Walking to my next class at college I notice a wallet lying on the ground. I look around, but there is no one around. For some reason I open it up instead of taking it to the lost and found. The first thing I notice is how organized it is. On one side of the wallet there is a bank card and a credit card and on the other side are various grocery store cards. There is some cash in the wallet organized from smallest to largest. There are pictures of a little girl and a young woman. A car key is in one of the pockets. I then see the driver’s license and realize it is my wallet and it must have fallen out of my pocket.
My wallet tells a lot about me; what I do, where I shop and what is important to me. It’s very organized but not because I am an organized person. I am absent minded and if I didn’t keep it in order I would never be able to find anything. I keep a spare car key for those times I lock my keys in the car, which mostly happens when the car is running. I always look for the best deal when grocery shopping so I have numerous club cards. I have pictures of my daughter and my girlfriend.
If someone was to look in my wallet they would assume I was very organized, possible to the point of a perfectionist. My wallet is very functional with only a few pictures of my loved ones but no other personally items. My wallet doesn’t show just how disorganized I am. It’s a plain black wallet that lacks emotion and personality, which is something I seem to have plenty of.
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Friday, January 11, 2008
another update
This is a little update for my English 101 class. This is a blog I created in English 97 and continued to use in English 98. This blog shows my growth as a writer and is an opportunity to share some of my funny and sometimes stupid adventures.
Wednesday, October 31, 2007
An Update
This isn't my typical blog entry, it is more of an update. If everything goes according to plan I will be attending Hawaii Pacific University in January. I am debating the creation of a new blog for my crazy adventures as and adult, cause lets face it the stupidity never ended, the toys just got bigger. If I start a new blog I will post the link on this one. To show how nice of a guy I am, I am including a video to make everyone feel sorry me as I begin my newest adventure.
Sunday, May 20, 2007
A Collection of Memories
This latest entry is a little different then most, it is a collection of papers I have written for an English class. My instructor seemed to have fun reading them, so I felt that it would only be fair to share them. The first story is a camping trip with some unexpected guests. The second story is just something my friends and I used to do to pass those long, boring summer days. The final story is a memory of one of those times when the expectation of something is almost better than finally getting it.
Walking Blood Bank
My family, friends and I came under attack while camping, at Lake Wenatchee one summer. We reserved the largest campsite because we had such a large group, about twenty people. The nearest occupied camp site was far enough away that we couldn’t see or hear them. At the time we thought we were lucky. We were surrounded by tall pine trees, which gave us plenty of shade but also blocked much of the wind. Unfortunately we happened to pick the year that the campground and surrounding area decided not to spay for mosquitoes. This helped explain all the vacant campsites. The area was so infested with them that you could not breathe without sucking a few of them up for a much deserved death. With so few campers, our site became a smorgasbord for the mosquitoes. In the center of the camp there was a large fire pit. The smoke from our roaring fire only seemed to encourage them to an even greater frenzy. Walking was like a bizarre dance. While sidestepping the larger swarms we had to franticly wave our hands in front of us to keep them from getting in our eyes. Clothing gave us a false sense of security. They seemed to find joy in piercing our flesh even through the thickest jeans. The tent was one of the few places that we could find refuge from these little vampires. If you managed to get in and zip the door closed fast enough. Also the beach offered some protection, but only as long as the wind was blowing. I had many interesting camping experiences, but none of them compare to the joy of being a walking blood bank.
Stick Fighting
When I was younger my friends and I loved to try and bash each others brains out with sticks, well more like small trees. We would spend hours hiking through the woods to find the perfectly balanced weapon. Our favorite stick was about 3-4in in diameter and 5ft long. Usually we came back with a dozen or more of these instruments of pain. We always held the battles at my house because I had a large flat backyard. We never had more the three people fighting at once. After we gathered enough supplies and selected our first weapon we would begin the fight. While facing each other we would bow. After that all sibilance of order went away. We would charge at each other with our sticks poised to attack. A spectator would have a glimpse of ancient warriors locked in epic battle. Thrust, strike, and dodge were the only things that our world consisted of. That is until ether a stick broke or someone got their knuckles hit hard enough to drop their stick. We would stop long enough for fresh weapons and the occasion rag to rap a bleeding hand. We would stay engaged in combat until our entire arsenal was depleted. Over time we became very skilled fighters, employing feints, lunges and parry. I am surprised that we walked away from that experience with just bloody knuckles. Now I am teaching my daughter to do the same thing, but this time we don’t us sticks.
A Big Surprise
I woke up one December morning to find a humongous present under the Christmas tree. I was ten years old at the time, so the box was larger then I was. To my delight it was address to me. My eye got as big as saucers when I read the attached note. It gave a hint as to what this exquisite present contained. It stated that I could use it when I watch my favorite show. Not only that but it happened to be from Bart Simpson. My mind began to reel with the possibilities. My first guess was a television but that hope was quickly dashed when I realized the box did not weight enough. Over the next few weeks my every thought was on that present. My first thought when I woke up to my last as I fell asleep was on that gift. I thought of every conceivable product ever made and some that do not exist. My ideas continued to roll for over a week. Finally the big day came and I tore in to the present. As rapping paper flies all over the room, I uncover a large unadorned cardboard box. This causes me to pause for a moment as I wonder what could be in a box without any writing on it. I then rip open the box. To my surprise I see one of my toys followed by my robe and then some rocks to add weight to the box. As I start to wonder if there really is a present for me I find it, a big black beanbag. I was so excited I could not wait to stat using it. I my haste I almost forgot that I still had more presents. While laying on my beanbag I opened my other presents. I have never had more anticipation and excitement before or since that present. I can still remember hiding under the beanbag while playing hide and seek. I kept that beanbag for over ten years. Finally time and wear required that I get rid of it.
Walking Blood Bank
My family, friends and I came under attack while camping, at Lake Wenatchee one summer. We reserved the largest campsite because we had such a large group, about twenty people. The nearest occupied camp site was far enough away that we couldn’t see or hear them. At the time we thought we were lucky. We were surrounded by tall pine trees, which gave us plenty of shade but also blocked much of the wind. Unfortunately we happened to pick the year that the campground and surrounding area decided not to spay for mosquitoes. This helped explain all the vacant campsites. The area was so infested with them that you could not breathe without sucking a few of them up for a much deserved death. With so few campers, our site became a smorgasbord for the mosquitoes. In the center of the camp there was a large fire pit. The smoke from our roaring fire only seemed to encourage them to an even greater frenzy. Walking was like a bizarre dance. While sidestepping the larger swarms we had to franticly wave our hands in front of us to keep them from getting in our eyes. Clothing gave us a false sense of security. They seemed to find joy in piercing our flesh even through the thickest jeans. The tent was one of the few places that we could find refuge from these little vampires. If you managed to get in and zip the door closed fast enough. Also the beach offered some protection, but only as long as the wind was blowing. I had many interesting camping experiences, but none of them compare to the joy of being a walking blood bank.
Stick Fighting
When I was younger my friends and I loved to try and bash each others brains out with sticks, well more like small trees. We would spend hours hiking through the woods to find the perfectly balanced weapon. Our favorite stick was about 3-4in in diameter and 5ft long. Usually we came back with a dozen or more of these instruments of pain. We always held the battles at my house because I had a large flat backyard. We never had more the three people fighting at once. After we gathered enough supplies and selected our first weapon we would begin the fight. While facing each other we would bow. After that all sibilance of order went away. We would charge at each other with our sticks poised to attack. A spectator would have a glimpse of ancient warriors locked in epic battle. Thrust, strike, and dodge were the only things that our world consisted of. That is until ether a stick broke or someone got their knuckles hit hard enough to drop their stick. We would stop long enough for fresh weapons and the occasion rag to rap a bleeding hand. We would stay engaged in combat until our entire arsenal was depleted. Over time we became very skilled fighters, employing feints, lunges and parry. I am surprised that we walked away from that experience with just bloody knuckles. Now I am teaching my daughter to do the same thing, but this time we don’t us sticks.
A Big Surprise
I woke up one December morning to find a humongous present under the Christmas tree. I was ten years old at the time, so the box was larger then I was. To my delight it was address to me. My eye got as big as saucers when I read the attached note. It gave a hint as to what this exquisite present contained. It stated that I could use it when I watch my favorite show. Not only that but it happened to be from Bart Simpson. My mind began to reel with the possibilities. My first guess was a television but that hope was quickly dashed when I realized the box did not weight enough. Over the next few weeks my every thought was on that present. My first thought when I woke up to my last as I fell asleep was on that gift. I thought of every conceivable product ever made and some that do not exist. My ideas continued to roll for over a week. Finally the big day came and I tore in to the present. As rapping paper flies all over the room, I uncover a large unadorned cardboard box. This causes me to pause for a moment as I wonder what could be in a box without any writing on it. I then rip open the box. To my surprise I see one of my toys followed by my robe and then some rocks to add weight to the box. As I start to wonder if there really is a present for me I find it, a big black beanbag. I was so excited I could not wait to stat using it. I my haste I almost forgot that I still had more presents. While laying on my beanbag I opened my other presents. I have never had more anticipation and excitement before or since that present. I can still remember hiding under the beanbag while playing hide and seek. I kept that beanbag for over ten years. Finally time and wear required that I get rid of it.
Be a Man
With all the idiotic things I have done in my life, Most of them were the result of the phrase, “come on, be a man!” My friends and I would climb onto the roof of our houses, I can not remember why we felt the need to but we did. This one time we decided to jump off the peak of the roof on a second story house. My friends jumped and landed just fine. I was hesitant to jump off, when I could just as easily go back the way I came. They convinced me to jump by daring me and then adding the “be a man” phrase. With this phrase echoing in my mind I jump off the roof.
As I am in the air I began to realize this was a big mistake. Upon landing I feel my ankle twist beneath me. Unlike my friends who landed on solid ground, I landing in the soft beauty bark. I lay there cradling my foot for a while, before finally getting up and limping into the house. I figured I had just twisted my ankle, I say at my friend’s house for another hour or more. By the time the pain gets severe enough for me to want to go home, my friends’ girlfriends show up and they don’t want to take the bikes they borrowed back to my house. It took me almost 30 minutes to limp 5 blocks to my house while pushing two bicycles.
When I get home, I am too embarrassed to admit that I jumped off of a house, so I claim to have jumped of a big rock. Still thinking that it was just sprained, I iced and wrapped my foot. As the days progressed and my ankle did not see any signs of improving, my mom took me to the doctor. At this time I was still professing that I had jumped off a rock: unfortunately, not knowing the extent of the impact reflected on how the doctor inspected my ankle. When the doctor twisted my foot slightly to check its mobility, I almost stood straight up on the examination table. It took this incident and 2 weeks of walking on a broken ankle for me to finally admit to the size of the structure I jumped from. I was then rushed to a foot specialist to get x-rays. The diagnosis was a fractured ankle, I sheared off the bottom side of the fibula. After having a pin surgically installed in my foot and having to spend most of the summer in a cast, I learned my lesion. It was not “Don’t jump off of roofs,” but “Make sure to not land of a soft incline when proving my manhood.”
As I am in the air I began to realize this was a big mistake. Upon landing I feel my ankle twist beneath me. Unlike my friends who landed on solid ground, I landing in the soft beauty bark. I lay there cradling my foot for a while, before finally getting up and limping into the house. I figured I had just twisted my ankle, I say at my friend’s house for another hour or more. By the time the pain gets severe enough for me to want to go home, my friends’ girlfriends show up and they don’t want to take the bikes they borrowed back to my house. It took me almost 30 minutes to limp 5 blocks to my house while pushing two bicycles.
When I get home, I am too embarrassed to admit that I jumped off of a house, so I claim to have jumped of a big rock. Still thinking that it was just sprained, I iced and wrapped my foot. As the days progressed and my ankle did not see any signs of improving, my mom took me to the doctor. At this time I was still professing that I had jumped off a rock: unfortunately, not knowing the extent of the impact reflected on how the doctor inspected my ankle. When the doctor twisted my foot slightly to check its mobility, I almost stood straight up on the examination table. It took this incident and 2 weeks of walking on a broken ankle for me to finally admit to the size of the structure I jumped from. I was then rushed to a foot specialist to get x-rays. The diagnosis was a fractured ankle, I sheared off the bottom side of the fibula. After having a pin surgically installed in my foot and having to spend most of the summer in a cast, I learned my lesion. It was not “Don’t jump off of roofs,” but “Make sure to not land of a soft incline when proving my manhood.”
Saturday, May 5, 2007
Coughing up a Lung
Many people have experimented with smoking, and the coughing, hacking and nausea involved. Some people through the cancer stick on the ground and can not fathom why anyone would want to smoke. Other people push through the preliminary torment and become addicted.
I was 13 the first time I smoke a cigarette, but it wasn’t not for the reasons you may think. My dad had been smoking for over thirty years and my mom thought that if everyone in the family smoked a cigarette in front of him the would quit smoking…Looking back I do not see the logic in this plan. Instead of buying regular or light cigarettes, my mom bought “Camel non-filtered.” Everyone smoked one in front of my dad, to no avail so my brother Philip and I continued to smoke. We finished off the pack in about 30 minutes. Taking into account that I weighed at the most 100lbs, smoked over ten cigarettes, and am allergic to smoke, I got very sick with nicotine poisoning. All I wanted to do was lay down and die. I was very nauseous, green and my entire body was wrapped in a thick blanket of pain. My mom called a family friend who happened to be a Paramedic, and asked him what to do. He said that I needed to be active and burn off the toxins in my body. As you can imagine moving from my bed was the last thing I wanted to do. My brother Marcus and his wife had to drag me out of bed and had the audacity to make me play basketball. There I was at 11pm playing basketball with limbs that wouldn’t respond correctly and 50lbs eyelids. Surprisingly the exercise helped and after 20 minutes I started feeling better. This horrendous ordeal to try to get my dad to quit smoking, but it was to no avail. You would think that I learned my lesson and would never touch a cigarette again…guess again.
I was about 17 when my friends and I decided to be cool and start smoking. We started by stealing my dad’s and brother’s cigarettes. Over time one smoke here and there would not satisfy our cravings so we began to find people who would buy cigarettes for us. At one point we could not find any cigarettes and were going insane trying to find some. In my backyard we had a bushel of straw, and had the brilliant idea to smoke it. After coughing for 20 minutes, we decided that not everything can be smoked. We continued smoking for about 4 months, but I decided to stop when I began waking up in the morning needing a cigarette. I tried to convince my friends to quit smoking, but they just gave me the excuse “I can quit anytime I want to.” To this day they still smoke. It took me 5 years to get to the point where I no longer craved a cigarette every time I got stressed out. To this day I am still a non-smoker, yet I feel sorry for the people huddled in the smoking sections of campus trying to stay warm and dry.
I was 13 the first time I smoke a cigarette, but it wasn’t not for the reasons you may think. My dad had been smoking for over thirty years and my mom thought that if everyone in the family smoked a cigarette in front of him the would quit smoking…Looking back I do not see the logic in this plan. Instead of buying regular or light cigarettes, my mom bought “Camel non-filtered.” Everyone smoked one in front of my dad, to no avail so my brother Philip and I continued to smoke. We finished off the pack in about 30 minutes. Taking into account that I weighed at the most 100lbs, smoked over ten cigarettes, and am allergic to smoke, I got very sick with nicotine poisoning. All I wanted to do was lay down and die. I was very nauseous, green and my entire body was wrapped in a thick blanket of pain. My mom called a family friend who happened to be a Paramedic, and asked him what to do. He said that I needed to be active and burn off the toxins in my body. As you can imagine moving from my bed was the last thing I wanted to do. My brother Marcus and his wife had to drag me out of bed and had the audacity to make me play basketball. There I was at 11pm playing basketball with limbs that wouldn’t respond correctly and 50lbs eyelids. Surprisingly the exercise helped and after 20 minutes I started feeling better. This horrendous ordeal to try to get my dad to quit smoking, but it was to no avail. You would think that I learned my lesson and would never touch a cigarette again…guess again.
I was about 17 when my friends and I decided to be cool and start smoking. We started by stealing my dad’s and brother’s cigarettes. Over time one smoke here and there would not satisfy our cravings so we began to find people who would buy cigarettes for us. At one point we could not find any cigarettes and were going insane trying to find some. In my backyard we had a bushel of straw, and had the brilliant idea to smoke it. After coughing for 20 minutes, we decided that not everything can be smoked. We continued smoking for about 4 months, but I decided to stop when I began waking up in the morning needing a cigarette. I tried to convince my friends to quit smoking, but they just gave me the excuse “I can quit anytime I want to.” To this day they still smoke. It took me 5 years to get to the point where I no longer craved a cigarette every time I got stressed out. To this day I am still a non-smoker, yet I feel sorry for the people huddled in the smoking sections of campus trying to stay warm and dry.
Monday, April 30, 2007
Those Days
The blog http://www.thosedays.net/ by Aishah is a collection of childhood memories, “Nostalgic Candy,” and a childhood diary. The author talks about growing up in Minneapolis, MN. She writes stories of her childhood and treats she enjoyed growing up. Her latest entry is a tribute to Mr. Rodgers.
I picked this blog because it have interesting stories that I find myself relating to and all the entries about candy and sweets. She has a random assortment of blog entries like the “you know you grew up in the 80’s if…
I picked this blog because it have interesting stories that I find myself relating to and all the entries about candy and sweets. She has a random assortment of blog entries like the “you know you grew up in the 80’s if…
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