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Monday, April 13

Tic, U wit don't aw B: Hibiscus Buds
(This isn't really something I came up with in the dead of night, but it happened somewhere around that time.)

I thought I was too tired to post another blog, but this was just TOO interesting to not do anything on it. So here goes:

10:20 PM. I come from a very herb-believing father. My mom has an open sore right now (I won't get into detail what it is exactly), and my dad believes that squashed-up hibiscus buds placed around the wound will heal it. So what does he do? He brings out his wind-up flashlight (the kind that you wind-up [the same action you perform when you have to manually roll up a car window] and that never runs out of battery), and tells me to follow him. Let me repeat: it is 10:20 PM!

Anyways, I walk out of the house--with a damn towel still wrapped aroung my hair--and follow my dad onto our neighbors' yard. Mind you me, this isn't my duplex-neighbors' house. It's the other duplex somewhat across the yellow two-story house. Yeah, I know. To make things even weirder, these neighbors JUST moved in. Honestly.

So here's the scenario. I'm wearing a red-and-navy blue camisole and gray sweatpants that look like they might fall off, winding up a stupid (and quite loud) flashlight and aiming (well, trying to aim) the light at a hibiscus tree in front of my new neighbors' house, while my dad picks hibiscus buds. "Try to keep the light as steady as you can," he says calmly. [Yeah, like I do this every night.] Then he says, "Your turn," and takes the flashlight from me. So I quickly pick about ten buds to make him happy. "Wow," he says. "You have good eyes." Sure.

Next thing we hear is a car having a hard time starting. We both know what that means: our duplex-sharers. Their old, gray minivan starts down the road, and the mother is driving. She sees us (how could she not?) and asks us if we need light. What could be more embarassing? She probably thinks we're psycho.

We say no, and pick several more. When we're done, I try to run home without creating a scene or making my dad feel bad. (Do you know how HARD that is?!) I come back and write one paragraph about what just happened. Then I hear a buzzing sound on the top of my head. I reach up, and a black wasp-bee thing flies away. Ughh...

10:30 PM. "Where's the cutting board?" He asks.
"I don't know."

10:35 PM. (loud banging noise is heard; probably from the crushing of hibiscus buds with a stone)

10:40 PM. My dad comes back out. (What do you want this time?!) He asks me to look up reflexology on the internet. I print out a picture, and explain to him about my mother's printing fees.

He wants more. I explain that those pictures and captions he's looking at are from videos we have to download. He doesn't get it, so I print another simple foot chart. He's happy. I'm tired, embarassed, hot, and mosquito-bitten.

10:50 PM. Good night, everyone!

email:statified21@hotmail.com

Meet T'Mar:
Tami’s the name
Blogging’s the new game
Simon Sanchez is the school
Where sharks totally rule
Fourteen is the age,
The volleyball court is my cage
I also like to paddle,
And school, I can handle
Need I say more?
See what my blog has in store.

-top banana of tictacoetactics

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