Never Going Home Again

I don't travel often but when I do I seem to have the same problem each time.  I can never seem to get home.  Something always happens to delay my return.  

Those who know me know that my personality is pretty quirky and my mood shift sudden.  I love vacations and I enjoy going on trips but when I am scheduled to go home, I want to go home.  I want to get there as soon as possible and not delay the end to my trip.  My curse however will prevent that, the Gods punishing me by throwing everything at me to prevent me from coming home.  

Sometimes the challenges are simple.  On the way home from a girls weekend someone remembers they left a phone charger at the hotel causing a 40 minute driving excursion back to the hotel.  Driving home from Branson my friends decided it would be a fun idea to take an hour long break at Bass Pro.  Who stops at Bass Pro during a four hour drive?  Really?  Driving back from Chicago we drove down every road in Illinois that was under construction as though someone planned our route based on the construction.  

Other challenges are more frustrating.  On the way back from Vegas with my mom we were informed that the plane we were on was broken and that we were delayed until they found another plane for us.  Having spent a solid week with my mother this is not what I was wanting to hear.  I had enjoyed my trip but I was ready to go home.  I lost it.  I started bawling my eyes out in the middle of the Vegas airport.  The clerk gazed at me amazed that a grown woman was crying about a delay.  To this day my mom references this experience as the most embarrassing thing I have every done to her.  I just couldn't contain myself.  That hour long delay threw off my entire plan for getting home and that was not to be tolerated.  But that was not even close to my worst travel experience.

The worst challenge was more of a duel.  To this day I insist that someone was out to get me.  I made it home that day but the ridiculousness that ensued was traumatizing.  I had just spent a week in California with my mother, a friend from school, and her mother.  I would never speak to this friend again after this trip.  The trip itself if another story but lets just say that I desperately wanted to get home and away from these people.  This was by far the worst vacation that I have ever taken.  We arrived at John Wayne Airport in California and were informed that there would be a delay in our flight.  It would be a few hours at least.  We were scheduled to have a layover in Arizona and the president had conveniently decided to fly there himself causing the entire airport to shut down.  Our flight would be delayed until the president had landed and vacated the area.  Great!  We settled into the uncomfortable airport waiting area seats and proceeded to glare at each other for what seemed like hours.  That is when we got our second bit of news.  Our flight to Arizona was canceled completely.  A monsoon had struck and the Arizona airport was closed.  Yes, a monsoon!  Since when do monsoons hit Arizona?  Still think no one was out to get me?  It gets better.  

The airline was very apologetic and offered to put us up in a hotel overnight if we would wait to fly out the next day.  Everyone was scrambling to get flights and they were desperately trying to get rid of some of us.  But I was having none of it.  I wanted to go home and I wanted to go right that second.  After a lot of checking and cross checking the clerk with the airline found a flight for us through Colorado with another airline.  The problem....the flight was leaving out of LAX....in less that an hour.  They immediately shoved us into the back of a cab with our luggage and told the cabbie to book it to LAX through L.A. traffic.  I have never been so terrified in my life.  I have also never made it from Anaheim to L.A. in 30 minutes before.  The cabbie screeched to a halt in front of LAX and we ran with our luggage shoving past people waiting in line.  Thankfully we got to cut right to the front, check in and make our run for the gate before the flight took off.  We barely made it and were on our way to home.  Finally!

I just planned my anniversary trip for this year.  We are approaching five years so we planned a big trip to Michigan to celebrate.  We are making the eight hour drive ourselves and I am already anticipating the adventures that await attempting to drive home.

The Scar

Like most people, I have scars.  I have a lot of scars.  I have a chicken pox scar on my cheek.  I have a burn scar from an oven on my arm.  I even have a scar on my forehead where I hit it while playing as a toddler.  But my worst scar by far is on my leg and it appeared less than a year ago.

I love my dog a lot but she has caused me a lot of scars in her three short years.  Picture a beautiful spring day in April.  I thought it would be a lovely day to take Weezy out in the backyard for a quick game of fetch before I left to meet some friends.  We went through our routine and she settled down excitedly at the back door to wait for me to put on her collar with a lead attached.  Since we don't have a fenced in back yard we have a long wire cable lead that we attach her to so that she can freely wander around the yard without be able to chase down passersby in the street.  I attached the collar and opened the door.  Weezy eagerly ran outside and grabbed her ball and brought it to me.  After a short struggle to get her to release the ball ("drop it" is not quite in her vocabulary yet) I tossed it around a few times and she galloped off full speed to fetch.  Being the chunky pooch she is, she tuckered out after about three tosses and plopped down in the yard to bask in the sun and possibly roll around in some poop.  

I had some time left so I wandered over to my garden to check on the progress of my blossoming tomatoes and other veggies.  Not able to be away from my side for even a second, Weezy immediately jumped up to come investigate why I had disappeared around the corner of the house.  We both admired the garden for a while when I realized that I needed to get a move on and go meet my friends.  I told Weezy it was time to go inside and she turned to run back to the door.

And that's when it happened.....

I saw everything in slow motion.  Weezy took off for the door, ears flapping in the wind.  I looked down and realized that her lead was wrapped around my legs.  I screamed for her to stop as I tried to disentangle myself.  In the hour it took for her to slow motion run away and for me to scream I managed to free my left leg.  But she had built up too much momentum and I knew what was going to happen.  I was trying to lift my right leg out of the lead when the tension caught and the lead tightened on my leg and slide across my skin.  I managed to stay on my feet and Weezy came running back to see why I had screamed.  

I limped into the house to survey my leg and try to squelch the burning pain.  My leg was bright red with what looked like a rope burn wrapping almost all around my leg.  The cord had cut so deep I was worried I might need stitches.  I cleaned myself up and poored a bottle of peroxide over my leg and headed out to meet my friends.  

This was probably the worse injury I have ever had which makes me feel lucky.  I was left limping for weeks and couldn't wear any pants that came down past my calves.  My doctor ordered a dopplar exam to make sure the injury hadn't caused any blood clots (thanks for the $500 bill doc).  

Eventually the wound healed but I have been left with a nice scar wrapping around my leg as memory.  I don't blame Weezy but I make damn sure to stay out of her lead whenever I am outside.    

Why did the chicken cross the street?

Now I am not about to start telling really old jokes.  This is a serious question and I need some answers.  So let's begin.

Picture this if you will....a beautiful morning in October with the sun shining brightly.  My husband and I are at the house being lazy as we had just returned from the gym.  My loving dog is at our feet happily wagging her tail when she decides that she has to "use the restroom".  She trots her happy ass over to the back door and rings her bell signaling us to her need for some personal time.  Yes, my dog rings a bell.  I know you're jealous.  But lets skip ahead a smidge.

Weezy has been outside all of thirty seconds when we hear her whining.  Now, if you know anything about Weezy then you know she is terrified.  Terrified of everything!  So, I assume she has been paralyzed in fear and is whining because a stray leaf looked at her funny.  However, when we look out the window, lo and behold......a chicken.

There was a freakin' chicken in our back yard!  My husband immediately tossed on his shoes to run outside and stop what he thought would be a feather flying massacre of an innocent animal.  However, when he got outside Weezy was still frozen in her spot about to poop herself she was so terrified.  The chicken however, was feeling pretty "cock"y (see what I just did there?) so it proceeded to start running around the yard.

As you can imagine, we now have a comedy routine playing out in our backyard.  Weezy was cautiously following my husband as he proceeded to chase the chicken around the yard while Yakety Sax played in the background.  Ok, so it was only playing in my head but you get the point.

Finally, he was able to catch the chicken.  He proceeded to bring it towards me because he thought I "would want to pet it".  Ummmm.....no thanks dear.  I quickly shooed him off to return the chicken to where we hoped it came from (across the street of course).

Remembering

Well, I know it has been a while without my witty comments but I have no humor today.  I am writing as a record to help remember in case I start to forget as we always do.

My grandmother passed away yesterday.  I can't say I've been sitting around all day reminicing because the truth is I wasn't very close to her.  However, the memories I have should be cherished so I wanted to record them before they are forgotten.

So this is it, my list of memories, good and bad

I remember....
a tube of lipstick that smelled like flowers

fake pearls made of plastic that kids play with, the kind where the individual beads pop apart with a snap

the old cupboard that smelled like gingerbread and woods

Dr. Seuss books, it seemed like hundreds of them

gift wrapping at the mall

purple hair

cross stitched kittens in a purple frame (my favorite color as a child)

photo calendars with horrible pictures of me


copper colored baking molds hanging on the wall


magnets from around the world


making chocolate lollipops for my uncle's wedding


the circus, beauty and the beast on ice, and some horrible ice show about a train


seven useless Hannukah presents like plastic clappers, pencils, and chocolate coins


plastic protected leg rests on the couch


wood paneling


not driving on highways


matzo ball soup with noodles


an automatic trash can

a cruise to mexico


I know my list is short for 28 years of memories but it contains everything important.

The First Date

So, the time has finally come to write about my first date with my dashing husband.  But first, we have to discuss how he asked me out on the date.

We already know about the movie invite by the Wiener-Mobile so let's fast forward a week or so.  Security always took good care of the customer service girls.  Whichever girl was closing usually got an escort to her car because that is just what the security guards at the mall did.  The middle of suburban St. Louis is a high crime area you know.  Anyway, my future husband happened to be the security guard walking me out one night.  We spent a little time chatting in the back hallways of the mall.  As we were saying goodbye he came out with some standard, "see you tomorrow" line to which I quickly blurted that no, in fact, I was not working tomorrow.  God forbid, I ever shut my mouth and have a normal conversation.  After a short run down of schedules we discovered that we would not see each other for several days.  Get ready to oooh and ahhh ladies.  He immediately retorted with "I can't wait that long to see you again".  Tell me your heart didn't just melt reading that?  I'm pretty sure that is the best pick up line ever used on me, which is good considering I married him.  After my heart stopped pounding in my ears I gave him my phone number and he promised to call and set up a date.  I practically skipped to my car.


The next day I found myself at the gynecologist.  Sexy right?  It was my first visit so my mom took me out for some Bread Co. afterward to "celebrate"???  That is exactly where I was when my phone rang.  It was him.  We planned a date for the next day before I went in to work.  

The next day I get a phone call.  It is N calling to give me a "heads up".  Uh, oh....that can't be good right?  And what, you might wonder, was I receiving a heads up about?  Well, apparently I needed warning that the future love of my life had a tendancy to wear only Hawaiian style shirts and that tends to through people off.  After a sigh of relief and confusion I proceeded to get ready for my date.


I was picked up around lunch time by my Hawaiian shirt clad date and after stopping at his bank for some cash we proceeded to Uno's Pizza for lunch.  The first comment out of his mouth once inside was something along the lines of "wow, you are a lot shorter than I thought".  What does that mean?  Was he regretting the date because I was too short?  Deciding on pizza toppings was quite a dilemma for me.  I am a fairly picky eater but I didn't want to seem demanding or weird for my preferences so I agreed to some supreme type pizza topped with everything under the sun.  I disliked almost everything on this pizza.  But, since I also didn't want to sit there picking off toppings and creating a fortress of rejected toppings on my plate I forced myself to take a few bites.  So, instead of looking like a picky eater, I just looked like I had an eating disorder because I claimed to be full after half a slice.  And, of course, being the gentleman he is, he insisted I take home the disgusting leftovers.  At least in the privacy of my home I could pick off all the poisonous topping choices.  

After pizza we headed to The Butterfly House for a walk around the greenhouse.  He lead me around with his hand pressed to the small of my back giving me tingles the entire time.  I don't even remember the butterflies.  However, this location would become the site of our engangement and wedding a few years later.  

So, there you have it.  My best first date.  It might have started a little bumpy but it all worked out in the end.  After all, we did have a second date.  But that's for another time.  I can't give it all up at once. 

The Tragedy of Fashion

Like most girls, I have always wanted to look nice and have the "cool" clothes.  However, this has never been the case. 

Lets take a mental snapshot of me in elementary school.  My typical outfit consisted of stirrup pants, keds, matching top, and side ponytail.  Even though it was the 80's this was still pretty bad.  I was pretty obsessed with my stirrup pants (you know, the ones that have the strap around the feet to hold them down).  I think I had stirrup pants in every color of the rainbow but my favorite were my purple ones.  I always wore keds shoes because my feet were so narrow and those were the only shoes made for kids in narrow sizes.  They were also slip on so I didn't have to worry about tying my shoes.  I threw in a tie dye shirt every now and then, scrunched up on the side with a rubber-band of course.  I also wore big tube socks in matching colors and rolled them down into donuts around my ankles.  Not scrunched mind you, rolled.  I was quite a site.  The side ponytail was like icing on the vomit that was my outfit.  My hair came down to my butt so I often wore a long high ponytail right on the side of my head, decorated with a matching ribbon or scrunchy of course.

Then came middle school.  I decided to try jeans out for the first time in my life.  I had never worn them previously because I didn't like the feel of denim.  Touching denim is like jeans on a chalk board to me.  I am actually flinching a little in pain just thinking about it.  My middle school attire consisted of high water jeans, platform clodhopper shoes, and a big baggy sweatshirt of some kind.  I remember my favorite being a bright pink sweater with black spots.  I wore that sweater until the holes forming in it were so big half my boob was hanging out.  I also liked the giant black sweatshirt with the neon yellow smiley face on it.  Anything big enough to "hide" what I thought was a hideous figure.  I ended up just looking like a whale.  The shoes didn't help.  I bought my shoes at Bakers so they were the only stylish thing I owned.  I had one pair that were brown platform clogs with flowers stitched onto the front.  They were huge and made a loud clacking noise as I walked down the tile hallways at school.  While my shoes were stylish, they did not go with the jeans and over-sized tops I was wearing.  I was dressed up only from the feet down.

Now consider high school when I went through my all-black faze.  I literally wore black pants every day.  Most of the time paired with a black or otherwise darkly colored top.  I still wore my stylish shoes but what teenager wears black dress pants to school every day?

College caused a huge change in not only myself but also my wardrobe.  I started dressing quite hoochy in college.  Most of the time if my boobs weren't hanging out, my ass was.  It was low cut tops and miniskirts daily.  In fact, I'm pretty sure my bra saw quite a bit of sunlight in those years.  

While my style has changed over the years, my fashion sense has not.  I still love my shoes but have no idea what I am doing when it comes to the clothes.  Anyone willing to give me a makeover and pay for the whole thing would be greatly welcomed.    

Let's talk about love

Ok, so this post is hopefully not so much funny as it is sweet and cute.  Why?  Because this is the story of meeting my husband.  

A long, long time ago....or, you know, 2003, I was working at the mall.  Typical college job....kind of.  Instead of working at some cute clothing store, I was working at customer service.  You know, the kiosk in the middle of the mall where you go for directions or to rent a stroller for your unruly brat.  And of course, this job entailed wearing a bright red (possibly the brightest red in existence) blazer, white button up shirt, and cheap black polyester pants.  Oh, and did I mention that they couldn't find a blazer and shirt in my size so I was wearing one three sizes too big for me?  Well, I was.  Any how, part of my job was to report any problems to the mall security and basically tell them where to go and what to do.  We had fun walkie talkies and code numbers and everything.  For mall security!  Well it just so happens that my future husband decided it was a good time to be a mall security guard.  

I first saw him while I was helping set up for a kid's event in the mall's center court area.  I was setting up some chairs when my boss pointed to a security guard in the distance and said that was the new security guy.  I looked up but he was so far away that all I really saw was the back of a head covered in stick straight white-blonde hair poofing out almost wanting to be an afro.  Later that day I was introduced and noted that this new security guard was actually someone close to my age and cute.  That was a rare occurrence.  Usually the mall security consisted of old fat guys that couldn't cut it as cops.  And, was I mistaken or was this new cute guy flirting with me?  I really was thinking that because I had never been flirted with so I wasn't really sure. 

Over the next few weeks my new cute security guard always made sure to stop by and talk as he made his rounds past my kiosk.  I was pretty sure now that he was flirting but he hadn't asked me out yet.  Maybe it was the blimp sized red blazer I was sporting?  Well, finally after work one day I was walking to my car when I saw something strange in the parking lot.  No, it was not some huge romantic gesture by my new found cutie.  It was a giant hot dog.  Really.  The Oscar Meyer Wiener Mobile was parked outside for an event the I was unaware of.  It was a giant mobile home sized hot dog on wheels.  As I walked past, marveling at the giant wiener, I almost didn't notice the security truck creeping up behind me.  Low and behold it was my security guard out on parking lot patrol stopping by to chat.  We talked quite a while about the wienermobile and finally after what seemed like a lifetime he mentioned that a group of people were going to a movie that night if I wanted to join.  I can't remember what movie it was for but I immediately panicked.  I had been waiting for this guy to ask me out for weeks and now that he was finally doing it, I didn't know what to say.  I tried to play it cool and told him I would try to make it but wasn't sure if I had time.  Acting busy is what a girl is suppose to do right?  He said that was cool and drove off.

So, that's it.  That's how I met my husband.  Oh, you want to know how the date went?  Well, I didn't go to the movie.  I chickened out.  Hey, I said this was the story of how we met, not how he asked me out!  That story, you will have to wait a while longer for.