Danger Gets Stranger

Once upon a time, I was fearless.  I ran along the edge of sheer cliffs just to make my dad nervous.  I splashed in puddles during thunderstorms.  I climbed out onto house roofs to reach the good mulberries at the top of the tree.  I raced my bike down steep fleets of stairs ending in busy streets.  With no spotter.

There's something about getting older that reminds you how much there is to be afraid of.  You would think that, as you learn and grow. . .and survive each day. . .you would have a newfound respect for survival and a confidence in your ability to refrain from peril.  But no.  That's not how it works.  Somehow, you realize how lucky you are.  How endlessly insane it is that you are still alive.  After all that you've done that would suggest the contrary.

When I was locked in my parents' upstairs bathroom, I didn't give it a second's thought that the best way to solve my predicament should be to crawl out the window and use the drainpipe to obtain access to the open window one room over. That's the obvious solution.



While my problem wasn't self-made. . .I did not hesitate to use it as an excuse to do something thrilling and dangerous.  Who did I think I was?  I look back on that and I wonder. . ."[expletive]. . .What would have happened if I had fallen?"

And yet, I did stupid tricks like that all the time. . .and often, I did fall.  But I always got right back up again.  Sure, I was a little worse for wear and lived, like almost everyone, my entire childhood with bumps, bruises and scrapes.  Bandaids and Neosporin were my best friend.  Along with my Johnny Switchblade Adventure Punk and my Bag-O-Glass (see video below.)


I find myself increasingly fearful of 'getting back on the mountain goat' so to speak, however.  When I fall [read: fail] I can't help but kick myself while I'm down and express some bizarre version of post-traumatic stress disorder.

In January of 09, I was on my way to do some laundry at my in-laws' house.  It had been snowy and icy lately but I knew how to handle myself.  I mean. . .nothing had happened to me yet. . .so, obviously nothing COULD happen to me, right?  Things just don't happen to you.  I'm driving up the main thoroughfare. . .the road's rather clear since the sun is out and shining. . .and there is little to no traffic.

Except this one guy.  A honkin' red Ford 350 (Idaho, right?) who's having some difficulty remembering that there are two lanes and one of them is mine.  Sure, the white lines are hard to see under some of the packed snow but really.  You live in this town.  We share the road 'round these parts.  He's making me nervous.  Alright, dude.  If you really feel like purchasing your giant truck gives you entitlement to all of your lane and half of mine, I will be the bigger man (and on that note, please remove those ridiculously undersized truck nutz) and give YOU some room.

Whoever said being kind and compassionate got you anywhere in life except last?  As I slowly move my car towards the side of the road, I hit a patch of ice that unfortunately did not feel the inclination to melt in the glorious yet insufficient sunshine.  Nothing matches that feeling of complete and total loss of control.  My car began to turn into that weird rubber pencil trick.

You could tell me over and over and over and over exactly what you're supposed to do in this situation.  You could remind me time and again not to overcorrect.  You could literally get inside of my brain and write all over my cortex, "Drive INTO the swerve!"  It would not matter.  Split second reaction does not equal the legitimacy of physics.

All I could do was try to steer into NOT THAT RED TRUCK.  I am the nicest person in the world.  As I did everything in my power to keep from turning into him, he drove off into the sunset and probably made millions and bought a whole load of truck nutz for his entire family.

I, on the other hand, realized that braking it wasn't working and that I just needed to get off the road.  It was all a blur but I managed to see an open parking lot.  I did not manage to stop short enough to make use of that empty parking lot.  Instead, I am quickly heading towards a storefront ramp bordered by a beautiful clean parked truck on one side and a gleaming mailbox on the other.

By some miracle upon miracles, I came to a sudden and crunching stop.  Right here:

The truck was fine.  The mailbox. . .untouched.  The building?  Turns out it was an optometrist's office and this wide-eyed guy comes out because everyone inside thought the end of the world had come.  My car was definitely the loser of that fight, though the corner of the office did lose some stucco. The guy catches my eye and I sheepishly wave from behind the wheel with a frightened grin on my face.  His head swivels to the parked vehicle. . .then to the mailbox, then back to me.  He says, "Boy howdy, I'm sure glad you missed my new truck."  So was I.

They invite me inside and call emergency and calm me down while I call Adam (who's stuck down at work because I'd dropped him off earlier since his truck stopped going into gear that very morning - WHY, I ask you, WHY does this always happen to us in twos??)  After I stop shaking and crying, I muster the joke that I thought I was going through a drive-thru.  I was due for a new pair of specs.

No severe damage.  To my physical self or the car.  No real blow to the building itself except for a small aesthetic fix.  No deployment of airbags.  All surface damage and a flat tire.

I keep telling Adam he needs to take me to an empty snowy parking lot one of these days and just let me spin around and play, get comfortable.  I realize that, from my comfy dry snow-and-ice free couch, it's much easier to imagine how much fun and games that would be.  Twelve panic attacks later, I may be wondering why in the world I would ever make such an absurd suggestion.

See Consumer Probe on Dangerous Toys like Bag-O-Glass

This guy is tops

September 16th was a special day.

My awesome rock-my-world husband turned 30 years of age.

I think he looks remarkably preserved.

I was so excited his b-day was going to fall on one of his Fridays off!!  I had so many crazy ideas for what we could do.  Rent an oceanside condo and hope it doesn't rain.  Spend the weekend in the city in some crazy fancy hotel and laugh about how we shouldn't open or touch anything except the free ice.  Or just toss a bunch of money in a pot and let him decide where to go or what to do.

Considering he ended up having to work some over time on the day of, I'm glad none of these plans worked out.  There is a part of me that knows some crazy spontaneous surprise would be just the bees knees.  But, then again, Adam's an old fart who is quite set in his ways.  Plus, you need a credit card to do most of this stuff and we share one so a bunch of frivolous charges showing up might raise an eyebrow or two.

So, I think I did the smart thing by leaving it up to Adam.  Check out his gifts......

I got up as soon as I heard the door close on Friday morning @ around 7:30am.

If there was one thing I knew I could do to make Adam's birthday 1000% awesome, it would be to get all the payday grocery shopping done before he got home.

I had my list ready, dinners lined up, even remembered to grab my grocery bags!!

Got all the way down to my car (and if you have been up and down my steps, adding the flight to the garage, you'll know what I mean) when I realized uh. . .no monies in the bank.

Back up the stairs, shoved the key into my ridiculously sticky lock (hate you!) and made sure to transfer the money I would need.  Man, I'm glad I realized that then instead of at the register with a shopping cart full of sundries.

Shopping at Wal*mart @ 8:30am was like the most blissful shopping experience ever.

It was like I was gliding through the aisles, no old ladies stopping to gab about sores and aching joints, no guttersnipes getting caught up in my wheels, no fiendish track-suit wearing mom grabbing the last bag of the good cinnamon bread!

All the checkers were bright and early, starting their shifts and smiling as they waited for me at their registers.  Oh, which lane to choose?  Which lane to choose?  Any will do, really.

Suffice it to say, it is totally worth getting up super early for that kind of shopping experience.

And it was probably the best birthday present ever.  So says Adam.  And well. . .that's who counts.

The day before, I found Adam's pocket knife which he'd been missing for a week or so.

Since I've got kind of a thing for wrapping anything and everything I can get my hands on (can't wait for you, Christmas!!!!) I just had to.

He was pleasantly surprised, as evidenced by his face.

I know it's super lame to get someone underwear or, if you're a guy and you didn't pick it out, any clothing at all for your birthday.  But seriously.  This boy needed some new church socks.

I believe I spent about an hour to an hour and 15 minutes in the JCPenney mens socks section.

It is super hard to pick out black socks, y'all.

Blast if I didn't just spend 1 minute too long because I got in line behind the ONLY other lady in the store and she had problem after question after coupon after penny.

Adam wore the socks on the following Sunday.  He looked pretty dapper if I do say so myself.  And I did.

I like how this picture looks like he is posing for another camera.  I am the only one there.

A few months ago, I had told Adam I was hoping to plan a little party for him.  It wouldn't be a surprise time or location but I was hoping to have a surprise theme.

I figured since he was turning 30 and becoming a real man and. . .well, real men always have mustaches

(see Ron Swanson). . .a mustache party would be hilarious.

I just kept laughing about it so he says to me, "It isn't gonna be a mustache party, is it?"

.........crickets........

Me:  Haha.  No.

A few days later, I couldn't hold it in anymore.  Not because I can't keep secrets (I'm the best there is) but because I couldn't believe he'd guessed it.  I thought for sure he'd found my secret notes!

I told him.

His reply:  "What?  Really?!  I didn't even know that was a thing!  I was just making it up."

Yeah.  That's why we're married.  Only us.

And the coup de grace.......................

He was so freaking excited about this tablet!  This was his big expensive gift.

And he'd been waiting months and months to get it.

It came in the mail on Tuesday but he had to wait until Friday to open it.  It wasn't a serious rule and, in fact, was one that he came up with.  If pressed, I probably would have let him check it out as soon as it came.

He carefully sliced his knife through the packing tape and raised the lid and. . . . . . . .

Yeah.

Best.  Birthday.  Ever.

After some initial grumbling and crying into my shoulder (not really) it's off to the computer to complain and get a new one sent out right away!!!

Though the mood had turned somewhat sour, we just couldn't stay upset for very long.

Not when there was birthday pie and mustache fun to be had!

Way back when I first got excited about actually planning a surprise mustache party with friends (before Adam decided he wanted it to be just him and me, aw how sweet) I ordered a chocolate mold for mustache lollies.

They turned out amazingly!  And were super delicious.  I am not sorry I dished out $5.00 which was mostly shipping.

I tried to get a picture of Adam with his birthday pie, candles lit, but he blinked!  Then blew out the candles before I could check to make sure the picture came out right.

Always in a rush for pie, that kid.

So, I had him re-light his own candles and go for take two.

And you can't even tell they're lit.  Nice smile, though, Adam.

Eating pie and consoling himself with his laptop; read not a tablet :(

It was pretty good pie.  Thanks Costco.  And Dustin and Michael for dropping off one extra delicious piece with cinnamon on top, specially for the birthday guy.

And. . . .6 days later. . . .

Ah.  Sweet unbroken and time-consuming tablet merriment.

I asked for a smile.

Love my birthday boy.

Mellon Collie and the Infinite Sadness

I miss my job at Sharp's.  I miss the consistency of a schedule.  I miss the people and the silly fun we had, especially after closing.  Turning every chore into a game.  Freezing people's keys in blocks of ice.  Making instructional videos on how to mop a floor or properly cut an onion; complete with chef who wants to be left alone, annoying host lady who won't shut up and an already finished onion prepared and ready to show.

I miss the regularity of customers I learned to recognize over 4 years.  I miss greeting them by name and ringing up their order before they even approached the counter.  I miss that 6th sense of knowing exactly what people wanted in drive-thru, even if they could never quite vocalize it correctly.

I miss a steady paycheck.  I even miss the times I got all the way to the bank before realizing Bud or John didn't sign it.  I miss knowing every conceivable in and out of a business.  I miss training newbs, learning them up in the ways of the burger ranch.  I miss hearkening back to my first few weeks and using that experience to remind myself how difficult and scary it was so I could make new employees feel more at ease.

I miss Sundays alone, sliding my glasses down to the end of my nose as I added up the profits of the week and recorded them with precision in "the book," putting the ice cream machine back together and pretending like I was building some futuristic weapon that would change the world and singing sad country songs about missing dogs and forgiving wayward sons at the top of my lungs.

I miss bad jokes and word games to pass the time on those slow nights.  I miss being useful.  Being counted upon.  I miss the camaraderie when things just plain sucked.  I may even miss screaming my entire way home when customers were mean.  I miss the confidence, the independence and the accomplishment I felt with every task.  That knowing smile or a "Good Job!" stamp on my bonus.  I miss being recognized for my hard work.

I miss the parking lot after close, whether it was throwing empty bottles over the roof into the garbage can or sharing our deepest thoughts about the world.  I miss impromptu fashion shows with the Lost & Found drawer.

I miss giving people rides home and trying to fit bicycles into the trunk of my Ford Escort.  I miss the feeling of that shower after getting home, washing off the smell of grease or success or whatever it was.  I miss watching new kids try to scoop fries as the bag keeps sliding off the handle - smiling to myself that one day. . .oh, one day, they'll get it.  I miss doing inventory, ordering the produce, signing off on shipments, stacking the boxes of patties, making 3 lbs of bacon at 7am, filling the shake flavors, icing the salad bar, washing the windows, stocking the mini-fridge, and making bank runs with $2000 cash in my pocket.  Especially when I got to take someone along and we could act paranoid as if the guy behind us was after that money and we had to make it through all the green lights before he caught up to us.

I miss all of it.  Not because it was anything special but because it was mine.  It was my job.  And I was amazing at it.

Fear & Loathing Blogger.com

I have spent two days composing the picture blog for the Anderson Family Reunion.  I accidentally click the undo button and it wipes the entire entry clean?  What is that about?  Undo means undo EVERYTHING?  Not just the last thing I did?

And my mere human hands weren't fast enough to redo or undo the undo before it was autosaved.  What kind of demented programmer allows someone to autosave a BLANK entry????Q!?!?!!??!/kl421jkjklwrejnfekjl;sfelj

Anger doesn't begin to describe my hatred for you right now, blogger.  Does not.  Even.  Come.  CLOSE!

By the way, thanks for autosaving this every 2 friggin' seconds.  Wouldn't wanna lose these precious thoughts!

Employment Purgatory

When I was delightfully and obliviously acing my 4 year elementary education degree program, we were told that the average certified teacher right out of college will have to suffer through 8 interviews before landing a job.

I have had 5.  However, it never got brought to our immediate attention that interviews aren't the end-all be-all of the job train.  Or the only way in which one's self esteem and confidence can be built or dashed.  I have applied and NOT received interviews (what were they thinking!?) for 18 positions in the past year.

Except for a few bouts with disorganization and procrastination, elementary school was easy.  High school was even easier.  When college came around, and I got a taste of freedom, I learned nothing from my academic classes and everything from the life lessons associated with the consequences of slacking off.  When I began to make real goals, it was challenging. . .but easy.

Almost every job I've had before now has come to me without too much hard work or that go-getter attitude.  I have been lucky enough to have connections which, while they did not GET me the job, certainly helped in getting me noticed in the first place.  All I had to do was show up and be awesome.  Which I am.

And yet, I keep forgetting that.  If I have to hear, "-Insert glowing praise here- BUT we decided to go with another candidate because -insert insider knowledge reason here-" I am going to curl up into a ball and become a fossil so that, one day, millions of years from now, a happy-go-lucky scientist can happen upon me and I can finally be worth something to somebody.

Here is where those people in my life who truly love me pipe up, "Oh Beth, you are worth the world to us."  I know.  And that means the world to me.  It still doesn't get me a job.

This area is so weird.  There are teachers who I subbed for last year who were not invited back due to budget restraints.  Now, these people are out there looking for jobs, too!  I'm on the same playing field as them and they've got the advantage because they've had their own classroom.  Everywhere I go, I'm stuck in some kind of strange limbo between the experienced elementary school teachers and the pre-schools who claim they can't afford me because I'm overqualified.

Nobody wants me.  I'm too little or too much.  Good but not good enough.  Each "Sorry, but. . ." phone call gets harder and harder.  I am running out of steam.  I have my faith to keep reminding me that, if I continue to do my part, the way will be shown to me and I will receive the position I am supposed to have.  Something about this experience is supposed to be teaching me something.  And if there's anything I've learned about teaching throughout my career (or lack thereof) it's that learning is the greater portion.

I am learning quite emphatically that I have had it way too easy for way too long.

Ok.  Lesson learned.  Can I have a job now?

This Book Is Going Down!

And I shall be incommunicado for awhile.

Warning: Do not Google "Lost Camera"

Where, oh where, has my camera gone?

Adam and I actually had to sit down with the calendar a few days ago to figure out exactly when it was we last used the camera and when it was that we noticed it was missing.  As we stood in the kitchen, glaring at the last weeks of July, rolling our eyes and screwing up our mouths into the telltale face of total recall, we began to realize two things:

1.  We have terrible memories.
2.  We are really boring.

Thank goodness for timestamps.  The last time we remember having the camera outside of this house was when we took a quick adventure trip up to Point No Point Beach & Lighthouse.  With the posting of my blog entry three previous to this one, it's obvious that the camera made it back safely.

Our miniscule place is 844 square feet.  And yet, that 844 square feet seems to be very adept at swallowing up items, making them utterly impossible to find.  Although, this is the first time that neither Adam nor I have been able to discover where this blasted thing is!  Neither have we had an epiphany leading us to any idea of where it could have gone.

I have done everything except literally tear this place apart.  I'm thinking I might need to implement a CSI-type search.  Not sure what a black light or powdered sugar may bring to light but I'm pretty sure it won't be the camera.  I am completely at a loss.  And totally frustrated.  I mean, there are only so many places this thing COULD be!  I've begun wandering around like an idiot, just calling out to it; willing it to suddenly appear in the gazillion spots I've already checked at least 3 or 4 times.  I need to tape off sections and just go to town, moving and removing so there is no question.  If I find myself staring at a spot, thinking to myself, "It couldn't possibly be there,"  I must check it out!  Otherwise, it will eat at me all day that it could be there if only I had checked.  By then, it would be too late, however.  Seeing as the thing has definitely sprouted legs or wings or a slime trail or something.

I have this feeling that it's sitting out in the open somewhere and, because it's been missing so long, I'm completely overlooking it.  My brain is focused on the fact that it must be hidden.  I've begun worrying about the following possibilities:

• One of us placed it on the shelf in the closet and it fell into the recyclables which have been tossed several times already.
• It somehow got swept into the garbage.  Maybe my hands were full of both garbage and non-garbage because I was trying to multi-task and it all went terrible wrong.  Like that time I was eating a lollipop and writing on the chalkboard.
• Someone took it.  Maybe sweeping it into their bag by mistake and it's sitting somewhere on someone's floor with the unintentional thief none the wiser.
• One of us has blocked out the memory of taking the camera out of the house and it fell out of our vehicle or was left on the roof.
• It is somewhere in the nether regions of the 4th dimension where all the left socks go and we will not see again unless we purchase a new camera and we've had it just one day past its return date.
• We never had a camera.
• The super plush shag rug has a deeper pile than I thought.
• For some reason, it was in my big ol' totey Fossil bag and it fell out as I was struggling with a bunch of crap.  Sounds like me.
• I am actually repelling technology now.
• Adam or I cleaned up and put it in a spot that, at the time, we KNEW we'd forget but that we thought made enough sense to be rediscovered.  This is hardly ever the case.  Never change an item's home.
• There is a secret extra room or closet somewhere in this apartment that I have never seen.  Room of Requirement?  Where are you when I need you?

The saddest part of this story hearkens back to another time when I was so dependent on media that my entire concept of reality became skewed.  It was around 9th or 10th grade and I had been playing way more video games than is normally healthy for someone under 40 who doesn't live in her mom's basement (it was the attic for me.)  The following occurred as I was walking home from school, purely by subconscious memory, lost in my own thoughts.  I don't remember what I was debating but I was trying to make an important real-life choice (important for a 15 year old, anyway) and get this. . .I genuinely thought to myself, "Well, Beth?  You could save now!  And if it doesn't work out, go back and try a different approach."  Sad, right?

A week ago, after searching and searching and searching to no avail, I began to feel like, for the first time, the internet had failed me.  Whenever I'm having trouble with anything, I can always "look it up!"  I was legitimately saddened and disappointed by the fact that I couldn't just google "lost camera" and have my problem solved.

You never quite notice how many photo ops there are until you have no way of recording them.  How will I chronicle the ever-anticipatory moment when my copy of Cold Vengeance by the brilliant horse-back rider Douglas Preston & lively banjo player Lincoln Child arrives?  At least I have my Team Pendergast chums to fall back on.  I can live through their photos.  What did we do back when cameras were just a novelty?  Or before there were any at all?  Perhaps I may need to invest in a stone and chisel.

Camera come back! 

You can blame it all on me.

I was wrong!

And I just can't live without you.

You know you miss these faces.