Christmas Time or When You Finally Realize You're an Adult.

Since it's practically that time of year, (It's like it comes every year or something), I figured I would talk a bit about Christmas before I told more stories about my traumatizing childhood experiences. As an only child growing, Christmas was probably the single greatest day of my entire life. I spent the entire month of November preparing myself. I would get all the catalogs as they arrived, and go through and cut out the toys and things that I wanted and glue them to a few pieces of construction paper. Placing them in order of 'Things I REALLY want' down to, "If I got this I would not be upset". And I would happily hand it over to my parents. This was so there was no confusion when they went to the store. They could easily find my presents or walk to an employee and point to it and say, "WHERE ARE ALL THESE THINGS?"

I made things simple for them.

As for Santa, I don't remember sending Santa a list of things I wanted, I always just assumed that my Parents would buy me things that they wanted to take credit for and then for those really big gifts they would just Fax Santa the list I gave them showing him what I wanted. Maybe I wrote him a few times. But I always just assumed it was the parents job to let Santa know what to get me. 

I could never sleep on Christmas Eve, ever. We spent Christmas Eve with my Dad's family. So I usually had a few presents from that side of the family to keep my company. One year I even got one of those rainbow ribbon twirly thingies, because my cousin had one....and I thought it was really cool, so my Aunt got me one. OMGIWASSOGAY

(Yup. One of those.)

But most of the time I got CD's or gift cards and the ever so popular 'Crazy Christmas Ornament' from my Aunt and Uncle, the same ones that gave me the rainbow twirly thing. I freaking love those Ornaments, they were always so odd and my parents would just shake there head, realizing slowly that I was an 'artistic' soul. How dare I.

Most years we would go out 'Christmas Caroling' which consisted of my Cousins and I running through our Grandparent's neighborhood, screaming Christmas songs at the top of our lungs. Not even knocking on peoples doors just, yelling Rudolph in the streets. And they would always point up in the sky at planes that had red lights on them, saying it was Santa, but I always think in my head, "Why is he flying so high when he has ALL THESE HOUSES to go to...and it's only like 8 o'clock...shouldn't he be finishing up England?" but I kept these ideas to myself because I feared that my cousins would SHUN THE NON-BELIEVERRRR! But I totally believed in Santa. Why would I not believe in someone so awesome that brings me the best presents every year? Who cares if they are made by slave labor! I wanted a Super Nintendo DANG IT!

So I would always rush my Parents home, along with my other Cousins who were like OMG. STOP TALKING. WHAT ARE YOU DOING. CHRISTMAS. SANTA. WE GOTTA GO. And they would turn on the radio in the car talking about how SANTA HAS BEEN SPOTTED and I would be in the back seat, vibrating like a hummingbird on crack. Wishing that we could be home NOW. My parents always tried to make the trip easier, "So did you like what you got from *insert family member here*"

"YES."

"Do you really or do you just want to be home?"

"HOW FAR AWAY ARE WE." *twitch twitch*"

So we would get home, I would rush inside and change into my Pajamas and would get out the CEREMONIAL Santa plate, which was made for me by a friend of my Mom's. I would put out the cookies and the carrots for Santa. And every year I would reach for the milk and my parents would say, "Oh Santa doesn't drink Milk, he drinks diet coke." I would think back to the TV commercials for coke with Santa and realize, oh yeah, he totally does doesn't he?

(See? Totally drinks Coke)

I would, once again, attempted to convince my parents that we should start a tradition of opening ONE present on Christmas Eve. I attempted this every single year and every year I was shot down. So lame. I would scurry upstairs in a hurry and crawl into my race car water bed (Jealous?) and wait.

...

Oh god the waiting.

Oh god WHY can't Christmas start at Midnight on Christmas Eve?! WHY DOES SANTA TAKE SO LONG. OH GOD WHY. I JUST WANT TO RIP APART EVERYTHING EVER UNDER THE TREE.

My parents had a rule about Christmas. I was not allowed to wake them up before the sun came up. So I would lay in bed and try my hardest to sleep. I would toss and turn, butterfly swarming in my stomach from all the excitement. A few times I would think I would hear Santa but I was always too scared to go down stairs. I know that if I did he wouldn't leave me any presents...right? Isn't that how it works? So I tried to sleep. Waking up in excitement and checking the clock.

2:13 am. Damn

4:29 am. Dammit!

5:06 am DAMMIT!!!

5:16 am WHYYYY

But you bet your ass AS SOON as the Sun peeked over the horizon, I was OUT OF THAT BED and THUMPING down the stairs and running into my parents room and shaking them senseless, "IT'S CHRISTMAAAAAAAAAS!!!!"

And they would always tell me to wait before I started to open the presents so they could get the camera. I would have already organized all the presents by who they were for, who they were from, their wrapping paper and size before they even sat down. They would slowly lug into the living room and I would already be tearing into my stocking. My Dad kept telling me to wait for him to make some coffee. BUT THERE IS NO TIME FOR COFFEE. THIS IS CHRISTMAS. I CANNOT WAIT ONE SECOND LONGER.

And so my Mom would give the, "Oh just let him go at it." and he would huff about it and come sit down because he wanted to watch me open presents but also wanted delicious coffee.

Christmas time for me was usually video game season. I don't know about you guys but this was the time when I got video games, I was rarely the kind of kid that got games during the rest of the year. Maybe a few here and there when my parents found some they didnt want to sell for work, but this was the big games. All three of my most favorite consoles (four if you count the giftcard to buy a Wii because my Mom was not going to waste time looking around for one), Super Nintendo, Nintendo 64 and Playstation 2 were all christmas gifts. I also received many a classics this time of year. Majora's Mask being one of my most favorite games ever was a Christmas gift that sent me into a thirteen year old panic attack.

Though, when I played it for the first time, I realized THE RIDICULOUS AMOUNT OF NIGHTMARE FUEL THE GAME INDUCED, it stayed in timeout for about 6 months until I picked up the courage to try it again.

(See that Moon? You have three days to stop it from destroying the world. Oh god why D8)

But Christmas was a good time. After my presents were ripped to shreds, I was given about an hour and a half to play or fiddle with whatever new toys I had received. Usually I took this time to play video games or introduce my newest toys to the rest in my closet, then we lugged over to Grandma's House and had glorious Christmas lunch/dinner with them and MOAR PRESENTS! Magical I say, just magical.

The day after Christmas was probably one of my favorites, to be honest. This was what I liked to call Bragging Day. In which friends would visit or vice versa and we would show off our newest swag. I think I always won, only because out of all my friends, I was the only only child. I usually had double the amount of presents, though a good majority of them were cloths and the like, I still got the good presents. Whenever I got a new gaming system, my friends usually found their way into my house with a controller in their hand.

Now that I'm older and no longer ten, I try to think back to those days of yesteryear. They are just those faded memories of childhood greed. I knew that Christmas meant family and togetherness, and for those that were religious, that whole baby Jesus thing. But can you blame me for being a selfish little dork? Christmas was the one time of year when it was almost guaranteed you would be getting some sort of present. Not to mention when your parents OUT RIGHT ASK YOU, "What do you want?" besides your Birthday, and maybe a few other holidays, depending on how your family is (I always got a few things on Easter), this is the only time they will actually GET YOU WHAT YOU WANT. Those many days of staring longingly into the clear glass walls of the Video Game case at Wal-Mart and saying I WANT THAT ONE finally was going to happen. I mean unless you asked for a Pony, which I don't know too many people that actually got Ponies, but dang it, you can dream.

Now Christmas means planning to go out of town, and for me, a track through the heart of Texas and back in only a two days time. It means, "Oh god, we still have to get a present for so-and-so" and hearing a knock at the door when a new gift arrives from someone you weren't planning on getting a gift for. Your wallet shrinking back in despair.

It means Christmas Bonuses from work, of Gift Cards for Grocery stores that do not exist within a 2 hour drive (true story :|). It's realizing how fat you are after thanksgiving and that going on a diet would be pathetic when Christmas dinner is only a few days away. It's getting gifts from distant family members that you only talk to during the holidays and having to pretend that you really like them. Christmas is a fairly difficult holiday when you grow up. Sure your parents might get you something you'd like or a boyfriend/girlfriend/spouse/lover/wife/husband/domestic partner/whatever the hell you want to call them, might spoil you with a gift or two. But Christmas is not as exciting as it once was. And that kind of sucks.

I still love the Holidays, don't get me wrong. I still hope that maybe I'll get a few things that I've been longing for. And I do love getting to see my family, even if it is for a much shorter amount of time then I would like it to be, that exciting flailing rabid boy leaves you a long time before you become 'an adult'.

Well....this got awfully depressing. I didn't mean for it to, I just wanted to show the contrast of growing up. All I really want for Christmas is time to relax. I want to be able to see everyone that I haven't seen in so long and just chill. I miss those days of piles of presents all labeled to ME but those days are gone, and that's okay. I'm fine with that. I really have everything I could possibly need. Sure I want plenty of things, but who doesn't? You get something brand new, top of the line, these days it goes out of style in minutes.

Lets end this on a happy note. How about a joke?

Why does Santa like to work in the garden?

Anyone?

Annnnyoooone?

........

................

...................................

BECAUSE HE LIKES TO HOE HOE HOE! 

Get it?

Aha

Merry Christmas Everyone and if you don't celebrate Christmas, than Happy Whatever That Is.

"Zuba Zuba"

In my last post, I mentioned briefly about my childhood experience with animals and how my Grandparents had a "Farm". When you are a small child that lives in a neighborhood close to a major city, you are not usually used to seeing goats or pigs on a daily basis. So when I would go visit my Grandma, in a smaller town further outside the city than I, and there was a 'barn' and barn yard like animals and space to run around that was still their land; It was easy to consider such a place, "a farm".

There were no crops, and like I said before, their house is probably on two or three acres of land. Nothing large enough to be considered a farm. They simply lived in the country and APPARENTLY that is what people that live in the country do; you live in the country you have a few acres of land, and maybe some animals. Crazy!


 But to five year old me, CLEARLY, this was a Farm. I told people my Grandparents had a farm. I would draw pictures of a BIG RED BARN (which they did not have, just more of a stable like building for the horses) and all sorts of barn yard animals, and for the hell of it, a silo. I didn't know what the hell a silo was, but THEY HAD ONE, DAMMIT (no they didn't). And because I had learned to draw corn, corn. Did the grow corn? Maybe a few times in my Grandma's garden, but never enough to be considered more than a garden.

(FARM)

A lot of my childhood was spent here on weekends. They lived close by and my Mom was very close to her parents, so when they would have boring conversations about people that were not me, I would either go watch movies in the GREEN room (it had green carpet. Thus: green room) or go outside and wonder around "the farm." I spent most of my time in the amazing tree fort that was built for me by the Easter Bunny one year. This was before the whole chocolate bunny incident. If he found out about that he probably wouldn't have taken the time to build me such an awesome place. I spent a lot of time talking to the animals, visiting Roxanne the horse and the feral cats that lived in the barn, Tina Turner the Goat or Oprah  the Pig.

(I! LOVE! BACOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOON!)

 I still love to walk around and look at everything in the WILD (clearly) and adventure. Even though the land behind their property has been developed and theres no creeks or forests to investigate. Even if all those animals are lone gone. But lets not talk about that. Lets go back to the time when there were random farm animals everywhere. When there was still a pig bucket and my Grandma had a second pig named Porkchop and when my grandma got....the Turkeys.

Yes. At one point in time my grandma had two lovable turkeys by the names of Bill and Hillary. I want to say that she had a third named Monica. But I could be wrong. But for hilarities sake, lets pretend that there was one named Monica. And she loved those dumb birds. Bill was an idiot who liked to strut for the ladies, who honestly could care less. Bill also had a habit of chasing my Grandpa when he would ride around on the riding lawn mower. Bill....Bill was special.

I don't remember much of Hillary and the possibly imaginary Monica, but I do remember Bill like it was yesterday. That bird hated me. And to this day, I will swear to you that he was trying to kill me. 

(OH GOD WHY DOES EVERYTHING WANT TO KILL ME.)

As I mentioned, I spent a lot of time outside. My Grandma will probably tell you I am lying and that I spent most of my time sitting in front of the television or eating. Which may be true, but this is my goddamn story Grandma, so I'm going to pretend I was an adorable outdoorsy child who was scared of bugs and dirt. So quiet Grandma! I hear you judging me.

So in my imaginary childhood, I spent a lot of time outside talking to animals and asking them important questions about life. But most of the time I just sat in the barn or garage and bothered the feral cats that did NOT want to be my friends, even though I only wanted to love them. I cannot tell you how many scratches I had from those damn inbred wild beasts (that I only wanted to cuddle).

Did I mention I wore rubber boots around their house? Because of snakes and stickers and mud. Just imagine adorable little me in shorts, a spiderman t-shirt, a mullet and rubber boats. I was the cutest kid ever. If I had a picture I would share. Lets pretend this is me being adorable: 

(BAW)


So the Turkeys were trying to kill me. Okay...Hillary and "Monica" could care less if I came near them or not. Usually they ran away when I approached and waddled over to another part of the pasture. But Bill...Bill was an evil bastard that wanted to peck me to death. He practically ruined my outdoorsy adventurous side as a child. I think he is also the main reason why Turkey is one of my favorite meats. I would be minding my own business, going to visit Tina Turner and Roxanne, and would be assaulted by the little bastard.

(IMMA GET YA)


He always puffed up and started to gobble at me, then he would wobble toward me rather quickly, in a terrifying and offensive fashion, running me back to my grandma's house in sheer terror.


And I would cry. As I did with most situations as a child. And what did my family do? Usually they just laughed at me. Or they would chase Bill back, because apparently he was actually a giant wimp and feared everyone else, except for me. I hated that damn turkey. And anytime Thanksgiving was brought up, I always delighted at the idea of murdering Bill and eating him for dinner. My Grandma was appalled, she loved that damn turkey so much.


After my family had their fill of watching me being tormented by Bill the Turkey, my Grandma decided to pass down an old Chinese secret of hers. See, my Grandma spent a good portion of her younger life traveling across the country, since her Father was in the military. During this time, when she was a child, they lived in China for a year (The year before China became communist. They were on the last boat out of the country with the Nuns and missionaries). During that time she saw probably the worst side of China. The hungry, the poor, people dying on the streets. So she spent a lot of time being accosted by beggars, children asking for money or food. So she learned from (maybe one of the maids...or her Dad...i dont know) something called 'Zuba Zuba'. Basically what she would do was carry around a rather large stick, and when the begger children would come she would wave the stick in front of them and shout "ZUBA ZUBA!" and the children would scatter. I assume this was some sort of superstitious, or maybe it means "I will eat you" or something. Who knows. Hell, my grandma may have been lying about all of it just to make me feel better.


But next thing I know, my Grandma tells me this story, hands me a large stick, and tells me that if Bill bothers me again, to shake the stick at him and yell Zuba Zuba! This will scare him and he will leave me alone.


So poor little old me puts on my rubber boots and my 'magic stick' to go outside and play. I head over to where the barn is and there is Bill. He starts to puff up and gobble and slowly walk toward me. So I pick up my stick and shake it and yell.


Zuba zuba!!!

(This is exactly how he looked)


Zuba...zuba!

Zuba zuba D8

Zuba....Grandmaaaaaa DDDD8

And then he chased me up a tree into my treehouse. Where I stayed, for what felt like hours, as he tried to jump up kill me. My family finally heard (or, again, had enough entertainment of me being tormented) and my Grandma came out and kicked him and he ran off in a panic. 


I got down from my tree house, traumatized forever, and my Grandma asked me what happened. I told her that her STUPID Zuba Zuba trick didn't work. And she sort of laughed and mentioned, "You were suppose to HIT him with the stick."


....


WELL HOW WAS I SUPPOSE TO KNOW THAT?! YOUR ANCIENT CHINESE MAGIC WAS SUPPOSE TO PROTECT ME FROM THIS EVIL CREATURE, WOMAN :|


So it's pretty safe to say from that day forward I sort of stopped going outside at my Grandma's. I think this was the time when I realized how to use the VHS player by myself and I think I may have also learned how to hook up video game systems, too. I didn't go outside much until after Bill vanished...or died. It's a shame we never ate him. To this day I still hate Turkeys. Thanks for the Complex!




Zuba zuba!

Silverfish and How They Want to Eat My Brain.

This:

(OH SWEET MOTHER OF GOD)

Is a Silverfish.

A Silverfish, by the first website I googled (Wikipedia, w00t), "are small, wingless insects in the order Thysanura. Its common name derives from the animal's silvery light grey and blue colour, combined with the fish-like appearance of its movements, while the scientific name indicates the silverfish's diet of carbohydrates such as sugar or starches."  Oh wonderful. 

Let me share a little story to you about why I hate Silverfish and why they should die a terrible horrible death (preferably by Cat or plunger).

When I was a Kid, I was freaking adorable. Let me show you.

(Yup, nothing has changed... besides that ROCKING MULLET.)

Yeah, freaking adorable, right? Well at this age, I was a freaking nerd. Not like I'm one now or anything. But when I was a kid I loved science and space and animals and practically anything that had to do with nature. I spent most of my days in giant books that my parents got me about sea mammals and these small binders that you could get monthly pages about different animals and where they were from. Now you have to understand, my parents ran their own business. In which they would buy estate sales or warehouses or auctions and then resell them at flea markets or on eBay. My Mom once sold a 8track player to the props lady for That 70's Show. Every time we saw it we would just laugh.

 (IT'S THERE & YOU KNOW IT. I'M NOT A LIAR :|)

When I was a kid most of my presents or toys were things they would fine in warehouses in boxes full of action figures and that sort of thing. So most of the books I got (including that little binder full of animal information) were from those sort of deals. Toys kids had forgotten about, that I was now allowed to amuse myself with forever and always. 

Don't get me wrong, my parent's did just give me broken power rangers and books that were missing pages. I was an only child growing up, so I was spoiled all to hell. But I also got my pick of the toys that my parents couldn't sell. Hooray! Like this little number:

(Hell to the yeah, Bruno! I used to drag this thing around for hours.)

I don't want to pretend that I was the master of Animals as a kid. I couldn't point to a Dog and tell you it's scientific name, or tell you what kind of diet a cricket should be on, but I knew a decent amount of common animals. Not to mention my Grandma had a FARM. Okay. It wasn't really a farm. She has like 2 acres of land and she had a lot of sterotypical barn yard animals. Like a Horse, cats, dogs, turkeys, chickens, a Pig named Oprah and a Goat named Tina Turner. I kid you not.

(baaaaah)


So I was pretty knowledgeable on animals growing up. I would see things and know what it was. I even know a lot about things I had never seen before. Hell I loved the zoo! I even knew about those kind of animals. But I was never really into bugs. Bugs freaked me out. I think its because of how freaky they look. Most people would agree, but there are plenty of people (like my boyfriend) who would disagree. Bugs are just...weird. They stare at you with their one thousand eyes and their extra limbs. Looking at you like, "What. You wanna mess with me? I will bite you with my VENOM" Yeah, poison. Why do little things like that get so much of it. I wish I had venom, bite the next person that cuts in front of my at the grocery store.


So I was a dork, none the less, and I spent a good amount of my time reading about animals...but mostly I played video games. But that is beside the point. So lets move onto the Bathroom, where this incident takes places.


When I was about eight years old, I flushed a chocolate bunny down the toilet. Yes, an entire chocolate bunny. It was a dare by my childhood friend Clifford (who is now a pot head that goes by the name 'Cliff'). I had received the present from my neighbors, an awesome elderly couple who was called Mrs. Perry and Mr. Appletree (because he told us he was Johnny Appleseed...and we believed him...because we were eight...), for Easter one year.  I was never really into candy as a child. I was weird. I would have much rather had a giant pile of fruit and veggies then a lot of chocolate and sugar. I don't know why. When I got older my parents stopped buying my candy for holidays and juts gave me some Reeses and Pringals. I'm a freak, but for some reason, this giant glorious beast of a chocolate did not appeal to me in the least.

(Why you hate me D8)


When I mentioned to him that I didn't want to eat said brick of holiday deliciousness, he dared me to flush it down the John. So, because I was a timid child who was easily peer pressured into situations, I did it. But first, because I was an intelligent peer pressured child, I realized that this rather large rabbit was not going to go down easily. So I ripped him up, piece by piece, and flushed him away. Clearly, if my poop was this size, the bunny would go away easily. And I didn't have to be embarrassed about not eating this lovely gift from my neighbors.


So flush by flush, the bunny went away. Until finally, we got to the last piece, his rather large bunny feet. And in the last moment of idiotic empowerment, I assumed "Yeah, this will totally all go down." and it didn't. And the toilet, angry with his bowels full of masticated chocolate bunny, spilled out its water in a fit of fury, rage, and indigestion. Luckily, it did not over flow. It simply reached the brim of the toilet and sat there. Staring at us. 


At eight years old, I had yet to produce the poo that would be considered 'unflushable'. I had never had to use a plunger before, sure I had flushed too much toliet paper before, and simply bellowed for my parents. But I couldn't here. Not now! Not when the evidence of my Bunny MURDER was causing this. I didn't even know how the damn plunger even worked. So we shut the lid and left the bathroom. I was too scared to tell my parents. Because at that moment I realized what a dumb idea it was. I had already been yelled at in the past for flushing a piece of string down the toilet, the spool on my fingers, watching it unravel with every flush. I didn't know what kinds of things people did in bathrooms, but I always knew that spending too much time in the bathroom or doing something on the toilet was a BAD thing. Television told me that, "Little Johnny's been spending TOO MUCH TIME IN THE BATHROOM *wink wink nudge nudge*." Clearly if we spent too much time in here, we would get in trouble. I assumed that maybe I had angered some toilet God that was going to punish me, via my Mother. I had no clue what would happen to me. I was a naive little kid.


So I abandoned the upstairs bathroom. I stopped taking baths in my bathroom and announced that I was now old enough to shower! My parents were so proud! So I started to use their shower. Pretending to be completely oblivious that my bathtub also came with a shower.


My parents bathroom seemed to be magical. My Mom was not a 'fancy lady' not by any means. She had perfume and make up and fancy shampoos and soaps (by my standards, now a days I realize how cheap my parents really were). So when I took showers it was kind of a magical experience. They had loofahs and brush on long sticks for your backs. Magic stones that made your feet soft, scrubbers for your arms that ex-foliated your skin. I had at least 5 different shampoos to choose from, and three different conditioners. Body wash a plenty and all the different soaps I could dream of! Not to mention my Mom rarely used those 'last minute bath box' Christmas gifts. So I always used whatever fancy products came in there. Not to mention she had a luscious green shower curtain with tassels and it felt like a cave, free from the dangers of the world outside.

(Doesn't that just LOOK amazing???)


This went on for a fairly long time. I would say at least two years, maybe more. My memory isn't very good. Anyway, my Mom started to work a little bit more out of our house, using the computer and our AWESOME AOL 6.0. Usually she only spent a good hour or two upstairs working, and then went back downstairs to do other things. So she never used my bathroom. My SUPER SECRET DARK SECRET was still a secret. I never used my bathroom, ever. I avoided it at all costs. I even kept my toothbrush downstairs in my parents bathroom. And yet they never caught on to my shenanigans...Until that one day. My Dad was out of town on a hunting trip and my Mom used my bathroom upstairs. I heard her scream and then I saw water rushing under the door. She came rushing out and told me she was going to get  the plunger. But it would not stop. Water was spilling into the tiny square of carpet we called a hallway between my room, my parent's office and the bathroom. She managed to get the water to stop and we cleaned up as much as we could. And then she went downstairs to call a plumber. 


Instantly she turned to me, raising an eyebrow. Asking me if I had done anything recently to the toilet. I panicked. Oh god she knew. My hands were sweating and my eyes darted back and forth. The memories of the Chocolate Bunny swirling around in my head.

(Note: Obz Asian Bunnies are Obz, but most evil thing I could find that WOULD NOT INVOKE NIGHTMARES [clicking on that link may give you NIGHTMARES FOREVER AND ALWAYS.])


 Finally, it sprung from my mouth faster than I had ever spoken before, "AFEWYEARSAGOCLIFFORDANDIFLUSHEDACHOCOLATEBUNNYDOWNTHETOLIETBECAUSEIDIDNTWANTITBECAUSEITHOUGHTTHEPERRYSWOULDFINDOUTTHATIDIDNTWANTTHEBUNNY *breath* ANDITWASSTUPIDANDHEDAREDMETOSOIDIDITANDTHATSWHYIHAVENTUSEDTHATBATHROOMINSOLONGBECAUSEIWASSCAREDITWOULDDOWHATITDIDIMSORRRRYYYYYY!"
And then I cried. For probably ten minutes. My Mom called a plumber and I kept calling myself stupid. She finally calmed me down (after I banged my head on the floor, I think she realized I was JUST A LITTLE upset). She told me I was stupid, but she loved me, and that I shouldn't do stupid things like that, and if I didn't want the bunny then I should have given it to my Dad.


Duh. Why didn't I think of that? Stupid. After that there was a phone call to my Dad in which she used that tone, "YOUR SON!" in which she meant, "THAT THING WHICH IS PARTIAL MADE UP OF YOU, YOU IDIOT."


Anywho, overly long story short, the toilet was fixed and all returned to normal. My parents told me to stop using their bathroom and to start using my own. It was like the end of an era. I was an adult now (not at all). I had to use my own bathroom?! THE HORROR! 


The first time was a truly awful experience. My parents bathroom was full of life, time, seashells and royal blue wallpaper. It was full of brilliant shampoos and hygienic products I will not pretend to understand. 

(What's that for...?)


My bathroom was...strange. My Mom tried to freshen it up with a new shower curtain, a clear plastic one with fish on it. And a new soft rug. She even gave me an old wicker basket that I filled with my collection of Calvin and Hobbes comics. I won't pretend like I wasn't impressed with how many I had collected over the years...but something about my bathroom seemed...wrong. Almost mismatched. She hung an old 'Cowboy Rack' in it, that used to hang in my room. I used it told hold jewelry and belts and the like. But my bathroom didn't have that same personality as theirs. It seemed so force. The medicine cabinet still held items from when I was a freaking baby. It was just...weird. 


The first shower was horrible. I asked for a towel before and my Dad handed me a normal sized faded maroon number and a ratty old faded mint colored wash cloth. Reminding me to wash my face (which I still don't do to this day). A washcloth? A washcloth...didn't we use that to clean up spilled drinks and the like? It looked more like something that should be used in the garage than something I should use to clean my body....I didn't understand. My parents gifted me with plenty of their older towels, ones that they probably received as Gifts from their Justice of the Peace wedding ceremony. 


The water was cold, I couldn't figure out how to work the knob that controlled the pressure and heat of the water. Someone with a sense of humor switched the 'hot' and 'cold' markers, respectively , something I found much to common with homes I visited in my childhood. Not as common anymore. My parents bought me the cheapest and largest shampoo they could and a bar of soap that left a weird film on my skin. I missed the squishy loofahs and exfoliant pads. I even asked my Mom for some, and she sort of sighed and got them for me. Honestly, at that point you'd think you would catch on that your son was maybe a little gay. What kid asks for exfoliants?


Afterwards I felt...dirty. Like when your Doctor breaths on you funny or when you do something really embarrassing and you can't seem to get it out of your head. My parents didn't seem to think it was that big of a deal. But to the young Me, it was a traumatic experience. "This is what growing up is like." I thought to myself. Yes. It sure is little me. Awkward showers are the perfect metaphor for life. 

(The water drops are like society ripping away at my innocents!)


This went on for some time. I started to get over my odd fear of the upstairs bathroom. I even started to Poop in it (in the toilet...not the shower. Clearly I needed to clarify this). After a few weeks (and probably incessant nagging by me) I got my very own loofahs and body wash and I managed to get my own collection of varying shampoos and conditioners. I even, at one point, had a special shampoo to keep my hair from turning green during the summer from swimming too much. Hooray! All was at peace.


But then they showed up.

(NO. FUCK YOU, YOU EVIL CREATURE FROM HELLLLL.)


I was having a good time in my shower. Nothing awkward, nothing terrible. I was simply minding my own business, shampooing my hair when I saw it. A small wiggly creature was crawling on the wall coming right for me.    Let's flash back to what I was saying earlier. I knew a lot about animals but very little about bugs. I knew all about spiders and mosquitoes and bees. I even knew a fair share about roaches, beetles  and ladybugs and ants and maybe a little bit about the elusive Praying Mantis. But this little fucker. I knew nothing about him. All I knew was some horrifying small creature of DEATH was coming for me.


He was wiggling along the walls of the bathroom and as soon as I had seen him, he crawled into the small crack of the shower head and was gone. I was sitting there thinking to myself WTFWASTHAT. Of course, I did not ask anyone, because it was gone. I didn't want to seem like a crazy person. So I ignored this creature, at least I tried. Until I came to a simple realization.


At this point in time I was old enough to have seen recently released to VHS (oh snap!) The Matrix. My friends convinced my Mom that I was old enough to watch it. It wasn't that bad. My Mom finally cracked and let me watch my first Rated R movie by myself without her there. And I am here to tell you:


That movie fucked me up.


I spent nights wondering things like, 'OH GOD I'M IN A FREAKY GOO TUB AND THE WORLD IS REALLY FILLED WITH EVIL ROBOTS'. It messed me up almost as bad as Signs did (So many glasses of water around my bed...) But the worst part was that I saw that Silverfish probably 3 months before I saw this movie. So now I was convinced that this THING in my shower was the Robot Worm from The Matrix

(OH GOD GET OUT OF MY BELLYBUTTON D8)


I already had a fear of things going into my bellybutton, brought on upon by my mother who also had an irrational fear of playing with her bellybutton. I later found out that my Grandma told her as a child, when she would not stop playing with her own Bellybutton, that if she played with it anymore, she would pop like balloon, and fly around the room and that her body would deflate and she would have to live like that forever and ever. My Mom did not take this very well, and assumed this was TRUFAX for most of her younger life, leaving her to scream at me and place this irrational fear onto myself. 


Remember when that commercial came out for those Jeans, where the bellybuttons sang "I'm Coming Out." My Mom almost threw up every time it came on TV. It was hilarious.


So now there are robotic bugs living in my walls. I spent a good three months not knowing wtf a Silverfish was. I assumed it was just a robot that wanted to burrow inside of me. Totally a rational fear, yes? That was, until one day, I saw one on our living room wall. My Dog, also noticed said bug, and she did not take kindly to intruders in HER house. So she went over to the wall, and licked it up. Eating the poor Robot Worm whole. I squirmed with fear that my dog was now digesting the robotic creature, until my Mom walked in and asked me what she was eating. 


I wasn't quiet sure how to explain what it was to my Mom. So I told it, "A ROBOT WORM WITH LEGS!" she sort of stared at me like, "Wtf is wrong with this kid." until she realized what I meant and she said.


"Oh, an Earwig."


What.


"Yeah, an earwig. You've never seen them before?" I nodded, a little nervous. Yes. Maybe I had seen this 'Earwig'. So I asked, "Why are they called an earwig."


"Because they climb into your ears and suck at your brains." she said with a straight face, and walked away.


...




................




D8




DDDDDDDD8

OH GOD WHAT?! THESE LITTLE BASTARD CRAWL INTO MY EARS AND EAT MY BRAINS?! THEY ARE ZOMBIE BUGS?! WHY WAS I NOT INFORMED OF THIS?! I NEED TO WEAR PROTECTIVE EAR WEAR WHEN I AM SLEEPING. I HAVE BEEN SEEING THESE BASTARDS FOR MONTHS. OH GOD WHYYYYYY.


So. I spent a good...year believing this. Everytime I would see one, I would immedietly panic and find something to kill it with. That or I would stand paralized with my own fear as it wiggled happily across my bathtub and into the cracks behind my faucets or down the drains. 


I'm not going to lie, I was probably the most gullible kid I have ever met. I believed anything and everything my friends told me. Namely, Ashley. She knew that I was gullible as hell and she had PLENTY of games in which she tricked me into believing the most ridiculous stories and schemes known to man. I'm still fairly gullible now. But not as bad as when I was a kid and ACTUALLY THOUGHT Silverfish would actually crawl into my ears and eat my brains.


I learned later, obviously, that they are not trying to eat my brains. But to this day I still freak out when I see the little fuckers. They are ALWAYS in the god damn shower too, the safest place you could be. They always sneak up on my while I'm having a good time bathing and washing my hair. Then I turn around. AND ITS JUST LOOKING AT ME.

(WHYYYYYYYYY???)


I bring up Silverfish now because my Boyfriend was in bed a few nights ago and told me there was a bug on him. He is severely allergic to practically every bug in the known universe. To the point where if he is stung by a Bee, if not brought to a hospital ASAP, he might die. So much, in fact, that after a trip to visit his family, he was bitten by mosquitoes on his legs. His legs were swollen for about a week and a half. He was in so much pain every single night. Its sad. SO! When I hear "I think there is a bug on me" I sort of go into panic because OH GOD HE IS GOING TO DIE. So he ran into my office area outside our bedroom and showed me where said bug was. And guess what it was....

(*cries forever*)


The little fucker abandoned ship and dove onto my leg, in which I went into a 5 year old girl hissy fit of "KILL IT". Then it jumped off my leg and onto the floor, in which we have fairly high carpet and my office light hits my desk in such a way, where no light hits the ground. So I don't know where it went.


....nnnnn




So what do I do? I go over to my couch and pick up my Cat, who has been brave enough to kill Bathtub Silverfish in the past. I placed him on the floor where the little monster might be and screamed KILL IT! To which he looked up at me and meowed, walking away in insult that I did not pick him up for pets.




.....hhhhnnnnngggg




I still don't know where the little guy is. But if I seem him, he shall meet his end with the cover of a fairly HEAVY book. Or a show. Or if I have a hungry enough Cat...a Cat.