So cut back to that Halloween party, Karen in scrubs and me as Glenn Danzig. I begged her for the details of the accident she’d witnessed because I find it impossible to bury my head in the sand and pretend this kind of thing doesn’t happen.
I could sense her passion for the macabre as she described the accident, and from there, our conversation transitioned easily into true-crime documentaries and cases that we were obsessed with. Any Murderino will tell you how exciting it is to find someone who can talk to you about murder without judgment or hesitation, and Karen and I found that in each other in that small Los Feliz kitchen, after everyone else walked away. I could tell she was just as stoked about it as I was.
We met for lunch a short time later at a semi-hipster café in Hollywood and sat for hours after our tuna melts were finished, just drinking endless cups of black coffee and talking nonstop about our lives, our favorite cases, and mutual friends. We were giddy! Not just at having someone to talk to about true crime but at that thrilling feeling of making a new lifelong lady friend; that’s harder and harder to come by the older you get. Maybe it’s because we both happened to be reading Brené Brown’s Daring Greatly, a book about being vulnerable, but both of us opened up to each other in ways I don’t think either of us were used to.
Sometime the following week, I texted her and asked if she wanted to start a true-crime podcast, and she said she did. I don’t think she knew yet that I’m the kind of person who’s obsessed with starting new projects, because she seemed surprised when I responded to her with some options to schedule our first recording. As I’ve said on the podcast, it doesn’t have to be perfect, just fucking do things. Perfectionism is for people who are lying to themselves. The Cult of Perfect would not accept me as a member, which is just fucking fine with me. I’m a jump-into-the-deep-end-and-see-if-you-can-swim kinda girl.
We had a quick planning session over yet more tuna melts and came up with the format of each of us telling the other one murder every episode. Karen thought of the name My Favorite Murder, I told her about my fucked-up hometown-stories obsession and we decided to include it, and a couple of days later in January of 2016, we recorded our first episode. Within a couple of months, the podcast blew the fuck up, and my life completely changed in so many wonderful, amazing ways.
Even after all this time, I’m floored that I get to study and discuss a topic that has always fascinated me. I get asked a lot if my anxiety about murder has gotten worse since we started the podcast, since I have to hear about it so much (SO MUCH). But truthfully my anxiety has actually lessened based solely on the fact that the podcast has made me realize how many people there are in the world who are just like me. It makes me feel less alone every time I see our download numbers. I’m not a freak. I’m a Murderino, and I feel so stupidly lucky that I get to be a Murderino.
What was the chapter topic again? Oh yeah, send ’em back.
Whatever. Close enough.
On to the next project!
Karen’s Step-by-Step Guide on How to Be a Latchkey Kid
For as much as Georgia and I have talked about what it was like to be latchkey kids growing up, there seems to be a large swath of our listenership who, either because they had stay-at-home moms or were born in the ’90s, have no idea what we’re talking about. Congratulations on being actively cared for when it matters most. Now sit down. I’m about to tell you exactly how to be a latchkey kid.
3:45–4:00 P.M.
Yell thanks to the carpool mom dropping you off as you jump out of her carpool car and follow your older sister, Laura, up the front walkway. Just to bug her, stand directly behind her as she gets out the front door key. Get close. Get real close. Feel the air get knocked out of you as she throws her elbow back and into your stomach. As you clutch your guts in pain, watch her walk into the house and slam and lock the door behind her.
Laugh yourself through the pain as you remember you have your own key. Pull the long string out from inside your school uniform. Unlock the door. Drop your book bag wherever. In the distance, your sister’s bedroom door slams. Walk into the kitchen.
Feel hungry. Decide to make toast. Put bread in the toaster and wait.
Feel thirsty. Decide to make lemonade. Open the cabinet and pull down the can of lemonade powder. As you do, look at every single thing on every shelf like you’ve never seen any of it before, just in case your mom bought something new and delicious for you. She didn’t.
Entertain the idea of making the box of spice-cake mix your mom’s had in the cupboard since last Christmas. Put it into your mental “good ideas for later” file between “look for spare change in the couch” and “act shy at school.” Pull out the Tupperware juice container and mix up some lemonade. As you stare into the plastic pitcher, wonder why your mother chose mustard yellow for her Tupperware set when avocado green is so much cooler. Put that question in your mental “questions to ask Mom when she gets home” file. Stop stirring. Put the lid on the lemonade pitcher.
Hear the toaster pop. Butter the toast. Feel a surge of love for the concept of toast. Get a napkin. Put away all ingredients. As you put the lid on the powdered lemonade, dip your finger into the tiny dune of yellow powder and then taste it. Feel a shiver of joy. It tastes just like candy! Eat more. Remember that you have toast waiting. Take your snack over to the couch. On the way, swing by the TV and turn it on with your elbow.
4:00–4:30 P.M.
Eat your toast while you lie all the way down flat on the couch watching cartoons. It’s a Scooby-Doo with special celebrity guest Jerry Reed. Add “who is Jerry Reed” to the urgent section of the “questions to ask Mom” file. Try to take a sip of your lemonade while lying down. Spill lemonade out of the side of your mouth onto your face. Wonder if this is how it was for Cleopatra.
Oh! Remember you have new slippers! Run up the hallway as fast as you can. As you walk by your parents’ room, remember you left your headband in there. Go in and get your headband off of your mom’s nightstand. Look through your mom’s nightstand drawer. Experience genuine disappointment when there’s nothing salacious inside. Steal two quarters lying at the bottom of the drawer as a boring tax. See your slippers in your parents’ bathroom. Put them on.
Run as fast as you can back down the hall and slide through the kitchen in your new slippers. As you run back up the hallway, see your sister’s bedroom door fly open. She’s smiling and wearing her slippers.
4:30–4:45 P.M.
Get super excited that Laura, who never participates in any of your great ideas, is finally going to try running slipper slides herself. Tell her she can go while you run out to the living room and turn on the radio. Take turns running down the hall and sliding through the kitchen for what feels like an hour. Get mad when your sister goes twice in a row because Rick Springfield came on so she said she had to slide to that song first since he’s her guy and it’s her song. Feel the burn of injustice as you remind her that she already said Matt Dillon was her guy. Watch her ignore you and slide anyway. Feel the burn ignite into a fiery rage. As she passes you, push her as hard as you can, mid-slide, onto the dining room floor.
Hear her fall loudly and then skid on her knees on the carpet.
Hold your breath and wait, trying to psychically sense how hard she will retaliate.
Feel your stomach drop as you hear her scream in pain, but then feel it ricochet back up as she begins laughing hysterically. Laugh harder as she calls you swears. Who cares about swears?! Watch her jump up and run over to the La-Z-Boy recliner. Get mad that you didn’t think to sit there earlier. Remember you have toast waiting and get excited again.
4:45–5:45 P.M.
Keep eating toast while you watch cartoons until you begin to feel sick. Lie on the couch in every possible direction to relieve the pressure. Remind yourself to not eat that much toast tomorrow.
Look over and notice how cozy your sister looks in the La-Z-Boy recliner. Get mad again that you forgot that chair was yours for the taking, even though you’re
normally fourth in line when the rest of the family is home. Notice how she’s not noticing you notice her. How come she can do that and you can’t? Start a fight over the fact that she’s been sitting in the La-Z-Boy recliner long enough and now it’s your turn. Immediately lose the fight when she replies with the inarguable:
“Shut up, you baby.”
Simmer with rage. Tell yourself you are definitely not a baby. Drink the rest of your lemonade exactly like a baby, all gulpy with both hands on the glass. Hear your sister call you a weirdo. Look over at your sister reclining in that big stuffed chair like she’s the fucking king of Siam. Think of all the nice older sisters you know. Ask god why you got such a mean one. Hate her actively. Suddenly remember that you have lemonade powder waiting. Smile. Try to think of something to do that’s better than sitting on a dumb chair. Hear the commercial for the game Operation start in the background. Jump up in front of the TV and recite every line of the commercial so perfectly it makes the king of Siam burst out laughing. VICTORY. Watch her laugh harder and harder, until she rolls out of the chair and onto the ground. Jump on her. Hear her cries for mercy as she screams, “I’m peeing!” Watch her crawl, still laughing, to the bathroom. Scream after her, “THE CHAIR IS MINE!”
Sit down in the La-Z-Boy recliner and recline so far back you begin to tip backward. Say, “Ahhhhh!” like you’re a man in a beer commercial. Oh! Remember you have lemonade powder waiting! Listen for the sounds of how close your sister is to being done changing out of her pee pants to calculate how much time you have and if it’s safe to risk getting up to get the lemonade powder.
Remember that the universe favors the bold.
Make a run for the lemonade powder can on the counter, sliding past it by about three feet.
Turn back to get it. See your sister speed-slide past you, through the kitchen. Scream. Don’t stop screaming. Watch her jump in slow-motion over your chair arm and into your ultra-reclined recliner. Watch as she begins to cackle like the satanic beast that she is.
Hate her.
5:45–6:30 P.M.
Feel your internal rage thermometer skyrocket and explode out the top of its thermometer head, Daffy Duck–style. Change the atmosphere in the room with your mere feelings. Watch as your sister feels the barometric pressure drop and turns to look at you, fear creeping onto her face.
Stare back icily. Smile. Drop the can of lemonade powder back onto the counter loudly. Slowly turn and walk up the hallway to the bathroom. Open the bathroom drawer. Grab the closest hairbrush. Slam the drawer shut as a warning signal: the fun and games are over. Things are about to get scary.
Hold the brush up over your head and run as fast as you can back down the hallway, screaming like a banshee, and slide through the kitchen into the living room. Land at the La-Z-Boy and begin to beat your sister with the brush as hard and fast as you can.
Get clocked, hard, in the ear by her panicked, flailing arms. Squeeze your eyes shut in pain. Feel her grab the brush out of your hand. Watch as she throws her weight forward, kicking down the footrest and vaulting herself out of the La-Z-Boy recliner. Scramble away. Feel your feet slipping around beneath you in your new slippers, just like Tom and Jerry. Find your balance and take a step away.
Feel the yank on your hair as your sister grabs a handful and pulls you backward onto the ground. Scream. Scream as she straddles you, pins your arms under her knees, and beats you with the brush. Scream for your life. Try to say the neighbor’s first names in your screams so someone will come over and save you. Get hit with the brush multiple times around the head and shoulder area. Stop screaming and say in your normal voice, “Ow, Laura!”
Watch her not stop. Become filled with the rage of a thousand lifetimes …
Make a frightening grunt sound.
Pull an arm free.
Slap her across the face.
Watch her reel backward. Buck her off you, scramble to the fireplace, and grab the poker. Watch her hold her face with hot tears in her eyes as she calls you a ton of swears and storms off to her room. Hear her door slam. Wait. Run and slide and grab the lemonade powder off the kitchen counter. Run and slide back into the living room and jump onto the recliner the way your sister did before.
See the poker on the ground. Realize you’re going to need it to defend yourself for at least two more hours until your mom gets home. Lean over and grab the poker. Recline in the recliner for twenty-two delicious minutes of uninterrupted television viewing. Who’s the king of Siam now? Make a mental note to ask Mom who the king of Siam is now. Don’t file it away. Get it done tonight.
6:30–7:00 P.M.
Startle when your sister returns to the living room, giving your recliner a wide berth. Watch helplessly as she walks up and changes the channel.
Yell, “Hey! I was watching that!”
Watch as she stares you down from beside the TV, smiling like a demon. She says, “Come and change it, then.”
Realize your sister has you trapped in a gilded cage of recliner occupation. Watch helplessly as she strolls over, grabs your glass of lemonade. Look away as she takes a huge swig. Feel a powerful thirst. You are a castaway on La-Z-Boy Island, and that’s the last of your fresh water. Ask your sister to please give you the glass. Watch as she laughs in the scary way and takes another loud gulp of your lemonade. Say a swear at your sister. Flinch when she moves to hit you, then throw up the poker. Watch as she hits the poker instead of you and hurts her hand. Laugh hysterically, but do not pee. Stand your ground from your reclined position. Prepare to watch six more hours of TV.
7:00–7:30 P.M.
Look out the front window into the blackness of the night. Get a weird feeling. Put down the shade. Forget that you’re fighting with your sister because Three’s Company is so incredibly funny and, more importantly, dirty.
Listen to your sister ask you a question only a dumb person would ask. Tell her that and then say the answer. Hear her tell you to shut up. Hear her complain that there’s nothing to eat. Tell her to make you both biscuits. Hear her say no, then make a noise like she just remembered something. Watch as she gets up and smiles sarcastically as she walks around you in the recliner. Know that she’s planning some sort of retaliation. Feel your mind reel at the possibilities of what she could be planning. Engage your senses. Listen as she walks up the hallway to her bedroom. Hear the door close. Wonder nervously what she’s doing. Know that it’s time to give up the chair.
Tiptoe silently up the hall to her closed bedroom door and press your ear against it. Hear a distinctive crunching sound. Throw the door open and yell, “Aha!” Scooby-Doo-style. See your sister flinch as she lies on her bed eating from a box of Captain Crunch!! What. How.
Sugar cereal is second only to white drugs in things that are taboo in your family’s home.
Slowly realize your sister has somehow acquired and is now hoarding breakfast contraband behind your back. Realize further the larger idea that your sister hides food in her room. Scream. Scream with an odd mix of jealousy and joy. Watch her lying frozen, mid-bite, staring at you. Decide to play the surprise element. Ask nicely if you can have some. Watch her clutch the box to her breast like a wild animal and scream, “Get out!” Know that you have several options as to how you’ll get that box of cereal out of her hands. Begin to run scenarios. The smash-and-grab. The long con. The I’m Telling.
Feel a jolt of fear as you hear the doorbell ring.
7:38 P.M.
Watch your sister’s eyes go wide. Turn and run down the hall. Hear your sister get up and run after you. Slide to the front door. Feel your sister’s hand grab at your arm as she whispers:
“Don’t open the door.”
Open the door.
See a man standing on your porch. Get an odd chill realizing he’s a stranger. Listen as he says he’s dropping off firewood and asks if your parents are home. Go to answer. Feel a yank as your sister pulls you backward, steps in front of you, and begins speaking in a lower, smarter tone of voice.
“My mom has the flu so she’s asleep right now, but my dad is right next door. He’ll be back in one minute.”
Watch as the man waves her off and hands her an envelope.
Watch her close the door, turn to you with her wide eyes, and raise a finger to her lips as if to say:
Wait. Be quiet.
Wait and be quiet.
Watch your sister’s face as she listens to the man walk back up the front walkway. See her Navy SEAL hand signals as she silently tells you to follow her and tiptoes away. Kick off your slippers and follow her, also on tiptoes. Watch her duck down to peek out the kitchen window at him. See the man pause and turn back to stare at the house. Feel your stomach drop.
Duck down behind your sister and bury your head in her back, making a little scared sound. Feel her hand try to push you off her as she whispers, “Stop touching me!” Punch her in the butt for not letting you hide on her. Feel her hiss the word “Stop!” at you. Stop.
Watch as she belly crawls into the living room like an alligator. Follow like a crocodile. Mimic her as she slithers up onto the couch, staying below the bottom of the picture window.
Watch as she listens for him to pass that window and open the door to his truck. Feel how quiet it is. Wonder who the man is, what he wants, and how exactly he is going to kill you both. Wonder if the man has ever dealt with girls so well versed in fireplace-poker fighting. Wonder if the man has ever had anyone pin him down and spit in his ear. Feel the fear recede a bit as you convince yourself the two of you could take him and break him.
Stay Sexy & Don't Get Murdered Page 10
