Hot cross buns

My mom sat me on a curling iron when I was a baby. Obviously, she didn't mean to. I was naked and she was on the phone and the curling iron was on the bed. She plopped me down and, "Owww! Cry!!!!! Wail!!!!" I sat in a tub of ice for a few weeks and luckily my behind is scar-free. My mother however, received raised eyebrows and scrutinizing eyes from the doctor for the next several years.




Ouch

Better off in a dive bar.

I took my first job as a waitress in New York City so I could audition on my days off. I'm a horrible waitress, in fact I've always hated it, but the money was good because I worked at the "it" spot at the time. Big mistake. One of the managers I answered to lived on a diet of Reese's peanut butter cups and cocaine. For some reason, she had it out for me. Hated me. And I could never understand why. I mean, why not bully the homeless guy who fronted as a bus boy? I asked myself if she picked on me because I was new. Because at 5' and 100 lbs, I am seemingly frail? Maybe it's because I'm a good person and she's a high school dropout. Anyway, for months she breathed down my back, powdery nostrils flaring, and screamed at me for forgetting to drop steak knives on my tables. It's taken me years to realize that I'm too laid back a person for intense and particularly dumbass situations such as these. She desperately wanted me to care, but I just DIDN'T GIVE A SHIT.

Too young

I was friends with this boy in the 4th grade and his mother invited me over their house. Unwittingly, I went because I was new to the school. But his mother was pushy and before I knew it, I was her son's girlfriend. In retrospect, he was a nice kid. I was kind of mute and played a lot of board games in their basement. I don't even think we held hands, but his mother made us romantic, candlelit dinners whenever I went over. This went on from 4th grade til 6th grade. I guess I was so quiet that I just went along with things. Today he won't be my friend on Facebook. I want to ask him if he blames me or her.

One 't'

I dated a guy with one 't' at the end of his name. 99.9% of the time this name has two t's. But I'd rather not mention it because he might be reading this right now. If so, he knows I'm talking about him. Fml. We met in college. I was a sophomore and he was a senior. We read a love scene from a play called, 'The Woolgatherers.' Great play. He had a pet iguana that he walked on a leash. He was very kind and he drank 40's. That summer I drove to his house in the woods that his parents built in western MA. Everything made sense once I saw where he grew up. He grew up on a goat farm.

Forrest Gump

I was recently informed by my mother that I wore leg braces as an infant because the doctor was concerned my legs were turning outward. Thank goodness this was during infancy and not during prom, for instance.

Teacher's pet

Elementary school teachers loved me. I think it's because my mom still dressed me and everything matched; from my headband right down to my socks. I was also very quiet and aimed to please. I remember my third grade teacher, 'Ms. Devin,' making me do odd tasks. Like staying in from recess to help her clean. But she was so afraid I'd get dirty, that she'd put paper towels down on the floor for my pretty little knees. I found ashtrays full of her butts next to the yellow sponges in the steel school cabinets. Her voice was raspy and her makeup was thick. Years later she passed away in a bad car accident. She loved me like a daughter. I both feared and respected her. Other people called her, 'Devil-dog Devin.'

Sleepaway camp

The summer before 7th grade, I attended a week-long acting sleepaway camp in the sticks of New York. The first signs that something was awry were the military-style cold showers, the twenty push-ups and the horse-size vitamins we had to swallow every morning. At the tender age of 12, I felt like I was on the set of Platoon. I also bunked with a blond girl named Lacey. Her middle name was Cinnamon. Lacey Cinnamon. She cried and cried until she was sent home. I stuck it out and petted the goats. Goats? Yes, there were goats. I also befriended a teacher who played John Lennon's, "Give Peace A Chance," on repeat.

Craig

My old roommate and I slapped up a posting on Craigslist for a 3rd roommate. There's nothing unique about this situation until the potential candidate showed up at our door. This fellow sported long hair, a trench coat and a baseball bat. I said bat, not hat. My panic attacks started that day.

Roses

On a drunken evening in London with my friends, I approached a rose seller to buy some lovely red flowers. Little did I know that part of the transaction was a make-out session. I handed him whatever the roses cost and then he dipped me down into a very long kiss. He smelled of falafel.

Christmas present

An ex-boyfriend of mine gave me a set of knives for Christmas. "You could use a set of sharp ones," he said.

The Republican

For a little less than year, I administratively assisted a Republican in NYC. (Not by choice, but I needed to eat.) This man communicated solely via Post-It notes. If he were on a phone call and other calls came in, I had to approach him with a Post-It note stating the caller's name. He would give it a good squint followed by an umpire signal which translated to either, "Call back," "Take a message," or, "Who the fuck is that?" His last response making me feel like a turd.

While working for him, I also attended an event where I shook hands with Karl Rove. "Nice to meet you, Carolyn." It was awful. Mitt Romney came into the office the one day I was out sick. I wish I had seen his hair up close.

Sweet kicks.

A man followed me home late one night from a NYC train. A mother's worst nightmare. He followed me right up to my apartment steps. I turned around to face him, trembling. Turns out, he opened a shoebox to show me his new pair of Nikes. "I've been dying to show someone my new shoes," he said.

Tampons

I was put on a temping assignment in NYC for PR woman, Amy Brownstein, who handled all things Susan Lucci (All My Children). She needed an assistant, my staffing agency told me. She needed a fucking psychiatrist is what she really needed. On my first day, I walked into a windowless office littered with empty pill bottles and dead plants. Envelopes were addressed to Amy Brownstain, not Brownstein. Ha. I was reprimanded for not knowing the fax number by heart. She also addressed me as, 'Carolyn,' something which makes my blood boil. I was screamed at all day by a woman in the midst of a nervous breakdown. On the day I decided to call it quits, she had thrown a wad of cash at me because she had just gotten her period and needed a cup of ice (still unsure about the ice) and tampons. I bought the goddamn tampons and never went back.

He was asleep, so I guess it's ok.

On my way to a morning temp assignment in NYC, I ran down the stairs and tripped over a sleeping body in my apartment lobby. I apologized profusely to an unconscious homeless man. No big.

You think you get nervous?

I'm a pretty anxious person and my anxiety spun out of control while living in New York City and trying to pursue an acting career. I was so anxious that at the tender age of 25 or 26 (who knows, it's something I've repressed), I developed shingles, a 50 year-old man virus. Shingles are chicken pox for adults. Pox are itchy, pox are for kids. But shingles are blisters. Blisters that were on my face. I moved home shortly after.

The cab ride.

He picked me up from my home in Stoughton, MA and drove me to Boston's Logan airport for a flight to Atlanta, GA on New Year's Eve day (2009). None of this is strange so far. Just wait. His name was Steve. He smoked half a cigarette in the driveway and saved it. He wore big glasses and didn't smile. He talked a blue streak. I counted; he must have had 15 jobs over the past 20 years. Driving a cab was not his chosen profession, he told me. He still has dreams of running for state representative. "Why's that?" I feigned interest. "For the money," he replied. He talked long and he talked soft. Almost in a whisper. Almost like he didn't want me to listen. But he did. He hadn't touched a drink in 10 years. He lived with his mother. Did I have a boyfriend? He asked me personal questions. I didn't think I'd make it to the airport, I didn't think I'd make it to 2010. He kept telling me to tell my father how sorry he was for smoking in our driveway. He must have told me this 7 times. He asked me if I thought he was neurotic. He told me the cab company "hated his guts." I wanted to die in the backseat. He creeped me out in the worst way. When he pulled up to the curb at Logan airport, he asked me out for a cup of coffee. I ran like a Kenyan.



He kind of looked like this. Minus the suit and the comb over. He was disheveled, after all. He was a cab driver.

Linda

Randolph, MA movie theater, circa high school? I don't know, I have the memory of a gnat. I sat in the backseat on the car ride over. The parking lot was jam-packed, cars on top of each other, and I swung the door open too wide, hitting the car beside us. It left a scratch (I think), so I ran away because I suck at life. But the driver was apparently in his car getting stoned and got out to confront me. When he asked for my info, my nerves took over and I blurted out, "Linda. My name is Linda." Then I proceeded to give him the right phone number. (Douche) Later that evening, the house phone rang and I heard my groggy father saying, "No, wrong number. Linda doesn't live here." I stormed into my parents' bedroom and said, "Um, Dad. Linda lives here." For the next few weeks while we settled this dude's non-existent "ding" on his car, my father looked at me with total disgust/amusement.

I'm the weirdo here.

Dental hygiene

This date took place in NY. I don't recall how I met him. I think I was impressed by his Habitat for Humanity deeds, so I agreed to go out with him. I remember I wore stiletto heels and spent an inordinate time getting ready. I was bored. Anyway, I remember we took the train to what seemed like Peru. It was close to an hour and I was under the scrutiny of homeless men. "I don't know why I'm dressed like a tramp, either," I wanted to tell them. We got off the train and I hobbled on my heels behind him, still with positive thoughts that I wouldn't end up dead in an alley. Long story short, he took me to a Walmart. Or was it a Target? "I just have to pick up a toothbrush, " he said. A 45 minute train ride to pick up a toothbrush. There we stood in aisle 3, under glaring lights, staring at rows and rows of Oral B. Why me? ... Why stilettos?

Blind date

He was a loud-talker. Sounds like a Seinfeld episode, no? Anyway, he was. And I felt bad because how do you tell someone who you just met to use an indoor voice? It's impossible. I schemed of ways of doing so and failed like Nicholas Cage. The bar filled up and still his voice reigned king. The bartender turned up the music to no avail. People gave me looks to shush up my husband. My husband? Instead, I rudely ate the delicious tuna tartare he paid for, and sipped my wine with a lowered gaze. Poor guy. On paper, we had a lot in common; a love for literature, art and food. But he greeted me with a brazen kiss and seemed to think my knee was a perfect resting spot for his palm during our two hour conversation. He was also writing his thesis on the history of celibacy. I smiled nervously and thanked him kindly when the bill arrived. Shrug. The tuna tartare was damn good.