| Free Write |
[Feb. 10th, 2009|02:08 am] |
My back has been spasming non-stop for the last 24 hours. Oh god, I'm writing about my health. Do you know what happens when you talk about your health? You get older. I'm hungry.
I miss those mornings where my internal clock would wake me up at 6:00am and I'd happily fix myself a bowl of the fruit loops that I coerced my mother into buying me before sitting down to watch hours of Looney Toons, TMNT, Bobbie's World, Animaniacs - the good stuff.
My mom and I used to go to church every Sunday. (We've stopped since, and I've subsequently stopped capitalizing the word "god" whenever I write it - coincidence?) Anyway, after church we'd always go to McDonalds and I'd order a hamburger with nothing on it. Just meat and bun. Then I'd walk over to the ketchup pump and bathe my patty until it was just right. Next, we'd hop on the sky-train at Main Street going Eastbound. I'd sit by the window, of course.
Dong, ding, dang! The next station is: New Westminster.
I'd run down the steps and my mom's heart would skip a beat as I crossed the street and rushed into the Value Village. The lego there was cheap so my collection grew larger and larger every week. After that, we'd go into the Quay and my mom would buy groceries and stuff. Before we leave, I'd run around on the tugboat with the other kids and press every button and turn every wheel I could. Sometimes my mom would come on the boat too and she'd pretend with me.
I hope I'm cool when I'm old. |
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| Center of the Universe |
[Aug. 16th, 2008|01:32 am] |
Once upon a time, there lived a little boy in a castle far far away. This wasn't any ordinary boy, though, for that would make for a very boring story indeed! No, this boy was unequivocally special, for he was the center of the universe!
Every day the little boy was showered with gifts from strangers near and far. He'd yawn as his mother would take away his unwrapped WHATEVER and his father passed him his bowed WHOCARES, nothing seemed to impress the young prince. Yes, he was a prince too, did I mention that? He was everything you'd imagine the center of the universe to be (if the center of the universe were to take shape in person form). He was perfect.
One day, an old man approached the boy and asked of him a favor.
"Could you please help me? You see, both of my kidneys are failing on me and without one, I shall surely die! I was informed that every kidney there is to be had has already been donated to you. So I ask of you, oh great and mighty prince, center of the universe, will you please donate one of your unneeded kidneys so that I may continue my life?"
Without even the slightest of nods in acknowledgment of this horrible predicament, the prince yawned and opened yet another present. Another kidney, yawn. Another! Yawn. The old man stared in astonishment that anyone could be so self-centered. The old man realized that he had not yet understood just HOW great and wonderful this young prince was. He further thought that if by compromising, he could get himself a kidney. But at what cost?
The old man tore a piece of his robe off, and softly spoke to the prince, "are you watching?" He then proceeded to painfully pull his eyes out of his sockets. He pulled a blade from his ankle and cut every tendon and nerve ending, forever separating himself from the visual world. As he finished, he wrapped his eyes in the small patch of material from his wardrobe, and felt around the ground until he found something suitable to tie a bow with: a severed blood vessel.
The newly blinded man took the package and held it up in the air and exclaimed, "NOW! I HAVE SOMETHING VERY VALUABLE TO OFFER YOU. WILL YOU COMPROMISE AND LET ME HAVE ONE OF YOUR UNNEEDED KIDNEYS IN EXCHANGE FOR THIS GIFT?"
The center of the universe did not pay attention to the word "COMPROMISE" because he was grossed out from having witnessed such a horrid display of self-mutilation. He paused, and did not open his mouth when one of his beautiful fruit girls wanted to feed him another grape. Yes, he had fruit girls, and they were beautiful. (They put out, too.)
The center of the universe laid his still eyes on the old man, and the old man stared at him right back with his phantom eyes. Silence.
"So.. you're not going to compromise, then?" The old man scuffed his feet sideways so as to make a smudge on the perfect carpet. "Alright, have it your way."
The old man pulled out his shotgun. Yes, he had a shotgun. This wasn't any ordinary shotgun though, it was special. It was on sale when he bought it and it had come with a fucking shitload of bullets. The old man fired mercilessly in every possible direction, killing everything around him - EVERYTHING - making himself the new center of the universe.
The man got his eyes back, and he got his kidney, and he got, like, a bunch of cool stuff that once belonged to the young boy. And of course, nothing bad happened to him as he lived happily ever after.
The End. |
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| Word to the Wise |
[Aug. 3rd, 2008|10:20 pm] |
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Don't say 'yes' when you mean to say 'no.' |
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| Tick, Tock |
[Jul. 9th, 2008|02:04 am] |
In my opinion, there is no need to get upset about trivial things. Sure, sometimes I may not get what I want, I may get annoyed or slightly aggravated that things aren't going my way. But what is the point? Why cling to anger?
I've written about this many times, and I guess it's a lot easier to reflect on my reality while I am writing in a little box, but life is too short to give a shit about stupid things.
People piss me off sometimes. Okay, often. ALL THE TIME!
But still, I can't think of anything worse than getting mad at someone for INSERT STUPID REASON HERE, deciding not to speak to them for X amount of time, and have the other person die during that period of time.
It is a fact of life, people die all the time.
I guess I'm just the type that likes to have closure. I can't stay mad at anyone that I care about for longer than a fraction of a second. Anything longer than that, and I'm wasting precious time. |
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| The Tease |
[May. 27th, 2008|11:44 am] |
Snap. She clicks her delicately folded umbrella into place as she brushes past me and staggers her way toward the back of the bus. As I over-exaggerate my lack of balance, my vantage improves drastically: today she’s wearing her black bra, the one with the frilly trim.
She clasps the bar overhead the elderly man with the window seat. Not coincidentally, she finds herself in his place moments later. I, too, once offered my seat to her. She had positioned herself beside me and began to sway her hips invitingly, and as she gazed into her mangled reflection on my belt buckle, she bit her bottom lip in that come-hither way she always does. I wanted her and she wanted my seat.
Even now, she continues to taunt me. She runs her nail down her neckline and back up, gasps, and then strategically folds her knees on top of each other so as to exhibit the exquisite curvature of her thighs. It’s a tease, she should stop.
She pulls the buzzer, steps off the bus, waits, and then crosses the street into an ally way. She goes this way when the weather is poor or when she’s in a rush to get home. Not coincidentally, I find myself headed in the same direction. Her silhouette is now encapsulated by a quiet mist, and her pace quickens in reaction to a strange noise approaching from behind: it is the sound of a man trying not to make a sound.
Her hair, parted by the cool April breeze, gently wafts across my cheek as she turns around. I extend my hand and acquaint myself with her. She falls to her knees, droops herself over a puddle, and once more obsesses over her mangled reflection.
As I cross the street and wait to see her once more, rain beads over me in bright blue hues, sapping reds drip from my sleeve. Her silhouette reemerges from the mist, and her hand, which hangs down the side of the stretcher, waves to me. It’s a tease, she should stop. |
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| The Right Combination |
[May. 9th, 2008|10:06 pm] |
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Language is a powerful thing. With the right combination of words, one can obtain anything he or she desires. |
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| Listerine and Memories |
[Apr. 22nd, 2008|04:42 am] |
I'm scanning in somebody's Listerine, and I look up to see my increasingly long line of customers. Her mother's eyes make contact with mine and, for a moment that seems to stretch out and last for many moments, she glares at me with disapproval and/or indigestion.
As I wait in anticipation to see her, the churning in my stomach feels like a WWE Cage Match. When she finally emerges from the magazine aisle to join her mom in line, the man in my stomach, the one in the purple tights, climbs up to the top of the cage, waves his hands around, and then stylishly drops a raging elbow onto his opponent. The cage rumbles and the crowd goes wild.
She's wearing denim overalls, a white t-shirt, and the look of a person who is trying to avoid eye-contact. I turn my head, turn back, and they've switched lines. Half-heartedly totaling whoever's bill, I glance over at the door to see Janine for the second last time. As the crowd in my stomach cheers in awe, she makes a stylish escape. |
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| Urinals |
[Feb. 18th, 2008|02:08 am] |
I hate it when you're peeing into a urinal and it's shaped in a way so that it just deflects your pee back toward you. I learned the hard way many years ago, I got a little pee on my pants and people looked and me and they were all like "hey, look, Aaron has a little pee on his pants!"
So now I closely examine the urinal to make sure that it is not designed in a way to deflect pee back toward me. Most of the time, I stand slightly to the side before I shoot. Other guys in the bathroom might think I'm weird, but hey, at least I don't get pee all over myself. Losers. |
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| Vietnamese Sign Language |
[May. 3rd, 2007|01:34 pm] |
Last night, I was the owner of a large casino. I was holding a high-stake roulette game worth millions of dollars.
At the end of the night, the man in the flip-flops, shorts, and t-shirt had cleaned up. He won everything.
I explained to him that due to the large amount of money an electronic transaction of funds would be necessary - only, he didn't understand a word I was saying. He was Vietnamese.
After a while he started yelling at me. I didn't have a translator, nor did he. I called a friend of mine to translate over the phone.
"Could you tell him..." I explain very thoroughly my situation to the translator and then pass the phone over once we're clear on what he is to say.
The man grabs the phone and starts yelling into it. He then hands it back to me and I ask my friend if the man understood what he told him.
"No. He didn't listen to me."
"Well what did he say?"
"I couldn't tell."
"Don't you understand Vietnamese?"
"Yes."
I try whistling at the man to get his attention as he walked astray. Up until then, it never occurred to me that he might be deaf. Deaf and Vietnamese.
Do deaf Vietnamese people speak American Sign Language? Or do they have their own sign language?
So I woke up this morning looking for someone who spoke Vietnamese Sign Language. |
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