Tag Archives: cranky

Recommended for Out-of-Control Freaks: Bag-O-Calm

2 Replies

Finally got around to cleaning out my travel purse from my east coast trip.  Found these items, which ended up being a walk down memory lane.

*Boarding Pass.  The trip started with our usual adventurous (my husband would call it torturous) drive to the airport.  I’ll admit it, I’m a terrible backseat driver.  Every few minutes I gasp, grab the door handle and press my foot on the imaginary brake that I wish resided on my side of the car.  What’s weird though is, if I close my eyes, I travel just fine.  It reminds me of watching Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom.  When they captured an out-of-control animal they covered its eyes to keep it calm.  I’m thinking about inventing just such a thing for out-of-control freaks such as myself.  I’m going to call it Bag-O-Calm.

*Box of Bandaids.  While in New York we walked about a hundred miles every day and because I was wearing my “trendy” shoes, I got blisters.

*DuaneReade.  Receipt for cushions to put inside stupid “trendy” shoes.

*Reserved Sign.  Went to Birdland where seats were held for my VIP Brother – not Prescoe or even Presscove but Pressgrove.  It’s a difficult name, I know.  Presscot is the usual mistake but my favorite ever had to be Bumgrove.  Now my last name is Vratil – which always, always get’s written out as Brattle.  I’ve learned to say and explain it all in one breath like this. “Vratil-V-As-In-Victor.” One time, while looking for my name on a list, after I said Vratil-V-As-In-Victor, the woman said, “But, I don’t know how to spell Victor.”

*Non-Working Metro Pass Form.  More than once I bought a subway pass and it was rejected.  VIP Brother said this had never happened to him in all the years he’s been in New York. Figures.

*Northshire Bookstore.  Visited my best pal, Gina, and walked into her town’s wonderful independent bookstore.  They had a large sign announcing PRINT ON DEMAND available.  I thought it would be cool to watch a copy of my book come off their press, so I demanded that they print it.  Turns out, it doesn’t work that way and I didn’t go over so well.

*Program for Mark My Words.  Attended a Mark Twain writing program with WTF Alumni, Kerry.  We managed to finagle (pay) our way in to the author’s reception.  As you’ve learned by now, I don’t like strangers so I stood in my well-practiced wallflower position on the edge of the room.  Kerry dared me to go up and talk to someone.  I don’t know why – maybe it was the three diet cokes talking – but I did it.  We ended up meeting two wonderful women, who we chatted with the entire time, totally missing our opportunity to meet the authors.  Which was fine with me because that R. L. Stine seems like one strange stranger.

I’m a Grown Ass Woman

7 Replies

Yes.  It’s another trailer story.  Hang in there with me a little longer and I promise, the excitement will change to some other Crazie subject.

What’s happened so far:

  1. Contracted a severe case of Mid Life Crisis-itis.
  2. Became obsessed with finding a Canned Ham (vintage camper).
  3. In one day’s time, flew to Denver – purchased camper – tucked it into a storage facility – flew home.
  4. Spent several days trying to figure out how in the heck I was going to get the thing from Denver to Kansas City, finally deciding to pay an anonymous man named Kevin to bring it to me.
  5. Anonymous Kevin has since had more truck trouble than the Detroit car companies, so my little 1955 Aljoa is somewhere in Frontier, CO.

I recently began a campaign to rescue my Aljoa by calling every friend and relative I could think of to drive out with me and pick it up.  Although many, MANY people offered to help, the timing was never quite right.

One night, while I was whining to my friend, Mary, she said, “You’re a grown ass woman.  Get in your car and drive over there to get it yourself!”

I hung up the phone and paced around the house.  You know what? I thought, I am a grown ass woman.  I can drive 1,000+ miles by myself, towing an unfamiliar 2,400 pound object behind my car.  I went to sleep, confident in my ability to accomplish anything.

Then I woke up the next morning and thought, You know what?  I am a grown ass woman!  A grown ass woman who’s smart enough to figure out she doesn’t want to drive 1,000+ miles by herself, towing an unfamiliar 2,400 pound object behind her car.  

So, it’s back to trusting Anonymous Kevin, who promises to deliver the little Aljoa to me FOR FREE, because I’ve been such a sweet little patient angel.

Of course, if it’s not sitting in my driveway when I get back from out of town, I’m driving out to Frontier to put some serious whoop-ass on Anonymous Kevin.