We EGGcept her...one of us

When I was in middle school, I had a friend named Megan. She was like me: loud, funny, and smart. A lethal combination for parents and teachers alike. The only difference between us was that I was nice and she was mean. What I mean is, whereas Megan would stick her half sisters wet Barbie dolls in the freezer to make them shatter, I would secretly give her sister cheapo Barbie’s because I thought Megan went over the line. And the only reason they were cheap was because I was 14 and had to save up my lunch money to get them. Maybe it was guilt ‘cause I laughed at the shattering, but I thought doing that to a 5 year old was cruel. And yes it gets into her hatred for her step-mom and misplaced anger at the little girl. But that’s not what this is about. This is about the scar on my toe.
Megan’s dad’s kitchen had a linoleum floor. We never thought much of it. In fact, we never even cared about it until Megan dropped an egg. For reasons I can no longer wrap my brain around, Megan, rather than cleaning it up, stepped on the uncooked yolk and white matter. Megan commented on how slippery it was. Megan convinced me to do the same. I vaguely remember how slimy and cold it was. I really remember how slippery it was. Megan and I tried to spread the egg over more of the kitchen floor. We found a new game. When the egg could not satisfy how much we needed to cover the entire kitchen floor, Megan broke another egg. And then another. And then…well, Megan and I emptied out a whole carton. The floor of her kitchen was now essentially an egg skating rink. The smell was making us dry heave, but the fact that we were sliding all over was totally worth it. We started attempting triple sow cows, and double turns and spinning and all these stupid ice skating tricks that neither of us could do. I remember laughing so hard, mixed with this vomit inducing smell that I didn’t know if I should be more worried about horking or peeing. I laughed so hard at one point that I had doubled over. This now changed my center of balance. So I stood up quickly. That again made me unbalanced. At this point, I am now moving my torso up and down as if I’m pushing one of those old school railway cars. When my torso couldn’t handle it anymore, one leg went out. I tried to tell it to come back, and when it did the other jutted out just as fast. I ended up looking like a Russian dancer, with one leg quickly replacing the other. I’m sure if you got a video of it in slow mo, at one point both of my legs would’ve been off the ground. Like that old video about racehorses. And whether or not all their legs were off the ground at the same time. I was able to do this for about 60 seconds. And I honestly thought I would have been able to finally regain my balance. But mixing the laughing, with the dry heaving, with my newly found Russian heritage, I landed on my butt with a resounding thud. Upon my graceful landing, her stove bottom sliced my big toe. It wasn’t a bad slice. Just enough for me to have a scar. Not a ton of blood. Like a paper cut. What hurt the most was making it to her bathroom and trying not to leave a trail of pee there. Megan on the other hand, couldn’t make it that far. Plus, what I saw in my head, she saw in real life. Megan peed. I had made Megan pee in her pants. She walked to the bathroom defeated. After many many minutes in the bathroom, she finally came out, and couldn’t look me in the eye. Clean up might have been the worst thing I could ever imagine. We mixed lemon scented dishwashing soap with this raw egg yuck and now Megan’s pee. I think we told her parents we were trying to make a soufflé we learned about in cooking class. And even if they didn’t buy it, there is no way that they would have ever figured out the truth. I sometimes wonder if she ever told them. But more than that, I sometimes want to go egg skating again.

When do I get my first chip?

Hello (clear throat) hi (clear throat again) oh my, hello.
Sorry, I’m a bit nervous. I mean, I’ve never admitted it out loud. And though I’m sure my friends and family have all seen the signs, I never out right said what I am.
So how do you start these things again?
Hi, my name is Natasha. And I’m inappropriate.
I guess if I had to pin point a start, it would be second grade. I know, young right? Although looking back, I don’t think I knew what I was doing. I was naïve. In fact, I don’t think that when I started I was inappropriate at all, but if I knew then what I know now, I would have never gone on this downward spiral. But I was 8. Someone should have taken heed. The warning signs were all there. Saying things without thinking. Quieting a room. Making other people feel uncomfortable with what I said. I was textbook. Telling a teacher that” nobody else likes you, but I think you’re okay” should have been the beginning and the end of my dabbling. I guess it was amusing for others.
I think I put the kibosh on it for many years. Or, at least I was so wrapped up in the whole thing, I didn’t realize I was inappropriate. I think that’s scarier. For a period of time, I was actually very P.C. But then something happened and I went right back on the inappropriate bandwagon. It started minor again, with me telling a Hasidic Jew something so vulgar I feel ashamed to repeat it. I distinctly remember the faces of everyone at the table. It seemed funny at the time, but looking back, I now realize I was the only one laughing. Seems to be the story of my inappropriate life.
I didn’t realize I had gone back to full force until about two years ago. When one of my friends died I made a ‘Weekend at Bernie’s’ joke that I didn’t even realize I said until I heard the collection of groans. But that’s usually the way it happens. I black out while saying it and then come to during the aftermath.
I guess my light bulb moment happened last week, when I realized that if I want to live, I need to stop. My boss said something to the effect of “That little dog has a cute little collar. It’s all pink and fluffy on the inside and black on the outside.” To which I replied, “Aren’t we all that way though, really?” I don’t remember saying it! I don’t remember thinking it! I just remember her face. Her poor shocked face. As though I had slapped her. When I realized I had hit bottom, I just turned around and walked away. This is my last straw. This is my Everest. I cannot live my life like this anymore. I WONT live my life like this anymore. I don’t want to be another statistic; I want to come out on the other side! I choose LIFE!!!

Say hello to the girl that I am, you're gonna have to see through my perspective

Being that I have to write an actual important thing, this is just a spew post.

Coffee is the only thing I NEED on a daily bases. Probably more than oxygen in some cases. It’s the only constant in my life.

Bluetooth makes people look insane. I know there have been many observations on this, but yesterday I was at work and a woman was inside and speaking on it and I kept responding…to her…but she wasn’t talking to me…she was wearing that stupid headpiece.

Upon further examination at the blue tooth debate, I may have looked more crazy trying to involve myself in a conversation that I obviously wasn’t a part of.

When people say, “Oh, I love that song!!!” and then attempt to sing and get the lyrics wrong, it drives me bonkers. So I start to sing their favorite song louder than them to correct the lyrics and help them follow along to the song they love. I also do this at karaoke to help the singers. I’m very popular.

I don’t worry about the present, I worry about the future. Like five years from now. It gives me anxiety attacks. I get anxiety attacks about my future mortgage payments and what school to get my, as of yet, unscheduled and un-had children in. Knowing that this is stupid and irrational doesn’t help anything. Please pass the paper bag.

I check my email and what not periodically throughout the day. If someone JUST sent an email as I’m going through my checking in phase, I debate if I should respond so I don’t look too finicky or eager.

When I was in middle school, I was voted class clown. (Didn’t see that one coming, huh?) My mother was so disappointed that she went to my school to attempt to change the title to something like, “Funny Girl.” It didn’t fly, so my mom didn’t allow me to be the class clown. And the original male class clown had just gotten expelled for…wait for it…wait for it…peeing in the corner of Foods class with Mrs. Tutt. So both of the OG class clowns had stepped down. They had to do a recount. I think about that a lot. My mom was much happier when in high school I was voted most likely to appear on Saturday Night Live. There was no debate there

I listen to “guilty pleasure” music without an ounce of guilt and with the utmost of pleasure.

I procrastinate and write other things rather than write what I need to read in front of 300 people. Natasha…go write what is important…

Sorry Dad

So this morning, as I was getting ready for work, a couple neurons in my brain started rapidly firing. The memory that they conjured up made me realize I am way cooler than even I thought. So as I get ready, I listen to my music on random. A song I didn’t remember I had came on.
Ok, first back story…last summer I went to Greece. During my trip, I found out that The Bloodhound Gang is HUGE there. Like massively huge. All I really knew of them was The Bad Touch and that Fire Water Burn song. But the song that was being played at all the bars and stuff was new and was actually kind of good. I blamed the ouzo. So when I came back to the states, I was really sad that they never played The Bloodhound Gang. I downloaded a couple of their songs and changed my Myspace page around, including making my song a BHG song and wrote a bulletin about it. I got a tad OCD about them.
Back to this morning…a BHG song came on my random itunes thingy. I forgot how much I liked them. So I went to their website to see when their next album was coming out. They had a new video. They had a new song. I listened to the new song. I loved the new song. They are apparently on tour. I looked to see when they would be coming to a town near me. They aren’t. Apparently Evil Jared Hasselhoff (who is my Myspace friend…OCD) refuses to come to the states until George Dubya is out of office. (He lives in Germany…OCD) I got sad, felt defeated by Dubya, (again) and put my itunes back to random. Soundgarden came on.
Second back-story…when I was 14 I saw Soundgarden in their last ever Los Angeles concert. It was an okay concert considering the company I was with. (Megan, I’m looking at you) It was sponsored by K-ROQ and that’s where I met Carson Daly. (That’s another story unto itself!) Okay, so since it was being sponsored, K-ROQ brought some up and coming band. I hated the band. They were uber frat-boyesk and only into the ladies with big fake boobs. (I was 14…I don’t know why I was comparing myself, but I did.) Then they played one song that I actually knew. My friend and I got excited like giddy little girls and started screaming along since we could yell out “burn mother fucker, burn.”
Back to this morning…when I realized this, I actually said out loud, “ Holy shit! I did see them live.” And then I got jealous of myself. I am too cool, son.

Indiana Was My Dog

Sometimes, I decide to live my life like a scene in a movie. I don’t know if it’s because I like to tell the stories later, or the things I do seem like good ideas at the time, but I just do random things. Case in point, yesterday I went to a friend’s house to get ready for a meeting. He lives in a condo, and to get into the underground guest parking area, you need to get buzzed in. The buzzer is also on the right hand side of the sloping driveway, so you HAVE to get out of the car to access it. As I pull into the driveway, I turn my car off, pull up the emergency brake, and get out. Just as I am doing so a car comes up behind me to either use the car buzzer doohickey or just come down behind me to the guest lot. I know they don’t live in the building because they just would have gone on ahead of me. At the same time that all of this is going on, a car from within the building is leaving. His departure just negated the buzz I just received from my friend, therefore shortening the amount of time to get in the building. As I see all this happening, I have a decision to make, do I floor it or do I just buzz again? Mind you, this is all taking 30 seconds. I decide to make a run for it. I literally run back into my car, slam the door shut, turn on the car, release the emergency brake, and jam on the gas in a move that can only be classified as ridiculously fluid. I maneuvered my car in such a way that I got inside the parking area with only a third of the gate open. A lesser man would have been killed. The guy behind me also attempts to come in the gate with this miniscule buzz. Little does he know he is not I, Master of All Things Awesome. As the gate came to a close with the guy that was behind me now separated by bars of metal, I could only do two things: hum the theme song from Indiana Jones and reach back for my hat.

My Jem Story

When I was little, I had an unhealthy obsession with Jem. She was the owner of an orphanage (her father died and she inherited it. What? It could happen!) Well, let me rephrase. Jerrica was the owner of the orphanage, but Jem was her hologram self as a rock singer. Jem and Jerrica were the same person. Jerrica had an orphanage filled with kids, and Jem was a fucking rock chick that had pink hair and was in a rock band and had star earring and was a hologram. Show time, Synergy!

One night, when I was about 6 or so, I had a kick ass dream that I had a Jem doll. In the dream, Jem and I went around town, sang in hardcore clubs with punks (I was a little too knowledgeable a child about the punk culture…) and got into fights with the Misfits. Not the Glen Danzig band, but the Jem and the Holograms rival band. Jem was so cool she had a rival band!

All was well and good until I woke up. It was time for school and I was so ready to bring Jem with me to show off to the bastard losers at school. The second I opened my eyes, and realized it was a dream and there was no doll, I had an overwhelming feeling of sadness. A profound loss even. It was as though someone had told me that everyone I knew had died, and before they died, they all said they thought I was ugly. There was nothing worse…ever! So I immediately start crying. The wail of a thousand banshee’s all coming out of my little mouth. My mom came running in thinking I was injured. When she asked what was wrong, I was already hyperventilating. I needed a paper bags to breath into. Finally, when I calmed down, and was able to speak, my mom asked me what was wrong. Telling her I had a dream about a doll and was devastated that I didn’t have the doll in waking life was sooo the wrong thing to say. She could not stop laughing. I never got that doll. And I never fully healed, either. Thanks mom, thanks a lot.

Love me, love my ninja like skills

Sometimes, when an awkward moment rears its ugly head, I take drastic measures to put the kibosh on it. Case in point, in a galaxy far far away and a time long long ago (last year in Encino) I was seeing someone. And no matter how long we were together, there were still awkward silences. Well, this special fact always bothered me, and one day I had had it. We were sitting on his couch and watching a movie of no importance. (probably something about teenagers trying to lose their virginity by the end of summer, he liked those.) I think we had also just had a little tiff. The only reason I think that is because we weren’t sitting close to each other. I’m just laying out the scene for you, geesh! It was a hot lazy day and all of the remotes for the TV, DVD player, VCR, and whatever else were strewn about the coffee table. Well, one remote, the heaviest of all the remotes, was haphazardly teetering on the table. There were two things I could have done since the remote caught my eye and wouldn’t let go: A) push it back onto the safety of the table, or B) be awesome. I of course chose the latter. Since the guy was completely engrossed in the film, it wasn’t hard to be stealthy, but it was going to be hard to get noticed. During a pivotal scene in the fifth act with two teenagers dry humping each other, I slowly extended my leg off the couch and proceeded to lock my knee. I brought my missile of a leg directly over the remote control, and raised it about 6 inches in the air. Then, with a noise that can only be described as me breaking the sound barrier, I brought my leg crashing down, hit the remote and made it fly off the table and into the sliding glass window. The window shook a bit and generated a glass like wail that in window speak means, ” holy shit!” At once I had a smile and look of accomplishment that only the astronauts have. I turned to him for a nod of excitement. I was instead met with a frowny face that bordered on a “what the fuck” face. Never one to back down, I said that he was just mad jealous of my ninja like skills. He told me that in fact he was not jealous but concerned with the window. After I showed him the window and insisted that it was fine, he was more than a little eager to try. Poor guy, he never did make that remote control fly…but it did kill the awkward silence.