as seen by me, in photographs.
Friday, October 29, 2010
Friday, September 24, 2010
It was midday, and I was lounging languidly on my bed, lazily surfing the web and downloading new music to fill my ears with. I grew bored, as I often do, and sat up to find something new to occupy my time. I looked around my room inattentively and my wondering eye caught a speck of white against my red sheet.
I peered closer, with one eye, to get as close as possible. "IT'S A TOOTH!" i screamed at the top of my lungs. "A HUMAN TOOTH IS IN MY BED!" and hurriedly picked it up and rushed from my room to share the surprise, discovery, and disgust with my roommates.
They quickly squashed my dream that the tooth fairy may be visiting imminently, as I was growing in my third set of teeth, as the tooth as much too small to be human.
Who else has been in my bed..who else has been in my bed I thought to myself..and then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Javier. My head snapped up, my eyes grew wide: "JAVIER IS DYING."
A second roommate piped up from the cave that is his room--kittens lose teeth, Brooke. He's perfectly fine. Again, squashed anticipation, although this time a much more pleasant squash. I tumbled down the stairs and searched for my main man Jave, and upon finding him I pushed his lips aside and gazed into his mouth, and sure enough, a gaping hole gazed back. A molar . "He has lost a molar, is that normal, roommate #2--cat expert extraordinaire?" --Perfectly normal, Brooke. My gaze continued and expanded and I realized that two gaping holes occupied Javier's mouth. That second tooth haunts me day and night, staulking my dreams while the remaining teeth taunt me--where we fall out next, Mamasita? maybe your food. Maybe we show up in your bowel movement because we creep in your mouth while you sleeping, or maybe we join our brother and hide away until a stranger move into theese room and find us in some obscure corner, a pile of teeny-tiny teeth, and they will always wonder. (mexican cat teeth, obviously)
I peered closer, with one eye, to get as close as possible. "IT'S A TOOTH!" i screamed at the top of my lungs. "A HUMAN TOOTH IS IN MY BED!" and hurriedly picked it up and rushed from my room to share the surprise, discovery, and disgust with my roommates.
They quickly squashed my dream that the tooth fairy may be visiting imminently, as I was growing in my third set of teeth, as the tooth as much too small to be human.
Who else has been in my bed..who else has been in my bed I thought to myself..and then it hit me like a ton of bricks. Javier. My head snapped up, my eyes grew wide: "JAVIER IS DYING."
A second roommate piped up from the cave that is his room--kittens lose teeth, Brooke. He's perfectly fine. Again, squashed anticipation, although this time a much more pleasant squash. I tumbled down the stairs and searched for my main man Jave, and upon finding him I pushed his lips aside and gazed into his mouth, and sure enough, a gaping hole gazed back. A molar . "He has lost a molar, is that normal, roommate #2--cat expert extraordinaire?" --Perfectly normal, Brooke. My gaze continued and expanded and I realized that two gaping holes occupied Javier's mouth. That second tooth haunts me day and night, staulking my dreams while the remaining teeth taunt me--where we fall out next, Mamasita? maybe your food. Maybe we show up in your bowel movement because we creep in your mouth while you sleeping, or maybe we join our brother and hide away until a stranger move into theese room and find us in some obscure corner, a pile of teeny-tiny teeth, and they will always wonder. (mexican cat teeth, obviously)
Friday, September 17, 2010
A joke to pass the time
Every morning I start my day by entering the breakroom at my work and eating something breakfasty. On this particular morning, all my coworkers wound up in there as well each doing their own day-starting tasks. We get on very well, and it wasn't very long before jokes arose and the laughing started. A certain coworker of mine was unpacking his shopping back, and out came a can of baby clams.
I looked at the can, looked him in the eye, looked back at the can and said, "baby clams, so-and-so? You're a monster!"
and that was the best joke to ever leave my mouth in the office setting.
(besides when the judge asked if a picture on his wall looked a little "cock-eyed" and I said, it's a picture, judge. It doesn't have eyes.)
I looked at the can, looked him in the eye, looked back at the can and said, "baby clams, so-and-so? You're a monster!"
and that was the best joke to ever leave my mouth in the office setting.
(besides when the judge asked if a picture on his wall looked a little "cock-eyed" and I said, it's a picture, judge. It doesn't have eyes.)
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Untitled
A defining moment in my life was when I walked all the way to the grocery story today, picked up groceries, walked all the way back, and saw my car. I could have taken it the whole time, and yet it didn't cross my mind once.
Think of the places I can go with a bike!
Think of the places I can go with a bike!
Thursday, July 15, 2010
The Tension and the Terror
I said something inappropriate at work. This wouldn't be the first time, but it very well may have been the worst time. In my line of work I deal with a lot of attorneys, especially on the phone. A certain man called up about a motion he had submitted and upon realizing that he had made a grave mistake, (after being informed by myself) politely thanked me for my time and hung up. As I was relaying this story to my co-workers, I joked, "well, what was I supposed to say, you messed up BIG TIME Mr. So-and-So." They laughed and replied, "busted!" To elevate the fun, laughter and joke a little bit more I answered, "you're SCREWED Mr. So-and-So." I said screwed. The co-workers gave eachother shifty, uncomfortable looks and finally said, "well maybe not that far." I returned to my workstation, ashamed.
The Food:
I had two main food experiences this week, one a drink, and one I can't even tell you because it would ruin the ridiculousness of the story.
The first: It was a particularly cold day in the office, (not outside:86 degrees, but inside where they blast you with air conditioning) and a co-worker of mine was feeling tired. I offered to go get coffee, and a cheer went up from the crowd. A second co-worker offered to buy me a drink as well, and not one to pass up free food, I accepted. Now, I'm not a coffee drinker. I don't really like it, and I hear it's bad for you. So I went with a chocolate shake.
Fast forward, one hour later.
I was tapping my fingers on the desk and bouncing my feet uncontrollably. Zipping from task to task, turning my head this way to that to this way to that. I was returning my pen to it's receptacle each and everytime I used it, even though I was using it about every 15 seconds. My voice shook as I spoke: I think my drink may have been caffeinated...! I looked it up online, and sure enough, 15mL of Caffeine RAGING through my body. I was basically, freaking out. Speaking fast and laughing at myself and everyone around me. I felt like I was on drugs. As my co-workers laughed at me, I grew curious as to how much caffeine pulsed through their veins. I looked up each of their regular coffe starbucks drinks online, and made them guess as to how much caffeine was in theirs. Their guesses? Since mine was 15...30, wait no maybe 45.
330. 330mL of caffeine in their coffees. That is 22 times the amount of caffeine that was in mine! Imagine me after drinking a cup of coffee--I would be bouncing of the walls.
The second: This story calls for a little prologue. I ride the max to work, everyday. I see the same people (for the most part, it's 7:15 in the morning) on the max everyday. So when I saw a new boy (about my age) on the max, and not only that but got off at my stop AND worked in my building, this was news. I have seen him each day since, and on the third day I spoke with him. We laughed at trivalties and told eachother about ourselves, but I didn't find out his name. The next day, I knew I would see him again, and wondered what his name was. Jokingly I thought to myself, "wouldn't that be the worst if his name is Shawn?" (my most recent ex is named Shawn.) There he was, on the max. We didn't speak, I had a seat and he stood. I looked around the familiar train and people watched. And then my poeple watching took a turn for the more interesting. Out of the corner of my eye, "eye" spyed a poptart. an uneaten poptart in a package (an open package). I looked around for judgemental glances, and when there were none to be found, I slipped it into my hand like it had been mine all along.
once off the max I spoke, for a second time, to the new boy in my building. I ventured, "I don't believe you ever told me your name...?" He replied, "I was about to say the same thing. I'm Sean." Shaun. Shawn. He was Shawn. I hope that my overactive mind didn't erase his real name and let me hear the name Shawn.
After my shock that not only was his name the same as my ex, but I had actually thought about that happening not 20 minutes before the fact, I pulled out the poptart. I told him, i'd found it open, on the max, for who knows how long, and that i wanted to eat it. I asked if he would take a bite with me. He refused. I hated him in that moment, and begged him. Pleaded him, cajoled him into taking a bite. He did it, he took a bite. (I took the remnants of the 'tart up to my office and devoured the rest of it.) He's a winner, I think.
The Food:
I had two main food experiences this week, one a drink, and one I can't even tell you because it would ruin the ridiculousness of the story.
The first: It was a particularly cold day in the office, (not outside:86 degrees, but inside where they blast you with air conditioning) and a co-worker of mine was feeling tired. I offered to go get coffee, and a cheer went up from the crowd. A second co-worker offered to buy me a drink as well, and not one to pass up free food, I accepted. Now, I'm not a coffee drinker. I don't really like it, and I hear it's bad for you. So I went with a chocolate shake.
Fast forward, one hour later.
I was tapping my fingers on the desk and bouncing my feet uncontrollably. Zipping from task to task, turning my head this way to that to this way to that. I was returning my pen to it's receptacle each and everytime I used it, even though I was using it about every 15 seconds. My voice shook as I spoke: I think my drink may have been caffeinated...! I looked it up online, and sure enough, 15mL of Caffeine RAGING through my body. I was basically, freaking out. Speaking fast and laughing at myself and everyone around me. I felt like I was on drugs. As my co-workers laughed at me, I grew curious as to how much caffeine pulsed through their veins. I looked up each of their regular coffe starbucks drinks online, and made them guess as to how much caffeine was in theirs. Their guesses? Since mine was 15...30, wait no maybe 45.
330. 330mL of caffeine in their coffees. That is 22 times the amount of caffeine that was in mine! Imagine me after drinking a cup of coffee--I would be bouncing of the walls.
The second: This story calls for a little prologue. I ride the max to work, everyday. I see the same people (for the most part, it's 7:15 in the morning) on the max everyday. So when I saw a new boy (about my age) on the max, and not only that but got off at my stop AND worked in my building, this was news. I have seen him each day since, and on the third day I spoke with him. We laughed at trivalties and told eachother about ourselves, but I didn't find out his name. The next day, I knew I would see him again, and wondered what his name was. Jokingly I thought to myself, "wouldn't that be the worst if his name is Shawn?" (my most recent ex is named Shawn.) There he was, on the max. We didn't speak, I had a seat and he stood. I looked around the familiar train and people watched. And then my poeple watching took a turn for the more interesting. Out of the corner of my eye, "eye" spyed a poptart. an uneaten poptart in a package (an open package). I looked around for judgemental glances, and when there were none to be found, I slipped it into my hand like it had been mine all along.
once off the max I spoke, for a second time, to the new boy in my building. I ventured, "I don't believe you ever told me your name...?" He replied, "I was about to say the same thing. I'm Sean." Shaun. Shawn. He was Shawn. I hope that my overactive mind didn't erase his real name and let me hear the name Shawn.
After my shock that not only was his name the same as my ex, but I had actually thought about that happening not 20 minutes before the fact, I pulled out the poptart. I told him, i'd found it open, on the max, for who knows how long, and that i wanted to eat it. I asked if he would take a bite with me. He refused. I hated him in that moment, and begged him. Pleaded him, cajoled him into taking a bite. He did it, he took a bite. (I took the remnants of the 'tart up to my office and devoured the rest of it.) He's a winner, I think.
Wednesday, June 2, 2010
The Adverse Effects of College Life
So here I am sitting in my bedroom, trying to make myself write a paper that is due in less than 24 hours. (it's extra credit, give me a break!) Obviously, I am bored beyond belief, so I have started to eat the chips and salsa con queso that the best sister in the world brought over to me as a house warming present. (Jamie). I'm thinking these exact thoughts, "mmm this is so good." as i look down in the jar, hoping that there is a bounteous amount left, I notice something. Something small, something fuzzy. Something called MOLD. I guess they mean business when they say "refrigerate after opening".
what do i do? trying to save as much chips (i chose a tiny crumb) and as much salsa as possible, i scoop the offender out of the jar, place it in the garbage can, and continue eating my favorite treat in the world.
I'm broke, people. This is my life, it tastes, delicious.
Friday, May 21, 2010
The Snub
The Location: Hollywood Transit Center
The Activity: Waiting for the Max
The Time: Between the hours of 9 p.m. and 10 p.m.
The Audience: Randoms from the outskirts of Portland
The Snubee: Yours truly.
The Snuber: One homeless man in a wheelchair
There I stood. Waiting in the frigid night air of Portland that is sometimes called "spring". Waiting for the Max that the electronic signed labeled arriving in: 3 minutes. I was listening to the eerie tunes of Brand New, and pondering existence. To my right was a young fellow, probably in high school, on his phone constantly. He was wearing sweats and held a gym bag for dear life in his right hand, at one point he pulled out a water bottle much like Big Red, but could more aptly be called, Silver Bullet. To my left was a boy in his early twenties, a little overweight, sitting on a bench. He was extremely nice, everytime I looked over there with my soul-searching eyes (again, I was contemplating deep, meaningful subjects) he would smile, quite pleasantly. A little farther down on the left was a tall girl, long hair, headphones, pretty. Cool clothes, we would catch each other's eye sometimes, there were no polite smiles, but in the same token, there was no hostility eiher. Just looks.
A Max headed towards the city center pulled up, and it's contents were spilled haphazardly onto the platform. Among the trimet consumers was a man, in a wheelchair. Dirty clothes, dirty hair, dirty complexion. He rolled over to the athletics advocate on my right, and I didn't hear what passed between them, but the man had his hand held out, expectantly. The younger of the two took out his wallet, looked in, mouthed sorry and shook his head. The man moved on. I was next. I looked at him and smiled slightly, and truly I was planning to give him a dollar, I thought of my brother, Matt, who once told me, "I budget about five dollars a week just to give to the bums." (it could've been a little different than that, but the compassion was there none the less). The man in the chair looked at me, I looked at him. He stopped his shuffle-rolling of the wheelchair. We looked again. He turned around and went around the back of the glass divider for the two directions the Max arrived at. He stopped at the pretty cool tall girl, she shook her head. He rolled up to my left side and asked the twentyish boy who was sitting not two feet away from me. Again, he was rejected, dejected. Again, I waited for my turn. We looked. He rolled away.
It could have been the temperature, but as I watched him sholl (shuffle-roll) away, I felt my heart get a little colder.
The Activity: Waiting for the Max
The Time: Between the hours of 9 p.m. and 10 p.m.
The Audience: Randoms from the outskirts of Portland
The Snubee: Yours truly.
The Snuber: One homeless man in a wheelchair
There I stood. Waiting in the frigid night air of Portland that is sometimes called "spring". Waiting for the Max that the electronic signed labeled arriving in: 3 minutes. I was listening to the eerie tunes of Brand New, and pondering existence. To my right was a young fellow, probably in high school, on his phone constantly. He was wearing sweats and held a gym bag for dear life in his right hand, at one point he pulled out a water bottle much like Big Red, but could more aptly be called, Silver Bullet. To my left was a boy in his early twenties, a little overweight, sitting on a bench. He was extremely nice, everytime I looked over there with my soul-searching eyes (again, I was contemplating deep, meaningful subjects) he would smile, quite pleasantly. A little farther down on the left was a tall girl, long hair, headphones, pretty. Cool clothes, we would catch each other's eye sometimes, there were no polite smiles, but in the same token, there was no hostility eiher. Just looks.
A Max headed towards the city center pulled up, and it's contents were spilled haphazardly onto the platform. Among the trimet consumers was a man, in a wheelchair. Dirty clothes, dirty hair, dirty complexion. He rolled over to the athletics advocate on my right, and I didn't hear what passed between them, but the man had his hand held out, expectantly. The younger of the two took out his wallet, looked in, mouthed sorry and shook his head. The man moved on. I was next. I looked at him and smiled slightly, and truly I was planning to give him a dollar, I thought of my brother, Matt, who once told me, "I budget about five dollars a week just to give to the bums." (it could've been a little different than that, but the compassion was there none the less). The man in the chair looked at me, I looked at him. He stopped his shuffle-rolling of the wheelchair. We looked again. He turned around and went around the back of the glass divider for the two directions the Max arrived at. He stopped at the pretty cool tall girl, she shook her head. He rolled up to my left side and asked the twentyish boy who was sitting not two feet away from me. Again, he was rejected, dejected. Again, I waited for my turn. We looked. He rolled away.
It could have been the temperature, but as I watched him sholl (shuffle-roll) away, I felt my heart get a little colder.
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