Misadventure #1

Okay, first I have a small confession:

I am totally in love with Harry Potter. (The books, not like, Daniel Radcliffe... ew)

Yes, yes, I know. I know it's silly. I know it's not real, and never will be. I know it's super nerdy. I don't care. This may (or may not) come as a shock to you. It is definitely a shock to me. I vowed that I would never, ever read those books. I was a natural born "indie kid". I never did anything anyone else did. I purposefully did things against what 2nd grade society said was cool. I didn't like Sponge Bob. I didn't like Lisa Frank. And I most certainly did not read Harry Potter. I was never going to. Until recently. See, the majority of my friends have read at least four of the books. They make references to it, talk about it, listen to PodCasts about it. I, usually, did not know or care what they were talking about. One day, I was making fun of them for reading it, and Sarah said: "Adrienne, you ARE going to read those books. And you ARE going to like it." Now, reading them would go against my internal indie code. But I did. And I loved it. They are very addicting, and consequently, I stay up very late reading them. I am on the 5th book, The Order Of The Phoenix. I was up till 1:07am reading the Chapter titled "The Eye of The Snake". 9:00 came very, very early. I staggered out of bed, and into clothes, somehow. I grabbed my precious book, and trudged to the car. I read all the way to church. After church my parents had a two hour board meeting, so I sat in my car, and read. As you can plainly see, HP is my heroine. I need my fix. In fact, I'm thinking about not finishing this, so that I can go read.

Anyways, after my Dad was done with the board meeting, he decided it was high-time he got new shoes. He gets new shoes every four years, and wears them till they're beyond recognition. So we (just me and him) drive to Stonebriar. Upon entering Nordstrom, I am very tempted to go Adrienne-shopping. I really need new shoes. And buying shoes for my Dad isn't fun. It's either black or brown. Usually I slip-on loafer type shoe, with tough soles, and cushy insoles. Usually made of leather. That is his criteria. Very boring. So, we look around and he finds some nice black leather Timberline brand shoes. Very plain. Very Dad.

Because my Dad is as bad, if not worse when it comes to talking to store people, I have to do it for him. So I walked over to the nearest tall, nicely dressed, shoe fitter guy (I'm sure there's a technical name...) and tell him "My Dad has shoes he needs to try on." He very eagerly lead my Dad to a chair, and measured his foot. At this point I realized my mistake in picking which guy to help us. He was the epitome of obnoxious. Think Jim Carey, trying to sell you shoes. Times 10. That obnoxious. He was talking at my Dad in a very "you're silly, and I don't take you seriously, but I'd really like commission on your shoes, so I'm going to try to be so very polite and charming" way. But it came off all wrong. He looked like he had an extreme foot fetish, and touched my Dad's feet, at every opportunity. It was weird. Then he ran back to grab the shoes. He returned with a few boxes. He found the pair he liked, and then turned to me and said: "Hey, you know Wes's shoes? How about I get some like that as well, you know, for drumming." He was referring to my brother's Vans. Now, I find nothing wrong with a silly forty-four year old man, who is convinced he's seventeen wearing slip-on Vans. You might. So when "Jim" (that's what I'm going to call him) came back, my Dad asked for the black Vans. Jim brought back 3 boxes this time. There were no black ones in size eleven and a half, so he thought the gray plaid ones would be "fun". (He said "these are so fun" at least twelve times). My Dad liked them, and he bought them, and has been wearing them ever since. This all adds up to my theory that my Dad never grew up. Which is fine, really.

Then we gathered up my family, and went to Rockfish. I don't much care for seafood, but I knew for a fact that Rockfish has chicken, so I would be okay. Also, I know Lindsay Fyffe works/worked there, and she is very sweet, and it would be nice to see her. However, Lindsay was not there. But someone else was: Tai Krause. I really cannot explain my fear of Tai, because you really have to experience it firsthand. The fat poking, the calling you Sad Girl, the humiliation of being seen with Tai. It's all very... awful. Anyway, the absolute last person I want to see anywhere outside of school is Tai. And there he was, staring at me. That's all he did. Constant staring. I was very, very, paranoid. When he finally left, I explained to my family who the weird boy across the room who was looking at me was. They didn't seem to understand. But that's okay. I didn't expect them to.

After that whole episode, I went to Guitar Center with my Dad to get a microphone cable. That man would spend sixteen years in that store, if he could. He plays with all the basses, guitars, drums, keyboards, mixers, everything. While I was sitting on an amp listing to him play bass, a cocky twentysomething kid came up with his bass. He plugged it into an amp, and turned it up as loud as he could. He then proceeded to play low, bellowing notes, that shook the corner we were in. Not in any particular rhythm or pattern, just low obnoxious notes. This was highly aggravating my Dad, and we left. We only spent an hour there, which I think is our new record.

Well... I'm going to go... read... now.

Shut up.