What stories can I possibly tell? That's something that bothers me as I look at a blog that goes unwritten, stories that sit unfinished and notebooks that remain blank.
So I'd better start scribbling something.
I know I have plenty of stories to tell. I used to amuse my grandmother with re-tellings of my day/week, exaggerating just to make her laugh. I have revealed lots of childhood and high school to friends and my boyfriend...who now know far too much about my issues with dairy and sunshine, as well as parts of my previous sex life that should remain secret.
I have mastered the art of telling long convoluted stories with little to no point because my father tells long convoluted stories with little to no point. Which is also probably because my grandpa used to tell long convoluted stories with little to no point. Seriously, his "a little birdy told me" tales made opening Christmas presents last a really long time. And see, I'm telling one now....jsut getting around to talking about which long stories to tell.
Maybe I'll tell short ones.
I could tell the one about the time I was dusting my dad's workshop with a tiny brush and pan when I was about 4, maybe 5 (I wasn't in school yet that much I know) and the new vice he hadn't gotten around to securing yet fell off the counter and onto my little foot. And how I lay on the couch, one foot still encased in a Little Mermaid sneaker, the other sitting naked in the giant metal bowl we used to popcorn. Only it was full of ice water. And that's what my mother came home to: Her nervous and concerned husband and her sniffly, teary four year old wit a puffy foot soaking in ice water.
And that's when I wasn't allowed to go in my dad's workshop anymore. Didn't stop me though. I still have little purple lines on my big toe from that experience.
OR
I could tell the one about the time I got the BRILLIANT idea to tie my large, rambunctious Black Lab/St. Bernard mix dog's leash to the handlebars of my bike. And then tried to ride around the yard like that. After having watched the live action 101 Dalmatians where I saw exactly what can happen when you tie a dog's leash to a bike.
But I'm a slow learner.
OR
I could tell the one where I was at my grandparent's house, swimming in the pool and suddenly had to pee. But everyone was outside and I was little and afraid of the shadowy hallway to the bathroom in the house. And how my uncle just told me to go in the nearby bushes. And I was just little enough to listen to him and not know any better. So I didn't tell him that girls can't pee very well without making a giant mess or going on themselves unlike boys who have an easy time because they can just whip it out. Though....I don't think I even knew that boys could "whip it out" since back then, I still believed that boys just had a weird shaped lump on their nether regions like a Ken doll.
Anyways the point is I started peeing behind a bush and then kinda on me once I realized that a plane was flying by overhead. I got all embarrassed and self conscious and started yelling at everyone that they'd told me to pee in public and I was irrationally convinced that the people in the plane had seen me taking a leak.
Again, irrational because all anyone would have seen from the plane (if they'd even been looking down) was a blue blob (the house) a smaller blue square (the pool) and tiny dots (us).
The possibilities for stories are endless. Though maybe I'll stop there today. Leave some more for later.
Trust me....I have plenty more. I should probably just bang out a memoir or something. Though my childhood was pretty normalish. And probably boring to anyone but me.
But I need to go pack for moving. Again. That story hopefully I'll tell next.
So I'd better start scribbling something.
I know I have plenty of stories to tell. I used to amuse my grandmother with re-tellings of my day/week, exaggerating just to make her laugh. I have revealed lots of childhood and high school to friends and my boyfriend...who now know far too much about my issues with dairy and sunshine, as well as parts of my previous sex life that should remain secret.
I have mastered the art of telling long convoluted stories with little to no point because my father tells long convoluted stories with little to no point. Which is also probably because my grandpa used to tell long convoluted stories with little to no point. Seriously, his "a little birdy told me" tales made opening Christmas presents last a really long time. And see, I'm telling one now....jsut getting around to talking about which long stories to tell.
Maybe I'll tell short ones.
I could tell the one about the time I was dusting my dad's workshop with a tiny brush and pan when I was about 4, maybe 5 (I wasn't in school yet that much I know) and the new vice he hadn't gotten around to securing yet fell off the counter and onto my little foot. And how I lay on the couch, one foot still encased in a Little Mermaid sneaker, the other sitting naked in the giant metal bowl we used to popcorn. Only it was full of ice water. And that's what my mother came home to: Her nervous and concerned husband and her sniffly, teary four year old wit a puffy foot soaking in ice water.
And that's when I wasn't allowed to go in my dad's workshop anymore. Didn't stop me though. I still have little purple lines on my big toe from that experience.
OR
I could tell the one about the time I got the BRILLIANT idea to tie my large, rambunctious Black Lab/St. Bernard mix dog's leash to the handlebars of my bike. And then tried to ride around the yard like that. After having watched the live action 101 Dalmatians where I saw exactly what can happen when you tie a dog's leash to a bike.
But I'm a slow learner.
OR
I could tell the one where I was at my grandparent's house, swimming in the pool and suddenly had to pee. But everyone was outside and I was little and afraid of the shadowy hallway to the bathroom in the house. And how my uncle just told me to go in the nearby bushes. And I was just little enough to listen to him and not know any better. So I didn't tell him that girls can't pee very well without making a giant mess or going on themselves unlike boys who have an easy time because they can just whip it out. Though....I don't think I even knew that boys could "whip it out" since back then, I still believed that boys just had a weird shaped lump on their nether regions like a Ken doll.
Anyways the point is I started peeing behind a bush and then kinda on me once I realized that a plane was flying by overhead. I got all embarrassed and self conscious and started yelling at everyone that they'd told me to pee in public and I was irrationally convinced that the people in the plane had seen me taking a leak.
Again, irrational because all anyone would have seen from the plane (if they'd even been looking down) was a blue blob (the house) a smaller blue square (the pool) and tiny dots (us).
The possibilities for stories are endless. Though maybe I'll stop there today. Leave some more for later.
Trust me....I have plenty more. I should probably just bang out a memoir or something. Though my childhood was pretty normalish. And probably boring to anyone but me.
But I need to go pack for moving. Again. That story hopefully I'll tell next.
