Archive for August, 2010

The English Composition

 I majored in English when I first came to college. I had great English teachers at my high school. I remember we had to diagram the Gettysburg Address and I loved every minute of it. Yes sir re Bob, I was going to make a great English teacher.  Brooke High  even offered a Word Study course that I absolutely loved.  And it  really came in handy in one of my English classes when I went off to college. Very handy.

I had some dandy English teachers in college. I had one who spit when he talked, so I tried to sit in the back in his class. I had one who spoke so softly I had to sit in front and still strain to hear.  I had one who invited us all to his farm for the winter and summer solstice. He sat on his desk, swinging his feet, clad in dirty shit-stomping boots, smoking a pipe. I think he was high a lot. And I had one who scared the hell out of me. I don’t know why.  But, he was a great English teacher and he loved poetry.  

One day he announced to the class that he wanted our next paper to amaze him. He said that he wanted us to write about a subject that he never heard about before. Something that would “emit shock, surprise, or bewilderment.” I remember those exact words. “People, I want you  to astound me. I have been teaching for many years, and I have had maybe 3 people who have received A’s for this assignment. I am a rough crowd.”

He gave us 2 weeks to write the paper. It was worth a lot of points and I worked very, very hard on it. Actually, I was able to write it fairly quickly. The polishing took a great while. I was a nervous wreck when I turned it in, because I was almost certain he never heard about my topic, and I was almost certain I could be kicked out of his class for what I wrote. I did read the final copy to my mom and asked her if I should turn it in. She thought that if I had to shock him, this would do it. So, I turned it in.

Several days later, he quietly passed back the papers. I didn’t get mine back.  As he returned to the podium, he just look blankly at me and said, “I need to see you, Miss Mendenhall, after class, if that is ok with you.” I sheepishly nodded  my head. I was in deep shit. I could just tell. My topic was going to get me an F, and I was going to be sent to the dean. I just knew it.

After class, I slowly walked to his office. I stopped and got a drink of water from the water fountain, went to the bathroom, because I felt like I was going to puke. I stopped at his doorway and I could see him sitting at his desk. He was looking at me, holding my paper. Dear God, he was waiting for me.

“So, Miss Mendenhall,” he began. He held up my paper. “Is this true?”  I nodded. “Yes, I learned about it in our Word Study class at Brooke High School.”  He seemed surprised.

He told me I was gutsy. That I had a fire inside me. (Ok, was this going to be good, or was it a bad fire inside me?) He asked me to sit down. “I have never had a student write ANYTHING like this before in my class. EVER.” He said that I was a risk-taker, and that he liked that. And that’s why he gave me an A.   Not just any old A, but an A+.  He asked if he could make a copy of my paper. He already had anywho, and handed mine back. Wow, I did get an A.  Who would think that a paper about fornication would awe someone. Yeah, fornication. Written by a college freshman who was naive and who had no first hand  knowledge at that time about what she wrote about. But, I think I was creative and knew how to put together sentences. (Unlike now. My grammar leaves much to be desired. But, hey, it’s blogging. There are no rules, right?)

In our word study class, way back in 1974, we learned that the word, F*ck, was actually  not a word, but an acronym.  It supposedly meant For Unlawful Carnal Knowledge.  Jailers who brought in prostitutes or rapists, would record the arrest in a book, using the initials. (I just found out that it was never proved to be so, but in 1974 we didn’t have the internet, with snopes.com or Urban Myth to dispute this claim.)

I wrote about the different synonyums for f*ck over the years…Making love, having sex, fornication, “Doing it”, intercourse, screwing, copulation, coitus, sleeping with,  hump, bang, roll in the hay, get laid,and nooky, among others. I thought I did a great job with the whole beginning, middle and end of a composition.  Like I said, I did work hard on polishing it.  I remember asking my friends one night for the synonyms, and they were having fun talking about the different sayings.

When I walked out of my professor’s office, I felt like I could be a writer. I never once thought any less of myself for the topic I chose. I thought I was following directions for the assignment.  He wanted to be shocked.

Too bad I took my first grammar class the next semester and received a D- on the PRE-TEST  on the first day of class.  Seems that I didn’t really learn too much grammar in high school like I thought. Hell, I thought I was going to be the best English teacher in the world..or West Virginia…I went into  a mini-tailspin, and then dropped my English major to a minor and changed my major to Speech Communications and Drama. Yeah, that major hooks a job right after graduation. Not a bright move. But, I was a little bummed that Miss English here didn’t know shit about English. 

So, I am now a fourth grade teacher. I know you are wondering how I managed that out of a Speech Communication degree, but I shall save that for another day.

I know that I still have that English composition. It is somewhere in one of several boxes of old school materials in the attic of my former home. I specifically remember thinking that I needed to save this paper for when I get older.

I think I will just keep it up in the attic. I’ll let my kids find it when I am gone, so they will be surprised by their dear old mom.

Shock and awe…

Swallowing Goldfish

Ok, I have done a lot of stupid things in my lifetime, but nothing as stupid as swallowing goldfish. Yeah, I did. Three of them.  Why?   Who the hell knows why I do things.

Goldfish swallowing was a fad that first started in 1939 when a Harvard freshman did it on a bet. It received some local coverage, and in the next few weeks, students from all across the country were trying to top the previous feat. It was nothing for a student (mostly males) to swallow ten, twenty, and even 30 in one sitting. Many towns then passed ordinances making it illegal. The fad only lasted about two years. So, how the hell did it appear on the campus of Fairmont State in West Virginia in 1976?

I had a sorority sister who worked part time for the Muscular Dystrophy Association and some one (maybe the Greek association) sponsored a dance marathon titled, “Dance for Those Who Can’t.”  Proceeds were given to the Jerry Lewis people.  The dance was going to last through the night, with games and activities going on alongside the marathon. Plus, beer was sold in the Nickel, which was our student union, so that was also a plus.  So, we danced, we drank, and I apparently swallowed some goldfish.

There was a guy who swallowed one and the crowd went nuts. He was the first one to do it.  And it was pretty early, so I don’t think this guy was drunk. Just really stupid. And I think he had people placing bets and the proceeds were handed over to the MD.  So, we went back and danced alongside the marathoners and drank some more.  You could buy plastic glasses of beer for a nickel, so we had cafeteria trays full of beer for our group of friends. I usually started laughing after 1/2 a glass of beer, so I was laughing at anything that night. I had a sorority sister walk out of the bathroom with a long line of toilet paper walking behind her from one of her shoes. I don’t know why that made me laugh so hard, but she walked like she was all that, and here was that toilet paper following her around. Everyone knew she just peed, so I guess I found that amusing.

We came back after we heard that some guy in our brother fraternity (TKE) was going to swallow two goldfish to beat a rival fraternity’s goldfish record of 1. Everyone gathered around.  The person with the microphone stopped the music during a mandatory break for the dancer marathoners, and announced that they had a person that would swallow two goldfish if they could make $200 in the next 15 minutes. Well,  college kids usualy don’t have much money, but there were people from the community also there, so  the drunk donors  opened their wallet a lot that night, I can tell you that. They had $200 pretty quick. And the guy swallowed 2 goldfish. Wow..I was drunk impressed. So much better than watching a toilet paper walker.

Well, a little later, I saw a little boy being pushed into the dance room in a wheelchair. I thought it was pretty late for the kid to be up. It had to be 1:00a.m. He was about 12 and appeared bummed out that he just missed a college student swallow 2 goldfish. It was a Fairmont State college record. Well, maybe because it had never ever been done there before.  He sat quietly while his parents talked to the people in charge of the dance and in a few minutes another announcement came over the loud speaker. “Does anyone want to volunteer to swallow a  goldfish for our important guest here?” Come on up and lets’ see if we can make another quick $200.”

Well, I saw like 3 guys raise their hands and were coming up from three different directions at a pretty fast clip. I was right beside the little guy in the wheelchair ( I was drunk staring at him) and it was my sorority sister, who was employed by MD  who had the microphone this time.  Out of the blue, I raised my hand and said, “I will swallow 3 goldfish!”  Whaatttt did I just do?  No…didn’t even think that I must be demented. I saw the wheelchair kid and wanted to show him that anyone could do anything if they put their mind to it.  I was determined to show this kid that a drunk college girl could swallow some fish.

I don’t have any idea how much money was raised for Muscular Dystrophy for my swallowing 3 goldfish, but I had a crowd. I beat the record of 2 goldfish and no one else tried to swallow anymore. Why? Well, there were only 2 goldfish left in the bowl. No one else was going to swallow a goldfish unless a record could be beat. So, as far as I know, I hold the record for goldfish swallowing in Fairmont, West Virginia. If only the story ended right there. It didn’t.

When we got back from the dance, the phone rang. It was a sorority sister, Diane, who lived upstairs from me in our apartment complex, Garden Lane. She had some disturbing news for this drunk goldfish killer.

“Vickie, I don’t want to get you upset, but I think you need to hear this.” I can’t remember her exact words, but she informed me that she knew someone who had swallowed goldfish at Penn State (I’m not sure what college she used), and  got very sick when the goldfish didn’t die in the guys stomach. She went on to tell me that somehow the fish lived in the mucous membranes in the stomach lining and then mated. The guy had to get his stomach pumped because his stomach had expanded because the goldfish hatched and there were hundreds of tiny goldfish swimming around in this guys stomach and they kept getting bigger and it was just awful. And I drunkingly (if that is indeed a word) believed her.

I went into the bathroom and shoved my finger down my throat I have no idea how many times, to no avail. No goldfish babies. I was sick with worry. Drunk people obsess about things, and I was no different. But, of course, no one else had fornicating goldfish in their stomach.  I cried myself to sleep. I felt horrible for killing poor innocent goldfish. They didn’t do anything to anybody to deserve such a horrible death.  I was a crying drunk…I am sure I had raccoon eyes, because I really liked mascara.

When I woke up, we all put “scarves on head” (girls wore those big blue hankerchiefs on their head when they didn’t feel like washing their hair in the 70’s), hopped in my car and headed to McDonald’s. McDonald’s was our cure for a hangover. The greasy food did wonders. When we got back to the apartment complex, Diane and her roommates were coming out. She was smiling. “Almost had you last night, didn’t I?” She laughed.   Oh my God, she was messing with me!!  I was soo relieved. Now, I wouldn’t have to go to the hospital and ask them to stomach pump baby goldfish…”Oh, you sure did. I almost believed you. That was a good one.”  I was one gullible guppy.

I felt so much better.We walked into the apartment and I plopped myself down on the couch. I felt great….. Until on of my roommates spoke.

“I once swallowed a penny and it came out a day or two later……you know……(she pointed to her butt like I was too dumb to understand  the digestive system),so….

I wonder if all three goldfish skeletons will come out at the same time?”  That could really, really hurt.”

Skeletons?  Oh, that is just great….

Well, it will make for a good story when I get older, I thought.

And….I did it for Jerry’s kids…..

Ghosts in the House (Really)

You either believe in ghosts or you don’t.

For those of you who think there’s an explanation for those bumps in the night, you’re not alone. A poll by the Associated Press shows 34 percent of people believe in ghosts. Of those, 23 percent say they have proof ghosts exist because they’ve seen one, or been in the presence of one.  Maybe that is that cold chill that goes up your spine. And, for the politically minded, more liberals than conservatives are visited by ghosts, 31 to 18 percent.  My own poll states that 100% of  women over the age of 50 who have seen a ghost are highly intelligent, creative, humorous, and  very nice looking.

We used to go to Harper’s Ferry, West Virginia a lot.  It was a great place for dead people. John Brown was hung nearby. He is probably really in his wax museum, hanging around. (literally)  We went to an antique shop that was at one time some generals headquarters, and the owner told me that she was always hearing soldiers walking up the steps and that the main ghost activity took place in the basement. So, she took us down there, because I was so excited. I would love to see a ghost. They even had a ghost tour of Harper’s Ferry.

I have always loved ghost stories. And I loved to scare people. I remember when I was in about 7th grade, I stayed with a neighbor girl and we stayed up to watch Chiller Theater and watched House on Haunted Hill with  Vincent Price. Scared me to death. When we went to her room to go to bed, the closet door was open, and her mom had put a hose over her face and was just standing in the closet. I screamed on top of screams. I had never been so scared. I loved it!!!

In high school, we used to go to a cemetery on Green Mist Road (Even has a spooky name) on Halloween and scare each other. So fun to hear guys scream. Halloween is my favorite time of year. So, yeah, I am all about ghosts. Just didn’t know that my wish was about to come true.

My ex-husband did not believe in ghosts. Such a left-brainer…”They don’t exist.” So, he wrote me off when I told him we had a ghost cat. Yes, a ghost cat. I told him, “I hope you see a ghost some day and you poop your pants  while you are screaming like a girl.”

We built our house on an old dairy farm’s barn. This barn was used to sell milk and other dairy products to neighbors in the small hill-top community. Our house was built in 1991, so many of you will probably think it would have to be an old house to be haunted. But, just give me a minute of your time before you send for the guys to put me in a white jacket.

We rescued a kitten from the animal shelter and gave it to Alex. We had an outside cat, Tiger, who died a bit earlier, and thought we would get an inside cat for her. My husband hated animals in the house, but I talked him into at least going into the animal shelter, just to look at the animals. Well, there was a kitten who fell in love with Jay. He said later it was like she did a top hat and cane routine for him. Ok, he said, we will take this one home for Alex.  As soon as we got her home, she turned on Jay. Hated him. She lives with me now. Still hates him. Such a smart, smart cat.

Anywho, Whiskers used to stare into the foyer all of the time. Her eyes would be wide and her tail fluffy at first. Then she would just stare. Like she got used to the thing she was staring at.  Sometimes this would happen right after I complained about it being cold. Sometimes when she would be sitting on my lap on the couch she would stare right behind me. Like someone was standing behind me. That used to freak me out. Then I would just start talking to it. Yeah, I am a  ghost talker.

But, about the ghost cat…I don’t know what you call it when a cat marches in place. Some people say they are kneading bread…Tap dancing….Making biscuits…I used to think they were just smoothing out someplace comfortable to lie. But, they all do it. Like how all human men scratch their butts. (Can’t think of anything else)

My husband would not let Whiskers on the bed. I had a cute little box in the hall, and she slept on that most of the time.  Well, one night I woke up because Whiskers was doing that kneading thing at the foot of my bed. Except when I woke up, she wasn’t there. This started happening almost every night. I never said anything until Alex told me that she thought Whiskers was in bed with her and when she looked, Whisker’s wasn’t there. “Mom, I think it’s Tiger. Tiger is a ghost now.”  Out of the mouths of babes.

I didn’t think it was Tiger. I thought it was a cat from the dairy barn that was built where our house now stood. And the foyer was a portal, that’s why Whiskers was always sitting in the foyer, looking up. Or maybe Whiskers had some issues.

Haunted chair?

Well, not too long after that, I began hearing a loud whisper, “MOM!”  when I was alone. I thought I’d better keep that to myself for awhile. My family knows I am into ghosts and ghost stories, they are just going to think that I WANT to have these things happening. But, then the music started, which my husband and daughter did hear.  It was usually around 5:30am. It was faint, and didn’t sound like a music box, and I couldn’t make out what genre it was. But it was music and I was sure of it. When Jay heard it, I told him, “See, I’m telling you we have ghosts.”  We would get up and follow the sound and it was in the foyer. We had a 2-story home with an open foyer, and that’s where the sound radiated from. We couldn’t figure out what kind of music was playing.  He tried to find a logical explanation. “Maybe it is some kind of interference from an airplane flying by.  I would always say. ” Oh, please. That is such a stupid explanation. Why can’t you just believe that we have ghosts in our house?”  That’s when I told him about the MOM voice.

One morning I was listening to Alex sing in the shower. She would always get up around 5:30am or so for school. She was in the Madrigals, which is an accapella singing group that wore medieval costumes and they were unbelievable. So, I enjoyed hearing her practice a song I had never heard yet. “I loved hearing you singing in the shower this morning, Alex. You need to sing more often. I enjoyed it.” She looked at me like I was nuts. “Mom, I wasn’t singing. I never sing in the shower,”  And she wasn’t messing with me. Oh great, now we have a ghost singer.

The “MOM!” continued off and on for several years. Sometimes, I would go see what Alex or Adam wanted, because it was a child’s voice. I also tried to figure out when kids began calling their mothers, Mom. Was it the 1950’s? 40’s?  I started making up scenario’s for the cat and the kid ghost.

I think that maybe the dairy farm guy came in early and turned on a small transistor radio, hence the music. The ghost cat came from just having a cat hanging around the dairy farm. Ok, I don’t know why we didn’t have ghost cows or ghost chickens. (Skeptics, just shut the hell up). But, I think that the child was maybe hurt and was calling for his/her mother, or maybe hiding and whispering out. I loved it when Jay finally heard the “Mom!”

Alex had taken the car someplace and Jay was in the hallway leading from the garage and I was sitting at our kitchen island, doing something. “MOM!” came the voice, after being gone for several months, and the whisper was pretty loud. I said, “Is Alex home, Jay?” He quickly entered our family room/kitchen and his face looked white. “You heard that?”  I smiled and jumped up. “YOU heard it? You, the left-brained goober-head, the “there’s no such thing as ghosts” guy? Finally!”  I loved it that he heard it.

Christmas of 2008 was my last Christmas in our house. We were divorcing and I was planning to move out of the house. (Too much house land for me to take care of, so he bought me out.) Adam and Alex had stayed up late talking in the Hearth room. I went to bed and heard a door slam. And then again. Sounded like a door. The kids told me they got a bit spooked while they were down there. Adam told me that he got a quick glimpse of something that appeared between a blink of his eye and that it was an older woman with a lantern in front of her face, wearing a scarf on her head (tied in front, like a babushka)  and that she was gone “in a blink of his eye.”   He later told me that he made that up. Yeah, he is a left-brainer too. My dairy farm ghost scenario was the right one.

A couple months after I moved out and I was out at the house getting some more stuff, I asked my ex-husband if  he ever heard the “MOM” voice or anything any more. He said, “She is gone.” He then told me that one night he woke up and it felt like there were hands around his neck, trying to strangle him and so he called someone to get rid of her. He smiled after he said it. But, I know this man. She probably missed me and took it out on him.  Well, that’s what I am going with.  I always wanted to have a seance, and he would never let me. The catholic boy always said, “You may conjure up the devil.”  I had seances in college. Lit a lot of our sorority ceremony candles and invited people over, drank, and tried to bring back Houdini. I loved those parties.

Are there ghosts? Yes. Have I seen one? No. But, something was going on in my house.

So, the next time you watch Ghost Whisperer, think of me. 🙂

Friday the 13th

When we went to Myrtle Beach this summer, and stepped into the resort’s elevator, my son accidentally leaned against the numbers that you push for the floor you want to go to.  So, it took us a while to get to our floor. On our way up, Adam noticed that there wasn’t a 13th floor in our resort. So, we discussed how that superstition was a bit weird.  We thought, that perhaps, our people are beyond that kind of thinking nowadays. So, I have been reading. And  boy am I wrong. People were, are, and will always be superstitious.

There are several origin stories for how Friday the 13th superstition began. There is  a biblical reference to the unlucky number 13.  Judas, the apostle said to have betrayed Jesus, was the 13th guest to the Last Supper. in Norse mythology, (and this sounds like I am getting ready to tell a joke)  12 gods are having a dinner party at Valhalla, Norse mythology’s heaven. In walked the uninvited 13th guest, the mischievous god Loki. Once there, Loki arranged for Hoder, the blind god of darkness, to shoot Balder the Beautiful, the god of joy and gladness, with a mistletoe-tipped arrow. Balder died, and the whole Earth got dark. The whole Earth was saddened. Not a good day. What the hell, Hoder. If Loki told you to jump off a bridge, would you? (Yikes, one of my mom’s sayings..)

For all of you who suffer from paraskevidekatriaphobia, a fear of Friday the 13th.,  this is the only Friday the 13th in 2010. In 2009, there were three. It is estimated that about $800 million dollars are lost on this day because some people are afraid to fly, buy a car, or even go out to dinner. A great stock tip may be overlooked on this day. There are even some who are so paralyzed by fear of  Friday the 13th, that they call off work and stay in their homes. (I bet those types don’t even take a shower for fear of slipping and hitting their head and the bathtub has a slow drain and they lie in the tub, unconscious, facedown and drown. I mean, who wants to be found naked in the bathtub?  If they survive bathtime, they won’t go out to eat, for fear of choking, or getting  food poisoning. I know a couple of places that you really shouldn’t eat at anywho, let alone on Friday the 13th.

This is not a US phobia. In Florence, Italy, houses are numbered, 11, 12, 12 1/2, 14.  I wouldn’t buy the 12 1/2 house. Heck, I can count. I’m not that stupid.

I don’t think it is so bad. Think of a baker’s dozen. 13…. Are you going to turn away 13 items for the price of 12?? Huh??  According to CNN.com, one British couple bought their winning ticket on Friday 13 shortly after a mirror at their home fell off the living room wall and smashed. The lucky couple won $17 million.  I think the lottery commission should have pocketed some of the money and said the jackpot was $13 million, just to freak people out.

But, as a teacher, I do have believe in  the craziness connected to a full moon.  I will have to save that blog for another day, but trust me, teachers know when there is a full moon.  A full moon AND Friday the 13th?  Should be a day off for teachers… Seriously. The combination of full moon and Friday the 13th is rare, the last one happening in 2000.

Luckily, school will be out on Friday, June 13, 2014. That is when the next toxic combination occurs.

Now, I may stay in the house that day. I will make sure my bathtub doesn’t have a slow drain.

Elly May Clampett

I have always loved animals. And they didn’t have to be real.  One Easter, when I was very young, I received a chocolate lamb in my Easter basket. My mom said that I opened up the box and carried that lamb around with me for days. I guess I was 2 years old. That was my first pet.  She said I cried when it broke at the neck.  I mean, it was my pet lamb, and now it had no head.

My first real pet was Victor, a little green turtle. He came with a plastic lagoon bowl with a little palm tree. Victor didn’t stay in his plastic lagoon bowl and I was constantly searching for him. He was usually found in a corner covered with dust bunnies. (which, by the way, aren’t really bunnies.)

Then came Annie the hamster, that was really Cheryl’s pet, but I played with it most of the time. We always had hamsters. I never knew for sure where hamsters came from.  I read that theyoriginally came from Syria. Syrian hamsters. لي صديق أهلا قليلا  (That translates to “Hello, my little friend” in Arabic, or so says google translator) No wonder my hamsters never listened to me. They understood Arabic.

On a side note, did you know that there are people who show hamsters..like a dog show, but for hamsters? I am serious. Seriously. I imagine you would need binoculars if you are sitting in an arena so you can see the people running in the circle with the hamster.  Well,I guess they wouldn’t be running, or the hamster would be up in the air, hanging from its little hamster leash. I am visualizing that right now. That would be pretty amusing.   They would get little hamster trophies.  Best of  Show at the Westminster Hamster Show…Maybe they even have Best in Habitat. Maybe HGTV’s Design Star show can have a project where they have to design the best hamster habitat.

We always bought a “fancy” hamster.  Our hamsters were usually put in one of those plastic clear balls so they could exercise around the room and torment the dog. Sometimes we would leave them in there too long and they would have pee all over them.  I’d have to get a wet washcloth and clean the hamster. Can’t use a blow dryer on a hamster. Tried that one time on my guinea pig, Quincy Bozo. (You don’t want to know….)

After my mom saw that we could take care of hamsters, we got our first dog, Susie. Susie was a terrier and she slept with me. All the dogs slept with me because they all loved me the most. It’s true. I am an animal whisperer. After Susie, we had Heidi, who was retarded, (dogs don’t understand being politically incorrect, so again, can say the word, “retarded.”)  Heidi was sideswiped by a car one day and was never right after that. She played outside all day long, running around in circles, and then would come into the house and use the bathroom as soon as she got inside. Mom gave her away to a neighbor girl who loved Heidi for who she was..like the Velveteen Rabbit.

We then had Smokey the chihuahua. We brought Smokey home and told Dad we found him in a meadow. Smokey was probably the ungliest dog in the world. His teeth were bad, for some reason, and had the most God-awful breath of any living thing. Mom had to have all of his teeth pulled out. And it broke his jaw or something, because it was crooked when he got home. Sometimes his tongue hung out on the side. Anyway, when you tried to pick up Smokey, he would bite you, or gum you, which was so gross. So, of course, when we had friends over, we would say, “Pick up Smokey.”  Smokey was best friends with a German police dog, named Scheherazade, or Sherry as we all called her. Smokey would walk down the middle of the street most days and they were the strangest sight. One day the school bus hit and killed Smokey.  I guess bus drivers can’t see chihuahua’s walking in the middle of the road too well.

We had other dogs too. Cricket was my favorite. I loved that dog. I would put her on the couch and tell her to stay and then go hide and yell, “Ok, Cricket,” and she would then jump off the couch and try to find me. We also had Sparky and Whiskey.

Stinky

It wasn’t the dogs, but the weird pets I bought when I got a bit older.The summer before I was a  a freshman in college, I bought a skunk at KMart. That’s right, Kmart sold skunks in the 1970’s. It was deskunked, but still had a bit of a skunky odor, but I liked that smell. (Yeah, I’m that weird.) I bought Thumper for $40 and took her home. My dad loved Thumper. She would curl up like a cat and sleep during the day and bother and chase Cricket all night long. She would go to the bathroom in my mom’s plants. I don’t know why it wouldn’t use the kitty litter box. Maybe I never bought one. That would explain a lot. Anyway, I left for college and a few weeks later when I came home, Thumper was gone. Mom sold her for $35 to a realtor friend of my dad’s.  She sold my skunk and took a $5 loss on the deal. Stupid woman. I loved that skunk. Several years ago, I tamed a skunk to put her paws on our kitchen nook door and take a peanut from my hand. I named her Stinky. We could open the door at night and yell her name and she would come running. She used to hang out with a Oppossum we named Poopy Butt.

The next pet I bought was an iguana named Igor. Igor commited suicide in its water dish. I then read where iguana’s get depressed. Seriously. One of my roommates boyfriend said he saw him walk over to the water dish and just stick his head in the water. When I asked why he didn’t help it, he just looked at me and said, “I was really high.”  Wonder what he does for a living these days?

When I was a sophomore in college I bought Beepo and Geepo. They were African frogs. I also had some sort of chameleons, salamanders and newts. I was like Elly May Clampett.

I had the best time living out on our property after I

Sweetheart

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