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Tuesday, May 31, 2005

I'd rather be whistling in the dark...

This morning I woke up to the sounds of thunder and rain. I sat up and put my feet on the ground and heard the splashing of my feet into a puddle of water on the floor of my room. I immediately realized I was dreaming. I had had this dream before and I was now pondering whether when I woke up I would try and wash the sheets or to just throw them out. Curse my mom for buying the discount sheets that didn't have the plastic layer included.

Actually, I wasn't dreaming, and my room was flooded from the rain we got last night. I got up and saw that the flooding was coming from the infamous back door in my room. I saw that the water was spreading and getting on all of my stuff. I quickly began throwing all my stuff that was on the floor onto my bed. But the more stuff I moved out of the way, the quicker the water spread. It soon became a sort of stuff triage. I had to decide which items were the more valuable and the least damaged which I would save, and which ones would have to stay on the floor and protect the rest of my room to the bitter end.

My mom later recounted that she awoke to some sort of scraping sound. She came downstairs and saw me there shivering in my spongebob boxershorts trying to scoop out the water with a pitcher. Luckily, Guy came over with a super powerful vacuum that could suck up the water and was guaranteed to suck a full-grown man's scalp off if set right. Apparently Guy had already tried that one.

So yeah, this whole day we've been fanning out my room, not to dry the carpet, but Guy let one rip in my room and we were afraid to light a match for fear of deadly explosion. Oh man, I've managed to go for so long without a joke like that in my blog, and now the streak is ended. Well, all except for the one in Guy's pants. Zing! Man, I'm on a roll.

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

When I say it isn't, you say it's not.

I was trying to end this school year on a good note with no hard feelings with anyone, but I now know there is no hope for this. I don't get it. I've been basically passive and quiet all year long and didn't raise my voice in any class other than journalism. After all that, is it actually possible that anyone could dislike me? I know, it seems impossible, but still. I guess it's true that some people are just naturally born idiots. And if ever you encounter one of these idiots, just keep reading their blog, and if they want to hide behind a bookcase in 8th period English class, let them. Anyway, enough self-pity.

So yeah, the bookcase reference. That happened today. I had missed a quiz in my 2nd period english class and snyder wouldn't let me make it up, even though I had told her I would be gone that day before I left and she said I would be able to make it up. I then asked if I could take it in 8th period and she said no because there were no desks open. So I decided to sneak into 8th period anyway and hide behind a little bookcase. So I was sitting all curled up on the hard tile floor for the majority of the period waiting for her to give the quiz. She never did. So that sucked. At the end of the period I simply got up from my hiding place and walked out. At that point I had the strenuous task in front of me to explain the 8th period why I was there. I couldn't bear those accusing faces looking at me.

"Why are you here, Mat6t?" one said.

"Aren't you supposed to be in seminary?" said another.

"Mat6t, you're so stupid. Why do you always come to our class?!" said another.

"I hate you and you smell bad and you're a big idiot!"

Well, that last one I said to Ms. Snyder. Actually I just would've liked to have said it to her. And I would've if I weren't so tired this morning. See, I'm holding myself back all the time. Doesn't all that repression and anger-bottling deserve more than a C? I'm glad I stole all those Prentice Hall Literature books. Wait, I gave those back. Crap!

Sunday, May 22, 2005

This is the kind of place I've always dreamt of being kicked out of.

In case any of you are wondering why that blond lanky kid who annoys so many at school wasn't there on thursday or friday, well, I don't know. But in unrelated news, my family and I left on thursday morning to San Diego for my brother Joe's wedding and got back today (sunday). There is so much to tell and talk sarcastically of, but for time and laziness's sake, I won't go into very much detail.

The 12 hour car ride down actually wasn't too bad. We rented a van that had air conditioning to drive down there, but had to forfeit all but about 2 inches of leg room for it. During that time, I read, slept a little, and watched movies on my brothers laptop. Blah blah blah, we finally got to our motel at around 11 pm.

I just wanted to go to sleep, but for some reason, all our relatives that were there thought it would be a good idea to go to the sizzler or something. Terrible idea. We drove around in a convoy of 4 cars looking for somewhere that was open. Nothing was. Finally we ended up going to Jack-in-the-Box. Worst food ever. I don't think I'm ever going to go there again. I guess each separate section of the meal was good on its own. But when you ate the fries and then a burger and then have a drink in any order, it tastes terrible. The night ended up with me just sticking fries down my sister's drink straw while she wasn't looking. Quite hilarious.

Oh yeah, one more thing at dinner. My Grandpa was there. My Grandpa. Man, I could write a whole blog about him. But it would be really boring. Anyway, he has the funniest and weirdest-sounding laugh ever. And he's a little senile. When my brother Mike and his wife first heard him, they just started laughing so hard. Like bright red-faced and convulsing laughter. They didn't want to make Grandpa feel bad, so they pretended they were laughing at my sister. She cried herself to sleep that night.

The Day of the Wedding:
I couldn't go into the temple because I'm not old enough or whatever and...I've done some things I'm not proud of while my band was on tour. Good times marching band was. Anyway, I had to be in the waiting room for a couple hours while it was all happening. Finally people start coming out of the temple. Everyone except my brother and his probable wife. Everyone started theorizing what was going to happen next.

"I heard they were coming out over there."

"I think they're going to walk down that pathway."

"I heard they were going to be launched out of a giant cannon."

I really said that last one. No one around me knew who I was so they kind of laughed unconfidently or pretended they didn't hear me. I scowled at them. Finally, the moment arrived. My brother Joe and my new sister-in-law Meagan, came out.
This is it? I thought. I had seen my brother basically every day before, and now we drive 12 hours across blistering deserts in a smelly car and sleep in a dank just to see him again? I guess it wasn't too bad....until the photographer came into play. I hate wedding photograpers, and I always will. On these such occasions, it's the only time people have to treat photographers with respect, and they automatically take advantage of this. So in the main picture of everyone, he was getting us all posed right. It's taking a long time so I decide to pull out my game boy to pass the time. And get this, the photographer tells me to put it away! What a jerk.

When Meagan was walking around in her wedding dress, I noticed something peculiar. Several little kids were holding the back of her dress. My first impression was to warn Meagan of the kids trying to steal her dress. Then I realised what they were doing. They were trying the old Look-up-the-bride's-dress ploy. Why hadn't I thought of that. It was confirmed what they were doing when I saw the one boy of the group look up from his task with a big smile on his face. Pervert.

It was a pretty good trip and there were several other things not really worth mentioning, but worth blogging about, but this blog is running-on a little long as is this sentence. Oh yeah, the maid service really sucked at the motel, so I managed to blow my nose on some towels. It felt really good.

I look forward to catching up on what I missed these last four days in the blogging world. Well, not really, but still.

Recommended crayon: Non-toxic

Monday, May 16, 2005

The dust my mother raised: A celebration

Birthdays are probably the most obscure holidays out there. I mean, you can't predict these things. They aren't regulated by the federal government or the lunar cycle. So how can people live with the thought that it is someone's birthday today, and heaven forbid it is someone you know, and you forgot. It could be your own.

Of course, it is my birthday today. And what a birthday it was. I woke up around nine, remembered I had a book report due in English this week so I read for three hours until I finally finished the book which ended up with the main character commiting suicide. Happy birthday indeed.

The day has been pretty boring, but no more than expected. We were planning on having a little celebration or something tonight, but my dad had to teach in Salt Lake, my mom was sick, and my siblings didn't really care. I ended up going to Cafe Rio by myself, and then coming home and eating a piece of cake, by myself. The problem with all this though is that I didn't really care. I didn't feel neglected or sad or anything. I wish I could've sat there eating my cake, gently weeping while singing Happy Birthday in a shaky voice to myself.

I take back that my siblings didn't care. At least one of them did. That's the married one, Mike. He bought me two king-sized Twitrices (plural of Twix). It's weird, ever since he got married, he seems to remember all of the family celebration things. Like, he even remembered about my parents anniversary this past week. I didn't even know my parents were married. It's like, once you have the constant presence of a wife around, you start caring about stuff and doing little things to make others feel happy. Now I know why so many guys avoid marriage.

Anyway, back to birthdays. Nobody likes their birthday. I think that's been cleared up and is common knowledge already. However, in my case, the actual leading up to my birthday was much worse than the birthday itself. And I'm pretty sure it was worse than my original birthday too. And that's saying something. A week or two before my birthday was when it began. People always like, "Hey, your birthday's coming up! Wait, you're not seventeen yet? That's so weird. I remember when I was that young..." And then they go on treating you like a two year-old. This did not bother me when I turned two, but it bothers me now.
And then you got people like Luke, who share the same birthday as you. He would go on fantasizing about how we will know 18 year olds in a little bit and that he had already drawn up the paperwork for a subscription to Seventeen Magazine. You keep on truckin', Luke.

And why are birthdays such a big deal? It's like, "Wow, you're still alive. Here's five bucks." Not that I don't enjoy being handed money, but....okay, that but isn't going anywhere. I enjoy being handed money. Period.

And to end my perfect birthday, I am now blogging.

Happy Birthday. There's no such thing.

Wednesday, May 11, 2005

I'm so tired

So I guess I was supposed to write and orchestrate a song for some crappy musical the music theory class is putting on. But instead of writing it or doing anything I decided to fall asleep on the couch around 4:30 and not wake up until about ten minutes ago (approximately 10 p.m.). Usually if I forget to do something like this I would be really tense and stressed out because I know people are depending on me and stuff. But I'm pretty sure no one else did their assignments so I'm not going to worry about it. Well, even if they did do their assignments I still wouldn't worry about it. Does it make me a jerk if I never worry about stuff like that? In the opinion of some, yes. But I won't worry about it.

Oh man, I feel like I'm in that one twilighty show about that zone. I still haven't seen another living soul since I've woken up. I hate it when I sleep in or stay out too late just once and then my whole sleeping pattern is totally screwed up. It used to be fine where I'd get to sleep around 3 a.m and wake up around 6:30 a.m every day. It may not have been the "recommended" amount of sleep, but at least I was consistent. Now that's all gone. I get home from school and fall asleep within 1 or 2 hours, usually waking up 4-6 hours later. This then causes the problem of not being able to sleep at night. But maybe that's not such a bad thing. I mean, usually not sleeping at night really really sucks a lot, but last night I was laying in bed wide awake until around 4:30 am and I couldn't have been more comfortable. It was pretty sweet.

One sleepless night that was on the opposite side of the spectrum was not too long ago. I was only up until about 2, but it seriously felt like every five minutes that passed was about 2 hours long. For some reason I had this one They Might Be Giants line stuck in my head, "Sleeping is the gateway drug to being awake." It kinda just depressed me, but it's from a great song of theirs so it wasn't so bad.

A Salt Lake Tribune pen to anyone who can name that song.

Monday, May 02, 2005

Mat6t Palindrome Mat6t

Today I found out that Jake is probably going to be on his mission in less than 6 months! That's so crazy. Personally, I don't think Jake is ready for it. I mean, nothing against him or anything, but the way I would imagine his mission would just be him going around calling Russians or Brazilians or whoever "filthy animals" and continuously asking people why they are still in his presence. Besides Jake not being ready for a mission, I don't think that I'm ready for Jake to leave. Much like the Maglebys were, Jake is a cultural figure for us. Maybe even a sex symbol. Seriously, he has a butt that just won't quit. Wait, did I just blog that out loud? oh crap. Anyway, Jake, please don't go.

And speaking of missions, I have recently had a big change of my opinions of my own mission. In the past, I have known I would go on one, but whenever I really thought about it, I would get scared about how hard it would be and how I might be missing out on a lot of things I would be doing back home. But lately, I have just thought that I don't have anything better to do, so why not go on a mission? You probably think that this is a pretty weak reason to go. Well, that's become my reasoning for most everything I do, so BACK OFF! So yeah. Mission. Pretty sweet.

The recommended Prentice Hall short story is: The Outcasts of Poker Flat by Bret Harte.