I did. I stole money from a child. ON EASTER SUNDAY. I've never stolen anything from a child before (at least, not that I can remember) (I suppose that when I was a child I might have stolen something from another child, but I don't think that can really count because if you're a kid and you don't know any better then it isn't really stealing) (is it?) and so this is definitely (as far as I can remember) a New Thing.I am sorry to this child who I stole money from, but it was only a dollar and I'm sure they had too much chocolate to even care. Let me explain.
On Sunday morning, I woke up early (or, around 8 a.m., which isn't early for a lot of people, but it's early for me) and as I was pouring myself some orange juice in the kitchen (this is a lie, I don't think I was actually in the kitchen, I think I was actually in the bathroom pooping, but I thought the story would sound better if I was in the kitchen pouring myself some orange juice) (I thought the story might sound healthier, like: look people! Erik drinks juice in the morning!) (not that it's not healthy to have a good bowel movement in the morning too--it is) (but you know what I'm saying) (so, I woke up early) and I heard this clangling sound outside. It sounded like a coin hitting glass. I finished pouring my glass of orange juice (a.k.a. pooping) (wow, I'm really sorry, but all of a sudden it seems really weird to me to be saying "pouring my glass of orange juice" when I'm really talking about pooping, because it's taken on this weird metaphorical meaning and all of a sudden it's just really gross) (but whatever) (I finished pouring my glass of orange juice) and then I looked out the window and didn't see anything. So then I sat down at the table to eat some cereal (this isn't code for anything--I actually did sit down to eat some cereal) (Special K with the dried strawberry chips) (which sounds strange, but is actually amazingly good) and then I heard this tapping sound, coming from the back door. So I go to the door and I open it and find that there's this very large black crow tapping its beek at my back door. Of course, as soon as I open the door, the bird flies away, but then I noticed that there was a blue plastic Easter egg on the table outside--it had cracked open and the silver dollar that was once inside the Easter egg was now on my glass table.
Well, my neighborhood has a big Easter egg hunt every year and this silver dollar egg was obviously part of the Easter egg hunt (which had not yet begun). The crow that had knocked on my door must have found the egg and then when it realized that there wasn't any food in the egg, the bird dropped the egg into my backyard. I saw the silver dollar and put it in my pocket.
It didn't occur to me until the next day (when I mentioned this story to my Punk-Ass Mom) that by pocketing the silver dollar, I was stealing it from some kid who was supposed to find it later that afternoon in the Easter egg hunt. I honestly didn't even think about it. Which just shows you how broke I am right now. Because instead of being like "I should put the silver dollar back in the egg and hide it for the kids," I was like "a silver dollar! Score! I can get something else from the McDonald's Dollar Menu when I get lunch today!"
How sad is that?
24 comments:
first again!!!
I think the crow was actually your spirit guide and he conjured that egg and the silver dollar inside it so you could (a) buy an extra item from the McD's dollar menu and (b) think that you stole money from a child, so you could have a 65th new thing.
I also think the crow is named Cawky McFeatherpants.
i (heart) special k with dried strawberries!
Okay so I actually read this now instead of just claiming first and going back to sleep for three hours, and I'm going to suggest that that is merely the silver dollar egg you *didn't* find twenty years ago and it has been waiting in a crows nest somewhere being kept safe by a family of crows for the day of reckoning when it would be returned to its rightful owner (you). I think in Crow you are a legend and the prophecy was just fulfilled.
And speaking of being broke, I have realized, as I now prepare for poverty, that I have never been poor. I actually went to the grocery store and actually looked at the prices and was like, "Damn!"
And I just paid $13 for a latte, a sandwich, a lemon loaf cake, and a fruit salad (which should last me the day, but STILL).
Yesterday was the first day in like, ever, I didn't spend any money and it was basically because I was home sick, passed out the whole day.
I think I've been accustomed to spending upwards of $100 a week on food! My new budget is going to be like $40 max per week.
I have three more weeks of employment to exercise this poverty muscle, but seriously. I've already put a stop to the $300 shoes and $250 jeans, but now I need to stop buying $5 sandwiches and $4 lattes!
Oh and you've seen "Super Size Me"? Right? If not, GO WATCH IT.
McDonalds does not equal ab definition. You have to pick one. I swear to god, they even put sugar in their SALAD.
While I love that you had a new thing, I agree with Angela that Cawky McFeatherpants simply brought you something to help you THINK you had a new thing.
You totally didn't steal money from a child.
Although, I do like the badass reputation you could get by saying you did.
Besides, if you'd rehid that egg somewhere that the kids weren't supposed to go looking for eggs (like in your own yard), you could've caused a kid to spy it from afar, cross a street unsafely, and get bumped into by a crazy biker kid.
You know that OC 'hood.
Hee!
And Christy is so never going to be the Michelle Kwan of your blog again ever.
Cawky McFeatherpants is my new favorite person. I know he's a bird, so you could argue he's not really a person, but I like to think of him as a person who happens to be a bird. Or just a really cool bird. I wonder if he'll help me do any more New Things?
give me back my dollar.
Cawky, I already fucking spent the silver dollar.
Bonnie, I have no idea who left the Cawky comment (it wasn't me) and it makes me sooooo immensely happy that someone left that comment as Cawky. Or, I should say, it makes me so happy that Cawky left that comment. I don't ever want to know who *impersonated* Cawky and left the comment, because I love that it was left "by Cawky," my spirit guide, and I want to just believe that it's true.
It's like, in Judaism, the highest form of a gift is one given anonymously, and I cannot believe that I'm comparing this comment from Cawky to Jewish custom, but it's how I see it.
And I see it that way too.
Cawky is the guy they (you) save the seat for at Passover. Elijah?
Man, I used to be better at Jewish 101.
Oh, I'm a bad Jew, I forget who we (they?) save a seat for.
From now on, I will save a seat for Cawky, though--that's for sure.
Rockstar.
INXS?
Did Bill Gallagher ever make you play "The Crow?" It's the most demented game EVER. You have to chose a horrible, horrible thing or "the crow" which is, a crow, that attacks you at random times in your life (aiming to kill, but it's possible to fend off). So, you may never get the crow or you may get the crow every day for the rest of your life. It may come while you're holding your newborn baby, or it may come when you're in the middle of the most important work presentation of your career, or while you're sleeping... Imagine! You would be a nervous wreck. SO, the whole torture of the game is that if you REALLY think about the choice, LIKE: would you rather only eat only pizza for the rest of your life or get the crow? You would lose so much joy because of the loss of variety of flavors and tasting of different foods from different cultures, and the absolute boredom of eating the same thing (and getting really FAT). Or the Crow.
It makes me really mad when people don't play. And now that I'm saying it, you wouldn't really play either. You'd be like, "I'll eat pizza. I like pizza. Hee hee hee." And I would get really mad, and be like "ARGH! You're not actually trying! Imagine the boredom, the endless visits to restaurants and staring at beautiful desserts and delicious sushi, the insanity!" And you'd be like, "oh, okay. I'll take the crow." And I'd be like, "But imagine the terror! Living your life in fear, and you're already an easily distracted driver... imagine with a crow intent on killing you crashing through your windshield while you're on your cell phone and eating your lunch on the freeway!!"
I'm never playing the Crow with you.
Neurotically yours,
Eleanor
Do you know that a week after Rock Star INXS was over I was at Hugo's with a friend and Marty (aka rightful winner but too un-histrionic) was there eating dinner with his sister!
And then I was on a date with this loser guy ("loser guy" if you googled yourself and landed here, you know its true) these Australian rockers gave us tickets to this private concert, and it was SO MEAN of the universe that I was surrounded by hot, young Aussies everywhere and I was there with this LOSER GUY.
But I did get to see JD Fortune perform live! For free!
And this guy went to the bathroom like CONSTANTLY. So I had a lot of fun while he was in the bathroom, at least.
Um, Eleanor, I would SO play The Crow.
And Christy, I'm sorry, but I looooooooovvvvveeeee JD Fortune. And I have to admit I kinda find Marty creepy. Um, more than kinda. HE REALLY FREAKS ME OUT. It's his whole "mad conductor" thing.
Eleanor, did you hear me?
I SAID I WOULD PLAY IT.
Erik --
You SO would not.
Love,
Eleanor
OH MY GOD. I soooooo WOULD.
Okay. Fine.
Would you rather have the Crow OR only be able to read magazines for the rest of your life? No books, newspapers, video covers at the video store, cereal boxes, the back of tampon box when you're pooping...
But I can read any and every magazine ever? What if a magazine reprints a book's chapters within its pages? Or, like, short stories in the New Yorker--I'm able to read those, right?
And what about my own writing? Am I allowed to read my own writing? What if I wrote a book? Am I only able to read it while I'm working on it, but not after it's published? Or am I not even allowed to read it while I'm working on it? Because if that's the case--if I'm not allowed to read words as I write them, well, then I would have to go with the Crow. But if I'm allowed to read my own work while I work on it, then, even though I would REALLY, really, REALLY miss novels, well, I also really, REALLY, really love magazines and there are A LOT of magazines out there, (I mean, if you go to Barnes and Noble and ask for a magazine about Log Cabins, they'll give you three to choose from, and while I would never want to read a magazine about log cabins, I'm just using that as an example of how much reading I could still do with magazines available to me, and who knows? Maybe if the only thing I could read was magazines, well, maybe i WOULD read one of those Log Cabin magazines, and maybe I would love it!) so I need to think about this.
I can't tell if you're just being stubborn, because I already told you that you wouldn't take it seriously. Or if I was just dead wrong.
You would be able to read your own words as you write them, but not after you publish them.
You would be able to find wonderful, obscure magazines. Much like Cowboys and Indians, that I have started looking at here in Arizona.
BUT... imagine reading in all of the magazines reviews of novels and critics raving about the best writer of the generation (who could be you) and not being able to read the book.
OR having the Crow. Not being able to sleep, the possibility of being pecked to death just tomorrow and never writing another word ever again because you were unprepared when you were standing in line at Coldstone Creamery trying to decide between Love It or Gotta Have It, and the Crow crashes through the sneeze guard and pecks through your eyes into your skull, splattering blood and bits of brain all over the innocent ice cream-loving bystanders who are too bewildered to call 911 and you slowly bleed to death in the Newport Beach Coldstone Creamery (did you know that they have one in Guam? a Coldstone Creamery, not the Crow)...
So, yes. I think you should think about this.
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