It was a weekday in early June 2010. I was home from college on summer vacation, and things were off to a great start. I was enjoying a relaxing, flip-flop-free shower at my parents’ house. Both my mom and my dad were at work, while my sisters were in school – one in high school, one in middle school. I was home alone, which is why it was particularly alarming when the light in the bathroom flicked on and off.
“Hello??” I yelled, thinking it was one of my sisters. But no one answered.
I’ll never forget the first time I got a speeding ticket. Not the first time I was pulled over – just the first time I couldn’t talk my way out of it. I was going 83 in a 65 and it cost me $385 and 4 hours in town court to get it reduced to a non-moving violation. I haven’t gotten a speeding ticket since (or been pulled over, for that matter).
“She grinds from Monday to Friday, works from Friday to Sunday.” – Queen B, Beyoncé, Beyonslay, B
I moved to NYC for a part-time job. I was so desperate to get out of my hometown and get started on my career, that when I was offered a two-day-a-week position, I jumped on it.
After college, I worked at a local publishing company making a whopping $8/hr as an assistant editor. On the weekends I served at a local restaurant to make some extra cash, but it still wasn’t enough money to move out of my parents’ basement – which I so desperately wanted to do.
Emotions are a funny thing. They can drive us to tears of joy one minute and into a fit of rage the next.
All my life, I’ve been a crier. I cry when I’m frustrated. I cry when I’m happy. I cry when I’m sad, when I’m mad, when I’m stressed, when I’m tired. I cry when Cedric Diggory dies. Every. Single. Time. I cried at both of my sister’s high school graduations, and every Sunday at church. And just looking at my adorable grandfather brings me to tears. This might seem like I’m always crying … And honestly, that wouldn’t be that far from the truth.
Have you ever napped so hard that you woke up and it was the next day? Have you ever napped so hard that your family almost put out a missing person report because no one could get a hold of you for 6 hours and your dad was so mad that he didn’t talk to you for three days straight? I have.
I’m dramatic. Anyone who knows me will tell you that. For this reason, I am always prefacing ridiculous BUT true stories with: “I know I’m dramatic, but I am dead serious.” Once I’m done peppering the story with detailed descriptions of the events that played out – something I’ve been doing since I learned how to talk. You’re welcome, mom – they usually believe me on the basis that no sane person could actually make up such an insane scenario.
And they’d be right. For some reason, I am always finding myself in the most unbelievable situations (like that time I woke up from a 5-hour nap to the NYPD knocking on my apartment door). Which brings me to … the night I ran away from a drunk, umbrella-wielding crazy person.