No Ordinary Childhood

So, that was my backyard for the first seven years of my life. That’s right, I had redwoods in my backyard. I hail from Northern California which, in my opinion, is the prettiest part of the state. The first seven years of my life were spent in a California state park. To be more specific, Big Trees State Park was my first home. My father was even friends with Smokey the Bear. Most kids need to go to the zoo to see bears, but all I had to do was leave salmon out in my dumpster.

My surroundings taught me so much which made me into a very untypical upbringing. I could name at least thirty different kinds of trees and flowers by the time I was seven. I could recognize poison oak when I was three. I played with my Barbies on the front lawn and would have to run inside when I saw a bear peering out from the forest. I couldn’t fathom how people could live in a suburban setting with houses so close to each other. Campfire shows were my favorite and I knew which park employee put on the best show and sung the best songs. I could tell you the perfect way to roast a marshmallow and how many it took to make you sick. I went to a normal public school, but after my homework was done, I got to play in the woods.

We left that place and moved down the mountain about ten miles. So much new stuff happened in my life then. My dad got a new job as a corrections officer and I started a new school. I had to make new friends and get used to living in a new house.

Years went by and I still went back to Big Trees. I participated in summer programs until I was in middle school and still ran around the park like it was still my home. But, as the years went on, people changed. My dad’s former coworkers were moving onto bigger things. I no longer knew the entire staff. Instead of people knowing my name, I had to introduce myself. It was frustrating. They treated me like just another guest. Didn’t they know who I was? Didn’t they know that I spent more time here than they had?

I still make drives up to Big Trees. Though now I have to pay to gain entrance, it still feels like my home. It was the place where I met my best friend and learned to ride a bike. I even made my film debut there! Seriously folks, go buy the documentary on Big Trees at the visitor’s center. You’ll notice there’s a very blonde haired child playing with puppets and using a Native American drill thing. That’d be me. I’m famous.

The park holds so many memories. It hurts me now to think that it’s one of the California state parks that is in danger of being shut down.

I feel very fortunate to have the opportunity that I did. I gain a forever appreciation for nature and the simple beauties that it possess.

Now, aren’t you jealous that my first hometown was one of the most beautiful places on this earth? It’s okay if you are. I’d be too.

Sing Me a Song

Best friend, Firestick Fi, called my attention to this song last spring. She told me that a good guy friend of hers wanted to sing this to the girl he one day falls in love with. I recently stumbled upon this song and since then have played it 10 times in a row. Someone want to sing this to me? You really don't even have to love me.

It's Hard Out Here for a Pimp

I want to start out with an advisory:
I’m not making this shit up (I honestly don’t know how one can)
All of these quotes are not edited
My father really does love me, I swear

“The Po-Po is all up in the hizzle, fer shizzle!”

That, my friends, is how father announces his arrival from work.

He goes by Papa Gangsta Pete or sometimes he asks for us to call him “Diddy, just Diddy.” It’s how he signed my 16th birthday card.

Let me point out at this point that my father is also a fifty year old balding white male....
I’m not sure if he thinks that by being born in Sacramento he’s somehow “hood”

Everyday questions, statements and gestures are given unordinary responses:

Me: Hey Dad, do you know if Mom’s working right now?
Papa Gangsta Pete: My Biotch is downstairs doin’ her bizness.

Me: How was work?
PGP: I kicked it with my homies out on the yard.

Me: Barack Obama won!
PGP: Barack O’Bizzle is up in the White Hizzle!

If I give my dad a hug, I get mixed results:
“Don’t touch me, I have inmate juices on me!”
“I don’t have any money.”
“Don’t git all up in ma grill.”


I have fond memories of me running down the soccer field when I was seven and my father yelling out to me, “If you don’t make goal I’m going to rip your heart out and shove it down your throat while it’s still beating!” After I missed that goal, my father would then proceed to yell “I wanted a boy!”

Relax!


My father has never laid a hand on me which is why, he claims, that I never listen to him anymore. Oh, but you should have seen the looks the soccer moms gave each other. I’m sure they secretly contemplated calling CPS most nights. Speaking of wanting boys though; apparently I had a brother. He died tragically though. Actually, he died tragically many times. He fell off Half Dome, fatally ate a mysterious food, died from not wearing a helmet on his bike, etc. Any normal father would have told his children not to do something because it was dangerous. I, instead, got the “that’s how we lost your brother” phrase. Why aren’t there any photos of said brother? According to my dad “it was really hard on your mother so we had to destroy all of his possessions and photographs.” While, we’re on the subject, my father also claims to hate boys and that they are “the spawn of Satan.” Also if a boy was to ever touch me I would “get pregnant, contract aids, drop out of college, live in a trailer park, and die.”

I’ll constantly remind him that he didn’t have to have children. But, then I get, “Oh, I really didn’t want to. I was only out for a good time. You and your sister are just the bi-products of unprotected sex.” Then I retort with “Why did you keep me then?” He claims it was for the tax deduction.


Papa Gangsta Pete loves getting a reaction out of people. He’s that obnoxious person who stands in lines and makes jokes loud enough in hopes that other people will hear them. He’s notorious for laughing at his own jokes. When I sit the living room and read a book, he makes noises to amuse himself. His latest fetish is trying to touch my nose ring. I got it pierced my fifth week into college and didn’t bother telling him until Thanksgiving. He wants to know if I’m concerned about my breathing and if that’s why I felt the need to get a “third nostril.”

Family gatherings become a circus. When Skipper and Papa Gangsta Pete team up, there’s no mercy for anyone. Both of them have the same humor and can rally a cynical joke like no other. Not even Baby Dol and Secret LuLu stand a chance from sarcastic comments about how their parents are going to abandon them.


Now to the shock of many people, my sister and I have turned out quite normal. The Dol claims it was my mother’s good karma. In my personal opinion, there needs to be more people like my dad in the world. Maybe not exactly like him, but most things. You see, my father has a really positive outlook on life. He’s the one who’s inspired me to be carefree and not to take things in life so seriously. I know right, an honorary Crip member is inspirational? He’s taught me to joke around and we feed off each other’s energy. He’s an amazing person and an amazing dad.


If you still doubt the authenticity of this blog, please consult Polly, Skipper, or The Dol, I’m sure that they will confirm what I have just said. If you’re lucky, they’ll probably shell out some embarrassing stories about my youth.

So don’t be a playa hayta and keep it real.

This blog was cross-posted at: http://www.ifyoubelongedhere.com/

Love and Bollywood?

I’m a girl.
I like boys.
Let me say that differently: I love boys.

I love the way most of them smell.
I love the way they talk.
I love the way they smile.
I love how they try to outsmart other boys.
I love how they try so hard to impress you.
I love the way they hug.
I love how they kiss.
Oh, how I love boys....


But, do I want a boy?
Yes and no.
I might want one for awhile, but do I want the same one forever?
I still have no idea...

You see, I have this issue:
I don’t do commitment.
I can’t stand clingy people and I can’t stand being held back.
I almost view relationships as an extra job and I don't really feel like I want to work at one.

Why do I have this issue?:
It's not that I've ever been hurt and I could have easily had a boyfriend in high school if I really wanted to. It's just because I'm so darn indecisive and get bored easily. How do I know that I won’t be this way when it comes to marriage?

Speaking of marriage, this is how my wedding is going to go down:
-Short ceremony where I will don bare feet.
-Crazy amounts of calla lilies and hydrangeas.
-None of my bridesmaids dresses will look alike and they won’t be hideous.
-My dress will be simple yet extremely flattering
-Imagine a reception with bollywood dancing.

Lots and lots of dancing.


You know the end scene of Slumdog Millionaire?
Yeah, that’ll be my wedding just without the slums and probably the million dollars.

-I will rock out when Electric Feel by MGMT is blared and hold my husband close as Green Eyes by Coldplay plays.
-Then, for your entertainment, I’ll rap Atmosphere.
-Finally, unlimited champagne and a five tiered vanilla wedding cake.

See how easy that was for me to spell out?
It’s obvious that I’ve put some thought into it.....

The idea of loving someone forever still sounds wonderful, but I’m not sure that I have it in me. I’ve never fallen in love. I’m really afraid to. There’s never been a moment where I’ve not been in control of my life. People tell me that I need to let go when I think that I’ve found the right person. Also, considering my lack of dating experience, I don’t think that I want to marry the first one that I fall in love with. I fear that then I’ll be missing out on something. I fear that maybe I’ll never get to do the things that I wanted to do. Maybe I won’t be missing out, who knows.

Seriously though, marriage is a big deal. My parents have done it for 22 years and, as gross as I find it, they still express to each other how much they love each other. Marriage is legally binding and seems like way too much of a contract for me to ever handle. Like to even get out of it you have to sign more contracts.

I want to experience love and a family, but do I really need marriage for that?

This post was cross-posted at: http://www.ifyoubelongedhere.com/