HUMOR
My Dead Pets Are InterestingLOS ANGELES 16 November 2009 |
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He asked me about my childhood pets, and that’s where I really screwed up.
“Romeo got run over by a car,” I said. “When I bent down and touched his body, it didn’t move at all. I guess that makes sense, because he was dead, but for some reason I still expected his body to react to my touch. But it didn’t. It just stayed absolutely stiff, like a rock covered by a layer of flesh. We all knew he was getting close to death, even before he got run over by the car, because he really stopped eating and he was suddenly very skinny. Sometimes I liked to run my fingers over his bones because it really was like he was nothing but a skeleton at the end of his life, like he’d wasted away almost completely, and when he couldn’t waste anymore, he jumped in front of a car.”
“I don’t want to hear about how your pets died,” the guy said.
I hadn’t realized that he wouldn’t want to hear about that. What else could he have possibly wanted to hear about my childhood pets? What’s even interesting about a pet before it dies? They eat, they sleep, maybe they play with toys. The real story starts when they die.
But the guy didn’t want to hear about that, and then after we talked about my pets, he didn’t seem to want to hear about much else, either. I guess you’re just not supposed to talk about dead animals on a first date.
I seem to have a problem. I remember only the disgusting details of events in my life, and nothing else. I don’t usually find these things disgusting, but I’ve determined by the reactions of others who I’ve spoken with that they are disgusting, and that people would really rather I not share these details.
The issue here is this: when I weed out all the things that I would naturally include in a conversation, I am left with virtually nothing. No contributions. No pleasantries. All I have is the voice in my head screaming and screaming.
Tell her about that time you fell and broke your tooth and blood was seeping from your mouth and you were laughing and laughing and laughing! Or tell her about that guy you saw the first year you lived in Los Angeles, you know, the guy who leaned over and vomited on the head of a little Mexican woman at a bus stop!
And then my brain adjusts itself. I remember that most people don’t want to hear those stories. The girl who lives next to me doesn’t want to hear about these things. She just wants to say hello like a polite person.
The girl who lives next door. I bring her up, not randomly, but because she is a problem for me. She really is. Recently, I was sitting outside with a pile of books, studying in the sunlight, getting fresh air. She came by and made the mistake of making a comment about my books.
“Studying?” she asked.
My natural response to this is to offer an illustrative description about the numerous horrible deaths I think are more desirable than my current condition of “grad student.”
But that’s not okay. So I have to improvise.
“Yes, but I’m not very smart,” I said.
I don’t know why I told her I wasn’t very smart. That was irrelevant. So I tried to correct myself.
“I mean, I’m not stupid, but I make a lot of really bad decisions. Especially with men. Oh, my god, I make so many bad choices! Like this one guy, my friends and I called him “The Face.” There’s a reason. You don’t need to know why. Or maybe…well, the reason is because he had this face that he made….”
Around this time, my brain catches up again. I realize I’m heading towards disclosing the details people don’t want to hear. So I awkwardly begin talking about washing machines, and how mine is very quiet and requires special detergent because it’s a “green” washer, and if she doesn’t mind, could she please tell me about her washing machine? Then she has to tell me about her washing machine, because I asked, even though I don’t care, and I sit there as she answers my washing machine question with a pained look on my face, just waiting for her to get the hell away from me, just waiting for it all to end.
And this all happened because someone walked past me. It’s different if a date goes horribly wrong, or if you’re at a party and you get locked in to a strange conversation, but this girl just walked by me and I trapped her with a bizarre interaction, with behaviors that were honestly aimed at avoiding this bizarre interaction in the first place, but ended up causing it.
This happens about once a month with the girl who lives next door. That poor girl. She probably wishes I would move already and corner my new neighbors with uncomfortable babbling.
I just wish people wanted to hear about how my pets died.
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I would love to hear about how your pets died, and about the tooth and the laughter, and about the puking on the Mexican lady, and I would like a detailed explanation of that face that guy made.
You are wonderful and special. It’s everyone else who is dull.
Love,
J
jess, you’re one in a billion. thanks.
that guy puking on the lady still haunts me. of all the places he could have barfed, he chooses her head. i mean, god.
Maybe he was commenting on her hairstyle? Was it bad? Did she need gel?
I am happy to hear any disgusting or inappropriate story you wish to share. Your stories are fucking hilarious and you are one of the most interesting and clever people I know. It’s funny that you always awkward around the girl next door. I’d love to know what she thinks. I bet she tells all her friends about you.
Is it wrong to say that I have been laughing about the guy that vomited on the lady’s head?
the girl next door doesn’t have any friends cause she’s married and (my understanding is that) married people in LA don’t have any friends. she told me she was married once when i trapped her and talked about french fries. she just tells her husband to stay away from me, i’m sure.
that lady did not find it funny. she was on her way somewhere. waiting for the bus! and he barfed on her!
Now you have me laughing at your comment. I am such a bad person.
it’s okay, we don’t know the lady. for all we care, she’s not even human.
HA!!! Yes, yes, married people DON’T have friends. Every time one of mine marries, I put a notch on my lipstick case.
I love your disgustingness. Please be more disgusting. More more more.
I spit tea through my nose when I read about the barfing man.
And the washing machine! Shit, that’s awesome. You might be as socially retarded as me! Totally something I would do.
maybe we should get together and make people uncomfortable. i think it sounds like a perfect afternoon.
Ducky, I agree. I want Lenore to top country maggots, even if she has to raid another urban legend to do so.
Lenore, if you tell the full barf tale, don’t forget the sensory flourishes. Colors, smells, …
Lenore- I would probably just make you uncomfortable.
Uche - I concur. Gauntlet has been thrown.
You’re a hoot Lenore! Now what about french fries?
they are a problem food for me. i’ll tell you all about it when you’re tired and you want to go home.
I also want to tell you about my hamster, Raffina, who ate a bad piece of carrot and shat out her guts. We took her to the vet. They put a cross-stitch across her anus–I don’t know if that was supposed to prevent another prolapse or just keep her alive for another couple of days so I could say my goodbyes, but. The moral of the story is to refrain from straining too hard when you poop. I would like to think that humans are put together a little more sturdily (shitty pun, sorry) than hamsters, but you never know, you never know.
OH MY GOD! that happened with my hedgehog! his name was bushpig, by the way, and i thought that was pretty clever. anyway, bushpig died after he pooped out his guts. it was sad. i really loved that little guy.
Bushpig? Bushpig????
bushpig.
I had a dog called Uranus. I don’t know why everyone thought that was so funny.
i can’t imagine. it’s a totally respectable name.
They appreciated the clever handling of the task of giving the dog an original name while still giving a clear nod to Pluto the dog, of Disney fame, via allusion to the juxtaposition of the two celestial bodies of the same respective names: Uranus and Pluto (which latter was still considered a planet, and thus of the same “species” as the former, at the time).
Who says genius is never appreciated in its own time?
It was genius wasn’t it?
Uranus was an awesome name for an awesome dog.
Huh. Maybe that’s a common form of death for rodents. Hell of a way to go.
And yeah, I was attached to Raffina as well. She only peed on me one time, which takes a lot of restraint for a hamster, I think. They seem to have excitable bladders.
You had a hedgehog? Where’d you get a hedgehog? I don’t suppose you ever put him in a teacup when he was a baby? I’ve always been fascinated by the idea of a hedgehog in a teacup. Another friend of mine brought it up one time and the image stuck.
How do I get a little picture of me to appear in the box by my comments?
i think you have to have a gravatar. i don’t know what that means, or how my picture got next to my comments. try going to gravatar.com. that seems familiar.
anyway, i got bushpig from an exotic pet store. they had a de-stinked skunk, too. i wanted it, but my boyfriend at the time said no. NO SKUNKS, LENORE!
What a douche. Who wouldn’t want a de-stinked skunk for a pet?
I talked about your cats the other night, by the way. I had been talking about cat people, and how intolerable I usually find them. I mentioned you and your cats as an exception.
i appreciate that.
the reason for the no skunk rule was that, according to the pet store guy, the skunk was “likely to attack.”
That smacks of fun and excitement to me. Potentially even a new hobby crafting tiny skunk muzzles.
Kids these days just don’t know how to overcome adversity to achieve important goals.
agreed. angry skunks for all children. that’s the answer.
They sewed your hamster’s asshole? That’s fucked up. Poor little shit.
that is pretty rough. poor little fella.
But disgusting stories are the best stories. You have no idea how many times I’ve interjected conversations with ‘So, X from TNB wrote a piece about…’
Oh, David Wills. You and your shit needle have saved many a dull moment.
who is this “x” character?
Xzibit writes for us, yeah?
i wish.
I was Xzibit’s
ghostwriter
but only for the Right Guard
joint
People are boring.
So are pets. Except from when they die.
I’m going to keep picturing the guy vomitting on the Mexican lady all day too…
I can also picture the little girl talking about the crazy lady who lives next door.
The crazy cat lady.
She used to have loads of cats, but most of them died… actually there’s quite a funny story about that…
ah, i thought i was the crazy cat lady who lives next door. i was going to tell you that my neighbor isn’t a little girl. but you’re not talking about me. even though i am also a crazy cat lady who lives next door to some people.
in my head your neighbour is a little girl like from films in the ’50s.
You’re totally the crazy cat lady.
I was talking about you.
I’m always talking about you— dead pet stories are hard to come by in these ‘civilized’ and ‘respectable’ time…
oh. i guess i was confused. it’s the new site. it’s fucking with my head. i really am the crazy cat lady. i own it.
How many cats Lenore? I’m pretty sure the number of cats is the qualifier. Have you seen clips from the documentary about cat hoarders?
i’ve got two. luckily, i’m only mildly pathological. but in time, i will become a complete lunatic.
I love the eccentrics, the former misfits, the too-strange-to-be-faking people that keep life interesting. If you had to choose between the life-long misfit or the person whose life peaked in undergraduate school, wouldn’t you cherish the misfit?
I would.
But that’s not to say you’re a misfit; because clearly you’re not. Everyone thinks you’re cool.
But I’m also not trying to say you peaked in college. Even though, technically, you’re still in college.
That’s not what I meant.
Maybe I just read into stories what I need to hear - that’s all I’m saying.
I’ll stop now.
you remind me of myself.
i’m glad you think everyone thinks i’m cool. i think everyone pretends they think i’m cool so i don’t make them talk about washing machines. both possibilities are acceptable for me.
i don’t know if i’m a misfit or not, or if i’ve peaked or not. i believe that the only way i’ve already peaked is if i’m gonna die soon and i don’t know it.
please, though, by all means, read into this whatever you need to hear. that’s the way i prefer it.
Those H.E. washers piss me off. It takes like 90 minutes to do a cycle, and you never get a clean rinse. A step backwards in technology if you ask me, like the move from vinyl to cassette tape. I do enjoy watching them spin, though. You would’ve gotten a good 30 minutes out of me on the topic of washing machines.
excellent. we will talk washers sometime. next TNB event? i’m really looking forward to it.
We can talk appliances at Olears signing. I’m really looking for something in the shaved ice department if you want to get in some research.
I will lead the discussion from the front of the room.
The guys at People’s Pops use one of those old-fashioned by-hand ice shavers. Completely awesome and perfectly shaved ice every time.
Highly recommended.
this is gonna be a bit hit at the reading. everyone loves appliances.
You know I want to hear about how your pets died. And you know I want to hear about a dude vomiting on a woman’s head.
Where a topic takes someone is far more interesting than the topic of the topic — at least if you have any interest in people. Anyone who asks about your pets and doesn’t want to discover how you might respond differently than expected is making small talk because he’s supposed to make small talk. (Poor dumb soul not realizing that discovering how you might respond is WHY he’s supposed to make small talk.) When somebody loses interest in this way, that is a huge win for you because you won’t have to experience the minor, minor pang of guilt that accompanies knowing that you’ve lost interest in them four minutes further into the encounter.
People uninterested in interesting people are uninteresting people.
well put, adam. you worded it in a fantastic way.
although, i also find that people interested in interesting people can be quite uninteresting. they’re called psychologists. many of them are robots.
C’mon, the odd pet does SOMETHING interesting before it dies.
yeah, but by and large….
I’ve loved all my pets. And they’ve been far more interesting than most of the people I’ve met.
best first line ever.
you say that because you know me so well and you know how i’d say it out loud.
My guinea pig died one summer of heatstroke. It was 104 degrees and she jumped straight up in the air (no mean feat with no knees) and said WEEEET!!!! really loudly and came down dead. Her name was Victoria because she looked like the queen. Her poops were very small.
Guinea pigs don’t have knees?
that is a super weird way to die. i want to die that way when my time is up.
there’s something so tragic about dead hamsters or guinea pigs. so round and fluffy, and so flipped on their sides, stiff. very sad stuff.
Guinea pigs say ‘weeeet’? That’s funny. Not funny if they die, but it’s a funny noise to make.
Great piece, as usual, and fitting for you to lead the pack.
Orwell has a line that writers write because a) they want to show off, and b) they tend to notice weird shit that other people don’t notice. (I’m not quoting verbatim…I think the actual line was “fucked-up shit”).
So it makes total sense that you would wish to relate all the weird stuff with the world, just as it makes sense that all the writers on here want to hear about projectile spew on Mexicans (a tale for your short-people file, yes?), but the guy on first date, not so much. You should tell the dead cat story on every first date, as a lithmus test. If they don’t laugh, eff ‘em.
G
it’s a good idea, to test them with dead animal stories. but i just don’t go out on dates instead. it turns out life is better that way. less annoying.
however, i will be bringing TWO dates to your reading. they are married and i am the third in their relationship. i call them my husbands. even though, as you’ll see, one of them is clearly female.
I look forward to meeting your husbands. Heck, I look forward to meeting you.
they, and i, look forward to meeting you, as well! i’ve been picking out outfits for a week!
You and me both. I’m leaning toward French maid, at the moment…
you will look so pretty!
I sosososossoossosooo wish I could come - you have no idea how sad I am that I won’t get to meet you Lenore and everyone else this weekend.
I want to meet you in person. And even as a married person who has too many dead pet stories (like the time my school bus ran over my cat James Bond, in front of me - true) I so know I would love you and also be a little shy around you perhaps, because you are kind of the coolest of the cool. But I need to speak for the married - we’re not all friendless and jealous types. I hope you and Greg talk all night about dead cats - in fact - I demand it.
i also want to meet you! and your kids, who have the best names of any kids ever. i’m pretty sure that’s happening later next year, in the summer, and at that time you will quickly realize that whatever makes me appear to be the coolest of the cool is all smoke and mirrors. unintentional smoke and mirrors, even.
and don’t worry, i like married people. usually they feed me because they have food. plus, they like listening to me talk about the stupid things i do as a single person, which makes me feel as though i’m interesting. it’s a good dynamic for me.
Aww, that is so sweet (all of it really, but I was specifically referring to liking our kids’ names).
Seriously, it’s so true about the food - I never had more than soy sauce in my fridge as a non-married person. But I can whip up a souffle’ at a moments notice now.
The thing is about the whole married thing - it’s weird - I never thought I’d get married, have food in my fridge, I was never looking to get married and in fact, I never would be married if it weren’t for that Greg is my lobster. That’s it. I feel like a single person who happens to be married. That makes no sense. Anyway - can’t wait for T-Lant and to meet you and feed you and listen to your single person antics. And you are cool because cool people never think that they’re cool.
I love your writing btw - from day one, Greg has always told me that I should read you. He’s a super fan.
it makes total sense. i feel like a hyena who happens to be human.
i’m so glad you and Greg like my writing. i think that might be what makes me cool.
my fridge only has diet coke in it. there is literally no food in my house. i am a freak of nature.
Awesome post, and well done for being the first I’ve commented on at the new TNB. You always remember your first time…
And I know about saying inappropriate stuff. I once got my friends kicked out of one city and one town in less than 12 hrs. Kicked out! I didn’t even know that could happen. It’s never happened since.
But I did once lose a job interview because I told the French chick who was interviewing me about an AIDS awareness ad that I saw in a French newspaper, where a giant spider was going down on a girl… I didn’t get the job.
the spider got the job.
Haha. I hate spiders even more!
what a strange way to raise awareness about AIDS. what do spiders have to do with AIDS?
if i were trying to raise AIDS awareness, i’d just plaster pictures of AIDS patients all over the place. and then everyone could watch Angels in America. that was so good! and then there could be a parade.
I believe the point I was trying to make to the poor frightened girl was that the advert was brilliant in that it adequately detailed ‘unsafe sex’. What’s unsafe sex? Oh, only getting eaten out by a spider or not using a condom…
But of course, I was more like “I totally saw a spider going down on a French chick…” and she was less than amused. I forgot to pack my eloquence that day.
Lenore,
Those are the stories that people want to hear, if they are the people you want as friends.
If you describe the person vomiting and the person who was vomited on really clearly, I can probably paint it. Probably not a big market for that kind of painting, but what do I care?
I won’t paint Romeo smushed. Don’t ask. (And thank you for showing that bit of restraint there.)
if you paint the vomiting scene, i will help you put it on ebay.
I’ve never had a pet that died.
In that, I have had to give them away before they have died. So in my mind, they will always be alive, just living with someone else.
Does anyone want two beautiful kitties in about 5-7 years? Or my aging Granny?
i have had too many pets that died. it’s such heartbreak. but i couldn’t stand to not have my boys right up until the very moment that they breathed their last breath. i always think that i’m the only one who knows how to take care of them right. it prevents me from killing myself. “who else would know when to give them nibblits vs. numnums?”
Lenore, one time on my senior high school trip, we were all drunk in the Bahamas at one of those restaurants where they grill the food on a communal grill in front of you while you all sit around it in a circle and watch the chef make his fancy moves. My friend Michelle was trashed and suddenly leaned over and puked all over the grill and it began to cook right in front of us, a big spreading lump of sizzling vomit. We all started cracking up, and Michelle ran back to our fleabag hotel in shame, and the chef scraped her vomit off the grill with a big spatula and some water, and then went back to cooking the rest of our food, which we happily ate.
This was an incident in the very first short story I ever turned in to a writing workshop, when I was a sophomore in college. As I recall, it pissed several of my fellow workshop members off in ways I did not understand.
I wish you had been in that workshop and had written about the poor little Mexican woman with barf on her head.
Of course you could not have been there, as you are about 12 and I am about 86.
But still. Just saying. I love your stories.
Gina. that is, without a doubt, the worst vomit story i’ve ever heard. i’ve heard some terrible stories, but this is the one i’d say is the most awful.
i’m not sure i even know what to say in response. the vomit cooked in front of you. the guy scraped it off and cooked on the thing and you ate that food?
if i knew the girl who barfed on the damn grill, i would have beat the shit out of her. verbally, because i don’t want to break any nails.
seriously, you get the trophy.
I’ll try a vomit story. High school kids. Army base far out of town. Truck full of soldiers, in town to get drunk. Soldiers drive out of town. Car full of teenagers. One teen, whose initials were D.M. spots a nice army cap lying upside down on the road. Stop! Stop! Jumps out. Picks up. Puts on head immediately.
I don’t have to report what was in that cap, do I? In this crowd, I’d say no.
oh lord. this is also profoundly unpleasant. you and gina are winners of the barf awards.
Gina,
That is the BEST vomit story I have ever heard.
Gold star!
Lenore and Irene–yeah, it pretty much was one of those moments you know you’re never gonna forget if you live to be 105. And Lenore, pretty much the absolute worst, grossest part of all is precisely that none of us really even CARED about the barf on the grill. I mean, to be sure we made plenty of fun of Michelle afterwards for the rest of the year, but I don’t think a single one of us thought to leave the restaurant or, um, ask for a new grill.
Of course this was the same class trip where one girl (not Michelle) got so shit-faced drunk she actually drank a cup of this creepy kid Steve Zatz’s urine on a dare, and then she, too, puked for the rest of the night. Lots of puke on that trip. But that’s a different story.
Oh, and our chaperone (a teacher) was arrested near the end of the trip for driving his golf cart through the town while drunk.
Those were the days.
jesus, your high school was insane. i wouldn’t drink urine unless it was passed through that machine kevin costner used in that movie waterworld. and that was out of necessity.
Lenore:
I’m very much into dead pets. And almost dead pets. When I was ten I had an iguana that I thought was dead. The sucker was stiff, and stone white. My brother and I dug a hole in the backyard to bury him. My mother even attended the pet funeral. Just after we’d stuck the iguana into the hole, and tossed in the first shovelful of dirt, the iguana shook himself off, and crawled back out.
You should’ve heard my mom scream.
iguanas are so strange! you see them in miami, clinging to trees or just standing still in some grass, and they look like statues. strange strange animals. i am, of course, terrified that one will speak to me in english and then my world will implode. they look capable of that.
Lenore, Everyone wants to hear the gruesome details… they just pretend they are to polite to ask.
Very enjoyable piece…I’d listen to your dead pet stories. They are bound to be better than my first college roommate’s stories an art/performance piece called: Dead Babies, that he worked on until I moved out.
i wonder if his performance piece ever took off. sounds like a real success story.
Is there something about TNB 3 that makes postings and comments funnier than TNB 2? Lenore, not only is your piece hilarious, but a lot of the comments are too.
The “Sharon” of my recent piece had a beloved cat who died, so she popped him in my freezer until my student who did taxidermy on the side could mount him in a sleeping position and Sharon could have him on the sofa or in a corner. Sharon left and I had the cat. She never asked me for him, and I had plenty of room in the freezer so I left him in. Had he been warm, I would have buried him. But since he was frozen eventually I put him in the trash along with the freezer-burned ham hocks.
I knew a guy who had a skunk. It was pleasant enough. The best thing it ever did was to wait until a pompous guy in the dorm had a q-tip stuck in his year, and bit him on the toe. Do you know how far a q-tip can go in? Farther than you think.
did you feel kinda dirty throwing out the frozen cat? i would have. i buried two dead hamsters from college, but i always felt a little dirty about where i chose to bury them, which was in a spot very convenient for me, but not very “hey, what a nice resting place,” if you know what i mean. there were a bunch of dumpsters right next to their graves, and litter. poor little guys. in hamster heaven, my understanding is that they don’t have to live in a cage.
was the skunk you knew de-stinkified?
i’m going to go read your piece.
It was de-scented, if that’s the correct term.
I did feel bad about the cat, a little.
I concur with Jessica Hand: I would love hear about your dead pets, or how you don’t see yourself as smart at all when you’re actually really brilliant but just don’t realize it cause everyone knows how hard it is to escape one’s self, to get any true picture of yourself objectively. I would listen engrossed and return your story with an equally interesting story about how I am simply unable to keep pets around, even though I love cats (and dogs to a lesser extent) and have lost two cats in my adult life (one black male, one white female - talk about yin-yang balance) and inadvertently murdered a hamster when I was younger.
Yes, everyone else is dull. I personally hate small talk, and much prefer to jump headfirst into a conversation mid-thought. The tangents are truly the ones worth listening to.
So don’t give up. You’ll find him. You’ll know it when you do. He will finish your bizarre thoughts, compliment your words, and you’ll be amazed at how instantly comfortable the whole thing feels. Not sure if he’ll be a Los Anglican or not though. That’s a tough city to find needle in.
Very fluid, engaging first 3.0 post.
Good luck.
oh, kip, don’t get me wrong, i’m not really looking too hard, and i’m not in a hurry. right now i’m much more interested in finding a job. besides, as soon as i find him, i’ll probably turn all crazy and then eat my cats.
i actually do see myself as smart, too. i promise. i think i’m smarter than everyone. i just say that i’m stupid when i feel awkward because then my extremely overpowering intelligence might intimidate the person i’ve cornered less, and then that person will be more comfortable. you understand. it’s out of kindness.
one day, we will jump into a conversation mid-thought in person, kip. it’ll be fun.
Man, I totally emphasize w/ ya here. Not re: dead pets necessarily, but re: awkward encounters in general–
I realize I’m heading towards disclosing the details people don’t want to hear. So I awkwardly begin talking about washing machines, and how mine is very quiet and requires special detergent because it’s a “green” washer, and if she doesn’t mind, could she please tell me about her washing machine?
–yep. Doesn’t matter the nature of the relationship. Friends, family, lovers… all are fair game, at least some of the time.
People–the ones worth chatting w/, anyway–are probably glad for your spicing up the conversation. There really is a lot of the boring/bored variety out there.
yeah, i really think that awkwardness is one of the most terrific comic effects out there. even when i am actively feeling awkward, usually i just think it’s really funny. maybe we should build a team of awkward people and move throughout the nation.
I’m with the others. Tell us about your dead pets. We can firm The Dead Cats Society. Wait, wasn’t that a movie with Robin Williams?
Death is deeply fascinating. Your notion about the mundane aspects of life paling in comparison to death resonates in me.
Josie, i knew you’d be cool with all the dead pets. i’m glad it resonates.
and robin williams, from what i hear, is hairy enough to be a dead pet. so this all works.
Lenore,
I want to hear all about your dead pets. None of mine have ever died interesting deaths. Mostly they just died of old age–though I’m pretty sure a kitten my sister had when we were in junior high was eaten by owls. And an elementary school friend of mine once had a rabbit that was eaten by a neighbor’s escaped boa constrictor. But all of my pets just grow old and tired, and one day they go to sleep and never wake up. That’s so boring.
And I think you’re cool.
i love owls, even if they ate your sister’s kitten. and i REALLY love kittens, so that’s saying a lot for owls, right there. they’re just such interesting animals. i would love to own one, except they would eat my cats and make too much noise and eventually i’d have to just let it fly away. then it would get hit by a truck on some freeway in LA.
We had this huge, gorgeous white owl living in one of the trees in our back yard for years when I was a kid. Magnificent bird. I’d see it sometimes, when I was out doing the yard work. It would always leave owl pellets along the fence, which were totally awesome whenever show-and-tell came along at school.
i loved dissecting those and then putting together the mouse skeleton.
Seriously. Plain old puzzles are just boring once you’ve put a mouse skeleton back together. I loved the ones that had a whole intact skeleton in them. And once I found one that had bits of a snake inside it.
I had a fish once that kept trying to suicide, but I was around whenever it jumped out of the tank, so I’d just put it back in.
Except, this one time, I’d been gone a couple hours and came back and noticed the fish missing, so I looked behind the fish tank and there he way, just hanging out. Only he’d been there so long that his tail was a bit crispy.
I put him back in, and he couldn’t really move around like he used to, but he did okay.
oh my god, i wrote a thing on here…i think i called it “beauty in the eyes of a fish.” i describe the depressed fish i had in college.
my friend killed him out of mercy. the fish was so depressed.
your poor crispy fish. i wonder why fish do that. my parents are always telling me about their fish that keep killing themselves. i think my parents must abuse them, and the fish see suicide as their only escape. but i know you wouldn’t have done anything bad to your fish, so probably yours was just depressed like mine was. or he just wanted a crispy tail.
Over in the trees
off the service road
I found the Delorean
and traveled back in time
to a Thursday afternoon
about 2
when you were working at the Blockbuster video
we had a laugh or two
you and I
near some John Candy titles
and bright-colored boxes of candy
You didn’t want to talk about dead pets
or washing machines
I smell Twizzlers.
i kinda liked working at blockbuster. it was just so easy. and then i got paid. now, i do hard stuff and don’t get paid. i’ve gone backwards. anyway, yes, let’s meet at the buster.
Already did.
That guy on Thursday?
Was me.
I talk about uncomfortable details, too. I remember once I met someone and within thirty seconds I was babbling on about how they’d buried my dad without underwear and how awful that was for him. I don’t even remember who that person was, but I bet they remember me.
oh my. did they forget his underwear, or was this done on purpose? how did you find out he wasn’t wearing underwear? i think there’s a story there….
I also would like to hear this story….
Shit, Erika, I’ll bet that was itchy. Not right. Not right at all.
loved this, lenore. and i can with all honesty that i feel your pain. except i don’t tell dark stories. i just divulge unnecessary details about my emotional state and recent therapy sessions. social interaction is hard.
i know all about it, merced. you and i have told each other a lot of awkward things through the years. BFF, merced. for a reason.
Like you, I give out all the wrong details, all the time. There is a little mantra/ admonishment that runs through my head, and it goes like this: “Miller, *this* is why you are single!”
i never question why i’m single. i just assume it’s because i go days at a time without taking a shower.
Classic Lenore. Hurry up and graduate fer chrissake so you can finish your novel. I’m waiting. We’re all waiting.
I’m not feeling clever at the moment, so I’ll just leave it at that. If I think of something later, I’ll be back.
getting closer, JS, much closer every day. how’s yours coming? i think we should go on a book tour together.
Good idea. I’ll pencil that in. Maybe we can have an Uni food challenge between readings.
After 103 comments I can’t think of anything unique to say, but I agree with Greg and George that writers do notice odd details and feel compelled to share. So it’s no wonder everyone here wants to know more. I do it all the time, too, and I realize it two seconds too late and to frantically decide whether to push through to the end or give up, and in that moment is where awkwardnes lives.
And may I just say that Gina’s vomit story may be the best anecdote of all time. Wow wow wowzers.
yeah, it must be a common condition for writers.
gina’s barf story is horrible. did you read the one don countered with? it’s pretty disgusting, too.
I’ve been meaning to write a few TNB pieces about my own numerous species of social awkwardness. As usual, Lenore shows me the way. Thanks, luv!
i love when you pretend i inspired you so that i can feel special!
Screw that guy. I want to know how your pets died. Ditto for just about anything else you want to share in this forum, Lenore.
that’s cause we’re cool people and we don’t waste our time with sports.
Where have you gone, Lenore? Why did you disappear so quickly?
I love you madly, as I know you know.
i love YOU madly! come on, duke, let’s run away together. somewhere with meat.
Um. Do they have meat at Starbuck’s?
My hamster was murdered by my little sister, my newt dried up to a newt-mummy when my mom let him out of his glass bowl, I’ve had cats torn up by raccoons and run over by cars, I had a rabbit that had a “false pregnancy” that rotted her from the….oh wait. The point was we’re NOT supposed to talk about this stuff, huh?
no hold on hold on hold on…i really do want to hear about this rabbit with the false pregnancy. please tell me.
Okay, but its GROSS: My rabbit Clover had a false pregnancy and her uterus essentially rotted along with all her other lady business and her milk glands. It all came oozing out of her, from everywhere you can imagine. I spent hours (gagging and retching) cleaning her, and paid for her to have two surgeries (that cost me almost a grand) to try and keep her alive.
*Shudders at the memory*
And then, once the vet said she was well enough to go back to her home (she lived in our backyard, in a hole she dug under our orange tree) she died. She died halfway out of the hole. My mom wrapped her in a towel, put her down into the hole, and then filled it in. And that is the story of Clover, my dead rabbit.
oh my. i didn’t know that this kind of thing happened. poor bunny. that might be the worst way to die that i’ve ever heard of. way worse than ben loory’s guinea pig.
I just want to say that i’ve always loved your gross stories, especially the ones about poop. you know that was one of our most common topics of conversation.
But, i never, never, ever want to hear any stories about the deaths of your current pets because i will cry and cry and cry. then slit my wrists. that day can never happen.
i wish you still lived here. i could talk to you about poop for hours.
and don’t worry, hege and wetzel will never die.
Oh Jesus with a cat! (The new oath inspired by your blurb pic.)
i think brad did that. i don’t know where that picture came from, but it’s awesome.
Oh man, Lenore. I’m having trouble navigating the new TNB. I can’t catch up the way I used to because there’s no “previous posts” button. So I’m glad I actually went to the trouble to click on your name and read your latest.
I want to hear ALL your stories. I’m an oversharer too. But my anecdotes are much more mundane. I’d take your disgusting details any day.
your anecdotes aren’t mundane! anyway, come out to LA and we can stand around awkwardly together. it’ll be fun!
Oh, Lenore. I loved this so much.
I have massive social anxiety that makes me freeze and blurt out odd things when forced to make small talk with strangers. I can’t do weather chats. I can, however, do inappropriate self-disclosure or entirely-too-heavy-for-light-conversation chats. I walk away from most of my human interactions thinking, “Oh my GOD, why did I just talk about that? Why can’t I say normal things? I should not… talk… ever.”
Your brain is awesome. If I ever meet you in person, I will not only be expecting your most disgusting stories, I will be giddily looking forward to them.
don’t worry. i don’t think i’ve ever left a single social situation feeling proud of the things that came out of my mouth.
Wish that my dog Rufai didn’t die of cancer. She was only 9yrs. Still depressed even today about it. I started selling my garlic salsa to raise funds for her cancer treatments. Sadly, she died and now I’m here making salsa available for all. It’s my way of honoring her. I miss you Rufai.