My life as a romanced rapunzel

Virginia is for lovers and I can prove it. Before moving to Virginia I had met a gentleman named Jarred, a both intriguing and charming fellow. We became friends almost immediately, hanging out with his best friend Chase and my buddy Leslie. We'd been chatting a while and getting a little friendly, he even tried to kiss me! (Tried being the main verb in that sentence). Regardless, once I'd moved to Virginia we had continued conversing. Our phone calls would consists of weekly updates and flirtatious chitter chatter. I would always say "you should come over" or "when are you coming to visit?" And on a bi-regular basis he would say " look out your window". He was a wildly impulsive guy so I'd always look, even though logically I knew he wouldn't actually travel 2000 miles from Phoenix. One morning in late October I got a phone call. Jarred woke me up and said "look out your window". At this point I was newly awakened and not happy about it so I refused to obey said command. It was a couple days before Halloween and I'd decorated my windows with pumpkins. "Do you have pumpkins or bats on your window?" Jarred asked. I shot upright in disbelief, there was no way that he had come to Lynchburg, Virginia to surprise me at 9 am on Monday morning. I refused to fall for this malicious act of trickery, this was a new low. After some manipulation I opened the window and saw Jarred, there in the flesh, standing outside my second floor window. Like a true lady I screamed "Holy shit Jarred, holy shit shit shit!" Obviously shocked and still on the phone, I continued bantering the same four letter word that is banned from Liberty's campus. "Aren't you coming down?" Jarred asked. I hung up, continued muttering that same word (which by the way my mother taught me), and ran down to Leslie's room. Leslie freaked out, threw a coat on and we ran downstairs.
The boys stayed for a week and we enjoyed many adventures. Liberty's campus forbids both gentlemen and ladies to congregate in a dorm together, not even for visitation. So we had them pose as maintenance in order to see our rooms. Throughout the week the boys slept in the back of their truck, bathed in the creeks and ate taco bell! We visited DC and on our way back, got lost and pulled in to what we thought was a parking lot to sleep. When we woke up there were flashing lights and a police officer out the window. Chase had slept in his sleeping bag under a tree. Jarred, Leslie and I napped in the truck. To our surprise, the parking lot was actually a preschool, and its attendee's weren't allowed to play outside on account of the miscellaneous vehicle parked just outside the playground. After tapping a few times, the officer thought Chase was a drunk and Jarred a pimp. Once we cleared the air and found our way back to Lynchburg we had already broken some classic Liberty rules, the last of which was an on-campus kiss.

My life as hatorade gatorade

After I moved to Arizona I found a group of fabulous girlfriends. We lived life like the MTV show Laguna Beach, sauntering around town, preying on boys, pranking, blasting country jams, dancing and going to church. We had weekly girl nights where we'd dress up, go to dinner and drive around town. One evening in particular we'd done our nightly duties and settled down at Ashley's place. We were joking around and Kristy locked me and Ashley out of the house. We were out there for a good bit when I realized just how badly I had to pee. We had already tried to get in at all entrances, we'd banged on the door and tried to fit through the doggie door. We made it into the garage and started banging on the door screaming things like, "We have to pee!!", "open up or else!" and what not. The girls were not having it and I was about to explode, or implode, however, I had no bathroom facility nearby. I wasn't about to pee outside, I'm a lady, and besides, last time I did that I got it everywhere. So I searched around the garage for something to pee in. The only thing I found was a lemon-lime Gatorade bottle. I did my business and when we finally were allowed back inside, I brought the bottle with me. I certainly didn't want Ashley's parents thinking it was Gatorade. As I was walking in Kristy said, "where'd you get that?". I explained to her that I really did have to pee and that I'd done so in the bottle. She didn't believe me, so I urged her to try it. Well, she opened the bottle and smelled my pee. She said, "its not pee Jodi, come on!" I told her to drink it but she wouldn't, so I dumped it. Moral of the story, it would've been more ladylike to use a tree.

My life as a sad souvenir

There a few things in life that I hold dear
faith, hope and love and a good souvenir
this song tells a story of some good ol friends
whose friendship would soon come to an end

Florida would set the stage for this song
the trip was sweet but it didnt last long
the vacation ended before you could think it
and all that I wanted was one little trinket

a small souvenir to remember the days
of beaches, kites, bubbles and waves
It wouldnt take long to purchase said gift
I'd be quick as a bunny, my legs would be swift

But Jed, Jake and Jordan said no to my plea
They laughed and giggled and made fun of me
cracking jokes left and right at my cry for a token
we left pensacola my dreams were all broken

So now i'm in lynchburg singing this tune
I won't forgive them at least until june
just one thing could turn this all around
the one thing that turns my frowns upside down

A souvenir, memento, reminder or keepsake
any trohpy as along as its not fake
to bring back my memories of Spring break 09
if you three could do this i'm sure i'd be fine...

Loveeee Joooodddii

My life as a handbag hasbeen

Preface: This story will confirm the reasoning's behind my mothers night terrors.
PS. Mom, don't read this.. its for your own good.

I am an optimist by nature. I am naive and easily distracted. In my senior year of high school I'd joined a fashion class. Nearing the end of the semester, we the fashion students went on a field trip to L.A. Our trips itinerary consisted of visits to L.A's finest fashion institutes and museums, shopping, fashion shows, shopping, Disney, shopping, Rodeo Dr. and Hollywood, shopping and more shopping. (Side note: this is where I solemnly swear I started the stretchy sparkle belt trend). None of my fashion friends were going on this trip so I was flying solo. On the plane to L.A I had made three friends. None of whose names I can remember. Nevertheless we instantaneously became shopping buddies. The three had been friends previously, so tagging along was the name of my game. I was often left behind when something sparkly caught my eye. Realizing that I didn't share in their group commitment, the girls kept a weather eye out for my disappearances. I was entering a very chic Chanel phase where I was befuddled by anything with a "C" on it. Earlier that day I'd found a pair of very classy, very fake, yet very Chanel, spring collection sunglasses, a pair of earrings and a wallet. As we were walking through an alleyway, bound for the next shop, I was dreaming of the perfect Chanel outfit. I was interrupted by an intuitive Latino gentleman. "Would you like to buy a purse?" the gentleman asked. Well of course I would like to buy a purse I thought to myself. "umm.. what kind of purse?" I said shyly. "Whatever you want" he said, "Dooney and Bourke, Prada, Chanel" "Chanel!?!" I squealed. How did he KNOW I'd been looking for one all day. "Coom these way" the Latino man gestured. I followed, pondering where our travels would lead us. "Into my van" the Latino man said, pulling my arm ever so sternly. Hesitating a moment, I wondered why these 'superpurses' would be locked away in this big, no-windowed, rusty white van. As we were approaching the open van I heard my new friend yelling at me. She ran to my side and said "lets go!". The Latino man was disturbed by her presence and pulled yet again at my arm. She did the same, pointing at our now large group of friends at the end of the alley and hurried me away. The poor, lacking in busy savvy Latino man quickly turned away. I asked my new friend why we were in such a hurry. As we walked, she explained that I had been rapidly approaching a very hostile situation in which I would no longer be present at the next days fashion show. Completely unaware of said hostile happenings, I looked back to find that the Latino gentleman's van was empty. He was definitely not selling purses.

My life as a hubub's hooligan

You'd never guess it by looking at me, but I'm dangerous. That could be true, but probably not.
I've previously stated my lack of driving skills. Well this story is another living testament to my lack of road rules. Although I can't remember the reason, I had somehow pissed off my parents enough for them to disable my vehicle, literally. They did something so that it wouldn't start. When I let them know that I had a math final and I really needed to get to school, my mom let me borrow her Durango. I was as usual, already late for my math final, I was pissed about my cars disability and crying cause my mom and I had just finished the royalist of rumbles ending in "I think you should just go back to Canada Jodi". On the 10 minute drive to Chandler Gilbert Community College I had managed exceed the speed limit by about 40 mph. I was going 80 in a 45. It was about 9:30 on April 20th. A chipper motor cop pulled me over. I pulled myself together, and rolled down the window, copper said "have you any idea how fast you were going?" "no sir" I meekly answer. He takes a look at me and says "ma'am can you step out of the car please with your hands behind your head?" In retrospect I can see how I might look suspicious, puffy eyes, sparkly t-shirt, math books strewn about the car at 9:30 on the morning of national weed day, I get it. But this cop really had it in for me. He had me walk a line, breathalyze, point and flex while balancing on one foot, he checked my tongue and eyes, had be say my alphabet backwards, count backwards in increments of 8 and asked me a series of questions like, have you had any illegal drugs in the past month? week? day? no?. He then called for back-up had my mom's car searched and had me pat down. This process put me at 10:30, my final was over. I got my first ticket and was told to appear in court for criminal speeding. A couple weeks later in court I was as usual late, but I had an accomplice. We sat down beside each other with little contact. An hour later I looked over and gestured a hello, the gentleman smiled, acknowledging my gesture. I then realized that this gentleman had two tear drops beside his eyes. Thinking that he had to be some wanna be gangster, I gingerly asked "so what are your tear drops for?" His face immediately dropped, "you can see them can you?" he said. "Yep, what are you in some kind of gang?" I said with a hint of sarcasm. "Uh huh" the gentleman answered. I asked him if this 'gang' was local, and he told me he was from Fresno AND that his gang's name was the Bloods. Now I may be a white suburbian, but I do know a bit about the Bloods and Crips, and tear drops mean murder. Still thinking that this guy is playing cool, I continue to question his statements. Asking him what his position within the gang was and why he had joined. He answered my questions and then lifted his shirt revealing a burnt bloods emblem that resided on his stomach. I then realized that this was no tall tale, he was a legitimate 'G'. Trying to now keep MY cool I say "yea my boyfriend and I play bloods and crips in ping pong", this statement was true but definitely not appropriate. Now that I'd got his complete life story, he felt the need to return the favor and I suddenly felt the need to leave. As he started asking questions I quickly became more and more ambiguous. He then asked, "hey do you drive a white bug?" I started to think, wow, I'm the next tear drop, I'm done. My throat got tight and I said "maybe". I began to feel bad for him, he was clearly going to jail after this conversation and he was trying to make a friend. After discussing religious beliefs(which by the way, his god is a coin that lives in his wallet) and hobbies, he asked for my number. I got his instead and finished my courtly business. He offered to scare my friends and I thought, man this guy should come to church, betcha no one invites him to go. So I told my mom, and she took the phone number and tore it up. To this day I get random phone calls from a friends pretending to be my gang friend.

My life as a driving hazard

Black people only eat fried chicken, cops love donuts, red heads are irrational... all are stereotypes. The ones I fit into are stupid blond and bad girl driver. Unfortunately I prove them right. I have no sense of direction, I've got an awful feel for the road and don't seem to pick up on driving common sense.
I volunteered myself to pick up my aunt and uncle from the airport. They had an Armada at the time, which is a huge honking vehicle. I was driving along the highway, bopping to some tunes and chatting on the phone. To give you a little background, my home in Phoenix is 20 minutes from the airport. Well, not only did I get lost on my way to the airport, but I made a 20 minute trip into an hour long driving extravaganza. After getting off and on to four different highways I realized that I was indeed going the wrong way. I quickly got off the highway and proceeded to get back on the opposite direction. As another side note, it was now rush hour traffic. As I was getting back onto the highway, my "drivers intuition" kicked in and I suddenly felt like I was going onto an off ramp. So as quick as a bunny, I turned the car around while on the ramp. Unfortunately my intuition was wrong, I was now going off the on ramp... in rush hour traffic... in a giant Armada. With cars beeping and staring at the little blond girl in this big vehicle trying to get off a clearly marked on ramp I quickly realized that I couldn't just "slip out" of this situation. As luck would have it, this area was also under construction. So I did what any larger vehicle driver would do and ran over a couple of cones and just sat in the under construction area. Meanwhile, all of metropolitan Phoenix is laughing, pissed and honking their horn at the idiot who drove off the on ramp. Once I regained the confidence to drive, I turned myself around and headed back for the airport. Picked up my aunt and uncle, 45 minutes late and still to this day have not told them that I nearly totalled their car on an on ramp.

My life as a pranking warlord

After our box trick exravaganza, the girls and I realized that we'd been missing out on a whole new world of pranking. We continued terrorizing Liberty's campus with different pranks in the name of good fun. Among some of our regular stunts were pretending to be R.A's, asking students who were clearly minding their own business to please give up their student ID's. Taking random surveys under the aliases of Liberty television characters. Joining strangers in various sports, telling our teammates we were all twins from Manchester. Randomly belting out the love duet from Moulin Rouge. Creating a quartet of barber shop girls who serenade collegians and Liberty employees etc. Our favorite of pranks was the cafeteria food fight. It would always start small, and as a general rule, its starts with a sweet. Abby and I would choose cake as our dessert du jour, get into a little tiff and end up shoving cake in each other faces, rubbing it on our arms etc. Always creating a scene, sometimes we'd get folks to join in by either including them in the argument or shoving cake in their direction. All of these pranks were executed well, but the best prank of all (besides the box) was another Liberty week end. At the entrance of main campus is a little hut, which I assume was used as a gatekeepers hut from back in the day. Well, we set up camp there and waited as Liberty students were driving on campus. Each car was stopped (by us), and told that due to recent safety precautions, each individual would have to show proof of student hood by means of a Liberty student ID. We had a line up waiting to get into campus as we checked the IDs of all passengers and drivers.