The Parking Ticket Incident

So much for tomorrow, landlubber. Already a month of summer has slipped by and I haven't been able to resume my anecdotes about my junior-year initiation.
Honestly, too much time has passed and the events have escaped from my memory.
What I do remember, though, is the third and most compelling event; The Parking Ticket Incident.
Yes, it is in fact so monumental that it deserves its own title, possibly the entire title of this post.

See, one magical day my family and I were returning to our parked car after my brother's graduation. Rounding the corner, my dad spotted a meter maid and proceeded to run towards her, shouting, "Wait, I'm sorry! I'm right here!"
She looked at us, sneered, and despite my father's pleas she continued to write us a ticket.
A grim, stubbly bearded man frowned upon the frantic scene from the safety of his pickup truck. He fingered a quarter in his pocket. The merciless woman's face was contorted into a twisted smirk. "I saw red-"
"It ain't red." interrupted the man. The woman stared at him, challenging him. "What?"
"It. Ain't. Red.", he repeated. He pointed his finger towards the meter, which now held an extra ten minutes. She glared at the man and waddled away. My dad smiled and saluted our savior, who returned to his pickup and lit up a cigarette. We sat in silence as we were driven home.

Persistence

This is it. The end of Sophomore year. The transition from my current rank to an upperclassman as I perceive it will no doubt be a drastic one. As high-scholars, our class is no longer on the rotting end of the food chain. To me, that means alot already. Juniors have always been the hype beasts, the entrepreneurs, the whores. They've maintained my perception of those wild, sex-having, youthful scholars that you only see on television. I'm sure that this stereotype is totally inaccurate, but my point is that high school has always been associated with them, not the seniors.
Three truthful, meaningful events have occurred today to signify my transition from sophomore to junior:

I woke up at oneinthemorningsomething because I thought that I heard a tiny buzzing by my ear. After trying to fall back to sleep, I noticed that an irritating, scratchy lump had formed on the surface of my wrist. So I came to the conclusion that a mosquito had somehow found its way into my room.
"It's just one bite, it doesn't matter.", I told myself. Well, I did. At least until another bite formed by my armpit.
Peeved, I pulled myself out of bed and turned on the lights. After some thorough searching, I decided that the mosquito had left.
I killed the lights, jumped into bed, and pulled the covers over my neck. Despite this, it managed to bite my cheek, the only exposed part of myself left. I was furious and the rest of the night was comprised of some magical cycle of mosquito bites and getting out of bed to look for the culprit in paranoia.
At threeinthemorningsomethingg, the bastard flew up my nose. I snorted and sneezed, literally flung myself off of my mattress, and resumed my search. This was the last straw.
I closed the door to my bedroom and proceeded to check every square inch of the room around me. i found it, a tiny speck next to my pillow, and mercilessly smashed my palm into the wall. It died instantly.
That night I slept confidently on top of my sheets. It wasn't a warm night at all, I just enjoyed the satisfaction of teasing the rest of those little bloodsuckers.

The other two incidents of today will be explained tomorrow, when I'm staying awake on more than just spare caffeine.

Yellow Socks

Everybody relies on their senses to communicate with each other. But what if these senses weren't calibrated? What if what was green to me would be orange to you? Sweet was salty? There wouldn't be a way to compare, I wouldn't be able to say, "Jean-Paul, that sock is yellow" because although that sock is actually red (My red, not yours.) to him, he compares it to the yellow that he knows. Which is red. Get it?
And with all of these preferences, because everybody has to be different, nobody has a standard. Jean might love sweet foods, while I might love bitter foods. However, because the connotation of bitter is negative, I might assume that sweet is everyone elses' bitter. My taste buds could detect bitterness, while someone else could eat the same thing and detect sweet. How queer.

These simple adjectives are developed by what we assume as infants. (Which may be entirely incorrect.) The entire world is like that. In fact, our imaginations are limited to what we know. Everything is questionable, you see? But I'll save all of that for another post.

rheeeeak (12:05:22 AM): shouldn't you be out playing with firecrackers instead of this crap?
solarpoweredspaz (12:05:27 AM): Lol
solarpoweredspaz (12:06:12 AM): That's Viet, who make a bigger deal out of Chinese New Year's than the Chinese do.
rheeeeak (12:06:27 AM): LOL.
solarpoweredspaz (12:06:32 AM): Party animals.
rheeeeak (12:06:39 AM): that's so true.

For Natasha honey.

I apologize to my few readers for not posting since December. I hypothesized that a break would allow me time to think, but it hasn't helped. It seems as though going through a relationship had fueled my thought, or perhaps the thoughts were built up as things that I've always wondered about. School doesn't distract me from thinking, as I had thought in the past. Rather, it has only changed my way of thought that now orbits convienience.

The Mystery of the Chocolate Bunny

"Are you eating your broccolis? And your carrots. They make your eyes..smarter." said the cutely-fobbish Asian woman that my brother and I ran into in Southwest Airlines. She was talking to some little white girl with a chocolate bunny in her hand. Next to the girl was who appeared to be her father, a defensive-looking guy wearing a tanktop and a tattoo. "Only uncover the amount that you plan on eating!" Cries the fobbish woman, as the girl undresses the chocolate. The man looks kind of uncomfortable, while the girl smiles up at him and hands him foil waste. He smirks, but then does something odd- he gives the woman the foil.
That's when my brother starts to notice, as I ask him what relations these three have to each other. They weren't a family, for sure. The way the man and the woman talked was too detached- like how strangers would talk to one another. The girl was clinging to the guy's luggage, and the woman talked to her like she wasn't her kid.
But the stranger would give the foil to the mother, in in that situation. Odd.
This goes on for a little while longer until a new character bring herself into our attention; a white woman who looks like the mother of the child. Apparently, she was there, but remained unnoticed until the little girl knocked over her suitcase. That's when she stands next to the guy and cleans the messy choco-faced child.
Okay, we found the mom. So the guy must be the dad, and the fobby asian lady is meddling around because she wants a family but doesn't have one. But what about the foil exchange? We were determined to solve this mystery.
In the midst of our thought, the mom turns around and starts talking to the guy, the same way the guy was talking to the other lady. (Distant, like a stranger. Remember?)
We came up with another theory: All three people belonged to separate parties, and the child to the "mom" woman. As the line that we were waiting in moved forward, we became more and more sure of our theory until at the front of the line the little girl said she was finished with her chocolate bunny. The mom pulls out a ziplock bag while the asian lady says, "Thats why she always brings the ziplock bags when we travel." to the man. The girl then sits in a stroller chair that the asian lady pushes. (I don't know how we didn't notice that before.)
Lesbians! It had to be true. The other guy was just there, kind of buzzing around.
Everything pointed to it, all the facts matched up. If our theory was correct, the group would break off into two groups at the end of the line.

It was the moment of truth, as we reached the front of the line and the people at the baggage claim shouted, "Next up!" the two women glanced at the workers and made their way to the counter with their baby.

The only problem was that the guy was with them, a single party of one.
Got any theories? Comment me.



suhpaz (12:58:42 AM): am scared. of the dark.
suhpaz (12:58:47 AM): deathly so.
solarpoweredspaz (1:02:02 AM): I'm afraid of heights.
solarpoweredspaz (1:02:17 AM): No, I'm afraid of falling. Nobody's afraid of heights.

Coyotes are the Smartest Dogs

For you, honey! I'm sorry that it took so long.




'I am sixteen and May is talking to me on the phone. “All my boys are dogs,” she says. “One of them is a German shepherd, and that one I used to like, he's a wolf, and you're a coyote.”
“I'm not a coyote. I'm more of a cat... or, uh, a bear.”
“But if you were a dog, you'd be a coyote.”
“Yeah, but that's because coyotes are the smartest dogs.”

“All my boys are dogs. You, you're a coyote.”
I don't ask why.
“Because coyotes are like wolves, but not as strong. And they have bushy tails. But they fight anyway.”
May knows better than anyone that I am not strong, and that I have a bushy tail.' -SeeMyMask

December 19th, Vickie. Think about it.

Gravity is Only a Theory.

For a Proper Buche de Noel:
3 eggs with personality
1 flour baby
6 bad jokes
foul, foul chocolate.

What goes up always comes down, and the sky is blue. Yeah, I know you know. But are you sure?
Life is complicated, agreed? So is math. (The essence of the universe, remember?)
The way humanity figured out how life works can be compared to the way you would do a math problem. (One step at a time..)
However, the basis of what we know has been discovered by, very literally, cavemen.
That's like asking a baby to start off an algebraic equation, its kinda tough.
Unless you pick one of those superbabies, those ones that you see on Opera that graduate college by the age of 3.
My point is, these guys could have made a mistake in their "calculations", and what happens when you mess up in the beginning of an equation?

Superbaby says, "You get drastic changes in your final answer."
We as humans base things only as we perceive it. That's what limits human knowledge; human knowledge. For all we know, the sky isn't blue. Gravity is only a theory. There is no such thing as a year. E does not equal em-cee squared. Keep that in mind the next time someone asks you for the time.


I'll dissect, digest, anything you say.