Baby Brynne was a Weirdo

“If you carry your childhood with you, you never become older.” – Tom Stoppard

         Surprise! I was once a child! This is a big deal – I know. But what you may not know, (but may have suspected,) is that I was a peculiar child. Strange really does not even begin to describe how I was. Super different. Super odd. Super Brynne.

         It’s not like I looked like a weird kid. I mean, sure, I went through my phases. For YEARS I would only wear belts and jeans purchased in the boy’s section. I guess I was still stuck in the ‘90s when it came to fashion. You know, the whole tomboy wearing a newsboy cap look.  I was always runway ready.

         Speaking of clothing, I remember my first day of first grade. I was wearing a white shirt with a small lace border. We got to school and my mom and I were wandering around the blacktop in the schoolyard looking for my would-be teacher, Ms. Stromquist. My mom, having the keen eye of a mother, realized that my shirt was on inside out. This is what happens when you allow a 6-year old to dress herself. Well, not all 6-year olds. Just me, I believe. She tells me we have to fix it, but we don’t have time to go back home or to the parking lot before school began. We head to an alcove where she tried to persuade me to fix my shirt there.

Being 6, I had some sort of dignity. Most of it came to Pokémon and knowing when to trade and when I was being duped, but I also had some street smarts here and there. I knew this situation was not really in my best interest, but I was between a rock and a hard place. Do I flash the world or commit a serious fashion faux pas?

         I chose to flash the world. OH, COME ON. IT’S NOT LIKE YOU HAVEN’T DONE IT. So, embarrassing baby Brynne story #1. Congrats. Now you know more about me than you had hoped to.

                  ******************************************

         On to the next embarrassing story, I had a cat - Simba. He was a big old fluffy thing given to us from my great-grandmother, Lily Louise, (isn’t that the most beautiful name? I’ll share more stories regarding her later.) He was also my best friend. We played, we cuddled, and I took advantage of his above-average size. How? Well, I would ride him down the stairs. Don’t you judge me. You don’t know my life. Simba also used to get in more cat fights than Lindsey Lohan after a hard night of partying.  It got to the point where he had to have his side shaved and tubes pumping antibiotics in while pumping nasty cat juices out. I bet you already know what I am about to admit to…

         I pulled out the tubes. I allowed those nasty cat juices to escape from the tubes and escape into the outside world. I am so sorry for my actions.

I’m sufficiently embarrassed. I’ll just post some other hopefully redeeming stuff later… You know how it is.

-B

Mysterioso in My Apartment-o

Tid-Bits: "OCCUPADO."

Setting: dirty nasty gas station in Green River, WY.
Time: December 31, 2013, about 2 pm. Or 14.00. Whatever tickles your fancy.
Hero: Yours truly.
Villain: A trash can and my lack of grace.
Plot: Read on.

My family and I were making the trek to Rexburg, ID by car. At this point in time, I was still in a cast for my broken wrist. I was driving one car with all of my junk and my mother, who is not junk, in the passenger side. (She's really a lovely lady. Her value is above that of rubies.)

As I was driving, I managed to drip a considerable amount of Squirt soda pop down the inside of my cast, making for an uncomfortably sticky situation. We stopped for gas in Green River, and I took it as an excellent opportunity to clean my arm. I made my way into the rest room, where I removed my cast, (it was made to be removable so I could wash my hands. Yay, hygiene!) As I was gently scrubbing the sticky pop off of my wrist, some antsy Nancy started to pound on the door. I said "just a moment." Hoping that she would back off. She kept pounding, so I said, a little louder "occupied!" and I went to dry my arm. This impatient Polly kept pounding on the door. I was getting annoyed, so I just gritted my teeth and got around to putting my cast on. I went about outing my cast back on and throwing away he paper towels.

This wouldn't be a Brynne story if something strange didn't happen. As I threw away the paper towels, I managed to throw myself away as well, i.e. I fell. I fell face first into the nasty gas station bathroom garbage can. I was about waist deep trying to claw my way out with anxious Annie pounding louder and faster on the door. I thought to myself 'maybe she doesn't speak English.' So I began to yell "OCCUPADO" over and over again.

I tipped over the trash can and wiggled out, absolutely disgusted by the situation, and went back to the sink to give myself a 'bath' of sorts, when what I really needed was an acid bath. The pounding Patricia finally went away as I continued to wash myself clean, but NOTHING could make me feel clean after that situation.

I'm still trying to wash away all of the germs.

-B

How to Properly Argue with a Juggler

              Contrary to the title, this is not a "how to" guide. Let me set the scene: I was walking through the MC on campus to attend a meeting to prepare a presentation. Some juggler began to follow close behind me, chanting "juggle, juggle, juggle, juggle". I was kind of wigged out by him, so I did my best to ignore him. After I had ascended the stairs to the Crossroads, I thought I was free of all tag-along wannabe carnival stars. 

               About an half hour later, I'm sitting with my presentation group and we are discussing how to properly convey the importance of diction when all of the sudden, here comes juggle boy singing "I knew you were juggling when you walked innnnn" and other assorted pop songs made to be about juggling. I gained respect for him as he juggled because he was a juggling superstar. Our table began to talk to him and ask him questions about juggling. He took this as his opportunity to prove to us that he was 'funny'. (He really wasn't. He was trying too hard. Comedy should be effortless. If it's not, then it won't be funny. That's part of my spiel denouncing most stand-up comedy,  but I don't have time to go into that.)

                But then it happened. 

                He said to us "I bet you've never read your scriptures..." Now, I LOVE my scriptures and study them on a daily basis, but juggle boy didn't know that. Jokingly, I said "woooow. I'm offended."Juggle boy then took it upon himself to quote the great Brigham Young, saying “He who takes offense when no offense is intended is a fool, and he who takes offense when offense is intended is a greater fool.” Obviously, juggle boy never learned the art of interpreting sarcasm at clown college. 

           I then whipped a scriptural grenade out of my arsenal and pulled the pin. "Proverbs 21:19," I said, "it is better to dwell in the wilderness than with an angry and contentious woman."

            Juggle boy then got the hint and sheepishly said " I think it's best I go now". I politely said "thank you!" Juggle boy then said "for what? Going away?" I actually was sincerely thanking him for the juggle show, but leaving was an added bonus. 

Moral of the story: There really isn't one, but I thought this was relatively entertaining.

-B

Cue Verdi's Requiem, Dies Irae

              Today I will be sharing with you a story of suspense, horror, and even MURDER. It all started on a stormy night...

                My older sister, Alyssa, and I were in our basement movie room watching the scariest show on television - River Monsters. She was sitting with her back to the window, and I was on the couch opposite. We had just watched our first, (and last...) scary movie, A Haunting in Connecticut, a few nights before. Needless to say, our senses were at an all time high. Every little sound became cause for hysterics. Some people laugh when I say this because they think this movie is "weak". Well, I thought Gremlins was terrifying, so put that in your back pocket. 

               As an especially gory scene in River Monsters came onto the screen, I opted to look out the window. Much to my surprise, and terror, a MAN was climbing out of our window well. Now, Alyssa and I were home alone. I thought knew we were going to die that night.

Down these stairs was the movie room. The
 glass door is on the right side of this photo, but it is out of frame.

              I somehow managed to keep my cool as I told Alyssa "someone just climbed out of our window well..." Being the casual prankster in our family, Alyssa laughed it off and told me to "shut up". I told her again, this time more urgently, and Alyssa throws a pillow and yells "YOU LAZY BUTT! WHY ARE YOU WATCHING TV AT A TIME LIKE THIS???" She then runs out the door  and yells at me to come along.

              I had been released from the hospital for Swine Flu/Pneumonia complications a week before, so I was a sick mess. I hadn't eaten all day, and I was feeling it. As she's running up the stairs, she's telling me of her plan to get in our car and leave the killer in our yard all alone. I am far behind, clinging to the railing for support and struggling to make it to the top. I shout up to her, "can I make some bacon before we leave?" Alyssa's response was the same as her initial outburst: "HOW CAN YOU THINK ABOUT BACON AT A TIME LIKE THIS?" Sistah, it's always time to think about bacon.

Our Foyer

              Alyssa grabs her car keys, and pops down on the stairs and begins tying her shoes like a mad woman. I was on the phone with my dad while standing near the front door. Our conversation went like this:

D - "Hello?"

B- "Super funny, dad."

D- "What are you talking about?"

B- "Hiding in the window well..."

D- "Brynne, I'm in Denver."        

              We lived about 20 minutes from Denver at the time. It wasn't my dad in the window well. My heart fell into my kidneys. Now, here comes one of the few cinematic moments I have had in my lifetime: From where I was standing, I could see the glass doors which led onto the deck. Lightning flashed, and there was a man in a long coat, hunched over, staring at us through the window. 

             Alyssa screams and throws her keys. I scream and throw my phone. We are soon huddled together shrieking when all of the sudden, the man waves and our motion sensor lights turn on illuminating our killer. Alyssa and I stop screaming and take a moment to figure out who this man was. Neither of us know him, but he started knocking on the door. Alyssa tells me that I have to go talk to him because she has 'stuff' to be doing. Glad to know she was willing to sacrifice me. That's true sisterly love. It's one thing to sacrifice yourself for others, but another to sacrifice others for yourself.

Here you can see the glass back door in question.

             As said before, I'm really ill, so as I am walking, I am pulling tissues out of my nose and trying to smooth my bed-head. I crack the door no more than an inch and shakily say through it to the perp, "can I help you?"

            Our murderer went on to explain that he was the exterminator (it's 8 o'clock at night...) and he rang the door bell a lot of times, but no one answered, so he went in the backyard (since that's what normal people do...). He said he saw us watching TV and tried to get our attention through the window, (sure you were, creep.). He then went on to say that he was looking for the wasps' nest my mother had called in about (more like pretty little girls to steal).

            Even with this explanation, I still didn't trust him. I told him he scared the C-R-A-P out of us, and if my mom called, he should ask her. And with that, I closed the door and the curtains, and then braced myself against the wall to take a few deep breaths.

                                                      ******************************
       
             Several days later, I was not as sick and had returned to school. I was walking up to my house when I passed in front of an exterminator truck. Who should I see but our friendly murderer waving at me through the windshield?


                  I did not wave back.

             If you haven't figured it out, it was not our murder, but that of the wasps. That's the only kind of murder I condone.

             Lesson learned: not all men hiding in your window well are there to kill you - sometimes they want to kill things for you. 


-B

               

Disneyland is Not the Happiest Place on Earth

A for effort. F for execution.

     I love the idea of Disneyland, but every time I go there, bad things happen. Here’s a quick list of all those things.

1, A national tragedy

        We were on a family vacation to Disneyland at the time of September 11^th, 2001. We were in the Grand California hotel on that day, and the next day, we were the only family in the park.
      Conclusion: not a happy place.

2. My grandpa PASSED AWAY.

                     Six days after 9/11, we were gathered in a hospital room as our grandpa was being pulled off of life support. I developed an acute dislike for Disneyland due to this single occurrence. Not even the self-proclaimed happiest place on earth can prepare a six year old to lose their hero. 

Conclusion: not a happy place.

3. My brother and sister contract a deadly virus.

                My brother, Brock, was two at the time and ended up in ICU for five days. My sister just had a stint in the ER. They both had Rota Virus, which caused my little brother’s digestive muscles to stop working. The poor boy cried for pancakes all day long. But, darn, he was a cute kid.
        conclusion: not a happy place.
4. I develop the first of my myriad of autoimmune disorders.

                     “Just a head cold,” they said. “It will go away,” they said. It didn’t. I now have the body of an 80-year old woman because of Disneyland. Just kidding. I likely had some sort of genetic predisposition or something of the like, but Disneyland was where it all went down.
             conclusion: not a happy place

5. My dog died.
                        He was fine when we left, and died a few days after we came back. Thanks, Mickey Mouse. You killed my dog, you pesky rodent.

           Conclusion: not a happy place

6. I lost a show choir competition
                 We placed seventh… out of seven. I actually can’t blame Disneyland for this one – just my bad coordination and the poorly choreographed dances.
               conclusion: maybe I judged a little too harshly.

Update: I actually like Disneyland now – especially new Orleans square. That place is my jam. Oh, and I really like jungle cruise, even though I consistently smack my head when getting on the boats. I’ve probably given myself dain bramage or something of the like on those ‘boats but not really boats’.

Literally nothing bad happened on this visit. I was paranoid the entire time we were there, though. 

Fool me once, Disneyland, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me.

-B

Beauty is in the Eye of the Beholder 2.0

I seem to be glued to eye injuries.

            A year after the needle incident, I had another accident of the “cornea” kind. My mother asked me to bring her some super glue from the kitchen office desk. The kitchen office held all of the supplies we would need on a daily basis: glue, staples, scissors, tape, bandaids, the whole office supply lot.

           I went and retrieved the super glue, but curiosity got the best of me, as it often does. I saw the shiny silver foil covering the glue opening, and I had to know what was beneath it. I was a sailor and that foil was my siren's song. (I should pretty much be a poet or something.) I grabbed a pushpin, and carefully slid it into the foil, hoping to remove it and finally understand the mystery that was super glue. I removed the pin with surgeon-like care when the glue decided it would rather shoot out like a bullet rather than ooze like normal glue. Always have to be super, don’t ya? Can’t just be normal glue, can you? Diva.

            Next thing I know, my right eye is burning and I cannot see out of it. I had super glued my eye shut. This terrified me. I did cry. I did scream. I also worry that I may have messed myself, but for the sake of reputation, that didn’t happen. My mom came running to my rescue and had the sense not to chastise me for my silly mistake. She guided me into her room where she asked me what happened. I told her “I don’t know! It just exploded!” Although, I am sure the pushpin that was now glued to the desk was evidence otherwise. I had been caught glue-handed.

We went to the same doctor that dealt with my masked Spanish crusader eye a year earlier. They proceeded to cut off all of my eyelashes. Fact: 

It takes eyelashes about 6 months to completely grow back. Fact: I looked really silly for 6 months. Fact: There is now a photo of my super glue disaster pasted in my baby book. Oh, the memories.

           A truer story has never been told.

-B