Shame

My friend Andrea and I have recently moved to Austin. It has been a very exciting and a very frustrating time. The friends that we have here have been extremely helpful in giving us ideas for finding jobs, and referring us to their apartment realtors, but sometimes even the best and most well-intended advice might go awry.

One of our friends, Jamie Amber to be precise, has been very excited about Andrea and I going to a job fair he had heard of. For the past month we have been running around to every available resource and handing in applications. We've handed out about 100 plus resumes and applications and had about five interviews between us. It has been exhausting. When Jamie mentioned this career fair, we asked him a few times if it was the kind that two twenty-somethings with very little work experience would be expected to go to. Jamie assured us that yes it was.

So we put on our best interview outfits and a Jamie's wife, Elizabeth, gave us a ride to the career fair. I took a minute on the sidewalk to change out of my bright red converse shoes and put on my sensible black pumps and then we proceeded into the building. I don't really know what I was expecting. It was only noon, so my head was still in its morning fog (which doesn't lift until about three, if you were wondering), so I probably wasn't expecting much. Just a few places like Taco Bell, or department stores from malls to be sitting behind booths handing out applications.

Confident in our abilities, we walked into the conference center holding the folder with our resumes, our sensible shoes clacking in foyer.  There was a booth with a woman behind it who asked us to fill out a form. I could definitely do that! We were on the right track.

We were then directed into a room full of booths, and I was immediatley filled with dread. Everyone was in suits. No one there was wearing clothes their friend had given them, or make-up from that was on-sale at Target. We found ourselves in a frightening world, but we had walked into the room and we had to look more professional than we were. We couldn't just walk in and walk out. Although that may have been a better option.

We walked up to the nearest booth, which looked very professional with a big poster next to it that said, "New York Life" and listed exciting adjectives like, Travel!, Careers!, Communication!. There were two people behind the booth, a man and a woman, both in very expensive suits. They obviously had gym memberships because they were both very fit, and they obviously did not get their hair done at SuperCuts, or whichever one strikes your fancy when you're at Wal-Mart shopping for underwear and socks so you can put off laundry for another week.

We did not feel super prof. We were not 30. We were probably very cute, and I was definitely wishing my mother were right outside.

We walked around with giant deer eyes, shuffled our feet toward the table the farthest away from the New York Life table (I don't even know what that is) and then practically ran out.

Upon walking out, heads down, the shame palpable, we realized we were hungry. So where did we go? The refuge of all grown-ups. Sonic. Because there was one close by. We sat at our booth of humiliation and shame and ate the most horrible food ever to come out of a machine.

It felt like I had been caught playing dress-up. Or like when you look back on a child-hood memory and realize you were being a total dumb-dumb and all the grown-ups were laughing at you. I wanted to go back and explain to the power-ties that we were misinformed. We knew we didn't belong there. But it was too late. So I just ate my cheeseburger and tater tots and Andrea drank her hot chocolate.

The Ring

About once a year (sometimes more if there's not much going on) I suddenly believe I can watch scary movies. I wake up in the morning and say to myself, "I can watch a scary movie!" From this realization, I go about my day wanting more and more to watch a scary movie. I'll remember what happened last time I watched a scary movie (Jennifer was in my bathroom/hallway/living room/closet, Jigsaw was in my bathroom/hallway/living room/closet, the weird non-renewable resource monster from Fern Gully was in my bathroom/hallway/living room/closet) and shrug it off. I'll say to myself, "Megan, you are 20 years old. You can watch a scary movie. Right now, you know without even checking, there is nothing in your bathroom, closet, hallway, or living room." I go to the store.

I'm filled with glee at the prospect of being a fully grown, actualized human, who can make some Jiffy Pop, sit on the couch, and watch a scary movie. And then go to bed without peeing my pants every time there's a small noise. I rent the movie and return home, excited to tell people about the time that I watched a scary movie by myself and not have to mention in the next sentence that I've finally bought plastic sheets.

I then watch the movie. I'm scared, but I'm proud of myself for watching it. I may be curled up into a ball sobbing with terror half-way through, but I am watching that movie. Nothing can stop my fully actualized self from watching The Ring and thinking I can actually get through it. I will get through it. And I will go to bed with the lights off when I'm done.

Before the climax I'll usually jump up and turn the lights on, spilling what's left of my Jiffy Pop all over the floor. When the movie is over I have an hour of pure, unadulterated terror sitting on my chest, giving my heart attacks and embolisms. I try to watch something else to take my mind off of what I've just seen, but as soon as Sex and the City or Friends or Everybody Loves Raymond has a commercial break, I'm back in my terror spree, noticing things I've never noticed before. Like the gurgling in my drains when the neighbor uses their sink, or the popping sounds bugs make when they fly against my window.

I'll take a shower, and go to bed with the lamp on, but for the next two weeks all my daily activities are disproportionately scary.

Lactose Allergies

When you are young and you have an allergy, you will usually outgrow it when you hit puberty. One example is my friend Heather, who was severely allergic to peanutbutter. And then when we were twelve she only broke out in hives. She can now eat peanutbutter any time she wants. Another example is one of my elementary school classmates Brian M. who couldn't eat anything, had to take pills all the time, and wear gloves or else he would scratch all of his skin off. As far as I know, he is no longer wearing gloves and he can eat now.

I wish very much that I had been allergic to something when I was little, because now I am allergic to cats and lactose. I'm not lactose intolerant, I am actually allergic to lactose. And as anyone that has known me for more than five minutes understands, I like cheese. So this is a problem.

The first time I realized I had allergies was when I was at my friend Andrea's house. She had a cat named Tom, and he was super cute, and liked to sleep on my head. I didn't really appreciate the sleeping on my head part because he really liked my head and would knead it with his paws and claws. So not only did I have cat scratches all over my head, I was allergic to the scratches and his dander and his saliva. It was not fun waking up to a fat cat on your head scratching the bejesus out of your forehead and ears. It's even less fun to wake up feeling like death the next day.

However, cats are not the be all end all pet for me, so I just figured when I had a place of my own, I wouldn't own cats and I would just steal my little brother's allergy medicine (because he is one of the lucky ones with allergies as a child) whenever I went to Andrea's house.

It was much, much more disappointing to find out I was allergic to dairy. I had always heard stories about lactose intolerance where the kid finds out by pooping his pants when he's ten. I didn't poop my pants, I just became progressively sicker and sicker. Even when I knew in my heart of hearts that I could no longer eat dairy or I would face dire consequences, I still drank milk, and ate ice cream and cheese. It seemed like the worse my allergies became, the more dairy I would eat, just to prove to myself that nothing was wrong, and I just had a cold and the flu and ebola.

I just had a cup of coffee with milk in it and my throat is scratchy and my nose is runny and I'm not 100% on whether or not I'll throw up. The cat doesn't seem to be bothering me, but I have as yet to touch it. Hopefully it does not enjoy sleeping on people's heads.

The Tooth Fairy and other Childhood Evils

When I was little, the world was magical. I was certain that one day I would look out of my bedroom window in our two-bedroom trailer, and instead of seeing the corrugated steel of the side of the building my dad worked in, I would see a portal into a land filled with unicorns and breakfast for dinner and no bees or wasps. I thought I was a ballerina-opera-singer-firewoman-princess-peasant that would be taken to a far-off land where I didn't have to eat my mom's broccoli surprise anymore.

But of course, in a magical land, there are good things (the super cool rocks I piled under the porch that had swirly sparklies) and there are bad things (spiders).

I was about four when my dad first introduced the idea of bad things coming into the house and taking stuff I liked. I had previously been dancing about in our inch of yard, running from the grassy yard to the other rock and broken glass filled yard. The grassy yard we shared with a nice couple in the trailer to the left of us, and the rock and glass yard we shared with seven guys that also worked for the city in the corrugated steel building my dad worked in. The yard was an awesome place where I could pretend I was with Winnie the Pooh or the fairies. (I liked to jump off the steps of the back porch, singing the Winnie the Pooh song and for some reason, if I jumped really far I was better than Winnie the Pooh and therefore better than Christopher Robin. I was an only child, and weird games were all I had).

There was nothing better than being better than Winnie the Pooh. Anyway...I came back inside after an hour or so of thinking how great I was to see that the hideous orange and dark brown couch that had always been in the living room was gone. In its place was a slightly less hideous off-white couch, with ugly furniture blues and browns crisscrossing all over it. I loved it, but I missed the orange couch. I turned to my dad and asked where it had gone.

My dad is very tall and has what some might call "a commanding presence". And a mustache. A power mustache. Everything he told me was absolute truth. He abused this power often. It might have been the mustache. "The couch trolls came and took it away in the night."

Now, who knows what else they might come and take away? My dad's chair? Where would he sit? The coffee table I liked to pretend was my jungle-gym despite frequent reminders that that was not its purpose? My bed? While I was still in it? From that point forward, there was good and there was evil. Whatever came in the night and took things was definitely evil. Good was whatever I liked.

Around the second grade, everyone started losing their teeth. I was consumed with jealousy. Why did they get to lose their teeth and I didn't? All of my teeth were healthy and straight and holding on to my gums for their preciously white lives. Stupid teeth. I wanted gaping holes! I wanted three teeth in row to be gone like one of the boys in my class, the stupid kid with his many missing teeth. He looked like he should be in a family picture from the Appalachias, the lucky SOB. The school pictures that year were mortifying. Everyone else smiled and showed off the gaps through which they drank their juice, and I tried to keep my lips closed but the photographer would have none of it.

And so it went on. I heard more and more about the Tooth Fairy, a magical being that left money for teeth. At first this idea seemed pretty benign, so I took no issue with it. Then one day, I read a terrifying book about the Tooth Fairy.

Does this not strike you with fear? The unsuspecting child is about to have her jaws brutally ripped out and the fairy has almost no expression on her face!

She didn't just come in your room and make sure there was a tooth underneath your pillow. She stole the tooth an paid you for it! She came into your room, stole valued property, made sure it was from your mouth the tooth had fallen from, and then paid for the goods! What if the tooth fairy wanted more? What if she was broke? According to the book she used the teeth as currency in the great fairy world where children's tears and sweat and teeth counted as money. This was even scarier than the couch trolls. What if one day she just decided to take the entire contents of my mouth with her?

There was one book that thought of all the different things the tooth fairy might need our teeth for. Art. Tiaras. Money. Necklaces. I thought she might actually be wearing my classmate's ill-gotten teeth around her neck as a trophy of her nocturnal terror-sprees. I had a tooth fall out and lived in absolute fear that she might come into my room that night and steal all my teeth. Perhaps my teeth were too small for her teeth art, and she needed to take a few more to make up for it!

I started losing my teeth and losing them quickly. I finally reached the age where I was embarrassed to mention I was still losing teeth, and the embarrassment wasn't even lucrative, as my parents stopped paying me for losing my teeth after I lost the front ones.

There is still good and evil in this world and though I am no longer afraid of the tooth fairy, I'll admit, that if there's a loud sound outside of the front door late at night, my first thought is usually couch trolls.