Geocaching, Sombreros, and Trundling, Part III

Miss Part I? Read it here

Miss Part II? Read it here

Full of Mexican food and high on life (or on sugar from the flan), we left the restaurant in good spirits and in the mood for adventure (aka trouble). I don’t remember how or why we ended up where we did, but I remember driving along a dirt path and seeing a bunch of discarded tires laying on the side of the road. The boys had a hankering to haul some of them up the nearby hill, and roll them down the side. So, we started gathering tires. 

Being as they were pretty heavy, we finally got the brilliant idea of roping them to the back of our vehicle and driving them most of the way up. Which is how we ended up driving the van up the side of the mountain, with 3 boys hanging off the back of the car, “riding” the tires on the way up. 

Once we were at the top of our destination, we occupied ourselves for a short while, flinging the tires off the side of the mountain and watching them roll all the way down. This easily segued into rock trundling, which is another favorite pastime of geologists, and is just a fancy way of saying “throwing small rocks and boulders down the side of a mountain”. We started small, finding individual rocks to throw, as heavy as we could lift. Then we started working together to dig out larger boulders and push them down the side of the hill. 

Don’t ask me why this activity is so entertaining. There is just something about watching the rocks gather speed and momentum and barrel their way down the side of a mountain, obliterating anything and everything in its path along the way. And the larger the rock, and the more effort it took us to get it moving, the more exciting it was when it flew down the hill. We would yell and cheer as they tumbled their way down to the bottom. 

Then, we discovered it – the mother lode of all trundling rocks. A perfect sandstone sphere, it sat there glowing in the rays of the setting sun, beckoning us. It must have been about 6 feet high and wide, and perched perfectly in a starting position at the edge of the cliff – all we had to do was loosen some of the rocks around the base. You could sense our excitement in the air. 

We got to work and suddenly realized this was going to be a much more arduous task than we first imagined. This rock wouldn’t BUDGE. Too much of the base was buried in the dirt, and no matter how many rocks we loosened, it seemed like it wasn’t helping. Too eager to give up right away, we kept at it. 

30 minutes later, we were still working on this stupid boulder, and had officially passed the point of giving up and were now hell-bent on digging this thing out. It was one of those situations where you had already invested too much time and effort to give up, and there was no going back. With the sun down and us quickly losing our light, we worked at a feverish pace, all five of us digging away. 

Occasionally we would stop digging and all push together, to see if we could get the rock to move. Every time, we would count to three, hold our breath, and push, anticipating the feel of the rock shifting under our hands. But, nothing. 

We worked until the last bit of sunlight was gone, and on a moonless night in the desert, it was pitch black out there. At some point somebody brought up the elephant in the room, which was even if we somehow finally got this rock to move, it was now too dark to even watch it roll down the hill. We didn’t even care. We were not leaving this mountain side until this thing moved. 

My arms aching, I took a break to hold the flashlight, while the boys hacked away at the bottom of the rock, the metal from their rock hammers flashing in the light as they raised their arms, sweat flying, and a crazed look in their eyes.  

Finally, it came time to test the rock again. This time, I inched my way up a neighboring rock, with my back flat up against it, and my feet on the boulder so I could push with all of my leg strength. We counted – 1, 2, 3…and pushed. This time I felt the rock give underneath my feet. There was a communal gasp from everyone as we felt the rock lift, then settle back into place. We were close! You could feel all of us now quivering with excitement and anticipation. I even recall hearing someone say the phrase “this is like foreplay!” We tore at the rock with renewed fervor, knowing the time was near. 

Finally, one last push. We knew this one was going to be it. In a moment of hushed silence, we pushed together, and felt the rock move forward and tip over. Then we saw one of the coolest things I can remember – the boulder striking other rocks as it charged its way down the mountainside was causing it to spark and was sending streaks of flying yellow sparks into the air the entire way down the mountainside. It was a magnificent sight we would have never been able to see unless it was pitch black outside. 

The darkness also intensified all of our other senses, and we could feel the vibrations under our feet and hear the boulder crashing into everything else, until we heard the final loud BOOM of it hitting the bottom, echoing through the desert canyon like a gavel. It was glorious. 

I have so many memories of geology trips, with plenty of others containing much more exciting circumstances than these. But they are still hard to compare with this first trip. The five of us had bonded over geocaches, sombreros, and trundling. We shared new discoveries and experiences together. It taught me that you don’t have to be in an exciting place to have fun – you can be in the middle of a dry desert, with shady restaurants and tire-littered dirt roads – but as long as you are with good friends, you can have a blast. 

Geocaching, Sombreros, and Trundling, Part II

Miss Part I? Read it here

After 2 days and 3 nights of camping and hiking in the desert, we were hot, sweaty, dirty, and tired. When we were finished packing up camp, our professor announced that him and the TA’s were taking one of the vans and that we were allowed to take the other on our own, in case we wanted to stay in town for dinner. This was probably an unwise decision on his part, if he had known us a little better – an invitation for us to get into more shenanigans. 

However, we set off, excited about the prospect of being on our own without supervision (hey, we WERE only college juniors, can you blame us?). Since I had spent a short time living in Barstow when I was young, I told the boys I had memories of a Mexican restaurant from my childhood, one with food so glorious it made you want to weep. Meals that tasted like there were beautiful Spanish women in colorful flowing skirts dancing on your tastebuds. I raved so much about this place, I talked the boys into going there for dinner. 

Since I couldn’t remember the exact location of the restaurant, we had to drive up and down the main strip of the city a few times before finding it. Luckily, it’s a small town. I swore that we would know it as soon as we saw it, because the restaurant from my memories was a magnificent pueblo-style building with bushes of gorgeous flowers bursting through every window, and hand-painted murals of Spanish art on the walls. So, when we finally pulled up at the small, run-down, faded building with the word “Rosita’s” feebly painted on the side, peeling off in places, that should have been my first hint that my 6 year old imagination might have exaggerated slightly. 

We were too hungry to complain, so we went in, sat, and ordered. That was when I recalled a vague memory of celebrating someone’s birthday in this same restaurant when I was a kid. I knew I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to potentially prank or embarrass one of my fellow classmates, so I told the table I had to use the restroom, and set off for the kitchen to speak with our waiter. 

After informing him one of the gentlemen at my table was celebrating his birthday and would like to be surprised later, I was halfway back to the table when I bumped into my friend Rob, who had a mischevious look on his face. Knowing Rob as the trickster of the group, I figured he was up to the same thing I was, so I let him in on my little secret. We agreed who the victim at the table would be. 

After our meals were settling in our stomachs, and everyone at the table was peacefully reclining in their chairs, I was all aquiver with anticipation for our “dessert”. When our waiter finally approached us and asked who the “birthday muchacho” was, Rob quickly pointed at our friend Jim. Jim, thinking this was entirely Rob’s fault, pointed the finger right back in Rob’s face. Luckily I was there to back Rob up, and there was a moment of blind panic on Jim’s face, as he realized he had been duped. 

Suddenly, a trio of costumed waiters appeared. One slapped a giant sombrero on Jim’s head, one was sporting a tiny guitar, and one a set of maracas. They proceeded to dance and sing the Mexican Hat Dance around our table, while Jim sat there looking ridiculous, the tiny pom-pom balls swinging off the edge of the hat and into his face. It came so far out of left field, that I thought I was going to pee my pants laughing. 

As their song came to a close, the mariachi wannabes told everyone at the table to lean in for a picture, and they snapped a Polaroid. I don’t know who has it now, but I still wish to this day I had a copy of that photo. Lesson learned: it seems like the more remote/random a restaurant, the more likely they are to have some silly tradition for celebrating a birthday. And the more friends you are with, the higher the chance someone is bound to rope you into dealing with it. Always carry your own camera. 

Stay tuned for Part III...

Geocaching, Sombreros, and Trundling, Part I

Halfway through my freshman year of college, I changed my major from Astronomy to Geology. The reason for this was completing my first physics course and realizing I would have to take NINE more. I’m not sure why I chose geology exactly, other than the fact that I liked volcanoes and shiny rocks and always had a rock collection when I was a kid. My mom laughed when I made the decision to switch and used to say I could never make up my mind between the heavens and the earth. 

It was a great decision, though. There is something magical about geologists – we are down to earth people who love camping and drinking beer. What’s not to love? On a side note, you should check out the Uncyclopedia's definition of a Geologist some time – it’s great (be sure to read the sections titled "Geologists in Popular Culture" and "How to Spot a Geologist"). 

Some of my best (and worst) memories are of my college geology field trips. There were only 4 other people in my major in my year, and they were all guys. I tended to prefer the company of boys at this point in my life, since I enjoyed living drama-free, so this was a bonus. Jeff, Jim, Ryan, Rob and I were immediately close friends, and our class trips were always a blast. 

I will always have a fond place in my heart for our first trip together – to Rainbow Basin outside Barstow, CA. As soon as the five of us were set loose on our own, our attention span quickly wandered from structure mapping to goofing off and checking out our surroundings instead. 

Our first major discovery was up on the edge of a thrust fault we had to hike our way up. Taking a rest at the top, we found an old bobcat lair that had been abandoned (atleast, we were pretty sure it was). Wondering how deep it went, the boys lowered me into it (I’d say they forced me to do it but I more likely volunteered myself). I could stand at the bottom of the hole with barely my head poking out. Threatening to leave me there forever, the boys scampered off and went exploring a few feet away. 

After a few moments, I heard a voice say “hey guys, someone left a box up here” and the boys came back carrying a small Tupperware container. Curiosity outweighing their desire to leave me in the hole, they got me out and we gathered around the plastic box. Upon opening it, we found a small notepad, and a collection of odd-ball objects. After flipping open and reading the notepad, we learned we had just discovered our first geocache. 

Geocaching is basically treasure-hunting for adults. It is an outdoor recreational activity where you use GPS (Global Positioning System) to hide and/or seek containers located on public land. These “caches” are sometimes filled with fun objects and can be used as a “trading post” – take an object, leave an object. 

For five college students, this was a discovery magnificent to behold. An entire world of fun had just opened up for us. We all took an object from the box, but having nothing to leave, we scrounged through our school supplies and pooled the following bootleg items for the next lucky finders: a ruler, a couple pens, keychain, stickers, and hand lens, all courtesy of the USC Geology Department. Which of course, is how we came up with our official Geocaching Team  Name: Bootleg Tour. Thus began a legendary mission and beautiful journey to discover as many geocaches as possible on our geology field trips. 

To Be Continued...

Read Part II here!

Wear Your Sunscreen, Kids...

This weekend it was about 110 degrees in Bakersfield. Luckily I didn’t stick around for it – I got the heck out of dodge and went to the beach where it was a beautiful 75 degrees all weekend. But it did remind me of a story…

I didn’t wear my first real bikini until I was 15 years old. I’m sure I had worn them when I was a baby or a little girl, but those don’t count. I’m talking about, itty-bitty, triangle-top, string bikini. Mine was blue with white-polka dots and it had a tiny Winnie-the-Pooh on it.

It was the summer between my sophomore and junior years of high school, and I was on summer vacation with my best friend, Jessica. It was our last hurrah together, since my family and I would be moving to Bakersfield that fall, and we would be separated. They had invited me on their family trip to Mammoth Mountain, and I was pretty darn excited.

Since Jessica and I were the epitome of obnoxious teenagers at this point in our lives, all we were interested in doing while surrounded by the glory and splendor of the mountains (besides doing our hair and makeup), was tanning by the pool. So that’s what we did. And of course, like a typical teenager who doesn’t need to worry about her skin because she has naught a wrinkle yet, I wore no sunscreen. In fact, I’m pretty sure I was slathering oil on my body like a 50’s greaser.

(Here is a picture of me in the offending bikini. Please don't be creepy because I posted a pic of myself in a bathing suit.) 

A few hours after our tanning session, I already noticed that my skin was feeling uncomfortable and was turning a startling shade of red. Especially the tender skin around my…uh…décolletage…that had never seen the sun before. A few more hours, and I noticed skin puckering and swelling. This could not be good.

I’m not sure what happened overnight, but by the time I woke up the next morning, the blisters on my skin had hardened and cracked in places on my chest. I became aware of this upon trying to roll over in a half-asleep state in the early hours of the morning, and practically falling out of the bed in pain. My movement only made it worse – some of the cracks had started to bleed. It was AWFUL. Most nights I could barely get to sleep, and would just lay awake in bed, moaning in agony.

(Here is a pic of me trying to get into a jacuzzi a day or so later. You can see the look of immense pain on my face, and that was just from the hot water on my burned legs. Please notice the magnificence of that tan line from my shorts, by the way...)

Now imagine me trying to explain to my best friend’s parents what was wrong with me and why I was in so much pain. Of course her mom wanted to look at it to make sure I was really ok, so that added to the awkwardness. Since anything more constricting than a baggy t-shirt was painful for me to wear, I had to go bra-less for the duration of the vacation.

(Here's a closer look at my chest. Still hard to tell, but that white spot in the middle is where only one layer of skin peeled off. The darker red areas are where about three layers came off. Ouch.)

As soon as I got home from our trip, I visited the doctor (another awkward moment), who proceeded to tell me that I had suffered third degree burns on my body and yelled at me for not getting it taken care of sooner. He then gave me an ointment that I had to smear on my cleavage several times a day, that smelled like a bad mix of motor oil and old people, and stung when I put it on. The whole thing was very traumatizing and painful.

(To emphasize my point, here is another pic of me in immense pain). 

Luckily, there was no scarring, and I haven’t had any skin cancer scares or anything like that. Needless to say, I learned my lesson: Fair skin + High Altitude Suntanning – Sunscreen = Burned Boobs. I’ve been wary ever since, about exposing any skin that hasn’t seen sun for a few months. I can’t imagine how the people in the nudist camps do it.

900m to the Sea; 40,000m to the Ocean

Last Sunday at my church, we commissioned two missions teams - one to Poland and one to Romania. It reminded me of my own mission trip to Poland three years ago. Though it might sound cliche, going on a mission truly is a life-changing event. Mine was no exception. I have so many wonderful memories from our trip. When my team arrived back home, the church asked if someone would write an article for our monthly bulletin - I gladly obliged. The following is the article I submitted for our church, titled "900m to the Sea; 40,000m to the Ocean": 

On July 21^st, 2010, St. John’s Lutheran Church waved the F.I.S.H. mission team farewell as they boarded a plane for Poland – excited, nervous, and eager. On August 3^rd, we touched back down on American soil as 5 very exhausted, touched, and changed women.

Teaching a week long English-Bible Camp to 30 children was both everything we expected it to be and full of surprises. Here are 7 of the most important things we learned during our trip:

1. When the mission training manual tells you to start getting in shape early, they mean it.

People in Poland like to walk. A lot. On your feet 6 hrs a day during camp? That doesn’t stop them. They’re ready for a stroll through town afterwards, a walk through the sand dunes later that afternoon, and a relaxing hike through the woods before dinner to round out the evening.

We learned this lesson right off the bat during our first evening in Slupsk. We headed out with the Pastor and his wife (9 months pregnant, mind you!) for what he promised to be a quick 900 meter jaunt through the woods to see the Baltic Sea. Two hours later, sweaty and exhausted, we reached our goal. We refused to believe we were looking at the Sea, insisting we had walked at least 40,000 meters and were now looking at the Atlantic Ocean instead.

By the end of our trip, we were all jokingly accusing our Pastor of trying to kill us. This apparently tickled him pink, since he shared his new nickname with the congregation during the following Sunday’s sermon. He still lovingly signs his emails to us as “the Killer Pastor from the ‘Ocean’”.

2. Familiarize yourself with the teaching environment (and always look where you’re going!)

Ahh, the first day of camp! Nerves are heightened, impressions are being made. After instructing one of our leaders to take the children to their classroom, we stepped into the hallway to see her holding open a door and ushering them inside. The obedient children quietly shuffled in and turned, waiting patiently for further instruction. It wasn’t until this moment that our bold leader finally turned around and walked in after them, only to suddenly realize…she had just led all of the confused children into the bathroom. Needless to say, she was teased mercilessly for the duration of the trip. 

3. God reveals Himself through the hearts of small children.

When the first day of camp was through, and we released the kids to go, Gregorz was lagging behind the others. He gathered his things, and started to leave, but then stopped at the front of the room, where the words we learned that day were still written on the blackboard. He dropped his things, walked over to the footstool, and dragged it back over to the board. Watching him, one could only imagine what he was doing. Climbing the stool, he reached up to where the word “Christmas” was written, and then, glancing over to see if he was still being watched, slowly circled the portion of the word spelling “Christ”. Climbing back down the stool and replacing the chalk, he gathered his things and, to our astonishment, walked out the door without a word.

Maciek was 8, but he was so tiny he looked about 5. When he smiled, his entire face would light up. We conspired often about how we could possibly smuggle him home with us in our suitcases. The day we learned about Zacchaeus and his promise to change his life, you could see the little cogs turning in Maciek’s head as we tried to explain what it meant for someone to “change”. After some silent thought from the class, he finally piped up and asked a question in Polish. Pastor, who happened to be in the room, looked up and said, “Maciek wants to know what we can do to change our lives”.

Are any further words needed?

4. Missions are about relationships.

If you ask us a few months from now, what bible verses we had the kids memorize, or what vocabulary words we taught them, we probably won’t be able to tell you. What we will remember however, is the way little Maciek’s eyes grew into saucers when he watched us perform the “miracle” of turning water into wine. Or when beautiful Kasia refused to let go during a tearful goodbye embrace. Or how sweet Karina finally allowed herself to open up and professed her love for us on the last day of camp. Or when our translator Dagmara said that us being there was good for her faith too, because she could see how on fire we all were. Or…well, you get the picture.

The ministry of a one-week mission is temporary. The ministries we’ll maintain through the relationships we built are eternal.

5. Heaven must be a very, very large place.

Worshipping with other believers in another country has got to be one of the coolest things that exist. There is nothing quite like hearing the Lord’s Prayer or the Apostle’s Creed recited in another language. Or singing “Amazing Grace” together but in two different languages.

On our last Sunday, we realized we had no less than 5 nations represented within the parish that day: Polish, American, German, Dutch, and Russian. The Pastor asked one from each to come forward, and as we listened to a prayer in 5 different languages, tears fell as God blessed us with a precious glimpse of what heaven will be like someday. It’s easy to forget it won’t just be little ol’ St. John’s from Bakersfield, CA up there. Someday we will all be together – every nation, every tribe – worshipping together. It was enough to give us goosebumps.

6. Your prayers matter.

It would be an understatement to say that this trip was blessed. From the time the team was put together, from the time we did our return debriefing, God had a hand on this mission. Everything ran smoothly, there were no catastrophes or crises. We were comfortable, safe, and forced to stuff ourselves silly with bread, sausage, potatoes, and dumplings for sustenance (horrors!). Satan was unsuccessful at causing conflict or dissention amongst us 5 team members.

I cannot promise any other mission would be the same, but for some reason, God decided to take good care of us on this trip. We attribute this mainly to one thing – the prayers of our friends, family, and Church body. We cannot thank God enough for the love and support we received. Please know your prayers were necessary, invaluable, and appreciated.

7. It’s worth it. 

All joking and fun stories aside, this mission was tremendously impactful. Yes, we did what we came for and the kids learned some English and read some Bible Stories. But what happened in the hearts and souls of everyone we met along the journey is what matters the most. Relationships were made. Discipleship was present. Revival occurred. And changed lives and attitudes resulted. Some people might think that the results of a short-term mission trip are tough to quantify, but you do not need to reap an entire harvest to call your trip successful. Sometimes most of the work is in simply preparing the field and planting a seed. The five of us saw and felt enough to know that God was unequivocally present and working in us all the entire time, and that is a satisfying thought indeed.

Watch a photo compilation from our trip!

Revenge of the Demon Locust

I am not a fan of bugs. Especially if they have wings. I would have to say my least favorite of all insects are of the 8-legged variety, but I loathe all types in general. I think my innate fear of them amuses God however, so He tends to put me in certain circumstances for His own personal enjoyment. For instance, I seem to find the freakiest of all spiders in my backyard - Wolf spiders, Tiger spiders, Jumping spiders, Black Widows. Disgusting. I swear you could even probably discover a new species back there. Although, to be honest, I can't really blame God for that - this is probably my own fault, seeing as how my backyard currently looks like an overgrown weed jungle. At night especially, when all the bugs are drawn to my porch light, it's an adventure merely to take the dog out to pee. Every time I open the door, I have to poke my head out first and look around to make sure nothing is in the immediate area that can jump or land on me, before daring to set one toe outside. And even then, I won't venture off the concrete safety of my porch. Every time, I feel like I'm in that scene from the Temple of Doom where they have to walk through the cave with all the bugs…*shiver*. Yuck. Anyway, I think you're getting my point, so back to the original story. 

A couple of years ago, I discovered a delightful new creature around my home - I don't know exactly what they are, but I refer to them as "demon locusts". Seriously, they look like they're straight out of the book of Exodus. They are about 5-6 inches long (NO, I'm not exaggerating), with big eyes and antenna, wings, and look like a mix between a grasshopper and a snarling dragon. I discovered them in my backyard first, through rather unpleasant means. They tend to blend in with the ground fairly well (WHY does God do that? I want to be able to see these things so that I can avoid them…not being able to, and never knowing where they might be lurking = not ok), so as I was walking outside and got close to one without realizing it, it jumped/flew in the air. And here's the thing about the way they move - they don't exactly jump or fly, it's like a weird combination of the two. They HOVER. At exactly my eye height. They seem to aim straight for the head. Once I became aware of their existence, I started to keep an eye out. 

One summer evening, as I was driving home from work, I noticed a large dark spot in the middle of my driveway as I approached the house. Not being close enough to tell what it was yet, I opened my garage door and started to drive up - and that's when the dark spot moved. One of the demon locusts, apparently using my driveway as a tanning bed, was now hopping directly into my garage. Great. I pulled up and parked, and got out of my car tentatively, not being sure where the thing was lurking. Then I saw it - right in front of the door to my house, where I needed to get through. Well, this posed a serious problem. I thought maybe if I slowly moved towards it, it would jump away. I tried - it did its strange hover/jump right towards my face and I dropped my purse and ran away screaming. Pathetic, I know. Now I was pissed. This thing was keeping me from getting into my own home. This was unacceptable. I looked around the garage for reinforcements, but all I could find was a stiff bristled broom. This was convenient because it gave me at least a 4 foot reach so I wouldn't have to get too close to the thing. I poked the broom at the beast, and as it started to jump, I swatted at it in hopes I could hit it on the other side of the garage and make a quick dash into the house. This did not work either. I was seriously underestimating the persistence of this creature to impede my efforts to get into the house. 

No longer having any sympathy, I started smashing the locust with the broom, flailing and shrieking the whole time. Now agitated, the beast kept flying at me and I ended up dropping the broom and running away several times. I'm sure my neighbors across the street were having a good laugh at my expense, watching me fight some invisible creature trying to get into my own home. After several attempts to strike the beast, I was finally successful in hitting it across the garage, where it landed amongst piles of boxes and I could no longer see it. However, I could hear it flying around and bumping into things. There was no way I would be able to catch it, and I certainly had no care to - I took my opportunity to run in the house. If I wanted the thing dead, there was only one thing left to do - call for backup. 

Once inside, I called my friend Ryan. My first reason for calling him was that he only lived around the corner. My second reason was Ryan has a tender love and affinity for all weapons, and contains a whole arsenal of swords, maces, hammers, etc, in his home. And looks for every opportunity to use them. I knew he would be up for the job. 5 minutes later, Ryan walks up to my garage door and knocks. I refused to stick my head out, and would only speak to him from the other side of the door. After hearing my description of the monster and its approximate location, he began the hunt. 

After a few minutes, I heard a yell and the words "I found it - holy $&#% this thing is HUGE!" I then heard what I can only imagine was an epic battle - loud crashes, cursing, death threats, and other mayhem. Finally - silence. It was over. I couldn't have been more relieved - I knew if we didn't find the thing and kill it, I would forget it was in there and the next time I tried to leave, it would attack me. Thanking Ryan for his chivalrous act of bravery and rescue, I went to bed with a worry-free conscience that night. But the story doesn't end here. 

The next day, after confidently exiting my garage, I had no more thoughts of evil insect creatures until I was driving back home from work once more. I was coming near to my house, feeling wonderful, with the radio playing, the sun shining…and my windows down. I suddenly had a thought - what if there were more, and they were in my driveway again? What if one jumped towards me as I drove up? WHAT IF one of them accidentally jumped right into my window and into the car? Oh, but that would be so crazy - that could never happen. I had a good laugh at my over-active and paranoid imagination, ho ho. In what world would that actually ever happen. Still, maybe I should roll up the windows, just in case. 

In the 5 seconds it took my brain to travel through this thought process, I had already started to roll up into my driveway, and before I could even prepare myself, I KID YOU NOT - a demon locust JUMPED THROUGH THE WINDOW OF MY CAR AND ONTO MY FACE. I also swear I thought I heard a screechy voice shout "for my brotheeeeeer!" as he jumped in the car. And he might have been holding a tiny silver sword. Anyway, I'm not sure exactly what happened next, because I was in a blind state of panic. All I know is, I was lucky I didn't crash my car right into the garage. My hands were off the wheel, I was flailing my arms about screaming "get it off get it off" and slapping my own face, and in the midst of all the chaos, I'm not sure where the locust ended up. I think at some point, by some stroke of luck, I was able to hit it out of the car, and hopefully ran it over. Once the car was in park and I was able to throw open my door, I catapulted myself out of the vehicle and proceeded to do one of those full body shakes, where you're spinning around smacking at your body and flinging your hair around in case it was stuck there. Screaming and crying the whole time as if someone were trying to murder me. I could not believe it - one of the damn things came back to exact vengeance on me for killing their comrade. And I wasn't even the one who killed it! As soon as I got in the house, I called Ryan to tell him the unbelievable story, and to pass on a warning -surely they would be coming for him, too. 

Fast forward to one year later. I have given no thought to the demons since, and thankfully they have left me alone. So imagine my surprise when I get this phone call yesterday afternoon while at work: 

Ryan: hey, it's Ryan

Me: hey, what's up?

Ryan: I have to tell you something, and I don't know if you're going to laugh or throw up 

Me: (nervous) ummm…..ok? 

Ryan: last night I was hanging out and heard someone knocking on the door, except it wasn't a normal knock. It had a sporadic rhythm. I didn't go to answer it right away, and eventually it stopped. A couple minutes later, the knocking was back. Getting irritated, I finally went over to the door, and flung it open, ready to punch whoever was standing there - 

Me: (interrupting) you didn't look through the window first to see who was there? It could have been an ax-murderer!

Ryan: I was so irritated by the knocking, I was ready for whatever was on the other side of the door. At least I thought I was. Until, I opened the door and ONE OF THOSE DEMON LOCUSTS FLEW RIGHT INTO MY FACE 

Me: *stunned silence for a few minutes* WHAT?! You're joking! So what was the knocking sound?

Ryan: it was the damn thing flying into my door! That's how big it was, it actually made an audible sound loud enough that I thought someone was knocking on the door 

Me: I TOLD YOU THEY WOULD COME FOR YOU SOME DAY! 

He was right. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry or throw up. I did have a fit of shaky giggles for a while, thinking about how the fiend actually knocked on his door like a creepy psycho locust-stalker, out to exact vengeance on his victim by instilling it with as much fear as possible first. Ryan then finished telling me his story about the 20-minute ordeal that ensued after he got the thing off his face and it flew into his home. After several attempts to slay the beast and failing (the things are invincible, i'm telling you) he was finally able to trap the thing under a container. Convinced the evil spawn now must suffer a horrible, slow, painful, end, he decided to leave it there and let it suffocate to death. In a wild moment of foolishness, I experienced a wave of mercy for the creature dying in this manner, to which Ryan responded "Stephanie. The thing had to die. It was ON MY FACE." Ok, I guess he was right. 

And that, boys and girls, is the story of how a demon locust plotted his revenge for a whole year before sneakily trying to get us back for murdering two of his brothers. I swear they must give a description of their attackers to the rest of the colony. Be warned - think carefully before you attempt to kill one yourself. A demon locust never forgets. And they will come back for you, too. 

*Update* I googled "demon locust". Surprisingly, there were some pretty decent images available. Clearly I'm not the only one who's had this experience with them. I think this is my favorite: 

Looks accurate to me. 

However, this might be a more realistic representation: 

Now just imagine that sucker the length of your hand...

#3 - The Lint Trap

Most of the time, I feel pretty accomplished for my age. Several years back, when I was just 24, I was already living on my own, working a great full time job, supporting myself completely. I rented a nice little house, I had a dog, I managed to keep myself fed, and I could do my own laundry. I was set. Something to be proud of! 

Actually I’ve always found the jokes about boys finally learning how to do their own laundry pretty funny – I grew up doing laundry as a kid, so I can’t imagine never knowing how to do it yourself. However, it’s rather amazing how possible it is to forget certain details about tasks you’ve been doing your whole life. I learned that the year my dryer stopped working. Well, it ran – but it didn’t dry my clothes. And I may have fit enough criteria to be considered a mature adult contributing to society, but I am not a mechanic by any means and have no idea how to trouble-shoot fixing an appliance. So I just went without it for a while. 

This wasn’t a huge problem for me, because I don’t do laundry that often. The reason for that is my borderline obsessive addiction to clothes shopping, which would require a whole other post to delve into. The point is, I had so much clothing (including underwear!) I could go for quite a while without having to do laundry. But eventually the not being able to dry my clothes became enough of a nuisance to me that I wanted to do something about it. 

I had several of my guy friends come check it out. No one could find anything out of order. One friend even climbed my roof while I was running the dryer, to see if he could feel the air blowing through the duct up there. When no one found a solution, I turned to good ol’ Dad. What are dads for, if not helping their single daughter with their domestic household problems? Still no answers. Finally, I brought my dryer woes to my Tuesday night Bible Study group. As I was relaying the story to our leader, George (he does seem to catch me at some of my worst moments, doesn’t he?) he started peppering me with questions:

George: “did you check the air duct for clogs?”

Me: “yes.”

George: “what about the heating device?”

Me: “yep.”

George: “and the motor still runs?”

Me: “yes.”

George: “have you checked the lint trap?”

Me: “………………………….lint trap?”

George: *facepalm*

And that was how we discovered that even though I had been doing laundry my whole life at my parents house, for some reason I had forgotten that I needed to empty the lint trap on my own dryer. So I never had. Since I had bought the dryer. Ever. 

The best moment was when I had to remind George how long I had been living there and using the dryer. When I told him it was a little over 2 years, he nearly flipped his lid. I had to hear several lectures about how I could have burned the house down (please…like I haven’t had to deal with THAT fear before). 

When I got home to finally address the issue, I have to admit I was a little frightened at what would happen when I opened the lint trap. Was it so full it would all come exploding out at high rates of speed? Would I just find a burned up charcoaled wad of lint? Well, it wasn’t either of those. Actually it wasn’t even that bad. But it did take a couple tools to scrape out the ridiculous amount of lint that was packed in there. 

Come to think of it, I should have saved it, it would have made a lovely sweater. If only I knew how to knit...

#2 Blonde Moment

#1 Blonde Moment