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. 

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 do...at 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...

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.

An Introduction...

I am sitting in a place I would never wish on an enemy...a jail cell. Well, if a jail cell is my mom's touch screen computer and the handcuffs are the keyboard. Here I sit, blogging. Much like my perpetual single status, my ten extra pounds, and my younger sister's wedding; this is something I have never desired to experience or take part in. Something, in my world, only little, married, baby producing women use to show other little, married, pregnant women thier babies, and thier baby's babies. Women, often times younger than myself, who have looked at me with drooping brows and sad eyes, speaking with hushed tones upon my approach as though I have just been diagnosed with seriously incurable sickness--The only symptom of which is lack of marriage and only becomes terminal as I am about to die. You know the kind of ladies of whom I am referring, the kind who tilt their heads to the side when they speak to you, who spend all day making wreaths or beading a wash rag or starting a play date planning business.

I am using this medium as a venue to work out my own anxieties, frustrations, fears, annoyances, greivances, suprises, successes and boredoms. Maybe, I am just afraid that I won't turn into those women I depise or I am afraid I have missed my own opportunity. At any rate, I do this so I can hold my head up high as I walk this earth. So that I will have the quiet, personal satisfaction, of looking people and situations in the eye, with a silent smirk, knowing that I have told them off in a blog. It's really about life's little successes. This has no point, it has no aspirations, it is not meant to offend, it is only to fulfill the self serving purposes of helping me feel better about my life and the random/awkward/cruel/hilarious happenings therein. Personal experiences that help me to laugh instead of sit down and weep. So, ....ahem...without another moment of delay, I say with confidence, "Opportunity, love, riches, good looks, success... you never came. So I present to you, MY PLAN B!"

I kid you not, these situations have really occurred, things said to me by others, or things I have said to others without thinking. Please, read it for enjoyment and take from it what you will, I make no promises and my only purpose is to share with you moments that you can a.) be grateful never happened to you, b.) make you laugh, or c.) allow you some comfort in your marital semi bliss...because, "out there" is a place to which you should NEVER want to return.

Honestly, if this keeps one family together I've served my purpose.

So, come with me, grab your grain of salt, a tissue, and your single brother's number (I'll only give up hope when I am dead) and let us share together, the most embarassing things that have ever happened to human beings. (seriously where's your brother's number?)