I graciously accepted the seat that was pulled out for me by my date, and smoothed a napkin daintily over my lap to cover my prom dress. I felt beautiful, if only for the fact that I was surrounded by Salt Lake City's elite and almost counted myself as one of them for the evening.
Seated around me were some of my favorite co-workers and their guests, all looking shined-up and ready for something exciting to happen. After our black-tied servers brought us a delicious meal, the emcee began the live auction. In this economic downturn, the bids were slightly disappointing, but some items were sold for inexplicably high rates--like an enchilada dinner for 20 people that sold for $3,000. This boosted my confidence and my desire to step off the bench and join in the game; not for any real amount of money, of course, but I always want to do my part to get rich people to spend money for a good cause.
My ears perked up when a trip to Mexico was mentioned. It seemed like it would be a popular item, since some of the other, less exotic trips had sold fairly easily. Before I knew what was happening, my hand shot in the air as soon as they opened the bidding. I should have listened, because the auctioneer started the bidding at $3,500.
Gasp. (From those seated at my table.)
Crickets. (From everybody else in the room.)
...Going once.
It was a curious feeling, like swimming underwater, but with superhuman laser-pointing eyes that zero in on one man with a microphone who was making his way to my table...
....Going twice.
Crickets.
Heart. Palpitations. Sweaty. Palms. Swallowing bugs with less-than-daintily open mouth.
In my desperation, I turned to the nearest bid-spotter and hissed—that's right, I hissed, because a lady under duress does not raise her voice or use foul language to make her point—she hisses. So I hissed, "What are you doing? SELL THIS THING!" To which he enthusiastically responds "Oh no, you want this. This is cool!"
Bat rastard.
Apparently he loves sick kids more than my financial well being. Oh, my dear beneficiaries of the Ronald McDonald House, I love you. I really do. But I also love making rent. And not starving. And for the life of me, I can't figure out why nobody in the room is making a peep. Too busy eating your shrimp scampi, Mr. Millionaire? Excuse me, Baroness of the Backless Dress to my right, but could you spare a couple grand so I can sleep tonight? Contrary to my appearance and polished demeanor, I do not in fact have a hospital wing named after me. My perfect posture is merely a ruse, to mask the fact that I'm only here for the food. And to look hot in my prom dress.
Meanwhile, the silence in the room had reached bone-crushing density and the widened eyes of every person at my table threatened to dislodged themselves at any moment. I was on the verge of some unladylike outlets for my panic, i.e. tearing out my hair and jumping frantically on the table, when a voice pierced the fog of my certain demise. One, clear, six-figure salary voice of mercy fought through the din and massaged a rhythm back into my heart with his sweet, affluent cry of "$3,600!"
...Sold! For $3,600!
I may have shed tears.
The collective sigh of relief from those near me was a substantial boon to our depleting ozone layer (global warming? Sounds more like global whining!). My heart found the will to go on, my kids thanked me for their college funds, and my prom dress went to the cleaners...for reasons I find unladylike to describe.
Friday, May 15, 2009
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
The Golden
The pinnacle has been realized.
The summit of my existence has been officially conquered, and the view from up here is pretty sweet. Now what, you say? Now we review. Here is what made my golden birthday one for the memory books. Or the memory keeper's daughter...I can't really remember:
1) I challenged one of my fears. Several times.
(Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm by the Crash Test Dummies)
2) 4 Non Blondes, performed by one pretend blonde:
3) The Lawrence Welk Show....complete with tiny hands.
(Click here if you don't know what I'm talking about.)
4) Such awesomely talented people, everywhere.
5) It did not rain.
6) I received a Highschool Musical clock.
7) My hair didn't catch fire on the cake, all ablaze with 27 candles. That's a whole mess of fire, man.
8) The D.I. pulled through for me again, like it always does.
9) I might live to see age 28. But if I don't, it's ok because I really really liked this birthday.
The summit of my existence has been officially conquered, and the view from up here is pretty sweet. Now what, you say? Now we review. Here is what made my golden birthday one for the memory books. Or the memory keeper's daughter...I can't really remember:
1) I challenged one of my fears. Several times.
(Mmm Mmm Mmm Mmm by the Crash Test Dummies)
2) 4 Non Blondes, performed by one pretend blonde:
3) The Lawrence Welk Show....complete with tiny hands.
(Click here if you don't know what I'm talking about.)
4) Such awesomely talented people, everywhere.
5) It did not rain.
6) I received a Highschool Musical clock.
7) My hair didn't catch fire on the cake, all ablaze with 27 candles. That's a whole mess of fire, man.
8) The D.I. pulled through for me again, like it always does.
9) I might live to see age 28. But if I don't, it's ok because I really really liked this birthday.
Saturday, April 11, 2009
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
Call me Medici
I am a patroness of the arts. Congratulations to me! I now own this painting, custom created for me:
These pictures don't do it justice--the colors are amazing. Come over and see it! It's huge--4'x4', and the frame was included.
You can hire my artist! storminart1111@yahoo.com
He's awesome, and super affordable.
These pictures don't do it justice--the colors are amazing. Come over and see it! It's huge--4'x4', and the frame was included.
You can hire my artist! storminart1111@yahoo.com
He's awesome, and super affordable.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Sistaz
As the baby of the fam, I've experienced my siblings in many different settings, at different times. I don't feel I grew up with the top half of them, since they were old enough to be moved out by the time I was forming a lot of memories. One of my favorite things about becoming an adult is getting to know my siblings. I am closest in age to Shannon, but still 4 years apart. This made for an interesting dynamic growing up. She knew how to push my buttons like nobody else, and chose to do so regularly. She also taught me important things, like how to write love letters to boys (who would later beat me up for it) and do my bangs and accept hand-me-down bras instead of asking your very reserved mother for one. I loved Shannon more than I would ever admit while growing up, and that has become clear when I go down memory lane and realize the almost puppet-like devotion to my sister. Examples, yes?
Remember the radio station KJQ? They had a contest once where you had to listen for the noise of Chuck Taylor scratching on his grave and then be caller #7 to win a pair of Converse All-Star shoes. Shan was trying desperately to win one morning but had to go to school about an hour earlier than I did. So she left her slavish little sister with a phone, a radio, her shoe size, and strict instructions on what to do. And I did it! Ultimately I heard the noise, called in, was caller #7, and won the shoes, and throughout all I impersonated my sister. It never occurred to me until years later that I could have won the shoes for myself. It never even crossed my mind because I was so excited to tell Shan that she'd won! Lest you think this was an isolated incident, there was also the time I sat outside the bathroom door with a radio in my lap, ...with strict instructions to listen for her favorite song ("Kokomo" by the Beach Boys!) and bring the radio into the bathroom as soon as it started playing, so she could enjoy it while she showered. And I did it.
I used to look at my sister's class picture and memorize the names of all her classmates. I knew who had crushes on who, who was moving away, and which boys made fun of Shan for having a gymnastics leotard in her bag (these boys have a special place in Hell for the torture they inflicted on her, it seems). I knew her life better than mine because it was so much more exciting!
A unifying influence in our lives was the fear/awe of our teenage angst-ridden brother, Matt*.
(Sorry, Matt, if you're reading....but you can't deny it. Actually, I'm sorry for much of what is to follow, as it may or may not be new information for you.) Ahem. So. Shan and I were badgered by Matt constantly, or so we felt, and wanted to exact revenge. Being younger, smaller, and significantly less angry, we knew we couldn't attack him physically or tell our parents about him because he would get back at us. We decided to get back at him in secret, so we could enjoy a quiet revenge to ourselves and not provoke his retaliation. We did what anybody would do: We picked our boogers and wiped them on Matt's pillow. Other times we mixed up some sort of yellow liquid concoction and poured it on his sheets. I'm not sure what the game plan was there--either to make my mom think he wet the bed, or to make him think he wet the bed. Hilarious, either way. All Shannon's idea. She also enticed me once to join her in throwing a metal baton down the laundry shoot that Matt was climbing up. The lion's roar that echoed through that metal shaft was fantastic. I don't even remember what he did to us after that...I think I blacked out.
And then there was the time Shan wanted me to get in trouble for some reason. We were forbidden to say "butt-hole", which still makes me laugh. So she takes my favorite treat, orange tic-tacs, a with an evil gleam in her eye, stares me down while she pours the whole box into the hot bathwater I'd just drawn. I, thus-provoked, gritted my teeth at the fierce injustice of it all and made a choice. Consequences be darned, I HAD to call my sister a butt-hole. She rewarded me with a predictable wicked witch-esque laugh and ran off to tell Dad what I said. Shan, don't ever tell me you're not creative.
Shannon has been a great champion of anything I attempt to do, even after I've sort of grown up and gotten all opinionated and cynical. She is humble and has a heart of gold, genuinely trying to be the best person she can. She is real. She is funny. And while she could still push my buttons if she tried, usually chooses not to, and in the process serves as a really really great big sister. Today I am grateful for my sis.
*Matt has turned out quite nicely, despite his less-than-promising adolescence. Proof here.
Remember the radio station KJQ? They had a contest once where you had to listen for the noise of Chuck Taylor scratching on his grave and then be caller #7 to win a pair of Converse All-Star shoes. Shan was trying desperately to win one morning but had to go to school about an hour earlier than I did. So she left her slavish little sister with a phone, a radio, her shoe size, and strict instructions on what to do. And I did it! Ultimately I heard the noise, called in, was caller #7, and won the shoes, and throughout all I impersonated my sister. It never occurred to me until years later that I could have won the shoes for myself. It never even crossed my mind because I was so excited to tell Shan that she'd won! Lest you think this was an isolated incident, there was also the time I sat outside the bathroom door with a radio in my lap, ...with strict instructions to listen for her favorite song ("Kokomo" by the Beach Boys!) and bring the radio into the bathroom as soon as it started playing, so she could enjoy it while she showered. And I did it.
I used to look at my sister's class picture and memorize the names of all her classmates. I knew who had crushes on who, who was moving away, and which boys made fun of Shan for having a gymnastics leotard in her bag (these boys have a special place in Hell for the torture they inflicted on her, it seems). I knew her life better than mine because it was so much more exciting!
A unifying influence in our lives was the fear/awe of our teenage angst-ridden brother, Matt*.
(Sorry, Matt, if you're reading....but you can't deny it. Actually, I'm sorry for much of what is to follow, as it may or may not be new information for you.) Ahem. So. Shan and I were badgered by Matt constantly, or so we felt, and wanted to exact revenge. Being younger, smaller, and significantly less angry, we knew we couldn't attack him physically or tell our parents about him because he would get back at us. We decided to get back at him in secret, so we could enjoy a quiet revenge to ourselves and not provoke his retaliation. We did what anybody would do: We picked our boogers and wiped them on Matt's pillow. Other times we mixed up some sort of yellow liquid concoction and poured it on his sheets. I'm not sure what the game plan was there--either to make my mom think he wet the bed, or to make him think he wet the bed. Hilarious, either way. All Shannon's idea. She also enticed me once to join her in throwing a metal baton down the laundry shoot that Matt was climbing up. The lion's roar that echoed through that metal shaft was fantastic. I don't even remember what he did to us after that...I think I blacked out.
And then there was the time Shan wanted me to get in trouble for some reason. We were forbidden to say "butt-hole", which still makes me laugh. So she takes my favorite treat, orange tic-tacs, a with an evil gleam in her eye, stares me down while she pours the whole box into the hot bathwater I'd just drawn. I, thus-provoked, gritted my teeth at the fierce injustice of it all and made a choice. Consequences be darned, I HAD to call my sister a butt-hole. She rewarded me with a predictable wicked witch-esque laugh and ran off to tell Dad what I said. Shan, don't ever tell me you're not creative.
Shannon has been a great champion of anything I attempt to do, even after I've sort of grown up and gotten all opinionated and cynical. She is humble and has a heart of gold, genuinely trying to be the best person she can. She is real. She is funny. And while she could still push my buttons if she tried, usually chooses not to, and in the process serves as a really really great big sister. Today I am grateful for my sis.
*Matt has turned out quite nicely, despite his less-than-promising adolescence. Proof here.
Monday, March 2, 2009
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