Tuesday, March 27, 2012
Allow me to explain:
In order to further abolish my fears of speaking in front of large groups/ people in general, I signed up for an intro level acting class (ok, so I was really just looking for an easy A while I was working of my thesis).
Anyway, the class basically consisted of students partnering up and performing scenes and then discussing them afterward. Piece of cake, right? No, you are so wrong.
When the time came to choose partners, my professor insisted that we leave it up to chance and had us draw names from a hat. Fine, I thought, now I don't have to go through the uncomfortable experience of trying to choose a scene partner, which usually left me as that lone person who couldn't find one.
Because my school had some sort of strange aversion to the male species there were a million (15) women in my class and no (3) men. Because of this inequality, the professor insisted that the men would always have to partner up with a babe. Ok, still fine, I thought. One dude was studying to join the seminary, one was rather normal and one (oh-sweet-mercy-how-did-I-overlook-him-before??) was the Wife Hunter.
You see, there are some men who have the guts to actually go out and pursue a babe. You know, as in striking up a casual conversation, establishing a friendship and then (gasp) actually asking said babe on a casual date.
The Wife Hunter, however, was a different species entirely. He did all of the above, but with no awareness of whether or not a lady was interested. His one goal, it would seem, was to find a female Catholic to marry so she could bear his offspring as soon as possible. He did not pursue, he hunted.
As fate would have it, when it came my turn to choose a partner, I, of course drew the Wife Hunter. And of course our scene was about a married couple having a dramatic fight.
At first it wasn't so bad.
As the day of our scene drew closer, however, the Wife Hunter was becoming more and more enthusiastic about the scene by doing things like trying to make me pray a chastity prayer for engaged couples (oh, he must be a method actor), insisting that his character enter the scene shirtless because it was "more realistic" that way (ok, grab the audience's attention) and repeatedly asking if out characters should kiss even though the scene didn't call for it (great, he's being inventive with his character). Good, I thought, maybe I can get a good grade an pad my GPA a little.
I was so blind.
So the day of our scene arrives and I am just so happy to have this whole experience over with. I mean, I've really enjoyed our time in rehearsal (especially when you insisted that your character should unzip his pants onstage to tuck his shirt in "because that's what its like in real life") or when you kept asking me if I wanted to eat with you (even though I kept telling you I was not hungry. ever.), but all good things must come to an end. Thankfully.
Our scene begins, and I am very convincing as the wife who hates her husband and is mad at him for a reason he can't understand. He, unfortunately, is also quite convincing as the husband who is trying desperately to win back his wife with lots of longing gazes and soft caresses of my hands.
So, the scene comes to the part where my husband, the Wife Hunter, in a last ditch effort for reconciliation, stands behind me while I'm seated at the kitchen table and consolingly places his hand on my shoulder to which I respond by shrugging off and running out the door to go to work. Or at least that's how we rehearsed it for three weeks.
Instead, as I'm seated at the table trying to read my book, the Wife Hunter comes up behind me and caresses my upper rib cage with one hand and the side of my face with the other.
My immediate reaction is to shoot out of my seat (which causes half my props to fly off the stage-- unfortunately, none of the audience was knocked unconscious) and scream, rather than say, my remaining lines about how he's an idiot or something. Well, at least I was convincing.
After the scene we took our seats in the auditorium and he very slyly turned around and asked me, "Did you like how I kissed you at the end?"
Turns out, that was not his hand caressing the side of my head, it was his face, more specifically, his lips. On my face.
I think at this point in his scheme to find a spouse, his Wife Hunting Senses must have told him that I would fall into his arms and beg him to never part his lips from the side of my face again, so long as we both shall live.
However, I must have thrown a wrench into his plan by frowning and simply replying, "No, I did not."
Monday, March 26, 2012
If that doesn't show how much God absolutely loves his people and wants to include us in his plan, I don't know what does.
I was going to write about how I've always struggled with Our Lady's role in our salvation (and my life) and how it took me until college, and even now, to even begin to understand the mystery of Mary. I was going to talk about how I was always afraid of giving her too much attention (blame it on growing up in Colorado Springs) and how I basically just ignored her for the first 18 years of my life.
But, St. Maximilian Kolbe said it so much better:
"Never be afraid of loving Mary too much; you can never love her more than Jesus did."
Sunday, March 25, 2012
This weekend I hosted a baby shower for my oldest sister who's expecting her second little one (my first God-child!) in just a few weeks.
The shower was planned last minute, but we still had about 20 people show up, including babies.
I was just so struck by the kindness of her friends (all of whom are young mothers themselves) to just drop everything going on in their homes to come celebrate the arrival of a new life into our world.
I don't have much experience with baby showers other than for my two sisters, but it always seems to me that all their friends are genuinely excited about any new life, even if it is "only the second one."
Friday, March 23, 2012
Mostly the conversation revolved around the fact that John Elway has ruined every single female Denverite's chances of ever marrying Tim Tebow by bringing in Peyton Manning. (Ok, I didn't actually say that out loud, but all the ladies were thinking it.)
Then, suddenly, as I was still discussing the stupidity of the once-revered Mr. Elway, I heard the question, "So, who's going to see The Hunger Games this weekend?"
I should have responded, "Oh, I think I will if I can fit it into, my busy, serious, young-professional schedule."
And then should have continued, "You know, I was quite skeptical of the series (as I am with all the rabble-chosen NY Times Bestsellers) but after my well-read sister purchased me a copy, I was pleasantly surprised with both the suspense and depth with which Ms. Collins writes. I'm interested in seeing how Hollywood will interpret such a work."
Instead, I abruptly stopped the conversation I was having with the girl next to me to respond to the girl across the room by shooting up and throwing my hand in the air and yelling, "I AM! I AM SO EXCITED!"
Clearly my peers, did not share my enthusiasm.
After assaulting the entire group with a full exposure of my undeniable dorkiness, the girl who posed the question politely responded that she too was excited and so was the group of high school youth group attendees that she had to chaperon.
Hunky Boy, although across the room chatting with the babe he brought with him, unfortunately witnessed the whole deplorable event.
The odds were so not in my favor.
P.S. To make matters worse, the babe with Hunky Boy asked, "Did you like Twilight and Harry Potter too?"
I was aghast at such a suggestion, but all I could reply was, "No, I refused to read Twilight and I never finished even the first Harry Potter because I thought he was too whiny."
I wanted to go into a full dialogue about my obsession with Russian and Eastern European literature, but I could tell I had already been labeled in her mind as The Type of Girl Who Reads Juvenile Fiction and Then Sees the Movies.
Thursday, March 22, 2012
You know how sometimes you feel like someone is staring at you because of the way their face looks in your peripheral vision and then you look up and realize they're actually staring at something behind you? Well, this was not one of those times.
I feel a pony-tailed, cowboy-shirt wearing man's eyes boring into my face. So of course, I tell myself, "There must be an interesting, commercially manufactured excuse for art behind my head that he really likes," and go about my business. However, minutes wear on and Pony-tail's gaze has not lifted.
Luckily, my battery starts to die, so I had to shift across the aisle to sit in a booth with an outlet. I am immediately relieved when I realize I'm finally out of Pony-tail's line of vision.
However, when Pony-tail moved to a booth putting me within his line of vision, I realized my worst fears: Pony-tail was actually the Creeper.
I look up again to verify my realization. And yes, there he was staring at my face like I was some commercially manufactured excuse for art that he found interesting.
I consider picking up the phone to talk to my pretend boyfriend, but I can't think of anything interesting to say to my pretend boyfriend, so I just sit there and glare at my computer screen.
All my fears come to a paramount when Creeper stands up and begins to walk towards me. Luckily, I've had time to slip my ring over to my left hand, but it's not enough. He stands in front of me until I take out my earbuds and look up.
"Pardon me, but are you waiting for someone?"
"Yes, my hunky body-building boyfriend just got finished skinning a hefty 10-point buck and is on his way over to shower me with roses and love ballads," I should have said.
Instead, I smile and say, "No," and put my earbuds in and go back to glaring at my computer screen.
Now I know how that M&M and his Pretzel friend felt.