curse of the plaid lunchbox
When I was a kid, I wanted a lunchbox.
The way all kids want cool kid stuff other kids have. And I would pause, stars in my eyes, to admire lunchbox displays wherever they appeared.
Lunchboxes were, in my household, a frivolity. Even thinking about wanting something so frivolous was a clear indication of lack of character. But I did want one. And my mother being a savvy observer of human nature caught the lunchbox drift and one day told me she had a suprise for me and whipped out —
A plaid lunchbox.
Things kind of worked that way in my family. If you truly wished for something, it might appear, but always in a totally aberrant form. And a plaid lunchbox was about as aberrant as you could get. Other kids did not carry plaid lunchboxes. Other kids carried princess lunchboxes. Other kids carried super hero lunchboxes. Other kids carried cartoon animal lunchboxes. Lunchboxes were a statement of self, a banner, a flag, an emblem of identity. And what little kid wants their emblem of identity to be freaking plaid?
In my family, though, there were rules: If it was on your plate, you ate it. If you asked for it, you used it. And if it was not worn out, you kept it. So —
I could not say it was a bad lunchbox. A lunchbox I would be mocked and ostracized for. A lunchbox that would make my grammar school days a living hell. A lunchbox worse than the mark of Cain. A WRONG LUNCHBOX.
But that lunchbox had to go.
It took three years of carefully orchestrated covert lunchbox abuse to wear that thing out. Three years of banging that lunchbox along cobble stone walls. Dropping it from rooftops. Leaving it out in rain. Tossing it off street corners into the path of swervey automobiles. But by third grade the [titanium alloy built to withstand nuclear detonation manufactured on freaking Krypton] lunchbox was finally starting to show signs of wear. And my mother one day looked at the dinged, scratched, dented, rusted, warped scarred one hinge broken PLAID lunchbox with that considering look she would sometimes get. And said, Hmm.
Then we visited my grandmother.
My grandmother was an English teacher. She, like me, went to school every day. She, like me, carried a lunchbox. And on that day my grandmother casually dropped the info she had replaced her lunchbox — and gifted me with her former lunchbox.
You know it was plaid, right? You saw that coming?
To be continued….
110 Responses to curse of the plaid lunchbox
I had: (1) Six Million Dollar Man; and (2) Star Wars during my lunchbox years, as I recall. I liked that they were metal and dangerous, not like the poncey plastic ones kids have to endure nowadays.
When I started the 1st grade and got to bring lunch it was 1970- I had an Archies Lunchbox- like Chris’ it was metal I can vouch for the fact it could be used as a lethal weapon.
There’s one kid big kid ( God…who must be close to 50 now…yikes!) with a little scar between his eyes who NEVER laughs at the Archies to this day.
ps…after that day I got to buy lunch and never carried a luncbox again- .
amm
I once (when I was only 5) locked my cat in a luchbox to see if she would fit. I then forgot about her until hours later…when I retrived her panicked and sweaty form it’s plasticky confines. She never trusted me again. I forget what kind of lunchbox it was.
Oh my God, AJ… My cousin did the same thing to his cat, but locked it in an esky (think you call it a ‘cooler’?). It was days before it was found…. Horrible.
I had a Snoopy lunchbox.
I did have to wear my mother’s clothes though. That sucked.
Oh my grandma made a big deal about a dress…..it was plaid. I told her thanks and left it at her house. I think I had a troll on my lunch box and trolls on my pencils.
Oh and valliant, cats were put in mailboxes in my hood. With m180’s and I almost blew off a finger and went deaf for two days trying to save one.
Okay if this turns into injured cat chat someone is going to get spanked.
[PS : Valliant is just pretending to forget that lunchbox because he does not want to fess up it was Sleeping Beauty.]
I have this cat named Amadeus that fought off a pitbull ( that was TRAINED to kill cats ) and almost took the dog’s eyes out.
Go ahead…stuff him into a mailbox somebody.
I dare you.
amm
Ha! Did you have the matching plaid thermos? I was lucky enough to have an Empire Strikes Back lunchbox, but it had a faulty latch and my thermos would often spend bus rides free roaming the floor.
I can still feel your pain, though, as I once received a three speed granny bicycle for Christmas when I really wanted a dirt bike with a handbrake. I pretended to like it so as to not hurt my parents’ feelings, even enjoyed riding it sometimes, but only when none of the other kids were around. Of course, I didn’t have to lug it to school every day like a plaid lunchbox.
Yes. It had the thermos. The thermos did not hold up as well as the lunchbox. It broke right off.
Anita, you know those are not really cats, those are little demons from hell disguised as cats.
SLEEPING BEAUTY! Max, that got the famous snickering laugh out of me.
I fully expect Valliant to come back with more injured cat chat for obvious reasons…… I’ve never known a Canadian to back down from a spanking!
Valliant does not really strike me as a sub type.
OH NO! A hand me down from GRANDMA? How traumatic!
Actually, it’s sorta funny…sorry Max!
A cat stuffed in a lunchbox? Oh, big deal, Valliant.
Now – a cat in the microwave – that’s impressive lol
Valliant does not really strike me as a sub type.
You’d be quite surprised. A lot of uber masculine men love to be beaten down by a dominatrix every now and then…
Even if he isn’t, Northerners have manners…….
Well, at least grandma didn’t hand you down matching plaid undies.
Even if he isn’t, Northerners have manners…….
I take that as you mean Canadians and not Yankees lol
That would be dissappointing. I have no interest in any man who wants to be “dominated.”
No, not really the submissive type.
Though good sex occasionally involves a degree of striving for control by both parties.
Just because the threat of a spanking doens’t make him back down doesn’t mean I think he’s submissive. I just don’t see it as much of a treat to him. I think being well mannered just makes it interesting.
Max, I imagine, all men are dominated in your presence at least for a moment and only those who naturally have what it takes to “strive for control” would be of any interest.
Weak is boring. Wait, Stietto might know better on that one.
Stiletto, It’s the great white north, rugged men with vocabularies. Chop wood and read by the fire…… Canadian , Yankee, When it’s twenty below wind chill the lines are blurred.
“Max, I imagine, all men are dominated in your presence at least for a moment and only those who naturally have what it takes to “strive for control” would be of any interest.”
I am not so hard to control. All it takes is rope.
Wait. This microphone is off, right?
“Weak is boring. Wait, Stietto might know better on that one.”
Hmph. I plead the fifth only because I don’t know what the heck you’re referring to!
heehee this thread is so funny!
(And listening to the lovely but somber music from The Red Violin makes it sort of surreal).
“Stiletto, It’s the great white north, rugged men with vocabularies. Chop wood and read by the fire…… Canadian , Yankee, When it’s twenty below wind chill the lines are blurred.”
I can’t help it but I’m partial to men with southern accents who scream Stella! Ok, to be honest, my ex husband is from the great white north…no love lost there.
“I am not so hard to control. All it takes is rope.”
You know, a lot of the characters in my horror survival video games succumb to malevolent rope torture. Bu then, a lot of sick Japanese create these games. They’ve got an obsession with rope. So excuse me…if you and rope is not a palatable…vision.
However, ties – another story..
Ties work for me.
Oh you’ll take anything he gives you!
(The sound of violins dueling in the background)!
I might.
Sigh. I don’t blame you!
I’ll just take anything.
*Innocently lays out ties, scarves, and fancy silk cuffs…counts bed posts*
Either you’re going to have to take turns, or somebody is getting tied to a heating grate.
Oh I do not do lines. You had best stick with girls who do.
How bourgeoisie.
Does that work? On other girls?
OK… so when do we get back to the “cat abuse chat”?
“Does that work? On other girls?”
Usually. The ones that buy into the whole Class conflict thing at least.
Sometimes I need to setup a boxtrap baited with scraps of witty reparte and comemorative plates to catch the willy ones.
When you are done spreading your favors too thin I might still be around but you will need a better box trap.
Why is it that “spreading your favors” sounds really naughty?
If you build a better box trap, will wiley women beat a path do your door?
“If you build a better box trap, will wiley women beat a path do your door?”
They more wander in sporadically. The police, however, tend to arrive in aggitated clusters.
Why is AJ trying to catch willys? Does he go both ways?
But I digress.
My friend Cindy had a red plaid lunch box and to this day I think they’re cool.
I had a Tinkerbell lunch box.
In high school.
I liked standing out in a crowd.
And your grandmother gave you ….?
Do you know what I think is funny about this string?
It went from luncboxes to sex to cat abuse and demons from hell.
No wonder most of you didn’t want to discuss that survey about logical thinking.
HA!
I didn’t start grade school until I was 9 years-old. The wealth of ways in which a home-schooled kid entering the fray can be mocked or feel utterly stupid cannot be measured with existing technology.
I know. I tried.
It wouldn’t have mattered if I’d had the best lunch box in all the land.
And, who are these people who put cats in mailboxes with fire-crackers? Do they have double Y chromosones? Man….
“I didn’t start grade school until I was 9 years-old. The wealth of ways in which a home-schooled kid entering the fray can be mocked or feel utterly stupid cannot be measured with existing technology. ”
Ouch, homeschooled.
Wild children will smell the stink of captivity on you in a heartbeat. I’m surprised you survived to tell the tale.
My hazing was moderated by the fact that I had been in gym classes, dance classes, computer classes and choir with some of these kids. That my best friend was a powerhouse tomboy kept me bruise free and taught me many valuable lessons.
Well, almost bruise free. When you’re learning to find openings to kick boys on their chins you win some you lose some.
Plaid, or not, a metal lunch box would have come in handy as a shield.
Grammar school is like prison. You make your peace with the biggest baddest kid there your first day, you are okay.
Pooks, that is a very spiffy new avatar.
Point of interest: Making friends with the biggest, baddest kid there doesn’t always work because this particular biggest and baddest also regularly kicked my ass, followed by periods when he would stick up for me when someone else tried to kick my ass.
Weirdness runs in my life just like it runs in my veins.
I don’t think prison quite works like that, Max. There are too many bad characters that are always on the lookout for a new bitch. I think making peace behind bars means to acquiesce to their demands!
At least not the movies I’ve seen!
Of course, if you have personal experience, then disregard whatever I’ve said.
Why is it that “spreading your favors” sounds really naughty?
Because it does!
Max has such a way with words!
“I don’t think prison quite works like that, Max. There are too many bad characters that are always on the lookout for a new bitch. I think making peace behind bars means to acquiesce to their demands!” – Stiletto
When in prison, the trick is to find the prisoner who has a thorn stuck in his palm and to remove it, thereby earning his eternal gratitude.
I have never done prison. [Um, knock wood.] I did do something like nine schools of lower education. Being the new kid that many times, you just sort of learn the patterns. You do not acquiese. You do not do favors. [Those people are food.] You just make it real clear you are just there to do your time and you will respect their rules if they respect yours and usually that is enough to establish some level of mutual respect. That is my take on it anyway.
School was always tough for me. There were times when I wished that I’d have just sprung out of my father’s head, fully formed and ready to take on the world. (Then again, considering the kind of crap that Dad kept in his head, I’m probably better off not having had to go through that ordeal.)
I had to go to summer school to repeat Physical Education one year. Why? Because when I was supposed to be playing baseball, I was working on my “Who’s On First?” routine. Strangely, Coach Williams never seemed to appreciate the humor in that situation.
Uh-oh. In my last post, I mentioned that I wanted to spring fully formed from my father’s head but that would put me in the same camp as Athena, which is going to cause problems with my sexual identity. (For some reason, when I typed that, it read — in my mind — as “secret identity.”) Then again, I guess that there are people out there with secret sexual identities. Since the brain is now getting into the area where it needs to shut down and reboot, I’d better call it a night. Max, I love the way you write — now, if you could juggle, you’d probably be perfect.
Oh I cannot juggle but I can balance a rolled up bar nap on my nose does that count?
When in prison, the trick is to find the prisoner who has a thorn stuck in his palm and to remove it, thereby earning his eternal gratitude.
Thanks, Richard. I’ll, er, keep that in mind should I ever have the opportunity to add that to my ever piling list of sordid life experiences.
Where is Brahnamin? He would know how close the comparison really is.
Hey! That’s where I was headed. Good idea!
Oh while you are there ask him. He will probably laugh really hard and say, Oh yez, prison and grammar school, excactly the same thing you goofballs.
I’ll head over there tomorrow. It’s two a.m. and I ended up getting sidetracked by some very interesting reading.
Are you done with your scripts?
I finished the stack I had for turn in today, but when I turn in I pick up a new stack. I will not be “done” done for a while.
Did Susan say anything about that?
No. She carried on about how great the first week of the month would be.
Lies, lies!
Scripts, lies, and – did anyone send you videotape?
There are new dvds from Netflix. Does that count?
Well, ok, why not?
Out of curiosity, which plan are you on? Also, what did you receive?
Scripts, lies, and DVDS.
Okay I just do not think it is the same without the sex.
“Out of curiosity, which plan are you on? Also, what did you receive?”
I am on the three at a time plan and am watching the News Radio series and just got the first and second disks of the series.
Something is weird here comments are disappearing and my response is not taking. Hmm.
Never mind.
Okay I just do not think it is the same without the sex.
Well, I did not think it was applicable.
(Oh I’m so gonna get in trouble).
Like I said, it just is not the same without the sex.
Grrr.
Well, I did not think you were getting any.
{{Running at the speed of light}}}
Well, I’m not really either.
Now I’m depressed.
At least I have Pumpkin.
Well it is a matter of choice. If just sex, any sex, was what I wanted, I could have that.
Well it is a matter of choice
Oh that is exactly what I meant – that you haven’t met anyone worthy.
Well if I got desperate I could put on come hither lipstick and wander off to the sports bar it is full of tall muscular prowley men every night but bad sex is worse than no sex and I am just not desperate enough I guess.
Bad sex is worse than no sex?
I’m staring blankly at my screen, trying to come up with a way to express my disbelief.
Kinda works that way for women, Firm…
It’s a lot easier for a woman to have bad sex than it is for a man.
Not to be non-egalitarian or anything but I think for many men any sex is good sex.
Bad sex is well, bad but a man who is oblivious that the sex was bad is nauseating. I just can’t afford to be that dissapointed in men these days.
I have to leave a glimmer of hope. So even if it’s just for sex you’ve still got to choose wisely.
“It’s a lot easier for a woman to have bad sex than it is for a man.”
And, it’s a lot easier for women to get sex, period.
I understand where Max is coming from. Even on my loneliest night I dare not venture into all the cheesy sports bars lined up on my neighborhood streets. I need to be mentally stimulated and good conversation is incredible foreplay…add chemistry and I’m a goner.
At the risk of getting confrontational…
Have you ever wondered why so many men seem so consistently shallow in their relationships with women, but seem to have deep and meaningful (even lifelong) friendships with men? Has it ever occurred to you that it may not be that men are incapable of establishing that kind of connection, but has something to do with an aloof “charm of inscrutability” that so many women seem to don the same way they put on a pair of earrings? Have you considered that men may become frustrated with the emotional games that many women want to play, and opt instead for shallow physically-oriented relationships?
Instead of playing “guess my emotional state, because I’m not going to tell you,” a lot of guys (strangely enough) just resign themselves to bad sex. Granted, this has never happened with me…
Damn… I swore I wasn’t going to get serious on Max’s blog again!
Oh look he’s defending his own kind….how cute…. “guess my emotional state” You are talking to bloggers….we pretty much just post how we feel… We are not 19 year old girls here Firm…. but women who communicate and still get fucked all wrong.
Instead of playing “guess my emotional state, because I’m not going to tell you,”
My ex boyfriend, the Weasel, said the same of his ex-wife. She’d get upset that he couldn’t read her.
Interesting because the Old Man can read me. He can tell my moods even when I’m putting up walls and pretending I’m ok.
but women who communicate and still get fucked all wrong.
Don’t you hate it when that happens?
Gee, how did a lunchbox discussion get all serious?
Ok, here is my lunchbox story – I didn’t get one.
“Defending my own kind”? Uhm… no, but thank you for the condescending tone. :)
And thank you for reminding me that I’m talking to bloggers. I truly am stupid, because I thought I was talking to people, and people with lives outside of blogging.
Has it occurred to you that by responding the way you have, you just proved my point? Do you really expect to see a rational conversation about male/female emotional communication after you tossed out the “defending his own kind… how cute” sarcasm? I don’t think I ever lumped ALL women into the “guess my emotional state” category.
Jennifer, I am not disputing that men, in general, behave shallowly when it comes to male/female relationships. However, I think there are deeper reasons that the “men are pigs” mindset seems to play out consistently, and I happen to believe that it has as much to do with learned behavior (taught by men and women) as it does with genetics.
Men learn early on (from a variety of sources) that being emotionally vulnerable is a Bad Idea ™, so they generally don’t do it. (People often look at me strangely when I cry publicly at Mother’s Day or Father’s Day, but I don’t really care what they think about my emotional state.)
Compounding this is the disparity in emotional development between teenage boys and girls, which leaves teenage boys feeling as if there is an impenetrable barrier between the two sexes, so why bother? We ignore that boys (can) catch up, eventually, catch up, so we stop trying. Compounding this even more is the emotional arrogance that *some* women put on, while others opt for “I’m playing hard to get.”
Strangely enough, Jennifer, after 24 years of marriage and a lifetime of very close female friends, I didn’t cast my comments about 19 year-old girls. I also am not casting those comments at any of my female friends, because I don’t generally hang around women who get into that kind of crap.
However, it says something about your assessment of my emotional capabilities that you’ve cast my opinion as “defending my own” instead of trying to expand on the “bad sex is better than no sex” and “It’s a lot easier for a woman to have bad sex than it is for a man.”
Unfortunately, the direction this is taking is starting to remind me of reading Parents magazine, where I saw repeated articles about “How to Help Your Husband be a Better Father,” as if women instinctively know how to parent more so than a man. Is there a copy of “How to be a More Sensitive Male Blogger” around for me to read?
Stiletto, I wish I had shared a lunchbox story and a bunch of bad puns instead. In retrospect, everyone would have been better off.
Oh, I didn’t take Jennifer seriously, did you?
Anyway, here’s my lunchbox story. Back in the day, my mother made me carry my sandwich and pickle in a goddamn plastic bag you could see right through. People would POINT at me while I waited in the line for lunch to get a drink. It was so humiliating – one time I overheard the most popular girl in school (this petite redhead with HUGE funbags and big puffy lips that could suck start a Harley – actually, she like, did every boy in school – on no, I’m puling a one track Stiletto girl mind thing again – sorry) tell another slutty friend of hers: “Look, I feel sooo sorry for her!” as she rudely pointed me out to everyone!
(Mind you, I was 12).
So, between that and riding a hand me down Schwinn from the Stone Age to school, well, life was just peachy keen.
However, it says something about your assessment of my emotional capabilities that you’ve cast my opinion as “defending my own” Not ment to at all Firm, I’ve actually held you as much higher emotional capabilities maybe even of myself, as a human and surely of the men I ‘ve had bad sex with, whom my real condesending attitude / attempt at a joke should be directed. But you did say at the risk of getting confrontational so …… I did respond with out concern of offending you or anyone for that matter.
I also made a vague comment, that I can’t afford to be disapointed in men. that ‘s because I am raising a son. I have deeper more compasionate thoughts about men, that do include some of the points you brought up in your response. However, I they just didn’t come to the forefront of my mind why I responded.
There have been many varried reasons why I have had bad sex with men. some of those reasons / blame surely fall on my shoulders and my shoulders alone. It’s no secret I don’t play house.
But still……. some men just fail you sexually, that’s all there is to it, they are failures.
Jeez, all I said was I did not feel like picking up some rugby player at a sports bar when odds were the sex would not be great anyway. That is not about “emotional communication,” that is about sex.
Bad sex is worse than no sex. I will stand behind that.
[Stil, you crack me up — got it.]
Jennifer, fair enough. My lecture on emotional depth was clearly out of place.
Max, sorry for confusing the two. I still maintain that splinter groups from a churches don’t really care enough to listen to what you really need.
Wait… that’s sects without emotional communication. Nevermind.
I was talking more about the one-night stand kind of sex, too… seeing as we were talking about picking up men in bars.
I also could wax lyrical about hy husband’s and my issues in that area and in the end, my statement would still stand… for me.
There are shades of grey everywhere you look…
Yeah, Firm, jeez, here we are talking up fun one night stand sex and you go and get all emotional and deep on us. Jeezu.
Yeah… “fun one night stand sex” is a dumb teenager with a bad complexion to me.
No… wait… that’s an Oxy5-moron.
Firm, I believe that’s (pretty much) why Max said she’d prefer not to have it. Count me in on that, too.
No sex is better than bad sex. :D
So “fun one night stand sex” isn’t really fun because it’s bad sex…
I guess it was the “That is not about ’emotional communication,’ that is about sex” part that threw me off.
Who says the genders can’t communicate clearly! :D
Just to clarify things…
Are we saying that two partners, who are otherwise deeply caring about each other, can’t have “bad sex”?
I’m picturing looking at my wife/girlfriend/mistress/lover (or her looking at me) and saying “You know, that was some really bad sex. I’d rather us not have sex anymore, because it’s just too risky, and no sex is better than what we just had.
Wait… they *have* said that…
You are trying to rate sex based on an emotional intimacy scale. It may work that way for you. It does not work that way for me.
Uhm… no… I’m saying that to even get to where it’s something I can rate, there has to be some emotional intimacy.
At the same time, even when there’s emotional intimacy, there’s always the chance of “bad sex,” which (though sexually unsatisfying) may be emotionally beneficial for one or the other.
Yeah… I think we’re speaking completely different languages here, and I suspect that more dialog isn’t going to make it clearer for either of us.
Speaking of sects, how about those Sunni’s and Shiites?
I use the Richter scale, personally. : )
Richter… darn near killed her!
BTW, if you’re using the Richter scale, then that’s some GOOD SEX, no matter who ya are!
Jen, you too? Yay!
It’s hard to use any sort of scale with the sex I’ve been having lately. Egg timer is more like it. If he can outlast it then it’s all good.
You are holding on awful hard to something that has ceased to be what gave it value in the first place.
Yeah, I know. Time to return to sender.
Too bad there’s not some sort of compensation like a money back guarantee.
There is. It is called alimony. Mistresses do not get that though. Only wives.
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