The Natatorium

An emporium of oddities from around the world, complete with somewhat informative plaques that almost never match the item they are meant to be describing.

Sunday, August 29, 2004


The shade of purpleish pink beneath my right thumbnail is a most peculiarly beautiful color.

There was a glint of fire in the opals around her neck that perfectly matched her blood-red dress.

I want to-

fuck it.

I don't like the word "depression"... it implies negativity. Let's just call it... new sight.

Thursday, August 19, 2004

Nice... Eyes...

At work tonight the most surprising thing happened. I was serving a customer, getting his drink, taking his money, etc... and then I looked up at him while handing him his change. Can I just say, ZOWEE. He was filthy, sweaty, unshaved, dishelved, and had a huge hole in the right front leg of his pants, much like all the other hick-ish looking guys on his softball team. He was 100% pure Nixa. In all of these ways, he was no different than any of the other 500 guys at the softball park that night, but OMG... he had the most incredible eyes I've ever seen. They were an ice blue, a sort of penetrating, crystallized light that pierced through his rough and dirty exterior, like two diamonds sparkling out from amongst the folds of rough burlap.

I have never, ever, ever been attracted to someone I just met like that, especially not a *customer*. It wasn't just, "wow, that's a good looking guy" (I see tons of perfect male bodies working at a *softball park*), it was more like, "wow... uh, here's your.... blue... uhm, I mean, er... my shirt says Bud Light". He totally saw right through me. All of his friends were being loud and ordering more drinks from me, shoving their money at me, etc, and through all of this he just kept looking at my eyes, and talking to me in this steady, calm voice that somehow was clearer than all the guys yelling around me. He thanked me, and asked me to come back. When I came back around the second time, it was pretty much a repeat. He asked me my name, and told me his. He asked if I worked every Wednesday night. I said something stupid like, "Oh, I'm here a lot... uhm, it depends... I, er.... umpshths..." No, seriously, I actually said the "umpshths".

It was really, really, really bizarre. Men don't get to me like that. They don't. He must have been a mutant or something. With hypno-eyes. Yeah. That makes more sense than the possibility that I'm a young stupid girl whose knees get all jelloid at the sight of some random ball-player's eyes. Psh.

Monday, August 16, 2004

Shared Pain

I posted this today on another blog I recently joined called Communal Cup, formerly Tanner's Rough-Draft.

Can you turn your back on someone else's pain? Is it harder to comfort them and share their tears, or turn away and walk in the other direction, ignoring the forgotten tears pushing against the backs of your own eyes?I don't think there is an easy choice. If you share pain, you feel pain, and if you turn your back on it, well... I think we'd be fooling ourselves if we didn't admit that a little piece of our humanity gets chipped away.

Most people know that the shortest verse in the bible is John 11:35, "Jesus wept." But how many of us know why Jesus wept? Many mistakenly think that he was mourning his dead friend Lazarus, but this makes very little sense since Jesus knew he could, and in fact did, raise Lazarus back to life. Jesus wept when he saw the pain of Mary, Martha, and other Jews over Lazarus' death. "He was deeply moved in spirit and troubled" (John 11:33). So was it the God in Jesus that reacted to such suffering, or was in the man? Was it Jesus' humanity that shared Mary and Martha's pain, or was it something higher, his Godliness, that allowed him to be so compassionate?

My point is, what is our natural instinct when we see something, or someone, suffering? What is the first reaction? Is it to ignore, use, or taunt? Is it to comfort, heal, and save? Which of these is the instinct, and which is the learned behavior?

What is the nature of our humanity?

Friday, August 13, 2004


I am, at the moment, inexplicaby depressed/angry/frustrated/lonely/etc... for no reason at all.

Perhaps I'm just a little unbalanced right now, or maybe it's the fact that subconsciously I'm disappointed in the way my Friday the 13th turned out. Something memorable usually happens on Friday the 13th for me, whether good or bad, it's usually just strange and memorable. Nothing like that happened today, until I did something really stupid and embarassed myself, which just made me feel even more like crap. But don't ask, because I'm not going to talk about it.

I know that Friday the 13th means nothing; it's the May 22nds and the October 9ths that you've really got to watch out for--the point being that you *can't* watch out for them. It's just like in that old Sunscreen speech/song. There's a line that says something to the effect of, "Don't worry about things, because it won't do you any good. Usually the things you worry about aren't really threats, and the things that you *should* worry about blindside you on some idle Tuesday."

And I hate feeling sorry for myself, I really really do. Because that just makes me feel guilty about being ungrateful, which makes me more depressed.

Usually I can at least get some decent writing out of this, but it's not happening tonight.

Monday, August 09, 2004

Stepford Wedding

This weekend was Jessica's wedding. Thursday night was the bacelorette party, Friday night was the rehersal dinner, and Saturday was the wedding. I was one of five Bridesmaids, whose company I was in for about 48 hours, with a short break between hour 10 and hour 22.

Anyway, it was fun. Except for the hide-a-bed from hell. But I'll get to that.

We all wore strapless knee-length pink dresses with pearl necklaces and earrings (except me, who doesn't have pierced ears) and had our hair straightened and half-pulled back. The resulting effect was that we looked like an army of Stepford Wives. Which was fine. Everyone said I looked beautiful, but I had on eyeliner and stuff, so it definitely wasn't a look I'd choose for myself.

On Friday, after sleeping in my own bed the previous night, I drove into Branson with another Springfieldian bridesmaid and we attended the rehearsal dinner, where I got to talk to an old friend that I hadn't seen in years--the bride's brother. He was a little different, and we didn't have the old chemistry, but that was a good thing since he's married now. Later that night, we all (bride and bridesmaids) drove back into Springfield and stayed in a hotel so we could all get up early and go to the Salon together. Four of the girls got to stay on cushy beds, but me and the bride's sister-in-law got the pull-out hide-a-bed... and well, lets just say that I've been more comfortable sleeping on a gravel bar in a sleeping bag. The mattress was so horrible that I could feel every individual spring digging into my flesh--but that wasn't the fun part. The head of the bed didn't come up all the way, so it was still sloped down towards the floor, the other girl and I were basically draped over this terrible metal bar that we could distinctly "feel" through the mattress. I seriously almost laughed when I first got on the bed, it was just so ridiculous. I seriously thought I was in a Ben Stiller movie.

The other girl and I eventually moved the mattress off the bedframe and onto the floor, but that wasn't much better. The jabbing metal bar and sloping head were gone, but I could still feel every spring. Jeez.

After a sleepless night, we all got up at 6:45 to get ready and be at the Salon by 8:00. I had the worst stylist in the world. She was supposed to straighten my hair, but all she did was make it stiff and frizzy. I won't even discuss the makeup she put on me. I almost hyperventilated. Suffice it to say, I payed this old woman $45 to make me look good for the wedding, and she made me look like a clown. When we got to the church, the other girls fixed me and made me look awesome in about 15 minutes. Stupid old people.

The wedding was beautiful; did I mention that the bride and one of her bridesmaids were models? Yes, she was gorgeous. The whole thing went off without a hitch, with the exception of the bride and groom getting, er, hitched.

Good things that came out of this weekend: I got to know one of the bride's friends whom I have a lot in common with, and hopefully we'll meet up for coffee and discussion. She's a few years older than me, but that's great, because she can give me advice on college, grad school, and careers.

I also got to see an amazing pianist. One of the groom's friends was an older man who sat down at the church's grande piano and busted out with some incredible baroque, classical, and jazz. I almost drooled.

Not much more to report I suppose, except that I'm getting quite annoyed with the childish actions (or lack thereof) of a certain guy. Puh. NO ONE ignores me...

I'm meeting an old friend for lunch today. Hopefully that will go well. I have more exciting things to report, so stay tuned. Same Nat time, same Nat URL.

Sunday, August 01, 2004

Mind Games

It is very dark. I am poised, tense, balanced on the balls of my feet on concrete sub-flooring. There is a drip coming from my far left, some twenty feet away and slightly behind me. I give not the slightest thought to finding a lightswitch.

I wait.

I take in the dank, plain air of this vault. It is cool.

I smell.

I try to catch a scent, but it eludes me time and again.

I know he's here.

I close my eyes.

I feel.

I focus my mind on every inch of my exposed skin, from the tops of my shoulders to the tips of my fingers, trying to feel a breeze, a warmth, anything that might tell me where he is.

Nothing. Nothing but a tingling of anticipation.

I release my skin, forget it's there. I numb it out entirely, for it has betrayed me.

I turn my mind inward. Deep into my core, I tune all of my senses.

I wait.


My eyes snap open.