(no subject)
Okay.
Sorry that I didn't comment back to any of you guys on my last post. I just couldn't keep from rolling my eyes whenever I thought about it, so, I just kept away.
ANYHOW. Now for something light.
For a little background: when I was very very young, up to age six, I grew up in this town right next to LA. Like seriously fifteen minutes away from LAX. It was actually the ghetto, and my house was TINY.
I have this memory of me and my sister taking turns sitting on a pony that just walked off the street, the two of us dressed up in cowboy hats and everything. Once I got to around age 11, I sorta assumed it was a dream or that my mind just made that shit up, because, I mean, I lived in the ghetto. There were no horses; there wasn't even room for a family of four well-fed Viking descendants.
So I'm probably going to move to the east coast, and my dad's been having me clean out my room, my sister's room, the office, has hired people to work on painting and stuff... the whole shebang. I was going through a drawer in the office and at the bottom of it I found a curved glass frame with two pictures in it. Of me and my sister. On that damn horse.
Now everyone's probably like, "so? did you really just waste my time with this story?" But think about it. WHY THE HELL WAS A HORSE WALKING DOWN THE SIDEWALK. OF A GHETTO. I'm trying to wrap my brain around this and I can't. I just got really shocked and whoa. WHOLE new perspective on my childhood.
I wish I can like take a picture of the picture to show everyone. I'm so adorable. I'm this chubby little blonde five year-old with a red hat and a red bandanna, one fat hand gripping the horn of the saddle and the other tucked under my chin like I know exactly what I'm doing. You can't see much of the horse, just part of his ass and part of his mane, but it looks like he's a roan. I can imagine the expression on his face, like, seriously, why am I here, and why does this thing on my back keep making high-pitched noises.
My sister's on the other side of the frame, also in a red hat and red bandanna. It looks like her discomfort with horses started young, because she has a damn hold on that saddlehorn. And her smile is slightly manic, like she's asking through gritted teeth when she's allowed down.
Anyway. I need to get back to cleaning, hopefully I didn't throw away my phone because I'm still trying to find it. Just needed this break and I'm still shaking my head over this story, however uninteresting it is to everyone else. :)
Sorry that I didn't comment back to any of you guys on my last post. I just couldn't keep from rolling my eyes whenever I thought about it, so, I just kept away.
ANYHOW. Now for something light.
For a little background: when I was very very young, up to age six, I grew up in this town right next to LA. Like seriously fifteen minutes away from LAX. It was actually the ghetto, and my house was TINY.
I have this memory of me and my sister taking turns sitting on a pony that just walked off the street, the two of us dressed up in cowboy hats and everything. Once I got to around age 11, I sorta assumed it was a dream or that my mind just made that shit up, because, I mean, I lived in the ghetto. There were no horses; there wasn't even room for a family of four well-fed Viking descendants.
So I'm probably going to move to the east coast, and my dad's been having me clean out my room, my sister's room, the office, has hired people to work on painting and stuff... the whole shebang. I was going through a drawer in the office and at the bottom of it I found a curved glass frame with two pictures in it. Of me and my sister. On that damn horse.
Now everyone's probably like, "so? did you really just waste my time with this story?" But think about it. WHY THE HELL WAS A HORSE WALKING DOWN THE SIDEWALK. OF A GHETTO. I'm trying to wrap my brain around this and I can't. I just got really shocked and whoa. WHOLE new perspective on my childhood.
I wish I can like take a picture of the picture to show everyone. I'm so adorable. I'm this chubby little blonde five year-old with a red hat and a red bandanna, one fat hand gripping the horn of the saddle and the other tucked under my chin like I know exactly what I'm doing. You can't see much of the horse, just part of his ass and part of his mane, but it looks like he's a roan. I can imagine the expression on his face, like, seriously, why am I here, and why does this thing on my back keep making high-pitched noises.
My sister's on the other side of the frame, also in a red hat and red bandanna. It looks like her discomfort with horses started young, because she has a damn hold on that saddlehorn. And her smile is slightly manic, like she's asking through gritted teeth when she's allowed down.
Anyway. I need to get back to cleaning, hopefully I didn't throw away my phone because I'm still trying to find it. Just needed this break and I'm still shaking my head over this story, however uninteresting it is to everyone else. :)