Writer's Block

Dear Readers (all 4 or 5 of you),

I thought it was time to sit down and write you an entertaining blog...problem is...I have writer's block. I guess it is true, it takes a 1000 compliments to get rid of one unkind remark...I have 998 compliments to go. I am cheating, I am copying and pasting from an email I sent to my friend, Steve.

So, I thought I would tell you about my worst day in high school. Then you can tell me about yours.

Once upon a time, during my sophmore year in high school, I arrived at school, did my thing at my locker in the 800 row and schlepped across the field to the annex for geometry. I was in geometry with my mind going other places (as usual) and realized...I didn't see my tennis racquet in my locker...Odd...Mr. Ley (an odd duck, I'll have to remember to tell you about him someday) gave me a pass and back I schlepped through the mud to check my locker. No racquet. Someone had stolen my racquet. Off to P.E., changed and did whatever it was I did for P.E. and went back to change...my purse was missing out of my locker. I thought my friend had stolen it as a joke...couldn't figure out how since no one knew my locker combo. It finally dawned on me, it wasn't a joke. I am forever a problem solver, I decided to go to my car and get the change I keep in the ashtray for lunch money. Off I go, with my BFF, Linda Pilcic to my car (which I always parked across the street and not in the lot). Imagine my surprise when there is no car. Now I need to recruit an adult and give my dad a call. (Sound familiar?) Police are called and the police officer obviously spying my blonde hair makes me sit in his car while I search the parking lot for my car...just in case I forgot where I parked. Tony Morrow hops in the back of the police car to help me out...how gallant...or he wants in on the action...I will go with the latter on that one. No car.

By now, my dad has arrived. He decides to call it a day for me and take me home. I have to talk to the principal first...Actually, I think it was the principal's idea for me to go home...while I am talking to the principal...the zipper on my pants breaks...right there, in front of him, my audience, and anyone happening along at that moment.

Home I am, about 3:30, my older brother, Rick, pulls up in my '63 Fairlane. My car. No one elses. He had stolen the extra key and helped himself to the car while I was at school. Now the police have to be called and told the car has been located...and it is in my driveway.

A police officer arrived to take the report...my mom, not one to let our dirty laundry be known to anyone never spoke up and never said my brother did not have access/permission to my car...The police officer's parting words to me were "Next time, pull your head out of your ass before calling the police."

If that weren't bad enough, the next day when I got to school and everyone was giving sympathy...the question was asked "Who stole your car?" And I had to answer, "My brother." UGH!

I never did find out what happened to my purse or tennis racquet. Weird.

High School picture provided to help you picture me wandering around looking for tennis racquet, purse, car...you name it, I was looking for it.