I play it fast and loose with my emotions. It is very easy to make me happy. Give me macaroni and cheese, laugh at my jokes, talk about Harry Potter, put on the YMCA and I will pretty much be on cloud nine. I get cranky more often than I would like, especially when I am lonely, tired, am in need of diet cola, or someone is being rude. Sometimes I make myself cry on purpose. I have a playlist simply labeled COLD...for when I am feeling emotionally wretched and really want to let loose the flood gates. I can get so bored that I fall asleep at very inappropriate times. I love people almost as fast as I can hate them. And I change my mind even faster. The one thing I am not often, is mad. But when I get mad, I get steamin' mad. It's an anger that erupts like a volcano and then settles back down to simmer, where it will linger 'til I die. Here are the things I am still mad about:
1. Nickle Allowance Scam of 1996
When I was 7 years old all my friends were receiving an allowance. Some kids got their allowance on Friday, or Sunday, or Monday...nobody got their allowance on a Wednesday as far as I knew. It was all anyone talked about on the playground, at lunch, or on the school bus. And I didn't have one. It was so annoying. I mean yes, my parents gave me money if I wanted to get ice cream or buy erasers at the school store. And yeah, they fed me breakfast, lunch, dinner and snacks. And took me to Disney World. And to see Pocahontas three times in theaters. But I had no cash flow. I was a total chump. My only source of income was from the Tooth Fairy from whom I received a very threatening letter if I ever tried to forcibly remove another tooth just to make a quick buck. So being the enterprising youngster that I was, I devised an intricate plan to convince my parents that I deserved an allowance.
I had just completed my first ever science project in which I presented to my 2nd grade class, Five Fantastic Facts About The Moon using the timeless medium of the poster board. My teacher, Mrs. Brink, gave me a + and a star sticker. I considered myself a presentation skills master after that and felt pretty confident that I could convince my parents to give me an allowance. But I was no good without a poster board. I sent my mother to Publix to pick one up for me and set about crafting my first pitch.
Using all the Magic Markers at my disposal I wrote down all the chores I would do in exchange for an allowance of one nickel a week. A NICKEL. For five cents a week I promised to clean my room, make my bed, sweep the kitchen, help water the plants, and bring in the paper every morning. For one lousy Jefferson. And my parents, in their infinite generosity, agreed. Having no concept of the value of money, you can imagine my displeasure when I learned that I would need 15 nickels to buy an orange soda at the pool. Which meant I had to do 15 weeks worth of chores. Unfortunately being the hard bargainer that I was, I had insisted my parents sign a contract, guaranteeing that I would receive a nickel allowance for an entire year. It was the hardest $2.60 I've ever worked for and it was total bologna.
2. Blankie in Exile
I sucked my thumb for quite a long time. Way to long. Until I was 10. But I could only suck my thumb when I had my blankie. My blankie was actually a red dress with a white ruffle collar and white ruffle sleeves that my Aunt Joanie had made for me when I was 3. I loved it so much. It had 2 giant ink stains on it from when I fell asleep drawing pictures of Happy Land (my imaginary world of escape) using my dad's "work pen." And it had patches all over it from various repairs. My parents tried everything to get me to stop sucking my thumb. But no amount of Tabasco sauce or bitter nail polish could make me to kick the addiction. Not while I had my blankie. And then one day, I couldn't find it. I searched high and low. I called all my friends in the neighborhood. I screamed at my siblings. I wept uncontrollably in my parents room and refused to go to bed until I found it. I was distraught. I cried and cried until I had exhausted myself into a fitful sleep in a laundry room basket. Every night that week I looked for my blankie. I even asked my mom if I could make flyers to put in my neighbors' mailboxes and hang up at school. I would lay in bed at night cursing my useless thumb. Eventually I settled into life without my blankie, I learned to tell myself stories when I needed comfort. And as with all pain, the ache slowly faded with time. Until one fateful game of Hide 'n Go Seek, many years later.
When we were little, me and my siblings loved to play Hide 'n Go Seek when my dad got home from work. The best games were when you found a hiding spot where dad couldn't find you. He was the master seeker. Some of the MVP spots included a dresser drawer, behind the TV, and my brother's favorite spot, the dryer. During this particular game, the stakes were high and I was determined to find the next MVP spot. I went into my parents closet and found a big plastic bag full of clothes. I planned to bury myself amongst the items for donations. I opened up the bag and let out a scream that should have woke the dead. At the top of the bag lay my blankie, the ink stains like gun shot wounds on the great protector of my youth. To this day my mother cannot describe the fury in my eyes when she found me in her closet clutching my long lost friend. Too much time had past and no matter how much I wanted to spite my parents, I could not get back to my old habits. Much to their chagrin, I took up biting my nails. And I shall never stop.
3. Oratory Interrupted
The Oratorical Contest at St. Jude was a big deal. An even bigger deal than then spelling bee. It was an annual event in which middle school students would be asked to write a 3-5 minute speech on the given topic for the year. All 6th, 7th, and 8th graders were required to write a speech and perform it for their Language Arts classes (character building or something.) Then the best speeches would be selected by the teachers and those students would get to do their speech for the entire school. First and second place of the school competition would get to go to the school district finals and from there...I can only assume fame and fortune. Talking for 5 minutes straight, no interruption, in front of an an audience was all I had dreamed of my entire life. I could not wait. I can't remember what the assigned topic for the 2001 contest was but I wrote my speech on Dorothy Day and I don't want to brag but I freaking killed it. I engaged the audience, I had them laughing, crying, applauding, I used the space, I remembered all my lines and closed it out with a bow to a standing ovation. If I knew what a mic drop was back then, I would have done it. All my classmates and teachers were singing my praises, it was the happiest I had ever been. Like happier than if my in-car microwave concept had become a reality. I was going to win, I knew it. I was going to win and I was going to get to perform my speech at the Fulton County Oratorical Contest. I was going to win and be in movies with Mary Kate and Ashley. This was my destiny.
I anxiously waited for the afternoon announcements and dismissal when they would declare the winner. Our principal came over the speaker. She congratulated all the participants, blah blah blah you are all wonderful. Honorable Mention goes to...Third Place...Second Place...First Place goes to...not Joanie Fisher. World shattered. Self-esteem crumbled. Life over. I will never amount to anything. Then volcanic eruption of anger. They picked that girl?! That. Girl. That skinny bee eye tee cee aych?! SHE COULDN'T EVEN REMEMBER HER SPEECH. SHE WAS CHEWING GUM. WE'RE NOT ALLOWED TO CHEW GUM AT SCHOOL. And that children is when I learned that life isn't fair. Or I don't know. Maybe her's was really better...but I doubt it.
4. Lord of the Rings Backyard Special
By the spring of 2002 I had seen Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring a whopping 4 times in theaters. I was obsessed. But I was also not allowed to see it any more times than I already had because a) my dad said it was a waste of money to see a movie 5 times and b) because it was not actually in theaters any more. It was that awful lag time between a movie's cinematic run and its release on VHS (DVD if you're fancy.) So to fill the now empty 3 1/2 hour blocks of time in my day I decided to stage my very own neighborhood version of Tolkien's masterpiece. Using our battered copy of Fellowship my best friend, Tara, and I wrote out an elaborate screenplay, assigning parts to all our neighborhood gang. I was playing Gandalf, Tara was Legolas, my sister Maggie was playing Strider (who we did not know was also Aragorn at the time...newbs) and her best friend Caitlin was Frodo. That was the extent of the "good guys"...gotta work with the talent you have. The boys of the neighborhood, namely my brother John, his best friend Matthew and his brother DA...played all the bad guys. It was an incredibly sophisticated production. We practiced for one whole day in our basement during which time I screamed at every cast member one hundred times for being total dummies. I also broke the yard stick I had been using as Gandalf's staff during the pivotal scene when he declares that the Balrog "shall not pass!" and had to tape it back together...twice. We were performing our show that Sunday evening in our backyard for all the parents. And as the director, I was incredibly nervous. But not so nervous that I couldn't eat multiple ice cream sandwiches before the curtain call.
Everything was going off without a hitch. People remembered their lines. The parents gasped at all the right parts. My death scene as Gandalf had been both terrifying and believable. We were nearing the end. The sun was setting as Frodo/Caitlin and Sam/Maggie (who had made a late appearance in the script when I realized somebody needed to go with Frodo to Mordor) were to make their dramatic exit around the corner of the house. I was hiding behind a tree watching the last of the play run out, preparing to make my directors speech and bask in praise. When all of a sudden from behind me came a terrifying crashing noise, caused by 3 teenage boys in soccer uniforms. It was Tara's older brother, Liam, and his 2 dastardly sidekicks. They tore through my set yelling "Oooohh I'm an Orc, I'm an Orc!" Uncontrollable rage ripped through me as I chased after them, brandishing my broken yardstick. I demanded justice from the parents. I received none. Unless you consider an "apology" justice. You ruined my play Liam. And that is why I slapped you that one time.
Benjamin Franklin once said "Anger is never without a reason, but seldom with a good one." These are all good ones. I might let them go someday. I probably already have. Or I might spend the rest of my life plotting my revenge.
Monday, May 19, 2014
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Childhood Dreams: A Rebranding
Growing up, we all have a lot of dreams. Some of them practical, I want to be a doctor type of stuff. Some of them fantastical. Some dreams stay with us, I want microwaves to come standard in all motor vehicles. And some fade away. Here are some dreams I've dreamed and some I'm still dreaming.
1. A Walk To The Pool
Turning 10 years old is a big deal in any child's life. Double digits. Maximum use of all fingers to emphasize age. But for me the best thing about turning 10 was that I was finally allowed to be at the pool without parental supervision and more importantly it meant that I could walk to the pool. For 6 years I watched the cool older kids saunter in the pool gate, towels draped over their shoulders, tivas thwacking arrogantly on the damp concrete. The only time they acknowledged their parents was when they need $.50 to get an orange soda from the cola machine. They were awesome. They also, it turned out, lived a few houses down from the pool. Me and my gang lived a good mile away from the pool and boy were we in for a rude awakening the summer of our 10th year.
To be honest, I kind of cheated the 10 year rule. My birthday is at the end of August and all my other friends turned 10 earlier in the year. I begged my mom to let me walk to the pool that first Saturday in May with all my other buddies. My mother tried to warn me. It's a very long walk, she said. There are a lot of hills and it's very hot. "What. Ever. Mom." I said, throwing the full weight of my nearly 10 year old sass at her. I told her I would die if my friends got to walk to the pool and I had to ride in the suburban like a baby. It wasn't my dramatics that made her relent so much as it was me promising to weed the entire garden if she let me go (a nickel allowance scam if I've ever seen one...but that's a story for another day).
I was so excited. All the big kids in the cul-de-sac were meeting at 9 AM. I had picked out my best Disney towel and shined up my jellies (rookie mistake), my day had come! We set off, a pack of joyful youths, frolicking in the Georgia sun and we arrived, straggling in one by one, beaten by the great mountains of the neighborhood, zapped of our strength and eyes streaming from the sunscreen that had melted from our faces. And there stood our mothers, triumphant.
As we got older, our legs grew and the distraction of boys we had crushes on made the journey to the pool easier. But heavy lies the burden of dreams come true.
2. Monopoly, Victorious
As everyone can agree, Monopoly is the absolute worst board game in the history of the universe. It is infuriating and never ending. I have always been very competitive about very inconsequential (but important) things. Who knows the most Harry Potter trivia, who can recite the Gettysburg Address, who won the St. Jude Award...the list goes on. So naturally I always wanted to win Monopoly. My strategy was always, and remains, the same, buy all the railroads and Atlantic Avenue. The number of times I was sent to jail coincidentally coincided with the number of times I was sent to my room. Now that I am older, I know to excuse myself when I feel the all too familiar flush of competitive heat creep up to my face, but as a kid that is a hard emotion to contain. I have yet to win a game of Monopoly (but who has...seriously who? If you've won Monopoly I need you to contact me immediately) and so the dream lives on.
3. Moaning Myrtle
I wanted to be an actress so bad when I was younger but I never wanted to put in the effort. I just wanted someone to stumble upon me in the grocery store, you know in Publix, where all young talent is discovered. I figured an agent would see me trying to convince my mother of the nutritional benefits of Waffle Crisp over Cheerios and say "You, little girl! You are perfect. Be in my movie. Become a star!" Though I would resent being called a "little girl" I would accept and jet off to Hollywood to meet my destiny.
My acting frenzy reached its zenith between the first and second Harry Potter movies. Because the role of Hermione had already been filled there was only one role left for me to play, Moaning Myrtle. I would practice in my room into the wee hours of the morning, reading out lines from Chamber of Secrets, perfecting my Myrtle. I wanted the role so badly that I even attempted to audition. I still don't know how the whole "Hollywood" thing works but I'm pretty sure the way you get the role of Moaning Myrtle in Harry Potter is not by auditioning for a small part in the YMCA production of "Steel Magnolias." That audition went so horrendously that the only thing I remember is there was a girl sitting next to me wearing an Aeropostale sweatshirt...I didn't know what Aeropostale was so I assumed she was foreign and that Aeropostale was American Eagle in her country.
The sting of that failed dream, doomed by laziness and also an ocean, was made all the sharper by the later revelation that the lucky actress who played Moaning Myrtle was in fact a 37 year old grown up lady. I'm coming for you Shirley Henderson.
4. God Grant Me Braces, Acne, and Glasses
When I was growing up I idolized my older cousins, like, I was obsessed with them (I still idolize them...but in a normal way). I wanted to do everything they did, wear everything they wore and say everything they said. I wanted to grow up and be just. like. them. They had braces, I wanted braces. They had acne, I wanted acne. They had glasses, I wanted glasses. My older cousins were the cat's pajamas. What most pre-teens dread, I could not wait to encounter.
I didn't have to wait too long for the acne...but braces and glasses...I was not that "fortunate." During pre-Algebra I used to unbend paper clips, bend them in to the shape of a retainer and put them in my mouth to make it look like I had braces. I fooled no one and cut my gums too many times to count. The glasses I took care of in 10th grade. I simply cheated on the eye exam by pretending I couldn't read the letters on the board. And I've been paying the piper ever since.
5. A Water Bed
I think water beds were a big deal in the late 80's and early 90's...don't quote me. So right around the time I was making my way in to my big girl bed. The dream of the water bed didn't hit me until I started watching reruns of Growing Pains in 1996. I wanted a water bed for a multitude of reasons, Mike Seaver being the instigator but not the most important. My desire for a water bed stemmed from three areas, fear of dying in a fire, fear of being kidnapped and fear of not being suave enough to be Mike Seaver's girlfriend.
I had, and continue to have to this day, a very deep fear of natural disasters. When I was 7, I was petrified of dying in a house fire. I was so scared of fires that I slept as close as possible to the door of my bedroom so as to allow me to escape as fast as possible. This fear followed me to college where I made my roommates time me to see how long it would take me to get out of our loft and out to the safety of the quad before our dorm burned down around us. The water bed was the perfect last resort for me. I thought if I had a water bed, in the worst case scenario should a fire start in my room, I would be able to unzip the bed, get in the water and wait for help to arrive. I did not understand the physics of the water bed at that time (or now for that matter).
The water bed also provided the perfect anti-kidnapping device. Piranhas. I would fill my water bed with piranhas and should nefarious persons try to do me injury, I would unleash the fury of my lethal aquarium upon them. No harm would come to me, for the piranhas would recognize me as their master and the villains would flee in abject terror.
And finally, Mike Seaver was the cutest, neatest guy I had ever set eyes on (at the age of 7). And when he grew up, he moved in to his parents garage and had a water bed. He was the ultimate adult.
6. President Of The Gumball Factory
I was obsessed with bubble gum when I was younger. And everybody knew it. Not only because I always had it on me but also because I chewed it really really loud. I chew bubble gum like it's going out of style. Like it's going the way of the Twinkie but never coming back. I loved it some much that when one of my siblings ate my gum without my permission, I called an emergency family meeting to discover the culprit (I think the error here is on my parents for allowing me to initiate the witch hunt.)
Long car trips is where I used to dream my biggest dreams and...along with developing an in-car microwave...I wanted to own a gumball factory. But not just any gumball factory. A gumball factory that produced one of a kind, hand painted gumballs. The finest gumballs in all the world. The workers would get shrunk down to gumball painting size by a shrink ray, work their eight hour shift (9-5 baby) and then be un-shrunk in time to be home for dinner with their families. And that is the dream I will never let go of, to be the sole owner of the world's foremost gumball factory.
The astute follower may have noticed that I changed the name of my blog. This blog is about the things I like to think about and the things I like to remember. Making people laugh makes me happy. Growing up is tough and sometimes the world feels rather heavy but I think we'll all be okay if we try to be kind, work hard, and have some laughs along the way.
1. A Walk To The Pool
Turning 10 years old is a big deal in any child's life. Double digits. Maximum use of all fingers to emphasize age. But for me the best thing about turning 10 was that I was finally allowed to be at the pool without parental supervision and more importantly it meant that I could walk to the pool. For 6 years I watched the cool older kids saunter in the pool gate, towels draped over their shoulders, tivas thwacking arrogantly on the damp concrete. The only time they acknowledged their parents was when they need $.50 to get an orange soda from the cola machine. They were awesome. They also, it turned out, lived a few houses down from the pool. Me and my gang lived a good mile away from the pool and boy were we in for a rude awakening the summer of our 10th year.
To be honest, I kind of cheated the 10 year rule. My birthday is at the end of August and all my other friends turned 10 earlier in the year. I begged my mom to let me walk to the pool that first Saturday in May with all my other buddies. My mother tried to warn me. It's a very long walk, she said. There are a lot of hills and it's very hot. "What. Ever. Mom." I said, throwing the full weight of my nearly 10 year old sass at her. I told her I would die if my friends got to walk to the pool and I had to ride in the suburban like a baby. It wasn't my dramatics that made her relent so much as it was me promising to weed the entire garden if she let me go (a nickel allowance scam if I've ever seen one...but that's a story for another day).
I was so excited. All the big kids in the cul-de-sac were meeting at 9 AM. I had picked out my best Disney towel and shined up my jellies (rookie mistake), my day had come! We set off, a pack of joyful youths, frolicking in the Georgia sun and we arrived, straggling in one by one, beaten by the great mountains of the neighborhood, zapped of our strength and eyes streaming from the sunscreen that had melted from our faces. And there stood our mothers, triumphant.
As we got older, our legs grew and the distraction of boys we had crushes on made the journey to the pool easier. But heavy lies the burden of dreams come true.
2. Monopoly, Victorious
As everyone can agree, Monopoly is the absolute worst board game in the history of the universe. It is infuriating and never ending. I have always been very competitive about very inconsequential (but important) things. Who knows the most Harry Potter trivia, who can recite the Gettysburg Address, who won the St. Jude Award...the list goes on. So naturally I always wanted to win Monopoly. My strategy was always, and remains, the same, buy all the railroads and Atlantic Avenue. The number of times I was sent to jail coincidentally coincided with the number of times I was sent to my room. Now that I am older, I know to excuse myself when I feel the all too familiar flush of competitive heat creep up to my face, but as a kid that is a hard emotion to contain. I have yet to win a game of Monopoly (but who has...seriously who? If you've won Monopoly I need you to contact me immediately) and so the dream lives on.
3. Moaning Myrtle
I wanted to be an actress so bad when I was younger but I never wanted to put in the effort. I just wanted someone to stumble upon me in the grocery store, you know in Publix, where all young talent is discovered. I figured an agent would see me trying to convince my mother of the nutritional benefits of Waffle Crisp over Cheerios and say "You, little girl! You are perfect. Be in my movie. Become a star!" Though I would resent being called a "little girl" I would accept and jet off to Hollywood to meet my destiny.
My acting frenzy reached its zenith between the first and second Harry Potter movies. Because the role of Hermione had already been filled there was only one role left for me to play, Moaning Myrtle. I would practice in my room into the wee hours of the morning, reading out lines from Chamber of Secrets, perfecting my Myrtle. I wanted the role so badly that I even attempted to audition. I still don't know how the whole "Hollywood" thing works but I'm pretty sure the way you get the role of Moaning Myrtle in Harry Potter is not by auditioning for a small part in the YMCA production of "Steel Magnolias." That audition went so horrendously that the only thing I remember is there was a girl sitting next to me wearing an Aeropostale sweatshirt...I didn't know what Aeropostale was so I assumed she was foreign and that Aeropostale was American Eagle in her country.
The sting of that failed dream, doomed by laziness and also an ocean, was made all the sharper by the later revelation that the lucky actress who played Moaning Myrtle was in fact a 37 year old grown up lady. I'm coming for you Shirley Henderson.
4. God Grant Me Braces, Acne, and Glasses
When I was growing up I idolized my older cousins, like, I was obsessed with them (I still idolize them...but in a normal way). I wanted to do everything they did, wear everything they wore and say everything they said. I wanted to grow up and be just. like. them. They had braces, I wanted braces. They had acne, I wanted acne. They had glasses, I wanted glasses. My older cousins were the cat's pajamas. What most pre-teens dread, I could not wait to encounter.
I didn't have to wait too long for the acne...but braces and glasses...I was not that "fortunate." During pre-Algebra I used to unbend paper clips, bend them in to the shape of a retainer and put them in my mouth to make it look like I had braces. I fooled no one and cut my gums too many times to count. The glasses I took care of in 10th grade. I simply cheated on the eye exam by pretending I couldn't read the letters on the board. And I've been paying the piper ever since.
5. A Water Bed
I think water beds were a big deal in the late 80's and early 90's...don't quote me. So right around the time I was making my way in to my big girl bed. The dream of the water bed didn't hit me until I started watching reruns of Growing Pains in 1996. I wanted a water bed for a multitude of reasons, Mike Seaver being the instigator but not the most important. My desire for a water bed stemmed from three areas, fear of dying in a fire, fear of being kidnapped and fear of not being suave enough to be Mike Seaver's girlfriend.
I had, and continue to have to this day, a very deep fear of natural disasters. When I was 7, I was petrified of dying in a house fire. I was so scared of fires that I slept as close as possible to the door of my bedroom so as to allow me to escape as fast as possible. This fear followed me to college where I made my roommates time me to see how long it would take me to get out of our loft and out to the safety of the quad before our dorm burned down around us. The water bed was the perfect last resort for me. I thought if I had a water bed, in the worst case scenario should a fire start in my room, I would be able to unzip the bed, get in the water and wait for help to arrive. I did not understand the physics of the water bed at that time (or now for that matter).
The water bed also provided the perfect anti-kidnapping device. Piranhas. I would fill my water bed with piranhas and should nefarious persons try to do me injury, I would unleash the fury of my lethal aquarium upon them. No harm would come to me, for the piranhas would recognize me as their master and the villains would flee in abject terror.
And finally, Mike Seaver was the cutest, neatest guy I had ever set eyes on (at the age of 7). And when he grew up, he moved in to his parents garage and had a water bed. He was the ultimate adult.
6. President Of The Gumball Factory
I was obsessed with bubble gum when I was younger. And everybody knew it. Not only because I always had it on me but also because I chewed it really really loud. I chew bubble gum like it's going out of style. Like it's going the way of the Twinkie but never coming back. I loved it some much that when one of my siblings ate my gum without my permission, I called an emergency family meeting to discover the culprit (I think the error here is on my parents for allowing me to initiate the witch hunt.)
Long car trips is where I used to dream my biggest dreams and...along with developing an in-car microwave...I wanted to own a gumball factory. But not just any gumball factory. A gumball factory that produced one of a kind, hand painted gumballs. The finest gumballs in all the world. The workers would get shrunk down to gumball painting size by a shrink ray, work their eight hour shift (9-5 baby) and then be un-shrunk in time to be home for dinner with their families. And that is the dream I will never let go of, to be the sole owner of the world's foremost gumball factory.
The astute follower may have noticed that I changed the name of my blog. This blog is about the things I like to think about and the things I like to remember. Making people laugh makes me happy. Growing up is tough and sometimes the world feels rather heavy but I think we'll all be okay if we try to be kind, work hard, and have some laughs along the way.
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