One of my dad’s favorite stories to tell me as a child was that we (the Collett Family) are descendants of a famous poet, a well known pirate, a pilgrim, and a president. I always rolled my eyes because even though my dad tells some outlandish stories that can only be true because he is Steve Collett, this one just always seemed a little far-fetched. It also didn’t help that he couldn’t remember any of their names, considering it was something he was so proud of. A poet, a pirate, a pilgrim and a president. I couldn’t care less unless one of them was Irish.
For as long as I can remember, I have wanted to be Irish. My friend Whitney has the most beautiful, deep, dark, red hair, and I am always jealous of the gingers that walk around with their heads gloriously aflame. But, alas, the light, strawberry tones in my mane are barely recognizable. Even my boyfriend tells me I am blonde (which I am not, bee-tee-double u). If I can’t be a red-head, I would at least settle for a super obvious last name, like an O’Malley, O’Brien, or McLaughlin… basically any of the O’s or Mc’s would do. Or maybe Doyle, or Finnegan (although, I think Jillian Finnegan sounds like a cartoon name). My good friend Laura Roland had the most beautiful maiden name – McGranaghan.
But no… I am just a frumpy, blonde, Collett.
That’s how I felt about where I came from until about 3 months ago, when I met the Collett family for a huge birthday celebration at a swanky Laguna Beach restaurant. It was the first time since my cousin Dana’s wedding in 2004 that I could remember this many of us being together, and it was the first time I was old enough to drink with everyone, as well as the first time anyone took me seriously as a young adult.
It was probably one of the most wonderful evenings I have had in my life. Not only were we all incredibly loud and obviously intoxicated, but my face hurt so bad when I left from laughing so hard, I could still feel it the next day.
I have always felt a little bit insecure about who I am. I am short, tubby and have a HUGE personality. I laugh loudly, crack inappropriate jokes, and I can be pretty damn crass. I enjoy hard alcohol in the right company and drink quickly. I’m very liberal for a Christian, and I live and love passionately, and unapologetically. These are all things I actually really enjoy about myself.
But when I spend time with my mom’s family, I always feel a little out of place. All of them are super-super religious conservative, look down on drinking, and most of them are easily irritated and quickly offended. Most of the things that come out of my mouth are considered rude, obnoxious or offensive. I spend most of our family gatherings either on edge trying to fit in, or purposefully trying to piss everyone off because I am sick of censoring myself. I always loved this group of people, but was very unsure of how I fit into the family.
On that night in June, as the Collett Family was sitting around 5 tables squished together, drinking, laughing, telling jokes and stories (some of them too outlandish to be true, but WERE in fact true) I finally realized where I am from. I finally understood where I fit in, why I am who I am.
I’m a Collett, and I couldn’t be happier, or more proud.
9.23.2010
9.21.2010
Reflection #1
At the private Christian university where I went to college, on Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings from 9:30am to 10:20am, all three thousand undergraduate students are required to sit through Chapel. Most of the time, if I could get over myself, it was actually pretty enjoyable. Occasionally, we had some really great speakers.
We were allowed 10 absences a semester, and during Chapel we were not allowed to use technology, i.e. sitting in the back row with headphones in, watching the latest episode of LOST would be frowned upon. In fact, during my senior year, the school developed a policy stating that if we were caught on our phones, computers, iPods, etc., we would lose chapel credit for that day, meaning we would need to go to one of the evening services to make up for it, or even though we sat through chapel that day, it would count as an absence.
On one particular morning, when I was feeling very unChristian and not so into worship-iness, I plopped myself down in the very back row in the corner, near an exit, and started playing Tetris on my cell phone. TWO MINUTES before chapel was supposed to commence, a chapel card monitor (students paid by the school to collect our cards at the end of chapel to prove we were there) walked right up to me, snatched my chapel card out of my hands and said, in the most irritatingly I-have-power-and-you-don't voice I have ever heard, “No chapel credit for you today,” and walked off.
Now, I am not the first person who has had problems with this particular chapel card monitor. All of my friends have experienced his terrorizing reign and often choose to go to a different chapel hall if they know which one he is going to be at. But most of them just sit in their seats and grumble, or whine about it to their friends later on.
After his bitchy remark, my mouth dropped open and I looked around in disbelief to see if anyone else had seen what just happened. At least four or five people were looking at me, their mouths just as wide. On most occasions when I was in college (and my rage wasn’t as intense as it is today) I would have just let it go. But not that day:
“Excuse me,” I said, following him down the aisle being anything but discreet. “Why am I not getting chapel credit?” I asked, with as much attitude as I could muster.
“I saw you on your phone,” he replied.
“I was checking the time,” I lied to him. “Chapel is almost over, I just wanted to see how much time was left.”
He looked at me with the most diva expression I have ever seen on a man, popped his hip to the side and said, “It’s called a watch,” and then after raising his own right arm so I could get a good look at HIS Faux-lex continued, “Maybe it’s time to invest in one.”
The rage that built up inside of me was stronger than any emotion I could ever remember feeling before. By that time, students were bursting out of doors handing their own chapel cards to him and all of the other card monitors.
It took everything inside of me not to smack all of those chapel cards out of his hands, and follow it with a nice punch right in the center of his evil eyes (seriously, he could play a villain in a James Bond movie, that’s how much I hated this guy). But instead, I took a breath and stormed off, muttering foul words under my breath.
After several years of reflection, I can honestly say that I have thought about this occasion several times and have come to the following conclusion:
That guy is still a huge douche, and I hope he continues to have no friends.
The End!
We were allowed 10 absences a semester, and during Chapel we were not allowed to use technology, i.e. sitting in the back row with headphones in, watching the latest episode of LOST would be frowned upon. In fact, during my senior year, the school developed a policy stating that if we were caught on our phones, computers, iPods, etc., we would lose chapel credit for that day, meaning we would need to go to one of the evening services to make up for it, or even though we sat through chapel that day, it would count as an absence.
On one particular morning, when I was feeling very unChristian and not so into worship-iness, I plopped myself down in the very back row in the corner, near an exit, and started playing Tetris on my cell phone. TWO MINUTES before chapel was supposed to commence, a chapel card monitor (students paid by the school to collect our cards at the end of chapel to prove we were there) walked right up to me, snatched my chapel card out of my hands and said, in the most irritatingly I-have-power-and-you-don't voice I have ever heard, “No chapel credit for you today,” and walked off.
Now, I am not the first person who has had problems with this particular chapel card monitor. All of my friends have experienced his terrorizing reign and often choose to go to a different chapel hall if they know which one he is going to be at. But most of them just sit in their seats and grumble, or whine about it to their friends later on.
After his bitchy remark, my mouth dropped open and I looked around in disbelief to see if anyone else had seen what just happened. At least four or five people were looking at me, their mouths just as wide. On most occasions when I was in college (and my rage wasn’t as intense as it is today) I would have just let it go. But not that day:
“Excuse me,” I said, following him down the aisle being anything but discreet. “Why am I not getting chapel credit?” I asked, with as much attitude as I could muster.
“I saw you on your phone,” he replied.
“I was checking the time,” I lied to him. “Chapel is almost over, I just wanted to see how much time was left.”
He looked at me with the most diva expression I have ever seen on a man, popped his hip to the side and said, “It’s called a watch,” and then after raising his own right arm so I could get a good look at HIS Faux-lex continued, “Maybe it’s time to invest in one.”
The rage that built up inside of me was stronger than any emotion I could ever remember feeling before. By that time, students were bursting out of doors handing their own chapel cards to him and all of the other card monitors.
It took everything inside of me not to smack all of those chapel cards out of his hands, and follow it with a nice punch right in the center of his evil eyes (seriously, he could play a villain in a James Bond movie, that’s how much I hated this guy). But instead, I took a breath and stormed off, muttering foul words under my breath.
After several years of reflection, I can honestly say that I have thought about this occasion several times and have come to the following conclusion:
That guy is still a huge douche, and I hope he continues to have no friends.
The End!
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