Hezo Kittie

Ruminations from a Sixteen Year Old:

Anyone who knows me knows that I stay up all night wasting away in front of some kind of screen. I've probably written a million times about the fact that when the last (meaningful) person signs off at night, I read online. There's so much to read that I'd rather be reading about something that interests me than sleep. And then eventually go to sleep either when I think I should be sleeping or when I think a parent is going to get up soon for work. Anyway, when I want to read something insightful about anything in life that I think I can relate to, I go to collegehumor.com. At first that just sounds idiotic, because the site is basically Entensity's FFL under a veil of frat boy posturing, but hidden on the left side is the section called "Columns". And I don't know where they got these people or why their posts aren't advertised, but I haven't even begun to scratch the surface of their awesome writing. It's like when you're bored and you randomly look at someone's Xanga and you read every single thing that happened to that person yesterday, and you think to yourself, "Wow, that totally mattered." Except in these columns, written by ten or twelve college graduates trying to get by on their own, there is actually some thought put into their posts. They could just be funny, but they're always interesting and readable. It's like blog literature.

But for some reason, reading actual novels about important things such as the first presidents or famous works by important people just bores me to tears. I guess this shit should be stuff I should learn, but not being able to relate to a story just turns it into a string of words not worth my time.

So what I meant to say after spending a million paragraphs on it was that I want to post about something that's actually worth your time to read.

I have a funny story actually for all the people that I haven't told it to yet (although I can't even remember who I did tell it to): I was at costco the other day just hanging out near the toys section standing in the middle of an intersection, when I witnessed a profound sight. I watched this tiny little girl walk through the toys isle, stop at the Spider-Man tricycle, turn, walk up to it and place her hand on the box, saying softly to herself, "Spider-Man..." before walking away into oblivion that is the rest of the store. I used to wonder if there seriously was any point to making a PS2 controller that happened to have Spider-Man's face in the middle, but now I know better than to question those almighty advertisers.

But that's not all. After that happened, ANOTHER little boy walked down the isle with his dad, stopped at the Spider-Man trike, and said, "Spider-Man!" To which his dad replied, "Yeah, that's the bike you have, let's keep going..."

Spider-Man propaganda is taking over toddler nation by storm. This kid who already HAD this bike was still brainwashed by its crazy box art while passing by. And I couldn't have been at this spot for more than three minutes.

So today at 9AM Bryan Mark Thorsell is taking his one-way ticket home. It's a saddening day for each person in San Ramon, because all of us have had at least one crazy encounter with this crazy kid. I've had my share of them. And with Will leaving in a matter of time, that former 8th grade posse of Brooke, Will, Bryan, and Jordan that occupied my Friday afternoons will be left as a shell of its former self. Times really do change.

We used to be neighbors, living about a mile away from both Iron Horse and Cal, which back then was nothing. It's weird now, but I don't remember how we were able to handle so much walking since we pretty much walked anywhere and everywhere, but the journey was always a part of the destination. It added up to more than ten miles one time when we went from our neighborhood to Sarah's, then to Kurt's and Brian's, then back to Sarah's to drop Kellie off (8th grade drop off meaning walking a person back to their house so that they don't get raped) before crashing at Brian's for my first time, half-asleep. We played chicken fight in Kurt's backyard. His mom woke up and caught us in the garage drinking drinks, but she's a quiet mom who wuvs her Kurt and went back to sleep. I also remember standing at the Dublin City Limit sign with him and Brian...I don't remember why or how we got there though.

But enough of that. I'm not one to enjoy living in the past for the most part, but Bryan is a cool kid. For the time that I've known him, he's gotten me through the most bad times out of anyone I've ever known. Bryan listens and he likes to hang out and he never gave me shit about stuff that people could give me shit about. He's a funny guy, a founding Hezo Kittie member, and a good friend for as long as I knew him. There's not much to say other than that.

So I got home from a wedding tonight at about midnight or so, and it was fun for being a wedding. The fact that it was one of my Uncles getting married and not some random person who I'm barely related to made it interesting because a lot of my cool cousins were in town. But the wedding isn't what I was going to talk about, today we'll look at Filipinos! And not just any kind of Filipinos like me or you, but crazy ones. Because those ones make functions like these the funniest things ever.

I could probably devote an entire post to Filipinos and the funny things they do or say, but for now I'll just talk about some of the things I noticed today. First of all, my youngest uncle, who is also the best man, had to make a toast to my uncle the groom, and he's an awesome and funny guy but not big on public speaking. At least, not when he's sober. So because his toast was before the meal at the reception was served, he had about a 20 minute window in which he tried to get as drunk as he needed after the wedding pictures were taken before taking the mic. His speech was actually nicely done, the six-ish drinks he had just before were just starting to sink in. But as the night went on, he had his share of beer, champagne, and rum and coke, and after about twenty drinks he tripped in the elevator and cut his lip. Now that may not sound that funny to you, but this is one goofy ass guy and seeing him wander around the reception hall was some seriously entertaining stuff. Although the best part was when he danced with my grandma for like half an hour, probably not realizing what the hell he was doing the entire time. Earlier that day my sister told me he said, "You know, your grandma is really funny because whenever she's standing she wants somewhere to sit, but she won't get off the dance floor for hours." Well, he was her companion because my grandpa can't walk well anymore. But anyway, my grandma is the craziest most funniest person to talk to ever. I used to just listen to her for about a minute or so because the stuff she said was always totally random, or I didn't understand it, but now I sometimes like to start up conversation with her and just listen to the random things she has to say, because for some reason it makes me wonder. Or it's just crazy.

I can't even remember what crazy things she's said because there are too many of them. But they sure are crazy.

Some of my uncles have the funniest dance moves. Seeing them on the floor is like watching some kind of Filipino parody of Saturday Night Fever or Footloose, complete with high speed twisting and limbs flailing all over the place at a million miles per hour.

I once told Christen that the reason I love talking to her is because everything she says is always funny or interesting, and she then proceded to tell me that when she tans she brings a cup full of ice so that when she's thirsty after lying out in the hot sun, she will have ice cold water that's melted right next to her. I told her that it actually was a really good idea and she probably thought I was an idiot for thinking that melting ice cubes was interesting.

But that's just how I am. Like I told Bryan earlier today, I'm a slacker at heart. I like reading about things that interest me, playing games, hanging out, eating, but I'm a horrible worker. That's going to hurt me soon if I don't change. But still, I like those simple things. One of my favorite things is sitting in a circle with my friends, no matter where we are, talking about nothing important. "How is it that talking, or even just listening, can be so relieving to you, Kevin?" you may ask? I don't know why. I'd make a good stoner, minus the drugs and stuff. I like to talk about pointless things that are interesting, while I'm sober too.

Oh, the irony. It's everywhere nowadays.