Flashback Friday: The Peanut Butter Ball Incident

The Ledgeview Elementary Cafeteria was one of those gymnasium/cafeteria/auditoriums. A gymterium, if you will. I have a lot of memories in that multi-functional room. I remember when I was in second grade, I was sitting at my table, eating my packed lunch, minding my own business, when a fourth or fifth grader standing in the nearby line to buy a lunch, pointed at me, and remarked, "Look. That girl eats like a rabbit." I spent the next decade trying to figure out how to chew with my mouth closed, without resembling a rabbit in any way. It's tough.

But that's not the story I meant to tell. That's a bonus flashback.

This story began in the lunchroom. I was in fourth grade, and I had bought my lunch that day. As was often the case, the dessert was a peanut butter ball. If you're not familiar with this delicacy, it is a greasy, doughy ball formed of peanut butter, flour, and probably lard. I think this was before people were concerned about childhood obesity. Anyways, peanut butter balls were a pretty big hit among the elementary school crowd.

It was forbidden to take food out of the gymterium, but this was not an easily enforced rule. On this particular day, I had not finished my lunch, (probably as a result of trying to be as un-rabbit-like as possible), and I still had the peanut butter ball on my tray. Lunch was over and it seemed a travesty to throw it out, so I hid it in my palm and made my way to recess.

I saw Bryan in the hall. He was a classmate of mine, and we had an on-and-off relationship from grades 1 through 5. By that I mean in first grade, we got in trouble for kissing on the playground, and in fifth grade he gave me a heart-shaped box of Russell Stover chocolates on Valentine's Day. As we neared the doors to go outside for recess, I had a brilliant idea. With a peanut butter ball in my hand, and a ceiling above my head, what else was I to do?

Well, I had a hypothesis about what might happen next. And it turned out I was right. We looked up and there was my peanut butter ball, glued firmly to the ceiling. It was a satisfying experiment. Bryan thought it was pretty awesome, and let's be honest, it sort of was. Bryan quickly procured another peanut butter ball, and in what seemed like a very romantic gesture at the time, he launched it at the ceiling, where it joined mine. They were a perfect pair. And I saw them as a symbol of our love.

But the good feelings were soon replaced by terror. I had acted impulsively, and I didn't have an exit strategy. So I fled the scene of the crime. But it was too late - I had inspired quite a few copycat peanut butter ballers. By the time all the students had gone out to recess, there were a good half-dozen more balls stuck to the ceiling, all in the same general location.

I didn't enjoy recess that day. Then again, I didn't often enjoy recess. Not a fan of running around, or throwing balls, I usually spent recess standing against the building, waiting to go inside. But this was a particularly unpleasant recess. I sat on the asphalt, racked with guilt, waiting for the inevitable.

I was sick. 10 more minutes and I probably would have turned myself in. But I didn't have to. Finally, one of the recess aides walked over to me, and informed me that the principal would like to see me in his office. It was the beginning of the end.

I had never been to the principal's office before. Well, actually, I had. But only to get my picture taken for being Student of the Week. This was different.

His name was Mr. V. He was a nice guy and he kept a jar of those little caramel squares on his desk. But I sensed this was not going to be a candy-eating occasion.

Bryan had been apprehended as well. Mr. V sat us down and instructed us to write letters to our parents explaining what we had done, why it was wrong, and how terribly we felt about it. I did not have to lie. I was a wreck. I had broken the rules and now the janitor would have to scrape peanut butter off the ceiling, all because of me. Mr. V collected our letters and informed us that he would mail them to our parents.

I couldn't imagine a worse punishment. The waiting would kill me. When I went home from school that day, I tried to act like nothing was wrong, but I just couldn't do it. That night, I broke down in tears and confessed to my mom. I assumed I would be shipped off to boarding school. A boarding school that didn't serve anything in ball form. I was sure that my parents would be furious. I had been sent to the principal's office; I had sullied the family name. But in a shocking turn of events, my mom laughed. She hugged me and said, "Oh Jeanne, we'd still love you if you threw 100 peanut butter balls at the ceiling." Of course I would never waste so many precious peanut butter balls, but I was comforted nonetheless.

Life would return to normal. And as it turns out, Mr. V never mailed those letters. I felt a little betrayed. I also wondered what he had done with them. Did he keep a file of confessions written by 9-year-olds, just in case he ever needed to blackmail someone? Perhaps. But what I didn't know at the time was Mr. V was a very disturbed Vietnam vet. The following year, he instituted a program of calisthenics designed to punish troublemakers. And the year after that, he killed himself.

But Mr. V did succeed in scaring me straight. I never threw another dessert. And while the punishment seemed cruel at the time, looking back on it, I'm really glad I didn't have to do any jumping jacks.

Private Eye

Upon returning to LA, I am usually prepared for two things: 1. Being disappointed that my apartment is, in fact, as small as I remembered it. 2. Needing to fix something with my car.

The ol' Oldsmobile Intrigue punishes me for leaving. And this time was no different. Although this time, it was leaking gasoline. I've heard this can be bad, so I sucked it up and took it to the shop. Having no idea how long I would be waiting, I went next door to a cafe and settled in for a leisurely lunch.

I have never eaten so slowly in all my life. I even ordered coffee in the hopes that it would prolong the time that I could reasonably sit in the air conditioned facility. I don't normally drink coffee, but it seemed like the thing to do.

I lasted exactly one hour and ten minutes. I ventured back out into the non-air conditioned world. I approximate the temperature to have been around 380 degrees. According to weather.com, it was 87. But you really can't trust everything you read on the internet.

As I passed the auto shop, I saw that my car was still parked on the street. I began to worry. It's been over an hour, and I've pretty much exhausted my waiting options. So I did what anyone in my situation would do. I stalked some college kids in a grocery store.

I didn't initially plan to. But as I stood behind these two backpack-wearing gentlemen, waiting to cross Venice Blvd, I got to thinking. Why are they wearing backpacks? Where are they going? Would they notice if I followed them? Should I probably not drink coffee ever again?

So I followed them. I followed them across the street, and straight into the Ralph's grocery store. Guy Number 1, I'll call him Sunburn, grabbed a basket. Interesting. So Sunburn and Jansport took off. First stop, the meat section. I observed as Sunburn studied the various grades of ground beef. He settled on 80% lean. I pretended to study salad dressings.

Next they moved on to poultry. They spent a long time studying the chicken. Jansport was not going to rush into anything with the poultry. Though, if they were observing me, I would have appeared supremely engrossed in the varieties of rice. Ultimately, they decided against chicken. They grabbed some flour tortillas and took off.

Next stop, booze alley. Oh yes. These were college dudes. And they spent a long, long time weighing the pros and cons of beer vs. liquor. I perused the greeting cards, and Sunburn stared long and hard at a bottle of "Prestige Edition" tequila. With an 8.99 price tag, tequila really doesn't get more prestigious than that.

Jansport led the way to household items. A 12-pack of Charmin. Respectable. I myself have a hard time buying large quantities of toilet paper.

I then decided that I was awfully conspicuous, walking around the grocery store without a cart or a basket, so I quickly grabbed an angel food cake from the bakery. It was perfect. "Oh me? I'm just a regular shopper. See? I have an angel food cake under my arm."

But this little cae jaunt caused me to lose my targets. And where did they run off to, but the liquor section! Sunburn was having second thoughts. He replaced the Prestige tequila, opting instead for a Prestige light rum (only $5.99) and a $1.99 Mai Tai mix. I wasn't able to tell him this, but I think he made the right decision. Especially in this tough economic climate.

Armed with my cake, I followed them to the frozen section. I'm pretty certain there is no way that they failed to notice that I was following them. But what's crazier? Following strangers around a grocery store, or accusing a stranger of following you around a grocery store? Well, I guess it's the following strangers around a grocery store. But who are they to judge? Sunburn grabbed a frozen pizza and Jansport got a bag of ice. Surely, this was the end of the trip.

But wait! They forgot the taco seasoning. That was a close one, Jansport.

They got into line, and I considered getting behind them, but I didn't actually want to buy the angel food cake. Instead I perused an Oprah magazine and observed my subjects.

It was pretty boring, so I went to return my cake. As I returned, I saw them walking to the exit, bags in hand. I prepared my mental goodbyes, and just as they went through the doors, the security alarm went off. I think it was fate. I don't think any of us were ready for this to end. But end it did. And as they backpacked their way home, I had a lot to think about. First, I don't think I would make a good private eye. Second, I hope they think of me when they drink their cheap Mai Tai's. Third, if anyone needs me to follow somene around a grocery store and report on what they buy, my rates are negotiable. And finally, I don't think I should drink coffee anymore.

Flashback Friday - Special Edition

It's a very special Flashback Friday, folks. First of all, it's a Wednesday. And second, I'm currently in my hometown, sleeping in my childhood bedroom. The memories are everywhere I look. Happy memories are plentiful, but today I'm reminded of some dark days. It might come as a shock to you, but I've done some things I'm not proud of.


As the youngest member of the family, my brothers had plenty of reasons to hate me. But Jeff, being the middle child, was my natural enemy. First of all, my mere birth pretty effectively stole his thunder. I was the newest model and, of course, I was a girl. (I still am a girl.) The point is, with my arrival, Jeff was old news. By the laws of supply and demand, as I understand them, I was a rare species, therefore I deserved the biggest bedroom and the most love.


But as far as I can remember, he handled it pretty well. I think he secretly knew that someday he would be a respected doctor, and I would be an unemployed blogger who talks to squirrels.


Anyways, one day, Jeff had a friend over. I was probably 8 or 9 years old at the time and naturally, I wanted a piece of that. I assumed that as Jeff and Andy were 4 years older than me, they must be cool. I didn't know any better at the time, but they were not at all cool. But I was determined to get in on their action, (the action, being hanging out in the basement). I skulked around for a while, and was likely told to leave repeatedly.


But finally, my sleuthing efforts proved useful. I overheard Andy saying something about being a "sweaty mess." I had a hilarious idea. I scurried off and retrieved one of the men's deodorants from the upstairs bathroom. I raced back to the basement and, armed with a speedstick, took a flying leap at Andy. I got a few good swipes in before I was taken down.

But all in all, the mission was unsuccessful. The boys were not impressed. Jeff had even more reason to hate me. And I had bought myself a one-way ticket out of the basement.


I feel pretty bad now about assaulting my brother's good friend with a personal hygiene product, but then again, they eventually exacted revenge on me in the now-infamous Crisco Incident of '94. (They informed me that Crisco tastes really good, but only if you eat a lot of it. It turns out, that is not exactly true.) In the end, Jeff and Andy got into more trouble than I could ever know for persuading me to eat shortening. But what they don't know is that every time I see Mennen Speed Stick, I feel a little pang of guilt. And also, the Crisco really wasn't all that bad.

So long

Well, I'm taking off for Ohio tomorrow. I realize that this fact does not greatly affect you for a couple of reasons:
1. It is conceivable that I can blog from Ohio. It does contain the major elements of my everyday life - squirrels, boredom, Targets, couches, etc.
2. I am the only one reading this.

In travel news, I'm a little anxious about flying. It's not that I'm concerned about the plane crashing, although, let's be honest, I am. I just hate everything associated with travel. I don't like rushing. I don't like taking my shoes off in public. I really don't like holding my garbage until someone comes by to collect it. And I don't like sitting in close proximity to strangers. God forbid my seatmate tries to strike up a conversation. Not only do I dislike talking to strangers, but my real problem is the face-to-face distance on a plane. I feel like polite conversation cannot occur naturally when the two parties' faces are about 4 inches apart. I don't like the things that I notice about someone's face at that distance, and I like even less thinking about what they're noticing about my face.

Anyways, I'd better go find a respectable book to read, so that I can avoid human interaction. I don't want a repeat of my last trip when someone caught me reading "My Sister's Keeper." That was embarassing.

Flashback Friday

I don't really do much these days. I mean, I do things, but nothing very blog-worthy. Like, there are only so many game shows I can audition for to entertain you. And I do a lot of laundry, but people aren't usually interested in hearing about that. (A lesson I learned the hard way in the 5th grade science fair, when I did my project on "Which Laundry Detergent is the Best?" I took 2nd place, winning a 50 dollars savings bond, and the assurance that I would never have many friends.)

Anyways, that's why I came up with Flashback Friday. I've decided that snappy alliterative titles are the way to go. Flashback Friday will bring you assorted memories that really have no business being on the internet. But let's face it. My life was more interesting back then. Oh young Jeanne, if only you knew what the future had in store for you...

I wouldn't say I was a teacher's pet in elementary school, but I was pretty obedient. I was respectful of authority and I was terrified of the slightest reprimand. That's why I distinctly remember things like getting my name written on the board in 2nd grade. I think it was a three strike system. You got your name on the board for the first offense, a check mark for the second, and another check mark for the third. That's when you got punished. Anyways, I'm pretty sure I only got my name written on the board just the one time, for spending too much time washing my hands at the sink (no lie), but it still stings.

Recess detention was the worst fate I could imagine. Not because I liked recess so much. In fact, I probably would have just assumed never have recess. I don't particularly like running around, being outdoors, or really any kind of forced socialization. But the stigma! I wasn't the type to get a recess detention. That is, not until 3rd grade.

Looking back, 3rd grade is when it all changed. Aside from that name on the board incident in 2nd grade, I don't think I'd had any run-ins with teachers or law enforcement.

My music teacher was Mr. Patrick. He was very old and he wore those short-sleeved dress shirts that were pretty much completely transparent. He also hated me. I don't know why. I guess it was because I was completely incapable of filling the letters in on the chromatic scale. I don't know why, but it's the same feeling I get when trying to read a map. It just does not compute.

But we took these music tests every week. And every week he passed out the tests, and the pencils. The pencils all had those cap erasers on them, the ones that really don't serve any erasing purpose whatsoever. And the erasers all had numbers on them. The numbers all corresponded to our seat numbers. I think I was 12. Now that I think about it, this was a really weird, anal retentive thing to do. Why did he even bother providing pencils? I'm pretty sure we all had pencils.

So one week, after finishing the test, we turned in our tests and pencils, and Mr Patrick noticed that my pencil (#12) was missing the eraser! I was the prime suspect, of course. I still claim to this day that I did not touch that eraser, but my word was no good. There was no trial and I was found guilty of this egregious act against a pencil. My sentence? A recess detention.

I was so upset that I don't even remember the detention itself. But I imagine it involved clapping erasers and/or waterboarding.

So thank you, Mr. Patrick, for teaching me a valuable lesson. To this day, I've never not stolen a crazy person's eraser again.

Red Box Roundup

Sometimes, I go to the grocery store for some blueberries and diet root beer, and as I pass the Red Box, I am suddenly powerless. I have no choice but to surrender a dollar in exchange for a terrible, horrible movie. This is the problem with the Red Box. It's only a dollar. Also, since there is no human contact involved in renting from the box, I am not subject to the much-deserved shame and judgement that would normally accompany picking up Lindsay Lohan's newest straight-to-video atrocity, Labor Pains.

But I did it. Am I proud of it? No. Is it even worse than you could have imagined. Absolutely, yes it is.

Have you ever heard of it? Probably not. Because it's not a real movie. I think it might have been on ABC Family or something.

*MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS*

The premise is that Lindsay is a somewhat functional adult woman with a job. I know, it's already pretty ridiculous. Anyways, she works at a publishing house and her boss is mean. She is about to get fired for talking shit about him, but makes a last-ditch attempt to save her job by saying that she is pregnant, though she is not. It was a really suspenseful scene.

And that's where it gets confusing. Her boss quickly consults with the legal team and concludes that he cannot, in fact, fire her. I'm not a lawyer, or part of a team, but i'm pretty sure this is not true. As long I can trust Yahoo Answers, and I know I can, you cannot fire a woman because she is pregnant. But for some reason, I don't think that prohibits you from firing a woman that is pregnant. Especially when said woman is clearly lying and/or Lindsay Lohan.

Lindsay's comrade at the office is played by Cheryl Hines. This seems an unlikely frienship and makes me feel sad. Why does this Cheryl Hines character need to be friends with this girl? Also confusing is that the cast might make you think this is a comedy. Cheryl Hines is funny. Her boss is played by Chris Parnell. But the movie isn't funny. Or at least, not in the traditional sense of the word.

Lindsay is apparently also completely incapable of doing math. As a girl, I understand this to a degree. But I usually find counting pretty manageable. But when questioned by her mean boss, she claims to be due in October which makes her 4 months pregnant. Oops! Then the older, wiser Cheryl Hines (who knows the truth) helps Lindsay out and tells her she needs to look pregnant or people will get suspicious. So she steals a padded belly from a maternity store and tells Lindsay to wear it. So the obviously non-pregnant girl, goes to having a decent-sized pregnant belly overnight. Is this not more suspicious? I guess the moral of the story, is that women are totally retarded. Or at least the ones that are secretaries.

There are also what I think are some really awkward references to present-day trainwreck Lindsay Lohan. In one scene, Cheryl Hines makes a joke about her having crabs. I feel like that might hit a little too close to home. I'm not saying I know if LiLo has ever had crabs, but I'm pretty sure she's been accused of having most every STD in the book, and that's something they might want to steer clear of.

Later, Lindsay goes to pick up her little sister, who she is inexplicably the custodian of, and her sister asks if she's been drinking. Lindsay then tells her sis, "You're 17. You're the one that should be drinking and smoking." Ahhhhh haha, see, that's funny. Because Lindsay Lohan herself was known for quite a lot of drinking and smoking as a teenager. That's funny right?

Anyways, I think I stopped paying attention sometime in the middle. Something happens where suddenly her boss is a young nice guy that she's going to fall in love with. And then she gets a promotion and she's in charge of some book about pregnancy. It seems to pick up toward the end - Lindsay starts acting really nuts and seems to think that she really is pregnant.

Naturally, she has to be discovered at some point, so her sister destroys the fake belly and Lindsay resorts to using a balloon to simulate her belly. Believe it or not, the balloon pops at an inopportune moment and she is humiliated and the nice guy is shocked and dismayed.

But don't worry. She wins his affections back in a confusing turn of events involving a talk show hosted by Janeane Garafolo.

Cut to two years later, and she is ACTUALLY pregnant and going into labor. Or so they want you to believe. I think in the sequel we will find out that it's a fake again and that she learned nothing from this experience.

So the point is, send me a dollar.

The Audition

Well, we had our audition for the Newlywed Game. I can't say that it was entirely good or bad. And as is usual, Pat thought he was extrememly charming, while I, on the other hand, am filled with all kinds of self-loathing.

Now all we have to do is wait. On the plus side, I think we seemed like a decent choice compared to the other couple auditioning with us. Courtney and Flloyd were a little ... nontraditional. When asked why they wanted to be on the show, they answered that they thought it would be a good way to tell their family that they had gotten married. They've been married for over 4 months. I guess that's a good way to spread the news. It might not be the best way, but whatever. It's efficient if nothing else.

I think we also scored a few points by actually understanding the questions. One of the questions posed to the men was "When you go out on the town, which of your wife's friends will end up getting drunk and flirting with the bartender?" Flloyd answered, "She doesn't go out of town often."

But I have many regrets. Mainly, I could not help but cheat. Let me explain. I didn't want to cheat. I didn't think it would increase our odds of getting on the show. But Pat and I both had our three answers written on paper, and we were sitting next to each other. And the paper was completely see-through. I'm only human! It was completely unavoidable. And on top of that, they provided Sharpie markers as writing utensils! I feel like it was a test. And I failed. I couldn't NOT see what Pat had written. And now I'm pretty sure that they're over there at the game show network tape analysis lab, proving that I was reading Pat's backward answers.

And this is why I'm convinced that it was a total failure.

I think the silver lining here is that if we don't get called back, that drastically reduces the odds that I will ever have to talk about "making whoopee" on national tv. That is comforting.

Shark Summer

Though I tend to fall in the "all talk" camp most of the time, I finally put my money where my proverbial mouth is and went to the Aquarium of the Pacific. So after months of seeing the commercials, singing the commercials (shark summer... it's terrific, the aquarium of the pacific...), and telling people we were going to the aquarium, Pat and I actually did it.

But I have a tip for other Southern California marine enthusiasts. I know money is tight in this economy. I do. And that's why we went on a "Shark Summer Sunday" after 5 pm for the discounted price of only 11.95. It turns out, we were actually not the only people who had that idea. Now, full price, at a hefty 23.95 is significantly more expensive, but it just might be the price you have to pay in order to enjoy the aquarium without 7 MILLION OTHER PEOPLE. Out of the 7 million other patrons, I'd estimate that 5 million of them were shrieking children. Assuming you ever got close enough to any of the exhibits to see them, the liquid mass of people would immediately envelop you and there you are, trapped between baby sea nettles and a gigantic mass of hot, loud people. (I mean hot, like generating heat, not like, sexy.)

Anyways, despite the crowds, it was still magical. There were sharks and colorful fish galore. But I think the most magical creature was found in the Aquarium Cafe.

Imagine yourself going to the aquarium. What to wear, what to wear? Sure, there's the obvious route - jeans, t-shirt, maybe even shorts. But let's say you're an aspiring actress. You're not going to stand out in a crowd of 7 million wearing normal people clothes. And that's why you decide to put on your big straw hat and your gold sequined mini-dress.

Sequins! Gold ones! Outside of ice skating competitions and dance recitals, this just isn't an acceptable textile in today's society. I just can't wrap my head around this young lady's thought process. There's simply no good explanation for wearing a dress made entirely of gold sequins to Shark Summer at the Aquarium of the Pacific. I'm just picturing her there, standing at her closet, getting ready to go see some sharks, and she picks out a dress that she very well may have worn last Halloween when she went as Beyonce.

It doesn't make sense. Maybe it was a prank. Her friends said, "Hey, we're going to hit the clubs tonight. We'll pick you up." And then they pulled up to the aquarium and she was like, "Guuuuyyyys!" And they all laughed, and dared her to go to the aquarium dressed like that. Her compromise was to wear a big straw hat so that no one would recognize her. I guess that makes sense.

Anyways, I made sure to take a furtive picture of her. But I don't think it really does the ensemble justice. But maybe goldi-dress will see this and offer me an explanation. I would appreciate that.