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I find it amusing (also read, disturbing) that I got twice as many comments on a blog about a prophetic ear wax dream than I did on a blog in which I ask for help in finding direction in my life. Apparently giant ear wax resonates more with people than life choices.

A Letter to My Ankles

Dear Ankles,

I would like to clear the elephant in the room. For some time now we have had what could be called at best a love/hate relationship. I try to love and take care of you, I buy you nice expensive braces, I ice you when needed. I've given you countless hours with a personal trainer (also known as a physical therapist). I try not to walk on un-even ground to try and avoid rolling you unintentionally. I work out my calves so you have something nice to look at. I wear Jordan Brand shoes so you are always surrounded by greatness and style. I've even given one of you an extreme makeover (aka surgery). Yet all you do is return my love with hate. I give and I give and I give, and you roll and you roll and you roll.

Sometimes I try to have conversations with you, you know give you a little pep talk. I tell you, I'm not going to ask much from you. I'm not going to try and make ridiculous cuts or plant hard on you, I just want to run, jump and occasionally shuffle without any problems. And if you could talk back to me, I'm pretty confident your response would sound something like, "Hahahahaha, don't you wish! We'll give out on you whenever we please!" And I've got to give it to you, you are joints of your word.

So after a third injury in the last month, I've given up my attempts to plead and reason with you. I'm giving you a break. No more jumping, no more coming down on other peoples feet, no more planting to get in front of my man on defense. You can officially take a leave of absence. Maybe in a couple months you will decide to come back to work for me. Until then, enjoy your vacation.

Sincerely,
The Rest of Your Body (aka Ravi)

What Should I Do?

So I'm in my fourth year of college, and I'll be graduating next year with a degree in Marketplace Ministry. I have no idea what this means. Having no idea what your degree is really in is a pretty good indication that you have no idea what you want to do in life. After several years of trying to figure it out on my own, I've decided to get some outside help. That's where you would come in. Family, friends, strangers, loved ones, random blog stalkers, however well you know me, or don't know me at all, tell me what you think I should do with my life. I'm serious about this, I have no idea, so throw me a bone here.

Love Bug

So I was driving in my jeep the other day, and I heard a song on the radio that I had never heard before. It was pretty catchy. It had a nice raw feeling to it and then built up to a genuine rock out type of groove. I was enjoying it. As the song wrapped up the DJ came on and announced that the song was "Love Bug" by the Jonas Brothers . . . And for the first time in my life I considered briefly steering myself into oncoming traffic. I had, without my own knowledge, and completely by accident, listened to and liked a Jonas Brothers song, in its entirety. I didn't know what to do. I still don't know what to do.

This happened about a week ago, and to this point my plan of action was one of secrecy and if necessary denial. But I found myself leaving this song on the radio the next few times it came on. I found myself bobbing my head, tapping my toe, and for the love of everything good and holy I think I may have even sung along for a few bars. It became clear to me that I have a problem. Is there some sort of support group for this? Can I get a hold of one of those memory eraser things from Men in Black? Anyone who has any answers, please advice.

Halfway Home

We are at the halfway point of my intensive class. I'm not sure if I'm going to make it or not, its hard to say. Anyway, I just thought I'd share the highlight of my week so far, and while you would probably imagine it was when my professor uttered the phrase ''plunder his booty,'' you would be wrong. It appears there is some sort of double standard going on in my class. On Monday, myself and another student in class removed the shirt of the student sitting between us and threw it to the back of the room. In all fairness, we sit in the back, but he still had to get up shirtless and re-clothe himself. The professor witnessed this and said nothing. The next day, a student appeared to be playing games on his computer and was called out in front of everyone.

Maybe its because people know how to react to someone abusing the privilege of internet in class and they aren't quite sure how to respond to a topless male student in class. I bet dealing with that isn't something they cover in grad school.

Intensive Class

I'm taking an intensive class as NCC this week, which basically means you take an entire 3 credit hour class and complete it in a week, going to class from 8-5 everyday. It's quite difficult to stay focused for that long but the promise of amusing phrases which can be taking the wrong way keeps me going strong. Just a minute ago my professor just uttered the phrase "plundered his booty" when referring to an ancient ruler. I giggled . . . out loud . . . I'm in college.