Nothing Like A Slice of Nostalgia Pie

We were reminiscing like we do, Rosita and I, talking about old friends and good times. We perused through the topics one by one. Those things all tied back in some sort of way to one room.


Room 501…just up the stairs

Drama.

It was the room where we focused on theater arts instead of social drama. It was the only class where you left your high school status at the door. No one was the outcast…everyone was the star. It was a hodgepodge of students from nearly every group of the school, like a sociology experiment. There was a dose of football players, a hit of stoners, a few metal heads, a couple of honor rollers, some preppies, a share of trekkies, etc, etc. Some of us were there for a fairly easy grade but most were there because we were drawn to the stage whether we admitted it or not. More often than not, the drama class itself came secondary to the laughter and the friends we made there.

As I said, we reminisced. We laughed like we do about times we had…hanging out in the drama “closet” which was a small office that had been turned into a storage room for costumes and props. If those costumes could talk, they’d have some pretty R-rated tales to tell you. I used to think those tales belonged solely to my husband and I but I discovered that we weren’t the only ones making out on the prop sofa from time to time. Good thing I constantly sprayed that thing with Lysol when I cleaned up in there. Who knows what kind of high school cooties that thing would have been harboring? Does Lysol kill gonorrherpesyphilydia?

We reminisced about the star football player that ended up in our class…no doubt for an easy pass suggested by the coach. My friend declared him gorgeous. I agreed. He was pretty good looking. She said she ran into him recently. She referred to him as “man meat”. I was nearly in tears laughing. Then, she told me something that surprised me…flattered me. Mr. High School Stereo-type not only asked about me but proceeded to tell her how sexy he thought I was. Of course, he didn’t remember my name…he asked her about “that other white girl” as if her and I were the only white girls in the class.

She and I laughed because apparently we were the only white girls that mattered. Yeah, we were pretty awesome.

We reminisced about how people used to be and how many change so much after high school. She started telling me about the ten year reunion that I skipped and about one person in particular showing up with body guards not because she was attending a New Orleans event but because apparently that shit is required when you are on the BET show, 106 & Park. It’s sort of a big deal…I suppose even though I had to google it because I had no idea what or who Rosita was talking about.

And yes, it required digging out a yearbook because I didn’t recognize the woman at all. All I can say is I will spare all of you the year book photo (I’m sure Raquel…or Rocsi…or whatever she is going by now days will appreciate it as well) and I'll just say good for her. Her stylists are doing an amazing job.

Rosita told a tale of phoniness, not necessarily of our ugly duckling classmate (and I use that description out of awe…not insult). People are flat out fake when it comes to money, power, and celebrities and our average old school chums are no different. But it’s just silly when people trip over themselves when a star is near…especially something so low on the totem pole as a reality star.

Let’s face it. Reality television is taking over the televisions sets (and intelligence) of this country and these so-called “stars” are a dime a dozen. Pretty soon, there will be a reality show about a reality show. Can you imagine? Camera crews following camera crews…boom mics everywhere.

I can’t say from experience that I’d never be star struck. Of course, I’ve never ran into George Clooney or Brad Pitt. I can assume though if I ever ran into a Snooki, I’d head in the other direction.

So it seems, the tale of the high school ugly duckling (aka just your average teenage girl minus the stylist a la’ She’s All That movie montage) turned reality star hottie, I’m sure, is becoming an epidemic among high school reunions nationwide.

Even this topic about a girl not even in our drama class went back to Room 501. Rosita laughed as I gave my reasons for skipping the reunion…about how I have no interest in seeing people that I had no interest of seeing then. Maybe that makes me snotty. Maybe it does. I explained that there were roughly a dozen or so people I’d be interesting in catching up with and they were in that room at one time or another. One of which has started her own blog. Most people that mattered at all to me, I have regained some form of contact with all thanks to Facebook. Of course, there are some I could have done without.

Room 501 was like a teenage Las Vegas in a sense that what was said there, stayed there. The teacher was amazing.

She was the sort of adult that every teenager needs in their life. You were able to confide in her and she would give you a mature, sometimes motherly opinion without being judgmental. Each tidbit of advice was given with a side of understanding that made you feel confident in yourself that you were capable of making the right decision on your own. She was the only adult that ever made me feel that way other than my older cousin who was 30ish at the time.

                              

That room was a haven…a sanctuary. I had never felt so safe, accepted, or understood. I felt free to be myself…even though I had no idea exactly who I was just yet. Room 501 assisted me in finding the Asha that I’ve become.

So, I never shagged the star football player or made it anywhere other than home video but I have found the adult version of Room 501 right here in my simple, little life. You know what? That makes me happy and no matter how much Rosita and I reminisce there isn’t a damn thing I’d change.

Approved by the Bank of Paw-Paw

Looks like my mother-in-law found a new bank...the bank of Paw-Paw.  I've borrowed from that establishment before.  They have really low interest rates.  ;)

When I spoke to my husband's grandfather about a month ago, he told me that a few months prior he had loaned money to the mother-in-law for clothes for my husband's grandmother's funeral.  He was very adamant that everyone should show up looking nice.  He informed me that he still had not been repaid months later.

My husband said when he talked to his grandfather today, his grandfather told him that he loaned my mother-in-law $500 (hmmmmm...she only asked us for $300).  He also told my husband that he had her sign a promissory note stating she would pay him $100 a month until it was paid off and if she neglected to do so she would be removed from the will.

LMAO!

Honestly, I'm glad she found someone (else) to loan her the money.  She should be moving into her new place soon which she is really excited about.  I'm happy for her.

Sharks & Section 8

Sharks can smell the blood in the water...and mother-in-laws can smell money on its way to your checking account or at least my mother-in-law can.

Financially, we have been making it by the skin of our teeth basically treading water to prevent from drowning.  When my husband was offered a job that would send him to Afghanistan he took it for two reasons:  1.) the obvious reason, a substantial payroll increase and 2.) he'd be working directly under a three-star general and he felt that having him on his future resume would look pretty.

Now, mind you, he left for Alabama over the weekend for about a month of training before heading to the Middle Mess, errr, I mean, East.  Obviously, we have not receive any more cash flow as of yet.  However, a couple of days ago I get a phone call from the mother-in-law asking for $300 to pay her deposit on a new apartment.  WHA-AAAT!?!?!?

Let me back track...

My mother-in-law is a recovering addict.  She is bi-polar and also suffers with back trouble.  She's in her early 50s and has never really been 100% self sufficient.  She holds a part time job but receives a substantial amount of government assistance.  Lucky for her (and for my husband growing up), the glue of the family was my husband's maternal grandmother.  She would bend over backwards to help her daughter time and time again much to the disapproval of my husband's grandfather.  In his defense, I can't blame him for being leery to help her considering after my husband's father walked out when my husband was still very young the grandfather allowed the mother-in-law and my husband to stay in their home and she thanked them by committing credit card fraud and racking up a little over $10,000 in bills which over time they paid off.  So, yeah, I can see why he would want to keep his distance.

In April of this year, the grandmother passed away.  The mother-in-law, while doing much better, lacks many of the life skills that comes with being on one's own that most people experience and retain in their early 20s and 30s.  Now in her early 50s, she's always been bailed out of her problems (I'm not talking jail, BTW) and has never had to actually do it all on her own.

Anyway back to the previously scheduled program...

She apparently applied for Section 8 which from my understanding is a government program that assists with rent based on your income.   The applicant pays a percent and the government pays a percent and by government I mean taxpayers.

When she called me it was a few days after my husband left.  She asked if he had told me about her moving which he hadn't.  She said her aunt was giving her money to pay for movers and that Section 8 would be assisting her with rent but she hadn't received the voucher yet.  She said she had to come up with her portion of the deposit which was $300.  Then she told me she needed it by the 1st of September.  She called me on the 30th of August, by the way.  I explained to her I didn't have it at this point in time to give to her.  Although she never said outright that she spoke to my husband about giving her the money, she has this manipulative way of beating around the bush about things which is exactly what she did.  I told her I needed to talk to my husband before I could send her anything.

Later that day, I spoke to my husband and he had no clue what I was talking about.  He didn't even know his mom was moving.  I asked him if he wanted me to give her the money.  I explained that I use the word "give" because even if I say "loan" I know we will never see those C-notes ever again.  He is adamant about not giving her anything which means I'll be stuck in the middle of their conflict.  Lucky freaking me!!  All I can say is at least she's clean now so her rants will be a bit more coherent.  Regardless, this will be all my fault.  I am sure of that.  *sigh*