A Word of Wisdom

What is worst thing anyone could do after getting their wisdom teeth out?
Suck on a straw?
Nope.
Eat steak?
Nada.
Take pictures of your chubby cheeks and post it all over the internet?
Close, but no cigar.
So what is the worst thing to do after getting your wisdom teeth out?
Well, it's pretty simple -- texting. I was a mile high on this medication called Lortab (a big white tablet that they forced down my throat after they yanked out my teeth), and I was still as loopy as Fruit Loops after getting the anaesthetic. All I remember doing that first day was eating a pound of strawberry yogurt (I also don't recommend doing this -- it definately doesn't help the digestive process). But what I don't remember is texting people. Supposedly, I texted about 5 of my friends. And I don't remember a thing. Who knows what I said. I could have said something funny, like telling my roommate to "Get that corn outa my face!" Or I could have said something unfortunate, like telling a chica friend to "Join me for some toast." So here is a word of wisdom when getting your wisdom teeth out - Have someone take your phone away (And having them take away the pound of yogurt wouldn't hurt either).

Day after Thanksgiving

What happens in Wal-Mart at midnight? For most nights of the year, shady characters and college students are the lone few that roam the aisles. But a few days ago, things got a little crazy. Actually, it wasn't a little crazy, it was WAY CRAZY. It was the day after Thanksgiving, and Christmas Spirit was about to be unleashed with the doorbuster deals in every Wal-Mart and Target store in the country. Black Friday -- the name that inspires moms and obsessive shoppers to stand in mile-long lines in sub-zero weather. My mom is no exception. And just to join in on the adventure, most of the Metcalf family stuffs themselves in the car too. The first stop this year was Wal-Mart. At midnight.

There weren't any parking spots available when we rolled up at 11:55. The door busters were busted, every deal snatched up thirty seconds after midnight. So we left with absolutely nothing. Onward to the next Wal-Mart. After an hour at this one, all we came out with was a pair of socks and a stomach ache from eating McDonalds (just a little advice -- don't eat a quarter pounder with cheese at 1:00 am, it doesn't usually sit well in the tummy). When we left, it was 2:00 am, and all we had to show for our sacrifice of sleep and our struggles to get through the front door -- a stinkin pair of socks. Black friday indeed.

Goal #12 - Looking Both Ways Before Crossing the Street

The first couple of weeks, Tanner had a hard time remembering what to do. We would walk to the edge of the street, and I would wait for him to look both ways. Instead he just stood next to me, his eyes only moving to look up at my face and laugh at my silly expression. Finally I'd shift from Goofy to Mr. Party Pooper -- pointing both ways to help Tanner understand. But he simply giggled, slapping my shoulder with a soft hand. "Tanner, what do we need to do before we cross the street?" I would ask kindly, pleading with him in my mind to move his eyes to either side of the road. Sometimes he would. But those first couple of weeks, we stood there until snack time. Tanner was probably wondering why I was acting so weird. I was just wondering what he was wondering. And there we stood as minutes fell down into the gutter.

I found out this summer that patience pays. The last day of work, Tanner and I stood at the street's edge, and I looked across to behold the Promised Land -- the playground with Tanner's green slide. I looked at Tanner, hoping that he would fulfill his goal. Almost casually, Tanner threw his finger to point to one side of the street as his eyes followed. "Car," he said. Then he pointed to the other side. "Car," he repeated. I wanted to jump for joy, scream out in celebration. Tanner had gotten the goal. We did celebrate -- walking across the street to the green slide was good enough for the both of us.

Caked in Color

Heavy leaves fall from a branch's cradle, crashing down to the concrete path in front of me. My eyes move down, watching the little leaf defy gravity as it floats through fall air. I want to jump up and catch the falling leaves, want to roll around in the piles, soaking my clothes with the smell of barn red and burnt orange. I still can't adequately describe that smell, the smell that makes my lips curve into a simple smile, thoughts of past autumns floating down from the trees into my head. Thoughts of diving into the slip-and-slide of mud to find myself caked in color, leaves stuffing my ears and falling out my shorts. Thoughts of stabbing hard skin of pumpkins, following the stencil my mom got from a website to carve the perfect werewolf. Thoughts of home, of watching Spongebob Squarepants with my sister because it was getting too cold to do anything outside, of watching my dog run around in the back as he tried to escape the leaf rakes, of the warmth of chocolate chips oozing out the sides of newly baked cookies. Then I watched the leaf touch the ground, kissing grey earth. As I walked by, a cool breeze kicked up the tiny leaf, twisting it around and around until it escaped my view.

Paris-Travelers for Dummies (a fictional piece)

The rain slapped the sidewalk, with deafening noise that sounded like thousands of clicking tongues. A taxi flashed by, waving hello with a tidal wave of gutter water. The splash consumed my brand new scooter that sat parked on the side of the road, turning the shiny red to a sickly brown. It was brand, spanking new. I stood outside of the pastry shop with steam beginning to swirl around my head, twisting with the breath that fumed out my mouth. This was typical of my first month in France. I haphazardly jumped on a plane, leaving behind monotonous employment and a blank apartment room. Some may call it a mid-life crisis, and I'd probably agree. But you would sympathize with my reasoning. My entire life, the one thing that repeatedly eluded my grasp was a relationship. With a female. I was horrible with words. "So.... um.... er....." -- such was the extent of my vocabulary around women. I found high school most humiliating. Every school dance, I made the feeble trip over to the unfortunate drama queen's locker. "So.... er.... you and me.... the dance.... ya?" I grew accustomed to fragmented hearing in my right ear due to the locker slamming. Rejection has irritated me worse than a sunburn on my back when I lay down to sleep. And it never goes away. So I moved to France, the love capital of the world. I even bought a scooter to fit amongst the egocentric crowds. "Scooters boost your ego," says Paris-Travelers for Dummies. But that book doesn't say a word about a muddy scooter that won't start. It doesn't say how to fight depression while standing alone in a rain storm, wondering about luck, fate, karma, and whatever else has caused my life to stink like gutter water.

How to save 12 bucks

MIKE: "Man, I really need a haircut."
BEN: "Hey Mom left me with all the haircuttin stuff."
MIKE: "Really? Do you think you could give me a haircut?"
BEN: "You sure you want me to do it?"
MIKE: "Ya it shouldn't be too hard. It's just a buzz cut, but I have it just a little longer on the top."
-Silence follows, and Ben looks worried-
MIKE: "Come on, bro, it should be a synch."
BEN: "Ya you're probably right, I'll do it. But don't get too mad at me if something goes wrong."
-Mike smiles-
MIKE: Don't worry, nothin should go wrong.
-Switch scenes to apartment bathroom. Ben is holding hair-trimmer, standing over Mike, who sits in a chair in front of the bathroom mirror. Ben looks nervous-
BEN: "Ok, I'm going to start."
MIKE: "Sounds like a plan."
-Ben continues to look at Mike's head of hair without using the hair-trimmer. The hair-trimmer is now starting to shake in Ben's hand, and his nervous look is now amplified-
BEN: "I'm going to start on the bottom, alright?"
MIKE: "Ya that's good. But the trimmer's gotta actually touch my hair for it to cut. You know that right?"
-Ben gulps and nods, then touches the very tips of the hair and jumps back afraid-
MIKE: "Maybe I should just have Supercuts do the job this time."
BEN: "No, no, no, you don't have to spend 12 bucks on a buzz cut. I can do this."
-Ben continues to mutter, "I can do this," under his breath as he proceeds to cut the hair. Ben quickly gives the haircut, and Mike looks stunned as he views his hair-
MIKE: Wow, it actually looks really good. Thanks, bro."
-Ben makes a smug grin-
BEN: "Ya know, I think I'll just do one last trimming job before I'm done."
MIKE: "Wow, I should be payin for this."
BEN: "(proud chuckle) Oh, it's really no big deal. I always felt I'd make it big as a hair-stylist. I just never-
-Silence-
MIKE: "What's wrong?"
-Silence as Ben gulps and turns white-
BEN: "(after silence) I don't want you to get angry, but the hair on the back of your head isn't exactly... um, how should I phrase this... er, the back of your head isn't... completely.... symmetrical... anymore."
MIKE: "What is that supposed to mean?"
-Ben lip begins to quiver-
BEN: "It means that I took out a huge chunk of hair on the left side of your head!"
-Ben begins to cry. Mike gives surprised look as he examines the missing patch of hair on the back left of his head. The Mike smiles-
MIKE: "It kinda looks like a gotta scar. It's actually kind of cool."
BEN: "(through sniffles) Really?"
MIKE: "Ya, don't worry about it. I'll just tell everyone I got in a huge fight."
BEN: "(laughs through tears) That's pretty cool, I guess."
-Mike stands up and brushes off the hair that sticks to his shirt. Then him and Ben leave set as they discuss what the made-up story should be -- how big the fight was and how the scar on the back of Mike's head was made. Mike closes the door. The door opens again, Mike's head appears to examine the missing patch of hair one last time. Mike takes a deep breath and smiles, then closes the door-

Climbing Up to Fall Back Down

My breath wheezed like a broken air conditioner. Liquid drops formed on my forehead, arms, and back, and combined forces in my armpits to create a sweat stain. Mouth open, eyes foward, teeth clenched -- riding my bike up this hill was no easy task. With every heave downwards on the pedal, I realized that I had to do it again to keep moving. Muscles tightened like a belt after Thanksgiving dinner. Both lungs and my heart battled to see who could pump faster. My throat pleaded for a glass of water.  But I kept going, forcing my limbs to climb up that hill.
Finally I made it to the top. The relief felt like walking into home's door to escape the snowstorm. I could pedal now without any pain; my muscles could relax. Soon the hill began to slant in the opposite direction, and I floated down the hill. Wind met my face and patted me on the cheek. Tired eyes drooped as I accelerated without any effort. Faster and faster I went; the gravity that had pulled at my shoelaces before now shoved me downwards. My eyes were wide now, and the thrill of the roller coaster ride or the high speed car ride began to pump through my veins. The ride was exhilerating. As the ground began to once again level out, I let out a whoop, proclaiming my joy.