Hey Kids, YOLO!

I have a confession to make. Despite being a somewhat cool rockandroll scenester back in my day -- what I lacked in coolness I made up for in DGAF spirit -- I have been cultivating my Embarrassing Mom status throughout my daughter's 9th grade year.

I thought I had reached my pinnacle a few weeks back, when my daughter and I pulled into the school parking lot and I exclaimed "Hey look, it's Whatshisname!"* out of partially rolled down car window and pointed in a most indiscreet manner and smiled maniacally at her ex-boyfriend as we rolled by. "Ohmygod Mom, STOP. He heard you!" I widened my eyes, smiling, "What? He knows I'm a weirdo, it's okay. I mean, your friends know I'm a teacher -- they won't pay any attention to my antics." 

She rolled her eyes and shook her head smiling slightly and began telling me some funny school story as she climbed out of the car, retrieved her ginormous backpack (who my husband has named Hershel because it's the same size as our daughter) from the back seat, and slung it over her shoulder. She said bye and closed the door before I could wish her a good day, so I rolled down the window to call to her -- as one does -- despite Ex-boyfriend sauntering about ten feet ahead of her. "Have a good day! YOLO!" I yelled. I then began laughing maniacally as I realized my most-excellent improvisational prowess, sure to be cringe-worthy to any teen not attending high school in 2014. "YOLOOOOOOOO!!!!!!"

Ex-boyfriend continued walking, pretending to he unfazed by the middle-aged woman yelling YOLO out of her minivan window and cackling. My daughter hunkered her shoulders down in a move I thought for sure would signal her ignoring my hilarity, but she turned back to look at me and she was cracking up! "YOLO!" I proclaimed at the top of my lungs and then puckered my duck lips as I flashed a sideways peace sign before pulling out of the parking lot.

Mic drop.

Meme Design by Embarrassing Dad

_______________________________________________

*Names have been changed to protect the identities of teenage ex-boyfriends.

Service with a Song

 The sunlight streamed in through the neighborhood coffeeshop window and warmed my back as I sat a bit awkwardly on the hard and too-tall bench seat. I endeavored to gracefully hunch over the too-short cafe table in front of me -- a comical scene, I'm sure -- as I sipped my chai tea latte and munched on a chocolate sea salt scone. The man sitting next to me had just departed, introducing himself as he waved goodbye. We'd had an interesting exchange about mining in the Midwest, black lung, solar power, dead trees on city property, and the inept and corrupt state of our city's board of alder-people. This is why I love local coffeehouses: they are places where people connect.

Bad, Bad Leroy Brown came on the radio and the man across the aisle from me sang along to the first few bars before settling into a hum. An old memory came to life in my mind. 

It was pushing 4:00am and I was with some friends at Courtesy Diner. The service was predictably slow and surly, but the food was the perfect stomach putty for a bunch of scruffy scowly twentysomethings sweaty from rocking out at whatever local show we'd just stumbled out of. The diner guaranteed interesting characters around the clock, but the 2:00-4:00am crowd was probably one of the liveliest and concerning groups. Made up of truckers and bikers, drunk couples who'd just left the dance club, clutches of punks, and a very animated group of "bros", the Courtesy Diner clientele was primed for hijinks. There was always a line at the jukebox and that night was no different. A melange of classic rock, top of the pops, and the occasional hip hop jam pumped through the speakers. Slumped in our booth and too tired to make any decent conversation, my friends and I stared hollow-eyed at the cups of ice water in front of us as we fiddled with the straw wrappers and patiently waited for sustenance. And then the song switched, the first few notes of guitar meedled out and what started as a low but excited murmur of ohs and yeahs burst forth as a collective cry of anticipation when, suddenly, a dude jumped up to standing on the bench in his booth and air drummed the distinctive double snare hit along to the kick/hi-hat rhythm of AC/DC's "You Shook Me All Night Long". One by two, customers began to tap their feet, nod their heads along, sway in their seats, and dance in the single aisle behind the bar stools as Brian Johnson sang about "the best damn woman that I ever seen". By the time "the walls start shaking and the earth was quaking" the entire diner was ready to burst into song and let loose "You shook me all night long!" in what I can only liken to being witness to a 1980s John Hughes film come to life in South City, St. Louis, Missouri. The waitress rounded the corner of the counter with four plates of steaming pancakes stacked up her arm, wielding syrup with the other, swaying her hips and stepping to the beat as she sang her heart out "walking double time on the seduction line, she's one of a kind". Service with a song.

As I walked along the sidewalk admiring the cerulean skies I remembered something Sandra Cisneros once wrote, "You can never have too much sky." Usually March 2nd is a cold and dreary day, frequently overcast and often sleeting; but not today! Today it was 80 degrees and sunny, blue skies everywhere. Happy birthday to me. Like that odd night at Courtesy Diner, this was a special gift from the Universe; not for me in particular, but I was certainly happy to enjoy it!