Ok, so first off... I know it's been a long time since my last post. I can explain.
I have moved out of my house, had no internet/roommates/furniture/cable for a month or so, and have been scrambling the last month to get a good hold on my life and future. All while working 2-3 jobs.
And today's blog is going to be a bit different than my previous ones. There is just something I really want to write about. Something that has moved me in a way I dont know if I can properly explain.
But I'm going to try.
I've said it a million times. I never evvvver thought I would be working in the health care industry. In any way, shape, or fashion. I dont like blood, dont like grumpy people, and hate doctors offices. Buuuuut, straight out of college when I was offered a legit position for TN Oncology being a receptionist, I was just happy to have a good job and accepted.
I had never personally dealt with cancer, had any friends whose family members had dealt with cancer, and basically knew nothing about it. I was expected to understand diagnosis, procedures, and prognosis's immediately upon hire. I honestly just didn't know what to expect. I thought, sadness, depression, and tears was what I was going to be faced with on a daily basis and really dreaded starting the job.
What I got was exactly the opposite. I have NEVER met so many amazing people in one place. I dont think I will ever see human nature in such a positive form ever again. The nurses are such special people, and the Doctors are indescribably great. Seriously. But, I'm tearing up just thinking about the patients that I will never see again and how wonderful they are. The positive attitudes, the can-do spirits, and the fight that I have witnessed with stay with me forever.
I'm a people person and enjoyed getting to know everyone. However, the ones you get to know most are the patients that come and see you weekly or monthly, which is obviously not a good thing. I saw 2 of my favorite women die after there 2nd battle with breast cancer, and years and yearrrrs of chemo treatments. Both times I thought they were the strongest women I have ever met. Never complained, and always smiled when they saw me. Those are the ones you can't help but wonder how life is fair. There are success stories too though, and those were special. The changed people that now truly appreciate life can really rub off on you. I left work many days with a smile in my face after seeing theirs. Laughter in the chemo room was one of my favorite things. How a group of people, faced with such a grave situation could be cutting up and laughing as a whole is such a hard thing to fathom. I made many friends... one of which referred to me as 'Sex in the City' everytime she saw me... because she thought I resembled one of them? (I was too scared to ask which one), one who tried to hook me up with her son, and many who just baked sweets to bring in to us or just stopped at my desk to have conversation. One amazing woman who was lovingly referred to as the 'bread lady' who baked banana bread every Wednesday to bring to the patients and just give them an upbeat smile and a hug. A few of which gave me their business cards and numbers, and I honestly want to keep in touch with.
Today was my last day working there, and I just wanted people to understand what it is really like to be in an Oncology office. You dont see the fluid retention that makes someone look pregnant it is so bad, you dont see the visible tumors, or places they used to be. And you certainly dont see the bald heads anymore... you see amazing people. And I am beyond thankful to have met them.
So... Just in case you want to volunteer or know someone who might... just a couple of resources
https://www.minniepearl.org/
http://www.cancer.org/
Who knows, I might just be the next bread lady :)
Friday, August 5, 2011
Sunday, May 1, 2011
You Dont Need Cops In A Small Town...
I am from the small town of Lawrenceburg, TN. About an hour and a half south of Nashville and home of Davy Crockett (headless in this picture), Amish Country, The Hippie Farm, and apparently Grannys Network?. I know, you're thoroughly impressed right?
Yes... Amish park at Walmart...
For you city people, let me break it down.
Growing up in a small town is... special. I wouldn't trade how I was raised for the world. I was taught morals and values by example. I'll never forget thinking, gosh my Dad knows everyone cause he waves at almost every car on the road... no, it's just small town protocol and nothing out of the ordinary. I skinned my knees when I wrecked on our unpaved street, I walked down the bluff behind the house to play in the creek when I wanted to, and every house in the subdivision had kids to hang out with.. without supervision, and probably without telling my parents. Softball leagues were taken serious, and parents came to every game. Friday night football games were social events, and holidays meant mini family reunions and were the best playtime ever.
Highschool is when I learned an important lesson. Cops really aren't necessary in a small town. A few examples.
Grandmas:
-One random day, myself and 3 girlfriends had 45 minutes to kill before some riveting event i'm sure. So what do we decide to do? Break into 2 teams to see which team could steal the most street signs. I know what you're thinking... that's horrible. No worries, we never took a Stop or children playing sign. Strictly way back in the boonies signs only. If you've never tried before, there is a true art to stealing street signs. Unless you're 6'2 200 lbs+, its best to do it with 2 people. Treat it as a seesaw with both team members alternating pulling up and down until, Bloop, it pops right off. Obviously you want to work as quick as possible to avoid facing the fact that, it is in fact illegal to steal signs. It took time to come up with the most efficient way to do it. The first time, we actually pulled the sign right out of the ground and had to put it in the back seat of a car with 2 feet of the end out the back window. But, back to the story-
45 minutes later, 4 girls had accumulated 19 street signs. Well we were all proud and happy and put them all in one friends trunk and went about our business. She got home, her dad needed something out of her trunk the next morning, and found 19 street signs. He came back in, told her mother, and they ripped her a new one about what a horrible thing we had done. And what if an ambulance had been called and they couldn't find a street because of us, and how could she go to church knowing what she's done. After this, we realized what we had done was in fact, a really bad thing. 19 times. No cops needed. They had hid the signs in the back of the basement (after threatening to make all of us take them to the police station). Then they moved. It was my friends grandparents house, and she then inherited the signs. To this day, they are in the garage at her house, covered with a blanket because she's horrified she's going to be arrested for having them. I dont know that i'll ever steal another sign again knowing how much stress I have caused poor Memaw.
Fathers:
I'm sure there are many examples for this one, but the one that I'm currently remembering is when some girls from my grade decided they wanted to roll my yard. They park the car a bit down the road from my house and got started. Well, they obviously didn't know how to properly roll a yard, and woke up my dad. Did he go outside with the shotgun? No. Did he call the cops? Nope. He snuck out the back door, through the woods, to their car.... where the keys were in the engine. He turned on the lights and started slowly cruising up the street. He said the looks on there faces was way better than not having the pick up toilet paper. They never rolled my yard (prolly any yard) after that. No cops needed.
The Whole Town:
I had a close group of friends by senior year. 4 girls, and about 8-9 guys. We were a good group of kids, honestly. Yes... We got into our mischief, but us girls had never drank & we didn't do anything else either. So, after the men's district championship bball game, there were plans to have a party at one of our guys houses. His parents were out of town. We all arrange stories to tell our parents and head over when we got in town from the game. We arrive after people had been there for a while, and immediately shots were handed to us. Our very first shots, tequila.... PARTY IS ON!!! So we are just having a blast, one of the guys had a video camera going around interviewing people and documenting the good time, I kissed a couple of guys, my girlfriend (also first time drinking) puked her guts up for like 2 hours, there was lots of living room dancing, and more and more people stopped by the party. After everyone was pretty drunk and things were dying down late late night, we got a sober driver to take us back to a friends house (whose parents weren't home either). My mother had been trying to call me the whole night. Call it mothers intuition I guess, but she thought something was wrong. When I never answered my phone, and neither did my friends, she drove to the house I was supposed to be at. No one was home. I dunno how many missed calls i had from her that I ignored, but i wiggled my way out of it by saying we ended up staying somewhere else. We never thought another thing about the party...
After the first round of our region tournament, I will never forget getting a text on the way back to Lawrenceburg. The party was starting to get out, and the youth minister at a big church in town had heard. You're probably thinking ok, no big deal... but watch how things work in a small town. The next day, my coach called me into his office and said that he didn't want to ask, but he had to. Did I drink? I told him that myself and the other bball player that was there just split a beer, just to try it. Even though it was a lie... Merrrrrrrg, wrong answer. He told me that I had broke team rules, and that I would have to face the punishment of sitting out a game like the mens coach was enforcing. The next game was the 2nd round of the region tournament against our rival Shelbyville. That's when i realized the severity of the situation. I cried, he cried, I had to tell my teammates, I had to call my college coach to inform him and listen to the speech, my Dad came to school that day to talk to the principal, I got lectures from my teachers on how disappointed they were, made my mother cry, had to read the articles in the newspaper, listen to people talk about it on the radio (yes I'm serious), annnnnd then I even got an email from a dumb dumb sophomore girl talking about how she knew I was stripping on a table, and stealing girls boyfriends, and that im lucky she's keeping this stuff to herself because i could lose my scholarship if she told, and then signed it -The Class of 2006. Well, my mother broke into my email and read it. And basically cried herself to sleep for a week I later learned. NONE of that was true...
So, I had a heartbroken verrry pissed off family, a whole town was was disappointed in me, sat the bench in street clothes my very last high school game (which we lost), had my future college coach worried I was a hellion, and was grounded for a long time. But basically we were humiliated in front of our whole town. Alllllllll because someone just told on us that there was a party, there were NO COPS! We were so scared, we even destroyed the video. This will forever be known in Lawrenceburg history as 'THE Party.' It still makes me mad to think about it.
So, If you want an easy job.... go be a cop in Lawrenceburg. (if you're reading this and you're a law enforcer, im jk)
Yes... Amish park at Walmart...
The sign for the Hippie Farm
For you city people, let me break it down.
Growing up in a small town is... special. I wouldn't trade how I was raised for the world. I was taught morals and values by example. I'll never forget thinking, gosh my Dad knows everyone cause he waves at almost every car on the road... no, it's just small town protocol and nothing out of the ordinary. I skinned my knees when I wrecked on our unpaved street, I walked down the bluff behind the house to play in the creek when I wanted to, and every house in the subdivision had kids to hang out with.. without supervision, and probably without telling my parents. Softball leagues were taken serious, and parents came to every game. Friday night football games were social events, and holidays meant mini family reunions and were the best playtime ever.
Highschool is when I learned an important lesson. Cops really aren't necessary in a small town. A few examples.
Grandmas:
-One random day, myself and 3 girlfriends had 45 minutes to kill before some riveting event i'm sure. So what do we decide to do? Break into 2 teams to see which team could steal the most street signs. I know what you're thinking... that's horrible. No worries, we never took a Stop or children playing sign. Strictly way back in the boonies signs only. If you've never tried before, there is a true art to stealing street signs. Unless you're 6'2 200 lbs+, its best to do it with 2 people. Treat it as a seesaw with both team members alternating pulling up and down until, Bloop, it pops right off. Obviously you want to work as quick as possible to avoid facing the fact that, it is in fact illegal to steal signs. It took time to come up with the most efficient way to do it. The first time, we actually pulled the sign right out of the ground and had to put it in the back seat of a car with 2 feet of the end out the back window. But, back to the story-
45 minutes later, 4 girls had accumulated 19 street signs. Well we were all proud and happy and put them all in one friends trunk and went about our business. She got home, her dad needed something out of her trunk the next morning, and found 19 street signs. He came back in, told her mother, and they ripped her a new one about what a horrible thing we had done. And what if an ambulance had been called and they couldn't find a street because of us, and how could she go to church knowing what she's done. After this, we realized what we had done was in fact, a really bad thing. 19 times. No cops needed. They had hid the signs in the back of the basement (after threatening to make all of us take them to the police station). Then they moved. It was my friends grandparents house, and she then inherited the signs. To this day, they are in the garage at her house, covered with a blanket because she's horrified she's going to be arrested for having them. I dont know that i'll ever steal another sign again knowing how much stress I have caused poor Memaw.
Fathers:
I'm sure there are many examples for this one, but the one that I'm currently remembering is when some girls from my grade decided they wanted to roll my yard. They park the car a bit down the road from my house and got started. Well, they obviously didn't know how to properly roll a yard, and woke up my dad. Did he go outside with the shotgun? No. Did he call the cops? Nope. He snuck out the back door, through the woods, to their car.... where the keys were in the engine. He turned on the lights and started slowly cruising up the street. He said the looks on there faces was way better than not having the pick up toilet paper. They never rolled my yard (prolly any yard) after that. No cops needed.
The Whole Town:
I had a close group of friends by senior year. 4 girls, and about 8-9 guys. We were a good group of kids, honestly. Yes... We got into our mischief, but us girls had never drank & we didn't do anything else either. So, after the men's district championship bball game, there were plans to have a party at one of our guys houses. His parents were out of town. We all arrange stories to tell our parents and head over when we got in town from the game. We arrive after people had been there for a while, and immediately shots were handed to us. Our very first shots, tequila.... PARTY IS ON!!! So we are just having a blast, one of the guys had a video camera going around interviewing people and documenting the good time, I kissed a couple of guys, my girlfriend (also first time drinking) puked her guts up for like 2 hours, there was lots of living room dancing, and more and more people stopped by the party. After everyone was pretty drunk and things were dying down late late night, we got a sober driver to take us back to a friends house (whose parents weren't home either). My mother had been trying to call me the whole night. Call it mothers intuition I guess, but she thought something was wrong. When I never answered my phone, and neither did my friends, she drove to the house I was supposed to be at. No one was home. I dunno how many missed calls i had from her that I ignored, but i wiggled my way out of it by saying we ended up staying somewhere else. We never thought another thing about the party...
After the first round of our region tournament, I will never forget getting a text on the way back to Lawrenceburg. The party was starting to get out, and the youth minister at a big church in town had heard. You're probably thinking ok, no big deal... but watch how things work in a small town. The next day, my coach called me into his office and said that he didn't want to ask, but he had to. Did I drink? I told him that myself and the other bball player that was there just split a beer, just to try it. Even though it was a lie... Merrrrrrrg, wrong answer. He told me that I had broke team rules, and that I would have to face the punishment of sitting out a game like the mens coach was enforcing. The next game was the 2nd round of the region tournament against our rival Shelbyville. That's when i realized the severity of the situation. I cried, he cried, I had to tell my teammates, I had to call my college coach to inform him and listen to the speech, my Dad came to school that day to talk to the principal, I got lectures from my teachers on how disappointed they were, made my mother cry, had to read the articles in the newspaper, listen to people talk about it on the radio (yes I'm serious), annnnnd then I even got an email from a dumb dumb sophomore girl talking about how she knew I was stripping on a table, and stealing girls boyfriends, and that im lucky she's keeping this stuff to herself because i could lose my scholarship if she told, and then signed it -The Class of 2006. Well, my mother broke into my email and read it. And basically cried herself to sleep for a week I later learned. NONE of that was true...
So, I had a heartbroken verrry pissed off family, a whole town was was disappointed in me, sat the bench in street clothes my very last high school game (which we lost), had my future college coach worried I was a hellion, and was grounded for a long time. But basically we were humiliated in front of our whole town. Alllllllll because someone just told on us that there was a party, there were NO COPS! We were so scared, we even destroyed the video. This will forever be known in Lawrenceburg history as 'THE Party.' It still makes me mad to think about it.
So, If you want an easy job.... go be a cop in Lawrenceburg. (if you're reading this and you're a law enforcer, im jk)
Thursday, March 10, 2011
MARDI GRAS -Glad I did it, probably wont go back...
I came to a very abrupt and frightening realization after attending 2011 Mardi Gras.
They really should have been paying us. Now that I have shared my favorite bar, lets talk about my favorite cheeseburger. Port of Call is the place. It's an old pirate bar (how freakin cool is that?) and its dim lit and tiny... the menu consists of about 5 things, a few appetizers, a steak, and cheeseburger, and baked potato. That's it... and that is all they need.
The burger and potato come with mushrooms soaked in this gift from the gods wine sauce, and it's probably the best thing you'll ever put in your mouth. Granted, it could be the level of alcohol we have all had both times I have visited, but seriously... if you are ever in Nola, call me, get off the beaten path, and find Port of Call. We had a few other tasty dishes, and checked out a couple other fun bars....
Shout out to Dominics, the bar connecting to our hotel that we danced up and down the small bar, and basically dominated the end of every night.
But I know that's not what you're wanting to know.
I'm obviously not a guy, and don't know judging criteria. But I was very disappointed in the boobs. The people flashing their goods were old, and they were not desirable in any stretch of the word. The women, nor their sweater puppies. I'm assuming this is the reason that people just had to throw their beads to any joe shmoe standing under there balcony, or any girl who just flirtidly asked for some. (hence, why my girlfriends and I have beads on in our pics... ok, most of them). We saw some body painted chests, the naked indian, a gay guys ass... up close and personal (and I dont want to talk about it anymore than this small mention), and made lots and lots of new friends.
The parades were nice.... nice and scary. If you dont know (I didn't before I went) people are in 'krewes', I discussed how I could join a krewe with the 'naughty gras' members, and was told all I had to do was email the guy I was talking to next year. I didn't take his email. But, they pay money... the people who get to ride the floats pay A LOT of money. This is my theory. I think they're pissed that they paid so much money, and they try to nail the little pee-ons watching below with their beads. I'm not talking just individual beads, if you aren't watching... you'll get knocked upside the head with a 5 lb bag of beads. Not kidding... saw it happen. Not to mention, the people are scary. I would have been horrified as a child watching. Not that any child should attend Mardi Gras, ever. Because if you're a good parent, they wont. I'm not exact a parade pro though, we only saw 2 lol.
The trip home might have been the true reason I still haven't recovered from the trip. We checked out at 11, we didn't get our car from the valet until 12:15ish, we were supossed to meet a friend who had gotten his car 45 min earlier up the interstate a couple of hours. Wellllll, an hour outside of Nola we realize that there are 2 ways out of the city. Yep, we were going the other way. Turning around we headed back in the traffic to the city we were so desperately ready to leave. We finally meet our friend, get the girl who was riding back with us, roll 5 deep, and head out... only to drive 45 past the exit we needed to take. Again, driving righhhht on back into Nola. 4 hours after we originally left. This is after I had already gotten car sick and puked behind a quick mart, the driver was so pissed her head almost exploded and I had to start drive. Needless to say, I didn't get back to Nashville til 2:30 that morning. And had to be at work at 8.
Honestly, I couldn't have picked at better 8 people to go with. Everyone was super outgoing, loved to dance, and no whining. We even got along great in a tiny tiny little hotel room (yes, all 8 of us... 2 dbl beds and a double airmatress pushed together into one giant sleepover) All in all, it was one of the best times i've ever had. The atmosphere of New Orleans, crazy outfits and situations, plus the craziest people in the country. 4 nights in Mardi Gras did me in, but I think everyone should do it once.
I.
Am.Getting.
Old.
Say it aint so!!! I have experienced weeks of Panama City Beach, trips to Vegas, Miami, Chicago, Tunica, & Orlando... All full of basically just straight partying with friends. It's been a blast, an unbelievable good time. But, I'm sad to say, I can't do it like I used to anymore (and function).
Granted, Mardi Gras is by far the most extreme partying situation I have ever encountered. We arrived the Thursday night before fat Tuesday. We didn't get in the hotel room until midnight, threw on our cute outfits, freshened up, and were out the door. We were only 2 blocks from Bourbon, well by the time we got a couple of blocks on Bourbon we had our first run in with the cops. I see my friend lift up her skirt to the people dangling beads from overhead. When I say lift her skirt, I mean... lift the side of her right butt cheek very quickly just kidding around and teasing. I'll be danged if there weren't 4 fat cops literally right where she was mooning. They quickly take her over, threaten to arrest her, get all of her info, and inform her that it ok to flash breasts, but you can not show genetalia. REALLY? Ok... quickly into the trip, this lesson was learned. Boobs = ok, Butt = arrested. So, we continue on to get our first drink, and end up having a great night...
The rest of the trip was fairly indistinguishable. It was more or less a blur of festive fun. We started Friday and Saturday at probably my favorite bar in this whole world. The Cats Meow Karaoke Bar. It's where I discovered my karaoke performing skills, along with my favorite karaoke partner of course. If this wasn't enough of a reason, they have 3 for 1's... everything. This, along with the entertainment factor, is why we spent probably 35% of our whole trip there.
The burger and potato come with mushrooms soaked in this gift from the gods wine sauce, and it's probably the best thing you'll ever put in your mouth. Granted, it could be the level of alcohol we have all had both times I have visited, but seriously... if you are ever in Nola, call me, get off the beaten path, and find Port of Call. We had a few other tasty dishes, and checked out a couple other fun bars....
Shout out to Dominics, the bar connecting to our hotel that we danced up and down the small bar, and basically dominated the end of every night.
But I know that's not what you're wanting to know.
I'm obviously not a guy, and don't know judging criteria. But I was very disappointed in the boobs. The people flashing their goods were old, and they were not desirable in any stretch of the word. The women, nor their sweater puppies. I'm assuming this is the reason that people just had to throw their beads to any joe shmoe standing under there balcony, or any girl who just flirtidly asked for some. (hence, why my girlfriends and I have beads on in our pics... ok, most of them). We saw some body painted chests, the naked indian, a gay guys ass... up close and personal (and I dont want to talk about it anymore than this small mention), and made lots and lots of new friends.
The trip home might have been the true reason I still haven't recovered from the trip. We checked out at 11, we didn't get our car from the valet until 12:15ish, we were supossed to meet a friend who had gotten his car 45 min earlier up the interstate a couple of hours. Wellllll, an hour outside of Nola we realize that there are 2 ways out of the city. Yep, we were going the other way. Turning around we headed back in the traffic to the city we were so desperately ready to leave. We finally meet our friend, get the girl who was riding back with us, roll 5 deep, and head out... only to drive 45 past the exit we needed to take. Again, driving righhhht on back into Nola. 4 hours after we originally left. This is after I had already gotten car sick and puked behind a quick mart, the driver was so pissed her head almost exploded and I had to start drive. Needless to say, I didn't get back to Nashville til 2:30 that morning. And had to be at work at 8.
Honestly, I couldn't have picked at better 8 people to go with. Everyone was super outgoing, loved to dance, and no whining. We even got along great in a tiny tiny little hotel room (yes, all 8 of us... 2 dbl beds and a double airmatress pushed together into one giant sleepover) All in all, it was one of the best times i've ever had. The atmosphere of New Orleans, crazy outfits and situations, plus the craziest people in the country. 4 nights in Mardi Gras did me in, but I think everyone should do it once.
 |
| EWWWWWWW |
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Upping my street cred on Indiana Avenue...
When I decided I wanted to move to Nashville, I was hell bent bound and determined to make it happen. My roommate and I gave plasma to make money, and just literally saved every penny we could. So, when we found the adorable 3 bedroom house for a great (recently reduced price) we were so excited. The only thing I knew about Nashville was shopping, so the part of town it was in meant nothing to me. Yes, we did notice the janky houses around us... BUT, they were also building new townhouses up the street, there was a church literally across the street, and our landlords friend lived right beside the church to keep an eye on us too.
We didn't think living off Charlotte Ave was a big deal, but my parents did. My aunt lives in Mt Juliet and tells my dad that me living in this area was dangerous and she would never let her kid live here. So, my mother informed me that I was absolutely not moving into that house. Well, when I have my mind made up about something... it's going to happen, and my mother is fully aware of this. She then settled with, well the only way I'm letting you move in there is if you and Suzanne take self-defense classes. Ok, sure mom.
We move in and everything's great. Our cozy little house becomes a home and we had no issues what-so-ever. Then after a couple of months I had my first situation.
I felt like I heard something outside my bedroom window one night, like a mans voice and sticks breaking. I peaked out and saw nothing. I went to the front door and looked, nothing. So I went back to bed. I get in my car the next morning, running late of course, and notice all my papers in my glove box are in the passenger floorboard. Shit. Then I notice my ipod and Garmin were gone. Well, at least I'm safe and they didn't break in the house. Theeeennnn I opened my glovebox.
Marbles.
Just a bunch of marbles... hanging out in my glovebox. I didn't know what to do, and figured I was marked and doomed from the marble gang, so I should just go on to work. I get to work and realize I should call the cops and report it. They come and tell me there's nothing they can do since I left the crime scene and have my finger prints all over everything.. I quickly informed the officer that I didn't touch the marbles, please just tell me what the marbles mean. Do gangs use marbles a lot? Is this some kind of sign? Should I search my house for marbles? He told me that he didn't know what the marbles meant, that I shouldn't look too far into it and he had never heard of the marble thief before. Still to this day, I would be horrified if marbles showed up anywhere in or around my house. (Friends... DO NOT GET ANY IDEAS)
The last story, and the inspiration for this blog post, came last night. I am driving down my street and see the blue lights im used to (we lovingly refer to it as 'ohhh it's a light show' in our house), but when i get closer I see crime scene tape wrapped around the stop sign to turn onto my street. It's wrapped across my driveway and around my mailbox. Whooooa. What the hell is going on?! So, I pull up to the cop, tell him that's my driveway that's blocked, and ask what the deal was? He informs me that someone is in the hospital claiming they were ran over here. He asks if I have been around tonight (im thinking this is my alibi, so im going into serious detail about when I went to work, etc.), and then tells me he thinks it's domestic violence at the house that's beside the church across the street. I tell him I dont know those people and that I can get to my house from the alley beside it and peace out. I then think how it's seriously disturbing that I'm not phased by the fact that crime tape was just wrapped around my mailbox and someone was ran over. I was raised by a father who, if he even saw blue or red lights on the highway that was in front of our subdivision, he would drive down to see if he could help. And here I am mentally dismissing the fact that someone was ran down in front of my house.
We didn't think living off Charlotte Ave was a big deal, but my parents did. My aunt lives in Mt Juliet and tells my dad that me living in this area was dangerous and she would never let her kid live here. So, my mother informed me that I was absolutely not moving into that house. Well, when I have my mind made up about something... it's going to happen, and my mother is fully aware of this. She then settled with, well the only way I'm letting you move in there is if you and Suzanne take self-defense classes. Ok, sure mom.
We move in and everything's great. Our cozy little house becomes a home and we had no issues what-so-ever. Then after a couple of months I had my first situation.
I felt like I heard something outside my bedroom window one night, like a mans voice and sticks breaking. I peaked out and saw nothing. I went to the front door and looked, nothing. So I went back to bed. I get in my car the next morning, running late of course, and notice all my papers in my glove box are in the passenger floorboard. Shit. Then I notice my ipod and Garmin were gone. Well, at least I'm safe and they didn't break in the house. Theeeennnn I opened my glovebox.
Marbles.
Just a bunch of marbles... hanging out in my glovebox. I didn't know what to do, and figured I was marked and doomed from the marble gang, so I should just go on to work. I get to work and realize I should call the cops and report it. They come and tell me there's nothing they can do since I left the crime scene and have my finger prints all over everything.. I quickly informed the officer that I didn't touch the marbles, please just tell me what the marbles mean. Do gangs use marbles a lot? Is this some kind of sign? Should I search my house for marbles? He told me that he didn't know what the marbles meant, that I shouldn't look too far into it and he had never heard of the marble thief before. Still to this day, I would be horrified if marbles showed up anywhere in or around my house. (Friends... DO NOT GET ANY IDEAS)
After that, I was a bit frightened and I got a baseball bat. I'm not going to lie... when I was home alone, I slept with it. I was convinced I would knock someones head off if they came in my house. But for the next situation, I didn't even have the comfort of my baseball bat.
I was on my way home from work one night around 10:30ish, I pull in my driveway and notice a car sitting in front of my house. Not a big deal, except there was a man sitting in the car. So I whip it out of my driveway and cruise around the block. He's still sitting there... all the lights off. I was basically living alone at the time, So I continue cruising around. 30 minutes later I start freaking out. The marble gang is waiting on me! I called a couple of guy friends to ask advice, they all said I should call the cops. An hour later he was still there so I called the local police station. Well they didn't have anyone that should have been there and only could tell me that it could be a unmarked car just checking things out in this part of town. Really? Cause that's comforting. So I went and hung out at a friends for a while and then went home. Then, I started considering getting a gun. But, things started slowing down... my roommates were home more often and I wasn't scared near as often.
Then I met my next door neighbors. My roommates dog was outside with me and of course ran over to the little red headed girl next door. So I go and start chit chatting with the mom. Convo was easy, they had just moved from Pittsburgh, she was trying to find a job in the school system, her husbands a warlock and she's a witch. Skkkkeeerrrrrrt. Say what? She didn't seem to notice the look of sheer horror that I'm sure was plastered on my face, and continued right on talking about how they used to be Christians and they had been practicing witchcraft for about 10 years and it's definitely the way for them. She tells me that they only practice good spells though, like if someone's sick they light a green candle and say a spell (yes, she went into complete detail) and that they have to go back to Pitt to get there black cat. Really? a black cat too?! Ask yourself this question, what would you say if someone was expecting an answer to how you feel about them being witches? Because after knowing this woman for 5 minutes, and her telling me this, she looked at me expecting a statement. I stumble and say, 'Wow. I've never known a real live witch before.' (I'm sure the sheer terror look was back) And I'm thinking... just dont say anything to piss off a witch. I proceed with, I'm a Christian, but yea I understand everyone has different views... and I'm running late to an appointment. It was really nice to meet you, and please let me know if yall ever need anything! She said likewise, and then says, 'If you ever need any good spells, you know where to come!' and smiles. Creeeeeeeeeeepy. We never heard much from them, and I waved and kept a nice smile on my face anytime I saw them. Then one time, I came home from work late night, pulled in my driveway to 3 cop cars and 2 undercover cars pulling up and the cops rushing out. I'm standing in my front yard like wtf... and as they are sneaking literally through my yard, I ask one cop what was going on? He looked at me and just points next door, and says... we're heading over there. REALLY?! Can I get a bit more please? Nope. I watched peeking through my front window and see them hiding while one cop knocks on the door like they were about the break the door down and start shooting. Horrified, I once again call my local cop station and ask if they could tell me something. Nope, they told me it was probably safe to assume it was for a warrant or something small. Thanks, cause that's going to help me sleep. I went to a friends house that night too. I never found out what that was about. The next witch story is unexplainable. I had a desk on the front porch that I moved out of my room and was trying to sell. Well Mr. Warlock came over (picture him... shirt off -b/c he never wore one, and long black curly hair down to his mid back, mustache, and stumpy.) and asked about it. I told him they could have it, and he said that he would have to wait for Mrs. Witch to get home to move it because it was so big. Ok, whatever... i'm just tired of dealing with the desk. So myself and my roommates watch him leave from the front window... giggling like little kids. We turned back to the tv and 2 minutes later my roommate looked outside and screamed Spann it's gone! Sure enough, the desk was gone... like it vanished into thin air. We never heard a thing. Obviously, I'm not saying that they waved a wand and it floated through their front door, but it was weeeeeiiiird.
The last story, and the inspiration for this blog post, came last night. I am driving down my street and see the blue lights im used to (we lovingly refer to it as 'ohhh it's a light show' in our house), but when i get closer I see crime scene tape wrapped around the stop sign to turn onto my street. It's wrapped across my driveway and around my mailbox. Whooooa. What the hell is going on?! So, I pull up to the cop, tell him that's my driveway that's blocked, and ask what the deal was? He informs me that someone is in the hospital claiming they were ran over here. He asks if I have been around tonight (im thinking this is my alibi, so im going into serious detail about when I went to work, etc.), and then tells me he thinks it's domestic violence at the house that's beside the church across the street. I tell him I dont know those people and that I can get to my house from the alley beside it and peace out. I then think how it's seriously disturbing that I'm not phased by the fact that crime tape was just wrapped around my mailbox and someone was ran over. I was raised by a father who, if he even saw blue or red lights on the highway that was in front of our subdivision, he would drive down to see if he could help. And here I am mentally dismissing the fact that someone was ran down in front of my house.
All of these examples to prove, that I might be from little ol Lawrenceburg, TN. But I have gained some serious street cred living here... much to my mothers disdain.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
The Ultimate Experience: A Bonnaroo Security Guard...
When my college weight lifting coach asked if me and a teammate wanted to work Bonnaroo, my thoughts were 'um duh... free concerts, the experience, all while making money?!' So, a few details were discussed... I had to become an unarmed security guard (which for me, consists of paying money and bringing a passport picture). I guess my coach could vouch for my bouncer like skills. I mean I did hold the womens power clean record at the time. I was scary... and those hippies would be sure to bow down and do what I said.
Riiiiiggghhht.
First let me say, my teammate that was supposed to be going with me (and really the only reason myself and my parents were ok with the situation) ended up being unable to go due to a bad break-up with one of the football players. So I packed my bags, and headed to the gym to see which guys I was going to be camping out with for the next 5 days. We get a huge speech from our coach, and he tells the guys that if anything happens to me that he will personally kill them, and then we go outside to wait for the greyhound. It arrives, and I board to find the entire Georgia Tech football team on there. Nope, no other girls. Just me and 2 football teams heading out to Bonnaroo. My mind kept going back and forth between thinking two things. 1. Hmmm, there are a couple of cute guys on here and 2. I really might get gang banged.
So we arrive, and are taken to our tent... a HUGE tent. They tell us to grab a cot, and pick a spot. I really dont know how many cots we fit in that tent, but I would say atleast 100. Maybe 5 girls, 3 that weren't lesbo... yes, that's counting myself. I pick a spot in the middle of my bodyguards and spread out my pretty blue sheets only to realize we had like 15 min to get our first assignment.
We all report to a tent and are split into shifts to search the cars when the gates open. When I say search cars, I mean we were told the following. If they look suspicious, take the seats out, remove all luggage, check gloveboxes, push all buttons, and use flashlights. If they had more than 2 liters of alcohol per person we were to confiscate the rest, if they had weed that looked like it was for more than personal use, confiscate it. Any paraphernalia take it. Weapons, duh you idiots... they're mine now. You would be surprised the things you see... I confiscated a machete, yes... a 3 foot long sharp knife. Really?! Multiple knifes, hatchets, and axes. Lots and lots and lots of extra marijuana... 12 big black trash bags full at the end of it to be exact. I, on the other hand, was no help. I dont know drugs. Sorrrrry, I can't tell what a white bag of stuff is, and I dont know how much weed is enough to be a big deal. There is no telling what I let through those gates. So, there were about 3 days of 12 hour shifts in the bazillion degree weather of doing that. If it got too busy at the gate, we weren't as strict. I do remember one particular car that came through where everyone was naked, whooping and hollering... even when they got out of the car. I also remember a guy crying when I took his bowl. There were people straight out of the woods, people in million dollar RV's, people from other countries... you name it, they go to Bonnaroo.
Sleeping in a tent full of men was interesting. My boys were more like big brothers. I couldn't go to the port-a-potties without an escort, someone waited outside of the portable shower for me, and made sure I always made it to the make-shift cafeteria.
After everyone had arrived, our shifts switched to being stage guards at the concerts. I, being one of the few women, got the very important job of being the handicap ramp guard. This meant that I had middle of the field front and center view of all of the concerts, and that I checked everyone for there white 'handicap' bracelets. Not a bad gig at all. I saw BB King, Pearl Jam... who pissed off Kayne West (on purpose) by doing an encore and making his show late. By late I mean, I watched the sunrise as Kayne's prick ass performed after he was the only performer the whollllle time that insisted on having his own set put up rather than using the main stage. I saw Jack Johnson, and had the night off for Metallic and lots of techno tents and 'glow stick shows'. It. Was. Awesome.
If you haven't been, you hear rumors about hippies running around and nudity and such. Well, this isn't false... but its also not entirely true. While I did see plenty of F'ed up people, there were also the frat kids, the families, the senior citizens, and everyone in between. I did see a few butterfly painted chests with no shirts on (yes, women), and had to call the paramedics when some girl ran up to me crying that her friend was dead (cause a bright yellow security shirt can help with that...) but I was able to find someone to help the girl whose eyes were in the back of her head seizing.
All in all... It was definitely one of the most interesting things I've done. Maybe not as a Security Guard, but I firmly believe that everyone should have the Bonnaroo experience at least once.
Riiiiiggghhht.
First let me say, my teammate that was supposed to be going with me (and really the only reason myself and my parents were ok with the situation) ended up being unable to go due to a bad break-up with one of the football players. So I packed my bags, and headed to the gym to see which guys I was going to be camping out with for the next 5 days. We get a huge speech from our coach, and he tells the guys that if anything happens to me that he will personally kill them, and then we go outside to wait for the greyhound. It arrives, and I board to find the entire Georgia Tech football team on there. Nope, no other girls. Just me and 2 football teams heading out to Bonnaroo. My mind kept going back and forth between thinking two things. 1. Hmmm, there are a couple of cute guys on here and 2. I really might get gang banged.
So we arrive, and are taken to our tent... a HUGE tent. They tell us to grab a cot, and pick a spot. I really dont know how many cots we fit in that tent, but I would say atleast 100. Maybe 5 girls, 3 that weren't lesbo... yes, that's counting myself. I pick a spot in the middle of my bodyguards and spread out my pretty blue sheets only to realize we had like 15 min to get our first assignment.
We all report to a tent and are split into shifts to search the cars when the gates open. When I say search cars, I mean we were told the following. If they look suspicious, take the seats out, remove all luggage, check gloveboxes, push all buttons, and use flashlights. If they had more than 2 liters of alcohol per person we were to confiscate the rest, if they had weed that looked like it was for more than personal use, confiscate it. Any paraphernalia take it. Weapons, duh you idiots... they're mine now. You would be surprised the things you see... I confiscated a machete, yes... a 3 foot long sharp knife. Really?! Multiple knifes, hatchets, and axes. Lots and lots and lots of extra marijuana... 12 big black trash bags full at the end of it to be exact. I, on the other hand, was no help. I dont know drugs. Sorrrrry, I can't tell what a white bag of stuff is, and I dont know how much weed is enough to be a big deal. There is no telling what I let through those gates. So, there were about 3 days of 12 hour shifts in the bazillion degree weather of doing that. If it got too busy at the gate, we weren't as strict. I do remember one particular car that came through where everyone was naked, whooping and hollering... even when they got out of the car. I also remember a guy crying when I took his bowl. There were people straight out of the woods, people in million dollar RV's, people from other countries... you name it, they go to Bonnaroo.
Sleeping in a tent full of men was interesting. My boys were more like big brothers. I couldn't go to the port-a-potties without an escort, someone waited outside of the portable shower for me, and made sure I always made it to the make-shift cafeteria.
If you haven't been, you hear rumors about hippies running around and nudity and such. Well, this isn't false... but its also not entirely true. While I did see plenty of F'ed up people, there were also the frat kids, the families, the senior citizens, and everyone in between. I did see a few butterfly painted chests with no shirts on (yes, women), and had to call the paramedics when some girl ran up to me crying that her friend was dead (cause a bright yellow security shirt can help with that...) but I was able to find someone to help the girl whose eyes were in the back of her head seizing.
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Sunday, January 30, 2011
Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off... among other things
It was the summer after Freshman year in college. There was a party everyone was talking about that some friends were having at there apartment. The rules were simple, only tequila was to be drank. At the time, I didn't have much experience with the effects of this alcohol but what can I say, it was freshman year of college... Peer pressure will getcha.
We get to the crowded party to find bottles of tequila (I'm sure it was the cheapest option possible) lined up on the bar with limes slices ready to go. Everyone is showing off these dashes on there forearm and are obviously pretty drunk. Well, they take me to the bar and I discover that all these dashes I see are sharpie marks to keep track of how many shots they have taken. I take my first shot and get my dash... on my chest for some reason. Let me clarify, my upper chest. I remember the music was loud, people were dancing and having a good time, I had a big crush on one of the guys that was there, and 2 of my friends got crapped on by a bird. Right on the head, both of them. That's completely beside the point, but a funny side note.
After that, things are a bit foggy. Appppparently I had 13 dashes across my chest. I'm a large girl, and it was off season from basketball, so my tolerance was probably pretty good... but 13 shots in probably an hour and a half is enough to make crazy things happen. So i'm sick... my best friend (who didn't drink at the time) takes me into the bathroom, I puke... a lot. Then I decide I want to take a shower, because that's what always makes me feel better.
*** UPDATE ***
It has been brought to my attention i have left out an important detail about why i showered. I was peed on... how i forgot this im not sure. I was directed to the bed so I would pass out and my friends could party on and my crush was in the same situation and was placed on the bed as well. He peed on me. How romantic, I know. Soooo that's when I showered, after throwing up and being urinated on.
It wasn't her house, but she didn't stop me. She gets me a towel when I get out. What a good friend right? A cute little blues clues towel. She then proceeds to let me out of the room. Mascara running down my face, sopping wet, in a blues clues towel I start going through the party rounding up my gang to go home. It was maybe midnight... the party was definitely not over, but we were heading out... thanks to me.
My sober driver had a explorer, one without backdoors/windows. For whatever reason, I got in the back. We roll up to the main red light on campus and I had to puke again. I tell the driver, and have to lean up and throw up out her window. Of course I lose my towel while I'm hanging all the way out the front window... on the middle of campus... puking out a car window.
*Before any of you start judging me... Let me just say that this is the only night I have ever not remembered a big part of it.
So my friend gets me to my apartment. I shared an apartment with a teammate and some random girl. Then I decide want to get in the bath now, again... Im soaking and she assumes that it was safe for her to crawl in my bed and I would be in shortly. Wrong. She said she woke up the next morning and freaked out when she realized I never came to bed. She jumped out of bed to find me and apparently woke up me because all I know is I woke up in my bath robe, on my couch in the living room, with a girl I didn't know. Heads on the same end of the couch and everything. There was a solid 3 seconds of us just staring at each other before I half awake said 'Um who are you?', and got the response of...'who the hell are you?'
Apparently my random roommate had 3 friends in town. There was a couple that was sleeping on the living room floor that I had tried to crawl in between, and I guess they told me I couldn't sleep with them... so I crawled on my couch. With a stranger. Why I didn't just go to my own bedroom I'll never know....
Needless to say, when the song 'Tequila Makes Her Clothes Fall Off' came out... it had a wholllle different meaning to me...
We get to the crowded party to find bottles of tequila (I'm sure it was the cheapest option possible) lined up on the bar with limes slices ready to go. Everyone is showing off these dashes on there forearm and are obviously pretty drunk. Well, they take me to the bar and I discover that all these dashes I see are sharpie marks to keep track of how many shots they have taken. I take my first shot and get my dash... on my chest for some reason. Let me clarify, my upper chest. I remember the music was loud, people were dancing and having a good time, I had a big crush on one of the guys that was there, and 2 of my friends got crapped on by a bird. Right on the head, both of them. That's completely beside the point, but a funny side note.
After that, things are a bit foggy. Appppparently I had 13 dashes across my chest. I'm a large girl, and it was off season from basketball, so my tolerance was probably pretty good... but 13 shots in probably an hour and a half is enough to make crazy things happen. So i'm sick... my best friend (who didn't drink at the time) takes me into the bathroom, I puke... a lot. Then I decide I want to take a shower, because that's what always makes me feel better.
*** UPDATE ***
It has been brought to my attention i have left out an important detail about why i showered. I was peed on... how i forgot this im not sure. I was directed to the bed so I would pass out and my friends could party on and my crush was in the same situation and was placed on the bed as well. He peed on me. How romantic, I know. Soooo that's when I showered, after throwing up and being urinated on.
It wasn't her house, but she didn't stop me. She gets me a towel when I get out. What a good friend right? A cute little blues clues towel. She then proceeds to let me out of the room. Mascara running down my face, sopping wet, in a blues clues towel I start going through the party rounding up my gang to go home. It was maybe midnight... the party was definitely not over, but we were heading out... thanks to me.
My sober driver had a explorer, one without backdoors/windows. For whatever reason, I got in the back. We roll up to the main red light on campus and I had to puke again. I tell the driver, and have to lean up and throw up out her window. Of course I lose my towel while I'm hanging all the way out the front window... on the middle of campus... puking out a car window.
*Before any of you start judging me... Let me just say that this is the only night I have ever not remembered a big part of it.
So my friend gets me to my apartment. I shared an apartment with a teammate and some random girl. Then I decide want to get in the bath now, again... Im soaking and she assumes that it was safe for her to crawl in my bed and I would be in shortly. Wrong. She said she woke up the next morning and freaked out when she realized I never came to bed. She jumped out of bed to find me and apparently woke up me because all I know is I woke up in my bath robe, on my couch in the living room, with a girl I didn't know. Heads on the same end of the couch and everything. There was a solid 3 seconds of us just staring at each other before I half awake said 'Um who are you?', and got the response of...'who the hell are you?'
Apparently my random roommate had 3 friends in town. There was a couple that was sleeping on the living room floor that I had tried to crawl in between, and I guess they told me I couldn't sleep with them... so I crawled on my couch. With a stranger. Why I didn't just go to my own bedroom I'll never know....
Sunday, January 23, 2011
The Men Who Love Me
After the last post about dating I started thinking. 63.7% of the time, there are 2 types of men I tend to attract. Old white perverts and large black men. Other women will probably say they feel the same way, but let me give you a couple of examples.
The Wheelchair Whisperer.
I work face to face with a lot of senior citizens and I happen to love it. Most are just adorable and harmless and even if they do say something out of line, it's easy to disregard as 'ahh they are just old.' Then there is the wheelchair whisperer. Picture a slumped over santa clause (but not as jolly, and not quite as old) wheeling himself into our office. He never comes to my check in, but goes to the one next to me. As my coworker gets up to retrieve his chart, he usually sneaks in a 'ahhh so beautiful' or a 'omg, so hot' under his breath while I feel him stare at me. Then when she comes back he's quite. he always digs through her candy bowl and then wheels himself in front of me to dig through my candy bowl. The whispers pick back up. 'so sexy.' 'uhhhhhhh' 'gorgeouuusss'. The catch... NO ONE ELSE HEARS IT. It pisses me off beyond believe, and I think he's extremely disrespectful. I'm right here, quit acting like I'm not you old fart. I left off the fact that his wife is with him sometimes but is always parking the car while he is checking in. My coworkers might possibly think im crazy, but now when I see him coming I either get up and leave, or call my ex-NFL playing boss to come stand behind me until he's gone. I can't bring myself to file a formal complaint against him because realistically he is just complimenting me. In the creepiest way possible.
My poet stalker.
Once upon a time I had a stalker. Kinda...actually just an extremely strange situation on my hands. I was sitting in Coach Freemans history class when I got a letter addressed to me that was sent to the high school. I opened it, a card and some papers. I read on, Dear Kristen, I saw you play basketball and I think you're very pretty. I want you to read these and I want to talk about it in person. Signed, Jamal Smith. I dont remember his name... (but if you lived in UTC Place 3336, Jamal will give a paint a perfect picture.) The papers were copies of this guys work. Apparently he was a published poet. His picture was there and everything, just a large black man with a fro. One of his poems was included, the rest was an article talking about 'out of body experiences' and really really strange stuff. He had written in the white space beside the articles talking about how he really thinks he could get through to me, and other reallllly creepy stuff. Then, still semi-laughing, I took it to my teacher who said hmm maybe you should take it to the principals office to the SRO officer. They were a lot more concerned with it than I was... until the police report came back. Apparently the guy lived in Franklin Co (we had just had an away game there) and has a police record and gets in trouble with the law frequently. Typically neighbor complaints, and small stuff. But it was enough for them to give me the make and model of his car and other special instructions. As a Junior in highschool, I was horrified.
Big Mississippi.
One night out in Chattanooga, my girlfriend was at the bar getting a drink when an older short man struck up a convo. They were just giggling away leaving me just standing there. Well I guess the gentleman with the short guy noticed this and heads on over. Small talk continues... he informs me that he is the short Brazilian man's body guard. I inquired what he does that requires a body guard and was given the response.... he's an entrepreneur. Yea, ok. So while my friend is dancing with shorty, apparently he slips a $100 bill and a $20 to her. Damn it, im stuck playing wingman now. So after many free drinks, my friend kisses the creepy Brazilian billionaire and big body guard is trying to put moves on me. Not happenin. Let me explain why... Big Mississippi gets his name honestly. Picture a much grosser version of Big from Rob & Big on MTV. He is a 40ish African American, prolly 6'6 and 350 lbs. acne scars all over his face, and just over all I would describe as not appealing... At all. So the night ends... my friend and his friend exchange numbers. Typically he would never have gotten the time of day, but they were talking trips to here, and trips to there, and free this, and free that. Poor college kid gets sucked in. So we agree to go to dinner with them when they were coming back through town a couple of days later. Horrible idea. Obviously the old men had expectations, we did not and they were both extremely affectionate. Especially my friends guy. We struggle through dinner, stilllll not sure exactly how this guy has so much money or what his 'career' is, and they insist on walking us to our car. Well my poor girlfriends dude wasn't coming up for air he was so into her, and Big Mississippi kept trying to hold my hand the whole way to the car, and then hugs me goodbye. Doesn't let go. I look up into all those fat rolls on his neck, and then he kissed me. He had me in a bear hug, I couldn't budge... He finally lets go and my friend said my face was one that she'd never seen before and she didn't know if i was goin to cry, punch him, or throw up. Big Mississippi got my phone number the night before and literally called me everyday for 2 months. I'm not exaggerating at all. Voicemails included, and yes.. texts too. I wont even go into detail on what they said, but at the time I was really worried about having a potential drug lords bodyguard as my 2nd all time stalker.
The Perverted Pressure Washer
This happened way back when I was very young and impressionable. I believe I was 18 and at home one summer. My Dad had hired some guy that some other guy had recommended to pressure wash the house. Well he was out running errands but had told me he was coming and he may need a ladder or whatever and to just tell him where things were if needed. My mother had just had ankle surgery and was posted up on the couch. Well he knocks at the door for the first thing, the ladder. No prob I directed him to it. He was a scrawny, maybe 5'8, upper 30s, white guy. Balding on top, facial hair, and just straight white trash looking. Well he came back to the door again, and I helped him with whatever insignificant thing it was. This happened like 2 more times. Stupid stuff that he could have done on his own. Then he asked me to move the cars in the front so they didn't get sprayed/dirty. Ok, finally a logical reason to bother me... I move moms, and get in mine to move...
Our driveway isn't even with our house and part of it sticks out into the side yard. The side yard faces street and we have neighbors on that side as well. Well I get in my car, look up, and this disgusting and disturbed man is suddenly 5 feet in front of my car with his penis pulled out peeing. Looking me dead in the eyes. OH HELL NO. I throw it in reverse. Park it. And start storming to the front door. He has the nerve to start walking next to me. I verrryy politely (not) told him to get away from me right now. I get inside to see my Dad pulling up in the basement drive. I'm flipping out and just straight pissed that this jerk off had the nerve to just do that to me and could not wait to tell my Father who was supossed to beat up any bad guys for my whole life. Nope, my sweet laid back Dad was just as calm as ever. I mean, I was 100% sure he was going to go rip the guys dick off when I told him what had happened. My mother and I are just in a tissy, and my Dad just calming sat down, probably popped open a beer, and said well we will never use him again. I was floored. It wasn't until a few weeks later, I found out that my Dad had in fact gone out and talked to the guy and it wasn't pretty, but my mom wouldn't tell me what he said. Whoooo does that?!
Revisiting these stories, I just cant help but think... It's a sick sick world we live in, full of perverts, creepers and mentally unstable idiots. But what can you do, life goes on.
The Wheelchair Whisperer.
I work face to face with a lot of senior citizens and I happen to love it. Most are just adorable and harmless and even if they do say something out of line, it's easy to disregard as 'ahh they are just old.' Then there is the wheelchair whisperer. Picture a slumped over santa clause (but not as jolly, and not quite as old) wheeling himself into our office. He never comes to my check in, but goes to the one next to me. As my coworker gets up to retrieve his chart, he usually sneaks in a 'ahhh so beautiful' or a 'omg, so hot' under his breath while I feel him stare at me. Then when she comes back he's quite. he always digs through her candy bowl and then wheels himself in front of me to dig through my candy bowl. The whispers pick back up. 'so sexy.' 'uhhhhhhh' 'gorgeouuusss'. The catch... NO ONE ELSE HEARS IT. It pisses me off beyond believe, and I think he's extremely disrespectful. I'm right here, quit acting like I'm not you old fart. I left off the fact that his wife is with him sometimes but is always parking the car while he is checking in. My coworkers might possibly think im crazy, but now when I see him coming I either get up and leave, or call my ex-NFL playing boss to come stand behind me until he's gone. I can't bring myself to file a formal complaint against him because realistically he is just complimenting me. In the creepiest way possible.
My poet stalker.
Once upon a time I had a stalker. Kinda...actually just an extremely strange situation on my hands. I was sitting in Coach Freemans history class when I got a letter addressed to me that was sent to the high school. I opened it, a card and some papers. I read on, Dear Kristen, I saw you play basketball and I think you're very pretty. I want you to read these and I want to talk about it in person. Signed, Jamal Smith. I dont remember his name... (but if you lived in UTC Place 3336, Jamal will give a paint a perfect picture.) The papers were copies of this guys work. Apparently he was a published poet. His picture was there and everything, just a large black man with a fro. One of his poems was included, the rest was an article talking about 'out of body experiences' and really really strange stuff. He had written in the white space beside the articles talking about how he really thinks he could get through to me, and other reallllly creepy stuff. Then, still semi-laughing, I took it to my teacher who said hmm maybe you should take it to the principals office to the SRO officer. They were a lot more concerned with it than I was... until the police report came back. Apparently the guy lived in Franklin Co (we had just had an away game there) and has a police record and gets in trouble with the law frequently. Typically neighbor complaints, and small stuff. But it was enough for them to give me the make and model of his car and other special instructions. As a Junior in highschool, I was horrified.
Big Mississippi.
One night out in Chattanooga, my girlfriend was at the bar getting a drink when an older short man struck up a convo. They were just giggling away leaving me just standing there. Well I guess the gentleman with the short guy noticed this and heads on over. Small talk continues... he informs me that he is the short Brazilian man's body guard. I inquired what he does that requires a body guard and was given the response.... he's an entrepreneur. Yea, ok. So while my friend is dancing with shorty, apparently he slips a $100 bill and a $20 to her. Damn it, im stuck playing wingman now. So after many free drinks, my friend kisses the creepy Brazilian billionaire and big body guard is trying to put moves on me. Not happenin. Let me explain why... Big Mississippi gets his name honestly. Picture a much grosser version of Big from Rob & Big on MTV. He is a 40ish African American, prolly 6'6 and 350 lbs. acne scars all over his face, and just over all I would describe as not appealing... At all. So the night ends... my friend and his friend exchange numbers. Typically he would never have gotten the time of day, but they were talking trips to here, and trips to there, and free this, and free that. Poor college kid gets sucked in. So we agree to go to dinner with them when they were coming back through town a couple of days later. Horrible idea. Obviously the old men had expectations, we did not and they were both extremely affectionate. Especially my friends guy. We struggle through dinner, stilllll not sure exactly how this guy has so much money or what his 'career' is, and they insist on walking us to our car. Well my poor girlfriends dude wasn't coming up for air he was so into her, and Big Mississippi kept trying to hold my hand the whole way to the car, and then hugs me goodbye. Doesn't let go. I look up into all those fat rolls on his neck, and then he kissed me. He had me in a bear hug, I couldn't budge... He finally lets go and my friend said my face was one that she'd never seen before and she didn't know if i was goin to cry, punch him, or throw up. Big Mississippi got my phone number the night before and literally called me everyday for 2 months. I'm not exaggerating at all. Voicemails included, and yes.. texts too. I wont even go into detail on what they said, but at the time I was really worried about having a potential drug lords bodyguard as my 2nd all time stalker.
The Perverted Pressure Washer
This happened way back when I was very young and impressionable. I believe I was 18 and at home one summer. My Dad had hired some guy that some other guy had recommended to pressure wash the house. Well he was out running errands but had told me he was coming and he may need a ladder or whatever and to just tell him where things were if needed. My mother had just had ankle surgery and was posted up on the couch. Well he knocks at the door for the first thing, the ladder. No prob I directed him to it. He was a scrawny, maybe 5'8, upper 30s, white guy. Balding on top, facial hair, and just straight white trash looking. Well he came back to the door again, and I helped him with whatever insignificant thing it was. This happened like 2 more times. Stupid stuff that he could have done on his own. Then he asked me to move the cars in the front so they didn't get sprayed/dirty. Ok, finally a logical reason to bother me... I move moms, and get in mine to move...
Our driveway isn't even with our house and part of it sticks out into the side yard. The side yard faces street and we have neighbors on that side as well. Well I get in my car, look up, and this disgusting and disturbed man is suddenly 5 feet in front of my car with his penis pulled out peeing. Looking me dead in the eyes. OH HELL NO. I throw it in reverse. Park it. And start storming to the front door. He has the nerve to start walking next to me. I verrryy politely (not) told him to get away from me right now. I get inside to see my Dad pulling up in the basement drive. I'm flipping out and just straight pissed that this jerk off had the nerve to just do that to me and could not wait to tell my Father who was supossed to beat up any bad guys for my whole life. Nope, my sweet laid back Dad was just as calm as ever. I mean, I was 100% sure he was going to go rip the guys dick off when I told him what had happened. My mother and I are just in a tissy, and my Dad just calming sat down, probably popped open a beer, and said well we will never use him again. I was floored. It wasn't until a few weeks later, I found out that my Dad had in fact gone out and talked to the guy and it wasn't pretty, but my mom wouldn't tell me what he said. Whoooo does that?!
Revisiting these stories, I just cant help but think... It's a sick sick world we live in, full of perverts, creepers and mentally unstable idiots. But what can you do, life goes on.
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