In Case of Fire...

Whenever I see firemen in full fire-fighting garb, I remember a time they came to my rescue. Sort of.

This particular event occurred sometime in the 80's when I was living in an apartment building in Denver, the kind with elevators and a lobby. I was working at a nightclub and dating a musician, so I dare say, I was pretty cool back then.

One night, I was getting ready to go to bed and I had just turned the lights out in the living area. I was really tired and knew I would fall asleep within seconds of hitting the bed, and I couldn't wait to crash. As I walked by the little kitchenette, I just happened to glance at the vent above the stove, and this is where it all goes awry. Why couldn't I have just continued on and gone to bed? I asked myself that question over and over that night. I'll never know why this thought entered my mind, but it went something like this..."Hmmm, I've never turned on that fan in that vent as long I've lived here." And lord knows why, but I reached over in the dark, barely slowing my stride, and flicked it on. And it burst into flames. That's right. Fire. The flames went out almost as quickly as they appeared, and I moved in to check it out. I looked up into the vent and could see a small flame, still burning, out of reach, with no indication that it would burn itself out. So there I was. All ready to snuggle in my warm bed, but unable to because I'VE STARTED A FIRE. Why couldn't I have waited until morning to try it out? And what had I expected would happen when I flicked the switch? It's not like I had never turned on a vent fan before! Did I expect this vent fan would be different from other vent fans? Omigod, this one is different! IT CATCHES ON FIRE WHEN YOU FLICK IT ON! Should I throw water up there? No, you idiot, this is an electric appliance! So, even though it was once again dark in my apartment, that damn flame was up there and I was on the seventh floor of a 14 story building -- people were at risk! I stood there and tried to rationalize going to bed. It wasn't gonna happen. As small as it appeared, it was a fire, dammit! I had no choice -- I had to call the fire department.

I'm sure I was one of the most uncertain 911 callers ever, but I was connected to the fire department. I told them exactly what happened and was really hoping they would tell me not to worry about it and to go to bed. But NOOOOO, they told me to go to the lobby and wait for them. I go downstairs and I'm the only one there. Apparently, this was a fire that was big enough for me to evacuate my apartment, but small enough to let everyone else slumber on unaffected. As I sat on a step in front of the elevator, in my pajamas, the fire truck arrived quietly. Apparently, this was a fire that was big enough to dispatch a firetruck, but small enough to do so without sirens. They spoke to me briefly and courteously, then headed to my apartment. Now here's the vision that will always be etched in my mind. Four firefighters, in full dress, yellow hats, oxygen masks, and axes in hand, pushing the button to the elevator... That's right, folks. The thing you are supposed to AVOID IN CASE OF A FIRE. There they stood, waiting for the elevator, as I looked on in disbelief. There's a sign right there that said, "in case of fire, use the stairs", but they paid no heed. Apparently, this was a fire big enough to don gas masks and wield axes, but small enough to take the freaking ELEVATOR. It dinged, the door opened, and they filed in, faced outward, and with Another Day Another Dollar looks on their faces, the door slowly shut. You could see one of the firemen reaching over to push "7" on the panel just as the door closed.

I guess it was about half an hour later when the firemen came down the elevator and told me it was safe to go back. I thanked them and returned to my apartment. Finally, the moment I had waited for! I turned out the lights, and made my way to my bedroom, carefully avoiding the urge to flick on appliances. I then crawled into my warm, snuggly bed and laid there. For hours. Wide awake.

Never At A Loss...

Comments from a five year-old:

Describing a fellow kindergartener: "He's an African... or very, very tanned."

Referring to The Three Stooges: "Those guys are good actors!"

Argument for the existence of ghosts: "I saw it on Scooby Doo."

Comments from a two and a half year-old:

A song he made up: "Stinky, poopy diaper... (pause) Cat butt."

A telephone conversation: "Hello! What? What? (pause) Cat butt."

At the end of EVERY SENTENCE: "... (pause) Cat butt."

Sweet Madonna

My 5 year-old boy, Gabriel, started kindergarten this week. After all the sentimental stuff about how my baby is growing up, there's the practical part -- okay, maybe selfish part -- about me getting a freakin' BREAK. I remember fantisizing about what I was going to do with all those hours... maybe I'll clean out closets, organize the office, get my fat ass to the gym, get a career, sleep if I feel like it -- WHAT? He's in class for only 3 hours? You mean, after I drop him off, I can do a load of wash, and then I have to pick him up? That's right, ladies and gentlemen. THREE SHORT HOURS. Now, I DID have a choice. The school in our area DOES have full day kindergarten. We're talkin' a full 8 to 3. But, on the recommendation of professional people whom we respect, we had him tested for the magnet schools, and he tested in. So my choice was between giving my son what may be an exemplary education, or giving myself HOURS AND HOURS OF FREEDOM AND THE PURSUIT OF HAPPINESS... I am ashamed to say that I did take pause, but, as most moms do, I decided in favour of my child. Oh, sweet, giving, Madonna -- Yeah, RIGHT. I still have a two and a half year old boy named Nicholas to deal with, so I was screwed all along.

Thief

I always feel a little more attractive right after a haircut, and this day was no different. Afterword, I had gone into the changing room to remove the salon's robe and put my shirt back on. After checking my new do in the mirror, I walked out with a bounce in my step waving goodbye to the hairstylists as they admired my coif. I got in my car and drove to Walmart, since I had some time to kill before picking up my boys from Mother's Day Out. Plus, I was lookin' too good to be alone in my house.

So I'm talking to a friend on my cell phone while looking at some cheap jewelry when a call comes in. I ignore it until I'm off the phone. After hanging up, I look to see who'd called and it was my hair stylist. She'd left a message. "Hi, Jennifer. Listen, could you check and see if you're wearing the right shirt? A woman here says the shirt in the changing room isn't hers and I saw you leave with a white shirt on..." At this point, the message seems to be in slow motion and IIII'MMM SSSPINNNNINNG AROUNNNND, PULLLINNNG FRANTICALLLLLY ONN THE TAGGG OF THE SSSHIRT TRYINNNG TO REEAAAD TTTHE LLLLABELLL......TALBOTS! Omigod! My shirt is NOT from TALBOTS! That store's pretty expensive, isn't it? I AM NOT WORTHY OF THIS SHIRT! "...and if it is, we know you didn't take it on purpose..." WHAT? THEY THINK I TOOK IT ON PURPOSE? As if they know this shirt is nicer. OH CRAP! THEY KNOW THIS SHIRT IS NICER! SHE'S GOT MY SHIRT! AND I GOT IT FROM... HERE! WALMART! OH PLEASE, GOD, DON'T LET THE LABEL SAY WALMART!

Well, it didn't matter if the label said Walmart, when I called the owner of the shirt I was soiling, I blurted it out... THAT'S RIGHT, SISTER. I SHOP AT WALMART. And not just for groceries and such. Yeah, sometimes I'll pick up a shirt... And your fancy more expensive shirt? WELL, IT LOOKED SO MUCH LIKE MY WALMART SHIRT, I MISTOOK IT FOR MINE. So, NOW who's the fool, eh? EH?

Yeah. I think it's pretty clear who the fool is...

"Crazy Cool" Mom

So there I was sitting with a young (meaning "younger than me") woman pitching a cleaning service to me. I make her laugh a couple of times because dammit, I'm funny. She was impressed and even said something like "You are so funny". She thought I was COOL! Desperate to not just maintain my funniness in her eyes but to also prove to her that I am CRAZY cool, and without even pausing to think of what I was about to say (because I'm funny, dammit -- I can trust my instincts), I shoot out what I think is a hilarious remark:

Younger Than Me: "...and one of the things we do do, is --"
Me: "You said 'doo doo'." (With a stupid youknowI'mfunny smirk on my face/twinkle in my eye.)

Now, to begin with, I've never even seen a single Beavis and Butthead episode, so that's pop-culture-reference-FRAUD. Second, is that show even in re-runs? Would that make it out-of-date-pop-culture-reference-FRAUD? How LAME is THAT?! And third, she's a girl -- not in the Beavis and Butthead target demo -- so she probably didn't even get it! So what does this mean? IT MEANS SHE DOESN'T THINK I'M "CRAZY COOL", SHE JUST THINKS I'M CRAZY!

Thoughts going through Younger Than Me's head: "Did she just say that? 'YOU SAID DOO DOO'? What the hell is that supposed to mean? What, is she a twelve year old boy? And the way she was looking at me? Ewww! SHE IS SICK. Omigod, please just sign this contract you WEIRDO! I'VE GOT TO GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE SHE TRIES TO FONDLE ME OR SOMETHING!"

Of course, I couldn't really hear what she was thinking, but I could sure sense something. And although my what-is-cool/funny instincts are somewhat off, my I've-made-an-ass-of-myself instincts are right on.

So, here is what I know to be true: YOU CANNOT BE COOL DURING A MIDLIFE CRISIS. Learn from this. Save yourself the humiliation.