Sunday, May 8, 2011
A Mother is a Terrible Thing to Waste
School and I have never really gotten along. One day in junior high, I texted my mother and asked her to pick me up early. Since I was ahead in my work (and absences hardly count in middle school), she complied under the terms that I would accompany her to complete her routinely errands.
Also dark, long hair was all the rage.
There was just one last trip between me and my computer at home- we had to get her car tires rotated. I suggested leaving that errand up to my father but she, ever the feminist, had just one thing to say about that:
With that, we headed off to Les Schwab, which had a 45 minute wait. We drove from tire place to tire place, but no one could see us right away. As my mother drove us silently down the main road home, grumbling to herself, she suddenly called out: "TIRES!!" and swerved into the alley behind a bar that doubled as the driveway into a shady little family run business.
Crude stacks of weather-worn tires piled high into the sky around the broken down building. Nothing but a simple paper 'OPEN' sign duct taped in a cracked window was needed to drive my mother into the most efficient way to beat the one o' clock crowds. In the three-space parking lot, another sign was posted. "Lock your doors and stay in your car. We'll be out to serve you shortly." Even though I edged her to turn back, she ignored both me and the sign and pulled herself into the warm, setting sun. Not wanting to stay alone, I nervously jumped out and followed her inside. The inside was even more worn than the out, and low, haunting music echoed off the dusty walls. It was the perfect scene from a bad horror movie, or an even worse porno.
After a few minutes of exploring, we found the source of the music and faced yet another sign: "Do not disturb under any circumstances." My forever-fearless mother knocked on the wooden door and the volume of the music lowered.
He was probably seven feet tall, easily, with completely orange skin and a dirty old T-shirt to match. He didn't have a single hair on his body, and the worst part- with the door open I quickly realized the source of the music: A team Rocket battle. He'd been watching Pokemon. He looked like a fish with a bad spray tan.
My mother didn't bat an eyelash. Instead, she explained our trouble and eagerly led him outside. The man told us to get back in the car, but my mother insisted that we stand outside and watch instead. Then, out of nowhere, a crew of five or six more carny-looking people arose from the depths of the tire piles and flocked over to rotate our tires.
They did their business surprisingly well, and gave us two tires for free as long as we promised to pass on a message for all the tire places that we turned down for them:
Happy Mother's Day.
Also dark, long hair was all the rage.
There was just one last trip between me and my computer at home- we had to get her car tires rotated. I suggested leaving that errand up to my father but she, ever the feminist, had just one thing to say about that:
With that, we headed off to Les Schwab, which had a 45 minute wait. We drove from tire place to tire place, but no one could see us right away. As my mother drove us silently down the main road home, grumbling to herself, she suddenly called out: "TIRES!!" and swerved into the alley behind a bar that doubled as the driveway into a shady little family run business.
Crude stacks of weather-worn tires piled high into the sky around the broken down building. Nothing but a simple paper 'OPEN' sign duct taped in a cracked window was needed to drive my mother into the most efficient way to beat the one o' clock crowds. In the three-space parking lot, another sign was posted. "Lock your doors and stay in your car. We'll be out to serve you shortly." Even though I edged her to turn back, she ignored both me and the sign and pulled herself into the warm, setting sun. Not wanting to stay alone, I nervously jumped out and followed her inside. The inside was even more worn than the out, and low, haunting music echoed off the dusty walls. It was the perfect scene from a bad horror movie, or an even worse porno.
After a few minutes of exploring, we found the source of the music and faced yet another sign: "Do not disturb under any circumstances." My forever-fearless mother knocked on the wooden door and the volume of the music lowered.
He was probably seven feet tall, easily, with completely orange skin and a dirty old T-shirt to match. He didn't have a single hair on his body, and the worst part- with the door open I quickly realized the source of the music: A team Rocket battle. He'd been watching Pokemon. He looked like a fish with a bad spray tan.
My mother didn't bat an eyelash. Instead, she explained our trouble and eagerly led him outside. The man told us to get back in the car, but my mother insisted that we stand outside and watch instead. Then, out of nowhere, a crew of five or six more carny-looking people arose from the depths of the tire piles and flocked over to rotate our tires.
They did their business surprisingly well, and gave us two tires for free as long as we promised to pass on a message for all the tire places that we turned down for them:
Happy Mother's Day.
Friday, May 6, 2011
Kids will be kids.
Because of my father's job, my family moved around a lot when I was a kid. I was seven years old when we finally settled down in Idaho, and about to start in the second grade. I was nervous, for even back then I was a bit of a nerdy outcast. I had long blonde hair almost to my waist and was awkwardly thin and taller than the other kids, always outgrowing my clothes. To top it all off, I was one of the only kids my age who had glasses. When my mother escorted me to meet my teacher, Mrs. Anderson, she directed me to another small blonde girl in the front of the classroom, "That's Cassie," she said, "and she's the only other girl in the second grade with glasses! You should try to be friends."
Long story short, Cassie and I didn't work out for very long, but I soon made a new friend named Kim. She quickly became, and to this day remains, my best friend- I'd been doodling on my desk and all it took was one simple "Why don't you try putting her hands behind her back?" However, it was sometime in the first year of our friendship that I realized she was a little... ditzy. Kim was one of the shortest girls in our class, and had curly blonde hair and freckles, with green eyes to top it off. Her mother made her wear girly dresses, but that never stopped her from playing Pokemon in the grass with me during lunch.
I remember one particular instance when Kim was spending the night, we were probably in fourth grade by then. We lived on the same block and visited all the time. My family had been doing some painting in he kids' bathroom and were letting everything dry before putting the room together when Kim burst in the front door and dropped her overnight bag, simply saying, "Sorry Hanna, I have to pee!" She bolted into the hallway with my mother laughing and yelling after her "Don't touch the walls- they're wet!"
Now, to be fair, I have an older sister and a very caring mother. Kim was the oldest child and very sheltered from the real world. Nonetheless, when a few minutes had passed... then a few more... and a few more, my mother and sister joined me in awkwardly standing outside the bathroom door. Just as my mother was about to knock to see if she was 'Doin' alright in there' when a loud "WOAH!" exploded from the other side of the door. Followed quickly by a simple: "IT'S SO PINK!"And the bathroom door flying open. Eyes wide, a grin spread over Kim's face as she looked up and me, then my sister, then my mother, and an awkward pause ensued.
"Kim sweetie... what ah... what took you so long?" She glanced behind Kim and the three of us simultaneously realized the three bathroom mirrors sitting directly in front of the toilet, taken off the wall during the painting.
Later that evening, Kim went on to explain Men's periods and why secondhand smoke is good for you. Almost a decade later... she hasn't changed much.
Long story short, Cassie and I didn't work out for very long, but I soon made a new friend named Kim. She quickly became, and to this day remains, my best friend- I'd been doodling on my desk and all it took was one simple "Why don't you try putting her hands behind her back?" However, it was sometime in the first year of our friendship that I realized she was a little... ditzy. Kim was one of the shortest girls in our class, and had curly blonde hair and freckles, with green eyes to top it off. Her mother made her wear girly dresses, but that never stopped her from playing Pokemon in the grass with me during lunch.
I remember one particular instance when Kim was spending the night, we were probably in fourth grade by then. We lived on the same block and visited all the time. My family had been doing some painting in he kids' bathroom and were letting everything dry before putting the room together when Kim burst in the front door and dropped her overnight bag, simply saying, "Sorry Hanna, I have to pee!" She bolted into the hallway with my mother laughing and yelling after her "Don't touch the walls- they're wet!"
Now, to be fair, I have an older sister and a very caring mother. Kim was the oldest child and very sheltered from the real world. Nonetheless, when a few minutes had passed... then a few more... and a few more, my mother and sister joined me in awkwardly standing outside the bathroom door. Just as my mother was about to knock to see if she was 'Doin' alright in there' when a loud "WOAH!" exploded from the other side of the door. Followed quickly by a simple: "IT'S SO PINK!"And the bathroom door flying open. Eyes wide, a grin spread over Kim's face as she looked up and me, then my sister, then my mother, and an awkward pause ensued.
"Kim sweetie... what ah... what took you so long?" She glanced behind Kim and the three of us simultaneously realized the three bathroom mirrors sitting directly in front of the toilet, taken off the wall during the painting.
Later that evening, Kim went on to explain Men's periods and why secondhand smoke is good for you. Almost a decade later... she hasn't changed much.
Thursday, May 5, 2011
le premier.
Good morning, internet realm. I've never been good with introductions, so let's just get this out of the way, eh?
My name is Hanna or occasionally kuii. I live in a small town in Idaho, and no, don't ask me about potatoes. I honestly don't think I've ever seen a potato farm here.
I draw, and I watch cartoons, and I bum around on the internet all day. I'm sure there will be more about me on another page one day.
I have no idea what's in store for this blog, but I hope you'll enjoy figuring it out as much as I will.
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