Friday, July 29, 2011

Worst Weekend Date Ever

This afternoon I turned the television on to find an episode of Sex and the City. I've hardly watched but a few episodes of this show, being in a position as far as possible from the fashionable men-hopping NYC friends of Ms. Bradshaw, but I do think we have one thing in common: I have also been on a horrible, horrendous meet-the-family weekend date.

So for your amusement, here is probably the worst introduction to a significant other's family. You're welcome.

My ex and I had been miserably dating for roughly a year, and he decided it was time I met his mother and two sisters. I didn't want to meet his mother, she had already made it very clear that he should've stayed with his previous girlfriend since she had paid for everything in the relationship. I didn't. He's a big boy he can pay for his own sh*t. This was going to be a very good time, I could feel it.

It started out as an 8 hour drive to Rock Springs, Wyoming. It was hot, and the air conditioner in my little car has never been it's big selling point. Halfway through the trip we somehow got into an argument about the health benefits of running. He thought it was extremely harmful to one's health because, and I quote, "The heart rubs up against the rib cage, wearing it out."  There's really no way to argue with that.

No really, I tried, there's no way.

It was a long drive.

We arrived at a hotel. I thought we were staying with his mom, but this got my hopes up as I preferred to see her as little as possible. But when we walked in I learned the hard way: she lived in the hotel. We were staying with her, in her one bedroom one bathroom room. All the vents in the room were covered with duct tape because she was a chain smoker, and the hotel owner slept in the room above her and could smell the smoke. I started coughing the second I walked in.

So there were 5 of us all together, him (we'll call him...Pen Cildick), his 2 sisters, his mom and me. We started with the usual chit-chat, how was the drive...good, good...real hot out today...sure is...scored some cocaine an hour ago...oh that's nice...wait, what?

I didn't know if I was hearing anything correctly, I was trying to breathe through the small crack in the window as her cigarette smoke swirled - no, scratch that - stagnantly hung in the air. My eyes burned, my throat hurt, my skin itched and I felt like I was dying. This must be what trapped in a burning building feels like. Only I've heard you pass out after inhaling a certain amount...why wasn't I passed out yet?

After 4 hours (not exaggerating) Pen and his mom decided they wanted to go to the bar down the street to catch up. His sisters and I (one was a year older than me, one was 14) wanted to stay in the room and watch movies. I could do that. They left for the bar, which they said you could see from the hotel window.

12:30 a.m - The phone rings. I answer.
"Yes this is so-and-so (the owner of the bar) and these two are tearing this place apart, either come and get them or I'm calling the cops."
"I'll be right there."

We (me and his little sister, who was the only one from Rock Springs who knew where the bar was) get there to find it's really only a gas station with 3 bar stools in the back. The actual space designated for drinking was hardly bigger than a public restroom. When we were 10 feet from the door, Pen bursts through it, throwing himself onto the hood of the pickup out front. "We're driving!" he shouts. "No," I reply, "we're walking. We didn't bring the car." "We're walking!" he screams at me, as he flips me the bird. But he can't walk. He can't stand up. He leans on me, bringing me to my knees. I finally figure out how to balance his weight with mine and we start taking one small step toward the hotel room. They were right, it's a straight shot from the hotel to the bar.

"That's mine, that's mine, that's mine..." he points to piles of puke outside the bar. "That's mine too. Oh and that one.." Fantastic. Behind me, I can hear his little sister trying to keep his mom turned in the right direction toward the hotel room, but she has to stop and pee, and there's a garbage can right there. How convenient.

A cop drives by. He pulls over. Of course.

He's 6'8" easy, and stands in front of Pen. Pen is laughing. "Is there really a cop standing in front of me?" he giggles. "Yup." "He's so big! Are you sure he's real?" He motions to the cop with his head in that drunk I-think-I'm-being-sneaky way that cops probably see all the time. "Yeah he's real."

He asks for our ID's. Pen doesn't have his. I don't have mine either. "I wasn't drinking," I explain. "I didn't think I needed it to go get these two. We just live right there." I point to the hotel. "Room number?" He asks. "Oh I have no idea, " I reply. "We're just staying the weekend."  We go in circles. He doesn't believe that I wouldn't know the room number we're actually staying in. The room number that two people are living in. My frustration is growing.

Pen in trying to dance. I can see the hotel, we're so close.

Four more cars pull up. Three of them are all black, and men in suits get out of them. What is happening? I think to myself. Haven't I seen this on Men In Black? The men in suits were introduced as the DEA. Whatever, I didn't believe them. I was convinced someone around us was an alien. Any second now they're going to get out those little memory erasey thingys...

They surround Pen, invading his dance bubble. I could hear his mom screaming at them, claiming she wanted a cigarette but one of them had stolen her lighter. That sounded logical.

Finally, one of the cops agrees to let me take Pen home while they question his mother. I struggle to walk him the rest of the way to the hotel, but I don't know which room number is ours, so I drop him off in front and decide I'll figure it out later. Bad idea. After I start heading back, I hear BAM! BAM! BAM!

I turn around and see him going door-to-door, banging on every one. Soon people were coming out into the street. They're angry. Pen is singing. A few cops run over to him, put him in handcuffs and sit him down on the ground. People are asking questions. His mom is yelling. Pen switches from singing to screaming, shouting and crying so they put him in the back of a cop car.

To sum it all up, they let them both go, but I had to deal with both of them being sick, belligerent, and smoking in the hotel room all night. Both him and his mother were completely hungover (read = total a**holes) the rest of the weekend, which meant they wanted to sleep all day in the hotel room. So that was fun. We headed home and he asked if I liked his mom.


Is it any wonder we eventually broke up?

     So Followed Saturday       Sunday Blog Hop Shibley Smiles    

Sunday, July 24, 2011

Road Rage Retaliation

Folks I'm going to be completely candid about something here:

I am a horrific driver. I mean downright awful. I fully admit there is no reasonable excuse for me to ever be behind the wheel of a vehicle. I'm too daydreamy and scattered. Shiny car next to me? Someone riding a bike? Butterfly? An interesting cloud? The fact it's a Wednesday? All treacherous. I've been in eight (count 'em, eight!) accidents (I'm 26 years old) and in all of them I hit an immobile object.

Go ahead and read that again and let it sink in, I'll wait.

...eight accidents...I caused all of them...hit a non-moving object...Done? Good. I've plowed through fences, parked cars, street signs, mailboxes, barriers, garage doors, and that was in March. My one exception is when a deer hit me. No really I was parked letting them cross the road and one random, blind, superhero of a deer came darting out of the woods and slammed into my car. I take no responsibility. Well on second thought my car was green so...maybe it wasn't entirely the deer's fault. But should've known better.

So when I'm in traffic, and someone pulls up next to me screaming obscenities and making non-friendly hand gestures, I don't generally argue. I figure whatever they're yelling about, they're probably right. I probably did do something stupid, I just haven't realized it because I'm too terrified to take my hands away from the 10 and 2 position. For the most part I just grovel, apologize, and keep driving while assuming I'm probably dragging a small tree behind me.

But every once in awhile, someone comes up next to me acting so overwhelmingly immature I can't help but mess with them a little bit. I know, I know, in this day and age anyone can get killed for any reason and road rage isn't all that surprising of a motive, but like every other person on the planet, when someone is mean to me I want to defend myself, and I've found the most frustrating form of retaliation when someone is acting like a complete a**hole is to act like they're complementing you. Seeing fury mixed with dumbfounded confusion and neck veins is always rewarding, regardless of what they're actually saying to you. And a few days ago, the opportunity presented itself:

Driver: "WHAT THE %#@ DO YOU $;(% THINK YOU'RE *#;$ DOING? YOU *$%; JUST $#%^ ;(%** $%^&*^%!!!
Me: "I'm sorry, did you need directions?"
Driver: "NO I %**% DON'T %^# %^* DIRECTIONS YOU #$%$%&%$ **($^!!!
Me: "Oh yeah that's on the left straight ahead."
Driver: "$% *(^) *%($ #%^!!!!
Me: "No that's going to be a left, not a %^*."
Driver: "%^*%^(^*%( (*$%^!!!!"
Me: "No, left. *^% is out on Broadway."
Driver: "%^*$(^*$*!!"
Me: "Red building, and it's no problem! You're welcome!"
Driver "%*^*#%*#(#*$@(!!!!"
Me: "Well I highly doubt they're closed, it's not even noon."
Driver: "YOU $%%^ LITTLE *##$%^(*^%&* *$%(^*$ ($*#!!!!!! #*%&^*(# *#$*!!!!!!"
Me: "Oh how sweet of you to notice, I have been working out!"
Driver: "$%(^*%()@#$%^$!!!!"
Me: "Well swimming mostly, you know, because it's been so hot lately."
Driver: "*$%* $*#$ *$(**@*(#$*%*)%(*$!!!!!!!!"
Me: "Aww, well aren't you just adorable! Such a sweetheart!"

I don't know, sometimes I just can't help myself.

So be honest now, do you have a favorite retaliation technique?

The Not-So-Secret Confessions of a First Time Mom     

Oh and by the way, I've been spotlighted over at Amber's blog, Confessons From Boystown. Click here if you want to check it out!

Great News!

Well everyone, I have great news: I got a job!

I've officially been hired as a School Based Drug Counselor for 2 high schools in my area. I'm ecstatic, of course; I get to work directly with kids who may be at a crossroads in their life, so hopefully I will be able to make a difference. Even if that light at the end of the tunnel is still light years away, I may now be able to at least feel some of it's warmth on my face.

This does, however, present a bit of a problem for my blog. I hold myself out to be a college student living far below the poverty line (which I still am) but this job brings me a little closer to the actual poverty line. Not wanting to mislead my followers, I've been contemplating the theme of my blog. I presented the question to my boyfriend the other night:

Me: What do you think I should write about? I am still budgeting, and I am still in college, but...
Boyfriend: Well write about whatever you want to write about.
Me: I have to have a theme, don't I?
Boyfriend: Seinfeld didn't have a theme.
Me: Touche.

My boyfriend makes a excellent point (he usually does), and coupled with the fact that I live in this lovely little town known as "Reality" (perhaps you've visited?), one very important lesson of life comes to mind: Time is an illusion. Do what you love now, because later may never be. With that in mind, I like knowing what I'm getting when I visit my favorite blogs. I like knowing I can count on some for a laugh and a pick me up, and on others for fashion advice. My own passion, however, lies with nutrition and travel.

A favorite hobby of mine is remaking comfort foods in nutritious ways. I usually figure if my beer drinking/mac 'n' cheese loving baseball coach of a boyfriend approves, I'm probably good to go. In our house, I am a legend. Garlic mashed potatoes? Chili? Lasagna? Bring it on. I like to think I'm a regular ol' Iron Chef of nutrition.

Also, in my mind, I've traveled the world countless times. Plus I own a car, so...according to that bulletproof logic, I consider myself fully qualified to write about travel.

So shall I combine the two?

I think I just might. But, regardless of what I end up writing about, I hope my love of sarcasm and awkwardness will still show through. Quick question though, when you visit my blog, what are you hoping to find?

Sunday Blog Hop Shibley Smiles   

Thursday, July 21, 2011

Fighting Impulsivity

Yes, world, I am stalling. Sue me.

I am purposefully wasting my time in the hopes that something brilliant will materialize in my mind and then show up on the computer screen in front of me. I have 3 papers to write for my current online class, but am I going to do them tonight? No. Am I going to pretend to do them? Probably not. I'm probably going to end up making some chocolate pudding, taking a shower and watching HGTV reruns.

Except that this is a horrible idea. See right now, HGTV is airing a show called House Hunters International, following 2 girls from Sweden looking for a surf-house on the coast of France. I'm home alone with a bowl of chocolate pudding, which is often the prequel to most bad decisions. No one logical within an arms reach, no one to stop me...I could go to France right now if I wanted to...

Deep breaths, Marlee. I'm going to Italy this coming spring, and I have found the first lesson of travel (as applied to me, anyway) is to calm down. It is going to be okay, France is not going anywhere, and right now neither am I.

And now I am sad, so just in case, maybe I should get another survey going for country #2? Yes I'll think I'll do that. After Italy in the spring, where should I go next? Remember now, you vote and I go. See the poll on the right!

Ah yes, I feel much better now.

         So Followed Saturday   

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