Cell Suicide

I got rainboots. I think I told you that. Therefore, the rainy forecast was met, this morning, with a tad too much enthusiasm. There is something irresistable about puddles when you have on rubber boots; having been prepared for the rain, I set my alarm for half an hour early to provide lots of rain/puddle walking this morning. Of course, the whole waking up early deal failed. Normally, I show up to the first day of class about fifteen to twenty minutes early due to a chronic fear that I will show up at the wrong class room or at the wrong time. Even with my over-eager planning, the distraction of puddles was enough to waste the extra fifteen minutes I had planned for, and cause me to be the last one to show up to class. I would really like to say this is abnormal, but aside from the first day/test days when I show up way too early, normally I have to run half way to school because I am late.

Puddle jumping is great and all, but I have rain boots and a beach. So obviously this was my next area of water testing the boots. Just a note for anyone who might be interested in walking around in an ocean in rainboots: the tide is usually a lot higher than you will expect. I would love to say that my boots have a magic ability to prevents water from going in the top buuutttt they don't. Thus when the nice huge pretty crashing wave came in, I was the really intelligent person whose boots were filled with water. It was about as logical as when I was little and would dance naked in my driveway in the rain, save for my puddleboots. I am not sure what I thought the purpose of wearing them was, since, you know, my entire body was covered in mud and rain. But then again, I found the general need for clothing to be rather a ridiculous though, thus my traditional attire of a cowgirl hat and my mom's boots with no other clothes on. Or the absence of underwear on the majority of my kindergarten days. No wonder I had so many boyfriends back then, right? I mean, who doesn't want a swings date with a girl who wears dresses and no panties. Little pervs.

Anyway, to partner up with my prime geniosity of filling my boots with ocean, I also was smart enough to brag about not having broken my Spanish phone yet. Which spurred one of the new girls asking if I had insurance, which obviously was the death certificate of my phone. A trusty fifteen minutes later, I dropped my school bag and managed to crack the screen of my cell right down the middle. There must be some kind of career that I could get, testing how breakable phones are. If you gave me that army proof/bomb proof hideous and huge phone from Verison, I promise you that after a year with me, it would have committed suicide. Despite my two fabulous moments of blonde-osity, I didn't trip or run into anything yesterday, so at least I had something going right, right? The main point of this is that while I manage to do really stupid things sometimes, at least I wear undies now.