Fold My Laundry Please

The other day, one of my children found my old Senior Prom announcement and brought it up to me.  It has some poems about how fabulous the class of ‘93 was is and a description of the prom’s theme.  The theme was "Make It Last Forever" (Which is fitting because, MAN!, I thought it would never end!) and the colors were emerald green, violet, and white gold.  Yes, it actually says white gold and not pearly white, shiny white, or even just plain old white…which is what is was.  But I digress.  Inside the announcement, there is also page after page of all of the different junior and senior class officers that made it all possible and, of course, a listing of who the ‘92-’93 Student Council officers were.  I read over all the names, not even remembering who most of them were, until I came to one name in particular and was instantly transported back in time…

Now, before you start thinking that this time portal dropped me off back at prom, allow me to correct you.  It was not prom I remembered so fondly.  Prom was, in a word, BORING!!!  No, instead it was to my freshman year of college.  I went to Northern Arizona University and was roommates with my best friend from high school, Lisa. 

Remember her?

Anyway, there were two guys from our high school who went to NAU, too.  We’ll call them Jared and Jason.  Being that we didn’t know anyone else at all on campus, we spent the majority of our first year hanging out with them.  The four of us had a lot of fun together.  We would watch movies together, talk on the phone together, eat at the cafeteria together, panic about being away from home together, you get the picture.  In short, we would hang. 

In one of our many "College Is HARD" conversations, Lisa, Jared, and I discovered that Jason was unaware that we all shared post office boxes with another person.  Because he didn’t know about this, Jason had just been throwing out the other person’s mail whenever he found it in his box.  Now, an important fact to know is that we were about a month into our second semester at the time of this revelation.  So for about 6 months, Jason had been throwing away someone else’s mail EVERY DAY.  The three of us laughed so hard it hurt and poor Jason just sat there turning red as he realized how dumb he had been.  I, of course, was quick to point out that he had been committing a federal offense for months and that now he had made us all accomplices.  Which made us laugh even harder.  Jason, the felon.  He would not have had a good time in prison; he was kind of a pretty boy.  We all promised not to turn him in and life resumed as normal, but with one less illegal activity occurring on a regular basis.

A few weeks later, Jared and Jason went back to Phoenix for the weekend to attend a Gin Blossoms concert.  That very same weekend, I experienced a rather serious bout of Boredom.  And it was apparently contagious. 

Hi Lisa!

Lisa and I sat around our dorm room and alternated between staring at the ceiling, flipping through channels on the television, and thinking about maybe possibly almost studying.  After awhile, I decided that I needed to do something, anything, other than those same three things over and over again. 

So I picked up the phone.  I dialed Jared and Jason’s room.  As predicted, the answering machine picked up.  And that’s when I said, 

"This is Frieda Farkel, the postmaster of the NAU post office.  I’m calling for Jason.  We’ve received reports from a Scott Surley* that he has not been receiving his mail in the post office box that he shares with you.  Upon watching the security tapes, we see that you, Jason, have been removing Scott’s mail from the box and placing it in the trash bin.  I would like to point out to you that tampering with another person’s mail is a federal crime.  We need you to get in touch with us as soon as possible so that we can quickly resolve this situation.  Please call us at 555-5555.  Thank you very much."

Then I went back to my grueling routine of staring at the ceiling, flipping through channels on the television, and thinking about maybe possibly almost studying.  That was Saturday afternoon.

Sunday evening, Jared and Jason returned from Phoenix and listened to the messages on their answering machine.

Sunday evening, approximately 2 seconds after listening to their messages, I received a phone call from a very panicked Jared and a nearly hysterical Jason.

"Omigoshomigoshomigoshomigosh!!!  Holy crap, Melissa!  We are in soooo much trouble!  Whatdowedowhatdowedowhatdowedo????  HOLY CRAP!!!"  They even played the message back for me to listen to.

Now there are a few things I would like to point out about my phone call.  Thing the first:  I used the name Frieda Farkel.  This is a name I have always used for prank calls ever since high school.  Several of those prank calls from high school were placed with either Jared, Jason, or both sitting next to me and trying desperately to stifle their laughter.  Thing the second:  I made no attempt to disguise my voice in the message.  I figured that since I was using a name they knew, there was no point in trying to hide my identity.  Also, I believe I mentioned earlier that we talked on the phone together.  This occurred at least once a day.  So feasibly, they should have recognized my voice right away. 

After more than five minutes of me laughing so hard that I couldn’t even form words, Lisa took the phone from me and told them to come over so that we could form a plan to keep them out of the big house.  Because we’re good friends like that.  By the time the front desk called up to our room to let us know we had male visitors and could we please come down to escort them up (we lived in an all girls dorm), our laughter had transcended sound.  We had both reached the point where all you saw was two people holding their stomachs and shaking, mouths agape, but no audible noise emanating from them other than the occasional gasps for air.  We went back to our room and two very confused guys sat there on the couch, looking more and more embarrassed as we explained what we had done.

Never before or since have I been able to completely pull of a prank like that.  I simply had the thought, picked up the phone, and spoke the words.  There was no planning, no conspiring, no expectations.  In fact, by the time I went to bed Saturday night, I had already forgotten that I placed the call at all.  And that they fell for it so completely…well…I’m still flabbergasted by it to this day.

Either I have a natural talent for comedy, or I’m an evil genius. 

Guess which one is true.

MWAHAHAHAHA!

Humor-Blogs.com would never willingly admit to having commited any crimes, federal or otherwise!

It was December of 1993 and my family and I were going to spend Christmas in Pennsylvania with my aunt and her family.  The plan was that I would travel home from college with a friend, spend an evening with my parents, and then drive them off to the airport.  A week later, I would hop on another plane and join them. 

That was the plan.  Things rarely go according to plan.

My original ride home fell through and I had to scramble to find a new one at the last minute.  Which I did, only I would get home a day later than planned.  Somehow, my mother misunderstood the situation to mean that I didn’t want to see them (I was 18, of course I didn’t!) and was purposely delaying my return home (my ride cancelled…not my fault!).  In retaliation for my abhorrent behavior, she locked The Club on the steering wheel of her car and hid the key before taking the shuttle to the airport.  So there I was, 18, home alone for a week, and car-less. 

Or was I?

See, my mother didn’t bother to put the Club on my dad’s brand spanking new Pontiac Firebird because I didn’t know how to drive a stick shift.  But I had a dilemma.  My mother had scheduled a dentist appointment for me during that parent-free week home and now I didn’t have a way to get there.  I had no other recourse than to learn to drive a stick shift.  It was my duty to my personal hygiene that forced me into the driver’s seat of that sleek vehicle!

And sleek it was!

Sweet, isn’t it!

Almost as sweet as the jolt of adrenaline I got as I turned the key in the ignition that very first time and heard the roar of all eight cylinders churning to life.

Ahhhhhhhhhhhh.

Okay, I’m back now.  

I was not completely unfamiliar with the workings of a manual transmission.  My father had described how it worked to me at one time and my best friend’s father (Hi, Lisa’s dad!) had tried to teach her how to drive a stick while I sat in the back seat.  So I knew in theory how to do it.  Press in the clutch and put the gear shift in first gear.  Gently press on the gas until the rpms are in the 2,000-2,500 range and ease off the clutch.  When the tachometer reached the same range, press in the clutch again, shift to second, and slowly release while applying the gas.  Lather, rinse, repeat as needed. 

Armed with this knowledge, I slowly lurched out of the garage.  Was I nervous?  Was I afraid of what the neighbors might say?  No and no.  One might describe me as having been "arrogant" as a teenager.  I prefer the term "confident".  Either way, I didn’t think twice about taking the car out that very first day for a spin.  After all, I had to practice.  The dentist’s office was pretty far from the house and I didn’t want to get in an accident or anything.  I ended up at a friend’s house and the next thing you know, me and two of my friends were lurching away from stoplights all over town!  Around midnight At the end of the day, I parked the car in the garage and slept the sleep of the triumphant. 

The next day was more "practice".  And the day after.  Day four, however, was spent with a friend who shall remain nameless (Hi, Lisa!) calling school chums, buying plastic cups, and putting all breakables in my house safely up in the attic.  Oh yeah.  And hopping in the Firebird to pick up an older friend and drive to the store to pick up a keg.  That’s right.  I stole my dad’s car to go buy beer when I was clearly underage.  I told you.  Confident.  And let me tell you, that ended up being one hoppin’ party!  There were only two small incidents.  Someone got too drunk to figure out how to unlock the bathroom door and I had to pick the lock.  And someone else decided to sober themselves up by jumping in a cold shower but couldn’t figure out which way to turn the faucet to get cold water and ended up with some burns from standing in a shower of scalding hot water.  (Hi, Car Guy!)

But I digress.  Suffice it to say that by the end of the week, I was really good at driving a stick shift.  That very last day held only two more challenges.  Get myself to and from the dentist in one piece (which, it being a dentist appointment, was a sketchy prospect at best), and to return the car to its original condition so as not to set off any alarms with my parental units. 

First thing in the morning my mom called to apologize for overreacting and making me miss my appointment by not letting me drive her car and did I want her to reschedule it for me?  I assured her that I had found a friend to drive me there (after all, I am my own best friend) and so rescheduling wouldn’t be necessary, but that I appreciated her apology.  Confidence.  Not arrogance.  I then hopped in the Firebird and went to my check up.  After receiving a big thumbs up and a free tooth brush from the dentist, I made a quick stop at the gas station to fill the tank.  I then had to drive around for a bit until the gas was at about the same level that it had been at the beginning of the week.  Then came the final test.  My dad always parked his car in the garage backward and in a way that kind of tucked it off to the side to leave room for his extra long doors to open.  I must have backed up and pulled out at least twenty times before getting it right, but ultimately I was successful.  The next day I left for Pennsylvania and my big adventure came to an end.

What makes this whole experience a wonderfully satisfying one to remember for me?  One simple fact.  I never, ever, evereverever, got caught.  Also that I survived, but mostly that I never got caught.  How do I know for sure?  I’ll tell you.  About two years ago, the subject of that week came up in a phone conversation with my mother.  She talked about how bad she felt about jumping to conclusions and I assured her that, "Of course I wanted to see you guys before you left!  Don’t be silly!  My friends all had cars so it wasn’t like I was stranded or anything.  No hard feelings, I pinky swear." (Hi, Mom!)

Confidence.  Not Arrogance.

If you don’t go over to Humor-Blogs.com and give me a smiley for this post, I will go to your house, steal your car, and joy-ride around in it for a week!

Andrew and I watched a movie the other night.  In part of the movie, the main character attends his twin brother’s funeral.  He walks up to the coffin, stares at his dearly departed brother for a bit, and then tucks a letter into the coffin before wiping away a tear and walking back to his seat.  "I really hope no one puts stuff in my coffin when I’m dead."

"Yeah," I answer, "can you imagine if you came back to life?  Not only are you faced with the task of breaking out of the coffin and digging up through six feet of dirt, but first, you have to get through a heavy layer of mementos and other detritus!  The nerve of those people!"

And then I remembered a time many years ago when I attended the funeral of a friend of mine from high school.  After the usual talks from clergy and family members, the floor was opened to any one else who might have something they wanted to say about the deceased.  One after another, familiar faces from high school stood up and burst into tears at the podium.  After a while, one of my friends (You probably knew this guy in high school, too.  He was "the car guy".) decided to stand up and take a turn.  Car Guy spoke for a bit about how much he would miss our friend and about how he now regretted never letting him drive his car (a souped-up Mustang).  Then he did it.  Amongst a flood of tears, Car Guy removed his car key from his key ring and placed the key in the coffin.  "There you go, buddy," he said before walking away. 

It was very touching.  The speech.  The tears.  The gesture.  But to this day, I picture my friend, looking down from beyond, and laughing his guts out as Car Guy begged a ride home from other attendees after the service so that he could retrieve a spare car key!

CLICK!  REGISTER!  VOTE!  HUMOR-BLOGS.COM!  DOITDOITDOITDOIT!

Perfect movie moments.  We see them all the time.  You know, like at the end of Pretty in Pink where Andie goes to the prom stag, unafraid of those who might laugh at her, only to find that Duckie, her best friend and lovable outcast who’s been in love with her since elementary school, is there to be her last minute date.  But wait!  Blane, Andie’s ultra-rich true love suddenly mans up and ignores what the other rich kids say about Andie and tells her that he’ll always love her no matter what before turning around and heading out the door.  And Duckie, exhibiting his recently discovered maturity, steps aside, tells Andie to go after Blane, and accepts his fate…to get hit on by Kristy Swanson.  Andie catches Blane just as he gets to his BMW and the two make out in the parking lot.  Cue the music!  Soooo romantic!  Scenes like that are the stuff that teenagers live for.  But do they ever really happen?  And what happens after the credits roll? 

Well children, sometimes they do happen.  Case in point.  June.  1988.  It’s the night of the Estrella Jr. High 8th grade graduation dance.  I was there with a group of my friends.  I was sporting a cute little pink dress with a layered skirt, white mesh gloves with ruffles at the wrists, and matching pink pumps.  Not heels, pumps, because my mom said heels were too grown up.  Well, mom, I’ll have you know I was practically a high schooler already and by not letting me wear heels my night was ruined.  RUINED!  But I digress. 

The night was drawing near an end.  The slow dances had begun and boys had finally gotten up the nerve to approach the groups of girls dancing around piles of shoes and ask them to dance.  (The girls, not the shoes.)  One by one, our group was being picked off.  Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder.  I turned around and found myself face to face with the hottest guy in school.  Daniel!  *sigh*  I’d only been drooling over him for the entire two years of junior high!  It was definitely love.  No doubt about it.  And there we were, standing in the middle of the darkened gym, staring at each other with looks on our faces reminisent of deer in headlights.  He stammered out a mumble in question form and I kind of grunted in reply.  Apparently, we had just made arrangements to dance together.  The Song of All Songs began, "Can’t Fight This Feeling" by REO Speedwagon, and the two of us began to sway to the music.  It was incredible!  It felt like we were all alone in the gym, just the two of us, with a mere two or three feet of space between us!  For nearly four whole minutes, we expertly avoided eye contact and punctuated the moment with occassional throat clearings. 

And then the song ended and the dance was over.  That’s right.  I had danced the final dance with the best looking guy at school.  It just doesn’t get any better than that!

Wanna know what happens after the credits roll?  Well.  First the lights come on.  Then the teachers start herding the kids towards the exits.  Daniel and I stood there for a minute, still avoiding eye contact, his hands in his pockets, my arms folded.  He mumbled a "Thank you" and I reciprocated.  Then I turned around and my friends and I all headed out into the night.  My best friend’s mom was there to drive us all back to her house for a slumber party and we giggled the whole way there about the cute (and not so cute) boys we had all danced with.  When they heard I had danced with Daniel, a brief, but awed, gasp emanated from the other girls.  Then we popped Def Leppard’s Hysteria into the tape deck and rocked out to "Pour Some Sugar On Me" the rest of the way home.  I don’t think I gave Daniel another thought until just now when I heard my husband play the video for "Can’t Fight This Feeling" on Youtube.  In fact, Daniel may not even be his name, but I’m pretty sure it started with a D.  Or maybe it was a B.

See what I mean?  It was definitely love.

Humor-Blogs.com is where perfect movie moments happen!  If that movie is a comedy, that is.

Things happen every day that we swear we will never forget.  Surely you’ll remember the time the baby did that totally adorable thing.  Or when your six year old displayed real responsibility for the first time.  But then you’re struck a few days later with a nagging thought that there’s something you’ve forgotten.  Did I leave the oven on?  Did I comb my hair before I left the house this morning?  No, it’s that fleeting memory slipping away.  So we spend all our time with our little ones trying desperately to memorize their facial expressions, how it feels to hug someone that small, and every word that comes out of their mouths.  When we’re not trying not to yell at them because they refuse to eat their dinner that is.

I just hope I never forget this.

Every day, when I drop Gideon off at kindergarten, he searches the lawn for a flower to pick for me.  Then runs back to the car and says, "Here, Mom.  This is so you think of me while I’m gone."  Suddenly he’s a blur of feet as he runs off to class blowing kisses over his shoulder.

The day will eventually come when he simply goes to class. 

I better put a box of tissues and a chocolate bar in the car just in case.

Humor-blogs.com  They never call.  They never write.

For most of my life, I was a very skinny person.  Underweight even.  I think I topped out at a whopping 104 lbs in high school.  At 5 feet 6 inches tall (okay, so it’s really 5 feet 5 3/4 inches, but you know how it is), that’s very, VERY thin!  In fact, when I finally hit 130 (the recommended weight for a 5′6" tall woman) at the ripe old age of 23, I kind of freaked out a little bit.  I mean, criminy!  That’s HUGE!  Right? 

*sigh*

By the way…does anyone else think I’m BURNIN’ HOT in that picture?  Not just hot, but H-O-T, HAWT?  I mean, let’s be honest here.  YEEEOWZA!!!  Helllloooooo, 1991!!!

Ahem.  As I was saying.

The last decade has been busy for little ol’ me.  Not only have I gotten married to a wonderful man and given birth to four (yes, four) absolutely perfect children, but I’ve also moved no less than 11 times.  It can all be a little bit stressful.  And if there’s one thing my family knows how to do, it’s eat ourselves back to happy!  And I don’t mean tossing back celery sticks like they’re candy.  It’s more like tossing back candy like it’s celery sticks. 

Understandably, I’ve found myself in a place I’d rather not be right now.  And the problem is not entirely physical.  The stress I’ve been feeling has been building up and let’s just say that I’ve been flirting with depression for the last eight or so months.  (I now dub thee the Queen of Understatement!  Do you dub a queen?  I don’t really know.  Whatever)  One minute, I’m walking on clouds!  I’m 20 feet tall!  I…am the center of attention and I AM LOVIN’ IT!  I’m laughing and joking and the whole world smiles with me!  I’m positively GIDDY, for crying out loud!

Then someone will say something innocent, yet not exactly positive to me, like, "Your shoe is untied."

And I hold myself in check just barely long enough to leave the store or wherever and get to the parking lot before I turn into a sobbing, weeping WRECK!  I must look incredibly pitiful trying to maneuver four small children across a parking lot and into our minivan, mumbling through a flood of tears about, "My shoes!  MY SHOOOOOES!  They failed me!  I failed me!  I’m such a loser…a wuss…a FAILURE!  Why did they have to come untied?  WHY?  And in the middle of WALMART of all places!  I had to squat down, right there, in front of EVERYBODY, and retie them!  The shame!  The HUMILIATION of it!  The laces!  Oh, the lay-hay-hay-haaaaaces!"  I could go on, but I think you get the idea.

But now I feel myself slowly pulling out of that place.  I find myself sitting in front of my computer, indulging in something high in sugars and fats and of no nutritional value whatsoever, and thinking, "Why am I eating this?  I’m not hungry.  And it stopped tasting good to me 20 or so bites ago."  I wake up in the morning and think, "What can I do with my day?"  I look in the mirror and instead of seeing a victim, I see something I can change.  I have begun to feel more like the skinny me, confident and fun to be around.  And I realize that I like me.  I like who I am and I like what I stand for.  I am an awesome human being!

This new found comfort I’ve discovered is a large part of why I decided to start this whole dance video thing in the first place.  (Finally, she gets to the point!)  I mean, feeling the way I do now is supposed to be normal, right?  Clearly, I am average…AMAZINGLY average!  Emphasis on the amazing part.  So there is absolutely no reason in the world why I should be ashamed of putting my ridiculously inept dance moves on the internet, especially if I am keeping good company on there!  Just think of it, a bunch of us, greeting each other like old friends, and dancing as though we do this all the time, only this time you filmed it and emailed it to me so that I can turn you from a group of individuals into a PARTY!

It’s a great idea!  I got tons of positive responses to the idea, so it must be true!

So why have I only received one video?

ONE VIDEO, PEOPLE!!

So far, the whole video is going to be just me and Arpeggio Andy dancing and the rest of you are going to be left kicking yourselves for not joining in.  (And by the way, Andy made a cool little badge for this video project and put it up on his blog.  Thanks, Andy!)  As it stands, there is just ONE WEEK LEFT to get your videos in!  I need them in by July 20th!   Although, if I get enough requests, I could be persuaded to move the date back a week or two.  But don’t bet on it!  Just go right now, capture your essence on film and send your submissions in to foldmylaundryplease@gmail.com and put the words, "Where On Earth" in the subject line.

Remember, I am a mother and being ignored DRIVES ME UP THE FLIPPIN’ WALL!

Don’t make me come back there! 

And in case you were wondering, I am still pushing for Humor-Blogs.com clicks, but the voting on posts thingy they’ve got now doesn’t seem to want to acknowledge my url.  Any suggestions, fellow Humor-Blog-o-philes?