easier to see that the seal wasn't moving.

Another lifeguard pulled up and we asked some of our burning questions. He proceeded to tell us that it was a sea lion not a seal. He said that they had spotted him miles down the shore the day before and figured that he would pass away of old age sometime soon. We also learned that sea lions can stand upright on their back flippers and run faster than a human for a short distance. I found this hard to believe.

I began to ponder, Was I the one who killed the sea lion? Probably not. But I clearly exploited it.

Check out the photo.

Sprechen Sie Deutsch?

2007-03-26T08:26:00.000-07:00

I had the incredible opportunity to travel eastern Europe in the Summer of '97. We toured the historic churches of Prague, witnessed Austrian men wearing lederhosen, and walked the streets of Salzberg, the hometown of Amadeus Mozart. But, I'd have to say the highlight of my time was touring Germany. I felt "at home" in Germany. I felt as if I were among family. The food, the sights, and the smells all seemed familiar to me.

To my surprise, my family's namesake still had roots in Germany.The phone book even had 10 Applehoffs listed. I walked up and down "Applehoff Strase" (Strase=Street). This is where I belonged.

Throughout my stay, I was feeling as if I could breakdown any communication barrier that existed between an American and German and could confidently speak in German whenever I had the chance. Towards the end of the trip, I was "itching" for some McDonald's and happened to stumble across one of these familiar fast food restaurants in a small German town.

I walked up to the counter knowing exactly what I wanted to order...Value Meal #3. I took a deep breath, thought through the limited German words I knew, and memorized my broken order before allowing it to leave my mouth. As I stepped forward, I lost all confidence and pathetically pointed to the mat lying on the counter with the photos of the various value meals. I pointed to the #3 meal and said boldly, "Trei, Trei." The woman looked as if she didn't understand my request. I repeated, "Trei, Trei." At which point, the woman (with a confused look on her face) asked, "Would you like to TRY the Value Meal #3?" in perfect English.

I had been put in my place. I lowered my head and answered, "Yes." I didn't even attempt to respond in German for fear she would think I had some type of disability. Looking back on my humiliation, I realized that I had ordered like a caveman (or a 2-year-old...you decide). Because the German word for three is DREI, it was obvious that I couldn't form a complete sentence in German OR English.

I must say it was a darn good quarter pounder.

Laugh Attack

2007-03-20T19:18:00.000-07:00

Have you ever had a laugh attack? I have had my fair share.

Places I've been known to laugh uncontrollably:

McDonald's Drive-Thru
Baskin Robbins 31 Flavors
Teacher's Lounge
In the Presence of my Friends
When Watching "The Office"
Department Stores
Choir Tours
Singing Karaoke
When I'm with my Family

Nothing like a good belly laugh.

Mascot Empathy

2007-03-16T19:42:00.000-07:00

Speaking of Clowns...

It was the summer after my senior year of high school. Since I would be leaving for college within a few months, I needed a summer job. So, I applied as a "temp." There were some great jobs and it paid well. For example, I got paid $12/hour to lick envelopes for eight hours. I also got paid big bucks to be an "undercover shopper" at PetSmart.

There was one job, however, that I could not pass up. Pepper's Waterbeds was looking for a clown to pass out fliers to customers during their big weekend sale. Who wouldn't jump at the chance to dress up as a clown and get paid $20/hour? It was right up my alley.

I showed up to the store that Saturday morning and announced to the manager, "I'm your clown!" He didn't seem amused. The manager pointed to the bathroom in the back of the store and said, "You'll find your costume in there." I had never thought that dressing up as a clown would be so difficult. I finally figured out that the large red shoes should be put on LAST, and wasn't exactly sure how I should put on my makeup. I decided to put one blue triangle under each eye and made a larger than life red mouth around my lips. The finished product was actually quite scary.

When I emerged from the employee restroom, I had some strange reactions from the salesmen. Finally, I was handed some fliers and asked to stand by the front door to welcome people as they entered the store. Within five minutes, it began to rain outside. It was clear that today would be slow in sales...which meant it would be a breeze for an inexperienced clown.

Soon after, the store manager walked over and explained that they needed me to attract business. He suggested that I stand at the streetlight outside the store and pass out fliers to passing cars. The store was situated at a very busy intersection near the local mall, but I found it difficult handing out anything to moving cars. Whenever the light turned red, I had to move fast.

The rain began to grow stronger and my makeup began to run. Passengers started to yell obscenities at me. I couldn't believe it! "Hey clown...will you do my kid's birthday party?" "What's up f*@^$#* clown?" "You're the saddest clown I've ever seen!" (The last statement was pretty true). I was beginning to develop an empathy for all mascots. What had I done to deserve this? Why did everyone feel the need to laugh at me? I was the most pathetic-looking clown I had ever seen!

By the time my mom and sister had arrived to pick me up at the end of the day, my makeup was almost non-existent and tears were falling from my eyes. They started to laugh and quickly realized by my unamused glare that I was not in the mood. My mother stood and took my photo as cars continued to drive by. This was the height of my humiliation.

Driving home, I vowed I would never dress as a mascot...no matter how much I'd get paid. I immediately called the temp agency and told them that I would not be dressing up as a clown the next day. Out of curiosity, I decided to drive by the store the following day to see who had replaced me. I saw an upbeat clown doing cartwheels up and down the patch of grass along the thoroughfare. I had been replaced.

I thought that this story was one I could file away...until I arrived at college the next Fall. I was excited to begin a new chapter of my life at a school seven hours from where I grew up. As I created new friendships, I met someone who grew up very close to my hometown. She was telling me about how she had always been scared of clowns. I felt the need to share my story with her. At the end, she said, "That was you?" I was mortified. "I was terrified of you! You were the saddest clown I've ever seen. I still have nightmares about you!"

Moral of the story? Think twice before you laugh at someone in costume.

Sweaty Mess

2007-03-14T08:57:00.000-07:00

Something I have ALWAYS struggled with is my body's desire to sweat.... I've learned that it doesn't discriminate. I will sweat in cold winter weather as if it were a warm, humid, summer day. Luckily, it doesn't smell...it's actually quite cleansing. It's just darn annoying.

For example, whenever I go roller skating, I am forced to stop in the roller rink bathroom after each trip around the rink and dry my damp hair under the hand dryer. Pretty embarrassing. It spoils your chances of getting asked to skate by the boy you like.

Dancing poses another problem. By the end of the evening, my hair is literally dripping wet. I know...it sounds disgusting. And, yes, I look disgusting. But I have a great time dancing around the room to every song played. Is there something wrong with that?

My nose, though, always "glistens." A nice word for sweat. It sounds so much better than "perspire" or "drip." Those who know me (and love me) have learned to embrace the sweat. It's part of me. I'm a sweaty mess.

Dinosaur Egg

2007-03-13T08:38:00.000-07:00

Not knowing what to bring me, my sister stopped at a local gas station and purchased a dinosaur egg in order to cheer me up during my stay in the hospital.

The egg's outer shell is supposed to deteriorate when placed in a cup of water. After several days, a dinosaur should emerge.

While eating one of my bland hospital meals, I took a sip of water from the cup closest to me. Quickly I realized that it was my baby dinosaur's habitat that I had consumed.

My mother was instantly worried that I would get salmonella from such an egg. My sister responded, "Mom, it's OK. It was a dinosaur egg, not a chicken egg." To which my mother replied...

"Exactly."

After six days, the egg has yet to hatch. Perhaps it has salmonella.

Stir Crazy

2007-03-11T13:04:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you're forced to slow down.

Last week, the doctors found a blood clot in my right shoulder which caused my arm to swell up and turn dark purple. After several days in the hospital, they decided to send me home. Now, I must wait. Yep, that's it...wait.

Apparently, blood thinners take time to work their magic, so I am required to stay away from work and life as a whole until my blood levels are considered "therapeutic."

Things I've learned while sitting on my butt:
Nothing good is on TV during the weekends
Infomercials are hypnotic
The crown moulding in my living room is starting to crack because the house continues to settle
You can only read a magazine once
Pain in your shoulder will begin to appear if you hold your arm in one position too long
Feeling helpless stinks

I'll continue to wait.

Midge Clown

2007-03-11T12:50:00.000-07:00

This is quite possibly the funniest story I have ever heard. In order to appreciate the story, you must imagine my sister telling it with a straight face with the fear that it is true. Straight from her mouth....

"My friend's sister's cousin was babysitting her friend's child one night. Around 8:00, she put the baby down in her crib and opened the door to the play room to see that things were in order. When she peered inside the toy room, she noticed something out of the ordinary. To her surprise, she noticed a small clown standing in the corner, wide-eyed staring at her. She immediately called her friend and asked her if she had a toy clown that they kept in the toy room. Her friend quickly responded by saying, 'no' and told her friend to grab the baby, call the police, and get out of the house immediately!

"When the police arrived, they found the clown still standing in the corner of the room. It turns out that a schizophrenic clown had escaped from the circus that was in town. He had snuck into the house a week earlier through the doggie door, was living in a closet eating their dog food. The night he was spotted, he was frozen in a catatonic state."

The clown was later released, which led my sister to believe he was still on the loose in Bloomington-Normal and determined to secretly live in her house. From time to time, I ask her to retell the story so that I can laugh throughout...which makes her angry because she knows I don't believe the story to be true. Perhaps it is....

The Power of Laughter

2007-03-10T12:06:00.000-08:00

Many popular quotes can sum up the power of laughter better than any of my attempts:

I am thankful for laughter, except when milk comes out of my nose. ~Woody Allen

Even if there is nothing to laugh about, laugh on credit. ~Author Unknown

Dad always thought laughter was the best medicine, which I guess is why several of us died of tuberculosis. ~Jack Handey, "Deep Thoughts," Saturday Night Live

Laughter is an instant vacation. ~Milton Berle

What soap is to the body, laughter is to the soul. ~Yiddish Proverb

When people are laughing, they're generally not killing each other. ~Alan Alda

I've always thought that a big laugh is a really loud noise from the soul saying, "Ain't that the truth." ~Quincy Jones

A laugh is a smile that bursts. ~Mary H. Waldrip