Pool of Drool

It's that "secret" occurrence again. 

I fall into a coma that started out as a simple, innocent nap and come to a rude awakening of my mouth open and drool that seeped out into a miniature puddle of embarrassment.

And this isn't something that just started since I added working late hours into the mix of my collegiate life. This is something that has been a part of my life as far back as scheduled nap times. It seems to be a routine that has followed me in various places on various occasions.

In the beginning, it started out on the ever infamous mats in pre-school. No, they weren't taken out for a juvenile yoga army training. They were taken out for those times when we didn't appreciate the value of a nap. It was a surrender of our little bodies and burnt out energy to kid dreams of go-carts and Skittles. But shortly after those animated dreams I'd wake up to the "pool of drool". It was discovered by me, of course, and my pre-school teacher, as well. And I am sure she saw the pool of drool more than a nurse in a retirement home. So for the time being, I was socially accepted in the napping world.

It then graduated to a time where I would fall for those much needed dozes during my high school years. I'd come home from the stressful, hormonal enduring days and pass out on the recliner. Head back, neck bent like a surrealist painting by Salvador Dali and mouth propped open like an open bird feeder. Not only would I wake up to the saliva marsh but I'd also wake up to a flash of light and snickering from my older brother. He accumulated an entire album of me napping in the most awkward and embarrassing positions. And if he was crafty, I'm sure he would have made a nifty scrapbook to show any future boyfriends. It was official. I had entered the napping world at a young age and found myself in the outcast corner as a teenager.

But lately, I'll fall asleep fully clothed on my bed covered in piles of clean clothes that I  justify as a "companion" instead of putting them away. And it seems to come in many forms. School induced, food induced, emotion induced, drunk induced (a popular favorite) and sick induced. My eye lids will succumb to the gravity of invisible, forceful weight and within the first 30 minutes my mouth will pop open like someone pushed a button designed to do just that. I open my eyes, close my mouth and wipe away the dream dribble as an accepted routine in my life.

I know I will never be able to escape the dead-to-the-world naps and their partner in crime, Dr. Drool. I know I will awaken to it when the kids are screaming and I desperately try to get some shut-eye. I know I will meet it face-to-face when I come home from a long day at work. This will inevitably continue to occur into my late 90s when my grandkids visit me and giggle quietly at Grandma Colleen passed out on the rose embroidered recliner. But as an experienced napper, I am okay with this and welcome it with open mouth.

The Onion inspired article

State officials in Florida issue "Age Decals"

February 15, 2011

ORLANDO--The Traffic division for the state of Florida has issued a new policy on all cars, age decals. An "age decal" is a sticker that must be placed on all cars that states the driver's age, clearly, and be updated within 1 week of a new age.

In order to receive the age decal, a resident of Florida with a driver's license must present his or her birth certificate to any local DMV. The cost of the decal is $45.50 and comes in an assortment of appealing colors of the driver's choice. The decal must be purchased and placed on the back of the car next to the left of the vehicle's license plate within the week of the driver's birth date. Failure to do so will consequent in a fine of $91.00, double the amount of the actual decal.

"This should speed up the process for many drivers on the roads in Florida and improve an officer's judgement on when he or she should pull the traffic violator over. To put it simple, I don't know why I didn't think of it 10 years ago", says Officer Brantley of Orange County.

Officer Brantley has been on the force for the past 24 years and is almost a Deputy of his division. Brantley feels that with this new age decal policy, he'll be able to achieve that title within as little as 3 weeks.

"With these decal stickers, I'll know the reckless, the slow and the green horns," said Brantley. "Hell, I'll catch 'em all before they even know they are violating the law."

Designed not only to enforce the law at a more efficient status, the new policy will also protect the drivers of the road. The age decal permits the knowledge of knowing how the driver next to them will perform on the road.

Nancy Gardner, 32, of Orange County is thrilled with the course of action. "I just can't wait to be able to pass through traffic and not get so angry anymore," Gardner states. "My anger management therapist thinks this will help with my 'road rage' because I can legitimize substantial reasons for terrible drivers."

With the new policy being heavily advocated by law enforcers and even the drivers of the road themselves, Florida is expecting great things to come from the age decal.

--Colleen Ladd

The Chicken, the Egg, the Male and the Female

As kids we go from asking, "Was it the chicken or the egg that came first?" to "Was it the female that started the viscous cycle of heartache or was it the male?" For many cases, my personal vote lies with both the female gender and the male gender. Women hurt men in the beginning and then men keep the cycle turning by choosing to harbor their hearts away from the detrimental dent on their young egos. And as women, we don't want to admit that we, as a unit, initially caused the heartache that we will endure for years until we find that one guy. The one who decides to throw out the conditioned idea that all men need to put forth an ego of concrete to be a true "man".

        There is no weaker sex. There shouldn't need to be a distinction of that. We, as both females and males, are constantly trying to make sure that we are "wearing the pants" or have the imaginary "upper hand". We are both at default to the issue. Why do we need to control something that is best not controlled, that is best when nature takes it's course and the idea of love isn't what we define it to be but defines itself over the journey together as two people in love? When we forfeit ourselves to that other person and the other person does that in return, we can truly be ourselves and vanquish all expectations and replace it with hope, faith, and unconditional love. This is a constant factor, even when we are establishing relationships as children. No one wants to admit he or she is weak, that he or she is subject to vulnerability. The denial that takes place in all of this is what truly sets us apart from what we think we deserve in life to what we will find out through personal liberation. When had denial ever given us the satisfaction of a positive result?

       In any given case, denial has always taken the role of the bad guy. But through the processes of coming to any positive result we must acknowledge the step of acceptance. The acceptance of who we are, staying true to how we feel and following those feelings to come to the greatest things and the greatest moments we will ever know. So when it comes to the chicken and the egg and the female and the male and who committed the crime first, we'll find that the fight over what the answers are distract us from the realization that we see with more concise and love with more clarity without those answers.

Glitter

Do you know what it is that you do to me? Cause I sure as hell don’t. I can’t quite figure out whether it’s the story in your eyes that communicate through your gaze, the captivating sparkle in the windows to your soul. It’s as if you polished them perfectly for me to peer into. And the pieces I have discovered are not everyday findings but treasures that others have searched and searched for and had come to find failures instead. I don’t know whether to boast it to the world or keep it to my humble self and embrace it behind the closed doors of my own soul.  But oh the world can be such a nasty place and the beauty can be lost in translation through our everyday lives of daily complaints and obligations we take zero pride in doing. So maybe, if I were to share the subliminal splendor of your enchanting soul- the world would be a better place. And with the world being a better place we would call it ours. And those obligations would turn into moments to get to the future’s memories.  And every day we would accomplish three impossibilities before the sun found itself in the west.  And at night we would lie in tangled limbs of love on feather pillows and fluffy mattresses. And the fear of growing old would disintegrate with only the glitter left of the thought of growing old with you. 

Yours

Tattoo my soul

With the surface of your fingertips

And each glide of your touch shall be an image outlined from your heart

And with every sweep of your flesh against mine will be another feeling

For anyone yet to experience what I experience

Your eyes tell a thousand stories

Stories yet to be lived

Within the borders of your lids

And amidst the green glowing maze of your iris

I want to be your narrator

Your plot

Your happy ending

Anything but your writer

As long as I am 
Your climax

Your drama

Your suspense

Your romance

Yours

You Two Look Happy

Why didn’t I like you the first time? You know, the time I had you. There’s no need for ever saying first time… there will never be a second time. You were there. In plain sight, clear view. I mean clear sight, plain view. I don’t know anymore. My words are even starting to askew. And now I’m starting to rhyme. Am I just examining what I used to have because what I have right now lacks what I know I need? I know I need you. But you’ll never know. You could be reading this and not even know I’m talking about you. Yes, you. Were we ever together? Did we share a spark? I didn’t even mess this up. I just kind of…sort of… forgot about you. The forgotten will forget the original forgetter. I don’t think it hurt you, but if you gave me the chance, I could get you in the position to be hurt; emotionally, of course. And when I say I can get you in the position to hurt you, I’d be right there with you, sharing all the love vulnerability that love vulnerability can get.

She’s pretty, you know. And you two look happy. Why did I ever let it get this way?  

Growing Up

It's funny how I find myself in this crisis and during this crisis of "growing up" I found an example of how to get through it from a 2 year old.


Today, I spent the day with my Aunt Terry and her friends at their house in Kissimmee. We got there and I was immediately hungry so I of course found myself engrossed 3 feet deep in food. After that I mingled and met a lot of people who I will be seeing more of considering my recent move into my Aunt's house. One of the women I had met was named Michelle and she had two boys, one of which she brought by the name of Brenan. I noticed the dirty tattered bandaids on Brenan's fingers and asked Michelle what had happened. She responded that Brenan got cuts on his fingers from crawling on the ground. Brenan's version of a crawl was not in fact a crawl at all but rather a scoot across the floor with his one leg dragging and used as more of a bumper. Now, most kids by the age of 2 can walk on their own. Brenan here was the fastest little scooter we had seen. It resembled something close to one of those monkeys with the diapers you see at your local pet store. As bizarre as it was, it was just as cute. Michelle had explained that Brenan started to walk on his own but fell once and was scared ever since to walk on his own again. So with the help of a hand, or a table he walked with two legs. Without the help, he became a human scooter.


I overheard Michelle and my aunt talking about how not only was it a fear he had but he had also let it become a habit because it was easier; he had begun to understand the act of laziness. This method of scooting was a way for him to get around without him ever having to use his other leg or to ever have to face his fear of falling again.


Towards the end of the night, my aunt decided she was going to try to get him to walk on his own... even if it were the three feet she distanced him from his mom. Brenan did it. And not only did he do it once, after encouragement and praisal- Brenan did it again and again. With every foot that went in front of the one that had just stepped, a smile was drawn from his two year old left ear to his two year old right ear. As simple as that task was, I could only think about how that reflected many difficult tasks we encounter everyday.


As a society in today's time, we look for the easiest way out. Not only because we accept laziness with open arms, but because we are afraid of a fall, a failure. Brenan may not have known that by dragging his leg he could potentially off set his balance and bone structure being that he is so young and still growing but the fact of the matter is, is that if we continue to take the quickest possible way out of things- we can potentially off set the balance of a healthy routine and habits in our lives. The start of something good will always bring the better karma; the start of something bad only leads to a domino effect of worse things to come.


If a 2 year old can regain the courage to walk after the only traumatic event in his life, a fall, then anyone can regain the strength to realize that we have the ablitiy to do anything. But with such great power, we are blinded by laziness and meaningless routines we end up calling priorities. Those who see past the tempting obstacles are the ones who truly achieve a life well lived and are the ones who deserve it most.


I may be just a college student and have spent the last year drinking like a fish but in life- its not about how many shots you can take at a bar, its how many shots you can take in life to get to where you want to be. Its not how long you can hold a keg stand but how long you can stand for what you believe in. A tequila shot can never get me where I want to be in life. Its only a feeling that can last so long. I don't know where I want to go or what I want to do but I want to figure out what direction, and if that's the hardest path taken, at least I know it will lead to the happiest ever after I'll ever know.

Why do I like you?

Why do I like you?

I don't even like me.

Aren't you supposed to love yourself before you even take a step towards the "L" word
to another body other than your own?
I really wished I liked me the way I like you.
And it wouldn't be conceited, because my feelings for you are subtle, and soft. Not obnoxious or too proclaimed. My body inside might shout it all, but my lips remain whispering words I don't even understand. Words that are one syllable, but have a multiplicity of words to define it. I really wished I liked me the way I like you. I'd feel secure, like the blanket I draped across your body that cold night in December.

I'd probably buy myself treats, but not candy. Candy is too tacky for this level of feeling. Treats like a ticket to the theater, a mixed CD with all the songs I felt about myself, homemade clam chowder, the red kind. All for me. And maybe I'd write a book. I suppose that would be called an autobiography, with the typed words in the front "This book is dedicated to myself, Colleen Ladd" And I'd read this book to myself every night, beneath the stars, under the moon, on top of a blanket that was lying among sand and waves- only if I liked myself like I like you.

A Rant From the Past

Is it quite possible to love someone you barely know?

Well of course, I mean, I know it's possible, but really... am I capable? I have only known him for like two months. There is just no way. But those butterflies... I can feel their wings and their whimsical music fills my stomach like a blown out speaker from my crappy car. It can't be 'love', that word is overplayed. It's what an English teacher would call a 'dead' word. Like the words 'good' and 'happy'. I've always loved English. Ha there I said it 'loved'. Maybe the word 'lust'. Yeah, it's just lust... L-U-S-T. Hmm. "Lust. n. an intense sexual desire". No. Not that one. It's there but it's lacking... lacking a truth beyond those letter clusters. Infatuation. Hmmm, perhaps that's the word. 'Infatuation. n. the state of being completely carried away by unreasoned passion or love.'

How is it possible one word can define so much and be so precise to the very detail of my own body chemicals that give feeling towards this man? This gorgeous, intellectual, captivating man. Is it foolish for me to feel so quickly about another person or is it a sublime utopia of a world that the world has hidden from me 'til now? And why now? Is there even such thing as a reason for everything? Sometimes I think it's an excuse for optimists to fall back on. But don't optimists stand for things? They would never need something to fall on. My glass is clean. Not half full, not half empty. It's clean. What does that make me?

You know the song, "It's a Small World After All" ? Sorry if I got it in your head, it's clingy and creepy. The man I am 'infatuated' with, plays over and over in my mind. Just like that song. Only instead of it being satiating, it's soothing. Like a lullaby. Only I get insomnia, not a dream where I could try to feel close to him like I once was.

That's the reason for these rants.