‹ Back

 

SNAILED IT!

 

Life in Orange County was great. I was a two year old buck toothed, goofy ass, overall wearing, REO Speedwagon listening, gangster wanna be from Compton who had an insane addiction to thumb sucking, Three’s Company and my bean bag chair.  One of my favorite things to do was chill in our backyard with my best friend George.  No, he wasn’t a kid from preschool…or even a cute little boy neighbor.  George  was my partner in crime.  George and I would hide under my mom’s bed together, steal loquats from a tree by the pool, and lay in the shade next to my playhouse.  My mom met George in Palm Springs when she was five.  She liked him so much; she brought him home.  I’m honestly surprised my Tutu was ok with that.  My Tutu was my grandma…we’ll get to her later.  At that point, George had lived with  my mom for almost 20 years, long before her precious little bundle of paralysis, came into the picture.  Even though it was his home first, I came into his life like a ravaging tornado, unannounced, and more than likely unwelcomed.  I would constantly follow him around.  We got along great. His calm and collected demeanor balanced out my thug life mentality.  I’m totally kidding about the thug thing…I was the dorkiest looking white kid on the planet,

Did I mention that George was a desert tortoise?  And I guess I should rephrase… when I say my mom met him in Palm Springs, what I actually meant was she stole him from somewhere in the desert.  I know, pathetic, right? No, not the stealing a turtle part, that is just something my family does (as you’ll later learn – the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree).  Pathetic that my best friend was a desert tortoise.  I didn't care - he was my best friend and In my eyes, life was great.  That is until I had to leave go to my Tutu and Tu’s for the weekend.

My Tutu was my grandma, and my Tu was my grandpa; my mom’s parents.  According to my mom, Tutu and Tu mean grandma and grandpa in Hawaiian and my mom decided to call them that because they were in Hawaii the day I was born. Probably bullshit, but then again, I had a tortoise for a best friend, who the hell was I to be calling anyone out?  So, Tutu and Tu it was.

As a kid I wasn’t a huge fan of going to Tutu and Tu’s house for several reasons. 

Reason number one: Shredded Wheat.

I'm not talking about the cute little Frosted Shredded Wheat cereal we have now.  That shit is good.  I'm talking about the 1980's Shredded Wheat cereal.  If you know, you know.  If you don't, look that shit up.  Instead of Golden Grahams, my favorite cereal of all time when I was a kid, my Tutu would make me eat a dehydrated chunk of horse hay that she would crumble up with her bare hands into a bowl, chop up some old ass banana from the counter top, throw it on top of that livestock feed, top it off with milk, and call that breakfast.  

Reason number two: The Pet Cemetary

They literally had a pet cemetary in their back yard.  Throughout the 30+ years they lived there, they had owned over 50 pets.  All of which were buried in her backyard when they died.  That yard scared the shit out of me.  My mom even brought our pets that died over to my grandma's to bury them there.

I'm going to pause right there and go back to where I said the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.  When I was about 6 years old, I was riding my bike over at my Tutu and Tu's house.  About 9 houses down from her house, I found a little box turtle on some grass.  Looking back now, I'm pretty sure I just stole someone's pet turtle from their front yard, but back then I just thought he was a lost turtle on the grass at the neighbors house (sigh...).  I was 6, I didn't know.  I grabbed him and brought him to my Tutu's house and when the weekend stay over there was done, he came home with me.  We even named him "Orph" because he was an Orphan...or so we all thought.  Fast forward about 7 years.  I'm 13 years old and just got off the bus from my middle school.  I was usually pretty thirsty by the time I got home because the walk from my bus stop to home was about 3/4 of a mile.  I get home, I open the freezer to get a cold bottle of water when I see a present in the freezer; a small box, wrapped in wrapping paper with a bow on it. 

Thinking my mom was having some sort of weird quaalude flash back, or midlife crisis, I reluctently asked her, "Mom, why is there a present in the freezer?"  Without missing a beat, nor showing any form of human emotion, she replies, "Oh that's Orph."  

Not even sure I want to know anymore, I cautiously asked, "What do you mean that's Orph?  Like my turtle Orph?"

"Oh yea, he died today." She tells me.  Mind you, this entire time she's on the phone chatting and laughing about God only knows what and I'm now crying because my turtle is dead.  I'm even moreso confused as to why he's wrapped as a present and in the freezer when  my morbid curiousity got the best of me.

"Why?  Mom?  Is he wrapped up like a present and in our freezer?"  I wasn't even sure I wanted to stick around for the answer, but I had to know.

"Oh I'm saving him so we can take him to Tutu and Tu's to bury him."

Needless to say, I pretty much never ate anything from the freezer again and this only reinforced my lack of any kind of desire to go to my Tutu and Tu's house...which leads me back to the reasons.

Reason Number 3: Golf Lessons

Both of my grandparents were avid golfers.  I guess because of that we had to be also (my sister and I...who I will soon introduce you to).  Golf is the last fuckin thing on the planet I wanted to do as a kid, and every single Sunday nonetheless.  Sunday's were made for sleeping, not waking up at the ass crack of dawn to swing a golf club.

Reason Number 4: My Tutu Scared Me

This woman was a whole 4'11" tall and could terrify the shit out of not only my 6'2" grandfather but the neighbors, other drivers, myself and God forbid you knock on this woman's front door without an invitation.  She drank Miller Lite Beer out of a wine glass and she didn't take shit from anyone.  She didn't give a shit how big or scary someone was, or even how much murder potential you had, if you wronged that woman (or her family) in anyway whatsoever, you had better run for the hills and camoflauge yourself.

Reason Number 5 - Snails

I wasn't the best kid on the planet, but I don't think I was the worst either.  I just questioned everything and maybe didn't always listen. If you told me not to do something, I would usually do it tenfold.  I figured if you're trying to keep me from something it must be pretty exciting.  For example, I wasn't allowed to ride my bike around the block at her house. I could stay on our street only...couldn't go to the block behind her house.  Do you think I listened?  Of course not.  The one time I decided I was going to ride back there to see what the hype was about, I got caught.  From my Tutu's front yard, you could see the entire street, so if she were to go out to the front yard, all she had to do was look left or right and if I were doing as I was told, she would've been able to see me.  As I'm coming back from riding where I wasn't supposed to, there stood my Tutu in all her glory - bathrobe, curlers and slippers, standing in the front yard, pissed.  That same front yard had a 20'x20' section of ivy that grew all over the ground.  I learned that day that snails like to eat ivy. I parked my bike and she handed me a gallon-sized zip lock bag.  My punishment for not listening - pick snails out of her ivy plants so they wouldn't eat it.  I couldn't come back in the house until that entire gallon-sized bag was full of snails.

To this day, the sight of snails grosses me out so bad it makes my stomach turn...and Lord help me if I step on one...you better run because I will puke all over you.