Near Death Experience

PHEW! That was close!

So I basically almost died.

How?

Well, this genius, me that is, attempted driving home from work without a spot of gas in the tank.
It wasn't that it didn't cross my mind, I just pushed it. I thought I would have enough to get home, and enough to get me to the gas station on my way to work in the morning.


Well.... not the case.


Where is the worst place you could possibly run out of gas?

On the freeway perhaps? Right at the end of the onramp?

YES.

Well, I guess there are worse places...like in the middle of nowhere, in the middle of the night, right next to that weird German guy's house from Human Centipede..

But anyway..

The truck I was driving came to a complete stop right as I was about to merge onto the 26 heading west towards home. I had just gotten off work from a long boring day and the last thing I wanted to deal with was this.

Luckily I was able to coast this beast off to the side of the road. However, I was still very, VERY, VERY close to the zooming traffic and gigantic semi trucks. I told myself not to panic, but panic was quickly setting in when I realized that if I had to get out of the driver side door I more than likely would have been playing a human version of Frogger. And I was never any good at the video game. There was no hope. I couldn't open the passenger door because I was too close to the railing and beyond the railing was a steep incline into the woods. I was stuck inside of this truck praying to God and cursing Mitt Romney for being in town and creating this outrageous traffic and cursing myself for not putting gas in the tank and thinking/hoping that it could run off of my desire to get home.


I called Eric in only a slight panic and he came to my rescue! Never have I been so happy to say that my husband had gas.

Thankful to be alive!

Childhood Story #1 Old McDonald had Cable TV

Oh, hi. You're back.

I thought I would tell you a story from my childhood entitled "Old McDonald had Cable TV"


It was Summer time. I was young- maybe 7 or 8 or 9 or 10. We were out of school for three glorious months that seemed like they would never end. Remember how slow time felt when you were little?
I miss that.

....

My Dad was working because he wasn't a teacher and didn't have the summers off. His hours were the typical Monday thru Friday 5 am to 8 pm.... yeah not very typical right? Basically we only ever saw him on the weekends, and late at night when he came home tired and his only missions were to eat his plate of food from the microwave and fall asleep.
Imagine my sheer delight when I THINK I see him in the bedroom at around ohhh....2 pm during the week.

Yes, time moved slowly as a child. But in this particular moment, I felt like time nearly stood still. Everything from the second I started running to the moment I realized what I had done felt like extreme slow motion. That might be why I can recall this particular event in such vivid detail- or maybe it is just the humiliation of the whole ordeal tattooed on my brain.

My mom was a stay-at-homer/dog groomer and must have been in her shop during this time, wherever she was, she wasn't where I had been otherwise she would have stopped me before I embarrassed myself for the next twenty years....and counting.

Well...okay... I am sure you want to know what I did, right?
Here it goes...

I had walked out of my room in a bored funk and was looking for my Mom. "MOM? MOOOOOMMMMMMMMMMMM?" I didn't look very hard, I swear. I probably was about to ask for a sandwich, or for her to reach the giant tin of cookies she kept in the tallest cabinet so we couldn't get to it. Parents, let me just give you a quick short word of advice. If you want to put something as desirable to a child as cookies somewhere where they can't get to it, like some place high... make sure they never see you access them. Because once you leave, they will turn into cliff hanger and will utilize everything in their presence to create a stack just high enough to reach that glorious cookie jar. Dangerous, right? It would be pretty tragic happening upon your child covered in chocolate chips and blood.

Back to the story...
My parent's bedroom was at the very end of a loooonnnnnggggg hall. I stood at the end and stared down into the room looking for Mom. This is when I spotted my dad slouched down on the ground by the bed reaching for something underneath it. WHAT THE HECK WAS DAD DOING HOME? HOW COOL, RIGHT?

Don't ask me why but it must have been the excitement of seeing my Dad during regular business hours- I started scream singing OLD MCDONALD HAD A FARM at the top of my lungs while at a high rate of speed I skipped down the long hall towards him  (yes, skipped, like skip-to-the-loo mah darlin!)  Right before I reached him as he was still fiddling with something under the bed, I leaped high into the air and landed like a spider monkey on his back and yelled in my highest of high pitched and happiest voices ever "DADDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY!"

This is when it happened...

A very scared asian man turned his head to look at me and yelled something probably similar to this "什麼他媽的你做的小女孩？" This was not my dad. Not even close. Because this guy was a cable man. And my dad worked at a power plant. And my dad isn't asian. And my dad wasn't this guy.

Imagine my face. I am right now, and I am laughing. I probably would have looked no different had I jumped onto the back of a zombie from Walking Dead.

I spent the next couple of hours locked in my closet, sitting on a pile of Helina's shoes, waiting patiently for the floor to open and swallow me up.

Lesson learned.

Intro

Hi,

I will be honest with you, I am not sure where this blog will go, if anywhere at all. I created it for many reasons but I have forgotten every single one of them just now...

I guess I will start by introducing myself, because that seems to be the most sensical purpose for a first blog.

My name is Chrissie. Or Chrisandra. Which is my dad's name mooshed together with my paternal Grandmother's name. Can you guess whose is whose? Hint: My Dad's name is not Sandra. 

Okay, so- how can I start these next couple of sentences without sounding like the intro to Fresh Prince. Oh well...

I was born and raised in Southern California in a small, transient town named Barstow where the majority of its inhabitants wanted to leave and the minority were too high on crack to care.

That wasn't very nice.

My Dad received job offers in several different locations throughout my childhood- Montana, Texas, Washington, other towns in California annnndddd Florida. Even as a young girl I was desperate to leave that dirt hole, which ironically I now often look back on with pangs of affection and severe nostalgia. When he mentioned the possibility of a move, I was quick to start packing. I always started with the antique beer steins on the shelf in our living room. I love packing. Call me weird. What is even weirder, imagine a six year old balancing on a swivel stool, carefully wrapping glass knick-knacks and placing them ever so gently into a cardboard box. That is weird. WHERE WERE YOU PARENTS? :) JK JK JK

But the plans always fell through. Whether it be my mother seeing "sparkles" in the sky and interpreting it as a "sign from God" to stick around (she might have been apart of that minority...you know, the ones on crack...sorry, Ma.) Or the the idea merely burnt itself out as they often did in our very busy and loud household. Why was it busy and loud? Well, I have four siblings and a million relatives...and we had a swimming pool. When you live in hell's sweaty armpit, a swimming pool attracts folks like ants to a syrup spill. There were times when I would be making my regular pool laps (because all 6-10 year olds do this..) and would have to stop halfway to ask a stranger who they were. Okay, okay...it was almost that bad...but not quite...

The idea of leaving Barstow was always a lovely prospect, but we had grown accustomed to those glorious mental candies falling through the cracks. Until one day when Arizona happened.

The family was on their merry way only a few months following the announcement that we were pulling up the anchor and trucking down the road 3 hours, (2.5 if you drive like my Dad) to party town U.S.A- Lake Havasu City, AZ. I am sorry I called it Party Town U.S.A- laaaammme. I could just press the delete button, but I swore to myself I would never go back...even if it meant sounding a fool... 

I digress.

So, we moved. We picked a peach of a house with a nice view of good ol' Lake Havasu, which if you've never been, is as hot as Satan's breath after a swig of moonshine and completely and utterly desolate. Very prehistoric landscape. With palm trees. And a puddle of water where the residents sat and stewed every weekend. Imagine what that smelled like...now just add boat exhaust, alcohol breath and DING-DING-DING-DING! Just my type of place as I was on the edge of fifteen-  Stevie Nicks.... Kinda.

Anyway.

We were all there, in Lake Havasu, hot and sweaty. We spent the first year catching some sunburns out on the lake. I wore my lifejacket so often there was a point where I attempted pulling a shirt over it because I had gotten so used to having it on. It was more like a second skin than a life aide. Maybe I fell asleep with it on, maybe I showered with it, maybe I wore it up to 7 hours after leaving the boat and entering the house.... Maybe...

The first year was great- barbecues, brews (not for this girl) and good times. If you are what you eat, that year I was a hotdog and Fanta. Eventually some family trickled across the border...the California border..hold onto your horses Homeland Security... and things started feeling more and more like home. Or something close enough to it to feel okay with calling it such.

Life was decent enough that first summer. Then I started school at Lake Havasu High, and my first thoughts were "F*** this, I am out of here." And I was. My mom enrolled me into a much smaller school which my sister Suzzette refers to as the "School for bad kids." I wish she would have informed me of this before I graduated otherwise I would have gladly commissioned my black leather jacket and hair gel and gone to school in the appropriate uniform. REMINDER: I am a female. I thought maybe the hair gel thing made you forget....

La-di-da.

School sucked. As it always does. And then I met Punk rock music which initially scared the crap out of me...well not so much the music, but the rest of the kids who went to the shows. They looked like they fell out of a Tim Burton movie case. This is all true- really, the first time my mom dropped me off at one of these shows...she literally had to kick me out of the truck as I was desperately holding onto the shifter with my feet swinging out of the door. But I am so thankful that she made me go. It made my life what it is today. Why you ask? Well because it was at one of these gigs (gigs? snort laugh) that I met my husband, Eric (Who was the scariest looking one at the time with his enormous mohawk and untied converse sheos...) I quickly grew accustomed to this style of music and life and greatly enjoyed the next few years of my existence that incorporated lots of fun times and falling in love and watching my lovey-dovey's band.

So yeah- really, I should also thank my sister Suzzette too for my marriage..because I know she was waiting for me to say it. Yes you were. She was dating Eric's brother at the time and made the introduction. I was just a frump of a girl with some newly dyed black hair and a shirt that I thought was totally punk rock that said "Mullet"...I think I got it from Hot Topic...oh who the hell am I kidding...you know I did. Anyway. It was love at first sight. And the rest is history. Oh and thank you to my cousin Jenifer, who accompanied me to 98% of every show and made me feel like less of a social outcast than I was. 

So...Where am I at now? Well a lot has happened since my family packed up and headed....this is embarrassing but I really have no idea what direction Lake Havasu is from Barstow...we'll say... Eastish...westish...north..south. That works. So, what has happened you ask? Well...lots.. how about a vague timeline for you...

2004- Went to coachella got sick almost died graduated from "the school for bad kids" didn't walk because it wasn't punk rock...not even sure how I got my diploma...maybe they e-mailed it to me.

2006- Moved to Maine. Oh yeah. The second relocation follow-through for my family. Yay us! Got engaged on my birthday. Sister Paula gave Brother Nano a kidney. 

2007- Moved back to Arizona after four blizzardy months in the northeast. Got married. Parents split up. Bought a house. Parents split up. Parents split up. Parents split up.

Oh why did I say "Parents split up" so many times, you ask? Probably because this particular negative life event took a shit on most of that year...and lets just say the next couple of years following. But I am a tougher person now, I think...even though I still cry over dumb movies that aren't even supposed to be sad (You can't tell me that when that dick ass kid leaves Air Bud on that island with only a snack pack it isn't SAD!)

Anyhow. 

2010- Moved back to Maine. Gave it a good try. No not really. It was half-assed and the winter blew my toosh back to Arizona after a whopping 3 months! 

2011- UHHHHHHH... kind of a quiet year. Worked at a Resort. Hid from the hellacious sun. Got creative with making cupcakes until I baked up a batch that was as close to what I think poop tastes like as I could ever comfortably get. 

2012- Went to visit my dad in Europe. Cause that is where he lives. In Europe. Moved to Asheville, North Carolina- my residential dream destination. And oila! < Spelled wrong... I think. 

Well this brings you to now. Or me. Or both of us.

STILL IN NA'CARALINA! Going on 8 months! I currently have a job through a temp agency- because I am scared of long-term commitment. Just kidding. Eric has a job busting his ass (not literally...and by literally I mean that not-so-literal phrase that is said when someone farts...he doesn't fart...well he does but..okay nevermind...) We love it here. It is fall now and we are loving the colors and the cold and the pumpkins, corn fields and all of that autumn jazz. We made a good decision by coming here. And my sister Suzzette and her teeny tiny family have joined us...in fact I hear a baby rocking in his bouncer right now...it kind of sounds like the chicks at Hot Dog on A Stick making the lemonade...stop thinking about their boobs GUYS. 

Well, that is all I have for you for now. I hope you enjoyed the rant.

PEACE TO THE UNIVERSE"- suzzette.

-CHRISSIE