"In vacant or in pensive mood..." I am: Bekah; 24; Law Student / Favorite Things: Carbs (so there!), Johnny Damon, Smiling at babies, Grilled cheese, Comfortable silence / Favorite Supreme Court Justice: Brennan / Favorite Wilson: Owen by an inch / Today's Special: Song: Elliott Smith, "Bled White"; Quote: "You know, there's like a butt-load of gangs at this school. This one gang kept wanting me to join because I'm pretty good with a bowstaff." Please love me: mmbekah@yahoo.com


February 2003 March 2003 April 2003 May 2003 June 2003 July 2003 August 2003 September 2003 October 2003 November 2003 December 2003 January 2004 February 2004 March 2004 April 2004 May 2004 June 2004 July 2004 August 2004 September 2004 October 2004 November 2004 December 2004 January 2005 September 2005

 
The comment I made a few days ago about Westlaw burning holes in my retinas reminded me of two fairly amusing eye-themed stories that help weave the strange and colorful tapestry that is my life. Gather ‘round the campfire, children, and I’ll tell you the tales.

1. Mine Ein! Mine Ein!

When I was about 12, I was staying at my grandparents’ house for the weekend with my family. My little cousin was also spending the night, and he’d just gone to sleep. My sister and I were in the living room watching a “program” (I think it was 48 Hours—ah, the joys of basic cable), and then we heard it. It was quiet at first, but the volume quickly rose: “Mine Ein! Mine Ein!” Over and over, over and over, coming from our cousin’s room. As I write this today, I am spelling the mysterious phrase phonetically because it sounded like my poor little cousin was trying to scream “Mine Einstein!” but was getting cut off. My mother, frantically attempting to understand the hysterical child’s plight, was simply at a loss. Finally, he rubbed his eyes as he screamed the words and everything made sense. His eye hurt. Now I like to say “Mine Ein” at various times in conversation, just to see the reactions I get.

2. The Truth is Out There

Every December, “camp people” reconvene in one of the more party-oriented Southern cities for a New Year’s celebration. I’ve been attending this annual festival since my sophomore year in high school, and it has never failed to be an entertaining and drama-filled reunion. Last year, everyone went to a bar that was a little smaller than our typical choice, so it was pretty packed.

After ringing in the new year, I was standing in the crowd listening to the band with my friend Mona when the unthinkable happened. An unidentified flying object came out of nowhere and hit me directly in my left eye. I was stunned for a moment, and tried to get my bearings. I looked down and attempted to locate the wayward object, but to no avail. My eye started to water, and I rubbed it instinctually, only making it worse. Mona looked over at me and asked, “Oh my God, are you ok?” “Yes, I’m fine, something just hit me in the eye.” As the words came out of my mouth, I knew they sounded like lies. Mona looked skeptical, but at this point my eye really hurt. It continued to water, and the shock of being hit by a foreign object in a dark, crowded place was beginning to sink in. The tears started coming. There was no holding them back.

Mona walked me outside, and you might guess what happened next. Everyone I knew started coming up to me, asking me what was wrong, comforting me about whatever emotionally trying thing had happened to me to make me break down this way in a public place. Every time someone asked me what was wrong, I tried to tell them the story of the UFO hitting me in the eye, and every time I told the story it sounded more and more farfetched.

By the end of the night, I really was crying because my friends thought I was an annoying emotional basketcase who couldn’t handle the prospect of a New Year. I was crying because they thought I was a basketcase, and I was a basketcase because they thought I was crying. Yes, it was a vicious cycle. Attempting to convince my friends that I was not losing it was just about as effective as screaming “Mine Ein!” into the unforgiving night air.

Sadly, the majority of the people who were out that night still don’t believe my story. Do you want to believe?

posted by Bekah at 9:57 AM :: |