Mistaken Identities.

Back in 2011, my last summer spent in NYC, when I was hot and mad and ready for a change, I posted an entry called Strange Encounters (that link should take you to it). It's about the strangers you run into multiple times in a life who, for whatever reason, strike a cord and burn their mark into your brain so you always remember them. Yesterday, at breakfast with Jamie and Evan (that's where all these sessy pictures are from), Jamie reminded me, because it's her favorite story of mine, of the time when I mistook my own mother for a stranger. (The connection between this story and my old post really doesn't exist, so if you read that and don't see the link, don't worry, it's me not you.)

When I was 7 or 8 or 9, but let's go with 7, I was in acrobatics class with Kelly Burke, the girl who I thought was THE COOLEST GIRL IN THE WORLD next to Topanga. I was really, really bad at acrobatics, honestly, I was pretty bad at simply moving or standing in general, it was just a way for me to look cool and bond with an older idol. We had to wear these maroon leotards and pink tights and learn cartwheels and hand springs, things that make up the stuff of a fat kid's (hi!) nightmare. Anyway, I always rode to class with Kelly because we lived in the same neighborhood. That afternoon, Bonnie Lynn (my mom) dropped me off at the Burke's house sporting her GIGANTIC perm and gold hoop earrings. From the time I could form memories, I had never known my mother to look any different. Always, big ass frizzy perm hair and gold hoop earrings. Well, after a particularly intense acrobatics class (where I pooped my leotard, but that's a different story...) we went back to Kelly's house and waited for my mom to come get me. Up the street and into the driveway, I watched the navy blue Aerostar van pull and out stepped...some crazy woman who sounded just like my mom but had STRAIGHT HAIR AND BANGS.


She sounded JUST like my mom, even had the same hoop earrings, drove the same van, had the same face, there was my little brother in the car with her, but this COULD NOT be my mom. My mom had toy poodle hair, this woman looked like, well not like this straight haired, banged kidnapper! I flipped out. FLIPPED OUT. I started hysterically crying, rolling around in the grass, biting my fingernails. (I probably shat in my leotard a little more) I straight up refused to get in the car with this stranger... well...until she bribed me with a cherry Minute Maid push up popsicle and I caved (deductive reasoning being that only my mom could know those were my favorite, oh, and I was a fat kid).

Mistaken Identity, toe or thumb edition
Eventually, she convinced me she was my mom by explaining to my stubborn idiot child brain what a hair cut is and I settled into her new look. In my defense, I think I just don't handle change well...? Yeah, let's go with that. Change is rough. I feel like I'm just coming out the other side of the change of having moved out here (a year and half later) and that's pretty great. And here's how I'm going to bring this all full circle. Seeing my mom as a stranger is why I thought of my old post. Mentioning that it was written during my last summer in NYC is equating my life to Bonnie Lynn with a perm. When I moved out here, I got straight hair and bangs, a much better look for me (well, and Bonnie) anyway and one that I'm now totally comfortable with and happy about.

What in the hell is this post about? Who knows or cares? HOW CUTE IS THIS FUCKING DOG???

Scraps the Dog, my nephew 


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