Memories

I mentioned last week, while I was in Bryan/College Station, Gulley and I went to visit our friend Tiff. What I failed to mention was that Tiff was in the process of baking 500 cookies. Because that’s what Tiff does. She bakes 500 cookies, manages her 4 kids, looks fabulous and makes it all look effortless.

As opposed to me, who burns Nestle Ultimates while yelling at my 4 year old to untie the dog from the patio furniture.

You say potato, I say po-tah-to.

Anyway, Tiff wasn’t baking 500 cookies for the heck of it. She has a cake and cookie business. I believe I’ve mentioned before that she brought a basket of the most gorgeous cookies to hand out to hospital personnel when she went in to deliver her 4th child this summer. Whatever. I totally let the nurse who took care of me after I had Caroline have a handful of my M&M’s right out of the bag. It’s pretty much the same thing.

Tiff explained that a sorority ordered the 500 cookies for part of their Rush Week activities. She couldn’t remember which sorority ordered the cookies, but we got into a conversation about the brief moment in time that I was a sorority girl. I never really was the sorority type and, at the time, the Greek system at A&M just wasn’t really a big deal. However, a bunch of my friends were going through rush, and I decided I should too.

And yes, if they had jumped off a cliff, I probably would have also. I was a bastion of security at 18.

The sorority thing was a short-lived love affair, largely due to the fact that I had a hard time taking the whole thing seriously. And once I went through initiation, which involved me reciting phrases that included the words “Lo, the sun”, it pretty much sealed the deal that sorority life was over for me. The problem was, in a moment of 18-year-old insanity, I had already agreed to live in the sorority house the following year.

So, when I informed the girls that I wanted to essentially quit the sorority, they told me I couldn’t because I had to live in the house. It was a situation fraught with the kind of drama that only people with too much time on their hands can create. I feel certain that their burning desire for me to live in the sorority house was based much more on the love of monthly dues, rather than their longing for me to remain a Delta Phi Zeta.

The Greek tragedy ended with my dad calling his attorney to see if there was a way to get me out of living in the house. Fortunately for me, the real estate laws were written for fools and 18 year olds, and anything signed by someone under 21 years of age wasn’t binding. Thus, I quit the sorority and was able to move into an apartment with my friends.

Anyway, Tiff and I were laughing about my illustrious career as a sorority girl and, needless to say, I haven’t stayed in touch with any of my former sisters.

The next day, Tiff went to deliver the cookies to the girls and said, “I never asked, what sorority are y’all?” They said, “Oh, we’re Delta Phi Zetas.” (Which isn’t a real sorority as far as I know, but I’m not using the real name for fear they might hunt me down and make me recite some solemn vows) Without thinking, Tiff said, “Oh, one of my very best friends was here yesterday and she was a Delta Phi Zeta.”

This revelation was met with squeals of excitement. The girls asked, “Where does she live?” and Tiff told them I lived in San Antonio. And in an unbelieveable coincidence, it turns out that the entire San Antonio branch of Delta Phi Zeta alumni was driving into College Station the next day to help with Rush Week activities. They asked Tiff if I was involved in the alumni group and, in the understatement of the year, she said, “No, I don’t think she is.”

Because sororities are funny about former members who once threatened them with a lawsuit.

A few hours later they called Tiff and wanted my name and number so they could contact me and get me involved. In other words, they’re looking for another sucker to come hang paper flower chains all over the living room of the sorority house for Rush Week.

Tiff reluctantly gave them my name and phone number because she didn’t know what else to do, but then they asked her what my maiden name was. She didn’t want to tell them, because she knew there was a good chance that they would look me up and find an old composite photo from 1990 that showed me with a big black X over my face with arrows pointing to me saying “She is dead to us.”

So, instead, she said the only thing she could think of at the time. “I can’t remember her maiden name.”

Because I am only one of her dearest, best friends. In fact, we are such great friends that we were bridesmaids in each other’s weddings and we’ve stayed in touch all these years.

No way she could be expected to remember my maiden name.

At this point, a week has gone by and I have yet to answer my phone and hear a perky sorority girl on the end of the line.

But I have my lawyer on retainer just in case.

I saw this meme over at It Coulda’ Been Worse last week and knew I would do it eventually. I had no idea that eventually would be this soon, but after a completely uneventful week that resorted to me telling a 10 year old shark story, and a stellar lack of creativity, here it is. A little walk down memory lane, back to my days at West Brook High School. Let’s hope this time my Liz Claiborne jean jacket doesn’t get stolen out of my locker.

I knew getting assigned a locker in J Hall was just bad news.

1. Who was your best friend? Throughout most of high school it was Jodi Brockhouse. We were inseparable, but had a falling out the summer before our senior year. Sad times. So, I had a close group of friends, but not really one best friend.

2. Did you play any sports? I played soccer. And I use the term “played” loosely. If memory serves I played for two reasons, so that I could have another picture in the yearbook and to have something else to put on my college applications.

Notice that neither of those reasons have anything to do with actual athletic ability.

3. What kind of car did you drive? A sweet, sweet black Honda CRX. I thought it was the coolest thing ever. Oh yes ma’am. It only sat two people comfortably, but my senior year we decided to see how many people we could cram into it. I believe we reached a number somewhere around 15.

High school kids are smart.

4. It’s Friday night. Where were you? If it was football season then I was at the game performing at halftime with my batons o’ fire. I’m totally kidding. I cannot twirl and certainly wouldn’t attempt to do so with pyrotechnics. Fire and the amount of Flexnet in my hair would have been a lethal combination. Think Michael Jackson on the set of that Pepsi commercial.

I danced. I was on the dance team. Apparently, they didn’t require a lot of rhythm.

And why yes, I did steal Colonel Sander’s outfit. I can fry a mean chicken using a secret recipe of 11 herbs and spices.

5. Were you a party animal? I don’t know if “animal” is the right word, but I did my fair share of celebrating. Our favorite party spot was at this abandoned warehouse that some guy’s daddy owned and, apparently, forgot he had given his son the keys. Thinking back, I’m not sure what was so appealing about standing in a cold warehouse in the freezing cold drinking Boone’s Farm Strawberry Hill, but 17 year olds aren’t really known for their discriminating tastes in social functions.

6. Were you considered a flirt? I feel fairly certain that I probably was, although I tended to get really shy around guys I actually liked for, you know, like more than a friend.

7. Were you in the band, orchestra or choir? No. My days in band and choir ended in junior high when it became apparent that my mouth was shaped wrong to play the flute and my voice was just plain wrong.

8. Were you a nerd? On the inside. For sure. On the outside, I put on a pretty good show of coolness.

9. Were you ever suspended or expelled? Even all these years later, this makes my face get all hot. I wasn’t suspended but I did get detention for saying a bad word in front of the principal. Not on purpose. He overheard me. It was a proud moment made even prouder when I had to tell my mama. I’ll never forget that we were in the Burger King drive-thru when I finally worked up my courage. Her response was a loud gasp as she said, “I didn’t even know you knew that word!”

Proud. So proud.

10. Can you sing the fight song? Not a chance. Although there was a time that I could have recalled some dance team choreography to it.

11. Who was your favorite teacher? Coach Breithaupt. He was my sophomore English teacher and encouraged my love of writing. He also let me go to the nurse one day after my boyfriend broke up with me and I couldn’t hold it together. He had pity on my teen angst.

12. What was your school mascot? The Bruin. It’s a bear.

13. Did you go to the Prom? Oh yes. The theme was “One Moment in Time”. Thank you, Whitney Houston.

14. If you could go back, would you? Oh no. Whitney knew what she was talking about, it’s meant to be just “One Moment in Time”. By March of my senior year, I was ready to be done with high school and I’ve never looked back.

15. What do you remember most about graduation? Sadly, I don’t remember much of anything about graduation. I do remember that the school hosted “Project Graduation” to keep us all safe and sober. My friends and I spent the night fake gambling in a fake casino in the school gym and then the minute they let us out at 6 a.m. the next morning, we all drove to the beach.

That was safe.

It’s a wonder I got that cap to stay on my head seeing as how it had to compete with the mass of hair.

16. Where were you on Senior Skip Day? I skipped school often enough in the spring of my senior year that I didn’t really feel the need to take advantage of a senior skip day.

17. Did you have a job your senior year? I can’t remember if it was junior year or senior year, but one of those years I worked at Bealls’ Department Store in the junior section, which was right across from the lingerie department. I have memories of my fellow workers and me putting large women brassieres on our bottoms and thinking it was hysterical.

18. Where did you go most often for lunch? We had to stay on campus for lunch. I have documented that experience and my love of the a la carte line burritos here.

19. Have you gained weight since then? I don’t think I have. It’s just that the weight has shifted to other areas.

20. What did you do after graduation? See #15. Oh, and in the fall I went to Texas A&M University, graduated in May ’94 and moved to San Antonio. I have worked in financial sales, door sales (not door to door, I actually sold doors), pharmaceutical sales, and most recently, “yes you are having peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch” sales.

21. What year did you graduate? We’re so great, we’re so fine, we’re the class of ’89. Sweet mercy, how do I remember that yet can’t remember to buy dog food at the grocery store?

22. Who was your Senior Prom Date? The boy I dated throughout my senior year.

23. Are you going/did you go to your 10 year reunion? I went to my 10 year reunion and unbelievably, my 20 year reunion is right around the corner. We’ll see. I don’t have a burning desire to go. I wish someone would just send me a book with current photos and biographies. It would be all the fun without all the small talk.

Here’s one more picture I found of myself that I can’t believe I’m actually putting up. However, I feel that the look of total disdain on my face for everyone in the universe combined with the drum majorette style dress a la Michael Jackson, completely and totally sums up my entire high school experience.

Like, GAH, just take the picture. I need to go dance to some Debbie Gibson.

If y’all want to play along, have fun and let me know.

And don’t forget to sign up for prom committee.

Every summer about this time, the Discovery Channel decides it’s a good idea to broadcast Shark Week, a series of shows that all focus on the man-eating power of sharks. Most of the shows have titles like “Top Five Eaten Alive”, “Deadliest Sharks of the Universe” and “Blood Runs Red in the Ocean”. It’s lighthearted viewing fun for the whole family right in the middle of the summer season. Apparently, the programming staff at Discovery Channel is bitter, angry and hellbent on ruining any fun you might have been planning to have at the beach this summer.

P and Caroline love Shark Week. They watch all the shark shows and note the differences between a tiger shark versus a lemon shark, while I sit and wonder who these people are and how I ended up living in this house with them. A shark is a shark. They all have sharp teeth and will EAT YOU ALIVE if given the chance. I firmly believe this to be true, even though every year on one of these shows, some Professor of Sharkology will say that most of the time a shark isn’t interested in eating you, they’re just tasting you. Oh yeah? Tell that to the girl who used to have a left leg.

Something tells me she doesn’t find solace in the fact that the shark was just confirming she wasn’t a wounded seal.

Last night, Shark Week was on full force at our house and I couldn’t help myself, I started watching “Top Five Eaten Alive”. It was a harrowing tale of some poor girl swimming off the coast of Easter Island and having her entire leg bitten off. And I was the picture of sympathy as I sat eating my Sour Patch Kids while listening to her tale of life and death struggle. Then, I remembered that P and I have our own story about narrowly surviving (maybe not narrowly surviving, as much as kind of coming close to the possibility) a shark attack and had to share it with y’all.

Thank you Shark Week for providing blog material.

P and I went to a little island in the Bahamas called Exuma for our honeymoon. It’s a tiny, tiny little island known for its stellar bonefishing and pretty beaches. The water is as clear as glass and we rented some snorkeling equipment so we could explore all the different coral reefs that were practically right outside our hotel room. The first day we went snorkeling we swam out to where a private plane had wrecked years before and multitudes of rainbow-hued fish had since claimed the wreckage as home. We found huge conch shells, giant starfish and all kinds of incredible things.

It was fun but, every time we got to the edge of the wreckage, we could see where the ocean dropped off and became that deep, dark blue. This was in the days before I had seen “Finding Nemo” 1,842 times and knew what a terrible place the drop off really is, but, even so, I knew it was eerie and just thinking about it right now gives me a shiver up my spine. Eventually, a barracuda made his way to where we were swimming so, because we value our limbs, we decided to call it a day.

The next day, we decided to stick closer to home. There was a big bay area of water that had huge rock formations on either side creating a cove. We’d spent the morning lying in the sun and decided to put on our snorkeling equipment and swim out to a big coral reef we could see out in the distance. We started swimming and it was further than it had originally looked, so we stopped to tread water and discuss whether or not we were going to keep heading out.

About that time, a small boat that appeared out of nowhere pulled up next to us. It was an elderly man and he said, “You kids probably need to head back to the shore. There’s a 12 foot hammerhead shark that’s been swimming around this cove all morning.”

Umm yeah, you know those scenes in cartoons where the characters literally run on top of the water? That’s about what we looked like. We turned tail and swam like we have never swam in our lives. And when we finally got to the edge of the water, we collapsed on the beach, panting for air. Then, we looked out to wave our thanks to the man in the boat. But he was gone.

I’m telling you there is no way he could have gotten the boat out of that cove by the time we swam to the shore. And as we strained our eyes to see if we could see him in the distance, all we saw instead was a huge, shadowy figure about 12 feet long swimming right in front of the coral reef we had been heading towards.

I don’t know how many other times I have been protected from various dangers by guardian angels, but I have no doubt that on that day in August of ’97, P and I were guided by an angel wearing a fishing hat.

I’m just glad he was there to give the warning, even if it means I missed a shot at starring in my own Shark Week story of man versus beast.

Psalm 91: 9-11 “If you make the Most High your dwelling–even the Lord, who is my refuge–then no harm will befall you, no disaster will come near your tent. For He will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways; they will lift you up in their hands, so that you will not strike your foot against a stone. You will tread upon the lion and the cobra; you will trample the great lion and the serpent.”

And the shark.