Freakshow

Someone once asked me if I'm a tease to some of the guys at my work. I simply replied that while I typically keep to myself, one time I did give a couple of them a gift bag of teas. (True story)


The MR2
I used to drive a Toyota MR2. This piece of crap would often have throttle issues if the engine wasn't warmed up. One day, I drove home from school and got all the way up the stairs to my apartment before I realized I had forgotten that I needed to the grocery store. I went back down to my shitty MR2, aka Mr. Letdown, and made my way to the store. I pulled up to a stoplight, like a good little citizen, and waited for the light to change. After a million seconds, finally, it did so and I put the car in gear, proceeding to move forward. The car stalled and puttered, acting as if it weren't warmed up. Acting like a piece of crap is what it was. Of course, this is flustering for me. What the hell!?! As I'm futzing with the gear shifter and trying as many combinations of clutch/shift/throttle maneuvers as I can possibly come up with before the guy behind me starts honking, a huge, red diesel 4x4 truck speeds by in a flash (my guess is he was doing about 90mph), completely running his red light. (True story)

The Machete
My husband and I often go on adventures to random places, start fires, and wreck up the place. We’re keen on camping in the mountains, riding ATVs through the desert, etc. One of our adventures landed us at a dry-lake bed, one that you’ve probably seen if you’ve ever watched MythBusters, (they’ve done a lot of experiments out at Cuddeback Lake in California). We were with a couple of friends and the plan was to start a fire and camp out, casual as ever, partying with some liquor and marijuana.

My husband will never understand the competitive ego of the Aries, which happens to be my astrological sign. He also has the weirdest ways of occupying his time. Recently, he had bought a combat style machete, the kind you would find at a sporting goods store or the AAFES shop on a military base. It was sharp as all hell.
We all sat around the fire, laughing and drinking, and smoking. We used random big rocks we found as chairs and made ourselves comfortable by scattering our provisions about such as the cooler, fire logs, and I think we even brought the charcoal grill. It was no surprise that my husband got bored, so eventually, he made up this game called “Pull the machete out of the log.” In this game, he uses his massive strength to throw the machete down towards the log so that it would lodge quite deep into the wood. The next step was to challenge someone to get it out of the log.

Heed my words, never challenge an Aries as they typically go to all extremes to win, and that’s me right down to the horns. I raised my hand, as if we were in a classroom setting, and got up to school everyone with my machete dislodging skills. With one swift kick, my foot connected with the handle of the blade and the machete went flying across the desert, earning myself awe for my brilliance and tactics.

So now I’m thinking “Yay, I win.” But my husband wasn’t satisfied with my victory and challenges me to do it again. This time my ego is a bit boosted because I already proved, once, that I’m a badass. I kicked the machete again, this time a bit more affected by the drugs and alcohol, and my foot connects with the machete, just as before, sending it soaring even further this time.

My fans cheered and raved about my awesomeness, as I stood there, standing tall and proud. Then, I felt a breeze go across my shoe, the closed-toe, faux leather boots that I’d been wearing. I remember thinking, how odd that I should feel this breeze while wearing some shoes that don't expose my feet. That’s when I looked down and saw that my big toe had been slashed open through my boot; it was cut so clean that it didn’t even bleed. (True Story)


Jay Leno
I met Jay Leno at my work when he came through to use our proving ground to do some filming for his show "Jay's Garage." The only thing I got to say to him amidst all the commotion was "Hey, you were on The Simpsons!"

He said, "That's funny," and we took a photo together.

Now I tell people Jay Leno thinks I'm funny. (True Story)

The Explosion

When I was about 13 years old, I picked up the nasty habit of smoking cigarettes. I grew up around a mechanic-shop type setting, and a few of the employees there smoked and would throw their half-smoked cigarette butts on the ground, then I would come around and pick them up, pocket them, and smoke them later.

The place where my dad worked was an airplane hangar turned into a business, which my grandpa owned, allowing me access to things that most 13yr old kids don’t. To only mention a few, some of those things were machines, some were chemicals, some were tools. I had a full-blown workshop at my disposal, yet the rebellious side of me only saw the opportunity to get away with smoking the butts I found on the ground.

One day, I was at my house, hanging out with a friend. It was the middle of March in the Midwest, and we were walking around outside. If you’ve never been to Kansas in the month of March, I’ll have to tell you that it is still chilly and cold around that time. I was wearing a coat made of duck feathers that I had received for Christmas that happened to be filled with duck feathers. We made our way towards the chicken coop on my property, as it was the type of environment that looked like it should have been a farm except no farm animals lived there.

Of course, I wanted to be bad, so I had a pocketful of cigarette butts I wanted to smoke, however there was a predicament. I did have a source of fire, but I only had matches and only had a few; definitely not enough to accommodate all the butts I wanted to smoke.

Lacking this element led to a cognitive train of thought and brainstorming.

Idea one: We need a stick. Why? To light on fire. Easy. We found a 1x2 wood plank.

Idea two: fuel for the stick so that it lights. We pondered this idea for a minute. We looked around and noticed all the vehicles parked at my house, so we decided that the best idea would be to dip the stick into one of the fuel tanks, get it covered in gasoline, then it would light without issue. That idea flopped when we learned that the stick was way too big to even fit in the fuel port of any of the vehicles we tried.

Idea three: More brainstorming, yet we were still completely determined and in our modes of problem solving. We walked around my property, looking inside things, under things, and behind things to find fuel of some kind for our stick.
We got to the shed behind my house and rooted around inside. Low and behold, we hit the jackpot. A full industrial-sized can of Methyl Ethyl Ketone sat there on the floor and I recognized it immediately. My face lit up as I turned to my friend and exclaimed, “Hey this is flammable!”

So we brought these items back to the chicken coop, and plunged the stick into the ground. The first idea was to pour the Ketone onto the stick then light it. That didn’t work too well. The next idea, my idea, was to pour the Ketone on the stick while it was lit. Brilliant.

My friend was in charge of the pouring, which was good for me. She couldn’t sue me. As she poured the Ketone, the flame from the stick was sucked into the ketone can, igniting all the liquid inside, sending balls of flames in my direction.

I covered my face as the flames burst toward me, literally engulfing me in the fire. Screams and panic set in from the both of us, but my school had done a good job of training us in such events. I suppose they expected us to play with matches and gasoline. I dropped to the ground as fast as I could and started rolling around to extinguish the flames. My coat was made of duck feathers, and before I knew it there were duck feathers all over the chicken coop.

I got most of the flames out by rolling, but my pants were on fire. I motioned for my friend to roll up the door to the coop so I could go outside, I thought maybe the wind would help smother my pants. Unfortunately, it only made things worse, so I began slapping my leg to put the fire out.

Finally, I was no longer aflame, and my friend and I ran to my house trying to find my dad so I could tell him what happened. I changed into my robe as fast as possible. My deaf dad, who just so happened to be in the bathroom at the time, was almost impossible to get his attention. I sent notes under the door and rapped on the door and stomped on the floor for about 30 minutes, before I finally heard water splashing and figured out that he was taking a bath.

He opened the door, a look of annoyance on his face. I showed him the places where my skin had been melted and urged him to take me to the hospital. He refused. He didn’t see my injuries as all that serious, although the skin on my left leg and stomach was see through and beginning to blister to the size of golf balls.

Leaving me home, he left to take my friend to her house then said he was going to pick up some ointment from the store. I tried arguing with him but that didn’t faze him in the least.

It wasn’t until he came home, about 40 minutes later, that my neighbor had come over and saw my melted skin and told my dad that I needed to go the emergency room. (True Story)