a. As a young child, I grew up in the backwoods of Big Basin Park, in a remote woodland neighborhood complete with its very own meth lab, piles of junked cars, and faulknerian idiot man-children. My mom raised animals, though in all cases it ended up in some sort of failure. The goats, well, nobody wanted the goats' milk, the pony, the pony got too expensive to take care of, and the coyotes were awfully fond of the rabbits. And the chickens, well, the chickens went well until my mom got a new batch of chicks that turned out to be roosters.
We didn't want to kill and eat them, but also wanted to get rid of them as humanely as possible. We sent them out deep into the forest, but even the mountain lions, bobcats and coyotes were scared of them. They were vicious things, and I vividly remember the day they came back out of the woods to wreak havoc. Me and one my sisters were swinging together on our swingset, when suddenly the roosters appeared in a rampage of beaks and feathers, flocking at us, attacking us, trying to peck out our eyes. We managed to get safely inside the house, and my mom told us to not leave the house while she went to take care of the roosters. I don't know what exactly transpired inside the shed, but my sister found blood and feathers on her baseball bat.
b. I once ordered a margarita in a New Zealand pub. This was almost as much of a mistake as getting nachos in New Zealand.
c. Two of my sisters are adopted from Vietnam, my oldest sister and my youngest sister. I made a short documentary about the latter.
I am artsy, funny, and kind