I haven't made a general entry in some time, so I figured I'd give you a doozy today. Much of it should be real, but I'll probably hyperbolate some parts,which you should be able to pick out, and I may add some crazy ninja grannies on uranium powered scooters for good measure. Most of it is trivial, meaningless drivel that you're sure to be uninterested in, and none of it really bothered me all that much anyway, but I thought I'd plop it up here just to make up for lost time. I'm warning you, read at your own peril. This is long, often tedious, and possibly contagious. Proceed at your own risk.
Sometimes there are just days when you wonder why you even bothered getting up. I know this, you know this, that creepy monkey in the mirror behind me knows this. But I got up anyway. I suppose it all started three days ago (cue Wayne's World-esque flashback sequence with sparkly lights and flying goafers)....it was finals time and as usual I decided that all my hard work throughout the semster would pay of by me annihilating my relatively high A's in Accounting and Chemistry by not studying for the finals. The English final was a tad tricky, and my essay veered around like a drunk man trying to swat that annoying pink elephant who won't stop telling him to "Eat At Joe's." The Accounting final rivaled the Band final in easyness and repeating, making it a rather boring experience. And, of course, I enjoyed the Pre-Cal final. I may not be the best at Math, but I do enjoy a good Math test. But the things I do not enjoy are Chemistry finals. You'd think I would have learned from last year, but NNOOOO. I assumed I knew things I didn't (kinda like the Bush admini...er.. nevermind). So once again the blasted test is going to be hanging over me all break. Not literally, because I'd rip it off it's disembodied peg, tear it into pieces, toss it in the fire, take the fire outside, throw it in the trash, take the burning trash can to the Post Office, attach a note to it that reads "Throw this at someone you dislike slightly", mail it to Ralph Nader, yada yada. Needless to say, it wasn't an auspicious start. Well, I guess I said it even if it was needless. Hhmmm. Aaannnyyway...
So I start looking forward to that night where the Combined class was planning on meeting up for food, movies, and lots and lots of surly-teenager action (because there's nothing like a bunch of relatively intelligent people planning on watching a movie based on a highly acclaimed literary work to strike fear into the hearts of the innocent everywhere). So I get to the Olive Garden with a helpful assist from Rachel (I get lost too easily to bother attempting to go anywhere without a local familiar with the terrain as my guide, which, believe you me, is not so easy to find in the middle of Greenland on goat-back, but that's another story). Then we start waiting. And oh how we waited. What was supposed to be a few minutes quickly became twenty. Soon everyone became suspicious of everyone else. We checked to see if our handy can openers were stashed within our pockets, in case things got ugly, and glared at each other. We tried to break the tension by singing Kookabura (which is a wonderful round that should be sung much more often than it is now), but to no avail. The hunger pangs were obvious. Soon, we began to eye the small children and sick elderly people around us as possible prey. Rachel and Sarah attempted to try intimidation on some of the people who had decided to pitch a tent and stay the night, but apparently you aren't allowed to randomly wave a machine gun around and yell "Alright youse punks, get out before I gives ya an incentive!" They're Italian, I thought they'd understand. But no. So we're finally seated, albeit a bit behind schedule. The kind people at Olive Garden decided to try to compensate our wasted time with a free appetizer. I thought it was rather redundant, what with the free bread sticks and salad, but it was free after all... Anyway, I ordered my normal child's pizza which made me a tad embarassed, but is it so wrong to know your limits?...Oh...It is? WHY WON'T YOU PEOPLE TELL ME THESE THINGS?!?! Anyway, we finally leave and make it over to Sara's for some Catch-22. Now, Catch-22 may be the best book I've ever read, so I have high standards. But a blind monkey would be able to understand that it butchered the entire thing. Ironically, it did make me appreciate the novel all the more, but still; what was the point? Ah well, who knows what the point of anything is anymore? So after the movie, I headed home where my father subsequently got mad at me for not calling him even though I said I'd be home at 11. Eh, whatever takes attention away from the blood stains and the burnt, pig-like odor in the trunk.
So that was the first two days. Then yesterday came. It started off innocently enough. I was ripped from my oh so peaceful slumber by the knowledge that I had to go to the dermatologists. It wasn't something nifty like a foot that inverted upon itself, thus letting you walk sideways, or a thumb having a huge mole or something that talked to you and told you to kill everyone. Half of my body hadn't even changed aquarmarine or neon or orange or anything. I was just there for whatever skin blotches the big Artist o' Life decided to toss upon my face. So I get some pills or something and return home where I anxiously await the Divine Pleasure of driving my sister wherever her tiny, shriveled, cold heart desires. So after hours of tense waiting, I drop her off at Martha's, get something to eat, and start to head home. But Lo, what on yonder gas-meter breaks? It is the Empty, and Pilot is the Sun! In other words, I almost risked running out of gas, but cautious devil that I am, I stopped at a nearby pilot and got some in the pouring snow. I was obviously disoriented, what with the cold and the strange gas aparatus (3 types of gas from pump, what?!?), thus as I drove onto the bustling interstate my fuel-cap did not join me. I'd assume it's somewhere along Northshore now where it will begin a magical Christmas adventure that will end with it bursting into flames somewhere in Colorado during the 2078 Olympics. Don't ask.
But this all led up to Martha's big shin-dig of a box social. Now, for all my gloomy, boring ways, I actually don't mind going places and doing things. It's pointlessness that annoys me. So while I don't like Christmas nor do I like large, loud crowds (unless I'm in control of their every whim), it wasn't that bad. Of course it sort of divided into cliches, which I don't really like, but it was expected. I'm normally a drifter when that happens, but last night (due to my contacts which I'll get to in a bit) I just sat in a corner and played games. Once again I prompted us to sing Kookabura, and it worked with some success. It also encouraged me to make some sort of board/spades club of some sort at school that would meet on a regular basis. Then I realized I'm an unmotivated bum who never does anything he doesn't feel obligated for some reason to do, so I largely dropped the idea.
ANYWAY, (stupid Dylan, always getting sidetracked, he does this a lot, like this one time that he was talking and he kep...there I go again). AHEM. As I was saying, ANYWAY when I left was when the real fun began. I walked onto the driveway of Martha's and thought "Wow, this is kind of slick, maybe the roads will be this way too. Nah, you'll be fine; remember snow days? Ice and Snow are your friends!" So I sallied forth into the dark unknown. Oh how my once long-time companion and ally turned traitor! We (meaning Kelly and I, since I was doing my good deed for the day of transporting someone I wasn't family-like obligated to chauffeur) got to Kingston Pike and tackled the driving test of my life! Apparently, ice is rather slippery and cars can lose this thing called "traction." In retrospect, all of my hardships could have been avoided if I'd remember to chant my prayer "Friction Don't Fail Me Now!!", but alas I did not. So I went up the hill and got stopped. Or rather, the car in front of me stopped and I was forced to as well. After some random cursing and quick use of the rocket launcher I keep in my glove department, I was able to advance past that obstacle. Going down the hill, I swerved out of control, hit a passer-by, got arrested, and was executed the next day for not wearing a seat-belt. Ok, so I made it down the hill with only a bit of swerving, but it gets better! I arrive in West Hills with Kelly as my guide (see, I really do need a guide to tell me where to go in the town I've lived in for all 17 of my oh so long years) and we ever so slowly advance through the neighborhood. Now, on the way to the Olive Garden, I made an unfortunate comment about stop signs not applying to Rachel's superb driving skills. Well, I broke more laws last night than I care to think about, and needless to say, acted as if the Red Beacons of my Sure Demise were not there. So I get through West Hills, and Middlebrook is within my sight. Oh Joy! I am almost to safety! What's this?!! Why is that car stopped on this incline?!?! Why isn't it moving?!!?!?!?! Oh.....No.... So I too become trapped on a slight incline. My manual car soon becomes a bane to me once again. The other car moves onto middlebrook while I desperately fight the urge to kill the next pink fairy that tells me driving is a fun experience that everyone should enjoy. So after killing the car, sliding backwards a few times, and taking out my handy-dandy rocket launcher should the need arise, I get onto Middlebrook. Hooray! I'm on Middl-BAM! I hit the curb. But we're ok! I straighten up, aim for Bearden Middl-BAM! Another Curb. Well, this is fun. Middlebrook becomes blocked with cars, a wreck or something, so we pull into the BMS parking lot (strangely my first time there) and I wisely park. My grandfather lives not 15minutes away, so I'm fine. However, Kelly is another story (yes, I didn't kill her. The voices advised it, to get rid of witnesses, but I was still mad at them for suggesting I wear my contacts, so I didn't). So she calls her mother who heads over to pick us up. We gradually grow impatient and form ranks to march to the gas station and demand they treat us like the surly teenagers we clearly are (I mean really, how is a thin, pasty faced white kid who looks rather dazed and confused NOT the scariest thing you've ever seen?). We get to one gas station. Then two. By this time, the body count on my hands has just grown too high. I mean, even I have a random homicidal limit (we'd been brutally slaying every passer by we saw with frozen fish I just happened to have over from my underwater treasure hunt, but that's another story). So anyway, I decide to give up, so we head to my grandfather's home. On the way there we witnessed a peculiar sight. An SUV was stuck in the ditch on the side of the road at a 45 degree angle(at least). There appeared to be minimal damage, but you just don't see that sort of thing every day. Nevertheless, we ignore the bodies strewn throughout the countryside and all thier pleas for help or at least an end to their misery and arrive at my grandfathers. Somewhere on this crazy ride, Kelly's mother does not end up going home, so Kelly stays at my grandfathers as well. I sleep on the couch, which was surprisingly comfortable, despite the man who kept hovering outside my window with a green gleam in his eyes and a silent but deadly icepick clutched in his bitter, cybertronic fingers.
The next morning I awake to an angry mob who demands my head. I don't know where they keep finding my address. So I do the whole "Oh no, please forgive me" routine as I send the signal for the Rapid Wombats to be airdropped on top of them. And I had to help some men working on the airducts with a powercord. I then prepared to put in my contacts (which I thought I'd placed in a ziploc baggy overnight) when I realized I had, once again, lost my right, expensive, stigmatismastic contact. Somehow, somewhere, somewhen, it was gone. So after a failed attempt or forty and me almost losing the other as well, I give up and go without them. Thus, I have no corrective eyewear, but what do I care, I've got nothing to lose (Only high insurance payments to gain!). Somehow, I get Kelly home (despite the ice, snow, polar bears with lazer vision, and Eskimos with personal vendettas (Don't EVER ask if it's "Cold in here, or is it just your HEART!?")). I wait for the rest of the blasted stuff to thaw and then gratefully head home. That's when the crazy ninja grannies on uranium powered scooters arrived. I raced down middlebrook, but they were too crafty. They were gaining, I had little time, then it hit me. Shoneys. So I drive past the Shoney's on Western Avenue and they flock to it like flies to...um...dead stuff. Then I decide to go for lunch. What did I get? It had to be a Frosty.
And that's basically where I am now. I've spent an hour and 15minutes already writing this, even though it's really covered nothing of that much interest. Less is written about wars, violence, congress, carebears, why Huggies is the right diaper for you, etc. I didn't even write my rant about how contacts make me get anxious, annoyed, confused, dazed, and crazy. That'll have to come some other time. But for now, I leave you with this "Book" of my past few days. Some of you may have thought it couldn't be done. But I wrote the longest ramble this site has seen and may ever see again! So with that, I bid you Farewell. If you read through the whole thing then you must really have had some time on your hands. I'm so....proud. Until next time.
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