Creatures. You'd think I'd be used to them by now since I lived out in the boonies for 18 years of my life. I just found out a few weeks ago that people really shouldn't get too close to deer because evidently they attack humans. Who knew? Shoot, my family had two pet deer, Bambi and Faline, that my dad rescued after their mothers had been hit by cars. It was a sad day when we were forced to let them go out into the wild because, evidently, housing a deer is illegal. Oh, the hazards of having a game warden as a family friend.
Wow, I have no idea why I started talking about deer. That was weird. Back to creatures.
Typical Nebraska creatures don't bother me at all. Oh, that's where I was going with the deer thing. Yes - not even deer scare me! Skunks? Yeah, a little because no one within a mile radius would want to be around me. Coons? No. I knew people who had coons as pets. They seemed so cuddly. Snakes? Hell yes, but they're the devil in disguise.
There is one, non-devilish creature that continuously freaks me out and I have no idea why. LIZARDS. And, unfortunately, Texas is full of the little buggers.
I think I'm most freaked out by them being able to get into the house. When I think of lizards, I either think of A) pets or B) things by lakes. Granted, I do live by a lake, but I feel like a lizard shouldn't make its way into my bedroom unless I got it certified from Petsmart. (Is it Pet's Mart or Pet Smart? I've honestly never known.)
About a week ago, I was talking with my friend, Maggie, on the phone and saw something dart across my room and out into the hallway. I figured it was just a grasshopper or something, but curiousity got the best of me so I went to take a look-see. Out in the hallway, an asshole lizard blended in with the carpet and proceeded to jet across the top of my foot and into the office. I think Maggie probably went deaf with all of my hootin' and hollerin'. I immediately had every desire to catch it by the tail and throw it in the toilet.
...But then I thought of PETA and how I'd probably be arrested. So, instead, I threw a tin can over the top of it and promised myself to let the little bastard out the back door when I got off the phone with Maggie.
Except for I didn't. Instead I forgot about it until the next morning. Thinking I'd find a dead lizard, I lifted the tin, KLEENEX in had, ready to throw him down the toilet unintentionally. But the way he jolted toward my big toe told me he wasn't ready to meet Jesus yet. Thankfully, my roommate helped a sista out and somehow coaxed him into a Sonic cup to let him outside.
This kind gesture of my roommate made me believe that she was one with lizards. For once, I felt safe from being attacked by something scaley in the middle of the night. Until a couple nights later when I heard a scream from the kitchen. I thought my roomie was being killed, so I hustled out there prepared to fight. That's when I discovered my roomie definitely disliked lizards, since one caused her to scream bloody murder. I saw the bugger hanging from the backdoor like a window cling.
It wasn't quite as easy to wrangle like the smaller one. It wouldn't fit nicely in a cup and it was clinging to a door instead of prowling on the floor. Every part of me wanted to be brave and just cup my hand around it...until I thought of it revealing razor-sharp teeth and chomping through my hand. The grabbing it idea was out of the question. Using teamwork, we escorted the lizard to the floor and then, using my best "workin' cattle" attitude, I convinced the lizard to make its way outside.
I saw another one at work today and it was smaller and less intimidating. I tried capturing it in a cup to send back for Maggie so she could name it Jessica and think of me every time she fed it a fly. Unfortunately, Jessica didn't like my idea and tried committing suicide against the bathroom wall. I'm so over lizards.
Just pray I don't get eaten by one tonight as I sleep. Spooky.
Monday, August 30, 2010
Saturday, August 28, 2010
Friday Night Lights
**Before I discuss my night last night, I want to take a moment to ask you to put a Chambers family in your thoughts and prayers as they struggle through the loss of their beloved son and brother, Clint. Clint started kindergarten with Jacy and graduated with her, so I know she's definitely hurting right now too. Clint was a really wonderful young man. He was also so polite and was always quick with a smile. He died doing what he loved - bull riding. I know he will be missed dearly by all of those who knew him. May he rest in peace.**
On my way to work yesterday, I drove past a ton of signs advertising the Coppell High School football game. I was immediately intrigued - high schools advertise football games?! What kind of alternate universe was I living in? Then I quickly understood. Dorothy, I'm not in Nebraska anymore. I'm in the land where showy football games were all but invented - TEXAS. Everything is bigger here. And my new town of Coppell is the home to the Coppell Cowboys, a class 5A football team. Class 5A is the largest (as in school population) of any class in Texas. Texas 5A football is where legends are born.
Where I come from, eight-man football is more prevalent. While most people have never even heard of eight-man football, that's what I grew up on (well, besides watching Huskers games on TV). Our tiny Chambers High team maybe, maybe could get 300 people to attend its games, well at least when I was back in high school. We didn't have cheerleaders or half-time shows. Up until a few years ago, we didn't even have a "press box" worthy of being called a press box. It was more like a death trap. I swear the whole thing shook when someone tried to scale its ladder. Don't get me wrong, Nebraska high school football is great, too. It's where corn-fed beasts are born (insert Jared Crick/Joel/Jeff Makovicka here). I love my Nebraska high school football, but I wanted to see what the Texas hype was all about.
I immediately decided that I wanted to attend this game and I was dragging my roommate, Liz, with me. I had second thoughts though because admission to the game was eight freaking dollars. EIGHT DOLLARS? To watch kids play football? I paid less for a Rangers ticket a few weeks ago - and they're top of the American League West! But then Liz assured me that her brother's family had season tickets, so we could just borrow one of theirs and split the cost of a general admission ticket. I was all in. Then I took a double-take at Liz's text message. Season tickets, huh? To a high school football game? That's ridiculous that they even offer season tickets. Season tix are for colleges.
However, as we entered the parking lot, my mind began to sway in the direction of "Man, season tickets are a good idea here." Liz and I got to the game about 45 minutes until kickoff and the parking lots were already nearly full. Fans tailgated on the lawns in front of the stadium as we made our way to the gates to purchase a GA ticket. The stadium's hustle and bustle was quite the sight! Verizon FIOS and ESPN even set up shop inside the stadium to lure fans to purchase something in exchange for a free blanket, stadium chair or cooler/grill combo. Liz and I got our own Coppell Cowboys fleece blanket after purchasing a Showtime package through Verizon - such suckers we are. :)
We got some grub - Yes, I got BBQ - and made our way to our seats. "Ladies, these seats are reserved." "Um, ladies, keep moving, these seats are reserved. You can sit at either side of the stadium or in the student section." I thought, "Yeah, right, like all of these reserved seats will be taken. Ha!" Well, sure as the sky is blue, those reserved seats were filled to the brim. As were the general admission seats we were in.
Oh - and the field - I swear there were more people on the field than were in the seats! Cheerleaders and select band members and boosters and Coppell's own version of the Roughnecks and a huge dance crew were all lined up on the field. As the Cowboys made their way onto the field, they were proceeded by smoke-machine produced fog as they ran out of a huge, blow-up helmet. The Star Spangled Banner was played, the fight song was sung and the kickoff was, well, weak to be frank. The kicker wasn't great. I expected more from him.
The game was slow, but the Coppell Cowboys gained a 7-0 cushion heading into halftime. And that's when the fun began. HALFTIME. If you know me at all, you know I'm a humungo band geek. Seriously, I had a terrible time giving up my sax. I joined UNL campus band to satisfy my thirst for music. I'd even secretly sneak out of my dorm room freshman year to sit in front of the belltower and listen to the band practice in the early mornings. I'm THAT geeky.
So, when I heard Coppell's band was BOMB, I had to stay until half-time. But before the band got a chance to play, a dance group called the Lariettes (http://www.chslariettes.com/ ) took the field. Being a dance junkie as well, I was completely intrigued. This group was amazing. Five captains took the field first and did some out-of-this-world synchronized leaps and kicks. Then, without any warning, they did a little salute and ended in a leap-into-the-freaking-splits move. I whimpered outloud as my hands made their way to my groins in pain. Holy hell that had to have hurt. But it was sure cool. Then the entire dance team lept and kicked onto the field in their cute little hats and fringy little outfits. AH-DOOR-ABLE! I've never seen a more in sync group of 50+ dancers. Their choreography was impeccable.
After being thoroughly impressed by the Lariettes, the band had a lot to prove. And they did it. I swear the band was bigger than Nebraska's band. It was HUGE. I couldn't get over the dynamics they had on the field (music-wise). I felt like I was at a symphony. I'm not even kidding when I say I actually had to wipe a tear from my cheek at one point. A high school marching band could sound THAT good? Wow. WOW.
I was satisfied after half-time, so Liz and I packed up our stuff and headed to a late-night movie. The Cowboys ended up winning 13-0 last night.
If you haven't gathered my overall assessment of Texas high school football from my flattering words, please let me leave you with this: I'm on the Coppell website right now figuring out how to get season tickets.
Here's me being a giant goon...
On my way to work yesterday, I drove past a ton of signs advertising the Coppell High School football game. I was immediately intrigued - high schools advertise football games?! What kind of alternate universe was I living in? Then I quickly understood. Dorothy, I'm not in Nebraska anymore. I'm in the land where showy football games were all but invented - TEXAS. Everything is bigger here. And my new town of Coppell is the home to the Coppell Cowboys, a class 5A football team. Class 5A is the largest (as in school population) of any class in Texas. Texas 5A football is where legends are born.
Where I come from, eight-man football is more prevalent. While most people have never even heard of eight-man football, that's what I grew up on (well, besides watching Huskers games on TV). Our tiny Chambers High team maybe, maybe could get 300 people to attend its games, well at least when I was back in high school. We didn't have cheerleaders or half-time shows. Up until a few years ago, we didn't even have a "press box" worthy of being called a press box. It was more like a death trap. I swear the whole thing shook when someone tried to scale its ladder. Don't get me wrong, Nebraska high school football is great, too. It's where corn-fed beasts are born (insert Jared Crick/Joel/Jeff Makovicka here). I love my Nebraska high school football, but I wanted to see what the Texas hype was all about.
I immediately decided that I wanted to attend this game and I was dragging my roommate, Liz, with me. I had second thoughts though because admission to the game was eight freaking dollars. EIGHT DOLLARS? To watch kids play football? I paid less for a Rangers ticket a few weeks ago - and they're top of the American League West! But then Liz assured me that her brother's family had season tickets, so we could just borrow one of theirs and split the cost of a general admission ticket. I was all in. Then I took a double-take at Liz's text message. Season tickets, huh? To a high school football game? That's ridiculous that they even offer season tickets. Season tix are for colleges.
However, as we entered the parking lot, my mind began to sway in the direction of "Man, season tickets are a good idea here." Liz and I got to the game about 45 minutes until kickoff and the parking lots were already nearly full. Fans tailgated on the lawns in front of the stadium as we made our way to the gates to purchase a GA ticket. The stadium's hustle and bustle was quite the sight! Verizon FIOS and ESPN even set up shop inside the stadium to lure fans to purchase something in exchange for a free blanket, stadium chair or cooler/grill combo. Liz and I got our own Coppell Cowboys fleece blanket after purchasing a Showtime package through Verizon - such suckers we are. :)
We got some grub - Yes, I got BBQ - and made our way to our seats. "Ladies, these seats are reserved." "Um, ladies, keep moving, these seats are reserved. You can sit at either side of the stadium or in the student section." I thought, "Yeah, right, like all of these reserved seats will be taken. Ha!" Well, sure as the sky is blue, those reserved seats were filled to the brim. As were the general admission seats we were in.
Oh - and the field - I swear there were more people on the field than were in the seats! Cheerleaders and select band members and boosters and Coppell's own version of the Roughnecks and a huge dance crew were all lined up on the field. As the Cowboys made their way onto the field, they were proceeded by smoke-machine produced fog as they ran out of a huge, blow-up helmet. The Star Spangled Banner was played, the fight song was sung and the kickoff was, well, weak to be frank. The kicker wasn't great. I expected more from him.
The game was slow, but the Coppell Cowboys gained a 7-0 cushion heading into halftime. And that's when the fun began. HALFTIME. If you know me at all, you know I'm a humungo band geek. Seriously, I had a terrible time giving up my sax. I joined UNL campus band to satisfy my thirst for music. I'd even secretly sneak out of my dorm room freshman year to sit in front of the belltower and listen to the band practice in the early mornings. I'm THAT geeky.
So, when I heard Coppell's band was BOMB, I had to stay until half-time. But before the band got a chance to play, a dance group called the Lariettes (http://www.chslariettes.com/ ) took the field. Being a dance junkie as well, I was completely intrigued. This group was amazing. Five captains took the field first and did some out-of-this-world synchronized leaps and kicks. Then, without any warning, they did a little salute and ended in a leap-into-the-freaking-splits move. I whimpered outloud as my hands made their way to my groins in pain. Holy hell that had to have hurt. But it was sure cool. Then the entire dance team lept and kicked onto the field in their cute little hats and fringy little outfits. AH-DOOR-ABLE! I've never seen a more in sync group of 50+ dancers. Their choreography was impeccable.
After being thoroughly impressed by the Lariettes, the band had a lot to prove. And they did it. I swear the band was bigger than Nebraska's band. It was HUGE. I couldn't get over the dynamics they had on the field (music-wise). I felt like I was at a symphony. I'm not even kidding when I say I actually had to wipe a tear from my cheek at one point. A high school marching band could sound THAT good? Wow. WOW.
I was satisfied after half-time, so Liz and I packed up our stuff and headed to a late-night movie. The Cowboys ended up winning 13-0 last night.
If you haven't gathered my overall assessment of Texas high school football from my flattering words, please let me leave you with this: I'm on the Coppell website right now figuring out how to get season tickets.
Here's me being a giant goon...
Friday, August 27, 2010
It Ain't Easy Bein' a Pedestrian
I have seen a lot of weird and sometimes funny shit happen to people. I've seen a lady fall face-first on a treadmill (funny). I've seen my best friend slip on ice and get a concussion (scary). I've seen a football player's leg completely be facing the other direction after a play (gross).
Typically, when I think of people getting hit by cars, I think FUNNY. Also, when I think of people getting hit by cars, I think of places like New York City, Chicago or Los Angeles. I sure as hell don't think of Arlington, Texas. After yesterday, I now feel that Arlington pedestrians should fear for their lives.
My fellow intern, Laura, and I took a trek to Arlington yesterday to get a tour of Cowboys Stadium. It was every bit as awesome as everyone said it would be. I even got to see the infamous whiteboard that Bo Pelini left marks in after smashing a chair into it post-2009 Big 12 Championship game. I could feel the anger as I pushed my index finger into the dents.
After an exhausting tour - because the stadium is, like, a mile or two in circumference - Laura and I hit the road to go get some Sonic and head back to the office. As we were driving down a street next to Rangers Ballpark, I heard Laura saying, "What is he doing? WHAT IS HE DOING?! HE'S NOT SLOWING DOWN." So I looked up from my cell phone (I was a passenger) just in time to see the pickup in front of us collide with a pedestrian who was crossing the street.
It seriously looked like a scene from Cruel Intentions. You know, the one where Ryan Phillippe gets hit by a car and rolls over the top of the car and dies? Except for this lady didn't roll over top of the pickup. Instead, the impact caused her to fly, like, 10 feet in front of the pickup. The force even knocked her out of her shoes! The poor lady screamed and screamed and rolled back and forth in the middle of the street. (Thank God she was moving - that meant she wasn't paralyzed). Then a crowd gathered around and all we could see was blood covering her face. It was really scary. Really not funny at all.
I'm not entirely sure what the hell the driver was doing. Perhaps texting while driving? He had his phone in his hand as he popped out of the car and into the street to see if the woman was okay. And what in God's name was that woman doing? She just walked right into it! She clearly wasn't paying attention either.
A few days ago, a Metroplex biker was seriously injured by a hit-and-run, too. This madness is for the streets of New York! Not for the quaint Dallas, Texas. (quaint? Ha... yeah, not so much).
Anyway, this scary experience has forced me to be less of a distracted driver. Please do the same. Keep our pedestrians safe!
Typically, when I think of people getting hit by cars, I think FUNNY. Also, when I think of people getting hit by cars, I think of places like New York City, Chicago or Los Angeles. I sure as hell don't think of Arlington, Texas. After yesterday, I now feel that Arlington pedestrians should fear for their lives.
My fellow intern, Laura, and I took a trek to Arlington yesterday to get a tour of Cowboys Stadium. It was every bit as awesome as everyone said it would be. I even got to see the infamous whiteboard that Bo Pelini left marks in after smashing a chair into it post-2009 Big 12 Championship game. I could feel the anger as I pushed my index finger into the dents.
After an exhausting tour - because the stadium is, like, a mile or two in circumference - Laura and I hit the road to go get some Sonic and head back to the office. As we were driving down a street next to Rangers Ballpark, I heard Laura saying, "What is he doing? WHAT IS HE DOING?! HE'S NOT SLOWING DOWN." So I looked up from my cell phone (I was a passenger) just in time to see the pickup in front of us collide with a pedestrian who was crossing the street.
It seriously looked like a scene from Cruel Intentions. You know, the one where Ryan Phillippe gets hit by a car and rolls over the top of the car and dies? Except for this lady didn't roll over top of the pickup. Instead, the impact caused her to fly, like, 10 feet in front of the pickup. The force even knocked her out of her shoes! The poor lady screamed and screamed and rolled back and forth in the middle of the street. (Thank God she was moving - that meant she wasn't paralyzed). Then a crowd gathered around and all we could see was blood covering her face. It was really scary. Really not funny at all.
I'm not entirely sure what the hell the driver was doing. Perhaps texting while driving? He had his phone in his hand as he popped out of the car and into the street to see if the woman was okay. And what in God's name was that woman doing? She just walked right into it! She clearly wasn't paying attention either.
A few days ago, a Metroplex biker was seriously injured by a hit-and-run, too. This madness is for the streets of New York! Not for the quaint Dallas, Texas. (quaint? Ha... yeah, not so much).
Anyway, this scary experience has forced me to be less of a distracted driver. Please do the same. Keep our pedestrians safe!
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Soap Box Part 7
I'm on it again, only this time for good reason: MY LAST NAME!
I think I was a little spoiled growing up with my mom as a teacher in the same school I attended because everyone knew her name - Mrs. Schwager. Up until college, I never had anyone mispronounce my name. (What can I say? I was a big deal. People knew me. HA!) My family would get the occasional telemarketer looking for "the Shwayjers," but for the most part, people were respectful and knew how to say my name.
This past week, I've had at least five people mispronounce my last name. That's just unacceptable. If your last name was, "Ogihoihhaoihgioh," I'd sure as hell try to figure out how to pronounce it before attempted to say it. Now, I know there are some instances where you don't get the opportunity to ask someone how to pronounce their last name before saying it.
Case-in-point, when I'm answering the phones here at work. When I first started here, I wasn't 100 percent sure how to say a few of the last names. Sometimes I'd get callers asking, "Hey, who would I talk to about football?" And I'd say, "Oh, that's Joni. Hold on one moment before I transfer you." I could have gone ahead and butchered Joni's last name, but I didn't want Joe Blow caller to think that's really how he should say her last name. If he did ask for a last name (which happened once before I figured out how to say it), I said, "I just started here, so I'm unsure how to pronounce her last name, but it's spelled..." Sure, it made me sound like a shmuck, but probably lesser of a schmuck than if I would have just thrown out some rando last name to Joe Blow caller.
Anyway, my last name should be relatively easy to pronounce. Did you know the "schwa" sound is the most common vowel sound in the English language? So why the truck are you failing to figure how to pronounce my easy-ass last name? Remember how I changed my last name to "Goldschwager" on Facebook? I did that to help people out. You've heard of the magical beverage called Goldschlager, right? The one with the shards of real gold in it? The one that supposedly cuts your throat and stomach with the gold shards to make its alcohol enter your bloodstream quicker? (Goldschlwager is badass. Kind of like me.) Well, my name is said like the "schlager" part of Goldschlager. Simple.
Or, if you don't know that alcoholic beverage, here's how my name is pronounced: Schwogger or Schwaaahhhger. (Like saying Ahhhh at the doctor's office). And if you're really unsure, ask me or Jacy.
I know this is a petty little thing to get upset about, but I just want to make sure my ancestors get the recognition they deserve for giving me such an awesome last name.
Now, who's thirsty for some Goldschlager?
I think I was a little spoiled growing up with my mom as a teacher in the same school I attended because everyone knew her name - Mrs. Schwager. Up until college, I never had anyone mispronounce my name. (What can I say? I was a big deal. People knew me. HA!) My family would get the occasional telemarketer looking for "the Shwayjers," but for the most part, people were respectful and knew how to say my name.
This past week, I've had at least five people mispronounce my last name. That's just unacceptable. If your last name was, "Ogihoihhaoihgioh," I'd sure as hell try to figure out how to pronounce it before attempted to say it. Now, I know there are some instances where you don't get the opportunity to ask someone how to pronounce their last name before saying it.
Case-in-point, when I'm answering the phones here at work. When I first started here, I wasn't 100 percent sure how to say a few of the last names. Sometimes I'd get callers asking, "Hey, who would I talk to about football?" And I'd say, "Oh, that's Joni. Hold on one moment before I transfer you." I could have gone ahead and butchered Joni's last name, but I didn't want Joe Blow caller to think that's really how he should say her last name. If he did ask for a last name (which happened once before I figured out how to say it), I said, "I just started here, so I'm unsure how to pronounce her last name, but it's spelled..." Sure, it made me sound like a shmuck, but probably lesser of a schmuck than if I would have just thrown out some rando last name to Joe Blow caller.
Anyway, my last name should be relatively easy to pronounce. Did you know the "schwa" sound is the most common vowel sound in the English language? So why the truck are you failing to figure how to pronounce my easy-ass last name? Remember how I changed my last name to "Goldschwager" on Facebook? I did that to help people out. You've heard of the magical beverage called Goldschlager, right? The one with the shards of real gold in it? The one that supposedly cuts your throat and stomach with the gold shards to make its alcohol enter your bloodstream quicker? (Goldschlwager is badass. Kind of like me.) Well, my name is said like the "schlager" part of Goldschlager. Simple.
Or, if you don't know that alcoholic beverage, here's how my name is pronounced: Schwogger or Schwaaahhhger. (Like saying Ahhhh at the doctor's office). And if you're really unsure, ask me or Jacy.
I know this is a petty little thing to get upset about, but I just want to make sure my ancestors get the recognition they deserve for giving me such an awesome last name.
Now, who's thirsty for some Goldschlager?
Sunday, August 22, 2010
Mother Knows Best
To start off, this is Jacy writing a blog entry! How is it that Jessica can think of so many things to write about, yet I can never come up with something? I really need to start holding up my end of this blog. I might as well since I end up getting blamed for what Jessica writes anyway. Ha. But that's beside the point. What is the point, is that you should always listen to your mother, even if it is against your best judgement. Storytime...
I want to clear the air though when I say that I, like Jessica, have really cleaned up my act and rarely party anymore. Which was pretty obvious, because I went to my first party in a long time last Friday night and I forgot the cardinal rule of partying: When everyone disappears and gets quiet, you need to disappear and get quiet too.
It was the UNL students' first weekend back at school. Big weekends like this are deemed "No Tolerance" weekends by the police, which means that if you get busted at a party, you WILL get charged. It's dumb to even go out on this weekend, but it doesn't stop hundreds of kids. And at least a hundred of those kids were at the party we were at. It was only a matter of time before the cops arrived. My friend and I had made our way down to the basement of the house where we were chatting to a few people, when suddenly we realized it was eerily quiet. We looked up the stairs, and sure enough, there were flashlights beaming down into our faces. With our tails between our legs, all of us in the basement ventured to the top of the stairs with the hopes that the cops will do what they usually do and give us a nice "Go home," and let us be on our way. Instead we were greeted by multiple cops saying "Line up against the side of the house!" and a cameraman shoving a camera into our faces. My friend of course covers her face and said "Oh my gosh, this is embarassing, I can't have my face on film," while I of course ask the cops, "Are we gonna be on MTV?!" After they shot down my hopes of getting famous, my only other thought was that we were going to be on "Cops." And NO ONE wants to be on Cops.
This is when I started planning my escape. If I wasn't going to be on MTV, there was nothing good that could come of this. I knew that an MIP was headed my way and I could NOT afford that. There were probably only about 10 of us there while around 5 cops hovered like vultures. My odds of getting away with a 2:1 ratio were not good, especially when we were lined up against a wall with a lady cop scanning us up and down with her flashlight. I was wearing about 4-inch wedge heels as well, so I had to do something about that. While leaning against the wall I claimed, "Oh, standing this long is making my feet hurt!" and non-chalantly slipped of my shoes right in front of the cop. Lady Cop's first mistake: Don't let a girl about to get an MIP take off her high heels. No good can come of that. One of the cops asked, "Who owns this house?" and we all looked at each other and just shrugged. He responded with "You all came to a party and none of you even know who lives here??" Seriously, Cop Dude, dumb question. We're college kids. We don't exactly do a background check on the owner of every party house we go to. Then he started asking who was all not 21. Eventually, one by one, the minors' hands went up. Not mine though. I was determined they weren't going to know my secret. But then the thoughts of asking for my I.D. and procuring started running through my mind, so I threw up my hand after the final call for the minors.
Then the cops started checking the 21-year-olds' IDs. The ones with a valid ID, they allowed to leave. This is when my mind started really going a million miles an hour. "If they're allowing the 21-year-olds to leave, there's a reason they're keeping us here! They would have let us go by now if we weren't going to get charged. Mom always told me no matter what the situation to RUN from the cops." That's when it hit me what I had to do. A couple of years ago (before I ever even had my first drink) I was at a party that got busted. Everyone ran besides four of us. The two of us that weren't drinking got let off, and the two that were got MIPs because they didn't run. After that time, Mom (and Gina) told me I was an idiot for not running, and to ALWAYS run no matter what, because the cops aren't going to shoot. So I was standing there in front of the cops weighing my options. I could stay and possibly get let off but most likely get an MIP, or I could run and get away, or get an MIP and a Resisting Arrest. But, if I stayed and got an MIP, I'd get yelled at not only for the charge, but because I didn't run. If I ran and got caught, I could simply blame it on Mom because she told me to. I made my decision.
The second Lady Cop turned her head for a split second, I dashed. With my heels in hand, I ran like I had never run before. My bare feet went over driveways of rocks, sticks, yards, sidewalks, and streets. NOTHING was stopping them. Seriously, I almost wish the cameraman would have gotten that part of it, because I could have sent that film to any college and had a full-ride track scholarship. After zooming about three blocks, I swerved off to the left to an unlit neighborhood and hurdled over a fence into a backyard. I did take notice that they had beautiful landscaping, with lots of rock gardens and little ponds...and lots of bushes. So I dove into a bush.
I stealthily tiptoed and dove from bush to bush, trying to get further back in the yard. Every now and then small group of fellow flee-ers made their way through the backyard too. Of course, I had to tell someone what I was going through.
Me - "Jessica, I almosy just got an mip. Right wben the cops turned I sprinted for al I was worth. I'm in bushes now."
Jess - "Jacy! Be fuckin careful! U don't have that money."
Me - "Which is why I ran"
Me - "They had collected a little group of six minors and I was one of them. So I claimed my shoes were uncomfortable and slipped them off then took off running."
Jess - "Jacy Schwager. Go break into the nearest house."
Me - "Already hid in their landscaping."
Jess - "Be stealth. Turn off ur phone."
Me - "I once again, just kep thinking 'Hunger Games.'"
Me - "Some guy was even video taping it."
Jess - "Jacvy TURN OFF UR FUCKING PHONE AND HIE."
Me - "I'm in my car now."
Jess - "If you don't turn off ur phone now I will get you like a sword butterfly."
My friend had walked from the party since she was of age, and had taken refuge in my car and convinced me to do the same. After about 20 minutes of hanging in a bush, I navigated my way out of the backyard, which was much more difficult than it seems. She informed me that after my fellow minors saw me sprinting away, they followed suit and did the same. As I had told another friend, I hope the cops didn't plan on using the filmed footage for anything, because several minors sprinting away right in front of their noses probably doesn't reflect well on them.
Apart from a couple boo boos on the soles of my feet, I made it away safe and sound and misdemeanor free. Thank you, Mother, for your advice.
I want to clear the air though when I say that I, like Jessica, have really cleaned up my act and rarely party anymore. Which was pretty obvious, because I went to my first party in a long time last Friday night and I forgot the cardinal rule of partying: When everyone disappears and gets quiet, you need to disappear and get quiet too.
It was the UNL students' first weekend back at school. Big weekends like this are deemed "No Tolerance" weekends by the police, which means that if you get busted at a party, you WILL get charged. It's dumb to even go out on this weekend, but it doesn't stop hundreds of kids. And at least a hundred of those kids were at the party we were at. It was only a matter of time before the cops arrived. My friend and I had made our way down to the basement of the house where we were chatting to a few people, when suddenly we realized it was eerily quiet. We looked up the stairs, and sure enough, there were flashlights beaming down into our faces. With our tails between our legs, all of us in the basement ventured to the top of the stairs with the hopes that the cops will do what they usually do and give us a nice "Go home," and let us be on our way. Instead we were greeted by multiple cops saying "Line up against the side of the house!" and a cameraman shoving a camera into our faces. My friend of course covers her face and said "Oh my gosh, this is embarassing, I can't have my face on film," while I of course ask the cops, "Are we gonna be on MTV?!" After they shot down my hopes of getting famous, my only other thought was that we were going to be on "Cops." And NO ONE wants to be on Cops.
This is when I started planning my escape. If I wasn't going to be on MTV, there was nothing good that could come of this. I knew that an MIP was headed my way and I could NOT afford that. There were probably only about 10 of us there while around 5 cops hovered like vultures. My odds of getting away with a 2:1 ratio were not good, especially when we were lined up against a wall with a lady cop scanning us up and down with her flashlight. I was wearing about 4-inch wedge heels as well, so I had to do something about that. While leaning against the wall I claimed, "Oh, standing this long is making my feet hurt!" and non-chalantly slipped of my shoes right in front of the cop. Lady Cop's first mistake: Don't let a girl about to get an MIP take off her high heels. No good can come of that. One of the cops asked, "Who owns this house?" and we all looked at each other and just shrugged. He responded with "You all came to a party and none of you even know who lives here??" Seriously, Cop Dude, dumb question. We're college kids. We don't exactly do a background check on the owner of every party house we go to. Then he started asking who was all not 21. Eventually, one by one, the minors' hands went up. Not mine though. I was determined they weren't going to know my secret. But then the thoughts of asking for my I.D. and procuring started running through my mind, so I threw up my hand after the final call for the minors.
Then the cops started checking the 21-year-olds' IDs. The ones with a valid ID, they allowed to leave. This is when my mind started really going a million miles an hour. "If they're allowing the 21-year-olds to leave, there's a reason they're keeping us here! They would have let us go by now if we weren't going to get charged. Mom always told me no matter what the situation to RUN from the cops." That's when it hit me what I had to do. A couple of years ago (before I ever even had my first drink) I was at a party that got busted. Everyone ran besides four of us. The two of us that weren't drinking got let off, and the two that were got MIPs because they didn't run. After that time, Mom (and Gina) told me I was an idiot for not running, and to ALWAYS run no matter what, because the cops aren't going to shoot. So I was standing there in front of the cops weighing my options. I could stay and possibly get let off but most likely get an MIP, or I could run and get away, or get an MIP and a Resisting Arrest. But, if I stayed and got an MIP, I'd get yelled at not only for the charge, but because I didn't run. If I ran and got caught, I could simply blame it on Mom because she told me to. I made my decision.
The second Lady Cop turned her head for a split second, I dashed. With my heels in hand, I ran like I had never run before. My bare feet went over driveways of rocks, sticks, yards, sidewalks, and streets. NOTHING was stopping them. Seriously, I almost wish the cameraman would have gotten that part of it, because I could have sent that film to any college and had a full-ride track scholarship. After zooming about three blocks, I swerved off to the left to an unlit neighborhood and hurdled over a fence into a backyard. I did take notice that they had beautiful landscaping, with lots of rock gardens and little ponds...and lots of bushes. So I dove into a bush.
I stealthily tiptoed and dove from bush to bush, trying to get further back in the yard. Every now and then small group of fellow flee-ers made their way through the backyard too. Of course, I had to tell someone what I was going through.
Me - "Jessica, I almosy just got an mip. Right wben the cops turned I sprinted for al I was worth. I'm in bushes now."
Jess - "Jacy! Be fuckin careful! U don't have that money."
Me - "Which is why I ran"
Me - "They had collected a little group of six minors and I was one of them. So I claimed my shoes were uncomfortable and slipped them off then took off running."
Jess - "Jacy Schwager. Go break into the nearest house."
Me - "Already hid in their landscaping."
Jess - "Be stealth. Turn off ur phone."
Me - "I once again, just kep thinking 'Hunger Games.'"
Me - "Some guy was even video taping it."
Jess - "Jacvy TURN OFF UR FUCKING PHONE AND HIE."
Me - "I'm in my car now."
Jess - "If you don't turn off ur phone now I will get you like a sword butterfly."
My friend had walked from the party since she was of age, and had taken refuge in my car and convinced me to do the same. After about 20 minutes of hanging in a bush, I navigated my way out of the backyard, which was much more difficult than it seems. She informed me that after my fellow minors saw me sprinting away, they followed suit and did the same. As I had told another friend, I hope the cops didn't plan on using the filmed footage for anything, because several minors sprinting away right in front of their noses probably doesn't reflect well on them.
Apart from a couple boo boos on the soles of my feet, I made it away safe and sound and misdemeanor free. Thank you, Mother, for your advice.
Saturday, August 21, 2010
Meowsage
Rarely do I ever treat myself to anything. Sure, a manicure or pedicure every now and then, but I never get facials or get my hair done often or get massages. So, when I noticed that a massage clinic called "Massage Envy" offers a $39 50-minute massage for first-timers, I was all over it. I signed up for a massage on Thursday night at 6 p.m. I arrived a bit early, so I was escorted into a dark room with leather coaches and a fish tank. Another man, probably in his late 20s, sat in a couch across from me. He appeared to be taking a snooze, so I carefully sat down in my leather seat, but it still made a little "squish" sound. He woke up abruptly and stared right at me and said, "hi." I said "hi" back and picked up my phone to pretend I was texting someone (so he wouldn't talk to me). Then he got an angry look on his face and said, "YOU WOKE ME UP." I gave him a weird smirk and thought about darting right there. He could have had a gun. But I kept my cool and kept playing games on my phone. He got called up for his massage, so I sat for another 10 minutes waiting for my lady to come get me.
Finalllyyy, a really cute girl came in, so I figured she was my masseuse. I was wrong. My masseuse was the gruff older woman behind her. The gruff woman didn't introduce herself. She just took my hand between hers and said, "I hear you have headaches. We'll take care of that real soon (insert thick Southern drawl here)."
Okay, so she claimed to be a miracle worker. I trusted her.
One thing I absolutely hate if I get massages is when someone talks to me while I'm getting massaged. I like to close my eyes and zone out. She did not feel that I needed to do so. So, she embarked on some small talk with me. I answered shortly so she would stop talking. She didn't.
She asked me where I was from. "Nebraska." She asked me if I got allergies in Texas. "No." Oh, she assured me I would get them. "No. I eat Texas honey for breakfast. I should be fine." Well, honey was the wrong topic to bring up. She was in fact a beekeeper. "Bees are cool," I said. She didn't like normal honey bees. She liked killer bees. In fact, she had a method to keep killer bees from killing her. "Yeah, I'd just plop down in a lawn chair if I saw them after me." Um...okay...yeah that's a dumb idea. "Well, see, then I'd be holding a button to activate an automatic sprinkler system. Wet killer bees can't fly."
This chick was weird, but she was giving a great massage. So I put up with her talking. That was until she asked me what I like to do for fun. "Um...well, I go to movies a lot. And I read quite a bit - "
That's when she cut me off. She, too, likes to read. She likes to read science fiction. But she also likes to read mystery novels. Not just any kind of mystery novels. Oh, no. She likes to read cat mystery novels. Novels where cats interact with people. Novels where cats go out and kill other cats and then there's a detective cat to solve the murder mystery. However, instead of telling me about the stories, she actually started doing CAT VOICES.
"...well, ol' Joe Grey stumbled down the alley and made his way to the murder scence. 'Well, folks, what happened here...meow."
She also described to me, in detail mind you, the names, sizes and breeds of every cat in the novel.
All of a sudden she stopped mid-cat voice and grabbed a muscle on my neck pretty hard. "You know, Jessica, if I pinch this hard enough, you will have a stroke."
I jolted out of bed and said, "Okay, I think I'm good. I'll get dressed now."
Next time, I'll pay the 40 extra bucks to get a normal person to do my massage thank you very much. Man there are some weirdos down here.
Finalllyyy, a really cute girl came in, so I figured she was my masseuse. I was wrong. My masseuse was the gruff older woman behind her. The gruff woman didn't introduce herself. She just took my hand between hers and said, "I hear you have headaches. We'll take care of that real soon (insert thick Southern drawl here)."
Okay, so she claimed to be a miracle worker. I trusted her.
One thing I absolutely hate if I get massages is when someone talks to me while I'm getting massaged. I like to close my eyes and zone out. She did not feel that I needed to do so. So, she embarked on some small talk with me. I answered shortly so she would stop talking. She didn't.
She asked me where I was from. "Nebraska." She asked me if I got allergies in Texas. "No." Oh, she assured me I would get them. "No. I eat Texas honey for breakfast. I should be fine." Well, honey was the wrong topic to bring up. She was in fact a beekeeper. "Bees are cool," I said. She didn't like normal honey bees. She liked killer bees. In fact, she had a method to keep killer bees from killing her. "Yeah, I'd just plop down in a lawn chair if I saw them after me." Um...okay...yeah that's a dumb idea. "Well, see, then I'd be holding a button to activate an automatic sprinkler system. Wet killer bees can't fly."
This chick was weird, but she was giving a great massage. So I put up with her talking. That was until she asked me what I like to do for fun. "Um...well, I go to movies a lot. And I read quite a bit - "
That's when she cut me off. She, too, likes to read. She likes to read science fiction. But she also likes to read mystery novels. Not just any kind of mystery novels. Oh, no. She likes to read cat mystery novels. Novels where cats interact with people. Novels where cats go out and kill other cats and then there's a detective cat to solve the murder mystery. However, instead of telling me about the stories, she actually started doing CAT VOICES.
"...well, ol' Joe Grey stumbled down the alley and made his way to the murder scence. 'Well, folks, what happened here...meow."
She also described to me, in detail mind you, the names, sizes and breeds of every cat in the novel.
All of a sudden she stopped mid-cat voice and grabbed a muscle on my neck pretty hard. "You know, Jessica, if I pinch this hard enough, you will have a stroke."
I jolted out of bed and said, "Okay, I think I'm good. I'll get dressed now."
Next time, I'll pay the 40 extra bucks to get a normal person to do my massage thank you very much. Man there are some weirdos down here.
Monday, August 16, 2010
On The Radio...
My favorite part of starting up the work week you ask? My morning commute! Honestly, I hate the Dallas traffic to no end. (That's why I leave my house at an insanely early hour to get to work before the traffic is completely terrible.) But there is one thing I completely adore - Dallas radio stations! More specifically, their advertisements/public service announcements. I don't recall memorable ads in Nebraska, but there are two ads I absolutely love down here.
1) The breastmilkcounts.com PSA
2) The Natalie Merchant advertisement
1) Where do I even begin with the breastmilkcounts.com public service announcement? Everything is so RIGHT about that commercial. First off, my favorite part is the creepy guy narrating the thing. He sounds SO into breast milk, as if he has some sort of special connection women providing whole milk to their young infants. (Which he probably does...in a sex offender/perverted way). Also, did you know that breast feeding is 100 percent A-OK in public in Texas? That would explain why I saw a women breastfeeding her newborn while walking in the mall a few weeks ago. As if pregnant women in public being legal isn't enough, now they're just allowing breastfeeding? (Only kidding - of course pregnant women are okay to be in public. I just can't live my pregnant women blog down.)
Also, did you know that women who breastfeed burn over 600 calories extra per day? How do I sign up for that? Do you have to have a kid to breastfeed? Is breastfeed one word or two words? I actually have no idea. So forgive me if I've been spelling it wrong.
2) This morning, I heard an awesome ad for a Natalie Merchant concert and immediately wanted to go. Well, until I realized Natalie Merchant was not the singer of the Dawson's Creek theme song and then I didn't really care. (FYI the singer of "I don't wanna wait" is Paula Cole I guess. Who knew? They sound exactly the same!) Anyway, this ad was especially great because the guy narrating the ad was whispering. I'm sorry sir, I can't hear you. Is the Natalie Merchant concert a secret? I think I heard it was at an AT&T performing arts center downtown, but I'm not completely sure. Either way, it sounds really elite and secretive. Sign me up! If only I could have heard the date and time of the concert...
Thanks to those two commercials, I'm ready to start my Monday off in the right direction! Here's to another work week, folks. Hope y'all have a blessed day.
1) The breastmilkcounts.com PSA
2) The Natalie Merchant advertisement
1) Where do I even begin with the breastmilkcounts.com public service announcement? Everything is so RIGHT about that commercial. First off, my favorite part is the creepy guy narrating the thing. He sounds SO into breast milk, as if he has some sort of special connection women providing whole milk to their young infants. (Which he probably does...in a sex offender/perverted way). Also, did you know that breast feeding is 100 percent A-OK in public in Texas? That would explain why I saw a women breastfeeding her newborn while walking in the mall a few weeks ago. As if pregnant women in public being legal isn't enough, now they're just allowing breastfeeding? (Only kidding - of course pregnant women are okay to be in public. I just can't live my pregnant women blog down.)
Also, did you know that women who breastfeed burn over 600 calories extra per day? How do I sign up for that? Do you have to have a kid to breastfeed? Is breastfeed one word or two words? I actually have no idea. So forgive me if I've been spelling it wrong.
2) This morning, I heard an awesome ad for a Natalie Merchant concert and immediately wanted to go. Well, until I realized Natalie Merchant was not the singer of the Dawson's Creek theme song and then I didn't really care. (FYI the singer of "I don't wanna wait" is Paula Cole I guess. Who knew? They sound exactly the same!) Anyway, this ad was especially great because the guy narrating the ad was whispering. I'm sorry sir, I can't hear you. Is the Natalie Merchant concert a secret? I think I heard it was at an AT&T performing arts center downtown, but I'm not completely sure. Either way, it sounds really elite and secretive. Sign me up! If only I could have heard the date and time of the concert...
Thanks to those two commercials, I'm ready to start my Monday off in the right direction! Here's to another work week, folks. Hope y'all have a blessed day.
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