Tips for Girls

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Elvis has Entered the Pearly Gates

Let's talk about Elvis.  Elvis Aaron Presley.  The King.  I love Elvis, and my love runs very deep.  I have been in love with Elvis since I was approximately four years old.

I don't remember being introduced to Elvis, it's almost like he was always there in my heart and in my being.  I must have discovered him through osmosis since my mom listened primarily to the oldies station when not listening to NPR.  My favorite Elvis song was "Teddy Bear" because it combined my love of Elvis and stuffed animals.  My mom even requested it on the live radio for me when I had to go to the doctor and get a shot.  It was a special, special day.

I had an Elvis CD, and gleaned from the the cover art that he was the most beautiful man alive.  We're talking late 50s Elvis, when his hips were on fire and is hair was the stuff of dreams.  This is pre peanut butter and banana days.  This was Elvis as Elvis was meant to be- Tennessee glory.

I used to listen to "Teddy Bear," "Jailhouse Rock," and "Return to Sender" and think about how Elvis and I would get married.  We would meet when I was on tour with my band, Stella and the Holograms,  and we would fall madly in love.  I would have to break up with my other boyfriends, The Ninja Turtles, Robin Hood the fox from the epic Disney movie by the same name, and Eric from "The Little Mermaid," but that was okay.  I was destined to be with Elvis, and we would live happily ever after.

One day I was telling my best friend, Jennie Castalano, about how I was going to marry Elvis, and she said, "You can't marry Elvis."

She was a real pisser, and pretty stupid, so I knew I needed to speak slowly and in words she would understand.  "Duuuuuh, Jennie, not right noooooow!  I'll marry him when I'm oooolder.  Like when I'm 17."

Then, Jennie looked me straight in the face, and said the stupidest, dumbest thing I'd ever, ever heard: 

"No, you can't marry him, dummy, because he's DEAD!"

I was floored.  Poor Jennie, she was just so dumb.  Elvis couldn't be dead, he was on the radio and on my CD!  Dead people aren't on the radio!  I laughed at Jennie and went on about my day coloring and eating paste.

That night, as my mom was giving me a bath, I decided to let her in on the joke.

"Mom, mom!  Jennie said something so funny today!"

"Oh, yes, honey, what did she say?"

"She said Elvis is dead!  Hahahahaha!"

But my mom wasn't laughing.  She had stopped lathering the Minnie Mouse washcloth in her hand and looked at me with sad eyes.

"Oh sweetheart," she said with a heavy sigh, "Elvis is dead."

"Wha....but, but, he's on the radio!"

"I know, honey, but people who are dead are still on the radio.  They live through their music forever."

I immediately burst into tears.  Wailing, I splashed and kicked and generally had a melt down.  This couldn't be truuuuuuuuue!  NO!  I was going to marrrrry him!  

"No, Mom, no!  I don't want Elvis to be dead!  I love him!"

"Well," said my mom, "Elvis is in Heaven, and maybe one day, when you go to Heaven, you'll get to meet him there."

And so, it became my sincere belief that when you die it is not Saint Peter who greets you, but rather Elvis.  He will open his arms wide, and then he will turn and bend a knee and display his glittery eagle cape.  Then he will turn back around, and we will walk through those pearly gates, hand in hand, as "Jailhouse Rock" plays, and it will be magnificent.  Uh huh. 

I'm on the Committee

This year, in an effort to not watch Netflix for the rest of my life, I joined Junior League.  If you don't know what Junior League is, it's an organization of women that promotes community service, learning and leadership.  And wine.  There is literally wine at every meeting, and I love it.

Anyway, this year I'm what's called a Provisional Member, which is like a Pledge, but instead of hazing you, they make you do a lot of community service.  Every Christmas our big event is called "A Christmas Gathering," and it takes place in a huge convention center.  Vendors from all over the country can come and sell their wares, and locals come and buy them...and drink wine.  Obviously.

Being a pledge, I had to work two, five hour shifts at this thing, and being a pledge, I was assigned...traffic.    I'm not sure what comes to mind when you think about traffic coordination at night in December, but I thought "Ugh, blow!"  But, it's for the children, so I put on all the clothes I own and prepared to direct traffic.

Only, when we go there, they had hired actual traffic cops, so they didn't need us!  Score!  So, I was reassigned to the information booth.

At the information booth, not really a lot was going on, until someone said, "Would anyone like to make an announcement for us over the intercom?"  Not being one to ever turn down a microphone, I immediately volunteered (read, ran over and snatched the microphone out of her hand).

"Okay, all you have to say is that the silent auction is now open," said the JL Girl.
"Got it."  I mentally prepared then, "Ladies and Gentlemen, we hope you are enjoying your evening and these wonderful vendors!  Please note that our fabulous silent auction is now open in Ballroom B.  Please make your way over to place your bids!  Bid high and bid often- for the kids!"

Needless to say, this was now my permanent job.  I don't know if no one else wanted to do it or if I was that good, but I was now the spokesperson for the night.

"Hello again everyone!  If you haven't had a chance to meet Santa, the sleigh is leaving in 20 minutes!"
"Are you feeling warm?  Do you have too much in your hands?  Not to worry, there's a coat check right outside in the lobby!"

It was going smashingly.  Then, there was some traffic that needed directing while the cop took a break.  I was ripped from my post and forced to help guide people into an obvious parking garage where there were actual attendants who were paid to be there.  Clearly a good use of my vocal skills.

However, it was short lived, and soon I got to return to the information booth where was another announcement to be made!  As I prepared, a very loud woman, whom I had not met, flew into the booth.

"Hi, I'm Yvonne," she said loudly.   "I'm usually the one who makes the announcements, I've just been tied up.  Here, let me have that microphone."

I was torn.  Without my microphone, what was I going to do?  Sit here lamely for the rest of my shift and listen to Yvonne steal my thunder?  But what else could I do?  I was just a pledge and she clearly was an active.  And you don't cross an active.

"Uh, okay, well you just say that they can buy the decorations at the decorations booth."

Yvonne smiled.  "Oh, honey, I know, I'm on the committee."

F!  Instantly I was transformed back to junior high, and not only because I was wearing my glasses.  In two seconds, this woman had stolen my microphone, my thunder and all the coolness I had scrapped together in the last 17 years.  She was The Voice of "A Christmas Gathering," she said so herself to several people.  I was just the lame pledge who had filled in for her.

Dejected, I went back to giving out information and trying to look busy for two more hours.

When it was time to pack up, a woman who had been in and out of the booth all night came over to me with the microphone.

"Hey, you did such a good job, could you make one more announcement letting everyone know that the valet is closing?"

"Are you sure?" I asked, my heart growing just a smidge.

"Of course!"

I scanned the hall for Yvonne, who was nowhere to be seen, and then made my crystal clear announcement.

The lady smiled.
"That was great!  I'm Taylor by the way," she said.  "When's your second shift?"
"Tomorrow, from 4:00 to 9:00.  Decoration tear down," I said.
"Not any more.  You're going to be the Assistant to the President- me."
"You're Taylor Brighton?" I said.  I hadn't known I was in the presence of the "A Christmas Gathering" President all night!
"Yeah, and you did such a good job that you're going to be my assistant tomorrow.  Here, I'm going to switch your shift right now," she said as she pulled up the schedule on her laptop.

Stunned that I was clearly getting a primo shift that would not involve much heavy lifting, I stammered, "But can you do that?"

She looked at me and smiled.  "Oh honey, I'm on the committee."

Further Thoughts on Flying and Catholicism. Part II: The Reunion

Dear Loyal Fans,

So sorry for the delay.  You've no doubt been on pins and needles waiting for part two of this saga, and I have been remiss in posting!  I sincerely apologize, and promise to defiantly post either Sunday night or Monday night henceforth.  Thank you for staying tuned in up to this point.

So, with that, let us continue our tale. 

The reunion itself was actually lovely.  The food was good, all the old high school friends were really fun, and since it was BYOB I was the most hilarious I’d ever been.  I was instantly making friends and commanding the dance floor.  And I was drinking beer, lots of beer.

Plus, bonus, my husband’s old girlfriend was fat and wore a dress with sparkly horizontal stripes!  It was turning out to be an awesome night.

It got better when they ran in to each other by the bathroom:

Brad:  Kelly Adair!  So good to see you!

Kelly:  It's Spitz now, Kelly Spitz, and I was wondering if you were even going to talk to me.  I was beginning to think you were avoiding me! (Said in an actual mad voice, not sarcastic voice).

Brad:  Of course I wasn’t!  I just haven't made it over….So, I saw on Facebook you've got some kids now.

Kelly:  Yeah, I've got three.

Brad:  Wow!  That's a lot of kids in ten years.

Kelly:  We were married first if that's what you were thinkin’.

Awesome, awesome, awesome!!  

Which, let's just pause for one moment if we can, and talk about Facebook and reunions.  If you haven't been to a reunion since FB started (or ever, as I know I have a very young, hip following), it's a little weird.  You know all this kind of intimate stuff about people that you haven't really seen in 10+ years, and probably don't really care about, but you know it anyway.  It's all the stuff that they would normally have told you at the reunion, although now you already know it, and you feel creepy about it.

"So I saw on Facebook you lived in North Dakota for a while, but now you're in Arizona."

"Yeah, like I said on Facebook, it's a big change."

"Yeah, I saw on Facebook your kids are adjusting well though.  Love your pool!"

"Yeah, Conner just loves to swim."

"Yeah, I saw on Facebook he won first prize at Little Dolphins Camp."

It's weird and voyeuristic.  I think if there's a reunion coming up, you shouldn't be allowed to update your status for at least two months to give everyone something to talk about.  

Anyway, I digress.

So, toward the end of the night I started telling the story of The Worst Flight Ever (see Part I) to a group of my new friends.  Then, out of nowhere, up comes Kelly Adiar Spitz in her sparkly dress just as I'm saying "and I was so scared I just said the Lord's prayer over and over."

Kelly grabs my arm and says, "Wait!  You ain't one of them Catholics are you?"

Now, before I go on, please know that it is not beyond me to insert colloquial phrasing, exclamation points, or half-truths to juice up a story, but that quotation is verbatim.  Etched in my brain for all of time.

Shocked at what a blatantly rude and odd question had just been spat at me, I merely stammered "Uh, no."  To which Kelly responded (again, verbatim):

"Oh good, I was afraid Brad went off and married a Catholic.  I mean, I know they're supposed to be "Christian" (used real air quotes) and all, but with all those saints and who knows what else they pray to, I don't trust a one."

Holy bat shit Batman.   Where was I?  What was happening?  This was new level of judgement.  This was Christian on Christian, reverse Crusades, my-Jesus-is-better-than-your-Jesus crazy judgement.  

 How could someone claim to be a Christian and yet be so hatful...of another sect of her own religion?  Granted there are very fundamental differences between Catholicism and Baptism, but I mean come on.  For all she knew, my entire family is Catholic, or I was struggling to find my own faith and strongly considering Catholicism.  

As I stared at the large horizontal stripes stretched tightly across her midsection, I should have taken that moment to speak to her, in a Christian way, about tolerance, loving thy neighbor, religious freedom, education and not marrying your first cousin.  But I didn't.

Instead, I laughed and said, "Oh, honey, no I’m not Catholic.  I'm a Democrat."  And then her head exploded. 

No, actually that didn’t happen, but I wish it had.  Instead I just turned around and walked away and then wrote about it on my blog.  Take that, Kelly Adair Spitz*, take that.

*Not her real name.  Apologies to any real Kelly Adair Spitz out there.  I'm not talking about you.  Please don't sue me.

Further Thoughts on Flying and Catholicism. Part I: The Worst Flight Ever

The following is an epic tale.  All of it is true, but the names have been changed to protect me from a lawsuit.

My husband is from a small town in Texas.  It could be any town really, but we’ll just say that in this town there are a lot of people who think very differently than I do.

Anyway, Brad's 10-year high school reunion was coming up, and it was decided that we would attend.  I wasn't overly stoked, but I wanted to go to my reunion the next year, so unless I was going to be a total brat, I was going.

This story is actually about the reunion, but to get to that, you first have to know about The Worst Flight Ever and how, with prayer, I landed the plane.

Getting to the reunion necessitated a flight.  Somehow, before we booked our tickets, Brad learned that there's a teeny tiny airport in his hometown, a fact he had apparently not learned in the 18 years he lived there.  

He was so excited about his airport discovery that he was determined we should try it out.  Thus, a new travel plan was decreed. 

We would not do what had worked so well the past, which was fly into a large, nearby city and then rent a car and drive 90 minutes to the reunion.  No! 

Instead, we would fly into a large, nearby city and then hop on an adorable little plane and fly just 23 minutes to the newly discovered little baby airport, thus, saving ourselves tens of dollars and 67 minutes.

So, on the appointed day, we first boarded a regular sized plane, then made a plane change onto one made of Legos.

I knew something was wrong right away when we got on and it was exactly 320 degrees.  It was hotter on the plane than outside the plane, and outside the plane was Texas in August.  The passengers who were already onboard were actually sitting in Hell.

We settled in to our microseats and were informed that, due to the extremely short flight time, there would be no beverage service.  Oh, and we wouldn't get above 8,000 feet so we shouldn’t stand up...or the weight distribution could be thrown off and we would all die.

When we took off, immediately the plane did that terrible shaky/dropping thing, and after that it didn't get better...ever.  It was like being on a carnival ride operated by blind babies.  

At one point, a flight attendant face planted onto a passenger’s lap, and there wasn’t beverage service so who knows why she was even up.  The woman behind us threw up three- THREE- times on this 23 minute flight.  That's throwing up every 7.6666 minutes.  There was crying, and screaming and general pandemonium. 

Needless to say, I was petrified.  So, I did what anyone who was raised by a mother who was raised Catholic would do:  started saying the Lord’s Prayer nonstop.   I said the Lord's Prayer over and over for approximately 22.5 minutes, and I guess it worked.  We didn’t die that day.  We landed.  Barely.

When we landed I don't even remember if there was a send-off speech, I think we all just bolted out of the plane and changed our pants.  It was terrible, it was awful, and I immediately started telling the story to anyone who would listen, which was wonderful.

Next week: Part II, The Reunion