My Cousin Ate A Bee

But doesn't remember.

We were eating pizza outside on our grandparents lawn. Morgan started freaking out, threw her slice on the ground and ran inside. I looked over and there was a bee on her pizza right where she took a bite. She didn't come back outside for the rest of the night. 

She says that never happened. 

But it did. 

She ate a bee.

I don't like bees. I'm afraid of them.

It's one of my biggest fears.

Along with really strong wind when it's dark outside. I think I might be alone in that one though...

So it's super cool that we discovered a hive on the palm tree in our backyard. I think a bird flew into it or something and disrupted them because there were THOUSANDS of bees buzzing around. 

I had a hard time leaving my house. 

I knew once I stepped foot outside they would be able to sense my fear and buzz straight for my face.

One summer, my mom had us rake the leaves outside. Instead of putting them in the garden bin, my sister and I decided to throw them up in the air and make it rain. We were fully enjoying the leaves falling all around us when I felt something on the palm of my hand. I brushed it off on my pants, but I felt like it was still there. I looked down at my hand and there was a GIANT bee clinging on for dear life. I just stood there...staring at it....and then I watched it sting me and fly off.
My mom had zero sympathy. I think it's because she had to comb all the twigs and leaves that were ratted up in my hair.

One time I stepped on a bee and it stung me between my toes. I let out a yelp and fell to the ground in the fetal position, clutching my foot.
There were a lot of people around. Probably wondering why that girl is making crazy eyes at her foot.
Tears were shed.
I don't think I got the whole stinger out because my toe swelled up and itched like crazy for a whole two months.

I think I might be allergic.

Even If You Fall On Your Face

"Even if you fall on your face, at least you're still moving forward"-Victor Kiam

Unless you're me...and your face gets stuck in the mud.

Today I was recounting all the different times I've fallen.
Just last saturday, my friend was picking me up and as I was walking over to her car, I cut across a corner on my lawn and fell in the biggest gopher hole known to man.
The devil rats are back and have burrowed their way all across my yard.
My foot got stuck and I'm convinced my favorite pair of shoes are ruined. (Although I think I just need to take a wet rag to it. I might be overreacting. But probably not.)
So while my friend is waiting for me to get my leg out of this hole, I slip out of my shoe and dig it out of the ground and run back inside to grab a new pair of shoes.
I had dirt all over my dress the rest of the day.

When I was in fifth grade, I was walking back to class from the playground. I had on my favorite red and white striped one piece jumper playsuit/romper.
I think at this point I was getting too tall for it.
I'll leave it at that.
This has nothing to do with the story.
I was walking backward talking to my friend and backed right into a pole from the basketball hoop so hard that I stumbled forward and fell on my face. My friend stood there and laughed at me.
I have cool friends.

In college, I was a janitor. One of my jobs was to salt the entryways. As I was salting, and debating any side effects of licking the salt from the bucket, I slipped.
I wasn't walking or anything. I stood up from a bended position, and fell. Like someone came and knocked my feet out from under me. One second I was up...the next...out.
Good thing I salted the entryway?

Last year I was walking along a sidewalk and tripped.
Now, usually when you see people walking and they trip, they just stumble a little, and break into a slow jog to keep from falling. And they usually look back at whatever they tripped on. How dare that crack be there.
When I tripped, I stumbled, and broke into a slow jog...but that jog did not help me catch my balance.
I was jogging parallel to the ground. Then I was running. Then my arms were flailing.
This story has a happy ending though.
My face broke my fall and skidded into the one little patch of muddy water for blocks.
I just stayed there...assessing the situation. Am I broke? How long was that fall? What time is it?

Mostly I just have horrible balance and am constantly run into things: walls, doors, furniture, and have 'accidentally' touched a lot of butts running into people.

Sometimes when I'm telling my friends funny stories I get caught up in my own humor and I laugh hysterically and can't actually tell the story through gasping for air between laughs.
And then when I really think about it--the story isn't all that funny. It's usually one of those "had to be there" moments.
I think most of my stories might be those kinds of stories, but whatever.
No one reads this blog anyway.

February 14th 1999

I was sitting in Mr. Berwick's class at Rollingwood Elementary School at my desk getting ready to go to the Library with the rest of my class.
My little heart raced as I slipped a piece a paper, folded into fourths, into my pocket before we lined up at the door.
We walked across the courtyard to the library, and while everyone was busy looking at books, I asked Mr. Berwick if I could go back to the classroom because I forgot a book that I needed to return.
He let me go.
I raced back to the classroom, made my way up the rows to the very front of the classroom, opened the desk and laid the folded piece of paper neatly on top of the jumbled mess inside.
This was not my desk.
It was a boy's desk.
It was THE boy's desk.
The boy that I had a super crush on.
I wrote him a little love note from a "secret admirer" for valentines day.
I didn't want to slip in the brown paper bags we had decorated for the exchange later that day. I wanted it to be separate...it was more romantic that way.
I closed the desk, ran to mine and grabbed the book I purposefully left behind and raced back to the library.
When we returned back to our classroom, I watched nervously as he opened his desk, found the note, read it, and then looked around the classroom. Our eyes met but he had no clue.
He asked my best friends about it on the playground at recess, and through many secret exchanges of letters, I finally told him that it was me.
I wrote his love letter.
I was so nervous now that he knew, but he said, "I like you too".
And he asked me out.
I said yes.
We played tetherball together at recess, and he showed me his new Adidas that made him run faster. We would split sticks of gum over by the fence so the yard supervisors wouldn't see our contraband Doublemint.
For two days, we were a happy couple.
But as most 6th grade romances go, it wasn't meant to be and we broke up.
He went back to running around, playing soccer with his friends, and I returned to the basketball courts with mine.
We graduated from the 6th grade and ended up going to different middle schools.
Occasionally we'd see each other when our school teams played each other and we would smile and wave at each other.
Now, whenever I see a pair of Adidas, I just grin.

I'm Moving!

Let me tell you a little story that doesn't have any action, and really no plot, but is way exciting.
Spoiler Alert: It's going to end with me moving to the last place on earth I thought I'd end up.
One Sunday morning in November, I was sitting in Relief Society, listening to the announcements when one lady said that she was moving that week to Utah. She found a job and bought a house and was really excited. I was so happy for her, but sad that she'd be leaving. Then I had the thought that I needed to move to Utah.
"What the heck?" I thought. I was totally taken aback by those words that popped up in my head: move to Utah.
"This is probably because that lady just announced she was moving there. And I'm going there for Christmas and I'll see a few friends that live there. That must be the reason I feel this way."
Utah is the last place I wanted to move. And not because I don't like it. I think it's so pretty there...it's just because I've never before had a desire to stay longer than a vacation trip. And for the last year, I've had my sights on the D.C. area.
But the thought kept coming back...."move to Utah".
I had no idea why I kept thinking that. There's no reason for me to move there. So I dismissed it.
Slowly that thought crept back into my head, and it started to sound good....and over time, it started to feel good....like it's the right decision.
I'm a big believer in following my gut.
So, I'm moving to Utah.
End of July, early August.
No one is more surprised than I am right now.
I have no job yet, no reason other than I feel like it's what I need to do.
I'm not worried about finding a job. That will come, I'm sure of it. I'm looking for work in the Salt Lake and Provo areas (although as time keeps passing I feel drawn to Provo). However, I don't actually feel like I need to be moving to Utah for work. I know that teaching is what I'm meant to do, but I could teach anywhere. It's the weirdest feeling...not knowing why I'm so drawn there.
I'm a little astonished at how excited I'm becoming.
Sometimes I get a little giggly thinking about how there's some reason I need to move there....just waiting to see what's going to happen.
When I was nine, my parents took us to Disneyland. The night before we were going to leave my mom put us to bed but I came running out into the living room telling her that I couldn't sleep because I kept giggling. She said it was because I was so excited.

This move kinda feels like I'm about to go to Disneyland.

Story Time

When I was in fourth or fifth grade, I was invited to a sleepover at Angelina's house. Angelina and I weren't friends. At least, we never played together at recess, and she never invited me over to her house to do anything. I don't even remember getting an invitation.
I think I was a pity invite.
Because I wasn't really friends with Angelina, I didn't want to spend the entire night there. My mom said she'd come and pick me up around 11:00 or so. The plan was to play games and have dinner then watch a couple movies until everyone fell asleep. There were two movies that Angelina's mom rented for us. One was Twister, and the other was Halloween.
You know...Michael Myers Halloween.
Everyone wanted to watch Halloween first, to get the scary movie out of the way so they could all fall peacefully asleep to Twister, which was less scary.
Great idea.
We started the movie, turned out the lights and the fun began. My friend Danielle (who was actually my friend) and I seemed to be the only ones affected by this movie. We were screaming at all the scary parts, which were basically the entire 104 minutes, covering each others eyes and burying our faces in the backs of whoever was sitting next to us.
I think Danielle started crying at one point.
Or maybe that was me.
Everyone else appeared to be okay with what they were watching. One girl was laughing like it was the greatest comedy of all time. Halfway through, I guess some of the girls were getting annoyed with me and Danielle screaming and told us that if we were scared we should go into the other room. We did....but playing Barbie with Angelina's baby sister seemed stupid so we made our way back to the living room.
I was sitting right by the sliding glass door, which didn't have curtains, and Angelina's Doberman kept running up and scaring the pee right out of me. I had never been so scared in my entire life.
(Except for that time I went to a haunted maze my friend's gymnastics class put on. Some guy in a Jason mask popped out at me and I hit him with my pumpkin bucket I was using to collect my candy. I lost all my candy.)
Once the movie was over, I released my death grip on Danielle's arm and she wiped her remaining tears on my sleeve. Everyone was like,
"Oh, that was awesome!"
"Did you see Danielle crying?"
"Chelsea, did you wet your pants?"
We all pulled ourselves together and put Twister on to calm our nerves.
About five minutes into the movie, my mom showed up. I cried the whole way home.
I stayed up the rest of the night watching Scooby-Doo with my mom.
And that's how I became afraid of the dark. And curtain-less windows at night.

The End