Day 2

I’m not going to apologize for not posting, because that is fucking boring.

I am a child. I am an old-fashioned child. My roommate explained the complexities of Super Smash Bros. Brawl to me the other day, and I responded with: “video games are fucking boring.” I get a lot more enjoyment out of climbing trees.

Trees, it turns out, did not all evolve the capacity to be climbed. These are pansy trees. However, it is sometimes difficult to differentiate between a pansy tree and a robust, climbing tree. So, the other day, at the park, I decided to climb an apparently robust climbing tree. The lowest branch was above my head, so I had to wrap my arms around it and swing my leg over. It was difficult, particularly since I was wearing flip-flops.

Climbing trees is not inherently dangerous.

When I got up to the aforementioned branch, I looked around for another branch to climb to. I am not a light person, and sometimes this is a difficult process. You have to test the branches to determine if they are really strong enough to hold your weight, because if they aren’t, you are going to fall, and the branch is going to fall on top of you.

Instead of shimmying up the sturdiest looking branch — let’s face it, nobody looks cool while they are shimmying — I decided to jump (yes, it was out of reach) to a… somewhat less sturdy looking branch. It was a test run. I figured, if the branch snapped, it was a bad one.

The branch snapped. It was a bad one. Unfortunately, it didn’t occur to me that testing the branch by leaping to it was a bad idea. I fell a total distance of about twice my height, rolled along the tree and then, unsurprisingly, had the branch fall on me.

It was a good day.

Yesterday, I drifted in my car. I was doing about 75 up a hill, and there was a somewhat sharp turn. I have taken this turn hundreds of times before, and I don’t remember ever having to brake.

I also don’t remember ever doing 75 around it (or any particularly sharp turn) so this story sort of balances itself out.

The thing about drifting that has always scared me and prevented me from doing it is that my car, Ulysses, while fucking bad ass, is also a bit of a pussy. The window doesn’t work, the odometer doesn’t work, and it can only hold 7 gallons of gas. It’s also made of plastic. I’m always afraid that doing things that the car was SPECIFICALLY designed to do (like, say, take a sharp turn at 75 mph), that the plastic on and around my car is going to explode.

That was not my biggest fear this time. It turns out, actually, that my biggest fear was the oncoming traffic. I was sort of hoping that my car would explode so that, in case of an accident, I wouldn’t be at fault (we could blame the manufacturers). Thankfully there was a car-sized hole in the traffic, and I managed to fit in very nicely — at which point I became terrified that I was going to be pulled over and/or shot.

Next time: dietary habits. Unless I feel like posting about something else. Which I might.