03 August 2006


When I was a kid, I went to YMCA daycamp. I went in the summer, as well as during Easter and Christmas breaks. Most breaks, but every summer from when I was 5 or 6 until I was 13 and I think I was a counselor in training (CIT) when I was 13. I learned to swim because of that camp, and was a lifeguard because of it, in addition to honing mean skills with craft glue and pine cones.

One day during summer camp, it was raining, so we had indoor activities, or maybe indoor was just planned, but this dude from one of the local parks had come to talk to us about wildlife and shit. During his talk about the flora and fauna one might come across in such an urban area, aside from the squirrels that liked to live in our attic, raccoons who raided our garbage and the cat's dishes every night, and the occasional city slicker deer (no lie, one time I was walking home from CVS, and saw a deer statue in someone's back yard, and then it moved and scared the shit out of me), he mentioned that he'd been bitten by a blacksnake.

OK now I'm no stranger to snakes. We had a house down in the country, right by the water, and my friend Lucy and I were running and playing in the woods, and I tripped over a 1" thick rope I somehow DID NOT SEE, and landed square on my chest. Once I recovered enough to have my eyesight and breath back, I noticed that what I had thought was a pile of leaves was actually a curled up rattlesnake, rattling, and hoooo boy I don't think I ever ran that fast in my life again! Another time I was sunning on a blanket in the yard of said country house, and something kept brushing my leg, and when I finally opened my eyes and looked, thinking it was a mosquito, or a grasshopper, a blacksnake had found its way onto my blanket and was hanging out NEXT TO ME! TOUCHING ME! And soaking up the rays. Good goddamn did I scream, and good goddamn did my parents come running!

Anyway, and this kid next to me, whose name I can't remember to save my life, but I DO remember we teased the everloving SHIT out of her all the time, (I'm pretty sure she was a mouth-breather, and that's a big target when you're a kid. I kind of remember her being overweight and wearing thick coke-bottle glasses too and hey props to her parents for trying to instill some social values in her and all, but summer camp in the city was probably the wrong move. She probably still attends weekly therapy sessions in an effort to recover.) actually said "did you die?"

After nearly five minutes of hysterical laughter in the room, preceeded by about fifteen stunned seconds of a silent filled with thought bubbles that said "Did she really just say that?," our speaker, with a straight face, looked right at her with a kind smile and said, "No, I didn't."

I feel like that girl a lot of the time. Like the synapses are all firing, but there's a random disconnect somewhere along the line. I just hope that someone doesn't throw open the door of their apartment as I'm trying, with frustration and gusto, to unlock it with my key, convinced that THIS IS, IN FACT, MY FUCKING APARTMENT, even though the number on the door is clearly not the number of my apartment, and essentially catch me in the act of asking someone if he died.

But I guess anything's better than the time I broke the chair at IHOP.

once i used to be smart. now i'm lucky if can remember which apartment i live in.


gizmorox said...

But I guess anything's better than the time I broke the chair at IHOP.

Hahaha. That sounds like an awesome story.

And in no way is forgetting where you live similar to asking someone if he's dead. That's just dumb. You are obviously too distracted with genius thoughts to be bothered to remember something so menial as your apartment number.

Just this morning, I went to walk to the mail machine, a stack of letters in my hand. I was three quarters of the way to the bathroom before I realized I'd forgotten to take a turn.

I'm telling you, we're not absentminded, we're just too smart for our own good. :)

Tippy said...

Hahaha yeah I'll tell that one shortly. The worst part was that it was a PACKED IHOP. At 3am. On a Saturday. Humiliation is my middle name!

The important question here is if you took the mail into the bathroom with you, cause that's Klassy with a K.

I think I like absentminded much better than "smoked myself retarded in the late 90s/early 2000's." Thank god I never saw Phish live - at least I can't ever say "I toured with Phish, man!" and really, how many former hippies are in that boat?

Big Daddy said...

So get this, once I wasn'y paying attention, and got off on the second floor of my old apartment building [I lived on the third].

Went to the apartment directly below me, turned the key and entered. I looked up and in, and realized it wasn't my apartment!

For a split second, I thought that someone broke in and stole my stuff.

I was kinda freaked out my key worked in my neighbors lock.

Needless to say, I always kept the deadbolt locked, and chain on when in my apartment.

But you know what's even worse? I did the same thing again later, but this time I was drunk.

It was like 2:30 AM and here I am fiddling with the key, when the door opens, and it's my downstairs neighbor.

I freaked.