I hate tripping over things. Worse than all-out tripping, though, are those annoying little “half-trips.”
You know what I’m talking about, right? A crack in the sidewalk goes unnoticed to the eye, but then suddenly your toe hits something and you jerk forward. So you have to stomp your other foot down to catch yourself so you don’t go sprawling. After that near-death experience, you feel stupid. You kind of glance around from under your eyelashes to see if anybody noticed that you almost stumbled over and smashed your face into a puddle of blood and bones. It’s actually less embarrassing to go flying than to do one of those awkward lurches and right yourself in time, only to face the muffled chuckles of witnesses.
You know what’s weird? I called my mommy just now, but accidentally pressed “send txt msg” in the little menu instead of “call.” I was unaware of this little mishap, though, when I raised the phone to my ear. After sitting there for a moment, I started to wonder why it wasn't ringing. Then, finally, I looked at the screen, and there was a blank “create txt msg” box peering out at me and scoffing because I’m such an idiot.
That was random and unnecessary. I wanted to tell you guys about a very exciting essay contest that I plan to enter. First prize takes home seven hundred and fifty buck-a-freakin’-roos. That is seventy hundred and fifty, 750, with a $ in front. That, my friends, is a lot of money. If I kick up my writing skills, it could be MINE. MINE MINE MINE. *greed-drool drips out mouth*
If I win, I will put the money towards, of course, Europe this summer. Seven hundred and fifty dollars takes a huge meaty chunk out of the price. But I have a very slim chance of winning. It’s not just school-wide: it’s a-whole-bunch-of-schools-wide. Plus, the topic is a little weird: What Is Your American Dream?
My dreams happen to be Korean, so there you go. $750 lost.
I’m just kidding, guys, jeez! You don’t have to take everything so seriously! Wow! Golly! Wow!
Anyway, the contest is funded by an association of realtors. On the poster, after the question, “What Is Your American Dream?” it hints, “Is your dream owning a house?” Nudge. Nudge. (Psst, wanna buy one from us?) Nudge. I actually want to live in an apartment. I’m going to fill it with cats so there’s so much body heat that I don’t even need a heater, and so much shed fur flying around that I don’t even need to buy such frivolous items as bedspreads and blankets. But I’m guessing my genius logic won’t impress a gang of realtors or essay-judgers, so. I guess my Korean-American dream is to own a house.
(Just realized. Strangers who just started to read this blog probably think that I am Korean now. I am not. That was an example of one of my many lame jokes. You’ll be seeing a lot of those here. Truth is, I am white. I am white as snow, printer paper, marshmallows, flour, clouds, powdered sugar, milk, rice, and mozzarella cheese.)