How Minor Speech Impediments Make Snakes Terrible, and The Reason I Stopped Watching Barney

Recently, my 17 years old, decrepit, and not particularly functional cat Jackie was put to sleep.  
It was for the best.  
She was no longer happy or healthy.  
I'm sure she will rule kitty heaven with an iron paw.

Back in the day, she was playful, had ear mites, and in general was just a strange and adorable all black short hair.

When we got her, I was on the look out for a fluffy white cat, so I could name him or her Gabriel like the cat in The Crow.  

I was that kid.  
Yeah. 

But I found Jackie.  
I had heard stories of an orange cat named Pumpkin from before I was born, and I decided that since when I draw Jack O' Lanterns, the eyes, mouth, and nose are black, this black cat would be named accordingly.  

Basically, I named this cat after a cat I had never even met.  
It didn't even occur to me that she was a "Halloween" cat, but that would have made significantly more sense.

There are three other things you should know for this story.  

One, my sister loves all things snake related.  
We always had a snake or two.  
Being not a fan of worm like things, I was not particularly fond of snakes, but they didn't really bother me much at the time.  

They were just creepy green worms with heads.

Between this day and the time when my mom got bitten on the face by one of them, I'm not so keen on snakes now.  
My mom was fine.  

I was bothered.  

Years later, the Sandworms of Beetlejuice are fine... so that's a start, right?

Another thing you should know is that my bed was on the ground.  I had a box spring, a mattress... and that was it.  

This was my choice.

The idea was that my closet monsters were good, but my under-the-bed monsters wanted to eat my feet.  
Specifically. 

Eat my feet. 

So, I had the bed right on the floor to keep the monsters at bay/suffocate them horribly.

Lastly, I had a lot of trouble speaking as a kid.  
I had been almost entirely deaf until about four years old.  
It was just fluid in my ears, but I needed tubes twice, because the first time didn't work. 

So, a minor ailment that many people have did exactly what one would expect it to do to a child learning language early on.  

One day, I was awakened by Jackie mewing. 

 It was kind of annoying as I was trying to sleep, so I got up, picked her up and took her out of my room. 

After plopping her on the ground, I went back to bed. 

A few moments later, she was back, mewing even louder.  I tried to ignore her. 

Finally, I got up to get her out of my room again, knowing that this time, I'd shut the damn door.

Then, I realized that my head felt rather heavy.

The snake had gotten out of her tank and wrapped herself in my hair.  

She flew out of it when I ran the Hell out of my room screaming, "SNAKE IN HAIR!  SNAKE IN ROOM!  SNAKE IN HAIR!"  

No one had any idea what I was talking about, understandably.  

Still, I remember being quite frustrated.  

Eventually, I took my mother by the hand and dragged her to my room to show her the snake, who was happily slithering all over everything I ever owned. 

The snake's tank had velcro holding the top on from that day forward. 

...

As for Barney, this was another case of my poor communication skills, coupled with my very loose grasp of reality as a child.  Sure, having a vivid imagination is one thing, but not when it is horrifying. 

I loved Barney.  I had the doll and everything.  I think I liked that he was purple and green.  Years later, I developed a love for T-rexs, and I wonder how much of that is because of that dinosaur. 

One day, Barney was drinking a glass of "milk".
I felt very smart, knowing that there was nothing actually in that cup.

It was only pretend milk.
Knowing this, somehow the next part was not rationalized in a better way. 

In drinking, Barney tilted his head up towards the lights.  You could see the person inside of Barney, through the black mesh of his mouth. 

Instead of thinking, "Oh no!  Barney is just a dude in a suit!!  Childhood over!"  
I ran around the house, frantic, believing that it was of the utmost importance that I let everyone know Barney's dark secret.

Barney eats human beings. 

As though warning of the British arriving, I said "Barney ate somebody!  Barney ate somebody!"

I was told not to watch that show anymore.  I didn't argue. 
I even got rid of my doll, because it was forever on creepy to me. 

There was also an incident while watching the Ghostbusters cartoon.  

I loved that show... but when I was just a hair too young, there was something about ...a giant... ghost... chicken?  

Apparently, I was terrified of chickens.  
I don't know.

All I know is that I wound up running around the house screaming "BIG SCARY CHICKEN!  BIG SCARY CHICKEN!" because three word phrases are all I could ever muster whilst in a panic caused by television.  
 ...Or snakes in my hair. 

 

In all fairness, I still kinda hate chickens.

Me vs. Winter

A word on Winter

First off, I'm so used to being sick during the cold Winter months that the moment it snows, I curl up in a thousand blankets in front of the computer or TV and start eating ridiculous foods or just utter crap or just so much chocolate that I shit the sick out.  

So, as I write this, you can go ahead and picture that.

I've never been great at retaining heat.  
It just does not want to happen with my body.

When I was a kid, I didn't do much playing in the snow.  

We were forced to go outside for recess and I was forced to wear snow pants, because... 
I was a child and therefore logically I would be playing in the snow. 

This is not what I did.  

Snow is cold and wet and all things that make me uncomfortable, so I avoided snow in much the same way that I avoid all things that make me uncomfortable when I have no reason to be near them.

...I avoid it like I would avoid a dirty hippy explaining the joys of eating things I'm allergic to.

Also, my Christian friends were hearing things like "If you're a good boy/girl, Santa will bring you gifts", which they interpreted as "my little Jew-friend does not receive gifts from Santa, which means she must be a bad person."  

Then, they decided to tell me this, in great detail.  

It was like a junior version of Jehovah's Witnesses.  
"Have you accepted Santa into your life yet?  No??  Then you will NOT be receiving joy or presents."

I went to my parents and asked them what the Hell this Christmas shit was all about and why it meant that my eight nights of Hannukah didn't count as getting presents.  

My parents responded with simply, "Oh!  It's the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ!"  
And I said, "OH!...  What?" 

I went on to assume that Jesus was a fat man who broke into people's houses in the dead of night to plant trees in their living-rooms as some sort of practical joke against all of nature and all that is sacred within the safety of one's home.  

Then there was something about nailing socks to fireplaces.  

This cued a Nightmare Before Christmas moment of "does it still have a foot???"  

This is what I picture when I think of Santa:

He knows when you're asleep...


Somewhere along the line, it was explained to me that most of the traditions involved didn't really have anything to do with the religious aspects of Christmas at all.  

They were mostly pagan traditions and other religious things from completely different areas of the world, all brought together in the spirit of joy and giving and love... 
...and forcing people to practice Christianity. 

Right.

SO, eventually I let that slide and decided that most of the population had no idea what they are celebrating and that was fine because it makes them happy.  

I learned to ignore the "Jews can't make snowmen" and "Jews can't look at the lights"... but was eventually made angry once again when someone tried to "explain" Hannukah. 

(By the by, Hannukah is spelled a thousand different ways because it's HEBREW, so please don't tell me I'm spelling it incorrectly.  The moment it's spelled with English letters, it's fucking wrong.)  

I was told that it was the celebration of the miracle of the oil lasting for eight days. 

...

What?

This is complete bullshit.

It's the celebration of the Macabees kicking ass.  

It was like 300 only they actually won.  

It was bloody and violent and about freedom.  

The end.  

Honestly, what's up with trying to lie to our children?  
Either way, fine. 

The new story is more kid-friendly I 'spose.

I'm still kinda stuck on how Jesus coming back from the dead has much to do with giant Harvey/Frank-like rabbits laying chocolate eggs. 

Really, if you're going to steal holiday ideas, at least force them to make sense.  
Make up a story.  
This is all I ask. 

How about... In order to deal with all of the sins for which he had just died, his old form was shed to reveal that of a giant rabbit-man.  

This way, he could sneak out with ease and deliver joy and love in handy egg-shaped carrying cases!

I rant about this now, because come Spring time, I won't be so cold and filled with hate. 

Cold = hate.

This year, I actually had a pretty good Christmas.  

We went to my boyfriend's parent's house.  

I was allowed to help decorate the tree.  

EDIT: "Allowed" was a good term to use here.  It turned out that the family involved was weirdly antisemitic and enjoyed watching me decorate the tree ALONE while mocking me.  

Except for the whole "oh my god I'm going to drop this and it's going to shatter and I'm going to go to some kind of Jew-Hell for breaking this sacred Jesus-tree decoration" part, it was very exciting and a lot of fun for me.  

The music didn't even get to me.

For those who don't know, I have a thing against most Christmas music only because of Hallmark.  

I worked there for a few months.  

It was fun work, but they found out that I don't celebrate Christmas.  

This was terrible.  

As a result, I didn't really know what I was doing, yet I was chosen to work alone ALL CHRISTMAS.  

To make matters worse, I was not allowed to change the music.  

It was automatic and I had no means of turning it off, besides maybe smashing the damn thing to bits... which I thought about. 

This comic came from that:
Deddrie: Hellmark

In case the site is down, here is that comic: 

 
At one point, a creepy man put a twenty dollar bill into my pocket as a tip for wrapping a gift for his wife... who was standing right there.  

I wanted to cry.  

Not only was it somewhat illegal for me to accept it, (so I tried not to and failed) but I have never been so very upset over receiving $20 before.

Also, I may or may not be allergic to pine. 

I'm not sure.  

I get itchy and eye-drippy around them, but it may just be Hallmark flashbacks getting to me.

Happy holidays everyone!  


 

Me vs. Bike

I wrote this recently because many people have asked me why it is that I chose to not ride a bike.  I own one.  It is nice and shiny.  Well, it's not so much that I don't want to ride a bike...
I want to ride a bike in the same way that I want to be paid to draw forever, or I want to have a well known cartoon, or even in the way that I want to have a million college degrees in a million different things... I just don't want to do the work to get there.  I want it to be done and I want to never have to think about it again.  To have everything be magically natural without any practice or effort would avoid the fear aspect entirely.  Below, I shall explain further, knowing that it really doesn't explain anything.  However, it will make me feel better about myself.  Yay!

Here is a drawing I did for a friend, (who required it as a template for a gift for his mother) because the rest of this post gets wordy.  

 It's a birdie!

Okay.  So, it started out normal.  A lot of people assume that my parents must have been monsters who didn't allow me to ride a bike and instead did so in front of me like happy goons mocking the fact that I would never learn to be a real child.

This isn't how it went.  In reality, my parents didn't know how to ride a bike either.
As it turns out, there are two truths at play here.
1: That old saying that you never forget how to ride a bike is complete bullshit.  My mom forgot.  Entirely.  Can not do it.
2: It's pretty difficult to teach someone to do something when you can't even do it yourself.
Ah!  But I had TEACHERS!  Oh yes I did. 
Victoria was one.  She was one of my first best friends.  She was my second "best friend" but really my first because she actually liked me and stuck around for a while.


TANGENT TIME!
My first "best friend" was Dara.  ...Darah?  I don't know anymore.  I couldn't spell then, so I don't have much to base this off of.  In any case, Deddrie's (my webcomic) little sister is named for this girl.  She and I were inseparable. We had so much in common, like our love for purple!

...Okay so that was kind of it, but back in nursery school, color coordination between friends was like, a big deal and stuff.
We were so close that we at one point shared a toilet.

We were very small and in retrospect this creeped me out even at the time, but prevented me from falling in.
She understood me when I spoke and together we tormented boys and she protected me from nasty other people.
After nursery school, however, I was no longer allowed to play with her.  My family was apparently not religious enough (my father is CLERGY but, hey, direct line to the Big Guy is apparently not good enough) and so I was deemed to be a bad influence.

Given how I turned out, they may have been right, but that's not the point.

I wrote to her once.  I never got a response, but that may have been because I could not spell and so it probably read something like "gjioj ij ekj flije monkeybutt lafkj;fiej rackalaj flaggen."

/End Tanget

Anyhoo, back to Victoria.  She and I were fundamentally different people.

...Though she did once pull me out of a toilet into which I had fallen.  ...Toilets and I have a sordid history.

She'd deal with all my stupid games from "we're warrior princesses out to kill the goblins" to "we're scientist cat people trying to avoid being killed by vet aliens"...

And meanwhile she actually went outside sometimes, while I cursed the sunlight and sunk back into my little cave of bad movies and cartoons.
She could roller skate, ice skate, ride a bike and drive a car as soon as legally allowed.

I still can't do any of that.

So, since she was hyper active and I didn't like to speak and hated sunlight, obviously letting her teach me to ride a bike without any parental supervision at like 10 years old was a BRILLIANT plan.
Needless to say, I didn't get very far and then she got frustrated and then bored with me pretty damn quickly after my billionth tantrum.

SO!  My sister was chosen to teach me to ride a bike.  It's true, she's about eight years older, but she's also about eight shades crazier and lord only knows what she was high on at the time.  Somehow with training wheels on my pink bike (complete with white basket which sported plastic flowers) and while wearing my trusty Pee-Wee Herman-inspired helmet, (I had put stickers all over it, complete with a giant eye ball in the front) I still managed to flip the bike onto it's side and hit my head into the side of a (thankfully parked) car.
My dream of being like those girls in Now and Then was reduced to a pile of dog crap.  So much for growing up to be Janeane Garofalo.

Right.  So.  Flash forward about ten years.  I was dating a guy who also does not have a driver's license but claims to know how to ride a bike. This was possibly a lie. 
That, or he just wanted to avoid showing me how goofy he looked on a bike. 
Either way, it was me, my mom and this guy who I am no longer dating, (though we are still friends) all in the middle of a children's park parking lot, because that's obviously the best place for bloodshed.

I was told not to wear my awesome helmet because cool adults don't wear such things.
I was too afraid to go fast enough to stay up right lest I then not be able to stop. 
But then!  I did it!  I was going!  I was moving!  And then I screamed, went into a panic and fell over sideways.  ...And my head hit a car.  Without a helmet.

About oh... five years laterish?  I bought a bike.  It was orange.
A woman I refer to as my horse (which is, believe it or not, a compliment) was able to ride it effortlessly.  It looked fun!  I thought, "Well, my horse can do it.  Damn it, so can I!"  I pictured the two of us riding off into the sunset together.

Saying is easier than doing.  Also, in retrospect... the bike is too big.  Like woah now, too tall for tiny thing that is me.

I even bought myself a helmet.  It's awesome.

My current boyfriend who knows how to ride a bike and showed me that he could, in fact, ride MY bike, attempted to teach me.
For many days, he would go backwards and allow me to basically run right into him repeatedly as though this were not a metaphor for our entire relationship.
Metaphor or not, I did it.  I even got a few feet by myself and was able to stop with no issue.  I was proud!
And then we moved.
The moment we moved, the bike was put in the back and the helmet was put somewhere in the closet.
I came up with a thousand excuses not to ride the bike. 
"It's cold."
"We live in a scary neighborhood where someone may shoot me for my bike."
"We live on a street with many children and I may hit one with my bike and kill him or her."
"There are cats."
So ...I never rode again and after a while he got tired of desperately trying to drag me outside while I'm kicking and screaming about cats.

The end so far.

EDIT:  I still have no idea how to ride a bike.  ...And this boyfriend is no longer a boyfriend.  This is a very old post.  Shh.  Be thankful I added pictures.  You folks come from the internet, which is the land of short attention spans.

EDIT to my EDIT:  Also, I mention poop and toilets like four times or something.  The Hell is wrong with me?