Tall Tales and the Number 7


The Truth.

Refraining from Lies, Fibs, Tall Tales, Exaggerations.

Where on earth did lying come from I often wonder? I wonder how human beings got into saying the opposite of what was true? Whoever brought into existence the lie was setting us all up for failure, you see. Now we have to wear clothes we don’t want to be wearing, smile when we don’t want to be smiling, tell people they look good when they look bad, say we like a disgusting plate of Green Eggs and Ham when in reality we will not eat them on a bus, on a train, in the rain, with a cat, or while wearing a hat. And by this very belief, society lies again. They lie by telling us we have to lie to keep up, to be in line with the status quo, and to fit in. “Fake it til’ you make it,” or how about this one when you’re getting your photo taken, “SAY CHEESE!”

I’m not bashing the land of the free and the home of the brave here, just saying….I have a really hard time telling the truth. Sometimes to myself, sometimes to others, and sometimes when it matters most.

I’ll use today as an example, and then I’ll digress, because digression is the reason for the season.

Today I was sick at work. I had chills, like the type you get when you’re about to spontaneously combust into a fever, or puke up ever section of your jejunum into your cubicle trashcan. Fortunately, the dizziness and nausea (I won’t lie, I can’t spell nausea without spell checker) were manageable while I was sitting still, with my head down, doing absolutely nothing. But that is not the way my job works. I’m running around like a chicken with her head cut off and helping out this, that and the other person. So, needless to say, I was about to start sprinting to the ladies room when my boss noticed my paleness and asked me what was wrong. The worst part of all this was that she was on her way to a meeting, and I had the opportunity to tell her my woes. Instead, I said in my head, “It’s ok, just another half hour like this….” and I told her I would tell her when she returned. When she came frolicking back down through the cubes, she asked me to tell her what was up, and I practically swallowed my tongue and every tooth in my mouth that I just ferociously ground with terror while telling her the truth –“I think I’m sick.”


Now here is the truth, personally, I don’t know what “sick” is because I don’t get sick. My stomach hurts everyday all day, but that is another thing entirely. Illness, this chick just does not do. And so I left, I went home for the day. Cautiously driving my car so as not to give myself motion sickness and I fell asleep. I guess I really WAS sick because there is no way, over my dead body or any other grave for that matter that I would fall asleep in the middle of the day.

I will tell you what though, it was hard to tell someone my truth. Hard to tell them what I wanted, what I needed. It was hard to grant myself the gift of expression.

Fast forward to everyday life. When you know that everyday, or nearly everyday you’re misrepresenting yourself. Trying to be someone you’re not, and living in your own lie. I know what you’re thinking (remember, I always know what you’re thinking). You’re thinking, “This Chick thinks she’s Dexter and has her own dialogue in her head to narrate her life.” Well, that’s true, I do have my own running narrator. But that aside, ask yourself this question today, if I’m ME, who does that make me? Who am I? What are 124 things that make you unique? What are 6 things you would enjoy reading about? What 7 songs are your favorite?

You know, while I don’t believe the world revolves around me, I do believe that my truth is the only that I can know, and I need to work everyday to fully understand and express all that that is comprised of.

Part II . The Magical Number

7 Is indeed a lucky number. 7 Dwarves, 7…uh….ok…that’s all I can think of. But hey, it’s everywhere! It’s supposedly the “perfect number”, the amount of years in which your body ebbs and flows into new phases, and that brings me to….the fact that I will be 28 soon!

I think I am personally entering my own next 7 of something! The last time this happened was when I was 21, and I truly DID feel that emerging into a new era (or that could’ve been the result of my 21st birthday bash and one too many free beverages). I think I made a good first step by lowering my car insurance rate. I feel an excitement in the air like the next 7 years are going to be something really great. Does that make me weird?



Sometimes I Want to Throw Things

Yes, well, like a true Bedilia, it’s been awhile since I’ve last written. I’ve been busy working, being a space cadet, working some more, moving into my new luxurious mattress, and working a tad more. Then I enjoyed the most amazing, or at least ONE of the most amazing Thanksgivings ever. Relaxing, totally pressure-free. I missed my family, my friends, but alas threats of the snow kept me walking around the same lake I’ve been walking around for the past 7 months.

Now it’s back to the real world. The real world. The real world. The sound echoes through my head, clangs against my skull bones, because I’m having a hard time believing that this could possibly be real life. Is unhappiness and discomfort everyday supposed to be how life goes? Do I have to constantly be telling myself to think and feel a way that I don’t?

Sometimes, kids have it so lucky. If things are not going their way, they whine, they cry, they scream. They throw stuff. They hit people. The repercussions are minor, like sitting in time out, losing cookies and getting grounded from TV. Grown ups have to hide so many emotions. They have to kid themselves into so many things, and talk themselves into feeling or acting certain ways. So I want to ask…what is up with the facade? I wanna drown the fake me, so she can’t screw up my soul searching. How am I supposed to find myself if she gets in the way and pretends to be someone I’m not?

Life can really put you between a rock and a hard place. I noticed that when I arrived there, I stopped expecting everyday to present a miracle. I stopped thinking something special might happen, or I might get a little closer to my center. I stopped hoping and dreaming…

But I’m taking two big steps towards change. The question now is, can I trick myself into gradual acceptance of myself?

One foot. Two foot. Left foot. Right foot. One right in front of the other.

“You’ve been criticizing yourself for years and it hasn’t worked. Try approving of yourself and see what happens.” Louise L. HayTexasRoadhouse086

The Best Post You’ve Ever Read

It’s not enough that I am at work forty hours or more a week, it’s not enough that I have to think about it two hours prior to going, and two hours after…now I’m awake, on a Friday night, Saturday morning mind racing, heart racing, dreams spilling around in my head about work. Is it about work? Is it the mold that they found in my apartment? Is it because I have to sleep on a futon until the mold is cleaned and I woke up with my face against a cold wall? Is it too many brussel sprouts for dinner? I feel more trapped in this  mental cubicle than I have ever felt in my life. More anxious and unsure of what is to happen next with each passing day. I can’t keep up, I have friends and relationships slipping through the cracks because I am working so hard to keep afloat. All the while, disliking and wishing to be further from the ME that is not who I AM. fabulous

I watch them everyday, the ones who dream of their bank accounts. Carefully accruing their pennies in their minds rather than counting sheep at night. They smell of strong detergents, stale coffee, and microwave lunches. They stumble from their desks to the “break room” (which you would never actually take a break in, as it’s so small one would have to devour over the sink like a ravenous animal on the kill). They pour their 20 oz of coffee into their designated coffee mugs. Mugs with words like, “Mom” “Java” “13.1” and “I Hiked to the Top of Crowder Mountain and all I Got was this Mug”. It’s the workforce of America. While we type away, there are a million things at home left undone, a thousand passions left uncaptured, and opportunities that lie by the wayside. There are connections to be made, relationships to be stoked, and dreams to pursue. They seem OK with it, but the feeling stirs me awake every night, feeding off my brain cells that should be used for snoozing.

But I let it all lie dormant, stagnant, all for helping to push this giant hamster wheel around in yet another circle.

We are the ME’s that are losing touch with who I AMs. I am the me that can only dance on this line for so much longer. I’m so ready for this phase to be over, the one where every other day I am just asking myself, “WHY?” Is it just that final feeling as the 20’s taper off? Will it ever end?

A girl needs her beauty sleep!


Cells, Cubes, and Faces.

Lately my most wild and adventurous ideas has been to delete my Facebook. I know right, you think that’s wild? My second most out-there thought was to wear no socks to work, and that proved to be a disaster; hence the reason I’ve decided to formulate my decision making process into a narrative. Although, I love Facebook as much as the next Jane Doe that is out there, but this past week I’ve realized that it, along with my smart phone, is a very distracting feature in my life. Now, the question remains as to whether or not it’s a welcome distraction, or one I wish to get rid of. After all, not everything is BAD, it can be used in moderation…right???Gamers

Why Facebook is like Working in a Cubicle

Half of my Facebook friends are folks I never talk to on a regular basis. In fact, they are much like the people in a corporate cubically-oriented and squarely structured environment. I see their faces everyday and being my nosy self, am very interested in eavesdropping on their lives, comparing my life to theirs, and gawking at all the clothes they have that are better than mine. I use these mysterious non-interaction interactions for self-beration, self deprivation, and of course….killing time. There are the folks I actually do want to know about and talk to, and then there are just the ones that pop up in my News Feed everyday as they post what their iPhone paparazzi has caught them doing today. It doesn’t stop there. Facebook has my pictures stored in the world wide web, it has everyone seeing what music I listen to, it wants to know where I work. Heck, my cell phone KNOWS where I work! It tells me no matter where I am how long it is to get either to work or home, depending on my circumstance. My phone knows what I typed into my computer and Googled that morning, last night, and last week, and who I “might know”. I’m scared it might know more, but I’m too frightened and paranoid to ask Siri what she really knows.

Facebook makes me feel more guilt than I should because when I want to go delete someone, I feel guilty. Like they’ll find out. When I want to stop seeing someone’s daily life in mine, I am hit with another twinge of guilt. If someone finds me and tries to friend me, and I really don’t feel like being friends… I freeze with guilt-ridden panic. It’s like being stuck by the coffee pots at work and the awkwardness ensues where you’re both taking a while to mix up your Joe and subject to painfully surface level conversation or deafening silence. Why can’t I just be normal and not think about such things?

Facebook frightens me by knowing all, by pressuring me, by enticing me with it’s time-killing offer, but I like it to connect to the world around me. I think. Am I really even connecting?

My smart phone distracts me from the present moment, but I really like knowing that there is at least something smarter than me. I like playing Scrabble when I want to. I like zoning out of a moment and looking on Craigslist. And I like checking my email at the drop of a hat.

But is this all good for me? I’m starting to wonder, and my finger is hovering over “delete”.

To be continued….

Know When to Hold Em’

There are some aspects of life in which you feel you’ve mastered what you need to and getting better is not necessarily a priority, nor need it be, unless you suck and no one is telling you. For example, driving a car. If you’re decent at driving a car, and you can navigate without too many fender benders, tire squeals, horn honkers, and road blocks, you’re good to go! You don’t need to constantly study the latest “How to” guide teaching you how to more efficiently press the gas, more gracefully turn the wheel, or more presumably run red lights. A steady pace is all you need to cruise.

Take another example, cooking. If you’re a decent cook, and the folks like what you make, you like to eat your own concoctions, and no one is hiding with a napkin under the table and ducking their head every few moments to spit into it, it’s a cake walk from here on out! Sure, add to your repertoire by adding new recipes here and there, or blowing your own mind, and taste buds too. But you don’t have to go grab a copy of Martha Stewarts, “How to Make Prison Porridge and Inmate Gruel”, you can kinda sit, back, relax and enjoy your own dinner show. Ham Mock

Then, there are areas in our lives which feel as though the task of learning is never through. At work, in our relationships, areas of particular and specific knowledge, with our own bodies and minds. Some people might have it easier than others in any given area, and these things come in waves. Waves when it’s OBVIOUS you need to up the learning curve, and waves when you’re getting straight A’s and you can let someone else in the class do the talking for a while.

I can tell you right now. I wish these things were as easy as raising my hand in college and impressing my professor. I wish it were as easy as the flashcards I made after thorough highlation (new word) of my Communications book, and I wish it was as simple as writing a ten-page paper, while pulling an all nighter and binge drinking on a Thursday. But, fact of the matter is. It’s just not. Relax

I’m learning more and more. Coasting is not really an option. When you try to sail, sometimes you are just faced with tumultuous seas and choppy ocean. It’s almost always work. There are occasions when the work is painless, effortless, and enjoyable. Like riding a bike, a rich payoff for a minor burning of the quads. And then there are moments when you’re so overcome with worry, anxiety, fear, anger, or any number of emotions that you nearly throw your cellphone into the lake. Fortunately, you realize your irrationality in time and pickpocket a fellow joggers new iPhone 5 before throwing your own into the murky abyss.

Not like you need a phone anyway.

C’est la vie. Hello, inner angst.

Cry Baby

I have watery eyes. No, not allergies, no excess of eyelashes falling into my line of vision and causing me distress. I just cry a lot. I cry when my feelings get hurt, I cry when I do something wrong, I cry when I’m angry, I cry when I’m overwhelmed, and sometimes I just cry because I drank too much water. Broken

What I really cannot handle is when people are disappointed with me, or do not like me. I am not sure why this is but it’s been like this since I was very young. When kids made fun of me, or rejected me, I would snap like a mouse’s spine under the pressure of a deadly THWAP. Perhaps it’s because I lack confidence, or because I have this need to please everyone, but lately I’ve been struggling with trying so hard to please everyone, including myself, and coming up short. Why? Well, because I do things I don’t like –I drink coffee once in a while, I take bites of cookies when there are treats in the office, I make mistakes on my bosses’ calendars and have to run around and fix everything. I can’t always keep my bills straight. I can’t seem to get myself to the place a 27-year-old should be. And because of that, I tend to take things very deeply, and personally and excruciatingly painfully. Yesterday was one of those days.

The first incident occurred when a co-worker (who I’m pretty sure is not wild about me) dropped off a stack of papers for me to have my boss sign, as well as some other top dogs. I had her sign them, but I missed one of the lines which were not intended for her, and so I had to bring it back to the woman who had to reprint the page, and give it back to me to get it off and signed by the right person. You see? Even YOU got confused by all that! It was a confusing stack of papers, and I’m still feeling relatively new at times, I don’t know all the ins and outs, all the bundles and jumbles, and her attitude makes me flustered through and through because I can tell she hates my guts and would like nothing more than to run over me with her car. Combine that with the fact that I was stressing out about her papers in particular, because I wanted her to see me as a good little girl who did what I’m told, and did it perfectly. Because of the mistake and the whole experience, I just cried and cried and cried feeling like I had done a piss poor job and would never amount to anything. Unfortunately, someone caught me in the act and I had to explain myself later. The woman who saw me was a sweet, able secretary who used her years of wise experience to comfort me with her kind words. It helped.

That’s really all I want, is to be perfect. I just want to do things right. It’s not so much to ask, and mind you, it’s not a bad goal.
That is, unless you’re Amelia Bedelia and you fail left and right, right and left, front and center. I drop stuff, I break things, I leave a wake of destruction everywhere I go.  I think it’s because I was born illegitimately and it will forever haunt me. Once a life-destroying fetus, always a life-destroying fetus.

The second incident occurred at home. I’ve already mentioned that I break everything. Well, last night, I broke my 2nd wine glass, which is the 4th of all of the fine china and glasses  that I’ve broken of my boyfriend’s. These do not include the 6 fine pieces of serving /dinner ware I broke while living at my parents, and the multitude of glasses I broke in France, and the…..I’ll stop there, but you see what I’m saying?! At first, I laughed at my blunder because being a klutz is hysterical, right? Well….unfortunately, when I confessed my sin to the man in charge, he informed me that these glasses have sentimental value. He tried to brush it off as nothing, but I could tell they were important to him. I guess there is no replacing those……

Well, what other option does that leave me with? Time to cry. I cried and cried and cried. I told my boyfriend he should break up with me so I can stop destroying his life. I didn’t really know what else to do at that point, and in fact, I still don’t. It’s a good thing I dehydrated myself today or else I would likely be crying right now. 143

I just want to be at peace. With myself, with the world around me, and with my limbs.

Sometimes I feel I have to be loved and adored by everyone simply because I love and adore everyone. But I suppose, the most important person to be loved and adored by is yourself. It’s just a lesson that is ever so hard for me to learn. I think I’ll go balance my checkbook instead and worry about loving myself later.

Help Jim Sell His House!

So, I’m not quite sure what I think yet about the power of positive thoughts. I listen to audio books telling me how to bring all good things into my life –finances, love, nice clothing, happiness, friends, vacations, and health. A dreamer, a chaser, a plan-alterer when things aren’t going my way. I read books about making agreements with yourself, I try to analyze my mental psychobabble, practice namaste and fire up my qi, and blah, blah, blah. Perhaps it’s for the very reason that I am skeptical, that these things are not all at my fingertips right now. Instead, I’m a “make do with what you got” kinda girl. I am also the kind of person who believes that if I say, “I have holes in my sweaters.” I run the risk of finding one in my sweater tomorrow. Cautiously and yet, skeptically, I hold my skepticism to myself. After all, you can’t always believe EVEN yourself. 

Last month, while I was knee deep in my audio books on my way to and from work (hi ho hi ho hi ho) the reader, Rhonda Byrne was saying how the mind is the rudder for your life, the actions you take begin in the mind and furthermore, what harm can it do from thinking good thoughts even if nothing WERE to come of it. At the very least, you’ve fooled yourself into feeling better. What could a little human experiment hurt? I thought to myself, as I picked out my test subject. 

8:38AM Enter Stage Left: My boss. 

She was having trouble selling her house, despite having shown it several times. She mentioned this in passing and my advice was this, “Close your eyes and REALLY FEEL like what it would be like to have sold your house! Imagine it sold. Imagine who lives there. Don’t you LOVE the fact that you sold your house!?” She is such a great gal, and humored me by not only saying she would do it –she DID it! All weekend she did it. You want to know something? HillHouse

Her house was SOLD on Sunday night at an hour that one would think is jussssttt a bit too late to be calling your realtor! Not to late to hear the best news! Monday morning, I open my email inbox and find her message, “I love that I sold my house!” 

I of course, thought she was just repeating the mantra as instructed. I expected it to take much longer. But lo, and behold, it had worked! 

When people in the other cubicles heard the news, I got an instant promotion and they began dancing around me, clapping, bringing me gifts when I walked in each morning and offering their firstborn child as my personal laborers. Ok, so that never happened. But people DID come ask me what they had to do to sell their houses…..

So, that is how I’m in the predicament that I am in tonight. 

A matter of coincidence. Or perhaps a truly altered reality has me reassuring another colleague, Jim, that HE TOO can sell his house with the positive power of LOVE. 

I need a little help, from any and all readers. Can you repeat the mantra with me? “I love that Jim sold his house!” If you have extra time on your hands, do some imagining for me also.  This is easy business, and I know you all have medulla oblongotas and therefore, imaginations.

Just picture him handing over the keys once and for all, signing those papers with a big smile on his face. Picture him coming into work telling me his good news! And then picture me with that promotion and the firstborn children as my servants. Oh ya, and money tree topiaried (new word I just invented) into the shape of a hammock. 

I knew y’all would do me a favor! 

More than I Can Stomach

How healthy do most people consider themselves to be? I think as a general whole, the public esteems themselves in lofty healthy regards. That’s no matter what! I mean, that is if someone eats one vegetable a day, or subsists on donuts and coffee. They often still consider themselves in good health. That is however, unless they are ridden with disease or ailments. Until they begin to lose a function or capacity of some sort. That’s when human beings begin to question and alter their steps. When the way they are walking does not feel so good.

I recently posted on my Facebook the question, “How healthy would you say you are on a scale of 1-10? 10 being your MOST healthy and 1 being your LEAST healthy ever.” The answers I got were rather what I expected….

JD:  think I am the healthiest I have ever been. Not the skinniest I’ve been, nor the healthiest I could be… But the healthiest I’ve ever been! : )
September 25 at 6:43pm via mobile · Unlike

RMK Jr.:  7.8
September 25 at 6:56pm via mobile · Like

CT: 4.6…room for improvement!
September 25 at 7:56pm · Like

ECG: Wow, CT, you’re like the healthiest person I can think of!
September 25 at 8:37pm via mobile · Like

SAA: 9!
September 25 at 8:58pm · Like

WD: 3
September 26 at 9:09am · Like

SK: 9 because i feel great, i’m working out, i’m watching what i eat, sleeping well and getting adjusted once a month. =] i would be a 10 if my friend Emily lived close enough to share a baggie of kale chips with
September 26 at 11:15am · Unlike · 2

AP: 7.5…The lack of quality grocery stores in the South is my excuse. Oh, that and beer. Sweet, sweet beer.

ECG: Not that I should talk, I’m a 5 out of 10

The fact of the matter is, people tend to think their way is the right way until something happens that proves it’s blatantly the wrong way. As I’ve been journeying through some serious physical pains and turmoils of my own, I’m more inclined to side with those that clink their wine glasses together and proclaim, “To each his own!” If they like vegetables, let them eat veggies! If they like wine, let them drink wine. If they eat meat and cheese, let them grind their jawbones upon such bounty!

Why else does every study under the sun show this, that, and the other thing. It’s often not fair to me that people who break all the rules, win all the freedom in living and they get to have their cake and eat it too! I can’t tell whether I’m coming or going anymore! Of course, this is not a fast and hard rule. But that’s what I’m saying….it doesn’t appear there ARE fast and hard rules! So are we supposed to just do what we feel good about? Or should I recommend my high-fat, vegan diet to everyone and their mother’s too? To abstain or not to abstain? To hit the yoga mat or pound the pavement with my running shoes? Throw away my peanut butter? Fast until I am clean as a whistle? Wake up at 5 or sleep until 8!? Why can’t someone just tell me the flat out, good to honest, real, phoney-free TRUTH!!!!???

And that was how….the Emily Diet was birthed…

Giant Bowl

Gender Roles

Honestly. I am a feminist’s nightmare, carrying on like some classically-conditioned woman. Let me explain:

  • I work my 8-5 job Monday through Friday, getting up at 5:30 to do my gym routine, which is far less effort and output than it should be, but all the while I’m thinking to myself, “I’m doing more than 70% of women do on a regular basis. Good for me.”
  • I check out other girls and compare myself to them in every way possible from skin, to hair, to nails, to clothing, to being in or out of shape. I base my mood for the next hour on the emotions I feel after said comparison.
  • After mentally and physically beating myself up as much as possible, I race home at precisely 6:20am, wash up, take great pains in making myself appear beautiful. I trap my girth into a pair of nylons and suck in an inhale that I won’t let out until 5:00 tonight. Then, I charge into the battle of traffic, stop and get a coffee at my favorite multi-million dollar chain coffee shop, multi-task by checking emails and doing the crossword puzzle on my car ride, and listen to motivational audiobooks.
  • I work as an assistant to a company executive, and tend to bite off more than I can chew always with the mantra, “I got it!”
  • I spot cockroaches in my bathroom, scream bloody murder, and call in the forces (ie. the help of a big, strong male) to help me kill it
  • I cook, clean, and do six loads of laundry on the weekends…and actually find myself enjoying it. Truly getting the greatest joy out of scrubbing a shower and the power of shiny faucet handles.
  • While my boyfriend goes to watch sports with his friends, I call my girlfriends and get my gab on, paint my toenails, go shopping, or attend a yoga class
  • I drink mimosas on Sundays
  • I can’t do a real push up to save my life
  • All this, and it’s sick really, but I’m kind of OK with it and because of that….my house looks spotless and awesome!


Two AnecDONT’S For Drivers Everywhere

Allow me to introduce myself as a way of unraveling the background and setting the scene for these tales. I currently live in North Carolina, home to the world’s third worst drivers (the first being in South Carolina, the second probably in Bangalore, India). I’m originally from New Hampshire, and I have no intention of offending, so if the rules of road rage and improper use of your directional do not apply to you and you happen to be born and raised in North Carolina or residing here by choice, disregard this entire paragraph. Actually, I don’t even think it’s the North Carolinians that are the problem, I think it’s the fact that the sunshine, warm weather, and ocean brings in lots and lots of transplants. Foreigners who think to themselves they are anonymous or have no allegiance to those around them, so they drive like bats out of hell, chickens with their heads cut off, and any other animal you can think of that’s in the wrong place at the wrong time. RoadRage

I work in a Risk Management department at a fairly large company, where I see and deal with lots of situations in which people are not singing “kumbaya” and making the world go around. Instead, they are pilfering, shooting, threatening with knives, vandalizing, tripping little old ladies with their own canes, and spray painting video cameras. Because of this, and watching way too many movies, I tend to err on the side of caution with respect to whether or not people will be given to craziness as opposed to acting rationally. There are lots of crazy people in this world, and they can be highly unpredictable in a non-socially acceptable, frightening way.

AnecDONT #1: DON’T Honk at Other Drivers. Ever. 

I was driving home from work the other night, after an exceptionally long day, followed by an exceptionally long caravan of Thursday traffic that was standing between me and relaxing, when suddenly a stupid driver pulls a stupid move.

Picture this if you will: I was getting ready to turn LEFT in one of those handy dandy turning left lanes that have been established solely for me. Traffic was coming from the opposite direction so I had to wait in the left lane until it died down. On my left, at a stop sign, there is a line of cars, who are also waiting to turn left or right. They of course, have to wait for the cars I am waiting for, AND for me to turn left, AND for any cars going in my direction to give them leeway. Well, strangely-colored 1986 blue Volvo does want any of this waiting nonsense. He cuts out in front of me in my turning lane and decides to wait there for the cars going in my direction to let him in, blocking me from turning left, and any cars that were behind him from making any sort of move. I politely honked my horn to let him know that was rather unappreciated by me, and likely a slough of other drivers he had just t-eed off. The driver of the car swings his head back to stare me down and he was WEARING A FULL-ON MASK. Face covered all but his eyes, baseball cap, and his run-down car had windows out everywhere. It looked like this guy was no good. I instantly flashed to the fact that he may have a gun and never in my entire life had I been more afraid that I was actually GOING TO DIE. If this man has a gun, I thought to myself, nothing would stop him from shooting. Nothing stops crazy people from shooting others and this guy looked like someone who had either just finished a bank heist or was about to embark on one. I was the only thing standing in his way, and that made me feel like target practice. My heart was racing and the two minutes it took him to pull out into traffic, all the while glaring at me, ticked by like weeks. Finally, he sped off, his cardboard for a front windshield and he rode into the sunset, likely to go murder someone. bandana

When I got home, and recalled my horror story. My boyfriend did a nice thing and let me talk about how scared I was. Then he proposed. No, no, not to me! He proposed that perhaps the man was masked because his windshield was a disaster zone, and he wanted to prevent debris from flying into his face. I don’t like to think of anyone being malicious or ill-natured, so I took his explanation as truth and felt a lot better.

AnecDON’T #2: DONT Be “That Guy” (Or Girl)

Friday night, the highlight of pretty much every week, my boyfriend and I were taking a trip to the store for some wine and a movie (and no, it was not one I would recommend…the wine nor the movie). He parked, as he usually does, at the far end of the parking lot. I’ve always utilized this trick as a way to burn additional calories, but I didn’t know the exact reason behind his doing this, so I asked. After he was finished texting his mom, dad, cousins, brother, sister, and best friend, and checking his Fantasy Football League scores on his iPhone, he looked up to answer me. “I have three reasons. First, I like the extra exercise. Second, I think your car is less likely to get bashed into by these psychotic North Carolina drivers if you park far away from everyone else, and third, I don’t ever wanna be ‘that guy’.” “Which guy?” I ask, trying to decide whether or not I want a lightly effervescent Sauvignon Blanc that pairs well with light fare, or a Pinot Grigio with hints of apricot. “The guy that tries to fight everyone else for the spot up front, no need to make the parking lot more of a war zone than it already is.” “Good points,” I agree with him, as I usually do, and settle on the Pinot Grigio because the bottle is already chilled and my mouth is watering.

Saturday, I decide to run some errands and find myself at Marshall’s. Not exactly on my list of things-to-do, but I decide to roll with it. I search for a parking spot, any parking spot, and finally find one a few cars in (yes, VERY close to the entrance) and put my blinker on for it. A giant white SUV swoops in like a killer in the night and grabs the spot. An action by which I was so appalled, I could do nothing but put my car in reverse and show them my backing in skills for the spot at the very end, furthest possible from the entrance. You see, I was not bothered at all by not having that parking spot, I simply thought THEY were extremely rude and it kinda made me lose my cool for a second there at the sheer audacity of this. Furthermore, while I was backing up, they were honking at me MULTIPLE TIMES trying to get me to realize that there was another parking spot close to them that had just opened up. I walked by them and into the store and you will not believe what happens next…

The husband, who stayed in the car while his wife was in Marshall’s (smart man), YELLS at me from his window, “Hey, there’s yer parkin’ spot rat’ there!” “Oh, it’s ok, I like the walk!” I exclaim, thinking of all the extra calories I’ll burn with these few extra steps. Now, it gets worse. I get into the store and begin scanning for clothing items to start speaking to me when I hear someone else call out to me, this time, a woman’s voice, “Young lady, we were trying to honk at you to show you there was another spot close by where we parked.” Again I repeated my mantra about liking the walk, and carried on in my search. I was so frazzled, weirded out, and disgruntled that I ended up buying a skirt that didn’t fit which I didn’t know because I didn’t have the patience anymore to try something on. What makes matters worse, I’ve already made this EXACT same mistake with this EXACT same skirt, about two weeks ago. I guess I’ll go return it AGAIN. This time I plan be the first one in the parking lot. Skirt

Moral of the story, wear your seatbelt and don’t mess with my qi.