Waiting to exhale, Cheyenne style

There was a time when people were unclear about the definition of irony. Is jumbo shrimp ironic or just an oxymoron? Thankfully, in 1996, Alanis Morissette cleared up all the confusion when she released her single, Ironic. Now when you need to know if you are staring down the face of irony, just ask yourself is it like rain on your wedding day or a free ride when you've already paid? Maybe it's that good advice that you just didn't take. Or perhaps it's like 10,000 forks when all you need is a knife, in which case I say start poking the idiot who gave you all the forks until he brings you a knife, but that is just me.

And then there are the times when you don't even need to ask because you know not only are you staring irony right in the face but irony is laughing at you while raining on you, stealing your money, and forking you all at once.

And to make things worse, you're in Wyoming.

I was born and raised in Butte, Montana. At 18 I made my way to the University of North Texas in Denton, Texas, where my brother was also attending college. About twice a year, usually around Christmas and Spring Break, I visited my parents in Butte. The choice to drive or fly was generally made by the health of my bank account.

In spring of 1996 (ironically the same year as Ironic hit the charts), I was broke, which meant one thing -- Road Trip! This was no ordinary road trip though it was my first girls only road trip. My roommate and best friend became my co-pilot, navigator, and karaoke partner. After growing up in Texas, she was looking forward to a week of snow and mountains, not to mention one of the biggest St. Patrick's Day celebrations and the only St. Urho Day celebration in the country.

It was a drive that I knew well, although I had only made it a few times without my parents. My 1994 Chevy Cavalier would take us through five states in 26 hours. We stocked up on beef jerky, Mountain Dew, and good music. We made it through Texas in a mere seven hours and New Mexico in two more. Three more hours brought us to Denver and I knew we were half way home. This would have been a logical place to stop, but with three states and four Mountain Dews behind us and the Sister Act II soundtrack blaring on the stereo we made a decision that only two twenty year olds living on beef jerky would make. We decided to drive straight through.

Image via Wikipedia

For those of you who have never driven straight up I25 through the middle of Wyoming, you aren't missing much. It's about a five hour drive, but it feels like 14. It's hilly, it's windy, and if you don't hit a deer with the front of your car it's pretty likely that one will go ahead and jump right into the side of your car. I'm not sure why. Maybe they are hoping you will open the door, pick them up, and drive them out of Wyoming.

Now before all the Wyomingites start hating on me, let me say a couple other things about Wyoming. I have quite a lot of relatives that live there and every time I have ever visited I have met some of the nicest people, which does make it worth the trip. There are also some beautiful parts of Wyoming. Straight up 25 just doesn't happen to be one of them. So when Kim suggested we drive through it in the middle of the night, I popped open another Mountain Dew, put on Bon Jovi's greatest hits, and settled in for another 12 hour drive.

About mid-way through the Cowboy State (approximately 1 a.m.) we decided we should probably stop and stretch our legs. One thing you should know about Wyoming is that cities do not come frequently and when they do finally appear, stores are not open 24 hours. Not even gas stations. Luckily we found a rest area that was open and well lit (another perk in WY is the well maintained rest stops).

We headed in to wash our faces and brush our teeth. Ladies, I want you to think back with me for a minute to the mid nineties when you did not leave home without your Noxema. Well lucky for us, we did not. Unfortunately, we did leave home without towels. And Wyoming apparently was ahead of the curve with green movement because there were no paper towels, only hand dryers, a fact we failed to notice until our faces were dripping wet (and smelling like Noxema). Wyoming in March, is, how should I put this, freezing and we had left Texas that morning where it was 85 degrees so both of us were wearing sweatshirts over our t shirts. We decided with the lack of a better option, these would make good towels.

As we giggled like little girls we saw an actual little girl come out of one of the stalls with a somewhat frightened look on her face. Not thinking much of it, we gathered our stuff and walked out as one of us (I honestly don't remember which one) said, "I bet she thinks we're drunk."

Five minutes later we were back on the highway headed north. I was driving about 10 MPH under the speed limit on the lookout for suicidal deer. Ten minutes later I saw red and blue lights behind me. Confident he couldn't be after me, I kept driving. In fact, I was pretty sure he must be after the car that had been tailing me for the last five minutes and had just raced past me. As the lights got closer Kim finally said, "Kristen, I think you need to pull over."

Let me replay the conversation for you. The officer's words are in blue because, you know, he's a police officer and mine are in green because, you know, I was clueless.

"Ma'mm. Do you know why I pulled you over?"
"No sir. I really don't."

"I'm going to need to look at your license and insurance."
"Yes sir."

"Have you been drinking this evening?"
"I'm sorry, what?"

Hello irony! This is where Kim burst out laughing, which I seriously doubt helped our case much. I explained to the officer that not only had we not been drinking that night, but neither Kim nor I had ever had a drink. I told him that we had been driving since about 5 a.m. and explained what had happened at the rest stop. As I got to the end of the story (which knowing me was about 10 minutes long) I could see him start to smile under what I'm sure was one of the largest cowboy hats I have ever seen. My story matched up with the call that he received from the parents at the rest stop. I started to breath a sigh of relief.

"I'm going to need you to take a breathalizer test."
"I'm sorry?"

"Although I don't believe you have been drinking, state law requires to give a breathalizer test to anyone who we receive a tip for suspicion of drunk driving. Please step out of the car."
More hysterical laughter from my passenger.

As I stood on the side of I25 holding the breathilizer machine up to my mouth I thought about the irony of the situation. Here I was a white 20 year old college student who had never taken a drink of alcohol who was reported for drunk driving by a 10 year old. I didn't know whether to be offended by the whole situation or proud that the family cared enough about their safety and the safety of others to call the police and that the state cared enough about everyone's safety to test all suspected drunk drivers. Now that I have my own family I think I fall more on the side of proud.

I blew a 0.00. The officer let me keep the print out as a souvenir since I told him nobody would believe that I would get pulled over for drunk driving. I still have it in a box under my bed.

As you plan your Labor Day celebrations remember that many cities and states now have a no refusal detail in which police can get a warrant to draw blood to check the blood alcohol level from people who refuse a breath test. Me, I think it's much easier to just get a designated driver, even if you just plan to have a couple drinks or if you forget to bring a towel -- especially in Wyoming.

Waiting for true love's first kiss

Like most little girls who grew up reading fairy tales and watching Disney movies, I had a lot of preconceived ideas about what my first kiss would be like. Although I hadn't quite worked out all of the logistics I felt somewhat confident that it would take place in a picturesque setting, with my own theme song playing softly in the background, and small woodland creatures nearby cheering me on or perhaps making some kind of chocolaty snack that my boyfriend and I could share after that magical moment when our spirits and our lips combined to be one.

While this may seem far fetched, keep in mind that I grew up in Montana, so the serene setting and woodland creatures actually shouldn't have been that hard to come by. But alas, the waiting room for my first kiss was not filled with sunshine and butterflies, but instead with vampires and zombies.

Let me set the scene. It was the week before Halloween, and as was tradition, our church was hosting its annual Halloween party. Two important notes: this was 15 years ago, before Halloween was replaced with "Fall Family Festivals" and I didn't live in the Bible Belt where it would be completely unthinkable to hold a celebration of Halloween in a church. Our church held a Halloween party, complete with a haunted house, and our youth group was in charge of staging and executing the event.

But this would be no ordinary Halloween party. This was a night where destiny was shining down on me. My boyfriend, whom I had been dating for three weeks, would be at the party and I was sure that this would be the night where I would move from being 15 and never been kissed to 15 and breathless, wobbly knees, hold me close or I may fall to the ground and need to be resuscitated by yet another kiss. Now, as adults, three weeks may not seem like a long time, but three weeks in the high school First Kiss Waiting Room is like six months in the real world - it's kind of like dog years vs. human years.

Other than a few games of spin the bottle at birthday parties, I had never actually been kissed. However, because of my duties in the haunted house, I was literally stuck in the attic most of the night. I don't know if you have ever worked in a haunted house, but these types of jobs are different then your average day job. As visitors entered the haunted house, my job was to scream at the top of my lungs and them lunge at them with my hands covered in "blood" (a mixture of Karo syrup and food coloring - much more realistic than ketchup for those of you keeping score).

Mid-way through the party, I went downstairs for a quick boyfriend check and what did I see? Another girl, we will call her Jessica Rabbit for the moment, was sitting on his knee. There she was in her size four stone washed jeans, flipping her long blond hair back over her shoulder and laughing at him like she thought he was funny. I was devastated. I was supposed to be pretending he was funny and flipping my hair around - or something - and while I'm busy scaring the begezzes out of people, Ms. Rabbit was moving in on my man!

Well, as you can imagine, I did what any intelligent, loving, Christian, girl would do in this situation; I had my best friend tip me off when little Ms. Rabbit was coming through the haunted house where somehow an entire bowl of fake blood was accidentally doused on that pretty blond hair of hers. Very reminiscent of the scene in Stephen King's Carrie only much more satisfying and well-deserved.

Unfortunately, this mishap caused her to have to leave the party early, putting my plans back on track.

As the party started to wind down, I knew I had to make my move. My boyfriend started walking out to the car with his friends and I walked out with him, my hands, hair and shirt all stained with red Karo syrup. I looked more like a trauma victim than a princess. And although there was a distinct lack of squirrels and bunnies there were plenty of power rangers, spider men, and Barbies with plastic masks who had gathered around. The little munchkins seemed to sense that something magical was about to happen and they wanted to be a part of it. That and all the candy had run out inside the party. In fact, I can't think of anything that could have made the night less romantic, except possibly if my head would have started spinning a' la The Exorcist. But at this point I was committed and nothing was going to stop me from leaving that sidewalk without a kiss.

I quickly reached up and gave him a hug and thanked him for coming. He started to pull away, but I kept my arms around his neck and the hug lingered. Our eyes locked and I knew this was it. He started moving in closer and our lips were so close that they were just about to touch. I stood up on my tip toes so that I could reach his lips. I noticed that he closed his eyes so I closed mine as well. I tilted my head just slightly and took a deep breath in. The air around us was chilly, so I could feel my breath as I breathed out slowly and my lips finally touched his.

The kiss lasted only a few seconds and then I felt his arms loosen. He said something about talking to me later, got in the car and drove away.

I looked up at the beautiful night sky above me determined to take in all the sights and sounds of the moment, took a deep breath, and began to cry.

It was awful!

It was sort of like when you get a piece of meat in your mouth and you have to keep chewing it and chewing it but you can't swallow it so eventually you have to just spit it out.

How could something I had waited my entire life for be so incredibly terrible? Was it me? Was I a horrible kisser? I mean, I really didn't have much practice, other than the pillow, my hand, and the inevitable truth or dare games. I had read a lot of Judy Blume books and even a few of my mom's Harlequin romance novels, which I was sure would have prepared me for this night. I wasn't expecting actual fireworks, I wasn't that naive, but I wasn't expecting the night to end in tears. Come on!

The night ended with me crying to my best friend and my dad taking us out for Happy Meals, which I still contend can fix almost anything. There is some kind of happy chemical in those french fries . . . I'm just saying.

My first boyfriend did not end up being my true love, although he did end up one of my closest friends in high school and college. It's funny how life works out that way.

I've had a lot of kisses along the way, some good and some not so good, but perhaps none quite as memorable as that first.

Are we there yet?

Image via Wikipedia

The older I get, the more acutely aware I seem to notice that life is a series of never ending waiting rooms. We are constantly shuffled from one waiting room to the next, be it literal or figurative. When we are young we can't wait for our next birthday or Christmas to arrive so that we can attack the presents like hyenas and devour the meals our mothers spent 12 hours cooking in a matter of minutes.

The school year is basically a nine-month waiting room for summer breaj, broken up with smaller waiting rooms for Christmas break and spring break. As we get older we can't wait to graduate high school and then college, after which we (along with our parents) can't wait for us to get our first real job and move into our first place. Sometimes we find ourselves in more than one waiting room at a time. Example: While waiting to graduate from college, many of us young women were also waiting for our MRS. degree. And no sooner do we swallow that first piece of wedding cake than are we shoved by our loved ones into yet another waiting room where people keep asking us (often inappropriately soon) when we will start making babies.

I could go on, but I'm sure by now all you are doing is waiting for me to get to the point.

Whether it is something as simple as waiting for your baby to roll over for the first time or something as complex as watching a loved one as he slowly passes from this world to the next, waiting rooms cannot be avoided. Before you start hitting the "comment" button and telling me that we need to enjoy today and not worry about tomorrow because worrying about tomorrow will only rob of us our joy today, please hear me out. I am not talking about dwelling on these issues. I am not talking about anxiety, although that can sometimes not be avoided, and I am not talking about spending so much time dwelling on the problems, or joys, of tomorrow that you do not focus on those happy times of today. But just as we all had to wait our turn in line at the drinking fountain as children, we must still often wait in line as adults. And in my experience, it isn't getting any easier.

Over the past two years I have experienced numerous health problems causing me to spend a good deal of time in hospitals, emergency rooms and doctor's offices, all of which come with - you guessed it - waiting rooms. My experience in these literal waiting rooms have taught me some nuggets of wisdom that I believe are relative to the figurative waiting rooms of life. Which lead me to the purpose of this blog.

This blog is designed to be a place to talk about those everyday waiting rooms; both the silly and the sad; the practical and the poignant. I think you will find that we will have a lot in common and I look forward to hearing about your experiences as well. After all, no one wants to sit in a waiting room alone, no matter how good the reading material.