Confessions....

So, confessions.
I just got my driver’s license. Just. As in a matter of hours ago.
Yes, I am twenty two.
I have it now, so shut up.
However, I would like to explain:
I hate driving. Bad things happen in cars.
I have never liked cars. When I was a kid I had nightmares about them. I was convinced that I would die being hit by a car.
Now that I have grown up I realize that this is pretty unlikely. I have learned that the chances of my face going through the windshield are much more likely.
So yes, cars freak me out.
There are lots of things that freak out other people that don’t scare me.
I fly all the time. I have even flown internationally and not been phased.
But I hate driving.
I don’t mind moving. I have moved many times in my life. New homes are fine… new churches, new schools, new friends, new jobs Ok. In fact…
But I hate driving.
I like acing. I’m a theater minor. Auditions aren’t exactly comfortable situations… but they are also exciting. A final for one of my acting classes required me to play a woman on trial for possibly killing her own child. While this was not easy… I was thrilled that my acting teacher thought I was up to the challenge. And I did it.
But I hate driving.
But this semester I was literally doing nothing. I am again living at home… despite my goal for the last… millennium to get out of Beaver County. Beaver County has lost its charm since I graduated high school. In fact, the highlight of my Beaver County existence is the occasional alumni days at said high school. So, I decided to bite the bullet and get it over with. I was going to get my license this semester.
This is easier said than done. I love my parents… but I don’t think them teaching me to drive was a good idea on anyone’s part.
I was eventually able to drive on the road. I hated it… and yes, I do think it was made worse by my mom constantly grabbing the Oh-my-gosh-handle and shrieking “Honey!” every five seconds. (Sorry mom, but it’s true).
So after the basic driving was reviewed it was time to learn to parallel park. I have heard that you don’t have to parallel park to drive in the west to pass the test. If this is true then you are lucky.
Learning to parallel park made me pretty much… miserable. I have issues with authority. Learning to parallel required me to be in an enclosed space with one of my parents. It also meant I HAD to do what they said. I am an obedient child. But my parents and I have not had a relationship where orders are given and carried out without question for years. This exercise was very hard for all parties. I’m dyslexic and didn’t understand any of my dad’s careful instructions on how to handle the car steering. It is a difficult thing to explain to someone who co-homeschooled you for eleven years that you still can’t grasp the simple concepts of left, right or mirror opposites.
Then there was the day I had my test. I was nervous from the start, it probably didn’t help that my dad choose about five minutes before the test to ask me if I had knew how to turn the car on correctly. I resisted the urge to ask him if he had Tourette’s and just politely asked him to clarify.
I failed the first test within about a minute and a half in the car with the guy. That was a thrill.
So like any mature adult would I cried all the way home. My mom was out of town, so the job of trying to comfort me fell into my poor dad’s lap. He tried to be upbeat and encouraging the entire drive home. “You are ready, you just had a bad test, it’ll be ok.” Once home I went into my room, slammed the door, threw a fit, texted my mom, watched Spooks and tried to forget. That’s one of the plethora of great things about the show Spooks, it really helps you put your problems into perspective. I might have failed my driver’s test and but at least I wasn’t being manipulated-kidnapped-killed by someone I had thought was my friend for the last three years.
My parents and I continued to practice parking and driving with vigor. It was great.
Another thing is my parents don’t really get the whole sibling rivalry thing. While I struggled to fit the car into the microscopic space they would feel it might be a good idea to talk about the sickening array of success my siblings reap. I love my siblings with all my heart. But while I am struggling with a personal phobia/brick wall of mine that I have struggled with for the last six years I don’t really want to talk about my repulsively awesome siblings. Yes my sister gets straight “A’s” and participates in about every school activity on the planet. My other sister is a freaking musical genius… add to that she wakes up with perfect ringlets. Then my brother has the brain of a rocket scientist and more patience than the rest of my family combined. Seriously mom, could we talk about something else.
On the way to my test today my mom started telling me stories about all the people she knew who were in their thirties and forties and couldn’t drive and how discouraging that must be. I resisted the urge to scream and just kept driving on my merry way to the testing center.
Until this semester I never realized what a skewed sense of encouragement my parents have.
The test was heinous, and I am still surprised that I passed. But frankly I don’t care.
My mom and I celebrated by going to a local coffee shop and ordering expensive hot cocoa. Thanks.
I have not decided exactly what to do for the rest of the day… but something that doesn’t involve burecrats sitting next to me and saying things like “Miss, we are going into traffic. Please follow all traffic laws.”

On the Bronte's and castles

Ok, England. We spent a great deal of time in England and I am completely in love with England, so I won’t be able to sum it up in one post.

But anyway England.

Any of my fellow pilgrims reading this will probably find my dates a little mixed up, but oh well. It is the generally correct time frame.

Our first day we got too see the Moor, Bronte parsonage and Skipton Castle. Skipton Castle was our first castle. One thing I learned while I was there was that everyone living in a castle must have been cold all the time. It was cold enough that I wore jeans under my dress. But walking through the old castle, realizing how much harsher life was then was very interesting.

Think about it, a castle was where the elite lived. It was cold, it had no indoor plumbing. The food had virtually no spices. Meat didn’t keep. Women were treated like crap. Sickness and early death was a part of life. They had virtually no knowledge of medicine, if you got hurt you could die. If you were pregnant, you and your baby could die. And these were the people who lived the high life back then.

But you know what? I think that life was still beautiful, in a bitter sweet way just like it is today. So, while I am glad that I was born in this day in age; I don’t think we should write off the past as a waste.

The Bronte Parsonage was an interesting experience for me. I must confess something before I continue: I am not a fan of the Bronte’s work. To be fair I have only read Jane Eyre… and I skipped the beginning because I hated reading about the little girls dropping like flies. It depressed me ok? I enjoyed the parts where people were stabbing other people… and there were random screams… But I didn’t like Mr. Rochester or Jane; though I feel sorry for them. Before I finished this book it was time to leave for England, I ended up doing all my homework without actually finishing the book. I know how it ends… I just didn’t read the ending.

Anyway, I am not a fan of the Bronte sister’s work. But I fell in love with the Bronte family while visiting their home. I began to understand them better. Jane Eyre included such horrific scenes at the boarding school because some of the Bronte children had died while at school.

The three sisters who survived to adulthood would sit in a specific room after dinner and write together. After they had written for a certain amount of time they would get up and walk around the table, reading each other’s work. In this room there was a sofa where Anne Bronte (I think it was Anne) allegedly died. It was somehow shaking to see it there. After her other two sisters died; one of the servants said that it broke her heart because every evening Charlotte ( I think it was Charlotte) would still write in that room. And when she had finished writing she would get up and pace around the table alone.

Branwell Bronte (or however you spell his name) was quiet the tragic figure. He, like his sisters, died very young. He was a substance abuser, which I think contributed to his early death… though I don’t remember the details. What I do remember is that with his last breath Branwell lamented “I have died accomplishing nothing great or good.”

While I don’t want a life filled with the sadness all of the Bronte’s faced I certainly do not want my life to be like Branwell’s, empty and regretted to the last. I might not like the Bronte sisters work, but it has changed literature and made a difference in so many other’s lives. I would certainly recommend the Bronte Parsonage to anyone who feels they want to gain some perspective. But be prepared to indulge in some morbid thoughts.

The dark side of the most magical time of the year

Ok, thoughts on Black Friday and working in the mall food court in the Christmas Season.

Before you read further I must tell you that I do enjoy the Christmas season when I am with my family and or friends. Given that it is also a time that schools are on break it is also a chance to see people from high school or church that I generally don’t get a chance to see.

That being said… aaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I feel that black Friday is basically summed up in the rambling thoughts below.

1. I realize that it is 4:30 in the morning, but I didn’t ask you to come to the mall. So drop the attitude.
2. You want to know the difference between something packaged for here and something to go. Ok, I don’t mind the question, I mind your tone. And I am fairly certain that you could figure it out for yourself.
3. Yes you are waiting on food. I’d say I’m sorry, but really, I’m not. Not exactly, I mean I did tell you that we were currently serving breakfast. Not my fault you were too stupid to listen and ordered lunch anyway.
   
4. Please don’t hit on the staff, they don’t like it.
   
5. If you insist on hitting on the staff, and come regularly, please know that we probably have an unflattering nick-name for you.
6. When you co-workers are tired they will revert to games to entertain themselves. One of these games will involve coming up with nick-names for everyone on the staff.
7. You think that picking a fight with the people who make your food is a good idea? I guess we shouldn’t do anything too cruel to you… you’re obviously stupid. And that’s not necessarily your fault.
8. No, the entire menu is not available. Why? Because it is four in the morning. So yes, I am telling you no. Yes you can throw a fit and set a horrible example for your children. I don’t care. You can try to argue with me. I’m still not going to give you what you want. You can try to charm me. It’s not going to get anywhere. I am guessing my shift is longer than your patience, but hey, we’ll see.
   
9. I am not saying that I will make you a special order, but I am much more likely to do it for someone who is nice to me. Just a tip. The niceties still go far.
10. For some reason many people think they are exempt from waiting in line.Waiting for a re-fill. Yes I realize that you have already obviously waited in line once for that drink once and don’t want to a second time. I understand. But it is still rude to everyone else in line. You are still requiring a server to attend to you. So no, slightly off to the side does not mean I will drop everything for the person I am currently waiting on to get whatever it is you want. There’s a line. If you want something from me, wait your turn.Standing at a closed register. You might think that this an original weasel move, believe me it’s not. See, you think I will feel sorry for you because you obviously didn’t know that said register was closed, you were trying to adhere to the system, just misunderstood. Whatever. I’m not buying it. If there are three registers, two have serves behind them and lines in front of them and one does not… then there is a reason and you know it.Old people. I do not mean to be ageist, but old people are always cutting in line.
11. Yes, I do have all the stuff to make you a vegetarian wrap. But I am not going to. Why not? Because there is a line of about eighteen yards behind you. Oh and because it is not on the menu. I understand you are a vegetarian. I respect that, there are vegetarian items on the menu. Order one of them.
12. Do not scream at your children in my presence. I will be tempted to call services on you.
    
13. Do not scream at your friends and or significant other in my presence. It’s rude.
14. I don’t care what you say your relationship is with the owners of the store. When they want someone to have a discount they give it to said person themselves. I know this; you probably know this as you probably don’t know the owners at all. So yeah, you’re not getting a discount.Yes, by all means threaten to call cooperate and tell them I’m a horrible employee. Yes, tell my manager next time you see him a church that I didn’t give you and your entire neighborhood free food. You’re right; he’ll probably side with you. I’ll probably lose my job for not allowing you to cheat him out of sixty plus dollars. Oh well, I’ll take my chances.