The Life of the Box

July 30, 2010

This post is too long. It’s approximately 1.5k words. So I have a plan to help you survive: After you read about the cockroach, STOP. Read the other part the next day.

So, here’s my latest news about yesterday…which isn’t really my latest news:

I woke up and I was in my pajamas. A common phenomenon. My pajamas are green and blue plaid. They are very baggy. I had a white shirt on. It is baggy too. I woke up early. It was 10:00 AM. I went upstairs.

When I got upstairs, I had a pleasant surprise awaiting me: cold scrambled eggs. …I hate cold scrambled eggs. Along with cold pizza. Speaking of pizza, have you ever had “Chicago style” pizza? Or as some weird people call it, “Party style” pizza? Party style pizza is a pizza cut by somebody very special. The kind of bad special. As in, “especially retarded”. You see, whoever cuts a special pizza (as I will now call it, as opposed to a ‘normal pizza’) is not satisfied with being able to eat properly and without a mess. That is to say, he does not cut it into triangles; he cuts the pizza into squares.

This. Sucks.

As you probably already know (because you are reading this blog, and are thereby very intelligent), there are a few ways to eat a triangular pizza slice:

First, there is the most common way, which is to hold the crust with your predominant hand, and eat the tip of the triangle without crust on it as your first bite. As you do this, your secondary hand supports the underside of the pizza triangle.

There is also the taco-style of eating a regular, triangular pizza piece. You simple role it up like a taco, and eat it. This works best with pizzas with few toppings, especially cheese pizza. However, this way of eating a pizza slice is considered disgusting and rude by some pizza-etiquette professionals like myself (though I sometimes do it in a dark corner when nobody is looking….).

Also, there is the viking boat style of eating a pizza slice. It is somewhat similar to the taco style, but all you have to do here is fold the pizza in half. This allows you to put all sorts of nice things in your pizza, like alligator meat and cheese dipped in cheap wine. This style of eating a pizza is frowned upon in all various cults (we are all in one, whether we know it or not) except for the cult of the NFL; the extreme Super Bowl watchers do not seem to have a problem with it. If you are wondering, I never do it. Not even in the darkest of corners.

……A special pizza slice, however, only has one way of being consumed: grabbing it in whatever way you can, and eating it. As you know, normal pizza slices do not require hands; special ones do. And here is the irony: special pizza slices are messier than normal ones! Why? because of the lack of crust, except on the outer regions of the pizza! It is ludicrous. PURE LUDICROUS. That is why whenever I go to a pizza party, I carry a triangulafier with me in my special microscopic triangulafier case that I hide in my shoe. This special tool immediately fixes a special pizza. PROBLEM SOLVED!

I once met a cockroach. “Do you believe in fairies?”, he asked me.

“No.”, I replied as I squashed him.

Anyway…as I was saying, I don’t like cold eggs. So, I heated them up on a skillet and put them in a tortilla. The eggs were too milky and the tortilla was stale. I threw it out. I waited until lunchtime and ate a grilled cheese sandwich (which I make superbly).

In the middle of the middle of the day, a crisis occurred; My brother suddenly felt that he needed a gargantuan piece of furniture in his already filled room. Yes, that is a crisis, because my mom listens to my brother. Me, not so much. I have too much logic (or in her defense, maybe she has more than I can handle). Either way, she didn’t listen to me when I told her it wouldn’t work out. You see, there are two ways of entering his room: you can either go down stairs (which has many tight turns), or you can go outside and through a little door which leads to my room, which leads to his room. They obviously chose the latter.

The only problem is that the door that connects my room to my brother’s room is too small to fit a piece of furniture so big. To prove this, I insisted that before he and my mom lugged the thing into my room, my brother would measure the doorway’s width and the furniture to see if it would fit.

He then rushed to my room and came back a minute later, holding is hands wide. He said it would fit. “Are you sure?”, I asked. “Did you use a tool to measure it with?”

“No, I used my hands.”, he replied. This was a face-palm moment for me.

When I told him to get a measuring tool and come back with the real answer, I was scolded. How could I, a lowly coffee drinker, challenge the vast knowledge of a 13-year old boy who uses his hands to measure things? I should have held my tongue…

To make a long story short, I now have an elephant-sized desk sitting in my room, my things are misplaced, and I don’t have a door anymore. Go figure.

After a while, it was time for VBS again. Today (not yesterday; I am talking about yesterday right now) is the last day of it. This time we took some of my little sister’s friends to participate. As usual, we played some songs and-

Did I ever tell you how much I abhor little kiddy-Christian songs? Don’t get me wrong; I’m a Christian…but I just can’t stand those little children singing those songs. They almost sound sassy, like they’re bossing you around or something. It’s 10 times worse if you watch their music videos. Usually it will be five kids (one of every ethnicity, of course; we wouldn’t want to OFFEND anyone?) with perfect little faces, makeup, and perfect teeth smiling at you. They are preforming mediocre little dance moves all together, almost like robots. The floor lights up, and they sing to you. They often sing of things that they are probably guilty of doing. I once heard one where they sang, “THE POOCHY LIP WILL GET YOU IF YOU DON’T WATCH OUT! …THE POOCHY LIP WILL GET YOU IF YOU START TO POUT!”. After the song, they probably had the “poochy lip” because they were only getting paid 900$ each.

-we also did the next part in the skit. I was the narrator, as usual. The whole thing went pretty fast.

Once it was over, everyone filed out of the church and went to the car. My mom unlocked it and someone opened the door, letting mosquitoes in. We waited for my dad to come. He was taking care of some final things.

Once we were all in the car, I was reminded of how crowded it was in there (I’m only used to nine people in the same car!). I was sitting in between two kids. If my two sisters wouldn’t have been on a sleepover, it would have been packed.

I am nice, so I started to hand out mini Altoids (mints). After I was finished, they were all gone. “Who wants the box?!”, I asked the general audience of the vehicle. The little girl to the left of me was excited for it, so I gave it to her. “Hey!”, she said as she tapped me on the shoulder. “It’s a cell phone!”

If someone gave me and empty Altoids box when I was her age, I wouldn’t have pretended it was a cell phone; I had hardly touched a computer. I probably would have pretended it was….an Altoids box, since Altoids boxes like that weren’t invented yet, and were therefore futuristic, and therefore cool.

She didn’t just stick to pretending that it was a cell phone, though. The little box I gave her kept her occupied the whole 30 minute trip. So, if you’re a baby-sitter, just remember to give the baby that you are sitting an Altoids box. Then you can do your homework, sleep, and consume the parent’s food while the baby happily plays with his little box.

…At one point in the trip, the little girl said to me, “I can hear the ocean through this”.

“Really?”, I asked. “May I try?”

She put it to my ear, and I could also hear it. Then, when she put it back to her ear, I asked her, “Can you hear people, too?”

“Yeah!”, she said.

“Are you listening to their secrets?”, I asked.

“Yeah!!” She said with glee. “I’m blowing wind onto them!”

Then, something happened. Something big. Something important.

IT DAWNED ON ME.

What if……the whole world…..is inside a little Altoids box. What if….the wind is just a little girl blowing into it.

I hope……

that nobody…….

drops it.

~Fin

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7 Responses to “The Life of the Box”

  1. This is the awesomest blog entry I have ever read. I take off my imaginary hat to you.

  2. Jinny said

    Yep, this is why you don’t need to spend money on expensive toys for little kids. (p. s. Chicago style pizza is actually deep dish, not a cutting style. I’m not fond of the cross cuts either. Deep dish should only come in triangles)

  3. Jinny said

    p.p.s. Since comments are moderated, replace the ‘weather’ in the viking style of eating pizza paragraph with ‘whether.’ 🙂

  4. I post all comments. The world needs to know that I am a misinformed ch4t sp34k3r. Yes, I know; that’s l33t sp34k.

  5. lindseyloo said

    Excellent blog! I absolutely love your style of writing. 🙂

  6. Gabrielle said

    All I have to say is that I am a fan. Facebook has invaded my brain, and now the only way I can express my adoration is by ‘becoming a fan’. I’m your devoted fan, Mister Cool. Or Andrew Albert Jumper II, whichever you prefer.

    I’m afraid Andrew Albert Jumper II doesn’t suit you nearly so well, though. You’re just not dignified enough! My brother and I were talking about you once.

    I love Mister Cool’s blog,” I said.
    “It’s very cool,” he said.
    “Yeah,” I said, “the way he puts things is just so…” I ran out of words.
    “…cool?” he asked. And that was it! You make anything sound cool.

    Like I said, I’m a fan. And someday you need to change your name officially to Mister Cool, because it suits you better.

  7. Jenn said

    “The kind of bad special. As in, “especially retarded””

    LOL.

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