During my divorce and days on end with Real Housewives (how I love Jill Z and Countess D, ) and Hoarders, it became clear to me that I really had to do something. What to do...what to do...I tried volunteer work. I volunteered at a local television station taking calls for the "Problem Solver." People would call in with complaints about local businesses in hopes of getting the "Problem Solver" to give them a hand. You would listen to the person, take down all their information and hand it in. The goal was to get it to the on air personality and onto the news. The other volunteers took their work very seriously and seemed to receive calls dealing with important issues. Here is what I got:
"Hello this is XYZ News Problem Solver, how may I assist you today?"
"Uh yeah, I got the cable company out today, cos my tv wasn't working, and now the guy is out there bare ass naked in my bushes."
"I'm sorry, are you saying that the cable worker is naked in your bushes?"
"Yeah, that's what I'm saying and you need to get someone out here right now to get him out."
"Just give me your name and phone number and I will have someone contact you as soon as possible."
"Well you better hurry. I want him outta there before my wife gets home from work."
Needless to say I am in my cubicle laughing my ass off and that didn't really sit well with my fellow volunteers. Between that and me sitting at the news desk between calls, I didn't last too long there.
It was clear that I needed something to do, a reason to get up in the morning, something to get my brain in gear. My friends would say "Do something you love, " and I tried to remember what that might be. Then it came to me, College! I loved college for those 2 years I went. The frat parties, late night study sessions with delivery pizza, and the smell of sex and pot wafting down the dorm hallways. Of course, I haven't been able to drink rum since that one Halloween dorm party, when I missed curfew and spent the night in the parking lot dressed as a playboy bunny, but let's leave that alone, I don't remember it all anyway.
I chose a private University, about 30 minutes from my house, near alot of good night life where I figured the other kids and I would be hanging out after classes. Due to certain circumstances, (my advancing age and my barely there GPA,) I was advised that I would have to retake freshman English. Okay, sounds good, I should breeze right through, it couldn't have changed that much in 30 years.
In preparation for my first class I went out and purchased what I felt to be the biggest necessity for settling into college life: skinny jeans. I paired it up with a graphic T, and some super cool wedged heels and felt I was really ready to jump into academics.
I was excited on the first day of class. As I wandered the halls of my new found academia, I felt energized and purposeful. I found my classroom, and stopped in front of the door that would lead me to great beginnings. I entered the room, and saw about twelve 18 year old freshmen, conversing in a language that appeared foreign:
"So I was like Oh My God, DUDE, you are not putting the bed there, no way. And my roommate was like, Yes I am, and I was like, No dude, No Way."
"Dude, Oh My God, your roommate sounds like such a jerk. Seriously."
"I know. Right? Like seriously? I was like get over yourself. Seriously."
All conversation, came to a screeching halt when I entered the room, and I knew I had made the right wardrobe choice. It took me a minute to realize the kids thought I was the professor. I took a seat in the front row and realized something else. Skinny jeans, slide half way down your butt when you sit down, and your jockey underwear somehow settles in right beneath your boobs. It apparently is not a good look from behind, and it earned me the name of "Granny Panties' for the semester.
Although I really enjoyed my time back in college, it sure was different from my first time around. It's hard to concentrate on how to write a proper essay, when getting texts from your daughter saying "We're starving plz bring us home food." "We wantsubway" "J says get his usual, not toasted this time"
"What time u home? We starving" "Mom comeon," When class is over and the other kids are heading over to Frankie's for hotdogs and beer, I am racing to Subway to feed my starving children. Standing on line, I get a text, "Nvrmnd, dad taking us out."
DUDE-Seriously? Like, get over yourself.