crawling back under the Stupid Rock from whence i came.
i know you think my life is all pretty handbags and witty soirees and torrid love affairs and tra la la.
you’re right. it is.
but then every now and then, little elves come in the middle of the night and beat me over the head with the idiot stick. and i do something really dumb. so, to make you feel better that you rarely partake in my witty soirees [except you, ful, because you are my witty soiree.] … i will regale you with stories of all the stupid things i’ve done while under the curse of elfin idiot magic:
when i was one, i was tottering around my aunt’s house, buck nekkid except for a diaper. i happened upon some mosquito-warding device that consisted of hot citronella paste in some sort of little electric pot. the details are hazy. suffice it to say, i stuck my curious little finger in it. it was predictably, very hot. so what did baby christina do? she wiped the steamy bad hotness on her bare little chest, of course. the little burn scar remains, under my right breast. no, i won’t show it to you.
once, i made a pot of coffee. only, i didn’t put in the filter. so, really, i made a pot of mud. it was all kinds of foul.
up until i was sixteen, i thought you made pasta by putting the pasta in a pot of cold water and setting it to boil. keep in mind, i had maids growing up. but still. no wonder my mac’n'cheese was always soggy.
in high school, erin and raychul once made a joke about someone named “phil ashio”. i didn’t get it. until much, much later. around the same time, a british tv sketch comedy show did a “rock song” called “kinda lingers”. didn’t get that one, either.
erin and raychul again, 1996, in the car, singing along to the police’s ‘don’t stand so close to me’. krissa: “what book by nabakov?” yeah. i was naive. which necessarily leads to the fact that i didn’t know why they called amy fisher “the long island lolita”. i know now, okay?
i used to pronounce feng shui, well, like it looks. then some pompous asshole told me it was fun shway. i stopped discussing the matter all together and have never said the word outloud since then.
most of my boyfriends. yeah. they count. specifically, the one who drunkenly carved my name in his arm with a pen knife but spelt it wrong. oh, and spending two years with a parrothead.
putting my foot into my docs in the nairobi national park without checking for siafu – fire ants. and then lacing them all the way up before realizing it.
fracturing my pelvis. shut up, you pervies, not like that. worse – doing the jump splits on a hardwood floor in socks without warming up.
that’s about it. well, no – erin, raychul, and sea could probably regale you with more idiotic things i’ve said or done. and no doubt, they will. with friends like that, honestly …
what’s your catalogue of idiocy?