The Adventures of This Girl Right Here #3

How to relieve stress 101: Slap a boy.

Yup, you heard right. I slapped him hard. He asked for it.

No…seriously. He did ask for it.

So, me and biceps boy (aka the beard name for my brother) had a party to go to, but the madre and padre were taking TOTES FOREVS (swagalicious talk, whatevs). We basically stood around in the living room, swatting flies and picking at our teeth. As you can tell, we are quite patient.

I was being hormonal and a tad unstable (SHUT YOUR MOUTH. NOT A WORD.) and I randomly shout to the heavens above, “EUGH. I WANT TO SLAP SOMEONE SO BADLY.”

To which biceps boy just looks at me and says, “What a coincidence, I feel like being slapped.”

Biceps boy is a 16 year old smart-ass. So, I give him my usual death glare as I hope one day I can do that thing from X-men when the lasers come out of that guys eyeballs.

Anyway, I maturely reply, “Are you stupid? Please tell me you’re stupid.”

“I’m not kidding! I feel like being slapped! My face feels weirddddd.” He whines.

Omg. He’s such a girl.

So, I fake roll up my sleeves (while maintaining eye contact) and wind my hand back.

THE SOUND IS SO LOUD IT PROBABLY COULD BE HEARD IN BANGKOK. IT WAS LIKE A CLAP OF THUNDER ON CRACK. THE ECHO WAS REVERBERATING TO ZEUS’S HOUSE AND BEYOND.

IT WAS THAT LOUD.

“AHHHHG:LAESKJG:LEIJFGLISEJFSF” He screams incoherently, as he grabs his cheek and doubles over in pain. “AHHHLGKHEIFLJIELJFEF”

I give him his alone time, and look at him blankly with no regret. What? He really did ask for it.

After his little girl fit, he slowly rises, cradling his cheek.

“Is it red?”

“Very.”

“How red compared to my other cheek?”

“You know the color of that Lamborghini you want?”

“Yeah.” (COMPLETELY NOT UNDERSTANDING WHERE I’M GOING WITH THAT PIECE OF INFORMATION)

“Redder than that.”

“AW DAMN.” He screams. “UGH.”

He looks around, realizes the madre and padre are going to be down soon.

“Listen, you’ve gotta slap my other cheek.”

“WHAT?!” I scream, half in happiness, and half in ohmygodyouaresostupid-ness.

“JUST DO IT! MY FACE HAS TO LOOK EVEN BEFORE THE PARTY!” He shouts as he braces his face.

What do I do? Obviously, this was a chance of a lifetime.

My hand print will forever be etched on the side of his face.

….and that, my fellow bloggers, is how stupid my brother is.

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The Adventures of This Girl Right Here #2

Simon and Garfunkel. If you do not know who these people are, you are clearly lacking in life. 

I warned you all this story was going to come.

I’m not exactly sure how the names came alone to be exact. I just remember that me and the girl with the scarf decided I’m more of a Garfunkel, and she’s more of a Simon. Her dad wouldn’t let me get out of the car once because he wanted me to hear “Bridge Over Troubled Water”. Ever since then it just kind of worked out…

…Don’t worry, more Simon and Garfunkel stories will come shortly. This is just an introduction. 

YOU MUST EDUCATE YOURSELVES ON THESE PEOPLE.

p.s. HAHA she’s the dark haired, Einstein looking one. It suits her.Image

The Adventures of This Girl Right Here #1

What do you name a mouse? Phillipson. No, no. Not Phillipson, we don’t want to belittle the poor thing. You name him MISTER Phillipson. 

So, me and the girl with the scarf were walking around casually, and biceps boy comes shouting hysterically “YOU GOTTA SEE HIM! YOU GOTTA SEE HIM. IMAGINE A FURBALL THE SIZE OF A WALNUT. YOU GOTTA SEE HIM!”

Naturally, me and the girl with the scarf giggle uncontrollably and give each other The Look. Yes, The Look is what happens when an adventure comes rolling around. *cue climactic music and wiggling eyebrows*

Anyway, we see the little mouse and start jumping up and down, half in disgust of the fact that we are looking upon a mouse that is cowering in a corner, and the other half towards the fact that it is possibly THE CUTEST MOUSE OF ALL TIME.

Me and the girl with the scarf always look for adventure. When we see this mouse we realize he’s gotta get out of the school (we work there every saturday), so I stand watch as the girl with the scarf runs for paper towels to grab him with.

We decided before we try anything, we’ve gotta name him. 

“Phillip…son” the girl with the scarf says slowly. She looks up at me and we burst out laughing. 

“That is by far the most suitable name for a mouse I have ever heard, but we’ve gotta put a title on him. MISTER Phillipson.”

At this point, the mouse is hiding behind the trashcan, to which we (being the eccentric girls we are) ask Mr. Phillipson as politely as possible to come out. 

“Maybe we should curtsy and introduce ourselves.” I say.

“Oh, right, how stupid am I.” Clears throat. “Hello, Mr. Phillipson. My name is Simon.” The girl with the scarf says as she curtsies. 

“Hello, Mr. Phillipson. I’m Garfunkel. PLEASE COME OUT.” I say. 

Note: The Simon and Garfunkel story will come out later. STAY TUNED.

Naturally, we expect him to talk back, and when we hear nothing we decide it’s time to leave. We turn around and that’s when we hear, “What do you peasants want from me?” in a booming, theatrical voice that sounded quite like mine.

The girl with the scarf is trying with every ounce in her body, not to burst out laughing. “We need to take you outside, Mr. Phillipson. You gotta come out from behind there.” She says as she fidgets and curtsies again.

“I DONT HAVE TIME FOR YOU PITIFUL HUMANS.”

….

……

……..

In the end, some faculty worker person picked it up by its tail and threw him outside. 

But still, 

                            ‘Twas an adventure.

Hello world.

First off, if you think you’re ever going to find my name out, you’re terribly wrong. You know what I’ve learned since practically the age of 2? Stranger danger.

I’m just kidding, that’s not the real reason.

I just kind of want to be anonymous, to blend into the world and be seen as ME, and not anyone else. Just to be frank, this blog is basically going to sum up my life. Sometimes it’ll be super funny (just wait til you hear about the things that have happened to me in my lifetime), and sometimes it’ll be quite deep. These deep posts usually come on the weekends, when I stay up late and think about the world in a completely new perspective.

But here are some things you creepy, stalker people can know:

My 18th is coming up, on the 27th of March.

…that’s all you really need to know. To be honest, I’m only telling you so that I might get some “happy birthday!”s or something. Possibly pity-followers?

Eugh.

Welcome to my life. Hoo-ha.