Today was the day I was supposed to take a road trip with my friends *Sarah and *Martha (names have been changed and you'll understand why very soon.) We were planning on leaving early and driving three and a half hours to go to Chuck-E-Cheese, get our palms read, and meet up with Martha's Peruvian friend *Roberto. I guess should I mention that he's her gay Peruvian friend Roberto-OR perhaps it would be more appropriate to say her gay Peruvian friend Roberto who she married for four grand so he could obtain a Greencard and stay with his Peruvian boyfriend *Rico who in turn is married to Martha's roommate *Agnes.
See Martha hasn't been working for the past few months and I didn't see how she could afford her constant drinking habit. I really didn't understand why she kept mentioning wedding photos. I thought she might have been cracking a terrifically unfunny joke, but no. Truthfully, she was living an extremely funny reality which in itself is one of the most hilarious things I've ever heard of.
So forgive me if I'm in a bad mood today, because I didn't manage to meet this humorous work of art in person. I will try to get some pictures of the wedding from Martha, but sadly due to legal reasons I won't be able to post them. Anyone lucky enough to know me in person which is probably 98% of the people who read this can ask me if they want to take a peek at them, but until then you'll have to use your imagination to picture what this unusual couple looks like.
Monday, August 28, 2006
Wednesday, August 23, 2006
Thought I Should Share.
I was drunk the other night and I woke up with a terrible taste in my mouth and the words"wine under" scrawled on my left hand. After drinking a glass of water with lime in it which nearly made me gag because I was drinking tequila shots the night before, I searched under the bed and under tables until I found a nearly full but opened bottle of wine under the sink. The only pictures I found on my camera were pictures on Leni (my sister) taking tequila shots and one video clip of her rapping and dancing to Ludacris while throwin' bows (definition number two.) I don't know why any of this happened, but I thought it was necessary to share.
Saturday, August 12, 2006
The Plane Ride Down.
It's the day of the plane ride to my dad's. After about four hours of sleep, I wake up in my bed to the sound of someone yelling and shaking me obnoxiously. Though this is a necessary evil, just like every time I wake up, I feel an uncontrollable urge to slap someone, but instead I open my eyes and get up. It's only about thirty minutes until we have to leave for the airport, but I don't need to do anything. By the time I leave the house the only things I've accomplished are changing my clothes, brushing my teeth, and making some coffee for the ride.
We reach the airport with enough time to eat. We are told by the woman who takes our tickets that we aren't allowed any liquids on the plane because of some bomb threat. Liquids such as: water or drinks of any kind, lotions, foundation, mascara, and chapstick are not allowed so when we enter the security area half of my makeup bag is labelled dangerous so I allow them to be confiscated. I curse for leaving my lip balm in my bag and not in my pocket where it would have been left alone. The security guards are unaware that we're flying into D.C. and try to make our situation seem better by telling us that flights going into Washington may not even be allowed carry-ons. We tell them that that's our eventual destination and they grow silent.
The first flight to Vancouver is uneventful and quick. When we arrive, we end up walking around the airport looking for the right place to pick up our bags until a cool old man who works for the airport takes pity on us and cuts us past all the lines and sets us up with a customs official. I worry for a minute that my Canadian passport and American Greencard might come into question and contradict where I say I really live, but they don't so we make it through customs and make sure our bags get checked before we get on our plane to Washington D.C.
As usual, my dad bought tickets from the back row of the plane which I like because I've heard that when planes crash most often the survivors are in the back. I also like that most of the seats that haven't been purchased are toward the back and I can usually snag an empty row to sleep in. After being on enough five hour plane rides, these are the things that typically run through someone's mind. After more than enough plane rides like this with little to no sleep, you're willing to lie, cheat, and steal to get one of these rows.
"Shotgun empty row," I say as I sit in the window seat of the deserted row. My sister Leni who has slept even less than me shoots me a look that tells me she needs this much more than I do so I begrudgingly relinquish the row I'm sitting in and start looking around for somewhere else.
The only other deserted row that I see is the one directly behind me. I stare toward the front of the plane using my Jedi mind power to will the door shut, but as usual it backfires and more people roll in. They come in ones and twos: large people, sweaty travellers with glandular problems, smelly guys who don't even remotely resemble Christian Bale. I find myself uncontrollably staring at every person who comes on the plane until the doors shut and my row is left intact.
I thank Jesus silently and wake Leni up to explain that she and I both get a row. I'm ecstatic that me and everyone else can now sleep comfortably instead of staying in limbo halfway between sleeping and waking for the full five hours.
"Someone better get up and claim the row," I say as I stretch out and look for a pillow. As if prompted by this statement, the old Asian man sitting behind Nikki and my sisters stands up and shuffles into the row. My beautiful savior of a row. I can't help, but gawk as he shuffles slowly into my seats while maintaining eye contact with me as if challenging me. Suddenly Tal breaks down into a fit of hysterical laughter and we both hide our faces from both him and his wife. I try to get a hold of myself as I peer through the hole and stare astonished and angry at the seat thief. I wonder to myself whether I'm looking at a crafty old bastard who has been planning this since he heard our idea or just some guy who doesn't understand any English.
I stop this train of thought and begrudgingly turn to Len to ask if she wants her row yet. She sleepily tells me that after take-off she will claim it then flops back onto Tal's lap. I decide that it would be a waste if I didn't soak up all the glory of the row while I can so I spread out and begin rummaging in the seat pocket in front of me. Finding nothing of interest, I begin to focus my attention on the other trays and seat pockets when I notice what appears to be a red stain on the back of the seat to my right.
I stare at the red mark that looks as if it were smudged after it's initial appearance with what looks like part of a hand. After I inspect it for a few more seconds, I realize that this could only be one of three things: blood, vomit, or chili. I recoil away from the tray as I realize that they don't serve soup on planes, trying to remember whether I unknowingly brushed up against the smudge before I recognized the consequence. As I do this, my gaze falls below the tray to the pocket where I notice an unnatural bulge that isn't present on the other seats.
As I stare uncontrollably at the disturbing stain, I begin to smell something rotten-or maybe it's my imagination getting away with me. Disgusted, I break my hypnotic gaze with the seat.
"Len, do you want to sit here yet?" I shout. Talis and Nikki look over as Leni raises her head seemingly annoyed. Maybe they notices the desperation in my voice or maybe they wonder why I urgently want to rid myself of the supposedly prized row, but they look at me then directly at the pocket that I can't help but glance at.
"Dude make sure that thing isn't filled with barf bags," says Tal making a half-amused, half-incredulous face.
With the look of the seat back it's probable that they didn't quite make it to the barf bag, I think to myself as I stare at the pocket. The bulge is obvious and I can't help, but imagine the smell of stomach acid. I'm unwilling to look, but I need to know whether I'm sitting behind someone's bagged vomit or not.
After a minute or two of staring the pocket with no improvement to the situation, I start to think about my options. I could ignore my morbid fascination with the pocket and leave it the way it is; I could look in the pocket myself, and risk adding more vomit to the seat or; I could call the stewartess to clean up the mess and look in the pocket for me. The last option appeared to be the best until I considered the consequences.
Hypothetically speaking, if I told the stewartess and this mess turned out to be puke it could potentially be considered a biohazard and because of this I would probably be moved to one of the other available seats. This would be all well and good if it weren't for the fact that the only seats left on the plane were in my row and the rows occupied by the seat stealing bastard and the ones beside his wife. I can't risk a four and a half hour plane ride beside the one of these bitter old coots so I decide the I need to find a good way to open the pocket myself.
I look around for something to open the pocket. The only thing I see is a broken headset stuffed into one of the clean pockets. I decide that it will have to do. Using the earphones as tongs, I pinch them around the cleanest end of the vomit pocket. With Talis, Leni and Nikki waiting in suspense I slowly open the pocket trying to keep my hands and face as far away from the red stain as possible. I try to move slowly to avoid accidentally letting go and flinging fragments of vomit flakes or worse exploding the potential barf bomb that could be inside the pocket.
I must look strange because I notice that some of the passengers including the seat stealing bastard's wife are staring at me as I pry open the seat pocket. I look around as if searching for some kind of emotional support then peer inside. There's nothing but a rolled up magazine and some plastic forks. The barf bag is missing which confirms my suspicion about the stain, but I'm relieved to see that it's no where used and in sight.
I decide that because of the lack of a used barf bag in the pocket that it's justifiable to stay in my row. Leni doesn't want it and I don't want to sit with either half of the Asian couple so I lay down and try to sleep. Half the plane ride I wake up imagining my arm sliding off the row toward the stain. The other half I sleep with my hand in my pocket.
We reach the airport with enough time to eat. We are told by the woman who takes our tickets that we aren't allowed any liquids on the plane because of some bomb threat. Liquids such as: water or drinks of any kind, lotions, foundation, mascara, and chapstick are not allowed so when we enter the security area half of my makeup bag is labelled dangerous so I allow them to be confiscated. I curse for leaving my lip balm in my bag and not in my pocket where it would have been left alone. The security guards are unaware that we're flying into D.C. and try to make our situation seem better by telling us that flights going into Washington may not even be allowed carry-ons. We tell them that that's our eventual destination and they grow silent.
The first flight to Vancouver is uneventful and quick. When we arrive, we end up walking around the airport looking for the right place to pick up our bags until a cool old man who works for the airport takes pity on us and cuts us past all the lines and sets us up with a customs official. I worry for a minute that my Canadian passport and American Greencard might come into question and contradict where I say I really live, but they don't so we make it through customs and make sure our bags get checked before we get on our plane to Washington D.C.
As usual, my dad bought tickets from the back row of the plane which I like because I've heard that when planes crash most often the survivors are in the back. I also like that most of the seats that haven't been purchased are toward the back and I can usually snag an empty row to sleep in. After being on enough five hour plane rides, these are the things that typically run through someone's mind. After more than enough plane rides like this with little to no sleep, you're willing to lie, cheat, and steal to get one of these rows.
"Shotgun empty row," I say as I sit in the window seat of the deserted row. My sister Leni who has slept even less than me shoots me a look that tells me she needs this much more than I do so I begrudgingly relinquish the row I'm sitting in and start looking around for somewhere else.
The only other deserted row that I see is the one directly behind me. I stare toward the front of the plane using my Jedi mind power to will the door shut, but as usual it backfires and more people roll in. They come in ones and twos: large people, sweaty travellers with glandular problems, smelly guys who don't even remotely resemble Christian Bale. I find myself uncontrollably staring at every person who comes on the plane until the doors shut and my row is left intact.
I thank Jesus silently and wake Leni up to explain that she and I both get a row. I'm ecstatic that me and everyone else can now sleep comfortably instead of staying in limbo halfway between sleeping and waking for the full five hours.
"Someone better get up and claim the row," I say as I stretch out and look for a pillow. As if prompted by this statement, the old Asian man sitting behind Nikki and my sisters stands up and shuffles into the row. My beautiful savior of a row. I can't help, but gawk as he shuffles slowly into my seats while maintaining eye contact with me as if challenging me. Suddenly Tal breaks down into a fit of hysterical laughter and we both hide our faces from both him and his wife. I try to get a hold of myself as I peer through the hole and stare astonished and angry at the seat thief. I wonder to myself whether I'm looking at a crafty old bastard who has been planning this since he heard our idea or just some guy who doesn't understand any English.
I stop this train of thought and begrudgingly turn to Len to ask if she wants her row yet. She sleepily tells me that after take-off she will claim it then flops back onto Tal's lap. I decide that it would be a waste if I didn't soak up all the glory of the row while I can so I spread out and begin rummaging in the seat pocket in front of me. Finding nothing of interest, I begin to focus my attention on the other trays and seat pockets when I notice what appears to be a red stain on the back of the seat to my right.
I stare at the red mark that looks as if it were smudged after it's initial appearance with what looks like part of a hand. After I inspect it for a few more seconds, I realize that this could only be one of three things: blood, vomit, or chili. I recoil away from the tray as I realize that they don't serve soup on planes, trying to remember whether I unknowingly brushed up against the smudge before I recognized the consequence. As I do this, my gaze falls below the tray to the pocket where I notice an unnatural bulge that isn't present on the other seats.
As I stare uncontrollably at the disturbing stain, I begin to smell something rotten-or maybe it's my imagination getting away with me. Disgusted, I break my hypnotic gaze with the seat.
"Len, do you want to sit here yet?" I shout. Talis and Nikki look over as Leni raises her head seemingly annoyed. Maybe they notices the desperation in my voice or maybe they wonder why I urgently want to rid myself of the supposedly prized row, but they look at me then directly at the pocket that I can't help but glance at.
"Dude make sure that thing isn't filled with barf bags," says Tal making a half-amused, half-incredulous face.
With the look of the seat back it's probable that they didn't quite make it to the barf bag, I think to myself as I stare at the pocket. The bulge is obvious and I can't help, but imagine the smell of stomach acid. I'm unwilling to look, but I need to know whether I'm sitting behind someone's bagged vomit or not.
After a minute or two of staring the pocket with no improvement to the situation, I start to think about my options. I could ignore my morbid fascination with the pocket and leave it the way it is; I could look in the pocket myself, and risk adding more vomit to the seat or; I could call the stewartess to clean up the mess and look in the pocket for me. The last option appeared to be the best until I considered the consequences.
Hypothetically speaking, if I told the stewartess and this mess turned out to be puke it could potentially be considered a biohazard and because of this I would probably be moved to one of the other available seats. This would be all well and good if it weren't for the fact that the only seats left on the plane were in my row and the rows occupied by the seat stealing bastard and the ones beside his wife. I can't risk a four and a half hour plane ride beside the one of these bitter old coots so I decide the I need to find a good way to open the pocket myself.
I look around for something to open the pocket. The only thing I see is a broken headset stuffed into one of the clean pockets. I decide that it will have to do. Using the earphones as tongs, I pinch them around the cleanest end of the vomit pocket. With Talis, Leni and Nikki waiting in suspense I slowly open the pocket trying to keep my hands and face as far away from the red stain as possible. I try to move slowly to avoid accidentally letting go and flinging fragments of vomit flakes or worse exploding the potential barf bomb that could be inside the pocket.
I must look strange because I notice that some of the passengers including the seat stealing bastard's wife are staring at me as I pry open the seat pocket. I look around as if searching for some kind of emotional support then peer inside. There's nothing but a rolled up magazine and some plastic forks. The barf bag is missing which confirms my suspicion about the stain, but I'm relieved to see that it's no where used and in sight.
I decide that because of the lack of a used barf bag in the pocket that it's justifiable to stay in my row. Leni doesn't want it and I don't want to sit with either half of the Asian couple so I lay down and try to sleep. Half the plane ride I wake up imagining my arm sliding off the row toward the stain. The other half I sleep with my hand in my pocket.
Friday, August 11, 2006
Victory!
I've discovered something new about blogger. I now know how to impose the word verification setting which will make sure I'm getting my comments from real humans and not computerized programs that show links to random sites. Also, I enabled the comment moderation setting so I will be seeing all new comments before they hit the public view. I'm proud, but I should have realized how to do this alot earlier. Now all I need to learn is some basic HTML and I'll have a fairly decent blog going. Don't get too excited though because judging by my track record this may take some time for me to get the hang of.
In the mean time, say good-night to all the spam comments everyone!
In the mean time, say good-night to all the spam comments everyone!
Thursday, August 10, 2006
Night of the Living Dead
Night of the Living Dead was on tonight. No, not the one made in 1968 by George A. Romero, but the remake from 1990. It was pretty hilarious.
If I don't see you tomorrow I will be back on the fourth. See you next month.
If I don't see you tomorrow I will be back on the fourth. See you next month.
Tuesday, August 08, 2006
Frida Kahlo
Bad mood, bad day. Part two of Long Story, Bad Tess is probably not going to be coming anytime soon. To be honest, it probably won't be coming at all, not that it's crucial that anyone heres about a relatively uneventful story of me popping E and dreaming about wolves, Oh well.
Moving on, it's only day two of my sobriety binge and I've messed up already. I haven't smoked at all, but I did have two glasses of wine with my mom. What a lush I am.
Maybe things will be easier in a different country on vacation. I will try to take numerous pictures and videos. I will hopefully keep things alot more interesting on here than they have been of late.
Check out my Frida Kahlo pictures. She's an amazing woman and my new hero. She has overcome so many things including: being impaled in a car accident; becoming bed ridden for months at a time; being married to Diego Rivera who was a bastard who cheated on her constantly, and having a unibrow. She was also one of the most self-obsessed painters I've ever heard of. Frida, Frida, Frida.
Monday, August 07, 2006
Lucky or Unlucky? Either Way, Long Story, Bad Tess. Part 1.
The weekend of craziness has come to a close and I'm not doing any substances for a long time (until I get back from my dad's to be exact.). One of the crazy nights was Saturday. Saturday night, my drunken friend Devon Gray not only gratiously offered me a few tequila shots that she already ordered and had no way of paying for, but also made me drive her to my house from the bar because she accidently became drunk enough to nearly projectile vomit out of my car window.
Once it was decided that because I wasn't overly loaded and therefore responsible for her well being, I begrudgingly started the unsafe drive home. Immediately after arriving and explaining the situation to my mother, I was verbally assaulted for my lack of regard for some of the most basic rules of avoiding death, DUI's, and other terrible things. Of course being slightly intoxicated, stressed, and with no favorable other option, I drove away believing that I am the bullet proof bastard of the world and would never get my due come-upins.
After arriving at the Rum and realizing there was a two hour line I called my friend Darren and headed for his house. I only made it about a block before spotting and picking up a random gothic looking guy named John that I vaguely knew through the local band the Hellsman. He was terribly drunk and kept asking me where his friends were and why I was mad at him. Seeing that I didn't know which friends he was talking about and was not in the least bit angry with him I just ignored his behavior for the few minutes it took for a siren and a couple flashing lights to pull us over.
It seemed to take the officer years to reach the window of my car and ask me what I thought I was being pulled over for. Turns out the electrical system in my car that has been making my life hell for the past few weeks had finally shorted out the only remaining headlight and I had been driving in the relatively well-lit street with no clue that this was the case.
It seemed to take the officer years to reach the window of my car and ask me what I thought I was being pulled over for. Turns out the electrical system in my car that has been making my life hell for the past few weeks had finally shorted out the only remaining headlight and I had been driving in the relatively well-lit street with no clue that this was the case.
After nervously explaining my story, the officer seemed to believe me, but only left after giving me an eighty dollar N fine and making me flash every signal, hazard, and high-beam light in my car. As he walked away I decided that not losing my license because of a DUI was a sign sent by the God of irony and I should watch my step. I drove off feeling like I was the drunk driving equivalent of Harry Houdini.
I began the drive to Darrens and realized that ponytail John probably needed a ride someplace. After asking John for the tenth time where he wanted to be dropped off I became fed up with his deteriorating coherancy and lack of answers so I left him at Mr. G's and gave him a few quarters to call a friend. I continued there with my highbeams attacking every car I past because of my fear that one of them would be the cop.
Sunday, August 06, 2006
Weekend.
Right now I'm feeling kind of like a grimy brain-damaged jackass who barely qualifies as having higher brain functioning. I'm working on the weekend post now, but it won't be fully polished until tomorrow. It will probably be another rambling mess that no one really needs to know, much like most of my epic posts, but at least it will be something. Maybe someone (namely myself) will learn from my reckless stupidity.
Oh I have new pictures in my old blog. I will continue to update the photos there so if you're interested in seeing them here is the link.
Oh I have new pictures in my old blog. I will continue to update the photos there so if you're interested in seeing them here is the link.
Saturday, August 05, 2006
Tuesday, August 01, 2006
Last night.
My insomnia has been kicking into gear lately and I've been having some late nights. Thankfully last night I had some company in the form of three disoriented friends (Little Dave, Cote, and Dave Mukluks) who happened to be on mushrooms. I opted for a few drinks and a little sleep dep, but managed to have quite a bit of fun watching them play with burning sticks and bits of plastic tubing.
I began my wander by parking my car at a nearby church and meeting up with them at a bus stop which was close by. We decided to wander into a few deserted and unfinished buildings and possibly steal some lumber and power tools for the doghouse that Little Dave planned on making. We decided to walk upstairs, and attempted not to step through any of the numerous inconveniently placed holes that were almost always directly at the top of the stairway or around blind corners. After playing on the roof and in the basement we grew bored and wandered from house to house until discovering that lumber is really heavy.
After hiding in the bushes for no apparent reason, we went to the park and played on the swings, see-saw, and merry go-round. Cote decided that he was getting way to high and Little Dave decided that he wasn't high enough so we continued on. The night ended shortly after that when Dave and I went back to the house and watched C.S.I. and Mukluks and Cote disappeared into the night.
Relatively uneventful I know, but it's better than no post at all. More posts to come once I get back into the swing of things. Don't worry they will be alot more in-depth and well written.
I began my wander by parking my car at a nearby church and meeting up with them at a bus stop which was close by. We decided to wander into a few deserted and unfinished buildings and possibly steal some lumber and power tools for the doghouse that Little Dave planned on making. We decided to walk upstairs, and attempted not to step through any of the numerous inconveniently placed holes that were almost always directly at the top of the stairway or around blind corners. After playing on the roof and in the basement we grew bored and wandered from house to house until discovering that lumber is really heavy.
After hiding in the bushes for no apparent reason, we went to the park and played on the swings, see-saw, and merry go-round. Cote decided that he was getting way to high and Little Dave decided that he wasn't high enough so we continued on. The night ended shortly after that when Dave and I went back to the house and watched C.S.I. and Mukluks and Cote disappeared into the night.
Relatively uneventful I know, but it's better than no post at all. More posts to come once I get back into the swing of things. Don't worry they will be alot more in-depth and well written.
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