CIGARETTE SMOKE TWIRLED IN SMALL TENDRILS TOWARDS THE SKY as I walked through the campus today. Of course, it’s just my luck to unknowingly pick the smokers section to sit down and rest. I’d only walked fifty yards and yet it’s surprising just how heavy a backpack can seem after having my shoulders be free of it for the last four years. I sighed, picking up my weary body from my bench and plopping down on the grass, far away from those who actively wish for black lungs. Waiting for my class to start, with no materials for entertainment, I began to ponder all that I’d gathered in the past twenty-four hours about higher education.

You know, college had a stigma to me. And that stigma was exactly what you see in movies -  that you walk into a class, get totally and utterly lost in the coursework, pull a few late nighters, wreck your car, get robbed, and then go into class late without your assignment and get ridiculed. I imagined, to my horror, walking into a class full of 300 students and made to sing “I’m a Little Tea Pot” while the teacher wallops me repeatedly in the back of the head with a ruler.

It was nothing like that.

College is…unexplicable. It feels like high school, except nobody cares about status. Of course, there are still the obnoxious jocks, prissy California girls that only talk about the O.C., nerds with perfect glasses and well spoken retorts, surfer bums (in Utah? Oh yes. Wanna be surfers) that have hair longer than me and say “Heeey!” and “What’s UP dude?” like it is some secret surfers code, and then there is me.

Me. The first girl to class, the quiet one that walks with my head down to avoid having to make eye contact with everyone. The preppy that has all the books, and has the whole syllabus read before the teacher utters a single sound. Me, with my pink calculator and black notebooks and brightly colored highlighters.

Me, who all the sudden is realizing that I’m still the same person I used to be in high school. To my pleasant surprise, I can still ask a question, take notes, be on time. I can still memorize and analyze and hypothesize. I can still quote and retort and solve. I still have the potential to be the preppy with a 3.97 GPA. I’m just glad that I didn’t get placed back into Elementary all over again, as I’ve seen in my dreams over and over for the past few months.

The main difference from High School to College is that here I am on my own, 100%. And surprisingly? I’m okay with that.

Oh, and there’s that slight difference of me killing my out-fashioned bangs sometime between then and now. Remind me to show you a photo of them sometime, they are an absolute RIOT.

I PRAYED LAST NIGHT.

Hard.

I prayed for a few things. That college would go well, that I’d know which career route to take, that I’d know if the price is too high to pay, and that my tooth would stop hurting. I prayed for my sisters’ forgiveness for recent disagreements, although I refuse to ask for it. I prayed for confidence, strength, everything I don’t feel worthy of but selfishly ask for anyway.

And I realized.

I am loved.

And I am blessed.

I am blessed to be surrounded by many people who stand by my decision no matter what. I am blessed to have so many people who love me, who are so many shining examples to look up to. I am blessed to live in America, with the ability and means to provide for myself and create the type of person that I want to become.

I’m thankful.

So, so very thankful to each and every single one of you who has mentally, spiritually, emotionally and even physically helped me to pursue my dreams. You know who you are. Thank you from the bottom of my humble little heart. It is because of you that I was able to walk into college today – on D-day, my first day, the beginning of the end or the end of the beginning – with my head held high and a confident bounce in my step.

I’ve survived day one of college, and I’m not turning back.

THERE WAS ONE ACCIDENT at the derby that made all the cars stop. One driver experienced a door hit (which is against the rules and regulations. Basically, no door hits and no head on hits) and his helmet popped off and out the door, rendering him unconscious.

The announcer started screeching for all cars to hold their positions so they can help the poor driver. The car below, number 72, didn’t seem to hear the call to halt and just kept on going.

So there he is, in the middle of the arena as everyone yells STOP! and he just plows on ahead, ramming into the back of one car and backing into the front of another.

I was wondering if in his mind, he was like “Sweet! Everyone’s stopped, I win!!”

The car he backed into, number 70, had so much damage done that we wondered if his car would even work. Thankfully it did.

Everyone was raging mad at number 72 while he kept plowing into other stopped cars. He hit the gas, spun his tires and aimed his car right at the car with the unresponsive driver. This is when the firemen jumped the berm and risked their lives to jump in the delinquent drivers path. They waved their flags, they shouted, they jumped up and down. Finally, the idiotic number 72 figured out that he was supposed to stop.

I was just waiting for the crowd to jump out in hordes and attack him like a swarm of angry bees.

Once the car was stopped, the EMT’s and fire crew were able to access the situation and help the driver.

Everyone waited with bated breath, hoping that the driver was okay.

More trucks came.

And the Jaws of Life were put into use. After twenty tense minutes, the roof was peeled back off the car and the driver was given a full check up.

And he was fine!

All credits given to the firefighters that put their lives on the line to dive out and protect his car.

And the car was towed out, the games continued and all was well.

OH BOY. Did I ever laugh when I found these charts, and I’ve been laughing ever since. They remind me of a few years ago when I got my tonsils out,  and I’d explain it to little kids as “we’re not friends anymore. They’re not nice to me so we have to get them removed”.

It was easier than saying that my best chick friend in high school gave me tonsillitis (yes. I am still bitter about that) and that the subsequent infections and tonsil stones were just too much to deal with.

These charts have quick funnies that anyone could laugh at. My favorites are the spleen and the pancreas. Which ones did you enjoy?

ASHLEY AND I were talking on Instant Messenger a few days back when we started discussing my upcoming college education.

Ashley says:
u dont have a nice calculator do u?
Aubrey says:
nope, gotta go get one.
Ashley says:
if i had one id let you have it.
Aubrey says:
thanks, that means a ton.
Ashley says:
not really since i dont have one!
Ashley says:
um i just did something.
Aubrey says:
what?
Ashley says:
you dont need a calculator anymore.
thats all for now.

Well, she did it. She bought me a calculator, and I love it. For one, it’s my favorite color.

For two, it has many, many useful looking buttons.

I say “useful looking” because I’m sure they have a great purpose. I just don’t know what that is yet.

But I will learn. Oh yes, I will learn.

It’s just an awesome calculator overall.

And  – I can’t believe I’m going to admit this – but I’m actually excited to start math.

Send help.

IT STARTED WITH A TWITCH. A solitary twitch of my left eye in the early morning hours, letting me know that my cornea was not very happy about the Acuvue contacts (Advanced! With Hydroclear, no doubt) that I had just put in.

But that doesn’t matter. I’d just finished my makeup. Not about to smudge my eyeliner just for the sake of comfort. I’d already spent ten minutes searching for that little tube of black raccoon paint, I was not about to spend another ten minutes reapplying it. Not that I had the time to spare anyway. The alarm clock got my extra safety cushion of time this morning.

So I lied to myself. I squinted, did a few quick blinks and convinced myself I could see perfectly fine. What’s the blur on the side of the road? Surely not my contact. No. It’s the dirt on my sunglasses. Or on my car. Or a bad reflection of the sun.

I’m a good self-liar.

When I got to work I adopted the same  ‘I can see just fine’ mantra that I had on the drive over. Every few minutes my vision would fog over while looking at the computer screen, so I’d blink, rub my eye and then look out the window. Viola. Insta fix.

Around 10:00AM I came to the realization that it’s not so easy to pull a quick contact adjustment during a company meeting. It’s like picking a wedgie in public  – sorry, blame the radio for that comparison, they have a Hanes No Ride Underwear sale going on at Wal-Mart apparently – all I mean is, if it’s in a public place, people will notice any movement. So there I am, in the middle of a large meeting rubbing my eye, dabbing at the corners, tugging at the lashes. And for some odd reason my nose starts running in a knee-jerk type of reaction every time I touch my eyes, and I realize I have to sniff.

I opt to quit breathing instead.

That lasted about two seconds. I pause until someone is talking, duck my head and let out what I thought was a quiet sniffle. Not even the full blown, loud, elephant trumpet-like snort that my body is telling me I need to do. Just a “this only will work for two seconds and my nose will run again” type of sniff. Turns out the talker was posing a question and not a statement. My sniff was perfectly synchronized with the post question silence.

And now people believe that I cry during meetings.

Think this could get better? Oh yes. It gets so much better. I run to my car to get a little contact solution. I admit it.  SO MY CONTACT IS A LITTLE DIRTY, OKAY?! And now, after cleaning it, it’s a tad bit torn.

T-O-R-N.

Ripped. Deceased. Cut right down the middle. And I’m standing in the bathroom, literally holding my vision in my hand and realizing that without this little clear dome I am almost legally blind. You could be right in front of my face and I wouldn’t be able to recognize you. Which also means I am one contact away from not being able to drive anywhere. So next thing I know I’m flying down the freeway, blaring Beyoncé and squinting trying to get a full 180 degree view with one eye. And I start doing this thing. Don’t deny it, you do it too. I’m closing the good eye to see how well I can see out of the bad one. But I don’t just do it once, no. I keep at it like it’s suddenly going to fix itself. The clincher? I’m doing the same thing AT THE SAME TIME with my car alignment. Letting go of the wheel, feeling my car start to pull to the right, nudging it back over, letting go, drifting, moving back, while closing one eye, going blind, opening the good one. Rinse and repeat.

I finally realized I need to be more understanding of other people. To the person at Wal-Mart with the instructional note on his windshield from me stating “Learn how to park!!” I’m sorry. I didn’t realize that you were half blind and had a bad alignment too. Besides, you were probably just there for the Hanes No Ride Underwear.

YES. THE TITLE IS A WARNING. A warning that the following repetitive clip has the potential to be more annoying than the videos of me singing. Ever wondered what the who the heck is that girl famous AubreyMo does with her spare time?

I corner Ollie with the video camera of course.

And I switch from third to first person at random. Sorry about that.

When my Aunt gave me Ollie, we were told he can howl on command. Turns out he talks too.

I always wonder if he really loves me, or if he just loves it when I shut up.

Food.

He loves food and snuggles.

And my parents. That about sums it up.

Want to know what I love? (Besides Ollie). I love YOU my dear readers. I had a record traffic day yesterday and it’s days like that that make my heart soar and give me the motivation to keep it coming with the sarcasm and all the lame jokes.

Any funny posts you want to see? Any pets you can’t get enough of? Any tricks you want me to learn and blog about? Let me know in the comment box.

Loves!

- AubreyMo

MY FAMILY HAS A SONG STUCK IN OUR HEADS. And it’s all because of this munchkin.

Don’t even try to tell me that it’s not stuck in yours now too.

In case you were wondering what song we’re referring to, here is the original, less-cute version.