Tassel Hassle

I went through a bunch of old files not long ago, and I found a calendar page from May of 1997. My dad has always kept a log of family activities hanging in the kitchen, and this particular page noted my last day of high school and what was on the docket for the next day.

Let me first say this. Not only does my dad typically have beautiful handwriting, but he is also a very smart man, perfectly capable of spelling the word "baccalaureate." But in this one small square, I can see all the fatigue and frustration and anxiety of getting your firstborn sent off into the world -- college applications and party planning and the general emotional hubbub surrounding such a momentous event.

I think he realized he was off track early on. I picture him starting strong:

"B-A-C- . . . [sigh] . . . is it an A or a U .. . . God I'm tired . . . L-A-U-R . . . aw, fuck it . . . [scribble] . . . we all know what it is . . . [scribble] . . . we all know where we're going . . . [FLOURISH!]"

I love everything about this so much, especially the way it trails off very deliberately. Go big or go home, man. Just everybody get in the car. We're going to get that diploma. 

Terror at 3000 Meters

Some people out there will tell you that it's impossible to fall off a rowing machine. They'll say that it's such a simple device -- a machine with only a flywheel, a chain, and a sliding seat as moving parts, all powered gloriously by the human body.

Well, I'm here to tell you those people are right.

Because even though you might want to fall off this piece of exercise equipment after a spider suddenly appears on the wall right next to you . . . it's impossible to do so when your feet are strapped in.

So you end up just flailing around in a seated position only eight inches off the ground, leaning away at a severe angle, unable to take your eyes off the thing (it case it decides to leap into your face) while desperately trying to free your shoes. And maybe screaming a little. Maybe.

On the plus side, I think I hit my target heart rate and got some cardio running for the bug spray.

Turn the Other Cheeks

I think it's a pretty well-established unwritten rule that, as an adult, you shouldn't be making any verbal noises when you're in a public restroom stall.  

This includes both sounds and words -- with the notable exceptions of "Would you please hand me some toilet paper?" or "Do you have a tampon?" Because a) those are necessities, b) asking takes guts, and c) you're morally obligated to help a sister out in a crisis.

I would also include talking on the phone, which happens less now with texting. In the past, I've been privy (pun intended) to several conversations. One time I heard a woman put shoes on layaway. Another time I heard instructions for how to bake a ham. Once a lady took a call from a prospective employer. I don't know if she panicked or just didn't think they'd notice, but I held off flushing till after the phone interview.

I'm hoping that good karma will make up for my faux pas in the bathroom stall at work last week, when I unintentionally broke not one but two cardinal rules. First, I typically don't use my phone in public restrooms, largely because (germs aside) it tempts you to lose track of time. Get in, get out. There are people waiting, and it's weird to post statuses from the toilet.

But that day, I reached into my sweater pocket for some Kleenex and forgot my phone was in there. So naturally, I was compelled to check my email, which led to breaking the second rule.

I read a message from the local film society announcing that they'd be showing the new Macbeth movie. And, as I suddenly remembered that oh, right, wow that's coming out soon and Michael Fassbender's in it and I do love that play and I do love him and it looks amazing, I forgot that I wasn't geeking out over Shakespeare alone and I said out loud:

"Ahhhhhh . . . . yesssssss." 

Which, when you think about it, is maybe one of the worst things someone could hear coming from behind a stall door. 

Because the other person in the bathroom with me did not know I was on my phone. So I can't imagine how she interpreted this anonymous statement -- followed, as it were, by complete silence. Cryptic? Creepy? Disturbingly happy? Just plain relieved? I'll never know.

All I know for sure is that I had to wait until she finished washing her hands and left, and then another few minutes for good measure, in order to protect my identity (and avoid a harassment charge).

And much like the woman on the interview call, I found myself hoping only to be gainfully employed after relying on the kindness of peeing strangers.

Throw Another Jump on the Batt'ry

One morning last week, I was flagged down in the parking lot of my building by a guy whose car wouldn't start. He was late for work and quite desperate for any help, so when he asked if I'd be willing to give him a jump start, I said sure, as long as he had the cables and knew what he was doing.

While he hooked everything up, we chatted about the recent snowfall and he gave me some tips about parking, since I'm new to the neighborhood. He even told me about an email list I could sign up for with plowing alerts from the management.

I only relay these details to establish that, by the time his Honda revved back into action, we'd been talking together for a good five minutes in a very normal way.

As he put everything away and thanked me again, he asked which unit I lived in. I answered and then introduced myself, because somehow we hadn't exchanged names.  "I'm Dave," he said, reaching for my outstretched hand.

Right at that moment, there was a malfunction in my brain. I wanted to repeat his name so I'd have a snowball's chance of remembering it, but I also wanted to say "Hi." These two ideas wrestled for a nanosecond before deciding to reconcile and morph into what came out of my mouth, which was a combination of the two.

"Diiiiive," I confirmed, inexplicably turning Australian.

His head cocked just a bit.  "Dave," he repeated, perhaps more slowly this time, though I could be imagining that. Unable to explain why I briefly had a foreign accent and could not accurately pronounce a four-letter name, I simply nodded and smiled. 

So that's how I met my neighbor, and why he thinks I'm a dumbass.

Snake Eyes

A friend once told me how concerned she was that her kids adjusted well to their move from the city to the country. She and her husband had purchased a house with some land attached, and while they were enjoying the space and the quiet, they thought it equally important that their young children learn to embrace this new wilder, freer lifestyle.

So when my friend unexpectedly ran over a snake with her lawnmower one afternoon and ended up covered in guts, she was torn.

Would she set a good example of adventurousness and go-with-the-flow, girl-power gumption, or would she give in to her instincts and run screaming into the house?

When she burst through the door and saw her daughter's wide eyes on the verge of panic, my friend managed to keep her shit together. She continued brushing the reptile chunks off her shirt, while squeaking reassuringly, "It's just a bit of snake, honey, that's all. Just a little bit of snake."

Baby Longlegs

My sister recently dreamed that one of her best friends had a baby. In theory, this is nothing exciting. However, when her friend introduced this baby to the world, it turned out that she had birthed not a human child, but a tiny giraffe. Not like a hybrid, but a straight-up giraffe. And this seemed not to bother her or her husband one bit.  They were thrilled with their little spotted bundle, lengthy neck and all.

My sister, on the other hand, found herself worrying about the baby's future.

"It's a giraffe.  All right.  But this isn't always going to be okay, is it?"

Her concern had more to do with practicality than interspecies prejudice, because her next thought was, "I mean, I know their house has high ceilings, but . . ."

She had just decided to research animal sanctuaries when she woke up.

She laughed about it all morning and then shared the dream during a group lunch at work -- and then laughed even harder. Because after hearing the scenario of a woman giving birth to a baby giraffe, one of her coworkers simply said,

"Well, as long as it's healthy."

Big Shoes?

This week, I feel the need to share with you a brilliant drawing that a friend posted recently. Her creative and hilarious daughter decided to depict Ye Olde Sasquatch with a twist. I honestly don't know what I like more -- the fact that he's wearing an ironic T-shirt, or her thoughtful censorship of certain areas that aren't covered by the T-shirt. Because you know what they say about big feet . . . 

Para-rental Activity

A friend recently told me that her daughter started sleepwalking again. How did she find this out? Only in the most terrifying way possible.

My friend woke up in the middle of the night and went to the kitchen to get a glass of water. On her way back to bed, something in her home office caught her eye. Just a small movement in the shadows, but enough to make her pause.

As her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw her desk chair slowly spinning . . . spinning . . . spinning . . . until her trance-like child rotated into view.

"What are you doing in there?" my friend asked. In response, her daughter stood up and walked calmly back to her bedroom.

What amazes me about this story is that my friend is, as of this writing, still alive (i.e., did not suffer a fatal heart attack because of this encounter). 

I think this is because, even though you have to be prepared for anything when you have kids, you can also chalk a lot of creepy-ass stuff up to the fact that they're children. They're going to say crazy shit, and do freaky things (because they aren't yet old enough to know they're freaky), and they're not always able to distinguish dreams from reality.

But parents have an advantage, because if they hear a noise or see an apparition during the midnight hours, they can rest assured it's probably just their offspring being weirdos.

I, on the other hand, have no such handy explanation to comfort me. If I had wandered into a room and seen a chair spinning in the dark, the scene would have played out very differently.

COURTNEY: (Sees rotating piece of office furniture. Knows for a fact no other living beings are in her apartment. Says nothing. Soils self.)  

End Scene.