ALL HALLOWS' PEE
It is my favorite month of the year, the month that holds my birthday AND my favorite holiday, Halloween. I love, love, love Halloween more than any other holiday. Yes, even more than Christmas. It's the one night it's okay to be whatever you want, something bloody, something retarded, something unique, something other than yourself.
I've always loved Halloween. Halloween is typically a time of cold and crispy air, though it's still in the 80's right now thanks to global warming, and I'm cursing the never-ending heat in the Southeast. Growing up in the Seattle area, Halloween always involved a parka or an umbrella paired with your costume. Leaves crunched at your feet as your teeth chattered in a mix of ghost fear, and the biting cold. I loved it! My mind would drift off to the ghost stories my mother always told us from the time we were kids, and as I went from door to door trick-or-treating, I would wonder if the house we walked away from would still be there when we turned around?
My imagination is my greatest ally, and my worst enemy. I remember the walk that my friends and I would make to the rope swing in Nike Park in my late teens and early 20's. I would recall the stories of the man in the black cape who would kidnap children and stuff them in garbage cans; the legend of the dead girl's ghost that would appear at Frog Pond off the trail; the supposed genetic testing that went on at Nike Base before it was abandoned and then built over with breezy, overpriced homes; the inhuman screams that my friends would hear while partying at the park. We would grab our flashlights, absolutely sober and make the trek to swing over what seemed like a never-ending ravine, late at night. All the while my friend Erik would chant "Candyman. Candyman. Candyman." and I would start yelling, "Shut the fuck up!" out of shear terror.
I love being scared. I hate it, but I love it. I grew up entranced in the ghost stories my mother told me; the episodes of Twilight Zone and Alfred Hitchcock Presents; and the spooky stories I would sneak late at night in my bed. I always believed in the unknown, yet feared it more than reality.
I remember numerous trips to Disneyland where my family tried to get me to go in the Haunted House, only to be met with my tears of fear. I was 20 before I finally went on that ride and loved every moment of it, and it was always one of my favorite rides until one time with my brother and our friend Sean, it broke down in front of the dance scene. We sat there for at least five minutes and one announcement that they were "experiencing technical difficulties" before I announced, "If I have to walk through that fucking graveyard to get out, there's going to be a problem."
Why? Why when I know it's just a ride? Because I pee when I'm scared. Maybe I'm half skunk, spraying what I think are my predators? Maybe it's to save my life. They say that if a bear attacks you, to play dead and pee on yourself. This supposedly marks your own territory. In all actuality, I'm sure it's more because I start laughing when I'm scared and end up peeing as I do when I laugh too hard. The proof is in the pudding, or the panties. I'm notorious for peeing myself in haunted houses. There was the haunted boat where I peed on a couch we were instructed to sit on and then saw Freddy Krueger coming at me. Scream. Laugh. Piss. I wondered how wet I left the cushion for the next tour to go through? Numerous other incidents where the urine usually hit were when the chainsaw arrived. I'd be laughing out of fear the entire time, then the Jason wannabe would jump out, catch me by surprise and all energy went into my scream and forgot about holding in the bladder. A friend finally suggested I wear a pad in future haunted houses. I owed many jeans in October to that friend.
In addition to the peeing there is the oddity factor - the weird things that seem to happen every few years in a haunted attraction. The first came my Junior year of high school, where along with my friends, we bailed on Homecoming, got drunk and went to a radio station's haunted house. There we entered the doors drunk, wearing the Burger King crowns we'd just acquired. Bubba was first, I was second and the rest of our group was behind me. Some people had snuck in beer and were drinking as we walked through the dark corridors. Bubba was holding his bottle when a monster jumped out. I screamed! Bubba went up to the guy and slurred, "Hey buddy!" He put his arm around the monster. "Dude, this is awesome!"
The monster backed up. "Hey man, keep on going. You need to keep moving."
I grabbed Bubba's shoulder and steered him back to the path. We all went on a bit further when someone screamed, followed by my friend Kurt's scream and a shatter. I'm not sure what had jumped out at Kurt, but he wasn't thinking and threw his beer bottle at the ghoul. Of course then the monsters gathered and kicked us out. Kicked out of a haunted house.
The next time is by far the most bizarre thing I've encountered in a haunted house, and quite possible one of the oddest moments in life. It was one of the most disgusting and entertaining things I've ever witnessed.
I was 22. Friends and I went to the radio station's annual haunted house. This year it was on the pier on the Seattle waterfront. I was wearing my pad just in case. I had learned over the years, and I was prepared this time. What ended up happening, I was not prepared for though. It was about halfway through the haunted house when my friend Kim and I got separated from our friends. We were laughing and running as things jumped out. We passed by the various gruesome scenes set up when we came to what was a mad scientist's lab. The mad scientist cackled and screamed as he worked on a head. No one is there but Kim and I and the guy looks up. He walks towards us, laughing wickedly, opens up his lab coat and that's when we see it. The mad scientist is wearing a HUGE strap-on penis!
Kim and I stopped and screamed, "What the fuck?" and burst out laughing! We are frozen in place; shock, awe and amusement paralyzing us. Then the mad scientist reaches towards his rubber member, and squeezes the strap-on penis. I still remember the moment in slow motion. Kim and I are laughing still, when we see the stream of white liquid squirt out. I jump to the side as if dodging a bullet. Kim's jaw drops as she see she is the target. The white goo shoots at her and splatters all over her shirt.
"He jizzed on me!" She screams. "He fucking jizzed on me!"
I'm not sure how he jimmy-rigged the strap-on, but I wasn't too concerned that it was real jizz. The time it would take for that loon to jack off and then feed it into his fake penis just seemed very unlikely. Plus I recall that we sniffed it once we got out.
"HOLY SHIT!" I screamed, and was taken over by laughter once again. I grabbed Kim's hand and took off running from the goo-spewing scientist.
"He jizzed on me! He fucking jizzed on me!" she screamed as we ran through the rest of the house. The rest of the way we were pretty much left unscathed from the monsters and villains, confused at the girl screaming about jizz. And as we passed the menagerie of evil, scratching their heads, I howled with laughter and peed my pad.
I've always loved Halloween. Halloween is typically a time of cold and crispy air, though it's still in the 80's right now thanks to global warming, and I'm cursing the never-ending heat in the Southeast. Growing up in the Seattle area, Halloween always involved a parka or an umbrella paired with your costume. Leaves crunched at your feet as your teeth chattered in a mix of ghost fear, and the biting cold. I loved it! My mind would drift off to the ghost stories my mother always told us from the time we were kids, and as I went from door to door trick-or-treating, I would wonder if the house we walked away from would still be there when we turned around?
My imagination is my greatest ally, and my worst enemy. I remember the walk that my friends and I would make to the rope swing in Nike Park in my late teens and early 20's. I would recall the stories of the man in the black cape who would kidnap children and stuff them in garbage cans; the legend of the dead girl's ghost that would appear at Frog Pond off the trail; the supposed genetic testing that went on at Nike Base before it was abandoned and then built over with breezy, overpriced homes; the inhuman screams that my friends would hear while partying at the park. We would grab our flashlights, absolutely sober and make the trek to swing over what seemed like a never-ending ravine, late at night. All the while my friend Erik would chant "Candyman. Candyman. Candyman." and I would start yelling, "Shut the fuck up!" out of shear terror.
I love being scared. I hate it, but I love it. I grew up entranced in the ghost stories my mother told me; the episodes of Twilight Zone and Alfred Hitchcock Presents; and the spooky stories I would sneak late at night in my bed. I always believed in the unknown, yet feared it more than reality.
I remember numerous trips to Disneyland where my family tried to get me to go in the Haunted House, only to be met with my tears of fear. I was 20 before I finally went on that ride and loved every moment of it, and it was always one of my favorite rides until one time with my brother and our friend Sean, it broke down in front of the dance scene. We sat there for at least five minutes and one announcement that they were "experiencing technical difficulties" before I announced, "If I have to walk through that fucking graveyard to get out, there's going to be a problem."
Why? Why when I know it's just a ride? Because I pee when I'm scared. Maybe I'm half skunk, spraying what I think are my predators? Maybe it's to save my life. They say that if a bear attacks you, to play dead and pee on yourself. This supposedly marks your own territory. In all actuality, I'm sure it's more because I start laughing when I'm scared and end up peeing as I do when I laugh too hard. The proof is in the pudding, or the panties. I'm notorious for peeing myself in haunted houses. There was the haunted boat where I peed on a couch we were instructed to sit on and then saw Freddy Krueger coming at me. Scream. Laugh. Piss. I wondered how wet I left the cushion for the next tour to go through? Numerous other incidents where the urine usually hit were when the chainsaw arrived. I'd be laughing out of fear the entire time, then the Jason wannabe would jump out, catch me by surprise and all energy went into my scream and forgot about holding in the bladder. A friend finally suggested I wear a pad in future haunted houses. I owed many jeans in October to that friend.
In addition to the peeing there is the oddity factor - the weird things that seem to happen every few years in a haunted attraction. The first came my Junior year of high school, where along with my friends, we bailed on Homecoming, got drunk and went to a radio station's haunted house. There we entered the doors drunk, wearing the Burger King crowns we'd just acquired. Bubba was first, I was second and the rest of our group was behind me. Some people had snuck in beer and were drinking as we walked through the dark corridors. Bubba was holding his bottle when a monster jumped out. I screamed! Bubba went up to the guy and slurred, "Hey buddy!" He put his arm around the monster. "Dude, this is awesome!"
The monster backed up. "Hey man, keep on going. You need to keep moving."
I grabbed Bubba's shoulder and steered him back to the path. We all went on a bit further when someone screamed, followed by my friend Kurt's scream and a shatter. I'm not sure what had jumped out at Kurt, but he wasn't thinking and threw his beer bottle at the ghoul. Of course then the monsters gathered and kicked us out. Kicked out of a haunted house.
The next time is by far the most bizarre thing I've encountered in a haunted house, and quite possible one of the oddest moments in life. It was one of the most disgusting and entertaining things I've ever witnessed.
I was 22. Friends and I went to the radio station's annual haunted house. This year it was on the pier on the Seattle waterfront. I was wearing my pad just in case. I had learned over the years, and I was prepared this time. What ended up happening, I was not prepared for though. It was about halfway through the haunted house when my friend Kim and I got separated from our friends. We were laughing and running as things jumped out. We passed by the various gruesome scenes set up when we came to what was a mad scientist's lab. The mad scientist cackled and screamed as he worked on a head. No one is there but Kim and I and the guy looks up. He walks towards us, laughing wickedly, opens up his lab coat and that's when we see it. The mad scientist is wearing a HUGE strap-on penis!
Kim and I stopped and screamed, "What the fuck?" and burst out laughing! We are frozen in place; shock, awe and amusement paralyzing us. Then the mad scientist reaches towards his rubber member, and squeezes the strap-on penis. I still remember the moment in slow motion. Kim and I are laughing still, when we see the stream of white liquid squirt out. I jump to the side as if dodging a bullet. Kim's jaw drops as she see she is the target. The white goo shoots at her and splatters all over her shirt.
"He jizzed on me!" She screams. "He fucking jizzed on me!"
I'm not sure how he jimmy-rigged the strap-on, but I wasn't too concerned that it was real jizz. The time it would take for that loon to jack off and then feed it into his fake penis just seemed very unlikely. Plus I recall that we sniffed it once we got out.
"HOLY SHIT!" I screamed, and was taken over by laughter once again. I grabbed Kim's hand and took off running from the goo-spewing scientist.
"He jizzed on me! He fucking jizzed on me!" she screamed as we ran through the rest of the house. The rest of the way we were pretty much left unscathed from the monsters and villains, confused at the girl screaming about jizz. And as we passed the menagerie of evil, scratching their heads, I howled with laughter and peed my pad.
IT'S TIME TO PULL A BRITNEY
I have three friends back home that I email with consistently throughout the work day, each day. Some might think it wasteful, but I think it just proves what a whiz at multitasking, I am. These emails are often the root of my sanity, reminding me of the wonderfulness I left back home, and that despite this crazy Southern life, there is hope for a better world in my life.
On Monday, my friend April and I emailed only a few times and asked our typical "How was your weekend? What did you do?" The response I got back informed me that she had gone out with a couple of my other friends to Fremont for the evening.
"Where did you go?" I typed back.
"You don't want to know. You will be sad," April responded.
Instantly I knew! They'd gone to my favorite Fremond places - El Camino and George & Dragon. I asked as much, but didn't get a reply back until today. I didn't need one. I knew it was those two places. I pictured the many times I'd gone to these places and relished in the fried plantains with guacamole and the best mojitos I've ever had the pleasure of drinking, at El Camino. I then drifted off to my many, many nights at George & Dragon drinking Black & Tans, engaging in odd conversations with random people who'd share a picnic table on the deck with us. I can't even begin to share the tales I've heard and shared there. It's one of my favorite haunts, and I sat at my desk stewing about my current existence, missing my old one.
That night my friend Amy called...FINALLY...and I asked her, "You went to El Camino and George & Dragon, didn't you???" She said they had, but that it wasn't the same without me. I know this what my friends feel obligated to say to make me feel loved, and while I appreciate it, I'm sure it was just peachy and at most they had a night free of talk about poo, sex or a rant about some completely ridiculous situation. But I still like to think maybe it wasn't the same without me.
Today, I got April's response confirming this and I told her I'd spoken with Amy and got confirmation. We laughed about the time that April, Lynna and I had gone to the same route they had. The crazy river guide I was hanging out with, the conversations we had, the late night trip to Wendys that we ate at the Ballard Locks trying to sober up, followed by my unbearable to need to pee, which led me to a row of houses where I peed in the shadow on the sidewalk trying to avoid a late night dog walker. I miss home.
As I read April's email I felt nostalgic, and the boredom and irritation I feel here was overwhelming. Then came the her next sentence,
"We got to talking about Britney Spears and decided you need to pull a Britney. You need to go panty-less in different outfits and blog about it."
Hmmmmm. Very interesting.
On Monday, my friend April and I emailed only a few times and asked our typical "How was your weekend? What did you do?" The response I got back informed me that she had gone out with a couple of my other friends to Fremont for the evening.
"Where did you go?" I typed back.
"You don't want to know. You will be sad," April responded.
Instantly I knew! They'd gone to my favorite Fremond places - El Camino and George & Dragon. I asked as much, but didn't get a reply back until today. I didn't need one. I knew it was those two places. I pictured the many times I'd gone to these places and relished in the fried plantains with guacamole and the best mojitos I've ever had the pleasure of drinking, at El Camino. I then drifted off to my many, many nights at George & Dragon drinking Black & Tans, engaging in odd conversations with random people who'd share a picnic table on the deck with us. I can't even begin to share the tales I've heard and shared there. It's one of my favorite haunts, and I sat at my desk stewing about my current existence, missing my old one.
That night my friend Amy called...FINALLY...and I asked her, "You went to El Camino and George & Dragon, didn't you???" She said they had, but that it wasn't the same without me. I know this what my friends feel obligated to say to make me feel loved, and while I appreciate it, I'm sure it was just peachy and at most they had a night free of talk about poo, sex or a rant about some completely ridiculous situation. But I still like to think maybe it wasn't the same without me.
Today, I got April's response confirming this and I told her I'd spoken with Amy and got confirmation. We laughed about the time that April, Lynna and I had gone to the same route they had. The crazy river guide I was hanging out with, the conversations we had, the late night trip to Wendys that we ate at the Ballard Locks trying to sober up, followed by my unbearable to need to pee, which led me to a row of houses where I peed in the shadow on the sidewalk trying to avoid a late night dog walker. I miss home.
As I read April's email I felt nostalgic, and the boredom and irritation I feel here was overwhelming. Then came the her next sentence,
"We got to talking about Britney Spears and decided you need to pull a Britney. You need to go panty-less in different outfits and blog about it."
Hmmmmm. Very interesting.
YOU CAN BEAT MORE THAN PRICES AT WAL-MART
Last month on my way home from an overnight trip to Charlotte, I was listening to a local talk radio show. The topics seem to be aimed at the stereotype of "white trash" in the South. I caught the last 15 minutes of the topic, "My Biggest Redneck Moment" where I listened to a caller describe how after a big summer storm, they found the back of their oversized pickup to be full of water. The woman said she gathered up her kids, brought them outside and yelled, "Time to go swimming!" They all got their bathing suits on and played in their makeshift pool.
Confirmation that this show was aimed at trashiness came with the next topic "My DSS Moment." They encouraged callers to call in with their stories of the times they thought someone might call the Department of Social Services on them. I shook my head, slightly appalled as I listened to people calling in about smacking, spanking and "popping" (apparently a one spank, spank) their kids in public.
Now, I'm not a parent so it's easy to have certain opinions about this. I would like to think that I would never spank my child, but I also know that almost every single one of my friends has made this same statement and ends up spanking their kids at some point. I'm not exactly comfortable witnessing this, as it seems like something that should be a private moment like changing your tampon, but when I've seen it I just get quiet and don't say anything. Once again, I'm not judging because I don't know. I mean, I was spanked and I don't have any traumatic memories about spankings except for the time my principal did it when I accidentally ripped a shirt off a boy.
As I listened to the callers call in with their stories though, I heard a few stories that definitely exceeded spanking. I was getting quite bothered listening to everyone on the show laugh about what they were hearing, and was about to turn the station when I heard the following story from a caller.
The man was at a sporting goods store, apparently called Big Dick's. This of course grabs me and I decide I simply can't turn the station when they're saying "Big Dick's." The caller was a father who was there buying sneakers for his pre-teen son. His son wanted all the expensive shoes, and the father tried to get him to look at the inexpensive ones instead. This upset his son who didn't want "un-cool" sneakers. He wanted ones that were "in" and of course much pricier. The father told his son that he wasn't spending $100 on "no damned sneakers." The son then loudly states, "It's not my fault I was born into a POOR family!"
The father was pissed and grabbed his son by the neck and shook him a moment before he noticed a store employee staring at them with her mouth agape.
"What are you looking at?" he shouted at her.
She continued to stare and walked to the register, motioning to the man and his son. The man, his hand still on the back of his son's neck, then started leading his son out of the store and said, "Come on! We're going to Wal-Mart!"
The son pouted and shouted, "I don't want no Wal-Mart shoes!"
His father responded, "Oh, we're not going there for shoes! I'm taking there so I can beat you and no one will care!"
I burst out laughing. It's so true. I can't believe the shit I've seen in Wal-Mart! I used to avoid it like the plague because between how they do business and the atmosphere in there, I felt like I needed therapy every time I left. However, a new one just opened by my house and being absolutely broke I have succumbed to grocery shopping there so I can afford to eat.
On my way home tonight, I stopped there to pick up a few items. It was fairly quiet and empty, which was a nice relief. I grabbed my items and rushed to the checkout. I was paying for my stuff when I heard the shouting.
"Say HEY! SAY IT!"
I looked up and in the line across from me, a woman had her 5-year old sprawled out in her cart, bags buried on his legs. She was holding a cell phone up to his ear.
"SAY HEY DAMN IT! SAY HEYYYYYY!"
Oh my god! She's screaming at him to talk on the phone? I looked the boy with his zoned out expression, much like mine after leaving Wal-Mart. I wanted to ask her what her fucking problem was, but bit my lip.
"SAY HEYYYYYYY!!!!!" she screamed again. She then lifted her arm as if to warn him she was going to smack him, but then looked up and saw me staring at her, jaw dropped.
She lowered her arm and glared at me. I glared back, grabbed my receipt and muttered as I walked away, "It's okay. You can beat your kids in Wal-Mart."
Confirmation that this show was aimed at trashiness came with the next topic "My DSS Moment." They encouraged callers to call in with their stories of the times they thought someone might call the Department of Social Services on them. I shook my head, slightly appalled as I listened to people calling in about smacking, spanking and "popping" (apparently a one spank, spank) their kids in public.
Now, I'm not a parent so it's easy to have certain opinions about this. I would like to think that I would never spank my child, but I also know that almost every single one of my friends has made this same statement and ends up spanking their kids at some point. I'm not exactly comfortable witnessing this, as it seems like something that should be a private moment like changing your tampon, but when I've seen it I just get quiet and don't say anything. Once again, I'm not judging because I don't know. I mean, I was spanked and I don't have any traumatic memories about spankings except for the time my principal did it when I accidentally ripped a shirt off a boy.
As I listened to the callers call in with their stories though, I heard a few stories that definitely exceeded spanking. I was getting quite bothered listening to everyone on the show laugh about what they were hearing, and was about to turn the station when I heard the following story from a caller.
The man was at a sporting goods store, apparently called Big Dick's. This of course grabs me and I decide I simply can't turn the station when they're saying "Big Dick's." The caller was a father who was there buying sneakers for his pre-teen son. His son wanted all the expensive shoes, and the father tried to get him to look at the inexpensive ones instead. This upset his son who didn't want "un-cool" sneakers. He wanted ones that were "in" and of course much pricier. The father told his son that he wasn't spending $100 on "no damned sneakers." The son then loudly states, "It's not my fault I was born into a POOR family!"
The father was pissed and grabbed his son by the neck and shook him a moment before he noticed a store employee staring at them with her mouth agape.
"What are you looking at?" he shouted at her.
She continued to stare and walked to the register, motioning to the man and his son. The man, his hand still on the back of his son's neck, then started leading his son out of the store and said, "Come on! We're going to Wal-Mart!"
The son pouted and shouted, "I don't want no Wal-Mart shoes!"
His father responded, "Oh, we're not going there for shoes! I'm taking there so I can beat you and no one will care!"
I burst out laughing. It's so true. I can't believe the shit I've seen in Wal-Mart! I used to avoid it like the plague because between how they do business and the atmosphere in there, I felt like I needed therapy every time I left. However, a new one just opened by my house and being absolutely broke I have succumbed to grocery shopping there so I can afford to eat.
On my way home tonight, I stopped there to pick up a few items. It was fairly quiet and empty, which was a nice relief. I grabbed my items and rushed to the checkout. I was paying for my stuff when I heard the shouting.
"Say HEY! SAY IT!"
I looked up and in the line across from me, a woman had her 5-year old sprawled out in her cart, bags buried on his legs. She was holding a cell phone up to his ear.
"SAY HEY DAMN IT! SAY HEYYYYYY!"
Oh my god! She's screaming at him to talk on the phone? I looked the boy with his zoned out expression, much like mine after leaving Wal-Mart. I wanted to ask her what her fucking problem was, but bit my lip.
"SAY HEYYYYYYY!!!!!" she screamed again. She then lifted her arm as if to warn him she was going to smack him, but then looked up and saw me staring at her, jaw dropped.
She lowered her arm and glared at me. I glared back, grabbed my receipt and muttered as I walked away, "It's okay. You can beat your kids in Wal-Mart."
