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

So p-kitty has the cancer. Lymphoma. She has a mass (tumor?) that is making it hard for her to breathe through her nose. It breaks my heart hearing her struggle to breathe. She could breathe through her mouth, but she chooses not to. I guess that’s how cats roll. Through their noses or bust. I don’t get it. She is on chemo pills for the cancer and steroids to help her breathe. I swear to god, I never thought I would be one of those people. Like when I told you chemo pills were you like, rilly? Rilly? Cuz, I would be. Oh, and we feed her with a syringe. But she’s started to eat on her own lately so hopefully that will stop. It’s a little unnerving; how nurturing I’ve become. It was like, I have this in me? Where do I keep it? I’m trying to be blindly optimistic without being in denial. I wasn’t even going to tell the interwebs because as The Secret taught us, what you speak about you bring about. I KNOW! So fucking cheesy, but I will do anything to keep this cat living a quality life. Including, but not limited to, buying $100 worth of supplements and shit. I dunno man, you can’t judge unless you’ve been there. OK, let’s think positive thoughts. Like…

My mom got my hair done last night before I got on the plane. I was like, Mom, I’m getting pink stripes in my hair. And she was like, No you’re not. -Yes I am. -Not if I’m paying for it. <giggle, giggle> I got my hair done while she was at work. And it’s pink. I’ve never had my hair colored professionally, like professionally primary colored. I’ve always gone to the drug store and made my bathroom the scene of a murder. But it turns out so much nicer when someone who is paid to do it, does it. Mom loves it. She liked it even better as she watched me go through security at the airport and easily spotted me. She called me as I was going up the escalator to the terminal and stalkerishly whispered, I see you, you’re on the escalator. I turned around and we blew each other kisses. I miss Mom, she’s amazing. She’s 56 and working on her bachelor’s degree. How cool is that? She also chastises me for judging people in the same breath that she points out a teetering fat lady in sausage jeans and toothpick stilettos. We watch intently, one day that inappropriately dressed fat lady is going fall and we’ll be ready.

Also, my former co-worker got a sewing machine and it’s the exact same one as mine. No big deal, except that I’m a dork and read her post about getting a noise machine and ran out and bought the exact same one. I’m using it tonight for the first time. I hope it’s as effective as the fan. I love me the fan. What you’re thinking is, So the fuck what? You would be right, I have no point to this. I am just easily amused.

I had a jolly good time in San Diego this Christmas. There were hangovers (totally Sir Chinko’s fault) but there was no peeing on myself or throwing up. And that is what I call a success. Sir Chinko deftly summarizes my non-Mom related experiences here and here.

X is supposed to be in the Santa C next week. I hope she isn’t teasing me like she used to do with the boys back before she was a mondo slut. Except now she is just a slut for Snake. So it’s like it never happened. It’s just because I love you X. And also because I’m terribly jealous of your sexual exploits. Terribly. My point being that I AM SO EXCITED THAT X IS (maybe totally, hopefully?) COMING TO VISIT! Drinking and loud laughing, woot!

Ok, let’s all think about p-kitty’s mass shrinking into the ether and never returning.

The Millionizer has poor boundaries and just spent like 4 hours registering for Yelp. Don’t waste your time, it is easier and more satisfying to just start a whole new blog of your reviews. Because hay-seuss kreesto customizing that shit is impossible. Yelp, fix yo shit.

[tags]lymphoma, yelp, san diego, christmas, inappropriate imagery[/tags]

It’s not a fungal infection.