SAA Ep.# 46: Stereotypical Stoplight Guy

Stoplights are probably some of the most interesting things ever invented, and they were invented by a black guy (from central KY, because people from central KY are awesome).  History is full of intelligent black men and women who have done some amazing things.  I also happen to know several hardworking black men and women who are upstanding citizens with amazing families.  So don't think I'm being racist when I speak of the stereotypical black guy who seems to be at every stoplight I encounter.

He drives some kind of souped up hooptie car.  I'm not even sure if that's how you spell hooptie, but that's what I'm going with.  He's wearing a muscle shirt and/or wifebeater.  His hair is either in awesome dreads or covered up with some kind of doo-rag...sometimes both at the same time.  His windows are rolled down.  His license plate says something like, "GNGSTALV."  Oh, and he's playing his angry rap shouting music so loudly that every car at the stoplight is shaking in time with its obnoxious vibrations.

And maybe I'm not speaking for everyone, but I think that a very small part of most of the other people at that stoplight wishes they could be as cool as stereotypical black guy.

As a hopelessly white girl, there's no way I could ever be as cool as stereotypical black guy.  I wish I could say that that kept me from trying. 

I drive a Taurus.  There's nothing hooptie about a Taurus.  I mean, despite the sunroof and spoiler on the back, my car still screams "SOCCER MOM!"  I have entertained the idea of getting a vanity plate, but I've got some personal convictions about spending $30 bucks a year just so people will be able to sit at stoplights and puzzle over the meaning of the cutesy saying I've legally plastered to the back of my car.  But if I did get a vanity plate, it wouldn't say anything cool with the word "GNGSTA."  I know what it would say.  It would say "BADHIPPY."  The reason it would say "BADHIPPY" is because I am, in fact, a bad hippy.  And I am a bad hippy not because I'm a hippy that has been naughty, but because I'm a hippy, and I'm very bad at it. 

But since the NC DMV only allows eight letters on their vanity plates, I can't get a vanity plate that says, "I'm a bad hippy because I'm a hippy, and I'm bad at it."  So I can see a vanity plate that says, "BADHIPPY" leading to all sorts of misunderstandings. 

Some people might assume that I'm a naughty hippy who likes to protest war and smoke various substances and do all the things that naughty hippies do.  That's not the case.  The very reason that I am a bad hippy is because I don't do all the things that hippies are supposed to do.  I mean, for one thing, I take showers every day.  But people who read my vanity plate wouldn't know that, and they might hate me for being an unpatriotic pothead, which isn't the case.

Then, on the other hand, I can see some actual hippies reading my actual vanity plate, and they might assume that I'm insulting hippies.  If my car were parked somewhere--let's just say the Wal-mart parking lot--and some hippies saw my vanity plate and were offended, they'd probably call up all their hippy friends.  So when I left Wal-mart to return to my car, there would be a full blown hippy protest party going on on top of my car.  Hmm...on second thought...that might be pretty amazing....

But even if I did have a cool vanity plate that led to spontaneous hippy parties, I still would not be as cool as stereotypical black guy. 

I do like to roll my windows down when the weather is nice.  Lately, the temperatures have been near or over 100 degrees here, so I've actually used my common sense and utilized my car's air conditioner.  But when the weather is closer to 60-80 degrees, I'll roll the windows down.  I have several reasons for this.  1) I really like the feel of the wind on my face and in my hair.  I'm a bad hippy, after all.  2) Despite all the google articles I've read that state the contrary, I really do feel that I'm getting better gas mileage if I don't use the air conditioning.  3) I like being obnoxious and blasting my music for everyone to hear it.

Only, I don't like rap music.  I don't even like what's popular on the radio these days.  I listen to Christian radio.  And most of the cds I listen to are also Christian artists.  The ones that aren't Christian artists are artists that are closer to my grandfather's age than they are to mine.  The ones that are Christian artists are either dead or so obscure that even other people who listen to Christian radio haven't even heard of them.  So if you happen to drive up beside me at a stoplight and we both have our windows down, you might just be treated to some Rich Mullins.  So instead of hearing some obnoxiously loud reverberating cool rap, you're gonna hear some obnoxiously loud hammered dulcimer.  Oh yeah.  I'm awesome. 

Maybe I should just get some dreads.

SAA Ep. #37: Soccer Mom

Let's get one thing straight: There is NO such thing as a part-time mom. Even moms who have joint custody of their kids are full-time moms because they're constantly thinking/worrying about their kids. Being a mom is a full-time job. It just is.

I'm not a mom. BUT, if there WERE such a thing as a part-time mom, I would be one. In fact, if there were such a thing, I'd be a part-time soccer mom. I watch three girls who all participate in soccer and need to be driven around to different practices, games, and camps. So it's not uncommon for me to pile up three girls and their various equipment in my big ol' Ford Taurus and drive them around while they drive me crazy.

I guess I always thought I would be a soccer mom. Back in college, I used to drive a station wagon (also a Ford Taurus--an even BIGGER one than my current big ol' Ford Taurus). I loved that car (before it caught on fire and died, aww). I always pictured myself in it, driving hypothetical kids to hypothetical soccer practice in hypothetical glory, hypothetically being the most amazing hypothetical soccer mom in the hypothetical world, the hypothetical envy of all other hypothetical soccer moms.

Turns out, it's not at all easy being a soccer mom, even part-time (if there were such a thing). It is a lot of hard work. Before I started working for this family, I didn't know anything about soccer equipment. I mean, I knew there was a ball involved. ... Yeah, that was pretty much all I knew. Now, three girls of various sizes and ages expect me to know where they put their soccer socks, or if the shin guards they just found in the bottom of their bag are theirs or their sister's, or if they're going to need to wear their cleats or just regular tennis shoes for whatever practice they happen to be going to. I have to juggle snacks and water bottles/jugs and balls and bags and make sure I don't leave a kid behind by accident.

Then there's the hair. Let me just say, there's a reason I wear my hair down most of the time. I can't do anything with hair. I can put my own hair into a messy bun or pony tail or braid, but it's often hit or miss. Another person's hair? Fuhgedduhboudit. The girls have stopped asking me to help them put their hair in a ponytail. All except the youngest one (The Princess), because she told me, "You can do my hair, Ruth. I don't care if it looks dumb, and it never stays put anyway." Not exactly a vote of confidence, but at least I feel almost useful....

And I gotta say, I'm the part-time soccer mom (if there were any such thing) who forgets stuff. If I were a REAL soccer mom, the poor kids would be in a lot of trouble.  I'd forget to wash their uniforms because I'd be thinking about a new story idea.  I'd forget to put their water bottles in their bags because I'd be thinking about how much I like cheese. 

Fortunately the parents I work for are really good about reminding me AND having all their kids' stuff together in advance. Still, I've taken The Princess to her soccer camp twice this week and forgotten to sunscreen her up before we get there. I guess it's a good thing I'm pale and afraid of the sunshine--I carry a mini clip-on bottle of SPF 50 with me at all times. But this just means The Princess has to deal with the embarrassment of her part-time mom slathering last-minute sunscreen all over her face in front of her friends. Even to a six-year-old, that's kind of devastating. She'll be scarred for life and develop an irrational fear of sunscreen and have to go to therapy.

And the thing is, everyone does think I'm The Princess' actual mom. We both have curly blondish-brownish hair, pale skin, and blue eyes. We're also both very stubborn and have other similar personality traits that cause us to figuratively butt heads all the time, but that's neither here nor there. Apart from our similarities, there's also the fact that people see me driving her around and just naturally assume I'm the mom. So I get all these questions from the people in charge of the soccer activities and have to explain that I'm "just the nanny." One lady relentlessly argued with me about it, insisting that I was definitely The Princess' mom. The basis of her argument was that The Princess and I look a lot alike. I saw her point, but you know, I'd probably know it if I had a six-year-old kid...but that kind of logic is lost on some people.

The only time I get truly embarrassed about people thinking I'm the actual mom of The Princess and her older sisters, The Diva and The Drama Queen (who don't look/act nearly as much like me as The Princess), is when I happen to be out with the dad. Sometimes he needs help at soccer events, or sometimes we're all just rushing around like crazy people and he wants me to bring the girls to meet him at a restaurant. Then people assume I'm the mom AND his wife.

That's when awkward turtle wants to go hide in her shell.

But I'm not a turtle. I'm as close to being a part-time soccer mom as a person can get. So I can't go inside my shell. I can just go inside my big ol' Ford Taurus and try in vain to drown out the sounds of three loud girls playing PUNCH BUGGY NO PUNCH BACK! or singing chants they made up about their beverages of choice or playing I'M NOT TOUCHING YOU...or licking each other for no apparent reason.

Seriously, all joking aside, I kinda sorta love it. Maybe not the licking part...but being a soccer mom is fun!

And I'm officially a dork. I miss my station wagon.

SSA Ep. #22: Sports Frustrated

I may have mentioned here that I'm really not the athletic type. I may have mentioned that I have the tendency to trip over my own feet, painted lines in parking lots, flat surfaces, ...thin air.... Coordination isn't my strong point.

I have been trying to run for the past few weeks. I'm training for a 5K like some real runners might train for a marathon. Last night I actually ran a full 3/4 of a mile without stopping to walk. It was quite an accomplishment for me. That's how pathetic I am.

I am finding that I'm starting to enjoy running a little bit, but running isn't like an organized sport. Runners pretty much run until they stop running. There's not much else to it than that.

But I live in the South and I was raised in the psuedo-South. Down here, if you aren't into sports, especially college sports, then you might as well pin a scarlet letter to your shirt. People here are going to judge you and condemn you. I know this because I don't really like sports that much. I don't like playing them. I don't like watching them. I've been judged.

Sure, I can get a little excited watching a St. Louis Cards game, but I don't get REALLY excited (or really pay attention to how they're doing) unless they're playing in the World Series. So the last time I got really good and excited about sports was back in 2006 when the Cards won the Series. In the meantime, I've just been mostly oblivious to sports. I've been paying attention to *coughmoreimportantcough* things.

Please don't think I'm being judgmental, because other people really get a kick out of football (oops, was that a pun?) and basketball. Other people enjoy watching sports like I would enjoy watching a really good movie. There's nothing wrong with entertainment. I just don't find sports all that entertaining.

Last weekend, I had to take the girls I watch to their soccer games. This was way out of my comfort zone, let me tell you. One of the girls was six, and it's safe to say that she knows way more about soccer than I ever did. I know the basics. I know there's a ball. I know there are two goals. I know the players kick the balls towards the goals and hope to get it in, while a goalie tries to keep it out. That's pretty much all I know. I hear the coaches screaming about offense and defense, but I don't understand a bit of it.

I don't understand ANY sports, to be honest. All the little rules go right over my head. In fact, there's only one sport I really understand. Quidditch, anyone?

While watching the soccer games, I was more concerned about how messy the six-year-old's pony tail looked (I'm not good at styling hair, either) than how well she was playing.

Also, I'm afraid of balls. While I was watching the six -year-old match, my greatest fear was that the ball would get away from the kids and roll over to where I was sitting. Now, I wasn't afraid the ball would hit me. I got over that fear after working in a gym at a church (a GREAT job for someone who doesn't like sports, right?). I got hit by basketballs all the time there. My fear wasn't that I would get hit by a ball. My fear was that the ball would come to me and I would be expected to kick it back to the players.

...I knew that if this happened, I'd get shown up by a bunch of six-year-olds who can kick better than I ever could.

The ball did come my way. More than once. I pretended I didn't see it and let one of the coaches get it. I'm that kind of a person.

I remember back in high school, I used to play on this "just for fun" volleyball league. The "Just for Fun" league wasn't very much fun. I got yelled at a lot. Eventually, I decided that getting yelled at wasn't a lot of fun, and I stopped playing. That was the last time I ever willingly played an organized sport.

Yeah, I figure I'm going to stick to running and leave the organized sports to people who understand them. I have a feeling that even if I understood sports, I wouldn't do well. See, I just don't play well with others.