And today Bingo lives a normal life, except for the loss of balance
Once again it’s time to go back through my journal to April 13, 1985 when I was 17 and finishing my junior year in high school. As is always the case, this is a slice of my angst-filled life.
So let’s go.
On April 30 I get to go to the Conference for Young Authors at the University of Michigan. It all started when I had Creative Writing with Mr. D, cool guy. There’s this conference that takes place every year and only four — yes, count ‘m baby — only four students from each high school get to go.
Now of course more than four people in our class wanted to go, so Mr. D said, “Everyone who wants to go to this will submit a one-page essay on anything. Don’t put your name on it and I’ll give them to Mr. S. He’ll decide and I’ll have no input. That way it will be fair.”
About ten people raised their hands and I didn’t because I thought, ‘No way, everyone wants to go I won’t have a chance.’
So I didn’t raise my hand. Mr. D said, “Cardiogirl, aren’t you going to try?”
“No.”
“Oh, go ahead, give it a shot.”
So I wrote about everyone’s favorite teacher, Miss G. And I was picked. Anyway on the 30th I go to a three-hour conference where you can bring things you’ve written and a professor sits with you, reads your stuff and tells you what he things.
Watch, I’ll get someone like that guy on “Paper Chase” — mean, old and decrepit.
My hair looks like an old rat’s nest. I’m letting the back and part of the sides grow out and the part that’s suppose to grow isn’t and the part that isn’t is. It figures. The girl who cuts my hair said it should be the right length by summer, I doubt it.
Man I shaved my legs yesterday after letting them run wild for about six months. It took 45 minutes and somehow I cramped the big toe on my left foot and it hurts every time I walk on it. It feels like a Charley horse, it’s killing me.
Jack smashed Bingo in the bathroom door. It’s been two weeks now and Bingo is almost back to normal. It was so gross.
Bingo was sitting on top of the bathroom door and Jack just went to the door for no reason in particular, didn’t look up and slammed the door, twice.
It wouldn’t close the first time, so he tried again. He opened it all the way and down came Bingo like a lead balloon.
Dad took him downstairs, got a stick and was going to kill him, but alas! Bingo flipped all over and Dad decided to let him live as long as he could.
Today Bingo lives a normal life with a little bit of lost balance here and there, but he’s almost okay.
So very much to say.
Clearly my insecurities run deep and were honed at an early age since initially I didn’t even try to enter the contest. Other people are interested too? I give up. And my pessimistic nature was also in full swing back then — “…I’ll get someone like that guy on “Paper Chase” — mean, old and decrepit.”
Just call me Susie Sunshine. I honestly don’t remember attending that conference or what articles I brought. I also do not remember what the professor had to say. I wonder if I kept anything from that experience. It would be fun to look back at the prof’s analysis.
Regarding my legs, too bad I didn’t have my Tweeze back then.
And poor, poor Bingo. He was a teeny, tiny blue parakeet who apparently liked to hang out on the top of open doors. It seems really odd to me that my brother would simply walk to the bathroom door like the Terminator and slam it shut. Twice. Maybe that was my 17-year-old interpretation.
By the way, my brother would have been 25 at the time.
I do recall, very vividly, my father taking Bingo to the basement with the intent of smashing the life out of him. I cried.
And then I was extremely relieved to hear that the man who played god decided Bingo could live. I also remember taking Bingo to the vet and giving him pink medicine from an eye dropper.
Surprisingly, I do think Bingo lived another year or so. Man, that’s like surviving a horrific car accident and then living with the driver of the other car and the mass murderer wandering the town.
If I were Bingo I would have feared and loathed living in that house.
you? writing? winning? of course!
i will always love rat’s nest. lol
smashed the bird on the floor? uh why. the worse my brother did with an animal was convince our dog rex that he could fly and opened a window for him. he didn’t make it.
I sure have an affinity for rat’s nests, don’t I? It comes from my mother. She frequently told me my hair was a rat’s nest. I suppose that’s subjective, eh? While I am cringing, I have to say I am sort of impressed that your brother could convince the dog it could fly.
That’s a helluva skill.
he sure did. talked the dog right out the window, on to the ledge and thud. okay he was airborne for all of 3 seconds.
Oh, man that’s harsh.
oh and fix my **** typos. da**! please.
*could*
Done and done!
I love how you transition from your leg shaving experience to the poor smashed bird story, giving the legs top billing. Poor Bingo!
Isn’t that funny how I prioritized things? I enjoy that aspect the most, I think, when I read these old entries.
Oh, no. I was hoping against hope that Bingo was maybe a balloon or something that you had affectionately elevated to pet status. I couldn’t bring myself to believe it was a living creature! Noooo! BINGOOOOOO!!!
Well, it *was* a living creature. I truly did love that bird. That was the only pet I ever had growing up. Maybe that’s a good thing, eh?
At first I thought Bingo was a cat and I couldn’t figure out how your brother didn’t notice him or hear him squeal when the door shut on him. Then again, I’m still confused as to how Bingo didn’t fall away or fly away after the first slam. Wow…way to much thought on this subject, I’ll let it go now.
In regards to your hair, I can never use the rat’s nest description since I have about the flatest hair imagninable. My mom’s line for telling me that I needed a hair cut was that I looked like a shaggy sheep dog…lol Off topic, she also would always yell at me for walking/acting like a truck driver &/or wrestler. My obnoxious 80’s teen response was that I was going to be a GLOW (gorgeous lady of wrestling) lady so it didn’t matter if I acted like a wrestler….she always appreciated that…lol
Yeah, I actually wondered the very same thing as I re-read that passage this morning, Buf. I guess Bingo must have tried to hold on during the first slam…
I might have to start calling you GLOW!
No. Freaking. Way.
*I* had a large-ish budgie named Chipper when I was a small-ish child.
Chipper liked to sit on the top edge of the kitchen door.
One day *my* brother slammed that door.
Apparently, the larger the bird, the easier the smush, ‘cuz it only took the one slam for Chipper to fall.
Chipper didn’t get up again.
We have way too much in common-with-a-twist, CG. You’d think I’d cease to be surprised.
Poor Chipper.
And what the hell, betch?! Are we living crazy parallel universe lives?
I’m begging you. Please do not have any more children, okay shet bag?
“Surprisingly, I do think Bingo lived another year or so. Man, that’s like surviving a horrific car accident and then living with the driver of the other car and the mass murderer wandering the town.”
He he he. I found this funny. Yep, I guess I’m evil.
I know strugglingwriter. I’m some kind of evil since I did enjoy that line as well. (cringes)
Birds are weird. An old roommate of mine has a really funny story about a pet bird he really hated and he almost killed it by pulling a feather out, it’s hilarious.
I sincerely hope that 6 month time span was an exageration. Having a boy dry spell junior year, CG? I hope you learned to sit down if you ever have such a shaving task again.
Wow, I didn’t know you could kill a bird by pulling a feather out. I guess they don’t have very high pain tolerances, eh?
Sadly, I do believe I went all winter without shaving my legs. I know, it’s disgusting. But I’m here to dispel the myths that Cardiogirl has lived a charmed life.
I’m just as grimy as the next gal (or grimier.)
I’m not so awesome about washing my hair, there’s just so much of it but I try to get to my legs once a week no matter the season but maybe that’s because my husband makes fun of me and makes jokes about braiding.
Apparently, the bird bled profusely after pulling out the feather.
Damnation. Note to self: never pull out a feather from a bird. Auugghhh!
I have a distinct feeling you won’t need to know this, but that doesn’t happen if the bird is already dead.
(My dad hunts.)
(laughs) Well, that is good to know.
Oh man, when I was young my parents always said if i didn’t dry my hair (or brush it) it would look like a rat’s nest. I thought that would attract rats so I actually tried not to get a rat’s nest.
The episode with the bird, though, sounds horrifying. Poor little guy. I once stepped on a lizard and that was bad enough. I’ve not had anything really unfortunate with animals since.
That’s so funny that you took them so literally, Heidi. I never gave it much thought, just that my mother couldn’t stand my hair.
And now I actually say the same thing to my daughter. And it doesn’t faze her, either.
Cardio Girl – regarding “Shaun”. If you’re using Google as your home page (easier if you’re already using iGoogle) then click on where you can customize your home page. In iGoogle – look for a button that says “add stuff”. You should be looking for a gadget called “Virtual Pet Shaun”. There is loads of gadgets to add to your home page. Have fun, and make sure you let me know how it went for you. Shaun truly is a friendly fluffy blessing to me on more difficult days. Blessings – LJ
Thanks LJ! I now have Shaun bleating and eating!
You are all kinds of brave for posting stuff from your journals. I read mine again last year and was all kinds of embarrassed. Mortified was more like it, really. I didn’t know whether to burn them or not. I still haven’t decided. I doubt I’ll be posting anything from them any time soon. Or ever.
That Bingo story broke my heart. I’ve had several budgies in my lifetime. The first one flew away when I was a kid, and I remember my mother sprawled on the bed, sobbing about it. When I worked at a pet store later, I brought a couple of babies home and raised them with a dropper and mushed up food.
After that I had one who could speak, too. He said, “Pretty boy,” “good bird,” and then every now and then he’d mix it up and say, “Pretty good bird!” Hilarious!
I’ve been wanting one again for a while now, but I’m afraid he wouldn’t get the attention he deserves and needs. We could get two, though…
Hmmm. I wonder how the dog would take it.
Thanks steph. Really my confidence comes from my anonymity. If I had to stand at a microphone and read it, I don’t think so.
I did love Bingo and I’m telling you he loved me as well. He would sit in my lap and let me pet his ears, back and legs. I do remember lightly petting his legs and being surprised that he some muscle up there. He was a great pet and it was devastating. Though based on what I wrote I was really emoting that love.
I never thought to try to teach him to speak. I didn’t know a parakeet/budgie could speak.
I think I heard that Bingo story once before and am ashamed to say I laughed that time too. There’s just way too much Chuck Jones in my background.
I guess I’ve shared that slammin’ in the door one before, eh? In retrospect I’m amazed that bird lived to chirp the tale.
I knew we had more in common. If you’re a Chuck Jones connoisseur wouldst thou be a fan of Mr. Tex Avery?
Oh, hell yes!
“Oh Wolfy, oh Wolfy, ain’t you the one.”
I love when the Country Cousin’s eyes pop through the City Cousin’s hand and then the City Cousin puts his finger in the Country Cousin’s mouth to stop a whistle. But the whistle goes through his arm and out the City Cousin’s mouth.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Suk9miYlp6k
[...] Well, we did have a short run with two parakeets. Um, you might recall what happened to one of them. [...]
[...] loved having cats. The only pet I had growing up was a blue parakeet that barely escaped with its life. It was cool but you can’t really play with a parakeet or scritch its ears. As I recall, I [...]