Preface: I have nearly 100 posts that I’ve started and then abandoned. Most of them are blank. Some of them are legitimately ready to post, but for some reason or another, I never did it. This is one of those posts. It’s originally from October 2011.

When I was little, we had a big discussion about “safe words.” (January 2012 edit: “Safe words” was entirely the wrong phrase to use there, but I keep giggling every time I read it, so I’m keeping it. Jacob would have given me a point for this one. Safe words are actually words or phrases that are used to protect participants during crazy yet consensual sex, so they can just yell “pineapple!” or something equally weird and everything will stop. “Passwords” is probably a much better word choice.) It probably stemmed from a Dateline episode we had watched, but we created a password so that if someone came to steal us from school, they wouldn’t be able to do it unless they knew the password.

One day, Mom ended up in the hospital or something, and no one could get us from school. This lady showed up to pick us up and since I didn’t know who she was, I refused to go with her and I wouldn’t let Mike go either. As it turns out, she was totally legitimate and our parents had completely forgotten about the password. She was my mom’s cousin, or something. She turned out to be very nice. I remember feeling very flustered as I eventually got in her car, still mostly convinced I was being kidnapped by a stranger driving a Saturn.

A Mom’s Real-Life Guide To Health And Safety

OCT. 4, 2011

By GABY DUNN

An E-Mail Forward Will Save Your Life

My mom is a fan of sending along e-mail forwards with dubious cautionary advice that Snopes — and anyone with more than one functioning brain cell — has already debunked. For instance: Did you know if you put your ATM password in backwards it alerts the police that you’re being robbed? Did you know that sugar causes cancer? Did you know that dialing *677 tells you if the unmarked police car trying to pull you over is actually a rapist?

You didn’t? That’s because none of these are true. But they have been forwarded to me by my mother as if they contain life-saving advice.

Other scary emails instructed me to never get out of my car to get a paper from the windshield because a car-jacker is waiting to get inside and that hotel room keys can steal your credit card information. Also, this isn’t advice but did you know George W. Bush makes the same face as a monkey sometimes? That was from a chain letter, too.

PLEASE PASS THIS ON TO SOMEONE YOU LOVE.
All Serial Killers are Pizza Delivery Men or Ice Cream Truck Drivers

When I was in second grade, an ice cream truck started a new route down my street. Every day, I would hear the jovial music begin as every kid would stream out and line up to purchase ice cream. Every kid except me. My mom was convinced that “ice cream truck driver” was the perfect undercover job for a pedophile kidnapper.

Her other reasoning? Quote: “Gabrielle, you were just a little kid. How were you gonna know the difference between a regular ice cream truck and a pedophile in his car offering you ice cream?”

That’s right, guys. My mom thought I wouldn’t notice that one was a big, white musical ice cream truck and one was a guy holding a popsicle next to a grungy El Camino.

Similarly, I was never allowed to open the door for a pizza delivery man. Instead, I had to slip the money through the mail slot and tell him to leave the pizza on the welcome mat. Then, my mom told me to watch through the front window to make sure the delivery van pulled away before I opened the door to retrieve the pizza. I did this well into my teens. It was like a reverseSilence of the Lambs every time we got Papa Johns.
Never Trust a Boy with Dirty Fingernails

This is the one piece of dating advice I can remember my mom giving me. Her logic was that a boy who couldn’t be bothered to clean his fingernails, didn’t care about the details and would therefore make a terrible boyfriend.

If he shows the initiative to clean his fingernails then this boy is probably ambitious, hard-working and conscientious. He has goals, he cares about how he presents himself and he probably calls his mother once in a while.

That’s some flawed logic, Mom. You know who else probably cleaned his fingernails compulsively? Patrick Bateman. Sure, he had ambition. But it was murder ambition.
No Wire Hangers

In no way is my mom comparable to Joan Crawford in Mommy Dearest but they did share one non-negotiable tip: No wire hangers.

“They’ll put ridges in your clothes,” she says. Right. On the shoulders. Shoulders are the body’s natural ridges. Last I checked, clothes change shape when you put a person in them.

Never Keep Your Money in Your Backpack or Purse

This is because a pick pocket could easily steal money from your backpack or your purse without your feeling it. You know, if you had the nerve endings of a frozen pizza and the thief had the stealth of Fagin or Aladdin.

According to my mom, it’s much safer to keep your money in your front pocket, a fanny pack or better yet, in a pouch inside your underwear. Yes, she actually suggested an underwear pouch.

Doing any of those things will surely prevent anyone from ever reaching into your underwear ever again.

Don’t Go to Sleep with a Wet Head

“It’s the quickest way to catch the flu and die,” she says, despite raising her kids in the humidity cloud that is South Florida. That’s some 18th century medical advice. If I did get the flu from wet hair, would we cure it with leeches?

A Piece of Paper in Your Shoe is Good Luck

Any time I had an exam at school, my mom would tell me to put a small piece of paper in my shoe. The superstition is that the piece of paper would help me remember what I’d studied.

There’s no secret Mom logic behind this one. It’s a trick my grandmother believed in and passed on to my mom, who passed it on to me. Somewhere along the way, I think they lost a step: maybe the step where I write the answers to the test on the paper first.

In Case of the Apocalypse, Rent a Helicopter

This is by far the most outlandish bit of safety advice my mother ever gave me. About a year ago, she called me and my sister to tell us she wanted to book us plane tickets home for December 21, 2012 because she’d heard on TV that this was the date of the end of the world. She wanted us both, and I quote, “home for the apocalypse.”

The plan she’d devised was to rent a helicopter way in advance and fly around until the flood waters have subsided. Then, we’d float inside the helicopter until we found land or other refugees. I am not sure why she was convinced a helicopter would float. Until we were rescued, my whole family would just stick together in the cramped space.

I told her I’d rather just go out with the fiery asteroids. Thanks.

If You Get Kidnapped, Kick Out a Tail Light

When I was in elementary school, we lived in the same city where Adam Walsh, six-year-old son of America’s Most Wanted host John Walsh, was kidnapped from a local mall. After that, my mom was convinced every stranger we saw was planning on walking off with me the minute she turned her head.

When I was three, she taught me how to sing my full name, address and telephone number so that I could tell the police where I lived. (I still remember the made-up song.) She brought me down to the police station to give them fingerprints and a cheek swab, just in case, and we made a home video of me stating my height and age in case one needed to be given to local TV stations. Even though, according to her logic, I wouldn’t know the difference between a police officer and a guy in a sailor hat holding a popsicle.

Then, when I was about seven, my mom put me in the open trunk of my dad’s car and taught me where to kick so the tail light would burst if I were ever abducted. Then, I could stick my hand through the hole and wave to passing cars to alert them that a kidnapped child was inside.

She’d heard about the technique in an e-mail forward.

source: ThoughtCatalog.com

I’m not a great maker of resolutions, particularly those that feel pressured in by the new year. Why make some sort of promise to yourself that is going to fall apart before the end of winter?

The ski trip is about to commence.

Stress is high.
Work today.
Appointment tonight.
I will somehow manage to find time to shower, pack, and clean before I leave for the airport.
I’ll pick up Kevin.

Tomorrow, we will pile into the car and drive up.
Snowboard. Hot tub. Sleep. Repeat. x 5.

See you Tuesday!

Also, Happy Birthday Mom! I love you. I can’t believe you’re turning [  ]  this year!!

It’s the 149th post for the year!

Why does that matter?
That means that 2011 was officially the most-blogged about year.
This post beats the previous record of 148. Take that, 2010!

Thank for for reading!

(Arguably this post does not actually have any valuable content and therefore, doesn’t really count. But whatever. I do what I want.)

I’d also like to remind that you if you have Death Pool 2012 submissions, please send them to me before the end of the year!

Remember, you only get 10 – they have to be notable people, but can be sports players, politicians, celebrities, etc.

Aunt Jan, I’m looking forward to your submissions!

This Christmas business is quite hectic.
All of this running around leaves little room for blogging.

The holiday itself is such a horrid excuse for a day of celebration that I rarely have high hopes for it. However, it passed with great incident – one meltdown on my part that Grandma Mary managed to contain by giving me a prolonged hug.

Alas, Christmas Eve was wonderful. We lingered at the dinner table and listened to stories about the past and the people who inhabit those memories. It was lovely to listen to stories of love and war, loss and hardship, magic and romance. I am reminded, again, how truly lucky I am to be a part of such a wonderful family.

Christmas Day was.

I got to see all of the cousins, which was so wonderful. They wrapped us up in hugs. Two cousins near our ages are in from California, and it was so nice to sit and talk and catch up with them.

Hectic day.

I was glad to get home and find the cat and fall asleep.

Warm December days are the best days for football. Denver is one of those truly magical places – warm weather for late season games. I don’t know how we keep winning (we really shouldn’t win some of these games), but we keep doing it. The atmosphere was electric, especially once the Bears fans fell silent. I love the camaraderie. The cute elderly couple who sits in front of us always leaves at the beginning of the fourth quarter – they go and get dinner on their way home – stayed until the very end of overtime. She had her blanket wrapped around her, but put it away so that she could stand and cheer. She was high-fiving the little girl in front of her, and hugging the Kid Who Drinks. It was really cute.

I’m sorry I’ve been such a terrible blogger this week!

I have so much to tell you!
Some of it is sad and some of it is super awesome.

So be excited – I promise that there will be updates soon. I have to babysit tonight and since I’m going snowboarding tomorrow, I promise that there will be time for updating.

Happy Friday, world. You’re beautiful.

I’ve been procrastinating for the better part of five months now.
Instead of trying to do the big push for graduate applications due in the fall, I decided to wait until the January 15 deadlines.
So I took the big test. I got my scores back. I am awesome at either knowing stuff or test taking, perhaps both.
In early November, I contacted one of my professors. (Mid-November, maybe.) Then Thanksgiving happened. I still haven’t written my personal statement. That’s what is standing in the way of graduate school application completion.
Transcripts have been requested, from both institutions of higher learning that I attended. The basic forms have been printed out, inked. Recommendations have been asked for – but I can’t get them until I write my statement, because my professor wants to read all of it.
Thus, all I really have to do is write the damn statement. It is three pages. It shouldn’t be that hard.

And yet, it is. I stare at the blank page, unsure of how to begin. This is attempt number seven. I’ve even made it a Google Doc so that Maddie can read it and start appearing in my dreams again (she’s my super ego, isn’t that strange? Whenever I’m upset at myself, or stressed, Maddie shows up in my dreams and bosses me around. It’s oddly effective, although I’m not too sure she’s entirely pleased because Dream-Maddie is mean).

If I had my way, I’d write my entire letter of intent like I was writing a profile in a magazine. It’d be a sweet look back at my life from my perch on a sweet couch. I’d have sweet gray hair and a mug of steaming tea. I’d even have my colorful reading glasses dangling from a chain around my neck. Badass.

Instead, I’m being professional. I’m being bland. I’m being overly accomplished – that’s a lie, I actually look really bad on paper. Real life me is so much more exciting than paper me. Come on, three pages. Just be out of me so I can edit them and then be on with my life!

It’s been a quiet week.
Actually, the exact opposite is true.

Blog-wise, I’ve been substituting articles for actual original content, but you’ve already noticed that.

Life-wise, I’ve been making more calls to Mom asking her advice than I have in a long time. I hate that there are no right answers. I hate uncertainty. I hate it when people can’t communicate. So this has all been really fun. It’s not one thing. It’s all the things.

There is so much potential in a specific situation (which I am overjoyed about), and I’m worried that the slightest movement in the wrong direction could jeopardize everything. There’s been a lot of exterior pressure on this specific situation and I can tell that it’s starting to affect things. Honestly, I much prefer agonizing over my every move rather than agonizing over what else could be screwing this up. It’s cloudy territory and I’m in a position where I could be really hurt. I seriously do not want that to happen and will do everything in my power to prevent it. (This is why actually liking the people you date is problematic. The potential for pain is not pleasant.)

On the plus side, tomorrow will find me driving Frank (Mike’s car) up to the mountains. And then I will slide down the face of the mountain on my various body parts. It’s going to be excellent. Em’s going up with another group, so I’m thinking I will trade the greens for blues. Someone text me at 5am and remind me to bring ibuprofen.

I’m also going to a birthday party for one of the little girls I babysit. I’m excited. I still need to find her a present – I think I want to get her temporary tattoos. The little girls love them. Ever since we had the conversation about tattoos before I went swimming with them this summer, I’ve laughed every time I think about the middle one saying, “Mommy doesn’t let us have the kind that stays on forever,” when I offered her a temporary one from my car. I’m so lucky that I get to be a babysitter. I’m also so lucky I found this family – I seriously adore these people.

Mickey Avalon is in town tomorrow night. I have a feeling that this show will either be the biggest letdown ever or the best experience of my life. There is no middle ground. It’s definitely going to be an adventure. I’m excited.

Okay, million dollar idea of the day (other than Wine-Away, which removes the horrid wine stains from your lips before your 8am meeting, I don’t have much in that department): personal Google. I want to Google: “Do I own a VHS copy of Better Off Dead? Did I leave it in Chicago?” or perhaps “Where is my black mini skirt?” Both of those are seriously necessary queries. (If you’ve seen my black mini skirt, shoot me an email. I’m lacking sex appeal like mad and it’s all with that skirt!) If Google could just index all of my things and ideas and then just know where they are or what they were, I’d be such a better person. I’d be on time for work every day because it would know where my keys and phone are.

I’m wanting to make K watch Better Off Dead tonight. We were going to go down to the Parade of Lights, but I can see how that might not materialize as a solid plan. The early morning mountain trek precludes participants from partying heavily the night before, and if I am stuck downtown, I will naturally wander into a bar and commence adventuring. (I can’t help it. Adventure finds me, I swear.) So perhaps I’ll suggest quiet dinner and a movie? But does that make me/us lame? (Of course not, I’m Katie Barry and this kid’s got chutzpah to match – in a good way, not like traditional Hebrew-ish.)

I’ve been reading a website dedicated to black women. At times, I find it surprisingly boring – just like Cosmo stopped holding my interest when I was like 17 [secret confession: I bought one this month to read in the bathtub] – but there times when I can’t look away. I keep thinking, why can’t this be a multi-cultural site? But then I realize that most “multi-cultural” sites are totally in white-gaze and don’t even take into account multi-racial perspectives. Whatever. I’ve been reading about what I shouldn’t bring up in relationships (oops), which friends are toxic (ha, we already knew the answer to that), etc. It’s addicting. I mean, who doesn’t want to know the “7 Insecurities All Women Have in Relationships”? I do.

I’ve been being way too over-analytical lately. I can’t stop trying to put sociology on everything I see. It’s like my brain is turned on by the thought of grad school and so has started to work again, but instead of limiting its processing to normal work hours, I’ve had the urge to start deconstructing everything I see, hear, or read. If only I could channel all of this and get to work on my application, we’d be in business. I was so productive this week at work. Seriously. Overdrive. This is good.

Happy Friday, world. I hope you’re all loving your beautiful selves this weekend. I most certainly am.