Fast and Furious: Montana

   Happy Holidays!

   For the past week or so, I have done a lot of nothing. Luckily, that’s exactly what I wanted to do so I feel pretty accomplished.

   As I’ve been chillaxing, I’ve also been doing a lot of reminiscing since I’m back in my home town, surrounded by all my homies. (On a side note, I find it amusing that Word recognizes “chillaxing” as a word, but not “homies”).

   One particular memory that popped into my vegetable-state brain was the time I decided to re-enact Tokyo Drift in my maroon 1994 Mitsubishi Expo. AKA: Shooter. 

Shooter

   It was the summer before my sophomore year in high school and I was a regular veteran when it came to navigating our Montana back roads. I’d been sporting my license in my Claire’s wallet for over a year and I was just gaining some new privileges, one of which was being able to tote around more than one passenger during the daytime. My friend and I decided we’d take a big step and ask my parents if I could chauffer the two of us to Lake Como, the local “beach”, which was about a 45 minute drive. They said yes under one condition: I had to bring my younger sister and her friend as well.

   I didn’t care because I happen to like my sibling so my friend and I quickly donned our Old Navy bikinis and packed a snack bag. I felt so adult-like.

   For the past few months, ever since I watched The Fast and the Furious: Tokyo Drift, I’d taken a liking to “drifting” my eggplant-esque soccer mom car around the 45 degree turns on one of the dirt roads en route to my little home in the boonies. I was getting pretty good at it, if I say so myself, and felt bad ass while doing it.

   I had the great idea to take my carload down that particular road on the way to the lake to show off my superlative driving skills as a sixteen year old white girl. In an attempt to show them I wasn’t even the least bit worried that my trick would fail, I even sped things up a little during the approach. We were going about twenty-five when I switched from gas pedal to brake pedal, whipping the steering wheel to the left and shouting “hold on to yer shorts!” as the back end of the car skidded sideways at a miraculous pace. It was at about mid-swing, I’d say, when I realized there was much more motion and speed occurring than during my usual drift attempts. During that realization was when the rear end of my mom wagon went too far right and slid right off the road into a ditch and barbed wire fence. Dust was surrounding us like gritty, brown smoke and Maroon 5 was shouting at us from my ghetto-rigged iPod-to-stereo device.

   No one said a word. Not my friend who, upon glancing over, I saw death-gripping the sides of her seat and not blinking. Not my sister in the back who looked like she just saw something dead. Not her friend who’s left eye was twitching as she stared ahead. Nothing.

   As the dust settled, I recommended we all evacuate the vehicle. I opened the driver’s side door and noticed I’d have to step down about an extra foot in order to reach the road. I also noticed that once any sort of movement from the passengers occurred, my car responded by wobbling back and forth as if on a teeter-totter. I let the two younger girls get out first, my friend and I leaning to the side to balance things as they climbed out of the door behind me. I exited next followed by my friend who looked as though she didn’t want to be my friend for much longer. Upon examining the situation, we realized two things. 1) my car was definitely not going to be moved simply by pushing the gas pedal considering only two tires were on solid ground and 2) I was going to be grounded.

   Our first idea was to somehow maneuver my car back onto the front two tires by pushing against and on the rear bumper. That didn’t work so instead we had one person stand inside the driver side door and another person push on the back to try to balance as well as push. Surprisingly, that also didn’t go as well as we had hoped.

Actual Photo

   After a good fifteen minutes or so of trying every trick we could think of, we decided to make the dreaded phone call to my parents. I had my sister call because I was already afraid of the reaction. During the callI’m pretty sure I could hear my dad yelling through the phone as I stood at least five feet away.

   They showed up not too long after the call for assistance was made. I’m pretty sure my dad didn’t even say a word to me as he tied on some towing straps in order to pull me out with his truck. At around this same time, a cowboy came along in a much larger and stronger looking pickup and offered a helping hand. I was mortified.

   I kept myself busy and out of the way by standing on the other side of the dirt road, smooshing red ants with my bejeweled flip flops. My friend and I attempted to be lighthearted but we both knew there was a storm coming in my direction.

   About a half hour later, my eggplant was safely on all-fours and my dad’s attention turned to me. My heart sunk and sweat was emitting from odd places on my body as my dad made his way over to my side of the road. Instead of a raging lecture, I received an “I’m disappointed” speech and a not-so-happy facial expression. After reasoning with my mom, the parenting decision was that I was still allowed to go to town with my friend and other passengers but to enjoy it because it would be a while until I’d get to drive again. My license, my driving privileges, and my freedom would be suspended for the next couple weeks.

   I tried to enjoy my remaining freedom as much as I could that evening but had trouble ignoring my oncoming penalty. Despite donning my new denim mini skirt and statement tank-top, I just wasn’t having a great time.

   Surprisingly, my friend still remained my friend after the incident. My sister remained my sister and her friend remained her friend. If anything, it brought us together because we could laugh about it after my grounding term was completed.

   The basis of this tale is that I blame Hollywood for creating such an influential movie concerning driving tricks. If I had never seen that movie, I never would have attempted to drift my eggplant on Montana back roads. Ok not really, but it makes me feel a little more innocent. 

Home for the Holidays

   Well I made it through semester #5! Only 5 more to go! Half-way point! Ugh, that’s so depressing. How is it that I have more school? Shouldn’t I be done by now? I guess I’m starting to see the light at the end of the tunnel now. Semesters are going by faster than ever and it’s kind of scary. Sometimes I day dream about the “real world” and how different life will be when I don’t have five classes worth of homework and exams to study for. I’m sure the entrance into that new life will be bittersweet – I may be done with attending school but then I’ll have to work every day for eternity. What’s better? I guess I’ll find out in a couple years.

   Spending my last week in my little apartment consisted of studying for hours on end. I’d wake up, make a pot of coffee, grab my enormous fleece blanket my sister made me, turn on the fireplace because our house was 56 degrees, and begin the eight hour stint of sitting on my butt. I’m really thankful to have such a cozy and quiet home to utilize for studying purposes because my brain requires zero distractions if something needs to be accomplished. My upstairs neighbor (we live in a 4-plex) usually works 8-5 during the week but for some reason was home most of the day on the Friday before and Monday after my study-weekend-from-hell. She doesn’t mean to but she sometimes sounds like a 250 pound goat when she walks through her house. She keeps her heels on and I could literally trace her movement through her apartment because of the clomp-clomping of her shoes. That was distracting.

   Finals went well and I was so happy to run away from the Business building knowing I don’t have to step foot in there for about a month. I basically lived in that building. I probably should have just set up a cot on the fourth floor to make it easier on myself since every single one of my classes would’ve been within twenty steps. But no; instead I trekked back and forth to campus every morning and afternoon, taking an hour out of my day just to walk. I guess that’s a good thing – got my exercise!

   Now that I’m home I never want to leave. So far I’ve slept in until 11:00 most mornings, had delicious and nutritious breakfasts because my dad is a breakfast kind of guy, been able to watch more than enough brain cell-killing TV shows (Jersey Shore marathon?! Heck yeah!), and bake a lot of yummy treats. It’s been fantastic. Do I really have to go back??

Here are two reasons why home is where my heart is:

< Shadow & Abbie >

Presenting: Places My Hair Gets Stuck

   I have really, really long hair.

   I love my long hair. I get a lot of compliments on it because it’s naturally straight and strawberry blonde. It works as a nice scarf in the winter to keep my neck warm and a horse-like tail in the summer to whip flies away. Ok, I don’t actually do either of those things but it gives you a visual of just how long my hair is.

   Now that I have really talked it up, I will present the challenges of having hair of such a length.

Presenting: Places My Hair Gets Stuck

Exhibit A – Underneath my backpack strap.

Occurs: Daily. Sometimes multiple times a day.

Why this happens:  I usually fling my backpack over a shoulder and only realize my hair is trapped beneath the strap when I go to turn my head quickly in the opposite direction. Very painful and irritating

Results: Has caused me to throw my backpack on the ground as well as make animal-like angry noises.

Exhibit B – In my gum.

Occurs: At least once a week.

Why this happens: I must either chew gum with only my front teeth, allowing it to be easily accessed on the off chance that a piece of hair flies anywhere near my mouth, or I unknowingly mistake my hair for gum despite its dissimilar texture.

Results: Gum is ruined. Hair is sticky. Angry animal noises are made. People stare.

Exhibit C – In my armpit.

Occurs: Every time I wear a tank-top.

Why this happens: I sweat, ok? Don’t you? So my hair sticks to my sweat when I work out then migrates to my armpits and get stuck. That just presented a pretty gross visual. But seriously, it happens. And it’s painful.

Results: Sweaty hair. Weird sensation in my armpit since I don’t usually sport much hair in that general area. Weird looks at the gym. Pain.

Exhibit D – In my seatbelt thingy.

Occurs: Every single time I get out of my car.

Why this happens: My hair and my seatbelt have some strange attraction to each other. Due to this, when the seatbelt gets sucked back into its hidy-hole when I go to get out of my car, my hair likes to go along with it. I don’t realize this until I am completely out of my car but my head is still somehow attached to the vehicle. Severe pain occurs.

Results: Loss of precious hair. Angry stomping. Watery eyes if enough hair is stuck. Stares.

And finally, Exhibit E – In my boyfriend’s “beard”.

Occurs: Whenever I see him.

Why this happens: Facial hair is basically like a giant comb. You do the math.

Results: No pain, just…awkward. He usually freaks out because it tickles his face and I try to pull it out before he loses it and yanks out pieces of precious hair. On the upside, my hair usually ends up tangle-free!

not. again.

   A year or two ago, I bought a set of three really cute dangly earrings from Target and I have a hard time not wearing them. For instance, today I’m wearing the black pair. Yesterday I’m pretty sure I wore the silver ones. Gold isn’t really my thing, but that pair gets worn pretty often as well.

   Anyway, I’ve always taken off those little rubber-stopper-thingies that come on the backs of dangly earrings and tossed them in the trash. I never had a use for them and, to be honest, I thought they looked kind of tacky. I never had a problem with losing an earring, either, until I purchased the puffy coat.

   I love my puffy coat, don’t get me wrong. It keeps me warm during my thirty minute walks to and from campus in the snow, so I definitely can get past its minor flaws. There are two things I’ve noticed about it that do, however, present problems.

1.       You know when you were little and you found it hilarious to rub a blown up balloon on your head? Well 15 years later, the affect isn’t as cute when I peel off my jacket in class and my hair makes it look like my head just exploded. Why, static electricity?

2.       The puffy collar hits me right below my earlobes, which doesn’t mesh well with dangly earrings. Getting to this in a moment.

   Another issue I’ve encountered is I look like the black Michelin Man. After eating twenty seven Twinkies. But! I’m okay with that.

   So last year, on just an ordinary (torturous) day of school, I donned one of the three pairs of danglies and strapped on my puffy jacket to head to class. Upon returning after about four hours, I reached up to tuck my hair behind my ear when I noticed one of my earrings was missing. I was devastated. I stopped to investigate my scarf, my collar, my hair to see if I was somehow tangled in hopes of finding the missing item. It was gone. I wasn’t willing to give up that quickly, however, so I turned around and backtracked the way I had come.

   The Jewelry God must have been on my side that day because about 30 yards back to campus I found it! Nestled in the snow, unharmed and sparkly, I spotted it and literally squealed one of those awkward “yeeee!” sounds. I smiled as I began walking back home, my earring safely dangling from my right earlobe.

   After having such a terrifying experience, you’d think I’d at least contemplate sticking a rubber-stopper-thingy on the backs of those earrings to keep it from happening again. But I didn’t. Instead, I basically reenacted the incident the next day.

I believe it was my black pair, though.

   So the very next day, I was walking home and, as I stepped inside my apartment, I saw in my reflection in the window that I was not symmetrical. I was once again missing an earring. Immediately irritated as well as worried, I threw down my school-related objects and began retracing my steps, this time jogging. I wasn’t expecting to find it because for one, the Jewelry God only works miracles every couple months and for two, I was hungry and the further I got from my house, the more willing I was to just turn around and eat the leftover pasta that was calling my name.

   As I was jogging, I realized there wasn’t much hope. I had been everywhere on campus that day and couldn’t remember the last time I knew I had it. Slowing to a walk, I decided to give up. My poor, poor black dangly…

   But then! Peeking out from under some old, discolored snow was something black and shiny. As I approached it, I couldn’t believe my luck. I found it! What fortune! I snatched it up, wiped the mud off, and un-bent it all with a huge smile on my face. I was so pumped that I jogged all the way back home despite the weird looks I was receiving as well as the fact that I usually do not jog. Ever.

   Since those two very frightening experiences, I now make a point to attach the rubber-stopper-thingies on the backs of all of my dangly earrings. I have a hard time trusting the Jewelry God to provide me with another miracle any time soon. And who wants one dangly anyway? Lame.

commence weirdness!

   My family prides themselves for being abnormal. For instance, my dad sometimes walks around the house shuffling and almost-drooling when he gets into one of his “weird moods”. My mom has started watching Tosh.0 and finds it amusing to “Gaddafi” herself. If you don’t watch Tosh, you probably won’t get that visual the way I hoped you would. Let’s just say it’s not something I would wish upon you. My sister treats our cat as if it came from her womb. I used to get worried when I heard one-sided conversations emanating from her room, but now it’s pretty normal. I attribute our cat’s obesity to her as well. I guess that’s what you do for someone when you love them: make them fat.

   Getting to the point here, over Thanksgiving break we proved this fact. As we were sitting in the living room watching some over-rated comedy or another, the power went out. We all sat there in the darkness for a good two minutes before my sister, very meekly, began singing:

   My mom, of course, immediately joined in and began singing along with her. I chimed in after getting over the initial amusement. My dad contributed where he could. 

   It was pretty amusing because none of us could remember the order of things after “five golden rings” and so just kept repeating “turtledoves” for everything. By the time we got completely through the entire song as best as we could, the power came back on.

   We resumed watching our movie as if nothing had happened.

i beg of you.

   I am about to rant about a pretty unpleasant topic: bathrooms. Just to forewarn you.

   I work at a pretty professional office. The women dress up in pencil skirts and panty-hose and the men nearly always sport ties. Fortunately, I get to wear jeans and sweatshirts because I inhabit the basement.

   I work in the mornings a couple times a week and have encountered something that not only grosses me out but also kind of ticks me off.

   The women who tippy-tap around in their unconventional high heels on the linoleum above my basement location have always given me the impression of highly sophisticated and feminine business ladies. I admired their dedication to beautifying themselves every day in order to come to work at an office in Montana.

   Lately, however, that reputation has been extinguished. These women are not classy.

   Everyone poops. You know that, I know that. There’s even been a book written about it. Go here if you don’t believe me.

   Most people also know that coffee makes you poop. Something about the enzymes that really get your bowels moving? I’m not sure.All I know is it's a pretty proven fact. 

   At work, we have an unlimited supply of really cheap, chewy coffee. It tastes almost as bad as it smells. My fellow employees have developed some sort of addiction to the substance and migrate to the tiny, white-washed break room to refill their mugs at least once an hour.

   I’m getting to the point, just wait.

   I get to work at about 9:30 which means most of the office workers have already settled into their desks, refilled their mugs at least twice, and discussed their lives with everyone within a three foot radius. This has also given their stomachs enough time to process the crud they’ve been ingesting for the past 90 minutes and, to be modest, get things goin’.

   Lately I’ve noticed that some of these fancy ladies are saving their business for work. Either they run out of their houses in too much of a rush to make a five minute pit stop in the ‘loo, or they forget every single day how badly the coffee makes them need to go #2. Either way, it’s very irritating.

   The last thing I want to smell in the bathroom at 9:30am is nasty coffee-induced lady dumps. The worst part? Our bathroom doesn’t have a fan. The second-to-worst part? Our bathroom doesn’t have any stink-diminishing spray. I’m honestly tempted to just buy one and bring it with me to work.

   Ladies, why are you doing this? Why are you drinking copious amounts of coffee every day that force you to stink up the bathroom for a good five hours? I guess it could also be the same lady every day. In which case: why, Lady? Can’t you do a respectful flush once in a while, at least? Diminish the stench a little? Or maybe hold it until you go home for lunch? Or go at home in the first place?

   I understand, sometimes you’ve just got to go. And sometimes that moment occurs at your place of work. I get it. I’ve been there. But not every day! I dream about coming into work, using the bathroom, and not almost passing out due to either holding my breath or the intense odor.

   All I ask, my lovely perfumed coworkers, is to keep in mind that the bathroom has poor ventilation. Remember that as you make your way down the hall to refill your mug for the fourth time.

   Please and thank you.

a renovation

   I'm so excited! I've always struggled with html and formatting concepts on websites, which is why my previous blog was kind of, well, ugly. But after perusing some of my other favorite blogs, I noticed that there was some sort of free blog template website out there in internet land! So I traced one down and, voila! Prettier, right?

   On a different note, I'm becoming less concerned about homework as it gets closer to Christmas break. My roommate and I have found various ways to distract each other from necessary tasks. We've always been able to procrastinate but it's getting to an extreme.
   For instance, before Thanksgiving we both had a bunch of homework to accomplish but there was a huge storm passing through that dumped at least a foot of beautiful, snowman-building snow. Therefor, we of course spent about 2 hours playing outside in the sparkly whiteness, taking pictures of each other and ice skating on the street in front of our apartment. Not real ice skating, of course.
We then proceeded to come inside, drink cocoa and apple cider, then play music as we put plastic up on all our windows because it dawned on us all of a sudden that it was pertinent to save energy. (For those of you who live in places that don't get to -15 degrees at night, you probably don't understand this. I don't feel bad for you.)
   It was all fun and games until we realized it was 10:00 o'clock at night...on a Monday...and we had accomplished literally nothing that we actually needed to. Needless to say, it was a late night.
   Yesterday was sort of a deja-vu. We both brought Christmas decorations back from home and were super excited about putting them up. We have the awesomest brick fireplace so of course we had to put up stockings! We have five up...I don't know why.
   We also put the cutest twinkling snowflake dangling lights in our big living room window! Aw, so Christmas-y! We spent probably three hours in Christmas la-la land and had to come back to reality. Once again, it was later than anticipated and we succumbed to homework overload.
   It was a lot of fun, though! It's nice to have decorations up to put us in the spirit. Here's a picture: