Do any of you guys ever have those moments where you wish you could just turn back time and do something over again? I don’t mean something serious, you know, like murder. Or kidnapping. Just simple stuff. Maybe a word you accidentally slipped out. Or a picture you wish you hadn’t posted on Facebook or something. I’m in one of those states right now. I didn’t do anything bad; don’t worry. Well, not entirely not bad. I just said the wrong thing at the wrong time. In front of a cop. I didn’t mean to. To be honest, I had no idea we were pulled over. No, I’m not in trouble with the law. Not even close. Well, technically. Instead, I’m in trouble with Dr. M. Who I almost got in trouble with the law. It could’ve been bad. It was almost bad. For Dr. M. It turned out pretty badly for me.
I feel like such a downer. I bet everyone expected me to start off with, “Merry late Christmas!” You know, in all caps. I couldn’t do that, though. For two reasons. One, I’m in a bad mood. Two, I honestly can’t. No, seriously, I can’t. My caps lock is broken. See, this is what happens when I try to use it: addgfrgjerngkerkgj. Nothing. Zip. Nada. Iggy broke it. We have braille on the keys on our shared computer (It didn’t used to be shared; Iggy broke his. The kid can’t be trusted with anything.) and Iggy was trying to type a paper. Unfortunately, he couldn’t figure out what the braille on the caps lock key said, so he just kept pushing it and pushing it… You can guess what happened. And if you can’t, I’ll tell you; it got stuck. Stupid computer. Stupid braille. Why can’t you be easier to read? Maybe you should be colorful, you know, vibrant? Oh, wait… nevermind…
In case you guys didn’t know, I have a bit of ADD. I tend to get off subject for this reason. Like, for example, last year, Max wanted me to to write a paper on George Washington. You know what it turned into? The history of carrots. Just now, I started off with Christmas, and ended on helpful criticism for the makers of braille (Or unhelpful–it really depends on the way you take it. And how stupid you are.). God, the sky is so pretty today-
Sorry, sorry, back on subject. So, Christmas. How was everybodys’? Mine was… interesting, thanks for asking. I’ll tell you guys about it later. After I talk about (or, blog about) what I was telling you about at first.
Dr. M took everyone out for pizza last night (In case you didn’t know, I love pizza. You’re free to send me some. Seriously.). The whole gang; me (Fang, obviously), Max, Nudge, Angel, Gazzy, Iggy, Total, herself, Magnolia, and Ella. And, recently, I’ve really gotten into reading. I know, total nerd. I really have, though. Anyways, I was in the middle of this book on the way home (unfortunately, I can’t remember the title). There’s this one part where the main character is browsing the internet, and she comes across this thing that says, “No, officer, her words aren’t slurred. She’s just talking in cursive.” Of course, I thought this was totally hilarious. I laughed my zebra-print thong and Double D sized Victoria’s Secret bra right off (Anyone get it? Nobody? Oh, okay…). And, you know, I had to say it out loud. Had to share the humor. Apparently, cops don’t like that kind of joke. In case you haven’t guessed, we had just gotten pulled over. Cops in the city/town we live in in Arizona have these questions they have to ask when someone gets pulled over. One of them is, “Have you been drinking tonight, or had any past alcoholic problems?” Obviously (the Fates must hate me), I chose this time to say–while laughing my Victoria’s Secret underwear off, I might add (Still no one? Don’t you people have a sense of humor?)–, “No, officer, her words aren’t slurred. She’s just talking in cursive.” It wasn’t quite in context, but the cop took it as, “She’s drunk.” Her left for a few minutes and talked into his little radio, then came back and told us he’d have to take us in. So, that’s how I spent my New Year’s Eve. Quite fun, eh? Hahahahaha… no. They wouldn’t even let us watch the ball drop!
Blame the book. It wasn’t my fault. Blame the author. Books are dangerous! They promote underage drinking! And drinking in general! And… drugs! Somehow… And, um, Harvard students! Yeah, that’s right! I went there! Need some Aloe Vera for that burn, librarians?!
I’m in huge trouble. Dr. M hasn’t said anything to me all day. To be honest, that’s how I know. Usually, when she’s mad, she just fumes. She never, never keeps it in. I feel like there’s an atomic bomb in our house, and it’s not a real one made by Gazzy or Iggy, or even one of the Gasman’s signature smells. Just a limited chance of sucking up before Dr. M blows.
I think I’ve been punished enough, to tell you the truth. Pre-punished, as I like to call it.
Finally, on to the subject of Christmas. The beautiful, life-sucking, wallet-draining, gift-shopping, girlfriend-complaining, mass-producing, stocking-stuffing, hall-decking blowout. I got some pretty cool stuff. If, by cool, you mean totally lame.
It was almost 9:00 and my morning had already become a disaster. I’d gotten a bucketload of One Direction stuff (“cute” as they may be, I really don’t have a thing for British guys, or guys at all). Gotten three pieces of bubblegum stuck in my hair. Gotten a horrendous Christmas sweater. Fallen down the stairs twice. Gotten three Pillow-Pets which had been delivered to the wrong house and couldn’t be returned. Received a manual on how to avoid big ships (From Gazzy, so, “Titantic wouldn’t happen again.”). A thing of “dog cologne” from Total… for Total. Other cruddy gifts include: a Snuggie, and a cat painting. There was one thing I was excited about, though. An iPhone 5. Dr. M had been dropping hints about one for months, and Max had even clarified that I was getting one. I could ignore all of the cruddy gifts, and it didn’t matter. I was so excited.
Dr. M set up this scavenger hunt around the house, complete with little hints in order for me to find my iPhone (At this point, she’d told me what the gift was, just hadn’t given it to me yet.). The last hint led me to Nudge’s closet. I wriggled under all her clothes and found this big, worn wooden box that said “Fang” on it. And opened it to find… Nothing. Just air and a tag that said, “Enjoy you iPhone, Fang! Love, Dr. M.” No iPhone 5. No hint.
Turns out, Dr. M had forgotten that she hadn’t bought me an iPhone. A couple weeks ago, she decided to get me a cat painting instead. And of course, she still set up the scavenger hunt. She totally, totally forgot.
And it’s not like it was an attractive painting. It could’ve been anything else. I don’t mind cat paintings (not that I like them, either). Anything but this one painting.
You want to know what it was a painting of? A cat in the litterbox. It’s incredibly ugly. Dr. M made me hang it in my room. I was so scared of what she would do if she knew I hated it, so when she asked me what I thought of it, I said, “It’s um… unique.” She, of course, took this as a compliment.
So, um, yeah. That’s pretty much it.
Fly on.
-Fang
Fang's Blog 