Tag Archives: Embarrassing

Evolution of a Crazie Personality

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Evolution of a Personality

My first week as a senator’s spouse, I was invited to lunch with several other wives and informed not only of my “duties,” but was handed a list of all the senators. Each name either highlighted or crossed out, indicating who we should and shouldn’t speak to.

When I told my husband about it he said the whole thing was ridiculous and I should just do what I wanted. What great advice!

Of course I ignored it completely and started my evolution from Farm Girl

Farm Girl Jeans

To Senate Spouse

Senate Spouse Uniform

Fast-forward fourteen years and my husband’s decided to retire from the Senate, which means I get to evolve out of my Senate Wife persona. I can be/wear whatever I darn well please. Only… I don’t know what I darn well want to wear anymore.

On the last day of my recent trip to the east coast, I was packing my suitcase and I realized that if an archeologist examined this bag he’d deduce that the woman who packed it was a schizophrenic.

Suitcase of a Crazie Person

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The first layer of the archeological dig would reveal that I’m still unable to completely let go of the Senate Spouse Uniform so had packed the same type starched shirt I’d worn for fourteen years.

but got a little wild with the skirts.

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The next layer in the suitcase revealed a hippie phase.  I can still remember wearing long flowing skirts and baggy sweaters.  Maybe I should try that again?

Hippie Fail

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I’ve never been a person to wear sparkles, but was it time to start?

Sparkle – splat!

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Probably, I’m a gritty urban woman who wears earth tones to blend in.

Urban Urbane

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Then again, maybe I want to stand out.

Colorful Casualties

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What the?  Now I’ve transformed into a clown?

I don’t care what you say, I’m wearing these. They’re warm!

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When I got home, I eventually evolved into a new personality – The R-Teest.  One filled with flowing tops and black leggings.  Now this was a uniform I could stick with. Kicking it up a notch, I layered on multiple sets of jewelry and scarves until I looked like a blinged out, multicolored popsicle walking around on two short black sticks.

Then, Saturday night the consequences of such a carefree and comfortable uniform bit me in the…uh…ego.

I had one last senate dinner to attend and when I tried to slip on my old uniform, nothing fit. First, I squirmed into my industrial strength Spanx, after which I barely managed to get the top button of my slacks secured. Then, I struggled in to a starched shirt (unable to fasten the last button around my stomach), added a sweater and, hoping to camouflage my middle, topped it all with a jacket.

Evidently my latest evolution of a crazie personality has a downside.   When you always wear pants with elastic in the waist, it seems you magically believe you can have ice cream and chocolate after every meal without any consequences.

Will this setback stop the evolutionary process?  I hope not.  I certainly don’t want to end up a wooly mammoth stuck in a tar pit one day.

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Crazie Camper Caper Update:  My 1955 Aljoa is still stuck in the camper hospital as they try to repair her enough to get her road worthy.  I’d wanted to add running water, but when the estimate climbed to over $500 I decided I could do without it.  Also, after carefully considering my budget ($0.00) I’ve discovered I won’t have enough funds to have her painted just yet.  The upside of this, is that it meant I could finally come up with a name for her.  The Ugly Duckling.  

I’m sure we’ll survive just fine until I can afford to turn her into a swan – speaking of which, click the picture of my book on the right of this blog and buy it – please? (Nice segue, huh?)

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

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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.