Birthdays and Black Eyes

My birthday is quickly approaching. While trying to decide how to celebrate, I have been thinking about birthdays past. One party from a few years ago is reason to follow the tidbit for this installment of Momma Says Monday. Let's take a look back...

My friends and I were discussing what we should do for my 26th birthday; over beers, naturally. I threw a party bus out there (yes, I decided that my friends should get me a party bus for my birthday. Narcissistic much?) and we thought that sounded like a great idea. A little research and a few phone calls later and we were ready to roll.

During the pre-party, what would prove to be a fateful prophecy came from some of the avid Arrested Development fans, including myself, Sparky and my sister, Libby. While talking about the (dearly missed) TV show, the topic of "hop-ons" came up. We related the episode to our adventures to come that evening and warned everyone, in the words of Michael Bluth giving advice to George Michael on driving the stair car,

"Be sure to watch for hop-ons. You're going to have some hop-ons."

Fast forward several bars and many beers later; a bus full of couches (yes, couches) and fairly intoxicated twenty-somethings rolled into the last bar for the night - Miss Kitty's. Some of the group headed into the bar straight-away but several remained on the bus to finish additional beverages.

Then, a not-so-gentlemanly-and-verrrrry-drunk young man boarded our craft. Seeing this, Sister Libby recalled the "rule" we had established earlier in the night and quickly sprung into action. She attempted to inform our new guest that we were no longer accepting RSVPs for party and asked him to remove himself. However, I believe all that came out of her mouth was, "It's a hop-on! NO HOP-ONS!! NO HOP-ONS!!"

The next part is still a bit of a mystery to all witnessed/experienced it. And, none of us - especially me - are entirely credible sources. It seems that several of us jumped in behind Sister Libby as she berated the guy off the bus. She did not feel that he had quite gotten the message even after he had left and continued to communicate this to him after he had started to walk away. From what I remember, he did not appreciate this and he grabbed her and shoved her against a nearby (parked) vehicle. Did I mention that Libby is my younger sister?

Here's an equation for you... birthday girl + far too many drinks + hop-on man throwing sister against a car = x

X = an enraged, drunken big sister who immediately proceeds to rush to the rescue. That is, if rescue includes yelling profanities in the face of the d-bag who did this - only to be tossed to the ground by him. And by tossed, I mean grabbed by the shoulders and thrown to the concrete, head first.

Libby was shaken up but alright. The birthday girl, on the other hand, came to with my head in my friend's lap staring up at their stricken face. Oh, and with pain shooting through my head. I'll spare you the exact words I was babbling as I tried to determine if I was going to die in the bar parking lot. My friends assured me I was ok and got me back on the bus (during this time, our new *friend* had been tracked down by some of the gentleman accompanying us and received a stern talking to).

Then the ambulance showed up. And the police. I was questioned about the incident but between my partying and what-turned-out-to-be-a-concussion; I was completely incoherent. Nice. After checking me over, it was determined that the growing lump on my forehead warranted a trip to the hospital. Sparky and I were newly engaged at the time so as they strapped me onto the ambulance bed and started to pack me in, I was calling out, "What about my fiiiiiaaaanceeee! I can't leave without my fiiiiaaaanceeee!" Seriously.

The last thing I really recall about that night is hearing the EMTs call me in to the hospital as an "intoxicated white female with a head injury." To which my response was, "Ohhhh noooo. It's my biiiirrrthdaaayyy. I get to be int...intoxss...intoximicated," followed by tears of embarassment and sorrow about my "ruined" birthday (at least I still knew enough that this was embarassing - that's a good sign I suppose).

After a trip to the ER, I was sent home with a mild concussion. I sported a lovely bump and very black eye for a few weeks. Those eventually faded. But I'm pretty sure the limited memories and my feelings about hop-ons never will.

Wait - I'm not wearing pantyhose

This next little gem for Momma Says Mondays didn't come from my mom. It came one of the girls who lived on my dorm floor freshmen year (the prestigious prominent legendary facility commonly known as Dirty Burge at the University of Iowa - another story for another time).

"Pantyhose are the difference between class and trash."

Granted, this was 10 years ago, and it sounded dated at that time. It's funny how standards change over time. Waaaay back, showing your stockings was cause for alarm. Can you imagine causing scandal with your legs?! Now, nip slips and even hoo-hoo flashings are a perfectly acceptable part of pop culture.
For me, the determing factors in pantyhose are usually the shoes I'm wearing and if I need a little extra help in key areas. But this statement always makes me pause (not for long) when I consider not wearing pantyhose. If I had never heard it, I don't think I would ever give the presence or absence of pantyhose a second thought. But because I have, I am always checking (and judging; just a little).

Momma Says Mondays

I'm bringing it back! Momma says Mondays is here again.
This particular quote is not so much advice - just a little fun. My mother came of age (really? what does that even mean?) in the 60s and 70s. So she was at the best age during the best decades of the 1900s. This is also the time when she met and fell in love with my dad, who was a professional musician at the time. So let's see... a single lady in an era known for the parties and craziness with a musician boyfriend...it's no surprise that I didn't come along until she was 32.
Several years ago, as my sisters and I started to enjoy our 20s, we began to realize how much potential for fun our mom would have had. I don't think we'll ever know the extent of that fun because whenever we ask for specifics about the decades of free love and disco, we get the same response:

"Hmmmm... I have gaps."

This statement is followed by a small smile and giggles. Then, nothing - she won't budge. The closest we have ever gotten to more information is, "I didn't inhale."
Keep in mind, she raised girls that are (reasonably) well-behaved. She made it through our teen years with only a few "incidents." Now, it would be perfectly safe for her to tell us about her potentially shady past. But I suppose after 20-some years of giving your life to your children, it's nice to have some memories and things that are still your own.
Which means, there is a lesson here - there's nothing wrong with keeping a few things sacred, or, just secret.

Momma Says Mondays

My mom visit this weekend for shopping and her annual spa treatment (I get her a gift certificate every xmas just to prove that I'm a good daughter). She is one of the smartest, strongest women I know. Despite never having it easy, she has always given everything she could to her three girls. During her visit, I started thinking it might be fun to share some of mom's wisdom.

Let's kick it off with my all-time favorite:
"If you can't cook; he can't make you."

This is why she says (only half jokingly) she didn't teach me or my sisters how to cook. Sure, we learned the basics; how to boil water, microwave popcorn, burn toast. But anything involving chopping, mixing or sauteeing was not in her lesson plan.
Mom worked full-time, took care of three girls, ran the house and cooked dinner. Every. Night. So to her - giving her girls a better life meant that they wouldn't have to cook. I think she's a closet feminist as well.
As Sparky and I have done more and more cooking at home, I learn more about the great things you can create with food. Slowly, I have started to see the value (and teensy bit of enjoyment) in it - as long as it's a shared task.