A Little Retro Fun

One of my greatest memories is the time I spent at the rollerskating rink as a child. My uncle owned a limousine service, so he would often ferry my cousins, my sister and me to Skating Plus in style. We felt like celebrities. I spent hours skating around in circles under the glistening disco ball, the pink wheels of my barbie skates squealing in time to the latest hits by TLC, The Real McCoy and Michael Jackson.
The hours passed like minutes, and before long, a familiar announcement came over the loudspeaker.

"Ladies, your limousine has arrived. Please make your way to the exit."

All through my childhood, the rollerskating rink always made for a perfect Sunday afternoon.


These days, my idea of a perfect Sunday afternoon is a little different. Usually it involves at least two hours passed out on the couch with the television on. Last weekend, however, in a moment of nostalgia-inspired spontaneity, I announced to my husband that I was craving a little time on the rink.

"Sure, Babe!", he replied enthusiastically. "Oh, and by the way, I'm awesome at skating!"

He wasn't kidding. Time had not had the same cruel effects on his skating ability that it had had on mine. I attribute this to the fact that Jeff has always been tall and thin, whereas my proportions have changed significantly since age ten. Jeff could hardly suppress his amusement as I wobbled, teetered, and fumbled awkwardly though the obstacle course of six-year-olds. I used to be so good at this! My husband immensely enjoys any activity that allows him the opportunity to show me up. He whizzed gracefully past me, the picture of perfect coordination.

Soon after our arrival, a delightfully effeminate young gentleman announced that it was "like totally time to, like, move to the thenter of the rink and, like, form a thircle!"

"Finally, " I thought, "a chance to get a Diet Coke and sit down!"

But Jeff had other plans. He grabbed me by the hand and drug me into the circle with all the little kids.

"Come on, Babe! Who doesn't love the Hokey Pokey?," he teased.

"ME!"

The music began and with extreme reluctance, I did my best to "shake it all about". Now I know why Jeff loves the Hokey Pokey so much. To him, watching me try to dance in skates is definitely "What its all about".

All in all, our afternoon of retro fun hit the spot.

In summation:

Pairs of brightly colored rental skates: 2
Six-year-olds nearly killed: 4
Times I fell on my butt: 2
Blisters: 0
Licorice Ropes consumed: 1
Excellent Sunday afternoons: 1

How Jeff Unwinds: Part 3

Because there's nothing more relaxing than a massage chair, an old issue of US Weekly, and the soothing aroma of Acetone. In truth, his feet are so big and nasty (size 15!), he needs professional help.

How I Found Love on South Union

"Becky, don't you drive a white Ford Explorer?", Seth asked with concern as I emerged from the church sanctuary on Sunday morning.

"Uh, Yeah. Why?"

"One of your windows is smashed in."

I hurried across the parking lot to see for myself. Sure enough, there was glass all over the ground and in the back seat, and the rear passenger side window was gone. Nothing was missing from the car, although I can't imagine what anyone would want with my fishing tackle, bowling ball, half dozen empty Diet Dr. Pepper cans, a waffle iron, and an old crumpled Thomas Guide.


Theories as to how/why my window was smashed:

• Disgruntled worshipper who didn't like the music
  
• Jealous Ex


• Mischievous squirrels


• Auto glass repair shop trying to create more business


• Mob hit


• Suicidal bird
  
• Hormonal pregnant lady with a pick ax


• Meteor


• Stray bullet


• Aliens
  

Whatever it was, I can rest in the knowledge that, from now on, Seth has volunteered to sit in a lawn chair on the roof of the church with a case of PBR and guard the parking lot with his beloved shotgun, Ol' Bessie. Vandals Beware!!!

Now the problem with living in the ghetto is that I don't have a garage. If I park my car on the street with a missing window, someone WILL break in, especially for empty cans. Fortunately, Jeff's aunt and uncle were kind enough to let me park poor Dora (yes, my car has a name) in their garage overnight.

The next day I began the grueling process of trying to find a cheap window replacement for my thirteen-year-old car. The lowest quote I could find was $459.00 and they couldn't install it until Friday! Cardboard and duct tape were starting to look better and better.

I decided to get one last quote from Lowest Price Auto Glass, a locally-owned hole-in-the-wall (literally) on the shady side of town.

The owner's name is Jimmy, and he is my hero! He did the job that day with a salvaged window for $110 and saved me $350 (that's a lot of shoes!). The service was friendly, professional, and FAST. Part of me wants to grab my tire iron and go nuts just so I'll have a reason to go back. If you EVER need ANY glass work done on your vehicle, go see Jimmy. Tell him the white girl sent you.

Lowest Price Auto Glass 836*0964 1945 S. Union Ave.

Will Not Work for Food, However...

This guy won my vote for best panhandler, and $1.52 in dimes, nickels, and pennies as I screamed, "Hey, Asshole! Let me take your picture!"

One Pint Closer to Freedom

I was eleven years old. I remember the anxiety I felt on the car ride to the Kaiser Permanente office. I remember my mom checking me in at the counter, and the way the receptionist looked at me with pity as my mother uttered the words, "Tetanus Shot". My shoulder throbbed in anticipation.

In addition to my mother it took two nurses and a doctor to hold me down while they inserted the needle. I screamed and thrashed like a cat in a bathtub, but it was to no avail. My time in that doctor's office was short, but it left a lasting impression on me. The memory of that needle has continued to haunt me well into adulthood.

For example:

• I dropped out of school at CSUB because they required me to get vaccinated for Hepatitis B before I could register for my second semester.


• I hear that there are needles involved in the whole pregnancy process. Hence, no children.


• I've always wanted to work with children in Africa, but I was told I'd have to be vaccinated before I could go. So I'm still here.

As you can see, my fear of needles is sort of crippling my ability to move on with life. I realized this a while ago, but hadn't done anything about it...UNTIL TODAY. Today I decided to take a big girl pill and face my ultimate fear.

I work at a high school, and the Houchin Blood Bank bus makes regular visits here so that staff and older students can donate blood. I'm not sure why I felt the need to donate blood. Sometimes when a big decision is spontaneous, it makes it easier for me. No time to get worked up.

I filled out the questionnaire.

No, I have not had sex for money or drugs.

No, I have not had sex with any gay men.

No, I have not shared needles or used drugs for recreation.

No, I am not donating blood to receive a free AIDS test.

Next, they took my blood pressure(90/52), checked my pulse(70bpm), took my temperature(97.4), and weighed me(you wish).

I knew it was coming, and the anxiety was almost overwhelming...the finger prick to check my iron levels. I can distinctly remember passing out in Biology class in high school during the blood type lab. I pricked my finger, saw my blood, and the world went black. So when the nurse pricked my finger today, I feared the worst. It didn't hurt too much, but once the red liquid came oozing out of my finger tip, I knew I was done for. My head began to spin, and my vision clouded up. When I woke up, I was laying on the floor with my legs up. I was covered in ice packs.

"You don't have to do this.", the nurse assured me.

"I've come this far!", I protested, "Just let me spend a little time in my happy place. I can do this!"

Ten minutes later, I felt much better, albeit colder. I convinced the head nurse to let me proceed and headed nervously(free t-shirt, pizza coupon, and bag of peanuts in hand) to the donation bus.

I prayed the whole way.

"Jesus, please don't let me pass out. Jesus, please don't let the needle hurt!" Jesus was probably up in Heaven laughing at what a wuss I was being.

I boarded the bus, and met with the phlebotomist. (Yes, that is what the needle-pokey people are called.) She was very sweet and did her best not to slap me while I winced and moaned and tensed, and forgot to breathe. Throughout the whole process, she kept my arm covered with a sheet, so I didn't see a drop of my own blood.

Ten agonizing minutes later, I was done. I was one pint lighter and sporting a super-cool purple bandage on my right arm. As I sat there, sipping my tiny can of apple juice, I felt proud. I had faced my greatest fear and won. I have no immediate plans for college, pregnancy, or trips overseas, but I do have another appointment to donate in eight weeks. Slowly and surely, I'm working my way through.

Why is She Rolling Her Eyes...Again!?!

Date Night: Attack of the Flaming Cheese

It was a fun and interesting night tonight. Jeff and I found ourselves, for the first time in weeks, with free time, energy, and extra money all at the same time. Usually by Friday we're both so exhausted that we just throw on our pjs, order in, and stare blankly at the TV til we fall asleep on the couch. Tonight, however, inspired by my newly purchased yellow strappy sandals, I decided we should hit the town.

Jeff really wanted to see the movie "Date Night", so we got all dolled up and headed to the 7:40 showing at the Maya (which beats the pants of Edwards Cinema any day!). Since it only came out today, I'll assume that most people haven't seen it yet. I don't want to spoil anything for you, but this is one of the funniest and best movies I've ever seen. Tina Fey and Steve Carell played the most believable, adorable, hysterical married couple I have ever seen on film. The guy behind me in the theater was laughing to hard he kept spitting popcorn at the back of my head.



When the movie was over, we decided that, even though our stomachs ached from laughing, we had better eat dinner, so we headed to Goose Loonies. Our waitress set herself on fire. I'm not kidding. Jeff ordered Saganaki, or as he calls it, "The Flaming Cheese". So our server brought out the cheese, and the shot of 200 proof alcohol, and the matches. She had curly hair full of highly flammable stying products. You do the math. To make matters worse, I couldn't stop laughing. Even before Jeff threw his water on the poor girl, I was nearly on the floor. I told Jeff he shouldn't have ordered me that Long Island Iced Tea.

After a delicious dinner, we left a 50% tip for our poor charred server, and headed home. We were both so exhausted from laughing all night that we changed into our pjs, and sat on the couch staring at the the TV until we both passed out.

Happy Easter!

Marshmallows, Dead Pets, and Smoke Inhalation

Jeff and I spent the better part of our evening playing musical chairs around a fire pit with some friends this evening. Every time the wind changed, we hurried, plastic patio chairs in hand, eyes stinging, to get upwind of the smoke. According to Monica, "Smoke follows beauty...and Bryce." In a frenzied marshmallow-sugar-high state, we somehow got on the subject of deceased pets.

Daniel's Story

A friend who lived in Chicago was house sitting for a family. While the family was out of town, their dog died, so she decided that she had better take it to the vet. She put the small dog's body into a duffel bag and boarded the subway en route to the vet's office.

While riding the subway, a good-looking young man started flirting with the girl, and in the midst of conversation, he casually asked what was in her bag. Not wanting to alarm him, she replied simply, "My laptop". Not soon after that, she arrived at her stop, and the young man exited with her. As soon as they reached the street, he punched her in the stomach, stole her bag, and ran off. How unsettling... and hysterical is that?

Beth's Story

A young single man moved into a new neighborhood. In an attempt to endear himself to his new neighbors, he got a puppy. His next door neighbor had, among her many pets, several rare and expensive rabbits (the kind they make angora sweaters from). One afternoon, the young man came home from work to find his puppy playing happily in the back yard with one of the rabbits. The dog had dug a hole under the fence and was now tossing the lifeless muddy little rabbit body in the air and chasing it.

Horrified, the man took the poor rodent's body inside, shampooed it, dried it, and groomed it. Then he climbed back into the neighbor's yard and replaced the rabbit in it's cage, hoping the neighbors would assume it had died of natural causes. Then he filled the hole between the yards and waited. A couple of days went by with no words from the neighbors, and he started to think his plan might have worked. Then, on the third day, there was a knock at the door.

This is what his neighbor said: "Hello, I noticed that you have a puppy, so I thought I should let you know. We have a seriously sick person living on the block. four days ago, one of my rabbits died. We buried him in the back yard, and someone dug him up, washed his body, and put him back in his cage."

The man never did tell her the truth.


I thought these stories were too good to not share. Thanks to my friends for the fantastic blog material.

How Jeff Unwinds: Part 2

Hammock in the mountains - check

Obnoxious parody American History textbook - check

Freshly baked Brownie - check

Cozy down blanket - check

He just needs a Snuggie!