7 year olds aren’t that smart…

When I was a kid, I was a little bastard. I myself don’t think that is the case, but I have been assured by my family – on numerous occasions – that I was, indeed, a little prick. However, it was not completely my fault. Apparently, I was diagnosed with ADD at a young age, but since my mother didn’t want me on medication, she figured I’d grow out of it. Keep in mind, this was back in the mid to late 70s, so ADD wasn’t the throw away diagnosis it is today. So, in a nutshell, it’s more or less my mother’s fault that I was an ass, not mine.

So, one night I was acting particularly dickish and my mother was getting quite fed up. I don’t know where we were going, nor do I know where we were coming from, all I remember is my mom was driving, I was in the front seat and my sister was in the back. And it was dark that night. Very dark.

Anyway, I was acting up, my mom was getting pissed and my sister was teasing me ’cause she knew I was going to be in trouble when we got home. But my mother managed to shut me up before we got home.

As we were coming up to the local graveyard, my mother said that if I didn’t stop acting up, she was going to drop me off. In the graveyard. At night. Right now.

I, of course, did not believe her, and told her so. I was smart enough to say so after we passed the graveyard, because there was no way she would turn around and actually do it. Yeah, 7 year olds aren’t that smart.

She stopped the car, threw it in reverse, backed it up, made the right into the cemetery and headed up the hill and deep into the boneyard.

At about smack in the middle of the place, she put the vehicle in park, got out, came over to the passenger side and pulled me out of the car. I kind of went willingly, because, even though I was scared, I knew there was no way she was going to leave me there. Again, 7 year olds know less than they think.

My mother got back into the car and locked the doors. Then she left.

And there I was, 7 years old, standing in the middle of a graveyard in the middle of the night. Fear is too tame a word to describe what I felt.

After about 2 hours, I saw my mother’s car coming back to pick me up – hopefully. Okay, maybe it was more like 2 minutes, but it sure as hell felt like 2 hours.

I did not act up again that night. Or that week. Or, quite possibly, that month.

I found out later from my sister that mom just went around a bend and turned off the lights. She could see me the whole time, so I was never in any danger (unless you count the possibility of the dead rising and having me for dinner “danger”).

I never felt any ill will towards my mother for doing that – not after I got over it anyway. Looking back, it was actually a hell of a way to get me to shutup.

I can’t wait until I have kids.

His and Her…

I went and picked up some movies (including the TV classic The Greatest American Hero – Season 1).

As I was walking to my car, I saw a man and a woman coming towards the store.

The man had a mullet, which in itself is not odd. She had one too.

They must have gotten matching haircuts in the spirit of Valentine’s Day.

Nothing says love like “His and Her Mullets”.

And sometimes, I can just leave it at that.

There is a difference between thick and fat ass…

Why do people random IM me?

I get them often enough to wonder what, exactly, is in my profile that says, “Hey! There is nothing I would like more than to chat with YOU!”

In particular, men.

Seriously guys, I don’t want to chat with you. The three friends I have are plenty.

Here is a transcript I had the other day…

Java18345 – Hey, what’s up?

Me – Do I know you?

Java18345 – No

Me – This is random?

Java18345 – Yeah

Me (after checking the profile and not seeing a pic) – You a dude?

Java18345 – Yeah

Me – I gotta go

Then I put his dumb ass on ignore.

Hey poindexters, a little bit of advice…

If you ever want to get out of the basement of the science building, instant message WOMEN!

Unless, of course, you are gay, then I guess it’s okay to random men. Except me. No offense, I could give a shit if your gay, but if I’m going to chat with someone I don’t know, it’s going to be with a woman. Preferably a hottie. Dating status of said hottie is irrelevant.

Oh, and one more thing, you big girls, stop randoming me.

There is absolutely nothing wrong with y’all, but you need to find a man who is attracted to that. Big women aren’t my thing, and since they aren’t my thing, I have no need to talk to you.

Thick girls, on the other hand, by all means, shout! But, for the love of God and all that is holy, don’t lie to yourselves. There is a difference between thick and fat ass. You better damn well know it before you random IM me.

Kicking my own ass…

I’ve been watching Millennium – Season One lately, and I’ve been kicking myself in the ass with each episode I view.

When Millennium first made its TV run, the only episode I caught in its entirety was the very first one. And I dug it. I dug it a lot.

So why the hell did I not watch another episode?

Probably for the same reason I do – or don’t do – a lot of things. Because I’m a dumbass.

That first episode had everything going for it. Intro music by White Zombie, created by Chris Carter (The X-Files!), a score by Mark Snow (The X-Files!), lead played by Lance Fucking Henrickson and as much skin that could be shown on TV. Hell, that first episode dealt with a girl who worked at a peep show joint for crying out loud. At its first at bat, Millennium not only knocked it out of the park, it damn near knocked it out of the state.

At least with Buffy and Angel (two shows I discovered only after their DVD release), I have an excuse. I never saw an episode before I purchased the DVDs. With Millennium, I did not have the luxury of having an excuse.

But that’s okay, because its out on DVD and I can watch this terrific show as much as I want – well, at least as much as I want of the first two seasons for now. The others just aren’t out yet.

Check out Millennium. At least rent it so you can watch the first episode. Hell, its got LFH (Lance Fucking Henrickson) and a new psychotic killer each episode, what more can you ask for?

As for me, I gotta go back to kicking my own ass.