A little-known fact about scorpions.

Something I learned in Costa Rica:

Turns out, if you accidentally step barefoot on a scorpion just so, it can't sting you; instead, you both freak the fuck out and run away screaming.

(Yes, I'm sure the scorpion was also screaming--like in the old cartoons where critter scampers off yelping "yipe! yipe! yipe! yipe! yipe!")

a question for God when I die

My husband was bedridden most of today with a nasty intestinal bug, but dragged himself downtown this afternoon for an emergency call from a client whose internet was down.

As he drove along Denver Avenue, somewhere between the BOK Center and the Tulsa County Courthouse, Steve cruised past two police officers tackling a man to the ground on the sidewalk. All he saw of the man was his pants around his ankles, his bare ass in the air, and his ballsack swinging between his hairy thighs.

 

I would really like to know the beginning and end to that story.

car surfing

At 16, we were melanynkristin (like the twins in Lord of the Flies). We did everything, everything, everything together. We wore each other's clothes and shoes. We drove each other's cars. Sometimes, we drove the same car together, with one's feet on the pedals while the other leaned over to steer (please don't tell my kid). We strolled into each other's houses and raided each other's refrigerators like they were our own. We took almost all the same classes (except she took calculus and Japanese, while I took studio art and French). We even developed our own private mumbly dialect for when we didn't want other people to know what we were saying:

"Guhstiwhuh?"

"Lesdumenena."

"Shuhpet."

And then we'd both grunt with quiet laughter.

 

Our lives were so intertwined, our thoughts followed the same pathways. We would discuss something--say, the paper due in research writing class--then not talk for a minute or two, and suddenly she'd blurt out, "I want fries and gravy!" and I would be having the exact same thought, because discussing the research paper reminded us of the last assignment where Melany wrote a how-to paper about making corn dogs, and corn dogs made us think of the time we went to the fair with a some of our guy friends, which reminded us of the time I sneaked out of the house one night to go with a couple of those guy friends to blow up Melany's mailbox,* which recalled other nights of sneaking out of the house together to go to the Metro Diner for French fries with a side of gravy, and oh, didn't that sound good right now?

Anyhow.

This story took place during my interim phase between the Oldsmobile Cutlass and the Mercury Zephyr, when I had to borrow my dad's Cadillac Coupe DeVille to get around.

Car surfing was just one of those ideas that we had always considered as kind of a joke, but at the same time, we were curious.... Michael J. Fox made it look so fun! And we would be so careful. And it just so happened that Melany's neighborhood backed up to a small airfield, and adjacent to the field was a desolate dead-end street with no houses or anything. What could really happen on a street with no houses or anything? Oh, come on, let's try it. Just once.

So one afternoon, we took the Cadillac to that deserted road, drove to the end, and turned around so we were pointed back toward the main road. That way, we would be able to see and have time to stop safely if a car did happen to turn and head our way. Exercising extreme caution at all times, that was us.

Melany went first. I put the car in park while she got out and climbed from the shiny chrome bumper to the copper-painted hood to the dark brown cloth top. With the road clear and nothing but a straight shot for a hundred yards, I rolled down the window so I could hang my head out to watch her--keeping one eye on the road at all times, of course.

Crouched on the roof of the car, with both hands down by her feet to secure her balance, Melany cued me: "Okay!"

"Okay!" I replied. Shifting the gear into drive, I eased my foot off the brake pedal, and we began to roll forward. The Caddy's engine was so powerful, I had no intention of pressing the accelerator. I took my responsibility for Melany's safety very seriously, my eyes darting back and forth from her to the road, making sure that she was okay and I was steering straight. So far, so good.

On its own, the car began to pick up a little speed, and Melany began to gain a little confidence. Hanging as far out the window as I could while keeping my foot near the brake pedal, I watched as she slowly raised up and stretched her arms out a little, knees still bent, but definitely bipedal. We couldn't have been going more than five miles per hour, but there she was, for real, car surfing!

The wind blew her blonde hair off her face, and she straightened up a bit more, arms fully extended. She was getting comfortable now, and even let out a little "Wooooooo!" of excitement.

I replied with an emphatic "Woooooooo!" of my own; seeing her having so much fun got me excited, too!

"My turn!" I hollered up at her from the window.

Remember what I said about our thought patterns?

Hearing my words, Melany knew what was coming next and cried out "NO!" as she instinctively hunched down and put her arms out to brace herself -- but it was too late.

In the same moment, I ducked my head back in the car and hit the brake, and the instant reduction in speed to from five to zero miles per hour was too much for Melany's precarious posture to take.

Ka-THUNK.

Melany's face and hands suddenly appeared upside-down on the windshield in front of me, and a split-second later, she was sprawled out on her back across the hood of the car, motionless, staring blankly up at the sky.

I'd just killed my best friend.

Then I saw Melany's head turn slowly towards me. Raising herself up on an elbow, she glared through the windshield and growled:

"What the hell were you thinking?!?!"

I very nearly choked to death then. I was laughing so hard, I couldn't catch my breath. It was all I could do to remember to put the car into park. My bladder weakened. I needed air. I pulled frantically at the handle of the heavy car door and leaned hard into it. The door swung open, and I started to fall out sideways, only to find I was still attached by the seatbelt. Hanging upside down and blinded by tears, I groped wildly at my hip until I found the release button and tumbled out of the car onto the asphalt. I looked up from where I lay in the middle of the road to see Melany, still on the hood of the car, writhing and wheezing with laughter herself.

When we finally calmed down enough to speak coherently again, I discovered that I had, in fact, slightly wet myself, which sent us both into hysterical fits all over again.

 

And then it was my turn.

However, because Melany was--and still is--a far more level-headed and conscientious friend, my turn at car surfing went off without a hitch. Sure, she threatened to slam on the brakes once or twice, but she never did. She never would.

 

For weeks afterward, until someone finally washed the car, I grinned each time I climbed in and saw the unmistakable prints from Melany's face and hands still smeared across the windshield. My parents never noticed.

Yeah, we tried it again a time or two... but the first one was the most fun.

 

______________

 

*Melany had begged for weeks for someone to blow up her parents' mailbox. She complained that it was a rickety old eyesore, but her parents wouldn't get a new one unless the old one was destroyed. Our guy friends happily volunteered their pyrotechnical assistance, and Melany got a new mailbox like she wanted.

 

Again, please don't tell my kid.