Nobody knew this better than my grandmother.

I recall her telling me how she spent a good 5 minutes rummaging through our packed fridge to eventually find a large block of what she assumed to be a hard, white cheddar-Perfect for a heaping bowl of homemade mac’n’cheese. She then spent another 30 minutes adding creams and spices to the bubbling mixture and had it sitting on the table for me when I got home from school.

“Here is some cheese noodles,” she said, pointing to the bowl sitting on the table. I knew it was really her way of saying that she loved me. Either way, I was excited over some mac’n'cheese after a hard day full of those intense 4th grade classes.

I ate the whole thing. No surprise there.

It wasn’t too bad, but I don’t know if I ever told Grandma that what she’d actually found in the fridge wasn’t cheese, but a pound of white chocolate brought over from Germany.

It was the WORST mac’n’cheese I’ve ever eaten in my life.

But it’s one of the few meals I’ll never forget.

The food wasn’t even that bad. It had the right consistency-warm and gooey-just…with a certain sweetness to it.

They even sell chocolate pasta now. I guess grandma was ahead of her time without even knowing it.

It helped to pretend that it was really cheese I was eating, though. I’ve now learned that closing your eyes and thinking of cheese improves most situations.

Oh wait. It gets better! What is that thing it’s attached to? A mole??! Sweet Jeezus, how have I never noticed that mound before! Well, thanks to the 2 inch long hair that was trailing out of it, I’m now fully aware of the delightful little fleck.

Whateva! Let me tell you a little something kiddies! A couple moles are actually good for you!

Moles are linked with a prolonged lifespan. People with a lot of moles tend to have chromosomes that don’t deteriorate as fast-which causes aging. So…HA! I’m going to live freaking forever!

I don’t mind turning into one of those mole covered, old farts that hobble their way to a crappy diner every Sunday. (It obviously doesn’t matter where you go, because at this point in your life, everything tastes like soggy cardboard anyway.)

Now I know why most of the really old people I come across have the occasional mole. Their mole-free senior friends obviously had the habit of dying a little earlier.

Not only that, but some moles look pretty awesome. Check out Marilyn Monroe, or Cindy Crawford. People would have PAID to suck on those celebrity moles.

Unfortunately, people weren’t always admired for their moles. Moles on the face (especially the chin, nose and upper lip) were associated with evil. Imagine a witch. Think of her big, cackling face. She had a mole on her nose didn’t she? *sigh* So predictable.

During the middle ages warts and moles were also thought to be a marker symbolizing where the devil entered the person’s soul.  I don’t know how that worked, though. If you had a ton of moles all over your body did that mean that there was a satanic party going on in there or what?

The only time I ever think of a mole as evil, is when the mole has some lengthy hairs popping out of it for the evil doers to climb up. Sort of like Rapunzel…If Rapunzel was a mole….and evil…and your face waaaaas…the tower. Yes. Just like that! 

Just pluck it! It’s fine. Nothing is going to happen.

(Some cultures, especially in Asia, would NEVER dream of doing such a thing since the hairs represent good luck. But come ON! How lucky can you be if your dates can’t concentrate on anything else? Moleeee, moleee, moleeee…) 

Moles are awesome! But I’m pretty bias now.

I know you all are super jealous of mine. (I call it “spot”)

I was PISSED. Not only was the movie HORRIBLE, but it was also one of the most expensive cinematic experiences I’ve ever had. No film is worth 250 bux. Some people are just inconsiderate butt-munchers. Ugh, I still get upset when I think about it, but instead of  imagining the glory of shoving a giant pineapple up the thief’s no-no place, I’d  rather reminisce about the almost miraculous event on the other end of the wallet loss spectrum:

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I don’t know what prompted me to bring my prescription sunglasses, wallet and cell phone on a rafting trip, but I did.  A couple of my friends decided that it would be a spectacular idea to buy a Wal-Mart inflatable raft and float on a river and I apparently thought it would be an even better idea to carry wads of cash and a phone in case I needed to call AAA or something.

We asked a clueless fisherman where the calmest part of the river was, and then proceeded to squeeze ourselves into the flimsy raft that looked more like floating yellow garbage bag. Even if we were in the calmest part of the river, it wouldn’t have mattered, because our friend Dave had no friggin idea how to row. We spun around down the river in circles and yelled at Dave who just sat between us completely bewildered: “I didn’t know rowing was this hard”. 

We knew we were in trouble when my other friend, Jesse, tried grabbing a low hanging branch (that almost lopped our heads off) to stop us. He ended up pulling the whole dead tree it was attached to into the boat. Obviously, a raft meant for nothing more than paddling around in a swimming-pool couldn’t handle the sudden change in weight and flipped over.

The entire event also caused Dave to freak out and he proceeded to scream and let go of the oars so he could hold on to the boat for dear life. We weren’t too far from the shore when this happened and managed to pull ourselves to a shallower section of the river by crawling along the fallen tree like soggy rats. Of course we ended up on the less forgiving side of the river, trapped between the rising water and thorn covered bushes. Our raft was now covered in holes, and we were all suffering from a mild case of hypothermia.

The fact that I lost my bag with all my belongings was the last thing on my mind.  We had to take turns lying on the floating remnants of the raft to get out of the water and warm up every thirty minutes or so. It was embarrassing when the same fisherman who had told us that the river was completely safe poked his head out from behind the thick underbrush on the other side of the water. What really killed us was that the other side was also covered in soft sand, and harmless trees. We could have easily made it back to our car from there. We ended up on the section blessed with raspberry bushes (no fruit, I might add) that seemed to scratch at us every other second.

In the end, the fire department cut down some bushes and threw a rope our way. It was pretty exciting to watch them scooch across the river by rope and then strap us to their vests for the ride back. This was my very first rafting experience. Did I also mention we weren’t wearing life jackets? Yes, we were some geniuses.

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Two years later I get a call from someone:

“Is this Dani?”

“Uhm, Yeah.”

“Did you happen to lose a wallet? I found one while fishing.”

“What? No…”

“Are you sure? It has your Driver’s License in it. It has your name on it and everything.”

Was this some sort of joke? Were there little tweenies on the other line about to explode with laughter at my expense? Wait…No….Holy Crap! He friggin found the wallet that rolled out of the raft over two years ago.

“Wait. Yeah, that’s mine! I lost that forever ago.”

In the end, a really nice gentlemen rolled to my apartment in his Audi and proceeded to hand me a soggy wallet covered in algae and with $200 worth of limp bills wedged inside.  Little bite marks were abundant on the cash where fish had sampled the outlandish cuisine, but I don’t  think they really developed a taste for it.

I pulled out a couple limp $20 bills and offered them to the man who was now looking at me rather oddly, but he just smiled and rushed to his car. Then I had a thought: Maybe  dumping a few wallets in the river was a good way to meet more people. Ok, maybe it was a ridiculous idea…even though it would make a DAMN good reality show.

I spent most of that money since then, but I still keep one of the original cruddy 5 dollar bills as a reminder to never buy a damn raft from Wal-Mart again, even if it did make for a good story.