Girls Behaving Badly

24 Responses to “Girls Behaving Badly”

1. LeeAnn on July 6th, 2010 9:44 am

   Two days before my husband came back from deployment, I decided my hair needed a trim. I was trying to be a good thrifty wifey and went to the local beauty school instead of a real salon. Little did I know the beauty school was staffed by sweet little fresh-off-the-boat Thai girls, who spoke almost no English.
   Of course, that wasn’t readily evident.
   I sat down in the chair and the tiny stylist looked expectantly at me. “Just a little trim.” I said, holding my fingers about three-quarters of an inch apart to indicate how much I wanted taken off. “Just take off that much, okay? Get the split ends taken care of.”
   Tiny stylist girl smiled and nodded and proceded to give me the best scalp and neck massage I’d ever had. I nearly fell asleep… until I felt a breeze of cool air on TOP OF MY HEAD.
   Yes. She had taken my finger-indicated measurement to mean that was HOW SHORT I wanted my hair.
   I opened my eyes, looked in the mirror, and screamed like a banshee. “What the bloody HELL have you done?” Little tiny stylist screamed and we both began to cry. The manager/instructor, who luckily had good English skills, ran over and asked what was wrong.
   “Look at my hair!” I shrieked. “I only wanted a trim!” Much yammering back and forth between the student and manager finally was explained to me as the little stylist not understanding what I wanted. Finally another instructor came over and finished what was left of my hair, in what turned out to be a very odd pixie cut.
   I continued to sniffle throughout the cut and when I left, I paid my minimal bill with as much grace as I could muster. As I began to leave, my little stylist peeped up in perfect English, “What? No tip?”
   I gave her the single-finger salute and went off to buy a hat.
   So…. my truly poor choice? Trying to save money on hairstyling.

2. lisa cote on July 6th, 2010 10:44 am

   When I was 15 or so, myself and 2 very good friends set out to meet some boys…Well after climbing out my bedroom window we met up at 1am, all clad in the same outfits and listening to Donna Summer “Bad Girls” on our radio…We all thought we where something… Well me all decided to eet the boys at the high school bus parking lot in bus #2…well the 3 of us got in the bus ..The boys never showed up! But the bus janitor DID and he locked the bus. Gosh we all got out of the bus in the am..All our parents where looking for us.. We all got grounded!!.It was a fun night…one we still chat about on facebook….
   We all live in different states now…
   Lisa Cote

3. Mandy on July 6th, 2010 11:01 am

   I was 19. I worked 50 hours a week as a nanny, had school 3 nights a week and I went to the gym everyday. I sat in the Los Angeles area traffic for at least 3 hours a day on school days. I had a male friend in the Marine Corps who had deployed to Iraq and he suddenly called me to tell me he was back and I should come over. What could he want?! As I had no interest in him beyond friendship (the man cried frequently and whined about everything..I could get it that at work, why would I want to come home to it?) I must have been a complete idiot not to put together that he was looking for a good time (HELLO, 7 months with no women? How did it not occur to me?!) So I drove down to his barracks (poor choice #1) and when I got there he had gone for a run and left his friend to keep me company (poor choice on his part..NEVER leave a young marine, just returned from deployment with “your” girl.)

   The guy chatted me up and played video games. I thought he was a moron. I bitched about how psychotic my boss was (she was trying to have another baby without my consent.) This guy started telling me about his ex, how he had a baby with her and she had abandoned her in foster care (while he was deployed) so she could go back to her home planet and get high. (Jerry Springer, anyone?) I decided I was going to be said baby’s mother! Now how to get the baby without dealing with its’ moron dad? (I’m not sure if that counts as a poor choice or not.)

   My friend returned from his run and over the next few hours he proceeded to get drunk, cry, profess his undying love to me, tell me we were getting married and pass out. I was horrified. Not being a party-girl, I had never seen someone that drunk, and had, in fact, not ever been drunk myself. Moron returned and took CryBaby to his room and put him to bed. Then moron asked if I wanted to have a drink!

   Poor choice #2.

   Two drinks later I was…less than sober, and moron was suddenly Prince Charming! I decided as a reputable girl I could not spend the night in the barracks. I invited Prince Charming back to my place. I was drunk, so I asked him to drive my car. It was a stick shift, and I later found out that the only time he had ever driven a manual transmission he had crashed it into a wall. Poor choice #3..at least I didn’t drive drunk, though.

   If you’ve ever seen the movie Knocked Up you know how the rest went. We were having fun and I declared he needed to toss the protection because it was “taking too long” to get the REAL fun started. Poor choice #4.

   9 months later my son was born.

   Insta-family!

   I now am happily married- to Prince Charming, and I successfully became the mommy to MY daughter, and, of course, my son. As poor as those choices may have been, I have known since the moment he mentioned his daughter that I was meant to be her mom, and would gladly repeat every “Poor Choice” just to have her and my son. I love my children, and my husband (of four years now!) and my Poor Choices have ultimately led to a beautiful family.

4. Lora Spence on July 6th, 2010 11:15 am

   My husband, who I have since left, was not taking an active part in our relationship, he was going out & coming home late and refusing to talk about it. One night after he went to bed I set my plan into motion to make my feelings known. First, I unplugged the phone. Next I unplugged everything in the house with the exception of the refrigerator, I certainly wouldn’t waste food just to make a point. Finally, I gathered up every single light bulb in the house. The next morning when he got up, he tried to flip on the light at the top of the stairs & when it didn’t work he assumed one of us had used the downstairs switch last. He carefully made his way down the steps, on his way thru the livingroom he hit the TV remote and without waiting for it to come on he proceeded to the kitchen. The light didn’t didn’t work in the kitchen & he thought after he had his coffee he would decide whether or not to change the bulb before work. FInally, when the coffee maker didn’t work he assessed the situation a little further & discovered signs of my handiwork & came flying up stairs to confront me. When he asked why I told him, “Our relationship is in trouble. I’ve tried talking to you about it but honestly YOU ARE UNPLUGGED, IN THE DARK AND OUT OF REACH.” He wasn’t amused, but that didn’t matter. I had done one more creative outrageous thing in my life to create a memory to remind myself I can fight adversity with humor, one way a person can both be a pacifist & fight back. I also kept my pride and Found regardless of my husbands feelings I loved myself for who I am.

5. Meagen Fox on July 6th, 2010 11:26 am

   There are so many poor choices to choose from….”If I knew then what I know now….”, but the one that sticks out in my mind is this:
   A friend won a party at a local bar for 30 or her friends to drink FREE for 30 minutes. (What were they thinking?) Not one to pass up the opportunity to drink for free, we all drank kamakazee shots for 30 minutes- I believe we had close to 20 each, although I can’t be sure.

   We then got in the car (What were we thinking?) to drive to our usual hangout- I was pulled over, but since my friend was crying (actually laughing so hard she was crying) the cop felt bad for her and only gave me a ticket for speeding in a construction zone. Had he asked me to get out of the car, I’d have been in a world of hurt.

   Looking back now, I’m amazed we are all still alive. Someone was watching out for us!

6. Courtney on July 6th, 2010 1:33 pm

   Oh there are so many to choose from! My girlfriends and I started out the night drinking here at the house until we ran out of vodka. Instead of being logical and taking that as a sign that we should stop drinking we decided to walk down the block to the liquor store for more. When we got to the store we immediately saw a bottle of wine for sale called “Big Pecker.” Finding this hilariously funny we bought 4 bottles for the 3 of us and proceeded to drink them as well. Once again, the good choice would have been to stop but we were on a role now! We decided to walk the few blocks to the only bar in walking distance which was a “honky-tonk” to put it mildly. Needless to say when 3 20 something girls walked into the place and the men realized we had all our teeth AND our original boobs they were thrilled! How many shots we had that night I will never know. I do remember my girlfriend telling one man that our names were Carrie, Samantha, and Charlotte and that our other friend was away in NYC. He totally had no idea she was making a fool of him but we found it pretty funny! To top it all off when we got home I didn’t want to wake up my fiancé (at the time) so it was my genius idea to grab our sleeping bags that we stored in the garage and climb into the bed of my fiancé’s Ford 150. Hey, it’s a bed right? We proceeded to sleep in the driveway of my house in the bed of a truck in 40 degree weather. Too bad we can’t post pictures because my fiance took a great one the next morning!

7. Sue on July 6th, 2010 1:57 pm

   I was on my dream vacation in Ireland when I decided it was time to have my first real Guinness on Irish soil. When I walked into the pub I noticed that the left side seemed to be full of a tourist looking crowd, so I opted for the smaller room on the right. Glad I did. It was full of “locals”. They accepted me with open arms. It was like a seen in a movie. They were singing, drinking and telling jokes. A tall handsome guy caught my eye about the same time I caught his. My first instinct was to look away, but my inner voice scolded me and told me not to be shy so I glanced back to find him still looking at me. I knew at that instant, we might be going home together. We ended up talking and laughing for hours. Everyone seem to sense the same thing because at one point an older gentleman stopped as he walked by me and whispered, “He’s a good guy.”
   So to jump to the good part…it was the wildest sex I think I have ever had. We broke the bed, in fact. I told my friends to think back to the movie “Thelma and Louise” with the sex seen between Brad Pitt and Geena Davis having sex all over that room…that’s what it was like!!
   I was a 45 yr old woman traveling alone for 2 weeks in Ireland and without a doubt it was the best vacation I have ever had!!!

8. Erin Betz on July 6th, 2010 2:11 pm

   Poor Choice Story

   When I was 18, there was a guys named Al that liked me. I was not interested in him romantically but we still hung out. One day my girlfriend and I were driving around with Al. He had a pair of rollerblades in his back seat, and I dared him to put them on and hold on to the back of his truck and let me pull him along the side streets. He agreed, but once we started going, I turned onto a busy street and floored it, went through an intersection, Al screaming all the while. I turned into a grocery store parking lot so he could stop, but he had picked up so much momentum that when he let go, he zipped through the parking lot and had to skid his body (picture someone sliding in for a homerun) on the ground to avoid slamming into the grocery store. Ahhhhh…. the good ‘ol days.

9. Tianna Morison on July 6th, 2010 4:24 pm

   I was in high school. It was the 90′s. I did not fit in with the cowboys or preps in my tiny town. Instead, I hung out with the misfits, the punks and the skaters. Of course, being “rebellious types” and living up to their stereotypes, most of them smoked and you could find them at the smoker’s corner at school, or at the all-ages pool hall; smoking and playing pinball and pool. Since I hung out with them, everyone assumed I smoked. My friend was especially insistent that he’d seen me smoking before. He hadn’t. Somehow, after a couple illegal beers (me being 16- is that another “poor choice” already?!), I decided to try it out and prove myself not a smoker. I took one of my friend’s smokes and took a long drag. He had said it didn’t count unless I inhaled, so I did! I FINALLY coughed out the smoke and handed it back to him…only to find out he hadn’t seen my effort. Gah! So I agreed to try again! I took another loooong drag while my friend chanted “inhale! inhale! inhale!”. Since this was my second drag EVER, it stuck in my lungs and for moments I couldn’t breathe. When I finally did get a breath in I breathed out a stream of vomit so violent that it got a huge group of people!! My friend shouted, “Hey, these are new shoes” and as I looked down, the friend who had chanted “inhale” was now standing in a pool of my vomit. I left, mortified. Poor choice? Most definitely.

10. Belinda Nicholson on July 6th, 2010 4:35 pm

    I don’t have any stories (that I can share)….. I’m a “GOOD” girl…

11. Ann Muse on July 6th, 2010 7:51 pm

    Marriage is not my best sport. I’ve divorced three poor choices and I’m not even 40 yet. Thankfully, I’m now disqualified from matrimony altogether…the relief is a superb.

12. MaryEllen on July 7th, 2010 8:43 am

    I was in my early 20′s and I had gone out for an evening of drinks and dancing with some friends. I had worn an elegant blouse, a beautiful black elasticized-waist circle skirt (the material was cut in a circle, so when you spun, the skirt flared up and out) and some killer stiletto heels. So, after having a few, I got up on the dance floor and began to dance. Boy, I was good! Spinning and stepping and kicking up my heels…but one move I did was kick my leg somewhat behind me when I was spinning. The heel of my shoe caught on the hem of the skirt and when my foot came down, so did my skirt. On the dance floor. With witnesses. I never went back to that club again…

13. Jenna on July 7th, 2010 9:13 am

    About a month ago I had a really bad day at work. It was a Wednesday. I went home promptly at 5pm, put on pajamas, and proceeded to eat my sorrows. I was in bed by 8.

    At 9:30 a friend called me and told me she was going to the bar and she wanted me to get all dressed up and come with her. I cussed at her a bit for waking me up (how dare she?), but then decided – what the hell? Today was *the* worst day ever, I deserve a cocktail – or 8. I jumped out of bed, threw on some tight jeans and a lowcut shirt, flat ironed my hair, smeared a new layer of makeup over the leftovers from that morning, and was out the door.

    We frequent a bar in Northeast Minneapolis – my friends husband went to school with one of the bartenders so we get very affordable drink specials if he’s working. Bartender boy is quite nice to look at, and I’ve been trying to, ahem, get to know him for quite some time now. He was fun to chase, but he was already MVP in the game, so he’d win at the end of the night.

    Four Long Island Teas and 5 random shots later (Bartender would make too much of the shots for other customers on accident and place them in front of my friend and me with a wink. Ooops.), I was still playing the “I’m not interested in you at all, but if you wanted to step outside I’ll gladly attack you with my face” game.

    I was definitely not in my right frame of mind by this point. The younger brother of a different bartender was hanging out in the bar and he started to chat with me. He seemed like a nice enough kid, but appeared to be roughly 12 years old. He proudly told me he was 19. To which I gave him a high five and told him to come back in a few years when he can legally drink and likely had some kind of body hair.

    Still playing my game, now 7 Long Islands and 8 shots deep. Bartender was clearly uninterested. At this point, my little lady downstairs started to take over my actions. My mind went from lustful thoughts of sex against a dumpster in the ally with the Bartender to one plain and simple word: MAN. I looked around and the nearest resemblance to a man was the 19 year old. I literally shrugged my shoulders and pounced him right there in the bar. The kiss I planted on him was nothing shy of ferocious.

    That’s when I black out.

    I wake up the next morning to my cell phone alarm blaring a song by the Silversun Pickups – the phone is in my left hand. I turn off the alarm and clutch my head with my right hand. I then realize I am not wearing pants, nor am I in my own bed. It took me a minute to slowly look around. Turns out my friend’s husband had come to pick up the 2 giggly girls from the bar. He had undressed me and put me in their spare bedroom. He had also seen the ferocious kiss I planted on the 19 year old – who he affectionately called “baby”.

    It was 7am. I had to work at 8am. I also had to find my way home so that I could shower and wash the baby off my face.

    I made it to work at 8:45. At this point, I was still wasted. I should NOT have driven the 2 miles to the office that day, as I would have definitely blown dirty on a breathalyzer. By 3pm the hangover really started to kick in. I sat at my desk and felt like I was on an airplane taking off. There was the constant pressure in my brain, my ears kept popping, and everthing around me seemed to shake. I made it till 3pm before telling my boss I absolutely had to go home.

    I vowed never to go out drinking on a weeknight again.

    I’ve gone out drinking on a weeknight 3 times since then. Some day I’ll learn, until then I’m going to continue to wake up smelling like alcohol and bad choices…

14. Kelli Williams on July 7th, 2010 9:05 pm

    The night of my 21st birthday — and 2 days before I moved to Tucson, AZ with my new husband, I went to the bar with EVERYONE. and EVERYONE bought me a shot a the stroke of midnight, except for my Catholic mother & mother-in-law of course. Don’t know why they were there, but they were.

    After 6 shots, I passed the rest out to my husband & friends. But, 6 shots in 1 minute sent me directly to the bathroom 10 minutes later. My Mother-in-law decided to check on me, and when she did, a good friend came in with a big glass of water for me… to which my mother-in-law questioned (seriously) WHAT ARE YOU GIVING HER? And my good friend replied with a straight face: “Vodka, what else?!” Just to add to my mother-in-law’s shock & awe, I slammed the whole glass of water… and then appropriately vomited like a good girl. 12 years later, I believe my MIL still thinks I did 1/2 a dozen shots and an entire pint of vodka in a matter of minutes. Oh well!

15. Kelsey Cadden on July 7th, 2010 10:17 pm

    Let me take you back to New Years Eve 2008. I had just finished my first semester of college. Naturally I thought my self very advanced and a woman of the world. My friends and I decided to go out in the city for new years to a club. I hated carrying bags to clubs as I feared getting mugged and how easy it was to be pick pocketed.

    My brilliant plan involved me putting a pouch with my credit card, ID, and $80. I put this pouch between my boob and my bra. I had done this before and thought nothing of it.

    Well when one has been dancing and …. with a gentlemen of questionable repute it is easy to ignore a grope or two.

    Once I made it clear I would not be going home with him he left to find a new one night stand. About 5 minutes later I realized I did not have my pouch. Well I looked all over for it and it was no where to be found.

    My cell phone had died. No cab would take us home. And it was about 20 degrees out side. Oh I forgot to mention the little fact that my coat check ticket was in the pouch so I could not get my coat back.

    We waited at the 24 hour wendys for my mom to come get me. I had to go back the next day with my dad for my coat.

    A case study in poor life choices.

16. Oddybobo on July 8th, 2010 10:15 am

    My life is a series of poor choices, the biggest of which I divorced in March. So let’s start there. After my divorce, I found myself 34 and extremely “eligible”. I got my hair did, I got my nails painted, legs waxed and spanx bought. I was on a roll and then I met the cutest, and when I say cute? I mean cute! Twenty-one year old heartthrob. If you are thinking Cougartown – you are correct. We spent months flirting and carrying on with one another. Then came the night we were going to have dirty sex. Oh yes. Turns out? You can be too young. I spent most of the night wondering if the boy had ever even been with a woman. I know he has but they are all his age, and well, there are somethings you must learn from trial and error. Sad to say, my poor choice was to believe that sex could be wild and dirty with such a young guy. Don’t get me wrong, it was fun, but at this age? I don’t want to teach a boy how to use his…..I want a man to school me Yes…that’s one poor choice I won’t repeat…wait? Who am I kidding! Cuties beware … I’m on the prowl!

17. Kristen on July 8th, 2010 11:12 am

    I was studying aborad in Strasbourg, France. (Many of my bad choices came from this year abroady, by the way, and many good as well.) I remember every Monday night my new study abroad friends would all meet up at this little hole in the wall bar, and let our hair down, and our inhibitions. I would always see this hot European looking guy, and each week I found the courage (liquid courage) to get closer to him to muster up something clever to say in French, assuming he was French. He would check me out as well, so I knew there was something there…

    Fast forward to the night I spoke to him, and his geeky awkward looking friend. I learned the hot European was from Luxembourg, and spoke the smoothest French, and his geeky friend was Portuguese, and his French was as pretty as his face, so I prefered he speak English.

    The yummy Luxembourg guy asked for my number, and I gave him my apartment’s phone number. A few days later he called, and asked if I’d like to have dinner with him. I felt like a teenage girl again, and said yes! We set the date, and he came to pick me up. Right away I see people in his car, a pretty American girl in the front seat, and geeky Portuguese guy in the back, waiting for me to sit next to him. This went from what I thought was a date, to a double date….

    OK, this was going to be interesting. Luxe boy said he was making dinner at his home, and we drove to a part of the city that I believe ended up being in Germany, I was the close to the border. The whole time in my head I was screaming “WTF is going on”…

    We arrived at his gorgeous apartment, dined on his food, and drank tons of wine, trying to make the most of what the night laid before us. I realized right away that Luxe boy had his eyes on pretty American girl, whom was flirting and being disgustingly suggestive. He put on a movie, all 4 of us sat on the couch, then things got strange. Conveniently I was sitting and the Portuguese guy makes his move to sit closer, I sat stiff, holding my glass of wine tightly, not allowing myself to be brushed accidently by his hand or pinky. To my left was American girl and Luxe boy getting cosy. Then, portuguese guy learns he cannot handle his alcohol, gets up and runs to the bathroom proceeding to wretch the night away.

    Then, I see American girl go to the kitchen to clean up, and Luxe boy follows. I’m sitting alone in the living room, holding onto my wine like a dear friend, and I hear noises coming from the kitchen. Yup, they were doing the deed right there in the kitchen, and puke boy was throwing up in the bathroom. I was stuck in a home I didn’t know where I was, I didn’t have access to a phone, I didn’t know anyone else who had a car, and I had to wait for the festivities to end, before I demanded Luxe boy to take me home. I was so furious. I had morals, and I thought this guy might have them too, but apparently not, and I was glad it wasn’t me in the kitchen, but again I was for being fooled into a double date, where the Portuguese guy was hoping I’d be like the American girl and do him. Lucky for me he did get sick and I didn’t see him the rest of the night.

    Even though I had poor choice in character judgement, I am glad nothing worse came of that night, just a few very awkward hours I can never regain!

18. Kathleen on July 8th, 2010 11:53 am

    Poor choices used to be my middle name!! Well, here’s a good one in a nutshell. While home on a break from college, I decided to host a party at my parent’s house, who were conveniently across the big wide sea on vacation in Scotland. They were due home in a couple of days, but that left me plenty of time to clean up, right?? After a few hours of my friends and I drinking plenty of cheap beer, two of my guy friends (both of whom are over 6 ft tall) decided they would wrestle around just for fun. Let’s just mention that these two fellas, “Sal” and “Denny” are not only tall, but muscular, too. As I was drinking my cares away upstairs, someone called me downstairs to look at the gaping wide hole in the wall that Denny’s butt had just created. Does anyone realize how big the hole is when a 6′-2″ football player’s ass goes through a wall? After some drunken tears of my own, they guys promised to come back the next day and fix the wall. That would have been fine and dandy had they known what the hell they were doing. After much confusion and chaos, one drywall seam looked perfect and the other one looked like a 3-yr old had done it. Great. Not to mention – where will we get the right paint to cover the patch? Hmmm, no luck there either. Isn’t funny how “Linen” and “Ivory” just don’t seem to match up exactly?!? My parents never did notice, however. Or maybe they’re still in denial. Sixteen years later, I sometimes think about telling them this story, since they no longer even live in that house. Maybe someday…I’ll share some of my poor choice stories with them. Hopefully they’ll be able to laugh with me!

19. Lil on July 8th, 2010 1:33 pm

    Oh Darlin’ I was a flower child, a full on hippy in the mid-late 60s. remember the 60s? I do, but it’s fuzzy. What do you want? “Camping” in an abandoned building in the Lower East Side with the peyote eating tribe from New Jersey on their way to a Native American ceremony in Arizona…only they only made it across the Hudson and as far as Avenue B? Disneyland on Mind Altering Substances? My life for a number of years was a collage of poor choices the size of Lake Erie; but y’know what?…I wouldn’t change ‘em for anything. I’m a genuine, living, sliver of peculiar history, and ahhhh…the stories I can tell! 

20. Lavett on July 8th, 2010 2:46 pm

    A Reflection on Choices…
    •Checking the inflated cell phone for errors (GOOD CHOICE)

    •Calling the strange phone number that is on bill over 100 times and hearing female voice on voice mail (NOT MY CHOICE). Proceeding to call my live in boyfriend of 7 years to inquire about said female. Listening to boyfriend explain it’s a “co-worker” he was trying to help out (FAIR CHOICE, even though he’s a plumber in an all male company)

    •Proceeding to strip down to a t-shirt, panties and flip flops to begin the “purge” (PRACTICAL CHOICE to prevent overheating)

    •New York changing state burn laws so that I could not start a fire ala “Waiting to Exhale” (POOR CHOICE… for NY)

    •Taking all of his clothing and personal belongings and throwing them downstairs in the basement so that he can pick them up after ceremoniously cutting holes in all of his socks (childish yet… AWESOME CHOICE)

    •Removing all of his hunting rifles to the driveway so that I could proceed to test the drive and reverse gears on my car (HYSTERICAL CHOICE)

    •Place the truck he drove weekly to our weekend place (registered in my name) on Craigslist and sold within 3 hours (GREAT CHOICE)

    •Humming psychotically the theme song to “Lamb Chops Play Along” (ODD CHOICE, but the look of fear on his face…priceless)

    •Staring him in the face as he denies being unfaithful as using his cell phone I call the number and proceed to listen to the young “lady” detail their “interactions”. Listening to his subsequent apology and explanation he did it twice cause “he thought it would be better the 2nd time” (ENLIGHTENING CHOICE)

    •Telling him where he could “go…” then two weeks later finding a job and relocating 2700 miles away (MOST SATISFYING CHOICE)

    •Newly single…agreeing to go on blind double date with my 20 year old daughter and NOT enlarging picture of 24 year old guy that likes older women (DUMB CHOICE)

    •Spending a dinner with my date…that looks like Sloth from the Goonies, and my daughters date… with his Bedazzled jeans (AWESOMELY PRICELESS CHOICE)

    •Currently still single and loving it….(BEST CHOICE)

21. Joy Bailey on July 8th, 2010 3:56 pm

    I’ve come to the realization that perhaps there are no poor choices. Every one I thought of has a takeaway positive message for me.

    When I was in my late teens, my friend & I drove up to visit my sis for St Patty’s weekend at her college. She lived off campus, so we stayed with 3 guys who we never met. They were friends of friends. I clicked with one of them right away & we all had a good time. At one point, we were playing a drinking game that involved straight vodka. We hadn’t eaten anything all day of course. Due to the lack of food I felt like I was going to vomit after awhile. (I guess I had been losing most of all.) I ran down the hall to the ladies room & started to vomit, but mostly dry heaves. My friend was there & shortly after the guy I clicked with came in. He held my hair while I vomited. We then decided I should have some of the pizza that was sitting in their room from the day before, unrefridgerated. This led to more vomiting. But in the end, my poor choices made me realize that a guy holding your hair while you vomit is not a cliche. It really happens & I was touched. Pale & shaky, but touched.

    When I was about 25 & living in NY, I went to visit my sister in CA. We were to spend 1 week in August on a Thelma & Louise type road trip. We drove down the coast & into Tijuana. (That was not the poor choice.) We then drove back up in the interior. I did not realize that CA has desert. Aptly named Death Valley. And it gets hot. Mid-day we were driving Sis’s dark green Datsun without AC near Death Valley. We heard a loud noise & steam started billowing from under the hood. All the water drained from the radiator, but luckily Sis brought gallons of water just for the car. What should have taken us several hours up to Yosemite, took us days. We had to stop when the car started steaming & the water gauges dropped. About every 45 minutes. We’d pour water in & wait till it cooled, which took about 2 hrs. We slept the first night in a rest area with signs posted to not leave the car at night because that is when the rattlesnakes are most active. We held our pee in fear for a long nite. Other signs showed a skeleton resting against a tree with a gas can & stated to not leave the car for gas because you will die within 1 hr from the heat. Oh & did I mention the big temp gauge at the rest area so kindly informed us it was 122 degrees? We finally made it up to the Eastern entrance of Yosemite in a small town called Lee Vining. We had about $20 left ea because we expected to be home by that point & had spent most of it in Tijuana. When we told our plight to the kindly cabin owners, they let us stay, trusting we would eventually pay them. So there we sat for 4 days waiting for Sis’s San Fran friend to get the parts together to rebuild our head gasket. Did I mention that the 2 shops in Lee Vining did not work on foreign cars? We ate one meal a day at the diner in town. A grilled cheese & ice water cost $2. By this point everyone in the small town knew of our plight. We quickly discovered there was a free van that took people to Mono Lake daily. We hadn’t planned to go there on the trip. It was beautiful. Very salty with Tufa towers jutting from the water. Finally the car was repaired by said friend & we drove through Yosemite at nite, to ensure no more overheating. I never saw Yosemite & it was the main reason we took the road trip. But our poor choice of driving through the desert of Death Valley in August brought us to Mono Lake, a hidden jewel. It also renewed my belief in the kindness of strangers when the cabin owners let us stay knowing we could not pay them at that time.

    Are there poor choices or are they simply curves in the road that take us to unexpected places? And really, don’t they make the best stories in the end?

22. Michelle on July 8th, 2010 6:38 pm

    My senior year of high school, my oldest sister got married. (Shotgun wedding… poor choices run in the family). She asked me to be her maid of honor, and I happily agreed. The dress design she chose for me and the other bride’s maids was lavender and strapless. Her other bride’s maids were tall/thin/tan and Puerto Rican women from her husband-to-be’s side of the family. I, on the other hand, am of average height, chubby, and pale-as-a-ghost Irish. Because we were all supposed to wear the same dress design, I decided I needed a tiara, to distinguish that I was the maid of honor.

    After a few drinks at the reception… Yeah I said a “few,” that’s my story and I’m sticking to it. It was time for me to give my toast, which ended a little something like this, “To my sister… You may have me up here with all these skinny girls, but guess whose wearing the tiara, BITCHES?!”

    The marriage ended 4 years later, but my toast is on video forever.

23. Gail on July 8th, 2010 8:01 pm

    Ah, so many choices–
    From my loose living year in a coed dorm in the 70′s, I had become the accidental “mom” to the boys across the hall. All heavy drinkers, tall and young and stupid (but good looking and talented, sigh-), they began to party on Thursday night. They insisted I go out to drink with them, and even though it had been an intelectually stimulated day at the nameless university we all attended, I agreed. With my long hair, required that decade, I would resort to braiding it in two braids when it wasn’t as clean as it could be. I braided it up, put on something appropriate (and no doubt way too short), and went out with the boys. They took me to the only Men Only bar left in Boston. Despite the sign and my protests, they said not to worry and stuck me in the middle. THree hunks ahead of me, four behind me. The bartender started to rant, gave up, and thus began my career as a feminist. Not the best choice of venues, but still—

24. Robyn Angel on July 9th, 2010 4:54 pm

    Poor choice: Volunteering to be my daughters’ Girl Scout Leader… yes, both troops… because my favorite caption is I love not camping.