A Different Kind Of Birthday Pt. III

Alright, so you've read about the ups and the awkward loner ginger downs of the week, and that was only the first two days of the arrival of the Gingerman... so I'll not drag this out any further and go ahead and sum up the week.

The next morning (mornin after I drove away after a spastic rush of emotion) everything was fine. No questions asked and the day and week only got better. I made breakfast for two that morning, gettin into that swing of things, and afterwards, I was in the kitchen, doing dishes, when Gingerman came up from behind me, set his plate on the counter, wrapped his arms around me and kissed me on the cheek.
"That was delicious. Thank you."
Lord have mercy on my soul, if there is such a kiss that makes you want to fall to the ground, it's one of those. Whateverthehell that was- more please!

That Thursday was pregame time. Pregame before the pregame. All day drinking. To prepare ourselves for the Friday night that would go down as an awesome birthday.

We went to Chili's, had a couple double rounds of beers and the drinkin never stopped when we got home. A steady pregame buzz. You know.

Nothing in particular to say for that Thursday, just your usual party house good times. All the airmen were back on base and tucked in their beds by ten.  Gingerman and I assumed the couch and telly for some good old fashion dvd watching, and at midnight, he leans over to whisper, "Happy birthday." NAWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW.

Fuck.

Anywho, Friday mornin, I believe I took my time getting up that mornin... it was so weird to just lay in bed. No work. No schedules. No bills to worry about. Everything was done, my Satan kitty wasn't raining on my parade that morning, and all was well. When the airmen got out at about four that afternoon as they always do, they came over and Skit asks, "Alright sweetheart, where you wanna go to dinner for your birthday?"
"Sushi." hands down. No hesitation. Done.
So we gather up the lot of us- Gingerman, Mister Mister, Skit, Miss, and I head to Samuri.
We ate entirely too much sushi, the men drank overly large beers, and we ladies dined on little fish eggs. Such a small gathering was such a delicious paradise. And we all ordered way too much food.

It was good for the morning when we all had the morning drunkies and were hungry.

So- after Samuri, it was back to my place for the lockdown. Drinking ensued, drinking games ensued, party music ensued, it was just a good time with good company. And like always, we didn't finish any of the drinking games.

We're horrible at that.

At one point in the night, we were all dancing our white people dances (save for Mister Mister of course, chocolate men got dat rhythm) and laughing and having a good time. I remember putting the dishes away after a while, and Gingerman comes into the kitchen to corner again. This time, he turns me around and I'm facing him. He's smiling at me, that little smirk I grew to quite enjoy and expect at close proximities such as this one. Next thing I know, this man has grabbed me by my ass, and before I had any time to object, he has picked me up and put me on the counter.

Ladies and queers everywhere- let me say that again.
This man.
Picked me up.
By my ass.
Placed me.
On counter.
I am not a small lady. I am a veluptuous, well-shaped, full blown woman.
You tell me how many men can do that with ease. You tell me.
Then be jealous.

Other than a surprise visit from an Asian that talked nonstop for four hours, it was a pretty regular night. Woke at crack of dawn, like after every evening of drinking, and made what we call Man's Breakfast.

First rule of Man's Breakfast, you don't talk about Man's Breakfast.

That Saturday and Sunday went about similar.

Wake up. Drank.
Pass out Drank.
Get up. Drank.
Piss it out. Drank.
Eat the Sushi. Drank.

Ah yes, then comes time for Sunday night. The airmen leave as per curfue, and again, Gingerman and I are left in the humble abode with no one else but Bacon. ... bastard cat.

Movies. Dinner. Coffee. I dunno. Just that sinking feeling of someone,whom of which you enjoy the company of, is leaving you in the morning. And you know it.

He showed me more of his New Yorker movies that evening, but eventually he did need his sleep.

That night was very sad. The morning was a little happier- a full breakfast before he left, as per usual.

Then, as all good stories come to an end, I watched him drive off.

BUT-

not before I stood there at my door looking into the sea-green eyes smiling like a tard. He wrapped his big ginger arms around me and I hugged him back and melted there. We pulled away slightly, and he leaned in for a kiss. I let him.

Where is the story at now? Well, he still lives in Florida and I still live in Mississippi, obviously. But he still calls daily and we text all the time. It's a happy ending to the segment.. but I don't believe it is an ending at all.

A Different Kind Of Birthday

It's a Tuesday night when I get the call, "Yo, which one of these places is your's?"

It's him.
"Well look for the Apple sign, take a right immediately after it and follow the sketchy pathway to the last apartment on the left. That's mine."
I'm already blushing, and it's a good thing I was making home made sweet tea because I would have been pacing and ringing my hands if not.
I go outside to my porch/walkway. I live on the second floor, and hang over the balcony, looking in the direction he is to be coming from; phone in hand. "I'm outside right now," I tell him, " I think that's you pulling up."
"I think I see you" He says, nearing.
Like an awkward freak, I go back into my apartment, as not to wait awkwardly. I dash back to my stove to get the boiling water for the tea. My face feels hot. I tone down the giggles.

You see. As much as I hate to admit it, there's this whole other side to the strong bold ginger you know. I'll call this side.... feminine.

I hear a knock at the door.

Oh how I wish you would have just walked in you bastard.

I go to open the door. There he is, standing in the dark with only the dim porch light to illuminate his being, the ginger man.
An awkward stand-and-stare commence on my part, stupidly smiling.
Then the most romantic words one could ever hear out of another's mouth when they meet in person for the first time, "I really have to pee. That was a long trip."
I lower my gaze and go back to my kitchen, face still flush. "That way, to the right," I point into my dark room.
How impolite as to not turn on lights. I froze up! Forgive me!
I'm making tea, stirring in the sugar and pouring the giant vat into my pitcher.
Stir stir stir.
Deep breath.
You're not intimidated by anyone.
This is just another male.
Just another male in your apartment.
Here to party hard for your birthday.




Let's go back - I met Gingerman through an airman -known as Skit in a previous story. They go way back, those two. One night Skit asks, " My buddy in Florida is workin a night shift and needs someone to text him to keep him awake."  Both men are from New York and just happen to meet each other in Florida. So it begun. Wasn't out of the ordinary that I would carry on conversation with a complete stranger. Why not?

We talked for seven weeks over the phone, day in and day out. I had a pretty good idea of who was coming to stay with me when my birthday finally came around.




*FAST FORWARD*
He walks into the kitchen. I take a glance. Over six foot, muscular, face still half-hidden by a hoodie. through it I see freckles, a small mouth, and eyes that do not belong on a redhead.

Think of all the redheads you know- all I've ever met are brown eyed. Then there's me, a bright blue. This jack? I dunno... something deep and turquoise. Like the colour of the sea at dusk, when the sun is covered by clouds, and instead of seeing rays of sun over the surface, all you see is the glow of blue and green waters in all of it's wholeness because for a moment you see it as much more than just water.
So weird.

"You like sweet tea?" I ask. Sweet one-liner, batman.

"Uh, yeah. That's cool. I'm hungry."

"Would you like me to cook, or shall we go somewhere?"

"Whatever you want to do."

I stare at him for a moment with a smirk. I'd love to be polite, but I hate that statement.

"Seriously." I smile at him.

He opens the fridge. Eggs. Spinach. Fish.
"What's open at this time?" He asks. It's about nine or so.. I can't recall the time. In the moment, it was completely irrelevant.
"Waffle House. Ihop."
My face is still red. I don't think I've looked him directly in the eyes since he's arrived.
"Ihop sounds good."

I forgot about the one over the bridge, and we started driving to the most out of the way Ihop in the area. "Is this place in Narnia?" He asks. "I just drove ten hours, and you're taking me another four just to eat?" He smiles at me. My smile hasn't left my face for days. Weeks even.

We get to ihop. He finally takes off his hoodie as we seat.
Ginger.
I get a good look at him in the light. His eyes are even more prominent. But holy fuck- as he takes his hoodie off, all I can think is, Never in my life have I known someone who had more freckles than I did.

We order. Begin talking, at first small talk about the trip, then our joined acquaintance circle of airmen.
To be honest, I really have no idea what was talked about. I probably rambled about nonsensicle things. Giggled incessantly. All I remember is how excited he was to get the chicken fried steak and those pancakes.
He'd been eating healthy for months and this was the first time he completely threw all rules out the window. It was his vacation, why not? That was his logic.

I just remember the way he eyed the pancakes, "Oh, come here sweethaht" he said in his New Yorker accent as he cut a chunk out of his short stack of pancakes and put it to his mouth.
That's all I really remember from that first dinner together. I still replay it in my head like it was the funniest fucking thing I'd ever heard in my life.

We get back in his car and drive away from Narnia. "Can you do me a favour? My friends will never believe me.."
He looks at me for a second, "What's that?"
"Take a picture of our arms and send it to a friend's number... you have so many freckles."
He just started laughing. "You serious?"
"Dead serious."

The reply he got back was, "Holy Cow! Fuck Yeah!"
He started laughing.

We get back to my place, "So what movie are we going to start with?" He asks as we get out of the car, the collection of movies I've never seen in my arms.
In my living room, I look through the stash," I don't think I've ever seen the second Boondock Saints," I say, tossing aside the other movies.

About 20 minutes left of it, I have to get ready to go to work, grave shift and all. (Don't worry, this is the only night I actually had to work when my guest was at my place.)

"Alright, well I'm probably going to bed. Been a long day of driving." He says.
"Yeah, cool. You gonna be fine? Help yourself to whatever. I'll see you in the morning."
He smiles at me for a second, kind of mockingly,"Yeah sweethaht, I'm gonna be sleeping."
"Oh. Right." blush blush blush- run out the door, locking it on my way out.
From that night on and for the next week I'll have a roommate.

Tune in next time to see what happens when I get home!!

Don't Bet On It

Pretty sure these guys are going to hate me for posting it. Pretty sure I don't give a rat's ass, and the adoring on either side is mutual enough that I can get away with it without them being butthurt too much. Of course, every side has two stories... this is just mine. And mine just happens to be the epic side.Note: as in all GingerSpot blogging, the names in the stories are the only things that aren't real.


It's Wednesday and Gingerman's first day of being in Biloxi, having arrived the night before.  It's quite the story as to how I met said ging but- fuck it, not it's not. Met him via phone seven weeks ago through Skit. End of story.

Anywhozers, it's Gingerman's first day of Biloxi and Skit comes off the base to go fishing with his long time friend. Skit arrives at my place at about 1:30pm or 2ish to pick up Gingy.

Skit looks at me, still sittin on the couch in some baller shorts with my hurr in a tizzy.
"You comin'?" He asks.

Before I go any further, try to read Skit and Gingerman's voices with New York accents... because the accent is just the cherry on top to lovely stories to come.

I look up at the both of them, " Yeah? Come fishing with you?"
"Yeah, why not?"
"Give me a sec," as I run into my room, throw on some pants and a hoodie, slip on some shoes, and walk out the door right after them.

We get in the car, Gingy cranks the beats, and they start doing as they do- talkin, bullshitting, whilst I enjoy the backseat with the sub thumping.

Hooters comes into view, and seeing as how none of us had lunch yet, they jump on it.

Fuck. My. Life.
See, a gal like me- you know, one with morals, self respect, and dignity- doesn't like going into a place like Hooters. the last time, and ONLY time I did was in Canada with my bestie Belle. Strawberry daquiris and a fuckton of Loonies and Toonies. Enough said.

So we walk in, and "Welcome to Hooters!", and I already want to kill myself. 

We sit where we want to, being it's a late lunch and no one is around, and our waitress comes up and asks us about drinks. Don't get me wrong, she's a cute gal- and a brunette at that. If she was a blonde I probably would have slit my wrists all over the counter and given up before my birthday had even arrived.

She was pretty chill too. Since it was dead, she had plenty of time to bullshit with her one table. My frown turned upside down instantly when out of the waitress came, "I love your nail polish! It's so bright, where did you get it?", looking at my flourescent yellow nail polish.
Alright. So I'm easy to win over.
"You can get the colour at Hot Topic," I said," but the secret to having it turn out so bold is...." and I told her my secret.
"Oh my gosh! I would have never thought of that! Nice!" A bit more conversating on the nails, she gets the drinks, then the men order. I'm still not eating at said establishment.



So ladies, you ever been the only gal in a group of guys? Well sure, at one point or another, we all have. I don't care how fucking smokin or ugly or gangster you think you are, there is nothing more annoying than being that only girl in the group when the guys start talking about how 'hot' other girls are. Especially other girls around you. Especially your own waitress who you really want to try and like because she is really trying to be nice to you because she sees it in your eyes that you want to cut her.



So when the guys start yapping, as we all will, I go into that whole, "meh" and start phoning away. No one texted you? You text a mass of people until one responds! You KNOW you do! Some of us can shrug it off like it's no big deal. But there is that breaking point where some of us have a bigger dick than our vaginas and are forced to shove them out when we hear one say " I bet I'll get her number by the time we leave."

My ears perk. "Dude. I bet I can get her number before you."

Now, to protect identities even more, I won't tell you which one I'm quarreling with.

"Hey. I'm from New York. I'm cocky and I don't back down."
"Hey. I'm a chick and a charmer and not a creeper. Her and I are gonna become bffs reals fast."

The other guy interjects, " I dunno dude, I think she's got you beat. Girls warm up to other ones kinda like that."

"Ten bucks, let's bet on it," Back to conversation.
"Dude, I won't bet you. I don't want to make this into a competition. But you're going to lose," I said with a smile and a wink.

She brings some beers to the table while the guys start talking to each other again.
"I'm gonna come chill over here with you since we're so dead." She says to me, and sits on the empty stool to my left.
"Yeah, I'm pretty bored too, can' get a word in with this bromance going on across the table here." I said.
"Psh, I see that! It's okay, I'll be your date."

Winning.

That's pretty much how the afternoon goes. We ended up being there a little over a couple hours just hanging out at a Hooters. When she took the plates away one of em says, " Dude. She's gotta come to your party this weekend."
"I'm workin on it," I smiled. Because hey, how often do you meet a broad you actually get along with?

The guys get up and leave the table for a moment, and I cross my fingers that she'll come at the time... and she did. Perfect.

"They left you all alone!" She said.
"Dude I know! Can this day be any more eventful? BLEH."
Blah blah blah, shoot the shit,
"So hey, I heard you sayin you've only lived here about six months. I have too and I really don't have a social life outside of these clowns. Think we can exchange numbers? Because that would be awesome. I'm having a birthday party this weekend and you're totally invited.

"That would be great, yeah! But I can't give out my number, I'll get fired. But I can give you my name and you can Facebook me! Write your number down and I can text you." She said.

"I'll write it in love note form" I smiled, and raised my eyebrows to her.
"Ooh! Yeah do that!"

She goes to attend to her other customer that walked in, and I write on a napkin, in the classiest way I know how:

"Hello my sweets! I've had a fantastic time!
 I know I just met you,
 and this is crazy,
 but I'm having a birthday party this weekend at my place,
 So join us maybe?"

And signed my number and name at the bottom. 
The guys came back just in time to read my love note, and give me a handshake, "Nice. Very nice."

She came back with another round, loved the love letter, and stashed it in her waitress pouch thing.

Don't play the masculinity game with me. My balls grow with anticipation of the next one willing to step up to the plate.

Stay tuned for more stories to come about the birthday week adventure!

NOT a Resolution

Okay, so here are some of the highlights of my past year if anyone is curious as to what Thibs is doing. You all are. I know.  Just one thing from each month that happened, and at the end, I'll throw in some things I hope to accomplish within the next year. I won't reveal too much because I'm slightly superstitious and feel if I tell my goals, they won't come true. BUT some of my goals did come true in 2012 so use this as an encouragement! YOU CAN DO IT!!

2012

January- Went to all the bars in town on my birthday and got schnockered best I could. The catch? The next day was the first day of work after my Winter break. Lucky me.

February- Found out I absolutely could not be in rugby for the semester... it was a sad day for manly gingers everywhere. To counter that, drove to Salt Lake to see a concert with the manfriend and bestie and drove back in time for work the next morning... yes. The same 24- hour period.

March- Went to Bismark, ND with the manfriend.... never again... haha people there are downsy!

April- Midnight hiking under the full moon with friends. Got to the top. Got schwasty, not schnockered, ran back down the mountain... ball-shrinking cold.

May- Giant music bash. Aced 20 page paper. Graduated. Drove to Mississippi, visiting friends in states along the way. What DIDN'T I do in May?

June- Unemployed. Lowest month. But encouraged me to start running, going to the beach and - wait for it- FIND OUT THAT GINGERS CAN TAN! Don't judge me.

July-A ROLLERCOASTER- Have a breakup. Boo. Get an interview at a four diamond hotel and get hired. Yay me. Also find out at the end of the month I dropped 30 pounds. Yay me. Then I had a wreck. Boo.

August- Living with a roommate who I happened to know from Wyoming but her husband was on the Air Force Base in Biloxi. WIN.

September- Roommate leaves for Cali. Friend all the fucking airmen in the world. They took good care of me <3

October- Go trick-or-treating in my twenties? I think YES. As a monster rave girl, the costume that won a contest at work. BAM.

November- Get a Kitten. Learn how to make gumbo and eat it with Mema. Enough said.

December- Went by fast.. Highlight, I finally contacted the bartending school and all systems a go!


OKAY so this next segment is NOT a bunch of NEW YEARS resolutions. Just small goals I like to obtain within a 365-day time frame. I usually wait about a week or so AFTER the new year so people don't confuse them, but I am just so full of things to accomplish I couldn't wait! That and I have no life.
ANYWHO

Complete bartending school, obtain job in said field, rock Mardi Gras, and shake some tah tahs to make some moo lahs... bwahaha I rhymed.

Get second job anyway so I have more money to travel. That's all I want to do. Travel. I want money to see people or to take people places.

There are two jobs I am hoping/wishing/praying/sacrificingsmallanimalstogods for. And I can't tell you as not to jinx it. Just know that no other person in the world could possibly better at the jobs than yours truly.

Get to southern Utah to see my queer. Then take him on a roadtrip.

Oh! Fly to Puerto Rico with my friend! Hopefully in February.

Learn how to fucking sew. Because None of these stores have what I want. I want to make my own fucking styles. Fucking fuck fuck. FUCK.

Use more descriptive words and less use of Fuck.

and uh.... maybe.... just maybe... find a nice man? ^ ^ teehee I know it's dumb but uh. You know. IT'S MY FUCKING LIST!!

wait wait... IT'S MY COTTON-PICKIN LIST!!

OKAY! So now it's time for me to read YOUR lists! Either lists of what you did, what you want to do, longterm goals - i love to hear from my readers!! Print your list out and stick it on a door you walk out of every day!! Keep it on your mind! I wrote down in my notebook EVERY DAY that I was going to get to Mississippi. You know what? Here I am, home at last. Get to it! My blog is open to the public, and and anyone can comment!

Bacon Shaymus and Bigglesworth

Before you read this, know that I am not by any means a cat person. I've no emotional attachement to animals, though I will say from time to time they are enjoyable.  Somehow, I've always befriended cat people... people who LOVE cats. Would die for cats. Would kill a person before killing a cat. It was probably their mindsets alone that seeped into my brain and a month ago spoke from my mouth that I would spontaneously get a kitten.

He's a blonde little ginger baby with green eyes. After much debate on a proper name, it became one he grew into- Bacon Shaymus Thibodeaux.

Yes. I know it's SHAMEUSE but I tend to not spell things correctly on purpose because it's unique and you will LIKE IT!

So Bacon started out as a meek baby... and I don't know if it's because his owner has rubbed off on him or if it's because all kittens are loons... but he's fucking nuts. He gets into things I didn't know could be gotten into.

He likes wires.

And curtains.

And beds you can crawl IN to the frame of.

And likes it when I chase him about the house.

He's fucking nuts. And I got him because I felt lonely. I am no longer lonely, I will have you know. Just busy. With Bacon.

But this story isn't about mister Shaymus. Oh no. It's about his long lost brother, Mister Bigglesworth. 


Three days ago, there was word that a cat got into the housekeeping storage room of the hotel that I work at. Without further detail I said, "I'll catch that cat." Many disbelievers said they'd been trying to catch it for a couple days without luck. Said it was wild and wouldn't come to anyone. Shun the non-believers, Charlie. Shun.

Last night, about 4:30am when I was turning in some paperwork to the downstairs office mid-shift, I decided to hang out in the break room a few minutes. I don't know what posessed me to do this, I never hang out in the break room. But there I was last night. And I heard it. The gurgled meow of a hungry kitty.

I peered out the break room, and caught a glimps of a black paw going down a seperate hallway. One opposite the storage room he'd been hiding- and also a hallway I knew came to a dead end. I snuck after the shadow down the long hallway. It lead to where the bellboys stored their luggage carts, but I knew at this time all doors would be shut.  I reached the end and found nothing.

DUB TEE EFF MATE?

But I heard a rustling from behind me- five old people power chairs stashed in a corner. I saw his eyes gleam at me. "Gotcha." I said smiling at him.

I moved the power chairs one by one, until I was right in front of the one in the corner he was hiding in.  Just then, the manager of Environmental Services walked out of a door from back up the hallway. "Francis!" I called to him.

"The cat! Can you move this chair so I can catch him if he tries to run?"
"Yeah sure! I can't believe it. How did he get all the way over here?"
"He was hungry."

He moved the chair forward and -FLOOOSH-
there goes the BABY!!

Yes the baby! He wasn't much bigger than the little asshole I had at home! He was just black with a white snout and white toes and a fluffy black tail! (My friend Squats might say this was the long lost Bootsie) I held him by his middle and could tell he wasn't going without a fight!

He hissed, scratched, wriggled like a son of a biscuit eater and I held him tightly. It wasn't until I was picking him up off the ground that he managed to squirm free of my grasp!

"NO!" I exclaimed, and took off down the hall after him. FUCK your no running rules.
"You almost had him!" Francis yelled after me.

Not good enough.

I chased him and watched him skid across the shiny floors every scurry of the way. I followed him until I watched him to his hidey-hole. 

There, ladies and gentlemen. Is where I shall catch him tonight.

But here in lies the question... do I try and keep Mister Bigglesworth and tame him to be brothers at mi casa? Or do I let him out the back door? HELP!

Side note - the name wasn't my idea. It was the name one of the housemen gave him when he suggested I could keep the cat and name him something redonkulous.

Gladys Susag

On this day of days, I decided to lighten my mood with the memory of an old friend.

I used to work at a care center in my early years of high school. Save for working the summer concessions, it was my first salaried job. I started at fourteen and stopped working at said care center a little after I turned sixteen.

My job for the longest time there was to make the evening snacks for the elderly, making sure to provide each resident with their proper diets of low salt, sugar free, gluten free, or just a simple sandwich of their choice.  I got to know a great deal of the residents there, welcoming the new, chatting and bickering with the old. A select few of the residents stuck out to me. One, above all else, was Gladys.

I loved Gladys. "Potato chips" she said every day, that blank stare, hands weakly reaching out. 

Gladys was blind, her eyes a very pale blue. She was one of the residents who actually cared to talk to me, tell me stories, recognized my voice. I became familiar to her, as she did to me. 

Before she would even tell me what evening snack she would like, I always already had the small bag of Lays ready to open whenever she gave me the cue, as she could not open them herself.

"What's the weather doing out there?" She would ask.
"Snowing. Lots of snow on the ground." I would say, sitting in her recliner next to her bed. I always like to stay if even for a moment before finishing up my day and clocking out.
"Feels like it. I bet it's covered like a winter wonderland!" She would giggle joyfully.

Even after I quit the care center (my reasons are my own, though I loved the old people) I still continued to visit regularly, even if once a month. 

I recall a time I saw Gladys three days in a row.  She had remembered my voice, and from a previous week, remembered me telling her that I had a band performance. "What instrument do you play?" She would ask, and each time I would gladly tell her, as if it had been the first time it came out of my mouth.
"The clarinet and bari sax," I would tell her. Then we would talk about how big the bari is.
For these three particular days in a row, she said to me, " My dad used to play when we were kids. Do you know what he'd play?" She said with a mischevious smile.

The first time, I smiled, curious as to what her father did play. "What was that, Miss Gladys?"

"My father played the radio! Haha!" She laughed so fondly at her own joke.

The second and third time, she asked "Do you know what he'd play?", I smiled fully, already chuckling at what she was about to tell me. Each time, I too laughed at her joke.

Her birthday was in March if memory serves me correctly, and one year I wanted to do something special for her. I remember her telling me her favourite flowers were the same as mine- tiger lilies. At random, weeks before, I found a random teacup with lilies on it. I thought it would be a perfect gift. My mum said I should get her real flowers as well, to touch.  When I got her the flowers, I got her a balloon as well- one that sang when you tapped it.

To my knowledge, Gladys, like many of the other elderly, had no one that came to visit on a regular basis, if even at all, so I didn't think I would be ruining any special birthday plans for her.

I walked in the room and knocked on her door, "Miss Gladys, it's me." I handed her the teacup, telling her what was on it, let her touch the flowers, to which she commented was lovely, then, "Here, this is a balloon. See what happens when you poke it."

With all of her 95-year-old strength, she tapped that balloon and it began to sing "Happy Birthday" to her. She giggled with delight. I stayed a bit as we talked about the weather, my schooling, and the latest care center gossip. I only saw Miss Gladys a few more times that year. I'll never forget the day I found out that Gladys - MY Gladys - had passed.

I was sitting in my senior year government class, picking up the newspapers and skimming through them for articles that I might need for my journal.  My eyes just happened upon the obituaries, and there she was. Gladys "Susie" Susag. I was shocked. I read her little article, and at the bottom the funeral was that very day that I was reading the paper- one hour before I read the damn article. I could feel my face getting hot. I was angry.

Angry that no one told me. Not a RN, CNA, Nutrition Service Aid that knew I visited- no one. Not a phone call. A heads up. I ran to my mother's office in the school building, since she worked there. She knew how much Gladys meant to me.

Before I opened my mouth, she asked what was wrong. I couldn't talk and handed the paper to her.
She looked up at me, eyes wide, mouth gaping," Oh, Honey!!" And the tears started to fall. "No one said anything to you?" She asked. I just shook my head no, buried it in her shoulder.

It was winter, there was snow on the ground. I didn't want to look for her grave. I felt terrible. Terrible I didn't know. That I couldn't make it. Who went, if I didn't? I didn't know of any family she had; of the years I worked there I never witnessed anyone visit her.

By the time I graduated, I went looking for her- searching for her. Asked workers at the care center, asked officials at the hospital, no one could tell me which lot she was buried in. Even tried going row by row, grave by grave through the cemetary, having a friend help me. The grave diggers couldn't tell me much.

I'll cut this short, and tell you I never found her grave. I don't think she holds it against me. She knows I'll see her again. Maybe even one day I'll find her grave. For now, she's still a special woman forever in my memory.

Duct Tape Dress

The subject matter is about as plain as the title. This is the making of it... it was quite a week...


We were on a band trip. Isn't that how all good stories start out? Anywho, me and my crew were never ones for sleeping at night. There was me, Squats, Miss Pepper, and Sprank all put in one room together.

"Ladies, I need your help with something." I said as I pulled out the rolls upon rolls of duct tape I bought from the store earlier. Delicious colours consisting of Taxi Cab Yellow, Turquoise, and Safety Vest Orange.

"There is a duct tape prom dress competition, and I'm doing it."
After many minutes of strategizing how to start, we decided the skirt of the dress was better than anywhere else. We made a belt of tape around my waist, then tried to make streamers as a skeleton for the bell of the skirt. Wasn't working.

"We need something to hold the shape of the skirt as we make it." Said Pepper.
"What if we each hold a side and just wrap it?" Asked Squats.
"No, no! Ging, stand on the table, and we'll tape the bell of the skirt to the round table, and build it from there!" Said Pepper.

"Yes! Perfect!" So up I went, standing tall on the small round table in the hotel room, head touching the ceiling. The gals started wrapping, cutting, and double-siding the yellow tape, but this skirt project was taking longer than expected....

"Hey Guys? I think my legs are going numb." I said, trying to hold myself in a very upright position.

Pepper looks at Squats. "Ging, did you lock your knees?" Squats asked.

"What what?"

"Like, are your legs completely straight? Without a slight bend?"

"Yeah they're straight. It's how I'm keeping the skirt frame so tight...."

Pepper looks at Squats again, sighs. They look up at me, "We're going to get you down."

I felt my knees buckling as they detached the tape skirt skeleton from the table.

"Shit! Catch her!" Said Pepper, and I went toppling down on Squats.

Sprankle sat and watched, the youngest of us by three years, having no clue dafuq these gals were doing....

I just lay there for a second before laughing.

"That means she's okay right?" Said Pepper.

"No, she laughs when she gets hurt. Is she hurt?" Said Squats.

"Ging? Ging?" They kept looking at me, calling my name, but all I could do was giggle.

"Ravioli" I said.

"We don't have a can opener." Squats said, looking at the top of the can.

"I have a pocket knife?" Said Pepper.

They butchered the top until it was safely jagged at the top.

"I can't eat this cold." Said Squats.

"The coffee pot!" I drug it down to the floor with me, and put the can on the little hot plate of the coffee maker.
"Spoons anyone?" Squats said.
"Here, use these!" Sprank jumped in on the comotion with stirring straws.
"This is so worthless." Said Pepper giggling. Pretty soon we were all laughing like lunatics, me sprawled on the floor in tape, the other three gathered around, all of us like barbarians next to a fire. Our fire was Ravioli. Fuck yeah.

Next, we tried to start the bust. "Just wrap me up, with the sticky side of the tape facing upward, then we'll go through and wrap me with the tape facing down and make it look nice."

Next thing you know, "SUCK IT IN! SUCK IT IN!" Pepper was laughing hysterically. "Ging, your boobs are huge!" Squats said, looking at my profile. They wrapped my ribs and stomach so tight my boobs were popping out. Sprank laughed her ass off.

"We have to cut it! THERE'S NO OTHER WAY!" I said, struggling to breathe.

They got the scissors and cut it down the back. I held it up, looking at the form of the figure still held.. "Dude. It'll be like a corset."

The next weekend, hours before the prom was the next time I was working on it. Crunch time. I had another ging help me on it this time. We made the string out of duct tape, punched holes in the back of the "corset" and voila. then we attached the skirt, added accents with the Turquoise and Orange, and the man came over.

The pro slapped together a tux much more efficiently and quickly than the dress. His mum even made him a duct tape tie. We were ballin. To top it off, add two pairs of duct tape converse. Fuck. Yeah.


Needless to say, it was friggin hot as hell to wear. No ventilation. We stripped the duct tape garb and put on our dancing clothes for the rest of the evening.

That, my children. Is the story of the duct tape dress.