Why Am I so... Stupid?

We're all entitled to our "stupid" moments. Mine was this afternoon. DIY projects are gonna kill me. 

F*#kMonkey!

So you make plans. It doesn't matter what kind of plans they are so long as you make them with other people. The first person you talk to says maybe, that it depends but they can probably do it. The second person says absolutely and you're ready to go. This is oh, say, five days in advance. The day before you are set to carry out your plans you check with everybody and all is good so you spend the next morning cleaning and what not so that your evening can be fun and worry free. You know the first person will be late because they have a previous engagement so you call the second person to double check on when they'll be arriving. They don't answer and you leave a message. They call you back and ask if you can move your plans to tomorrow instead because they have "work" that needs to be finished. You ask if they can ask their parents again. They say they'll call you back. When "in five minutes" becomes two hours you call them again and are forced to leave a message. Five minutes later you receive a text from person one. It says "she's not coming". Now you know that not only did person one lie to you about what they were doing, they didn't even have to courtesy to return your call. Now person two has no reason to come because you can't carry out your plans unless all three of you are there so you tell person two not to worry about it and that you'll reschedule. You're still royally pissed at person two. So you see, you may think your friends are reliable or dependable, but they're not. Some are, yes, and some can be trusted and counted on, but most of them, the ones you usually think are pretty cool, turn out to be lying, undependable assholes. Have a great day!

Fact vs. Fiction

Every day she sits there, just waiting to see if maybe today, it'll come. She checks over and over, again and again, but every time she comes up empty. She stands up, her chair swiveling under her momentum. Today was yet another lost day in her mind, and nothing could change that, it was midnight after all and now she had today for her luck to change. Her bed was soft, yet firm enough that it allowed her comfortable sleep. She pulled the sheets up to her neck and kicked her comforter onto the floor. The temperature was alway extreme in her room, never just right. Tonight, or should I say, this morning, it was far too hot. She lay there, staring at the shadows on her ceiling, the glow from her bedside lamp keeping her awake for awhile. Click... darkness. Finally, her eyes closed and her mind drifted away.

She leaned forward and pressed the power switch, her alarm clock still ringing somewhere in her room. She really must stop swatting it when it goes off in the morning. She had learned patience in her 25 years of existence, and it came in handy quite often, especially now. Her desktop finished loading and shortly thereafter so did her internet. A few clicks of the mouse and there she was again, staring, looking for something that just refused to be there. "It never hurts to check this early," she thought closing the screen in dismay. So went her morning routine: Swat alarm clock, check email, use bathroom, clean up, eat breakfast and be off to work by 7:47 on the dot.

Work was no picnic either. She never knew what she was going to do on any given day. She wasn't trained in anything specific so she just did whatever the professionals told her to. Some days that meant backing up files, other days it meant minding her own business while everyone rushed to get things finished around her. Today was one of those days. Today was the worst kind of torture. She always had her computer with her no matter where she went, so the days when she had nothing to do, she sat and she stared. "It'll come today." but it didn't. It didn't come this morning, it didn't come during work, and it most certainly didn't come after she went home.

Walking down the hallway after dinner, she caught a glimpse of someone in the mirror. It wasn't her. It couldn't be, she wasn't old or tired. She looked closer and began to see familiar features: there was a hint of green in her eyes. A freckle on the tip of her nose. "Why?" She knew precisely why. She knew that all this waiting and hoping was not an act of optimism, but an act of desperation. She had to end it, though she wasn't sure how. "Just tonight," she though, "Tonight and it's over."

11:50. Ten more minutes of agony and she would be finished, rid of this disease forever. She checked again... nothing. By now she wanted there to be nothing, she didn't want something because something would only prolong her agony, start it all over again in a vicious never-ending cycle. "Don't be there," she whispered as she refreshed the page yet again. "Don't be there." Five minutes were all that were left of the day, five minutes. She stood up, wringing her hands nervously as her bare feet carried her again and again across the tweed carpet. "I won't do it. I won't, not until midnight. Then it'll all be over."

12:00. She wasn't still enough to sit so she leaned down placing her right index finger atop the mouse. "Harder," she thought and the mouse responded instantly. Her screen loaded and there it was, exactly what she had been waiting for, nothing. A deep breath passed between her lips as she sat down on the edge of her bed. Seconds later she was out.

12:01. It came at 12:01 that morning, the message she had looked for all along. It said everything she had hoped it would say. It contained the one thing that would've ended her suffering had she not chosen to end it herself. She never saw it though. She didn't wake up when her sister ran in yelling at 8:15 in the morning. She didn't wake up when the paramedics tried to revive her. The aspirin had done its job and taken her pain away. As they wheeled her out, her sister glanced at the open laptop still on the desk. She moved the mouse. There was one new message in the Inbox. Open. "I'm Sorry."

Questions anyone?

I am in serious need of inspiration. I sit down everyday, take out my notebook and a good quality flowing-ink pen and stare at the pages. Nothing comes out. Nothing! I have completely lost my muse, well I guess not entirely, I'm still writing music on a daily basis, but still! Do you wanna be my writing muse? I need one, like seriously. The other day I was sitting in my truck eating ice cream with a friend, talking and I kept getting inspired to write, but could I write then? No. Did I write notes for myself so I could write about it later? yes. Could I write about it later? No! it wasn't funny any more, or interesting. You see, some things are only interesting or funny in the moment, unless you are very good at making it seem like "the moment" long after the moment is over. Does that make sense? Well, bottom line is: I'm not sure what to do. I could pull a poem out of a place I probably shouldn't or transfer some of my weird but workable song lyrics on to paper, but that just doesn't quite do it for me. I get excited and spazzy when I write. Recopying and writing from my ass doesn't make me excited or spazzy. Oh well, here goes nothing!


Oh the Times I've Wasted

Do you remember when you ran down my street topless in the middle of the night?
Do remember what that felt like?
I don't, but maybe that's because I just sat on my porch and waited for you to come back.

Do you remember the time you caught air on the hill on Alameda?
Do you remember how scared you were when you saw the sparks?
I don't, but maybe that's because I've only heard the stories.

Do you remember the time you snuck off campus for half the day?
Do you remember almost getting caught when you came back?
I don't, but maybe that's because I was watching you through the classroom window.

Do you remember how it felt to say "I love you"?
Do you remember if you meant it?
I don't, but maybe that's because I've never had the courage to say it.

Do you remember the time I said "Fuck it"?
Do you remember the time I threw the rules out the window?
I do, it's everyday from now on.

Naomi Shihab Nye taught me to do this...

Shoes strewn about my room

Some in pairs, some lonesome

for their partner lost under my bed.

Why don't you talk to me anymore?

Why don't you care?

I used to ask myself, "What if I leave?"

But you left - I look to my pillow and

it welcomes me

like your once open arms.

Speak

You sit and you stare

wondering how to do it.

What do you say?

It's so simple,

what you want to do.

Then why can't you do it?

Think of something,

Anything that might possibly work.

Will you say it now?

You still can't do it,

you can't risk it.

Or maybe you really don't want to.

You do though,

You want to so bad.

So why the hesitation?

It's that important

It has to be perfect.

Or does it?

Imperfection is just as good,

it has just as much potential.

So why haven't I just said it?

Explicit Sloshy Music

Today turned out to be quite eventful, quite pleasant too. It started when I joined my friend Shantal for lunch. I was telling her all about how I hadn't slept at all last night and how I stayed up ranting for hours and creating a lame excuse for a podcast. To take things out of sequence for just one second i'd like to say that I've decided to do a podcast from now on and though I haven't decided on a schedule yet, i'll post all the links here so you can keep up if you'd like. Anyway, back to the story. I was telling her all about my ranting when I mentioned that I wasn't sure whether or not I should edit myself in terms of how many expletives I used. I then got very excited because i had used the word "expletives" in a sentence. That was the first exciting thing that happened today. 

The second happened only a matter of minutes later when I told Pooch aka Shantal about some really stupid thing I did in middle school which I shall share with you now:

You remember those little toys that you used to get out of the 25 cent vending machines, you know, the ones that you pushed the guy down and he had a suction cup and a spring and you never knew when it was going to jump at you... one of those. Well, I had one of those and one day while sitting on the couch watching tv i broke it. I pulled it completely apart and lost the spring. Wanting to keep myself occupied, I decided to see what I could do with the remaining parts. The little stand was boring so I chucked it and eventually I threw away the figure at the top too, so all I had was the suction cup. It was cool because I could stick it to my arm and it would stay there. I figured out that it stuck to my face too. Well, I had to go to the bathroom so i got up and went and on my way back to the couch I walked by a mirror. There were purple circles all over my face. Panic! I didn't know what the hell it was so i ran back into the bathroom got a wash cloth and started scrubbing as hard as I could. They wouldn't come off. I broke down. "Mom," I called. She came over to me took one look at me and said, "What the hell did you do?" I didn't make the connection. It wasn't until she saw the suction cup on the counter that she realized what I'd done. "You dipshit," she said, "You gave yourself hickies with that suction cup." Needless to say, I have been very careful with suction cups ever since. 

Number 3!

My friend Brenna invited me to help her at a fundraiser today. It was called Art for Autism and they had an art auction to raise money for a medical center. We were to be servers andwalk around with trays of food. What we didn't know was that we were going to meet our new favorite person. The woman who was in charge of the event at this particular winery was named Aubrey, but we forgot that right after she told us. She was kinda crazy, but really nice and funny. Since we didn't know her name, whenever we discussed her we referred to her as the "Black Mamba" and by the end of the night "Sloshy". She wasn't actually sloshed but she had been serving wine all night and she was crazy already so... When we first arrived and were waiting to start working we hung out in Sloshy's office. She would come in and out, but every time she came in it would scare the crap out of us. She kept walking in while we were laughing and we'd stop when she came in. that's pretty much one of the most suspicious things you can do. Eventually that stopped happening because we started working. Everything was smooth. We'd walk around offering people food and then refill the tables when need be.  Every now and then, Sloshy would walk over and say something to us about this or that and we'd do whatever she asked. One time she walked over and said," The owner just got here so go feed people." We had to look extra productive.  Later, once we'd made the transition from finger foods to desserts, I suggested to Brenna that we move on to the grass. As we stepped out onto the grassy area a familiar voice called from a nearby table, "Hey girls, bring those cookies over here." It was Sloshy and she was talking with one of the guests. I walked over and she looked at the tray of goodies in my hands and selected a cookie. She then offered them to the others at the table and Brenna and I went back to work. Not two minutes later while following Brenna upstairs to refill a tray I feel a hand on my shoulder and turn around, slightly startled. "Will you take this," she asked. "What," I said. "I can't finish my cookie and I have to go talk to my boss." Sloshy was holding her half eaten cookie in her left hand and extended it towards me. "Sure." We put it upstairs on a napkin with a note that said, "Aubrey's Cookie. Do not eat this cookie." There were many other events that night involving Sloshy that were quite amusing, but I don't have time to list them all. She made us laugh and even though some of her hand gestures, quirks, and mannerisms were a bit out there, we enjoyed her company immensely.

Last bit of cool.

We were cleaning up outside towards the end of the Art for Autism event when the guys who'd been playing music all night, Juan and Travis, asked me if I played guitar because they'd overheard me tell Brenna that my guitar was better than Juan's. I said yes because I do and they asked me to sit in with them for their last song of the night. Long story short, I got to jam with a couple of awesome musicians. Brenna played Maraccas. So yeah, my day pretty much rocked. 

"Write... or Die!"

I keep hearing the same thing over and over, "I don't care if it's good, I just need to see that you're actually doing work." -Stu

Stu is my creative writing teacher, a jewish New Yorker currently living here with his wife and kids. Whenever he asks us to read our work aloud in class everyone starts with an apology of some sort:

"It's just a draft..."

"It's really rough still..."

"I don't really like it so..."

"This isn't finished yet but..."

Then everyone reads and you realize that all it is is a bit of self-conscious fluff. "Get the Fuck away from the Fluff!" So many things that I've thought were complete shit I've shown to friends or teachers and received nothing but compliments. After read one piece aloud in my english class, my teacher found me afterwards to tell me that it was amazing and that it completely blew his mind. 

This year is the frist time i've ever submitted anything to either of our school publications: "Pulp, Pith and Zest" (non-fiction and photography) and "Other Voices" (fiction and other creative works). I did it anonymously but give me a break, it's a first step and a big one at that. That's why I'm only writing semi-anonymously now. I don't draw attention to who I am, but the information is there if you want it. So why don't i post my works here instead of these weird "journal type explanations of random things" things? I don't know. maybe I will. I tell you what... I'll go back through my folders and if I see something I like, I'll put it up under an ambiguous title like "Essay 1" or "Poem 7 - A Sestina". I'm putting my music on her too. The link is over there. --->

My videos you can see on youtube and I think that pretty much covers all forms of media. So... ya. I'm getting it out there, all at once. It's like one huge pile of shit yet it's still not big enough to see through the grass. If I'm lucky enough, some unknowing person will accidentally set foot in this pile of shit and while attempting to scrape it off their shoe, realize that it isn't shit at all. 

Wow that's a weird analogy. I just compared gaining an audience to stepping in dog shit. Well, if you find this even mildly amusing I'm pretty sure you'll like everything else I have to say here. Next time you're out and you suddenly realize you've stepped in something of "that" consistency, don't fret because it may just be the best shit ever.

Who needs sleep?

"Can't sleep," I ask politely.
"No. I"m doing work though, actually."
"Oh, I'm doing this because I can't sleep. If I turn a light on to read, I might as well kiss sleep goodbye. There's nothing on tv, not that I watch much anyway but... that leaves me with this."
"You don't need a light to be on your computer?"
"Nope. :) The glow from the screen illuminates the keyboard."
"Oh."
"So, what are you working on?"
No answer... five minutes later, still no answer.

Maybe she's busy. Maybe she fell asleep. No you idiot, she probably doesn't want to talk to you because she doesn't like you. Oh! New comment!

"I'm just working on a bunch of different things, nothing specific."

"Oh, I see. Look, I'm really enjoying this, but if you don't want me to bother you anymore I can get off..."

"What? Oh, no it's fine. It's a distraction, a pleasant one at that. I really don't mind at all."

She minds, I know she minds. I wouldn't want to talk to me at 2 in the morning if I was doing work. I really should let her be... oh but I can't, I want to talk...

"Ok, but um, you know stop me at any time. So, it's 2:15, what does that make it where you are?"

"It's 1:15 here. Why aren't you sleeping again?"

"I just can't. I've always been a bit of an insomniac. you know what I wish though..."

"No, what?"

"I wish I could pull my truck out of the garage, drive to the end of the block, park and just chill in the bed, under the stars. I really wish I could."

"Why don't you then? It sounds nice to me too."

"My parents would freak if I just left in the middle of the night. The only time I can actually do that is when my friends are here and we stay up all night."

"Oh, I see. But I guess if you were out under the stars we wouldn't be having this conversation, would we?"

"No, we wouldn't. Oh shit, my computer's about to die. Could we continue this tomorrow?"

"Sure thing. Good luck sleeping!"

"Thanks and good luck with your work."

That's a conversation I had a while ago with a friend of mine, the italics represent my though process. If you can't sleep and you can't think of anything to do, get in touch with me during the wee hours of the night. Chances are I'm still awake and I'm really quite reasonable during those hours.

What is Love? Do you know the answer?

Here is the promo for one of my big projects. The final project will be longer with a lot more people's interviews incorporated into it. If you'd like to participate please don't hesitate to post a response to the youtube version of this. The instructions for content are in the information section with the video. If you are not so computer savvy and would like to participate, comment this and I'll do what I can. Hope you're all well and enjoy.




This is a Zitrocity Films Production.

Randomness times 2

I got my acceptance letter from SCAD today. Don't know what that is? It's Savannah College of Art and Design and it's a school I'd very much like to go to. The only thing is, I opened it, read it, and that was it. I didn't get excited or run to go call anyone, I was just mildly pleased. Shouldn't getting into one of your top choices be more exciting than this? Perhaps not if you didn't get into your number one choice school, but nonetheless...

Seeing how that wasn't the actual point of writing today, let me move on. My sister is a vegetarian and my mother has suddenly decided to buy only certain types of healthy food and drinks... and I don't mind at all. The vegetarian thing isn't really a big deal because my sister just got offered what I would call her dream job in New York and won't really be around. When she is home though, we change up our meals to accommodate her need for a meatless meal. The thing with my mother is different. She's just buying healthier foods. For example, I had soy milk for the first time the other day and it was delicious. I just opened my fridge and there it was where the normal milk used to be. I was thirsty so I had some and was pleasantly surprised. So ya, things like that. I like it though because I don't have to think about eating better I just can because it's already there in the refrigerator or cupboard. Going to play guitar now... hasta

They don't have super human powers, but...

As I sit here, curled up in my bed contemplating how to say everything I want to say I can’t help thinking how lucky I am. I’m about to write about several people who I often refer to as heroes of mine but I’ve never met any of them. I do have other heroes, people that I do know personally and with whom I’ve interacted with multiple times, but those people I call my mentors, my teachers, my family and best friends and I can tell them how much I appreciate them whenever I want. These people, the three I’m about to talk about, are people I’ve never met in person. They are people who, in some way, have inspired me, helped me, or touched my heart. My heroes are people whom I someday hope to meet and if I’m lucky become friends with.
The ironic thing about my heroes is that none of them earned their titles simply by having that name or being that person. In each case, it was something that the person did, one little action, which caught my attention. For one person, it was her music. For another, it was her passion for the game. For the last, it was her writing.
The first time I heard anything by Rachael Yamagata was on an episode of Alias. Her song, entitled Meet Me by the Water, was playing in the background during a scene. At the time I didn’t know the name of the song or who it was by so I got online and did some research. Shortly thereafter I downloaded her entire cd, as well as all other tracks showing her name, from iTunes and began listening to the music that taught me to feel.
Before RY all I really listened to was the popular music on the radio or the foreign language stuff my sister would burn for me, so the sudden impact of music with real meanings and real truths was intense. Her music is the kind of music that even without the lyrics I feel like I could understand the emotion and intent of the song. One aspect of her music that most intrigued me was that she wrote on and played piano and guitar. When I was about 6 I started taking piano lessons. When I was about 12, I quit. Listening to Rachael play made me regret that decision. I wanted nothing more than to be able to sit down in front of our piano and write my own music, but I couldn’t remember anything about chord progressions or changes or even how to finger certain chords. I took up sax in sixth grade, but that didn’t help me either. It was the guitar that sat in the corner of my sister’s room that finally brought me some satisfaction.
After getting permission from my sister to use the guitar I immediately started teaching myself how to play using a guitar for dummies book. I learned a few simple chords and a couple of easy, cheesy songs and then I said to myself, “Screw the book. I want to play real songs.” After that I started looking up tabs online and never looked back. I’ve learned several of Rachael’s songs on guitar, but only one via tabs online. I’ve spent hours staring at youtube videos watching her hands move from chord to chord until I could play it back perfectly. I’ve spent hours just listening to the same song, trying to recognize patterns and intervals so that I could play it on my own. All of that time what I was really doing was preparing myself to write my own stuff, to express my own feelings in my own way. I’ve written pieces on guitar, sax, and even piano now and I make sure and do a little playing everyday.
Rachael Yamagata is my hero because her music touched my heart. It touched my heart and it taught me to listen, not only to chords, but also to myself and how I really felt. I now have a whole new way of expressing myself that I didn’t really have before and when I’m sad or just emotionally unstable I have a collection of music that comforts and protects me. So Rachael, I thank you.

Michael Jordan. Larry Bird. Magic Johnson. Shaq. Kobe. Sheryl Swoops. Pat Summit. Cheryl Miller. Candace Parker. Sue Bird. Every one of those names should elicit some reaction from anyone who knows basketball. They are all icons, all fairly well known within the basketball community but only one gets to call herself my hero.
I started playing basketball the moment I could walk and at the time I was a huge fan of MJ. When I heard that there was a girl down at Duke named Alana (pronounced the same as Elena, my name) who played basketball I had to check it out. That is how I got started in watching women’s college basketball and that is how one day while watching a game I discovered Sue Bird.
There is not one specific thing that she does that makes her my hero. I watched every UConn game on TV after I discovered Sue Bird and I’ve watched every Seattle Storm game as well. My game improved tremendously after watching Birdy play. I watched her every move like a hawk, studying how she handled the ball, how she distributed the ball and how she read the court. I’d see a move I liked and go outside and practice it until I thought I had it, and then at my next practice I’d put it to the test. I never expected to get things perfect and I rarely did, I knew no one could replicate her.
Watching her win championships at both the college and professional level have allowed me to see how strong of a leader Sue Bird is. She never gives up and never gets down. She is full of encouragement for her teammates and occasionally some choice words for referees. When she enters into a game she puts everything she has on the floor for her team. After she broke her nose during Seattle’s championship run she got surgery on it and played in the next game, a game in which she took another elbow to the face from a player and almost got a second from a ref. I knew that that was the kind of leader I wanted to be for my team.
Unfortunately, I am not planning on playing basketball in college, but I plan on being the best guide, friend and leader to everyone I can in life. Sue Bird is a great role model for anyone looking to succeed in life. Her tenacity, toughness, and attitude are all inspirational to me. I have a deep respect for her and how she handles extremely stressful situations. Birdy helped me have confidence in myself as a leader and has helped me reach new levels I didn’t think possible. So Sue, I thank you.

The following is an entry from my journal in 2006:
“Is it possible to fall in love with someone through their writing? Not that I have, because I haven’t but seriously… I think it’s possible but not probable you know. It could happen but most likely won’t. I’d love to be able to write like that though, be able to write with enough of myself and raw deep emotion to show someone who I am, that they actually loved me. A lot of people do that for me either through writing, singing or acting. I know it’s usually not the person I’m seeing but the idea of a person like that, so I don’t love them but fall for their work and crave more of it.”
I was on youtube looking for something interesting when I came across a 20/20 special interview. It was about this independent film that was made on an extremely small budget and starred not A-list actors, but the children or relatives of such people. The movie was called Last Goodbye and since I would love to someday produce my own movie I knew I had to see this. The amount of luck behind getting this movie from an idea to a screen was amazing and I had to see the outcome. Unable to find the movie in any store, I turned to Amazon.com, where I found and purchased the movie and had it sent via next day delivery.
I was very pleased with my purchase. Not only did it give me hope that one day I might be able to realize my dream of making a movie but it introduced me to a whole new generation of actors. One such actor, or actress I should say, was Clementine Ford. Now, I don’t know why, but something about her intrigued me and I wanted to know more. There are plenty of sources of information on the Internet, but no source of information is more reliable than the actual person. I decided to see if she had a myspace, and she did. It took some time for me to summon the courage to send a friend request, but I finally did it and I am so glad I did.
In reading the blogs on her myspace page, I realized that she was a very simple down to earth person, quite different than what I’d expected. She had links to musicians I’d never heard of and recommended different things to read. Always in search of new things to try I listened to the music and read the short story. She has very good taste. A day or so after she’d accepted my friend request she posted a blog about another blog she had, where she was going to start a little project of writing a blog a day everyday for thirty days. When she started writing I started reading.
It was at this point that I realized that I really loved her writing. Sometimes it completely baffles me and sometimes I come away with this incredible sense of familiarity. More often than not, I end up laughing so loud that my friends wonder what the hell is going on. I look forward to each day’s new entry and, obviously, to pass the time started my own blog. I’ve always enjoyed writing but have never had the courage to just say what needs to be said. I always worry about what people will think or how they will interpret what I’ve written but Clementine said that it’s getting things out there for yourself that matters.
I saw you first as an actor, then as a genuine person, as a writer and most recently as one of my heroes. Your work inspires me on a daily basis and your humor and honesty remind me that you are just like the rest of us. You, like me, are the good kind of weird. There is much more depth to your personality than I ever imagined there could be and you express that clearly in every word you write. You’ve introduced me to new music and new literature and have reawakened my need to just put myself out there. I’m not turning back anymore and I’m not hiding anything from anyone anymore. So Clementine, I thank you.

I would not be the person I am without the people who influence my life: heroes, friends and family alike. From the bottom of my heart I want to thank you for everything you’ve done for me, whether directly or indirectly. I wanted to say all this and now I have. With love… E

Sex in a Bottle

Earlier today I read a post by The Dirty Ballerina and it made me think about my own interesting experience with fragrances. This entry is a response to hers as well as a way of reminding myself of great memories.
A couple summers ago my high school basketball team went to Denver for a summer tournament. One afternoon, after we had finished our games for the day we decided to go to the mall. We perused the stores and at one point paid one of our teammates to purchase an entire bright orange ensemble and wear it to dinner that night. She did. The best part of our visit to the mall was when we went to Bath & Body Works. All 12 of us wandered around the store spraying each other with different body mists and perfumes, wandering what all we could get for the least amount of money. At one point, a good majority of us converged around the section of "breathe" products. Kelsi, possibly the most innocent and uncorrupted girl on the team, immediately reached for the sample bottle of "Romance" and began giving each of us a squirt. After that, she picked up a bottle of the lotion for herself and said, "Don't you love the way this smells? I think it smells like sex!"
All of us were stunned. This from the girl who said, "This peach cobbler is so good I'd have sex with it if I could, but I'd have to marry it first." All of us were surprised to hear her compare something to sex. After noticing the looks on our faces she quickly corrected herself, "I mean, this is what I think sex would smell like."
We all had a good laugh about it later but from that moment on the entire basketball team wore one type of lotion and we called it sex in a bottle.

You may think that that is where the story ends but you would be very wrong if you did. It was the end of October, just before my birthday and my sister wanted me to go to the mall with her. "Will you please go to the mall with me," she pleaded.
"Why," I asked.
"Because you're better with directions than I am."
I conceded. After guiding my sister to the mall, a place she'd been numerous times before, I made her promise to go to Bath & Body Works with me so I could get some new lotion. She happily agreed and within the hour we were perusing the shelves of lotions and seasonal items. My sister picked up a bottle of pumpkin spice lotion which was supposed to smell like, you guessed it, pumpkins. I stood next to her as she unscrewed the lid and before I could get away she'd smeared a generous portion of it onto my arm.
I don't know what the lotion actually smelled like but it was nothing like pumpkins. It smelled like rotting pumpkins at the closest but beyond that the best I can say is putrid. And now, it was all I smelled like. After cursing my sister I decided I needed to put something on to try and cover up the stench my arm now emitted. I was still hot tempered and without thinking looked at my sister and said,"I need SEX!" Needless to say, everyone else in the store turned to stare at me. I got past my embarrassment and finally found what I was looking for. I smothered my arm in the lotion before grabbing another bottle to purchase. Unfortunately, the sex didn't cover up the smell of rotting pumpkins but mixed with it to create a scent I hope none of you ever encounter. That was the day "Sexy Pumpkins" was born and after my shower that night, the day it died.