"Do You Sell Weed?"

I was bagging a dress at work a few weeks ago, when an innocent-looking boy, no more than nine years old, approached me.

"Excuse me, do you sell weed?" he asked.

"I'm sorry...?" I said, really puzzled.

"Do you sell weed?" he repeated.

Was this kid screwing around with me? How disrespectful did anyone have to be to ask somebody working at a dress shop if they sold weed at the store?

"Excuse me??"

I was ready to lash out at this boy, tell him that we in fact didn't sell weed and a whole bunch of other harsh things, but then he pointed to an object behind me.

I turned around to see a Wii. There was a promotion going on at work where customers could win a Wii.

He wanted a Wii - not weed.

Oops...

Religious Pamphlet

I was going to sit on a bench at the mall on Sunday, when this middle-aged couple randomly came up to me, handed me a religious pamphlet, and said, "God loves you!" and "God bless you!"

So I sat down on the bench with a pamphlet in my hand.

Half-naked

There's a half-naked guy that I've seen walking around school frequently. He walks around in gym shorts, black slippers, shades, a hat, and a back pack over his bare torso.

And that's it.

What F*cking Radio???

So I'm on the bus going to school Thursday morning, and on the fifth stop a swarm of people enter the bus. This one guy ends up sitting behind me and I hear him say, "I'm gonna break that f*cking radio."

Ooookay, whatever... he's probably on the phone.

But then he says it over and over and OVER again, and he didn't have a radio with him.

"I'm gonna break that f*cking radio."

I lost count of how many times he said that. It was really irritating.

102-degree Run

I saw a man jogging at around 1:30pm today. Why he chose to run in 102-degree weather with the sun still directly overhead is pretty mind-boggling.

Do I Stink?

It was another ordinary Thursday in the Spring of 2009.

Or so I thought.

Well, for the most part my Thursday was ordinary... until I bumped into Desmond.

I got off of the bus that day to find my former classmate standing a few feet in front of me.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," I said back.

"Can I ask you something?" he asked.

Of course I didn't mind being asked a question, but I don't think I really had a choice anyway. Before I even had the chance to mentally approve his question, Desmond dove right into what turned my ordinary day into an unordinary one:

"This is gonna sound really weird... but do I stink?"

If the moment he asked me that question was in a movie, the corresponding background audio would have been either car tires screeching or a scowling cat falling into a trash bin.

There I was, standing in front of a lean-physiqued, perfectly gel-spiked haired, light eyed, decently dressed, relatively attractive-looking guy, who had decided to ask me, of all people, if he was stinky.

"Oh well..." I thought to myself.

At that point I figured the best thing to do would be to demonstrate concern. I turned towards him, heaved a huge amount of the odorless oxygen surrounding him into my lungs, and assured him he smelled fine.

Desmond wasn't convinced with my verdict and went so far as to suggest that perhaps my sense of smell was flawed or that maybe I had not smelled correctly.

Was there a proper way to smell a guy for odor? He was obviously hinting that I should smell him closer.

It was a bit odd, but I leaned in so that I was about one to two inches away from Desmond's left sleeve and took a sniff. I smelled nothing and reassured him that he didn't stink.

Really though, he didn't stink.

Despite my odor-check, I saw Desmond pick up the collar of his shirt and smell it to double-check for any foul scent anyway.

Waxies

I've been wondering for quite some time now if there's a proper way to put a waxie sheet on a toilet seat. Does the papery side go up? Or the waxie side?

Today

I walked past a man who wore a pink shirt and smelled like he was saturated in eucalyptus oil.

Gashole

Back home drivers are pretty spoiled - we have gas attendants pump the gas for us.

On the mainland, you do it yourself.

I happened to be one of those spoiled drivers, completely oblivious as to how to properly pump gas into a vehicle.

---

Last week I asked my coworker's nephew to show me how to pump fuel into a car, a procedure I was very unfamiliar with at the time.

He walked me through it step-by-step, starting with selecting the fuel. (I was indeed clueless to that extent - I never had to think about pressing any buttons back home. All I had to do was tell the gas attendant, "Full tank, regular please.") By the time I had the gas nozzle in my hand, Phil explained to me in terms that I likely won't forget any time in the near future, how to perform the most critical part of the process: he told me it was time to stick the gas nozzle into the gashole.

I wasn't able to get past that part because my short attention span became exceedingly amused with how much gashole sounded like the word a**hole. I shoved the nozzle in there and Phil had to do the rest - secure the nozzle and make sure it stayed put.

Last night I did it though. I shoved that sucker into the gashole of Phil's car (even though there was a little spill before I even got it inside...) and put the nozzle back in its place once I got some gas in.

"How Do You Usually Style Your Hair?"

I met up with Ann at the mall today. It was nice because we haven't seen each other in over a year. But that's besides the point.

We were debating about where to eat when some random civilian-looking guy came up to us and directed a question towards me: "How do you usually style your hair?"

I can't explain how incredibly lost I was. I was unusually stumped because I couldn't figure out how he generated such an out-of-nowhere question.

"I... usually tie it...?" I muttered, unsure of why I decided to answer the guy's pointless question.

Before he could try to make anymore small talk, I told him that Ann and I had to go.

"Why does everybody have to go today?" he responded instantly in a very adamant tone.

"I don't know..." I said, even more lost because he seemed so determined to market some unknown product.

"It's a Saturday, lots of things to see," Ann quickly improvised.

Then we walked away.

Who's careless enough to walk their foot into a wall?

I am because I did.

I walked my right foot straight into a wall this past January. I was walking out of the bedroom and for some reason my brain told me my foot was going to make it through the doorway.

Unfortunately my brain was very mistaken. My entire foot went up against the wall and I ended up fracturing my toe. I might add that my toe isn't completely healed until today.

Don't know what went wrong with my eye-body coordination that evening.

Sick American Sales

I stopped by Staples with my family today because we saw an ad for one-cent packs of filler paper. I just knew there had to be some sort of catch, but I went with them anyway.

Turned out the limit for the filler paper was five packs per customer. Aside from that, the 120 sheets per pack cost a stunning one cent each.

I immediately dumped five packs of paper into the shopping cart once we got inside Staples. Most of the family was intent on taking advantage of the ridiculous pricing, so I had to line up two times to get the 10 packs of filler paper I wanted.

As I went back to the aisle with the filler paper to pile another five packs into my arms, I was thrilled to find out that Leina (who visited from Saipan for the summer) wasn't going to buy any filler paper. I asked her if she would line up for me, then handed her five packs of paper and a nickel.

The sight of the cashier ringing up five items and Leina placing a nickel on the counter to pay for the merchandise was pretty funny.

So I walked out of Staples with 1,800 sheets of filler paper for 15 cents.

An Old Memory

One evening a couple of years ago, the power went out at my house. At the time only my sister and I were home.

My sister was no more than 12 years old when this incident occurred and she was still afraid of the dark.

Like most kids with nyctophobia, my sister screamed in fear as soon as the lights went off.

"The power's out!!!" she shrieked, as if I didn't notice how pitch-black the house had become.

My sister began running frantically down our hall [with no lights] to get to my room. Apparently, the power outage impaired her common sense.

She ended up running into the wall.

Upon hearing her frail little frame thud against the wall with enough force to cause her pain, I did nothing a big sister should have done. I didn't bother to check if she was okay, to console her, to get her some ice, to give her a flashlight... All my mind told me was that this was funny, and then it told me to laugh. So I laughed and said, "I heard that."

What's in a name?

I used to think it was cool that I was named after a saint, but I was also a little freaked out because that saint was beheaded.

Agnes.

How many people are personally acquainted with anyone named Agnes? I'm the only person I personally know with that name, and when I was younger I used to think it was great because it was somewhat unique. There are a whole bunch of Jennifers, Jessicas, Christinas/Kristinas, more than any one person is probably capable of counting. But I'll bet the number of Agneses in the world are countable by any single person.

---

When I went to the gym for a trial membership, one of the friendly staff introduced herself to me. Her name was Betsy. She was probably around 50 years old with slightly greying hair but she had a very bright personality.

When I finally signed up for full membership several months after my encounter with Betsy, I ran into her again. She approached me and said, "Hi, you're Agnes right?"

I was more stunned than anything. I hadn't been there for months and she managed to recall my name and my face, despite the hundreds of people that walk in and out of the gym every single day.

"Yes," I said. "You remembered?"

"Yeah, my grandmother's name was Agnes. There's not many of you left anymore," she said. She also told me that I could ask her if I had any questions. Then she left me to continue on biking while I pondered on the reason she remembered me: because her grandmother's name was Agnes.

---

At work there was a point where I answered phone calls for a few months. There was one particular phone call where a lady was desperate to find out if a certain item was in stock. I told her that while we at the time did not have it in stock, we would be more than happy to call the manufacturer of the item and get back to her the following day.

She seemed very happy with the assistance I provided her, asked for my name, then said, "Oh, that's great. My mother's name was Agnes. I think its a sign."

---

I met Gretchen's pastor when I went to visit her. His name was Eric, and when Gretchen introduced me, he went on to explain that my name meant "lamb."

In the Bible it is taught that Jesus is the shepherd and we are his flock. So my name meant lamb eh?

---

At Bank of America one day I sat down with a Lebanese banker. She was very friendly and told me about the sick quota-based commissions bankers receive. As she looked down at the paperwork in front of her, she recited my name to herself quietly. Then she said that Agnes is a very unique Catholic name. Then she went on about how she went to a Catholic school but that she was an Orthodox. "Orthodoxes and Catholics are very close, its just that we have different saints," she explained. "Do you practice [Catholicism]?"

I went along with the small talk, but I was more focused on how she reminded me again that my name had religious significance.

---

Gretchen has my number under "Angus Beef" in her cell phone. When she told her boyfriend that the number belonged to me, he said, "Who names their kid Agnes?"

I couldn't help but wonder the same question...

---

So, in short my name is more uncommon than a lot of other names. I am not acquainted with anyone else named Agnes in my age range. All the other Agneses I know are older. But my name really could be worse. Had I been a boy my mom said she would have named me Dion Paolo. Nothing wrong with that name... I just couldn't imagine being a guy named Dion Paolo.

Regardless, its not a name that defines a person anyway.

WiFi Library Gym

As I strolled home from work today I came across a lady who appeared to be doing yoga.

She was under some big trees outside the library, wearing a nicely fit light turquoise t-shirt, black jogging pants, and white tennis shoes.

I'm not one to stare at people, but I couldn't help it because this woman had her laptop propped on a half-arch object. She appeared to be following demonstrations on a computer screen.

The lady stood outside the library. The sun was pretty much settled over the west, so the only reason I could think of for the lady choosing to exercise right outside the library was so she could take advantage the free WiFi.

I suppose anywhere and everywhere was the gym for this woman.

Crunched to Sleep

In an attempt to complete a total of 500 crunches and 500 reverse crunches early this afternoon (a goal, which I might add, I have only set for myself once previously), I ended up falling asleep.

I felt I had accomplished a lot when I had completed 200 crunches and 100 reverse crunches. So I decided to shut my eyes for a minute.

Moments later I heard the phone intercom beeping frantically. My eight-year old cousin, who was downstairs watching Disney Channel, asked if I would boil her water for soba.

Upon setting a kettle of water on a flaming stove, I marched back upstairs and returned to performing the remaining 700 crunches/reverse crunches I had yet to complete.

I can only imagine how long my body would have been sprawled across the ground, sweating like a pig, had Andie not bugged me to boil water.

I remain baffled, and will likely remain as such for some time, as to how I managed to doze off while doing crunches.

Facebook CAPTCHAs

I was on Facebook earlier today when I came across the profile of an old friend.

I clicked on the "Add as Friend" button. Following standard procedure, I clicked on "Send Request" to confirm that I really wanted to add that person.

Then the CAPTCHA popped up.

This one said, homosexuality enrico.

Oh, the phrases these programs generate... really makes me wonder if it's actually a computer coming up with this junk.

I also learned what CAPTCHA stands for. Technical as it sounds, its one of the most basic phrases one could possibly contrive:

Completely Automated Public Turing test to tell Computers and Humans Apart = CAPTCHA

Fascinating, these simple things... aren't they?

An Unordinary Stroll to the Mall

Who would've thought that a short three-block walk to the mall could be anything but ordinary?

I sure didn't.

It was late in the afternoon when my walk to the mall commenced. I passed by a car store when I heard someone yell out to me, "Hey, how ya doin' today?" I turned to see a dark-skinned man smiling at me. I politely smiled back and continued walking. About two seconds later I heard the same man say something along the lines of, "You part Filipina huh?"

My eyes widened as I ignored the man and crossed the street to the next block.

I was about a block away from the mall when someone else called my attention.

"Excuse me! Excuse me miss?" a feminine voice called out

I turned around, unsure if the lady was calling my attention.

"Where did you get that blouse?"

I looked down at the cheap black blouse I was wearing. Slightly flattered by the lady who thought my shirt was nice, I told her where I had bought the shirt, and encouragingly told her that blouses at that store were very affordable.

"About how long ago did you get it?" she asked.

I paused for two seconds, figuring out what to respond to that question, before saying, "about a month ago."

The lady said she had been looking for blouses like mine but had been unable to find any. She complimented me by saying that the blouse looked nice on me.

I couldn't help but saying "thank you."

The lady then began to reach into her bag.

"Here, let me give you my card..."

I suddenly lost my train of thought and wondered how in the world a conversation about where I got my clothes turned into the lady offering me a business card.

"Have you ever had a psychic reading before?" she asked, looking at me intently.

"Well, this is random," I thought to myself. If she was going to give me a business card I thought it might have been for a photography studio or a restaurant. Never in a million years would I have expected to receive a business card for psychic readings.

"Yeah, I have," I said, figuring she would have less to say to that response.

She started rambling on and on about my "family and friends" and how I might feel "confused." I unconsciously drowned out everything else she said to me. I was more focused on how such a casual conversation turned into a psychic offering.

"Why don't you get a free reading now?" she insisted.

"I actually have to go somewhere," I said.

"Okay," she said pointing at the card clutched in my hand, "you need to call me soon," she said.

I felt her looking at me fiercely. I nodded my head, said thank you, and walked off.

I immediately dropped the card into the first trash bin I saw at the mall.

That was the end of that.

A Dying Wasp

I was walking home from the gym yesterday when I noticed a small object rolling around the ground. Curious as to what it was, I immediately stopped and looked to the ground to discover a small wasp an inch away from my right shoe. It appeared to be dying as it swayed and bounced around on the concrete sidewalk. I watched it gracefully suffer as its frail wings unsuccessfully tried to lift itself off of the ground. The only movement this nearly lifeless wasp managed was when it was carried around by the same light breeze that caused the leaves on the surrounding trees rustle. I stared down at the insect for no more than five seconds before I decided to continue making my way home.

After taking three steps away from the wasp, I stopped again and asked myself if I had actually seen what I saw. I turned around and squinted in an attempt to locate the dying creature. After being unable to see that wasp, I took a split second to debate about whether or not to walk back three steps so as to give myself a better opportunity to scrutinize it. Before I had time to realize it, I found myself having had walked a couple of blocks and opening the door to the apartment. I had unconsciously chosen to pay no further mind to the wasp that was likely lifeless the moment I stepped foot into the kitchen.

One time on the bus...

I saw a guy lift up his shirt and apply roll-on deodorant onto his underarm.

I was fascinated. There are actually people in this world who willingly and shamelessly perform such acts of personal hygiene in public as if they were at home! On a public transportation vehicle in front of an audience is a location I would least expect to witness such events. There were at least six other people sitting at the back of the bus with me who probably saw this guy put on his deodorant.

What stood out the most, however, was the scent of the guy's deodorant. The scent, oddly familiar and strongly feminine, managed to emanate throughout the rear section of the bus. I was almost entirely sure that the deodorant scent was either Degree or Secret.

First Blog

Here we go...