If unicorns had unibrows
humanity’s idea of beauty would not be the same.
humanity’s idea of beauty would not be the same.
On the ferry to Victoria, I chose to seat myself in an isle seat as opposed to a window seat or a seat neighbouring another seat. Why? Strictly because of the possibility a hot chick (or at least above average, regarding hotness, chick) may pass me by.
This possibility leads to three additional doors.
Door One opens a direct line of vision to just above the seat diagonally left (across the isle) of myself, four rows ahead. Here I can stare, appearing to be lost in my thoughts, while I’m actually ninja waiting for the woman’s beautifully luscious breastises to float by.
The second door opens to screams and shouts escaping my dry, cracked lips forming the words, “Ay, yo! Yo, Shawty! Shawty! SHAWTY! … What yo name is? Can I gecho numba?”
The final door opens to either a falling woman or a woman who has dropped something. As she falls, I would move towards her, helping her up, possibly collecting her things for her. If the latter, I’d chase after her to return her missing article. This door morphs to a window. A conversation window. And only through this window is where I can find out if she is missing a number in her phone as well. Cause I’m missing a number too. Hers. BAM! Common ground. Genius, eh?
Too bad I will probably pussy out half way through (if not before she passes by). Bound by contract (with myself), I must, at this point, scurry away, tail between my legs. Much like a scared, lost dog looking for his owner. However, not to his knowledge, his owner never existed.
PS. The above hypothetical falling woman is not to be hypothetically injured. In the event that she is injured, I know emergency first aid, and would be more than glad to perform CPR. Solely to save her life, of course.
every thirty minutes or so, my accounting professor tears off a corner from any random sheet of paper nearby. He immediately crumples it up into a tiny ball and quickly puts it in his pocket. It’s as if he thinks he’s doing this fast enough so no one will notice.
How many balls does he have? What does he do with his collection of balls? Why does he collect these balls? Are there just paper balls, or balls of other materials as well? Why does he keep fondling his balls? Does he think no one notices his ball fetish? Do other people notice his ball fetish? Because he stops talking during this process, I wonder what thoughts are going through his head…
I lied to you when I said it took a few hours to pick songs for your iPod. It took over ten; I lost count.
Every time you fell asleep in my car, I lowered the volume, slowed down, and drove more carefully, so I wouldn’t wake you.
I lied to you when I told you, “I bought [that portable speaker] for you weeks ago.” I had actually bought it that very same day.
When you told me you were having bad dreams, I got you a dream catcher.
I lied to you when you asked me if it was weird how you say “wed-nes-day” to yourself when you write out the word. I told you a lot of people do that just so you’d feel more comfortable and because I do the same. I have no clue whether the majority of people do that or not.
Every time I hear Jump by Kris Kross, I’m reminded of when we went to see Friends with Benefits. However, not of the movie itself.
I lied to you when you showed up late, as you just woke up and left for work right away. You didn’t look like shit; you looked breathtaking, as you pretty much always do.
Speaking of which, I never told you how hot you look in your new glasses, or even acknowledged their existence for that matter.
You drunk dialed me a couple nights. One night, you told me a secret that I will never repeat. Another night, you told me, “[you were] afraid of getting too drunk, calling someone, and telling that person some secrets.” In lieu of this, I bought you an amethyst stone necklace.
I never said congratulations when I found out through Nemo that you had finally bought yourself a laptop. Achieving goals, no matter how small, is no easy feat. Congratulations.
I hate sharing my food, but you hadn’t the slightest clue, until you read this sentence.
I apologised every time you were upset and I was involved. Even when it wasn’t my fault. Why? Only cause this gave you something to blame; I didn’t want you to feel like there was something wrong with you. People tend to think negatively when they’re upset. But I already told you that, therefore, it is irrelevant now.
Poulet a la King doesn’t taste the same when it’s not made by you.
I was there for you when you needed me. Whether you knew it or not, I was there. You didn’t have to ask.
I was afraid of you for a long time. I never hated you, even though I told you that I did. My avoidance behaviour drove you to a point where you bitched at me (in subtle ways) whenever you saw me. This drove me to grow hate within myself. Therefore, I really only hated myself. I didn’t want to disappoint you. That’s why I acted like your friend as opposed to just another guy who was interested. Maybe I should audition to become an actor.. Anyway, I shouldn’t have told you a half truth. I should have either told you the entire truth, or continued to lie. My bad? Since you already knew half a truth, this is the other half.
You told me twice, that any girl would be lucky to have me. I guess you never found those pennies I dropped.
Don’t worry, you didn’t break my heart: I did that myself.
Thanks. For everything. You showed me a lot that I never saw in myself. Good luck with post secondary. I hope you eventually find what you’re looking for, or what your looking for finds you, but only when your ready.
If you are reading this, can I have my DVD player back? And my movies too?
When you need a tissue, you need a tissue. Every time I open a new tissue box, I get annoyed.
First you have the lid thing you just ripped off. It’s too much cardboard to just throw in the trash, but it’s so small that it’s not worth the extra effort to recycle.
Next, it takes forever to get the first tissue out of the box. Furthermore, usually when opening a new box, you need that first tissue as soon as humanly possible; this adds extra frustration.
Now that you finally have that first tissue, you have also in your hand three more tissues because the production company wanted to save money by making the boxes JUST too small for all of those tissues. You’ve no use for these additional tissues so you end up using two tissues for the job of one tissue in an attempt to justify the excess. At this point, you’re frustrated so you ball up the other two tissues with the used two and you feel guilty, but you throw it all out anyway.
The next day, you feel relieved, as you have overcome the woes of a new tissue box. Or at least so you thought. As you reach toward the box, you notice that when you pulled out the four tissues yesterday, that bastard fourth tissue didn’t pull out tissue number five. Tissue Four is the devil.
Aaaah, okay. Finally. You’re good to go for a month or so (this time frame depends on how often you use tissues as well as how many tissues you use each time) until you near the end of the box. There’s no need to explain here, that half of the width of a normal tissue does not match the height of the box. This means that if the box is moved at this crucial, fragile, time, the next tissue in line is dropped. It crashes down to the bottom of the box like when a cloud collides with another cloud. Not like when lightning and thunder occur; more like a cotton candy filled pillow fight. This is just cruel. It is next to impossible to restore order to the poor distraught box without ruining the elastic of the thin plastic vagina that holds up the tissues. This process occurs at least three times before running completely out of tissues.
You know how when you’re enjoying yourself, time seems to fly? But then when you’re bored, everything just seems to take forever and drag on? I’m stuck somewhere between that right now.
Time is flying, but I’m not enjoying myself. I’m actually hating a lot of things. You may think that’s a good thing, but I feel horrible. Foods I love don’t taste the same. I can barely remember what I was doing an hour ago.
My guess as to why I am going through this? Maybe because everything I put my effort into is never good enough for others. And it’s never good for myself in the long-run. It’s always just barely mediocrity or sub-par.
Can people ever be truly satisfied? It seems every single person always wants more. More than what they can achieve. More than what’s feasible.
I want what I want. When I can’t have it, I settle for less. That want, that need, still exists. For some things, I hold on to it; to strive for better. For other things, I hide it; pretend I don’t want it. It always comes back around to haunt me.
Actually, then it wouldn’t be such a triumph when I’m done.
Wait, will it?
I guess I’ll never know, because when it’s done; it’ll be over.