Boy Was I Stupid

I was a very curious little kid. I would ask a ton of questions, trying to figure things out. Then once I did, I would store that little fact away until I needed to produce it for Jeopardy or something. Is that the way all kids do it? I don't know. But that's what I did. And although I have since corrected the problem, I have to admit today that there were times when I was a little kid that I was wrong about stuff. Thank god that's over with.

A couple of examples:

I was about seven years old or so when I learned enough cursive to read the name "Seth Thomas" on all the clocks in my elementary school. We had these big, clunky clocks that were always breaking and needing to be fixed. Every time it would happen, my teacher would call the janitor, a guy with the unfortunate name of Mr. Thomas. So I would see Mr. Thomas fixing a clock that said "Seth Thomas" on it, and I just assumed that Mr. Thomas had made the clocks. And I always thought it was pretty cool when I would see a Seth Thomas clock somewhere outside my school, and I'd be happy for our humble janitor. I probably told the story about my Seth Thomas a half dozen times before junior high school, when my English teacher pointed out that unless the fat guy up on the ladder fixing the clock was a hundred and eighty years old, he probably wasn't the Seth Thomas. No worries though, as I wasn't at all concerned about embarrassing myself in front of my classmates when I was thirteen years old.

When I was a kid I was totally gay for The Cat from Outer Space. I can't even remember what the movie is about now (although I assume there are cats and outer space in it), but I'll never forget what my parents told me the night we got home from the movie. Although we didn't live particularly close to the airport, I heard what sounded like a huge airplane flying over our building. So I ran out to the patio outside our apartment to check it out, and I remember seeing a very weird looking thing flying through the sky. Now, of course it was just an airplane, but my parents told me it was the spaceship from the movie. Even though I was only about four years old, this sounded like a load of bullshit to me. Nevertheless, my parents managed to convince me that it wasn't a real spaceship, but rather a special airplane they'd used in the movie. This sounded a little more realistic, so I bought it. For years afterward, we're talking probably into my teens, I would tell the story about the time the special airplane from The Cat from Outer Space flew over my house. I can't remember when I was exposed for being an idiot, as the disappointment was akin to learning that Santa wasn't real and I've blocked it all. To think my parents wondered why I needed therapy when I was a teenager. They systematically destroyed my innocence. And the worst part is that they were probably too fucking stoned to remember doing it.

While we're on the subject of my parents, let me tell you about our dog Brandy. Wait, while I'm on the subject of my dog Brandy let me tell you about my ex-girlfriend's dog Brandy. When I was about twelve we used to have this sorta white cocker spaniel named Brandy, and my girlfriend when I was like sixteen had the exact same dog with the exact same name. One day I was supposed to drive her to school, but I was running late. So she decided to take the bus. She opened the door to leave and her Brandy ran out the door and totally got run over by the school bus, her fucking school bus. Dagger. Worst part is that when I got to school and I heard the news, I said, "You have to admit it is kinda funny." For some reason she didn't think so. I didn't always used to be so awesome with the ladies.

Anyway we had this dog Brandy that never got run over by the school bus. But she did pee on everything. Seriously everything- she peed every time you touched her. No one ever wanted to walk her or anything, and she was basically neglected. At their wits end, my parents decided to give her away and told us she'd gone to live on a farm with one of my dad's co-workers. I can't prove it, and they won't confess to it, but I'm 99% sure that "farm" means "sausage factory."

My favorite stupid kid story doesn't even involve me though, it belongs to Baby.

When she was a kid her grandmother had a ton of paintings in her house. This is a concept that is totally foreign to me, by the way, as my family never thought to actually put anything on our walls when I was growing up. But Baby loved her grandmother's paintings, and the stories behind each one. Her grandmother would tell her that the people in the paintings were members of her family, and the story sounded reasonable to sweet, seven year old Baby, despite the fact that the paintings were obviously prints of famous artwork. Fast forward a couple of decades, and a grown up Baby is on a date and goes back to some guy's apartment. Imagine her surprise when she's checking out his place and she finds a painting of her grandfather! Imagine his surprise when Baby, probably drunk, starts freaking out and screaming, wanting to know just where the fuck he got a picture of her grandfather and what the hell was going on!? How'd you like to be Baby, and have some guy you barely know explain to you that Rembrandt probably didn't paint your grandfather? And to think I get embarrassed when I do something like pee on myself. Poor guy didn't even get laid. That turned out to be okay though, as Baby got to save herself for me.

Man, thank god I don't believe everything people tell me anymore.