I learned 3 very important rules when I was being taught how to drive.

#1. Always wear your seat belt. – Dad
#2. Pay attention to the other drivers. Chances are, they’re crazy. - Mom
#3. Hold your hands at 8 and 4, rather than at 10 and 2. This lessens the chance that you will break your forearms during a collision. – Uncle Brian

At least, I’m assuming that last one is from my Uncle Brian. I don’t remember who exactly told me that but it’s a pretty safe guess it was him. Who else would teach a 16-year-old how to survive a high speed chase and subsequent crash than her SWAT team uncle?

This little tidbit of information was shared with all of my high school friends, who were also at a very impressionable new-driver stage in their lives. I’m sure their parents were thrilled. It also significantly raised my cool factor with the cute older boys who were into cars. Thanks, Uncle Brian.

Anyway, as I was pulling into the parking lot on campus one day, I happened to find the only empty spot was next to a police car. Of course. I safely maneuvered my way into the spot with no problems. As I “exited my vehicle” (cop lingo) the officer casually mentioned that I should keep both hands safely on the wheel when driving. I am sure I gave him a confused look because before I could say anything, he made a motion as if holding a steering wheel and said “10 and 2.” I immediately replied that my uncle was on the force and had told me that holding the wheel at 8 and 4 was just as secure, however it would lessen the chances of arm injuries in a crash.

There was a moment of silence. I had a moment of panic when I wondered if that lesson was one Uncle Brian had merely told me as a joke. I began to sweat, wondering if “telling false driving safety rules” was a ticketable offense. I started of thinking what delectable dessert I was going to make Dan, in order to lessen the sting of seeing my outrageous traffic fine. Then I wondered what would happen if it was a huge sum of money and we couldn’t afford it. I can’t go to jail! I look awful in orange!

The cop tilted his head thoughtfully and said “makes sense.” Then he turned away from me again as if our entire exchange had merely been about the weather or last night’s repeat episode of SNL.

This didn’t stop me from bragging to my friends that I schooled a cop in traffic safety. That’s right, literal street cred.

After I finish a production, I suddenly feel as though I have oodles of free time. It doesn’t matter if my next job is scheduled to start in just a few days; I feel as though I have too much time on my hands. This typically leads to me browsing the interwebs, trying to find some sort of volunteer work I can do.

So far, I have learned that I am not cut out for the typical places that need volunteers.

Hospital – This is normally my first volunteer site to browse. Dan sweats a little when I mention to him the idea of feeding preemies or delivering flowers to patient rooms. The work itself would be okay. It’s the idea of me coming home every night, sobbing because some poor baby or child is sitting in a hospital. I get a little hysterical at the idea of blood too, so as long as none of the patients are bleeding or show signs of having bled at some point during their stay, I am fine. And the mental image of most medical procedures is enough to make me dizzy. Basically, as long as no one is sick or injured in the hospital, we’re good to go.

Library – I get really upset when people talk in libraries. Not just talk loudly, but talk at all. I view them as a personal sanctuary, that should be filled with dead silence and amazing books. When people talk, it ruins the safe haven experience for me. The librarians tend to get peeved if you yell at patrons for so much as saying “excuse me.”

Fire Department Administrator – The job description includes checking smoke alarms, handing out info to station visitors and visiting eldery residents to ensure their home is free from potential tripping or fire hazards. Can you imagine how sad that would be? “Get rid of this of rug or you could trip and die all alone in your house, without anyone knowing you were in here. Besides your cats of course.” Yeah, that seems like an uplifting way to spend an afternoon.

Scottsdale Museum of Contemporary Art – They frown upon volunteers not doing their jobs and wandering through the exhibits instead.

Cleaning bathrooms at local parks – …ick

At local high schools, teaching drug awareness – Trust me, they are already aware of drugs. They have either already tried them or labeled anyone who has a druggie loser. And while I can do a hysterical impression of a drugged out drop out, I doubt the administrators would find my tactics funny.

Hospice volunteer – You drive to homes of the elderly, which seems simple enough. You are supposed to spend time with them, playing cards, watching movies, etc., which seems fun enough. You are also supposed to check and make sure they are still alive. I don’t want to think of my reaction should I discover the alternative.

Pick up litter – You have to wear an ugly vest and in the guidelines, it says that helmets are highly encouraged. Apparently, some drivers think it’s funny to try and pelt the road workers with garbage. Anything that requires me to be properly armed from incoming flying garbage is a no.

Zoo/Aquarium – Apparently, “come in and just play with baby animals” is not an actual volunteer position. They want you to clean up after the animals, scrub out cage floors or sweep. I would be okay if the volunteer guidelines didn’t specify that you would work in any of the animal houses on the grounds. Me, in a reptile house? Pass.

After going through all those, I finally realize that I should volunteer at a theater. It will look good on a resume and doesn’t involve me seeing blood or other gross things. For the most part. However, most theaters want you to commit to at least 10-20 hours a week. Some want a 6 month commitment. They don’t seem to realize that I have about 20 free hours this week, 10 the next and then maybe a couple a month from that. I once had a woman tell me she couldn’t be bothered to train me if I wasn’t willing to dedicate myself to my passion. Look, lady. I don’t need to be trained in how to rip tickets in half or paint hallways. I need something to fill my free time between theater and film projects.

She suggested I volunteer at a hospital, like she did when she was younger. Apparently, they only have an hour long training session and you only need to sign up for 5 hours a week. I was puzzled and asked her why stapling programs together required more training than working with sick, injured and dying people.

Let’s just say that my future opportunities at her theater are now looking a little bleak.

One of my favorite things to do is go grocery shopping. There is something satisfyingly adult about getting a shopping cart and placing my purse in the spot meant to strap down unruly children. I swing by the disinfectant wipes because sometimes those same unruly children place unruly nose boogies on the handle.

My journey begins in the produce section. I do a quick pause to pull out my list and coupons. Yes, I’m a coupon clipper. My mother taught me to never pay full price for anything except maybe sushi and an education. Once my paperwork is in order, I continue through the produce section, gathering any necessary vegetables for our week’s worth of meals. I also tend to buy some sort of fruit that will look fantastic in the produce section but seems lackluster once it hits our kitchen. I once bought 6 different kinds of apples so we could sample them and figure out our favorite variety, but forgot to label them in some manner. We ended up just eating a lot of random apples that week.

Next, I arrive in the bread and deli section. I’m a whole wheat bread type of girl. Because he has no say in the matter, so is Dan. I fight the urge to buy bagels and always lose. This reminds me that I need cream cheese, so I head over to the dairy section. I’m there approximately 15 minutes, trying to decide on a cream cheese flavor. It’s not like at a bagel shop, where you get to pick a daily flavor. When you get it from the grocery store, you have to commit to an entire tub. I’m just never sure if I’m ready for a serious relationship with plain whipped or if strawberries and cream is giving me the flirty eye.

By this time, I remember the delicious strawberry ice cream that we had a few summers ago and head to the frozen section. Smooth ice cream with chunks of strawberries in it that weren’t incredibly freezer burnt. Eating bad strawberry ice cream with crunchy chunks of fruit in it makes me think of that disgusting cereal that has freeze dried fruit in it. It’s like eating fruit flavored Styrofoam.

Speaking of cereal, we’re almost out. I head towards the cereal section to get our shredded wheat and Cocoa Krispies when a sale sign catches my eye. Oatmeal?! I heart oatmeal! And it’s on sale! I gather up the oatmeal and remember that Dan only likes the peaches and cream flavor instant oatmeal. Grudgingly, I toss a box of that in there too. The woman down the aisle from me asks her husband to grab the tortillas, which for some strange reason are in the same aisle as the mac n’ cheese. This makes me think of how delicious White Trash Dinner would be, so I swing by the same aisle to grab a box of mac n’ cheese and the rest of the makings for this meal. I grab a packet of tortillas for good measure. You can always use tortillas. 

I vaguely remember Dan saying that tacos would be good for dinner this week, so I backtrack towards the meat department, which I skipped in my hasty search for cream cheese. On the way, the Boboli pizza shells catch my eye. Boboli is a good dinner for me when Dan is at work. I grab a packet and head towards the dairy section for shredded cheese. I suddenly remember that we have about 12 bags of cheese currently in our fridge, so I bypass it and head towards the pet section to buy cat and dog food.

Right before the pet section, I spy the latest cover of People which announces that the Duggars are open to the idea of having more kids. This family fascinates me. They have a kajillion children and still manage to appear loving, down to Earth and religious. More importantly, they can feed a family of one kajillion without using a pressure washer to clean their dining room. I grab the magazine and then head to the cleaning section, because the mention of cleaning reminds me that we need dish soap. I spend the next 20 minutes smelling each scent. This is a long process since I have to smell each one in case my preferences have changed since the last time I took the time to smell each one. They haven’t. I pick up our normal bottle of aromatherapy dish soap and merrily head to the checkout, my grown up shopping trip sucessfully complete.

In my cart, I have:
- a bag of lettuce
- 6 apples
- bagels
- 3 tubs of cream cheese
- a carton of choclate ice cream (it’s almost like strawberry…)
- 12 boxes of maple and brown sugar oatmeal
- 1 box of peaches and cream oatmeal
- 1 box of store brand mac n’ cheese
- 1 can of corn
- 1 can of tuna fish
- Boboli pizza crust
- dish soap
- tortillas
- a magazine
- a mini cupcake. The ones they always place near the register, to trick hungry shoppers like myself.
- absolutely nothing to make a complete meal for 2 people. Especially not for an entire week.