So I fell down the stairs.
I was finishing up a tweet, ironically enough about the likelihood of me getting hit by a train while tweeting and dying, while walking down stairs. Suddenly, my world tilted as my feet slipped on the slick, rubberized stairs and I tumbled down about six steps. My phone was all scuffed from the fall. My heart was pounding, and I made a fuck-ton of a noise.
My first reaction was to finish my tweet. And then I stood up and looked around. No one had seen, and I can’t decide if I’m more relieved or pissed. Relieved because when I fall it’s like a slow-motion deflating of those wavy-armed blow-up guys at car sales—is that a thing?—and it was a slow defeat. Pissed because I wasn’t hurt and I just wanted someone to be able to bask in the glory of that hilarity with me.
I originally started this post on Tuesday—the day of the falling—but the week has slipped through my fingers like tiny sand particles slipping through a sieve with particularly porous lines. And plus, now I can fully look back on my week and confirm that I am—indeed—cursed.
SOS WE INTERRUPT THIS BLOG POST TO LET YOU KNOW THAT A CUTE BOY WITH A NOSE PIERCING IS SITTING AT THE TABLE NEXT TO ME IN THE DINING HALL. But I’m wearing a workout sweatshirt, glasses and track pants. I AM NOT CUTE ENOUGH TO BE NEAR HIM RIGHT NOW.
—I had to move my ladder (I live in a lofted bed) to get to the dresser underneath it. To get socks. So not even worth it. And I guess when I put the ladder back, I didn’t make sure that it was fully locked in place. So I started chatting with my roommate and climbed up on my ladder to make my bed. Yes, I make my bed. I’m so good. Husband me up, rich older businessmen with no other heirs and a few years to live.
Suddenly, the ladder d—
UM HE JUST KISSED A GIRL NEVER MIND ABORT MISSION
—ropped from below me, leaving me clutching the bed and dangling. My roommate pulled the ladder from beneath my churning feet and told me I could drop to the floor. It was only like six inches, and I’m a very tall person, so it wasn’t that bad. But still, the curse had begun.
Tuesday, I fell down the stairs, and immediately ran into an attractive human, literally shaking.
Wednesday, I was getting some salsa for my quesadilla in the dining hall. I had some sweet potato fries on the same plate, and when I leaned over to get the salsa, the plate tipped and all the fries scattered into the tubs of salsa and sour cream. CURSED.
Thursday, well nothing really happened on Thursday. Or on Friday, except that CUTE BOY HAD A GIRLFRIEND. CURSED.
However, the week ended on an AMAZING note. Me and my friend Shelby—who literally insisted on being included in this post—received some shirts from the store of one of our favorite YouTubers—TRISHA PAYTAS. Former stripper, current PERFECTION, she is our favorite guilty pleasure. She also recently got a Swarovski-encrusted bicycle. AND SHE RETWEETED AND RESPONDED TO MY TWEETS ABOUT THE T-SHIRTS.
So that maybe proves that one can thrive despite a very real, basically confirmed curse. I’m so brave. I also realized that Interstellar and Gravity are both movies about space that were released very close to each other. Why did that happen? Did Interstellar do worse? Should I watch The Devil Wears Prada again, even though it’s been less than two weeks since my last viewing of it? So many questions and hardly any answers. Except “Yes” to the last one.
I guess I should sign off. This post took me an uncomfortably long time to write. Like, I started it on Tuesday. It is Friday night—turn up #turnt—and I’m just finishing it now. Sue me for having a social life; since when did being popular become a crime? Answer: Jawbreakers.
I think I’m going to get McDonalds. Cheers to making horrifying decisions!