Not a Lazy Sunday / Book Excerpt III

Today was a gloomy, rainy Sunday in the mountains, but I woke up to the smell of cooked bacon, pancakes and freshly baked cookies. After I realized I didn't pull into the wrong house last night (LOL - my husband is the best!), I enjoyed a moment of solitude with my java while my kids and their friends slept in. Sometimes, I feel like I run a bed-n-breakfast for my kids' social circles, but then I shouldn't complain - at least my kids like bringing their friends over and hanging out. Feels good to always know where my kids are and they're safe. As much as I would like to enjoy the occasional quiet time, I'm thankful their friends like to come over. Thank goodness for Sam's so we get snacks in bulk. After their friends left to go home, my son and I decided to go bowling which is something we haven't done in a long time. I forgot how much fun it was and the pleasure of wearing the most godawful, ugly shoes.

We had a good time and my little man bowled two strikes! Here's one of them:

Beaten by a 10-year-old. He's very competitive and doesn't like to lose, so lucky for him, I suck at bowling. Okay, I know you can see the gutters in the footage. They're for me, not him - yes, I'm that bad. When we moved on to a game of pool, I showed him who was boss. See, I'm actually good at pool. I learned to play well during college because (a) I enjoyed it and (b) I thought it was a great way to meet guys. I showed the little guy a few tricks on positioning himself and aiming for specific pockets. My coolness factor went up a notch in his eyes.

After running a few errands at Walmart (always lovely to people-watch there), we headed home in time to watch my beloved Steelers in the playoffs. Sadly, they lost. Devastating. I thought for sure we would get a field goal after we went into overtime, but the Broncos surprised us with a touchdown. My son even wore his lucky Troy Palomalo wig, but to no avail. I'm in mourning and will be wearing black to the office tomorrow. My co-workers and bosses know what a dedicated Steelers fan I am and know not to talk to me about the loss. A moment of silence, please . . . . at least the Steelers' paraphernalia will be on sale tomorrow, so I can prepare for next season. Okay, I feel a teenie-weenie bit better now.

I've made some progress on my book. Below is another excerpt:

COLLEGE YEARS
     I loved to party. I was very social during my college years, craving that continuous connection with my friends as well as searching for love. Sometimes this led me down some comical paths.
     I attended the University of Pittsburgh from 1987 through 1989, but needed to transfer to a smaller school – did I mention I loved to party? Yep, instead of excelling in my grades, I excelled in blowing off steam. My grades suffered at Pitt and this didn’t sit well with my parents because I was on a free ride. Back then, I could not have cared less. My only goal at that point in my life was just to get by and pass my classes while scoping out for the next party alert to surface. My mother saw the path I was going down and suggested I consider transferring to a smaller college. We investigated Point Park University, a smaller, private (and very expensive) option. Mom saw this as my way out of trouble and to focus better on my classes. Point Park also had a very good reputation as a higher learning institution, well-known for its school of journalism/communications and performing arts. Things improved slightly for me as I pursued my degree in journalism and I became involved in extracurricular activities, such as Student Government and college basketball cheerleading.  I did not have any experience with cheerleading growing up and I had no business trying out. I did it on a dare and was fully prepared to not make it. I had planned to laugh about the experience over a few beers later. Imagine my surprise when I actually made the squad. I really pissed off a couple of girls who had cheered in high school and certainly deserved to be on the squad. To this day, I'm still not quite sure I know how I made it, but it's possible they didn't want the cookie-cutter personality. I was always down-to-earth and didn't change my tune when I talked to certain people. I talked to guys the same way I talked to my girlfriends. I did have 13 years of dancing school experience. Many of the half-time shows consisted of dance routines and seemed to be moving further away from the traditional cheer-only performances. I decided to stick with the squad and, to my surprise, I found I enjoyed it. The games were fun to watch and I had the best seats in the house being a part of the excitement. And, yes, I got invited to some great parties. 

     Attending a smaller, private college afforded me the opportunity to get to know a lot of people in a short amount of time because we would run into each other frequently. This enabled my friends and I to circulate the party connections and get to know the Van Wilders of the campus. One of them in particular was an art student who I thought was cute enough for me to get to know better. He had a party one night in his dorm room that my friend Amy and I attended. Free beer, fun conversations and convenient - his dorm building was connected to ours with a walking bridge over the dividing street - no need to travel far and we didn't have to bundle up in 20 degree weather. Two beers turned into several and I woke up the next morning on his bed with him. We were both fully clothed so I know nothing happened aside from the typical make-out session. Only one problem - I couldn't hear a damn thing. Using "Van Wilder's" phone, I called Amy and informed her I couldn't find my hearing aids and I didn't remember taking them off. I also advised her not to bother saying anything because I couldn't hear her - I just needed her to get over here and rescue me. Within minutes, she was rapping quietly on the door and I let her in. We didn't want to wake up Van Wilder and his roommates, so we decided to find the aids ourselves. She and I crawled around the room on all fours, feeling the sticky, gross floor and under the beds. Nothing. We even searched the garbage buckets. Ew, nothing. I really started to panic. Then Amy recalled seeing party-goers occasionally taking trash bags of beer cans and bottles out to the hallway garbage room. At this point, desperate measures were necessary. Bet most of you can't attest to dumpster-diving for hearing aids - I can! Amy and I emptied every one of those garbage bags and low-and-behold, found my hearing aids in the very last one. To this day, I don't know how the hell they ended up in the garbage and I probably don't want to know. Nothing will sober you up faster than coming thisclose to losing $2,000 worth of hearing aids and having to make that dreadful call your parents. Of course, the phone call would have been one-sided since I wouldn’t have been able to hear them.

     Mom, Dad, I have something I need to tell you, but you need me speak. I lost my hearing aids.

     What?! How the hell did that happen?

     What did you say? Listen, just let me get this out.

     Where were you when you lost them? Do know how much those things cost? 

     Wait, I’m sorry, maybe YOU didn't hear me - I said I CAN'T HEAR YOU! I lost my hearing aids, remember?! Gotta go . . . Bye! 

     Okay, that conversation never happened, but I could only imagine what a disaster I would have faced.