Well that was to be expected.

Coming back from a weeklong trip out visiting with family can go two ways.

Considering I had already cried like a baby the minute I saw my sister, her house, the baby and just about everything else I figured my body was pretty much cried out. The need to strangle anything or turn to the bottle never crossed my mind.

Sometimes it takes a trip like that to make you see the real you. A real understanding of yourself as a person, a woman (or man), lover, partner, etc. I am not a large crying person, unless I’ve bashed my foot in or knocked the knee out when running through the prairies pretending I can still run, but being there and with so much emotion, I swear I cried for more than a lifetime.

Apparently that must mean I am growing as a person, because it made me realize that certain emotions had been dried up for so long that it felt like Niagara Falls for a few nights. Thank god for the privacy of personal rooms, but it was more than laughable to realize that it felt good to let everything out.

On the flight back, I was talking to the couple next to me on the flight and as the woman started to fall asleep during the flight something occurred to me.
There are introverts and extroverts all over. Type A and Type B. Hands down, I am an extrovert. Unafraid to talk randomly to people, will put myself out there in any given situation which can lead to good experiences and crazy ones. Strange happenings have always popped up in my life, hence the full meaning of this blog:

Living in that blonde moment

My life is one big blonde moment, for which I embrace fully. Whether it be a slip to the floor, crying in public over some stupid advert or simply experiencing something out of the typical and monotonous day.

On a flight that had been delayed, we’d been stuck on the tarmac for about a half an hour, I was exhausted. The week was emotionally draining, my body was beat, but I still needed to get to my car. Flying is a fun and simple process, and the only real part that I get anxious about is parking my car. Normally I would have hired a car service or call for a cab, but with this particular trip the flight times were all over the place and I hate to even ask anyone about doing a favor for me. I’m the ‘get in, get it done’ type of traveler.

My car was parked in the long-term side of the airport and while I just made it outside of the doors from the baggage claim, luck reigned down and a shuttle was right there waiting. Thank god! Seamless so far, apart from the many bathroom trips from the people sitting next to me and the long tarmac wait.

Excited to be one inch closer to the car, my eyelids started to droop and before I knew it the bus was parked outside of a garage. I did not remember parking in a garage. Where was the driver. Where the hell was I?

Not good.

The driver came back onto the bus after he had taken a break—and completely left me there. What an idiot I am for closing my eyes for a second. Turns out, there are multiple routes for the long-term parking. One for each section, which seems completely ridiculous to me but who am I to judge. After talking it over with the driver, I in fact was in the wrong bus, and was going to be driven back to the airport.

What a shame, so much for getting home at a decent hour. Instead of getting angry or frustrated I laughed it off. The driver laughed right with me, this would only happen to me.

The first time I rode public transportation-I caught the wrong bus and ended up on the wrong side of Seattle.

The first time on the freeway, I exited too early and drove in a neighborhood that I will never return to. Scary.

Just that week, I was at the market buying fresh flowers and talked with the vendor—after a few laughs he gave me a bunch of extra stems.

While we were laughing, he asked where I was parked so of course I told him. Before I knew what was happening he was pulling the bus to a stop and we were right outside of my car. Door to door service.

A surprise right before your eyes. I expressed my huge graciousness to the man as I got off of the bus and loaded up my car. I couldn’t believe it, could you honestly expect anything less?

No. At least, that is what I thought and when I told other people—what they thought as well. But it got me thinking not only about the emotions and growing, but had I been a raging tired bitch-he would have made me walk. But I laughed it off, talked with the man and sure enough got first class service.

Who knows, how these things happen. Or why for that matter, but they do. Living in the moment, or being susceptible. I fully embrace the moments and take them for what they are. Whether it be something fun, exciting or even helpful it couldn’t be any other way.

The walk of shame

I’m not talking about treading barefoot, holding a pair of ragged heels by a broken strap in one hand and the edge of your blouse clasping it shut with the other as you make your way out of the man of the hour’s room and out of the house free in the clear.

We’ve all been there, there is no point in denying the fact that they happen. It does, if you are a lady and have roommates, guys go through the exact same thing. And if you are one of the very few that this has not happened to, I would love to steal your thunder and a particle of your halo!

No, this would be the walk of shame that falls when opening the doors to a court room. The shame.

I got a ticket. Amazingly not for speeding but for the most moronic reasons possible. Reasons that clearly make me feel like a ditz.

Strike One: My latest insurance cards were not printed out and I completely forgot when the plan was renewed to replace the old ones.

Strike Two: My license plates were not registered within the state and they were still holding my dear old plates and tabs from 2007.
I’m thinking the same thing, how completely irresponsible to first not have updated insurance cards within reach (hello…) then to top that off and have expired plates.

Let’s just put a placard out that says, this gal is stupid. And deserves to be pulled over in rush hour traffic.

I have bypassed the law numerous times, casually talking with cops and having a firefighter emblem on the car doesn’t hurt. They’re both basically ‘Get out of jail free’ passes. This is nothing new to get out of a ticket. I don’t have breasts like Dolly Parton nor would I ever push them forward so it’s either bust out the jesus eyes or drop the voice an octave or two.

A few years ago I was dating a cop. We were hotter than hot, and then he got really creepy and immediately the temperature dropped well below zero and he was kicked to the curb. The reason he’s brought up is because he would make these random comments about if he couldn’t get a hold of me by mobile he’d track me down by my car.

Say what?

Crazy, the man was crazy. I didn’t mind the handcuffs but when conversations turn possessive, it’s time to go. So right about the time that my tabs were due, I refused to have ‘big brother’ aka Badge Number 4482, watch over me. Which eventually turned into a couple of years, that turned into a move out of state, and then another move clear mid country. Mind you, and this is the most ironic part, I had an appointment with the DMV to get the plates registered over that very weekend, three days before the incident of getting pulled over.

But as luck would have it, bright flashing lights and a fairly decent officer decided enough was enough. I fought the law, and the law won.

Which brings me to yesterday, a morning visit to the courthouse. The officer that pulled me over laughed with me at the time because of my utter stupidity (he did not get the entire story) and told me to register, contest and there’d be no charge but there would be a court date.

I have never had to go to court, ever. I’d like to think that under my devil horns there is a hint of an angelic presence. Probably not, but there’s still wishful thinking. I started getting nervous after my name was called, my dress getting tight where the belt rested below my chest. Finally after all of five minutes of waiting it was my turn with the judge and what happens.

I forgot the insurance forms. What an idiot. Who does this? Someone who is completely unprepared. Not the case, I had everything except the forms that were missing from my car that day. I have to go back, make the walk of shame through the courthouse and sit amongst the other offenders because that’s exactly what I am.

A clueless offender.

What makes this an even better story, on my way into work I got soaked from a massive rain storm that ruined my umbrella and drenched my entire body. I walked into work, doing my own walk of shame and the damn sky was laughing at me.

I’m laughing back at it and smiling because this is so typical and would only happen at that exact moment.