Somethings I Just Don't Understand

OK.

I don’t understand the obsession with this lady.

It seems like you can’t go anywhere in this town without being assaulted by a Vera Bradley print. And yes, I say assaulted because her brightly hued paisley is everywhere. I just left church and no joke, there was a processional of paisley showcased with representation from several generations of women.

I know that it is not just Terre Haute, I first met Ms. Bradley about nine years ago when I was living in the suburbs of my town. I found it odd that teenage girls were schlepping around their grandmother’s handbags and duffels. It wasn’t until a few months later that I found they bought these bags on purpose.

On. Purpose.

Then they opened the outlet mall close to us and I was scratching my head because I didn’t understand how there was a line outside of the Vera Bradley store. I figured that maybe there was something about this lady that I didn’t get so maybe I should check it out. About five minutes later, I realized that I wasn’t wrong and vowed that unless I lost a bet, I would not enter that store again.

If it was just the prints that turned me off that would be one thing, but the stuff is insanely expensive! People sometimes spend upwards of $100 on a bag.

A bag that is not made by Coach.

I do not understand.

I hope that I will never understand.

I have learned that there are companies that make bags to look like Ms. Bradley’s and you can even score knock-offs. Knock-offs?

On a bag that is not made by Coach.

I do not understand.

I hope that I will never understand.

Apparently, Vera Bradley is an Indiana institution because she is from Fort Wayne. That and she created the state flag. Not really, I just figured she had to have done something super cool to charge that much for a bag that is not as cute as it seems (and was not made by Coach). 

Apparently, it doesn't stop at bags. There are wallets, makeup bags, aprons, bulletin boards, luggage, lanyards, umbrellas, jewelry boxes and more things that I probably can't imagine. 

I don't want to take the time to imagine.

By the time I moved here, I had one Vera Bradley item that I actually liked, but I did not come around. It is actually a really cute green tote bag with no design whatsoever and was a gift from one of my interns. By the time I was here a week, I got a green paisley makeup bag courtesy of Sassy. Sassy. She may disown me after this post because the only Vera-free room in her house is her son’s. If I am being honest, I actually like the makeup bag not only because green is my favorite color, but because I prefer loud paisley the way I like my makeup bag…tucked away in my purse only to be taken out at the appropriate time.

Not all of her paisley is loud. I got an apron and recipe box set this Christmas that is green and muted paisley. I actually really like them and I use the apron quite a bit and the recipe box is kind of cute so I put it in my bedroom for perfumes and lotions. I just realize that sentence alone makes me seen like I am fifty years old. That and the fact Pat thinks that I will come around to liking it on my own makes me think that maybe I should stop accepting gifts of Vera Bradley…

Please God, don’t let me understand.

Last Weekend

I had a great weekend and I thought you should know! I took a trip out of town; I did some sightseeing, saw some friends and met a really nice Catholic man that is super hot!

Pretty good, right?

Now for the things that I am not telling you:

I volunteered to take four teenagers (the Core Four—or C4 for short) to Washington D.C. for the March for Life, a pro-life rally held once a year around the anniversary of the Roe v. Wade ruling to prayerfully protest abortion.

We started off on our journey early on Saturday morning and I was glad because these were kids that I have gotten to know the most since I have been here and I was looking forward to this trip. I was not, however, looking forward to the twelve hour bus ride while I was trying to fight off a cold. This was my fifth time going to the March and I usually fly when I go and stay with friends and make a vacation of the trip and stay about a week. I knew it would be different this time around but I was going to offer up the 12 hour bus ride and be OK with that. Because I was feeling kind of sick and didn’t know when I would have to opportunity to get hot tea, C4 and I stopped at the Starbucks and also used the bathroom. While we (meaning me) were savoring our last few minutes before being stuck on a bus with about 50 other people, I got a phone call wondering where we were. I thought we had a bit more time and apparently I was wrong.

As we drove up to the meeting place, we laughed that we were “that group.” You know that group, the one’s that are always late and/or unprepared and then somehow manage to inconvenience everyone? That may have been us. After we were situated on the bus and tripped over people, we were on our way and I was officially dying of sick.

The bus ride was fine enough, we watched movies, I talked to my bus buddy and just I started to get a bit restless of the fact that I couldn’t stretch out when we got stuck in a traffic jam on I-70 courtesy of a chemical spill adding three hours to our bus ride. It wasn’t so bad, because it was during this time that I saw him. The beautiful man accompanying his own group of teenagers on this journey. I am afraid to tell you this, but he’s a priest. A young priest, but a priest. I think I have a problem.

Because I was not trying to go to hell, I opted to sleep instead of ogling Father Hottie and vowed (he he) that I would not talk to him the entire trip. Somewhat because I didn’t want to be flirty, but mostly because I didn’t want to be a giggling idiot at every interaction.

After a good night’s sleep (once we arrived, of course) we had a pretty good weekend. C4 and I went to the Holocaust Museum and it was an incredible experience. I’d been before, but I was in eighth grade and though it had made an impact, being there just before the March made it hit home for the five of us as going through the museum reminded us that being pro-life means more than being anti-abortion. Here I am writing this almost a week after visiting and it is still with me. If you ever get the chance to visit the museum in DC, please do it, I really think that it will change your view of what it truly means to have a quality of life and open your eyes to what takes root and grows out of the poison seeds of propaganda.

After the sobering experience of the museum, we set out to meet up with friends of mine (and their baby that I couldn’t hold because I was sickL) and taught the kids how to ride the Metro! Even though it took at least ten minutes to teach everyone how to pay for tickets (we totally missed two trains), I was glad they got to have that experience. And on the way back, I had the honor of teaching the girls how to use their feminine wiles to get what they want.

I am not proud of it, but I needed to get the five of us to the Smithsonian Castle to meet our group and it was two miles away with only 5 minutes to spare. I flagged down a cab, leaned in and smiled real big while batting my eyes and asked him if he could possibly take five passengers. The answer is usually no, but since I know when to make being a pretty girl work for me, his answer was “where to?”

We didn’t make it on time (more like 10 minutes late) which only cemented our status of being “that group” because they couldn’t call the buses to get us unless everyone was there. (C4 and Lainie…we’re the bomb!) I should also tell you that while running to meeting place, I almost mowed down Father Hottie. While it was a good thing that I didn’t, should I go to confession because I kinda wondered what it would be like to fall on him? (On accident, of course)

chaperone and may have had some impact on their experience in DC, they really had an impact on mine. They are a great group of kids and I think knowing and interacting with them is starting to make moving here a bit more worth it.

I really enjoyed the time I spent with C4 over the weekend. I had the opportunity to feel like a teen again without feeling inappropriately immature and share my knowledge of public transit and effective flirting in order to get from here to there. It was also not so bad being “that group” even though we were late three other times including the time later in the weekend when the group leader came to us first to get lunches and somehow we still ended up at the back of the line and last on the bus. No one got mad at as and we started to take bets on just how late we were and wondered if the group leader would have smoke coming out of her ears by the time we actually got to the bus. For the record, she never did, but I am sure that the times we were on time for the bus she relaxed just a little. For those that know me, I am sure you are not surprised. I just can’t believe that I brought down America’s youth in my disregard for all things prompt.

I survived the bus, but never did get better and was so sick that I ended up with my own seat on the way home and a fever. That wasn’t so bad because it gave me a reason to talk to Father Hottie when he inquired about how I was feeling (better now that you’re here…) and we had a mini conversation. Like I predicted, I was a giggling idiot and had to avoid eye contact the rest of the trip.

I really should get help.

I really hope this affinity for men of the cloth goes away soon.

Emancipated Me

So. This is what moving on feels like... For a while I was on what I like to call an "emancipation high" after I pressed "send" on that relationship ending message. Now? I just have to keep moving and shaking like I always do...with a lot less on mind. Here I am world! Emancipated Lainie! Ready to take you on...

On Sunday night I went to dinner with Ted and his friends (CB and Bret) for the second time and it was definitely a learning experience. Unlike the first time, CB's friend Bobby and Bret's wife Daphne came along.  I remember thinking that if doesn't ask me for my number tonight ,  I am done!  I definitely didn't want to be friends with anymore guys, especially uncertain ones.

We decided to go to the Steak and Shake where I did NOT have the coffee (I have never had good experiences with Steak and Shake coffee) and Ted not thinking before talking says "Is that OK for you? Should be eating that food?" I was not alone in shock and surprise saying "WHAT?!" (CB was also a little surprised). Those definitely sounded like fighting words! Poor Ted, he was just concerned because I may have led him to believe that I eat a bit healthier on a regular basis in the times we have eaten together...oops! After his embarrassment subsided we agreed it was fine and we were on our way.

At the restaurant we started talking and I noticed that Ted was way more interested in his phone so I teased him about being anti-social, looked at his screen and saw he was playing Words With Friends. Really?

Please read the following in an urban dialect: Words with friends? Oh I can give you some words with friends!  You think Alec Baldwin getting kicked off the plane was bad? I'm  about to eject you from my evening! Aw hell naw!  I got you! Believe that! (End urban dialect) 

I mean, c'mon! Who does that?! There is being shy and then there is just plain rude! He was also wearing a butt ugly shirt (red plaid in the style of lumberjack, possibly Bunyon Dynasty) and his lack of social skills was the excuse I needed to aviod looking at it for the next hour or so. As a result, CB and I got to know each other better and he seemed a lot less annoying to me once I got to know him. It turns out that he is a nerd just like me and we talked about Doctor Who, Star Wars and a crapload of other stuff nerds like. Bobby also joined in the conversation, but it was so hard to listen to him because no joke, he looks like Hank Hill's son, Bobby on King of the Hill (hence the name). And he talks like him too! I didn't watch that show a ton, but I definitely kept picturing this grown ass man animated and 11 years old. I could have sworn that his dad was gonna show up at any moment to sell me propane.

Still completely ticked at Ted I made a point to get to know everyone at the table a bit more and let him play his game. I think Bret and Daphne are an odd couple, but I liked them.
Bret is British so I figure I should make friends because when Sunny does come to visit she will want to meet him (she has anglophelia).

By the way no one else was bothered by his behavior, I figured this was normal Ted behavior and realized that maybe we should be just friends. I should let you know that Sassy seconded that motion because she thinks I am way too cute for him. And now that I look at him through my emancipated eyes, I am inclined to agree. That. And the shirt.  I think it was mostly the shirt...
 
It's funny, now that I officially let go of Ralph, I am just fine with moving at a slower pace. When I first moved here I told a friend that I had to get two hobbies and start dating. I have only one hobby so far and am really slow in the dating department.  Right now,  I am OK with that.  (Keep on mind I can only speak for right now). I think the newly emancipated Lainie doesn't have anything to prove. She can give herself time to adjust to this new life and figure out this town before she has to start figuring out its men.

Goodbye, Ralph

This is an actual letter that I sent. I have changed the name (innocent or not) and it gives some insight to why I really moved here.
Lainie

Dear Ralph,
I got your message the other night asking why Facebook didn't have us as friends. It seemed like you thought it was some sort of mistake.

It wasn't.

Please understand that although the content of this letter might be a bit upsetting, I want you to know that although I am listening to Adele while writing this, I am chock full of endorphins from my workout and have a clear mind.

I felt the time had come for us to end whatever this is and before the clock struck midnight on New Year's Day I had to start 2012 (insert your weight here) pounds lighter. So on last Saturday night, I unfriended you.

I remember the day we met, I literally swept you off your feet and since that day, I can't remember a time when it wasn't us. I know in the beginning we were only just friends, but over time we did grow into something more. Over the course of five years (five years!) I just fell in love with you knowing full well you were discerning the priesthood. Here I was waiting and praying that you will make a choice and maybe realize that although I am not the Almighty, a life with me would be pretty fantastic. We'd gotten so comfortable and in a routine and were doing normal couple things like cooking each other dinner and having season passes to Six Flags (normal guys and girls don't do those things together unless they are dating,)  that when you told me you'd applied to the seminary, I'd forgotten that was still an option.  I remember going out of my mind for about 30 seconds before pulling it together not to ruin any one's fun at THE WEDDING RECEPTION.

The rest of that night was a blur though I would find out later that all of our friends though excited for the newlyweds were most excited for us. Apparently we looked the happiest we had ever been and everyone thought you finally pulled your head out of your ass and realized that you wanted to be with me. If you remember, even your best friend thought so. I was told it even got to the point of people regularly checking our relationship statuses on Facebook because they were so sure. The outpouring of support I received once you posted on Facebook that you'd gotten in the seminary was overwhelmingly validating.

This summer was the worst. I had to work with you four days a week trying not to go insane while you acted like nothing had changed and I just let you. Call me a masochist, but I wasn't ready to let you go and I figured I would take what I could get until August and you started the seminary. It proved to be way too much early on and I had a break down and knew I just had to get the hell out of town. The week I was in West Virginia did me good. I found out about the job here and realized I was never gonna be OK with you moving on as long as I was standing still. It just wasn't fair that you got to go off and have your life be great and I had to deal with being me without you, so I left. I left my hometown and everything I know and love because I needed a fresh start too.

I got one. I moved to Terre Haute to start over and maybe heal, but it has been really hard. I remember before I left we made plans for the fall and we really didn't say goodbye because you were so sure that we would see each other in a few weeks and you were also gonna figure out when you could come see me. That wasn't normal behavior for someone going to the seminary. It was like you wouldn't let me let you go and I realize that it has been like that the whole time. Anytime there was the possibility of someone else you managed to make it seem like a bad idea in your own way every single time. That and the fact you were happy to act like my boyfriend made me feel like we were a lot closer to something. When I moved here I had decided that our relationship wasn't appropriate with you being in the seminary and all so I decided that when you called to make plans I would tell you so and ask you not to call.

You never called.

I felt both betrayed and relieved. It seemed like you (finally) understood what I tried to tell you twice. Remember when I didn't want to go on the road trip to DC about four years ago because our relationship definitely blurred boundary lines? Or what about that time a year and half ago when I tried to actually end our relationship because I had feelings and it wasn't fair because you were discerning and I didn't want to get in the way of that? I remember that time so well because that was the most emotion I have ever seen you display when you told me "No." You said that you had to have me in your life and maybe I should take sometime to think about it. I was leaving for South America the next day and you were all "have fun on your trip and we will talk when you get back." It was like you didn't hear what I was trying to tell you and wouldn't accept anything less than what you needed. (Why was that, Ralph?) I know then that I needed this to be over, but because it didn't work for you, it wouldn't work. I gave in (of course) and came back from South America two weeks later and after a few days after that we went out to dinner like nothing happened and I gave you the leather bag I brought you from the market while I was there.

Over the last four and half months I have tried to move on, but it is so difficult for me because even though you won't acknowledge me by calling or answering both times I called (drunk dialed...when I am sober I am much better at fighting the urge), but you continue to write on my Facebook wall, post inside jokes and comment on things I have written to other people. Like I said, it's like you just won't let me let you go. It's bad enough that just about everything reminds me of you ("Lady" came on the radio a few weeks back and I had to pull over because I was crying and all we ever did was make fun of that song.), you have to remind me of you. So I'm telling to you that I have to be done and I really need you to hear me this time.

I don't think you were fair to me at all, Ralph. I don't care about excuses or rationalizations you are making while reading this letter, I know that I was (and maybe still am?) more than just your friend. I remember I was standing in the kitchen years ago when you were living out of state for grad school and we were talking about what your next move should be. You had so many options and you asked me what you should do. I told you I wanted you come home and you did. Then nothing. I think you got scared and I think you are still scared (which is fine with me because thinking long term I don't want a pussy-ass raising kids with me) and although you are in the seminary I am confident that one day you will have to deal with me and what we were. I pray that you are able to hear God better than you were ever able to hear me.

I understand that a calling is a calling and that if it is truly what God has planned for you then I never stood a  chance. But what amazes me is that you were blind to what you and I felt and what others saw. How? Why?
After so many years I have grown tired of burning myself with the torch I held for you and the kicker is that no matter what you say or think, I know I was not alone in this. I know you probably didn't love me as much as I love you,  but you did love me and probably still do. That's fine, Ralph. I am working hard to move on and make a life here, but I can't do that because your presence (cyber and other wise) are like a ghost and I need to do this because I am trying to be happy. I had a date not too long ago and I was giddy and excited, but before I went to bed that night I thought of you and I cried. Without even trying, you managed to make it hard for me to let you go from 200 miles away.

I know right now I can't talk to you and I am imagining that your response to this letter will infuriate me so please spare me for now. I wish you every happiness because I do love and miss you and want nothing but God's blessings in your life even if they don't include me.

Be well, Ralph.

Love,
Lainie

I Think I'm Gonna Like It Here

The other night Izzy and I hung out for the second time and we had a blast. We met once for coffee after she stalked me (no joke, she totally found this blog and everything and I still hadn't laid eyes on her) and had a great time and having decided that there was no need for a restraining order I decided to give it another go.

We decided to go a little heavier than coffee and have drinks. There are not many classy places here in the Haute so we ended up at a supper club. I have said it before and I will say it again, you have to be either under the age of 22 or over the age of 50 to find some thing you like in this town.  Izzy was a little worried because it was pretty much next door to the Travelodge where passers-by  have been getting robbed. I would have to channel Napoleon Dynamite, but I was secure in my nun chuck skills and felt I could protect us because come hell or high water, I was gonna have a nice drink in this town.  When we walked in, we were greeted and seated in the bar area at an out of the way table which kind of made me think that maybe these people already know I am a hot mess and decided to hide the likes of me from their illustrious 50-something crowd. Whether they knew or or not, I am sure they were happy I was in the corner and are probably calling their restaurant brethren to warn them of the new girl in town...

We were that table that couldn't stop talking to each other long enough to order but did manage to pause long enough to get drinks (Izzy got red wine and  I had a martini). The food was great (portabello fries! lobster mac and cheese!) and it definitely exceeded my expectations of any restaurant in this town. In addition to being surprised by the food and the atmosphere, we had a super cool waiter. His name was Jeff and I asked if it was spelled with a G (you know, like boss Geoff) and he gave us a look and said something unsatisfactory about spelling it with a G. (Sorry boss Geoff.) From that moment on, we kept calling him G-off and giving him crap (in a fun way) about the most random things including the time he pointed out the sauces he placed on our table and felt the need to point out the carrots and celery (who does that?). We had fun with him as I realized my martini was a little strong and I desperately needed our food to come so I didn't embarrass myself.

Despite the alcohol sucker punching me, we did manage to have good conversation.  Izzy was telling me of the last time she was there with her husband and they were sitting in an awkward place facing the bartender and she was trying to remember if his name was Isaac or something else and I was telling her about my crazy holiday in New York with my family (Side note: sometime during this conversation the bartender walked over to the wine cooler near our table and Izzy whispered "Hey Isaac" to be funny, but he had supersonic hearing and was all "Hey! I didn't see you there!" and struck up a mini conversation with us before heading back to the bar. This resulted in a fit of silent giggles that resulted in tears and possible snorting. Yep, we are some classy ladies...). We both talked about how weird it is to call Terre Haute home (even though she moved here three years ago) and the difference in the people that have lived here all their lives and the people that have moved here.  There is also a distinction between the people that have left and come back, they have just enough Hautian in them to call this place home and mean it, but they lack a lot of the ignorance. By the time we started talking about the smell "it smells all over this town!" says Izzy, waiter Jeff walked up and we were (slightly) embarrassed. It was then that he told us he was from the big TH and me being 3/4 through my martini says "Really? You don't seem like it!" After chuckling he explained that he did move away for a few years during college and had been back for a few years now. That explained a lot and while he was talking I was thinking that he was kind of cute both in a teddy bear/cabbage patch kid way, but also in a buy me a cup of coffee kind of way. We asked him what there was to do in this town for people our age, found out he lived in my neighborhood, and we asked about the places to go for karaoke and but wasn't sure of all of them and he left us to look after his other tables. Izzy gave me a look that suggested that she knew what I was up to (apparently, I was a bit giddy) and was thinking that he might not mind a little brown sugar. I told her she was wrong and we went on with our conversation and our eating/drinking. About five minutes later, Jeff walks back with a smile on his face ready to tell us all about the karaoke in the area. He looked it up! I can't believe that! Izzy and I both noticed that he looked at me the whole time.

I should mention that sometime during our time in the restaurant it came up that Jeff was born and raised Catholic but had not been to church much as an adult. Being a convert to the faith, I feel like a good enough evangelist and am all about bringing people back to the church...at least I thought so. Izzy has me beat. I am sure that if she had the time and the money she would start a "No Catholics Left Behind" campaign and before I knew it, we were good cop/bad cop-ing this guy into coming back to church. We weren't all fire and brimstone about it, we were just letting him know that two fun girls such as ourselves like to get our Jesus on so it can't be all that bad and there are some cool things happening at church if he wants to check them out. So he might have been looking at me because he was afraid that Izzy would have him all signed up to lector on Sunday. Either way it goes, I was happy to have a little attention (either Ted is not that into me or he is super shy and I have read that book too many times that I am not banking on shy) and flirt a little. At the end of the night he did walk us to the parking lot and we said that we'd be back. I should also mention that he gave us his email address so we could tell him about all of the Catholic things coming up (I decided that I should hold onto that) so maybe another Catholic won't be left behind after all...

Before I went to bed that night, I realize that I am finding my footing here. I am making friends, I like (most of) the people I work with I have flirted with two guys that were totally worthy of being flirted with. I am doing OK and I do think I'm gonna like it here...eventually.

Home Is Where the Bed Is

I left the Haute for the holidays.

I was gone just over two weeks and I realize how much I could get back into the grove of city living and how much Terre Haute has effected my worldview(or at least my cityview).

I arrived on a Saturday night and from that moment on I got to work on seeing friend I missed dearly. Over the course of four days I went to the theatre (birthday present!), White Chocolate Grill, The rail (10 cent wings!), The Holiday Club (birthday karaoke!), Bennegan's (birthday burger!), and ice skating (more birthday!). I wasn't at all sick of my birthday by then...especially since it was still two days away (I know, I am super spoiled). I was excited to spend Christmastime in my city as I think it is the most magical place in December. I love riding the city train (something about the peppermint scented pee...) and downtown is the most lit it has been all year!

It was comforting to know how much I didn't lose touch since I have been away and I felt I was living in an idyllic city world (you know, the stuff movies are made of!) and I started to really miss it and was wondering what life would be like if I had stayed.

Then came Christmas weekend.

My family and I went to New York City for the Christmas holiday because my super cool baby sis works for the news and she had to work and we missed her more than ever. As much as I was excited that we all got to be together for Christmas, I was losing my mind because we all got to be together for Christmas and by the time we unwrapped the last present, I was wondering how much it would cost to leave a day and a half earlier than intended (too much). Just do the math : (5 days + 4 nights x 8 people) / 1 Brooklyn apartment = 1 irritated Lainie that is ready to go home. Too bad our flight was delayed three hours which didn't help matters any. Long story short, I was done. I stuck a fork in myself to confirm it and everything. I was ready to home and I would have been OK except  "home" was right where I left it: in Terre Haute, IN. By the time we landed at 2am on December28th, I felt a little lost.

The rest of the time I was in my hometown, I was a wreck. I met up with friends and rang in the new year and stayed with friends in spaces that weren't my own. For the first time in my life I didn't feel like the city was mine. I was just visiting and it was possible I was overstaying my welcome. The city still felt like home, but I no longer lived there. It seemed like the moment I left, life kept going (the nerve!).  Like me, things have changed, things stayed the same.  I seemed to have developed a greater distaste for traffic and I seemed to forget how to read the parking signs I grew up reading. No worries, it took me $220 and a trip to the city impound to jog my memory . As I was sitting in the impound with out-of-towners that didn't know any better, I realized that I was just like them.

I, Lainie Mac, have become an out-of-towner. I have somehow changed from living my city life to adjusting to city life even if only for two weeks. On my drive back to the Haute I reminded myself that adjusting is exhausting and if I have to adjust to a new place, I want my bed to be there 'cause I love me a good nap! I also found myself wondering if I would ever truly call Terre Haute home and not just the place I live. Would I ever get giddy about annual traditions or embrace the magic their downtown has to offer. While I was home, my friend Sunny mentioned that she really wants to come see me and excited as I would be to see her, I honestly can't imagine what I would possibly show her. I already know what I would show the twenty or so people I have promised to bring to my hometown, but here? What will we do when she is here? That is something that I wil have to find out. Something to which I may have to be open. I know there are treasures here hiding under the smell that greets you when you first drive into town, but treasures nonetheless. I love home and I miss home everyday, but I have to get used to the fact that I visit home now and people are going to start visiting me here.

So, my hometown may have my heart now and forever, but Terre Haute is currently where the queen size Sealy Arrington sits with a super comfy memory foam mattress pad. That is where I was driving on Sunday afternoon and I promised myself to keep it that way for at least two years. Home. Where the bed is.

"Uncle!"

I have tempted the gods.

They are proving themselves worthy competitors, but I have said it before: I like a challenge and I don't shy away from conflict.

I was out of the "Haute"during the holiday season, but before I could head out and experience my kind of civilization I had a few errands and fill up my tank. Recently (and out of no where), my gas gauge stopped working and I was estimating how long I had until my need for a fill up was critical. I was a little more than quarter of a mile away from the station and my car stopped. Apparently I was at Threat Level Midnight with no Michael Scarn to save me and to add insult to injury, it was super cold outside and I was wearing flip flops and a cardigan. Not quite prepared to hoof it just then, I called Sassy to tell her of my plight not that I expected her to do anything, I was just stalling.  Because this is the second time this has happened since I have lived here, she tells me that I should keep gas in my gas can.  I actually used to keep gas in the gas can for a while a few years back as running out of gas is something of a hobby for me-- I don't like to stop and it interrupts my flow. There was one time when I was in the car with my mom and she kept telling me it smelled like gas and it might be coming from the trunk. I was like "Well yea, I have gas back there..." After her freak out, I learned that this was not exactly the best idea as being "the bomb" would take on a whole new meaning if I got in an accident. Knowing this, I have not carried gas in my car since and figured others knew better. When Sassy told me this, I laughed out loud because I was sure she was joking. She wasn't. She knew the dangers, but she knows me better and I don't change my ways too often.

We got off the phone and I was ready to walk but not before I realized that I was pulled over on a major road with my hazards on and no one stopped! No one even slowed down! A good eight minutes had passed since I first ran out of gas and no one in this town even checked on me! I had to laugh out loud because I realized that even though a $10 parking ticket won't stop me, a broken gas gauge and being trapped on the side of the road might have a better chance. Have the hautian vengeance gods made me invisible to the drivers that would want to stop and help? These were the thoughts in my mind as I decided to brave the cold, yank my gas can out of the trunk and head to the gas station in flip flops and with no sidewalk in sight.

About halfway there, I started cutting through the parking lots and a blue pickup truck pulled into a space right in front of me. A man got out and told me he saw me walking and offered me a ride to the gas station,  Coming from a big city, I hardly ever accept rides from strangers, but I was cold so I accepted this one and we made our way to gas station. There were two young boys in the back seat, a boy no older than 19 was driving and the man (probably 35 or so) were my companions for the journey. While I was debating about whether or not to text my sister their description in case I go missing the man says in a very authoritative voice "Wade, you have to make a right here then go straight." To which Wade answers the authority with some rebellion: "I kno-ow, Uncle! Dang!" Uncle. They all referred to him that way and I tried to introduce myself to find out his real name. I was all "My name is Lainie, thanks so much for your help," and extended my hand. He was like "Nice to meet you, Lainie, we are happy to help you." Then...nothing. Did this guy honestly expect me to call him Uncle? We get to the gas station, fill my gas can and head back to my car. I make conversation with Uncle and the boys and they seemed nice enough but it was hard not to smile when words like "whee-doggie" passed their lips. In a last ditch effort to avoid calling him "Uncle," I ask the boys (Isaiah and Elijah) if they were named after the prophets (yes), Wade's mom liked the name and Uncle? "Well, I am these boys' uncle and that's what they call me." Really? Uncle it is.

Uncle put the gas in my car (he also suggested that I keep gas in my trunk...really?), made sure that my car would start and followed me to the gas station to make sure I got there OK. All this and he refused to take money from me. All he accepted was my gratitude and he went on his way. It is not like me to rely on the kindness of strangers but I am glad I was open to their help and I gave myself the opportunity to meet a new kind of Hautian. I don't want to call these people "hick" although they have described themselves as such. The fact they were open to helping, welcoming in just about everyday and didn't ignore the fact we were different and that I was different (Uncle definitely pointed out that it was different that a black girl like me likes country music) I think they can be considered "neo-hick." A classier hick, but still rough around the edges that they won't lose any street cred.

I still didn't address him as such, but I was incredibly grateful for the help of Uncle and his nephews and would probably have pneumonia without it and as inconvenient as it was, this experience made me smile. Even with the running out of gas, no one stopping and only having flip flop on my feet, I still never said "Uncle!"