Here is a list of my top 10 "blonde" moments. Please do not judge...whether you admit it or not, we ALL have them. These are my favorite thus far....
10. When I was a freshmen in High School, we were all assigned an English term that we had to teach to the class in an interesting way. My group got the word hyperbole.
As a brief refresher, a hyperbole, according to the ever-so trustworthy Wikipedia, is "a figure of speech in which statements are exaggerated."
I forget how exactly our group chose to teach this term to our fellow students. However, I do remember very well that the other 2 guys in my group were deadbeats and decided that I should do all the work for it.
Being the nice gal that I am, I went along with it on one condition. One of them would have to do most of the talking in front of the class. Public speaking, for me, has always been an absolute nightmare. I get a dry throat, which makes me feel as though I'm going to vomit any second. I start pacing back and forth in my mind and try to memorize exactly what I'm going to say over and over in my head. Then, once I get up in front of a group of people, whether it's only 2 or 20 or 200, I inevitably forget what I'm about to say and stutter all over my words making it completely impossible for anyone to understand what the hell I am talking about.
That being said, you can imagine my hesitation when I found out 5 minutes before our presentation, my dead beat group "partners" had changed their minds and decided that I was also going to present the whole project.
Oh God. I'm going to hurl....
So we get up there. I take a deep breath and I look at my loving classmates. I had known all of these people for years, some of them since kindergarten. It was no big deal right? Right. So...here it goes....
I open my mouth....
Silence.
I try again...
Nothing.
And then, I guess to help me along, my teacher asked us what our term was.
Yea! I know the answer to that one. So I blurted out...
"Hyper-bowl! Our term was hyper-bowl!"
And yes....that's exactly how I said it. I said it as though this fictitious bowl needed to be on ritalin....what the hell?
(For those of you who didn't catch it, the word phonetically is pronounced "hye-PER-bÉ™-lee".)
My teacher was so nice though. She just smiled and corrected me gently but not at the expense of all the other students who were giggling and laughing and pointing....
I know they thought I was an idiot. But somehow I made it through the rest of the presentation. This was only the beginning of a long slew of embarrassing moments when it came to public speaking.
9. Andrew and I play this game often where one of us will ask the other a trivia question. It's usually while we're taking one of our infamous road trips and we're just trying to keep things interesting. These trivia questions are usually movie, t.v. or music related but sometimes we'll stump each other with a history or sports question.
(OK. Let's be honest, we all know that I know absolutely nothing about most history and sports trivia...My smarts are usually in English and Literature....except of course if you want me to pronounce something correctly. See "blonde" moment #10).
So this being said, sometimes I get people confused with who they really are. So one day, Andrew and I are driving around and he asks me to name a player on the Lakers team. I stare at him blankly.
First of all, I'm not even sure if he's talking basketball or football. And he wants me to name a player? Ok...here it goes.
I look at him confidently and say the first name that pops into my head.
"Stonewall Jackson!"
Ha! So there! He didn't see that one coming now did he! I. Am. So. SMART!
And then I look at him and see that he is laughing. No, not laughing...more like cackling at me.
"What?" I say. "Do I have the wrong team?"
He can barely get the words out and every time he even tries to talk, he glances at me, sees the look on my face and then starts howling again.
I start to get a little annoyed.
"Well, are you going to tell me? What's so funny?"
He finally gets a hold of himself and says, "Stonewall Jackson? Really? Are you being serious?"
He looks at me again and sees that I am and therefore this throws him into another fit of laughter.
I stare ahead in front of me wanting to plummet myself out of the car into on-coming traffic.
And finally, he breaks it to me. Apparently...Stonewall Jackson was a general in some war...(who knew?). But in my defense, doesn't the name "Stonewall" sound like a basketball (or football?) player's name?....
Doesn't it?
8. I hate being wrong. (Who doesn't?) But I especially hate being wrong when I'm being so adamant that I'm right. For example, one day my family and I were sitting around talking about random things when the subject turned to Disney World. We were discussing how much we all were amazed that my old Pontiac Grand am "Betsy" made it to and from there so many times. So I made the comment "Yeah I know. She's been there and back 3 times! Crazy!"
My dad looks at me and says, "No. She's only been there and back 2 times."
I look at him knowingly. "No. remember? I drove her to Florida when I lived there. Then back again. (That's 2 times right?) Then when I went a couple of years ago. (3)
He stared at me. "But that only makes 2 times."
"No No No. It's 3."
I kept trying to explain to him the logic of how many times and I was starting to get frustrated...did this really matter anyway? I kept trying different angles to approach it and kept coming up with the same result. And he kept telling me that it was only 2 times, there and back.
So I tried the first route again. "I drove her to Florida when I lived there. Then back again. (That's 1 time) And then I drove her there and back a couple of years ago...that's 2 times and then....."
He looked at me.
Crap. I knew I was caught..."And then...."
Oops. Look at that. He was right all along...
7. Scary movies are not my forte'. (See previous blog from 3/5/09 if you don't believe me.) I am the type of person who has mapped out in my head where I would hide should someone try to come in my house and kill me. I've even tried fitting myself between the mattress and the box spring (the perfect hiding place right?). And I've timed it out exactly and done trial runs to make sure I am prepared for any possible sudden attacks.
When I was in high school, there were often times when I found myself being home alone. I did not like these times. Even in the daytime, I had a hard time occupying myself enough to not sit in quiet too long and imagine all of the non-existent noises I was hearing.
One day. These noises were not non-existent. They were real. Someone was trying to get in the house. Needless to say, I panicked.
So I thought to myself. Mary. You can do this. You have to protect yourself. I could hear whoever was trying to get in getting closer and closer to achieving their goal. So I decided then and there that I would be brave and defend myself. I grabbed the nearest thing to me to use as a weapon. Not a knife. Not a shovel. Not a piece of rope.....a hairbrush.
Yes. A hair brush.
You ask me, what was I thinking? (See title of this blog...)
So dangerous hairbrush in hand, I started creeping down the hall. Said attacker was getting closer, but I had my weapon and my plan in mind. (And yes, I was going to beat him senseless with my trusty hairbrush...and no one was going to stop me.)
I was getting closer and so was he. I heard voices. (There was more than one of them). They were coming in the door. I could hear it creaking and their footsteps were getting closer to me. I reached the end of the hall. I knew that as soon as they rounded the next corner, they would see me, "weapon" in hand and pull out their own defenses. I decided then and there to act fast. I wouldn't give them the chance to see me first. Here it goes.
I rounded the corner and charged!!!!!!!!!! Hairbrush held high and screaming like a banchie! But stopped short...
There standing in front of me was my brother and a couple of his friends. They looked at me. I looked at them. Then they saw the hairbrush. They looked at me again....
I tried to play it cool (so what if I had forgotten they were coming over that day? So what if my brother was holding his house key in his hand and I hadn't reasonably deducted the fact that his putting the key in the door was the scary noise I was hearing...)
They continued to stare at me. I had nothing.....
So I walked away.
But trespassers beware. You won't be so lucky....
6. One of my most favorite t.v shows is "Alias". Any show where the woman is always the one that kicks ass is something I am highly entertained by. But that's beside the point.
One day, not too long ago, my brother Pat and sister-in-law Jenn and I were sitting at the kitchen table. We were talking about the show and Jenn mentioned how she missed Sidney (Jennifer Garner's character) dressing up so much like she had in the first couple of seasons. Then she made the comment: "I mean the show is called "Alias", you would think they would keep that up right?"
I looked at Jenn and it clicked. "Oh!" I said. "That's why the show is called "Alias". I always wondered that."
Pat and Jenn stared at me like a cow does at an oncoming train.
I stared back innocently..."What?"
5. Growing up, Pat and I loved watching old Dr. Who episodes. It was my Dad's fault actually. He was the one who introduced us to the British show and we were hooked from the beginning. Often times, we would sneak into his room while he was sleeping and snag one of his tapes of episodes from his closet and watch it all day long. We even made up a Dr. Who game where we would build forts and go on "missions" and such. Good times. Good times.
We were talking about the show one day, many, many years later and Dad said something about the robotic dog in the show named K-9. I didn't hear all of what he was saying because when he mentioned the dogs name, I had an epiphany. Suddenly I blurted out:
"Hey! That's cool. The dog's name was K-9...you know, like canine. Like the species...!"
Yea me! I'm so. Smart.
Pat looked at me and my dad started laughing. "Really?" They said in unison.
I looked at them back. "What?"
4. Oops! I forgot to put a # 4! So me forgetting to count will serve as my #4 blonde moment!
3. The infamous chicken bone- (See blog from 4/2/09)
2. Pat and I loved to ride our bikes when we were little. It was one of our favorite things to do. (What kid doesn't like riding a bike?)
One afternoon, we were doing our normal obstacle course of riding up and down the driveway and all the way around the house. We would do this multiple times throughout the day and try to make it more interesting along the way.
So I get this brilliant idea that when Pat was going around the house one way, I would go the opposite way and we would pass each other and go from there. However, I forgot one minor detail. I somehow neglected to tell him that I was going to do this, so he was never pre-warned that I was coming.
So there we were, I was going one direction while he was going the other...both at full speed and it looked as though we were going to meet in the middle....literally.
Suddenly I realized that he wasn't slowing down and he was headed right towards me....we were going to crash.
So what did I do you ask? Well naturally...I panicked.
I swerved to my right to get out of the way, failing to remember that the only thing directly to my right was a huge hill that ended up at the bottom of our property. Not so bad, right?
Right.
So one would think I would hold onto the bike with all my might, hoping that I was still on it by the time I reached the bottom of the hill and was able to break. Right?
Wrong.
Instead, I decided to go all evil canevil and I jumped off of my bike, thinking I would land softly on the ground.
Unfortunately, this was not the case. Instead of landing on the ground, I landed right smack dab, face-first....into a tree....
Yes.
A tree.
I. Am. Brilliant.
1.So I had been at my current job for about 3 months when I had to resort to calling them one morning to let them know I was going to be a bit late. When asking me why, I reluctantly answered that I was lost....
Yes. Lost.
On the way to work.
At a job I had been working at for 3 months.
Lost.....
But let me explain. I had gotten up extra early to go by the post office and took a different route. I thought I knew where I was going and ended up in a while different county....
It was sad.
Very sad indeed.
Sunday, June 28, 2009
Top 10's!
I am going to randomly start posting lists of top 10's! It's going to be a mixture of things, from moments to movies to music to whatever. Hope you all enjoy! Leave comments and feedback along the way if you would like! Or if you have any ideas of your own, I would love to hear them! (Read them?:)
Friday, June 26, 2009
LOL Pets!
I love my pets! So much in fact that I have spent 2 hours creating these "Lol pics" of each and every one of them.
Yes, this is the kind of thing I do in my spare time.... Sad? Maybe...but I love to get a good laugh and this was free!!!!
Cutest. Pets. Ever.
Yes, this is the kind of thing I do in my spare time.... Sad? Maybe...but I love to get a good laugh and this was free!!!!
Cutest. Pets. Ever.
Thursday, June 25, 2009
Did I give you my debit card?
Everyone who knows me well enough knows that I have my own idea of what organization is. There could be a pile of papers on the floor somewhere and to an innocent bystander, they could very well appear to be in disarray. However, in my world, this would not be the case. just because they look that way, does not mean I don't know what's there. They are all organized according to whatever system I see fit at the time.
This being said, there are several things that I often "misplace" and have a tendency to run around the house looking for. Andrew laughs at my morning ritual as I run up and down the stairs trying to find each of these things before leaving for work. The list includes, but is not limited to:
My keys
My sunglasses
The current book I'm reading
My phone
And.....
My debit card
I know. I know. It would make more sense to set everything out the night before and have a special place where all of these things are located so that I'm not running around every morning, rushing to get to work on time. But that's not how I function....apparently.
The last item in this list (aka my debit card) I am constantly "losing" via placing it in my back pocket and it getting washed in the washer, placing it in my purse and it somehow getting stuck in the little notebook I carry, ect. ect, ect.
I try to put it right back in my wallet where it belongs...really I do. It just doesn't always happen. And most of the time, I'm really lucky because I find it right away. No worries. Ahem...notice, I said "most of the time".
So as many of you already know, Andrew and I went to Vermont last year. We left early one morning and drove straight through. Upon arriving, we drove through the small town of Bennington, VT in order to get to the place we were staying in Wilmington, VT. Needless to say, when we saw this little town, we couldn't wait to explore it. It had all of these cute, little shops, and beautiful churches and a monument. And I was also extremely excited to find out that it houses the cemetery where Robert Frost is buried. So cool!!!
So it was decided. The next morning, we would get up and drive to Bennington to further explore it. That morning we set out. We walked across the street and ate at the little bakery. We sat on the porch and watched the little town come alive. It had been drizzling a little but once we had finished our muffins, hot tea and coffee (delicious!), it had stopped. We decided to start our journey into Bennington.
Once we arrived, we sat in the car briefly to make sure we had everything we needed. I distinctly remembered getting my debit card out of my wallet and putting it in my back pocket so I wouldn't have to carry my purse. We had our sunglasses. Andrew had his wallet. We were all set. We got out of the car and I turned around to laugh at my crumby parallel parking (I blame it on the fact that I'm too short to see how far I am from the curb...), and we started walking towards the cemetery.
We were standing on the corner of the street, waiting for the bird to chirp on the "walk" sign and I instinctively placed my hand in my back pocket.
"Uh oh."
Andrew looked at me, "What?"
"Did I give you my debit card?"
"No....why?"
"I can't find it....Oh shit. It's our first day and I've already lost it!! What are we going to do? What if it fell out of the car when we got out? What if someone already found it and is using it right now?What...."
"Calm down. Let's just go back to the car and look for it."
And so we did. We looked inside the car. We looked inside my purse. We looked underneath the car. On top of the car. Underneath the car parked behind us. Under the seats again. We looked everywhere. And...
Nothing.
I just sat there in the driver's seat with a solemn look on my face. We were hundreds of miles away from home and had no access to half the money we had saved for this trip. Needless to say...
We were screwed.
But Andrew, oh sweet and loving man that he is, didn't panic. He remained calm through it all. (Let me just say this is one of the things I love the most about our relationship. When one person is down, the other is right there beside them, helping to keep them up.) We sat in silence. And looked out at the little town we had yet to explore.
I started to panic and began flipping the car seats up and back down, looking through every nook and cranny and then....
"AHA!!!!" I exclaimed.
"What? What?? Did you find it?"
"Oh sorry...no. I just found the other pair of sunglasses I lost last year. They were under the seat..."
He just looked at me....
"What?"
So we continued to look. And look and look.....AND......
"Oh! There is a God!!! Thank you Thank you Thank you Lord!!!!!"
"What? Did you find something else you lost?"
"No! I found it! I found it! It was between the seats the whole time! And you were worried that I lost it! See, I knew I would find it. No big deal. Right?"
Silence....
"Andrew....?"
He just stared at me for a moment and then said only one thing: "You are never ever ever allowed to take out your debit card other than to buy something and then you are to put it right back in your wallet. Agreed?"
"Ok." I said "Agreed."....."Yea! Now we can start our vacation!!!"
He just smiled at me. "I love you." he said.
"I love you back. "
Sigh. This is why we work. And it was the best. vacation. EVER!!!
Me after Andrew told me I couldn't take my debit card out of my wallet. (Hee hee. Notice how far away from the curb I am:)
This being said, there are several things that I often "misplace" and have a tendency to run around the house looking for. Andrew laughs at my morning ritual as I run up and down the stairs trying to find each of these things before leaving for work. The list includes, but is not limited to:
My keys
My sunglasses
The current book I'm reading
My phone
And.....
My debit card
I know. I know. It would make more sense to set everything out the night before and have a special place where all of these things are located so that I'm not running around every morning, rushing to get to work on time. But that's not how I function....apparently.
The last item in this list (aka my debit card) I am constantly "losing" via placing it in my back pocket and it getting washed in the washer, placing it in my purse and it somehow getting stuck in the little notebook I carry, ect. ect, ect.
I try to put it right back in my wallet where it belongs...really I do. It just doesn't always happen. And most of the time, I'm really lucky because I find it right away. No worries. Ahem...notice, I said "most of the time".
So as many of you already know, Andrew and I went to Vermont last year. We left early one morning and drove straight through. Upon arriving, we drove through the small town of Bennington, VT in order to get to the place we were staying in Wilmington, VT. Needless to say, when we saw this little town, we couldn't wait to explore it. It had all of these cute, little shops, and beautiful churches and a monument. And I was also extremely excited to find out that it houses the cemetery where Robert Frost is buried. So cool!!!
So it was decided. The next morning, we would get up and drive to Bennington to further explore it. That morning we set out. We walked across the street and ate at the little bakery. We sat on the porch and watched the little town come alive. It had been drizzling a little but once we had finished our muffins, hot tea and coffee (delicious!), it had stopped. We decided to start our journey into Bennington.
Once we arrived, we sat in the car briefly to make sure we had everything we needed. I distinctly remembered getting my debit card out of my wallet and putting it in my back pocket so I wouldn't have to carry my purse. We had our sunglasses. Andrew had his wallet. We were all set. We got out of the car and I turned around to laugh at my crumby parallel parking (I blame it on the fact that I'm too short to see how far I am from the curb...), and we started walking towards the cemetery.
We were standing on the corner of the street, waiting for the bird to chirp on the "walk" sign and I instinctively placed my hand in my back pocket.
"Uh oh."
Andrew looked at me, "What?"
"Did I give you my debit card?"
"No....why?"
"I can't find it....Oh shit. It's our first day and I've already lost it!! What are we going to do? What if it fell out of the car when we got out? What if someone already found it and is using it right now?What...."
"Calm down. Let's just go back to the car and look for it."
And so we did. We looked inside the car. We looked inside my purse. We looked underneath the car. On top of the car. Underneath the car parked behind us. Under the seats again. We looked everywhere. And...
Nothing.
I just sat there in the driver's seat with a solemn look on my face. We were hundreds of miles away from home and had no access to half the money we had saved for this trip. Needless to say...
We were screwed.
But Andrew, oh sweet and loving man that he is, didn't panic. He remained calm through it all. (Let me just say this is one of the things I love the most about our relationship. When one person is down, the other is right there beside them, helping to keep them up.) We sat in silence. And looked out at the little town we had yet to explore.
I started to panic and began flipping the car seats up and back down, looking through every nook and cranny and then....
"AHA!!!!" I exclaimed.
"What? What?? Did you find it?"
"Oh sorry...no. I just found the other pair of sunglasses I lost last year. They were under the seat..."
He just looked at me....
"What?"
So we continued to look. And look and look.....AND......
"Oh! There is a God!!! Thank you Thank you Thank you Lord!!!!!"
"What? Did you find something else you lost?"
"No! I found it! I found it! It was between the seats the whole time! And you were worried that I lost it! See, I knew I would find it. No big deal. Right?"
Silence....
"Andrew....?"
He just stared at me for a moment and then said only one thing: "You are never ever ever allowed to take out your debit card other than to buy something and then you are to put it right back in your wallet. Agreed?"
"Ok." I said "Agreed."....."Yea! Now we can start our vacation!!!"
He just smiled at me. "I love you." he said.
"I love you back. "
Sigh. This is why we work. And it was the best. vacation. EVER!!!
Me after Andrew told me I couldn't take my debit card out of my wallet. (Hee hee. Notice how far away from the curb I am:)
Congratulations: You're a Woman.
Being a young girl of 11 or 12, it is often too embarrassing to discuss certain topics with your parents, especially your dad because he's a "boy" and he just couldn't possibly understand what your going through.
My dad has always had his own approach on things which in retrospect is why we get along so well. For example, when I was little, I would often have nightmares about "woofs" (aka wolves) and this would on most occasions land me smack dab in the middle of my parent's bed, spread out as far as I could be leaving the two of them very little room to get a decent night's sleep. I imagine that this soon grew to be a problem in their world.
One night, I had had a particularly disturbing dream about the "woofs". I remember waking up and being too scared to pry myself out from underneath the covers to make the long journey across the hall to get to my parent's room where safety awaited me. Every little noise was too loud and I swear that there was something else in that room with me when the lights were off. I looked over and there was a huge dark figure staring at me from across the room. (Obviously a "woof"). Once I did finally make it to my parent's room (don't ask me how for I have cleansed the frightening moment from my memory), they lead me back into my room and turned the light on.
There I was, standing in between them holding both of their hands, staring at the figure that had been glowering at me in the dark. It turned out to be a chair with a bunch of clothes on it. As hard as I tried to convince them, my parents would not believe that the scary monster thing had replaced itself with this chair and clothing and would most definitely be back looming at me once I was in bed all alone with the light off.
They stared at me with the sweetness of a tired set of parents wanting to help their scared child, but not quite sure how to explain the imagined "things that go bump in the night".
It was here that my daddy knelt down beside me and asked me what my bad dreams were about. I proceeded to tell him about the scary "woofs" and how they would chase me and I could never run fast enough. He then asked me if I remembered watching the old movies that he always watched about the mummy and Frankenstein and the wolf man.(He was sure to leave out Dracula because he knew my dreaded fear of vampires and sharp fangs...)
I thought he was being silly. Of course I remembered those old movies. Those times with my daddy, nuzzled up underneath his arm with my head on his chest, eating popcorn were some of my most favorite-est moments ever!
I looked up at his big, smiling daddy eyes and said "Mmmhmmm. I remember."
"Well." He said. "Those guys are friends of mine and they have promised to protect this house and everyone who lives in it. If you see them in your dreams, they aren't there to scare you, they are there to take care of you."
This obviously made so much sense to my 3 year old mind. And this was the beginning of being able to sleep a full night in my room all by myself, with the exceptional occasion of super scary bad dreams that even my "protectors" couldn't drive the fear away. It was these nights I landed back into my parent's bedroom.
So all this being said. From the time I was little, my dad and I always had a special bond. But then the day came when something happened that I could only talk to my mom about. It was something horrible. Something life-changing. Something so totally gross and embarrassing. Something daddy couldn't fix.
Yep. You guessed it. It was my period.
Ew! Oh no! What do I do? All these thoughts plummeting in my head. Mom was at work and I was stuck. I did the best I could with toilet paper but from there I was lost. My stomach hurt. I couldn't tell if I was hungry or if I was going to throw up. It was the worst. day ever.
I told dad I wasn't feeling well and went to bed at 2 in the afternoon. My mom got home a few hours later and came in to check on me.
"Dad said you weren't feeling well. Are you ok?"
I just stared at her. Surely she would notice this huge change in me just by looking at me. Surely she would know that I'm a freak now and that my life was over.
But she just looked at me.
I stared back.
She stared back.
I couldn't say it out loud. It was too horrible.
I sat there holding my stomach and she finally figured it out. (Hello! Wasn't it obvious?...my poor mom...). She tried to comfort me and tell me that it was normal and that I wasn't dying and that this was a good thing. Blah blah blah.
I begged her not to tell Dad or Pat. All I needed was my older brother to point and laugh and make me feel like even more of a weirdo. And she finally convinced me to come out of my room and face eating dinner.
She left to give me some space and after a few minutes, I convinced myself that I was pretty hungry. She didn't notice so surely dad and Pat wouldn't notice. Because they're boys and they're oblivious....
I slowly walked out of my room and down the hall to the kitchen. I kept telling myself not to make eye contact with anyone. I would just act like nothing happened and everything would be fine. I would eat dinner and then go back to bed.
And then it happened. Suddenly my dad was standing beside me with his hand out like he was going to shake mine. I looked at him blankly, then stared at his hand. Then he said the dreaded words:
"Congratulations. You're a woman."
I. Could. Have. Died.
I looked at my mom who was trying not to laugh, "You told! I can't believe you told!"
I was mortified! As we all stood there in silence. Someone uttered a chuckle. Then another chuckle came. Then another. Someone was laughing. And that someone....
was me.
It wasn't so bad of a thing after all and I did live through it. (Dramatically...but I lived). But not without the help of my dad's weird child-rearing technique. He was (and still is) always doing stuff like that. But I wouldn't have it any other way.
Once a Daddy's little girl, always a Daddy's little girl.
My dad has always had his own approach on things which in retrospect is why we get along so well. For example, when I was little, I would often have nightmares about "woofs" (aka wolves) and this would on most occasions land me smack dab in the middle of my parent's bed, spread out as far as I could be leaving the two of them very little room to get a decent night's sleep. I imagine that this soon grew to be a problem in their world.
One night, I had had a particularly disturbing dream about the "woofs". I remember waking up and being too scared to pry myself out from underneath the covers to make the long journey across the hall to get to my parent's room where safety awaited me. Every little noise was too loud and I swear that there was something else in that room with me when the lights were off. I looked over and there was a huge dark figure staring at me from across the room. (Obviously a "woof"). Once I did finally make it to my parent's room (don't ask me how for I have cleansed the frightening moment from my memory), they lead me back into my room and turned the light on.
There I was, standing in between them holding both of their hands, staring at the figure that had been glowering at me in the dark. It turned out to be a chair with a bunch of clothes on it. As hard as I tried to convince them, my parents would not believe that the scary monster thing had replaced itself with this chair and clothing and would most definitely be back looming at me once I was in bed all alone with the light off.
They stared at me with the sweetness of a tired set of parents wanting to help their scared child, but not quite sure how to explain the imagined "things that go bump in the night".
It was here that my daddy knelt down beside me and asked me what my bad dreams were about. I proceeded to tell him about the scary "woofs" and how they would chase me and I could never run fast enough. He then asked me if I remembered watching the old movies that he always watched about the mummy and Frankenstein and the wolf man.(He was sure to leave out Dracula because he knew my dreaded fear of vampires and sharp fangs...)
I thought he was being silly. Of course I remembered those old movies. Those times with my daddy, nuzzled up underneath his arm with my head on his chest, eating popcorn were some of my most favorite-est moments ever!
I looked up at his big, smiling daddy eyes and said "Mmmhmmm. I remember."
"Well." He said. "Those guys are friends of mine and they have promised to protect this house and everyone who lives in it. If you see them in your dreams, they aren't there to scare you, they are there to take care of you."
This obviously made so much sense to my 3 year old mind. And this was the beginning of being able to sleep a full night in my room all by myself, with the exceptional occasion of super scary bad dreams that even my "protectors" couldn't drive the fear away. It was these nights I landed back into my parent's bedroom.
So all this being said. From the time I was little, my dad and I always had a special bond. But then the day came when something happened that I could only talk to my mom about. It was something horrible. Something life-changing. Something so totally gross and embarrassing. Something daddy couldn't fix.
Yep. You guessed it. It was my period.
Ew! Oh no! What do I do? All these thoughts plummeting in my head. Mom was at work and I was stuck. I did the best I could with toilet paper but from there I was lost. My stomach hurt. I couldn't tell if I was hungry or if I was going to throw up. It was the worst. day ever.
I told dad I wasn't feeling well and went to bed at 2 in the afternoon. My mom got home a few hours later and came in to check on me.
"Dad said you weren't feeling well. Are you ok?"
I just stared at her. Surely she would notice this huge change in me just by looking at me. Surely she would know that I'm a freak now and that my life was over.
But she just looked at me.
I stared back.
She stared back.
I couldn't say it out loud. It was too horrible.
I sat there holding my stomach and she finally figured it out. (Hello! Wasn't it obvious?...my poor mom...). She tried to comfort me and tell me that it was normal and that I wasn't dying and that this was a good thing. Blah blah blah.
I begged her not to tell Dad or Pat. All I needed was my older brother to point and laugh and make me feel like even more of a weirdo. And she finally convinced me to come out of my room and face eating dinner.
She left to give me some space and after a few minutes, I convinced myself that I was pretty hungry. She didn't notice so surely dad and Pat wouldn't notice. Because they're boys and they're oblivious....
I slowly walked out of my room and down the hall to the kitchen. I kept telling myself not to make eye contact with anyone. I would just act like nothing happened and everything would be fine. I would eat dinner and then go back to bed.
And then it happened. Suddenly my dad was standing beside me with his hand out like he was going to shake mine. I looked at him blankly, then stared at his hand. Then he said the dreaded words:
"Congratulations. You're a woman."
I. Could. Have. Died.
I looked at my mom who was trying not to laugh, "You told! I can't believe you told!"
I was mortified! As we all stood there in silence. Someone uttered a chuckle. Then another chuckle came. Then another. Someone was laughing. And that someone....
was me.
It wasn't so bad of a thing after all and I did live through it. (Dramatically...but I lived). But not without the help of my dad's weird child-rearing technique. He was (and still is) always doing stuff like that. But I wouldn't have it any other way.
Once a Daddy's little girl, always a Daddy's little girl.
Windows. Eating Disorders. And. Bloody Noses
"No one can make you feel inferior without your consent."- Eleanor Roosevelt
Keeping this famous quote in mind, I was 17 and a senior in high school when my boyfriend at the time, a freshmen (I know! That should have been my first clue!) told me that he thought I was chubby. Being a girl of that age and never really having a self-esteem, of course I believed him.
So I stopped eating. But he loved me and he was just looking out for me. These were only a few of the excuses I offered up to all the true friends I had when they kept telling me he was no good for me and that they were worried about me.
Donald was a very jealous guy. I couldn't even look at any of my guy friends around him, let alone talk to them. He would get so upset and make me feel like I was a slut. I remember one time when we were in band class and a friend of mine (a guy) was making faces at me so I jokingly made a face back. I turned around and Donald was staring bullets at me. It actually made me cringe. After class, he later told me that he didn't want me talking to this friend of mine anymore. I was so torn. John had been a friend of mine for several years and I wasn't about to let go of that friendship...but I loved Donald and he loved me, so what was I supposed to do?
My friends continued to worry about me as they watched my self-esteem deteriorate along with what little extra pounds I had to lose. But I still stuck by this guy because "he was all I had". this was the beginning of a long series of guys who treated me badly. He was one of many who was very disturbed and need help. And of course me being someone who likes to solve people's problems, wanted to reach out and help and "fix" him. I was constantly reaching out to losers like this who refused to accept that they need help and thrived on making those who cared about them miserable. In fact, it's not until somewhat recently that I stopped trying to fix everything and realized that it is not my job to solve everyone's problems. Though, I have to admit, I do still struggle at times.
There was a time in Donald's and my relationship where I was beginning to see and feel all of the things that everyone else had seen and felt at the beginning. But I felt trapped. I didn't know how to end it on a positive note and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt him. So I did what every teenage girl does when she's in a bind...I tried breaking up with him over the phone. This way, I didn't have to see his pain and I didn't risk the chance of feeling so guilty and losing my courage to end it.
I'm not exactly sure how it happened. But as I tried to break up with him over the phone, he began saying horrible things that I have sense forgotten and made me feel like the guilty party. By the end of the conversation, I was begging for his forgiveness and asking him to take me back. He refused unless I could find some way to make it up to him. It was late. And I remember that my Dad was still up. He took one look at me with the phone clutched in my hand and tears streaking down my face and I could see the hurt in his eyes. It wasn't until later that I understood what he was hurting over. I asked him if it would be ok if I went over to Donald's house for a little while because we had had a fight and I needed to talk to him face to face. Reluctantly, my Dad said "ok" and told me to give Donald a message from him "he owes me".
I got in my car and dialed Donald's number on my cell phone and told him I was on the way. He then proceeded to tell me to park at the end of his long drive way so that his parent's wouldn't see my car. I asked him if he could meet me because it was dark and I was scared to walk alone. He said:
"No."
I thought I deserved that so I drove to his house. Parked the car at the end of the drive and walked the long distance to get to his house. I knew he wouldn't want me to come in the front door so I went to his bedroom window and knocked. He opened it and helped me in, saying something about how I felt a little heavy. The only other thing I remember about that night is how hard I was crying and how mean he looked and how much I begged for him to take me back. I don't remember how long I was there or what he said exactly but I do remember crawling back out of the window and waling back to my car. Alone. But still having a boyfriend.
Pathetic. Right? Yeah. I know. But I was a different person then and it took me a long time to grow out of that.
Donald and I dated for several more months and he continues to tell me he didn't approve of my friends and notice my flaws. When the time arose for the annual senior party, I was so excited about getting all dressed up and going to a dance, but he told me I couldn't go with anyone. Him being a freshmen, he wasn't allowed to go. He almost talked me out of going at all, but my friends wouldn't have it. I remember being there and dancing and having so much fun. One of my really good friends at the time, his name was Brent, told me how pretty I looked and made the effort to call Donald to let him know that I looked so nice and that I wished he was there to dance with me. Of course Donald took it the wrong way, but at the point I didn't care. I wasn't going to let anyone ruin this special night. So I danced. And I had fun. But something in me still felt guilty. Something clicked.
This isn't normal. This has to stop.
I don't remember the gory details. But I do remember that it was a struggle getting rid of Donald. I did finally break up with him a few months after the senior party and suddenly it was him meeting me at my locker, begging for his forgiveness. It was suddenly him who was sitting kneeled down beside me at the lunch table I always sat at, telling me how it looked like I had lost more weight.
One afternoon. I was getting ready to leave when I turned around and he was there. Crying and throwing a fit. I told him to leave me alone and then I noticed that his nose was gushing blood. I freaked out and got him a lot of tissue and sat with him until it stopped. At this point, he had missed his bus so I offered to drive him home. It was impossible for me to separate myself from him completely because for some strange reason, I still wanted to help him. I still wanted to be there for him, even if he had never been there for me. This was something I struggled with every day.
Then I broke. I don't know what did it exactly but I had had enough. I had kept my calm for too long and he had crossed the line.
It was a normal day. i was sitting at lunch with my friends when he came up to me and sat on the floor beside me. I tried to ignore him but he continued to sit there and taunt me. I told him to go away and we would talk later and yet he stayed. The bell rang. I got up to throw my trash away and he followed me. I started walking faster to get away from him and he continued to pick up speed. I stopped. Turned around and suddenly had a voice.
"WHAT!!!! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME!!!!?!!!"
The whole lunch room grew quiet and everyone was staring. But it was just me and him. This was our fight.
"I HATE YOU!" He yelled.
"GOOD!!! MAYBE NOW YOU"LL START LEAVING ME ALONE!!!" I walked away and didn't look back. No longer was I going to allow this guy to make me feel sorry for him or to make me feel guilty for things that were not my fault. I was done and I wasn't going to do it any more. More importantly,
I was free.
He knew I was done. And he just stopped. He stopped meeting me at my locker. He stopped following me. he stopped talking to me. He stopped.
And I lived on and made it through. My first life lesson that love isn't always fairytales and day dreams. Sometimes love is a whole different meaning. A whole different word that hasn't been found yet. Sometimes love is unexplainable. And you just have to let it go.
Keeping this famous quote in mind, I was 17 and a senior in high school when my boyfriend at the time, a freshmen (I know! That should have been my first clue!) told me that he thought I was chubby. Being a girl of that age and never really having a self-esteem, of course I believed him.
So I stopped eating. But he loved me and he was just looking out for me. These were only a few of the excuses I offered up to all the true friends I had when they kept telling me he was no good for me and that they were worried about me.
Donald was a very jealous guy. I couldn't even look at any of my guy friends around him, let alone talk to them. He would get so upset and make me feel like I was a slut. I remember one time when we were in band class and a friend of mine (a guy) was making faces at me so I jokingly made a face back. I turned around and Donald was staring bullets at me. It actually made me cringe. After class, he later told me that he didn't want me talking to this friend of mine anymore. I was so torn. John had been a friend of mine for several years and I wasn't about to let go of that friendship...but I loved Donald and he loved me, so what was I supposed to do?
My friends continued to worry about me as they watched my self-esteem deteriorate along with what little extra pounds I had to lose. But I still stuck by this guy because "he was all I had". this was the beginning of a long series of guys who treated me badly. He was one of many who was very disturbed and need help. And of course me being someone who likes to solve people's problems, wanted to reach out and help and "fix" him. I was constantly reaching out to losers like this who refused to accept that they need help and thrived on making those who cared about them miserable. In fact, it's not until somewhat recently that I stopped trying to fix everything and realized that it is not my job to solve everyone's problems. Though, I have to admit, I do still struggle at times.
There was a time in Donald's and my relationship where I was beginning to see and feel all of the things that everyone else had seen and felt at the beginning. But I felt trapped. I didn't know how to end it on a positive note and the last thing I wanted to do was hurt him. So I did what every teenage girl does when she's in a bind...I tried breaking up with him over the phone. This way, I didn't have to see his pain and I didn't risk the chance of feeling so guilty and losing my courage to end it.
I'm not exactly sure how it happened. But as I tried to break up with him over the phone, he began saying horrible things that I have sense forgotten and made me feel like the guilty party. By the end of the conversation, I was begging for his forgiveness and asking him to take me back. He refused unless I could find some way to make it up to him. It was late. And I remember that my Dad was still up. He took one look at me with the phone clutched in my hand and tears streaking down my face and I could see the hurt in his eyes. It wasn't until later that I understood what he was hurting over. I asked him if it would be ok if I went over to Donald's house for a little while because we had had a fight and I needed to talk to him face to face. Reluctantly, my Dad said "ok" and told me to give Donald a message from him "he owes me".
I got in my car and dialed Donald's number on my cell phone and told him I was on the way. He then proceeded to tell me to park at the end of his long drive way so that his parent's wouldn't see my car. I asked him if he could meet me because it was dark and I was scared to walk alone. He said:
"No."
I thought I deserved that so I drove to his house. Parked the car at the end of the drive and walked the long distance to get to his house. I knew he wouldn't want me to come in the front door so I went to his bedroom window and knocked. He opened it and helped me in, saying something about how I felt a little heavy. The only other thing I remember about that night is how hard I was crying and how mean he looked and how much I begged for him to take me back. I don't remember how long I was there or what he said exactly but I do remember crawling back out of the window and waling back to my car. Alone. But still having a boyfriend.
Pathetic. Right? Yeah. I know. But I was a different person then and it took me a long time to grow out of that.
Donald and I dated for several more months and he continues to tell me he didn't approve of my friends and notice my flaws. When the time arose for the annual senior party, I was so excited about getting all dressed up and going to a dance, but he told me I couldn't go with anyone. Him being a freshmen, he wasn't allowed to go. He almost talked me out of going at all, but my friends wouldn't have it. I remember being there and dancing and having so much fun. One of my really good friends at the time, his name was Brent, told me how pretty I looked and made the effort to call Donald to let him know that I looked so nice and that I wished he was there to dance with me. Of course Donald took it the wrong way, but at the point I didn't care. I wasn't going to let anyone ruin this special night. So I danced. And I had fun. But something in me still felt guilty. Something clicked.
This isn't normal. This has to stop.
I don't remember the gory details. But I do remember that it was a struggle getting rid of Donald. I did finally break up with him a few months after the senior party and suddenly it was him meeting me at my locker, begging for his forgiveness. It was suddenly him who was sitting kneeled down beside me at the lunch table I always sat at, telling me how it looked like I had lost more weight.
One afternoon. I was getting ready to leave when I turned around and he was there. Crying and throwing a fit. I told him to leave me alone and then I noticed that his nose was gushing blood. I freaked out and got him a lot of tissue and sat with him until it stopped. At this point, he had missed his bus so I offered to drive him home. It was impossible for me to separate myself from him completely because for some strange reason, I still wanted to help him. I still wanted to be there for him, even if he had never been there for me. This was something I struggled with every day.
Then I broke. I don't know what did it exactly but I had had enough. I had kept my calm for too long and he had crossed the line.
It was a normal day. i was sitting at lunch with my friends when he came up to me and sat on the floor beside me. I tried to ignore him but he continued to sit there and taunt me. I told him to go away and we would talk later and yet he stayed. The bell rang. I got up to throw my trash away and he followed me. I started walking faster to get away from him and he continued to pick up speed. I stopped. Turned around and suddenly had a voice.
"WHAT!!!! WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT FROM ME!!!!?!!!"
The whole lunch room grew quiet and everyone was staring. But it was just me and him. This was our fight.
"I HATE YOU!" He yelled.
"GOOD!!! MAYBE NOW YOU"LL START LEAVING ME ALONE!!!" I walked away and didn't look back. No longer was I going to allow this guy to make me feel sorry for him or to make me feel guilty for things that were not my fault. I was done and I wasn't going to do it any more. More importantly,
I was free.
He knew I was done. And he just stopped. He stopped meeting me at my locker. He stopped following me. he stopped talking to me. He stopped.
And I lived on and made it through. My first life lesson that love isn't always fairytales and day dreams. Sometimes love is a whole different meaning. A whole different word that hasn't been found yet. Sometimes love is unexplainable. And you just have to let it go.
Floating the Boat
I have never been the "popular girl". Nor have I ever really wanted to be. I always kind of fit in wherever, making friends as I went along. I was in the band so a lot o my friends were also in the band...and yes I guess that would make me what most would call a "band geek"...should you want to put a label on it. And I guess I should go ahead and say too that the handful of friends I did have in high school were mostly boys. No...I'm not and never have been a slut. I just get along better with guys. Always have. They don't hold grudges and they are far less dramatic than most girls I know. (Though I can think of a few exceptions....).
One of my best friends in high school was a guy who at one time I would have considered dating. Ok, let's be honest, we did go out on one date and I thought it was great and awesome and oh he's so wonderful and oh my God he kissed me!!!.....but he never called me again that summer and totally lead me on...the little rat. So needless to say. We tried. It didn't work out and we would have killed each other anyway now that I think about it. We were always destined to be friends and I think we are both happy to say that we have kept that friendship going since we were in 6th grade. From here on out, we will call him Jon.
So Jon and I would randomly hang out at least once every other week or so. He would show up at my house (un-invited) sometimes when I wasn't even there. I would walk in and there he would be, sitting on my couch, talking to my Dad. But I loved it. It's just how we were. Completely random. We never really had a plan. We would just go with the flow....and it didn't always include being involved in something that was....let's just say it...legal.
For instance. One night Jon called me up to see what I was doing, which was nothing, and asked me if I wanted to hang out. He was meeting two of our other mutual friends (another John and Shaun...confused yet?:) ....Yes, both boys), and they wanted to know if I was up to tagging along. Of course I said "sure! Why not?"
I got ready and met them in the food lion parking lot right down the road. This is where we parked. Then we started walking.... I started thinking to myself. They seem to know where they are going and have yet to inform me of this small, apparently unimportant detail....perhaps I should ask. But wait. We're headed towards the high school...no wait why are we turning? This is a...oh jeez.....this is a cometary!
"Um." I said in my small voice.
No one heard me and in fact, they began to pick up their pace. Mutual friend John grabbed my hand and drug me along.
Weird....
I began looking all around me as I continued to follow these 3 idiots through the creepy graveyard. What was that? Oh my God? We're going to die or get killed and we're already surrounded by dead people!!! These were just a few of the thoughts running through my mind. One other thought that kept breaking through went something like this.....
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ok. Now that that's out of the way. I was noticing that it was starting to get dark. So here we were. At a cemetery. Walking/running to who knows where...oh yeah. They do! And they aren't telling me ANYTHING! And Mutual friend John is still holding my hand (what's up with that?) but I'm too afraid to let go....Then we stopped.
"We're here." Jon said.
"Where?" my meek little voice exclaimed. Then I saw them. Coffins. Empty coffins. I began to ask, "What are we...." when I heard it. Water. Running water. I turned my head and alas. There it was. The french broad river. I didn't have time to think before I realized that I was helping Jon push one of the empty coffins towards the river. Jon and Shaun were already in theirs ready to take off.
You might ask yourself at this point, why did you go with them Mary if you were so scared and had no idea you were going to be doing this in the first place and isn't that illegal and blah blah blah. Well, I will now answer your these very reasonable questions with the same answer I gave myself when asking them to myself.....
There is no way in hell that I am running BY MYSELF back through this creepy graveyard, in the dark, with no flash light, having no idea where the road is because I'm lost, listening to all of the creepy dead people moan around me, envisioning scenes from Michael Jackson's thriller while zombies plan to attack me....at any rate. Prison has to be better than any of those thoughts. I'm sticking with the boys on this one....
And somehow through all of this "logical" thinking. I looked around and found that everything was moving quickly around me. I looked in front of me and there was Jon grinning. I looked down and there I was. Sitting. In a coffin. Floating. Down the french broad river.
At this moment in time, Jon thought it would be so super funny to start rocking the coffin back and forth and send me into hysterics. But then I started to laugh. It was actually kinda fun. And who was going to catch us anyway? I mean, who else knows about this place and it's dark and nobody's out this time of night and wait....are those lights up ahead? What's that noise?
Jon and the other two in the "boat" floating beside us seemed to notice about the same time I did. It seemed that there was construction going on at the building across from the river and the lights we were seeing were those shining on the building and illuminating from the construction worker's helmets. This would not have been a big deal if it hadn't of been the exact spot where we were planning to "dock" the boat per say. There was no way we were going to be able to do this without anyone seeing us...which meant we needed to get out now because we were picking up speed with the current and fastly approaching our only other option.
So Jon frantically started "steering" the coffin towards the side of the river so we could jump out. In all honesty, I'm not sure how he made this happen but we still didn't make it fast enough. Under the bridge we went and we were closely approaching the bright lights. We did however make it to "shore" and managed to drag one of the coffins out of the water...the other one didn't make it and continued to float down the river.
We stayed low to the ground to prevent anyone from seeing the 4 kids that mysteriously came out of the french broad. Once we got our bearings we realized that we were right across the street from the parking lot that held our nice, safe cars. Please understand, when I say, "right across the street", I really mean across 4 lanes of oncoming traffic. So we did the only thing we could do.....we ran! we ran hard and fast and we didn't look back.
The only thought in my head during this moment was next time I hang out with these guys, I am NOT wearing flip-flops.....
But we made it. We made it safely back to our cars and I looked at my loving friend Jon and said these three little words.
I. Hate. You.
He looked at me and grinned. I snarled at him and ordered him to take me home. From that day on, I was sure to ask him before hanging out with him, "Where are we going?"
One of my best friends in high school was a guy who at one time I would have considered dating. Ok, let's be honest, we did go out on one date and I thought it was great and awesome and oh he's so wonderful and oh my God he kissed me!!!.....but he never called me again that summer and totally lead me on...the little rat. So needless to say. We tried. It didn't work out and we would have killed each other anyway now that I think about it. We were always destined to be friends and I think we are both happy to say that we have kept that friendship going since we were in 6th grade. From here on out, we will call him Jon.
So Jon and I would randomly hang out at least once every other week or so. He would show up at my house (un-invited) sometimes when I wasn't even there. I would walk in and there he would be, sitting on my couch, talking to my Dad. But I loved it. It's just how we were. Completely random. We never really had a plan. We would just go with the flow....and it didn't always include being involved in something that was....let's just say it...legal.
For instance. One night Jon called me up to see what I was doing, which was nothing, and asked me if I wanted to hang out. He was meeting two of our other mutual friends (another John and Shaun...confused yet?:) ....Yes, both boys), and they wanted to know if I was up to tagging along. Of course I said "sure! Why not?"
I got ready and met them in the food lion parking lot right down the road. This is where we parked. Then we started walking.... I started thinking to myself. They seem to know where they are going and have yet to inform me of this small, apparently unimportant detail....perhaps I should ask. But wait. We're headed towards the high school...no wait why are we turning? This is a...oh jeez.....this is a cometary!
"Um." I said in my small voice.
No one heard me and in fact, they began to pick up their pace. Mutual friend John grabbed my hand and drug me along.
Weird....
I began looking all around me as I continued to follow these 3 idiots through the creepy graveyard. What was that? Oh my God? We're going to die or get killed and we're already surrounded by dead people!!! These were just a few of the thoughts running through my mind. One other thought that kept breaking through went something like this.....
AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Ok. Now that that's out of the way. I was noticing that it was starting to get dark. So here we were. At a cemetery. Walking/running to who knows where...oh yeah. They do! And they aren't telling me ANYTHING! And Mutual friend John is still holding my hand (what's up with that?) but I'm too afraid to let go....Then we stopped.
"We're here." Jon said.
"Where?" my meek little voice exclaimed. Then I saw them. Coffins. Empty coffins. I began to ask, "What are we...." when I heard it. Water. Running water. I turned my head and alas. There it was. The french broad river. I didn't have time to think before I realized that I was helping Jon push one of the empty coffins towards the river. Jon and Shaun were already in theirs ready to take off.
You might ask yourself at this point, why did you go with them Mary if you were so scared and had no idea you were going to be doing this in the first place and isn't that illegal and blah blah blah. Well, I will now answer your these very reasonable questions with the same answer I gave myself when asking them to myself.....
There is no way in hell that I am running BY MYSELF back through this creepy graveyard, in the dark, with no flash light, having no idea where the road is because I'm lost, listening to all of the creepy dead people moan around me, envisioning scenes from Michael Jackson's thriller while zombies plan to attack me....at any rate. Prison has to be better than any of those thoughts. I'm sticking with the boys on this one....
And somehow through all of this "logical" thinking. I looked around and found that everything was moving quickly around me. I looked in front of me and there was Jon grinning. I looked down and there I was. Sitting. In a coffin. Floating. Down the french broad river.
At this moment in time, Jon thought it would be so super funny to start rocking the coffin back and forth and send me into hysterics. But then I started to laugh. It was actually kinda fun. And who was going to catch us anyway? I mean, who else knows about this place and it's dark and nobody's out this time of night and wait....are those lights up ahead? What's that noise?
Jon and the other two in the "boat" floating beside us seemed to notice about the same time I did. It seemed that there was construction going on at the building across from the river and the lights we were seeing were those shining on the building and illuminating from the construction worker's helmets. This would not have been a big deal if it hadn't of been the exact spot where we were planning to "dock" the boat per say. There was no way we were going to be able to do this without anyone seeing us...which meant we needed to get out now because we were picking up speed with the current and fastly approaching our only other option.
So Jon frantically started "steering" the coffin towards the side of the river so we could jump out. In all honesty, I'm not sure how he made this happen but we still didn't make it fast enough. Under the bridge we went and we were closely approaching the bright lights. We did however make it to "shore" and managed to drag one of the coffins out of the water...the other one didn't make it and continued to float down the river.
We stayed low to the ground to prevent anyone from seeing the 4 kids that mysteriously came out of the french broad. Once we got our bearings we realized that we were right across the street from the parking lot that held our nice, safe cars. Please understand, when I say, "right across the street", I really mean across 4 lanes of oncoming traffic. So we did the only thing we could do.....we ran! we ran hard and fast and we didn't look back.
The only thought in my head during this moment was next time I hang out with these guys, I am NOT wearing flip-flops.....
But we made it. We made it safely back to our cars and I looked at my loving friend Jon and said these three little words.
I. Hate. You.
He looked at me and grinned. I snarled at him and ordered him to take me home. From that day on, I was sure to ask him before hanging out with him, "Where are we going?"
Mama Dot
I woke up the morning of my grandmother's funeral hours before I was to be picked up by my brother and sister-in-law. I wanted to give myself plenty of time to make myself presentable. Most importantly, I wanted to look beautiful for her.
I got up, and in a zombie-like state, went through the motions of showering, drying and straightening my hair and placing it in a perfect bun at the nape of my neck. I then went through the, let's be honest, not so daily routine of applying make-up and covering up all of the imperfections. I then went to my closet and selected the only pair of dress slacks I own and a nice shirt to wear with them and laid them out on the bed. I stared at them scrutinizing their very being. Was this really happening? How did all of this time pass so quickly?
In thinking of this, I was suddenly back on her couch watching soap operas with her and taking in the scent of her freshly noxema'd face. She was sitting in her chair filing her nails and I was watching her every move. I was maybe 7 at the time and then and there I vowed to grow up to be as beautiful as she was.
She was flawless. I can't remember a time when she didn't have her lipstick on. Even if she was only walking around in her house coat and intricate slippers, her face and nails were always made up. Hair perfectly in place with bobby pins placed accordingly to hide any thinning that she didn't want anyone to notice.
I loved hearing stories of when her and my grandfather, Daddy Bo would go out dancing and to night clubs. They loved vacationing and going out for drinks. They were very popular indeed.
We called her Mama Dot because she didn't want the word "grandmother" to be associated with her. Not because she was resentful, but because she had this horrible fear of getting older and losing that beauty that everyone always complimented her on. To me, she was always beautiful and I never quite understood why she couldn't continue to see that as the years passed.
In all honesty, I always felt a little awkward around her. I was more so a tom-boy than a princess though I did enjoy dressing up and playing with dolls too. However, if you gave me the chance to climb a tree or play in the mud, I was right there in the middle of all of it, getting dirty and ragged and feeling anything but beautiful.....
One day, sitting on her couch and playing cards, she told me she had something for me. She got up and went to her bedroom to get it. I remember sitting there in anticipation. What could it be? I was so excited!! She came back and placed something small and shiny in my tiny hand. I looked at it and there before me was the most beautiful bracelet I had ever seen. I had no words. I just looked at her in awe. She then proceeded to tell me that it was a tennis bracelet and all the little shiny jewels in it were diamonds. She gave me a chance at beauty that day.
So as I was still staring at my clothes, I suddenly remembered that I still have that bracelet. And in that moment, finding it and placing it on my wrist was the most important task of that morning. I ran to my jewelry box which contains mostly old hair-ties and costume jewelry from Halloween party's that have come and gone. I opened one of the little drawers and there it was. Still so shiny. Still so beautiful. The perfect symbol of how I always viewed her.
Suddenly, I had all the confidence I needed to put on the clothes I had selected. I slipped on my little, black ballet flats (yet another tribute to her) and applied just a little more lipstick that i had found shoved somewhere in the bottom of a drawer. I looked in the mirror....and sighed.
When we got to the grave site later on that day. It hadn't completely hit me until I saw her coffin. It was blue, her favorite color. Not just any blue. It was what I would call "Mama Dot Blue". It was perfect and I began to cry.
Everything else is kind of a blur, but I remember hearing several people talking and feeling as though they were staring at me throughout the service. Later I found out why.
It appears that everyone knew upon seeing me get out of the car, that I was her granddaughter. Later on that day, several people came up to give me a hug and exclaim, "you look so much like her. She was so beautiful. Like a movie star."
These words, more than any other that was said to me that day, helped more than I could have ever thought. I'm not being vain. It just meant so much to hear people say how much I looked like her when all I ever wanted as a little girl was to be and look just like my Mama Dot.
We get older with each day. Some of us don't even notice. Mama Dot was a woman who did notice, but in my opinion, took it with grace . I don't think she ever fully knew how truly beautiful she was, both inside and out. She never gave herself enough credit and I wish, more than anything, that I could tell her now how she always inspired me. It is my hope that she knew this.
When the long day was over, I happened to glance down at my wrist that held the bracelet that she had given me so many years ago. Somehow it seemed even shinier. Perhaps it was just the way the light from the street lights outside were shining on it through the car window. But I can't help but wonder if this was her way of telling me she did know how I felt.
I looked up at the sky that night and instead of seeing the one lonely brightest star up in the sky, I saw two equally bright stars shining down on us. Daddy Bo had died almost 10 years before and I know he had been waiting patiently for the day when they would be together again. So I will leave the two of you with this simple statement:
Dance Mama Dot and Daddy Bo. Dance your hearts out and thrive in being young again. Most importantly, know that we all love and miss you so much.
Until we meet again....dance.
I got up, and in a zombie-like state, went through the motions of showering, drying and straightening my hair and placing it in a perfect bun at the nape of my neck. I then went through the, let's be honest, not so daily routine of applying make-up and covering up all of the imperfections. I then went to my closet and selected the only pair of dress slacks I own and a nice shirt to wear with them and laid them out on the bed. I stared at them scrutinizing their very being. Was this really happening? How did all of this time pass so quickly?
In thinking of this, I was suddenly back on her couch watching soap operas with her and taking in the scent of her freshly noxema'd face. She was sitting in her chair filing her nails and I was watching her every move. I was maybe 7 at the time and then and there I vowed to grow up to be as beautiful as she was.
She was flawless. I can't remember a time when she didn't have her lipstick on. Even if she was only walking around in her house coat and intricate slippers, her face and nails were always made up. Hair perfectly in place with bobby pins placed accordingly to hide any thinning that she didn't want anyone to notice.
I loved hearing stories of when her and my grandfather, Daddy Bo would go out dancing and to night clubs. They loved vacationing and going out for drinks. They were very popular indeed.
We called her Mama Dot because she didn't want the word "grandmother" to be associated with her. Not because she was resentful, but because she had this horrible fear of getting older and losing that beauty that everyone always complimented her on. To me, she was always beautiful and I never quite understood why she couldn't continue to see that as the years passed.
In all honesty, I always felt a little awkward around her. I was more so a tom-boy than a princess though I did enjoy dressing up and playing with dolls too. However, if you gave me the chance to climb a tree or play in the mud, I was right there in the middle of all of it, getting dirty and ragged and feeling anything but beautiful.....
One day, sitting on her couch and playing cards, she told me she had something for me. She got up and went to her bedroom to get it. I remember sitting there in anticipation. What could it be? I was so excited!! She came back and placed something small and shiny in my tiny hand. I looked at it and there before me was the most beautiful bracelet I had ever seen. I had no words. I just looked at her in awe. She then proceeded to tell me that it was a tennis bracelet and all the little shiny jewels in it were diamonds. She gave me a chance at beauty that day.
So as I was still staring at my clothes, I suddenly remembered that I still have that bracelet. And in that moment, finding it and placing it on my wrist was the most important task of that morning. I ran to my jewelry box which contains mostly old hair-ties and costume jewelry from Halloween party's that have come and gone. I opened one of the little drawers and there it was. Still so shiny. Still so beautiful. The perfect symbol of how I always viewed her.
Suddenly, I had all the confidence I needed to put on the clothes I had selected. I slipped on my little, black ballet flats (yet another tribute to her) and applied just a little more lipstick that i had found shoved somewhere in the bottom of a drawer. I looked in the mirror....and sighed.
When we got to the grave site later on that day. It hadn't completely hit me until I saw her coffin. It was blue, her favorite color. Not just any blue. It was what I would call "Mama Dot Blue". It was perfect and I began to cry.
Everything else is kind of a blur, but I remember hearing several people talking and feeling as though they were staring at me throughout the service. Later I found out why.
It appears that everyone knew upon seeing me get out of the car, that I was her granddaughter. Later on that day, several people came up to give me a hug and exclaim, "you look so much like her. She was so beautiful. Like a movie star."
These words, more than any other that was said to me that day, helped more than I could have ever thought. I'm not being vain. It just meant so much to hear people say how much I looked like her when all I ever wanted as a little girl was to be and look just like my Mama Dot.
We get older with each day. Some of us don't even notice. Mama Dot was a woman who did notice, but in my opinion, took it with grace . I don't think she ever fully knew how truly beautiful she was, both inside and out. She never gave herself enough credit and I wish, more than anything, that I could tell her now how she always inspired me. It is my hope that she knew this.
When the long day was over, I happened to glance down at my wrist that held the bracelet that she had given me so many years ago. Somehow it seemed even shinier. Perhaps it was just the way the light from the street lights outside were shining on it through the car window. But I can't help but wonder if this was her way of telling me she did know how I felt.
I looked up at the sky that night and instead of seeing the one lonely brightest star up in the sky, I saw two equally bright stars shining down on us. Daddy Bo had died almost 10 years before and I know he had been waiting patiently for the day when they would be together again. So I will leave the two of you with this simple statement:
Dance Mama Dot and Daddy Bo. Dance your hearts out and thrive in being young again. Most importantly, know that we all love and miss you so much.
Until we meet again....dance.
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