BFF Jill's and Number One's

Truthfully, it’s really weird to be blogging. I’ve never considered myself the “blogging type.” In my mind, the bloggers inhabit the secretive online world of “blogtopia,” bonded together by the World Wide Web, really thick glasses, a passion for ranting, and the tendency to type rapidly in a foreign language composed of “lol’s,” “lmao’s,” and “my BFF Jill’s.” I, on the other hand, take comfort in my periods, hahaha’s, and grammatically correct sentences. I don’t really think I’m the ranting type. It’s weird blogging, but it’s even weirder to rant to a computer screen; after all, a computer screen is incapable of nodding in understanding to my frantic typing and weird hand gestures. And if I did rant, I would probably rant about jelly bellies, a.k.a. my weight, and douchebags, a.k.a. the male race…which would make me sound oh-so pathetic in oh-so many ways. In fact, the only reason I decided to blog was because of my best friend Claire. She has a way of convincing me to do things I would probably not do if I was 1. sane and 2. one of those cool, networking types. But the reality is that I am probably partially insane and partially loser—since I don’t fit well into those aforementioned two categories.

On a lighter note, graduation—the so-called big day—came and passed a few days ago. It rained, which defines my life perfectly. I wasn’t surprised. I was actually grateful it wasn’t like—raining loads of bird shit. That would have sucked. I will always remember my high school graduation. It was a day that is absolutely unforgettable. Besides the running makeup (from both tears and the rain) and awkward hugs (due to everyone wearing what Claire calls jester’s costumes), it was the first time in my life where I seriously had to use the bathroom and I was prevented from doing so. I crossed my legs the whole time, my body shuddering from having to do a number one. When I finally walked onstage, I think my bladder had inflated into the size of a boulder-sized balloon. The announcer pronounced my name: “Yay! Gin!” which was pretty good considering I’ve been called “Yeggie Veggie,” “Yijin Pidgeon,” and “Yaisin Raisin” during my elementary to high school years. Despite the celebratory cheer to gin, I heard my family and friends scream in the audience when I walked out awkwardly smiling with my two left feet. I didn’t trip (but now I wished I had done the cha-cha at the end of the “runway”). It was a day when I finally felt absolutely free.