The Time I Locked My Cousin In A Closet

So, before I start this story let it be known that my cousin and I (who are practically like sisters) have a pretty dysfunctional relationship. We are so close that we occasionally spoon and hold hands. It’s not weird.

Despite my undying love for my cousin (still not weird) I haven’t always been the nicest person to her. I used to give her “love slaps,” which basically entailed me slapping her very hard to show her how much I loved her. However, I think a game my friend and I used to play with her tops anything else I've ever done to her.

For a while my friend’s and my favorite game was Cowboys and Indians. I’m sure a lot of kids have played this. However, our version was probably a little crueler. It actually originated as a game another friend and I used to play with my cousin, and when my cousin moved to the US the game the tradition continued with a new player.

            The premise of the game was simple. There was a Cowboy (always played by my cousin) and some Indians (always played by my friend and me). The Indians would capture the Cowboy and tie her up and place her in a closet. Then the Indians would hide and the Cowboy would escape and come find them. 

            This is where it starts to get mean. Our friend (who was 6 years old at the time) and I (8 years old) would tie up my cousin (4 years old) with the intent of her never getting free. Then, we would place her in the closet and lock the door. So that, even if she did get through the tightly bound ropes on her hands, feet, and waist, she wouldn’t be able to get out of the closet.

            Obviously, we always won. Eventually her mother would have to just go looking for her and set her free, and by that point our friend and I had already moved onto another game.

            Yes, it was a cruel game. Yes, we were evil little children. But the point is, at the end of the day we still loved her, despite being a little vicious. We let her get away with whatever she wanted (unless what she wanted was to be an Indian instead of a Cowboy). We’re all still super close today, and are able to look back on this event and laugh. 

Well, at least two-thirds of us are. 

The Time I Witnessed A Lady-Boy Hooker Work His Magic

Disclaimer: this post will have language unsuitable for those with impressionable minds, who do not like the mention of lady-boys, and who do not like chocolate. If you don’t like chocolate stop reading, because you are obviously not human, and I do not want a monster reading my blog.

So, this story is probably in my top ten favorite things to tell people about myself. (Also on that list is the fact that I’m probably Incan royalty, and that I used to want to be a fire truck when I was a kid). I had initially planned on saving this story for a later date, but it’s a nice memory I have with my best friends from high school, and I really miss them.

At the end of my senior year of high school my best friends and I took a grad trip to Koh Samui, Thailand. Practically everyone from my year went there for their grad trip. I had saved money all year for the trip, and after our graduation we finally left. The trip was basically a week of doing whatever we wanted.

Every day in Koh Samui followed the same formula. We woke up, got breakfast at the hotel restaurant, lied on the beach all day, and ate lunch on the beach. Then we went home, put on our faces and a cute outfit and went out for dinner. Typically, dinner was accompanied with cocktails, and afterwards we headed for a bar. Then, when it was sufficiently late we headed to the “it club,” the Green Mango, and danced the night away.

The night of this story was a bit different, though. Some of my friend’s friends invited us to go to their hotel to hang out on the beach for a while after the club. When we got back to our hotel at about five in the morning we were starving. The street vendors were still up and running, so we ordered some Pad Thai and began to scarf it down.

However, as we were eating, a rather skimpily dressed lady-boy hooker (Thailand is known for them) drove by on a scooter yelling, “NOBODY FUCK ME TONIGHT!”

 I’m not even kidding.

Obviously my best friends and I were all amused so we kind of giggled to ourselves but continued to eat. She/he came back to the corner where we were eating and sidled up to a middle aged, chunky, white man.  His greeting to the man was, “I have big dick for you. I have nice, big dick for you.”

Our eyes were huge by this time, but the conversation only continued. The white man politely shook his head and laughed saying, “No thanks, I have a girlfriend.” That’s when the lady-boy argued, “I think you have boyfriend, not girlfriend.”

We didn’t hear the rest of their conversation because we were beside ourselves at this point. We were trying to contain our laughter, but we couldn’t keep quiet. One of my friends began to make remarks in Chinese.  We were in Thailand, so we figured Chinese would be safe.

We thought wrong. The white man must have sensed our amusement, because he started to yell at us, something along the lines of, “What? You think this is funny? You’re judging me?” We realized that it was probably time to make an exit, so we quickly got up and ran across the street to our hotel.

I can’t remember much else after this, but I remember that we were really excited to tell people about what had happened. I even told my parents when I got back from the trip.

Now that I haven’t seen my friends in about a year and a half I’m so thankful that we were able to take this trip together. It was a great way to say goodbye to each other before we left for college. Also, it resulted in the great night of the lady-boy hooker on a scooter. 

The Time I Ran Away From Home

From the ages of nine to twelve I lived in a housing development in the middle of nowhere in Shanghai. Eventually my parents and I moved to an apartment complex closer to actual civilization; but for those three years I ran around the housing compound with my friends and wreaked havoc.

In the dead center of the compound there was a clubhouse. My friends and I broke every single rule at the clubhouse, and then some. There was a secret shortcut that led through my across-the-street neighbor’s yard to the back door of the clubhouse, which was our go-to strategy to get around the compound quickly.

One day, when I was about ten or eleven, my parents and I got into a fight. I’m not sure what it was about, but I’m absolutely certain that it was something stupid. Nevertheless, I was angry, and I decided the only way to get back at my parents was to run away from home.

So I packed my bag with, at least as far as I remember, nothing but Oreos and a book, and slid out the side glass door of my house. I took the secret shortcut and made it to the clubhouse in no less than two minutes. Once at the clubhouse I made my way upstairs, as stealthily as possible, and hid under a table.

I was probably only there for fifteen minutes when one of the ladies working the front desk received a phone call from my parents asking if I was there. I had obviously not been as sneaky as I thought I had been because my parents didn’t take very long to come pick me up and take me home.

I’m fairly certain I was punished, but it probably wasn’t for long. It’s not like I had formulated a long-term plan, you can only live off of one pack of Oreos for so long.