Friday, July 26, 2013

Teenaged Mutant Ninja Giant Rats


So when I was in high school my parents decided to do this pull themselves up by their bootstraps American dream dumb thing and bought a house in the suburbs! OMG! It was the worst! How could those people do this to me? I didn’t care about their bootstraps! I just wanted to stay in Brooklyn with my Friiiiieeeeennnnddddds!!!! I actually had some now!! Nooooooooo!! They were taking me away from the subway and corner bagel store and my beloved Franklin Delano Roosevelt High School!! Aaahhh-and I was going to turn into a Jersey girl!! See, this is why I own leopard print leggings-it’s all my parent’s fault-them and their dumb bootstraps!!

So off we drove to Clifton New Jersey. And I don’t care about what they claim about actually being a small city as opposed to a large town or the fact that Clifton is accessible to five major highways and at least one of nearly any chain retail store that ever existed-as far as I was concerned I just moved into the desolate wilderness! I might as well have moved into a swamp! They didn’t even have a subway here! And by subway, I mean underground commuter train system, not the sandwich franchise. And worst yet, these freaks in Jersey didn’t even know how to eat bagels! They didn’t even toast them! They just spread cream cheese all over a cold bagel out of a fridge and just ate them like that! I mean seriously! Who doesn’t know how to eat an effing bagel?! What kind of place was this?

My new high school was the worst. There were all these weird things I only ever saw on TV, like cheerleaders and Jocks and girls with blond hair. I was assigned to share a locker with this one mean girl from the fancy side of town who had an oddly striped orange complexion. She got mad at me one day because some guy who everyone supposedly knew she was hooking up with wanted to know who the “new girl” was. So she went around telling everyone that she saw me BJ both him and his best friend behind a tombstone at a cemetery that her and her friends hung out at when they cut school. Which I still don’t understand. Seriously, are there no better places to go when you cut school than a plot of land full of buried corpses and “no trespassing” signs everywhere? Indian people are superstitious. We don’t mess around with dead people and cemeteries. Secretly drinking beer there could never be fun.

Well anyway, I was a bit slow so I was still trying to figure out what BJ even stood for, but I did notice this rumor made people gossip about me and boys interested in me in a pervy kinda way. So I just would go home and cry. “Stupid Jersey!” I thought, “Stupid, stupid Jersey!!” Oh yes, it was all stupid Jersey’s fault!! And Jersey was really stupid! Jersey was soooooooo stupid and stupid Jersey was ruining my life!

Until...

People realized that I was from New York. New York effing City biiiiitttttccchhhhesssss!!! For the first time in my life, I had some street cred. Not bad for a girl who couldn’t even figure out what BJ stood for. I played it up too, telling everyone stories about drive by’s and drug dealers and explaining what gunshots sound like. Luckily, I was no longer wearing homemade jeans and koolats. And really, no one had to know that I spent my weekends at church youth group and that my mom was so strict that I wasn’t allowed to wear sleeve-less shirts or have internet access for fear of me meeting a random older guy on a chat room (remember those?) who would manipulate my young innocent mind and I would fall into a crazy whirlwind romance, and run away with the tattoo covered tongue ring wearing chat room predator, cross the border to Mexico and have his baby-just like you would hear about on TV. And then what would my mother say to my aunt when she called from India and asked how I was? What would people think?

Me and my sisters, just the three of us since the girl cousin we grew up with stayed in Brooklyn, would walk home from school every day. We made friends with a new girl, a girl from Manhattan. We were all trying to get used to the rugged new terrain of living in the burbs. You know, things like grass and front yards and garden hoses and stuff. One day the four of us were walking home from school on a busy street. From far away we saw some road kill. ROAD KILL!!! See how bad it was?!

As we continued to walk and had to inevitably face the dire circumstances of getting close to the icky dead mangled animal on the street, we notice that there was something terribly wrong. Wait...What was that? A dog? A cat? No...It had a pointy nose and sharp teeth and a long skinny tail. Was it? No it can’t be…could it? There was only one explanation-it was a giant mutant rat! Now I know I saw a huge radioactive rat in the subway in the Bronx one time, but this was on a whole nother level! The thing was the size of a small dog!! What the hell kind of god-forsaken swamp did those people who I call my parents bring me to?!?.

Terrified, we all did the only thing we could do. We started to scream and run. We got ourselves together and caught our breath. Mustering all our courage and strength, we slowly approached the dead mangled beast. Oh it was a giant rat all right! We were now stars of our own horror movie-The attack of the killer rats! We ran to the corner store, sweaty and out of breath, and explained our discovery to the store owner. I guess we would eventually have to call the news or something. And the police, and animal control.

“Oh, is that all” the guy at the store said. “That’s not a giant mutant rat, it’s just a possum.”

Oh...that’s what a possum is. Dang, they just let those nasty things walk around free like that? The suburbs are dark and scary place.

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