Fruit Rull-Up Man

I met an interesting man last week...

While I was walking to my choir's church to sing to 30 elderly people (8 of whom actually showed up...) an extremely tall, rather portly, man approached me. At first I thought he needed help, but then he stuck out his hand to shake mine. It incredibly sweaty and obviously he wanted something based on how tightly he grasped my hand. I then noticed the myriad of fruit roll-ups overflowing from his coat pocket.

"Do you wanna buy some fruit roll-ups to sponsor a children's basketball team"

I did not, in fact, want to purchase any fruit roll-ups, especially from this man. And rather than saying "No" upfront and walking away, I instead let out a painful groan, similar to the sound one would expect a sick man to make, or Tina from Bob's Burgers. I also was not buying the whole "children's basketball team" thing either, as I was practically mugged by a woman in 8th grade who "needed to get home to Long Island".

I think the man sensed my weakness of character and decided to go into full-out attack mode:


"Come on dude, it's for the kids." (clearly trying to make me feel bad for not buying anything, and growing increasingly frustrated with me, demonstrated through his vigorously pulsating red eyes)

"No I'm sorry I have to go" (the words most likely did not come out that clearly, as I am a jumbled mess under pressure. I then proceeded to walk in the direction of the church)

"It's ok I'll follow you" (weird much?)

I let out another sickly groan and managed to spit out "No" while violently thrashing my head. Clearly sensing that I wasn't going to waver nor communicate clearly, the man proclaimed "Stop acting like a fucking retard" and left.

I think the man needs to realize that people will be more likely to purchase his fruit roll-ups (or whatever else he may sell) if they didn't feel like they were going to be murdered.

At least I got 33 likes on my Facebook status.

Blizzard

So there's currently a huge snowstorm that's sweeping the Northeast of the US. Ironically, the blizzard is named "Nemo," which takes away from the sense that this storm is some ferocious monster that will trap you and your family inside for days.

My school also stayed open today, since the storm was not supposed to get bad until the late afternoon/evening. I sat in bed in disbelief for an hour, constantly refreshing the school webpage on my iPhone thinking that maybe they had forgotten to update it. But they didn't. I eventually had to drag myself out of bed and go to school. I could not find a pair of jeans for 15 minutes and failed to find a clean pair of socks (however I did manage to find about 5 million individual socks) so I had to resort to using an old pair covered in cat fur. I also had to skip breakfast to avoid being late.

I ended up walking through Central Park after taking the train because the line for the bus was (I kid you not) at least 25 yards (or 22.86 meters for you metric system people). The walk takes literally 10 minutes so I don't understand why others did not decide to do that instead of waiting for the bus which was undoubtedly packed and incredibly gross. It was so snowy that the normally clear and beautiful view in the center of the park just looked like empty space.

(I'll add a picture of what the spot is normally like to show just how bad the storm was)


My school had decided to let us out at 1:50 instead of the usual 2:50, which basically doesn't even count as an early dismissal. I guess enough people complained (plus the school probably looked at the Weather Channel) that the principal eventually decided to let us out at 12:50. This was good because it gave me an additional hour to do absolutely nothing with.

The blizzard is supposed to continue into tomorrow, but it seems to have died down a lot. I don't think I'll be getting any days off next week.

Moths

So there's a moth problem at my house. And everybody hates moths. They're mega creepy and blend in with everything so that they can sneak up on you in the middle of the night and destroy any sense of security you might have in your home.

They also enjoy eating your clothing. And I being someone who hates shopping, especially do not enjoy some less-developed organism feasting away at my limited wardrobe. Soon I'd be forced to only wear undershirts which make my nipples look pointy, according to one outspoken member of my Chemistry class, because everything else would have been eaten.

Luckily, my mom found the source of the moths; however, I now need to get a new mattress, as a moth-lab had been set up there. Now that I think about, some of my bed sheets mysteriously began getting holes in them last winter. That means that I have been sleeping on a breeding ground for satan's spawn (aka moths) for over a year. While I've been sleeping there, who knows how many larva have crawled over my body??

So I've been spending the majority of the day shaking what I believe is dried-up moth fecal matter off the stuffed animals I store(d) under my bed. I didn't know I still had so many stuffed animals. My mom thought that this would be a good time to narrow down my collection, but all this process has done is produce immense feelings of nostalgia. I am blessed with both a very accurate selective memory and the ability to form an emotional bond with anything. Together, these have allowed me to throw out maybe a total of 10 stuffed animals in my entire life. I remember everything about every individual item I have: who gave it to me, where it was bought, how old I was when I got it, etc. I once cried when I lost a special pencil in 5th grade because I had won it at an arcade in Ireland with my cousins the year prior. It's probably good that I lost is because it was neon pink and I most likely would've gotten beaten up otherwise.

I am only half way done with the stuffed animals, and I still need to wash all of the clothes in my room in close proximity to my bed. And since I am incredibly lazy and just leave clothes in baskets on my floor rather than putting them away, that means washing almost everything.

At least I'm getting a new bed.