I was taking care of business yesterday in the lavatory at a BJ’s in my hometown while my brother was buying his nutty, fruity, low-low-carbohydrate South Beach Diet bullshit. When my body had convinced me that said business had been completed, I turned around, arms akimbo, and began an adjudication of the results—a practice that is, at this point, a matter of ritual.

Don’t be horrified. Those who are in the know are in the know. A man, once in a while (every couple of days or multiple times in a given morning, depending on metabolism and other pertinent health factors), must allow himself a minute or two for some quiet fecal contemplation. It is a time of reflection, of introspection. It is a time of serenity, a time to willingly surrender oneself to the fate of one’s bowels. Bigger, shapelier harvests are desirable, while those that are smaller and fuzzier leave something to be desired. But a man must not lament the fruits of that which lies in close proximity to his loins. He may only blame himself—that is, his chosen fiber intake and his willingness to regularly elevate his heart rate. Saint Francis of Assisi once prayed, “Lord, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.” The short meditative period in question, then, is a unique opportunity to exercise Francis’ philosophy: if one finds oneself dissatisfied in staring downward, boxer-briefs about the ankles, one must recognize that the cause of disappointment is unchangeable—a done deal. Yet one must also recognize that he or she, if courageous enough, has the power to improve for the future through a healthier sleep regiment. And also lots and lots of oatmeal.

So the post-BM contemplation is a valuable psychological tool; the logic being that the minor disappointments overcome by such a practice prepare a person for the real conflicts of life: those nasty break-ups, a death in the family, the unstoppable popularity of celebrity gossip in all its manifestations.

But there’s a stumbling-block before us nowadays (by ‘us’ I refer to those folks who, like me, cherish the occasional moment of thoughtful solitude) and it’s these motherfucking sensor-operated public toilets. I had seen the movie Ransom before I’d ever used the toilets at BJ’s. But it was only when I stood up after doing my business and the thing flushed automatically that I felt the movie Ransom. I empathized with the movie Ransom. I suffered along with Tom Mullen, the man who, despite his wealth and power, became helpless in the hands of his son’s kidnappers—because, like Mel Gibson’s character, I have been robbed of that which is important to me. The invention of the sensor-operated toilet is a sin; venial or mortal standing remains to be determined.

Or maybe this is all a simple overreaction; maybe I’m making a big stink over nothing, excuse the terminology. All I know is this. There was a pressurized rush of water and the stall suddenly appeared as it had when I’d first entered. My tenure in the BJ’s men’s room had been totally disregarded by a blinking motion sensor where the toilet’s lever might have been. I paused for a moment then began to make myself once again presentable for the marketplace. But lingering was the feeling that I’d misplaced something, something neither very valuable nor expendable, and as I pushed open the door I was overcome by a sudden and powerful anxiety that has only started to taper off in the last few hours or so.

It is week number four

of the Campbell Soup Challenge.

My family and I have started walking

around our neighborhood twice a week.

Not only does it get us exercising, but

it is some great family bonding time!

When we were getting into bed the

other night, my husband told me that

he feels to have a lot more energy

lately.  I think it’s my four boys

getting him up off the couch and

cutting all of the fatty foods out.

(My boys are really pushing to

compete in the final challenge.)

They really love the Tasty 2-Step Chicken

dish.  And I love that it only

takes 20 minutes to prepare!

So far, it has been a great few weeks-

and we are looking forward to the months

ahead.

I am really hoping that this healthy

lifestyle will continue way beyond

the Campbell’s Challenge.

I have returned from Ecuador with nothing

but intentions to change the world. Silly?

Maybe. Impossible? Heck no. If I want to change

the world, why can’t I? Sure. I might just be just

one tiny 5ft person, but just look at Mother Theresa.

I spent the week living in poverty. And when I say

poverty, I mean it. We were the only house on the

street, and in theentire neighborhood, with running

water. The water was mainly for showering purposes.

The shower consisted of turning the water on and off

between rinsing and lathering. Interesting concept.

Ohh…and occasional stops of the water to wipe my

already very closed mouth off so the parasite water

didn’t some how sneak its way in.

We lived off about $1.60 a person each day.

Another interesting concept. We lived without

our cell phones, computers and TV’s. All of which

are some of my main essentials in life. But what a

nice feeling not having to worry about my email

or having a ton of missed calls. Very relaxing. Instead,

for a week, I lived the simple life.

(Quite different from Paris’ version.)

My eyes were opened to things that I was aware of,

but didn’t really understand. And truth is, I’ll, and

anyone currently reading this, never actually really

understand poverty. Because we will never really be

part of it. Thank gosh.But now that my eyes have

been opened to what is going on, I am ready, in

however freaking way possible to use what I learned,

and make a difference. Even if it’s simply reminding

my sister and friends to turn off their lights when

walking out of their rooms, or to turn the water off

in between brushing their teeth. It might be minor,

but it’s a start. And sometimes that is all it takes.

A minor start, to create something major. And I am up

for the challenge. So watch out world: because

Amanda is on the loose to do something extraordinary.

Today, I was minding my own business in the dining hall, waiting for some whole wheat pasta, (this was one of those rare occasions where they actually had any), when a boy from my creative writing class approached me with a fortune cookie. He only had half of it in his hand, the other half seemed to be in his mouth, and in mid-chew he mumbled a hello to me. I had always noticed him staring and smiling at me a lot in that class so I wasn’t too taken aback by him approaching me. But before we could get any of that awkward small talk underway, he looked down at his cookie, like it was a prop, and smiling, with pieces of cookie showing, said “Hey, let me open this so we can see what kinda fortune I got!”

Suddenly, I noticed his smile fade as he kept staring at his hand. Upon closer examination we both realized that there was no fortune inside. He started yelping, “OMG, Did I just eat it? I must have swallowed it!” He tried to salvage whatever fortune might have still been in his mouth by attempting to pull it out with his hands, but when he saw me blatantly watching this spectacle, I guess he realized there wouldn’t be any suave way to pull this off, so he said, “Actually I think I’ll just swallow it… yea I’ll just swallow the rest, that’ll be easier.”

Okay, so I was still standing there waiting for the pasta man to come over, and the situation was getting more uncomfortable by the minute… but I figured that after this kid just ate the meat and potatoes of his conversational prop, it really couldn’t get much worse. I was wrong.

He abandoned the remaining piece of fortune cookie and started trying to cut through a pizza pie to get a slice. The thing is, his hand couldn’t stop shaking and that, in combination with the shitty pizza cutting tools, made it practically impossible for him to cut out a slice. Eventually, magically, he retrieved the pizza and put it on his plate. Then, for some reason beyond my comprehension, he tipped the plate over and we both watched in horror as the pizza slipped out and fell on the floor.

So now, there’s him, there’s the pizza in the middle of us, and there’s me. We both just stared at it for a long time without saying anything.

He looked up after a few seconds, still glazed over with horror and burst out, “So this is what happens when I try to talk to you outside of class! I make an ass out of myself!”

In between my laughter I tried to convince him that it’s not that bad, I’ve seen worse.

I don’t think either of us believed it.

I finally got the attention of the pasta guy and as he handed me my plate, I was preparing to give this boy a friendly pat on the shoulder and a smile and walk away before he slipped on a banana peel or something. But before I had the chance to, one of his frat brothers approached him and yelled “Heeeeey, good seeing you downtown last night. Yo, we should get together more often and try to cop some ass, whadya think?” Before he answered him, my new friend just looked at me with a face of sheer desperation.

This is definitely going places. Friends and family: expect a wedding invitation in the very near future.

My roommate has told me on several occasions that I’d better speak at his funeral. I guess he fancies me the eloquent sort. He swears that his life has reached its twilight and that he needs a DUI or two to begin his descent into narcotics addiction or alcoholism or both. Both would be pretty glorious because then he could wake up in the morning to a tall glass of whiskey with a few grams of that blowcaine mixed in, just like Gregg Allman. Was that Gregg Allman? Maybe it was Stevie Ray Vaughan–It’s not important, Tim doesn’t like classic rock so he wouldn’t ever do it.

            In any case, the way Mark (which is what I’ll call him) sees it, he will be dead soon and wants me to say my piece during his funeral. But this is what I’m saying: what if I can’t make it to his funeral? There might be shit to do. I might have homework due the next day, and, worse, it would be very selfish of him to die during finals. And forget it if I have a hot date—if I have a hot date and then an exam a couple of days later then we’re gonna have to worry about me even showing up to the wake. Especially if he’s going to be wearing his septum piercing because I hate that shit and it’s gonna look even worse on his corpse.

            Mark, if you are reading this: make arrangements to have your septum piercing out before you die, because I can’t be expected to wear nice clothes and to look at that garbage. You might have to cover up the Of Montreal tattoo as well. Also, will your coffin walls be covered in boogers like your bedroom walls at home?

            This is my problem, then. It’s presumptuous to ask me to speak at a funeral if my attendance thereof isn’t a done deal in itself. What would I even say?

            “Mark didn’t masturbate, friends. Instead, he passionately humped his bed like a half-asleep thirteen year old forcing a wet dream—true story. This is probably the reason why his room smelled.

“Also, despite the fact that he was Korean, he was incredibly preoccupied with race and would inevitably mock you if you weren’t white or black. You see, he was used to white people and intimidated by black people. Mark, out of what he thought to be sheer selflessness, would even slide into what he considered an African-American accent whenever he ordered from the West Philly McDonalds. To witness such a thing was unspeakably uncomfortable.

“But, lo! Mark was unique, and uniqueness makes the world go ‘round.”

I suppose it would sound something like that. It might suck, but only because he sucks. Oh, I also forgot to mention: Mark—if you’re going to die before the lease is up then you need to find a replacement roommate. Otherwise I’ll tell people about those two DVDs buried in your stack of CD-Rs. You know, those movies that would be funny if you only had one— but, since you have two, it’s just plain unsettling?

Eeep.I leave for Ecuador in um,well…SOON! Flight takesoff at 5am. Craziness.  It willbe my first plane ride. How exciting!I am just about finished all ofmy packing. My stomach is inknots that I will forget somethingtotally important. And than I’min South America…stranded…withoutit. Booo.I have about 10 millioncheck-off lists…and I think I amgood to go.  That is…untilI arrive in my destination spot…without that one item sitting on mydesk.  Isn’t it inevitable thatwhenever someone travels theyare BOUND to forget one tiny object?Nuff’ talking ’bout that.I am ecstatic.  The unexpectedawaits…and I love it!I actually kind of hating home.In fear of missing something huge.I dunno. It’s rather silly-but it gets meallll worked up.  But I’ll be makingmemories of a lifetime in someforeign country, where I don’tspeak a lick of Spanish.I mean, I know Hola…but doesthat even count these days?So I’m signing offline, somethingI never, ever, ever doooo, for thenext ten days.No Google,  Perez, Fug,Advice Vixens, Email,and everything else the web allowsme to do.Plus. No phone.Basically no communication.Except for the human beingsthat I’m going on the tripwith. Shall be interesting.I’ll be filling all the nitty grittydetails in when I return.Until than…this media obsessedchica is signing off.Holla.

I Believe. . .

-That Kelly Taylor shouldn’t have slept with Dylan

while Brenda and him were dating.

I Believe. . .

- That it is okay to wait until the last minute sometimes.

I Believe. . .

- That complaining makes me feel better.

I Believe. . .

-In marrying my shoes some day. . .

(This one’s for you!)

I Believe. . .

-That my friends are part of my family.

I Believe. . .

-In changing my room around a bunch

of times to keep things interesting.

I Believe. . .

-That I am always right…even though I’m really not.

What do you believe in this week. . .?

Ok, I don’t care how embarrassing and horrible this is, but I have to admit something. I am in love with “Leavin,” the new song by Jesse McCartney. Yes, I said Jesse McCartney. Wait, I forget that some people may not know who he is. He’s basically Aaron Carter, but sings instead rapping. He starred in Summerland and was a member of that twinky boy band, Dream Street. I know this may seem bad, but this song is actually really good. It is produced by The Dream (infamous for “Umbrella,” which I know everyone knows), who is an up-and-coming producer/my new fave! Please check this song out. If you hate it, then I promise I will let you shun me. (I was going to put a link to youtube but it isn’t loading for me right now).

Oh, and here are some other tracks that I am currently listening to just in case you were wondering. haha.

“Touch My Body”- Mariah Carey. It’s the new single off Mimi’s new album. It is sooo good, and it is produced by The Dream

“American Boy”- Estelle. Amazing. Estelle is a British rapper/singer and is under the wings of Kanye West. Amazing. I can’t say anything else.

“With You”- Chris Brown. I know this song is a little old, but I just developed this obessesion with Chris Brown now that he’s legal and all.

“Down”- Chris Brown Feat. Kanye. Yeah, it’s a bad obsession.

If you’re an LCD Soundsystem fan, check out The Whitest Boy Alive. I love them!

I leave for Ecuador on March 1st.

It’s a Spring Break Emersion Trip

through school. I have no idea

what to expect, or what awaits.

Last year, I attended Project

Appalachia in West Virginia.

Here is a little somethin’ somethin’

about my previous experience. . .

Stepping out of the over crowded Cabrini van, packed with eleven tired, hungry and anxious students my heart began to beat a little faster than usual. As I stretched my aching legs and rubbed my eyes I took a deep breath as I looked into the mountainous view. I remember thinking, “This is West Virginia.” I was so excited, yet so scared of what was in store for me all week. I was not the kind of girl to get down and dirty, unless it was on the dance floor or singing karaoke. I was an expert in shopping and picking out cute shoes, not at hammering and putting a house together.

Not only was I unaware of what was to come, but I also could not seem to get the thought of showering in a community center out of my head. The thought alone had been creeping up on me since November when I heard that we would be taking showers in a gym like facility all week long. However, I kept a positive mind set, as I had been trying to do since early in October when we started preparing, and helped unpack the vans.

With my bright pink Vera Bradley bags lugged across my shoulders, Uggs on the feet, I entered the small little house that was going to be me home for the next five days. The first step inside I was hit with a very unfamiliar, uneasy smell. It was a hard smell. Stale. Unclean. Nauseating. I wanted to get sick. I am very sensitive to smells. Everything makes my stomach do flip flops. I could already feel my head starting to hurt. I saw the dust piled on the floor, and my normally very tiny eyes widened.

“What did I get myself into?” I thought.

I grabbed the Fabreeze that my roommate and I so cleverly packed, and sprayed the house quickly, trying not to gag all at the same time. I placed my bags my down, and looked around. I needed to get a real feel for the place. I needed to feel comfortable. I kept telling myself that it was only going to be a couple of days and that I would be fine. I tried to convince myself, but it did not seem work. Just as all of these negative feelings were going through my body, I began to walk out the door to load up and bring in more of the goodies. At this very moment, Harry, the man who would be living and helping us all week, smiled at me. It was such a warm and welcoming smile. He extended a hand and oh so quickly took it away and leaned in for a hug.

Walking back outside into the West Virginia air, I knew that I was in good hands for the week.

Monday morning came so fast. Or should I say that 7o’clock in the morning came even faster. Everyone was so exhausted, yet so excited. It was a struggle waking everyone up and getting a move on. But the task was completed, and we were soon on our way. I volunteered, along with three other students to ride in the truck with Wayne. Wayne, like Harry came to help us. He was from Greensburg, North Carolina and he had the most perfect southern draw. He wore a different colored plaid shirt every day. And blue jeans with a splash of white paint scattered about. He had ashy grey hair that just sat on the top of his head. It was never combed to the side or parted any certain way. It just fell there with a few strands out of place that he never seemed to care about.

“Have I told you this story before…” Wayne said ten minutes after our first encounter.

Our group laughed at his ease. Obviously we had not heard his story before considering the little time we had known him. At that point, I had no idea just how many infamous “Wayne stories” I would be hearing.

The drive was an hour from the house we were staying to the place we would be working on. But the very first ride to the worksite seemed more like fifteen minutes. Thanks to Wayne.

Our entire truck full could not seem to ask enough, or hear enough. Our questions ranged anywhere from coalmines to the different structure of the houses that stood before us. He told us about his family and his passion for singing in some men’s choir back home. We even talked about the books his wife liked to read.

“Wayne, how can this change? How is it fair that one house is barely standing up still and the house next door looks like the Queen would be living in it?”

Wayne thought for a second. Than he shot back with the most simple answer.

“Do something about it,” He said.

Four very little words.

The minute we got to the worksite where we would be re-building a house that had been burnt down, I could not wait to work side by side with Wayne. I knew that this would be somewhat of a struggle though since there were so many of us, and only two of them. Wayne and Harry. I was persistent at getting the chance to do some type of task with Wayne.

Finally Wayne had a job for me. Me and one of the other students were getting the opportunity to build a picnic bench for us and all the other groups that would be coming to the worksite to eat lunch on. I didn’t even pass Wood Shop in 7^th grade, and now Wayne trusted me to help build a table that people would be sitting on.

His patience was just what Nicole and I needed. No matter what we did or how awful our table was coming along, Wayne encouraged us and continually told us how great it looked. Nicole and I would tease Wayne and goof around about our drill bits and how it was “Big Blue’s” fault that our screw didn’t go in right the first time. (Big Blue was the very uncool drill that went a little out of control at times.) I never thought that it would take so long to make a picnic table. But to the contrary, it took us practically an entire work day to complete it. The others in our group were doing far more exciting things, such as lifting this huge beam above their heads, and actually doing work on the house. However, Wayne never seemed to even notice that he was not taking part in any of it. He was so content with just building the picnic table with us and taking his time until it was just right. We would mess up a lot, and he would say,

“Just put the drill in reverse and do it again, you’re awesome!”

Friday morning was here before we knew it. The day we had to say our goodbyes to Harry and Wayne. Our goodbye to each other, and to our little house that I was not so keen about even living in. I did not want the other group of people who would be arriving the week after us to be living in “our” house and cooking in “our” kitchen.

Thursday night felt so surreal. I could not believe that in only a couple of hours we would be leaving Gilbert, West Virginia and going back to Cabrini. I didn’t even know a life like West Virginia existed, or a life with me in West Virginia was even possible, and now I was unsure of going back to the life I always knew. A huge part of me could not wait to get back and to tell my parents every tiny detail that went on. Than this other huge part of me wanted to keep having more moments and more memories.

A month after our return, our group found out that we would be going back to finish up on the house.

“YES!”

We are going back, and again, a million thoughts are rushing over me. I cannot wait to meet back up with all of the amazing people that I traveled there in the first place with. I could not wait to go back and see Wayne, who yes, will be returning with us. It was supposed to be a secret, but lets be serious…Wayne? Keep a secret? I don’t think so.

Twenty-two students gave up their Spring Break. Gave up the chance to party hard at the beach and drink until the sun came up. And Wayne and Harry. Two men who lived with a group of college students for an entire week and seemed to love every minute of it. Never complained or had one bad thing to say about any of us. At least to our faces! And Wayne especially, the real outsider of this entire thing, participated so openly and freely. Even when it meant playing in our sing-a-long night, long after Harry had already gone to bed.

“Here I have a song for ya’ll, I don’t know if I remember all the words.”

We all looked around and smiled.

“Have a little faith in Jesus…have a little faith in me…” he sang so proudly and willingly as he tapped his hands on his leg.

Now that’s what I call a miracle.

Stay tuned for the story when I return

from Ecuador in a few weeks.

Yesterday, I was walking with a classmate Tori, and she begins to tell me a story about our professor. She tells me that this professor, he, told another student in the class that she was the best student in the class and that he would be honored to let her intern for him. I was shocked! He told me the same exact thing last week!

I didn’t want to say anything because I didn’t want to steal this girl’s limelight (and because I had just failed the midterm for the class so I didn’t have good evidence to back up my story). Then Tori confesses that he told her the same thing last class. WHAT THE HELL?!?! I told her about my experience with him and she was floored. How rude of him to make us feel special and loved? Needless to say we both feel betrayed and we vow to never have anything to do with him when I am done with this class!

Oh, Tori doesn’t know that I am using him as an advisor. Hehe