Never Tell Anything to This Kid

 Since I was a child I have lived in two extremes. I either forget everything you say instantly or I can't keep a secret. The most common one is names. The moment you tell me your name, or even the moment you say “hello my name is.....” my brain shoots off in different directions. Basically, if you introduce yourself, don't expect me to remember your name- that's just how it is. Sometimes, you will tell me an important story, probably hoping and praying I don't say anything to anyone, meanwhile I have forgotten it the moment you tell me. Overall, I either listen way too closely or not at all. For example, in high school my mother was lecturing me on grades/computer/boys/life or something that I didn't feel like listening to. I put on what I call my “listening face” in which I nod appropriately and say “yeah” and “for sure” at the right times. However, I had just begin practicing it and didn't know how to not make my eyes glaze over. My mother caught on and blurted “KELLY! Are you listening to me?” So of course I lied and said I was. She said “what did I just say then?” Touche mother, touche.

On the other hand sometimes I can't keep my damn mouth shut. I have a few theories on this. One of which is that the more I like someone, the more I want them to like me, meaning my filter comes off and I say anything and everything hoping to strike up a conversation and that they stop and think “well, that Kelly, she sure is “clever/funny/amazing/gorgeous/model/witty/insert amazing compliment here.” The end result usually makes me sound like that time Britney Spears got wicked stoned and K. Fed was there to film it. I start sentences in the middle of a thought and bring up thoughts, stories and ideas that only have context to me.

New, funny, interesting people excite me to the point that things come out like word vomit in an attempt to make a connection to them. One time I was just hanging out with a guy I was super into. We were just laying around not saying anything and just enjoying each other's company. As usual, I was immersed in my thoughts about yummy food. Rather than keep this to myself, I wanted him to know just how amazing this thought was and I decided to express myself. I didn't even give the poor guy any intro into my story- I just started in, “This one time, I was in Studio City and had this amazing grilled cheese that had all these different kinds of cheeses in it and it had truffles. It was so good.” He looked at me and said “interesting story, Kelly.” Damn it. To him, it was out of nowhere and made no sense and was completely out of context. To me, it all made sense. I had been thinking about it for about a minute or so and was a legitimately interesting topic. In my mind we would have a lengthy discussion about food and then go eat something.

My memory is involuntarily selective. I cannot for the life of you tell you what I studied 3 hours ago, but I can tell you the most random, useless facts that for some reason stick with me. I can remember the lyrics to hundreds of songs, tell you the year and the album on which they came out. I can tell you what I ordered at that one restaurant that one time you and I went out on that one night last year. None of which is going to help me on the exam I have tomorrow.

My mind and inopportune timing have gotten me into trouble numerous times. If there is one thing I do not have a knack for, it is timing with the exception of having amazingly talented comedic timing (hint hint to the SNL execs that are most definitely reading this right now).

By the end of 2nd grade the principal had called in my parents with a laundry list of the things that I had said that they were concerned with, but lets be honest, they were more than likely amuse....am I right?

At about the age of 7 I learned about sex for the first time. I remember it very clearly. My mother, brother, and I were on a car ride from some place I don't remember. I had the front seat because I was the prettiest little girl that ever was. We were all listening to Dr. Laura. For those of you who don't know or remember Dr. Laura, she had a radio show where people with all sorts of irrelevant yet entertaining life drama would call in and get advice. She was what many people referred to as a “bitch,” but really, she was just honest. To Dr. Laura's credit, she had the credentials. She had a license to practice therapy and obtained training in Marriage and Family Therapy. Little known fact, she received a bachelors degree in “Take No Shit From Anyoneology.” She's like a less senile Judge Judy.

So we are all sitting in the car, listening to the heavenly advice of Dr. Laura when the topic of a pregnant teen came up. Wanting to be part of the conversation happening, I blurt out “well you know mommy, she shouldn't have kissed that boy so much. Then she wouldn't be pregnant.” Lets just all marvel at that adorable ignorance. I am at that age where I still think you get pregnant by kissing. I am also at that age where I have zero clues about what happens when giving birth. How does it get there? I still had the idea that the baby held up shop in the stomach or something, or built its own little house out of connective tissue elsewhere in the body. Fagedda bout asking me what happens when the baby has to come out of there- which hole it came out of was a complete mystery at this point.

Stunned by this ignorance, my mom broke it down for me- every detail. I didn't know whether to be disgusted or interested. I chose interested, and impressed with my knowledge, I went to school incredibly excited. With a smug look on my face I blurted out ”Guess what I learned!?” I informed all of my friends of my new found knowledge. The faint at heart ran off. The perverted made me retell the tale in all its gruesome (well what my 8 y/o brain saw as gruesome) detail. Although this did not end in a trip to the office, it provides an example of the floodgates that were my mouth.

One time, in the second grade I had gotten to school early and decided to play RunGuy out on the basketball courts. I had just gotten the pack together for our morning huddle when these assholes came over to pick on me. I'd been having troubles with douche bags like this for a while and had asked my grandmother what to do. She told me to tell them to “damn their filthy souls to hell.” More than likely she didn't expect me to say that. She probably say that in the way that you tell your friend “do it! Pour your heart out and tell him EXACTLY how you feel.” So that day I'd had it. That morning's huddle was VERY important and they were fucking it up, so I turn to them and say “Damn your filthy soul to hell!” The look of pure shock on their faces as they reacted to what this tiny, much younger kid just hurled at them was priceless. What do you say to someone who says that to you? What do you say to a 7 year old that says that to you? There is no comeback to that. Trip #1. As I side note, I still tell that to people when they piss me off. It's a great fight ender.

One particularly cold day, I calmly turned to my teacher and informed her that I was in fact, “freezing my balls off.” In my defense, I had heard by brother say the same damn thing. It was my understanding that “balls” meant eyeballs. So, to me, I was saying that I was freezing my eyeballs off. I imagined being so cold that your eyes were bulging out of your head and they were frozen with little ice crystals on them and......IT MADE SENSE TO ME AT THE TIME OKAY?? Trip numero deux.

On another cold day, I felt so cold that I could be made of stone. So, I walked up to my teacher, and struck a hilarious pose in which I was frozen mid step and blurted ‘Look teacher, I’M STONED!” Again, in my defense, I meant that I was so cold that I was made of stone. I did not mean that I had just smoked a marijuana cigarette of sorts. I don't recall the look on the teacher's face, but I imagine it was a look of shock and amusement. Trip 3.

I remember as a kid that DARE was quite prevalent, and they decided to make a trip to my school. That's right, the celebrities of DARE came MY school. Be. Jealous. They talked about drugs, cigarettes, alcohol and how if you do them, even once, you either do irreversible damage to your body or you die....or both. The moment they brought up beer, my little 7 year old brain made a connection. Beer? My daddy drinks beer. Desperate to make a connection with the presenters I knew I had to say something. With great enthusiasm and in front of the entire school, I informed everyone that “my daddy drinks beer.” Trip 4

There are several take aways from this story. One- If I am dating you, let me remind you that I am not in fact, a Stoner Britney Spears. If I bring up the most minute, random nonsensical point, take it as a compliment and humor me by turning my half thought into a full conversation.

Two- I have a talk now, think later attitude. Just how it is. Don't like it? DAMN YOUR FILTHY SOUL TO HELL!

Three- My family still feels the need to lead with the precursory “don't go tellin' this to blah blah blah,” and I always argue it and scoff at them. Why on earth would you think that I would EVER do that? Then I remember the above stories. 

Childhood (Invisible) Friends

As a kid, I was what one would call “weird.” I made growling sounds when I was hungry, I insisted on dressing myself in clothing that was more suitable for 80's cokeheads, and I was obsessed with Garth Brooks. What happens when you’re a weird kid? You have no friends…..because you’re weird. Even more, I was made fun of…..for being weird. So to cope with this, like any other kid, I came up with some invisible friends.

Now, many kids create invisible friends. When most kids create their invisible friend, they create a “Bob” “George” “Cindy” “Sarah” or something pretty average. The “friend” is a real person, a manifestation of the type of person they want to be friends with. Some kids also use this as an opportunity to use their “invisible friend” to get seconds on dinner. Surprisingly, that was not my motivation for creating my invisible friend (note to self: go back in time, and tell younger self to create invisible friends for the purposes of getting seconds at dinner). My invisible friend creation was pure coping mechanism. First of all, I was clever enough to create more than one invisible friend. If you are going to do it, do it right. Why have friendship when you can have status....power......followers. My invisible friends, weren’t human, but savage packs of wolf-men. I called these wolf men “RunGuy.” There were a few hundred of them in my mind, all named RunGuy.

RunGuy was a half man half wolf creation with razor sharp claws that could tear my enemies to shreds. They carried mini-14s (no joke, I actually claimed they carried around mini-14s), and always traveled in packs-the better to kill with. They were incredibly ugly, but they were faithful and LOVED me. I, Kelly Renee Bigley, was Queen of the RunGuys.

The first rule of RunGuy, was never talking about RunGuy. Few knew about him, and those who knew were sworn to secrecy. RunGuy was my WMD; I could elude to him/them enough to scare people but never enough to give myself away. The second rule? There are no rules for RunGuy other than rule #1.

RunGuy slept next to my bed so as to keep that fucking Boogie Man in his place. Others slept on my bed next to every single one of my beanie babies to keep me warm. Others slept in my doorway. I used to have this odd mini hallucination before I went to sleep that wouldn't quite terrify me as much as it would intimidate me. I always slept with my door open and the curtain to my bedroom window open as well. The way the light hit my room made these two shadows appear in my doorway. These shadows resembled something along the lines of pine trees. In my little child mind, these pine trees had souls.... demon souls. If I wasn't careful, these evil demon pine trees were going to come along and gobble me up. Now, I am fully aware of how ridiculous this sounds, but to a child, this is terrifying. Actually, the thought of demon pine trees coming to gobble me up still terrifies me when I think about it, and I am thankful that I now live in Los Angeles where there are no demon pine trees.

I would awaken in the morning to my faithful pack by my side and summon them to me to help me prepare for school that morning. I was so loved and adored by them that rather than allowing me to walk anywhere, they insisted on carrying my fat toddler body on their backs- backs that could hold infinite amounts of weight. They carried me off to brush my baby teeth, help me get dressed, and finally guard me as I ate breakfast. RunGuy, even though he was part animal would not beg. RunGuy knew how important food was to me, and knew better than to beg. He knew begging would not only not get him any food, but it would bring shame upon ALL of the RunGuy pack.

They would follow me out to the school bus stop at the end of our driveway along with all 50 of our other animals and would wait for the bus with me. When the bus finally arrived, the strongest would ride the bus with me to school while the others held down the fort at home. Literally, I had a fort; they took care of it, hence “holding down the fort.” While on the bus, I sat near the emergency door not because I was afraid of accidents, but because I just liked to, take it at that. Mine was the second stop, and each stop we made provided another chance for my creatures to assess each person- most of which were cool. Every now and then they would oblige and move aside for one of my friends, whom they would also protect. Any friend of master was a friend of RunGuy. For the assholes they didn't like, they would growl, leaving the kids cowering in fear and running away to the furthest bus seat away from me.

I think other children knew not to mess with me at some point. My evil wolf pack energy emanated from my body...or was that my foul early pubescent body odor? Regardless, I was protected. You know how in those teen movies the “cool kid” steps onto campus and everyone stops and stares while they walk in slowish motion while awesome trendy music plays? It was exactly like that, yet nothing like that all at the same time.

One day I walked into class and sat down and that bitch Bethany was sitting there.... staring and smiling that toothless smile. I hated her, she hated me, but we were friends. We were frenemies before that term even existed. Bethany and me had this dream of building our own life size Polly Pocket clubhouse. Pretty bitchin if you ask me, and as a matter of fact, I would still love my own Polly Pocket club house. Her and me had this agreement about what color it would be, the furniture we would have. Then, for no good reason, or because she was a little kid and little kids change their mind, she changed her fucking mind. Needless to say, I was infuriated. I let her have it..... RunGuy style. I mentally commanded my wolf pack on her as I did to all my enemies. The best part was, was that she or anyone else had no idea the suffering they were enduring in my mind. It was gruesome. I would laugh maniacally as they suffered in imaginary pain. If I hated you as a 5 year old, chances are you faced the wrath of my wolf pack.

RunGuy and I were tight for many years. He went with me on a house boating trip one year to Lake Powell. Finally, I could reward my hard working wolf pack with a little R&R.  On this trip we went with a family friend who had a husband and two sons, the youngest of which was best friends with my brother, however, both of these brothers were hot (in the way that a 7 year old has a crush on her brothers friends kind of hot). I was much too young to appreciate the trip to be honest- blue water, cool looking rocks/mountains/cliffs, meh. I was much more interested in hanging out with our friends' dad (who was like my grandpa's age) drinking V8s and brushing the little hair he had on his head. He was a real trooper. He would just sit there patiently while I brushed his hair and rambled aimlessly on about relevant topics in my 7 year old society. 

I don’t recall the series of events leading up to what was about to happen, but what I recall was some mysterious energy infringing itself upon my good wolf pack. The energy was dark and it was dangerous, and it required my immediate attention. The only appropriate thing was to exit the houseboat and take the battle onto solid ground where we were docked. The battle was on and it required me to take on my wolf pack- I became RunGuy incarnated. I was lost in the heat of the moment, it was the passion of war that so enthralled me to the point that I did not notice that I had acquired an audience. I looked up to find RunGuy’s mortal enemies- my father and my brother. They were never supposed to know. They at that point knew everything. ABORT ABORT ABORT! I yelled to my wolf pack. Being the loyal animals that they were, they listened and sacrificed themselves in the name of their master. They jumped off the cliffs surrounding Lake Powell, never to be seen again.

I'd like to think that a little bit of RunGuy exists in everyone. That moment when you are pissed at your boyfriend? RunGuy is there. That moment when some asshole cuts you in line while you just want to order your hot wings? RunGuy is there.

Wait? You mean to tell me you don't experience this? So.... it’s just me? RunGuy LIVES!