His Name Is Vinny

The guy

on the bike

with the cigarette

and the x-rated dvds.

His name is Vinny.

And he's gotten

a horn

for

his bike.

Which is

upgraded to those

swanky, electric bikes.

Rosalie says...

That my glasses




are jank.

I agree, Rose.

This Is How I feel

Sandpaper.

Anbesol.

Hammer.

Laughing gas.

Degradation.

The degrading process

is happening

now.

As you backspace into the page before.

The 70 Year Old With The X-Rated DVDs On A Bike, Smoking A Cigarette

I just walked down the sidewalk to the library to see an aged guy--

on a bike--

trying to sell x-rated dvds to a couple of teenagers.

He then proceeded to smoke a cigarette and to chat with them.

Made

my

day.

Something Meaningful, Estelle, & Vicodin

Today, an older lady came in to my mother's pizza store and asked for a small pepperoni pizza. She saw my infant sister, "Noelle", and we talked a little bit.

"Oh, she's cunnin'. What a sweet girl!" I liked her a lot, this lady.

Not long after that, she was telling us about her family.

She had 9 other siblings. Two of which became nuns, and one brother had gone off to Brazil. She was the youngest and the difference between her and her oldest sibling was 22 years. On the other hand, the difference between me and my youngest sister was 15 years. I told her that. I told her that and she said that her favorite sibling was the oldest. Out of 9 others, her favorite was the oldest. She said it was because she had been like a second mother to her. Her mom was 44 when she had her, my mom was 37 for the second time.

"My mom beat you," She said to my mother.

And my mom started talking about how she thought she was too old.

She wasn't though. It's a good thing you have more than one kids. The lady's nephew was 84 years old. His wife was legally blind and her nephew was diagnosed with cancer and about to die. They had one kid. One boy. He called her up crying and told her he hated their parents for only having one kid--his dad was about to die, and he had to suffer alone. He had no sibling to confide in throughout all his life. And now his dad was about to die and he had to go through it alone.

"You should always have more than one child. The worst thing you could do the a kid is leave him or her alone." I understood. My mom understood.

And she also says she's not embarrassed to come from a family of 10 kids. Her parents were proud to at least send two off to college. Her and her sister. Before she left, she told me her name was Estelle.

Estelle used to be a spanish teacher and a french teacher. Two of her sisters are nuns, one's in brazil, and she sees her oldest sister as a second mother. She has nine other siblings and she's not embarrassed because she has someone to confide in.

More than one someones.

-------------------------------

Sorry this one is boring. On the other hand, root canal was good.

I.V

Pretty colors.

Sleepy time.

Here's some hydrocodone.

Apparently, I gave the nurses all hugs before I left and asked if I could keep my x-rays. I was told to eat lots of ice cream. I didn't really remember.

I'm good.

But i feel like a baby blowfish on drugs.

In Two Days

I am going to be hooked up to an

intraveneous

while Dr.Chen sticks

weird instruments

in my mouth.

I cannot wait.

I Hate Holidays/Move The Furniture Day

Why?

Every four to six months, my mother has her annual "Move The Furniture Around Because This Setup is Getting Boring" day. If the four to sixth month falls even two weeks before a holiday, we (as in not my mother because she says she's still recovering from the child she birthed in January) have to move the furniture not only during the designated month, but the day before the holiday. This weekend, we (as in also not my father as he is wimpy/not present at the time) took a while longer to move the furniture as my mother kept deciding that every time we moved a certain piece of furniture into a spot, we had to move another piece of furniture because we've already used that combination. When we (as in not my mother or my father because they like torturing us, are very impressionable, and were born around the time where forced child labor was very popular) finally finished up, my mother left us and told me I had to clean my room the next day. We didn't even eat until supper time where my mom treated us with some nice loafs of moldy bread from the 1960s.

Cleaning My Room...

Took four hours. Which did not include my Grey's Anatomy breaks where I had myself some moldy cheese and water. I found the large traffic cone I stole last summer, the pesticide sign I took off my neighbors lawn, and a packet of opium incense.

25 Reason As To Why I Absolutley Loathe Holidays...

I hate family time.

I hate when family tells me how much they enjoy family time.

I hate when I have to pretend that I also enjoy family time.

I hate talking to my mother's friends.

I hate eating food with people because they talk loud and I can barley taste my food.

I like dressing pretty

But I hate when people tell me I look pretty and should wear dresses more often because my ripped jeans and solid colored t-shirts make me look mundane.

I hate family time.

I hate when people talk to me about my food as I am eating my food.

I hate when people cheerfully proclaim "Oh, that looks good!" and "My mouth waters just looking at it!"

I hate it when my mother tells me to look happy when I am not happy.

I hate family time.

I hate it when people tell me that I look bored, miserable, and grumpy when I obviously am.

I hate it when I have to go to the bathroom and feel absolutley awkward so I don't end up going.

I hate how awkward the spelling of "awkward" is.

I hate having to tell people I don't want to eat their food because I am a vegetarian.

I hate when people look at me as if the fact that I am a vegetarian is like a world revelation or something.

I hate when people repeatedly ask me why I am a vegetarian and don't understand that when I say "Just because I am" it really means: "Leave me alone so I can eat my goddamn lasagna".

I hate when little kids come up to me and talk about the Easter bunny.

I hate when I can't tell a kid that the easter bunny, Santa Clause, and the Tooth Fairy are just something parents made up so they don't have to explain to their children what the black market and stealing is.

I like eating.

I hate when someone asks me if i'm going to finish something.

I hate when someone asks me if i'm going to finish something before I've even started eating my food.

I hate those stupid commercials that come on telling you it's 1/2 off for a turkey.

I hate those stupid commercials that come on even after the holiday is over.

I hate the way turkeys look because it is weird.

I like when people think I'm smiling because i am actually happy and not because i'm imagining what Kim Jong-Il would look like with a Hitler mustache, blonde streaks, and a "Beatles" t-shirt.

I hate how pointless holidays are.

I especially hate Easter because it is even more pointless than any other holiday.

I hate family time and I absolutley

loathe

holidays.

I Am Not A Stoner

I'm just glad that the oversized sixth grader who repetedly kept calling me a stoner

was

stoned at the time.

Another Filling...

Reading a book.

Being called in.

Looking

up

at the

parachutes and

planes.

Looking up at Pulski's toothy smile.

Lights.

Planes.

Parachutes.

Walls.

Pitter patter of the rain.

Parachutes.

Pitter.

Planes.

Patter.

Novocaine.

Novocaine.

Novocaine.

I hate it.

I hate

novocaine.

I'm fine with needles.

I

just

hate

novocaine.

And I

also hate

how

everytime I'm in to have some weird procedure done to me

the wizard show is on.

I hate

this freaking

wizard show.

My History Teacher Is A Gamer...

And it's so cool

because sometimes--

I don't even know

what

the fuck

he is talking about.

Sometimes.

Dr.Pulski

The walls are baby blue and the light from the light fixtures is shining through pictures of clouds. One of the fixtures has a cartoon of U.S Airforce planes--that one's right above me. The other one has pictures of the bottom of parachutes, so it seems like the parachutes are falling down above your head.

The television is turned to Disney Channel. It's the show about the wizards.

"Open big," Says Dr.Pulski.

Poke.

Poke.

Poke.

Novocaine.

"Just stay there for a second." Alright, Doc--I'll try not to get up and go for a jog, or something. I look at the framed child drawings on the wall.

The doctor's assistant comes by and looks at the digital clock.

My cheek starts to numb, but I'm not feeling that weird, shaky, distant feeling I usually feel with novocaine.

I look at the digital clock.

15:32

"Zulu time," I say.

"No honey, it's Army time."

I nod. Nothing to say.

"I can't fix it." She picks it up. Presses numerous buttons.

"Look at that!" She fixed it.

Look at that.

The Pulski returns.

"Lean back."

I lean back.

"Do you need my glasses?"

She says something along the lines of..."Givvy here, darlin'." I open mouth and she puts a metal thing on my tooth and attaches it to a strange rubber thing (that matches their walls) on my mouth.

"This won't take long. Now tell me if anything hurts." I stare at him.

Why do dentists do that?

After I get my filling, I go get ice cream.

On my way out, I notice that the assistant has not "fixed" the clock.
She has only, in fact, changed it to 04:53 AM.

Oral Surgery

So on Thursday I skipped school to go see my oral surgeon (yes, I know--I’m so badass. I do this whenever I get bored of school).It was a lengthy drive so I slept until 9:30 and then went to take a shower.

Face.

Jeans.

Shirt.

Socks.

Shoes.

Hat.

Car.

Me and my mum drove around a bit. She helped my dad out at our restaurant and then went to visit her friend--"Uncle Sam" (I call him this for various reasons). Uncle Sam bought me some coffee, which my mother was not very happy about. We got in the car and drove to the directions of my mum's GPS, Lucy.

Turn left on Salmon Drive.
*Turns left*

Turn right on Milford Street.
*Turns right*

Route recalculation.

Route Recalculation.

Recalculating.

Recalculating.

Route recalculation.

*face palm*

Eventually, we got there (Lucy always gets us there). When we got inside, we were greeted by an odd smell and a TV with one of the old Martha Coakley commercials where all she talks about is how much of a douche bag Scott Brown is. I went into the little office in the corner and was given a clipboard with a bunch of questions. I asked the lady there if she wanted me or my mum to sign it since I am not of legal age (obvious answer, but I was just wondering). All I had to do was to answer the questions.

Name.

Age.

Town.

Number.

Dentist's name.

Same old questionnaire.

Half of it, though, were questions pertaining to the illegal usage of drugs, but worded differently every time.


Do you use drugs for recreational purpose? How often?

Do you use drugs that are not prescribed to you? How often?

When was the last time you have used an "over the counter drug" when it was not needed?

Have you ever used tetrahydracannibinal, methylenedioxymethamphetamine, or diacetylmorphine?

Have you ever been treated for a drug addiction? Where?

Are you addicted to drugs?

Um, I’m sorry--can you repeat that?

When it was finally time to go in for my consultation, a nice, middle aged, auburn headed female took me by the hand to get an x-ray.

"Alright, take your sweatshirt off. When I’m done showing you how it works, you can take your glasses off as well." I had to stand up during the x-ray. It was quite high tech, and whilst having radiations go through my skull, I couldn't help but smile.

[I wonder what they do with the x-rays. Next time I’m going to ask if I could keep mine.]

After that, me, my mother, and my infant sibling were escorted to a little room with the basic dentist chair and PhDs on the wall. A bunch of degrees were from sometime during the industrial revolution.

The auburn headed lady gave me and my little sister a kiss, and gave me a cheek pinching (I liked her). She went on her way.

Soon enough, "Dr.Chen" (oral surgeon) entered the room. He didn't have much of an accent, but he mumbled a lot. And from what I could see, he wasn't around during the invention of the sewing machine.

After looking at my x-ray, he asked me a couple questions.

"Would you like general anesthesia, or an intravenous?" I already knew what I.V and anesthesia were but I asked him if he could explain it, just so I could have more time to think. After the fifth time of him explaining it to me, I finally decided on I.V. (I.V=knocked out. General anesthesia=awake, semi-aware, and no feeling except tugging and such)

I was a little shaky for some reason, but I didn't know why. They were just doing a root canal. I'm not bad with pain (not saying I want to be awake when this happens). Maybe it's because the word surgery was thrown around a couple times. Maybe because I chose the drug with more complications (I’m healthy).

I don't know. Just a little scared, that's all. Just don't tell my mother.

At that, we were given an appointment date and time and a disjointed goodbye from Dr.Chen.

Dear Customer...

This section is a little bit like one of Tom Reynold's post called "Dear Alcoholoic". My parents bought a pizza store a couple years ago and I usually take calls, since all I can cook is pizza and fries and such. Some of the customers there are very interesting.


Dear Customer,
If you would like to call in for a delivery, that's okay, but can you make sure you haven't consumed large quantities of alcoholic drinks preceding this call? I can't understand a word you're slurring. Also, if you decide to come in inebriated, call in before and tell me so I can hide.


Dear Customer,
If you're having a party, can you please figure out what you are going to order before you call as I am not very fond of loud noises in my ear. I am also not very fond of hearing obscenities yelled through the phone from your drunk guests.


Dear Customer,
If I know you, and you know me, and you call in for a delivery--don't bother asking me if I will give you free food. I will not.
If you know me, and decide to give me a hard time, then i'll just start singing badly.

Dear Customer,
If you start singing badly then i'll just hand the phone over to my mother.


Dear Customer,
Could you please not yell at me because it's taking a little longer to take your order. You are not the only customer there, but I promise i'll try to go as fast as I can.


Dear Customer,
Can you please refrain from yelling at me in different languages. I may not understand what you're saying, but I get the gist. Also, don't yell at me if i'm the one making your food.

Dear Customer,
Thank you for putting your paper plates back on the counter. I'm sure my mother will have an exciting time washing it.

Dear Customer,
Thanks for making nice pictures on the table with the ketchup bottle. I really appreciate seeing your amazing art in here all the time.

Especcially those nicely drawn reproductive parts.

Dear Customer,
Please do not enter the restaurant telling me you are a poor, impoverished soul. I will throw you a loaf of stale bread. Yes I know, "Jeez! Douche baggy."

[Didn't spellcheck. Will update.]

Lunchline Chronicles

In the lunch line.

On Friday.

Minding my own business.

Staring at the inspirational poster plastered wall.

Oh no! Here comes a flying pizza!

Splat! Right on the shoe of the biggest guy in school.

Silence.

Big guy is livid.

He stares at the wall angrily.

Then looks at puny pizza-flinger.

Pizza-flinger cringes.

Big Guy kicks the pizza, which lands somewhere in Korea.

Pizza-flinger runs, mumbling an incoherent apology.

Big guy looks down at me.

"I just bought these shoes."

Blog

New blog.

We'll see how it goes.

I don't like this font.