Pretty Little Liars

I'm not much of a liar. Not that I've never done it, especially in recent weeks, during which time the lying has spiraled a little out of control (but don't worry--I've never lied to YOU). But my lies have been quite rare, mostly because I've never seen the point in bothering. I have no secrets, I have no real boundaries--I'll tell anyone anything.  Probably more than most people might wish. 

As a child, I lied a few times to my parents, but I confessed within hours every single time, with only one exception. My little soul was overburdened by the guilt and I would burst into tears and blurt out the whole truth. Once I turned 16 probably I told a few more lies, but honestly I can't even remember any. There never seemed to be any point; my mother would discover the truth immediately no matter what I did or didn't do with uncanny magical abilities. So it never seemed worth the effort of going through something I knew would fail anyway. 

However, there is one time in my childhood that I told a lie and NEVER admitted to it. Until now. 

I was 6 or 7 years old. My father and I were in the bathroom one morning before school and he was trying to force me to wash my face properly.  During the course of the process he got water all over my clothes which is something I have never been able to abide, and still cannot to this day (seriously, just try me. I turn into a gremlin). I was so angry that when he turned his back to leave the room, I grabbed a nearby roll of toilet paper and threw it directly at his head. Startled, and rightly so, my father turned around and saw the roll of toilet paper lying on the ground by his feet and then looked at me, staring at him. 

"Did you just throw a roll of toilet paper at my head?" asked my father.

In a stroke of child genius, I looked him straight in the eye and said, "No!"

There was, of course, no one else in the bathroom. There was not even anyone else in the HOUSE. And yet there I stood, staring my father down, insisting that I had NOT just thrown a roll of toilet paper at his head. 

Of all the lies I could have told as a child, we will never know why it was THIS particular one I decided was the one to go with. 

Obviously my father was so incredibly shocked that I had chosen to lie about this, he spent several seconds clearly having absolutely no idea how to even respond. After a few moments of tense silence and staring, he burst out laughing and simply left the room. And we never discussed it again. 

And to this day, it remains THE ONLY lie to my parents I have ever managed to maintain consistently for any length of time. And it is only because my father was so shocked and then amused that he simply never questioned it or brought it up again. 

Extra Poor Decision

Worst of all decisions:

Giving your parents the link to your blog about your bad choices, and then forgetting you gave your parents the link to the blog about your bad choices and then having them confront you.

Grandmothers in Boots

I don't know about your grandmother, but mine is a TERRIBLE DECISION MAKER.
I am pretty sure I get it entirely from her.

For instance, yesterday evening Grandmother shows up at the front door covered in blood.
Her clothes have dried blood stains all over, she's bleeding from the face, and she explains that she tripped and fell down an escalator in the Seattle airport. The concerned onlookers called 911 and the paramedics came and bandaged her bleeding knees etc., and tried to get her to a hospital. She refused to go and insisted they let her on her plane. STILL BLEEDING FROM THE FACE.

They made her sign a waiver.

She made it all the way back to the house like this, luckily with no broken bones or internal bleeding. We're standing there, discussing her CONTINUED BLEEDING when she sees the new high heeled boots I've just bought myself.

My grandmother, STILL COVERED IN BLOOD FROM TRIPPING, tells me dead serious, "I am going shopping for high heeled boots just like those! And I will wear them with black tights! Because that is the fashion!"  When I stared at her with incredulity, she added, "But some women also wear those tight jeans...should I get tight jeans? Can't I just wear black tights? Do I need both? ....what size are YOUR shoes? Will I fit?"

I am hiding all of my shoes from my grandmother. She thinks she's getting her own this weekend. I may hide the keys to her car.

Tiny Purses

Terrible decision:

Went to masquerade ball Friday night. Brought very tiny purse.
7:30, parked car in Bethesda, Maryland.
8:30, asked friend to put my keys in her purse.
10:30, went to Eastern Market, DC to a house party. Friend went home to sleep in Virginia.
12:30, started home, realized friend took keys to Virginia.

Fucked.

Neighbors of Chaos

Everyone should check this out! Fabulous webcomic written by a friend in France who let me do the English translations.

http://www.lesvoisinsduchaos.com/en

Share with all your friends.

Amsterdam

This story deemed not fit for print.

Early Morning Sprinting

Many of you are aware of the ongoing morning bus saga because you get repeated text messages from me which state, "I MISSED THE BUS. FUCK." Sometimes I don't include the punctuation, which has led certain individuals to believe Maryland public transit permits orgies. This is why punctuation is important.

Basically, every single morning I leave the house late, and nearly ever single morning I reach a certain point down the block from the bus stop when I see the bus either stopped at the light, or about to go through it. It is a slight hill up to the bus stop, and I have never been a super fit person, and we all know I am certainly NOT a morning person. Despite this, or perhaps even because of it, when I reach this point and see the bus, I always have the same reaction--to yell "FUCK!" and sprint up the hill towards the bus as fast as skinny legs will take me. This is STUPID, because I NEVER make the bus. It is not physically possible, based on the speed of the bus, the distance I am from the bus, and my pathetic sprinting skills. Yet, 3-4 times a week, I find myself shrieking and running until I collapse at the top, weak heart pounding enough to nearly induce vomiting, while I watch the bus continue blithely down the road without me.

The saddest part of this story, though, is that right between my bus stop and the spot I always hit when I see the bus from afar is where the fifth grade safety patrol stands guard. Elementary school children on their way to school pass down that sidewalk every day at precisely the same time as I head for my own bus, and even if I hit the lull in between groups of children crossing the road, there are always 2-5 Safety Patrollers patrolling the area in the exact spot I am shouting obscenities.

In the beginning I think I caused them concern, but by now they are used to me and more or less ignore it. I hope to god they are not telling tales to their parents.

In any case, every morning I get up to the bus stop panting and ready to die and I swear I will never bother to run for the bus again. Obviously I never keep this vow.

THIS morning, I got to the spot and saw the bus was stopped because of the light. I thought to myself, THIS time I can probably make it! So I let out the usual war cry and took off at a dead run for the top of the hill, slamming into a third grader as I did so BUT I DID NOT STOP.

Well, I did not stop until I LOST MY SHOES. I ran right out of them. The light was still red, so, hollering all the way, I ran back and grabbed my shoes and continued running barefoot up the hill, running a fourth grader on a bike into a shrub and waving my shoes up to the bus stop.  It so happened that this time not only did I make the bus, two of my neighbors were also waiting for it and watched in surprise as I barreled towards them, shoes in the air shouting, "WAIT FOR MEEEEEE!!"

They let me on the bus first. Still barefoot. Which meant now the entire bus had reason to stare at me. I sat in the front and tried to discreetly put my shoes back on and smooth out my hair.

Ready to do it all again tomorrow.