Where, Exactly, is the Line in the Sand for Eating Food out of the Trash Can?

  And yes, for all of you who are curious, I am in fact asking because I have done so, and am wondering whether I am still a girl or have crossed the line over to "bum." 
  Let me explain before you crucify me, please. It was only technically eating out of the trash, and while I know that "technically" can't get you out of everything, like shooting somebody, I believe (and my lawyer Brad Chase agrees with me on this one) that it can get me out of this.
  It was around Christmas--it was over winter break, I remember now--of last year. I know this because (this sounds like I'm explaining my answer to an open-ended question in school, God) my uncle brought over a box of Dunkin' Donuts for dessert for our Christmas Eve dinner, and we had a couple left over.
  We don't get actual Dunkin' Donuts doughtnuts very often in our house--probably once every few months, maybe less. So no way in heck was I about to let any of them go to waste.
  It was a few days later, and I went out into the living room to chill with my mom for a while. Well, I was writing a story on the couch, but still. We were in the same room, and I was watching the same thing she was watching. So I count that as Chilling. 
  ANYWAY. It's funny, but I remember more about stuff I was doing if there's food or eating involved. And I know there's no food involved in this story yet, but in about two sentences there will be, so keep your pants on, freak.
  No, really. Keep your pants on. Nobody wants to see that.
  I got hungry as I watched TV (see? Count 'em. Two sentences), and so I asked Mom if we had any of the doughnuts left, because there had been two left, and they were the holiday kind, with the red frosting and red-and-green sprinkles, and I just don't get to eat those that often (actually, I don't think I had ever eaten them before that Christmas).  
  I LIKE RED FROSTING ON MY PASTRY, OKAY? LEAVE ME ALONE!
  Then Mom informed me that she had thrown them out because they had gotten hard and stale. 
  Nooooooo!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
  I asked her when she had done this. She told me like an hour ago. 
  So I jumped up and went into our kitchen (and because I know you're waiting to learn what we were watching when I ate out of the trash, it's coming. Hold on) and saw the closed box resting on the top of the trash completely untouched by anything spoiled or old or disgusting. 
  So, let's review the key points here (because Brad told me to): The box was shut and on top of the trash, and not soiled or grossed-up in any way. 
  All right, so that was fine. I pulled the box out and checked it. Fine. I pulled the doughnut I wanted (one of the last two, twins, like Luke and Leia) out of the box and studied it. It looked fine. I nibbled experimentally on the side. Fine. Sure, it was a little hard, but my teeth didn't break--I could tear pieces off, and everything. It kind of had the texture of a dinner roll, which most people eat with no problem (no offense if you can't). It just has frosting on it.
  Mom looks up from the movie about the Partridge family that we've been watching for the past half hour to ask what I'm doing. I say I pulled the doughnut of the box in the trash and am considering eating it. I ask her if I can. There's nothing wrong with the doughnut. 
  She gets up and comes over, leaving David Cassidy (or, at least, the kid playing him, because it's a movie about the TV show) behind. She looks confused, probably because her daughter wants to eat a doughnut she threw out. She says "Fine, if you want to."
  So I grab a paper plate and the doughnut and go back into the living room, and munch happily on my doughnut as I watch the kid playing Danny get the crap beat out of him by his dad.
  My brother wanted to eat the other one, by the way, but that one was rock hard, and Mom threw it away while I watched and, yes, died a little on the inside. Shut up, all right? I really, really, like the red frosted doughnuts. AND I DON'T GET THEM THAT OFTEN!
  So I got my doughnut. But does the fact that I got it out of the trash make me a "bum"? I mean, it wasn't really bad. And it wasn't bitten, and there was nothing wrong with the box....If there had been, I wouldn't have eaten it, no matter what. So, verdict?

  Not guilty by temporary insanity. 

  Thank you, Brad. 

Not the doughnut, but close enough

Where it came from 

And a partridge in a pear tree.

   

Welcome Back

  All right, so we didn't all die and the world didn't explode in fire and blood last Saturday. What, you wanted it to? What's wrong with you?! Then you couldn't read my blog!
  Can I admit something here? For, like, a minute or two that day, I did in fact freak out in my head a little bit, because for a sec there it looked like Old Crazy Guy's--I believe that's his formal title--prediction might actually have some truth to it. I don't know where you were when we were all supposed to be Raptured and everything (the DJ I listen to in the morning, Elvis Duran, was taking a nap and woke up at six-oh-five), but I for one, NiteOwl, your faithful blogger, was in my room, listening to the Rapture Hour (five til six) on WYSP, a radio station in my area. The tagline for that hour? "Getting you ready for the end of the world...or dinner." They played some good shiitake, too--how long has it been since you heard Iron Maiden's "The Number of the Beast"? Plus, there was the almost-prerequisite Guns 'N Roses "Knockin' on Heaven's Door" cover. To my disappointment, though, I did not hear "Sympathy for the Devil." The world is ending, WYSP--I need my Stones, man! And what an appropriate selection to end the world to, I might add. Unless you really really like "Dandelion." 
  But where was I? No, really, where was I? Oh, yes. I was in my room. WYSP. The Rapture Hour. All that fun stuff. 
  All day, it had been bright and sunny--very cheerful, for the potential end of the world. That was why I had my blinds down as I sat on my bed writing, so I wouldn't get sunburned. Don't laugh--it's happened to me before, on my shoulders and stuff. I'm not saying very bad--it stung, though. 
  Anyway, even with the blinds down and the time, it was plenty bright out, so I got confused when, at ten of six, my shadow got longer on my paper and I realized it was getting harder for me to see my words. Then I decided to pull my blinds up and see if there was, like, a mutant badger-man standing in front of my window and blocking out my sun, so as I grasped the pull-strings for my blinds and yanked 'em up, I heard the DJ on the radio say, "All right, looking out my window right now from the top of the studio and the sky just got creepy as hell outside." Just as I looked. Duh-Duh-Dunnh. 
  And it was, in fact, "creepy as hell" outside. Thick gray clouds had rolled in, and the sky was light gray. I got a little freaked and went out to the living room. All I said was, "Dad...?"
  And he said "I know" and then told me to take the trash out.
  Great. The world was ending and I still couldn't escape my chores. 
  I passed my brother as I took my bag out; he was coming back from taking his out and I said, "Ten minutes, dude."
  And he said, "Great" and left me. 
  Cool. We were all--maybe--gonna die and he had just left me. 
  Well, I knew where he was going. 
  But, as you can tell, six came and went, with nothing worse than some rain. All right, so maybe rain has never brought good things in the Bible, but we obviously didn't die, because I can tell you right now, I am most definitely not blogging from my laptop in Heaven. I'm not even on a laptop. 
  You think Heaven gets good WiFi?  

You Got One Day to Live, Y'all

  Not that I believe any of that crap, or anything. I mean, the guy who came up with it (who has wayyy too much free time, if you ask me; I want whatever job he's got) said he did some complicated formula based on numbers in the Bible or whatever, but what if you got your math wrong, buddy? Multiplied where you were supposed to divide? Plugged in the wrong "X"? I mean, there's no formula in the text itself--Jesus didn't come down and say to Paul or whoever "Multiply by this and add this and subtract this and you'll come up with the date of the apocalypse." And if he did, I wanna know what Bible you're reading. And even if God or somebody told the guy what to plug in where in his magical formula, why didn't he just tell that guy the date instead? Was that too easy? Did he want that guy to have to work for it? Which kinda makes sense, because it doesn't seem like he's working on anything else, as busy as he is predicting the end of the world and the Rapture and stuff.
  One thing I heard somebody say that sounds like it might be plausible is that somewhere in the Bible or something, it says that a day is like a thousand years to the Lord and vice-versa, and that by using that they said that the apocalypse would come seven thousand years after Noah and his ark--seven days, to God. 
  Only problem? Who knows the exact date when Noah decided to go boating? They didn't exactly have weathermen back then, you know. So who knows when that seven thousand years is up?
  I have to admit, sometimes if I let myself think about it too hard, I get a little freaked out because of all the high-level earthquakes that have been happening all over the world lately (Japan, anyone?) and the flooding down in the Bayou, but I comfort myself by knowing that I could pick any random date, claim to support it with some complicated mathematical theory, and there will be some people who will believe me. Sure, maybe they're all insane or impressionable children or something, but they believe me.
  So, no, I don't quite think that we're gonna be yanked into Heaven or whatever tomorrow, but just in case, I've planned out a party for you guys, just in case I'm wrong. 
  Get everybody you know together in one place somewhere. It could be a mansion or a field, it doesn't really matter. You're all gonna die anyway. So get them together and then let them know what you really think of them. Build a stage and get a megaphone. Climb a tree and shout it out. Go a little crazy. It's understandable. Those "best friends" you put up with every time you're forced to see them? Tell 'em you hate 'em. Tell your crush you love 'em. Just don't stalk or shoot anyone, please. Get things off your chest, just don't stab things into theirs. 
  And then, if anybody's still hanging around once you get done letting them have it, you need to DANCE! And, to help you get the fun(k) started, I've compiled a nifty playlist of some songs that are sure to get the groove going. 

• Armor for Sleep, "The End of the World"
• R.E.M, "It's the End of the World As We Know It (And I Feel Fine)" 
• Prince, "1999"
• Jay Sean/Nicki Minaj, "2012" 
• Britney Spears, "Til the World Ends"

  These are just some suggestions to get you started. Feel free to add your own and take away at will. Try throwing in some gospel and singing along if you're worried about your chances with the Big Guy Upstairs. I recommend "Sky Full of Angels" (you know it; it was in the movie Jericho...wait, maybe you don't) or something like that. And you should watch a movie to add to the fun. I recommend Vanishing on Seventh Street (of course you've never heard of it, you losers. You're not cool like me. Kidding. I'm not that cool), which kinda fits in with the whole theme of "destruction and evil and vanishing people" here. 
  And speaking of "cool," don't forget the refreshments. Kool-Aid is always nice....
  Have fun!
  Think about this, though, before you go too nuts: You decide to go skydiving for the first and last time in your life, and as you're up there, the ground cracks open and the fires of Hell explode out of it. What an oh-crap moment. What do you do? Pull your chute and burn to death, or try to steer away so you land on the ground and go "splat"? What a quandary.
  Also, if the world does not end and your teacher asks for your weekend homework on Monday, is "I thought we were going to die" a good excuse? 
  And If I'm wrong and the world does explode tomorrow in smoke and Antichrist-scented fire, and I'm somehow left behind, do I still have to go to school on Monday?

I Hate You, John Steinbeck

  In school, even though I am in a tenth-grade honors English class, we read Of Mice and Men, and I finished it in two days. Not even two whole days. Two class periods, which comes roughly out to eighty minutes, less because of time spent doing other things, about ten minutes every day. So it took, like, an hour. 
  And in the beginning I was all, "Oh, cool, these guys are friends even though you can't have friends 'cause you move around so much to find work" and stuff. It seemed like some sort of early road-trip buddy story. 
  And then I got to the end. 
  WHAT THE HECK, JOHN STEINBECK??? I HATE THE BOOK NOW! NOW IT JUST MAKES ME SAD TO THINK ABOUT IT! AHHHHH!!!
  That's what I said to myself the second I finished it. I even went back and reread it like three times to make sure I had read it right. Unfortunately, I did. 
  Oh, shoot. Now I'm all sad and everything. Darn it. 
  I know he shot him 'cause he loved him and everything, and it was a mercy killing, but God, does that thing get to you! And you know how there are books you can read and reread the beginning and middle part of and ignore the ending and come up with your own because you didn't like it or whatever? This is not one of those books. The ending is what it is: Lennie getting his (admittedly small) brain blown out by his best friend, George, to save him. NOOOO!!!!!!!!! You can't reread it then because you know what will happen! It taints the whole gosh darn thing. 
  My friend finished it too, and we were freaking out about it in the hallway after school, which is like the only time we get to see each other. It was horrible. I mean, I know he's not a real guy or anything, but you get attached to the big, dumb lovable dude after the first, like, ten seconds, and if you don't you probably don't have a soul. And then he dies. 
  It's pretty sad. 
  I am so emotionally scarred from reading this book that, in the series I am writing (see www.thedemonicsquirrel.net for more information) I have decided to give them another dog, besides Connor the Rottweiler, and he is big, dumb, and lovable, and I have named him Lennie. So there. Take that, John Steinbeck, you soulless turd, you. That's what you get for making me cry and get all emotionally scarred and everything. I name a dog after your main character. 
  I don't quite see how that's punishment, but I guess it'll have to do, since the guy's dead already and I can't do anything else to him.... 
  CURSE YOU, JOHN STEINBECK, FOR MAKING ME WEEP UNCONTROLLABLY!!!!!!!!!!!

"Tell me about the rabbits, George." *Teardrop*

Greg the Egg

  No, I'm not kidding. I'm introducing a new recurring character to my blog, so now my dad has some company while he sits there and lies to himself as he says I love Jackie Earle Haley.
  Lies.
  Anyway, this character was created the day before Easter, because Greg, like the title says, is an egg. And Dad always wanted a dinosaur as a child, but because of certain factors he cannot have one (DARN YOU, COMET!!!!!). Because of this, to fill the void in his triceratops-less heart, every year at Easter he has started the tradition of "dinosaur egg," where he will take an egg and dip it in every single color dye we have on the table until it becomes all brown and green and dirty-looking and stuff, and it is his, well, you know. 
  This year I decided to make one (and no, dude, not just because JEH was in Valley of the Dinosaurs, which I shall acquire and watch one day, don't say anything, so drop it), and even though the pink dye was strong and gave it a very manly mainly-pink shell color with some greenish stuff here and there all over the shell, and he is mine and I made him and his name is Greg BECAUSE IT RHYMES WITH EGG AND FOR NO OTHER REASON, ALL RIGHT????
  Too bad I don't have a camera and stuff, because then I could upload pictures of Greg doing all sorts of hilarious things, like chillin' in his towel-nest or running from a raptor or taking his first steps or something. 
  Dad keeps threatening to squish Greg. So I guess that makes him the T-Rex.  

"Breaking" Bad

  All right, so I could've put any number of words up there after "breaking." It was just the first word that popped into my head. 
  Today I'm going to talk about the many, many films that contain the word "away" in their titles, and Breaking Away (1979) tops the list, mostly because it inspired this whole post. I was sitting there, watching the trailer, and it popped into my head: "Many, many movies have the word 'away' in the title." No, really, it did. I think things like that sometimes. As you can tell from this blog. 
  So if you thought this was about that show with that guy about the chem teacher with cancer who cooks meth to make some money with one of his students or whatever, sorry. 
  And if it was, the quotes would be around both words, not just one of them. Duh.
  Anyway, here's my list. They aren't in, I dunno, alphabetical order or order of quality or anything, because I haven't seen most of them, just their trailers or read about them in Entertainment Weekly or something. This isn't a film review blog. If that's what you want, go check out A Series Man or something. 
  No, honestly, that blog's great. 
  MY LIST: 

•   Breaking Away
•  Swept Away
•  Flushed Away
•  Away We Go
•  Spirited Away
•  Fly Away Home
•  Cast Away  

  And to this, I ask, "Why?????? Why are so many people trying to move 'away' from something?????? What would a psychiatrist have to say about that???"
  Or is it just me? 

I Am A Poet

Once there was a terrorist named Osama

whose name (coincidentally) rhymed with Obama's

he was a very bad man

with many evil plans 

hiding out in Pakistan

But last night while we were in bed

Navy Seals found him and shot him in the head

and now--hoo-rah!--the very bad man is dead.