Flashback Friday

This recent post on the Books of Adam about test-driving his anxiety medications before using them on an airplane reminded me of my mom.

She traveled a lot for business when I was young, but she never got over her flying anxieties, so she had something with her (probably Ativan. Hell, it was the 80's, they might have just given her opium) for those times that she couldn't cope. If memory serves, she was coming back from the east coast on a non-stop flight (to California, that's generally about 6 hours) and they were hitting turbulent "weather" left and right so she took a pill. Next thing she knows, she's being woken up by a flight attendant. She was the last person on the plane, it was only the flight crew left and they were all standing there holding their purses, tapping their toes.

Embarrassed, she leaped up and grabbed her luggage and headed out of the plane. She didn't realize how drowsy she still was until she reached the exit - this was back in the olden days (or still today, at Long Beach airport!) when they used stair cars to load passengers. At the top of the stairs, she grabbed the handrail, took a deep breath, and.... slid down all the stairs on her butt, bumping each one on the way down. By the time she met my dad and me at baggage claim, she looked like she'd gone three rounds with Mike Tyson.

Flashback Friday: Pengin Assassin

Forever ago, Ryan and I were just friends and I was dating/living with a guy who had this enormous boat of a car, something like a Chrysler New Yorker. (which was awesome back then, because you could easily seat 8 or 9 people in that thing - it was like a school bus) One day, Ryan and I were out and I was driving the car and we stopped to get lunch at this place that had a teeny tiny parking lot. So when we were trying to leave, I had to zig-zag that big ol' boat about 100 times to get it out of the space, during which time I ran over a pigeon.

In my mind, the pigeon was there, screaming for it's life while this gigantic battleship of a car came barreling at it. Ryan says that the bird was already dead and I just ran over it's carcass.

Well, I didn't just run over it. I backed over it (and "forthed" over it) 100 times. The first few times, I thought it was just trash in the parking lot but when I had angled the car enough to be able to see it, I was terrified. I was so distraught that I couldn't stop flapping my hands and sqwaking about how I'd just run over a penguin. Ryan was laughing so hard at me calling it a penguin that he couldn't catch his breath enough to correct me. So I kept going -- what other choice did I have? Especially since Ryan said that he wouldn't back the car out now -- and eventually got the car out of the spot and the bird? Well, let's just say it had seen better days.

After that, everyone teased me about running over a penguin. I had one of those keychains with the ceramic beads on it and someone (I think it was Ryan) even bought me a penguin bead for it.

Flashback Friday: the Earthquake Nightmare

When I was in elementary school, we experienced a really big earthquake. This was the "big one" in 1987 and for the first time, our school had to actually give thought to the annual earthquake drill. Not just as an assignment "ooh... earthquake. Duck under your desks! Ok that's enough, let's get back to the math quiz."

I was pretty bothered by the earthquake on a few different levels. Sure, the ground beneath you is shifting and buildings in cities you know actually cracked and crumbled, but mostly because it sort of hit home for the first time. The quake caused a crack in the cement slab under our house and ruptured a water pipe. The den was flooded and we ended up having to have all of the carpets replaced, which meant that as the installers went room by room, we'd have to sleep in the living room. Which wasn't as much fun as it could be. It was like a crappy camping trip, except I was supposed to "go to bed" at 8pm while mom and dad watched TV 3 feet away. My whole family was also terribly sick and this was also coinciding with the after-hours Disneyland party that we were going to go to (my aunt worked for the phone company who did an annual buyout of the park after hours). So I was bummed about missing that, scared of the earth trying to eat me, and debilitatingly sick.

Once I was well enough to go back to school, I found out that the school had planned another earthquake drill. Usually, we didn't even leave our classrooms - it was just the duck and cover bit - but this time it was going to be a simulation. We were going to act as if an earthquake had demolished the school and conduct business outside. It was cold and I still wasn't feeling great and I was not up for this adventure. Everyone else was all smiles about school being outside, but I couldn't get enthused about it. About an hour into the day, the teachers started figuring out how they were going to teach lessons outside - which meant that the classrooms had to be separated along the giant grass area in the back of the school. Of course, my class was the furthest in the corner which was ok, except I needed to use the bathroom. I'd barely gotten over a major stomach flu and I was still a little rumbly in my tummy. The teacher excused me to make the long trek across the field toward the bathrooms, when I was stopped.

The teacher's aide who was 'on duty' told me that no one was allowed to go near the buildings. They were crushed in the imaginary earthquake. I pleaded my case, that sometimes diarrhea just won't wait and she told me "well, you just have to hold it until you get home." Mind you, this is something like 9:30am and I'm already experiencing what Aunt Karen called the UPCs (urgent poop cramps). I explain again that I cannot wait that long and the woman makes me wait on the edge of the field while she tracks down the principal to ask for advice. This is well before cell phones and our school wasn't even prepared enough to have walkie talkies, so this was a literal "tracking down." She had to hunt high and low and after she was gone 5 minutes, I just went in and used the toilet. I couldn't wait a second more.

She eventually returned and scolded me for using the bathroom without permission. There could have been falling beams or crumbling walls! I could have been killed! Clearly, this woman had convinced herself that the apocalypse had happened already and I was some unruly child who insisted on sitting on the charred remains of the toilet seats. She even brought the principal over to consult. I explained my stomach condition and that I could not wait until I was home and he scratched his head. He called in a coven of teachers to discuss restroom facilities. Apparently, not a single person had considered that children need to pee during the school day. Eventually, they decided that I would be granted special restroom priviledges for that day only and I would be the only one allowed to use the toilets, so I would have to sneak in to use them. I learned then that this "outdoor drill" was planned to continue for 3 more days, and I immediately got knots in my stomach and ran back to the restroom.

Later, the teacher's aide informed me that they had a solution for the restroom problem. In the event of an actual emergency, a hole would be dug for students to use. This was probably the exact birth moment of my restroom anxiety issues. I had this vivid picture of a giant hole - maybe 20 feet across and 5 feet deep, where students would have to squat and hang their bums over the edges and poop. Right there in public. With the entire school watching. It was virtually every nightmare ever invented, being planned out by the authority figures in my life. I was stunned.

After a (literal) panic attack, I requested that my mother be called to pick me up. Fortunately, she complied and I got to spend the rest of the afternoon - and subsequent 3 days - in her office building, where there were restrooms galore. Tidy cubicles with actual locks on the doors (unlike school, where there were none) that were cleaned daily. There were rows of them, too. And separate ladies rooms for the first and second floor! It was the exact opposite of the Lord of the Flies episode my schoolmates were living. I was voluntarily fetching snacks for anyone who wanted them (from an actual vending machine! With candy inside!) and filling up coffee cups, wiping down white boards and delivering memos throughout the building. My new mail clerk gig was awesome but the best part was the access to bathrooms. Glorious bathrooms. And the earthquake procedure here (mom was a manager, so she actually had to deliver a session on procedure) was to go to a safe place - door frame, under a desk, etc. - and once the shaking was done, get back to work. There would be no toilet trenches here.

flashback friday - my first car

My first car was a 1971 Karmann Ghia. My dad's longtime girlfriend, Sharon, (who was sometimes called my stepmom, just to shorten the conversation) had owned this car since the 70's and I think she might have been the original owner. It started off orange, like the picture shown below (not my actual car) but sometime in the 80's her son had a friend who's father owned an auto detailing shop and the boys were really interested in painting a car, Sharon let them take her car to practice on. They settled on a color that we all called "toothpaste blue" and went to town. It wasn't a professional paint job, by far, and the interior of the car was still orange (around the window casings, etc.) but it still looked pretty neat-o in blue.

I was taking an ROP class in the evenings after school, which was at another high school and so I needed transportation. Sharon offered me the Ghia (thereafter called "Mia's Ghia") and so I took it. After driving my mom's Honda with it's fickle stick-shift transmission, I loved driving the Ghia. I don't think I ever stalled it - the clutch was worn and loose, so as long as you eased off the clutch slowly, it never jerked or faltered. (Mom's Honda was super touchy! You'd have to ease off the clutch with surgical precision or else it would jump or stall. I hated it.)

My family lived in the canyon above the valley where I went to school, so it was a 20 mile each-way trek to school and back daily and the Ghia handled it like a champ! That is, until it didn't.

It was finals week and I was on my way to school for one last test and then a full day of work. I was wearing dorky 'comfy' clothes (not that I wasn't ALWAYS dressed like an idiot) because my ROP class was over and I was now a certified preschool teacher - and the school where I'd been doing my internship had hired me on for the summer. Lots of the teachers wore stretch pants and long shirts and I think I was still in my babydoll dress with stretch pants phase, so I was wearing something like that, but something worn and dumb; something that I didn't mind getting fingerpaint or banana pudding on.

I was driving through the canyon when all of the sudden, the car filled with smoke and started slowing down. I pulled off to the side of the road and got out and saw flames coming from the engine compartment. I reached into the car and grabbed my purse and my favorite Tinker Bell ornament that was hanging from the rearview mirror. After that, all I could do was stand and stare. The nearest house was about 5 miles away and the nearest call box at least half a mile behind me. A few cars drove by, but no one stopped - what could they do? This was the pre-cell phone era, so all anyone could do was stand there and watch me cry. A few minutes later, a big rig truck pulled over and the driver got out and started hosing down the engine case with his fire extinguisher. The flames were too big to go near the hood of the car and his little extinguisher didn't do much to stop them. It ran out and he stood there, staring at me, saying he was sorry. He'd called for a fire truck from his CB radio so help should arrive shortly.

The fire engine eventually did arrive and they put out the fire. In its defense, the firewall between the engine and the interior of the car held up remarkably well. The smoke was coming in through the heating duct, which was basically just a tube from the engine compartment to the interior - it piped in the heat from the engine, but there was no knob for adjusting - you'd just pull up a handle and it had 2 settings: open/closed. Another driver recognized my car and had called my house, just in time to catch my mom before she left for work so she came to pick me up.

One of the firemen got into the car itself and rescued some of the artwork that I'd created for my preschool class. It was Around The World week and the day's study was focused on England, so I had brought in some props, including a jeweled gold crown. The fireman was covered in soot (as was I) and he came over and put the crown on my head. My mom started crying and wished she had a camera.

Eventually, we got it towed and found a guy who could fix it -- one of the DIY mechanics who tools on things in his own garage -- and that was when I took the first pictures of my car. I'd never even thought about it until then. It's not like the 50's when everyone posed in front of their cars. These are the pictures. ADMIRE MY AWESOME BUMPER STICKERS!

the fire burned off the layers of paint, so you can see the orange


the engine was basically gone. It was cinders and dust.

It turns out that the source of the fire was an extremely common one for Volkswagens of that era. If you're familiar with the engine, it's all powered by a single belt that is in plain view when you open the engine compartment (seen below) and what's immediately next to it? The gas line. SO when the belt breaks, it flailed around and it smacked the gas line, which lead to gas spraying all over the hot engine and viola! Engine fire!

Fortunately, VW gearheads who like tooling on cars can build these engines in their sleep and will do it for a pretty low price, so the car didn't have to die there. I got a new engine put in and was off and running once again! I drove it for a couple more years before I got a new car and then it was kind of put out to pasture. A friend's mom bought it from me and drove it for a couple of weeks before some guy chased after her to offer her thousands of dollars for it. While Ghias aren't rare, they're not easy to find and VW lovers love them, so this man made her an offer she couldn't refuse - and why should she? She felt guilty and offered me money, but I turned her down. I was just glad that someone who really wanted this car had it. It was a fantastic little car and I still kind of miss it.

Maybe in a few years when my midlife crisis is at its peak, I'll buy another one, just for toodling around on the weekends. But this time, I'll get a convertible. And a fire extinguisher.

Flashback Friday: Mitch Hedberg

Tumblr just suggested a site that had a link to Mitch Hedberg quotes (go laugh here!) which made me think about Mitch. I didn't know him personally and never even got a chance to see him perform live. But for some reason, I felt a connection to him -- you know, the way people feel like they 'know' the celebrities on TV?

Maybe it's the wounded-bird lover in me. Maybe he was too similar to people in my own life. But when he died, I was intensely sad. And if I think about it too much, I get misty-eyed. It's been 5 years since he passed away and it still stings. Maybe that's weird, to mourn for a stranger who I only knew through TV and radio.

Thankfully, he left a legacy of comedy, which is one of the better contributions to the world, if you ask me. One of my favorite jokes (0:16 via the video below) is about an escalator and when he passed away one of his fans made an image of Mitch ascending to the pearly gates via escalator (image above). I bought Ryan a t-shirt with this on it and whenever he wears it, strangers come up to him. They pat his shoulder, with a sad look, and say how they love Mitch too. It's really odd the power that this one, semi-obscure comedian had on so many people. I'm just grateful that he did.

Flashback Friday

I was looking through my Flickr pictures for something today and I came across these ones and they made me smile so hard that now my cheeks ache and my teeth are dry.

Back in 2004, we spent a day at Disneyland with Giggly Mama & Family. Some of these are Giggly's photos that I scanned (on a poopy scanner, hence the low quality) and the rest are pictures that I took on my circa 2001 digital camera (hence the low quality) but still, these photos make me happy every time I see them.

I actually entered this photo into the 50th anniversary photo collage that Disneyland was putting together and it was accepted. However, at the last minute there was some sort of clerical error and most of the submitted pictures got deleted/weren't used. As a result, most of the 50th mosaics are cast member headshots from their HR files - yes, really! Too bad, because this one would have melted people's hearts!


Me and Ryan. I copied Giggly's braids that day so that I could be as cool as her.


SOMEBODY is perfectly pleased that she got the pink heart tea cup and is ready to spin!


This goes down in the annals as one of the worst pictures I have ever taken, but is one of my favorites. I love these sweet candid moments.
While mom and dad went to ride the rollercoasters, Ryan & I took Molly to meet Snow White. Which was a mistake because I am a big fat crybaby and watching this interaction kept making my eyes well up with tears. For what it's worth: the lines to meet the princesses are long, so you'll be there 20-30 minutes. BUT! When you get to the front, it's all worth it. The princesses take a few minutes with each child and talk to them one-on-one. Snow White here made a giant fuss over how lovely Molly's dress was - and just like hers! They could be twins! Or best friends! And then asked if Molly would be her friend. CUE THE WATERWORKS.


We took a late afternoon hotel break to rest our feeties and change into warmer clothes for the evening (this was December, so it was high 70's all day, low 40's at night). The Giggly family got a room at the Disneyland Hotel and Molly just adored the "princess beds" with the castle etched into the headboards, plus the Tinker Bell wallpaper border.
I personally love the bedding. It's all florals, but in light brown are images from the iconic attractions at Disneyland. I love it so much that I ended up buying a bag made from it, sewn by Darker Image.


After we got all warmed up, we took the monorail back to the park to watch the fireworks and the snow (!) afterward. That was another tear-jerk moment, to see little Molly's face light up when she saw the snow coming down from the sky. I think all my pictures of that were blurry and extra crummy and probably got deleted. But it's ok because I can still see it in my mind's eye and I still get a little misty thinking of it...

Flashback Friday

Ruckus was a malnourished feral kitten when we first found him. Under our care, he has grown up to be a tub o'lard and quite domesticated. But when he was little, man, he was WILD. It took so long to tame him from his street-cat roots that I can remember having to feed him itsy bitsy portions of food (single bites, basically) at a time because otherwise he'd eat everything in sight and then, of course, get over-full and be sick. I also had to give him medicine that tasted bad (antibiotics) and medicine that tasted good (like liver, or so the vet said. She actually lectured me on NOT trying it myself because it was a strong painkiller, like morphine. As if! It smelled super gross and I am not a morphine addict, lady!) which he also hated because cats don't like taking medicine. For the first month or so after we found him (he had a fractured pelvis and broken femur) I had to hold him in the litterbox so he could go potty because his right leg was too weak to hold his weight. I also had to clean up all the consequential pee on his tail and litter stuck to his legs and bathe him regularly. I also got the fun duty of cutting his nails and cleaning his ears and all the other regular kitty maintenance which made me The Bad Guy.

Right off, he fell in love with Ryan. He'd purr up a storm and hobble on his broken legs just to be near him. Me? Not so much. I don't blame him - he associated me with all the bad stuff (medicine, someone holding you while you poop). So when ever I would spend time with him, he'd just scowl at me. He'd give me this fierce lizard face and I was honestly afraid that we would never bond and that I might never like this cat.

But he was so cute! He had this dark black nose and lips and eyeliner and paws! And the vet said that when he was older, his black nose and paws would fade to red (which they have), which has just made him cuter. And, eventually, we did fall into a better cadence. He started seeing me less as "nurse" and more as "mom" (which, actually, aren't much different) and we started building a relationship. But it was still a good few months before he'd really be sweet to me. He'd like me if Ryan wasn't around, tolerate me if Ryan was. Mostly it was just a mutual regard more than a lovey-dovey relationship.

Which is why I love this picture so much. It's somewhere in late 2000/early 2001 and we are at our first apartment still (whole other Oprah!) and I came home sick from work and fell asleep on the couch. When Ryan came home, he spied this scene and snapped a picture. It was silly and cute, but also kind of a nice moment. It's a visual representation of the fact that my cat started liking me. Enough for him to crawl up on my chest and fall asleep while hugging my neck.

Flashback Friday

It's still a flashback if it didn't happen to me, right?

This is Ryan, maybe age 3?

When Ryan was little, he was obssessed with grilled cheese sandwiches (actually, not much has changed!). Only he heard the word "grilled" as "girl'd" meaning it was girly or belonged to a girl. So he refused to say it. Instead, he'd order a "boy'd" cheese sandwich, which would make everyone giggle (especially waitresses).

He also has another Family Favorite story about his obssession with The Hulk (even then he was a comic nerd!). He'd run around, doing this gorilla-ish pose with his arms bowed in (like this) and would flex and declare "I DA HULK" to everyone. They loved it, of course. Who wouldn't?

So after his long running fixation with The Hulk, grandma and grandpa (or Happy and Papa, in the local parlance) took him to the mall where The Hulk was making a surprise appearance. They didn't tell him why they were going and in his young little peabrain, he was mixed with dread of shopping (what boy isn't?) and hope that he might get a toy. Instead, they turn down an aisle and Papa asks "who's that over there?" and Ryan spies The Hulk, lumbering at the end of the aisle with his green skin glowing and his purple pants clinging on for dear life... and melts. He says that he can remember it well. He wasn't afraid or nervous, he was just overwhelmed with oh my god The Hulk is right there... shopping at this mall and his brain short circuited and his knees went week.

Eventually, he pulled himself together and got to meet The Hulk - live and in person! - and has been a bit of a Hulk freak ever since.*

Flash forward to Christmas 2009, when Kate made him one of the most touching personal gifts ever.

He's actually saving it to wear to a convention with purple pants. Where he hopes to get a wrist-shattering high five from Lou Ferrigno (again).

*Modern day: he's got a Hulk spin-off comic that is "Skaar: Son of Hulk" which, to me, looks so stupid that I can't get past the title. We regularly say "Skaaaaaar!" in a half-pirate, half-Hulk voice that is equally stupid but turns out to be the perfect thing to say when the room is quiet.

Flashback Friday

I saw something today and it made me flashback to the old Pepsi Challenge. Do you remember that campaign? It was a "blind taste test" hosted by Pepsi where participants were given two small sips of soda - one was Pepsi and one was Coke - and they would select which one they preferred. After the answer was given, the contents of the cups were revealed, as was your 'preference.' Of course, there are a jillion things wrong with this type of sample testing, but as it turned out, the taste of Pepsi was overwhelmingly preferred, so Pepsi took their 'Challenge' all over the country.

I remember first encountering it at Wild Rivers waterpark. There were maybe 4 or 5 tables lined up, each with 2 or 3 staffers, waiting to give us kids of Wild Rivers the ultimate challenge! We were so excited to go and try it because the prize wasn't just a can of Pepsi (which was typical elsewhere) but it was a coupon for a soda (presumably Pepsi) that came in a souvenir sippy cup. I have never been much of a Pepsi fan, but let's face it - when you're 12 and you're staring down a coupon for a free soda, you're willing to compromise! So my friends and I went and they all chose Pepsi and got their cups. I, however, failed the challenge.

Usually, these tests tried to influence you toward choosing Pepsi, but in this case I think the free cup promotion was overwhelming the staff, and they were deliberately setting it up for the 'challengers' to fail. Of the two samples, one was warm and flat. The other was cold and tasted freshly opened. I assumed the Coke would be the warm/flat one, but I was wrong. Technically, you weren't supposed to try again, but I snuck back later in the day and did. I psyched myself up for it: the gross one would be Pepsi. So I tasted... and they were the same. Hand to god, those two cups were exactly the same. Both were totally flat, but not warm. I took small tastes back and forth and couldn't decipher a difference. I ended up choosing B and, again, selected Coke.

I wasn't the only one who chose "wrong" - it was happening a lot more now, I could see along the tables. There were only a few people here and there who were walking away with souvenir cups (and free drink refills).

I gave up and went back to enjoying my day of waterslides and chlorine-burned eyeballs. Plus, I'd seen the hassle my friends were having with those cups. You can't take them on the slides, and no one wanted to pay for a locker just to store a cup, so they would stash them in the bushes and pick them up between slides. Such a pain in the neck.

In the end, I walked away happy. Because I did (and do!) honestly prefer the taste of Coke. I'm not so much of a snob that if Pepsi is the only thing available, I won't drink it, but generally in a restaurant or something I will switch to iced tea instead of drinking Pepsi. Yes, there is a difference. So at the end of the day, I felt kind of proud. Like I was some noble brand loyalist, defending the good name of Queen Lady Coca Cola by failing the Pepsi Challenge.

Flashback Friday

My mom's neighbor/friend is a "sweeper" - someone who enters into contests and sweepstakes. And not just a casual drop-your-name-in-the-box-at-Subway kind of player, but a hardcore sweeper. She sets aside a specified amount of time every day to entering contests, both online and by postal mail and has a system, learned through trial and error a few tricks for success. She has some pretty smart strategies for playing and now her winnings act as a second income (she's won a Mini Cooper, trips around the world, every article of clothes or make-up you could ever want).

One of her winnings was from a Big Food Manufacturer, and was for a big party for her and all of her friends. Being the eagle-eyed winner that she is, she noted that the party budget allowed for more than just a backyard BBQ, courtesy of Big Food Manufacturer. So she decided to plan a party for her friends (maybe 100 people? More?) at Disney's Grand Californian Hotel. The budget was so generous that she ordered the most expensive menu available (crab claws, shrimp, filet mignon, etc.), plus booked live musicians, had face painters for the kids, a magician, 2 characture artists, a balloon animal person, goodies for every attendee (we each got a plush Disney character - mine is a Mickey Mouse with jeans and Converse on, too cute!), plus hotel accommodations for all of us. THAT IS A BIG PRIZE!

Of course, a big group event being what it is, there were a lot of people who couldn't make it at the last minute, and so she invited me and Ryan (and told us to bring ALL of our friends).



We were so appreciative just to be invited! It was a really fun and nice party and we had the added bonus of being just steps away from Disneyland. That evening as the festivities started winding down, Ryan and I hopped over to the parks (using our annual passes) for a while and then in the morning, we did the same thing.

This was in 2004, before I got in the habit of carrying my digital camera around with me everywhere, so this is the only picture that I am aware of us from that night - and it's awful! We look sweaty and gross (mainly me). I think my mom took this with a disposable camera. C'est la vie! Since it was a Disney party, I took the opportunity to wear my Jack Skellington lapel pin on my jacket. Also, if you look carefully over my right shoulder (left side of the picture) you can see a Donald Duck stuffed character dressed for Cinco de Mayo with a giant sombrero. I wish I would have taken one of those - they're highly collectible! But I love my Mickey (Ryan got a Pluto dressed as a pirate that I think he gave to one of the kids in our neighborhood). I need to take a picture of him!

Flashback Friday

When I was young, my mom worked for a medical company that specialized in respiratory therapy equipment. She traveled a lot and I always looked forward to the gifts that she'd bring back from across the country. My most prized possession (which I still have) was a Cabbage Patch Kid from an east coast toy store before they were available in California. The commercials had been running non-stop for weeks and I, along with everyone else, was crazed with anticipation and wanted wanted wanted that yellow haired doll on TV.

The yellow haired one was extremely hard to find, but my mom found a "dishwater blonde" doll that I loved (love). I was the first person that I knew to have one and she was my pride and joy: Georgiana Kit is, to this day, one of those things that fills me with immediate happiness just to see. And that was what launched my Cabbage Patch obssession.

Anyway, one weekend my mom had to train her staff on some new equipment and update everyone's CPR certification and my dad was out of town, so I had to tag along. It was lining up to be a long, boring day for me. On our way, we stopped at the grocery store to pick up some snacks and for some reason, they had Cabbage Patch dolls there. And not just dolls: Cabbage Patch TWINS. I'm sure there was some hyperventilation involved, but somewhere during the course of the shopping trip, this set of CPK twins ended up in our cart. I was beyond thrilled.

They were in these funky knitted sweater suits and beanies and were bald. Bald! And one of them had a tooth! A tooth!! I couldn't love them more. They were so precious that I couldn't bring myself to disturb their clothes for weeks, maybe even months.

These guys may be in a box in the garage, but I'm pretty sure that they were bequeathed to a neighborhood kid when I had (supposedly) outgrown them. But Georgiana Kit... she's still here. And she still smells sweet as ever*.

*The original CPK dolls were scented like baby powder, but it didn't really smell like baby powder... it's more like a confectioner's sugar smell. Later they were adapted to a more standard "baby powder" smell (think the smell of lady's baby powder deodorant scent - ick) so Georgiana is a little extra special to me. My cousin swears that the markings on this doll proves that she is the 6th one off the line, but I don't really believe that. But still! She's very dear to me.

Flashback Friday

Does anyone remember these door-to-door pony picture salesmen? I don't. In fact, for years I disputed the fact that these pictures were even me. I mean, c'mon! A door-to-door pony picture salesman?!

But, alas, it is me. In fact, the face that I am making in the first photo is the face that Ryan forces me to make all the time.

When I was young (I'm about 4 or 5 in this photo), I used to "forget" how to smile. I don't know why but whenever I was told to smile, I just couldn't make my face do it. I'd do something with my mouth and teeth that I thought would be smile-like, but this is what it looked like. It was more of a squished, snarky look but to me, it was smiling.

Flashback Friday

Ninth Grade

I think ninth grade is hard for everyone, it's a pretty universal experience, but I had an extra little dose of difficulty when I started ninth grade. Firstly, a few months before, my mom and I had moved in with her boyfriend (DT) and he lived directly in the middle of nowhere (when I say this, I mean literally. If you google map my mom's house, it only shows forest) and 30 miles from all the friends that I had grown up with. Additionally, I instantly inherited a 4 year old sister, who I barely knew and was suddenly living with her father full-time (this was a new arrangement) and sharing a bedroom with me (prior to this, I was an only child, so for 13 years I had my own room, so it was a little strange). It was a very challenging transition in so many ways (I'll keep this as short as possible so that this doesn't turn into a psychiatrist appointment!), and I was extremely nervous about starting a new school where I didn't know anyone and I was having anxiety attacks weeks in advance -- who would I eat lunch with? How would I get home after school? The usual, really. In addition, the school that I would be attending is something like 19 miles from my house, so technically I'm not even supposed to be there, so I worried about that too. DT's mom (PT) lived right near the school (literally, her house was a stone's throw away) so she let us use her address for registration and even let me come over after school, so that I had someplace to go until my parents got off of work and could pick me up. I was nervous about that too, because I didn't know PT and she was at home some days (others she'd be at work) and either way I felt awkward in a stranger's house for 3 hours every day.

And then I decided to cut my hair. I'd worn my hair long for years (practically my whole life) and I felt like starting a new school was an opportunity to reinvent myself. I'd been watching a LOT of Keanu Reeves movies and I kind of liked the look of his hair at the time. It seemed like a style that would work for me and my thick hair. If I knew then what I know now, I'd request an off-the-shoulder length bob with layers up to the ears. If it was 1994, I'd ask for The Rachel. I wanted something sort of along these lines:

(incidentally, looking through Google for pictures reminded me HOW DAMN CUTE KEANU REEVES IS!!!)

What I got was.... well, a bowl haircut. Which was awful. But that's not the worst part! No no no no no!! You see, my mom didn't want me to cut my hair at all. She kept asking me to "at least keep the back long" and I didn't want to do that, so I sat in the chair and said CHOP IT. I should interject here that the hair stylist was PT, DT's mom (my soon-to-be step grandmother). Okay, so I I describe the haircut that I want and I think I even mention Keanu by name (which means nothing to grandmothers of a certain age, BTW), and she goes to town. HOWEVER, she decided to "save" a piece of hair in the back, you know, for my mother who didn't want me to cut my hair at all. When she told me that, I was picturing the Carol Brady flip mullet, which I didn't really want, but she assured me not to worry, not to worry... when it was all said and done, she'd left behind a RAT TAIL. So now I have a bowl haircut with a rat tail. It looked like a coonskin cap.

I cried my eyes out the entire drive home. My mom was apologetic and also a bit of a gigglepuss (I mean, I insisted on cutting my hair and look what happens!) and I was just beside myself. This, of course, is Sunday evening and I start school tomorrow. I am devastated beyond words. Not only is there not time to find another salon to fix this disaster, plus we can't go to another salon, because we'll offend PT who is letting me use her address and even stay at her house in the afternoons. ALSO: PT is home on Mondays (why are salons closed Mondays, anyway?) so she'll be there waiting for me tomorrow. I can't exactly show up with a revised haircut. So my fate is sealed. There is NOTHING that I can do... my mom makes me wait 3 weeks to go get it fixed by another stylist, because at least by then I can claim that I'd "just wanted a trim" and somehow got this whole other style.

Lucky for me, it's not like the first few weeks of school are used for forming impressions of the new kids! Oh wait. On my first day of P.E., one of the "rocker" chicks asked me if I was a little boy or a little girl and maybe I'd wandered into the wrong locker room, and then everyone high fives her. The "rocker" dudes would reminisce about when they used to have rat tails and how awesome they were -- in 5th grade (I mostly tried to hide it in a thin braid, under my shirt). I had only a couple of kids speak nicely to me, and mostly to sympathize with my haircut. Oh! As it turns out, long hair is super "in" at this school. Every. Single. Girl. has long hair, down to her mid-back or longer. Literally, I can remember two girls with short haircuts: one was growing it out after a brain operation and the other was the weird girl who smelled like spoiled milk that no one really wanted to talk to. So, that's where I was on the social strata.

Other things that didn't help: because we were always strapped for cash, I shopped the clearance section of all the stores, so I was wearing all of last season's fashions. This picture is September 1991 which, incidentally, is the season after giant cowl neck sweaters died. No one else had one but me. I wore it once, on the 3rd day of school for this picture, and then never again. I know that there are a lot of kids out there who have the uncool clothes experience, but I was having an extra difficult time adjusting because this school is in a very affluent neighborhood. The kids were dropped off in Mercedes (until they were 16 and bought a BMW of their own) and wore the cutting edge fashions. It was painfully obvious who was sifting through the clearance racks (though, thankfully, I wasn't totally alone in that). My godsend came the next year with grunge music, which made thrift store clothes "cool" and I could finally be myself.

There have to be some good pictures of those days floating around somewhere...

Flashback Friday

October 1977

I am less than a month old - my eyes are still purple* - and my parents are debating what type of Halloween costume I should have. While they mull it over, they start carving jack-o-lanterns and then hey! Look at that! She fits right inside!

Mom, in her infinite craftiness, decides to grab a smaller pumpkin and make me a hat. I don't really like it much and it's too heavy for my young neck to support, but mom makes a show of it anyway and sets up a few trials for the camera. I really don't like the cold pumpkin rind helmet and start to grouch about it right after this picture is taken.

Happy Halloween!

*my eyes eventually turned brownish-orange, but they stayed violet-purple until after my first birthday. Usually babies are born with light eyes (like blue or green) that darken after a couple of weeks (when the pigment in the muscle develops), but for some reason mine didn't. On my birth certificate and early childhood documentation, the eye color says "purple"

Flashback Friday

Easter 1982

In 1982, these were two of my favorite people. My aunt Sharon is one of my mom's younger sisters (part of a twin pair, actually!) and she lived nearby and spent a lot of time hanging out at our house. She was something like 18 when I was born, so she and I had a kind of big sister/little sister bond. She'd let me stay the night at her apartment (cool!) and when she came over to our house, she'd take an interest in making Shrinky Dinks or coloring books. It was pretty awesome. Plus, she had cool friends and boyfriends (except Bret who didn't tolerate me calling him "barrette") and drove an awesome VW bug and would let me roll my window all the way down and sing at the top of my lungs. She'd also rent scary movies and we'd make a nest on her living room floor and watch them in the dark and then fall asleep there together in a pile. It was, in every way, extremely rad.

My cousin Eric (who is not related to Sharon, he's from my dad's side of the family) is wisely hiding his bowl haircut under that Dodgers helmet. He is a handful of years older than me - just enough to be totally awesome. I worshipped everything that he did. At this time, he was into breakdancing and would totally bring his giant piece of cardboard everywhere with him which is why I am mimicking his awesome Breaker pose. He was also really good at baseball (and ended up playing all through school and high school) and I was so proud to go to his games which were held in stadiums (!) and not just the crummy fields at the park like my other friends' little league games. I absolutely idolized him and I owe him an incredible amount of gratitude. I learned from his mistakes (ex: if you earn $5000 on a house party, pay your neighbors not to tell your parents) and emulated his musical tastes. And I have to say, he was pretty damn gracious about having a tagalong girl cousin. Every single one of my friends fell in love with him (because he paid attention to us!) and I'd call him every. single. Sunday to invite him to go rollerskating with us (too bad he was always busy!). He even played along when I told some of my friends that he was my brother. THAT is devotion, folks.

Flashback Friday

September, 1977

When I was born, my mother was exhausted, the house had strange louvered windows and horrible curtains, and my dad thought he was black*.


*he is very tan in this picture, because it is the end of summer. But he is, unfortunately, not a black man.

Flashback Friday

Inspired by Giggly Mama (Shannon), I am now instituting Flashback Fridays!

We start with me at age 6 or 7 in 1984. My family took a day trip to Sea World in San Diego, CA which is a place still very dear to my heart. Looking back through some of these pictures, I can't help but think about how much has changed there over the years!

The flamingos are still there, thankfully, but my favorite part, the Pearl Divers, is now gone. Ah well, times change! Here I am, posing in front of the flamingo pond (dig the retro Shamu on the bag!) in my overall stretch pants - what? OH YES! Those are stretch pants you're looking at folks! Although they weren't ultra tight (we called them "baggies") and they had these awesome overall straps on them. Man, I am awesome. Underneath is my WHAM! t-shirt that one of my mom's coworkers got for me at the concert. "Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go" was one of my favorite songs at the time and I am pretty sure that I wore this shirt at least once a week until poor George Michael's face faded from washing.

There used to be wandering characters walking around Sea World. What purpose they served, I cannot say. This guy was dressed like a vampire but was actually a mime. He indicated that I should come pose for a picture with him - which I was reluctant to do - and just before my dad snapped the picture, he swooped me into his arms and then let me drop over his right arm, so that I was dangling. I erupted into a fit of laughter (which is why my face are covering my hands) and as soon as the shutter clicked, I scrambled to get away from the crazy Dracula mime. I put my hands flat on the ground and did a back walk-over (hey! check out my gymnastics terminology!) and ran away. I was laughing, but was kind of weirded out.