So, I bet some of you are wondering why I call myself “CatZilla.” Well, to being with, I’m 6’0 tall flat footed. Now that alone wouldn’t be enough to liken myself to one of the greatest monsters of all time. No, no. I also happen to destroy things on a daily basis. Hence the “Zilla.” You see, when you grow as fast as I did, you have no understanding of exactly how long your limbs are. This causes me to trip over my own feet and run into walls on a regular basis. Therefore, anything in my way usually gets demolished.
“Roo Nooo, CATZIRRAAAA!!”
The summer between 6th and 7th grade I grew 3 inches. If you have any idea what it feels like to grow that fast then you understand. If not, let me just say that it is not only awkward but it is actually painful. I know a lot of people say that growing pains don’t exist, but believe me, they do. Also, I have lovely stretch marks that travel vertically up the outside of both my knees. Not so jealous of my height now are you?!
So with my newly added height, I was 5’11 at age 12. 7th grade was painfully important to me, as I’m sure it was to you. In The HEB 6th grade was the last year of Elementary School and 7th was the first year of Junior High. Ohhhh shit! And look who shows up in jeans that are 5 inches too short!! YAY ME!!
I made the basketball team that year but unfortunately they didn’t really make me try out, due to my height. If I had tried out they would have realized that I am less coordinated than a baby giraffe on PCP. I had a hard enough time walking without tripping myself, let alone dribbling a ball without punching myself in the face. People couldn’t understand why I wasn’t good. “But you’re so TALL!” Like being tall is magical and it automatically makes me good at hand eye-coordination and standing. Yeah, right.
|Africa is scary...on PCP.|
I had a major crush on a guy named Chris Robertson. At roughly 5’9, he was the tallest boy in the 7th grade, so I figured my chances couldn’t be too bad. After all, I was only 2 inches taller than him, right? I did not, however, to take into consideration the fact that he was one of the most popular boys in school and I was a pasty, geek who couldn’t walk into the cafeteria without tripping over my own feet or knocking over lunch tables.
So in the usual 7th grade fashion, I asked my best friend, Jackie to ask his best friend, Tyler to ask Chris if he would go to the Valentine’s Day dance with me. The answer came back a few days later. “He said ‘Hell NO!’ and he wanted me to emphasize the ‘HELL’.”
What. An. Ass. 12 year olds can be total douche bags. So Jackie and I went to the Valentine’s Day dance together because she couldn’t get a date either, and so began the rumor that Jackie and I were lesbians.
This rumor followed us all through high school and was crowned when we made each other Homecoming Mums senior year. (If you don’t live in The Great State of Texas and are unaware of how important Homecoming Mums are to us, go here. It’s a big fucking deal!)
Now I’m not saying there is anything wrong with being a lesbian. I’m just not one. I think my height confuses people. And by people I mean other lesbians who want to hit on me in public then don’t believe me when I tell them I’m not gay and proceed to ask me out. Stop that. It’s creepy.
|Lesbians love me.|
Being Tall Cons:
Being asked if I play basketball numerous times daily.
Being asked if I play volleyball numerous times day.
Being asked, “How tall are you?” numerous times daily.
Being told, “Wow! You’re tall!!” numerous times daily.
Hard to buy jeans/pants/dresses/coats/long sleeved shirts/all clothes in general.
Not being able to wear the super-cute, super-tall high heels.
Hitting your head on things.
Being asked out by lesbians.
Unable to dance without looking like a drunken moose.
Being Tall Pros:
Being able to reach things on high shelves.
Being able to play keep away from people by simply holding the object up in the air.
Having other people tie my shoe because they’re closer.
Ability to know when it’s raining first.
Never get claustrophobic in large crowds. I see over them.
Can always see the band.
The ability to hide that extra 30 lbs. Sort of.
Being somewhat intimidating in confrontations.
Being in love with Big Dinosaur.
Good things to say to a “vertically enhanced” person you just met:
“Wow, I love your legs!”
“Nice weather today, isn’t it?”
“Have a nice day.”
BAD things to say to a tall person you don’t know:
“Oh my God! You’re so tall!!”
“Do you play basketball?”
“How tall are you?”
“Do you play volleyball?”
“That’s a tall drink of water!”
“Girl, you got more legs than a bucket of chicken!!” – P.S. Mullet man at Poncho’s- A bucket of chicken only comes with 2 legs…
“Wooo baby! You’re legs go all the way up to your ass!!” – P. S. Man at the bar- Everyone’s legs go all the way up to their ass. Everyone.
“Damn girl, I’d like to climb that tree!” – P.S. Man trying to sell car care products at the gas station- Um, no. Just no.
“Man! You’re tall. I wish I was Puerto Rican!”- P.S. Homeless man outside my work- I am not now, nor have I ever been Puerto Rican. I don’t even have a decent tan. Furthermore, I was not aware that Puerto Ricans were known for their excessive height. I am pretty sure it is quite the opposite actually.
So all and all I have accepted my height, my clumsiness, and my limp noodle dancing style and for the most part people around me have accepted it too. Just remember, the next time you see a tall person, don’t tell them about their height. I assure you, they already know.