I'm Never Leaving The House Again

Do you ever have those days? You know what I'm talking about. Those days where you wake up, and everything just seems to be working against you. Those days where you realize at some point that you just want to scrap the whole afternoon and go hide in your room. Right around 12:30 this afternoon I realized that I wanted to just call "DO-OVER" and re-start.

How do I even begin to tell you about this day?

Well, you need some back story. It all begins last Thursday. I was at work. I missed a call from someone at a local child welfare office. They wanted to schedule an interview for me. I work Thursdays and Fridays, and have very little time to return calls. This is especially true on Thursdays. I work from 8:30am-5pm. At which point I drive like a frantic crazy woman to get to my next job which begins at 5:30pm.

I really want to work for child welfare. So this past Thursday I thought it would be a good idea to return the call as I drove from job 1 to job 2.

BAD IDEA. I was completely frazzled. I hadn't worked out what I was going to say. I left a message for this woman that made me sound like a bumbling idiot. I don't remember the exact message, but it went something like this:

"Hi...uh..." (I had hastily written the woman's name down. I couldn't read my writing, and it was a big long name. So I paused for a second as I tried to drive and decipher what on earth this name was). "...um...Ms. Bridenheagenshsmendhaer" (that was me mumbling her name) "This is Melinda Murray returning your call about the..." (missed my turn) "...interview. I'm sorry I missed your call. I was actually at work all day, and I will be at work all day tomorrow. I'm very interested in coming in about this job." (Coming in about this job??! Really?!) "I guess you could call me back." (I guess you could call me back?) "I'm free most other days of the week..." (At this point I have realized that the message has made me look like I am suffering from some form of mental retardation and it is best to just end it all). "I will...uh...try to reach you again tomorrow after 5pm. Again this is....Melinda...Murray." (OH MY GOD MINDY! FAILURE! THIS IS AWKWARD!! BAIL!! BAIL!! BAIL!!) "Sorry this message is so awkward." *Click* ---> and yes I actually said that last part.

Now, if you're thinking what I was thinking: I know!! What is wrong with me?!

At this point I am assuming that they are never going to call me ever again, and I have lost my chance. Fair assumption? I think so.

On Friday, I received a call from someone else in this office. The original woman, with the unpronounceable name doesn't work on Fridays, but they wanted to touch base, and tell me they are only doing interviews on Monday. I think this is my chance to redeem myself. I'll call her when I get off work.

She wasn't there. I left a less awkward message. However it was still strange. It was me explaining that I can come in any time on Monday, and if someone could please call me at their earliest convenience. I told this new woman (whose name I wrote down very carefully) that I would make any time work in my schedule.

All weekend goes by, and I receive no call. I have lost my chance at this job, but I'm not really surprised. This has been a seriously awkward game of phone tag. No one, but me, could pull this level of awkwardness off.

Then, Monday comes around. I get up early, and I go to the gym. Now, I NEVER take my phone to in with me, but for some reason I did this Monday. I'm still not sure if this has worked to my benefit.

It rings.

I answered, frazzled, and out of breath. It is the same office, different person (this is three people I have been awkward with now). They have one interview slot open Tuesday at 11:30. I say "yes I will be there." However, I have no pen, so I don't ask for the address or anything.

More information you need to know about me. I HATE, HATE, HATE, HATE, being late. This usually means that I am EMBARRASSINGLY early to things.

Today rolls around. I get up early. I get ready. I find the address to the office. I set my resume and application to print. I perfect my outfit. Surprisingly, I look pretty good. I get ready to leave (allowing enough time to be there 20 minutes early). I go to the printer to gather my papers. The damn thing was out of paper! I have to find some. That takes about 10 minutes.

I leave. There's a smog advisory, and it's hotter than Hades out. However, everyone seems to think that driving is a good idea. So, all the morons of the world are out, and driving at a slow and leisurely pace. PLUS there's construction everywhere. (Thanks for the jobs Obama, but today it's not really working for my schedule). I get to the address I have written down, five minutes late.

OMG I'm late.
OMFG, the place doesn't exist! I'm at the wrong place!

At this point I am thinking. "Just go home Mindy. You have completely botched this whole thing from the very beginning. There's no point in attempting to save it. Just go home, curl up in a ball, and cry for a few months." BUT, This week I'm testing the boundaries of my comfort zone. So, I call my mother, and she finds their phone number. I call their office, and tell them that I'm lost.

I'm sure they are thinking "this lady is a complete fool." I would be. Why are they wasting their time with me? Why have they gone out of their way to bring me in for an interview when I have yet to demonstrate one redeeming quality? Actually no. I have clearly demonstrated my ability to socially flog myself and come back for more. How appealing.

They debate whether or not they should continue with the interview. I'm not speculating. They actually told me this is what they were doing.

By some strange grace of god they decide to let me come in a half an hour late (because that is how late I will be at this point). I thank them, but am seriously wondering if I should let me come in a half an hour late.

So, I drive in the opposite direction for 15 minutes, and pull into the parking lot of a Walgreen's. They have told me they are located at the corner of Powell and 122nd, and all I see here is a Walgreen's.

Kill me now.

Every fiber of my being is now screaming "GO HOME!" My anxiety issues are kicking in BIG time, and I hate myself for being this late.

Really it's amazing I didn't just completely loose it there in the middle of Rockwood. BUT, I held it together, and discovered this weird little hole in the wall marked "Child Welfare." I take a deep breath, and walk into this building.

There was no front desk to check in at. Really there wasn't much of anything. It was like a big empty room with a conference room attached.

I scream internally. My inside voice is shouting "TURN AND LEAVE, TURN AND LEAVE!"

A few people look up at me and stare. I'm sure they are wondering who this nicely dressed, but clearly frazzled young lady is. I wish I knew, people. I wish I knew.

After what feels like hours, but is really only seconds, a nice man comes out and says "are you Melinda?"

OH THANK GOD!!! YES I'M MELINDA!!! SAVE ME NOW!!

Normally, I advise against following strange men around after entering vaguely marked offices in the middle of trashy east P-town, but at this point I had NOTHING to loose.

So, I swallow the blue pill and follow him down the rabbit hole.

The interview lasted about 10 minutes, which isn't advisable. However, I felt like it went okay. Against all odds, I think I pulled off this interview.

When it ended I practically ran out of there in my heels. I had to make a quick stop at the grocery store, and then I was home free. Literally. However, even that didn't go as planned.

When I went to the store, I was followed around by two trashy looking teenage boys in over sized tie-died shirts. They don't know I saw them, but they were stalking me. Then, as I was leaving, my gas light came on. Which is beyond my comprehension, because I had a quarter of a tank this morning.

I make a quick stop at a nearby gas station, and I think "you deserve an Icee Mindy." So, I go in to pay only to discover that this is apparently the one gas station mini mart on Earth that does not serve Icees.

PERFECT.

Well, I've gone in, so I've got to get something. I get a pop. The lady doesn't take my credit card. Of course you don't. I make it work. I get in the car, and now I can't get out of the parking lot in the direction I want to go. I have to drive around in a ridiculous 4-block circle just to get back on track.

I think that the heat has actually seeped into my brain. The temperature is making a brain omelet inside my head.

Finally I make it home. The interview location was 15 minutes from my house, but I managed to get stuck outside, lost, confused, upset, and frazzled for three hours!

As I mentioned earlier, it is hotter than the fiery pits of hell here. On second thought, that might be where I am. I woke up in hell this morning. God that explains EVERYTHING!

A Grown Up in a Child-Sized Costume

Location: My Room
Mood: Lonely

Here is what's on my mind. According to, well, the world I look a lot younger than I am. I'm twenty-three years old, but many people have a hard time believing that. It's quite frustrating actually. It's a lot worse than it sounds. Let me describe to you a few recent events in my life.

This weekend I went to Vegas. A bouncer didn't believe my ID at one club. At another some guy asked me if I was fifteen. Then the girl in line behind me at the bar loudly told her friends that there was no way in hell I was legal.

A few weeks ago a bike racer gave me one of his premes (he didn't want it). It was a tote bag. He said it would really come in handy during my first semester. A couple of days later a friend of my parents asked me what grade I was in.

About six months ago I went to the movies with my Mom. We went to see an animated feature. It was raining, so I had my hood up. My mom bounds up to the box office and said "we wanna see some cartoons!" The box office attendant then asked if we needed one adult and one child ticket.

Nearly nine months ago I went out to dinner with my brother. The host looked directly at me, and then asked if we would be needing a childrens' menu.

I work at a therapeutic school for children who have been abused/neglected. On one of my first days a 6 year old girl told me that I didn't look like a teacher. "You look like a kid," she said. One day I was working with an after school group of adolescents and one of the teenage girls raised her hand, and asked the lead staff "is she {referring to me} one of you or one of us?"

As you can see, this is not just a vague confusion. I am an adult, and society doesn't see it. People aren't saying I look a little bit younger than I am. Some people think I'm a few years younger. Some people think more than that. They assume I'm a teenager. When they see me reading they assume that it is for homework. They find it strange that my parents "let" me drink. Other people assume worse. They think I'm a child. They believe I need special menus and booster seats.

Normally, I just laugh it off. I tell myself that it's no big deal. However, the truth is: this really gets to me. A large part of me actually takes this to heart. It kicks me right in the most tender portion of my self-esteem. I don't want to be younger. I'm twenty-three. I want to be twenty three.

The worst part is that no one seems to understand. I keep hearing "oh you'll really like that later" or "eventually that will be nice." That's all well and good, but here's the thing: it's not later. I'm sure that when I'm forty-five and getting carded, I will be flattered. Eventually, I probably will appreciate it. However, right now it sucks, and I don't think that's going to change. Maybe I will like it when I'm older. Actually, I probably will, but one thing I know for sure is that when I am older I will not think "that wasn't so bad when I was 23." It sucks now, and I believe that I will still think so into old age. I will look back and think "yeah it's nice now, but I hated the hell out of it when I was young."

SO, thanks for trying to console me with that thought. But for the love of god please stop.

Kids Have it Made!

Location: Home
Mood: Amused

Have I ever told you about how and why I think little kids are the greatest? Really their lives rule, and I'm super jealous. Have you ever really thought about it?

Little kids can wear whatever they want, and it's adorable. Have you been to the zoo recently? You'll see kids there in all types of garments. It could be the middle of July, and a four year-old will be wearing a snow suit as overalls. I mean you'll feel bad because he's probably sweating up a storm, but it's so freaking cute you can't help but snicker. Also, kids can wear mismatched outfits whenever they please. They can wear capes out in public, and no one even bats an eye. Even better: they compliment them. Now, imagine 23 year old Me, going to the grocery store, in two different pairs of long socks, plaid shorts, a polka dotted shirt, with a cape around my shoulders, and a ten gallon hat. If you walked past me you would not smile and compliment my outfit. You would not come up to me and say, (with pride flowing out of you) "did you dress yourself this morning?" You would wonder what was wrong with me. You might hide your children, or clutch your purse a little tighter. You'd probably make fun of me behind my back.

Little kids can behave however they want. Now, most people hear this argument and disagree with me. I will modify it. Little kids are not supposed to behave in certain ways, but if (and when) they do, society excuses them anyway. How many times have you been out in public, and seen a little kid throw an absolute fit? It happens. It's not pleasant. No one likes it when they do, but they're little kids and we let it slide. They're still learning, we tell ourselves. I have had numerous days where things just did not go my way. Maybe I was tired, cranky, hungry, or all three. Maybe I was forced to go somewhere I didn't want to be, or maybe someone else was playing with something of mine. I admit it, it would feel great to scream and shout about it. Sometimes the perfect catharsis is crying and stamping your feet. However, being adults, we can't do that. The police might be called. You would be responsible for your actions. When a little kid throws a fit. People don't blame him. It's hard being a kid. They approach his/her parents and say "if you cannot get your child under control, I'm going to have to ask you to leave." Sure, maybe the parents reprimand the child, but in the grand scheme of things they got away with it.

Little kids don't really have to walk anywhere if they don't want to. Go on a family hike. You can try to force your five year old to walk the whole thing, but if she whines enough, you'll pick her up. You'll probably actually enjoy carrying her around on your back. Anyone want to hike up a mountain with me on your back? Didn't think so.

I think the perfect age is four. You're old enough to start talking, but too young to understand the things you can't do. You don't miss out on bars and dating, because they aren't things your interested in. You can play with toys. You can be adorable. Everyone wants to talk to you, and they usually have nice things to say. There are really no responsibilities. You can wear a batman costume to school, and a princess dress to the post-office. You can cry when your mommy makes fish sticks for dinner, and you can twirl around the back yards of the world for hours without a care in the world.

Peope are Despicable

If you were alive and breathing at all these past few weeks you probably noticed that the largest pop icon in the world isn't.

I was a little shocked by my reaction to this news. It made me sad. I'm not saying that I'm heartless or anything. Not in the least. I just didn't think I cared that much. I thought that I would probably react as I do to the news of any celebrity dying. That reaction is one of mild upset but mostly vague indifference. It's a reaction that is best summed up with a shrug and a calm "huh, that's too bad." This is the reaction that I expected to the news of Michael Jackson's death.

Instead, I was momentarily stunned. After that, I began to remember every time he popped up in the media during my life. I was honestly saddened by the news, and then I was upset at what I knew was about to come. I knew that people were going to have mixed reactions. I knew that many people were going to look at this as fodder for idiots. I knew that people were going to be making jokes that were in extremely poor taste, and comments that were outrageously inappropriate.

I was not let down.

What I want to say to these people is this: You didn't know him. You don't know any celebrities.

We tend to think that because someone is on our tv, or singing through our radios that we know who they are. This is not the case. Yes, celebrities are the people we see in the media, but is that all they are? They have private lives that we will never know anything about.

I am not denying that some odd things happened in Michael Jackson's life. In the last decade or so, he was in the media for a number of strange things, but no one knows what actually happened. None of us knows what he did or didn't do. It bothers me that people feel like it's okay to pass judgment on this man. He did more with his life than most people will ever do.

I was watching his public memorial today, and there were moments when I was moved by the words of his loved ones. These are famous people, who I am sure many people feel like they know. Many of them we love and celebrate, but for some reason we don't take that into consideration? Notice how many people showed up to pay the respects to this man. Notice how large his family is. Notice how devoted his friends are. Say what you want about what you think his personal life may have been like, but you have to admit there's a possibility you're wrong. If this man was as deeply disturbed and perverse as you assume he was, how could he have amassed such a support system. Why would celebrities who make a living off of their reputations stand up to support him?

Most importantly: How would you feel if it was your life people had misunderstood? How would you feel if people passed judgment on your personality because of some quirky traits? How would you if a beloved member of your family passed away, and then random people began to joke about it?

Respect.