05.05.11

Sorry I’m so awesome. Please send me motel pens.

As a kid, I never played video games or tetherball or ran around outside. I was too busy collecting shit. This is probably why I didn’t learn to ride a bike until I was 12. To this day, I still don’t know how to swim.

I had several collections: motel pens, bookmarks, and commemorative souvenir plates. Each grouping was carefully displayed in my bedroom.

I laid out the motel pens according to the color spectrum. When I had trouble remembering the order, I would just repeat the name of my trusted friend, ROY G BIV, under my breath. The bookmarks were divided into two categories. The ones with tassels received favored treatment. They were fanned out across a corner of my dresser. The non-tasseled losers were stuffed inside a Payless Shoe Source box underneath my bed.

Each souvenir plate had its own plastic stand. The fancier gold-rimmed plates from places like Niagara Falls and the Grand Canyon got a primo spot on the top shelf of my bookcase. Plates purchased in gas stations with just a state name printed on the front were usually relegated to the third shelf, still within eyesight, but you really had to bend at the hips to see those.

My most prized collection was my stack of credit card statement advertisement inserts.

I’m not bragging, but my colorful assortment of glossy inserts was impressive. My favorites included:
  • A ceramic bald eagle statue to celebrate America’s 213th birthday
  • A porcelain doll with real hair and moving eyelids. Limited edition of only 750,000
  • A gold–like his-and-her watch set for three easy payments of $17.63
I fucking lived for perfume sample inserts. I would peel each sample carefully and rub it down the length of my arm.

Every other day, when we walked to the apartment complex mail center, I skipped in heady anticipation, hoping to see a credit card statement in our box. The bigger credit card companies often included multiple mini-pamphlets. The department store statements usually had one dinky insert. Sometimes, they weren’t even the folding kind, just a sad little single sheet pimping out polyester sweater sets.

I’m a little sad Cal will never have the joy of starting her own Credit Card Statement Advertisement Insert Collection. She’ll never know the thrill of a growing stack, vaguely scented with Estee Lauder’s Beautiful or Elizabeth Arden’s Red Door, offering hours of entertainment. We’ll never know the heartache of refusing her a chiming mantle clock, as my parents experienced on a weekly basis.

What did you collect as a kid? Do you collect anything now?

image via blueq.com
May 5, 2011
05.02.11

Monday Dare: I’m on Trader Joe’s most wanted list

Every Monday, I’m picking from the List of Things to Do, Places to Go, Possible Acts that Help, and Possible Fun to Have. It’s a list I made before The Project started, and I’m still adding to it. If you have suggestions, please feel free to throw them my way. I’m calling the list my Monday Dares, as I get overwhelmed just looking at the words “challenge” or “goal.”

This week: I will count to ten before reacting. 
(I have to try this Dare again because I’m a loser, and I failed miserably the first time.) 

Remember when I confessed that the last time a friend broke something in my home, I told her she was dead to me and no amount of apologizing was going to resurrect the friendship? I was nine. It was my favorite tea set.

I should have counted to ten, taken a deep breath, and continued playing with that little tea-set-breaker. Instead, I shooed her away and averted my eyes every time I rode my pink Huffy by her house that summer wearing my lime-green tankini and my colorful assortment of slap bracelets. Wherever you are Mary, I was a hotheaded little girl and I’m sorry.

I’m still quick to lose my temper.

Last week, during a grocery run to Trader Joe’s, a middle-aged man with his young son stopped me as I walked down the frozen food aisle.

I’m always a little afraid when a man grabs my arm. I run through the same two questions before I let my guard down. It’s a little flow chart in my head. Have I slept with this man? If yes, smile politely and walk away. Quickly. If no, I ask the second question. Does this man look like he just got out of prison or is heading there soon? If yes, don’t smile at all and walk away. Quickly. If no, stand there until he asks a question or informs me I have green dental floss stuck to my shoe (true story).

Having answered “no” to both questions in my Flow Chart of Safety, I stood there and waited.

Man: Are these potstickers any good?

Me: I haven’t had them before. Most things here are pretty good, so you might want to take a chance.

Man: Uh, shouldn’t you know anyway. Don’t you Chinese people eat a lot of potstickers?

Trader Joe’s is not the kind of place you want to get gangsta. 

Sure, we could try and put a positive spin on the sitch. His young son did walk away with at least eleven new words in his vocabulary. The added bonus being that most of the words were only four letters and, therefore, easier to spell. I walked into Trader Joe’s looking for bananas, and I walked out having expanded the mind of today’s youth.

I’m giving this another shot. I’m counting to ten this week before reacting. I regret this Dare already.
___
Have you found a way to take a step back? Or, has your temper gotten you into sticky situations?
image via rivercityartworks shop @ etsy.com

May 2, 2011