Trick-or-Trauma

Now, look. Everybody (including mothers and dogs) knows that I'm a klutz. I'm not ashamed to admit it and I have learned to accept it.

However, it's not my fault if I presume a door to be open and run head-first into it. It's also not my fault if a table is ten feet away, yet I somehow manage to bang my thigh into it's sharp corner.

My co-workers have even taken to looking out for my best interests, warning me if I'm dangerously close to injuring myself.

It's so bad, that my husband worries when I'm running or walking up or down a set of stairs, for fear that I will somehow fall to my death.

But this takes the cake.

Actually, it takes the whole bakery.

It was Halloween, about two years ago.

I suffer from a number of afflictions, migraines being one of them, and had been shipped off to the doc's where I was given a shot to ease the pain and needless to say... I was feeling groovy.

By the time I'd been returned to the confines of my bed, I was enjoying the far-out experience too much to go sleep, so I kind of just wandered around the house, feeling fabulous, ocassionally stopping mid-step to stare at the ceiling.

As day turned to night, my boyfriend and I were preparing for our annual "Scare the Shit out of the Kids" song and dance. We love Halloween and like to decorate our place of residence with the standard creepy, spooky, dangling heads, spider webs, hanging skeletons, and the like.

Because of our lack of imagination with costumes, my boyfriend was Jason while I wore a borrowed mask, a la Big Foot.

The plan was to turn the lights off in the house, and have me sit at the window, completely still and as the kids approached, I would bang my hands on the window, hopefully resulting in a few screams, and possibly, a child running scared from our porch or a poop in the pants situation. Then my BF would open the door to the remaining survivors and offer them candy. We considered it their reward.

It was a wonderful arrangement. And worked perfectly! We successfully startled several kids, and our winning moment, was when a group of young teens came up, and saw my eyes moving although I was completely still. One of the bigger teens then said to the window, as if trying to convince himself, "You're not real!" As they stepped closer, I banged my hands against the glass, and I'm certain that one even shot up into the skies. It was kick-ass!

So, as the night went on, we got hungry, ordered pizza and ate in between door duties. My migraine had disappeared, but a sore throat came in it's place. Being the genius that I am, I took a swig of Nyquil and resumed eating my dinner. P.S., Nyquil and pizza not good together. Not good at all.

Okay, so on to the good stuff.

After a pizza break, we heard a door knock, and we went racing clear across the house to answer it. I jumped on the loveseat adjacent to the window, slammed my hands on the glass and went right through it.

Yep. I went through a glass window.

"AHHH!!!"

Mission accomplished. We successfully scared the kids.

"Oh my God! Is that real?" one of the girls yelled.

"Yes, that's real," BF answered, in shock, ushering the kids away from the door where it was littered with broken glass.

I'm still stuck in the window, mind you.

One kid was screaming his lungs out, his cries piercing my ears.

"Sweetie, are you okay?" my BF asked while I was pulling myself back through the window.

Fortunately, the mask prevented my face from being maimed.

But that was an unusual experience: looking down at my bloody hands through the eyes of a furry mask. I was like a cheap horror movie with horrible special effects.

"Oh, fuck," I said as reality slapped me in the face.

I just went through the window.

BF turned off the light on the porch which would signify that we were officially closed for business. No need to stop here. We don't have any candy. Keep on walkin. Drugged hairy woman just flew through window.

I walked back to the kitchen to wash the blood/glass from my hands. And that's when my breathing became erratic; my heart pacing, to which I attributed to what would surely become an early heart attack.

I felt faint, as I sat myself down on the linoleum of our ghetto kitchen, and had my hands on my chest as I panted like a dog. I had visions of Redd Foxx in Sanford and Son feigning a trip to Heaven.

"Get a hold of yourself!" BF urged. Now I don't know why, but this statement always sends me into hysterics. It's so adult. So very 50's.

The rest of the evening was a bit of a blur, but I do recall passing out and having nightmares of stomping on our porch and a little boy crying.

"We're gonna get sued!" I proclaimed the following morning, after BF had spent most of the night clearing away the aftermath of the flying Yeti.

I stayed home from work that day, to keep a watchful eye on the scene of the crime so a passerby would think the broken window was an open invitation to loot the place.

It was like a walk of shame as I would later relay the story to the window-fixer guy, who tried his best to stifle a laugh.

But that was nothing compared to responses we received from friends, family and perfect strangers after we told them about the night we scared the shit, possibly literally, out of some kids in the neighborhood.

I should also add that this incident was remarkable enough to make it into the speech of one of my maid's of honor at my wedding, which continues to provide a good laugh at my expense.

Got drugs?

Being that I have crappy luck with my vehicle, I had to get a new tire put on.

So while I'm waiting, I wandered across the street to a used book store (where I found two used books that I'd just purchased new! You know I returned those damn things) and then came back to the tire place, in hopes that I could be on my way.

No such luck, so I stood outside in the parking lot, smoking and playing Brick Breaker on my Blackberry (which I'm hating right now. That phone is played out!)

Anyway, some clean-cut guy comes up to me all discreetly, in the midst of my game where I was completely entranced, and says:

"Hey, do you know where I can get some crystal?"

What the?

"Excuse me?" I said nicely for fear of being attacked. I wasn't sure if I heard homeboy correctly.

"Do you know where I can get some crystal?"

Now, I would like to know... what about me screams meth addict? Hmm??

"No, sorry."

I thought about our dialogue after. Why the hell was I telling this dude sorry because I didn't know where he could get drugs?

I just continued playing my little game so he wouldn't think I was gonna narc... and I wouldn't... that's just not my style.

Then when I was done, I walked to the waiting area of the tire place and looked back to the street to see boyfriend across the way looking at me.

I bet he thinks I was gonna tattle, because one minute later, my car was ready and he was nowhere to be found. He probably headed for the hills.

But on another note... where WOULD one get crystal?

Uniforms

I got to thinking today, as I viewed myself in the bathroom mirror...

I dress like a bum. And I love it.

I wear jeans and a hoodie almost every day and today I have a hat on because it's a bad hair day.

I don't know how it could get better than this unless I were able to work in my pajamas. Then I'd really be happy.

But I used to wear some doozy's for work.

My first job was at Carrow's Restaurant in Cupertino.

I was a hostess and wore a God awful uniform: a crisp white shirt with a maroon mid-leg skirt, nylons and white nurse shoes. And those damn shoes hurt like a son of a bitch!

Then my next job was at the Winchester Mystery House in San Jose. THAT was by far the worst ensemble I'd ever worn: another crisp white shirt with a funky collar, and a big poofy, patterned skirt reminiscent of the 1800's.

I still laugh when I think of the time, as I wandered the guest shoppe, dusting, that a customer came up to me and asked, get this... she asked me: "Do you work here?"

My jaw dropped and I deliberately looked down at the full skirt/petticoat I was wearing and back to her.

"Yes... yes, I do... what can I help you with?"

Would one voluntarily wander the streets in such a get-up?

When I worked at MusicPlus in Cupertino, I had to wear khaki pants and a blue shirt... not too shabby.

It was when I worked for the Emporium in Vallco mall that I was finally able to escape the horror of uniforms, and I prefer to stay with my current outfit.

Forever.

F uniforms.

Spread 'Em!

About a month ago, I was minding my own business, driving home after picking up dinner for me and my hubby at Chili's.

I exited the 87 highway, and I spotted a cop behind me.

So, of course I started going over a checklist in my mind:

Was I drunk = no.

Was I under the influence of narcotics = no.

Was I speeding = no.

All in all, I had nothing to fret over. Or did I?

I was just being a mindful citizen, properly abiding by all of the rules of the road, when I saw those dreaded lights flashing.

Fuuuuuck.

I was literally about a minute from home.

So, I pulled over and copper dude pulled up behind, shining a flood light in my direction.

I rolled my window down and when the officer came to my window, he shined his big little flashlight in my face and told me to keep my hands where he could see them.

"License and registration."

I gave him my license and then gave him my expired registration adding, like an idiot, that I hadn't gotten my car smogged yet so I hadn't been able to get my registration renewed but I was going to do it immediately and I was sorry. I may have even promised him my first born... I'm not sure.

"Can I ask what you pulled me over for?"

"Your brake lights aren't working and I almost hit you."

Fuuuuck again.

"Oh really?? Oh no!"

Truth be told, I've had brake light issues for the past year and have tried to avoid driving at night because of them.

"I'll be right back," the friendly officer said.

I'd just picked up my wedding pictures so I browsed through those while I waited.

Next thing I know there is ANOTHER flood light coming from my right side of the car. There was another flippin cop car and a female officer was chatting it up with my cop.

So then he comes back and asks me to turn off my engine because "I don't want your battery to die." And I'm thinking, what the F are we gonna do here that my battery would have the opportunity to die?

Then he asks me to "step out of the vehicle and keep your hands where I can see them."

Was there an arrest warrant out for me that I wasn't aware of?

I obliged, of course, because not only was homeboy carrying a gun, but I was curious to see where having a broken brake light was going to take me with this dude.

I walk with him over to his car and he tells me to face the hood of his car. The female officer was just like 'hum dee dum, I got nothin better to do so I'm gonna watch this.'

Next he asks me to put my hands behind my back.

What the?

I put my hands behind my back and he holds them asking, "Are you carrying anything in your pockets that could do me bodily harm?"

I wanted to tell him that I'd left my bazooka at home, but thought that being a smart-ass might not be a good move here.

As he's FRISKING me, the female officer starts asking me where I work because of my parking sticker on the back of my car.

"I work for - - County."

"Oh yea? What do you do?"

It was like they did this all the time... one frisks while the other asks ridiculous questions.

"I work in the - - and investigate complaints of discrimination and harassment."

I'm kinda shaking while this is going on because I honestly thought as he held my hands together that he was going to cuff me. I've seen way too many Cops episodes.

"Oh, so you must investigate complaints against us?"

I was dumbfounded.

"Oh, I'm just kidding."

"Oh, ha ha," I said trying to be agreeable.

Now homeboy has finished patting me down and tells me that I could have caused a major accident because my brake lights weren't working and that I need to get them fixed.

I told him that a friend had tried to fix them and that I thought that they were working.

"Well, your friend screwed up because they aren't working."

"Oh my gosh, I didn't know that." Oscar, please.

He proceeds to tell me that I need to get them fixed immediately and to NOT drive my car until I do so.

And I'm thinking, how the hell am I supposed to get my brake lights fixed if I can't drive my car? Hello??

"You're being nice," the lady cop chimes in. I'm thinking 'shut the hell up lady.'

"I'm not going to issue you a ticket but make sure you get it fixed."

"Thank you," I said, relieved.

"How far do you live from here?"

"I'm right off of - and -," I say pointing down the street.

"Okay, let me walk you back to your car. I don't want you to get hit." All of a sudden Mr. Manners.

I get back in my car and as I prepare to flee the scene, I look to see if any cars are coming and am unable to do because of the cops' flood lights!

"I can't see!" I yelled, but figured I shouldn't push my luck. So I pulled up a little more until I was able to see a clear path and made my way home.

When I got home, I told my husband what happened.

"I was gonna call you from jail and tell you your dinner was in the car and to bail my ass out."

But as I would relay the story again, I got a little peeved.

Is it normal to be frisked for out-of-order brake lights? And if I was merely frisked because he got me out of the car, why the hell did I have to get out of the car in the first place?

I object!

The next day, I drove to work... but it was during the day so i figure it doesn't count.

And yes... I got my brake lights fixed.

But one should never have to spread 'em because of lights.

Never.

Tales from the Drugged Side, Episode 1

The first time I ever drank alcohol was when I was 14... I believe it was brandy and milk.

I threw up shortly after my first sip. Wouldn't be the last time.

First time I smoked pot, I was 15. Totally not my bag, baby.

BUT, the first time I tried acid...I was 16, and well, it turned into a love-affair for a good couple of years.

My first hit was provided by some stoner friend who I had a crush on.

It was a teeny tiny piece of paper, with a believe a peace symbol on it.

Stoner friend and I split it. I think it was a single hit, but it could have been a double. Not sure.

We were at school.

I started to feel a little groovy around lunch time and I believe we cut the rest of class, because I distinctly remember the following:

In Cupertino, there were some sewer tunnels which happened to be permanently out of order. In the beginning, I never really went far into the tunnel, but eventually, when high, I would. Graffiti would line the walls, tagging of kids from the Cupertino area and beyond. There was some really beautiful artwork in there.

But back to my story...

For some reason, and I don't think we had like a portable radio with us or anything, but I recall hearing Depeche Mode's (my favorite band) song "World in my Eyes" throughout this trip.

And I tell you with all sincerity, that I'd never heard anything so beautiful in my life... to that point.

I could hear every nuance of that song; every note; every beat; every word.

Everything turned crystal clear. My hearing was magnified.

The sky was the most beautiful shade of blue without a single cloud in sight.

In the tunnel, our laughter echoed.

That's one of the good side effects from acid... you get a kick out of everything. An ant crossing your path could send you into a good ten-minute laugh.

And your mouth... it hurts after a while from all of the smiling you do. You have temporary happiness spread wide on your face.

I think we peaked about two or three hours from taking the hit. At peak, you are feeling the grooviest of groovies. Everything feels so good, tastes so good...

We didn't take enough to start seeing things. We took just the right amount.

After you peak, it's only downhill from there. After gaining much experience in the acid field, I'd learned to be prepared for coming down. It takes oh, anywhere from about 5-6 hours.

I could see how some people might have gone insane.

It was best to drop during the day, so you could actually sleep at night, but if you took it at night... forget about it. You're screwed.

Drinking orange juice too made the effects from the acid stronger... or maybe that was all in my mind.

Nevertheless, this love affair between acid (whom my friends and I would refer to as Bill) and myself wouldn't end for some time...

... I still miss him.

Tales from the Drunk Side, Episode 3

I hate to admit that I was actually a party to this, but even more than that, I hate that it was my fault.

This disaster occurred about 12 years ago, so please have mercy when you're quick to judge.

It was another Saturday night.

My friends Brenda, Donna and I were yet again, spending our time after clubbing, cruising the streets of downtown San Jose.

(Just so you know, cruising used to be the 'it' thing to do back in the olden days. Now it's stupid and I can see why.)

We were trapped on King Road, moving about an inch per minute. The road was packed with girls talking to guys, guys talking to girls, and like us, the music blaring, sipping on whatever cheap drink we had in the car. I think the culprit was Cisco again, but I can't be certain. After all, I was drunk.

And I was driving.

At one point, I was over the whole driving thing so I asked Brenda to drive instead. We were in Donna's car, but I'm sorry, this girl could not navigate through downtown SJ to save her life, so either Brenda or I always drove.

At a standstill, I hopped out of the car to switch places with Brenda. She moved from the backseat to the front seat, and as I moved to sit back in the car, I happened to look over at a car full of chola's, and (I'm mortified that these words even came out of my mouth) said:

"What the fuck are you looking at, you fat bitch?" Do you believe it?! I still can't believe I said such a horrible thing. Even if it was true. And it was.

So I get in the car, closing the door, thinking I'm all hot shit after putting this girl on blast in front of my fellow cruisers, when the next thing we know, I look back at their little Silver Ford Focus and see 'fat bitch' running toward our car.

"Oh shit!" I said to the girls.

We all look back again and hear a crash.

'Fat bitch' had thrown an empty bottle at Donna's trunk and then ran back to her car filled with the rest of her ho clan.

"What the fuck?!" Donna yelled.

Okay, so obviously, I'm instantly feeling guilty. But when you're drunk, you say stupid shit because you're under the influence of liquid courage.

Without even thinking we all jumped out of the car and started talking a gang of shit to the girls. It was really intelligent conversation:

Us: Fuck you!

Them: No, fuck you!

So, once this all happened, immediately the light turns green, and the 'fat bitch' clan flips a quick bitch to go in the other direction. We couldn't get across the lanes fast enough so we couldn't catch up.

Fast forward to about 2 hours later. We'd scoured the streets looking for those hags without success and wound up at the McDonald's on Santa Clara to get some grub. Donna was still fuming. I'd never seen her like this, ever.

We're sitting in Donna's car, munching on some hamburgers and fries, when God smiled upon us.

What do we see, but the 'fat bitch' posse, directly in front of us, being pulled over by a cop.

It was fabulous.

We don't know what they got pulled over for, but, we were all heated and then the waiting game began.

We were like tigers getting ready to jump on our prey.

Good thing was we'd acquired quite a collection of empty liquor bottles so we were well armed.

Eventually, we see that the cop has given the girls a ticket and is getting back in his car. We slowly crept up to the STOP sign and as soon as we saw the cop was gone, Brenda hauled it right next to their car, and Donna and I bombed their shit with about 3 bottles, in quick succession. It was great!!

What we didn't count on was the following:

We jumped on Highway 101 (again with this friggin freeway), and the 'fat bitch' girls were fast on our asses.

We expected that part, but what we didn't expect, was for them to be armed with bottles as well.

So picture two cars driving at top speeds (90-100 mph), right next to each other, throwing bottles at each other's windshields. What a bunch of dipshits we were.

Long story longer... we drove all the way to Palo Alto from Downtown San Jose like this. To PALO ALTO for fuck's sake.

I must give major props to Brenda for kicking mad ass in her driving skills. And Donna's little Toyota Tercel was on point too. Those cars can haul some good ass.

Finally, after about a 30-minute chase (could have been less, but I was drunk so who knows), we were able to lose those crazy bitches.

And we made it through without anyone getting hurt, except for minor car damage.

It was one of many times that I would have to apologize for my bad behavior.

But hey, if it weren't for my big mouth, I wouldn't have this story to tell.

So, the moral of the story is, if you're gonna go...go big!

Married without Children

"When are you guys gonna have kids?"

I figured this question would come up after my husband and I got married, but not nearly as much as it actually has.

I didn't realize that this was the expected natural course of life for married couples.

My parents want grandchildren; my husband's parents want grandchildren.

Hell, I can't even manage my own life!

How the hell are we gonna be able to have kids?!

Would it be terribly wrong if a married couple chose not to procreate? We just got a puppy and that's traumatic enough.

My hubby and I have discussed it and at this point, we think we're just too immature and selfish to have kids at the moment.

It just may not be for us.

I've had the discussion with some friends, long before I was married.

Me: I think having kids is selfish.

Friend: Why?

Me: I don't know, I think people have kids to satisfy their needs or because they feel they have to have kids.

Friend: Don't you think it's selfish NOT to have kids?

Me: No, I figure I'm doing the world a favor.

I mean, first of all, let's face it: Life is a bitch!

Would I really want my child to grow up in this world?

I had a friend that told me she couldn't wait to have another baby (shortly after she'd just given birth) because it was so magical, blah blah blah.

And I'm thinking, okay, so you want to have another kid because YOU want to experience that again?

What, one's not good enough?

I don't know... I think some people have kids to satisfy their ego's... saying here, "Look what I made!"

But, since I've never been in that position, I can only speak for what I know to be true.

I'm sure having a child would be a wonderful experience, but I think I'd be thrown in jail if I had a kid.

I mean, if my kid came home and told me they were being picked on at school (which happened to me often), I'd kick some kid's (or their parent's) ass!

And with having a kid and all those expenses, I don't think we'd have enough money for bail.

As of this moment, my husband and I have a full house: 1 pug (who's gorgeous, by the way); 1 french bulldog (a puppy that's trying to kill me); and 2 cats (who are spoiled, little scaredy cats).

Who knows... this is my opinion now.

I could be knocked up next week and feel completely different.

But for now, we're happily married without children until further notice.

PLEASE!!!!!

I beg of all radio personalities, stations, etc., to PLEASE stop playing the Alicia Keys song 'No One'!!!

I can't begin to express the distaste I have for this damn song, which is overplayed beyond belief.

So, PLEASE stop the madness!!!

Tales from the Drunk Side, Episode 2

It was approximately 1am in San Jose.

Generally around this time, the streets were packed from partiers leaving the clubs, as in our case.

My girlfriend and I had just left Club Vertigo (it's changed names several times since) but weren't ready for our night to end.

We caught up with the cruisers on Santa Clara Street which were heading east toward King and Story road. This was the nexus for youngsters, still drunk from the clubs, to try and hook up with others who had the same agenda.

Why we used to do it, I don't know. Call it boredom.

This evening, however, the cops decided to call it a night. The orange cones and flashing lights, with police standing in the middle of the road, were diverting drivers onto Highway 101.

You could see the disappointment in our fellow cruisers. The next stop would be to reconvene at the local Jack in the Box and party in the parking lot like idiots. Of course we didn't realize we were idiots at the time.

The meters leading to 101 were on (which never made sense to me. It's the middle of the night. Where's the traffic?) and my friend and I were at a stand-still, waiting for the next car to merge.

But the girls in the car in front of us were too busy trying to hook up with the car next to them, that they kept missing the 'green light'.

Now, please keep in mind that we were drunk:

I honked the horn several times, which got their attention, and yelled out the window, "Go!", putting my hands up in the air for emphasis.

"Fuck you!" was their response, to which we responded, "No, fuck you!"

Intelligent conversation going on here.

Next thing we new, homegirls in the car ahead pulled out a fucking gun. A gun!

This is San Jose people, not Boyz n the Hood.

The bitch in the passenger seat, sticks her upper torso out the window, aiming the gun directly at us.

It all happened rather fast, but our instincts got the best of us.

We threw our hands up like Italian gangsters. "What the fuck?!" I yelled.

Then I pulled up closer to their car. By this time, the cars in front (not to mention the guys the girls were trying to hook up with) had managed to merge onto the highway without having their lives threatened.

My girlfriend put her head out the window and yelled "Fuck you!"

This behavior was VERY out of character for her. She was more of a 'let's hug it out, bitch' type of girl. So, I got even more fired up when she was.

We started flipping them off and then eventually, they got onto the highway, the passenger pulling herself back through the window, like a cowering wimp.

All amped up, and officially stupid, once I got onto the freeway, I hauled ass after those bitches, and when we caught up, we continued to give them the one-finger salute, exchanging obscenities.

I don't know what we would have done had we actually been face to face with them, but fortunately, they made a quick exit off of the freeway and we never had to find out.

Side note...

The stories on this blog are entirely true and not embellished in any way, shape or form.

If anything, they're toned down.

And although they may be entertaining, most of these activities took place when I was in my late teens/early 20's (I'm in my 30's now) and are meant to be cautionary tales; not a promotion for bad behavior.

Tales from the Drunk Side, Episode 1

Picture this:

It was a Saturday night and like most Saturday nights, my girlfriend and I were going to go to a nightclub.

But first, we wanted to get a head start, save money, and drink on our way to the club. Kill a couple birds with one stone.

We decided to take our cheap liquor for a ride through the San Jose hills, listen to some music and sing like no one was listening. We determined that cruising in an unlit area would be the best course of action.

Alum Rock Park was a good choice, so my friend and I drove down the winding street that led into the park at a moderate speed, sipping from our bottles of Cisco (aka Liquid Crack).

Now it was probably around 10pm or so, and of course the park was empty, except that mere seconds after I threw our empty bottles through the car window, we saw the lights of a car creeping slowly behind us.

And then my friend and I realized that said car belonged to a cop.

Holy fuck balls.

Immediately, we began the de-stinking process. While trying to keep our heads still, I rifled through my purse, pulling out my trusty Binaca, spraying my mouth, then spraying my friend's.

By this time, we reached the bottom of the winding road to the parking lot. There's not exactly another way out of the park, except to make a u-turn and drive back up the hill.

So, this is what we did.

And the whole time, the cop crept behind us.

It was clear to us that we were going to jail. Either for littering, drinking and driving, or both.

Our hearts were pounding, and I began praying to the good Lord up above that he get us through this.

This whole time, not once did the cop turn his lights on to pull us over, but just kept a reasonable distance from us, as if watching to see what we were going to do.

By the time we'd reached the exit of the park, both my friend and I were promising God upside down and sideways that not only would we stop drinking and driving, but we would stop drinking all together.

On Alum Rock Avenue, the cop began to reduce his speed even more. So much so, that we were able to get some good distance between us.

I was the co-pilot so at the perfect opportunity, when the cop's car was no longer in sight for the moment, I told my friend to haul ass and get the fuck off of this damn road.

We totally lost the cop and drove to a dimly lit street, where we pulled into a deep-set driveway where the cop wouldn't be able to see our car.

God only knows who's house it was. My friend immediately shut off the lights and the ignition.

We sat there, breathing heavily, grasping each other's hands.

"Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God," we repeated in unison.

Finally after about 10 minutes of praying and vowing to become nuns, we made sure the coast was clear and inched slowly out of the unsuspecting resident's driveway, and back onto the main road.

And we didn't drink again.

Until twenty minutes later when we got to the club.