Friday, August 26
Who the fuck keeps turning my underwear inside out? So I finish taking a shower, put a pantyliner on the underwear, put the fucking underwear on, and then I realize that the tag is sticking out. Usually, I would be the asshole and turn it inside out when it's the right way because I thought it was inside out at first. But that only happened one time. Right now, when I don't catch my girl drawers being inside out and realizing that they are inside out once I've put them on already, I don't give a fuck anymore. I'm not getting laid anytime soon anyways, nobody's going to care.
Yesterday the family with my uncle and grand uncle all went on a little trip to Atlantic City for the day so the grand uncle could go see his friend. My folks rented a Chrysler van (one that's eleven years more current than ours) with a wonderful DVD player inside. My dad told me to bring DVD's along for the three hour car ride, so I quickly snatched my Zeppelin and Denis Leary ones and very caringly and lovingly placed them in my bag so that the cases wouldn't get dented or scratched or scuffed. Turns out that my parents bought their own shitload of CD's and [vietnamese karaoke to put me to sleep] DVD's, therefore throwing me into the shit pile in the corner. I'm not sure if the CD's and DVD's went into the same hole, but if they didn't, I doubted they would've let me watch anything anyway. All I wanted to do was watch Denis Leary with absolutely no fucking volume on (so that I, or rather he, wouldn't piss anybody off). I memorized practically the entirety of his monologues and could've just laughed to myself, to leave everyone looking at me like some fucking twat, but I know am already. Or I could've just put on my iPod and listened to the entire monologue by myself while watching it. Crazy, I know, it's just that nobody else admits to their own oddities as freely.
My grand uncle's friend lives in this pleasant neighborhood a five minute walk away from the Boardwalk (also nearby Ventnor, if you get my drift) in this large house with a large balcony. And thank goodness for me, his house was clean. Lots of junk food, lots of television channels, lots of good internet, and lots of good noodle soup. Surprisingly, the guy was a good cook. Usually I despise eating other people's cooking because
1. the dishware and silverware (if the [asian] person even has any. if not, then it's plasticware) is dirty
2. the food looks like shit
3. the food tastes like shit
Number three is usually already known before tasting because you could just tell by the look of the food. It's not like a sloppy joe where it's supposed to look like shit but tastes pretty decent, but usually if a dish is supposed to look neat but a person makes it and it looks like a dog rubbed his ass on the plate, then you should rightfully assume that the food tastes like the inside of that dog's ass.
And by the way, I have never tried a sloppy joe because, well, they really do literally look the stuff that comes out of your ass after eating clams.
The guy had tons of homemade M&M's cookies (my favorite, man) and chocolate and candy and Doritos and peanut butter crackers. But it wasn't until about three hours after I arrived at the house and didn't move from my seat for the three hours before my mom called me to eat noodle soup that the guy told me he had all of that food. The reason I didn't do anything for three hours straight was because I was afraid other places in the house were dirty (which they indeed were), and there was nothing to do. The folks took the television for a while. The fucking sibling took over the Optimum Online-christened computer for a good two hours before lunch and after lunch took over the TV, which had fucking satellite. Come fucking on, no VH1 Classic nor any possible Denis Leary movies nor anything that we didn't already get with basic cable. I don't need to tell you what she was watching but I will anyway to make you feel even more sorry for me - Nickelodeon.
I really don't know what to do with myself when I'm stuck at home, never with anything to watch during the day. Watching the same DVD's over and over gets just a teeny bit boring, doesn't it? And since the VCR disappeared from me, I can't even watch the multitude of shit that I've recorded on VHS the past few years. Not even the South Park movie that is still in 95% mint condition. It's either beg my folks to get TiVO or buy me The Job - The Complete Series to keep me from complaining.
While my uncle was channel surfing, he passed by the BBC channel. There was this 70-lb. part bodily organ and 200-lb. part cellulite naked woman, flapping her hands (and other things), and the dude, after switching to another channel, was like, "What was that?" I know exactly what it was. It was a british person. What's with these brits and fat naked people on network television? Yes, I know in Europe some things that are found to be illegal here are legal over there, but to waste that precious right on fat people? No wonder there are still people emigrating to the States.
So after about 5:30 in the afternoon we all stroll down the beach. And goddamn, it was absolutely gorgeous. Sun is about to set in an hour or two, temperature is 77 degrees, nothing but whispy snot-thin clouds in the blue sky. Goddamn, the water felt so soothing on my feet. I stood around, the salt got rid of any excess skin flakes or bunions or lurking ticks between and around my toes. Then we found a pregnant crab in the wet sand and started bothering it. The orange thing (supposedly the most tasty part when you eat it soft-shelled) looked like a fucking tumor on its crab vagina. I wanted to laugh when my grand uncle turned it over and exposed the oversized citrus pussy, but I didn't.
Then to me and my mom's surprise, after just about an hour of hanging out on the shore and Boardwalk, somebody decides to go back to the friend's house and eat more soup. We wanted to go further by the casinos and games and wreak havoc. You know, what normal folk come to Atlantic City for. So everyone walked back, the adults talked on the balcony, I ate more cookies, bada bing bada boom, go home.
