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.
Showing posts with label Mom. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Mom. Show all posts
Monday, January 10, 2011
Sunday, December 26, 2010
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!!!!!!
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!!!!!!
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.
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, June 6, 2010
Superstar(s) on the rise!
So my little brother (we'll call him Pretty Boy) is quite cute. And yes, I'm a little biased, but the talent agency he worked for and the people who signed him to shoot various commercials (including The Sunflower House and Build-A-Bear) seem to agree with me. He is also one of the sweetest 12-year-olds you'll ever meet, giving me a hug whenever he enters or exits the room. He's also got an incredible six-pack with muscles trying to bust out of his arms and legs. Yes, he's the whole package. And how does he get such an amazing bod? Well by sitting on the couch playing XBox eating Cheetos and Oreos of course! I mean, doesn't that work for you? .......I know, some things just aren't fair.
So this weekend when my roommate Outdoors Woman was in town and we were all swimming in the pool, she said, "Pretty Boy should have his own Disney Channel show. I would for sure watch it and I know so many other people would too!" We laughed and agreed and went on fighting over the raft. Then, about an hour later, Outdoors Woman and I were talking when all of a sudden she goes, "SHhhhh! LISTEN!"............. Then I hear the radio: "Do you want to be on the Disney Channel? Think you could have your own show? Want to work with your favorite Disney actors like Demi Lovato and The Jonas Brothers? Do YOU have what it takes? Then call this number today! You could be the next Disney STAR!" I immediately jump out of the pool, grab my phone, and dial the number. Pretty Boy is waving his hands in front of his body as if to say, 'WHAT are you doing?!?!?" as I start talking to some talent agent on the phone. She asks if I am registering myself or my child and I say, "My child," and stifle giggles. She doesn't believe I'm old enough to have a kid (grant it I was 7 years old when Pretty Boy was born) and asks to speak to a parent. After a few more minutes of answering questions and nodding, my mom confirms that Pretty Boy is going to a talent scouting the next day at 5:30. Outdoors Woman and I are jumping for joy while Pretty Boy sinks lower into the pool. Mom asks us to come with her and says the lady told everyone to "dress to impress" and that Pretty Boy needs a head and body shot. We're on it.
The next day we wake up and immediately get to work on the photo shoot. I pull various outfits from Pretty Boy's closet and he walks out of his room in khaki pants and a button-down light blue dress shirt. He is for sure ready for his close-up! He has his long blond hair bushed over to the side and boasts a bright white smile that contrasts nicely with his golden tanned skin. How dare he hog all the good genes!! While he was getting ready, I gave myself a 5 minute photography course by studying the pictures around the house showcasing the various poses we held as young children when our mother forced us to get our picture taken every 6 months. After such a brief intro to photography, I am ready to launch Pretty Boy's modeling and acting career. I set up props and chairs on the screened in porch, but Pretty Boy has so much natural raw talent that it only takes 10 minutes until we have the perfect shot. If only things were that easy for everyone.
Later, we all get ready and head out to the Overland Park Convention Center. We sign Pretty Boy in and walk into a room that resembles an American Idol Audition. There are soooo many people. We all look at each other, laugh, and sit down at least knowing we seized some kind of opportunity and will probably remember this evening forever, even though we know the probability of something actually happening is very slim. We sit and wait and wait and wait and watch some intro video and wait and listen to talent agents talk and wait and it's finally Pretty Boy's turn. Mom, Pretty Boy, Outdoors Woman and I get up all giddy and giggling; we are so excited! Mom walks Pretty Boy up to a talent scout while OW and I stand next to him. She asks PB many questions, looks at his application and photos, and seems to be liking him. Next follows a dialogue that made us laugh for the rest of the evening:
Talent Scout (TS): "It says here you play sports. What kind of sports?"
Pretty Boy (PB): "Umm golf, track, basketball, football, kickball..."
TS: "And do you play every day?"
PB: "Well, no, not really I guess....I--"
ME: "--Hey! You play every day. You have practices and golf lessons and you play outside with your friends all the time and--"
TS: (Turns to me) "--And who are you? Are you his sister?"
ME: "Yes, I signed him up for this actually and I just want him to be his best and--"
TS: "--And are you auditioning today?"
ME: "Haha no."
TS: "Well, why not?!"
ME: "Because the age limit is 17 and I'm 20."
TS: "You're 20?!?! No way! You could be 16! What's your name?"
ME: *Gives full name*
TS: "And do you live here in Overland Park? What do you do?"
ME: "Well no, I go to school in Texas--"
Mom: "But she lives here in the summer and this is her permanent home." *Gives me a sideways look*
TS: "Right. So where do you go to school?"
ME: *Gives school name and info*
TS: "So why have you never gone into modeling or acting?"
ME: "Because I've done sports all my life. I'm a sporty girl."
TS: "So why have you never gone into modeling or acting? Why have you never pursued this?"
ME: "Because I was always in about 3 different sports and going to practices and stuff. I just never did."
TS: "But you're much to pretty to be a sport girl. Are you interested in the entertainment business?"
ME: (giggling--this is too funny) "Well, yes I suppose."
TS: "And if you were chosen, would you now pursue this?"
ME: "Yes! I mean I guess if I'm good at something or have a shot then I will definitely give it all I've got."
TS: "Ok great. And how tall are you?"
Me "5'8"
TS: "And you must weigh about 130 pounds..." *writes it down*
ME: "HAHAHAAH Oh my gosh I LOVE you! No."
TS: *Gives questionable look* "What are you talking about? How much do you weigh?"
ME: *Gives number*
TS: *Gives even larger questioning look* "WHAT?! Well where are you hiding it?"
ME: "Well I'm a student-athlete at my school....and I guess it's in my muscles....ummm I don't know...."
TS: "Well whatever; you don't look like you weigh that much. Good for you."
ME: "Uhh thanks?"
*****This whole entire time, I'm thinking, 'No no no! Don't focus on me! Focus on my cute little brother over there--he's the one we came here for! Pretty Boy, Pretty Boy, Pretty Boy.' I felt so bad because I was worried she wasn't looking at him at all. But she was, thank goodness*****
TS: "Ok, this is what I am going to do (turns to mom): I definitely want the boy to audition because I like his look, but I also want your daughter to audition. She is extremely marketable because she's a lot older, but has such a young look that she could be styled to play someone much younger than her actual age. Go outside and get her a script. I want to get her on camera to see how she does; don't worry about memorizing it because she hasn't had the last 2 hours like everyone else. I am going to call you on Monday after their auditions to talk. If you don't hear from me, I still want you to e-mail the general address given to everyone but I'm also going to give you my private line so that I don't forget about you. Good luck!"
All four of us walk away laughing and slapping our knees and my mom is beaming with pride. I take Pretty Boy's script and immediately start getting nervous. My mom tries to calm my fears and says, "Hey, it doesn't matter. We didn't come expecting this anyway so just do your best."
Pretty Boy goes first and he does awesome! He thought he was supposed to take his score card with him so he goes back over to the other talent scout, but the guy waves him away. He still snuck a look at his card and HE GOT ALL TENS! I'm so proud of him. I went next and, well, we'll see how it goes. My mom gets a phone call today so I'll let you know then!
For now, keep reading my blog because I going to Europe for 6 weeks from July 3rd to August 15th to study abroad at the University of Oxford and will for sure be updating it as I also go to London, Paris (France), Pittem (Belgium), and the Netherlands. But you should also keep reading because I am a superstar on the rise and you can track my climb to the top! Haha just kidding. But that was a pretty funny experience and definitely an ego boost!
So this weekend when my roommate Outdoors Woman was in town and we were all swimming in the pool, she said, "Pretty Boy should have his own Disney Channel show. I would for sure watch it and I know so many other people would too!" We laughed and agreed and went on fighting over the raft. Then, about an hour later, Outdoors Woman and I were talking when all of a sudden she goes, "SHhhhh! LISTEN!"............. Then I hear the radio: "Do you want to be on the Disney Channel? Think you could have your own show? Want to work with your favorite Disney actors like Demi Lovato and The Jonas Brothers? Do YOU have what it takes? Then call this number today! You could be the next Disney STAR!" I immediately jump out of the pool, grab my phone, and dial the number. Pretty Boy is waving his hands in front of his body as if to say, 'WHAT are you doing?!?!?" as I start talking to some talent agent on the phone. She asks if I am registering myself or my child and I say, "My child," and stifle giggles. She doesn't believe I'm old enough to have a kid (grant it I was 7 years old when Pretty Boy was born) and asks to speak to a parent. After a few more minutes of answering questions and nodding, my mom confirms that Pretty Boy is going to a talent scouting the next day at 5:30. Outdoors Woman and I are jumping for joy while Pretty Boy sinks lower into the pool. Mom asks us to come with her and says the lady told everyone to "dress to impress" and that Pretty Boy needs a head and body shot. We're on it.
The next day we wake up and immediately get to work on the photo shoot. I pull various outfits from Pretty Boy's closet and he walks out of his room in khaki pants and a button-down light blue dress shirt. He is for sure ready for his close-up! He has his long blond hair bushed over to the side and boasts a bright white smile that contrasts nicely with his golden tanned skin. How dare he hog all the good genes!! While he was getting ready, I gave myself a 5 minute photography course by studying the pictures around the house showcasing the various poses we held as young children when our mother forced us to get our picture taken every 6 months. After such a brief intro to photography, I am ready to launch Pretty Boy's modeling and acting career. I set up props and chairs on the screened in porch, but Pretty Boy has so much natural raw talent that it only takes 10 minutes until we have the perfect shot. If only things were that easy for everyone.
Later, we all get ready and head out to the Overland Park Convention Center. We sign Pretty Boy in and walk into a room that resembles an American Idol Audition. There are soooo many people. We all look at each other, laugh, and sit down at least knowing we seized some kind of opportunity and will probably remember this evening forever, even though we know the probability of something actually happening is very slim. We sit and wait and wait and wait and watch some intro video and wait and listen to talent agents talk and wait and it's finally Pretty Boy's turn. Mom, Pretty Boy, Outdoors Woman and I get up all giddy and giggling; we are so excited! Mom walks Pretty Boy up to a talent scout while OW and I stand next to him. She asks PB many questions, looks at his application and photos, and seems to be liking him. Next follows a dialogue that made us laugh for the rest of the evening:
Talent Scout (TS): "It says here you play sports. What kind of sports?"
Pretty Boy (PB): "Umm golf, track, basketball, football, kickball..."
TS: "And do you play every day?"
PB: "Well, no, not really I guess....I--"
ME: "--Hey! You play every day. You have practices and golf lessons and you play outside with your friends all the time and--"
TS: (Turns to me) "--And who are you? Are you his sister?"
ME: "Yes, I signed him up for this actually and I just want him to be his best and--"
TS: "--And are you auditioning today?"
ME: "Haha no."
TS: "Well, why not?!"
ME: "Because the age limit is 17 and I'm 20."
TS: "You're 20?!?! No way! You could be 16! What's your name?"
ME: *Gives full name*
TS: "And do you live here in Overland Park? What do you do?"
ME: "Well no, I go to school in Texas--"
Mom: "But she lives here in the summer and this is her permanent home." *Gives me a sideways look*
TS: "Right. So where do you go to school?"
ME: *Gives school name and info*
TS: "So why have you never gone into modeling or acting?"
ME: "Because I've done sports all my life. I'm a sporty girl."
TS: "So why have you never gone into modeling or acting? Why have you never pursued this?"
ME: "Because I was always in about 3 different sports and going to practices and stuff. I just never did."
TS: "But you're much to pretty to be a sport girl. Are you interested in the entertainment business?"
ME: (giggling--this is too funny) "Well, yes I suppose."
TS: "And if you were chosen, would you now pursue this?"
ME: "Yes! I mean I guess if I'm good at something or have a shot then I will definitely give it all I've got."
TS: "Ok great. And how tall are you?"
Me "5'8"
TS: "And you must weigh about 130 pounds..." *writes it down*
ME: "HAHAHAAH Oh my gosh I LOVE you! No."
TS: *Gives questionable look* "What are you talking about? How much do you weigh?"
ME: *Gives number*
TS: *Gives even larger questioning look* "WHAT?! Well where are you hiding it?"
ME: "Well I'm a student-athlete at my school....and I guess it's in my muscles....ummm I don't know...."
TS: "Well whatever; you don't look like you weigh that much. Good for you."
ME: "Uhh thanks?"
*****This whole entire time, I'm thinking, 'No no no! Don't focus on me! Focus on my cute little brother over there--he's the one we came here for! Pretty Boy, Pretty Boy, Pretty Boy.' I felt so bad because I was worried she wasn't looking at him at all. But she was, thank goodness*****
TS: "Ok, this is what I am going to do (turns to mom): I definitely want the boy to audition because I like his look, but I also want your daughter to audition. She is extremely marketable because she's a lot older, but has such a young look that she could be styled to play someone much younger than her actual age. Go outside and get her a script. I want to get her on camera to see how she does; don't worry about memorizing it because she hasn't had the last 2 hours like everyone else. I am going to call you on Monday after their auditions to talk. If you don't hear from me, I still want you to e-mail the general address given to everyone but I'm also going to give you my private line so that I don't forget about you. Good luck!"
All four of us walk away laughing and slapping our knees and my mom is beaming with pride. I take Pretty Boy's script and immediately start getting nervous. My mom tries to calm my fears and says, "Hey, it doesn't matter. We didn't come expecting this anyway so just do your best."
Pretty Boy goes first and he does awesome! He thought he was supposed to take his score card with him so he goes back over to the other talent scout, but the guy waves him away. He still snuck a look at his card and HE GOT ALL TENS! I'm so proud of him. I went next and, well, we'll see how it goes. My mom gets a phone call today so I'll let you know then!
For now, keep reading my blog because I going to Europe for 6 weeks from July 3rd to August 15th to study abroad at the University of Oxford and will for sure be updating it as I also go to London, Paris (France), Pittem (Belgium), and the Netherlands. But you should also keep reading because I am a superstar on the rise and you can track my climb to the top! Haha just kidding. But that was a pretty funny experience and definitely an ego boost!
Thursday, November 26, 2009
Toto Came Back With Me to Kansas
So it's 0-dark-thirty when I leave my apartment Tuesday morning (5:30 am) for the airport. One of my very kind friends has offered to give me a ride because "she'll be up all night studying anyway." I don't comprehend. No matter how unprepared I am for a test/paper/class/whatever, I stop working at 1 am. Sleep is very important to me. I've never pulled an all-nighter and never plan to. I would be physically incapable of functioning normally. Well, normally for me anyway. (I haven't been able to figure out how I can get home at 4am after a night out with friends and be "fine" the next day. Studying must really take it out of me...)
So I get to the airport and through security and am waiting to board the plane when I hear something yipping. I think it's just one of the little kids making a noise or like one of their toys or something (because there were a lot of little kids on my 6:30 flight.) Weird, I know. Cheap parents trying to get a cheap flight. Hey! I have an excuse. I'm a college student with no money. And my flight was free. Probably because it was SO EARLY. Poor kids. I bet their parents aren't scouring the city for the last Furby on the planet for a Christmas present--thanks MOM :) Oh... I guess that was the nineties...
Anyway, I hear someone mention something about a dog. Surely they don't let dogs through security. Either way, I thought it was a kid making a fuss because they were tired. WRONG.
I totally forgot to check-in for my flight until late the night before. Therefore, I'm in group B. I like to sit in the front because I have a sensitive stomach so I was COMPLETELY surprised when there were two open seats in the third row next to a girl only a few years older than me. ULTIMATE SCORE! Not only will there be a seat between us for extra room, but I won't have to sit next to a creepy old man trying to hit on me the whole way home (made for an interesting/disturbing ride home from Annapolis, Maryland when I was but seventeen. Long flight too). So I ask her if anyone is sitting there because she must have saved the seats for them to be open. "No," she replies, "But I have a dog." Picture this: I have already put my backpack overhead and am in the middle of sitting down with one hand on each armrest slowly lowering myself into the seat when I suddenly stop mid-air, jerk my head to the right, and say, "I'm sorry; you have a what??" "Umm, I have a dog," she says as she points to a little Yorkie yipping in its Louis Vuitton carrying case. Of course. Of course a woman from Dallas would not put her precious companion in the luggage area beneath us. Of course she wouldn't dream of boarding him in an animal shelter place-thing while she traveled for the holidays. No, no, no sir! He is her pride and joy and deserves to ride in the cabin with her. I try to keep a straight face from laughing as I slowly stand up and say, "Ok, thanks." And run to find another seat before all the good ones fill up. I find one still close enough to the front but far enough away so that I don't hear that dog yapping the whole time. Seriously, it was worse than a baby on the plane! And that baby atleast deserves to be there.
I'm sorry, little dog. I really don't have anything against you. It's just your owner. I mean really, lady, its already obnoxiously early in the morning to be flying and what if someone was really allergic to dogs (like my brother)? And I know you have learned to deal with the yipping that your precious little dog makes because you just love her so much you can learn to deal with anything, anything at all as long as you get to be with her...but the rest of us haven't, ok? I know she looks absolutely presh--especially in that oh-so-cute designer carrying case--and you just love to show off your little baby, but (and this is a very big but, madam) your dog is NOT a baby and no, I do not want to hold her or hear about all the cute things she does. And no, humping a chew toy is not cute. It's disturbing. So I will kindly slump away so you're not embarrassed that no one wants to sit next to you. Just so you know, it's not so much about the dog (well, ok yeah kinda). But everyone is also wondering what else goes on in your little brain if you think that bringing a dog onto an airplane is normal.
I really didn't even know that they allowed dogs into cabins of airplanes anyway! I was actually pretty shocked.
Then to top it all off, I finally get home, walk in the door, and am greeted by a small, loudly yapping Shorkie (half Shitzu, half Yorkie) that my parents decided to get as soon as my brother and I moved out of the house. Home sweet home. It must be the Holidays...
So I get to the airport and through security and am waiting to board the plane when I hear something yipping. I think it's just one of the little kids making a noise or like one of their toys or something (because there were a lot of little kids on my 6:30 flight.) Weird, I know. Cheap parents trying to get a cheap flight. Hey! I have an excuse. I'm a college student with no money. And my flight was free. Probably because it was SO EARLY. Poor kids. I bet their parents aren't scouring the city for the last Furby on the planet for a Christmas present--thanks MOM :) Oh... I guess that was the nineties...
Anyway, I hear someone mention something about a dog. Surely they don't let dogs through security. Either way, I thought it was a kid making a fuss because they were tired. WRONG.
I totally forgot to check-in for my flight until late the night before. Therefore, I'm in group B. I like to sit in the front because I have a sensitive stomach so I was COMPLETELY surprised when there were two open seats in the third row next to a girl only a few years older than me. ULTIMATE SCORE! Not only will there be a seat between us for extra room, but I won't have to sit next to a creepy old man trying to hit on me the whole way home (made for an interesting/disturbing ride home from Annapolis, Maryland when I was but seventeen. Long flight too). So I ask her if anyone is sitting there because she must have saved the seats for them to be open. "No," she replies, "But I have a dog." Picture this: I have already put my backpack overhead and am in the middle of sitting down with one hand on each armrest slowly lowering myself into the seat when I suddenly stop mid-air, jerk my head to the right, and say, "I'm sorry; you have a what??" "Umm, I have a dog," she says as she points to a little Yorkie yipping in its Louis Vuitton carrying case. Of course. Of course a woman from Dallas would not put her precious companion in the luggage area beneath us. Of course she wouldn't dream of boarding him in an animal shelter place-thing while she traveled for the holidays. No, no, no sir! He is her pride and joy and deserves to ride in the cabin with her. I try to keep a straight face from laughing as I slowly stand up and say, "Ok, thanks." And run to find another seat before all the good ones fill up. I find one still close enough to the front but far enough away so that I don't hear that dog yapping the whole time. Seriously, it was worse than a baby on the plane! And that baby atleast deserves to be there.
I'm sorry, little dog. I really don't have anything against you. It's just your owner. I mean really, lady, its already obnoxiously early in the morning to be flying and what if someone was really allergic to dogs (like my brother)? And I know you have learned to deal with the yipping that your precious little dog makes because you just love her so much you can learn to deal with anything, anything at all as long as you get to be with her...but the rest of us haven't, ok? I know she looks absolutely presh--especially in that oh-so-cute designer carrying case--and you just love to show off your little baby, but (and this is a very big but, madam) your dog is NOT a baby and no, I do not want to hold her or hear about all the cute things she does. And no, humping a chew toy is not cute. It's disturbing. So I will kindly slump away so you're not embarrassed that no one wants to sit next to you. Just so you know, it's not so much about the dog (well, ok yeah kinda). But everyone is also wondering what else goes on in your little brain if you think that bringing a dog onto an airplane is normal.
I really didn't even know that they allowed dogs into cabins of airplanes anyway! I was actually pretty shocked.
Then to top it all off, I finally get home, walk in the door, and am greeted by a small, loudly yapping Shorkie (half Shitzu, half Yorkie) that my parents decided to get as soon as my brother and I moved out of the house. Home sweet home. It must be the Holidays...
Sunday, November 8, 2009
Keep Walkin'
So this weekend was SMU Homecoming and my mom, dad, and brother came down to visit me, hangout, Boulevard, and go to the game. Well I thought they wanted to go to the game, but came to find out that they had no intentions because "Rice has not won yet this season so there's basically no point." After hanging out on the Boulevard for an extra hour and finally deciding to go to the game, I notice we are DOWN 7 to 20 to a team that HASN'T WON A GAME YET THIS SEASON. Only SMU. We finally pulled it together and won, Thank God.
Anyway, my birthday was last Tuesday. I turned 20. I am no longer a teenager. The first thing my roommate Outdoors Woman said to me was, "Congratulations! You will never be a teen pregnancy statistic!" Phew! I was really worried about that! That was the main reason I was excited to turn 20--I really didn't want to add to that problem...
So my mom took me shopping for birthday presents on Friday. Shopping with mom is always fun. She picks things out and I tell her they're "cute". If she puts them back on the rack, then all is good. When she considers buying them I tell her, "Umm I'm not so sure I like it that much." When she actually starts walking towards the cash register and is about to whip out her wallet, I get out in one last hurried breath, "Mom-don't-buy-it--it-reminds-me-of-an-old-lady!!" She has never pursued a purchase after one of those comments--that's always a sure-fire way to stop her dead in her tracks. My mom would NEVER want to look like an old lady. EVER EVER EVER. She's not old. Right?
Mother does like to shop though. I can't complain. I do too. We went to Nordstrom Rack on Friday (it's like a T.J. Maxx with all Nordstrom stuff 50-75% off) and were in there for THREE HOURS. Three. We finally decided to go and pay. I was done for the day. So was she...so she said. We paid and were walking out of the store when she saw some sunglasses. "Keeeep Walkin'," I said. She turned around and laughed because she knew exactly wheat I was getting at.
This continued to happen all weekend. We would be in a store and mom's wandering eye would get distracted by a deal or item or something. I would notice her head start to turn as she slowed her pace and began to contemplate venturing over until I would knowingly say, "Keep Walkin'." She would pretend not to know what I was talking about until I tilted my head to the side and looked sideways out of my eyes to let her know that I knew exactly what was going on in that little brain of hers.
This even happened on the Boulevard yesterday. My parents wanted to go to the Delta Gamma (sorority I am now affiliated with) tent. I initially knew this was not such a good idea. This year, the Boulevard Organizing Committee or whatever decided to get all the Greek students out of the main part of the Boulevard. (I wonder why they would want to do that?) So, they pushed them all up on Dallas Hall Lawn (the north part of the Boulevard). So basically the whole north part of campus is covered by drunk fraternity brothers and sorority sisters listening/dancing to questionable music. Obviously I don't mind it but this is not a place for a mom, dad, 12-year-old brother, and family friend. I showed them the tent (from a great distance away) and suggested we go back to the student athlete tent. As we meandered through the crowd thick with the smell of beer and sweaty Greeks, my family began to slow their pace and look around. I had to say, "Keep Walkin'," before they realized what kind of group I was going to begin affiliating myself with....and refuse to pay for it.
At the end of the weekend, my mom said that if my dad asked, my clothes cost more than they actually did....that way he wouldn't notice the (ahem) few extra things she picked up for herself. Looks like I need new techniques to help my mom with her wandering eye....
Love ya mom!! :)
Anyway, my birthday was last Tuesday. I turned 20. I am no longer a teenager. The first thing my roommate Outdoors Woman said to me was, "Congratulations! You will never be a teen pregnancy statistic!" Phew! I was really worried about that! That was the main reason I was excited to turn 20--I really didn't want to add to that problem...
So my mom took me shopping for birthday presents on Friday. Shopping with mom is always fun. She picks things out and I tell her they're "cute". If she puts them back on the rack, then all is good. When she considers buying them I tell her, "Umm I'm not so sure I like it that much." When she actually starts walking towards the cash register and is about to whip out her wallet, I get out in one last hurried breath, "Mom-don't-buy-it--it-reminds-me-of-an-old-lady!!" She has never pursued a purchase after one of those comments--that's always a sure-fire way to stop her dead in her tracks. My mom would NEVER want to look like an old lady. EVER EVER EVER. She's not old. Right?
Mother does like to shop though. I can't complain. I do too. We went to Nordstrom Rack on Friday (it's like a T.J. Maxx with all Nordstrom stuff 50-75% off) and were in there for THREE HOURS. Three. We finally decided to go and pay. I was done for the day. So was she...so she said. We paid and were walking out of the store when she saw some sunglasses. "Keeeep Walkin'," I said. She turned around and laughed because she knew exactly wheat I was getting at.
This continued to happen all weekend. We would be in a store and mom's wandering eye would get distracted by a deal or item or something. I would notice her head start to turn as she slowed her pace and began to contemplate venturing over until I would knowingly say, "Keep Walkin'." She would pretend not to know what I was talking about until I tilted my head to the side and looked sideways out of my eyes to let her know that I knew exactly what was going on in that little brain of hers.
This even happened on the Boulevard yesterday. My parents wanted to go to the Delta Gamma (sorority I am now affiliated with) tent. I initially knew this was not such a good idea. This year, the Boulevard Organizing Committee or whatever decided to get all the Greek students out of the main part of the Boulevard. (I wonder why they would want to do that?) So, they pushed them all up on Dallas Hall Lawn (the north part of the Boulevard). So basically the whole north part of campus is covered by drunk fraternity brothers and sorority sisters listening/dancing to questionable music. Obviously I don't mind it but this is not a place for a mom, dad, 12-year-old brother, and family friend. I showed them the tent (from a great distance away) and suggested we go back to the student athlete tent. As we meandered through the crowd thick with the smell of beer and sweaty Greeks, my family began to slow their pace and look around. I had to say, "Keep Walkin'," before they realized what kind of group I was going to begin affiliating myself with....and refuse to pay for it.
At the end of the weekend, my mom said that if my dad asked, my clothes cost more than they actually did....that way he wouldn't notice the (ahem) few extra things she picked up for herself. Looks like I need new techniques to help my mom with her wandering eye....
Love ya mom!! :)
Saturday, August 29, 2009
My mother
Ahh mothers...(that should be read more like a wistful sign than a scream followed by "WHEN do I turn 18 again?!")
But really, my blog, like me, got its start from my dear mom who I love so very much-- and buys me very nice things :)-- but that's not why I love her....really. She enjoys doing that on her own....really. Anyway, I like to talk about things going on in my head and we were driving back from one of our 2-3 hour-long evening walks when I was talking about how the speed limit could be used as a metaphor for something else that sucks (weight) when she said, "You should start a blog." Now I didn't know if this was a compliment (because she thinks I have interesting things to say) or an insult (because she thinks I need another outlet for my thinking besides her). This was at the beginning of the summer and I was a little skeptical. Why would I put myself out there? Would people read it? Would I be embarrassed? Ohh who am I kidding, I embarrass myself all the time and surprisingly don't mind. I look at it as entertaining myself. Plus, whoever is around gets a little free entertainment. So it's kind of like I'm making the world a better place one mistake at a time. And I've got a lot of them, trust me.
So she kept asking me if I was going to start one and I was delaying because I didn't really know where to begin. She suggested I call her friend who has a pretty successful blog: thestilettomom.com. I'm not sure if she posts her real name so I'm not going to either. Anyway, she told me all these technological terms that don't make any sense at all. "Basically, go to blogger.com and you'll be fine." Ok, I can do that; I can go to a website. So I checked out, made a blog with a really really long name and one post. Went back a week later and forgot my blog name and password. This was mid-summer.
To get me going, my mom got me some blogging books from the library (which I half-read, soooo yeah you could say I was really on top of it). Finally, after the summer ended and I had many embarrassing/funny/unfortunate/great things happen to me, the idea started to creep back in. Then today I woke up and said, "You know, I'm going to start today!" My roommate said, "I don't care about your cycle." After having a very busy week in which I started school AND 6am practices accompanied by going out every night (this combo results in a few hours of sleep before a Division 1 practice and is not recommended to ANYONE, breastfeeding or otherwise), I started to accumulate some interesting stories. One involving German male-models, one involving my other roommate calling me a slutty 70's mom "but in a good way!" and one involving a trip to the Choctaw Indian Reservation Resort Casino at midnight.
Have no fear, dear readers. If you aren't able to exactly partake in my many adventures, mistakes, and foot-in-mouth moments, you will be able to have a little chuckle as you unwind from your dreadful job you have to keep because the economy sucks while you play whatever newest and most pointless game Facebook has come up with where you work so hard to make money that really means nothing and still does nothing for you in the real world (where again, the economy sucks, in case you forgot). It's astonishing the amount of time people spend playing those games. They might as well get a real job and make real money that they could actually use to buy real food instead of growing 2D carrots in the garden that they have to "pay" other people to harvest. (Yes, Dad, I know you play that game).
Hmm...ok so this post has been really random and obnoxiously long. For those of you that stuck with me and suffered through to the end, congratulations! You get nothing. Maybe I will get better at this. Probably not. But until then, I will continue to vent and share my ideas for those who are willing to read. I guess this post is kind of like what goes on in my head all the time: different thoughts that turn into different things and when I finally get to the end, nothing makes sense anymore. Yay life.
But really, my blog, like me, got its start from my dear mom who I love so very much-- and buys me very nice things :)-- but that's not why I love her....really. She enjoys doing that on her own....really. Anyway, I like to talk about things going on in my head and we were driving back from one of our 2-3 hour-long evening walks when I was talking about how the speed limit could be used as a metaphor for something else that sucks (weight) when she said, "You should start a blog." Now I didn't know if this was a compliment (because she thinks I have interesting things to say) or an insult (because she thinks I need another outlet for my thinking besides her). This was at the beginning of the summer and I was a little skeptical. Why would I put myself out there? Would people read it? Would I be embarrassed? Ohh who am I kidding, I embarrass myself all the time and surprisingly don't mind. I look at it as entertaining myself. Plus, whoever is around gets a little free entertainment. So it's kind of like I'm making the world a better place one mistake at a time. And I've got a lot of them, trust me.
So she kept asking me if I was going to start one and I was delaying because I didn't really know where to begin. She suggested I call her friend who has a pretty successful blog: thestilettomom.com. I'm not sure if she posts her real name so I'm not going to either. Anyway, she told me all these technological terms that don't make any sense at all. "Basically, go to blogger.com and you'll be fine." Ok, I can do that; I can go to a website. So I checked out, made a blog with a really really long name and one post. Went back a week later and forgot my blog name and password. This was mid-summer.
To get me going, my mom got me some blogging books from the library (which I half-read, soooo yeah you could say I was really on top of it). Finally, after the summer ended and I had many embarrassing/funny/unfortunate/great things happen to me, the idea started to creep back in. Then today I woke up and said, "You know, I'm going to start today!" My roommate said, "I don't care about your cycle." After having a very busy week in which I started school AND 6am practices accompanied by going out every night (this combo results in a few hours of sleep before a Division 1 practice and is not recommended to ANYONE, breastfeeding or otherwise), I started to accumulate some interesting stories. One involving German male-models, one involving my other roommate calling me a slutty 70's mom "but in a good way!" and one involving a trip to the Choctaw Indian Reservation Resort Casino at midnight.
Have no fear, dear readers. If you aren't able to exactly partake in my many adventures, mistakes, and foot-in-mouth moments, you will be able to have a little chuckle as you unwind from your dreadful job you have to keep because the economy sucks while you play whatever newest and most pointless game Facebook has come up with where you work so hard to make money that really means nothing and still does nothing for you in the real world (where again, the economy sucks, in case you forgot). It's astonishing the amount of time people spend playing those games. They might as well get a real job and make real money that they could actually use to buy real food instead of growing 2D carrots in the garden that they have to "pay" other people to harvest. (Yes, Dad, I know you play that game).
Hmm...ok so this post has been really random and obnoxiously long. For those of you that stuck with me and suffered through to the end, congratulations! You get nothing. Maybe I will get better at this. Probably not. But until then, I will continue to vent and share my ideas for those who are willing to read. I guess this post is kind of like what goes on in my head all the time: different thoughts that turn into different things and when I finally get to the end, nothing makes sense anymore. Yay life.
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