Who's Afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?

I have some irrational fears. I know there are others with irrational fears, but I also know just how ridiculous my fears are.

One of my fears as a kid was childhood pregnancy. I would lay awake at night, just thinking in my bed, dreading the possibility that I could be pregnant.

(BTW: Snoopy and Woodstock are there to show that my comforter was a "Joe Cool" comforter with pictures of Snoopy and Woodstock. Not sure if that's clear or not. [Definitely not.])

No, I wasn’t one of those girls who got her period in 3^rd grade. That didn’t even happen until I was almost out of junior high. So I was not sexually mature. And the closest I’d ever been to a penis was when I crotch-kicked a ginger kid on the playground.

(Sorry if I offended any redheads out there by using the word “ginger.” One of my best friends is a redhead so I only use the word “ginger” for the creepy kid who grabbed me from behind and deserved to be penis-punted.)

Maybe I didn’t fully understand where babies came from. Maybe I had a general idea and I still thought that I could get pregnant from a toilet seat. I’m not sure. I just know I went through many worrisome nights thinking I could be pregnant.

Another recurring fear was gremlins. If I ever find out who exposed me to that movie...well, I don't know what I'll do. I'll probably just make them feel really guilty for giving a small girl terrible nightmares. I don’t even remember watching the movie. All I know is that I had nightmares for years andI imagined a huge, green, red-eyed gremlin waiting at the end of our freakishly long hallway.



The light switch for the hallway was all the way at the end, the dark end, that was scary. We had another light switch at the beginning of the hallway but the light didn’t reach far enough. So if I was leaving my room any time it was dark I would switch off the light (because you know my mom or dad would yell at me and tell me to go turn off the light anyway) and sprint as fast as I could down the hallway to the living room.

Did my parents ever wonder why I emerged from the hallway out of breath? Did they ever see me sprinting down the hall, getting my daily workout in?

When I was really young I imagined that someone resembling the Big Bad Wolf was loitering outside, under my window. It was the same window my bed was located under inside.

And yes, he was always wearing a fancy red zoot suit coat and fancy black pants. I know he looks friendly and fun in that pic…but he wasn’t. He was always crouching right outside my window. I just knew that if I peeked out of the shades he’d stand up and stare right back at me.

One of my lingering fears is the unfortunate fear of sharks. I know. Millions of people are scared of sharks. There aren’t very many people who would be excited to run into one in the wild. But I not only have a fear of sharks in the ocean (or even some rivers/creeks. Haven’t you ever watched Shark Week?!?! Those things go everywhere!!!! AND EAT PEOPLE!). No, my fear extends to pools and bathtubs. I told you: irrational. I can’t be in a pool alone at all. I don’t like taking baths (showers, please!).

When I was a kid we had a pool (technically it was my uncle’s and it was next door…but it was for us). That meant we swam daily. If I was ever the last one to get out of the pool I would swim to the side at warp speed and fling myself out. Usually I just rolled over the side and lay on the cement panting with fear and exertion. Sometimes it wasn’t a shark chasing me – it could be a killer whale, too.

(Not gonna lie. These shark drawings freak me out. Good thing I'm not taking a bath or going swimming any time soon.)

This isn’t the end of my list of fears. I can’t watch scary movies because of the rest of my fears. I can’t even listen to the plots of scary movies. My friends told me all about Paranormal Activity…I couldn’t sleep for days. I’ve never seen the movie. Thanks to a friend’s suggestion I got to sleep by taking a shot of vodka. Calmed me right down. Possessive and abusive spirit, who? It’s just me and Mr. (or Ms.) Smirnoff.

The rest of my adult fears are just as irrational as my childhood fears...so we’ll save those for another day.

My 1st Homecoming Dance

Okay, I couldn't hold it inside. I have to post this today. I was going to wait until tomorrow, to space out my well-developed posts but I just couldn't stand it. This one cracked me up so I'm hoping it makes you laugh. If it doesn't, I think you don't have a soul.

I love dancing. It's in the top five on my lists of things I love to do. (It's probably even in the top three.) And I'm actually not terrible for a knobby-elbowed white girl with extra long arms. But there was a time when I was horrible.

Fun fact #1: I didn't develop rhythm until I was a junior in college.

Fun fact #2: I danced enthusiastically my whole life - and I didn't know what rhythm was or that I didn't have it.

PS: I just realized that describing my dancing ability has really nothing to do with this post.

My first high school Homecoming Dance was held in my 8th grade gym (also where my mom taught second grade) because our gym floor was being repaired for water damage.

The main decorations were huge popcorn containers full of yellow balloons. We must have had a movie theme or something. They were pretty cool. Only because they were so large.

I spent most of the dance in a cluster of 9th grade girls. Half the time we were getting down and boogieing (and probably looking like convulsing monkeys).

The other half of the time was spent talking about whether or not certain boys were going to ask us to dance. It was during one of these times when I had a SCARY realization: I'd never slow-danced with anyone before.

So I did the most reasonable thing: I asked my classmate Kristy to teach me in the restroom. (The same restroom I used to change in for junior high P.E.)

After I had my lesson from Kristy I felt confident. I could do this. Now I just needed some practice. My friend Clint (who had also attended this school with me in 8th grade) was procrastinating on asking any girls to dance so I asked him. I wanted to try out this "slow dancing" thing on a safe subject. Clint was not an object of any of my affection so it was perfect. It went pretty well. Mostly uneventful.

Later on Clint asked me again. I guess while getting my own practice in I'd inadvertently boosted his confidence.

Then it happened. Louis asked me to dance. Well, he didn't really ask. He walked toward me, reached out his hand and nodded toward the dance floor and said, "Come on." I was terrified, thrilled, ecstatic, horrified, sweating. This was the most exciting moment in my 13 years of life. He *SIGH* held me closer than Clint had. We rarely looked each other in the eye. I stepped on his feet twice. It was SO romantical!

At one point he asked how my night was going and, in a moment of 9th grade passion and ecstasy, I said, "It's great...now."

I know. It's okay. You can cringe. I do every time I think about that wonderful moment. It was like a scene from a teen romance movie...only worse.

I try to tell people just how awkward I am...but anyone who didn't know me in high school never seems to believe me.



Boots

I get a little dramatic sometimes.

And for a girl who once calmly watched one of her kittens slowly die after it was bit by my dog when she was a child, I have crazy reactions and feelings about my animals, especially if I believe harm will befall them.

In 8th grade I had a black and white cat named Boots. I named him after a large TY stuffed cat he looked just like. [A little backwards?]

One day I opened the garage door for something. Then I closed it.

Boots was loitering at the garage door entrance, right where the door was going to close. I told him to get out.

I went into the house and ran outside to make sure boots moved. I didn't trust his English comprehension. When I rounded the corner of the house I saw Boots HADN'T moved and was just laying there under the garage door that began closing on him.

I screamed, "BOOTS!!!"

And with a crazy surge of adrenaline I grabbed the garage door handle and yanked up as hard as my adrenaline-packed muscles could.

I was able to yank the garage door up and off Boots. I grabbed him and held him tight, like a mother who had almost lost her baby. I was a bit shakey after the ordeal.

Boots didn't even know what was going on.

Later that day I journaled about the experience.9/17/00

"Today I went to church. I was very crabby because I went to bed at 12:00 P.M. [sic] and woke up at 7:00 A.M.

I had the scare of a life-time today! I had opened the garage to get something. Boots was laying by it. Then I shut it & ran out to see if Boots was in the way. And the garage door begun [sic] to squish him. I couldn't even think! I screamed, 'Boots!!' And I grabbed the garge [sic] handle & yanked up, hard. The garage went up a foot & stopped. Boots got out. I was shaking so much. I just held Boots for 3 minutes. I had been so scared. I thought for sure Boots was going to be crushed. Part of his body was in & part was out when it was closing. He's OK, though. I think I was more scared then [sic] he was because I knew what could happen to him & he didn't.

My cow pillow (which I got for my 8th or 9th birthday) is in the wash so it's kind of uncomfortable.

For the past few days it's been raining alot [sic] & our backyard is FLOODED with these tall, skinny flowers.

If you pull firm, gentle, & hard enough, you'll get the whole flower. Even the white part at the end. I feel like crying now, thinking back to how Boots looked. I didn't have time to cry at the time. I just had to think fast. I don't know what........

Oh I just can't think about it! Bye.

Alicia Foley (still trying to figure out my signature)"

And that is the saga of when my cat was almost crushed by the garage door.

How to Entertain Yourself - Don't Ask Me.

I'm a dramatic person. And it's all purely for my own entertainment. The more bored I am, the more dramatic I get.

I told this fact to my coworker the other day and it was again brought up recently while chatting with one of my best friends.

Everything seems like the end of the world to me. High school graduation. College graduation. Finding out a crush doesn't reciprocate my feelings. Not being famous by age 25. Quitting college track.

In reality, hardly any of those things matter anymore. Granted there are some things I'm still wallowing in pain from, but for the most part my expectations of life ending have all fallen short.

How do "normal" people occupy themselves without being dramatic? The trend among my college friends/peers and others my age is to get married. While I'd like to be married (and not in general, but to specific people - and no I'm not going to be a polygamist. This just means I have one or two people in my life that I would like to marry...though one of them may be James Franco), I know it would be a cop out for me right now. I want to be married RIGHT NOW only because I'm bored and lonely - not because I'm currently dating the man I want to spend my life with [I'm not sure how to win over the object of my desires...].

So the next thing on my list is to get my Master's degree. But in what? Right now I'm thinking creative writing...but 6 months from now that could change to journalism. Or magazine writing.

After that comes volunteering. That's a great way to spend my time. But with which organization? An all-cat shelter? A wild animal refuge? A varied-pet shelter? Working with underprivileged kids? Old people?

Ok, so I'll just fill my time with writing. What do I write about? My boring life? My unachievable dreams? My desire to adopt a guinea pig and a cat named Paul? Where do I write? My blog? My script? A shared blog? My journal?

Ok, forget that. I'll just do some crafts. Do I work on crocheting? Embroidering? Gluing those seashells to that frame? Taking pictures? Painting? Sewing? Jewelry making?

Alright. I've resigned to laying on my bed with my eyes closed because there are too many options out there and they all sound great! And feeling like my life is going nowhere and the world is ending because I have nothing to do, that boy won't date/marry me and I don't have a computer!!!

How do people CHOOSE? Everything I've mentioned I've at least dabbled in and loved it. I can't choose one thing over another because I want to do them all and I want to do them all right now.

Writing seems to stick out the most because it's the only thing on the list that could potentially make me famous (if I was able to hone in the skill well enough - ha).

You know who I want to be? The author of hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com. She can now afford to blog for a living. And she's hilarious.

Well, I'm off to entertain myself with some Hulu.com on my friend's computer while she's out of her apartment. I'll try not to think of those big life dilemmas for a couple of hours.

Zumba

I have been reading the blog "Hyperbole and a Half" all day at work and it inspired this post. I wanted to write about this and wished I had a way to show people exactly what I meant...and I thought, if that Allison chick can do it...I sure can! I only have one reader anyway!

So here it goes.

Last night I tried my first gym-oriented workout class ever: Zumba. I was the only person in there who had never done it before [though some old lady (who was talking about punching jerks when she came in) made me feel stupid because she raised her hand as a joke. Bitch.]. I didn't know anyone in the class. Our teacher was this exotic looking girl who was probably pretty close to my age. She was very dark brown, had beautiful wavy black hair and dark features. Basically she was exotically gorgeous. She wasn't a stick; she had curvy hips and though she wasn't thin, her body was proportioned and pulled in. She had beautiful calves and ankles. [I studied her the whole hour because I had to watch her moves closely throughout the entire class to be able to follow along since I was the only newbie.] Not only was her body beautiful but she moved beautifully. She had dancers grace and rhythm. Her very bones seemed to bend and sway.

Half of the walls are covered in mirrors. One wall is all windows and one is a wall with a clear glass door. We faced the longer wall covered in mirrors for 90% of the class. In this mirror I saw something very pathetic.

There was this white girl trying to follow the moves. Her limbs were very long and gangly. When we all raised our arms like ballerinas her arms bent awkwardly at her pointy elbows and bendy wrists. Her legs were undefined. You could only tell where her calf was because it was below a knee. She was wearing light green running shorts, bright white running shoes and a shapeless gray cutoff.

She actually followed along pretty well except for a couple times when she had to just bounce a little bit to catch up with the instructor and get the moves right. When she shook and rolled her hips [which was often because that's one of the most common moves in Zumba, along with my personal fave: pelvic thrusting] it looked like her joints were square pegs instead of balls in sockets. She stuck her tongue out when she was really concentrating or getting into a move.

Seeing this girl and the instructor simultaneously in the mirror was awkward. The gangly girl had too much extra limb to imitate the instructor fully. What's more is she didn't seem to know where to put it all.

Yes. That girl was me. Zumba was a super fun workout that combined two of my fave things [the pelvic-thrusting dance moves and exercise] and the music was perky, the ladies were varied, and all that jazz. But watching the instructor 95% of the time and then myself for 5% was unhealthy for my self-esteem. But I'm going back! Maybe doing Zumba will make me look like that girl...magically give me curves and shrink my limbs to normal proportions.....

Luckily, to boost my self-esteem, the guard who works with me said, "Take it from a black man. You have a nice body." He just said that because I'm wearing the most fitted pencil skirt money could buy and heels that make anyone's legs look fabulous, but it was nice of him to say. Haha. (He said this because I told him I still wanted to lose weight so that this pencil skirt that I bought over a year ago would fit more like it did when I bought it.)
But after [black] Tom told me my body looked good, [white] Tom (another coworker) asked me to carry some heavy boxes upstairs. When I stared back and asked if he was joking because I chose to wear my tightest skirt with some heels today [it's hard to tell with white Tom sometimes], he said he was just kidding because he didn't think my "chicken arms" could handle that. Put right back in my place. Thanks Tom^2!

Christmas with the Columbian

God usually answers prayers in ways you don’t imagine – or not quite the way you had in mind.

While I was growing up, my immediate family celebrated holidays and birthdays with my godfather and his wife (and my uncle who happened to live nearby). My godfather is my parents’ best friend from college (the same college I attended). So I always had this notion that when I got older (aka. graduated college) I would spend holidays and birthdays with my best friends from college. We never spent holidays with extended family unless it was a special planned trip because only one of my uncles lived in California near us. Every other family member was out of state - and the closest were all the way in the midwest.

Well, my best friends currently either live far away/near their families, or they visit their families or their families visit them. I’m about to spend my second Christmas away from all family members. Last Christmas I was alone (I spent Christmas Eve with friends and went to church with friends and their family members, which was so nice) because I wanted to save money and not fly to my mom’s house. BIG MISTAKE. I was so lonely and bored and miserable on Christmas day and the days following. I was dog-sitting, there were blizzards galore, and I had no one but the dogs and cats I was feeding. This year we don’t get any Christmas holidays off and Christmas is on a Saturday. No time to go anywhere for the holiday. I do live 5 minutes away from one of my best friends…but her family is coming to visit her and I’m not invited to the festivities. But God has still answered my prayers for holidays spent with friends: my Columbian coworker. My co-teller and I are both alone for Christmas this year and so we’re spending it together! I’ve known this woman for one and a half months, but we feel like we’ve known each other forever. We connect so strongly. We got along from day one. It’s amazing. Meeting her is of the reasons I moved, I just know it.

So my first friend-oriented Christmas isn’t going to turn out quite like I’d always imagined but it will still be wonderful. I won’t be alone. I will be with someone I like a lot. We get to try new things because even though our families have holiday traditions, we’re both very big on trying new things and being untraditional.

Instead of going to church on Christmas Eve and then just spending the evening at home with family/friends, we’re going to go to church and then go out on the town, doing who knows what? Then we’ll go home, watch some Christmas movies until we fall asleep. Then we’ll wake up in the morning, start our mini turkey (with a recipe I got from Real Simple magazine) and then open the presents that we got each other. In addition to a mini turkey we’re going to try a mix of Columbian and traditional dishes (again, thanks Real Simple).

Before Christmas we’re going to try to make each other stockings. I know how to embroider so I want to do something special for her, especially because she’s never had a stocking before (not something they do in Columbia). I have a couple stockings – one my grandma cross-stitched and I’ve had as long as I can remember and a sequin/green one I bought at after-Christmas sales – so it’s not as big of a deal.

Last year I wanted to create my own faux fireplace out of colored paper and hang it on a wall to put my stocking on but I never did. Maybe I’ll do that this year so my friend and I can feel legit. At least I have a four-foot tree that we can decorate.

It’s crazy to believe that I’m spending Christmas with someone I met less than two months ago. But everyone else seems to do the family thing, leaving me with few options. Now, I would certainly spend the holidays with my family if I could. But I have no time off and my mom can’t afford to fly out and visit me. But my ultimate dream scenario would be living in the same city as all [or most of] my best friends [and our future immediate families] spending the holidays together. I can’t imagine anything better.

I know that last paragraph made it sound like I was only spending Christmas with my coworker out of necessity, and I am, but it’s a mutual desire not to be alone on Christmas. Plus my coworker is turning into one of my best friends so I know it will be totally wonderful.

God sent me a best friend to spend my holiday with.

iPod Moments

I sometimes wish I had the ability to hear what someone is listening to on their iPod in public. I'm always so curious for a number of reasons. 1) I listen to music that might surprise people. I feel like when I'm walking down the street the song playing in my ears isn't what someone would look at me and expect to find playing. Sometimes I'm jamming out to an old Britney Spears song. Sometimes I'm listening to some country. Other times it's rap. 2) Musical tastes and varieties can tell a lot about a person. Sometimes it can show how open-minded a person is to new and different things [or how close-minded they are]. Sometimes it could show their age, their experiences, their worldliness. 3) If I knew what they were listening to it could be a conversation starter and I love having conversations with strangers about commonalities [or differences].
**********************
I just had a moment outside. I was walking to my bank from work to make a quick deposit and I was listening to all my country music on shuffle. The song I LOVE [Keep on Lovin' You by Steel Magnolia] came on and there's one line in particular that gets my heart all a-flutter: "When that morning sun is dawning/Baby, both of us should call in/'Cause we got too much love to fall in." This song is a duet between a man and a woman and the woman sings that line. At the end of the line she sings loud and passionately and I always want to sing that whole verse. Well, as I was walking down the street back to work, the song came to this line and my whole body just wanted to react. I actually stretched my arms out down and tensed up my shoulders...just to have some sort of reaction. What I really wanted to do was stop right there, raise my arms, fists clenched and yell out that verse for all to hear. Maybe next time.