I'm bipolar. I blog about it. I also blog about sex, theology and atheology, funny shit and sad shit, books, music, feminism, and love. Mostly love.

Monday, May 21, 2012

I'm a cock...

Why couldn't they have just said rooster?

but not in the penis way. But the title got your attention, right? It is my belief that only my really weird titles ever get views, so I'm alternating normal and weird titles as an experiment to test this theory. But I promise that the title has a lot to do with the actual story. It kind of is the story. I've been cycling through some of the family classics lately--the stories brought up to embarrass children through adulthood. These are the stories that are funny to everyone but the person they're about until that person just decides to get over their cockiness (heh heh) and laugh along. Because I was really weird and didn't have a lot of friends my age, I'm nearly always the subject of these stories. I'm also the youngest child, which means there were more people to remember my embarrassing moments, and mine are the most recent.

Today I went to Panda Garden with Kyle. Panda Garden is arguably the best Chinese food in Terre Haute, and I've been going since I was a baby. They even gave us a free meal once, because one time I packed a bag full of my old Burger King toys and handed them out to the waiters and waitresses. It was New Year's Eve, and their anniversary. Panda Garden and I are the same age. The owner was charmed (and who wouldn't be? I'm hella cute), and gave us our meal for free. That event, paired with the fact Panda Garden had the only vegetables I would eat, made it a frequent visit for the Markle-Thompson-Webster-Dunahee family.

Panda Garden had those placemats (I don't care what my internet spellcheck thinks. Placemats is totally one word), with the Chinese Zodiac on them and personality traits of each animal. I'm pretty sure most Chinese restaurants has those, actually, now that I think about it. Anyway, unfortunately, I'm a rooster. <--That's what I should have said over lunch with my family and my friend Brittany.

I was one of those kids who never really got sexual references until like... high school. Yeah. It wasn't until "that's what she said" became a regular part everyone's vocabulary that I understood any of it. Then I probably took it too far, because when you give a 14 year-old that phrase, when they've always been the last one to get innuendos, they're going to abuse it. And before I knew anything about "she," or anything, really, cock only meant rooster. At least to me.

And one day I said it a little too loudly, because I talk loudly all the time (now that I think of it. No one should have ever told me I was a cock based solely on how much, how quickly, and how loudly I speak). "I'm a cock." And Mom was like, "Maddie, don't say that so loud." And because I was sensitive about being a loudmouth, I said it louder to piss her off. And it went from there. And in the middle of my defiant rant that left everyone at the table and surrounding tables debilitating-ly uncomfortable, I said "Darren's a cock, Ian's a cock, I'm a cock..." and I wouldn't shut up.

I'm a cock
Ian's a cock
Darren's a cock
I'm a cock
I'm a cock
I'm a cock...

And Brittany was in that I'm not sure if I'm allowed to laugh so I'm just going to look really awkward and try not to really, really hard kind of place, and Mom desperately tried to make me shut up, which made me even more of a brat about it.

It wasn't until we got out to the car that Mom said, "Maddie. Cock is another word for penis."

And I was mortified.

And since my family has used that story any time Chinese food came into conversation, or anytime they possibly could in order to mortify me. It wasn't so much that I was embarrassed I'd said those things. It was more embarrassment that I was in like... 6th grade and still didn't know what cock meant. But now that I'm older, 6th grade sounds pretty damn young. AND I can totally blame my ignorance on Catholic school and the Disney Channel.

Not. My. Fault. It's also the combined effort of my parents that I'm a cock in the first place. In theory, this is basically everyone's fault but mine. I'm going to stick with that.

Sunday, May 20, 2012

"When you're 18 I won't feel bad for telling you that joke..."

My sister's son, Julian, has always been the precious kind of trouble maker that genuinely made trouble because he was a boy and for no other purpose. He liked the shock value, and he liked the attention, and he was a curious kid! In the moment there's always this kind of "What the hell, Jude! JUST STOP!" But then there's this little part in the back of your brain that wanted to laugh, and when the initial pissiness would wear off, the laughs came, too. That's what he lived for.

Cursing is one of those pointless rules that little boys love to break. They’re rules that give a whole lot of four letter words a whole lot of power. When he was younger, Julian was already a badass, and he loved to push that limit. Hell. Grownups do it all the time. He was just ahead of his time. But finally, for fear of punishment, he stopped, and instead began to punish the adults for cursing. That was okay to him, but there was no shock value in the “Boss of Bad Words” telling them, “We don’t say that.” I guess he needed more.

In the midst of this stage, while feeling bored at *OneHope United, he pulled the fire alarm. He had been told over and over again not to touch the damn handle, but he was a little boy. And he had a hard time wrapping his little mind around what was so bad about pulling a handle. He loved breaking pointless rules. But this one wasn’t pointless. And it scared him shitless. The blood ran from his tiny face and he ran with his knees and voice shaking to his mother.

When enough time had passed, the whole thing became amusing, and although we were a little afraid he’d think it was okay because we laughed at it, we were pretty convinced that he would never do it again, based solely on the look on his face when the alarm rang. And one infamous day in the car, he let us know about all the things we shouldn’t do or say.

We don’t hit Sissy, we don’t say fuck, we don’t say shit, we don’t say damn it, we don’t say stupid, we don’t say hate, we don’t bite, we don’t pull fire alarms.

And now, years later, his 9 year-old head was tilted up looking at that handle. He eyed it cautiously, and Mom said, “Julian, don’t you dream of it.” He grinned back at her knowingly and walked towards her. Kayla said, “We’ve already been through that one,” and Mom laughed as she leaned towards him, “we don’t say shit, we don’t say fuck, we don’t pull fire alarms… and when you’re 18 I won’t feel bad for telling you that joke.”

We don't say fuck.

*The company that employs nearly every member of my family.

"Oh, and people who think knowing Wagon Wheel makes them folk fans..."

We all have things we’re great at and things we could improve upon. But there’s always that list of things that we’re just utter shit at and we will never be better at, no matter how hard we try. My list is embarrassingly long because I’m no good at being a grown up, but here is the Top 16 Things I’m Bad At:

  1. Following directions
  2. Calming the fuck down
  3. Observation
  4. Mingling
  5. Losing
  6. Beginning to cry and ceasing to cry
  7. Rational thinking
  8. Being alone in my house
  9. Tolerating homophobes
  10. Math
  11. Tests
  12. Math tests
  13. Finishing projects
  14. Liking those people who have never read Harry Potter
  15. Or who think they’re fun. fans because they know We Are Young
  16. Oh, and people who think knowing Wagon Wheel makes them folk fans. I have a hard time liking them, too. I like Old Crow Medicine Show, but y’all haven’t been looking much deeper than any of your other hipster friends. Let me make you a playlist. Everyone knows that song.
  17. I’m also terrible at getting over my bitchiness about things that matter a little as people who think they know music despite the fact they know only what MTV and the radio have exposed them to. Even that sounded bitchy. I should really get off my pedestal. People will start to hate me.