Sunday, September 26, 2010

The Best Story I Have


It was a drizzly spring day as I was driving myself and my dog, Kahlua, back up to college after a weekend at home. I needed gas, but as I neared my exit I saw it was blocked by a six or seven car pile-up. It didn't look like anyone was hurt, and I decided to get off at the next exit and whip out my GPS to get back en route. But first, fuel for The Red Baron (my car). I pulled up to a gas station, and my dog started freaking out and running from the passenger's seat to the captain's chair (yes, the captain's chair.) and whining. I closed the door quickly when I got out because I was afraid she'd jump out and run into the busy road next to the gas station. I walked around my car to pump gas when I realized I needed to pull up a little further so the hose could reach. Before I could even turn around I heard a faint but definite honk.


No. That's all I could think. No, it can't be. My dog couldn't have locked me out of my car at a gas station. I slowly bent to look in the window. My dog was looking at me, tail wagging. Then I saw it. My keys (including a clicker) were in my cup holder, which is located directly between the two front seats. My dog must have stepped on it during her freak out. She locked me out of the car.


I stood there for a moment completely frozen. My mind refused to make sense out of the situation. I could not even begin to figure out what to do.

"Excuse me miss, are you having a problem?" Asked a guy nearby.

"My dog locked me out of my car." It was all I could say. The guy laughed, looked in my car, and laughed again when he saw my dog looking back at him. He then offered to help unlock my car. Unfortunately, he and his friend couldn't open it. The good Samaritan had another suggestion for me though, "I'm pretty sure the police will open the door for you if there's a child or animal inside." Since all of my stuff was in my car, he handed me his phone which was already calling the police station. I had to explain my story twice, once to the operator of the police station and then again to the operator of the fire station.

"I wouldn't be surprised if it took them a couple hours to get out here. There's a bad accident on one of the exits." the guy who had lent me his phone said after I gave it back. Yeah, no kidding.


No more than 15 minutes later the fire truck arrived. It was big and cartoon looking, definitely not one used to fight fires anymore. There were a ton of stuffed animals in the front, and I figured this must be the truck they send out to rescue kittens in trees or unlock doors for girls too absent-minded to take her keys with her so her dog couldn't lock her out. The firefighters approached. "Are you the girl with the dog locked in the car?" one asked.

"Yes sir, she locked me out. See my keys are in the cup holder and she must have stepped on them." Kahlua was sitting and looking at us. Almost defiant in her sudden calmness.

The fireman laughed, "You couldn't get her to unlock it for you?"

"No, I haven't been able to teach her that one yet."

"Well, we'll see if we can't open this up for you."

"Thank you so much."


At about this point the fireman on the other side of my car had my door open. I reached in and grabbed my keys, thanked everyone profusely, and offered to buy all of them a coke or something. (Don't judge. It was the best my rattled brain could come up with at the time.) They declined and told me to not leave my keys in the cup holder with my dog in the car again. Yessirs. All in all, the entire incident took less than forty minutes. That's from me pulling up to the gas station to me getting back on the highway en route to my school. Not too bad of an inconvenience for such a remarkable story.

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

Stranger Danger


Since my car was in desperate need of an oil change, I headed over to wally world this morning to take care of that and pick up some other things I needed. I had just gotten out of the shower and didn't feel like drying my hair or putting on make-up, so I didn't. I mean, after all, I was just going to walmart, and I really don't care about impressing people there at 9:30 a.m. Call me crazy. Whatever. So, I pull up and the attendant starts hitting on me pretty hard core. Joking about taking me to lunch and getting my number. I smile and laugh (my natural reaction to such occurrences) and went inside to get what I needed. This man came into the store to find me and give me a slip of paper because I had "run off before he could give it to me." He then gave me his number and told me to text him my number. I didn't. Twenty minutes later he texted me. Really? Yes. Apparently, he got my number from my service sheet. FML. Luckily, my bestie and roomie shut him down for me.


I wish I could say this was the first time something like this has happened to me. Oh, how I wish that were true. Because I am "blessed" up top, I have gotten used to the opposite sex noticing me (errr "the girls"). Add that to a bubbly personality with a big smile and the strong conviction that being impolite is simply not an option, and you have the perfect storm for strange men hitting on you (and worse, honestly thinking they have a shot).


The maintenance guy at my apartment complex told me I was "his kinda girl" because I don't like Twilight, love the sci fi channel, and like movies with special effects. Yes, I had a very long and in-depth conversation with the maintenance guy. He even gave me his french fries when he got food from mickey d's. I kid you not. When he drives by me in his truck, he'll honk and wave. Luckily he hasn't tried to hang out with me (even though he has invited me to go to the movies with a group of his buddies). He knows where I live though. Awkward.


Those are only two occurrences. It has happened more, but I try to mentally block all memories of these "winners" that want them some Bridget. Can you blame me? I mean, honestly. Every time it happens I feel like going and hiding in a hobbit hole until they go away. Ugh. Creepers. I need to go take showers until I feel clean again.

Friday, May 14, 2010

Trust me, I'm a Doctor


For me, going to the doctor is quite the experience. Because one of their favorite questions to ask is "So what are you studying in school?" and I happen to be a microbiology major, they immediately get an intellectual connection with me. This is all well and good, until they start asking me questions in their doctor language with lots of big ass words that I couldn't guess the meaning of if my immediate health depended on it (Guess what? It usually does. Yay!). Then for fun, they'll throw in some super unprofessional phrases because, you know, we're "pals".


For example, when I was (recently) diagnosed with mono my family doctor had this gem for me: "Have you had any tenderness in your epigastric or hypochondriac region?" Wtf? Should I have studied for this appointment? To make matters worse, I'd been having a fever on and off for weeks, so I wasn't even sure if I heard him correctly. Now luckily he was pointing to the part of the abdomen he meant. Later, when the results of my blood test came back positive he told me and I quote, "Yeah. You got mono all up in there." Really?! Where exactly is the mono? What is this "there?" Do you mean my body? I'm not the one that went to medical school, sir, clarity would be appreciated. I understand it would've been highly inappropriate for him to say "Yeah. You got mono all up in that hot bod," but at least then I would've gotten some sort of compliment.


When I went to a specialist (for something very non-mono related) he had the nerve to say to me "You are a conundrum. Have you tried probiotics?" Which is basically a fancy way of saying, "I have no idea what's wrong with you; eat some yogurt." Yeah. Thanks, pal.


Now I've seen my fair share of medical dramas, and I have had an avid interest in the medical field since I was very young, but still. That's just ridiculousness. I think maybe the moral of this story is that I should just tell doctors that I'm an early childhood ed major. That way, I wouldn't have to hear about how all the classes I struggled through were "so easy," and "fun." Who honestly likes college physics? Honestly? Ugh. You sicken me. Please, just stop.

Thursday, April 8, 2010

How I Injured Myself: Bathroom Stall Edition


It was a hot, humid October day in South Georgia when it happened. The type of day girls like me hate because our hair gets all frizzy and we drip sweat. Gross. Anyways, I was enjoying the below freezing AC in my college's library doing some chemistry homework when all of the sudden I had to go. Go and answer nature's call. I made my way to the ladies' room... and into one of the most memorable experiences of my life.


I was finished taking care of business and went to stand up. That's when my shoulder met the sharp metal corner of the toilet paper dispenser. One word: ouch. I gingerly pulled back my sleeve to inspect the damage to my shoulder and noticed a brown bit of skin hanging freely. When I removed it with my finger, I made a startling realization; it was a mole. Yes. I removed a mole in a bathroom stall. Take a moment to let that sink in.


Unfortunately for me, this was only the first time I would maim myself while in a bathroom stall... It was no more than three weeks later that it happened again. I went to stand up and bam! left hip met a sharp corner of metal. It hurt. I had to go to chemistry class, and the only thing I could think the entire class period was, 'Ouch it hurts!' and 'I bet I'm bleeding; I have to be bleeding. It hurts too bad for there to have been no bloodshed.' After class, I went to look at the damage. Sure enough, I was bleeding, and I ended up with a scar from this encounter with the bathroom stall...


While I would never intentionally hurt myself in any way, I have to say; It is pretty bad ass to tell people that I once removed a mole in a bathroom stall, and I have a scar from one on a completely separate occasion as well.

Monday, April 5, 2010

Losin' It


Where the hell are my pants?? That's all I could think as I was wading through the piles of clothes, papers, empty Gatorade bottles, and all the other stuff I have on my bedroom floor/bed/everywhere. Ugh. If losing items were an Olympic sport, I'd be a number one contender for the gold. Seriously.


I've lost everything from toothpaste (don't worry I had a back-up tube, I'm not that gross) to a diamond stud earring. A personal favorite of mine is when I lost a movie ticket while on a first date. I sat on the floor of the mall and emptied out my purse (including bc... eek!!), pockets, jacket pockets and everywhere else the little piece of paper could've been hiding. All the while trying not to get too flustered while telling the guy "Oh. Haha. I lose stuff all the time. I would literally loose my head if it wasn't attached..." I was thinking in the back of my head 'Please dude find this cute/endearing/quirky and not super annoying.' and also, 'Smile and be cute. BE CUTE.' The guy was really nice about it, and even if he didn't find my almost super-human ability to lose the ticket he had given me an hour earlier adorable, I know he at least found it entertaining.


This "gift" of mine is well known and well made-fun of by those close to me. So much so that my mom got me a key chain with a little yarn figure with 8 googly eyes super glued on its enormous purple head. The figurine is aptly named "Crazy Eyes," and its main purpose is to "help you find whatever it is you are looking for." My mom had gotten me a Crazy Eyes key chain because I had lost my keys earlier in the semester... yeah. Well I had not had Crazy Eyes more than a few weeks when I lost it. Yes. I lost the little talisman that was suppose to help me find all the other stuff I've lost. I mean, at least I didn't lose my keys (again)!


Purple Crazy Eyes has since been replaced by a green Crazy Eyes, and my mom even had enough foresight to get me a turquoise Crazy Eyes as a back-up... sigh.