The Evil Twins take Maryland part 1

In retrospect, I should have taken more pictures. Here are some highlights for our adventure on Sunday.

Sign of our weekend plans.

Evil Twin #2 wins the lotto in Fruitland, a town with a Walmart and no fruit.

A post office and so much more.

The only motel/hotel on Smith Island, otherwise known as the greatest incentive to get to the ferry on time.

A unique Natty Boh.

Car trouble

Ack! That is the only word that can come out of my mouth .

Here is the story. When I moved to Baltimore, my parents came along to help. When they saw where I was working and an illicit drug transaction right in front of the complex, they marched me into a dealership and told me to pick out a car. They would not have their baby walking a mile through gang territory, or by the three nudie bars that are right next to the hospital. My mom wrote out a check for a down payment on the car and told me that the rest I could handle because it would improve my credit score. "Great!" I thought. Then my mother said these fateful words, "Evil Twin #1, we will add you onto our insurance, we know what we are doing."

The conversation between my mother and her insurance agent, F, a kindly overweight lady my parents have for over 30 years and who has been to our house for dinner with both of her husbands, will never be known. I imagine it started off with the two women comparing notes on their grandkids and ending with my mother telling her I was planning on moving back to California some day. In the end, F insured the car in the state of California.

Back in Maryland, I dutifully changed over my license and put on my Maryland plates. I sent my mother a check for the insurance. All was good in the world until I received a letter from the Maryland Motor Vehicle Administration (MVA). Summed up: you are not insured, stop driving your car, and pay a hefty fine. "What!" I thought. I immediately called F and she told me my mother told her that I was moving back to California and just assumed the car was registered in California. My mother of course has a different account of the situation.

But this was not the frustrating part of all of this situation. My solution was just to find an agent in Maryland, give my info, start getting insurance, and pay the fine. My solution took 20 minutes. My mother had another idea. She called the MVA, she called F, and for all I know she called the Pope. She was going to fix things. Instead, she left chaos in her wake. I had three insurance agents call me saying that they would handle things for me. F called me to see what was going on. Then my mother called me. And after her longwinded explanation of things, I said, "Mom, this was my fault. I am 33 years old and I should take responsibility for myself. If I had from the beginning, none of this would have happened. Please stop calling or doing whatever. You are only making things worse. I've got it under control."

The other side of the phone got silent. Then I heard it. I made my mother cry. Her words came tumbling out in her quivering voice: she was sorry and she did not mean to make my life harder. It was terrible. When our conversation ended, my sister called and I recalled the events. The only way I could express my mix of irritation, guilt, and more guilt was "Ack!"

Word of the Day

BF and I went to see the documentary on Mike Tyson last night. I didn't know that he was such a chatterbox! My favorite word from the movie (which he used at least 3 separate times)?

"skullduggery" - noun. verbal misrepresentation intended to take advantage of you in some way

If you have a chance, you should go see it. Or, at a minimum, add it to your netflix queue.

Insecure shminsecure

“You know you are a lot hotter now than the last time we hung out,” said the random drunk frat boy, who went to law school with my new friend, S.

“Ummmm thanks?” I replied. What I really wanted to say was “What? Is that supposed to be a compliment? Was I such an uggo when we first met? Are you really a lawyer and end your sentences with a preposition?”

Sigh. I was a little disappointed with myself, for taking that comment so seriously. I am sure the boy was black out drunk and had no idea what he was saying. Unfortunately, I am 33 years old but still riddled with the insecurities. I spent about an hour analyzing what he said. “Okay so now that I am hotter, does that mean he thinks I am a hottie or just not disgusting. Is there threshold? What was I wearing the first time I met him?”

Wasn’t I supposed to have gained some wisdom over the years? Isn’t there supposed to be some personal growth? Wasn’t this incident exactly like the E incident?

E was a law school friend of ET#2. Back when ET#2 lived in Boston, I used to see E from time to time in group settings. Now I should preface this story by saying, E is probably a very nice person, but I have never given her a chance. She is slightly enamored with ET#2. And most importantly for this story, she is about 50-70 pounds overweight. (ET#2 and I tried to come to a consensus but both of us are not good with weight estimations. We do agree she is on the clearly heavy side.)

One night, we were in ET#2’s apartment. Most of the night was completely unremarkable. I think I was there because I was playing scrabble with ET#2’s roommate. ET#2 and her law school friends came in from some event (I think). We were all sitting in the living room having a pleasant conversation. C, another female law student, said something. And while I can’t remember what C said, the response E gave is forever emblazed in my mind. She turned to me and said “ET#1, us big girls need to stick together.”

That one sentence “us big girls need to stick together” was something I obsessed about for years. That one sentence is the reason I still don’t like E. That one sentence was bandied about for years by ET#2’s ex-roommate, who thought it would be hilarious to constantly tease me.

As a matter of fact, when I g-chatted with ET#2 for an accurate estimation of how overweight E was, she knew exactly why I wanted to know. Yes, “us big girls need to stick together,” had taken a life of its own.

So will my impression of the frat boy be forever marred. Yes, it will. If history has taught me anything, it is that I am incredibly petty and can carry a grudge for a very long time.