RIP Beckers717 (...almost)

You're all most likely aware by now that I have a hard time letting go of anything that has even a slight connection to my past. Hence why I still have my AOL screenname from 3rd grade: Beckers717. As of late, this screenname has been demoted to the junk e-mail account I give to stores so I can get free coupons and what not. All fine and dandy.

Until recently.

Somehow my childhood e-mail account has been hacked and taken up the task of spamming everyone I have ever had any sort of connection to since elementary school. Basically, it's spamming the entire world. At first I ignored the spamming, hoping it would stop...but things started to get out of hand real fast. My friends started complaining to me that I was attacking their inboxes. The final straw: last week Beckers717 decided to contact all my fellow Zoo employees about the wonders of Viagra. Greeeeeat.

Today I decided it's time to let go. I took charge of the situation and created a new junk e-mail account, re-signed up to get all my coupons sent there instead, and went to complete the final step of the process: canceling the Beckers717 account. Sniffle Sniffle. A little bittersweet. I paused for a moment to reflect on the good times, forwarded myself some funny e-mails I wanted to hold onto, and forged ahead with the cancellation. Then the emotional bonds broke and I just got angry. Why? Well, have you ever tried to cancel an AOL account? IT'S IMPOSSIBLE.

After spending an hour trying to sift through AOL's "help" page, I resorted to calling a 1-800 number.

Let's talk for a second about how automated phone calls are THE BANE OF MY EXISTENCE. By the time I get to talk to an actual person (if that ever happens), I am no longer a nice person. Which is such a shame for the person on the other end of the phone. I try to give myself a mental peptalk before these dreaded phone calls: "Keep your cool, Becky. Speak clearly and press the right numbers when the stupid computer voice asks you to. And remember when you talk to a real person that it's not their fault the system is faulty." Despite my peptalks, things never end well. But it's only because the automated part always goes like my experience with AOL's phone service went today.

My side of the conversation:

"Yes."
"YES."
Presses 1
Presses 2
"Cancellation."
"CANCELLATION."
"74137"
"SEVEN-FOUR-ONE-THREE-SEVEN"
Types in 7-4-1-3-7
"Beckers717"
"B-e-c-k-e-r-s-7-1-7"
"BEE-EE-CEE-KAY-EE-ARE-ES-SEVEN-ONE-SEVEN"
(frustrated grunts begin)
"Phone number"
(I say my home phone number that I'd rather not give out to the Internet world)
(I type in my home phone number that I'm still not giving out to the Internet world)
"74137"
(I start mumbling frustrations under my breath)
Types in 74137
"B-e-c-k-e-r-s-7-1-7"
"B-E-C-K-E-R-S-7-1-7"
"BEE-EE-CEE-KAY-EE-ARE-ES-SEVEN-ONE-SEVEN"
"Yes! They found my account!"
(Pause)
"WHAT?!"
Slams phone down in frustration
"They said I should visit the website's help section for immediate assistance or press 2 to upgrade my account. I don't want to freaking upgrade my freaking account!!!!! I just want it to go away!!!!"

Not only was Peyton (my office mate) laughing at me, Kelly across the hall heard my entire exchange and was laughing as well. Meanwhile, I was just angry. And back at square one. So I decided to take to Twitter to vocalize my frustrations.

Beckyjlong: "Currently LOATHING @AOL for making it impossible for me to cancel my ancient e-mail account that is spamming the world.  #sendinghatevibes"

(Alright, it might have been a bit hostile. Clearly I was still fuming from my failed phone call.)

Check this out: AOL replied to my mean tweet!
AOL: "@Beckyjlong Hi - if you post your issue to this forum someone from AOL Mail can assist you http://aol.it/AOLMailForum (CC:@AOLSupportHelp)"

I LOVE SOCIAL MEDIA!!!!

I posted a question to the forum and actually got a response within minutes that told me to e-mail some other e-mail address and ask to have my account canceled. Magical! Still waiting to see if that works, but it's progress!

Screw you automated phone calls. I don't need YOU. I have Twitter.

Despite my small Twitter win, Beckers717 still exists. At least for the time being. Therefore, I would like to send a warning to all of you out there in the world: Beckers717 could go on another spamming rampage at any moment. And just so we're clear...Beckers717 thinks you should try Viagra, not me. Be on the alert.

Forgotten movies of the 1990s

As I've already proven time and time and time again, I like to take walks down memory lane quite frequently. The inspiration for today's post came when I was aimlessly clicking through YouTube last weekend and stumbled upon this little gem that took me back to the yester-years...

Not just a clip or two from Blank Check. No no no. Some saint who loves classic movies of the 90s almost as much as I do went to all the trouble to upload Blank Check IN ITS ENTIRETY on YouTube. A Sunday afternoon well spent, wouldn't you say? I thought so. Hence why I spent a good chunk of my Sunday looking up some of my favorite movies from adolescence. Some of these you've probably heard of; some of them you probably haven't. I've provided some of my fav quotes (thank you, IMDB) so you can either remember the magic or become convinced that these movies need to go to the top of your Netflix queue ASAP.

Shay Stanley: What exactly does Mr. Macintosh do anyway?
Preston Waters: A little of this and a little of that. You know.
Shay Stanley: No I'm afraid I don't. Is he an entrepreneur?
Preston Waters: No, he's an American.

Snowflake: We're too young to swim and there's no way back so we're trapped!

Scamper: Oh Snowflake, you should try to look at this as an adventure.

Whale: Hello penguins!

Scamper: Could you please give us a ride home?

Whale: It would be our pleasure.

Life as a penguin sounds pretty great, don't you think?   

YOU HAVE NOT LIVED UNTIL YOU HAVE SEEN THIS MOVIE. It's a right of passage.

Benny Rodriguez: Anyone who wants to be a can't-hack-it pantywaist who wears their mama's bra, raise your hand. 

Ham Porter: Hey, Smalls, you wanna s'more?

Smalls: Some more of what?
Ham Porter: No, do you wanna s'more?
Smalls: I haven't had anything yet, so how can I have some more of nothing? 

Ham Porter: You're killing me Smalls! These are s'more's stuff! Alrite now pay attention. First you take the graham, you stick the chocolate on the graham. Then you roast the 'mallow. When the 'mallows flaming... you stick it on the chocolate. Then cover with the other end. Then you scarf. Kind of messy, but good! 

Squints: I've been coming here every summer of my adult life, and every summer there she is oiling and lotioning, lotioning and oiling... smiling. I can't take this no more! 

Squints: Where did your old man get that ball?
Smalls: I don't know. Some lady gave it to him. She even signed her name on it... Ruth. Baby Ruth.
All: BABE RUTH?!

Patou: Now, I know an everyday sunrise may not seem like such a big deal to some folks.  But, imagine for a moment: if instead of rising up like this one morning where you lived, she took a look around and decided to go back to sleep. It happened once to us. Let me tell you about it.

Grand Duke: If I kill my nephew, would it be murder or charity?

Peepers: My lisp elevates and isolates me and makes me a rare specimen. 

I think this might be one of those that a lot of you have never seen/heard of. Lucky for you, IMDB has the whole movie posted for your viewing pleasure here!  (I highly recommend) Another little known fact: The narrator/Patou is also the voice of Baloo in The Jungle Book and Little John in Robin Hood.

I practically laugh from start to finish every time I watch this movie. Every. Single. Time. If you are capable of getting tired of this movie, I feel sorry for you.

Sanka Coffie: What I am saying to you, is that you are the kind of club-toting, raw-meat-eating, Me-Tarzan-You-Jane-ing, big, bald bubblehead that can only count to ten if he's barefoot or wearing sandals. 

Sanka Coffie: You mean winter, as in Eskimos and igloos and penguins and ICE? 

Irv: Always remember, your bones will not break in a bobsled. No, no, no. They shatter. 

Sanka Coffie: Feel the rhythm! Feel the rhyme! Get on up, its bobsled time! COOL RUNNINGS! 

Sanka Coffie: So what are we gunna name the sled?
Junior Bevill: How about... "Tallulah?"
Sanke Coffie: Tallulah! Hahaha! Tallulah! Sounds like a 2 dollar hooker! Where you come up with that?
Junior Bevill: That's my mother's name. 
All mumble: Oh yeah...Tallulah...yeah sure

Joseph Gordon-Levit: I love you today and I loved you 15 years ago when this movie came out. And while we're on the topic, where the heck have Danny Glover and Tony Danza been lately?


Roger Bomman: God... if there is a God... if you're a man or a woman... if you're listening, I'd really, really like a family. My dad says that will only happen if the Angels win the pennant. The baseball team, I mean. So, maybe you can help them win a little. Amen. Oh, A-woman, too. 


Photographer: It looks like a prison photo


JP: Look! it's God's thumbnail!

Calvin Fuller: Geez!  This always works in the movies!


King Arthur: Let all who witness this know: it does not take a sword and stone to make a hero.

Annie: I'll be twelve soon. How old are you?
Meredith Blake: Twenty-six.
Annie: Only fifteen years older than me! How old are you again, Dad?
Nick Parker: Wow, suddenly you're so interested in math!


Elizabeth James: Oh, Nick. We were so young. We both had tempers, we said stupid things so I packed. Got on my very first 747, and you didn't come after me.
Nick Parker: I didn't know that you wanted me to. 


Nick Parker: Okay, honey... I want to know what you think about making Meredith part of the family?
Annie: Part of our family?
Nick Parker: Yeah.
Annie: I think it's an awesome idea. Inspired. Brilliant really.
Nick Parker: You do? Really? You do?
Annie: Totally, it's like a dream come true. I've always wanted a big sister.
Nick Parker: Oh... um... Honey, I think you're kind of missing the point.
Annie: No, I'm not. You're gonna adopt Meredith. That is so sweet, Dad.


Oh Lindsay...where did you go wrong? Personally, I think we can pinpoint the downward spiral to her remake of Freaky Friday. Awful highlights + wacko wardrobe choice + thinking she was a rock star = doomed for disintegration of another childhood star

Fact: I own this movie on DVD. My mom special ordered it for me on Amazon.com from Australia. Now that's love. 


Hydia: Why can't you be evil like I taught you? Why won't you misbehave the way you should? You never use the guillotine I bought you! You just aren't bad enough for your own good!

Fizzy: Gee, I don't see why a little pony can't be a little enthusiastic once in a while. 


Buttons: Look. It's the witches from Volcano Mountain. They look cute.
Draggle: Cute? Did you hear that? They called us cute!
Reeka: How embarrassing. 

Zenon: Zetus lupetus! 


Zenon: ONE sin minor and my life is a living black hole! 


Mr. Windom: I refuse to engage in a name-calling contest with a teenager.
Zenon: That's because you know you'll lose! 


Proto Zoa: Zoom, Zoom, Zoom.  Make my heart go boom, boom.  My super nova girl.


Sidenote: If you're curious, go look at Phillip Rhys' IMDB profile. It's so strange seeing him without his Proto Zoa frosted tips!

Now some of you might be wondering, "Becky, where are the Disney movies in this list? How did you have a childhood if it was devoid of Disney classics like Beauty and the Beast and Aladdin?"  


To answer those questions: Yes I did have a childhood and yes I do love Disney movies. In fact, I love Disney movies SO MUCH that I can't even fathom putting them in the same category as the above mentioned movies. Disney is a whole different caliber of amazingness. You see, the movies on this list have seen their hey day, but no one forgets Disney movies. They don't have a hey day period, they have permanent hey day status that is especially intensified whenever Disney gets around to releasing movies from that dang vault it likes to lock them away in. (I had to wait YEARS to get Beauty and the Beast on DVD and it nearly killed me.)


Disney, I love you. And movies above, sorry I forgot about you. Still love all of you, too.  


Happy nostalgic thoughts to everyone reading. Did I leave any of your fav childhood classics out?

My childhood was a circus

I'd like to direct your attention to the following photo:

What is this you're looking at?  It could be the perfect place to do some sort of awesome vintage photo shoot. Like this engagement photo session from Green Wedding Shoes. However, the people in these photos aren't dolled-up models or smitten romantics. They are not in some exotic location with all sorts of vintage circus props flown in from The Wringling Brothers. Nope. It's just the Long and Zienty kids hanging out in Hugo, Oklahoma.

Before I move on to tell you the story behind this picture, can we please admire the photo's charming awkwardness? The Zienty children look like perfect little angels who make it a habit to look cute and normal in photos. The Long children are, as usual, doing something to offset that sense of normalcy (but clearly still contributing to the cuteness). My sister, Carolyn, is flaunting stylin' overalls and a classic "come hither" head tilt. The outfit and pose are perfect...the blinking, not so much. Carolyn has since learned how to keep her eyes open for pictures, but there was a period in her life where she struggled with the plague of the photo blinks. This captured blinking moment really takes me back. Oh the memories. My studly brother, Stephen, is on the far right in the stripes. Always a miniature version of a gentleman, I'm not surprised to see him striking the ol' hands-behind-the-back and wide-manly-stance poses. He had practically reached the maturity level of a 40 year-old man by the time he was 10. He's probably around age 5 here so that would put him at what maturity level, 20?  Sounds about right. Such a cutie.  Front and center (most likely a strategic and intentional placement on my part) you can see me showcasing my diva attitude by trying to suck all the attention toward myself. Further speaking to my inner diva, I'm attempting to channel my best Vanna White impression as I show off the circus sign and my shapely 8 year-old physique. With all those elements combined, how can you not be charmed by this pic?

Now you're dying to know WHY we're standing in front of a circus truck in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma, aren't you? Lucky for you, I'm going to share the story.

Mama Long and Mama Zienty read in some Oklahoma travel book that a collection of circus performers spends the winter in Hugo, OK (population 5,000). Apparently you could see the animals and all the wonders of the circus while they're recharging for the next tour. So one day five kids and two adults piled into one little station wagon and  drove three hours to Hugo in search of this wintering circus. It was a LONG drive. Carolyn and Heidi even wrote a song while we drove along that I still remember today:

"Nowhere"

Nowhere, Nowhere.

Welcome to nowhere.

Nothing to do, and nothing to see.

Nowhere to go, and Nowhere to be.

Welcome to nowhere.

So anyway, after driving through nowhere for three hours, we made it to Hugo. Unfortunately the circus workers who were wintering wouldn't let us anywhere near anything circus-related. They told us this was not a tourist destination and we were not welcome. Forget the fact that we had just driven three hours for nothing; the circus folk were too busy to be bothered by a bunch of Tulsans ("big city folk").

Mama Long and Mama Zienty were in a pickle: they were in the middle of nowhere Oklahoma with five kids on the verge of breakdowns. So, they improvised. We went through some sort of museum in a small house that had pictures of exciting things like "the 12-foot tall man" and "the world's smallest pig." Since that didn't kill enough time to make the cumulative six hours of driving worthwhile, we also visited the circus graveyard where the best of the circus world had been buried (such as Chuckles the Clown).

Problem for Becky: This visit inconveniently overlapped with a phase in my life that required me to hold my breath whenever I was in the vicinity of a graveyard (don't want anyone's lost souls being inhaled into my body, you know). The thought of going INSIDE a graveyard was...unfathomable. So once I had been coaxed into the graveyard, I spent  the first minute or so refusing to breathe. My mother yelled at me until I was practically purple and on the verge of fainting, then I took a breath. Let me tell you, I was NOT happy about  tromping around that place and inhaling dead spirits. By the time we left, I was sure that a good 10 dead clowns were leaving with me. (And, as previously mentioned, I really don't like clowns.)

It was a traumatizing experience, and yet one that I will remember forever. I mean, you haven't fully lived until you've traveled to Hugo, been turned away by a group of disgruntled circus performers, and walked around a circus graveyard. What's that? You haven't checked any of those activities off your bucket list yet? I suggest you get on it ASAP.

Spiders, Snakes, and Match.com...Oh My!

Everyone is afraid of something. Lots of somethings, actually. Myself included.

For one, I'm afraid of heights. My height phobia can easily be seen (or actually, more like can easily be heard) in this video from when I went bungee jumping in Queenstown, New Zealand. Hint: You might want to turn the volume down on your speakers before pressing play.

When the bungee workers pulled me up from this terrifying experience, I was shaking so much that I had to hold on to a pole in order to be able to stand upright. Tangent story: As I was shaking and clinging to said pole, the New Zealanders were making fun of me for all the racket I made. My response: "Yeah, I'm a screamer." There was an awkward pause and then everyone erupted into laughter. I confusedly looked around before a light bulb went off in my head that my comment was not being taken in the context I had meant it to be taken. New Zealand, Australia, America, the place doesn't matter. Wherever I am, I can always be counted on to make some awkward comment with a sexually-themed double meaning that never crosses my mind before I open my mouth. And the people I'm with can always be counted on to twist my words into the raunchier of the two meanings and point it out to the world. Thanks, guys.

Back to my original point.

My other fears aren't anything out of the ordinary: motorcycles, spiders, snakes, CLOWNS (I shiver at the thought), sharks, crocodiles, horror films, drowning, etc. etc. etc.

I also have some very specific fears about the future:

1. Being unemployed
I'm very much hoping this fear doesn't become a realization when I graduate in less than 3 months. I need financial support in order to be able to keep up my Chipotle burrito bowl obsession and regular Target shopping sprees. Then there's those other adult things like rent, utilities, car payments, bills...bleh.

2. Meeting my husband on Match.com

No judgment to people who meet this way. I'm very happy for you all. I would just much rather meet my hubby somewhere out there in the real world so I have a "meet cute" story to tell my grandkids (shout out to The Holiday, one of my all-time fav movies and the source--along with the Notebook--of many of my unrealistic romantic expectations). I saw a statistic the other day that Match.com alone contributes to two percent of ALL marriages every year. One website. Two percent of U.S. marriages.  20,000 people join everyday. Aren't you a little afraid, too?

3. Becoming a cat lady

Due to my extreme hatred of cats (with the exception of Felix, obviously) this fear is especially nightmarish for me. The image of me in a house overrun with felines as I sit in my rocking chair knitting cat #23, Mr. Whiskers, a new sweater...I just can't even fathom. No. No. No.

Yes Valentine's Day is right around the corner...and yes I am especially aware of my single-status thanks to this commercial holiday...and yes I am currently curled up in bed watching a chick flick (The Wedding Planner)...and yes I did just buy my friend bridal magazines since she got engaged on Friday. All those things combined make #2 and #3 slightly more terrifying as of late, but I realize I'm only 22. Really I'm mostly worried about #1 at the moment. And also, my latest "I don't want this to be my life" fear:

4. Becoming a hoarder
Lately I've been noticing a few signs that worry me I could potentially be swayed down this very very dark path. Here are a few of the things I have caught myself hoarding:

--Mints. I went through a mint-hoarding phase in middle school. I would always take a handful of mints whenever I left a restaurant. This resulted in me designating a purse as the "mint purse." It was packed with literally hundreds of different mints. Of course, I couldn't carry around a purse that only had mints in it. So I never actually had the mints with me, and they never got eaten. I recovered the mint purse when I was cleaning out my closet the summer after my high school graduation. The mints all went in the trash. Apparently (and thankfully) I phased out of that one without even noticing.
--Moist towelettes. At Medieval Times about a month ago I didn't use my moist towelette and brought it home in my purse. Rather than throwing it away when I found it the next morning, I put it on my bedside table for later use. Last night I realized that moist towelette moments are few and far between in my bedroom. Not to mention, I do actually own soap. So the moist towelette went in the trash. Another win for Becky! Close call.
--Leftovers. I'm like a human vacuum/disposal/insert "she'll eat anything" metaphor here. I'm telling you, I just hate to see anything go to waste. My roommate's dad once wanted to ship half of a leftover sandwich to me (we live 200+ miles apart) because he had previously witnessed me taking all five of his family members' food home after dinner one night. (I mean, they weren't going to eat any of it...) On Medieval Times night, I took home three of my friends' leftover chickens. They give you an ENTIRE chicken as your main course. No normal human being can eat an entire chicken. No normal human being takes to-go boxes from Medieval Times either. I'm normal in the sense that I couldn't eat my whole chicken. I'm not normal in the sense that I took four half eaten chickens home in a to-go box. Here is visual proof:

--Boxes. I can't bring myself to throw them away! What if I need to ship...something? Or what if I want to do...something...with my laptop's original packaging? Or what if I can use that scrap of cardboard to make a sign for...something? Can't say I've had many "something" instances come along very often, but there's always that chance. Hence the large amount of boxes I have stored in three different closets and my room.
--Lotion. In middle school your typical pre-teen girl accumulates more Bath and Body Works merchandise than she knows what to do with. I was one such girl. Despite the amount of lotion, body glitter, body spray, soap, etc. that I owned, I refused to use any of it. I wanted to "save" it for special occasions. Special occasions are very infrequent in middle school. Around the same time I got rid of the mint purse, I cleaned out a mess of evaporated, dried up, and weirdly colored Bath and Body Works stuff that was no longer usable from under my sink. You'll all be happy to hear I now actually use all lotions and the like that I own. Feel free to use that as a gift idea for my birthday. Or even my half-birthday, which is closer. (May 25th--for those of you who were wondering)
--Tissue paper. I bought some colored tissue paper in Sydney for my final project in Contemporary Australian Arts (embarrassingly one of the most difficult classes I've ever taken--details on that will have to wait for another post). I had to cram everything I had accrued over the course of five months in Australia into two rolling suitcases and a backpack. Of course I couldn't bring myself to leave the tissue paper behind. It's currently in my closet. The next time I gift you something, you might get that something in a bag with tissue paper lovingly transported all the way across the Pacific Ocean. Good thing I brought it back, right?!

I think the line between being thrifty and having a hoarding problem is a very delicate one to tiptoe along, and I'm getting very nervous that my life will end up on the side of the latter. Do I really think things could get as out of control in my life as on the TLC show "Hoarding: Buried Alive?" Of  course not. I'm just hoping I don't revert back to the mint purse stage. In fact, in writing this I've decided that maybe it would be a healthy decision to throw away a few of those boxes. Progress!

I've also noticed that this blog has just turned into me explaining all my oddities to the world. Thanks for not judging. (And if you are judging, thanks for not telling me you're judging.) All these random stories just make me cutely quirky, right? (With a little bit of weird and bizarre mixed in. I'm OK with it.)

Public Transportation Struggles

Based on my experiences in Sydney, I somehow got this crazy idea in my head that I was a master at navigating public transportation. Wrong wrong wrong. Apparently I blocked out the memories of Sydney: the early days. But those memories of my early Sydney clueless-ness came flooding back as I wandered the streets/subway tunnels on my recent trip to NYC.

 Please note how at-ease and in-control I look on trains in Sydney

Not the case on my trip to the Big Apple

Public Transportation Fail #1
Initially I was confident about getting from my friend Ali's dorm to NYC...then I tried to buy my train ticket. I was looking for "Times Square" as a destination on the automated ticket booth, but no such destination existed. This might have had something to do with the fact that I was in the state of New Jersey, not New York. It was all downhill from there. I hopped on the first train that came with plans to buy my ticket on the train instead. A nice conductor approached me about 10 minutes into the ride and asked for my ticket. I just showed him a printout copy of the route Ali had told me to take and offered him $11.50 for my fare. He oh-so-nicely accepted my payment without tacking on a $5 surcharge since I clearly had no idea what I was doing. He also pointed out a few expert city commuters and told me to follow them to my next train. Unfortunately, the city folk my conductor friend had pointed out were so good at navigating through public transit that I lost track of them within seconds of leaving the train. I had to ask two more people at station #2 for directions and somehow made it onto train #2. On board train #2, my luggage and I caused problems trying to fit onto an already full train. A nice stranger had to hold the door open for me as I straddled my luggage, halfway inside and halfway outside. My fellow travelers were not very happy about the draft my luggage and I were letting in. When I arrived at train station #3, I accidentally kicked a man's shoe off while trying to haul my luggage up the stairs (I really need to learn how to pack lighter). I wandered around aimlessly for a while then had to ask a group of cops plus another random stranger for directions.

One train ride later...I was finally in Times Square! Well actually, I was in a train station below Times Square. And I was trapped in a turnstile. The succession of body parts and luggage was as follows: first one bar, then my luggage with my hand clinging to it, then another bar, then the rest of me. I have no idea how I got into this position. I just know that I couldn't get the bar, my body, or my luggage to move. Wonderful. After wriggling around for long enough to draw significant attention to myself, I kicked my suitcase in front of me and fell on top of it. A random stranger helped me up and handed me my bag while saying: "I saw you struggling. Are you OK?" I sheepishly thanked him and tripped over my bag as I started to climb the stairs. I thought this was the homestretch, but somehow I managed to get lost trying to get from 7th Avenue to 8th Avenue. I asked another cop for directions and found my hotel (just 3 blocks from my original starting point--typical) 45 minutes later. 

Total number of people I asked for help: 11
Total travel time: 2 hours
My public transportation confidence is officially gone.

Public Transportation Fail #2
Getting from Rockefeller Plaza to Little Italy: how hard can it be? Harder than you'd think. My three friends and I decided to be thrifty and save money by taking the subway instead of a taxi. Looking back, taking a taxi really would have been a good call. Lauren and I got directions from a friendly mall security guard. He was sitting behind a desk, so we decided he looked important enough and would be able to get us where we needed to go. In fact, we were so confident in our friend that we started discussing how we should have asked for his name so we could write a thank you note to his supervisor. We spoke too soon. The express train that our security guard friend said stopped at Canal Street...didn't stop at Canal Street. We started thinking something might be awry when we went over a bridge.

Becky: "Um...Lauren...are we supposed to go over a body of water? Is that the Brooklyn Bridge?"
Lauren: "I don't know...maybe...I mean, I'm sure we're fine..."

Five stops later, we decided that maybe everything wasn't fine. We got off somewhere in Brooklyn (yes, apparently that WAS the Brooklyn Bridge) and looked totally out of place. Lauren saw a rat the size of her foot and I almost peed my pants when a guy asked us what time it was. Paranoid much? Yes.

Just to give you a visual on our situation, we started close to Times Square by the pink square in the upper left. We got off the train near the green square next to the orange line in the bottom right. We had been trying to get to place where the yellow line splits in two next to the green line (on the Manhattan side of the bridge). Not. Even. Close.

An hour and a half later, we finally found Little Italy. We decided to avoid any futher confusion and had Sayif (who became my new best friend because I told him his name reminded me of Sayid from "Lost") take us home in a taxi.

Public Transportation Fail #3
At this point you're probably thinking, "Really, Becky? You managed to get lost this many times within a span of 4 days? Do you have a brain?" In my defense, this fail was not entirely my fault. Yes, I still had to ask at least five people which trains to get on/where to buy my ticket/when to get off. But, I successfully got to two of my three trains without getting incredibly lost or creating a scene with my luggage. These were both big wins for me. The problem was that my second train was late getting in because we stopped just outside of the station and had to wait for someone on the train in front of us to get ARRESTED before we could pull into the platform. Classy. I arrived at platform F just in time to watch my train pulling out of the station. The girl running alongside the train with her purple houndstooth luggage dragging behind her while banging on the door yelling for the train to stop....that was me. The girl that broke down in tears because she was exhausted, the next train didn't  come for another hour, and she was in the middle of nowhere New Jersey...also me. Not my proudest moment. I sat pitifully whimpering to myself on a bench until Ali came to rescue me. The ultimate embarrassment: I couldn't figure out where the exit to the station was. 

Moral of the story: I'm directionally challenged, emotionally unstable when low on sleep, and a klutz. But hey, I survived! And I still love NYC, despite my inability to navigate its subway system.

 See? When I'm not in transit, NYC and I are the best of friends

Felix the Wonder Cat

Life hasn't supplied me with much inspiration for a new blog post as of late. While I continue to ruminate on my next pressing topic, I thought I'd share a favorite family tale that has become infamous over the years. Now I can't really take credit for any of the mayhem I'm about to describe, but as a member of the Meeder clan (my mom's side of the family), I feel that I have earned the right to take some sort of ownership over the Felix the Cat story.

Here's one thing you should know about me: I hate cats. HATE them. Passionately. They're just so boring. Cats hate me, too, so I suppose it works out pretty well. There is one exception to my cat hatred rule: his name is Felix. He is a wonder cat.

This isn't Felix, but Felix is black and white. I thought this cat looked kind of super hero-esque like Felix, so feel free to use him for your mental imagery in this post.

I don't remember the exact year of Felix's greatest adventure, but I do know that it happened at least a decade ago during a 4th of July weekend at Lake of the Ozarks. The Meeder family has a long standing tradition of spending every Independence Day together under the guise of some themed family reunion (for example: "slow no wake weekend" and "lakelympics"). If memory serves correctly, I was eating an Oreo when my uncle got a phone call. I couldn't tell you exactly who was on the other end of the phone or what was being said, but I could tell you that it was NOT GOOD. Yelling followed, my uncle turned bright red, my aunt turned even redder, they got into a car, and they left. I think the other adults had been tuned into what was going on, but as usual the kids were left in the dark. My cousins and I came to the conclusion that my aunt and uncle's fury was most likely the result of something my oldest cousin, Michael, had done. He was the only family member not present at the lake. The plan had been that Michael was going to get up early, drop the family cat off at the vet, and  drive three hours to the lake with a friend. Things didn't exactly work out that way...

Michael has always been a big fan of sleep. On this particular morning, he accidentally overslept. This wasn't the least bit surprising and wouldn't have been a problem were it not for the fact that the vet had closed by the time Michael woke up. On to plan B: the cat was coming to the lake. Michael found a box, put Felix in it, and hit the road. Oh, and one more little detail that's important: he was driving a convertible. With the top down. About halfway through the drive, a guy pulled up next next to Michael. Their exchange took place as follows:

Random guy: "Hey, man, your cat just flew out!"
Michael: "What?  My cap?  I wasn't wearing a cap...?"
Random guy: "No man, your CAT!"

That's right. I'll give that last sentence a second to resonate.

Picture it with me. Box in the back seat = empty. Imagine yourself as Felix: very confused as to why you're in this square brown thing, you want to break free. After a few exhaustive hours of struggling with the box, you succeed at your task. The top of the box opens and you leap to freedom. You get to enjoy the sweet smell and taste of fresh air all around you for about a millisecond then--WHOOSH--that very fresh air carries you away with it. Now imagine yourself as the random guy: did you just see a CAT fly out of the back of that car? Surely not...right? RIGHT? Oh my gosh. A CAT just flew out of that car!!!

Now before you go calling some animal rights group, let me tell you that this story has a happy ending. However, it was very unhappy for a while. My aunt and uncle (Michael's parents) drove all the way to some random scrap of highway and searched all over for Felix. They were gone for HOURS. Felix was nowhere to be found. So my aunt and uncle came back to the lake and had to tell their two other children (they were probably ages 10ish and 13ish at the time) that Felix was gone. Additionally, Michael had been so flustered that he drove away from a gas station with the pump still attached to the car. He ripped out the hose and nozzle without even noticing. The gas station owner, however, did notice and sent my uncle a bill a month later. Just the icing on the cake. Over the course of the next few weeks my aunt called every animal shelter she could find. Eventually the Meeders gave up on Felix, but one day the unexpected happened...

A woman from a trailer park around the area where Felix had disappeared called my aunt. Felix had wandered up to her trailer and she had called the number on his collar to return him home. And so a month after being blown from a moving car traveling at top speeds on a Kansas highway, Felix found himself back at home as if nothing had happened. No scratches. No bruises. No missing limbs. No major health issues. He was a little hungry, but totally fine. How did he do it? I haven't the slightest idea.

This particular feat is Felix's most famous triumph, but by no means his only triumph. Over the course of his life, Felix has been run over by my aunt's car, crushed by a garage door, placed on an IV for some illness I don't remember the details of, and gotten into plenty more trouble that my cousins can tell you all about. And did I mention, FELIX IS STILL ALIVE TODAY? I hate cats, but how can you hate Felix? Impossible.

And that is the story of why this cat has become know as, and will always be known as, "Felix the Wonder Cat."

Y2K: 11 Years Later

I keep finding trails of adolescent Becky everywhere. My latest discovery: the time capsule I made at my 5th grade birthday party. For those of you who loved the "Becky's Stuff: DO NOT THROW AWAY" box, you're in for a treat.

The year was 1999. This particular birthday party took place in late November at the peak of Y2K mayhem. So in case we didn't actually get to celebrate the new year due to the impending doom of the world ending, my birthday party would suffice as a par-tay for the new millennium. Activities included: a "countdown" to 2000, scavenger hunt in a limo, dance party, and making super sweet time capsules.

Patti Long even wrote a poem to put inside our time capsules that went like this:
Here is a time capsule so that you can think back
To memories of 5th grade, in a tall, neat stack.
So go through your room, dig deep and find
Some items that bring your life in 1999 to mind.
Old tickets, your photo, a school paper or two
Backpack keychain, a Beanie?, a picture you drew.
Now write down a few of your favorite things
T.V. shows, movies, someone who sings.
Add lots more goodies, now hide it away
Open when you can say, "It's 2010 today!"

I'm a year late, but I found the time capsule in question. Inside, I found what you would guess a 5th grade pack rat would put in a time capsule: a bunch of junk. I wish I would have put in cool stuff like my mother's poem had instructed me to, but clearly all things that fell under those categories (keychains, pictures, etc.) were far too essential to my 5th grade life at the time and could not be parted with. So instead, I put in junk like this...

A mini plastic champagne flute that used to have bubbles inside. Apparently bubbles have an expiration date, and it's less than 11 years  I can't even tell what color the bubbles used to be, but there is now a sticky consistency of something gold/brown colored plastered to the side of the mini glass.

50 cents. Hey big spender!

A Birthday Card from my dear friend Kristen Anderson, who even took the time to draw a picture of a flower.

Two tickets to Jenks High School football's first playoff game. The Longs had season tickets, even when us kiddos were in elementary school. True fans.

A sheet of millennium-themed stickers. All the stickers have been used except for: "Futuristic!" "Time to Make a Difference" "Mr. Millennium" and two red circles with the letter "f" on them.

Are you as confused by these stickers and their connection to 2000 as I am?

PECAN THE BEANIE BABY!   was shocked that my 5th grade self could part with a beanie during the peak of beanie mania. Poor Pecan the bear has been trapped in a paint can with decaying bubbles for 11 years!!! I have since returned him to storage with the rest of his beanie friends.

This is not a joke: An 11-year-old pair of Kleenex. Apparently I'm a Kleenex hoarder. First the Salt Lake City Olympics Kleenex, now this. In my defense, I'm pretty sure these Kleenex, along with this super-chique nail polish, were part of the loot I collected on the limo scavenger hunt. They're Limited Too brand. So trendy.

2 Cootie Catchers. If you were not a preteen girl in the 90s, you probably have no idea what these are. They were all the rage in elementary school. Right up there with Tamagotchis. Allow me to explain...Basically, it's a folded piece of paper. But not just any folded piece of paper. By choosing your favorite color, favorite number, then spelling your name, this folded piece of paper can PREDICT YOUR FUTURE. According to these particular cootie catchers, your husband was either destined to be: Pikachu, Yoda, Leonardo DiCaprio, Dr. Love, or Ricky Martin (whoaaaa how dated are those names?!). Your job: country singer, vice principal, lion tamer, professional wrestler, or plumber. Your vehicle of choice: station wagon, cement mixing truck, pizza delivery truck, skateboard, or limo. Number of children: 1, 2, 7, 56, 73, 3 million, 15 million, or 26 million. The odds really weren't in your favor.

Millennium-themed tiara, noise maker, and whistle. Because you can't ring in the new year without equipment!

I reverted back to my 5th grade self when playing with the treasure I uncovered in my time capsule. Nothing like a whistle, tiara, and cootie catcher to get a 22-year-old excited. I'm thinking maybe I'll make another time capsule for 2020. You know you want to make one, too. We'll check back in 9 years and compare notes. Deal? Excellent.

HAPPY 2011!!!