I'm going to hell, that is, if I'm not already there
I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard, “Ohmigod. I can’t believe you said that, you’re going to hell.”
I’m not exactly sure how I feel about heaven, and hell, and God, and the devil… but even I’m surprised by the non-filtered stuff that comes out of my mouth… so, go on ahead devil, scoot over and make some room on that couch for me.
I used to have a partner in crime. She would usually be standing right next to me laughing at the old people who trip over themselves, and cringing at the germ infested children who might possibly brush up against us.
I’ve written and am acting in this children’s theater show, and at the end of almost every show, kids will swarm the stage and actors… kids will hug me, want to sit in my lap, they’ll try and talk to me… and the mothers of these children… the mothers are giddy with excitement, large smiles, holding the camera, wanting to take pictures. I can hear them saying, in that shrill of a mother’s voice, “It’s soooo cute!!!!!” Sometimes I wish I could share the sentiment, but really all I can think is, “germs, germs, germs, germs.” This is what I’m talking about; I’ve been meaning to get that off my chest… my former partner in crime would appreciate that thought.
Unfortunately my partner in crime and I have seemingly split ways, perhaps for the better, although, to be honest, I’m not convinced about the “for the better” part, not by a long shot. We used to talk everyday, everyday, sometimes two or three times a day, see each other several times a week… now we talk maybe once a week, and usually because, I’m guessing here, but at least on my end it’s because I start to feel guilty that I haven’t talked to her in so long, and I haven’t seen her in nearly about a month. It sucks, totally sucks, I can say that lately I’ve felt like… well, I was looking for a kick ass metaphor there, but all I can say is like shit. Bad. Awful. Shitty. Crappy. Like shit. Not a happy time in Jeff land. And what’s even worse is I have all these brilliantly evil horrible thoughts in my head, and the only person I know who can enjoy them on the same level as I, is no longer… well, whatever. And so it goes.
Anyway, I was talking to my friend NYM the other day, and she was telling me that she’s dreadfully afraid of King Kong.
“You know he’s not real?”
“I know, but just the idea of a giant monkey frightens me.”
“But he’s not real. Plus, giant monkey or not, you’ve got that whole opposable thumb thing on him.”
“The big monkey frightens me. He’s as big as a dinosaur.”
“Are you afraid of dinosaurs?”
“YES! Didn’t you see Jurassic Park? They were scary”
“Okay, but you know they aren’t around anymore either right?”
“I know, but…”
“Hey did you hear about that guy, St. John Davis, he’s this old guy who had a pet monkey. He had to put his monkey, I think it was a chimp; he had to put his chimp in a chimp sanctuary. Anyway, he was throwing a birthday party for his former pet chimp, and while he’s at the chimp sanctuary, some of the other chimps escape the cage and attack, the chimps almost kill the old guy.”
“Really?”
“I’m just saying, you know, I have that thing where I say I think I could take a bear in a bear attack? I really think I could take a couple of chimps.”
“I don’t know I hear chimps are really strong.”
“I guess, they did tear off the old guy’s nose and rip off his testicles.”
“Yeah, that helped me with my fear of King Kong.”
I guess that makes sense. I’m deathly afraid of whales. Whales make me piss myself. I don’t know where my fear of whales comes from. Honestly, I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen a whale. I might have seen Shamu at Sea World along time ago… I can’t remember, I’ve either blocked that memory, or I’m cribbing a memory from some tv show.
I’ve been thinking about the time I was bitten by a spider. A brown recluse (I believe, I never actually saw the thing) knocked me on my ass for three days. It’s totally unfair that something a thousand times smaller than me can kill me just by biting me. I can’t kill a whale by biting it. Seriously, I’m terrified of whales. There’s that scene in Castaway, where Tom Hanks is floating in the ocean, on the raft he made, and a giant whale swims by him… I sunk so low in my seat I think I might have ended up on the soda-covered floor.
So, I’m talking to NYM, and the conversation was all over the place. We talked about online dating services, and the weather, my fear of whales, we took long hard looks at ourselves, delved into our psyche, and wondered who was more bad ass, Transformers, G.I. Joe, or the Thundercats (Transformers was my vote), and who would win in a gladiator style battle royal, me, a bear, a couple of monkeys, King Kong, a brown recluse spider, or a dinosaur. TIP: I’m the only one with an opposable thumb.
Somehow we end up talking about Sean Penn’s performance in I Am Sam. She hates the fact, along with everyone else it seems, that someone who plays a “challenged” person seems to get nominated or win all kinds of awards. Which made me wonder aloud, if Corky (I’m sorry I don’t know his real name) played let’s say, Edward R. Murrow in Good Night and Good Luck, would he be nominated for an Oscar?
“HELL YEAH!” was NYM’s response. Then we both laughed at the idea.
“Oh my God. We’re going to hell for laughing at this.” She said.
“Bring it on.”
I’m not exactly sure how I feel about heaven, and hell, and God, and the devil… but even I’m surprised by the non-filtered stuff that comes out of my mouth… so, go on ahead devil, scoot over and make some room on that couch for me.
I used to have a partner in crime. She would usually be standing right next to me laughing at the old people who trip over themselves, and cringing at the germ infested children who might possibly brush up against us.
I’ve written and am acting in this children’s theater show, and at the end of almost every show, kids will swarm the stage and actors… kids will hug me, want to sit in my lap, they’ll try and talk to me… and the mothers of these children… the mothers are giddy with excitement, large smiles, holding the camera, wanting to take pictures. I can hear them saying, in that shrill of a mother’s voice, “It’s soooo cute!!!!!” Sometimes I wish I could share the sentiment, but really all I can think is, “germs, germs, germs, germs.” This is what I’m talking about; I’ve been meaning to get that off my chest… my former partner in crime would appreciate that thought.
Unfortunately my partner in crime and I have seemingly split ways, perhaps for the better, although, to be honest, I’m not convinced about the “for the better” part, not by a long shot. We used to talk everyday, everyday, sometimes two or three times a day, see each other several times a week… now we talk maybe once a week, and usually because, I’m guessing here, but at least on my end it’s because I start to feel guilty that I haven’t talked to her in so long, and I haven’t seen her in nearly about a month. It sucks, totally sucks, I can say that lately I’ve felt like… well, I was looking for a kick ass metaphor there, but all I can say is like shit. Bad. Awful. Shitty. Crappy. Like shit. Not a happy time in Jeff land. And what’s even worse is I have all these brilliantly evil horrible thoughts in my head, and the only person I know who can enjoy them on the same level as I, is no longer… well, whatever. And so it goes.
Anyway, I was talking to my friend NYM the other day, and she was telling me that she’s dreadfully afraid of King Kong.
“You know he’s not real?”
“I know, but just the idea of a giant monkey frightens me.”
“But he’s not real. Plus, giant monkey or not, you’ve got that whole opposable thumb thing on him.”
“The big monkey frightens me. He’s as big as a dinosaur.”
“Are you afraid of dinosaurs?”
“YES! Didn’t you see Jurassic Park? They were scary”
“Okay, but you know they aren’t around anymore either right?”
“I know, but…”
“Hey did you hear about that guy, St. John Davis, he’s this old guy who had a pet monkey. He had to put his monkey, I think it was a chimp; he had to put his chimp in a chimp sanctuary. Anyway, he was throwing a birthday party for his former pet chimp, and while he’s at the chimp sanctuary, some of the other chimps escape the cage and attack, the chimps almost kill the old guy.”
“Really?”
“I’m just saying, you know, I have that thing where I say I think I could take a bear in a bear attack? I really think I could take a couple of chimps.”
“I don’t know I hear chimps are really strong.”
“I guess, they did tear off the old guy’s nose and rip off his testicles.”
“Yeah, that helped me with my fear of King Kong.”
I guess that makes sense. I’m deathly afraid of whales. Whales make me piss myself. I don’t know where my fear of whales comes from. Honestly, I’m not sure if I’ve ever seen a whale. I might have seen Shamu at Sea World along time ago… I can’t remember, I’ve either blocked that memory, or I’m cribbing a memory from some tv show.
I’ve been thinking about the time I was bitten by a spider. A brown recluse (I believe, I never actually saw the thing) knocked me on my ass for three days. It’s totally unfair that something a thousand times smaller than me can kill me just by biting me. I can’t kill a whale by biting it. Seriously, I’m terrified of whales. There’s that scene in Castaway, where Tom Hanks is floating in the ocean, on the raft he made, and a giant whale swims by him… I sunk so low in my seat I think I might have ended up on the soda-covered floor.
So, I’m talking to NYM, and the conversation was all over the place. We talked about online dating services, and the weather, my fear of whales, we took long hard looks at ourselves, delved into our psyche, and wondered who was more bad ass, Transformers, G.I. Joe, or the Thundercats (Transformers was my vote), and who would win in a gladiator style battle royal, me, a bear, a couple of monkeys, King Kong, a brown recluse spider, or a dinosaur. TIP: I’m the only one with an opposable thumb.
Somehow we end up talking about Sean Penn’s performance in I Am Sam. She hates the fact, along with everyone else it seems, that someone who plays a “challenged” person seems to get nominated or win all kinds of awards. Which made me wonder aloud, if Corky (I’m sorry I don’t know his real name) played let’s say, Edward R. Murrow in Good Night and Good Luck, would he be nominated for an Oscar?
“HELL YEAH!” was NYM’s response. Then we both laughed at the idea.
“Oh my God. We’re going to hell for laughing at this.” She said.
“Bring it on.”