New-ness

New Twitter!
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New Facebook page!
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Almost a New Year!

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"Holla"-days

Hope ya'll had a good winter holiday season. I spent our three days of Christmas sick. That didn't stop me from singing karaoke though! The pain and suffering caused by my attempt to sing was not really worth it, but I solved that problem with vicodin. And all was good. Yay!

Sprechen Sie Deutsch?!

Wenn dir Deutsch sprichst:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3VDcWD6ZXE8&feature=g-upl

Hier ist ein Präsentationen für mein Deutsch Kurs!

But don't worry! I'll make a few posts in English for y'all!

Sometimes I'm Grouchy

Every now and then I find it difficult to deal with humanity.

Usually this occurs when I have gotten less than 9 hours of sleep. Which, actually, is always. Less than 7 hours, though, and my tolerance for anything remotely bad disappears faster than alcohol from a frat party.

So the other morning I woke up at my usual ungodly hour for practice. When that was over I had a yoga class, which I take because it's conveniently in the same room.

On this particular morning I was in a grouchy mood for no particular reason. After practice was over I got out my mat and lay down. I immediately closed my eyes hoping to fall asleep for the ten minutes before everyone else in the class arrived.

I always try this. It never actually works, but I dream big.

Eventually the instructor calls the class together and asks everyone to sit. This message always seems to be announced right when I actually slip into deep sleep.

On this morning, everything seemed as usual until I opened my eyes a few minutes into sitting.

Someone sat in front of me. Uncomfortably close to me. I put my mat down way before anyone else in the class even arrived. WHY WAS THIS GIRL SO CLOSE TO ME?

I was already too tall for my mat. In several poses I end up with half my body on the floor and half on the mat. With this chick in front of me I would not be able to take the class. I would have to move myself and this mat.

SHE WAS FORCING ME TO MOVE WHEN I WAS THERE FIRST.

I began to feel the irrational anger building up inside of me.

I HATED HER.

I WAS GOING TO EAT HER!

Then I sprang to my feet and grabbed her with my velociraptor claws and bit off her head with my velociraptor jaws.

Only my lack of ability to turn into a velociraptor prevented this from occurring.

In reality I just sulked and moved my mat a minute later.

I was still angry though.

I considering following her and attacking at a later point.

But instead I bought a day old muffin for a dollar. Miraculously, I felt much better and less violent after that!

Food inevitably calms my inner velociraptor.

10 Things I'd Rather Do than Physics

1. Go skydiving. I've always wanted to do this, but then I remember I have no money and would probably be so terrified I'd forget to let out the parachute and then I'd wet myself and die.

2. Go scuba diving in a cave full of man eating sharks.

3. Be vegan for a week. This would be pure torture, because 90% of my protein intake comes from ice cream and milk.

4. Run out of underwear and not have time to do laundry for a week. I could do this. Frequent showers and lots of leggings/workout clothes

5. 1 hour of weeding. No longer though.

6. Stay up all night at a concert and then take a red eye with 2 lay-overs  to New England and not sleep on the plane and then move into a new place of residence.

7. All my other homework and reading for the next month.

8. Run around the block naked.

9. Run around the block multiple times clothed. This is a big one considering the most I've run in the last four years was 3/4ths of a mile.

10. Raise a goat from kid to 4 years old and live on a farm with out speaking to any other human being until I can teach my goat basic calculus.


So this is probably why I've dropped physics.... Twice. 

How I Will Make Money To Pay Off My Massive Student Loans

So, I am massively in debt. Already. At a ripe young age.

You see, I felt like getting a head start on all you old farts.

Also I went to a redonkulously expensive private university on the east coast. Ooops.









Anyways, as I see it there are only a few options for me to pay off all my loans:

1. Become a stripper. I am not really sure how much strippers make, but I hope its more than babysitting. There is only one problem with this that I can see. I have no ability to dance without looking like I am wrestling a bear underwater while wearing princess themed floaties.

2. Win the lottery. This is unlikely to happen as I don't really understand the lottery. There are different kinds I think? Perhaps? Maybe?

3. Donate my eggs to people who desperately want to be pregnant. I don't really get why these people don't just adopt. I for one would gladly skip out on the whole pregnancy part of getting a baby. My mother is a labor & delivery nurse and the stories she brings home are R rated for gore and crudeness. Also I hear you poop. So... I'll pass thank you very much. BUT if you want to pay me for some eggs, sure why not. Its not like the world population is unsustainable or anything...

4. Blog. Good luck to me on that one. I'm 87.46239900002329352359999999299% sure I am the only one who finds me funny.

5. Win fencing tournaments that give out money as prizes. I think there are maybe 20 of these a year with about $100.00 prizes. That's $2,000.00 I could make. BUT I would have to win and my lack of coordination gets in the way of that when I fall flat on my face/ass during a bout.

6. Write a #1 song. I'd probably have to learn cords, or notes, or whatever those things are that you play to make music. hmmmm,,,,

7. Raise chickens and sell their eggs. I would need a backyard to do this. I don't have one. And probably some chickens to get started. Or does the egg come first?

8. Mug people. I need to get a gun. Perhaps that weird guy who lives near the T and shouts odd things at me when I walk by has one. I should go ask. Maybe tomorrow night. I am free around 9. People will just loan you guns for an hour or two right? He'll be friendlier if I knock on his door and ask to borrow a gun right?

9. Beg on the streets every afternoon. This might work if it weren't so fucking cold here. I could probably do it in Berkeley. Why does Boston have to ruin ev-er-y-thing with its inability to be habitable in the winter?!

10. I can't even think of a 10th option.


It looks highly unlikely that I will ever pay off these loans. I will probably die sad and alone, frozen to death on the Charles River bank, desperate for some California sun. Any suggestions on how to avoid this?

And Then the Dreaded Doom Sets In....

So when it's time for me to take my pill and vitamins at night and I see this:

I begin to panic. IT'S COMING. The world is going to end! My freedom will be gone, my hopes and dreams destroyed.

Weird things begin to happen to me.

I'll be checking things out at the grocery store and everything will be normal.

I'll be waiting patiently for the absurdly slow high school aged checker to finish scanning my single microwaveable meal. And then:

I'll feel a twinge...

And then the twinge will turn into pain.

I try not to make any noise. No one will notice if I use face contortions as an outlet for the immense ache coming from my abdomen. I'll be totally fine in a minute. I got this. No big deal.

That's when it gets worse.

This is usually when the 17 year old checker notices something is off. He usually assumes I'm about to puke on his floor, which sends him into a panic.

However, I am just doubled over in pain. This never lasts more than a few seconds, just long enough for him to get a few words of protest out.

A moment passes and the knives ripping at my uterine lining cease their vicious slicing. I stand up and pretend everything is fine.

I usually try to pass off my episode as something else. Like being super interested in the pattern on the floor tiles:

They usually at least pretend to believe this and I pretend to be a floor tile salesman. This creates a conversation about selling floor tiles. I make up names for floor materials: sushatapp, donahwalome, greysagoochoise, etc. As soon as this subject is exhausted I run from the store.


My pain for the moment is over, but then I remember: IT'S COMING.

ewwwww

The ground has snow on it and its literally freezing outside. This is a problem. I need to move back to California. Boston is just not cutting it. Don't people here  understand that its supposed to be in the 90s on Halloween?!

I love...

I love other people's parents.

Especially in Boston.

Here they take out to dinner and its FREE for me.

Now, there are a lot of things I enjoy in this world, but food is definitely at the top of that list. I love food. I think about food all the time. Wanna get me to do pretty much anything? Food. Or money. Money would probably work too. But wanna know what I'd spend that money on? Food. Delicious, fresh, organic, rich, healthy, vitamin-y food.

The only problem is food is really expensive. Especially when you live in Boston but hold food to a California fresh standard and then you're a vegetarian and try to buy expensive fake meat products all the time. Then everything is problematic and really all you eat is bananas because bananas always taste the same now matter where  you are in the USA and because you just discovered you liked bananas after proclaiming a deep hatred of them for the last 15 years.

So anyways, when someone's parents take you to dinner and its free and delicious and you didn't have to make it yourself in the laundry room/ kitchen two floors down everything is amazing. And there is peace in your life. Also happiness and a full stomach.

It was MIT's Parent's Weekend this past weekend. Family friends who have a son going there took me out to dinner too. It was amazing. And delicious. We went to Wagamama in Harvard Square. I ate a huge amount of something delicious with rice.

So thank you, Sam & Jenny. My life is now much happier. You did that. You transformed my life. The happy memories of free restaurant food will linger in my mind for at least a month.

mmmmmmm.... I love food.

Dog Poop

I just ate a steaming bowl of dog poop. It was delicious.

Let me explain.

It's a cookie. My Oma used to make them for her kids when they were little and then they started making it and eventually taught my generation. They're chocolate, peanut butter, oatmeal cookies. And they're amazing!

Anyways, when my sister was little one of her favorite things to discuss was dog poop. I don't know why, but she would always bring it up. My dad's cologne? Smelled like dog poop according to Bronwyn.

Where was the dog? Out side making dog poop. What was for dinner? Dog poop. One day my mom made these cookies. My sister ate one and when we asked her what she thought she said, "They taste like dog poop. They look like dog poop too!"

They definitely taste nothing like dog poop. They do, however, look like dog poop. Ever since then we've called these cookies "dog poop." Its comical when other people over hear us talking about the cookies. They must think we're on crack or fear factor something.

Anyways, I made them tonight and ate a bowlful of the dough before it cooled to cookie form with a glass of milk. DELICIOUS. Normally, I'd eat it with vanilla ice cream on top, but I didn't have ice cream or any alternative (whipped cream, unwhipped cream poured from the container, yogurt), so I had to make due.

We've been making these cookies forever. They're super easy, super quick, and oooohhh sooooo yummy! They don't even require an oven! Perfect for dorms/lazy people like me.

Here's the recipe for Dog Poop:

Combine these in a pot on the stove, stir until it boils.
2 cups sugar (1 cup if you're feeling healthy, 1.5 cups if you're feeling healthy, but craving sugar)
1 stick butter
1/3 cup cocoa
1/2 cup milk 

Once it boils, take it off the heat and stir in:
1 teaspoon vanilla
2/3 cup peanut butter
2.5-3 cups oatmeal
some nuts if you're feeling healthy/like nuts


Then they're done!

Do yourself a favor and scoop a bunch out into a bowl while its still hot, put a scoop of ice cream on top,  and eat it with a spoon!

The rest you can spoon on to a baking sheet (cover the sheet with wax paper if you hate to wash dishes!). Each little spoonful will be a cookie once they cool and dry.

YUUUUUUMMMMMMM!!!!

Why Having a Second Child Permanently Disables the 1st Born PART 1: Bed Time

I was an only child for three year and ten months. My parents happily spoiled me rotten and I got away with everything.

THEN, my mother accidentally got pregnant. Well, ish.

 Let me explain. My mother has three sisters. Total that is four sisters if you include her. They are all within a year from one another except for the youngest who my Oma told me "Was an accident when Opa and I were watching Alfie." Aside from this being way too much information, it explains why they're all so close. They all talk on the phone at least once a day and moved out to California together and got married around the same time and started having babies at around the same time. Today there are 8 of us spawned from these four mothers, two kids per mom. It wasn't always this way however. Originally, two of my aunts had two kids and my mother and another aunt each had one daughter. It was perfect, blissful, amazing.

Then my Aunt Karolyn got pregnant again. My mom, being super jealous and not wanting to be left out when all of her sisters had two children, stopped using birth control. She forgot to tell my father of this grand plan to continue propagating the earth.

She got pregnant almost immediately. And that's where Bronwyn came from: jealousy. My life was ruined. Things would never be the same again. Everything changed.


For instance, I didn't have a bed time before Bronwyn was born. I just conked out when ever the fuck I felt like it. This led to my ability to sleep on anything when I get truly exhausted.

Here I am sleeping starting at the top left and going clockwise: On a chair during a party with my cousin's dog, at someone's house, on a bed in the middle of the afternoon as my father lays beside me talking to my mom and sister in our hotel room, on my aunt's couch, at the beach with my friend Claudia, at a tournament using my mask as a pillow.

The lack of a bed time was probably due to my parents being recovering hippies at this point in their lives. They were finishing up the "Drugs are fun!" part of their lives and trying to be mature adults with a toddler to practice on.

When there was for some reason, a need for my parents to put me down to sleep (like if they had friends over and wanted to get drunk, or if a babysitter was coming so they could go over to a friends house and get drunk)  it rarely went well. I would scream and cry and beg to be an adult with them.

Bronwyn and I shared a room after she was born. This means all my toys were tossed out to make room for the vast amount of baby stuff. Let me add new baby stuff. No Good Will crap for Bonny. We lived in Lafayette at this point, not Berkeley where I lived as a newborn. My parents hippie ways had been trimmed away. They were responsible suburban parents now. It also meant I had a bed time. I did not like this.

I forced my parents to lay next to me until I fell asleep. They were also required to sing my lullaby, and other lullabies until I slept. If they fell asleep in my bed with me (which I infinitely preferred to them leaving me), they were not allowed to snore (which meant they couldn't actually fall asleep).

Inevitably after an hour or two they gave up and told me to lie in the dark and count sheep. They ignored the fact that I was 4 and couldn't count over 10.

This backfired on them however. As once they left the room and I counted to ten, I would sit up and scream loudly, "Daaaaaaaaaaaaaaaddyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy! I'm looooooooooooonelllllllllllllllly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" If this didn't a) get them to return or b) wake up Bonny I resorted to plan B. This was more treacherous, however, because I had to get out of my bed.

Getting out of bed involved leaping from the edge of the bed at least four feet away. This distance was necessary because the witch that lived under my bed could only reach out 3.5 feet from the edge. This is because that's how long her arms were. (Yes I did have a very vivid imagination.)

If I did manage to will myself out of bed and land four feet away and not break my arm, I was good. Now I had two options. I could poke Bronwyn until she cried, bringing my parents into the room immediately, but this involved sharing Bonny with my  parents something I tried to avoid. The second choice was to sneak out of my room silently and crawl down the long dark and foreboding hallway to my parents room. I usually picked the latter choice unless Bronwyn was being particularly annoying that day and I was feeling especially malicious.

If I made it all the way down to my parents room without falling asleep during the sometimes half-hour long silent-sneaky-crawl-down-the-hall I had to wait until my parents turned off the lights and went to bed. Their room was still carpeted at this point in time so this was usually a fairly comfortable time for me. I would curl up where they couldn't see me in front of the blanket chest that sat at the base of their bed, and think happy four-year-old thoughts.

Several times I fell asleep here only to be found the next morning when my parents woke up. We lived in California so sleeping on the carpet, even in the dead of winter, wasn't a huge deal. Some times they found me before they turned off the lights and put me back into bed. This meant my plan had failed and I returned to screaming "DADDY!!!!! I'M LONELY!!!!!!!!!" only shriller and more annoyingly.

On the rare occasions  I stayed awake long enough for them to turn the lights off and did not get caught, I WON!! I got to crawl in between them and sleep there, with the adults, till morning. I felt accomplished. I ruined my parents sex life. What?

My Lullaby

Momma and Pappa and Laurel make three/
We're a happy family/
With a big red dog/
and two fat cats/
Living in the Albany flats.
Our house is gray/
the trim is blue/
we painted it/
before we had you!

There was more. I don't remember all of it. But, SEE?! I told you my parents were hippies! They can't carry a tune yet they wrote me a lullaby!

I Have NO Life

I decided to edit my resume today and actively search for internships and be smart and professional. It was a bad decision.

Yesterday my ex-boyfriend mentioned that he put an "activities" section on his resume and it was long and made him look good and blah blah blah.

Well I decided that sounded al fun and dandy. So I wrote "Activities:" at the bottom of my resume. So far so good.

Then I typed: "Captain of varsity fencing team at Tufts University 2011-2012 season." Yay! I'm a sophomore and I'm a captain! That's got to look good! Leadership qualities and all!

Then I stared at my computer screen for ten minutes trying to think of things I do...

I realized I don't do anything else. I fence, go to class, go to work, eat, and sleep. THAT IS IT!

I've decided to attend a PACT meeting next Friday. I put "active in PACT" on my resume. I think I'll apply to write a column in the Daily.

Then I'll have activities!!! Then I'll be productive!

That is me being productive. Apparently I'll need to have extensive plastic surgery in the future. Anyone wanna donate an arm or two?

I made a to-do list with 25 items. I got to cross off 9 of them because I'm just that awesome! (Or because I put things I'd already done on the list...)

I will be productive!

I will be active!

I should run for the collegiate senate!

Words, Expressions

I don’t understand what the US population is saying half the time and I blame stupid, archaic expressions. There are many of these strange phrases that make absolutely no sense unless you know the back story and/or grew up on them (I wonder what our parents/guardians are trying to do to our generation sometimes).

I dated this guy once who was basically obsessed with using these STRANGE expressions I’d never heard of before. I blame this mainly on him coming from New York and being a Yankees fan.

Anyways—one expression that really bothered me: “Them’s the breaks.” What the hell does that mean!? As I puzzled over this while eating a bowl of cereal one evening alone in my room, I came to the conclusion that it couldn’t possibly be an actual phrase and my ex was probably doing crack on a regular basis. To prove this to myself, I decided to google it.

Mistake.  Other people out there have heard it too. My day-dreams of my ex doing crack dashed, I decided to watch TV. As I flipped through channels I happened across Gilmore Girls, a show I obsessed over in middle school. Just as I was about to change the channel, what do I hear, much to my dismay? “Them’s the breaks.” Damn it!

The stupid phrase was taking over. I returned to my lap top. Apparently it translates to “That’s the way the cookie crumbles,” a more understandable, yet still thoroughly annoying expression, and harkens to the New York area.

Some internet users are holding out for it translating to “Duh” and in “Them’s the breaks of the goddamn car you’re supposed to know how to drive.” Saying it with a Southern accent will make this translation more understandable; if you’re too lazy for that, ask me to do it for you. I’ve mastered this accent as my mother grew up in rural Indiana on the Kentucky border.

This search set me off though as I struggled to explain other phrases. “Bloody”  the British swear word for instance. This one annoys me terribly when my best friend’s annoying friend says it (I mean she’s live in America for 80% of her life, enough with the fake accent already!), yet causes me to gush whenever ginger haired Rupert Grint lets it slip to Harry or Hermione.

I’ve been telling people for years that it comes from “By our Lady” (referring to the head-Virgin-in-charge) and was slurred to “bloody” after King Henry VIII broke with the Roman Catholic Church in 1533, but I never actually confirmed this. Turns out I was right--- sort of. They’re not exactly positive where it comes from, but my guess is one of theirs too. Plus it’s the internet, everyone’s right.

The last phrase that I shall rant about is “Close! But no cigar.” I mean, what the frickety frick FRICK? (Yes I do watch too much Scrubs.) I understand when to use it: when someone fails, but clearly saying “FAIL!” is both clearer and more effectively condescending.

I mean, lets say George is trying to fly a kite and can’t get it off the ground. Sally is watching him and says “FAIL!” This makes sense, he can’t even get a damn kite off the ground. However when he finally manages to catch some wind she jumps for joy, whooping, and smothering him in delighted kisses.

However if she started this by saying, “Close George, but no cigar!” what is she supposed to say when he succeeds? I have tried myself to shout “Cigar! Cigar! Yes!!!!! Cigar!” in these types of situations and no one has ever gotten it; I am left with blank stares and odd looks and mothers who make their children change seats on the T.

Oh well, that’s what I get for trying to use a phrase or expression. Stupid little buggers. 

Pets People Should Have

Have you ever wondered why everyone and their mother and brother and grandma and sixth cousin in Peru has a cat or a dog? Don’t get me wrong, I have two cats and a dog, but you’d think some people would branch out a bit and get more interesting pets. I mean we domesticated wolves and lions to get cats and dogs, why can’t we do the same with other vicious man eating carnivores?

For instance how cool would a domesticated crocodile be? Almost as cool as a domesticated alligator, let me tell you. Apparently there is also a distinct difference between these two animals (something to do with the teeth and eyes (or nostrils), hell if I remember), but let’s face it, you wouldn’t want to come across either while swimming in your best friend’s third cousin’s pool, now would you? 

BUT if we domesticated the crocigator we’d have a truly amazing pet. I mean, they can hiss like cats, so they can probably purr like cats too and who wouldn’t want to curl up every night with a domesticated crocodile purring in your ear? These days with all the advancements in genetics we might even be able to make it warm blooded. We could call these delightful new pets crocodilus perdomo or croc-mos for short. They’d be just lovely. I’d buy one in a heart beat.

            Or if the croc-mos really aren’t your thing, perhaps we could domesticated killer whales and keep them in our bathtubs. I went to Alaska on a family vacation when I was eleven and all I remember (other than glaciers in 95 degree heat and how hard it was to sneak out when it was light outside 22 hours of the day) is the killer whales we saw jumping around.

I’m assuming the ones we saw we jumping for joy upon seeing our tourboat and not viciously trying to kill baby seals, but really they were truly kind, sweet creatures begging to be domesticated. I mean if we can take huge sea creatures like the monstrous blue fin tuna I saw swimming around in that gigantic tank at the Monterey Bay Aquarium and domesticate it into a tiny little beta fish that lives in the mug I found on my desk, why can’t we shrink killer whales a tad?

They’d be perfect pets! I saw Free Willy and Free Willy II and Free Willy MXXXXIII about three million and a half times and the killer whales just swim around jumping every time someone raises their hand above their head.

These are FRIENDLY creatures. And how awesome would they be in class if everyone brought their tanks? Every time the professor asked a question and people answered, these adorable little killer whales would jump over our heads. Sign me up.

Mornings

So I am on the fencing team here at school.

We're a varsity team and all though know one (including athletics) knows it. Last year our new coach decided we should have our practices in the mornings to avoid class conflicts and such.

This year I am one of the captains, which is all fine and dandy, BUT it means I have to wake up EARLY and have cognitive function EARLY. This is a problem. A huge problem, because, frankly, my brain doesn't quite wake up till noon. At the earliest.

Anyways, Monday- Thursday I drag myself out of bed at 7:00 am and attempt to eat breakfast, wash my face, and put on clothes. This rarely goes smoothly.

 For instance at that hour certain things become oddly fascinating. Like watching milk pour from a container into a bowl. The next thing you know the bowl is spilling over and you've wasted a bunch of milk and cereal and you don't have time to clean it up because you have to be at practice on time in order to yell at anyone who might be late and make everyone do push-ups, so it just sits there until you get out of class at 4 and by that time its crusty and smells weird and probably has attracted a whole new breed of cockroaches.

Or there's the days where my clothing is just plain uncooperative, or the more common occurrence: I don't check the weather and end up walking in shorts and a tank top in 50 degree rain.

I don't really have an explanation for my behavior in the mornings. I'm highly likely to turn into a dinosaur and rip your head off. Especially if you talk to me. I don't like humanity before noon. It's unacceptable for anyone else to even EXIST before noon.

My goal in the mornings is to successfully eat breakfast in the dark with my eyes half closed. God forbid someone try to talk to me during this. It throws everything off.

I remember moving into college my freshman year and having the bright idea to get brunch with my roommate I'd never met, her parents, and my mother. Well, I was hungry and lifting things so when she dared to change our plans I was ready to attack her in her sleep with forks and chopsticks and possibly broken pieces of the new mug I'd bought. Thankfully my mother intervened by thrusting a stale half of yesterdays muffin wrapped in napkins into my hand. After gobbling this down I was less likely to murder my roommate on our first night, but there is always that chance in the morning.

One of my biggest pet peeves, after the EXISTENCE of mornings, is being woken up a) by anything other than an alarm clock and b) before I actually need to be woken up.

The absolute worst is when someone comes into my room at 9:25 and exclaims, "Lauuuurel! It's time to get uuuuupppppp!!" At which point I wanted to shank her. However, this never happened as it would've required me to a) open my eyes and b) get out of bed. Which I flat out refuse to do before my alarm clock goes off at 9:30am.

Back to the main point of all my blabbering though: waking up for practice. The night before our first practice I was really excited, because hey! I was captain! and I decided to go to bed at 10:00pm, something I never do willingly. After laying in bed for 3 hours I finally fell asleep.

This means when I woke up the next morning at 6:45am I had only gotten 5 hours and forty-five minutes of sleep when I REQUIRE at least 8 to function. So Tuesday after barely surviving practice, I collapsed into bed at 9:40 after showering to take a "nap" before my 10:30 class.

Well When 10:25 am rolled around physically leaving my bed became impossible, especially for something as pointless as physics. So I went back to sleep and woke up at 1:25pm stumbled to my Japanese Architecture class, half slept through the class, and made it back to bed by 3:00pm. By this point I was convinced that I had the flu. Or mono. Or malaria. Possibly meningitis.

My certainty in my imminent death caused me to call my mother. She is a nurse and can save my life, I thought, half delirious. My mother told me to take my temperature. I didn't own a thermometer. She told me to take an ibuprofen. I only had aspirin.

So she told me to go to CVS and get myself a medicine cabinet when I felt better. I explained to her that I was on my death bed and this probably wouldn't happen. My mother told me to go to sleep and call her on Thursday if I was still feeling terrible.  I ignored her advice and watched all the series' premieres from the week before. I mean, my mother is a Labor & Delivery nurse and an international board certified Lactation Consultant, what does she know about mansonelliasis?

Half way through the very first episode of a show that will probably be cancelled half way through its first season I decided I must have contracted herpes. I had a huge cankersore, I HAD HERPES. I spent the next hour gleefully googling sexually transmitted diseases.

 I soon realized that herpes involves coldsores not cankersores. I was safe. However cankersores are caused by stress. I was stressed? Why was I stressed? What was wrong with me?

I couldn't fall asleep that night for hours. I worried about being stressed and the causes of my stress. And then I panicked because it was midnight and I had practice the next morning, so I worried about being awake.