Final Destination.

I was driving home from the city.  I wasn’t really paying attention.  I wasn’t doing anything else ,but my mind was elsewhere.  I realized I had been in the far right exit lane the entire time and it’d soon be turning into an “exit only” lane, so it was time to move over.  I glanced over my shoulder, checking my blind spot.  I peeked into my mirrors and looked back one more time to be sure, then, signal on, I started switching lanes.  Suddenly an asshole in some sort of red sedan flies into my lane, speeds up, and nearly hits me, causing me to swerve back into my lane to avoid him.

Of course, I’m cursing, and now I’m pissed.  The driver is a middle aged man, probably showing off for the blonde who is half his age and is perched in the passenger seat, giggling.  I still have plenty of time before I’m forced to exit, so I decide right then and there if I want my revenge, I’ll just get really close to his bumper.  He’s already ridiculously close to the car in front of him, in an effort to get it to speed up, why not give him a taste of his own medicine?

I speed up and as I’m approaching his car, I see cars much farther up ahead swerving.  Brake lights.  I slam on my breaks and stay away from his bumper.  This guy is going to slam his car into the one in front of him and if I’m not careful, I could be collateral damage.  I try to scan the emergency lane ahead to see what the swerving was about and if there was an accident.  Right as I look back, we are approaching where the first cars has begun to swerve.  I see him run it over in his car and now, although my car is a few car lengths behind, this twisted metal bumper is hurtling itself towards my windshield. It’s bouncing of the pavement of the freeway, flipping end over end, as it flies at me.

I can feel my eyes widening in fear, and I begin to panic.

Do I swerve left and avoid the bumper hitting my person, but run the risk of it going through the passenger side?  Although it’s empty, it will still cause detrimental damage and there’s no assurance I’ll be okay.  There are also other cars to my left, any of which I could collide with.

Do I swerve right?  I’d be bringing myself into the direct line of the flying shrapnel, but I might be able to make it into the emergency lane without problem.  But should I not swerve far enough over, I’ll have lined myself up perfectly with the bumper, and it is definitely over.

These thoughts ran through my head at four times the speed the bumper was approaching.  It felt like minutes, but was probably under seconds.  I swerved to the right, screaming the entire time.  The bumper hit the front of my car and cartwheeled over it.  It nicked my front bumper and roof, but missed both the windshield and rear window.

I felt like I was going to throw up.  There was so much adrenaline pulsing through my body I forgot about the idiot driver and the random piece of metal and everything that had just happened.  My mind began to go back to a series of movies I love: Final Destination.  I just had a moment straight out of their script.  Had that bumper made it into my car, killing me, it would have caused a major accident.  It would have been a freak accident, and I avoided it.  I was so proud of myself.  I wasn’t mad or afraid or upset, but proud.  Proud that I had cheated death.  Proud that I had come up with the right solution.  Proud that I was still alive.


Baby names…

Babies are cute, adorable bundles of joy, or so people would have you believe.  Babies are actually evil, screaming bundles of poop and spit-up.  Kids are great, I’d love to have kids in the future…the FUTURE.  I value my freedom, ability to come home when I wish and, outside of my pets, my lack of responsibility for anyone outside of myself.  I feel the same way about marriage.  I’m all for signing a piece of paper locking myself into a relationship with someone (actually, I’m more for the party and the dress), but I am in NO rush.  But, alas, I am a girl and I do think about things like what my dress will look like and what I’ll name my little joyful bundle of drool.  But naming a baby isn’t as easy as it may seem.  I mean, Beyonce and Jay-Z put a lot of thought into Blue Ivy or Ivy Blue or whatever.  Here are some tips on naming your baby:

  • No nouns. Examples include Apple, daughter of Gwyneth Paltrow and Jenna Elfman’s son, Story.
  • Nothing you would name a dog.  I’m looking at you, Robert Rodriguez.  Naming your sons Rogue, Rebel, Racer and Rocket…let’s try to ignore the use and abuse of the letter “R”.  Gerard Way named his daughter Bandit, popular name for dogs and ferrets alike.
  • Spell it in a way that is normal and pronounceable, we shouldn’t have to derive Serenity from Saryniti (a girl on Toddlers and Tiaras was burdened with that name).
  • This whole “everyone in my family has a name that starts with the same letter” thing has to stop.  The Kardashians did it.  The Duggars did it to all 19…20? How many fucking kids do they have? Anyway, don’t you dare do it.
  • Do not name your child after a place or car.  Mercedes.  Porsche. Paris.  London. Oh, and naming your child after a car is a real thing (one you should avoid at all costs)


I’ve come up with a few baby names I actually like (as picky as I am):

Evelyn, Amelia, Sophie, Genevieve, Scarlett, Teagan

Oliver, Nathaniel, Jack, Dominic, Riley, Logan

Feel free to share any you like, even if they clash with my rules. haha.

a new direction.

so, I’ve decided to get back into this whole blogging thing, mostly because I finally have access to a computer after my old one was deemed unusable.  I really don’t know what ”
direction” this blog was going in, but I’m going to redirect it.  Mostly because I’m a girl, and we have to change everything all the time.

in other news, I’ve decided to compile a “bucket list”.  This list will include things I’ve already done, but failed to document, be it via pictures, video, or some other form.  I’d actually like to start compiling some sort of scrapbook with a page dedicated to each of my bucket list items once complete.  I’ll be doing some things for the second time around, but it isn’t like anyone is going to dock me life points, so I don’t really give a fuck.  Starting from scratch is what people do at the beginning of a year, and that’s, in essence, what I’m doing here.

I had a bucket list as a kid.  A literal list written down as a kid of things I wanted to do when I grew up.  Actually, I had a few.  One of them I kept in this little tin piggy bank from Sanrio that had a tiny padlock on it.  It was blue and cylindrical and hidden ever so inconspicuously under my bed.  Let’s be honest here, my mom was a neat freak and there was nothing under my bed BUT that tin bank, so I don’t know why my seven year old self was utterly shocked when my mom called me into my room to talk about this little list I had made.

I came in and she sat me down on my bed next to her.  I knew I was in trouble the second she uttered her catchphrase, “Anything you want to share with me?”.  I racked my brain for things I’d done wrong and hidden from her.  There was no way she knew about her elephant figurine that I had broken while playing zoo even though I knew everything in that China cabinet was strictly forbidden.  The box in my closet hiding her stained work shirt seemed to be in the exact place I left it, so hopefully that wasn’t what she had found.  What was it?  I meekly answered, “no”, even though I KNEW there HAD to be something.  Then she pulled out the piggy bank and I knew I was in trouble.  I knew EXACTLY what I had written on that list.  I knew EXACTLY why I was in there. I suddenly regretting spending the night at a friend’s house a few weeks back and having a long conversation with her older sister, who was in high school at the time.  I knew I was busted.

She pulled the crumpled list from her pocket (which kind of annoyed me, as I had it PERFECTLY folded) and began reading.

  1. Buy a car
  2. Get a puppy
  3. Have a boyfriend
  4. Have sex
  5. Get married
  6. Have a baby

Now, please notice the order that list is in, as I’m sure that is the FIRST thing my mother noticed about her seven year old daughter’s “to-do” list.  I remember cringing right as she got to number four.  Then the questions began.  Where’d you learn about sex?  Who told you ?  What did they tell you?  When?  Why is it on your list before “get married”?  Why is it on your list at all?  What is this list for?  Why did you make it?  Why did you hide it from me? And the kicker-Have you done anything on this list?  Jesus christ, I AM SEVEN. Haha. But, she had a point, not only did I know all about sex, I knew it wasn’t just for making babies.  She knew an adult didn’t divulge that information, and she was going to get to the bottom of whose older sibling tainted her child.

I slowly answered all of her questions, never making eye contact.  I told her about the sleepover and revealed that my friend’s older sister was in sexual education at the local high school and decided to share everything she had learned with us.  I told her about the textbooks we flipped through and all of the pictures.  After confessing, she didn’t say a word, but she didn’t exactly look mad.  Being the bright, young child I was, I decided this was the perfect opportunity to make a closing statement.  My *genius* idea sounded a little something like this, “I don’t know why you’d be mad, mom.  I mean, you let me watch movies with you and daddy all the time and those grown ups have sex and are hardly ever married.  It’s just a fact of life, mom.  If I’m going to marry a guy forever, I gotta make sure he’s perfect at everything first, right?”

Needless to say, I did myself no favors and was grounded for a month.  No more movies rated PG-13+ for this seven year old…

So, on *that* note, I’ve decided to start another bucket list, checking off things using pictures/video/etc, and some of these life events will be repeats of things I’ve already done, but went undocumented.  “Have sex”, however, will not be on this new list. lol.

seriously warped

Splattered all over the news are headlines concerning a common threat-obesity.  According to several studies and the infamous body mass index (or BMI), in 2007, roughly one third of American adults were obese.  The CDC states that, “American society has become ‘obesogenic,’ characterized by environments that promote increased food intake, nonhealthful foods, and physical inactivity. Policy and environmental change initiatives that make healthy choices in nutrition and physical activity available, affordable, and easy will likely prove most effective in combating obesity.”  I find all of this funny.  Not that obesity or morbid obesity is a laughing matter, but if you walk down the streets, how many ridiculously overweight people do you see?  You might be surprised to learn that some of the people we would normally categorize as simply “overweight” are “morbidly obese” by the BMI’s standards.  Why is this?

A BMI chart (test your BMI here) measures your height and weight and then graphs them against each other.  If you are too heavy for your height, you are categorized as overweight, obese, or in some cases,, morbidly obese.  Seems like a good system for measuring exactly how fat or thin you are, right?

Here is the problem, and it’s a big one: muscle weighs more than fat and is not accounted for in the BMI chart.  Your BMI is not based on the percentage of fat you have in you body, but rather, your weight alone.   Therefore, a body builder who is 6’2 and 210 pounds of almost pure muscle is overweight if you refer to the chart above.  I found a neat little image that shows what this large, obvious flaw means:

According to their BMIs, these two men are equally overweight and unhealthy…really? Seriously?  This alone causes our “obesity epidemic” to take a serious slant towards “not so bad”.

Now, I’m not saying America doesn’t have a weight problem.  Our portion sizes combined with the vast array of pocket-friendly fast food deals and our love of sitting in front of a tv or computer for hours is definitely taking its toll, BUT I think the scale of this problem has been blown out of proportion.  Yes, it is a problem.  Yes, we need to take steps, collectively, to fix this problem.  No, judging the health of a person based solely on a BMI chart is not a step in the right direction.

In all honesty, I feel like this is causing a warped sense of self for many Americans, specifically the very impressionable youth.  Much like seeing underweight celebrities and models plastered all over the media, being categorized as “obese” or “morbidly obese” can easily warp the way in which one views oneself.

I have been (for years now) categorized as “obese” and at high risk for diabetes.  My blood sugar levels are all stable and upon first glance, I don’t look like I weigh as much as I do.  The same is true for many people.  When we hear “morbidly obese”, how many of our minds turn to the stories of people too big to walk?  Of people so large they had to be taken to the hospital in a flatbed truck?  How many people picture me?

Yes, this is me.  22 and obese.  Yes, that label has changed my self-esteem and my paradigm of the world.  Yes, it makes me self-conscious.  No, I do not think the BMI scale is completely accurate.  Yes, I believe it is seriously warped.

What about you?  Where do you fall on the scale?  Do you think it is an accurate representation of your weight?  Here is a picture of someone who falls in the same exact category on the BMI index as I do; her BMI is 33.  Has your answer changed?