kayla aimee: only slightly neurotic

Quite possibly the best/creepiest true story I've ever written

I was sitting here on my lunch break thinking that I had absolutely nothing to blog about when the BEST thing happened.

I work out of a model home and so every day someone puts out signs and flags at the front of the neighborhood. The signs have our neighborhood name on them and the flags all say Open House.

Lately they have been disappearing. Last week I found a flag pole thrown into a briar bush by the creek but no flag. I figured it was some kids.

Today, an elderly couple stopped by to let us know they knew who was taking our signs. You are going to love this. Really, I couldn't make this stuff up if I tried.

Wait for it.

Wait for it.

THE ICE CREAM MAN.

Yes. They told us that they've seen him drive up, a little kid jump out and steal our signs and flags, and then they drive off.

This is so disturbing on so many levels.

First of all, why is the neighborhood ice cream man stealing our signs? More importantly, why does he have a kid riding along with him who he sends out to steal the signs? Also, what is he doing with the signs? Worse, what is he doing with the flags?

Because an ice cream man driving around in a van with our flags that read Open House is really quite creepy, no?

I'm pretty sure that the next time the ice cream man comes by I will A) not be buying any delicious treats and B) dialing my good friends The Local Police.

Perhaps this is why they say chivalry is dead

Two days a week I work out of a different office. At that office I have to put out a sign. That sign is heavy. Really heavy.

To put out the sign I have to cross the road.

Today it was storming.

I have issues with storms. Maybe because I have a lot of issues. Or maybe because of that time a tornado hit my house while I was in it.

In any case, I don't do storms. This is because bad things happen during storms. See the above sentence about tornadoes. Or like yesterday, when I drove to Publix in the storm and then all the power went out once I got inside. Do you know how scary it is to be feeling up the produce and then be plunged into total darkness? Let me tell you, it is scary. It is also really embarrassing when the lights come back on and you're the only one who's ducked and covered under the pumpkin display.

So this afternoon I have to bring the sign in. And it is storming. And I have no umbrella. And the sign is heavy. And I am wearing a dress and heels. It's almost like the Lord sets me up to be his own personal sitcom.

Please remember that I am 5 feet tall and about 90 pounds. I am commonly mistaken for a twelve year old girl. And at this moment I am standing in the pouring rain in the middle of the street, struggling with a massive, heavy, SLIPPERY sign. I may or may not be crying.

A guy pulls up next to me in his pickup truck and I assume he is going to offer to help me. I have pepper spray in case he offers something else, but this is the south and in the south guys stop to offer to help a woman in my desperate predicament.

He rolls down his window.

And yells "GET THE *EXPLETIVE* OUT OF THE ROAD!"

Awesome. Thanks for that, Kanye West.

"I'm the PRINCESS of Genovia? SHUT UP!"

Today started off incredibly weird, and if you want to know just how weird you can read the whole story right here on 2peas. You should read it too, because those ladies had some stinkin hilarious ideas about how to deal with Mr. Wrong. I was excited, however, because Christie Michelle and I were going shopping this afternoon. But when I went to leave,  I couldn't find my deit card anywhere. Now, this may come as a shock to some of you most likely those of you who know me very well but I am a very.messy.person. I try so hard not to be. But, alas, I have reached the stage where I am resigned to just admit I have a problem. I am messy. I even read all those Messies Anonymous books although apparently I missed that whole anonymous thing and it didn't help at all. And  it didn't help is because of the reason that I'm messy. I'm messy because I am totally scatterbrained. Here are this weeks top three ridiculously scatterbrained just-slap-me-and-call-me-Jessica-Simpson moments in random order:

1. I'm sure that I left my debit card in my dresser drawer. I'm sure because I remember taking out of the drawer in the bathroom where I keep my toothpaste and moving it there. Jeff paid for lunch and dinner our last few dates so I know I haven't used it. It's not in my wallet although I search frantically for it there. I empty the contents of the dresser. I dump out my laundry basket. I go through all my jean pockets. I rifle through my makeup bag. I interrogate my cat and look in her litter box. No debit card. I leave to meet Christie cardless and nearly an hour late. I decide that I want to listen to Nichole Nordeman  today so I pull out the CD case, flip it open, and there, on top of the new Dave Matthews CD sits my debit card. How it got there I have no idea. I'm assuming it was the leprecahun. He's probably sick of hearing "Brave" muffled in the trunk.
   
2. I do about 10 loads of laundry. I take out all the whites and as I'm putting them in the dryer I think to myself "self, those whites sure look dingy. Maybe I should bleach them." I  start another load in the wash, turn on the dryer, curl up next to Jeff, and then it hits me.   I didn't put laundry detergent in either of those loads of laundry.
   
3. I'm driving to meet Christie Michelle and I'm ridiculously hot. So I roll up the windows and turn on the air full blast. I am still hot. I am hot the entire way there. Until, that is, I pull in the parking lot and notice that my sunroof is wide open.

So that concludes today's post. Mostly because I'm incredibly slammed with work right now! And I bought myself the orginal Princess Diaries today so I'm going to eat dinner whie I watch one of the greatest movies of all time. So here are some pics of my B-E-A-U-tiful baby sister from our mini photo shoot  and I'm out.

Sure, I got one question for you. It's CAN YOU DEAL WITH THAT?

Observations from my first day of classes this is totally deserving of bullets:

• Out of 40,000 that's forty thousand students on campus I run into he-who-shall-not-be-named. It gets better. I run into he-who-shall-not-be-named while he is with she-who-shall-not-be-named. Otherwise known as the new girlfriend who isn't really new since she existed while we were dating. I was with he-who-shall-be-named otherwise known as Jeff and he failed to notice the entire awkward exchange. I can't blame him for the failure to notice because I looked quite cute that day. Because I'm totally blonde now. And also, did I mention I looked cute?
• I was running late to class because I actually worked out that morning okay an hour of pilates is a total killer and there was a wreck on the way to school. My parking space was somewhere in the vicinity of South Dakota and since I attend school in Georgia, it took me awhile to get there. If I had known I'd have to park in the middle of the continental United States, I'd have skipped the pilates and counted that walk as my workout.
• Because I was late to class, Cam couldn't save me a seat and we ended up sitting on the floor in the back of the class mocking the professor. I decided that we should spend all subsequent class periods in this manner as it was far more entertaining that listening to Bill Nye the Science Guy's clone drone on about the fishing industry of the Hudson river. Next time I go fishing in the Hudson river, I'm sure I'll be glad I spent hundreds of thousands of dollars to know that I can't eat the fish I catch in there. The next time I eat a fish that I catch.
• My professor for my thesis class shuts the door, stares us down, and proceeds to tell us that it is her goal to scare us all out of taking her class.  She then went on to describe the difficulty of the class in gory details saying such horrid things as "I plan on ripping your papers to shreds and then read them aloud, calling attention to every error" Six people got up and walked out right in the middle of her tirade. Two more left later in the class after she grilled us as though we were in the midst of the great inquisition during the ridiculous introduce-yourself-to-the-people-you'll-never-see-again time. Most of these people were criminal justice majors, she told us after consulting her roll book, noting with pleasure that she had just scared the pants off a bunch of future cops. She scared the pants off of them only because they had to change them after they wet themselves in fear of having their thesis proposal read aloud. To strangers. In college. Scary.  I need this class to graduate. I ain't scared. Besides, I'm a Sociology Major. Writing papers about nothing is what I do.

Now.  I'm blonde. Spelled with an e because that's ubercool. And Cherany gave me totally cute earrings. So note the blondness and the totally cute earrings and ignore the face that I make while sitting in all my classes. Listening to the professors drone on about fish and scaring cops.

Another post where I talk about toilets

That makes three now I believe. Due to a conversation with Melanie about the toilet of death, I decided to share another totally crazy public restroom moment. On the internet. B/c I have no shame. But first, some totally cute pictures from the bridal shower after bridal shower weekend. My best friends. Silly conversations. And lots and lots of quiche.

Once upon a time a few years ago, I worked at the mall. In one of those bath and body stores. At Christmas time. I did this because I needed the extra cash and I thought it would be fun. Looking back, I think I can pinpoint this period of my life as the time when I completely lost all sanity. Working at the mall at Christmas means that you spend the Christmas season totally full of it. Yes  I'm sure your mother would love a 67 lb gift basket of body scrub. Of course that doesn't smell like burning rubber, it's smells great on you.  You should really spend $10 more so that I can give you a small tube of chapstick we have left over from two years ago for free.  You can see how that sort of day would cause frusteration to begin building very quickly. Now imagine if you will having that sort of day and then add in the fact that you can't add. But it's your shift at the register. Now add in the fact that you're a total klutz. And you knock over the entire gift bag display. Finally add in the fact that it is a girly day, and by girly day I mean that I will be using he word tampon in the post shortly.

Only it wasn't a girly day to begin with. Which means, of course, that you are unprepared to deal with such things. So you take your 15 minute lunch break, grab your bow-staff, and begin the arduous journey to the foodcourt restrooms, prepared to take out grandmas and mothers in search of tickle-me-elmo with your mad bowstaff skills. When you arrive at the food court restrooms bruised and battered fifteen minutes later, you discover that the tampon machine I'll only use the word once more, I promise only takes quarters. You have no silver money, so you go out into the food court and ask the girl at Dairy Queen who apparently hates her life as much as you at the moment for change for a dollar. She tells you that you have to buy something to get change. So you ask for water, thinking that you will get a bottle of water. She hands you a cup of water and 50 cents. Not a bottle of water. A cup. A Dixie cup. You look at her in disdain and proceed to restroom. You put your quarter in the machine. The machine eats your quarter and gives you nothing in return. You put your second quarter in the machine. It eats that one too. Now you are desperate. You sit down on the floor and begin to sob because you are all out of quarters, you've spent way too long on lunch break, and you still don't have what you need. Plus, you are an emotional girl on girl days. Some lady will take pity on you, walk over and silently hand you a tampon. And you will cry harder and thank her profusely.

Now you will joyfully utilize the bathroom. And when you are finished, you realize that there is no handle on the toilet. You think to yourself, "self, how do I flush this toilet?" Then you think that maybe it is the sort of toilet that flushes itself after you, know know, tinkle. Only you don't have to go. You can't go. And then, inspiration hits. And you pour your dixie cup of water in the toilet. And it flushes. And you no longer feel like knocking out the girl at Dairy Queen with your bowstaff. You turn leave, now forty two minutes late from your lunch break, and the door will not open. You are stuck in the bathroom stall. You throw your body against it. You jiggle it. You start to cry again. And then you give up and crawl on your belly out from under the stall. You proceed to once again fight your way through the crowd of adrenaline filled psychotic Christmas shopping mothers and their screaming two year old children in an effort to be less than an hour late back to work. And when he-who-shall-not-be-named shows up later that day with midol and chocolate I have to give him some credit  you will let him know that if you ever again think it might be fun to work at the mall at Christmas time, you want to be locked in a closet with nothing but a crust of bread until you change your mind.

In other news, Jeff and I went to the pool again on Monday night and we were attacked by a bat. Again. Only once this time. But totally dive-bombed. I would like to take this moment to let everyone know that this is the true story of my life. I am copyrighting it. It's going to totally be a best seller.