Hello…It’s Me. (Adele Please Don’t Sue Me).

After looking through some of my old blog posts I noticed a common trend. The last few posts have begun with me apologizing for not writing as much as I used to in high school. Now, here’s the thing about college: there are a lot more things for me to do on a daily basis than when I was in high school. Some of these exciting college things include:

 

• Signing checks and paying bills.
• Experimenting with alcoholism.
• Crying.
• Going to class (at least thinking about going to class).
• Socializing…?
• Crying.
• Looking for big girl jobs upon graduation.
• School work.
• Work work.
• Crying at work.
• Working out.
• Dealing with crippling anxiety.
• Grocery shopping.

 

Now obviously, a lot of these things go hand and hand. What college student hasn’t just started crying randomly in the middle of class because they all of a sudden realize that their entire life has been structured by educational institutions since they entered preschool and in a few short years they will truly be on there own for the first time in their lives?

 

No?

 

Just me?

 

Yeah I’m not that surprised. Most of my meetings with my psychiatrist start with him asking me what the “problem of the month” is. As a side note is it sad that I am now on a first name basis with my psychiatrist? Actually no don’t answer that, let’s save the problem of the month for something more important.

 

In two days it will officially be one year since I have posted on this blog. Honestly I’m surprised I even remember the password. In the past year I’ve hit a lot of milestones, both good and bad, but important nonetheless. I’ve discovered a lot about myself both mentally and emotionally, I’m in the best physical shape I have been in in years, I experienced my first heartbreak, I’ve held down a job for almost two years now, and I’m learning that it’s ok that I won’t always know everything. I’ve realized that I can trust more people than I ever did before, and I’ve also realized that it’s ok to let people go even if you used to care about them more than anyone.

 

So basically, I think I’m….

 

maturing.

Me: The Beacon of Maturity.

Says the girl who owns a DVD copy of High School Musical and talks about the consistency of her poops on a daily basis.

 

At the end of the day, I am happy to announce that I have officially returned to HeyPoofy.

 

At the same time If I don’t post anything else after this I’ll write to y’all in a year!!!!!!

 

-Poof

Get Off My Back Red Cross

*DISCLAIMER: The Red Cross is a valued association and has saved countless lives through their efforts. This blog post in no way discourages the donation of blood, it is purely for the entertainment of the reader. Enjoy!*

The Red Cross really needs to get off my back. I swear, ever since I gave blood back in November, they have called me at least once every week. This past week has been the most annoying however. So far this week the Red Cross has called me four times asking for my extremely common blood.

Like seriously! I would understand this obsessive calling if my blood type was actually rare. Fun fact: my blood type is O+. Another fun fact: almost forty percent of the population has my blood type.

SO WHY IS THE RED CROSS OBSESSED WITH MY BLOOD.

And at the risk of being publicly shamed, I’m just going to be honest: even if I had a rare blood type, I don’t think I would give blood again anytime soon.

Now before the Red Cross starts sharpening their pitchforks getting ready to literally take my blood by force, hear me out. The first (and only) time that I gave blood was an extremely traumatic experience.

Backstory time:

Last November was our schools first of two annual blood drives and I was finally old enough to help out. I had never given blood before, but when I signed up the nice girl running the booth convinced me by telling me that they were thirty people short of what they needed. So I signed up and walked away feeling pretty good about myself until I suddenly remembered.

do you see the pain in her eyes? because i do.

I’m deathly afraid of needles.

In that moment I almost sprinted back to the small table fully prepared to rip my name off of that hit list, and maybe kick the table over for emphasis. But, I didn’t. I convinced myself that this will be good! I remember saying to myself “Gee Poof! Maybe now you can stop being pathetic and finally get over your stupid fear LOL”

Wow I have such a way with words.

Anyway, the day had finally arrived and I had never been so worried in my life.

That might be an over exaggeration but whatever you get the point.

My appointment was during third hour, so for the first two hours of the day I was trying to think of anyway that I could get out of this. I remember even thinking that maybe they wouldn’t take my blood if I cut off my hand. But then I realized that I would probably just make the process easier for them.

Third hour had finally approached and I had to convince my friend Tanner to come with me for support. We walked into the gym to see a very impressive, yet extremely intimidating set up. Doctors were gliding across the gym checking on each of the patients and students were even helping out by talking to the donors during the blood giving process. Now to most people, when looking at this they would feel reassured knowing that everything was running smoothly.

Well not me.

In that moment I started to silently cry, looking around at all of the needles and blood. Everyone was going up to me asking what was wrong but I couldn’t even manage to create a sentence.

And I talk A LOT.

The next thing I knew, I was on a gurney with my head to the side so I wouldn’t have to look at my blood as it escaped from my system. Students and even teachers came over to me for the twenty minutes that it took to get a pint of my unbelievably average blood. But I couldn’t interact with them, all I could do was stare into the distance as silent tears trickled down my face.

Wow…I really am pathetic.

Anyway, after the Red Cross was finished torturing me, they brought me over to this table with muffins and granola bars and they simply told me to “enjoy”.

After eating a granola bar I started to listen to some conversations going on around me. This is when I overheard some of the doctors talking about how “lucky it was that no one had passed out yet today”.

Well let’s just say that after I heard that their luck ran out because next thing I knew I was being helped onto another gurney and being rolled into a closed off location so none of the other donors would see me.

I ended up sleeping there until halfway through sixth hour where I kinda stumbled in, receiving many confused looks from my classmates. The silent tears continue to fall.

Now that you understand my perspective a little more, I hope you understand why I wouldn’t be too excited to donate blood again any time soon. If the Red Cross wants things from inside of me anytime soon they will have to cross their fingers that I die in a car accident.

#poofproblems

-Poof

3 Reasons Why Summer Can Suck

Before I can begin, I must clarify that I do enjoy summer. I mean why wouldn’t I? Everyday is a Saturday and every night is a Friday. All of a sudden everyone has this new youthful energy and so many spontaneous adventures! Not to mention, it is Grad Party season as well and who doesn’t love free food.  Everyone looks at Summer as this coveted season, like no other season can even compare. But just like any sought after celebrity, there is always something wrong with a “perfect” thing.  

 

3. THE HEAT.

 

I feel like I might be stating the obvious here with this one but it’s true. Summer can get HOT and If you grew up in a state that can have winter up until May, than I think you can imagine the shock that the heat brings to my body. I look outside every morning to see a welcoming sun. It’s shining bright and it’s saying “LET’S GO SEIZE THE DAY KID!” and I listen to this sun, hoping that he won’t deceive me again. But alas, he always does. I run outside only to find immense pay as my feet touch the pavement. “How is this possible?” I look up at the now blinding sun while falling into the shadows, a single tear sizzling on my face.

 

Ok that might be an over exaggeration but seriously this happens like once a week. Then I just go back inside and wait until the night falls.

 

2. Bugs on Bugs on Bugs.

you’re not cute can you not thanks

I really hate bugs. I understand that they are important to our fragile ecosystem but come on is there really a purpose for mosquitos? I am fine with bees, and I am fine with spiders, but mosquitos are seriously the bane of my existence. I already have acne, so I really don’t want more red bumps on my body especially in the summer. They just fly around at bonfires acting like they own the place and biting everyone they can.

 

So basically mosquitos are THAT person at a party that just needs to stop.

 

1. Not actually following through on any summer plans.

 

I always find it funny how at the end of every school year, people are always making really big plans for the summer. They pledge to all of their classmates that they will hang out with them and go on crazy adventures. We all have done that, even myself. However when I’m telling someone “Yeah let’s do something CRAZY this summer!!” deep down I know that I am probably only going to hang out with a handful of people during the summer. And it’s unfortunate, because after June I begin to miss a few of my classmates that didn’t happen to be in that handful. However, instead of reaching out to them I figure it’s too late in the summer to make a real connection. Stupid yes, but I feel like I’m not the only one that thinks that way.

 

So yeah. Summer isn’t some miracle season that everyone depicts it as. Still, summer can be a fun season. To quote an inspirational voice of our generation, “Summer belongs to you” – Phineas from the hit TV show “Phineas and Ferb”.

 

…

 

Oh man I need to get out of my house.

 

#poofproblems

-Poof

Why I am an Awful Person (Part 2)

Public bathrooms are truly disgusting, and high school bathrooms are even worse. They are unsanitary, crowded, and generally uncomfortable to be in. But there is one positive thing about high school bathrooms.

 

The handicap stalls.

behold: the door to the promised land.

Imagine: You are a high school student and you just need to release the urine that has been building inside of you all day. You always think “Oh theres only one more hour in the school day, I’m sure I can just wait until I go home” but alas, your bladder is weaker than your distracted mind! You swiftly sign a pass to the bathroom and rush in to find that you are in fact, alone.

 

“This, this is your opportunity” you think as you make your way to the promised land. You enter the coveted, single handicap stall and release a sigh of relief, maybe you even walk around to get used to beatiful amount of space! The stall really makes this private time so much better. Fin.

 

Ok that might be a bit of an over exaggeration, but handicap stalls really are the best. I’m not a claustrophobic person but whenever i go in a normal sized public bathroom stall i get so uncomfortable that i can’t even pee and i end up just sitting there for five minutes doing literally nothing.

 

BUT EVERYTIME I USE A HANDICAP STALL I FEEL LIKE AN AWFUL PERSON.

 

Every time I use a handicap stall i always think that someone who actually CAN’T use the stall will come in the bathroom. He or she will have to sit there and hold their pee while i selfishly continue to use their toilet. Maybe I would make them hold their pee for too long and they would just pee their pants, or worse they would develop a bladder infection and urinary tract problems for the rest of their lives all because I used the handicapped stall.

 

Once again, I might be over exaggerating.

 

#poofproblems

-Poof

Why I am an Awful Person (Part 1)

I, am a pencil chewer.

vomiting.

 

That’s right, I admit it. I am that kid that is constantly chewing on the ends of their pencils. And it doesn’t just stop there, no. I chew on the ends of pens too. I’ve even been known to chew on pen caps.

 

You are probably all glaring at your computer screens right now aren’t you? Maybe even thinking back to that time that I lent you a pen or pencil?

 

Well if you aren’t you should be because whenever I do this I put my healthy, caring friends in danger of dying from touching the spots on my pencils and pens that are just riddled with bite marks. It would be fine if I only did this once or twice but I swear people ask me for pencils all the time and I never say no. Why don’t I say no? Well It would be really uncomfortable to say no to someone that can blatantly see that I have more than enough pencils in my pencil pouch.

 

I swear every day I will be in one of my classrooms minding my own business and getting ready to consume my daily dose of knowledge for the day. I casually take out my designated notebook for the class along with my handy-dandy pencil pouch.

 

And that’s where it all begins.

 

As if the pencil pouch is a powerful magnet, every time it is exposed to the outside world without fail someone comes over to me and asks if they can “borrow” a pencil. I say “borrow” because high schoolers tend to not return pencils. Anyway, It’s as if I forget about my awful habit every time because I reluctantly hand over a pencil, every time. But, the second that my healthy friend is holding one of my pencils I remember it all. I remember biting that exact pencil only a few hours before and as I see them walk back to their desks with that infected pencil I have to fight every urge to stand up on my chair yelling

 

“NO GIVE ME BACK THE PENCIL BECAUSE I CARE ABOUT YOU NO”

 

But I never do that.

 

I sit there, and I just

 

watch.

 

And watch as my friend is using my disgusting pencil that I so carelessly distributed to him or her. Watch as they twirl it, use the eraser feverishly, or even touch their faces with it. And this is one reason why I am an awful person.

 

But hey, it could be worse. At least I don’t have AIDS.

 

#poofproblems

-Poof

The Origin of “Poof”

September 2009. I had just entered my first year of high school. I was only a freshman sure but I was ready to take on the world and make a name for myself. However, it is kinda hard to make a name for yourself (a good name at least) when no one actually knows if you’re real or not and if you are incredibly socially awkward.

 

Speaking of socially awkward, about a week into my freshman year I got switched into a new gym class. Not only is a freshman gym class awkward enough, but it really didn’t help that I only knew a few people in the class.

 

Because I was in a new class with new people I decided it was a special occasion and It was important to leave a good impression. So I decided to wear my hair down. In the beginning of my freshman year I was really embarrassed by my genetic defying curly hair, but I was trying to come to terms with it.

 

We were all in the main gym when my teacher announced that we were going to be playing:

 

Soccer.

 

Outside. Where there were strong winds and 100% humidity.

 

I, am awful at soccer. I always have been, and I am pretty sure I always will be. When I was a kid my mother made me play soccer from the ages of 4 to 7, but I was always that kid that would only run, If I was running to make sure that I was going to be goalie so I wouldn’t have to run.

 

Classic childhood me.

 

Anyway soccer. So we all go outside as a class and the humidity hit me with full force.

 

Now if you don’t have curly or thick hair, let me explain what humidity does to your hair.

Remember that episode of the Suite Life of Zack and Cody where Maddie’s hair was growing bigger and bigger by the minute because of the 100% humidity on her big date? Yeah. That was me. Except my date…was a date with destiny.

me

Still determined to make a good first impression despite the humidity I thought “Hey, maybe I’ve gotten better at soccer without even touching a soccer ball in 8 years? Seems legit right?”

 

Wrong.

 

So…So wrong.

 

Let’s just say I was better when I was 7.

 

After 10 minutes of trying to play soccer I eventually gave up and walked toward the fence in shame hoping no one would pass the ball to me again. I took out my phone to check the time only to drop it in horror of the reflection I saw.

 

My hair had tripled in size.

 

And THAT is saying something.

 

I was starting to freak out hoping that something, anything would make my hair stop from getting any bigger. I was pressing down as hard as I could on any section of my hair that I could reach when all of a sudden:

 

Someone passed me the ball.

 

Since it was soccer you were supposed to keep your eyes on the ball at all times, and when your eyes are on the ball, you tend to see who has it. And oh boy did everyone see the train wreck of a freshman that had the ball. I had still had both hands on my hair trying to push it down while my bull legged legs were buckled together. Instinctively I thought it would be a good idea to try and get low to the ground so they wouldn’t see me.

 

Keep in mind I’m smarter now.

 

But in that instant, something happened that would change my life forever:

 

“HEYYYYYYYYYYY POOFYYYYYYYYYYY!!!” One of my classmates yells from across the soccer field. At first I was appalled. I wanted to yell “It’s not my fault!! It’s the humidity I swear!” But at this point, I no longer had any words. I was so emotionally ditraught that I just sprung up and took all of my anger out on that soccer ball. The ball flew all the way across the field to my classmate as he went in and scored.

 

“Nice kick Poof!” “Good job Poof!” My classmates shout as they run to congratulate the scorer. I am left standing at the opposite end of the field alone in utter confusion, muttering out a single “wat”.

 

The funny thing about high school is how quickly word gets around. The next thing I knew everyone was calling me “Poof” or some variation of the term. Even people I didn’t really know at all. It’s safe to say that it’s become a big part of who I am.

 

And this was the story of my first…

 

#poofproblems

-Poof