OOTD Log: The time I got struck by a vehicle

Hello friends.

So, as most or all of you may know already, I added an experience to my life today. I got hit by a car. An SUV actually, that was travelling at approximately 20-30 mph. And when I say I got hit by a car, I mean me. Myself. I was not in my car. Or any car. I was just walking along.

Here's what happened:

We begin looking North down Donahue in Auburn, AL. In the distance, Mama G's beckons students to consume shockingly calorie-laden nachos. Pan left. There's me! I'm just trying to cross Donahue on Heisman drive to go get lunch with my boyfriend before class.

First person view. All of the lights seem to be red at this intersection...but wait, a Tiger Transit is pulling out to turn onto Donahue...so the light facing me should be green too...maybe that light is still red just because no one pushed the cross button? The light on my side is still green....I guess I'll go for it.

Third person view, me running across the street.

Pan left, the light looking North on Donahue has turned green as I'm halfway across the cross walk.

First person view, Shit, better run fast to make that last five feet.

Pan right, speeding SUV.

Pause. Question. Why was this dude speeding up? A) The light was red not two seconds before and therefore he should have been slowing down...right? And B) I know that I'm technically in the wrong here (and I already feel like enough of an idiot, so don't even start with me!) but I was wearing a bright orange T-Shirt...this dude must have been seriously distracted.

Play. First person view, Great, now this asshole is just gunning it to scare me cause he's all pissed off that I was still crossing when his light turned green. Wow, he's really coming fast. Holy shit he's not slowing down. Oh my god. He doesn't see me. I'm about to get hit by a car.

Third person view, I get nailed on my right side, fly into the air, spin around, and land on my right side. Body goes into what I assume is shock or adrenaline overload or something, because when I next realize what is happening, I'm on my back with my hands and feet in the air turtle style and this dude in a construction vest is standing over me asking if I'm OK.

First person view, I can't speak. Cannot. Form. Words. My elbow hurts fucking bad. My ankle feels funny. Wiggle hands and feet about. Everything seems to be working. I didn't hit my head...how? My backpack! Oh Jesus Lord, bless you, backpack. 

Third person view, traffic is stopped up to about ten cars now, but no one is in any of those cars because they've all gotten out to come see if I'm OK. Which was weirdly embarrassing for me...

Everyone is asking if I need an ambulance. "Please, god no," I tell them, "I'm fine, really. I'm just shaken up."

First person view, a cop shows up. They help me move myself from the road to sit in the shade of a tree. After a few minutes, my body starts coming to its senses and I realize I'm ITCHY.

"Hey, I know this might seem ridiculous, but I'm allergic to grass....so...I'm gonna go sit on the concrete."

Cop says OK, I move. Look down and realize my ankle is bleeding and starting to drip. I pull out my water bottle and start pouring what little is left on it. Some blessed lady goes to her car and gets me some tissues. I blot at it for a while but it hurts like hell so I just kind of sit there.

Cop starts asking me questions. I have trouble answering because, you know, I'm crying and also shaking everywhere.

I call my boyfriend. He runs all the way across campus (stopping to get more water as per my request to clean my wounds) to come meet me. He freaks out when he sees me because he thought I was in a car when I got hit and he suddenly realizes that I was, in fact, not.

I keep pouring water on my ankle. People around me keep talking to each other about what they saw like I'm not even there. Cop finishes accident report. The large lady who was actually driving the car apologizes. I say I'm all good. Boyfriend goes to get my car so we can go to the med clinic. I get in, shut the door, and promptly start bawling.

Who the hell does this kind of shit happen to???

Whatever. I'm gonna have an excellent party anecdote.

In all seriousness, this was actually the scariest thing that ever happened to me. The moment right before impact and the actual impact was terrifying. And I cried a lot and it hurt a lot, but I'm OK. I don't know how, but I escaped with minor scrapes, bruises, and some swelling. I'm seriously lucky.

The nurse at the med clinic was a dick, but that's a story for another time, and something which will be documented in my "AUMC patient review" for that visit.

And now I'm hanging out here all by myself, cause everyone is busy or not here. And I want some fucking ice cream. So I'm gonna get my bruised ass in my car and go to Bruster's.

Boosh.

On cowlicks

Please enjoy this rant regarding cowlicks. 

Politically Incorrect

Yesterday, my lovely and wonderful red-haired roomie shared with me this blog post: CLICK ME! and suggested I might have fun writing a response to it on this here blog.

Said red-head and I have similar views on most things political and social, and this was no exception. We both thought it was absolutely ridiculous.

If you don't feel like reading it (although it is rather short, if you want to have a go), it basically discusses modesty and why it's a virtue. As is typical in the south, the subject gets tied in with the bible and religion. The author states that dressing modestly shows what type of person you are, and further states that dressing immodestly as a woman is a temptation to men.

As you may remember, I did touch on this subject a while back, saying (in essence) that I didn't understand why girls got mad if boys hit on them/stared at them when they're wearing revealing clothing, and that I wear revealing clothes because hey, I like boobies, and everyone should appreciate them. So this is sort of an expansion on that I guess.

Here are my first reactions to the post:

1) This is one of those things that just gives Christians a terrible reputation. The post and most of the comments are SUPER judgmental and condescending.

2) Really?

3) .....really???

This is my favorite part: 

"Guys aren’t the only ones who can lose respect for a woman who dresses immodestly. I personally have a really hard time hearing any kind of advice from a woman who dresses for that kind of attention. If you consistently fail to present yourself in a way befitting a lady who professes to worship God (1 Timothy 2:9-10) how can I trust your advice on matters of the heart?"

You can't. If you can see any part of my boobs I am not to be trusted. And if you can see more than half of my thighs, well, then you KNOW you can't take anything I have to say about relationships seriously.

Or maybe I'm just a normal fucking person who felt like wearing a v-neck and shorts. 

I dunno, Timothy, which one is it? 

Of course, I personally think ole Tim here was including more than just way of dress in his definition of self-presentation. 

Another favorite quote: 

"If you are unsure about some of the clothing in your closet, please seek some godly counsel."

Are you serious?? We can't make our own choices about clothing?? We have to go to our damn church and say, "Excuse me reverend, but could I ask your opinion on my pleather skirt?"

No. Just, no. There is no need to ask god about this. Once your parents stopped having to dress you, that's when it became time for you to make your own decisions.  

Ok, now onto boys.

Why is it a big deal to have a lustful thought? Why? Sex is a COMPLETELY NORMAL THING THAT IS COMPLETELY NORMAL TO THINK ABOUT, and if a man were to see a pair of excellent titties, it's NORMAL to think, "Gee, I sure would like to know what those feel/look like." 

And that's offensive?

It's not like they're going to stalk you and follow you home and stare into your windows at night hoping for a peek at those wonderful breasts. It's just a passing thought. He's more than likely not even going to say or do anything about it. So calm the hell down.

I, as a completely straight woman, am an avid admirer of other women. I think we are sexy as hell, and I can appreciate a hot bod as much as any man. Ask any of my friends. I talk about boobs and their awesomeness all the time. Does that make me a shitty person? No. The human body is beautiful and amazing and so incredible, and if you want to make that even more apparent by going extreme wearing a thong and nipple stickers in public, fucking DO IT. 

Or if you're more comfortable in a push up bra and a pair of shorts with a 3-5" inseam, do that.

Or if you want to dress like you are Mother Theresa, rock that frock, baby.

But don't get your granny panties all in a twist if you see a little boobage, OK? 

I am the first one to say that the way you dress is of the utmost importance because it makes a first impression, and there are obvious times when you definitely should dress modestly. It's just that wearing a low-cut top once in a while doesn't make me a shitty friend or someone not to be trusted.

It just does not.  

And I'm not going to bother myself with getting someone else to OK my clothing choices. 

That is all. Rant over. Enjoy your night. <3

Midget stories

Hellooo helloooo helloooooooo!

That was supposed to be sung in a major triad, but I guess that doesn't really come across through text.

Today I have a special treat for you. I have written a series of midget stories about the lives of the good college folk who live in Creekside. I hope that it will give you a glimpse into the daily lives of the people I call my neighbors.

Introducing Jenna

Hey, so....I'm Jenna. I'm 18 and I just got an apartment and I'm in college and I am just soooo excited to be an adult!! I am so grown up. I'm not even living with my parents anymore, that's how grown up I am. I have, like, responsibilities and shit. Ok, I know my parents pay my rent. Ok, ok, they pay for everything. And yeah, I guess I don't really know how to keep my place clean. Isn't it normal to eat and drink on your porch and then leave all your shit out there?? What are bills??

Jenna Throws a Party

It was 11 p.m. on a Tuesday, and Jenna was bored. 

"Hey, wanna invite some people over?" she asked her roommates.

"Sure, it's not too late! Tell them to come over at midnight!"

So Jenna called 40 of her closest friends and they all came over at midnight that Tuesday to party. 

They blared their music and turned the bass up so loud that it was shocking the place didn't just fall to the ground. They drank their bud light and got shwasty. Then when they were nice and drunk, around 2 a.m., they went into the street and yelled about nothing in particular.

"OH MY GOD THIS IS SO COOL," Jenna said, quite loudly.

"HELL YEAH!!" her fratty friend Jake replied, smashing an empty beer can on his head. 

It was so fun staying up late and making noise that they didn't even care about the people in Kazakhstan who were being kept awake by their ruckus.

They were heading back inside when some girl came to the door in her pajamas.

"Hey guys...I was just wondering if you could turn it down a little," the poor girl pleaded, "It's a week night at 2:30 a.m. and I have class tomorrow morning."

"Oh yeah, sure, no problem!!" Jenna said sweetly. 

The girl left. Jenna turned around and said, "Ok, turn the music down for, like, five minutes, and then we'll CRANK it again like nothing ever happened!!!"

Everyone hollered and screamed because that was the greatest idea they had ever heard. 

And so the party went. And no one went to class the next day.

My parents are paying for this college thing, so it's not on me if I don't go to class! Jenna thought as she went to bed at 5.

Jenna Goes to the Pool

It was the weekend, and Jenna was bored.

"Hey, do we have any bud light?" Jenna asked her roommates.

"We always have bud light!!" her roommates replied.

And so they gathered their beer and put it in a cooler and went to the pool.

It was 90 degrees outside, and none of them had been drinking anything but beer, but it was OK because they got in the pool, which is made out of water, so they weren't dehydrated right??

Jenna finished her fifth beer and looked around, confused.

"The only trash can is all the way by the pool gate!! Where the hell do I put my beer??"

Jenna didn't want to get out of the pool.

"Just throw it in the pool! Nobody cares!" said her fratty friend Jake.

Jenna had never heard a better idea.

"What about my cigarette?" Jenna asked.

"Throw that in too when you're finished!"

That Jake sure knew what he was talking about. 

Jenna and her friends sat at the pool all day long in the sun and the heat drinking nothing but beer and smoking cigarettes and throwing their trash in the pool, and it was the best. Day. Ever. 

The End.

I hope you enjoyed my stories. They are very strongly based in reality.

I cannot wait to move out of this stupid apartment complex. 

Moving

I don't know if I am ready to write this. But it seems like it's time.

This is my house:

I have lived here since I was in 7th grade. It might have been 6th grade. Middle school, we'll put it that way. Most of my life was spent in this house here at 11045 Farragut Hills Blvd.

This is my room:

It's been decorated this way most of the time I've lived here. My mom made me a quilt with a unicorn on it when I was younger, and that quilt is now inside the duvet cover, because I had grown past it when we moved in here.

My mom also made my canopy from a sheet set that came with the duvet set and some cool fuzzy fabric that she had. She made the curtains from that same sheet set. I know, she's ridiculous.

My dad made a chest for me. It was originally supposed to hold a dollhouse that he was making for me from scratch, but it never got finished. The inside of this chest has held my letter box, one of my most prized possessions. In it is almost every card ever given to me, some playbills, some scripts, feedback on my theatrical competition pieces from high school, and notes that date back to middle school. I also kept my old notebooks with some of my first songs in them, written with my 5th grade best friend, Louise.

On top of the chest is another one of my favorite possessions: my vase of roses from my dad. He bought me a red fabric rose every single year for the start of school, and a white one for my senior year. 13 roses in all.

My bookshelf has, of course, some of my favorite books, as well as a shelf of knick knacks. I have some maracas that my parents brought me from Puerto Rico when I was a kid, ballet slippers that I got from a real ballerina whom I saw perform when I was still in dance (i.e., about a million years ago), my mom's old poodle "piggy" bank, two red toy cars from my car obsession phase which were later used as my Polly's cars (they were very stylish Pollys), a unicorn that twirls on its little stand (maybe it plays music?), a model VW bus from my VW bus obsession phase (my dad told me he bought me a VW bus, rude), and a few smaller things as well.

On top of my bookshelf I have two awards from high school theater that I'm incredibly proud of. One of them is an award for best actress in a play in which I performed my first dramatic role, "Trophies." The other is a plaque I received for the "Lovada P. Ferguson award for outstanding APAC senior." With it came a scholarship.

Above my bookshelf hangs my bulletin board, with a random assortment of things. I have a lot of photo strips from the theater photo booth, tickets to concerts and shows and sporting events, and these random  little funny phrase things...they came from a calendar of bad headlines, funny typos, etc. One reads "Something went wrong in jet crash, expert says." I also have another excerpt from a similar calendar that is called "The worst poem ever Written."It truly is terrible.

My dresser mirror has some photos and cards stuck in the sides. A photo of a high school best friend's sister with her baby. A card from this guy another best friend and I met on a cruise (I don't know why I still have that...). Two cards from my best friend in the whole world, one of which is my favorite card I've ever received. It's a little business-card-sized piece of white paper that reads: Kelly, Salt of much T, face of much sex, I love you, and it's really cool how you are another year older and all. Happy birthday! -PJ

I have my CD stand, which is obsolete now, but still houses my favorite CDs from when I was younger, including a stunning collection of BSB CDs (don't judge!).

I have a lot of stuff hanging on my walls. Above my bed, a metal sign that says "Laugh," because it is my favorite thing to do and my favorite thing to make other people do. I have a framed photo with which I won a contest, a framed caricature of a best friend and me, a framed collage a friend made me before I went to college, and a collection of small cork boards that I painted for some wall decoration.

And on the floor lays my lovely purple shag rug which my mother gave to me after a theater performance (much cooler than flowers) and which served me well for two years in my dorm rooms at school.

And yet, this room hasn't be mine really for a few years. The bed is shockingly empty from what it once was, a mish mash of pillows large and small, an astounding number of stuffed animals, and my giant stuffed tiger. Many of my pictures came to school with me and have been replaced by what is currently on the walls. The dresser is empty. The closet is mostly empty. I brought the books I wanted to read again with me. It doesn't look like my room anymore, especially because yesterday I packed up most of it.

But still, it hurts to leave this room that has been with me in my childhood, adolescence, and into adulthood. It is where I had sleepovers, wrote songs and stories, played guitar, recovered from two surgeries, smiled, laughed, cried. It has been my safe haven. Here I am at 21, laying in this same bed with Tigger, my stuffed tiger I've had since I was born, near me always watching and protecting, and my cat, Tiny, curled up sleeping on my arm.

This is my last day and night here, and although I have a perfectly good home waiting for me in Chattanooga, it won't feel like home for a while. Not that it's really mine anyway. I'll be working and at school in Auburn this Summer. My younger brother is graduating tonight and going off to college in the Fall. It will be my parent's house.

I cried when I left this room and this house for college, but I still spent months at a time here my first two years of school. Now I'm mourning it again, but also mourning the loss of my childhood. This isn't the little girl's room that it once was. This little girl is all grown up, and I bid a fond farewell to my childhood room with the lime green and bright blue walls and move on into the next phase of my life.

I do stuff good

HELLO. GOOD EVENING.

Sorry. Didn't mean to yell. I was just so excited.

I meeeeesed you!!

So, sorry that I'm just going to copy Jenna Marbles again, but listen, it's finals week and I've been busy doing this new youtube thing with boyfriend (This thingy) and formal was this past Friday and so was Matt's 21st birthday and I JUST HAD TO BUY HIM A CACTUS AND STUFF, OK??

So yes, I will copy Miss Marbles and discuss today things at which I am excellent.

EINS: Being empathetic. This can be a good thing or a bad thing. I would like to think that most people appreciate being truly understood, but it's rough for me sometimes. For example, one of my former friends was talking to me about how he missed his ex girlfriend one night and he started crying and then I started crying and he was like, "Why are you crying?" And I was like, *sniffle* "It's just so sad." Like, my heart just broke for him. With him? I don't know. But it was just sadness.

ZWEI: Facebook stalking. Do NOT underestimate my ability to find you on social media. And/or find out things about you on social media. And look at all of your pictures sometimes.

DREI: Finding the dark side of youtube. Sometimes...you start out watching one of your subscriptions, which makes you think of something else, which makes you think of something else, and then there's something else on the sidebar, and then you're watching an interview with the human barbie.

VIER: Not studying. I will find any and all excuses to not study. Cleaning, eating, watching a very important TV show. Now, I make excellent grades, so it's not that big of a deal. When I do study, I study for like ten minutes, get bored, go on a massive Internet surf and get back to it an hour later and do another ten minutes. Wash, rinse, repeat.

FÜNF: Acquiring pimples on my chin area. It is amazing how fast those suckers pop up. And I have cream and shit for it too. And I use a face wash with salicylic acid. HOW CAN YOU GET PAST THAT??

SECHS: Attracting bugs. If I could have attracted boys back in high school like I've always attracted bugs, I would have probably had a boyfriend before senior year. I don't know how, but they find me. I once went to the park wearing bug spray and TWO of those mosquito preventing fans that you clip on your clothes and STILL came back with upwards of 40 bites. Like, insects are willing to die just to get a piece of this. That's pretty impressive, you know?

SIEBEN: Sarcasm. I actually have a t-shirt that says, "Sarcasm: just one of my many talents." I got it from a rotund Romanian woman. She literally gave me the shirt off her back.

ACHT: Kissing. 'Nough said.

NEUN: Accents. I had to do so many accents for all the plays I did in middle and high school. Not only can I do British, I can do every part of Britain. The one accent I can't do? Southern. And I've lived here my whole life. That makes sense.

ZEHN: German. I'm stupid good at German. I mean, my accent and pronunciation are pretty good, but I'm a grammar beast. Like, I'm that asshole that got 100s on all my tests. There is a surprising amount of people that struggle with languages. I guess I would probably struggle with French, cause I hate it. And Czech, because it's CRAY. Seriously, I spent three days there and could not even get "Thank you" down. I think I knew "Cheers"....

Right, well, that's it then. If you read my blog you should toooootally check out Matt and I's youtube channel. It's not that funny, but we do sing for you!! Subscribe and stuff. And we will continue to sing to you. Every week. It'll happen. Except when I'm home for two weeks. Ok...bye.

South Beach Diet

Oh hello.

So...I have the anger about a great many things, and I want to make myself feel better. I was going to make a satire of my life events since January but there are things that I don't want to put on the interwebs. 

So how do I cease to be a giant squid of anger?

Apathy.

That is it. I need to give zero fucks about all things. Like little Jimmy, who ends his day with his bushel of fucks still in tact.

And obviously there are some things that I should still care about, but perhaps I need to put myself on a strict regimen of not caring about anything at all for a few days and then slowly add things back in. Like the South Beach diet. That is my life. The South Beach Diet of Giving No Fucks.

Let's begin.

What if: I'm thirsty?

No fucks given. I can live a few days without water. SO BE IT.

What if: I have to poop?

Nope. I don't. YOU DON'T CONTROL ME, BOWELS.

What if: someone hits me in the face?

I will turn the other cheek. Because I did not even care about the first one. I'm a regular Jesus.

What if: you're going to school in the morning and you have to get dressed?

Don't care. Going naked.

What if: someone you liked at one point in time is dating someone you hate?

I. WILL. NOT. CARE. ABOUT. THIS. OCCURRENCE. 

What if: your boyfriend tells you he loves you?

I will say it back. Apathetically. (This one will probably be added back in first. Maybe after water and pooping)

What if: I get my finger caught in the door like I did the other day?

Finger, shminger. Move along.

What if: aliens do exist and they invade earth and go after my beloved cat but at the same time whales have figured out how to move about on land and are seeking me out because I'm wearing green and they thought I was krill but I'm not and the world has run out of vodka and peach schnaaps??

ZERO FUCKS I TELL YOU.

ZEROOOOOOOO.