I Can Hold That for You

I went to go tutor at a kid's house last week and I made the brilliant decision to carry about fifty pounds worth of stuff with me. This was particularly annoying because I had to walk the endless journey from their house to the train station. This is beside the fact I got painfully lost and wandered around for over an hour...oy, long story.

Anyway, I was holding onto an unwieldy book and a half drunk bottle of water and no good place to put either of them.

What I would've given to have someone standing with me, with a big purse or a shopping bag or just generous and giving arms that would've hoisted my big ass book out of my sweaty shaking hands and carried it for me.

What's better than having someone offer to hold your stuff in a time of need? Say you're in line for an amazing roller coaster and you've got a huge stuffed bunny in your arms...oh you'll take that, why thank you? I'm carrying a heavy bag of groceries and you're feeling extra strong today...and you'll grab my milk, bless your heart.

We're Here!

I'm not going to lie, I'm really not one for road trips. Never have, never will. I'm rather impatient...much more excited to just get to my destination quickly and in my hotel room with my soda and a pillow.

But, while I'm in the car, I'm often counting down the moments until I'm dry land. Now it's not that I don't enjoy the company but it's probably more the crampy hot queasiness I feel in the front seat of a car.

You're traveling along the highway. It's bumpy. It's boring. The radio's just playing so much U2 and Greenday.

After minutes or even hours in the hot car, the seat belt digging into your skin and the road just a-bumping away, it's this moment where two just delicious words pop into your brain.

Then, you see it. Maybe it's your house. Maybe it's the airport. Maybe it's Disneyland.

It doesn't matter.

You've made it. The drive's over.

We're here!

Now it's time for churro.

Five Second Rule!

I may be little but I love my food. I mean I will literally walk over burning flames to get a bag of Cheeto Puffs. Okay maybe not literally but I will walk around you and to grab it...and I will eat it with gusto.

But it's when you're enjoying a Cheeto Puff in the comfort of your own home or while strolling in a meadow. You start with a nibble and then a fawn scampers by. Startled, you drop the Puff onto a daisy or a perfectly clean kitchen floor...depending on whether the fawn has scampered into your house.

Now here's the dilemma. Do you say a few kind words to the Puff and let it die with dignity or do you reach out and pick it right back up?

"Five second rule!" I firmly believe in the FSR. I'm sorry, unless you are eating gum and you drop it in the sandbox, there is nothing wrong with your food. You pick it up, blow on it to get any incidental dirt off, and eat it.

Deal with it. It's just a little dirt. Or maybe not even that. There are starving children in China...live and love the five second rule.

"Ooooooh"

Now get your mind out of the gutters long enough to hear me out. This "ooooh" is that sound that someone makes after they've been confused for minutes about something. May it be a math problem or just the directions you were trying to give.

This is that noise that you make when all the little gears finally click.

You get it.

And nothing is more satisfying.

This little phrase may be more rewarding because I teach kids everyday. I love that little moment when they finally, thankfully, get how to divide fraction or factor or whatever. It's, after what feels like 4 hours, of explaining the same thing fifty different ways that you finally did the right thing.

Whatever magic sauce that was contained in your last sentence did the drink. They finally get it.

I also love to have that feeling. Nothing's worse than having someone explain something to you and just sitting there like an idea. I can't tell you how many times my dad tried to teach me about slopes and graphs and such. It was not happening. But then, somehow, he said something about a hill and a skateboarder and falling down and suddenly it all rushed into my brain. I was a slope finder master.

That moment where you let out that "oooooh"...when you finally get it. Just priceless.

"I'm So Sorry...We Messed That Up"

I know what you're thinking. That phrase sounds terrible. Why, you crazy person, would possible get jollies out of someone screwing something up for you. Well, first off, um, calm down. Second, hear me out.

I went to Starbucks and bought a Frappuchino. It was a large, sorry venti, and cost $4.00 and my first born. I was watching my figure so I got it without whipped cream. Besides the fact that whipped cream is just frothy fatty fat fat, I also just don't like it.

So I wait and wait for my drink and then the sweet little barista pops up and puts my Frappuchino on the counter.

With.

Whipped.

Cream.

Oh all hell broke lose. I jumped over the counter, pummeled her and the grabbed the whipped cream can and just went to town. Of course I torched the place afterwards. It's just polite.

Or, I grabbed the drink, not feeling like making a big deal out of it. I mean I can just scrap the cream out, it's not a big deal. But then, the angel barista in the corner was like, "hey, she didn't want whip." The poor little girl looked heartbroken. "I'm so sorry, let me make you another one."

Sweet, I thought, I get my order right this time. In a second, the new drink was out and she leans over and says, "I'm so sorry, me screwed this one up. Do you just want it? We're throwing it out anyway."

Oh hells yeah I do.

So people, moral of this story, they screw up, you get double the fun. Now this doesn't always work in situations such as gall bladder surgery or fixing the plumbing on your house, but, if you're lucky you may get a free coffee out of the deal.

"Did You Get A Haircut?"

Maybe I'm naive.

If someone walks up to me and is like, "hey, you get a haircut?" I choose to be flattered.

Yeah I know maybe its just small talk.

Or maybe my sarcastic-meter is completely off and those people secretly despise my beautiful coif.

You know, what, I don't care. Someone asking me if I got haircut means two things:
1. They noticed that something about me has changed.
2. They felt the need to announce it to me and the world.

okay three things...

3. They're crazy jealous about my amazing new hairdo.

Basically, when someone asks, "you get a haircut?" they're acknowledging that they have basic observational skills while simultaneously preparing you for a barrage of compliments. So next time you see someone who just got a trim...be nice.

"Free Sample?"

There are about 7 million reasons why I love Costco. I mean we've got 60 cent soda. Pizza slices the size of your heads. Just crates of mustard. And bags of flour and salt that could kill and cook and entire village.

But most of all...free samples.

I often venture around Costco in a low blood sugar daze. I sip on my ridiculously cheap Diet Coke but, the eight gallon bags of licorice just taunt me. "You hungry?" they say, "you can't eat us...suck it." Man, licorice is mean.

But then, the delicious sound of a kind Costco employee rings out. "Free sample?" the sweet man in a hair net and an apron says, pointing to the cups of noodles or baked beans like he's auditioning for Deal or No Deal.

I don't care if they've caught a squirrel and diced it up. Free sample...I'm on it. I don't even like trail mix, but if handed a cup of it, I will gladly chow it down.

Even better than your tiny cup of noodle salad is the moment where you hit the motherload. The holy grail, if you will, of free samples. Once, I got probably a whole slice of pizza. Another time I snuck away with three bon bons. Like good bon bons. I've only heard of free sushi samples...I choose to believe they're out there.

"Free sample?" There is nothing more melodic to my ears when I want something to keep me from ripping open a whole bag of Fruit Loops.

"Yeah, They're Right There"

You've got your shoes on.

The coffee's in the mug. You're perfumed and brushed and you're definitely running about five minutes late.

And then you reach into your purse to grab your keys.

No keys.

Well holy crap this is no good.

You rack your brain. When did I last have my keys? Oh yeah, when I was driving. Did I put them in my jacket? Nope. Did I leave them on the counter? Of course not. Hidden under cushions? Not today.

Time is ticking away. Damn keys...why'd you leap off the counter and run away...it's a metal conspiracy to make you late. The cars are all in on it.

Then you run into your roommate. As you have an overwhelming panic episode, you decide...between hyperventilating and weeping...to ask.

"Hey, you seen my keys?"

"Oh yeah," she replies, pointing to some random basket in the living room, "they're right there."

No more looking. No more freaking out.

The keys are found. And the angels come out, sing a heavenly chorus and all is right with the world.

Nothing is more delicious than freaking out about losing something and having the someone calmly and confidently just point you right to it.