So a friend sent me a link to this blog…. Hyperbole and a Half. Allie is freaking awesome and hilarious. I’ve been manically reading all of her posts over the last few days. I’m like…stalking her…but not in a stalkerish-stalkery way. I’m just like…reading the stuff she put out there on the FREE interwebs without emailing her or even commenting. See my restraint when I have stars in my eyes? I’m impressed. Anywhoo…she’s inspired me. I love her stories about her past and thought I would share a few funny ones with you from my past.
The funny part about me being inspired was that at first I thought…I don’t have any funny shit AT ALL to write about. All I could think of was… eat breakfast while cat attacks legs, hands and feet, wash my hair while cat swings off shower curtain or bathrobe and then body slams her squid, put on 7 layers of clothes while cat hides under the bed getting ready to pounce, go to work (where it’s cat free), freeze, go home, freeze, get bitten by cat, eat dinner, go to bed while cat jumps on legs and hurls herself at my face, dream crazy dreams where my husband is cheating, get up to pee at least 3 times, rinse and repeat. That was it. And that sounds sooo boring. But that’s not ALL there is!! Let’s go into the vault…
Bread Biter Reputation
I used to work at a grocery store when I was in high school and college. I spent most of my time in the customer service “booth” with a bunch of other girls. It was pretty good times…like a downright gossipfest and/or laughfest whenever we’d work. On this particular night a woman brought some bread up to the window that she wanted to return. She said the bagger had smooshed it and she wanted a new loaf. The bread was slightly crumpled, but not too bad, but I did my job and put on a smile and said, sure thing, go pick out a new loaf of bread and I’ll put an orange sold sticker on it. (Can I just tell you that loaf is such a ridic kind of gross word. Am I wrong?? Loaf. Loaf. Well, now I’ve over thought it and it’s lost all meaning and is no longer gross….moving on) So….I figured I had some time, cause the bread aisle was on the opposite side of the store, so I turned to my work-mate and said…
Me: “Squished Bread! Smooshed bread! I’ll show you smooshed bread!” (While laughing maniacally)
And then I crushed the bread with my hands and proceeded to BITE the bread through the plastic, like a bread vampire! Bite, Bite Bite! (what the Hell was wrong with me??) Yup, I destroyed that bread, I was its master, I was bitey for once instead of my kitten.
And guess what, I forgot about the stacks of bread…right outside the booth!! The customer walked back over right as I was biting that bread and my work-mate was laughing her ass off. Of course I was mortified and quickly pasted on the nice employee smile and moved to help her and discarded the now truly smooshed, bitey bread. But you know what…it’s still a story to this day with those friends….so I think it was worth it. I will be remembered as the bread biter. And the lady…she looked mildly surprised, but she didn’t comment. Just took her bread and walked away. What would you do if you saw someone do that??? Would you complain to a manager??? Or would you be shocked? Hmmm?
Second Story of Mayhem: Palm Frond Torture
So when I was younger I liked to torment my brother. He’s younger and I thought it was my job to make his life miserable. And not only my job, but my calling, in fact…it was the true source of joy in my young life. You just can’t understand the glee I felt whenever I was harassing him. It was the BEST high ever! I’m sure that if someone had asked what I wanted to be when I grew up and I was feeling really honest, I would say…a brother torturer. Because I was so good I could have been paid millions for my creativity and innovation.
Of course my parents were on to me and knew that whenever we had a fight or my brother complained, it was likely me that had caused the problem. I would often say to them… “How do you know it was me? It wasn’t me!” and they would have that knowing look in their eyes because they were both younger children who knew what it was to be tormented endlessly by an elder sibling. And you know what? They were right 99% of the time and my brother has a flinch complex to this very day and he’s like…29 years old now and he’s married and has his own house. But his body remembers and fears me. I’m that conniving and tricksy.
So…on this particular day we went to church in the morning and it was “Palm Sunday” which is where they give out palm fronds. Mine was like 2 feet long. I can’t remember the other significance of the day. All I know is that I had this long palm frond. By the time we got home I had stripped off all the little leaves and had just a long slim stick that had a little hook toward the end.
Once we got home, my brother decided to play video games. This was probably like…uhh…maybe 1994 or something, so we most likely had a DOS computer and he was playing something like Wolfenstein or some such nonsense. (I say nonsense but Wolfenstein was actually a pretty dope game for the time. I couldn’t really play it…since I have terrible hand-eye coordination, but I’d watch my brother and dad play it and egged them on to kill the big bosses and find treasure hidden behind Nazi flags..anyway…I digress).
The computer was located in my parents bedroom on a desk in the corner and yes we had dial up. I have fond memories of those dial up sounds. Back then waiting forever for anything to happen on the computer was common place. You’d just spin around in your chair, looking at the ceiling, steepled child fingers, waiting, listening to those beep boop ugggghhh sounds. Anyway, I keep digressing. Behind the desk chair was a water bed which had a wooden frame. I sat on the edge of the bed, behind my brother while he sat at the computer trying to kill Nazis. I had that damn palm frond and I was just itching to use it to malicious intent.
Now for whatever reason this is hilarious to me…but might just be stupid to other people. But I was gleeful and thrilled and filled with tense anticipation. I took that palm front and used what hand-eye coordination I had to sit on the bed, reach out the 2 feet of the frond and bring the hooked tip as close to his ear as possible, just barely touching him. I spent time really trying to get good at this…bringing the tip of the frond in, holding it in the exact same spot and then getting closer and closer to the ear drum until he freaked out and batted it away.
This wasn’t a one time thing either. I played that game on my brother for a LONG time that day and then for subsequent days as well. You could even say that while he played video games…I was playing my own video game and I kept leveling up…I was reaching out toward greatness, achieving my personal best. And so….I tortured him…and my patience at torturing is exquisite, even though in general I have absolutely no patience. I guess it was mostly because of the glee high I was feeling and yes, I was laughing as I was doing this to him and he was truly getting pissed.
I think eventually he was able to grab it away from me and then he had a power trip complete with his own gleeful maniac smile while he ripped that thing to shreds in front of me. I, of course pouted that he ruined my fun because it was as if he took my floppy disk video game and crushed it with his bare hands. But man…the things kids can use to have a good time. All you need is a palm frond and a little brother and you’ve filled your afternoon with joy. I mean…I was literally glowing.
You might think that I scarred my brother for life by all the creative constant torture I subjected him to (I’m nothing if not creative), however you would be wrong. And it’s pretty sad for me because I tried the best I could to scar him. I used all the tricks in the book and some you’ve never heard of. I did absolutely everything an evil sister could but against all odds (Like a true movie underdog) he still came out of it more normal and successful than I am. Although, obviously he doesn’t have a blog…so there’s that.
Third Story: Me Vs. Cats
So…I like cats. I like them quite a bit, but I’ve come across several cats in my day who thought I was prey. The first was when I was around 5 years old. We had a cat that would tear around the house trying to attack me at every opportunity. I was living in fear, on the arm of the couch, screaming for my mom to help me with this swishing tailed cat bent on my murder who could run really fast and had extra sharp claws. I was being stalked and in the summer it was really scary with bare little chubby kid legs.
The second murder cat was this cat I had in college named Alex. I adopted the little punk from the shelter when he was about 6 months old. He was a runty looking little orange cat with matted fur and kitten cough. But he had sort of longish fur, so I thought he might end up being pretty damn cool, plus he came right out of the cage and wanted to be my friend…or so I thought. I brought him home to the apartment I shared with my boyfriend and I had to leave the cat alone because I had to go to work. Little did I know that as soon as my boyfriend came home they were going to start plotting against me. .
The two of them bonded right away. They were BEST friends and my cat soon decided who was the alpha male of the house and who was prey. And yup, I was prey and my boyfriend was alpha male. He never got attacked, while I got stalked and attacked on a daily basis. I wish I still had it, but at one point there was a sweet video of the cat stalking, doing acrobatics and finally attacking me by wrapping his paws around my bare legs and I was screaming and screaming. I was the hunted in my own house. And that cat didn’t hold back, he was claws and teeth all the time. I’m not sure how I lived through it, never knowing when he would be waiting around a corner to murder me. It was like living in the movie Psycho
I just got a kitten, as you may or may not remember. It occurred to me this time around that kittens are made for murder from day one. They have sharp pointy little teeth, they have razor sharp claws that they aren’t afraid to use. And they want to murder. Their whole day is spent trying to find things to murder. In my case at the moment, the murder involves toy mice, balls with bells in them, yarn, crumpled paper, cardboard boxes, hair ties, hair clips, food she finds on the floor, lettuce (? don’t ask why, I don’t know), ants, bathrobe ties, shower curtains, rugs, headphones, charger cords, blankets, tags, slippers, records and record sleeves, speaker wires, remotes, rocking chairs, stuffed toys that I made for her which include, weird red squid (which my cat loves and carries all over the house with her even though they are the same size), blue twisty snake and a few other boring toys that don’t resemble anything and as such she pretty much ignores them. But her favorite thing to murder is people. She likes to sink those little teeth into actual alive springy flesh. It probably tastes like chicken or maybe..pig? yummm..bacon.
This is me, eating my breakfast the other morning at 5:40 am in the damn morning (obvi it’s too early to be a real person yet). I’m sitting on the couch in my bathrobe, bare feet tucked up because I don’t want her to start attacking my legs or toes, trying to eat some cereal. I’m watching TV and it’s pretty dark in the house. Next thing I know, Bitey (the cat, not bread biter) is on the windowsill behind the couch. I start to get wary and tense. Then she’s on the back of the couch I’m sitting on at the far end and she’s staring at me with those little yellow devil eyes and her tail is twitching. She’s level with my face. I thought, she won’t do it. She won’t attack my face. She wouldn’t dare to hurl herself across this couch at my FACE?!! And since I didn’t believe she would do it…I truly thought, she loves me too much to do that to me, I didn’t protect myself! Afterall, I feed her punk ass! I pet her and let her knead on me! I play with her! I lay awake while she purrs too loudly and causes my husband to tell me she needs a tune up because her motor is busted.
But you know what she did? OF course, she hurled herself as FAST as she could across the couch at my FACE!!! And she scratched my nose!!!! That little.. @#$%!!! And she didn’t even have the decency to feel bad about it! After I yelled at her and said NO! Bad CAT!! She just sat there, unrepentant, in fact she looked…put out that I wouldn’t let her maul me more and her tail continued to twitch all over the place. She still had that wild murder gleam in her eyes. She ENJOYED it. And Dammit she WAS NOT SORRY!! IN fact, she vowed to do it again at the next opportunity.
I almost forgave her because she probably felt sort of like I did when torturing my brother. There’s a certain…joy to it. A…pleasurable bliss…you might even call it delight. And you know what…I recognized that defiant put out expression…I’d seen it on my own face when reprimanded by my parents for mauling my brother.
Speaking of my cat…I’m now in doubt about whether she is really a she. I just took the guy’s word for it when I adopted her at 8 weeks…but now about almost 4 months…I took a tiny peek…and I think she may be a he. Opps! She/he/devil cat may have issues now since I’ve been calling her my girl. haaa.
And thus our story telling for the day comes to an end. I feel like LeVar Burton on Reading Rainbow. “Of course…you don’t have to take MY word for it….” (I have the scars to prove it!!)