Shop Til You Drop

I don't think men can possibly understand the relationship between women and shopping. There are those moments of pure bliss, where everything aligns and your hands are gripping the handles of as many shopping bags as possible and its euphoric. And then, there are those other moments. Those moments that you are in a dressing room and you stare at your mirror reflection in utter defeat and try not to cry.

As a chunky little girl, I had those moments a lot. It was very frustrating to argue with my mother to let me try on the little miniskirts while she told me, quite plainly, "Little girls your size shouldn't wear these." I would insist, please, please let me try it on. Who knows? Maybe we were both misunderstanding my size and it would look cute! Sometimes I would eventually win the chance to try something on, and prance out in delight while my mother stared at me and shook her head no sadly.

As a teenager, I stopped caring. In a way to avoid the entire ordeal, I piled on tshirts stolen from my grandfather (a big and tall burly man who wore a 3x or 4x) and mens' carpenter jeans from Goodwill. My mother would sigh unhappily because I obviously "didn't know that I was a girl". The biggest brawl came about over my junior prom dress.

My mom had not attended her own prom. I didn't care about mine. I didn't want anything strapless. I didn't want anything that would show any pudge whatsoever. In desperate attempts, I suggested to my mother: "How about a mini skirt and a Hawaiian shirt? How about a tuxedo?" She shook her head, insisting that she was trying to make sure I didn't wear something I would regret. Dress shopping took weeks. Weeks of, "Hey mom, this is alright." "But Brandi, it's not prom material."

Finally, we found a dress that fit and was in our price range. It was strapless. It was beaded and embroidered and everything else I had said I didn't want. Dejected, I rolled my eyes. "Sure. This will work." If my mom had paid attention, she would have realized that what I was really saying was, "I don't care anymore; I just want to quit shopping!" I wore it to junior prom but was so happy to store it in my closet at the end of the night and never get it out again.

This experience came to mind when I went shoe shopping a couple of weeks ago. I have a nice event coming up and wanted some shoes. Sadly, I wear an 11 and a half. Wide width. Walmart carries up to a size 9. Target doesn't carry wide width at all. So, I on a student budget had to desperately try various stores looking for something in my budget in my size.

Once again, I had many moments where I felt utterly defeated.

Until a couple of nights ago. I discovered eBay shoes.

If you enter the search criteria of 11 and a half or 12, wide width and extra wide width, over 2,00 results appear. 2,000 results that a girl can sort by price. Consider it my own personal sense of heaven. I can spend eight bucks, including shipping, on a pair of stylish black ankle boots if I so desire. I never imagined being able to afford such stylish shoes on the off chance I ever found them in my size. And, if I'm unhappy, I ship them back. Or repost and resell on eBay.

And my senior prom? I decided I refused to wear a dress I didn't love again. So that satin prom dress stayed in its closet and I ended up wearing a $12 white Marilyn Monroe costume I found at a thrift store to my senior prom.

At the end of the girl, a girl's gotta feel good with the choices she makes. Especially with her own money. And thanks to eBay shoes, I may begin to feel less self conscience about my feet for the first time in a very long time.

Drive Me Crazy

Not so long ago, I found myself amongst a group of friends, two of whom had recently received speeding tickets. As they bemoaned the upcoming court dates, I asked a few questions.

"Oh," I concluded to one girl. "You've got no problem. Davidson County main courts are pretty damn easy. Everyone walks in. The judge tells you to rise if you plead guilty, and if you do, you get to walk out within twenty minutes instead of listening to everyone whine about how they 'really did stop at that stop sign, they promise!, your honor'."

"Now, you... well, it's gonna be hell, to be honest," I said, focusing on another friend. "Plan at least two and a half hours. Small town courts are the worst. The Cheatham County Court Judge was really tough, and we all had to stand up before court was in session so that anyone in inappropriate attire could be promptly escorted out. That process took twenty minutes alone. Though to be fair to the smaller courts, the Belle Meade Court System was surprisingly lax. The judge there let all students go first."

All side conversations had stopped. "Wow, Brandi," said another friend, obviously trying to hide a huge smile and laugh. "You sure seem to know your courts in middle Tennessee."

Oops.

Sometimes I don't know when to shut my big mouth.

I had to blush.

Okay, in the five years I've had a drivers license, I've had way more speeding tickets than I should have. And then, my license was suspended for six months and I got a ticket for driving with a suspended license. That combined with innocent ignorance of tail lights being out and a forgotten seat belt... let's just say it adds up.

Not only that, my grandfather has had more than his share of DUIs. I've been in a couple of different courtrooms, defending my honor to His Honor, remembering watching my grandfather in the same courtroom 15 years prior defending his honor. It helps stick out in my mind. Imagine my surprise when a particular surrounding county judge was the exact same who threw my grandfather in jail for ten days all those years ago. I remembered this judge as soon as I saw his bald head.

Interesting side note: one night, I was pulled over by a police officer for not having a seat belt on. My best friend was in the passenger side beside me. The police officer was not kind. He blurted out how many past offenses were on my record and asked how in the world I could "forget" my seat belt with my record. He kept using that phrase too. "With your record..." he would think I was more cautious. Let's just say after he finally let me go (without a ticket, thankyouverymuch, I am nothing if not charming), my best friend stared at me incredulously and repeated my number of offenses several times over.

Today, I found myself in the Court House of the City of Belle Meade for a second time in my life. I was so close to a year without a ticket, I thought to myself. Damn those expired tags! I know, I know. Totally my fault. I messed up.

Quite frankly, I'm surprised the State of Tennessee hasn't permanently revoked my license. And if they did, somehow, do so, I wouldn't blame them. I probably shouldn't be allowed on the road, I guess. It's not that I'm a crazy negligent driver. I just sometimes let the other stresses of my life cloud my ability to keep minor details in check.

I can only hope that should the State of Tennessee decide to permanently revoke my license, they provide a court ordered personal chauffeur.

'Tis the Season

"I can't believe you did this," I deadpanned.

"Brandi, don't you think you're being unreasonable?"

"No. Frankly, I can't believe you've ruined my childhood Christmas memories."

My mother stared at me incredulously. "Brandi!"

"Grinch!"

Let me tell you the story. When I was a young 'un, we couldn't afford to buy many movies. So many times, my parents would buy blank VHS tapes and record movies from TV. Unfortunately, this came with commercials and scenes would be cut out. By my teens, our "store-bought" movies had began to outnumber our "home made" movies, so mom began to replace the home made with their store bought counterparts and throw away the old ones.

Now, that being said. There was a tape. The tape was simply labled in mom's handwriting in 20 year old Sharpie "CHRISTMAS". This tape had Rudolph The Red Nose Reindeer, followed by A Charlie Brown Christmas, followed by A Garfield Christmas, followed by Twas The Night Before Christmas (the cutest Christmas show about mice you'll ever see). I watched this tape every year for 19 years. I had it memorized. I would sing along with the "If I Could Be Like Mike" Gatorade commercials, smile at Shaquille O'Neil as he suffered from Taco Neck Syndrome, and chuckle at the Coca Cola polar bears. I knew that after Rudolph ended I had ten minutes to run and grab eggnogg from the fridge because the first ten minutes of A Charlie Brown Christmas were static thanks to Mom's flimsy VCR.

Last year, I was at my friend Corey's house and he suggested watching Rudolph. I was all for it until halfway through his DVD, I realized there were two scenes I had never seen before. And I missed my commercials. But I sat politely. I planned to grab my mom's tape later, but forgot about it. This year, November 1st, I decided it was time to revive my tape.

But as I searched through the five cases of DVDs and VHSs, I couldn't find it. I finally asked Mom if she knew where it was. She rummaged for a minute and produced DVDs for Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer, Garfield Holiday Celebrations, and Charlie Brown Holiday Celebrations. "Twas the Night Before Christmas hasn't been released on DVD yet," she shrugged.

"That's not my tape," I said, flatly.

"I know; I threw it out. This is better," she said, confused.

I still can not believe she said those words to me.

Sometimes, adults and kids don't necessarily agree with what is important about the holidays. Regarding cheesy holiday specials, it was simply important to mom that I had seen them. But it was the imperfections and the memorization of that particular tape that was special to me.

I am 21. I can't expect my mom to keep everything the same just to conform to what I want to revisit from my childhood. It would be nice if my mom's house looked and smelled the same 20 years from now as it did 20 years ago and I always had the same home base. It would be nice if the tape still existed and the same false tree was still being put up with the same ornaments as from when I was a kid. But that's unrealistic.

I suppose I can't expect all of her decisions to revolve around me.

I suppose I have to decide to be an adult about this.

Even if I still want my tape.