Your instructions most likely mean nothing to me

Everyday I learn new things...slowly. For example, I started playing ultimate frisbee, because I thought "why not?" Well, why not is because I can't really throw or catch a frisbee very well. It's one of those many sports where I am yet to choose a dominant hand, so I just switch it up every little bit, leading to inadequate skills with either hand. It was only my second game yesterday. In the first game I learned to run a lot, mainly away from the frisbee as soon as it was in our possession, so I wouldn't mess anything up.

Yesterday, I learned about "cutting". I'd heard the term for awhile, mainly while on the field, but had no idea what they meant when they shouted "cut, Cut, just CUT SHARON!" So, as I do in response to any instruction I don't understand, I knew I could either (a) freeze like a deer caught in headlights so that I at least wouldn't do the wrong thing, even though it would make it pretty much impossible to do the right thing, or (b) run around erratically and hope that at some point my random movements might accidentally imitate this "cutting" thing. I went for option B since last week I'd learned the most important rule is to run a lot.

Apparently it wasn't very helpful, and I was told to try to turn in 90 degree angles. Like a robot. Well, they didn't say like a robot. I said "Like a robot?" and they said, "Sure..." Frisbee is hard.

Yesterday I learned about the importance of being a robot. Today I learned that storage rooms are fun. At least storage rooms full of disembodied arms and skeletons are fun if I have my camera.

...and you didn't believe me about the disembodied arms.

The following series of pictures is entitled: "Skeletons don't know how to not be creepy for more than an opening line when hitting on a girl."

"Oh, hi there, you look nice tonight.""Have you noticed I'm naked?"
"Are you into necrophilia? Cause I'm totally into bio-philia."

Then my friend Saylinds Selfish took another picture of me with my skeleton friend. It is important to note that this was taken with her yelling, "Look in love! No! In Love, In LOVE! Okay, that's probably close enough."
"Look in love" is apparently as mysterious to me as "Cut, damn you, cut". That's sad. Also, what is sad is that the skeleton did better than me.

Happy song of the day: Mary Ellen Carter by Stan Rogers. After my mopey weekend, it's a good song, because I can bounce back from anything, because, like the Mary Ellen Carter, I'm a ship. Wait, that's not right. But, I'm kind of like a ship, because I float really well. Sometimes I fear I might lose too much weight and not be able to float anymore, but I think I would probably be able to gain it back pretty quickly eating plankton and such. I can eat pretty fast, so I bet with a little effort I could gain it back before I drown. And that is how I'm like the Mary Ellen Carter.

Blogirthday!

Today, I have officially been "blogging" every day for 1 month. It's my blog birthday, or blogirthday! So much can happen in a month. I got taller, but then I shrank, and then I grew again. That might have been shoe related though, like most people I have trouble telling. I nearly went on a hippo bus, but then I didn't. Other stuff happened.

Unfortunately, some things that I wanted to did not happen. For example: I really wanted the name Bark Montes to spread like wildfire, but not so much...yet. I was also hoping that someone would come to me on the street and say "I read your blog, here's a bag of money. Oh, wait, no, actually, here's two." Then I'm hoping that no police officers randomly shoot me because that person is actually a bank robber just looking to frame me. And then I look again, and it's not a person, but a bear wearing pants. Damn, they tricked me again.

Speaking of pants, today I saw the greatest pants ever. I could have taken a picture, but it would have been much too awkward, since it was a close encounter in an empty and ugly hall, so I couldn't even pretend to be taking a picture of anything else. I will draw a picture though.



The colours might not be exactly the same, and the buttocks are a little too large, but this captures the basic impression the pants made on me. They were like a reverse mullet: Party in the front, business in the back. I wonder if they're for people with mullets that feel a bit unbalanced. Like, if they work at a bar then they'd have the back of their head trying to move them to the party, but the front is saying "No, business." It probably causes more neck issues than we hear about. But not with these pants! Now your posterior and anterior can be equally party and business. Mullets everywhere are rejoicing, delicately, because they don't want to re-injure their cervical spine.

At this point I'd like to mention one of the many ways that blogging has improved my quality of life. I was scanning my pant diagram, when I thought, "Why does my pant picture look so much like my drivers license?" Then I though, "Wait, that is my drivers license!" And thus, were it not for the magic of blog, I probably would have left my license in my printer/scanner/copier until the next time that I suddenly found myself without vital photo ID. Which would probably end up being somewhere important, like a court date for robbing a bank that was actually done by a bipedal bear wearing zubaz pants (see how I just improved your ability to imagine me being framed by the bear. I bet that's called something exciting, but I never payed enough attention in English. Let's just call it "onomatopoeia" because I find the real definition rarely lets me use that word in an everyday sentence. "You just onamatopeoeiaed the crap out of that balloon when you put that 'bang' caption beside it then popped it!" See how it just doesn't work.) (I just realized that maybe you don't need photo ID at a court date. I kind of figured you would, because most serious things you would, but maybe they'd just be like, "We trust you, because we all saw the news report and subsequent YouTube video of you resisting arrest, screaming 'It was the bears, the bears I tell you, you have the wrong species, and I'm not even wearing zubaz pants.'") (I bet it's fun to decipher back to back parentheses.)

After encountering the greatest pants in the history of pants (which is a long and sordid one), I met my friend Saylinds Selfish who was doing inventory in the strangest storage room in history. She showed me how she'd found a bottle of Vodka (keep in mind, this is a school storage room), right above a tube of lubricant (which actually makes sense at our school, but it's more amusing to me if I don't really explain why and let imaginations run wild). Earlier, she'd found a vial of blood. If I found a vial of blood, I would probably try to clone it. I'm not sure why I'd only do it if I found one (as opposed to took one), maybe because I like things like kindersurprises, because even though the toys are cheap, Surprise! My random vial of blood clone baby would be like that. Either I eat through the chocolaty outside and inside is an awesome toy car, or I get through and find some sort of random figurine of an angry dolphin (or something equally inane). Now that I'm really thinking this plan through, most of my life's kindersurprises have either ended up in the garbage, or I've stepped on them and carefully removed them from my foot to place in the garbage. I think society might frown on me if I do that with my kinderclone. Which I guess means you win, random vial of blood....this time.