Zipadeeay

Hey! I'm 18! Am I supposed to feel different?

I've been failing repeatedly at posting blogs these past couple days…so this one is kinda lengthy.

Basically:  Three parties and a foot surgery and SO MUCH FUN! The details are quite riveting, I assure you.

This August has pretty much been a hardly-haulting stream of parties.  It's all bittersweet farewell-party things, but I haven't felt any bitter yet, just good times.  Though, I'm afraid the bitter's starting to creep in. (Foreboding!)
On my actual birthday, my family came over for homemade pizzas and had a grand ol' time.
Highlight: a dozen of roses. I'm a total sucker for flowers.

*WARNING: I'm about to get really charming/gross*

Warts.  Lots of them.  Lots of warts having a scary frat party on my foot.  They're called plantar's warts (named after the region of the foot) and they're not your average wart. They're awesomer.  Inverted and deep in your foot, they're an ouchy and what-the-heck-is-that reminder of why you shouldn't walk your dog barefoot anymore.  After some googling and regretted youtube-watching, I decided that indeed, they were warts.  So I went to the doctor.
I am a six-year-old wussy when it comes to medical procedures. Besides blood donating, I can't do anything without an internal (sometimes external) freak out.  After the doctor waged his knife-and-needle war on my foot, I hobbled out of the office with newfound bravado for handling the five shots of epinephrine without using more than two tearful tissues.


Later on, my dear buddies picked me up for a delicious Thai food adventure.  Instead of heading downtown, they started driving the opposite direction toward The Bridge to Nowhere (a barely developed highway overpass bridge that leads nowhere).  Usually, we come here at night, turn on Phoenix's "If I Ever Feel Better" and have ourselves a joyous little dance party.  Since it was still light outside and we were on the bridge rather than Nowhere, I was slightly confused but nonetheless active in the giddy ritual (a little off my game with a numb foot).  Then, sure they were the silhouettes of my dear friends' Jen and Kevin, skipped towards the Nowhere to greet the two people walking towards our dance party.  And then they put a pillow case on my head.  Thus, I don't have any pictures for this particular moment.

My theatre friends take nothing lightly.  They growled instead of spoke, commanded me to put my head between my legs, and insisted I shut up and kept still.  The worst party was when the "Here Come the Men In Black" song came on the radio and I couldn't full-on dance.  Luckily, my friend Kenneth (whose birthday is soon) was equally napped, so we comforted each other with the Morse Code we pretended we knew.

We reached our destination: a public park festooned with birthday banners and "Surprise!"
I love my friends. Thinking about our inevitable drift is what makes the bitter creep in the most. They're the best.

As a final goodbye, I decided to host what I called an Ooh La La party, which basically entailed stripes, berets, and a lot of pastries on my part.  Luckily the crepes, spinach artichoke dip, and baguettes were a big hit.  Thank you, butter.  It was interesting saying goodbye to friends that I knew I wouldn't see until Christmas.
C'est la vie, right?  Hopefully I can bribe college people into being my friends via pastry, too.