Invasion

Personal space.  A phone booth.  B-O-U-N-D-A-R-I-E-S. 

Just recently, I encountered one of the most disturbing events of my life:  an invasion of people all up in my bizness, with NONE of the above.

Out of respect for my fellow man, when I encroach upon the beach with my gaggle of loud, obnoxious, sand flicking offspring, I give other people space.  It's just common courtesy. 

You know, how you do.  Set up a phone booth North, South, East and West of our chosen mine field, because with 4 kids, sand WILL fly.  And it's not a question of if; it's a matter of when.

This is not a matter I take lightly.  I put a lot of time and thought into making this decision, before just parking it anywhere.  I need to scope out who will be my neighbors for the entire afternoon.

For example, plopping down next to an elderly couple is out of the question; UNLESS they are in the company of their grand kids.  Random groups of teenagers are also an iffy choice due to their possible poor behavior choices (ie: making out, drinking Mickey's from a brown paper bag, or (gasp) using foul language).  Just because that cute little 17 year old in the polka dot bikini may look like Hannah Montana, she very well may act like Lindsey Lohan. 

In my decade of surviving any kind of day trip with my girls, I have found that other moms tend to be the best kind of neighbors.  Moms carry all the necessities: extra sand toys, snacks to share, and usually, wine in some sort of concealed container.

So, here's my predicament:  I'm on vacay with my girlfriend, and we're chilling Lakeside, while our 6 kids run amok.  No sooner had we planted our chairs in the sand, than some Yahoo parks her clan literally inches from our stuff.  My girlfriend politely explains just how many kids we have with us in our camp, hoping to gently, but jokingly encourage her to move away to a further location.

But Clueless failed to catch the ginormous hint of her immediate and impending doom.  So when one of our kids ran all over her towel, flicking sand with wild abandon, neither of us said a damn word.  Clueless was warned, and Clueless failed to heed our warning.  And unless our kids learned how to FLY, it was not physically possible  to NOT mess up her camp.  Quite simply, she was in our phone booth.

The very next day, similar invasion, different location:  Big Trees State Park.  One of my favorite places to chill and be one with the Motha Nature.  I'm talking "glory of God perfection". Where chipmunks eat nuts to their hearts content, and butterflies and dragonflies dip and dart into the crisp, calm and cool water of the creek, while it laps at your feet.

Got your visual in place?  Well, promptly cancel that out, and replace it with a bunch of Weekend Warrior "nature lovers". 

I mean, how in the hell am I supposed to catch up on reading about Carrie Underwood's dream wedding in People magazine, when WW (Weekend Warrior) Mom is yelling, "Johnny, come put REPELLENT on.  And here's the SUNSCREEN.  Johnny, put those rocks down RIGHT NOW.  Where's your HAT?  Oh my goodness, look at your hands.  Here's a wet wipe."

My M.O. is simply this:  if a location is already occupied, find a different one.  I guess the 5 families that decided to join us that day, didn't get the memo.  These people packed in everything but a toilet to "enjoy nature". 

Becoming frustrated and annoyed, I wanted to yell out to that mom, "You are in NATURE!  Stop stalking your kids, take a load off, drink a beer, and please, BE QUIET.  You are ruining my Zen moment."

I struggled with this invasion, and started to question, what does God want me to learn from this?  But I just kept coming to the same conclusion:  never get pregnant again, so that I can down 4 beers and pretend like I'm by myself. 

As if on cue, my daughter came walking towards me, talking to a rather tall man.  Who's the psycho talking to my 10 year old, I thought?  But as they approached, I realized who it was.

"Father John?" 

"Hey, I recognized your girls.  I'm here camping with my family."

 It's like God knew I needed divine intervention before going postal, and sent me Father John.  After getting over the awkward moment of  hugging him, 7 months pregnant, wearing only  my bathing suit, we had a great conversation.   I was reminded about what is really important while we're here.  And it's not Carrie Underwood's wedding.

It is the connection that we have with others.  Whether it's for an hour, an afternoon, a year, or a lifetime.  Even when it makes us frustrated.  Or angry.  Or severely annoyed. 

But if you come into my personal space boundary, all I ask is this:  could you please keep your voice down, and bring a beer, or possibly an Us Weekly magazine to share?  Cause that would be so appreciated.

Creeeepy

I'm the girl who drinks milk straight from the carton. The one who you will find dancing on the tables after a few cocktails, underwear optional.  I believe in the 5 second rule when food hits the deck.  I have even been known to swig beer from a complete stranger in a bar.

Some of you may find this type of behavior gross, unacceptable, or even crossing the line.  I have some advice for you:  lighten up, man!  It's true, I don't have many boundaries.  But I do have some.

You may find this hard to believe, but there are actually a few things in this life that I find repulsive.  Things that seriously creep me out.  In offending order of least to greatest creep factor, they are as follows:

5.  High School Senior guys who totally scam on the incoming Freshman girls.  I realize that we're only talking about a 3-4 year age difference here, but there is something just plain WRONG with this scenario.

Picture this:  14 year old Hope, a sweet, young, fun-loving, naive, and innocent cutie pie, who listens to Taylor Swift and goes to Church every Sunday.  In her free time, she knits scarves and blankets for the homeless.  She believes in world peace and pink nail polish.

Now, enter High School senior, Stud:   a sexually-driven, testosterone oozing, football playing, 18 year old dude, who drives a truck with a FLATBED.  We all know how this story ends.

Yeah, yeah, I know what you're thinking right about now...isn't there a 13 year age gap between Tom and myself?  Yes, in fact, as Tom graduated High School, I was exiting Kindergarten.  But this is MY blog, and I make the rules, and there always an exception.  Besides, it's not like Tom was stalking me in Kindergarten...he was too busy scamming on Freshman GIRLS!!!

4.  Clean children creep me out.  I'm talking like squeaky clean.  Like an entire Gymboree ensemble, complete with matching ice-cream cone hair clip, and ruffly socks.  WTF?  My motto is this:  if you are under the age of 12, you should be filthy.  Appear unkempt, with matted hair.  And be riding that fine line of looking as if you live in a trailer down by the river.  Childhood is about having FUN.  Who has time to take a shower?

3.  The offensive tramp stamp comes in next.  Call me a wuss for never taking part in more body modification than a pair of pierced ears, done at age 6.  But we, as a society, NEED to DRAW the LINE somewhere.

And you know what?  That multi-colored butterfly, fairy, Disney character, or Japanese symbol that you get inked into your skin at age 21, sure as shit, doesn't look that way at age 61!

I don't like to see the tramp stamp anywhere.  Period.  It screams out 'dirty girl'.

At the bar, peeking over a pair of thong panties, it's like watching a suffocating butterfly attempting to take flight.  At the beach, where the stamp in its entirety is displayed for the rest of the world to gaze upon.  I don't want to see TINK flying above your crack.

I cover my stretch marks so you don't have to endure those, please show me the same courtesy.


2.  Onto the next creepy thing:  too much 'work' done.  Plastic surgeons can fix ANYthing now.  Got a forehead that hangs down so low, you can't pass the vision test at the DMV while renewing your license?  BOTOX!  Got boobies that resemble wet tube socks that just came out of the washing machine?  AUGMENTATION!  Got a tummy that you must stuff into your grandma panties even though you've lost 100 pounds?  Not referring to anyone in particular here...TUCK IT!

Listen up people.  The whole point of having some body part fixed, lifted, or refreshed, should NOT be obvious to the average onlooker.  That's like saying I can walk into the doc's office looking like Jimeny Cricket, and strut out looking like Hugh Jackman.

MMMMM....Hugh Jackman.


1.  This brings me to the most offensive thing that creeps me out to my very core.  Being close to 40 years old, I welcome an occasional whistle from the passing car.  Don't deny it ladies, you know it makes ya feel sorta hot.

But what's up, when some dude thinks it's his duty to cat call me while I am very obviously PREGNANT?  Creeeepy.  I think it's appropriate to use the same verbiage I scream out to my 4 year old when she is about to run out into oncoming traffic:  NOT OKAY!!!!!!!

The slimy offender, with no moral sense,  is riding in some sort of truck, or raised vehicle, to obviously compensate for his small manhood.  Usually there are garden tools,  paint buckets, or a pit bull riding  shot-gun.

Hey man, I'm just trying to get my four mile waddle in, while keeping the garden hose intact... just be respectful.  I will repeat, this is NOT OKAY!

Except maybe, coming from a High School Senior...