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.

A Storm's A Comin'

Do you ever have those moments when you see that something is about to happen? You know, moments in life where you can tell the shit is just about to hit the fan?

I’m having one of those right now.

The worst part is there’s nothing I can do about it. This thing is going to happen regardless of what I do. I can try to steer it one way or another, but it won’t make that much of a difference. All hell is about to break loose regardless of my interference.

I’ve decided that the best thing I can do is remove myself from it as much as possible. Sound like a good idea? I thought so too. The problem is, I can’t even do that completely. This thing that I sit on the precipice of involves my loved ones. I’m emotionally involved. Like it or not. I’m trying to prepare myself, but what can you do?

I promise the funny blogs will come back eventually. I’m suffering from writers’ block.

Not Your Average Blog.

Mood: accomplished


This may be dumb, but here goes. As some of you may already know, I have been writing a book. It started out as something fun to pass the time, but it’s really coming along. I just finished my fifth chapter, and am part way through the sixth! I decided recently that I actually want to try and get it published. I don’t know if that is just a stupid desire. It might never happen, but I know that it’s something I want to try. Think how proud I would be of myself!

I finally figured out what is happening with one of my main characters. It’s really weird, slightly mystical, and definitely interesting. Once I came up with it, the character has been so much more fun to write. I’m not going to tell you what is happening to him, but what I will do is show you. Realize that this was my first attempt at writing it, and it might have MANY flaws. However, I had a lot of fun writing it, and now I want to share it with someone. It’s just an excerpt from the chapter and not the whole thing.

Back story: They are two 16 year old kids. Blake and Maggie. Blake’s family all go to a very exclusive private school for boys in the next town. Blake went there for a few months, but didn’t like it at all. So, he moved in with his older sister and her family in order to go back to his old school.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
“So, how come you don’t go to Alpha?” I asked Blake one Friday after school. Jackson had to stay after for a CLUB meeting so we had the Lancer to ourselves.
“Sick of me already?” He feigned worry.
“You know what I mean.” I laughed. We were stuck in the crowded school parking lot. Everyone was in a hurry to get to their weekends. So, naturally, it took us all forever to get out.
Blake let the car idle and looked at me. “Actually, I’m not sure I know what you’re getting at. I didn’t want to go there.” His blue eyes danced in the sunlight. I was mesmerized. It took me a moment to remember what I was asking about. Even then I couldn’t speak. It was like I had no choice. I was stuck staring into his eyes until the line of cars moved, and Blake redirected his.
I cleared my throat. Trying to regain my train of thought I said, “Well, you said it was important to your dad.”
He nodded.
“Then, he uprooted his whole life and moved to Salem.” I went on.
“You make it sound like he moved to Calcutta.” He laughed.
“How so?”
“Salem isn’t that far away. It’s a half an hour drive. Maximum. It wasn’t that big of a move. Plus, it’s a nice town. Close to the city, and his family all lives there. I’m sure he would have gone back sooner or later.”
“But I thought that he wanted you to go to his Alma mater or whatever.”
“Yeah, maybe that was the driving force. But, like I said, it was bound to happen.”
“Why’s that?” I was curious.
“He and my uncle Noah have been working things out. They’re family you know. Brothers. I guess they don’t want to loose that bond, or can’t. Whatever.” He shrugged.
“But that doesn’t bother you?” I asked. “Being away from your family I mean.”
“I’m living with my family Mags.” Blake rolled his eyes. Again, I’d missed the obvious. “My sister is awesome. My dad doesn’t really get it, but he’s my dad. You know? I’m not going to loose him. I couldn’t if I tried.”
I thought about that for a second. It made perfect sense I looked out the window. We were on the street now. Driving home.
“You didn’t answer my question though,” I reminded him.
“What’s that?” He said tilting his head toward me.
I sighed. “What’s the deal with Alpha Blake?”
“Oh, that.” His face got suddenly serious. “Well, it’s a weird school Mags.”
I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant. I just unbuttoned my jacket and waited for him to go on.
“I know my dad and Noah went there. And my cousins go there now, but it’s just not for me.” Blake was noticeably troubled now. “Those just aren’t my people.”
I shook my head, and looked to turn down the heat. “What do you mean?” It was hard for me to imagine Blake not fitting in anywhere. He was so fun-loving and care-free. People just gravitated to him. I did. That anyone wouldn’t like him was beyond my comprehension.
“Everyone there is so full-of-it.” He was very serious now. The atmosphere was charged with his agitation. The air felt hot and thick. The change was so drastic that it took me aback. I tugged my coat off and double checked that the heat was off.
“They all think that they’re better than everyone else,” Blake went on. “It’s like they think they’re…I don’t know…Like they’re something more than the rest of us. All of them. Even the teachers. They just think their too good for society. It’s hard to explain. They don’t understand how I can have normal friends.”
“Normal friends?” I asked rolling down my window.
He pinched his nose between his eyebrows. Then he gesticulated wildly. “You know, people outside of the freak-school.”
“So, it’s not a good school?” I asked, bewildered by his behavior.
His lips tightened and he leaned his head from side to side while he decided on how to answer. “I mean, it’s alright. It’s got to be. Look at who it’s turned out.” He listed some of the more famous alumni. I was aware of some of them, and surprised by a few other names.” But the whole place is just surreal. It’s almost medieval.”
“Medieval?”
“The halls are lit with torches for god’s sake!” He rolled his eyes and shook his head at remembering the oddity. “But the classes are just weird.”
Nervous about upsetting him, I began to sweat, but curious to learn more I asked, “how?”
He let out a frustrated sigh, but continued for me. “Well, it’s normal lessons, but they’re all kind of colored with this bizarre brush.”
“What do you mean?”
He sighed again, and it almost sounded like a growl. “Well, science, history, civics. It’s all there, but it’s different.” He looked at me, and could tell that I didn’t really understand. “I guess you’d have to go to know. It’s so hard to explain. But, it was like we were learning someone else’s theories. Like it’s not how things really are, just what we’re supposed to believe.”
“They said that?” I wiped my brow.
“Didn’t have to.” He waved his free hand into the air. “They all believe it. The normal rules of society don’t apply to those guys Mags.” He let out another frustrated grunt. I could tell that he was uncomfortable talking about this.
“And there’s something about them that’s just… I dunno.” He shuddered.
“Creepy.”
We sat in the car in silence. My mind was abuzz with information. I had so many new questions. Why were they like that? What were the lessons like exactly? Why were they so secretive? Torches? Was his family the same way? Creepy? His cousins? Noah maybe, but his dad? I wanted to ask him everything, but I didn’t.
Blake was starting to relax again. He was calmer. I had stopped sweating. The air was cooler. I sensed that it was probably best to leave things alone for now.
I looked around and realized that we had driven past the turn-off to my house. I must have really upset him.
“Forget where I live champ?” I teased him.
He laughed, and I relaxed even more. “No. I’m taking you to meet my sister.”
“Oh.” I said, stupidly.
He raised one of his eyebrows. “Is that okay?”
“Yeah,” I said. Now I was agitated. “Cool.”

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Later on Maggie witnesses an interaction between Blake and his dad that is, well...it’s weird:

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Alone now, I peered out from behind the blinds. Blake had met his father at the beat-up old truck. I guess his uncle’s extreme generosity didn’t extend to his brother. Strange. As they talked, I took in as much of Blake’s dad as I could. His back was to me, but I could tell that Blake’s dad had the same build as his son. He was slightly taller, but he slouched so that they stood at the same height. He was older than I expected. His hair was mostly gray. Even from behind I could tell that the years hadn’t been exactly kind to this man. His posture almost seemed defeated.
While I watched, the old man grabbed one of his son’s arms. He leaned in close like he was sharing something secret. Then, Blake’s face went from friendly to frustrated in a flash. He tried to pull away, but his father held his arm firmly and spoke to him. Blake then shook his head and pulled his hands away violently.
The old man pulled away too. He recoiled momentarily, shaking his hands as though they’d been burnt. Then, he stood up tall and pointed to his son’s arms. At this, Blake rolled his eyes. Then he paused when he saw what his father was referring to. His eyes seemed to bulge for a fraction of a second, but then it was gone. He smiled half-heartedly, and said something that looked like “you’re crazy.”
His dad spoke again, for a while. This time Blake nodded. He spoke to his father more calmly now. Then he pointed to his car and the house behind it.
That’s when it happened. Blake’s father turned around. His eyes followed his son’s hand. He looked to the house. Quickly, I ducked behind the window dressings. I don’t know what I was expecting, but that wasn’t it.
His dad’s bright red face was horribly scarred. One of his dark eyes was smaller than the other. The skin around it had been remolded so that it barely seemed open. His nose looked as if it had been melted off, and then reshaped by a child. His mouth was crooked, and raised glossy bumps covered his cheeks.
He was grotesque, but that wasn’t the worst of it. Even though I ducked behind the drapery, I got the very distinct sense that he saw me. Blake’s dad was looking right where I stood. He was staring directly at me with his monstrously mismatched eyes. He glared at me. His expression clearly said that he didn’t like me. No, he loathed me. His eyes burned with hatred. Blake’s dad saw me, and he hated me.
My blood ran cold.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Okay, so tell me what you think.

Fun Story Time: Warning it's about a potty-type situation.

Mood: embarrassed


If you know me at all, you know that I have a ridiculous fear of rats and mice. Pretty self explanatory. I hate their tails. Their beady little eyes. Their teeth. The fact that they are disease-ridden. You know that they all just want to bite you, and give you rabies and god knows what else. I can’t talk about this right now I’m getting all stressed out.

You may also know that I have a totally irrational fear of toilets. Weird I know. I can’t totally explain it. I think it stems partially from a blacked-out potty training trauma. Also, I’ve always secretly suspected that the upstairs bathroom at my house is haunted. So much so that when I was little I was scared to go to the bathroom at night. When I was too old to pee my bed, I would usually hold it till morning and sprint down the hall first thing. When I either couldn’t hold it, or managed to convince myself that there was no such thing as ghosts {probably} I would use it but I would NEVER flush at night. I was convinced the loud flushing noise was a demon roaring at me from the depths of hell (or the plumbing system...whatever). This last point was further exacerbated by a little movie called “Look Who’s Talking Too.” Say what you want about that film, my psyche, whatever, but there is a talking toilet scene in that film that scarred me. Later in life I would say it was out of courtesy to my parents. " I didn’t want to wake them", I'd say. Don't believe that line. This fear, as I said, is totally irrational, and as I can’t avoid it I use the bathroom regardless.

Anyway, the two fears may seem like they'd never meet, but you’d be wrong. They actually come into contact with one another on an almost daily basis. When I was in middle school I heard a story on the radio about rats living in sewers. I’m sure you’ve probably heard this old wives tale, but the story was about a woman who discovered a rat in her toilet. *Alright I’m getting nervous.* This woman did not just discover a disease infested rabid rat in her toilet by stumbling upon it one morning before doing her business. Oh no. This woman discovered the rat WHILE doing her business. Oh god! Yes, that’s right. It bit her. Right in the tuckus!! OH GOD!!!

Needless to say, I have never really been the same. Although I know it probably never happens, I still have a hard time getting past the nervousness that is me KNOWING a rat will be biting me on my ass this time.

It’s never happened.

So fun story time now:

At work I have all kinds of issues with using the bathroom. These issues are unrelated to my irrational fears, but are no doubt exacerbated by them. These stories are for another day and another time. The story I want to tell you about is how I thoroughly embarrassed myself at my place of employment this week. I went to the bathroom, and I set up the toilet with one of those sheets (what are they called?).

In case you’re wondering, I don’t do this anywhere else. I don’t mind the germs. But, for some reason, I'm worried about them at my work.I know. I’m weird.

Anyway, so I put the sheet down, and then I do my business. I’ll spare you the details. Except that you need to know, if you don’t already, that it was freaking hot this week. So I was kind of sweaty. When I stood up afterward the sheet came along with me. It stuck to my sweaty legs.

Well, naturally I thought this was it. The big one. Obviously a disgusting disease-ridden beastie was attacking me! So, yes… I screamed.

I hope you enjoyed that little story. The end is not as spectacular… thankfully. There was not anyone outside in the hallway. Or maybe there was, and they heard me scream and ran away. Who knows. But regardless of who heard me, I feel like an idiot. It was a toilet protector people!

Hope you enjoyed that.

Oh. Side note: If you youtube search “Look Who’s Talking Too toilet” you get a bunch of Jonas brothers videos...Explanation please?

1 comment

Monica Heistand wrote at 11:39pm May 29th, 2009

I love you mindy!! that is hilarious!!!!!

Nothing in Particular

Location: Alpenrose Velodrome.
Mood: tired

Today I was thinking. Well, okay, actually I’ll let you in on a little secret: I think everyday. I’m always thinking. My brain thinks. I’m a thinker.... Today was a special case of thinking. Obviously. That’s why I’m writing about it.

The point Mindy?

Right, sorry. I don’t talk much to people I don’t know. I've always wondered why. It’s not like I don’t know how to talk. When I do, people seem to like me...I haven’t really figured that one out yet. It’s not like I don’t think of questions. Sure, I tend not to think of small talk questions. Things like “what’s your name?” and “What do you do for a living?” don’t occur to me. I think more along the lines of, “I wonder what his childhood was like.” and “why does she have those mannerisms.” Not things you can ask acquaintances without them thinking your weird. But there’s always been more to my quietness than just that.

Then today it occurred to me. I also don’t like to pry. I was standing with a woman who I have known for most (if not all of) my life. This whole time she’s been married to the same man. They seem very happy. We were at a birthday party, and her husband wasn’t there. I was thinking. Here’s what my thought process went like.

“I wonder where her husband is. Maybe he had something to do. Just ask her where he is. I can’t ask her that. Well why not? It’s a perfectly valid question What if they had a fight? or Worse, what if they’re separated and getting a divorce?! I don’t want to remind her. Well, if it’s happening she knows it’s happening so you won’t be reminding her of something she’s forgotten. Plus, they’re probably fine. Yeah, but what if they’re not fine and I’m the one who reminded her? Oh god just ask!”

After about two minutes of that I finally asked. He stayed home because he wanted to do the laundry. Very mundane.

So this thought process set me analyzing myself. (Like I so often do). I realized that earlier in the day a similar thing had happened to me. A man I have known my whole life was at this bike race that I was at. He had a band aid on his cheek. I wanted to ask him about it, but I didn’t because… Well, here is what my thought process went like.

“I wonder why he has that band aid on his face. It kind of looks like it might have just been a scratch. It’s right in the middle of his cheek. Actually, it looks more like he had a mole, or something cancerous removed. I should ask him about the band aid. But what if it was cancerous and that upsets him? True he doesn’t get upset that often, but what if I’m the one who upsets him by asking. What if it’s something stupid and he’s embarrassed? Plus, I bet everyone has been asking him about it all day. I won’t ask.”

I never asked, but once I realized my problem I wondered why not. It’s not like this man was unaware of the band aid on his face. Like if I had asked he’d go, “what band aid?” Or if he’d had a mole removed, it’s not like he wouldn’t know it had been removed. Even f he was embarrassed, it’s not like that’s my fault. Plus, if he was THAT embarrassed maybe he just shouldn’t have gone out in public with the band aid on.

So, I guess maybe my point is that I over think things. Often I wonder about deep things and don’t care about the superficial. I hate to pry. And, I’m too concerned about upsetting other people.

The End

My "Special" Little Project

Location: Work/Home
Mood: artistic


So, one of my jobs is super boring. I sit in a room for 8 hours and wait for someone to bring their kid for me to look after. Right now there’s only one baby living there, and so I’m usually just sitting around. It is so boring it hurts my head, and I’ve been looking for something to do.

If you are a devoted Mindy-blog reader (and why wouldn’t you be?), then you know that I was toying with the idea of writing a book. I have decided to alleviate my work-time boredom by doing just that. I drew out a time line, and some character descriptions, and then I got kind of excited. It looks like I’m really doing this. Here’s hoping I get famous.

In all actuality it is kind of stupid. It’s about some teenagers (15-16 years-old). I haven’t fleshed out the main character, because I’m hoping that she’ll reveal herself to me in the process. I can’t decide if her name is Kathyrn Louise (friends call her Katie) or Margaret Louise (friends call her Maggie). I don’t know why I settled on Louise, but I did.

Anyway, that’s not what I was meaning to write about. This girl Katie/Maggie thinks her heart is broken at the beginning of the book (teenage romance). She doesn’t have many friends she’s close to, but a few of them band together to pull her out of her funk. In this she grows really close with one girl (a slightly shallow, but still caring girl named Vick) and develops deep feelings for another boy (yet unnamed). She and unnamed boy actually fall deeply in love. This is the real thing. It’s deep-seated and strong. Well, one day unnamed boy breaks up with her inexplicably. Poor Katie/Maggie, but she’s stubborn and refuses to believe that he didn’t feel the same way for her (because he did). Unnamed boy starts acting weird, and Katie/Maggie suspects foul play. She is determined to get to the root of it.

This is the part I haven’t really worked out yet. I’m not sure if unnamed boy (he really needs a name), is in a cult or if there’s something magical and mysterious that makes him do a 180°. I’ll get there. Also, I think that her boyfriend, from the beginning, Dean Greggor, is going to come back (as a friend) and help her solve the mystery. Dean is a super curious guy, and he likes figuring things out.

Wow, that was longer than what I thought it was going to be. The reason why I’m writing this at all is because I’ll probably want people to read it and give me their opinions and stuff. It’s a process, and I can’t be very objective about my own writing. So, if you are at all interested in reading my “special” little story, let me know. I’d love the help.

My Love Life

Location: EVERYWHERE
Mood: worried
Music: I'm Not Okay - My Chemical Romance

People, I am facing serious issues here…

SERIOUS…

My cute-detector is broken.

What is a cute-detector? you ask. (Good question!) A cute-detector is a piece of you (I’m unclear as to whether it’s in your brain or if it’s otherwise physiological) that tells you approximately how attractive someone is.

This is a serious problem that has the potential to cause some intense predicaments. It has been so long since I have dated anyone, since I’ve flirted, since I’ve had any kind of attention in anyway that I am now broken! I can’t tell if people are cute. It started out slowly. I just got excited over smiles from moderately attractive people. Now, its traumatic. My heart flutters when uggos even look in my general direction.

The other day I was hanging out with a friend, and a guy drove past us. I said, “he looks like he could be cute.” He parked his car, and got out. I’m not kidding here, he was Shamu’s first born.

Did I mention that this is a problem?

It’s gotten so bad that I’m starting to wonder about my age-detector. An age-detector, for those of you who couldn’t figure it out (seriously?), is the part of you that can detect approximately what age a person is. If this detector goes, then I am screwed. I’m genuinely worried that I’m going to go a little crazy over a 14 year old. Maybe I should start asking guys if they have their learners’ permits before I talk to them.

The biggest concern over this new development is I am a prime target for a 14 year old boy’s affection! Look at me! I look like I’m 14 myself. These boys look at me, assume I’m their age but with boobs, and they go wild.

I realize that this could be evolution's way of having my back. It’s like nature is telling me that it’s been so long since I’ve had any attention that I need to lower my standards and increase my odds. However, if my age-detector goes I’m in trouble.

I REPEAT:
THIS IS.
A.
PROBLEM!!!!

I need some attention. Anyone know any moderately attractive guys I can flirt with? I just need someone to pay attention to me for a little bit. If this doesn’t get resolve, next time you see me I’ll be driving my fat new boyfriend to the winter formal.