My day has been challenging and it's only 10 am.
So I'm housesitting/dogsitting for a good friend of mine while they're out of town, which is the sweetest deal ever because I can go to work and make money and make money while working and making money. It's like poor-college-kid-trying-to-pay-off-school heaven. Plus, Amber is awesome and her dogs are adorable, so everyone wins.
Anyway, so I'm housesitting and I've only been here since Saturday, but I feel like I'm getting settled into the routine of taking care of the dogs and knowing where stuff is and whatnot. I get ready for the day, do my hair and makeup, and eat breakfast, and all that's left to do is get dressed and leave for work.
Now let me explain the root of this problem- the other day, my dad informed me that after work we would be meeting up and going shopping for "professional" clothes, which got me excited, because shopping, that's why. Anyway, so we meet up at DownEast because there are cute clothes there...but I was informed that cute church skirts apparently don't equal office wear? I dunno. So we ended up at JCPenney and got me some classy Liz Claiborne blouses (My definition of "blouse" and my dad's definition of "blouse" are two very different words. Like, I was thinking a cute cotton-y top with lace on it or something and he was thinking button-up with long sleeves and no cute butterfly/bike/owl print and not even anything sparkly...what the heck, dad?) and pencil skirts and whatever. And, as annoyed as I was that I needed to dress up, it was fun getting some really nice-looking stuff, considering that most of the time I wear jeans with a "tee" (not a blouse, don't call it a blouse!) and some cute sandals or something. What can I say, I'm 18, I can pretty much wear whatever I want.
Anyway, the stuff that i got was really nice and needed to be hand-washed and ironed and whatever. So, in an effort to keep these professional clothes wrinkle-free and ever classy, I hung them up in the car. When I get ready, I will go pick a top out of the car and go change and it's no biggy and whatever. So I go outside to get my colorful, polka-dotty top, still in my pjs (American flag tshirt and Fremont Junior High PE shorts (yeah, I still have them)) and I hear the door, that I left cracked a little bit so I could easily walk back in and the dogs wouldn't run out, click shut. I figured this was no biggie, because I had unlocked the locks from the inside before walking out to get my top. Sorry, blouse. But somehow the bottom lock, which has been tricky for me anyway, fell shut and locked me out. I ran back to the car to grab my extra key and when I looked into the car I realized with horror that I HAD LEFT BOTH SETS OF SPARE KEYS IN THE HOUSE, ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER. LIKE, MAYBE 5 FEET FROM THE DOOR. WHICH HAD APPARENTLY DECIDED TO LOCK ITSELF. I freaked out and tried to think of solutions and my first thought was that Amber had said something about a spare key in the back. I grabbed the only shoes I happened to have in the car (my sparkly black work flats- what can I say, I keep my footwear classy even when I'm in my pajamas) and walked around the back. The dogs had run out of the doggy door and were barking at me as if to say "Hey Lauren why are you outside you silly human you just come on inside through the doggy door okay why are you so upset come play with me friend I love you wait why are we outside can I have a treat PLAY WITH ME PRETTY PLEASE" and I tried to focus and find this key. It wasn't in the grill. It wasn't under the rug. Finally, I saw one of those extra key things attached to the hose and angels started singing and I was like WOOP gonna go get dressed, told you it was no biggie, self!
Aaaaand the key wasn't in there. And then I thought what cruel person buys a spare key compartment thing WITH NO SPARE KEY INSIDE. Then it hit me that OHHH that must be the spare key I was given that is sitting on the counter, in the kitchen, next to the original set of keys I was given. Gotcha. So I was the cruel, heartless soul who took my spare keys from myself. K.
And here's where my freaking out escalated and I was like crap, now I probably need to go get help because my freaking phone is inside. And if i need to go get help that means I have to talk to people in my pjs with no bra while wearing my sparkly work shoes. WHY.
My only other solution that was coming to mind was to go talk to Amber's neighbor, Gena, who is super chill and might also have a key and probably won't judge my choice of outfit.
So I get in the car because I had my car keys because I'm not THAT stupid and go to Gena's. Aaaand I knock on the door and she isn't there.
So I sat there in the mini, with my work shirt hanging up behind me, mocking me in the rearview mirror, laughing at my stupidity. Well, I mean, not LITERALLY but I could feel it's judgey-ness.
So then I figure my only option left is to show up to Bonita's house, unannounced. I mean, I kind of do this anyways, but never in pajamas at 9 am to ask if I can use her phone because mine is locked in the house along with the two sets of keys I have to said house and also, can I call Canada? Because my family is suddenly Canadian and I'm not. Typical stuff.
But really, I did go to the Frost's and Bonita seemed a little confused about why I hadn't texted her before I showed up, but she was cool and even let me use her cell phone to call Canada and cry to my mom about how I would probably die without all my stuff. She said to calm down and gave me Amber's number so I could text her. After a lot of phone calls from me and my mom and a lot of searching, we found out that Gena wasn't answering her phone, this has happened before, and that the simplest solution was to track down a small child who was little enough to fit through the tiny dog door. But of course! Why didn't I think of that?
I guess I thought maybe it would be weird to track down some little kid I don't know, ask them to come with me to a house that isn't mine, and basically break in for me. I'm not a criminal, I swear. (That's probably what all criminals say).
So anyway, then my mom is like "Oh!! Dylan (my cousin) is probably out in Mesa for swim practice...I'll call them." And, since the universe decided to not hate me for once, he was, in fact, in Mesa, and right around the corner.
So Bonita and I drove seperately down to the house like a caravan of weirdos, so that she would have her phone on her incase we needed backup. Wes and Dylan were already there when Bonita and I arrived, and Dylan squeezed through the little doggy door, which was actually kind of unbelievable to me because that thing was SMALL.
Anyway, the point is, I got in the house. And I have basically had the keys in my hand ever since.
Oh, and I will probably be getting some ice cream tonight. Because it was traumatizing, that's why.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Friday, July 12, 2013
Life Lessons via Slurpee
I just got back from Canada. It was wonderful and perfect....except for one incident that was the first time in a while that I wanted to burst into tears like a little kid in public.
So, it was my last full day in Canada, and in Vancouver they have all of these beautiful bike paths running through the city. My parents brought three bikes and decided that, before I left, we needed to go on a biking adventure to this pier and market thing, which was fine by me because as the oldest of 4 you don't get a lot of one-on-one parent time because a)your parents are too busy running after your six year old little sister and b)I am technically an adult now and don't need constant supervision and c) my siblings are all younger and, therefore, WAY cuter than I am so I totally get it.
Anyway, so we walk down to the lobby and get our bikes and at this point I was stressing because I stress about everything. Oh, and I hadn't even touched a bike in, like, 8 years. That's almost a decade, people.
I voiced this concern and then my dad was like "umm have you ever heard the phrase 'it's like riding a bike'? of course you will be able to pick it up again, that's how this works" but apparently he hasn't ever seen me ride a bike, because even when I was "good" at riding a bike, I wasn't actually "good" at riding a bike. I could get up on the bike and sort of balance, but I freaked out everytime there was even a little bump in the road and I couldn't pedal uphill because I feel pretty heavy when I am trying to get my body weight up a hill on a foot-operated, more annoying version of a car (side note: looking back, the fear of bumps was actually quite rational because at the time I lived in a really desert-y area with lots and lots of cholla cacti. So if you fell off due to a bump you were gonna get stabbed. And those suckas HURT. boom. irrational fear, justified.) Anyway, so I get on the bike thinking it would be easy like dad said, WHICH IT WASN'T, and then we figured out that the phrase "it's like riding a bike" literally applies to every person on the planet except me which isn't surprising to me at all because I struggle in that whole being-an-average-person area.
But, anyway, we start our bikeride and the view was amazing. The bikes went through parks and gardens and awesome city areas by the water and the pier was amazing and great. The market atmosphere is awesome and the view of the boats on the water was so cool.
So then after having all this fun it's time to bike back. I was trying to stall and avoid it because I knew a lot of it would be uphill. And if any of you have heard of my adventures in weights class this last year, you know I'm a huge wimp. I was legitimately worried about passing out from exhaustion whislt trying to bike uphill and then ceasing to exist or something. It was very scary. But, finally we HAD to head back so I reluctantly followed.
It was mostly uphill, and, while it WAS beautiful, it was freaking hard to get up those hills. I don't think my legs have ever hurt that bad before. And it was starting to get hot. So, after I kind of gave up and threw a dramatic fit, and decided I was done with life and I would just curl up in a ball and die there, because biking SUCKS. So then my dad was forced to bribe me with something, and he claimed that if I just made it over the hill and down the street, there would be a 7/11 and we could get slurpees. That was reason enough to stop throwing a fit and just push through, so I biked all the way there like a freaking champ and we got our slurpees.
Slurpees are special. This is a topic my family has pondered and researched for quite some time, and we've decided all slushie-like drinks fall into two categories. Category one is the run-of-the-mill, sugary, watery slushie things that are common at most gas stations. QT and Circle K fall in these categories. Their slushies/freezonis/whatever you want to call them are really icey and syrupy, and after a while they harden into an un-drinkable ice cube floating in dyed sugar water. While these types of slushies are okay, they are really nothing special and usually the flavors they offer totally suck. But the sad part is that these are really, really common. And they are merely tolerable. And usually just taste gross after you're halfway done. Category two in the slushie drink world is completely different. These drinks are your ICEE and slurpee drinks. They dont just dump some flavoring into some ice and call it a delicious frozen treat. No. These are made differently. They have some sort of carbonation added so theyre more light and airy than the inferior type. When you dispense them into the cup they inflate and spill all over you. It's part of the fun. And they usually come with one of those awesome spoon-straws so you can enjoy the whole thing all the way till the end, because you'll actually want to consume stuff at the bottom of these bad boys because it's actually edible and delicious. They cost a little more typically, but you get what you pay for- total frozen awesomeness.
So anyway, we're at the 7/11 (one of the lone places where you can still get the delicious types of slushie, along with random ones like some Burger Kings (con: limited flavor options and super expensive), the occasional circle k, and some targets (even more expensive)) getting our hard-earned slushies. I got the cream soda flavor, which was fantastic because I hate fruit-flavored frozen treats in general (soda flavors for the win), AND it was FUSCHIA. Happy, bright fuschia. Basically this stuff was pure joy.
So I get my big-ol' 42 ounce (Canada is weird about sizes), neon pink slushie and me and dad and mom sit and watch hobos (including one old guy wearing sunglasses with marijuana leaves painted on them- what a straight up gangster) and asians and the other residents of Vancouver walk by and we drank our slurpees and chatted and life was good.
For those of you who have never eaten around me, you should know that I am probably the world's slowest eater. I could probably go into Guiness book of world records for it. I think turtles probably eat faster than I do. And snails. And old people.
But anyway, I am ESPECIALLY slow when it comes to frozen stuff. I am easily prone to brain freezes and I don't like subjecting my brain to that kind of abuse after all it's done for me. So I eat slowly and carefully and enjoy the treat I got. Haters get upset with me for it, but they're haters so this is expected.
So I'm drinking my slushie and dad is like 3/4 of the way done with his and I'm like halfway. Maybe. Okay, more like 1/3. So dad decides it's probably time to head back and we took our slushies and started walking our bikes back.
Things were all fine and dandy until we got to the final stretch of the walk home- like a million flights of stairs. WITH A BIKE. AND A SLURPEE. But my dad didn't seem to mind and just started trekking down the steps like it was no biggie. I shrugged and followed, telling myself that if I could make it through the valley of death (aka like 5 minutes of slightly uphill biking in perfect weather) I could get down these stupid stairs. So I follow them and it's all good and then ON THE LAST LANDING BEFORE THE END MY SLURPEE SLIPPED OUT OF MY HAND AND EXPLODED ON THE SIDEWALK IN FRONT OF ME.
I kind of just sat there for a second and stared at the neon pink all over the sidewalk. It was legitimately heartbreaking. And, to make matters worse, there was a large group of canadian elderly taking a nice stroll, probably to go get delicious slurpees, and they saw the whole thing. There was a collective sound they made that was the sound of "awwwww, poor widdle girl dwopped her swurpee on the gwound" and that just made things worse and now I REALLY wanted to cry. My first instinct was to pick it up and throw the cup away atleast, because apparently I was turning into a hippie and Vancouver was wearing off on me. So I grab it and one of the old people was like "I don't think that's save-able little girl" or something along those lines but I just ignored her and said "i'll go throw this away" when really I shoud've probably thrown it at them and ran away crying. But anyway, I made the sad walk down the final, shortest flight of stairs and bid farewell to my delicious, only halfway finished, neon cream soda slurpee. My mom told me I should take a final sip but the damage had been done and I just needed to say goodbye. I threw it in the trash and picked up my bike like a freaking champ and began the sad, long walk back home. My mom asked if I was okay and I just said "I really want to cry right now for some reason." probably because I'm emotionally unstable. And also because here I am, technically an adult, out in the big bad world with my slurpee that I worked so hard for and it was cruelly taken from me prematurely. And when I dropped it I felt like a little kid, powerless while everyone pitied them and talked about that "poor little girl who dropped her slurpee at those stair things" for the rest of the day. Seriously, I'm not joking you guys, it was TRAUMATIZING. Terrible. A sad end to a fantastic day. But, whatever, I guess it was character building. Like, the universe saying WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD, PUNK.
So, it was my last full day in Canada, and in Vancouver they have all of these beautiful bike paths running through the city. My parents brought three bikes and decided that, before I left, we needed to go on a biking adventure to this pier and market thing, which was fine by me because as the oldest of 4 you don't get a lot of one-on-one parent time because a)your parents are too busy running after your six year old little sister and b)I am technically an adult now and don't need constant supervision and c) my siblings are all younger and, therefore, WAY cuter than I am so I totally get it.
Anyway, so we walk down to the lobby and get our bikes and at this point I was stressing because I stress about everything. Oh, and I hadn't even touched a bike in, like, 8 years. That's almost a decade, people.
I voiced this concern and then my dad was like "umm have you ever heard the phrase 'it's like riding a bike'? of course you will be able to pick it up again, that's how this works" but apparently he hasn't ever seen me ride a bike, because even when I was "good" at riding a bike, I wasn't actually "good" at riding a bike. I could get up on the bike and sort of balance, but I freaked out everytime there was even a little bump in the road and I couldn't pedal uphill because I feel pretty heavy when I am trying to get my body weight up a hill on a foot-operated, more annoying version of a car (side note: looking back, the fear of bumps was actually quite rational because at the time I lived in a really desert-y area with lots and lots of cholla cacti. So if you fell off due to a bump you were gonna get stabbed. And those suckas HURT. boom. irrational fear, justified.) Anyway, so I get on the bike thinking it would be easy like dad said, WHICH IT WASN'T, and then we figured out that the phrase "it's like riding a bike" literally applies to every person on the planet except me which isn't surprising to me at all because I struggle in that whole being-an-average-person area.
But, anyway, we start our bikeride and the view was amazing. The bikes went through parks and gardens and awesome city areas by the water and the pier was amazing and great. The market atmosphere is awesome and the view of the boats on the water was so cool.
So then after having all this fun it's time to bike back. I was trying to stall and avoid it because I knew a lot of it would be uphill. And if any of you have heard of my adventures in weights class this last year, you know I'm a huge wimp. I was legitimately worried about passing out from exhaustion whislt trying to bike uphill and then ceasing to exist or something. It was very scary. But, finally we HAD to head back so I reluctantly followed.
It was mostly uphill, and, while it WAS beautiful, it was freaking hard to get up those hills. I don't think my legs have ever hurt that bad before. And it was starting to get hot. So, after I kind of gave up and threw a dramatic fit, and decided I was done with life and I would just curl up in a ball and die there, because biking SUCKS. So then my dad was forced to bribe me with something, and he claimed that if I just made it over the hill and down the street, there would be a 7/11 and we could get slurpees. That was reason enough to stop throwing a fit and just push through, so I biked all the way there like a freaking champ and we got our slurpees.
Slurpees are special. This is a topic my family has pondered and researched for quite some time, and we've decided all slushie-like drinks fall into two categories. Category one is the run-of-the-mill, sugary, watery slushie things that are common at most gas stations. QT and Circle K fall in these categories. Their slushies/freezonis/whatever you want to call them are really icey and syrupy, and after a while they harden into an un-drinkable ice cube floating in dyed sugar water. While these types of slushies are okay, they are really nothing special and usually the flavors they offer totally suck. But the sad part is that these are really, really common. And they are merely tolerable. And usually just taste gross after you're halfway done. Category two in the slushie drink world is completely different. These drinks are your ICEE and slurpee drinks. They dont just dump some flavoring into some ice and call it a delicious frozen treat. No. These are made differently. They have some sort of carbonation added so theyre more light and airy than the inferior type. When you dispense them into the cup they inflate and spill all over you. It's part of the fun. And they usually come with one of those awesome spoon-straws so you can enjoy the whole thing all the way till the end, because you'll actually want to consume stuff at the bottom of these bad boys because it's actually edible and delicious. They cost a little more typically, but you get what you pay for- total frozen awesomeness.
So anyway, we're at the 7/11 (one of the lone places where you can still get the delicious types of slushie, along with random ones like some Burger Kings (con: limited flavor options and super expensive), the occasional circle k, and some targets (even more expensive)) getting our hard-earned slushies. I got the cream soda flavor, which was fantastic because I hate fruit-flavored frozen treats in general (soda flavors for the win), AND it was FUSCHIA. Happy, bright fuschia. Basically this stuff was pure joy.
So I get my big-ol' 42 ounce (Canada is weird about sizes), neon pink slushie and me and dad and mom sit and watch hobos (including one old guy wearing sunglasses with marijuana leaves painted on them- what a straight up gangster) and asians and the other residents of Vancouver walk by and we drank our slurpees and chatted and life was good.
For those of you who have never eaten around me, you should know that I am probably the world's slowest eater. I could probably go into Guiness book of world records for it. I think turtles probably eat faster than I do. And snails. And old people.
But anyway, I am ESPECIALLY slow when it comes to frozen stuff. I am easily prone to brain freezes and I don't like subjecting my brain to that kind of abuse after all it's done for me. So I eat slowly and carefully and enjoy the treat I got. Haters get upset with me for it, but they're haters so this is expected.
So I'm drinking my slushie and dad is like 3/4 of the way done with his and I'm like halfway. Maybe. Okay, more like 1/3. So dad decides it's probably time to head back and we took our slushies and started walking our bikes back.
Things were all fine and dandy until we got to the final stretch of the walk home- like a million flights of stairs. WITH A BIKE. AND A SLURPEE. But my dad didn't seem to mind and just started trekking down the steps like it was no biggie. I shrugged and followed, telling myself that if I could make it through the valley of death (aka like 5 minutes of slightly uphill biking in perfect weather) I could get down these stupid stairs. So I follow them and it's all good and then ON THE LAST LANDING BEFORE THE END MY SLURPEE SLIPPED OUT OF MY HAND AND EXPLODED ON THE SIDEWALK IN FRONT OF ME.
I kind of just sat there for a second and stared at the neon pink all over the sidewalk. It was legitimately heartbreaking. And, to make matters worse, there was a large group of canadian elderly taking a nice stroll, probably to go get delicious slurpees, and they saw the whole thing. There was a collective sound they made that was the sound of "awwwww, poor widdle girl dwopped her swurpee on the gwound" and that just made things worse and now I REALLY wanted to cry. My first instinct was to pick it up and throw the cup away atleast, because apparently I was turning into a hippie and Vancouver was wearing off on me. So I grab it and one of the old people was like "I don't think that's save-able little girl" or something along those lines but I just ignored her and said "i'll go throw this away" when really I shoud've probably thrown it at them and ran away crying. But anyway, I made the sad walk down the final, shortest flight of stairs and bid farewell to my delicious, only halfway finished, neon cream soda slurpee. My mom told me I should take a final sip but the damage had been done and I just needed to say goodbye. I threw it in the trash and picked up my bike like a freaking champ and began the sad, long walk back home. My mom asked if I was okay and I just said "I really want to cry right now for some reason." probably because I'm emotionally unstable. And also because here I am, technically an adult, out in the big bad world with my slurpee that I worked so hard for and it was cruelly taken from me prematurely. And when I dropped it I felt like a little kid, powerless while everyone pitied them and talked about that "poor little girl who dropped her slurpee at those stair things" for the rest of the day. Seriously, I'm not joking you guys, it was TRAUMATIZING. Terrible. A sad end to a fantastic day. But, whatever, I guess it was character building. Like, the universe saying WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD, PUNK.
Rest in Peace, delicious cream soda Slurpee.
July 10, 2013- July 10, 2013.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)