I just took the last test  I will ever have to take from my personal nemesis, Dr. R.

I came home to a non threatening yet bizarre (so bizarre it was bordering on threatening) doll with a note written in the first person: as you can see here:

Coming home to this after taking a test that may as well have been in Japanese was not what I wanted to deal with. We are in the midst of a noise feud with our neighbors. So when I read it I was like, “Exqueeeeeze me?” I had no clue how to process it. Do our neighbors think this is going to suddenly make us want to listen to their garage band at whatever hour they decide to practice? Do they think their new motorcycle waking us up at 5am every morning is suddenly going to be silent because of this note? I left it on our porch and went inside.

I called TBU and asked if he was on his way home because I needed his brain power to process it. He kept asking what it said and I was like, “I HONESTLY DON’T KNOW! It’s like child abuse and really fucked up, I guess?”

He got home, inspected it, took a picture for our landlord and threw it out. Over wine, we were laughing and trying to figure out just what the fuck. I mentioned that it was addressed to IRL TBU & Millz, which was weird because I can’t figure out how they know that. TBU looked at me, “Savage!”

So it wasn’t a cryptic note from our neighbor, it was from Savage. Turns out he was with Lou in our neighborhood. Much hanging out and having fun ensued. The night ended with us blaring 4 Non Blondes with the windows down and singing like our lives depended on it. Just what I needed to end a shitty week

The Millionizer says Hey!

I was at most 8 years old when the following took place.

Do you remember saying, “Up yours” a lot as a kid? I do. My friends and I would say it all the time at school. I knew it wasn’t to be said at home. I didn’t know what it meant and I never thought about it. But I knew it was never to be repeated in the presence of my mother. Until one night I got really angry.

I was doing my homework in the living room and my cat, Mr. Poopers,* was jumping on the screen door to be let in and fed. Mr. Poopers was NOT allowed to jump on the screen because then it would tear, and if it tore my mother would have to pay for it to be repaired and money doesn’t just grow on trees, Millionizer!

So Mr. Poopers is jumping and I’m ignoring him, knowing full well that each time he does, my mother’s anger multiplies exponentially. She asked me once to let him in. I said, “Ok,” and didn’t move. He jumped again, “Millionizer, let him in.” I looked at her and in a tone only little girls can muster said, “Why don’t YOU let him in?”

I swear to god I have never seen her face so red since, “I wasn’t the one who begged for a cat and promised me I’d take care of him, WAS I? No!” Then very, very calmly, “Let your cat in please.”

I hated that super calm voice because it meant she was anything but calm and was about to dole out some punishment. I don’t know why I said it, I don’t even know why I was so intent on pissing off my perfectly innocent mother, but I knew exactly what to say.

As I got up to let Mr. Poopers in I screamed, “UUUP YOOOUURS!” She was speechless for a second. Her face was blank but her eyes were slightly quizzical as if to ask, “What. The. Fuck?” I sauntered to the kitchen to feed Mr. Poopers as if I hadn’t just been incredibly ridiculous two seconds before.

The next thing she said is one of the most bizarre and hilarious things I’ve ever heard. “Do you how gay men get raped?”

WHAT?! I was EIGHT!! No I don’t frickin know how gay men get raped! I just stood there and gave her the same what the fuck face she had just given me. That was not the response I had expected. I thought there might be some yelling, a sleepover taken away or the threat of getting rid of Mr. Poopers. I did not expect to be asked about gay men and rape. Two things that had never before entered my mind.

Once she asked that I think she realized what a can of worms she just opened. Now she would have to explain what gay meant and what rape was, and the concept of sticking things in your butt, sexually. She dodged that awkward bullet by following up with another question, “What does ‘up yours’ mean?” Now all the awkwardness was on me. I raced through all the possibilities of what it could mean and assumed it HAD to be about sticking things in your butt. I was eight, everything revolved around pooping, peeing and farting at school. There was nothing else it could be.  I slowly and reluctantly replied, “Up your butt?”

“Yes, gay men get raped up their butt. Do you think that’s an appropriate thing to be saying?”

“No?”

“Good.”

And that was the end of that. It has never, ever been mentioned since. The only punishment I got was having to have that insane conversation with my mom. It was effective though, I don’t recall ever saying it again.

*Yes THAT Mr. Poopers. The one whose death inspired TheMillionizer.com

The Millionizer feels icky every time she thinks about this story