This is My Life?! Splendid!

If I've seen you in the past two weeks, you've probably heard both of these stories.  For those of you who haven't heard them already, let me introduce you to a new series called "This is my life?!" that will showcase the slightly ridiculous moments that happen to me.  If you follow me (@klareau3) or our house (@KLandSP) on Twitter, you'll probably get snippets of these stories.  Here are the full (overly)dramatic versions.

The first story takes place just over two weeks ago.  I had an interview that afternoon, and it was unseasonably hot that day (welcome to Central Illinois, where the weather is schizophrenic), so when I came home, I changed from my interview dress to a lounge-about-the-house dress.  I decided to unwind for awhile by watching YouTube videos, and I became intrigued by the Colors of the Rainbow tag videos being made by some of the vloggers I follow.  The concept was to talk about one of your favorite beauty/fashion items for each color of the rainbow (plus pink and multi-colored).  I decided I wanted to make a video response.  

I set up my camera in the dining craft room, opened the blinds and turned on the lights.  I decided that I couldn't wear the lounge-about-the-house dress because it has weird straps, and I have to wear a cami underneath it, and there were just too many straps involved to make me comfortable on-camera.  I took off the lounging dress, and went back into the craft room to finish putting on my makeup so as not to get any makeup on the dress I was going to wear in the video.

Before I go any further, let me describe where I live.  It's a small house with two front doors situated on the corner of a side street and a busy one way street.  There's a bike lane along the one way street.  The window of the dining craft room looks out onto the one way street, but based on assertions by my roommate who never sees me wave at her from that window, I basically assume that most people can't see me...

As I adjusted my makeup in the dining craft room, I happened to notice a young man riding his bike on the sidewalk just beyond our front porch.  Now, I can't be positive that he saw me, wearing nothing but beige undergarments, but he did look directly at the window.  And I swear, in that moment, not only did he see me, but it felt like he looked into my soul.  I immediately scampered back into my room and threw the dress on.  Then just for good measure, I closed and locked both front doors that had been standing wide open so as to encourage a breeze inside the house.  Luckily for me, he kept on riding, but seriously, this is my life?!

Then last Friday, I was getting ready to north for my cousin's graduation party.  I had just gotten out of the shower and was wearing my pj's, which may or may not have been decorated with not only toothpaste spots but also a nice big smudge in the exact neon orange dust that is found on Cheetos. (Hint: it did.)  Most of my wet hair was sectioned for drying, and I had a single braid down the center of my head.  Since I'm home alone so often, I rarely get ready without playing music.  I was dancing around, like one does, as Mick Jagger serenaded me with "Let's Spend the Night Together."  To be honest, Mick was also serenading half the block, and there's a very real chance window panes were rattling in my little house.  The hair dryer was going, I was singing, and over all that cacophony, I heard four loud knocks on a front door.

As I emerged from the bathroom to pause the music, I saw the landlord standing on the porch.  He stopped by to check in about a few things and ask if we were planning to sign another year long lease.  The entire conversation probably didn't take longer than 5 minutes, but it felt like eternity.  In those four minutes, I think a bus full of school children unloaded at the corner, people were walking their dogs, and I was sopping wet on the porch in sweatpants talking to my landlord.  

The landlord is a nice enough guy, but he doesn't get me.  When we originally signed the lease, Stacey and I were in a good mood, making jokes about how we were excited to move to a neighborhood that didn't necessitate having the police on speed dial, and he just didn't get us.  Since then I felt like every conversation between the two (or three, if Stacey's around) of us has been awkward.  I could tell that he really didn't know how to process the sight before him.  I think it was the hair that put him over the edge, not the Cheeto dust.

As he turned to leave, I turned the music back on.  Once more in the bathroom with the hair dryer and the singing, I heard four more loud knocks at the door.  It was deja vu all over again.  I came back out of the bathroom to find the landlord on the porch again.  Now, he claimed that he had forgotten to mention one last thing while we were talking, but I'm pretty sure he was just floored by my beauty, grace, and glorious singing voice and was desperate to be in my presence.  This time I made sure his car had pulled away from the curb and was on its way down the street before I turned the music back on.

I do have a sense of shame, and I do get embarrassed from time to time, but stories like these happen to me so often that it doesn't make sense to feel embarrassed about them anymore.  Instead I share my potential shame with the world and hope that it makes somebody feel a little bit better about their day.