Archive for February, 2011

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Spiders freak me out

February 7, 2011

Seriously.  I was gonna go to sleep, and in the middle of the hallway was a huge freaking spider.  It was 3 inches (FREAKING HUGE TO ME, BIGGEST I’VE EVER SEEN, DON’T JUDGE, K?) and was just sitting there.  Because I really, really didn’t want a kiss of Death from this motherly (or any) spider (seriously, it has fangs.  I don’t want anything with fangs to kiss me), I decided to kill it.

I'm crying from terror while posting this.

So I went outside to get a broom because I wasn’t gonna go near that spider without a 4-foot pole/broom (WHAT IF IT WAS ONE OF THOSE FREAKY JUMPING SPIDERS?!) and come back.  It’s still there.  In the exact same spot.  I whack it with my broom, and it falls apart.  Literally.  Its body split into two, with legs sticking out.

Whimpering with terror, I took my broom and whacked it again, hoping it wasn’t one of those abominations that let loose Spider Hell on Earth when opened.  Thankfully, it wasn’t.  But its legs started falling off.  Which was gross.  So I swept it outside.

Anyways, like all the times I don’t post for a ridiculously long amount of time, I’ll give you a potpourri of my extremely exciting (and amusing!) life.

Last last weekend: A swim meet.
Actually, never mind.  You’re probably tired of hearing about my swim meets.  So let’s move on to something way more awesome.

SCHOOL SEASON FREAKING STARTED

Which is exciting because this is the first year I’m practicing on the team (albeit only the second year…) with Christian-san.  Our coach.  Who has a few distinctive characteristics and… uh… whatchamacallems.  Oddities? Habits? Anyways, Christian’s voice cracks more than mine (except when I’m imitating Shreyas’ mating call/battle cry, of course), which is odd because he’s what, 30? All I know about his age is that he’s older than me.  Which can be probably observed while looking at his beard that’s manliness is indescribable.  At least until his voice cracks.  At which point it all cancels out.

There is nothing that will ever cancel out this man's manliness.

Also, he always has a habit of telling exactly how many more push-ups he could’ve done in college than you.  And then demonstrates his Chuck Norris-ness (from now on, that’ll be my official scale of manliness) by asking you to do fifty push-ups with just your thumbs and giving no hints on how this is possible without breaking your thumbs (yeah, I did three when he told me to).

Apparently, when he’s vexed, he says in his signature cracking voice, “Girls, girls.”  As I have not personally observed this phenomenon actually happening, I cannot describe it.  No confirmation on whether or not says this to guys as well or whether he follows up with his “When I was in college…”

"...we got whacked by these if we didn't do our planks right."

However, as of this moment, our coach is recovering from a surgery, and I wish him all the best, even though his sets make us feel as if we should just break all of our bones for the purpose of never having to swim again.

Happy Chinese New Year!

Happy Chinese New Year, may you gain much money from your parents this year, and may the Atheist God grant you a bountiful harvest of A’s and A+’s this year!

Last weekend (basically, three days ago), my mom returned from my brother’s swim meet (he swims with Peak, ew), yelled at me, yelled at my brother, and yelled at my dad for sleeping.  She promptly yelled at me again to put on some different pants because those looked terrible, and would you kindly get in the freaking car.

Of course, I did so, not knowing what the hell what was going on.  She then drove to the nearest Chinese Bakery place, glared at me, and exited the car.  She came back with a large cake box (with a cake inside?! MAYBE, STAY TUNED – ER, READING – TO FIND OUT!) and tossed it into my lap, and yelled at me again.  She then drove like a drunken maniac (OK, not drunken, but definitely like a maniac) to someplace strange.  She yelled at me to keep an eye out for such-and-such an address.

When I saw said address, and told her so, she slammed the brakes and the cake box (AND THE CAKE?!) nearly flew from my lap into the windshield.  As she parallel parked at the curb without breaking anything, she told me to get the cake box, my jacket, and go to house said address.

My mom, my brother, and I walked up to the house and rang the doorbell.  A lady opened the door and smiled at us.  She beckoned us to come in, and I was suddenly afraid.  I thought of Hansel and Gretel and how they were nearly cooked, but my mom just rolled her eyes, pushed past me, took the cake box, and dropped the box on to the nearest chair.

An old lady (different from first lady) wiped her hands on her apron and smiled broadly at me.  She fired off several statements in Chinese rapidly, and I couldn’t understand it at all.  I heard “gao,” which means “tall,” but that was it.  As she was obviously talking about me, and she had said “tall,” I smiled back, and thanked her.  She stood there looking confused, with a “WTF is this boy smoking?” look on her face, then decided that I was suffering from hunger-hallucinations.

Wait. I think I saw an underwear troll back there.

She led me to a table laden with food (that was what, 5 feet away?), and motioned for me to sit down.  “Eat.”  First she had complimented my height, and now she was telling me to eat! I began liking this lady.  Over to my left, my mom was talking with someone.  I didn’t notice that someone until I looked over there and I realized my grandma, my uncle, and my aunt were all sitting there, firing away at their rapid Chinese talk.

I heard something about “SATs,” “not studying,” “only 2 hours of homework a night,” and my mom kept motioning at me.  So I just sat there looking at my fried chicken, wondering about Hansel and Gretel.  I fed some to my brother, and when he didn’t collapse or anything, I tucked in.

The first lady that opened the door sat down next to me and started talking to me in heavily accented English.  I deduced from her non-Chinese accent and her non-speaking of Chinese that she was Korean (there was also a Korean calender hanging in the corner).  She asked me about swimming and drawing and school and school and studying and school.

I probably would’ve enjoyed this visit more if I weren’t so utterly confused.  All throughout this visit, I was thinking, Who are these people? Do Koreans make fried chicken? Where’s the kimchi? I really like this fried chicken.  Is there more fried chicken?

You just knew I'd put this in here.

After I was done stuffing myself with fried chicken and thoughts of kimchi, I sat down in the middle of my mom’s little talk-group.  Some older man (not an OHAM, that’s for sure) had joined in the conversation.  They were now talking about the Beijing economy and house prices (if I understood correctly), while my grandma often contributed with a vigorous nod and a “_____ is always right.  Listen to him.  He knows everything.  He’s always right,” inserting the _______ with his name, which is NOT freaking Ching Chong Dim Sum, you racist bastards.  After a bit of that, my mom opened the cake box, which, surprise, had a cake inside.  She cut it up and we all ate it.

As we were leaving, my grandma reached out to me and slipped a hong bao (red envelope/bag) into my pocket.  The old lady with the apron who complimented my height and told me to eat also gave me a hong bao.  In the car, I opened both.  $10 from my grandma, and $20 from the other old lady! $30 for doing nothing but eat.  What a productive visit!

You know what I realized? I hate buttons.  Like those buttons that you push when you want something.  Because sometimes, they’re just non-responsive.

And I also sometimes really, really hate touch screens.  For the same reason.

Have a nice second/minute/hour/day/week/year/decade/century/millennium!