ZE BONES

chris, my housemate with whom I share a special kinship in all things weird and moderately terrifying, has stated that I have now done something so creepy that it gives him a free license to do anything he wants from now, as it will never measure up to the deed I just committed.

however, friends, I don't believe that it earns this designation of creepy.

the scene: I'm sitting in the bean bag, warming by the fire, painting a pile of bones with marker. after about 15 minutes, someone walks over and says, "hey, what are you painting... ARE THOSE BONES?" the room alights with fire as people start yelling over and over again: "I THOUGHT THOSE WERE Q-TIPS! THOSE ARE BONES?" "RYEON, WHERE DID YOU GET THOSE BONES?" "WHERE DID THEY COME FROM?"

Freaked out by the accusations barreling across the room, I have only enough wit to holler back, "BUT VAIR ARE ZE BONES?" I must channel nate whenever I am frozen in uncertainty. Five minutes pass in which people are growing increasingly alarmed at the presence of bones and the fact that I can only speak in a broken record german accent.

when things die down, I reveal that I picked them up on the beach, intending to build something out of them. They demand that I boil them, which I begrudgingly do. The steam smelled like pungent earthy dirt, in case you were wondering.

that's when it was decided that this won as the creepiest thing anyone has ever done--thus, setting the bar by which other deeds can be measured.

I don't think it was that weird. Now there's a bird bone mobile hanging from a nail in the living room.

Joyous.

Also, send me some fun creative writing exercises that might elicit (or shall we say "provoke"?) some memorable responses...