How I Managed To Take All Nutritional Value From Green Tea

Hey! Sooo I've been gone forever, I know. But it's okay because I've got super awesome fantastical stories to make up for it. WHOOO!! That was my excited noise/face/gesture/thingy. Yes.

Anyways, so about this title. I recently decided that I needed to stop being a lazy bum because summer is beginning to come to an end and you can't be a Distinguished Honors student if you're a lazy bum. At least I haven't figured out a way to yet, but rest assured you guys'll be the first to know, cause you're all awesome.

So despite the fact that that last paragraph had absolutely nothing to do with the title, this is what happened. After deciding to stop being a bum, I decided that I wanted to try gradually incorporating healthy-ish things into my diet. And I say healthy-ish because I will never ever stop eating carbs as my main source of energy. Mostly because I could live forever off of bread and pasta. I don't even want to convert to whole grains, because seriously, who eats that crap? COMMUNISTS THAT'S WHO!

So I'd heard super awesome things about tea. Not plain ol' tea that anyone can drink. No, I'm talking about the tea of Champions. WHITE TEA. Not that I have anything again black tea, because I grew up with black tea and black tea is my main skillet homeboy. Anyways, but, since being a teenager (even though I've been blessed with non-problematic skin) means that I don't always look all smiles and sunshine. White tea was going to make that all change.

White tea brags of health properties galore: antioxidants, increased metabolism, detoxing your system and all that good junk. However, the websites fail to mention just how hard it is to find white tea. They tell you that it's best to get tea leaves and if you can afford it, get Silver Needle because that's like the heroin of teas. Yes, I AM going to become addicted to heroin tea AND YOU CAN'T STOP ME BITCH! Whoa, sorry, got a little intense there. I don't think you're a bitch. At least not all the time...

Anyways, so I went out on a walk (I KNOW, it's hard to believe I actually left my house) to my local Acme. Before I go any further I would just like to state that, considering where my house is placed on the grid of UD, you should all be proud that I'm not obese. I'm totally serious. My house is within walking distance of billions of fast food stops and restaurants and grease holes. So serious. To name a few (and by "a few" I mean every single one) there's: Uncle Nick's, Verona's, Dunkin Donuts (well not anymore, but I'm trying to get my point across), McDonald's, Burger King, Wendy's, Rita's, Perkin's, Dairy Queen, Starbucks, another DD, Casey's, another McDonald's, 5 Wawa's, and like 6 Chinese takeout restaurants.

So I walked to Acme and went to the tea isle, totally ready with cash and all. I was looking for White or even Green tea. What I found was a smorgasbord (WIN) of assorted tea bags and mixes. This was not at all how I'd planned this to happen. Nevertheless I began to search for the best Green tea there was, asking almost anyone who came down the isle what their favorite tea was. Now nobody goes down the tea/baking isle in Acme anymore. I finally found one and checked out and walked back home. Upon arrival, I was feeling so successful that I decided to try the tea immediately. The tea that I got was called Tazo. It was a Lemongrass/Mint combo that smelled a lot like old people. This was obviously a great sign.

I boiled water and let it sit according to the directions. The only problem was I have this thing where if things don't smell/look appealing, I can't really stomach them. And this tea was a smidge nauseating. So I held my breath and swallowed. It was surprisingly bland. Which is a good and a bad thing. It was good because that meant I could stomach it knowing that it wouldn't taste how it smelled. It was bad because whenever something is bland, I tend to severely over add flavoring until any and all health values the food once offered are obliterated by something totally unhealthy. Hence my dilemma.

There were directions on how to turn the tea into iced tea by just adding another tea bag and, obviously, ice. This is where things got diabetic. I proceeded to put about twenty, yes TWENTY, tablespoons (not the measuring spoons, but the big spoons you use when you're out of little, regular spoons) [big spoons are obviously the spoons of Champions] into the tea and then poured it all into the glass of ice.

The tea now tasted awesome, but I could tell it wasn't healthy at all. And that's how I made Green tea into Diabetic tea. The end.

Just kidding, a lot more interesting things have happened this week. Yes, just this week, the past three, count 'em, 3 days.

Oliver and Olivia are the greatest bunnies you could ever ever ask for and are super sweet and loving and playful and just amazing. But they're still young-ins and LOVE to get into trouble. And just to clarify how much LOVE means here, I mean like Krispy Kreme hot out of the oven Super Glazed donuts with a free hat love. BOOM.

Anyways, so yesterday would mark the fifth time I was tricked into convincing that one of my dearly beloved bunnies was dying.

Yesterday was an awesome day. I got exercise, green tea and bunny toys from the crappiest Dollar Store in the history of life (but wait, that story comes after this one.) I got home from my super great walk around 6ish and the bunnies got an early breakfast, so they were going to get an early dinner as well, plus a snack, because they totally deserved it. So after putting their new toys into the pen, I brought their food out.

As soon as they heard the crackling of the food bag and the little clinks of the food into their ceramic bowl, they were hopping up from their  relaxing spots and binky-ing like their lives depended on it. It was too adorable. So I pushed back the pen cover and put down their bowl. I made sure that Liv wasn't stealing Ollie's carrot piece and that Ollie was getting enough to eat (she's definitely the dominant of the two, but that's totally gonna change when Ollie hits his teenage months and becomes a Man Bunny) and left them to enjoy their remaining hours outside playing. Around 8:30ish, it was getting dark and so I went out, grabbed Liv and put her back in the cage. I had to recover the pen, though, because Neighborhood Cat #2 (the second and more playful of the creamsicle kittens that our across the street neighbors got around the time we got our bunnies) was on the prowl.

So I pushed the cover all the way back and began my wild goose chase after Ollie. He's seemed to figure out when it's time to stop playing and go back inside and doesn't go back without a fight. So in my process of crawling to the back corner to grab him, I noticed that there was something wrong with the water bowl. It was dark at the bottom. Immediately I knew that one of them was sick and had probably thrown up, so I went back in my head to see if I'd fed them something different, but I hadn't, so I was becoming alarmed. I held Ollie for a few extra minutes, but he seemed his usual loving self, so after I put him back, I got a flashlight and Nancy Drew'd it to the front porch.

There was definitely something at the bottom of the water bowl. There wasn't blood, so that ruled out a lot. It didn't smell like puke or diarrhea, so there was another plus. Then I Spy'd a completely empty food bowl and pellets galore on the floor surrounding the water bowl. It was all starting to make sense. I conducted a quick experiment, just to make sure that I hadn't missed anything and then came to conclusive results. Somehow, god only knows how, one or both of them picked up their weighted down food bowl and dumped its contents into the water bowl. It was SO not okay.

So my frantic-ness may have been an over reaction, but hey, what would you have done?

Now to my adventures at my local Dollar Store. I recently found an old, brightly colored plastic slinky. I'd read somewhere that rabbits LOVED to play with them (and it's true). However, in my excitement to get the slinky out from the pile of crap, I broke it in the process. Yes, really. I still gave it to the kids and they loved them, but I was determined to get them a new one. So I walk into the Dollar Store with high hopes. Every Dollar Store has basic plastic toys, jingly balls, and slinkies. Apparently not MY Dollar Store. This Crap for Store barely sold birthday supplies. So I go up to check-out, with the few toys I could find and a lint roller because lint rollers are BOSS. The following conversation ensued with the cashier:

"Hello! Welcome to you Dollar Store! Would you to like some bubles?"

"Excuse me?"

"Our featured item is bubles, would you like to buy?"

"Buy what??"

"Bubles! A three pack, see?"

She was trying to say "bubbles" and obviously did not speak English.

"Oh, no thank you. But I was wondering if you guys sold slinkies?"

"Sell what?"

"Slinkies, you know, you put them at the top of the stairs and they walk down them"

(I'm trying to illustrate with my hands this entire time, mind you)

"I think you have wrong store."

"No! Slinkies! (turning to the person behind me) You know what I'm talking about, right?!"

They didn't answer and just walked to the other cash register.

"So, you guys don't sell slinkies?"

"...Would you like bubles instead?"

I DIDN'T WANT THE GODDAMNED BUBBLES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! But I bought them anyway because I felt bad for giving her such a hard time.

Why Almost Everything Gives Me Anxiety

So I think I've figured out that people who have crushes on me give me severe anxiety. And it's kind of funny because Whippersnapper and I had a conversation about this a really long time ago and it's not that I didn't believe her, but I'd just never felt that way. Until guys started wondering if we should go past "super good friends" and into "boyfriend/girlfriend". The first problem with this is that I'm absolutely terrible at being a girl in general, so being a girlfriend is like Armageddon. Things don't seem too bad in the beginning, everyone's happy and all's well. But then they want to touch me.

NO not molest me, but like hug me and put their arms around me and I am nobody's thing to be owned, so maybe that's why I hate to be touched, but anyways, it starts creeping me out. And I feel bad shrugging them off or stiffening up, but it's just what I do. And it's funny when they do it just to piss me off, but when they do it affectionately and lovingly, I'd rather swallow glass shards. I'm not saying I hate touch, but I'm just not a super open and touchy-feely kind of person.

Now you may be wondering why this is a problem, well, I'm getting to that. See, all of my boyfriends (all TWO of them) were both very affectionate people. They didn't realize that I wasn't. This created problems. This was much more of a problem with Boyfriend 1 than with Octodad, because I was very happy in my relationship with Octodad whereas with Boyfriend 1, I felt smothered. Still though, affection and I just don't get each other.

On top of my lack of feminine dependency, I'm really bad at expressing my feelings. I also don't feel the need to celebrate anniversaries every month. Like sure, maybe you can bring it up, but I don't wanna get together and throw a party. And a month is as little as I will go. 6 mo.- 1 yr., now that I could understand celebrating. There's nothing I hate more than people that celebrate weeks. Goddamned weeks! Honestly, calm the fuck down, you don't even know this person! And then there's the people who say "I love you" after like three days of dating. I want to punch these people until they bleed and then some. And then maybe some more. But that's not the point, the point is that you can't love someone you barely know. I think it takes at least 6 months and more to really understand someone enough to even think about how much you really care. But hey, then again, I'm the girl that ends up being the boyfriend in the relationship.

Now that my rant's done, I can talk about normal things. LIKE BEACH YOGA...AND CAKE. Cake is nice. Beach yoga is awesome. SAND IS FUCKING EVIL. It's all like "hehe I'm going to get in every single crevice on your body and there's nothing you can do about it bitch!!!"

You know what's nice? Free things. Especially samples, samples of things that are usually $250 and are now free-ish, except they send you pointless emails afterwards, but you can unsubscribe and still get free stuff. Although I'm talking about actual free things, not that "complete 13 trial offers" shit. Which just gets you signed up for every kind of spam known to man and then some.

I just wanted to throw a quick update at you guys, because with all the vacations, I haven't been home all too much and I hate hogging laptops that aren't mine. Unless I'm at home of course ;). But I'll be giving a LARGE post before the week ends telling you guys all about my crazy Oregon tales and how I probably got hit by a tram car in Wildwood. So until then, see you!

Restraining Order

So have you ever wondered what it's like to be the person whom a really popular and catchy song is about? I hadn't until last night when, after listening to a cover of "Grenade" by my favorite cover band Karmin, I was like "I wonder how this girl feels about this song and if this is even how it really happened..." Which got me thinking, I could make a parody writing the girl's feelings to Bruno Mars. And so "Restraining Order" came to life. Considering I wrote it at like 12:30 in the morning, it sounded a bit weird, but after a few times of singing it I'm pretty damn proud. Plus I fit the word "rape-y" in there. HOW AWESOME IS THAT?!? Anyways, I just thought I'd let you guys know and in a few weeks, if all goes well with song editing and progress, there will be an official music video for "Restraining Order" and it will be awesome.

But really, I kind of imagine the first time she heard it being like, "Dammit! He said he was going to let it go!!" And for another thing, how about Rihanna's "Only Girl In The World"? If a guy wrote that, there'd be something very wrong with him, but since RIHANNA wrote it, it's obviously musical gold. Oh wait...

Not to be in ANY way at all in Chris Brown's defense for what he did to Rihanna, because that was obviously completely wrong and NOT okay. BUT he did treat her like the only girl in the world. And since there was only ONE girl, he was bound to have so much pent up rage that he couldn't take out on random hookers that didn't matter, his actions were forced upon her. NOT RAPE.

So guess who's leaving in two days!?!? ME. Guess who's super excited!? ME. Guess who has rabies?! ME!....wait, no I don't!!! I swear! But I'm excited one, because this is my first plane ride since 6th grade, and I love planes, so this is going to be awesome. Second, I got window seats on every single one of my flights SCORE. And finally in an unrelated but totally awesome anyway note, there is a ninth season of RVB and it's AWESOME. There's only two episodes, but every Monday I will be waiting eagerly for the next installment.

You'd figure there's something wrong with a 16 year old girl to do nothing but sit at the computer in anticipation for an episode of guys in their 30s voicing over a game of Halo Reach. ....I'M NOT UGLY I SWEAR!! Video games and nerdy stuff like machinima is sexy, right? RIGHT?!?!! Which is another point in why I've only ever had two whole boyfriends in the history of my entire life. Nice.

So some weird things I notice:

I WILL notice if you have really soft and plush-y toilet paper. I don't know why, but I find that to be the greatest. If you have super soft toilet paper, you're obviously going to find a cure for Ebola Aids.

That being said, I will NOT notice if you don't have super nice toilet paper. Mostly because at my house, we don't because we're poor and cheap.

Examples:

1. At the shore house in Sea Isle that my whole family has, the family that doesn't live there in the summer, leaves really nice quilted super soft toilet paper. I proceeded to wash my hands and run out of the bathroom with the roll in my hands and shoving it in everyone's face going "FEEL HOW SOFT IT IS!!!!!!!!!!"

2. My cousin's house where I babysit. I proceeded to tell the kids I was babysitting the importance of really soft toilet paper. You probably didn't need to know that.

3. Octodad's house. Octodad is my ex-boyfriend, but we're still good friends. He was boyfriend 2. Anyways, the first time I go over Octodad's house (and the only time I've ever been there) I had to go to the bathroom halfway through our kind of date/hanging out. Once in the bathroom I noticed that they had REALLY soft toilet paper. That being said, I REALLY liked Octodad and did not want him to think I was a freak who was obsessed with really soft toilet paper. So instead of running down the stairs and screaming "YOUR TOILET PAPER IS SO SOFT!" as I normally would, I walked down sulkily and fidgeted around, trying to fight the voice screaming in my head to proclaim the glory of that soft toilet paper. I really have problems.

You may be wondering why I call boyfriend 2 Octodad. This goes back to this past December. When I went for an early eye exam to see if it was the cause of my migraines, I had an eye ultrasound. Apparently my eyes were having twins. HOW COULD I NOT HAVE KNOWN?!??! Anyways, that's not the point. The point is, that a few weeks later Octodad went for his eye exam and we found out that he was having octuplets. Hence, how he became known to me as Octodad.

Boyfriend 2 and I could have worked out if I wasn't bad at relationships, but alas, we are now just friends. Which is cool and all because he's a great person and really fun to talk to. I'm very good at friendships. But relationships, with FEELINGS, I'm like a drunken baby driving a Tonka Truck straight into the oven. Because when things that involve feelings come into my life something like this happens:

"hey this is pretty nice...feelings...not sure how I feel about this...this is getting weird...GET ME OUT OF HERE!!!!!!!!!!!"

This usually has nothing to do with the other person, except for boyfriend 1, it kind of had to do with him. But I don't know, I'm not good with girl things and that means feelings and emotions and all that gooey sappy stuff that I like to stab every day with a butcher knife and then laugh as their feeble and dying bodies shrivel up and turn to ashes.....Okay that was more graphic than I intended, but you get my point.

So that's about it for now. I'll keep you updated on whether I die or not during my flight, hopefully Samuel L. Jackson will just fly in and save me though. And I'll keep you updated on "Restraining Order"s progress. I hope you guys are having a great summer.

Questionable Reasoning

So guess what? I'm moving! Just kidding, but I am going on vacation for a few weeks. I get to go across the country YAY TRAVELING! So as I believe I have mentioned before, I live in Pennsylvania. (I realize this is basically asking scary people to find me, but it's okay because I have a secret team of pirates that are ready to stab people at moment's notice, YEAH) The vacation that I am going on involves a trip to visit my family in Oregon. For those of you, like me, that are wizards at finding states and capitals on maps, you can skip this next part. But for those of you, like the other half of me, that either your attention span is too short to pay attention to such unimportant details or you just don't really care because you already got an award for knowing where everything was in the US in 5th grade, this may help.

Above is a roughly drawn scale of my travel plans. NO it's not a deformed crab or birth defected elephant. It's proof that I can't draw for my life, but I DO roughly know the general shape of my own country. YAY MEMORY! So despite the fact that I will probably sit next to creepy strangers that are interested in everything I do and I'll most likely get lost on the way from my first terminal after my first flight to the second one and I'll forever be stranded in San Francisco (not a totally bad thing), I'm pretty damn excited.

See, the last time I saw said family members, I was going through my "awkward" stage. Unfortunately this stage never really ended for me, but at that point I kinda just didn't care how I looked no matter how ugly it was. I also had bangs. I HATE BANGS. Not on other people, on other people they look awesome, but on me, since my hair is really curly, they just end up looking like devil horns. And adding my short fuse and the fact that I bathe in sarcasm, you can see how this turned out. I made you another picture to demonstrate.

As you can see, things have gone downhill for me since 6th grade. But nevertheless despite the fact that 12 year old me was quite the catch, I've also remembered that considering that I've significantly changed since then, my younger cousins who were at the most 7 or 8 are now entering the dreaded years of teen-dom. Weird. But it's pretty exciting and the main reason for this post was to let everyone know (pretty much that one person that stumbled upon this blog by accident) that I'm not positive of the internet situation down there, so I'm going to make a couple more posts this week just in case there's no computer access at all.

That's pretty much it. I hope you summer lovers are enjoying this god forsaken heat we've been getting everywhere. I can't wait for winter.

Why People Think I Have a Calcium Deficiency (Part 1)

I do not have a calcium deficiency. I wanted to state that before starting this post. Mostly because this post is about how I broke 3 of my bones, and how I broke 1 of them 3 times in the span of two years. I'm so serious.

So we'll start with my earliest and first break ever. My left elbow. When most people hear that I broke this bone they usually presume that it was from some freak sports accident, a car accident, or some other life threatening cause. This is not the case. I broke my elbow jumping off...are you ready? A swing. An average park swing.

It was the summer of third grade. Earlier this year we had gone to Disney Land... or World. Whichever one is in Florida. I always get those mixed up. Kind of like N' Synch and The Backstreet Boys.

Like I was saying, it was a pretty average day. Probably early July, before the 4th. In a moment you'll know why I knew this. So me, my brother, and my two favorite cousins were at my grandmother's house. Probably for some family thing. There was (and still is) a super awesome park at the top of the street. We kids decided to go there. And since this park was super awesome it had swings. Because parks without swings are depressing. Like pie without apples.

So we all piled onto the swings and tried to see who could go the highest. At some point we decided this was boring and everyone jumped off their swing. Except me. I kept on swinging as the figures of my brother and cousins began to fade into the tunneled slides. I was alarmed that I was being left behind, but had no idea how to jump off a swing properly. Because to eight year old me, for some reason jumping off a swing was the most complicated task in the world.

See now here's where I'm not quite sure why what happened, happened. I began to contemplate jumping. I even slowed the pumping of my legs so that I wasn't so high. But when I jumped, something obviously short circuited in my brain. Because while I was in the air momentarily, I celebrated a bit too early. "Holy crap I did it! I jumped! Without dying!" Not quite.

As I began to fall I did not think to position myself so that I would land gracefully like a cat on my feet. Instead I just began flailing my limbs. When I hit the ground, I fell in a crumpled heap. All 100 pounds (or however much I weighed back then because I was stick straight skinny before I hit 13) fell on my bent left arm. I heard a crunch and immediately started wailing.

Apparently my brother and cousins thought I was faking because after sitting and crying on the ground for five to ten minutes I had to pick my broken self up and go find them. When they saw my dirtied figure and crying face we all walked home. Luckily my aunt/godmother who was a nurse was there. She had me move my arm in certain directions and asked me to push her away and pull her arm closer with my hand. I didn't see what this had to do with my elbow, but I did it anyway. I was upset when I failed to move it much.

However since I had some range of movement and had stopped crying and reduced myself to occasional whimpering, she said that my elbow probably wasn't broken, but instead severely bruised. Despite the fact, it was awkward now and everyone felt bad that there wasn't anything they could do. I'm pretty sure my mother felt the worst because this was the first time this had happened to her children. Nevertheless to her youngest and only daughter. I'm pretty sure she felt like a failure.

To make up for this, I got ice cream on the way home. To me, this seemed like a great outcome. I was beginning to think that maybe getting hurt wasn't so bad. Unfortunately the small dose of children's Tylenol wore off in a few hours and around 10 or 11 pm my pain had escalated to a point where I felt I needed immediate medical attention. Since this was the first time her children had an injury that she couldn't cure, my mother rushed me to the ER at our local hospital. My brother was about 11 at the time and he came as well.

As soon as we entered the ER I realized that it was a mistake. The florescent bulbs were killing my tired eyes, the TVs were blaring different stations, almost everyone was crying, and it was as packed as a Krispy Kreme opening day. As my mother began to fill out the tedious forms, a man who had been shot in the face was rushed in. Immediately I felt my pain was insignificant and tugged at my mother's arm and begged her to go home. Unfortunately we had already been put on the waiting list 15 minutes earlier and about twenty people had arrived since then. My mom asked me if I thought I could sleep with the pain. We ended up staying.

About two hours later we were brought back, but we had to wait for a doctor. So we all stood in the slightly less busy hallway near the closed off curtains of patient beds. There was a wheelchair nearby. I had wanted to sit in and roll around in a wheelchair my whole life. But my pain and the fact that I was terrified for my life led me to just stand with my mother and hold her hand. Seizing the opportunity, however, my brother immediately sat down in the chair and began moving around. Eventually he fell asleep in it.

I began to doze off leaning against my mother only to be promptly awakened by some lady screaming bloody murder. I looked to where the screaming was coming from and found the curtained room about three rooms away. The lady sounded like she was dying. Then A LOT of liquid splashed on the ground. Back then I thought that she had died and all of her internal organs had just fallen on the ground. Considering that her screaming continued, that probably should have clicked in my brain that my idea was flawed, but it didn't. I know now that she was having a baby. Why she was having it in the emergency room I still don't know.

A good three hours after we had arrived at the ER we finally were called back by a doctor. The doctor showed me that stupid pain chart that does not accurately display pain at all. To see an example of the stupid pain chart and the pain chart that I should've received, go here. So it was about 1 in the morning, I was 8 and scared and this was my first time ever that I was put under pressure to describe exactly how I felt. I'm pretty sure they thought I was faking because I was like "umm I think it's 7, no, wait, am I describing how much pain I AM in or how much pain I'm NOT in? Mom?" So on the pain chart that the amazing Allie Brosh, author of Hyperbole and a Half, mad, which should be adopted by all medical facilities in the world, my pain was probably a 5.

The doctor had me do the same things my aunt had me do. Except this time I was positive someone thought I was faking, so I may have exaggerated...but only a little, I swear. Obviously concerned with my inability to do simple actions like bend my elbow (maybe a little isn't the right phrase...) so I got to get my first x-rays ever. To say I expected more would be putting it lightly. The x-ray room was basically supposed to look like the inside of a UFO. Instead it looked like some weird room in which I had to wear this really heavy bib thing. I didn't understand their explanation at the time and just presumed that I looked like someone who drooled constantly and apparently this bib was going to solve my slobbering problems.

I could never be an x-ray specialist. I would love to, but I could not stand to make someone place the arm or other body part in painful manner just to get a good x-ray. Apparently the x-ray lady didn't care about that. She told me to sit down and place my arm on the table. I did and felt accomplished. "This is easy!" I thought. "I'll be better by morning!" This was not the case. From the casual position on the table this lady proceeded to twist my elbow in a direction that it should not bend and told me I had to hold it there "or else..." I'm not kidding, that's really what she said.

The whimpering was back now and I looked at my mother with a scared expression. She just held my hand and hugged me. After the terrible expedition of x-rays was over we were told, after another half hour wait, that there was nothing wrong with me and we could go home. I couldn't believe it. What do you mean NOTHING'S WRONG?!?! There is obviously something wrong because my arm feels like it's bleeding pain. Or acid.

So my mother, still hurt from her failure to protect me, made an appointment with an arm specialist. We went to the arm specialist with our x-rays and waited. This wait took less time. In about an hour we were called back into a room with walls covered in posters of diseases and a full skeleton. I was excited. I touched the skeleton. A piece fell off. I quickly sat back down an didn't mention it. Soon two doctors came in. They set up my x-rays and turned a switch that made the film glow. They pointed out that my bone was not fully broken, but only broken halfway through and that the tissue around it was thoroughly bruised.

I was ecstatic at the fact that I had not once been called a liar yet. This doctor was awesome! Then came the next news. "We're going to put you in a cast for 2 weeks." Wait...what? B-b-but we're going down the shore in three days! My mother quickly spoke up, "Could we get a waterproof cast? We're going on vacation in a few days." The doctor acted like this request was average. "Sure! Pick out your color and we'll be right back in." I hopped off the table (because I was shorter than I am today, which is 5' 1 and 3/4") and looked at the boxes with all the different color palettes on them. I could have anything from white to florescent orange to pink or blue! Unfortunately I was not into girly colors, I knew I couldn't keep anything white for longer than five minutes, and black was boring. So I played it safe and got a cerulean color.

This cast was the cast of many soon to be casts. FOREVER. Just kidding. But having a plastic bag over your arm at the beach makes you look pretty dumb. I had fun down the shore despite the constant itch from sand that somehow mad it passed my plastic bag guard. When we got back from the shore it was time to get my cast off. Now getting your cast off for the first time is a frightening experience. Mostly because the people drag over a miniature chain saw and begin to place the blade on your cast and cut through it, sending plaster dust into your eyes and all over your clothes. AND NOTHING GETS IT OFF. However, the person taking my cast off forgot to tell me that the blade stopped when it touched skin, so I sat there the entire time waiting for my healed arm to fall off.

I was a bit upset that my arm smelled horrible and that it was much paler than my other tan arm. Also, it was stiff. BUT I had my arm back to myself and when you're 8, two weeks is like a lifetime. I was SUPPOSED to go the physical therapy, but instead I went outside and played with my brother. That was the beginning of many physical therapies that I just kind of ignored. And because my mother felt bad for not protecting me from the pain in the first place, when I said I didn't want to go to physical therapy, she didn't push the issue. That was a BIG mistake.

So that was my first adventure in breaking bones. If I only knew that I'd be injured again in only six months.

My House is Where Flies Come to Die

Flies, I would like to know what looks so enticing about my house. There are no prospective dirty foods or rancid smells that you seem to enjoy so much. There are no animals. My parents are clean freaks. I do not think that the heat/cold bothers you considering if there was a dead body outside, you would rejoice about your new toy/food. Honestly flies, do you even eat? I feel like you just fly around making that really annoying buzzing sound and just look for something to land on and get all of your potentially STD covered feet on.

Also, flies have you ever noticed that when one of you comes into my house, they never EVER come back out? I thought you'd be more concerned about Jerry and why he hasn't come home in three days. Obviously you never thought of the fact that he is DEAD. Jerry, like all other flies, sped into the shelter of our comfy home. But what seemed like a quaint place to look for dead things, turned into a nightmare. The doors and windows were all closed. There was no fresh air, no way out. No matter how many times he smashed himself into the window in a futile attempt to escape, Jerry could not find one.

Hours began to pass and Jerry no longer denied his fate. So he just perched on the window, looking outside in a sad acknowledgement that he would never feel the wind again.I went to sleep and woke up the next morning to an empty and quiet house. I went through the house, trying to find the window that Jerry had been perching on to try but alas, he was nowhere to be found. Apparently one of Jerry's friends became concerned and entered the house of doom earlier today. I do not know how long his friend has been searching, but by the time I discovered his presence, he was already downtrodden. He had figured out Jerry's fate. That same fate that was now staring him down.

I tried to help Jerry's friend. Before I go any further, I must state that I absolutely loathe flies. I don't see their purpose other than to be food for other insects and to give a reason for a fly swatter to be invented even though everyone just uses them as backscratchers. I hate flies. I really don't know why, but they just skeeve me out. Especially when it's really quiet and they just buzz right by you all of a sudden. It makes me have goosebumps and uncomfortable skin pricks for ten minutes. I mostly hate flies because from a distance I can't tell whether they're flies or bees or other things that could bite me and possibly give me things like Lyme disease.

So like I was saying, I tried to help his friend out. I opened up windows where he could potentially find a way out through a crevice (do flies even have skeletons?) or some other thing. Or die. Because for some reason when I lock flies in the space between the screen and the window they apparently have panic attacks and die or suffer some weird lack of oxygen and die. That last one doesn't even make sense, but I'm pretty sure it has to do with breathing. Anyways, despite my utter kindness, the fly still persists to find his/her own way out. I might just end it all and make it easier on everyone.

Today I had another tutor come over to give me one of my final exams. She proceeded to nonchalantly walk around my house, eat her weird pasta salad noisily, and spill her diet coke all over our dining room table. I'm not exactly positive if my test is really going to make it back to the school in tact.

Have you ever had that one food that you pretty much NEED to have around in a plentiful amount 24/7? I have. It's strawberries. I'm pretty sure if it was possible to marry strawberries, I would elope with them. There may be that slight issue of cannibalism, but it's not my fault that they taste SO DELICIOUS. Suck on that Dora.

R.I.P. JERRY THE FLY you will be missed. not really. we all actually kinda hated you. awkward.