Caroline
Addison
Natalie
Sophie
Amelia
Emma
Bailey
Riley
Claire
Zoe
Katherine
Carly
Julie
Rose
Lauren
Rachel
Rebecca
Ellie
Lucy
Lilly
Daphne
Reese
Piper
Callie
Alison
Alice
Fiona
Nora
Gwen
Molly
Lana
Audrey
Aubrey
Bridget
Camilla
Hannah
Spencer
Brooke
Victoria
Madeline
Mia
Ella
Brianna
Hayden
Evelyn
Daisy
Alexia
Faith
Tara
Regan
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
...and they all fall down
I don't know why whenever I tell people that I lived in a trailer growing up, I feel as if I should defend myself and my family. It's kind of like an assumption that if you lived in a trailer your family is poor.
Actually, that's why I hate telling people that I grew up living in a trailer because it usually goes something like this -
Me - Yeah, I lived for a long time in a trailer..
Person - Oh...
Me - BUT ITS NOT THAT WE WERE POOR...it was easier on my mom to get around
Person - that's cool, my uncle lives in a..
Me - YEAH..just don't want you to think that my family is a bunch of rednecks or anything..ha..ha...ha...
then things just awkwardly go back to whatever it was we were talking about prior to my outburst and raise in volume.
Truth is, it was easy to blame the fact that we lived in a trailer on the fact that my mother is in a wheelchair and it was in fact easier on her to get around. However, now that i'm an adult, it's time to face facts and realize that we were kind of poor.
Anyways, I'm rambling on about this because a lot of my stories from my childhood are going to revolve around something that happened in a trailer park, mostly due to the fact that my childhood was spent in a trailer park (or 3, don't judge us).
I didn't want to just jump into the story and be all like, "once upon a time in the trailer park" and people get all judgmental on me.
*I want to add in that while writing this blog, I grew a bit distracted and went all ADD on myself and decided that cleaning my room needed to be done RIGHT NOW, so I stopped writing and cleaned...now I'm back to finish*
I don't remember exactly how old I was when this particular story happened, I want to say that I was 16 (so we'll just go with that) so that would make this take place just a few days before Christmas of 2000. I was sitting on my couch doing whatever super cool, super hip 16 year olds do, which was more then likely watching MTV while arguing with my sister to let me use the internet before the dial up connection cut out.
I got a call from my friend, Jennifer. She lived in a trailer up the hill from mine and was trying to get a hold of the woman that lived right behind me. The people that lived right behind me were nasty rednecks (you can judge them) but for some reason I was friends with them.
Anyways, the reason why Jennifer wanted to get in touch with the other lady, Charlotte, was because she thought that she had left on her iron that morning and Charlotte had a key to get into Jenn's house. However, Charlotte didn't have a phone and that's why I was brought into the mix.
As I walk out my door to go up and relay the message to Charlotte, I see that she is driving down the road about to pass my house.
At that moment, I don't know what happened, but I decided that the message that I had to give to her was the most important thing in the world and it was my mission in life to get it to her at no matter the cost.
I took off down our ramp (mom + wheelchair + stairs = no good...thus we had a ramp) and hit our driveway going full force and as fast as my chubby legs would pump.
Now, seeing as this happened nearly 10 years ago, I don't remember why I felt this message was best to be served without me putting shoes on, but I left the house with no shoes...I wasn't a bright teenager. My driveway was also just this gravel hill and it was fairly steep.
To this day, I'm not really sure how it happened but this is what I remember - Me pumping down the driveway waving for Charlotte to stop, then slipping on something, and then laying at the bottom of my driveway next to her car bleeding on myself.
It went something like this -
It all happened so quickly and once I had started my barrel roll of death, there was no backing out. Once I looked up, Charlotte was just sitting there staring at me as if she had just seen a 3 car pile up right in front of her. She asked me if I was OK, I told her the message, and then I walked back up the driveway to lick my wounds and scrape my dignity off of the gravel.
I had gravel embedded in both knees and feet that had to be fished out with a pair of tweezers.
The worst part of it all, the iron wasn't even left on.
Actually, that's why I hate telling people that I grew up living in a trailer because it usually goes something like this -
Me - Yeah, I lived for a long time in a trailer..
Person - Oh...
Me - BUT ITS NOT THAT WE WERE POOR...it was easier on my mom to get around
Person - that's cool, my uncle lives in a..
Me - YEAH..just don't want you to think that my family is a bunch of rednecks or anything..ha..ha...ha...
then things just awkwardly go back to whatever it was we were talking about prior to my outburst and raise in volume.
Truth is, it was easy to blame the fact that we lived in a trailer on the fact that my mother is in a wheelchair and it was in fact easier on her to get around. However, now that i'm an adult, it's time to face facts and realize that we were kind of poor.
Anyways, I'm rambling on about this because a lot of my stories from my childhood are going to revolve around something that happened in a trailer park, mostly due to the fact that my childhood was spent in a trailer park (or 3, don't judge us).
I didn't want to just jump into the story and be all like, "once upon a time in the trailer park" and people get all judgmental on me.
*I want to add in that while writing this blog, I grew a bit distracted and went all ADD on myself and decided that cleaning my room needed to be done RIGHT NOW, so I stopped writing and cleaned...now I'm back to finish*
I don't remember exactly how old I was when this particular story happened, I want to say that I was 16 (so we'll just go with that) so that would make this take place just a few days before Christmas of 2000. I was sitting on my couch doing whatever super cool, super hip 16 year olds do, which was more then likely watching MTV while arguing with my sister to let me use the internet before the dial up connection cut out.
I got a call from my friend, Jennifer. She lived in a trailer up the hill from mine and was trying to get a hold of the woman that lived right behind me. The people that lived right behind me were nasty rednecks (you can judge them) but for some reason I was friends with them.
Anyways, the reason why Jennifer wanted to get in touch with the other lady, Charlotte, was because she thought that she had left on her iron that morning and Charlotte had a key to get into Jenn's house. However, Charlotte didn't have a phone and that's why I was brought into the mix.
As I walk out my door to go up and relay the message to Charlotte, I see that she is driving down the road about to pass my house.
At that moment, I don't know what happened, but I decided that the message that I had to give to her was the most important thing in the world and it was my mission in life to get it to her at no matter the cost.
I took off down our ramp (mom + wheelchair + stairs = no good...thus we had a ramp) and hit our driveway going full force and as fast as my chubby legs would pump.
Now, seeing as this happened nearly 10 years ago, I don't remember why I felt this message was best to be served without me putting shoes on, but I left the house with no shoes...I wasn't a bright teenager. My driveway was also just this gravel hill and it was fairly steep.
To this day, I'm not really sure how it happened but this is what I remember - Me pumping down the driveway waving for Charlotte to stop, then slipping on something, and then laying at the bottom of my driveway next to her car bleeding on myself.
It went something like this -
It all happened so quickly and once I had started my barrel roll of death, there was no backing out. Once I looked up, Charlotte was just sitting there staring at me as if she had just seen a 3 car pile up right in front of her. She asked me if I was OK, I told her the message, and then I walked back up the driveway to lick my wounds and scrape my dignity off of the gravel.
I had gravel embedded in both knees and feet that had to be fished out with a pair of tweezers.
The worst part of it all, the iron wasn't even left on.
Monday, August 2, 2010
Who are you and why are you here?
So if you've somehow managed to find your way to this blog you should wonder what path in life you took that led down this road.
Whichever road it may be, the point is that you're here now and that's all that matters, so welcome :D
I get a lot of my inspiration from the chick that writes over at Hyperbole and a Half (http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/)..she's amazingly funny, so please go check her out if you get a second.
One reason I have decided to go with this blog is due to the fact that I have a story for everything and what better place to tell them then in my very own space here :)
Seriously though, i've had a very interesting life and I really do have a story for everything. An old game that a roommate and I used to play when we would go for a long car ride would be him giving out a random topic and would see if I had a story for it. 8 times out of 10, I usually did.
See? I just told you a story about telling stories. Takes skill to do that.
Whichever road it may be, the point is that you're here now and that's all that matters, so welcome :D
I get a lot of my inspiration from the chick that writes over at Hyperbole and a Half (http://hyperboleandahalf.blogspot.com/)..she's amazingly funny, so please go check her out if you get a second.
One reason I have decided to go with this blog is due to the fact that I have a story for everything and what better place to tell them then in my very own space here :)
Seriously though, i've had a very interesting life and I really do have a story for everything. An old game that a roommate and I used to play when we would go for a long car ride would be him giving out a random topic and would see if I had a story for it. 8 times out of 10, I usually did.
See? I just told you a story about telling stories. Takes skill to do that.
I hate you 5am
I had a long ass blog post about how I hate waking up for work at 5am, but for some reason or another the internet hates me and the post was deleted.I really didnt feel like rewriting everything again.
I drew this picture instead.
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