So today at Eva’s (@sandwichline) grad party she had an amazing cake with a picture of herself on it.
This was my piece.
The fact that I had a cake with my face on it makes me seem incredibly conceited… my parents chose the picture, though I would have pegged them for putting something majorly embarrassing on it. It really was tasty, though. (Can’t go wrong with Wegmans!)
(via welivewelovewelearn)
Bruce is the next Ridiculously Photogenic Guy.
I declare it!
(I am not ridiculously photogenic.)
No matter how clean my room is, it always looks like it’s completely crammed with things. And colors. And shapes. This is mostly due, I think, to my art wall.
It’s a pretty overwhelming thing to wake up to.
Bloody, non-menstrual problems.
The past two times I’ve tried to donate blood, I’ve had experiences that could best be summed up as a comedy of errors.
My blood is rare. (A-negative)
People would benefit from my blood. I am aware of this.
I am height/weight proportionate.
My iron levels are very good.
My traveling/sexual/drug use history is a bland, bland tale. I am the picture of good health.
The first time, I filled out the questionnaire, had the finger prick, and got as far as having the needle put in. They wiggled it around for about 15 minutes, concluded that they missed my frail vein, and called it an unsuccessful day. I was crushed; publicly humiliated!
The second time, I made it all the way to the table, when the nurse discovered just how baby-like my veins were. I didn’t even get to the needle by the time they dismissed me.
They continued to call me, though, begging for my elusive blood, and I, a glutton for punishment, went in today to have a third go at the whole experience.
I didn’t even get to the questionnaire. They searched in vain for a vein, (see what I did there?) and banished me (strong word, yes, but I truly felt unwelcome,) from their blood-letting, and I, tail between my legs, left the building a failure for the third time.
The greatest compliment a lady can receive!
… The approval of one Danielle Desmond.
Ahhh, memories.
- Some highlights of my high school experience:
2008 - 8th Grade
- The first time I’ve ever been yelled at by a teacher. My English teacher was explaining a poem that likened the moon to a ripe concord grape, and when some people had just begun to grasp the simile, I raised my hand and remarked with all the simplicity of an 8th grader, “Grapes are oval.” Anger for “clouding the waters of knowledge” was quickly directed my way.
- I dyed my hair black and started wearing skinny jeans and converse. Thus, I was called a goth poser for the very first (and only) time.
- Hormones raging, I developed an unhealthy obsession with a male sophomore in the school musical. It remains my most shameful year.
2009 - 9th grade
- I grew mold on bagels for my science project. There is really not a lot more to say about it.
- I got into the school musical, a glorious triumph! I learned how to can-can and flap my paws around like a wolf.
2010 - 10th grade
- I got to be an old Jewish matchmaker, one of my proudest feats to date.
- I discovered youtube. Life outside of my house ceased to exist.
2011 - 11th grade
- I made a blog and got hit with a ham sandwich. Here it is! Here’s the rascal!
- I got to sing with Marlborough’s finest: the MHS Jazz Band! What a trip!
- I also got this beautiful lady:
2012 - 12th Grade
- A year of whimsy and wonderment! I was a recluse for most of it, only venturing from my den for food and play rehearsals.
- I also enjoyed posting pictures of dolls from my childhood as profile pics.
AND NOW ‘TIS DONE!
The End
The birthday wishes have begun…
I am now a legal adult.
