Tuesday, November 13, 2007


Okay, I guess I could have done better with the title.

Anyway, I noticed that in the beginning I would every so often write about something that has nothing to do with running. So, I am long overdue here.

At work today, one of my co-workers mentioned about how unruly her children would get, and how difficult it is for her to get her children from not going wild on each other.....
Which kind of reminded me of something buried in my own past.....

So, and without further adieu, tonight's topic will be....."HOW TO GET YOUR SIBLINGS TO BEHAVE".


by Alex Gonzalez

One time when I was about 16 years old, my sisters were like 6 and 4 at the time. I came home from school. My sisters were going nuts and fighting with one another. I kept telling them they were going to get in trouble, but since Carmen was noticeably absent (at work), and the nanny didn't really discipline too well, i was listening to all kinds of screaming, when all I wanted to do, was to listen to Pink Floyd the Wall (which as you know can be very quiet and minimal at times so you need like absolute fuckin silence around you to enjoy it). Oh sure, I could have heard it on my headphones, but that's what I had to do every freakin time my parents were home (good reason why my hearing might not be at 100%-although i never had it checked so not sure if im even making any fucking sense anymore).

Okay, back to the story....So the kids would not stop fighting, kicking, punching, wrestling, pulling hair, etc etc., no matter what the nanny did.

We lived in a tudor house, in one of the worst fucking God-Awful neighborhoods in Queens.

Anyway, so this tudor has huge, thick wooden doors. Seriously. big heavy wood planks and shit. There was a swinging door that led from near the dining room into the kitchen. I went into the kitchen, and just bided my time until there was a silent moment. when it happened, i acted immediately because i knew the silence would not last for long....And this is what I did....

In the back of the kitchen there was a backyard entrance. It led to the deck. After hearing the silence, I immediately opened and slammed the screen door and wood framed door. I slammed it so fucking hard, that to this date, I dont even know how I didn't break the fucker. Especially the wood door because it has like french glass windows.

Right after that maneuver, and noticing that the silence extended itself (because by now I had the attention of everyone-even my nanny), I started yelling....
"Who are you?"
"What do you want?"
"This is not your house! What do you want?!"
"I will call the police!!! Get out right now or I will....What? Don't Do it!!! Ohhhh Please dont!!!! No please! NO! NO! NOOOHH!!!!!! ArrrrrhhhhhhhH!!!!!!!!!!!!!

At this point all of my soliloquoys paid off in golden returns. My sisters started screaming....and that was BEFORE I swung the door open to the dining room....

For you see, while I was screaming to absolutely no one, and into the thin low-class neighborhood air, I was secretly planting the atom bomb. For Hiroshima it was an actual bomb...And for me?

It was ketchup.

I had an old white St. Francis High School track n field sweatshirt on, that i was fucking bored with already, and was going to trash it soon. What a better way than to trash it, by trashing me?

I took the bottle of ketchup, and poured about 3/4 of the entire Heinz 32 ounce (then glass) jar all over me. All over my chest, and my hands. Then i smeared it with my hand, but made sure that I left a nice sized glob on my chest. With that I took also a knife. Very sharp one AND VERY LARGE! I think it was about 12 inches long, no lie.

I slashed a hole through the area where most of the 57 varieties were congregating on my chest. And then stuck the knife through about four inches. Since the sweatshirt was extra large, and i weighed all of about 120 pounds at the time, there was plenty of room to do this. Now I looked at the little mirror in the half bath right next to the patio door. Perfect. What a fucking mess I was!

"NO! NO! NOOOOOHHH!!!! Arrrfggghhhh!!!!!!!!!"
And then I swung the door open. Both my sisters screamed like they never screamed before.
I figured that if they liked screaming so much at each other, that I would give them something that both of them can thoroughly enjoy.

Let me tell you, it was like a fucking ballet of the macabre. An decibel-filled opera of the fucking obscene. Ears everywhere within a 1 mile radius were filling up with the cries of insanity from what was a plainly insane act. The faking of my own death.

As I swung out through that heavy, brown, planked, disgusting, Tudor, shit-door, I held my right hand out at them, as I clutched the knife with my left. Staggering, shaking as if I wanted to pull the knife that was freshly plunged in by my assailant moments before, but just not having the strength, courage, or balls to do so.

At the end of the dining room, is the sunken living room two short steps down with a silly needless wrought iron railing to the side (the fucking house should have been showcased in the Addams Family, I swear).

I trembled to grab the railing and slumped down one step before making a nice maneuver to throw myself after almost touching the last step and onto the ground. At this point my sisters ran upstairs crying hysterically saying that i was dead. at this point my nanny walked up to me and just shook her head and calmly told me in Spanish, that of all the ridiculous things i did, this was by far the most, and worst ever, and that I should have been ashamed of myself for doing this to 2 small kids.

My sisters did not fight with one another for 9 consecutive days.

Mission Accomplished.

1 comment:

DGA said...

IT WAS YOU! I spent $5,000 then to de-traumatize them! Plus the emotional stress you caused all of us! I hope you realize how grave this is and the least you can do is to send me a check for that amount or I'll take it from your checking account (I have a way to do it. Anthony Perkins was an amateur in PSYCHO next to you!
The girls never told me what happened. YOU OWE THEM TOO!