Shy or Not So Shy?

"Were you shy as a kid?" His dark green eyes waited for my response, and I waited for an answer to surface from within, but one didn't, so I made something up.

It's not that I lied. But rather, I skirted around the question - stumbling may way through a less than articulate response when I should have simply stated the truth - I don't know.

However, I determined that I would do some research and get back to him.

The following day I called my parents and asked them the question, but they weren't much help. They only reminded me that my siblings, especially my big sis, were extremely talkative, so I didn't get much of an opportunity to say anything as a kid - at least not at home.

But that doesn't necessarily make one shy. Then again, what exactly does shy mean?

Dictionary.com definition #8
shy: not bearing or breeding freely, as plants or animals.

Yeah, I'm definitely not shy in that sort of way. I don't breed freely. Nor do I have any kids.

I considered a childhood friend might know the answer, so I looked up my friend Abigail on facebook and left her a comment.

"someone recently asked me if i was shy as a kid... i didn't really know how to answer that... any insight from our time together in preschool?"

Abigail replied, "You weren't shy as a kid or overly loud from what i can remember. You are pretty much the same now i guess..."

Dictionary.com definition #7
shy: indebted to the pot

Hmmm... pot. As in weed? The toilet? The pot on the stove?

Oh wait, there is a clarifier - the pot, as in poker. Yeah, I don't play poker. But the guy who taught me to surf does. He's a professional, actually; you can watch him on TV. I had a crush on him once - for about 24 hours. I even wrote a cheesy song about it - it's entitled "That One Day." (I'd post the lyrics, but I left them in California.)

But speaking of guys, until I was about 17ish, I would say I was shy around guys; in fact, I'd even go as far as to say I was awkward around guys (oh wait, I still am). But seriously though, I remember 8th grade, when I liked that football player, but I was too scared to talk to him. Thankfully he wasn't too scared to talk to me. Because he asked me to dance with him at that junior high dance. I still recall the Bon Jovi Song that we slow danced to, "And I will love you, baby - Always..."

Funny thing is, a few years ago he actually did tell me that he loved me. But the love he spoke of is of different kind. It's the "I care deeply about you love," not the I want to marry you and have hot sex with you love.

So yes, I was shy around guys as a kid, or at least in junior high and high school. Nowadays I'm probably not shy enough around men.

(And we'll finish this post at another time)


It wasn't until I my mid-twenties that I was confidant enough to carry or enter a conversation at our family dinners. I didn't want to try and compete. And raising my hand to speak didn't seem to work. Perhaps because they thought I was stretching...

The Williamsburg Bridge

"What I'm trying to say, is that people trust God even when they don't realize it."

Mitch, Abby, and I were out for a night run, and after running across the Williamsburg Bridge and back, we jogged to a park located alongside the water, where we paused to soak up the glorious and surreal view of the bridge and the surrounding city lights. The base pillars rising up out of the water seemed so big - and we felt so small.

That's when Mitch got all deep and contemplative and philosophical on us. He started talking
about how every day thousands of people entrust their lives to the Williamsburg Bridge without even giving it a second thought. They take the subway train across it, or drive or bike, or as we did - run. And all the while, they have faith that the bridge will hold them up.

Mitch started to talk about the Laws of Physics and how people trust the bridge because they trust the engineers who built it, who in turn trust the Laws of Physics. Mitch pointed out that God created the Laws of Physics and it's truth that people trust in. But ultimately that truth stems from God, therefore, Mitch concluded, "People trust God even when they don't realize it."

But Abby starting questioning right away. "Well, what about that bridge in Minnesota that collapsed a few years back?"

I remember the incident because I received a text from a friend, asking me to pray for this man who lost his wife and two kids in the tragedy. The same day I received the prayer request my dad gave me a "praise report" over the phone that a family he knew made it safely across the bridge just before it collapsed.

I think Abby was trying to argue that in that particular instance, the Laws of Physics failed us - and if that's the case, then didn't God fail us too?

That's when Mitch turned to me and pleaded, "Katrina, can you help me out here?"

"Think about it this way Abby." I tried to dig something up from within that might be helpful. "Let's say that gravity didn't exist."

"Oh, wow. That would be fun." Abby smiled as she dreamed of the possibility. "We'd be able to fly through the sky. That would be awesome."

"Perhaps, but I don't think it would be quite as simple as that. We'd probably drift away to outer space where we wouldn't have any oxygen to breathe. And well, we'd probably be dead."

"That's right." Mitch piped. "Even if we stuck to the earth, without the gravitational pull of the planets, we'd probably be burned up by the sun."

"It's true. There is a delicate balance to everything in our universe."

Our dialogue on God and gravity continued on for a bit until it shifted to cartwheels. (Mitch claims he can do one, but he refused to demonstrate.)

It's interesting though, it's not the delicate balance that convinces me that God exists - even though it makes logical sense that there has to be some Creater that pieced this universe together, for me, it's more about knowing and experiencing God's goodness and faithfulness in my life. I know His character - and that's why I trust in Him.

Not So Great Ideas

So... I'm starting to learn a bit about the publishing industry. I thought it might be a helpful thing to do since I'd like to publish a book someday. So far I've learned that I'm supposed to have an agent. I think a literary one, but I hung out with my special agent friend last night and I'm wondering if he might do the trick.

All he would have to do is go to Harper Collins or Random House, flash his special agent badge, ask to speak with an acquisitions editor, and then hold out his gun until the editor reads my material and agrees to a book deal. Conveniently my special agent friend was previously a lawyer so he could also negotiate and make certain the contract works in my favor.

With his badge and his gun quickening the process, I could be signed in an afternoon to any publisher in the city.

Then again, we could both get arrested and be sent to jail instead, but even that wouldn't be such a bad deal. Free housing, free food, and probably some really great book material would surface because of the experience. Oh, but wait, I don't look good in orange. Forget that idea.

Speaking of not so great ideas...

I went running in shorts and a tangerine (not to be confused with orange) tank top today. It wasn't warm (unless 35 is the new warm), but rather I was hoping that just maybe I might pick up some sun along the way. Really, I do think I got some color, but I'm thinking now that it's probably just wind burn.

While I was out I received a phone call from a number I didn't recognize. And because I've been on emergency call for our unversity, I picked up...

I Know That You Know

The other day I was talking to my 2nd hottest guy friend, and after he shared with me his deep longing


for Meijer (a Midwest only 24 hour store), and I shared with him my passionate desire for a Target and In-N-Out in midtown, our conversation drifted to me trying to tell a story that I never got to tell because we got sidetracked in our dialogue.

"I know a lot of people that you know. Like..." I listed off about 5 of his good friends, including the one who is lactose intolerant, and the one who told me he thinks I look like the chick that gets blown up in the car in the movie The Godfather.

He replied, "I know that you know a lot of people that I know."

To which I replied, "Yeah I probably didn't need list off those names. Because I know that you know that I know a lot of people that you know."

"Well, just so you know, there are also plenty of people that I know that you don't know."

"Yeah, I know."

That conversation took place at the beginning of the week, when we were still trying to resolve where we'd be spending Thanksgiving.

Today we spoke again. He called to inform me that he is not liable for any guys that I may meet or date because of him. He does not want to be held responsible for any damages (aka heartache) that they might cause me. And he reminded me, that although his friends are his friends, they are still guys. Which I think could be translated, that just because he is friends with them, doesn't make them immune from being jerks, or from wanting to prehoneymoon with me.

I told him I realized that, and assured him that I wouldn't hold him responsible.

I think what spurred the conversation is that I recently met one of his friends...

It Could Happen

My mentor and friend Kim McManus told me last spring that if I did, that it would mean the end of our friendship. She told me this over dinner at La Caravan Restaurante Salvadoreno on North Lake Street in Pasadena. We were saying our final farewells and somewhere amidst our conversation I mentioned that in my move from LA to New York I was considering the possibility.

She shot down my idea, shaking her head in disapproval - jokingly, but I think she was half-serious - not that she would actually end our friendship over the matter, but I do believe she found it peculiar that I would pursue something of that sort of nature. Perhaps because she thinks it's unnecessary, and maybe it is, but I thought perhaps it could be helpful - and actually, I still think that it could be helpful. And several of my coworkers contest that it is.

This evening I met up with some acquaintance friends at a place called Stout, located on 33rd Street, and well, it became a hot topic of conversation.

I'm talking about e-harmony. I've never actually done it for real; I almost did it twice, but I couldn't quite bring myself to pay money to meet men. But I've been warming up to the idea, and it could potentially happen any day now - or maybe a week from today now.

I decided back in September that if I go more than 2 weeks without meeting a guy or going on some sort of date, then I'd sign up. But so far, well, I keep meeting men, and I've gone on more dates in the past few months than I did the entire decade of my twenties.

But I also have some fears surrounding signing up. Such as, I could be paired with someone I already know. One of the gals I was out with tonight (tall - 5'9", beautiful, and brilliant) shared with our group that she was matched with her ex-boyfriend and with a guy who is 5'4". Thankfully I don't have to worry about getting matched with an ex (they're all married), but what if I got matched with one of my coworkers? And if they're matching a 5'9" girl with some dude who is 5'4", the matching system really can't be all that great.

Hmmm... armony?

Christian Erotica?

I've been working on my masters for, oh, about 7 years now. My degree can be completed in 2, but since the school told me I could take up to 10 years, I thought I’d at least take 8 - perhaps 9.
To be honest, it’s a degree that I really don’t want, but that I know I ought to have because it’s good for me and for my resume. It’s kind of like eating broccoli when you’re a kid – except when I was a kid I found ways to get around actually eating the broccoli. Sometimes I’d put it in my mouth and then, after pretending to chew it for a few moments, I’d spit it out in my napkin. Other times I’d save it for the end of my meal, put it in my mouth, and then once I was dismissed from the dinner table I’d run outside and spit it out in the bushes. My parents never discovered my bad broccoli behavior.

But you can’t really hide a Masters degree in a napkin, or spit the content out in your backyard. You actually have to study, do research, write papers, and take exams. I hate every moment of it and would rather clean up puke every day for the rest of my life than be in graduate school. But I’m still in it, and it has been a long and painful process.

But sometimes the work isn’t all that bad, and some days I actually learn a thing or two that is helpful in the grander scheme of life. In fact, this semester I’m doing a directed study in which I’m receiving credit to research and write papers about the book publishing industry.

Today, in my research, I stumbled across the following paragraph:

"Two of the hottest categories in fiction today are Christian fiction and erotica. As a writer you would be ill advised to attempt to combine these two categories in the same book; the former has strict rules prohibiting sexual depictions (or even touching below the neck), while the latter has strict expectations that all can and must be bared. What’s especially interesting is that both categories have exploded at the same time, and that both have sparked a proliferation of subgenres: erotica suspense, Christian suspense, erotica science fiction, Christian science fiction, etc. But this is great news for writers in those categories and subgenres."

This paragraph is from a credible source called Writer’s Market Guide to Getting Published. And well, I found the paragraph to be especially funny, and I thought you might too.

Maybe

I'm Cursed...

And I'm up writing a 10 page paper for class, so rather than writing something new for this blog, here's an old blurb for you to enjoy:

I believe we’re all born with at least one special curse. I mean, sure, we all get the God-given curses that go along with being male or female, but I’m talking about those above and beyond curses. For some it may be early male-pattern balding such as with my dad, or the inability to clap on beat such as with my mom. For others it may be uncontrollable snorting, extreme disorganization, fear of heights or susceptibility to sunburn. For me, it’s procrastination.

I was procrastinating even before I was born. I kept putting off the whole birthing process until I was well beyond a manageable weight. I work best with deadlines, and since the doctor didn’t clearly specify when I had to be out by, I took no initiative to leave my mom’s cozy womb. And when my poor mother finally did try to push me out, I wouldn’t budge. At 10 pounds, 4 ounces, there was no way. Had the doctor not yanked me out in a C-section, I probably would have stayed in there for several more weeks.

For whatever reason, my birth curse always surfaces when I’m about to leave on a big trip or when an academic paper is due. It often results in an all-nighter and a miserable day to follow. In fact, there was one month of college I was averaging two all-nighters a week in order to get my papers written in time for class. It was then that I decided if I was in charge of designing hell, rather than gnashing of teeth, there would be research papers due every morning…and Satan would have to grade every single one of them.

I Just Can't Say It

Probable

Screeching Japanese

Last night around 7, five guys showed up at my apartment door with flowers. A few hours later an actor guy showed up at my door with some gourmet chocolate treats.

Five guys (which is also the name of a burger place in NYC that I have yet to try out), didn't show up at my apartment just for me, but rather they came to ask the girls that were meeting in my apartment to go with them to a swing dance event tomorrow (Friday) night. But, I was also asked - not by a student, but by my boss. Which, to be honest, I think is a bit awkward - especially since he's only 5'6", placing me a couple of inches taller than him. Maybe we can get him a pair of platform shoes - either that - or some stilts.

Actor guy, who is 6'2" and in no need of any kind of lift, is the reason that I didn't get any writing done last night. He kept me up til about 3, which I didn't mind so much at all. I especially liked the part where we were on this rooftop, just the two of us - well that is, until a Japanese woman and her dog joined us. Actor guy and I thought she might be cussing at her dog, but we couldn't tell for sure because she was screeching Japanese, and neither he nor I studied Japanese cuss words in high school - only Spanish ones.

After she left, actor guy pointed out a constellation and I proudly pointed out the Empire State Building. I'm getting so good at building identification. So far I can identify and name three in New York City. I think I impressed him because he started to say nice stuff - like I'm beautiful and I'd really like to kiss you. Okay, so maybe he didn't actually say the second part, but I'm rather convinced he thought it. And if he didn't, I certainly did.

* For those following "The Script"actor guy is actually one of the characters in it.

"Have you ever read the book Blue Like Jazz?" I asked David the question as we were setting up camp.

"No, but it's on my list of books to read to score points with girls." We both laughed, but really, he wasn't joking. He seriously thought it might be a good book to read to help him get in with the ladies. I asked him what other books are on the list and he named 4 or 5 titles - names of books that didn't impress me (nor am able to recall 6 months after our camping trip).

I wouldn't say that Blue Like Jazz would win me over, but it would make me think that we could be friends - kind of like if you owned a pair of chocos, a surfboard, a guitar, or a private jet that you like to take your friends on trips in. But we could also be friends if you have facebook.

The reason I am friends with David is because he has facebook and he owns a whole lot of rockclimbing equipment. I'm serious on this.





For those following "the Script," I didn't like it today. A scene took place that I didn't know about until much later in the day and it annoyed me that it had taken place at all. I wanted more control of the Script, but there are now more actors involved so I'm going to be in fewer scenes, and I'm not going to know all of the dialogue taking place.

new blog

Ice Ice Baby

“Hey Shannen, what do you think of when you hear the word, word?” I had just returned from a run and had been considering the word, word while I was out and about the city.

“Word up homey.” My roommate replied.

“And what does that mean?” I typed her answers as she spoke them.

“You know, something like, ‘What’s up G?’”

“And what does G mean?”

“Friend, boy, girl, it - it’s like a generic phrase for, ‘What’s up you?’”

“How do you know all of this?”

Shannen paused for a moment. “I don’t know. I’m a little white girl, raised in the ghetto until we moved when I was 10. The year after we moved…” Shannen went on to tell me the stories of two horrific crimes that took place in her childhood neighborhood shortly after she and her family had moved away. And I stopped typing. They are the kind of stories that would easily find their way into a Stephen King novel, but won’t find their way onto my blog.

She ended her recall by stating, “I’m glad we got out when we did.”

“I’m glad you did too.” I set my computer aside and hit the shower, thinking about Vanilla Ice, his bad eyebrow job, and the part at the end of his song that where he says, “Yo man, lets’ get out of here - word to your mother.”

Word to your mother? What does that even mean?

The reason I was overanalyzing the word, word is not simply because I’m a girl, and that’s what we do, but rather because tonight I went a different sort of run. You see, I’ve known for quite some time that I live in the Publishing Capital of the World – I just didn’t realize that I lived so close (i.e. within running distance) to two of the biggest publishing companies in the world – Random House at 56th & Broadway, and Harper Collins on East 53rd street between 5th and Madison.

And so this evening, after spending several hours researching publishers for my graduate work, I ran to the skyscraper homes of Random House and Harper Collins and did somewhat of a charismatic thing – I laid hands on the buildings and prayer walked around them on the adjacent sidewalk. I can’t tell you all that I prayed, mainly because some of it was in tongues, and so really, I couldn’t tell you even if I wanted to, but some of it was also rather personal – you know, like how it should be in a relationship with God.

But it was at Harper Collins on 53rd, that I really began to consider the significance of words – and I began to ponder the Scriptures – like at the beginning of John 1. The chapter starts off by saying, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was with God in the beginning.” This passage of Scripture use to confuse me as much as Vanilla Ice. Finally one day someone told me the “secret” that the Word was Jesus, and so really the passage was trying to say, that in the beginning was Jesus, and Jesus was with God, and Jesus was God.

Granted, it says later in the chapter, that the word became flesh and dwelled among us, and so I should have put two and two together, but I also should have known that when I signed up to take Hebrew in college it was study the Hebrew language – not the books of Hebrews.

(more to come)

Found It!

September 25th I started my search, and today – forty-eight days later – I finally found it! To be honest, my search has been less than intentional, yet I’ve been hopeful that our paths would eventually cross, and today, they did! I discovered it while I was out running along the Hudson River. I smiled when I read its sign – Pier 40.

The reason why Pier 40 is significant: well, you’ll have to read my September 25th entry to hear the whole story (a piece I’ll soon be posting for those of you who follow…)

But I will tell you, shortly after midnight on September 25th, my facebook status stated, “Katrina Blank got lost tonight and rather than watching a soccer game at pier 40, i ended up on a yacht at chelsea pier 59... sometimes it's not such a bad thing to be directionally challenged...”

The Office

"The sink in the kitchen has become problematic."

I'd like to say that this is quote from The Office, as in the television show, but oh no. It's a quote from my office. The words were spoken at this past week's staff meeting.

I honestly think I need to start recording some of what happens in our office and submit the content. Because on days like the day when my boss tells me, "You win a roll of duct tape!" And hands me one, explaining...

An hour or two later he pulled out a Jimbay from under his desk and started singing an impromptu song to the beat of his drum.

And then there are the times when the conversation just gets awkward - like back in September when a coworker started telling me about her yoga instructor. And that he might be someone she might want to set me up with... and her next line...

Missed Connection #2

Africa Craigslist > Ethiopia > Personals > Missed Connections

(more to come)

Nightomedy

I spoke with my Chicago friend again tonight. He was concerned that I might be high. I promised him that I wasn't, but I can understand his suspicion. In our phone conversation I giggled more than I ought. It started off okay - I told him a story that I thought was funny; he thought so too and affirmed my humor by laughing with me. But... then I kept going on with a part 2 to the story - kind of like an encore. And well, I kept giggling and he had stopped laughing at the end of part 1.

A few hours later, as I pondered my Chicago friend's, suspicion, I started giggling again. To which my roommate Shannen inquired, "Okay Roomie, what's going on in that head of yours?" It's not uncommon for Shannen to eavesdrop on my giggling - typically this occurs when I'm up writing some sort of nonsense that I hope the world (i.e. all 5 people who read my blog) will read and also chuckle - either inwardly or in a LOL sort of way.

But Shannen recently informed me that I also giggle in my sleep. I didn't know that was possible. Gosh, I must be dreaming up some pretty funny stuff at night. A scary dream at night is called a nightmare, but what do you call a funny dream? Perhaps a nightomedy? (nightmare + comedy = nightomedy)

Double Rainbow

This evening my second hottest guy friend introduced me and my roommate Shannen to an Irish man name Thomas, and to a band named Sarah & The Stanleys.

The introductions took place following a short stint at Bowery Electric where we watched a band called Brenn perform. The guys from Brenn, when not on tour, reside in Nashville, Tennessee - which is where I first attended one of their shows a year and a half ago. (I was in town co-emceeing a friend's wedding reception with a gal who I learned much later on is the Chief Religion Correspondent for FOX News; I'm glad I didn't know that then - I might have been intimidated.)

But it was at that Brenn show that I had my first dose of city luck, meeting a cute boy and going on two dates with him all within my short 3-day stay. For some reason I seem to have much better luck meeting guys in non So Cal cities - such as Paris, Chicago, and New York (definitely New York).

Although, tonight the only guys that I met are the ones that my second hottest guy friend introduced me to, which, to be honest, I can't even remember who he all introduced me to - I can only recall Thomas and Evan. Thomas is the Irish man and he oversees an amazing nonprofit called One Home Many Hopes that builds orphanages in Kenya. You can check out the website at http://www.onehomemanyhopes.org/

(In works)

The one they are working towards funding is to be built on a Coastal town north of Mombasa (which is where I celebrated my 26th birthday, snorkeling in the Indian Ocean). If you'd like to make a contribution...

And Evan, well, he doesn't so much work with orphans, but he certainly has a gift for bringing joy to the world by helping to create songs and videos that make people smile.

He plays keyboard in the group Sarah and The Stanleys,
(More to come)

They played at Rockwood Hall 2

When my second hottest guy friend told me about the band and insisted that I would love them, I knew that I would - simply based on the name of their group. You see, I had a camper once named Sarah Stanley, and she was one of my favorites. I think she was one of my favorites because she was perhaps even more random then me and we had the same taste in men - or at least one counselor in particular.

Sarah Stanley lives in Boston and I recently tried to convince her to NYC and go with me to a Halloween Party in Brooklyn. She wasn't able (so she says), but she told me...

Reservoir Part 2

Curwood Castle

For the Record

Me: I have some good news and some bad news.

Him: Okay. I'll take the good news first.

Me: The good news is, Michigan won today.

Him: Yeah, I know 67 to 65. I just caught the end of that game. So what's the bad news?

Me: The bad news is, I didn't get to see the game.

Him: You didn't get to see the triple overtime?

Me: What? They went into triple overtime?

Him: Yeah, what were you doing?

Me: Now I feel even more miserable about missing the game. I went to some chili cook of thing in Central Park with my roommate, but by the time we got there they were already out of chili.

A half hour later into the conversation...

"For the record, I was never interested in you."

I told this to my good guy friend very matter of factly. And it's true. I never was. There were a few times that I thought maybe I should be, but I wasn't. He has always been more like a brother to me - which is why we are probably still good friends and why he and his now wife asked me to read Scripture at their wedding 8 years ago. If I had different anatomy I probably would have been one of the groomsmen.

This evening, aside from Michigan football and their dysfunctional defense, we discussed guy/girl dynamics in friendships and in relationships, and somehow an old story surfaced - the time when he "tricked" me into going to his family cabin with him for the weekend.

I was 17 years old and working at Spring Hill Summer Camp in northern Michigan, and he invited me to go along with a group of camp staff to his cabin in Cadillac - except it ended up not being a group...

Tonight He Told Me...

Xena Princess Warrior

Someone texted me around 1 am this morning inquiring, “are you still on ca time?”

I texted back, “kind of – im now living in nyc – but have been staying up til 3 or 4 most nights… what’s up?”

Evidently that someone (i.e. a long, lost ex), didn’t get the memo that I had moved to NYC. To be honest, I was somewhat hoping to lose him in my cross country move – but only because I still owe him a beer from a competition that I lost a while ago. At this point I’d prefer not to buy him one, but we both agreed on the beer wage that was bet and since I lost, it’s only fair that I do.

A few minutes after the texting, a different “he” started a facebook conversation with me:

He - hey night owl

Me - ah yes, it’s true. i’m nocturnal.

He - i picture you as a vampire

Me - as a vampire – eh? as in buffy?

He - you are not that tough

Me - lol… and i won’t claim to be…

Mainly because I still hate that 12 years ago my second hottest guy friend compared me to Xena Princess Warrior – a character from a television show that I’ve never seen, but that apparently aired from 1995 to 2001. I think the Xena idea came to him one evening while we were at summer camp, playing a game called M&M Wars. I was wearing face paint and running through the woods on a mission to find a silver bucket without being captured and detained by enemy forces (i.e. 8 to 10 year old boys and their attractive 18 to 24 year old counselors.) Gosh, I miss the days of summer camp – and all the good looking guys that worked there…

But being called Xena - even if it was only a few times - is something that I do not miss. I know Xena was a princess and all, but the word warrior has too many masculine connotations attached to it for me to agree to it – I don’t want to be considered manly. Now Pocahontas, on the other hand, I proudly accepted that name.

Confession #2

I'd like to say that this confession involves something innocent - such as my current craving for a donut from #2 Donuts, located just off the 91 freeway in Riverside, California.

(in works)

The Resevoir

Cubicle Conversations

"It's smells like fried chicken by the copier."

I didn't smell anything out of the ordinary, but then again, I was about 15 feet away from the copier. I took Ray, my coworker, at his word, because I don't think he would be one to make up lies concerning certain miasmas hovering over the xerox machine.

Miasma isn't a word that I use a lot - mainly because I don't think that most people know what it means, and to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure I really do either.

But according to dictionary.com definition #2 it means

pollution in the atmosphere, esp noxious vapors from decomposing organic matter

I learned the word my freshmen year of high school when my friend Kimberlee and I would sit in the corner of our English class and pick paint chips of of the wall. (For the record, in case you were concerned, no, we didn't eat them.) Miasma was one of our vocabulary words that we had to study and learn for some test, and for some reason, Kimberlee really like that word.

I ran track with Kimberlee (well, I didn't run with her, I ran several minutes behind her; she was an all-state runner and I was - well, lets just say I was slow.) Kim would occasionally yell out the word miasma just for kicks, but I'm also convinced that on our 4 mile runs that she would yell it out when she passed by roadkill such a raccoon or deer rotting by the side of the road. I can't say for certain if she yelled this or not, because like I mentioned before, I was a much slower runner than she.

Everyone once in a while I get inspired to increase my vocabulary. Most recently it was when I studied for the GRE....

(In works)

But I also was prompted to consider increasing my vocabulary after the time a man at the post office tried to hit on me, but I didn't know the meaning of one of the words in his pick up line...

(In works)