I realize there’s been a delay in my posts…but I’ve been going through some old journals and compiling stories! SO many wonderful stories I had forgotten….so get ready.
I need to know though, would people rather READ my unbelievable adventures? or see me tell them on youtube? or BOTH??
I don’t remember how old I was…but I was a kid…and I was home alone while my dad was at work and my mom ran to the store to get something. I was playing with my toys around the house and got that weird feeling you get when you KNOW someone is staring at you….and I slowly turned around to face the back glass sliding door to our deck outside. And there…my friends…there stood a man in a Santa Claus outfit. Mind you, it was not even winter yet…it was sometime in the early fall. As soon as he realized I saw him he made a mad dash never to be seen again. I was SO paranoid I ran around the house hiding behind things and yelling that I had a gun to scare him away…not super believable…
When my mom got home I told her all about it and she tried to explain to me that Santa wasn’t real…and that I had a great imagination…I already KNEW Santa wasn’t real. But this dude in the outfit WAS! Ugh…thankfully I survived, once again. No harm, no foul. Just another creeper in a suit…It could have been much creepier….he could have climbed down the chimney and kidnapped me or something.
Moral of the story? Lock your doors. ALL your doors. ALL the time.
First Run-in with the Fuzz!
Once upon a time in a land far, far away…as far away from normality as is possible…was a scrawny little blonde-haired lass who grew up in an eclectic town of artists and hippies called Santa Fe.
Enough of the fairy-tale introductions…we all know there’s no knight in shining armor coming to save the day. There are only hot sidewalks, sneaky goat head stickers, weirdos, and angry parental units.
I had turned 5 years old 2 months too late to start Kindergarten, so I got a whole extra year to run a muck and cause trouble. This particular summer day was the first time of many that I would run away from home. I was over at the next door neighbor’s house playing with her son who was about my age, and whose name I shall keep confidential. We were playing in the back yard when I got the brilliant idea that we could probably go missing and his mom wouldn’t even notice. She never noticed ANYthing and she would never play with us or pay any attention. Now that I think about it…I think she may have been an alcoholic of sorts. She always had a drink in her hand and never seemed to care about anything else. I felt bad for her kids then and often wonder what may have become of them now.
Being the trouble-maker I was, I talked this little lad into borrowing his big sisters pink ballerina tutu for “good luck” and we tip-toed through the house to the front door. By that time I had convinced him that if HE wore the tutu, he would be invisible. There was no time for silly business like putting on shoes though…so out the front door we went. I figured we would just run around the block and see if we could make it back without getting caught, and that it would be a piece of cake.
The sidewalk was hotter than I had hoped, but that just made us run faster…so we’d SURELY succeed with our mission, right?? Well we got about three fourths of the way around the block when we heard the sirens…and at the first sighting of a police car we did a 180 and started running back the way we had come…for some reason unbeknownst to me. We didn’t get very far before a squad car pulled up beside us and the cop rolled down his window and yelled for us to get in. He didn’t say who he was or why he was there or anything, so I shook my head as hard as I could and we just kept on running. He started getting very frustrated and yelling at us…which made his offer to give us a ride even LESS enticing…plus he was a stranger…Living in such an odd town, we learned from a very young age not to acknowledge strangers. Finally he stops the car, jumps out and grabs my partner in crime. He sticks him in the middle seat and tells me if I don’t get in I may not ever see him again….so of course I couldn’t allow my partner in crime to be taken away alone…especially after it was me that convinced him to run away barefoot AND to wear a pink tutu. A guilty conscience won and into the squad car I went. I very clearly remember the seat being much longer than my legs and my legs sticking straight out instead of bending at the edge since my knees weren’t anywhere close to reaching it. I just stared blankly at my knees, wiggling my dirty little toes and refusing to answer any questions…but he already knew who we were and where we lived.
As soon as he pulled up to my driveway I opened the door and booked it inside as fast as my legs would carry me thinking I could escape and sneak in without anyone noticing….my little kid brain didn’t stop to think that it could possibly be MY parents who had called the police. The look of fear and anger on my parents’ faces was unforgettable….and that was the ONLY time my father ever spanked me. It was much deserved. Thankfully neither of our parents got in any serious trouble…but I wasn’t allowed to play at the neighbor’s house anymore. And that…was my first run-in with the fuzz…
Squeak ‘n Seek
At the ripe young age of 5 I began discovering endless ways to unintentionally produce gray hairs on the heads of my dear old folks…and quite a few other people along the way. I’ve always had a wild streak as far back as I can remember, and it flares up now and then and causes not only a curiosity that even a cat couldn’t manage, an insatiable desire for adventure and excessive flirting with danger, but also a treacherous amount of audacity. I am thoroughly convinced that God knew exactly what He was doing when He only allowed my parents to have one child. I was more than enough of a handful.
Walking through Walmart one day on a mission to find me new socks (to replace all the ones I destroyed by refusal to wear shoes while outside), I decided it would be funny to play hide-and-seek without actually informing anyone. I disappeared into a clothing rack (the circular metal ones they used to have in the middle of the stores with clothes hanging all around them and a hole inside). My mother finds the socks she wants, turns around, and by that time I have vanished into thin air. She, of course, begins to panic and run around like an inconsolable lunatic because she’s certain that I’ve been abducted by Hannibal or his equivalent. She alerts security and calls the police and the search for a missing child begins.
I’m sitting in the clothes rack trying my best not to laugh the boogers out of my snotty little nose and watching all the commotion with glee. Every time someone would get close to finding me and then start wandering off, I’d make a little squeaking noise. They’d hear it and try to follow it…but have no clue where it came from. No one even thought to look in the clothing racks. After this squeaking game goes on for what seemed like an eternity, they finally started looking inside each rack. I decide to go hide in one they’ve already looked in, and continue the game. Finally I get hungry and tired of squeaking and jump out and yell “Hide ‘n seek, I WIN!” And instead of getting the medal of honor or giant trophy of recognition for my amazing tactics that I thought I clearly deserved, I got a spanking…My mom grabs the nearest children’s belt off a rack and bends me over her knee right there in front of everyone. Needless to say, I never played Squeak ‘n Seek again without first alerting everyone involved. Embarrassing a child in their moment of glory can definitely teach a life lesson. Not only will it stop them from doing that action again (hopefully) but it will also teach them to be more creative and inconspicuous on their next venture….
I believe that moment of embarrassment is precisely what instigated my first run-in with the Fuzz….Stay tuned!
The first time I can recall encountering a creeper was when I was about 4 years old. My family lived in Santa Fe, New Mexico at the time in a three story brown stucco house in an average neighborhood. My mother was upstairs doing her makeup or something of the sorts in her room and I heard a knock at the front door. Having just recently learned to open doors I was pretty excited about it so I waddled down the stairs to the front door and opened it right up. Thankfully my parents had the sense to ALSO lock the screen door, which I had no idea how to unlock yet…thank goodness.
I remember opening our big dark brown oak door and to my amazement there stood Batman…yes, Batman…the real deal. A very tall man in a Batman costume. He tried to get me to open the door, and since he happened to be my favourite hero I started fiddling with the screen door handle with delight. Unbeknownst to me, this was a wanted criminal who had already abducted and molested several children in the area. Thankfully my mom heard me talking to someone and ran downstairs JUST in time to stop me from figuring out the latch. Bogus Batman ran as fast as his legs in tights would carry him and my mom called the police. I’m not sure if he was caught or not but it was all over the news about rewards for info leading to his arrest.
That was my first lesson in not opening the door for strangers. And to this day, if you don’t let me know you’re coming over I won’t answer my door. I almost never even bother to look through the peep hole. And for the record, Batman is still my favourite masked man.
And So it Begins
My name is Chrissy and I operate on what is known as ”Rubberband time.” If you’re not familiar with this time zone, it’s one which is stretched to the max but always within the limits. This is the reason that every story will probably begin with, or include, the phrase “the other day.” It really doesn’t matter if it happened 5 minutes ago or 9 years ago; what matters is that it really happened and the moment must be captured and the utter amazement shared! The stories to follow, are NOT stretched by any means of the imagination. I just tell it like I see it. People who know me that have been around when I attract weirdos can attest that even THEY wouldn’t believe my stories after the fact had they not actually been there.
I’ve been very blessed to not only survive, but escape without any harm, from all my encounters with the weirdos and creepers thus far. I’m sure my guardian angel gets excessively flustered with me. I may even have multiple angels that take shifts and then talk about me in the break room. ;)
While the majority of posts will probably be about creepers, they won’t be limited to that. They may include all kinds of other crazy life adventures.
On a final note…I will try to keep the creepers as anonymous as possible for a plethora of reasons. Firstly, I don’t need to be stalked or killed by any of them. Meeting them each once was more than enough. Secondly…well…I really just don’t need to meet any of them again.
And so, it begins…