Inanimate Objects Hate Me!

If you've stumbled upon my blog, you may be wondering, "why are there so few posts, and why is this person's first post about inanimate objects and their channeled hatred?" Well, my friend, that is a question I could answer. However, I do not feel like going into details about it. Thus! I am going to explain to you why inanimate objects have an undying hate of my being...

It was the 19th of April, 2010... It was a somewhat normal day. The anticipation of the fact that I would be going home for the summer in approximately one week, however, was weighing on my shoulders. I was very upset about this, and definitely not looking forward to it at all. My life seemed like it was just falling into place, so to have it temporarily ripped from beneath my feet was not so pleasant of a "near future" to think about. However, I knew that this hell of a summer was coming, and there was nothing I could do to stop it. So I decided that I would make myself look decent, go see a movie with a friend, and then hopefully learn some math. I thought that this day was going to be a rather comfortable day. Oh how wrong I was... It began in the bathroom. I grabbed my razor and decided to quickly shave my legs (yes, I just mentioned shaving my legs on a public blog. We have to get over this speed bump, though. Be thankful I do in fact shave my legs, because that's one less tarantula-girl out there!). I must have gotten distracted or something, because within three strokes or so, I heard an unfamiliar noise. It sounded something like "sssssfffffffppt!". Imagine the sound of someone scratching a smooth sheet that is secured tightly on a mattress. Now replace that sheet with my leg and the scratching with an angry razor. Oh yes. The deed was done.

I looked down in disbelief and noticed a white strip on the side of my lower calf, about 2 inches long. I looked at my razor and saw a strip of mangled skin in the blades. I looked back down at my leg and sure enough... Blood was everywhere! Have you ever seen Saw? Well that's basically what it looked like in my bathroom. It was a mess! In a panic, I quickly grabbed a wad of toilet paper - the only thing in my reach. I didn't have any band-aids big enough to cover my unintentional self-inflicted wound, so I did what my instincts told me to do. I ran to Facebook. I quickly updated my status saying that I needed "a really big band-aid, quickly!" Thankfully, within a few minutes, my good friend, Kyle, came running to the rescue with surgical gloves, gauze, and saline solution. It's good to have friends studying medicine. I would post a picture of the aftermath, but I'd rather not. All I can tell you is that I'm either going to have a nasty scar with a really lame story, or a nasty scar with a really awesome fake story.

The second incident was the 28th of April. The last night at school before I left. It was a great night. It consisted of fighting, Nerf guns, foam swords, Brandy-floats, The Labyrinth, McDonalds, and early morning shenanigans. It was about 3:00AM when I got into my room. I had packed everything up that morning, so everything was scattered around my room in boxes. I was feeling very strong for some reason. I'm guessing it had to do with the tall Brandy-float I had earlier that evening whilst watching The Labyrinth. It probably had something to do with the fact that there was Pepsi in that Brandy-float, and I have a low tolerance to stimulants such as caffeine, because I apparently fail at life. Combined with my over-tiredness, I decided that it was a great idea to move the microwave out of the way, and onto the tallest shelf in my room. That was not a great idea. I did not drop the microwave - no! I did, however, slice my thumb open somewhere along the line of moving that microwave and attempting to single handedly move my fridge. I was in no state to acknowledge this fault, and concluded my actions to be successful. It was only until later that day that I realized my thumb was not so successful in the operation.

The third and final incident was yesterday, the 3rd of May. I wanted to move my dresser downstairs into my little sister's room because, due to the fact that my life has increased while I have been living at school, there are currently two lives vomited in my small bedroom. The situation is somewhat like an undeveloped conjoined twin. My first life is the undeveloped one. It's still alive, but it's not completely there, and its existence is a burden to my other, more complete life that's trying to succeed. Sacrifices must be made, and one was destined to be eliminated. I ambitiously cleaned out my room, putting items into boxes to sell, recycle, and give to Good Will. I finished emptying my dresser and went downstairs to empty out my sister's old dresser, so that it could be put into the garage, thus allowing her to obtain a more appropriate dresser for her "oh so mature age" of five years. When I attempted to lift the dresser with my dad, he suggested that I tried lifting from the bottom. I quickly realized that that was a very, very bad idea. After about ten seconds, the edge of the dresser began cutting into my fingers. I awkwardly set it down, and ran to the stairs to sit, clutching my left hand in pain. When I looked down, I noticed that three of my fingers were cut internally. My second attempt to move the dresser was not nearly as unsuccessful, but close, for the dresser decided that it wanted to kick my foot out of angst, causing the destruction of my left toenail. Beautiful.

I simply do not understand why these inanimate objects hate me so. Razor, you are supposed to be my friend. I never misuse you, and yet, you betray me. How am I ever supposed to reestablish my trust in you? Microwave, why did you cut me in my tipsy, tired state? I thought that I was She-Hulk, and you let me down. I am very disappointed in you. And Dresser, I understand that you do not want to go in the garage. It must be frustrating to be replaced by an older, less attractive dresser, but you can't go around internally slicing people's hands and kicking people's feet as they're walking backwards with you. You definitely won't get far in life that way. It's time to grow up.

My relationship with inanimate objects seems to be abusive. I am the victim here. But I have identified this problem and am doing something about it! I will not stand for this abuse any longer! These inanimate jerks have created my never ending suspicion that they are all out to get me. They are lurking behind every corner. Sometimes they are standing directly in front of me, watching me sit there, totally unaware that I'm about to get owned. This makes me uneasy and angry.

But what doesn't make me angry is the fact that my dog is being a sleepy cutie by my bedroom door. Here is a picture of what made me happy today:

Behind those demonic, glowing eyes is pure... Well she is sort of a demonic bitch, but she is a pretty damn cute dog and I love her to death! And with that said, I'm going to bed. Adieu!