Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Pound it

Everyday in my life is an adventure, and by adventure I mean tragedy, and by tragedy I mean it is about as exciting as getting backstage passes to your favorite band’s show and being with another fan who is even more enthusiastic about the experience that they end up vomiting all over you.  Is your heart pumping? Yes. Are you still having an okay day? Yes.  Is it the way you saw your day going? No. What I am getting at, is my life is a conglomeration of some fun, a little mess, kind of smelly and ends in a way I never expected.  This is how things went for me at work the other day. 
            Every month or so, we have a pest control company that comes out to spot check.  Our pest control representative is a rather rotund, middle aged woman with short hair and masculine mannerisms.  She is a happy go lucky person who is always kind, but you can tell she is a little socially inept.  She walks in with her clip board and trucker hat as she goes around with a huge smile checking all of our insect traps.  She seems to see and switch every other bug trap but mine.  It just sits under my desk, filled with the carcasses of dead grasshoppers, rollie pollie, and other vile creatures.  I guess it would get changed if I brought it to her attention, but doing that would create for me a never ending urge within this woman to communicate with me each time she comes in.  Since I started here there has been a common unsettled feeling that comes over my department when this woman walks in.  It’s must be what it’s like in Kansas when the wind starts to howl and the sky turns green, you get unnerved and you run for cover.  Well, at the office, we know she has walked in the door, when the girl at the front desks suddenly has a deep need to be in the filing room.  At that point everyone starts doing a reverse mosh pit action trying to call “not it” to take her spot.  But then suddenly, it’s too late and it’s your turn. 
            My first experience with her began pleasantly.  She came up and in a forced drawl said she would be looking around, had I seen any bugs, did I.  Then after about fifteen minutes of her poking around  outside, she came back up to the front desk, and in her gentlemanly fashion, thanked me for my time and asked if I could please sign the dotted line. I was new and eager to help in that small way.  She tore the carbon copy and left me with my portion, patting it on the desk with her sausage fingers and a wrist watch that was being consumed by the flesh of her wrist.   She continued her pleasantries and touched the bill of her hat, when suddenly, and without warning it came at me. She got into a stance like she was about to throw a baseball and with that same bulbous arm she swung out, almost like a hook punch, and stopped short, with her hand balled into a fist.  I looked at her fist, looked back at her, my gaze settling on her fist and thought, ‘Oh dear heaven, this woman wants me to fist bump her.’ With the enthusiasm of a fat turkey at Thanksgiving, I held out my fist.  I only went half way, I made her do the motion, and as she did I internalized all of her awkwardness and was humiliated for her.  It was physically painful and I was going to avoid doing it again at all costs, no matter what I would have to do…excluding, of course, actually expressing to her my discomfort at her request.  

            As is common, time ticks into infinity and before we knew it she was back.  This was an exceptionally rare visit.  In usual fashion, we heard the front doors open and it was every woman for herself.  First, the front desk chick stood suddenly and quickly ran off murmuring something about a meeting or needing some peanut butter.  Another shot off to the back hollering back that filing was a top priority.  I was frozen in a panic attack, should I run into the bathroom and hide until she’s gone…no, there’s no couch in there! Should I fake everyone out with a fainting spell…?  And risk the pest control lady being the one to administer mouth to mouth, no thank you.  At that point all others had fled, my indecision stole any opportunity. I squared my shoulders and took my place at the front desk and anxiously fumbled awaiting certain psychological discomfort.  Every time the font door squeaked, my heart raced as I fumbled trying to busy my hands enough to dissuade her from needing their attention.  The moment finally arrived, the door squealed and swooshed, it was now or never. Suddenly my mind was clear, focused, I picked up the handset to my phone, and began talking to the dial tone, I was very animated and excited to speak to it as I arbitrarily typed into my key board.  She sauntered up to the desk, but never got too close she milled about the foyer, walking around the coffee table casually looking at magazines. Oh no, I thought, she was waiting for me to finish!!! Again very smoothly, I continued with my “conversation” participating in a mock discussion of available dates for training, I raised my voice in an attempt to demonstrate stress and urgency so that the bug lady would know I didn’t have time for chit chat.  After saying something ridiculous and Hollywood influenced like, “let’s meet in the middle here” and “Well, I am sorry, I don’t know what to tell you,” I pulled the phone slightly away from my mouth trying to get her attention.  At this point the dial tone had become deafening and I needed to get this lady out of here, with as little physical contact as possible. She looked at me, I hadn’t taken my hands from the key board but I whispered loudly to her, so as not to interrupt my dial tone, “do you need me to sign something??”   She nodded emphatically in the affirmative and sort of bowed at my desk unfolding the invoice to be signed. As was usual she pointed where to sign, and I did so exaggerating how difficult it was to juggle both, all the while never making eye contact.  She had been defeated and was walking away, no fist bump, no award hook punch dance move. I had beaten her at her game. Take that bug lady, today wasn’t going to be an awkward day for me!!
 As she was walking away, the dial tone wouldn’t keep my confidence any longer. I think the phone as a minute and a half dial tone limit, because at this moment just as she hit the mid point between my desk and the door that would lead her to a world of endless fist bumps , the dial tone went from the normal sound to a screeching, revealing pitch. It was shocking, it was offensive, it was my tell-tale heart.  This was my small defeat, it was time to hang up the phone. Did Bug Lady hear? 
I don’t know what I was so afraid of. Was she going to come bounding back to embrace me with her knuckles? Was there a pause in her gait, I wasn’t if she was on to me and I didn’t want to have that all too awkward conversation:

Bug Lady: Miss, are you purposely trying to avoid the fist bump?
Kyle: Um, to be honest, I look forward to them but my boss, he really thinks they cross the line, so…
Bug Lady: Miss, I don’t mean no harm, I just come and check on the bugs…
Kyle: No, that is fantastic, it’s just, fist bumping to me is a really special intimate action between two people who really care about each other, and I just don’t feel comfortable being so casual about it.

Even though, Bug Lady didn’t let on that anything was out of the ordinary or that she had heard the shrill dial tone, I still felt a need to recover, I think I mumbled something like, ‘Hmm, bad connection…must’ve dropped the call,’ and I hung up, rubbing my ear. 
            I was embarrassed, a little ashamed of my behavior, and I was still in fight or flight mode, in other words my anxiety or adrenaline was still in overtime from survival mode.  One by one my coworkers emerged from filing closets, the break room, and under their desk.  I was pacing back and forth and preparing to share my story with them.  So I looked back at one of my coworkers, and she asked what happened and I was trying to find the words and while at the same time cover my embarrassment.  I grabbed the collar of my polyester, royal blue, uniform and tried to cover my face with it.  It only went up to the middle of my cheeks, just below my eyes, as my face turned red.  I started sharing my story and once I was committed to it, my embarrassment was fading so I dropped my shirt collar.  Only, it didn’t fall.  Somehow, in this wide world of coincidences and the moments of perfect timing, a loose thread from the collar of my shirt had wrapped itself around the bracket of my braces. I quickly realized this story of embarrassment was about to turn into a story of humiliation, as I pictured my self spending the day running around the office with my shirt collar in my mouth, with a steadily growing wet spot forming throughout the day.  I was too ashamed to move my hand down from my face for fear of exposing the state that I was finding myself in.  I gave it a quick lift, tug, pull, and nothing.  The little S.O.B. was hanging on for dear life, definitely in it for the long haul.  After a good minute and a half of trying to proceed with my story causally without drawing more attention to myself, all the while keeping my shirt in my mouth, I relented.
“My shirt is caught on my braces,” I whispered to the crowd of coworkers, who had gathered, with a new wave of blood rushing to my face. 
 “Kyle, you are so silly, is this part of the story,” a coworker exclaimed.  
“Nope, this is reality, this is happening to me right now,” feeling my anxiety being to soar over my situation.
“Oh bless your heart,” my coworker said as she looked at me with eyes women typically reserve for children with special needs.  With that she jumped to action helping me “unhook” myself from myself.  I didn’t have any lasting visible damage and I was able to conclude my story. 
This experience has taught me one thing.  Those awkward people who make us fist bump them in front of others make life interesting.  They are the sprinkling of lime juice on a paper cut…sure we don’t like it, sure it stings but at least we are reminded that we still feel. 

Monday, July 25, 2011

Sumo Lady:

What the what!?

I am a huge fan of Tina Fey’s, not only do I feel like we have similar looks, but our lives are also similar.  Okay, maybe we aren’t anything alike, but she says things that make me laugh, therefore, in my mind, we are twins separated at birth born like 18 years apart.  To better illustrate a few quotes from the Queen of comedy herself:

“Lovers…oh that word bums be out, unless it’s between meat and pizza.”
“I’m lizzing…” (Laughing and whizzing at the same time)
“My mom used to send me articles about how older virgins are considered good luck in Mexico.”

Recently I finished reading Tina Fey’s book Bossypants, I literally laughed audibly as I read it during my lunch break. (Seriously who says Laugh out Loud anymore!?) Many of her experiences and accounts, brought to mind, or ripped from repression, several of my own humorous histories, granted mine are G rated and might contain more self deprecation, but crack a smile you might. 

A few years ago, I had just returned to the country after living in South America for nearly two years.  I was struggling to normalize back into the grove of American culture. Needless to say, I was as out of place, I felt disconnected and I made everything way harder than it needed to be.  I think I had just gotten my first paycheck and instead of depositing it into my account at my bank, I felt like I needed to take it to the bank of the person who gave it to me, talk to a real person, handle real money, you know sticking with the old ways, a simpler time, which actually adds a step or twenty to the process we have today, so I can’t see how it was simpler to begin with.  At any rate, it was my intention to dash in and out of the bank. It’s also important to mention that at this particular time in my life I was without vehicle and had to rely on the kindness of friends to take me from point A to B.  On the day in question, my kind friends loaded me up in the car to run me to the bank before a wild weekend including, but not limited to endless rounds of “that’s what she said…” innuendos, tearful, support group-like exchanges about why we were still single…at 22, and little to no interaction with the opposite sex. I tell you what, if that isn’t a party animal living the life, I am not sure what is.
At long last, we were off to the bank, I remember jumping out of the car and calling back something about how I wouldn’t be long.  We were in such a rush to get to wherever it was we were going, probably an all you can eat event, that my focus was so tightly honed in on getting the things done and checked off the list to limit the time each errand was taking from our goal.   So I went into the bank super fast, and came out looking down at the cash.  Those were the pre-hybrid days where every human being drove, or, in my case, was driven in, a white Toyota Corolla. So I was rushing out of the bank staring down at my statement and was no doubt rehearsing a dramatized version of what went on in the bank, trying to make it into a comedic monologue that would entertain us during the drive to our next location.  Feeling like that had been perfected, I glided into the back of the Corolla and began yakking like I was freaking stand up comic. Half way through my story I look up and see a rather large Asian woman (ironic I know) with the most frighten look on her face turned around staring, wide eyed back at me from the driver’s seat.
“Oh Hello,” I say in a shocked yet controlled soprano. I turn my head ever so slightly to the left and see my friends in the OTHER White Toyota Corolla, two cars down in the parking lot that is now shaking from their laughter. My new found chauffeur was stunned, she must have been in the middle of brushing her hair, because she continued absentmindedly running the round brush through her bangs, and as she stared at me with an expression that screamed at me, “I had not planned on murdering another human being today, but I just may have to.”  She uttered not a sound and she raised the brush in her hand almost demonstrating some carnal survival instinct.  Quickly I said, “Whoopsie…wrong car! Sorry!” and in one motion I shrugged and threw myself out of the car, this woman never said a word.  She slowly lowered her round hair brush, her eyes turned to slits and she smiled, either that or she showed me all her teeth as an expression of defensive dominance and readiness for aggression.  I backed away slowly, when I felt safe she wasn’t going to pelt me with the brush, I turned around to walk away in embarrassment. At that point I heard the faint click of my sweet sumo lady locking her car doors no less than 15 times. As she did I felt a shudder go up my spine and I thought, “Oh no, she no longer feels safe brushing her hair in her car.” Embarrassed and confused, I slid into the spot of my original intention, just behind the driver’s seat in my friend’s car.  They were still having a hard time catching their breath between laughs and I slumped down in my seat waiting for sumo lady to drive off. 
Some questions in life will never be answered.   For example, did my friends move the car or is my sense of direction a personal handicap?  Was this experience a premonition of things to come, or a symbol of how my life has turned out—getting in the wrong car, angry Asian people…maybe that is a metaphor for my life?  And most importantly, why in the Sam Hell didn’t my friends honk the horn to stop me?? 

Monday, June 27, 2011

Lately, most of my evenings are spent volunteering at a local center for children who have had a member of their family die.  Before you spend the next thirty seconds building me up as a person who is self sacrificing, funny, and attractive…why is she still single??!! Please know that my degree plan requires that I have 700 hours of client contact, spent at an internship, so do I “volunteer”?  Well, when I am talking to a boy I could potentially be kissing later… Yes, I volunteer, something like 80 hours a week, on top of my workouts, and culinary skills, but, in all actuality we know that is a slight exaggeration.  Those who know me best recognize that my time there has shaped the person I am becoming and has helped me see the importance of service, but they will also openly proclaim that I lack the social awareness  or selflessness necessary to spend my time volunteering. I guess all I am trying to say is it wasn’t some Dharmaic duty that drove me to it, I love it there, it has become a huge part of my counseling identity and I will return long after the grades are turned in, but deep down I have desires to sit and do nothing, like many of you are doing at this very moment.  Moving on…
I was lucky enough to have secured a spot at such a special place.  The Children's Bereavement Center of South Texas ( is a powerful place, many people who go to volunteer continue to return because of the impression it leaves.  There are lots of opportunities to sit with people providing them with an unspoken permission to grieve.  Many of those who volunteer from the community mention often that they felt a connection to the building without even knowing what was going on inside of it.  One such person I have grown rather close with, her name for the purposes of confidentiality is OPRAH.  She is a greeter, she is an active retiree, widow, and social advocate for the recently bereaved.  She is in her late sixties with the mentality of a twenty something.  She has a weekly social group she likes to tell me about, where she does water aerobics, Zumba and has lots of wine.   Oprah calls me things like ‘Girl’ and has a Velcro cell phone holder that she wears on her wrist, like an overgrown Dick Tracy watch communicator.  She is amazing. I love every Tuesday evening walking in and knowing OPRAH will be there to greet me, knowing she is going to tell me something way to personal or non intentionally offensive, like, “Oh girl, I just had a breast exam…” or “Girl you are thick, I bet those boys….”  She is a treat to be around and I treasure our weekly moments. 
The other week, it was on OPRAH’s night to be greeter, I invited some friends to serve dinner for the families on that particular group night.  It really wasn’t a big deal, we agreed to make tacos and everyone brought a little piece of that taco building puzzle and we were off.  We all met at the designated time and as many have experienced and know, Mormons are a peculiar people.  We aren’t like the masses, and sometimes those characteristics are identifiable.  I had about 12 single friends who really wanted to partake in this special opportunity.  We were about 8 girls and 4 boys…Su-prise! Su-prise! And I hate to admit it, mostly because none of them are attracted to me, but they are all really good looking men, not only that, they are kind gentlemen.  OPRAH fell in love with each of them as they walked in the door. She wanted to know why so many twenty and thirty somethings would spend there evening doing this instead of in a bar or doing something else.  She knew immediately that something was different about this group. 
Before we wanted it to be, the dinner had finished and the attendees were split off into their weekly groups.  My friends and I stayed to clean up and OPRAH came up and said how incredible she thought this group was.  She went on and on and asked what group they belonged to, because at this point she didn’t piece together that they were all there with me.  Sensing a missionary opportunity, like a shark senses blood,  everyone’s ears perked up and we all answered in harmonic unison that we were Latter-day Saints, aka Mormons.  To which, OPRAH responded with something I had never heard as a Mormon, she said, “ I should have known you were Mormons, you all have such white teeth.”  Befuddled, I looked at her as she continued, “why are your teeth so white?” Not waiting for an answer she continued, “ I need to get my teeth whitened, maybe I should become a Mormon.”  We all had a good laugh, because clearly if she had ever heard of Groupon, she could get her teeth whitened for a whole lot less work.  So, then the light turned on and she asked if they were here with me, and I said yes, and then she asked, “Kyle, are YOU a Mormon?”  I flashed my toothy, braces laden, smile and confidently said yes, and she countered, “Well,…”  she paused looking around the room “…what happened to YOUR teeth!?”  The group roared with laughter. I mean, I laughed so hard I was crying, or maybe I was just crying, either way I think I kept trying to mumble something like, I drink a lot of Coke, or those are just yellow rubber bands on my braces, but it just kept getting lost in the roar of laughter.  I have now rubbed my teeth down to nubs trying to get them a shade or two lighter, thereby negating the need for the braces, but proving my faith nonetheless. 
No matter what she says about my teeth, weight or face for that matter, I loves me some OPRAH!!!*
*as any good Mormon girl would.

Tuesday, May 3, 2011

He's just not that into you...

 Dating is in person is difficult enough, what with the talking and time investing, it’s like getting a sun burn, uncomfortable at first, but it’s nice to show people you go outside once in a while. Online dating is like staring directly into the sun, you know what you are looking for, a relationship or for the case of my analogy, a sunburn, only you are trying so hard and the purpose is so obvious you, not only burn your skin, but you end up blind. Did you know, in the US, 31% of the population either uses online dating service or at least knows people who are using it? Or that 1 in every 3 relationships in this day and age starts online? Here are some more fun facts: Out of the total number of singles who seek online dating services, only 33% manage to get into a relationship. Out of the remaining 66% people, 33% lose hope and quit while other 33% of keep on searching for the right partner.
The monthly prices are as follows:   True   Matchmaker & Date   American Singles   Mate1  Singlesnet   eHarmony   Black Singles   Christian Mingle

  $29.99       $49.99            $34.95                        $24.99                   $49.95         $24.95          $59.95           $9.99                $29.99

This chart says two things to me. Number 1, people are lonely, and number 2…it’s time to become a black singleI admit to you I have been an online dater for the last two and a half years, and for the most part it has been positive experience.  I have recently come to the realization that for me, personally, hiding behind a profile and only listing my very best qualities and pictures isn’t exactly putting myself “out there.”  I also didn’t feel I was being very fair or honest in getting matched with men all across the country, only to make it clear to them I am in the middle of a graduate program which I am not about to leave for a ‘possibility’, and am even less inclined to do so this close to being finished.   With all of these thoughts vacillating in my head I came to conclusion that it was time to let the dream of meeting a guy, without baggage, a great smile, and who would be willing to move across the country for me, go. Mostly because if they were that great they’d already be married to someone hotter and, unless you have a food addiction, who is really going to move to San Antonio?  When I came to this conclusion I had about 15 days left on my subscription. It felt right, because for the first time in my life I was taking action instead of watching and waiting to see what would happen. I was finally making a conscious choice to stop staring at the sun. 
Naturally, as is custom in my life after I make a decision, several things happened to make me doubt myself and what I thought I wanted.  I was matched with two really great guys.  The first was Justin; he was aggressive and very cute.  He was a filmmaker and I was smitten by the little information he shared with me.  He sought me out, skipped right over the guided communication and emailed me, which for some people you would think, ‘easy there fella’, but for me it was okay and maybe because it was this guy or who he was portraying himself to be.  I kept right up with him.  He was so intriguing; we had a great dialogue, until one day it stopped, suddenly and without warning.  I was confused and I’ll admit a little bummed, but I was sticking to my guns, that would be my last online ‘relationship’, until I could fully invest myself into the process or until I had purchased three or more cats. 
Then, out of the blue, with about three days remaining on my subscription, I was matched with a new batch of young men.  Most of which, weren’t guys I would bother to bother since my exit was on the horizon.  One in particular, though, began the communication process, on the very day we were matched.  So I answered him, and literally a few hours later another request from him came, I thought, ‘Whoa, this guy is intense.’ He had obvious baggage, so initially I wasn’t as excited about him, but I didn’t want to be that girl who let a potentially great opportunity pass her by because of petty insecurities. Three days passed and it was time to sink or swim.  Since that night at midnight I would no longer have the capability to communicate with him or any of the others, I went through my contacts and sent out various quick notes saying “Hey, I am done with this site for a while, but if you are ever in San Antonio and need a tour guide, shoot me an email”, and added my email. You know light and breezy, no expectations.   This same guy from before, let’s call him Jack VanDerDouche emailed me almost immediately, answering my little jokes and asking a bunch of questions.  I was still stung from my last adventure and was totally turned off by what I perceived as eager insistence.  I took a full week to respond, because I am a busy lady, I try to be mysterious, and was still curious about a man who seemed to be as intense as I have often been labeled and rejected for being.  It is so funny looking back, because I tried so hard to sabotage it right from the start, going out of my way to be disagreeable and demonstrating our lack of compatibility in the things I would write to him. He persisted; maybe he picked up on my little attitude and made it a point to win me over.  He asked for my phone number almost immediately, to which I reacted as though he had just propositioned me for a sexual favor.  I told him I wasn’t comfortable with that yet and maybe we needed to get to know each other better, mostly because I thought he was a nut job who was busying himself between our emails by making a wedding binder or photo album of our future children. I felt like he was way more into me than I was into him, I am not used to that attention and it scared me so I stalled. 
We continued to write and I felt as he disclosed more and more, he was a genuine kind person, mostly because he was putting up with my immovable staunchness; I built a wall and from my perspective he seemed willing to scale it. Now that I am looking at the situation from a non survivalist, overly emotional, crazy chick, point of view I can see that he wasn’t sharing things about himself to me because he wanted to; he was sharing things because my questions were prying and self serving. Just so you get a sense of how relationally retarded I am, one question was something like, ‘so you’re divorced, huh, that must have been nasty, tell me every last detail.’ BECAUSE he didn’t know me, he couldn’t have known that I was trying to say, ‘It makes me feel really uneasy that you are divorced, I know that those fears are coming from me and my own insecurities, maybe at some point when you are ready, you can help me feel more at ease about that whole thing.’ But, my blessing and my curse is  that I am direct in my communication…I know that isn’t obvious since I am so shy and have a hard time expressing myself. I didn’t beat around the bush about the things that made me uncomfortable and things I wanted to clear up so that I could reach a safe place to take it to the next level. Listen, I never said I was unclear on the reasons why men flee in my presence. 
 After a few more emails between the two of us, I relented and said it would be okay for him to ask for my phone number, my mama didn’t raise no fool. If I have learned anything from books and movies, it’s that if a guy wants you he will put forth the effort to come and get you. Besides, I am kind of hard to handle and I need a guy who is patient and understanding enough to deal with that, again, I know what you are thinking, Kyle, hard to handle?! She is as soft as a baby’s bum, hang on one second, my pants are on fire. 
I felt like if he still wanted it I needed to be clear in giving him the go ahead.  And that, my friends, is when the power struggle began.  You know how in a relationship there are times when one person loves more than the other and it can shift without warning…not that I and Jack were at all in a loving committed relationship, but that is what this shift felt like.  I had the control because I cared less, then when I felt safe, made myself vulnerable, and decided to care, I thought there would be an equalization of that power, and instead, he took control and backed off.  What the hell, kids?! What ever happened to if you want something go after it, balls to the wall, no fear?  I’ll tell you what happened, being 30 years old and not married happened, in the words of a good friend, ‘at this point, we’re all jacked.’ We’ve had close calls, lots of heart breaks and those learning experiences can do a number on people, it’s scary, I can understand that. So he said he wasn’t ready for my number, and that HE wanted to get to know ME better.  This should have been the point where I bowed out because if that wasn’t him letting me down easy I don’t know what was. Being the coy girl that I am, I called him right out on it. I said, he needed to make up his mind, I didn’t understand why he would want it one day and not the next, why he would say things like ‘I am interested in you’ if he wasn’t into me. I thought what any single Mormon girl would, I figured he had an email box full of matches to choose from and was maybe keeping his options open, and I wasn’t too far off.  So I said, that was fine, he could let me know when he was ready and I humorously answered his questions and ended with something very movie-like and epic, close to “Nobody knows anything [Jack]. We’ll take this leap, and we’ll see. We’ll jump, and we’ll see. That’s life, right?” **  
As I had hoped he responded with his own telephone number and asked me for mine.  I was excited, mostly I needed to hear his voice and I needed it to not be effeminate or lispy…we all know what I am getting at. I had one final chance, once he heard my voice and how I communicated in real life it was all over, we were moving from the minors to the majors.  In my response I felt like I really had to be impressive, my main goal was to make him laugh and demonstrate that I was a neat girl.  So, as is common among those of us who are wildly successful daters, instead of providing him with my ten digit telephone number I sent him on an internet scavenger hunt. Below you can see  examples of some of the clues he was provided with are found below, in no particular order, gotta watch out for the pervs, if they want to find me get online and date me.
“ * The amendment that promises no cruel or unusual this little scavenger hunt wouldn't be allowed before we pumped electricity through a guy here in good old TEXAS! 

don't read too much into that one, it just serves my purpose =)
*the name of the improv club that Tina Fey and Steve Carrell were 'discovered' you can literally type that into Google and you will be able to get the answer.  I love both of these actors.  I look a lot like Tina Fey
 *take 8 the number of kinds in my family, add 2 for my mom and dad that equals....
now take the number from my email and multiply that by the sum from above...
now take the total amount and divide that by 2...and you get the age I came home from my mission
Now add three and get the age I am now. 
Now that we have that figured out, take the first sum from the beginning of this equation and subtract ten from it and ...ta dah! 
So... what's the magic number? “
And I ended my email as cheer leader that went something like, rah, rah, we know anything worthwhile takes a little work!  
The next day we had determined he would send me a text to see if he had deciphered the code.  This is where it gets good.  Apparently, he misread my directions and instead of determining which commandment, he thought it was the verse number the commandment was found in.  I mean come on…he should have known what I was thinking, right?  I know, I know.  So he sends this totally crazy text about being the guy that I met in a bar last night who was nibbling on my ear…only I didn’t get that text…he was one number off.  So he gets a response from this person, who I can only assume to be a crazy Latina saying, ‘umm, yeah, this isn’t Kyle, whoever that is…’ He thinks I am teasing him with this response, so he gets pissy and replies, “Oh ok, I’ll just go write one of my other chicks then.” (Could he be more subtle, read between the lines on that one)   He gets no response that time and resorts to emailing me. When I read it my heart sank, he seemed so upset and I thought he was tired of the phone chase that my inability to be sexy and flirtatious caused, only that was me being sexy and flirtatious.  I texted him immediately and told him that I was sorry about the miscommunication, at that point I figured he was done, he’d already said I was ‘unusual’…I didn’t take that as a good sign.  He answered and said he got a huge kick out of the whole thing, which, at the time, was a relief.  We agreed we would talk later that night at seven. 
What else is there to say, he called, we talked, it was a great conversation.  His voice wasn’t femmy and he seemed thoughtful, intelligent and kind.  He told me he was interested in me, it made me grin like an idiot, and now we are engaged! 
No, no, that is not how it went, not at all.  We talked and it went great, or at least I thought it did, he expressed that he felt the same way and we agreed we would resume our conversation at another time.  I was in the best mood the next day, I wrote him an email and for some reason was so busy I couldn’t send it...sometimes God only puts up so many roadblocks to save us from ourselves and he can’t help it if we have our feet on the gas pedal roaring by him, strait to the cliff ahead.  I added to the email the next day, attached pictures of my family, more intimate details about myself, you know tearing down my wall and during my lunch break sent it to him.
Just as I clicked send and my message to him disappeared, the screen refreshed and suddenly there was a message in my inbox.  Guess who?!  Jack FREAKIN’ VanDerDouche!  At first I thought nothing of it, maybe a request for phone call part two.  Not so. He was brief and to the point, it wasn’t good timing, I was great, but not great enough, there were other matches in his life he wanted to pursue and he wished me the best of luck.  I literally wanted to unplug the computer, not because of the rejection…I can take the rejection. I thought that maybe if I could unplug the computer and shove the prongs of it into my eye, then I could forget the whole experience or that somehow disconnecting it would stop the email I just sent from getting to him so that my embarrassment wouldn’t be compounded.  I would have loved that clean break he provided, had it only come a moment sooner. I could have gone without the feelings of regret and vulnerability that followed.  But I had to get back to him, I had to share more about myself, I wanted to be a good communicator, I know, stupid girl.  Honestly, I wish that short man all the best in life like a frigid, twenty something wife, with a strong temper, hips that spread with child birth, and genetic tendency for facial hair.
And there we have it, the tale of playing hard to get and succeeding. What do we learn from this?  The people in eHarmony commercials are the exception, never give your number out in scavenger hunt form, and always, always, wait like another 45 seconds before sending an email, save it as a draft and refresh, because who knows what the inbox holds.
I will continue in my quest and be sure to follow the words of a wise man, Michael Scott, “I’m not going to give up that easily. I’m going to make it way harder than it needs to be.” For my single friends a word of caution and unsolicited advice, look at ALL the pictures made available on the sites you seek, also keep in mind  height in pictures can be deceiving, are they as tall as a tree or are they standing next to a short tree?? Above all creepers are creepers and most likely will stay creepy.

Monday, February 7, 2011

People Say Awkward Things....

As I sit down to write this I am wondering to myself..." I just wrote like three papers, and have another two before the end of the semester, why am I writing more? "  I will remain strong and continue sharing with you real life situations that spice up my life, so to speak. The people in these stories are people I work with, go to school or church with, or might be members of my family, so for their sakes and my own professional growth, I will share only thier stories.

There is honestly a lady in one of my classes, she is around 50 years old, and she isn't from the United States.  She has a personality comparable to a woman prison guard who is working at the prison to meet men.  She sits in front of me and she is new to the program.  She answers every question that the teacher asks, even the rhetorical ones, with whatever thought she was thinking, even if her thoughts are about Zoomba Dance moves and the teacher has asked us how we would counsel with those who suffer from schizophrenia, and when the teacher tells her she was incorrect and redirects her to the correct answer, my classmate says, "Oh, wow, that is what I was trying to say." or, "I was just about to say that."  When she speaks I feel like I want to run into a burning fireworks factory in hopes that a bottle rocket will shoot up my nose and take me away from this woman's presence.
The other day in class, we were discussing the different types of research projects there are and how to recognize the difference, and we made it to a stopping point where the the teacher said a quick joke and took a drink of water.  At this point, this lovely woman begins to speak, this really happened...
                     "Hey Miss, do you like my shirt, I made it myself!"  (inappropriate laughter/ borderline cackle)
                     "What, I can't see it?" (the teacher is taken aback, maybe because they are the same age)
                     "I made it myself, Miss, my shirt. It says save a horse!" (Again with the inappropriate laughter. She then stands up in booty shorts and a tank top with the cursive words written in fresh puffy paint on it and rindstones all around the arm holes. She holds her shirt outward and does a full 360 degree rotation so that the whole class can see. No one is getting her reference and the Micheal Scott feelings are getting stronger.
                    The teacher looks around and says," Are you an equestrian?"
                    "No Miss," she says, "You know, 'Save a horse,... ride a cowboy.'"
It isn't that she has referenced this song, it isn't even that she has said something so inappropriate for her age or that she is half naked, or that she is saying this to a room full of zombie like grad students, who are dead tired and just want to make it through the next few minutes. It's that as she is saying this last sentance she has mounted an invisible horse...or dare I suppose, COWBOY, and is waving her arm around in circles above her head, in what I can only assume to be an invisible lasso.  The entire class is speechless, eyes wide, mouths gaped, no one can comprehend that this is real life.  Feelings are rushing back to each of us, the days we opened our envelopes filled with letters saying we got into a graduate program, and when we thought we were hot stuff, our mother's brimming with pride, only to see, this crazy beyotch, got into the same damn program.  Well, universe you win!
                Honestly, it makes you wonder, what if all these people weren't around or what if awkwardness didn't exist??  I think the world would be less funny, people wouldn't turn red out of compassion for the 'Michael Scotts' of the world, and we wouldn't have people to talk about.  Being an awkward person, or 'AWKDAGON' as my friends and I call them, I really feel I have the capacity to empathize with these individuals. Come to think of it, I am pretty sure I have been an Awkdagon in many intances in each of your lives . And so I say, along with my fellow wierdos, or 'unusuals' we are here for you, we are here to help you feel better about your lives and situations. Keep in mind , dear friends, at some point, to someone, somewhere....we are all AWKDAGONS.

*****Please if you feel comfortable, share your stories, either something you said or something you heard someone say, and if it was are welcome! *****

Friday, December 17, 2010

Mele Kalikimaka

           This year I had the wonderful opportunity of being invited to a very elite Christmas party. Naturally, I feigned interest and was one of the first to arrive.   It was the best of the best, the hottest of the hottest, and then there was me.  I showed up in this outfit that can only be described with my mother’s words from a few weeks back, when I was going to an entirely different social function, “you look like you are dressed to go to a garage sale.” I was a mess in a red and green blur. That evening I had the late shift at work, much like tonight, and had to cover the front desk and phone until seven.  I brought my clothes and make up with me so that I could get myself garage sale appropriate and head straight over to participate in the festivus. I can only imagine what me getting ready looked like, that had to be a sight for the pilots in training, fed ex men, and instructors as they came and went, all they saw was me and the cloud of hairspray, glitter and flashes of red and green.  Needless to say, I was as ready as I would ever be, and like a kick to the crotch, I realized at five minutes to freedom and hot apple cider, that I forgot to purchase my white elephant gift for the exchange at the party, like I had planned to do during my lunch break.  Showing up to a Christmas party that includes a white elephant gift exchange without a gift is like a hooker walking into church to drum up business, it is awkward, rarely successful, and people feel bad for you.  I frantically looked around the office for a gift to give.

      I work at a really neat company, we have huge flight simulators that pilots come from all over the world to train on…you'd think there would be something unique I could give, that no one would miss.  A key chain, a t-shirt, a box of paperclips or maybe a collection/assortment of all three, but as I searched I could find nothing that garnered the respect and essence of the white elephant.  I was racking my brain, pacing in between the desks and offices, and then it hit me, like a fat lady in line for Twilight tickets, I remembered my coworker had two figurines on her desk.  She is the nicest of all of the people at the company and I proceeded to do a cost/benefit analysis.   I thought, “Well, how mad could she really get?  What if she got these from a relative who is now deceased? Does she even remember that she owns them?  How important are they to her, I mean it’s not like she has them on display at home. Could I get them back here if I took them? What is the likelihood of a person at the party fighting over these tacky objects? Am I EVER  going to get married, so that I can quit basing my entire life around these parties?”  These tapes played over and over in my head and in a spilt second I knew I would be willing to do whatever was necessary to get them back and would, therefore, take them…I knew all I had to do was go up to the poor girl or guy who ended up with them and tell them my sad tale of how I took them and had to return them to my unknowing coworker by Monday or I would be risking personal damnation.  They would either take pity on me and my existence and return them or return them to me for ten bucks.  So it was settled and my plan went into action.  I quickly sprinted back and forth looking for some sort of wrapping paper, found an old Jason’s Deli bag, turned it inside out and got a roll of scotch tape.  I took the tape off the dispenser and when I felt the two tiki people were secured in the brown paper sack, I began to roll the tape around and around, thinking, ‘if they don’t get a kick out of the gift at least the packaging is fun.' But really we all know that people hate the ones that are hard to open, I had a slight hope people would avoid it out of frustration. I rolled the tape around it about seventy five times and took a ribbon off the Christmas tree in our lobby and was out the door. 
     For most of the drive over I  figured I would tell one of my good friends in attendance to steal the gift if someone before them chose it, even though I tried to make it so ugly no one would touch it.  I confessed my sins to two of the girls there and asked that they please save me and do what they had to to get those back to me.  As the culmination of the evening's festivities was upon us in the form of the white elephant, those present with presents gathered around in a circle, and the game began.  I broke into a slight sweat each time a hand went to the scotch taped bundle. It came to be my turn and I took a gift other than my own as a diversion, hoping to not draw attention to the kidnapped items and knowing myself enough that I would immediately give it away. Thinking or hoping that first gift would end up being something great, and it would be stolen and have the opportunity to choose my gift as a last resort.  I had it all planned out, after opening the brown bag special, I would show phony surprise, and then transition into bogus disappointment at the fact that I ended up with way less cool than what I had led the group to believe I had brought.  It was perfect, like an 18 year old at a mid-singles dance, I was in!  Then I opened the first package in my ruse. The contents of this unfamiliar package, it turned out to be a Viking hat and a metal for finishing a warrior 5K race.  'Fan-Freaking-Tastic,' I thought, who is going to want this thing!?  So I knew no one would steal my new hat from me and my friend was my only hope, in the style of Obie Wahn Kanobie, she would choose and open my gift and shake her head at me disapprovingly until the game was over.
       Then, suddenly, a boy I didn’t know was up to take his turn, he grabbed the gift wrapped in trash and stolen office goods, commented about the strange wrap job, to which I nonchalantly said under my breath, “Some people like the smell of scotch tape.”and to my horror, he opened it.  At first he was confused, and then he gave into his luck, or lack thereof and said in a loud voice, “ I am going to glue these to my dashboard!!”  That was it, I looked at my friend, who was a few turns away from being able to take it from him, and I had to come clean, lest her mean spirited gesture break his heart.  I needed him to know there were other more suitable toys out there, with bobble heads and ukeleles that he could have for his dashboard family he was planning for in the near future.  I got on my feet and to the room of around filled with about twenty people, I spilled my guts.  Yes, I had stolen those little Hawaiian people, yes, from a co worker’s desk, and no, she had no idea. Thankfully the room roared with laughter, and even at this point weeks after, I still haven’t been able to determine if they were laughing with me or at me.  My friend took one for the team that day and reclaimed what was rightfully my stolen property! The best part was there were no hard feelings, just good, clean fun. Honestly, what 30 year old man wants to glue a hula lady whose hips don’t swivle to his dash? I think my friend and I did his future or current girlfriend a favor, to be honest. 

      To make a long story short, the Hawaiians were back on the desk of the lady who sits behind me on Monday morning, my co-worker would have never known it if she hadn’t caught me whisper singing a goodbye song to them. We had been through so much already, those small people and me.  Again, I was forced to spill my guts, and just like those twenty other people, we had a good laugh. The best part is she said she could have cared less…so dashboard man, wherever you are, I am sorry. L  And so, I am reminded of the spirit of the season, the power of laughter, and the unconquerable human determination to participate in games at parties.

Merry Christmas to all of you, I wish for everyone all the best things in this life and a renewed feeling of hope for yourselves, others and the world this coming new year. 

Wednesday, September 22, 2010

The most terrible date night story ever told…

     There once was a boy, who, out of sheer kindness—on my part—shall remain nameless, that went to my church.  Better yet, let’s call him Vance H. or V. Harris, just kidding that is totally a code name.    He had just moved into the ward to go to law school, he was the fresh meat with the ladies, he was tall, attractive, had cute wavy hair that he kept in a longer style, which I love. Basically, he was an all around, seemingly great guy, with few visible flaws.  I had a plan.  I was going to put into the practice something my Psychology of Relationships professor had taught one day in class.  He explained that people are attracted to people who are attracted to them, he said that if we simply make eye contact with people, at various times, during a meeting or party or whatever social occasion we are attending, we have a higher probability of getting that person to come up and talk to us.  Best of all, that person thinks they are doing it all by themselves without any coaxing or overt aggression. So I did what any smart single woman would each church meeting and activity, I would make sure I made eye contact with this guy; I would hold it for a few seconds and look away and thereby working my psychological magic and lady enchantment.  This went on for a few weeks after he moved in…it was quite difficult as there were always a several young ladies who would box me out and try to woo him and trick him into three week engagement.  I never approached him, or introduced myself; I was making a point to not be aggressive and proving a theory that had already been proven.  After weeks of determination and will power, the moment finally came, we were at a Monday night activity and he came up to me as it was ending.  He introduced himself and we got to know one another, as best we could in those few minutes, and it turned out to be a genuine, well paced conversation.   As it was coming to an end, he smiled just so and asked for my number and asked if he could call me about a date for the coming weekend.  I was excited and said that would be great, gave him my number and as promised he called to share with me his plans for that Friday evening.  It was all set up and my visual manipulation technique was successful, eye contact was my tool of seduction, and it had unlocked the heart of this boy. 
                Friday finally came and the date had begun… I was dressed to the nines, not too dressy and not too casual; my hair looked great, and worked hard on my makeup.  Impressing this guy was my top priority; I even brought a purse, which was huge for me at the time.  He picked me up at my apartment right on time and the nightmare began…

He asked me what I wanted to do for the next few hours because he had just eaten and didn’t feel like eating again until he was a little more hungry, meanwhile, I hadn’t eaten since lunch because I stupidly assumed that this date would include dinner, since it was during the universally accepted dinner time hours, my bad.  After letting that process through my brain with a little surprise, I said okay and mentioned a monthly art exhibit that takes place on the first weekend of every month we could go see.  He agreed and we walked down to his car, it was a 1980 Oldsmobile that I swear had once belonged to my grandma, so I asked about it, and he said got a great deal with really low mileage, that he got from some old lady, maybe it wasn’t my grandma, but it was someone’s. 

     I jumped in and he said, “I hope you like David Bowie!”  Sure I like David Bowie, who doesn’t, but this guy didn’t look like the David Bowie type, and my David Bowie exposure was limited to the songs ‘Fame’, ‘Under Pressure’, and ‘Let’s Dance’, but was mostly shaped by Bowie’s role as the Goblin King on Labyrinth, in those tight, awkward, nightmare invoking pants!  Yikes! Needless to say, there wasn’t much talking going on, mostly this kid, just snapped his fingers like he was a member of The Jets on West Side Story, not singing, just snapping.  Once we made it the highway the moratorium of speaking had ended and he asked for directions.  I wasn’t exactly sure how to get there, but knew the general direction of where we were headed, so he followed my directions and we made it downtown.  It was there just on the edge of where downtown meets the ghetto, the car stalled out.  He turned the engine and it started right up, well, at least I thought it did, it was just the sound of my empty stomach growling. 
     We were in the middle of the street, and dude started to panic.  I have been in plenty of broken down cars, so as soon as the cars behind us started honking I asked various questions like, had he had the problem before, things like that.  I remember thinking in my head, no way this kid wouldn’t fill up the car before a date, no way he wouldn’t notice he was about to run out of gas, but it was the only question left and I asked, so I did.  “Hey Vance, do you think you are out of gas?” He answered, “I thought I had enough to last until Monday, the light only just turned on!”  Keep in mind it is FRIDAY and the light generally turns on when there are, at most, 35 miles left in the tank, and is all but shouting at the driver to get his butt to a gas station and fill ‘er up.  After hearing this I thought, ‘Well, this is going to be a long night.’ At that point all I could do was square my shoulders and mention that priority one was to get the car out of the road.  Fully expecting a gentleman’s response, I said half heartedly, “I’ll push and you put the car in neutral and pull us over to that meter.”  Even as I said this I was walking over to the driver’s side door, knowing there no way in Hell this kid is going to have ME push HIS car.  Unfortunately, he not only elected to stay in his seat, he buckled himself in for safety.  I got behind that car, purse over shoulder and all, and I pushed and pushed, but the car wouldn’t move, don’t you worry, Vance was nice and comfy in his seat, and I asked, “Hey, bud, is your foot on the break?” “Oh,” he said as he stretched his face over his teeth and took in a breath, “sorry.”
 And take two! 
     Believe that I got that car moving!  We got to safety and we began to walk, toward the Alamodome, in other words toward danger or death, and away from safety.  Luckily, there was a gas station, not three blocks away and we headed that way.  We walked up to what can only be described as a bird cage for humans; it was a gas station that was covered in steel bars and chains that this little woman peeked out of asking what we wanted.  I wanted this kid to be a man and say we needed to borrow a gas can, but he suddenly became interested in the structures of downtown San Antonio.  I asked about a can, she said she didn’t have one, so I asked for a gallon of water that I saw in her lovely fridge.  She narrowed her eyes at me and said that it was illegal to fill an unauthorized container with gas, naturally in the Christian way that I know and love, I narrowed my eyes right back and said thank you while thinking, 'Well, it’s also illegal to operate a crack house with a gas station front.'  We were off again, looking for the next gas station, this necessitated us crossing under the highway continuing on our path to sudden doom. 
     We walked for about half a mile, as I silently giggled to myself about being single, and the opportunities it has afforded me, such as this lovely date.  There was no gas station in sight, in any direction, except for the one behind us, my feet hurt, I was sweating, I wanted this date to be over, and I was hungry.  Needless to say, I had to dig deep to find the capacity to continue conversing with this young man, until suddenly a dark figure appeared to be approaching us at a quick pace.  It was still light outside and it was obvious that we were out of our comfort zone.  I took this opportunity to take a few steps closer to my date and interlock my arm with his.  I promptly followed up this action with saying, “ Listen, I am not coming on to you, I need you to protect me should that occasion arise.”  He nodded in agreement and was openly just as frightened as I was, and the gentleman drew closer.  I was literally praying audibly and thinking of what the last words I had said to my mother were, when this man stopped us.  He looked at both Vance and I for a few seconds, and said exactly this, “Chillren, I don’t know where you think you is, but yous about to enter Crackville.  I suggest yous move on ‘fore you get in world of hurt.”  We responded in unison, “Yes sir!” At that, we turned on our heels and walked back in the direction of the car.  We made it back to the first gas station/jail house and I demanded that this woman sell me a gallon of water, what we do with the bottle is our own business.  I grabbed the water, which dude let me pay for, and walked it over to the grass, to pour it out and Vance shouted for me to halt.  He had a really hard time with me wasting that dollar worth of water and proceeded to take turns we me drinking it.  When we were sufficiently water logged, I poured out the rest and allowed him to fill it up with gas. While this was going on, I pulled out a video camera to document that ,in fact, was not a dream and was actually taking place, but also to show my friends so that they would know I wasn’t exaggerating. 
     When we made it back to the car he said, “Okay, you be the funnel, and I’ll pour.” Again, dumbfounded, either by his response or my reaction of absolute obedience to his request, I allowed this young man to pour gasoline all over my hands and even splash some on my feet.  Seriously, folks I was just trying to find the fastest way home.  We went back to the station, where this kid proceeds to put only five dollars in the tank, I tell you, he's a keeper.  We are about three hours in, and at this point, my hair is matted to my head, I have been all but threatened my life, I haven’t eaten in seven hours and I am now flammable.  I request very sweetly, because I am sure at any moment Ashton Kutcher is about to jump out and yell that I had been Punk’D and I want to be well behaved in front of the cameras, ask that we just drive through somewhere so that I can eat.  He complies by taking me to Wendy’s.  I look at the menu ready to ask for everything I can see, and right before the 16 year old inside asks us what we want, Vance leans in close to me and says, “Kyle… Can we limit it to 2 items off the value menu?”  I think it was at that moment I consciously chose to leave my body and go to a place where this young man didn’t exist.  I got my items, thanked Vance for the adventure, and walked myself up to my apartment.  I literally collapsed onto the ground when I opened the door, being driven only by my hunger I crawled to a corner and rocked myself gently, as I shoved fries in my mouth and silently sang, “ …when I get excited, my little china girl, she says, ‘oh baby just you just your mouth.’”
Small confession: I went out with him one more time after this.

I'll keep holding out...

Thursday, September 16, 2010

The Dreadful Tale of the Lady Bug....

Plan B, might be a touch front loaded, as I am trying to share the several experiences that have inspired its inception. 
    This is a truly true story… I apologize if this is a re-telling, at least you’ll be reading it for the first time.

 A few months ago I had a terrible day, everything was going wrong, literally, not like single girl, bitterness, pity party, bad day, I mean like I had woken up late for work; with a call from my boss, no less, saying, “Kyle were you planning on coming in today?” Then some one from India kept me on the phone for over thirteen minutes telling me I owed them money, to which I responded, “Sir, I have never been, nor plan to visit India, how could I owe you money?” He responded, “Mr. Roberts, why is your voice so high?” It turned out to be some zombie debt collector, but, I stabbed him in the heart with a wooden stake so, check that off the bucket list. Anyways, that day was completely wretched, I am pretty sure an older gentleman coworker told me at lunch I could sure ‘pack away the food.’ I think I also found out that day that I had been singing the wrong words to Hey Soul Sister by Train, you start to see the picture I am painting for you.


 So the work day was finally over, and I got in my car to drive to school. I drew a long breath as I turned the ignition and geared myself up to start the next portion of a very long day. As I did so, I noticed a little lady bug on my windshield. My best friend Deedee, a former high school soccer star, always told me that when you held a lady bug it was good luck. So, as I drove I held this sweet little beetle and I whispered to it my hopes and dreams. I mentioned to her, that I had had a super rough day and needed a little fortune to help me make it through the rest of the day. I also asked, if it weren’t too much trouble, for a romantic opportunity to arise, nothing big. At this point I was almost at the on-ramp of the highway that I take to school, and I know I need to set this little lady free. ***So I roll my window down a crack, and stick out the finger on which the lady bug is latched, keep in mind I am moving at a speed of about 40-45 mph. This chick was holding on for dear life, so I extend my whole hand out the three inch crack in the window, and she still won’t let go, like my exboyfriend‘s mother, she has a vice grip hold from hell. At this point, freeing this bug takes priority one in my mind, clearly hypnotizing me, because I loose all awareness of the fact that I am in a moving automobile, racing down a public street, close to a highway onramp, and I turn my gaze away from something that at the moment, I deem has minimal importance. I begin to wrestle with this demon lady bug putting both hands out the window to save her life--don't worry I was still in control of the car, that is why we have knees, people!! Now, it wasn’t my intention to crush her, you see, she was my genie, per se, and if she died my wishes wouldn’t be granted. So, I finally get loose from her ninja hold and set my lady off to sail on the wind of destiny. I feel confident I can now turn my attention back to the road, as my objective was accomplished. I then moved my eyes back toward the road, just as the truck was headed into the guard rail.

 It was my natural instinct to jerk the wheel the opposite direction…in other words away from sudden and painful death, which turned out to be pretty fantastic, because I did so just in time to glance off the barrier at  an angle that allowed every inch of the driver’s side of my white Ford Ranger to be scratched from bumper to bumper. It was almost like that barrier was a track, and the side of my truck was a roller coaster car that was clicking up on its way to terror, crying babies, and, dare I say, vomit. I hate roller coasters, I have always hated roller coasters. I had the sense of self to control my gag reflex and was able to successfully disconnect from the railing, hands shaking, heart pounding, and proceeded on my journey to school and place the cherry on the top of my day.

    Who’s fault was it?** Mine? The lady bug’s? A bewildering question to this day, I still can’t answer it…I am not here to judge, only to tell my story. Am I mad at the lady bug? I hold no ill feelings toward her…if it was a her, she probably was a he dressed in drag, she might not have been a lady bug at all, probably was some impersonating beetle sent to torment me. I have since purchased a new truck and have put this episode behind me, the point is, why didn’t that lady bug make it clear she wasn’t there to grant wishes and move on with her day. Why didn’t she let go of my finger, did the pale color of my skin confuse her, maybe she wanted to stay in the air conditioning. This has turned out to be one of the great mysteries of life. I don’t think I’ll ever find out. I just know from here on out, the car will be brought to an immediate stop upon discovery of an insect or animal, especially raccoons. That creature will be freed or shot with a 7 foot reaching spray can of wasp killer. I know that may sound harsh, but the harshest reality of all is that demented lady bug probably had her brains in a jumble and was dizzy from me trying to shake her free, then bounced off the bed of my truck, into a windshield of another car, and landed on the guard rail at the exact point and moment my car made contact. Who has the luck now???

*I thought the words were "Hazel sister" not "Hey soul sister"
**for the record I know it was my fault and not hers,
*** the climax of this story took place in approximately 7.72 seconds.