It's The Law

Another school week is upon me, test tomorrow studying to do today. Last Monday I decided to give myself a break from the dreaded Hospitality class I hate, so I didn't go although I am sure if I had just gone to school like I was supposed to I would have a few less scratches in the paint job on my car. The last time I skipped school I ended up saving my family from losing all of our earthly possessions. Here is how it happened to the best of my recollection (take note James Frye):

I was in 10th grade, and my parents were on a week long trip to the Bahamas or Mexico, somewhere tropical. As usual, my younger sister and I were left in the care of our older sisters, which traditionally meant none of us ever laid eyes on each other as we went our separate ways and did whatever we wanted and they spent all of their time hanging out with their friends.

Back then, Friday nights were it, the big social night. And I only had this one Friday, while my parents were away, to have a party. Problem was, I was a lowly 10th grader and school had just started, and my social network was lacking. I soon learned that you can never underestimate the power of being best friends with the prettiest girl in school. That made it easier to get people, okay boys, to come to what was now "our" party, my best friend and I. Having a beautiful friend on the ticket is a big plus when you are trying to appeal to the higher crowd. What I thought was to be a small party ended up being one so large Donald Trump's Mira Lago wouldn't have been able to contain it. On top of that, one of my older sisters came down with the flu that day. Did I cancel my fete? No, no, I sold my soul to her and she agreed to go to my aunts house to suffer!

So, party was in full force, and kids just kept showing up. It was loud. So loud, one of the neighbors called the police, and they came out and broke up the party, searched the property, somehow missed the pot someone had stashed in the dryer. I was mortified. I was pretty naive back then and was sure there was a jail cell and striped pj's emblazoned with my name already waiting for me. I was really mischievous in my younger days, but, I was not into drinking or drugs. Sure I had tried peppermint schnapps (and hated it!) one Friday night before a football game, but I'd never done anything else. However, there was no way I was going to tell the Senior guys that brought it any of this. I just pretended to be cool with it. I don't know, if I was a member of law enforcement I would think the first place they teach you to look is the dryer. Maybe they saw it and let it go. Anyway, everyone left and I got a warning. My parents were none the wiser when they got home, I went about my business, my sisters had A LOT of leverage, which they took full advantage of, as they had the party of the century to hold over my head.

Several months later, the party a distant memory, I decided to skip school, while I was AT school. My friends and I didn't go to class, instead, we hung out in the quad on school property. How smart were we? Don't answer that it is a rhetorical question. In those days, if you did not show up to class, your parents got a call, one from an actual person in the school administration office, not from a computerized and hollow voice as we do these days. The school secretary called to ask my dad if I was sick as I was absent that day. My dad knew very well I had left for school that morning. Next thing you know, I see him through the windows of the quad where we were hanging out, marching up the sidewalk to the school doors. He yanked them open, spotted me, and, well, home we went. When we got there, I ran up the steps to our front door, which I noticed was ajar, and in I went, where two guys, one with a gun, had everything of value in our house, including all my dads electronics and the safe from the master bedroom closet, loaded up in trash bags and almost ready to go. These guys saw me, and did nothing, but just then, my dad came hulking up behind me. We always called my dad Fred Flintstone, a lot of our friends were initially scared of him, he was gruff on the outside but a marshmallow on the inside. The stealers took one look at him and then they took off running. I called the police, my dad actually caught one of the guys he was chasing, and two detectives came out to interview us. It was when one of the detectives cocked his head to the side and said "I know YOU!" that I had to explain to my bewildered parents why a nice Jewish high school girl from a middle class family was acquainted with said police detective. So, while they told us it was likely the perps (yeah, I helped catch 'em I can use the lingo) or friends of theirs had cased our place at the party because they knew what we had and were prepared with a dolly to wheel out the safe, meaning had I not had the party we would not have been violated, I like to focus on the fact that if I hadn't skipped school that day my dad would have lost his favorite binoculars, his new VCR, the microwave that was so big it had its own zip code and all my deceased grandfathers class rings.

Even with my last skipping incident being sort of traumatic, I was ready to try it again. Perhaps it was the universe telling me that I should be safely ensconced in the school parking lot, where the parking stalls are sufficiently roomy so as not to ram your car door into the car parked next to you. But no, I was not in my safe zone, I was out running errands where the 40 mile an hour winds coupled with inattentive and lazy people make up one the biggest hazards to my fairly new car and its already too scratched to be this new paint job.

At the grocery store, I was parked next to a behemoth SUV, but I was well within my lines, as I always try to be. I am not a crooked park-er like my husband. It drives me crazy how he will just pull right into a parking spot and happily go about his business without even a thought to the fact that his car is really close to the line on the back passenger side. If this happens to me, I pride myself on my straightening out skills and frankly, on my ability to look out for the other guy. No one needs another scratch or ding in their door or on their bumper. So, when I came out with my bags, the owner of the traveling condo next to me was just about finished loading hers up as well. I noticed, with absolute glee, that she was polite enough to take her cart and push it to the cart receptacle, which so many people do not do, but I would NEVER think of not doing, so neither should anyone else. As the years go by, I have not only become acutely aware of my parking lines, but I am compelled to park and realize where the cart storage racks are, just like knowing where the emergency exits on the plane are located, so I can return mine promptly after I am done using it, so as not to have it roll into a car or small child causing irreparable damage. My proud of my neighbor moment quickly came to an end as I hopped in my car after returning my cart, and began to put the key in the ignition. That's when I heard a loud "thunk" and turned my head only to notice the driver door of this small apartment blew open and whacked into the side of my car. Then, incomprehensibly, miss cart-returner comes back, grabs her door and dislodges it from mine, plunks in her drivers seat and revs her engine for a fast getaway. I lunge from my car, and fly to the other side as fast as I possibly can, rapping loudly on her window before she can flee the scene. I am knocking profusely and saying, okay, maybe more loudly saying, or possibly sort of soft yelling "you hit my car!" Miss I return my cart to the proper place looks at me like I am crazy. She opens the door, steps out, and denies it. Are you kidding me? How could she ignore the fact our two vehicles had just become so close they may need to share a cigarette? Had she not just dislodged her door from mine? I heard the door hit me, I saw her get in the car. At this point, quite smartly I might add, she calmly gets out of her monster ride and takes her door and swings it open to show me the clearance between our two vehicles, thus proving she could not have caused most of the damage to my car. She willingly asks me if I want her to call the police, several times. Still not totally believing it, I slink back to my vehicle, leaving her with this strict warning which I yell at her through my cracked passenger side window: "Next time lady be more careful when you open the door when it's windy."

I then drive down the few blocks to the UPS store, so I can drop off a package containing a purchase I made during one of my online shopping sprees, which has passed the 30 day return window, but only by a few weeks. When I come out of the store, a shopping cart from the grocery store I just left is sitting up against my passengers side car door propped along the curb, leaving yet one more ding in my door. I look around for the big black SUV but it was nowhere in sight. She's stealthy, that one.

Curb

There is something wrong with me. Or else, I suspect I am Larry David's twin but somehow younger sister and we were secretly separated at birth. There is no other explanation. Honestly, I know I talk a lot about age and getting older, but I don't actually think I AM old, I like my age. However, I keep doing and saying things that mortify me but I can't seem to stop myself. It's like I'm having an outer body experience and my being has been taken over by my 98 year old dead grandmother, and I'm watching from up above, horrified, as my earthly body conducts itself. Pretty soon I'm gonna be wearing black orthopaedic shoes with my stockings rolled down to the knees and I'm going to want to split a .25 cent cup of coffee, so as not to waste any money on a full cup for myself.

Now, I've meant to write much more frequently than I have been, in fact, I thought I'd be writing daily. However, last week some of my behavior was so LD/grandma - like that I couldn't even bring myself to put it down for posterity without a bit of distance between the offending behavior and actually writing about it. Just some of the things that may qualify me for the assisted living facility way before my time:

• I narrowed my eyes menacingly at a perfectly sweet yet undeniably unprepared classmate when she asked me to borrow a Scantron for our weekly test because I couldn't fathom that she would even think to come to school without the necessary tools, chancing that some kindred soul in class would take pity on her and share, which I did, but not without sending her my best "I'm disgusted with your lack of responsibility" look. I've perfected this one on my kids.
  

• I said out loud "have you heard of soap?" to a student that left the bathroom after rinsing her hands with water but not actually washing them.

• I decided my Hospitality instructor is a crappy instructor and basically told her I do not like nor do I agree with her teaching methods.

• Instead of listening to lecture in Sanitation I spent the entire class fixated on Old Guy, who had a cough and a runny nose and a handkerchief, which he used over and over, much to my chagrin, as I personally am very fond of anti-viral Kleenex.

Moving on, I am not liking school so much. 8 weeks in and I am wondering what I am doing, questioning it, not sure I will stick with it. At 47, I'm still not sure what I want to be when I grow up, and therein lies my problem. I wonder daily if I should change course from culinary to something else. I'm in an enviable position I know, especially in these times, to be able to focus solely on school and not have to work. Yet, at some point in the future, I do want and will need to to enter the workforce again. Specifically, I would like to start another business. But what? Although I keep myself busy, I'm way too young to hang it all up and I feel I have another chapter at least in me. That said, I don't know, exactly, what to do with myself. Everyone else seems to have a guided path. Me, I'm not sure where the hell I am going.

I have a history of doing pretty well in several different areas. I learn quickly, but never took full advantage of actually learning a profession and sticking with it, something I have always regretted. My experiences have made me well rounded to a point, and have definitely been positive, but you've heard the saying about being a jack of all trades and a master at none, that's kind of how I see myself. I'm ashamed to admit I never finished college, even though my parents were supportive in sending me to three of them. Still, I've been able to do some of the things I thought I would go to college for - I wanted to be an Attorney (never was, did you know you actually DO have to have a degree to pull that one off), I wanted to be a Buyer (and actually I was for a while) I wanted to own a business (and did!). I went to FIDM and did quite well until I got bored with it 36 credits in. I had my retail career at any rate. I ended up getting a job with a company that owned over 2,000 stores nationwide and I worked my way up from Merchandising Supervisor, to Store Manager, to Assistant DM before the owner passed away and his family decided to close all the stores. I had a long stint in outside sales. I learned insurance and sold a Medicare HMO product, I learned to run a one hour photo machine and worked for Kodak's one hour photo division, I learned about counter tops and worked for LG representing their solid surface product to fabricators and home builders. Heck, I even got an aesthetician's license and became a Business Consultant for a huge skin care company. Then, I co-founded and ran a business skirting the entertainment industry. Now, I'm in school, and frankly, I'm not only turning into a curmudgeon (yes, I said curmudgeon and I mean it) but I am lost. And that is why I have not written. Time is coming to sign up for next semester, and I don't know what I want to sign up for. I AM getting more out of the school experience at this stage of my life, and truly care how I perform and what I learn. That is a good thing and makes me feel good about doing it, but I am so damn confused about what to do with myself that I think perhaps I'm taking classes that I will not use in a profession down the road. As my husband says, and I wish I believed 100%, any knowledge I gain is not wasted, even if I don't use it directly.

So, I'm going to write more often no matter what, because I realize my goal is that I WANT to remember what happens to me during this process, so I better write it down. This is not only my accounting of my experience in going back to school and moving on to whatever comes next, but, as I've found out tonight, it's pretty good therapy too. No answers yet, only questions, hope the answer comes soon.

The Way It Is

Is there an age limit when it comes to liking a Miley Cyrus song? Hey, she's a cute, talented girl, but I never saw the need to add her to my list of preferred artists. That said, I can recognize talent when I hear it, and I like that Party in the USA song, it has great lyrics and it has a great beat. The first time I heard it was when everyone was going crazy over her singing it while doing stripper moves on a stripper pole at an awards show, as was being discussed by my favorite local morning deejays. I hadn't watched the show, and I admit I was beyond curious so I looked up the video of the performance which was posted on the radio show website. Truly people, she was on top of an ICE CREAM CART holding on to the UMBRELLA POLE. Yea, so, the umbrella was nowhere to be found, but I hardly think this constitutes stripper moves and said pole. The last time you visited Scores were they even serving ice cream? I didn't think so.

I have another confession to make, school is boring, adding to my list of not so popular or maybe they are but you are not stupid enough to actually voice them out loud opinions, which now include I think The Secret is stupid, I love TV especially reality TV, I hated the movie and stage versions of Mamma Mia, I like Miley and I also hated the movie Moulin Rouge with Nicole Kidman. I wish school were more exciting, giving me a plethora of material to store up and write about, as I thought it would, but it's not. If it were, I wouldn't have to open my blog post which is supposed to be about my journey through academia, with Miley Cyrus accolades. I think school may get more interesting next semester once I actually start hands on baking classes, but hey, who knows, maybe that will be a snooze fest too. I'm five weeks in and I am not having fun at this point. I'm doing what is necessary, and there is no f-u- or n anywhere to be found, except in my own head, which of course has nothing to do with the actual learning process. I thought my classes would truly and sincerely be riveting. Shows you what I know. Maybe this is why I had such a difficult time embracing higher learning when I was younger.

In order to keep myself awake during class, I've resorted to spending about 97% of my time in class not actually being present in it, but instead thinking to myself about my fellow students and school in general. Now, I still have my sights set on nothing less than "A's" in my classes and you would think that getting one would actually require you to pay attention while in attendance, but not in the case of the classes I am taking now. In Hospitality, we have 7 tests and a final. The week we are being lectured to during class on chapters 7 & 8, we take our quiz on chapters 3 & 4. Now I don't know about anyone else, but my brain cannot function like that. It needs order. If we are being lectured on chapters, it expects to test on those chapters the next week at the beginning of class, so it can store that info away and move on. It cannot continue to learn new concepts 4 chapters ahead and then recall old ones for a quiz on chapters we discussed 3 weeks ago. No, that is not how my brain rolls.

In Sanitation, all my homework was done online and submitted, my 2 quizzes and final are done online and submitted, all I really have to submit during class is my certification exam on the last day, in 3 weeks. All the notes and lecture slides are online. These classroom conditions thus give me plenty of time to not really pay full attention and instead make my steely and/or possibly entirely inaccurate observations of the students around me. Here are a few things I have made mental note of:

• The first day of school was a red carpet event, girls wore full makeup applied by professional makeup artist Gucci Westman, nails were manicured, hair coiffed, outfits were worn with heels.

• By week 5 girls come to school wearing no makeup or if you are me tinted moisturizer, a UNLV hoodie, jeans, flip flops and chipped polish.

• Boys don't really care what they look like whether it is day 1 or day 30.

• Chatty Cathy was only chatty one day, not sure why, but thankful for it and praying it continues this way.

• There is a large group of kids in my Wednesday class that all seem to be friends, and they speak little discernible English, throwing blank stares at the Instructor when he asks us questions during lecture expecting a response from someone other than myself, Old Guy, or IWSIUTASWTIISG. His utterances of "anybody, anybody"? remind me of Ben Stein in Forest Bueller and are, frankly, just plain awkward.

• These same kids all have these little zip pouches that they put on the desk in front of themselves during class, and I am dying to know what is in them. I think pens and pencils or sunglasses. The girls pouches have Hello Kitty or Mini Mouse, the boys pouches are silk solids or brightly colored silk stripes.

• Old Guy is 70 years of age, he lives across the street from the SW campus and on Tuesdays and Thursdays he goes there to take ceramics. He is auditing this class so he doesn't mind that he got an 80 on the last quiz. He favors Billabong shorts and wears them with golf shirts.
  

• The sweet girl that always sits next to me Wednesdays has such a thick accent that every time she turns to me and opens her mouth I break out in a sweat and my scary clown smile as the world stands still while I concentrate and listen so I can verify and repeat, or try to, everything she asks me and then I have no answer, giving her a back and forth head shake, shoulder shrug and "I don't know" each and every time. Yet, she continues to have faith in me, as she obviously thinks I am much smarter than I actually am and that is probably only due to the fact that English is my native language.

• There is a kid in class that has sign language assistance. There are 2 signers that attend class with him, and I haven't asked yet, but am wondering why he needs 2. They periodically switch places and take turns signing to him. Is there a rule that only allows them to sign a certain amount of time before they get a break? They are really good actresses, they don't just sit there and blankly sign, as one might expect. They throw everything into it and use facial expression and animated gestures. They are highly entertaining and a delightful distraction.

So, now I'm going to ask all 12 (it's growing!) of my readers and my Facebook friend non-readers to do me a favor. I have a personal goal that my Facebook group for License to Bake, which is currently at 56 or 57 members depending on how Facebook feels about me on any given day, gets up to 500 members before 2011. This, as you can see, is quite a daunting task. Please, please (annoying begging face inserted here) ask all your friends whether you really are friends with them or not, on FB or otherwise, to join my group so I can hit my goal. K? Much appreciated...