Rebel with a Cause.

I wish I had more time to blog... but because I have now taken (almost) permanent residence in the art studio so I could work on the pieces for my show (in 25 days... AH), I have not had much time to blog about my life on my other blog or about my awkward moments on this blog... but nonetheless, I have had some very awkward moments since my last post.

So, now I am presenting to you on my small break from art making, TWO awkward moments. Enjoy. This is quite a treat... for both me and hopefully you.

Well, like I said, I have taken ALMOST permanent residence in my art studio, which is on campus in the art building. Well, I spend a TON of time there. I try to get there between 7 am and 9 am most mornings and I try to stay for at least 6 hours. Some days, I am literally there for 12 hours. Well, one Friday night, I was really focused and didn't want to leave. I had been in the studio since 10 am at it was already about 11 pm when I decided I was going to stay for a few more hours. It never occurred to me that this might be a problem... I figured, "Well, you have to have an ID card to even get into this studio, I'm not bothering anyone or being loud, staying till the middle of the night will not be a big deal." 11:50 rolled around and in walked public safety... this is what happened next:

PS: The building closes in ten minutes. You'll need to pack up your things and head out before then.

Me: Um, I am actually a BFA student and I have an art show next month, I am here all alone just working on my project. Would it be okay if I stayed a little bit longer?

PS: No, sorry, you'll have to leave. School policy.

Me: Seriously?

PS: Yep. (turns around and walks out)

On normal circumstances, I would spend a couple more minutes working on my art, clean-up, then leave like a good, compliant girl. I was NOT feeling compliant... and I was very annoyed he disturbed me in the middle of painting and was making me leave. I decided to stay... but how?

I hid. Yep... I turned off the lights in my studio, took my computer into the bathroom right next door, and stayed in there for 20-25 minutes looking up the national geographic pictures of the day and reading PostSecret entries. By the time I walked out of the bathroom, the building was officially closed... I was in the clear!

I went back into my art studio and went back to work... but I obviously forgot about the HUGE windows in the studio (without curtains). At 1:20, I hear the studio door open again... and in walked the same public safety officer that gave me my warning... this is how THAT conversation went:

PS: I told you an hour and a half ago that you needed to leave.

Me: I know, I am really sorry, but I have so much work to do and I am really not bothering anyone.

PS: It's school policy... It's MY job to make sure nothing shady is going on.

Me: Nothing shady is going on. I am just painting by myself... not smoking in the bathrooms, stealing materials, or destroying property. I know there are a lot of other things going on on campus that are way more serious than me being in this studio.

PS: I don't appreciate your tone... do you know I could report you to student integrity for insubordination? Pack up your things NOW.

I rolled my eyes... I know, I know, I shouldn't have... but what happened after this? He physically ESCORTED me OUT of the building, watched me get into my car, and drive off. What a PUNK. The one time I feel I had a legitimate cause to break rules, I get escorted by public safety and threatened with a visit to student integrity... dumb.

Second story? Not as good... BUT awkward nonetheless. I just finished my shopping at Baker's (a grocery store here in Omaha), and after I loaded everything into my car, I looked to my left... at the back corner of the parking lot, I saw a man and a woman loading a grocery cart into their van. Yep... an entire grocery cart. I could not help but watch them. After about 15 seconds or so, they stopped, looked over at me, and I immediately felt awkward (this was a sketchy Baker's...), got into my car, and drove off... right past them... and they STARED me down. I made sure they didn't follow me home. Why would someone want a grocery cart? Hmm...

Sprinklers.

I had a horrible day yesterday... really, just horrendous. That's a completely different story though. But for background sake, I was on campus in the art building from 8am until 10:30 pm. I love art, but this was not my idea of a fun time, but whatever.

Outside the art building, there is this little field/lawn area right next to the street where I parked. Now, there is a sidewalk that goes around the entire field to the street, but it takes you way out of your way. When I normally park on the street, I just cut across the field and walk on the grass. No biggie. A little bit of a shortcut. Well, after last night, I may rethink taking this shortcut...

When I left, like I said before, it was 10:30 pm and super dark out. I walked outside and began walking through the lawn to my car while simultaneously texting. Well, as soon as I was a little less than halfway across the lawn, all the automatic sprinklers in the grass come up and turn on. I am SURROUNDED by sprinklers at this point and just getting soaked. I just ran and tried getting to my car as fast as I could. My bag, all my papers, my clothes, but luckily not my phone, were drenched. Best part of me getting caught in the sprinklers? Public safety rode by on their bikes and just laughed at me.

Wow... first week of school and I am already making a fool of myself. Awesome.

Yet another retail adventure...

As most of you know, especially due to the mass numbers of blogs I have written about my current employer, I work in retail. I have discovered that working in retail is SO much more than just selling clothes and accessories... it means you have to deal with some of the weirdest people on the face of the planet. I have to deal with stupid questions, awkward comments, and embarrassing situations at least three days a week. LUCKY ME. Here are a few of my most recent encounters with some of the shoppers...

1. An older man came in with his two, YOUNG, female escorts and allotted them each $1500 to spend. Together, they spent $700. Now, If I was a female escort and obviously did not care about this man or how I was perceived, I would have spent EVERY LAST PENNY of my $1500 share... but I'm just saying.

2. I helped yet another older couple pick out lingerie. I never know what to do when this happens... I for sure blush, I know that. I just got really awkward because they weren't really using the best language or the most appropriate terms when discussing the lingerie, it's fit, the purpose, etc... you get what I'm trying to say. But without going into too much detail, the husband dropped over $300 on his wife... I am one darn good salesperson.

3. Chubby Little kid: "Ummmm... do, ummm, do you, ummm bathroom, um, have a bathrooooom?!" By the end, he was basically screaming. Sorry to tell you kid, but we don't... and it's not polite to scream at people.

4. A regular shopper, let's call her Leslie, called the other day... and I was the lucky one to answer. She asks for one of our managers who wasn't there... "That's okay, YOU can help me, Ah hahahahahaha!" She starts naming off all these things she is looking for: different items, designers, and companies. "Just set them aside for me! Pick out what you think will look good!" I had no idea what she looked like. "I'm a mom though though... and you know, things kind of shift and sag. Hahahahaha!" Ew. Way too much information. "I also get hot flashes so nothing too heavy, hahaha!" Wow, she laughed a lot... actually it was more like a cackle. After about ten minutes on the phone with her, we finally hung up and I began my search for the mom-like, anti-hot flash clothing in size I have no clue. I picked out about twenty different items and she stopped in about an hour later to try them on. First of all, I guess this woman used to be a model, so in her heels, she was about 6'2''... WAY shorter than me. Good thing I grabbed mediums and larges. The entire time she was trying things on, she would just be laughing all by herself and making beyond random comments. At one point, she came out to ask my opinion on a top, and she looks me dead in the eye and says, "Hey, do you have any drinks in the back? Would you mind running over next door to M's pub and grabbing me a cocktail? You know, long day with the kids, hahahaha!" I had no idea if she was serious or not... I didn't get her one though. She ended up dropping a significant amount of money, but she was one of the craziest and spastic people I have ever met in my entire life... with the craziest cackle.

5. What a mom said to me when I was helping her and her daughter find a homecoming dress: "These are all so cute! How are we supposed to choose? What are you wearing to homecoming?" She was looking straight at me for my response... yep, once again I was mistaken for a teenager... "Oh, I am actually 22." "Oh, I'm sorry! Well, good news is that if you wanted to crash a homecoming, no one would notice!" Strangest compliment I have gotten in a long time.

Winking.

Here's a little fun fact about Beth Cavender:

She feels really awkward when people wink at her. She gets all flustered and tends to blush really bad... especially when boys do it. Don't know why, it just happens. It reminds her of creepy men who have dirty minds.

If you wink at her, she will get awkward.

Why Parents Drink

This is an amazing hilarious, and beyond awkward, email I received from my oldest sister. I normally HATE forwards, but I was really intrigued by the title, "Why Parents Drink". Sounded funny. So I read on.

After reading this, I thought, "OH MY GOSH. HOW BRILLIANT!?" I really wanted to do something similar to my family (mainly my dad or mom) after, but then I realized that my sister sent it to them too. I am plotting for something in the future. Let me know if you have any great ideas for me!

Why Parents Drink A father passing by his son's bedroom was astonished to see that his bed was nicely made and everything was picked up. Then he saw an envelope, propped up prominently on the pillow that was addressed to 'Dad.' With the worst premonition he opened the envelope with trembling hands and read the letter. Dear Dad: It is with great regret and sorrow that I'm writing you. I had to elope with my new girlfriend because I wanted to avoid a scene with Mom and you. I have been finding real passion with Stacy and she is so nice. But I knew you would not approve of her because of all her piercing, tattoos, tight motorcycle clothes and the fact that she is much older than I am. But it' s not only the passion...Dad she's pregnant. Stacy said that we will be very happy. She owns a trailer in the woods and has a stack of firewood for the whole winter. We share a dream of having many more children. Stacy has opened my eyes to the fact that marijuana doesn't really hurt anyone. We'll be growing it for ourselves and trading it with the other people that live nearby for cocaine and ecstasy. In the meantime we will pray that science will find a cure for AIDS so Stacy can get better. She deserves it. Don't worry Dad. I'm 15 and I know how to take care of myself. Someday I'm sure that we will be back to visit so that you can get to know your grandchildren. Love, Your Son John PS. Dad, none of the above is true. I'm over at Tommy's house. I Just wanted to remind you that there are worse things in life than a Report card That's in my center desk drawer. I love you. Call me when it's safe to come home

Indie Athleticism

It might not come as a big surprise to most when I say that I am sort of the “philosophical” type… slightly pensive, artistic, and introspective. Most would assume that I would rather read a book, listen to my weird, indie music, or paint a picture than anything else. Those people would also assume that because of this, I have no athletic ability. That my boyfriend jeans, band t-shirts, and thick-framed glasses would get in the way. That my Toms shoes might not let me run as fast as I would like. That I might fall (very likely) and injure my right hand, making art an impossible task. That I would cry my emo tears and write a deep, meaningful song on my acoustic guitar about my depression and sense of “lostness” in this vast, empty world.

Well… you are not 100% correct. I don’t play the guitar.

Ha, I’m kidding.

But seriously.

I actually love sports. I am actually pretty competitive and pretty decent once I get into whatever I am playing. There are of course some sports I enjoy more than others, but I will honestly never turn down the opportunity to watch a game/match on TV or in person. Even in regards to playing sports, I will play mostly anything… unless it’s basketball. I honestly really suck at basketball. However, my past might not be the best showing of my athleticism but rather support the stereotype that most have of me. And thus, another BETHISM is born.

My parents signed me up for a bunch of sports when I was younger. Following in the footsteps of my sisters, I played soccer, softball, and I was a swimmer. I legitimately think I had ADHD. I was so hyperactive, outgoing, and had a really hard time concentrating. I remember my soccer coach telling me one day before a game that he wanted me to focus more… so he made me goalie. Well, in my opinion, if a kid is hyperactive and has a hard time staying still and concentrating, you should be running them on the field as much as possible. Yeah, life would have agreed too. I was a HORRIBLE goalie. I chased butterflies just to keep moving. Same with softball… awesome pitcher and shortstop, but the minute you put me in the outfield, I drew pictures in the sand. Swimming? I think I was just too short for it… I lasted until 5^th grade with softball and 7^th grade with soccer. Oh, and don’t let me forget to tell you about the time my dad gave me too many lemon drops before a soccer game and some girl kicked the ball right at my stomach and I threw up everywhere. Truth.

Oh, and I did gymnastics… for a year… and then I accidentally peed my pants on the trampoline and was too embarrassed to go back. And no, this was not when I was a teenager.

I also a danced for 11 years. Ballet, jazz, and hip-hop mostly. This was really where I should have stayed.

Picture this: Gym class in 8^th grade. We are playing kickball. I really didn’t want to play. Not because I didn’t like kickball but more so because I didn’t like a few of my team members. Yep, super mature, I know. I went to play outfield. Well, the people on the other team really sucked and were just bunting and tripping over the huge kickball inning after inning. I was so bored and really annoyed so I basically just stopped paying attention and began to space out. I don’t know how long I spaced out for, but the next thing I knew, I just heard, “Watch out!” I looked up and all I saw falling down from the sky was that large red orb, that demon kickball. Yep, it hit me right in the face. Me? I fell to the ground… right along with that kickball.

After the mile run, a boy threw up on my shoe. How people throw up after running one mile just boggles me.

Another incident? Tennis. Okay, tennis is really the one sport I really don’t enjoy at all. I hate watching it AND playing it. But naturally, gym teachers love forcing you to play games and sports you hate doing… so, in gym we played tennis. Well, as I was walking to the court I was assigned to, I accidentally walked right in front of the machine that shoots out the tennis balls. I got hit right in the back and fell down. This seems to be a theme. Yeah, obviously 8^th grade wasn’t my best year.

Instead of quitting swimming all together, I decided to start diving when I was in 8^th grade. I remember my high school diving team experience like it was yesterday… running laps and laps around the track, doing bleacher exercises, countless lunges, and practicing dive after dive after dive until I got it perfectly. I was so beat up after pre-training that I had bruises running from my Achilles’ tendon up to my lower back from hitting the water. This wasn’t just me, but everyone on my team. My English teacher has suspicions of child abuse at my home so she referred me to the guidance counselor. Unfortunately, I had to break the news that it was not my mom or my dad but rather my diving coach and that gosh-forsaken pool. Not only did I have bruises but I dislocated 7 fingers, both of my ankles, and I cracked my head open… all from hitting the board. My “favorite” memory? Practicing 2 ½’s. Only one other girl could do this on the team and she was phenomenal. My coach was a crazy person, and whenever someone hit the water wrong, started crying, or said they didn’t want to do a dive anymore, he would, inevitably, make us do it again. So, when I did my two and a half and hit the water harder than I ever had before… on my FACE… I started crying. He walked over to me, looks straight at me and asks, “You wanna do that again?” I, in between sobs, stammer out, “y… ye… yesssss.” He just started laughing and didn’t make me do it again. Yes became my routine answer after this trick had work.

Even in intramurals throughout high school and college, my athleticism did not seem to be quite up to par. Like the time I was thrown out of my flag football game freshman year at Creighton, when someone tackled me in ultimate frisbee and pulled my pants down with them as they fell to the ground. Or the time I ran into a giant electrical box chasing after one of those fireworks that shoots out a parachute.

I love sports… but sometimes, especially during these times of proven Bethisms, it might just be better to proclaim that I am just your average, indoor, artsy type.

Nocturnal Road Trip

I am currently back in Chicago. I haven't been home since Christmas, so I thought it would be nice to return back to my stomping grounds for a weekend and just spend some time with my mom and oldest sister. Well, I am not the most rational person in the world, so the planning of this trip home was, to say the least, not that well thought out. I had two options in my head: 1) to leave right after work (at 9:30 pm) on Thursday night or 2) leave super early on Friday morning. I debated back and fourth for awhile, taking into consideration a number of things. It's about an 8-hour drive from Omaha. If I left by 10 pm once I got home from work, I would have to drive through the night and I wouldn't get in until about 6 am. However, if I got in at that time, my mom would already be at work and I could just essentially sleep until she got home, that way, when she got home, I would be ready to spend the rest of the afternoon with her. The thought of driving through the night did not sound appealing, however, so I considered the second option. If I left really early, I would be all rested up, wouldn't have to drive eight hours in the dark, and would get home at about the same time my mom would be getting home from work. Well, for some reason, I just decided to leave Thursday night after work and drive through the night... again, I am irrational in so many ways.

Here is how my trip went.

I left a little before 10 pm by the time I went back to my apartment, ate something super quick, and grabbed some last minute things before my adventure. Now, I don't know how many have actually driven to Chicago from Omaha, but the drive really sucks. Normally I don't mind it too much because it is a good time for me think about things, clear my head, pray and listen to some sermons, and bust out to whatever music I want, but even with these things taken into consideration, the drive is still awful. ESPECIALLY the two-hour trek to Des Moines. For some reason, those first two hours are just the worst. They just drag on and on and on. Once I make it to Des Moines, it normally goes by pretty fast. Well, luckily my good friend Josh called me and stayed on the phone with me for 45-minutes on my way to Des Moines, but after that, things started going downhill...

In Des Moines, I stopped at a gas station for coffee #1. After I filled my car up with gas, I walked up to the station and outside was one of the employees smoking. I thought this man was going to cough up a lung... he was just coughing SO hard and it completely grossed me out, but I walked passed him and went inside. I got my coffee, a bottle of water, and went to the register to pay. The man walked inside once he realized I was waiting and began to ring my things up. Right before I handed him my money, he looks at me and says, "I'm sorry, I think I'm going to be sick..." and low-and-behold, he grabbed a trashcan and just lost it. Yep, he threw up in front of me. There was a sink nearby and I grabbed him some papertowels and water to clean up. After I made sure he was okay, I just handed him my $5 and told him to keep the change. I left, got back into my car, and was back on the interstate ready to face the remaining 6 hours of my trip home... and then 10 miles later, I realized I left my coffee at the gas station. GOSH DANG IT. This was going to be a long trip.

Here is a series of other events that occurred on my trip out:
- I hit a bat. Yep, I hit a bat. It flew right into my windshield and freaked the heck out of me. I have only hit on animal before with my car in my entire life, so I was a little traumatized.
- I had this ongoing fear that I was either going to get in a car accident involving two creepy semi-drivers who were stalking me, that I was going to be raped by a semi driver, or fear that my front two tries would fall off my car, I would fly through the window, and then get run over by my car and then my head would get run over by a semi. I don't know what it is about semis, but I obviously have an immense fear of them and their stereotypical handlers. I blame this entire fearful situation to Josh Laughlin.
- I was nervous I was going to hit a deer. There is an insane number of deer in Iowa, so driving at night and passing by numerous scenes of "deer splatterings" on the interstate, I was nervous something like that would happen to me. Obviously I am just living in fear.
- My iPod broke. That sucked. I went old school and just listened to a crapload of CD's. It was pretty great.
- I started getting SUPER giddy at about 3 in the morning... like just laughing to myself, singing super loud, and just going nuts. Pretty glad no one was there to witness it because I probably should be really embarrassed.
- I had a pretty awesome discussion with a FedEx truck driver when I got coffee #3 in DeKalb, Illinois. We were both waiting for the new pot of coffee to finish brewing an he looks down at my feet. He notices my tattoo and asks me what the scripture was. I told him what it was and he just kept asking me questions like why I decided to get it, why I got it in that specific spot, what those verses mean to me, etc. After telling me about this, he told me, "Well, I thought I was going to get a Bible verse tattoo too. You know, John 3:16." Then he started going on and on about how that verse talks about being a light in the world. I felt bad because that isn't at all what that verse talks about, but I just listened to him talk. He was a pretty funny and goofy guy. Interesting talk with him about faith and life.

I got home at 6 am... it's funny how I left Omaha just when the sun completely went down and I arrived in Chicago right after sunrise.

Then I slept till 2 pm.

NEVER doing that again.