Hi, I'm Trina...(I guess)...

Do you remember that one shy kid you knew growing up?  You and all your cool friends would point and say, "Let's see what the shy girl does."

I was that kid.  Very quiet...As with everything, being shy had its pros and cons.

One major negative I remember to being shy was being asked to do stuff and being too shy to say, "Fuck no, I won't do that!"...Well ok, I was only in second grade...but I'm sure if I knew the phrase I would have said it.  Mrs. Fisk was reading a story to our class. We were seated on the floor...indian style.  Can I still use that term?  "Indian style"?

Anyway, that day I had the great misfortune of being seated next to Bradley.  The dirtiest kid in 2nd grade.  He had green fingernails and hair that looked like it was covered in a layer of dust.  I was listening to Mrs. Fisk read our story when she suddenly stopped and looked in my direction.  "Trina, if you need a kleenex, get up and grab one.  Please clean that up."

I was shocked and embarassed.  Had no idea what she was referring to...I glanced to my side and saw a giant green booger...in the carpet.  Next to Bradley...who at this point was staring ahead as though he was oblivious to the mess...I was shy...so I got up, grabbed a tissue and gagged as I cleaned up Bradley's booger.

Being shy can also mean you're a piss poor athlete.  I hated dodgeball because I was always the first target.  I'd clumsily try to run out of the way before I felt my cheek sting from getting pummeled by a kickball.  I sucked at kickball too...Queen of "airkicks"...meaning I missed the ball with my foot when it was time to kick.

I also remember in 4th grade my teachers had the brilliant idea of a "Lost and Found" parade the end of the school year.  Everyone had to wear a random scarf....maybe a mitten or two...a jacket.  What did I get?  Some fucker actually wore a bright yellow rain hat.

Not just any hat, mind you.  It looked like a yellow version of a beekeeper bonnet...Only all plastic.  With a clear plastic window so you could see.  So fucking dumb.  As though we lived in Cambodia and had blinding rain.  Anyway, I was too shy to say no.  So I had to march in the parade with that hat.  And of course who ever did own it pretended it wasn't theirs and instead laughed watching me wear it.  Thanks for that.

I did use my shyness to my advantage at times.  For instance, I once got totally pissed off by a girl who also happened to be my next door neighbor.  I found a dead mouse at recess and put it in her lunch pail.  We had open classrooms which were great for hearing her blood curdling scream when she discovered the dead rodent.

I sat smirking to myself as I was not at all suspected.  A bully named David was instead fingered as the perpetrator.  I had no problem watching him get carted to the principal's office.  He was sentenced to 3 days of detention.  Oh well.

Did I ever get over my shyness?  Yeah.  Kind of.  10 moves with your dad working at IBM will do that. But if we ever meet?  I'll be the quiet one...initially...until you get to know me.

Outta here...

Say, who's up for a burger?

Back in the day when I traveled with my family and 5 younger siblings, my parents would make a big production out of stopping at McDonald's.  You know, the fast food joint?  Well, in my house it was a big deal...Do the math.  McDonald's for 8 people?  Gets pricey, you dig?

Anyway, my parents had the art of ordering down to a science.  We'd pull up to the "Drive Thru" as it was spelled and my dad went into ordering mode.  He'd brace his hands on the steering wheel and without so much as a glance into the back at six hungry faces, he'd make a general announcement.  "We're getting burgers for everyone.  Cheese or No Cheese?"

One by one my brothers and sisters would follow his orders by stating their preference. "Cheese", "No Cheese please", "Cheese", "Cheese", "Cheese"...

Then came my turn.  "I'll take a Filet O' Fish, no tartare sauce, no cheese with extra pickles please.", I stated in a matter of fact manner.  As though my order was nothing out of the ordinary and I hadn't heard Dad's warning shot during his burger announcement.

Silence.  Then I'd watch as he gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.  The back of his neck and ears slowly turning a rashy red...visibly annoyed....

"Trina you heard the choices.  Cheese or no cheese?"  I'd reply, "Oh I said it in my order Dad.  Please omit the cheese.  On my Filet O' Fish.  Extra Pickles.  Did I mention I don't care for tartare sauce?"

Meanwhile, my sisters and brothers sat...listening to our calm discussion braced between fear for my life and being ticked off they wouldn't get the sandwich upgrade.

Every time we went to McDonald's on trips we'd engage in this subtle war of words.  And every time he'd eventually cave.  Mad at himself, but probably thought the 35 cent upgrade was worth not hearing my sarcasm for the remainder of the drive.

That's all I got.

Outta here...

Mr. Fung's Thongs...

I used to work retail...in the men's department in fact.  Yep...sure did.  In the sportswear section.  I couldn't advise on ties, but need a Champion sweatshirt in a hue best suited for your skin tone?  "Let's talk"...

One season our department had the great fortune of receiving a huge shipment of neon colored mens thongs...Swimwear.  I guess.  They were disgusting.  I mean...if you're a guy and you're thinking of investing in this type of swim wear...Am I REALLY supposed to believe you tried them on over your boxer shorts?  Nice try, but "No, I don't believe that"...

My coworker was named James and he was equally appalled at the idea of selling swim thongs to a guy.  So imagine our reaction when one day, a 5'2" asian fellow appeared at our register.

"Herro...Ida likea makea return prease..."  he said in broken English...I think...I may be a little loose with the translation...it doesn't matter.  I didn't have to time to over think what he was trying to convey because the next thing I knew there was a pile of 10 thongs in varying colors dumped onto the desk.

I stood fixated...staring at the pile not know what to do or say next.  My friend James was a big help as he spun around on his heel and walked away laughing his ass off.  I could hear him crying with laughter in the fitting rooms.  I wanted to kill him.

How to handle this...I mean without, "handling them"...I went for the price tags.  They were fixated at the waist so I could avoid touching the thongular region that had likely made itself a home up the Chinese guy's crack.

In the meantime I was dying laughing inside...You know those times when you know you're not supposed to laugh?  So it's even funnier?  Yep...This was one of those times...Especially knowing James was wiping tears he was laughing so hard...

So I tried to think of dead puppies as I turned to the asian man and asked, "How would you like these credited?"  and then just busted out laughing...He looked at me kind of confused and smiled as though he didn't know what was funny..probably embarassed...

I pictured him going back home really excited over his new purchase...whipping off his underwear and sliding his little self into those neon thongs...then viewing his ass in the mirror..."Hmm...deese no good!  Not good at all!" as he shoves them back into the bag....

I made James hang them back up.

Nothing else to add...Except, "Gross!"

Outta here....

My school report on Beavers...

I have no idea why this random story popped into my head...but here it goes...

When I was in elementary school we had to pick an animal, write a report on its habitat as well as a creative fictional story.

I was enamored with beavers.  Those buck toothed, flat tailed little tree biters were irresistible to me.  So it went without saying I wrote my report on the little critters.

Well, I wouldn't really say, "little"...If my beaver facts don't escape me, they can grow to a hearty 60 lbs.  Can you imagine holding or petting a 60 pound beaver?  I know I'd be nervous petting a beaver that big!  

Did you know beavers can stay underwater for as long as 15 minutes?  I found that fact really incredible too.  I can't imagine having beaver that can stay under water that long.  You have to be asking yourself whether the beaver begins to look 'pruney'...My answer is a resounding, "No!".  Beavers are furry and have an oily coat that protects them from moisture.

Also, during my research I learned beavers reside all over the world.  Did you know that?  We'll stick with the familiar North American ones.

Beavers also tend to be nocturnal...Meaning, they are usually very active at night.  I was sure to include that fact in my report findings too.

Did you know beavers can hold logs?  Big ones.  They can be strong too.  They like little ones too but being the arduous worker they are, taking on a big log makes them feel good.

To really make my report shine, I was sure to find all kinds of pictures of beavers...Some had slight variance in hair color...Some were big, others small.  I wanted to be thorough.  Pay attention to detail.

I read my report findings to my class.  Explained the parts of my beaver in detail.  Pointed out its fascinating features.  Watched as my classmates looked in wide eyed amazement.

I got an "A" by the way....Beavers rock!

Outta here....

My Easter Hair Scare...

I loved Easter as a kid.  Not so much the "Jesus died and has risen part".  The candy...easter eggs...and getting a new dress part.

Every year around Easter my sisters and I were treated to a shopping spree at Kmart for a new dress and shoes.  I was maybe 10 years old when I opted for a ruffled purple gingham dress.  And sandals with a hole hollowed out in the heel.  Remember those?  Like termite shoes but everyone thought they were cool.

Anyway, I looked like a square dancer but, hey it was Easter...gotta be festive, right?  The other tradition I kept was donning a special hairstyle for Sunday services.  I liked to think my congregation was as excited to see this year's Easter's hairstyle as I was to plan and reveal it.

One special ecoutrement to this year's hairstyle included barrettes intertwined in lavendar and white ribbons.  Extra lengths of ribbons cascaded from the barrette...Like a bad May Day pole.

The night before Easter I washed my hair and wrapped it in rollers...tightly.  I'm talking twisting the hair tightly before winding it as tight as I could onto the roller.  Small rollers too...I wanted tiny ringlets for celebrating Christ's resurrection.

The next morning as I got ready for church, I stood and stared at myself in the mirror as I removed the rollers.  I unclipped the pink roller and released the hair.  Upon release...the hair was so tightly curled, it wouldn't unfurl from  my scalp.  Each roller had the same result...I'd release the hair...and it would sit atop my scalp in a twisted ball.

I had a head of escargot.

Panicked, I attempted to comb through the hair hoping the curls would relax...No such luck.  It was at this point of discovering how awful my hair situation was that my brother came up to the doorway and died laughing.  After punching him in the chest, I slammed and locked the bathroom door muting his shocked cries of pain.  I didn't need his bullshit...No Siree...Especially on Easter...in this time of crisis.

I knew I was desperate when I sought hair advice from my mother.  The self professed perm/frosted highlight queen.  "Oh, just put it in a ponytail!  The curls will look like a bun!" she said.  I think it was the only time I felt my mother was genius.  "But the barrettes!  What to do with those?" I asked... "Clip them next to the pony tail."

Fucking Genius.  And it worked.  I pulled all the hair back into a high ponytail...and mom was right.  All those tight curls just formed themselves into a neat little bun.  Ribbons flowing freely from the sides....

I went to church and basked in my hair glory.  Glory to God.  Glory to my hair.  Tis a happy day indeed...

See ya....

Don't mind if I do...

I have a funny story I'd like to share about my little sister.  You guys would like her.  Another relative of mine who likes to dish the sarcasm. Anyway, she started a new job fairly recently as a preschool teacher.  She was really excited.

The first day initially went as she anticipated...introductions to her coworkers, learning where art supplies were, lesson plans, toy storage.  At one point early in her day, she realized she needed to use the restroom, but couldn't find a staff member because kids had started to arrive.  She roamed around the building until she finally located the women's restroom.  You know those restrooms at Starbucks? A room with a single toilet and sink?  It was like that....

She sat down on and spent a few minutes taking care of morning business.  You know, "coffee"..."morning"...I don't need to elaborate do I?  I'd hate to embarrass her.  But that's what she was doing.

As she stood up to flush and wash her hands, she happened to glance at the door to the bathroom.  She was mortified to learn that it had a window.  You see, she later learned that restroom was actually used for students...the window in the door so teachers could ensure the preschooler, likely learning how to use the potty, didn't need assistance.  We both guessed she was too overwhelmed being at her first day on the job to notice as she entered....

Regardless, she's fairly certain several of her fellow coworkers saw her sitting on her nest, but didn't say anything.  It was after all, her first day.  Probably wanted to cut her some slack.  Or something...

I'm sure she'll appreciate me sharing this story with the general public, but I couldn't resist.  And I know she'll being reading this...so let me also add how funny and glamorous she is...I love her...

Outta here...

My thoughts on hook rugs...

Ever make those dumb hook rugs as a kid?  I did.  A dog one.  Actually it was the very one pictured above.  Nice, right?  Look at the detail.  I know, it kind of looks like a skull with boobs and black George Washington hair, but you're supposed to be creative...Imagine it's a dog frolicking in a field of flowers.  I think in this particular shot designed for the rug, the dog paused for a moment to wonder where his fourth leg went.

And check out the brand..."Betty's Rug Squares"...for beginners.  Is there an equivalent of a black belt in hook rug artistry?  The label sure implies that.  And just who are the people who go on to advanced hook rug-dom?  I've never seen them.  Shame on Betty for creating false hope for a hook rug career.  I digress...

It took a good 6 months between boredom breaks to finish it.  Did I think my mother would ever use it as an entry rug?  Yes.  I mean, it was a 24" inch square after all...enough to rest a pair of shoes on.  And even if she didn't want to use it as a rug, I knew it could instantly be transformed to a picture or pillow.

Want to know my real thoughts on this craft?  I think hook rugs are just fucked up.  Created for kids so they stay out of their mother's hair. Time consumers.  Tedious.  No functional place in society really after they're done.  Too small to be a functioning area rug.  Too homely and sad to hang on the wall.  And who really would use one as a pillow?  If I wanted to lay my face on a carpet, I'd just plant myself on a floor.

Think I'll buy one for my kid when she's old enough...Get some quiet for a change...

Outta here...