The Paper Cake: Complaints

Monday, September 27, 2010

Complaints

Goals I've completed:
12. Hang out with Christine
48. See The Other Guys

So apparently I have a pinched nerve in my neck. It hurts like a motherfucker to turn it to the right. I have no idea how it happened. One second I was getting changed in my bedroom, and the next second I try to turn my head and almost scream from the pain. I told both my dad and Anne and got different advice from each. I tried pills, massaging, leaning to the left, massaging, a hot water bottle, and massaging. Now I'm going to wait for Jess to get out of the shower and ask her to use my dad's massage unit to massage my neck, shoulders, and spine. Hurry up, Jess!

I'm still sick, too. I'm not having a very good day so far. XD Ugh and it sucks because I can't take my Buckley's cold pills and pain pills at the same time, or so it says on the Buckley's box. But the pains pills don't seem to be working anyway. So I'll take the cold pills next time. *sniff, sniff*

Tomorrow is callbacks. I'm pretty excited. I just hope my fucking neck is better by then! If it's not, I'll snap it myself. Ahaaaa, just kidding. But seriously. STOP HURTING.

This morning (before my neck started hurting), I took my second picture for my series of pictures of the 7 Deadly Sins. Today was envy. I wore a green dress and green makeup and had a rubber snake wrapped around my arm. It's now my Facebook profile picture.

Man, I'm cold. I think I'll go put on some pants and a sweater. XD It looked bright this morning so I put on a tank and a skirt. Now it's all gray and rainy-ish. *quickly changes into ugly black sweatpants, black, pink, and gray socks, and a white sweater* I have no idea why I was so descriptive there.

On Wednesday, I'm going to be doing the Grouse Grind as a field trip in my P.E. class. I've heard from a few people that it's quite difficult. So I'm kind of looking forward to it but at the same time I'm nervous. I'm excited for the ride down the mountain in the gondola! Yay! Ahaha.

HURRY UP AND GET OUT OF THE SHOWER, JESS. I NEED MY NECK MASSAGED. NOWWWW.

I'm hungry. I should eat lunch soon. For breakfast I ate Lucky Charms. I love them. They are soooo gooooddd. Good thing the box is huge because I've been eating them every morning and night.

My neck is seriously pissing me off. Like what the FUCK?! *shoots neck* BLAM. Take that, you whore! Oh, shit. *dies*

1 comment:

peebsSeptember 27, 2010 at 6:22 PM
ahahah you're so funny :) .. 'cept I you dying is not funny D:< <3

try using hot and cold intervals.. ice pack, then hot water bottle and on and on. I feel so bad!! I've had that happen to me, but not for very long, so I can't imagine :(

Have fun on the grouse grind! I'm so jealous! I've always wanted to do it! :) I'm sure you'll be fine, just don't think you have to be the first one at the top! I'm sure you could be if you wanted to, but you might not enjoy it as much. Have you ever been to grouse before?

Did you have a pro d day today or something..?
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Robot Boy

Mr. and Mrs. Smith had a wonderful life.
They were a normal happy husband and wife.
One day they got news that made Mr. Smith glad.
Mrs. Smith would be a mom,
Which would make him the dad!
But something was wrong with their bundle of joy.
It wasn't human at all,
It was a robot boy!
He wasn't warm and cuddly
And he didn't have skin.
Instead there was a cold, thin layer of tin.
There were wires and tubes sticking out of his head.
He just lay there and stared,
Not living or dead.

The only time he seemed alive at all
Was with a long extension cord
Plugged into the wall.

Mr. Smith yelled at the doctor,
"What have you done to my boy?
He's not flesh and blood,
He's aluminum alloy!"

The doctor said gently,
"What I'm going to say
Will sound pretty wild.
But you're not the father
Of this strange looking child.
You see, there still is some question
About the child's gender,
But we think that it's father
Is a microwave blender."

The Smith's lives were now filled
With misery and strife.
Mrs. Smith hated her husband,
And he hated his wife.
He never forgave her unholy alliance:
A sexual encounter
With a kitchen appliance.

And Robot Boy
Grew to be a young man.

Though he was often mistaken
For a garbage can.

~Tim Burton

The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy

He proposed in the dunes,
They were wed by the sea,
Their nine day long honeymoon
Was on the isle of Capri.

For their supper they had one spectacular dish -
A simmering stew of mollusks and fish.
And while he savored the broth,
Her bride's heart made a wish.

That wish came true -
She gave birth to a baby.
But was this little one human?
Well, maybe.

Ten fingers, ten toes,
He had plumbing and sight.
He could hear, he could feel,
But normal?
Not quite.

This unnatural birth, this canker, this blight,
Was the start and the end and the sum of their plight.

She railed at the doctor:
"He cannot be mine.
He smells of the ocean, of seaweed and brine."

"You should count yourself lucky, for only last week,
I treated a girl with three ears and a beak.
That your son is half oyster
You cannot blame me.
... Have you ever considered, by chance,
A small home by the sea?"

Not knowing what to name him,
They just called him Sam,
Or sometimes,
"That thing that looks like a clam."

Everyone wondered, but no one could tell,
When would young Oyster Boy come out of his shell?

When the Thompson quadruplets espied him one day,
They called him a bivalve and ran quickly away.

One spring afternoon,
Sam was left in the rain.
At the southwestern corner of Seaview and Main.
He watched the rain water as it swirled
Down the drain.

His mom on the freeway,
In the breakdown lane,
Was pounding the dashboard -
She couldn't contain
The ever-rising grief,
Frustration,
And pain.

"Really, sweetheart," she said.
"I don't mean to make fun,
But something smells fishy
And I think it's our son.
I don't like to say this, but it must be said,
You're blaming our son for your problems in bed."

He tried salves, he tried ointments
That turned everything red.
He tried potions and lotions
And tincture of lead.
He ached and he itched and he twitched and he bled.

The doctor diagnosed,
"I can't quite be sure,
But the cause of the problem may also be the cure.
They say oysters improve your sexual powers.
Perhaps eating your son
Would help you do it for hours!"

He came on tiptoe,
He came on the sly.
Sweat on his forehead,
And on his lips - a lie.
"Son are you happy? I don't mean to pry,
But do you dream of Heaven?
Have you ever wanted to die?"

Sam blinked his eye twice,
But made no reply.
Dad fingered his knife and loosened his tie.

As he picked up his son,
Sam dripped on his coat.
With the shell to his lips,
Sam slipped down his throat.

The buried him quickly in the sand by the sea -
Sighed a prayer, wept a tear -
And they were back home by three.

A cross of grey driftwood marked Oyster Boy's grave.
Words writ in the sand
Promised Jesus would save.
But his memory was lost with one high-tide wave.

~Tim Burton

Mummy Boy

He wasn't soft and pink
With a fat little tummy;
He was hard and hollow,
A little boy mummy.

"Tell us, please, Doctor,
The reason or cause,
Why our gundle of joy
Is just a bundle of gauze."

"My diagnosis," he said.
"For better or worse,
Is that your son is the result
Of an old pharoah's curse."

That night they talked
Of their son's odd condition -
They called him "a reject
From an archaeological expedition."

They thought of some complex
Scientific explanation,
But assumed it was simple
Supernatural reincarnation.

With the other young tots
He only played twice,
An ancient game of virgin sacrifice.
(But the kids ran away, saying, "You aren't very nice.")

Alone and rejected, Mummy Boy wept,
Then went to the cabinet
Where the snack food was kept.

He wiped his wet sockets with his mummified sleeves,
And sat down to a bowl of sugar-frosted tanna leaves.

One dark, gloomy day,
From out of the fog,
Appeared a little white mummy dog.

For his newfound wrapped pet,
He did many things,
Like building a dog house
A la Pyramid of kings.

It was late in the day -
Just before dark.
Mummy Boy took his dog
For a walk in the park.

The park was empty
Except for a squirrel,
And a birthday party for a Mexican girl.

The boys and girls had al started to play,
But noticed that thing that looked like papier mache.

"Look, it's a pinata,"
Said one of the boys.
"Let's crack it wide open
And get the candy and toys."

They took a baseball bat
And whacked open his head.
Mummy Boy fell to the ground;
He finally was dead.

Inside of his head
Were no candy or prizes,
Just a few stray beetles
Of various sizes.

~Tim Burton

Stain Boy

Roy, the Toxic Boy

To those who knew him -
His friends -
We called him Roy.
To others he was known
As that horrible Toxic Boy.

He loved ammonia and asbestos,
And lots of cigarette smoke.
What he breathed in for air
Would make other people choke!

His very favourite toy
Was a can of aerosol spray;
He'd sit quietly and shake it,
And spray it all the day.

He'd stand inside the garage
In the early morning frost,
Waiting for the car to start
And fill him with exhaust.

The one and only time
I ever saw Toxic Boy cry
Was when some sodium chloride
Got into his eye.

One day for fresh air
They put him in the garden.
His face went deathly pale
And his body began to harden.

The final gasp of his short life
Was sickly with despair.
Whoever thought that you could die
From breathing outdoor air?

As Roy's soul left his body
We all said a silent prayer.
It drifted up to Heaven
And left a hole in the ozone layer.

~Tim Burton