Interesting is not a strong enough word to describe my life these days, or at least the past week. Let me break it down for you. I almost witnessed a head-on collision on my way home from work, my mom abandoned me at a car dealership with a car that was still broken, I danced in front of more than fifty people, and I got tattoos. I know, it’s a lot to take in – trust me, I lived it. However, I’m going to break it down for you even more.

The other day, I was driving home from another monotonous shift at work, jamming out to some Panic! at the Disco as I usually do during the four-minute drive from the parking lot to my garage. I made it to the stop sign at the bottom of the hill near my house, flipping on my right turn signal in preparation to make my speedy ascent up the road. There was a car at the stop sign perpendicular to mine, turning left. The woman behind the wheel was talking in an animated manner on her phone, steering with just one hand. Suddenly, a small midnight blue car came racing down the hill, narrowly missing the woman as she was turning. This matchbox-sized car was operated by a petite, scraggly older woman, and she was driving around with her headlights off. It was after ten o’clock p.m., so it was well within the time-frame where headlights are a necessity.

My heart stopped because for starters, it is never acceptable to be on your phone while driving and, this elderly woman was speeding along like she was competing in the Indy 500. Also, I know what it’s like to be in a major car accident, so witnessing one is something I don’t ever want to do.

Speaking of cars, just the other day, my mom made me go with her to the car dealership to pick up my dad’s car because it was done in the shop. I begrudgingly hopped into the front seat looking like a hot mess. My hair was tied up in a messy ponytail, and I was wearing my brother’s gross Nike slides that were once a bright shade of white. I waited for her to pay the bill, and once she emerged and pointed me in the right direction, I strutted on over to the car. Once inside the car, I adjusted the seat to fit my short frame by moving it all the way forward so that more than just my toes could reach the pedals. I adjusted my mirrors, turned the key, shut off the god awful am station my dad swears by, put the car in drive, and I was on the move.

I take that back. I was trying to move, but for some reason it felt like the car was straining against some invisible force or one of those locks they put on tires when you haven’t paid your tickets. So, I gave the car more gas, and I made it a few feet out of the parking spot. And that’s when I realized that the reason I was literally going nowhere was because the emergency break was pulled up.

I am the most oblivious person on the planet – we’ve discussed this already. The break light was flashing in my face, and my first thought was that there must be something restraining my tire. But, here was the real issue; I had never used an emergency break in a car before, so I was a little confused on how to release the break. I sat in the middle of a dealership parking lot wrestling with an emergency break that would not budge for about fifteen minutes. My mother had also left and was on her way home. I decided to bombard her with phone calls because clearly, I needed to be rescued.

Here is the thing about my mother. She never takes her phone with her, and when she does, it is never on her person, so no one can contact her in a timely manner. She was not answering her phone because she left it at home, and I was now in full panic mode. Now, this may sound overdramatic, but I don’t like to be in situations that are out of my control. I know nothing about cars besides where the key goes and how to use the gas and break pedals. When I am face-to-face with a situation that I cannot easily fix, I get emotional. So, just picture little old me sitting in the front seat of a 2005 Chevy Cobalt with tears streaming down my face as I struggle to move the emergency break. I was even more of a mess than when I entered the parking lot.

Finally, I get a hold of my mother, and she contacts the dealership. They send out a guy who is now face-to-face with an emergency break that’s jammed and an emotional twenty-one-year-old girl. I explain to him that I’ve tried everything, but the break won’t budge. This dude hops into the front seat and releases the emergency break in five seconds. I know I’m weak, but if that wasn’t confirmation enough that I need to hit the weights, I don’t know what is. I would also like to point out that this dude and a bunch of other dudes all walked past my car and witnessed the mayhem that was occurring inside the four doors, and not one of them offered me any assistance until my mother called and explained the scene happening in their parking lot.

If that situation wasn’t embarrassing enough for you avid readers, let me tickle your fancy with this gem of a tale from Friday morning at my camp counselor gig. It was talent show day, and our campers were bundles of nerves and resistance against the show that was about to go on. For the show, our camp had to prepare a group act, and we decided it would be best to do a dance battle: Old School Dancing vs. New Age Dancing, counselors against the campers. I, alongside my fellow counselors, stood in front of about thirty-five campers, some of their parents, and our boss and performed “Soulja Boy” and the “Cupid Shuffle.” I have the rhythm of a toothpick, so I looked ridiculous, but it was so much fun. It was great to see the kids genuinely enjoy our dancing even if it was awkward and jumbled. And, I know for a fact that there is a video out there somewhere of this performance so my embarrassment can live on long after the show ended.

After all the hysterics and embarrassment, I finally decided it was time to check another item off the old bucket list. For a few years now, I’ve been debating getting a tattoo. I had a few ideas, and I knew I wanted script; I had a quote already picked out and ready to go. Then, I decided I wanted something small near my wrist. The day of the appointment, I waited for nearly forty-five minutes as the tattoo artist prepped the images and the equipment. I was a ball of nerves, and finally he was ready to begin. Of course, I took my mom with so she could hold my hand through the pain, and she fulfilled her duties.

The artist did the script first, which I got on my bicep to accentuate the muscles I don’t have yet. The entire time he was tattooing my arm, my hand was shoved underneath his man-boob, so there’s that. The script reads “A little spark gives birth to a great flame,” which is just a little piece of Dante’s Paradiso. This quote had more meaning than I’ll ever have the words to express, but in short, to me it means that the greatest beauty comes from the smallest things and moments in life. I discovered this quote at a time in my life where I was going through a lot of deep and personal turmoil, and it truly showed me a brighter path to travel down.

Instead of just getting one tattoo the first time around, I did splurge and get another. This little image is a cactus which I placed right near my wrist. Something about this little prickly plant truly captured my personality, and I love the way it looks.

Last week was more than just interesting, and I have yet to find a word that completely captures the essence of my rollercoaster of a life. While I search the Thesaurus, I’ll let my coffee do the talking for me because maybe then I’ll actually have a tame week.