I love my dad

This is going to be one of the lamest posts ever but whatever. If you don't want to read it, then don't.

I love my dad. He is one of the best people I've ever met. Honestly. He is always looking out for other people and is always thinking ahead. He wants what is best for everyone and always gives really good advice.

I talk to him on the phone almost every day telling him what's going on and asking him what I should do about this or that. Seriously. You may say, "You are a 21 year old woman! Stand on your own two feet for Pete's sake!" But why would I want to do that when I still have my daddy?

He has challenged me, pushed me, helped me up when I've fallen, not helped me up when I had to learn how to get up on my own, made me do things I didn't want to do but had benefits beyond my wildest dreams (he made me start rowing which landed me a scholarship at SMU, the school I love), taught me the value of a hard days work, taught me how to enjoy the money you have worked so hard for, helped me seek and find balance, serenity, peace and happiness.

He has been incredibly supportive. I would not have made it through some of my tough times without him there to keep me going and I certainly would not be there person I am today.

You know that that story of the man walking in the sand and during some of his hardest times there were only one pair of footprints because Jesus said, "Well I was carrying you."? Well I'm pretty sure in my version those footprints are my dad's.

Flying on airplanes is dangerous

And not because they might crash.

No, you have much more to fear:

• Who should I sit next to? Will the cute guy think I'm hitting on him (when I clearly am) if I offer him my peanuts (even though I want the peanuts)? If an old guy sits next to me, am I in for hell for the next 2 hours? (No, sir, those remarks aren't appreciated). I personally always choose a middle-aged lady to sit next to. It's the safest bet. Unless they don't have a wedding ring on--then you might be sitting through a kitty-cat slide show for the duration of the flight.


• The endless line to go to the bathroom (or trying to get up and out of your seat before the other person does as soon as the "vacancy" sign goes on). Sometimes awkward eye contact is made and a stare-down for the toilet ensues.


• Trying to decipher what the 'wear your seat belt' sign really means. "Is this sign intended for everyone or just for those people whose bladders aren't going to explode? Is it ok if I get up? Will I die? Will I accidentally trip and burst into the cockpit and cause the plane to take a nose dive? It can't be that dangerous. If it was, then the ladies tottering on high heels while trying to juggle pop, alcohol, straws, nuts, and napkins would be done for."


• Exactly how loud is the engine? Can my surrounding neighbors hear me whisper Cosmo articles to my friend? Will they judge us?


• Will I cause the plane's route to accidentally veer into the Bermuda Triangle if I forget to put my phone on airplane mode?


• Will I get in trouble if I don't sit in my assigned seat?
  

You may think these are all irrational fears, yet I have had the pleasure of personally experiencing each and every one of them. I fly quite a bit and I sometimes think I have everything figured out. Then I am proven ridiculously wrong.

I was lucky enough to get to experience the 'what does the wear your seat belt sign actually mean' conundrum last week when I was flying from Houston back to Dallas.

My friend/coworker and I had spent the two-hour delay in the only "restaurant" in the Houston "Hobby" airport: Buffalo Wild Wings. In my opinion, Buffalo Wild Wings was very confused. It couldn't figure out if it was a bar, a restaurant, a night club, or a eating facility in an airport. (Hint: it was the latter). The tables were uncomfortably close together, the music was loud and fast, and there were lights flashing on and off. "What the heck?!" I thought, "It's Thursday afternoon in the Houston Airport. It's not 1am Saturday in a club downtown Dallas. Get your act together Hobby."

We split a few wings and ended up having a few drinks instead when we decided we didn't trust the food. Hey, calories are calories, right? It still counts as dinner even when consumed in liquid form.

The plane is finally ready for us to board. We get on and are ready to finally get home....until we sit there and wait for another 45 minutes. We are given no information as to when we are going to leave, the stewardesses haven't done anything, and people are moving around. I have to go to the bathroom so bad, so I decided to get up and go. Everyone else is.

When I reach the front of the plane, the stewardess decides (rudely, mind you) to blame the entire delay on me. "Oh, no no no, young lady. You are holding this whole plane up! Sit back down." I am extremely embarrassed and walk back to my seat in shame...as another person gets up to use the restroom and isn't scolded like a school girl. What the heck?!

The plane takes off. The captain says we have reached our cruising altitude YET he doesn't turn the seat belt sign off. I'm confused. This is when the sign goes off. I know this. Apparently, so do others. They begin getting up and using the restroom. By now, I have been holding it for about 1.5 hours and it is really, really mad at me. "I'm so sorry, bladder, but I am scared out of my mind of that stewardess. The claws almost came out. We can't go."

I'm fidgeting in my seat when my friend goes, "Haley, didn't you have to use the restroom?"
"Erm, yes but that stewardess is still giving me the evil eye."
"Well, look! Other people are going. It's ok; we've reached altitude."
"No, I really don't think it's ok. The seat belt sign is still on."
"Haley, seriously, come on. It's fine. Other people are walking all over. Plus I have to go so I'll go after you."
"Ok, you're right. This is silly. This is a vital need and I need to fulfill it." (Ok, I didn't really say that but I was thinking it).

So I go to the bathroom and am walking back when the same stewardess is in front of me handing out drinks. My seat is right there. I can see it. Just...let...me....sit.....WHACK!! IN THE FACE.

While I had been patiently waiting behind the stewardess, she suddenly whips her tray around and hits me straight in the face with her drink serving tray. 7 rows of peoples' mouths drop in shock. Instead of apologizing, she immediately gets angry and harshly says, "UGH! What are you doing up??" and hurries back to the front of the plane. There is no, "Are you ok? Can I get you anything? I'm sorry..." NOPE.

I sway back to my seat and sit down. I. Am. In. Shock. I have never been treated like this in my whole life. Obviously the tray-to-the-face thing was an accident, but actually blaming me for it when they tray was in your hands? I don't understand.

People around me were asking if I was ok. I was, but my head hurt. So my friend read Cosmopolitan to me to make me feel better. And it worked. Because some of the stuff in there is just ridiculous--it doesn't make any sense.

But the stewardess NEVER apologized, never asked if I needed ice (when a bump started forming) and never looked me in the eye the next 3-4 times she passed my seat. Don't worry, I gave her the stare-down. She knew.

But for real, what the heck was she thinking?? Did I have a target on my back? Why was I the only one not allowed to get out of my seat to go to the bathroom and the only one scolded for it twice?? Ok, Southwest, I'm not a big fan anymore. Your low rates aren't that low anymore and the last 4 flights I've taken have been delayed. And then THIS?? Excuse me, but I do believe a re-evaluation is in order.

So this is the most exciting flight experience I've had since last Christmas when I slept through my flight and almost missed the second one. And November when I shamelessly flirted with an Air Force pilot for 2 hours. I'm sure I'll have many more to come. I'm flying back to Kansas City August 5th so I'm sure I'll have a story for ya then.

Until next time, listen to the seat belt sign. It could mean life or death...or an altered physical appearance.

Frites and Mayo

Last summer, I was fortunate enough to get to travel to Belgium. There, I found out why my grandpa speaks Flemish, listens to Belgian music, eats frites (french fries) with mayonnaise, and, in essence, loves Belgium. It was amazing! From the seaside to the small towns to the big cities, this small country had so much to offer.

I fell in love with the beauty of the country as well as the residents there just like my grandpa had many years ago. You see, my ancestors are from Pittem, a small city in Belgium. My grandpa has a lot of pride in this so he formed the Sister Cities program about 30 years ago. Shawnee, Kansas is a sister city of Pittem, Belgium. When I visited there this summer, I got to stay with the local residents of Pittem. They knew my grandfather very well and only had good things to say about him.

Even though my grandparents are too old to travel over to Belgium as often as they used to, they keep the Belgium spirit alive in Shawnee by listening to Belgian music, eating frites with mayo, being a part of the Shawnee Belgian American Club, and attending the Sister Cities State Championship Rolle Bolle tournament every year during Old Shawnee Days.

Anyone and everyone is invited to compete in the Rolle Bolle tournament. It's an old Belgian game that my grandparents love so much they built a Rolle Bolle court in their back yard!

The tournament takes place tomorrow, Saturday June 4th at the Rolle Bolle courts at 58th Street and King Avenue (just north of Johnson Drive). Beer, brat worsts, hot dogs, and other food will be served starting at 12:00. The tournament will start soon after. Grandparents, parents and kids will all be in attendance. It is a game that anyone of any age can play.

The game started in the 13th century in Belgium and was an outlawed activity for a while. Those who play the game are called boulders, and they play using a hard rubber disc that the game takes its name from. Rolle bolles are about eight inches in diameter and four inches thick and can weigh six to eight pounds.

How to play the game:

One at a time, starting at the backstop on one end of the court, two teams of three boulders take the rolle bolle and roll it toward a stake or pin raising about five inches from the ground. Rolling the rolle bolle is not so easy, however, because a bevel running down the center makes the surface uneven. Getting the rolle bolle as close to the stake as possible is the object; if the rolle bolle hits the backstop behind the stake, it is considered dead.

Players can try to use their rolle bolle to knock away those of the opposing team, bringing in some shuffleboard tactics.

I hope you will come to the Rolle Bolle tournament! I will be there as early as 9 AM helping to set everything up. My grandpa has instilled a Belgian pride in me and I hope that long after he is gone I get to pass it down to my grandchildren and keep a little bit of his spirit alive as well.

Moth's Wings

You come beating like moth's wings
Spastic and violently--
Whipping me into a storm
Shaking me down to the core

But you've run away from me
And you've left me shimmering
Like diamond wedding rings
Spinning dizzily down on the ground.

So the other day I was reading on my screened-in porch attached to the back of my house. It was quiet and serene and a beautiful day until.....my dogs started going haywire. They were barking like crazy and chasing something around the room. Our neighbors hate our dogs so I went to see what they were up to.

When I approached them, I found them pawing at something but couldn't quite tell what it was until I pulled them away and found a grief-stricken moth fighting for its life.

Moths are usually unattractive and creepy. The ugly step-sister to the butterfly, they get bad raps from eating our stored sweaters and hanging around when they are unwanted. This one, however, was quite beautiful. It was pink, tan, and green with big blue dots on the back of its wings. They looked like eyes that were begging me to "please do something."

My heart went out to this moth (even though I was still unbelievably creeped out). One of my dogs kept catching it in its mouth and then spitting it back out. She did this over and over again. It was like she wanted to catch it so bad but when she did, she didn't know what to do with it. I tried to pull my dogs away so it could fly free, but its wings were so tattered it couldn't go anywhere and my dogs wouldn't follow orders.

I tried to rescue the moth for about 15 minutes, but every time I tried to get close to it, it would fly towards me and I would get freaked out, scream, and run away. This happened multiple times until I figured I couldn't do anything so I gave up, sat down and went back to reading.

But then this terrible feeling came upon me. I was going to be responsible for this moth's death. My dogs were still barking and playing with it and it was still trying to get away. I couldn't go back to reading. I couldn't focus; I was involved now and I couldn't give up on this moth. Then and there I resolved that I was going to save this moth's life.

I jumped out of my chair and dragged my dogs inside. I got a sheet of paper from inside, swallowed my fear of moths and began to scoot the moth outside the door. It freaked me out a couple of times, but I realized that this moth's life was more important than maybe being grazed by a wing. Once I got it to the door to go outside, I wondered where to put it so it could recover. If I put it on our deck, the dogs were sure to find it again and kill it. Its wings were so tattered I didn't think it could fly. However, as soon as it was outside, it mustered all the energy it had left after taking a 30 minute beating from two dogs, and flew away. I kept my eye on it to see where it went--it flew to the tallest tree in the woods behind our house. I was amazed.

I learned a valuable lesson that day. (Here comes the analogy.) Life will beat you down--there's no doubt about that. And you can't always do it by yourself. Sometimes you need help to get through the rough times and it's ok to ask for and accept that help. Then, when you get through the hard times, there's nothing stopping you from seeking a great life except yourself. Sure, the moth could have settled for a single tree high off the ground. But, no. It set its sights on the highest tree in the woods, telling me that we are capable of anything, even after being beaten down by two animals 100xs of times the size of us.

I found a picture of the moth. This is exactly what it looked like but it was more beautiful in person. I'm glad I saved its life.

The Circle

It appears that I have tried to evade Shawnee, Kansas......and have failed.

I love my grandparents. I have spent my entire life admiring them and wondering how I can find a relationship like theirs. To everyone else, it seems dysfunctional. And to me, growing up, I have wondered how my grandmother managed to lassle a man as stubborn and as worldly as my grandfather. At the same time, I wondered how my grandfather managed to hook a woman as lovely, patient, and loving as my grandmother. It's like they should repel each other....and yet, were made for each other at the same time. I don't know how to explain it other than IT WORKS AND I WANT IT.

My grandfather doesn't listen to anyone and I love him for it. (Everyone else is annoyed.) Perhaps it's that, "I'm going to do what I want to do, so help me God," that I've learned from him and we understand each other without talking about it. After all, I picked up and went to Texas in a decision made in less 24 hours. Who was to stop me? No one. Even he wanted me to stay close to him but I want to do what I want to do.

So I went. To Texas. To get out of Kansas City. To grow as a person. Or so I thought.

Yet I always find myself returning to Kansas City and admiring its beauty and history. I taunt others with how magestic the city is, how much it has to offer, and its widespread glory. They question my sincerity: "If Kansas City is so great, then why did you leave?" I am dumbfounded; I don't know.

I thought that distancing myself from the familiar would help me grow as a person. But now, perhaps I need to look closer at what I love and appreciate it more.

I have spent the past 3 years looking for something to make me happy. Now, I'm realizing that perhaps what I need has been staring me right in the face for the first 18 years of my life. It's weird to realize, but I like it.

It's kind of a learning experience. Similar to, "You don't know what you've had until you've lost it." I gave away Kansas City for Dallas, Texas. I told EVERYONE that I was never moving back home. Now, however, I think I might be realizing that Kansas City is exactly what I need.

It will be interesting to see where I go from here.

All I can hope for is a spouse that drives me crazy, yet I can't live without him at the same time. To others, it may appear that my grandparents are at their wits end with each other, but I know that they loved each other so deeply. I know that they complemented each other so much that, if I even come close to their relationship, I will be the luckiest girl in the world.

Even now, when I see them, I think they are the greatest people in the entire world. They will never see this but that's ok. I love them and I think they are so amazing. They are loved my so many people, but most of all......ME.

Think before you act....naaaaaaaah

So I'm in South Florida....having the time of my life! What am I doing here mid-winter, you ask? Well, visiting my friend from SMU aaaaaaand escaping the God-forsaken cold that has taken over the rest of the country. We were informed yesterday that it snowed in every single state EXCEPT Florida (well, and Hawaii but that doesn't count. And it's raining there hardcore anyways.) How did I come about visiting here? Well just chalk it up to too much flying on Southwest Airlines and earning a free ticket and the fact that I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants kind of girl.

It all started last October. I asked my friend that lives here if she was going to be here over break. I KNEW I had to get out of freezing Kansas City. She said YES! and invited me down to come visit her. Ok, ok, you don't have to twist my arm! As soon as I got home, I was on the phone with Southwest changing my Christmas Break flight plans. After about 20 minutes, it was all done and I hung up the phone so incredibly happy about trading in the frozen tundra that is Kansas City in January for DA BEACH.

And then it hit me. Did I even ask my parents if this was ok? Nah. Did I check to see if I'll have time for this? Nah. Did I make sure I could financially afford it? Nah. Did I really care about any of the aforementioned questions? Nah.

So Monday came and it was time to go to the airport. And it was blizzarding. My airline warned me that my flight might get delayed or cancelled. I was a little worried. My dad drove me to the airport as tons of snow was coming down and the highways and everything were completely covered. That's when I knew that, no matter what, I had made the right decision in jumping the gun and flying to South Florida. Leaving that freezing place for the sunny beach was the best decision I made this winter. And it's been so fun!

Upon arriving, I made my way outside to wait for my friend to come pick me up. A little 85-year-old lady sat down next to me. We were conversing when my friend arrived and I said I had to leave. The nice lady said, "Ok, you have fun! And be careful and safe," and gave me the look that says 'I was once your age too and I know what goes on in that pretty little head of yours so you better not do some of the things I know you're thinking about doing!'.....and then she gave me a big smile. How does she know me so well? :)

So today ends my stay in South Florida. We begin the drive to Orlando where we'll visit some friends and stay the night. Then we'll stay in Gainesville Saturday night and then begin the 16-hour trek home to Dallas on Sunday getting in late Sunday night.

And then the crazy spring semester begins! I CANNOT WAIT!

Just so you turn green with envy:

I Officially Belong Here

Gone are the days of believing I was born to live in the bustling city of New York strolling up and down Park Avenue clad in designer items on my way to see the latest Broadway play.

Gone are the days of feeling like I've escaped becoming a townie or a Kansas hillbilly.

Gone are the days of believing I am too glamorous for good ole' Shawnee. Sometimes called "a backwards town" (by those who don't live here and know its true inherent value, by the way), it has a reputation of being old and rundown. But it's not.

After years of looking at some Shawnee citizens in our local grocery store and thinking, "I hope I'm not like one of those," now I definitely feel like one.

You see, I was born with a mouth full of messed up teeth. A late bloomer when it came to absolutely everything in my life, I was still losing my baby teeth as I entered high school. And then we were informed that there were three baby teeth I would never lose....because no adult teeth developed to replace them! I'M DEFECTIVE!!! Anyway, since I was getting older, we were advised to put braces on my teeth (including the baby ones) to straighten out my mouth. Later, the baby teeth would wear out and I would have to get fake ones. So, entering high school with a mouth full of braces that resembled a roller coaster (I'm not exaggerating--I literally had teeth all over the place), my self-esteem was immediately shot to the ground before anyone else had any chance to do it themselves. It was super. But I survived.

Fast forward 6 and a half years later to this week. My teeth are straight, white, and hurting. The baby ones, anyway. Their time has come to leave the nest. They've done their time and I've worn them out. So my mom took me to the oral surgeon to have one of my upper teeth removed. I was practically peeing my pants as I waited for the surgeon to stick my gums with that huge-a** needle so that he could put a pair of huge-a** pliers in there to yank out a tooth. Before he stuck that huge-a** needle in my mouth, I almost jumped out of the chair and screamed, "You don't have to do this! I can bear the pain for the rest of my life! Don't stick me with that thing!" But I didn't. Because then I remembered I was 21 years old (not 8) and should be fully matured and capable of getting a baby tooth pulled. Well I got the baby tooth pulled, but I'm not convinced I'm fully matured. Late bloomer, remember?


Anyway, ever since I've had this tooth out, I can feel a hole in my mouth. And I don't feel glamorous. At all. And I feel like I either got into a townie bar fight at Johnny's Tavern (here in good ole' Shawnee) or that I'm a hillbilly who drunkenly let one of my friends pull out my tooth like in The Hangover. You can't see the hole at all, but I'm my own worst critic and demand perfection at every turn so I know it's there. And I? Don't. Like. It.


Sure I'm going to get a fake tooth soon and sure you don't know it's missing unless I show you OR laugh obnoxiously loud with my mouth wide open.... soooo who cares? No one, that's who. NO ONE CARES.


So now I just have to get over it. Over this feeling of being a hillbilly. But I doubt I will. I'm officially one of those Shawnee citizens. Super.

My Cousin Vinny

I never have a boring night out. Even if we decide to go to a low-key bar for a few drinks and some much-missed girl talk, it never ends up being "low-key".....EVER.

And I'm ok with that. In fact, I love it. Boring nights should be restricted to lame people who don't know how to have fun. And I don't associate with those kinds of people. (Feel honored. If you are reading this, then the odds are that you probably know me. And if you know me, then I don't consider you a boring person. Because if you were boring, I wouldn't talk to you......Joking....)

Last night started off with dinner at Waxy O'Shea's with the fam. Cue vast amounts of laughter. After, I decided to ditch the fam to go out with a few girls and was waiting outside the restaraunt for a friend so we could leave. Then I was, yet again, informed that my blog readership goes beyond what I anticpate. A nice man stopped me and asked, "Are you a Soetaert?"

I was stopped in my tracks and pretty surprised because no, I am not "technically" a Soetaert because that is not my last name, but my relatives are Soetaerts. So I'm a Soetaert in a kind-of-sort-of-way. Actually, I have been asked this question by adults who are familiar with that part of my family multiple times throughout my childhood. I would be stopped at the pool, at the mall, etc by random strangers asking the question, "Are you a Soetaert?" I guess I've got those dominant Soetaert genes then.

As we began talking, however, I realized I did know and recognize him from multiple gatherings my grandparents have had. He's a good friend of theirs. He said, "You went to Belgium this summer, right?" "Yes, I did!" "Yeah, your grandparents told me. That's when I started reading your blog." A shade of deep crimson immediately engulfed my face. My mind started racing. 'Ohmigod ohmigod ohmigod WHAT have I been writing on that blog lately?? What all did I say I did in Europe?? Ohmigod, I need to start editing myself if my grandparents' friends are reading that thing!!!' I quickly recovered and responded with a big smile and "Ohh, really? That's great! Yeah, I'm always surprised when people tell me they read my blog because I forget it's public domain." Shit.

As much as I was worried about what I've been writing on this darn thing, I was actually very flattered. Wow, people actually like to read what I have to say? That made me feel so good! So thanks, Kevin, if you're reading this. I'm glad you stopped me and said hello! And happy birthday! (It was his birthday yesterday..) And thanks for reminding me to edit myself because you never know who is reading....

Anyway, fast-forward a few hours later. We've got some intense dance-floor moves by our crazy miniature 5-foot friend, a few failed pick-up lines by some random Wyandotte County guy in a wife beater, a successful spill of half a pitcher that managed to attract the attention of everyone within a 30-foot radius of our table, and two guys from K-State who just can't...seem...to graduate. And are still sticking around our table as well.

One guy's name is Vinny. And at first I think it's a fake name because this guy doesn't look like a "Vinny"....at all. Now when I choose my fake names, I try to pick one that at least fits me. And guys usually believe it. His was a failed attempt, but we played along anyway....it actually probably is real.

The conversation is winding down (has been for the past hour, mind you) when we decide it's time to peace out. Vinny asks for my number. Not really wanting to give it but not wanting to totally destroy his ego either, I say sure. He gives me his phone and I first type in my friend's number but I decide I can't do that to her....damn you, conscious! So after a few minutes of pretending to try and figure out how to work his phone while thinking about how I'm going to handle this situation, I resolve to put my own number in. I leave for Florida on Monday and won't be back in Kansas for 5 months so that seems a logical end to the "relationship". I'll just tell him that. No harm done.

He asks what I'm doing tomorrow night. "Well, my cousin is coming in town so we'll probably go to the Power and Light district.....you guys should come (???)" (WHY DID I SAY THAT!) He responds with, "Ohh, actually I think I'm gonna hang out with my grandpa. You see, he's really old but he's cool to hang out with." I should be insulted but I'm not....I just didn't care enough I suppose. I think, 'Wow, I just invited you and your friends to come out with us tomorrow night after you asked for my number and you say you would rather hang out with your grandpa?!' Haaaaa. Niiiiiice. Glad I fall short of a gramps. Awesome.

Anyway, we leave. Later, he texts. He sucks at carrying on a texting conversation. Relationship over.

Lessons from the night:
Monitor what you put on the internet (not that I've really put anything that bad).
Don't let a guy wearing a wife beater in a bar think he's got a shot because he'll just keep coming back...and back...and back.
Don't give your number to someone you won't have a future with. Pointless. And stupid.
Let your friend dance....but not so that she pulls a few muscles. That's too wide of a range.
And finally, have lots of fun. Always.

Absinthe

I'm sorry....I meant absence. I must have just put that as the title because I was thinking about the other day when my mother told me Miley Cyrus got caught smoking a bong and she claimed it was "Absinthe" (which keeps going in and out of legality, by the way) and NOT Pot. Of course we believe you, Miley! Not.

Poor girl. A role model to millions and she can't have fun by doing anything illegal. She's been robbed of the adolescent ability to know right from wrong and knowingly choose the wrong. Instead of her parents and and their friends finding out about her mistakes, she's got the whole world to worry about. Neighborhood gossip at its finest: The Tabloids.

Anyway, this is about me, NOT Miley. I felt that perhaps that was a lighthearted lead-in to what is sure to be a semi-depressing post. Sooooo.....let's get to it.


Please excuse my prolonged absence.

I haven’t been feeling like myself lately. So I haven’t been doing my normal things. I love writing, yet I haven’t been able to bring myself to come here. I LOVE going out (perhaps sometimes too much) but I haven’t been able to make myself go.

I blame gray Kansas City.

Don’t get me wrong: I LOVE Kansas City….in the summertime. And during the holidays. But after the holidays and during the months of January and February (which I am convinced are the two most pointless months of the entire year), it’s cold and gray and there’s nothing going on. So I’d just rather sleep.

I realized this when, night after night, my friends would call me around 9/10ish telling me to go out with them aaaaaaaand I was in bed. In my pajamas in the dark having taken off my make-up, I was settling in with Bon Iver and getting ready to pass the F out. At 9pm. Am I a BABY?!?! It’s not like I planned to go to bed at this time. In fact, I never even looked at the clock until they would scream, “HALEY!!! IT’S 9:30!!!!”

“Ohh, really? I thought it was much later. Anyway, I’m going to pass. I’m tired.” And I would almost instantaneously escape into dreamland as I hung up.

I couldn’t bear the thought of tearing myself from my warm bed, getting dressed and re-doing my make-up to go out into the 20-something weather and drive 30 minutes to get where we wanted to go. That’s the other thing about Kansas City: we all live so far away from each other and the bars that it takes time, energy, and effort to get somewhere. And that’s the time, energy and effort I just don’t seem to have right now. So I fall asleep.

Whew, what a depressing post!

Don’t worry, my break hasn’t been so low-key and full of nothingness. I’ve had some really great times that, incidentally, can’t be recorded on the Internet. For future employer’s sake. And yours. And mine. But some can and will be recorded. Just not right now. I don’t have time: I’m going on a run. That’s where I do most of my thinking. It’s where I clear my head. And where I come up with some of my blog posts because I have the time to think. I made this quick little one because I felt like I owed you an explanation.

And if you didn’t need/want one, I did. So there it is.

Enjoy the months of January and February—I’ll be trying to pretend it’s June.

I found a dead person.

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!!!!!!

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.

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.

Give Thanks for Family

Her name is trouble. My name is trouble. Her sister's name is trouble.
I'm talking about my two cousins I went out with on Thanksgiving night. And myself.

We're trouble. At least that's what the bartender told us at the beginning of the night. If he could go back and put money on that, he'd be a millionaire this morning.

I haven't drank in a looooooong time. Well, a "long time" for a college student anyway. This created chaos.

This post would be waaaaaaaaay too long if I told you everything that happened last night. Also, I don't think it would be wise to tell you everything three blond 20-somethings did in downtown Kansas City on Thanksgiving night. You could hold it against us.

Don't get me wrong: we didn't do anything illegal or too scandalous.
Therefore, the point of this post is to remind you of a crazy night you once had with your family.

But I can tell you:
*I met an O.J. Simpson look alike. Except he was 5'10" and white. So, the only resemblance was that he was wearing black gloves to "cover his tracks". We were confused but entertained.
*I became bffs with "Big Daddy", the 60-year-old black grandpa at the bar. He bought us a round of shots. We adopted him into our family.
*I mistakenly wore 4 inch platform heels. This was not a good idea and proved true multiple times throughout the night.
*Our entire tab got covered by Jeffrey, the bartender. We made friends with him and his brother. We gave them free range when it came to mixing our drinks and they got creative behind the bar.
*My cousin just showed me the pictures we took. I think you know that those won't be posted on here.
*Around 2AM, we decided we needed food so we hit up an IHOP from the 1970s. Everyone and their mom was there and a 12-year-old boy hit on me when I was walking to the bathroom.
*A fight broke out over pancakes and the waitress had to kick the guys out. I think a gun was pulled out because the hash browns also weren't cooked right. Tha Popo showed up and started questioning people. I took it upon myself to tell them that they already fled the scene. My cousin told me to immediately fill my mouth with my funny face pancake.
*I ended up sleeping on my basement floor in my going-out attire without a pillow or proper blanket.
*I'm still inebriated right now.