Bad Cereal & Other Disappointments

I’m sorry I haven’t written in a while. I’ve literally been as busy as Obama since school started. Except, Obama doesn’t have a personal blog, so I’m technically busier.

Update: I’m currently eating a bowl of rice krispie cereal with about 10 spoonfuls of brown sugar, almond milk (to add in a healthy kick), and a glass of wine. I don’t know why anyone eats this cereal. It tastes like a wet couch cushion. There is literally no flavor and nothing to look forward to. At least with lucky charms, you can eat all the fake cheerios and then save the marshmallows for the climax of your meal. The brown sugar helps, but I must add in that I considered having a second bowl of just brown sugar and almond milk to satisfy my drunk belly.

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Update 2: (I’m not complaining, but I’m about to complain). I have a decently full schedule this semester. I have to take five classes, work two jobs, be the head of marketing for some magazine, and teach a class. I’m not sure who let me be in charge of anything, but I’m in charge of a lot of things. Be that as it may, I am taking a creative non-fiction class to satiate the urge to talk and write about myself all day long. I will be posting some of those stories as blog posts until further notice. Definitely give me feedback if you can! I prefer comments like “omg best writer ever!” and “Ernest Hemingway reincarnated as a woman.” If you HAVE to be constructive, please let my ego down easily.

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I was going to run in 2020 as a surprise candidate, but Kanye beat me to it. I wish I could buy you all pumpkin spice lattes and Ugg boots. To be continued…

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Strangers with Pamphlets

I have waited my entire life for a Mormon to knock on my door and hand me a pamphlet. I’ve heard countless stories about this happening to other people and always felt left out and neglected, inevitably causing my abandonment issues. I just want to hear the spiel – that’s it. Sure, I have a lot of burning questions I’d like to ask and I’d want to keep them at my door step longer than necessary, but I mainly just want to hear what they have to say and be invited into their club.

I spent three hours this morning preparing for a run and convincing myself it was a good idea. This is always a long and tedious process. I was in the middle of sitting on my couch perusing the Internet to find the perfect pair of eye shades when my door bell rang. I got up and looked into the mini hole in the door. My heart skipped a beat with excitement and my hangover immediately disappeared. My big day had finally arrived – it appeared that there was a Mormon man at my door.

I opened the door and tried to hide my excitement. Even though I knew he was going to ask me to be in his club, I would pretend to be surprised. After he asked, I would give the same speech I say in the shower when I’m accepting my Emmy.

He had a pamphlet in his hand and handed me one.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO KNOW THE TRUTH?”

This was the pamphlets opening line. Aggressive. But ok yes, I would like to know the truth. I opened the pamphlet and the man asked me if I had ever wondered about any of the questions. My excitement dissipated as soon as I realized this was not a Mormon packet. He was a Jehova’s Witness.

Photo by giphy.com

Gif by Giphy

I indulged the man in conversation even though this was not the club I wanted to be apart of. He told me to pick a question on the pamphlet that I had wondered about. I chose: “What happens to us when we die?” I’m not very religious despite going to Catholic school for nearly half my life, but I had always held onto some hope that good shit would happen to me after I kicked the bucket. Perhaps an alternate universe where Oreos would make me skinny and Channing Tatum was obsessing over ME, rather than the other way around.

The man ignored the fact that he was in a college neighborhood and that there was a high probability of me being a college student. He proceeded to read me the answer on the pamphlet that I had in my hands. He read:

At death, humans cease to exist…”

I figured.

The dead…are conscious of nothing at all,” states Ecclesiastes 9:5. Since the dead cannot know, feel or experience anything, they cannot harm or help the living. -Psalm 146:3,4. “

What. This man is not only not a mormon like I wanted him to be, he’s calmly explaining to me that there will be no Channing Tatum and Oreos when I die. In fact, there will literally be nothing. He doesn’t seem rattled by this idea at all as I press him with questions like, “But are you sure?” and “Really?”

Gif by rebloggy.com

Gif by Rebloggy

After reading this section to me, I realize he’s trying to leave me. I linger at the door a little longer, but to my disappointment, he does not ask me to be apart of his club either. It felt like a bad breakup and suddenly I needed ice cream and tissues.

“NO! I will not let them do this to me,” I thought. “I’m too good for them!” I went on a run (that’s an extreme overstatement. I jogged a 12 minute mile) to make myself feel better.

As I was approaching my house on the way back, a miracle happened. The man with the pamphlets was walking toward me. As soon as he recognized me, he turned around and tried to walk back the other way. I heard his internal dialogue from a mile away:

Oh crap. This is so awkward. I just wanted to go back to my car. I wonder if she recognizes me. Of course she does. I should’ve just invited her to our club. She seems so cool and has great hair.”

Gif by picslist.com

Gif by Pics List

I considered running up to him and asking why he didn’t ask me to join, but decided to let him walk the wrong way. For now, I’ll continue to fantasize about an after life where people carry me everywhere and beg me to be in their clubs.

 

I Love You Like I Love Bowling

*This one’s a little long and if you really love me you’ll read the whole thing*

Chris and I have been together since February. Since a lot of our friends went home for the summer, we have to keep busy and try not to kill each other. So far, we’ve done a phenomenal job. We go to the movies, attend Yankees games, play connect 4 etc. However, the most exciting experience we’ve had so far (in my opinion) was when we went bowling. We pre-gamed, as you always should before doing something like bowling, brought some liquor with us in a black thermos and much to our delight, they served beer at the bowling alley by the pitcher.

I walked up to the front desk with false drunk confidence and asked for some bowling shoes. I felt bad for the two men working at the bowling alley on a Friday night and considered asking them to bowl with us, but decided against it since they had to keep an eye on the bowling shoes. Someone’s gotta do it. We walked to our bowling station and were ironically placed in between two large families. It was 10PM on a Friday, so we felt that our intoxication was valid and should’ve been foreseen by anyone and everyone in our path.

Photo by pandawhale.com

Photo by Panda Whale

Chris and I began bowling and I started off strong and got some strikes. I might as well have been a middle aged man with a balding head and a beer belly judging by how well I was doing. But as I continued drinking, my strikes decreased in likelihood since we were bowling without bumpers, like real adults. I had forgotten how greasy bowling lanes can be and part of my clown shoe slipped at the beginning of the lane and my feet flew out from under me. Clearly, not my fault. Before I knew it, I was on the floor and chose to sit there helplessly until Chris stopped laughing to come pick me up. This took a while; Chris was laughing so hard, I thought he was going to have a hernia. The families on each side of us glared at me and no doubt expressed internal thanks that I was not their daughter.  We continued to bowl in between spurts of drinking as my bowling skills, or lack thereof, continued to diminish.

Photo by jokideo.com

Photo by Jokideo

Chris has a lot of amazing qualities. He’s smart, funny, has a beard etc. But he has the emotional intelligence of a chimpanzee. He is repulsed by emotions and believes everyone is simply too sensitive. He says he loves that I don’t “cry all the time.” It seems as though his real soul mate could be Hannibal Lector or any other notorious serial killer. If we ever break up, he’ll have a lot of trouble dating anyone else for the rest of his life. But at least I’ll be the best girlfriend he’ll ever have, which is always my primary goal. I aim to be everyone’s favorite person.

I stumbled up to the bowling lane and threw the ball. It went immediately into the gutter as if I had been aiming for it. I walked back to Chris, defeated, and after he stopped laughing, he said:

I love you.”

I was stunned. He had never said it before and for whatever reason he chose to say it in a bowling alley with strobe lights while we were both wearing shoes that would no doubt give us the bubonic plague. I didn’t know what to say. Of course I loved him, but it seemed to be taking my brain 8 years to process what he had said. I’m sure my facial expression looked as if he had told me he took a dump on the floor. So I didn’t say anything and we continued to bowl.

By the end of the game, my score was so low, you would’ve thought he had been playing a coma patient. So I can rule out professional bowling as far as careers go. Chris went to return his shoes while I was taking mine off and he called me to meet him outside. After returning the plague shoes, I met him in the parking lot and was pleasantly surprised when I saw that he had taken his plague shoes with him. I asked him why he took the bowling shoes, seeing to the fact that we didn’t make it a habit to bowl regularly. He said he didn’t know and that he just walked out with them. I love this about Chris. He does stupid things for no reason all the time and to me, it’s adorable and hilarious. Plus now he doesn’t have to pay for bowling shoes next time we bowl.

We sat down on a curb in the bowling alley parking lot as we waited for our Uber driver to take us home. I looked at him and said:

So you love me?”

Yeah.” he said, defeated by his own feelings.

I love you too.” I said.

He seemed excited and relieved as if I had told him he didn’t have to clean the dishes that night. We continued to talk about his new 5-finger-discount habit after stealing the bowling shoes. The Uber picked us up and we went home.

It was around 1am and I asked him if he wanted me to make cookies. He said yes (he never says no to food even if he’s not hungry, but honestly I’ve never viewed being hungry as a requirement before eating food). After proceeding to severely under-cook the cookies due to intoxication and my overpowering desire to just eat the dough without it being cooked, I went to my room to give Chris one.  He wasn’t there, so I went upstairs to look for him. To my amusement, I found my 6 foot tall, drunken mess of a boyfriend laying on the floor with a toilet paper roll as his pillow. I sat down next to him eating a cookie and offered him one.

I don’t want it,” he mumbled.

But you asked me to make these. Asshole. Why are you on the floor?”

I don’t feel good,” he replied.

So I sat with him, getting cookie crumbs everywhere while he made a rather large dent with his head in my toilet paper. When he was done taking a nap on the floor, we went to bed and he reminded me that he loved me over and over and over again. And now he won’t leave me alone:

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Photo by www.oystermag.com

Photo by Oyster Mag

Becoming President Is Like Really Easy

Since Donald Trump was all “I’m running for President,” and it didn’t turn out to be a joke like I had originally thought, I decided I needed to see what the application process is like when you run for President of the United States.

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Photo by Daily News

Since I happen to be a champion googler (is that really not considered a word yet?) in two states, I found what I was looking for with ease. I googled phrases like:

How to become president of the United States

Can you run for President if you have a record

If you win the whole president thing, can you paint the white house a different color?

If you become president, do they give you a chef?

Does someone bring you breakfast in bed?

Do you get to do the grocery shopping or does someone do that for you? I prefer to grocery shop on my own.

How many bathrooms do you get?”

As you can see, I got a little off topic from what I was originally researching, but I consider all of these top notch, significant questions. On my google magic carpet ride through the inter-web, I discovered a wikihow (complete with photos) regarding how to become President. I also read the SparkNotes version and briefly reminisced about how the site got me through AP English in high school. So here’s the gist of it:

1) Be a natural born citizen.

As long as your mother birthed you in America, you’re good to go. Say thank you to your mom for birthing you. That shit’s painful and messy.

2) Be at least 35 years old.

Realistically, I’ll never be an actual adult, but if I ever were to morph into one, it would probably be at around age 35, so this rule makes sense. I feel like 35 years old is the age when you remember to buy toilet paper BEFORE you run out.

3) Live in the US for at least 14 consecutive years before running.

14 is an odd number and I’m not sure why that’s the rule. I picture a bunch of congress people picking different numbers out of Uncle Sam’s large hat at random.

Photo by funnyordie.com

Photo by Funny or Die

There you have it folks. The criteria is pretty straightforward, granted I’m sure you have to do a lot of other political shit before you run. I was expecting a lengthier list with requirements like: must have wrinkles, must be able to buy toilet paper on time or must be able to distinguish your and you’re. I assume the position can only be filled by humans although it’s not clearly stated in the wikihow. I chose not to run for President because I like keeping my weekends free and I don’t want my hair color to change so dramatically.

 

I Hate Going to the Dentist

…and it’s not just because they get entirely too close to my face. Did I invite you to my barbecue? (no) Then why are you all up in my grill?

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I’ve been having temperature sensitivity pain with one of my teeth and my go-to strategy of hoping it would go away wasn’t working. So, I made the executive decision to make an appointment with a random dentist I found online. Also, chewing on the left side of your mouth makes eating so much less enjoyable. (On the bright side, I totally lost a pound). My first mistake was not checking this man’s yelp review:

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If you got a one star review from doing YOUR JOB, that’s probably a bad sign.

I arrived five minutes early for my appointment and immediately felt uncomfortable because the office appeared to be someone’s home from the outside. I walked in apprehensively and presented myself to the receptionist. She handed me some papers to fill out while I waited. I sat down and noticed a few magazines and toys for children. I promptly filled out the paperwork and handed them to the receptionist. She was older and married; and was probably oblivious to the yelp review I just found.

Whatever

A small man with gray hair and creepy eyes walked out to greet me and asked me to follow him into a room. He was nothing short of  an oompa-loompa minus the green hair. I wish he had had green hair; it would have been a more enjoyable visit. I greeted his dental assistant and sat down in an ugly green dental chair. The equipment seemed old and outdated. I peered around the room and couldn’t help but notice the uncanny resemblance to a serial killer’s torture basement. While I waited for Patrick Bateman to pop out with an ax or chain saw, the dentist (let’s call him Eugene) made small talk with me. I told Eugene that I major in Journalism and that I currently have an internship working for a small tech-start up in NYC. I briefly explained that I was the Content and Marketing intern for the founder of an iPhone app.

Everyone’s trying to make the next app…or whatever.”

Eugene was clearly jealous that my job is more fun than his, so I ignored his condescending tone and generally arrogant demeanor.

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So anyway, I got a cavity filled like three weeks ago and ever since then, my tooth has been really sensitive to cold and hot food and drinks.”

…I said, changing the subject back to why I was there in the first place. He poked around in my mouth and would continue to do this several times during the 25 minutes I was there. He asked me a few more general questions before deciding to take an x-ray. He came back while we waited for the x-ray and I asked him what he thought could be the problem.

Well worst case scenario, you’ll need a root canal.”

I nearly shit my pants. Who says ‘root canal’ that casually?

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He came back with the x-ray and spent 5 minutes looking at it before I asked if he saw anything odd. He didn’t see anything and came back to stick sharp objects in my mouth and tap the problem tooth. Eugene explained that I MIGHT need a root canal. Since he came to that conclusion so quickly, I asked why he thought this and if it could be something else. In so many words, he essentially said:

I don’t know, but you might need one.”

I felt like I knew less than I did before making this mistake of an appointment. He asked me if I wanted to see what the process of a root canal looked like with his superior-I’m-smarter-than-you-because-I-supposedly-have-a-dental-degree tone. He pulled out a picture book and explained the procedure to me, but I was too busy trying not to vomit and planning my escape.

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It could be from the filling that was put in to your tooth. So we can take that filling out, then put a different one in and see what happens. There’s no guarantee it’ll work though.”

I did not trust Eugene with a drill this early in our relationship that was quickly going downhill in my mind.

I don’t understand why the tooth in front of the one that got the filling hurts if the filling is the issue. Can you explain that to me?”

Eugene seemed puzzled when I threw this curve ball at him. I assumed he could tell the tooth that had the filling was different than the one I had pointed to. He poked around in my mouth some more and I finally decided he didn’t have a real D.D.S. Perhaps his career as a ventriloquist did not work out and he was left with dentistry. Either way, I needed to get out of this horrible office. I implied that I wanted a second opinion and got out of the chair quickly and narrowly avoiding ramming the top of my head into the light that was positioned above my face. Farewell, Eugene and may the Yelp reviews be ever in your favor (NOT).

Actual photo of me running away from Eugene.

Actual photo of me running away from Eugene.

 

7 Things No One Tells You About Adulting

At this point in my life, not that many people want to assassinate me. And yet whenever I’m in my huge 5 bedroom house alone, every little noise makes me think someone is about to come kill me. The most worrisome time this feeling occurs is when I’m in the shower; please, for the love of God, I don’t want to die naked. I haven’t even completed my diet yet! Realistically if I looked like Adriana Lima or Heidi Klum, I’d be like yes, please let everyone I went to high school with find my perfect body and be insanely jealous. But not now; my bod just isn’t ready.

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I just moved into my new place and will be living with five other girls. However, only one of them has moved in so far and she’s not home all the time. Whenever I’m home by myself, I’m constantly checking to see if the doors are locked and, like I mentioned previously, each little noise that the house makes immediately makes my brain go into “intruder alert” mode. If you think about it, it’s pretty narcissistic for me to think so many people want to kill me. I’m really not even important enough yet to get death threats or any other cool things celebrities get to go through. Like why would all these assassins be in my house? And if they’re so good at their job, why can I hear them? This is one of the things no one tells you when you kind of almost live by yourself temporarily. Here are some other things you will encounter so you can be prepared. You’re welcome.

7) You will have to kill all the bugs yourself.

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If you saw my previous post about my self-diagnosed arachnophobia, then you know exactly how hard it is for me emotionally whenever I encounter bugs. When you’re alone and you see a bug, you have to kill it; or in my case, give it your best shot and attempt to kill it. I have no sympathy for the ugly little critters trying to move in with me. Like, bitch no, you don’t pay rent. The other day, I saw a very small spider on one of the walls in my room. After a few minutes, I built up the courage to get a napkin and do the deed. I go to squish him and BAM, Little Lucifer the II jumps onto another part of the wall. OH GOOD. A JUMPING SPIDER. I try again to squish his puny little body in between my napkin and the wall, and of course, he basically flip jumps off the wall onto the floor with his tiny middle fingers in the air pointed at me. I’ve lost him. Now I’m late for work and have a new roommate.

6) You have to figure out how and when to take the trash out.

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…and if you take it out on the wrong day, you get fined and have to go to court. Basically the same as if you get caught for assassinating someone. Also, you still have to take it out even if it’s raining. Hopefully the love of your life doesn’t walk by when you’re in your pink robe covered in wet dirt trying to take out your trash.

5) You have to uncork your own wine bottles.

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This was actually the one thing that I enjoyed doing. I usually get wine bottles with caps so that there’s no way I can interfere with my drinking habits unless I drop the bottle on the floor. Every time I’ve tried to uncork a bottle of wine, I end up either breaking it up into little pieces and having to drink half cork-half wine, or I push the cork into the bottle. If you ask me, pushing a cork back into a bottle of wine takes more skill than uncorking the thing. Anyway, now I know how to do it without ruining my wine.

4) There’s so much shit you have to clean.

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I was always vaguely aware that my parents cleaned the house, but I rarely ever cleaned anything myself. I know how to fold clothes and that’s about it. No one told me that parts of my house will be dirty in ways that I couldn’t have possibly imagined. I decided to try to clean my bathroom after a few days of living in the new house. One of the nastiest things I encountered were the blinds covering one of the windows. They looked like they hadn’t been cleaned since World War II; I couldn’t even figure out what color they were supposed to be. At first I tried dusting it off, but this dirt was pretty insistent on never moving. My boyfriend was with me at the time and he thought it would help to SPRAY FEBREZE on the dirt. When I tried to go over it with the duster, the dirt started sticking together and began falling onto me. Cute. Eventually we figured out that wet wipes would evict the little specs from their residence on my blinds. They’re a shade of white by the way.

3) Sometimes your landlord won’t return your text messages.

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I’m not sure how to solve this one yet.

2) Fire alarms do indeed come out of the ceiling if you pull hard enough.

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The night before my first day at my new internship, my fire alarm started chirping every two minutes even though I had just changed the batteries. Luckily my superhero boyfriend was there to Google how to fix it while I laid there and complained. After about 45 minutes of him running around the house trying to steal the batteries from the other alarms and watching strange YouTube videos about how to fix the problem, he ripped the fire alarm out of the ceiling and saved the day. I texted my landlord to tell him about the problem (this time he replied) and he said he would come replace the batteries. I briefly informed him that “mine is on the couch.” He did not think that was as funny as I did.

1) You can and you will drink alone.

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And it’s awesome. Sip on some Pinot at the end of a long day and you’ll sleep through the sound of assassins trying to break into your house.

Little Lucifer

Arachnophobia is defined as:

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I believe I have this. I am not a doctor, nor have I gone to a doctor to confirm, but I fucking hate spiders. And I’m sure they hate me too. They find me everywhere: the shower, my room, outside. I know that technically, I’m infiltrating their environment if I’m outside, but I’m narcissistic enough to believe they shouldn’t be there. Spiders are like serial killers to me. They look creepy, they move fast, and I’m almost positive they have axes in their back pockets.

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My friend Carolina sleeps in my room on Mondays and Tuesdays because she has work across the street from my dorm. We were studying together on Tuesday and I decided to take a break. My breaks last about an hour, while my study periods drone on for about 10 minutes. Journalism is a truly torturous major. I was laying on my bed during my short study break and there it was: a killer black spider crawling around on my ceiling. Once I see a spider, I can’t ignore it- similar to when a sex scene comes on while you’re watching a movie with your parents.jennifer-lawrence-scared-funny-face

When I pointed it out to Carolina, it was clear that she was not willing to kill miniature Satan with 8 legs. I continued to ask her to kill it despite her hesitance. I insisted that my arachnophobia would get in the way of killing it properly. As she continued to refuse to put her big girl pants on and step up to the plate, I tried to make her feel guilty while I built up the courage to approach little Lucifer.

Let me make one thing clear: I want all spiders to die. I’m not against murdering them all. I just have a hard time getting near them. It’s not a moral issue. I don’t want you to mistake me for a decent human being.

I had goosebumps all over my body (SINCE I HAVE CLINICAL ARACHNOPHOBIA) and I walked over to a chair in my room.  For whatever reason, my school puts rocking chairs into the residence halls, as opposed to regular chairs – It’s weird that the administration assumes we’re all 90 years old. I began to position my rocking chair underneath the spider; I did this while keeping one eye on the spider.

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All of a sudden, the spider decided to do the little Spiderman thing and hang its web from the ceiling (like the asshole that he was). I began to scream as if someone had told me vodka would stop being sold in the world. This inevitably made Carolina start screaming as well. Part of me thought that the spider had jumped on me in an effort to either be friendly or kill me and I danced around trying to get if off, breaking my necklace in the process. Cool.

When I finally settled down next to Carolina, we looked at the ceiling and tried to find the spider, hoping it hadn’t left the ceiling. I thought it had committed spider suicide and jumped to its death. In most instances, I would have felt relieved by spider suicide, but my carpet is navy blue and I wouldn’t have been able to confirm little Lucifer’s death.

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Then, there it was, back in its cozy spot on my ceiling. One of my floor mates had heard our screams and texted me to ask if everything was ok. I wrote back “no. spider. please kill it.” It turned out that the only person willing to kill El Diablo was a little under 5 feet tall, a feisty female munchkin at best. She walked in casually and asked me where it was. I pointed in its direction trembling with fear. She stood up on my rocking chair and reached for tiny Satan, and just when I thought my life would be back on track, she could not reach El Diablo r; she was too short. In my time of crisis, I was overwhelmed with the idea that a spider would be living with me permanently (he hadn’t even bought me dinner; it was too early in the relationship). However, the munchkin was able to think quickly and left the room momentarily to go put high heels on. As far as I was concerned, it was the most innovative idea I had ever heard of. “She will be the next Steve Jobs,” I thought. “Or Samantha Jobs, I guess (since she’s a girl).”

Jenna-Mind_blown

She stood up on the rocking chair with her bravery and high heels and killed little Lucifer with one smoosh of a napkin. “MY HERO!” I screamed. The munchkin smiled and walked out of the room just as casually as she had walked in. Carolina and I sat there basking in relief and continued to avoid homework at all costs.