'72 swim team

'72 swim team
My New Tribe
Showing posts with label Alligator wrestling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alligator wrestling. Show all posts

Tuesday, May 19, 2015

LOVE and How NOT to do Just About Everything!


                       If I wanted a clever title to a book for my Dahlin stories... I think I might call it,

                 "How NOT to do everything" by Markie D.


For example:

"Markie D and How NOT to Light a Furnace"






or

"Markie D and How NOT to Visit the Zoo"





or

"Markie D and How NOT to take a Family Vacation"  





or

"Markie D and How NOT to meet the President of the United States"










                                                                           or

"Markie D and How NOT to visit a Convent"










or

"Markie D and How NOT to slide down a Pole"

or

"Markie D and How NOT to play catch with the Little old Lady Next Door"



or

"Markie D and How NOT to do Trick or Treat"









or

"Markie D and How NOT to go to the National Jamboree"








or

"Markie D and How NOT to wrestle an Alligator"

or

"Markie D and How NOT to reason with a Veloci-Rooster"

or

"Markie D and How NOT to hold a Snake"

of

"Markie D and How not to be an Altar-boy."  

or

"Markie D and How NOT to put up Christmas lights"

or

"Markie D and How NOT to go Pee-pee in the 3rd Grade"





or




"How NOT to show up for school" or "How NOT to fall in love" or "How NOT to wrestle around a pool" or "How NOT to get into a hamper" "How NOT to use the Ouija Board"  "How Not to eat corn or peas or fish sticks"  "How not to great people at the door" I think you get the Idea!












Basically it's: How NOT to do just about everything... and in my last episode "How NOT to take a walk up Tuna Canyon Road... with your older brothers ...and a bunch of hippies... with a rope... in a straight jacket"  this last betrayal...made me feel alone on this journey of life - "No man is an island" - I was. "I am a rock. I am an island. A friendship causes pain. An island never cries."

I just want to know what love is. If any one can tell this 13-year-old kid... please let me know! I think I know what's it not!  And I decided that  - it's just probably a better idea to treat people kind - and attempt to be nice than it is to bully, than to put people down and treat those who are different poorly.

Looking back at what we did at Camp Slauson to Troop 34, I realize now, that it probably wasn't the best thing in the world... "How NOT to go camping with the Boy Scouts..."

And I realized from the bungee-jumping gone wrong episode - that I can probably do better, and maybe, like a good Boy Scout the leave the world a better place than I found it. 



I may be a psychotic hot mess, but I am a work in progress.    

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Bringing a Hippie for "Show and Tell"

When I talk about the Mutant Zoo, I'm not talking metaphorically about the long-haired hippies up on the third floor of our house. I'm  literally talking about the eclectic collection of animals that we have assembled over the years through hook and by crook.








We had to do a "show and tell" for the new eight grade class over at Saint Marks and I was creating an inventory list of possibilities for me to bring to school next week. As I scratched things down on a list that filled two sheets of paper, I realized (AGAIN) how far out of the ordinary we were.

  
While most normal families in America had a dog or a cat or gold fish for a pet, we had enough animals to rival the Santa Barbara Zoo, only most of their animals were in cages and visitors there were safe. The first animal on the very top of my list was an alligator...an alligator that liked to eat little kids. I could show off the sharp-toothed prehistoric creature and tell about the time I had to wrestle it in the bathtub Alligator Wrestling, but felt that there was a possibility of  things going terribly wrong. I thought that I could get Andrea's attention but figured that if four eighth-graders got mauled to death that would be the wrong kind of attention.

In the ivy next to the pond in a Styrofoam saucer was the giant bullfrog named, "Grandpa" the size of a small dog that could swallow baby chickens or rats whole as if they were crickets. That might work...maybe I could feed one of our baby chickens to the antediluvian creature in front of the class- surely that would be a hit. Wouldn't it?


Next was the soft-shelled snapping turtle that loved to latch on to fingers like Pinky liked to gulp down Vienna hot dogs - neither was a good visual.                 (Pinky Pictured to the right)

Next to the chicken coop with the 23 stinky hens and the crazy attack Veloci-Rooster that thought it ruled the world as if it were Godzilla himself  Hell has no Fury. That wouldn't work because it had already had a reputation of attacking one of the nuns after which a priest had come over and tried to preform an exorcism.
                                 Score: Rooster 2 vs. Clergy 0


We had 42 guinea pigs; rabbits too numerous to count, and a bunch of hole-digging tortoises that had been dropped off by some zoo somewhere. I don't know exactly where they came from - that's the story I was told, but to tell you the truth - I wouldn't be surprised if they were stolen. "Sheeze- hippies and their kindred spirits - I tell ya?



Moving indoors we had the notorious spider monkey that should have been mandated to wear pants because it sat on the fireplace mantle proudly dangling his boy parts in front of God - everyone else.










1)The monkey was just plain GROSS! 2)It was very embarrassing for a boy my age to be showing off genitalia like that...(even though I'm sure the girls may have been thrilled)... and 3)I'm pretty positive that the nuns would have had a heart attack.

Next was Lazarus, the burned cat, that had been resurrected from the dead after the Fraternity fire Miracle, After the Fire . One of my older brothers, Chewbacca, allowed the crusty feline to walk on the counter tops claiming that the nasty looking thing had the right to because it was a miracle. The scaly feline roamed freely and ate from open tubs of margarine and any other food that had been left out, leaving a trail of burnt skin flakes in its path. GROSS! GROSS!  I wanted to take the thing under the pretenses of the "show and tell" and lose it somewhere along the way, but Chewbacca would probably kill me.




    (picture of mom combing one of by older brother's hair)

I'm not even close to being finished yet! Even worst than the grodie cat - was Johnny, the one-eyed pigeon that lived on top of the refrigerator. The bird was like frigate carrier for parasites that took refuge under its feathers that you could see scuttle back and forth from time to time. It pooped...indiscriminately and tried to attack your head.

In the dining room we had a television set that  had been gutted and turned into a lizard terrarium that my tree-hugging brothers were very proud of that contained chuckwallas Chuckwalla Escape, desert geckos and leopard lizards that we had brought home from Salton Sea.

In the entry we had the foul mouthed Mynah-bird that my mom said swore like a drunken sailor. I actually thought about that one but knew I would have been kicked out of catholic school (I had already been decommissioned as an altar boy for throwing up on Father Scott - still shaking my head - Not a Good Thing.


On the third floor we had Iguana Del Diablo Day of the Iguana, three rattlesnakes, two king snakes, a couple garter-snakes and mice that we bred for feeding all of the snakes and lizards.







Never mind the million mosquitoes and the 10 billion fleas that was also a part of our collection, I bet Cheryl Arnold, the beauty queen, who lived directly behind us didn't have an menagerie like ours.

Like normal people, the Blasers next door to us, just had a dog - ONE DOG - that's it; a beautiful collie named Ginger that looked just like lassie. Ginger got washed and had a regular regime of hair-brushing and was fully trained to poop outdoors.





Heck the Lennons on the corner -didn't even have one pet.. not a dog... not even a gold fish!

At least we had a dog... a beagle, affectionately known as "Wonder Dog."








Maybe we were more normal than the Lennons........?


Naw....  I thought, maybe I'd just bring an older brother to school and talk about what it was like to have one of these things called hippies sharing space in your house.



"What is normal?" I figured I could talk about the care.. the feeding (minus the part about the marijuana plants) and share about the grooming habits (or the lack thereof) of these strange creatures...that had evolved over the last couple years Evolution of the Dahlins.

     (picture of my older brothers to the right)



"Hey, Chewbacca, do you want to go with me to school on Monday?"


Chewbacca sensed my sarcasm, bellowed and chased me down the hall!

It was the invisible Ooze - I tell you. It had gotten a hold of both of us... maybe this was the new normal...but  look at all the fun I got to have that regular people missed out on!

Friday, October 17, 2014

Love: Serious Sad Sinister and too Happy

Star date: 1969

That's me in eight grade!

A little serious
A little sad
A little sinister

Always contemplating the world around me and probably more than anything else - HAPPY!  Probably too happy - that's what Jeffery's mom, Jeanette Lennon, thought... and always asked me why?

She asked why I was smiling - like it was a bad thing and interrogated me about my incessant whistling.  I really wasn't aware of it until she brought it up and realized that I didn't have a good answer and felt like maybe she was accusing me of  hiding something... like I had buried a million dollars in the backyard or a body or something. But, as I thought about her questions, I felt the answer did not lie in a hidden treasure,  but might have been the fact that I was actually a little retarded!

It seems to me that retarded people are always happy and I didn't have a good explanation as to why I felt so confident at times like one of those young characters in a Disney movie who was homeless and penniless - you know, one of those street rats who enjoyed the difficulty of fending for himself as I moved throughout the neighborhood like the artful dodger, bouncing from house to house, trying to avoid the traps set for me by the Wolf Pack.


Anyway, my brothers (the Wolf Pack) told me that I was retarded and I began to believe them. I suspected that something must have been wrong with my brain cells.
After all I wrestled an alligator click here: Reptile Dysfunction

Lost a battle with the Dreaded Veloci-Rooster Click here Prophet of Evil or Bird
Was buried alive  Kid in a Pit and a Water Hose
Survived the Monkey Fiasco at the LA Zoo Monkey Business

          Had my leg chopped off My death and long-haired hippies



Attacked by a whale... No lie - A Whale of a Tale!
and sent to Valhalla and back in the Hamper of Death Hamper of Death: I took the bait!
Not to mention that was I LEFT BEHIND by my family at Salton Sea Abandoned and LEFT BEHIND







I don't know what was wrong with me - after being shot and buried and attacked and tied up and caged and electrocuted and suffocated - to be left out and always made to feel like I was on the outside - if anyone had any reason to feel sad or sorry for himself - it was me! But, it's like I had this glow-plug thingy inside that burned with some kind of secret knowing.  It might have been the same thing that Joseph (you know, the younger brother in the Bible who had the coat of many colors) had burning in him, despite the fact, he had lots of mean older brothers who picked on him and tricked him, and threw him in a pit and left him behind.

Anyway, I didn't want the kids at Saint Marks grammar school to know I was retarded or had some kind of mental problem, because I was in love with Andrea and wanted to see what this thing that other people had a lot to talk about was all about. Though we had a million people living in our house...no one ever used the "L" word. I never heard it in a conversation and no one had ever said it to me. I wanted to know what it felt like and what it meant to be loved and to feel as though I mattered to someone.

LOVE!
What was it?
What did it mean?
Could that little cutie, Andrea possibly like someone like me - who was damaged goods? I had superpowers that helped me survive and that made me numb to a lot of physical torture and also might have made my heart numb as well. Was it possible for me to find out what love was and wanted to know that I could be loved and was becoming more and more desperate to find out?

Today was the day!  Happy, Smiling, Whistling, Markie D - the artful dodger would dare look up from his his shoes and mismatched socks and say a word to her.  Our eight grade nun, Sister Shultz, set us free for recess and today I would make the big move. During recess I wondered off from the boys reservation to where the girls congregated like the noisy seagulls at the beach and pretended the reason for invading their sacred territory was, because I needed a drink from the water fountain.

There was a little buzz when I walked by... and I felt like maybe they were talking about me... maybe even making fun of me. I hated that feeling. Things got quiet! I hated that even more it made me feel self conscience like they were looking through me with a magnifying glass and were mocking my insecurities and fear of the dark and flaws and shortcomings - like they were seeing all the trash and junk in our backyard as though that was me... Venice Trash Towers .  I doubted myself and my plan but continuing with my ruse, I put my mouth close to the disgusting fixture and turned the chrome handle on the porcelain fountain as if this drink of water was an important reason for being in the girl's corner of the schoolyard.

I took control of the situation and turned that handle with all the vigor I could muster. I would show those girls that I wasn't afraid of them or of afraid of what they thought of me. I was in love or something like that... at least I think I was... and this was my big shot at find out if I was worthy of someone's affection.

Speaking of my big shot - the water shot out with the force of the jet spray of a rocket ship and hit me right in the eye. Michael Boyle was known to take boogers and jam them into the water spickets - just for occasions like this.

Blinded, I reeled up and thought about how one of Michael's fat, gross, boogers had embedded itself in my eye socket, which triggered my vomit sensors and I ended up ingloriously puking my guts up in front of 30 laughing girls and the one I hoped to impress the most. EPIC FAIL!

Needless to say, today didn't go as planned. Sister Shultz scolded me and said, "That I shouldn't have put myself in that position." Like it was my fault that Boyle pasted a green globule of snot in the faucet and that I shouldn't have punched him in the face.

I said to her, "Well, he shouldn't have put himself in that position" which was brilliant by the way.. only it was an hour later on my way home after detention and under my breath a dozen times - wanted to fell like I had won.  

Once again I managed to make a fool of myself and moseyed home like a defeated dog with his tail between his legs, but after a couple rounds of my pretend shouting match with the Catholic nun that looked like Sergeant Shultz (on Hogans Heros) my whistling returned as I rounded the corner by the burned down Fraternity House. I was looking forward to playing with Tommy or Jeffery or Dennis - just anything that would keep me away from alligators, from electricity, from hampers and pits and arrows and BB guns and ropes and the WOLF PACK!  I had already been through enough humiliation for one day and didn't need any more torture from my older brothers.  I wanted to be anywhere, but home and needed to avoid my family at all cost.

With a spring in my step...and a little too happy...in light of the disastrous events of the day... I gladly withdrew into my mental illness - if that's what it is - daydreamed and sang the Beatles "All my Loving" totally oblivious to the ambush that awaited me behind Frank Nargie's behemoth Plymouth.

     
all my loving








Monday, June 2, 2014

"Et tu, Brute?" The Werewolf of Venice

(Continued) I apologize for being late on getting this one out.. but as it turned out, after my epic clash with the rooster, (which was once a close ally) the insidious beast was now nothing more to me than a backstabbing traitor... "Et tu, Brute?"

Needless to say, I was late for school.


I wasn't happy that I had to give excuses for my being late to school, either. I tried the best I could to explain why to my seventh grade teacher, Sister Edith. I went on about how it was trash day and how it was my job (even though I had fifteen thousand older brothers) to drags the cans (all by myself) to the ally because of my "Saint Francis" relationship I had built with the mini-Godzilla (when my brothers tried to kill me by burying in the Igloo of Death Post 2/27/14) and how the ugly attack rooster wouldn't let anyone else in the backyard and how all of this had something to do with the Mexican Tomato plants...

I don't know what it was...but I don't think that a 12-year-old is supposed to use words like: Saint Francis, Godzilla and Mexican Tomato plants all in the same sentence or all in one long breath. She interrupted me, impatiently tapping her worn out yardstick on the old brown desk. 'Rude! Hello!' I thought.

Thump Thump Thump! Tap Tap Tap!  The sound of her rapping that stick on her desk gave me a flashback! My pre-pubescent PTSD kicked in and I zoned out!

The rest of the kids in the class room started laughing. 'What?'  I thought, 'Like this doesn't happen to any of you other little creeps. Yeah like none of you have attack roosters and a Staff-Sergeant-Dad, who beats on the ceiling with a broom handle on Monday, Wednesday and Thursday mornings. Like none of you have to eat oatmeal with meal worms before you get here. Like no one else here has ever had to wrestle an alligator or has been bitten by a snake or thrown over a cliff or shot at with needle-tipped arrows, electrocuted or dropped out of a window. Sure, right, like none of you other kids haven't ever had to do battle with a prehistoric monster first thing in the morning before school.' I sneered at the class and looked at all the empty eyes staring back and then it dawned on me!


THEY DIDN'T!  Normal People didn't have a giant frog the size of a beagle that ate baby chickens, or an alligator, or a monkey, or rattlesnakes, or chuckwallas or a bazillion rabbits and guinea pigs, turtles, a nasty looking cat that had been raised from the dead... or a pigeon that lived on top of the refrigerator or mushrooms that grew in the shower.    

I forgot that the Dahlins weren't normal...by any stretch of the imagination... and then realized that they thought I was making this entire story up about having to do battle with Godzilla before even getting to school! Like it wasn't true! 'Idiots! What do they know?'

Their stupid excuses on the other hand were like pathetic white bread in comparison, "My dog ate my homework." Hello, gag me with a spoon! "I stubbed my toe and my mom rushed me to the emergency room and I had to keep it elevated all day and had to watch cartoons and eat ice cream."  Whaaaaaa! Really? 'Oh poor baby, call the Whammmbulance!'

They thought I was joking and Sister Edith thought I was trying to make fun of her and she pulled a desk up to the front of the room and made me sit right next to her all day long! She wouldn't even let me show her the blood that had run down my leg and into my red Ked sneakers.  "Sheeze-Louise"

Trust me, someone was going to get it!  "Stay clear or my, oh my!"  Forget about the boys for a minute - one of them was bound to get it at recess. But. there. THEY. were! The girls! Ughhhhhhh. Looking at me like I was some alien creature from Mars.  Marilyn and Theresa and Julie and ANDREA!  I knew I didn't stand a chance with the girls against regular boys who were human-beings from planet earth.

Stupid
Dumb
Retarded
There I sat like a wounded or sickly wolf cut out of the pack - right up next to Sister Edith's desk. It was like I had leprosy or some contagious disease.

"Head tones" the Catholic nun screeched.  No! She wasn't about to get 'head tones' from me today... I refused to sing!

I was somewhere outside the Troposphere... Flying in one of the Apollo rocket ships on the way to the moon. I was trying to get away and thought that maybe I could live up there - if I was lucky!

"Read the question Mark!" Sister Edith bellowed judiciously from the platform where her desk was perched! My spaceship crash landed and I was suddenly back on planet Earth, in Venice, in the seventh grade, in a room at Saint Mark's school. I fumbled around for what seemed like 20 pressured-filled minutes trying to find the page we were on and didn't have a clue where we were. I knew it had something to do with Pavlov's dog, and, in a conditioned involuntary reflex I began reading in the middle of the page at the exact same time that Earnestine started to read! Sister slapped my desk with her yardstick and yelled at me.

I had no idea why the nun had gone berserk! First the rooster, now her! In front of the entire class, she wrapped my knuckles with her ruler and broke the thing over my hand. 'Ha! That'll teach her' I thought.

After Earnestine began reading again, I looked down the page of the text book and realized that she hadn't asked me to read.  She had asked Earnestine to read the paragraph following the QUESTION MARK - you know - a question mark the little squiggly thing with a dot that looks like this...
          ?
I thought she had asked me to read the question!  But she had asked Earnestine to read the question mark.

Alright! Touché Sister, this one was yours - you won this one, fair and square.  I limped outside for recess and all the boys wanted to see my bloody knuckles. They thought it was cool how I made up the big story about having to fight a rooster this morning and then how I dared to disrupt the class by reading right over the top of Ernestine, especially since I was in whacking distance of Sister Edith's notorious yardstick. 

Acting braver than I really was, my bloody knuckles were now a middle-school badge of honor and I said, "Oh Yeah!" and tried not to limp. Ricky said it was the best excuse story he had ever heard and all the smelly 12-year-old boys laughed in agreement. They thought I was cool for making up such a far fetch story about guard roosters and Saint Francis and all that! 

Anyway, I had been attacked by a rooster, humiliated, threatened with a stick and whacked with a ruler by a 300-year-old nun. Like one of Pavlov's dogs my fuse was a little short because of all the stimuli I had been subjected to this morning and knew that I had a long hard day in front of me. 

Ralph, the guy who helped me nearly cut off my leg 5 months ago, (blog post 11/29/13) Harry and I decided that we would ditch kickball and twirl ourselves around like helicopters instead. Actually the cool kids didn't pick Harry for one of the teams and I felt sorry for him.

And... this is when the Inner-Viking - the fuse blew... and Pavlov's passive dog turned into a werewolf that snapped. 

Poor, Poor, Terry!  

Blame it on the rooster, on Sister Edith, on her stick - her broken ruler; blame it on my PTSD...blame it on a conditioned involuntary reflex... blame it on my past electrocutions...but none-the-less, I really think Terry deserved what he got next!