In the name of love
This guy was telling me of a hot date he once had with some girl: They were driving in his car and came to a stop at the light. In which case, the girl quickly took the oportunity to lean over and kiss him. He said that the kiss was only on the cheek, (close to the corner of his mouth), but he
immediately contracted an acute case of the "junior-high" jitters.
Of course it's a given that it's only a matter of time before you do something
completely retarted, when you get the "junior-high" jitters.
Sure enough, he went on further to say, that subsequently following the blissful kiss his foot slipped off the break and rammed right into the police car infront of him.
I thought to myself, "What an idiot!!?" But I don't know...maybe, deep down inside, I kinda want to do something so
completely idiotic, (and I've had my share of idiotic moments), that people just
know it was due to an acute case of "junior-high" jitters.
Well, it just so happens that something of this sort
did happened to me, while spending thanksgiving with a friend in Houston. On Thanksgiving day (actually, it was already night), we ventured off to Walmart to buy some groceries for a salmon-type meal, because we didn't want the traditional turkey dinner. Promptly leaving the store, for no apparent reason at all, I made eye-contact with what I thought was by far the most angelic face I've ever seen. He had long dirty-blonde locks (I'm a firm believer that if you're a guy with curly hair, you should keep it long), big walnut-eyes, and a rugged type look overall. We must have had an eye-contact lock, or whatever you call it, for at least a solid 20 seconds...for no apparent reason at all.
I'm telling you, it was just like the movies. I'm talking about head-on, absolutely vulnerable, and totally distracted eye-contact. The next thing I knew, I'm seeing bright lights everywhere and background-muffled noises, that were actually screams, telling me to get off the road. I woke up from my "junior-high" daze and looked to my left only to be greeted by a screeching SUV. (I'm sure it looked a lot worse than it actually was, because honestly, how fast could he have been going? It was the Walmart parking-lot for crying out loud!). Apparently, I wasn't paying attention to where I was going, and just decided to cross the road with out hesitation or precaution.
Oh, but It was great. To be
made a total idiot in that name of what possibly might be love at first sight (If that were only true!), was great. Anyways, that was my drama for the holidays: An angelic face I'll never forget (apart from the gurly-wails in the background).
**Oops, I did it again**
I'll give you three hints (I'm reknown for this one):
1) It always happens
right before you're going to step on carpet.
2) Characterized by a putrid smell.
3) And to this day, I still haven't met anyone who does this more than me.
It's called, "The Why does it smell like crap
everywhere I go?--Hmmm, allow me to check my shoe really quick--Holy crap, I stepped in a
doodoo again!" Club.
Anyways, I was in the restroom, doing what
every normal person does in a restroom, when I was rudely interrupted, from my rather santified tradition, by apocalyptic-raucous-defeaning knocks on the door by "no other than" Cam J.
"It must be Rebecca, then it must be Rebecca, " said Cam J, in a muffled sound. I hadn't opened the door yet, cuz I was
still all up in my business (don't "tmi" me, cuz I trying to make you comprehend the gravitiy of the situation).
I opened the door with a rather livid-cindarella's- step-mother-diabolical-type visage..."WHAT must be me?"
"Someone brought crap into the house, so just check your shoe...[blah, blah, blah]" Eric said.
And there it was, right on my poor little Walmart sandal. The dang little abominable ball of dog crap from hell, somehow made it to the sole of my shoe and into the blessed white carpet of a neighbor.
AGAIN.
The obstrusive stench had already fumigated every inch and corner of Tamara's brand new apartment, and in the peripheral part of my vision I could see Tamara
showering, literally showering, Lysol mist everywhere. The spray
might have been Oust or some variation of the sort, but the point
is that
now the friggin' apartment was gorged with a conglomeration of pestilential-toxical
bration of amoniacal-lethali
zation of abhorrent-causticali
mation of
CACA and
CLOROX.
We dug out the crevices of my sandal with mini wire-closings (the ones you tie around loaves of bread), and dumped the washings by the porch of Tamara's door (because is was like midnight, and she lived on the third floor; hence, I was too lazy to go down three flights and back in the name of caca).
The end.
P.S. Thanksgiving went on fine. Oddly enough, turkey auroma seams to dominate everything else.
My 1st Suicide Attempt was at IHOP
I know what you're thinking. It's just not logical. There's no sufficient explanation. If you know me you would say, "What the flip, Becca? Why? You have such a good thing going for you?"
But guys, in all honesty, life really isn't all it's made out to be. Everything in life, thus far in college anyway, is distressing, and yet mild simultaneously. No umph. I have all this crap going on that by normal standards
should make me feel alive; yet, I'm still waiting for life to friggin' begin. Boo. So, I had to do, what I had to do.
I won't go into all the goringly-appalling-obescenererous-macabrelitic details...so, let's just say that there were a lot of condiments (if you know what I mean), and leave it at that.
My poor little breakfast club always comes with me to study (Cris, Van, and Camila), so I won't feel so overwhelmed by myself. But that night,
especially, I was feeling the weight of life. We ordered. The food was served. And the whole time we were eating...
it was on my mind. I knew
it was coming.
It had to be done.
As I started to gather the tools I would use for my suicide:
Camila looked at me with those big puppy-eyes of hers, not understanding, confused.
Cris not knowing whether to be concerned or to just watch attentively to see if I would have a change in judgement.
Van with a tilted head, watching in disbelief of what
might be happening.
I began to pour whatever I could find. I had all the orange juice, blueberry syrup, and diet coke any sane person could handle in a glass...(so to speak).
And I chugged. I chugged till I could chug no more. I chugged until it could possibly be considered a sin. It was only three ounces of the suicidal poison, but I could feel it all through my veins.
"Hand me coffee, ranch dressing, ketchup, and let's make this a real suicide!" Three ounces turned into four, and four ounces turned into five, and five ounces turned into, well, you get the picture.
When I finished the drink, I was revitalized, surprisingly, and utter euphoria filled my soul...followed by indegestion, flatulence (of course), nausea, delerium, and finally a spit ball fight with my gurly gurls.
What a
night. What a
spit-ball fight. What a
suicide.
Becca's Famous Quotes:
1) "...that's too cute!"
2) "...uughhh, this guy!"
3) "...brush your teeth, man."
4) "...okay, okay, but I'm just saying, I'm just letting you know how it is."
5) "I sware!"
6) "Boo."
7) "Why keep it good thing all to yourself?"
8) "Yeah, I know...I was just testing you [wink wink]."
9) "Holy Crap!"
10) "I am going to commit murder!"
11) "Hey, gurly gurl."
12) "It's kinda like going to the restroom and there's no toilet paper, you know?"
13) "Caca."
14) "Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah. Yeah Yeah. Yeah."
15) "No."
16) "I can't talk. I can't talk. I have no more minutes."
17) "Hey, At least I know I'm Free!"
Top 10 Reasons why EVERYONE should go to a Nascar Event
10. If you have never seen a "true" Hick.
09. If you have never seen a man with his titis pierced (I had the privelage of witnessing enumerous pierced nipples).
08. If you want to get cancer from all the second-hand smoking, that actually might qualify as first-hand smoking.
07. Because you can waltz in an hour late, and not have missed anything exciting.
06. Because you can bring your own cooler filled with beer, for the first time, into a stadium.
05. For the best concession
-stand Nachos ever known to man!
04. If you want to start your own successful ear-
plug business.
03. If you have never been to a flea-market (because there's a white-version of one set up, ghettoishly, all around the track).
02. If you want to kiss your hearing goodbye!
01. Because you can breakwind as many times as you want, without anybody noticing, because the racecars drown any such form of sound out.
Top 10 List of what you should do when your football team is BIG-TIME losing.
10. Cheer for the other team.
09. Memorize the Cheerleading routines.
08. Call everyone on your contact list that you haven't talked to in months (cuz you randomly take down people's numbers to be nice at the time).
07. And then, update it, after figuring out the losers you added that don't exist anymore.
06. Take a "restroom" break.
05. Play "I spy" with your friends.
04. Organize your purse (if you're a girl). Count the money in your wallet (if you're a guy).
03. Start memorizing the oponent's team-fight song, so that you can sing along every time they score a touchdown.
02. Debate with your friends
why our team sucks, and how our offense sucks, and how our quaterback sucks...and then ask God and your friends for forgiveness, for taking the convo so personal and for making personal attacks, because you lost self control and you might have exchanged some curse words.
01. Wage shadow-puppet war on peoples' backs, that sit infront of you. (I dedicate this
especially to Camila Jatoba, whom waged shadow-puppet war with me, among other types of NC17-type shadow-puppets on peoples' backs.) ;)
Holy Crap! Is that Dog Piss?
If something outrageous, ironic, devastating, life threatening, absurd, or embarrassing can happen to me...it will. I am constantly subject to God's wondrous humor. He just loves to mess me, in a playful manner though. I think it's because He knows I won't take it personal, and prolly
blog about it later (which is what I am doing right now). I mean, God has to pick on somebody, right? Might as well be a care-free soul like myself.
I had just gotten out of the Moody Library from homework and researching, (but mostly bloggin'), when my gurly friends called me on my c.p. to come over and get ready.
"Get ready?" you ask? I was just getting to that...
None of us really drink, or celebrate Halloween, so we dance instead to make up for it. We don't hoochy-ghetto-'slut'imaxified-hardcore-humperate-vulgaramously dance or anything, but we do our best. Now, whether it comes out right or
not, is another story.
So, at any rate, back to the "getting ready" thing, my gurly friends have been very successful in converting me to the whole "getting ready" experience (which involves dressing up, putting on make-up, curling/straightening hair, picking out shoes, etc.).
Being as how we were leaving in an hour, (and if you have ever gotten "ready" like a girl, you know it usually takes more than an hour), I had to hall butt on my bike as quick as I could to University Terrace Apartments, where they live.
I got off my bike, and approaching the apartment grounds I saw one of Camila's friendly neighbors outside with his dog (a manchester-terrier looking creature, too cute!). I asked him if I could park my ride on his pole, and he was like, "fo sho." So I did exactly that.
Walking up the staircase, I had no idea that his dog was following behind. Almost reaching the door to knock, I felt the brush of the terrier's hair on my legs.
I was so tickled that the little doggy followed me up the stairs. I started to pet him, "goochy, goochy, goo, oh you lil' sweet bundle of manchester terriness!" while messaging the pate between his bended ears.
Now, I can't quite remember what happened after that. It all happened so fast. All I remember is looking down at my feet, because I felt something unusually warm. A little puddle of mellow-yellow surpirse was surrounding my toes...and I know I didn't just spill Mountain Dew. I just thought to myself, "Out of all the days that I chose to wear sandals. Idoit."
"Um, sorry 'bout that," the neighbor said, "he doesn't see girls too often." Oh, GROSSE-GRODY-GROSSENESS! And what a sorry excuse. That little stinker pissst all over mi toes! boo.
