Registration Follies

Another semester, another set of clueless students and impatient parents. Despite the long work days, part of me enjoys working registration at Olivet -- solely for the entertainment it provides. Last year I began handing out what I call the "Golden Star" award to the one student who truly stood out above the rest.

Last year's winner was the incoming football player who hadn't preregistered, didn't have his Student Data Sheet, didn't sign up for financial aid, didn't sign his housing contract; basically didn't have any documentation stating that he was a student at Olivet. His reasoning? "Um, I play football." As if I was supposed to pull his name out of the Golden Box of Football Players that magically takes care of everything. Nice try, buddy. You're a Golden Star.

This year? While walking through the hallway I overhead a (very fake) blonde girl exclaim, "Lauren Conrad is my idol!!" I shook my head and returned to my post at the cashier's desk only to realize that Ms. Wanna-Be Hilton was next in line. Here's a rundown of our 5 minute conversation:

• Blonde Girl: "Ok, um, I need to like sign something or whatever so I can go to class."
• Me: "Ok, here's your Student Data Sheet. It looks like you have a credit on your account."
• Blonde Girl: "Um, I'm not paying with a credit card. My daddy already made a payment."
• Me: "I know. You don't need to make a payment. You have a credit."
• Blonde Girl: [blank stare] "I don't get it."
• Me: "You have extra money left over. You don't need to pay anything. You have a credit."
• Blonde Girl: [blank stare] "But I already said that I'm not paying with a credit card. I don't get it!"
• Me: "Ok. See this big number? If you take the big number away from the little number you have money left over. That means you do not need to pay any money. You do not owe us any money."
• Blonde Girl: [blank stare] "Oh my God, wait! [long pause] Did you get your pants at The Limited?!"
• Me: [blank stare] "No. Please just sign your name here."
• Blonde Girl: "Seriously? Cuz I just bought a pair that look just like those. Are you sure you didn't buy them at The Limited?"
• Me: "Yes, I'm sure. Please sign here."

Congratulations, Blonde Girl! You are truly a Golden Star.

Why Did I Get Married? (Part III)

[After watching Last of the Mohican's]:

"Honey, if a tribe of Huron Indians kidnapped you in the middle of the dense New York forest, I would track them down and kill their leader with my tomahawk. That's how much I love you."

Ain't he sweet?

Party Animals

On the seemingly rare occasion that Billy actually had a Saturday off, we took full advantage of it by doing what every couple in Bourbonnais does: visit downtown Chicago. (I realize that my verb tense is awry, but I don't care. Just roll with me.) Nevermind the fact that it was a bazillion degrees and was impossibly crowded due to the Air & Water show, we (read: I) wanted to see fireworks at Navy Pier.

And in typical "Lauren" fashion, my camera died 30 seconds after we took these few obligatory bean pictures. So we have no pictures of us walking 3.21 miles to Navy Pier, spending $16 on two hotdogs (outrageous!), people-watching for an hour, realizing that the fireworks didn't start until 10:15pm not the advertised 9:00pm, and leaving the fireworks early because we're old and wanted to catch the early train.

We've come to a mutual decision that a "date night" is better spent on a $5 Little Caesar's pizza and a movie rental. No crowds, no long lines, no cigarette smoke blown in my face, no cranky kids in strollers, no budget-blowing food prices, and most importantly, no constant need for hand sanitizer. Well, maybe just a little.

It was great to spend time together, but downtown Chicago is entirely overrated.

Oh and did I mention that we almost adopted a puppy? And by "almost" I mean we filled out the paperwork, contacted references, and looked for a different apartment that would allow dogs? We don't know why we torture ourselves like we do. One day -- sorry, mom.

Road Rage

Last Sunday (when it was about 1000 degrees outside), we decided to stop by a car show on our way home from church and lo and behold, I had my camera! It wasn't the most exciting car show in the world, but I am so darn proud of myself for having my camera that I had to post pictures. Deal with it.

You may not know this, but my mom has a "thing" for vintage Ford Mustangs. Just look at that giddy smile on her face.

Billy was partial to the 1968 Chevy Camaro with twin-turbo carburetors and a flush-valve locking air intake with super-charged fuel pumps leading into the straight lined v8 812 horsepower engine.

Obviously, I was there to look at the pretty cars.

Father/Son-in-Law bonding. I'm sure they were talking about fuel efficiency or horsepower or whatever, but I like to think they were discussing what wonderful wives they have.

Call Me Spitfire

No offense, but sometimes it takes more effort to be a "good" Christian than it does to just to be a flawed human being who desires the Lord's will. When life doesn't go according to plan, I'm not the one who remains calm, trusting that God has a reason for everything and knowing that my faith will prevail unscathed. I don't retreat to recesses of my Bible teaching and quietly present my disappointments to God. I can't sit back and watch my plans and hopes unravel, while continuously claiming that the Lord is in control so I don't have to be.

Are you freaking kidding me?!

I may as well be Pentecostal judging by the size and volume of my ranting and raving. Bad news comes and BOOM! I'm lit up like a firecracker on the 4th of July. I yell and cry and scream and throw things and wail and generally cause a big noisy fuss (hence the Modern Day Ramona). This typically lasts between 15-30 minutes or until I either run out of steam or my neighbors are threatening to call the police (which is funny since I'm causing such a fuss to God and really, you can't arrest God). I am a flawed human being who needs to physically act out my disappointment, hurt, and anger. It's much more therapeutic than sitting at my desk and praying for God to heal my heart. And oh boy, does He hear it!

In the end though, I come to the same conclusion that God is still God and I am not. No matter how loud I present my arguments, God always trumps them. He is who He says He is and will do what He says He will do with no help from me. I don't always understand how He works or why He chooses to lead us through the wilderness and it may come out as, "What the HECK ARE YOU DOING!?!?" But I have been through trials without faith, and it's a place I swore I would never return. I'm not giving up on God since He has never given up on me and so I will trust that He knows what He's doing.

But that doesn't mean I can't cause a big noisy fuss along the way.

Slacker

I realize that it's now Thursday; more than two weeks past my original "Way Back Whensday" post. I get these great ideas and am inspired to be like other bloggers who post every day, sometimes twice a day, yet nothing really seems to come to fruition. I should get a notebook to record my funny/quirky/serious/jaw-dropping/creative blog ideas -- not that they would end up on my blog because c'mon, I'm not that efficient. Anyway, I promise to try and improve my Blogger etiquette by posting more than just once a week. Or until my boss finds out that I'm using company time to entertain tens of people.

How I Spent My Summer Vacation

Ok, so it's fairly obvious that I'm not the most efficient photographer in the world. In fact, even when I remember to bring my camera to places, I rarely ever take pictures. I don't have a single picture from the 4th of July or my brother-in-law's graduation party, but don't worry -- I had my camera ready and waiting for the wondrous and riveting South Bend Chocolate Company tour. I have priorities.

My dad and said brother-in-law claimed that they had to go "fix the camper" and dropped us (my mom, sister, and I) off at the entrance. The Badger Tour Bus also dropped off 50 senior citizens who traveled from Milwaukee just to see how some of South Bend's finest chocolates are made. We knew almost immediately that we were going to be the most obnoxious tourists when we were greeted by this:

My even-natured (but pregnant) sister waited patiently as two little girls finished taking their pictures so we could have a go. The three of us were laughing hysterically before we even walked into the store. A young (and obviously thrilled) girl took us from room to room explaining how the different types of candy were made. As we entered the conveyor belt/sifting/dipping/twirling/magic room, my sister noticed this:

"A vat full of chocolate?! That's the best hot tub ever!"

(Did I mention that Brittany's pregnant?)

We laughed until we cried and ate chocolate spoons and took one too many goodie bags and listened to Jose the Cacao Bean and made new friends and thoroughly made fools out of ourselves. I love little adventures like this and though I cannot remember a single thing about how they make chocolate truffles, I will forever remember my mom singing "I'm Too Sexy for my Hairnet" in the rain.