Tuesday, February 08, 2011

"No Hot Dogs!" - Another Ridiculous Story From My Past

I had this dream the other day while I was awake (not a medical hallucinatory condition, this is just my way of saying I spend alot of time at work standing behind the reception desk and totally zoning out while others work dilligently in the background), and when I woke up, I was somehow reminded of a hilarious story from my childhood. My first thought was something along the lines of 'Oh, man! I can't wait to share this on my blog!', closely followed by my second, which was 'Hey, uh...what?'.
To cut a long explanation short, I have a bowl of NutriGrain and two cans of Red Bull in place of a memory gland, and therefore tend to forget every event in my life about six seconds after it occurs. Which, you know, kind of sucks since it pretty much makes me the 20-something female human equivalent of the fish that Ellen Degeneres did the voice for in Finding Nemo. On the plus side however...what was I talk about again?
I'm not quite sure what the point of this post was. So I can't remember this 'hilarious' childhood memory of mine. Nevertheless, here is another ridiculous story from my past...

When I was around 8 years old and still living in The Greenwich House, my parents won a coin-operated jelly bean machine at some charity auction they went to. What charity? I don't care. What parents? I don't care. I was 8 years old and there was a jelly bean machine in my house. And the best part was this: the machine came with a years supply of Jelly Belly jelly beans. I am not even kidding - every month, Jelly Belly would deliver a box of beans in every flavour imaginable to our house. After four or five months, our pantry was comprised of 30% real food, 15% booze and 55% jelly beans. It was more than we could handle, and to be honest becoming too much. Until one day, when Lexi came over.
Lexi and I had known each other since kindergarten, and were the kind of friends for which the phrase 'double trouble' was invented. If either of us came up with some crazy hairballed scheme, the other was bound to go along with it - no questions asked, and no matter how painfully obvious the consequences. As far as we were concerned, the more painfully obvious, the better. 8 year old girls can be moronic that way. You'll be relieved to hear that Lexi has since matured into a respectable and honest adult. I, on the other hand...well, you know.
I don't remember exactly how the afternoon went down, but the long-story-short version begins with me showing off the enormous bucket of jelly beans in our kitchen. Lexi was impressed.

"Can we eat some?"
"Sure, take a handful."

There was a pause.

"Why don't we just take the whole bucket?"
"The WHOLE bucket?"
"Sure. We'll take it up to your bedroom and if your Mum comes in, we can just hide it under the bed."

I was conflicted. On the one hand, this went against every rule my Mother had set regarding my daily sugar intake, and the idea of eating dessert before dinner. On the other hand though...


I don't know if it was Lexi's intention that we actually consume the entire container of jelly beans. I certainly didn't think we had it in us. But two hours later, when my Mum came up to see if we wanted a snack, there we were. Two slightly dehydrated 8 year olds in the throes of what can only be described as a sugar embolism. The only thing I remember is my Mum's face turning the same shade of red as a Tutti Frutti flavoured jelly bean, and how hilarious it was that I had made that comparison. The rest of the afternoon is completely lost to me, but apparently I re-enacted several scenes from Aladdin before running to my neighbours house so I could ask his Dad why he didn't "have a veejay like Lexi and me".
Oh, man.
My parents don't believe in grounding, and didn't start swearing around me and my sister until we were at least 11, but that afternoon they made it pretty clear that I was in trouble, and I recieved the signature Trew Family Punishment: Lexi was sent home, the neighbours were apologized to, and I was told there would be no hotdogs for dinner until my Mother had forgiven me.

So there you go. And I'm not naming names, but those of you who sometimes feel entitled to have a go at me about my extremely laidback attitude to life can suck on it. How can you blame me, really? It's not my fault that I grew up in a household where 'No Hotdogs' was considered on par with capital punishment.

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