Padiddle!

In case any socially sheltered person is unfamiliar with the game at the center of the story, I found this definition on Wikipedia-

Padiddle is a nighttime travel game with the objective of earning points by spotting vehicles with a burnt-out headlight. You must say "Padiddle" and hit the ceiling of the car as fast as you can, while driving. Whoever calls it first gets a point. The person with the highest score is the winner.

I still instinctively "play" padiddle, even though I drive alone 99% of the time these days. And I've noticed that since I moved to VA, my hand has been smacking the ceiling of my car more than ever.

I'm not sure what is going on around here. Driving home from work the other day, out of a cluster of four cars, three of them were padiddles. That's 75%, a ridiculous ratio. I was playing the bongos on the car ceiling. It is practically an epidemic. Then I started to wonder and worry a bit- is padiddle contagious? Maybe my county is having an outbreak. Is padiddle like pink eye for cars? Would my car "catch" it?

I'm happy to report that thus far my car Vinnie has been just fine. Although if he catches padiddle and padiddle is like pink eye, does that mean that I'll get to stay home from work tomorrow?

College Girls Are Easy

I have too many clothes. It's not that I buy them too often, it's that I never, ever seem to get rid of them. I wear t-shirts from middle school (don't hate me because they still fit...)

But some of the stuff that still "fits," does so on a technicality. I might be able to squeeze myself into it, but that doesn't mean I should. One of my co-workers was promoting a clothing drive through her church so I figured this was a perfect opportunity to cull through my closets/dressers/drawers/storage and also give to the needy.

The first step was to try on what I had. Analyze if it's still flattering, still fits, is still in-style.

I graduated from college six years ago at the age of 22. But based on the size of some of the clothing I wore at the time, I was the size of a 12-year-old. A 12-year-old boy - I'm talking NO hips here.

Most of the stuff slid on easily. I was surprised and impressed that the zipper on my jean skirt glided easily all the way up and turned to admire myself in my full-length mirror.

Oh. No. This must have shrunk. I cannot wear this in public. It would be obscene. Forget bending over, you can see my underwear when I'm standing up straight.

What about these cute shorts?

Good lord, I can't even look at myself without blushing. Again, the waist fits fine. But all of my clothing seems far, far too short. Surely I haven't gotten taller? No, in fact, a recent doctor's appointment indicated that I've actually shrunk half an inch since college.

I can only come to one conclusion - in college, I must have been a hoochie. I dressed like a streetwalker. Who was borrowing her 10-year-old sister's clothes. That were outgrown. And had shrunk in the wash.

Too tight and too short clothing carries with it the stereotype of promiscuous behavior. And while yes, it was college, I wasn't that easy.

So I wince as I fold up my favorite skirts, dresses, shorts from college and put them in my donation bin. I can only hope that they will make another little ho-bag very happy.

Don't You Hate it When You Accidentally Buy Maternity Clothes?

Well, don't you?

Oh, you say that's just me?

Of course it is.

Clearly I didn't look at the label. Sewn right into the back of the neck, like all other shirt labels: "Cozy Maternity." Right there in the brand name!

I even tried it on! It was a little blousey, but that's the fashion these days. You know, form-fitting at the top and a little loose and free around the mid-section, like a lot of tops that are popular in the regular, NON-maternity sections of all the stores. They're really quite flattering, you should get one (of if you're a guy, get one for your girl). Wait, are you going to take fashion advice from ME? The girl who wears maternity clothes and is definitely, no way, no how, not possible, not even a little pregnant?

Hey Lazy Ass

I live in a cute little apartment complex called Bellemeade in a cute little suburban town called Leesburg. At the center of our small complex is the leasing office and the mail center. All apartment mail is delivered here, neatly deposited in each respective mail box. It is really quite cute and organized, well-planned and convenient

The mail center is centrally located, so just a short walk from wherever you are on the Bellemeade property. I say a short walk, but for most of my neighbors it's more of a short(er) DRIVE.

For some reason almost everyone drives to pick up their mail. They cannot possibly be expecting large packages every day. And while the mail center has a convenient location, it does not have parking to accommodate a large numbers of cars. But people don't take that as a sign that they should hoof it the, oh, ten steps to get the mail. They decide it's perfectly acceptable to just stop their cars as close to the mail center that they can get.

As you might imagine, it quickly becomes a cluster f.

Unfortunately I have to drive right by the mail center to get to my apartment. (As an aside, I always drive straight to my apartment, park out front of my apartment, walk from my apartment to the mail center then walk back to my apartment - notice a theme?) But when there is a back-up of cars haphazardly "parked" in the middle of the lane, I have to wait in the makeshift parking lot. Wait, while the lazy asses put their cars in park. Wait, while the lazy asses mosey to their mail boxes. Wait, while the lazy asses flip through their mail (we couldn't wait until we were home to inspect??) Wait while the lazy asses putz back to the car, almost getting struck by multiple vehicles (belonging to the other lazy asses who have already successfully retrieved their mail and are now fleeing the scene).

I could maybe understand driving to get the mail if it was snowing, pouring rain, sleeting, negative 20 degrees outside. Or if you stop one day because the mail center is on your way to/from your apartment and you are expecting a large package and you're on crutches (yes, all of these conditions must be simultaneously present). But really, this is getting out of hand. A little stroll to the mail box won't kill ya. Come on, lazy ass.

Snippet of a Conversation with my Mother

Susanne: "My yoga teacher always says..."

Me: "You do not have a yoga teacher!"

Susanne: "Yes I do! I take yoga classes now."

Me: "Oh really? I'm sorry, I didn't know. How long have you been doing that?"

Susanne: "Well I just had my first class on Friday..."

It's hard being high-strung

We got new phones at work a few months ago. At first, every time someone called me I would hit the ceiling. I soon found the volume control button and that helped a bit. But there was still something jolting and abrupt about that ringer.

I thought I would get used to it, and I did. About two months later my reaction had toned down a bit and I only leapt from my chair about once a week.

And then I went on a work trip and was away from my special phone for about two weeks. Added to the fact that the novelty of the ringer is back, but also - since I was out of the office for a couple of weeks, everybody and their brother is trying to get a hold of me now that I've returned.

So the moral of the story: if you need me, I'll be clinging to the ceiling right above my desk chair.

Best Spam Email Ever

I get some pretty hilarious spam emails to my work account. This one takes the cake. I'll delete the web addresses given within the email and replace with "Spam Website"

Do people really fall for this crap??

--------------------------------------------------------

Subject: Unhappy married people's Dating Community - sexually explicit

Discreet Dating Community For Married People, and for Single People that want to meet and date unhappy married people.

Press here if you want to have an affair with a married woman or man:
Spam Website...

Press here if you're in a relationship and want to have an affair:
Spam Website...

There are thousands of unhappy married women and men in every city, but they DO NOT want to leave their spouse. They want to stay married, but they want to have an affair without ever being caught. Our dating community is extremely popular!

Have you ever had an affair with a married person? Are you married or in a relationship and want to have an affair.

Having an affair can be stressful because you never know if the other person involved is going to get attached to you. You just want to have an intimate encounter and nothing else.

A great thing about this Discreet Dating Community For Married People is that there is no cost to join. You can check it out, see if you like it, and then begin contacting married people for secret intimate encounters.

Press here if you want to have an affair with a married person:
Spam Website...

Press here if you're in a relationship and want to have an affair:
Spam Website...

All of the members on our dating community DO NOT want to get caught by their spouse or lover, and we allow them to keep everything a SECRET. If you want to spice up your life, then you should check out this adults only dating community.


One thing you will love about this affairs club is that the members will try anything. They are here for a reason, and it's not love.

This is the real deal by the way.....

Press here to join right now for no cost: (Must Be 18 or Older)

What do I have to do for a cup of coffee around here?

The other morning on the way to the barn to see my horse I stopped for coffee and panicked when I thought I had forgotten my wallet.

I felt the desperation I would imagine only a crack addict could experience. How was I going to get my coffee?? Could I convince the cashier I was "good for it"? Could I beg a couple of bucks from other patrons? In the history of ever had a person ever begged for spare change in Loudoun county, VA??

False alarm. Wallet located, my life could resume. But wow, I didn't know my coffee was that important until I thought I had lost it. What's the saying, you don't know what you have until it's gone?

My name is Lauren, and I have a coffee problem...

The Geography of Manners

I currently reside in Virginia, but I've only lived here for about six months. I've lived in Phoenix (AZ), Gettysburg (PA), Frederick (MD), Philadelphia, and NJ, previously.

VA is the furthest south I've lived in awhile. And of course everyone knows that the saying goes that southerners have more charm. But is Virginia south "enough" to comply?

Apparently so. And apparently, my time in New Jersey and (particularly) Philadelphia have hardened me into a callous bitch.

Don't be surprised, but I absentmindedly forgot to put my gas cap back on my car yesterday when filling up at the Shell. It rode on my hood for a bit, but skittered off when I took a right turn. It didn't click at the time exactly what it was, but I had my suspicions and made a mental note to check when I got to my next stop, the barn to see my horse.

Keeping in step with the absentminded theme, I forgot to check whether or not the cap was there. I proceeded to spend a couple hours at the barn before heading home. At this point, it was dusk. Nearly home I remembered that I needed to check my gas cap. Crap! I pulled into a shopping center, just to be sure I told myself.

Well damn if the gas cap wasn't missing. I drove back to the intersection where I heard the mysterious sound and pulled over onto the shoulder (thankfully a fairly generous one). It was beyond dusk at this point, it was starting to get dark. And a few hours time since the incident muddied my already feeble memory of exactly where the incident occurred. It seemed pretty hopeless.

Cars whizzed by as I scanned the grassy berm. Then a car pulled over. My Jeep wasn't far away, so I can imagine it might have seemed that I was having car troubles, walking for help.

Two men were in the truck that pulled over. The passenger male rolled down his window and stuck his head out. "You okay?" he shouted. Now I haven't always lived in areas where safety was a given. I think I'm a pretty trusting person and that I usually give people the benefit of the doubt. But that said, my guard was up.

"I'm fine," I yelled back. "Thanks for asking."

"You sure? Do you need a ride?"

Oh I don't care what these strangers think about me. I'll just be honest. "Just looking for my gas cap. I'm an airhead," I said sheepishly.

"You want help?"

Oh. My. Gosh. Just leave me alone to berate myself for my stupidity. "No thanks, I think it's a lost cause," I replied, hoping this could be the end of it.

"I WANT to help," said the passenger, as he hopped out of the car and started searching. He headed in the opposite direction and did just that, searched for my gas cap.

I'm often taken aback by the kindness of strangers. But it particularly hits me when I was somewhat judgmental at first, but the kind stranger proves me wrong. I didn't know what to think about these two men in a truck on the side of the road, but they were just interested in doing a genuine good deed.

And in case you're wondering, I did find my gas cap. Yay! I thanked the nice strangers and we were on our respective ways. They didn't ask for or want anything. I don't know whether it was southern manners, VA charm, or maybe my expectations are still low. I'll leave you with a quote I have framed in my bedroom. I just love it and it is perfect for this situation:

"Three things in human life are important. The first is to be kind. The second is to be kind. And the third is to be kind."

Get Back on the Horse

I recently celebrated an anniversary of sorts. A year ago, May 8, 2009, I had my closest brush with death. Those who know me know that this is saying a lot.

Allow me to explain what happened. Actually, I can’t explain what happened. This I know – I fell off my horse. But I have no memory of the fall or what lead up to it. Or roughly two weeks following the fall, for that matter. I can’t look to anyone else to explain, either, because I was riding alone.

The recovery was rough. It took weeks for my vision to mend enough that I didn’t get nauseous just trying to keep both eyes open at the same time. In my words at the time, “My eyes aren’t working together. They’re not cooperating.” Vision in my right eye was blurry and skewed and the eye wandered. I had partially torn my right rotator cuff, and could scarcely raise my arm without searing pain. And of course I had headaches. I don’t normally get headaches, but these were crippling, and again, often nauseating.

Maybe if I remembered anything after the accident I would be embarrassed about some of the things I said and did in the days following. But when I hear stories about myself, it’s almost like I’m hearing about a totally different person. It wasn’t me. Imposter Lauren was mean (I’m not really mean). And impatient. And emotional (I cried about EVERYTHING). And needy (I called my Mom constantly. As soon as she left my hospital room, I phoned her. Of course I was always crying…). And Imposter Lauren made absolutely no sense (something about cars in refrigerators, I have no idea. Was also convinced the IV in my arm was a zipper). I can assure you that the combination of “constantly confused” and “impatient/rude/mean” was very special. Imposter Lauren made things up in her head and then got mad at you if you didn’t follow her jumbled train of thought. She walked funny, talked funny, and clearly was not me.

I used to rack my brain, really grill myself and try to remember something, anything, about what might have happened. Maybe if I remembered a single moment it would help me piece together the whole perplexing puzzle. Finally my neurologist, sensing the frustration I felt with myself, spoke to me frankly. “Let it go,” he said, “it’s not coming back.” Amazingly, I didn’t get upset by this, I simply did as I was told.

So a year has gone by and I wish I could say I am 100% back to “me,” but I’m not. I try not to be discouraged, to give myself time. My doctor said I should allow five years. Really? Really. I hope it won’t take that long. I am slow sometimes, and still very forgetful. I hate that I must come across so absent-minded. That I have to ask people to repeat themselves when I know that they’ve already told me, I just can’t remember what it was that they said. Hate that I have to preface everything I say with, “stop me if I’ve already told you this.” I can’t stand making excuses for myself and so often I don’t, just let others think I am scatterbrained. I still get annoyed with myself when I have a thought and it just vanishes. What was I just thinking? It was important! Maybe half of the time it comes back to me.

I’ve learned to carry a pen and paper with me everywhere and to jot down these fleeting thoughts before they vanish. My life is ruled by notes that I write for myself. But when I get completely and utterly discouraged, think that this is no way to live life, I remember that even if it doesn’t feel like it, I have improved in the past year. The recovery has been terribly difficult and very trying for me, but it has also shown me that I am a strong person capable of overcoming a lot and it has taught me the value of patience, particularly patience with myself. The recovery is not complete, but it is in progress and I’m learning for that to be enough for now.

Why am I the only one who knows how to drive?

Well? Actually, don't answer that question.

I will tell you why. If only others could drive even half as well as I do, then maybe, just maybe, I wouldn't get so homicidal behind the wheel of my car.

I'm a mild-mannered person. I think I'm pretty polite and I'd say that I get along with most people I meet. I hate to offend people or hurt their feelings in any way. In fact I go out of way to smooth things over usually.

All bets are off when I'm behind the wheel of a car, though. An alter-ego I fondly refer to as Mega-Bitch rears her ugly head.

When Mega-Bitch is in charge, I take no responsibility for what goes down. For your safety and those of all others within a 35-mile radius at the time you may come into contact with the wrath of MB, please obey the following rules of the road:

- There's almost never a reason to go under the speed limit.

- If for some reason you can't follow the aforementioned rule, pull it over, let the normal drivers pass, then get back to putzing along. Resume putzing until another person traveling at a normal, above-the-posted-speed-limit drive comes along. Then pull it over again!

- If you know the lane you're in is ending, get over! Don't try to get as far as you possibly can in the ending lane before you even make an attempt. Don't go flying up the dwindling lane expecting me to let you in when I've been waiting patiently. I will do what I always do to these self-centered, inconsiderate drivers - I will look right at you, right in your eyes, and shake my head- "No." Nope! No, I'm not letting you in!

- Your turn signal is just that. A signal. That you will be turning. It is not a turn indicator, that you flip on whilst mid-turn, or once you're already halfway in my lane. We already know by that time, and you're already broadsiding me at that point as well.

- Do not tailgate me if I'm tailgating the person in front of me. I won't chastise tailgaters - sometimes I feel that it can be justified (see above rule about driving under the speed limit). But if you know that I'm not the offender, that I'm just in a long line of putzers, another mere victim of the lead putzer, there's no reason to ride my rear. What is that going to accomplish?? I can't go faster. We're in this hellacious trap together, man!!

- There is never a reason to brake on the highway. Unless an animal runs out in front of you. Yes cats count.

- Don't park like a jerk. If you're all up on the white line of one side of the parking space, take two seconds (literally!), back up, and straighten out. You're just starting a vicious cycle when you pull crap like that. Next thing you know, someone is going to need to park in the spot next to you, but - understandably - they want to give you a little space because if you're going to hug the white line like that, there's no telling the reckless abandon with which you fling open the car doors. So they park crooked. Then the car next to them - they park all cockeyed too. All because you couldn't spare a few seconds to make yourself look like you weren't drunk when you parked.

On a related note, do not even get me started on those people who purposely take up two parking spots, positioning their car right in the very middle. What makes you so freaking special?

I could go on, but I think I better stop now. I can already feel myself getting riled up and it's too late in the evening for that.

When I was your age, we didn't have moccasins!

Buying gifts for old people is hard.

Most older people are trying to simplify in their golden years, and if they want nicknacks, they want to pick them out themselves. That's half the fun (or so I hear).

My grandmother lives in an assisted living home. She does not need nor does she have space for home decor, decorative soaps, clever doormats, afghan blankets, cook books, coffee mugs that say "#1 Grandma" etc. etc. Now the best gift we can give her is a "gift certificate" to the local casino - she loves her field trips there.

My best friend Jocelyn went to Quebec for her Spring Break (she's a teacher) last week. Before she left, she asked me if I wanted her to bring back any souvenirs for me. Remember what I said about grand parents and nicknacks?

Jocelyn: "I'm taking orders! What do you want me to bring you?"

Me: "I don't know, what do they have? What are you getting for other people?"

Jocelyn: "I don't know yet. I'm getting moccasins for my grandma."

Me: "Are you going to an Indian Reservation??"

Jocelyn: "No! What else would you get for an 80-year-old woman?"

Me: "True, Native American apparel is totally appropriate."

The Fountain Of Youth Lies Within My Bathroom Cupboard

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Water- It Does a Body Good

All things good about me, I attribute to water. I drink a lot of it. And unlike these "eight glass a day - or else!" nazis, I do so naturally. I don't have to remind myself. I just like water - the taste, the feel, the way it quenches my thirst.

I really do credit water for a lot. I have nice skin? It's because I drink a lot of water. Oh you like my shiny hair? It's all that water I drink. Nope, I don't get hangovers. It's because I stay hydrated by drinking a lot of water. I keep fairly slim and trim because all that water I drink helps flush my system.

Water is pretty amazing, but it's not a miracle drug. Water is.. well... water. I might attribute powers it doesn't entirely deserve. It will not cure leprosy (though I don't know this from personal experience). It will not solve all of your life problems- won't earn you money and get you out of debt, help you find your perfect soulmate (though maybe the good skin/hair might help with the love aspect), won't get you out of trouble you're already in (unless that trouble happens to be a drought). But I'm pretty sure it might make you smarter. I mean I drink a lot of water, and I'm pretty near brilliant...

Got H2O?

What is today? No, not the date, the year.

I once sat there and debated with myself for a good 20-25 minutes about how old I was. I had to grab a pen and paper and do the math (let's see, I was born December 5, 1981 and the day was June 16, 2006.) That made me 25. And that was a beautiful realization because I could have sworn at the time that I was 26, but it just didn't seem right. I know plenty of people forget their age, especially after they hit 40. As I understand it, the years start to "blend together" at that point. But at 25 years of age, it shouldn't have taken me a half hour of pondering and long subtraction math to figure out things.

But wait, it gets worse. I'm a bit ashamed to admit this one, but what the hell. One day I nearly had a panic attack because I could not figure out the date. No, I wasn't just confused about what day of the month it was, or even what month of the year. It was June or July and I could not for the LIFE of me recall the date. And I thought for one minute that maybe I had suffered from a stroke, or amnesia, or come down with a case of down syndrome. It was definitely, positively 2006. No! It was 2007. Like a schizophrenic I argued with myself for at least a half hour. Then I really started to panic. Who on earth was I going to call to find out the real year? Who, who would not be concerned (my parents), think I was certifiably loco (the cute guy who sat behind me in Marketing), or confirm that I was off my rocker (my friends, who were generally suspicious anyway).

So what, do you ask, was the solution? Google. Thank you for not judging me, Google. I don't know why I didn't think to check a newspaper (or a news website), but Google kindly and gently nudged me in the right direction.

I'm going to create a website and it's going to be a fantastic hit. Totally anonymously, you too can find out the date (day, month, and year included!) There will also be a section where you can plug in your birth date (if you can't remember the year, you're SOL I'm afraid) and it will then magically tell you your age. You can thank me for that - whether it's now, or when you're 40-... something.