It was a calm day, but a good day.
I'm the first out of my crew of friends to turn 21, so I figured I'll do all the crazy things next year when everyone else turns 21. Makes the most sense.
My day:
-Wake up early ish to the rain
-Watch a movie
-Have tea
-Shower and get presentable
-Goodwill shopping!
-Chilled
-Check facebook which totaled up to 51 "happy birthday" notifications
-Recieved a total of 4 "happy birthday" phone calls (including one coming all the way from Germany!) and 5 "happy birthday" text messages
(-Realized how old fashioned I am when it comes to technology)
-Go out to dinner with Katie Wagner and Kelly Strange and do what all 21-year-olds do best
Today was a perfect birthday for me.
Nothing lame.
Nothing crazy.
It was just right, like Goldilocks, ya know?
Listen to Blog
Monday, December 20, 2010
Thursday, December 16, 2010
Of Course This Happens to Me
Last night, I got stung by a bee while I was toasting a bagel.
I know this chain of events doesn't seem to make any sense at all, so let me explain the possibility of these shenanigans....
Picture this:
I'm sleeping over at my friend's house, in my ugly gushy clothes, and about to start 500 Days of Summer with her, when we get a craving for a toasted bagel. While she plays games on her phone, I go to the kitchen to toast us a bagel. I get two luscious bagels and plop them into the toaster and stand by, waiting patiently for this deliciously satisfying movie munchie.
Out of nowhere, on the ball of my right foot close to my toes (still on the tough skin) I feel a gradual pinpointed zing. I automatically think it's a splinter I may have slid my foot over because, though crazy, it seems like the only reasonable explanation. Right?
WRONG.
The reason it is unreasonable is because (1) The kitchen floor is in fact not made out of any wooden material at all and (2) I did not move my foot from its planted spot on the floor.
Naturally, it was now time to lift my foot from the floor and examine where this unreasonable pain is coming from.* As I'm frantically staring at my foot finding where the burning is coming fr---ah. found it---I notice a fluttering thing on the floor. It's small.
My thoughts shoot over to my worst fear: It's a spider. A Black Widow? Brown Recluse? Oh dear Lord baby Jesus. I am going to die. I'm going to die in the ambulance on the way over to the hospital.
Wait this fluttering thing is, well, fluttering. Is that a bee? IT'S A BEE!**
I need to get to Katie's room to tell her! Her parents are sleeping so I can't scream in the kitchen!
I try to walk, but of course I can't walk. I start hobbling, but my right foot now has a pulse. I'm now bounding/hopping to Katie's room on my left foot, but the floor boards are really loud, so I have to now control my hops so that I get distance but still can't be so loud as to wake her rents up.
I'm now taking large quiet sliding hops on my left foot (not as easy as it sounds), exclaiming one of my favorite four letter words every time I land.
Then I'm yelling for Katie to help me because "I just got stung by a bee"***. Of course this doesn't make sense to her either so I repeat myself when she asks what's going on. She proceeds to get tweezers while I'm sitting on her bathtub cursing the life of this Devil Bee. She flew in (picture her wearing a red cape. She wasn't actually wearing one but I pictured her with one so now I ask you to do the same) with her tweezers and then a sliver of INSTANT relief was my next step. It was then followed by baking soda (which helps if you didn't know) and then fuzzy socks (which helps more). She literally saved my life.
Scariest, and the longest, five minutes of my life.
I've never been stung by a bee before. I made sure to avoid their existence in my childhood. Of course the first time I ever get stung by a Devil Bee isn't while I'm laying on a freshly cut field of grass, or having a picnic on a patch of daisies (NO NO), but is when I'm twenty years old, and toasting a bagel.
I'm sleeping over at my friend's house, in my ugly gushy clothes, and about to start 500 Days of Summer with her, when we get a craving for a toasted bagel. While she plays games on her phone, I go to the kitchen to toast us a bagel. I get two luscious bagels and plop them into the toaster and stand by, waiting patiently for this deliciously satisfying movie munchie.
Out of nowhere, on the ball of my right foot close to my toes (still on the tough skin) I feel a gradual pinpointed zing. I automatically think it's a splinter I may have slid my foot over because, though crazy, it seems like the only reasonable explanation. Right?
WRONG.
The reason it is unreasonable is because (1) The kitchen floor is in fact not made out of any wooden material at all and (2) I did not move my foot from its planted spot on the floor.
Naturally, it was now time to lift my foot from the floor and examine where this unreasonable pain is coming from.* As I'm frantically staring at my foot finding where the burning is coming fr---ah. found it---I notice a fluttering thing on the floor. It's small.
My thoughts shoot over to my worst fear: It's a spider. A Black Widow? Brown Recluse? Oh dear Lord baby Jesus. I am going to die. I'm going to die in the ambulance on the way over to the hospital.
Wait this fluttering thing is, well, fluttering. Is that a bee? IT'S A BEE!**
I need to get to Katie's room to tell her! Her parents are sleeping so I can't scream in the kitchen!
I try to walk, but of course I can't walk. I start hobbling, but my right foot now has a pulse. I'm now bounding/hopping to Katie's room on my left foot, but the floor boards are really loud, so I have to now control my hops so that I get distance but still can't be so loud as to wake her rents up.
I'm now taking large quiet sliding hops on my left foot (not as easy as it sounds), exclaiming one of my favorite four letter words every time I land.
Then I'm yelling for Katie to help me because "I just got stung by a bee"***. Of course this doesn't make sense to her either so I repeat myself when she asks what's going on. She proceeds to get tweezers while I'm sitting on her bathtub cursing the life of this Devil Bee. She flew in (picture her wearing a red cape. She wasn't actually wearing one but I pictured her with one so now I ask you to do the same) with her tweezers and then a sliver of INSTANT relief was my next step. It was then followed by baking soda (which helps if you didn't know) and then fuzzy socks (which helps more). She literally saved my life.
Scariest, and the longest, five minutes of my life.
I've never been stung by a bee before. I made sure to avoid their existence in my childhood. Of course the first time I ever get stung by a Devil Bee isn't while I'm laying on a freshly cut field of grass, or having a picnic on a patch of daisies (NO NO), but is when I'm twenty years old, and toasting a bagel.
*Writer's note: the panic is slowly coming to a boil..... at a simmer perhaps?
**Panic is eminent.
***The quoted text is said approximately 3 times in two seconds.
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