Why I Hate Springfield, MO: Part Deux, The Incident With The Sheux

Once, I lived in Springfield, Missouri.  I had many adventures (if by "adventures" you mean "really sucky things that happened") which I documented here.  But one adventure sticks out more than all the rest (even the time I watched terrible commercials at the mall for money), and that is the time I had to trudge to class, soaking wet, and with one shoe.

Rain in MO is weird, yo.

You see,  like most miserable and homesick college kids, I would go home almost every weekend, ostensibly to do laundry somewhere where I did not have to fish someone's forgotten and moldy (at least I hope that was mold) tighty whiteys out of the washing machine before I could put my stuff in, but really because I missed my cat (and my family, I guess).

It had stormed all weekend, and I have terrible night vision, as a result, I decided to wait until Monday morning to make the two hour trek back to Springfield. 

I overslept a bit, and therefore sped back to Springfield post haste upon waking, but barely arrived in time to park my car at my apartment/dorm/hell hole  and walk to class.  Unfortunately, my rain boots and umbrella were in my apartment. Even more unfortunately...I locked and shut my car door with the keys still inside...

Don't act like you come here for the artwork.

Faced with no other option, I valiantly began to trudge to class in my pajamas and flip-flops.  However, I did not count on the fact that the campus of Southwest Missouri State had been designed to maximize flooding potential every time it rained.

SO THERE I WAS (every great story starts with SO THERE I WAS) crossing the busy street that separated the dorms and frat houses from the rest of campus when a TORRENTIAL CURRENT OF DEATH came racing down the street, straight towards me.

It was exactly like this, but more epic.

I stared in wide-eyed terror for approximately three seconds before I started running for the curb, but it was too late.  The water rushed past me, and as I took that final step towards the sidewalk, a fatal squicky suction noise resounded in the deep, carrying away with it's reverberations, my right flip-flop.

I lunged forwards to grab my rubbery friend before he could slip away, but alas!  The current proved too swift and my poor flip-flop was swept into the large gaping maw of a storm drain.

Disheartened and sopping wet, I made my way to French class, where I proceeded to form a puddle under my desk.  I'm pretty sure that's why I made a D in French that semester...it has nothing at all to do with my complete lack of memorization skills....

Pretty sure my French teacher hated me before this incident.  

The Story Of Tijuana; Or How I Became An Illegal Immigrant

Once upon a time, far away in a (crazy) land (with no sweet tea) called California, my brother was graduating from Marine Corps boot camp.

My parents were super duper proud of him, so they decided to go see him graduate.  They were so proud, they didn't even roll their eyes when I "promised" to pay them back if they bought me a plane ticket (and paid for my food, and lodging, and sight seeing) so I could go.

He's a handsome little bugger.

The graduation ceremony takes place over several days, so we decided to do touristy things like go to the zoo and the park and drive by the nuclear plant nicknamed Dolly Parton.

I see no resemblance, honestly...

But eventually, we heard the Call of Adventure, specifically Mexico.  Tijuana was only 20 minutes away from our hotel, and my mother and sister had never been outside of the States.  So, of course we had to go!  We looked up the regulations for crossing the border.  Unfortunately, the website hadn't been updated since 9/11.

Seems legit to me!  Let's go!

So, we got in our rent-a-car and drove across town to the U.S./Mexico border.  We parked in a sketchy 5.00 all-day parking lot and gazed over the fence separating us from Adventure.

That's it, seriously.  That's the way into Mexico.  Just a turny fence.

We walked through the turny fence and past the fat guard asleep in what seemed to be a children's school desk, and we thought "wow, the website was totally right!  You do just mosey on in!"

Seen here:  Mexican border guard hard at work.

Euphoric with our success, our first order of business was to find the sights.  That's when Roberto the Crazy Taxi Driver appeared.  When you first get into Tijuana, there is a jostling mob of taxi drivers waiting to take you to Revolution Road, where all the touristy shops are.  Roberto won out because he spoke English.  He told us to wait there, he'd be right back with his taxi (I'm gonna assume he was either hot wiring one, or dumping a dead body, because this is Tijuana after all).

Trust me when I say his crazy wing-like arm and magnificent chest hair were the least of our worries.

We got in his seat-belt-less taxi and tried to avoid the wires sticking out of the seats and ceiling while we embarked on the most death defying 15 minute ride of my life.  My dad started having flash backs of Vietnam...and he wasn't even in Vietnam.

Typical family portrait

We miraculously made it in one piece, despite Roberto running several red lights.  We were immediately accosted by street urchins selling wares with prices that magically INCREASED when you tried to buy them.  We also had plenty of opportunities to buy Vicodin and Oxycontin at the hundreds of farmacias packed onto one little street.  Since I had taken at least one semester* of Spanish, I appointed myself the family's ambassador. I spouted off little gems to the street vendors such as "mi gato tiene su sujetapapeles" and "no tengo un baño" as they looked on in amazement.  I felt very proud of myself.  We bought several souvenirs and since it was getting dark and the sounds of gunshots were getting more frequent, we decided it was time to skedaddle.

Roberto took us back to the border...and that's where we ran into trouble.  You see, the website lied.  Getting out of Mexico is not nearly as easy as getting in.  There is an actual customs building you have to walk though with guards and guns.

Wait a minute...that is not a turny fence!

Once inside, we started to get the inkling of a suspicion that we might have some problems getting back into the U.S.  Our first clue was the fact that everyone was breaking out their passports...my sister didn't have so much as a driver's license on her...You can see where this is going...

Opps...

After spending a month in Mexican jail and not getting anywhere with an immigration lawyer, we decided to make a break for it...

JUST KIDDING. (But I really had you going there for a second, right?  Right??)

The guard we had to talk to was actually really nice and let us go through.  I like to think it was my heartfelt plea that changed his mind. ("But, we're from Arkansas!  I can show you  my accent!  Please don't let me die here, there is no sweet tea and the coke tastes funny!")  It might have also been that we are hopelessly gringos.

The moral of the story:  Don't buy leather from Tijuana.

Pro tip: improperly tanned leather smells like skunk.  It's not as noticable in Tijuana, where everything smells like skunk, but it will smell up your rented car, and your hotel room until you put it out on the balcony to "air out"...it will continue to smell, smelling up the airplane, and your house and eventually your garage.  The smell will linger through copious amounts of Febreeze and several exorcisms.  You will eventually end up hiding it amongst your donation to Goodwill as people refused to buy it at your garage sell, even though you offered to pay them for taking it.

That Did Not Go As Expected...

My bff's birthday was last month.  I knew she wanted a necklace holder for a while, so I set about finding one on the interwebs.  I didn't like any of the mass made ones, so I turned to Etsy.  50.00 (plus shipping) for a "distressed vintage victorian upcycled steampunk gothic hobo handmade environmentally-friendly mirrored jewelry hanger" sounded like a bit much and I thought "I could totally make this myself".  Yea-ha.

I went to Hobby Lobby and acquired the necessary supplies.  I had a loose idea of what I wanted to do, so I got some basic things:  a picture frame (30.00 but on sale for 14.00.  HOLLA!), some wood ornaments (2.00/ea), wood glue (I dunno, 5.00 maybe?), and some spray paint (4.00? 5.00?  I give up).  This was gonna be epic!

The supplies and apparently my shadow.  Also, my carpet that needs to be vacuumed.

I glued on the wood ornaments on the corners and let them dry overnight.  (One of them turned out a little bit crooked, but my mom assures me that only adds character.)  Then, I spray painted it.  In the wind.  Wearing my black dress pants.  I'm smart.

Now, my bff loves Old Hollywood, so I just knew the perfect thing for the knobs to hang her necklaces on would be these puppies right here:

And everyone's grandma has these, so you'd think they'd be easy to find.  WRONG.  So wrong.  I went to Lowe's, they had 3 left, one of which was the display knob which they couldn't figure out how to undo.  I was determined to have 5.  Next I went to Target.  They had some, but they weren't exactly what I was looking for and they were freaking 10.00/ea.  I finally found some at Home Depot for 4.00/ea.  Score.  I brought them home, drilled some holes in my frame (gosh, power tools are fun.) and voila! 

Featured:  Halfway finished frame.  Also featured:  Mostly painted wall.

My original plan was to stick some cork board in the back and cover it with fabric and then cover THAT with white metal netting so my friend could also hang her earrings on it.  Turns out cork board is EVIL and EXPENSIVE.

How much do you think this cost?  5.00? 10.00?  NOPE!  15.00!

I searched around for alternatives, I tried to find some way to make the tiles work.  I had a brilliant idea involving already framed canvas, but that fell through.  In the end, I bought the stupid roll of cork.  I took it home and cut it to fit the inside of my frame.  It was then I discovered the sad fact that cork is mushy, floppy, and falls apart easily, a fact I was not prepared for.  I watched in horror as 15.00 crumbled before my eyes.  I tried gluing several layers together.  I tried gluing the fabric to it.  Nothing worked.  I threw all the cork in the trash and sat on the floor.  I had promised my bff her present the next day!  What would I do?  Hobby Lobby was closed, Lowe's was closed, as a last resort, I called Home Depot and told the man in the lumber department my sad sordid tale.  He told me to bring my frame and he would help me.  AND HE DID!  He found me some wood of the right thickness and cut it for me at no extra cost!  It was amazing. 

I took the wood home and was just going to cover that with fabric but my mom and sister protested.  They thought I should glue a layer of cork on top of the wood so my friend could use it as a pin board too.  I said no.  I was frustrated and by this time I had spent two weeks on the project (I was sick with tonsillitis, a sinus infection, and an ear infection and spent one of those weeks in bed watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and using copious amounts of tissue and whining), but they insisted.  So I told them FINE!  YOU DO IT!  My sister got out the handy hot glue gun and got to work.  She attached the cork and the fabric for me and then we wood glued that sucker together. 

Final result?

Worth it.