Blog? Footcial.

I was called out of my cave earlier this evening. I happened to have been playing around with the lovely pictures you see on the side here. So I schlumped out into the living room to face a parental unit.

Parental Unit: “So what have you been up to all night?” [“All night” as in, the two hours of early evening when, 1.) My family members become vegetables in front of the television; and, 2.) I am said “bitchy whore.”]
Me: “Working on my blog.” [Trying to upload pictures, but I can’t hook myself a wireless connection. All locked. *shakes fist at her selfish neighbors*]
P.U: “What is a blog anyway?” [Yeah, she’s old.]
Me: “Well, uh… It’s, um… A place for people to write things…? About themselves, or their…um…opinions…?"

…I know, right? That’s all I could come up with. I laughed about it a minute ago, what with it being the time of night where everything is hilarious. But even if I had been prepared for the question, I still wouldn’t really know how to describe what a blog is. Because a blog is whatever the blogger makes it to be, right? It’s...personal publication on the web…?
Oye, I dunno. I would have advised her to Wiki it, but when I told her a few months ago about her nephew having a Wikipedia page, she asked me what Wikipedia was! =: O

And now for something completely different.
…Hopefully sunshiny different. I’m sorry for going all political before. That must’ve been depressing. Unless you took my well-intended advise and just skipped over it.

Right. The sunshiny different bit now.

I got my first footcial. Or…whatever they’re called. Pedicure.
It was…pretty awkward. The girl was sweet, but didn’t speak English. And I don’t speak Korean. So we just kept smiling and making gestures.
In my head, I had this image of the awkward turtle frantically waving his little flipper-arms. He was desperate to escape, but I couldn’t help him! I was trapped in this vibrating chair, and the girl had my ankles clutched in her iron vice fingers, and besides, my feet were covered in this gooey stuff, so if I had tried to make a run for it, I probably would have hurt myself.

The girl time was nice. I was invited by my sister, my "replacement sister" Amber, and this sweet lady named Elizabeth from the singles ward. Too bad the sane people I was with weren’t seated even close to me... I had nothing but the Korean girl to distract me from the idiocy of the other customers, who were, a.) Fussy, older, high-maintenance ladies that I consistently wanted to smack in the Botox-injected faces; and b.) Girls my age with fake tans, blonde streaks in their flat-ironed hair, low tops (“thanks for the boob shot, ho-bag!”), and freakishly long fingernails. You know, the real clacky, I-could-tear-out-your-eyes-with-one-fatal-jab ones? So I spent most of the time thinking about the Story, watching my feet get all ridiculous, and wondering what kind of creative material I could get out of the experience.

I also saw the girl I hated in junior high while I was there. She was getting her nails done. Probably in preparation for some soul-tearing-out-through-chest…? She was pregnant. And wearing very little clothes. I couldn’t hide my smirk, so I just tried not to look at her. It was easy enough, because the lady next to me, who was trying to suffocate a little dog in her purse was trying to speak Korean to the woman working on her feet, and it sounded like a trashed Southerner attempting to teach Russian to a small African child while crunching on ice. The girl doing my feet was unsuccessfully stifling her giggles.

Anyway. My toes are now green. For what purpose, you ask? None, my friend. No reason. Women are stupid creatures.

Thanks to Amber, for paying for my foot pampering. She insisted, since it was my first time. Unless I actually end up sitting next to someone I know next time I go, or learning Korean, or not perpetually being surrounded by plastic retards, I may never pay for a footcial myself.
My toenails will cope.