Day Eighteen: A Sports Bar Induced Stroll Down Memory Lane —


Oh boy! Did you luck out! I ranted on and on about fake cheese, before I forced my finger to hit delete. Little voice protested, but I prevailed.

Thank you for being there. I pictured you listening to my witty prose. Fortunately for you, I erased the massive mess that oozed out of my brain. If I’d typed on a typewriter for an hour, and used whiteout to correct all my spelling errors, I’d be phoning you, and reciting the entire post. Like I said, you totally (born and raised in California) lucked out! Seriously! Wipe the sweat off of your forehead and shout Amen!

I have to be fair and offer out that not all my posts are going to be Bambi-Little-April-Shower-happy. The song I would jump up and down on my bed to, when I was five. I’m listening to the song as I type.

Okay, it’s hard to type to this beat!

Boy, talk about a repetitive song.

Memories flowing back.

So lovely….


Scary music? Haunted house, theme-park ride music?

Okay, bad analogy: Little April Shower is not as chipper as I remember.

I didn’t sleep well, and blame the tossing and turning on the fake cheese. I went to a bar yesterday—that’s where the fake cheese came in. (This was written on Thursday, so it was actually the day before yesterday. Not that it matters, but I’ve got that whole honesty thing going on.)

I had some quesadillas that probably wouldn’t have qualified as food.

A bar? Are you crazy? Perhaps. (I’m serious. No smiling!)

A group of classmates at the university, that studious-me attends, were headed out for a celebration. (I just deleted an entire paragraph about my theories of why people drink. Another Amen.) This was my first invite to a bar in eons. My little voice (inside my head) was excited, and she said: “OH, this could be a fun experiment! We could blog about it!”

She was all sweet and convincing, and giving me all these facts, like I need to be brave and bond with my peer group. We had a little argument, little voice and I, as I stood in the elevator, stuck and not going anywhere with four of my classmates. After a good four minutes, I said, “Hey. Did anyone press the number one?” We all had a good laugh, and little voice used that as further nectar for her warped plan.

When I arrived at the noisy, crowded sports bar, the only place left to perch was in the far corner; which would have been tolerable, maybe even preferred, except I had to sit by two gentlemen from class. And my least favorite social thing to do in the whole entire of all the universe, both discovered and undiscovered, is to engage in small chat with men, particularly men I hardly know. In retrospect this situation easily merited me ordering a glass of wine.

But, nooooo! little voice was adamant that I had to be the real me, and not compromise my normal behavior in order to attempt to fit in. (She’s on some trip with that lately. It’s rather annoying. Years of functioning without recourse through role-playing and pretend, and now she has to go and be all real.) Thusly, against my really-wanting-booze judgment, I ordered a Shirley Temple. And then, to torture little voice, I ate two, very-bad-for-me cherries. While little voice was going on about the red dye health hazards of cherries, I ignored her and pictured myself cuddled up at home watching the series Breaking Bad.

But soon, I was interrupted with the same old tapes playing in my head, (or cd’s or Blu-Ray discs): What to say? How to say it? When to say it? How to sit? Where to look? When to smile? Blah, blah, blah.

I did receive a table-full of laughs when I mistook the miniature trivia, game-playing contraption (one of seven the waitress plopped on our table) for an ATM machine. I kept asking, while holding my little blue machine up high, “How does the machine know what I ordered for dinner? What buttons do I press? How does it know me?” Before looking for the slot to put my debit card in.

It’s nice to know that the whole over-my-head quality I had in high school, hasn’t changed. (Sorry…I know I do this a lot. But what does over my head mean, literally? Is it facts flying over me? Am I ducking? If I stood up taller or jumped, would I reach the adequate information?)

I ordered a Shirley Temple, instead of my standard water (usually bottled or sparkling, but bars usually don’t have that. I think it’s a conspiracy to make me order alcohol). I ordered a S. Temple, because in first grade, I lived right around the block from Shirley Temple Black. I used to walk up to her wrought iron gate, daydreaming about getting her autograph for my spy notebook, and try to figure out why she changed her name. I ordered the soda, for the sole purpose of saying: Shirley Temple. But no one knew that. Just like no one knew I can’t stand soda.

The bar visit wasn’t as terrible as it could have been. I managed the small talk, okay. Overall, I’m pretty darn proud of me, and even thankful to little voice, (just don’t tell her), because I faced a huge fear without a best friend, or even a friend, by my side.

As I was sharing with you, just now, I was reminded of my love of Shirley Temple’s: On the Good Ship Lollipop. I can still feel my feet pressing into the golden fibers of our shag carpet. And visualize my dog, Justice, a black mutt, dancing around with me. The way dogs dance.

I was obsessed with the Pledge of Allegiance back then, and would recite the entire pledge, just to get to the line: And Justice for All! That’s when Justice would come running to me. It was a game I played several times a day. It wasn’t until years and years later, when I was in my early twenties, that I realized And Justice for All was the last line of the pledge. For some reason I thought the line came earlier. I made my friends and relatives say the entire pledge, too. That’s how things worked at my house. We pledged to my dog. That’s saying something; now isn’t it?

While dancing with Justice, I had a difficult time picturing Shirley Temple’s Lollipop Ship, and trouble understanding how a ship was good.

I think, if I’d had an inner-Blu-Ray-disc playing back then, I would have seen the ship as a cross between the Love Boat and the S.S. Minnow (Gilligan’s Island.) (copy and paste for Gilligan’s Island)

Every chance I had, I would watch Gilligan’s Island. The show was great exercise for my brain. I thought: Why did they pack all those things on a tiny ship for a three-hour trip? How did all those clothes and furniture fit on the tiny ship? Why wasn’t my favorite Mary Ann in the opening scene? And why didn’t Gilligan get to be the leader of the gang? I mean, he was a mighty sailor man and fearless. And the entire island was named after him!

I guess since I’ve provided this whole telling about my childhood music and television show fixation, I might as well include the lyrics/song I would scribe in pencil on my desk, every single day as a freshman in Massachusetts. Everyday I wrote, then erased. I desperately missed California. At home, I would play the song over and over on my record player and later in my head. Even with my dyspraxia and dyslexia, I memorized the song to perfection. Little voice sang the lyrics all the time. Oh, listening to the words now brings me back. Makes me want to cry for that little girl in a strange state (as in Massachusetts).

In the end, my short trip to the sports bar paid off, after all. I was able to share some of my favorites and take a trip down memory lane. Thanks for taking the trip with me, and for packing lightly.

Day Seventeen: You Rock, Aspergers Girls

It’s 7:00 a.m. and I’m wide awake, even though the chickadees (my kiddos) don’t have to go to school today—which means no hustle and bustle dance this morning. I love the night before school holidays or the weekends. As my head hits the pillow, I let out a huge sigh of relief, knowing I will have no restrictions first thing in the morning. But, I have to be very careful (and I mean very), because without a schedule, I tend to turn into a dog, or more liken to a cat, and I develop this keen ability to lounge around the house all day. Oh, I still stretch, and move from one piece of furniture to the other, eat some kibbles and lap up some water, and even partake in minimal grooming. And when I’m in my true element, I try to look all cute and cuddly, in hopes of acquiring a backrub from my hubby, after he returns from a long day at work. I know…super bad kitty!

Now, I’ve backed spaced, and am sitting here wandering… I confuse wondering with wandering; probably because I am always wondering about something or another. Maybe I’ve hit upon something: mainstream people wander about and Aspies’ wonder about. We just got the words mixed up; that’s all.

I need to think of a word for when I digress, and then return to what I was saying, back to the time before my brain peeled away from the curb (image that is confusing this brain), and left me standing with huge bags of groceries (filled with a lot of information). Mean brain.

Backspace won’t work, because when I backspace I delete all the ingredients simmering in my mind—or fermenting like old fruit. Picturing the green and white moldy fuzz I often find on oranges at the bottom of the fruit bowl. Wondering/Wandering if you ever find old fruit.

The word Back up could feasibly play the part, except when I picture the word backup, as I do picture most words in my brain…(Brain=big squishy mass like those stress balls you squeeze. If you have one. But with carved out ridges on it. And I mean if you have a stress ball, because I’m assuming you have a brain. But you know what they say about “assume.”)

I still remember learning the ass-u-me trick from Felix on The Odd Couple. I chuckled at seeing the word ass on television. The word was written on some board I think, or paper. Oscar and Felix were interesting characters to study. But I liked to study Mr. Rogers, the most. Hey, one time I heard that Mr. R was a navy seal. That was tough because that image, that of Mr. Rogers all dressed mysteriously-like in black, or some other secret-tough-awesome-guy outfit, very much jangled my brain—that squishy stress ball.  See, I can go full circle without even trying.

And you thought I didn’t have a point. The jokes on you. Another one of those sayings!!! Irks me to know (no) end, because my stress ball is now thinking where is the joke actually stuck on you? I’m thinking your shoulder and there’s an archetypal wad of gum there signifying the joke.  No offense. At least I didn’t put the gum in your hair, like the time…

Now I want you to know, that I purposely rambled on so you would see my vital point about requiring some sort of way to Back Up.

And if you believe that, then the joke is on you, and you probably haven’t read any other parts of my blog! This time, the gum on your shoulder is watermelon-flavored Bubble Yum. The flavor doesn’t last as long, but the smell is Yummy. As long as you don’t have food sensitivities and smell sensitivities like me, then the watermelon-gum smells all-fake and chemically (that’s a word?); please back away. I can’t stand the smell. Thanks.

1)   If you can remember what we were talking about (aka: what I was typing about), then you have an awesome short-term memory and do not have dyspraxia!

2)   If you have to scan back up to the first line of the second paragraph and regroup, then you know what it feels like to live in my squishy stress ball.

Now, that I’m thinking about that whole self-manifestation/visualize your destiny mumbo-jumbo, (Not that I don’t believe in active visualization—I just like that word mumbo-jumbo, because I picture little clams playing the drums in a Cajun band. Don’t ask me why.), I’m wondering/wandering if I ought to maybe picture my brain as something other than a stress ball—like maybe at least transferring the image over to a squishy world ball or a water balloon. Any ideas on how I might visualize my brain? If you’re laughing, I don’t want your suggestions.

I don’t have to scan to the top of this post, to know what I was writing about in the very beginning, before I so trade-markedly transgressed, even though I have dyspraxia, because the remainder of my written words are still below this string of letters on my computer screen, from before I had to back up. (That’s a long sentence.)

Very conveniently my thoughts are still here in black and white. Very thankful, as I’ve long forgotten from whence (I like that adverb: picturing a stuffy old English, as in UK, professor. Not that I think your stuffy, if your English. Just stereotyping the professors, like I was stereotyped when I moved to Massachusetts and everyone called me surfer-girl. Still irks me that they didn’t even know what an OP shirt was.)

Hmmmmm….. In analyzing myself this morning, I’m thinking, when I don’t have to get up early, and worry about all the sensory issues involved in starting my day, that I get sort of giddy and humorous, and fun to be around, and because of that I am more relaxed, and it’s easier to be myself. And lucky for you that means you get to read an entire post that never actually went anywhere, except in one big circle.

For you in the slow group, let me connect the dots. No offense if you were ever in a slow group at one point or another in your life. That was unfair for people to put you there. I’m visually patting you on the back…and pulling off the wadded gum. Do you want to chew it?

1)   For you in the slow group, let me connect the dots (Deja vu! Weird!): On the days my boys don’t have school, and on weekends, be prepared to perhaps read only the first and last paragraph of my posts.

2)   Unless you are in the advanced group, then you might figure out it is in your best interest to skip the post entirely.

3)   For those of you that are still confused, I give you permission to press the like button without actually looking at the words on any given page. Also, I give you permission to send the link to a relative—let’s say (since I already stereotyped) a person like your mother-in-law, and tell them: “This is the most deeply insightful post, I have every read in my entire life.” Say it, just like that. And then wait…wait…wait on it! And just see what festers. Kind of like the old fruit at the bottom of the bowl.

4)   And let me not forget the marvelous Aspies. You move to the top of the class! Yes, you do. Because you not only understand this post but you seriously get it. And you’re so happy because you found a new best friend!

For all you who have stayed with me this entire post, let us pause for self-applause, a little pat on the back, a little “You Rock!” aloud.

Say it. “You Rock _________.” Slow group: insert your name on the blank line. Okay, try again.

Finally, back to the dangling sentence from fifty minutes ago. As I was saying, (Dang, I have to scan up to see the other part of the sentence. Just a second.) All right, I found it. It’s in the second paragraph. (All right should be one word, already!)

I’m doing the cool walk, acting like this was all supposed to happen, this rambling on and on and on. I’m picturing my teenage son, who struts like he’s all that (odd saying), and wondering/wandering how I could think fourteen-year-olds were mature, when I was younger and kissed one.  Like super young, fourteen myself. Not an adult. Yuck!

Anyhow, so (I like the word so—leftover rebellion from my youth: SO? Accompanied by eyes rolling up and lips pressed together. Oh, oh, I know like that one multiple personality alter in that show The United States of Tara. )…Anyhow, so, right now, (in my head), I’m doing my inner cool strut, thinking I’m all that, to avoid the inevitable of appearing like a rambling fool, and seriously (another word I like. Won’t get into the visual), and seriously wondering/wandering how to put the pearls back on the string of this conversation.

Note how I called this a conversation. Because for an Aspie—This is a conversation! High-five to my Sista! (That’s Tara again. Watch the show, if you need to know.)

There’s just no easy way to do this. Here it is, the rest of my sentence from (let me count), about thirteen paragraphs ago. Look for IF.

{Here’s the sentence where we left off, from atop the post:} “Now, I’ve backed spaced, and am sitting here wandering… ”

“… IF super bad kitty” is some type of saying the mainstream uses to indicate the unmentionable on my G-rated blog. Pondering. Evaluating. Thinking, I’ll have to double-check with my husband. Just in case there is any confusion: super bad kitty, in my book (which is so darn thick) means extremely inconsiderate cat. There that’s better. I had naughty, and had to strike that, too. Oh, bother!”

Confusing. Isn’t it? I’m nodding, knowing the words came out of my squishy stress ball…I mean globe ball. I’m holistic and earthy now.

I was so excited to write to you this morning that I just now pulled out the earplug from my right ear. I couldn’t before, as I was caught up in this deep insightful prose! (Note this is the last paragraph that the slow group will be reading, as mentioned in number one above. So let them think it’s insightful. Don’t burst their bubble—or stress ball…or water balloon. You get the picture. And that’s why: You Rock, ____________!

(Slow group, insert your name on the line.)

* So far the main insight I’ve gained, by venturing to create this blog, is that I am particularly fond of the words: so, sort of, kind of, see, saying, anyhow, for, and wandering.  Somehow that doesn’t seem like progress?? Oh, and the words seem, like, and oh.