Archive for November, 2010

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Life (2)

November 29, 2010

Have you seen The Social Network? You should. It was a pretty darn good movie. There were a couple words that I kept saying to myself, namely what a douchebag/asshole and another freaking orgy. Cause that’s what it was, basically. An endless parade of douchebaggery/assholeisticness with a coupla orgies sprinkled in for, I’m guessing, diversity. (Seeing as Michael Bay wasn’t directing this movie, using random explosions coming from nowhere wasn’t considered appropriate.)

Getting to the Life (2) part, my earbuds busted. Again. They were from Phillips, and the sound wasn’t great, but the actual buds lasted for a pretty long time. Well, longer than any skullcandies I’ve gotten. So, of course, I went to buy some skullcandies.

Where to? Target, duh! As I waited in the three-person line in the Electronics section, the cashier dude was having an amazingly long conversation with the person in front of me. She was 27, as her ID testified. And the cashier dude was probably around 50. He kept complimenting her age (whoa! You’re 27? I thought you were 26!) and just generally hitting on her (wow, you’re a woman! I bet you make a mean sammich), carefully ignoring the fact there was a 6 or 7 year old scowling at him while holding Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2 and Spongebob.

After maybe 10 minutes of uncomfortably listening to the cashier spouting out sexual innuendo, I decided I was getting impatient and kind of disgusted. I cleared my throat. At which point cashier dude glared at me and passed a receipt (probably with his number on it) to customer woman. Customer woman mouthed “thanks” to me as she walked off while dialing a number on her cell, most likely the police to report sexual harassment.

I got my earbuds, and walked away as fast as I could without appearing as if I was walking away as fast as I could without appearing as if I was walking away as fast as I could. If that makes any sense at all, please see a psychiatrist. I plugged them in and was immediately amazed by the amazingness of the booming bass (booming compared to my other earbuds, which tells you how much they sucked).

I was just scrolling around settings on my iPod when I accidentally tapped on Music. I saw EQ, and I had no idea what it meant. So I tapped on it. And I saw a bunch of weird stuff, but Bass Booster caught my eye. Maybe because of the word Booster. Or maybe Bass. Anyways, I tapped on it (I keep trying to type “click” for some reason) and BAM. There was thunder rolling around in my earbuds and my eyes swelled to the size of tomatoes as I got high off of music. At which point, inexplicably, my head exploded.

After I got my head stitched back together, nothing really interesting happened. Until last Friday.

Although probably a more successful stitching.

My brother. He’ a strange ‘un. Even stranger than me. Yes, that’s possible. My brother participated in his school’s musical, Honk! Jr. Or something like that. I really can’t be bothered to remember. Anyways, if I haven’t told you yet, my brother’s voice is not one you really want to hear singing. He’s got the voice of Justin Beiber except it requires more autotuning than humanly (or computerly) possible. “Well, that’s not that bad,” you say. “After all, unless he’s got a major part, which wouldn’t be possible, you wouldn’t even hear his voice over everyone else.” Yeah, well, lucky you. That’s most people. Not so for the people living in this house. ‘Cause it turns out my brother is extremely enthusiastic when it comes to singing, and enjoys practicing 24/7. Yeah, lucky I got those in-ears, eh?

So, last Friday was the musical thing. It was marginally more exciting than watching paint peel, probably helped by the fact that those sneaky producer people put in some very sneaky puns. That involved swearing. Examples? “Don’t be a dumbcluck!” “And don’t fall on your asssssssssssssssk your mother.”

Oh, and did I mention the fact that my brother’s part required makeup? Yeah, he smeared on blush and eye-glitter and hair gel. Normally, I don’t think most guys aren’t too enthusiastic about putting on tons of makeup, but my brother, as I previously mentioned, is a strange ‘un. He was so enthusiastic about putting makeup on that after his second show on Saturday, when we went out to eat, he didn’t wash anything off. In fact, he actually raided my mother’s purse and put on a bunch of lipstick. Yes, you read that right. No, I am not lying. You should’ve seen how fast the waiter’s smile slid off her face when she realized that there was a little kid wearing lipstick and eye-glitter and whatever the hell he was wearing.

Last weekend, there was also a meet. As luck goes, I’ve got it pretty bad, and that was pretty much the one weekend this entire month it rained. I really think the Atheist God has it in for me.

This has nothing to do with anything, but I thought it was FREAKIN AWESOME.

If you swim for DACA, you have a set number of mandatory volunteer hours you have to do at a meet. Once again, if that made any sense to you, please see a psychiatrist. Seriously, if you don’t go, you have to pay. So you’re paying to volunteer, but if you don’t volunteer, you have to pay. Basically, you’re paying to either not pay any more or pay even more. My head hurts and the universe is collapsing. Damn, I hate it when that happens.

BACK ON TOPIC. So I volunteered in the morning. I’ve seen some pretty strange stuff in my life so far (see above for example of guy hitting on gal half his age), and yet I still found the swim meet pretty strange. Morning session is for 10 year old’s and under, by the way. One kid leaped on top of the starting block, bent over in the traditional track start position, and stared at through the gap in between his [two] legs. Yeah. And if that wasn’t weird enough, he smiled at me. Later that morning, there was a group of kids from some swim group named LO (Ladera Oaks) or something standing around waiting for their heats. Instead of telling jokes or smacking each other, they started massaging each other.

Yeah, swimmers are weird.

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Life

November 3, 2010

You: So, how’s life?
Me: Well, it’s not bad.
You: What’s been going on?
Me: Well, since you seem interested in what’s going on, I’ll enlighten you.

On Thursday, my mom was driving me home from swim practice.  She told me I had a doctor’s appointment on Friday.  I guess a doctor’s appointment isn’t that bad, but it’s kind of depressing when you don’t know anything on your own Life Schedule.

On Friday, she informed me that I wasn’t going to the doctor I’d had since… forever.  We were switching doctors.  Why? My old doctor was too expensive, DUH.

So, we got there.  The reception room thing was the size of my room (which is tiny).  I sat down and listened to my iPod for approximately… oh, half an hour, while about fifty people rushed in and out.  And then my brother and I were called in (while my brother screamed for the sugar-free lollipops that only ever come from doctors).

The nurse asked who would go first, and of course, my brother screamed “ME!” in a way that was annoyingly reminiscent of Donkey.  The nurse then took a tiny little paper cup, scrawled a “P” on the bottom, and handed it to me expectantly.  I looked blankly at my mom, and then asked, “Uh, what do I do?” The nurse looked at me strangely as if this was the most retarded question she’d ever heard in all her years working at the hospital, and said, “Pee in it.  Not to the top, of course,” and laughed as if this was the funniest thing she’d ever said in all her years working at the hospital (it probably was).

I went to the bathroom, which was an entire thirty feet away, wondering what would happen if I couldn’t squeeze any bodily juices out, because I don’t exactly drink a lot of water.  I then imagined having a tube stuck into my bladder to suck em out forcefully, and decided I’d better squeeze em out.

After doing my business in a cup, I walked out, holding the cup as far away from my body as possible.  I tried not to spill it, which wouldn’t have been too great, seeing as I was wearing a white shirt that you probably couldn’t get urine out of.  A doctor rushed past me, and took a look at me and my cup.  He wrinkled his nose, and muttered “crack.”  NO YOU DOCTOR COKEHEAD.

When I got back to the room (with some close calls of splashing piss all over the place), the nurse rolled her eyes at me and told me to put the cup down next to the sink.  I did.

I asked her what the pee was for, and she just smiled mysteriously at me.  I took this to mean “You look like a crackhead, so we’re gonna check for drugs in your piss.”

So that’s what I thought, until she scrawled an “A” on the bottom of another cup, and handed it to my brother.  “Same treatment, honey.”  Then she laughed again.  Apparently my brother looks like a crackhead too.  Even though he’s eight.

When he and my mom leaves (because he needs help peeing, apparently), the nurse hands me some headphones.  She said, “Raise your hand when you hear a beep.”  However, they were too small.  I pointed this out to her, so she extended them.  And she handed them to me again.

I put them on, and wondered how I was supposed to raise my hand while using my hands to keep my headphones over my ears, as opposed to over my cheeks.

I finished, and watched as she scribbled some stuff on a piece of paper.  And when she finished scribbling, she stared at me.  Then my brother and mom came back with a cup full of putrid smelling lemonade.  The nurse then led us to another room.  “Strip down to your underwear.  The doctor will be here soon,” she said curtly, probably thinking how telling kids to pee in a cup was an excellent way to spend her life.

Usually, undressing in front of your mother is not considered a desirable activity.  However, this time, it was still undesirable.  I sat 85% naked in a cold chair, shivering, in a cold room, waiting for the doctor to come so I could put on some clothes.  I waited like this for about fifteen minutes.  While my mother read aloud the dangers of having underage sex.  Wow, I can totally transform this into an FML.

When the doctor came in, she was nothing like I expected.  My mom said she was white, but I thought my mom was a little mixed up because her last name was Chinese.  But she was white.  And at most 45.  And yet, she looked extremely tired and bored and older.

She talked with my mom about vaccines and stuff, and called me by my brother’s name.  And then she told my brother to lie down on the bed thing.  She reached into his underwear, and said, “We just have to count to two.”  She laughed.  My mom laughed.  My brother laughed.  I looked towards the door awkwardly.  Then she told me to get up on the bed thing.  She reached into my boxers and said, “Everything’s normal,” while I tried to wish I could spontaneously teleport somewhere else.

Then she said something about flu shots.

We got flu shots.  Then we left.  Yay.