Washington is retarded and abnormal.
1. Caucasians - a minority.
2. Cheerleaders - looked down upon.
3. Asian student council members - popular.
4. Calculus students - more at Wash than remedial English students.
5. Remedial English students - nonexistent.
6. Andrejeff's Biology class - requires more reading than any English class.
7. Junior prom - also nonexistent.
8. Dances - suck, which explains the nonexistent junior prom.
More will be added as I think of them.
Monday, May 25, 2009
Monday, April 27, 2009
Saturday, April 4, 2009
12. I was feeling sick.
As you will probably tell from the pictures, I was feeling VERY sick and irritated.
I felt that my sister wasn't given enough credit for my clothes, so I took pictures of some of the clothes she gave me. Unfortunately, putting on the clothes wasn't nearly as fun as I thought it would be, so I stopped.
Dedicated to Christina. And her clothes. Don't you feel special?
**I deleted the pictures. Too bad.
I felt that my sister wasn't given enough credit for my clothes, so I took pictures of some of the clothes she gave me. Unfortunately, putting on the clothes wasn't nearly as fun as I thought it would be, so I stopped.
Dedicated to Christina. And her clothes. Don't you feel special?
**I deleted the pictures. Too bad.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
11. The Last Day.
This is a scene from the book "Looking for Alaska" written in another character's perspective. Comments and constructive criticism are appreciated.
Lara came over to my dorm earlier that day. We were both playing the new Decapitation video game that Pudge and the Colonel lent me. Though it was three days before finals, we could not muster the energy, nor could we find enough motivation to actually study, which was much easier when Alaska gave us the “Pre-calculus 101” in a short hour in front of McInedible.
The game that I wasn’t paying much attention to started to get intense.
“Hey Takumi, why do you suck at thees game? I’ve already keeled you three times!” said Lara.
I did not respond. The single thought that ran through my mind was the fact that Alaska, Pudge, and the Colonel were in the same room, probably getting shitfaced, and I was stuck playing an increasingly stale video game. I could imagine the whole scene. They’re drinking sour ambrosia—without me. They’re playing a raunchy truth or dare—without me. They’re devising a convoluted plan to provoke the Eagle—without me. I felt they were constantly leaving me out, and they always found the reasons. First, they left me out for my own safety. Then, they told me that I wasn’t emotionally fit for their activities. What’s next? Are they going to blame it on the language barrier? Yeah right.
I diverted my focus back to the game. How Lara came to be so good at the game, I do not know, but she pretty much devoured me and then regurgitated the icky parts of me back out in the game. Just as I finally started to take the lead, capturing over half of Lara’s minions, I heard Alaska outside, crying and searching for something unknown on the ground frantically. I noticed that she fumbled a bit and had trouble walking in a straight line.
I thought: What the hell did Pudge and the Colonel do with her?
I thought: What is she doing out at 3 AM?
I dropped my video game controller, told Lara I’d be back, and promptly left the room. I ran down the hall, down three flights of stairs, across the dorm circle, and through the freshly cut lawn to meet Alaska. She was still crying, but now she was on the floor and had seemingly given up on looking for what she needed. I walked towards her, but on that night, the stars were sleeping with the moon and so I could only make out a very faint silhouette. I sat down beside her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. She started to mumble a couple of words, but they were almost inaudible and competed with the crickets, which were twice as loud compared to her voice. She let her tears trickle down her cheek, soaking her unkempt hair. I asked her again.
“What’s wrong?”
“Why am I so stupid? She was everything to me! How could I forget?” I immediately eliminated the possible answer to my question that involved Jake. “I’m so stupid! Stupid stupid stupid!” She paused for a moment, and then she said, “Pudge and the Colonel are distracting the Eagle. I don’t have much time. I have to go.”
The next thing I knew, I heard a loud BANG and felt the ground rumble a bit. I remembered the time when Pudge and I set off firecrackers to distract the Eagle so that Alaska and the Colonel had time to sneak into his office to access personal information of the select unlucky few whose parents received fake “F” notices. I snapped back to reality when I heard the sound of an engine starting, but when I looked up, Alaska was already driving away.
I couldn’t exactly contemplate what had just happened, but I knew it wasn’t good. I sat on the lawn for a few minutes thinking about what Alaska could have possibly been crying about, but I couldn’t focus. It was late and all I wanted to do was go back to my dorm room, finish off Lara in Decapitation, and sleep like there was no tomorrow. I got up and headed back up to the dorm, where Lara was probably sitting alone, bored out of her mind. Before I walked back to Lara, I decided to make a pit stop at Alaska’s dorm. As I approached the dimly lit room, I noticed that the door was wide open, but it was empty. It was quite messy with her books scattered everywhere, contrary to her room three days ago when each stack of books were lined neatly against the wall and organized alphabetically. Other than the books, I saw three empty bottles of strawberry wine, a few unfolded blankets hanging off her bed and touching the floor, and some cigarette buds.
I thought: Nothing out of the ordinary.
As I walked back to my room, I realized that she had probably contributed to at least one of the bottles of wine and I shivered because I let her drive, even though she was probably very drunk. I started to feel guilt and anguish, but there was nothing I could have done. There was nothing anyone could have to stop her from driving to her destination, as drunk and as mentally impaired she was.
I returned to my room to find Lara laying on my bed, but not sleeping. She had left Decapitation on though, letting our opponents demolish us with out a struggle. She said she liked the sound of the continuous rhythm and beat of the machine guns fired at us. It helped her sleep.
“Lara, you should head back to your room. It’s late.”
“Can’t I just sleep in your bed tonight?”
“No. I’m tired. Tomorrow is Monday right? I need to be well rested for class.”
“Actually, tomorrow is a Sunday. Today is Saturday the tenth of January.”
That date rang a bell. I knew it was important, but what was it? I couldn’t figure it out! Was it the day of the series finale of House? No. Was it my mom’s birthday? No. Was it just a date that was repeated on television to promote some bad movie? No. I remembered. January 10th wasn’t that day that I recognized. It was January 9th, the day that Alaska’s mom died from an aneurysm. And then I understood why Alaska was so upset. She must have felt that she screwed everything up. First, she killed her own mother when she was stupid enough to not call 911 when she lay on the kitchen floor unconscious. Then, she forgot the anniversary of her mother’s death. Poor Alaska. The things that must have been running through her head.
Lara came over to my dorm earlier that day. We were both playing the new Decapitation video game that Pudge and the Colonel lent me. Though it was three days before finals, we could not muster the energy, nor could we find enough motivation to actually study, which was much easier when Alaska gave us the “Pre-calculus 101” in a short hour in front of McInedible.
The game that I wasn’t paying much attention to started to get intense.
“Hey Takumi, why do you suck at thees game? I’ve already keeled you three times!” said Lara.
I did not respond. The single thought that ran through my mind was the fact that Alaska, Pudge, and the Colonel were in the same room, probably getting shitfaced, and I was stuck playing an increasingly stale video game. I could imagine the whole scene. They’re drinking sour ambrosia—without me. They’re playing a raunchy truth or dare—without me. They’re devising a convoluted plan to provoke the Eagle—without me. I felt they were constantly leaving me out, and they always found the reasons. First, they left me out for my own safety. Then, they told me that I wasn’t emotionally fit for their activities. What’s next? Are they going to blame it on the language barrier? Yeah right.
I diverted my focus back to the game. How Lara came to be so good at the game, I do not know, but she pretty much devoured me and then regurgitated the icky parts of me back out in the game. Just as I finally started to take the lead, capturing over half of Lara’s minions, I heard Alaska outside, crying and searching for something unknown on the ground frantically. I noticed that she fumbled a bit and had trouble walking in a straight line.
I thought: What the hell did Pudge and the Colonel do with her?
I thought: What is she doing out at 3 AM?
I dropped my video game controller, told Lara I’d be back, and promptly left the room. I ran down the hall, down three flights of stairs, across the dorm circle, and through the freshly cut lawn to meet Alaska. She was still crying, but now she was on the floor and had seemingly given up on looking for what she needed. I walked towards her, but on that night, the stars were sleeping with the moon and so I could only make out a very faint silhouette. I sat down beside her.
“What’s wrong?” I asked. She started to mumble a couple of words, but they were almost inaudible and competed with the crickets, which were twice as loud compared to her voice. She let her tears trickle down her cheek, soaking her unkempt hair. I asked her again.
“What’s wrong?”
“Why am I so stupid? She was everything to me! How could I forget?” I immediately eliminated the possible answer to my question that involved Jake. “I’m so stupid! Stupid stupid stupid!” She paused for a moment, and then she said, “Pudge and the Colonel are distracting the Eagle. I don’t have much time. I have to go.”
The next thing I knew, I heard a loud BANG and felt the ground rumble a bit. I remembered the time when Pudge and I set off firecrackers to distract the Eagle so that Alaska and the Colonel had time to sneak into his office to access personal information of the select unlucky few whose parents received fake “F” notices. I snapped back to reality when I heard the sound of an engine starting, but when I looked up, Alaska was already driving away.
I couldn’t exactly contemplate what had just happened, but I knew it wasn’t good. I sat on the lawn for a few minutes thinking about what Alaska could have possibly been crying about, but I couldn’t focus. It was late and all I wanted to do was go back to my dorm room, finish off Lara in Decapitation, and sleep like there was no tomorrow. I got up and headed back up to the dorm, where Lara was probably sitting alone, bored out of her mind. Before I walked back to Lara, I decided to make a pit stop at Alaska’s dorm. As I approached the dimly lit room, I noticed that the door was wide open, but it was empty. It was quite messy with her books scattered everywhere, contrary to her room three days ago when each stack of books were lined neatly against the wall and organized alphabetically. Other than the books, I saw three empty bottles of strawberry wine, a few unfolded blankets hanging off her bed and touching the floor, and some cigarette buds.
I thought: Nothing out of the ordinary.
As I walked back to my room, I realized that she had probably contributed to at least one of the bottles of wine and I shivered because I let her drive, even though she was probably very drunk. I started to feel guilt and anguish, but there was nothing I could have done. There was nothing anyone could have to stop her from driving to her destination, as drunk and as mentally impaired she was.
I returned to my room to find Lara laying on my bed, but not sleeping. She had left Decapitation on though, letting our opponents demolish us with out a struggle. She said she liked the sound of the continuous rhythm and beat of the machine guns fired at us. It helped her sleep.
“Lara, you should head back to your room. It’s late.”
“Can’t I just sleep in your bed tonight?”
“No. I’m tired. Tomorrow is Monday right? I need to be well rested for class.”
“Actually, tomorrow is a Sunday. Today is Saturday the tenth of January.”
That date rang a bell. I knew it was important, but what was it? I couldn’t figure it out! Was it the day of the series finale of House? No. Was it my mom’s birthday? No. Was it just a date that was repeated on television to promote some bad movie? No. I remembered. January 10th wasn’t that day that I recognized. It was January 9th, the day that Alaska’s mom died from an aneurysm. And then I understood why Alaska was so upset. She must have felt that she screwed everything up. First, she killed her own mother when she was stupid enough to not call 911 when she lay on the kitchen floor unconscious. Then, she forgot the anniversary of her mother’s death. Poor Alaska. The things that must have been running through her head.
Tuesday, March 24, 2009
10. Inspiration.
I'm going to write a song. I'm going to be famous. Here's my autograph.
Cynthia Chin
Cynthia Chin
Sunday, March 15, 2009
9. Holga!
So apparently, the really cool Holga pictures that you see online have all been edited. I was stupid to think that people could actually take pictures like that!This is a picture of the view from my room. Wonderful.
Thanks Rhonda for helping be edit this. It makes me excited and now I want to take more pictures! Yay!
I got a Holga for Christmas too, but I don't know if I can afford the developing. Gr. I better make every photo last. :D
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
8. Talk Show Host
These are the lyrics to the song Talk Show Host by Radiohead.
I want to
I want to be someone else or I'll explode
Floating upon this surface for the birds
The birds
The birds
You want me?
Fucking well, come and find me
I'll be waiting
With a gun and a pack of sandwiches
And nothing
Nothing
Nothing
Nothing
You want me?
Well, come on and break the door down
You want me?
Fucking come on and break the door down
I'm ready
I'm ready
I'm ready
I'm ready
I'm ready
I'm ready
My interpretation of the song:
It's talking about how when you're pretending to be someone you're not, you're going to end up lonely (I want to be someone else or I'll explode). When he says "floating upon the surface for the birds" I think he is either talking about how you're lonely, like an island--which is where birds land coincidentally, OR he may be talking about how BECAUSE he's pretending to be someone he's not, he's rotting away he's might as well be dead, so he's FLOATING (because you float when you're dead) and he's waiting for the birds to pick at his dead flesh. Then all the parts where he says "fucking" he's just crying for help. THEN, the gun and pack of sandwiches part. I think he might be saying EITHER bring a gun OR a pack of sandwiches. If he just brings a gun, he'll shoot himself because he hates his life and he hates himself, but he wants a pack of sandwiches because he is hungry for more than what he's getting in life.
This is probably like a really far fetched interpretation. Oh well.
I want to
I want to be someone else or I'll explode
Floating upon this surface for the birds
The birds
The birds
You want me?
Fucking well, come and find me
I'll be waiting
With a gun and a pack of sandwiches
And nothing
Nothing
Nothing
Nothing
You want me?
Well, come on and break the door down
You want me?
Fucking come on and break the door down
I'm ready
I'm ready
I'm ready
I'm ready
I'm ready
I'm ready
My interpretation of the song:
It's talking about how when you're pretending to be someone you're not, you're going to end up lonely (I want to be someone else or I'll explode). When he says "floating upon the surface for the birds" I think he is either talking about how you're lonely, like an island--which is where birds land coincidentally, OR he may be talking about how BECAUSE he's pretending to be someone he's not, he's rotting away he's might as well be dead, so he's FLOATING (because you float when you're dead) and he's waiting for the birds to pick at his dead flesh. Then all the parts where he says "fucking" he's just crying for help. THEN, the gun and pack of sandwiches part. I think he might be saying EITHER bring a gun OR a pack of sandwiches. If he just brings a gun, he'll shoot himself because he hates his life and he hates himself, but he wants a pack of sandwiches because he is hungry for more than what he's getting in life.
This is probably like a really far fetched interpretation. Oh well.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
7. Don't know why.
Sooooo I haven't written anything in a while. And I don't really know what to write, so what I did was I took like a paragraph of something I'm writing for English and I just c/p'ed it on here to fill space.
So how are ya'll? I still haven't developed that film from the Holga camera. I promise I'll post them as soon as I get them Adrienne! Haha.
I don't have anything else to say. My life has been so so. I hope yours has been too. Bye!
So how are ya'll? I still haven't developed that film from the Holga camera. I promise I'll post them as soon as I get them Adrienne! Haha.
I don't have anything else to say. My life has been so so. I hope yours has been too. Bye!
Tuesday, March 3, 2009
6. The Human or the Fruit Fly?
Here's a situation that I'm sure we've all been in. I thought about it on zee bus.
So there's a fruit fly and some guy. This "some guy" is walking down the street with his mouth carelessly gaping open--his jawis dropped. Suddenly, he hears the piercing sound of sirens drawing nearer and nearer. Though he had not done anything wrong, he decides to run, naturally. His mouth is still open.
This guy isn't running, but he ought to be. At least his mouth is open.
So the guy is running with all the manly strength in his calves and in his thighs, and suddenly to his surprise, he feels something glide into his mouth, ever so gently. Yes, it was ever so gently. At first, he thinks, "Maybe it's some left over food that I just sucked out from the gaps in between my crooked teeth." Then, he bites down. It's crunchy, then wet, then bitter, and then something with a texture like slushie.
He had just begun the mastication of the poor fruit fly! That poor, poor man. Well, that is the question, isn't it? Right now, (audience), are you thinking "poor fly" or "poor man"? I'm willing to bet your life savings that you're thinking "poor man." Let's take a better look at this situation through the perspective of the fruit fly.
So a fruit fly is walking down the street with his mouth carelessly open. Same situation, different character. I'll skip all the details. Suddenly, a miniature sized human blows into his mouth, provided the fruit fly is now human sized. Now, are you thinking "poor man" or "poor fly"? I'm willing to bet that you are STILL thinking "poor man."
I am almost positive that the fruit fly had no problem with the miniature human flying into his mouth, so what rights do we have to complain? Think about that next time.
In other news, I really hate physics. And now stats. KILL MEH NOW.
Night...
So there's a fruit fly and some guy. This "some guy" is walking down the street with his mouth carelessly gaping open--his jawis dropped. Suddenly, he hears the piercing sound of sirens drawing nearer and nearer. Though he had not done anything wrong, he decides to run, naturally. His mouth is still open.
This guy isn't running, but he ought to be. At least his mouth is open.
So the guy is running with all the manly strength in his calves and in his thighs, and suddenly to his surprise, he feels something glide into his mouth, ever so gently. Yes, it was ever so gently. At first, he thinks, "Maybe it's some left over food that I just sucked out from the gaps in between my crooked teeth." Then, he bites down. It's crunchy, then wet, then bitter, and then something with a texture like slushie.
He had just begun the mastication of the poor fruit fly! That poor, poor man. Well, that is the question, isn't it? Right now, (audience), are you thinking "poor fly" or "poor man"? I'm willing to bet your life savings that you're thinking "poor man." Let's take a better look at this situation through the perspective of the fruit fly.
So a fruit fly is walking down the street with his mouth carelessly open. Same situation, different character. I'll skip all the details. Suddenly, a miniature sized human blows into his mouth, provided the fruit fly is now human sized. Now, are you thinking "poor man" or "poor fly"? I'm willing to bet that you are STILL thinking "poor man."
I am almost positive that the fruit fly had no problem with the miniature human flying into his mouth, so what rights do we have to complain? Think about that next time.
In other news, I really hate physics. And now stats. KILL MEH NOW.
Night...
Sunday, March 1, 2009
Friday, February 27, 2009
4. Words you shouldn't mix up.
So I've figured out what my last words will be. "Wow. Death by Carpal Tunnel. That would never happen." Aaaand of course, I fall into a deep slumber called a coma and I die PEACEFULLY in my sleep three weeks later. My parents take me off life support. It was an easy decision.
My wrist IS kind of aching though. I don't really know why. Maybe I've been writing a lot. I think it's a sign, hence the "death by Carpal Tunnel" thing.
Words you shouldn't mix up: exotic and erotic. Here is a scenario.
You're being interviewed for a very prestigious college. You plan to major in biology. You are asked this question: "What do you do on your free time?"
"Well, I am in several programs that study genetic modifications, but I've recently taken a particular interest in erotic plants. I find them extremely interesting, arousing, and quite rewarding at the end of the sessions, if you know what I mean."
Yeah yeah I know. Who would be stupid enough to give a response to that? Answer: a lot of people. LESSON LEARNED. Don't study erotic plants!
My body is a complete mystery to me. There's ALWAYS something wrong with it. For a while, I had some knee problems and had trouble walking up the stairs. Then one day, they just went away. Same thing happened when I woke up one day and all my joints started cracking a LOT, and that went on for a few months (few meaning like 7). The they just went away again. After THAT, I start getting gas! Don't worry though, it's not the stinky kind. It's the kind that makes you feel like something in your body is about to explode, except it won't and that actually feels worse than the pre-eruption.
So, what did we learn today?
1. Death by Carpal Tunnel--not as rare as you think.
2. Exotic and erotic are very very different words. Men do not enjoy "exotica."
3. I got GAS, in different area codes (area codes) area codes I got GAS...
La fin!
My wrist IS kind of aching though. I don't really know why. Maybe I've been writing a lot. I think it's a sign, hence the "death by Carpal Tunnel" thing.
Words you shouldn't mix up: exotic and erotic. Here is a scenario.
You're being interviewed for a very prestigious college. You plan to major in biology. You are asked this question: "What do you do on your free time?"
"Well, I am in several programs that study genetic modifications, but I've recently taken a particular interest in erotic plants. I find them extremely interesting, arousing, and quite rewarding at the end of the sessions, if you know what I mean."
Yeah yeah I know. Who would be stupid enough to give a response to that? Answer: a lot of people. LESSON LEARNED. Don't study erotic plants!
My body is a complete mystery to me. There's ALWAYS something wrong with it. For a while, I had some knee problems and had trouble walking up the stairs. Then one day, they just went away. Same thing happened when I woke up one day and all my joints started cracking a LOT, and that went on for a few months (few meaning like 7). The they just went away again. After THAT, I start getting gas! Don't worry though, it's not the stinky kind. It's the kind that makes you feel like something in your body is about to explode, except it won't and that actually feels worse than the pre-eruption.
So, what did we learn today?
1. Death by Carpal Tunnel--not as rare as you think.
2. Exotic and erotic are very very different words. Men do not enjoy "exotica."
3. I got GAS, in different area codes (area codes) area codes I got GAS...
La fin!
Thursday, February 26, 2009
3. There's always time for a blog.
And don't let anybody tell you otherwise!
So, I missed the club picture for this thing I'm apparently in called CSF or something or other. I told Victoria to make Dara take the picture too so they could superimpose my face on the picture, but of course she failed. Dara was not in the picture. Therefore, neither my face nor my "body" will be in the picture. Some friend you are Victoria!
In other news, I've been trying to figure out physics for about an hour now. Who cares about electrons? Am I right? If I can't see it, I don't care about. There are also things that I CAN see that I don't care about, but that's irrelevant.
I'm all about irrelevance and digression.
I was wondering...why am I telling the story of my boring life day after day in such a "blog"? I don't think that the events that occur in my life are important enough to be documented, honestly. I don't even think they're worthy. At all.
-chants- My life is not worthy. My life is not worthy. My life is not worthy. My life is not worthy.
So, for those of you who have actually read, or skimmed (probably skimmed) their way down to here, please note that I never really ever have anything of substance to say. Well, maybe sometimes. I'll probably turn it around once in a while and write some crazy stories or something. Those will be fun. Yeah.
Bitchasshoeness! Have a good night. Don't grind your teeth, okay?
So, I missed the club picture for this thing I'm apparently in called CSF or something or other. I told Victoria to make Dara take the picture too so they could superimpose my face on the picture, but of course she failed. Dara was not in the picture. Therefore, neither my face nor my "body" will be in the picture. Some friend you are Victoria!
In other news, I've been trying to figure out physics for about an hour now. Who cares about electrons? Am I right? If I can't see it, I don't care about. There are also things that I CAN see that I don't care about, but that's irrelevant.
I'm all about irrelevance and digression.
I was wondering...why am I telling the story of my boring life day after day in such a "blog"? I don't think that the events that occur in my life are important enough to be documented, honestly. I don't even think they're worthy. At all.
-chants- My life is not worthy. My life is not worthy. My life is not worthy. My life is not worthy.
So, for those of you who have actually read, or skimmed (probably skimmed) their way down to here, please note that I never really ever have anything of substance to say. Well, maybe sometimes. I'll probably turn it around once in a while and write some crazy stories or something. Those will be fun. Yeah.
Bitchasshoeness! Have a good night. Don't grind your teeth, okay?
2. Desperate for help!
What is an extensive mansion
If furnished with empty space?
Just bricks stacked upon bricks
Surrounding a desolate place.
I feel like I'm trapped. No, not emo. I just want to get out of this prison cell called Washington. It's nothing but backstabbing and gossip and I don't know what I'm writing. I just hate my life. LET ME GO AND LEAVE ME ALONE.
Monday, February 23, 2009
1. A John Mayer love story...
This is how it happened. I swear on it.
It was three years ago when I stumbled upon a small pebble. Today, it is framed, hung on the wall of my bathroom, and named the Pebble of Faith. I am quite the original one, I know. Anyway, back to John Mayer sweeping me off my feet. Oh wait, we didn't get there yet!
So I was minding my own bees knees, walking from my house in the wonderful neighborhood that is Visitacion Valley to the nearby cafe around the corner. As you know, I am a very busy person. Those who call me often already expect that they will be put on hold for at LEAST 45-50 minutes. But you know, they love me enough to wait. Okay okay, back to the story.
So I was walking down the street, not looking at the ground but instead staring ahead absent-mindedly. This was the best mistake I have ever made in my entire life because from my lack of attention, it seemed as though a small pebble emerged from the ground. Yes, it was the Pebble of Faith. Naturally, I tripped on this pebble, and luckily for the man that saved me from a messy death, he met me. This man was John Mayer.
That instant he caught me in his arms, I gazed into his eyes, and his into mine. I saw my whole life in his eyes, and at that moment, I knew he was the one. So he passionately kissed me and we got married a month later the end.
Later!
It was three years ago when I stumbled upon a small pebble. Today, it is framed, hung on the wall of my bathroom, and named the Pebble of Faith. I am quite the original one, I know. Anyway, back to John Mayer sweeping me off my feet. Oh wait, we didn't get there yet!
So I was minding my own bees knees, walking from my house in the wonderful neighborhood that is Visitacion Valley to the nearby cafe around the corner. As you know, I am a very busy person. Those who call me often already expect that they will be put on hold for at LEAST 45-50 minutes. But you know, they love me enough to wait. Okay okay, back to the story.
So I was walking down the street, not looking at the ground but instead staring ahead absent-mindedly. This was the best mistake I have ever made in my entire life because from my lack of attention, it seemed as though a small pebble emerged from the ground. Yes, it was the Pebble of Faith. Naturally, I tripped on this pebble, and luckily for the man that saved me from a messy death, he met me. This man was John Mayer.
That instant he caught me in his arms, I gazed into his eyes, and his into mine. I saw my whole life in his eyes, and at that moment, I knew he was the one. So he passionately kissed me and we got married a month later the end.
Later!
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