Magical Sales

Today I did a lot of homework. Considering the time I've been spending in this endeavor lately, I can only conclude that it's become my favorite pastime. I was in the middle of writing a critique of an essay about a lesbian wedding when there was a knock on the door. Mom went to get the door as I silently thought about how glad I am that this isn't actually my house and remained on my bed, covered with blankets, typing away on my laptop.

Within moments, I heard my mom cackle and say, "Your friend was already here, but he wasn't as funny as you." The conversation continued, but not much of it was coherent from my place in the bedroom. At times, I heard my mom's loud, high voice, and, at other times, I heard a man's voice that I only know how to describe as "black (please don't think I'm racist)." After I heard my mom shriek in laughter a couple more times, I decided to take a break and find out what was so funny.

At the door was a man in a jacket and jeans. The jeans hung low and had a skull and crossbones on each back pocket. Bordering the front pockets were silk screened brass knuckles with rhinestones in each of the finger holes. On his neck, in blue ink, was the head of a dog. Not a bulldog. And, as his voice suggested, he was black. I actually found out he's a mix. The way he explained it was, "My mom's black, and my dad's black as hell!"

This guy was very friendly, and he could have sold me my own shoes. As it happened, he was trying to sell cleaning products to my mom. He took out a rag and scribbled all over it with a pen. "How you gonna get this out?" he inquired. "You gonna have Mike Tyson bite it out? Have OJ stab it out? Have Osama hide it out?" While Mom stood in a stupor, trying to figure out how to turn this guy down and I tried to remember how to breathe, he used his magic solution to clean the rag. It actually was pretty impressive.

This guy was spraying everything: the pipe that the hose hooks up to, the cement where there were stains from rust and fertilizer, he leaned into the house to spray the tiles by the front door, and he even bent down to scrub my mom's shoe. He was dedicated.

In the end, my mom bought one of his bottles of magic, saying that she wants to support people who are out making an honest living. It's okay, mom. Magic is magic.

Exercise for Eternity

I've come to the realization that I learn best through analogies. Go ahead and tell me anything in a straightforward way, and I'll probably understand it, maybe even add some insight, but it won't really click for me until you compare it to something somewhat off-topic.

For example, one of the most basic things we learn at church is that we've come to earth to be tested. Why do we need to be tested? So that we can learn, grow, and become stronger. That kind of makes sense, right? We go through a trial, we learn from it, and we have a greater capacity, not only for the next trial, but to help others through their trials. I definitely get that. It's been pretty well drilled in my head since I was about three.

So my little sister and I have been doing these workout video things with one of the trainers from Biggest Loser. (I was trying to decide if that sentence gave too little transition and seemed like and off-the-wall subject change, or if it makes where I'm going with this just WAY too obvious. Either way, I apologize.) These workouts are twenty minutes long, and they are KILLER. There's also three workouts with varying levels of intensity. As embarrassing as this is to admit, I was sore for about five days after I started the lowest level. Seriously, it's insane.

During the whole workout Jillian Michaels is telling you what to do and why it works better than other things and just talking a lot. It's kind of nice, because when I can focus my brain on something then it makes me forget that my arms are falling off. One of the things she says is that, in order to see a change in our bodies, we need to put stress on it and force it to adapt. So there I am, doing these suicidal lunge things with weights, and, when I hear this, it finally comes to me. That's it! We have to go through trials and have stress put on us, because it forces us to adapt, forces us to build strength and metaphorical muscle. Even though I've known this most of my life, it finally really made sense.

Why do we work out? To lose weight, gain muscle, and become physically fit. Why do we endure trials instead of giving into the sorrow and temptations they present us with? To get rid of the things that are keeping us from achieving our potential, gain strength, and become spiritually fit.

Man, I feel like I'm going to be a spiritual body builder before long.

After this point, I was so excited by my epiphany(?) that it gave me new energy and the rest of the workout was a lot easier.

No, it wasn't.

Teachings of a Wise Kitty

I have a cat. She's a grey tabby, and she's adorable. My cat's name is Storm. This is partially due to the fact that her coloring makes her look like a storm cloud, and partially because I believe that she is a mutant that will one day harness her powers to control the weather in order to save my life.

Like a true superhero, Storm (the cat, not the X-Man...X-Woman?) has no fear. Through a series of unfortunate events, not entirely un-Baudelaire-esque, Storm and I have been forced to move in with my mom, her husband, and her cat that I'm pretty sure previously belonged to some pagan god of the underworld. Shortly after the first encounter of the two cats, blood was shed. We try to keep Storm, who is still quite small, away from the demon "cat," but neither animal seems to think this is in their best interest. Storm likes to keep the enemy in sight. This may seem like a clever act of defensive strategy, but we're pretty sure that it's really a sick sense of humor. The small cat stays just out of reach, while making sure to stay near a human that will come to her rescue if the demon attacks. Knowing that defeat is inevitable with the kitten's guardians nearby, the demon can only hiss and make odd siren sounds. Storm finds this incredibly entertaining, and tries to find ways to get new sounds out of the demon creature.

Just as my cat, I have a bully trying to get me. I've been issued legal threats that hold no grounds and have received numerous verbal attacks. However, I have found my superhero kitty to be a great teacher. By staying in plain sight, but just out of reach, I limit my attacker's abilities to hissing and, possibly, odd siren sounds. I have learned from my very wise kitty that failed attacks by those who only wish to do harm can be quite entertaining indeed.