Misadventures of a Skinny Fatty

Narration

2012-10-15T22:48:00.000-07:00

Something that I've noticed about myself recently is that when I am bored, or feel awkward in social situations, I tend to narrate in my head. Only in my head though. If I narrated vocally... I would look insane. Probably. But I digress. A few weeks ago I heard a group of people talking about the movie Paranorman, which I had seen recently. Having liked the movie quite a bit, I decided to chime in with a little conversational tidbit.

Romanticization

2012-09-19T10:05:00.000-07:00

I have a habit that I'm trying to kick. It isn't dangerous to my health or anything of the sort, but it is a source of near constant letdown. I am ALWAYS instantly romanticizing things. Whenever I start something new, my imagination kicks into overdrive. I constantly imagine being the best at whatever I do, surpassing everyone's expectations. Turns out those rose tinted fantasies are rarely met.

For example, I recently was newly employed at an old folks home for the elderly Jewish community. I was essentially a waitress, making sure everyone was taken care of in the dining room every night. Early on in my job, I felt like a queen of waitresses. I picked up everything quickly, and was able to do my job relatively well, relatively fast.

As the weeks went on, the old folk began to take their emotional toll. Comments I shrugged off before slowly started to annoy me. On one occasion I was told that I should eat all the dessert myself, because I was too thin and wouldn't survive the coming winter... I'll show her. On another, I was berated for having hair that was 'TOO BLOND. YOU MUST HAVE DYED". All natural, baby. After a few more days, reality came and mugged me in a dark alley. I blinked... and poof! Everything dissolved around me.

Maybe my ID badge wasn't as beautiful as I had originally though.

Poof.

And I certainly didn't look like a beauty queen in my uniform.

Poof.

It's pretty hard to pull off a hairnet, doesn't matter how good looking you are.

I suddenly realized that if they aren't directly related to me, I don't like old people that much. In all honesty, they make me really sad. Now that I'm back at school, I don't have to worry about it for a while. Even so, I still don't like being crushed by reality like that.

This isn't a recent phenomena. In elementary I realized I could plant things and make them grow. So, I planted seeds from the tree outside my house every-frigging-where. I figured I was a regular Johnny Appleseed. Within a week I had forgotten about it, and went quickly back to playing Link to the Past on my Gameboy. Those seeds never did grow. I imagine there is an Indian somewhere weeping over that fact, like I cried the first time I saw the end of Forrest Gump.

I'll break from that little tangent and get back to my main point.

This romanticizing happens even more frequently when I have a crush. Since May I have had a wicked crush on this dude who works at a store I frequent. And while most of my visits were run of the mill interactions, my imagination took the wheel and on occasion ended up being incredibly distracting.

I would go in, all nonchalant like, and say something to the effect of:

And then I'd probably ask Game Guy if the store got a new DLC that I should buy, and he'd totally reply:

We'd then make plans for later in the evening, I assume, and pick up the conversation about here...

Stumbling back into reality from Alli Land can be a bitch.

However.

I had mentioned first and foremost here that romanticizing generally leads to disappointment over time. However... that doesn't seem to be the case with Game Guy. More on that later. :)

Dickey's

2012-07-23T09:47:00.000-07:00

I was driving by a Hooters the other day on my way to somewhere classier than a Hooters, and I stopped for a moment to process the establishment. Not literally stopped, seeing as that would have caused an accident (I'm super responsible like that).

From what I can gather, Hooters has everything a man could possibly want on a night out. Food, beer, and breasts.

That's all fine and good. Ladies have to pay for their college tuition/breast implants somehow. I'm not going to be an obnoxious feminist and demand that they burn their bras and go on strike.

Because that will just leave them with no severance pay and saggy boobs. Out of those two consequences, I'm not sure which one is worse.

But I digress! Why is it that dudes can have a restaurant like Hooters, and ladies can't have a little bit of that action? If the whole animation degree doesn't pan out, I'm going to open a restaurant that is dickey themed that caters toward ladies. For those of you who do not know, this is a dickey. I can only assume they are for when you want to look warmer than you actually are.

And the uniform will be as follows:

I'm pretty sure it will take off IMMEDIATELY. We're talking chain restaurant, here. Why can't a lady enjoy the finer things in life while observing some fine men, after all? I've never had the pleasure of being at Hooters for my birthday, however, I'm sure the waitresses bring out cake and maybe lick some of the icing off their fingers seductively in front of you. Dickey's will go above and beyond that for the birthday girl. But, you should probably ask in advance what they'll do if it's your first time there. Just in case you're not a lady.

Bon appétit.

On Horses

2012-06-01T15:19:00.001-07:00

My ancestors were generally located in northern Europe, somewhere in Germany probably, maybe some Switzerland and Austria on the side. That's pretty cool and all, and it certainly explains my love of chocolate and bank accounts. It also explains my perpetually pale complexion and mottled skin tone. At least the gross looking skin is mainly located on my hands and arms, and not somewhere inconvenient like my nose. I barely notice it anymore, but on occasion someone in my vicinity will make a comment like this and it will remind me that I'm not a Disney Princess after all.

Because princesses don't have nasty hands like these.

The reason I don't really like swimming pools in the summer is because my skin is basically transparent. I'm like one of those cheap fish you find at pet stores with the clear skin. You know, the ones that you can see their organs? Yup, that's me.

I'd be happy to live in New England forever and ever. It's the perfect climate for me, but I'd probably stay inside all the time and die of a vitamin D deficiency. When it turns to spring though, I feel obligated to go outside a little bit because it is so nice. After about a half hour in the sun, my skin has taken on the hue of an irate Maine lobster.

I don't like going further south than Maryland, but there is ONE thing that can tempt me enough to go to Florida this summer. That thing is DISNEY WORLD. (See? I foreshadowed with the princesses. I knew where I was going with that). The last time I was in Disney World was the spring of my junior year of high school. Fatty's family invited us down to stay at their condo for the week, and I can honestly say it was one of the most glorious weeks of my LIFE. I aspire to work for Disney someday as an animator, and as you can imagine, the place is kind of like my personal brand of cocaine.

I couldn't get enough!!! There was so much to do, with the rides, shows, princesses, parades, mouse shaped ice cream, and PIN TRADING? What more could a girl possibly ask for in a vacation?

Well... there is one thing.

Fatty's dad, Dr Dave, invited me to go with them to this place called Arabian Nights for dinner and a show. I wasn't entirely sure what this show entailed, but I wasn't about to turn down quality Orlando entertainment.

The day of the show Fatty told me that Dr Dave had been on hold for over an hour ordering tickets last night via phone, and that to compensate him for his time (as well as avoid losing four customers), all of our tickets were upgraded to VIP status. Though I was still in the dark as to what the show was about, VIP status is nothing to sneeze at.

Later on that evening, Fatty showed me the booklet for the show.

"The Greatest Show On Earth... ON HORSES!"

I'll let that sink in.

It was not just "The Greatest Show On Earth".

It was "The Greatest Show On Earth... ON HORSES!"

ON HORSES.

Can you even imagine the majesty of that statement?

I really don't think you are even able. On horses.

So, apparently if you are a VIP, you get to arrive early and meet the cast and crew. Namely, horses and gypsies. I'd like to say when we arrived we acted maturely, like a classy movie star VIP. In all honesty, it was more like this.

Upon entry into the building, we were whisked away to the dirt arena, and I got to sit on the biggest horse I've EVER seen. Seriously, this thing was enormous. I mean, they set up STEPS so you can get on it's back. Kind of a glorious moment of me. On horses.

As Fatty and I regaled in the awesomeness of all the horses around, the gypsy folk were starting to warm up. I mean, I don't know if they were fake gypsies or real gypsies. But they were dressed like gypsies so I'm inclined to believe they were genuine. They saddled and rode around the arena as we took our seats, and there was one extremely hot gypsy dude galloping around on a stallion.

He was exquisite. On horses.

We were seated right in the front row, and due to our VIP status, we were served dinner just as the show began. Which was great for us, because after dinner ended the air got dustier than a high noon showdown. The show was actually pretty good. I haven't spent a lot of time around horses other than my two weeks of riding lessons when I was thirteen, so I'm not entirely sure if everything was impressive. But I enjoyed myself. That being said, I hope the person that wrote the script for the dialogue between horse tricks just half-assed it. Because if that was their best effort... I weep for them.

That's pretty much what happened.

After that bit there was a whole band of gypsies in the ring doing tricks and riding horses through hoops and stuff. Pretty legit. Some audience member they called down as a volunteer was harnessed and flew through the air, and then ripped the seat of her pants. So that was kind of hilarious. She was so embarrassed. Understandably so. On horses.

The show ended with some big spectacle, but I can't remember what. The princess was saved? Probably. She was kidnapped for a while, like princesses generally are. We were soon on our way home, with happy hearts, full bellies, and a novelty plastic horse necklace that lit up in rainbow colors. If it sounds tacky... that's because it was.

Oh yeah! How could I forget?

After the show, the cast and crew came up to the rails to get pictures with the VIP crowd. I immediately made my way to Hot Guy On Horses (sounds like a Native American name). I whipped out my camera for Fatty to use, and was dismayed to realize (a tad too late) that he was decidedly less hot when not cantering around and jumping through hoops rimmed with fire. I will always be infatuated with the false image I had of him, even though I have a picture that proves he wasn't exactly what I expected.

C'est la vie. On horses.

Easily Distracted By Cats

2012-05-26T18:54:00.002-07:00

Literal Idioms

2012-04-27T16:42:00.004-07:00

According to Wikipedia, an 'idiom' is an expression, word, or phrase that has a figurative meaning as opposed to the idiom's literal meaning. Sure, an idiom is a great way to express how you're feeling. But they're even more fun to imagine literally. I've drawn up a few, just for you.

Now... go do something productive.

Any Other Saturday I Probably Would Have Done Homework

2012-04-14T17:53:00.001-07:00

A few Saturdays back... Tower, his roommate Joel, myself, and a few others decided to go to the zoo near our college. Normally we wouldn’t go because (as college students) we’re penniless and cheap as a knockoff bag from the Vegas strip. However, being that it was opening day, admission was free! Score.

I feel like zoos must keep the lamer animals up front, because one of the first things we saw, besides a few empty cages, was a herd of llamas. Can I just say that the llama is probably THE dumbest animal on the face of the earth? If you have even SEEN one you can most likely attest to this. It isn’t like their vacant stare and their ridiculous under-bite bespeaks intelligence.

Also, they spit.

The whole time we were at the zoo, Joel seemed to be rushing around to find something that eluded him. When I asked him what it was, he replied “THE RED PANDAS.”

I swear, when he laid eyes on those lazy animals, he had a moment of pure and simple ecstasy.

I mean, there were other cool animals too, like the lions, tigers, polar bears, and several very out of place penguins. I thought it was DEFINITELY too warm for penguins. But then again, they were probably hipster penguins. The cold is waaaay too mainstream for their kind.

OH! The zoo also had a zebu! I thought Veggietales just made them up for that song! Though, I'm sure that song would have gone down differently if it had happened at the zoo.

After we’d seen all that the zoo had to offer, we headed out to the peninsula where there were some beaches and a state park. It was cold, sure. But beaches are fun no matter what, in my experience. We walked around for quite some time, and several people fell off a sand cliff. Life was good. We all realized that we were RIDICULOUSLY hungry, and hadn’t eaten much since breakfast. So, we hastened back over the sand dunes to my car. But as we trudged up the last hill to the parking lot, we stopped short.

Over the crest of the dune, I could see a man on the beach. And in front of said man… bubbles. Hundreds, nay, THOUSANDS of bubbles. I don’t exactly remember what he looked like, but in all honesty, he SHOULD have looked like this...

… because he was a MAGICIAN. We scrambled through the sand as fast as we could. I mean, not terribly fast, because walking in sand with boots is kind of like running through knee-deep snot. Yeah, I said that. (could you IMAGINE how big something would have to be to make that much snot? Probably a giant with a head cold.)

We said hi as he released hundreds of bubbles into the air like it wasn’t nothin’! We chatted for a while and he showed us the different kind of bubbles he could make. Huge bubbles, tiny bubbles, bubbles that looked like those paths that came out of people’s chests in Donnie Darko, ALL kind of bubbles.

He assured us that the magic wasn’t all his. It was mostly just the bubble liquid.

“What’s in it?” We asked. He dodged around the question, just saying "Oh, some chemicals. Nothing exciting…”

After probably 20 minutes, he ran out of juice, and announced to no one in particular:

And walked back to his car. Or rode away on a bubble. Both seem highly plausible.

The rest of our day was spent finding a restauraunt to eat at, and somehow ending up at Chuck E Cheese, (which I remember being MUCH bigger when I was little... and less creepy), then attempting to not run over any seagulls in the parking lot. Which was a struggle, because they’re like winged rats and they’re EVERYWHERE. I don't know if they're fearless... or just dumb. Because running over a seagull in the Alli-Mobile isn't exactly how I wanted to end this day of pure awesome, I maneuvered around every single one safely. I couldn't help but think that I could take care of this way easier if I were in Skyrim.

Upon our safe, and mostly seagull-less return to campus, I promptly fell asleep on Tower's couch. I just couldn't handle that much amazing in one day. Well... I can't handle much of ANYTHING in a day without needing a nap. But we'll get to that later.

The Locker Room Effect

2012-03-28T06:21:00.003-07:00

Some people use scales religiously to dictate when they go to the gym. I, however, have a different and quite simple method. When I get on a bus, and feel parts of me vibrating that shouldn’t, I get myself to the nearest elliptical machine/lap pool and go to TOWN.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I’m not one of those skinny girls who complain about how fat they are while they’re eating diet salads and drinking low cal water.

Trust me, I'm not a fan of them either. But I do have a compulsive need to keep in shape. Who knows when the first zombies will show up? I need to get my endurance on par to do all that running and bludgeoning and whatnot.

Once I actually get to the gym, no matter when or where, there always seems to be something to hold me up. I dubbed this mysterious reoccurrence the Locker Room Effect. The Locker Room Effect can pertain to a person or event that in some way shape or form sets me a bit off kilter for my workout, and possibly DAYS afterward.

There was one day in particular where the Locker Room Effect really had it out for me.

I got up bright and early to go and get my gym time out of the way so I could party hard later on that evening.

I swaggered into the locker room, ready to take on my laps and whatnot...

...when my field of view was obscured by… ulp… er… God no…

Naked old women.

THEY HAD NO SHAME. Every last saggy piece of them. I couldn’t handle something of this magnitude at ten o clock in the morning.

Me being able to handle that equates to Snooki being able to climb Mount Everest in a day without supplemental oxygen and protective gear, her only tools being claw length nails, which I’m assuming she’d use as pickaxes.

I rush on out to the pool to do my laps and leave that nightmarish land of sagging flesh behind me.

As I entered the pool room, I was taken aback. There, on the bleachers next to the lap pool, was an honest to goodness pirate.

(I may be overexaggerating his piratey-ness. Hookers aren’t even allowed in my gym. He must have been attracted to the body of water. Because that’s what pirates like the best, besides gold and prostitutes.)

Okay, so he may have just looked like this.

But after what I had just experienced, I’m pretty sure my brain was trying to distract me. Instead of having more minor hallucinations, I decided to use my laps to take my mind off of that... happening... earlier.

Once my laps were done I headed back into the locker room to pack up and go home for a nap. Or maybe a counterproductive large piece of cake. Either way, my car beckoned. As I opened my locker, an old woman (thankfully clothed) walked up to me. I assumed she had a question about where something was, and still having leftover Girl Scout instincts, it was all I could do to help her with whatever she needed. As it turns out, she didn’t need to ask me anything. Rather, she had something very pressing to tell ME.

And then she vanished... like a bat into the night, or an old person into a AARP meeting. With her brisk exit, she left me with a profound and muddled sense of self.

I, myself, have never really thought I looked birdlike in any sense. I have had a more than average number of strangers insult me in this fashion though, and so I was a little more prepared than the average person (but we'll get to those stories another time). That doesn't mean that it didn't hurt a little bit, and I found myself examining face in the mirror for birdlike attributes.

I didn't find any... not really.

Adventures In Laundering

2012-02-26T15:22:00.001-08:00

Laundry is one of the only downsides to living in a dorm. Not only are the washers and dryers always full, and terribly inefficient, but you also have to pay RIDICULOUS fees (A WHOLE 2 dollars? Really? Why don’t I just pay you in the gold nuggets I have laying around my room? Oh wait. That’s right. I’m not a damn leprechaun!).

The other day I was grievously ill, and after a few classes I returned home to my bed intending on sleeping for at least 19.365 hours.

But it was so hard to get to sleep... because I knew it was there. It was there in the corner of my closet. Taunting me. Cajoling me. It was my overflowing laundry hamper.

I had neglected it for too long, so I scavenged for quarters to deal with this problem. But finding quarters in my room is like finding logic in Wonderland.

Eventually I got all my stuff together and got to the elevator. Everyone knows that elevator rides are awkward, but the levels of awkward are multiplied exponentially when there is a hamper full of sundry items in your arms.

Upon my arrival to the laundry room, I realize that there are no empty washers. But several of them ARE done, so I go to the nearest one and unloaded its slightly damp contents into the hamper that was on top of the machine. I put the hamper to the side, slipped my clothes into the washer, said farewell to my quarters one by one, and slouched back to my room for a quick nap.

I woke with a start, because I fell off of my bed. Weirder things have happened, honestly. Like, honey badgers. What’s the deal with that?

After a trek back down to the laundry room, I find a sticky note on my washing machine.

I stared blankly at the note, until I realized the lengths to which this angry girl had gone to tell me just how upset she was. I could only imagine her rage at seeing her marginally damp clothes piled nicely into her hamper.

In a fit of unimaginable rage, she alighted back to her room with what I can only imagine was inhuman speed.

She fumbled around until she found a sticky note and a gel pen, and wrote it out...

Then she sprinted back to my washer and stuck it right on there for me to find. Which I did.

So I guess the moral of this story is to… never do laundry again. I’ve sure learned my lesson!

I am SO sorry!

2012-02-13T05:08:00.000-08:00

Not too long ago I was attending Club Rush with Tower.

Not that we needed more friends or anything… but clubs could be fun. I mean, we’re rolling in friends. Friends out the ying yang. Friends EVERYWHERE. Friday nights we’re hitting up the clubs with our entourage.

ANYWAY... we’re in line for film club, minding our own business, and quickly growing tired of waiting for the chatty people in front of us to finish up. Apparently they NEEDED to know if Film Club would be showing some obscure Liam Neeson movie. They took far too long to figure this out, because some dude sidled up to me and tried to strike up a conversation.

Put yourself in my socially awkward shoes. I can barely handle talking to people that I know well, let alone new people. And when this dude who is so tall that he towers over me decides to walk up to me and suddenly assert a ridiculously difficult question that (in it’s own right) deserves hours, nay, DAYS of soul searching, I’m bound to blurt out something confused that I don’t really mean.

Now, this is not a true statement. My favorite movie isn’t Iron Man, while my favorite actor IS Robert Downey Jr. He is a fantastic actor, and a ridiculously attractive man to boot. But it’s not like I’m obsessed or anything. I just really enjoy his work.

My answer was met with the simultaneously the most cold, disbelieving, and disapproving look I’ve seen anyone give me EVER.

He moved in a little closer, and whilst towering over me, uttered the following four words in the most disdainful manner, and then fled the scene so fast he just about vanished.

Now, being insulted by random people isn’t something that is new to me (this will come up again, I'm sure). But this one took me by surprise for some reason, leaving me to feel confused, irritated, and annoyed as can be.

5 minutes later...

SPEECHLESS.

...

And then it hit me.

Et tu, life?

I mean, that’s ridiculous. I’m generally a very kind and patient person. But the one person I allow myself to get angry at, unbeknownst to me, has a mental handicap? Not cool.

While I was neck deep in a sludge-like puddle of self loathing, Tower asked:

Lesson to be learned: Be nice to EVERYONE. You never know when you'll end up looking like a total jerk if you don't.

Hat Guy

2012-01-31T21:23:00.000-08:00

Growing up in an exceedingly sarcastic family, I’ve developed a deadpan delivery when I tell stories or say ridiculous things. I am so deadpan that, on occasion, people don’t realize that I’m actually joking. My college BFF, Tower, is pretty good at this too. Thus, this was able to happen.

About three months into our first semester of college we meandered to the Starbucks at the campus library after some intense studying.

We got stuck in line behind a couple that couldn’t seem to hurry up and decide what they actually wanted. Being that we were already caffeine deprived, it didn’t exactly improve our moods.

Despite a decided lack of energy, Tower, an avid hat collector… (hoarder)…

...noticed that the dude in front of us was indeed wearing a hat, and said something to the effect of, “Nice hat, bro.” Or, “Sweet hat.” Or “Absolutely delightful chapeau.” My memory is a bit hazy, it was months ago after all. At any rate, the Hat Guy swung round and let loose a mighty:

Hat Guy then proceeded to launch into an excited retelling of how his girlfriend (fig. 1), had just finished making said hat (fig. 2).

His explanation made clear to me why this shady example of a hat appeared to have been slapdashidly put together with random stitches, hot glue, felt, and the skin of more than one small animal, all by a second grader without parental assistance.
We had settled into an awkward lull in conversation after that, as neither Tower or I could find something kind to say about the abominable headwear. Hat Guy couldn’t let the silence be, though, and he asked:

I thought this was an exceedingly dumb question as we both looked exhausted and were in a Starbucks. That question was about as dumb as Ke$ha base-jumping with a parachute made out of a single extra large condom.

I quickly searched my repertoire for something to say:

However, Tower answered first.

Still feeling the need for conversational input, I whipped out this little gem:

(Disclaimer: TOTALLY untrue. Anyone who has ever taken me to a buffet can attest to the amount of food I can put away. Chinese buffets HATE me.)

But I digress! Hat guy stared at me dumbfounded, like I was Christian Bale from The Machinist.

I could see Tower out of the side of my eye chuckling to himself. Hat Guy turned to me and earnestly said:

At which point we made a quick exit.

I still wonder on occasion what Hat Guy thinks of us. He probably just assumes we’re in a mutually abusive relationship.

A Tale of Two Fatties

2011-12-19T10:19:00.000-08:00

'Fatty' is the mutual nickname my best friend and I bestowed upon each other in the early years, because no matter how much ridiculously terrible junk food we gorged ourselves on, we didn't gain a single pound. My best friend, who will henceforth be referred to as 'Fatty', and I have known each other since birth. I'm also fairly sure that we were friends in the womb. Our mothers hung out a lot.

But as I saw a snowflake lazily drifting down from the sky yesterday, I couldn't help but remember one of our countless sleepovers from elementary school.

Fatty came over for the afternoon in a snowstorm which was naturally, for two little kids, VERY exciting.

Her parents sent her along with an extra set of clothes, because the weather forecast predicted a blizzard. "Pshaw!", said our nine year old selves. Weather forecasts were for old people. We'd believe this snow when we SAW it.

We were surprisingly cynical and well dressed for elementary school students.

In any case, we occupied ourselves for the evening with the things that little 9 year old girls do.

We may have been slightly different than your average 9 year old girls. But we've come to terms with that. Eventually, we hungered. We snuck into the kitchen, much like the secret agents I assume we were pretending to be.... and then we saw the door to the deck.

At least a solid two feet of snow were packed up against the sliding glass door.

"I don't think you'll be having school tomorrow.", said Fatty. (It didn't matter for her either way, Fatty was home-schooled.) From that point on, we made plans for the following morning. Oh, did we make plans!

At some point we both passed out due to tandem sugar comas, and when we woke up the next morning, there was a glorious three and a half feet of snow. That's as tall as WE were.

We climbed on top of the 6 feet mound on the side of my driveway that my dad had shoveled, bless his heart. I proceeded to take two steps, and then sunk in up to my neck, finally understanding the fear that a cat must experience when being dangled above a bathtub. I had to be pulled out by both my dad AND Fatty. So thank goodness for them.

Later on after a full afternoon of frolicking through the snow banks, my dad was snow-blowing the sidewalk (which is still strange to me, because we didn't own one). We were tired and cold, but we'd be damned if we were going to go back inside during the most glorious snow day of our LIVES.

I was JUST about to give up and go back inside, when Fatty peeked around the corner of a snow bank, beckoning for me. The snow bank was apparently enveloping my mailbox, but my dad had shoveled it out so that the mail truck could get to it. He unknowingly made a snow cave juuuuust big enough for two little fatties to snuggle in and get warm.

We were in there for ages, just laughing and watching woefully unprepared drivers skid around the road.

Love you, Fatty!

Popular Girl

2011-12-08T19:38:00.003-08:00

Back in my senior year of high school, I really liked this kid in some of my classes, who we called Popular Girl. Popular Girl, was in fact, a boy. The nickname came mainly from the fact that he was always surrounded by an entourage of groupies who worshipped the ground he walked on. I was in gym class one day and we were playing dodgeball. He was on my team, and also the first one to get out.

At which point my monologue was interrupted... by this.

Afterwards, Popular girl gave the perpetrator the most awkward male chest bump I've ever seen in my life...

Thus leaving me crumpled on the floor in the fetal position, ovaries crushed by a huge rubber dodgeball... and defeat.