i think i'm just going to start posting random memories from time to time. and possibly less memes.
this one is about my first brush with the law...
somewhere in maryland, on an autumn weekend in '87, a badass chica (me) was chillin with her homies.
no, but really, i was playing at a crappy playground with my two older brothers, waiting for my parents to get done pushing Amway on another unsuspecting individual. we were there, at the playground, out of sight, out of mind, and most importantly, out of the way. what our parents failed to remember was that even when we tried to stay out of trouble, trouble would normally come looking for us...oooh, that was some wicked awesome foreshadowing...
i was a good kid. well, mostly. i looked up to my older brothers and wanted to be a killer skateboarder like them, wanted to smoke and swear with their mullet-haired friends in the treehouse, wanted to headbang to the metal and all that good stuff, but i never really got into trouble. i was a wannabe badass, at the age of 8. BOOM! i slayed even then!
so, anyway, we were chillin at the playground, playing "rebel stunts" which was kinda like Jackass but with a lame redneck twist. my brothers would say, "Hey, Jenny. If you're really a rebel, you'd jump off the top of the monkey bars," or, "Hey Jenny, I dare you to be a rebel and jump into that sticker bush." endless entertainment. if i refused these stunts, i'd be dubbed a "yankee," which was a dirty word to them back in the day. thinking back, it makes me want to puke. kids suck.
well, while we were playing rebel stunts, this punk looking older kid came over and interrupted the torture (did i say torture, i meant fun). he had been observing our game and offered a twist. "Ya dare me to be a rebel and throw this bottle out into the highway?"
i was just glad all the pressure was off me. so, of course, we dared him, followed him through the woods to the edge of this drop-off, where a busy highway lay below. and then, egged on by mullet #1 and mullet #2 (my brothers), he threw it. shatter. screech. yelling. was that a siren? SHIT.
so we ran and hid in the woods for a few minutes, tried to get our stories straight in case we were caught. i didn't know then if i was old enough to get into deep trouble, being 8. so i said, "If they get me, I'll just tell them I'm 5!" HA! good plan, good plan. pshhhh.
in our attempt to run back though the woods to the playground, we were stopped by a police officer. we had been caught, and were taken to the police station. my love for authority began at this point, i think. "Ya think we should throw 'em in jail?" "Yeah, Bubba, lock 'em up." the fuckers, i was scared shitless and they were joking around about it. still, when i think back on it now, i regret not running up and biting one of them in the leg. fuckers, all.
of course, we didn't get locked up. but we had to go back to the highway and sweep up the glass, under supervision of Bubba the Shithead Cop. i don't even remember what his name really was, but that's his name now, dammit. cars whooshing by, the summer heat still lingered enough to fry us out there on the asphalt, and here Bubba's screaming, "what d'ya think this is, missy, some sorta hockey game, sweep'er right!"
fuck you, Bubba. right in the ear.