The Case of the Rotting Brussel Sprouts

Yesterday I noticed that me and Sara's room smelled a bit funny. Sara and I are wonderful, talented girls and, as Bill phrased it this morning in church, we have the gift of untidiness. So this afternoon, Sara and I decided to do some serious cleaning. Sara started the process, but was having no luck finding the source. What could it be? Do our dirty socks really smell that bad? Are the floor boards rotting? Is the cat dead somewhere in the mess of our room? We couldn't figure it out. Finally, Sara comes rushing out of the room. "I found it!" she exclaims. Down the hall she comes with a bag of brussel sprouts. Brussel sprouts which she brought in our room at least two weeks earlier. They were at that time frozen and she put them on her itchy, burning misquito bites so she could sleep. However, they were forgotten at the end of her bed under a pile of clothes. Wow. We are disgusting. We officially reached disgusting. Congratulations are in order.

On a more serious note, I reached a completely pissed of state this morning. It takes quite a bit to get me truly pissed, but somebody pushed me to that point today. Ass hole. For the safety of reputations, I will be somewhat ambiguous on some details. About two months ago there was a certain man who I came in contact with on a regular basis. He wanted to get guitar lessons from me. I told him I was too busy, but he continued to ask over and over again. It got to the point where he made me very uncomfortable. He said one or two comments that made me feel even more uncomfortable. So I began to give him a bit of the cold shoulder. I am forced to interact with this guy regularly, so I just tried to keep it as cold, unfriendly, and brief as possible. Well, I've just now gotten to the point where I am feeling more comfortable around this guy again. I see him at church this morning and we are chatting a bit. He asks me how old one of the girls in my class is. I'm say that she is six years old. He says something along the lines of "I can't believe it! It's just amazing!" So of course I am like what is this guys talking about. She's six. We've all been six at some point. What's so amazing about that? He tells me that she came up to him and said that she had a dream that he and I got married. By the way, this conversation just happened to follow a sermon where it was mentioned that God sometimes uses dreams to speak to us.
Guys are creeps. No offense to all you not creepy guys. I should say. A lot of guys are creeps. He knows I am a nice, polite person and that I won't be directly rude to him. So he takes advantage and is trying to pressure me into . . . marriage? It's really insulting. Does he really think I don't see through that? Does he really think I'm that stupid? Well, mister man who is to be left unnamed, I have one thing to say to you. . . YOU ARE AN ASSHOLE!