I got bruises (alright)

Okay, first, you should probably listen to this song while you read this post. Because it's what I was listening to while I was writing it. And it's a pretty awesome song. And by "pretty awesome," I mean that I love it.

I've always been a little bit...morbid?

But I feel like if I'm in pain, everyone should be able to tell. Not because I'm complaining about it incessantly, no. I want an outward physical proof.

Like bruises.

However, this is not always the case. I actually don't bruise very easily on most of my body. (Except for my upper thighs. Which people hardly ever see.)

So, yesterday, when I was running and inadvertently jumped into a hole, heard my ankle pop, and went down, that is obviously what I thought about (after, of course, the blinding pain running through my foot and "how am I going to get back home").

It hasn't really bruised yet, but I know it's coming. There's some discoloration, but it's deep.

So, at least through the pain and torn ligament, there will be something to show for it.

Happy Birthday, Harry!

Do you know what yesterday was? It's my sister Jeannine's birthday. And my grandparents' anniversary. So that's really cool.

Not to downplay those two momentous occasions, because I love my sister and my grandparents very much, but it was also Harry Potter's birthday.

And I felt like there weren't enough posts on my blog devoted to him or his journies (or Ron and Neville. You know I'm goin' be puttin' those two visions in here). SO! Here we go.

Tears. Every time. 

Watch especially from 1:48-2:22

You know what? I don't even care that I just stuck about 7 hours worth of HP stuff up here. It's obviously needed. The world doesn't have enough Harry Potter. Ever. We ALWAYS need more. 

Dream Carrie

I don't recollect if I've ever mentioned Dream Carrie on this lovely little blog before, but if I haven't, boy is she a sight to behold.

I'm pretty sure that Dream Carrie is the antithesis of Real Carrie. All of the things that I don't do in real life (drugs, drinking, teen pregnancy, etc.), Dream Carrie has done.

She's not a very moral person.

She's also apparently not very smart. Let me tell you why.

Preface:

A couple of weeks ago, my parents went on a cruise to Alaska to celebrate their 36th wedding anniversary. They left me here in Oklahoma to take care of their house. I don't know when the trash gets picked up (I promise that will be relevant in a moment).

Actual Story:

I, as Dream Carrie (while living an oddly normal day, with no drug busts or robberies), was taking care of my parents house, and trying to remember the day that the trash man comes to take the rubbish away.

Sadly, I realized all too late that the trash was actually being picked up as I pondered on the time it would come. So, I naturally ran around like a maniac trying to gather all of the trash in the house, put it in my trunk and speed race towards the trash truck so that my trash wouldn't be left to soil my parents' garage (this is actually an activity that was a regular occurance in my house growing up. Understandable why Dream Carrie would follow that train of thought). However, in my haste to follow the trash man, a wonderous savoir came to my rescue. A hero in a red vest and an awesome car.

Yes, ladies and gentlemen. Marty McFly and Doc Brown drove up in a Delorean to take me back in time so that I wouldn't miss the trash man.

It may have been the greatest moment of my dream life.

Until I woke up and realized that Dream Carrie could have just given her trash to the time traveling duo to fuel their flux capacitor.

Stupid Dream girl. All those hypothetical drugs must have fried her brains.

The big question of my life

Ok. I am not one for questioning Disney movies, believe me. I don't care that as soon as Ariel's head is out of the water her hair is dry. Or that Phillipe can show Belle where Maurice is, even though he left him in the woods far before he ever made it to the Beast's castle. I never yelled at Jasmine that, since Aladdin has lied to her over and over, she should stop trusting him.

However, there is one question that I have never been able to answer. Pocahontas, HOW DO YOU SPEAK ENGLISH? Seriously. He just shows up and all of the sudden native Americans don't speak Creek/Cherokee/Sioux? No. They speak perfect English. Oh, and also the English explorers don't have accents. I just find this whole language thing so confusing.

And also, how does she run? Ouch, dude.

Sarah and Charlie

Broken Arrow School let out less than a month ago, and, I must admit, I am a little sad. I'm not in school anymore, so I don't have to go to it, but I feel like I lost some friends when it let out.

Every day, on my way to work, I drive past Sequoyah Middle School (I know that's not how you spell Sequoyah, but that's how the middle school spells it. So, yeah). When school was in, I drive past at the same time that the kids are walking to school.

Every day for five months, I drove past the same two kids. A boy, probably about 13, and a girl, I'm assuming about 12. I never met them in real life, but, during the 10-15 seconds we spent together every Monday thru Friday, I felt like I got to know them. Or, at least, the them I made up in my head.

Their names, I decided, were Sarah and Charlie. She looked like a Sarah and I just hoped his name was Charlie. I really like that for little boys. They are siblings, is what I think. I could tell when they were having a good day, they would walk together. Not in extreme conversation, but talking. When they were having a bad day, they wouldn't walk together. Sarah would walk about 10 feet ahead of Charlie, and they would both look a little surly.

I just really liked passing them. They were adorable. I hope that they were in sixth and seventh grade, so that next year I can see Sarah and Charlie again.

I'm not a stalker.

Little Birds

On my front porch, there is a wreath. Inside that wreath, there is a nest. Inside that nest, there are two tiny newly hatched baby birds. And they are very very sweet.

There is one problem though. As much as my family and I love them and are excited that they are there on our porch and sharing our living space, The babies' mama does not love us. Every time we open the door to leave or come to the house, she quickly flies away to the tree in the front yard and yells at us.

However, the reason she hates me is not a bird reason. It is a universal mother reason. The other day, I was coming home from work and saw that she, again, had flown quickly away. Feeling bad for putting out a new mother, I apologized the whole way from my car to the door. During my apologies, though, I inadvertently woke up her sleeping babies, making her even more mad at me.

You do not wake up a new mother's sleeping baby. They don't like that.

Because... I know that.

I feel like we all need to remember the glory that is this video:

Boom.