Remembering My 21st

In honor of the day, I thought I would share the events of my 21st birthday.

 

My oldest sister and my sister-in-law were taking me out for a “night on the town” in celebration of my reaching the legal drinking age. (In reality they were just excited to get away from their kids for a night, as was I. Although they probably were excited for me too.) But the three of us were looking forward to having a girl’s night out and all bets were off. We had arranged for us all to meet at my brother and sister-in-law’s house where the kids and the men (my brother and my brother-in-law) were going to be staying while us ladies got our grooves on. We opened a bottle of champagne and toasted to a fun night out, then made sure the kids were starting to eat and doing okay before we set out for the night. My brother was our designated driver and he delivered us to our first stop for the night, a restaurant and bar that we all enjoyed. We were like three school girls being dropped off by a parent the way we giggled and rushed to get inside. Even the warning from my brother to behave ourselves was reminiscent of childhood.

 

We went inside and were seated and ordered our drinks. Beers all around! My sister-in-law, who worked part-time as a bartender at this bar, made sure our waitress knew that it was my birthday and that I got carded. Every. Time. They hooted and hollered because they thought it was the funniest thing ever to have happened. After our meals were eaten, a number of beers consumed and after we verified that the guy I was hoping to run into was at work and would not be coming in that night, it was decided we should move on to our next stop for the night. My brother was called and a short time later he was outside waiting for us.

 

I was already getting pretty buzzed so coming down the flight of stairs to get outside to the parking lot seemed to be very tricky. I went reeaally slooow and kept my hands on the wall on either side of me to help me reach the bottom. (Who puts an entire flight of stairs in a bar? Don’t they know someone could hurt themselves trying to reach the bottom after drinking?) Anyway, my brother was waiting and we all piled in. The plan was to go across the river and go to a cool, happening bar in the bigger town. (Which coincidently is the town I now live in.) Apparently my sister-in-law had been there at some point, while my sister and I had never been there. Or even heard of it. But we figured she was the expert since she lived in the area.

 

It was a bar on the fourth floor of a building and we had to ride an elevator to the top. For some reason that still doesn’t quite make sense to me, there was an elevator attendant for this building. Now, this is not a fancy town, and it definitely was not a fancy building. It was actually pretty crappy and run-down looking. But we didn’t question it and just continued acting like the silly women we were. We reach the floor and open the door to the bar. I was expecting a room full of twenty-somethings and cool music with lots of dancing going on. In actuality there were only about eight other people there and they were all like 40. (And I know 40 isn’t old, but when you’re expecting a hip young dance club, 40 is ancient.) Even worse, there was only one couple on the dance floor and they were both, well, huge. And they were grinding against each other like a floor-buffer on hard wood. Okaaay. Turns out the last time my sister-in-law had been there was roughly 10 years prior. We sat down at the bar and my sister starts badgering the bartender asking if he knew how to make cosmos. He says he does not. (Good rule of thumb, if the bartender doesn’t know how to make something, order something else.) She gives him a quick lesson in the art of cosmo mixing and he delivers our drinks. (More beers for me and my sister-in-law.) They tell him that it’s my birthday and that he should card me. He does (while my sisters shrieked and laughed like hyenas) and then gives me a free shot. I drink it not knowing what the hell it was. It must have been something girly because it tasted yummy. My sister says her cosmo isn’t as good as she’s had before, but she continues to suck it down. And then orders another. By now, she’s raring to go and she wants to dance. Like Really. Wants. To. Dance. Dancing was not high on my list of priorities because the placed sort of creeped me out. And the other couple were still on the dance floor. Finally I relent and we go shake it on the dance floor. I was so self-conscious because some of the few people in the bar stood along the edges watching us. Great. Not long later, we sit back down and order more drinks. This time my sister decides she can’t drink any more of the inadequate cosmos and orders beer. But then she wants to dance again. Worse than before. She grabs the back of my bar stool and starts jerking it back, trying to shake me loose from my seat I guess. Suddenly, there is a bouncer standing behind us and he tells her she needs to calm down or he’s going to kick her out. Oh my god, the humiliation. She stops yanking on my stool, but the bouncer doesn’t leave. He just stands behind me with his big arms crossed across his chest.

 

image credit

 

I’m completely freaked out at this point and my sister-in-law and I decide now would be a good time to call my brother and have him pick us up. We finish our drinks and walk to the elevator. Once inside the elevator, my sister starts digging into her purse for money because she wants to tip the elevator attendant. My sister-in-law and I both keep shoving her money back into her purse and finally hold her hands so she’ll stop. We had to continuing telling her to keep her money in her purse. Over and over again. She’s totally hammered. We get outside and my brother is there waiting. We help my sister up into his truck and he starts laughing, telling her, “I thought we were going to have to help Hannah into the truck, not you!” We roll the windows down (even though it’s early March and cold) to make sure she doesn’t get sick in the truck.

 

We get home and my brother half lifts her out of the truck and practically carries her inside his house. Her husband is waiting inside and when he sees her, the only thing he can say is, “Oh boy. I thought it was Hannah.” (Why is it that everyone thinks I’m going to be the one who gets out of control and won’t know when to stop?! I was a responsible adult even at the age of 21!) He takes her down to the bathroom to change her clothes. My sister-in-law and I sit there for a minute or two. She says to me, “It’s not even midnight yet. Do you want to head to another bar?” Not ready to have the evening end, I say yes and we leave again.

 

It wasn’t nearly as much fun as when it was all three of us (partly because we kept thinking about how sick my sister probably was back at the house.) We only had one more drink each before coming back. The last thing I remember from that night was my sister sitting on the bathroom floor while her husband tried to prop her up. It was definitely not a night we care to remember, but one we’ll never forget. Oh my poor sister. It was not one of her finest moments. But I still love her.

To Me, Summer Is…

I heard a song on the radio yesterday that was meant to lift everyone’s spirits and get us thinking about summer. And since the ground that had almost shed all of it’s snowy blanket is now covered up again, I thought maybe if I started dreaming about summer, it would come that much faster. I started making a list in my head of all the things that said summer to me. (And here’s the song, in case you were curious.)

 

Kenny Chesney–Summertime courtesy of (C) 2005 BMG Music

 

When I think of summer, I think of:

• driving with the car windows down
• cruising around or long trips in the car
• baby calves
• green pastures
• the smell of fresh cut hay
• boat rides
• Mayfest
• grilling out
• ice cold beer
• fireworks
• smores
• camping out
• fireflies
• staying out all night

 

And before I leave you, I wanted to share another song (by a group I love) that gets my summer-dreaming heart thinking we’re that much closer. I think the video’s pretty fun too.

 

Rascal Flatts - Summer Nights courtesy of (C) 2009 Lyric Street Records, Inc.

 

What makes you think of summer?

Prank Calls, Dreams, and Missed Sleep

Last week I promised Chanel (who’s really great, if you haven’t checked her out, you should) that I would share my “prank phone call” experience after reading one that happened to her. Mine was not as recent, but it still sticks in my memory banks.

 

Let me set the stage.

 

My freshman year of high school, I was dating a senior. (What were my parents thinking allowing me to do that?!) He had a very common name. We’ll call him “John Smith.” He would call my house all the time and sometimes he would do silly stuff when I would pick up, like play a song or something. Now remember, this was before any of us (at least any of us in high school) had cell phones or even caller-id. When you heard the phone ringing, you had to answer and hope that it was someone you wanted to talk to. So one night the phone rang at my house and I answered it.

 

A man on the other end: “Hello. This is John Smith and I’d like to talk with the head of the household.”

Me (laughing because it sounded so serious): “Okay. That’s me.” (Obviously not true as I was only 15.)

John Smith: “You’re the head of the house?”

Me (being the typical teenager): “Yep!”

John Smith: ….

John Smith: “Okay, I’m calling to talk to you about…”

(I don’t remember what exactly it was now, but I continued to play along answering questions.)

Me (growing bored with the game): “Will you stop now and just talk to me?”

John Smith: “Stop what?”

Me: “Stop trying to prank me and just talk to me.”

John Smith: “I don’t understand. I’m from…” (I don’t remember the company name he said.)

Me: “You are not. Knock it off and talk to me!”

John Smith: “I really am. Is this the head of the household?”

Me: “Yes, now just talk to me!”

John Smith (growing very uncomfortable): “Um, are you sure you’re the head of the household?”

Me (finally coming to the realization that this is not my boyfriend): “Oh my God! I thought you were someone else! No, I’m not! Oh my God! I’m sorry!”

And I promptly hung up the phone. That man had probably never been so happy to end a sales call in his life.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Have you ever been woken up so abruptly that you have no idea what’s going on, but spring to action, hoping to resolve the problem and still get back to bed to catch the few remaining minutes of sleep before your alarm goes off? That was me last night. I was in the middle of a dream about all of you, my blogging friends. I don’t really remember what was going on, but Hero was so excited to show off his new hairstyle. It was a mohawk dyed red (think UFC’s Dan Hardy.)

 

image credit

 

Anyway, I was sound asleep and dreaming when suddenly I heard my son make a loud noise in his room. I jumped out of bed, ran across my room and into the hallway where I met him coming out of his room. I’m thinking there’s very little time before my alarm is set to go off and I want him to go back to bed so I can get those last few precious minutes. I herded him back into his room and helped him into his bed. He started whining that he wanted his bouncy ball to sleep with, so I told him I’d get it for him and, (for the love of God!) stay in bed. I rushed out to the living room and after a moment or two of looking, couldn’t find it. I grabbed his MP3 player and took it in to him. I got him tucked in and I staggered back to my bed and looked at my clock as I came around to my side of the bed. 12:38 am. Normally, that would have been great because I’d still have a good long stretch to sleep. Last night however, not so great because I couldn’t fall back to sleep. I tossed and turned and counted in my head. Nothing. I thought about getting up to start writing, but I knew I’d really never get back to sleep if I did that. I started getting pissed because I could hear my husband’s deep breathing next to me and knew that he wasn’t fazed in the least by our son’s awakening. The last time I remember looking at the clock was around 1:20 am. Until 3:30 am when I heard my bedroom door open and my son start talking. I sat bolt upright in bed and shouted, “No!” That finally got my husband’s attention and I think he took our son back to bed. I can’t really remember.

 

Needless to say, hearing the alarm go off this morning was not a happy moment for me. (Not that it is any other day, but today it was exceptionally unwelcome.) To make matters worse, today I had to take my daughter in early for band rehearsal. (Which means leaving an hour early.) It’s not at her school, but at another elementary school in town, so I had to make sure my brain was functioning at a high enough level to go the right way. (I have been known to miss my turn and keep heading to her school when I was supposed to go to this other school for rehearsal. What? It’s not part of the routine to turn for the other school.) She apparently didn’t sleep well either because she was a real peach this morning.

 

I need a nap.

The Sleepover

Friday night, my daughter had a friend from school spend the night at our house. It was kind of a big deal because she hasn’t really had many people over to spend the night. A neighbor once and a cousin once. That’s it. (I know, I know. We’re bad parents for not doing more.) So, I was a little nervous because I didn’t know what to expect, wanted the girls to have fun, but still wanted to enforce the “rules of the house” without seeming mean. Anyway, we brought her friend home right after school and they were practically bursting from excitement. We got home, got everything situated in my daughter’s room and went out for supper.

 

I had forgotten how much girls could talk when they get together. (Which is really stupid considering how much I talk when I get together with friends.) But I don’t think they stopped the whole time we were eating. My husband even had to remind my daughter to eat her food because she had let it sit untouched for so long. While they were eating, they got on the subject of Greek gods and goddesses and wondering what kind of jobs they would have if they lived in modern times. So they started planning a “town” for the Greek figures they knew. I was impressed. I said they would have to write them all down when we got home and then they got the idea to draw a map of the town too. Even better! (Now they really had enough things to keep them busy for the rest of the night.)

 

We got home and the two girls rushed off to my daughter’s room to start their project. They had movies going and dolls out and their colored pencils, paper, and random toys scattered all over! It was the typical sleepover. About the time I was getting my son ready for bed, the girls came out wanting popcorn. (Impeccable timing!) So, okay. Wanting to be the “cool friends mom,” I headed to the kitchen and found some popcorn. Now, I should tell you that I don’t eat popcorn often and even when we do have it, I eat very little. (My mom used to love having popcorn when I was little and I got really tired of eating it.) When we do happen to pop popcorn, it’s always my husband that does it. There were also lots of other factors that made reading the entire directions difficult, but I don’t want to make it sound like I’m trying to come up with every excuse in the book. (*giggle*) That being said, don’t laugh at me.

 

I burnt the popcorn.

 

Not bad, but enough that the insides were a little dark and it definitely smelled, well…burnt. (I’m not actually a terrible cook. Really. I’m not great, but I’m adequate.) Not wanting them to complain about it, I put a happy spin on it by telling them, “It’s a little overcooked, but it’ll still be good.” (Any parent will agree that if you put a happy or positive spin on something it reduces the chances of whining or complaining.) They started eating it and, God love them, I didn’t get one peep from them about not liking it. (My daughter was probably pissing herself that I was being so nice and agreeable about everything, she didn’t want to screw it up!) Then, my husband walks in the room. And what’s the first thing out of his mouth? “Looks like mama burnt the popcorn.” AGH! Now why did he have to say anything? The kids were fine with it. Why bring it up?! My daughter, bless her heart, told him it was just a little overcooked (see, it worked!) and the two girls and my son (who by this time had come out of his bed wanting popcorn too) sat and happily ate their bowls of popcorn.

 

And I more than made up for it by pounding out a massive amount of chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. (All nice golden brown, yummy, gooey, melt in your mouth chocolate chip pancakes. Delicious!) Between the three kids (ages 11, 10, and 3), they had nine! Nine big ones.

 

But all of the excitement about sleepovers got me thinking about my own sleepovers and slumber parties when I was growing up. When I turned 13, my parents let me invite 13 friends over to sleep over. Yes, you read correctly. 13! That’s nuts, right? I mean, who does that? No one. That’s who. Not unless they’re certifiably insane. Or, as in my parents case, have a spoiled last child. (Although my siblings would probably disagree, I wasn’t super spoiled. I think my parents were just too tired after the first three kids, that by the time I came along, they didn’t have the energy to fight.) So me and my 13 friends basically took over the house. That’s the only way I can think to describe it because, really, how can you fit 14 girls between the ages of 12 and 14 under one roof for at least 18-20 hours? I was fortunate that my bedroom was the attic so we had the entire third floor to ourselves, but we still spilled out throughout the entire first floor as well.

 

I remember there were movies going on all night in the living room and a group playing with the Ouija Board in the sewing room. Food was everywhere and by morning there were sleeping girls everywhere too. Upstairs, downstairs, you name it. I don’t really remember seeing my parents much so either I have very selective memory or they were hiding in their room trying to sleep. (My dad I’m quite sure could have slept through a third world war outside his window because of the shifts he used to work. Now, maybe not, but then…he probably didn’t hear a single sound from us girls after his head hit the pillow.) But, geez, what were they thinking? I can pretty confidently say, “Not. This. Mama.” I sometimes don’t have the patience to deal with my own children (okay, most of the time don’t have enough patience), but to add that many more that don’t belong to me? That don’t know the kind of behavior expectations we have in this house? No thanks. No slumber party extravaganzas here. Sorry, kids. I just don’t think I could take it.

 

But really, both girls were very good and it’ll be fun to have her come back and stay again. I enjoyed reliving my childhood memories just watching them.