How I became a heretic (in the way of tea)

You should know that I live in the south.
I've lived in the south all of my life.
I have generations of family from the south.
No disputing this.

You may also know that being a southerner has certain connotations.
Nestled among them is the love of iced tea. Specifically, sweet tea. ("What other kind of tea is there?" is often asked)


I used to drink sweet tea.
It used to be my beverage of choice. Always. It was right up there with water.
I never really liked soda, but sweet tea? Wonderful stuff!

A few years ago something happened.
A chain of events led to my discontinuation of ingesting that sugary beverage.
My dad, who used to be the biggest sweet tea drinker I knew, decided to switch over to unsweet tea.
I couldn't understand this radical change in behavior.
When I'd accidentaly grab his unsweet tea pitcher from the fridge and pour myself a glass, I'd gag at the grossness of the flavorless tea.

I still drank sweet tea, despite what my parents were doing.

Then a year or so later, I got a job at a quick-service restaurant that had (and still has) quite the fan club: Chick-fil-a.
If you're from anywhere but the eastern US, you might not know what this restaurant is.
Basically it serves fried chicken sandwiches, waffle fries, and the like. It's good stuff (if you didn't eat it to ad nauseum like I did...but every so often the CFA mood hits.)

One of the perks of working there was the infinite drink refills. As a cashier, this was exceedingly helpful, because one has to do a lot of talking to guests... and one's throat gets PARCHED.
I had open access to sweet tea! W00t!

Ok, so part of my duties at this job was manning the sweet tea levels, and making sure that we didn't run out of tea.
Sweet!

...It was then that I realized just how much sugar was in sweet tea.
I'd start the brew cycle, and run back to get the sugar to sweeten the tea. It was a large sugar scoop that held about 6 cups of sugar. The tea machine made about 3 gallons of tea at a time.

TWO CUPS OF SUGAR PER GALLON OF TEA!
WHAT?
That's a lot of sugar.

I was working more frequently, and I had access to sweet tea at any time, like I said. The first week or so, I had a definite sugar buzz.

I decided to cut back on the tea--especially since I am a gulper, if you know what I'm saying. I can easily drink a half-gallon (okay, maybe more like a quart) of liquid in one sitting. I am no sipper of drinks. (unless the drinks are smoothies or milkshakes or something that is supposed to be savored)

...it's helpful to be a "gulper". I'm hydrated, this is for sure.

But as I realized how much sugar I was drinking daily, I started drinking tea that was a 1:1 ratio of sweet and unsweet.
Soon it was a 1:3 ratio.
Before long, I was drinking unsweet tea with a splash of sweet.
Next thing I knew, I was just drinking straight unsweet tea.
People at work started to look at me funny for my odd choice of beverage.
I'm sure they thought "Who, other than diabetics, would drink unsweet tea?
Diabetics even add that fake sugar!"
I usually didn't.
Ok, YANKEES. YANKEES drink unsweet tea. (but I know that yankees are people too. I'm trying to spread this knowledge) I'm by no means a yankee, though I sound like one.

I didn't plan on totally ruling out sweet tea, I just wanted to be healthier and less sugar-buzzed.
As I drank more unsweet, I found that I actually started to prefer it. I liked the flavor of the tea leaves, and the comparable lightness in consistency--while still it gave me a much-needed caffeine boost.

I realized I was totally anti-sweet tea when I accidentally got sweet tea at a restaurant.
The drink was placed in front of me, and being the gulper I am, I took a long draw.

I coughed
                    I sputtered
What was this syrup I was drinking?!?

I tried to go back to being a 'true southerner', I really did. I tried to drink sweet tea again, but I was ruined.

I cannot stand sweet tea anymore.
But give me a large unsweet tea?

I am so set.

A wedding. A posh wedding

Everyone is talking about the royal wedding.
EVERYONE.
I know, I know, it's just a wedding. Or so I've been told.

But I'm a girl.

This wedding happened at 5am my time, so, needless to say, I didn't watch it live.
I am watching the rebroadcast...it's on youtube.

What a wonderful age we live in, to see things at our leisure. You can watch it here: the royal channel

I just so happen to love weddings. Of practically every sort.

Okay, maybe not the ones officiated by an elvis wanna-be:

There's a wedding for every kind of person, I suppose.

As one of those children raised on fairy tales, I especially like weddings with royalty.
Back in the day, royalty seemed like another breed of humanity. The kind of people who had it embedded in their genetic code to live happily ever after.
I can remember when I realized that royals were mere humans -- well, mere humans who wielded power.  It was a let down. It was comforting, too, since I wasn't born of royalty.

Anyways, as I watch this wedding, I'm amazed.
I don't think I could handle all of that pomp.
And after the ceremony? To have to smile and wave and wave and smile?
Watching them makes me feel so tired. The hoards of people, all cheering, whom you need to wave at?
I think it could be fun, for all of five minutes.
These people are having to smile for what seems like ages.
Their poor cheeks. They must have practiced. It was a good 20 minutes of smiling and waving.
It must be hard to know that every thing you do is being scrutinized.
To know that millions of eyes are watching you. One goof, and you're all over the tabloids.
What a great deal of pressure.
I suppose it's a blessing and a curse.

I swear, I saw one person in the procession picking their nose! ...maybe that's acceptable in the UK.

Did I mention that these English people are so cute and quaint? They really are.

And just in case I need my idea of what a princess should be utterly shattered, check out these real-live princesses: Princess Eugenie of York and Princess Beatrice of York

The definition of what a princess wears on her head has certainly changed... 

Anyways, it was a lovely wedding, and a lovely use of an hour of my life. 

You know I have nothing better to do. Absolutely nothing. 

Heh, I wish... 

off to productivity! 

Studying Inductively

Bible study just became more colorful.

Something I have noted

I can be an introvert.

In fact, I've been classified as an outgoing, sociable introvert -- virtually indistinguishable from an extrovert in a social setting.

While I am a social human being, I don't mind being alone.

I like to think, ponder, and muse. 

I actually require time alone, in order to be able to fully recharge. 

 I gravitate towards activities that are often done in

 solidarity. 

When I blog, I don't think about the fact that this is me, actually typing words out to a niche of the web, for all the world to see. Those words must go somewhere, right?!?
Right. And they have. They've been read.

To me, blogging is often just a white box I type into, with the option to click, "Publish Post"
I don't really know who will view what I write, it's a gamble.

But with the advent of a big number of page hits, I'm whelmed.
Not overly so, but still, I'm whelmed.
Whelmed that (as of right now) 5,127 people have moseyed over here to read my random ramblings. That's a big number; that's a lot of people taking the time to look at this site. Wow, I am overwhelmed.
Thank you, all you lovely readers!

_________________
...today was a crazy day. Tomorrow I'll post something about the insanity/awesomeness that went on.

Undedicated

What. A. Weekend!
I'll post something interesting sooner than later, I promise.
It was so crazy that I'm still processing it.
My brain feels like scrambled eggs (which I ate for breakfast, yum--not that I ate my brains...oh, you know what I mean, right?)
I'm slacking off, just a smidgen...

Thoughts from the roadrunner part three (the ramblingest yet!)

I'm going to wrap the mini-series on half-marathons up now. It's about time!

We are ready to goooo! 

So, we went to the starting line. There was NO ORDER. Masses of people just swarmed together; there was a bit of pushing and shoving and "excuse me"'s.
The countdown timer to the start of the race hit zero.
Nothing happened.
A minute passed.
I tied my shoes.
Still nothing, just people standing expectantly.
Finally a guy with a bullhorn said, "Get Ready Racers! Go!" He also mumbled some other things, but no one could understand him. Hopefully it wasn't anything important, like the winning lotto numbers for the next day...

And we went. When you first start, you want to start strong. But you can't run. You have to just walk with the mass of humanity for about a 1/4 mile, and THEN you can actually run.

The main challenge is to pace. Pacing is a terribly difficult thing. At the start, people are sprinting and flying down the road. I wanted to sprint just like everyone else was, but I knew that I'd need energy for the next 13 miles.

Do-gooders and encouragement

I was debating doing something.


It was a something where I had seen a need and I had the option to fill it.  So, it was a nice something.
Then I started to feel convicted to do this something.  But I knew it wouldn't have been "a bad thing" for me not to do it.
I had an inner conflict, because I was oh-so-comfortable in my "do nothing about it" bubble, aka apathy.

Guess what happened?
Conflict resolved. A Bible verse popped into my mind.

It was cool, but convicting.

When it came to mind, I knew it was the Holy Spirit. The verse came out of left field and was counter to my laziness.


"Anyone, then, who knows the good they ought to do and doesn't do it, sins." ~James 4:17

Pretty point-blank, eh?

[I knew it was from the book of James, but I'm not so great as to remember the exact reference. Thank goodness for biblegateway.com]


So I did the right thing, and guess what?
I felt joyful and like I was following God's will.
It wasn't some huge thing I did, but it was something I knew was right to do.
Every little bit helps me to be a better follower of Jesus.

And as a result, reinforcing verses and blessing has followed.

In Ephesians 2, it says I was created to do good works. I am equipped to do them, too.

Then in Galatians, it says, "let us not become weary in doing good, for at the proper time we will reap a harvest if we do not give up." [Galatians 6:9]

To top it off, 1 John 5 says:
In fact, this is love for God: to keep his commands. And his commands are not burdensome, for everyone born of God overcomes the world. This is the victory that has overcome the world, even our faith. Who is it that overcomes the world? Only the one who believes that Jesus is the Son of God.


Anyways, the moral for me today is: God is real and relevant, and He is working on me. He also speaks to me through the Bible, and it blows my mind.

Have you had any crazy-awesome encouraging moments? I'd love to hear them! 

Thoughts of a loon

My forefoot strikes the pavement in an efficient movement.
I breathe steadily.
My hair swooshes through the air, streaming behind me. I love the silky sound it makes as I run. I am loathe to put it in a ponytail, though I'm not sure why.
Birds are singing.
I exhale.
Again, I propel forward a few feet, but I feel as if I'm going nowhere. The end of this trek is so far away,

my american idols

God has been teaching me something.
 I've noticed a recurring theme. It's popped up during my devotionals, when I hear a sermon, and in Bible study.

Yep, God's trying to get my attention.

The question that has been posed to me over and over is:
"Where or what is the source of my security?"

I'm a born-again Christian, and, of course the correct answer is that I should have security and hope in God alone.
This is true, but sometimes other things start to creep in and wedge themselves between me and God.

Well...

My mental acuity is returning! I'm so glad. The brain fog is lifting, and I couldn't be happier.
(I think it has something to do with Goody's headache powder)

I apologize for being ill and whining about it.
Apparently...
I sounded like I was dying.

nor will they lack bread

I was reading last night before drifting off to sleep.

I felt an urge to read a few chapters in Isaiah.  


As I did, I felt a refreshment of my soul. It was an amazing feeling.  


I started reading in Chapter 50. Here's a snippet of the goodness: 

"Because of your sins you were sold; 

   because of your transgressions your mother was sent away. 

When I came, why was there no one? 

   When I called, why was there no one to answer? 

Was my arm too short to deliver you? 

   Do I lack the strength to rescue you? 

By a mere rebuke I dry up the sea, 

   I turn rivers into a desert; 

their fish rot for lack of water 

   and die of thirst. 

 I clothe the heavens with darkness 

   and make sackcloth its covering.”

I felt joyful remembering that no sin is too great for God to forgive. Nothing can get between me and Him. I should never lose the Hope.

Then I read on in Chapter 51:

  “I, even I, am He who comforts you. 

   Who are you that you fear mere mortals, 

   human beings who are but grass, 

 that you forget the LORD your Maker, 

   who stretches out the heavens 

   and who lays the foundations of the earth, 

that you live in constant terror every day 

   because of the wrath of the oppressor, 

   who is bent on destruction? 

For where is the wrath of the oppressor?" 

  

Fearing man shouldn't even be an option. In comparison with my great infinite awesome God, all else pales. 

"...The cowering prisoners will soon be set free; 

they will not die in their dungeon, 

   nor will they lack bread." 

I was a cowering prisoner, but I am free now. I am a new creation, and I have abundant life filled with His great blessings. 


Because of Him, I have hope, and I know He will provide.  

 "For I am the LORD your God, 

   who stirs up the sea so that its waves roar— 

   the LORD Almighty is His name. 

 I have put my words in your mouth 

   and covered you with the shadow of my hand— 

I who set the heavens in place, 

   who laid the foundations of the earth, 

   and who say to Zion, ‘You are my people.’”

I am one of His, and He is my great, huge, infinite, omnipotent, loving, and caring God.

This passage was just what my spirit needed. I am so easily ensnared by the minute details of life. I'm a detail-oriented person. I start to worry and fret about my future; the job I'll have, the degree I'll get, the car I'll drive, the impact I'll make... on and on the list can go.

Reading Isaiah 50 and 51, I got a teensy glimpse of God's greatness and power. I got to step back for a moment. It fed my soul. It pushed my refocus button.

How he loves us! It fills me with such giddy joy.

concerning hiking

Well, that epic post will come sometime, but in the meantime, I've been mulling over a few thoughts.
They are by no means exemplary, but anyways, here we go.

Memories.

Have you ever heard a song, smelled a scent, or seen an image that triggers a flood of fond reminiscence and emotion?
This has happened to me many times recently; I guess I'm becoming more sentimental with old age (if such a thing is even possible. I don't think I'm supposed to EVER age. My grandparents laugh.)

When I was out running the other day, I took a route that led by a patch of fragrant ferns and evergreen trees. Their smell reminded me of happy summers in Washington. (Boy, do I ever have stories to blog about from that golden place.)

Shall I tell you one? I shall, since I feel nostalgic.
Well, one of the summers, when I was 11, I went on a backpacking trip with my Dad and Uncle Robert. It was in the Olympic National Rainforest.

Here are the trail stats:
Ecosystem Type: Montane forest, subalpine forest, subalpine meadow
General Elevation Trend: Moderate
Level of Difficulty: Moderate
Distance: 6.9 miles
Elevation Change: 500 ft. to 3200 ft.




So there you have it. 6.9 miles in and 6.9 miles out. It was long and steep. It was also beautiful. 

We backpacked.
Dad and Uncle Rob had the huge packs full of food and shelter.
I remember in my pack I carried a flashlight, bandana, water bottle, compass, a loud whistle, clothes, and a Guinness World Record book.

Just the basic essentials.
(Oh, I think there was hand sanitizer in there too. Germs are everywhere...)

It was a light bag at the head of the trail, but by the end of the hike, it was the heaviest bag I had ever carried.
I vividly remember the huge trees and ferns feeling like a fairy tale, and I was like a wood nymph. Or an ent. Or maybe an Indian (oops, Native American).

 I remember feeling like the trail would never end {especially when the grade increased} and Dad telling me it wasn't much farther (for about three miles).


After hiking interminably, we made it to the alpine meadow (excuse me. sub-alpine meadow) that was our campsite. We were the only humans for leagues. There were mountains on all sides of the site. It was beautiful.
The site were were at was called "Three Lakes".
We had brought fishing poles.
Where there's water there's fish, right? Well, these "lakes" were actually shallow ponds of crystal clear water.
No fish. 
No matter, there was a back-up plan.
We fried bacon.
Hotdogs were sauteed in the bacon grease.
That meal ranks in my top 15 of all-time.
Food is amazing when you've hiked all day. 
ESPECIALLY that hot bacony goodness.

I explored, and as it got dark, I read aloud from my world record book and drank hot chocolate.
The sky was beautiful that night, and I slept really well.
[aside from a slight fear of a bear attack. Signs were up every now and then warning about bears. We even had a bearwire for our food. I knew a few things about bears:
1)Bears like bacon.
2)Bears like hot dogs.
3)Bears like little girls.]

In the morning, we were all still very much alive. I was exuberant.

The hike back to the trailhead was not so bad.
I felt like a hobo/mountain girl when we reentered civilization. I was happy to see running water.

We stopped somewhere to eat, and I felt pity for the people who stayed in air conditioning and only saw nature on some TV special.
Poor people, you miss out on so much beauty and happiness.

Anyways, I love hiking, and plan on doing it frequently in the future. A few months ago, we hiked in the Pisgah National Forest. I ran down most of the Mt. LeConte trail. There was extreme vertigo to be had. I loved it. Strangely, I did not fall on the jagged rocks as I hurtled down the trail. (I already blogged about that experience in October...) Here's a picture from the top of the ridge:

...what is wrong with me? I'm not even 30, and I'm thinking about the good old days. 


What was it Solomon said in Ecclesiastes? 
"Do not say, 'Were the old days better than these?' 
For it is not wise to ask such questions." 

I agree wholeheartedly with his statement. I am eagerly expectant for the future.

I really think the old days are just as good as the new days. Because the new days will eventually be the old days and the new days bring the greatest days closer and closer. 

I do love scouring my memory and reflecting on happy times.

There are some memories that I do not like reflecting on. {For obvious reasons.}
But sometimes I shock myself when what used to be a emotional wound has now healed up nicely when I revisit it (okay, maybe there is still some scarring.) So, occasionally I'll check up on myself by seeing how I feel when I think about certain memories.

Like the time when my goldfish, Buggy, died. I was 9.
...no, I can't revisit that one yet. Just so you know, high-heels, softball, and fishtanks DO NOT MIX. Ever. I don't think I need to delve into that. (His death was unintentional.)


How about that time I fell flat on my face while walking?
...ouch. I have both physical and emotional scars from that one.
{Note to self: Never bring that up again. I will never recover.}

I think I need to stop revisiting memories now. Since I'm not pleasantly surprised at my emotional healing.

I will post something epic. Be ready for it. It might be a few weeks, but it will come.





Also, if you're bored, or feel like watching me be a goof, check out my youtube channel. Click on kikithenut, if you are so inclined.

Finding meaning in the mainstream

I am always analyzing songs.
I don't know if it would be considered a hobby, but I'm doing it constantly. If you see me staring off into the distance, my mind is by no means blank. I'm thinking about a few different things. If I were to elaborate, you might think them unconnected or "random".
I could lead you down a logic trail, and you'd totally understand. I am not random.

Anywho, this lyrics thing in my head is like... is like... it's like a background application that constantly runs on your computer and occasionally pops up with an update at annoying times.

I think that this could be a viable career path for me. I'll importantize and over-analyze lyrics and make them have deep meaning.

So today, I was thinking about the arrogance of Michael Buble's "Haven't Met You Yet"
How can it be arrogant??

"I'm not surprised, not everything lasts

I've broken my heart so many times, I stopped keeping track

Talk myself in, I talk myself out

I get all worked up, then I let myself down

I tried so very hard not to lose it

I came up with a million excuses

I thought, I thought of every possibility

I might have to wait, I'll never give up

I guess it's half timing, and the other half's luck

Wherever you are, whenever it's right

You'll come out of nowhere and into my life...

...And I know someday that it'll all turn out

You'll make me work, so we can work to work it out

And I promise you, kid, that I give so much more than I get

I just haven't met you yet"

Also, his music video for this song was TERRIBLE.

Well, among other things, by singing this song, he's basically disregarding all of the girls he has already met.
Maybe he has gone through and determined that among all of his acquaintances, they aren't "the ones to meet".

I highly doubt it.

How cheeky of him.

Wouldn't it be terrible for him to find out that the "one to meet" has already been met? Just like in the rom-coms, the girl-next-door who has had the eternal crush on him is "the one".

Humble Pie, anyone?

It may be unlikely, but still. How embarrassing for him.
 NEVER say never.

On one hand, the song could be seen as sweet, on the other, well...

I do like the sweet side of it.

I suggest that he should have changed his phrasing from "
I Just Haven't Met You Yet"

to:

"I Just Am Not Totally Aware of You or of the Impact that You'll Have on My Future Happiness Yet"


...something along those lines.
But that doesn't sell as well. It's not as catchy.

I can hear you telling me that it's just a song.
I need to get a life, right?
Sorry, I'm educating the masses about song lyric errors.

Feel free to comment with your thoughts... *smile*

KUDOS (a translation)

If you would like to read a more "american" "readable" version of the above post, click
see more

clutterbug

So apparently I have issues when it comes to collecting things. 

As I have been reorganizing my stuff while I redo my room, I’m realizing that I am in fact a collector of the following: 

• rocks from interesting places (the tops of mountains, creeks, beaches...)
• Coins from around the world 
• Bells (I inherited the collection) 
• Sharpies (It’s a disorder, I’m sure) 
• old letters (can I get an aww? That letter box can be so neat to look through...) 
• Post Cards (it makes for a cool collage on my bulletin board...) 
• Pencils (a useful collection, don’t you agree?) 
• mother of pearl shells and a jar of seashells (One summer at the beach, I couldn’t stop picking them up. They were so shiny and pretty...it's a habit) 
• Posters. (Very cool band tour posters from the “old days” [a.k.a. the 1980’s.])
• [As I've said before] old records for my turntable

There’s also a conglomerate of various knick-knacks. Their only function is to look nice. 

I’m thinking about sorting through them, and culling out some old ones... but they all have happy memories attached! You don't want me to lose my memories, do you?!? 

My sisters make fun of me for being so sentimental. 
Okay, I admit I am a smidgen too sentimental about some things. 


But they aren't junky things; they're nice and well kept. I think that’s a good sign. If I cared nothing for my gifts, you’d think me terrible or at least cold and unfeeling. ...and if you thought I didn't care, you probably wouldn't give me anything for my birthday. AHEM.
(it is in 56 days, just so you're prepared. I'll be OLD! Oh the HORROR. I do NOT want to be old and adultish. I have a hard enough time now...I've decided I'm not growing up... backontopic)


I appreciate gifts and see them as an expression of love and thoughtfulness. 

I do admit, it is time for me to pass the love on with some things. 

But you know what's mildly infuriating?? 
As soon as I’ve found a new home for something and it is long gone, I’ll find a good use for it. Arrgh. 
***
I also have a massive collection of books for someone of my age. (Must I bring up age again?!?) 

I know I need to weed and cull, but some of the books are SO GOOD, and I know that someday my sisters will need to read them. Shakespeare, Doyle, Dickens, Austen, Twain, Tolkien, Lewis...

You should be proud, though. I have about 50 that are going to edward mckay (wonderful bookstore). 

There’s even *gasp* my many hardback yellow NANCY DREW books in the box destined to be gone. 
I don’t find much pleasure in re-reading those mystery stories.
I figured out the patterns Carolyn Keene used. They were good books, but the stories lacked depth and the mysteries were slightly repetitive. ..which is why they are aimed at 8-12 year olds.

My sisters never found them fascinating like I did. When I was 6, Nancy Drew was the bee’s knees.  

When I was 12, I discovered Sherlock Holmes. 
His story had the gripping power that Nancy’s lacked. 

So now the works of Doyle have replaced the works of Keene. 

Right now, I have my books stacked on the floor for organizing. I'm staring at them. 
(It's tempting to start rereading some of them. I’m a sucker for a good fairytale...) 

Instead of actually organizing them, I’m allowing my mind to drift and my fingers to type. 


Books... 

Sometimes your view of life can be changed for the better. Books can help you to understand others. You gain knowledge and stimulate the growth of gray matter in the noggin. 
Not all books are like this, but I appreciate the ones that are.

The "escapist" literature in my collection has been weeded out {for the most part. Like I said, I'm a sucker for a good fairy tale.}

okay, okay...the thought that my room will straighten itself is a fairy tale. One that I wish would come true, but sadly, will not. 


Where are you Mary Poppins?? 

New LP and a stroll through my memory...

I LOVE SHOPPING. What girl doesn't?!?

Resale shops are my favorite. It's like an awesome adventure. You never know what neat stuff you'll discover (at a discount, no less).

The Mall is life-sucking an okay place to shop. Every few months I'll go there to remind myself of commercialism, materialism, salesmanship, and the inherent dangers of credit cards ("Would you like to apply for our super-fun, high-interest rate credit-card? You'll save 10% and the card is sparkly...")

Today we went to the mall. After wandering about for a few hours, I was happy to leave the death trap the mall.

Although I did get some cute winter stuff (ON SALE)...and a caribou coffee.

The mall does have its place.

But what I am really pumped about is my new vinyl from Ed McKay (a simply wonderful bookstore).

UB40.
Reggae is fun stuff.

This picture is crazy, but it captures the moment of "reggae realization"

I'm currently listening to it. It's a nice change from my ipod.
Playing music from a record is an experience. You actually have to set the needle and flip the LP after three songs. Skipping songs takes some precision...shuffle is unheard of. You actually have to pick music out. The machine won't choose for you. Woah. This is radical.

The album I bought is called "Little Baggariddim"


hahahaha. Try saying that out loud. Little Baggariddim.
I dare you not to smile.

If you didn't smile, try saying it with a Creole accent.

Still not smiling?

Wow, you're a tough cookie.


My new purchase has started me on a resurge of listening to my LP's.
I have quite a collection. It ranges from the beatles to blondie to the beach boys... There's even some classical music in there (boston pops orchestra, anyone?).

Just another random fact about yours truly.
.....

Another random fact:

For about two years, I was a Chick-fil-a employee. I learned the ropes, and knew the regulars pretty well. Not so much by name, but by orders. 

Humans are creatures of habit.

"A #1 with provolone cheese and a large diet lemonade?" 

I knew what the customer was going to order. There was one gentleman who only ordered a 6-piece kids meal with a side salad, honey mustard dressing, one barbecue, one ranch and one cfa sauce. 

He would get an adult sweet tea "with a splash of lemonade and not too much ice." 

He was very specific about it. He'd peek around the counter to make sure everything was just so. I found him amusing. He'd always double-check the bag, even after I'd assured him it was all there. 

There were countless others who had their "signature meal". I had them all memorized. 

Weird, right?

I thought I had forgotten; it's been almost a year since I worked at CFA (I quit for school reasons... and the fact that I am allergic to peanut oil fumes...not fun), but strangely I still have these people and their orders INGRAINED IN MY BRAIN.

Talk about useless random trivia.

Today when I went shopping, I visited the same mall where I used to work. 

Guess what?

In almost every store I went in to, I saw a chick-fil-a regular working.

...I remembered their orders.

(They didn't recognize me, of course, since I didn't have my hair back in a ponytail, and I was not in the burgundy uniform with the silver nametag...) 

.

It was odd. I think I could have freaked some people out by randomly telling them what they order (or used to order) at Chick-fil-a. 

But I didn't, because I don't really enjoy creeping people out like that.

Addle-headed?

So begins my blog. Hm, what to write about? The top ten things running through my mind (not in any order, really.) :