(Not) Brushing Your Hair

When I was little, I absolutely detested (and rarely) brushed my hair. It was so painful. Like stabbing porcupines into your skull. (I had the fine-toothed combs.) I was (and am) one to favor comfort over fanciness, so I never brushed my hair. Maybe once a month if it was a lucky one.

I didn’t like it when my mother brushed my hair for me because it always hurt more so than if I were to brush my own hair. Therefore, when I was forced by my mother to brush my hair, I would pick the lesser of the two evils and brush my own hair.

But I never did it well enough. I never really tried. So it always looked the same before and after I brushed it and my mother would insist that she do it again herself.

I never did well enough because “brushing hair well=pain,” so I shirked my brushing duties and usually only brushed the top layer of my hair.

So I thought of a new idea to get rid of the accursed knots in my hair.

I would brush my hair myself, and whenever I came across a knot, I cut it out.

Eventually, I did learn to like brushing my hair.

In fact, I loved it.

This sudden change in attitude to hair-brushing was due to a very special brush. It came in a craft kit and it was a little compact brush that you could put sequins on. AND THIS BRUSH DIDN’T HURT!

I was mystified. I was entranced. I was lost in the magical depths of this hairbrush.

I would spend all my waking hours brushing my hair until it was really soft and shiny and people commented, “How lovely. I wish I could have hair as lustrous as yours. What shampoo are you using?”. (I didn’t use shampoo that often.)

But this time of ignorant bliss was coming to a close.

We went on vacation.

I was in the bathroom, brushing my hair when the brush flew out of my hand and fell into the toilet.

That Thing: Repeated Words

Does that thing ever happen you when you repeat one word over and over and over and over again and it starts to lose all meaning and it becomes just a sound or shape?

Here’s a demonstration:

grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque  grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque  grotesque grotesque  grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque  grotesque grotesque  grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque  grotesque grotesque  grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque  grotesque grotesque  grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque  grotesque grotesque  grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque grotesque

 

yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty yeasty

 

lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely lovely

Mellow Yellow Episode 11: Preparations

TICK, TOCK, QUINN, MASTER, and LENA are at the store looking for the perfect wedding dress for BREAD SNADWHICH.

TICK: How about this one? (Holds up a wedding gown)

TOCK: Nah. We need a bread sized one, remember? (Looks over shoulder when there is no response)

TICK is curled up on the dress while the ATTENDANT is trying to pull it from under her body.

TOCK: TICK! WAKE UP!

ATTENDANT: You guys are an odd bunch of people…

***

MASTER (just coming out from the bathroom): WOW! THAT WAS GREAT! I FEEL SO RELIEVED! THE AUTHOR USUALLY NEVER LETS ME DO THIS!

Everyone in the store looks at him

MASTER: Whoops…

ATTENDANT (Running up, aggravated): CAN YOU GET YOUR DAUGHTER TO GET OFF THAT DRESS! IT’S A MILLION DOLLARS AND SHE’S DROOLING ON IT!

MASTER: Actually miss, she isn’t my daughter but she is my ex-wife’s father.

ATTENDANT: Can you just get him off!

MASTER: She’s a “her”.

KYR (Crashing through the ceiling): That’s right, ma’am. Please get your grammar right next time!

JOHN (Popping out of a wedding dress): You just came out of the ceiling! So, What’s Up?

MASTER walks away with the freaked-out store ATTENDANT, leaving KYR to deal with JOHN’S sudden appearance in his underwear

***

The CLOCK DUO arrive at the scene

TICK, who is still asleep, is surrounded by mysterious circles created by a purple marker, blood-scented candles, and breadcrumbs. TOCK has a jug of iced milk, ready to pour.

ATTENDANT: AHHH! WHAT ARE YOU DOING!

QUINN (to his fiance): This wedding dress is not as beautiful as you! (to others)  AND WHAT ARE YOU GUYS UP TO?

(I resist to put an awesome pun I’ve created because it sounds quite weird and many people would advise against it)   

TICK: A demonic exorcism, is all! (Pours the iced milk)

ATTENDANT: GET OUT OF THIS STORE!

A snowy egret comes and carries them all out of the store

MASTER is still shopping for french baguette hat, without gluten

ATTENDANT: YOU TOO!

LENA: What about me?

ATTENDANT: YOU ALSO!

LENA: No, I was talking to the author. She didn’t include me at all, even when I was in the store! John and Kyr were dropped in and they weren’t even in the store in the first place!

ATTENDANT: Well this is my last episode and the audience doesn’t even know my name! (cries a waterfall on the dress) And be thankful for your appearances in these things. You might be very important later!

LENA (waving): Bye, Attendant!

QUINN (to LENA: Guess what?

LENA: What?

Quinn: I got you a dress! (Holds up the salty dress drenched in watered-down milk)

~~~END

(JOHN and KYR are playing rock-paper-scissors after being abandoned in the store, if you were wondering. They are hiding under a wedding dress as the ceiling is about to come crashing down.)  

Football: Some Random Thoughts

I am very clearly not an athletic person. The only game I can somewhat play almost decently is tennis, but I dislike playing tennis, and the only sports game I watched was hockey. But I only watched hockey twice, and it wasn’t really of my own free will.

So being generally unathletic, I tend to look at sports differently than athletic people, which brings us to our question of the day: Why is a football called a football?

First, let us consider the first part of this compound word: foot.

Even with my limited knowledge of sports, I know that footballs are usually carried or thrown, and things that are carried or thrown by humans are usually carried or thrown by the hands, not the feet.

But we shall let this part of the word slide because footballs are occasionally hit by the foot (aka “kicked”) when a player is attempting to launch the football in a parabolic arc through the tuning fork-shaped apparatus.

So the “foot” part of “football” has been considered acceptable, although it is not the ideal choice of word. The most troublesome part of the word is “ball,” anyway.

According to Dictionary.com, a ball is “a spherical or approximately spherical body or shape; sphere.”

A football is clearly not a sphere.

It’s shaped more like a lemon.

Let’s all call it a footlemon!

P.S. That looks like foo-tulle-mon, but it is pronounced foot-le-mon.

Mellow Yellow Episode 10: Tricky Relations

LENA: Wait a second…

Everyone looks at her attentively

LENA (To QUINN in horror): If you’re marrying Bread Snadwich… and Bread Snadwich is Dad’s ex-wife, which means she’s my stepmom… then you’re my soon-to-be stepdad!

JOHN laughs

LENA (in a whiny voice): But I’m older than you!

QUINN (grinning): That means I’m the boss of you, soon-to-be stepdaughter, and I order you go to the wedding wearing a very fancy dress. The fanciest, itchiest, heaviest dress I can find, in fact. You’ll only be second to my darling fiance.

JOHN laughs harder. Only ARA can keep a straight face.

LENA (grumbling): @#$!

 

~~~END

 

Analyzing Nursery Rhymes

It’s raining it’s pouring

The old man is snoring

He bumped his head

On the foot of the bed

And he didn’t get up in the morning

I’m sure you’ve heard of this nursery rhyme at least once in your life. This is the way that I learned it (which means that this is the right way).

I used to sing this nonstop whenever it rained. It probably annoyed my parents indefinitely. But whenever it rained and I was reminded of this song, I used to wonder why the old man couldn’t get up in the morning.

And how did he even bump his head on the foot of the bed? Was he sleeping upside down? Who does that? Does he thrash in his sleep? If so, why does he thrash about? Was he having nightmares? What was the cause of the nightmares?

 

Let us say that when this man was nothing but a mere child with about eight years under his belt, he loved the jungle. He wanted to grow up to be a scientist, scouring the Amazon for new plant and animal species. And this eight-year-old Old Man had to practice. How else would he get ahead of the game? So Old Man decided to swing with a rope off of the roof of his barn to practice his vine-swinging. However, Old Man lacked the upper-body strength required to swing from a rope and he immediately slid down it, earning rope burns on the pads of his fingers.

Now, while we wait for Old Man to fall, let us talk about his little sister, Annie. Annie was a pretty little thing with about six years behind her and she adored nothing more than her stuffed animals. She stored her large stuffed animal collection in a wading pool beneath the barn to protect them from the rain.

Some would say luckily (and others would say unluckily) for Old Man, Annie’s stuffed animal pool was positioned directly underneath the rope from which he fell and Old Man, therefore, fell into the wading pool instead of onto the unforgiving ground. While Old Man was thrashing about in this wading pool, blood pumped with adrenaline and surrounded by the glass eyes of stuffed animals, Old Man believed that this was his end and that he had reached his untimely death. This supposed death was not due to his large fall. Rather, it was due to his little sister’s stuffed animals.

After this curious incident, Old Man had developed a fear of stuffed animals. It didn’t affect him much, though, until he had grown middle-aged and had a daughter of his own. This daughter of his adored stuffed animals as much as, if not more than, little Annie. But Old Man was careful in avoiding his daughter’s toys and he managed to hide his fear.

But in his ripe old age, Old Man’s daughter thought that piling his bed with her old stuffed animals would bring the old man some comfort. How wrong she was.

Instead of the intended comfort, these stuffed animals plagued Old Man with terrifying nightmares. But no matter how much he might’ve wanted to, Old Man could not remove the stuffed animals from his bed as he was a kind and gentle soul and he could not bear to hurt his dear daughter’s feelings.

And this is the reason the old man’s head was near the foot of the bed.

 

Now as to why he didn’t get up in the morning.

I think he died due to the bumping of his head.

When you are Home Alone

What do you do when you are home alone?

You could partake in a whole manner of embarrassing activities when there is no one around simply because you can and there is no one around to judge you.

You could break some rules.

You could…

  • Leave all the lights on
  • Throw all the sheets on floor
  • Hang all the wall decor sideways
  • Eat mushed Jell-O on a hot dog bun
  • Throw a temper tantrum
  • Fling things that have been bothering you (like unsharpened pencils, dirty stuffed animals, a tissue box, etc.) down the stairs
  • Rip up paper and throw it in the air like confetti (like homework, taxes, receipts, etc.)
  • Switch the tulips and the begonias in the flower bed
  • Run
  • Stomp
  • Scream
  • Throw things (such as textbooks, dirty stuffed animals, plastic flamingos, etc.)
  • Hold a tea party with your china dolls as you’ve wanted to since you were a child, but haven’t as it is considered socially unacceptable for an adult over the age of 33.56 to be the host of a tea party if none of the guests are alive or human.
  • Smash things

Do you remember that first time you were alone? Were you one of those people who sat diligently in view of all the entrances to your house? Or were you the one who went slightly insane?

The first time I was home alone, I was asleep.

The second time, I first checked that all the doors were locked. Then, I gorged myself on chocolate, shrieked, and ran around. I believe I also read in the dark.

But, of course, there is a price to pay for every cricket of fun. (Cricket is a very real and definitely not made-up unit of measurement.)

Imagine you tore out the first fifty pages of all of your bothersome textbooks and flung the corpses down the stairs, all while screaming. The phone rings. You freeze, your mouth full of peanut butter, globs of it dripping onto the nice tablecloth. You see the caller ID says “Mother” and you wince. You know that you have to pick it up otherwise your mother may believe that an overweight gumdrop has broken into your house and kidnapped you. You hold the phone against your sticky face and say, your enunciation horrific due to the peanut butter coating your tongue and teeth, “Hello?”.

You: Hello?

Mother: My engagement has been canceled because an Inconceivable Event has just occurred. I’ll be home in fifteen minutes. (Sigh) I’ll just get married next month. And I thought your enunciation was better than that.

What you must do in fifteen minutes:

  • Pick up the confetti
  • Tape the confetti together so it looks like the first fifty pages of your textbooks
  • Replace the first fifty pages in your textbooks
  • Fix damage to textbooks from being flung down the stairs
  • Wash the nice tablecloth
  • Get new peanut butter
  • Wipe peanut butter off every surface in your house
  • Take a shower
  • Brush your teeth
  • Bribe your neighbors so they don’t tell your mother anything

Mellow Yellow Episode 9: Fluffy Hat

After a couple of days, MASTER is slowly getting used to his gluten-free-ness. He is human again. QUINN is getting ready for the wedding, but sadly he is having problems with the guests. LENA is in the living room as well.

QUINN: Lena! Do you want to come to our wedding?

LENA: I don’t like dresses. Or celebrating union.

MASTER walks in with his fluffy hat in his hand rather than on his head.

QUINN and LENA: WHOA! IT’S THE TOP OF HIS HEAD!

MASTER raises an eyebrow, both at the surprise of the two of them together and the fact that QUINN has BREAD SNADWHICH.

LENA: It’s so white and hairy! (pets the top of her father’s head)

MASTER (to QUINN): What are you doing with my wife—I mean my…uh.

QUINN: Marrying her. Why?

MASTER: WHAT?!

QUINN (nervous): You can’t really go near bread anymore, so I just conveniently fell in love!

MASTER: … So you think you are worthy of the Bread Snadwich?

QUINN: …

MASTER: YOU ARE! YOU ARE MY NEXT OFFSPRING! THE LEGACY OF MASTER SHALL LIVE ON! (Puts the fluffy hat on QUINN’S head) YOU HAVE LEARNED THE SECRET LANGUAGE OF THE BREAD!

QUINN (proud): I guess I have!

TICK and TOCK: (Suddenly crowding MASTER) SO YOU APPROVE?

MASTER: Yes. And Tick, that’s a nice new hairdo!

TICK (blushing): Thank you, Master. Tock did it for me.

TOCK glows at the attention.

ZHAN comes through the door, still crying for TICK’S wonderful hair.

ZHAN: WHY WHY WHY WHY? (Cries as TOCK sits down on his face to silence him.)

TICK walks away.

TOCK: Tick, come back! Don’t you want to pick out the dress for your daughter?

TICK: (Walks back, and grabs Tock’s hand) Let’s go!

 

~~~END

Mellow Yellow Episode 3: Grammar

Lena: I barley get the spotlight.

Kyr: That is improper grammar!

Lena: No it isn’t!

Kyr: Yes, it is!

Lena: I insist. I like various assortments of grains.

Kyr: Face-palm (Face-palm)

Quinn walks into Zhan’s workshop

Quinn: There aren’t any vowels in your name. That is an impossibility. Therefore, you must not exist.

Kyr explodes

~~~~ End