Wednesday, July 27, 2011

Natasha Ferrier - Maggot Murderer

I've recently been accused of losing my mind.

This all began after one night of staying up until 4 in the morning working on my father's birthday card and waking up the next day eager to share the monstrocities I encountered while working on the card with my partner-in-crime. We'll call him Clyde.

"Clyde, wake up."

This is code for, "I am sleeping."

"Clyde, WAKE UP."

This is code for, "I am still sleeping."


This is code for, "Now I'm awake but am pretending to be asleep."


This is code for, "I know you know I'm awake, but it doesn't matter because I am not acting like it."


This is code for, "I will not wake up to the sweet sound of your voice, but I will wake up to you mentioning fly larva."

"We have maggots."

"In our room?"

"No, in the kitchen. They're everywhere. SWARMS. They're taking over, I swear to god. Get out of bed, I'll show you."

We walk to the kitchen.

" they're gone. BUT - that's because they only come out at night."

"At night."

"At night."

"How many did you say there were?"

"MILLIONS. I was sitting on the kitchen floor making my dad's birthday card because the floor was the biggest hard space I could find and there was more light out here, and then I saw them coming. MILLIONS. From the trash can. Coming right at me. Headed right toward me."

"So then you went to bed?"

"No, I stayed on the floor."

"With the maggots?"


This is code for, "That's so fucking disgusting, I don't know what to say right now."

"Look, I had to finish his card before his birthday, and I was on a roll. It wasn't like I was letting them crawl all over me, though a lot of them did get on the card...and the pencils...and the pens...and the scissors...and my shoes....and one got on my pinky...sneaky little bastard...BUT. That's only because I started smashing them with my shoes."

"So did you kill them all?"

"No, they multiply."


"When my shoe would slice them in half, it'd make this popping noise, like, pop!, then the halves would become two new maggots."

"So then what did you do?"

"So then I had to smush them real good, down into the ground, like smussshhhhhh, then that way they wouldn't keep multiplying from their halves."

This is code for, "I don't believe you."

"You don't believe me."


"FINE! I'll SHOW you. LOOK!"

"At what?"

"The floor! See all that? Those are dead maggot bodies. I murdered them."

"I don't really see anything..."

"That's because they're the color of the floor! You have to get real close up. That's what I did. I leaned in super close then came to a stop, like screeechhhhhhh, then I smacked them with my shoes, like BAM!BAM!BAM!, then I went back to making my card, like scribblescribblescribble, then a minute later I'd look up and they'd all be coming back to get me. For revenge."

"So are the dead ones all on your shoe then?"

"Yes! I'll show you!"

This is code for, "There's nothing there."

"Okay, so there's nothing there. But I told you! That's because they multiply."

"I think you're losing your mind, Natasha."


"Are you sure you didn't just imagine all of this? I mean, you were up till 4 in the morning..."

Laughing. He is laughing at me.

"I think if I were to hallucinate, CLYDE, it wouldn't be of maggots with a vengeance."

"Then what would it be?"

Laughing. He is still laughing at me.

"You know, like, unicorns and shit."

Laughing. Still laughing.

This is such bullshit.

The last time I was asked if I was out of my mind was my junior year of high school. I was assigned to draw the political cartoon for a group history project revolving around slaves gaining their freedom way back when. So I drew the whole thing out - the slaves hiding from the evil white men, the slaves swimming through water to escape to the north, the slaves mingling amongst the white folk in the free states - and I turned it in, only to be kept after class to "discuss" my contribution to the project.

"Natasha....what. Is this."

"My political cartoon, sir. See? The slaves are hiding from the evil white men."

"Yes, but all you can see is their eyes against a black background and you've written, "Ha. Ha. You can't see us, evil white men, because we blend in with the night. Ha. Ha."

"Well, I'm sure that helped them to camoflauge...but look. See? They're swimming across the water to get to freedom."

"Yes, and you've drawn a mermaid singing on a rock, "I want a man, I want a man."

"Well, she's lonely..."

"And here? HERE? When you drew the African-American men freely coexisting with these white women?"

"Yes, because they're equals."

"Yes, Natasha, but do you mind telling me why you wrote this African-American man saying, "Let me put some chocolate in yo' vanilla?" What does that even mean?"

"I mean, I'm sure you must know what that means..."

"Are you out of your mind? Many people would find this completely racist, Natasha!"

"It's not racist! There's a mermaid. How is that racist? I said that woman was vanilla! I'm pitting names against my own race! I just...wanted be funny..."

"I mean, yes, it made me laugh, but that's because it makes no sense at all. I'm going to have to give you a D on this."

Never again would I agree to do the political cartoon.

There are also a few other little things that have also been making me doubt my sanity. Such as the fact that I woke up the other morning and immediately said,

"Sushi is only 2 dollars!"



"I asked you if you had to work today, and you said yes, and I asked if you needed to wake up soon then, and you said sushi was only 2 dollars?"

"Yeah...that's code for...I work at's a work thing, you wouldn't understand."

I also have gotten into the odd habit of videotaping things. And by things, I really do just mean things. One thing, actually. And not parties, or social events, or even moments where I'm like, "Man, I'd really like to remember this," or, "Man, everyone looks so great tonight, I should get this on camera;" it's more like, "Man, we're in the car...I must videotape this."

So because of this, I have countless videos that are really quite embarrassing to show anyone else, for when I do, they are all narrrated like this:

"Look! There's my sister in her car!"

"Oh look! There's Clyde driving his car!"

"Oh, I love this sister riding in my car!"

"What a classic - Clyde eating a banana popsicle in the passenger seat of my car!"

...all my videos. All people. All in cars. No dialogue. a car.

If this is some weird, growing fetish, I wish someone would just point it out to me instead of saying, "Yeah, Natasha, this is some great footage...these videos sure do...mesh well."

I've also gotten into the habit of laughing out loud over something I just said in my head, which makes it look like I'm just laughing for no reason, which makes it look like I'm the next Jack Torrance. And the things I'm laughing at? THEY'RE RETARDED. Like this one:

I'm labeling the vegetables at work to put in the cooler. I notice that when other people label the cucumbers, a lot of them just write "cuc" for short, so I start thinking of other ways I could write "cucumber" and use less letters. There's "cucumb...," there's "ber," "c-ber," "cucu," - and then there's "cum." And I start plotting that the next time I have to label 6 containers of cucumbers, I am going to label them all as "CUM." And this is when I start laughing and can't stop.

This is when I began to question the maggots.

And the mermaid. Though the mermaid was NOT irrelevant. She was an analogy of the slaves, for she too, is a slave to the ocean. Let's get real here. When am I EVER irrelevant?

Then I stop myself. Because I know what I saw. And there were maggots. Millions. All coming after me. Multiplying by the dozen, and after killing 50, 5 minutes would pass and there would be 50 new ones. All coming after me. Multiplying by the ones...50...multiplying...coming...coming...millions...maggots...

Next time I see those maggots, I'm getting my fucking video camera. "Hereeeee'ssssss NATASHA!"

Monday, July 25, 2011

Pizza and Pringles Being Part of the Foreplay

I hate to do this. I mean, I really hate to do this, but I've sat staring at this blank computer screen for quite some time now and I've realized that I just have to do this. I have to begin this post...with a cliche. WAIT! Please don't go just yet. Please don't go back to facebook and read the mindblowing news people must share with the rest of the world. I know, I know you must need to know that Kayla is "about to do her hair" and that Louise "is so over him" but you must bear with me for just this second. Please don't go just yet. Please do not go to Yahoo to discover that what's "Trending Now" is that Kim Kardashian has crashed a bachelor party and that J.Lo partied on her b-day. I know it's huge news that a pop star from the 90s actually did go into town on her very own birthday, what a shock this must be to all of us, but please. Let it wait. Kim and Jennifer will both still be trending once you're done reading this. Actually, they probably won't, but I'm sure something just as crucial to Earth's survival will be available for you to read and use up valuable memory space with. Remember what your mom and dad got you for your 8th birthday? Oh? You don't? Well do you remember what look Katy Perry just recently sported? Oh, the Smurfette look, huh? Blonde with a blue dress? Oh yeah? Well, I think that's wonderful. Really. I'm actually glad to know that you replaced your memory space that had initially been reserved for the love your parents gave you when you were a child and instead now stores the color of clothing that was once worn by the woman who wrote, "I wanna see your peacock-cock-cock, your peacock-cock-cock."

(Apparently it's okay to say the words "cock cock cock" as long as you say "pea" in front of them.)

(Yeah, okay, I may or may not have purchased that song on iTunes.)

(Okay, I did. I did purchase that song on iTunes.)

(Look, it's catchy. I'm not against catchy things, I just wish I didn't waste my memory with such.)

(I've reached a line of honesty that I was not planning on crossing. I need to either tell a huge lie now or move on with my post. I'll choose the latter.)

The cliche is this: Things really do change. There. I said it. Damn straight, I said it. I. SAID IT. And now that I've said it, a weight has been lifted off my shoulders. Somehow I now feel free to quote any damn cliche I want!



YOU PUT YOUR RIGHT FOOT IN, YOU PUT YOUR RIGHT FOOT OUT, YOU DO THE HANKY PANKY AND YOU TURN YOURSELF AROUND, AND THAT'S WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT! Who knew that doing the hanky panky was really what it's all about? But today I'm not here to talk about beauty, or regrets, or feet. I'm here to talk about how things really. Do. Change.

I'm about to embark on my third year of college. This isn't really saying much, at the rate I'm goin' I'll be in college for another 30 years, but at least I'll have 33 years of experience on how to know a toupee when you see one. While I'm looking forward to what this year will bring, I already know two things: 1) it will be nothing like I expect it to be, and 2) it will be nothing like the past two years. I know these two facts because ever since I graduated high school, not one year has been remotely similar to the one that follows. And while that's exciting---

I can't go on like this. "While I'm looking forward to what this year will bring?" WHAT THE HELL AM I SAYING. WHAT THE HELL KIND OF ENGLISH PAPER IS THIS BULLSHIT. Enough, I say! Enough! You wanna know the truth? You wanna know the real god damn truth? IT'S FUCKING TERRIFYING, THAT'S WHAT IT IS! And you wanna know why? Because I am notorious for changing things! I AM the cliche, baby! I'm the changer of the change, the keeper of the keys, the bopper of the BopIt! I'M the one who pissed on The Dude's carpet, I'M the one who got Michael to drink from the wine bottle of blood, I'M the one who impregnated Rosemary, I'M the one who released Casanova Frankenstein to reunite with The Disco Boys!

...And that is exactly why I have no idea what I should expect from this next year. (Besides the end of the world, of course, but that's just Plan B.) (B as in Bullshit.) (B as in the world will end when there are flying cars and never-ending cigarettes and vending machines with prescription pills in them instead of candy and food that tells you when you should stop eating it.) (B as in the world will end when you can listen to your iPod in your iHouse with your iCar and you're going an an iVacation to some new iCountry with your iMom and iDad.)

In order to make this year a stark contrast from its predecessors, which is bound to happen nonetheless, I've decided to BRIEFLY revisit my past in hopes that by publicly humiliating myself, I will eliminate all chances of these occurrences ever making a comeback.

Freshmen Year of College
Closest Analogy: Being in a coma for 6 months only to wake up and find yourself lying in your own shit wondering what the hell happened.

I woke up one morning to find the shirt I had been wearing the night before was gone. It's an odd way to start the morning, really. Waking up and wondering who the hell removed your shirt while you were sleeping. As you can imagine, this didn't put me in the best of moods, for I had already began my day with two concerns: one, who the fuck took off my shirt and two, what the hell would I wear today. That shirt still had a good 6 straight days of use left in it before I'd be forced to add it to my collection of Clothes I Will Never Wash Until I Go Home for Christmas Break.

I then step out of bed and hear a subtle crunchhhhhh beneath my feet. I look down at the carpet only to discover that someone has sprinkled Pringles all over the floor surrounding my bed. Pringles, people. All over my floor. In bits and pieces. That's right, not even whole Pringles. Not even Pringles to salvage. I guess they mean it when they say that once you pop, the fun don't stop. The fun doesn't even stop when you have no Pringles left. You then start taking off people's clothes without even having the decency to put them in a place where they can be easily spotted.


So at eleven in the morning, covered in Pringles and shirtless, I'm thinking one thing: Pizzaaaaaaa. Of course, this has nothing to do with whoever broke into my dorm the evening before, I just happen to be very hungry, so I decide that I can't get to the bottom of this without a decent breakfast. Luckily, I had an entire pizza saved from the night before still left in my fridge. Pizzaaaaaaa.

I get out of bed. Pizzaaaaaa.

I put on a shirt. Pizzaaaaaa.

I walk to the fridge. Pizzaaaaaa.

I open it and see the box. Pizzaaaaaa.

I take out the box. Pizzaaaaaa.

I open the box. No pizzaaaaaa.


Of course, I immediately run to the bathroom. Alright, that was a total lie. Hopefully you figured that out yourself, because who the hell runs to the toilet in search of missing food? I mean, I guess there could be evidence there...nevermind. That's disgusting. The truth of the matter is, I don't remember exactly what I did immediately after discovering the empty pizza box, besides throwing it on the floor in anger, but somehow I ended up in the bathroom. Probably to take a piss. LOOK IT DOESN'T MATTER. Point is, I wound up in the god damn bathroom and found my god damn shirt in the god damn sink. The sink. MY shirt. In the sink. The SINK. SINKKKKKK. (I do apologize. "Sink" just sounds very odd when you type it over and over again like that, so I was compelled to continue doing so.) And you wanna know what else was in the sink? Puke. And in the sink beside the sink? (Two sinks: a luxury I had almost forgotten...) More puke. Missing shirt. Missing pizza. Shirt found. Puke being the accomplice. So you know what I'm beginning to think?


That's what I'm beginning to think.

I grab my phone to call someone, and see that SOMEONE has made MULTIPLE calls from my phone the night before, as well as TEXTED random ass people in my Contacts list asking them how they are.


Slowly, I begin to piece the story together...I was out last night. I was drinking. I walked home with a group of people, and then I decided it was time for me to go to bed. I said good night. I got in bed. And at some point while I was sleeping, some drunk-ass-mother-fucker came into my dorm, raided my fridge because they were hungry, found an entire pizza, ate the whole thing in hopes of sobering up, then, found a can of Pringles, snuck into my room, walked in circles around my bed munching on the Pringles in such a barbaric manner that crumbs of Pringles were falling out of their mouth left and right, sat on my bed to admire my golden curls of Truth and Honor, started to feel sick, couldn't find a towel to stifle their upcoming-upchuck with, saw that I was wearing a shirt, took off my shirt while I was passed out, put it to their mouth and started puking, ran to the bathroom, had no time to make it to the toilet, puked in one sink until it was completely full, then finished the job in the other sink and dropped my shirt in along with it and ran. But not before grabbing my phone and texting a shit ton of people pretending to be me.

It's either that or I was molested in my sleep with Pringles and pizza being part of the foreplay, but that's just way too far fetched.

I immediately run outside to tell the world.


"Wow. Congratulations. Keep that stuff to yourself. Not all of us are that lucky."


"Well that's something to make a girl feel incredibly insecure."


"Man, Natasha...I'm really are a wonderful girl and no boy should make you feel that bad about your body."


"Good god....they saw you with your shirt off, puked, then started calling a bunch of people to tell them about it?"


"Alright...I....uh....okay you lost me."


"When did this happen?"

"Last night! I said good night to you guys, went to bed, then woke up this morning to find my shirt and my pizza GONE. You know what...I bet it was that Luke kid. Oh my god. It was. That guy was sketchy as shit. IT WAS THAT FUCKIN' LUKE KID."

"You think Luke ate your pizza and puked on your shirt?"


"But he left before you even went to bed."

"No he didn't! He was still out here drinking when I said good night!"

"Yeah, the first time. But not the second time."

"What do you mean the second time?"

"You know, you said good night then came back out a few minutes later to hang out some more."


"Yessssss, Natashaaaaaa. Come on, when you tripped over the doormat?"


"And you were like, "WHERE'S MY PHONE WHERE'S MY PHONE I CAN'T FIND MY FUCKING PHONE" and I was like, "It's in your hand." And then you started laughing. Remember?"


"It was probably that eighth of vodka you were drinking straight from the bottle."


"I told you that was a bad idea and you were just like, "I drink this shit like water, breh!"

"No no no....we were drinking beer last night."

"Yeah, then you said you were going to bed but then you came back outside and drank that entire thing of vodka."

"No. No. No. No. No."

"Oh my god, do you really not remember?"


"Oh my blacked out!"


"You blacked out! YOU were the one who ate your pizza!"


"YOU were the one who went to bed eating Pringles and then spilled the rest of the can all over your floor when you passed out!"


"YOU were the one who started puking, ran to the bathroom, took off your shirt because it was covered in puke, then went back to bed! I mean who else would puke on your shirt, Natasha? And who else wouldn't have the decency to not clean up their mess?"


"Who else would text people from your phone asking them how they've been, Natasha."

"Oh shit."

"Oh yeah."

"Oh shit."

"OH yeah."

"That's never happened to me before!"

"Well it has now."


"That's a lot of food."


"Don't worry about it. Hey, wanna get some liquor tonight?"

"Are you kidding me? I drink that shit like water, breh!"

And that was the first semester of my freshman year.

Sophomore Year of College
Closest Analogy: Being the only survivor of a zombie apocalypse.

"Hey, Natasha, wanna hang out when you get out of class?"


"Why not?"

"I have to study."

"How about after that?"


And that's all there is to say about that.

I've admitted to myself that I live in extremes, and why that is, I'm not sure. It's probably some psychological response to problems I can't face like, Why does hair grow on every other one of my toes? Or, why do my bottom eyelids sporadically twitch inwards? Or, why was Hugh Jackman impotent in my dream last night? These things I can only answer by living in extremes. Which isn't even my final answer, because like I said before, things really do change. (Which hopefully applies to my next dream involving Hugh Jackman.)