Tag Archives: memories

September 2001: A Glimpse Into My Life

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You’ll have to excuse me, but this summer has been a freak show of chaos and if it weren’t for the expiration date on my mozzarella, I would have had no clue that we were approaching the 10 year anniversary of September 11, 2001. I know lately I’ve put on my introspective alter ego and you’re all, “What the crap – where am I?”  Well, I’ve got bad news. It’s not gettin any better today. Because how crass would it be of me to write about my newest Facebook stalker or my dad’s latest embarrassment story on the upcoming anniversary of such a horrendous day?

Pretty crass. And even I’m not that crass.

So I got to thinking about 9/11/01 and where I was. Not just physically, but in my life. It was my first year of college and I was curling my hair in my box of a bedroom (and most likely accidentally burning my forehead) while my mom was making pancakes. Sidenote: my mom’s pancakes might be one reason why I’ll never leave the Midwest. At that time, just one tower had been hit and I headed off to my college class… something about morals and ethical gray areas. Class was cancelled but we all sat there glued to the TV, completely awestruck. As I got in my car to go home and a Lifehouse song came on the radio, I found myself looking around me, as if something was going to blow up in front of my face. It was a weird feeling.

As for the rest of my life, it was all very blank. I was dating one of the best men I’ve ever met to this day, and yet, I would soon discover that timing really is everything. I had yet to experience that nauseating feeling in your stomach when someone tells you that they just don’t want you anymore. Or even worse, when they do something that proves they don’t.

My eyebrows were tragic. But not as tragic as my dark lipstick. Or my Orange County tan. I had yet to experience a good kiss. The kind that makes you forget where you are.

I had plans of settling down at 24, kids by 27 and hanging around the house with a husband who made me laugh. Assuming, of course, I would have the same friends by then and we would all have dinner parties together and our kids would grow up to be besties. I’ve never been so entirely wrong about anything in my life, aside from those eyebrows. And using the term “bestie.”

I hadn’t seen first hand how drugs could destroy someone, or, how watching it happen could destroy me. I had never boarded a plane, much less flown to Europe to live. I was fearful of almost everything, yet slightly more optimistic than I am today.

I loved my parents just as much as I do now. That kind of love does not diminish with time.

I had yet to discover what it was I would do with my life. And even three years from then, when I was supposed to have it all figured out, I still wouldn’t. I didn’t understand the mental toll of working 40 hours a week at a job that made me want to breathe in the exhaust from my sweet action Saturn and how it would change my life when I lost it unexpectedly. I never thought in a million years that I would actually be paid for writing down the words that had been up to that point a nuisance, merely adding to my Insomnia. And I had never heard of Radiohead. Or boxed wine.

Six months prior, everyone in my graduating class had picked me as the first to get married. They should have known better than to make bets on me.

I had never lived anywhere but my parents house and was screaming for independence. Little did I know, as soon as I got a taste it would intoxicate me, so much so that it would cause me to run away from anything that threatened it.

Ten years. Wow. Maybe I’d go back.

Maybe I wouldn’t.

I don’t suppose it matters though, now does it?

 So tell me, where were you ten years ago?

I have returned to blogging over at Celery and the City where I write about clean eating, healthy living and post allergy and gluten free recipes!

My So-Called Life: If I Could Go Back

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With the addition of Netflix into one’s household comes a whole lot of baggage.

Like, say, for instance, the fact that I’m re-watching the entire series of My So-Called Life and it’s bringing up a lot of tortured memories. Like how much I’m still in unrequited love with Jordan Catalano and secretly hoping we’ll run into each other in the boiler room. And how every time he leans up against a locker I still get all sorts of excited. And how I was even more awkward acting and looking in real life than Claire Danes or her character Angela ever tried to be.

So much plaid.

Then, there are, as pieces of fallen confetti, those random, amazing memories and firsts that can only high school can offer. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss those days – especially when I wake up to a stack of bills and grown-up problems, that seem to increase with complexity by the hour.

All of this has left me feeling nostalgic,and also wondering about things I would have done differently. You know, cus hindsight is 20/20 or some crap like that, right?

Well, I spose I can come up with a few. I’ll limit it just to high school – otherwise we’ll be here until 2012 when we all die. [Names may or may not be changed, just to make it more annoying for my friends who are going to dissect this.]

1. I would have actually raised my hand to answer questions in grade school as opposed to staring at the puke-stained carpet cus I was too shy to talk, while listening to Johnny s-s-spit out the answer already – which was always incorrect. I partially blame Johnny for my teeth-grinding habit.

2. I would have told Jack that I fell in love with him the very first day of 2nd grade when he picked me to be his wife during The Farmer in the Dell. Instead, we passive aggressively flirted with each other until we graduated – without ever admitting we had feelings – except it was no secret to anyone, but us.

3. I wouldn’t have let that creeptown Ben steal my first kiss, thus lumping me in with almost every girl in my school – including my best friend. How whack is THAT? Rite of passage, I guess.

4. I would have told that Susie [definitely a fake name – isn’t Susie always a fake name?] girl to back off, shut up, and mind her own business because she was nothing but a blond-haired, big-mouthed ball of meanness! And if she tried to spread one more rumor about me than I would yank her badly -box-bleached platinum hair out by the ever-loving roots.

5. I would have never been a cheerleader or rolled my eyes at my amazing parents.

6. I would have never driven to the mall that Friday night in a state of sheer devastation – against my mother’s wishes. She’s like the Nostradamus of mothers. Almost lost my life that night and my poor broken head will never be the same.

7. Ditto on #4 to about twelve other girls.

8. No, I still wouldn’t have gotten a class ring. I actually made the right choice the first time.

9. But I would have insisted on Senior picture redos at any cost.

10. I would have started plucking my eyebrows a lot sooner, tanning a lot later, and highlighting my hair a quarter to never.

So, my lovelies, would you have done anything differently?

Wondering where I went? I have returned to blogging over at my whole foods blog Celery and the City, where we live so clean it’s like your insides took a bath.

It’s A Good Thing My Mom Doesn’t Know What A Computer Is

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You may or may not have noticed that I write about my dad on here quite a bit. Everything from his complete and inexcusable ridiculousness to how he’s the most amazing person I’ve ever met. But, here’s the thing: my mom is just as cool.

Isn’t that just a disgusting problem to have?

In the middle of trying to scan these pictures, my printer ran out of ink and I had to go buy more just so my scanner would shut up and do it’s job. Can I just get a moment of appreciation for the great lengths I take to make this blog an aesthetically pleasing experience for you?

What’s that? You could care less?  Ugh.

So, my mother. Some might say she is protective. I might say she’s nuts. But after losing her 18 yr-old brother to a fluke motorcycle accident and almost losing both her children in nearly fatal car accidents, I cut her some slack.

In her early thirties, my mom finally escaped what turned out to be an abusive, adulterous marriage with her high school sweetheart and she married my dad. From then on, she gave up any personal aspirations in order to dedicate herself to my brother and I. She homeschooled me until 1st grade because she didn’t want me to leave. When I was young, she would play with my hair while telling me stories she made up about a magical fox. She always dreamt of writing children’s books.

She was the type of mom that had cupcakes waiting after school. She never had a ‘don’t spoil your dinner’ rule because life is just too short. She told me every day how beautiful I was even when my face was one giant zit and I accidentally came home with orangey-blonde-skunk-stripe highlights in my hair (I cried myself to sleep for a week). She taught me how to respect myself and how confidence is the key to just about everything. In my teen years, she made me call her the minute I got in my car so that she could pinpoint where I was in case my car broke down and I got kidnapped by a rapist. She never slept until I walked in the door – even if it was 4am – then we’d watch The Bachelor, or Entertainment Tonight. She’s not into jewlery, or vacations, or nice clothes – and she is undoubtedly the hardest person to buy for.

Now that her kids have left, my mom spends the majority of her time directing a tutoring/mentoring club for at-risk and underprivileged children. She always said that if she could have gone to college she’d be a teacher. And I guess, now, she sort of is.

But, even though I’m almost 30, she still calls me every night. She still makes me giant chocolate cupcakes and home made snack mix whenever she comes over. She still tells me how beautiful I am. When I was depressed, she sent me a card in the mail every day for three months – just to say she loved me.

And no matter how many times I have failed at all my different jobs and creative endeavors, no matter how many relationships I screwed up, she never – ever – has said that she is anything less than completely proud of me for who I am and what I’ve done, the mistakes I’ve made and how they’ve molded me. She’s always been right there, in the front row, picking up the pieces.

Her paranoia and pessimism have rubbed off on me a little. But so has her rock solid confidence, her compassion, her ability to laugh at nothing, and her baking skills.

So, tell me about your mom.

 

Wondering where I went? I have returned to blogging over at my whole foods blog Celery and the City, where we live so clean it’s like your insides took a bath.

I’m In A Relationship With Life, And It’s Complicated

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So what is the secret, exactly?

And please refrain from referring me to the best-selling book, Secret, as highly endorsed by Oprah. I don’t care much for self-help books. Or Oprah. Or tube tops. And more obvious things like Ranch dressing and humidity.

I’d say the majority of my life I’ve been what you might call “a planner.” And no, not like that. I haven’t had my wedding dress picked out since 7th grade, but at the same time I try to make sensible, well-thought out decisions. And I own a label maker. Of course, this is also coming from the person who gave her family 2 weeks notice that she was moving to London, and who also started a retail store with no prior retail or business experience. So if I were you, I’d take whatever I say with a grain of salt. Perhaps, several.

Maybe like even one of those cute little mini-shakers from Crate and Barrel.

One of my favorite movie lines is from Dan In Real Life when Steve Carrell says, “Instead of telling your young people to plan ahead, we should tell them to plan to be surprised.”

If you think about it, life is nothing, but a series of surprises. Rarely have I heard anyone say, “Why yes, my life has turned out most beautifully, exactly as I expected it would.” Both the best and worst things in life always blindside you on some idle Tuesday.

This is especially disturbing news for someone such as myself, who hates surprises. I didn’t even like Happy Meals as a kid. Or the DumDums with the big question mark on them. Screw that.

I think how each of us defines a happy and fulfilling life is continually changing. I wrote a ridiculously honest post a couple months ago about broken dreams – all of the different ways I had envisioned my life to be at certain milestones, and the harsh contrast of reality.

So is it dangerous to dream?

Is our happiness measured by the achievement of dreams, or plans? Or is the destruction of dreams the only way we truly live and grow? Are they, in fact, the only thing that forces us to change? If left to our own demise, who of us would really seek change? Rarely, is it our idea to venture outside of what is comfortable.

And if broken dreams are inevitable, how do we maintain happiness amid the constant challenge of rebuilding? I don’t know.

I’ve never known.

Cus, lately, I wish my biggest dream was just to build a sandcastle on the beach. With my mom.

Where Beer Flows Like Boxed Wine

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It’s no wonder I don’t make any sense. I’m a combination of two polar opposites, who by all rights, should never have met much less married.   My mother came from a Nazi-strict household where she wasn’t allowed to see movies or go to football games, for fear she would encounter Satan himself. She also wasn’t allowed to celebrate Christmas which explains why we have presents piled from the floor to the ceiling every Dec. 24 and a Christmas tree in every room of the house – including bathrooms.  Except the bathrooms are small and the only space is above the toilet… and that can get prickly.

My father, on the other hand, had no parental guidance, unless you’re including alcoholics.  He took off when he was 18, with nothing but $60 bucks and a dream in his pocket. That dream, consisted entirely, of doing nothing.

For years, my hippie father hitchhiked across the country, attending approximately 4 different colleges and surviving on randomness and sheer luck.  For awhile he slept on a beach in Destin (no, no- not in a house, on the actual beach), working part time on a fishing boat – until he discovered he was very prone to seasickness.  Then he camped out in the Rocky mountains, where he was told it was perfectly fine to drink “the fresh spring water.”  But that person had been grossly mistaken.  So he headed out West.

Me: So, whippie-dad2here did you stay when you were traveling?

Dad: With whomever took us in.  One time I stayed at the Cadillac Motel for a buck twenty-five.

Me: Cadillac Motel? Was it decorated with car memorabilia or something?

Dad:  Not exactly.  It was an open field with a bunch of old Cadillacs up on cinder blocks.  With a mattress inside.

Eventually, he made his way out to San Francisco where his older brother awaited.  They thought it was a great idea to start a moving business called “We Merry Movers,” for which they had no insurance.

Dad: One time, we had this expensive leather couch and we were taking it down the stairs and it caught on something and sliced open the entire back.

Me:  So, what happened?

Dad: We set that side against the wall and started a different business.

my-momThen for a while, my dad went to school at Illinois State University, where he lived in a farmhouse with five other guys, out in the middle of a cornfield.

Me: So that house must have been crazy.

Dad:  All we did was drink until there wasn’t anything else to drink.  One of the guys worked at a liquor store and stole booze so he could resell it and pay the rent.  It was like a black hole. We were in the middle of nowhere and I couldn’t even save enough gas money to drive to the next town.

Me: That house must have been filthy.

Dad:  Yea, we cleaned our floor about once a year….   in beer.

Finally, my dad would make his way back home, where he played in a band and started to get his life together.   One snowy night, my mother, a shy and gorgeous woman, happened to be dragged out to a party where they were playing.

Me: So, how on earth did you meet someone like mom?

Dad:   We were at this party.  I was walking by the front door, when it opened and your mother tripped on a pile of snow and fell through.  I went to help her up and all I could think was, “This woman is hot.  I don’t know anything about her…but I’ll figure out a way to love her.”

Me: So …?

Dad: So as she was leaving, I ran out and wrote my number in the sleet on her windshield.  That probably wasn’t the best idea, considering her defrost was on.  A year later we got married on my birthday.  You know, that way I would always remember the date.

Needless to say, by my mother’s mesmerizing powers of persuasion and the grace of God, my father changed his ways.  And I couldn’t have custom built a better set of parents.  I adore them.

…But that doesn’t mean I still can’t blame all my issues on you.

Love ya!

p.s sorry about stealing those pictures and broadcasting them on the internet.  you guys still don’t even know what a blog is right?  so we still cool, right?

Your Daily Dose Of Paranoia

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This is a snapshot of my life on any given day.  …Piles of unopened mail.  …30 different notepads with in-decipherable scribbles of random thoughts that I’ve written down when I was supposed to be hanging out with someone.  After Easter, the Cadbury chocolate bar could be easily substituted for Reeses or anything but Milk Duds.  …Vitamins I’ll stare at all day with every good intention, but won’t ever get up to refill my water so I can actually take them.

So the other night, my stomach started hurting really, REALLY bad.  I was perplexed.  I stared over at the pile of randomness on my desk, searching for clues, when it hit me. I just polished off an entire bowl of pistachios.  Wait… wasn’t there a national recall on pistachios last week because they were infected with Salmonella?  Crap.

It’s not my fault.  My mom calls me every night and runs down a new list of things I should be paranoid of. Example of our weekly conversations:

MONDAY NIGHT

Mom: Don’t go to Target.

Me: Like,  ever?

Mom: Well, some girl got her purse stolen last night.  I guess there are these guys that hang around the parking lot and they ask if they can borrow your phone or something then they rob you.

Me: You think I would fall for that? Do you forget that I lived in London all by myself?

Mom:  I’m just saying.  It’s not safe these days for a girl to go out on her own after dark.  I’d just prefer if you were with someone. Will you just tell me you’ll always be with someone?

Me:  Of course. My friends are always available when I need to pick up Q-tips and some cereal on a Friday night.

Mom:  Mmm, cereal. That sounds good. I think I’m gonna have a bowl.

TUESDAY NIGHT

Mom:  Hey what are you doing?

Me: I’m running errands.

Mom: You aren’t at Walmart are you?   If you are, leave.

Me:  Wait, what?

Mom:  Did you hear about what’s happening at WALMART?!?

Me:  Sigh.  No… but I’m not too worried cus you’re probably gonna tell me.

Mom:  Well, there’s gonna be some gang initiation and they are supposed to shoot three girls.  So I wouldn’t go there for at least a couple weeks.  Oh, and avoid pistachios cus they’re all infected with Salmonella. Oh, did you see American Idol tonight? That Adam Lambert is my favorite, do you think he’s gay?

WEDNESDAY NIGHT

Mom:  What are you doing?

Me: Writing.

Mom:  I figured.  ….Well, you know, you just couldn’t pay me to fly anywhere these days.  Did you see that 20/20 where the spies got onto the planes with knives and tear gas?

Me:  But mom, you haven’t flown since 1969 cus you’re terrified of it.  It has nothing to do with Terrorism, you’re just trying to get the point across that I shouldn’t fly.

Mom: NO I’M NOT.  But I wouldn’t advise it.  So whatcha writing about?

So somewhere in the shuffle of more pressing concerns, the pistachio crisis was forgotten.   That combined with the fact that they are just so so delicious.

 I didn’t stand a chance.

Holy Crapballs, That Was A Person

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Every single time I get into my car, first of all, I check for flooding (yes, my car floor fills with water when it rains) and second of all, I prepare myself for the possibility that I will commit involuntary manslaughter at some point.   I might be the WORST driver in this city.  Maybe even the tri-state area.  Well, at least the small radius from my house to Ohio.  Friends: I’m extending an invitation for you to leave a comment stating proof of this fact if you’d like.  (If you can’t focus cus you’re still stuck on that flooding car thing, I have no clue where the water comes from, why it’s there, or how to make it stop.)  (Friends: please note that invitation expires after this post.)

So the other day, I’m driving with one of my friends and this conversation takes place:

Friend: Holy crapballs, that was a person.

Me: Where? 

Friend: Behind us.  Standing in shock cus they almost died.  Did you not see them or what?

Me:  No.  I was looking for a sweet parking spot so you won’t have to walk in the rain.  

Friend:  How about I’ll be happy to walk in the rain in exchange for not assisting in murder.

Me: You say that now, but you’ll be singing a different tune when your hair starts to frizz.

Friend: Why do I continue to go places with you.

Me: Okay.  Do I not warn you every time you get in this car of my horrible driving skills and that you’re putting your life at risk?

Friend: Yes, you do.  But I…

Me:  And do I not always make it a fun experience?

Friend: I guess.  But you don’t obey any traffic laws, and…

Me: And do you not feel more alive and appreciative of your life after you get out of the car?  Is the sun, not a bit brighter?  The grass, a bit browner? 

Friend:  Definitely. more. appreciative.

Me: So can you stop already with the melodramatic whine fest.  I told you I haven’t gotten into an accident since I was 16.

Friend:  But you have a HOLE IN YOUR HEAD because of that accident.

Me:  That’s correct.  And I’m definately more appreciative of my head now.

Look, Do You Want To Die?

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I’m sure you’d never guess it now, but I was a strange child. I grew up in the country so my days consisted of collecting caterpillars, creating my own farmer’s market,  and attempting to build tree forts that definitely endangered the safety of not only my life but also of my one neighbor friend that actually lived on my dead end street.  Of course, he was a boy so that didn’t help my quest for girlishness.  We were like Forrest and Jenny -except we never ended up dating.  Or having an illegitimate child.  Or getting AIDS.

My other neighbor, Bill, was a farmer so we’d play around on his tractors and then go back to his house where it always smelled like catfish and cigarettes. (they thought they still lived in Mississippi)  He and his wife were typical farmers,  missing a couple teeth and living on black coffee.  I don’t think I owned one single doll except for the cabbage patch my grandma bought me.  And I’m quite sure I threw up on that.

A nerd right from the get-go, I would gravitate to the office supplies aisle every time we stepped foot in a store.   In the picture you will see that I’m sitting in an actual school desk – one of the most amazing purchases my mom has ever made for me.  Still.   And as you’ll see from the picture, I’d sit and write in my closet for HOURS and HOURS.  Even from a young age, it was all I wanted to do.  I think if most people would think back on their childhood, they’d discover that their interests haven’t changed that much. Aside from picking their nose and stuff.

chris-brit

Speaking of my one childhood neighbor, do any of you remember a period of  about 1-2 years where you were TERRIFIED OF ALIENS???!? Cus, it’s very vivid in my mind. I don’t know what was up, but there was some kind of alien frenzy going on during my younger years.  It was all over the talk shows – people talking about being abducted and what not.  Anytime I was outside I’d keep a close watch on the sky and strange noises.  Of course, I was always protective of my friends even back then.  One time, I was playing softball with my neighbor and his brother.  There must have been a bunch of planes nearby, but as soon as I heard the noises, I immediately took action:

me:  STOP WHAT YOU’RE DOING!!!

boys:  What? Why?

me:  GET IN THE GARAGE!!!!!

boys:  the garage?  but we’re in the middle of a ….

me: JUST DO IT!  DON’T ASK QUESTIONS!

boys:  but…. I …

me:  LOOK, DO YOU WANT TO DIE?!

Back When I Was A Gang Member

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culottesImagine if you will,  a young lady full of promise, who always got A’s on her report card.   The very thought of seeing disappointment on her parent’s faces prompted her to never disobey their rules.  She played quietly, said “thank you,” and helped her mother, (who had her dishwasher ripped out of the kitchen in order to create more cupboard space) every night with the dishes.   She attended a ridiculously strict Baptist school for fifteen years, where she was forced to wear culottes and brainwashed to believe that pants were evil.

<————- (if you can’t pronounce culottes [koo-lots], I don’t blame you, considering most of the world has no reason to ever say that word) 

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