The Continued Incoherent Ramblings of a Twentysomething
Adriene: Look, Jeff. Fireflies are outside!
Jeff: Yep. Out looking for a girlfriend.
Adriene: You know, it would probably be easier for everyone if humans did something similar. That way you know for sure if the guy’s interested.
Jeff: “Hey, baby, you light up my butt.”
Yesterday was NOT GOOD. For the uninitiated, let me tell you: Atlanta traffic SUCKS on Halloween. It’s bad any other day, but something about October 31st makes the level of suckitude skyrocket to astronomical levels. My usual hour to hour and 15 minute commute turned to two hours and 15 minutes yesterday. I was less-than-pleased.
However, Jeff was already at home passing out candy to youngsters, so I didn’t need to worry about flooring it home so I could beat the kids there. Oddly, we didn’t have that many trick-or-treaters this year. I blame it on the fact that we have about 10 new neighborhoods full of McMansions around us, which means all the kids in our neighborhood pretty much drive to the “rich” neighborhoods so they can get better candy. But that’s okay. More leftovers for me!
The apex of the evening, however, had to be around 7:15pm. Jeff decided it was my turn to answer the door, so I grabbed the bowl of candy and marched down the half-flight of stairs to the front door. I opened it to reveal a princess, a football player, Spiderman, and an eight-year-old in glasses wearing a black robe with a Gryffindor patch on it, and a maroon and gold tie.
“Oh!” I exclaimed. “You must be Harry Potter.”
The kid kinda stared at me for a minute, then gave me a look as if I had just sprouted an arm out of my forehead.
“NO,” he informed me. “I am NOT Harry. I’m RON. I HAVE RED HAIR. SEE?”
“Oh, sorry, the glasses threw me.”
I closed the door and walked upstairs to find my husband doubled over in laughter. I guess he finds it funny that a kid in elementary school corrected me on something Harry Potter-related.
Now I need to find out where that kid lives so I can TP his house.
So, one night last week, Jeff and I went to the YMCA near our house to work out. Jeff usually runs the track, but I usually hop on an elliptical or a treadmill and go to town.
Well, I’m running on the treadmill, and going at a pretty good clip (for me). I’m not really paying attention to what’s going on at any of the machines around me (I was watching one of the TV’s), but out of the corner of my eye, I noticed someone get on the treadmill next to me and start running.
Y’all, she TOOK OFF. I’m talking like twice my speed. I didn’t want to stare, so I figured that since my time was almost up on the treadmill and she had just started, I would sneak a look at her speed as I stepped off of mine. So, my time runs out, and I gingerly step off of the machine, walk over to the stand where they keep the disinfectant spray you’re supposed to use on the equipment after you’re done, and grab a couple of paper towels to help me clean the machine off.
As I walked back to the treadmill I had been on, I started to take a glance at the speed she was running at. But I didn’t make it that far, because what else I saw stopped me dead in my tracks.
Y’all, she was PREGNANT. Not, like barely pregnant. I’m talking “I’m going to have this baby RIGHT NOW” pregnant.
Nothing like having a woman who’s eight months pregnant outrun you to help give a little shot to the ol’ self-esteem. 
Story time!
(I always love telling a good story on a relative. It’s even better if it’s one of my parents.)
Back when my mom was about my age (before I came along), she came down with a really nasty cold right after Christmas. So bad, that she got some sort of infection with it, and had to go to the doctor. The doctor gave her some medicine, and told her to take it, then drink something warm to help her throat feel better, and then go to bed.
So, Mom went home and took the cold medicine. She didn’t feel immediately better, so she decided to go ahead and make some tea to drink. She even decided to “spice up” the tea a bit. Sitting on the kitchen counter was a brand new bottle of Seagram’s VO that my dad had gotten from a co-worker for Christmas. So, she added a splash or two to her tea and drank it.
After her hot toddy, mom decides to take a nice HOT shower to open up her sinuses. BAD IDEA. Cold medicine + Seagram’s VO + hot shower = you feeling like five kinds of crap. Her head started swimming, and she sat down at the kitchen table and put her head in her hands. All of a sudden, the idea came to her that she NEEDED TO READ THE BIBLE.
So, she grabs her Bible and sits back down at the kitchen table. During her reading, she comes across II Chronicles 29:5, which states:
“Listen to me, Levites! Consecrate yourselves now and consecrate the temple of the LORD, the God of your fathers. Remove all defilement from the sanctuary.”
Well, that apparently struck something inside her, because she looked up and saw that demon bottle of VO staring her in the face. The Bible was clearly telling her to remove the VO (the defilement) from her house (the sanctuary). So, she walks across the kitchen, grabs the bottle of VO, and upends it over the sink.
About that time, my dear father walks in from work. He sees his lovely bride pouring out his Christmas present. Very confused, he walks over to her, puts both of his hands on her shoulders, and turns her around, and says, rather calmly to her, “What in the name of God are you doing?” Mom proceeds to explain why, and Dad, still rather confused, grabbed the bottle to preserve what was left of the VO and puts it back on the counter.
(Actually, if you ask him, Dad will maintain that this is the closest he ever came to shaking my mom. Haha)
And that’s why we have to hide all of the Bibles in the house if my mom has been drinking.
(I know a lot of you have probably heard this story before, but I’ve gotten a few requests to put it down here for everyone’s enjoyment.)
We’ve all had them. Bad set-ups by supposed friends of ours where the date (who is supposed to be a “sweet guy”) turns out to be either Dudley Moore’s long-lost twin brother or is missing the majority of his teeth. In some cases, the guy looks and sounds perfectly normal at the beginning, but as the date progresses, you begin to slowly come to the realization that the guy is either a few melons short of a fruitbasket, a stalker, or just WEIRD.
Such was the case with my blind date from hell. Picture it: Spring of 1996. I had broken up with my boyfriend a couple of months before this unfortunate incident, and one of the girls I worked with at my after-school job said she was waiting the appropriate time before approaching me about going out with one of her guy friends who she thought would be just “perfect” for me (Red Flag #1). I figured, heck, why not - a girl’s gotta eat, right? 
So, she put me in contact with her friend. We spoke on the phone once or twice and set up a date - we’d go out to eat, then to a movie, and maybe get some coffee afterwards. Sounded perfectly harmless, and he sounded fairly normal, so I agreed to go forward with it.
Later that week, he shows up at my door to pick me up. As I opened the door, I immediately realized that this guy was probably not my type. I guess because my friend at work knew I was a cheerleader, she figured I’d go for the football-jock type. Considering the two guys I’d dated prior to this probably fit the “tortured artist” stereotype (a fact she was well aware of), I wasn’t too keen on the idea of going out with a “jock” (I mean, at least not a football player. She could’ve set me up with a baseball-type guy or a swimmer, and I would have been all over that. :lol:) But, I figured, oh well, why the heck not. I might be pleasantly surprised.
So, we get in his truck and drive to the restaurant where we’d agreed to eat before the movie. The drive seemed pleasant enough, with us chitchatting a little about school, our friends, etc. I began to relax and enjoy myself.
I started getting on edge again, though, once we reached the restaurant. As soon as we walked in the door, my date demanded that in addition to putting our name on the wait list, that he get a cold glass of sweet tea to drink while we waited. Now, that, in and of itself, wasn’t too weird. It was his tone when he addressed the hostess - like she was dirt and there to serve only him. I filed that in the back of my mind and decided to ignore it for the time being. Then he started getting a little testy when he had finished his first glass and started cursing under his breath that she hadn’t reappeared to refill his glass yet. Mind you, we hadn’t even sat down to eat yet.
So, as we sat down to eat, I was already a little uneasy again. I slowly began to realize that we probably didn’t have a lot of the same interests (he said his favorite musical style was country and that he “really liked that ‘Achy Breaky’ song.” At the time, if you’d looked in my CD player at home, you would’ve probably found U2, Live, and Better than Ezra). So, I began to withdraw slowly from the conversation and started using a lot of “yeahs” and “mmm hmmm’s.”
At least, I figured, we were going to the movies. I wouldn’t have to talk to him there. So, it was with great pleasure as I took my seat in the movie theater (I can’t remember what we went to see, but I was trying to be enthralled with it so I wouldn’t have to talk to him). Now, before I continue with this part, let me explain to you a rule that I had when I was dating: if it is our first date, and I don’t know you from Adam, DO NOT TOUCH ME. PERIOD. Do not try to hold my hand, put your arm around me, and don’t you DARE try to touch me anywhere else.
Well, my bud here decides to put his arm around me about ten minutes into the movie. He did the whole “yawn move” and everything. Give me a freaking break. So, there I sit, trying to figure out how to get myself out of this predicament without sounding like a harpy. AHA! I’ll use the oldest excuse in the book! I politely excused myself to the ladies room. I stood in the ladies’ long enough for him to think I had actually gone there for a purpose, then walked back into the theater. Maybe, just maybe, he won’t try to put his arm around me again.
WRONG. As soon as I sat back down, the arm was firmly clamped around my shoulders again. So, I bit the bullet. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I don’t really know you all that well, and I really don’t think it’s appropriate that you have your arm around me yet.” He kind of looked a little flustered, but the arm got removed and we watched the rest of the movie in a rather uncomfortable silence.
After the movie was over, all I wanted to do was go home. Much to my chagrin, the guy suggested that we go and get some ice cream before he took me home. Grudgingly, I agreed. I mean, after all, I didn’t want to seem like a total witch.
We got our ice cream and sat down. I was trying to chat politely with him, but at the same time, trying to give him the “hint” that this was probably not going to go anywhere. Suddenly, I became aware that he was moving towards me with a napkin in his hand, aimed somewhere in the vicinity of my mouth. Before I can say anything, he wipes the napkin at the corner of my mouth in what I can only assume he thought was a tender gesture. “You had some ice cream on the corner of your mouth,” he said, smiling. HE HAD VIOLATED MY RULE!!!! I sat there with my mouth open, and tried to think of something to say to him that didn’t make me sound like the Bitch Queen of 1996. “Um, you could have just told me, you know.”
So, we get back in the truck and he starts to (FINALLY) drive me home. At this point, I’m done talking. All I want to do is get home, go to bed, and sleep this whole thing away. He, however, starts yammering away 90 miles a minute, and all I want to do is just get out of the car as fast as I can. As he pulls up to my house, he turns to me and says “Well, here we are.” “Yeah,” I reply. “Here we are. Thankyouforthenicetimeandgoodnight!” I bolted from the truck and got inside before he could try anything.
See, you would think that might have given him the hint. Nope, not this guy. He calls me at home the next day asking if we wanted to go out again. Luckily, my mother intercepted the call and already knew the story, and she politely told him that I wasn’t available (Heh - not quite true, I was in the house, just asleep), and that she didn’t think that I would be available to go out again any time soon.
But this guy was undaunted! He called me at WORK (where it was already awkward with my friend who set us up). I had to make countless excuses that customers needed to be waited on, so I couldn’t talk to him at that point. Then it got weirder.
He started showing up at the bookstore where I worked to make puppy-dog eyes at me over the display racks. I made as many excuses as possible to be in the storeroom if he was there (including the dreaded processing of incoming orders!). Finally, the store owner had had enough and asked him to leave and not come back if he wasn’t planning on buying anything (have I mentioned that my boss was a wonderful man?).
So, there ya have it, folks. The blind date from hell/stalker story of my life. Looking back, yeah, I probably should have been a bit more understanding and nicer to him. However, my behavior probably explains why a lot of my guy friends told me that I intimidated guys back then.