Three friends, two days, one city…

Even though I was sad at the end of my Ozark visit to go away from everyone, I was excited because some of the folks were coming up here. The first two weeks of July my parents were up visiting, which was fun. After they left I had four days to get the apartment ready again, sheets washed and ready for the next set of folks to come in…one of my best friends (the chef) and another one of our best friends. This particular best friend, is also the twin of my buddy who I had been texting and staying up late to talk to on the phone. I desperately wanted to tell her what was going on, but my buddy and I still had to keep everything under wraps, after all my buddy and I hadn’t even gone on a date yet…or rather our second “first” date.

My girlfriends came up and from the start, it was like old times. The night of their arrival we stayed up late talking, eating popcorn, drinking coffee and shooting the breeze. Before we knew it, we should have been in bed hours ago in order to prepare for the next day’s adventure; The City Museum.

This is a place that was shown to me by some local St. Louis buddies in 2004 for my birthday and since then I’ve made it my duty to show anyone else from out of town the wonder of this museum created from an artist’s mind. The chef friend had been there on a couple of occassions, the other friend had never been. One of the great things about this place, even if you’ve been, you’re always going to find something new, mainly because they keep building new additions and there is so much to look at you’ve surely missed something the first time.

The newest attraction to myself and the other girlfriend; the roof. I’d never been and neither had they. We made this our mission. It was here we found rope swings, a gigantic Praying Mantis…

and slides that made me scream like a little girl every time we went down one…

oh yeah and a giant ferris wheel…

We didn’t care the weather was so hot, we had to explore every ounce of that roof to say we did it.

We even wound up going back toward the end of the night. However before going back on the roof, we had to make a quick stop at Beatnik Bob’s located in the middle of the museum…

Unfortunately Beatnik Bob’s didn’t have cotton candy so I went to another vendor, purchased some and came back to where my friends were to share…

Needless to say after my friend laughed so hard she pulled cotton candy out of her nose we knew it was time to quit sharing.

We were at the museum for several hours making sure we got our money’s worth, even Benjamin Franklin would have been proud.

The next day I had to work but was meeting up with the girls afterwards to go to the art museum. For the Creatively Put readers out there, here is a little background information on the art museum. The building itself was originally built in 1904 as part of the World’s Fair and they tore down everything from it except one part. They built the rest of the museum to match. However, we weren’t going to see the architectural splendor, we were going to see some mummies. The chef friend had never seen a mummy before, had always wanted to and so the three of us turned this trip into another adventure.

We went into the art museum and headed downstairs to the exhibit before the museum closed. As we turned down one hallway my chef friend and I started to get a creepy feeling. We didn’t know what it was. We were so spooked by the time the three of us saw the mummy we had convinced ourselves we had felt a presence of some sort and that someone was tapping the glass from the inside of one of the exhibits.

After seeing the mummy exhibit, the one friend quickly got distracted and started talking to one of the guards there and asking questions. Come to find out, we weren’t the only ones who got a creepy feeling in the hallway. Some of the guards who man the building at night would also experience a feeling, so much to the extent they would feel threatened and wouldn’t continue down the hallway.

As the guard told us, they didn’t believe it was the spirit of the mummy haunting the hallways, but felt it was something to do with the shrunken head in one of the displays further down the hallway,…which is where I originally got the creepy feeling.

We went back in search of the shrunken head passing up the many Mayan exhibits, Native American Exhibits to get to this exhibit from Papau New Guinea. Either way, we found something unsettling, whether it was the visual of a shrunken human head with its eyes sewn shut or the extra natural artifacts added to it, something about it creeped us out.

The museum was coming to a close so we had to make our way out but first stopped to see the Asian Arts exhibit.

After seeing a shrunken head and getting the creeps there is always something calming about seeing Buddhas and Foo Dogs.

We paused for a moment to take some glamorous pictures on the bridge outside of Art Hill…

where we talked on the way to the car. My friend said she felt sorry for me when I had to come back home to visit them because there was nothing to do there. What she forgot was, when we hung out together in the Ozarks, we relied on ourselves and created our own fun because we enjoyed each others’ company. We didn’t need anything to entertain us, we were our own entertainment. After the other girlfriend and I convinced her of this, we suddenly realized how hungry we were.

We then stopped at a well known restaurant on Grand street and realized there was no way we were going to make it through the wait before our stomachs ate themselves. Instead we went back down the street to a little Thai restaurant.

After ordering, my chef friend started in about how she could create her own curry at home and why she didn’t know why she ordered curry if she could make it herself. Then the waiter brought out a huge bowl of soup to the other table. She immediately looked at the bowl and said, “Oooh, I should have ordered that.” I reminded her that the curry made at this place was going to be different than anything she could make, and besides that, when you cook something yourself, its not nearly as good as when someone else cooks it for you. (It’s a rule I came up with.)

The waiter brought our food to the table. We had expelled so much energy over the last couple of days we devoured our plates in no time. (O.K. I devoured my plate in no time.)

My chef friend was taking her time making yummy noises and savoring every last drop of her food and exclaiming, “O.K. this is waaaay better than anything I could have made at home.” We left the restaurant pleased knowing we had made a wonderful meal decision and decided to bum around town some more. Unfortunately we don’t have any pictures from this time because it was mostly spent just shopping.

We then found ourselves hungry again and decided we should make plans for another dinner. My chef friend wanted more curry but wanted to try a different restaurant.

Curry twice in one day you ask dear readers? Yes. Yes we did.

There is a restaurant near my apartment that has a great buffet but we went during dinner hours and ordered yet again, curry. This time however we ordered some wonderful Naan bread to go with it. We again cleaned our plates while we watched excerpts from Bollywood movies. After we paid our bill we sat outside while the girls had a smoke. My chef friend wanted to stay an extra day, she was contemplating calling out sick to work to stay since I had the next day off. She didn’t want to go, I didn’t want them to go. Before we knew it, we had to head back to the apartment to get their luggage and send them home.

Before they went home, my friend had to check some things on the internet, and we’ll put it this way, the curry had done a number on all of us, but mostly me. While she was checking something on the computer, something happened. I’ll spare you the details, but it involved me  running out of the room, slamming the bathroom door screaming, “NO! NO! NOOOOOOooo!” Thus the new term coined by one of my girlfriends, “Currying yourself”.

How much fun can you cram into a weekend?  What have you done recently that was a whirlwind?

As always readers…

Next up, “Nice Hat”.

For Dad

We were like this but, sillier, and not in our dress clothes, and reading a comic book instead of a newspaper. O.K. Maybe we only hugged like this.

Recently I took a trip back home to hang out with the parental units, have a barbecue with them and my closest friends. So for Father’s Day, since I knew I would be heading back, I purchased my Dad a coffee grinder and a few different kinds of Whole Bean Coffees and assembled them in a Hyacinth leaf woven basket.

The gift might not make a lot of sense, but if you know my Dad, it does. You see, my Dad is like the energizer bunny. The nut doesn’t fall from the tree, we’ll just say that. Most kids’ parents, or rather their Dads, would come home and poop out on them. Some of these friends’ Dads were office workers or pencil pushers and were still exhausted when they came home. What did my Dad do you ask? He loaded trucks for a living and occasionally drove them in town. During this time of loading trucks he managed to tear tendons in his shoulders and work on a damaged knee from a motorcycle accident and still didn’t let that stop him from spending time with me.

When my Dad would come home, sure he might have taken a nap, but he only took a nap for about an hour. Then, after having been up since four in the morning, loading trucks all day, and coming home, he would come outside and play baseball with my friends and I. He wouldn’t just play catch, he would actually pitch, bat and run the bases. Lets just say this, my Dad was the cool Dad in the neighborhood. Dad used his time with me as something to look forward to after his 8 hour shift during the day.

I remember a time in second grade when I found a Chess set my Aunt had made for him in our game chest. I didn’t know how to play but was intrigued by the intricate pieces. I asked and Dad willingly taught me how to play. Most people probably would have looked at someone who was 7 years of age and disregard them as being smart enough to play a game of chess. Dad didn’t do that. He saw potential for me in everything and not just Chess.

You see, my Dad always told me, you can do anything you want to do as long as you set your mind to it. He was right. Every time I’ve tried something, even if it wasn’t a major commercial or public success, it was a personal success. However, growing up, if he hadn’t help coach me on things, without him I wouldn’t be the success that I am today.

There was a time when I had to do a solo for band at a music competition. Somehow I was having problems with timing (seems to be a common theme in my life as well). The teacher was trying to coach me during individual classes she held after school. The problem was, I wanted to rush the music, I wanted to rush the notes. Dad, ONE TIME worked with me after he got off work. He sat with me, worked on the solo with me, helped me time it through tapping his foot, helped me internalize the tapping in my head, then helped me memorize the solo entirely on the flute. The next day at the contest, I scored one of the highest scores and received a medal. Dad often brags about this moment in my life and often gives me too much credit, when actually he deserves all the credit. If it hadn’t been for him, that medal wouldn’t have been possible.

Dad would indulge in my artistic abilities as well by having a personal competition with drawing cartoons. The nice thing, unlike most people, he actually tried and gave it a shot, he didn’t do the thing most parents do where they purposely do something poorly to help their kid shine. This is something he has always done and something I’ve always appreciated. He never hid his abilities, his smarts or his talents. This enabled me to see how something was properly done and not to mention it helped me to understand why I have some of the abilities I do.

However the moments I remember most about my Dad are the ones where he tells stories to my friends and actually enjoys talking to my friends. Anytime I had friends over, he didn’t mind talking to them, made them feel welcome and always treated them like people rather than an annoying booger in the house. As I got older, he made it a point to tease and joke with me in front of friends, further making him the cool Dad.

Often before school dances in junior high he would slide in on the wood floor, dance in the opening on one foot and proudly ask, “So are you going to ask ‘insert current crush’s name here’ to dance? Are you going to shake a leg? Cut a rug?” Granted this mortified me at the time. Being 13 with a poodle perm, braces and awkwardly approaching a second growth spurt, with your Dad dancing asking you if you’re going to dance with the “Love of your life” (who you write in your diary about every night) in front of one of your best friends is not something most girls think fondly of. However, now that I’m older, it comforts me knowing how much my Dad took an interest in my life when some of my friends would beg their parents to even remotely show interest in something minor they had going on in their life. The fact that he knew the name of my crush says everything.

My Dad also made it a point to take an interest in my interests. If I was into the New Kids on the Block, he would listen to their cassette tape while he was in the shower and would often come out singing, “Oh oh OH oh oh…” and then took a renewed interest in comic books because he saw this could potentially be a life interest. When my interests evolved from NKOTB to the Beatles, he then took an interest in their music and movies despite the fact he despised them as a teenager because they, “Got all the chicks.” When my interests evolved from comic books to fine art, he helped encourage me by making canvases out of various materials for my Senior Art Show in college and contributed to my many sculpture projects by offering up metals and materials.

Dad asked me questions and wanted to know what was going on, and not in an intrusive annoying way. Dad always made sure to let me know, no matter what I was going through, no matter what the situation was, I should NEVER be afraid to talk to him about anything. He also made sure to be open with me; he practices what he preaches. With Dad its always been a two way street.

Its funny, when you’re younger, you don’t realize how much you’re like your parents. As you get older, you start to piece everything together and you realize where you get certain quirks and traits from.

Some of the things I’ve inherited from my Dad:

A lead foot.
The ability to attract ticket issuing cops.
A love of story telling.
Not being afraid to try something new.
A love of silly humor and bad puns.
Raucous laughter.
A love of all music. (Except twangy country!)
A love of people and animals.
Positivity and trying to see the bright side of things.
Being comfortable with who your are and not being afraid to ‘be’. (This is something that is coming back to me.)
The inability to hide excitement about something.
Singing or whistling while working, especially when content or happy.
Perseverance.

This list could go on and on but these are some of the main ones that stick with me and I’m sure my friends new and old would agree with.

What are some things you’ve inherited from your Dad that you love? What are you thankful for that your Dad has done for you?

Get Back

This week I finally accomplished the task of creating a message board; this has been in the works now for over a year. I was going to finish it with my mom, but we hardly see each other. Then I was going to finish it with my friend, but we’ve not been scheduled off enough time at the same time to finish it. The other day, I finished it myself. I’m pretty proud of it, even though its a bit lumpy on one side. The whole point of this board was to hang it above my drawing table to “draw” inspiration from. I was worried at first about not having enough memories and drawings to fill it up. Sorting through piles of things I’ve collected, I found things one of my best friends here gave me, and some things one of my best friends back in Ozark gave me. Strangely, they have a similar sense of humor.

I found an old Valentine’s card from my best friend back home. This one in particular sported The Red Ranger of Mighty Morphin Power Rangers.  She lovingly wrote on the back, “Hey Spazz!” and exclaimed I looked like a “terd”, (yes, spelled with an “e”) because I was wearing a brown sweater that day.

"You look like a 'terd'!"

This was enveloped with song verses to Sgt. Pepper’s Lonely Heart’s Club Band…also highly appropriate for Valentine’s Day. My friend here in St. Louis will do similar things. She’ll pass me notes sometimes at work with song verses of the current song on the radio illustrated in full glory. Both friends write and draw things that make me laugh uncontrollably.

The last couple of weeks have been an interesting process, I’ve been trying to plan a short trip back home; it’s pretty much a 48 hour trip. This particular trip is going to be different, I’m going to be bringing one of my best friends from St. Louis with me (the one mentioned above) and introduce her to some of my other closest friends; including the one that said I looked like a “terd”.  These friends I’ve lately been referring to as “The Ozark Mafia”. It wasn’t until early this morning I started worrying about this introduction. Recently  e-mailing one of my friends, he and I have been discussing a barbecue that’s going to take place at my parents house. He asked the typical questions, “What does one need to bring?” “How are we to dress?” then he goes on from there. I got to the bottom of his list of questions, and he asked, “Will you be doing any Cher imitations?”

Wow.

The last question caught me off guard and made me giggle. In the process of growing up, one can forget exactly where they came from at times. I read a book called, “Friends like these” where the author Danny Wallace talks about how this happens. He talks about how friends are there to remind you of who you were and where you “came from” so to speak. In my case, I forgot just how well this friend knew me.  (“If only I could turn back time” so he didn’t have to witness the aforementioned Cher impersonation.)

I worry my friends back home will tell my best friend up here what I was ACTUALLY like, from their own perceptions.

These last few months have been trying for me, and its been difficult feeling some people out and realizing who doesn’t mind if you’re a goofball and yourself around them. Recently I had a situation where I found out someone just really thought I was too goofy and had enough. In describing this incident to a best friend back home she reminded me and said, “If you were to act this way in front of us (The Ozark Mafia), would we have cared?”

She was right.

“No,” I said reluctantly. Then I quickly corrected myself and said, “Yes.”, just because I didn’t want to admit the sad truth; the truth that my goofy demeanor, that makes me… me, drove this other person up a wall. She said, “NO, you KNOW we wouldn’t mind!” She reminded me that true friends love you for who you are, quirks, corny jokes and all. In remembering this particular conversation, I’m constantly reminded that I shouldn’t worry. If people stick around, it’s because they love you for you. Dr. Seuss put it best, “Be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”

Maybe I worry too much. Maybe I’m just worried my St. Louis best friend will find out just how unashamed, carefree, and unabashedly awkward I was and how much I’ve changed from that, into this person that thinks too much about what others might think. Maybe I’m afraid not necessarily what she’ll find out, but what I’ll find out; that at one time I was a cool chick and turned into this…whatever I am now.

Hopefully this trip will be a good reminder and knowing my friends, they’ll understand exactly where I’m coming from. They’ve been helping me along the way to remember what it was like to be me, and surely in person everything will become much much clearer. If I’m lucky, maybe we’ll celebrate at the barbecue and all do a rendition of the Beatles, “Get Back” and sing the famous verse, “Get back to where you once belonged.”

Here’s to the future of becoming my old self.

What have your friends reminded you of that you’ve forgotten about yourself?  How do your friends keep you in check?

No Country for Creepy Old Men

This is dedicated to my friend who urged me to write about my old man experiences…the book shall come later, and thank you for the inspiration.

It has become apparent now more so than ever that I’m an old soul. However just because I’m an old soul, doesn’t mean that I’m a kindred spirit to a man my Dad’s age. Let me illustrate my point.

A few weeks ago I made a run to a local 24 hour drug store after my night shift to purchase some cheap purple hair dye to go with the new blue streaks some girlfriends put in the night before. While I was there I had to make a few other purchases. When approaching the register, the older clerk kept asking me to show him sunshine. He pointed out I had sunshine in my hair, referring to the sunflower on the right side of my head. Due to my poor hearing abilities and Tinitis, I didn’t really understand him, so I feigned a smile pretending I did. What came next I heard clearly. He smiled like a Cheshire cat, made; what can only be described as a ray gun noise and exclaimed, “There it is! Got it!” At that moment I was hoping he would see the purple hair dye he was ringing up and think I was some sort of strange abnormal person like most people would, but it didn’t phase him. He unfortunately looked at my name tag and then told me I had been on his mind. I get this frequently.

I love my name, however because my name is Georgia, just telling a slightly off center person elicits the Ray Charles version of the song by the same name from them, and usually the person is a creepy old man. When I was a teenager and working at a restaurant, line cooks would frequently sing to me if I had to put a request in. I don’t understand why my name affects people like this, but I digress.

There was another instance where I was opening a store a few years ago. A little old man in a trucker’s hat with pants hiked up to his ears shuffled up and asked where the peanut butter filled pretzels were. I offered for him to follow me in order to show him the way. In my ignorance, I realized maybe the old man couldn’t keep up with me and it might be best to turn around, go back and slow down. As I turned around, the little old man was RIGHT behind me, staring me in the face. I showed him what he was looking for, and he responded, “How ‘bout a kiss?” Come to find out, the man was married and a square dancer. He then asked me if I wanted to square dance with him. I was mortified.

The next predicament was rather embarrassing. I was helping to load some product for a man who was close to my Father’s age and looked strangely like Hulk Hogan’s non-steroid induced brother. The guy I was helping (who isn’t with my work or in any way affiliated) was taking product from my hand and placing it on a truck. I was trying to trim off some plants so he had the fresh parts ready to go. He was kind enough to hold the plant while I sliced off the sprigs that had fallen to the side. He then presented me with the sprigs and said, “Don’t say I didn’t ever get you anything.” Then he asked me on a date. I said, “No, but thanks” briefly explaining I just got out of a long relationship. He then asked again, “How about for the future?” Again I had to burst the guy’s bubble. He finally left with his head hanging low much like George Michael’s on Arrested Development, or Charlie Brown’s when they both were rejected by their love interest.

You see, this isn’t just a recent development. This kind of thing has happened since I was a kid. Hence the “creepy” in the title of this blog.

One incident dates back to when I was six years old. My family, and a friend and her family were all going to a local theme park close to where I used to live in the Ozarks. My parents and I were approaching the turnstile to get in when a rather sweaty, large man in thick plastic glasses was manning the station. He wiped his brow with a white handkerchief, and said, “Phwew, I haven’t had a hug all day…can you give me a hug?”  I remember not wanting to hug him but felt obligated. All I knew was after hugging that sweaty large man, fun awaited on the other side of the gate, and I was willing to hug to get to it. At the age of six years old, for me, hugging this odd man was the equivalent of having to answer a Troll’s three questions at a bridge just to cross it. Next in line was my friend who is the same age as me and her family. I was growing impatient waiting on the other side because I knew fun was happening somewhere in the park and we were missing out on it. As I stood there watching, they went through the turnstile with no problem. She didn’t have to hug the sweaty troll.

"Hurry up and ask me the three questions already!"

So you see, no matter what age I am, I will always be attracting creepy old men. When I become an old lady, in theory, creepy old men will become a thing of the past and I won’t have to worry about getting hit on; much to my delight.

Have you had any instances where someone who gave you the heeby jeebies hit on you or just plain made you feel uncomfortable? Were they age inappropriate?

The deal-breaker for THIS artist

          There has been some mystery over my resignation from being an in-store artist. Hopefully this will clear some things up for people. Those of you reading my blog already know that I live life as an artist, but some of you may not have known that I also did it for a living for 5 years, in and out of my day job.

     When I’m at work I tell people the reason I’m switching to work the floor instead of in-house art is, “I don’t want to get burned out.” This is true. I spent a lot of time and student loans getting an education for something most people don’t even use; a Bachelor of Fine Arts degree with an emphasis in drawing. The last thing I want to do is to never use this degree for personal use, so inevitably for myself I had to make some life and career changes. However one of the many perks to being an in-house artist is when my former alumni calls once a year to collect money and data. They ask what I’m doing for a living and I would get to tell them, “I’m an artist.” Then they act surprised and say how rare it is for someone to actually use their degree in this field. Then they politely ask for money.

     Even though I’ve said I’m afraid I’ll get burnt out on the position, the real reason I’m switching from being an artist to crew member is this; Velcro. Yes, Velcro.

The bane of my existence

     You see my co-worker and I use it on an almost daily basis, thus resulting in wrappers and spare un-used halves of this sticky and fuzzy stuff being left over in our pockets. Often if I’m on the floor putting some artwork up, you can see me shoving these pieces into pockets, sticking it on fingers while waiting to position the first piece of Velcro on a sign holder, while balancing on a ladder holding some foam core artwork.  Since I’m too busy concentrating on performing a balancing act, I never realize quite how many wrappers or Velcro pieces are being shoved into my pockets.

     Recently the Velcro has been finding its way into other things, mainly my dryer and various places around the house.

     When I find it around the house, it’s because I’ve taken it out of my work jeans before I’ve washed them and placed them in other locations absent mindedly. Then on the days when I clean the house, I go around finding the pieces and putting them in whatever I have on that day; another pair of work jeans, or if I’ve just woken up and started the laundry; my bathrobe.

     When I find it in the dryer it’s an unfortunate experience. One time it was stuck on the walls of the dryer drum and I had to cut it off with an Exacto-knife. This has resulted in glue being left on the drum walls, however the glue has helped collect extra lint off the clothing. There is no removing the glue, it won’t budge. Then, there is the even more unfortunate experience when you find some of the sticky stuff left over, in or on, your clothing. Remember the bathrobe I mentioned that I sometimes clean the house in? I found some Velcro, washed, sticking to the inside of the pocket. I still have yet to see if it will come out once it dries. The other week I was mesmerized as I pulled out a pair of underwear from the dryer with both a sticky and a fuzzy side of Velcro (which is a rarity to find both sides) attached to the outside of the undies. Granted, this will help if I lose weight, all I have to do is attach the sides together and viola no more ill fitting underwear.

     This is why I had to quit being an in-house artist and have reached my breaking point. I don’t want to risk the chance of that painful Velcro ending up on the inside of my underwear.

Magnified Velcro for painful emphasis

     This is for my artist co-workers who have worked with me over the last five years in the tiny art rooms at two different locations. Thank you so much for laughing with me, putting up with mishaps, endless ramblings and for being there for me. You all are wonderful.

     What are some crazy things you find in your pockets when you do the laundry? When have you had to make a career change in your life? What were your reasons?

Things are not ass they seem

I have a couple of arguments for making sure you have good eye sight and this is one of them.

When I started college I had normal eyesight. However, due to many nights of studying, everything in the distance started to become fuzzy. It stunk not being able to see where I once was able to. That summer I started a job at Sears in the paint department and was able to get my new eyeglasses through their optical department.

The following fall my Dad and I were able to get my car up and running and I no longer had to rely on him or one of my best friends for a ride to school. It was wonderful. I felt so independent, I felt so free, I felt so…lost.

For those who don’t know, I have no internal compass. It usually takes me a while to get to know the lay of the land depending on where I go. I can read a map and semi-know where I’m going, however, I didn’t have a map. I was 19 and didn’t need a map. I thought I knew everything and after all I was in my hometown right?

Wrong.

Anyway, I was driving down one of the main streets of Springfield Missouri on the way home one night from the University. It was light when I left my usual convenient parking lot just to the side of the gas station. Somehow, I took a wrong turn that put me on a street I was unfamiliar with.

As the light was beginning to fade, I realized I didn’t have my glasses. I’m traveling down the road when I hear a car beeping directly to my left. I look over to see two boys in the front waving excitedly. Because I didn’t have my spectacles on, I didn’t know if I knew them, if they knew me from somewhere or if they were just being flirtatious. Stupidly I waved back. They, kept honking. If memory serves they were pointing toward the back seat. I couldn’t figure out what was so exciting about the back seat of their car. I looked and all I saw was a white football helmet with a black stripe down the center. At that point, all I could think was, “Big deal?”

The boys continued laughing and then pulled in front of my car and started honking at other people around them. Thats when I squinted my eyes.

It turns out, in the back seat, was another boy. He was pressing his buttocks against the window to prank everyone into getting an eyeful, not a football helmet.

What is something you’re thankful you couldn’t see correctly at the time when it happened? What are some mishaps or embarrassing moments you’ve had due to eyesight issues?

When you least expect it

    

When she would least expect it, the mirror would launch its plan of attack.

     A long long time ago when I shared a house with two girls in college, something horrible happened.  I was in the shower getting ready for something that probably seemed important at the time, probably getting ready for work or a really uncomfortable date with a future ex. Then, I stepped out of the shower.

     This is one of the first many noticeable times where I realized my sense of balance was off. I wobbled on the ball of one foot just outside the tub on the tile, while the other one was still on the grimy porcelain surface on the inside. (It was college, we had many people in the house, hence the grimy.)

     My brain had temporarily left my head thinking it was a wise idea to grab the shower curtain for balance. As soon as I grabbed it, the shower curtain came tumbling down around me, I managed to balance myself slightly. I still had one foot in the tub, one foot out, curtain wrapped around me with one hand on the floor. Phwew.

     Then it happened.

     The mirror the three of us girls used to put our make-up on in the morning somehow detached itself from the wall, while I was crouched on the floor, hit the countertop and slid over where I was crouched down. The mirror was unbroken hovering over my head creating a sort of tunnel between the tub and the cabinet that resided just beneath where it used to hang.

     The main thing I remember about this story is retelling the accounts of the event to my aunt which resulted in her hysterically laughing. I couldn’t figure out what was so funny about all of this until she said, “The whole time this was happening, you were naked!” She still continued to laugh so hard there wasn’t anything audible coming from her mouth.

     Then it hit me, I could have died like this. Can you imagine explaining this to the coroner? One of my poor roommates was in the living room just on the other side of the wall, can you imagine what would have happened if she found me knocked unconscious like this?

     All I can say is I thank the guardian angel watching over me to not let this happen. 

     When’s the last time you had a near brush with death while in a compromised state?