Padews Away

I feel the time has come to explain the title of this blog and the reasons I chose it. When I was a little girl, I hated sleeping alone. I still do. A primary reason for getting a dog was so that he would sleep in my bed. I particularly liked to sleep with my parents. Luckily for me, they did not subscribe to the parenting that believed children should always sleep in their own beds.

When I was a toddler, we lived in a green house on Howard Drive. We lived there until I was 4. This is the first house I remember. And I have very fond memories of it. Mostly, I think, because it preceded a time when I would be introduced to the harsh realities of the world at a young age. Not long after we lived in this house, my aunt was murdered, a man in our church turned out to be molesting children, and I started going to school with children who didn’t think being a Christian was cool. These are the types of things can steal a bit of that childhood innocence. On Howard Drive, I would fall asleep in the hallway just so I could hear my parent’s voices. I would eat caramel apples while watching “Sha Na Na”. My mom would fill up the sink with soapy water and let me pretend to do dishes. I would try in vain to be the traffic cop for my brother and sister on their big wheels. (They never obeyed my commands). I would wake up early on Saturday mornings and beg them to teach me how to play Yatzee. I never knew they didn’t know how to play either. I remember rooting for Jimmy Carter to win the election because he had blond hair. Life was simple. I was a kid.

I was not the most skilled communicator as a toddler. I said “lestricity” instead of “electricity”. And I called pillows “padews”. In the mornings that I woke up in my parents bed after my father had his shower, my dad and I would play a game. It was called “Padews Away”. My dad would hold a pillow up over my face and say “Padews Away” and then drop the pillow on me. I would hold my breath while the pillow was above me and then squeal in laughter when it dropped. This memory comes with the smell of the room. A mixture of a down pillow, shower steam, and Pierre Cardin cologne. It is one of my favorite memories. One of those games that were uniquely my dad’s and mine. As a third kid, you cherish those things that are just yours and not shared with siblings.

As I started this blog on the precipice of a major life change, I was very deliberate in naming it. I wanted to recapture for my own soul that childlike wonder. The wonder that never feared my needs would not be met. The wonder that saw all things as good and safe. The wonder that can believe through trial and struggle. The wonder that should develop in adulthood to know that good things come to those that wait. Even if you feel like you have been waiting a very long time.

So, to my slow start in Nashville and the questions of why I am actually here, I hold my breath in anticipation. And wait for the laughter on the other side of the padews away.

Amanda Hugandkiss

I was at work the other night bagging groceries. My true calling. I never thought myself to be particularly spatially gifted. However comma I kick ass at bagging groceries. You have to aim high. Dream big. As Justin Bieber has taught us, never say never. I never knew that it would be possible that I could bag groceries with such ease and precision. It is kind of like in Sherlock Holmes when he sees how he will defeat his opponent before he fights him. That’s how I am with groceries. Mad skills. Mad, mad skills.

Anyway, I was bagging groceries when one of my coworkers who is a bit on the flirtatious side said “So what’s it gonna take? Dinner? Movie? Flowers?” I couldn’t figure out what he was talking about. Then he mentioned the approach of Valentine’s Day. I then realized that this was his feeble attempt at asking me out. He told me I could think about it and get back to him. Really? It sounded a bit like “What is it going to take to sleep with you?” type of question. Much more than dinner and a movie. Even throwing in flowers won’t cut it. The phrase “too much car for you” comes to mind. Me being the car, of course.

It made me think about all the terrible lines that I have heard over the years. And I have heard some doozies. Once, I was cleaning floorboards at Starbucks and a customer came in and asked “How much will it cost me to get you on your knees?” I responded with “Does calling a woman a whore usually work for you?” I also had a guy order a super sweet, lukewarm beverage. He said, “I like my coffee like me women. Really sweet and not that hot. You seem sweet.” Really, dude. You just told me that I am not that hot. There was the lovely man that followed me home from the park when I was living down by USC. He kept telling me that he had a hot tub and “I like white girls. For real.” I think it was all the English he knew. For real. I know that a man asked my sister “Has anyone ever told you that you have beautiful eyes?” She responded with “yes”. Sadly, she was not being snarky. She didn’t realize he was hitting on her. Bless her.

There is also a very long list of idiotic things men have said to be on the cusp, during, and after our relationship. But it would take a book to catalogue those. Not a long book. More like a coffee table book. “The 10 Stupidest Things Men Say to Women” kind of book.

I’ve also had some really good lines. There was a boy in Scotland that I saw three times in one day. I was walking back to the flat where we were staying when I heard running on the cobble stone streets. The boy was running after me. Rad. Doubled over and panting he said, “I just ran all that way. Please tell me you live here.” It was epic. Cutest thing. There was an Irishman who once told me he wanted to kiss my face off. I liked that one too. My favorite has to be when I was cuddling with a boy. He had his hand…well…on my ass. My fully clothed ass, let’s be clear. He kind of laughed for a second. I asked why and he said, “Well, one of the first things that attracted me to you was your intelligence. Love how smart you are. And I can’t explain why, but it’s such a turn on to have my hand on the ass of a smart girl” Perfect. Loved it.



I actually feel some compassion for men. It is hard to approach women. On the one hand, we want to be respected and seen as an intelligent, independent person, but we also want to know you think we are a hot piece of ass. It is hard to strike that balance. And I feel for guys when they try and fail. Then again, men can pee standing up and generally fall asleep anywhere. So my compassion is rather superficial.

I guess the point of this entry is rather obvious. I’m bored and lonely. And I need a man to hug and kiss. That would be lovely.