I was born 52 minutes before my twin sister Kelly. I remember in the womb pushing her out of the way, holding her back with my feet so I could be born first. My older brother says that I’m a liar- that I couldn’t possibly remember doing that. What does he know? He’s not as smart as I am. I was stronger and smarter than Kelly. Always was, always would be. It wasn’t her fault, but I never let her forget that I was older and better than her. Then in the summer of 1992 it happened. It. My family and I were on some lame “Safari Adventure” in Springfield, Illinois. Basically, you drove around this fake jungle and got to look at some elderly lions and tigers. There might have been other animals, I don’t remember. I do remember, however, telling my brother’s friend the story of my birth where I pushed past Kelly and won the race of life. Before I had got to the part where I was smarter than her, Kelly screamed, “Oh shut up! What is your problem?” and stormed out of the car. Mother rolled down her window and yelled for Kelly to get back in. “What a dummy.” I thought. “Those security guards are going to arrest her!” Unfortunately, no security guards got to her before a lion did. We watched her get ripped apart for nearly 5 minutes before a man came with a shotgun and got the lion off her. Mom cried and cried. My brother cried. My brother’s friend cried. The security guards cried. I didn’t cry because it wasn’t my fucking fault. Survival of the fittest, bro. Survival of me.
I found an old Teen Beat magazine in my closet with Blazer Thomas Jackson on the cover. Man, whatever happened to that guy? He was so dreamy with his squinty eyes, small button nose, thin lips… wait a minute! He wasn’t dreamy at all! But he was a pretty good actor. He was on that TV show Raising Fifteen where a single father juggles work at the office, having to go on dates, and raising fifteen children. I loved that show. A lot of people must have- it ran for years. I remember that the kids kept getting older, but they never seemed to learn much. Blazer played the middle child Cody. He got to go on more dates than his dad and that caused some drama. The final episode the family was taking a bus to Six Flags and it ran off the side of the road and they just ended it without letting us know if they were okay or not! People were PISSED. I was so pissed. I’m pissed now just thinking about it. I want to run into Blazer Thomas Jackson one of these days and punch him for that final episode. I know he didn’t write it, but I don’t know who did. I don’t know who did.
Something’s been bothering me. Why is it that when it’s my husband’s week to clip the roses back, he falls ill and isn’t able to clip? I know you’re first thought was probably the same as mine: he’s pretending to be sick to get out of clipping. Well, unless all the thermometers I’ve purchased are broken, I don’t think he can fake that fever. Who gets a fever every other week? I don’t mind clipping the roses, but I wanted us to have something together and this alternating rose clipping plan seemed like a great activity to share. He always is very sorry the week he is supposed to cut the roses and can’t. Anyway, my friend Margaret suggested that my husband is sick every other week because of his cancer and AIDS. I love Margaret, but she really isn’t too bright. If it were his cancer and AIDS causing this problem, I’m pretty sure I would’ve figured that out by now. I actually laughed at her when she told me that might be the reason. I laughed and then started to sob. I then slammed my fist into the wall so hard that I made hole and injured my hand so bad I can’t trim the roses this week. Anyone available to help?
I have to wake up. It has to be like noon by now. What the hell? why are there skulls all around me! Skulls! I’m surrounded by skulls! Did I fall asleep in the backroom of a Halloween store? No, that doesn’t make sense. I’ve never been in the backroom of a Halloween store, but I doubt they just fill it with loose skulls. So what in the world? Where am I? Well, might as well scream for someone to help me. Oh, great! My mouth’s taped shut. This is really weird. Why the hell would I be in a skull room with my mouth taped up. I guess the best thing I can do now is look for a way out. Fuck! My arms and legs are tied up too. I guess that makes sense. I would’ve tore off the tape on my mouth right away if my hands were free. Well now I am in quite a situation, aren’t I? Trapped in a strange room of skulls. I have to concentrate. What happened last night? I remember going to Target to buy a fan and leaving angry because they didn’t have the fan I wanted… Oh yeah! Now we’re getting somewhere: I went to that bar down the street from the Target on Victory. Had a few drinks… ate some peanuts… angered a a Gypsy… Oh! That’s what it was, I bet. That Gypsy said she was going to get me back. Wow, that was quick. So now what? I kind of want to go to sleep some more. Maybe a way to escape will come to me in a dream. Damn it! tonight’s Friday, isn’t it? My friend Toby’s going to be on Carson Daly. He’s gonna be so pissed if I don’t make it. I guess I have only myself to blame. Me and my big mouth. Goodnight.
I’ve been taking a Spanish class at the community college. I’m doing really well and I’m super proud of my progress. I want to have Spanish conversations, but none of my friends speak Spanish as well as I do. I know there are a lot of Spanish speaking people around LA, so the other day I went looking for someone.. I went to the Arco station down the street, not for gas, but for an amigo to hablar to- (friend to talk to). When I got to the Arco, I noticed a man stading against a brick wall who looked like he probably spoke Spanish. I walked up to him and with a big smile said, “Hola, me llamo Kelsy!” He didn’t even look up. I was so bummed, but I didn’t want to give up that easy. I continued with “Mi novio es guapo.” That got his attention. I figured I convinced him of my abilities and he was ready to chat. Nope. Not at all. He just grabbed my arm and pulled me to the other side of the brick wall, knocked three times, and pulled me into the secret doorway that opened up after he knocked. We walked down a flight of stone stairs to a room filled with other Spanish men. Is this normal? We haven’t read about this in Spanish class yet if it is… The oldest of the men stood up and asked (in English) “Who is this?” And my the man who led me down there answered, “I don’t know, but she knew the secret password.” The old man then turned to me and asked my name. I answered. “Me llamo Kelsy.” He seemed satisfied enough with my answer and told me to take a seat. He handed me a cigar and we sat talking about life. It was a lot of fun, but kind of a bummer that everything was in English. Anyway, I just wanted to let you guys know that this is where I’m going to be spending my free time from now on.
Last night I walked to get some food. On my return home, a man in a pickup truck pulled over on the street by me and screamed, “Do you need a ride?! You look tired!” I sat down the food I had bought for my dinner and walked over to his driver’s side window. The man looked a little confused. I got as close to his face as I could by standing on my toes and said, “How the fuck do I look tired?” He motioned for me to move away from the door so he could open it. He then got out and reached in the bed of his truck pulling out a large suitcase. I watched him as he carried the large suitcase over to the sidewalk and moved closer when he began to open it. Inside his suitcase were four handguns (I don’t know what kinds, I’m not a gun person), a couple of ski masks, and a map. He looked at me and said, “Are you ready to do this or are you too tired?” “Man, this guy sure knows how to push my buttons” I thought. “I’m ready!” I screamed. He told me to keep it down as he zipped the suitcase back up and threw it in the back of his truck. I was so pumped at this point. He got back in the driver’s seat and asked me what I was waiting for. What was I waiting for? I was never more excited to do anything in my life. Then, walking toward the passenger’s side of the truck, I saw my food I had put down and got sad. I really wanted to eat that pizza slice I just bought. I couldn’t waste that food. I told the man in the pickup my dilemma and he let me know he understood. “Go eat that pizze slice.” he told me, a tear rolling down his cheek. “Just don’t forget about me.” “I won’t” I said, sobbing. I ran back to my house with my food without looking back. Once inside I ate my pizza slice and watched some TV. I don’t usually watch TV, but tonight was special.
in ralphs the other day
a middle aged doughy man got in front of me and said, “Stop!” then made a pretend camera out of his hands and pretended to take a picture. He then told me, “I just took a mental picture of you that I will never forget.” that’s awful. why the hell does he need a mental picture of me? that’s awful and i wanted to throw my groceries on the ground and run out of there.
i love that it’s never a young hot guy that wants to be creepy to me. always old and doughy. always.
