"Oh, Hell Yes"

I don't know much but I do know that when your best friend asks you if you wanna go to Monster Jam after work, you say, "Oh, Hell Yes".
I got a text from Kate last Friday inviting me to Monster Jam at the Dunkin' Donuts Center in Providence. She was "workin' it" and was able to get in for free...and, apparently, bring a friend at no charge.
We walked in a few minutes late and I instantly lost my hearing. We bee-lined for the closest vendor and Kate treated me to yellow foam earplugs. Perhaps the best $2 ever spent.
I followed her to the turn style and she showed her fancy dancy all-access pass and the woman waved us through with eyes that said, "What the hell are you doing here?"
We inserted our earplugs and walked past a crying child in the hallway and through the curtains to the most ridiculous place I've been in quite some time...okay, maybe it hasn't been that long. I was at Jacques Cabaret just a few weeks ago. That's another story for another time.
Anyways, the Dunk floor is covered in dirt, beat-up cars being used as ramps and MONSTER TRUCKS! The audience was mainly dads and their sons, who were just finishing up school vacation. Nothing says "Back To School" quite like an emergency audiology appointment on Saturday afternoon.
Everyone was there - Grave Digger, Monster Mutt, Eradicator, Backdraft, Crushstation.
Don't think for one second that the name "Crushstation" was lost on me. This truck was styled like a lobster with the yellow bands around it's claws. Totally awesome!
Anyways, about half way through Kate and I looked at each other and decided we would leave a bit early but it wasn't until we saw a woman in her mid-forties(?) go to the concourse and return wearing a Monster Mutt mesh hat with floppy, furry brown ears that we acted on that decision.
Kate: "Wanna go?"
Me: "Oh, hell yes!"

Won't You Be My Neighbor?

When I was born, I lived on a relatively busy street in West Springfield, MA. It was just two houses away from the high school, which meant that irresponsible 16-year-olds were carelessly driving up and down the street in front of my house on a daily basis. The front yard was not exactly a safe place to be playing tea party with your stuffed animals and dolls.


I was an only child for quite some time so I quickly learned to entertain myself. After years of seeing me build forts in the backyard with folding lawn chairs or pushing my doll on my swing set, my parents decided it was necessary to move to a neighborhood with kids...and lots of them.
And, boy, did they ever deliver.
My parents built a house on Edgewood Road where kids my age were in abundance! This was the perfect place for "Tricia".
Soon after moving in, I found performance costars, back up singers, fellow "PTA moms", biker gang members, Olympic swimmers and divers and soldiers all disguised as my childhood friends.


We'd sled down Turmel's hill every winter. We'd have chocolate covered donuts every Sunday after church. We'd have a neighborhood Easter egg hunt every spring (even in the snow). We'd have pool parties and cookouts every summer. Halloween was quite a sight!
We'd put on plays (Wizard of Oz) on Nazzal's deck and recreate Troop Beverly Hills in Fiorentino's basement. We'd play "War" in the woods and play "Mom" on bikes in the driveway. "Gotta drop the kids off at soccer practice."
This neighborhood was like a family to me...even after my only child status was removed. Everyone just looked out for one another. It was a real community.
Mrs. Williams drove me home with two Freeze Pops after I fell off my bike and needed stitches in my knee. Mrs. Liebel would play the piano with the windows open every evening during dinner. Dr. Collins was my parents' first phone call when Mike or I weren't feeling well or got hurt. We always knew when Mr. Turmel was home from work as his brakes would squeak coming down the hill. You could hear the basketball dribbles coming from Ranstrom's driveway on a daily basis. You shared in the stress/laughter when a bat got into the Turmel's house.
The Ding Dong Cart would make a mint driving down our street...every day during the summer...just as we were sitting down to dinner. Kids from all houses would appear from thin air and run to the side of the road for a cool treat.
It was sad to leave such a great place but it was necessary. There wasn't an Edgewood University for us all to attend.
I went off to college and then my mother sold our house. Other families have also moved on from this great place where lots of my childhood memories still live on. When I'm in the area, I'll sometimes drive by and reminisce about those good times.
My neighbors today are nowhere near as great...although they do provide me with some amazing laughs and blog posts. For example, just this past Saturday this man was shoveling the grass. Not quite sure why. This is the same man that walked into my apartment when I first moved in asking for iced coffee. Good times...

Singles Awareness Day

Well, it's here again. That pesky holiday that reminds single ladies everywhere that they're, once again, single. The dreaded Valentine's Day...or, as I like to call it, "Singles Awareness Day".
Even if you're 100% secure in yourself and content with being single on February 13th, when that clock turns to 12:01am on the morning of February 14th, it's only natural to fall into a deep depression and eat your way through a large heart box of chocolates that your mother sent you.
Remember back in the day when Valentine's Day was fun? The few days prior would be spent crafting your own mailbox, which usually consisted of a paper bag, glitter and construction paper hearts. Everyone would bring sweet treats and cards into their elementary school classrooms and deliver small tokens of affection to their friends and classmates.
Maybe it was just me but, every year, I'd get home from school on February 14th, dump my bag-o-goodies out on my bed and try to decipher what the boys' handwriting meant. "He signed his name with a heart over the 'i'...that must mean he loves me."
I'm pretty sure that if I went through my "Special Box", full of childhood memories, pictures and school projects, I'd find some Valentine's Day cards signed by the crush of that particular school year. These names are being withheld for confidentiality reasons.
When does Valentine's Day take on a new meaning? Was it those damn high school years? I knew those rose sales and candy grams would totally backfire!
To all my friends and family, I hope you all have an amazing Valentine's Day and know that I'm thinking of you fondly.

Find A Penny, Pick It Up

Yes, I realize it's only Tuesday but each day, so far, this work week I've found a penny on the ground. The first thing I thought was, "Find a penny, pick it up, all day long you'll have good luck".
This prompted a few questions: Where did this saying come from? Why do I even know it? Why do people drop money on the ground and decide to leave it there? Am I the only one who would stop in the middle of the street with cars coming in both directions to pick up a coin...especially a mere copper coin?Perhaps it's because my employer pays me in peanuts but I always stop to pick up change that I find on the ground. Yep, that dirty money that's sitting in a puddle of mud? I'm the girl that digs in there and retrieves it.
I, by no means, would consider myself lucky but one time I found $60 in the parking garage at the mall so my eyes have been trained to look down...just in case it were to happen again. (It hasn't.)
So, back to this saying..."Find a penny, pick it up all day long you'll have good luck". Clearly, this is something my mother ingrained into my head as a young girl. Will I really have good luck if I take it off the street and throw it into my purse?
Is this like, "Step on a crack, break your mother's back"? As far as I know, me doing so has not resulted in my mother's physical health.
The only good luck I found this week because of my "lucky" pennies is that I (broke and) fixed the copier at work and (started and ultimately) won an email war with a customer. Is this the type of luck one can expect?
I'm looking for something great and unexpected. I'm looking for the luck that brings along a job promotion...or extra vacation time...or a free drink...or a great sale...or a refund check in the mailbox...
Some say that one can get rid of bad luck by dropping a penny on the ground. The bad luck will follow the coin and be acquired by the next person to pick it up.
I bet I picked up those coins. Just my luck.

Fuzzy Red Slippers

On the way home from work this week, I ran into Stop & Shop, which I lovingly refer to as "Stoppie". I just needed a few things to get me through the week - cottage cheese, Luna bars, Reese's Peanut Butter Cup Eggs. (What?)
I lucked out with a great parking space right out front. I grabbed my reusable shopping bag - go green! - and made my way for the door.
As I was about to cross the street, a psycho driving a mini-van peeled into the parking lot and, honest to God, came to a screeching halt in the fire lane right in front of the door. In a movie, this is when I would be kidnapped by men in ski masks and taken away never to be heard from again.
Luckily, it was just a lady wearing a winter coat, sweatpants and her fuzzy red slippers. She opened her car door so quickly and cut me off to run inside the store. She left her young children inside...probably with the keys still in the ignition.
As she nearly bowled me over to pass me, she mentioned that she had left her purse inside the store just a short time ago. I kinda hold back a few seconds. I don't want anyone to think that we're together.
She walks in approximately 20 feet in front of me so she's a reasonable distance away but I can still eavesdrop on everything that she's saying to the poor Stoppie employee assisting at the self-checkout line. She runs in the store, looks around like she's on a scavenger hunt and runs up to this kid. "Uh, I just got back from break. I haven't seen it. Go to the customer service desk," the kid says as he points to the other end of the store.
Keep in mind, this woman is wearing, essentially, her pajamas...at 5pm...out in public. AND, now, to top it all off, she's making a scene.
She shuffles to the other end of the store and, as she does so, I hear some random woman say, "That sucks!".
I was not about to wait around to see if she ever found her purse but my guess is someone else took it home that day. Also, my guess is that her children hijacked the mini-van and escaped from this crazy lady.
Nope, today was not her day.

Hide Your Belongings

I appreciate the Providence Place Mall parking lot for being just a short walk from work, for providing a roof so on snowy days I don't have to brush off my car and for being open 24 hours a day, seven days a week.
What I don't appreciate, however, is them leaving a note on my windshield if I have ANYTHING in plain sight inside. "Together we can make a difference! Lock your car. Take your keys. Hide your belongings." Really? Who doesn't take their keys?I am grateful that they're concerned about the potential of someone breaking into my car to steal my things but they are drawing more attention to the items inside by leaving this note.
See the pictures above.
As much as I'm concerned about someone stealing a yellow, plastic hangar or an empty water bottle or a "just came from the dentist" kit - toothbrush, toothpaste and floss - if my car was broken into, these things might cost me a whopping $20 to replace. Clearly, there's no value requirement for these notes to be put under windshields.
I can understand if I left out a wallet or a diamond ring or a baby...but a toothbrush? Really?

Pat

I just returned from the dentist. Good news: no cavities or any other issues...except that I'm an aggressive brusher. Bad news: the dental hygienist called me "Pat".
Attention: dental hygienists, bank tellers and retail clerks! If you see my name written down as "Patricia", if you're not sure of a nickname, just call me as it's written. That is my name, after all!
Over the years, I've been called Pat, Patty, Patsy (my favorite)...none of which I've actually adopted. "Hey, that's a good idea. I'm going to abandon 'Trish' and start going by 'Patsy'!"
The thing that gets me though about my recent office visit is that I've been going to this same dentist since I've developed teeth. The wrong-name culprit has seen me twice a year since I was, what?, two years old. She assisted in many of my cleanings and even during an oral surgery. My mother had also gone to this dental office for years and, while she was in the chair, I was in the waiting room rocking pigtails and reading Highlights...talking to this same lady.
She remembers that I currently live in Rhode Island and that I went to Nantucket for vacation last summer. Why does she remember random details about my life but doesn't even know my name?
I realize that this poor woman can't remember EVERYBODY that walks through those doors, but I think she should at least make a note in my file. It'll take just a few seconds to write in and then I won't give her the stink eye every six months.