Posts Tagged ‘Hector’

STAY AWAY FROM THE LIGHT.

September 13, 2008

HOLD ON, HECTOR. EVERYTHING IS GOING TO BE OKAY.

IT IS.

Remember that happy ending I was telling you about? Hector and two other cacti living together in harmony?

WROOONG. Everything went awry. Emily G. did all she could, but Hector must have been homesick or angry- he went wild. Two days and multiple tragedies later, he was in four pieces and headed for the dumpster.

He belongs in the dumpster. BUT NO. What did I do? I took him back, because I’m too fucking emotionally attached to him. That’s right.

So, now, he’s getting bed rest. He’s all bandaged up. Observe:

Hector resting up

Hector resting up

His arm is in a sling. A communist sling, of course.

Communist sling

Communist sling

I am not sure where I will sleep. His health is my priority in this time of crisis.

But, after he recovers…

GOD DAMN IT, I WILL FIND A HOME FOR HECTOR IF IT’S THE LAST THING I EVER DO.

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Happy Endings

September 10, 2008

I’m sure you’ll all be glad to know that Hector has found a home! Thanks to Facebook. It’s fantastic.

There’s another girl in my dorm who collects cacti. Facebook informed me of this. Upon inquiry, I discover that her cacti are named Henry and Herbie.

IT WAS MEANT TO BE. YAY!

So Hector is proudly residing in her dorm room. Henry, Herbie, and Hector. A cactus family. A threesome made in heaven. And by threesome I mean like a pair except three, not like sex. Cactus sex would hurt. Especially with Herbie, he’s really spiky, and I wouldn’t want to put Hector through that. Hector’s spikes are Q-Tips, he will one day be a pleasant, gentle lover for some lucky cactus chick. Unless cacti are in to sadomasochism. That’s nothing to be ashamed of, cacti; I don’t judge. Actually, I do, but not the sexual preferences of cacti. Can you tell I’ve thought about this?

p.s. I actually haven’t until now. But, in case I drop out of college and write erotica for a living, it is a legitimate fetish to consider. I should keep notes.

Speaking of notes, did you know that after death, the heavenly spirits of ancient Chinese folk were commonly devoured by celestial wolves during their ascent to heaven?

Heaven is a dangerous place.

WHAT THE FUCK.

September 5, 2008

GOD DAMN.

Here’s the story. So, I thought Hector the robocactus was stinking up my room. So I tried everything in my power to de-stink him. Then, yesterday, I got home from class and our room STILL smelled. So, heartbroken, I put Hector in the hallway with a sign that said “I need a home!”, and turned my back on him.

Hector in the Hallway

Hector in the Hallway

BUT THE ROOM WAS STILL STINKY.

So, I set out to find the true source of the stinkiness. I got down on my hands and knees and crawled around, sniffing our carpet.

And then I found the stinky spot. This large, slightly discolored spot by my closet. Ew. I got some dishwasing soap and a sponge, and scrubbed away.

Then, I realized: Wait. This is where my shower caddy has been sitting.

WAIT. THIS IS MOLD.

So, I stopped scrubbing and googled “remove carpet mold”.

And, of course, the first thing that I read is:

“WHATEVER YOU DO, DO NOT TOUCH MOLD WITH YOUR BARE HANDS OR INHALE.”

Of course, I read that after spending an hour scrubbing the floor with my bare hands and sniffing the carpet WITH MY FACE, LIKE, AN INCH AWAY FROM THE MOLD SPOT.

FUUUUUCK.

Supposedly, someone is coming to clean it today, because my technique did not work as effectively as it should have. But I have to pay now. Shit.

I’ve been talking to other girls in my hall, and they all leave their shower shit on the ground too. Mine seems to be the only one that has grown mold. Either I’m icky, or smells just feel drawn to me. Maybe both.

According to Google:

SYMPTOMS OF MOLD INHALATION

1. Coughing

2. Irritation

3. …

4. Convulsions

5. Death

I haven’t been experiencing death or convulsions, but I have a cough. AND I AM VERY IRRITATED. GRR.

When I start coughing up mushrooms, I’ll start worrying. Now, no.

The silver lining?

HECTOR GETS TO STAY. WOOHOO!

Alright.

September 4, 2008

College has been fun, but I’ll take a diploma now.

I’m already sick of class and it’s the second day. It’s not boring or anything, I just really hate learning.

P.S. Just kidding. My classes are actually kind of fantastic, especially Russian. My professors seem like cool people. I just have a really, REALLY annoying alarm clock that basically ensures that I start every day pissed off.

P.P.S. MARCHING BAND.

Okay, that’s all.

SIDE NOTE.

I made a large cardboard robocactus two days ago. His name is Hector. And now, our entire room smells like rabbit shit. The sour, gross kind. (Believe me, I am a connoisseur of animal poop. Observing it was my job, and it was never one to be taken lightly.)

SINCE WHEN DOES CARDBOARD DO THAT? EVEN FEBREEZE WILL NOT REMOVE THE ODOR. DAMN.

Hector is jammed in my window, proudly displayed to the North Quad, to air him out a little bit. If the smell doesn’t dissipate, I’m afraid he’ll have to be done away with. That would make me so sad; he’s like my child. If I have to get rid of him, I’ll never create with cardboard again; I don’t think my fragile heart could take another beating like that.

BUT MORE IMPORTANTLY.

IS THE SMELL OF ANIMAL SHIT REALLY GOING TO FOLLOW ME AROUND FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE?

No one will ever marry me. Except maybe someone nasally-impaired. Like that man who was mauled by a bear and lost half of his face! I should call him.