My BFF and a Muslim

I do not know these people, but I took this photo of them.

Once I went on a short vacation-trip with my family up to some barren cabin on a lake owned by their friends.

1. I hate nature.
2. I hate the outdoors.
3. Going to a cabin sounded awful, but I bit the bullet and decided not to be a sourpuss and went on the vacation.

I went canoeing by myself because that is one thing I like about the outdoors. Actually I like kayaking better than canoeing because I suppose canoes are more for groups of people, or at least a couple. *Note to self that canoe = excellent date op. ((Actually, my hurdles coach in high school told the hurdlers that his first date with his wife was on a canoe. He said it was horrible because all she did was make him row and she just sat in the canoe thinking it was great.))

After canoeing, I decided to do my calculus homework (outside so that I could capitalize on the “beauty of nature”) and also read some books about doctors. Then I ate and went to bed.

I couldn’t go to bed because I felt like I would stop breathing. This really bothered me, but everyone was asleep, and I didn’t feel comfortable waking up my mom or stepdad/I didn’t know where they were sleeping and I didn’t want to creep around the cabin and accidentally see a couple getting freaky (because we were at the cabin with their friends). So I texted two friends.

My bff was rather nonchalant. He said his brother suffered from a similar condition, and that I should get it checked out. That is all. I was expecting more from him because I could have died that night, but I guess he’s just real cool in life-or-death situations.

My Muslim friend was more sympathetic. I do not know why I texted her because we aren’t really that close. She was more motherly than my bff, though.

What does it mean that I texted these two friends when I thought I was going to die? That I texted instead of called? That I specifically chose them? C’est la vie.

For the record, I didn’t think I was going to die, but I did want to tell someone what I was experiencing. I didn’t think it warranted waking someone up just to tell them what I was experiencing. But then what if I did think I was going to die? Would I still wake someone up with a phone call telling them, “Hey, I think I might die?” I told my mom in the morning, and various reports indicate that she watched me at night and hovered her hand over my mouth to ensure that I was breathing as I slept.

I really don’t like to put my lips on eating instruments

im going to write this blog based around fact number one from my 100 Things list. that’s nice, huh?

im also going to change my writing style for this entry. i usually dont write like this. i used to write like this on aim in middle/high school except my font used to be pink (fuchsia, really) because i wanted to be a living statement of a contradictory male/not scared to venture into new grounds.

look at the picture. i tried to look a little hipster. the glasses are fake; my sister says my mommy got them from delias. the camera is my panasonic lumix zs3. the hoodie is my orchestra hoodie when we went to carnegie hall in 2005; i ripped it because that was the trendy thing to do.  the button up underneath the hoodie is from the gap and was on sale; it is purple and plaid, and i like both of those. the pants are skinny black jeans from target; i wear them to work a lot because i cant wear blue denim at work. the yogurt is parfait pineapple and there is a spoon in the yogurt. the spoon is the reason i am blogging.

i hate putting my lips on silverware. even if the utensils are plastic, i will probably never kiss them with my lips. in this sense, my lips are completely virgin because i am nbk. i dont know if i will ever want to be kissed/kiss a girl until my wedding day. you might think this is weird, and i think youd be right in thinking that because it is a little weird. i might not do that, but i might. i still have time to decide on this because i dont have a girlfriend nor do i envision one in the near future. being nbk until my vows might be like a revival of the fuchsia in a different form.

i usually use a plastic spoon to eat this yogurt, but it seems my mommy has gone green and no longer purchases plastic spoons. so i used the spoon my sister always uses. it is large and obtrusive; i do not like how it feels in my hand, and i certainly do not like how it feels around my mouth. it has made this yogurt experience somewhat undesirable.

i think i dont like to put my lips on utensils because i am somewhat of a germophobe. i was probably scarred as a young child when i watched my grandparents and parents wash the dishes. they would use the same silverware that i used to dig into the flesh of fish and other odd laotian foods. even if they washed it, i couldnt get myself past the grim history of those forks and spoons.

this entry was inspired by the yogurt found in the family fridge, and by this lady. she doesnt know that i follow her blog, but i do and i like it.

Mr. Egg Dissected

httpvh://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KEnGAYui9VQ

Please see the original post, Mr. Egg, for background as to why I’m dissecting Mr. Egg.