You could even call it a talent.

Like too many people, I am stupidly accident prone. I don't usually cause any severe or irreparable damage to myself, but I very rarely get through a day without some sort of injury to my person.

The thing about injuries, is they are either awesome things that you can describe to everyone you know and gain instant cool points, or they are embarrassing and dumb or just unfortunate.

My injuries always seem to fall into the "embarrassing and dumb" category. Even things that should be in the "awesome" category always get un-awesomed by some minor detail.

For instance:
Awesome injury = being stabbed with an unconventional stabbing instrument and having an oddly shaped scar.
Un-awesome injury = accidentally stabbing yourself with an unconventional stabbing instrument and having an oddly shaped scar.

A few years ago I got a flu that was pretty awful. I couldn't stand up without passing out, and was essentially a decomposing lump of uselessness that laid in bed 23 hours a day for about a week. The fun part about flus, especially the ones that make you all dizzy and bedridden, is your head starts going a little funny.

One day after I'd already been sick for about a week I decided I was done with this "being sick" stuff. I was going to get out of bed and function like a human if it killed me. So I got out of bed and somehow managed to shuffle out of my room.

My first thought was, What would a normal, healthy, non-bedridden person do at 12:30 pm? Make lunch. So that's what I decided to do. I threw together some sort of edible mess and put it into the microwave, exceptionally proud of myself.

Throughout this entire "adventure" I was having, I had started to feel increasingly lightheaded. I tried to lean against a wall, but it wasn't helping- my vision started going all blotchy and I finally accepted that I was not, in fact, a healthy, functioning organism for the time being. I don't remember much after this point, but I remember thinking that if I was going to pass out, I wanted to fall somewhere soft. So I did my best impersonation of a run (I remember ping-ponging back and forth between the walls of my hallway as I went) back to my room.

I ended up passing out just as I got to the door to my room, and I fell face forward kind of half onto my bed. When I landed I had a fleeting moment of consciousness wherein I realized that I narrowly missed my target and was now falling off of my bed. After all the effort of running to my room so I could pass out on my own bed, I ended up falling on the floor and smacking my head anyways.

When I came to a few minutes later, my stomach really hurt. I looked, and found that I had four mysterious little puncture marks that were bleeding all over my shirt. Huh, I thought. How strange. Then I realized that I was still clutching the fork I had been using to stir my microwaved lunch with. When I had fallen down onto my bed, I had been clutching the fork, which stabbed up my stomach real good.

And that's the story of how I got a self-inflicted stab wound.

ME + JENNY 4EVR

There is a boy who lives nearby in my neighborhood. I see him a few times a month on the bus going home, and he's gained quite a fondness for me. He has decided that we are fated to be together, two star crossed lovers whose lives intersect on a city bus route. 

Since the first time he saw me he has made it very known how he feels. He will always spot me without fail, sit beside me, and start chattin up a storm. Every time he sees me, he asks the same thing: 

"Will you marry me, Jenny?"

Um. My name's not Jenny. 

Don't think I haven't tried to correct him. The very first time he saw me and he meandered over, he told me he thought I was pretty. I said thank you in my socially awkward, kind of scared way. He asked if I had a boyfriend. I yelped out a "yes" immediately, though this is a lie. This is where our conversation got weird. 

Him: "Is your name Jenny?"

Me: "Uh, no. No it's not." 

Him: "Hahaha, you're so pretty Jenny."

Me: "Um."

Him: "Will you go out with me, Jenny?"

Me: "Oh, um, well, I don't think my boyfriend would like that very much..."

Him: "Oh that's fine, my wife'll be a bitch about it anyways." 

Me: "..." 

Him: "Come on... Will you marry me, Jenny?"

Me: "Uh... my name's not Jenny... "

Him: "But... But I love, you, Jenny..." 

At this point he gave me a look that was supposed to be pitiful, I think. But he just looked crazy and scary and like someone who was ready to kidnap me and turn me into a human sock puppet or a stuffed head on one of those deer trophy plaques(this may or may not have been a hyperbolic rendering of my overactive imagination). 

I decided to get off the bus five stops early. It meant I had to run the 12 blocks home in the rain, but I decided it was worth not being kidnapped and turned into a puppet. 

Since our romantic first meeting, the same guy has sat beside me on the bus every opportunity he gets. And every time, he calls me Jenny and asks me to marry him. I've stopped correcting him on my name. He's just too determined to call me Jenny. So every time I hear "Will you marry me, Jenny?", Jenny just says no and gets off the bus 12 blocks early. 

I am either the most successful or the most delusional one at this party.

I am gross. Really gross. But in a kind of awesome way. I feel like after three years I have finally reached the center of the tootsie pop that is being a college student. This is a beautiful thing.

Today was a brilliant cliche of the life that every post-secondary student needs to experience. Let me walk you through it:

2:00 pm: Wake up. Feel groggy. Hear roommates yelling downstairs. Get up grudgingly, grumbling about how you shouldn't have stayed up till 5:00 am, knowing perfectly well that you'll do the same thing tonight. Put on sweatpants, tie hair in a ponytail, and wash face with soap and water. Brush teeth. Decide that this is enough personal hygiene for today.

2:15 pm: Make a full pot of coffee. Yes, all for yourself.

2:30 pm: Turn on TV. Realize Batman Begins is on. Get excited. Pour coffee and settle in to watch Christian Bale kick ass.

3:15 pm: Hear stomach growling. Figure out that you're hungry. Pace back and forth in the kitchen trying to find food that you can consume.

3:30 pm: Still haven't found food. Decide that this is stupid, you're missing Batman being awesome. Find a pack of peanut butter cups and decide that this will make a sufficient breakfast.

4:00 pm: Batman Begins is over. Put on the Dark Knight. Roommate #1 sighs and mutters something about you watching batman 'again?'

4:30 pm: Oh shit, you have three term papers due next week. You should work on those.

5:00 pm: You should really, really work on those papers...

6:30 pm: The Dark Knight is over. Be sad that there isn't another installment yet. Spend half an hour googling images of Batman fighting things.

7:00 pm: Oh shit. Papers. Get out all needed supplies and resources and settle in to write papers.

7:15 pm: Roommates are both gone for the night. HOUSE TO YOURSELF! Decide that this calls for a guitar solo.

7:20 pm: Set up fender and amp and attempt flaming solo. Realize you're not very good at guitar solos. Maybe your guitar needs new strings?

7:25 pm: Shop online for new electric guitar strings.

7:30 pm: Okay, really now. Papers. You should really at least work on one. Settle down and try to get started on the easiest of the three.

7:35 pm: Sick of writing papers. Make a blog.


So here we are. I am a gross, useless amoeba. :)