Have you ever stopped to think that your life would make a pretty good sitcom? I am not sure that that is exactly an admirable quality in a life. I suppose it depends on what kind of sitcom you are looking at. If it is the wholly unbelievable absurd and stupid sort of sitcom, you might want to rethink your life choices (just saying). If it is, however, more of the quirky life throws weird crap at you sort of sitcom, then I don't think it is so bad.
My life would probably make for a very dull sort of television show in any category. I think that it might be able to come off as one of those intellectually understated witty sort of shows that you have no idea why you like it but it has top billing on your DVR. Or at least I like to pretend that I at least have that much going for me.
My friend Sharon (who is also one of my coworkers) pointed out today that if our lives were a sitcom, one of our office mates (whom we refer to as 'Legging girl') would be the perfect plot device for 'and then wackiness ensued' sort of story line.
You see legging girl wears the exact same pair of leggings every single day. Same style, same pattern, same everything. Every day no matter what else she is wearing, she has on these leggings. They aren't even sensible goes with everything sort of leggings. It is really weird. She is even wearing them now that it is 112 outside on a daily basis. It also is not an office thing, because I saw her at faire one day this past season, and she was wearing the leggings.
So we have been debating for the longest time whether it is actually just one pair of leggings, or a million pair of the same leggings. I say that if it were only one pair she would have worn them out long ago. You can't wear the same leggings every day without them wearing out pretty quickly. Plus washing those every day would be insane (and one would hope she was washing them daily if they are the only pair).
We are also fairly sure she is wearing a wig. I think her hair is actually an obnoxious shade of blue, which is against dress code. The hair we see at work is this fake burgundy sort of color, and her hair has this very doll hair like quality (as in its weirdly shiny and doesn't really move). To say this girl is an enigma and quite a point of interest in our boring office life, is an understatement.
Now if my life was a sitcom, me and my fellow office mates would devise some elaborate plan to break into her apartment and rummage around to find out if it was really one pair or multiple pair. Of course while we were inside she would come home and we would all end up trapped in her closet. Then much wackiness ensues.*
I am certain the reality of the situation is not nearly as cool or even bizarre as we make it out to be in our head. She could just be a really quirky dresser. She could have some hideous scars on her legs and only the leggings are comfortable covering them. The leggings might have been the last gift given to her by her dying mother/lover/neighbor/dog and she wears them out of memory of them. She may just have crap fashion sense. Who knows?
I just know that while we wont be breaking into her apartment or stalking her (in a harmless sitcom fashion or creepy obsessive fashion), we also are not going to ask her what is up with her fashion choice or her hair. I mean if we solve the mystery how will we entertain ourselves at work?
* Sharon actually came up with that scenario on her own. I can't take any real credit for it.
Monday, August 8, 2011
Friday, August 5, 2011
Do one thing every day that scares you
I am a coward.
No really I am. I am not brave in any way. I might have been once as a child, but I do not really recall such a time. I get scared so easily at doing new things and big adventures, it is just the way I am. I will always choose the safe choice even if it is the boring choice.
I do not like to talk to strangers at all. In fact the only way I can get around to talking to people at faire (have I mentioned I am on cast at a local Renaissance Festival? No? Well I am. I am a random lane character who does improv and guerilla theater at a Ren Faire.) is if I am in character. Without that character front there, I couldn't manage to say a word. Even at that there are days I find it close to impossible to talk to people.
My husband can make friends anywhere. He will talk to the people in line at the grocery store, shopping near him, at the table next to us, standing around waiting for a movie, wherever. I swear you could drop him off in the barrio and he would show up hours later with three guys saying they were his new friends Juan and Pablo and Raul and they were going for a cerveza (which is pretty much the only Spanish he knows). He is unafraid.
I can not eat in a restaurant alone. The mere idea of sitting by myself in public and eating is terrifying to me. I tried in college to eat by myself in the cafeteria twice. The first time I made it about halfway through my frosted flakes before I just could not stand it anymore, and got up and left as fast as I could. The second time the cafeteria was so crowded that you had to share tables with someone, and a stranger came up and sat at my table. I made it all of three bites into my dinner before I thought I was going to start hyperventilating and just left.
Pretty much going anywhere alone wigs me out. It took a lot of time to be comfortable going to the grocery store by myself. The gym still makes me a little queasy since I am by myself. Sometimes places like WalMart or Target are still too much for me. I did go shopping all alone on my birthday and was alright, and I was very proud of myself. That was not the norm though.
So needless to say pretty much anything new and different scares the bejesus out of me, and mostly I would just rather not do it. I will probably lead a very dull and uneventful life due to this. Travel and adventure are just not on my plate unless someone drags me along and holds my hand.
Today is different.
Today I am being brave.
Today I am doing something that scares me beyond words.
Today I am having to find courage.
Today I am submitting a story to a magazine to see if I can get published.
A few months ago a friend in my writing group handed out a challenge to try and actually get some short stories published. I think I am the only person in our group that took up the challenge.
I love writing, and the idea of being published in anything is huge to me. HUGE. So it only makes sense that I would try. I just am so scared to. It really isn't the possibility of rejection that is scaring me either. I mean I do not think it is. Having them tell me no is not the worst thing in the world. I am sort of more scared that they will say yes. Yes is a snowball into more scary things and places. No is actually safe.
Safe or not, scared or not, ready or not...
Here I go.
No really I am. I am not brave in any way. I might have been once as a child, but I do not really recall such a time. I get scared so easily at doing new things and big adventures, it is just the way I am. I will always choose the safe choice even if it is the boring choice.
I do not like to talk to strangers at all. In fact the only way I can get around to talking to people at faire (have I mentioned I am on cast at a local Renaissance Festival? No? Well I am. I am a random lane character who does improv and guerilla theater at a Ren Faire.) is if I am in character. Without that character front there, I couldn't manage to say a word. Even at that there are days I find it close to impossible to talk to people.
My husband can make friends anywhere. He will talk to the people in line at the grocery store, shopping near him, at the table next to us, standing around waiting for a movie, wherever. I swear you could drop him off in the barrio and he would show up hours later with three guys saying they were his new friends Juan and Pablo and Raul and they were going for a cerveza (which is pretty much the only Spanish he knows). He is unafraid.
I can not eat in a restaurant alone. The mere idea of sitting by myself in public and eating is terrifying to me. I tried in college to eat by myself in the cafeteria twice. The first time I made it about halfway through my frosted flakes before I just could not stand it anymore, and got up and left as fast as I could. The second time the cafeteria was so crowded that you had to share tables with someone, and a stranger came up and sat at my table. I made it all of three bites into my dinner before I thought I was going to start hyperventilating and just left.
Pretty much going anywhere alone wigs me out. It took a lot of time to be comfortable going to the grocery store by myself. The gym still makes me a little queasy since I am by myself. Sometimes places like WalMart or Target are still too much for me. I did go shopping all alone on my birthday and was alright, and I was very proud of myself. That was not the norm though.
So needless to say pretty much anything new and different scares the bejesus out of me, and mostly I would just rather not do it. I will probably lead a very dull and uneventful life due to this. Travel and adventure are just not on my plate unless someone drags me along and holds my hand.
Today is different.
Today I am being brave.
Today I am doing something that scares me beyond words.
Today I am having to find courage.
Today I am submitting a story to a magazine to see if I can get published.
A few months ago a friend in my writing group handed out a challenge to try and actually get some short stories published. I think I am the only person in our group that took up the challenge.
I love writing, and the idea of being published in anything is huge to me. HUGE. So it only makes sense that I would try. I just am so scared to. It really isn't the possibility of rejection that is scaring me either. I mean I do not think it is. Having them tell me no is not the worst thing in the world. I am sort of more scared that they will say yes. Yes is a snowball into more scary things and places. No is actually safe.
Safe or not, scared or not, ready or not...
Here I go.
Thursday, August 4, 2011
Simple words
My husband and I like to send each other silly emails throughout the day to help maintain our sanity. Whether it is something as simple as talking about hating work, forgetting his phone at the house, if I left the dog outside in the heat again, or discussing the grocery list, which I would like to say is a one sided conversation that looks something like this:
Me: I am stopping by the store on the way home from the gym. Do you want/need anything?
Him: I want to buy some new mini's is that alright
Me: Yea sure you should have money on the card. Do you need anything from the store?
Him: How much can I spend.
Me:. The store...deodorant, toothpaste, cat/dog food, tea, lunch requests anything?
Him: I think we are out of cat food...yea...
Me: ...Right...
And then normally I come home to discover he has no razors or deodorant and the dog is out of food and his lunch supplies consist of the cookies he hates and has actively boycotted eating for 6 months and one can of tuna fish.
Sometimes we send silly emails that are completely random. For example today:
Me: (Sending him an email titled A Lament)
Alas..Plum juice...
Sticky again...
Him: Lucky plum
Or sometimes I will randomly nom him or sing him silly songs.
Sometimes though we can be incredibly sweet and schmoobly. He will send me notes telling me he loves me and I am his strength and other such things that make people a little queasy from the cuteness of it all. He has always been like this though. He loves sending me love notes, and writing me poetry, and buying me flowers for no reason whatsoever (no really, only for no reason. He refuses to buy flowers when he has been bad or for special occasions because he thinks they lose their meaning then).
Today while talking about our evening plans I mentioned that I had enough pennies and was going to pick up cheap fried chicken on my way home from the gym since he will be out all evening playing warhammer with the boys. His response was this:
Him: Remember when we had to count pennies for everything?
Hopefully we never end there again but our love of food started out of that, we could get small treats to make the day better.
You & Me vs World
Then I was all schmoobly and didn't really care that I was still all sticky and covered in plum juice.
Me: I am stopping by the store on the way home from the gym. Do you want/need anything?
Him: I want to buy some new mini's is that alright
Me: Yea sure you should have money on the card. Do you need anything from the store?
Him: How much can I spend.
Me:
Him: I think we are out of cat food...yea...
Me: ...Right...
And then normally I come home to discover he has no razors or deodorant and the dog is out of food and his lunch supplies consist of the cookies he hates and has actively boycotted eating for 6 months and one can of tuna fish.
Sometimes we send silly emails that are completely random. For example today:
Me: (Sending him an email titled A Lament)
Alas..Plum juice...
Sticky again...
Him: Lucky plum
Or sometimes I will randomly nom him or sing him silly songs.
Sometimes though we can be incredibly sweet and schmoobly. He will send me notes telling me he loves me and I am his strength and other such things that make people a little queasy from the cuteness of it all. He has always been like this though. He loves sending me love notes, and writing me poetry, and buying me flowers for no reason whatsoever (no really, only for no reason. He refuses to buy flowers when he has been bad or for special occasions because he thinks they lose their meaning then).
Today while talking about our evening plans I mentioned that I had enough pennies and was going to pick up cheap fried chicken on my way home from the gym since he will be out all evening playing warhammer with the boys. His response was this:
Him: Remember when we had to count pennies for everything?
Hopefully we never end there again but our love of food started out of that, we could get small treats to make the day better.
You & Me vs World
Then I was all schmoobly and didn't really care that I was still all sticky and covered in plum juice.
Were you raised in a barn?
I realize that common courtesy is anything but common now days, but I can not help to have it grate on my last nerve to see people just blatantly be rude and inconsiderate. I am sure they do not realize their behavior is inappropriate (at least I hope they don't realize it because if they did they would then be inconsiderate asshats who were raised poorly, and I would like to give their mothers more credit than that). I am sure they just don't think that it is a big deal. It is a big deal. It really really is.
My cube is in this small area of the office which is actually off to one side. It is not in the major traffic area, it is just my little group mostly, and it is nice and quiet for the most part. It is almost an ideal location. Almost. You see there is also one of the major conference rooms for our floor in the back corner of our area. In fact the door is almost directly across from my cube. The conference room has a door on our side as well as a door on the far side of the room which leads almost directly into the break room.
Because this is one of the largest conference rooms there is a fairly constant flow of people coming and going from meetings. Also because the room is almost on top of the break room it is a common short cut for people too lazy to take the long way around to the break room.
These two facts would not bother me so much if when people went into or left the room they closed the door. When the door is closed most of the noise from the conference room and the hallway beyond is muffled. When the door is open however the room sort of amplifies the sounds from the hallway beyond, or if there is a meeting going on we can hear every single word being said. Turns out we really like quiet in our area.
There are actually signs posted on the doors asking that they remain closed at all times to help keep the noise volume to a minimum for the employees trying to work. Not there should have to be signs. I was taught growing up that if you walk into a room with a closed door, you should close the door behind you. Chances are it was closed for a reason.
Yet still people just walk through and leave the door hanging wide open.
If I don't want to listen to the noise I have to get up and shut the door. Not that it is far to go, but it is annoying that I have to do it. And it is always the same people who leave it open, and they have watched me get up and shut the door behind them. I have closed the door on meetings before because they were being so loud I couldn't concentrate. How rude can you be? I mean seriously?
All I am asking for is a little respect and common courtesy. I am not going to stand about outside your cube making noise or causing distractions, why oh why do you have to do it to me?
My cube is in this small area of the office which is actually off to one side. It is not in the major traffic area, it is just my little group mostly, and it is nice and quiet for the most part. It is almost an ideal location. Almost. You see there is also one of the major conference rooms for our floor in the back corner of our area. In fact the door is almost directly across from my cube. The conference room has a door on our side as well as a door on the far side of the room which leads almost directly into the break room.
Because this is one of the largest conference rooms there is a fairly constant flow of people coming and going from meetings. Also because the room is almost on top of the break room it is a common short cut for people too lazy to take the long way around to the break room.
These two facts would not bother me so much if when people went into or left the room they closed the door. When the door is closed most of the noise from the conference room and the hallway beyond is muffled. When the door is open however the room sort of amplifies the sounds from the hallway beyond, or if there is a meeting going on we can hear every single word being said. Turns out we really like quiet in our area.
There are actually signs posted on the doors asking that they remain closed at all times to help keep the noise volume to a minimum for the employees trying to work. Not there should have to be signs. I was taught growing up that if you walk into a room with a closed door, you should close the door behind you. Chances are it was closed for a reason.
Yet still people just walk through and leave the door hanging wide open.
If I don't want to listen to the noise I have to get up and shut the door. Not that it is far to go, but it is annoying that I have to do it. And it is always the same people who leave it open, and they have watched me get up and shut the door behind them. I have closed the door on meetings before because they were being so loud I couldn't concentrate. How rude can you be? I mean seriously?
All I am asking for is a little respect and common courtesy. I am not going to stand about outside your cube making noise or causing distractions, why oh why do you have to do it to me?
Tuesday, August 2, 2011
Lost
Lost: My Give-a-damn
Last seen: Well I can't really recall where or when I last saw it, but I know it has been missing for a while, and it is sort of important so you know, I would like it back.
If Found: Do not make any sudden moves around it as it is very skittish and might run away. Please contact me and I will come and try and retrieve it. You can keep it occupied with shiny objects and gummy bears, but that only lasts a short time.
Reward: My endless gratitude or maybe something shiny...or gummy bears. Everyone likes gummy bears right?
Last seen: Well I can't really recall where or when I last saw it, but I know it has been missing for a while, and it is sort of important so you know, I would like it back.
If Found: Do not make any sudden moves around it as it is very skittish and might run away. Please contact me and I will come and try and retrieve it. You can keep it occupied with shiny objects and gummy bears, but that only lasts a short time.
Reward: My endless gratitude or maybe something shiny...or gummy bears. Everyone likes gummy bears right?
I'm sorry...what did you just call me?
I have this remarkably boring data processing job in the multi family housing industry (which is a lot of words to say apartment/rental homes). My company provides criminal and eviction and credit background checks to our clients (and a bunch of other things that are irrelevant to my job and this post). Pretty much I get to take the raw criminal and eviction data and put it nice and neat into a database for our customers to access (and at this point I think I am pushing the boundaries of what I am legally aloud to say about my job).
This post really has nothing to do with my job, well sort of, but not really.
One of the jurisdictions I am in charge of is Ohio. I process all the individual counties we have for them (155) which is super fun...or something. Anyways, all of the counties have names of course, and for years now I have been processing them and calling the counties by their names as I see fit, which turns out is not always right.
There is a county (actually several counties) in Ohio called Lima. I have been pronouncing it Lee-ma*, like the capital of Peru. It made sense in my head, and I don't live anywhere near Ohio so how would I know the difference.
Well I started watching Glee a few weeks ago, and after about four episodes I finally put together that they lived in Lima Ohio, as in the same place I have been processing at my job, and they pronounced it Lie-ma, like the bean. I felt a little foolish. Still in my head I keep calling it Lee-ma like Peru not Lie-ma like the bean.
That is when I realized I have a problem with things like this quite often. I pronounce things much differently than they are supposed to be pronounced. Thankfully it is only in my head mostly, so I avoid embarrassment.
In college there was a car dealer in Lufkin, Peltier Chevrolet. Their commercials were everywhere and they drove me crazy. In my mind Peltier is pronounced Pel-tee-ay (which is the 6 years of Ferench I took speaking) but they pronounced it Pel-chay. Now far be it from me to correct them on how to say their own name, but seriously? Pel-chay? How redneck can you sound?
I of course was among the many who could not pronounce Hermione when Harry Potter came out. Up until she sounded it out for Victor I had no idea what her name should sound like. I can't even tell you how I pronounced it in my head because I am fairly sure I just sort of glossed over it, or made something else up to take its place.
Another glaring example of my mispronunciation is Justin Bieber. I do not follow music. My radio is tuned to stations that play things that have been out at least ten years most of the time. So I could probably not identify a Justin Bieber song if you threw his CD at my face. Also I am not a tween so I have no need to know of him. I thought his name was pronounced Buy-ber, because that is sort of how it is spelled phonetically.I started hearing people talking about Beiber-fever and pronouncing it Bee-ber (sort of like beaver) and I honestly thought they were mocking the kid and the tweens. I felt a little silly when I realized they weren't mocking anyone, but that was how his name was said. Oops.
But I am not the only one who suffers from this problem. Ohhh no no no. This is a common problem.
When I was in college, my American History teach Dr. Barringer (also one of my all time favorite teachers) walked in one day and on the chalk board wrote in large letters:
San Jacinto
and then:
Mexia
Now if you are from Texas you know for certain of San Jacinto, and if you are from East Texas Mexia is almost certainly known (and we were in East Texas). He points to the first and asks the class "How do you say this?" And we all in unison say "San Ja-cento" and he nods and then points to the next and asks us the same question to which we say "Ma-hay-a".
At this point he nodded and set down his chalk and asked us why. Why are two very Spanish names pronounced so differently. Why not San Ha-cento and Mex-ia? Why doesn't San Jacinto get the Spanish pronunciation but Mexia does? I mean San Jacinto is a major point of Texas history (the final battle of the Texas Revolution), why does it lose its Spanish influence? We really had no answers for him, and I don't think he really expected or wanted one. Still it was a question.
I think though that just proves that it all depends on where you are from and how you were raised as to how things are said. When I was a senior in high school we took a theater trip to New York City. One day we were going down to Little Italy/Chinatown/Greenwich Village are, and we had this tour guide who was a feisty little old native New Yorker. As we were standing waiting to be released into the wilds she told us a little general history of the area and then warned us not to go north of "How-Ston" street. We all stopped and looked up at the sign she was pointing at. Houston St. Confused someone said "You mean Hue-ston Street.". She shook her head and insisted it was How-ston. Now we are all native Texans who have had years of Texas history where Sam Houston was shoved down our throats. Houston is one of the major cities in the state. Hell I was born in Houston. We all know with our every fiber of being it is pronounced Hue-ston. Then again she lived in New York her whole life and she knew that it was pronounced How-ston. We went round and round but in the end just had to agree to disagree.
So all in all I think this is a good example that you should not speak until you know what you are saying lest you look like an idiot in front of people.
* Once upon a long ago I had to learn IPA (International Phonetic Alphabet) but I have since then pushed that information out to make room for SQL Queries, and formulaic bodice patterning, and the names of the cheftestants on Top Chef. So this is as close to phonetic spelling as I can get.
This post really has nothing to do with my job, well sort of, but not really.
One of the jurisdictions I am in charge of is Ohio. I process all the individual counties we have for them (155) which is super fun...or something. Anyways, all of the counties have names of course, and for years now I have been processing them and calling the counties by their names as I see fit, which turns out is not always right.
There is a county (actually several counties) in Ohio called Lima. I have been pronouncing it Lee-ma*, like the capital of Peru. It made sense in my head, and I don't live anywhere near Ohio so how would I know the difference.
Well I started watching Glee a few weeks ago, and after about four episodes I finally put together that they lived in Lima Ohio, as in the same place I have been processing at my job, and they pronounced it Lie-ma, like the bean. I felt a little foolish. Still in my head I keep calling it Lee-ma like Peru not Lie-ma like the bean.
That is when I realized I have a problem with things like this quite often. I pronounce things much differently than they are supposed to be pronounced. Thankfully it is only in my head mostly, so I avoid embarrassment.
In college there was a car dealer in Lufkin, Peltier Chevrolet. Their commercials were everywhere and they drove me crazy. In my mind Peltier is pronounced Pel-tee-ay (which is the 6 years of Ferench I took speaking) but they pronounced it Pel-chay. Now far be it from me to correct them on how to say their own name, but seriously? Pel-chay? How redneck can you sound?
I of course was among the many who could not pronounce Hermione when Harry Potter came out. Up until she sounded it out for Victor I had no idea what her name should sound like. I can't even tell you how I pronounced it in my head because I am fairly sure I just sort of glossed over it, or made something else up to take its place.
Another glaring example of my mispronunciation is Justin Bieber. I do not follow music. My radio is tuned to stations that play things that have been out at least ten years most of the time. So I could probably not identify a Justin Bieber song if you threw his CD at my face. Also I am not a tween so I have no need to know of him. I thought his name was pronounced Buy-ber, because that is sort of how it is spelled phonetically.I started hearing people talking about Beiber-fever and pronouncing it Bee-ber (sort of like beaver) and I honestly thought they were mocking the kid and the tweens. I felt a little silly when I realized they weren't mocking anyone, but that was how his name was said. Oops.
But I am not the only one who suffers from this problem. Ohhh no no no. This is a common problem.
When I was in college, my American History teach Dr. Barringer (also one of my all time favorite teachers) walked in one day and on the chalk board wrote in large letters:
San Jacinto
and then:
Mexia
Now if you are from Texas you know for certain of San Jacinto, and if you are from East Texas Mexia is almost certainly known (and we were in East Texas). He points to the first and asks the class "How do you say this?" And we all in unison say "San Ja-cento" and he nods and then points to the next and asks us the same question to which we say "Ma-hay-a".
At this point he nodded and set down his chalk and asked us why. Why are two very Spanish names pronounced so differently. Why not San Ha-cento and Mex-ia? Why doesn't San Jacinto get the Spanish pronunciation but Mexia does? I mean San Jacinto is a major point of Texas history (the final battle of the Texas Revolution), why does it lose its Spanish influence? We really had no answers for him, and I don't think he really expected or wanted one. Still it was a question.
I think though that just proves that it all depends on where you are from and how you were raised as to how things are said. When I was a senior in high school we took a theater trip to New York City. One day we were going down to Little Italy/Chinatown/Greenwich Village are, and we had this tour guide who was a feisty little old native New Yorker. As we were standing waiting to be released into the wilds she told us a little general history of the area and then warned us not to go north of "How-Ston" street. We all stopped and looked up at the sign she was pointing at. Houston St. Confused someone said "You mean Hue-ston Street.". She shook her head and insisted it was How-ston. Now we are all native Texans who have had years of Texas history where Sam Houston was shoved down our throats. Houston is one of the major cities in the state. Hell I was born in Houston. We all know with our every fiber of being it is pronounced Hue-ston. Then again she lived in New York her whole life and she knew that it was pronounced How-ston. We went round and round but in the end just had to agree to disagree.
So all in all I think this is a good example that you should not speak until you know what you are saying lest you look like an idiot in front of people.
* Once upon a long ago I had to learn IPA (International Phonetic Alphabet) but I have since then pushed that information out to make room for SQL Queries, and formulaic bodice patterning, and the names of the cheftestants on Top Chef. So this is as close to phonetic spelling as I can get.
Monday, August 1, 2011
I am a duck!
I just wrote this really long post so that I could get to a story that I love about my aunt, but discovered at the end the lead up was both pointless and boring. So I deleted it.
So right here pretend there is a long lead up about my love of swimming, and how I almost drown once, and why I love cheese burgers, and that watching a pool being built is fascinating, and some other random tidbits about my childhood and the rules of the pool.
Alright, now that we are past that, the story I want to tell is about my Aunt Mary.
Let me start by saying I come from a very strange family. If anyone says I am weird, well they are right, but at least I know I come by it honestly.
So Mary is my mom's baby sister. She is younger than my mom by three years (and randomly my mother is three years younger than her older brother, its like my grandparents planned it or something). When Mary was very young, around the age of 4 or 5, (just before you typically start teaching children to swim, but after they are old enough to get into a lot of trouble at a pool if unsupervised), my grandmother took the kids to the pool. Now I don't remember if this was a pool on base or a public pool in Texas where they were visiting family, all I know is it was a pool that had lots of people at it and employed a life guard.
The day is going along well, all of the kids are playing and having a good time, my grandmother was probably drinking, and everyone was in general happy. Suddenly my grandmother looks around and realizes she can not find my aunt anywhere. Panicked she begins calling for Mary and looking everywhere, quickly gaining the attention of the lifeguard who helps y grandmother look. The last thing anyone needs at a pool is a small child who doesn't know how to swim being lost. To my grandmothers horror (and pretty much everyone else at the pool) Mary is finally spotted; on the high dive. She had climbed up there when no one was looking.
Cue mass hysteria; my grandmother screams, the life guard sprints for the high dive, climbing as fast as he can, people are yelling at my aunt not to move that she will be fine. Mary though is perfectly calm. She does not seem to grasp that everyone is terrified of her being on the high dive. Instead of sitting still like she is being told to, and instead of panicking like most children would when everyone is screaming, she calmly called out "It's alright I was a duck in a past life!" *
And then she dove off the high dive to the pool below.
She went smoothly into the water as though she had dived a million times, and gracefully swam down the length of the pool to the steps where she climbed out of the pool. No one is sure where she got the idea of past lives, and no one is sure why she would think she had been a duck, but no one could cast any doubt on the fact that she could swim just fine having never been shown how before.
So yea when people say I am weird, I know I come by it honestly. My entire family is that way.
*I am told she explained her ability to ice skate perfectly her first time on skates by saying she had been a figure skater in a past life as well.
So right here pretend there is a long lead up about my love of swimming, and how I almost drown once, and why I love cheese burgers, and that watching a pool being built is fascinating, and some other random tidbits about my childhood and the rules of the pool.
Alright, now that we are past that, the story I want to tell is about my Aunt Mary.
Let me start by saying I come from a very strange family. If anyone says I am weird, well they are right, but at least I know I come by it honestly.
So Mary is my mom's baby sister. She is younger than my mom by three years (and randomly my mother is three years younger than her older brother, its like my grandparents planned it or something). When Mary was very young, around the age of 4 or 5, (just before you typically start teaching children to swim, but after they are old enough to get into a lot of trouble at a pool if unsupervised), my grandmother took the kids to the pool. Now I don't remember if this was a pool on base or a public pool in Texas where they were visiting family, all I know is it was a pool that had lots of people at it and employed a life guard.
The day is going along well, all of the kids are playing and having a good time, my grandmother was probably drinking, and everyone was in general happy. Suddenly my grandmother looks around and realizes she can not find my aunt anywhere. Panicked she begins calling for Mary and looking everywhere, quickly gaining the attention of the lifeguard who helps y grandmother look. The last thing anyone needs at a pool is a small child who doesn't know how to swim being lost. To my grandmothers horror (and pretty much everyone else at the pool) Mary is finally spotted; on the high dive. She had climbed up there when no one was looking.
Cue mass hysteria; my grandmother screams, the life guard sprints for the high dive, climbing as fast as he can, people are yelling at my aunt not to move that she will be fine. Mary though is perfectly calm. She does not seem to grasp that everyone is terrified of her being on the high dive. Instead of sitting still like she is being told to, and instead of panicking like most children would when everyone is screaming, she calmly called out "It's alright I was a duck in a past life!" *
And then she dove off the high dive to the pool below.
She went smoothly into the water as though she had dived a million times, and gracefully swam down the length of the pool to the steps where she climbed out of the pool. No one is sure where she got the idea of past lives, and no one is sure why she would think she had been a duck, but no one could cast any doubt on the fact that she could swim just fine having never been shown how before.
So yea when people say I am weird, I know I come by it honestly. My entire family is that way.
*I am told she explained her ability to ice skate perfectly her first time on skates by saying she had been a figure skater in a past life as well.
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