Your Wait Is Up

So. You've been dying to know what he was proud to have recieved. Well your wait is over. He was proud to have received an 'F' on his most recent assignment. As I was sitting there studying every whorl and miniscule intricacy of my fingernail I almost laughed. I was like. Mmmm hem hem huh... wha? But of course this exciting and highly eloquent dialogue was only carried out in my head because I wasn't going to talk to members of the Tucson Chapter of the American Dirty Club. I am obviously above such trivial blabbering. Obviously people. Anyway. I was sitting there quite surprised. To me, an F is not a good thing. In fact, this fellow must have been incredibly stupid because it is not possible to get worse than an F. You can do no work and still manage to scrape by with a F. Its really not hard. So I was a bit intrigued. More interesting than my fingernail, quite possibly. I have a little bit to tell you about Mr. Dirty.

You know the movie Grease? Annoying movie. It is alright, but it's annoying. You know that one weird guy in the movie (as if that isn't half of the people). He is the guy that in the one car race drives the bad guy car. The gray car with the flames on the side and the neat little things that you can make pop out of the wheels to attack other cars. That guy. I don't know his name and it surely isn't important, but Mr. Dirty from the hot tub sure looked a lot like him. They might be twins. Creepy.

Anyway, me and Muj ended up leaving after just a short warm-up time because, no matter what I have said, I was not very interested in my thumb nail. It really got old pretty fast. So we left but instead of trying off and putting some clothes back on, as is usual, we just picked them up and left. The sooner we were gone the better. So then we walked a short distance and then set all our stuff down and started getting fully clothed. I thought that Muj had chosen a stupid spot that was much too close to the pool, but the clothing was already on the ground so it was too late. As I was standing there drying off and whatnot I glanced over at where the pool is and, to my great consternation, discovered that they could actually see us still. How awkward. There we were thinking we were all smart but instead we looked like fools. Hmph. Cabrito doesn't enjoy looking like a fool.
The end.

This Post Bears No Name.

I spent the last week, my spring break, in Arizona. It was hot. Not only was it hot because Arizona is a desert and recieves (I heard, anyway) twelve inches of rain a year. Honestly. Thats not much water people. That like. Doesn't even count. My own tears (not from crying you moron, from keeping my eyes wet) add up to more than that. Ridiculous. Anyway. Arizona is hot. Even though it was the Arizona winter the coldest day we ever had was like 75 degrees. It does get cold at night, mind you, because deserts tend to do that. Maybe down into the 40s or so? Who knows, and better yet, who cares? I care.

My grandma gets cold a lot. I know, I mean, 70 degrees is downright freaking cold. We think she has a thyroid problem maybe but that really isn't the point. The point is that, while in Arizona mind you, we had the furnace running. Back at home we keep the house at 59 degrees to save money, in Arizona we kept the house at 83. Let me repeat. Eight. Three. Degrees. That is wayyyy to hot to have a house, especially when you can't even stick your head out of the window to cool off because its nearly as hot out there. What are you supposed to do? Like anyone would I made the logical decision to go swimming. That was my most common activity and all the elderly old people most likely thought I was crazy swimming for like 5 hours a day, but what is a lad supposed to do? Burn to death? I prefer swimming, personally.

While at the pool with my dear sister, whom we all lovingly refer to as Muj Puj (pronounced Mudge Pudge), I began to get cold. I had been floating around on a noodle (<-- and yes, that is me in the picture. Cute aren't I?) trying to stay warm by sitting in the jet of water that shoots out of the heater. It didn't work. I was cold anyway. So I decided to go to the hot tub and right as I was lethargically paddling over three lovely people walked into the pool area. Someone whom I took to be thirty and her to teenage ish children. They got in my hottub. I was incensed. I don't enjoy awkwardly sitting in a hottub with some random people because right when you get in there is this silence and you are forced to stare at something stupid like a floor tile or a fingernail to avoid speaking with them. Me and Muj decided that we would brave the newcomers and get in the hottub because this was (we thought) our last night, and we really didn't want to leave the pool and walk all the way home freezing just because of these three people. So we got in.

There was, surprisingly enough, this awkward silence. I never even saw it coming. To avoid looking at these people, whom I could now see were actually of similar ages and all in high school/ middle school, I stared at my thumb's intriguing nail. I busied myself in all of the lines of my nail while the people slowly resumed talking. There discussion was actually more interesting than my finger. I was shocked. One of the boys was talking about how he was proud to have received...

CLIFFHANGER ENDING

What could come next? Who knows? I suppose that you will just have to read the next post!

Well. This is fun.

If you don't care about my life or me being sick don't read this. But I feel like complaining.

So on Thursday night I got a sore throat and thought nothing of it. It was still there Friday morning, but again I thought little of it because I tend to sleep on my back and breath through my mouth so with the furnace running my throat sometimes gets dried out. Unfortunately it stayed bad all day long. Got worse, even. Then I woke up today at like 6:30. On my own. I was planning on sleeping in until nine. Why was I up and such a terrible time on a Saturday? My neck hurt. Not only did my neck hurt, but my back, head, arms, legs, and everything else as well. I stood up to get a drink and almost fell right back down. My head did not appreciate the massive altitude change brought about so suddenly (you see, I am really tall. Really. Tall. Sometimes I get altitude sickness because of it). It was lame. I also felt like I was on fire. That may have been in part because I left my electric blanket on all night long, but that is a pretty common occurence and I don't usually burn to death because of it. Sad part is, I almost did burn to death last night.

I wandered downstairs and the lovely time of 6:50 and told my mom that what she had thought (that I would wake up with a bad cold) was completely wrong. I had the flu. Last year I missed four days of school because of it. I have three tests on Monday and really cannot afford to miss school. Or miss studying tomorrow. I took my temperature and discovered that I had a fever. Greaaaaat. I just got done learning how fevers are actually good things because they increase the effectiveness of the phagocytic cells in your body as well as the speed of the metabolic processes. That makes me wonder why Tylenol is a good thing when it reduces your fever as advertised. I know it reduced mine. Isn't that kind of making me sicker? Seems like it.

So yeah then I called into work and was like hey. I'm sick, not coming in. Kthxbai. And my manager was like ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm wha??? Oh I was looking at the wrong week. Nevermind! I was like okay miss manager way to be confused. I probably sounded like a drug addict though. My voice was real hoarse like. And this post is disturbingly boring. What is wrong with me? I am going to blame it on the influenza virus that is taking over some of the cells in my body and turning them into virus factories. I don't really like that thought. Viral DNA is being created and packaged and everything so it can go ruin somebody else's week. Sad. Hope they wash their hands!

I can has cheezburger?

I discovered this website from some British guy I play xbox with. Or used to. He doesn't really like Gears of War 2 because he thinks the matchmaking sucks. And it is true, the matchmaking does suck. But the game is really fun so you just kind of have to wait for a good game and then enjoy it. Anyway. He told me about this site and its really quite humorous. I laughed. Many times. This picture is from that website. And I like it. SO there.

P.S. the cat in this picture is totally one of my cats. I don't know which. Probably Henry. Henry is really cool. And fat. And he really doesn't care what he's told to do because he does what he wants. Then again it could totally be Nikita because she sits like that a lot. The end.

Poker Face

This song got stuck in my friends head. And they told me to put it on this blog. So here. Hope you enjoy it.

Stranger Than Fiction

So there is this movie called Stranger Than Fiction, and it is real good like. I watched it on Sunday because I didn't have to work until three. Not working until three was maybe the best thing that has ever happened to me. It was amazing. But, alas, this is not the point. The point is that one of the main characters in the movie had writers block. It was so bad that she didn't kill off her main character in ten years. She sat there smoking and trying to figure out how to murder him in her book. It was kind of pathetic and then she sat in the rain and smoked and she looked like a hobo and it was lame. But this is also not the point. The point is her writers block. It was sad. And her publishers thought that she was a failure and they sent her some assistant who in eleven years had helped 20 different writers finish 35 different books. Or something like that. Basically, she was a book finishing ninja and should be worshipped. And it was Queen Latifah and she is really funny and I like her. She was in Bringing Down The House which was another real good movie. That I also loved. She helped whatsername finish her book and it was all wonderful and writers block was over hooray yippee! Unfortunately for me, Queen Latifah is not here to help me write blog posts. I bet she would be good at it. Do you think I should call her up and ask her to? I'd probably be shot or something. Sad story. Oh weird little thing that I noticed. When I was looking around for a picture to put for Bringing Down The House I noticed this website that was like : If there were anyone in the world I could kill it would be Queen Latifah. I was like, excuse me? She happens to be a really funny actress. And she's cool. So no. You're a freak. I even left them an anonymous comment that told them they needed psychiatric help. I may have called them a freak but I really can't remember. Probably did, it's something I would do. K.

This marks the end of the first blog post in way too long. Thank you for pretending to yourself that it would be good, I appreciate the thought.

What, me? Why?

Please ignore the flashy sparkly rainbow. It is not a sign of anyone coming out of the proverbial closet. The picture fit my post. Get over it.

I've been asked by one of my avid readers to write a post about blogging itself. Okay that is fudging the truth, I doubt they are an avid reader. Unfortunately, they have the power to tell me what to do and I, humble as I am, must obey. If you don't care, move on. Consider this your warning, I'm protecting you from the boredom that may ensue if you read this. Also, I'm not sure which angle I'm supposed to take, whether it is a "Why I Blog" sort of thing or a "What is the purpose of a blog" type deal. I'm going to mix them up. So there.

Blogging is indeed an interesting concept. I'm not fully sure why anyone thought of it. I suppose it does save paper, but since when do important people that make important decisions really care about that. Plus it uses electricity, whereas writing on paper does not. This, though, is neither here nor there, and is not important.

I guess blogging was a revolutionary idea. People could spend some time writing whatever they want and publish it before anybody could criticize them on their use of words or lack of commas. In effect, it was instantaneous writing. Quite unheard of. Anybody could publish whatever they wanted, true or not, important or not-so-important, interesting or kill-me-please boring. It didn't matter, and it didn't matter who wrote it. Anyone could be heard, or rather read, and anyone could speak up. A very interesting idea...

But why do I blog? That is a more complicated question than one might think. I started off hating blogs and everything they stood for. They seemed like such a waste of time. But I did my best. Take a look at the first post, and try not to laugh. I was so proud of that painfully long post. Surely, I could handle this. Turns out the average post was supposed to be about 400 words, with a total of 1200 or so a week. Both of my first posts (which I had great affection for, bless them) added up to 400. This was going to be a problem.

Then one day I decided to write exclusively about songs I heard and liked. I would embed the youtube video, write some lyrics, and interpret the song. That turned out to be a disaster. Why on earth did I have to blog? I deplored my situation.

Then I decided I would just write about whatever I wanted to, whenever I wanted to. This turned out to be a much better idea. I came to the conclusion that blogging for a newspaper or something would be really quite hard. To think of something to write about every day, that actually had a purpose, would be difficult. I can manage my blog only because I write about the most random things possible, and I spend most of my time muttering to myself. Muttering takes up a lot of words, you know. I suppose the only reason I actually have people that read my blog is because it is a little bit entertaining or something. I'm kind of losing my train of thought, but I'm sure you know what I'm trying to say. So that about sums up blogging in Cabrito's world anyway.

Hey wasn't that post amazingly fun? It is like adding imagery to your writing, without having to actually write it! Perfect! Unless people start complaining I'm going to do that from now on. It will be fun, and you will love it.

Oh and that last one, the Cabrito one, was me.

P.S. The reason my picture is important is because writers think everything they write is perfect and blah blah blah that's why people should read it. So, as a writer, I feel the same way. Duh.