2 Parts Perky, 1 Part Annoying

Editor’s Note: Yeah, yeah, yeah … I know, I have to answer Amy’s Press Conference Question 8 - Part Dos yet, but this was a question that Karen posed in a comment a few posts ago and I started answering the comment but it sort of grew into a long answer, which I decided would make a decent post since I thought others might have the same question and my spewage might get lost in the comment to an unrelated post, or that others might have something good to add from their own experiences and they would miss the question if it was buried in another post. So that’s why I’m answering questioooons like this out of order and making this comment its own post … commence kicking my ass !!!

Karen’s Questioooon:

Hi Amy
Got a question for ya. In any situation you may find yourself and someone local to you shouts out your old name “hey Joe” quite innocently maybe addressing another person entirely, does that get any response from you now. Maybe turns your head or something. I have been full time for only 10 months but I feel I’ll never get rid of that automatic flinch response.

Still luvya
K

Karen !!!!

Wow !!! That’s a super questioooon !!! A phreaking good question !!! I totally know exactly what you are talking about … thanks for asking it.

I too felt that I might never stop having that automatic head turn whenever I would be out & about and hear Joe’s name being called out to someone other than me … I was so phreaking paranoid that I was outing myself by appearing to respond to a guy’s name in those situations … I hated it.

It was so automatic, I just couldn’t consciously catch myself in time to stop the unconscious response gleamed from a lifetime of being called Joe. In response to this, as soon as my conscious would realize what the hell I just did, I developed this “look around to appear to see who they were calling” move, sort of to suggest I was looking to see who was calling out for Joe and then looking to see who they were addressing. I sort of figured that it was better to appear interested in things I didn’t have any need to be interested in than to appear to be responding to a guy’s name. (Ummmmmmm and for those that don’t know, my real boy name was not Joe, because if it was, it could easily have been Jo, which would have been a good reason for why I responded to the name-shout-out. But since my real boy name was definitely a guy’s name, responding to it was simply odd.)

Just the opposite also occurred when getting used to responding to name-shout-outs for Amy. For a long time I had to consciously recognize the name being called out, make the connection that it was now my name, and then respond. There was definitely a delay, just ask Sister and Miss Daisy. I remember more than once where one of them would suddenly be right in my face screaming “HEY AMY !” because I just wasn’t responding. (It was usually followed by a “Geezuz girl, we’ve got to get you used to your new name ” ! )

The good news is that yes, there does come a time when there will be a name-shout-out for your old name and it won’t even garner the slightest flinch from you in response. I’m not sure how long it took me because I think those name-shout-outs just stopped registering. Your question is very topical though because last week I noticed this very thing … there was sort of a delayed response to me hearing Joe’s name called out … I was a good half-dozen steps away from when I first heard the name-shout-out before I realized it didn’t even register. I was like “Sweet ! ” (Now those of you in my real life, don’t go trying to test how well I don’t respond to my old name now … it could totally screw me up !!! ) I’ve been fulltime now for just a bit over 2 years, so if I had to make a guess, I’d say it’s somewhere between 15 months and 26 months when it started to become unautomatic for me to respond to Joe.

On an unrelated note though, in addition to Amy , I also now automatically respond to:

• Amy-wan (more of my friends than you might imagine actually call me this quite often, which is totally kewl with me … me like ! :));
• A or AMP (the guys at the office usually call me this);
• Umbrella (Baby Brother calls me this quite a bit … he started it to tease me because it was a while before he realized that my legal name is actually Amelia, so to mock Amelia in the taunting ways only baby brothers can do, he started calling me Umbrella. Though in the taunting ways only big sisters can do, I’ve got more people than I’m sure he’d like calling him “Baby now, which is short for Baby Brother. We’ve actually incorporated the whole Umbrella name now into a story as to why I go by Amy when my name is actually Amelia … we tell people I started going by Amy because when Baby Brother was a baby he couldn’t say Amelia, so we started calling me Amy because we thought he could say that, though he just kept calling me Umbrella and others just kept calling me Amy.
• Aims or Aim (A lot of people call me one of these. I really like it. The informality of it makes me feel like the person calling me it considers me a halfway decent person, maybe even a friend. It’s a good feeling.)
• Hey Bitch (Some of my guy friends call me this on occasion. I’m really not bothered by it, because when they call me it, it’s usually very fitting.)
• Amy Marie (My dad calls me this all the time).

Lastly,

Want to totally engage in a surreal mindphuck ???

Go out with a guy who has your old name !!!

The license plate I had on the most recent Grand Amy version of the AmyMobile,

Was the license plate I’ve had since 1984.

The first car that had that license plate was a 1972 Army green Ford Maverick.

A fairly ugly ass,

But incredibly reliable,

Car.

Obviously my lack of interest in stylish cars goes a long way back.

Anyways,

We called that Maverick the Incredible Hulk,

And what was kewl about it was the last three letters on the license plate were HLK,

So it,

Like fit.

To each new car,

I took the license plate.

And over the years,

It became incredibly,

Incredibly worn.

Probably not legal in the end,

In fact,

I’m fairly certain of it.

I have a bunch of cop/deputy/trooper friends,

So I asked several of them if I could get a ticket for having a faded license plate,

The response almost unanimously was:

“Could you? Yes, you could. Though it’s far more likely I’d be giving you another speeding ticket and a warning on the license plate. Though for what it’s worth … consider yourself warned on the license plate. “

I wouldn’t blame them if they did give me a ticket though,

The plate was in sad shape,

And I was faced this time trying to decide what to do,

When it came to licensing the new AmyMobile.

I had just paid the plate fees a few months back on the HLK plate,

So it made some financial sense to transfer the plate over to the new AmyMobile.

And from what I was told,

All I had to do was ask for a new plate,

And they’d give me a replacement plate at that time,

One that could be read and was actually useful.

But I didn’t want to turn the old plate back …

I sorta wanted to be able to keep it,

Frame it.

It was one of the few things of Joe that I hadn’t yet tossed.

Plus …

I didn’t want to get into the whole confusion thing about how that plate was in Joe’s name,

And I want to transfer it to a car in my name.

Not to mention,

Timing wise I had a bit of an overlap,

As I was acquiring the new AmyMobile before turning back the Grand Amy,

And I wanted to start driving the new AmyMobile right away,

Considering I was so many miles over on the Grand Amy.

But I couldn’t do that until I returned the Grand Amy since I still needed plates on the Grand Amy to drive it to the dealership.

I checked with the Secretary of State and they said I could purchase a temporary plate for like $15 or so,

Which could solve that problem,

And I was considering that.

However,

With the HLK plate,

All my other cars had something special about them,

At least in my mind,

And I wanted the new AmyMobile to have something special about her plate as well,

Which wasn’t going to be the case if I just got a randomly assigned new plate.

A vanity plate could solve the delimma,

But I’m not into vanity plates because they are,

Well … vain.

However,

I reasoned,

If I got a vanity plate that didn’t look like a vanity plate,

Just like a normal plate,

‘Cept there could be a special meaning to me,

Then the problem would be solved, and …

All would be kewl.

Well done Amy-wan !

So that’s what I decided to do.

My first thought was to get the HLK numbers on a vanity plate,

That’d be nutty.

But then I figured it’d create that same confusion problem with the old plate being in Joe’s name,

And me trying to get a new plate with Joe’s old number.

Not to mention,

That was Joe’s plate,

I needed a new plate,

With my own special digits !

So as I was waiting for my number to be called,

I created an incredibly simple,

Da Amy Kode,

For my new license plate.

It’s a total of 5 digits,

Not necessarily read as five numbers.

It totally personalizes the AmyMobile,

Though doesn’t present vain.

When you get the answer,

You’ll have to agree …

It’s Amy.

Take a guess if you’re up for it,

Otherwise I’ll share the digits wth ya later !!!

(Though those of you that I’ve already told the answer, don’t play. That wouldn’t be fair.)

Mwah removing the license plate from the Grand Amy.

And Mwah putting the new license plate on the Grand Pricks.

So recently,

I found myself in need of a new Amy Mobile,

Obviously.

Now historically,

Whenever the lease on my car was set to expire,

Something like the following would transpire …

Me, calling Dad on the phone: ” Hey Dad, my lease is about to expire, can you go to the dealership and work a deal on a new one for me.“

Dad: “When do you have to turn your car back?“

Me: “Tomorrow.“

Dad: “Nice.“

Me: “Better than today.“

Dad: “Want anything different this time?“

Me: “Nope, same is good.“

Dad: “What color?“

Me: “I’d like white, but a light color of any sorts is fine.“

Dad: “I’ll see what I can do.“

Me: “Thanks !“

I’d then go down to the dealership the next day,

Sign the papers,

And quite often go and look see for the first time what car I just committed myself driving for 2 - 3 years.

So if you haven’t figured it out yet,

I really don’t put much effort into my transportation selection.

Shaft says I have a pedestrian taste in vehicles,

And if that means I just don’t care,

Then he’s right.

All I want is reliable,

And some basic creature comforts … power windows, power locks, air.

Other than that,

Whatever.

In fact,

When people would ask me what kind of car I was next going to get,

I’d often say “whatever my future husband wants to give me. Probably the car he’s driving now and then he can just get a new one.“

And I’m honestly not saying that just to add another reason to the quite expansive list of why I would be the perfect chica for a guy that could get over My Function .

The logic just makes complete sense to me,

Follow:

First of all,

Though I don’t care what I’m driving, guys do, way too much. So more than likely the car my future husband would be driving would be something he’d have spent a ton of time thinking about and deliberating on to make sure he had just the right ride, which is substantially more energy than I’d put into that particular thought process (I spend my energies overanalyzing other things. )

Then second of all,

Guys take care of their cars much better than I do.

A used hand me down car from a future husband is more likely than not going to be a nice step up for me from the condition in which I have kept whatever vehicle is currently in my possession.

However,

With that being said …

I do tend to be a Pontiac girl.

I love Pontiacs,

They are a nice combination of fast food, superficial sporty and decent reliability.

And my Pontiac of choice …

Is the Grand Am.

Since 1985,

I’ve owed or leased nothing but Grand Ams or Aleros (The Alero being the Oldsmobile equivalent of a Grand Am, built on the Grand Am frame), except for a two car period where I tried Fords,

Seven or Eight Grand Ams/Aleros in all.

Unfortunately,

The geniuses that they are at General Motors,

Shut down the entire Oldsmobile line - so getting an Alero styled Grand Am is impossible,

And then this year the GM Brainless Trust stopped making the Grand Am in the Pontiac line.

Jerks.

It’s my komplete expectation that the last line GM will close down is the Buick line,

Where every time someone over 100 dies they lose a potential customer.

Gawd, are they good at market analysis.

No …

I’m not bitter that they stopped production of my beloved Grand Am,

Not bitter at all.

Anyways,

I figured I’d make a go at another Pontiac,

Preferrably a Grand Prix, for the obvious and foremost reason that I could pronounce it Grand Pricks and I think that’s funny. *snicker*

However,

Considering the fact that I was so far over miles on my last lease,

As it seems like I’m driving more and more miles these days,

I decided to consider purchasing a car this time,

Instead of leasing one.

And …

Since I really didn’t want to pay an obscene quantity of money for a car,

I decided to shop around for a used one,

To see what the options were.

In theory,

This could bring a Grand Am option back into play.

Yay !!!

So I asked around,

Talked around,

Made inquiries,

And after a while …

A person I knew had a lead on an amazing Grand Prix:

2004,

GT loaded with all sorts of krap, and …

Only 20,000 miles.

The catch though …

Was that it was a salvage title car,

Which in my home state means that it was in an accident,

And the insurance company totaled it,

Deciding that it was just cheaper to pay the insured money to buy a completely new replacement car,

Than pay the costs involved in trying to repair the car in the accident.

So yes,

It was damaged goods.

But since I’ve actually heard myself referred to as such,

I decided to give the “damaged goods” a fair assessment,

It’s the least I could do, chilly.

Now I’ll have to admit,

The first time I saw the Grand Pricks …

On our first date,

I was impressed.

It was phreaking hot !!!

Apparently it’s Sport Red in color,

Though in my reality it looked sort of what I’d call brunette with deep red highlights,

(It would be nice to see what color it really was,

But I’ll take the word of others than it was Sport Red and looked good,

However,

I definitely would have preferred it being a color I could see …

White, or maybe …

Black, or possibly a nice …

Grey.)

Anyways …

It was all shinied up to sell,

So the klear koat was looking good and sparkly.

And it was definitely tricked out,

Having every conceivable option that one could get on a Grand Prix with the single exception of OnStar,

Which it was lacking.

I liked the car enough after our first date,

That I agreed to go out again.

So we made arrangements to get together a few days later.

And when we did,

I took the opportunity to have it checked out thoroughly:

Apparently there was no damage to the frame or engine or anything like that in its accident,

Guess it was just the front passenger site quarter panel, front passenger door and rear passenger door that suffered the damage and had to be replaced, fixed up.

That was encouraging.

As we continued to get along,

The car and I then decided to spend a weekend together,

To give me a chance to drive it hard,

Get a feel for it.

Which I did,

Wow !!!

Sport Red car with plenty of power …

I could so see myself contributing to my home counties’ speeding ticket collection plate.

We were klicking,

So I figured I’d take the plunge,

And introduce it to some of my friends.

Yikes, what will my friends think about this car I’m driving ??? I hope they will all get along !!!

It went good,

And I got positive feedback generally,

Until …

I told them of its past,

Its Function.

Not good,

So not good.

Exactly the phreaking reason why I don’t date anyone in my hometown,

And only date guys that know My Function .

Now granted,

I have somewhat heightened sensitivities to this particular issue,

But every time someone said:

“You know, that’s really not a Pontiac you’d be getting, it’s just some mechanic’s best effort to make it look like a Pontiac. “

I heard:

“You know, you’re not really a girl, you’re just some doctor’s best effort to make you look like a girl. “

When the words uttered were:

“You know, when you get a car with a history like that, it’s just all the more likely you’re going to have problems in the future, they are never fixed right. “

I heard:

“You know, with a history like that, you’re going to have problems with her in the future, she just can’t be right. “

Or in the case of:

“What are you even thinking about, are you nuts? It’s a salvage title car ! “

I heard:

“What are you even thinking about, are you nuts? It’s a guy ! “

Now granted,

Most of my friends that met the car,

Could soon figure out that the car and I were bonding,

Definitely “In Like”.

So they would make an effort to soften their comments some,

But it was still very, very clear …

They didn’t approve.

“I hope it works out for you two” was definitely followed by a unspoken, but loud “but I’m not optimistic about it. “

Though here’s the thing,

Once you do the whole sex change thing,

You really do learn to think for yourself.

So despite the generally across the board disapproval of the car among my friends,

The reality is:

They didn’t know the car,

They hadn’t had it checked out like I had,

They weren’t the ones paying for it, and …

They weren’t the ones that were going to be putting probably 100,000 miles on it, spending more time with it than pretty much anyone else.

And other than concerns about Its Function,

I really never heard any convincing knock about it.

Besides,

My parents liked it,

Which was good.

Heck,

It was even one of the few American cars that was on the recommended used car list at Consumers Report.

(Granted, when I tossed that tidbit out in an attempt to suggest I did my homework, you know the response: “That’d be great if it was a Grand Prix, but it just looks like a Grand Prix, it’s not a Grand Prix.” Nice, yeah, I get the point … it’s the car version of a transsexual.)

Anyways,

I decided to attempt to negotiate a deal.

There was a number I had in mind,

And that’s what I’d do.

Now I’m not going to get into any of my negotiating philosophies,

Style,

Or opinions,

Those are trade secrets, ya know.

But I will say that I do firmly believe in the negotiating principal that:

As soon as you want something too much,

And aren’t willing to walk away from the deal,

You’re no longer negotiating.

You have to always be willing to walk away from the deal if it doesn’t meet your terms.

And though the seller and I tried very hard to get something to work out,

We weren’t able to agree on a number,

And broke up over $150.00.

So obviously,

I started dating other cars,

Many other cars,

Many, many other cars,

Including a few Grand Ams,

Because I was on the rebound and all.

Anyways,

Much to my surprise and subsequent happiness,

The seller of the car and I were able to later revisit the issue,

And the Grand Pricks and I got back together.

A salvage title car for a salvage title girl.

We’re very happy together,

I must say !!!

So everyone,

Please say ‘hola’ to the latest incarnation of the AmyMobile …

The Grand Pricks !!!

Some of ya’ll may even get to ride in it when I’m playing Chicago Taxi Biaatch if you’re in town, though be forewarned, all those rumors of my questionable driving abilities … well, they are based on something !! But hey, I promise I’ll try to keep the AmyMobile cleaner this go around !!!

Me putting the Picture of 5 in the Passenger Seat Visor of the new AmyMobile.

One white footie

Golf Clubs

A Simon and Garfunkel Album

23 CDs

A cookie tin of 45’s - top one was The Carpenters - Rainy Days & Mondays

Gift in the glove compartment that was never able to be given

5 of Joe’s business cards

18 3-year old tablets of Vicodin (I flushed them down the toilet)

Sticky Note reminding me to “Get cigarettes and Beef Jerky” (Not for me, I’m thinking it was for Singer and Sister)

Three empty cans of Red Bull (Actually, I honestly think there’s a chance they were leftovers from a Sister and Miss Daisy outing where we went to some party just east of BFE)

Key chain in the shape of a small Florida license plate that says Amy

8 McDonald Monopoly tags

$3 in McDonald’s gift certificates

Garage door opener to Ex’s old house

House key to my old house

Room key to the place we stayed at 5 years ago during the golfing outing with my old college buddies

2002, 2003. 2004, 2005 Court Rules for my home state

2003, 2004, 2005 Criminal Statutes and Rules for my home state

2005 Court Rules for my home state - another copy

Playbill to Blue Man Group

1 Unused condom (Trojan - lubricated)

Receipt from Jake’s Pizza for a 14 inch mushroom, sausage and pepperoni thin crust pizza that Shaft ordered delivered to the hotel room the night of my FFS while he was taking care of me

Receipt for the room and golf package for Joe’s last golf outing with his old college buddies - arrival date was June 26, 2003

Printout of Joe’s last bowling sheet before my FFS - He rolled a 537.

Printout of the first bowling sheet when Joe bowled with the group after my FFS (November 19, 2003. Our series totals for the night were Singer: 349; Sister: 257; Miss Daisy: 435; Runner-Up: 431; Joe: 436. Please note for the record that I did have the team high series ! )

5 Megamillion lottery tickets - all losers

An uncashed check made out to Joe for $750.00 (too late to cash it now)

Pictures from a GP gathering in Chicago

Program to my cousin Jet’s wedding

A brand new tube of mascara

A worthless tube of lipstick

Sunglass case

Another sunglass case

And yet another sunglass case

Map of my home state

Map of my home county

Map of my second home county

Tire pressure gauge

Flashlight

Two old cell phones

Tube of emollient

Starbucks gift card - $10

A large Maxwell House coffee can full of change

A 2 liter Mountain Dew plastic bottle full of change

A 2 liter Coke plastic bottle full of change

5 umbrellas (Ahem … yeah, apparently Shaft was wise for putting me on Umbrella Probation - it does appear I never return a borrowed umbrella.)

4 containers of hand lotion in various stages of emptiness

Boy golf shoes

Girl golf shoes

Boy bowling shoes

Boy overnight bag (empty)

A pair of Joe’s navy Docker shorts

One of Joe’s old favorite ties

Tollway change stash stored in a small container in which I get my Chinese Chicken Noodle Soup

Abdomen sticky pads I had to wear under the girdle which I had to wear for an annoying number of weeks after my waistline liposuctiooooon

5 baseball caps

Another flashlight

Always thin pantiliners

Notes for an opening statement

Spare fuses

Windshield scraper

Parking garage card

9 travel coffee cups

4 different types of handsfree head/ear phones for various mobile phones

A golf ball mark from The Masters

A golf ball

A golf tee

A container of bandages

Car registrations and proofs of insurance for 2003, 2004, 2005 and 2006

A Nautica floating key chain with nothing attached

An Olympus voice recording device

Approximately 1,806 blue, fine tipped pens

1 Westlaw labeled highlighter

A picture of all 5 of us from my old Wednesday night gang taken the first time we hung out as a group

And The Question is …

[click to continue...]

If you would have told me five three years ago,

That there would be moments,

Times,

Where I would be socializing,

Interacting with people,

The world,

Living life,

And absolutely, kompletely forgetting My Function,

I imagine I would have said something like “I wish ! “

Yet here,

Today …

At times,

I can honestly say that particular wish has come true.

It’s really an incredibly great, kickbutt feeling.

Though the reason I know it’s an incredibly great, kickbutt feeling …

Is because at some point,

I’m always subsequently reminded of My Function .

Which usually makes me appreciate what an incredibly great, kickbutt feeling I had been experiencing,

Now don’t get me wrong,

It’s not like being reminded of My Function is necessarily a bad experience,

It’s not …

My Function and I are on really great terms with one another,

And neither of us are the least bit bothered or embarrassed by the other.

(Ahem, well, apparently it’s more accurate to simply state that I’m not the least bit bothered or embarrassed by My Function. My Function wants to speak for itself later. )

Also note,

That being reminded on My Function is totally different than experiencing gender dysphoria.

That latter, of course, being what one aims to dissipate by dealing with their Function in the first place.

And for me,

That was a complete success.

Gender Dysphoria BeGone - Apply directly to head. Gender Dysphoria BeGone - Apply directly to head. Gender Dysphoria BeGone - Apply directly to head.

Seriously, for those Viewers that have never had to deal with gender dysphoria, be glad … it sucks. And for those of you that have to deal with gender dysphoria, *hug* … I know how it sucks.

But back to the winding road leading to the point of this point …

In this particular instance,

I’m simply talking about being reminded of My Function,

And …

In a very specific, extremely rare type of instance:

First, being reminded of My Function from a friend or friends;

Second, the friend or friends are aware of My Function; and,

Third, the friend or friends have absolutely no problem with My Function, meaning that in such situations I’m usually reminded of My Function indirectly and unintentionally from my friend or friends.

Confused yet?

Yeah, I don’t blame ya, me too.

I’m still trying to sort out the experience myself,

Hence this post.

Amyways,

I’ll try to klarify:

Sometimes this whole sex change thing really feels incredibly Twilight Zone-ish,

Especially since I’ve transitioned and stayed around my hometown,

It’s as if I’ve went to a parallel universe where everything is the same,

Except I’m a girl.

Which is great,

Right?

Exactly what I wanted,

Right?

Well,

It is,

Phreaking really great !

But at times …

Where the aforementioned elements are present,

I find myself experiencing what I call a My Place moment.

A sort of deja vu feeling,

Where I get caught off guard finding myself treated differently,

By people I wouldn’t expect to be treating me differently …

Solely because I’m a girl.

I’m put in “My Place”.

Now I’m not talking about inclusion or exclusion of group outings, events or anything like that,

I’m talking about interactions between people that in many ways is based on perceived societal placement,

Status.

Now as a woman,

I’m used to it in many ways,

And have no gripes about it …

It is what it is,

Just comes with the territory.

But in My Place moments,

It’s an utter mindphuck, hiccup.

Because for me,

From my perspective,

In those situations where I’m really comfortable around folks of past,

Nothing has really changed visually when I’m hanging out with them.

They appear the way they have always appeared.

And since I’m really not looking at myself,

I’m not visually aware of of my changes,

Making it easy for me to forget anything has changed,

Just be comfortable,

And lulling myself to a point where I expect to receive the same type of social respect, treatment …

I received before.

That is …

Until I’m put in My Place .

It’s usually nothing major by any means,

Sometimes it’s simply a guy talking to me like I don’t know what I’m talking about, doing the “Are you sure about that? ” thing that guys do to women all the time, implying we’re stupid. Something they don’t do to men;

Sometimes it’s overhearing a mean spirited, catty comment about me shot from another woman; and,

Sometimes it’s just being relegated to subservient tasks and omitted from tasks I would just have expected to be ask for assistance.

I’ll be the first to admit,

It always catches me off guard,

Sometimes feels like a cold slap in the face, and …

Occasionally hurts my feelings.

But personally,

I think it’s a great thing to experience.

It’s reflective of complete acceptance,

At least on a subconscious level,

By the friend and friends.

It’s just that because I hung out in the parallel universe before …

I’m able to notice the difference in this one.

I’m definitely adding it to my list of things that I think are pretty kewl about having a Function.

Though just for the record,

It’s still not as great a thing as being able to drink all night on five bucks !

Happy Father’s Day Everyone !
I had a great day with my dad !

We hung out,

Did the food thing,

Got ice cream,

Watched Phil blow yet another U.S. Open, and …

He got everything he wanted for Father’s Day.

Definitely a good, good day.

Dads Rock !

Especially mine !

So it’s phreaking pouring rain …

As Shaft and I made it to our parking garage.

Now for those not familiar with our parking routine,

We always park on the top-most floor in our parking garage,

IJ,

That way our cars are covered from the elements,

And we can always remember where we parked.

As we approach the elevator,

The power flickered,

Elevator lights went out briefly,

Then returned.

Working.

“So, feeling like living on the edge?“

I said,

Knowing that there’s no way we would really opt not to take the elevator.

And since Shaft didn’t even answer me,

Just followed me into it …

Klearly I was correct.

I don’t remember what we gabbed about during the ride up …

Probably nothing.

But I do remember that the ride to IJ seemed pretty routine,

And that we were almost there …

When the power went out again,

Causing us to be stuck between floors.

It’s really been years since Shaft and I had a new adventure …

I miss them.

So I totally enjoyed the idea of having another !

Woo hoo !!!

You have to take advantage of adventure opportunities people,

You never know if it will be the last …

And it would suck to let one go to waste !

As such,

I decided to engage in some active Amy photojournalism,

To commemorate the event, ya know.

Oddly though,

Shaft found my attempts to document said adventure utilizing the former of the …

“A picture is worth a thousand words” premise,

Annoying.

“Stop taking pictures.“

“Put that *&$# camera phone away.“

“Another five minutes and I would have shoved that camera phone down your throat.“

Odd too,

Considering that for all but about 5 minutes of the entire time of our 30-45 minute ordeal …

Commencing within moments of the elevator stopping,

He engaged in active broadcast journalism,

Calling everyone on his Treo with a speed-dial number and announcing he was stuck in an elevator.

“Hey guess what? I’m stuck in an elevator. Nobody, just Amy.“

“Hey … me again. No, we’re still in the elevator. We just saw the fire truck go past down below, so we have help on the way. It’s really getting warm in here.“

“Duuuuuuuude, guess what? No, I went before I left. I’m stuck in the parking garage elevator. Just me and Amy. And I’m going to break that &*%$ camera phone of hers if she doesn’t stop taking pictures.“

Whatever.

Actually, I only asked him to participate in one photo that could have been construed as annoying.

And he wouldn’t even do that.

(I thought it would be funny if I got a picture of him sitting on the floor looking like he was gnawing on my arm …

Cannibalism,

It’s always good for a laugh. )

Amyways …

Uber, major props to our city employees,

Both in the parking structure and the fire department.

Shaft,

Taking advantage of the opportunity to continue avoiding conversation with mwah by working yet another telephone …

Used the elevator phone to call the fire department and let them know we were stuck in the elevator.

They asked how many were in the elevator, and …

If anyone needed medical attention,

A series of excellent qualifier questioooons in all.

The one they stumped us on though was “in which elevator are you located“?

Now despite the fact that the parking ramp name and elevator identifier (location) are prominently,

And I mean prominently …

Displayed,

In phreaking big letters black letters against a white background right next to the emergency phone,

And on a large, even more detailed sign at sight level above the emergency phone,

And on yet another sign in Braille …

Shaft and I both stumbled trying to describe in which parking garage and elevator we were located.

Seriously,

How can we not know that?

We’ve just park there every workday for the last five, six years.

What butts.

Anyways,

Shortly after hanging up with the fire department,

Parking garage personnel arrived,

And yelled at us from the other side to let us know they knew we were in there.

I took their call yell,

Because Shaft was in the middle of another broadcast talking to someone else on the phone.

The parking lot personnel …

Also asked us if anyone needed any medical attention,

Inquired how many were in the elevator,

And told us they would wait right outside the door there until the fire fighters arrived to rescue us in case we need to let them know of anything.

Professional, classy, top notch.

I was very impressed.

The fire fighters soon arrived and let us know they would be getting us out.

It didn’t take them long at all to get there.

We could hear them making noise on the other side.

At one point they must have opened up the outer elevator doors,

And then accidentally dropped something …

Which made a loud, banging, dropping noise.

It scared the this out of me,

This being an anagram.

Wow !

We could also hear them fairly clearly trying to strategize the safest way to get us out of the elevator …

Looking at the floor above us,

And the one below us,

Trying to decide which way to take us out.

In case you’re wondering,

For those with dysfunctional senses of humor …

Such as Shaft and I,

Three phrases that are really funny to hear when you’re stuck in an elevator are:

It’s in the absolute worse place it could possibly be.

I don’t like this one bit.

It’s going to be a really tight squeeze.

We were laughing !!!

And it wasn’t nervous laughter.

It was good adventure laughter.

Obviously we must have been stuck almost right in the middle between floors.

Finally the fire fighters decided how they want to take us out,

And opened the inner elevator doors from the upper floor.

Calm, cool, collected …

And uber, safety conscious.

These guys rocked !!!

They were like checking and double checking shut-offs,

Ladder placement,

Making sure brackets were secure,

All that krap.

I felt like I was in an operating room with all the talk and double checks taking place.

You couldn’t help but feel safe.

Amazing they were.

We handed them our belongings before we started to climb up the ladder they had dropped down into the elevator.

Shaft even let me exit first …

Sweet.

My virgin opportunity to take advantage of the whole “women and children first” courtesy.

Though just for the record,

As I was climbing up the ladder,

He did say something along the lines of …

“Put that &*(^%$# camera phone away before I break it.“

Though in my defense,

One of the fire fighters thought it was fine and even said …

“Hey, is that a RAZR?“

It was sort of a tight squeeze-me getting out of the elevator,

Mainly because the angle of the ladder we used to climb out took up some space …

’Causing us to have to sort of veer off to the left of the ladder when we made out final exit move.

The fire fighters and parking lot personnel were on the other side …

And made sure we were all fine.

Turns out four fire fighters came to rescue me.

Honest to gawd,

That’s like every girl’s dream.

I love fire fighters,

Though that’s a well known Amy Truism.

The fire fighters even let me wear one of their helmets and take a picture.

And guess what …

Turns out when we climbed out of the elevator,

We were on our level where our cars were located,

Right on IJ.

Well but,

That concludes this Adventure With Shaft,

In five years,

When we tell the story,

It’ll be much more exciting and embellished,

Just give us time.

Mucho thanks to the parking lot employees and fire fighters that rescued us.

You’re the best.

Oh yeah,

And if any of you want to see the pictures I took of the incident,

Faces smudged out to protect others privacy, of course …

You can find them here.

Here in the States we have a national holiday today called …

Memorial Day.

It is a holiday to commemorate the men and women who died in military service for my country.

Though being a day to honor the memory of those passing in service,

For some,

It also brings to the forefront personal memories of loved ones passed,

Regardless of military service.

I was very close with my Grandpa and Grandma Hairdy,

My paternal grandparents.

I was close with my maternal grandparents too,

But they passed when I was much younger,

And still lived in Tennessee,

So I just didn’t have the opportunity to spend that much time with them.

I did however,

Spend a lot of time with my Grandpa and Grandma Hairdy.

I lived with them one summer during college when I found a job for the summer months in their hometown,

Sometimes I’d take a bus to their place for the weekends during college when we’d all meet up at their house for family gatherings,

And their house was a halfway point on my way home from college,

So I always stopped at their place on my way back to see Mom, Dad and Baby Brother ,,,

For some high quality Grandma nourishment.

And every now and then …

On those occasions when I was going to crash at their place,

After feasting on one of Grandma Hairdy’s masterpieces,

Grandpa and I,

And sometimes Grandma,

Would toss back a few shots of whiskey.

Just a few,

Mind you,

While we would talk,

Grandpa and Grandma would tell me of my ancestry,

Stories and events of family past.

To this day,

I speak much better Czech when I’m totally sauced up,

Than not.

Go figure.

And to this day,

I honestly feel close to Grandpa and Grandma Hairdy.

They passed before getting the chance to meet Me Ver. 2.0,

But I really don’t think they have a problem with it.

I don’t think it came as any surprise to Grandma Hairdy,

And if it did,

She’d be “so what“.

Maybe in his younger day Grandpa Hairdy might have been …

“Huh?“

But my Grandpa Hairdy,

Would ask me a bunch of questions,

And when he was sure I had considered everything,

Would say something along the lines of …

“Well, sounds like you covered everything. Wanna do a shot?“

Now I don’t just go visit Grandpa and Grandma Hairdy on Memorial Day,

But Mom, Dad, Baby Brother and I made the trip to their cemetery Saturday,

And I …

Did what I always do when I go see Grandpa and Grandma:

I take some Canadian Mist,

Grandpa’s non-Czech whiskey of choice,

And do some shots with Grandpa and Grandma.

One for me,

Two for Grandpa,

One for Grandma.

Rinse and Repeat …

Until Empty.

Grandpa and Grandma get a kick out it,

Though sometimes I do get some looks.

Whatever.

It’s not everyday that one gets the opportunity to make a gesture of respect,

Also one founded in meaning and memories.

Besides,

I’m really not that much of a flower girl anyways.

Happy Memorial Day All !!!

Remember good things !

(View a mini-slide show of me doing shots with Grandpa and Grandma.)

Editor’s Note:

One of my viewers posted a comment that observed part of this post misconstrued the meaning/definition of Memorial Day here in the States. In reviewing the words I had chosen to try and phrase my thoughts at the time, I appreciate what my Viewer was saying. As such, I’ve removed my poorly chosen words and replaced them with hopefully more accurate, less bothersome words. Though since reference to the original words are in the comment section to this post, I’ve pasted the original verbage below so the comments will make sense if you’re reading them.

It originally was a holiday meant to commemorate men and women who died in military service for my country.

Though as time has progressed,

It has also sort of become a day of memory for all loved ones passed,

Regardless of military service.

Message left on Joe’s voicemail yesterday:

“Hi Joe. This is ______ from ________ Company. I was in your office last week and we met. I wanted to follow up with you to discuss your _______ supply needs. Blah Blah Blah“

Now I’m giving him the benefit of the doubt, figuring that he meets so many people during the course of the day, that he just confused meeting someone else with Joe.

But I can say with a great deal of confidence ..

I’m pretty phreaking sure he didn’t meet Joe last week.