Saturday is a Special Day

Yesterday was my last Saturday in Denver before I head back to school. What did I do yesterday? I went to IHOP for breakfast, had the Strawberry French Toast that felt like I was eating dessert and then I went home and took a nap. Exciting right? I wake up from my nap slightly groggy and have a sudden urge to go to Elitches. My younger brother and sister leave 10 minutes later and I cannot help but wonder, "I am scared to death of roller coasters. Why am I going?" The fear was all for naught, however, because I did not get too scared. Even on the Boomerang, where the first time I rode it, I cried. Remember that Tyler? What made it even better was that I sat next to a stranger and had to keep my composure. I wouldn't want the "Bikini Patrol" to have to practice CPR on me. We had a great time waiting in line. I was really happy to be hanging out with my siblings before I leave them for four months. I don't know who is happier about that last little tidbit, me or my parents. I can tell you that my dad is most likely counting down the days and has been since June. I believe that I have caused his hair to gray more in the past few months than all of his other children combined. I should probably watch out, however, because as he has told me time and time before, "I brought you into this world, I can take you out." I am sad to be leaving, but after having spent so much time on my own, the family setting can get a little annoying. No offense family, you are great, I am just enjoying being selfish for a while, it comes with the age.

Humiliation!

Last night, to my astonishment, I lost a tennis match 6-1,6-2. Why is this such a big deal you ask? Well, I was beat by a Utard that has only played for two years. I have played for almost my whole life. You know what makes it even worse? We put a wager on it, that in the end he provided the ice cream instead of me. Can I even keep one shred of dignity?

Despite the fact that I lost horribly and completely, I still had a great time. Talked some smack, tried to keep my temper under control, and didn't even swear once. My racket did find its way to ground once, however, but I don't think he saw that. Why is it that when I play someone who just happened to pick up the sport always beats me? It has happened multiple times before and will most likely continue to happen for years to come. Another source of frustration is that he wasn't even a pretty tennis player. His form was all for naught and his serve kicked butt when it was in. What were all those lessons for? To look good when I lose? I will add that I thought I looked good in my favorite skirt.

I really did have a great time. It was nice to get out there and hit the ball with a good looking gentleman. It's not every day that I play with someone better looking than myself.

Wednesday Night Catch-Up

I was sick the other day and actually spent the whole day in my spider-infested bed. It seemed a little childish that I would still not sleep in there after the sheets are watched and no spider had been seem for weeks. Sadly, that did not carry over into the night. I ended up moving back upstairs at midnight because I couldn't sleep. A result of my arachnophobia or of the now uncomfortable bed? You tell me.

I received an email today relating the fact that females really do prefer pink more than males. They said that it could be a result of the different genes, but I remain skeptical. I think that males prefer the pinkless colors because they are afraid that they will appear to feminine and that people will start suspecting them of different orientation. I say, go with whatever feels comfortable. My favorite color is pink because I wanted to make my little sister angry. Now it is some sort of a neurological disorder called "pinkattractinitis". I only have one question, why do all the fashion critics think that every girl grows out of liking pink at the age of ten? Why not 20 or better yet, 30? I went shopping tonight (gasp, I broke down) and wanted to shop in the girls department because there was more pink. If only I were a bit more petite. Okay, enough complaining.

I have one more week of work. I am sure that my coworkers are counting down the days until the pink intern leaves. I am sad to be leaving work, however. I love where I work and I love the people. It has been nice to be on the younger side of things. As Caryl told me today, "We live vicariously through you." Though that was only in reference to a hot guy. I like to think it is true.

The "Incident"

The "incident" happened a couple of weeks ago and I have been dealing with the consequences ever since. So here is a telling:

Since my room is in the basement, it has been a choice spot for spiders. I had gotten to know them pretty well and had no problem killing them (at least the small ones). One night, I killed two spiders before I went to bed and was sort of nervous until I fell asleep. At about 2:30 I woke up and went to the bathroom. I got back to my room where I proceeded to kill three spiders. I start to get back in bed and I see a spider run across the foot of my bed. I jump out of bed and fold my arms across my pounding heart. I was unsure of how big the spider was, I was only able to catch a glimpse of the color - brown. I start moving my sheets and the spider runs right under my sheets. This time I could see more details. He was big, and brown, but the important things was that he was big. There I am standing next to my bed on one foot folding my arms and I just start to cry. I stand there for five minutes crying before I realise that distance would probably help. I sit upstairs at my kitchen table where Icontinue crying for about 20 more minutes. By this time, it is two thirty and my senses start to come back to me. i realize that I should go upstairs and sleep in the extra bed. Unfortunately, I have to make about three trips back to my room because kept forgetting things. It took me another hour and a half to finally go back to sleep, and even then all I could ever think about was the movie "The Covenant."

For the following few days, I spent as little time as possible in my room and never touched my bed. I slowly adapted to the idea of a spider living in my bed and it didn't bother me too much. Unfortunately, I suffered a relapse of my arachniphobia and am now scared to death of the little things. Since then, I have lived through finding a spider in the lab and the teasing following the event the ended up with me on the counter and my hands folded for the rest of the day. I have also had another incident where a spider crawled on my and I cried again. And lastly, I was able to run up the stairs after I discovered one on a step.

After all of this, my dad finally decided to spray for spiders and give me some spray that will kill them on contact (one can only hope). I have had thoughts like, "I am a hundred times bigger that that spider, why did I run away?" I usually follow those thought up with, "Yeah, we should get some cake from Hacienda Colorado."