Lost Frog

Really sorry. I completely forgot about posting the next story. I had it and everything, I just had too much going on. :(
But don't shoot me, here it is now. If you're really disappointed about the 24 hour difference, leave a comment and I'll send you a draft of the next one early.
Yep.

But anyway. As promised, here is Lost Frog. It's a little different.... one of those freewriting projects that got out of hand. It was a story I wanted to tell anyway, but it kind of became a whole 'nother monster here.
Enjoy.

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I'm not sure why I called this Lost Frog. I knew I was going to write a story about being lost, but I wasn't sure what I was going to call it, and my eyes wandered to the left of the computer screen, and there was this toy frog, so I called it Lost Frog. On second thought, that means I actually know exactly why this story is called Lost Frog, it's just a stupid reason.
Not changing it though.

But about being lost. That's one of my things. (You know, like being cool, having a bunk bed, exploiting open source software, getting lost...) If I take one wrong turn, it's a two hour delay. Two wrong turns and I end up in Sacramento California.

(If I wanted to end up in Sacramento, I end up in Tokyo, Japan. The car swims. I bet it could give Phelps a run for his money. Or a swim for his money I guess. We could be snoozlepack* and say an elephant ride for his money.)

I didn't realize that I didn't have a sense of direction at first, because I have a very good memory, except about doing laundry. I used to aimlessly ride my bicycle hither and yon, and the thing about a bike is that you can awkwardly pick it up and turn around at any given time. You can't exactly do that in a car. It's not as risk compensation-y. So of course, after I got my driver's license, I knew all of the very local neighborhoods perfectly, having done nothing for the past two or three summers but meander about them. Now when riding shotgun in a car, I didn't have to pay attention to directions. I usually would read a book, (and get carsick) or stare out side window and just watch stuff go by. Sometimes I would imagine what would happen if there was like a large ax attached to the side of the car and it just whacked through all of the telephone poles.
Yea, I don't know about me.

The one thing I didn't do was pay attention to where I was going.

I've gotten better after having driven more often, but I still am awful. I like to use the excuse that I don't have a compass, except that I do have a compass on my freaking key-chain so that's kind of a really dumb excuse.
I'm not actually sure how I would use that to find things anyway, but it was a funny joke, so I'm leaving it there.

Anyway, there is this one parish that's a little further away that I assist at occasionally, I have the way there down pat. I get it. I know when to turn, and then when to turn again, and then I just keep going until I'm driving by the  Church and stop the car stop the car dangit turn around.
So I kind of get it, it's not the worst. When I tried to get to a Men's rally, I ended up on my way to New York City.

I don't even live in New York.

But about that parish.
I can't ever ever ever get home the right way when I'm driving by myself. Everyone in my family magically knows exactly how to get there, (maybe because they go there more often than I do.) So when they're driving with me, sure I go the right way because they scream at me and poke me, which is a driving hazard, so risk compensation and the instincts of survival force me to go the right way.
But when I don't have that potentially dangerous situation, my brain goes into "oh, you needed to be home in fifteen minutes I'm so sorry" mode.
Did I mention that I live in the suburbs and the one wrong turn that I make every single time basically puts you into a meandering back road that forces you to drive through cornfields and around tractors for two and a half hours?
I don't even know what a tractor does.

The first time I made the mistake of attempting to drive home by myself, I took about an hour extra, which was even worse because I have an OCD thing about wasting gas.
Gasoline.
I really messed it up the second time though. There's this old thing that you've probably heard, goes like fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me, or something like that, and this road has pulled it off way too many times. It doesn't even make logical sense. I should completely realize where I'm going by now, I've messed it up enough. You learn by making mistakes, right?
If I go down the road I'm supposed to, I just end up on the other one anyway. I'm sure that the gas stations purposefully move the roads around just to annoy me.
And make me buy gas.
Gasoline.
I went down the wrong road, and though as soon as I made the turn, I started to get that sinking feeling, it took me until I saw the Tractor Supply Co. to realize that I was lost, because I have never seen a Tractor Supply Co. in my area. The only one I ever saw was when I was on my way to Maryland for a scholarship competition, several hundred miles from my house.
I lost that competition by the way. Wasn't even a finalist. Maybe it was because I was asked to write an essay on theology, and instead I wrote one on chocolate chip cookies.
Okay, it was kind of about theology, but it was theology through cookies.
Oh well.
So I saw the Tractor place, and my first thought was, "hey, I heard that they sell really good boots there!" my second thought was "am I in Georgia?"
My third thought was to pull over, but I had already kind of gone past the side road by then.
There is this funny thing about Jersey. It's that you might live in the suburbs all your life, be exposed to a wee bit of farmland, but you don't realize how much of the state is still agriculture, until you are driving along a one step up from dirt road for fifty miles without a way to turn around without driving all over somebody's corn. 

By the time I had found a place to turn, I had no idea where I was, and I started feeling like I'd run out of gas and be stranded in the middle of nowhere, with nothing but what I had in my pockets to survive. I wasn't sure if I was ready for that just yet, I'm still working on the whole survival-kit-in-a-pocket thing. I might be turned into a movie though, if I got out alive. If not, at least the boy scouts would remember me at the campfire.
Does anyone want to hear the one about the new driver on the endless country roads?
Actually, even they wouldn't, because I hadn't been to boy scouts in forever. Possibly because of having gotten lost on the way there. Possibly because of bears eating the troop. I won't say one way or the other.

I eventually broke that most sacred tradition of the male race, which is "don't ask for directions."
I didn't even do that right, finding myself on the way to that city near me that we tend to avoid for reasons of not wanting to be murdered. I did figure out where I was, (kinda) and am now writing this in the relative comfort of my house, un-murdered, and not the subject of a ghost story.

I did take an extra two hours to get home though.
Maybe I should learn how to use that compass.


*One of Sam's evil plots is to subtly manipulate the english language into changing the word "Arbitrary" out for the word "snoozlepack." Please consider editing your vocabulary to assist this important cause.

Song of Solanum Tuberosum: A tribute to my graduation from Highschool

It's that time of year, finally, again. And possibly for the last time. Certainly for the last time in my home. I've just graduated from highschool. It's been an interesting twelve-ish years. I can almost definitively say that I got a better education being homeschooled than I would have in the regular public schools. At the same time, I wonder if some of my time could have been more productively spent.
Does it matter in the end? Maybe. Maybe not. I know that I certainly have had opportunities I would never have had otherwise been introduced to some really great literature, been able to learn to say the alphabet backwards, clap with one hand, utilize the free capacity of the internet, meet some really awesome people, and probably grow in my faith and in other ways that I never could have in a private or public school.

I don't know really how I would have turned out otherwise, and I don't think it really matters much. I've become who I've become. It'll do.
It's at times like this I guess I should say thanks for all the people who helped me along the way, but I have an aversion. Let me get out there and establish something, create a foundation I can link back to this day better than a piece of paper.
Maybe it's ego stroking, pride. I don't want it to be.
So I'll say thanks anyway. Even if I don't know if I've merited anything, it's worth giving a hand for the effort that has been invested in me, and I'm honored to be entrusted with it.

So in honor of those, I present a poem I wrote a little bit earlier. I think that it can accurately sum up most of my writing career up to this point. Other than that, don't go in with too much expectation, but I hope you perhaps find it edifying, enlightening, or interesting.

Song of Solanum Tuberosum. (A Haiku)

Deep Fry Potato.

Potato, Potato, Crunch.

Munch on Potato.

Banana Cartel- only Fifteen Hundred to Goal!

You see it.
I've had some incredibly generous people supporting me. (One guy in particular. I don't think he reads this, but thanks Mr. R!)
Thanks so, so, much.
I really feel like it wasn't any of my own talent or anything like that getting me to this point- it really has been the Holy Spirit all the way.
I woke up this morning with a bruise on my nose from I don't know where and a little bit of an oversleeping dizziness, but I really woke up when I looked at my report.
People can really be awesome.

Without Further ado:

Banana Cartel

You shoulda seen my buddy Will. Willy, well, Willy was one o' them with Big Al, back in tha day, back in Brooklyn. I thought it was Brooklyn, at any rate. Coulda been Chicago or Brooklyn, or possibly LA, I can't remember f' shore. Willy was a good guy, 'e just did what 'e had to do, you know?

See here, Willy, 'e wasn't one a dem big brute guys, who ya ran into in da back alleys and left wit three inches more metal in your gullet then ya came with. Willy, 'e was a smart guy, like me. Me and Willy, we went way back, all past da gold rush and everything, or was it da oil rush? At any rate, we went way back, Willy an' Me.
Willy was a deal fixer 'e was, one o' them higher ups with bowties and all that. Willy sometimes needed me along, ya know, just a little extra insurance, never hurt to have an extra six bullets and two arms and four switch-knives.

It was back in da thirties I think, or maybe da twenties, back before that one president wit no beard got all up in the White House down at Washington,  at any rate, a while back.
Willy, 'e shows up at my door, 'is face white as putty. Boy! That was sure something, cuz Willy, you see Willy, 'e had guts like a Ford Engine, oh they'd blow every few hundred miles, but you just patch em up, and they never would fall apart complete, not once!

But this day, Willy shows up, and Willy sez to me, 'e sez, "Hey Tommy, I gotta schedule a real big hit tonight, and I'm just 'bout scared stiff, they're real big boots over there, hey Tommy, sorry to wake you up so late, but buddy, I real gotta need ya on this one, do me a favor, will ya this time Tommy?"
Now Willy and I, we go way back, so 'course I ran back upstairs and grabbed a couple o' guns and a knife or three, nothing a gentleman wouldn't keep on 'is person o' course, just a little insurance, popped on a nice good suit, another gentlemanlee thing 'course, and I was ready to give poor Willy a hand, on account of us going way back 'course.

"Tommy," sez ol' Willy, "Tommy, I real owe ya one, Tommy, youse a real gennelman Toms." So 'course I tells him don't mention it and we's gennelmen 'course.

"Tommy," sez ol' Willy, "Tommy, I gotta tell ya somethin. It's da Bananas it is."

Now da Bananas, back in da Day, the Bananas was da real deal. They did all da stuff, and they did it best. Nobody could outdo them Bananas. You needed a threat, a knife, a bribe, you went to da Bananas, they alwas got it done they did.

An they allus jus looked like any other fruit, but those Bananas, they were da real deal man, see me? No Bananas wanned you ta think they was part o' da mos' successful gang in that whole city.

But they were crazy ones, da Bananas was. Nobody, I mean Nobody, messed with them Bananas, not unless they wanted it coming to 'em real bad. I mean real bad. Nobody, Nobody wanned to get on thems bad side. An that was why ole Willy here was white as a hospital gown and shaky as a Mexican jumpin' bean.
So now I was gettin' a little on da nervous side too, it bein' da Bananas and all, them was mighty cruel, specially if you wasn't willin to pony up whatever they wanned. Now that wasn't no problem for Willy; da boss 'ad given 'im as much cash as any Banana'd jump at, but see ol' Willy he was scared because sometime and again them Bananas were mighty un-pre-dict-uh-bull, and that was when nobody, Nobody wanted to be round those parts.

So it weren't just Willy's knees knockin' when we turned da corner, but since we was both gennelmen, you didn't ditch yer buddy, we were knowin' how ya never ditched yer buddy, not ever.  So Willy an' me, we went right into that there supermarket at da corner of Tenth an' Eighth, or Seventh an' Eighth, or Fifteenth an' Roberts, I don't right remember for shore. At any rates, we went right in that store, teeth chatterin' an' fingers tremblin' but I swallered it an' bit inna my baccy, an' I think Willy did da same. We turned round to da fruit secshun, and boy, Will nearly up and was sick right then an' there, cuz there was a whole big han' of Bananas coolin right atween them apples an oranges.

Now those Bananas, they were lookin' jus like any odder fruit, but that's what they wanted ya ta think, see me? They'd catch ya wit yer guard down for sure, and then it'd all be 'istory, and you'd be just one more name in that book a names they up an kep somewhere in their hideout.

But Willy an' me, we manned up an' faced them there Bananas, and Willy, he sed to em,'
"Well, I'm all here Mr. Banana, I got the money an' everythin' so you jest say the word, an' I'mma be on my way."
Now those Bananas, they don't do a darn thing! They jus' sat there all cool like, an' Will, he mustered up the courage, dunno from where, an he said it again, almost a little sharp like,
"Now lissen 'ere yous Bananas: I ain't gonna say it agin. I got da money right ere, do you wants it er not?"

Those Bananas, they jus' up an sat there, chillin' on that shelf. A couple a fruit flies even buzzed by an' I think one may a landed on em, but those Bananas they jus sat there all cool like.

It was a real stare off, and Willy, ol Willy he up an snapped afore those Bananas did, he pulled 'is Colt, I think it were a Colt, though I can't remember fer certain, out right then an' there, an' he up an' screams:

"Now Listen Ere Yous BUH NAH NUHZ, I i'nt gonna let yous get ta me, so if'n ya don't gimme one blink, I'mma just up an blaze yer store ta bits."

Those Bananas, they was real cool-like too. They jus' sat there! All yellow, wi' just a little bit a green on some spots ere an there, and jus chilled, even when Willy blasted one a them apples right next to em, those Bananas sat there jus like any other fruit you might see in a store, but 'course we knew shore that them Bananas weren't no normal fruits, they was da most col'blooded killers in da 'hole city.

Willy, he quieted down a bit, an' I could see then n there that them Bananas had outlasted 'im, an' I knew why they was da most successful Gang in that there whole city, an' it was on account o' them nerves a steel they 'ad.

Willy, after that 'e din't talk no more, 'e jus' wen real quiet like, an e put da cash a foot or too in front o' 'em an then he walked out that door there, not a word outta 'is mouth at all, on account a knowin that them there Bananas 'ad bested im, an e was da worse man for that job, cuz 'e just din't ave what it took to beat them Bananas.

I follered im ome that night, on account a me bein' real concerned for my buddy, (I was a little shaken up meself, but I didn't ave to face them Bananas face ta face, just watched a little in da back) an I put im ta bed, an fed im some chicken soup, an 'e jus' sat there all pale like, color a wax, an after bout an hour or two, 'e says ta me, Willy says, "Eh, Tommy Boy, did ya never think 'bout raisin' tomatoes? I 'ear that tomatoes are right peaceful like to raise."

An that was da last I e'er 'eard a Willy, my man Willy, 'e went out to the counry somewhereabouts, an' 'e finished 'is days plantin' tomatoes or summat like that, an I'm a shore 'e did imself fine, being a good one a them farmers when e put 'is mind to it an all.

Now I'd tell ya all bout my buddy Cletus, an' is pet murderin' coffee mug, but it's bout time for you tah go to bed an I don't wanna confuse your 'ead any, on account of it bein' a little odd of a story.

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I hope you enjoyed the story. It's a little bit different than usual. But since I jumped 2k since the last update, that means I need to post two stories, right?

I'll let you take a breather from this one for the night. :) 

Tomorrow: Lost Frog.

First Milestone MET! Story: Poorly timed Snack

Hey there. It's been a little bit too long since an update, my apologies. I meant to be a little bit more consistent. Anyways, I don't have an official number in yet, but I have enough people who have told me that they'll be donating to be able to confidently say that I have raised around a thousand dollars.
Awesome, right?
I'll update with the official number as soon as I can.
While I'm a little bit stingy and would usually wait until I get the numbers in, I'm thinking that you guys have been great enough to help me out, so I'll cut you a break. :)
Remember that even if you aren't physically donating, getting the word out there and praying are a pretty big help as well. Thanks for that.
(Not that I would mind the physical donations.)
Read the story, and if it makes you laugh, why not consider donating to help the cause?
This is one of my typical short stories: a quick first person narrative of food out to get me. (Hey, it's fun to write them. And true. Mostly.)
So without further ado.

Poorly Timed Snack.

It was delicious.

I forget what exactly it was, but it was delicious. Some kind of cornbread/cake thingy. It was really good, trust me.

So naturally I took some with me when I had to walk my sister to a neighbor's house. I grabbed a handful, since it was rather crumbly, tossed on a coat, and walked up the street, coolly ignoring the drivers who probably were not glancing out their windows and judging me for eating a sit down food standing up. (I still imagined that they were looking out of their windows and judging me, which is why I coolly ignored them.)

No seriously, eating any kind of comfort food while doing anything other than sitting on your rear and saying "Thankee kindly" is murdering the quintessential meaning of the food. Sausage gravy sheds tears just by being brought into New York city.

It was really crumbly. I think I got half on my face, half in my mouth, and half on my coat.
(The half on my coat was the same half as the one in my mouth.)
Also I got half on my sister. I'm not sure which half that was.
We eventually reached the neighbors house. It wasn't actually that far away, but I kept getting distracted. I have a tendency to get lost whenever I make a left turn, or a right turn, or go straight, or stand still.
More on that some other time.
We rang the doorbell like gentlefolk. We used the door knocker like civilized human beings We barbarically knocked on the door with cornbread smeared hands, and it was promptly answered by Mr. Neighbor. Sister disappeared inside to chill with friends(I hear that small children have now evolved past "playdate.") and left me to deal with Mr. Neighbor, who was very friendly, like a normal civilized human being.

I am usually also very friendly.
Well not very friendly. I am usually a tolerable human being, we'll put it that way. But I had a large amount of food on my face, and was therefore socially hampered.
I also have this bad habit people nowadays euphemistically call "being busy all the time."
That basically means that to the rest of the neighborhood, I'm Boo Radley even if my siblings have their noses in everybody's back yard. (Which they sometimes do.) Most of my ventures either involve me staying inside the house for long periods of time, or being away for long periods of time, so when I come out everybody thinks that a new kid moved in.
Then they remember that the denizens have an older brother and try to ask me the usual questions.
"Who How are you?"
"What Grade are you in?"
"Where are you going to college next year?"
These are totally legitimate questions probably, and I wouldn't be averse to answering them usually.

But today, as I have mentioned, I had cornbread on my face, and a stuffed stomach that told me to go lie down and take a nap.
So while the friendly neighbor asked about life, I furiously attempted to clear food from my face without making it look like I was playing peek-a-boo. This involved surreptitious nodding in such a way that would hopefully dislodge crumbs from the edge of my nose, and slightly larger smiles than I usually give for the same reason.

It kind of worked, I mean he didn't give me any funny looks, or any funny looks that I noticed, but I was a little bit busy to notice funny looks in the first place, seeing as I was attempting to save my dignity and reputation. (Not that I really have much of either. I swapped them out for an extra finger once. I don't know what I did with that finger.)

I think I managed to somehow answer the questions and not look like a total idiot. I may have though. They don't teach you in school how to deal with that kind of situation. I bet if somebody wrote a book on what to do when you've gotten to a fancy dinner and realize you have spinach in your teeth and can't go somewhere to remove it, that guy would make a whole lot of money. Make it a little bit more universally applicable and he'd conquer the world.
Not that people would follow the advice, they'd just read the book and share it with their friends and realize that they'd just eaten horseradish and their friends were now looking at them like hypocrites. Oh well.

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Awesome? Talk to me about it. And get ready for the next milestone story, something a little bit different:

The Banana Crime Lords.