Isn't He Precious

I'd just like the world to know that my cat cries outside the door every time I go to the bathroom

Because he cares that much.

Oh no, not about me. About letting me know that there's a tiny gap in the food in his food bowl, and he can now see the bottom, and this is clearly a violation of his dignity and he will not be in any way, shape, or form alright until this situation is rectified and he can again over-eat and barf on my floor, bed, or other personal belongings (see next post).

In Which I Say Strange Things In Retaliation to Diego Vomiting on My Favorite Footwear

So, I just walked into my room, ready to take a nice nap to recover from a really awful road trip last night and a possible cold brewing in my sinuses, and what do I find? My cat has barfed on my floor. But not only has he barfed on my floor, he's vomited all up along one of my favorite boots in some disgusting, gravity defying way. The cat in question is napping contently on my bed.

So, of course, I immediately start the berating. I mean, of all the places in the house, why my room? And why did you have to defy gravity in such a boot-destroying way? Those are my favorite boots! And so on and so forth and what have you.

So then, as I'm ranting and grumbling and Diego is giving me this totally content-lovey-dovey face because I'm paying attention to him (he's like a child-- or a Kardashian-- any attention is good attention, even the negative kind), my dad walks by. He walks by right as I'm threatening, "Next time I barf, I'm going to barf on you!" 

Which, granted, would be weird enough to hear at any time in any circumstance. (I don't claim to say intelligent things when berating my cat. I mean, he's a cat. He's going to do whatever he wants no matter what I say. Plus, you know, the fact that he doesn't understand what I'm saying. That may contribute.) I don't even know if he (my dad) heard, or anything, but I immediately realized that "next time I barf, I'm going to barf of you!" is probably a really strange thing to hear out of context. I mean, i would probably stop and investigate if I heard someone say it. But then again, I've said some really weird things in my lifetime, many of the to my cat, so my dad probably wasn't all that surprised.

I'm still ticked off about my boot. You're so blacklisted, cat.

How I Came to be Eating Macaroni Salad at 3 AM

Sometimes I get really intense cravings. Lately, I've been raving Little Ceasar's pizza. Not just any pizza, Little Ceasar's. And by lately, I mean like the last two weeks. And by the last two weeks, I mean that I wake up in the morning craving it for breakfast. And then lunch. And then lunch. And then dinner. So on and so forth. I assume this means I'm lacking in something and my body is giving me this craving so I can fix this deficiency. But what nutrition I could possibly gain from a Little Ceasar's pizza is  totally beyond me.

So, two nights ago, I'm almost asleep when this specific craving hits. It's so intense that it wakes me all the way up from my dozing state. This has never happened to me before. 

So, I'm obviously not going back to sleep until I do something about this craving. I can't ignore it this time. But it's like 2 in the morning. Little Ceasar's is not available,and this causes a problem. So I start to brain storm.

I don't think any other place sells pizza at 2 AM. Plus that would be really weird, ordering pizza in the middle of the night. I don't have the ingredients to make pizza at home. Pizza is officially not an option.

But we had rigatoni the other day. That has tomato sauce in it. And pasta is still Italian and therefore pizzalike. Feeling optimistic I might appease the craving enough to at least fall back asleep, I go to the kitchen feeling optimistic.

Optimism fades, however, when I look in the fridge and find the leftover rigatoni gone. Sigh. What else might work?

Well... There's a bowl of macaroni salad. Macaroni has pasta, like rigatoni. That might work.

So I get myself a spoon and eat some macaroni salad straight out of the bowl, at 3:02 AM. But first I make myself a glass of chocolate milk because that's my usual go-to for midnight snacks or cravings. I ate, my full belly was enough to sate my craving, and I went back to bed. The end.

I never did get my Little Cesear's. But we did end up going to a pizza resturaunt the next night. I don't think that normally would have killed the uber-craving, but I got sick off of it, so it kinda put me off Issa for a while.

Currently, it's 11:30 pm a few nights later, and I'm writing this to distract myself from terrible nasuea. This has been happening a lot lately: I'll lay down to go to bed, then 20 minutes later I'll get nasueas. Tonight it's especially bad. Bad enough to take nasuea medicine. 

Anyone got any idea why this phenomenon happens? Cause I'd really like it to go away.

Aw, man, I hope I don't actually have a stomach but today. I've got the whole hot/cold clammy thing going on, which doesn't usually happen. Ugggggggh. I don't wAnt to be sick! Ugh. Oh well.

Here's to sleeping on the bathroom floor...

In Which I Reflect Upon Food Poisoning

So, back in September, I wrote a post about many things, including how John Green and Bill Gates were teaming up with water.org to build wells in Ethiopia...

Anyways, at one point, I wrote:

"I understand that diarrhea is one of the leading causes of death in children in many countries, because you can't drive to walmart and pick up some Pedialite. Because they don't have clean water, or easy access to IV systems, they get dehydrated and die. From diarrhea! As inconvenient as it is, diarrhea isn't something we have to worry we might die from."

It's ironic that I was talking about dying of diarrhea, when I was unknowingly in the first few hours of food poisoning. Never have I been more sick.

Let me just say, I have a lot of experience being sick. I have a chronic pain disease. But this beat all. Let's just say that I now know the difference between a little stomach bug-- which I get a lot, it's a part of fibromyalgia-- and true food poisoning.

Even thinking about it now, it's like, oh. My. Gosh. It's been over a month, and I'm still in shock over the trauma that was food poisoning. Let's just say I got so exhausted that I stopped being able getting out of bed, so I collapsed on the nasty carpet in my bathroom and cried. And barfed. And pooped. And cried so more. Every time I see carpet I have traumatic flashbacks.

Huuuuuuughhhhhhhhhhhhhnuuuuuuuuuuunnnnnnnn.

(That was a shudder/gag)

What did I get so sick off of? I don't know. Mom and I had gone to the movies-- so I ate popcorn, which I don't usually eat (but Mom had, too, and she was fine) and we'd gotten candy at the dollar store that was a little stale, but other than that all I had was a turkey Subway sandwich. Although not fancy in any sort of way, it was decent enough. It was a sandwich. How can you sick off a friggin turkey sandwich?

And it's like, my body has no self-preservation. I see Subway commercials, and instead of being overwhelmed with nausea like a normal person, I'm only on the slightly negative side of indifferent.

No, the best part was that Dad was out of town, so it was just me and Mom, and she took a sleeping pill so she missed this entire thing. It brought me a smile to realize that I despite the fact I had nearly every light in the house on, her door was wide open, I was flushing repeatedly, crying and barfing/dry heaving loudly. And in those few moments of agonizing quiet between attacks, I could hear her snoring happily away.

... Also, I'm not ruling out that dollar store butterfinger that tasted curiously stale.

Knowing me, I probably caught some parasite along with the food poisoning that is slowly eating my inside, and attaching to my spinal cord in order to defecate in my spinal fluid and therefore soil and overtake my brain. All while making me poop my brains out.

I never want to see a toilet again.

In Which I Find My Previously Mentioned Airport Shirt and Slyly Throw In My Christmas List

FOUND MY FLYING SHIRT.



Also: this would work.
 

See my pinterest Christmas List for all this awesomeness and more.

Flying: Part Two

(October 27, 2014, continued)

So, flying.

I don't know if flying ends up being crazy ordeal for everyone, or if it's just me. Technically it ends up being more "crazy" than "ordeal", because apparently I attract the crazy. But it's always... Entertaining. I have never flown somewhere and not gained a story to tell. Literally.

Currently, I am in the air. On a plane. In case that wasn't obvious. Cruising over California, on my way to spend Halloween with Steph and her family, which I'm stoked about, but I'll talk bout that later. I have to get there first.

I've found that most of the crazy and ordeals happen in the airports, more than the planes themselves. People are chatty when flying. Like, really chatty. Also, cranky. This is probably because there's a lot of emotions involved with flying, and vacations, and especially the work -related  events (if the crankiness of business people is anything to judge by. Dude, business people, airport personnel are just doing their own jobs. You're not the only working person in the world. Tone down the attitude, maybe?). Which usually just means nobody is at their best. Travel brings out the worst in everyone. And the inner chatterbox in 89% of people.

And what do I hate? Having long conversations with strangers. I can do the casual answer-your-question or sitting-next-to-each-other-polite-comment, you know, the usual day-to-day polite-talk. But airports aren't your usual day-to-day activities. Also, there are exponentially larger amounts of old ladies in airports. Which means: your chance of getting sucked into a "let's-share-our-life-stories" conversation is astronomically high. Especially if you are me.

We're still not sure what it is about me that gives off the "TELL ME YOUR LIFE STORY!" vibe, but it's probably a combination of my tendency to smile at people, the fact that I'm often traveling with my parents (it says "I'm a good, family girl, but I'm also sort of a third wheel, and lacking a conversing partner, which SHOULD DEFINITELY BE YOU"), and I'm totally uncomfortable talking to strangers for more than two minutes (they can smell it on me, like fear).

So. Yes. This is my main gripe with flying, mainly because it ALWAYS HAPPENS. It becomes funny in the predictability of it. I really, really want to get a tee-shirt to wear to airports that says something about being an introvert or socially awkward to ward people off. CHRISTMAS, PEOPLE. I NEED. FLYING SHIRT. CHECK MY PINTEREST.

But there are more interesting flying experiences. Another big one is that I HATE it when people talk on flights. Because, mainly, it's ALWAYS strangers having life-story conversations with other strangers, which is, like, doubly bad as ME being involved in the conversation. It's TWO people I don't want to know about, and I'm forced to hear their life-stories. Because, of course, you HAVE TO SHOUT TO BE HEARD ON AN AIRPLANE, BECAUSE ITS LOUD, WHICH MEANS THAT THE WHOLE PLANE HEARS ABOUT YOUR WHOLE LIFE AND WITNESSES YOUR SAD FLIRTING, AND REALLY, I JUST DON'T. 

Guess who's behind me right now? Despite it being a less than half full flight? Yeah. I'm telling you. There's a certain vibe I give off that attracts these people.

Other strange things that have happened lately at airports:

1. A lesbian that I had acknowledge-smiled at on my flight winked at me when we passed each in the bathroom (in the airport). The fact that it was in the bathroom made it hundred times weirder.

2. A teenage girl talked to me non-stop throughout an hour and a half flight. I mean, nonstop. She didn't stop when I took out my book read. She still talked to me when I closed my eyes and tried to sleep. She STILL talked when I took out my earphones, put them in, closed my eyes, turned away, and tried desperately to sleep. I learned that day to never compliment anyone's backpack, because that's what started the never-ending conversation.

3. The old lady sitting next to me had a hobby of becoming friends with flight attendants-- cue life-story conversations-- and liked to give them little angel pins. Admittedly, the pin was really cute. But it was reply awkward for everyone around.

4. The old lady that followed me through 2 airports. She sat beside and told me about her grandkids for an hour before we boarded, and when we got of to transfer, so did she. So she followed us into a restaurant and randomly sat down at our table and continued to tell me her life story. It was so strange.  I would have been a better sport had my parents not been snickering the whole time: I'm a magnet to these people.

...... More I can't think of right now. I'm getting a little motion-sick.

I'm gonna read now and try not to take Dramamine. Dude, I'm so stoked... I'm going to Idaho! I'm gonna go see my sister and brother-in-law and my pseudo babies-- my little niece and nephew! And I get them all to myself... Just me visiting. And it's Halloween! I get to do all the Halloween-y things with the kids! This is like the first time Ellie (3) is really going to understand trick-or-treating and all that jazz, and this is Cameron's first-- wait, no, no it's not. He was a month old last Halloween. This is his first conscious Halloween! The first Halloween he gets to run around in a costume! The first time I've dressed up in years! I made a sweet mermaid costume and everything! It's gonna be so incredibly fun!

Totallllllllllllllly worth the flights.

In Which I Refrain From Dancing and Witness Mysterious Sewer Smells on a Plane

October 27, 2014

So, do you remember the commercials from Apple for the very first iPhone? (Which, by the way, I thought was the coolest thing the world. It totally and completely blew my mind that you could have music on your phone. WHAT.) You know, where there was some guy totally jamming out to his music, dancing his way through the normal people in some city?

I feel certain that, should this be a socially acceptable activity, that would be me on a daily basis. 

No, for real. I find myself having to restrain myself nearly every time I hear music these days. I can't tell if this is a good impulse or not. But it's pretty inconvenient that dancing like an idiot in public is not socially acceptable.

Psh.

***Random side note: I'm writing this on the plane on the way to Boise (listening to music, trying not to shimmy around to my music), and someone just cut one of the nastiest farts I have ever had the displeasure of witnessing. For real, it feel like I just got a huge whiff of a Port-a-potty that's been baking the sun for a few days... It's like raw sewer up in here. I'm like legitamitly worried for this offender... He may not be okay. He may be having a serious medical problem at our pleasant cruising altitude. Forget Ebola, someone's colon is aaaaaangry.

Huuuuuwhuuuuhhhhhhhhh

(That was me giving a massive gag)

Oh, good: someone near me got a coffee. I'd rather have coffee fumes wafting around up in here than sewer smells. 

Here's to hoping he makes it through our hour and fifteen minute flight... 

I Can't Blog at Night, Which is Proving to be Problematic

I have 14 posts in progress at the moment. Meaning, I often come up with some things I want to blog about at night, but I know that I'm too tired to make real sense with it, so I jot it all down in a scary mess of a draft post, to be made into something comprehensible at a later time.

Problem is, that later time hasn't been coming around. The draft post ideas are piling up, but they aren't turning into anything. Which Is, you know, kinda an issue when I want to accomplish a successful blog.

See, this is why I can't blog at night. It all comes out all strange.

But I wanted you to know that I have things going on in my blogosphere. You just aren't privy to them yet.

In Which I Find A Silver Lining

Sometimes I freak out a little about how well I fit the whole "crazy cat spinster lady" persona. At 23, it's a little disconcerting, to say the least.

But then I think, "well, hey, at least my cat likes me."

Silver lining, people!

In Which I Talk About The Awesomeness Of The All Things John GreenRelated

So, Mom continues to not enjoy movies-that-were-once-YA-novels. In her defense, she handled The Maze Runner today a lot better than she did The Fault In Our Stars. Oh, The Fault In Our Stars. 

I will never, ever be able to repay my mother for the trauma that I subjected my mother to by bringing her to see The Fault In Our Stars.

But really. It is a kinda funny story. Now. Weeks later. Long enough for the movie to leave theaters and come out on DVD. Where, in the extended cut, author John Green makes his cameo appearance that was originally in the movie BUT THEY CUT. Because, you know. I may or may not be an expert on all things John Green/TFIOS/nerdfighteria.

SPEAKING OF. 

JOHN GREEN AND BILL GATES are teaming up post-trip to Ethiopia to help raise money for clean water-specifically the building of new wells-- in Ethiopia. A few weeks ago John met up with Bill Gates in Africa where they saw firsthand the staggering lack of health care, and yet the tremendous good what little they did have was doing. In two 3 minute videos from John Green I learned more about the type of health care that does exist in developing countries than I've learned about in all my 23 years. I understand that diarrhea is one of the leading causes of death in children in many countries, because you can't drive to walmart and pick up some Pedialite. Because they don't have clean water, or easy access to IV systems, they get dehydrated and die. From diarrhea! As inconvienient as it is, diarrhea isn't something we have to worry we might die from.

So, Bill Gates said he'll match up to $100,000 in this campaign to raise money for clean water in Ethiopia. 

You can check out more information about it on John Green's tumblr. Or donate here.

And I encourage you to go watch John's video from his trip to Ethiopia! And while you're there, feel free to stick around and watch more of his videos with his brother, Hank at vlog brothers. They're amazing.

UPDATE: It's been about a day, and we've raised $78,000. Sweeeeeeeeeet.

My Body is Weird: Bruises

My body is weird. We know that. Today we are going to explore the weird way it bruises, or, more specifically, the way it doesn't.

I don't know why it doesn't bruise. Maybe because of the more than adequate fat layer surrounding, well, all of it?

But the weird thing is, while it won't bruise for incredibly violent injuries, it WILL bruise for the dumbest, lightest things ever.

Run into the corner of a table in the dark? No bruise. Pinch arm skin in a buckle? No bruise. Smash and crush fingers in a door? No discoloration whatsoever. Any other violent injury that I just can't think of at the moment? You better believe there wont be bruising.

Oh, in fact, when I broke my foot in the sixth grade? The doctor didn't believe that it was broken because it never bruised. "We'll take an x-Ray just in case," she appeased, "but I'm sure it's not broken." I was so triumphant when it was. WHAT NOW, DOCTOR LADY?!

Anyway...

But if I pull a bandaid off my arm?

Bruise. What the heck?

I get these random bruises sometimes, usually on my legs, and I have no idea where they come from. I have absolutely no memory of any injury whatsoever. I just don't understand. 

My body is so whack. Wiggidy-whack. Not the regular type.

So, yes, it's another thing that makes me not-normal. I may be the only person who can drop a brick on heir foot and know for certain that it WON'T bruise.

I'm fond of my weird body quirks. Kinda like I'm fond of my car's, Big Red, quirks. If I was presented with a new car that could actually turn and had reliable air conditioning and had a gas tank that could hold more than 10 gallons, I wouldn't turn it down. But I would miss Big Red and it's mysterious ticking noise and it's backfire tooting noise and it's massive windshield crack that got progressively bigger week by week. We had some good times together, and I'd miss the things that made it special. But only so much.

In Which I Discuss the Onomatopoeia of the Law & Order Sound

So, embarrassingly enough, I've thought about how to write the iconic sound from Law & Order on multiple occasions. You know what sound I'm talking about, right? (If you heard it, you'd recognize it, guaranteed)

I realize this is weird. But I'm weird. Especially when it comes to words and writing.

So, this is a strange onomatopoeia (yes, I had to look up how to spell that). In case you don't remember from 7th grade Language Arts (how could you possibly forget something so amazingly wordy?), onomatopoeia is the words for sounds that sound like the sound they're defining.

Basically, they're the comic book words:

Bam! Slap! Swish! Crack!

Those.

So, seeing as the Law & Order sound is uniquely it's own, but is widely recognize, I figured it should have a word of its own. But what?

I mean, think about it. How in the world do you write that down? How in the word do you SAY that sound? I'd concluded that it's a DUN-DUN, with a bit of a "b" mixed in with both "d"s, with a bit of "sh" mixed in as well. 

But that's a crappy way of imitating it. Aloud or written.

But, curiously enough, I just read in a book someone ELSE talking about the same noise, and I am so very pleased with the way she wrote it: "shook-shook." Not "shock-shock" like I first read it as, but "shook-shook." I still think it needs so "d" in there, but I'm quite proud of Corey Ann Haydu. You go, girl.

Also, she said, "Even the music arrests me, that opening shook-shook noise that says, Something terrible is about to happen." Which is, of course incredibly true.

In Which I Explain the Cookie vs. Cookie Status Story

So, yesterday on Facebook I posted:

"Why is cookie dough so much better than actual cookies? There has to be a scientific reason... I should research. TO GOOGLE!"

Alas, this is not the beginning and end of the story.

See, it was, indeed, 4:17 AM. I had just spent the last four hours on Youtube, watching all sorts of random videos, before deciding I needed a snack. Dad had just baked cookies, so as I was munching on one, I discovered a bowl full of the cookie dough in the fridge. Abandoning the cookie, I proceeded to eat a handful of dough, thinking the thought, "Why is cookie dough so much better than actual cookies? There truly does have to be science behind this." Which led to me then posting the thought on Facebook. I was too tired to research, so I finally turned my light off and went to bed.

Well.

I have never had a more uncomfortable night. Or, you know, morning. Turns out, a handful of cookie dough turns into a BRICK in your stomach when you try to sleep. I spent the next hour tossing and turning, nauseous as all get-out, sweaty and in pain. Why is cookie dough better than cookies? WHO CARES. I wanted to jam my fingers down my throat to get the stuff out of me. 

Needless to say, I never did research why cookie dough is often more tastier than the cookies themselves. I don't want to think about cookie dough ever again.

I'm going back to chocolate milk.

In Which I Contemplate the Word "Sweet"

So, today I'm reading a book (Matched, by Allie Condie) and I realize something strange. In the book, the main character describes a kiss as "sweet," and suspects a kiss with a different character would be "more than sweet." So, seeing as I'm on my Mini iPad, and how I love to see what the definitions of words connotate about words in their different settings, I do the handy "tap-and-we'll-link-to-both-the-dictionary-and-Wikipedia." Which is, consequently, my FAVORITE feature of electronic readers. Bless you, kindle. (I do this a lot.)

Anyway, as I'm reading the definition of "sweet," wondering how the dictionary connotates "sweet" in a non-food related way, and not finding the answer automatically, my brain hops to my own romantic-life experience with the word "sweet."

 And I think: "Man, it's curious that I don't hate the word 'sweet.'"

It's curious, because it was the first compliment the boy that was exceptionally cruel to me gave me, the first time we met (as I was leaving the football game my freshman year of high school, in which he wrote the words "you're sweet" and his phone number-- yes I still remember. I mean, awww, that's really, dare I say, sweet. Pun definitely intended.) 

As it was the compliment that He Shall Remain Nameless gave me, and considering how bitter I was about that whole deal, and for how incredibly long after, it's easy to see how I could have connotated "sweet" in an extremely negative way. But I didn't. It's likely because I adore sweet-TASTING things, but I wonder about it. And the conclusion I've come to is: perhaps, instead of being bitter and shying away from "sweet" I think I've done the opposite- I fervently wait to add a new memory to "sweet." I'm waiting, in a surpringly not desperate way, for some other experience regarding "sweet" to come into my life. Which I'm pretty proud of. 

Now, I'm in this odd state of having both NOT assigned "sweet" a bad memory, but neither a good one, and sit in a phase of having no association or connotation about the word "sweet." Which is made even more odd by the fact that I adore words, and connotate and associate with EVERY word (well, almost). But I like it.

And, like Cassia in Matched, I intend to have sweet kisses, and decidedly more than sweet kisses in my future. And He Shall Remain Nameless can have his own. But not with me.

And that, my friends, is, in and of itself, sweet.

Update

So, it so you know, I currently have 8 posts in draft form on here that I just need to finish and publish. I was dealing with the end of the semester, the last semester of my Pathway program, in fact, and have been bogged down with projects and finals and make-up work (oh my!) so I simply didn't have time/mental capacity to blog for real. 

BUT......

I FINISHED TONIGHT!!!!! Yeah, dawg!!! 

You seriously. Cannot believe. How. STOKED. I. AM.

ITS DONE AND OVER AND I NEVER HAVE TO DO ANOTHER APOSTLE WRITE-UP EVER AGAIN!!!! 

WOOOOHOOOO!!!!

So. Um. Yeah. Lots of blogging to come. Also: adventures at the lake with the Steph, Greg, and the babies! Lots of awesomeness on deck.

It's finally summer for me!

My Fish are Dead. Here is Their Memorial Service.

Uh-oh.

I think my fish are dead.

Not my real fish. I don't even have real fish. My virtual blog fish. Up there ^^^^, in the right corner. They either became ninja fish and we can no longer see them, or they died.

I feel quite sad about this. I killed virtual fish. I mean, who does that? 

I feel like we should have a funeral or something.


A FUNERAL FOR MY VIRTUAL FISH.
*Ah-hem.*

What is a Pet

A pet is such a special friend,
A friend in many ways.
Sharing love and companionship,
Just looking for your praise.

The clever things they often do
Bring a smile to your face;
And so to them I dedicate,
This small but special place... 

We are all here today in remembrance of the adorable fish that haunted my blog. Some of my favorite virtual memories are of the times I tried to get rid of blogging-block by seeing just how fast I could click and feed those fish. Would the fish explode if I fed them too much? Would they mind if I threw the food right on top of them? Alas, no. And not just because they were a simply designed widget, but because that kind of bond. That all give and no take. We gave them pixels of fish food, and they gave us joy.

Mark Twain once said, "Grief can take care of itself, but to get the full value of joy, you must have somebody to divide it with." I feel as though I may break beneath the mountain sorrow my dear fish have left behind for me. I shall never feel joy again now that they aren't there to share it with me.

Oh, fishies. Will you ever know the endless minutes of enjoyment you've given us all? Will you know how much you shall be missed? The idea of having to install a new widget to spruce up my blog saddens me so deeply.

I hope you are happy in the big internet server in the sky. I'll miss you every time I remember to think about you. Goodbye, fish friends.

The Won't Leave Me Alone

You know what's haunting me these days?

UGH.

So, you probably know, but a few months ago a super pleasant documentary came out called "Black Fish." What was it about? KILLER WHALES. And it caused this huge frenzy all over the internet and media, about how Sea World wasn't taking care of their murderous beast fish.

So, naturally, there were clips of Black Fish all over TV. There were pictures and links being shared all over Facebook and the internet.

No where was safe.

What has Sea World done? Made tons of backfire commercials, of course! Featuring, you guessed it, the blood-thirsty Shamoo and devious friends, accompanied by emotional instrumental music and trainers talking about their loving relationships with the 9 ton aquatic murders.

It's awful.

Half the time during commercial breaks, I have my face buried in a pillow or my arm, but I can never escape those first few glimpses of black and white flesh...

It's those teeth...

Ugh.

Sea World, keep your death fish to yourself. Nobody wants to see that.

Professor John Doe Makes Middle School Obsolete

Phew. Done with my homework for tonight.

I don't know, it was looking pretty bad there at the beginning, because the professor that they videotaped lectures of for us to watch (as an online math class) must have been sick that day or something because he was like a dead fish. And that was not flying, let me tell you. I totally rely on John and his uber peppiness and love for math. Okay, mostly I rely on his super clever ways of doing basic math that tripped me up for YEARS back in the public school system.... Yeah, I try not to dwell on those moments. The moments of learning a new way of doing something that I was supposed to learn when I was fourteen but never did and then never caught again, and I'm left thumping my head against the desk asking myself, "so, WHAT exactly was the point of going to middle school if not to learn the effective way of _______?" 

So I felt wary today, when John looked so out of it. I'm pretty sure he was working off of notes, not making up problems as he went along, like he normally does. It was actually quite sad. 

Oh, and I actually have no idea what his actual name is. I just call him John, as in John Doe. I peg your pardon, Professor John Doe. I felt like someone who's had such a big impact on my life should actually have a name. I mean, honestly, shouldn't introductions have been made? Truly? If I'm spending an hour a week with this guy, I feel like I should know his name. Even if they filmed this years ago, and who knows where this guy is, I feel like I should know his name.

Anyway. So I have to teach math tomorrow. And since it happens to be a lesson that nearly made me cry--- but thanks to John's nifty tricks, I was more upset and inconvienced than truly a sobbing mess--- I'm bringing a boatload of candy to teach with. 

Because, as we all know: just a spoonful of sugar makes the mathematics go down.

*Sobbing* Tessa's Going To Be So Happy!

So, everyone who knows me knows... Wait, that's not true. This is nerdy, so I only reveal this to other nerdy people/when I have to. So, SOME OF YOU, now ALL of you, are aware that I adore Cassandra Clare's books. The Mortal Instruments series and the Infernal Devices series and everything else in between, I looooove it. Love it love it love it.

So the final book in the first, original 6-book series (not including the prequel series) that we've been waiting for for like, 2 1/2 years, came out Last week. Eeeeeee. I received my preordered copy in the mail yesterday, and finally started the 725pg book at 8:12 last night. Yes, I made note of the time. 

At 4:30 this morning my pops walks by my room on his way off to the airport, and flicks my light off and on a few times. I gave him a couple owlish blinks, and croaked, "Jem just got turned back into a regular Shadowhunter. Tessa's going to be so happy."

Actually, I can not prove I spoke these words aloud. Most of my body's systems were shutting down, and I don't know if my vocal chords were ignited or not.

Not that my dad realizes what any of that mean, or knows that Jem is sweet and kind and gentle, and lived a century ago, and due to a demon that killed his parents, he was infected with a disease that was killing him, but it was breaking his sworn warrior-brother/best friend and fiancé hearts', so he became one of the   immortal monk-like versions of his people just so Will and Tessa wouldn't have to let him go completely, accepting a fate he didn't want, a fate of watching humanity through a barrier of detachment and loss of emotion, and then his ex-fiancée (he couldn't get married after he turned to a Silent Brother, SOB)Tessa is a warlock so she's immortal and they've met once a year on Blackfriars Bridge in London, and he had to watch Tessa marry Will, and then watch Will die and then watch Tessa be on her on, and he couldn't even do anything about it.... Um, yeah, Dad probably would have hit me over the head with the book if I started spouting out all that at 4:30 in the morning.

But Tessa's going to be so happy. 

The next thing I remember is waking up on the toilet, so.... Even I knew it was time to go to sleep. It's not often that you fall asleep peeing. And that's your TMI for the day.

Tessa....................

What I'll Miss About The Bridge Refresher

What I'll Miss About The Bridge Refresher Course 2014:

Em's happy voice in the morning

Martie's weighted vest and subsequent jokes

The big, white van

The big, white van rattling like it was about to fall to pieces

Em's crazy driving of the big, white van (solving the mystery of why the van was falling apart)

Krista's laugh

Krista's loving mothering of us all

All of us complaining about the "teach one another" and video projects

The video projects, which ended up ROCKING

BJ's companionship

The wide open spaces

The red rocks

Dr. Granger and her legitness

The social aspect of sharing a condo/chilling space with three other fantastic women

Massages

Reiki and other "out-there" therapies that I was uncomfortable with, because it felt good to have make an opinion about something that was all my own

The enthusiasm

Having healthy lunch and dinner simply appear every day

The people

Em being "Mom" for the week

Jokes about Em being "Mom" for the week

The excellent (and not-excellent-but-still-good) lectures

Having a safe place designed solely for the purpose of improving ourselves

Feeling so comfortable in my own skin

My Week in Facebook Statuses: Bridge Edition

More Bridge! It's over, and I'm home, and I finally have time to write about it. I had to catch up on homework this weekend and it took up, like, every spare second I had while staying at my Grandma's in St. George.

So! I thought I'd do an ever-so-popular "My Week In Facebook Statuses (Statusi?)" + some Bridge highlights, because I seriously could never write about ALL of it. It's take too much time, and no one would ever read it, including myself.

Day Two:
8:30 AM: Krista just said that her friend "Aubrie" was coming for the day. Could it? No, it could possibly be...

8:31 AM: IT IS! IT'S MY AUBRIE, TOO! WE HAVE THE SAME AUBRIE! AND SHE'S COMING DOWN FOR THE DAY!!

(Most Excellent Lecture-- my favorite of the week-- on being emotional beings and how to not let our emotions overtake us. And waiting for Aubrie to come)

9:45 AM: You know, one thing I never thought I'd get from the Bridge was parenting tips. But I now know how to successfully get my child to stay out of the street. Too bad I don't have a child, BECAUSE I HAVE KNOWLEDGE.

10:15 AM: Whoa. Squeal fest. Guess who just got here? Yes, that would be our Criminal, Aubrie! Eeeeee!

(Creative Writing Class)
(Just kidding. That would be asking too much. It was "Emotional Writing." But whatever. Talking about how we all have different meanings for the same words, and so we have to be specific when expressing ourselves. Included driving to beautiful campground and "free-writing," where I pouted. Things were a lot different from my first time at the Bridge, and even though I hadn't thought I had many expectations, I was finding myself disappointed in many ways.)

Group Pool Class with the most excellent trainer Pete! Who is 70% crazy enthusiasm, 27% kindness, and 3% energy drink.

3:13 PM: I really want to take Pete home with me. I want like a Pocket Pete. Just pull him out when I need to encouragement.

5:17 PM: Trying to take a much needed nap, but the insanely loud washing machine across the hall from my bed sounds like a mermaid being strangled.

5:48 PM: Realizing I compared the insanely loud washing machine across the hall from my bed to "a mermaid being strangled." Yeah, that's why we let me FINISH my naps, because then I start spouting out that sort of morbid nonsense.

10:12 PM: Just had Skype date with Darren, CEO of the Bridge. My mind is a blur.

Day Three (Wednesday)
7:27 AM: You know, Michelle once compared me to Cinderella, because apparently I'm uber happy in the morning. I'm beginning to realize she was right.

8:12 AM: GOING TO SNOW CANYON. GOING TO SNOW CANYON. I FEEL LIKE A DOG ON THE WAY TO THE DOG PARK, BECAUSE WE'RE GOING TO SNOW CANYON!

9:30 AM: GOING TO DR. GRANGER'S. GOING TO DR. GRANGER'S. I THINK I'M GOING TO FLIP OUT BECAUSE WE'RE GOING TO DR. GRANGER'S!

Lecture at Dr. Granger's. She's sort of the coolest person ever. She just turned 70, but none of us believed it until we saw a "70" balloon wedged into her ceiling where she couldn't get it down. She's legit, she does all sorts of "singles" stuff-- and encouraged me to do the same, and she makes ridiculous art out of GOURDS. Yeah, gourds. The hallow cousins of pumpkins. So crazy legit.

11:11 AM: Remembering that yesterday while talking one-on-one, Dr. Granger said, "I don't mean to sound trite, but you go girl." Dang. If ever that expression was to sound legit, it would be coming from Dr. Granger's mouth.

11:15 AM: I want a pocket Dr. Granger, in addition to a pocket Pete.

Communication Lecture.
8:03 PM: Communication Class. What NOT to say to people expressing emotions to you: 3 PAGES. Acceptable things to say: 3. As in, 1, 2, 3. As in, "Wow!" "Yes." and "Um hmmm." Literally.

8:52 PM: Randomly had chance to use these communications skills in real-life setting. Hard to not use the "invalidating" things, but was able to validate her feelings, but express where I thought she was being too hard on herself. Think it really improved our relationship, if not her overall experience.

Day Four (Thursday)
8:02 AM: I think I finally feel totally chill with these ladies. And it's a wonderful feeling.

8:12 AM: GOING TO THE LAKE! Gonna kayak and paddle board and swim and all that jazz! So much jazzy goodness!

8:13 AM: Martie not coming to lake. Super, super bummed.

8:22 AM: Krista just embarked on a ten minute hilarious tirade on why Martie should come to lake, and the things we were willing to do-- and put up with-- if only she would come to the lake with us. Seeing as Martie was having tummy issues, this was both gut-busting funny and disgusting. I think I need a pocket Krista, too.

Sand Hollow uber awesome greatness.

10:28 AM: After kayaking out to the island out in Sand Hollow to explore, we find a pair of shorts on the beach. Seriously? Who leaves their shorts behind? I mean, how do you forget your shorts?

10:45 AM: Water. So cold. Must. Swim. To make point. Californians. Are hardcore.

11:12 AM: Kayaking out to cliff-jumping spot. Realized I forgot my shorts on the island. Karma.

12:04 PM: Drinking Gatorade after a week of sugar-deprivation: "Holy crap! It's like CANDY!" So I chugged the whole thing. People laughed. I'm serious about my sugar, people. I'm SERIOUS.

12:45 PM: After many, many pitiful attempts, I have finally managed to stand up on the paddleboard! And then I fell on my butt, and flipped back into the water. The cheering of everyone on the sand turned into uncontrollable laughter. I sucked water up my nose laughing, too.

12:50 PM: Paddleboard yoga may sound like the most pretentious thing ever, but really it's just an excuse to mess around and play gymnastics on giant surf boards.

1:00 PM: Krista, EmmaLeigh, and Whitney are now doing head-stands on the paddle boards. On the water. I'm pretty sure once you can do that, things stop mattering in life. You have nothing left to have ambition for.

2:12 PM: Em, Whit, Krista and I take a detour in the van to go get frozen yogurt. Oh, sugar. You truly are my dearest friend.

Campfire at the campsite down the road for our last activity together. Snatched another Gatorade.

5:34 PM: Martie's been wearing a weighted vest to try to get strong enough to scuba dive in Hawaii in two weeks. She thinks it's ugly, but I'm pretty sure her street cred just sky-rocketed.

7:08 PM: Today's Sugar Diary: Gatorade. Frozen Yogurt. Another Gatorade. S'MORES. Oh, S'MORES. I don't know what happened to the original Bridge menu, but S'mores were definitely not a part of the program last time. I'm quite alright with the deviation.

7:42 PM: Sugar Remorse: "If you could have one wish right now, what would it be?" Me: "Not to crave sugar." Sigh.

Day 5 (Friday)
8:45 AM: Sitting in bed, not wanting to get up, because it means we have to go home: BJ: "You know, I keep wanting to call you Joy, because you're so joyous." That's kind of the best compliment I've received. Thank you, BJ. I'll try to live up to being your Joy.

10:00 AM: Parting is such sweet sorrow. I'm excited to go home, because I grew a lot this week. But I'll miss you ladies a lot.

The Bridge: The Players

Before I continue with Bridge stories, introductions must be made:

Whitney: Staff Member

EmmaLeigh: Staff Member and Happy Person Extraordinare

Krista: Sweet Mother of Three and All of Us, Too

(Aka Woman with Unhuman Balance)

BJ (with Em): My Roomate, the Bravest Woman There

Martie (with BJ and Me): Mischevious Grandma With Intense Street Cred

Aubrie: My Friend from my Last Bridge Experience, Who Visited for the Day and Inspired Us All

And Nerdy Little Me :)

Me, Whitney, EmmaLeigh, BJ, Krista: Selfie in Snow Canyon (Missing Martie)

The Bridge, Day One

I've officially been at the Bridge for, like, 6 hours. 6 slow-going hours. And since I didn't really write much when I was at the official, 19-day session of the Bridge, I'm determined to document! Also, I didn't have anything near the level of technology I have now back then, even though it was like, 2 years  ago. So it's much easier to whip out my kindle and blog. So I will!

What I've Learned At The Bridge So Far:

1. I forgot to tell Grandma that I got Nutella on her comforter last night. Crap. I'll wash it for her on Friday.

2. I am the youngest out of the 4 of us attending by at least 20 years.

3. Well, except for maybe Krista. She came late, and I only saw her for a sec, and I had somehow gotten essential oil (it's called "beloved") on my contact, so everything was super blurry. Must estimate her approximate seniority over me.

4. Daren did NOT sell the Bridge (Michelle!!) but has been more distant due to attending medical school.

5. The massage therapist told me in the middle of a most heavenly massage that I have a gift of intuition, and that I should "step into it."

6. She also told me at the end that I would be fantastic at Reiki, and would be a great Reiki instructor and encouraged me to look into it.

7. The acupuncturist thinks I have small capillaries and arteries, thus giving me a flood flow issue, which explains a lot of the fatigue situations. It makes a lot of sense. I just have to shove Dr. Bong and his botched acupuncture out of my mind, because he's giving me acupuncture trust issues.

8. Red Mountain Resort is the shiz and I really, really miss it. But I already knew that.

9. I think the people you experience the Bridge with have a lot to do with your experience, and I'm starting to get the idea that our original group something really special.

10. I really miss our group.

11. But I miss Michelle most of all. Rooming with someone else is going to be so weird. TBI, WHERE ARE YOU?!

Why I'm Feeling Like A Nerd

Tomorrow, I'm making the (45 minute) trek back to my lovely hometown of Temecula (yay!) for a framing-supply buy at the crafting Mecca that is Hobby Lobby. Oh, Hobby Lobby, how I love thee.

The problem? I'm so stoked that for the past two nights I've not been able to get to sleep. It's like Christmas Eve up in here. All I can think about is colors and specific beads I need to replenish and themes and coupons and how much money I can possibly squeeze into this purchase, dreaming of those SALE flags all down the jewelry making isles. 

Mannnnnnnnnn. I'm a nerd.

In other news, I've made quite a few frames (and non-frame items) recently, many of which you can find on my Facebook page. Also, I hope to make some "glamor shots" (oh la-la!) of them up on my Instagram, but I've been having technical issues, so we'll see. I've got a crazy week coming up, and then I'll be gone the week following at the Bridge.

Oh, right! Did I mention that yet? I have the AMAZING opportunity to go back to St. George, Utah and attend a four day "refresher" course of the Bridge! I don't know if I ever spoke of the Bridge on here or not-- I probably wasn't blogging at the time-- but the Bridge was a 19 day retreat for people with chronic pain disorders like myself. We had the wonderful opportunity to have a plethora of more wholistic type treatments to try in a peaceful, healing  environment with peers who struggle with the same issues as ourselves. It was three weeks of hikes, massages, acupuncture, gluten-free detox diet (well, halfway. I couldn't do it full on-- it was too much!), personal and group therapies, physical therapy, personal trainers, yoga, and various outings for unique experiences I wouldn't ever have had otherwise. Like the sweat lodge. It was the first time and place that I truly felt understood by others. I'd always had sympathy, but felt extremely isolated in the fact that no one knew. But at the Bridge, people knew the minuscule nuances of having an invisible pain disease, and I didn't know how much I needed that comraderee and understanding until I had it.

I met my best friend Michelle at the Bridge. She was my roommate. I haven't seen her since those 19 days since she lives on the other side of the campus, but she means the world to me.

So! Next week I'll be getting a super-condensed version of all that (without my original group, which is a super bummer. It's going to be such a different experience without them!) and I'm incredibly excited. However, it means I have to get two weeks worth of homework done before Saturday (yikes), get Mothers Day and Steph's birthday stuff together and sent off (to their new house! Woot woot!), and get all the typical before-leaving miscellaneous errands done and PACK. Why does packing take so much energy?

Um. Yeah. Got way off topic there. See? I'm excited, and it's late at night, and I can't sleep, so I'm babbling.

Babble babble babble babble.

Remind next time to tell you about me excellent beyond excellent birthday. And the singing to my cat while half-asleep, okay? And I never got around to telling you about my theory about the Girl Scouts really being secret drug cartel, selling their wares disguised as cookies, getting the general public hooked on their sugary, calorie rich, product, dying for cookie season to come around so we can gorge ourselves silly, and making serious bank on our--unbeknownst to us-- drug addiction. The world at large thinks Americans are fat because of fast food, but no, it's actually the Girl Scout Cookie Scandal. Open your eyes, people.

I'm on to you, "little girls." Menacing look.

It's Diego's Sweet Sixteen!

Guess who's birthday it is today?

No, no... mine's tomorrow. *Cough cough*

Today, it's Diego's birthday!!

Slightly Maniacal Diego Doesn't Like Hats

And not any birthday, but his Sweet Sixteen!

I know, right? Who knew cats lived this long? Listen, I'll tell you the secret... Diego's secretly made of magic and donuts. And the forgotten feels of teenage girls. He lives a happy little existence being attached at my hip.

And can I say? As annoying as it can be to have a cat crying pitifully outside the bathroom door, it's actually kinda sweet knowing some little bugger loves you enough to feel sad when you lock him away from you for two minutes.

(He's also learned if he darts really fast, he can come into the bathroom with me before I close the door.)

So, seeing as it's his Sweet Sixteen! Mom and I were joking around a few weeks ago, saying we should throw him a Sweet Sixteen! party. Now, it's universally known that Diego flips for donuts, especially the prepackaged Hostessy type donuts. They are, truly, his favorite thing. I've been bitten multiple times, and nearly lost an eye once to his greedy donut need. So, for his birthday, I wanted to lock him up in the bathroom, and then take a bunch of donuts and hide them all over the house, and the let him out and go crazy! Poor thing would have a heart attack from the smells alone :)

We had a good laugh imagining his joy.

So, we didn't do the Donut Scavenger Hunt Extravaganza! but... I did go to Circle K and get a little thing of mini Hostess, and let him have one. Because I'm uber nice like that.

Just don't tell the vet, okay? Cause she'd get so mad at me...

So, happy birthday, you little beast. You're a good little companion, sweet boy.

Milk: 1%, 2%, Whole, Oh My!

I grew up on fat free milk. Wait, that's not true; let me rephrase that: my family drank fat free milk while I grew up. I drank nothing, because I thought it was disgusting. White water, as my cousin so eloquently phrased it recently. I didn't even like putting it on cereal, I thought it was so gross.

Thankfully, I've seen the light on the cereal issue-- I honestly eat the stuff at least once a day. And I truly believe I could survive off of it. And not the sugar cereal nonsense, either. I'm talking the trinity of breakfast: Grape Nuts. Honey Nut Cheerios. Raisan Bran.

Anyway. Back to milk.

So, it wasn't until Steph got married and switched to the hearty 2% that I truly experienced milk. I didn't even know what to do with myself. It was so thick! It was randomly sweetish! And when I made it into chocolate milk, I. Just. About. Died.

Have you ever made chocolate milk from 2%? Or 1% for that matter? Holy crap, Batman, It's like a milkshake! The utter glory of it's deliciousness truly cannot be put into words. 

It's amazing what some fat can do.

So, instead of coveting normal things, like cars and knowledge and status symbols like normal people, I covet other people's fatty milk.

PJ Bottoms are Ruthless

My mother became a victim last night to that strange phenomenon of getting your big toe stuck in your PJ hem as you're walking and tripping yourself. It's a humiliating, scary experience, yet one most of us have all faced at one point or another. Why must our pajamas betray us like this? I can't imagine where we're going wrong in our relationships when our pants suddenly try kill us like this. It's like one day, they just snap.

"I'm tired of being washed on permanent press! I WANT GENTLE CYCLE"

"You're supposed to wash WITH LIKE COLORS ONLY, DARNNNN YOUUUU"

And they decide to murder you in cold water. I mean, blood.

So, moral of the story, child? Watch out for those sinister pajama pants. And do yourself a favor, and opt for the shorts instead.

Disney Days

So, this is the second time this week that I've heard "Let It Go" on the radio. Yes, the radio.

Now, maybe it's just me, but I thought we'd come to an agreement as an over-8-years-old society that if we heard that song one more time, we'd simultaneously explode and go on a face-punching spree.

Radio station, I honestly could not care less if you're doing "Disney Days" or whatever. TURN THE SONG OFF.

It gets stuck in your head for daaaaaaays. I mean, I knew the words BEFORE I'd even seen the movie. I know the words SPANISH, okay?! There was a little girl listening to it over and over and over and overrrrrr (At least seven times on repeat, I kid you not), while I was getting a pedicure with my mother. So, yes, in Spanish, too.

I'm a fan of the movie. I am not, however, a fan of the song. It's a total hissyfit. Elsa's whole existence is one big hissyfit. But that's another story.

If I'm not listening to Radio Disney, I don't think I should have to be subjected to that song. And I don't think that's unresonable at all, now, do you?

If you're going to play a Disney song, go for Hakuna Matata. Trust me, you'll get a lot better response.

Is it Weird That I Forget My Age?

Usually, about 3 or 4 months before my actual birthday, I unconsciously start referring to myself as the new age. Why is that? 

It's not that I'm trying to sound older or anything. It just happens. Like, this year- somehow, I turned 23 in my mind at least a month ago. My body clock... Or body calendar... Is waaaay out of whack.

In other news, my birthday is on Mayday, people :) Same day every year. 

And yes, THAT is a particular phenomenon that I understand, thank you very much!

Thanks, Random Legal Settlement!

Guess what I just found in my inbox?!?!

Dear Holly E, Good news! You are entitled to a credit of $20.21 for some of your past Kindle book purchases. The credit results from legal settlements reached with publishers Hachette, HarperCollins, Simon & Schuster, Macmillan, and Penguin in antitrust lawsuits filed by State Attorneys General and Class Plaintiffs about the price of eBooks.

Well, thank you random lawsuit that I had no idea was happening! I WILL use your $20.21! Had I known I was going to get a return on my e-book transactions, I would have bought a whole bunch more!

Found a Topic!

I finally found a topic, guys. So, that's good.

I was incredibly taken back by the response I got through social media. I had expressed my concerned over not knowing what to write about, and so many of you responded with wonderful ideas and memories we shared together. So, thank you, everyone. I really appreciated it.

I decided to write about the Native American sweat lodge ceremony I was able to participate in two years ago, in St. George, Utah. It was an amazing, moving experience that was randomly spiritual. It was an experience in another culture not many people have experienced, or know much about. It was one of the most remarkable experiences of my life, but it is a heavy one. The storytelling in my essay isn't as humorous and silly as it normally is, isn't as unique as I wanted it to be, but I'm happy with how it's coming.

It's much more personal than other essay's I've written, so I don't think I'll post it on here. If you would like to read it, however, just ask me. I'd love to send you a copy to read. I just don't want it on the internet for the entire world to see my personal problems.

My outlook on my life is once again in a more positive spot. So, that's good, too.

Nonexistent Personal Narrative

I'm incredibly frustrated. 

(And guess what?! I'm going to tell you why!)

Brace yourselves, I'm about to complain about my writing class again. I never expected to have so much difficulty with a class on my favorite hobby...

My current frustration? Personal narrative essay. This should rock! I finally get to write in MY style, MY voice! I was totally stoked about the assignment for about twenty minutes. Then it started going downhill real fast. Why?

I can't come up with a topic.

Fact: You don't realize just how boring your life has been for the last six years until you are asked to think of a significant experience in your life (happy, sad, moving, funny, it doesn't matter), and you can't come up with anything.

That's a lie. I have two topics I could write about, easy.  My health, and my writing (and significant times relating to each, respectively). But that's the thing. I've written those two papers. I've written them a gagillion times. I really, really don't think I can choke out another one.  It's depressing: both the subject matter and the repeatition.

It's no secret that I've missed out on a lot of things because of my health. I guess I'm just seeing that loss in a whole new light. And it sucks. How can you show up at school and say you have nothing to write about, because you've been mostly home bound for the last six years? 

I imagined my personal narrative would be hilarious and chock full full of my strange, ironic humor and writing style and that it would ROCK in happy light manor. But after two days of obsessing, I'm left feeling depressed and with no topic besides my default to.

How am I supposed to not let my health define my life, when I can't even come up with one measly paper with one measly, non health related life experience?

Cereal Commercials

You know what commercial bugs me? The Honey Bunches of Oats commercial. They go around filming people as they try it for the first time, and it's like... Who's never had Honey Bunches of Oats before? 

And do you really expect us to trust these fools' opinions?

Nice marketing, guys.

Strep Throat Ruins Families

So, would one of you like to explain HOW I CONTRACTED STREP THROAT?! Because, honestly? Whoever the sucker is that got me sick IS GOING DOWN.

I hadn't blogged about this yet (but now I have all the free time in the world), but I have my sister and her family staying with me right now. Including my 2 year old niece, Ellie, and my 6 month old nephew, Cameron. There are CHILDREN in the house. There are people VACATIONING at my house. And I'm infecting them with strep throat germs. My poor sister.

The only way I caught it (caught it, as in realized I had it) was because I forgot to cancel a regular checkup for this morning. It was too late to cancel, so I figured while I was there I would mention my throat. 

So, I'm shooting the breeze with the doctor, doing the check-up thing, and when we're finishing up, I mention my throat.

One look, and he's certain. He doesn't even run a test, because it's so apparent, with ulcers all down my throat (so that's why it's been hurting, got it!). Diagnosis: strep throat.

"Have you been around a lot of people lately?" he asks.

"Well, I went to a wedding last weekend. And I have family staying with me, including my 2 year old neice and 6 month old nephew." Panic.

"Have you been sharing drinks with anyone?" 

I repeat: I have my 2 year old niece and 6 month old nephew with me. What do you think we've been doing? Of course we've shared drinks! We've shared food! I've fed the baby off my utensils! We've snuggled! We've slobberred all over one another! "Yes. What do I do?"

He gave me antibiotics. "Once they kick in, you should be fine. Hugs, fine. But not kisses. And no coughing in their faces." (Oh, darn. Because coughing in people's faces is my idea of fun.)

So, as I have been momentarily banished from the bathroom by a bathing Ellie, I am laying on my bed, pouting. And now, I think I shall nap, my friends. For some reason, strep throat makes a person tired. I'll think up something interesting and intelligent sounding while I sleep... Maybe... We'll see... 

.....Zzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Why Essay Writing Sucks

So, for English class we're writing persuasive essays. Oh, essays. How I hate essays. 

No, that's not true. I hate the scholarly demands of essays. I hate having to use scholarly voice and scholarly technique in essays. I mean, I could argue that what I call my "rants" are actually essays. Unorganized essays, but essays nonetheless. I don't mind those, because it's me writing on my terms.  Essays for school are me writing, often on the same topics, but on their terms. 

I don't like their terms. I like myself some style and creativity to say what I'm going to say. I can get points across so much better (and, yes, easier) when I don't have to fit a certain mold.

Then again, to become a true writer, we must master all sorts of writing styles, especially the ones that challenge us. Especially the ones we hate. 

But we reserve the right to not like it. Or rather, the write. 

Ahhhhh... Get it? The write.... Haaaaaaaa.... Puns. Word humor. (That one was for you, Dad.)

Anyway. Back to my point. Persuasive essays. Topic: any controversary of your choice. Yeah....  That really narrows it down. Thanks. After much staring blankly at my computer screen, I finally remembered  some cool TV commercials about talking to each other about mental health issues, advertising a super cool website, up2sd.org, our San Diego site for mental health support. So, my topic: the stigma on mental health, and what need to do to get rid of it so people can feel confident in getting the help they need, and not be driven to suicide.

Yeah, heavy.

I mean, you think of controversies, and you think, heavy, right? But, really, controversies are just issues that people have differing opinions about, right? That they feel strongly about? That affect their lives? So really, anything can be argued as a contravesy.

What fandom is better: Dr. Who or Sherlock? (Okay, "better" is probably too subjective, but whatever.) Why Frozen is the best Disney movie of all time. Are cats better companions than dogs? 

I mean, you see how you could take this ANYWHERE? I mean, it'd take a bit of creativity to turn it out as a whole paper, but it can be done. 

I'm almost tempted to do it. 

But with a grade on the line.... I'll stick to the heavy, robo-student topic and be like everyone else. And suffer. But pass the class. And get into the writing program. To write more awful-topic papers. To graduate with a degree. And go on to write novels that are the antithesis of modeled essays. All so I can have one little phrase to put on the back inside cover of my books... 

"got an English degree from BYU Idaho."

Panic

So, I have a true and serious fear of killer whales. Thanks to both a heinous video shown in my CP Bio class freshman year of high school, and the subsequent nightmares. Which you may or may not have known, depending on whether we've ever watched a commercial for Sea World together.

(See post: Sea Life Of Doom for further reference)

So, last time I was at Barnes and Noble, there was this nasty coffee table book RIGHT next to the checkout line, where you couldn't help but see it... And what evil, gleaming creatures were featured on the cover? You got it: killer whales. Three of them, bobbing up next to an ice float. Poor ice float.

Despite the trauma that ensued due to the sneak attack viewing of this book (no, really, guess what my nightmare was about the next day? That's right: killer whales), I had pushed the incident out of my mind. So, when I go to buy myself a book today, guess what I saw? You're good at this game! THE KILLER WHALE BOOK.

UGGGGHHH.

So I decided to do something about it. I casually slid over, picked the book up, and although I wanted to throw it into an incinerator, there weren't any handy. I just flipped it over instead. Now, there's a nice polar bear smiling up from the stack of books instead of that traumatizing trio of demon whales.

You're welcome, fellow Barnes and Noble patrons.

Also: certain people (who shall go unnamed) have tried to convince me that my fears are unwarranted. How can killer whales be scary? They're like sea-panda bears! They have permanent smiles on their faces!

To that I say:

Your argument is invalid.

Te--ni-al Diffi-ulties

My keys aren't working! -ertain keys -a-e de-ided to -rap out on me! I don't e-en know if t-is is legible... I tried turning my key board upside down and s-aking out any dirt t-at mig-t be -logging...

I -ad -ool t-ings to say! I wanted to talk about t-e girl s-out's se-ret drug ring! And brag about finis-ing my tea--ing requirements for s--ool last nig-t!

Uggggggg---------------.

Dumb -omputer.

RAGNAROK

Did you hear? According to Norse mythology (the same myth system that brings you the swoon-worthy Thor) today is RAGNAROK! Which basically means that the world is going to end, and tons of gods (including the ever-popular Odin, Loki, and yes, even Thor) will die. But then the earth with reemerge anew, and life will start over. 

But not us. We all die in Ragnarok. 

Cool beans, man!

(What now, Mr. Wilson?! I totally paid attention in Mythology! Ha! Eat that, you creepy fool!)

Pain and Frames

So, strange things give me headaches.

It usually centers around senses. Especially smells.

Perfume. Certain hair products. Household cleaners. BLEACH. (Oh, bleach.)

Another one I discovered just the other day, though I should have made the connection forever ago. I always get a headache when come into the craft room in our house. I thought it was the lighting (which very well could be true). BUT IT FINALLY HIT ME.

And I mean that literally.

I opened up my tub of jewelry for framing and a puff of stale air hit me, and so did the headache. AND BOOM. That's it.

The smell of my frame making supplies gives me a headache.

Oh crap. Um... problem: how am I going to make an etsy business off of these frames if they give me a headache?!?

Holy crackers.

Well, headaches or not, they're really pretty.