Blargity blargon. 2003-12-16 - 9:17 p.m.
So. I am actually in Hickville. My ride to the Hickville interstate exit materialized after all. Yay.
My sister wanted me to diagnose the root of her craziness, when we were talking earlier. I was unable to come up with a suitable answer to her liking. I forgot the basic Freudian (Freudian? is that right? my psych minor was useless) notion that all one's problems derive from fucked-up happenings during childhood. Upon further analysis, I have decided that my sister is fucked-up because of the day when my friend Bible Girl was over at my house, and Bible Girl and I were making a silly tape with my tape recorder, as we were wont to do.
(This was about when Bible Girl and I were in fifth grade or so, and the wee sister was three.)
Bible Girl was holding the wee sister precariously close to the tape recorder and a soda, which were both situated on top of my dresser. The wee sister proceeded to knock over the soda, spilling it all over Bible Girl. I got really angry and said this: "PUNKATHENA, you jerk! YOU JERK, Punkathena!" Note the capitalization.
So the wee sister was scarred for life, and it was all my fault. There.
Naturally, I will tell you why I am fucked-up, because we're talking about me here... hehe.
My fucked-up-ness comes from my lack of proper socialization as a wee child, thereby causing me to become a shy, antisocial, bookwormy little freak who did not know how to roller skate, the latter quality of course was the kicker among all the cool kids in Craptown, circa 1990. You see, I was invited by my best friend du jour (in the days before Bible Girl), Snotty McRedhead, to a skating party/birthday/sleepover at her house. Of course, all the cool kids were there, including a previous best friend of mine, Preppy McDumbass. all the cool kids were skating.
I tried on a pair of skates and promptly fell flat on my ass.
I started to cry.
Snotty started to fake comfort me.
All the other girls laughed.
I left early with Snotty's little brother and sister. When Snotty and the rest got back, they began to play Super Mario Brothers on the (then) non-old school (new school?) Nintendo, another skill I had never acquired (I should rant about the stupidity of video games sometime.....). At some point, they decided to stop so we could all go downstairs and get some snacks. While we were all downstairs, I had to go pee. When I came out of the bathroom, I saw that Snotty and company had turned off all the downstairs lights, leaving me to feel my way upstairs through that gigundous house.
But, pa-ha, they did not know that I have a rather good sense of direction, so I was upstairs in no time. I could tell they were all a little shocked. They had been expecting me to start crying again. :-P
And there you have it. That is the cause of my fucked-up-ness. Well, that and the kindergarten basketball incident... but anyway. To overcompensate for my lack of skating ability, that summer I merely decided to enhance my dorkishness by writing down every exit on a several-hundred mile stretch of interstate (the one I have practically memorized at this point anyway).
Sooooooo, when I get kicked out of my apartment, who wants to swing by my future dumpster abode and kidnap me to sunny Mexico? I'll navigate.