Remember snake girl from Taco Bell?
Well, today I went to Taco Bell at the Cougareat to grab some lunch. There were 10 students in line and twice that waiting for their food. Taco Bell goes through hundreds of customers everyday, and I just happen to be one of the million on an almost daily basis.
Anyway, at Taco Bell they usually ask for your name (although sometimes they ask for your favorite movie) and so today I was ready to give them my card and my name after ordering the chicken burrito, to go. But snake girl was my cashier and instead of asking what my name was, she said, "It's Breanne, right?"
I laughed and said, "I come here way too much." But actually, I think it was the snake incident that made me memorable...
9.29.2010
9.15.2010
Creative Writing and Me
I am in a creative writing class right now. You know what that means--even better blog entries! I thought I would put a few samples of my writing up of the more exciting stories throughout the semester. Round 1: a very short story.
The situation started innocently enough. The tense atmosphere in the Tel Aviv airport was no more than usual and perhaps a little mild, comparatively. The Israeli soldiers, most of them women, paced around questioning anyone who looked suspicious. In Tel Aviv, this was everyone who wasn’t Israeli, and even some who were. In such distressing times, security was more important than hospitality.
He was a German man, middle aged, and standing indiscriminately by his luggage. Perhaps it was his age or his impatient German manner, but the Israeli guard closest to us chose him for a random passport check. After looking through his passport, she began to question him. “Where are you going?” “Cairo,” he answered. “What will you be doing in Cairo?” The man, stifling his irritation, sighed. “I am attending a meeting of Lutheran church leaders for a week of training.”
His answers were short and impatient. Perhaps he didn’t know this was a dangerous combination in an Israeli airport, but he seemed eager to get his luggage searched (a standard procedure for all who fly out of Tel Aviv), checked, and into the boarding area. The guard, sensing his frustration, continued questioning in a methodical, condescending manner.
“Do you have an itinerary for your time in Cairo?”
“Yes,” he answered, “but it’s all in German,” seeming to hope that this language barrier was key to his quick escape into the boarding area.
“Can I see it?” The question was innocent enough, although her condescendingly sweet voice offered no explanation of why she would need to see the itinerary of this passenger, which was written in a language she did not speak.
By this time the man was visibly irritated. Other passengers close to him in line averted their eyes, trying to avoid the barrage of questions they would be assailed with if they showed too much interest.
“It’s in my luggage. Do you really want me to pull it out? It’s all in German.”
“Yes, please.” The Israeli soldier was insistent.
The man sighed heavily and pulled a small spiral bound booklet from his luggage. After handing it to the Israeli guard with a look that said, “See, it’s all in German,” she turned to him and said, opening to the middle, “Translate this for me.”
I nervously edged away, grateful it was my turn for my luggage to be searched. Since I was next to him in line, I was a prime target for questioning if I stood too close. I could still hear the man talking loudly as my luggage was being searched.
“It says that at this time we will have a meeting, at 12 we will eat lunch,…”
The soldier interrupted him. “What about this page?”
My luggage cleared, I quickly left the area. The atmosphere was so tense in line I didn’t even care when the male soldier searching my luggage had broken the perfume bottle I bought in Egypt. Even after he offered to get his supervisor to take care of the situation, I refused. I knew what would happen if he got his supervisor: “Where did you buy this perfume bottle?”
The situation started innocently enough. The tense atmosphere in the Tel Aviv airport was no more than usual and perhaps a little mild, comparatively. The Israeli soldiers, most of them women, paced around questioning anyone who looked suspicious. In Tel Aviv, this was everyone who wasn’t Israeli, and even some who were. In such distressing times, security was more important than hospitality.
He was a German man, middle aged, and standing indiscriminately by his luggage. Perhaps it was his age or his impatient German manner, but the Israeli guard closest to us chose him for a random passport check. After looking through his passport, she began to question him. “Where are you going?” “Cairo,” he answered. “What will you be doing in Cairo?” The man, stifling his irritation, sighed. “I am attending a meeting of Lutheran church leaders for a week of training.”
His answers were short and impatient. Perhaps he didn’t know this was a dangerous combination in an Israeli airport, but he seemed eager to get his luggage searched (a standard procedure for all who fly out of Tel Aviv), checked, and into the boarding area. The guard, sensing his frustration, continued questioning in a methodical, condescending manner.
“Do you have an itinerary for your time in Cairo?”
“Yes,” he answered, “but it’s all in German,” seeming to hope that this language barrier was key to his quick escape into the boarding area.
“Can I see it?” The question was innocent enough, although her condescendingly sweet voice offered no explanation of why she would need to see the itinerary of this passenger, which was written in a language she did not speak.
By this time the man was visibly irritated. Other passengers close to him in line averted their eyes, trying to avoid the barrage of questions they would be assailed with if they showed too much interest.
“It’s in my luggage. Do you really want me to pull it out? It’s all in German.”
“Yes, please.” The Israeli soldier was insistent.
The man sighed heavily and pulled a small spiral bound booklet from his luggage. After handing it to the Israeli guard with a look that said, “See, it’s all in German,” she turned to him and said, opening to the middle, “Translate this for me.”
I nervously edged away, grateful it was my turn for my luggage to be searched. Since I was next to him in line, I was a prime target for questioning if I stood too close. I could still hear the man talking loudly as my luggage was being searched.
“It says that at this time we will have a meeting, at 12 we will eat lunch,…”
The soldier interrupted him. “What about this page?”
My luggage cleared, I quickly left the area. The atmosphere was so tense in line I didn’t even care when the male soldier searching my luggage had broken the perfume bottle I bought in Egypt. Even after he offered to get his supervisor to take care of the situation, I refused. I knew what would happen if he got his supervisor: “Where did you buy this perfume bottle?”
9.12.2010
Texas Nephews
I actually only have one nephew in Texas. But the title seemed to flow better with nephew in the plural. And since I have blogged about my trip to Texas but nothing about the reason for going, I thought I would throw a few pictures up.
This is my nephew Talmage. Isn't he cute? His mom definitely thinks so (as do we all!) and posts an almost daily record of his progress on their blog (which we all appreciate Kaitlyn!). But as his aunt, I like to think I have bragging rights too. :)
Anyway, I was only able to visit my sister and her husband and son for two days--long enough for us to make a trip to the grocery store, make falafel, go to a garden-park in Houston, and stop by Coldstone (the highlight).
While there, Talmage decided he wanted ice cream faster than his mom was giving it to him. In a split second when his mom looked away, he grabbed the lid of her milkshake and threw it off, flipping ice cream everywhere. Then, with my sister distracted with trying to grab the lid and straw from him before he made too much of a mess, he grabbed for the milkshake with his other hand and stuck his hand in it, almost knocking the whole thing over.
My quick thinking saved the day. :)
He tried to look innocent
but the evidence was all over his face.
He thought it was pretty funny!
This is my nephew Talmage. Isn't he cute? His mom definitely thinks so (as do we all!) and posts an almost daily record of his progress on their blog (which we all appreciate Kaitlyn!). But as his aunt, I like to think I have bragging rights too. :)
Anyway, I was only able to visit my sister and her husband and son for two days--long enough for us to make a trip to the grocery store, make falafel, go to a garden-park in Houston, and stop by Coldstone (the highlight).
While there, Talmage decided he wanted ice cream faster than his mom was giving it to him. In a split second when his mom looked away, he grabbed the lid of her milkshake and threw it off, flipping ice cream everywhere. Then, with my sister distracted with trying to grab the lid and straw from him before he made too much of a mess, he grabbed for the milkshake with his other hand and stuck his hand in it, almost knocking the whole thing over.
My quick thinking saved the day. :)
He tried to look innocent
but the evidence was all over his face.
He thought it was pretty funny!
9.09.2010
Population: Me
The other day I was driving to school. Yes, I live far enough away and I leave early enough and get home late enough that I justify driving to campus. And I was listening to an Evangelical Christian radio station. Sidenote: I really like listening to these Christian radio stations. First of all, I think it is a great way to reach out and understand people of other faiths. I like how they talk about family values and faith and God without feeling awkward about it. And a lot of the time I really like the songs they sing. What can I say, I love the Christian pop music scene.
And as I was driving and worrying about my oil, which I had just realized was leaking, and the traffic, which was clogging up around campus, and being late for class, I heard this song. And I thought, maybe God is trying to tell me something? Anyway, I hope you enjoy.
And as I was driving and worrying about my oil, which I had just realized was leaking, and the traffic, which was clogging up around campus, and being late for class, I heard this song. And I thought, maybe God is trying to tell me something? Anyway, I hope you enjoy.
8.29.2010
17 Minutes at the Alamo
While I was in Texas I drove out to Austin to visit UT-Austin (a possible future graduate school option) and then stayed that night at my friend Michelle's house in San Antonio (thanks Michelle and Chris!). I realized that I might not ever be in this close of proximity to that Alamo again and decided that I had to go see it.
As I exited the freeway and approached this historical monument, I looked down at the gas gauge and foud it to be nearly empty. Now wanting to search for parking and run out of gas in the middle of downtown San Antonio, and also not knowing exactly how many minutes I had before the tank was dry (because it was my brother-in-law's car), I began searching for a gas station. And searching. And finally, just when I thought the car would die for sure, I ran across this place:
It looked relatively safe (it had to be safe! It was right across from the cemetery)
so I hopped out and went to the pump. Unfortunately, this gas station was so ghetto that I had to go to the cashier to pay. And the gas station was a booth, with a cashier, some drinks and candy, and cigarettes inside of the booth. In order to pay for my gas before I could pump it I had to walk up to the window (see the woman bending over next to the window in the first picture?) and tell the cashier inside of the bullet-proof cracked glass that I wanted $20 of gas. I gave him my card and, since it was debit, I had to enter my pin. While I was wondering how I would ever do that, the side of the wall opened up with the key pad in it. I suddenly realized that if anyone needs to enter their pin, or if they buy anything, the cashier puts it in the "box" from his side and then shuts it on his side, which opens it up to the other side. Perhaps this is to keep the cashier (who was probably 5'11" and 250 pounds and didn't look like he needed defending!) safe?
Oh, and it wasn't intimidating at all that I was the only caucasion female there, and 7 police cars passed by in the 10 minutes I was there. I felt safe in the day, but I don't think I would recommend that place at night!
Anyway, back to the Alamo. I desperately wanted to see the Alamo, but I just as desperately didn't want to pay $10 for parking. I finally found a street meter two blocks away from the edifice, and after checking how much change I had with me I put it all in the meter.
All 35 cents. Which bought me exactly 17 minutes of parking time.
I walked swiftly (I would have run, but I am sure people would have thought I had just stolen something!) to the Alamo and, as proof, took pictures of the most important things there:
A door, of course
A cactus (an integral part of the Alamo!)
And the Alamo itself.
I then walked swiftly back to my car, unlocking it exactly 17 minutes after I put my coins in the meter. It reminded me of the time I went to the Egyptian Museum in Cairo and, after getting a short guided tour of the most important things, was given 30 minutes of free time. To see the whole Egyptian Museum (which is huge, by the way!). I was determined not to miss anything, and so literally ran through the whole museum looking at everything. I saw everything in that museum...but don't remember anything! Oh well, if it was there, I saw it!
It was probably a good thing that I didn't stay there for more than 17 minutes, because it didn't look like the safest place in town. I may or may not have parked 2 doors down from a bar with a creepy man standing outside keeping guard and watching me. And this was the building I parked next to:
And this was a cool picture I took out my window at the building just down the street:
Anyway, the Alamo is a lot smaller than I remembered from the 15-years-before when I had visited it for the first time. It was almost disappointing to go back as a big person and see how small it really was. And so I think 17 minutes at the Alamo was a perfect amount of time...
As I exited the freeway and approached this historical monument, I looked down at the gas gauge and foud it to be nearly empty. Now wanting to search for parking and run out of gas in the middle of downtown San Antonio, and also not knowing exactly how many minutes I had before the tank was dry (because it was my brother-in-law's car), I began searching for a gas station. And searching. And finally, just when I thought the car would die for sure, I ran across this place:
It looked relatively safe (it had to be safe! It was right across from the cemetery)
so I hopped out and went to the pump. Unfortunately, this gas station was so ghetto that I had to go to the cashier to pay. And the gas station was a booth, with a cashier, some drinks and candy, and cigarettes inside of the booth. In order to pay for my gas before I could pump it I had to walk up to the window (see the woman bending over next to the window in the first picture?) and tell the cashier inside of the bullet-proof cracked glass that I wanted $20 of gas. I gave him my card and, since it was debit, I had to enter my pin. While I was wondering how I would ever do that, the side of the wall opened up with the key pad in it. I suddenly realized that if anyone needs to enter their pin, or if they buy anything, the cashier puts it in the "box" from his side and then shuts it on his side, which opens it up to the other side. Perhaps this is to keep the cashier (who was probably 5'11" and 250 pounds and didn't look like he needed defending!) safe?
Oh, and it wasn't intimidating at all that I was the only caucasion female there, and 7 police cars passed by in the 10 minutes I was there. I felt safe in the day, but I don't think I would recommend that place at night!
Anyway, back to the Alamo. I desperately wanted to see the Alamo, but I just as desperately didn't want to pay $10 for parking. I finally found a street meter two blocks away from the edifice, and after checking how much change I had with me I put it all in the meter.
All 35 cents. Which bought me exactly 17 minutes of parking time.
I walked swiftly (I would have run, but I am sure people would have thought I had just stolen something!) to the Alamo and, as proof, took pictures of the most important things there:
A door, of course
A cactus (an integral part of the Alamo!)
And the Alamo itself.
I then walked swiftly back to my car, unlocking it exactly 17 minutes after I put my coins in the meter. It reminded me of the time I went to the Egyptian Museum in Cairo and, after getting a short guided tour of the most important things, was given 30 minutes of free time. To see the whole Egyptian Museum (which is huge, by the way!). I was determined not to miss anything, and so literally ran through the whole museum looking at everything. I saw everything in that museum...but don't remember anything! Oh well, if it was there, I saw it!
It was probably a good thing that I didn't stay there for more than 17 minutes, because it didn't look like the safest place in town. I may or may not have parked 2 doors down from a bar with a creepy man standing outside keeping guard and watching me. And this was the building I parked next to:
And this was a cool picture I took out my window at the building just down the street:
Anyway, the Alamo is a lot smaller than I remembered from the 15-years-before when I had visited it for the first time. It was almost disappointing to go back as a big person and see how small it really was. And so I think 17 minutes at the Alamo was a perfect amount of time...
Road trip to Texas, round 2
I just got home from a road trip to Texas. It was ideal: drive out and fly back. That way, I got my "driving detox time" after summer term ended and before fall semester started, but I didn't go insane from too much time spent in the car by myself. It was much more chill (and safer!) than Road Trip to Texas, round 1 And best of all, I placed the trip under the guise of being incredibly kind and altruistic and driving a car out for my sister and brother-in-law, so I didn't even have to pay for gas. It was a dream.
A few highlights:
*Two days before I was supposed to leave and only a few hours after I had picked the car up, it started making a horrible screaming-clicking-knocking-thumping sound and broke down. Don't worry, after 4 hours Monday morning and a horrible experience at Certified Auto Repair in Provo (those guys are real jerks. I would only recommend them if you are looking for overpriced, shoddy service, and an encounter with certified jerks. But I might have been influenced by their motto, painted on the wall, which was, "Our desire is for your auto repair experience to be friendly and successful." How can you have a friendly experience? It was awkward grammar), I finally got out of Provo at 12 noon, only 6 hours later than I had planned.
*For some reason (involving a forgotten number password and a recent car repair), the radio and tape player do not work in the Saturn, the car I drove to Texas. 26 hours in the car with no music? I can barely even do 26 minutes in a car with no music! So we got an inverter and I brought along my cd player. I was listening to a book on tape, O Jerusalem (which is awesome, by the way), and in order that I might hear it over the roar of the car and the road and to keep it from continually skipping, I held the cd player on my lap. It was a thrill.
*I finally saw the Monticello temple.
*I stopped at a posh 2-star hotel in Albuquerque (Super 8) with free wi-fi. I walked into the hotel and said I needed to check in and the desk clerk said, "You're Breanne, right?" Shocked, I asked her how she knew, and she said, "You're the only one to check in tonight!" I didn't know if that was a good thing or a bad thing. They also put me in the handicapped room, which meant I had a bigger bathroom and a shower instead of a tub. The hotel, trying to be chic and up-to-date, had one of those curved shower curtain rods in the bathroom. (This is not THE shower curtain rod, but just an example I found on the internet. Of it installed correctly.)
However, they must have forgotten to read the installation instructions, because instead of the curve going out, allowing for more room and light in the shower, it went in. It was really awkward to try and avoid brushing against the shower curtain when it took up half of the shower. And I was going to take a picture, but I had left my camera in the car. So just try to imagine, and laugh.
*New Mexico is so much better to drive through late at night and early in the morning. I really timed it perfectly and instead of having to see hours of sun-baked ground for miles and miles, with nothing to disturb it except some trailers and an overturned car in a field, I drove through most of it at night and so didn't see anything but the freeway anyway. It was much more pleasant than last time, when I drove through NM in the middle of the day.
*Somewhere before Albuquerque, I drove around a bend in the freeway and saw, to my horror, a huge glowing-red building that looked, in the darkness, as though it was floating on nothing. It looked like the house of the devil himself, but was actually a casino. Or are those the same thing? Anyway, no picture, but know that after creeping me out just a little, it reminded me of this building in Jordan that I affectionately called the "Tower of Babel." It was actually a hotel, but looks like the real thing.
*Apparently in Texas it is entirely kosher to use the passing lane if you are going no more than one-mile-an-hour faster than the car in the right lane. And if it takes 5 minutes to pass three cars that's ok too, even if you have a line of cars behind you on a two-lane road.
*Remember my story about washing my car with the window-washing squeegees provided at gas stations? I found the perfect contraption for this somewhere in Texas.
Like I said, it was a dream. And I didn't feel once like I was about to die. More details about my time in Texas, including an exciting "17 minutes at the Alamo," to come.
8.20.2010
Who moved my bread?
It's eight o'clock as I unlock the door to my apartment and stagger inside. After a long day of work, studying for the GRE, and preparing my Fulbright application, I'm starving. I haven't eaten since 1 pm. Too busy (and poor) to take an earlier dinner break, my thoughts now revolve around one single thing: a toasted cheese sandwich.
Cheese. Bread. That's all I want. That's actually all I have. In a fierce breakaway from the cereal addiction, I desire the only other food item I have in my fridge right now, and it's the only thing on my mind.
I walk to the fridge and open it to inspect its contents. I am surprised to see that it is overflowing with food items from Costco: a huge container of egg salad, 200 strawberries, 2 containers of pasta salad, and the largest packages of hamburger that I have ever seen. My roommate, the activities co-chair in her Asian ward, must have bought all this for an activity they will have in the (hopefully) near future. And it is all sitting on top of the small space in the fridge upon which my final two slices of bread used to reside.
Sighing, I bend down to search for my bread. I pull out the salad, heft the two huge rolls of ground beef (sick, I think to myself, as the blood runs along the inside of the clear plastic wrapping), and move the strawberries. No bread.
Oh no. Since moving to this apartment one week ago, I haven't been to the grocery store, and thus have only taken up one very small corner of the fridge. Milk, cheese, and bread. That's all I have. Thankfully a few days ago I moved my cheese to the "cheese drawer" and so it was spared the fridge invasion. However, my roommate, in making room for the huge packages of food, must have seen the two pieces of bread (end pieces, so worthless unless it's all you have) and decided it was time to throw them out.
Still hopeful, I check the top shelf. Three bowls of rice, olives, milk, and orange juice, but no bread. And with desperate hope that my bread somehow missed my first search, I check the bottom shelf one more time. Another round of the vegetable drawers (filled with carrots, even though my roommate doesn't like carrots...), the cheese drawer, and finally the freezer. No bread.
In desperation I start checking the cupboards and silverware drawers and finally, dejected, stand before the makeshift shelves of "pantry" food that belongs to my roommates. Maybe, just maybe, someone took the bread out of the fridge and put it on someone's shelf. My mouth watering and the hunger making me delirious, I finally give up and reach down to pull out my cereal box.
I look into the bowl as I pour my cereal in. On the bottom is painted the Chinese character for love. And I think to myself, good thing I love cereal...
Cheese. Bread. That's all I want. That's actually all I have. In a fierce breakaway from the cereal addiction, I desire the only other food item I have in my fridge right now, and it's the only thing on my mind.
I walk to the fridge and open it to inspect its contents. I am surprised to see that it is overflowing with food items from Costco: a huge container of egg salad, 200 strawberries, 2 containers of pasta salad, and the largest packages of hamburger that I have ever seen. My roommate, the activities co-chair in her Asian ward, must have bought all this for an activity they will have in the (hopefully) near future. And it is all sitting on top of the small space in the fridge upon which my final two slices of bread used to reside.
Sighing, I bend down to search for my bread. I pull out the salad, heft the two huge rolls of ground beef (sick, I think to myself, as the blood runs along the inside of the clear plastic wrapping), and move the strawberries. No bread.
Oh no. Since moving to this apartment one week ago, I haven't been to the grocery store, and thus have only taken up one very small corner of the fridge. Milk, cheese, and bread. That's all I have. Thankfully a few days ago I moved my cheese to the "cheese drawer" and so it was spared the fridge invasion. However, my roommate, in making room for the huge packages of food, must have seen the two pieces of bread (end pieces, so worthless unless it's all you have) and decided it was time to throw them out.
Still hopeful, I check the top shelf. Three bowls of rice, olives, milk, and orange juice, but no bread. And with desperate hope that my bread somehow missed my first search, I check the bottom shelf one more time. Another round of the vegetable drawers (filled with carrots, even though my roommate doesn't like carrots...), the cheese drawer, and finally the freezer. No bread.
In desperation I start checking the cupboards and silverware drawers and finally, dejected, stand before the makeshift shelves of "pantry" food that belongs to my roommates. Maybe, just maybe, someone took the bread out of the fridge and put it on someone's shelf. My mouth watering and the hunger making me delirious, I finally give up and reach down to pull out my cereal box.
I look into the bowl as I pour my cereal in. On the bottom is painted the Chinese character for love. And I think to myself, good thing I love cereal...
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