I just finished "13 Reasons Why" on Netflix. For those of you who don't know what that is, it's a series about a 16 year old girl who commits suicide after being bullied and sexually assaulted by a classmate. I watched this movie to educate myself because I have a teen son. Instead, God got on my back and he won't get off until I tell my story. My story is going to be upsetting to some, so I'm giving you fair warning.
Ok, if you're still here, here it goes. In "13 Reasons Why", there is a popular athlete who sexually assaults multiple girls throughout the series. One of the girls goes to a school administrator who basically dismisses her, saying maybe she regretted it after the fact and maybe she needs to think of the consequences she might face if she told her story. For the girl, this is the last straw. She went home and slit her wrists. Here goes the hard part.... There was a "Bryce" at my school...and he assaulted me. There, I said it. I've hardly ever said those words to anyone. The first time I "told" was when I was in my mid twenties. I was at a party and a guy started talking to me. I smelled his beer breath and his cologne and all of a sudden the room shrunk and got really hot. I had a panic attack for the first time that night. I went to work the next day and told my best friend. She asked me if I'd ever been molested. I adamantly said no, and then it just popped out. "I was taken advantage of by my best friend's boyfriend once, though."
Then I sat back and waited on judgment. I mean, I had judged myself over a decade ago and declared myself guilty. Guilty of being stupid. Guilty of being drunk. Guilty of passing out in my own bed. Guilty of not waking up in time to say no. Guilty of not saying no when I realized what was happening. Guilty of never telling a soul. My friend just looked at me and wrapped her arms around me. She rubbed my hair. She told me it wasn't my fault. At that moment, although I felt a huge weight lift off my shoulders, I still felt like she just said all those things because she was my best friend. She knew me. She loved me. But in my heart I knew that no one else would feel like her if they knew. I pushed my guilt back down and didn't speak of it again until after Grant and I married. After too much to drink one night, while we were sharing secrets only couples share, I told him. He knew "Bryce." They had played sports together. Grant wasn't surprised. Grant didn't judge. Grant, though he didn't blame me, was much like most people, myself included, who just chalked it up to too much alcohol and bad decisions. Again, the subject was dropped.
When my children became teens, my need to protect was more overpowering than my shame. Each child, as I felt they were old enough, got to hear my story. My daughter, nieces, and their friends have heard it more than once. After watching "13 Reasons" God got on me to share my story with you. See, I know many of my friends have teens. Most of my friends will never share their stories with their teens, even if they had a "Bryce" in their past too. So, I will share mine in hopes that you will share my story with them.
My parents went out of town, and being the typical teen, I decided to have a party at my house. People were in and out as the night went on, but the core group was my boyfriend, me, my best friend, and her boyfriend. The guys were also good friends as well, so we had the perfect "double date" couple to run around with. Booze was everywhere, and I drank too much. Some of the guys decided to make a beer run before the store closed. I felt too sick to keep drinking, so I decided to just go to my room and pass out. I went in my room and closed my door and the others loaded up to go. At the last minute, "Bryce" decided someone needed to stay with me, so he got out and everyone else left. Now, I knew none of that until much later because I was passed out smooth in my bed. The next thing I remembered was opening my eyes and seeing "Bryce" above me. I was confused. I couldn't figure out what he was doing. I couldn't wake up enough to comprehend anything, except something seemed wrong. I remember saying, "We shouldn't do this," or "We can't do this," or something like that. I didn't say no. I still don't know why I didn't say no. I remember just thinking "This is wrong." That is all I remember thinking. Then I remember passing out again. I woke up again and he was wiping the sweat off his face. Then I watched him walk out the door. I heard the outside door open and voices. Then I realized I no longer had on the jeans I had on when I laid down. I panicked. I jumped under the covers and pretended I was asleep when my best friend and boyfriend came in to check on me. Then I passed out again.
The next morning, I started trying to fill in the blanks in my memory. All I remembered was his face, and him wiping his face, the rest was blank. I started questioning myself. Did I do something to make him think I wanted him to do that? Did I flirt too much? Did I wear my jeans too tight? Why didn't I say no and hit him? I must've asked for it in some way because I never said no. Then I started to freak out. What if my boyfriend found out? Would he fight him or blame me? I thought the same thing about my best friend. She would blame me for sure. After all, I had told her he was cute. She would think I was trying to steal him from her. My boyfriend would dump me and he was such a great guy. My mind was made up just like that. I would just act like nothing happened. I really didn't know for sure anything did, so I will just go with that. I will let it go and go on with my life. Lesson learned. That is what I get for being stupid.
I went to school and sat at the lunch table with him. I waited with his girlfriend for him to meet her after school. We double dated. He never even acted like anything had happened between us. Maybe I just imagined it all. Maybe I was just blowing it all out of proportion. Life went on. In the way down deep part of my mind it was still there, but I never allowed it to come out. He graduated and was out of mind. Then he got in some trouble with the law. I went to church with a friend and he was there. He came up to me after service and said he found Jesus and was sorry for what happened between us. Then I knew. I knew for sure then that what I always knew but refused to acknowledge was true. He saw me, passed out, alone, vulnerable, and he raped me. He raped me in my house, in my bed, while our sweethearts were going for beer. I just nodded and walked away. I think I was in shock. All those years I questioned what happened and there it was.
Years later he committed another crime, a crime against a woman, a crime he committed under the influence of drugs, a very violent crime, and karma paid him a visit. He spent many years in prison and I was glad. I was glad for myself and for the other girls I am sure he assaulted but they never told either. I was glad he would be where maybe he would be used by someone stronger, and he would just have to take it and keep his mouth shut after. Maybe, just maybe, he will remember all the people he hurt and accept the life karma gave him for that. I don't think he will feel sorry for us, maybe for himself but not us. But that is ok too. I've made peace within myself. I am flawed, but I am not broken. He didn't break me.
I am still embarrassed to admit my shame. I even called one of my best friends and told her about "13 Reasons" and that I wanted her to watch it and talk to her daughter about it. God was on my back to tell her my story, but I couldn't. Why, after 20 years, can I not speak of this. I've only mentioned it by accident to my mother recently and dismissed it when she questioned me. I've never told my daddy. I've never told any of my high school friends. I don't really have friends from school. I think I distanced myself from all things related to my life during that time as soon as I could. Now, I'm writing it all down for the world to see. I still want to delete the whole thing, but I know God won't get off my back until I confess.
I only share my dirty secret with you so you will share a few tips I shared with my own children in hopes that just one girl won't have to carry this shame:
1. Always use the buddy system. Never go to the bathroom, bedroom, or in a car with a guy alone if you have been drinking. No exceptions.
2. Never assume a guy is safe. Cute guys, popular guys, guys with money, they all can be predators.
3. If you go in a bathroom, bedroom, etc. away from the group LOCK THE DOOR. No exceptions.
4. Guys, never be alone with a girl if you've been drinking. Your judgment is not good and your guard is down. She may not say no even if she doesn't want to be with you. Keeping a third person there will keep you from getting accused of something or will keep you from doing something to cause a girl shame later.
5. Guys, if you wouldn't want it done to your sister, don't do it to another girl. No matter what she says. No exceptions. This includes pictures, videos, and physical contact.
6. If something happens, even if your parents will be upset, even if you aren't sure what part you played in it, tell an adult what happened and let them help you sort it out. Always remember, you will be ok.
At the end of the day, please make sure your child knows they are loved. Whether they are the potential predator or prey, they are loved. You are there to guide them. You are there to listen. You aren't there to judge. You made mistakes and they will too. It's part of growing up. We all have to learn. I just hope and pray that nobody else has to learn the hard way like I did.
Wednesday, May 3, 2017
Wednesday, October 16, 2013
"I Do" Doesn't Have an Expiration Date or An 'If/Then' Clause
I started making wedding plans right after Grant proposed. I didn't know what kind of wedding I wanted, but I did know what I didn't want. My first marriage was all about the dress, the flowers, the cake, anything and everything except the groom. The reality that I forgot that detail slapped me upside my head when my new groom went downstairs to the bar instead of spending our wedding night together. This time, the wedding would be all about the groom and the life we would share starting after the wedding. The first item on my list was location. You would think this would be the easiest choice, but not for us. Option 1 was one of our churches. That one was quickly nixed because my home church was where I married the first time. His church was the one my ex's family attended. Our current church didn't marry divorcees, so onto option 2. Smoky Mountains seemed an obvious choice for a quick and easy wedding until Grant vetoed that because his first honeymoon was there. It was all downhill from there. Vegas, Hawaii, Florida, the list went on and on because we couldn't find a place that one of us hadn't been with some ex (or skank, in Grant's case). I finally surrendered and told Grant I guess we would just have to go to the courthouse. I guess he felt bad for staining most of the United States with memories of his conquests, so he offered to take over the wedding plans. All I had to get was my dress and he would do the rest.
I came home from work the next day and he had made all the plans (For a female it takes a year to plan a wedding. For a male, it takes 3 hours tops.) He said all the arrangements were made and we needed to decide on a date within the month. Yep, within the month. I don't know if he thought I might back out if we waited longer than that or if he got a discount for last minute plans, but nonetheless, we picked a date. We settled on Friday, October 13, 2000. Now, to most people 13 is an unlucky number and Friday 13 is a day for hiding in the house under the covers until Saturday comes, but to us it was the logical choice. In our warped logic, we figured the other days of the year had been unlucky for us, so this time we would tell superstition to kiss it and pick the day that no one else would want to get married. We booked a flight for California and I ran to my friend Terri's house for a dress. Terri's mom had a clothing store for years and her unsold stock was in a room at her house. I figured she would have something that would work (Can you tell, wedding number 2 is soooo much different from wedding number 1). All of the dresses she had were wedding 1 looking and I wasn't about to be like the Real Housewives and pretend this was wedding 1 in virginal white with a long train and all that mess. Luckily, Terri's mom had a beautiful suit that she had worn to a wedding that she offered to give me. It was perfect. Simple, classy, would pack well, my wedding planning was over.
The day before the big day came and we headed to Memphis for our flight. In typical Grant fashion, he was running over an hour behind leaving. Then he realized that he didn't have much cash so he headed for the ATM. I was in a nervous jerk by this time because now we were an hour and a half behind schedule. We turned into the airport on 2 wheels and sprinted like OJ (airport OJ, not freeway chase OJ) through the airport just in time to see our plane heading down the runway. OMG!!!! Seriously??!!!? If I ever needed a sign that this marriage was a mistake, this was it. For the next 5 hours I sat seethingly in silence while Grant looked for every reason in the world to make me forget this bad omen. "Maybe we missed the plane because it's going to crash (He wished 200 people dead just to prove missing the plane wasn't a sign not to marry.)" "Maybe there's a virus on the plane that would've made us so sick we would've been in the hospital instead of on our honeymoon." "Maybe all the luggage will be missing when that plane arrives, so it's a good thing that we get to go on the next one so we will have our wedding clothes." He went on and on until I finally lost it. There we were, yelling, crying, and pleading in the airport food court. Boy, I bet everybody there was wishing they were the happy couple going to get married!
When we finally landed in Reno, Grant and I had made up. I would like to think that I was sure missing our flight wasn't an omen and that this marriage would be the fairy tale I hoped for, but at that moment, I was thinking, at the very least, Grant believed in 'til death do us part' like I did and for better or worse, by golly, we would stick it out no matter what. We drove into California to a beautiful Inn with a view of Lake Tahoe and a chapel for our nuptials. We stayed in a fabulous suite with champagne chilling by the fireplace. In that chapel, we said our vows and this time I knew we both meant every word. Looking at my Husband, I knew that for better or worse, in sickness and health, through the good and the bad (despite Grant's pleading, we did leave out the obey part), he would be by my side every step of the way. Now, 13 years later, my marriage couldn't be better. Standing in that chapel, I never imagined all the trials our relationship would have to endure. Court battles for our children, estrangement from my children for a period of time, the sickness and death of our family members, job changes, infertility, the list is long for reasons we could have called it quits years ago, but instead, with every ordeal, we circled the wagons and met the challenges head-on. Not once have either of us even thought to do anything else.
For all those who think the white dress, bank-breaking, perfect day is the first step toward a perfect marriage, I say this- Until you have your wedding in the one place your fiancee hasn't taken a hoochie, borrow a suit from a little old lady, and miss your flight to your wedding destination, you haven't really even started to test the waters of your future marriage. All those things weren't omens that my marriage was a mistake, but tests to make sure we were able to push through the stuff that didn't matter to get to the stuff that did.
I came home from work the next day and he had made all the plans (For a female it takes a year to plan a wedding. For a male, it takes 3 hours tops.) He said all the arrangements were made and we needed to decide on a date within the month. Yep, within the month. I don't know if he thought I might back out if we waited longer than that or if he got a discount for last minute plans, but nonetheless, we picked a date. We settled on Friday, October 13, 2000. Now, to most people 13 is an unlucky number and Friday 13 is a day for hiding in the house under the covers until Saturday comes, but to us it was the logical choice. In our warped logic, we figured the other days of the year had been unlucky for us, so this time we would tell superstition to kiss it and pick the day that no one else would want to get married. We booked a flight for California and I ran to my friend Terri's house for a dress. Terri's mom had a clothing store for years and her unsold stock was in a room at her house. I figured she would have something that would work (Can you tell, wedding number 2 is soooo much different from wedding number 1). All of the dresses she had were wedding 1 looking and I wasn't about to be like the Real Housewives and pretend this was wedding 1 in virginal white with a long train and all that mess. Luckily, Terri's mom had a beautiful suit that she had worn to a wedding that she offered to give me. It was perfect. Simple, classy, would pack well, my wedding planning was over.
The day before the big day came and we headed to Memphis for our flight. In typical Grant fashion, he was running over an hour behind leaving. Then he realized that he didn't have much cash so he headed for the ATM. I was in a nervous jerk by this time because now we were an hour and a half behind schedule. We turned into the airport on 2 wheels and sprinted like OJ (airport OJ, not freeway chase OJ) through the airport just in time to see our plane heading down the runway. OMG!!!! Seriously??!!!? If I ever needed a sign that this marriage was a mistake, this was it. For the next 5 hours I sat seethingly in silence while Grant looked for every reason in the world to make me forget this bad omen. "Maybe we missed the plane because it's going to crash (He wished 200 people dead just to prove missing the plane wasn't a sign not to marry.)" "Maybe there's a virus on the plane that would've made us so sick we would've been in the hospital instead of on our honeymoon." "Maybe all the luggage will be missing when that plane arrives, so it's a good thing that we get to go on the next one so we will have our wedding clothes." He went on and on until I finally lost it. There we were, yelling, crying, and pleading in the airport food court. Boy, I bet everybody there was wishing they were the happy couple going to get married!
When we finally landed in Reno, Grant and I had made up. I would like to think that I was sure missing our flight wasn't an omen and that this marriage would be the fairy tale I hoped for, but at that moment, I was thinking, at the very least, Grant believed in 'til death do us part' like I did and for better or worse, by golly, we would stick it out no matter what. We drove into California to a beautiful Inn with a view of Lake Tahoe and a chapel for our nuptials. We stayed in a fabulous suite with champagne chilling by the fireplace. In that chapel, we said our vows and this time I knew we both meant every word. Looking at my Husband, I knew that for better or worse, in sickness and health, through the good and the bad (despite Grant's pleading, we did leave out the obey part), he would be by my side every step of the way. Now, 13 years later, my marriage couldn't be better. Standing in that chapel, I never imagined all the trials our relationship would have to endure. Court battles for our children, estrangement from my children for a period of time, the sickness and death of our family members, job changes, infertility, the list is long for reasons we could have called it quits years ago, but instead, with every ordeal, we circled the wagons and met the challenges head-on. Not once have either of us even thought to do anything else.
For all those who think the white dress, bank-breaking, perfect day is the first step toward a perfect marriage, I say this- Until you have your wedding in the one place your fiancee hasn't taken a hoochie, borrow a suit from a little old lady, and miss your flight to your wedding destination, you haven't really even started to test the waters of your future marriage. All those things weren't omens that my marriage was a mistake, but tests to make sure we were able to push through the stuff that didn't matter to get to the stuff that did.
Tuesday, October 15, 2013
I Taught the Men at Guantanamo Bay How to Interrogate
My 13th anniversary was this weekend, so, in honor of this monumental occasion, I thought I would share the story of our journey from engagement to altar.
For those of you who haven't known us for our entire lives, Grant and I have known each other since we were 5 and 6 years old. He was even my boyfriend for a minute in middle school and took me to the fair. He claims he kissed me but I only remember holding his hand and staring at his deformed pinkies (they are C-shaped). Somehow we never made it to an official relationship until I ran into him at a dance recital after we both divorced. Anna Claire and my niece were in dance class together. I saw him sitting behind me and my sister-in-law told me he had also recently gotten a divorce. I decided he would be a great "break-in" date since I had been friends with him for decades and I was rusty at dating after almost 13 years with the same guy. When I left the recital, I stopped and spoke to him, caught up for a minute, and told him to call me sometime. I walked out all excited thinking, "Yeah, I still got it!" and went home and waited for the phone to ring….and waited….and waited. Finally, three days later, I'm thinking to myself, "Heck, my kids will be back in a couple of days. Either I call him now (Which, to me, is the equivalent of giving up my Southern Belle card and becoming something worse than a Democrat- I would be a FEMINIST!!!!), or I don't go out for another week. I swallowed my Scarlett O'hara attitude and dialed his number. When he answered the phone, I basically said, "Well, you didn't call, and my kids are coming back, so if you want to go out it's now or never." We set the date for the following night.
While I was getting ready for our date, another guy called and wanted to meet for drinks. I told him I'd meet him at 9:30-10:00 (in case I needed a Plan B). Since I was familiar with Grant's style, preppy and well-groomed, I dressed in a cute sundress and sandals and sat down to wait for a knock at my door….and waited….and waited. 45 minutes later, he arrived at my door in a t-shirt with a gecko on the front, tan painter's pants, and mandals!!! Between his wardrobe choice and punctuality, I was convinced that Plan B was a good call on my part. We went down to his car and I had to move piles of papers out of the seat so I could even get in the car. We went to Vanellis and while we were waiting for a table, I started quizzing him. You see, I decided when I divorced, there was no reason to waste my time dating a guy that wasn't up to my marriage standard. Even if the "it factor" wasn't there, at least the candidate would be worth a try. I didn't want to fall in love with another man that could never be what I wanted from life. I made a list of what I wanted and didn't want, and proceeded to grill him. We rapid fired back and forth, things like 'how long have you had your job?' how often do you attend church?' how many drinks do you consume per week on average?' 'what is the amount of your total debt excluding your home?'- You get the idea.
The quiz continued into the morning. About 3 a.m. we decided to call it a night. We literally talked for 7 hours straight. I walked him to the door and he said good night and walked down the sidewalk. About halfway to his car, he turned around and came back and gave me a quick, simple kiss, and walked away again. I was hooked right then and there. Come to find out, he was late because he went and bought that outfit off a mannequin at Old Navy because his clothes were all preppy and he didn't think that was what people wore 'these days' and he wanted to be 'hip'. We power dated for 4 months. We were together every minute of every day except for bedtime. At bedtime, we were on the phone until 2-3 in the morning and I had to be at work at 7. We were literally living on love because we rarely ate or slept those four months. During the forth month, I started looking at houses to buy. He went into panic mode. In both our minds, we knew where the relationship was headed, but for some reason, I wanted a house. He suggested moving in together, which I quickly vetoed (He was getting free milk from time to time, but at least I was making him come to my barn to get it. ). The next thing I knew, he hopped onto one knee and popped the question. To this day, I have no idea what he said because in my head all I could hear was Charlie Brown's teacher's voice, but I said yes anyway, and the wedding planning began.
For those of you who haven't known us for our entire lives, Grant and I have known each other since we were 5 and 6 years old. He was even my boyfriend for a minute in middle school and took me to the fair. He claims he kissed me but I only remember holding his hand and staring at his deformed pinkies (they are C-shaped). Somehow we never made it to an official relationship until I ran into him at a dance recital after we both divorced. Anna Claire and my niece were in dance class together. I saw him sitting behind me and my sister-in-law told me he had also recently gotten a divorce. I decided he would be a great "break-in" date since I had been friends with him for decades and I was rusty at dating after almost 13 years with the same guy. When I left the recital, I stopped and spoke to him, caught up for a minute, and told him to call me sometime. I walked out all excited thinking, "Yeah, I still got it!" and went home and waited for the phone to ring….and waited….and waited. Finally, three days later, I'm thinking to myself, "Heck, my kids will be back in a couple of days. Either I call him now (Which, to me, is the equivalent of giving up my Southern Belle card and becoming something worse than a Democrat- I would be a FEMINIST!!!!), or I don't go out for another week. I swallowed my Scarlett O'hara attitude and dialed his number. When he answered the phone, I basically said, "Well, you didn't call, and my kids are coming back, so if you want to go out it's now or never." We set the date for the following night.
While I was getting ready for our date, another guy called and wanted to meet for drinks. I told him I'd meet him at 9:30-10:00 (in case I needed a Plan B). Since I was familiar with Grant's style, preppy and well-groomed, I dressed in a cute sundress and sandals and sat down to wait for a knock at my door….and waited….and waited. 45 minutes later, he arrived at my door in a t-shirt with a gecko on the front, tan painter's pants, and mandals!!! Between his wardrobe choice and punctuality, I was convinced that Plan B was a good call on my part. We went down to his car and I had to move piles of papers out of the seat so I could even get in the car. We went to Vanellis and while we were waiting for a table, I started quizzing him. You see, I decided when I divorced, there was no reason to waste my time dating a guy that wasn't up to my marriage standard. Even if the "it factor" wasn't there, at least the candidate would be worth a try. I didn't want to fall in love with another man that could never be what I wanted from life. I made a list of what I wanted and didn't want, and proceeded to grill him. We rapid fired back and forth, things like 'how long have you had your job?' how often do you attend church?' how many drinks do you consume per week on average?' 'what is the amount of your total debt excluding your home?'- You get the idea.
The quiz continued into the morning. About 3 a.m. we decided to call it a night. We literally talked for 7 hours straight. I walked him to the door and he said good night and walked down the sidewalk. About halfway to his car, he turned around and came back and gave me a quick, simple kiss, and walked away again. I was hooked right then and there. Come to find out, he was late because he went and bought that outfit off a mannequin at Old Navy because his clothes were all preppy and he didn't think that was what people wore 'these days' and he wanted to be 'hip'. We power dated for 4 months. We were together every minute of every day except for bedtime. At bedtime, we were on the phone until 2-3 in the morning and I had to be at work at 7. We were literally living on love because we rarely ate or slept those four months. During the forth month, I started looking at houses to buy. He went into panic mode. In both our minds, we knew where the relationship was headed, but for some reason, I wanted a house. He suggested moving in together, which I quickly vetoed (He was getting free milk from time to time, but at least I was making him come to my barn to get it. ). The next thing I knew, he hopped onto one knee and popped the question. To this day, I have no idea what he said because in my head all I could hear was Charlie Brown's teacher's voice, but I said yes anyway, and the wedding planning began.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
It's All Hearts and Flowers Until Lettuce Shows Up On A Taco
I ran through Taco Bell to grab supper the other night. I ordered tacos for Ben with meat and cheese only. I pulled to the window and when the lady handed me the bag, I pulled a taco out and asked her, "Are you sure these are meat and cheese only?" She said they were, so, against my better judgment, I pulled off without opening the wrapper. When Ben opened the bag, lo and behold, the tacos weren't meat and cheese only. Instead of taking them back, he looked up the number and called Taco Bell. He asked to speak to the manager and told him about the taco catastrophe (at least that's what it feels like at my house when an order is wrong) and told him that, rather than making yet another trip to the store, he would be in the following day for a replacement order and gave them his name. The manager replied, "Well, you don't have to be a jackass about it." Ben said, "Way to be professional, Taco Bell Manager, I'm on my way." He and Anna Claire headed out the door to Taco Bell. Being the Mother of the Year and all, I yelled out, "Remember, you're not a minor anymore, so don't go to jail!" (Somehow that's replaced 'Love you, be careful' when my kids go out the door.)
About 30 minutes later, the kids roll back in the driveway. Anna Claire burst through the door laughing hysterically and proceeds to giving me play by play about the Taco Bell BrooHaHa. Here it goes…..
Setting: Taco Bell
Time: Tuesday night
Characters: Ben- the hostile customer
Anna Claire- the amused pot stirrer
Manager- the guy who has to listen to people gripe about lettuce 40 hours a week
As the curtain opens, the audience sees Ben standing at the Taco Bell counter.
Ben: I need to see the manager.
Manager: What can I help you with?
Ben: I'm the guy you just called a Jackass.
Manager: Huh?
Ben: I'm the guy you just called a jackass on the phone.
Manager: Sir, I don't know what you are talking about. I didn't call you a jackass, but if you keep cussing you're going to have to leave.
Ben: I'M going to have to leave? YOU"RE the one that started it by called me a jackass.
Manager: Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about. I haven't talked to you or anybody else and haven't called anyone a jackass.
Ben: Oh, really? Then why is your number on my recent call list? (Ben pulls the phone out of his pocket with a flourish and scrolls through the call log. He then turns the phone around and puts it up to the manager's face.) See that right there? It says 844-xxxx. Now what have you got to say?
Manager: That's the phone number for the OTHER Taco Bell.
Anna Claire: Ben, give me the keys so I can get back in the truck because I don't want anybody to see me in here with you.
Ben: Huh……..My bad. I messed up, Man. I'm sorry for all this, but we're all good if you didn't call me a jackass.
Manager: It's cool. I'll give you some tacos anyway.
Ben goes back to his truck, tells Anna Claire to get out of the floorboard, and leaves the store, new tacos in hand.
End scene.
When I asked Ben if he was happy that he embarrassed his sister and himself, he replied, "Oh, I wasn't embarrassed. I just messed up. Got tacos with meat and cheese only anyway, so it's all good, AND now, thanks to me, you have a great story for your blog."
About 30 minutes later, the kids roll back in the driveway. Anna Claire burst through the door laughing hysterically and proceeds to giving me play by play about the Taco Bell BrooHaHa. Here it goes…..
Setting: Taco Bell
Time: Tuesday night
Characters: Ben- the hostile customer
Anna Claire- the amused pot stirrer
Manager- the guy who has to listen to people gripe about lettuce 40 hours a week
As the curtain opens, the audience sees Ben standing at the Taco Bell counter.
Ben: I need to see the manager.
Manager: What can I help you with?
Ben: I'm the guy you just called a Jackass.
Manager: Huh?
Ben: I'm the guy you just called a jackass on the phone.
Manager: Sir, I don't know what you are talking about. I didn't call you a jackass, but if you keep cussing you're going to have to leave.
Ben: I'M going to have to leave? YOU"RE the one that started it by called me a jackass.
Manager: Sir, I have no idea what you are talking about. I haven't talked to you or anybody else and haven't called anyone a jackass.
Ben: Oh, really? Then why is your number on my recent call list? (Ben pulls the phone out of his pocket with a flourish and scrolls through the call log. He then turns the phone around and puts it up to the manager's face.) See that right there? It says 844-xxxx. Now what have you got to say?
Manager: That's the phone number for the OTHER Taco Bell.
Anna Claire: Ben, give me the keys so I can get back in the truck because I don't want anybody to see me in here with you.
Ben: Huh……..My bad. I messed up, Man. I'm sorry for all this, but we're all good if you didn't call me a jackass.
Manager: It's cool. I'll give you some tacos anyway.
Ben goes back to his truck, tells Anna Claire to get out of the floorboard, and leaves the store, new tacos in hand.
End scene.
When I asked Ben if he was happy that he embarrassed his sister and himself, he replied, "Oh, I wasn't embarrassed. I just messed up. Got tacos with meat and cheese only anyway, so it's all good, AND now, thanks to me, you have a great story for your blog."
Friday, September 6, 2013
I Don't Know Nothin' About Birthin' No Babies, Ms. Lori!
It's been awhile since I posted, but old age is catching up with me and I haven't felt well enough to write. Today I'm going to give it a shot.
Lori, a long time friend, asked me if I was going to tell any stories from back in the day, so in honor of her request, I'll tell you the story of her pregnancy. Lori had an interesting relationship with her 'baby daddy' even before he was her baby daddy. We were in our first year of college when we found out her little bundle of joy was on the way. Let's just say the phrase 'first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Lori with the baby carriage' was in a slightly different order. We quickly planned a simple wedding at my church. I started worrying that the divorce would come before the baby when they got in a fight over him hitting her with rice in the church parking lot. The next 7 months were a blur. I remember lots of crackers, pulling over for Lori to throw up on the side of the road nearly every day, BD coming home with a couple of quarts of beer because Lori told him a 6 pack was too much (gotta watch out for the loopholes), McRib sandwiches, and cigarette withdrawals.
Lori called me one morning and said she had been cramping but didn't think she was in labor. We talked about it and called our mothers. Lori's mom had moved to another state so my mom had become our go-to mom on the pregnancy questions. Mama said it could be labor and it wouldn't hurt to go to the hospital to check and see. Well, Lori didn't want to set off any false alarms by telling her husband or family, so we decided that I would run by and pick her up on my way to school because I had a test that day, I would take the test and she would wait on me, and then we would head on to the hospital. Don't judge. We were the 3 stooges minus 1 and never even knew anybody that had a baby, so this seemed like a great plan to us. I picked her up and we headed to McDonalds for an egg mcmuffin (What? Wouldn't everyone stop for food on the way to have a baby? Nobody said don't eat.) I made it to school and went in to take my test while Lori waited in the car. About an hour later, we headed to the hospital. Lori was still cramping, but the baby hadn't crowned or anything, so I figured we were good. We got to the hospital and got set up on all the monitors and waited to see what was going to happen next.
An hour or so later, they gave us the verdict. Lori was in labor and was going to labor and delivery right then. Well, we didn't expect that. We were an hour from everyone and the baby was on its way. I flew to the phone and started hunting everyone down. My mom and BD showed up right in the middle of the 'good contractions.' Boy, was it on then. BD was telling Lori to hush, quit being a drama queen, you get the idea. She proceeded to dog cuss him. I remember phrases like "It's your d--- fault I'm like this." "I probably did it just because you wanted to, I probably didn't want to that night anyway." "I HATE you! I hate EVERYTHING about you!" Finally, our little bundle of joy arrived and the fun was over. Our first child experience was interesting to say the least. Breast feeding, episiotomies, and colic notwithstanding.
Lori, a long time friend, asked me if I was going to tell any stories from back in the day, so in honor of her request, I'll tell you the story of her pregnancy. Lori had an interesting relationship with her 'baby daddy' even before he was her baby daddy. We were in our first year of college when we found out her little bundle of joy was on the way. Let's just say the phrase 'first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes Lori with the baby carriage' was in a slightly different order. We quickly planned a simple wedding at my church. I started worrying that the divorce would come before the baby when they got in a fight over him hitting her with rice in the church parking lot. The next 7 months were a blur. I remember lots of crackers, pulling over for Lori to throw up on the side of the road nearly every day, BD coming home with a couple of quarts of beer because Lori told him a 6 pack was too much (gotta watch out for the loopholes), McRib sandwiches, and cigarette withdrawals.
Lori called me one morning and said she had been cramping but didn't think she was in labor. We talked about it and called our mothers. Lori's mom had moved to another state so my mom had become our go-to mom on the pregnancy questions. Mama said it could be labor and it wouldn't hurt to go to the hospital to check and see. Well, Lori didn't want to set off any false alarms by telling her husband or family, so we decided that I would run by and pick her up on my way to school because I had a test that day, I would take the test and she would wait on me, and then we would head on to the hospital. Don't judge. We were the 3 stooges minus 1 and never even knew anybody that had a baby, so this seemed like a great plan to us. I picked her up and we headed to McDonalds for an egg mcmuffin (What? Wouldn't everyone stop for food on the way to have a baby? Nobody said don't eat.) I made it to school and went in to take my test while Lori waited in the car. About an hour later, we headed to the hospital. Lori was still cramping, but the baby hadn't crowned or anything, so I figured we were good. We got to the hospital and got set up on all the monitors and waited to see what was going to happen next.
An hour or so later, they gave us the verdict. Lori was in labor and was going to labor and delivery right then. Well, we didn't expect that. We were an hour from everyone and the baby was on its way. I flew to the phone and started hunting everyone down. My mom and BD showed up right in the middle of the 'good contractions.' Boy, was it on then. BD was telling Lori to hush, quit being a drama queen, you get the idea. She proceeded to dog cuss him. I remember phrases like "It's your d--- fault I'm like this." "I probably did it just because you wanted to, I probably didn't want to that night anyway." "I HATE you! I hate EVERYTHING about you!" Finally, our little bundle of joy arrived and the fun was over. Our first child experience was interesting to say the least. Breast feeding, episiotomies, and colic notwithstanding.
Saturday, August 3, 2013
Not Just Anybody Can Say They Got Their Butt Kicked By An Emu
Just a head's up, the next several blogs will be about my memories of days long ago. I felt like sharing because some stories are too good not to be shared! I will change the names so some folks don't get even more on my case than they already are, but every word of the stories are true. Enjoy!
Daddy decided he wanted to raise emus. He found a guy in Baldwyn that had some to sell. We loaded up in the truck with a horse trailer in tow. Daddy and my ex, "Joe," came up with a plan for loading the emus into the horse trailer. Daddy thought the easiest thing to do was, since Joe was so tall, he should be able to grab the emu by the neck and basically walk the emus into the trailer. They started out across the corral toward the emus. Joe eased around and grabbed an emu around the neck and all hell broke loose. That emu started bucking and kicking, I mean it sounded like somebody dropped a bowling ball down a flight of stairs. Everybody started laughing hysterically- except Joe. Joe was being pummeled by that emu. He turned it loose immediately but that emu was hell bent on revenge. He kicked and bit at him all the way back across that corral. His emu friends even joined in on the brawl. Joe was trying to duck and cover, but they were much quicker and fiercer than we could have ever imagined. By the time Joe made it back over the fence, he looked like he had been in a bar room brawl with a bunch of Hell's Angels. His hair was stuck up in every direction. His shirt was stretched out of shape and torn at the seams. His jeans were filthy and he had red blotches all over his body. His eyes looked wild and he walked around in a daze. As I stood there with tears rolling down my cheeks and my sides splitting open from laughing so hard, Daddy said, "Well, that didn't work. Guess we should have thought that through a little better." Well, then I REALLY lost it. Joe looked at my Daddy like he could kill him and said, "Yeah, before I got my a-- kicked by an emu, you mean?"
Needless to say, we loaded back up in the truck, our empty horse trailer in tow. Joe was bruised from head to toe for more than a week after that. I figure to explain the bruises, he told people he had been in a bad wreck rather than he got his butt handed to him by an emu. Daddy changed his mind about being an emu farmer, but is still mad to this day that we didn't take a video camera with us for emu wrangling. Funniest Videos would have made us rich if we had caught that on tape.
Daddy decided he wanted to raise emus. He found a guy in Baldwyn that had some to sell. We loaded up in the truck with a horse trailer in tow. Daddy and my ex, "Joe," came up with a plan for loading the emus into the horse trailer. Daddy thought the easiest thing to do was, since Joe was so tall, he should be able to grab the emu by the neck and basically walk the emus into the trailer. They started out across the corral toward the emus. Joe eased around and grabbed an emu around the neck and all hell broke loose. That emu started bucking and kicking, I mean it sounded like somebody dropped a bowling ball down a flight of stairs. Everybody started laughing hysterically- except Joe. Joe was being pummeled by that emu. He turned it loose immediately but that emu was hell bent on revenge. He kicked and bit at him all the way back across that corral. His emu friends even joined in on the brawl. Joe was trying to duck and cover, but they were much quicker and fiercer than we could have ever imagined. By the time Joe made it back over the fence, he looked like he had been in a bar room brawl with a bunch of Hell's Angels. His hair was stuck up in every direction. His shirt was stretched out of shape and torn at the seams. His jeans were filthy and he had red blotches all over his body. His eyes looked wild and he walked around in a daze. As I stood there with tears rolling down my cheeks and my sides splitting open from laughing so hard, Daddy said, "Well, that didn't work. Guess we should have thought that through a little better." Well, then I REALLY lost it. Joe looked at my Daddy like he could kill him and said, "Yeah, before I got my a-- kicked by an emu, you mean?"
Needless to say, we loaded back up in the truck, our empty horse trailer in tow. Joe was bruised from head to toe for more than a week after that. I figure to explain the bruises, he told people he had been in a bad wreck rather than he got his butt handed to him by an emu. Daddy changed his mind about being an emu farmer, but is still mad to this day that we didn't take a video camera with us for emu wrangling. Funniest Videos would have made us rich if we had caught that on tape.
Tuesday, July 30, 2013
It Wouldn't Feel like Christmas without "Blue Christmas" on the Radio and Blue Lights in the Rearview Mirror
The last week has been all about getting rid of the bad parts of the past and looking forward to great times in the future. But, in purging myself of the past, a lot of blog-worthy stories came to mind.
I divorced 13 years ago after being with my ex for 13 years, and the phrase 'the truth is stranger than fiction' was invented for that marriage. I can laugh about it now, and even laughed about a lot of it then, but, a lot of those 13 years was a hot mess. Holidays were always 'fun' in our dysfunctional family. We had just moved into our new house on December 1, 1998, and went to spend a few days with my mother in Jackson. My daddy called me there and said, "Ya'll need to come home because somebody ran through your house." Now, I'm thinking 'ran through' must mean 'ransacked', so I asked him what was stolen. Daddy said, "No, literally 'ran through.' A drunk guy missed the curve and his car ran through your house. There's a big hole in your house." We pulled into our driveway 4 hours later to see a huge hole covered with plywood and a huge "Santa Stop Here" sign nailed to it (Thanks to my Daddy). Inside, my aunt, uncle, and daddy had cleaned up all the sheet rock and set my tree and gifts back where they were, but I was still shaking sheet rock out of that tree for years after that. Needless to say, Santa got to bring vinyl siding and 2x4s for Christmas that year.
The very next Christmas, we separated the second week in December (I won't go into the gory details of that, but let's just say "Blue Christmas" became my theme song for the next decade or so). I sat there and looked at those stupid stockings for a few hours, got ticked off that three people were living there and four stockings were hanging there, so I took one off and burned it. Long story short, I had to buy a replacement stocking at the day after Christmas sale.
Determined to break the "Blue Christmas" curse, we decided to decorate the tree as a family the following year. We played Christmas music and I made hot chocolate. All was 'Holly Jolly Christmas' until he put the garland on the tree. As he wound those gold balls around the tree, wouldn't you know that he didn't do it correctly. When I say correctly, y'all women know what I mean, every drape the exact length and width, perfect symmetry from top to bottom. Well, about the sixth time I asked him to redo the garland, he grabbed the tree, opened the front door, and threw the tree onto the yard. Oh, Lawd, the kids came unglued. All I remember is my ex yelling and cussing, me laughing hysterically, the kids crying and screaming, "Santa isn't going to come now because Daddy threw out the tree," and "Silent Night" playing on the radio.
Now, I know you think I'm exaggerating, but the next Christmas we were separated again. I went to the Sheriff's Department Christmas party with my daddy and my ex kept the kids for me. Guess what the band played? Yep, "Blue Christmas." That was it for me. I headed to get the kids in my daddy's truck. Now, I suck at driving in general, but driving an unfamiliar vehicle at night after hearing "Blue Christmas" was ROUGH. I was stopped at a road block within spitting distance of the house where my kids were staying. I tried to put the windows down and hit the lock instead. I tried to put the truck in park and hit the wipers instead. I cut off the lights, you name it. By this time the police had one hand on their guns and were searching my truck bed and ordering me out of the car. I finally got the door open and held up my hands and said, "I promise, I have been at the Sheriff's Christmas party all night. I had one drink 3 hours ago so I am not drunk. This is my daddy's truck and I am an awful driver and that's where I'm going (I gave a head nod in that direction because I was afraid at this point if I moved I'd be shot) and if you will just let me get right there, I promise I will not come out and drive ever again." The officer died out laughing and said, "If we did haul you in after that story, the sheriff would fire us anyway, so get on home."
The last Christmas we were married we had gone to the marriage counselor for the gazillionth time in the past decade. We finished our session and when we got home, my ex said, "Well, I think that went pretty well." I replied, "I want a divorce. We can finish out this holiday and then I'm moving out the first of the year." Then we loaded up and went to my daddy's for our family Christmas. We walked in the house, Daddy takes one look at us and said, "What's wrong with y'all? My ex looked right into his eyes and said, "I just found out your daughter is leaving me next week. Merry f---ing Christmas." After a millisecond of silence, in typical Hopkins fashion, everybody in the room fell out laughing.
You would think that after so many Godawful holidays, I would dread bringing out the decorations, but that wouldn't be my style. Instead, I crank up the radio, make hot chocolate, and load the tree with ornaments I've had for 22 years. If it weren't for the bad, I don't think the good would seem so great, so every year, I remember the hot mess holidays and sing "Blue Christmas" with a twinkle in my eye and a smile on my face.
I divorced 13 years ago after being with my ex for 13 years, and the phrase 'the truth is stranger than fiction' was invented for that marriage. I can laugh about it now, and even laughed about a lot of it then, but, a lot of those 13 years was a hot mess. Holidays were always 'fun' in our dysfunctional family. We had just moved into our new house on December 1, 1998, and went to spend a few days with my mother in Jackson. My daddy called me there and said, "Ya'll need to come home because somebody ran through your house." Now, I'm thinking 'ran through' must mean 'ransacked', so I asked him what was stolen. Daddy said, "No, literally 'ran through.' A drunk guy missed the curve and his car ran through your house. There's a big hole in your house." We pulled into our driveway 4 hours later to see a huge hole covered with plywood and a huge "Santa Stop Here" sign nailed to it (Thanks to my Daddy). Inside, my aunt, uncle, and daddy had cleaned up all the sheet rock and set my tree and gifts back where they were, but I was still shaking sheet rock out of that tree for years after that. Needless to say, Santa got to bring vinyl siding and 2x4s for Christmas that year.
The very next Christmas, we separated the second week in December (I won't go into the gory details of that, but let's just say "Blue Christmas" became my theme song for the next decade or so). I sat there and looked at those stupid stockings for a few hours, got ticked off that three people were living there and four stockings were hanging there, so I took one off and burned it. Long story short, I had to buy a replacement stocking at the day after Christmas sale.
Determined to break the "Blue Christmas" curse, we decided to decorate the tree as a family the following year. We played Christmas music and I made hot chocolate. All was 'Holly Jolly Christmas' until he put the garland on the tree. As he wound those gold balls around the tree, wouldn't you know that he didn't do it correctly. When I say correctly, y'all women know what I mean, every drape the exact length and width, perfect symmetry from top to bottom. Well, about the sixth time I asked him to redo the garland, he grabbed the tree, opened the front door, and threw the tree onto the yard. Oh, Lawd, the kids came unglued. All I remember is my ex yelling and cussing, me laughing hysterically, the kids crying and screaming, "Santa isn't going to come now because Daddy threw out the tree," and "Silent Night" playing on the radio.
Now, I know you think I'm exaggerating, but the next Christmas we were separated again. I went to the Sheriff's Department Christmas party with my daddy and my ex kept the kids for me. Guess what the band played? Yep, "Blue Christmas." That was it for me. I headed to get the kids in my daddy's truck. Now, I suck at driving in general, but driving an unfamiliar vehicle at night after hearing "Blue Christmas" was ROUGH. I was stopped at a road block within spitting distance of the house where my kids were staying. I tried to put the windows down and hit the lock instead. I tried to put the truck in park and hit the wipers instead. I cut off the lights, you name it. By this time the police had one hand on their guns and were searching my truck bed and ordering me out of the car. I finally got the door open and held up my hands and said, "I promise, I have been at the Sheriff's Christmas party all night. I had one drink 3 hours ago so I am not drunk. This is my daddy's truck and I am an awful driver and that's where I'm going (I gave a head nod in that direction because I was afraid at this point if I moved I'd be shot) and if you will just let me get right there, I promise I will not come out and drive ever again." The officer died out laughing and said, "If we did haul you in after that story, the sheriff would fire us anyway, so get on home."
The last Christmas we were married we had gone to the marriage counselor for the gazillionth time in the past decade. We finished our session and when we got home, my ex said, "Well, I think that went pretty well." I replied, "I want a divorce. We can finish out this holiday and then I'm moving out the first of the year." Then we loaded up and went to my daddy's for our family Christmas. We walked in the house, Daddy takes one look at us and said, "What's wrong with y'all? My ex looked right into his eyes and said, "I just found out your daughter is leaving me next week. Merry f---ing Christmas." After a millisecond of silence, in typical Hopkins fashion, everybody in the room fell out laughing.
You would think that after so many Godawful holidays, I would dread bringing out the decorations, but that wouldn't be my style. Instead, I crank up the radio, make hot chocolate, and load the tree with ornaments I've had for 22 years. If it weren't for the bad, I don't think the good would seem so great, so every year, I remember the hot mess holidays and sing "Blue Christmas" with a twinkle in my eye and a smile on my face.
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