Story Keeper

So, I got to thinking. I have a lot of stories that I don't want to forget. Not like, ultra cool, life-altering stories, but they are stories and they are mine. Some are funny. Some are sad. Some taught me something. Some are lovey. Since I don't want to forget my stories, I have decided to compile them here. Maybe it will be like a 50 First Dates kind of thing and someone will read them if they get amnesia or dementia or something. I don't want that to happen, but it's plausible, I guess. Also, maybe my babies or babies' babies will read them. I would l-o-v-e love to read stories from grandmas or mom when they were in their 20s. (If you don't know me, folks, it seems that I have to have a reason to do something. Not just a 'Hey this seems like fun. I'll do it.' reason. Weird. I think I just learned that about myself.) Anyways, #storykeeper, y'all.

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One time, I was babysitting. I was babysitting a fam of 4. Their dad had dropped them off, and we were getting ready for bed. Once everyone was in bed the eldest told me his stomach hurt. I asked him what he ate for dinner, and he told me Chinese food and pizza. Oh no. That can't be a good combo. I told him to lay on the couch and that I would rub his back. He told me his mom usually got a trash can when his stomach hurt like this. Oh, good. So, I got a trash can. I started rubbing his back, and about 30 seconds later he was vomming his face off and crying. I was so sad for him, and so gag-gy. I called his mom. No answer. Turns out I had 2 numbers for her in my phone and one was wrong. I found the right one and she still didn't answer. Luckily, she called back within about 5 minutes saying she was on her way home. (I left a voicemail saying, 'Um, hi. It's Celeste. Xyz is sick and throwing up. Uh...yea. Bye.'

When she called back she asked to talk to her babe, so I gave him the phone even though he was still a little preoccupied crying and dry-heaving and such. He was holding the phone. He leaned over to spit. He dropped said phone into the bag-o-chunder and looked at me all wide-eyed and nervous. Sick. 'It's okay.' I said quietly, as I pulled said phone out of barf-can. I put it on speaker phone. She kept praying. I tried not to gag.

Eventually he quit throwing up, mom came home and I cleaned my phone off. And I used that phone until the day my contract expired. Still works today (over a year since I've gotten a new one, y'all.) Ironically though, I did get very sick the next week. So did my bestie though, and I hadn't seen her since the incident, so I don't really think the 2 were related.

Neti Potting and the Star Spangled Banner

Y'all. For what seems like the trillionth time this semester, I am sick. Boo. I've been sick for a week on Wednesday. I'm also too stubborn to go to the doctor. I know, it's my own fault. This time though, my friend Sarah got me to try out the Neti Pot. This is a fear-invoking contraption if you've never heard of it. It's basically a plastic teapot you stick in one nostril and tilt your head, so that when you pour it, it comes out the other. Here's an example.

Isn't that pretty? Thanks, random girl who's humble enough to put that picture on the internet.
Pretty or not, I can breathe a lot better.
During my first Neti Potting experience I didn't lean forward enough, and it kind of went down my throat. It felt like I was drowning. Sorry that's gross, but I don't want anyone to be deceived if they try it.

On another note about being sick, I've been drinking lots of water and hot tea. I've read that I'm not supposed to have much dairy or caffeine if I have a sore throat. Bummer. I crave coffee, ice cream, hot chocolate, and pretty much anything that contains those things. Currently I'm drinking decaf coffee, and it tastes like dirt. I didn't think I'd be able to tell a difference. I can. Maybe it's my tastebuds....

On a totally different note, the most ironic thing ever happened tonight at dinner. Ok, so maybe not ever, but at least that I can remember.
Myself and 5 other lovely ladies were eating dinner at the Union talking about how weird this whole Osama thing is and how we're freaked out by everyone's reaction and rejoicing of a death. (Serious side note: really, why the rejoicing? He's going to hell which is exactly what we all deserve, and without Jesus I'd be just as unrighteous as he is before the Lord. Maybe I'm wrong, but I can't rejoice over the death of another one of God's creations.) Anyways, some news anchor or something said that this was the most important day in American history. What?! Really?! We all started naming days that were more important: "The end of WWII!", "D-Day!", "Ending slavery?!", "Uh, signing the Declaration?!", when, I promise, at the same time an all male choir started singing the Star Spangled Banner! Tell me that isn't ironic. Despite how really enjoyable it was, we all started dying laughing because of the irony. We sort of felt rude, but we really weren't laughing at them. After the SSB and watching a fellow Humphreys resident decide how to get around the boys without being rude as they were singing, we clapped for these beautifully voiced men. They then proceeded to turn to us and sing a song beginning with "A serenade to a girl..." Yep. They sang to us. Here's proof:

We clapped again, and they thanked us for being there and told us that it was a spontaneous performance. It should be noted that we were thrilled to receive such a performance.

Lastly, a boy got out a tuba, yes a tuba, and started playing Friday by Rebecca Black. We sang the random parts we knew. We got video taped by one of the boys iPhones. Maybe we'll be a viral video one day. 

This is lengthy. Sorry 'bout that. Hope it entertained you. 

Lovies.