Kind of. Maybe.
Ok, it's kind of a stretch for a conclusion, but what do you expect from me? It's semi-viable.
Let me explain.
It's Christmas Day and I have set my alarm for 7:30 AM so that we can open presents as a family at 8:00 sharp and then head down to the homeless shelter to prepare food for those who can't afford a meal on Christmas.
I'm not joking.
My dad always cooks up these half-brained ideas and throws them together at the last minute. And, to please our ever-adoring and giving father, my brothers and I succumb to the prepositions and blindly follow along. This is what happened two days before Christmas. My parents called us all into the kitchen to make an announcement.
Father: "We are going to do something to benefit mankind on Christmas Day."
Me: "Are we going to plant a tree?"
Father: "No, better."
Hayden (13-yr-old): "Are we going to give away money?"
Father: "No, better."
Spencer (sophomore in college; king of the frat boys) says with a dry tone of voice and a look in his eyes that screams 'you've GOT to be kidding me' as he slumps down in his seat: "We're going to a homeless shelter."
Father, gleaming with pride: "THAT'S RIGHT! On Christmas morning, we are going to go work at a homeless shelter for a few hours."
Hayden, with a look of utter horror: "BUT WHAT ABOUT OPENING OUR PRESENTS?!?!?!?!?!?"
Father: "We can open them before or after we serve food for 4 hours."
**All children look at each other like WTF?**
Me, trying to encourage the idea onto my brothers: "OK, yeah this is a good idea guys. We can do it. It'll be....fun."
**Brothers look at me like "you better sleep with one eye open, Haley, because we'll never forgive you for this."**
So it's decided: we're going to the homeless shelter on Christmas morning to help prepare and deliver food.
So, that morning, we all get into the car and drive to downtown Kansas City. And when I say "downtown", I mean the 'hood. All of a sudden, my dad pulls onto 4th and Quindaro and says, "Now, kids, this is the most dangerous street in all of Kansas City."
"WHAAAAAAAAT!?!?!" Hayden yelps.
"Don't worry. It's 9AM. Every one's in bed. We're not in any real danger. At least I don't think so...." Father says.
I check to make sure my door is locked and I secretly pray that the windows are bulletproof, but I'm pretty sure they're not. We're in a Ford.
"Why are we in the 'hood, Dad?" Spencer asks.
"Because...this is where people need help the most."
"Ohhhh, oooooooook." We all look at each other, not knowing what to expect next.
We pull up to a Baptist Church and find the parking lot surrounded by a chain link fence and pad locks. Super. But I think, "It's Christmas. Surely we won't get murdered on Christmas for trying to help the needy." That's all I've got to stick to for the next few hours, so I'm hoping I'm right.
Mother: "Uhh...Marty, you're gonna go inside and talk to someone and make sure we're at the right place before we all get out of the car, right?"
Father: "Sure, no problem."
My mother looks at me like "what did we get ourselves into this time?" but I'm semi-confident that we'll be alright.
Everything checks out to be normal, so we go inside. I am immediately given the task of putting together and taping cardboard boxes for delivery. I'm not allowed near the food. After manning a taping gun for over an hour and producing many, many cardboard boxes, my mom says I should drop out of SMU and seriously consider applying for UPS. Thanks mom. I'll do that.
Our shift is about over when they ask my mom and I if we are going to deliver food to people's houses. We look at each other and don't know what to say. We're not sure if we signed up for that. "We can deliver food to a few families," my mother says. "Ok, great!" the woman says. "We have a few families on your way home."
We leave. I volunteer to get out at the first stop and take the food up to the door. I ring the doorbell. I wait a little while, then I ring again. Maybe it doesn’t work. So I knock. And then again. My dad rolls down the window and says, “He might be hard of hearing, so knock really loudly.” “I did the first couple of times, but I’ll try it again.” So this time, I turn my hand into a fist and begin banging on the door. Everyone and their mom should have been able to hear that. Still no answer.
Detective mode kicks in and I begin to take in my surroundings. The car is in the driveway, so he’s got to be home. He’s not on vacation because if he can’t afford food, then he can’t afford to go anywhere. There’s a bunch of stuff on the front porch and then I spot the mailbox. Full.
(Ok, I know this is kind of illegal to look through someone’s mail but I was kind of beginning to get worried that something was wrong. And the mailbox was open, so I didn’t open it myself. I just looked inside.)
And I saw mail post-marked for December 10th, 14th, and 16th. AND a Netflix that had been there for awhile. Ok, I don’t know about you, but people who order Netflix watch those puppies as soon as they arrive. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a Netflix sit in a mailbox before. People have those coming and going as fast as possible so they maximize their monthly rate. Also, the mail hadn’t been picked up for two weeks? Ok, I understand not picking your mail up for a few days when your mailbox is a community mailbox down the street, but when your mailbox is literally at your front door that you walk in and out of multiple times a day? You would most certainly pick it up one of the times you walk through the door, right? This led me to believe that this man had not left his house for almost two weeks. Red flag.
I put the meal on a chair on the front porch and walk back to the car. “Dad, I don’t hear anything inside. Not a person, a T.V., radio, cat, dog, or anything. Should we call the police?” I ask.
“Yeah, I think we probably should. That really isn’t a good sign.”
So my dad calls the police, gives them all of the information I discovered and his own contact information. They say they’ll send someone over to check it out and they may need to contact us if the investigation needs to be furthered. “Ok, thanks,” my dad says as he hangs up.
We all look at each other. “I hope he isn’t dead!” my mother says. “Duh, mom,” says Spencer.
So then we go home, get ready to go over to our grandparents' house, and proceed with our normal Christmas activities.
I put on my new boots that I had been eyeing for months and am SO glad I got as a present. I'm such a lucky girl.
And, because of our trip to the ‘hood and almost finding a dead person inside of their house, I am very thankful that I have enough good fortune to receive presents and food for Christmas AND that I’m not dead.
Merry Christmas!!!!!!
Sunday, December 26, 2010
Friday, December 24, 2010
The Old Haunts
I am slowly but surely becoming my mother. Not only do I look like her, but now I seem to talk like her (using the same phrases and inflection in my voice), act like her and think like her.
Not that I'm complaining. If you've ever met my mother, you might say it's a blessing to turn out like her. She's nice and beautiful. I could only be so lucky to be like her.
Anyway, I went out with my friends last night. We met at a bar that I am more than familiar with. I've never been there to drink, but I've been going there since the age of 8 to eat dinner and hang out with the kids of the parents my mom and dad were meeting there. I hadn't been there for a few years, but as soon as I walked in, everything was so familiar.
My mom used to go there all the time for the past 30 years. I've heard a lot of funny stories (with many details left out, I'm sure) about happenings at that place. She used to go there with her friends.....and now I go there with my friends. Weird.
Last night walking in, I stupidly thought that I probably wouldn't know anyone there. MISTAKE. As soon as I sat down at my friends' table and looked to my left, I saw a boy I used to go to daycare, grade school and high school with. He was with his parents who are friends of my parents. They didn't recognize me (usually no one does at first these days) because I dyed my hair from blond to dark brown. I LOVE IT! Anyway, I went over to talk to them and got the usual questions, "How's school? Are you still rowing? Are you having a good break?" etc.
Then I went to the bathroom and was walking back to the bar when, all of a sudden, someone grabs my hand and goes, "Haley ******?" I turn to see the arm attached to a 50-year-old man. I have no idea who he is, but he must know my parents. "I'm *gives name*. I went to high school with your mom." Another man says something and I turn to face the husband of a woman who works with my mom and is the basketball coach at a local high school. I am kind of dying inside because I am a little tipsy and not fully prepared to carry on an intellectual conversation with these two men, but what do they expect? I'm 21 and on break. It's acceptable. Therefore, I politely sit down and allow them to ask me questions about, yes, rowing and college. After 10 minutes of trying to sound smart and completely sober, I thank them for saying hello and will pass their regards on to my mother. I walk back to the other room where my friends are and practically melt into a seat at the bar. I barely squeezed by that one.
I've GOT to stop going to my mother's old haunts. More events like this one are bound to happen. I should probably just prepare myself right now.
Not that I'm complaining. If you've ever met my mother, you might say it's a blessing to turn out like her. She's nice and beautiful. I could only be so lucky to be like her.
Anyway, I went out with my friends last night. We met at a bar that I am more than familiar with. I've never been there to drink, but I've been going there since the age of 8 to eat dinner and hang out with the kids of the parents my mom and dad were meeting there. I hadn't been there for a few years, but as soon as I walked in, everything was so familiar.
My mom used to go there all the time for the past 30 years. I've heard a lot of funny stories (with many details left out, I'm sure) about happenings at that place. She used to go there with her friends.....and now I go there with my friends. Weird.
Last night walking in, I stupidly thought that I probably wouldn't know anyone there. MISTAKE. As soon as I sat down at my friends' table and looked to my left, I saw a boy I used to go to daycare, grade school and high school with. He was with his parents who are friends of my parents. They didn't recognize me (usually no one does at first these days) because I dyed my hair from blond to dark brown. I LOVE IT! Anyway, I went over to talk to them and got the usual questions, "How's school? Are you still rowing? Are you having a good break?" etc.
Then I went to the bathroom and was walking back to the bar when, all of a sudden, someone grabs my hand and goes, "Haley ******?" I turn to see the arm attached to a 50-year-old man. I have no idea who he is, but he must know my parents. "I'm *gives name*. I went to high school with your mom." Another man says something and I turn to face the husband of a woman who works with my mom and is the basketball coach at a local high school. I am kind of dying inside because I am a little tipsy and not fully prepared to carry on an intellectual conversation with these two men, but what do they expect? I'm 21 and on break. It's acceptable. Therefore, I politely sit down and allow them to ask me questions about, yes, rowing and college. After 10 minutes of trying to sound smart and completely sober, I thank them for saying hello and will pass their regards on to my mother. I walk back to the other room where my friends are and practically melt into a seat at the bar. I barely squeezed by that one.
I've GOT to stop going to my mother's old haunts. More events like this one are bound to happen. I should probably just prepare myself right now.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Where are you going?
This is a throwback. An oldie. A classic.
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
I was asked this question last night by an adult I've known for years....and I literally almost responded with, "an astronaut." (We'll discuss my tendencies for supplying sarcastic and unrealistic responses in order to disguise the unfortunate and boring reality that is my life later...)
Surprisingly, however, becoming an astronaut is just as likely as anything else right now. (Not really. I'm excessively exaggerating--I'm not in an engineering program, I have no plans of getting a PhD in space mechanics, and I have too sensitive of a stomach to pass one of those tests where they spin you around really quickly.) But still. I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.
Am I in the business school? Yes. Is there an obvious career path for me when I graduate? Sort of.
I was contemplating going to Grad school or getting a job immediately after graduation (which is looming in my too-soon future.) All of this was complicated even more--and fast forwarded--when I met with my advisor the other day and he informed me that I'm so ahead of the game that I can save myself a lot of time and money and graduate next December. NEXT DECEMBER. AKA....a year from now! This suggestion went in one ear and out of the other. It's out of the question.
First of all, I'll only be 22 and I'll have plenty of time on my hands; I plan to live until I'm 80. Don't we all? Ahhh the young; we're so indestructible. I'll still be working out to the max and answering trivia questions like Wikipedia. (Trust me, I've already taken measures to extend my life. I've begun using repairing eye cream and I do sudoku and crossword puzzles to keep my brain sharp.) Anyway, secondly, SMU pays for my tuition and room and board (and then some) so I actually won't save any money. Third of all, do I want to quit rowing the middle of my senior year? Answer: yes, I'll probably be so exhausted by then that I'll want to, but I know I'll miss it so incredibly much and regret that decision for the rest of my life. I'm not a quitter. So that's also out of the question.
Regardless, this new opportunity put me on the fast track for some decision making--it made me realize how close the future actually is...damnit. Since I decided to stay at SMU for another semester without any required classes, I think I'm going to try and turn my English minor into an English major. I LOVE English. And I have extra time.
This resulted in MORE questions. My advisor said a lot of people who major in English go to Law School. Law School? I've entertained the idea before, but I hate the thought of taking out student loans. And what if I don't like it? What if I end up never using my degree? What a waste. I just don't know.... And IF Law School, then where? SMU Law? In my dreams. So expensive. Could I even get in? I've gotta stay in the south, so UT Austin? I'd love to. California? I may go to Law School just to move to Cali....joking....but not. When do I take the LSAT? Do I pay the $1,200 for the LSAT prep class just to try to cram it into my already overflowing schedule in the spring? Sweet Jesus, this blows.
Do I graduate and then go straight to work? If so, where? I plan on staying in Dallas (sorry, family) so I'll probably get a risk management job working 60-70 hours a week and go for runs with my Great Dane after an exhilarating (joke) day at work. (Yes, that is one thing I'm certain of: I want a massive dog for my running buddy.) Perhaps I could think about and study for Law School after I graduate and get a job....good gracious this is difficult.
And what about writing? Future job or just a hobby? I've always dreamed of writing for a magazine or becoming a book editor but....we'll see. And, after all of this, will I just end up being a stay-at-home mom with 4 (hopefully) kids running around with paint all over their hands and mud all over their feet? No....freaking....clue.
Well, whatever. I know that whatever decision I make is the right decision and will take me where I need to go. Do I want to go to Law School? Sure. I just bought a pair of fake glasses the other day that make me look really smart and I'd fit right in. Do I want to work? Of course. Making money sure beats the hell out of spending it. Do I want to go to Grad School? Yeah, I'd put off the real world for a few more years. Mommy? Of course I want kids. So it looks like all options are valid.
Now, I just need a decision. Eh, maybe I'll make one in a few months.....maybe.
And now, the throwback:
"What do you want to be when you grow up?"
I was asked this question last night by an adult I've known for years....and I literally almost responded with, "an astronaut." (We'll discuss my tendencies for supplying sarcastic and unrealistic responses in order to disguise the unfortunate and boring reality that is my life later...)
Surprisingly, however, becoming an astronaut is just as likely as anything else right now. (Not really. I'm excessively exaggerating--I'm not in an engineering program, I have no plans of getting a PhD in space mechanics, and I have too sensitive of a stomach to pass one of those tests where they spin you around really quickly.) But still. I have no idea what I want to be when I grow up.
Am I in the business school? Yes. Is there an obvious career path for me when I graduate? Sort of.
I was contemplating going to Grad school or getting a job immediately after graduation (which is looming in my too-soon future.) All of this was complicated even more--and fast forwarded--when I met with my advisor the other day and he informed me that I'm so ahead of the game that I can save myself a lot of time and money and graduate next December. NEXT DECEMBER. AKA....a year from now! This suggestion went in one ear and out of the other. It's out of the question.
First of all, I'll only be 22 and I'll have plenty of time on my hands; I plan to live until I'm 80. Don't we all? Ahhh the young; we're so indestructible. I'll still be working out to the max and answering trivia questions like Wikipedia. (Trust me, I've already taken measures to extend my life. I've begun using repairing eye cream and I do sudoku and crossword puzzles to keep my brain sharp.) Anyway, secondly, SMU pays for my tuition and room and board (and then some) so I actually won't save any money. Third of all, do I want to quit rowing the middle of my senior year? Answer: yes, I'll probably be so exhausted by then that I'll want to, but I know I'll miss it so incredibly much and regret that decision for the rest of my life. I'm not a quitter. So that's also out of the question.
Regardless, this new opportunity put me on the fast track for some decision making--it made me realize how close the future actually is...damnit. Since I decided to stay at SMU for another semester without any required classes, I think I'm going to try and turn my English minor into an English major. I LOVE English. And I have extra time.
This resulted in MORE questions. My advisor said a lot of people who major in English go to Law School. Law School? I've entertained the idea before, but I hate the thought of taking out student loans. And what if I don't like it? What if I end up never using my degree? What a waste. I just don't know.... And IF Law School, then where? SMU Law? In my dreams. So expensive. Could I even get in? I've gotta stay in the south, so UT Austin? I'd love to. California? I may go to Law School just to move to Cali....joking....but not. When do I take the LSAT? Do I pay the $1,200 for the LSAT prep class just to try to cram it into my already overflowing schedule in the spring? Sweet Jesus, this blows.
Do I graduate and then go straight to work? If so, where? I plan on staying in Dallas (sorry, family) so I'll probably get a risk management job working 60-70 hours a week and go for runs with my Great Dane after an exhilarating (joke) day at work. (Yes, that is one thing I'm certain of: I want a massive dog for my running buddy.) Perhaps I could think about and study for Law School after I graduate and get a job....good gracious this is difficult.
And what about writing? Future job or just a hobby? I've always dreamed of writing for a magazine or becoming a book editor but....we'll see. And, after all of this, will I just end up being a stay-at-home mom with 4 (hopefully) kids running around with paint all over their hands and mud all over their feet? No....freaking....clue.
Well, whatever. I know that whatever decision I make is the right decision and will take me where I need to go. Do I want to go to Law School? Sure. I just bought a pair of fake glasses the other day that make me look really smart and I'd fit right in. Do I want to work? Of course. Making money sure beats the hell out of spending it. Do I want to go to Grad School? Yeah, I'd put off the real world for a few more years. Mommy? Of course I want kids. So it looks like all options are valid.
Now, I just need a decision. Eh, maybe I'll make one in a few months.....maybe.
And now, the throwback:
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Oh, Leo!
The sun was shining through the windows as I slowly opened my eyes and stretched my arms. My sheets and blankets were crisp and clean after just being washed and it felt sooo goood to be snuggled in them. I awoke from a wonderful dream where I just met Leonardo DiCaprio in Central Park and he asked me out on a date. It was a beautiful day in Dallas and I thought, "Finals are over! What should I do on this wonderful day?".......
"Wait.......it's light outside.........wasn't I supposed to do something when it was dark outside.......? Yes, yes, I'm pretty sure I was supposed to wake up when it was dark out and do something relatively important....."
OH SHIT
I was supposed to FLY HOME!
I immediately grab my phone. Yep, my flight left an hour and a half ago. I have 15 missed alerts. The cab driver called me 8 times and left a few voicemail messages. My dad called twice. Immediately dialing my daddy to see if he can offer any condolences, he answers, "Good morning beautiful!" obviously not realizing I am supposed to be thousands of feet up in the air without phone service. "DAD! I SLEPT THROUGH MY FLIGHT!"
"Well what are you talking to me for?! Call Southwest immediately! And pull out the works. You've been sick with food poisoning; you just finished a stressful week of finals; you're just trying to get home to your family. Do whatever it takes." Thanks, dad.
I hang up and call Southwest. Already condemning myself to either having to chill in Dallas for a few more days or fork over 300 dollars for a flight home, as soon as someone picks up on the other end I begin pleading: "Please-please-please-I-missed-my-flight-and-I've-been-really-really-really-sick-with-food-poisoning-and-I'm-just-trying-to-get-home-for-the-Holidays-and-I'm-so-so-so-so-stressed-because-I-just-finished-finals-and-I-am----"
"Honey, relax. What's your name?"
*Gives full name*
"OK, let me pull up your confirmation."
After waiting on the phone for 20 minutes (where I am multi-tasking by brushing my teeth, getting dressed, and doing some last-minute packing) she says another flight is available at 9:15 AM---would I like that one? "YES OF COURSE!" At no charge, she puts me on that flight and says I should have no problems flying home.
*Fist pump into the air*
"Thank you so much! You have no idea what this means to me."
"You're welcome, sweetie. We know you have lots of options when you choose your airline, so we thank you for flying Southwest." (Yes, I have flown with them that many times so I have it memorized, thank you.)
Oh, wait, you thought the fun was over? Look who you're talking to! Guess again.
So I book a taxi online for 8:10 AM (yes, I naturally wake up at 7:30 AM with no alarm. That's sleeping in when you get up at 5 AM every morning for practice). I receive a confirmation e-mail saying my taxi will be there at 8:10. So I throw all my luggage down the stairs, pull it outside, and wait for my cab.
8:15. No cab.
So I call. "Yes, I booked a cab online for 8:10 and they aren't here yet and I'm kind of in a crunch." She responds, "Yes, is this *Says name* at *says address*?" "Yes, that's correct." "Ok, your cab is on it's way." "Great, thanks."
8:21. No cab.
So I call. "Hi, I called a little while ago and you said my cab was on its way, but it's still not here yet. I'm *gives name* at *gives address*" It's the same lady. "I'm sorry, we don't have a recorded reservation for you." WHAAAAT?! I just talked to you on the phone and you confirmed it! She tries to sort it all out but I just say, "Ok, it doesn't matter if you lost my reservation. Can you get a cab here soon, please?" "Yes ma'am. It'll be there in 5 minutes." "Super. Thanks."
8:29. No cab.
Another cab from another cab company drives by. I flag him down. After waiting on a cab that is 20 minutes late, I have 45 minutes to get to the airport, check my bags, get through security, find my gate, get my boarding pass, and get on the plane. It's gonna be close.
To avoid morning traffic, I ask him to go through the neighborhoods to cut down the time. Little did I know that going 20 MPH in a school zone meant 15 MPH for him. That was a MISTAKE.
I check my bags. One is over-weight and the baggage guy says they might not make the flight because I checked them 25 minutes before the plane takes off. I don't even care anymore--I just want to get on that plane! He says they'll do their best. I say, "I hope so," and give him a big tip. He smiles and says, "We'll make it work."
I run to the security line and take off my hat, scarf, gloves, coat, and shoes like I'm about to jump into a freezing-cold pond to save someone's life. I then take out my computer and get it all situated according to airport security's specifications in record time. All the jewelry comes off as if by magic. I practically run through the metal detector and just as quickly put everything back on, grab my stuff, and run to the gate.
When I arrive at 9:05 for my 9:15 flight, they're already boarding B class (out of A-C) and I still need to pick up my boarding pass from the desk. Waiting behind a few ladies with children (families on flights, arg!), I finally breathlessly say, "Boarding pass for Haley ********" She easily hands it to me. 9:09.
I run up to the guy who scans your ticket and onto the plane. It's packed. If I sit near the back, I'll vom. I shove my bag into an already stuffed overhead compartment and hope that no one had anything fragile up there. I then slump into a middle seat between two old guys.
And then I do a fist pump into the air. I DID IT!
To sum it all up, I was in Kansas City by 11:00 AM, my bags DID make my flight, and I blame beautiful Leonardo DiCaprio for all of this. Because if he wasn't so beautiful, then I would have left that dream a long time ago and probably would have made my first flight. But then, I wouldn't have this great story and my life would be that much more boring.
So I guess, Leo, you're welcome in my dreams anytime.
"Wait.......it's light outside.........wasn't I supposed to do something when it was dark outside.......? Yes, yes, I'm pretty sure I was supposed to wake up when it was dark out and do something relatively important....."
OH SHIT
I was supposed to FLY HOME!
I immediately grab my phone. Yep, my flight left an hour and a half ago. I have 15 missed alerts. The cab driver called me 8 times and left a few voicemail messages. My dad called twice. Immediately dialing my daddy to see if he can offer any condolences, he answers, "Good morning beautiful!" obviously not realizing I am supposed to be thousands of feet up in the air without phone service. "DAD! I SLEPT THROUGH MY FLIGHT!"
"Well what are you talking to me for?! Call Southwest immediately! And pull out the works. You've been sick with food poisoning; you just finished a stressful week of finals; you're just trying to get home to your family. Do whatever it takes." Thanks, dad.
I hang up and call Southwest. Already condemning myself to either having to chill in Dallas for a few more days or fork over 300 dollars for a flight home, as soon as someone picks up on the other end I begin pleading: "Please-please-please-I-missed-my-flight-and-I've-been-really-really-really-sick-with-food-poisoning-and-I'm-just-trying-to-get-home-for-the-Holidays-and-I'm-so-so-so-so-stressed-because-I-just-finished-finals-and-I-am----"
"Honey, relax. What's your name?"
*Gives full name*
"OK, let me pull up your confirmation."
After waiting on the phone for 20 minutes (where I am multi-tasking by brushing my teeth, getting dressed, and doing some last-minute packing) she says another flight is available at 9:15 AM---would I like that one? "YES OF COURSE!" At no charge, she puts me on that flight and says I should have no problems flying home.
*Fist pump into the air*
"Thank you so much! You have no idea what this means to me."
"You're welcome, sweetie. We know you have lots of options when you choose your airline, so we thank you for flying Southwest." (Yes, I have flown with them that many times so I have it memorized, thank you.)
Oh, wait, you thought the fun was over? Look who you're talking to! Guess again.
So I book a taxi online for 8:10 AM (yes, I naturally wake up at 7:30 AM with no alarm. That's sleeping in when you get up at 5 AM every morning for practice). I receive a confirmation e-mail saying my taxi will be there at 8:10. So I throw all my luggage down the stairs, pull it outside, and wait for my cab.
8:15. No cab.
So I call. "Yes, I booked a cab online for 8:10 and they aren't here yet and I'm kind of in a crunch." She responds, "Yes, is this *Says name* at *says address*?" "Yes, that's correct." "Ok, your cab is on it's way." "Great, thanks."
8:21. No cab.
So I call. "Hi, I called a little while ago and you said my cab was on its way, but it's still not here yet. I'm *gives name* at *gives address*" It's the same lady. "I'm sorry, we don't have a recorded reservation for you." WHAAAAT?! I just talked to you on the phone and you confirmed it! She tries to sort it all out but I just say, "Ok, it doesn't matter if you lost my reservation. Can you get a cab here soon, please?" "Yes ma'am. It'll be there in 5 minutes." "Super. Thanks."
8:29. No cab.
Another cab from another cab company drives by. I flag him down. After waiting on a cab that is 20 minutes late, I have 45 minutes to get to the airport, check my bags, get through security, find my gate, get my boarding pass, and get on the plane. It's gonna be close.
To avoid morning traffic, I ask him to go through the neighborhoods to cut down the time. Little did I know that going 20 MPH in a school zone meant 15 MPH for him. That was a MISTAKE.
I check my bags. One is over-weight and the baggage guy says they might not make the flight because I checked them 25 minutes before the plane takes off. I don't even care anymore--I just want to get on that plane! He says they'll do their best. I say, "I hope so," and give him a big tip. He smiles and says, "We'll make it work."
I run to the security line and take off my hat, scarf, gloves, coat, and shoes like I'm about to jump into a freezing-cold pond to save someone's life. I then take out my computer and get it all situated according to airport security's specifications in record time. All the jewelry comes off as if by magic. I practically run through the metal detector and just as quickly put everything back on, grab my stuff, and run to the gate.
When I arrive at 9:05 for my 9:15 flight, they're already boarding B class (out of A-C) and I still need to pick up my boarding pass from the desk. Waiting behind a few ladies with children (families on flights, arg!), I finally breathlessly say, "Boarding pass for Haley ********" She easily hands it to me. 9:09.
I run up to the guy who scans your ticket and onto the plane. It's packed. If I sit near the back, I'll vom. I shove my bag into an already stuffed overhead compartment and hope that no one had anything fragile up there. I then slump into a middle seat between two old guys.
And then I do a fist pump into the air. I DID IT!
To sum it all up, I was in Kansas City by 11:00 AM, my bags DID make my flight, and I blame beautiful Leonardo DiCaprio for all of this. Because if he wasn't so beautiful, then I would have left that dream a long time ago and probably would have made my first flight. But then, I wouldn't have this great story and my life would be that much more boring.
So I guess, Leo, you're welcome in my dreams anytime.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
What a Finale!!
And by "finale", I suppose I mean "finals". And by "finals", I suppose I mean the one I missed this morning.
Yep, you guessed it: didn't quite make it to my 8 AM Marketing Final. Not by choice, however. My body decided to have a complete and utter breakdown from 9:30 PM last night to 4:00 AM this morning on account of one tiny, itsy-bitsy, little, "harmless" slice of cheese pizza. This is the piece of pizza that I almost didn't eat after reading that one tiny, itsy-bitsy, little, "harmless" slice of cheese pizza costs you over 700 calories. But I was hungry, my salad wasn't satisfying my loudly growling stomach, and the 5 kids I was babysitting were helping me burn more than those 700 calories soooooooooo.....I ate it. MISTAKE.
Fast forward one hour later and I am glued to their couch. I feel really bad because I usually am a lot more fun when I babysit and I like to do stuff with the kids. But I couldn't...do...anything. I have a really sensitive stomach so I figure it's just my stomach being sensitive to the fact that I don't usually eat that many carbs or greasy cheese in one sitting. "It'll pass," I think. WRONG.
Then, one of the boys laying on the couch goes, "Are you guys sick?"
"yES!" I say in a crescendo like I have just made a huge discovery and found humanity's missing link. The other two boys go, "Yeah, I'm really sick too. I feel terrible." I ask, "Do you guys feel weak? Do you feel like you're going to throw up?" "Yes," they respond. "Did you eat the pizza?" "Yes," they respond. "Oh no. Oh no no no." I say as I shake my head. "What's wrong, Haley?" they ask. "I think we all have food poisoning". "WHAAAT?" They're concerned. I try to calm their fears but inside I am freaking out.
I have had food poisoning once before. It was the day after my 16th birthday and I was in Universal Studios in Florida with my family. The entire Hard Rock Cafe had just sang me "Happy Birthday" as I stood on a stage and then I had the most amazing milkshake ever. It was one of the best days of my life.
So we were walking around after that and I start feeling sick. So I get sick. EVERYWHERE. I pretty much covered Universal Studios with my milkshake and whatever else was in my tummy. I couldn't control myself...or find a trashcan anywhere---their fault, not mine. A policeman sees us and immediately gets me some water. But I can't keep it down. I start feeling so incredibly weak that I can't walk anymore. Therefore, I sit down and lean against a huge concrete pillar barely able to keep my eyes open with a red SOLO cup of water in my hand while my family tries to find help. Yes, I look like I'm WASTED. People were walking by me, pointing and mumbling, "It looks like someone's had too much to drink..." I wanted to yell, "I'M SIXTEEN! I DON'T DRINK!" but I didn't have enough energy.
My dad comes back with a wheelchair. I look at him like, "Don't you think this is a bit excessive?" but inside I am jumping for joy. What a genius. I am so thankful.
I spend the rest of the evening in our hotel bathroom trying trying trying to feel better for our 6 AM flight home the next day. I'm not.
So my family gets up the next day and is trying to help me get ready to leave. I can't do anything. Then my brother who is 18 months younger than me starts getting sick. My parents look at each other like, "WHY US?!" and try to help their sick 16 and 14 year old get ready for a 3 hour flight. They also have an 8 year old they have to deal with who doesn't really know what's going on.
We're late to turn our rental car in. I throw up in the parking garage. Then Spencer (my brother) does too.
We're late to the security line. Of course it's excessively long. All of a sudden out of nowhere and without any warning, Spencer leans over and throws up ALL OVER my brand new hot pink suitcase. Not having time to be even a little mad, I see the throw-up and start feeling sick. I run across the airport to the closest trashcan and barely make it. My parents are dumbfounded. People in line are pissed at us. Hayden (my other brother) is about to cry.
We're late to the gate. There aren't any seats together so we all have to split up. My dad politely tells the airline stewardess that his son is very sick and needs to sit with one of his parents. I'm feeling better and can manage to sit by myself, but Spencer is getting sick every 20 minutes. She is very rude and says, "You were late; there's nothing I can do. He'll have to manage." My dad looks very solemn and in his head is thinking, "Ok, but don't say I didn't warn you."
We're all situated and about to take off when the stranger sitting next to Spencer starts freaking out because, yep, he's getting sick. The airline stewardess runs to my dad and says, "Would you mind switching seats with this gentleman? I think your son needs you." He looks up at her and thinks, "REALLY?!" haha ohh goodness.
A middle-aged lady is sitting between Hayden and I. I get a little sick during the flight and Hayden is plastered against the window. He's freaking out. He doesn't know this lady, his big sister is really sick, and he doesn't know where his family is. Poor guy.
My mom is stuck in the back of the plane for 3 hours worried sick about her children who she can't take care of next to another lady who is talking about her cats and her knitting hobby.
I laugh every time I tell that story to someone. A lot happened and it's crazy that we even made our flight and stayed alive. Last night was different. All I have to show is 5 grocery bags outside my front door that I'm sure my neighbors are pissed about and a lack of sleep. Ohh, and I look like poo, my room is an utter and complete mess, and I have to take an Incomplete in one of my business school classes until I can sort it out in the spring.
AND I have a 6 AM flight tomorrow. I feel like this is a pattern. I hope I don't get sick.
Yep, you guessed it: didn't quite make it to my 8 AM Marketing Final. Not by choice, however. My body decided to have a complete and utter breakdown from 9:30 PM last night to 4:00 AM this morning on account of one tiny, itsy-bitsy, little, "harmless" slice of cheese pizza. This is the piece of pizza that I almost didn't eat after reading that one tiny, itsy-bitsy, little, "harmless" slice of cheese pizza costs you over 700 calories. But I was hungry, my salad wasn't satisfying my loudly growling stomach, and the 5 kids I was babysitting were helping me burn more than those 700 calories soooooooooo.....I ate it. MISTAKE.
Fast forward one hour later and I am glued to their couch. I feel really bad because I usually am a lot more fun when I babysit and I like to do stuff with the kids. But I couldn't...do...anything. I have a really sensitive stomach so I figure it's just my stomach being sensitive to the fact that I don't usually eat that many carbs or greasy cheese in one sitting. "It'll pass," I think. WRONG.
Then, one of the boys laying on the couch goes, "Are you guys sick?"
"yES!" I say in a crescendo like I have just made a huge discovery and found humanity's missing link. The other two boys go, "Yeah, I'm really sick too. I feel terrible." I ask, "Do you guys feel weak? Do you feel like you're going to throw up?" "Yes," they respond. "Did you eat the pizza?" "Yes," they respond. "Oh no. Oh no no no." I say as I shake my head. "What's wrong, Haley?" they ask. "I think we all have food poisoning". "WHAAAT?" They're concerned. I try to calm their fears but inside I am freaking out.
I have had food poisoning once before. It was the day after my 16th birthday and I was in Universal Studios in Florida with my family. The entire Hard Rock Cafe had just sang me "Happy Birthday" as I stood on a stage and then I had the most amazing milkshake ever. It was one of the best days of my life.
So we were walking around after that and I start feeling sick. So I get sick. EVERYWHERE. I pretty much covered Universal Studios with my milkshake and whatever else was in my tummy. I couldn't control myself...or find a trashcan anywhere---their fault, not mine. A policeman sees us and immediately gets me some water. But I can't keep it down. I start feeling so incredibly weak that I can't walk anymore. Therefore, I sit down and lean against a huge concrete pillar barely able to keep my eyes open with a red SOLO cup of water in my hand while my family tries to find help. Yes, I look like I'm WASTED. People were walking by me, pointing and mumbling, "It looks like someone's had too much to drink..." I wanted to yell, "I'M SIXTEEN! I DON'T DRINK!" but I didn't have enough energy.
My dad comes back with a wheelchair. I look at him like, "Don't you think this is a bit excessive?" but inside I am jumping for joy. What a genius. I am so thankful.
I spend the rest of the evening in our hotel bathroom trying trying trying to feel better for our 6 AM flight home the next day. I'm not.
So my family gets up the next day and is trying to help me get ready to leave. I can't do anything. Then my brother who is 18 months younger than me starts getting sick. My parents look at each other like, "WHY US?!" and try to help their sick 16 and 14 year old get ready for a 3 hour flight. They also have an 8 year old they have to deal with who doesn't really know what's going on.
We're late to turn our rental car in. I throw up in the parking garage. Then Spencer (my brother) does too.
We're late to the security line. Of course it's excessively long. All of a sudden out of nowhere and without any warning, Spencer leans over and throws up ALL OVER my brand new hot pink suitcase. Not having time to be even a little mad, I see the throw-up and start feeling sick. I run across the airport to the closest trashcan and barely make it. My parents are dumbfounded. People in line are pissed at us. Hayden (my other brother) is about to cry.
We're late to the gate. There aren't any seats together so we all have to split up. My dad politely tells the airline stewardess that his son is very sick and needs to sit with one of his parents. I'm feeling better and can manage to sit by myself, but Spencer is getting sick every 20 minutes. She is very rude and says, "You were late; there's nothing I can do. He'll have to manage." My dad looks very solemn and in his head is thinking, "Ok, but don't say I didn't warn you."
We're all situated and about to take off when the stranger sitting next to Spencer starts freaking out because, yep, he's getting sick. The airline stewardess runs to my dad and says, "Would you mind switching seats with this gentleman? I think your son needs you." He looks up at her and thinks, "REALLY?!" haha ohh goodness.
A middle-aged lady is sitting between Hayden and I. I get a little sick during the flight and Hayden is plastered against the window. He's freaking out. He doesn't know this lady, his big sister is really sick, and he doesn't know where his family is. Poor guy.
My mom is stuck in the back of the plane for 3 hours worried sick about her children who she can't take care of next to another lady who is talking about her cats and her knitting hobby.
I laugh every time I tell that story to someone. A lot happened and it's crazy that we even made our flight and stayed alive. Last night was different. All I have to show is 5 grocery bags outside my front door that I'm sure my neighbors are pissed about and a lack of sleep. Ohh, and I look like poo, my room is an utter and complete mess, and I have to take an Incomplete in one of my business school classes until I can sort it out in the spring.
AND I have a 6 AM flight tomorrow. I feel like this is a pattern. I hope I don't get sick.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Interpret What You Will
It's a gift, really. Bullshitting, that is. That's my gift.
Well, I suppose not so much "bullshitting," but more so "making shit up off the top of your head that makes absolutely no sense at all....and yet, people still buy it." You see, I am actually really terrible at lying. Basically ask me a question and you will get the answer. Truth: this was not so helpful in high school when my mom would ask me about certain things....
I had two options: lie to her face and have her know that I was lying OR tell her the truth. So I always had to tell her the truth.
ANYWAY, back to tonight.
I don't know what came over me. I really can't tell you. When the guy at the bar asked what I did, I really really was about to say, "Well, I'm a student at SMU," but somehow it came out as, "I'm an interpretive dancer."
HE: "Really! You're an interpretive dancer?! I've never met one of those before!"
I: "Yeah yeah, we're not that common, really. It's a rare profession I must say."
HE: "Interesting! So like, what do you do?"
I: "Well....we dance....interpretively."
HE: "Yeah, I think I get that. But what do you mean? Like, how?"
I: "Well, we just listen to the music and try to understand what it's saying and then we move our bodies to try to describe how we are feeling in relation to what the music is saying."
HE: "Wow. That's deep."
I: "Yeah. It really is something."
HE: "So what kind of music do you dance to?"
I: "Anything, really. We try to listen to a lot of different kinds of music to try to expand our dancing abilities."
HE: "So you can dance to alternative-rock?"
I: "Sure, why not?"
HE: "Well I'm in this band that performs and we're trying to get a larger fan base than we have right now. We're looking for something that would make us stand out."
(((OH shit.)))
HE: "Do you think you and your friends would be interested in performing during one of our concerts?"
I: "Sure! Why not? We'd need some practice and exposure to the material beforehand but I think it could work out."
HE: "Cool cool. So, do you need like a certain beat to be able to perform? Do you have requirements for that sort of thing?"
I: "Not really. I mean, it is interpretive so all we really need is music and then we just go with it. It can be fast or slow; we dance to what is going on around us."
HE: "Great! So are you with a particular company?"
I: "Oh...actually, it's kind of a touchy subject. We were with the company here in Dallas but they started working for the money and all of this corporate crap and they weren't doing it for the feeling anymore. We didn't like that and we were getting into all of these arguments so we broke off from them. Yeah, it sucks sometimes not getting paid, but at least I know I'm not a sellout."
HE: "Wow, yeah that's gotta be rough."
I: "Yeah, the exposure in that company was great, but it just didn't feel right, you know? It should always be about the music, not the money right?"
HE: "You're totally right. That makes perfect sense. Good for you."
Then we talked for a little while longer about dancing and blah blah blah until my friends got sick of his friends and dragged me away. As we were walking away, I realized just exactly what I had been talking about for the last 20 minutes and about started peeing my pants.
"Haley!" they yelled, "WHAT is so FUNNY?!"
"I just told that guy about my profession as an interpretive dancer," I managed to say between grasping for air during my hysterical laughter.
They immediately stop walking, look at each other, and say, "I swear....the stuff you come up with. How do you think of this crap? And why do these people believe it?"
"I have no idea. I wish I could tell you."
To be honest, I have no intention of stopping this nonsense. It's too much fun.
Well, I suppose not so much "bullshitting," but more so "making shit up off the top of your head that makes absolutely no sense at all....and yet, people still buy it." You see, I am actually really terrible at lying. Basically ask me a question and you will get the answer. Truth: this was not so helpful in high school when my mom would ask me about certain things....
I had two options: lie to her face and have her know that I was lying OR tell her the truth. So I always had to tell her the truth.
ANYWAY, back to tonight.
I don't know what came over me. I really can't tell you. When the guy at the bar asked what I did, I really really was about to say, "Well, I'm a student at SMU," but somehow it came out as, "I'm an interpretive dancer."
HE: "Really! You're an interpretive dancer?! I've never met one of those before!"
I: "Yeah yeah, we're not that common, really. It's a rare profession I must say."
HE: "Interesting! So like, what do you do?"
I: "Well....we dance....interpretively."
HE: "Yeah, I think I get that. But what do you mean? Like, how?"
I: "Well, we just listen to the music and try to understand what it's saying and then we move our bodies to try to describe how we are feeling in relation to what the music is saying."
HE: "Wow. That's deep."
I: "Yeah. It really is something."
HE: "So what kind of music do you dance to?"
I: "Anything, really. We try to listen to a lot of different kinds of music to try to expand our dancing abilities."
HE: "So you can dance to alternative-rock?"
I: "Sure, why not?"
HE: "Well I'm in this band that performs and we're trying to get a larger fan base than we have right now. We're looking for something that would make us stand out."
(((OH shit.)))
HE: "Do you think you and your friends would be interested in performing during one of our concerts?"
I: "Sure! Why not? We'd need some practice and exposure to the material beforehand but I think it could work out."
HE: "Cool cool. So, do you need like a certain beat to be able to perform? Do you have requirements for that sort of thing?"
I: "Not really. I mean, it is interpretive so all we really need is music and then we just go with it. It can be fast or slow; we dance to what is going on around us."
HE: "Great! So are you with a particular company?"
I: "Oh...actually, it's kind of a touchy subject. We were with the company here in Dallas but they started working for the money and all of this corporate crap and they weren't doing it for the feeling anymore. We didn't like that and we were getting into all of these arguments so we broke off from them. Yeah, it sucks sometimes not getting paid, but at least I know I'm not a sellout."
HE: "Wow, yeah that's gotta be rough."
I: "Yeah, the exposure in that company was great, but it just didn't feel right, you know? It should always be about the music, not the money right?"
HE: "You're totally right. That makes perfect sense. Good for you."
Then we talked for a little while longer about dancing and blah blah blah until my friends got sick of his friends and dragged me away. As we were walking away, I realized just exactly what I had been talking about for the last 20 minutes and about started peeing my pants.
"Haley!" they yelled, "WHAT is so FUNNY?!"
"I just told that guy about my profession as an interpretive dancer," I managed to say between grasping for air during my hysterical laughter.
They immediately stop walking, look at each other, and say, "I swear....the stuff you come up with. How do you think of this crap? And why do these people believe it?"
"I have no idea. I wish I could tell you."
To be honest, I have no intention of stopping this nonsense. It's too much fun.
Thursday, December 9, 2010
I'm Sneaky
1) Soooooooooo I think my neighbor is very attractive.
2) We have three lights in our kitchen. A few days ago, only one worked. It was impossible to see in the kitchen. We were living like this for a few weeks, barely able to see what we were making to eat or what was on the floor.
3) The other day, my roommate sent me a facebook message saying that she had knocked over my wine glass and there was glass all over the floor. She tried to get most of it up but wasn't sure if she got it all because it was hard to see. I immediately thought, "Time to get those lights fixed. I DO NOT want glass in my foot."
I replaced one of them but the other was too high to reach from the ground and it looked really heavy. It was a dome light and I had no idea how to take it apart and fix it. And I knew, I knew that if I tried to fix it, I would certainly break it into a tiny million little pieces. You know me by now; that's how my life goes.
Therefore, I decided to text my landlord to have his handyman come over and fix it for us. It wouldn't be that big of a deal, it would take him like 5 seconds, and he wouldn't break it. Piece of cake.
I had the text message all ready to send when, all of a sudden, a light bulb goes off in my head. "Hey!" I start thinking, "Neighbor Boy is tall and he's a guy so he should be handy and since he lives next door he probably has the same lights and knows how to fix them. I'll run over and ask him instead. It will give us an excuse to talk!"
I start getting really nervous and run into my roommate's room to ask her if the idea is dumb and if I'll look like an idiot. She says no; it's perfectly rational. So I check myself in the mirror and realize that I'm still in the clothes I went running in 20 minutes ago: tennis shoes, spandex, pony tail and all. "Meh," I think. "I have a natural flush to my face, I'm in workout clothes so it looks like I'm in shape, and it won't look like I'm trying too hard as opposed to going over there all dolled up." Convinced my plan is fool-proof, I march outside and down to his door.
Almost shitting my pants as I ring the doorbell, Surfer Dude (a very, very attractive modelesque friend of Neighbor Boy) answers...but he's on the phone. He says hi and is polite, but he's still on the phone. Neighbor Boy comes around the corner of a room and he's on the phone too! Oh crap. This is awkward. "Oh...uhhh...I...ahhh...uhhh...I just had a...um...a question but...uh...it's no big deal soooo....ok bye." I turn to leave when he goes, "No wait! Just let me finish this call and then I'll come to your apartment. It'll be like 5 minutes." Ok, so I'm not a loser. Good.
I start cleaning up the kitchen in preparation for their arrival when he knocks a few minutes later. I show him the light, ask him if he knows how to fix it and if he could help me.
Ok, then I really started feeling like an idiot because as soon as he looked at it, it was clear that all you had to do was unscrew this really, really obvious part and it came apart easily. And it wasn't heavy at all. Making small talk and laughing at things, it takes him only a few minutes to change the light bulbs. Damn. Not much face time. But we're still talking.
Then Surfer Dude comes in.....and we all hang out and talk in my kitchen for the next 45 minutes. They're so nice! I mention I have to go get ready for dinner plans when Surfer asks what I'm doing tomorrow night. "Umm...I have no plans for Wednesday night yet, what about you?" "I don't have anything planned either. We should grab drinks in the evening if you want to." My tummy does a flip and my heart about jumps out of my chest. (YES YES YES!!) "Yeah, ok, I guess that sounds cool. I have something I have to do until 7, but I can go anytime after that," I say. "Ok cool," Neighbor boy says. "We'll stop by around 7 and then we can all go somewhere."
Perfect.
They leave, I do a fist pump in the air, and I jump in the shower and get ready for my dinner plans.
Did my plan work? Yes: it's outcome was above and beyond what I even expected.
Did they know I did that on purpose? Most likely.
Does it matter? Naaaaaaah.
2) We have three lights in our kitchen. A few days ago, only one worked. It was impossible to see in the kitchen. We were living like this for a few weeks, barely able to see what we were making to eat or what was on the floor.
3) The other day, my roommate sent me a facebook message saying that she had knocked over my wine glass and there was glass all over the floor. She tried to get most of it up but wasn't sure if she got it all because it was hard to see. I immediately thought, "Time to get those lights fixed. I DO NOT want glass in my foot."
I replaced one of them but the other was too high to reach from the ground and it looked really heavy. It was a dome light and I had no idea how to take it apart and fix it. And I knew, I knew that if I tried to fix it, I would certainly break it into a tiny million little pieces. You know me by now; that's how my life goes.
Therefore, I decided to text my landlord to have his handyman come over and fix it for us. It wouldn't be that big of a deal, it would take him like 5 seconds, and he wouldn't break it. Piece of cake.
I had the text message all ready to send when, all of a sudden, a light bulb goes off in my head. "Hey!" I start thinking, "Neighbor Boy is tall and he's a guy so he should be handy and since he lives next door he probably has the same lights and knows how to fix them. I'll run over and ask him instead. It will give us an excuse to talk!"
I start getting really nervous and run into my roommate's room to ask her if the idea is dumb and if I'll look like an idiot. She says no; it's perfectly rational. So I check myself in the mirror and realize that I'm still in the clothes I went running in 20 minutes ago: tennis shoes, spandex, pony tail and all. "Meh," I think. "I have a natural flush to my face, I'm in workout clothes so it looks like I'm in shape, and it won't look like I'm trying too hard as opposed to going over there all dolled up." Convinced my plan is fool-proof, I march outside and down to his door.
Almost shitting my pants as I ring the doorbell, Surfer Dude (a very, very attractive modelesque friend of Neighbor Boy) answers...but he's on the phone. He says hi and is polite, but he's still on the phone. Neighbor Boy comes around the corner of a room and he's on the phone too! Oh crap. This is awkward. "Oh...uhhh...I...ahhh...uhhh...I just had a...um...a question but...uh...it's no big deal soooo....ok bye." I turn to leave when he goes, "No wait! Just let me finish this call and then I'll come to your apartment. It'll be like 5 minutes." Ok, so I'm not a loser. Good.
I start cleaning up the kitchen in preparation for their arrival when he knocks a few minutes later. I show him the light, ask him if he knows how to fix it and if he could help me.
Ok, then I really started feeling like an idiot because as soon as he looked at it, it was clear that all you had to do was unscrew this really, really obvious part and it came apart easily. And it wasn't heavy at all. Making small talk and laughing at things, it takes him only a few minutes to change the light bulbs. Damn. Not much face time. But we're still talking.
Then Surfer Dude comes in.....and we all hang out and talk in my kitchen for the next 45 minutes. They're so nice! I mention I have to go get ready for dinner plans when Surfer asks what I'm doing tomorrow night. "Umm...I have no plans for Wednesday night yet, what about you?" "I don't have anything planned either. We should grab drinks in the evening if you want to." My tummy does a flip and my heart about jumps out of my chest. (YES YES YES!!) "Yeah, ok, I guess that sounds cool. I have something I have to do until 7, but I can go anytime after that," I say. "Ok cool," Neighbor boy says. "We'll stop by around 7 and then we can all go somewhere."
Perfect.
They leave, I do a fist pump in the air, and I jump in the shower and get ready for my dinner plans.
Did my plan work? Yes: it's outcome was above and beyond what I even expected.
Did they know I did that on purpose? Most likely.
Does it matter? Naaaaaaah.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
Four guys walk into a bar....
Ok, this isn't a silly joke but it's still pretty damn funny.
This story involves me, 3 of my best friends, and the bars in Dallas. It goes to show that even though the population of the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex is over 6 million people (with Dallas alone having 1.3 million), it is a very very small world out there.
We arrive at one of my favorite bars around 11:00 and I spot a prime table. We sit down, order a few drinks, and immediately begin laughing. Gosh, I love them.
I have the best seat in the house: my back is to the wall and not only am I facing my friends, but I can see everyone in the entire bar...including a table of guys who keep nonchalantly looking up at us. (We're sitting in a tall table and they're in a lower one). Kind of smiling to myself at how hard they're trying to not be obvious but inevitably are, I start laughing inside when I see them nod to each other, stand up, and approach. My friends are deep in conversation. 'This is gonna be good.'
"Hey," they say as the smile and lean into the table. "We were wondering if you girls would switch us tables?" My friend Ashley immediately says, "Sure!" and jumps down off of her seat. "Ashley!" I say in a urgent but hushed tone, "They don't want to switch us tables--they're hitting on us." And anyway, I'm not giving up this table to anyone. She's a little embarrassed, but it's really not that big of a deal. She'll learn that when guys don't have any good pick-up lines, they'll eventually come up with some lame comment or question that at least does the job of starting the conversation. Needless to say, their approach worked.
After talking to a surfer from Hawaii for 30 minutes, my roommate yells across the table, "HALEY! This guy lives in our condo complex!" Ok, our condo complex is not big at all. This was shocking. After a few minutes, we come to find out that he is our next door neighbor. My roommate shares a bedroom wall with him and we can hear him in his kitchen when he makes breakfast in the morning...weird. I was floored.
It got even weirder when we discovered that we had actually talked to each other before. Around this time last year my other roommate and I were throwing a big party. Both being under the legal drinking age, we were semi-worried about someone calling the police if it got too loud. Therefore, I went over to our neighbor's house and rang the doorbell. Surprised to see a strange girl at his doorstep, he asked, "Can I help you?" I replied, "Yes. First of all, we're having a party Saturday night and you are welcome to come if you want. Second of all, if it gets too loud, we'd appreciate it if you came over and told us to be quieter instead of calling the cops. Thanks!" He looked at me like I was a little crazy (which I am) and said, "Uhhh....thanks, but I'll be out of town anyway." I also talked to his roommate on the stairs one time when I was leaving for practice.
And yet, we never recognized each other until we began talking about our living quarters.
We talked to them for the next 3 hours until the lights came on and the bar closed. We were shocked that time flew by that quickly. They were good guys. I'm glad to have them as neighbors.
This morning I took out the trash after my run and ran into them as they were coming home. Carrying trash that smelled like rotten eggs and spinach while sweating in spandex with no makeup (looking COMPLETELY different and totally unattractive compared the night before), I was embarrased when they still recognized me and yelled "HI NEIGHBOR!" I tried to hide under my baseball cap and I think it maybe worked.
Gosh, it's so nice to finally get to know your neighbors. Especially when they're hott. Looks like I'll always have to be on top of my game when it comes to taking care of myself now just incase we run into each other coming and going from our apartments...I'm not sure if this is a good or bad thing yet. I'll keep you posted.
This story involves me, 3 of my best friends, and the bars in Dallas. It goes to show that even though the population of the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex is over 6 million people (with Dallas alone having 1.3 million), it is a very very small world out there.
We arrive at one of my favorite bars around 11:00 and I spot a prime table. We sit down, order a few drinks, and immediately begin laughing. Gosh, I love them.
I have the best seat in the house: my back is to the wall and not only am I facing my friends, but I can see everyone in the entire bar...including a table of guys who keep nonchalantly looking up at us. (We're sitting in a tall table and they're in a lower one). Kind of smiling to myself at how hard they're trying to not be obvious but inevitably are, I start laughing inside when I see them nod to each other, stand up, and approach. My friends are deep in conversation. 'This is gonna be good.'
"Hey," they say as the smile and lean into the table. "We were wondering if you girls would switch us tables?" My friend Ashley immediately says, "Sure!" and jumps down off of her seat. "Ashley!" I say in a urgent but hushed tone, "They don't want to switch us tables--they're hitting on us." And anyway, I'm not giving up this table to anyone. She's a little embarrassed, but it's really not that big of a deal. She'll learn that when guys don't have any good pick-up lines, they'll eventually come up with some lame comment or question that at least does the job of starting the conversation. Needless to say, their approach worked.
After talking to a surfer from Hawaii for 30 minutes, my roommate yells across the table, "HALEY! This guy lives in our condo complex!" Ok, our condo complex is not big at all. This was shocking. After a few minutes, we come to find out that he is our next door neighbor. My roommate shares a bedroom wall with him and we can hear him in his kitchen when he makes breakfast in the morning...weird. I was floored.
It got even weirder when we discovered that we had actually talked to each other before. Around this time last year my other roommate and I were throwing a big party. Both being under the legal drinking age, we were semi-worried about someone calling the police if it got too loud. Therefore, I went over to our neighbor's house and rang the doorbell. Surprised to see a strange girl at his doorstep, he asked, "Can I help you?" I replied, "Yes. First of all, we're having a party Saturday night and you are welcome to come if you want. Second of all, if it gets too loud, we'd appreciate it if you came over and told us to be quieter instead of calling the cops. Thanks!" He looked at me like I was a little crazy (which I am) and said, "Uhhh....thanks, but I'll be out of town anyway." I also talked to his roommate on the stairs one time when I was leaving for practice.
And yet, we never recognized each other until we began talking about our living quarters.
We talked to them for the next 3 hours until the lights came on and the bar closed. We were shocked that time flew by that quickly. They were good guys. I'm glad to have them as neighbors.
This morning I took out the trash after my run and ran into them as they were coming home. Carrying trash that smelled like rotten eggs and spinach while sweating in spandex with no makeup (looking COMPLETELY different and totally unattractive compared the night before), I was embarrased when they still recognized me and yelled "HI NEIGHBOR!" I tried to hide under my baseball cap and I think it maybe worked.
Gosh, it's so nice to finally get to know your neighbors. Especially when they're hott. Looks like I'll always have to be on top of my game when it comes to taking care of myself now just incase we run into each other coming and going from our apartments...I'm not sure if this is a good or bad thing yet. I'll keep you posted.
Thursday, December 2, 2010
My Bathroom Loathes Me
This is not a real blog post. It's just a short little story showing that my bathroom will never, ever be ok...even if it is "fixed".
I was showering the other day in my bathroom that (after 4 months) finally has a ceiling. All of a sudden, I hear something scraping the (also newly fixed) tile and then BAM the shower curtain and rod basically attack me while I'm trying to wash my hair. I let out a loud scream as I fumble with soapy hands to grab ahold of the askew shower curtain while conditioner runs from my silky locks into my eyes and mouth. Blind and trying not to die via soap poisoning, I manage to tame the crazy curtain, but only after it's managed to knock everything off of the counter, arrange itself in such a way as to channel the water from the shower right onto the floor, and knock me straight in the head.
Seriously, has my bathroom taken on a mind of its own? First it tries to electrocute me with the wires in the ceiling. Then, it invades my privacy by refusing to let the door shut any time I try to go to the bathroom. And now it tries to knock me unconscious while I'm trying to take a shower. Really! What has a girl got to do to groom herself?!
I was showering the other day in my bathroom that (after 4 months) finally has a ceiling. All of a sudden, I hear something scraping the (also newly fixed) tile and then BAM the shower curtain and rod basically attack me while I'm trying to wash my hair. I let out a loud scream as I fumble with soapy hands to grab ahold of the askew shower curtain while conditioner runs from my silky locks into my eyes and mouth. Blind and trying not to die via soap poisoning, I manage to tame the crazy curtain, but only after it's managed to knock everything off of the counter, arrange itself in such a way as to channel the water from the shower right onto the floor, and knock me straight in the head.
Seriously, has my bathroom taken on a mind of its own? First it tries to electrocute me with the wires in the ceiling. Then, it invades my privacy by refusing to let the door shut any time I try to go to the bathroom. And now it tries to knock me unconscious while I'm trying to take a shower. Really! What has a girl got to do to groom herself?!
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