Wait, Orchestra seat means Mosh Pit?

Everyone remembers their first concert.  Mine happened on the last day of 8th grade.

The day was perfect, we had a half day of school and it was the start of summer vacation.  The weather was amazing and a few friends and I left school to walk to a nearby park before the concert.  How I convinced my mom that this was not life threatening was beyond me.  I was not even allowed to play in the front yard much less walk several miles unattended.  It was a beautiful sunny day so we enjoyed the walk and once reaching the park we decided to sit outside the pool and watch the swimmers for a while.  It just so happens that a boy we despised was in the pool area swimming.  It also just so happens that I had something interesting with me that day.  Finger covers.  That's right, I said finger covers.  See, my mom was working in a cafeteria at the time and they had these mini circles that you would roll over your finger to cover any cuts you had.  Very sanitary.  However, these things looked exactly like tiny little condoms.  Commence the worst thing I have ever done to demean someone.  We called the boy over to the fence like we wanted to talk.  Unsuspectingly he walked over.  That is when we handed him the miniature condom and told him that we thought it would be "just his size".  I cringe just thinking of his face.  But.....he totally deserved it.  

Laughing hysterically we finally left the park and headed home to pile into the car so we could head out to our first concert.  This was the late nineties so we were heading to see the coolest band of the time, No Doubt.  It was going to be two friends and me escorted by my mother of course.  We arrived at the amphitheater and started our thousand mile journey to the entrance.  There really should have been a shuttle service or something.  Something else you need to know about me at this time....I had recently discovered the word "fuck" and thought it was the coolest word to say.  I used it at school with my friends and tried to fit it in as many times as possible in each sentence.  Needless to say, I did not do this once I got home with my mother.  That said, we were about 900 miles into our trek having pleasant conversation when it happened.  I was so used to saying it around my friends that I completely forgot and loudly used the word in a sentence directed at my mother.  Her jaw about dragged the ground as she stared at me like I was an alien instead of her sweet innocent daughter.  I quickly picked up my pace and the last 100 miles to the entrance flew by.

We were pretty psyched about this concert because our tickets were in the orchestra pit.  We didn't really know what that was but we knew it meant up front.  Once we finally made it to our seats we realized that we didn't have seats.  We were standing in a big open area right in front of the stage while the rest of the crowd filed into their seating.  We were immediately let down realizing that while we would have a good view, we were also going to have to stand for the next several hours.  We were pretty bummed about having to stand but still, we could touch the stage!  That had to be awesome right?  

Wrong.  After talking to a few people in the area we quickly realized that this was no ordinary standing area.  We had accidentally signed ourselves up for the mosh pit.  And the area was getting very crowded.  How many people did they think they could fit into this "orchestra" seating.  As we started getting cozy with our fellow moshers we noticed a few cute boys our age were also in the area.  My friends being much more brave than I actually went up to them and started a conversation!  Turns out they were a year older than us and had come to the concert unsupervised.  Also, they were super into moshing.  Ugh!

As soon as the concert began they started thrashing around and banging into people.  But they were the ONLY ones.  Everyone else was standing peacefully listening the the music.  It's not like we were at a Metallica concert.  Even though this was a little weird we continued talking to them throughout the concert.  Strangely enough, one of them was talking mainly to me.  Boys never talked to me so I was fairly confused.  I felt so grown up.  I was a high schooler now and boys were talking to me.  

The concert itself was not very memorable but when it was over the boy asked for my number.  I am surprised I didn't shoot off into space I was so giddy.  I didn't even notice the 1000 miles back to the car.  This was the first boy to ask me out.  Talk about a memorable first concert.

To make a long story shorter, I talked to the boy several times after the concert and we even scheduled a date.  But it was not to be and I never saw him again.  However......

seven years later I was dating a charming asshole of a guy.  Turns out he went to school with the boy I met at the No Doubt concert.  What a small world.  They were best friends.  And the boy...of course.....was now into dudes.        

Goldilocks Goes Car Shopping

Once upon a time there was a girl named Goldilocks who wanted to buy a new car.  Ok, so it was me and it was just last weekend but you see where this is heading.  

I have been driving a base model '99 Honda Civic for the past eight years.  His name was Stivic and we were in love.  However, Stivic was getting very old and I couldn't bare to watch him die.  He seemed to always be in the shop for some problem or another; first a knocking sound when I made left turns, then a high pitched squeal from the AC, then knocking sounds when I made right turns.  The final straw came after a midnight run to Wendy's for some munchies.  I rolled down Stivic's window to grab my fries and spicy chicken nuggets and after gleefully grabbing my indulgence I pulled away and stopped to roll up my window.  See, Stivic's window has always been a little sticky so it takes both hands to crank the sucker back up.  However as I reached for the crank it easily glided around counter-clockwise.  However the window did not follow suit.  It was broken....and of course it was raining....and only 37 degrees out.  After driving the mile back home I was forced to cover the window with a trash bag and hope for the best until morning when I could take it in.  Almost $300 later I had a functioning window and a notice that my oil was leaking and all three belts needed to be replaced.  Let the car shopping commence....

Over the course of the next week my husband tried discussing with me what cars I could get to replace Stivic.  I felt pretty set on the fact that I wanted another Civic but agreed to test drive a few cars he recommended.  After doing some searching on AutoTrader we set out on Saturday to spend the day test driving cars.  

First stop was a Honda dealership of course.  I had found a used Honda Fit that sounded pretty interesting and it was in our price range.  I hopped in the driver's seat and took off heading to the highway for a test spin.  The car was surprisingly spacious for a hatchback and had quite a pick up and go.  I was really digging driving the car around.  My favorite feature was the back seats.  They fold flat so it was like I was getting a station wagon with the look of an adorable hatchback.  Back at the dealership we examined the car a little more.  It was silver (acceptable color) but it looked like a used car.  I mean, it was a used car....but it looked like it to.  Even though it was only a 2010 it looked old.  While I would have been upgrading to power windows it didn't have key-less entry and the AC unit looked out of the '90's with the crank dials instead of modern button selections.  The price was right but it just wasn't feeling like me.

Next up we headed to yet another Honda dealership because it was on the way to the cars my hubby wanted me to look at.  I had found a beautiful blue Civic online that I just had to see even though it was a few thousand over what I was looking to spend.  A salesman greeted us before we even got out of the car and after checking out my print out of the car he sent us down the street to the other half of the dealership where the car was.  Apparently they are so awesome that they have two locations within a block of each other.  Who knew?  Once down the street we were informed that the car was indeed back at the first location.  Now, this was frustrating.  Just as we were about to hop back in the car the salesman started asking about our price range.  He then went on to say that they didn't carry any cars for that price and they would never negotiate more than a couple hundred off the sticker price.  He said sorry and walked away leaving us with our jaws on the ground.  I have never in my life seen a car salesman walk away from a sale with so little effort.  It's not like I was looking to pay only a couple grand for a car.  We were looking at two to five thousand less than sticker prices.  What car dealership doesn't negotiate?  I am torn between being happy that he didn't waste my time and pissed that he dismissed me so easily.  That left a real sour taste in my mouth and anyone who wants to know the name of the dealership should message me because I am more than happy to bad mouth them.  

Finally we were headed to the Hyundai dealership where my husband wanted me to look at the Elantra and the Accent.  His thought being that they were good cars and we could possibly get a brand new one for only a little more than our price range and the lower interest rate would make up the difference.  After waiting in line to talk to a salesman (really Hyundai, really?) we finally got to speak with the floor manager who was a older gentleman with huge dark circles under his eyes and who reeked of smoke.  He pulled around an Accent hatchback in a weird shade of blue for us to test out.  This was a brand new car with only 5 miles on it yet when I hit the accelerator to take off I felt like I was back in Stivic.  It had no pick up at all.  The whole thing felt like a cheap version of the Fit and was actually way more expensive than we first thought.  Next up was the Elantraewwww.  It smelled horrible inside even though it was a new car and it had this weird black and tan mix interior which I have to say is a deal breaker.  I don't care what my husband says, I could not stand looking at that interior every day for the next ten years.  After finding out that gray on black was another option I hopped in and took her out on the road.  I immediately started to panic a little.  I felt like the car was closing in on me and my claustrophobia was in high gear.  The window ledge was high, the dashboard was high and the whole thing felt tight.  By the time I got back to the dealership I was ready to explode and I jumped out took a deep breathe and stretched trying to relieve my panic.  This was definitely a no go.  Looks like we were back to Hondas.  

By this time it was raining pretty good.  We took a look through the rest of the Civics I had printed out from AutoTrader and realized that really only one other fit nicely in our price range.  It was a 2007 which was fine but it had 85,000 miles on it.  After looking up the CarFax we decided we could at least check it out and see.  It was still pouring when we arrived at the Mazda dealership the Civic was at.  The salesman pulled the car up for us and we made a mad dash it the rain to hop in.  I immediately felt relaxed.  Even in the rain it felt open, light, and refreshing to sit in the driver's seat.  I quickly realized that this car was pretty loaded.  Power everything, key-less entry, cruise control, CD player, and even a moonroof.  (What is the difference between a moonroof and a sunroof by the way?).  I was pretty psyched as I pulled out of the dealership, I felt like I was flying down the road and every turn was so smooth.  I was in love.  The only thing still tickling at my brain was those miles.  But as I stopped to think, Stivic was five years old when I got him and had around 85,000 miles on him and he lasted me eight years.  This beautiful car was also five years old with the same mileage.  It was just a newer version of the same car.  It was even the same color.  I was sold.  After some negotiating we finally came to a reasonable price and with my awesome credit (811 Woot Woot!) I was able to get it for 3.43%.

As I left Stivic behind with the salesman I almost teared up a bit.  We had so much history together.  But I am with Stormy now (get it?  He is silver and it was raining when I bought him) and he is just right.        

 

Why I Don't Have Babies

Otherwise know as Babies R Us is the devil.

As usual, everyone around me is pregnant.  I was forced to make a trip to Babies R Us this week to purchase gifts for two different prego friends of mine.  I assumed I would pop in, print the registries, grab some stuff and head out in ten minutes flat.  Little did I know that I would not exit the store until over thirty minutes later with tears in my eyes and bags on my trembling arms.  But I am jumping ahead.  Let's start at the beginning.....

I happily skipped into the entry of Babies R Us.  Ok, so I just walked in normally but I was in a pleasant mood.  I headed over to the registry area to print off my two lists.  I quickly found the first one and printed it off.  Five minutes later I finally found the second registry after trying about ten combinations of first name and last name.  I mean really....how many girls with the exact same name are pregnant in the state of Missouri???

I quickly scanned the lists to find an item in my price range that sounded cute.  Conveniently the registry even listed what aisle I could find said items in.  I was standing right next to aisle 20 which the registry listed as the place where I could find the blanket I was looking for.  I quickly walked into the aisle and looked up to realize that the aisle was full of car seats.  Only car seats.  Nothing else.  Clearly this was not where the blanket was to be found.  I quickly grabbed an employee that was walking by and asked for help.  She grimaced and pointed to my registry.  Apparently the tiny star next to the item meant that they had either clearanced the item or they didn't have it in the requested color.  She walked about five aisles over an pointed to the spot where the item was.  They had it in black instead of the requested brown.  She handed it over saying that was pretty much the same thing.  Considering everything on this registry was brown, I did not think changing it up for black would be a good idea.  I decided to try for my back up item.  The girl said that all the bedding items should be in the correct aisles and sent me off to the other end of the store in search of bedding.  

This would work out well since the second registry had a lot of bedding items in my price range.  Two birds with one stone right???  I quickly made my way to bedding and started searching for my item.  This should be easy right?  I had the brand name, the price, and the color.  Except that everything in the aisle was the same brand.  And everything was the same price.  And about half the aisle was the requested brown shade.  Great.  I started scouring tags looking for the exact wording off my registry.  After about five trips down the aisle I finally found the blanket.  Success!!!!

Now just a quick jaunt over to the next aisle to grab whatever a playard sheet is and I'd be out of there.  I stepped into the listed aisle and started scanning the shelf.  I quickly realized that everything is this aisle was labeled as a crib sheet.  Now I might not know much about babies but I know that crib sheets and playard sheets are probably not the same thing.  I continued searching anyway because this is the aisle that the registry listed.  I compared every tag in the aisle with my registry definition.  Nothing.  I scanned the area but there were no employees anywhere.  I decided to try out the next few aisles.  I mean how hard can it be to find the area with the sheets.  I searched up and down every aisle in the bedding section.  And then I did it again.  My eyes started to well with tears and my frustration level rose.  And I still couldn't find an employee to help me!  Before full on panic hit I decided to take a break and go grab the requested bag of Pampers I needed for the shower.

Thankfully there was a giant sign labeled "Diapers" off in the distant corner of the store.  I made my way over trying to forget about my need to return to bedding to find my gift.  I stepped into the diaper aisle and, as luck would have it, Pampers were the first brand of diapers I came to.  I started searching for the cheapest bag I could find since I didn't plan on buying the economy sized crate of diapers.  I found a small bag but realized it was for preemies and that probably wouldn't do so I moved to the next package over.  This bag was labeled "cruisers" which based on the picture I assume means toddlers.  And that was it.  There were no more bags.  The store was completely out of normal sized baby diapers.  The baby store was out of diapers!!!!  Now I was getting angry.

I finally spotted an employee moving rocking chairs around.  He was clearly busy but I didn't care anymore.  By the way, why is a guy working at a baby store?  Does anyone else find that a little weird?  Anyway, I walked over and plainly told the man that I was about to lose it and needed some help.  I showed him my registry and asked him to help me find anything that was listed in the bedding section.  He said that they playard sheet I was looking for was at the end of the aisle with the car seats.  Back where I first started in the store!  Then he walked me over to bedding and started pointing out a few other items on my list.  None of which were in the aisle listed on the registry.  After pointing out several items I told him that was enough and that I wasn't planning on buying out the whole section.  I ended up grabbing a crib sheet because at this point I could care less what I was picking up.  I still had one stop to make.

I headed over to the the toy aisle in search of a book to go along with my gift.  That should be easy.  Find the books, grab a small color or shape recognition book and head to the checkout.  When I arrived at the books I saw a lot of shelf.  There were hardly any books to choose from.  I started mumbling curses under my breath as I started sorting through my measly selections.  I picked up a book on shapes that looked basic and baby appropriate and flipped it over to see the price.  Ten bucks for a four page book with basic shapes printed in it.  Seriously?  I could buy a full on chick lit novel for that price.  Heck, I could buy some cardboard and make my own damn book for about fifty cents.  I quickly started flipping books over in search of one that seemed a reasonable price for what the book contained.  I finally settled on one that made me giggle,  which was quite a feat with the state I was in at this point.  For any Friends tv show lovers out there you might remember the episode when Rachel was pregnant and Joey gifted her with a dramatic reading of a story.  I had picked up that story.  The book is actually really cute so I went with it.

I was finally headed to the register and thankfully there was not a line.  I guess everyone else knew better than to shop at this hellhole.  I plopped my items down and started digging for my wallet when the chipper clerk asked if I had found everything alright.  With a blank stare and tear stained cheeks I responded honesty with "not really".  She looked a little alarmed.  I guess they don't get that response too often.  Being the good employee she was she proceeded to ask if she could help me find something.  I responded with "no thanks, I would just like to leave now and never come back".  That should send off the message of ring me out and leave me alone right?  But what words came out of her mouth next you ask?  "Do you have a rewards card with us?"  Now I was the one with the shocked expression.  Once I picked my jaw off the ground I responded with "Do I look like someone who has kids and shops here often?"  But she was having none of it.  In her still perky tone she replied "You can use one to buy gifts for friends or family".  Well, well, can I now?  I replied, "No thanks, I don't plan to come back.  If anyone else gets pregnant they are getting condoms as their gift".  She finally gave up an proceeded to ring out my purchases.  But she couldn't help getting in one last jab by offering me a coupon to use next time.  I abandoned the coupon on the counter and stormed out of the store only to realize that I didn't buy a gift bag or any wrapping paper.  Since I refused to re-enter the store I resigned myself to just grab some later when I had to shop for Pampers.

I have never been to a Babies R Us before and I don't plan to return even if I do have a baby at some point in life.  Don't get me wrong, I enjoy a cute baby just as much as the next girl but I am definitely not in any rush to bring one home.

  

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.  

Dating Adventures...WTF

I have never been much of a dater.  I mean, come on, this is in fact titled Diary of an Awkward Girl.  What did you expect?  We will start at the beginning (mainly because starting in the middle just doesn't make since does it?)

I don't think the guy I went on my first date with even knew it was my first date.  Heck, it was probably his first date.  And no, this date was not in elementary school, awkward girl remember?  This date was in college.  Yes, my first date wasn't until college.  Anyhow, for someone who had never been on a date before I was surprisingly picky with guys.  S had been asking me out all school year.  He followed me around like a puppy and I just kept politely declining.  He was nice enough and clearly liked me.  I just wasn't interested.  He looked like a cave man with one of those overpowering brow lines that makes you wonder if he was the guy that invented fire.  We had several classes together since his major was computer science something or other and I was majoring in math.  Why as a math major I was required to take programming classes is still beyond me.  Either way, I saw this guy regularly and he followed me back to the dorm on a regular basis.  What finally made me cave and say yes to a date you ask?  Well, I'm ashamed to say that it was the date that became appealing and not the guy.  His 11th attempt to ask me out involved a sneak preview showing of one of the Harry Potter movies.  I wanted to see that movie and knew that the theaters would be crowded for weeks if I waited so I took S up on his offer.  I met him at the theater conveniently only a few minutes before the movie started so we didn't have time to talk before settling down to silently watch the movie together.  Afterwards S asked if I wanted to grab a bite to eat or something but it was a school night and it was late so I told him I had to go and managed to get out of the date with only a few sentences spoken between us.  I feel horrible for using S like that but I was young and didn't know better at the time.  S asked me out again a few more times after that but I finally finished my programming classes and managed to avoid seeing him.

After that great start I thought dating could only go up hill from there.  I was wrong.  During college I was working at the mall in the customer service kiosk.  We kind of knew everyone in the mall and people were always stopping by to ask us questions and chat.  One person that stopped by often was my boss' nephew who moved around the food court dishing out food at various places.  I am just gonna lay it out there and say that he was a straight up ghetto thug.  He was one of those guys with his pants around his knees and underwear hanging out.  I'm pretty sure he had a metal grill in his mouth and he was regularly sporting a baseball cap over his disheveled afro.  Again, I wasn't really into this guy but I was bored at work one day so when he asked me to a movie I said yes.  We went out the following day and he picked me up from work in his barely-still-running-beater car with the $1000 rims.  The entire car ride to the theater was spent with me attempting to make conversation while he sat quietly in the drivers seat.  I have never been in such an uncomfortable social situation.  This guy talked to me all the time at work but once we were alone I was willing to talk about dirt just to get him speak to me.  We ended up watching some chick flick and I endured another silenced car ride back to the mall.  

Were all dates this awkward or was I just dating losers?  Apparently the answer was the later because my next date was with my now husband and it was the easiest best date I have ever been on.  But that story is for another time.   

Update and Unfair Humiliation

Ok, first an update.  I made my first snowman last weekend.  And it was an awesome one.  Possibly the best snowman ever.  I even put a hat and scarf on him.  Now that the snow has melted ever so slightly he even has a little sassy lean thing going on.  Next up, I will have to try out sledding.

Now for the unfair humiliation.  According to my co-worker I apparently have a physical defect.  I can only wink with my right eye.  I can not wink my left eye.  It just won't work.  My muscles just won't let me close my left eye and open my right one at the same time.  I never thought anything of this but it seems as though this makes me a freak.  So lets take a vote and see if this is weird or if a lot of people can only wink with one eye.  Go ahead, vote away.  Leave a comment and let me know, freak or normal?

Oh the changes I've made

Everyone changes and evolves as they get older.  I prefer to think that I have expanded my horizons.  Many would say that I led a very sheltered childhood and missed out of a lot of experiences.  I did all the normal things other kids did, I was just pickier.  

For instance, I was (and still am to some respect) a very picky eater as a child.  My mother, of course, blames this all on my grandma.  According to mom I ate everything she put in front of me until my grandma started babysitting me and started giving me options on what I wanted to eat.  It was all chicken fingers and fries from then on out.  You already know of my affinity towards eating ice cubes for dinner.  When I did decide to eat not liquid foods I usually chose chicken strips or pasta.  Plain pasta.  As in just noodles, no sauce.  Occasionally I would add some Parmesan cheese from a can to spice it up a bit.  I was very into McDonald's Happy Meals with chicken nuggets as a kid.  I thought that was just what a Happy Meal was.  I don't think I even realized that a burger was an option.  Which leads me to my lack-of-life-experiences number 1:  I don't think I have ever eaten a hamburger.  Neither my mom or I ever remember me eating burgers.  My mom ate burgers all the time so I am not sure how I managed to go through my entire childhood without eating one.  I still have not eaten a burger to this day just because I think they look gross.  Ground up meat seems gross to me.  I do, however, love hamburger helper.  I just push the chunks of meat to the side and just eat the pasta.  I know I know, that totally defeats the purpose but think of who you are talking to before you comment on that one.  So, just to throw it all out there, here is a list of other foods that I am pretty sure I have never tried and some foods that I just think are gross: steak, sushi, fish (other than kids fish-sticks of course), and most vegetables (I've tried them all but they make me gag and want to vomit, especially lettuce).

While we are talking about things I've never eaten, I might as well also toss out a list of things I have never done that seem totally normal to a lot of people.  I have never: gone sledding, swam in a body of water other than a pool, build a snowman taller than one foot high, played an instrument, gone skiing, watched Jurassic Park, read Moby Dick, or even had a one night stand.  Ok, now that I am straying into stranger "I nevers" I will stop. 

That little tyrant was not what I was really trying to get at with this post though.  Drum roll please.....I have recently started wearing makeup.  As in, last week I started wearing makeup daily.  I finally hit that point where I looked in the mirror and decided I needed to do something about what I was seeing.  I never wore makeup as a teenager mainly because my mom never wore makeup so no one ever taught me.  I still don't know how to put on eyeliner so that is not part of my new makeup routine.  Makeup has never been a huge concern of mine mainly because I spent a lot of time not caring how I looked and then spent a lot of time with fairly clear smooth skin.  Now that I have blotchy skin with a pallid tone to it I decided it was time to cave.  I didn't go out and buy up a makeup isle at Sephora or anything.  I just went through all of the random makeup I have accumulated from gifts and freebies and filled in the blanks.  I have also started styling my hair so instead of the same pulled back do every day I now have dried and straightened hair.  I have to say, I think for someone with no experience I have given the good ol' college try and have succeeded fairly well.  

So, to sum it all up for you, I was pretty sheltered as a child and while I have expanded my horizons on some fronts I am still cowering under my mommy's control on others.  And for those who see me regularly or even not so much, compliments on my hair and makeup adventures are always welcome. :-) 

A Sidenote on Senilism

I know I know, my plan with this blog was to start in my childhood and work my way up but this story was too good to not write about.  I know if I wait, that I will most likely forget about it completely.  So here we go.

Monday night at work I developed a sore throat.  I felt sure that this was leading to a cold that I did not want to have.  I went straight home and boiled a kettle of water and made a pot of hot mint chocolate flavored tea to sooth my throat.  I poured myself a cup and settled down on the couch in my pjs to cuddle with my pooch and watch some tv while I suffered.  

After polishing off my second cup I went into the kitchen again to refill my cup with sugar overdosed caffeine packed tea.  As usual, I got distracted by the mess and sidetracked to put away some dishes.  I walked back to the living room and remembered that I had forgotten my tea.  I traipsed back into the kitchen for my forgotten cup and stood looking at the counter.  My cup wasn't there.  I thought for sure that I had left it on the counter next to the tea pot.  

I walked back to the living room but it wasn't there either.  Immediately suspecting my always-plays-innocent pup I searched the floor to see if she had knocked it over.  I even made her stand up so I could check under her bum to see if she was trying to hide it.  No luck.  Back in the kitchen I thoroughly searched the counter assuming that I was just overlooking it.  After all, I felt pretty miserable and my eyes were somewhat clouded over.  Still no cup.  I decided I must have set it down somewhere and forgot.  I retraced my steps from the living room and checked the rest of the kitchen counters, the cabinet, the fridge, the dishwasher, and even the oven.  

I was starting to doubt that I had even had a cup of tea.  I mean, where else could it have gone.  I was alone in the house, apart from the dog, and my house is less that 1000 square feet.  How could I have lost a cup and what is wrong with me that I can't remember where I put it?  I was literally starting to panic at my own senile nature when I heard a beeping in the kitchen.

What would be beeping you ask?  Not my cup of course although I should clearly put a homing device on it.  I walked into the kitchen and opened the microwave to find my cup.  I stood in shocked horror as I realized that I had forgotten that I put the cup in there to nuke my tea a little as it had gotten cold.  I had checked everywhere in the kitchen except the microwave.  What exactly is wrong with my brain that I could forget where I put my cup and then search everywhere except the most logical place for it to be.  

Needless to say, I am clearly becoming senile before my age.  Who knows what I'll lose next.  I always thought I had a decent memory but maybe I am just forgetting all that I forgot. 

Imaginative or Compulsive Liar

Being an only child you would think that I am very creative and imaginative.  Well that creativity went a little wild in middle school when I made up a whole separate life for myself and convinced an acquaintance at school that it was all true.  

We were in science class which was the most boring class ever made to a 7th grader.  We were passing notes as usual when I was asked who I had a crush on.  I hated that question.  I barely knew this girl and don't even remember her name now so I was not about to share such "private" information.  I decided to tell her that I didn't have a crush since I already had a boyfriend (a total lie).  It then became clear that I needed to, of course, have this boyfriend go to a different school.  And, why not include a female friend that was dating my ex who was still pining over me?  That is an obvious jump right?  I ended up with some huge elaborate story that involved me hanging out with this group of people most days after school.  

This went on for weeks.  We would pass notes in science class talking about how my imaginary boyfriend Brent got caught stealing from Walgreens and my ex boyfriend Mitch was fighting to get me back.  I even went so far as to say I would try to set this girl up with my ex Mitch since she needed a boyfriend and I needed to get him off my back.   This story was not even believable but I delivered it with such fake passion that she bought every word.  I will tell you now, I am not a good liar.  Even a stranger can look at my face and tell when I am lying so I am not sure why this girl thought I was telling the truth.  

Once I started, I couldn't seem to stop.  The stories kept getting more and more extravagant and unbelievable and this girl just kept eating it up.  Now, I will make a point to say that I did not turn into some crazy person and start believing my own stories, this is not one of those kind of stories.  Eventually I broke up with "Brent" and the gang stopped hanging out with me because of the awkward break up.  That seemed to be the only way I could get myself out of this crazy lie.  The girl and I continued to be "friends" until the next school year when we had different classes and I am still not sure whether she really believed me or was just playing along the whole time.  Did I mention during this time I also started wearing those fake tattoos on my ankle that you apply with a wet paper towel?  And what do you know, she thought it was real.  A tribute to my boyfriend of course.  I guess she didn't notice when it kept washing off every two days.

Regardless, I am not a good liar and don't know how I got myself into that situation.  So, was I just an over imaginative child or am I really a compulsive liar in the making?

Just the Treat Please

Halloween has always been a stressful time for me.  As a child I was very shy.  I mean hide behind my mother painfully shy.  On top of being shy I also had an embarrassing lisp that prevented me from even being able to say my unheard of name correctly.  Whenever I was forced to tell a stranger my name they always looked at me like I was crazy and had me repeat it five times before butchering it in a new fantastic way.  My name, however, is not the topic of this story.

I loved Trick or Treating as any normal elementary age child does.  This was back in the day when kids actually went door to door instead of just going to the mall or to a "Trunk or Treat".  I loved candy and wanted to collect as much as possible.  The problem being that I didn't want to actually talk to any of the people providing the candy.  Or knock on their door for that matter.

My mom would follow me around, knock on the door for me, say trick or treat and I would stand there mute holding out my plastic pumpkin.  I can't imagine what these people thought by the time I was in the 4th or 5th grade and this was still going on.  Some would try to talk to me about my costume and I would just stare blankly at them until they shut up and forked over the candy.  

What really gets me are the people who require a joke or some sort of talent to be performed before they will give out the candy.  I mean, who started this?  Trick or treat does not mean I do a trick for a treat.  It means that if I don't get a treat then I will play a trick on you.  Like toilet papering your entire house or leaving poop on your door step.  I don't know where these people get off demanding a joke from a child.  If they don't want to hand out the free candy then just turn your porch light off.  Whenever I was put in this situation as a child I would just do my usual stare and they would usually just give up and give over the candy.  On the rare occasion that they would actually not give in and require a joke of some sort I would just start to cry and run to my mommy totally upset that I didn't get any candy.  She would have to apologize and explain that I was really shy.  Of course, I would totally end up with the candy.  Crying always gets you candy.  

With all of this happening, I am not sure why I love Halloween so much.  I don't like scary things either.  If a house looked too scary I would skip it and pass on the candy entirely.  Any adult that dressed up and tried to scare me with a "BOO" would always end up with me bawling and cowering behind my mother while she collected the entire bowl of candy as an apology.

I have, of course, grown out of this painfully shy stage.  I can ask for my own candy now, not that I would Trick or Treat at my age.  I just hope that if I ever have kids I won't have to do the Trick or Treating for them like my mom did.

British Imposter

I was a Girl Scout.  Go ahead, get your laughs out now.  I was in Girl Scouts from 1st grade through 12th grade graduation.  I was also a Girl Scout troop leader.  

As a Girl Scout we often went camping.  And by camping I mean staying in a heated lodge on a camp ground.  We usually spent the weekend eating as much food as possible, doing make overs, and watching movies on the tv we brought with us.  We were not rough and tough scouts by any means.  Most of the time we did "camping" for fun but sometimes we were involved in events and volunteer work which took us out to our "camp".  

One such event involved us camping for a weekend and teaching younger scouts what it's all about and do activities with them.  They only stayed for the day but we stayed all weekend and worked with different groups of kiddos that came to visit.  We weren't the only older and wiser girls there teaching these pipsqueaks.  There were other older troops there staying the weekend and we had to double up on lodges.  We were teamed up with a troop of home schooled girls who were very responsible Girl Scouts.  They never did wrong and hadn't had much excitement in life.  Since they were there we were not able to do our usual binging and watching tv.  In other words, we were bored quickly.

What does boredom always lead to?  Hilarious antics.  Whose idea it was I do not remember.  All I know is that we decided to spend the weekend speaking with British accents.  Literally the entire time.  And you know what?  Our home schooled roomies bought it.  They thought we were all from London and had relocated our entire troop here to Midwest United states.  They asked us tons of questions about London and what kind of food we ate and what the schools there were like.  Being the non-responsible group we were, we went with it and made up all sorts of fun stories.  How anyone believed our poor rendition of the accent is a mystery to me.  We were the most popular troop in camp.  I guess none of the leaders ratted us out because our ruse lasted until we drove away on Sunday afternoon.  

What lesson did I learn from this Girl Scout outing?  People are easily fooled and adults enjoy a good joke just as much as the kids do. 

Always a Flower Girl

Growing up, for some reason, I was always called on to be a flower girl in someone's wedding whom I didn't even know.  I have never understood why someone would want some kid they don't know to be in their wedding.

Regardless, I was called on to be a flower girl for my mom's half brother's wife's daughter's wedding.  Ain't that a mouthful (and yes, I know that ain't is not really a word).  What might you ask did I have to wear to this "family" wedding?  Why of course I was wearing a little white wedding dress type gown with a peach colored sash.  Peach.  At least I wasn't one of the bridesmaids who were wearing all peach.  I think we had about ten bridesmaids, ten groomsmen of course, and two flower girls.  I have no idea who this other girl was but I was definitely the cute one.  Everyone was marveling at my hair because my mom had it professionally done for this "special" occasion.  I managed to stutter walk done the aisle as I was taught in my uncomfortable peach dyes shoes and made it to my spot on the bench next to my mom.  My part was over and I was bored.  What could possibly entertain me during a boring wedding ceremony you ask?  Ask and you shall receive.  Not five minutes into the wedding, the groom fainted.  It was awesome, and by awesome I mean totally scary for everyone else but totally hilarious to me.  I think the poor guy had his tie on too tight and choked himself out.  That stunt was enough to keep me giggling through the rest of the ceremony and on to my next flower girl gig.

A year or so later my half cousin decided to get married and low and behold I was again made flower girl.  This time I got to wear another mini wedding gown only this time it had a black sash, how risky.  I decided to do my own hair this time, and in the fashion of the times decided to crimp my hair.  Picture this if you will....long brown hair flowing down to my butt, triangle crimped into an afro of sorts.  I looked like I had been electrocuted and it was awesome.  So off to the wedding I went with my electrified hair and black and white ensemble.  I should have been at a zombie wedding.  No one commented on my hair and I again completed my duties without a hitch.  My cousin managed to stay upright and not pass out so the ceremony was a bore.

By this time I was getting a little old for a flower girl.  So what was I called on to do next, guest book attendant of course (love you guys if you are reading this).  Because you can't have a wedding without one of those.  So here I was again, working another wedding.  I got to choose my own dress this time since I clearly didn't own anything appropriate enough for a wedding.  I chose a floor length blue dress with a matching purse and one of those sheer shawl things that are good for absolutely nothing.  I mean really, they are sheer so they will never keep you warm.  They don't have sleeves so you have to spend the entire night trying to hold your elbows just right so it doesn't fall down.  Add the matching purse and I was miserable trying to keep myself together.  I guess I missed my directions because I was not really sure what exactly a guest book attendant was suppose to do.  I mean, was the book going to get up and run away if I wasn't there to watch it.  It was big enough that no one could miss seeing it so I guess my job was to tackle down anyone who refused to sign and force them to do so in blood.  Being a sweet innocent shy middle schooler I chose instead to stand there looking stupid and pointing to the book as people passed by.  All the while, trying to keep that stupid shawl and purse on my shoulders.  What did I need a purse for any way, it's not like I had any money.  I didn't wear makeup and cell phones hadn't been invented yet so I'm pretty sure that purse was empty.  But it was so cute.  I actually still own that outfit, but why I'm not sure.  Maybe I can wear it for Halloween and say I'm dressed as a 90's loser.  I am sure to win best costume.

Lets just say, I have not been asked to be in a wedding since other than my best friend's wedding.  My cute adorable stage had passed and now it was just awkward.  I remember those days fondly and when I got married I kept those thoughts alive.  I refused to have a flower girl and my guest book stood alone on a table.  No strange girl I didn't know was going to be tortured at my wedding.  You can all thank me later.

License to Drive

Before even getting my driver's permit, I just knew that I would be an excellent driver.  I mean, technically, I had been driving for years.  Along with letting me hang out the car window with no seat belt my mother also, on occasion, let me drive.  Now, she didn't just let me climb behind the wheel and take off, that would be irresponsible.  Instead, while she was driving my mother would occasionally let me scoot over on the bench seat of our boat sized car and take over the steering wheel.  I always stayed between the lines and felt I was a natural.

Fast forward to when I was fifteen and a half and finally old enough to get my permit.  After weeks of slaving over the drivers manual I easily passed the exam.  My mom decided that the school parking lot was the perfect place for my first trial run behind the wheel.  I mean, what better place than a parking lot with kids around, lots of turns and curbs to hit with all my friends to watch and laugh.  My mother was petrified I assume, by the look on her face, and I could see her leg pumping the invisible brakes in the passenger seat as I started to slowly creep forward.  As it turns out, I was a natural after all.  I managed to avoid hitting any of the kids or curbs and easily picked up how to control my speed.  Soon mom was letting me drive to and from school every day for practice.  

This daily practice though was still horrifying to my mother.  I was a perfectly good driver who drove exactly the speed limit and always followed the rules of the road.  Still, my mom was always yelling at me to slow down and pay attention.  Once, in the video store parking lot I was pulling into a parking space when my mom yelled that I was going to hit something.  I didn't see anything in the spot and proceeded to park the car.  My mom insisted that I had run it over and that I must in turn be a horrible driver.  I looked under the car to realize my tired had glided past a GI Joe figurine not any bigger than my thumb.  Clearly those GI Joe's are dangerous tire popping death toys.  Needless to say, the tire was fine and I continued to diligently practice my driving for the next six months in preparation for my driving exam.

The day finally came and I am pretty sure my mom assumed there was no way I would pass on my first try so she happily took me to the DMV for my test.  Before I climbed behind the wheel she reminded me that this is just my first try and don't get too upset.  I started off well even though my instructor had the coldest iciest stare I've ever seen.  We were driving through the middle of a subdivision when she asked me to pull over on a hill.  I knew to turn my wheels in toward the curb and passed that part of the exam with ease.  Once she told me to go ahead and continue however was when it started to go down hill.  I started to drive away without realizing my tires were still turned and immediately ran into the ditch.  Why was I pulled over next to a ditch you ask?  Because everyone else who has taken the driver's exam also forgets to turn their wheels back out and now a huge tire ditch has formed in some person's yard.  I would be totally pissed if that was my yard every sixteen year old in the city was driving into.  After I regained my composure I finished the test without much problem and when I pulled back into the DMV I was told that I had passed the exam!  I ran over to my mom to share the news and I had never actually seen someones jaw hit the floor until that moment. 

I continued to drive my mom's car until the summer before senior year when I finally obtained my very first car.  For only $1500 I purchased a 1992 Geo Metro Hatchback with no air conditioning, no extras, and no power steering.  It was the best car and I drove it accident free for two whole years before trading it in for some much needed air conditioning.  I still think I am a decent driver, even though many would disagree.  I have never caused an accident and only drive a little over the speed limit.  Despite all my mother's fears, I think I really am a natural driver and anyone who disagrees can kiss my behind.

Hello, and who are you again?

I started out my educational experience at Hanna Woods Elementary School.  In first grade I had a wonderful teacher Mrs. S.  I was a good student but was also painfully shy.  I didn't raise my hand in class, I didn't chatter away to my friends behind the teacher's back, in fact  I spoke as little as possible.  Partially, I imagine, due to the fact that I had a fantastic speech impediment that prevented me from pronouncing my R's correctly.  Talk about making the name Abrea even more confusing.  I pronounced it Abwea and then didn't understand why no one could say my name correctly.

This is all beside the point.  The story I am trying to tell is of the day Mrs. S decided that the shyest girl in class should be the one she sends on an errand.  I had brought in cupcakes for the class because it was my birthday.  I am still a little confused as to why we used to bring in our own birthday treats; shouldn't someone have treated me since it was my birthday?  Again I am sidetracking, I brought in cupcakes that my mother had made out of a box the night before.  Cupcakes which, by the way, I didn't like since I don't like cake.  So, not only did I have to help make my own birthday treat, but it was a treat I didn't even like.  

I got to class with my cupcakes and all the kids enjoyed scarfing down their overdose of sugar at 9:00 in the morning.  There were a few cupcakes left over and Mrs. S didn't want to let them go to waste.  That is when she decided to traumatize me for life.  I am sure she thought it was an innocent request but to me I felt like I had been shot.  Mrs. S instructed me to take one of the extra cupcakes and give it to the school's principal.  I was mortified.  Not only did  I not know my way around the school or where the office was, I had no idea who the principal was.  I mean, I was only six years old.  Am I suppose to have directional awareness at that age?  But did I tell Mrs. S that I had no idea where to take the cupcake?  Of course not, I was shy and didn't want to say anything. 

I wandered out of the classroom clutching the cupcake thinking what a wonderful birthday this was turning out to be.  I started meandering down the hallways in the direction I hoped would land me in the office that I swear I had never seen before.  I only knew how to get to my classroom.  Whenever we went anywhere during school I just followed the kids in front of me not paying attention to which turns we were making.  I eventually made it to a large open area which must have been the entrance hallway to the school.  My chest was tight, I was having trouble breathing and I was debating just throwing the cupcake in a trash can, returning to class, and hoping Mrs. S never asked out principal how her cupcake was.  My mind was racing trying to remember if I had ever met or seen the principal before.  Was the principal a male or a female?  I had no idea.  And I couldn't ask anyone.  I mean, asking a stupid question like that would obviously give me a heat attack.  

Eventually after wandering in the lobby for a while a kind looking lady came out of what I assume now was the office and asked me where I was suppose to be going.  Tears were filling my eyes because I was sure I was going to get in trouble.  I managed to squeak out that I was suppose to take this now smooshed cupcake to the principal because it was my birthday.  She smiled and giggled a little before telling me that she, in fact, was the principal.  I was even more mortified.  I had just walked up the the principal of the school and asked where the principal was.  She was definitely going to kick me out of school now.  But of course she didn't.  She graciously accepted the disgusting looking flattened cupcake and helped me find my way back to the classroom.  Mrs. S took no notice to the fact that I had just had a complete panic attack at her request and kept on teaching the class unaware of what she had caused me.  

I, of course, now have a very irrational fear of always getting lost everywhere I go.  When traveling to a new place I always insist on using Google maps so I can get exact directions and also use the street view so I can see exactly where I am going.  Also, if possible, I Google the person I am meeting so I know what they look like.  Call me crazy but Mrs. S, unbeknown to her, scarred me for life on my 6th birthday.