Wednesday, 15 January 2014

How to age with grace: The Holly Gruszecki way.

In a hole in the ground there lived a hobbit. It was the best of times, it was the worst of times. Our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation. I am not a crook! I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream. Dream Police! I dreamed a dream in time gone by. Any dream will do. I'm just a dreammmmmmer....and it was only just a dream. 

....That started out as an epic introduction to a new post, you know using snippets of famous speeches and opening lines from books, but then it quickly divulged into the ravings of a lunatic. Also, who knew there were so many songs about dreams that I could think of that quickly...

Awkward intro behind us...It has been so painfully long since a post was made in the name of awkward stories that I bet you all thought I stopped having them! That was supremely wishful thinking on your part my friends. 

As I get older (I turn 23 next week) part of me keeps thinking that I will grow out of this "awkward stage." But I have recently come to realize that you can't realllllly consider something a stage if it's been happening since you were a wee babe. 20 solid years I've been the glorious awkward being you see in front of you now (You can't actually see me in front of you because you're reading this off of a computer screen and I can't be everywhere at once, that's just ridiculous...why would you even suggest something so ridiculous guys, grow up.) I've grown close to my awkward ways and to part from them would be sweet sorrow.  They've been my companions these 20 years. (EPPPIC PRIDE AND PREJUDICE REFERENCE BESIDE AN EPIC BILL SHAKES REFERENCE, HOW AM I SUCH A GENIUS?)

I've decided as my gift to you this birthday season that I want to give you a sampling of some of my finer awkward moments. No particular theme to this post...just good old fashioned stories in the raw. They range from "Aww isn't that sweet, look at the awkward girl that thinks she's people", to "Holly, who let you back in the house?" So get your hooded reading blanket ready folks, it's about to get awkward up in here.


Story 1:

Have you guys ever believed with all your heart that you know someone...Like really know them? And then you realize you actually have never met them, but you've been told about them and you've seen them around so you believe you know them? That's what this story is all about. 

When I was in grade 9 or 10 my dear friend Emily (Poor Emily...when your best friend is as awkward as hers is you're bound to burned in the crossfire at some point.) had taken the liberty of describing one of the new teachers at our high school to me. He was her social teacher at the time and as new teachers at our high school were few and far between he, of course, became the topic of much speculation. I hadn't had the luxury of having him as a teacher yet (don't worry my time would come the following 3 years) and I was excited about him. I thought he was smart, funny, handsome in the teacher way...basically the whole new teacher package. OR as became a running joke at our school later on, he was "220 pounds of twisted steel and sex appeal." (In hindsight my high school was maybe a little strange...but I loved our weird little cohort, so whatever.) But anyways, Emily thought he was a good teacher and I trusted her opinion...and then took it a step further and thought he was the greatest teacher ever in the world, ever. 

So my class had been invited to watch a final performance that one of the Drama classes was having on the stage. Obviously our teacher leapt at the idea, because 45 whole minutes of not having to listen to your french immersion class poorly conjugate verbs sounds like heaven to me. So we went down to the stage and piled in beside the other class that was already there in the audience. To my GREAT joy, the teacher of said other class was none other then new social teacher (I am reluctant to say his name in case he ever stumbles upon this blog and reads it and finds out how much of a huge creep I am.) To say I became overjoyed is an understatement. I was elbowing peers and pointing to him and being just an all around Luna Lovegood about it. We sat down for the performance on the floor of the stage and Mr. New teacher happened to be sitting in front of me. (Happened or strategically planned by me?) We watched the first tableau without incident. It wasn't until the second tableau, or as I like to refer to it "the horror of horrors" that my awkwardness uncontrollably spewed out of me like the stomach contents of someone who has just eaten their first solid food since getting a general anaesthetic.  This particular tableau we were watching was about Pirates, and as such, the drama students had fake swords as part of their props.  At one point at the end of their tableau the lights went down and when they came back up the pirates had taken centre stage and were pointing their fake swords at the people in the front row. It was funny, so everyone laughed and Mr. NewTeacher being the laugh riot that he was grabbed a girl seated next to him and shoved her forward shouting "Every man for himself" as he pretended to recoil in fear. 
UGHHHH I'm cringing inwardly as a type this... because the next thing I'm going to say is so horrifically embarrassing. 
So after he says this the class was in stitches and I leaned forward slowly and shouted at him "WAY TO SACRIFICE THE BEARERS OF FRUIT FIRST MR.NEWTEACHER...haha amirite Mr.NewTeacher?" As if I am expecting him to be like "Gnarly joke, Holly, you are my favourite of all the students I don't know, high-five!" Instead, no one laughed (except for a few of my friends who did it more-so of the "why do you do stuff like this" vein then the "WOW YOU ARE SO FUNNY!" vein). He slowly turned around to look at me, gazed at me in confusion and then chuckled uncomfortably before silently turning back around to face the stage.  At this point I face palmed SO hard, I still, to this day, have the imprint of my face on my hand. THE BEARERS OF FRUIT? THIS was to be my grand introduction? This was to be my fate? What kind of ninth grader thinks "oh, he made a mildly funny joke about sacrificing a girl, I should make a joke now too and I should whip out a really awkward, and slightly biblical, way of saying girl and then shout it at this man I don't know" Bearers of fruit...ugggh. So we all sat in relative silence while the rest of the tableaus were performed until the bell rang, at which point I ran out of the class and straight to the bus where I had to rehash the entirety of this horrific event to Emily. I remember her reaction vividly. She looked mildly sympathetic, but more...in awe. She said "Holly...you DON'T know him! Why would you say that to him, why would you say that to anyone? You can't pretend that you know all of the people I know just because I've told you about them! We've talked about this!" She's not wrong...I still do this. If you tell me about a person once I automatically pretend to be friends with them. It makes for some realllly awkward introductions farther on down the road.  But anyways...Don't fret too hard chums, the next year Mr. NewTeacher was my grade 10 social teacher and we got along famously. Just goes to show that you don't always need a cool opening line, you can just shout something weird at someone and they might like you anyway. (Please don't take this advice)


Story 2.

Our second story is relatively close to present day. I want to tell a story that happened recently to prove that I haven't lost my touch. As many of you are aware, I now have a big kid job as a Registered Nurse. I work on a pretty great unit at a gloriously fancy brand new hospital. It's great. But it's not free of awkward moments. I had kind of hoped that my professional life would be more or less normal...but that has proved to be a pipe dream so far. 

At the new hospital we have incredibly fancy new med rooms that are bookended by very fancy frosted plate-glass sliding doors. For those of you that don't work in a hospital, in order to get into the med room you have to scan you staff ID card before the doors slide open for you to go in. (Much like the door to the bridge in Star Trek...it even makes a similar sound, much to my delight). From the inside of the room you simply have to wave your hand in front of a sensor and the door will open for you to get out.  So I had scanned myself into the med room to get some something for one of my patients. Inside the room there were a couple of service workers restocking our IV supplies. I smiled at them and went about my business. I retrieved my patient's medication and started to walk towards the door to leave. I put my hand in front of the sensor expecting the door to automatically open. I should just mention here, that occasionally there is a lag between you waving your hand and the door opening. This was one of those occasions. About a second went by before the door started to slide open but at this point I was already confidently mid step because ALL DOORS SHOULD OPEN TO ME. What should have been an empty doorway was just  a suuuuuper heavy plate glass door mid open cycle. I walked so hard into that it shook, and you could hear a definite clunk as my face and every other part of me made contact with this solid mass. I cried out in agony. The service workers were up instantly to try to help me. One of them grabbed my arm and said "Oh my gosh are you okay, that looked terrible." I just nervously giggled and then said "oh yeah I'm fine, b...b...barely felt it" and then ran out of there as quick as I could trying to nurse my bruised ego.  I tried to shake off the embarrassment and was thankful that only 2 people had to witness it. Thinking that I could put that moment behind me, I went into my patient's room at the end of the hall a minute later and she looked at me sympathetically and said "Are you okay, I heard you walk into that door from here! Sounded like it really hurt" To which I said..."Ohh...haha yeah...well...you know what they say about those doors..." She just kind of politely nodded. And I died of shame. Then my patient in the room next door said something similar like "Wow did someone drop a tray of bowling balls or something..." before winking at me and saying "Just kidding I know it was obviously you that walked into a door" Just goes to show...that even people that have just met me are expecting great and awkward things out of me. It's nice to have a legacy I guess...


Story 3

My final story involves a broken down car. When I was living with my brother and sister-in-law I drove an old green ford explorer and was getting frequent flyer miles with my AMA card. I had them on speed dial at one point because of how frequently I needed to be towed, boosted, etc.  I remember one particular day I was driving home from school via a shortcut in Sundance (pro tip: this is actually only a shortcut if you already are in Sundance which I was not, so I'm not sure why I did this) when suddenly I noticed a family driving beside me frantically trying to get my attention. They were all banging on the windows and pointing and shouting and looking terrified. I finally made out the phrase "YOUR CAR IS ON FIRE" from one of the kids in the backseat. I couldn't see fire or smoke anywhere but I pulled over just to be safe. (At which point the family drove off...which kind of seems not okay now that I think about it...what if I had needed help?...dicks) Once I had pulled over on a side street in Sundance, I suddenly noticed thick black smoke billowing from under the hood. So I jumped out and opened the hood and immediately called my Grandfather who was always on call for car related disasters.  He said he would be right there and I stood there on the street patiently waiting. I realized about 5 minutes into my wait that I had to pee SUPREMELY badly. Like...cross your legs, hope no one mentions Niagara falls, emergency type of pee. And I wasn't close enough to any stores to walk there gracefully without wetting myself. My grandpa had just showed up and I told him about my predicament. He offered to lend me his van so I could drive somewhere to pee...but that idea seemed ludicrous to me so I told him I could hold it (I REALLY COULDN'T) After about another 5 minutes I made a decision. I had spotted a woman, maybe 60 or so years old, talking on her phone on the bench outside her house, watching all the broken down car shenanigans going on. She was my target. She was to be my salvation.  So I marched towards her and I heard her say worriedly to whoever was on the other end of the phone call "She's...she's walking towards me now...She's almost here, I have to go, bye" (Talk about your dramatics, lady) And she hung up.  She looked at me startled at first until I explained my predicament. Her confusion and apprehension slowly turned to motherly affection when she realized I was just a desperate 20 year old looking for a safe place to pee. She said "OH OF COURSE dear...please just go right in, it's the first door on the right" So I did what she had instructed and opened the front door of her house only to be greeted by her handsome 25 year old son wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. I looked shocked. He looked shocked. We both looked shocked together. I said..."UHHHHHH....." To which this total stranger wrapped in a towel replied "Sooooooooooo.....hooow was your day?" 

????????????????????????????? 

What? First of all, what a supremely welcoming stranger. Second of all, your second question wasn't "Who are you and why are you in my house" it was "How was your day?" Colour me confused! If that gentlemen ever reads this I want him to rethink his greetings to could be intruders in his home. So anyways, I responded with "Fine thanks, and yourself?" To which he responded "Not bad thanks" Then I said "I just need your bathroom" He pointed to it and said "Okay, well, see ya." Then he retreated downstairs and I ran to the bathroom (which was covered in blue pads which I later found out was because they had an incontinent dog...). I quickly left the house, thanked the kind (slash insane) lady who had now been joined by her recently now fully dressed son, and ran to my grandpa to tell him the story. (The lady and her son watched the car repairs from their front lawn for the next 20 or so minutes). It was one of the more absurd encounters of my life...Basically I'm telling you this story to demonstrate that sometimes awkwardness happens TO me and not because of me. 



Well, there you have it, another year older and another year more awkward. Thanks to the old friends who stuck by me through all of the awkward moments. Thanks to the new friends that didn't judge and ridicule me when they surely witnessed their first of many experiences of my awkwardness. And here's to the new friends that hopefully recognize to get out of the way when they see me coming because something dreadfully awkward is about to happen. After all...a stranger is just a friend you haven't accidentally groped, spilled beer on, or shouted strange things at.

Dream a little dream of me.

Xoxo, Gossip Girl 

Psych it's Holly......

Thursday, 21 February 2013

Admit it. You're Fall-ing in love with me.

Hello my sweet babies,

I like to start this blog like we are the oldest and dearest of friends...because in most cases this is probably incredibly accurate. I'm assuming that most of the people that read this blog are infact my oldest and dearest friends. Today I have a day off from the ole daily grind/rat race/squirrel cage/nine-to-five/treadmill (who would have thought I could think of so many fun ways to say "work"),  so I thought to myself, "self? Self I said, what better way to spend your day then telling your friends what you have to say?" I often speak to myself in verse. We're starting to veer away from the point...

Sadly, it has been many a month since I have updated this blog with my awkward misadventures.  And frankly that is shameful and sad. I can't imagine your lives without an injection of hilarity straight from my brain to yours.  It must be hard for you all to wake up in the morning and not have something to read that solidly reinforces your confidence that you are cooler than at least one other person in this world. Well, that day ends today. Today. TODAY. WE DINE. IN.HELL!

Today you will be told all about how my limbs often fail me. Now you might be thinking to yourself that most of my stories involve my flailing limbs (coincidentally when I was a youth I used to work at a summer camp and my friends created a band entitled "the flailing limbs"...shit my friends are funny) For some of you that might not know me or what I look like...you are probably envisioning Lanky Kong. I WISH THIS WERE TRUE. Everything that happens to me would be so much more fitting if it was instead, happening to an awkward wacky orange orangutan. Sadly, in reality I am an average girl. On the taller side of average, but my limbs are still fairly proportional to my body. How I manage to get into so many uncomfortable situations involving my limbs remains a mystery to me, but hopefully with the right doctor...I can one day be normal. NORMAL. I choose a normal life.

As I was saying. My limbs often fail me. In particular, my lower limbs. I have gotten into more awkward situations with my legs then Angelina Jolie did at the 2012 Academy Awards. BOOM!....So, today I have 3 stories to share with you. (Sidebar: while compiling a list of awkward times I've fallen, the list grew to well past 20...SMH) So. Grab your cup of tea and come along with me (verse again).

Story Time ONE)
In my second year of university I lived on campus in the east town home residences at Mount Royal University. I had my bike with me on campus in case I ever wanted to bike somewhere (incredibly rare).  A friend of mine lived across campus in The West Res, however, and I was bringing something over to her on this particularly lovely spring day.  I had decided to take a leisurely ride across campus (Note: Campus is incredibly small...not sure why I thought I needed to take the bike on such an *arduous journey*...literally a 45 second ride) to deliver whatever I had with me. I was wearing a pair of flip flops on this particular journey and was looking super cool on my hot red bike.  I was riding alongside a truck for the whole journey and noticed that it was full of super hot guys. Knowing that all good drivers follow the rules of the road, I knew that they would have to stop at the upcoming crosswalk to allow me to cross infront of them.  Trying to make a super cool impression, it was my intention to dismount from the bike in style and walk my bike across said crosswalk (as is the custom with bicycling). Now the particular dismount I had planned was that super cool "fling-your-foot-out-from-infront-of-you-over-the-bar-of-the-bike-while-the-bike-is-still-in-motion-and-impress-hot-guys" dismount, as opposed to that super lame "swing-your-leg-out-from-behind-you-once-the-bike-is-stopped-and-impress-no-one" dismount.  The crosswalk was within dismounting distance so I started to swing my right leg out infront of me and up over the bar. This is where it all goes wrong. Instead of clearing the bar, my flip flop got stuck on the bar and created a sort of trap for my foot. I couldn't stop, I couldn't dismount, all I could do was watch in horror as the momentum of swinging my leg over, and it abruptly stopping and getting caught, caused me to PLUMMET to the ground with the bike landing in a tangled heap on top of me.  Nothing graceful about this dismount. Instead of impressing these boys, I ended up writhing in pain on the ground covered in bike. Then all of the boys laughed at me and drove on. Truly scarring.  It was at this point in my life that I stopped trying to impress 19 year old boys...



Story Time TWO)
I was walking down a busy street a few years ago with my dear friend Maddie when story number two takes place.  We were chatting happily as 20 year old girls do, when I decided that it would be sooooo funny if I did that cute little leg kick thing where you use the leg closest to your friend to playfully kick them in the tucus.  You all know the kick I'm talking about...Before I continue, there are some important details of my 20 year old life that you need to know about in order to understand the rest of this story: I had (and still do have) a serious obsession with purses/bags.  At this point in my life, the bigger the bag the better. If I couldn't fit at least 4 books, a laptop, a small child, and a 12 foot subway sandwich in my purse then it was just not going to work out between us. The purse I was using on this particular day was no exception. It was definitely one of my bigger and longer bags. Now while I was trying to follow through with my cute little leg kick maneuver, my left leg somehow got horribly tangled in my purse strap.  For the split second before what happens next I tried DESPERATELY to extract my leg from the ever tightening death grip the strap was delivering.  Alas, breaking free from my corded prison would prove to be futile. Instead I would awkwardly (and rather painfully) smash my entire body onto the sidewalk of said busy street. This fall was particularly epic, in that it wasn't just a "fall over and stay on the ground" type of fall...but rather...a "fall over and then skid down the pavement for a while before coming to a stop" type of fall. Rather then help me up off the pavement and untangle my limbs from my death purse, my friend Maddie just collapsed to the ground in a fit of uncontrollable laughter. Really nice...REALLLLLLY NICE. I rolled over on the pavement, somehow managed to untangle myself and dragged my useless lower half over to the little grass hill to our right.  I laid there for awhile, cursing my newborn baby deer legs, and tried to catch my breath, all the while Maddie nearly passed out from laughing so hard. After awhile we got up and I limped my way over to the nearest Shoppers Drug Mart where I purchased some bandaids to heal my injuries...Nothing however, would be found to heal my injured pride.  


(picture me as the calf in the above picture...)

Story Time THREE)
Flashback 4 years in my life and you'll find yourself with me at Pioneer Ranch Camps in Rocky Mountain House, partaking in some seriously silly/excellent times.  It was the tradition of the girls camp I attended to have summer rodeos in one of the large arenas on site. It was also the tradition of said girls camp to have some members of camp staff preform as rodeo clowns for the rodeo.  This year I had volunteered to be a rodeo clown along with my friends Nikki and Robyn.  We had raided the camp skit box for attire fitting of rodeo clowns and decked our faces out in rodeo clown face paint. We looked incredibly convincing. Don't believe me? Here is proof:



So the time had come for our great rodeo clown entrance.  I wanted for my entrance to be epic and awesome. I had planned to dive through the middle posts of the fence of the arena and then somersault back up into the standing position. (This was an incredibly lofty goal...revisit the above picture and check out the distance between the rails to determine for yourself if this was a good idea)  But whatever, it was going to look SO GOOD.  So the rodeo commentators announced our arrival and I took off running toward the arena.  I took the leap, and dove with all of my heart through the fence. Unfortunately for me, I tried to assume somersault poition too soon. My lower limbs had still not cleared the fence and instead of gracefully emerging on the other side of the fence I bent in half and SMASHED my face insanely hard on the bottom rail of the fence.  Hilarious, I know.  I hung there for awhile thinking I was probably dead. I felt hot blood pouring out of my face and it felt like I had knocked out a couple of teeth (I hadn't...). I slithered out of the fence and did a somersault to try and salvage the glorious entrance I had planned. My friends Nikki and Robyn ran over to me and I looked up at them, I heard a couple of gasps from the crowd closest to me, and to try and prove that I was alright to the crowd I broke into terrifying maniacal laughter (this did not help considering what I looked like at this point). I asked my friend Robyn (who is a nurse) if it was bad, and she just kind of looked at my face and grimaced.  Someone brought over a mirror and tried to clean me up a bit, but by this point all of the camp had seen me with blood pouring down my face out of the gaping hole in my lip (and in complete whiteface clown makeup...blood really stands out). I had successfully accomplished nothing but becoming scary demon clown here to ruin your rodeo fun. In fact, on the caption of the above picture on facebook Robyn wrote, "hahahaha holly you were like the nightmare clown with blood dripping down your lips and off your chin". Sigh...my life is a diaster.

Moral of all these stories, is that I fall a lot. One day I'm sure it will come in handy. Like...picture this: I fall at the hospital while trying to empty a catheter bag and the person that helps me up is the handsome surgeon I will one day marry. OR....I slip in a puddle and fall down the stairs at a mall and sue the mall and they settle out of court for 500 million dollars. Both of these scenarios are entirely possible and highly probable....

Admit it....you're fall-ing in love with me.















Saturday, 25 August 2012

How To Never Become A Hockey Wife


Hello to all!

It has been many moons since I posted something to my blog and I have mixed feelings about this. Sadness, confusion, anxiousness, perhaps a bit of nausea, maybe even a little bloating….

Many new things are happening in my life! Well…mostly that’s a lie. But I have become a crazy cat lady during these summer months so…that’s new. Summer is almost over and school starts up again soon, the thought of which makes me want to burn something down (Seriously, it’s going to be like the 1814 Burning of Washington all over again...only instead of the White House, it’s going to be my university...). Also I have a constant, massive hankering to watch The West Wing all day, everyday, 50 days a week…so really I guess everything is mostly status quo.

At any rate, I have found the time to write a new post! My ears, dear readers, are itching in anticipation, but actually that’s probably just because I have legit really itchy ears lately...


Luckily, one thing that hasn't changed is the awkwardness that is my daily life. I think this is something we can all be thankful for.  I know I am. Deciding what to focus this post on was an adventure. The topic could be so many things as my life is a veritable safety deposit box of molten crazy, but I narrowed it down to factor in current events. Lucky you!!! So, in honor of the looming NHL lockout and to remind us of better hockey days, my stories have a common theme: Hockey! And me...and my awkwardness...so 3 common themes I guess. Story 1 is all about me spewing on a lady. Story number 2 is the story of awkward hand placement, and finally story 3 involves a phone, some dudes pants, and me.  All I can say is, prepare yourself.


Our first story takes us wayyyyy back in time to the days of my childhood. In the immortal words of Pitbull, “To understand the future, you have to go back in time.” So lets go there together shall we? I was around 7 or 8 years old, and my father, my two older brothers, and myself, were taking in a Flames game. My father had purchased me and the boy’s soda pop beverages for our thirst quenching needs so I was slurping happily away on my Saddledome Coca Cola.  It was at this moment that my brothers decided it would be a good idea to teach me the proper (not proper at all….) way to drink through a straw. The method was very detailed. If you sucked a little bit of pop through the straw and then put your finger on the other end of the straw you would form a kind of vacuum of poppy goodness. Then you could release your finger and drain the pop through the straw into the back of your throat. Drinking it this way also preserved the beverage for at least an hour longer then drinking it normally would have. To my 7-year-old mind, this new way was obviously the best way to drink pop. Looking back, I'm surprised my father allowed this to go on for at least a whole period...because A) It's actually kind of disgusting and B) it isn't a quiet way to drink a beverage...I applaud the patience he exhibited that day. Well-done dad, what a good guy. Anyways, for the next period or so I guzzled away at my drink.  Sometime, probably mid way through the 2nd period, I had sucked back some pop into the straw and had my finger covering the end. Only this time...it didn't go as planned. Instead of draining it into my throat, I lost my grip, the vacuum was reversed and pop exploded out the end of the straw......directly onto the back of the head of the lady sitting in front of me.  I still to this day don't understand how, seeing as is was just one straw full, but, this ladies head was DRIPPING with sticky cola beverage. 


Everyone in my row looked at me and froze. I slowly turned to look up at my father sitting beside me, who at this point had his head in his hands and was shaking it. The lady slowly turned around in her seat and stared at me. Her eyes opened very wide and she opened her mouth to say something. My 7-year-old self wanted to apologize and to explain to this stranger that this clearly wasn't my fault, and that really we should be blaming the 2 older boys who had taught me this flawed trick in the first place. But instead, before she could get a word out, I blurted out in what I'm sure was not an inside voice, "THE SUCK...it...it broke!!" (I realize that this does not make sense now...), followed by a very quick, and weak "I'm so sorry, and then I'm pretty sure I maybe started to whimper a bit (not a full out cry...but a red faced, blurry eyed, wiggly voice kind of whimper. Basically I was an emotional wreck). She seemed mildly amused but still annoyed and told me to be more careful (which I think was kind of a bitch move on her part...like honestly lady cut me some slack...I'm 7 and clearly distraught).  My father grabbed the drink from my hand and took my brothers' drinks away too because, well they were the knob heads who taught me the stupid trick in the first place. I felt like this was an appropriate punishment and sat quietly with my shame for the last period of the game (which we lost...by the way...not uncommon for the 1998 Calgary Flames team). It’s comforting somehow for me to know that my awkwardness started at such a young age…Now the best/my favourite part of this story is the fact that my father didn't buy us soft drinks at games again until I was probably 14...which I find hilarious. But honestly…that was probably a good call dad.

Story number 2 is all about how my life got flipped turned upside down, and I'd like to take a minute, just sit right there and I'll tell you how I became the prince of a town called Bel Aire (Consider yourself bel-aired) JK, I am not the fresh prince, I was not born in West Philadelphia, I am not Will Smith, though sometimes I wish I was.... (Everything the man touches turns to gold, even his kids are like little money making machines…can I get a “what what” for Big Willy Smith?)

…Awkward love letter to Will Smith behind us…Story number 2 is another story all about spilling drinks. I like to call it the “Holly is awkward and shouldn’t be let out in public” story.

Let me paint you the picture: Flames game circa 2010. Holly sits with a friend, potentially Becky, Becca, or Sarah****…the details are a little hazy at this point, as I have tried to block this event from my memory. Anyways, Holly stands to allow other hockey game patrons to pass in front of her to gain access to their seats. Holly rests her hand on the back of her chair to support herself while standing. Holly’s left hand starts to lose its place on the back of the seat. Holly’s left hand is slipping. Dear God it is slipping. Holly’s hand breaks contact with the back of her chair forcing Holly to awkwardly fall slightly backwards.  Holly gropes around searching for something hard to rest her hand on (That’s what she said). Holly makes contact with what should be the cement floor of the row behind her. ALAS, it is not floor. It is too liquid to be floor…it is beer. Holly’s hand is now fully submerged in some poor schmucks beer cup. Holly turns around, horrified. Owner of the beer looks up at her, also horrified. Both patrons look at each other horrified. Holly tries to remove her hand from said beer cup. Beer cup is mildly stuck on Holly’s hand. Holly tilts cup in another attempt to dislodge. Beer pours everywhere.  Holly’s hand comes free. People shout. Babies cry. Holly looks the latest victim of her awkwardness straight in the eye… Holly sighs sadly, knowing she must apologize to yet another person for her out of control body parts. The conversation that followed went like this: Holly: “Hey man, ugh I’m really sorry” Bro Guy: “Like, dude you totally just spilled all my beer everywhere” Holly: “Ya…I know, I see that. I’m so sorry” Bro Guy: “Like your hand was just all in there buddy” Holly: “Ya…. I know. I’m so so so sorry” Bro Guy: “It’s fine I guess” Holly: “Okay.”
Now for all of you that are worried that I didn’t buy this guy a replacement beer, DON’T WORRY. I did. I did buy him a replacement beer. But that exchange was equally as awkward and the guy was kind of a dick about it. I mean he acted like I had just put my hand in his beer or something….At any rate, I sat quietly for the remainder of the game contemplating my awkward life and plotting my strategy on how best to exact revenge against my awkwardness. This strategy is still in development…

****It has since been discovered since the writing of this post that I was accompanied to said game by my friends Sarah and Nikki. Thank you to Sarah and her memory forged from the finest of Mithril.

The last story I have to share is quite possibly the most retold/talked about story in my story telling arsenal. For good reason. It is the quintessential awkward Holly moment. This is what went down: I was at yet another Flames game with my dear friend Tori, probably 9 or so years after the initial flames incident (i.e. I was at least 16). The flames had just scored and I was busy texting someone to tell them this important update. The guy in front of me had re-assumed his sitting position, as one does post goal celebration, and he decided that the best way to sit was to lean forward. (*Pro tip: Don’t lean forward at hockey games)  This lean, at least a 30 degree angle lean forward, created a pant gape between his back/bum and his jeans, butt crack visible and all (Obviously this mans pants were far too large for him, so he really has no one to blame but himself for what happens next). As I was completing this vitally important text message I started to lose the grip on my cell phone. They don't call me butter hands Holly for nothing (no one calls me that). The phone fell out of my hand and started to plummet towards his prominent intergluteal cleft. At this point I knew there was no stopping it (In fact if I had any hope of stopping it, it would have involved an awful lot of limb flailing and gropage and would probably have inflicted more damage then just letting the phone fall did) SO, I let the phone…fall where it may. Which just so happened to be.... into the back of this mans wide-open pant gape. Yes, ladies and gentlemen there was definite butt-to-phone contact. The man sat bolt upright in a panic, just as you or I would do if some foreign object unexpectedly entered our “back of the pant” area.  He reached behind him to fish around inside his pants for whatever this foreign object was.  He retrieved the phone and whipped around to face Tori and myself. By this time in my life I was far to used to awkward things happening to me so I simply looked sheepishly at the man as he made to give me back my "assphone." The gentleman, let’s call him Bert, said: "um...is this yours???" To which I responded. "Yeah, wow, um...geeze, I'm so sorry...it fell" To which Bert responded happily "OH HA no worries. AT least it wasn't nachos!!!" At this point his friend turned around and yelled "OR BEER" at us. I grabbed the phone quickly, thanked him and put the phone immediately into my bag. The two men turned around and Tori and me erupted into a fit of giggles (as sixteen year olds are apt to do). Then I figuratively AND literally curled up into a little ball of shame and embarrassment and died.


The point of these stories, dear friends, is to prepare you for the world around you. I don’t want to scare you, but I do want you all to be aware that at any moment someone equally as awkward as I (not possible) may be lurking in the shadows…ready to pour beer on you, or put their phone in your ass or maybe just spew a beverage over the back of your head. So consider yourself warned my dears…. And maybe don’t attend hockey games with me unless you like hanging your head in shame. 



(This picture really has nothing to do with anything...but I just wanted to add a picture of Will Smith somewhere on this blog post)




Tuesday, 15 May 2012

Adventures in Driving

"Friends, Romans, Countrymen, Lend me your ears! I come to blog, not to.....not blog."

You guessed it! With that brief homage to Bill Shakespeare behind us I start yet another new blog post. Thank you, your applause is deafening.

Recently I was reminded that I am, infact...a very poor driver. It pains me to admit that, it really does. For 6 years I have fought with every fibre of my being to ensure that everyone I come into contact with knows that I should probably be a Formula 1 race care driver. (Sidebar: Formula 1 sounds too much like a dog food brand for me to take it seriously) However, my arguments and daily reminders of my clearly superior driving skills started to hold less water after I may or may not have rolled my second vehicle. (For those of you that are confused with that last statement...I did infact roll a second vehicle...it wasn't a may or may not situation...it...it was just a "may. Ie. I flipped that sucker)

Anyways...after much personal strife and inner turmoil I decided it was okay to finally admit to myself, and to the world, that I am actually just a terrible driver. Now let me just clear the air a bit. I am not bad in the sense that I'm all over the road, or mowing down pedestrians or running red lights. I am a bad driver in the sense that I make bad decisions when I drive.  To prove this point to you I have 2 tales to tickle your mind juices with today.

Story A. AKA: Holly follows a gang.
Story B. AKA: Holly rolls her body across a darkened highway.

Join me won't you?



Story A) I like to joke with my friends that I suffer from "rage blackouts". It's not a hilarious joke...especially seeing as millions of canadians suffer from rage blackouts every year (that is not an accurate stat), but anyways it is a go to joke of mine. This particular story is about one of my more famous rage blackouts. I used to live in a community called Marda Loop with my friend Laura.  Marda Loop is not what I would consider a "gang breeding ground", but it has had, on occasion, the odd raucous youth terrorizing the streets. These youths would usually not come out until nightfall. But not today. Today was different.  I was driving home from school, probably around 4 o'clock in the afternoon, on my way home to lie on the couch in my awesome apartment and probably watch my roommate Laura, play Mario 64. The way I came home that day required me to make a left hand turn onto the street that I lived.  The road I was turning off of did not have a stop sign, so there was literally nothing in between me and my goal of happily doing nothing while watching my roommate do speed runs of Mario, aside from simply completing the turn, parking the car, and going inside. OR SO I THOUGHT. I was in the process of completing my turn when suddenly I heard a blasting car horn, yelling and swearing coming from my left. I was not oblivious to the fact that there was a car waiting at their stop sign for me to complete my turn, so I turned my head to look. BOOM. EYE CONTACT.  This car was full of young, 20 something boys, clearly growing impatient for me to complete this very complicated driving maneuver. They were not small boys, and they all looked quite uncomfortable as there had to have been like 6 of them crammed into that Grand Am.  The yelling continued, insults were hurled, fingers were given, enemies were made.  I finished the turn and the boys tore off down the street, no longer having to wait for me, the stupid law abiding citizen, to not break the rules of the road. Something in my brain clicked...something rose inside of me like fire bubbling in the pits of hell. I went crazy.

I turned my truck around so fast I'm surprised I didn't flip it (I have a tendency to do that), and without thinking I tore off down the road after my prey. Now...at this point in the story you might be thinking to yourself "What the hell is wrong with you, you are car chasing 6 grown men down a side road with no end goal..."

...Yes, well, we can't all be swift thinkers so it took me a little longer to arrive at that conclusion. All I could think about was what I would say to these horrible young men when I got out of my car and berated them. They pulled up to a house, obviously aware that I was now stalking them, and looked at me uncomfortably. They watched me as I approached and slowly got of the car and made for the house. THIS was the point where I thought to myself:
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU HOLLY. YOU JUST CHASED A GANG. WHAT WERE YOU PLANNING ON DOING WHEN YOU GOT HERE. ARE YOU GOING TO TAKE ON 6 GROWN MEN? TURN AROUND TURN AROUND TURN AROUND OH GOD TURN AROUND"
So...I pretended that I infact was not stalking them and drove right past them while I nonchalantly fiddled with the radiostation. My goal was, of course, to communicate that clearly I had only hastily turned around to chase them, not because I was angry, but actually because today seemed like the perfect day to take in the scenery of that particular Marda Loop street...

Then panic set in...what if they follow me home? What if they saw my license plate and come find my car in the night and slash my tires? What if they somehow managed to rig up explosives under my car as I drove by? Panic does funny things to the mind. SO I drove around Marda loop for about 10 minutes to shake them off my trail, before returning home to my apartment. I arrived home safely! I had mixed feelings. Shame and accomplishment, anger and hilarity. I mean, after all I had LITERALLY just taken on* 6 gang members and lived to tell the tale (*Driven away in terror from).   I then proceeded to tell the tale to everyone I knew...it was met with reactions of shock and awe, but mostly embarrassment for me. Except Laura...she laughed...but then yelled at me for making our apartment building the future potential location of gang activity. But...I don't live there anymore, so, Laura, if that gang ever comes back to exact revenge, then you have my sincerest apologies.

(This is what comes up with a google images search of "car gangs")

Story B) I was driving home on the highway between Okotoks and Millarville one night, at around midnight, when I started to become slightly drowsy. So, I unrolled all of my windows and cranked up the tunes. Now, I had recently been gifted some Calgary Flames car flags for my birthday from my dear friend Becca. I had obviously forgotten about their presence because I opened the windows anyway. I remembered instantly and looked back to see if they had gone. Indeed, they had disappeared into the night.  I was disappointed, so disappointed in fact, that I knew I had to drive back and find them.  So, I hastily turned around on the highway and slowly drove the length of the highway where I knew the flags had to be, scouring the ditches for any sign of red. There they were! I had found them! They were on the left side of the highway however, and I was currently on the right. Any smart person would have turned their car back around and collected them that way. Not me. No. I was braver, I was better, I was brilliant. I could see them and I wanted them. So I pulled over and got out and ran across the highway to retrieve them. However, I had driven past the flags so my headlights were no longer illuminating where they were. I didn't realize this until after I had crossed the highway though.  Now, I was parked at the bottom of a hill. It was a really long hill, so it wasn't like if anyone came over the crest of the hill a kilometre away that they wouldn't immediately see me at the bottom and have more then enough time to slow down appropriately. But still, the hill factor is worth mentioning.  Anyways, I groped around in the dark for a bit looking for the flags. I found them again and was getting ready to bend down and pick them up when out of the corner of my eye I saw a light at the top of the hill.  OH. NO. Instead of just, oh I don't know...waiting on the opposite side of the road for what was CLEARLY an oncoming vehicle to pass...I hastily grabbed the flags and turned to run back across the highway. However, in my haste, I forgot to pick my feet up to walk.  Instead of taking a step I plummeted face first into the pavement, twisting and destroying my knee on the way down. Now I was really panicking. Now I was lying on the side of the road, where the oncoming vehicle would never expect me to be, and they wouldn't see me and they would drive over me and I would die a horrible, painful death, flames flags in hand. I tried to stand up, but the pain in my leg was too much, so instead of rolling safely into the ditch...

I. ROLLED. ACROSS. THE. HIGHWAY. Straight up, log rolled across the highway. I got to my car on the other side safely without becoming roadkill, as the car had not yet reached me, and used my arms to pull my now useless lower half into the drivers side.  But wait a second, shouldn't the oncoming vehicle be almost upon me by now. Or shouldn't I at least see it somewhere in front of me? You would really think so. But nope, no car. It was at this point that I realized that the light I had seen had infact not been an oncoming vehicle, but rather MY OWN HEADLIGHTS reflecting off a road sign.....-_-

I started to cry.  I was bleeding from both my knees, my palms were destroyed, and I had narrowly avoided death (death had never actually been imminent).  I calmed down for a few minutes and then went sadly back on my way.  I arrived at home 20 minutes later still beat up from my late night roll.  I limped up to the front door, covered in blood, pants torn, hair all in disarray and met my mother at the front door where, she sleepily deliberated over whether or not she should let me in as I had forgotten my keys.  In fact she looked at me through the window beside the door clearly confused and said "What are you doing out there??" At which point I yelled for her to "JUST OPEN THE DOOR".***** I limped up to my bedroom and lay on my bed pondering what I had been through that night.  I was in pain, and I could have died, but the victory of flag retrieval was just so sweet. Also, I had discovered a cure for driving while tired. It turns out if you subject your body to extreme stress and physical pain you won't fall asleep while driving afterwards.  Feel free to use that method. No need to thank me.

*****Upon reading my latest post this morning my mother entered my room to tell me that she had some input. I opened one eye groggily and listened to what she wanted to add.  Upon careful deliberation I decided that my mother was hilarious and that I would allow her to add her take onto one of my stories. So without further ado, adding onto Story B, I give you, My Mom!

"As Holly's mother I would like to flesh out rather more fully, my contribution to Holly's evening adventures.  Her father and I are waiting up for Ms. Gruszecki, and snoring softly on our respective couches while taking in a pair of excellent episodes of "Petticoat Junction" on Retro TV.  I snort awake to an insistant knocking on the front door and stagger out into our darkened front entrance.  As I peer suspiciously out the glass on the left side of the door I note a disheveled young woman glaring balefully at me from the other side.
"Holly, what are you doing out there?" I demand blearily.
"Mom, could you unlock the door please."
"Where are your keys?" I inquire.  A question not without merit, surely.
"Can you just open the door?"
"Why is your key in your purse and not on your key ring?"  I ask, clearly up for a lengthy discussion on the subject.
"MUM, OPEN THE DOOR!!!!"
 "Honestly!!" I snort (and I meant it to sting!) and I jerk open the door.  My daughter staggers in sporting gravel and twigs in her hair, torn jeans and clutching two tattered Flames flags in her hand.  "Have you been in a gang fight?" I demand.  I've heard of the Marda Loop debacle and am aware gang retribution is a real possibility with this child. She shoots a look in my direction and stomps up the stairs trailing highway debris in her wake.  "Harrumph!" I respond huffily and head back to the family room.  "Holly Home?" inquires her father.  "Yes" I respond and pause a moment to gather my thoughts to relate my tale of Holly's irresponsibility regarding gangs and keys.  "Oh Good!" he says and promptly begins to snore again...I bet Kate Bradley of the Shady Rest Motel in Petticoat Junction never had to put up with this."*****


Well faithful companions, my lengthy stories have come to an end and I hope you emerged from the experience a little wiser.  I hope you learned that chasing down gangs in your car is not something you should do, and that rolling across a pitch black highway is not a good decision.  But mostly...mostly I hope you learned that if you just open your mind, then driving with me can be an adventure...and that usually no one gets hurt.

....For real though, you should probably drive when we hang out.

Thursday, 12 April 2012

The Art of the Ass Grab

Well hello to all!!

Today is new blog post day! Are you as excited as I am?
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OF COURSE YOU ARE!!

Today, in honor of that guy behind me in line at the Thai Express who kept touching my ass accidentally, I have decided to share the story of my awkward body part grabbing ways. Please, please...contain your excitement.

Now, knowing my age, chosen profession, and remembering the fact that I am not a newborn puppy, you would probably think/hope that I have excellent control of my limbs! Well friends, I am here to tell you that this is not the case. Not only do I have very poor control of my limbs, but often this poor limb control leads, in some way, to me groping strangers.  You might be asking yourself "Holly, if you know this about yourself why don't you do something to fix it?" It's not that easy. I wish I could. But sometimes life is not fair for the awkward, sometimes God deals you an awkward hand (or as you will soon learn in my case, 2 awkward hands). I have three cases to share with you. There are more...but I don't want to frighten you.

Case 1: That time I grabbed that guys crotch and didn't let go for like 30 seconds
Case 2: That time I was mulling over a shampoo purchase and grabbed a lady's ass
Case 3: That time I held hands with a guy walking beside me in the hall.

Let's get started.

Case 1
Setting: Science Hallway of my high school.
Characters: 12th grade Holly probably wearing a blue zip up hoody and jeans with unbrushed hair and general unkempt appearance. Unsuspecting grade 11 boy.
Scenario: 12th grade Holly walks down the hall with her friend Brianne towards her 2nd period Biology class.  Young unsuspecting grade 11 boy walks upstream towards Holly and Brianne and his Chemistry class.  Contact is inevitable as the hallways are crowded during period changes.  Holly's hand is hanging low as her bag is hooked around her arm weighing it down slightly.  Boy manages to squeeze past several people before reaching the spot Holly and Brianne are at.  Holly's hand makes contact with boys crotch. Holly can't move hand. OH GOD HOLLY CAN'T MOVE HER HAND. Holly looks up, makes eye contact with boy. Both boy and Holly look shocked. Holly says..."Oh God...Sorry...I...I can't move it." Boy says "...." (nothing...he says nothing) with a look of terror in his eyes. Boy has no choice but to back up through the crowd with Holly while she continues to cup his man parts. Holly walking forwards, and boy walking backwards, now reach the end of the congested hallway. Holly quickly removes hand. Holly and boy exchange glances. Holly says "...uhhhh...." Guy says "uh...its fine" Holly goes into Bio hand hanging in shame. Boy chances the crowd once more in hopes of reaching his destination. Both parties come out of the experience changed.

Case 2
Setting: Walmart Shampoo Aisle.
Characters: 2nd year Holly probably wearing yoga pants and a hoody. Unsuspecting 30 ish year old woman.
Scenario: We find Holly standing in the shampoo aisle of her local Walmart. She is mulling over hair care products but cant decide between Tresemme and Herbal Essences (She uses Redken "Extreme" now in case you're wondering).  She has her hands extended in front of her in exasperation over this difficult decision.  Lady standing slightly in front of Holly but slightly to the left SUDDENLY moves to the right and backs up INTO HOLLYS EXTENDED HANDS. Holly's hands make very obvious contact with strangers ass.  Holly quickly retracts hands. Stranger acting as though a firecracker has been set off in her ass whips around horrified, Holly looks up horrified. Stranger says "Oh....HA...I didn't expect THAT to happen in a WalMart" Holly says "Ha...uhhhh.....yeah...me neither?" Holly grabs the Tresemme and leaves aisle immediately. Holly pauses in next aisle, looks at her cursed hands and wonders sadly "...why?....just....why??"

For my more visual readers...my Walmart stranger butt grab was a little bit like this picture of Rick Perry, presumably miming grabbing a large butt? 

Case 3
Setting: Mount Royal University main street
Characters: 1st year Holly probably wearing yoga pants and a hoody. Unsuspecting university boy.
Scenario: Holly rushes down mainstreet to make it in time for one of her first year nursing lectures. She walks briskly with her arms swinging at her sides. Boy leaving library falls into pace with Holly. But wait, what's this? This boy is not paying attention and neither is Holly.  Boy is getting closer and closer to Holly, and Holly is veering slightly toward boy.  Suddenly Holly feels boys arm brush against hers. Holly's fingers open automatically, as if by magic, and makes contact with boys hand. Holly for some reason unbeknownst to ANYONE EVER closes her fingers around boys hand. Boys hand also closes for a second and then both parties realize that they are holding hands. Holly sidesteps, awkwardly breaking the grasp.  Holly and boy both look up at each other. Holly giggles awkwardly because she is 17 and a child. Boy nods, looking uncomfortable, and picks up his pace to race away from the strange monster who he shared a moment with.
......
So as you can see, my limbs have a mind of their own. There is no stopping them. Sigh...someone needs to make this madness stop. Or at least someone needs to warn people standing near me that they are in the danger zone. If they aren't careful...then BOOM they can consider their ass/crotch/hand grabbed.

I imagine my wedding day will look something like this....


Tuesday, 27 March 2012

Food Poisoning

Top of the cusp of the afternoon to you!

Last night was truly a horrendous experience.  I feel as though I am a changed person from it.  The last time I had food poisoning this bad I wrote two awkward emails to my grade 12 Chemistry and English teachers about the experience.
They both went something like this...

"Hi Mr. R
I will not be in class today because I have developed, probably, the most awful case of food poisoning known to man! That is a bit mellow dramatic but I am really quite sick! I was fine at the talent show but on the way home I thought that I had swallowed a buffalo! Sorry for that over share. The night and much of the day has not been enjoyable! But I will be there to write the unit test tomorrow! Thanks for coming to the talent show by the way! It was a great success!
Holly" 

"Hi Mr. H
I'm sorry I didn't make it into class today but I have some serious food poisoning! I have been continuously sick since 11:30 last night, even falling asleep on my bathroom floor a few times...sorry if that is an over share! I ate a bad wrap from extra foods but was fine at the show last night, but on the drive home I felt as if a bear was punching my stomach...again sorry for the over share! But I will definitely be there for the mock tomorrow! And thanks again for being in the talent show it was a fun night and very successful.
Holly" 

NOW...you may be thinking..."OH HOLLY PLEASE TELL ME YOU DIDN'T SEND EMAILS THAT WERE ACTUALLY LIKE THAT". To you dear readers I say:

Where were you 5 years ago to tell me not to because, not only did I send emails like this, I sent THOSE EXACT EMAILS. I found them in the sent folder of my old email account. #Headhangofshame.

To make matters worse this is what those particular teachers looked like in my minds eye:


Dont believe that a human can be that awkward? Well I'm here to prove you wrong. Check out the email I sent to my clinical instructor last night.

Hi Jen,
I just want to let you know that I don't think I can make it in to clinical this morning and this seemed like the fastest way to tell you without waking you up with a phone call at 2 am.  I've been up all night with what I think is food poisoning. My stomach has basically been in a state of constant cramping since about 830. Not sure what I ate, all I know is that now it wants to kill me slowly/punish me.  I've got an alarm set for 5 just in case I do ever get some sleep or I eventually stop emptying my body contents (Sorry for that horrible visual) so you hopefully might see me still. I really really really hate missing clinical, especially when we only have 3 weeks in acute care, but I will definitely be back for Wednesday. I'm really sorry and annoyed and I hope this is okay. FYI, also maybe steer clear of the Egg salad in the cafeteria? Just to be safe....
Thanks,
Holly.

....Sigh....At least I can rest easy knowing that 5 years later I am still the most awkward human being in the room and that it isn't a recent development. And I think we can all rest a little easier knowing that.

Welcome!

Welcome!!

I'm so pleased that you've found your way over to the most fascinating blog on the internet. True story. I literally know for a fact that this blog is the most fascinating blog ever created by anyone living and/or dead.  So please take this moment to stop and congratulate yourself for having the finest of tastes. No really I'll wait...

My mission is threefold. A) I want to inform you, the privileged reader, of the awkwardness/awesomeness that is my life B) I need an outlet for which to spew my verbal diarrhea before I accidentally spew it out loud to an eligible bachelor, my grandma...or really anyone I come into contact with (Verbal Diarrhea in literary terms = "Logorrhea"...big shout out goes out to my grade 11/12 english teacher for teaching me that one) and C)....My mission is only twofold.  

Hopefully I will one day fill this blog with tales that excite, horrify, amuse and repel.  Here's a sneak peak of what you might hear about...

Grabbing strangers assess in Wal-mart
Dropping phones down mens pants 
Rolling across highways at night
Awkwardly catching poop in the hospital
Interacting with hot doctors at the Sundre hospital (We're going to have to get to know each other a little better before I divulge the details of this particular story)
Interacting with any staff member at any hospital ever (WHY AM I GOING TO BE A NURSE?!)
Job Interviews

So, dear reader. Sit back, relax and enjoy what I call "this blog".

Love and Kisses,

Holly