That Time I Ditched School in 7th Grade

It was 1985 and the fun was just beginning for me. And for those of you who are sensitive to the word fuck, I suggest you leave.

I was starting 7th grade in a new public school after going to the same private school for six years. By this time I was somewhat jaded from being reprimanded all the time for being me and I apparently made an unconscious decision to rebel against the man (my mom). I wasn’t a bad kid, I just wasn’t big on conforming. I wanted to do things the way I wanted to do them. I mean, the way I do things is the best way after all.

I met the perfect partner in crime on my very first day at my new school and it turns out that she was the catalyst that led me to my teenage roguery. I’ll call her B for the sake of keeping her anonymity just in case you ever run into her on the street and recognize her, because apparently that happens, otherwise people wouldn’t have to change the names of people they write about.

Anyway, it was like meeting a soul mate. We met in 7th period science class. Within the first five minutes we were censured for talking and laughing while Mrs. Drowns was introducing herself and bullet pointing the rules of the classroom on the chalkboard. I’m pretty sure the first rule was NO TALKING DURING CLASS!

As we got to know each other for the next 45 minutes we discovered we had a lot in common but there was one thing we did not have in common and that was that B actually liked breaking rules and I did not. Not blatantly. If I broke a rule it was because I had no idea that it was a rule or because I truly believed that it shouldn’t be a rule and I figured I wouldn’t get in trouble for breaking that particular rule because I really believed in my heart that it SHOULD NOT be a rule. Therefore, I will not get in trouble. I have no idea why nobody else ever saw it that way.

So the first time B suggested doing something that was clearly a no-no in my book of rules, I was hesitant, but luckily for my low self-esteem and need for approval and acceptance, I went along with her plan to ditch school.

I walked to B’s house in the morning so we could finish doing our hair and make up, like we did everyday before school. I had my bright red McGregor duffel bag with all my books and daily survival tools that any 12-year-old girl might need to get through a day of junior high.

When we finished getting ready we went into the living room to say our usual good byes to her mom, brother and sister who were surrounded by a haze of pot smoke. I was like a skittish Chihuahua because I thought they somehow knew what we were planning. Luckily, we were able to make it out the door without being made.

I threw my big red duffel bag over my shoulders like a backpack and we walked toward the Pond, which was about 12 blocks from her house and in the opposite direction of school. Now let me tell you, I. was. scared. Constantly peeking around corners, running between houses and rolling on the ground like a ninja so we wouldn’t be spotted by our school mates that were actually on their way to school.

What was B doing you ask? Laughing at me.

I was completely worn out by the time we made it to the Pond and I slowed down the pace and spotted something on the ground:

Me: Hey, look at that raggedy ass dirty doll on the ground. I hate dolls. I think I’ll put it in my big red bag so I can remember this moment always.

B: You’re fucking stupid.

Across from the Pond was a cornfield, which was our first destination goal. What was the second destination goal? I dunno. We figured it would be safe in the cornfield because we would be off the street and no one would see us. I’m sure you must know how safe cornfields are and just in case you don’t know, cornfields ARE SAFE. Don’t let those stupid movies corrupt your mind like that. Seriously.

The walk to the cornfield felt endless because I was utterly paranoid of being caught. I kept looking behind me to make sure the cops weren’t patrolling the streets looking for us. You never know, they could have had an APB out on us by now. B kept laughing at me as if I had instantaneously become unhinged. And I may have. Who knows.

We finally made it. We crossed the two-lane road and barreled into the cornfield. Well, I barreled, B walked while laughing and shaking her head.

Then, there it was! A fucking cop car at the stop sign.

Me: Shit B! There’s a cop over there! (I ran faster into the depths of the cornfield)

B: Where?

Me: Over there! Just fucking run!

B: Oh yeah, because he might have missed the huge bright red fucking bag strapped to your back you dork.

B was still laughing but started running behind me. She had such a great sense of humor. I, on the other hand did not see the humor in any of this and I was quite appalled at the fact that she found it funny that we were about to go to prison for fifty hundred years for not being in school!

Me: They’re gonna get the dogs after us, you better run faster fucker!

B: (Laughing hysterically now at how absolutely ridiculous I was being) They aren’t going to get dogs after us you fucking retard!

(Yes. We swore this much. Still do. But if you do it while holding a glass of wine, most people don’t even notice).

I squatted down and hid behind a tree. (Yes, there was a tree in this cornfield. Get a grip and stop being so judgey). B was laughing so hard at my terror and big red duffel bag that she stopped running, laid down in the corn and convulsed like she was having an epileptic seizure.

Me: Will you shut up! He’s going to hear you asshole.

B: Yeah, because he might not see your big red bag sticking out from behind the tree.

Then we heard it, “come out of there with your hands in the air. I can see you, so just come out and don’t make this harder than it has to be.”

Is he fucking serious?! Come out with our hands in the air?

I immediately stepped out from behind the tree with my hands in the air, tears in my eyes and that stupid, fucking big red bag stuck to my back.

Me: I’m coming out!

B: (Whispering loudly) What are you doing dumb ass? Put your hands down and let’s run. He’s not going to get us in here.

Me: No way, I’m not gonna be shot at!

B: He’s not going to shoot us, we’re kids!

Me: Fuck you! He doesn’t know that. He probably thinks we’re bank robbers or something! I’m going out there.

B: Stop! Don’t go out there!

Cop: Let’s move it!

Me: I’m coming out I said!

I finally made it to the street where the cop was standing with his hand firmly planted on his holster.

Cop: Step over here young lady.

B took a little longer to come out but she finally did, and not with her hands in the air either.

He asked us what we were doing and why we weren’t in school. Of course I just spilled the truth along with a bit of my breakfast. B never said a word. She had more experience with this stuff than I did. We’ll get to that some other time.

The school was called, our parents were called and we were driven to school in a police car and escorted into the principal’s office. I was completely humiliated but relieved that it was over.

B: You and that stupid fucking bag.

Me: Shut up about the fucking bag already. What do you think is going to happen to us?

B: Nothing. Detention.

We talked with the principal and we were given three detentions. But the worst wasn’t over. I still had to deal with my mother and her new husband. If you want a glimpse of what that’s like read this.

Over and out.

Poop Doody

I CANNOT believe the nerve of some people.

Every spring my husband and I switch off for poop duty, kind of like claiming your kids on your tax return every other year with your ex husband, except when picking up poop I don’t get money in 10 to 14 days.

So, it turns out it has been nice enough all week so that I can finally pick up the poop that has accumulated in my back yard.  Hey-o!

I DO NOT pick up poop in the winter. Not only because I LOATHE the cold and wish it would fuck off but also because there’s usually five feet of snow at all times from November to April around here. And when the poop hits the snow, the heat just makes it sink right to the bottom. Disgusting, I know, but I wanted to give you that visual. You’re welcome.

Anyway, it’s 50 degrees and all the snow is melted so I put on my picking-up-poop gear which consists of picking-up-poop shoes, my sheer white picking-up-poop dress, slapping on an abundance of make up and making sure that my long dark luscious locks are perfectly in place. I double wrap my hand in Jewel bags, grab an extra bag for poop disposal and a glass of wine. (It was really a six-pack but when picking up poop, elegance is key just so you know.)  There. I’m ready for poop doody.

I swung open the back door and forged into the battle field as if George Washington himself were there cheering me on. I couldn’t believe how much shit was scattered on my lawn. There was shit galore. I found a beginning spot, put down the bag, bent over and scooped.

As I was dropping the muffins into the bag, I would see another pile out of my peripheral vision. I would pivot my foot and turn without standing up. This went on until the area I could reach without moving the bag was entirely poop free. I would stand and scope out my next site, which was only two steps away. This process went on for about an hour.  There was poop everywhere I looked! It seemed to go on for miles. I would tip toe around the yard walking slowly and quietly, with my infra-poop goggles, so I could do a sneak attack on any left over doggie muffins in the yard.

At one point I had to go get a 13 gallon garbage bag and put it inside of another 13 gallon garbage bag. Heavy shit.

When the task finally ended I had to carry it to the big garbage can in the front of the house. Now I have to tell you, I’m just about five foot four and the can is level with my chest, so lifting a ninety-seven pound bag of dog shit into this thing without a big scene would be quite the art form.

But I’m sorry to tell you the form I took was not art by any means. I lifted the lid and had to give it a push so it would flip to the back of the can and as I did this my body leaned forward just enough to tip the can in the direction the lid was going. Can you guess what happened next?

Yes, the can kept going and I went with it. It never occurred to me to let go of the bag of shit! I held onto it as if it were my newborn baby that I wasn’t going to allow to get hurt in the fall. Luckily I held on tight enough that it didn’t open and spill everywhere, as any good mother would do. The lack of judgment and tipsiness may have been a result of the six pack wine but I dunno. Just sayin’. I’m still a good mother! Shut the fuck up.

Sooo, I rolled off the garbage can, stood up and looked around to see if there were any witnesses to my shenanigans. There were not. Phew.

Needless to say, my yard is now poop free and no major injuries were incurred.

Mission accomplished. Thanks for stopping by.

 

~Find the Funny Today

What’s In Your Mouth?!

Apparently I was a troublemaker from the beginning. It was not my intention to cause trouble but by nature I was designed this way. I was not much for following rules that I thought were stupid and pointless. Not that I put much thought into things when I was six or eight or ever, I just did stuff.

Like the time I had just stuck a piece of watermelon flavored Bubbliscious gum in my mouth while my third grade teacher Mrs. Latke was teaching us about the anatomy of a vagina.

Just as I was able to jam the delicious sticky treat into my mouth Mrs. Latke turned from the vagina diagram and locked her evil eyes onto mine with the death stare. (I am convinced she hated me). She slowly walked over to me with her fist slightly clenched (or maybe she was just holding the chalk I don’t know):

This was serious business in third grade okay?

As if it wasn’t embarrassing enough to have a diagram of a vagina plastered on the chalkboard with a flaccid penis picture to the right of it…

Mrs. Latke: What’s in your mouth?

Me: Nupping (trying to move the wad of gum out of the way without drooling).

What I was really thinking: Fuck you!

Mrs. Latke: Well then why do I smell something fruity?

Me: Shrugged my shoulders because talking was not an option at this point.

What I was really thinking: Seriously? Did you seriously just say fruity you stupid bitch?

Mrs. Latke: Do you have gum in your mouth?

Me: Shaking my head no. (The thought of swallowing the gum did not occur to me).

What I was really thinking: Better than having a penis in my mouth. Is this really THAT big of a fucking deal?

Mrs. Latke: Are you lying? I know you’re lying. Spit the gum out

So I attempted to get out of my chair to spit the gum in the garbage can and she pushed me back down into my chair, “No, spit it in your hand and stick it on your nose!”

What I was thinking: Are you fucking kidding me? Have you lost your fucking mind?

I did nothing. The entire class was staring at me as I sat there thinking of the humiliation of putting that sticky, slimy wad of bright pink watermelon mush on my nose which was definitely not a large enough surface to place this ginormous piece of gum on. I was eight for Christ Sake!

Mrs. Latke: Gina, put the gum on your nose or I can give you a detention after school.

Aw shit, really? This would mean my mother would have to pick me up after school when she gets off of work which means my detention really wouldn’t end until 5:30pm. I would miss He-Man, The Thundercats, TopCat and The Jackson Five! Not to mention that I would have to listen to my mother rant the entire way home about how selfish I am by making her go out of her way to pick me up from school while she bangs relentlessly on the steering wheel with every syllable she speaks. She would say, “I-can’t-be-lieve-how-sel-fish-you-are-make-ing-me-go-out-of-my-way-to-pick-you-up-be-cause-you-can’t-seem-to-be-have-your-self! Don’t-you-ev-er-think-a-bout-an-y-one-but-your-self?!”

Umm, I’m eight? So not really, no.

Ironically, I did think this through but the end result of my decision was entirely selfish. The thought of all this was enough to make me take the gum out of my mouth, completely against my will, and stick it on the end of my nose. This piece of gum was so big that I feared it would get stuck in my eyebrows. As I did this everyone turned away, which was even more humiliating for me because this meant it was so bad that it was painful for people to even watch the shenanigan’s of this mean ass whore.

At the end of the day I learned a very valuable lesson though: First, to get the Hubba Bubba brand from now on because it doesn’t stick to anything (that was the major selling point of this gum, remember?) and second, become a master at hiding the gum in my mouth. Because if there is a lesson to be learned here, it’s not to get caught when doing shit you shouldn’t be doing, no matter how pointless and stupid the rules are.

As much as I would like to draw a picture of this incident for you, my drawing skills completely suck so you’ll just have to get imaginative and come up with your own. Feel free to e-mail me with pictures. Maybe I’ll post them here.

~Find the Funny Today

Let’s Find the Funny Together

This is my way of perpetually forcing myself to find the humor in things that most people may not find funny. But I do know that hindsight offers humor if you surround yourself with the right people.

Instead of hindsight, I would rather find the funny in the moment because laughter does help in getting through some otherwise tough situations.

Finding the funny used to come natural to me, in fact I didn’t have to FIND the funny, it just appeared. The older I get I am discovering that I actually have to sift through my situations to find something funny.

I also have a gift for being able to laugh at myself, but it’s usually only when friends point it out to me. Ya know, how ridiculous and overly dramatic I can be.

I wish that I had a comedian friend so I could call him/her up and tell said comedian friend my current situation and then they could find the funny for me because it takes much more effort on my part to find the funny these days. I know it’s in there, but my new found cynicism seems to cloud my “funny” perspective.

I hope I can entertain you while I try and find the funny in the stories of my life. If I can’t find the funny, I can always find the silver lining.

 

~Find the Funny Today