Friday, October 10, 2008

Imagine that! (October 10, 2008)

I've always had an over active imagination. Going swimming in a lake as a child had me fearing for my life almost every time, as I swam back to shore. I was pretty sure a shark was going to get me. But only if I had my back to the rest of the lake. I wouldn't let up on my fear until I made it to shore, got out of the water and turned around to look at the lake. Then all was well again.

I can go down a flight of stairs just fine. But to this very day, I have to *RUN!!* upstairs if I am alone. I hold my breath and bolt it. The very nano second I reach the top, I have to turn around to make sure there is no creepy ghost/zombie/monster thing chasing me, or reaching for me with bloody, elongated arms. Yes. Even in my own house. Yes, I said to this very day.

As a child I rarely had nightmares. My nightmares occurred while I was just dozing off, but still awake. I thought for sure hands resided under my bed. I had to be in the very center of my bed, and have nothing but my face sticking out of the blanket. I was positive if I left one mm of skin exposed, these hands would come up from all sides of the bed and get me.

I have been very blessed. Nothing traumatic ever happened to me, other than an occasional spanking for telling a whopper of a lie. I have no clue where these silly fears arise from.

Except one.

When I was either 8 or 9 years old, my dad let me stay up and watch the movie "The Silver Bullet". Oh. My. God. It's a werewolf movie, and gave me nightmares on and off until I was about 18 years old. I hate hate HATE being outside in the dark. Alone. Even at almost 30. Because I know a werewolf will get me. I know it.

Growing up, my parents would take my sister and I to Manitoba every summer and almost every other Christmas. From BC to Manitoba, it was usually a 3 day, 2 night trip. (Depending on how heavy dad's foot was). We learned fairly young to not depend on dad stopping at rest stops or gas stations. We just held it as long as we could, and 3 seconds before we would burst, dad would pull over and let us do our thing in the bushes. I hated it. No one would come with me, or stay with me. mom was busy doing her thing while rushing us back to the car. My sister is 7 years older than me, not to mention quite the prude. So at 6, 7, 8, 9, 10 etc years of age, I would sloowly check my surroundings for bears, man eating plants and rabid squirrels. The only thing edging me on was my full bladder promising to explode on me should I not go pee now!

After being yelled at to hurry up a few times, I'd finally hunker down and do my business. All the while knowing something was going to bite my butt. When I was done, I'd run like I have never ran before straight to the car, with I'm sure a combined look of relief and terror on my face. Strangely, questions were never asked.

I still have to look down an out house toilet before I do my thing, just in case... You know, just in case any of those wild BC crocodiles are out and about, waiting to prey on me bum.

Flash forward to this past July.

Every summer in Vancouver we have "The Celebration of Lights". It's wicked fireworks played in time with coordinated music. Different countries compete for the best show, and there's a huge finale at the end of the summer. Aaron (my boyfriend), my sister, and myself went. (No kids WOOHOO!!) The end came and it was time to go. We had quite a walk to get back to the sky train, and I had to pee so bad. I couldn't take it anymore. I let Aaron and my sister convince me to pee between 2 garbage dumpsters. They stood in front of me, with their backs to me of course, and all was well. I was in my glory. Ahh! The sweet relief! Sigh. Almost done. Wait. What was that? A strange sound emoted from my mouth "aieyAYAYAIEIAAAYYHHHHH!!!!! SOMETHING TOUCHED MY ASS!!! GAK! EGAD!" At this point, my sister and boyfriend still refused to turn around. The bastards were laughing at me. They were clueless that my worst nightmare was coming true, and some goblin was trying to eat me.

Keep in mind I'm squatting between 2 dumpsters in a back alley in Vancouver, with my ass hanging out and a river of pee coming out. (niiice, I know, eh?) Something touches my ass again. I swear to God I'm thinking a homeless person was trying to cop a feel. I try scooting forward just a smidgen, but think soundly that I'd rather get felt up by a hobo than pee on my shoes. As I'm edging forward oh so slightly, I notice something amiss. My purse. Is behind me. On the ground. Touching my bum. And getting peed on. My highly absorbent cotton/denim purse.

I never would have imagined that.

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