Sorry for the lapse in posting; I've been on deadline at work, so all my creative juices have been sucked up into writing that matters. But, no fear - here I am, equipped with grammatical skill and literary talent. Ok, not so much. Here goes, anyway...
Miss Sydney and I were having some Mommy & Me time tonight, and while we were wrestling on the carpet, I tricked her with one of my best Steve Austin moves (He's a wrestler, right?). Admittedly, Syd's a dog, and not always the smartest of dogs at that, but still I was impressed with myself. When I was laying on my back, I tucked my knees to my chest and pulled her on to the bottom of my feet, and then shot her straight up into the air. She freaked and her spaghetti legs went in four different directions. Fair to say I won that round. But the real gem behind the one-on-one was that it brought back a funny memory of me & my sister Lindsey.
When she was a toddler, I pulled the same move with her (only under the guise of playing, not wrestling). We were on the couch with my mother, and I pulled her up on my feet, holding her hands, to play "airplane." She was laughing and having fun until...
My mom, jokingly (I think) smacked my leg because it was dipping into her line of vision as she sat beside us reading a book. It startled me more than anything, but it was enough to knock Lindsey off course and she came flying down. Her front teeth gnashed right into my knee cap; it was a bloody mess. She started wailing, and my mom brought her into the kitchen where she put a towel under cold water and soothed her mouth. It took awhile for it to stop bleeding, but eventually it did, and after an ice pop bribe, she calmed down. (My knee was pretty sore, but no one really cared about that. Hummph.)
The next day though, when Linds woke up, her front tooth was a dark gray, almost black. Turns out, the blood had actually dripped into the tooth cavity, and dried. It wasn't harmful to the tooth at all, and the dentist said that she was too young for them to pull it. Eventually it would fall out like any other baby tooth and her brand new adult tooth would be whiter than my Caucasian behind. But, that would be years away - and so, even though the gray lightened up over time - by the time she got to Preschool, she looked like a Hillbilly baby, with one gray front tooth. Of course I felt badly about the whole thing, but it was an accident, after all, so I might as well enjoy the humor in it, right? The tooth did indeed fall out as it was supposed to, the Toothfairy came and she got the same dollar under her pillow that she would have gotten from a white tooth. No harm, no foul, I say.
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Get on the Bus
On this lovely Valentine's Day, I should be posting some romantic mishap or V-Day blunder. But, alas, I actually don't have many. I've had a lifetime of uneventful Valentine's Days, for better or worse. The best was a dinner (Spicy Chicken Sandwich from Wendy's), and a movie (The Wedding Singer). I'm not being facetious - it really was the best one. The worst was a babysitting event gone awry, with the most foul-smelling throw-up. Ever. But I don't think I have the stomach for it.
So, sorry Cupid. I'm posting in a different direction today. When I was in the sixth grade, my friend Katie and I convinced our mothers that we were old enough & responsible enough to take the shuttle from the North Shore Mall (where we had been dropped off) to the Liberty Tree Mall (where we were to be picked up). For those of you unlucky enough not to be born-and-bred North Shorers, the two malls are five minutes apart. And back in the day, the shuttle was a bright-purple colored, small bus that said "Mall Shuttle" right on it. We had never actually seen it, but, hey, how difficult could it be?
So, after we were done at Mall #1 (Don't ask WHY we needed two malls in one day), we went outside and waited near the bus stop, right outside Johnny Rockets. It pulled up, we dropped change in the change-spot and found two seats. We were thrilled. Oh, the independence! Our enthusiasm soon faded, as we started heading in the opposite direction from where we were supposed to go. Panicked, we watched as the bus drove through Peabody, Salem...and into Lynn. Now, as a proud Lynnite, I have nothing against the city. But we were headed into the part of Lynn everyone knows about, but we had never seen.
The bus pulled up downtown, and everyone got off, so we followed suit. We stood there, terrified. And every shady character around could smell it on us. "What do we do?" said Katie. "I have no idea, but we've got to get out of here. We'll have to take the next bus," I said. "But how do we know which one to take?" Hmmm. Good question. I looked around and saw dirty, toothless men all around us. Most of them smelled like cheap Whiskey and piss, to be honest. Across the street stood two women. Now, EVEN THEN, I recognized them to be working women. But, tough times call for...hookers, I guess.
I told Katie to wait there, and I crossed the street, my heart beating out of my chest. "Excuse me? I need to take a bus back to the North Shore Mall. Do you know when it will be here?" She laughed. She literally laughed in my face. But then, bosoms busting out, leaned down and pulled a bus schedule out of her purse. Who would have guessed? But, then again - anyone who chooses the world's oldest profession must need to be practical on some level. I thanked her and headed back to wait for Bus 501. It came a few minutes later, we got on, and didn't breathe until we pulled into the mall parking lot. Just as we got off the bus, the real shuttle pulled up, so we hopped on. I don't think we talked to each other the whole rest of the day - we were so shook up.
So, sorry Cupid. I'm posting in a different direction today. When I was in the sixth grade, my friend Katie and I convinced our mothers that we were old enough & responsible enough to take the shuttle from the North Shore Mall (where we had been dropped off) to the Liberty Tree Mall (where we were to be picked up). For those of you unlucky enough not to be born-and-bred North Shorers, the two malls are five minutes apart. And back in the day, the shuttle was a bright-purple colored, small bus that said "Mall Shuttle" right on it. We had never actually seen it, but, hey, how difficult could it be?
So, after we were done at Mall #1 (Don't ask WHY we needed two malls in one day), we went outside and waited near the bus stop, right outside Johnny Rockets. It pulled up, we dropped change in the change-spot and found two seats. We were thrilled. Oh, the independence! Our enthusiasm soon faded, as we started heading in the opposite direction from where we were supposed to go. Panicked, we watched as the bus drove through Peabody, Salem...and into Lynn. Now, as a proud Lynnite, I have nothing against the city. But we were headed into the part of Lynn everyone knows about, but we had never seen.
The bus pulled up downtown, and everyone got off, so we followed suit. We stood there, terrified. And every shady character around could smell it on us. "What do we do?" said Katie. "I have no idea, but we've got to get out of here. We'll have to take the next bus," I said. "But how do we know which one to take?" Hmmm. Good question. I looked around and saw dirty, toothless men all around us. Most of them smelled like cheap Whiskey and piss, to be honest. Across the street stood two women. Now, EVEN THEN, I recognized them to be working women. But, tough times call for...hookers, I guess.
I told Katie to wait there, and I crossed the street, my heart beating out of my chest. "Excuse me? I need to take a bus back to the North Shore Mall. Do you know when it will be here?" She laughed. She literally laughed in my face. But then, bosoms busting out, leaned down and pulled a bus schedule out of her purse. Who would have guessed? But, then again - anyone who chooses the world's oldest profession must need to be practical on some level. I thanked her and headed back to wait for Bus 501. It came a few minutes later, we got on, and didn't breathe until we pulled into the mall parking lot. Just as we got off the bus, the real shuttle pulled up, so we hopped on. I don't think we talked to each other the whole rest of the day - we were so shook up.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
Winner, Winner Chicken Dinner
So, most of you know by now, I did NOT win the Super Bowl Package trip to Miami. Guess I'll have to work on my tan another time. Nonetheless, I've been on an impressive winning streak lately and it's not the first time.
The first significant thing I can remember winning was a car care package at my junior prom. I don't think I had a car yet, but I hugged that bottle of wax like it was a gold trophy. Yes, I know what you're thinking - not very significant. But the thrill of having my name called out in the raffle was enough of a prize for me. Since then, I've won a sack of stuff over the years: an Amanda Bynes DVD (I don't even remember the name the movie); $700 in a 50/50 Raffle; $100 worth of organic dog food; a ski package from Nashoba Valley; four passes to the Harry Potter exhibit; a bottle of raspberry-flavored vodka; court-side Celtics tickets; behind-the-plate Red Sox tickets; third-base Red Sox tickets; a vodka gift basket; a hair-care gift basket; a North Shore golf gift certificate; a Dunkin Donuts gift certificate; a $25 gift card to Target; a $30 gift card to Best Buy; and, most recently, $1500 at Foxwoods!
I'm sure there are prizes that I'm forgetting. But, overall, I have pretty good luck! Admittedly, I also have some of the worst luck, as well. (Two days after winning $700 my apartment burned down. Go figure.) But, as the saying goes, guess you can't win 'em all!
*2/8/2010 Editor's Note: I just found out that I won a case of Popchips from the Blog Weight...That's it! Check it out.
The first significant thing I can remember winning was a car care package at my junior prom. I don't think I had a car yet, but I hugged that bottle of wax like it was a gold trophy. Yes, I know what you're thinking - not very significant. But the thrill of having my name called out in the raffle was enough of a prize for me. Since then, I've won a sack of stuff over the years: an Amanda Bynes DVD (I don't even remember the name the movie); $700 in a 50/50 Raffle; $100 worth of organic dog food; a ski package from Nashoba Valley; four passes to the Harry Potter exhibit; a bottle of raspberry-flavored vodka; court-side Celtics tickets; behind-the-plate Red Sox tickets; third-base Red Sox tickets; a vodka gift basket; a hair-care gift basket; a North Shore golf gift certificate; a Dunkin Donuts gift certificate; a $25 gift card to Target; a $30 gift card to Best Buy; and, most recently, $1500 at Foxwoods!
I'm sure there are prizes that I'm forgetting. But, overall, I have pretty good luck! Admittedly, I also have some of the worst luck, as well. (Two days after winning $700 my apartment burned down. Go figure.) But, as the saying goes, guess you can't win 'em all!
*2/8/2010 Editor's Note: I just found out that I won a case of Popchips from the Blog Weight...That's it! Check it out.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
Running Late
So, I know the Bloggity Blog masses are eagerly awaiting my mini-streak post, but I won't find out if the winning streak continues until tomorrow afternoon. Until then, another blast from the past: a look back at two ridiculous instances of running late. Both of these stories happened in college, during finals. You'd think I would have learned my lesson after the first time. Nope.
Freshman year, I took Spanish and, even though I had taken four years of it in high school, still sounded like the whitest Spanish-speaking person alive. The night before the final exam I stayed up studying with a group from class and, let me tell you, it wasn't sounding good. Anyway, I woke up, hit up a Communications exam in the morning and then mosied on back to the dorm for lunch before I went to Spanish. In the cafeteria, I saw one of my study-mates, and asked if she felt ready. She stared at me like I was the crazy ex-con with a hair net serving the fries that day. "Um, the exam was at 11 a.m. this morning. Where were you?"
Crap. I ran upstairs, grabbed a friend's car keys, peeled out of the dorm parking lot and screeched into a spot right outside the classroom building. I booked it inside, and burst into the classroom, where I found Senior Perez sitting at a desk, noshing on doughnut holes, grading papers. "Ah, there you are!" Hmm. He doesn't seem at all bothered. Panting, I start talking a mile a minute, "I'm so sorry! I got the times mixed up and I ran over here as fast I as I could but..." He paused, chocolate doughnut hole in hand, and told me he understood, and that I could take it right now, but I only had a few minutes because he was leaving to catch a plane to Florida for the winter. I grabbed the test, put my name on it, managed to answer three questions before my few minutes were up. I didn't know he literally meant a few minutes. I was screwed.
Crestfallen, I told him that I had only answered three questions (out of, say thirty, fifty? I don't even know). His response, "No problemo, amiga. I'll just grade you on those questions. Let me see. Right. Right. And right. 100%. Well done." For real? I'll take it.
A year later, it happened again. I had back to back exams and, although I didn't do it often during my college career, had pulled an all-nighter the night before to write a paper. It was a rainy day, and I headed to my first exam. Done and done. I got back and started to study, but decided it would serve me better if I had a nap. so I put on a t-shirt and my favorite pair of gym shorts (which were four sizes too big) and slipped under the covers, just for a few minutes. I woke up to my phone ringing, and I answered it to hear a friend from home, asking me how my exams went. "Well, I finished one, and my next one..."
Crap. Again. I looked at the clock and I was 15 minutes late. I threw the collared shirt I had on earlier (over my bright orange t-shirt), decided I didn't have enough time to change my shorts, slipped into brown loafers, and ran out the door, through the rain, into the building, and whipped open the door to the classroom. The entire class was silently working on their exams, and the teacher, who was originally from Saugus and had that North-Shore grit, looked me up and down, before saying,"Guptill. What the hell? Get into the hallway." So, like I was in second grade, I slinked into the hallway, and flinched as the door close behind him. "Guptill, you look like sh*t. What are you wearing?"
"Um. My pajamas. And a nice collared shirt and proper shoes?" He shook his head, but I detected a slight shadow of a smile. We walked back in, with thirty pair of eyes on us. I sat down, realized I hadn't grabbed anything as I left the dorm, and had to ask a neighbor for a pen. Now this was getting comical. Twenty minutes later, I was finished. But NO ONE else was done. So, I read it over. Twice. Finally, "Guptill. Bring me your paper." Yikes. As I got up with my exam, and felt thirty pair of eyes bear down again, the orange shirt began to burn a whole rght through my heart. I handed him the paper, and stood in front of him, as he held a red pen to it. After a few minutes, he looked up and started laughing. "This is actually correct. And the essay is good! Get out of here. And put some pants on."
I was never late to another exam again. But don't count me out. I have a lot of life to be late for left in me.
Freshman year, I took Spanish and, even though I had taken four years of it in high school, still sounded like the whitest Spanish-speaking person alive. The night before the final exam I stayed up studying with a group from class and, let me tell you, it wasn't sounding good. Anyway, I woke up, hit up a Communications exam in the morning and then mosied on back to the dorm for lunch before I went to Spanish. In the cafeteria, I saw one of my study-mates, and asked if she felt ready. She stared at me like I was the crazy ex-con with a hair net serving the fries that day. "Um, the exam was at 11 a.m. this morning. Where were you?"
Crap. I ran upstairs, grabbed a friend's car keys, peeled out of the dorm parking lot and screeched into a spot right outside the classroom building. I booked it inside, and burst into the classroom, where I found Senior Perez sitting at a desk, noshing on doughnut holes, grading papers. "Ah, there you are!" Hmm. He doesn't seem at all bothered. Panting, I start talking a mile a minute, "I'm so sorry! I got the times mixed up and I ran over here as fast I as I could but..." He paused, chocolate doughnut hole in hand, and told me he understood, and that I could take it right now, but I only had a few minutes because he was leaving to catch a plane to Florida for the winter. I grabbed the test, put my name on it, managed to answer three questions before my few minutes were up. I didn't know he literally meant a few minutes. I was screwed.
Crestfallen, I told him that I had only answered three questions (out of, say thirty, fifty? I don't even know). His response, "No problemo, amiga. I'll just grade you on those questions. Let me see. Right. Right. And right. 100%. Well done." For real? I'll take it.
A year later, it happened again. I had back to back exams and, although I didn't do it often during my college career, had pulled an all-nighter the night before to write a paper. It was a rainy day, and I headed to my first exam. Done and done. I got back and started to study, but decided it would serve me better if I had a nap. so I put on a t-shirt and my favorite pair of gym shorts (which were four sizes too big) and slipped under the covers, just for a few minutes. I woke up to my phone ringing, and I answered it to hear a friend from home, asking me how my exams went. "Well, I finished one, and my next one..."
Crap. Again. I looked at the clock and I was 15 minutes late. I threw the collared shirt I had on earlier (over my bright orange t-shirt), decided I didn't have enough time to change my shorts, slipped into brown loafers, and ran out the door, through the rain, into the building, and whipped open the door to the classroom. The entire class was silently working on their exams, and the teacher, who was originally from Saugus and had that North-Shore grit, looked me up and down, before saying,"Guptill. What the hell? Get into the hallway." So, like I was in second grade, I slinked into the hallway, and flinched as the door close behind him. "Guptill, you look like sh*t. What are you wearing?"
"Um. My pajamas. And a nice collared shirt and proper shoes?" He shook his head, but I detected a slight shadow of a smile. We walked back in, with thirty pair of eyes on us. I sat down, realized I hadn't grabbed anything as I left the dorm, and had to ask a neighbor for a pen. Now this was getting comical. Twenty minutes later, I was finished. But NO ONE else was done. So, I read it over. Twice. Finally, "Guptill. Bring me your paper." Yikes. As I got up with my exam, and felt thirty pair of eyes bear down again, the orange shirt began to burn a whole rght through my heart. I handed him the paper, and stood in front of him, as he held a red pen to it. After a few minutes, he looked up and started laughing. "This is actually correct. And the essay is good! Get out of here. And put some pants on."
I was never late to another exam again. But don't count me out. I have a lot of life to be late for left in me.
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