Geographically-challenged individuals

On Christmas day, the family and I were traveling Interstate 95 on Florida’s East Coast. Our destination was my brother’s house in Palm Bay, but we decided to take a quick trip to Melbourne before we drove back home to Highlands County.

After exiting the Interstate, my husband, Chris, pulled into a crowded gas station because our vehicle refuses to run on wishes. He went inside to grab some snacks and, while waiting in line, sees a pretty girl he guessed to be around 14-years old barge in through the door.

“What is this place?” She demanded more than asked anyone who was listening. There were a few chuckles, but someone said, “You’re in Melbourne.”

“Well how long is it to get back to Florida?” The whole place erupted into laughter.

I’m going to pause here and shamefully admit that, as soon as I had heard this much of the story, my mind immediately jumped to judgment. Considering the lack of good manners and the major metropolitan areas connected by I-95, I said to myself, “She’s either from Miami or New York City.”

Apparently, in the gas station, a good Samaritan was trying his best to help this girl. He asked, “Where are you trying to go, sweetie?” Her response: “Pompano Beach….FLORIDA!” Yes, the emphasis was on “Florida” as if no one would understand she meant the state and not some far off galaxy.

Another person said, “You’re in Melbourne…FLORIDA!”

As my husband was walking out the door, he heard her final response to the exchange. “Oh! I thought it was in the ocean!” This was followed by more laughter.

After I finished giggling and rolling my eyes, I felt many conflicting emotions in reaction to this incident. First, I think this girl knows there is a city somewhere in the world called Melbourne. She may not know it’s in Australia and probably doesn’t know it’s about 9,750 miles away, is not located in the Atlantic Ocean, and that you can’t get there by car.

I tried to imagine what she does in class all day and the only picture my mind would conjure is a girl chewing gum, texting her friends, and daydreaming about having a Kim Kardashian-style wedding.

I love history and geography, but I’m also in perpetual training in case I get the opportunity to be on “Jeopardy!” one day. Still, I decided to give my 11-year old son a quiz to see where he stands compared with “Miss Pompano Beach.”

When I asked him if he knew of another Melbourne in the world, he didn’t, but he acknowledged that there are places with the same names all over the world. I asked him what he knew about Australia and he began listing random facts including the disputed “island, country, continent” argument. He guessed that it was around 7,000 miles away from Florida.

I was worried when I asked him if you could drive to Australia because he said “Yes.” When I encouraged an explanation, he said that you could go up to Alaska, go across the ice into Russia, come down through Asia, and then drive a boat. “Or you could just drive a plane. That would be easier."

He also correctly identified cities in different areas of Florida, like Tallahassee being in the panhandle and Orlando located more in the center of the state.

I was proud and relieved that he listens and retains information in class. At a certain point, the schools can’t be expected to compensate for a student’s refusal to gain knowledge.

Ready, set, CHRISTMAS!

Tis the season to celebrate whichever holiday you wish, but in my house, Christmas reflects our personal beliefs. It is a time of reflection and the counting of blessings, not to mention a little gift dispersion to the family.

Though decorated trees have nothing historically to do with the true meaning of Christmas, the fragrance of murdered evergreen helps mask the odor of our 30-year old carpet. Also, the lights and ornaments are a pretty addition to our drab décor.

A few years ago, my mom gave me a box filled with a bunch of ornaments I had made as a child. She’d saved them all. Every single one of them.

My first internal thought was, “No, no, no! I made these for you! To keep forever!” I certainly didn’t plan on getting them back one day and, if I had, I would’ve done a better job on them in the first place. I’m not super sentimental about stuff like that, but I couldn’t bring myself to throw them out either.

One ornament I particularly can’t stand is an egg that was carefully emptied of its contents and glued over with tissue paper confetti in the ugliest colors of neon green and yellow. I seriously want to toss it in the garbage, but she stored an emptied egg shell in perfect condition for thirty years! How can I so blatantly disrespect that level of commitment?

One Christmas “tradition” I’ve never fully embraced is the whole Santa Claus production (spoiler alert to any parent who doesn’t want me to ruin this for their child). I’m not violently opposed to Santa and I know the story is sweet one and Saint Nicholas was a really great guy, but I think it distracts from the real meaning of Christmas.

I believed in Santa until I was in the third grade which has to be some kind of record for gullibility. I even convinced another little girl who had the sense to see through the ruse to believe again. Talk about having egg on your face in the fourth grade! Come to think of it, I’m pretty sure that’s the same year I made that horrid egg ornament.

Back to Santa: parents say that Santa and his cohorts (the Easter Bunny and the Tooth Fairy) give children a sense of imagination and belief in magic. My daughter plays teacher to her stuffed animals and makes her Barbies argue about who is going to drive the stylish, pink sports car while my son takes his Nerf gun and belly-crawls in the backyard to sneak up on unsuspecting terrorists. My kids aren’t lacking in imagination.

My sister is way more fun than me. One year, she dropped dog food on the front lawn and sprinkled it with glitter. This was reindeer poop, in case you’re anything like me and couldn’t piece that together in your head. This year, she bought the “Elf on the Shelf” which is a creepy stalker from the North Pole who reports to Santa on your child’s behavior, but also gets up to some mischief of his own (i.e. moving from shelf to shelf).

If someone is going to tell an imaginary man that my children have been rotten, I want it to come from me. I’m too much of a control freak to let some fake Santa spy do my job. Besides, I don’t want
“Tattle-tale Elf” ratting me out to Santa! Mommy really needs a new blender.

"Single-use only" clothing

Like many Americans, I’m not particularly thrilled with my current weight. For this reason, when I shop for clothes, I try to buy inexpensive items that deemphasize the more accentuated areas of my body. This profusely limits my choices and leads to bouts of depression.

I often find myself in a dressing room with two different sizes: the size I think I am and the next size larger. When the first fits, I’ll try on the second and, provided I’m not swallowed up by it, will end up purchasing the larger size. I do this based on the general rule that everything shrinks at least 10% after the first run through the washer and dryer.

My husband says I over-dry our laundry which may be related to the fact that a person could conceivably receive 2^nd degree burns from the clothing if they tried to empty my dryer. In my defense, our dryer possesses a fine line between “not enough” and “too much” which is ironically very much like my wardrobe.

My biggest issue with lower extremity apparel is the presence of “muffin tops.” This happens when a person’s abdominal girth exceeds the capacity of their waistband and, obeying the laws of physics, the fat has to go somewhere which is why it ends up bubbling out over the tops of their pants. I don’t like seeing this on other people and seriously cannot tolerate it on myself.

Contributing to the formation of muffin tops is the cantankerous attitude of blue jeans that have just exited the laundry cycle. Jeans will not fit well until they have been worn for about six hours. This is why I wear my jeans two or three times before I wash them again. It isn’t as gross as it sounds because I try my best not to get them dirty.

My love for jeans has forced me to make some strategic decisions regarding shirts that highlight my mid-section: don’t buy them.

Last summer, I picked up a new top for a bargain price and I was delighted because it was sleeveless, but did not reveal the mini-muffin tops produced in my armpits by my supportive undergarments. In addition to this feature, it also hung loosely around my waist in a flattering manner.

In my excitement, I forgot the cardinal rule of the dryer as well as the total disregard of the words “dry clean only” located discreetly on the underside of the tag. The first time I wore it was the best and it never got that good again.

I thought I’d wear it this past weekend because I love to torture myself with impossible tasks like ironing an uncooperative shirt. I was freshly showered, but after standing over the steaming iron for 20 minutes trying to smooth over the intricate details and around oddly-placed buttons, I was dripping with perspiration. Still, I was determined to make the top work for me one more time.

I put the shirt on and realize that if I bent over, I’d show more than I wanted to show at a child’s birthday party. After applying a safety pin, I was administering my deodorant when I noticed my bulging armpits peeking out at me. After readjusting several times, I tore off the offending article and grabbed a different shirt that I detested slightly less.

I never seem to cease learning lessons in my life. This time, I think the saying “buyer beware” has finally penetrated my cranium once and for all; at least, I sincerely hope so.

Special moments with a special sister

The Saturday after Thanksgiving, I had the honor of attending the wedding of my niece, Britany, in Melbourne, Florida.  She is the daughter of my sister, Kim, who informed me that she reads all my articles and reminded me that Meredith is not my only sister.

My family tree gets a little complicated to say the least.

When I was three-years old, I had three older siblings, David, Kim, and Jerry. My younger sister and brother are Meredith and Adam. Since I’m the sole DNA recipient of my mother and father, all five of my siblings are biologically halves and steps, but to me, they will always will be my family.

Currently, I have other stepsisters and one or two stepbrothers, but the only one I really know is Sarah. When you get older and your parents remarry, it is weird to suddenly have extra family. Also, you find yourself including close friends as family so let’s just imagine that my family tree has become more like a vine that keeps growing and spreading in all directions.

Kim is truly one of a kind. She lived with us for a while back when I was around 13-years old. I have two fond memories of her from that time in our lives; the first is a special Halloween and the other involves a courting cowboy.

My little brother, Adam, was all set to trick-or-treat as Oscar the Grouch. He was pretty adorable back then and had a real thing for Sesame Street. At the time, I felt that I was too old to ask for candy and Kim was a young adult so we figured that cute, little Adam would bring back a lion’s share of sweets to share with his favorite sisters. We were wrong.

Adam returned in a selfish mood and Kim and I could not convince Mom to make him share so we did what we were forced to do: dressed Kim in the Oscar costume while I chaperoned her through the neighborhood.

Even though I was younger than her, I stood about 5 feet 10 inches tall while Kim had stopped growing at around 5 feet nothing. She fit in the costume perfectly and the candy was totally worth it, not to mention that it was comical to see Oscar the Grouch driving a car.

The courting cowboy was a gentleman who was vying for Kim’s attention. He was a really nice guy and, one night, he decided to come to the house and bring a couple of Cokes for Kim and me.

The reason I’ll never forget him is that he showed up in flip flops and the poor guy had the ugliest toes Kim and I had ever seen in our lives which led to a bad case of the giggles. We started strategically laughing at every little joke he told because, given the way he stretched his legs out, his toes were kept on constant display like a funky puppet show. Kim never went out with him again.

As a public service, I’d like to take this opportunity to inform all you nice men who happen to have unfortunate-looking foot digits to please wear closed-toed shoes until after the wedding.

Speaking of weddings, my niece was a beautiful bride and the deal was sealed with a kiss. The food was excellent and my brothers, David and Adam, ensured a steady stream of laughter flowed from our table. I couldn’t have asked for better company.

Escaping from the womb

I turned 38-years old on December 1^st. Birthdays are not some kind of accomplishment because they come and go whether you want them to or not until they stop one day which is not usually good news for anyone.

I can’t say that I’ve ever felt an age so much as a weight and this year is slightly uneventful because my age isn’t a standard landmark like 40, 50, or 100. To celebrate my non-milestone, I decided to take a peek into what life was like back when, as my friend Tonya says, I escaped from my mother’s womb in 1973.

Our President, Richard Nixon, was knee-deep in the Watergate scandal and, due to his own paranoia, thought it would be a good idea to record every conversation that had anything to do with him and his cohorts breaking the law. We all know how that worked out for him. He was still in office on my birthday and spent the evening at a movie called “The Last of Sheila” which I’ve never had the pleasure of viewing.

Speaking of entertainment, two of the most horrifying movies I’ve ever seen were released in 1973: “The Exorcist” and “Deliverance.” Both were deeply disturbing for different reasons and one convinced me that I never want go canoeing unless I’m heavily armed. On December 1^st, “Digby, the Biggest Dog in the World” debuted. Apparently the movie was based on a sheep dog eating a bowl of misplaced “Project X” and hilarity ensued.

Our country was struggling with gas prices which skyrocketed to about 40 cents a gallon thanks to an embargo imposed by OPEC. An average house would set you back around $32,500 and a year’s salary was close to $13,000.

In other news, Secretariat captured the coveted Triple Crown, U.S. troops began withdrawing from Vietnam, the Miami Dolphins won the Super Bowl, and the World Trade Center was the tallest building in the world. The Grateful Dead played a concert at Boston Music Hall on the day of my birth, but it was the Carpenters who topped the charts that week with their song “Top of the World.”

In 1994, my husband and I saw the Grateful Dead in Miami. The parking lot had a carnival-like atmosphere and women wearing long, flowing skirts were literally spinning in the hallways. My husband was doing his best to avoid them because his arm was in a sling and he really didn’t want to chance an impact. This was the first and last Dead show we attended.

Some interesting personalities share my birthday too, though not the same year. Bette Midler, Richard Pryor, Madame Tussaud, and Carol Alt were all born on December 1^st.  One incredibly notorious character also has the same birthday: Pablo Escobar, a Colombian drug lord and all around bad guy. He was killed the day after his 44^th birthday. His existence proves that not all Sagittarius try to make people laugh.

My actual birthday this year was wonderful. My classmates threw a little party for me on lunch break at school and all signed a card that was pleasantly inappropriate; nursing students possess a sick sense of humor.

When I got home, my husband took me to The Spa at Hammock Falls where I received an incredible massage and pedicure. I highly recommend this business to anyone interested, but you will leave with a bad case of the yawns. A perfect end to a perfect day.

The high cost of entertainment

Thanksgiving has come and gone once again. If you’re anything like me, you love to spend turkey day afternoon lazily pawing through the Black Friday ads to see what kind of preposterous deals a handful of people will be able to snag in the wee hours of the morning.

I’ve been on both sides of the counter on Black Friday. I must say it is much more fun being a customer at 5 in the morning than the employee who would have loved to grab an extra bit of shut-eye after spending the previous day in a state of extreme binge eating.

When everyone settles down after all their bargain shopping, many people like to head to the local movie theater and catch a new flick. Being too exhausted, I don’t think I’ve ever done this myself, but I did go see a matinee movie this past Monday.

First, I will not apologize for seeing the movie I saw. I am an avid reader of almost every genre of novels available and enjoy contrasting Hollywood’s interpretation with my own imagination. Yes, I am one of those people who annoyingly states, “The book was SO much better than the movie.”

Second, my sister paid for my ticket for which I am grateful considering the cash flow situation in my house. Third, I’m on “Team Jacob” and I don’t care that he has only recently come of age because Edward looks like an emotional heroin addict.

With my conscious now mostly cleared, I’ll grudgingly admit that I did enjoy the movie, but I will neither confirm nor deny whether or not I shed a tear or two towards the end. That is my own business.

One thing that does bring a tear to my eye is the cost of going to the movies. I guess I’ve been hiding under a rock because I was astounded to realize that, for two people to go see a matinee, then get 2 drinks and popcorn or candy, it will empty your wallet of at least thirty dollars!

I normally head to the Gate Station and grab some discounted candy and soda to smuggle into the theater, but we were on an artificial time limit. I say “artificial” because the movie was scheduled to begin at 4:30 which translated into the reality of 5:00.

It irks me that we have to pay $15 and still watch a half hour of commercials! I don’t mind movie previews; at least they let me know about upcoming releases that I would’ve missed because, thanks to my DVR at home, I rarely even watch commercials anymore.

I just don’t believe I should pay to watch a Honda ad or Sprint promotions or, for goodness sake, a Coca Cola commercial! Coca Cola the brand sold in the lobby! Why advertise when you’ve already narrowed the market?

All the people who work at the theater are really very nice and make the financial pain a little less severe. I don’t think I could say “That will be $10.50 for a medium coke and a bag of M&Ms” and keep a straight face, much less smile while I said it. The M&M bag did come in a protective box and the bag itself was uncharacteristically white which must mean those candy bits are somehow more flavorful than their convenience store counterparts.

Going with my sister was the true highlight and I’m glad I had the opportunity to spend a couple hours with her. Next time, I’ll (grudgingly) pay for the tickets.