Not an Inspiration for the Dixie Chicks

There was a hit country song that came out when I was in college by the Dixie Chicks called "Wide Open Spaces." Let me tell you something. That song? Was not a song about me. Hi, my name is pheebee. And I'm an agoraphobic.

Earlier this week, I was invited by a friend from high school to her house to hang out with her, her husband, 2.5 kids and their white picket fence. She was throwing a little shindig for her really good friend (and incidentally, my very first non-elementary-school boyfriend*), his wife, their 2.5 kids, and their family SUV. As I was preparing (dreading) going, I had all kinds of thoughts going through my head, which mainly consisted of "What in the devil am I going to do at a 'family-friendly' party?!". But alas, I overcame my apprehension and decided to go. Why? Because I hadn't seen these people in forever, and in high school they were kind of cool. And, if I was lucky, the kids would be sleeping by the time I got there. ;).

So, I checked the address and realized that girlfriend had moved from the old 'hood to BFE. And I told her I thought as much as I was messaging her about my drive. I'd always heard of BFE, but I'd never actually attempted to go there. Far as I was concerned, if it wasn't in the city or an adjacent county, then it'd better be on the way to the city I lived in. In order to get there and not get lost, I jumped on Google Maps and requested some solid directions. Google estimated my trip to take about 40-45 minutes. Knowing that Google always assumes that you're driving a Maserati that's invisible to speed traps, I also knew that this estimate was exceptionally low. I allotted for just under an hour of drive time -- not including the stop I had to make at a liquor store.**

Here's the thing. I have 2 random phobias, ok? One of them, is not really relevant here, and I refuse to admit that I have it. The other is agoraphobia. I get all kinds of panicky and anxious when I'm far enough out of the city that the highways and byways no longer have street lights. And this is precisely where I was headed. Gah! Anyway, I got there safe, had a good time catching up and talking trash.

But, here's where the story becomes worth posting about. As I was leaving, my Ma asked me if I wanted to take some money to fill up her gas tank. And the reason she asked was not because there wasn't any gas in the car, but because I was going so far out of the city and "you don't really know where you're going." Petulant teenager that I become where my Ma is involved, I said I didn't need any stinkin' gas, and it wasn't that far to BFE, for heaven's sake. It's not like I was trying to get to the Capitol! I had just over a 1/4th of a tank and I'd gone farther with less before!! Seriously!

Well, as I was headed back to my parents' house, I realized that what was just over a 1/4th of a tank when I left, was rapidly becoming an 1/8th of a tank. But the gas was actually more expensive in BFE than it was in the city (yeah, I was that far out. They probably have to pay an import/export fee out there or something, since it's so far away). I was really going to push it til I got home. And then...(dum dummm DUMMMM!!!!!!) the check engine light came on. CRAP! I'm driving merrily along, and I'm internally panicking because I have a check engine light, there are no street lights around, and OMG WHERE AM I?!!?! I convince myself that the engine light is really code for low fuel so I decide to care of that small matter ASAP.

I pull off the freeway at the first exit with a blue sign for fuel. And, I'm thinking to myself that I would 1. never admit to my Ma that she was right and I should've gotten gas before I left; 2. that my face will freeze off while I'm pumping, which is really a shame; 3. that I would never EVER in a million years stop at a gas station in the middle of the night if I was in the city or back in Iowa but...what are the odds anyone else will be there to rape and pillage me?

Funny story, when I finally got to the gas station, all the lights were off and I was convinced I wouldn't be able to get anything. Because hey, it's the country and they close everything down, and they don't have automated systems because it's (all together now...) BFE. But they did have a pay outside option, and the pumps were still on (station was closed though. Wouldn't be satisfying my beef jerky quota any time soon). And, there was no one around...until I heard vrooooooommmmmmm! At this point, I'm thinking about how most crimes are crimes of opportunity, and I surely just gave some fool an excellent opportunity to perpetrate a crime against me...and here I was without my pepper spray, in BFE where no one would hear me scream.

The car that squealed it's way into the gas station was a silver Infinity sports coupe. Immediately I figured it was a drug dealer***. When the car got to the pump that was the farthest away from mine, the driver got out. And...wait for it...it was Doogie freakin' Howser meets Duckie meets DJ Conner. He was skinny as a beanpole with dark hair and glasses. At first I wondered why he wasn't in bed sleeping because it was so clearly past his bedtime. Then I dared him (in my head) to just try something because I was pretty sure that I outweighed him by 20 lbs. So much for his crime of opportunity. Guess that kid would just have to stick with living a straight-laced life as a etymologist somewhere.

I gassed up and got back on the road. And, wouldn't you know the check engine light STILL didn't go off? The next day I found out it was actually that the coolant levels were low. So, all that trouble for what? Being scared half to death by a child that was joyriding his daddy's car to the gas station.

And that right there? Is why we stick to the city and adjacent counties. Anything else will lead to stopping for gas at 12:30 in the morning...and no good can come of that. ;)





*And by boyfriend, I mean guy I asked to Turnabout in 10th Grade. Exciting, I know.

**PS. When going to someone's house, act like you have some home training. Take a hostess' gift and if it's a bottle of wine or liquor that doesn't get opened (or finished), it's tacky to take it back with you. You leave it there. (Yeah, I'm looking at you, Titan).

***Because Infinity sports coupes are big in the drug dealer industry? Clearly. Why else would I think it...not like I'd make something like that up. Riiiiiight.

Propaganda?

Sometimes I wonder about what's going through my head. I'm truly wondering if I'm a twee bit nut-so.

So, here's the deal. The other day, I was sitting around and I started to think about Disney. You know what I don't understand? Why is Disney out and out promoting straight-up propaganda? They've taken an entire segment of society that has been rightfully cast out to the gutters of society, and are constantly promoting them and trying to get all of us to accept them. You know what I think that is? BOGUS.

Who am I talking about? Mice. I mean, for real. Did ol' Walt have a secret fetish that no one ever knew about? First, there is Mickey. And Mickey is kinda cute, with his little squeaky voice and his cute little coordinating outfits. There was also duckies, doggies, et al. But then, along came Minnie. So, are we trying to procreate? But ok, I get it. All the animals go on the ark two by two. Fair enough, everyone needs a buddy. Cool. Besides, Minnie was likely the one running the show.

But...then there are all the mice of Cinderella. All of them are squeaking and talking and wearing little outfits. Moving through cinematic history, mice keep showing up in Disney movies, etc etc. Then, we end up in one of the more recent movies, Ratatouille...which featured an ENTIRE DAMN KITCHEN of mice. And, the restaurant critic meets the mice and he doesn't freak out. He has an entire conversation and shakes the hand of the little rodent. Ewwwwww!!!!!!!!!

I don't understand what is happening. On the rare occasion that they do show a mouse in the light that they're supposed to be; they are always rats, with creepy red eyes. EWWWWW AGAIN!!!!! Why is Disney trying to get us to embrace mice? What's up with that? Is there something we don't know?

A few weeks ago, my downstairs neighbor told me a story about a clogged drain. Evidently, one of the bathroom drains was plugged up, and nothing was working...not Drano or using a plunger, nada. So he decided to do a little manual investigating. Lo and behold he found the clog...and he's pretty sure it was a tiny little baby mouse. Excuse me, a DEAD baby mouse that had tried to climb up the drain and snack on all the non-poisonous food in the house. Let me tell you something. If there is ever a time where there's some little rodent running around my house -- or if I find one that died somewhere in my house -- EVERYBODY will know about it. It'll be clear after you hear the blood-curdling screams coming from my unit. Followed by the immediate packing of all my worldly possessions and the "For Sale" sign that will be posted on the front of the building, immediately.

And I don't give a rat's-behind what Disney or anyone else has to say about it.

Deep Waters

Jade and I often talk about our tastes in the opposite gender. Turns out, we are both into the hot boys. This is not news. Problem is, we are both forever destined to be branded as shallow. If you ask me, that's just patently unfair. Behold, I shall defend those who want a handsome fella or pretty gal on their arm just as much as they want a smart man or woman.

First of all, no one is saying that what an individual finds attractive is going to be the same as everyone else's. No where is this more evident than the recent crowning of Jennifer Aniston as the The Hottest Woman of All Time or some such thing. (Leading legions of people to say "what the hell?!!?!"*) The point is that everyone has a threshold of attractiveness. And if you're honest with yourself, you know you have certain attributes that you like.

Secondly, I once read somewhere that couples who are in love and married for a long time never update their images of their spouses. Whatever the spouse looked like when they were young is what you'll be picturing in 15 years. Isn't that an image you'd like to look at? Yeah, I thought so.

Finally, I've said it once, and I'll say it again. No matter what the personality is, eventually you'll have to want to see the person naked. I'm not saying you have to jump into the sack on the first date.** But for real, how enjoyable is the horizontal mambo going to be if you can't stand to look at the person? I mean seriously, a paper bag is only effective for the face. And is bound to get in the way of kissing.

Call me shallow if you like -- but I intend to enjoy looking at my significant other (with or without clothes). And I suspect you plan to do the same. You just don't want to admit it. So fine then...I'll be the shallow one. You be the liar. :-*


*Or maybe that was just me. Who vote on this anyway? Jennifer Aniston -- really?!!

**In fact, no you may not on the first date, tramp. Keep your pants up. :-P

Growing Up or Getting Over It?

Not too long ago, I was talking to my uncle. We were discussing maturing, and how it seems like some people never seem to stop doing the things they did in high school. The subject turned to going out. Now, my uncle is 30 years older than me, right? But he said that he had to stop going to the clubs because he was tired of seeing the same people there every night. He said they never seemed to want something different. It's a natural reaction of a young buck to protest "yeah, but things are different now!!!" But, before I could even get it out, my uncle pointed out that 30 years ago, the men were tryin' to get the drawers, and the women were wearing skirts that just barely covered their cheeks. (My words, but pretty darn close to his). That shut me up pretty quickly. Why? Because that's basically what's happening in the clubs today.

That conversation made me feel a little bit better. When I was in my late 20s and at the peak of awesomeness, I remember dreading the idea of turning 30, and becoming lame...saying things like "I'd rather stay in my house and drink" or "I don't want to go to a club to kick it with my friends" or "I don't like clubs, they're too loud. I'd rather hang out at a bar with my friends, where we can talk and kick it." These were all phrases that I associated with being old and lame. (Frankly, I still associate them with being old and lame). 2 things that are truly terrifying for me.

Then, shortly after turning 29, I moved to BFE...land of the hipster and stroller. There were families everywhere, and hipsters. The "scene" in my new 'hood was dive bars and coffee shops. All things that make me pull back in horror. And, I was far enough away from the real scene that I needed to drive or plan my night financially. I was sure to wither away and die in my pure lack of awesomeness.

Turns out, I was right about a couple things. First, there is nothing to do after 7pm in my new 'hood (except hit the gym). It's sort of like living in the suburbs, without the status or the space. I don't go to the clubs as much anymore (or at all, really). And I would rather go to a bar to hang out (sort of). But none of these things are because I'm old and can't handle the good nightlife anymore. I officially stand corrected!

The reasons going out to the club is less than appealing is because it's expensive! Dude, a cab roundtrip plus drinks plus cover (on the rare occasion that I'd pay it) is not something to be taken lightly. Alternatively, I can just have friends over and we can blow through a couple bottles of wine or liquor for a total of $10 a piece. AND, I don't have to concern myself with stumbling home. Now, let's not forget Sunday Fundays. When it go right, you get to go out (drive and park at the bar, if necessary!!), have a coupla cocktails, watch some football, yell at the TV, talk trash and then head home in time to sober up and not have a hangover. Finally, my uncle was right -- you really do see the same people over and over and over at the club. And really? How many times can you turn the same guy down? And the little soror-a-ho's that started working my nerves in law school are just as annoying now.

All that to say, it's nice to know that the reasons I started being lame are not necessarily related to being old. I kinda wish someone who'd already gotten there had explained this years ago...maybe I wouldn't have had such a phobia about turning 30.

So...who wants to come over to have a dance party?!!?