I come from a long line of vocal injury people. We say, “Ow!” like we’re dying, but I’m pretty sure our pain tolerance is actually quite high. So, we can tell when one of us is hurt and when we’re just saying it hurts.
Ah, mom. She really was drinking Greyhounds (Vodka and Grapefruit juice) at nine in the morning. She really did say it was five o’clock somewhere. I don’t know what else she was doing at the time. She might have been writing her romance novels, or her opus magnus. Maybe she was just smoking a Virginia Slim and getting plastered. Hard to say.
I know it seems odd for a young man to run screaming for his momma, like a little baby. Let me remind you, I had a tick INSIDE me.
Yes. I had a tick in my belly button. Yes. It is as horrible as it sounds. To date, I don’t like my belly button touched.
My parents were…eccentric. Their life goal was always to live off-grid in the mountains, self-sufficient and in tune with nature. I was about 18 or 19 and just done with my first year of college. Rather than be homeless, I decided to stay with my parents. I slept in a teepee. Before you say, “OMG that’s sooo cool!” let me assure you that it was far from cool. For starters, during the day it was about 100 and at night about 60. And it wasn’t made from soft, supple leather of animal hides. It was made out of industrial sheets of plastic. Trés ghetto. And my bed was a cot.
And people think I’m weird for not liking to be outside. Perhaps I’ll do a flashback to when I was 12, or 5. That’ll teach you people!
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