Katy Perry is The Truth Conversation

A text message conversation went as follows:

"Just wanted you to know - 'You're an Indian summer in the middle of winter.'"

"Oh man she is not playing."

"My goodness not at all. This song played all those heart strings and slammed on the emotion button. That music video! They don't call me Weepy for nothing."

"Oh man. Alanis the Second, welcome to my life. Youtube her live on Kimmel. I wept."

"That is exactly who I thought it was at first and what a league to be in! I will watch it A.S.A.P."

Now, I know what you're thinking: My friend and I are excellent text messengers with no weird, confusing mumbo-jumbo abbreviations and you appreciate that. However, I need you to focus (but thanks and don't try to text me anything fancy because I wont get it.) I would like to discuss the reason for this intense text message. This song, Thinking of You by Katy Perry, has opened my eyes to a great newish artist.

Now, when I heard her first hit single, "I Kissed a Girl," I was not impressed. Catchy? Energetic? Radio Playable? Yes. For me? No. Then, whilst doing the everyday grind driving, over the radio comes this voice with strange emphasis, stabbing lyrics and a really rocking band. Alanis? No, there is something . . . . different. Who is this? I listen to the rest of the song knowing for sure the announcer will tell me who this is and, of course, the D.J. just pushes along to the next song. GAH! I need the i-Phone Shazam application that listens to the music and tells you the artist and title. But, alas, here I am and another great song, that I tell myself to keep remembering so I can type in the lyrics to Google but always forget, has passed.

Fast forward to a few days ago. I awake to VH-1. I must have fallen asleep to some mind-numbing, yet compelling reality love show. This is a strange occurrence because the staple TV channel to fall asleep to is, of course, Nick-at-Night (I do miss the days of Mary Taylor Moore, Taxi, Dragnet and Alfred Hitchcock.) Playing on VH-1 is this song I have heard before by a girl I recognize. I watch the heart aching video and at the end I am finally given the vital information I need. This song and video struck a chord with me (no pun intended.) I get on my computer, I so conveniently download it from i-Tunes and add it to my playlist. I strongly suggest you do the same and tell the world.

I would like to thank Anna Watkins for winning tickets on the radio for us to go to the concert! How the stars aline.

P.S.
I'd like to thank Katy Perry, Alanis Morissette, Jimmy Kimmel, Google, i-Phone, Shazam, VH-1, Nick-at-Night and i-Tunes for sponsoring this message. I'd do a great product placement show.

Tap Dancing on My Nerves Conversation

Michelle told me a story around Christmas . . . . actually to be more accurate it was Christmas Eve in which this story took place. It has happened to her before, it's happened to me before and I am sure you have experienced it as well. Only, you haven't noticed it before and neither did I until this enlightening conversation with Michelle. I now notice it so much that it TAP DANCES ON MY NERVES. Therefore, I will bring this occurrence to your attention so you can share the annoyance with me . . . it actually gives you a good story to tell your friends after it happens to you; so, enjoy.

Now, Michelle is a pleasant person. She's helpful, nice, supportive, gives excellent advice. However, you can push that button fast. This Christmas Eve, Michelle's button was pushed by a . . . . . what's a good word for these types of people . . . . stupid person. This "stupid person" (I'm sure you know a version of him) asked Michelle a stupid question: "Are these seats reserved?" Michelle then looks at the RESERVED sign posted at the end of about three rows of chairs and, of course, replies, "Yes." Astonishingly, the conversation continues:

"Well, do you know why they are reserved?"

"Uh, no, I'm sorry, I don't know."

"Well, I was going to move my family up to these seats because they are closer."

"Okay, well, I don't know who they are for."

"Well, I really wanted to move up. Do you think I could do that?"

"Sir, I don't know who the seats are for, so I don't know if they would mind. I just don't know."

"Okay, well, if you see anybody, can you ask them if they would let my family move up here?"

"Sir, I am sure they are reserved for a reason, so I'm not going to ask them."

"Okay, so should I ask them?"

"Okay," and Michelle walks away.

Once she told me this story I recalled a slight, faded memory of this happening to me, but surely, this was not a regular occurrence with people. However, "stupid people" will never let you down. Since this conversation, this situation has occurred in my life at an alarming rate. One day it happened four times.

I work in a coffee shop, so I get a lot of those: "Are yawl like a Starbucks?" or the "Can you make a peppermint hot chocolate like Starbucks?" I would like to reply, "Oh, gosh, you know, actually Starbucks has a hold on all peppermint and chocolate syrups in the entire world, so we can't, sorry." This people are idiots, but I embrace them because it makes me laugh and I can tell my friends about these people and brush them off. However, the people of the "stupid people" category we have created, I cannot brush off nor laugh at because the questions they ask jump on and swing on my nerves. For instance:

"Does yawl's computer work back here?"

"Uh, let me see. Yep, it's working."

"Well, my computer doesn't work up at the front."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I'm not really good with computers. Maybe you can ask the company computer guy."

"Oh, well, I don't really know what to ask him. It's saying some kind of error? . . . ."

"Oh, I have no clue what that means, so . . ."

PAUSE. They just stare.

"But your computer works back here?"

"Yes, it works."

"Okay, well, it says some kind of error."

"Yeah, I don't know."

"Okay, well, if you get a chance can you come look at it?"

"Uh . . . yeah, sure."

GAH! What did I just explain? I DON'T KNOW! But, of course, you have to be nice and willing to help because you're just that kind of person. That awkward, always helpful person they think they can get a resolution out of if they just keep asking the same thing over and over again. But my personal favorite is this one:

"Hey, did you work on Thursday by chance?"

"Uh, last Thursday . . . let's see, no, I didn't work that day."

"Oh, well, I was supposed to meet somebody here."

"Oh, well, I wasn't here, so I don't know."

"Okay, I was just wondering if anybody came in and probably looked confused like they were looking for someone?"

"Yeah, I don't know, I didn't work Thursday, so I don't know."

"Well, if you see them can you let them know I'm here?"

"Well, I didn't work Thursday, so I don't know who you're talking about."

"Oh, you'll recognize him, he's just a guy."

"Alright, any guy that comes in I'll send him your way."

What is that? I WASN'T HERE. I CAN'T HELP YOU. I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING! Here is one more. I call this one "The Stink Eye Lady."

"Hi. Can I get you something?"

"Yes, what kind of fruit do you have today?"

"Oh, we don't have fruit today."

"You don't have fruit."

"No, I'm sorry, can I get you anything else?"

"Well, I was really wanting fruit."

"Uh, okay, I'm sorry, we just don't have any today."

"Well, on your sign it says you have fruit."

"Okay, we don't have any today, so . . . "

I GET THE STINK EYE.

"I'll just have a bottled water."

"Okay, great."

Lady, I am not lying; I am not hiding anything from you. I am simply telling you what we don't have and I can't make it appear just because you keep asking questions. I can't make the seats not say "RESERVED," I can't fix your computer, I can't give you any information on what happen Thursday because I wasn't here and I definitely cannot make food appear on your whim.

Now that you have read this and hopefully get what's happening. I encourage you to go forth and, number one, do not be a "stupid person" and, number two, report back with your conversation because it is unavoidable and I would love to know Michelle and I are not alone in this.

**"Tap Dancing on My Nerves" and "Swinging on my nerves" - Brandon Palma**

The Important Conversation

You have conversations. Some happen at work, some in your "other" life, with your family, friends, strangers. Some conversations get things done, some undo things, some are revelations, some are confusing, and some you can't even remember what you where talking about during the conversation. Out of all these conversations you have from day to day, can you remember your most important one? How about your top ten most important? Mine happened just recently.

I was trying to think of some conversations I would put up against this one as being more important - like the one I had with my College Dean when I wasn't going to graduate . . . yeah, that was important. Or several of the ones I've had with my family regarding our changing family dynamics and so forth. I think it's even more important than my conversation I had with my best friend from middle school when I told her we were moving. Yes, these were all very important conversations at the time, however, I believe this tops them all. The reason why it tops them is because it's not centered around me. All these important, tough conversations I can remember concern what will happen in my life. Although this particular conversation will change my life, it will change my perspective from, "How I can make the best of it for me?" to "How I can make it the best for someone else? Someone I haven't even met." Confusing yet? I guess you would like to hear the story.

It was Saturday night at 10:56 p.m. Being February 1st, it was of course freezing in my house. I can't stand to be cold, so my remedy, seeing as changing the thermostat is punishable by death, is to jump in a steaming hot bath and then get into bed as soon as possible. This was my plan at 10:56 p.m. on February 1st. I had just kicked off my shoes, picked out my pajamas, and headed for the bathroom when my cell phone buzzed. I paused. Who would be calling me at 11:00 at night? I turned back to my bedroom and listened for the buzzing again. I couldn't find it. I threw my p.j.'s on the bed and frantically began wading through the sea of clothes that more often than not covers my carpeted floor. Something about it being so late and the fact I couldn't seem to find the phone made me very panicked. Clothes started flying through the air and then back down into the depths. The buzzing continued. Where was that phone? It buzzed again and again and then it was silent. Oh great. Now I have to find the house phone, bring it up here, call my phone and continue the search. Gah!

There was no waiting till tomorrow to find the phone. It must have been an important call including a very important conversation for someone to call that late and to wait out all the rings till the voicemail message cut it off. So, I get the house phone, I search some more and, wouldn't you know it, there it is - hidden beneath the down comforter of my bed, not on the floor at all. It's Cortney. Cortney, my sister, had called me. Well then, there was no reason for such panic. I know exactly what she was calling about - to ask me to come to her church on Sunday for the new series. I could just call her tomorrow, but I'd probably forget, so I called her right back. What I heard was not the subject topic I was expecting. It went something like this:

"Hello"

"Hey, Cort. You rang?"

"Yeah, what are you up to?"

"Well, I was about to get in the bath and go to bed."

"Yeah, can you come over here?"

"Right now?"

"Yeah, I need to talk to you about something"

"Okay, Cortney, about what?"

"I just need to talk to you."

"What about?"

"I can't tell you over the phone, I need to sit down and talk to you."

"Did I do something?"

"No, I just want to talk."

"Okay, cause you're making it sound like I'm being called into an office or something. Is it about me?"

"Yeah, it's about you but it's about me too. Can you just come over?"

"Sure, I'll be there in a little while."

"And don't tell Mom, I don't want to involve her yet."

"Uh, okay."

YIKES. What did that mean? I put my shoes back on, threw on my coat and into the cold night I went. On the way, I was thinking several things. I thought of how I was just about to be warm. I was just about to put my p.j.'s on and turn out the lights so my room could turn into the darkest of caves. I was just about to sink into my pillow top mattress, pull my worn-in quilt and down comforter around me and I was just about to be peacefully asleep. However, here I am: in a cold car with my hands on a cold sterning wheel, listening to a protesting cold engine whine down the road. I was about to get out and walk across a cold, scary apartment complex parking lot and into a cold apartment. I was, in a word: uncomfortable. I had other thoughts as well to add to this uncomfortableness. "What could she want to talk to me about? Can I think of anything I have done really wrong in the past couple of months? Has she done something wrong and wants to talk to someone about it?" Of course it had to be something horrible, something serious, something terribly wrong. There was no room for doubt there. I had to start preparing myself for the worst. She would answer the door all red and watery eyed or she would look very stern and hesitant. She would no dobut try to lead into the harsh news and I would get those nervous butterflies. This is not going to be good. I pulled into the closest parking space I could find, first for safety, second for a quick entrance into the apartment. I took a deep breath (Gah, it's cold) and went to the door.

Cortney invited me in.

Cortney had a fire going.

Cortney's apartment was warm.

Cortney's expression was kind, excited even.

Cortney invited me to sit next to the fire.

Cortney moved to a box on top of the coffee table.

Cortney pulled out a plastic bag with three sticks in it.

Cortney told me I was going to be an Aunt.

Cortney, the baby and I sat next to the fire and had a very important

Conversation.