Tall Tales IV: Concerts are the Worst

I'm going to introduce you to a worry you've probably never worried before:

I have had this worry every day forever.  Whenever I'm walking in a group, I always hang back.  When I took anatomy, I always shoved shorter people in front of me, and would then crane my neck over them to see the specimens and cadavers.  If I take a picture with a group, I always shout, "Back seat, middle, feet on the hump! I call it!" and bolt to the back.  Always and forever.

And when I say forever, I mean forever.

I remember going to see a ballet during a second-grade field trip.  We all got the the ginormous concert hall, and took our seats.  As the ballet started, I realized that the second graders behind me were much shorter than I was and probably couldn't see over me.  (I was taller than my second grade teacher.)

I'd been in that place before.  I hated it!  I didn't want to be the big-headed, tall person everyone hated!  So what did I do?  My little second grade self?

I slouched.

I sunk as low as I possibly could in that seat until my spine was twisted into a pretzel and my backside wasn't even on the cushion.  And I stayed that way the whole ballet long.  Could I see?  Not really.  But the people behind me could.

To this day, I relive this experience every time I go to a concert, play, or performance that doesn't have stadium-ish seating.  A couple weeks ago, I went to Extravadance at BYU-Idaho with some friends.  The floor wasn't sloped enough and the seats were all lined up right behind each other.  To make matters worse, my knees were shoved clear up into the seat in front of me forcing me to sit as straight and tall as possible.

And thus my slouchy technique for guilt avoidance was thwarted.  There was just no way.

So!  To combat the growing guilt inside me, I didn't move.  I picked where my head was going to be, and I held it there the whole concert long.  I didn't talk to people.  I didn't move so I could see around the guy's head in front of me.  I watched the whole concert like this:

Then again, so did the girl sitting behind me.  And I felt bad the whole time.  Thoughts like "She's not getting her ticket's worth..." and the like kept coming into my mind, and boy was I relieved when it was  all over.

Let's face it.  This is the reason I avoid "standing room only" concerts.

I'd feel guilty.  The. Whole. Time.

Potatoes for Breakfast

I sat down to eat a rather healthy breakfast when Hannah-Face and I had this conversation:

Me:  I actually kinda like the taste of dirt on my potatoes.

Hannah:  Are you craving dirt again...?

Me:  No...  >shifty eyes<

Hannah:  Oh Abi!

Me:  It's not necessarily a craving, I just like the taste of dirt sometimes.

Hannah:  So what you're saying is...

Me (interrupting):  What I'm saying is that sometimes I'm too lazy to wash my potatoes in the morning, and I don't mind it.  That's what I'm saying.

Tall Tales III: Apparently It's a Fixation

My sister informed me that I never post anything about being tall on my blog...

Well that's because being tall is everyday life!  I don't tell you about how I brushed my teeth this morning either!

Don't worry, I'll give her what she wants.  I'll be sure to post a million tall things in the future.  You wait and see, but for now we're gonna stick with a story:

This weekend, I went with some friends up to Rigby/Rexburg area in Idaho.  It was a great trip, and I rather enjoyed it.  While visiting one night, a friend of mine ...>ahem< Eric Richard >ahem<... told me that I had a fixation with height.

It's true.  I can't stop talking about it.  I'm pretty sure I talk about height every day.

But I swear it's not my fault!

I went from kindergarten to twelfth grade with the same 85 kids, and every day someone would say something about my height.  I mean, for heaven's sake!  We've known each other for 13 years, and you still don't think I know I'm tall?!

And even still, my height is my driving motivation for why and how I do things from moment-to-moment.

Like... I can't wear heels to church today because I'm singing harmony with my sisters. (They're are much shorter than I.)  

Or... Ouch! I totally did not see that cupboard door coming. 

Sometimes it's a... Yes, I can get that box of cereal down for you.

Or an... I'm going to sit by myself at DanceSport so I can drape my legs over the chair in front of me.
Sometimes I think Okay, I'll have to slouch a little.  I can't hear them.

Or sometimes, while walking around campus or scanning the crowd leaving an event venue, I look around, sigh and think to myself:
Yup. Yet again. No one taller than me for as far as I can see...

Do you kinda see how I can't stop thinking about it?

So!  To feed my fixation, I'm going to give you people a few facts about tall people. (And yes, I look these up from time to time to see how the data has changed.)

For those wondering, I'm 6'2"

• 0.7% of U.S. women are 5' 10" or taller  (Average is 5' 3.7")
• 3.0% of U.S. men are 6' 2" or taller  (Average is 5' 9.1")
• Optimum height for a female fashion model = 5' 9.5"
• "Average height is increasingly used as a measure of the health and wellness (standard of living and quality of life) of populations."*
• Think about this one in the context that Americans are shrinking
• The Netherlands have the tallest national averages with men averaging out at 6' and women at 5' 6.5"
• Tall people have a higher risk of cancer (more cells that could potentially mutate) while shorter people have a higher risk of heart disease
• Tall people earn more money-- about $789 more per year in the U.S.

And that's all I'm gonna give you for now.  Oh, and this.  Because it's hilarious.

And it's happened to me.  Twice.

Courtesy of: http://tall-girl-problems.tumblr.com/tagged/tall+girl+problems

P.S. ^^That's a pretty funny blog.  Especially when most of them have happened to you...

*Wikipedia Article

Another interesting article about height...

An Alarm Clock's {Inevitable} Demise

My phone is my alarm clock.

Lately, when I wake up in the morning, I'm clutching my phone with some kind of white-knuckle death-grip.  As I've groggily tried to monitor how this happens, I've come to realize I have developed a strange habit.

Each morning, when my alarm goes off for the first time, I grab it with ninja-like reflexes.  However, because I'm not quite awake, I don't push the buttons to turn it off.

I don't have the time to find the buttons!!!

(Or the brain power...)

So, to turn it off, I just squeeze it.  Really.  Hard.  In the hopes that one of my fingers will eventually find and push a button.

Sometimes, though, they don't find a button.  At these times, I shove it under my pillow and keep squeezing it harder and harder--sometimes adjusting my grip.  When it finally turns off, my grip relaxes a little... until the second alarm comes on.

I'm afraid that as my six (count them--six) alarms ring every morning, the grip of my right hand isn't just going to remain static.  Like all muscles, it has to be getting stronger with each time I use it.  I'm afraid that some morning, I'll wake up and look like some kind of fiddler crab with a Hulk-sized right arm.

And on that morning, when I wake up after my alarm-clock struggle, I'm gonna realize that my Hulk-sized muscles subconsciously demolished my phone.

And when that morning comes, my friends, you can reach a much happier Hulk Abi by snail mail.

Or carrier pigeon.  Those work too.

As of right now...

All I want to do is...

Hug my parents a million times

Cuddle with my little siblings to watch a movie

I'm so grateful for eternal families, and I love them so very much.