Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Because Someone Wanted A Story

I can count on one hand the number of people that I have hated with such a passion that I wanted to do bad things...very bad things. The first one pissed me off unknowingly. It really wasn't her fault but I just couldn't help it. In the 5th grade I had to do a diorama of the Island of the Blue Dolphins. I was partnered with a girl in my class that I couldn't stand. She looked like a human gerbil. Her younger brother had glasses and buck teeth, and I am serious he looked like the one chipmunk with glasses and buck teeth. Ugh. Anyways back to me being even more mean. I had to play against her recreational soccer team and stare at her stupid gerbil face as she stood there with one hand on her hip. Her team would get all pissed off when they would lose. Um you just stood there. Her dad was a coach. He walked up and down the sideline like he had a potato chip wedged in his butt crack and he was bound and determined not to break that sucker. So, yeah, I was paired up with her. We start making the diorama, and I start getting really into it. We used coffee grounds as the dirt, and we needed a beach like effect, so I decided we should make homemade play-doh. For those of you that don't know how to make it, it's like one giant thing of Morton's salt and like 2 other super cheap ingredients. She let me play duck hunt while she found all the things we needed, and I started to like her at this point.We made the playdoh, and finished the diorama. I remember my Mom getting super excited at how awesome it looked to have been made by two 5th graders. Even her weird Dad was all like "So-n-so this is so NEATTTTOOOOO BURRITTOOO SKAJEEETO!" Then he went inside while so-n-so stood outside with my Mom and myself looking at our creation some more. Weird Dad comes march-a-prancing outside and comes within one inch of stabbing us. Why? Because we used all the salt! That's insane! My Mom offered to buy more. He said that wasn't the point, and that he was taking this out of her allowance. My Mom leaned over to her and said, "It's 35 cents so-n-so, your Dad is overeacting." Which made him EVEN MORE INSANE. He told her to go inside and no more duck hunt ever for her EVER!
After that day, we barely made eye contact. Until high school. My first true love, we'll call him "douche" (which is ironic since it rhymes with his real name), and I had broken up after a year of pretty awesome times. His Mom made him break up with me (I am not joking about this) for another girl in the class below us because her parents owned a carpet store and Douche's Mom was finishing her basement. This is my life luck. Anyways, before Douche actually started dating carpet girl, I saw him at the fair with so-n-so. In all my life, I have never wanted to punch someone in the face as much.

Until college but that's an entirely different story not even worth discussing. I'm over that shiznit. Not so much over gerbil face. She looked over at me smugly as they walked passed me, her arm in his. She had on red lipstick to draw away from her bottle opener of a mouth. She smiled at me and pulled him a little closer. At first I felt like all the air had been let out of my balloon. Then, I was like "awwww hellllzzzzzz no she didn't!" And this sense of power came over me. I walked up to her and offered to fight her. Not like, "Let's go B*!#% !" But, more like, "If you would care to join me grassy area where our cars are parked, I would be willing to punch you in the face." (remove hat and bow)






That happened in the summer. Then, it got to be football season, and my Mom did one of the coolest things EVER. I had been dreaming of a way to get back a douche. He broke up with me right after I had my wisdom teeth out. Like puffy bruised face, sorry Liz it's over. OH! AND he did it over the phone. I was so hurt. I needed revenge like in all the songs of the late 90's! But all the things I was thinking of were harmful to property and therefor unacceptable.

My Grandma was in town the week she did this. I remember my Mom telling me to go get ready for the football game. So, I ran off to go put on my glitter eyeshadow and purple paw print. I heard the blender running. I came out to the kitchen to smell the most horrible smell of my late teens. My Pap had died 3 years earlier, and there was still a can of sardines left in his refridgerator. She pureed those with some dish soap and put it in the dish soap bottle. She handed me the bottle and a few trash bags and some paper towels. Then she leaned in as my Grandma ran off like "I'm outta here!" She said, "Wait until half time. You will be able to leave, and come back in without a ticket in the 3rd quarter. Find his car, and make sure to get under all the door handles and the windshield." My friend and I did as told, and moved our car to a better location so we could see when douche and friends that were BAKED came out to his car. They touched the door handle, felt it, smelled their fingers, and then started gagging.






Fact: The car wash in town was broken, and he didn't carry napkins in his car. Sardine doesn't come off with windshield wipers. It only comes off with fabric.

Chad's boss the lady (ish) brings out the fury of a thousand gerbil faces and douches. I have to go be in an enclosed space with her tonight, and I am trying to decide the best way to insult her without really insulting her, but the truth is she's really really really stupid. So, I could do passive aggresive awesomeness and her barely there pulse won't even register the insult. I think I am just going to have to wait for her to say hi and just stare blankly at her for a moment and then look away or ask Chad, "Is this her?" She responsible for so many days of heartache for Chad, and my family. Once you become a Mom it's like this weird thing takes over and you unwittingly become the dog curled around her family snapping at anything that comes near. Or the weird goose that charges you when you are feeding the ducks. However due to my fear of birds, I figured I would go with the dog thing.

I want to Sardine her. She drives and electric blue low rider truck, parked at Ft Bragg. Anybody wanna help a sista out?

No comments:

Post a Comment