dumb kid

So...I've fallen down the stairs three times this month. Ok, slipped and skidded, but still, three times is impressive for anyone over the age of five. My feet are stupid.

Let me tell you the story of how I broke my foot. It's pathetic and kinda funny.

Again, stupid feet. Stupid kid too. I was 8 on a church mission trip to Galveston. All the other kids were at least 5 years older than me, so I had no friends for an entire week. I was the tag-along little sister to everyone there. They were nice, but I could definitely feel the vibe of "ok, I didn't agree to babysit." The adults were adults, so they always did boring adult things. For the majority of the week I was awkwardly trying to be involved with anyone else or awkwardly by myself... much like now. Cue the world's smallest violin.

We all went to the beach and no one wanted to stay in the shallow end with me (especially since I did and unfortunately still do scream with seaweed touches me). I ended up wandering the shoreline for a while. The specific stretch of beach where we were had wooden bridges over massive sand dunes. Weird, I know. They were about 100 feet long, 4 feet high and a flat railing on the top:

So naturally I had to climb on top and walk up and down the railing. When I got tired of the balancing beam act and actually got my footing I felt so tall.

Like everything stupid and inevitably disastrous, it started off fine and harmless. After a few jumps it lost its thrill. I backed up a few feet and did a running jump (Don't get ahead of me here). Awesome, but like an addict, I needed more danger. I backed up a few more feet. Repeat the process until I was doing halfway down the railing running jumps. 

Then my go big or go home moment. Even I knew this was going to be amazing or stupid, though not logically thinking of the consequences. I was totally channeling Pocahontas. It was a glorious jump. 

I don't know how I had been landing before this, but this time I was going for a gazelle-like leap. If Pocahontas could do it so could I! I couldn't. I landed on the top of my right foot, kind of landing on each bone individually and rolling onto the next one until my entire foot was on the ground. The rest of me just fell on the sand like a sack of flour.

I didn't feel any pain or panic or need for help. I just knew that something was wrong and I should probably not move for a minute or two. The adults stopped their adult things and came running from the campsite (which was pretty far away). The theory at the time was just that it was sprained ankle or a bone bruise- whatever the hell that means- and that I should keep my shoes on since it hurt way too much to take them off. No one guessed broken anything.

This was day 3. I was piggy-backed by different people for the rest of the trip.

When we got back home, my foot still hurt too much to walk more than a few feet. As it turned out I broke one bone and fractured the two next to it in the middle of my foot. Lime green cast for 6 weeks and I lied about not trying to scratch under the cast.

Aaand that's my broken bone/actual injury story. Everything else has been minor or boring.

synonym for intolerably clingy?

Ok, this has been my past week. I tried to condense it, but...

Friday afternoon this guy awkwardly sat next to me on the campus bus and said he had to talk to me because I'm "super cute."

Saturday morning he texted and set up a date that night. I, like an idiot, had given him my number. I still haven't learned to whip out the "I'm dating/have a boyfriend/am a lesbian" thing. I think I've learned it now. It was the classic movie date. He bought the tickets and the drinks (this is important later) and I thanked him (also important later). It was all slightly awkward. Okay really, if the movie hadn't been as great as it was, the night would've been terrible. There was no food involved.

Sunday morning he asked when we could hang out again and said that he woke up thinking about me.  HE WOKE UP THINKING ABOUT ME. It hadn't been a full 48 hours since we met and he's already pulling this crap. Are you fucking serious?!

Monday- asked if/what time we could hang out again Tuesday. Thanks for smothering me. I was getting an increasingly weird vibe from him. I had to end it.

Tuesday- his text "Good morning. Sorry if I sound all mushy lol, but you're really beautiful."

Ugh. I am not- nor have I ever- been a romantic. Too many compliments and I automatically think this might be phase one of a serial killer. I know my shit; I watch Criminal Minds.

I met him later in the day to break it off in person because I'm nice like that. Ok, because I'm an idiot. We started having a normal conversation and I was trying not to blurt out "you're clingy and weird and I don't want to date you." Out of nowhere he asked if I was a virgin. (Literally. Like 'Do you think it's going to rain?' 'Probably. Are you a virgin?') Why the fuck would you ask someone that?! That is not the time or place to have that conversation. Keep in mind, this is 5 days after we met. I don't know if there's a way I can emphasize that immense level of creepiness. I don't talk about that part of my life. Ever. Even stating that here made me uncomfortable.

Shortly after that awkwardness, I said I didn't want a relationship of any kind- even dating- with anyone right now and I didn't want to lead him on. He said ok, I thought we parted as friendly acquaintances. There was still a part of me that couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

30ish minutes later he texted and asked if there was a possibility of dating in the future; I'm the only girl he's liked in 3 years; I'm so smart and beautiful that he'd wait until I wanted to date ... He continued, asking if it was that I wasn't interested in him or just that I like being single. Then he asked if it was because he was a virgin. I don't know how the hell he thought that was even slightly relevant. Out of desperation, I used the lame "you're not my type" line.

I haven't responded to him since that. It's been a roller coaster of emotions with him from that moment on- I'm not his type either, he just thought I was interesting; he was just being nice when he said I'm beautiful; he's sorry he was mean, he was just upset; you're not physically beautiful at all.

Wednesday- He pulled some crap about it being a "small favor" to pay him back for the movie, especially since I never thanked him. Bitch please. I am not refundable. Go jump in front of a bus.

Thursday- Again, he asked for the money, saying I could meet him in a certain building at a certain time outside of the girl's bathroom. That's the most "I'm going to rape you" thing I've ever heard... aside from "I'm going to rape you." So no, that didn't happen.

Friday-Sunday- No contact. I thought he'd given up. Lured into a false sense of security.

Monday- he texted a very long, groveling apology. The question now is either continue to ignore him or call him a dick and say don't talk to me again... I'm still deciding.

I've had so many friends/family offers to kick his ass. Thanks. I love you all.

It's fantastic to be plastic

Despite my rants, I'm a non-confrontational person and my anger dissipates fairly quickly- within five minutes, usually. If it's longer than that I just need to vent and have another five minutes and then I'm fine. Anything beyond that means shit just got real.

So I was on facebook and a friend of a friend (who I've met in real life and am cool with) posted a picture of classic Barbie next to a shorter, thicker one. He captioned it with "they gave barbie a beer belly so the fat girls won't feel so fat."

For serious. I had to re-read it multiple times to make sure he really said something so dick-ish. That's a direct quote. He was just that much of a dick. It struck a chord in me.

Like most little girls, I had thought Barbie was the prettiest and I wanted to look just like her. I had even considered being a blonde because there weren't many brunette dolls, obviously meaning blondes were more valued. I consoled myself with having the same blue eyes.

Puberty screwed me up. My hips exploded overnight and I got a booty soon after. I no longer had the stick-straight figure I took for granted. Barbie didn't have curves. No one explained my hips were a result of my skeletal structure- my pelvic bone would always be the same width and nothing I could do could change that.

I spent years thinking I was fat and feeling like I was ugly since everything I tried didn't make that part thinner. All through middle and high school I was convinced: wide hips = fat.

Seeing him diss the "beer belly Barbie" made something in me snap. I had read about this barbie a few months back and fully supported it. She didn't have a beer gut; she wasn't fat. She was a normal woman. The artist had taken the statistics of the average 19 year old American girl and scaled it down to create a realistic doll.

At first glance she does look chubby and awkwardly short in comparison (with a really big butt). Everything about her looks more exaggerated until you think about the women you see on a regular basis. Ever since I can remember I've heard people talk about how unrealistic Barbie is, but to see how drastic of a difference there still took me a second to process. Do I seriously look like that? The more I thought of it, the more I agreed with the modern version... especially the butt.

I couldn't let go or stop myself. Here's what he got:

"the whole point of this version of barbie was to show the proportion of the average woman so little girls won't compare themselves to an unobtainable standard of beauty and feel like shit about themselves."

I added this link:

http://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-2308658/How-Barbies-body-size-look-real-life-Walking-fours-missing-half-liver-inches-intestine.html


Perhaps I was too harsh with my comment. Actually, no. I was nicer than I wanted to be. Much, much nicer. He's lucky I took moment to calm the fuck down. It didn't work. I read his post and tried to brush it off. I came back an hour later and had to respond. I tried to be as diplomatic as I possibly could- I can get really fucking mean if I give myself permission to go into full-blown bitch mode. Sometimes heartless.



It's been three hours and he is always on facebook.
One of his friends liked my comment.
He has yet to respond.

I fucking win.





For the record, I'm comfortable with my body now. Ironically, I think my hips are one of my best features.

Bullshitter Extraordinaire

My favorite slacker story- the summer before last I had to take ballet to fill my P.E. credit. I'm not super coordinated, so I figured I'd be bad at it, but anything is better than running. I never run. I would be the first to die in a  zombie apocalypse.

As I predicted, I was bad and not nearly as flexible as I thought. That being said, I actually liked it. I almost bumped into people when we were "learning" the choreography (which I really sucked at remembering) but it was pretty cool.

The shit thing about this class were the research papers. It was a month and a half course and we had 2 papers. I think I tried on the first one because it was really short/not supposed to be as detailed. I don't remember what it was about, so either I worked on it the honest way or it wasn't worth bullshitting. The research paper though. GAH. 5 pages on a famous ballerina with I don't remember how many sources.

I hate everything about research papers. Literally everything. I purposely avoided the super famous ballerinas (Isadora Duncan, for instance. Practically invented modern dance, had an unfortunate love of scarfs) because there's far too much info I didn't want to have to sift through. I went to the Houston opera website and picked a random person. I thought it'd be cool to see her in a performance later if I ever got the chance.

Amy Fote. I found where she went to school, that she was graceful, she was the star of a particular ballet. That's all I had. That's not even half a page of information and that's all I could find. I tried writing it multiple times, fully intending on being an honest student, but I couldn't stretch that little amount into five pages. So I did what any other college kid does in that situation- I procrastinated and did it the night before. Rephrase- the morning of.

Yep. I started the paper at 6am and bullshat 5 pages in about 5 hours (mostly because I have annoyingly high standards for myself, so everything had to be perfect). I said she was a beautiful, graceful dancer at least ten times. It's all about synonyms. Find a part you like and just rephrase it again and again and again and again and again until you have enough of that one thought. Move on to the next piece of info. Rephrase that one again and again and again...

I ran out of information to bullshit on, so I had to look up and explain- in great detail- what her most famous role was, how that character fit in with the story, what the story is actually about. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I don't think I made up any sources though.

I finished the paper right at the time I usually left and I thought my heart was going to explode. I've never done anything so close to the deadline up until that point and didn't have time to second guess myself. I just hoped for the best.

A week or so later the professor gave the papers back. I miraculously got a 98. She only knocked points of for getting someone's job title wrong, mostly because the person to whom I was referring to was a giant dick and a personal enemy of my professor.

After class, she asked me to stay behind and talk. I knew I was dead. She was going to murder my face off so hard.

Amy Fote is her son's best friend's girlfriend. They talk regularly. They've known each other for years.

She said she called the best friend to let him know one of her students wrote a paper about his girlfriend. It was really cool hearing that...until I remembered just how much I made up. I offhandedly asked if she had let Amy read it. She said no, but did joke that now Amy is famous.

I'm still a bit surprised it worked, but now I have another BS tactic. Small world though.

giraffe(purple/x) < 17-3.754*daisy= SHUT UP

I hate math. Passionately hate it. I'd rather slam my head against a wall until I lose consciousness. That'd be great.

So, when I transferred to this new college, my counselor at the previous one assured me that I was done with math once I passed college algebra. It took several attempts to get through it, but eventually I did. I was so happy/relieved when I was free of it all.

She lied.

Bitch.

I got to my new school and the new counselor (who is directly in charge of my major, unlike the other one who was just a general one) said I still have to take another one. Hooray.

Of course, I've already forgotten a lot of the stuff I had somewhat memorized (but not fully understood). The other fun part is this is largely based on vocabulary and the definitions are awkwardly worded and are overly complex. It's as if they need to make it as lengthy as possible to justify it being a college class instead of high school geometry part 2. This class is even called "Math Reasoning"...

"an angle bisector is a line that starts at the vertex and extends outward to separate an angle into two smaller angles with equal degree measurement for each of the new angles."

Put a line through the middle of the angle. Now those two are the same size. Boom.

I should be in charge of writing math books. Short, sweet, to the point. When you get someone that likes their subject, they explain in far too much detail. Don't ask me about history or english. I can go on for a while. Ask someone who hates the subject- they will always give you the shortest, easiest answer to get through with the conversation as quickly as possible.

For instance, I had a geometry teacher in high school who openly admitted she always hated math growing up. She found and taught the short-cuts because she had tried everything herself. "Think of each problems as a puzzle; it'll make it tolerable." She was definitely one of my best teachers (as far as things I learned. Her personality was a bit abrasive. We got along, but her personality was very different than my own). I will never forget the quadratic formula, thanks to her creating a song.

>to the tune of pop-goes the weasel
(x is equal to the opposite of B, plus or minus the square root of B square minus 4AC, all over 2A.) And yes, I did sing that in my head as I was typing that... because I'm a huge dork.

My other frustration with my current math class is that my book still hasn't come in. It's been a week and a half. The website said 5 days. I hate everyone.

Sadly enough, I'm not a hateful person. I know my constant ranting throughout the previous posts show otherwise, I just have the timing of being irritated when I'm on my computer.

There may or may not be a correlation between the two on that one...

Uncomfortable Email Skank

Here's a post to distract myself from how much I hate everything school related. Why do I have to sign up for 5 different websites to turn stuff in? Why aren't ANY of these bastards letting me log in? Yeah, I'm pissed. Anyways...

I'm going through my spam email (something I've never, ever done) and I have one from someone named Adriana. I don't know her; she clearly has the wrong person. I am definitely not a dude. It's both funny and weird. All typos from this point on are entirely on purpose. It's painful.

Essentially, she's moving RIGHT EFFING NEAR me and I'm the only person she knows, aside from 3 cousins, but she cant chill with them. "We've" talked about chillin before and now that she's single we can. "I" told her she was cute and she "thoguth" I was cute too. She's 23, a virgo (thanks for including that. Horoscopes are the only valid way to summarize personality), has a cat, and is "a super horny gurl... ilove p0rn."

Awkward. It gets worse.

When she moves down here enxt week she needs a job- do I have any hookups? Right now she works from home and even though she CULD continue with that job she has, she'd prefer anythign for a change. She's on one of those nude webcam websites doing exactly what you'd expect. In her own words:

"i figure iim horny anyways why not get paid to chat with people and play with myself heheh...anyways i hope u dont look down on that and NO THATS NOT WHY IM CONTACTING U RELAX URSELF lol"

She then proceeds to give me a link for 3 free codes to "chat wit her" since it's the only way to contact her these days, but said if I login  "ill shoot u myc ell number and u can gimme yours.." But she warned if I shared that code with anyone else "ILL KICK U IN THE BALLS INSTEAD OF LICK U IN THE BALLS WHEN IS EE U"

Obviously this negates the whole pretense of giving the code to only chat, not see her get naked and...

She signed off by saying xoxox Adriana.




So yeah...that happened.

Creepy Sleeper

I've always talked in my sleep. Literally always. I still do, quite a lot, but I've started sleepwalking again. I used to do it all the time as a kid, but it's fairly rare these days. That's probably why it's particularly disturbing.

For instance, a few years ago my mom found me standing in the bathroom with my forehead against the wall. It was about 4 am. My eyes were open, but it was obvious I wasn't awake. She asked if I was ok, I said I didn't know, and she led me back to my room. I didn't remember anything the next morning.

Fast forward to the present- my friend has been living with me for the past two months for school. Unfortunately for her, she is a very light sleeper. This means when my bizzare antics start she is 100% captive. I will sit straight up in bed and not do anything for several minutes- my hair covering my face. Sometimes I will make noises or speak while this is happening. You get used to this. Eventually.

The first few nights I was either silent or not noticeably doing anything out of the ordinary...which is flailing. I have always/will probably always flail. After a few nights I started quietly mumbling incoherently. That's when things went south.

One night I walked across the room and jabbed her very hard in the arm repeatedly. I shook my finger at her and yelled "WHAT IF?"..."WHAT IF?!!"and went back to my bed, laid down... immediately sat up again and yelled "WHAT IF" again. I slept for a few minutes and yelled out of nowhere. No words, just a shout.

In another recent incident I had slept over at a friend's house and stood on the bed. Not next to, ON the bed. I walked in place, nudged her with my foot repeatedly, lost my balance, fell off the bed, got back on, stared at her, then continued to nudge her. Just as quickly and abruptly, I laid back down and cuddled uncomfortably close to her. I let out a huge sigh into her ear before I went back to a normal people sleep. She said she thought I was possessed. She couldn't sleep for the rest of the night.

It's not all bad though; I am a very affectionate person. I love cuddling and spooning... but the draw-back in that is I will do it whether you want it or not. I will follow whoever it is to be next to them, no matter the size of the bed. Being in that awkward situation is better than the alternative though.

I already mentioned I flail constantly, so the only way to stay safe is to stay within spooning distance. Deal with excess body heat and personal space invasion or deal with pain. My ex usually went with the second option and told me horror stories in the morning. He stopped mentioning the kicking since it was practically every night. After a few months he even stopped telling me I slapped, punched, or elbowed him. He did tell me about the few times I shoved him into the wall or off the bed.

It was his fault for not spooning.

Apparently it's getting worse than it's ever been. In addition to talking and sitting up, I've been walking around the house, just disappearing downstairs for long periods of time.

I'm not longer surprised at all of the mystery bruises I find or the times I wake up more tired than I went to sleep. I just hope it doesn't get to the point where the doors have to be locked to keep me from escaping in the middle of the night :/