No Hatin'

It was a quiet weekday afternoon and I was in the kitchen enjoying a dinner of tempura and white rice when there was a knock on the door.

"Come in!" I yelled, which was our customary greeting to houseguests. The only people who ever really came by were the management people, to collect our rent and such.

So I was pretty surprised when a large, strange man wearing a hoodie printed all over with money graphics walked in and sat himself down opposite me at the kitchen table. He sort of had a crazy look in his eye and I wasn't sure if I should try to make light conversation or stab him with my chopsticks and run for cover. As it was, I was at a loss for words and all I could do was wonder how long he was going to sit there and if my rice was going to go cold.

"I recorded a CD," he grunted, and threw a disc across the table at me, which was bedecked in the same money print as his hoodie, "give it a listen." I wasn't sure what to do. Not only was I skeptical of his musical talent, I had no desire to insert a strange CD into my laptop (which happened to be sitting at the table.)

"Sorry, I'm not going to buy your CD, I don't have money," I told him.

"You're tight on cash, huh?" he asked with a steady stare (I answered in the affirmative), "cash is pretty tight over here, too."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Well, good luck!" I told him with what I hoped was a tone of finality. He sat there and stared at me for a long time and I tried to appear interested in my tempura pieces which I moved around the plate with my chopsticks. Finally he reached across the table, retrieved his CD, grunted a "thanks for your time," and walked out.

My roommate Tallia and her fiance Jon came running out of the other room in fits of laughter. I knew they had been eavesdropping. "Thanks for the help, guys," I told them, "that was the most awkward thing ever."

"Don't worry, I was listening the whole time, I would have helped you out if anything happened," Jon assured me. They then proceeded to inform me that the guy's name was B-money, and he was something of a legend in Provo, interrupting all sorts of house parties and asking people to listen to his rap. Jon even did me the service of showing me B-money's music video on YouTube. Some of you may be interested in the familiar Provo locales:



I try to be a non-judgmental person generally and give people the benefit of the doubt. As I reflected on the situation later, I wondered if I had been fair, according to my personal standards. I don't think I was rude in any way, and certainly would have sent the wrong signals if I'd done anything to suggest I might be eager to have him stay. Was I unfair in not even listening to his music to give it a chance? (Well, it really isn't good anyway. At all.) Having been caught completely off my guard, I plead innocent of anything I might have done to offend. I guess what I'm trying to say is, I'm not a hater.

What Dreams May Come

It turns out for a college town, Provo is not the most conducive place for bicycle-riding. Puncture vine seeds scattered all over the sidewalks make for frequent flat tires. This is what they look like:

This unfortunate circumstance has made it necessary for me to scrounge up rides to and from work, at least until I find alternate personal transportation.

One particularly drowsy morning last week, I was deep in slumber when the miniscule rational part of my brain made me wake up with a start. I had work in an hour and still hadn't found a ride. I sat up, reached for my phone, and dialed my trusty co-worker, Hisako. She is one of my most wonderfully faithful drivers to whom I owe plenty. However, that morning, she didn't answer the phone at that particular time. I flopped back down on my bed to think of who to call next. Which, as usual, was Dan, my other trusty and faithful co-worker.

But during that brief moment when I lay back down, my heavy lids quickly teleported me back to the dream world. It was such a fast and smooth transition that I didn't even realize I had fallen back asleep. In my dream, I sat back up and dialed Dan. He picked up, and I distinctly remember his voice:

"Oh sure, no problem! But I have to pick up some cantaloupe for a group thing on the way, so I'm going to be early. Is that OK?" I assured him that it was OK, and with a sigh of relief, I flopped back down on my bed...

...The action of which caused me to enter into a third level of slumber, a dream within a dream, if you will.

A few minutes later, I woke up with a start again, from dream world 3L. Which means I was still in level 2; not quite back in reality yet. What made me wake up was this thought: Wait, did I really just talk to Dan, or was I dreaming? I called him back again just to make sure. (See, I am a pretty rational person in my dreams, albeit not rational enough to just check my call history.) He laughed and assured me that he was indeed coming. "Remember, I have to pick up some cantaloupe?" he said. By this time I was fully confident that I was going to get to work just fine. I flopped back down and slipped back into dream world 3L.

I probably would have stayed that way for several more hours, waiting for fake-Dan to come, if good old Hisako had not called me back at this point. The actual sound of my phone ringing was harshly cacophonous compared to the gentle humming of my dreams, and jumping suddenly from the third level back to reality is an extremely disorienting experience.

"Herro?" I slurred, trying to find my voice.

"Sayaka-chan! Did you need a ride?" She asked cheerfully.

"Erm, noit'sfine, Dan'scomingtogetme," I murmured, trying unsuccessfully to sound as if I'd been up for several hours, "errrm.... actually...," (here I began to doubt myself,) "he might have been a dream... do you mind if I call you back?" She asked me if I was feeling OK before we hung up. This time I checked my call history, and Dan's name was non-existent. Crap. I called Hisako back.

"Umm, Hisako? Can you come get me after all? I guess I didn't really talk to Dan," I admitted sheepishly. She laughed heartily.

"OK, I might be a little late because my son left his lunch in the van and I have to take it to his school, but I'll be right there!"

Only slightly embarrassed because I was still so drowsy, I flopped back down on my bed again, and would you believe it, I started falling back asleep again.

But a few moments later I sat back up in alarm. Had Hisako been a dream as well? No, my imagination couldn't have been good enough to think of her son forgetting his lunch. Cantaloupe, yes, but not that. I checked my call history, and sure enough, her name was there.

At this point I'm sure you all will be happy to hear that I finally threw myself out of bed. This was just getting ridiculous. Hisako picked me up, and I made it to work successfully...

...Where I related the whole story to Dan, much to his amusement.

"I don't even like cantaloupe," he mused.

Ode to a 5'5" Giant of a Man

Recently, dinner conversations have become more regular at the kitchen table.

I don't remember what led to it, but someone mentioned the long black socks I'd worn with my skirt to church today. I nonchalantly replied that I hadn't had time to shave my legs this morning, and my mom and little sister nodded their understanding. I got up to put my dishes away and thought the conversation was over, but little did we know that my dad had been listening and was now deep in thought.

A few minutes later, the silence was broken.
"Do you really have to do it that often?" he asked.

The three of us stared at him. Our female minds had long since wandered to other engaging subjects, like what to wear tomorrow, dessert, and whose turn it was to take the dog out.
"Do what, Poppy?"
"Shave," he answered innocently.

Here we all stared at him in disbelief. He's been living with 6 women for HOW long and he has to ask us this??? Oh my poor dad. It just goes to prove that there are certain things that men will never understand about women, no matter how many daughters he has.

It made me recall a distant memory, when mom was away and we were still 5 little girls. He had served us a dinner of soup (probably from a can) and we were all slurping away at it around the kitchen table, our long hair falling across our faces and into our vittles. He saw the problem and tried to fix it by grabbing a handful of rubber bands (the kind that come wrapped around the morning paper) and attempting to tie all of our hair up into ponytails. I think it was probably the first and last time he has ever done girls' hair. The result was probably a comedic sight that would have given 80's hair bands a run for their money. Well, the "guy"ness of my dad is one of his most endearing qualities.

The years have gone by and we have all done our best to live peacefully together, our dad occasionally driving us to the drugstore to buy tampons and putting up with our monstrous tantrums, while we try to keep him looking respectable in public by informing him when his outfit doesn't match or when he needs to cut his hair.

When people ask my dad how many children he has and he tells them he has five daughters, they always say, "oh, I'm so sorry." To which he always replies, "why?"

We love our Poppy.