And welcome to my life story.
On May 47th, during the twenty-first year of the Dragon, I was born. But not in like the nasty, buckets of blood and weirdo white goopy scary baby kind of way, I was delivered to my mother’s loving arms arms by a large flamingo. A pink one.
A year later, just before my first delivery day, my parents took me into the hospital because I had contracted some weird disease, broken my skull, or grown an extra knee or something. The doctor took me in his arms, looked at my parents over his glasses and said, “This child will teach you much.” True story. And I really was growing an extra knee. They kept me in the hospital for scientific monitoring and because no one had any idea what to do. For reals.
And so the strangeness began.
In the first grade, I peed on my brother’s and his best friend’s heads from above on the monkey bars. That story is told in greater detail somewhere around here.
In the second grade, I was obsessed with Animal Planet spare-the-children-nothing-shows, hid in a large tree during recess, waited until my arch nemesis walked underneath, leapt from my branch with a great feline screech, and then proceeded to scratch and meow until I was suspended.
In the fifth grade my friend’s bunk bed collapsed down onto me while I was on the bottom. It made me laugh so hard I peed all over her sister’s mattress.
In the ninth grade, my best friend and I spent a whole summer in my basement learning all the sexy moves from Dirty Dancing Havana Nights. (It wasn’t like that. He was gay. I distinctly remember a conversation that went something like this. “Don’t touch my boob!” “Kayleen. I’m not gonna touch your boob. I’m just gonna run my hand between your cleavage because that’s how the dance goes.” “I don’t care! Don’t touch my boob.” “What’s the big deal?” “I just don’t like when people touch my boob. It’s my boob.” “I don’t even like boobs! It’s just the dance!”)
In the tenth grade, I played Abigail Williams in The Crucible and everyone told me I looked just like Winona Ryder. My fellow player accidentally spit all over me on stage – I’m talking a loogy the size of a baseball – and it landed right on my bottom lip. It was super super gross.
In eleventh grade, I went to the Arts High for dance and would never see the world the same way again. Suddenly I was practically normal.
In twelfth grade, I somehow passed A.P. Calculus, received a dance scholarship, and ran away from home.
At nineteen I got married. Which still scares me to this day. Luckily, Jordan turned out to be GREAT and I’m glad I married him when I did. Even though if my daughter comes home at nineteen to tell me she’s getting married, I will arrange a four year tour of the world for us and keep her on a boat with no sea captain.
At 21 I sat down to wonder what I should do with my life.
At 24 I published my first book.
Here I am!