Awkwardly Social

I would have done just about anything she asked, mostly because she had the authoritative British accent that makes me think of Mary Poppins mixed with Mrs. Doubtfire. She was the kind of boss that everyone is afraid of at first, stupid people remain afraid of, and smart people become her pets. She would call someone into her office, ask them to close the door, then when you were just about ready to burst into tears from fear she would tell you that you were Employee of the Month. Eventually I became one of her favorites and she gave me my first “Big Job” as Assistant General Manager of a 102 room hotel. I miss her but would rather eat nails then ever work in a hotel again.

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This post is part of the x365 thing.

He was in my circle of friends during my senior year of high school. Sort of a cross between a little brother who you find completely annoying and a boy you know you should really be nicer to because he kisses like a champ. He and I had probably the easiest relationship/friendship I’ve ever had with a person of the opposite sex. Sometimes we made out, sometimes we fought, sometimes we cracked each other up. We usually took care of each other, but sometimes we hung each other out to dry. I have nothing but fondness for him and the way he fit into that time of my life.

I took a little break from the x365 project, but I’m back, baby, I’m back!

She was the Front Desk Supervisor at the first hotel I worked at in Minneapolis. Her hair style was quintessential Minnesota - permed, mid-neck length, and always kind of wispy and limp. She hated conflict, so would passive aggressively write memos to the whole front desk staff (all 5 of us). The one thing a FDS has to be good at, is facing conflict. It is not the job for someone who hates being yelled at. I hated many things about this woman, but it was always her hair that annoyed me the most. I guess because it reminded me of what I had to look forward to if I stayed on the road I was trudging down.

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This post is part of the x365 project.

She was not the cool teacher to get for 1st grade, everyone wanted Mrs. Curry.  I got Mrs. Bowman.  Every piece of skin that peeked out from her clothing was wrinkly and wattlely.  She was a little deaf so she could never hear my answers.  I had a hard time transitioning into sitting  in a desk and waiting for specific times to sharpen my pencil having come directly from the free-for-all known as Montessori school.  She didn’t like it when I referred to my Montessori teachers by their first names. We weren’t a good fit.

It wasn’t until much later that I learned his name was more commonly a girl’s name, to me it always stood for the first boy I caught and kissed while playing kiss tag in first grade. My crush on him that first few months of my transition to Camp Verde was epic. I was kind of disappointed he didn’t come to our class reunion.

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This post is part of the x365 project.

I’ve been so lucky to know so many fierce women and to be taken under their wings.  Anne was someone right out of an Annie Proulx story, tough, kind, ruggedly pretty and a kick-ass rider.  One evening after I first started boarding my horse with her, I was shuffling around the barn, watching Glenn work on a saddle and waiting for my mom to come pick me up from the ranch, she called the barn phone and told Glenn to tell me to come get something to eat, my mom had called and she was running late.  I was terrified.  I vividly remember the long, dark walk down a dirt road to their adobe style ranch house.  I knocked timidly on the door and she took a while to answer it.  She came to the door and said, “I thought I heard something scratching around out here.” I shyly stepped down into the sunken foyer and she told me that I didn’t have to knock.  I followed her into the kitchen and her ranch hand was there, they had been going over some business and he was going to eat with them that night.   A few awkward minutes later, Glenn came muttering in and we all sat around the big table eating chili and grilled cheese sandwiches.  I looked up at the pictures lining the wall of a gorgeous young woman tearing it up on the barrels and doing gravity defying moves on a cutting horse.  Glenn caught my gaze and told me it was her and that if my horse was any good someday there’d be pictures of me like that.  I’m sure I looked pretty skeptical, but she smiled and said that Glenn was the best teacher she knew and that all I had to do was listen to him and occasionally, not listen to him.  Needless to say, she is one of my all time heroes.

She was a tiny grey haired world traveler, who adored all of the neighborhood kids and threw parties for us. She gave my sister and I little glass figurines when we moved away from Minneapolis. I later used my glass fawn to hide my drugs. I don’t think she would have approved of that.

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I am participating in the x365 project.

I met him in Tulum at a bar for Bas’ Birthday. He was Dutch. His friend called me an ugly American because I kept getting confused about The Netherlands, the Danish, the Dutch, and Denmark, and he defended me. I made out with him on the beach under a blanket in the sand. The next night, I had awkwardly bad sex with him in his room while his roommate tried to convince a very freaked out Tara that she should let him sleep on our floor. He had really white teeth and he made me feel pretty.

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This post is part of the x365 project.

I met him in Tulum four years ago. He was model gorgeous, Italian, young and without a care in the world. At the time he was considering moving to Los Angeles because he thought he could make a few dollars posing for photographers. Tara and I agreed. We both thought fondly of him today as we reminisced about Mexico. I wonder where he is now. I hope he’s happy.

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I am haphazardly participating in the x365 project.

When you grow up in a small town, you are familiar with the concept of one of the people who was known for partying, drinking, and smoking weed growing up and becoming a cop who knows where all the party spots are, coming to them and ruining your fun. That would be Shitball Brady. Just as we rolled up to a party at Salt Mine Rd., we stepped out of the car with three bottles Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill, and we were blasted by Shitball Brady’s cop light. Instead of arresting us for under-aged drinking, he sadly shook his head and said, “Laura, I’m going to have to ask you to pour all of that out.” Laura pointed to me, “It’s hers. She’s 21.” I think he laughed and said he knew my sister, and it was not possible that I was 21. We unscrewed the cap and poured it all out onto the ground. Three for our hommies. I know he was just doing his job, trying to keep us from drinking and driving and killing each other, but man, we hated him like crazy.

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I’m a half-assed participant in x365.