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The Infamous Ghetto Indoor Pool

So I'm trying to be a good little blogger and update this puppy every day. I've got two hours left before it's tomorrow and I don't have the picture I need to do the update I want, so we're going into the vault.

A couple years ago I put the biggest above ground pool I could find in my living room. The pictures were posted to a bunch of those link collecting sites and almost 7000 people saw the pictures the first day. Every year or so they are rediscovered and they get a ton of hits. However, I've never publicly told the story of the pool and why I did it. Avast!

One day my friend Crystal sends me an IM. Here's a dramatic rendition of the event :

We Should've Just Ordered Take Out

On The Universe

I don't even know why I was crying. All I remember was sitting at that dinner table, having a good time. I remember silently chuckling from some joke my father made; the same joke he cracked about once a week. I remember when our food came out, and my plate being placed in front of me. With every piece of beef I threw into my mouth, my teeth gnawed down on the meat. I remember feeling like my taste buds were synchronizing with my food; like my taste buds were jump roping with each piece of meat in perfect harmony. And I wasn't keeping count of how long it took, or how many bites I had taken, but it all came to me at once. I stood up from my seat and ran straight to the bathroom. I remember thinking that my parents thought I had gotten sick or really needed to take a piss. I kept my head down the whole walk to the bathroom. I remember locking the door and looking in the mirror. My face had gotten red. And I don't mean tomato red. I mean red like the tongues I used to color in when I was a kid, because I thought my tongue resembled the color of blood and balloons. I fell to the floor and heard the tears hitting every tile on the floor like they were playing a game of hopscotch. I remember feeling tears rolling down my cheeks and tasting salty water, but I don't remember feeling any certain way. I just remember thinking that I was really in the mood for some Mexican food and wondering why I had chosen Korean barbecue. I thought that maybe pointless questions would take away the numbness I was feeling (which writing it now, seems pretty ironic).

When we had gotten home, my parents asked me why I had been crying. I'm not really sure how they knew, but I figured they wondered what was taking me so long, and observed me as I took tiny, slow bites of the cake that had arrived after I came back to the table. I assumed that they had thought that I had trouble with a friend or maybe that my boyfriend had broken up with me. Honestly, I wish I had a reason why I was crying; a breakup or fight or even a fucking death. I wondered how many years I wasted with my desire to live, before I finally realized that I had been created to die.

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