I called my dad for Father's Day yesterday and we had a nice chat. If anyone has the "right" to complain, I suspect it'd be him. On Friday he was released from the hospital after his third round of chemo treatment and he has been feeling gross ever since. But although he has every right to complain, he doesn't. I find it admirable, yet confusing. So, to make up for his excellent attitude, I indulged in my own pity party:
"Dad, you would not believe how cruddy my week was: you're in the hospital, Grandma just suffered a stroke, my apartment is stinking hot, I'm on my last pair of contacts, I broke a filling in my tooth, I drowned my plant, a guy rolled over my big toe with a heavy cart, I got my student loan bill, my car was hit, I stained my favorite shirt, I had a piece of black pepper in my teeth, I lost an art contest at work ... and you want to know the final straw!?"
I paused for a dramatic effect. Dad listened intently on the other end.
"I killed a squirrel!"
The phone crackled.
"You killed a what?"
"A squirrel! I was driving down the highway and saw a squirrel playing on the side of the road and right as I drove past he darted out in front of me and thud-thudded under my car!" My voice got louder and louder as I continued the anecdote: "I looked in the rear-view mirror to see him spinning on his back!!!"
I thought I heard him chuckle. Then he responded in a serious tone:
"Well, you know what that means, right Lauralee?"
"No,... what?" I choked/sobbed.
"Compared to that squirrel, you don't have any problems!"
And I laughed. A loud, stress-freeing, snorting, signature "Lauralee Laugh". And it was goooood. Thank you, Dad. I continue to admire you.
Monday, June 16, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
At the Bureau of Motor Vehicles
Canada is, according to the Indiana BMV, a state?
Yup. I just got back from trying to obtain an Indiana driver’s license.
“Is Canada one of the 50 states?” my case worker asked her co-worker.
“I don’t think so… or, is it?”
They turned to me and asked again.
“Is Canada one of the 50 states?”
Without smiling, laughing (or screaming), I replied with a gentle, yet firm, “No.”
“Then how do you have a driver’s license and American passport? …And a social security number?”
“I’m an American.”
Immediately my mind turned to how I could write this into a creative blog. What would it be titled?
Canada: the Largest State
Americans and Canadians Unite in Indiana
The Fifty-First State
I wish now I had said that Canada was a state. “Yes, as a matter of fact it is the 54th state: after Sweden, China and Russia. Oh, and would you like Australia as well?” Too bad I didn’t think of it earlier. If I had, I’d be holding an Indiana’s driver’s license.
And why don’t I possess one yet? Since Canada isn’t a state, I’m from “out of country” and will need to take a written and driving test. Luckily I passed the first.
And then they were going to give me a learner's permit for 60 days before I would be eligible for a license. No joke.
"Aren't there rules about that? Like when or with whom I can drive?" I asked.
"Well, you would just have to drive with someone who already has an Indiana driver's license."
"I live alone."
"I could issue you the learner's and then if you're stopped you could try to explain it to the officer."
"You're kidding me, right?"
"Since you're from "out of country", it's the only way it will work."
"But I'm from Canada."
I figured it was no use. I asked if there was someone else she could ask.
First manager:
"Nope, that's the only way it will work. Learner's permit and then a driving test."
I asked for another opinion.
Second manager:
"Ahhh, nooooo. Oh wait! You'd only need to hold the permit for 30 days and then you could get the license!"
I shook my head. At least I was getting closer!
And Third manager:
"I am so sorry. I apologize. I am so sorry about that. Of course you can get a license! All you'll need to do is take a driving test and then you can get your license. I am so sorry!Really. I am so sorry about that!"
I thanked her and shook my head as I left. I'm glad everyone is on the same page. Now hopefully my Canadian car doesn’t pose too many problems for the driving test. Thanks, Indiana BMV.
Yup. I just got back from trying to obtain an Indiana driver’s license.
“Is Canada one of the 50 states?” my case worker asked her co-worker.
“I don’t think so… or, is it?”
They turned to me and asked again.
“Is Canada one of the 50 states?”
Without smiling, laughing (or screaming), I replied with a gentle, yet firm, “No.”
“Then how do you have a driver’s license and American passport? …And a social security number?”
“I’m an American.”
Immediately my mind turned to how I could write this into a creative blog. What would it be titled?
Canada: the Largest State
Americans and Canadians Unite in Indiana
The Fifty-First State
I wish now I had said that Canada was a state. “Yes, as a matter of fact it is the 54th state: after Sweden, China and Russia. Oh, and would you like Australia as well?” Too bad I didn’t think of it earlier. If I had, I’d be holding an Indiana’s driver’s license.
And why don’t I possess one yet? Since Canada isn’t a state, I’m from “out of country” and will need to take a written and driving test. Luckily I passed the first.
And then they were going to give me a learner's permit for 60 days before I would be eligible for a license. No joke.
"Aren't there rules about that? Like when or with whom I can drive?" I asked.
"Well, you would just have to drive with someone who already has an Indiana driver's license."
"I live alone."
"I could issue you the learner's and then if you're stopped you could try to explain it to the officer."
"You're kidding me, right?"
"Since you're from "out of country", it's the only way it will work."
"But I'm from Canada."
I figured it was no use. I asked if there was someone else she could ask.
First manager:
"Nope, that's the only way it will work. Learner's permit and then a driving test."
I asked for another opinion.
Second manager:
"Ahhh, nooooo. Oh wait! You'd only need to hold the permit for 30 days and then you could get the license!"
I shook my head. At least I was getting closer!
And Third manager:
"I am so sorry. I apologize. I am so sorry about that. Of course you can get a license! All you'll need to do is take a driving test and then you can get your license. I am so sorry!Really. I am so sorry about that!"
I thanked her and shook my head as I left. I'm glad everyone is on the same page. Now hopefully my Canadian car doesn’t pose too many problems for the driving test. Thanks, Indiana BMV.
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
This Crazy Life
I've been wanting to write something for quite some time and have been trying (without much success) to come up with an ordinary situation to make it a hilarious blog through my unique perspective.
As I've been contemplating all that's going on, only one thing came to mind: Q&A #1. I thought about revising it and here's a rough sketch:
Q. What is your sole comfort while living and in dying as a follower of Christ?
A. That I am nothing without Christ. I belong soley to Him who loved me so much, that He died to save me. I also know that because He is faithful, these crazy life happenings are His purpose for me. I am assured of eternal life because of His death on the cross, and have been equipped through His Spirit to serve Him even when life doesn't make sense. Nothing can happen to me without the knowledge of my saviour. My comfort lies in Christ and I belong to Him.
As I've been contemplating all that's going on, only one thing came to mind: Q&A #1. I thought about revising it and here's a rough sketch:
Q. What is your sole comfort while living and in dying as a follower of Christ?
A. That I am nothing without Christ. I belong soley to Him who loved me so much, that He died to save me. I also know that because He is faithful, these crazy life happenings are His purpose for me. I am assured of eternal life because of His death on the cross, and have been equipped through His Spirit to serve Him even when life doesn't make sense. Nothing can happen to me without the knowledge of my saviour. My comfort lies in Christ and I belong to Him.
Friday, April 4, 2008
Kuyper on North Delaware
For the past two months I have been searching for a liveable apartment space in the Indianapolis area. I began by looking online and setting my modest budget: $350 per month including utilities. After receiving some death threats from leasing agents and reading thesis-long bad reviews, I decided to up the price. Four hundred dollars should do it, I figured.
So then it came time to do a walk-through. I met some less creepy apartment agents and was given the grand tour. These apartments were, well, less than perfect. I couldn't foresee myself living in an apartment with moldy ceilings, or triple-padlocked doors or a green fridge (on the inside). And Kuyper was definiately right: inches really do count! You know it's time to go when your big toe is feeling cramped for space!
One apartment complex called back three times and offered some stunning deals. First month FREE! Or, in the mood of March Madness, shoot a basket and get two months FREE! I couldn't believe that my apartment search would once again add insult to injury that I'm so not athletic. (Kindergarten report card: Lauralee is very imaginative and creative and likes to help others (aka: bossy). She is behind in her large motor skills but will develop that in time.) Ha!
And then: a chorus of angels: Laaaaa! I was introduced to some friendly females at a church I started to attend downtown and they offered to show me their apartments. Two weeks later I was moving in to my very own. Four hundred and sixty-seven square feet, hardwood floors, arched doorways, 1930's retro style and a view of downtown. I'm loving every square inch!
So then it came time to do a walk-through. I met some less creepy apartment agents and was given the grand tour. These apartments were, well, less than perfect. I couldn't foresee myself living in an apartment with moldy ceilings, or triple-padlocked doors or a green fridge (on the inside). And Kuyper was definiately right: inches really do count! You know it's time to go when your big toe is feeling cramped for space!
One apartment complex called back three times and offered some stunning deals. First month FREE! Or, in the mood of March Madness, shoot a basket and get two months FREE! I couldn't believe that my apartment search would once again add insult to injury that I'm so not athletic. (Kindergarten report card: Lauralee is very imaginative and creative and likes to help others (aka: bossy). She is behind in her large motor skills but will develop that in time.) Ha!
And then: a chorus of angels: Laaaaa! I was introduced to some friendly females at a church I started to attend downtown and they offered to show me their apartments. Two weeks later I was moving in to my very own. Four hundred and sixty-seven square feet, hardwood floors, arched doorways, 1930's retro style and a view of downtown. I'm loving every square inch!
Monday, March 10, 2008
I'm Not A Jock
It seems that the only topic of watercooler, lunchroom and bathroom conversation is always about the latest sports news. Having nothing to offer, I mutter artsy things under my breath, and wish away (gasp!) the Boilermakers and Pacers and every team that dominates the "exciting" news. I could die.
Today was especially annoying. The first ten minutes of my workday were spent overhearing a conversation about the big game this weekend. (I don't even know the team, sport or outcome for those who care.) Over lunch I counted the seconds before someone in the room mentioned a team, play or other sports-related boringness. It took 17 seconds. And lasted 1,085 more.
After work I decided to partake in my own "sport" and forget the misery of the day. I donned my Dordt sweatshirt. Black with bold gold letters: D-O-R-D-T. And I ran. Well, walked and ran a few feet to say I went on a run. Near the end of my run I met another "runner" on the sidewalk. We both stopped to take a breath.
"Purdue is doing well!" he grinned, thinking he had something in common with me.
"Huh?" I gasped (shortness of breath from running) and looked confused.
He pointed to my shirt. "Oh! I thought... you're wearing Purdue colors...what does that spell? D-O-R- ..?"
I didn't know whether to be appalled that he seemed to be making a joke of my alma mater, or if he thought I was actually into sports at Purdue. I decided to jog off. It was more like a limp: I'm not a jock.
Today was especially annoying. The first ten minutes of my workday were spent overhearing a conversation about the big game this weekend. (I don't even know the team, sport or outcome for those who care.) Over lunch I counted the seconds before someone in the room mentioned a team, play or other sports-related boringness. It took 17 seconds. And lasted 1,085 more.
After work I decided to partake in my own "sport" and forget the misery of the day. I donned my Dordt sweatshirt. Black with bold gold letters: D-O-R-D-T. And I ran. Well, walked and ran a few feet to say I went on a run. Near the end of my run I met another "runner" on the sidewalk. We both stopped to take a breath.
"Purdue is doing well!" he grinned, thinking he had something in common with me.
"Huh?" I gasped (shortness of breath from running) and looked confused.
He pointed to my shirt. "Oh! I thought... you're wearing Purdue colors...what does that spell? D-O-R- ..?"
I didn't know whether to be appalled that he seemed to be making a joke of my alma mater, or if he thought I was actually into sports at Purdue. I decided to jog off. It was more like a limp: I'm not a jock.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
Books in Other Languages
Writing a new blog post has been plagueing me like a too-soon homework deadline. Ever since I deleted posts that were deemed "unprofessional" in the "unprofessional, could be fired because of content" sense, I've been searching for something to write about. I actually forwarded the deleted posts to my e-mail so that I could continue to bask in the well-written entries and in my faithful reader's comments. (Thank you)
I have been searching for quality blog subject matter all this time. I composed one on the way to work. It was going to be about me becoming a standup comedian. I would tell jokes about cars and Dordt and driving and being Canadian and being the only one in Indiana to have road rage. I tested the road rage joke on some of my coworkers. It was ill-received, so I decided against it. The career of making people laugh might need to include less cynicism and more American jokes. How ironic.
I went to Borders bookstore today. I was actually on a "necessities only" shopping trip, but ended up there just the same. I asked for books in other languages. The hired professional led me to the "Books in Other Languages" section. It included three shelves of Shakespeare CliffNotes. That, to me, is knee-slapping hilarious.
And so I continue to search for appropriate content to write. I googled my name and this came up first. I figure it's just good to be cautious and non-offensive. Sorry North America.
I have been searching for quality blog subject matter all this time. I composed one on the way to work. It was going to be about me becoming a standup comedian. I would tell jokes about cars and Dordt and driving and being Canadian and being the only one in Indiana to have road rage. I tested the road rage joke on some of my coworkers. It was ill-received, so I decided against it. The career of making people laugh might need to include less cynicism and more American jokes. How ironic.
I went to Borders bookstore today. I was actually on a "necessities only" shopping trip, but ended up there just the same. I asked for books in other languages. The hired professional led me to the "Books in Other Languages" section. It included three shelves of Shakespeare CliffNotes. That, to me, is knee-slapping hilarious.
And so I continue to search for appropriate content to write. I googled my name and this came up first. I figure it's just good to be cautious and non-offensive. Sorry North America.
Friday, January 18, 2008
Just Shoot Me!
I went to my fourth dentist appointment in the last two weeks yesterday. Actually, this was a visit to the Endodontist (They work inside your teeth, rather than just inside your mouth). My arrival in the waiting room told me I'd be paying a pretty penny for their extra-professional services.
I was led to a back room with a cleverly painted green ceiling, retro chairs and dim lights. The assistant asked me questions about my teeth which always scares me to answer. What if I answer incorrectly? Pop quiz: What tooth do you think has the most sensitivity to sweets? Now does it hurt more when you have cold water or really cold water with pink ice cubes in a yellow cup? How the heck do I know!? I told her I couldn't remember. Bad, bad answer. Now she had to test it.
She started by blowing cold air between the suspicious tooth. "Just raise your hand when it begins to hurt and I'll stop right away." My hands were tightly gripping the pleather chair. I grunted instead. "Right there? Or was it there?" She blew again.
"Well, hmmm, I'm still not positive on which tooth it is. It could either be the back one or the one next to it. Let me try another test. I'm going to tap the end of my mirror on your teeth. Let me know if it starts to hurt."
"It hurts."
"I haven't started tapping yet."
"It's gonna hurt. Trust me."
"Okay, well we just have one more test. I'm going to get an ice stick from the freezer, hold it on your teeth, and see from there. I'll be right back."
JUST SHOOT ME!
She returned with the ice stick. Seriously, after four tries and nearly going through the roof, you want to do something seriously awful to the dental assistant. She left the room just in time before I could bite her hand. The Endodontist arrived, smilingly took my hand in hers. "Hi! I'm Dr. Jane. I'm just going to have to do some tests to see which tooth is causing the problem. Are you still alright?"
I was led to a back room with a cleverly painted green ceiling, retro chairs and dim lights. The assistant asked me questions about my teeth which always scares me to answer. What if I answer incorrectly? Pop quiz: What tooth do you think has the most sensitivity to sweets? Now does it hurt more when you have cold water or really cold water with pink ice cubes in a yellow cup? How the heck do I know!? I told her I couldn't remember. Bad, bad answer. Now she had to test it.
She started by blowing cold air between the suspicious tooth. "Just raise your hand when it begins to hurt and I'll stop right away." My hands were tightly gripping the pleather chair. I grunted instead. "Right there? Or was it there?" She blew again.
"Well, hmmm, I'm still not positive on which tooth it is. It could either be the back one or the one next to it. Let me try another test. I'm going to tap the end of my mirror on your teeth. Let me know if it starts to hurt."
"It hurts."
"I haven't started tapping yet."
"It's gonna hurt. Trust me."
"Okay, well we just have one more test. I'm going to get an ice stick from the freezer, hold it on your teeth, and see from there. I'll be right back."
JUST SHOOT ME!
She returned with the ice stick. Seriously, after four tries and nearly going through the roof, you want to do something seriously awful to the dental assistant. She left the room just in time before I could bite her hand. The Endodontist arrived, smilingly took my hand in hers. "Hi! I'm Dr. Jane. I'm just going to have to do some tests to see which tooth is causing the problem. Are you still alright?"
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