I'm Sneaky

1) Soooooooooo I think my neighbor is very attractive.

2) We have three lights in our kitchen. A few days ago, only one worked. It was impossible to see in the kitchen. We were living like this for a few weeks, barely able to see what we were making to eat or what was on the floor.

3) The other day, my roommate sent me a facebook message saying that she had knocked over my wine glass and there was glass all over the floor. She tried to get most of it up but wasn't sure if she got it all because it was hard to see. I immediately thought, "Time to get those lights fixed. I DO NOT want glass in my foot."

I replaced one of them but the other was too high to reach from the ground and it looked really heavy. It was a dome light and I had no idea how to take it apart and fix it. And I knew, I knew that if I tried to fix it, I would certainly break it into a tiny million little pieces. You know me by now; that's how my life goes.

Therefore, I decided to text my landlord to have his handyman come over and fix it for us. It wouldn't be that big of a deal, it would take him like 5 seconds, and he wouldn't break it. Piece of cake.

I had the text message all ready to send when, all of a sudden, a light bulb goes off in my head. "Hey!" I start thinking, "Neighbor Boy is tall and he's a guy so he should be handy and since he lives next door he probably has the same lights and knows how to fix them. I'll run over and ask him instead. It will give us an excuse to talk!"

I start getting really nervous and run into my roommate's room to ask her if the idea is dumb and if I'll look like an idiot. She says no; it's perfectly rational. So I check myself in the mirror and realize that I'm still in the clothes I went running in 20 minutes ago: tennis shoes, spandex, pony tail and all. "Meh," I think. "I have a natural flush to my face, I'm in workout clothes so it looks like I'm in shape, and it won't look like I'm trying too hard as opposed to going over there all dolled up." Convinced my plan is fool-proof, I march outside and down to his door.

Almost shitting my pants as I ring the doorbell, Surfer Dude (a very, very attractive modelesque friend of Neighbor Boy) answers...but he's on the phone. He says hi and is polite, but he's still on the phone. Neighbor Boy comes around the corner of a room and he's on the phone too! Oh crap. This is awkward. "Oh...uhhh...I...ahhh...uhhh...I just had a...um...a question but...uh...it's no big deal soooo....ok bye." I turn to leave when he goes, "No wait! Just let me finish this call and then I'll come to your apartment. It'll be like 5 minutes." Ok, so I'm not a loser. Good.

I start cleaning up the kitchen in preparation for their arrival when he knocks a few minutes later. I show him the light, ask him if he knows how to fix it and if he could help me.

Ok, then I really started feeling like an idiot because as soon as he looked at it, it was clear that all you had to do was unscrew this really, really obvious part and it came apart easily. And it wasn't heavy at all. Making small talk and laughing at things, it takes him only a few minutes to change the light bulbs. Damn. Not much face time. But we're still talking.

Then Surfer Dude comes in.....and we all hang out and talk in my kitchen for the next 45 minutes. They're so nice! I mention I have to go get ready for dinner plans when Surfer asks what I'm doing tomorrow night. "Umm...I have no plans for Wednesday night yet, what about you?" "I don't have anything planned either. We should grab drinks in the evening if you want to." My tummy does a flip and my heart about jumps out of my chest. (YES YES YES!!) "Yeah, ok, I guess that sounds cool. I have something I have to do until 7, but I can go anytime after that," I say. "Ok cool," Neighbor boy says. "We'll stop by around 7 and then we can all go somewhere."

Perfect.

They leave, I do a fist pump in the air, and I jump in the shower and get ready for my dinner plans.

Did my plan work? Yes: it's outcome was above and beyond what I even expected.

Did they know I did that on purpose? Most likely.

Does it matter? Naaaaaaah.

Count. Your. Dranks.

What a beautiful train wreck.

All the colors were so vivid. And I think I even heard applause...

Yes, we've all had those nights. One minute you're fine and having a great time, and the next minute (or a few hours later, depending) you're sitting in a circle in the grass while your friends tell you everything is going to be fine. And you're thinking, "No duh every thing's fine! I'm having a great time! Wait, where's the party? And where's that cute guy I was talking to a second ago?" Then you take a look at your watch and realize 3 hours have passed and the dawn will soon be breaking. And your hair is pulled back in the most improbable bun/ponytail sticking out of the side of your head and you're thinking, "Now who could possibly have done this?! Certainly not me!" And you would be correct.

I do not drink alcohol often. And rightfully so. For it does no sit well in my system or mix well with my body make-up. Yes, I'm an athlete and should be able to handle my fair share. And yet...I can't. I believe it has something to do with genetics. And most likely my incredibly horrible luck. Tie those two together with my propensity to perform the most embarrassing screw-ups and you, my friend, have yourself a winner! Either way, I should have learned my lesson by now. At least I have after this crash and burn. For now.

What I usually do, and usually works, is count my dranks. Quick vocab lesson: drank is the slang word my friends and I use to describe "a toxic yet delicious drink". I won't take the credit for coming up with that. According to urbandictionary.com, drank is "Codiene Cough Syrup/Promethazine. Usually sold by the pint. A normal cup down here in the H [Houston] is 2oz of Drank + 1 18 oz bottle of Sprite w/ 4 jolly ranchers. A cup can also consist of 4oz and even 6oz of drank + a liter of Sprite...The cough syrup (which is normally prescribed for 2 tablespoons every 8 hours) it's so thick that it just makes you lean cause' you so f***** up you can't even stand up...Tha s*** is tha bomb ya'll." Not my words. Also, I won't even pretend to be that hardcore. Because I'm not. I can't even imagine drinking cough syrup for fun. FOR FUN!? What ridiculousness is that!?!

That was like the opposite of fun when you were little. They tried to make the cough syrup sound delicious by naming it "grape" or "cherry" or "strawberry" or even "banana". Like it even came close to candy. Gross. It all tasted like plastic and didn't even make you feel that better. And even if it did, you were not going to tell Mom because then she'd just make you drink it again next time. So, thank you very much, but I'll just stick to my best friend Jack and mix in some Coke-a-Cola and we all can just hang out together. But I'm still gonna call it a "drank". Because, for some odd reason, I just sound soooo much cooler by substituting the "a" for the "i" and like totally changing up my lingo. Except for I don't. I just sounds like another youth trying to stand out from the crowd at all costs. And yet failing because everyone else is doing the same thing. But I'm still gonna say it!

So yeah, I'm that girl in the party dress sipping on my "drank" and hoping it doesn't sprout arms, legs, and a nasty attitude and turn on me. So for now, to try to stay away from the monstah, I'm abstaining from alcohol. Because as my good friend Outdoors Woman (who doesn't drink) taught me, "You can still have just as much fun at a party, if not more, watching all the other fools make messes of themselves." And she's right. And, unfortunately, I was that fool the other night. Not gonna say I didn't get some funny stories out of the night, because I did, but I wouldn't tell you. I've already said too much. Either way, having too much drank is never fun. Period.

Live and learn.

"Eye" am so smart!

So the other night I stayed up late blogging and Internet surfing when I finally decided to go to bed after a loooooong day of fun-filled activities with Outdoors Woman.


I. Was. Exhausted.


I separated my body from the couch (it molded to the shape of my body we had been lounging there long enough) and trudged stair after stair up to my bed. I must pat myself on the back for using the last ounce of energy I had to wash my face--I'm usually not good at doing that when I go to bed late.


So I had washed my face and needed to remove the remaining make-up. With my eyes half-open, I grabbed the purple bottle I assumed to be my make-up remover and put a little on a cotton ball like I always do. I had removed my nail polish earlier that day and the nail polish remover is ALSO purple. Put two and two together and you can figure it out......



Yes, I put a cotton ball of nail polish remover on my closed eyelid and IMMEDIATELY felt the burn. I knew something was wrong when I smelled an awful smell from my fragrant free make-up remover and the skin on my eyelid was burning like never before. About .3 seconds after I put the cotton ball up there, I let out a little scream, dropped the cotton ball and started dabbing my eyelid with a towel, then went over to the sink to wash it out. I started laughing because ONLY I would do something so stupid and so dangerous without even thinking! I'm pretty sure I'm alright because I never opened my eye so it technically didn't get in it, but I still kept flushing my closed eyes with water until I was sure it was off my skin. Then, I opened my eyes, flushed with water a little bit more, and read the back of the nail polish remover bottle that said, "Do not eat. Do not swallow. Do not inhale. Avoid eye contact. If you get some in your eye, flush with water for AT LEAST 15 minutes and contact a physician." I flushed for about 3 minutes and considered that good enough. I performed a self examination of my own eye and saw no redness or swelling so I assumed I was fine. I stayed up for 15 more minutes just to make sure nothing changed physically with my eye and called it a night. I thought, 'Well, if I wake up blind, then I'll know for sure I didn't get it all out.' Not a good thing to think but I was so tired and was pretty sure it was all out.


As I was falling asleep, I started thinking about eye patches and how I would handle that whole field. I initially thought of the standard black one, but since I don't really want to look like an evil menace trying to take over the world, I came up with a few variations:
**Painting an eye on top of the patch. From far away it would just look like I have a really severe black eye all the time. At least I'll look pretty hard-core and I can always tell people I won the fight.
**Hologram-perfect conversation starter. Instead of looking into my beautiful eyes, people will try to figure out what's going on top of one of them, see the gorgeous other one, then ask to buy me a drink!
**Art/Advertising-I can make money by charging new artists to display smaller versions of their artwork on my eye. It would be perfect because it's all at eye level and people will be wondering what the heck is going on when they see me and I'll be able to get the artist's name out there. Or I could just work for The Man and go commercial. I'm sure they would pay much better.


I thought I had some promising ideas on how I would handle this little incident and was content with myself as I fell asleep. To my luck, I woke up the next day with two functioning eyes! I chalked the night up to carelessness and stupidity and vowed to never do something like that again....as long as I can help it...


And you know I can't, so stay tuned for more later.

Superstar(s) on the rise!

So my little brother (we'll call him Pretty Boy) is quite cute. And yes, I'm a little biased, but the talent agency he worked for and the people who signed him to shoot various commercials (including The Sunflower House and Build-A-Bear) seem to agree with me. He is also one of the sweetest 12-year-olds you'll ever meet, giving me a hug whenever he enters or exits the room. He's also got an incredible six-pack with muscles trying to bust out of his arms and legs. Yes, he's the whole package. And how does he get such an amazing bod? Well by sitting on the couch playing XBox eating Cheetos and Oreos of course! I mean, doesn't that work for you? .......I know, some things just aren't fair.



So this weekend when my roommate Outdoors Woman was in town and we were all swimming in the pool, she said, "Pretty Boy should have his own Disney Channel show. I would for sure watch it and I know so many other people would too!" We laughed and agreed and went on fighting over the raft. Then, about an hour later, Outdoors Woman and I were talking when all of a sudden she goes, "SHhhhh! LISTEN!"............. Then I hear the radio: "Do you want to be on the Disney Channel? Think you could have your own show? Want to work with your favorite Disney actors like Demi Lovato and The Jonas Brothers? Do YOU have what it takes? Then call this number today! You could be the next Disney STAR!" I immediately jump out of the pool, grab my phone, and dial the number. Pretty Boy is waving his hands in front of his body as if to say, 'WHAT are you doing?!?!?" as I start talking to some talent agent on the phone. She asks if I am registering myself or my child and I say, "My child," and stifle giggles. She doesn't believe I'm old enough to have a kid (grant it I was 7 years old when Pretty Boy was born) and asks to speak to a parent. After a few more minutes of answering questions and nodding, my mom confirms that Pretty Boy is going to a talent scouting the next day at 5:30. Outdoors Woman and I are jumping for joy while Pretty Boy sinks lower into the pool. Mom asks us to come with her and says the lady told everyone to "dress to impress" and that Pretty Boy needs a head and body shot. We're on it.



The next day we wake up and immediately get to work on the photo shoot. I pull various outfits from Pretty Boy's closet and he walks out of his room in khaki pants and a button-down light blue dress shirt. He is for sure ready for his close-up! He has his long blond hair bushed over to the side and boasts a bright white smile that contrasts nicely with his golden tanned skin. How dare he hog all the good genes!! While he was getting ready, I gave myself a 5 minute photography course by studying the pictures around the house showcasing the various poses we held as young children when our mother forced us to get our picture taken every 6 months. After such a brief intro to photography, I am ready to launch Pretty Boy's modeling and acting career. I set up props and chairs on the screened in porch, but Pretty Boy has so much natural raw talent that it only takes 10 minutes until we have the perfect shot. If only things were that easy for everyone.



Later, we all get ready and head out to the Overland Park Convention Center. We sign Pretty Boy in and walk into a room that resembles an American Idol Audition. There are soooo many people. We all look at each other, laugh, and sit down at least knowing we seized some kind of opportunity and will probably remember this evening forever, even though we know the probability of something actually happening is very slim. We sit and wait and wait and wait and watch some intro video and wait and listen to talent agents talk and wait and it's finally Pretty Boy's turn. Mom, Pretty Boy, Outdoors Woman and I get up all giddy and giggling; we are so excited! Mom walks Pretty Boy up to a talent scout while OW and I stand next to him. She asks PB many questions, looks at his application and photos, and seems to be liking him. Next follows a dialogue that made us laugh for the rest of the evening:



Talent Scout (TS): "It says here you play sports. What kind of sports?"

Pretty Boy (PB): "Umm golf, track, basketball, football, kickball..."

TS: "And do you play every day?"

PB: "Well, no, not really I guess....I--"

ME: "--Hey! You play every day. You have practices and golf lessons and you play outside with your friends all the time and--"

TS: (Turns to me) "--And who are you? Are you his sister?"

ME: "Yes, I signed him up for this actually and I just want him to be his best and--"

TS: "--And are you auditioning today?"

ME: "Haha no."

TS: "Well, why not?!"

ME: "Because the age limit is 17 and I'm 20."

TS: "You're 20?!?! No way! You could be 16! What's your name?"

ME: *Gives full name*

TS: "And do you live here in Overland Park? What do you do?"

ME: "Well no, I go to school in Texas--"

Mom: "But she lives here in the summer and this is her permanent home." *Gives me a sideways look*

TS: "Right. So where do you go to school?"

ME: *Gives school name and info*

TS: "So why have you never gone into modeling or acting?"

ME: "Because I've done sports all my life. I'm a sporty girl."

TS: "So why have you never gone into modeling or acting? Why have you never pursued this?"

ME: "Because I was always in about 3 different sports and going to practices and stuff. I just never did."

TS: "But you're much to pretty to be a sport girl. Are you interested in the entertainment business?"

ME: (giggling--this is too funny) "Well, yes I suppose."

TS: "And if you were chosen, would you now pursue this?"

ME: "Yes! I mean I guess if I'm good at something or have a shot then I will definitely give it all I've got."

TS: "Ok great. And how tall are you?"

Me "5'8"

TS: "And you must weigh about 130 pounds..." *writes it down*

ME: "HAHAHAAH Oh my gosh I LOVE you! No."

TS: *Gives questionable look* "What are you talking about? How much do you weigh?"

ME: *Gives number*

TS: *Gives even larger questioning look* "WHAT?! Well where are you hiding it?"

ME: "Well I'm a student-athlete at my school....and I guess it's in my muscles....ummm I don't know...."

TS: "Well whatever; you don't look like you weigh that much. Good for you."

ME: "Uhh thanks?"

*****This whole entire time, I'm thinking, 'No no no! Don't focus on me! Focus on my cute little brother over there--he's the one we came here for! Pretty Boy, Pretty Boy, Pretty Boy.' I felt so bad because I was worried she wasn't looking at him at all. But she was, thank goodness*****

TS: "Ok, this is what I am going to do (turns to mom): I definitely want the boy to audition because I like his look, but I also want your daughter to audition. She is extremely marketable because she's a lot older, but has such a young look that she could be styled to play someone much younger than her actual age. Go outside and get her a script. I want to get her on camera to see how she does; don't worry about memorizing it because she hasn't had the last 2 hours like everyone else. I am going to call you on Monday after their auditions to talk. If you don't hear from me, I still want you to e-mail the general address given to everyone but I'm also going to give you my private line so that I don't forget about you. Good luck!"



All four of us walk away laughing and slapping our knees and my mom is beaming with pride. I take Pretty Boy's script and immediately start getting nervous. My mom tries to calm my fears and says, "Hey, it doesn't matter. We didn't come expecting this anyway so just do your best."



Pretty Boy goes first and he does awesome! He thought he was supposed to take his score card with him so he goes back over to the other talent scout, but the guy waves him away. He still snuck a look at his card and HE GOT ALL TENS! I'm so proud of him. I went next and, well, we'll see how it goes. My mom gets a phone call today so I'll let you know then!



For now, keep reading my blog because I going to Europe for 6 weeks from July 3rd to August 15th to study abroad at the University of Oxford and will for sure be updating it as I also go to London, Paris (France), Pittem (Belgium), and the Netherlands. But you should also keep reading because I am a superstar on the rise and you can track my climb to the top! Haha just kidding. But that was a pretty funny experience and definitely an ego boost!

Facebook Stalking Central: Apartment 201

We've all done it. It's ok. I admit it. I am a Facebook Stalker. Don't judge.

You can't say you've never done it. You're innocently writing on your friend's wall then you see photos of them a little ways down the page posted by someone you kinda-know-but-not-really so you click on the pictures and one thing leads to another and you're 3 hours into a session where you only meant to check your inbox and now you're looking at pictures of your neighbor's girlfriend's cats. It happens. You snap out of it and realize what a creeper you are and casually look over your shoulder just to make sure no one else has noticed. You're alone in your room. But you still feel weird. But kinda like you got away with something...

One of my friends has a cousin who is very attractive. I creep on him sometimes. I've talked to him maybe a few times in my life. I am so embarrassed repeating this but there's no judging allowed at this site so I know I'm ok. I know I am not alone. Plus my roommates are waaay bigger Facebook creeps than I am.

Take Saturday night, for example. Bag Lady has known the guy I finally started a FB chat with for awhile. And by know, I mean she knows his Facebook page. She Facebook stalked him like it was going out of style--like the makers of Facebook were going to shut it down any moment without any notice at all. I would be sitting in my room and then all of a sudden hear squeals of delight from her room. WTF? "OH EM GEEE! His status says he got a new puppy and LOVES her. Soooo cute! It means he has a sensitive side." "Maybe next time (or the first time) you talk to him you can ask about his dog he's never told you about. You'll know the name and everything. That way you can bypass all those little details of getting to know him because you've already read his info/interests/wall/pictures 1928908234 times. That wouldn't be sufficiently akward or anything..." I say.

Our adoptive roommate, Beautiful Hair Girl, is even worse. She likes this guy, Milo, but is not Facebook friends with him. They have a class together. She's afraid to Facebook befriend him because he doesn't know she exists. And yet every class she's drooling in the back. I THINK she's passing.... Anyway, he is Facebook friends with Bag Lady so BHG gets on Bag Lady's Facebook to stalk him. Not creepy (or desperate) at all. I'm getting ready in the bathroom when Bag Lady starts going through his site one day. "He takes weird pictures. In a lot of them he's posing with a purse........OMG his profile says "Married" do you think he's married? He's a sophomore! Is that a joke?.....Wait a second....(as she goes deeper into the archived pictures)...does he have a KID?!?! There is a legit kid with him in a lot of pictures that looks like him." A few days later, BHG is over and I hear something going on in the room next door so I go over and they are watching some BET thing on the internet and reading a personal-writing-thing. What are you guys doing? "Ohh Milo had these things on his Facebook so we are trying to learn more about him and what he likes and see if we like it too."



(I literally stood there for a few minutes because there was NOTHING I could think of to say. I also just stopped typing for a few minutes because there was nothing for me to type after that. My mind was blank. I was trying to comprehend.) So I just laughed. REALLY LOUD. Probably like you might have.



There needs to be an FBSA or something. Facebook Stalkers Anonymous. Oh wait, that's the problem isn't it? My B.

Haley and Chantie + Seven

Alright so I got a job! Yes, I know what you're thinking: college, 20 hours a week spent practicing, a social life, AND a job?! So, yes, I am superwoman. Until my next breakdown atleast :)


My job involves watching seven 18 month olds for a few hours every other Tuesday morning with my friend Chantie. So, yes, I'm crazy. Today was the first day and we had five lovely little ones with us in the room and just when the words "I can't believe no one has cried yet" were coming out of my mouth, a mom brought in two twin boys who were hysterical and stayed that way for the next hour. I really need to learn to keep my mouth shut. So we were playing and everything was going nice when the schedule said to take them outside. Oohhh man. It took us half an hour to get everyone DOWN THE HALL. I was carrying two kids and trying to corral two others as they ran in and out of every other door EXCEPT the one they were actually supposed to go out of. Go figure.


Lunch time. Uggghh. More food ended up on the floor and all over them than actually made it into their mouths. Was I this bad when I was 18 months? Doubt it. Plus they took apart the piano. Ok, I've got to admit I was pretty impressed at this point. I have no idea how to take apart a piano and I don't even have the creativity it takes to come up with this idea. And then they put it back together! Ha, just kidding. You believed me though. I don't know how Kate does it. After 3 hours I was done and ready for lunch. No way could I ever live like that. My wardrobe, however, was instantly upgraded by Cheerios, slober, dirt, and blueberry mush. Then I had class and I looked like a hot mess. Can't wait for the Tuesday after next!


As promised, here are pictures and the video from SUP-ping. (Pronounced like what'SUP) Sorry, that's the best I can do. And they weren't up yesterday because Bag Lady had already gone to bed and it was like 11 by the time my post was done. Anyway, you're welcome for the ab workout that follows (from laughing, if you're too dense for my humor)!


Beautiful Hair Girl and Bag Lady just starting out. You have to go on your knees for a little while to get used to it.
Outdoors woman after she fell in. Note: This is NOT the correct way to SUP.

ME!!! I look like a grandma but hey I didn't go in! I got waked so many times by the boats but managed to stay afloat. It was the orange sunglasses I'm told. You can't see them in this picture but they're the color of that orange thing at the bottom (plus some more brightness).

And now for the grand finale:

You'll start your diet AFTER my banana bread!

Living off-campus has been great. Really, REALLY great. I love my friends I live with and after having a disaster roommate last year (I'm sure you'll hear a story or two about her on here sometime), I was ready for the move. Dorm life just wasn't for me. My coach tried to tell me that if I was on scholarship, which I am, then I had to stay on campus until I was a senior. AKA two more years. This was so the extra money could be fed back into the school to pay for my room and board instead of being given to me to pay for my off-campus expenses. I almost pulled out the waterworks then and there but decided to instead say that living on campus would be detrimental to my mental health and, therefore, impact my performance in a negative way. He bought it.

So there we were, two sophomores and a freshman, trying to navigate the real estate industry in what is know as the city of Dallas. Yeeeeeah, forget about it. We pretty much just drove up and down the streets around campus calling the phone numbers on signs that said FOR RENT or FOR LEASE. We called one property asking for the price and the lady said, "900,000 dollars." Trying not to laugh, Bag Lady (my other roommate besides Outdoors Woman) said we just wanted to rent it. The realtor asked if we went to SMU. "Yes," Bag Lady replied. "Then why don't you have one of your parents buy it? You can use it while you go to school and then they can sell it when you're done." WHY HADN'T I THOUGHT OF THAT?! Mom, Dad, please please please buy me a 900,000 dollar piece of property worth way more than your place so that I can live there and go to school for only a few hours a day and throw awesome parties in it at night. According to the realtor this was a no-brainer. My parents' brains, on the other hand, couldn't even comprehend. Ok, ok, I never even asked.

After a few more months of looking high and low for something that would fit our budget, we found it. AND I LOVE IT. It's not a regular beige-carpeting-and-ivory-wall apartment. It's a condo with a pool, grills, hammocks, palm trees, brick and stone and textured grass everywhere. Its got character. And its a steal. Something a starving college student (and I mean a real starving college student, not an SMU starving college student who likes to look like he or she is starving because it is "attractive") can afford. I've got my own balcony and its a mere three minutes drive from campus. I'm so so so so so so SO happy.

So today Outdoors Woman and I are driving to practice and I say, "That's it. I want to lose ten pounds (doesn't everyone want to lose "ten pounds" these days?) and that's what I'm going to work on this semester!" She says, "Ok, yeah I want to do it too! I want to be healthier." So we went to practice hoping to burn some major cals but all we did was sit on the erg (its an ergometer--see picture below) and think about rowing while our coach talked. Damn.

So I offered to make dinner tonight. Pasta with sauce and vegetables and chicken. A good, wholesome dinner. When I'm done making dinner and Outdoors Woman and I are just about to sit down, Bag Lady comes in with groceries from the store. We tell her that we are going to be healthier and she wants in. Then, while OW (Outdoors Woman) and I are eating, Baggie (Bag Lady) starts pulling out random things from her bags. "Do you guys like French Bread, pudding, fried chips?" "Baggie! We just told you that we are trying to eat healthier!" OW says. Baggie ignores us. "Ohh I forgot I have bad bananas. I'm going to make Banana Bread tonight!" "Baggie! We are on a diet!" OW replies. Baggie slowly turns around from putting things away in the fridge and I know something bad is coming. Like when the music starts in a scary movie and your body gets all tense and nothing bad has even happened yet and sometimes nothing bad even happens at all and its just the director trying to have a little chuckle at your expense and all of a sudden you get Charlie Horses all over your body from your muscles freaking and spazzing out and the next thing you know there is something warm and liquidy all over your hands and you were so scared that your nails cut into your skin? Yeah uh I've never had something like that happen to me either....uhhh. Well let's hypothetically say we all have experienced something like that and I almost hid under the kitchen table right before she roared: "WELL YOU CAN START YOUR DIET AFTER MY BANANA BREAD!!!!!!"

It was all over. I couldn't start my diet (I mean start being a healthier person) immediately like I had wanted to (or like I tried to tell myself I wanted to, even though I didn't believe myself). So I got some more pasta.

Ten minutes later, after Baggie had announced she was going to do homework, I tried desperately to act innocent when I asked, "So are you making that Banana Bread tonight?" She shut her bedroom door and I could hear her laughing inside.

An ergometer is a machine you use to train for rowing. I like to compare it to a treadmill for runners except you would never, ever, EVER hop on an erg by choice. It is always forced upon you.