Tuesday Night Dinner- Mancake

On Tuesday, I decided to try my hand at photojournalism. Or something like it. Here's the story of our dinner, through pictures.

Emu?

Today, I found an article on the local news site about an emu loose in my county.

It was apparently seen running loose in my town sometime during November. I'm not sure how I missed a wild emu. How does a wild emu even end up somewhere? I don't know anyone who sells emus. I don't recall ever having seen an emu before.

I guess that's a good thing, as the article did mention this: "Police are warning against approaching the bird if spotted, as emus use their knife-like toenails and powerful legs to defend themselves."

Knife-like toenails? Ouch. Right now I'm imagining a six-foot tall bird running at me with knives on its feet and round-house kicking me in the chest, leaving me on the ground with bleeding slashes and sprinting away at 30 miles-per-hour (because apparently they can do that).

If you see an emu, be sure to call animal control.

Apparently they're very dangerous.

They're like the Chuck Norris of the bird world.

***

UPDATE: Some heartless hillbilly shot the emu in his backyard. I think he may have eaten it. ):

***
UPDATE AGAIN: Turns out the heartless hillbilly is my friend's dad's cousin.

Epic

I haven't updated in a while, so I thought I'd just post to say that my brother and my mom's boyfriend are now running around the house having an epic nerf-gun war. The Nutckracker/Waltz of the Flowers (you need to youtube it to get the idea here) is blasting from our speakers. Fitting music? I think so.

Also, Merry Christmas.

My Cat is an Attention-Craving Scene Kid

My parents are divorced, and I spend half of my time at my mom's house and half of the time at my dad's house. My dad is usually at his girlfriend's house when I'm not there, which leaves my cat all by himself for most of the week. As a result, he happily comes to socialize whenever we're home. However, weekends and a few afternoons just aren't enough for him.

The only other possible time he can be near me is when I'm sleeping. He comes and lays in my bed all night. A lot of people would think that's sweet, or adorable, or really really cute. No. You are wrong. It's not "really really cute". It's his way of craving attention.

I've come to think of him as one of those extremely scene/emo girls who dye their hair neon colors and puff it up until they look like hedgehogs, then apply loads of eyeliner and mascara and eyeshadow so that they look like raccoons, and then dress in either all black or highlighter-bright colors that burn your retinas and give people seizures. He has an entire strategy to seek a response from me, when he could just lay down and be soft and cuddly like any normal cat. But no. He has to go through a routine. Every single night.

Step 1: Stealthily sneak in through the door. Don't meow. Be sneaky.

Step 2: Is the girl in the bed?

No- Search for her.

Yes- Sneak up to the edge of the bed, then jump up in her face when she least expects it and purr loudly.

Step 3: Look cute while settling yourself on her stomach/ribcage. If she groans and tries to push you off, you have succeeded.

Step 4: Place your paws on the nearest possible area that is not covered by blanket. Knead vigorously while purring and drooling profusely.

Step 5: Continue to do so until she pulls the blanket up to cover her skin from your claws. Then, move up ever so slightly and begin kneading again.

Step 6: Repeat steps 4-5 until there is no visible area left that the blanket is not covering. Be sure to knead on her face, too. Don't spare any space at all. After you have succeeded in this, leave to room and go to do cat things.

Step 7: Return anywhere between 3 and 4 AM. Her head will have migrated from out of the covers by now and she will be in a deep state of sleep. You can sneak up onto the bed unnoticed.

Step 8: Position yourself directly in front of her face. One of her arms will most likely be underneath it; Place your paws on the arm and knead with your claws out. Purr loudly and make your eyes extremely big; concentrate on face.

Step 9: If she starts to twitch with irritation, you have done well. You are almost to the part where you win and get attention. Keep going! Next, slowly inch your face closer... and closer... and closer...

Step 10: Eventually, your nose will contact with her eye and/or forehead. In her semiconscious state, she will suddenly flinch backwards and groan loudly. Don't let this deter you, though. Repeat again and again. Perseverance will get you to your goal.

Step 11: Improvise. Meow loudly, lick her, drool on her. You can even try walking back and forth across her thighs. Don't be afraid to get creative here!

Step 12: Girl will eventually get fed up with your constant pestering. This is the turning point. Put on the cutest, most innocent face you can muster. Now she will judge you; You are either worthy of attention, or not. If yes, she will pick you up and move you to a more favorable position. If no (more likely), she will violently shove you off the bed. By now, all hope is lost. Return to your kitchen sanctuary and await food.

Step 13: Repeat until desired results are achieved.

Psychological

Today, I had to go to the doctor's office to get a flu shot.

Shot's aren't fun, but I've pretty much gotten used to them by now. They don't really bother me. Needles bother me, but they don't scare me. It just grosses me out to watch them sink into someone's (my) flesh.

However, today, as I was sitting in the waiting room with my dad and brother, I felt extremely anxious. I could practically hear my own hear beating in my chest, my palms were sweating, and my feet were tapping erratically on the ground. I didn't even know why I was scared. I think it was some sort of mental connection to the horrible, traumatizing memories that have taken place in the building. I'm also pretty sure that the smell of antiseptics sends me into a panic. And watching three hours of House last night didn't help either. (NO. NO, HOUSE, NO. DON'T SCRAPE OUT HIS BONE MARROW, HE'S NOT SEDATED. OH GOD NOW HE'S SCREAMING... -cringe-)

I kept rubbing my arm and pulling my jacket sleeves tighter, just in case the doctor decided to lunge in and stab me with a syringe, yelling "SURPRISE FLU SHOT~!!!"

To distract me, my dad kept commenting on the incongruity of the decor. On one wall, there was a lion in a jungle with a sticker of an amoeba stuck randomly in the scene. The counter was covered in fish and seahorses, with a lovely picture of a septipus ( Yes, a septipus. It only had seven tentacles.) hanging above it. I took a picture of it:

Shortly after that, the doctor came in and did her check-up routine (It required her to look inside my mouth; she made me spit out my last piece of gum.) and gave us our shots. We left and drove away.

Just when I thought I had escaped tragedy from the doctor's office, I started to get this... feeling in my arm. It wasn't exactly pain; it was just kind of like I could feel something there. I began twitching and squirming uncomfortably, yelling, "I CAN FEEL IT. OH GOSH I CAN FEEL IT MOVING THROUGH MY BLOODSTREAM". The tingly feeling quickly spread to my hand, causing me to thrash more violently. This continued until we got home.

I knew that I couldn't really feel it; my blood moves much faster than that. I was having some sort of psychological reaction to getting a vaccine. It was uncomfortable. Sometimes I wish they'd just give me the darn thing without telling me, so I wouldn't have to go through this. I remember that I passed out when I got my blood drawn (twice), but I don't really know if it was from loss of blood or because I thought I had loss of blood. My brain must be easy to trick...

... My elbow clicks when I move it. Is it supposed to do that?

Things

This is a photographic compilation of all of the weird things in my house.

#1:

A giant tube of ground beef from the US, Canada, Mexico, Australia, New Zealand, AND Uruguay. I don't know what the heck may await me in this thing.

#2:

That one light in my kitchen that decided it need a switch all to itself... Across the room from the rest of the light switches...

#3:

Four-year-old paint swatches that we never decided on. They both look like patches of dried blood on our walls.

#4:

Six-month-old bowl of sausage grease. I think it explains itself.

#5:

Smear of drywall that was used to fix a crack and never painted over... The crack came back...

#6:

Entire roll of duct tape sitting in a corner gathering dust.

#7:

One of the many piles of apocalypse food stashed in our freezer.

#8:

We bought Ginger Chews- in bulk!

#9:

Large block of wood with various ropes sticking out of it.

#10:

Disco ball/drawing of a fish.

#11:

Docked Roomba. Used less than ten times.

#12:

Broken TV. It's still here, just like I predicted.

#13:

Box of random computer innards.

#14:

Double rainbow mural. This is how I spend my weekends...

The Chair

Yes, Adam Young, I stole your blog title.

But I thought it seemed appropriate for this blog.

So, the other day, I was in the car with my dad driving to pick up my brother from a friend's house. As we were exiting the neighborhood, we saw a chair.

It was a large armchair, made of some bright pink velvety material. Ordinarily, this wouldn't excite me, but we were no where near any houses; the chair was abandoned in a field on the side of the road, facing towards the trees.

It just looks like it belongs there- but it's pink. And not grass.

I just thought that was odd.

Dentist

You know how when you're at the dentist, they always talk to you and expect you to answer when your mouth is stuffed full of metal instruments/cotton/toothpaste? My dentists are like that times ten.

First of all, I needed a small cavity filled. The dentist walks in and tries to make small talk by asking me what school I go to. Apparently, he went to the same school and spent the next five minutes asking me if any of his teachers were still teaching. I didn't know anyone he was talking about.

After that, as he's preparing his very large, scary-looking drill, he decides that he needs to tell me about his obsession with the world champion hot dog eater who can't participate because he was arrested (or was arrested because he participated illegally- I'm not sure). He proceeded to describe the man's hot dog eating method, complete with dramatic hand gestures and sound effects. If I'm ever in a hot dog eating contest, I now know that I have to break the hot dog in half, shove it into my mouth, dip the bun in water, and inhale it.

Later, my mouth is jammed full of cotton and he's using a jackhammer-like instrument on my tooth. He decides that it's been quiet far too long, and he needs to ask me who does my braces.

My orthodontist is an Indian man with a very hard to pronounce last name. I can't even say it correctly when my mouth is able to function normally. Coupled with the mounds of cotton and the loud jackhammer device, my answer probably sounded something like "krliscxhmnuhn", mixed in with some spitting and moaning.

After the filling is done, he sends in the hygienist to clean my teeth. She was probably the most talkative woman I'd ever met. Ever.

After a brief discussion on my Halloween costume ("The Mad Hatter? Like, the Johnny Depp version? OHMIGOSH COOL. I saw this one movie with him..."), she decided that she needed to tell me what her children were for Halloween fifteen or twenty years ago. Her youngest child, when he was three, was dressed as a crayon. The costume was made of felt and was tight around his legs, so that he fell flat on his face each time he tried to bend his knees to get up the steps to a house. Her three sons were all power rangers for two or three years in a row.

After that, we were back on the topic of movies and had a discussion about horror movies and her children's experiences with them.

Later, as she's flossing my teeth, the dentist has nothing else to do so he comes back and leans against the counter and makes conversation with the hygienist about some documentary with a man who lived with monkeys for a few months and how he was amazed at their instinct.

This reminded the hygienist of a video that a co-worker showed her of an elephant giving birth, leading to an extremely detailed account of what happened.

"So THEN the baby elephant came out dead, so she started turning him upside-down with her trunk and putting her foot in his chest and moving him around, and he started coughing up all this slimy green flem and then he was breathing and he started walking! Isn't it amazing that she knew just what to do?"

Of course, since she was working in my mouth the entire time, the only thing I could do was to sit there and try to keep the horrified expression off my face.

The Caps Lock Light

I am ashamed. ):

I've failed to update for... more than a month now? Jeez. Nothing entertaining has happened that I can extend into a multi-paragraph blog post. My life is too average (You see what I did there? Heh.). I thought about writing about things that fill me with terror that really shouldn't but all I could come up with was the doorbell/telephone and the school bus turning the corner every morning in the dark, and being illuminated by its headlights as it roars closer... and closer... OH GOD IT'S GOING TO EAT ME.

But I can't really extend on those ideas.

Anyways.

Right now there's a little light on my keyboard indicating that the caps lock is on.

BUT IT'S NOT.

Well, it wasn't...

But when I turned it on, the light went off. It's supposed to come on. MY KEYBOARD IS HAVING BRAIN TROUBLES.

Seriously, though, it's been driving me insane. As I sit there in the dark, working intently on some "super important" drawing/IM conversation, there's always that tiny blue light nagging at the edges of my consciousness... Taunting me... I MUST TURN IT OFF. But then all my words are in caps lock and I don't want that because it makes me sound like I'm screaming when I'm really not. I don't like to scream all the time. It makes me seem like an angry person. I'm not an angry person.

I think I might be a little OCD. Just a little. (No, I'm not covering the light up with my pinkie while I type this... Not at all...)

Is this a symptom of its zombification? What if it spreads?

...What if I'm a zombie, and I don't even know it?

I don't think I want to eat brains... No, not really...

This is all your fault, caps lock light. Stop being a rebel and just do what you're supposed to do. Are you trying to give me a mental disorder? I think you may be succeeding. Good job. Go home.

... Seriously, you can turn off now.

Picture Day

Today was picture day at my school.

I don't like picture day. Picture day is bad. Creepy photographers follow you around all day and take pictures of you doing things at school, as if that's interesting. When it comes time for you to take your yearbook picture, they give you no freedom at all. You have to pose just right for them to take the picture. Half the reason it takes so long is because the photographers have to seat you, to the milimeter, to their liking.

"Sit further back."

"Not that far."

"No, further."

"Okay, now put all of your hair over your shoulders."

"Less hair. Good."

"Turn your head to the side a little."

"More."

"MOAR."

"EVEN MOREEEEE."

"Less."

"Fix your hair again."

"Smile."

"Smile big!"

"SMILE GOSHDARNIT."

"I. SAID. SMILE. YOU PLASTER A GIANT, GOOFY GRIN ON YOUR FACE THIS MOMENT OR THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES."

" NOW DANCE. DANCE LIKE THE WIND. I WANNA SEE THOSE ARMS MOVING!"

It may not have been this dramatic, but that is what it felt like to me. By the end of the picture, I probably looked like this:



I don't like those photographers who take pictures of you doing things either. I don't want to be in and end-of-the-year slide show when my face is all contorted with concentration or anxiety for fear of the stalking photographer as my face tends to be in those kinds of pictures.. Here's an example of a picture that will probably end up on said slideshow:



The picture guy was like, right in front of me. It was creepy. I don't like being followed/photographed by strangers. Please refrain from doing so.

Happiness in a Bottle

Today, my mom returned from the grocery store with a bottle of "coconut milk drink". The top of the lid read "Happiness in a Bottle". When my mom peeled off the plastic covering to see what the drink actually looked like (it was in a glass bottle), we were all disgusted. This was part of the conversation that followed:

Me- ... What is that?

Mom- Coconut juice.

Me- It looks like barf.

Mom- It says it's "happiness in a bottle".

Me- More like someone ate happiness, semi-digested it, and regurgitated it back into a bottle.

Mom- .....

Little Brother- *pushes plate away* I've lost my appetite.

Inside the bottle was the visual equivalent of what I smelled inside the Essence of Cow jar. The milk was semi-transparent and white tinted, like what I imagine stomach fluid to look like. Small chunks of suspicious-looking matter floated around inside the liquid. I assumed it was pieces of coconut, though it looked closer to a piece of chicken that someone had started to chew and then spit back out in disgust. I decided that it was so disgusting that it deserved to be blogged about, so I set to work getting a picture of the bottle.

My mom walked up from behind me and said something along the lines of, "No, no, no. Your camera is blurry because the light is wrong. You need to go somewhere brighter and use a darker background. Your blog will suck if the picture is wrong."

I was appalled. "My blog is about the writing, not the pictures," I replied.

She shook her head, grabbed the bottle and my camera, and walked upstairs. I followed her into the bathroom.

We proceeded to have a large-scale photoshoot for the bottle of regurgitated happiness.

The lights were turned on until they were blindingly bright, and the bottle was set in front of a dark towel. We even got an LED flashlight to illuminate the chunks. We took dozens of photos and spent more time than necessary deliberating over which one was the best. That was when we discovered that the flashlight had a strobe feature.

We spent the next few minutes filming the coconut juice under the strobe light as if it were at a rave, trying our bet not to laugh or shake the camera. Here are the results of our glamor shoot:

While I was viewing the results, my mom picked up the bottle, dumped it in the toilet, and took pictures of the chunks sinking to the bottom, giggling wildly the whole time. I feel this drink was appropriately named because, though we didn't dare drink it, it did bring us much happiness tonight.

What is This, I Don't Even...

Have you ever had some weird, disturbing dream that doesn't seem relevant to your life whatsoever? I need like a dream interpreter or something because this one creeped me out to no end.

So there was this giant yellow spider sitting on a table. This big ugly caterpillar crawled up to it around back and started nibbling at the spider's abdomen. It chewed this huge hole out of which spider guts were pouring from. The spider didn't seem to notice yet. The caterpillar proceeded to climb inside the spider, empty out the spider guts, and barf up a large quantity of caterpillar eggs. Then it started squeezing through the hole, all slimy and yellow and covered with spider juices, and crawled over a few inches away from the spider. The hole sealed up as soon as the caterpillar was free.

Then the spider decided to notice that there was a large scar on its back and its insides were completely devoid of necessary body systems and replaced by caterpillar eggs and started screaming. It was a horrible, high pitched keening. It was probably the worst part of the nightmare aside from what happened next.

The caterpillar eggs had incubated inside the spider for some time and had begun to hatch. Little miniature caterpillar babies began to gnaw their way through the spider's flesh and crawl out to their mother. The spider flailed around wildly and began to scream louder. The caterpillar babies were crying and everything was covered in spider blood and guts. The spider's legs were splayed in every direction and twitching madly. It looked kind of like this:

At this point, I appeared in the dream. I grabbed a large knife off the counter and began hacking blindly at anything that moved. Baby caterpillar guts mixed with those of the decapitated spider, who was still screaming, and unidentifiable pieces of bug flew through the air, splattering on the windows and walls.

It was basically a bug massacre.

What does this mean?

NO Do Not Touch

A few days ago, my mom crashed on her bike, flew over her handlebars, and landed on a wasp, which stung her. It gave her a rash that is still barely healed.

Today, my mom and I were walking outside to look at the garden and she saw a weed. On impulse, she decided to pull it. She had no idea that this was lurking under a leaf:

Look at its face. Doesn't it just look like it wants to eat you? I think it would be sad to look pissed-off all your life. Even if you were extremely happy or excited about something, no one would be able to tell because they'd be too busy wondering what they did to make you so angry that you're probably plotting to nom all over their face and rip out their eyeballs.

Anyways, those little barb-hair things are filled with stinging venom. My mom thought it might have been a thorn, but no. It was a caterpillar. Did you know they could sting? I didn't.

She was worried that her eyes would start bleeding or she would get radioactive powers like Spiderman or something else catastrophic, so I looked up stinging caterpillars on Google. I found out that they're called saddleback caterpillars and their poison can cause swelling, nausea, and rash.

WARNING: Do not touch.

Update

Nothing exciting enough to be posted on my blog is happening right now, so I spend all my time randomly searching the internet or drawing, which is why I haven't posted anything extremely hilarious lately. I figure I should at least post what I've been doing, so for anyone who cares, here's a link to my deviantART gallery. (:

http://below-the-surf.deviantart.com/gallery/

Vacation

Most people spend their vacations shopping/at the spa/relaxing/swimming/etc. How did I spend my first night at the beach? With my little brother, shining a lazer pointer at people from our 7th floor hotel room.

He discovered that he could shine it all the way down to the boardwalk below our deck, so we spent the evening running in and out to avoid the stares of people who figured out where the lazer was coming from. Some people waved. Some people frowned. Some people stopped their bikes in the middle of the boardwalk. One kid chased it in circles around the beach.

Other than that, we did normal stuff too. We swam in the ocean and got drowned by waves and had our sinuses washed with saltwater. A pod of dolphins swam close to the shore, and we were pretty far out so they were only about twenty feet away. We practically died of dehydration and heat stroke at an amusement park. We chilled out at a lodge. Vacation is cool.

Guess What?

If you really enjoy stalking the events of my life, you can now like The Yaffle on Facebook and follow it on Twitter. Check the sidebar for links.

My Zombie Laptop

My computer has this issue where the CPU gets really, really hot (It burns the heck out of my leg) and the computer turns off (Presario CQ50 by Compac- DO NOT BUY if you have pets/relatives that shed hair). It annoys me to no end because whenever it overheats, it doesn't save any restore data so I lose whatever I'm working on at the time. It makes me want to rip my hair out and run around the house screaming, then smash it to bits with a hammer (but I would never do that, I love it too much).

This has to be the hottest summer ever, so of course that only escalates the problem.

For the past two days I've been able to get the thing to boot up and maybe check my Facebook partially before it overheats (So it runs for like two minutes at a time). I can't do anything. I downloaded a program that told me the CPU was about 250 degrees when it overheated; Do you know how long it takes for that to cool down? On a summer day? A long time.

I thought it might be some random graphics processor issue because I was using Windows 7 with the transparent toolbar and all so I booted off a CD for Ubuntu 10 that I just happened to have with me (Yes, I'm a nerd...) as if that would fix anything. I wasn't surprised when nothing changed.

My next plan was to text my dad, the computer genius. He said to wait until he got home.

I kind of wish I hadn't asked.

After a few minutes of trying to split my hard-drive partitions or something, the computer overheated as usual. He flipped the thing over and went into the garage to get something. This was when I knew things had to be bad. The only things in there are junk from three+ years ago, his stash of vegetable oil/filtering contraptions, or his toolbox.

He came in with a can of liquid CO2.

In case you don't know, liquid CO2 is like ice in a can. He coated the bottom of my poor laptop with it until it had iced over completely. After this, my brother took the can and stared spraying bananas/the counter/anything else while we tried (unsuccessfully) to make my computer retain life for more than a few minutes.

Since we turned it on while it was upside-down, we noticed that the fan wasn't working at all. Vacuuming the fan kind of (not really) worked before, so we tried doing that. It still wouldn't turn. When poking it didn't work either, my dad insisted that we cut through the exterior to get to the fan so we could see if any cat hair was clogging it up.

Was he insane? Cut my beautiful laptop? With a dremel tool? No. Absolutely not. There was no point trying to save it from the dead. Why couldn't he just let it rest in peace?

Of course not. He said he'd rather say he tried his best to fix it before he bought a new one.

I sat in fear as he screwed the cutting wheel in place. He'd said that he was making my laptop better.

"Yeah," I'd replied, "And I'm sure that's what Dr. Frankenstein said, too."

Within a few minutes, the beautiful, smooth plastic cover on the bottom of my laptop was marred by a scraggly looking black scar and a gaping hole, revealing the dusty, cat fur-clad fan. After a few long, panicked moments and relentless prodding/picking/vacuuming, the poor thing showed no signs of life. But then it twitched.

It twitched.

In the next second, it barfed up a large clump of gray cat hair and began spinning- but it was quiet. My fan has buzzed/made loud blowing noises for as long as I can remember. But not now. We had succeeded in bringing my dead computer back to life- it was a zombie.

I'm posting this from my zombie laptop, and the temperature is leveling out at around 150 degrees. I has never done that before. Ever. Now I just have to deal with a giant ugly hole in the bottom until my dad fixes it...

On a side note, aliens are trying to communicate with us through meat. Can anyone read this?



My dad seriously found this on his rib bone. I'm concerned.

Don't Abuse It

I keep trying to think of something to blog about, but nothing exciting/funny has happened. All I can possibly think of is what my dad said to my brother when he left food on the floor:

"Eating on the floor like a dog is a privilege. Don't abuse it."

Seriously. Don't abuse it.

The Essence of Cow

I think my dad is legitimately convinced that there's going to be an apocalypse sometime in the near future and we're all going to revert to caveman behavior or something, because he always says that if it happens, he'll be prepared. He vacuum packs and freezes any food that he doesn't eat with his beloved Foodsaver. Our freezer is stuffed with frozen cabbage stew, steaks, burgers, French toast from New Years, "Bacon Explosion" (look it up), and pretty much anything else you can think of.

One day I had a friend over and he just happened to be melting down all the old food to make room for new food, and he was piling the disgusting recently-thawed food in a large bowl. My friend asked him what it was. "Dinner," he replied, "We're having leftover surprise." I had to assure her that he was just kidding and we were actually ordering a pizza.

Here are some pictures of some duck-liver-mushroom-potato-sauce thing he made the other day, frozen and then vacuumed:

While he was making this, apparently he used some sort of beef flavoring. He called it "the essence of cow". The contents of the jar looked strikingly similar to tar or asphalt. He convinced me to smell his cow-in-a-jar, insisting that it was absolutely wonderful. I don't know why I did it. I don't even like steak. What I smelled in that jar had to be the most revolting, horrible smell that will ever trespass through my nostrils. It smelled like a thousand dirty cows had crammed themselves into this little glass jar and died, leaving their rotting flesh to ferment and decompose. I nearly barfed. If anything looks or smells like this, it can't be good:

Stay away from this at all costs.

Yesterday I noticed that we still had an extremely large squash that our neighbors had given us a few weeks ago. Obviously, no one was going to eat it. Things tend to go unnoticed in our house for long amounts of time, so I decided to see how long it would take for someone to notice if I drew a face on the squash and put it in a vase on the counter. I named it Old Yeller.

The back of the squash reads "Old Yeller- 7/14" so I can keep track of the date. I did this last night, and so far no one has noticed. I'll update this post when someone sees it.

***

Darn it. Apparently they noticed it this morning.

I have Perfect Rug for You

Today, my mom dragged me into civilization so we could buy legit things. She took me to Goodwill and bought a bunch of gaudy, brightly colored plates so we could smash them with a hammer and make stepping stones out of them. The cashier asked us multiple times if we had seen a small chip in one plate. I thought it was ridiculous, since we were going to do far worse damage to the plate. I didn't want to tell her because she had already wrapped up half of our plates in newspaper and I didn't want her to feel like her efforts had been wasted.

After that, my mom took me to Sam's Club. We don't actually have a membership there, we just decided it would be a good place to look for rugs. The rug we were going to get had to match a specific pillow, but we didn't trust our memories and decided to drag the pillow around the store in a large plastic bag. The man at the front of the store stopped us and asked us about our pillow. He said that we could browse through his rugs.

Multiple employees eyed us and our pillow suspiciously, as if they knew we were insane lunatics and we didn't belong here because we didn't have a membership.

The king-of-rugs employee spoke bad English, but he was determined to find us the absolute perfect rug to match our pillow. "No, no, come, I have perfect rug for you," he urged us as we tried to sneak past him. He showed us countless ornamental rugs whose patterns clashed horribly with the pillow, but the colors were somewhat similar. My mom let him know that the rugs were too busy, and he rifled through his large rug stack until he found a semi-contemporary looking rug that almost matched. "Perfect rug for you," he insisted. We kindly let him know that it wasn't what we were looking for and crept away.

The lady at the exit asked us about our pillow.

At Pier 1 Imports, a friendly employee followed us around the store after we asked her a question, determined to provide "helpful" suggestions for everything we looked at. When she was ringing us up, she insisted that my mother write down her email so they could send her a weekly newsletter with "great deals" and that we should sign up for a Pier 1 card or complete a survey to save $10 on our purchase. We kindly refused and practically ran out of the store.

By the end of the day, we had collected multiple colored dishes, a lonely pillow, some paper lanterns, and a metal cat porch ornament.