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That Time I Got Cursed

Unfortunately for my gut, it wasn't "Thinner."

She was more of a Piper than a Prue in the looks department, and yes I mean that as an insult!

So this is a story I love to tell, although lately I have been a bit more than slightly cautious to whom I share it with because of a date that went terribly; may as well put it on the internet! 

Imagine, if you would, a gorgeous lesbian dating a fairly sexy lady who is a bit frumpy. The frumpy one, who we'll call The Frumpy One to be as degrading as possible, besides being spoiled and rich, was also a self described witch. If you're anything like me, if you hear of an American citizen who is a witch, you think of a weird White girl with few friends and a Wicca obsession or a Black New Orleans voodoo priestess. Just like many racial issues throughout society, I had forgotten all about the goings on of those from south of the border. Before anyone asks, no, I didn't pull off going south of either of their borders *sad face emoji*. 

Witchcraft is huge in Latin America, especially in many rural areas. From stories I was told, this girl's grandparents would use the blood of cats (and God knows what else) in spooky black magic rituals. The Frumpy One herself claimed witch crew too, but claimed to practice only the pure and healing white magics. (Are witches racist because white magic is good and black magic is evil?) However, without making a long story long, I gained the wrath of this woman, The Frumpy One, and am all but certain she got involved with some sort of the cursing of me what have you. By the end of this story, you'll most likely agree. One really hot girl I was on a date with did and walked out to avoid being cursed herself (read that hilarity here)

A few years ago I was laboring away (quite miserably might I add) in the kitchen of a high volume (2 star pretending to be a 4 star) restaurant. The chef who did the schedule got this weird thrill of forcing people to work on their birthdays, and since I needed both money and that job I decided to bite the bullet and not call out of my scheduled shift. The only thing I wanted for my day of birth that year, since it was ruined by work and passion project problems, was to sleep in. A slight respite from existence in the form of a deep, deep slumber, that is all I yearned for. Yet, it wasn't to be, all thanks to a little birdie. 

Literally. A small, cute, gray songbird woke me up at six o'clock in the morning by attacking my face and trying to eat my eyeballs. I jumped out of bed, startled to use an understatement, covering my face and wildly swinging my arms. Had this songbird attacked me while awake, I could have easily taken it (I think), but it had the upper hand catching me off guard the way it did. Yes, that is my way of saying for a good ten seconds, I was losing the fight. My mind was plenty distracted though, as my bedroom door was locked, and all my windows were closed. I grabbed a broom in the corner of the room and began using it as a weapon to create some distance between myself and my fierce aviary foe. Making my way to the window, I hoisted it upwards and immediately battered the screen with the broom until there was an unobstructed opening to the outside world inside of my own personal world. I batted the bird out the window, speedily shut it, and victory was mine! A bittersweet victory, as it was a humiliating fight, but a victory nonetheless. 

I sat down in my chair, lit a cigarette (I hadn't fully quit yet), and began to process the events since my rude awakening. I double checked the door and windows a second time and nothing had been disturbed. There was no possible way this bird could have made its way into my room, and even if it did, cute little gray songbirds don't typically attack people like they are aggressively auditioning for Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds. A million possibilities ran through my mind, like a hole in the wall or maybe the bird got in from the attic, or somehow it came in with me the night before, but none of them made sense or were realistic. The one thing my brain kept coming to was witchcraft, despite that not making sense or being realistic either. As, in the weeks prior, I had upset lesbians quite a bit with sexual advances/urges (being translesbian is hard, and if you don't think so, try needing two women at a time to function sexually), and I couldn't help but to think about how much of this universe is unexplained to us, and how little we as a species know of the spiritual.

I joked to a few people about the situation, and they mostly seemed to enjoy the story as a comedy bit. I kept presenting the tale as humorous, since I was honestly freaked out and jokes always make me feel better; comedy is how I cope. A few weeks later, while walking through a swap meet, I was stopped by a woman, a vendor, who told me she could sense "dark magic" following me around. I stopped to chat with her, half believing myself to be cursed and half just wanting to hear her attempt to shill the odd rocks and trinkets at her table. To my chagrin, there was no shilling to me. She told me to burn some dried sage, or more accurately, a ton of it. I asked her where to buy it, waiting for the "Well, I've got some right here actually..." but it never came. Instead, she listed off about a half dozen shops in town where I could buy the sage and attempt to purify myself and my surroundings. There is absolutely no doubt in my mind that she could sense something dark around me, or that she was friends with one of the few people this was mentioned to at this point and was having a great deal of fun at my expense. My gut tells me it is the further, although that is the far less embarrassing option. 

While the bird never came back to fight again, animals of all cute varieties were taking it on themselves to attack me in any way that they could. Squirrells were throwing acorns at both myself and my automobile everywhere I went, dogs and cats and even this one girl's rabbit all treated me as someone who needed to be bit and scratched, or, in the rabbit's case, ran from my as if my name was Damien and my Dad was the United States Ambassador to The United Kingdom. When the curse was lifted (read how here), animals began treating me with kindness, compassion, and a desire to be fed again. This was, without a shadow of a doubt, one of the more entertaining periods of my life. 

Have you ever been cursed? Or witnessed someone being cursed? Perhaps practiced/seen/experienced some white magic? Shout me a holla @bongstudly on the Twitter and Instagram machines, or go to livestudly.com or studlyblog.com and reach out to me. I genuinely want to hear about other people's experiences with stuff like this, because I legitimately believe I was cursed by a hot lesbian who I keep calling frumpy in a pathetic attempt for revenge despite never having even the slightest belief in magic before this. 
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