SWOLLEN EYES AND BEE ATTACKS: THE RETURN OF 8TH GRADE

Middle school is a strange time of life. Bodies are changing, emotions are fragile, and everything about it is just awkward. Like really, really awkward. A woman I look up to once described it as "the armpit of life," which I feel is an apt summation of the experience. Yet while everyone isn't horrifically smothered inside of this armpit, I'm pretty sure no one makes it out completely unscathed. Even me (hard to believe, I know). But we grow up and move on and figure out how to navigate social situations with a little less awkwardness and everything is fine. Or so I thought. 

A few weeks ago, I relived middle school--8th grade, to be precise. 

And now that it's been a couple weeks and I can finally view what happened with humor (instead of the terror I felt at the time), I would like to share it with you, because it's that ridiculous, and further proof that if something like this can happen to anyone, it will definitely happen to me. 

Yep.

Before I begin, I must share two stories from my early adolescence. 

First Story:

One Autumn day, near the beginning of my 8th grade year, I noticed little wrinkles forming under my eyes. The next morning, I woke up and could barely see. Why was that? MY EYES WERE SWOLLEN. LIKE BASEBALLS. So I wore sunglasses to school to hide my hideousness and I felt like a freak and I had to talk to all of my teachers to tell them why I was wearing sunglasses since it was against the dress code. Both my doctor and my mom couldn't figure out why it happened, but after a couple days it went away and became just another awkward thing that all of my friends liked to remind me about.

Second Story:

I was reading a book in the middle of our family's SUV with the window open about an inch or so as my dad drove us all somewhere on a Saturday afternoon, when in my peripheral vision I noticed a giant, fuzzy bee descending upon my book. And being terrified of bees, I did what any slightly-dramatic 13-year-old would do: I simultaneously unbuckled my seatbelt while flipping backwards into the seat behind me, narrowly avoiding kicking my little brother in the head and strangling myself on the seatbelt. My dad swerved off into a parking lot and opened the doors to get the bee out, and my family was traumatized.

Now, keep these stories in mind as I spin my horrific yarn of déjà vu. 

It began by looking in the mirror and seeing this:

MY EYES. THEY WERE SWOLLEN. AGAIN. ON THE FIRST DAY OF THE SEMESTER.

So I stayed home, took a bunch of Benadryl, and laid on the couch all day. Oh, and felt like a loser, that too. I'm assuming the catalyst was the new makeup I bought the weekend before, but I've tried quite a few over the years and 99% of the time my eyes don't turn into gigantic swollen balls of gross. So...who's to say? 

But it couldn't just end there. No, it wasn't over. After a few hours I heard some buzzing coming from the blinds in the window and realized, with terror, that something evil had found its way inside:

(This picture is completely inaccurate, but it gets the point
across, so just work with me here. I'm bad at drawing blinds.)

I will illustrate the rest of what happened through the texting conversation between my husband and I that followed this revelation:

Me: THERE IS ANOTHER HUGE BEE YELLOW JACKET THING IN THE BLINDSHim: HOW?!
M: I DONT KNOW BUT I'M GOING TO DIE
H: I BET YOU ITS THE HOLE WHERE THE CABLE COMES IN
H: DON'T WORRY, WE'LL GET NEW WINDOWS SOONM: IT'S TRYING REALLY HARD TO GET BETWEEN THE BLINDS
H: WEIRD. KEEP THEM BABIES CLOSED TIGHT.
M: I HATE THIS SO MUCH
H: IT CANT GET THROUGH. THERE'S NO SPACE.
M: BUT IT ALMOST DID
H: HOW?
H: CAN YOUR BROTHER COME KILL IT?
M: I PUT SOME RAGS AT THE BOTTOM AND CLOSED THEM AS TIGHT AS I COULD
M: I'LL BE OKAY 
M: BUT I HATE THIS DAY
M: IT'S STOPPED MAKING NOISE. I'M SCARED.
H: IT KNOWS THAT RESISTANCE IS FUTILE.

(2 hours later)

M: THE BEE GOT OUT IN THE ROOM AND IVE BEEN TRYING TO GET IT TO FLY OUT FOR HALF AN HOURH: WHERE IS IT NOW?
H: SHUT THE BEDROOM DOOR!
H: ISOLATE THAT SHIZ!
M: I OPENED THE BLINDS AND NOW I CAN'T CLOSE THEM
M: HOW DO YOU CLOSE THEM
M: I THINK IT MIGHT BE DEAD BUT I'M NOT SURE
M: I'M GOING TO DIE
M: AND ALL OF THIS IS ONLY MAKING ME FEEL MORE GROSS 
M: AND NOW THE TV WON'T WORK
H: GO KILL IT
M: I THINK IT'S DEAD
H: PUT IT IN THE JAR
M: I CAN'T SEE IT!!!!!

And I still have no idea what happened to it. But I'm pretty sure it died. I think. Also, for your information, this has happened at least three more times since this fateful day because our house is old and our landlord is lazy and still hasn't fixed anything. (I'm clearly not bitter.) 

So yeah. This happened.

(I used my jeans as a weapon.)

FINALS AND MUFFINS AND BIGFOOT, OH MY!

Taking creative-based classes can be a bit daunting at times-- Almost your entire grade is project-based, you're constantly being forced to come up with new material, and you may always experience creative burnout at some point if you're taking more than one at a time. Which I did. But I regret nothing. Why? Well, first, here's a brief description of my drawing final this week:

My professor had brought muffins. MUFFINS. And juice......which is one of those things that I will never understand: Juice does not go with other sweet foods. It just doesn't. Because after eating something sweet, like, oh, I don't know, a MUFFIN, the juice just tastes sour and gross. And yet people still continue to pair the beverage with cake-like breakfast foods and other sugary delicacies all the time. And it bugs me.

But anyways, the muffins. The muffins were great. And we didn't have any final drawings due. All we had to do was email our portfolio of work to him the night before, and then we would look at the pictures with him in another room and talk about how we did...and our feelings. And stuff. And due to my last name's glorious placement in the alphabet, I got to go first. It took maybe five minutes, and then I got to leave (after grabbing another muffin like the classy woman I am). 

Brilliant, right? BUT IT GETS BETTER: (How much better, you ask? Well, this was my approximate reaction).

On the last day of class before my creative writing final, our professor asked us a series of questions-- 10, to be exact. Here are the questions:

 1. Write a grammatical sentence that describes you in 6 words or less.

2. Describe a recurring dream you had.

3. Describe something you fear without naming it.

4. Name and describe a beautiful thing.

5. Write something you know to be true.

6. Write a three word sentence.

7. Write a sentence that begins with the word "but."

8. Write a metaphor/simile without naming the object you're describing.

9. Write "They say," followed by an aphorism.

10. Describe a plant or animal.

As he read these to us, we had a few moments in between each of them to write something down. After that, he told us to rearrange them in a specific sequence. This is what my list looked like after that:

2. Mundane things I think are real.

4. Long roads lined with old trees that create a tunnel. 

6. Bigfoot is real.

8. It's almost like running into that person you've been avoiding.

10. Sloths are actually really creepy and I don't understand why people like them so much.

9. They say "distance makes the heart grow fonder."

7. But Sasquatch isn't.

5. People are confusing.

3. Buzzing, stinging, furry bodies.

1. I'm more strange than I seem.

Then we were assigned to make this into a poem for the final. We had to keep the ideas of each line the same, but were free to add, subtract, or edit them as we wished. Cool, right? But then we found out that it wasn't going to be graded. And THEN we found out that the final was going to be a potluck. So basically we were going to sit around and eat a bunch of food and read crazy poetry together. It doesn't get much better than this, my friends.

Oh, and this is what my poem ended up looking like:

When I sleep I dream of mundane things, but when awake I long for

Never-ending roads lined with old trees that create a tunnel, where

Bigfoot is real.

It'll be almost like running into that person you've been avoiding.

Sloths are actually really creepy and I don't understand why people like them, but I hope

It is true when they say "distance makes the heart grow fonder."

But Sasquatch wouldn't know. And

People are just confusing. And

Buzzing, stinging, furry bodies will keep on haunting my dreams.

I'm stranger than I seem.

Yep. I have no idea what it means. Although, years from now, if this somehow became a famous work of early 21st century literature, I'm sure the meaning would be disputed by literary scholars from dawn until dusk, with every word and placement decision being analyzed for hidden depth and meaning, and high school students would be looking it up online in a desperate attempt to find out what it means at 2 in the morning when they have a paper due the next day.

And I'd leave a note somewhere for people to find after I die that would say, "Hey. You guys? You know that poem I wrote? Yeah, the one with all the Bigfoot references? Totally made up. Completely. No meanings at all. So just stop torturing the children. Please."

Anyway, I really have no idea what the point of this post was, either. I suppose I just wanted to share my awesome randomly generated poetry...and the fact that my finals were the best things ever. Something like that. 

Don't read too much into it.

SUBTOTALS: MY LIFE THROUGH NUMBERS

After four weeks of my creative writing class, I have yet to not be pleasantly surprised by the sheer amount of intriguing information and inspiration I receive on a daily basis. I'm actually being serious here. And even when forced to read LOVE POETRY that I've written in front of my classmates and generally putting myself under everyone's respective magnifying glasses of judgment, I still like this class. A lot.

We recently read an essay in class that was written by a man by the name of George Burnham and entitled Subtotals. It not only succeeded in making me laugh, but caused me to wonder what my subtotals would look like. So, of course, I wrote them down and placed them here, for your viewing pleasure, in their completely unedited and entirely factual states:

Number of siblings: 2. Number of brothers: 2. Number of times I've made references that no one has understood: 52,934. Number of times I've avoided running into people, successful: 317; failures: 68. Number of broken bones: 0. Number of times I've thought about the placement of my hands while walking: 71,390. Number of times I've skipped breakfast: 627. Number of times I've regretted it: 0. Number of times I've travelled to Canada: 22. Number of times I've eaten Rice-A-Roni, before college: 0; since college began: 46. Number of times I've said something sarcastic that someone took seriously: 61,285. Number of times I've moved prior to college: 1. Number of states I've been to: 6. Number of times I've felt pathetic about that: 429. Number of blind dates: 1. Number of rings I wear every day: 3. Number of embarrassing moments: 2,018. Number of times killed in a dream: 0. Number of times my parents have told me I'm a loser: 0. Number of times they should have: 887. Number of proms I've been to: 2. Number of proms I've genuinely enjoyed: 1. Number of times I've been to Disneyland: 1. Number of times I've said "thank you" when I meant to say "you're welcome": 991. Number of mornings I've slept through my alarm: 34. Number of times I've ranted about something: 3,877. Number of times abducted by aliens, aware of: 0; in reality: 2. Number of times I've cried while laughing: 1,273. Number of hours spent playing Pokémon: 1,581. Number of times I've been told I'm "intimidating": 52. Number of plane flights: 2. Number of white hairs discovered: 3. Number of times getting sick in the car on a road trip: 1. Number of times genuinely surprised: 11. Number of dogs and cats owned: 0. Number of times I've walked into a room and forgotten why I came in there in the first place: 645. Number of times I've watched Pride & Prejudice: 102. Number of stairs climbed, up: 826,390; down, 823,989. Number of frisbees supposedly lost in the ocean: 1. Number of Nobel Peace Prizes: 0. Number of times the words "what if..." have crossed my mind: 217,485. Number of times completely in awe: 23. Number of times I've stayed silent when I should have said something: 892. 

CAMRYN, GERTRUDE, AND THE MYSTERY OF THE BOTANICAL MAN

Generally, I like to think that I'm a pretty observant person. The kind of person who notices when someone cuts their hair, when it's going to rain, or when the road is about to end in an abrupt death cliff of sizable proportions. You know, the little things. But after this experience, I have decided that I am now an extreme failure as a certified "Person With Eyes That Can See." Seriously, I'm considering giving my eyes to Stevie Wonder or something because I assume he'd use them more than I apparently do. But before I head over to the eye surgeon's office, I suppose I'll type this story out. Prepare yourself for something truly ridiculous:

Four months ago, my roommate Gertrude* (name changed for confidentiality) and I befriended a few guys in our Botany** (subject also changed for confidentiality because SECRETS) class in order to feel like semi-successful human beings. You know, the kinds with friends. At least that's what I've heard about successful people. Anyways. 

We became jolly old friends- friends who pretended to care about each other but were really just using each other to get 100% on our attendance quizzes, because Botany was a lot harder than we realized it would be. But along the way, one of the guys, let's call him Dexter, became part of a weird, creepy inside joke between good ol' Gert and I. 

You see, Dexter is an amiable, outgoing, flirtatious young man. Maybe he was just being friendly when he asked about our lives, eavesdropped on our conversations, wrote on our papers when we fell asleep, and generally seemed like he was into us. Maybe. But, lacking a source of entertainment in our lives, Gertrude and I decided that he was most definitely interested in one of us. And thus, the Dexter joke was born.

Before I say what I'm about to say, I must first explain that neither Gertrude nor I found Dexter particularly attractive. He was nice, but definitely not "our type" (which we aren't even actually aware of ourselves. Years from now this could prove to be an issue). Nonetheless, we soon convinced ourselves that he would ask one of us out before the semester was over. He just had to. No one could resist us- especially Gerty, because, I mean, her name is just so alluring.

But as the weeks flew by, nothing happened. He never asked us if we wanted to study for tests together, or work on our Botany projects in the library, or even go on a romantic stroll past the duck pond...talking about Botany. And feelings. But we didn't give up on our bet. Surely he would break down and do it. Our pride was at stake.

Now, I'm not really proud of this, but I have a confession to make: I am a Grade-A Facebook stalker. Almost superhuman. Nancy Drew ain't got nothin' on this. So I found Dexter the other day without even knowing his last name and started, well, creeping. Shamelessly. I was considering adding him as a friend, but decided to scroll down a little farther first. And I found something rather curious.

It was a video of him dancing at a wedding reception to Justin Bieber's "Baby." I fought back the dinner that was threatening to make a reappearance, muscled on through every horribly choreographed dance move and the shrill crooning of a boy yet to experience the joys of puberty, and vowed within myself that something like this will NEVER happen at my wedding reception. EVER.

But it left me with questions. Lots of questions. Like, why was he positioned in the middle of the groomsmen singing to the bride? Was he the best man? Did he really think that the repeated use of the cabbage patch was a good idea? ...Is he a Belieber? I was intrigued, to say the least. And then I found her.

A woman had posted a picture on his timeline that was apparently supposed to be funny, and not only did she share his last name, but she was also wearing a wedding dress in her profile picture. "Aha! This must be his sister-in-law!" I thought naïvely as I clicked on her...
                                                        

*cue moment of realization* ...

IT WAS HIS WIFE. HE IS MARRIED. HE IS SO MARRIED RIGHT NOW.

Gertrude wasn't home, but I had to tell her what I discovered immediately because this was the most hilarious thing in the history of ever. This was the texting conversation that followed:

Me: GERTUDE DEXTER IS MARRIED WHAT THE HECK

Gertrude: YOU ARE KIDDING ME

M: NO HAHAHAHAHA I'M LAUGHING SO HARD RIGHT NOW

G: THAT EXPLAINS WHY HE DIDN'T ASK US OUT

M: EXACTLY WE MUST NOT BE THAT REPULSIVE BUT SERIOUSLY HOW DID WE NOT NOTICE EVER

G: HOW DID YOU FIND OUT?!

M: I WILL SHOW YOU WHEN YOU GET HOME

G: I HEART YOUR FACEBOOK STALKING SKILLS AND YOUR USE OF CAPITALS

M: I HEART THAT YOU USED THE WORD HEART AS A VERB AND ALSO IN RELATION TO ME

G: I WOULD HEART YOU MORE IF YOU HAD DISCOVERED THIS EARLIER

M: SORRY YOU DEVELOPED FEELINGS BEFORE WE FIGURED THIS OUT I KNOW YOU MUST BE HURTING RIGHT NOW

G: HEART BROKEN BUT PRIDE RESTORED. IT'S AN INTERESTING CONUNDRUM

M: QUITE A DEBACLE, YES

I just...wow. How did we never notice? FOUR MONTHS of sitting on his left side, and we never once realized that he was wearing a ring. We are idiots. But what's weirder is that he never once mentioned his wife, or married person things, or acted like what you'd expect someone who was MARRIED to act. I would hope that when I'm married someday my husband will at least mention me ONCE in conversation around younger girls he associates with over a four month period- in fact, I hope he won't shut up about me. I hope that he'll lose friends because of how much he talks about me......I also hope that he won't be associating with freshman girls for four months and making them think he is into them. Ew.

But, like Gertrude said, at least our pride is restored. There definitely was a reason why he didn't ask us out besides everything that could potentially be wrong with us (which is quite a list and most of them aren't potential)...Sweet gravy, this is still creeping me out. It's even been a day since this happened, and it still makes me laugh hysterically because it's just so flippin' strange. 

And we have class with him tomorrow. I don't think Gerty and I are going to be able to keep straight faces. Every time he talks I'll probably have to stifle a peal of spazzy laughter.

Moral of the story? Don't take Botany.

10 THINGS I HATE ABOUT POKÉMON

In a fit of nostalgia, I recently came across the design we made for our Pep Band shirts my senior year of high school. Tradition held that seniors always used some sort of shameless, nerdy theme for their T-shirt designs, and not daring to break with tradition, we went straight for the jugular like a pack of voracious pumas. Behold:

Now imagine this emblazoned across your chest.

Your chest just became 37% more awesome.

Growing up, Pokémon were pretty much the coolest things ever aside from the Backstreet Boys and squeezable glitter glue- both of which were very sparkly and pretty (especially Brian. I loved Brian). They were just so fun to collect...and then battle with until they killed each other. They could be adorable or scary or even just plain creepy. It was great. I Kanto (see what I did there?) even begin to estimate how many hours I spent sprawled on the couch, eyes trained on my Gameboy Color and completely transfixed by the world that a roomful of ingenious Japanese men created just for me......it's really a beautiful sentiment, when you think about it. Thanks, guys. I am forever in your debt.

But I played it SO MUCH that a pretty hefty portion of my brain is still devoted to remembering every single tiny, insignificant detail about it. Sometimes I think about how helpful it would be if that particular lobe decided to throw all of that information into its little brain waste basket and instead remember more important things...like the lectures in my classes...or Arbor Day.

I was telling my brother about this problem of mine the other day, and he responded by telling me to prove it, so I challenged him to ask me any Pokémon-related question he wanted to. A sly, condescending smirk flickered across his face as he asked, "Where would I go if I wanted to find a Drowzee?" With a completely serious expression I answered, "Well that depends. Are you in Kanto or Johto? Because if you're in Kanto you'll want to look in the grass to the east of Vermillion City, but if you're in Johto you have to go south of Goldenrod City next to the Day Care Center." 

SOMETHING IS SERIOUSLY WRONG WITH ME.

But as awesome as it was, and regardless of how much of it I still unwittingly have committed to memory, there were a few things about the games that annoyed me...well, they obviously didn't keep me from playing, but still. They exist. And here they are:

1. First of all, when you're starting the game and Professor Oak is all, "Are you a boy or girl?" This was always insulting to me. I mean, Professor Oak. I'm standing right here. In your laboratory. Isn't it obvious? Are you blind? What am I, a Ditto? 

2. Ditto. What the heck were these things? I really wish I could've been in the brainstorming session when they came up with this. I imagine it probably would've gone a little something like this: Guy #1- "How about we make a Pokémon that can turn into OTHER Pokémon?" Guy #2- "Yoshi, that's a brilliant idea! Hmm...would it be really powerful on its own?" "Oh, of course not! On its own people would just have their Pokémon...breed with it. And it would be GENDERLESS. And...how about gelatinous and pink as well?" "That makes so much sense, Yoshi, it really does. Ever since you came up with that idea for Lickitung the other day you've been truly unstoppable." I'm still too traumatized to eat jello because of this Pokémon.

3. Pretty much EVERYTHING that the trainers you battled would say. Were they supposed to be intimidating or something? Maybe the Japanese was just translated incorrectly and they actually cussed you out. I don't know. Also, the fact that they were always so confident in their abilities. I mean, come on. There is no conceivable way that your Lv. 12 Oddish is going to beat my Lv. 47 Charizard. No way. I don't care how many super potions you have tucked in your loser fanny pack or what kind of connections you have with Nurse Joy. I don't even care that Oddish is the most adorable little thing to ever pop out of the ground. I'm going to destroy you, "Youngster Joey." And your hopes and dreams. Those too.

4. The reality that you can't actually catch all of the Pokémon without buying more than one game. Everything they advertised, everything Ash ever said- it's all a lie. You can't catch 'em all...unless you give in to their shameless marketing ploy and shell out another $50 bucks. Touché, Nintendo. Touché.

5. How when you traded Pokémon with someone in the game, you couldn't change its name so you ended up with an Onyx named "Rocky" or a Machop named "Muscles." I don't think I could have come up with lamer puns than that, and that's saying something.

6. Also, how depending on how many badges you had, your traded Pokémon wouldn't obey you for a while. There was nothing more infuriating than telling your Sandslash to use "scratch," and instead having the screen tell you- "Sandslash went to sleep instead," or "Sandslash pretended not to hear you because it feels objectified and it wants you to lose and yell at your Gameboy for five minutes." It was times like these that I wished options like attach shock collar or beat with stick were available methods of action.

7. One word: Magikarp.

8. The Bug Type. Someone answer this for me- was it actually super effective against ANYTHING?! No. No it was not. And since when do bugs get their own type? Last time I checked they were annoying and dumb and nobody liked them.

9. That you weren't allowed to run from trainer battles. And not even because you thought you couldn't beat them- sometimes I was like, "You know, I'd love to stay and pound your six puny caterpies into submission, but I currently have more pressing matters to attend to." Theoretically, you should always be able to physically run, right? Especially if you had a Koffing with a particularly good smokescreen or the other trainer was morbidly obese.

                                                                                              AND...                                                                                                                                                          
10.  ......The fact that it's not socially acceptable for me to play it anymore.

THE 25 THINGS...THING

So I’m about to do something horribly ironic. WHAT A SURPRISE. But before I proceed, I feel that a proper explanation is in order…well, it’s more of a magical tale full of mystery and wonder and stuff.

Like Twilight, but with a decent plot.

Anyways. Long before I joined the vibrant and highly intellectual community that we refer to as, and I quote, “Facebook,” I became aware of a plague that previously pervaded said website. This disease went by the title “25 Things,” it involved a person writing 25 things about themselves, (I BET YOU DIDN’T SEE THAT COMING), and it was apparently ridiculously annoying for one of three reasons. Or all of the reasons. Probably that.

1. Everyone was doing it, and let’s be honest- what self-respecting, “unique,” individualistic young hipster would want to engage in such mainstream drivel?

2. Alright. I hate to do this, but I’m just going to come out and say it... ...peoplesometimesreallyaren’tthatinteresting. There. Whew! That felt good. But seriously. Most of the statuses people post on Facebook fall somewhere along the spectrum between “Jus wint shoppppping!!!! <3 LOL OMG I just luvvvv my frrrriendzzzz!!!;) LOL” and “Today was good. I like good things…Hope tomorrow is also good.”

3. The people who would post these things would then tag, like, at least twenty of their friends in the post because if they didn’t, a thousand puppies would burn or an innocent child in Africa would starve to death. And everyone knows that if you don’t do exactly what a chain letter tells you to do, all sorts of weird stuff goes down…and someone close to you dies tragically…

RIP Uncle Steve.

So obviously, these “25 Things” posts eventually died out, and became one more ugly blemish on the online profiles of…basically the entirety of America. And maybe Canada. But Canada’s done a lot of things it’s not proud of, and yet the world still seems to overlook its drunken, half-naked profile pictures and the Nickelback music videos it posts all the time. We'll always love you, Canada.

Come into my arms, you hosers.

Therefore, because it became so taboo, and because I was thinking WHY THE HECK NOT, I decided that I would post a 25 Things list myself. It’s just so socially crippling that I couldn’t resist, and if it’s been a few years since this went around, that makes it vintage, right? So yeah. HERE COMES THE NUMBERZ.

1. I read the second Harry Potter book before the first one and when I tell people that, they look at me like I just confessed to punching a baby or something.

2. My favorite punctuation mark is the ampersand- partly because of its name but mostly because LOOK AT DEM CURVES --> &

3. I have never had a brain freeze. 

4. My proudest moment was in 1^st grade when a kid cut me in line and I got in trouble for calling him a “stupid head.” He deserved it.

5. I get really upset when people leave their stuff in my locker and I can’t fit my nun chucks in there anymore.

6. My favorite Christmas present in the last few years was a 200 page book of puns...it’s almost like Santa knows me or something.

7. I hate crowds.

8. Ever since I discovered the joys of thrift shopping, I cannot justify buying any article of clothing for more than $5....even though sometimes I still do....

9. I typically sleep on my left side, in like, basically fetal position. So I suppose my bed could be compared to a womb. I can’t believe I just typed that.

10. I play the piano, flute, and a really mean recorder. I can also sing, but never really do so in front of people because

11. I’m extremely self-conscious.

12. When I was in 7^th grade, I cut my knuckle skin off with a pair of safety scissors.

13. I have sprained my right ankle so many times playing basketball through the years that it is permanently slightly larger than my left ankle. Also, I once sprained it while STANDING. IN MY KITCHEN.

14. Basically I’m a spaz.

15. I think that if you’re going to drink eggnog you might as well not drink eggnog because eggnog is horrible.

16. Alliteration makes me a lot happier than it probably should.

17. I am a romantic in every sense of the word.

18. I hate it when people ask me what my favorite bands are, because if I say a band that everyone knows then they think I have no musical taste, and if I say a band that is super obscure they peg me as a pretentious hipster. So it’s really the worst possible question ever and NOBODY WINS.

19. When I get really tired, I can’t stop rambling and apparently it’s adorable.

20. Sometimes I think I only have friends because standing next to me makes people appear tanner, and therefore more desirable.

21. For as long as I can remember, I’ve had the desire to live on a street lined with old, tall trees that arch over the road and create a sort of canopy. Like, a tree tunnel. And preferably somewhere where fall is particularly breathtaking because

22. I love the fall. It’s the best season ever and NO ONE CAN CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE.

23. I find good grammar attractive. U no whut eye meen?

24. Cats could go extinct and I wouldn’t even care.

25. Even though I have 20/15 vision, I own a pair of glasses that I wear sometimes for no reason.

THE END.