South Park

Well, I managed to get one out of three stores worth of shopping today so I can do something that has been somewhat of a strange concept for the past forty eight hours.

Eat...

Whoa, besides two pieces of toast and a hamburger pattie, I have been without for way to long, got a little sickly feeling there for awhile.

In order for me to take bus out to the store and back I had to scrounge around my apartment for enough pennies to pay for it. How sad is that....

Lets face it, whats worse the ridding public transportation.

Having to pay for you public transportation with pennies.

Well, while scrounging for pennies I came across a photo of me I haven't seen for years and preaty much forgotten about.

Well thanks to that and having a friend with a scanner and diary land gold membership, I have that pic right here for your viewing (dis)pleasure.

Damn was I ever blonde back then, actually I was blonde tell about the age of seven or eight tell it turned into the shit brown color it is now.

If you look, you can see the scar under my left eye, which I mention later in this entry.

heh I was kinda cute as a kid...though time definetly wasn't on my side though.

Well for example, lets say that pic of me up there is a farely new art object and you spent a good sum off money on me cause well I look cute with that soft blonde hair and big brown eyes, seems like a good investment.

Give it roughly twenty years later and you will see your art object depreciate so badly that even if you found a buyer, you couldn't buy a pack of necco wafers with the money.

Ah but I'm being rough on myself.....maybe I'm secretly into self mutalation or BDSM...

that or its low self esteem.

But to make me feel better I'll just blame it on the goverment and its secret body of "they" who screw up everyone's lives.

heh, faceless scapegoatism, a little to popular for roughly...oh a few centuries or so.

Well, I got to reading Weetabix's talk about fight clud and scars here and being a big fan of Fight Club, I thought I would run down all the scars on me that I can remember getting.

I have many scars on me, and a lot of them for very dumb reasons so I'll just start from the head down since I can't remember exactly how all of them go in a chronological order.

I have a scar under my left eye. It seems when I was a mere baby, I was fiesty one. Well when I was put in the high chair, I would have a tendecy of rocking back and forth tell the chair would rock back and forth on its legs.

Well, one day when my mother was doing dishes, I got my baby body a rocking, giggling away as the chair teeters back and forth. Being that I'm not old enough to be out of diapers, I wasn't very good at logically thinking this one out. Well, acting like a child all hopped on crack, I rocked that thing so hard that finally it just teetered over sending me falling straight to the floor.

Of course there was a obstacle between me and the floor that in my family we liked to call a table.

So as I was falling to the floor, my left cheek bounced off the corner of table, giving me this huge gash just under my eye.

Well, my mother all freaked out rushed me to the hospital where I recieved stitches and was told if I had hit a few millimeters higher up, I would have lost my eye.

Ok, on to the next scar.

When I was in kindegarten, we played this game where we sat kneeling back to back, you hooked your arms through the others and you try and see who can out muscle who by leaning forward and lifting up off the ground while they try and do the same thing to you.

Somehow I thought this would be a fun game to play with my brother who is seven years older then me and quite larger then me at the time.

Well, being that he was twice my size, he easily ones. Ah but to prove HOW much bigger and stronger he was then me, he keeps my arms locked in his and stands up with me dangling behind him screaming my freakin head off.

Finally he lets me drop, which sends me falling into a old fashion desk chair, cracking open my chin which required running to the hospital to have stitches in me once again.

Alright, moving on to the next scar.

I have a circular scar on my stomach from something just blatantly stupid that everyone around me couldn't stop laughing.

One night while hanging around with a bunch of friends, one of them had a pack of cigars which sounded good to me so I asked for one of them. Each cigar had a little plastic filter on them, so I was enjoying clenching that filter between my teeth while happily puffing away.

Well, I wasn't really paying to close attention to the cigar, was to busy talking to someone when I decided to pull the cigar out of my mouth and ash it in the ash tray.

I grasp the cigar between two fingers, ready to pull it out of my mouth. Now I don't know what went through my head, but my teeth decided they were not going to unclench from the filter. So instead of slipping the cigar out of my mouth, my fingers slide down the length of the cigar, nocking the cherry off which then proceds to fall down the front of my shirt and lay on my stomach.

Oh fuck that stung like a mofo.

I didn't want to stand up and shake it out of my clothes, cause I didn't want the cherry burning my carpeting. So I lifted up my shirt and did the only thing that came to mind. I grabbed the cherry with my bare fingers and dumbed it into the ashtray, which of course burned my finger tips. Since then I have had a scar on my stomach to remind me that fire is bad, umkay.

Ok, on to the next scar.

This one is on my right knee when I was very young and my mother still worked at the theater in the town I grew up in.

While bored out of my mind, and no one around to play with as my mother was deep in a conversation with a friend. I decied to go look for some fun in the theater itself.

Well, aisles in the theater where carpeted with this fadding red, slick carpeting which I found out when you ran really fast and drop to your knees, you can slide a good distance down the aisle.

So I kept booking down those aisles and slidding on my knees, having a grand ol time tell....well there was these metal strips every ten or fifteen feet to keep the carpeting down, and they where screwed into the floor. Well, the strip at the very bottom of the aisle I was in, turns out not all the screws where all the way in.

I come running down that aisle, further then I had ever did before so I can get a good, long slide in. As I was slidding down the aisles, my knee was ripped open by the head of one of the screws. I just started screaming at the top of my lungs and crying my little eyes out, running to the green room to my mommy.

When I finally got there I finally looked down at what exactly I did to my knee. The knee of my jeans where completely ripped open, and they where a brand new pair too, and there was blood all over the hole and some down the leg of my pants. When I looked in the hole, there was to much blood to see exaclty what damage I had done to my knee. So I ran to the bathroom and started grabbing as much paper towels as I can and putting it on my knee tell it finally stopped bleeding.

Now, for the next scar.

This one is on my left foot and has got to be one of the most ignorant things I have accomplished in my life.

When I was young *do you see a trend here* my brother had this long, thin folding knife. On the side of it said cheese knife, and he used to play with that thing all the time. The blade was very loose so when you gripped the handle and quickly snapped your wrist, the blade would pop out and lock on its own.

I thought this was the coolest thing I had ever seen, and I just had to do it myself.

Well my older brother acting like the typical older brother, wouldn't let me touch his knife if my life depended on it. So I ran upstairs to my parents room to get my folding knife.

I had earned this folding knife by helping move a friend of my fathers, he gave me the knife and a black cowboy hat which I proceed to destroy years later by accidently dumping milk all over it. My father thought I was to young to have the knife, so he kept it in his room tell I proved I was old enough and mature enough to use it properly.

Unfortunetly, being an adventurous not overly bright kid, I proved his point quite well this day.

So I get the folding knife and run back stars, fantasies dancing through my head. I was sure it would be easy to do, and of course I then could slick my hair back with a pack of marlboros rolled up in the sleeve of my white t-shirt, flipping out my trusty knife to put the fear of "rebel without a cause" into the punks who dared crossed my path.

So I'm set to be Joe Cool when I sat down on my couch and tried doing the same thing with this knife, which was remarkably tight, as my brother did with his.

I figured out that the handle had the wait to do it, but the blade itself didn't. So I figured hey, grab the tiny edge of the blade sticking out and snap the handle out instead.

Sounded good back then.....

So I grip it as tightly as I can in my fingers, cocking my hand back I snapped my whole arm as hard as I can. I did it! The handle swung away from the blade, locking into place. Unfortunetly I snapped my wrist to hard for such a tentive grip I had.

So the knife comes flying out of my hand, tumbles through the air and sticks blade first into my foot.

Holy shit did I ever freak out. I jumped up after that, thankfully the blade wasn't in so deep so me jumping jarred it lose and tumbling to the floor. I made a mad dash up my stairs to my bedroom where I started grabbing handfull after handfull of toilet paper in desperate hopes that it would make the bleeding stopping. There was so much blood and I was crying my little eyes out *once again* afraid that I was going to die.

While kneeling on the bathroom floor holding a wad of toilet paper the size of my head to my foot, I started yelling out for my brother. He gets upstairs and sees what I did, which then he casually blew me off about and told me if I bothered him again about this he would beat me up.

Oh gee, thanks bro, I'm sitting crying and bleeding all over the floor cause I stuck a knife in my foot and you are threating to kick my ass on top of it.

Ok, thats my story of scars I have on me. I have several other scars all about me, but I can't think of any other stories that deal with some of them and the others I still have no clue how I got them in the first place.

Man, I'm suprised I survived my childhood with all the stupid shit I used to do.

It's about time - Wednesday, Jul. 07, 2004
An Honor for Chrome - Friday, Feb. 20, 2004
A great loss - Monday, Oct. 20, 2003
a terrible announcement. - Tuesday, Sept. 09, 2003
Chrome speaks: - Friday, Sept. 05, 2003