Memory Monday: Orange Julius

I'd like to think that everyone's life is an adventure.
That, no matter what someone's lot in life is, there's a sort of adventure even if you never leave the country or go bungee jumping.

So far, my life has been that kind of adventure. Muted, somewhat subdued, yet wonderful. : )
Although, there was one point where it could've fallen into a sort of brash, fast-paced sort of endeavor.  One that could've taken me in a completely different direction.

Friends, I'd like to tell you about the time I was almost famous.

When I was about 5 or 6 years old, there was a shopping center that we used to go to all the time by our house. It surpassed all ordinary shopping centers because it had this little ride in the middle, a pet store, a fountain, a Learning Ladder (one of the coolest stores on earth when I was a kid), and an Orange Julius. Let me take the time to fill you in on each one of these places so you get the full effect of its splendor on my young person.

The ride was this little carousel thingie, but with cars. Different themed cars that had stuffed animals in the passenger seats, and in the center of this procession was a giant Icee. This ride was almost more of a dream than a reality. A mirage. An entity. In other words, I was rarely allowed on it. I recall once, just... once.

The pet store was another favorite because seriously come on who doesn't like fluffy bunnies and puppies and hamsters and things???

I vividly remember the fountain. There was a short flight of stairs, and the fountain flowed from the upstairs to the downstairs, like a tiny waterfall. My mom would give us coins to make wishes on. I'd make hopeful wishes that probably never came true (If they did, there's a chance I'd be a mermaid right now...)

The Learning Ladder was more of a mom store. Really, it was the dream of homeschooling moms everywhere, because it had all sorts of books and learning tools and whatnot. But it was colorful, and had a Thomas the Tank Engine train table. Therefore it was objectively amazing.

Then there was the Orange Julius.

Oh, melodic name that sings of joy in liquid form!

At that time, the Orange Julius, to me, was like gold made from the most radiant sunlight, harvested from the purest mountain by the good Lord's most trustworthy cherubs. In order to convert it to liquid, it was not blended, no; but instead, it was melted by the sweet voices of the angels as every harmonious chord that left their flawless throats broke it down, so to speak, into its purest of forms: The Orange Julius. Sweet nectar from on high.

The Orange Julius was the highlight of the shopping center. I was drawn to those things like a newly-hatched sea turtle is drawn to the ocean that carries it home.

Anyway, on one particular trip to said shopping center, Karissa, Kyla and I were promised Orange Juli (that's the plural term, right?) I don't really remember the details of that trip, I just remember being drug around for a painfully long time. That Julius was what kept up my 5 year old morale. It was the orange light at the end of a dreary tunnel.

My mom's errands were coming to an end, when we ran into this professional-looking lady who looked at the three of us kids and exclaimed, "Oh my goodness! Your kids are adorable!" She then proceeded to give my mom her card, tell her she was a modeling agent, and she'd love to take pictures of us if we had the time. She gave all the details, which I don't remember. I do remember that we were to go to a certain location for the photo shoot, that happened to be that very day. I immediately imagined myself walking down a runway.

When the lady said goodbye, my mom turned to us. "Ok guys," she said, "We can go to this thing if you want to. What do you want to do?"
Karissa and I passionately exclaimed that we wanted to go. But then she said... "The only thing is, if we go, we won't have time to go to Orange Julius."

My naive mind, not being able to foresee that this wouldn't be the only opportunity to have an Orange Julius in the future, saw it as a tragic dilemma. I pondered for a second, then, in a moment that changed the course of history, I made my decision.

"Let's go to Orange Julius."

The fates were sealed in those five words. Karissa, following my example, agreed by default.
My chances of being discovered as a young model were vanquished.
The desire for fame was squelched by the desire for gold.
Some might think my mom was to blame for putting such a weighty decision into my young, albeit spidery hands. To that I say nay. She was only putting our desires first and preventing herself from being one of these moms.

And for that, I am thankful. (Very, very thankful).

And who knows? Child stars rarely have a wholesome end. My fifteen minutes of fame on a Carter's Kids catalog could've led me down a drunken road of depravity.
One second an Orange Julius, the next, CRACK COCAINE.
Vodka in my sippy cup.
Sneaking a pack of cigarettes between potty breaks.
The paparazzi catching me in nightclubs past my bedtime.
The police raiding my Barbie Dream House.

I look at what could've been, and I have no regrets.
Although, it is a shame that I might be depriving the world of this.

Oh. And I tried an Orange Julius when I went to the mall last year. It was the first time in about eleven years.
I didn't like it. :P

Memory Monday: Pocket Pack

I will now bring up a very painful childhood memory.

This memory still leaves me in a state of terror and slight embarrassment, yet I'm finding it in me to get the word out. People need to know about this for their own safety.

This is the day I learned that external pockets are dangerous.

When I was about seven, I used to have this awesome outfit with Keroppi (the Hello Kitty frog) on it.

I don't have a picture... but the pants were mint green and had this cute litte pocket on the outside with Keroppi's face on it. It's sort of hard to describe... but it was a pocket that tied to the outside of the pants. Kind of like a fanny pack/pocket hybrid. It was a fanny pocket. No... a pocket pack. I like that better, we'll call it that.

Little did I know that that pocket pack would cause me to be brutally attacked later that day.

It started out as a bright, happy summer's day. I went to a friend's birthday party, made some place mats, jumped on a trampoline, then went back to my grandparents' house. Things were looking up until I went to play in the back yard.

At that epoch my grandparents had just adopted a giant golden retriever named Russel. Russel was a really sweet dog that was good with kids... but even though he was huge, he was still in his "playful puppy" phase. And that day, something happened. I blame the pocket pack.

Russel to that pocket pack was like a bull to a red cape. Some sort of barbaric force was unleashed within him and his rabid fangs clamped on to my pocket pack. He started tugging me around the yard with an unyielding resolve.

Of course, I went with the most sensible solution.
I screamed my freaking head off.

Seriously, it sounded like I was being murdered. And maybe I was. I didn't know why else he'd be pulling me towards the back of the shed.

My desperate cries for help did no good. I was frantically searching for an idea, when I remembered something important: pants are removable.

Without giving it a second thought, I removed the beloved trousers I was ensnared in, and made a run for my freedom.

When I got to the door, pantsless and sobbing pathetically, my mom and grandma were standing right there. Where were they?! Why didn't they do something?! I remember feeling a little indignant at first, but I was just glad that I escaped with my life.

So beloved blog readers, I urge you: NEVER. Wear. Pocket. Packs. Or fanny packs, for that matter. It's not worth your pride.

This has been a message from the founder of C.A.P.P. (Civilians Against Pocket Packs.)

Memory Monday: Reverse Kidnapper

I am the queen of awkward situations.

I don't know how, but they just find me. It's like I emanate a vapor of misfortune and incoordination that attracts awkward situations like lost little woodland creatures to a natural spring of water. It's really quite beautiful.

This awkward situation is one I'm reminded of whenever we drive by a certain house in our neighborhood.

I've mentioned a few times here that I'm involved in fundraising for the Pregnance Resource Center. One of the ways that I raise money is by going door to door in my neighborhood. A couple years ago, a friend and I were fundraising in my neighborhood, and came to a cute little house with a stay-at-home mom and her two kids. She listened to our little speech and told us she'd really like to donate, but she'd have to talk to her husband first, so maybe we could come back some other time. We agreed, and after saying goodbye, we went on to other houses.

We didn't raise as much money as we had hoped, and my friend asked me if I was going to go back to that lady's house later.

At first I wasn't sure if I wanted to. What if she wasn't actually expecting me to come back? She told us we could come back later, though, so it's not like I didn't get some sort of invitation. And think of the babies! 
It was my duty to go back and claim that money. It was for the greater good, anyway.

I told my grandpa about it, and he wanted to come with me. He gave me a ride over to their house and waited in the car as I walked up to the door.

Little did I know that what waited for me was yet another awkward moment.

The woman answered with her toddler standing at the door in nothing but a diaper. I could see the surprise on her face when she recognized me. "Oh, um... I'm sorry... I still haven't talked to my husband yet... let me call him..." Already the discomfort of the situation wrapped around me like an itchy sweater.

She left her toddler standing in front of me in the doorway. He looked up at me with these huge eyes and a puzzled look on his face. I smiled down at him and said hello, but he didn't return the sentiments.

Instead, he took off running down the street.

I didn't want him to run into the road, so I went after him (he hadn't gone too far yet), and picked him up. I set him back where he was standing in the doorway, looking a bit shaken by having a strange girl pick him up.

That's when he started crying. Really loud.

In shock I stood there, wondering what to do. I felt like some sort of reverse kidnapper. Every second felt like another minute as I tried to calm him down.

The woman came to the door and I told her what happened, and she thanked me, making it feel a little less weird. Then she handed me a twenty dollar bill. I felt gratitude, triumph and accomplishment rise in my chest. There were more obstacle than expected, but I did it!

Then she asked me if I had change for $10.

So I got change from my grandpa, thanked her, and drove away, feeling the fleece blanket of my own awkwardness irritating my skin. At least it went to a good cause. :P

Memory Monday: Firstborn Homeschooler

For this one, I have to go back to a very disturbing phase of my life. It rests on the theory of the firstborn homeschooler.

The firstborn homeschool theory: A phenomenon where the firstborn of any homeschooled family takes the longest to develop a sense of style. Once they start to catch on, their siblings tend to follow suit, and crisis is eventually averted. 

Of course there are exceptions to this theory, but I definitely was not one of them. Eleven through twelve was my all time low, and unfortunately I just couldn't find any pictures from that period. Oh well.

Things started to get a little better at thirteen, but there was a pivotal moment that will forever stick out in my mind as one of the ugliest things I've ever worn. In my life. Like... ever.

My uncle was getting married. It was a formal event, and I needed a nice dress to wear. At this point, my mom was also going through a phase: the matchy-matchy phase. She told me that I had to find a dress that would at least coordinate with what my sisters were wearing. I really don't know why. I didn't even think much of it at that point, I just went with it.

The dress hunt began a couple weeks before the wedding was supposed to take place. My sisters all had these matching cream-colored dresses that were... well, cute on them because they were younger. Being the oldest, I was also the guinea pig. My mom wasn't ok with certain styles back then that she's totally fine with now.

The time was drawing near, and I was getting dangerously close to the wedding with no luck. After dragging myself from store to store and having dress after dress rejected, I limply fell into an obscure dress store at the mall. There was a dress hanging up that matched my sisters, my mom was cool with it, and it actually fit me. For these reasons I tiredly surrendered and bought the dress.

There was only one problem.
It was hideous. 

What you are about to see is very disturbing. If you are faint of heart and/or have a weak stomach, I suggest you look away from your screen.

I'm not really too hard to spot in these pictures. I'm workin' it. My dress looks like Frosty the Snowman and a prom from 1976 had a baby. My Nancy Drew haircut and super white girl dance moves didn't really work in my favor, either.

Although I was extremely awkward and looked like I was cosplaying as an 80 year old woman, it was one of the coolest weddings I've ever been to, and I did have a great time that night. Maybe that's one thing I do miss from my awkward years: I looked awkward, but I didn't feel like it. Now I feel awkward, but I don't look like it (at least not as much). :P

I didn't crawl out of this vortex of terrible clothing choices until I was 14, and then my judgement kept bobbing and weaving as my sense of style developed slowly throughout the years. Now I'd say that I look fairly normal, but there are probably some people who would beg to differ.

Red pants are cool. 

Memory Monday: Fence Wars

It started out as a typical summer day: my sisters and I throwing ourselves around on the swingset, having a good old time, when...

Something suspicious.
A random little boy is in the Yegermanjensens' yard. (We later learned he was a cousin).

As I swung up and down, I caught glimpses of him walking around their backyard with a stick. He looked kind of bored, and as I was going through my "Who could ever not like me" phase, I thought we should be friendly and say hi.

As I proposed the idea, Karissa thought I was crazy. "No. You don't want to do that."
"Why not?" I asked optimistically.
"I don't know. Just don't."
"Oh, let's be friendly!" I chirped as birds perched on my outstretched arms. I think a deer bounded into our yard, too...

So I enthusiastically popped my head up over their fence.
"Hi! My name is Kaylee!" 

In retrospect, maybe my friendliness was taken the wrong way. Maybe he didn't want some random buck-tooth girl beaming at him over the fence while he was reflecting the meaning of life with his trusty walking stick. 

Because then he was all, "Boys are better than girls." 

Without wiping off my flight attendant smile, I replied, "No, they're both equal." 

Then, something unexpected happened: For the first time, I witnessed a human being snap. Fury latched onto his face and drove him to the pear tree by the fence. He roared "BOYS ARE BETTER THAN GIRLS!" and then proceeded to chuck pears at us. 

And then things got stranger. 

The boy's 13 year old sister walked outside. Normally, this would be the part where she witnesses her bratty little brother throwing fruit at strangers' craniums and cries, "Brother! Whatever are you doing? Cease this madness immediately!" 

Nope. Instead she sprayed us with the hose. 

Then she tried to dump a bucket of water on our heads.

It fell in sheets down our fence and mingled with the dirt below. We, the pacifists that we were, just stood there perplexed at the whole ordeal as our oppressors' cackles traveled into the summer heat.

...But eventually they got bored and went inside.
Karissa had her moment of "I told you so," and I indignantly felt my efforts at friendliness wasted.

Maybe he would've been friendlier if I brought him a sandwich... :P

Memory Monday: If you give an old lady a cookie...

This wasn't really one of my good moments.

In fact, I think every time I look back on it I die a little more inside.

Then I laugh. I laugh a lot. Because really, it was funny. Even if it did make me feel like a total idiot.

In life, you have your people who are great at dealing with awkward and confusing situations. Then you have your people who are awkward and confused as it is, so they wind up making those situations that much more awkward and confusing. Now... guess which one I belong to. ;)

About a year or so ago, I was staying with Karissa at my grandparents' house for a couple days. One of the days, my grandpa randomly said "Hey, want to go to a magic show?" Apparently they were having one as a memorial for one of the ladies who lived at my great grandpa's retirement home.

So with that, we sat and visited with my great grandpa while a couple guys performed some magic tricks. It was actually a really good memory I have of my great grandpa. :)

But then things got weird.

There were refreshments after the magic show, so Karissa and I grabbed some cookies and juice, then headed back to our table. Next to us was an old asian lady who sat quietly in a wheelchair by our table. As I held up my cookie, she tried telling me something. Only whatever she was trying to tell me was hitting a language barrier. As she continued pointing to my cookie and speaking a foreign language, I didn't exactly know how to react. I figured she was trying to tell me she wanted my cookie.

As if she'd understand me, I tried asking her. "Did you want one? I have an extra."

Then I plopped the pink-frosted, sugary disk into her wrinkled little hand.

The second I did this I wondered if I'd made a mistake.

Because... if you give an old lady a cookie, she might look at you like you're crazy.

Then she might start laughing at you.

And if she starts laughing at you, you might get totally embarrassed and stare at her in wide-eyed bewilderment, completely shaken by the lack of understanding between the two of you.

And if you're confused, she might try talking to you again, leaving you even more confused.

My face a bright shade of red, I took the cookie out of her hand. Karissa was laughing at me now, and the lady kept chattering away in what I later learned was Korean.

I guess I felt a little better learning that the lady talked to my grandpa (who knows some Korean) and told him that she was, in fact, hungry. (So I wasn't totally wrong!) It turns out, though, that she isn't allowed to have cookies (or solid food, really).

Let's just say that I don't go around feeding my extra cookies to old ladies at memorials/magic shows anymore. :P

Memory Monday: The One That Got Away...

A short, yet tragic story of lost love.

It was any ordinary day. I was minding my own business, when out of the woodwork, from seemingly nowhere, came you. You with your jet-black hair and chocolate eyes. It was then that I hoped we would be together forever...

He was a dog.

A real one.

No really, he was an actual dog. We found him on our property one summer afternoon. He was really cute, and for me, it was love at first sight (this was back when I was a dog person...) :P

Karissa and I played with him all afternoon while my mom and dad talked about what to do with him. We really considered keeping him, because he didn't have any tags. We also made the fatal mistake of giving him a name. He was "Benny," and as far as I was concerned, he was my Benny.

Then, the fateful moment came when my grandpa found out that Benny belonged to one of the teachers at the elementary school by our house. I came to the tragic realization that Benny would have to be returned. I sobbed like a baby for about 15 minutes, then I pulled myself together and we all walked to the elementary school.

I braced myself as we walked into his owner's office. She smiled and started petting Benny, and said, "You found Plug!"

Wait... what???

Benny. My Benny. His real name is... PLUG?!

"My son named him," she giggled while rolling her eyes.

I was grossed out. It somehow kept reminding me of hair caught in a shower drain. I don't know if that helped or not, but after that I wasn't too broken up over not keeping Plug.

Memory Monday: Neighbors pt. 2

(Continued from last week)

The Kid: (Not to be confused with "The Kid That We Stalk.") This kid gave us the creeps. He was friends with our neighbors directly behind us, we'd sometimes talk to him from behind the fence. He liked to give a soul-sucking stare that gave us the creeps. Aside from that, our typical conversations would go like this:

"Hey... I got a new sticky bug!"

"Can I have it?"

"We're playing with Littlest Pet Shops!"

"Can I have it?"

"Um..."

Sir Gluteus Maximus, Knight of Indecent Exposure: (Ok, so we've never actually called him that... but do I get points for creativity?) He was a relative of one of the neighbors behind our house. This guy was creepy, weird, totally inappropriate, and he flashed my mom. O_O Needless to say, we called the police, and he didn't stay long after that.

Rude Lady On The Corner With a Scotty Dog: Last year I was going door to door, getting sponsors for the annual walk for our pregnancy resource center. This is how she got her reputation:

"Hello! My name is Kaylee, and this Saturday I'll be participating in a walk to raise money for the Pregnancy Resource Center. Would you be interested in sponsoring me?"

"Are you the house with all the... kids?"

"Uh... yes."

"No, I'm not interested."

Ok. Seriously. If she didn't have the money, the time, or heck! Even if she didn't support the cause, I would've at least understood. But that's just DISCRIMINATION! *huffs* Calming down.

Fezwick and Sherman Glumpkin: Oh, the joyous memories of such quaint little children. I remember how Fezwick would torture our dog with his yard tools through our fence. The joy on his face was just a sight to behold! And he was such an observant boy! Why, he was always looking through our windows with his binoculars. He even made sure to tell us about the things he saw. "Hey... you guys were watching a movie earlier. What movie was that?"

And who can forget Sherman? Such a lovely little girl. Always complimenting us on how long and unkempt our lawn was, and asking me if I had the chicken pox (wait a few years, Sherman, and puberty will give you the chicken pox, too!)

Thank you, Sherman and Fezwick!

The Jones: The Jones were your typical, perfectly average American family. They had 2 teenage daughters. I think one of them was a cheerleader. They had an awesome clubhouse in their back yard that I always dreamed of going in. There were always rumors about what was inside. Somebody said they had a TV, Gamecube and a mini fridge in there. O_O I doubt they were telling the truth, but to this day I wonder what might have been in there...

Mikayla and Lauren: About a ten-minute walk from our house lived Mikayla and Lauren. They were sisters, but they were total opposites. Mikayla was friendly and energetic, and had fiery red hair to match her personality; Lauren was quiet, shy, and didn't really say more than one sentence at a time. Both of them were closer to Kyla and Khloe's ages (at the time, about 5 and 3 years old), but I still had fun going to their house, playing on their swingset, dancing to Shakira, playing games with them, and occasionally sitting in on conversations between my mom and theirs. Their mom was Irish and their dad was Scottish, so I always loved hearing them talk. :)

Memory Monday: Neighbors pt. 1

I remember growing up in 4 different houses at different points of my childhood. There was the house that used to belong to my Auntie Gayle, my grandma and grandpa's house in Gladstone, our house in Banks, and our current house, where we've lived for the last 9 years.

In my 17 years, I've had the opportunity to be both a country mouse and a city mouse. (Ok... where I live isn't exactly the "city"... Suburban Mouse, maybe?) Our house in the country was on 1 1/2 acres. It had a good size orchard, with trees the perfect size for a 7-year-old to climb. We'd spend more time outside than we did inside. It was awesome.

I remember moving into our neighborhood and realizing how different it was. The houses were so close together, the people weren't as friendly, and -- terror of terrors -- there were no trees to climb! I remember actually crying over that.

We live in a neighborhood where people are constantly moving in and out, so in the 9 years we've been here, we've seen our share of neighbors. Some of them were awesome, some were strange, and some were just plain scary. Here, let me show you! (Note... some of the names have been changed)

The Snodgrasses: Two houses down on the corner lived Harriet Snodgrass, with her older sister, Bertha. The Snodgrasses were the first people to welcome us into the neighborhood. I played with Bertha for only a short while until she became a teenager and decided she was too old to play with me. :P After that point, I'd go to their house with Karissa and we'd play with Harriet. She had a really cool room with a loft and HUNDREDS of "Littlest Pet Shop" toys. The only problem was that she... um... liked to play a little rough. She liked to pretend she was a cat, so she used to jump on me and scratch me sometimes. She also tried to kill me once.

Maybe the years have eroded my memory a bit, but I distinctly remember gasping for air under her comforter as she sat on it, laughing maniacally. But... I could be wrong. :P

The Yegermanjensens: Jenny Yegermanjensen was a cute little girl around Kyla's age who we sort of adopted by accident. The second we met her, she stuck to us like glue. She sort of stalked us a little bit. She was at our house every day and went with us everywhere for a while. Eventually they moved out, and the Watsons moved in.

The Watsons: We were a little bummed after Jenny moved (although she was a bit of a stalker), but our feelings of grief were soon replaced with the excitement of new neighbors. The Watsons moved in next door, and they were great. They had 3 little kids around my sisters' ages. I have a lot of fun memories with these guys. We caught frogs with them, went to the park with them (I mentioned one outing here), and they were my first babysitting gig. *sighsnostalgically*

We were all sad when they moved away, but luckily we've kept in touch. :D

The Kid That We Stalk: Yes, this sounds creepy. There's this kid in our neighborhood. He has a bowl haircut with fire engine red hair, he's really cute and chubby as heck, and he only wears striped polo shirts. Plus, we see him everywhere. Like... wherever we turn, there he is. So it sort of feels like we're stalking him, but we're not. Hence the name.

Popcorn Boy: I remember the day I met Popcorn Boy. We were playing with Harriet and Bertha in our backyard, and Bertha started talking to him from behind the fence. I think he was pushing his sister around in a wheelbarrow, and he was all excited about his bag of popcorn because he put vanilla in it. I introduced myself and told him we just moved in. He welcomed us to the neighborhood, and gave us a bag of popcorn. He's been Popcorn Boy ever since. His brother soon came to be known as "Cheeser guy" because we'd hear him yelling at his dog, Cheeser (Ginger? Chopper? We could never tell what he was really saying).

To be continued next week...

Memory Monday: The Sleeping Game.

I'm convinced that at some point, every little kid plays "the sleeping game." They think it's just hilarious to pretend to be asleep convincingly enough that their parents believe them. You get to conciously lie there and listen to adults ooh and ahh about how cute you are when you're sleeping. But the best part is, you're really not! It's the passive-agressive way of pulling one over on your parents without getting in trouble because really, it's not that big of a deal. But if you could pull it off, you were a genius.

There were several times I attempted this when I was little. A few times it worked; other times, it backfired like an old car engine. Like at my sister's second birthday party.

I was five, and I think it was Christmas. We had my uncle and probably some other family members celebrating Karissa's birthday that evening. My memory fails me a little, but I know there was a box. It was a beautiful box. It was used to hold the new "Little People" parking garage that Karissa got as a birthday present, and it was the perfect size for me to crawl into and play the sleeping game.

It was going to be hilarious. People were going to see me.... and they're going to think I'm sleeping! IN A BOX! This is genius...

So I nestled into my carboard sanctuary, huddled into a cute little faux-unconcious ball. I faithfully kept my eyes forced shut, although they wanted to eagerly snap open and see if anyone noticed yet.

Soon enough (or was it eons?), I heard something.

"Hm, look at that box over there," a voice announces.

Footsteps. I keep my eyes shut and force my facial muscles to uniformity. I could hear my dad and my uncle standing over me.

My dad picks up the box and my excitement mounts. He has to see me now and think I'm asleep!

But then his voice proclaims, a little too loudly, "I think we should put this box outside!"

That's not what I was expecting.

Why isn't he pining over how cute I look?

As he walked to the door, I panicked a little. But I kept those eyes shut like my life depended on it. I couldn't just give up on the game! But... does he even notice I'm in here...?

I felt the box being lowered, and the light that poured from the house slowly faded as the door closed. I opened my eyes and blinked a little. I stared at the cold, dark world around me and felt all hope escaping. In hindsight, I wonder why I didn't just knock on the door. I just sat there, stunned and afraid.

I remember the thoughts running through my head at that moment.

Oh, no... I guess I'm going to have to sleep out here. I'm going to be bitten by mosquitos!

Forget about kidnappings, wild animals, or psychos with guns-- I might get bitten by mosquitos! The very thought surfaced tears in my eyes. What am I going to do?!

Suddenly, like sweet sunlight coming over the dark horizon, I saw the door open. I don't really remember who was standing there, I just remember hugging them and crying like I'd been stranded on our front porch for days.

It was a very traumatic minute and a half, but I soon forgot about it once we started eating cupcakes.

Memory Monday: Broccoli Dance

For about 2 1/2 years of my life, my family lived in a really small town. The tiny dance studio where my sister and I took dance lessons for about a year is a place that gives me mixed feelings.

These mixed feelings consist of happy memories from my days of taking Tap/Ballet classes there every week with my friends. I had a lot of fun with my dance buddies (although we didn't keep in touch). : /

Then there were the somewhat-traumatizing memories, like the memories that included green balloons on my head and dancing to the song stylings of Huey, Dewey and Louie.

The owner of the dance studio was a friendly, eccentric middle-aged lady who liked to make her students dance to "silly" songs in their dance recitals. Of course, we needed uniforms to match these silly songs that we danced to. So... what do you suppose we dressed up as when she had us dance to "I've Been Working On My Broccoli," sung by said nasally, annoying cartoon ducks?

Too bad I don't have a picture... I happened to misplace them all. With fire.

It's quite a shame.

But just believe me when I say that the costumes were everything soul-eroding and spirit-crushing. The leafy part of the broccoli was accomplished in our costumes by pinning green balloons on our heads like some sort of game you'd win a giant teddy bear from. The dance itself was cold and mechanical, like a marching army of wind-up toy soldiers.

"But Kaylee," you might be thinking, "You just said that the town was really small. The recital couldn't have been that bad, right?"

Trust me. If it were a cute, intimate gathering of close friends and family, it would only be enough to chuckle uncomfortably about.

But in the inner makings of this woman's mind had to be a dark force that raged in a diabolical spiral that our tiny little 2nd grade minds couldn't yet detect.

No. We didn't just perform in front of friends and family. We performed at a recital. And a parade. And at the county fair. Not only did our families see us. Not only did the entire town see us. But the whole freaking county.

At the time, we didn't think anything too much about it. We were actually excited.

We were like innocent lambs going to slaughter. We walked through the crowded parade, throwing candy and waving, while everyone admired the "cute, little grapes."

Occasionally my friend Grace would indignantly correct them. "Hey! We're BROCCOLI!"

Onstage at the fair, we nervously executed our dance moves with empty precision and forced permagrins. I'd hate to have been in the audience to witness that kind of torture.

I left that day feeling pretty good about myself. I had danced in front of a whole bunch of people (Oh, Lord...), then I got to play games at the fair. Years later my family won't let me live it down, and the image of that broccoli costume shall be forever ingrained in my disturbed mind.

...And to this day, I can't dance and I hate broccoli. I often wonder if that had anything to do with it...

Memory Monday: Slow-mo

This is one of those memories I look back on and laugh, for so many different reasons:

1. I was so naive

2. I must've looked so ridiculous...

3. WHAT WAS I THINKING?!?!

Everyone has their innocent schoolgirl crush days, where they "stalk" a boy for a couple years that barely knows you exist. You really don't have the most concrete reasons to like this kid (heck, you barely know him!), but you know you're going to marry him. *dreamysigh*

This story is centered around a kid I knew back then, who used to fit that very description.

But when I was at the young (and very impressionable) age of 8, I watched a lot of TV. I also had a very vivid imagination; and I knew just how to get his attention...

It came to me at one our parties. We were living out in Banks, and had a pretty good-sized backyard that was perfect for running around in.

juuuuust perfect.

So I seized my opportunity. My friend McKenzie was my stylist, my friend Kelsey did my hair, and I stood in absolute elegance wearing a flowery summer dress with a ponytail. Oh, and a headband. Don't forget the headband!

You know those movies when a guy is just standing there, minding his own business, when right before him runs a beautiful woman with shiny, perfect hair and a beautiful dress? His world slows down as she runs by. It's at that fateful moment their eyes meet, and he feels unworthy of her graceful presence as she actually smiles and waves at him, of all people. That smile and wave becomes his beacon of hope, and stirs up his courage enough to find her, ask for her name, and MARRY her!

That was my aim. I knew exactly what I was doing. I spotted my target near the house and started at the side of the yard, McKenzie and Kelsey cheering me on. I was like a gazelle, my twiggy legs bounding in a half-circle around the yard. The springtime air caught my dress and waved it like a banner, a lovely banner declaring my undying affections. It was at the halfway mark I looked over at him. It had worked! Our eyes met, and I sprinkled on the finishing touches with my loveliest smile and most graceful wave I could crank out. He was as good as mine!

...Or so I thought...

Because what he probably saw was a lanky girl wearing some dress she wasn't wearing a few minutes ago, running, IN SLOW MOTION, around the yard and giving him some sort of creepy smile/wave combo.

Yup... you read that right: I actually ran. In. Slow. Motion.

Of course. That's how they do it in the movies, so that's how you do it in real life, right? The effect isn't going to happen as well unless I give it a *little* coaxing, right? Wrong? Well... Ok, then.

I almost wish it somehow got videotaped so I can see how ridiculous I looked. But then again... it's probably a good thing it didn't. ;)

"Memory Monday": Sharks and Minnows

Hey, guys!

I thought I'd try something out: this is my first "theme day" on this blog! In "Memory Monday" I'll be posting about some of the fun, weird, embarrassing and just plain haunting memories I have tucked away in ma' noggin. :P I may not do it *consistantly* every week (depending on how it turns out...), but here we go.

I thought I'd start out with the first memory that came to my head. One that people still won't let me forget...

It is... the day I physically assaulted someone in a game of "Sharks and Minnows." O_o

Didn't know I had a violent streak? Well... you were wrong. And I show no remorse. He had it COMING.

Ok... it could've been, more or less, an accident. :P

At that point, I had never played a game of Sharks and Minnows in my life. Even worse, I'm the kind of person who won't understand how to do something unless you *show* me. Attempts at trying to explain it would be futile. I have to see how it works.

So I tried listening to the instructions, but heard mostly "blahblahblahMinnowsblahblahblahSharksblahblahblahOthersideblah." So with that, I blankly nodded and pretended to understand, then blindly ran into the fray.

For those of you who don't know, "Sharks and Minnows" is sort of a loose variation of tag. Players split up on two sides: One side is the Shark side, the other is the Minnow side. The shark side starts out with one person. Both sides run towards each other, the Shark's goal to tag people to create more sharks, the Minnows' goal to make it to the other side without being tagged. The last minnow standing wins, a new game is started, and the last person standing from the previous game becomes the new shark.

But see, I didn't really hear the last part. I figured that my friend Foster, the last minnow standing, still needed to be tagged, and it was him against all of us.

Good grief, was I wrong.

What I thought was the last round of the game (which was really the first round of the next game) was about to start. Tension floated with the pollen in the May air. Muscles tensed. Pure concentration chiseled itself into everyone's faces as they waited.... Waited....Waited.

And then... it STARTED!

Everyone started running for their lives for the other side. What are they doing?! I thought, He's in plain sight! Why isn't anyone tagging him?! I decided it was up to me. With determination rising, I confidently charged toward Foster, ready to tag him.

But let's just say that my aim wasn't very good.

I came to, and Foster was like O___O "What are you doing?!"

And I was like :O

And everyone else was like

Then I was like

So, yeah. Let's just say I haven't heard the end of it ever since. :P

Let's also say that Foster probably doesn't want to make me mad. >:)