I'm Old Now Get off My Lawn

Poison - Bret Michaels - Something to Believe in - MyVideo

Please play the video before reading. I think like a good wine it will enhance the experience...

Last weekend I had the wonderful opportunity of driving a 15 person van down to Arizona. No, I didn't lose a bet. Instead, last weekend marked the beginning of my final season as the head coach of the women's lacrosse team at Pepperdine University. And how did it go? Well, let's put it this way, I left LA at five in the afternoon, on Friday, (while it was raining). Proceeded to sit in traffic for three hours. Arrived in downtown Gilbert, AZ at 2 in the morning. Watched my team lose in the last minute on Saturday. Drove to Tucson on Sunday. Arrived at the field in Tucson and found out the game was canceled due to rain. Drove back to Malibu to drop off the kids. Stopped by my apartment in Santa Monica for an hour to watch a little Super Bowl. Then drove to LAX to return the van and finally went home at 10 pm. So, yeah it was awesome.

I will say I realized some interesting things while driving a boat down to Arizona. The first, and which will be my entry for today, (yeah, I'm milking this trip into two entries) is that I'm old. I know, I know, 30 isn't old, but when you get in a car with a bunch of kids who were born in the 1990s you are old. I remember the 90s. Vividly.

Anyway, here's a few examples that reminded me I'm no longer as cool or as a young as I once was:

1. We were talking about memories of growing up and I said, "Man, the day the Challenger blew up was one of the craziest days." My kids' reply, "What was the Challenger?"

2. Feeling rather bold, I put my Ipod on shuffle. To my delight, "Something To Believe In" came up randomly. After a few seconds, someone asked, "Who is this?" I said, "This was my sixth grade boyfriend and I's song. It's Poison." My kids' reply, "Poison? You guys didn't have a good relationship?"

3. I have never professed to be a good texter. And apparently, my texting skills were deemed slightly better than someone's grandma, who suffers from arthritis. I'm sorry I can't remember which forsaken number corresponds with "T" and why "good" always comes up when I want "home."

4. And lastly, unlike all the young and vibrant college students, when I exited the van, I first had to gingerly step down because my back was asleep, then stretch my tight hamstring and finally slowly limp because my knee was locked.

Oh, getting old sucks. Come on Bret Michaels...give me something to believe in...

Thank Goodness

I know it was incredibly cruel of me to post about my basketball date with a quasi-movie star and then NOT report immediately on how it all went. Well, here's the thing...miracles do happen. When I arrived at the stake center I received a text message from Missy informing me that she had over slept and would be unable to attend. Now, I know what you are thinking - you think at this point I threw my phone down and cursed all those years of reading Tiger Beat and Perez Hilton to only be stood up by the celebrities I love so much. When in actuality, I was completely relieved because warming up on the court, while I received my text message, was one of the most motley crew of women I have ever seen.

Picture this if you will...(Now introducing the starting line-up for the LA Stake Women's Pick Up Basketball game)

1. An immigrant from Ukraine, who drops the F bomb every time she misses a shot and also screams in my face, "You want more?!!" in a bad post-communist accent, every time she makes a shot. (Which by the way, makes me want to send her to a work camp in Siberia every time she opens her mouth.)

2. A barely English speaking 5"0 woman, who dribbled every three steps and shot most of her shots two handed from her waist. I wanted to tell her to stop doing that, but all I could remember from Spanish class was Callela boca, Cerveza and Tengo que usar el baño. I guess the first one would have worked.

3. A woman, no a mom, who hasn't worked out since Clinton was in office, and who kept calling time outs so she could run over to the stage and tell her boys to stop fighting. I sort of suspect she was actually using the timeouts to suck on crystal lite and re-adjust her mom sweatpants from Target.

4. A girl who definitely never got picked at recess, gym class, sorority rushes, prom, or to sit in the emergency aisle on the plane. She's got a sweet spirit but if she shows up again I'm asking her to leave. You think I'm kidding. I would take the crazy Ukraine any day of the week.

5. And lastly, yep, just six of us...the token single girl who I think shows up to awkwardly flirt with the guys after our "game." She's not a bad basketball player, but I just don't think she's fully committed.

So, you can see that, though it would have been cool to hang out with a celebrity, this was NOT the venue for it. Can you imagine how traumatized she would have been? These are my people and I'm still recovering.

*Side note: the picture is entitled "Grateful African American" on google. And who says I don't celebrate Black History Month?

Basketball With the Ladies

Every once in awhile I am reminded of what a strange place I live in. For example, Michael Keaton, star of Batman and Beetle Juice, has now become my new favorite customer. Each morning he comes in and says, "Morning Kate, I'll have my usual." To which, I reply, "Oh Mike, what possessed you to ever participate in the cinematic disaster of Herbie Fully Loaded?" To which he'll say, "Oh, Kate, your coffee is so bitter as is the truth that comes from your mouth." Okay, we don't really have a conversation but, he does say he'll have his usual and I get to shout out, "Latte for Mike!"

My other example, which is actually true, consists of another "movie star." (I use this term sort of loosely because 9 out 10 people won't know who she is, but if you ever had the pleasure of watching Stick It at the Sugarhouse dollar theater then you will definitely know who I'm talking about.) Yes, I'm talking about Missy (won't use last name in case she googles herself on a daily basis) from the hit Stick It, Heroes and the WB hit Reaper. Okay I think that is enough hype.

Anyway, the other day at the restaurant, while I was setting up the dining room, Missy called me over and we started to talk. (We became friends before) She asked me if I play any sports and I said, "Well, I coach lacrosse, cycle and occasionally play some pick up basketball." She immediately asked where I play basketball and if she could join me. Like a total idiot, I said, "Sure, a bunch of girls from my church get together on Saturday and play. Would you like to come this weekend?" To which she said yes.

So, I guess tomorrow I'm taking "movie star" Missy to the stake center to play basketball with a bunch of post-pregnant mothers, who will probably be dressed in full BYU attire and ask to pray before the game. What in the world was I thinking?

Lacrosse Is A Total Lie

The other day I was attaching a throat protector onto my goalie's helmet. While sifting through the many screws, diagrams and directions I stumbled upon a small insert entitled "Helmet Safety Booklet." Because my dear father always preached the importance of safety, I decided to see if there was anything I was missing about constructing an ordinary lacrosse helmet.

After a couple page, I realized three things: 1. I didn't know the truth behind the sport I loved. (The following is taken from "Helmet Safety Booklet")

Yeah, death! I've played this reckless sport since I was five. My parents encouraged me. I went to college on a scholarship to play this forsaken sport...and NOW I'm finding out that I could have died? I feel like I've been lied to my entire life. Thanks Safety Booklet for finally having the conversation everyone was afraid to have.


2. What a concussion is:Ahh, yes, thank you for breaking it down into layman terms.

AND 3.I learned that bad actions can have some nasty consequences:...one wrong hit could ruin your life...for..ev..errrr. Who knew? WHO knew?

I never said my sense of humor made sense.

Humans are the Worst

My $30.00 3D Glasses, that I'll be wearing during every movie for the rest of my life.

Last night Roddy Piper (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I decided to follow the masses and go see Avatar. Now, I must admit that I was rather impressed by the special effects and the 3D was...well...it was...totally worth it. (I'm trying to tell myself that since I spent my future child's college fund on my movie ticket.)

Anyway, as spectacular as the special effects were, I must admit, I was rather perplexed by the story and end message of the movie. (Spoiler alert) Take for example the last battle scene between the Avatar people (sorry I don't remember their Tribal name because I'm not a dork or still live in my parent's basement) and the humans. I couldn't help but think, as I was watching humans get speared with arrows, that as a spectator was I supposed to be hoping that humans got killed? Was I supposed to cheer every time one of my fellow homo sapiens was torn apart or flung from a ship in order to protect the beloved planet of Pandora? Apparently so, because, and I'm not exaggerating, as more humans were being killed, more people starting cheering in the movie theater. I felt like yelling out, "Yeah, get 'em. Humans suck!!"

Whatever happened to the typical scenes of humans killing aliens, dinosaurs, King Kong, sharks, predators and machines from the future? Now, those are movies I get.

As a side note, I read in The Week that people are experiencing depression after leaving Avatar because they long to live on Pandora. Maybe humans do suck...

Awkwarrrddd

* I tried to find the most awkward image and this one has always been seared in my brain.

Over the course of my life I have participated in many strange conversations. For example in college, I've answered questions about my religion and why I don't drink from countless intoxicated people. (There's nothing like bearing a strong testimony to someone struggling to stand up.) I've pieced together through hand gestures and broken Mongolian that the milk I was drinking was from a sick sheep. And, I've tried to explain and coach lacrosse to a number of questionable intelligent and athletic girls.

However, as disjointed, confusing and sometimes awkward these conversations were nothing compares to speaking to one of my co-workers. She takes awkward conversations to a whole new level. For example, while polishing silverware with her yesterday the following conversation took place:

Awkward Girl: Where are you from?
Me: Pennsylvania.
Awkward Girl: Go to much Eagles' Games?
Me: Nope. But watched them every Sunday.
Awkward Girl: What sign are you?
Me: Sign?
Awkward Girl: Yeah your sign.
Me: I don't know I'm an Aries.
Awkward Girl: Hmmm.
Me: What does that have to do with football?
Awkward Girl: It doesn't.
Me: (While looking away) Huh?

Example Two: (Last week sometime)
Awkward Girl: Kate, do you lift?
Me: Used to. Not really anymore.'
Awkward Girl: So you use dumbbells?
Me: Yeah I used to.
Awkward Girl: Dumbbells can be heavy.
Me: (While looking away) Yeah.

Now in my mind, after one of our awkward conversations, I high five the air and scream, "Awesome conversation (name of employee)!" It's the only thing that stops my body from convulsing into spasms of awkwardness.

I've decided from now on she's going to be the one feeling awkward. For example, if she asks me about what I ate for lunch I'm going to respond with, "Food makes my body gasy. Do you ever feel like running into a wall full speed?" Or if she asks me one more time what sign I am (this is a re-occurring question in the middle of awkward conversations) I'm going to say, "I'm the Ram after the golden ram that rescued Phrixos, taking him to the land of Colchis." And then walk away. Let her go into spasms...

It Wasn't My Fault

The other day a normal looking man came into the restaurant to apply for a job. On his application under the part: Have you ever been convicted of a felony? My prospective co-worker wrote: 2001, convicted of burglary...(It wasn't my fault)

Sort of awesome.

Hawaii

Because who wasn't curious about my recent trip to Hawaii I thought I would post some pictures. Please feel free to go to another website at this time...This was the house we stayed in and the view from my room.The following are an assortment of pictures of activities we enjoyed while there.


I know I hate myself...

Boneshia - A Perplexing Paradox

For the past couple of weeks I've been attending a spin class at my local gym. For those of you who haven't had the pleasure of pounding on a stationary bike in a poorly ventilated room with sometimes deeply annoying music, let me just say, you are truly missing out. I don't even want to know the types of fungi that can be found growing in the dark corners of these rooms.

Anyway, I bring up this wonderful addition to my work out regime in order to discuss my spin teacher. I'm deeply confused by this woman. One, and please don't take offense to this, but this woman is rather large. So, large in fact, that I'm not really sure how she peddles. And, this woman doesn't just teach one class and then eats butter for the rest of the day, but according to the schedule, this woman teaches A LOT of classes. Honestly, I've been tempted to follow her to see if she eats small children on the way home.

Secondly, I have always thought that if someone signs up to be a "teacher" or an "instructor" that must mean they enjoy at least one of the following: teaching, being around people, motivating, or being outside their home for periods of time. However, I have yet to see any of these qualities from my spin teacher. Instead, I would call her one the meanest women I have ever encountered. For example, she typically begins class with the following statement: (said in anger) "If you don't follow what I say, if you talk during my class, if you leave early, if you start doing your own thing then I will make you leave." Make you leave? What about "I'll ask you to leave?" No?

I don't know where her anger stems from. Maybe she's angry at the stationary bike manufacturers for making such small bikes. Maybe she's sick of spinning for hours and hours and never going anywhere. Maybe the fungi from the room has penetrated her brain and eaten away all her tact and kindness. I don't know. I just wish she wasn't so mean.

Lastly, I'm perplexed by my reaction to her. I typically spend the entire hour of the spin class trying to make her happy by following all her orders with exactness, and smiling when she ridicules new people, who don't know how to properly set up their bikes. I don't know if my reaction is a mixture of fear that her anger will be directed towards me, or a genetic disorder of needing everyone to be happy that is around me? All I know is Boneshia, stop the anger, stop the snacking before bed and stopping scaring the hell out of me.

I'm Not Funny

If I have been known to call you a close friend then you know sometimes my humor misses the mark. For example, remember Emad when I used scream out good night to your neighbors? You know the ones who didn't like it when I used to park outside their house and honk my horn? Or the time I thought it would be funny to break up with my friend's 7th grade boyfriend in the cafeteria and then had to watch him start to cry in front of everyone? Or, of course, the time I thought it would be hilarious to key a car - which sort of led to the arrest of my roommate?

Well, as much as I regret those moments, I fear I have yet to learn my lesson. Take for example today. A man and woman came into the restaurant to order some food. I was feeling my 11 o'clock energy (after my mid morning snack of something from the pastry case) and fell into the following conversation:

Man: I'll have a cheeseburger medium with an ice tea.

Kate: Great. And for your wife?

Man: That's not my wife.

Kate: Oh, good because I was going to say you could do a lot better.
(Kate waits for laugh) (awkward silence continues) (Kate contemplates screaming fire and running for the exits) (Man looks at Kate with a weird look) (More awkward silence)

Man: That's my girlfriend.

Kate: Great! We'll she be having a cheeseburger too?

When will I learn?

Clear Consciousness

About two years ago I got stopped by a charismatic hippie outside of the grocery store. Since I wasn't working at the time, and my days typically consisted of working out, looking at the internet and waiting for Mr. Hastings (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) to come home I stopped to hear him out. Immediately, he went off on something about whales or seals in the ocean, trash build up and the world coming to an end. As I began to say I'm sorry for not cutting the plastic that holds 6-packs together, he announced that I could end all these environmental mistakes by donating to Greenpeace. I had to admit, $30 sounded pretty good for a clean world and a clear conscious, so I signed up. Little did I know that this $30 donation was actually used to purchase large amounts of forests, that environmentalists could tear down in order to print, and send to me, about every failing in the world on glossy and pretty brochures, mailers and post cards. To this day, I receive about two mailers a week informing me about the destruction outside my door and how MY money can make it go all away.

However, as annoying as all my environmental mailers are, I have to admit signing up for Green Peace was one of my greatest decisions. No, it's not because I believe in what they are doing, or am I a closet tree hugger. Instead, I enjoy encountering some hippie, with a clip board in hand, creep into my path on the street, and while launching into their sad diatribe about the environment, cutting them off and saying, "Don't worry I'm already a member." And then comes the best part...Immediately, the hippies throw their clip boards in the air and high five me with all the excitement in the world. I then respond with a meek nod of the head and continue on my way.

I'm telling you paying that $30 was great. One, I can walk by any Starbucks, Barnes and Noble or American Apparel without even breaking stride. And two, I believe that that $30 actually purchased me a "Get out of Jail for Free" card for anything people are selling. For example, if someone asks: Would you like to donate to UNICEF? I say: Already a member! Would you like to become a member of the National Coalition for the Homeless? Already did! Would you please sign this petition to stop the spread of AIDS in cats? Did it yesterday!

Yes, these might seem like lies, but I'm telling you it just makes everyone happy. You get to continue walking and the superheroes of our environment get to feel like they aren't alone. Try it next time you encounter a hippie holding a clipboard. It's fantastic.

Realistic Resolutions

I swear every year it is the same - February through December - The usual suspects at the gym - January - everyone and their mother. I wish everyone would just be honest with themselves and make realistic resolutions. That way I wouldn't have to work out behind "Man who ate burrito for lunch and didn't realize circulation in gym isn't that good," or watch, "Woman who is curling five pound for ten minutes with a look of confusion on her face." (Yes, my nicknames for stupid people sound like something an old Indian chief would say.)

I mean seriously, if you are going to make a resolution do something you can actually accomplish. For example, here are my resolutions and how I plan on accomplishing them.

1. I'm going to stop swearing by using more hand gestures.

2. I'm going to stop snacking after eight by snacking more at 7:59. It doesn't count if it is already in your mouth.

3. I'm going to watch less TV by watching more online.

4. I'm going to stop making inappropriate comments at church by not sitting with my husband anymore.

See realistic goals. People this isn't rocket surgery.

2009 in Review

I know I'm a week into 2010, but I wanted to take a moment and reflect on 2009. It was quite a year. I was awarded my first yellow card as a coach for yelling out, "You are absolutely horrible," during a strange moment of silence during our BYU game. I became a tip whore at a local restaurant here in Santa Monica. I passed out at work and still have to smile when people say, "Hey, you aren't going to pass out on me?" I spent two weeks in bed contemplating the origin of man, why the girls on Gossip Girl are always so well dressed and if I could develop bed sores by laying in one position for a long period of time. Got some golf clubs, got a hole in one, damaged some greens after some missed puts and loss a whole hell of a lot of balls into some dangerous waters. Met some D-listers, saw U2 in Vegas, surfed in Hawaii, rode some miles in St. George and enjoyed my life with Mr. Bubbles. (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband). Like I said, it was a good year.

And, just in case anyone out there cares...here's a little "Best of 2009"

Top Five Songs of 2009 (Not particularly 2009 songs, but ones I enjoyed a great deal) :
1. "Let Your Loss Be Your Lesson" Robert Plant and Alison Krauss
2. "My Love For You is Real" Ryan Adams
3. "American Boy" Estelle
4. "Burning Love" Elvis Presley
5. "Don't Forget Sister" Low vs. Diamond

Top Five Movies of 2009:
1. (500) Days of Summer
2. Blood Diamond (yeah, I just finally saw it)
3. The Curious Case of Benjamin Button
4. Duplicity
5. Doubt

Top Books of 2009:
1. East of Eden
2. Michael Jackson: Unauthorized Biography
3. The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
4. My Sister's Keeper
5. Barbara Walters: Lifelong Audition

Top TV Shows of 2009:
1. Friday Night Lights
2. Modern Family
3. Cougartown
4. The Bachelor
5. 24

Favorite Picture of 2009:


Sadly, that's all I got.

The Buzz Kill on My Holiday Spirit

I know, I know I've been absolutely miserable at this whole blog thing. I was officially taken off bed rest three weeks ago and I haven't stopped since. However, the good news is is that while I've been running around with my head cut off I've been able to experience some interesting things.

For example...

I always enjoy the holiday season and the spirit of charity and goodwill that it breeds. The other night, while merrily riding my bike through the streets of Santa Monica, I began to feel an overwhelming sense of Christmas. I don't know if it was the haphazard display of lights along apartment buildings or the Christmas music always blaring outside my door, but I was feeling quite jolly. I took this feeling into my local grocery store and proceeded to smile even when some moron thought fifty items constituted a place in the "Express Lane" or when another woman wanted me to hold her place so she could run back to the butcher and get another pork chop. No, nothing could kill my Christmas spirit.

And then, I walked outside. You all have seen these people before. They ring a simple bell and as you past, they ask, "Could you spare some change for the holiday season?" As I began to explain that I didn't have any cash, BUT that I would have given all that I had if I could, the boy holding the bell said, "Yeah whatever, who cares about the people who have nothing. Go enjoy your warm house." Immediately, I was taken aback and started to say, "No, really I never carry cash." To which he replied, "No seriously, I get it - it's all about you this season." I didn't know what to say. So, I said all I could in a very passive-aggressive, sort of running away mumble, "Oh, that's awesome. Now I really want to give." To which, the boy with the bell said, "I heard that. Merry Freaking Christmas."

Wow, apparently the holiday season is not only about celebrating the spirit of giving, but harassing and demoralizing those individuals who refuse to give.

Mark Twain Was A Racist

Tonight the following conversation took place with a good friend of mine, who will remain nameless...

(Conversation Topic: Recommendations of Classics)

Friend: Have you read Tom Sawyer as an adult?

Kate: No. I was never a fan when I was kid.

Friend: Really? I think you should read it again. You know Mark Twain was a total racist - so you would probably like the book.

Yeah, I'm not sure what that means either. I don't know if this is one of those "Ah Ha" moments, that Oprah always talks about, where I need to re-evaluate my behavior or just a really funny comment. I'm choosing to go with the latter.

Mind you, this was also the same conversation that produced this comment - from a Lit major no less...

Friend: You should also re-read Catcher in the Rye...it's got a swear word in it.

Day 3 of Bed Rest

What to write about? Hmmm...Do you want to hear about all the shows I've been watching? How about how many times I have checked Facebook and am forced to see another Halloween picture of some high school friends' child? Or the results I've found from googling "over stimulated ovaries?" No? Yeah, I didn't think so either.

Well, it goes without said, that today has been incredibly productive. I managed to make a "To Do List" at about 9:30 in the morning and I am proud to announce I finished three of the ten things I wrote down. Sure, I didn't learn how to knit, but let's be honest, the fact that I had "Download and watch V" as number 2 on my list doesn't really constitute a serious "endeavor to get something done."

Outside of watching V, I did do some downloading of music, and while doing this fantastically cheap exercise (got to love the Russians) I had a very sad realization: I've become old. As I listened through the Top Ten downloads all I could think was, "This isn't music." And "Do kids these days find this music lasting?" Oh man, put me in the right lane with my mini van, my blinker on and point me to soccer practice.

Then to make matters worst, without even realizing it, I with unabashed excitement stumbled upon INXS and proceeded to download a lot of songs. I mean a lot of songs. Then with as much care as I could muster, and in no way disturbing my ovaries, began to sing and bob my head to songs like "Mystify" and "Kick." Don't know what those are? Well they were written in 1987!! I guess this is it. The moment when I decide I'm going to wear the same jeans for the next ten years, say things like, "Yeah, and monkeys might fly out of my butt," drink more water and go to bed at 10:30.

Please someone come to my house and make me wear skinny jeans and sing Lady Gaga.

Day 2 of Bed Rest

You know you are leading a rather strange life when you go the hospital again within the month and the nurses and doctors all recognize you. Yes, folks, on Monday I got to enjoy another fun filled day at the hospital. Unfortunately, this time it wasn't about making a spectacle at work, or passing out and unconsciously yelling at paramedics. No, this time it was just about good ol' knee crumbling pain. Okay, as you can probably tell I have a hard time dealing with real issues in a non-sarcastic way - so let me cut to the chase. I did some drugs, in order to get pregnant (not to relive some college days), saw some success, my body ran with it, overreacted and led to some serious pain. Now I'm on bed rest for the next two weeks and well...after sitting in bed for two days I've come to some conclusions. 1. I need to dust more in my bedroom. 2. I really should take more naps during the day. 3. Getting pregnant is not as easy as my fifth grade health teacher taught. Actually, I would like to find that lady and kick her in the ovaries. (It's my eye for an eye philosophy) and 4. Dr. McDreamy (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) should really quit this whole lawyer gig and think about becoming a murse. He's fantastic.

So, don't worry you five readers I have - I'll be up and running in no time. And then it's off to Hillendale Elementary to find that hateful woman...

If I'm a U2 Fan Am I Old?

A couple of weeks ago Wayne Newton (name has been changed to protect the privacy of my husband) and I had the privilege of seeing U2 in concert. Simply put - it was amazing. First, Black Eyed Peas opened up the show, and I have to admit, that Fergie can seriously sing and their music does cause a very involuntary head bob. Second of all, the stage for this concert was unreal. I just did a little Wikipedia search and learned that the stage consists of a million screens, each 164 feet tall leg carries it's own sound system and it requires 120 trucks to transport each of the 3 sets constructed to support the tour AND the cost of each structure is between £15 million and £20 million. (I heart Wikipedia and I believe everything I read on it.) Thirdly, I couldn't believe the range of songs they played. I heard songs from my past that I never thought I would hear live.

And lastly, and probably the greatest part of the show, were the fans that showed up to see U2. I guess I fall under this category since I was there, but I couldn't believe who I was surrounded by. It was like the 1980s rounded up a stadium of people, aged them 20 years and gave them U2 tickets. Everywhere I looked were bald guys and "mama jean" wearing women dressed in ragged old Joshua Tree t-shirts, smoking pot and dancing like complete lunatics. Have these people been doing anything since Bono went from an Irish punk kid to a political activist?

Anyway, if you get the chance see this tour. You will not be disappointed by the acts all around.

I'm You

Today at work I was asked about a thousand times what I was for Halloween...and then scolded about a thousand times for not dressing up AND for not going out. I'm sorry, I thought at 30 my Halloween responsibilities were temporarily on hold until my own children throw a sheet over their heads and head out for their own personal sugar overdose. Apparently, not.

Okay, I will admit I do love Halloween. I mean who doesn't love all the good times. For example, while I was growing up I got to experience some amazing Mom-made costumes:

1. "Tourist" (This consisted of me putting a Hawaiian shirt on and camera around my neck)
2. "Plumber" (Yep, I got to carry around a plunger)
3. "A Camper" (This one was actually sort of practical. All night I carried around a canteen and a metal pack. I was hydrated and I had room for my candy)

When I got to college Halloween became my favorite day of the year. (Mostly because I could act drunk all night and wear my retainers - it was sort of a dream come true.) No seriously, things were going really well with costumes until my senior year. As a class, we decided to be rappers or gangsters. (Honestly, after growing up in Chadds Ford I'm not sure what's the difference, but I have seen Yo MTV Raps so I was down with the hood.) Anyway, that night I dressed in baggy pants, a basketball jersey and put a cap on backwards. I then got some fake tattoos on my arms and carried a toy gun in my waist (just in case someone wanted to mess with me) and headed out. As I was dancing with my friends an African American walked up to me, not in a costume but suspiciously looking like me, and asked, "What are you supposed to be?" After, looking around for the exits, I sheepishly said, "Well fine sir, I suppose I'm supposed to be...you." Yes, to answer your next question, it was incredibly awkward.

The Aftermath

As you might all remember I had a little "episode" at work that involved me passing out and being carried out in a stretcher by some paramedics. Since then, I'm happy to report I've been feeling great and fully using that fainting spell to my advantage. For example, if I don't feel like working I'll say something like, "Man, I'm feeling a little light headed. I think I need some pancakes." (and then pancakes will magically appear). Or if I find myself on break too long I'll say, "Sorry I was just contemplating how much I enjoy being conscious." I figure I've got a couple more weeks to milk it and then, well...I might be doing a little falling down in the bathroom...if you know what I mean.

I have to say as awesome as it has been faking sickness to get free food and extra time on my break, I've also had to endure some awkward moments. For example, co-workers and customers, who happened to be there the day of the event, constantly ask me if I'm drinking enough water. (I suppose I'll have to start wearing a Camelback to get everyone to shut up.) Secondly, co-workers and customers love telling me their story of the day. Like it wasn't bad enough passing out in a public restaurant, but I also have to endure a bad rendition of the movie Vantage Point (look this movie up and then this joke will be funny) every time someone wants to tell me how pale I looked that day.

And lastly, I have to deal with the stupid paramedics, who came to my rescue, tell me once a week how low my heart rate was, how angry I was with their constant questions AND how they are still convinced I was suffering from an almost heroin overdose. Yes, I did say heroin. After all their accusing looks, I finally had to tell them I've got my heroin down to a "manageable level" so they could high five each other and scream to the heavens, "WE KNEW IT!"

So, what am I doing now? 1. Drinking lots of water. 2. Leaving used syringes around the restaurant whenever the paramedics come. 3. And telling customers it wasn't about hydration, but about heroin...

...Things are going well.