Friday, July 22, 2011

Holy Hounds of Hades, Batman! It's Hot!

You'd think someone sent Kansas straight into the depths of the Inferno given how stinkin' hot it's been the past couple of weeks.

Good glory be, how did people live here in this state without air conditioning?

.........Or maybe I'm just a big, fat weenie.

Unfortunatley, I work in an almost century-old building that has no air conditioning. It feels like every time I step into the hallway, I inhale a thick cloud of smog. Granted, my office has an air unit but it does little short of diddly squat in the face of 102 degree heat.

It's no surprise, then, that I feel like my body is going to explode as I sit here typing away. Seriously. It's not like I'm sweating profusely. My middle section is simply overheating like a desktop PC.

I wish my body had a little internal fan that would whirl frantically the hotter I get.

So I munch on ice. And drink ice water. But I'm this close to importing blocks of ice and building an igloo.

And since I can't do that, I think cool. Anything to keep my mind off of the heat.

I tried playing fun, upbeat songs that would refresh my sluggish brain while I worked.

And I don't care what you say, this did the trick:

....and now I have decided that I will learn how to dance like Chris Brown. Watch out.

My good friend Ted has (regrettably) moved away to do Border Patrol in Arizona and he, in so many words, told me I was being a weenie about the heat.

"When your job requires you to lift heavy things while being screamed at while running around in the desert, then I'll have pity on you," he said.

Touché, Ted. Touché. 

HOWEVER. It's still nasty out and I feel like my brain is going to melt out of my ears.

Estoy una weenie.

Monday, July 18, 2011

No One Looks Good in Bowling Shoes...

...except this guy, of course.

I visited good 'ol Chanute, Kansas this weekend to visit the dashing man you see pictured above. 

I don't know what it is about Chanute, but I really do love it there. Ain't a whole lot going on, however.  Even the mechanic who changed my oil the day I left looked at me like I was loony bird for going.

"So where ya headed?" he asked.
"Chanute, actually," came my reply.
"Oh. I'm sorry."

Oh ye of little imagination! Martin and I have plenty of adventures anytime I come for a visit. 

One of the highlights of the weekend was the bowling tournament Martin and I played against eachother  in the lone bowling alley in Chanute. 

Look at that concentration. Pure, glistening excellence.

In all seriousness, I suck at bowling. See, if there is one thing that I have learned about Mr. Martin is that he is good at everything. I say this without bitterness, mind you. 

Ok, who are we kidding? I cannot play games with that man because he will beat me despite my best efforts. You name it: chess, pool, Monopoly (oh, don't even get me started on bloody Monopoly), Scrabble, and now...bowling. It's incredibly infuriating. 

Don't let the poses fool you. He's a beast.

He creamed me in four, count 'em, four games. 

 Shut up, bowling ball.

In all honesty, I know the reason I love Chanute is because Martin is my reason for going there. Besides, who else would do this with me?

Yes, that's right. Before it goes the way of the dodo in terms of all internet memes, Martin and I tried the whole planking thing. I'm sure planking is pase by now, but I do respect his enthusiasm. 

The merry-go-round was a bit trickier. 

Of course, I had to give it a go. 

Martin's story is something that continues to fascinate me. He has literally been all over the world. He was born in Manila and grew up between there and Hong Kong. His dad was fortunate enough to get a work visa and brought his family here to California, then Chicago, all the way to....Chanute, Kansas. 

But had it not been for God's glorious, mystifying Divine Providence that brought him all the way from across the world to this tiny town of no more than 10,000, he and I would never have met. 

I would hope, then, that it makes sense that I would love Chanute, despite its natives protesting to the contrary. 

They would only be so lucky.

Sunday, July 10, 2011

me gusta leer

Triumph! I finally finished Wuthering Heights! This is quite the victory for me, folks.

Once upon a time, I was a voracious reader devouring book after book after book. In recent years, lamentably, my reading habits have taken quite a tumble and it takes me eons to finish anything.

Having finished at classic, I feel certain that I have turned over a new page (get it? get it?).

I have slain thee, incredibly dramatic 19th century soap opera novel.

One of the most unexpected (ok, one of the only) perks of working at a high school is, no, not summertime. Because, I am not, dear friends, a teacher; which is what most people automatically assume when I tell them I work at a high school. Rather, it's what the sumertime at a high school brings: stacks and stacks of discarded books, free for the taking. And let me tell you: I took home a haul.

Behold! My summer reading list!

To me, a discarded book (unless it's a novel by Stephanie Meyer) is something of a travesty. And the fact that students wanted nothing to do with the tomes they had already purchased at the beginning of the year is like a slap across the face of my soul. Then again, more for me right? So I adopted that lovely stack of books and they now sit safely on my desk.

This love affair with reading is hereditary, methinks. My parents were, and are, always reading something. Books are constantly lying around the house. My siblings were always swapping books and recommending books to eachother.

Some of my fondest childhood memories are of going to the library. Back then, you could always find me in the Cartoon section, devouring Garfield and The Far Side comics (my taste has matured since then).

And of course, a miniature Kiernan was always getting lost in the Library, having minor freak-out moments as she desperately tried to locate her mother who had assured her multiple times that she was "only going to the Big Person section." I knew better.

I think my miniature self would be disappointed that I didn't grow up to be Matilda, like I so ardently desired. Sorry, miniature Kiernan. This is what you grew up to be, instead:

This is what happens when you stop reading books, kids.

I think things changed when I started college and I was forced to read things in a short span of time, only to regurgitate and thereby forget the info I had consumed while cramming for a test. But no more, I say! No more. I am slightly tempted to become a hermit and lock myself up and just read all the time. I shall be a well-read hermit.

Now that would be some drama fit for a Bronte. Verily.

.....In other news, my hibiscus bloomed!

Meet Edgar. Edgar the Hibiscus.

Damn thing is like a pheonix: it blooms, then it dies. Then it blooms and dies again. It finally managed to bloom long enough for me to admire it before dying again.  

Way to go, Edgar!