My knee hurts. I'm hungry!

Atchafalaya: noun. A Chocktaw word meaning "long river".

Not to be confused with Atchafalaya's... which is a hole in the wall bar in downtown Provo I happened upon this weekend. But lets start at the very beginning... a very good place to start.

Friday night, I got off work and got right on the bus to go get some prescriptions filled at Walgreen's. After browsing the makeup aisle for about an hour and a half I decided it was time to go do something productive. Michelle came and picked me up, and we promptly went back to my apartment to plan something wicked awesome for the last Friday night before school. Three hours, one phone call and an Arby's pick 5 for 5.95 later, we found ourselves sitting in my apartment, having completely wasted our night doing nothing.

So Saturday, we decided to go out on the town and do something. What is there to do in Provo? Nothing of course, except go to a bar with some of Michelle's already partially intoxicated hair school friends. Ya! What could be better than getting in for free before 10:30 and staying completely sober amongst the smokey boozey crowd? I don't know man, but we were NOT going to be staying home two nights in a row on Labor Day Weekend!

So we walk up to Atchafalaya's, and waited in line (Aka 6 people) to get in. It was my first "can't get in without an ID" event ... so we're all getting our ID's checked... and the bouncer took an abnormally long time with mine. He kept looking at me, and then at my license, and then would squint at me, and then flash his little light back to my ID... after about 30 seconds I finally said,

"I got fat.. do you want to talk about it?"

And he seriously almost cracked a smile... and gave me my ID back and told me to have a great night. I was proud. I sassed the bouncer at my first bar. Mom, I know you're proud too.

We get in, get stamped, and I surveyed the room. It was smokey and dark, and there were maybe 10 people at the main bar and 15 others throughout the club. Haha. It was hoppin to say the least. I got the grand tour from Michelle's friend Kendra.. dance floor, bar, pool tables, fooseball, lounge, and sparsely populated karaoke room. It's actually a pretty big place. So we meandered back to the bar and just stood there lookin pretty until we couldn't stand the smoke being blown in our face by the pre-pubescent looking "male model" friend of a friend any longer.

Karaoke was calling my name.

We went back in to the Karaoke room, where the same weird guy was still belting out some unknown classic 20 minutes later. After some coaxing, I was somehow talked into signing up to sing "I Wanna Dance with somebody" Whitney Houston style. I mean, after the dizzy and drunken spanish ballad I couldn't look that bad right?

So I take the floor, and take the mic, and just start beltin it out. Really though, it was so fun! Then Mr. smokey with his shirt unbuttoned down-to-there came over and started giving me some tips about projecting my voice and he tried to steal my show. I was thinkin to myself.. "Who do you think you are?! I'm Whitney Houston!...(bih)"

All my friends were dancing and having a great time, when suddenly I see Michelle seriously eat it on the dance floor. She got pulled back up by all of the other girls because once you fall over you're kicked out. Such is the rule for drunkeness at this fine establishment. But she didn't look like she was having a good time anymore, and she limped back over to sit down and she had tears running down her pretty little face.

Confused, I tried to convince a drunk girl trying to freak dance with me to take over for the last part of the song. But she was sober enough to refuse, so I handed the mic back to the MC and was like... "um. I'm done. My friend fell down..."

He gladly took over (he was the weird one singing all alone at the begining of the night) and finished out the last belligerent oohs and rolled chords of the song.

I made my way over to Michelle, and we decided it was time to roll out. When I say roll out, what I really mean is that Michelle again blew out her knee and was in some serious pain. We hobbled her outside. I'm pretty sure everyone thought she was drunk.

Good times in Provo. Michelle is recovering, and I made my big musical debut. I was a huge hit with all the drunkards. Don't worry. I'll remember you when I'm famous.

Fooseball

Its school time, and fall time, and football time. Mostly, I like it when guys take me to football games. And I love the red leaves, the coolish air, and brand new notebooks.

I'm really looking forward to being a part time employee, and a fullish time student. I'm starting the classes for my program, and I'm super excited for it.

My life is pretty much awesome.

I got Soul

So. My car borrowing days have been temporarily revoked so that Nicole can have a car to drive for her big transition into college life. What does this mean? It means I am once again a bus rider. I'd almost forgotten what a bittersweet joy public transportation brings me. Ah, the sights, the sounds, the smell of the bus.

My return to the UTA life has been rocky at times. I rolled out of bed one morning at 9:32 and only had time to pull on some clothes and brush my teeth before running down the stairs and out the door to catch my bus. It leaves my stop at 9:44, and the time was now 9:42. I don't know if it was just something in the air that day, or maybe it was my renewed spirit of going for the gold I'd attained watching that crazy A Jamaican man break the world record for the 100 meter at the Olympics. But I sprinted to the bus. That's right. No jog of shame. A full on sprint as fast as I could the two blocks to the bus stop. I was about 50 yards away when the bus started pulling away to move on, but the driver saw me running for my life and had mercy on my soul.

Please note: when you are late for the bus, if you are running and the bus driver is waiting for you, you cannot slow down. The second you slow to a walk the driver assumes you must not want on board badly enough to push yourself, and you are left breathless at the stop as you watch your ride pull away without you.

So I persevered. I sprinted the whole way. I don't think I have sprinted since junior high. For real. I don't know why I did it, but I caught the bus and I was happy about it. Maybe it was the fact that I've been working out every other day that kept me from just giving up and calling in late to work. But, I think this Nike commercial had something to do with it. I've seen it a couple times on TV, and I just love it. It highlights the mental aspect of athletics and pushing yourself. My race to the bus was a small feat, but after watching this clip I would feel like a complete wimp if I didn't at least TRY to catch the bus. Enjoy.

I mean come on, that last guy doesnt even have feet! It's amazing.

The downside to riding the bus? Jerks.

On one of my first rides to work as a car-less vagabond, I did something extremely juvenile, out of rage and my unquenchable thirst for justice. But lets start at the beginning.

I get on the bus, and the first thing I notice are these two little kids. A girl who looks about or 5, and her 2 or 3 year old little brother. They were sharing a bench seat across the aisle from their mom, and they were both completely absorbed in their little toys. The girl had a pink Nintendo DS, and you could tell she was concentrating and loving every second of her electronic adventure. Her little brother looked just as enamored with his choice of entertainment: two sticks. He was clapping them together and pointing them at people. He was perfectly happy. They were so cute. I guess that's the difference between boys and girls.

Then, out of nowhere I hear this drunken sounding man yell out something in Spanish. It was some old white guy just babbling on about something. I kept listening, and realized he was talking about immigration and making all sorts of racist comments and using racial slurs. I looked around the bus. The two little kids and their mom were Hispanic, as well as an older man in the back of the bus. Across the aisle from the offending mumbler was an old Asian man. All of their faces were just stone, like they were trying not to let the chorus of hatred into their heads. They all avoided making eye contact with me or with one another.

The man continued... "I'm sick of America turning from white to yellow to brown and every other color...."

My jaw seriously dropped open in disbelief. Was he really saying these things? Out loud? On a bus filled with people of the ethnicities he was attacking? My nostrils flared with rage. I looked at the only other white kid on the bus across the aisle from me. His eyes were wide and his face was stiff, but he had headphones in, pretending not to hear anything. Maybe he didn't, but I sure did and I was absolutely appalled. What could I do? The bus was moving, its not like I could get up and walk back there and give him a piece of my mind. I really should have though. It was obvious by the time we got to the BYU campus that this man was very aware of who was around him, and definitely, unfortunately, sober.

We came to a stop and I quietly made my way to the front of the bus. I told on him. I told the bus driver that there was a man making really offensive racial comments and that he was disturbing the other passengers. The bus driver was a sweet old lady, and she said "oh thank you so much for telling me!"

I really hope that old man got kicked off the bus. Every bus driver has the right to kick people off the bus who are disruptive. I had to catch my connecting bus, so I don't know what happened. I just can't believe that things like this happen every day. Or maybe its just that I do believe, and I'm extremely disappointed in humanity.

Big Foot ... more like Big FAKE

I'm pretty relieved. The big foot scare was yet another (hoax) by some back woods tricksters.

In the infamous words of Michael Scott:


"Fool me once, strike 1. Fool me twice, strike 3"