That time I crowd surfed

Back in the 90’s there was a phenomenon of dancing called “Moshing”. This is where you get with a group of people who would randomly bump into each other for no other reason than releasing pent up aggression and hormones. This was predominantly done in the teenage and young adult circuits.

One day at the beginning of senior year my friend had just announced that there would be a group performing at her church across the street. We were all excited and loved live music. There couldn’t have been a more fitting beginning to last year of high school. The night of the concert, we assembled with many local teenagers in the church parking lot to hear some grunge music. Well; Christian grunge music.

When I told my boyfriend at the time about the concert, he agreed he was going as well with his group of friends. In conversation with him leading up to the concert he had joked that I could go in the “baby” mosh pit which “is next to the actual, much larger mosh pit.” He made the comment away from me, chuckling with his friends. Unbeknownst to him this irritated me to my very core. There is nothing more I don’t like than being told I can’t do something.

When I arrived at the concert with my friends, it was hot, the sun was about to set and we were waiting for the band to come out on the stage. We began to cheer when four young men clad in orange shirts with the word “Juda” on them appeared. By the time they were in their second song, a small crowd of moshers began stomping, ramming into each other with their shoulders.

I had just been told I couldn’t do something because I’m a girl and I wanted in.

I didn’t blink when I fled from my boyfriend’s side. I ran into the sweaty cesspool of teenagers and began ramming myself against strangers. It was a strange freeing experience feeling like a pinball being struck against others who were going through their own angsty rebellion. In that brief moment running from being a spectator in my life I became a mover and shaker. We did what we did because we could. Nobody could stop us and it was incredible.

The crowd then started to give way from moshing to surfing people through the crowd on a sea of teenaged phalanges. It was very much like the scenes you see in movies where hippies, metal heads, or hair band fans are frenetically dancing and begin passing people over their heads while the person being surfed has an epiphany. In the movies the scene plays out over some poignant music of that decade in an arena or an open farm field like Woodstock. This scene played out in four to ten parking spaces.

When I looked to my left, the people launching others into the crowd were my boyfriend’s friends. He was standing in front of me to the left of them, just watching me. Not looking at him, I sensed his disapproval at what I was about to accomplish. I smiled at his friends as they put their hands down and we gave each other the signal. I ran full force, stepping into their grasp in my beloved brown Doc Martens as they launched me into the air.

I flew. In that moment I had no fear and was full of trust. I landed on a bed of fingers, with nails of metallic blue, gently rolling me through the crowd as I screamed all the air out of my lungs.

Photo courtesy of Mindy C.

The crowd gently set me back down on the ground as the music began to pick up. When I was placed on the ground, I hadn’t quite found my footing yet. The rush from being carried by a crowd full of adrenaline quickly stopped when two moshers accidentally knocked me to the ground. When I tried to get up their buttocks hit my head on the left and right side knocking me down again. I crouched in a Spider-man stance getting a whiff of something rancid. One of the gluteus maximuses had passed gas. I got up again only to be struck repeatedly by the pair of posteriors. I was able to perfunctorily wiggle my way out of the permeated labyrinth of derrieres when one of the owners of said derrieres lended a hand pulling me up. A few moments later a church official called out saying there would be no more crowd surfing.

They should have been more specific. We still moshed.

What is something you were discouraged from doing but did anyway? What did/do you do as an act of rebellion?

Snapchat Hypocrite

A few months ago you may recall a piece I wrote titled, “Obligatory Selfie” where I poked fun at people taking selfies as a part of an everyday mundane practice that has currently become socially acceptable.

I recant this piece.  Although I compare the obligatory selfie to yoga pants being accepted as full fledged pants, I have seen the worthiness of an appropriately timed selfie.

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Steven Tyler eat your heart out!

Sure, at first I was smug.  Why would a 36-ish something like myself want to have a phone full of pictures of myself?  Who would want them?

Then came an evening spent with my in-laws and niece.  When my sister-in-law and husband stepped outside for a moment, my niece came back into the room with a blanket, we snuggled up together on a bench and she showed me this “new” thing called “Snapchat”.  She snapped a picture and showed me how you can transform yourself into a dog.  Once finding out she and my other nieces were using this app, I immediately signed up to stay in touch with them.

On the way home I was researching how to work snapchat, how to use filters and how in general to “Snapchat”.  Do I take 5 seconds in public by myself to pucker my lips and pose for the camera?  No.  However I do wait till’ I’m on lunch break at work or at home and snap a few selfies to catch up with my nieces, cousins, sister-in-laws and friends.  Only once has anyone been in the break room with me when this was going on, but he was completely aware of what was happening.  I didn’t leave my behaviors an unknown mystery to him like our customers have done in the past.

There is no joy greater than being able to send the ugliest selfie possible to those you love to receive one equally as horrible back.  In fact, there was a fun competition my niece and I had one night.  If you are ever down or feeling blue, this is the best thing ever.  Try to make the goofiest face possible and just hit send.  It is the greatest feeling not caring what you look like because the worse, the better.

Here is an example of one I sent, it’s like Steve Martin meets Frankenstein’s monster.

 

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Or the selfie aptly titled, “I woke up like this…”

 

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However, you want your family and friends to remember you in a good light.  Not to get too dark but one of my worst fears is something bad will happen and they will have to submit a photo to the news for a story. Ensuring it won’t be driver’s license photo, or worse an outdated glamour shot you occasionally have to send them one of you as a butterfly queen. This way the recipients remember you are a real person and won’t be shocked (or disappointed) you don’t have 3 mouths in your face the next time they see you.

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What is your favorite “Snapchat” lens or filter?  Why do you gravitate toward that one?

A Danny Glover moment

Everyone has a Murtaugh list by the time they reach thirty.  By this I am loosely referencing a How I Met Your Mother episode and a few blogs I have read listing all the things they are now officially “too old for”.

For those who are not familiar with the Lethal Weapon reference or movies, I will fill you in.  Basically there comes a point in the movie where Danny Glover’s character Roger Murtaugh is faced with doing something he is too tired to do anymore.  However he relents and performs said task saying, “I’m too old for this…” followed by an expletive.

When will he be sure he is too old?

When will he be sure he is too old?

Bear in mind I had not kept up with the series of How I Met Your Mother at the time I made the following joke.

In 2011 as you know I moved into an apartment on my own without cable, a luxury I loved but could live without.  Not having cable led to a friendship with a co-worker.  We had been working on the registers and we found out each other were big Dr. Who fans.  When he found out I hadn’t had the opportunity to keep up with the series we made it a ritual every Saturday night (for two Saturdays at least) to buy appetizers, bake them and eat during the Dr. Who festivities. (After word got around work we were watching T.V. and baking food, soon we were unable to hear the T.V. over a sizable group of people on a Saturday night.)

He and I had established a good rapport. When you spend enough time working with someone you can almost read their thoughts.  In return, if you’re lucky, they will understand your humor.

While we were at the registers we observed a twenty something (possibly younger) doing something with so much zest and zeal, it didn’t look worth the effort to us.  Our logic was why work harder when you can work smarter?

I looked to my left to observe him eyeing this person trying to keep a straight face.  Calmly and in a low voice I asked, “Are you having a Danny Glover moment?”

His face contorted, eyebrows drawn quizzically across his face and his eyes squinted when suddenly a slow rumbling chuckle made it’s way out of his epiglottis.  The slow rumbling chuckle then turned into to full blown laughter echoing through out the store.

“Yes, yes I am having a Danny Glover moment.” he said with a smile.

If you have a moment where you start contemplating, “When did I get so old?” just remember, if you are over thirty, you are entitled to a Danny Glover moment. Take back your age with dignity and proclaim you have earned the right to be too old to engage in certain activities.

Your friends want to ride push carts through the grocery store?  “No thanks, I’m having a Danny Glover moment.

Your friends are urging you into a soda chugging contest which you know will end with the foamy results coming out of your nose?  “I’m having a Danny Glover moment.

Are your friends wanting you to do those impersonations you once did in high school of all of your favorite comedians?  “No thanks, I’m having a Danny Glover moment.

Everyday anymore is a Danny Glover moment for me.  My Facebook news wall is filled with joyous twenty somethings doing things I once did.  Everyday on campus is a Danny Glover moment for me when I see students skateboarding to class, and girls talking about how complicated their life is when the answer is so simple and right there in front of them.  For once, I am not fearing being in a permanent state of Danny Glover-ness.  I have earned it.  I have earned my stripes, albeit they are gray and in my hair, but I have earned them.  For now I will sit back, drink my tea and sit knowing when exactly my Danny Glover moment began with my friend three years ago, and relish it.

What are you too old for?  What do you wish you weren’t too old for?  What do you miss? 

10 Books

Recently I was challenged by a friend to list the top 10 books that have had a major impact on my life.  Because I’m a verbose person and take challenges seriously, I couldn’t just answer his request with a few blanketed answers. Here they are in no particular order with their explanations:

     The Outsiders is a book you get something out of at different stages of your life.  Recently for a class we re-read the classic, it was mind blowing to find out it was written by a 16 year old.  

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     Eat Pray Love.  This is a great book for any one who has ever experienced divorce and tried to make sense of it.  This book made me want to travel, get lost, make new friends and then write about it.  It taught me how to put some of my past behind me and work though some life lessons.

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     If you ever want to impress a literature professor, drop the name Rex Stout.  When I finally resided alone in my apartment in St. Louis I knew I would be restless at night. The answer to listlessness was found in a fabulous mystery The Sound of Murder.  It was originally written in the early 40’s at the dawn of industrial espionage.  With quirky characters and a foresight of an upcoming industry in a new material called plastic, the setting Mr. Stout paints in so surreal yet believable.

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     The first book I remember falling in love with is, I Mean It Stanley.  This is the book my parents started reading to me and by the age of two, I had it memorized page for page.  Every night I asked them to read it to me before bed, each word drilling it’s way into my brain.  When my Grandparents came down for a visit, my Parents suggested to my Grandma she should read me a book that night.  So I retrieved this book, sat in her lap and as she turned the pages I started reciting the text.  My Grandmother was a lot like me, she was a former teacher and had a sense of wonder.  She thought I was reading the book.  She didn’t know my parents tirelessly read this to get me in the habit of a sleep routine.  She looked in amazement at my parents thinking I might be a genius.  Then my Dad cracked a smile and the gig was up.

And I Mean It Stanley

     Everyone needs a good Doctor in their life.  Mine had the last name of Seuss.  My first grade teacher asked everyone in class to pick their favorite book to bring to class and read.  I poured over my selection at home. It was between Fox in Socks and 101 Dalmatians.  In the end I chose Fox in Socks, mainly because in the beginning of the book, Dr. Seuss goads the reader with this graphic:  Fox in Socks     How could you resist?  At the young age of six I wasn’t willing to back down from a challenge and for once settled who won the tweedle beetle battle with paddles on poodles eating noodles.

     If Life is a Bowl of Cherries, What am I doing in the Pits? This book I read because it had been sitting in the drawer of my Parents’ end tables and was begging to be read.  The cover wreaked of late 70’s artwork and humor.  I was 17 when I first picked it up, read it on a Journalism class trip to Chicago and for the first time in a long time was caught laughing out loud to a joke no one could hear.  This book appealed to me because I felt displaced, and Erma Bombeck made sense of everything.  Life is a bowl of cherries

Batman a Death in the Family was my first experience with a gritty plot only capable of taking place in between the pages of (at the time) my favorite Super Hero’s life.  Little did I know in comic books characters can perish at the hand of a madman armed with a crow bar.  Until then I was only exposed to characters who died of natural causes.  This may have been when I learned the word bludgeoned250px-Batman_Death_In_The_Family_TPB_cover

     Any Archie comic EVER.  In the 80‘s and early 90‘s Archie was all I ever read during the summer, sometimes in between Garfield books I checked out at the library.  I devoured these wishing I could be Betty Cooper. Unfortunately, one of my best friends growing up had blonde hair, where I learned the ugly truth, only she could be Betty because she had the correct hair color.  These books taught me blondes had more fun and brunettes were snooty, confusing my idea of what a woman should be.  Eventually along the way I realized these were just characters and nobody should have to be compartmentalized into either image.  Instead I developed a crush on Jughead and a love for art by trying to re-draw the images.  Archie comics also helped to forge the way for me in a literary sense.  The featured cover below is the one they published an interview I did of my Aunt. Archie Comic

     When my parents realized comic books were no longer just a hobby but something that could cause my two loves to collide they wanted to help.  They purchased two books by Will Eisner in which he states the best scenario for comic book writing is when the artist and the writer are the same person.  If this isn’t the case, he goes on to illustrate what can happen when people get their ideas mixed up.  Even if you aren’t into comics, it’s a wonderful book explaining the process with beautiful illustrations.Will Eisner

     The next book is something everyone needs to read to understand how to become a better writer, even if it only pertains to correspondence.  The Groucho Letters is a book of letters exchanged between Groucho Marx, some of his colleagues and son.  This was a gem I discovered at my parents house.  It probably belonged to my Grandma and one of my Aunts at one point.  One specific part in the book stuck out to me.  Groucho had built a rapport with a fellow funny person who was at the time living in Maine.  By the third letter of catching up, the friend wrote to Groucho, “The town is so boring the tide went out and never came back.”  This book goes to show how friendship can bring you unexpected things, like the gift of laughter or witty writing.

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     To my friend, hopefully this answers your challenge. To my readers…what are some of your favorite books and which ones have influenced you the most?

 

One Lovely Blog Award (part Deux)

Thanks to Sherry at The Lunch Lady blog for awarding me with the One Lovely Blog Award!  Everyone should head over to her blog right now for some inspiration.  She is a tea connoisseur, a whiz with refurbishing, and a wonderful blogger! one-blog-lovely-award

As part of accepting this award, I must tell you all seven things about me, some you might possibly not know.  Here they are in no particular order:

1.  I want to travel to unique places in the world and get paid to write about my travels.  I feel like I live under a rock sometimes because I don’t get out enough.  There are special parks locally and I wonder why I’ve never heard of, or been to these places.  Apparently there is a large “cat” sanctuary in Arkansas.  You can stay in cabins on the premises and hear the Lions speak to each other across the park in low, thundering trills as you wake in the morning.

2.  I really enjoy reading and writing short stories.  Inevitably, you have to do a lot of editing, but strangely, short story writing gives you freedom to get right in to the nitty-gritty of the plot.  My particular emphasis is on character development, you may not relate to the characters, but there is just something about them that appeals to the reader.  Let’s just say, I love writing so much, I aced my creative writing course!  Not to brag or anything.

3.  I’ve tweeted back and forth with the real life Wonder Woman, Linda Carter.  On several occasions.  Again, not to brag or anything.

4.  I collect the tops of Honest Tea bottles and the tags from Yogi Tea bags.  Somehow I think one day I will have time to do an art project inlaying the bottle caps on a table top where-in I pour acrylic over them to preserve the well written six-word essays inscribed in the bottle caps.  I also think one day I will have time to make jewelry out of the tea bag tags.  This has been two years in the making.

5.  I’m still catching up on the classics of literature.  This summer I read The Great Gatsby for the first time and loved it.  Any given day I might be reading 3 books at the same time.  Currently I’m reading Tracks, The Kinetic Keeper (a book by my cousin), An Autobiography of a Yogi, and soon I will be reading To Kill a Mockingbird.

6.  I love watching people’s reactions when they taste my food for the first time…especially if I’m proud of it.

7.  I stink at Baby Shower games.  Here is evidence:IMG_0272

Now to continue this on and pay the love forward from Ms. Sherry’s blog, here are the following people I would like to nominate!

O.K. bloggers here are the rules to accept the award…and I look forward to hearing more about YOU!

1. You must thank the person who nominated you and include a link to their blog.

2. You must list the rules and display the award.

3. You must add 7 facts about yourself.

4. You must nominate 15 other bloggers and comment on one of their posts to let them know they have been nominated.

5. You must display the award logo and follow the blogger who nominated you.Unlike the Liebster Award which is aimed at newbie bloggers, this award has no restriction as to who you can nominate!

A home is made over a grilled cheese sandwich

tumblr_lumblhUXwZ1qceei4o1_1280The furthest away from home I’ve been, is home. This might sound a little strange, but today I’m accepting the wordpress daily challenge in more of an abstract form rather than the literal.

In the spring of 2011, I found myself alone for the first time in a little over 12 years. Normally this is a period in my life I don’t like to talk about, but two wonderful things came out of this experience.

In April of that year, for the first time I signed a rent check to live in an apartment by myself; no boyfriends, no husbands, no roommates, just me. At first it was odd getting used to the silence. It wasn’t a deafening silence like you would think, there was something strangely comforting about it, a comfort in knowing I was away from the home I once knew. Still, the silence meant I was alone.

You see, I define home as in, something familiar, something of comfort and something full of love. This is the whole reason I had left the life I knew, none of these things existed in it. I was rebuilding my “home” by my own definition.

A few weeks later some work acquaintances knew I had just been through a major life upset. They were two of the few who knew I needed help, needed to vent and was in desperate need of friends.

When these work acquaintances reached out to me, little did we all know we would find a home in each others’ hearts. That night we became friends and over the course of that summer, we became “besties”. One of those friends was able to come to my hometown with me, away from the city that was our current residence. This would be another first for me, coming back “home” and sharing a place where I was loved with a new friend who would wind up becoming a part of that core group of friends from my child hood.

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The home I had built for myself in the city was slowly deteriorating. When she and I were coming back from the sticks where I used to live as a child, she did something that not only solidified our friendship, but made me realize, there is hope, and always room in someone’s heart for a new friend…a new home.

We were on our way back to the big city and my stomach was in need of a sandwich. She being a vegetarian didn’t really want to stop at a fast food restaurant on the main highway here in Missouri. I didn’t really want fast food, but we were left with no choice. We compromised and stopped for a grilled cheese sandwich at Steak n’ Shake. She was hesitant at first to eat the sandwich but eventually she relented and started to eat out of desperation. She got half way through her half of the sandwich when she decided I should finish it. This is when I declared it was hers to finish, I had mine and she should eat it. I was worried about her getting hungry.

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At this point, with her music blaring from the radio, my cat meowing profusely from her cage in the back seat, it was getting harder to concentrate. When I went to shift gears in my car, there was something suspiciously bread like near my fingers. She had placed her half of a half grilled cheese sandwich near the gear shift. Immediately I looked at her and she was sporting a Cheshire grin. We burst into laughter. Forcing her to take her sandwich again, I started to concentrate on getting us back home. A few minutes later I went to grab my soda to sip, instead I found again her half of a half grilled cheese sandwich beneath my fingers. We couldn’t quit laughing and this is when I realized, this is the furthest away from the home I knew, but it was going to be a great one; the home in my “bestie’s” heart.

20130712-192642.jpgWhen was the first time your “home” didn’t feel like home? Was it a release for you, a time to get back to being you or was it a time to figure out who you were? What did you find special about this time in your life?

Iron your Umbros

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In the summer between 8th grade and freshman year I acquired my first pair of umbros. It seemed that just about everyone at school had a pair, and generally they were primarily worn because you could throw them on without having to worry about waking up extra early to iron them and still look like a million bucks.

Everyone had at least two or three pair. My traditional wardrobe was shorts made from worn out pairs of jeans, or jeans I had grown too tall for and a t-shirt. I was 12 now, on the brink of womanhood, I wanted to be “in” and fashionable, I wanted to care about my appearance and what my outward self said to others, I wanted to be…cool.

My summers were previously spent playing baseball or some form thereof with the neighborhood boys or pretending to be the Veronica to my friend’s Betty. (as we all know from a previous blog post, really she was the Veronica.) This summer was different, I was going to establish an identity with the neighborhood kids that would hopefully translate into the coming school year. One way to make sure this would happen; get a pair of Umbros. Not just any Umbros you see, clearance Umbros.

These shorts were waiting there for me at the local Footlocker on the clearance rack like an apple ripe for the picking. The orange shorts with the purple trim and drawstring beckoned me in all of 5 seconds. These were my ticket to being cool; to being one of the cool kids. Forget that I was the awkward goofy tomboy who was always one of the guys, I was going to be a womanly tomboy with a new image on the road to adulthood.

Little did I know, that would all be removed in one evening after this fine purchase of brightly clown colored soccer shorts.

I had been invited over for a game of football at my friend’s grandmothers’s house. Not only would my friend be there, but so would her really cool older cousin (who we later found out had already kissed a boy and could read our palm), but so would some of the neighborhood guys who had grown up with me as the awkward nerd who was into things that most were not. It seemed at times the neighborhood kids took pity upon me or asked me over to play mainly because there was no one else around. This time, these umbros were going to change that perception, instead of taking pity upon me or being the last person asked, these shorts would inevitably turn me into the first kid asked and the least pitied kid on the block; until I got stopped before going out the door by my mother.

I told my mother of these plans. Well, I told her about playing football with friends, not necessarily everything else. It was just after dinner when she said, “Let me iron your shorts before you go.”

This was preposterous! Why would my mother thwart my plans like this? How did she not know ironing your “supposed” to be wrinkled shorts was a death sentence for anyone trying to fit in and be cool for once? Could she not read my pea brained thoughts?

Then to make matters worse, she had to iron the semi-matching shirt that accompanied the shorts. The shirt featured a very 90’s looking geometric alligator with a purple background. Bear in mind, I was only 12, but I thought it was pointless to iron something when you were going to mess it up and wrinkle it in the process of an impromptu neighborhood football game. This didn’t matter to my mother. As far as she was concerned you could come back as wrinkled as a piece of notebook paper, but you had to go out looking as neat as a bed sheet.

We had finished dinner, I was still getting ready, the only thing missing was the clothing. My friend called the house wondering where I was. When I was trying to reply, I didn’t want to lie, but at the same time I didn’t want to tell her the embarrassing truth. I bit down and told her,”I was waiting on my clothes to be ironed.” I could have just told her I got sidetracked or better, that I got tied up trying to tame a lion that escaped from the Dickerson Park Zoo and had to transport it on the back of my bicycle. No, instead I told her the truth and like all childhood best friends, she laughed.

Needless to say I was the neatest looking well kept kid in “should” be wrinkled shorts and t-shirt. I was so unwrinkled they could have called “Ripley’s Believe It or Not” when I arrived skidding in on my turquoise blue splatter painted Huffy bike. I then had to explain to the neighborhood kids what caused my delay thus further taking away any cool points I might have earned having my new and only pair of Umbros.

Needless to say, I solidified my nerd status, but at least I did it in style.

What hope did you have as a kid to change what others previously thought of you?

Underestimating the “like” button

I bet she has the confidence to whip her hair back and forth…AND “like” a boy in person!

Recently you all posted “likes” and comments on the “Note from a Former Self” article here on Diary of a Quirky Girl. Your comments got me to thinking about who else I’ve been missing out on from my past. Who had I been wondering about and what they were up to. What were they doing now?

It seems that along with technology, we live in the age of trying to go as fast as we can to get to that next moment in life. In the process we try to keep up with others but do not have enough time to post a comment. In the past, I will be honest, it used to be annoying someone could “like” something but not comment. A recent business trip to Chicago enlightened me.

While in Chicago I was in route to places at several different times and couldn’t always get great reception. When I did, I had enough time and a short window to click the like button on a friend’s page, picture or comment, just enough to let them know I was thinking about them and wanted to see how they were doing. It seems the like button is a quick way to cheer someone’s day until you can get to a place where you can leave a lengthy comment.

In my plight to catch up with friends and like things on their page, a few names popped up I hadn’t seen in a long time. Some were childhood friends from the neighborhood and one was even a crush I had in grade-school.

I was talking to my parents about memories of note passing, and how that seems to have morphed into the like button. I was explaining to my Dad about who I had recently seen on the front page of my Facebook. He was trying to remember who this person was, which is when I went into a long explanation of who they were and what they meant to me when I was younger.

Here is the story I relived for him.

My parents and I were at our local grocery store, it was 1988 and the 4th grade school year had just started. I was riding on the back of the cart while they pushed me through the aisles. We were just rounding the cereal aisle when I saw this particular boy, his sister and his mom, riding and walking with their shopping cart. Obviously good genes run in their family, they were all as cute as buttons.

When I was younger I had a hard time looking a crush in the eye. However in my head as a 8 year old girl about to turn 9, this scenario played out differently. In my imagination, my parents had been running their cart down the aisle with the tires smoking and leaving trails of fire with me on the back; as if we were in a motorcross competition to see who could get their groceries fastest. I was dressed like Willow Smith in a jump-suit of bright colors, wearing a huge smile with an un-shy personality exuding fun and sunshine. In my pea brained 8 year old imagination, I got down off my cart with finesse, looked the boy and his family in the eye, waving a large wave saying, “HELLLOOOOO!” Then I broke out into a break dance, with his family, the entire grocery store, and my family gathering around me in the cereal aisle starting out with a slow clap and finally breaking into a standing ovation.

This is what the grocery store looked like in my mind.

Sadly this isn’t what happened.

What really happened is I stepped off the cart dressed in my hot pink beach bum shirt and cut off jeans. My hair was thrown back in a pony tail because I had been out all day playing and probably looked like I had just wrestled a bear…a care bear. I didn’t want this particular boy to think I wasn’t mature or so silly I couldn’t just walk next to my parents with the cart. With my head down, I barely looked at him and said a quick, quiet, “Hello.” Then I waited for them to pass by.

Today as I think back on that moment, now I fully understand the puzzled look on he and his sister’s face. He was in my class after all, why couldn’t I just say hi like a normal kid? After they passed by, my parents asked with a smile, “Who was that?” All I could say was, “Oh he’s in my class.”

In telling my Dad this memory and what this particular person meant to me, he broke out into laughter and said I should write a blog about it. So here I am, all because of a maze of thoughts, lead here because of the simple idea of liking something.

Back then, even if we had a “like” button for a boy, I don’t think I would have had enough guts to click it. As a child I was loud, goofy and outgoing, but as soon as I “liked” someone I turned into an introverted shy kid looking at the ground. However with time, age, wisdom and technology that has all changed. I can flirt without having to look someone in the eye now, do it with a click, finesse and for all the other person knows, maybe I am dressed like Willow Smith on the other end of the computer radiating warmth and sunshine.

Were you ever originally annoyed by the “like” button? Did you ever feel like it removed the effort needed for a friendship or relationship? What has lead you from one thought to another to think of someone you haven’t thought about in a long time?

Freshly impressed

This is how one of my favorite heroines gets “Freshly Pressed”!

Yesterday I was getting errands done and in the middle of a sandwich when I went to reply to a new blogging friend’s comment on a recent entry. When I went to reply to him, that is when I saw it on my phone as I was trying to log in; the picture from an entry I wrote a few weeks ago on the front page of WordPress.

Thinking it was too good to be true I clicked on the link from my phone because it was too hard to read the small print. Thinking my eyes had been lying to me, I went to check my E-mail linked to this blog and that is when “the love” started pouring in.

Thank you to everyone who has read, commented, re-blogged, tweeted, Googled and LOVED on “A note from a former self” and the other entries here on my open diary to you. You all are wonderful, and it has been a pleasure reading your stories, laughing out loud, sharing your experiences and writing back to some of you. Those of you who haven’t received a response yet, you will get one soon, I promise!

It may take a bit to respond to all of you (I work 40 hours a week) but you WILL get a response. There is nothing more disappointing than taking the time to comment or write on someone’s blog only to be left wondering if they received your sentiment, understood you or connected with your words in the first place. Maybe this is why so many of you have commented on the endangered art of note writing? You all are familiar with the elation of a response or the moment when you know someone “gets” you, this is what drives us.

When writing “A note from a former self” I had no idea it would be something to connect with people of all ages, genders and nationalities. When I started this blog my Dad asked me, “What is the purpose of this? What do you get out of this?” It only took a few seconds to answer because my soul already knew, “To connect with others.” If anything, your comments on “A note from a former self” proved we are all connected; yearning to have someone hear our words, respond and be there for us holding our thoughts as something sacred. We are all here to connect with one another and thank you so much for taking the time to connect with me.

Thank you everyone, thank you world, I love you and look forward to reading your blogs and leaving a comment soon!

Sincerely,
Quirky Girl

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