Recently, Jacy and I have discovered that we really lucked out. In all reality, Jacy's childhood tendencies should have led most parents (and definitely psychologists) to believe she was going to be the next Ted Bundy. And it's really a wonder I didn't become the next Chastity (Chaz) Bono.
Let me explain.
One beautiful summer day, Jacy and I thought it would be a grand idea to do some fishin'. Jacy was no more than five (or maybe six...or even seven?) and I was a couple of years older than her. So, back in the 90s, Jacy and I packed up our tackle and headed to our pond. My friend, Tim, may have been with us, too. (As you already know, I have a terrible memory and I'm an English major, so parts of my story may or may not be accurate.) Anyway, we three went fishing down at our pond. We were catching fish left and right! I remember Jacy stopped fishing, so I looked back to see what in the world she was doing. That's when I saw her doing the creepiest thing ever. EVER. She was scaling a fish ALIVE. What a sicko, right?! She then took a fishing hook, and stabbed out the poor little fishy's eyes! I think the worst part of this whole memory was her sadistic little laugh as she held the fish up by the hook (stuck through its eye) and swung the fish around and around.
The fishing experience was one of many involving Jacy and a helpless animal. Take frogs for example. She thought it'd be fun to rip them in half by pulling their legs apart. Or sometimes, when we'd set up a tent in our back yard, she'd throw live frogs in the tent's secret compartment and completely forget about them. Then the next summer, when we'd set up our tent again, we discovered the skeletons of countless frogs... may they rest in peace. I'm sure Ted Bundy's childhood behavior wasn't too far from this....
And then there's me. Ol' Chaz. Jacy reminded me the other day, after she had snooped into my elementary school report cards, that I weighed twice as much as kindergarteners normally do. Being so fucking fat, my parents dressed me in things like carpenter jeans, stretch jeans, and boys/mens t-shirts. And instead of letting me have long hair (to perhaps distinguish me from the boys in my class), they gave me a butchy bowl cut. Or my mom would find it hilarious to perm my already 1/2 inch hair, so then I looked like the fat red-headed kid in The Big Green. My friends weren't much better in trying to make me girly. For instance, Jacy, Brienna and I would always make home videos for fun. But even though I could do a smashing girl's British accent, they would always force me to be the man in the video. I guess the plus side is that if I ever decide to go into acting, I can audition for the female and the male parts. I think the worst part is that my dressing/looking like a man stage should have passed at an early age, yet my parents found it necessary to keep me looking like a man until I was a freshman in high school. If it wasn't for a bunch of asshole guys shouting "Why's there a boy on the court??!" at my girl's basketball game during my freshman year, I'd definitely be checking into the local hospital getting a gender transformation right about now.
Thank God we're not who we almost were.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
I just got home from a nine hour bus drive from Colorado Springs, so naturally I'm a little hungry, a little thirsty, ya know, the usual. There were cookies on the counter, but those didn't really trip my trigger, so I opened the fridge to find a Papa John's pizza box waiting just for me. However, when I went to open the box, a note on the top said:
If you eat me, I'll eat you,
So, now I'm in a dilemma. I'm hungry and hungry Schwagers are nuts (as stated in previous posts). Should I risk the pizza eating me back and eat the pizza? Jacy isn't around this morning, so would she ever know if I ate her pizza? Or what if she put exlax in the crust? This is a risky operation. The shit my sister does...