An Apology Letter From Kristen to Me

So apparently, Kristen (the Furbie skinning chick) is feeling guilty about my childhood trauma (Cue Cordelia Chase). 

Thanks Cordelia.

Anyways here is her list of apologies, with my remarks in italics. Enjoy.

As I’ve reflected on my life, which I often do after eating too much, I realized that I haven’t been the best big sister. To be fair, I haven’t been the worst, but still. So here is a somewhat heartfelt apology letter to my lil sis, Lindsay.

Lindsay, I apologize for the time when we were kids and I stuffed you into the garbage can and laughed about it. (I probably would have laughed too.)

I also apologize for then stuffing you in the hamper and kicking it over. Then telling mom that the devil made me do it. (Makes sense, since you are the devil.)

Please forgive me for testing your Spiderman toy’s web slinging abilities by throwing it over the neighbors fence and snapping it’s head off. (I still haven't gotten over that.)

I’m sorry for denting your head in with a golf club. And a spiky headed lion toy. (Funny...I don't remember this...)

I’m also sorry for chasing you down and trying to beat you with a hammer. I hope the fact that I was the only one that got injured is some sort of consolation. (One of the highlights of my life.)

I regret smashing our hockey sticks right in front of you. However, the terror in your eyes was quite delightful. (I was genuinely terrified.) 

I want you to know I have reformed my ways, and will never skin another one of your Furbie’s again. (Luckily I don't own many Furbie's anymore.)

I also will never force you to watch James and the Giant Peach, even though it’s hilarious how scared you get. (Worst. Movie. Ever.)

I’m sorry for always laughing at your school pictures...and your driver’s license picture where your hair makes you look like you’re wearing a Darth Vader helmet. Or a big dumb gumdrop.  I’ll try very hard not to laugh at them any more...but to be safe, I’m sorry for future laughs. (I'll laugh at yours too.)

I can’t say this won’t happen again, but I’m sorry for always pointing out the dumb things you do. Especially when you think no one saw (i.e. falling down the stairs during that cookout at Bruce and Autumn’s). (I hate that you saw me fall down the stairs.)

I’d also like to make up for the time I told you listening to Linkin Park would send you to Hell. (It probably will.)

I truly regret putting half a container of seasoning salt on your burger and not telling you so I could see your reaction…wait...Andrea did that to me. I better be getting one of these letters soon Andrea! (Awkward silence.)

I’m sorry for the telling you the cats would eat your injured foot because it smelled like raw meat after you stepped on that pencil. (I couldn't sleep that whole night. Thanks jerk.)

I’m also regretful of testing out the limits of physics with your bike instead of my own. If it helps, the way the handles dangle to the ground now is really cool looking. (It makes it really fun to ride too. I'm sure. I don't exercise anymore. Fat power!)

I beg your forgiveness for kicking you in the back while holding your arms while at work. (Why did you even do this?)

Also, forgive me for turning your spine into a Z after shoving you into the soup cans at work. (Don't worry, the physical therapy corrected that.)

I also ask for forgiveness for trying to make you kiss the floor at work. (Don't forget the ice machine. And the coolers. And the popcorn machine.)

Also, sorry for burning you with a rubber band at work. (The burn was purple you monster!)

Just forgive me for like 90% of our time spent together at Terry’s. (I've forgotten most of it, so that should be easy. Must be from the drain bramage.)

And finally, I’m very sorry for the time you came in my room and I grabbed your arm and twisted it until I’m sure the blood vessels were on the verge of bursting. Then telling you I was going to kill you. (Another sleepless night.)

I’m sure that I have much more to apologize for and will need to apologize again. Keep a list for me. (I love making lists of things to make you feel bad about yourself.)

My Adventures in Guitar Restoration

Recently I have restored an old guitar that I trashed in my youth. Apparently during the summer, I become ambitiously bored, and have to do something to make me feel good about myself. Or some such nonsense. Anyways, this guitar was in terrible condition. Like, beyond terrible condition. I have no logical explanation for how it came to be in such an atrocious state. It was covered in a thick layer of blue paint that was somehow still wet under a semi-hard shell, much like that chocolate stuff you put on ice cream that hardens when it gets cold. This is what I imagined happened:

Judging my how thick the paint was, I would assume this went on for at least 3 hours.

This made me let out a string of wicked swears (forgive me mother), and it eventually got to the point that I was so irritated that I began combined swears into nonsensical words (ie. shammit, son of a bamn, shass, dastard sitch face, etc). It was hard. No, that's an understatement. It was insanity on steroids. It made me think of dumb things in a philosophical way, such as, "if octopus' shake tentacles as a greeting like humans do with their hands, do they have a specific tentacle they do it with? If they use the wrong tentacle does the octopus get offended and beat the other one to death with deep sea debris? Do they do different tentacle shakes in other regions of the sea?". So basically it made me insane. Well, more insane than I already was. 
I started work with the fret board/ neck of the guitar since it seemed the least intimidating. That's right. There was paint on the stupid shass fret board. The first thing I had to do was scrape of the thicker patches of paint. Sooooo...pretty much the whole thing. Luckily I was able to watch Veronica Mars during this part, and didn't notice how tired my arms were from scraping until I tried to go to sleep. That was fun. After about 1.5 seasons of Veronica Mars, I got enough paint off that I could sand off the rest. The thing about fret boards though, is they have a lot of angles that you can't get with an electric sander. This sucked big time, because that meant I had to hand sand the rest. This took approximately 6 episodes of Veronica Mars (I measure time based on how many episodes/movies/songs I can fit into the said amount of time). 
After I got it all sanded, I needed to draw up some plans of the design. Once I had some sketches and such I began to carve my design into the guitar. Now, to carve it out I used a Dremel. A Dremel is basically a fine tipped drill that, well, cuts stuff. Whatever. Just look it up. Anyways here is what happened after several hours:

Keep in mind that all carvings were smoothed out, so they didn't look like a pile of broken toothpicks around the edges.

At that point, I was ready to do the front of the headstock. My design for the front was a bit more complicated. Unfortunately, I was an idiot and did not save a picture of the front before it was painted. But you get what you get folks. I do however have a picture of it before it was completely done paint wise. Is that humble enough for you? Yeah? Okay.

It gets better looking later on. Like Neville from Harry Potter.

I then had to move on to the beast of this project. The body. I was like a blue glob of sadness. Sort of like Gooey Gus from Ghostwriter, but sad rather than...whatever Gooey Gus is.

I don't even know.

Luckily I could use an electric sander for this, which probably saved me the length of time that all three Lord of the Rings are. Extended version. Extended. I also had to wear a respirator mask since I'm pretty sure that that paint was made out of the spinal fluid of extinct animals. This, combined with my glasses, made me look really attractive.

Told you.

I started with the front of the guitar and made my way around to the back. I sketched up some designs, and went back to carving. After what would probably equal 3 episodes of Buffy the Vampire Slayer (what did I tell you about my time measurement?), the front was carved. 

Much better than spinal fluid blue paint, no?

I was also stupid in that I did not save a picture of the back of the guitar before it was painted. Hopefully you can live with this:

Once it was all carved, I began painting and detailing. After many episodes of the TV show of your choice, the paint job was done.

See above for reference to the back. Sorry chums.

Told you it would look better.

Now I needed to put on the finish. This is probably the most boring part of the entire process. I really couldn't have done anything very fun anyways, since the dozens of hours I spent carving had bruised my hand and made my elbow swell. Good times. So to apply the finish you have to put on a coat, and then wait for it to dry, which takes about as long as a Walking Dead hiatus (you monsters!). During that dull process I had to order replacement parts, as some of the original parts were missing/trashed to Oblivion. Finally the finish was on, and I could put it back together. After it was all put together, I put the strings on and was rudely slapped in the face by the E string snapping in half. Son of a bamn! 

Notice the missing E string. Oh wait no, don't. Don't notice!

But anyways. I have replaced the string (hooray for me!) and it is all finished. Finally. Of course when I put on the new string, it pricked my finger. That hurt like no other, and the pain from it makes the size of the prick mark unsatisfactory. It should at least be a noticeably painful looking puncture wound. But no. It's a speck. But anyways, the guitar is all finished, and I have peacefully returned to doing nothing.

Front

Back

The Time I Shot a Spider in the Face

On the weekends, I usually go home to visit my parents, and often take care of things they don't want to do. For example: I made a calendar for my mom with all of our relatives birthdays on it, I often fix various computer/printer problems (that stupid printer), and am the hitman for any disgusting creature residing in my parents' yard. On such occasion, there was a giant spider with an egg sac (even typing that gives me the shivers) that my mother wanted taken care of. Since I am a psycho path, I decided to do this with an airsoft shotgun. I like to enjoy my work, okay? 

Anyways, I went to take a look at the rumored spider, described as, "the size of an octopus". I looked in, and there it was. It had it's back turned to me, but it seemed to sense my presence because it whipped it's head around. It glared at me with all 8 eyes, and seemed to make some sort of hissing noise.

My mother's mailbox is orange. I wasn't on acid when this happened.

First of all, I was completely grossed out by it's nasty egg sac (shiver), and secondly I hated this spider more than I usually hate spiders. It was totally rude. This is when I decided to be rude back. I took my airsoft shotgun, and shot the egg sac. It exploded into a million pieces, and the expression on that spiders face was probably one of the best things I had ever seen. I never thought spiders could have an expression, other than gross, but this spider was obviously devastated. I've never seen anything like it.

A photo accurate depiction.

I swear I heard it screaming. It was in so much distress. Since I'm a cruel, heartless creature I found this ridiculously entertaining. Eventually the spider began to ask me questions with it's gross eyes.

Girl please. I do this to all the spider mothers.

I then became too irritated with the spider looking sad at me, so I shot it directly in the face. I have never seen so many legs projectile fly like that before in my life. In fact, I have never seen any projectile legs in my life. My mom saw the whole incident, and was probably shocked into silence by my appalling behavior and maniacal laughing.

Here is proof that the event in question occurred, and that my mother's mail box is indeed orange. You're welcome.