Never Have I Ever...

Never have I ever had sex with two men at the same time. 

Never have I ever been to Alaska.

Never have I been sane.

NEVER HAVE I EVER BEEN AVERAGE, ORDINARY, OR PLAIN.

Never have I ever had a piercing/tattoo. Good Molokan Russians girls do not partake in such disfigurements. 

Never have I ever been locked in a porta potty.

What? Really? That is the question? Of course I have been locked in a porta-potty; what kind of carnie would I be without that experience. 

Teehee. Cackle. Sly smile with a wink.

Several carnies have not had that particular event occur, but I stand original in most things done non-formally. 

I HAVE BEEN LOCKED IN A PORTA-POTTY FOR FIVE HOURS! Heavy duty locked. Bow cutter worthy. 

This adventure was all because of the golden rule of, 'Finders Keepers Losers Weepers.' And thus upon a night grounds walk I found that cheap plastic bat that you left, carelessly in the center of the avenue. 

Am I supposed to treat you differently because you were a little slow? Where is the equality in that? I am a full opportunity asshole. 

So, your Mom waited until I went to the john and latched me in. Yes; a grown ass woman did that to me, at the delicate age of seven. 

I was taught at a delicate young age to take things to the extremes. I learned we have the power to teach people how to treat us.

A lesson aquired. An experience acknowledged. And a woman to occupy my extra energy on. Vengeance was to be mine.

Vengeance how you ask? I grabbed all my carnie friends and constantly loosened her overhead tarps/bungee cords, so her booth would always fall over at the slightest touch of wind.

I also set up a rock shop/lemonade stand infront of her booth. Being so darn cute and hardworking (wink, wink), I was allowed to stay. I raked in the dollars that would have been spent on her assortment of knick knacks. Dollars poured in over common rocks tossed in a paper bag. They were specially picked, by the one and only me; and I had a good eye for regular dirt. Ha! 

Her, and her family left shortly after from loss of sales, and constant booth failure. Thank you formar carnie friends! 

A year later I would invest my hard earned money into a glow-in-the-dark/led company; later selling out to my folks for two-thousand dollars, plus the price of stock that I had acquired at a Chicago trade-show. I still worked for them but without the stress of obtaining events/permits/bulk stock. 

I used to be able to sell anything. People are generally sheep that need to be guided. People want others to set the rules to follow so they don't have to put forward the added effort or expose their necks. The tall grass gets cut! 

People will believe something because it is easier than the truth, or they fear it to be truth. Thus, sales is an easy venture. 

People hate change, because it is uncomfortable. But without forks placed in the road by ourselves, we are weaken to the chance of fated forks.

Hence sales is pretty much guiding folks through their decision making process; thus the point of advertising. Sheep fail to make their own choices so someone must guide the heard. Someone must take the lead, and weight of the world on their shoulders.

If you are a server/bartender/cocktail-waitress/sales/advertising guide folks in the direction of money. Suggest to them what they need or want, and state it as a known fact. 

Suggest them to follow with offering high money items. If you ask for a larger favor or amount, people will either accept it or not say no twice. Example if you need a friend to loan you fifty dollars, ask for a hundred. They will either give you the hundred, or be apt to agree to a lower amount because of the icky feeling of saying no twice, and being an ass or unhelpful.

Fake it until you make it, and be that tall grass/hearder. Reach for the stars, and fall ontop of the world. 

Always strive for more, and never get comfortable or settle. Life is meant to make us sweaty with bumps and twists, so make your own!

The grass really is greener on the other side because it has not been touched, or explored. 

BACK TO THE CARNIE LIFE..

ONCE UPON A TIME my father (had me at 42),was disgruntled with my brother, (some twenty something years older than me). 

My elder brother had a 'Yours, Mine, and Ours,' family of three girls and one boy. Two his, and two his wives (we would later in years find out that his first born wasn't actually his). Let's not forget about my joining since my niece and nephews were all my age, some infact older.

My father took us to the flea market where we came across bunnies. Yup. You guessed it...we each got one, sticking my brother with four damn varmints to house/feed and deal with. Score one Dad. Haha. Smart man. 

The bunnies at my brother's house would soon meet thier death by my niece chucking them off the roof repeatedly; cracking all their little ribs until they couldn't take it anymore. 

When I moved to Central Cali my bunny was not given to my brother's family for execution due to the fundamentals of gravity and physics. Instead my bundle of fur was given to a family friend, later to be devoured by wolves. 

However, this particular bunny slaughtering niece would later become a adept nurse, (lord, help us).