Somewhere in my small town lives a monster. A creature that science has yet to explore, dissect, and understand. It sleeps through the day but at night? It emerges. It leaves a trail of destruction in its path as I and my neighbors sleep. This creature… is Birdzilla.
It is of unknown size and shape. It’s diet is unpredictable, but… colorful. Every few nights, Birdzilla passes over my home. He flies atop my car. And he releases… the most gigantic quantities of airborne feces I have ever been witness to.
I have seen remnants in blues, greens, purples, and pinks.
It’s as if Birdzilla takes a 12-pack of Crayola crayons and doodles the most horrifying scrawls across my vehicle.
I should have known it would be a weird day from the get-go but I of very much naïveté did not, could not, put two and two together.
My main plan was to get lunch with a friend. Very simple in theory, but complicated in practice. You see, first I needed to get my car washed (thanks to Birdzilla) and then I needed to stop by the bank on an errand. From the bank, I desired an iced coffee and en route to my favorite coffee shop, emerged the Oscar Meyer Wienermobile. No, I’m not kidding.
So as you may have guessed, I decided to follow the Wienermobile instead of getting coffee. Who needs caffeine after having the incredibly rare opportunity to chase down the Wienermobile? That’s not even a question anymore. Because the answer is ‘nobody’, that’s who.
Eventually, the highway took me north enough to finish my errands before heading up for lunch. This friend shall be named She-Who-Destroys-Perfectly-Good-Drawing-Paper, for reasons you will discover later. For now, she will be shortened to SWDPGDP or, Swagdapa. Because, reasons. Swagdapa and I had a jolly good time traipsing the downtown and eating quesadillas, pastries, cappuccinos, and bubble tea because we are bottomless pits. Afterwards, we decided to drag our art supplies (yes, I keep a cache of charcoals, pastels, and 18″ drawing pads in the trunk of my car) on a hike out to the middle of the woods. We parked our butts on a bench on top of a ridge overlooking the pond and started arts-ing.
I made a very conventional but Impression-ish pastel of the treeline while my friend made… a mess. I looked over and saw her dunking pastels in our cup of cleaning water and smearing it all over the drawing pad she had bought in town. I watched as she scrawled lines and gave her thoughts visual form. They began stark, and cold. Minutes later, the page was completely black save for some red streaks thrown in for good measure, hidden in the background. The center of the page had disintegrated under her soaking, heavy hand. There was nothing left to destroy so we decided to let it dry on a log while she worked on the next piece.
This next one was more whimsical, with greens, and blues thrown in amid the black. A face emerged, though only in lines and color. This page, too, was left to dry. We tossed our supplies on the ground and hustled down the hill to go look out over the river. Swagdapa, so very devil-may-care, called out terrifying witch cackles across the water, testing her own echo. It was through this we discovered we weren’t alone and across the pond were a couple children, who immediately fled and ran into their house up the hill. Oops.
We returned to the scene of our artsiness and my Ever-So-Good-At-Wasting-Art-Supplies friend decided it would be a swell idea to smear the still-wet paint across her face and down her arms, posing dramatically while I snapped away on my camera phone. Immediately after, she decided to transform my entire right arm into a sleeve of burgundy brown.
I do wish I had taken pictures but I was covered in paint.
We ended the day with dinner at the local diner and a car ride up and down the highway blasting 90’s tunes: childhood and nostalgia for me; something new and shiny for her.