Bee Girl Story

Halloween 1993 I dressed up as the Bee Girl. You know, this Bee Girl.

There must be a picture of me in my homemade (read: stapled together) Bee Girl costume floating around somewhere, probably in the closet of my room at my parents' house, where all the Ninja Turtle stuff is stashed. But I don't have one to post, so you'll have to imaginize it. (How do I look? Cute? Ok, good.)

***EDITED TO ADD THIS:

(Many, many props to my dear friend Amy for unearthing, digitizing, and sending me this photo. You cannot fully appreciate how magical it is that she did this until you know that she moved to the east coast a full 5 years before this photo was taken. The fact that she a) had it, b) knew where to find it, c) took the time to scan it, send it... I'm in awe. Amy, you are the best!)

I was a freshman at UCLA and working in the promotions department of our campus radio station. Working in promo meant that I had to help construct and paint a hideous, lumpy brown dinosaur for the homecoming parade, which fell on Halloween weekend. (Why a dinosaur? I certainly don't know now and I think I didn't even know then. One of those college mysteries. Was our homecoming theme The Flintstones? It seems unlikely. But I digress.)

Being in promo also meant that I had to walk in the parade, with the hideous float, handing out whatever promotional crap we had to give away. In some sort of cosmic coincidence, the promo items I had to distribute were cassette tapes (I know! 1993, remember?) of Blind Melon's No Rain, which was the song that had the Bee Girl in the video.

The parade starts. I am walking along and people literally start losing their minds. "Oh my God! It's the Bee Girl!" Then they realize I am giving free shit away and they REALLY start losing their minds: "BEE GIRL! OVER HERE, BEEEEE GIIIIIRRRLL!!!"

Several people wanted to have their picture taken with me, which was very flattering and also slightly confusing. I mean, they knew that I wasn't the actual Bee Girl, right? She's like a ten-year-old kid? I tried to ignore that little conundrum and just enjoy the glow of temporary celebrity.

Later in the night, I had an interview scheduled for some other volunteer position in a campus organization. I know, I was a busy little bee. (HAH! See that? I was the Bee Girl and I was busy? LIKE A BEE!?)

My interrogator, I mean, interviewer must have made up his questions in advance because the final query was: Pick one item of your clothing and explain how it defines you. Someone else in the room stood up in my defense, "Dude, she's in a costume!" But I managed to pull something out of my ass by relating myself to my shoes (nice, sturdy, straight-laced normal shoes). And really, anyone who shows up at a job interview in a Bee Girl costume should have to take whatever they dish out, yes?

Did I get the job? Yes, but I didn't keep it.

Did I stay with campus radio? Sadly, no. I love me some free stickers and T-shirts and CDs as much as the next kid, but promo is just not me.

Do I wish like all get-out that I still had that damn Bee Girl costume stashed away somewhere, too?

Wouldn't you?

PS Thanks to Jason and his post on MamaPop for inspiring this post.
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TRTLPWR Story

When I was in high school, I had a slight obsession with Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. I carried a TMNT lunchbox to school. (Yes, I was one of those kids.) I collected the little action figures. I knew which turtle carried which weapon. I knew the lyrics to the TV show theme song.

In my senior year, I was voted the winner of the Peter Pan Forever award, as in The One Who Will Never Grow Up. It could have had something to do with the Ninja Turtles. (Or maybe it was the fact that on the day we voted I had worn roller skates and brought my teddy bear to school resulting in my entire 3rd period English class voting for me.)

In addition to being a total dork, I was spoiled rotten. At my 18th birthday party, my parents surprised me with a new car. It was a lime green Honda Civic Del Sol. A tiny little two-seater convertible. It practically demanded vanity plates.

And what more appropriate plates for a Ninja Turtle obsessed brat driving around in a lime green convertible? TRTLPWR, of course.

I drove that little car all through college, where it's wheels were stolen and it was left on bricks. It was transported cross-country to DC and eventually driven to Atlanta. It wasn't until after Jeremy and I were married that we finally traded it in for a sensible, four-door, four passenger Civic. The newer Civic gets the job done, but it doesn't inspire memories the way the Del Sol did.

I still have the action figures. I still have the lunchbox. I still have the dozens of Ninja Turtle drawings that friends and family made for me.

Best of all, I still have the memories of those carefree days. And of course, I still have the plates.

(Thanks to Imez for inspiring this post.)
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Lemonheads Story

Today as I was driving along I saw something fluttering in the road. It looked like money and there was no one around chasing after it. I flipped a quick u-turn, pulled over, and got out of the car to pick it up. It was a twenty! Woohoo! I looked around to make sure no one was walking down the street checking their pockets and then I stashed that baby in the side pocket of the diaper bag and happily drove myself home.

It was this little stroke of luck that has inspired me to tell a story that illustrates the fact that I am perhaps the luckiest person alive.

In high school, I used to go to raves, those all-night, illegal dance parties, often held in a warehouse or out in the middle of the desert. I considered myself straight edge (no drugs or alcohol) so I didn't partake in the whole X scene. I just liked the music and liked to dance and stay out late. Often, the parties required you to go to one location to pay for entrance and then they would give you directions to the location of the rave. (So secret! So stealthy!)

One night, towards the end of my senior year, I went to a rave where I was given a plastic wrist band (like a hospital bracelet) to show that I had paid to get in. In the days after the rave, I left it on as a "I'm-so-cool-I-go-to-raves" bracelet. The following weekend, a girlfriend and I went to go see The Lemonheads playing at the Hard Rock Cafe. (Yes, this was the 90s. So?)

While waiting in line, we spent our time filling out dozens of entry forms for a contest sponsored by the radio station that was hosting the show. I put my own name in over and over, then I put in all my friends, my mom, my dad, anyone I could think of. At one point, my pen ran out of ink so I went up to the lady guarding the door to ask to borrow a pen. When she handed it to me, she took one look at my rave bracelet and said, "You have a VIP bracelet? You can go ahead and go in for the sound check, if you want." Luckily, I was quick on my feet, so I said, "My girlfriend is in line with me, but she didn't get a bracelet." She told me to go get her, and when I did she slapped a wrist band on her too and in we went. After watching the sound check and the entire show, we were ushered into the backstage area where I remember thinking Evan Dando was a jerk because he was ragging on the bag o' swag that the Hard Rock had bestowed on him. Did I mention that we didn't have to pay to get in? Oh, and we found out later that it was an 18 and over show, so we shouldn't have even gotten in the door.

Pretty lucky, huh? Oh, just wait.

Two days later my mom gets a call: "You're one of 91 people to have a chance to win a new Camaro!" Of those 91, only 5 got a key to try in the Camaro's door. And of those 5... only my mom's key worked. (I can still picture her hands shaking as she put the key in the lock.) We drove that sucker around for a few weeks before selling it for some cold hard cashola. The doors were so heavy they would knock you down if you didn't open them all the way. And if you just barely grazed the accelerator you would slam back into the seat like a fighter pilot.

I kept wearing that bracelet all the way through my high school graduation. If you look closely, you can see it in the pictures from the ceremony. And walking next to me (in our assigned-by-the-school order) is this dude who I barely knew who has the SAME EXACT BRACELET. Who is this mysterious dude? Oh, that would be my husband.


(Can you see it? Above Jeremy's watch?)

Told ya I was lucky.
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