The Reason I'll Soon Be Drunk On Non-Alcoholic Eggnog

When all else fails, its time to hit the 'nog. There is nothing like drowning one's creeping doubt of not having a brain in a milky holiday drink. It is especially helpful if said eggnog is in my favorite mug, the one from Japan that has a picture of a dancing frog saying: "I am excited. Very much." and "The King of the frog" on the other side. Oh, I love Engrish. Oh, I loath Math.

 I've been trying to understand a simple graphing Algebra 2 graphing problem with the aid of my mathimatically compatible mother and my college-boy brother for the last half-hour, all of us studiously ignoring the occasional airborne sister or Dad getting pinned beneath the tilting christmas tree. It went something like this:

Me: "I still don't understand. Whats y = mx + b again?"
Mom: "Its the visual representation of an equation."
Me:"...so what is that?"
Mom:"Ask Jonmark."
Me: "(Repeats original question)."
Jonmark: "Duh. Its the visual representation of an equation."
Me: (sigh) "Yes, but whats an equation?"
Jonmark: "A statement asserting the equality of two expressions."
Me:"Lets go back. Whats a line?"
Jonmark: "A straight line, you know, the shortest distance between any two points on a plane."
Me: "And where is this plane?"
Jonmark: "In the mathimatical universe."
Me: "Right. Where is this mathimatical universe?"
Jonmark: "All around us!"
Me: "...so whats a graph?"

Mum explained how my mind just doesn't grasp the concept of Mathimatics to Jonmark. They both nodded knowingly and then gazed at my quiet confusion, pitiously. I think Mom is still holding out on that hope that my brains incompatibility with Math is made up for by some hidden vein of genius, because goodness knows I'm not going to be winning any Nobel Prizes for inventing a new principle in the configuration of third-dimension variables, or some other such gobbledy-gook.

See, eggnog makes sense.  Band-aids make sense. Laughter makes sense. Decimals don't make sense. Graphs don't make sense. Variables don't make sense. You can't drink a decimal, or  protect a wound with a graph, or delight a child with a variable. To some, like my math teacher, mathimatics is a barely tangable universe with no physical location, a world yet to be discovered. To me? I'm the girl in the silver mini-van trying to find my way to a place I know hardly anything about. I can barely find my way out of a paper bag with mapquest, let alone a navigating the mind-bending sea of Math.

So what is my brain made for? What is the key to unlocking the keyhole of my purpose? Math isn't the key, obviously. Thats like trying to jam a lumpy carrot up my nose. A paintbrush might be the key, or a pencil, or a dancing slipper. I'm not sure. I'm just waiting for the moment when God finally reveals to me what my brain IS meant for and I can finally unlock that genius. Or at least some buried treasure.

In the mean time I'm going to go top up my "King of the frog" mug. Wait, did we leave Dad under the tree?

Tinsel and Tryptophan,
Hannah

)

(P.S. Christmas is coming....

Can you hear me now? Now? NOW?

Unlike most people, I love telemarketers. Truly, I do. How can you not love people who's job is to allow you to prank call them? And the best part is, I don't even have to call them. They call me. 

Now i'm proud to say that I've never intentionally prank-called anyone. Well, not unless the phone was handed to me, and usually that involves being forced to impersonate a clinical surveyor and interviewing the crush of the person who handed me the phone about which flavor of bubble gum they like better: Strawberry Peach or Lemon Delight? Needless to say I usually throttle the person who handed me the phone after I politely end the conversation.(You know who you are). But besides those increasingly frequent phone calls, I'm usually scott free in the mischievous telephone area.

I can't say i'm so innocent when it comes to telemarketers. We moved to my current house when I was nine and my brother was 12. Bored stiff during the summer and with nothing better to do than answer the phone, we devised a new art of amusement: The Reverse Prank Call. Every time a phone would ring we'd scream "IT'S MINE!" and run for it. Most of the time we'd pick up, our smiles would dim, and we'd promptly hang up. When Mom would ask us who it was we'd reply, "Oh, just Dad. He wanted something." and lie in wait for the next ring. When a poor, unsuspecting victi- i mean, telemarketer, would call we'd answer and our real fun would begin. Here are a few of our formulas:

The Foreigner

T: "Hi, i'm Susan. Would you be interested in purchasing a Tiger Deluxe Vacuum Cleaner with disposable filters and complimentary ski jacket?"

Me:"(Speaks in random, complicated sounding Japanese)".

T:"Er...Hello? Do you speak English?"

Me: "(More utter gibberish)".

 T:"Hello? Ah, snap. Um, er. DO.YOU.SPEAK.ENGLISH?"

Me:"(Frenzied talking)!"

T:-Hangs Up- and never calls again. 

The Refugee 

T:"Well, howdy! I am Lily Connors with the Spam Animal Activist Group. Remember: Spam Animals are People too.

Me:"Oh."

T:"Is this (papers shuffle) Mr.Musick?"

Me:(serious voice)"How did you get this number?"

T:"Well, I-"

Me:"They told me this was a secure line. They promised i'd be safe!"

T:"Oh, i'm not su-"

Me:"The Witness Protection Program said no one had this number. How did you find me? Are you working for Slim Jim Joey?"

T:"Oh, gosh. I'm so sorry. Really, we had no idea."

Me:"Sure! Listen up, chick. Tell Slim Jim that nothing will keep me from testifying to what I saw! Not even if you hunt me down!"

T:"We will NEVER call again, Sir." -Hangs up-

The Orphan 

Me:"H-h-hello?"

T:"Hi there! This is Peter Polanski and i'd like to offer you, yes you, an opportunity to purchase some glowing sunglasses for only $19.99! Could I speak to your father or mother?"

Me:"I don't think they need sunglasses."

T:"Everyone loves sunglasses! No matter where you are or what you're doing you can use a pair of Glo-Glasses! Now, where are your parents?"
Me:"They're dead."

T:"Oh. Oh my.."

Me:"(Burst out with theatrical crying)."

T:"Um, er...there, there. Have a nice...day."

-Hangs Up-

The Chef 

T:"G'day, ma-am! I would like to offer you a-"

Me: "(In a Jersy accent) Oh, Martha. I'm so glad you called, darling! I bet you want that recipe for Spicy Beef Loin, don't ya now?"

T:"Actually-"

Me:"Of course you do! Lucky you, I have it right here. I'll just read it to you, ya?"

T: "Um, I-"

Me: "Preheat the oven at 360. Pull frozen pork out of freezer and allow to thaw overnight. Ya with me so far?"

T:"I don't-"

Me: "Oh, i'll just move on. Next you take a variety of spices lightly coat the meat. Then...(keep reading the recipe)."

T: -Hangs Up_ 

 The Vader

Simplest one in the book. Simply answer the phone silently and wait to confirm its a telemarketer. Then breath loud and raspy in a perfect imitation of Darth Vader. You might even want to mumble something about the force or the 

dark side being sensed on the other end of the line. 

The Questioning Toddler 

Enforce the time-tried practice of a curious child with your telemarketer. After every sentence just ask "Why?". And nothing else. A variation of this would be saying "Maybe" after every sentence. 

The Natter 

  Easy. Just share whatever childhood stories and or the woes of your life come to mind and spill them with your lovely listener. 

The Opera Trainee

T:" Hi there, this is-"

Me: (Begins to sing opera) "Do not liiiiieeeee toooo meeeee, Telelelelemarketer! The Phantom of the OOOOOOOppppppperrraaaaa is there, hes innnn you miiinnnnnndddd!"

(And so on.)

As you can see, the possibilities are endless for reverse prank calling. With a little imagination and a public land line your boring summer afternoons will be full of frivolity and fun. Just remember not to do anything too extreme or someone could be knocking at your door the next day and asking if you were the individual that asked if you could pay for your illegal goods with a Visa card. 

Saved by the Catchy Ringtone,

-Hannah

Dentures, Oompa Lumpas, and a few Ninjas

You really start to re-evaluate your social life when you look forward to orthodontics. Suddenly that schedule book seems to look really empty when the most exciting thing planned for the evening is to put in my dentures. Not LITERAL dentures, but- well,lemme explain.

My long and sordid history with my orthodontist began when I was 9 and hasn't stopped yet. Apparently my parents bestowed me with naturally messed-up teeth so i've been correcting their twisted ways with braces, retainers, and this torturous looking steel device called a "Mara". My teeth, now straight and dazzling(ish) look pretty great except for weird shaped stains from my toothy past. Getting back to the dentures. They aren't actually dentures, more like...clear plastic teeth slipcovers. Basically it's this tray that I fill with bleach gel every night and sleep in. After a month or two of this my teeth should be pristine and white as the snow falling outside my window right now. Supposedly. Except I hope my teeth don't fall out, too.

 Anyway, this is what it looks like: 

Sad, I know, considering this is the most exciting thing that has happened to me lately. Getting bleaching trays. It's better than nothing, though. At least now I can complete my scary early-morning look. I wake up, groaning and grumbly trying to walk upstairs with my hands out (Frankenstein-style). My eyes are rolling around trying to stand the light of day and my hair is an alarming, quivering mass. If my sisters weren't already wary enough, I growl, reach up into my mouth, and rip out the entire top row of my teeth. Ahhh, I love the sound of fleeing munchkins in the morning. 

Here is a list of fun things you can to with bleaching trays/dentures:

-Scare people, obviously.

-Spray paint them gold (after you're done with them) for instant gangsta smile bling.

-The above, only with a bedazzle-er. 

-When you'r somewhere you're not supposed to be and someone walks use the old "Lost My Contact!" cover-up except with your see-through bleach tray. Then, when you "find" it, you wave it around triumphantly and then pop the fake/inviable tray into your mouth. It will not only distract the person but probably make them avoid you for the rest of their lives.

-Fill them with Jello and make sweet...teeth-flavored molds. Or not. That'd be kinda weird.

Come to think of it, something more exciting than my dental life did happen today. My older brother, Jonmark, is home from college on Spring Break! He looked like he was about to take a little snooze on his waffle tonight because of the recent "Bataan Death March" he went on. Before you start figmenting outrageous and creepy ideas as to what that might be, my brother is in R.O.T.C. So it's a military thing. In his own words it was, "A three day marathon with weights on our backs through the desert." Again, I admire the military, but I think i'd rather become a Math Teacher than join it. Considering that "becoming a math teacher" is somewhere in the top 10 worst things that could happen, #2 being Death, this is a serious statement. I can barely make it through one of my brother's war movies, let alone a 27 mile "Death March" with a 45 pound pack! 

He was one of the survivors when they returned from the wasteland, but his skin did not get so lucky. He was as red as the strawberries he heaped on his waffle at dinner. And, in a true man/older brother fashion, instead of just letting us admire his redneck (literally), he HAD to take off his shirt and display his sunburn. If he just so happened to also expose a hard-earned new set of muscles, well so be it.*sigh* It's a hard life being in the military.

I couldn't spare a moment to admire his muscles because I was too busy laughing at the mental image of a bunch of muscular oompa lumpas running through the desert in camo and military-grade boots. I know you want to giggle. Just let it out. Right now. you'll regret it if you don't! If you don't giggle than my ninja minions will pounce on you from the ceiling where they lay in wait. Ha! Made you look. ...but I got so paranoid that I looked up too. So Ha HA! Made us both look! 

Live Long and Laugh,

-Hannah

My Father is Dead, but it's Ok, We Have Nan Bread!

One of the universal truths of life: Kids say the darnedest things. So do adults.

A perfect example of this would be going to lunch with my family (sans Jonmark, he's blowing things up). It was after church and the girls were groaning for food, Food, FOOD! Communion wine, biscuits, and the food of fellowship just don't cut it sometimes.

So we headed to perhaps my favorite eatery of all time (brace yourself, Steph): The House of India! Oooooh, its so good. Red Tandoori chicken, chole, NAN!!!!!, Kheer, jalebi, the list goes on and on. I'm literally drooling right now just thinking about it. Best part it the food is quality and quantity, they have a buffet.

As a middle-class American family, we follow the buffet principle: Eat Until Your Stuffed. And we did. And it was delicious. And we wobbled out the door later and took long, lazy, satisfied naps of well-fed people. But i've skipped the story, so lets go back to the savory bits.

Recently we've been watching "Bizzare Foods", a tv show with a host who eats anything and lies about liking half of it. Most of the foods are from countries where the blood and guts are still used in pop cuisine, so we've seen some pretty gross stuff go into this guy's mouth. Anyway, I was asking my mom and dad if there was a kind of food that we should try next. We've tried Japanese, Indian, Mexican, American, and Junk Food. Whats next?

Dad, quoting one of the more...akward...Bizarre Foods episodes yelled out: "WE HAVEN'T TRIED BULL TESTICLES!" then calmly went to go get some more nan. Oh, my father. My father.

Just for a change of pace, we decided this morning to visit another church that alot of old friends went to (Thats another story onto itself) and I got to see Monica's boyfriend, his lovely daughter, and his beard (Wink, wink, hint, hint ;)

Anywho, the girls were telling us about their Sunday School classes over lunch. That Lazarus guy got raised from the deads again, we got christmas cookies, the usual. What was UnUsual, however, was Emma's comment:

Mom: So, how were your teachers?

Glory: Ok.

Mom: What were their names?

Glory and Emma: I dunno. They gave us cookies.They were old cookies.

Glory: Emma told the teacher about Dad.

Me: What about Dad?

Emma: My first Dad was dead in the war.

Everyone: WHAT?

Dad: I'm not dead!

Emma: (patronizingly) No, no, no. My FIRST Dad. You second Dad. Your not dead. (Pats Dad's hand).

Mom and I: (Snort, giggle, uncontrollable laughter)

Mom: (realization!) Oh no!

Us: What?

Mom: When we went to go pick the girls up I told them Dad had gotten lost on the way over to pick them up!No wonder the teacher looked so shocked!

Everyone: (Laughing to the point of tears)

So thats what you can expect from a lunch with my family: Incorrect facts and the loud announcements that may be slightly embarrassing to everyone but my father. If you never want to come to my house again, i understand. You'll most likely end up embarrassed or rumored dead. Eat at your own risk!

Gill-Stuffed Goodness,

-Hannah