Reasons Why I Haven’t Been Blogging

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Been flying over earth, which looks cool

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Been dealing with a terrible driver (DO NOT USE MCCURLEY’S IF ON GRAND CAYMAN)

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Been consoling my friends after their bodies got cut in half

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Been looking at this

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Been hanging out with this dog

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Been drinking beer with my fly friend

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Been eating marinated conch salad

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Been hangin’ on the beach

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Been eating nachos with rosé

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Been meeting at Friendly’s?

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Been jammin’ some Hobbit

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Been hangin’ out with another (three-legged) dog



Drunk People Freestyle Rapping

The following is what I transcribed after Paul and Matt came back from the Street and decided to freestyle rap. It doesn’t matter if you know them or not. The rhymes are all that matter.

Paul: Put your hands up. Wave ’em. I’m ’bout to start.

Paul: My name is Paul. Kim Possible. Let me tell you something–I’m fucking Egypt. I cut the Nile. My liver, it has bile, bitch. Breakin’ down that fuckin’ food, I’m feel in good. I’m tryna fly to that fucking matrix bitch. But you know what? You a snitch.

Matt: Chillin’ here with this poopin’ penguin. High school bitch, 2011. That door is open–

Paul: Keratoconus. We own this. We flying to the highest height on us. Cuz I’m fighting with this disease. I’m trying to figure out how I got to this place. I had a Myspace.

Paul: Leather gloves. From above. I luh deez bitches, they give me hugs. Tryna fly to the highest mountain peak. But you know what? We gonna freak a leek. Drip up down, pussy wetter than ever.

Paul: Tryna be the best that I can be. But my grandmother, she from Tennessee. She said she don’t know what to do with life. I said it’s all about that strife.

Paul: Who needs a hug? Who needs a bug? Who needs a fuckin’ dick in they fuckin’ lugs? Put ’em in your uggs. I love you cuz I’m ug.

Matt: This kid. He’s bout to pee. You know what? Be me. That’s some words of wisdom. We trekking up on that internet, words of lizdom. Yeah she’s writing, writing up that blog.

Matt: Liz is this shit livebloggin. You know Paul on the street? Them bitches he be floggin’. Across the ass, in that booty he got the mass.

At this point, Paul interrupts to ask Harry to tie is shoe so that he can go to the bathroom, and, sadly, the freestyle session comes to an end. 

What It Sounds Like When Boys Play Video Games

I was going to sit in a study room by myself, listen to “Fuckin’ Problems” by A$AP Rocky, and study for my exam tomorrow, but instead I found something way more fun to do. I’m sitting in my neighbors’ room, again, while Riley plays Far Cry 3 and Harry lies on his bed watching from afar. The only video games I’ve ever played extensively have been the Sims and Pokémon. I’ve tried playing Halo and Grand Theft Auto a couple of times but never really got into these kinds of video games because I got too nervous and my hands got too sweaty, so I ended up annoying Riley with a bunch of questions.

Here’s some excerpts of what it sounded like:

Me: Is that guy dead?

Riley: No. He’s just a druggie.

Me: He’s really creepy-looking.

Riley: Yep.


Me: Who’s Daisy?

Riley: One of your friends. The story is that you were skydiving, you’re a college guy, and you skydive over this island and they kidnap you and now you’re in the middle of this conflict and you have to find all your friends. It’s pretty dumb, but that’s not the point.

Me: So do you play different stories? Cause just now you were in the tundra. Like with the tiger?

Riley: No that wasn’t snow. It was beach. It was just nighttime.

Me: Oh.

[he comes across a sick woman lying in a bed]

Me: *gasp* Is that Daisy?

Harry: Shoot her!


Me: Why do they call it Far Cry?

Riley: I dunno.

Me: Maybe it’s like a far cry…

Riley: …from home?

Me: Oohh.

Riley: Yeah that might be it. This guy is sketch. I’m calling that he’s poisoning her.

Me: Yeah def.


[wild boars emerge and Riley stabs them]

Me: They’re not gonna hurt you!

Riley: Nah they bite.

Me: Are those organs?!


Me: This is why you don’t go skydiving.

Riley: This reminds me of Taken. But like way gnarlier. Daisy’s goin’ HAM.

Me: Why do you think this doctor has kids stuff all over the house? Like why does he have a kid’s bed? Do you think he had a family and then he killed them?

[I am ignored]


Riley: Oh shit.

Harry: Oh what’s that?

Riley: A tiger. I don’t got no ammo! I just shot a fuckin’–dude these are tapirs. From the video? I’m hunting them! C’mere you little piece of shit! [stabs a tapir] Yeahh.


Me: Who’s that?

Riley: Some slut.

Me: Why’s she just standing there?

Riley: I dunno.


Me: What would happen if you just like…drove the car into a tree?

Riley: I dunno. Let’s find out!

[nothing happens]


[more boars emerge and Jason (the character you play as) stabs them]

Riley: Yeah. Makin’ bacon.

[Jason makes a disgusted noise as he collects boar hide]

Me: Jason really needs to sack up. It’s a frickin’ pig, come on.

Riley: I know! Hopefully later in the game you become more of a badass.

[Jason makes another grossed out noise]

Riley: Jason, shut up. He’s such a pussy.


Me: Do you ever get to see what Jason looks like? Is he hot?

[Riley pulls up the character profile page]

Me: Oh yah.

Riley: Yeah? You’d hit that?


[Jason happens upon a hang glider]

Riley: What is this, hang gliding?

Me: Woah! Are you gonna do it?

Riley: Uh, yeah.

[gets on hang glider]

Riley: Neat-o!


…And not a lick of my notes was studied tonight.

I Figured Out Why We Drink So Much

Just moments ago, I found myself slouched in a desk chair in my neighbors’ room with my feet up on their Target coffee table, contemplating whether or not to go out tonight. I weighed my options; I have an exam tomorrow, but I’m PDFing the class and the professor told us to come an hour and a half into the scheduled exam time because it’s not going to be hard enough to warrant a full three hours. I brainstormed my options for having fun. Sadly, everything that crossed my mind in those few seconds involved controlled substances. I found myself asking my two friends, “Why do there always have to be substances involved to have fun?”

One of them reasoned, “you can have fun without drinking,” and I totally, wholeheartedly agree. In fact, more often than not, I prefer sober, wholesome fun to what I usually end up subjecting my body to on Thursday and Saturday nights. I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not like a blackout all the time or do a ton of drugs, but I would say I partake in what you’d expect the average-to-lame college student to partake in on weekends. But it gets exhausting. Drinking’s effects are never really that great to begin with, and can be downright awful the next day. I’d love to enjoy a weekend with a group of friends without imbibing. But sober, wholesome fun requires planning. It requires time, foresight, commitment, and organization. In other words, it requires pretty much everything college students don’t have–not because we’re incapable, but because we tend to be lazy as all get out.

We end up making plans, on average, probably two hours beforehand, and because we don’t have the time to prepare other plans, these plans usually involve some variation on drinking a lot of alcohol. We drink because we don’t have time to plan fun, sober activities, and we don’t have time to plan fun, sober activities because we drink. It’s a self-perpetuating vicious cycle. I’m not saying that this is the way it should be, I’m just saying that this is the way it is, and that if we want to change our ways because we’re sick of them, this is the place to start. Break the cycle and take the extra couple hours (maximum) that it would take to plan something else.

Well, now it’s out there. And that being said, I have a pregame to get to. Just kidding, I think I’m going to study. I don’t know. Maybe not. Look out for a future post on indecision and FOMO.

10 Teen Things I Didn’t Do Before My 20th Birthday

Don’t get me wrong, I’ve done a ton of cool things in my young life. There’s nothing I would go back and change about it, and I’m grateful for that. That’s not to say that I haven’t made mistakes, but I’d say, for the most part, the lessons I’ve learned outweigh the damage and make them worth it. As a great singer/songwriter named Caroline Reese once said, “I’ve done things that I’m ashamed of. I have a regret, or two, or ten.” If I have regrets about my life so far, they are the things I regret not doing–namely, the things specific to the stage in my life I’ll be saying goodbye to in just four hours. Teenage things.

As an American teenager, there are certain things that movies, music, TV shows, and popular culture have ingrained in my mind as requisite teenage behavior. The following is a list, paraphrased entirely from pop songs, of ten things I never got around to doing before I was no longer a teenager:

1) Make out in a Mustang to Radiohead

2) Drive to Cali and get drunk on the beach

3) Suck on chili dogs behind the Tastee-Freeze

4) Spend my evenings down at the drive-in

5) Hang out behind the club on the weekend, acting stupid getting drunk with my best friends

6) Walk on the beach on the beach on my bare feet on the corner of Cherry Street

7) Listen to Iron Maiden, maybe

8) Sit in class next to redheaded Abigail

9) Get it in my fishnets (now I only get it in my night dress)

10) Get drunk and ride around and make peace with an empty town

Am I okay with it? I think if you were to ask me two or three years ago, I’d say that I haven’t had a real teenage experience. Now, though, after struggling to name ten more “missed opportunities” because I originally meant for this to have 20 items, I’d say I’m more than okay with it. Existential crisis averted. For now. Still have another 27.5 hours to deal with.


On Misplaced Waste

The following post is dedicated to the exposure and shaming of people who vomit/defecate in inappropriate public places and leave their mess to be cleaned up by someone else and the celebration of the people who do not.

It is almost impossible to encapsulate the intense emotions I experienced when I entered the bathroom in my hall last night and surveyed the carnage after the initial feelings of shock have worn off, so I won’t try. Instead, transcribed below is the word-for-word text conversation I had with a friend who has seen his fair share of unwelcome surprises in his dorm’s bathroom and the weirdly formal e-mail I sent my RCA.


Me: Ok so [my roommate] told me someone vommed and the vom spreads to multiple stalls

Me: And I saw a little bit of it when I went in and it just looked like yknow a regular streak of vom

Me: And I didn’t want it to smell so I just went to go put some Clorox wipes on it to cover it up idk

Me: Then I push open the door to the second stall

Me: Start dry heaving, because I’m not sure of [sic] the material on the floor and the seat is vomit or shit

Friend, being helpful: I bet it’s diarrhea

Me: Oh my god

Friend, being mature: Poooopy

Me: It actually might be.

Me: I ran back to my room coughing and gagging ugh I hate people

Me: Should I send an angry email??

And below is the e-mail I sent my RCA:


Dearest [redacted]-

It has come to my attention (by first-person witnessing, unfortunately) that there is a disgusting amount and spread of vomit/unidentifiable human waste in the 2nd floor women’s bathroom of Blair 8. Seeing as this is clearly unacceptable, inconsiderate to our custodian, and just plain unhealthy, I’m writing to you in the hopes that you could send an email around to the residents/possible culprits urging them to clean up after themselves and reminding us all to contain ourselves as best we can in dire times such as the one one of my hallmates evidently experienced tonight. It is also possible that the offender was a guest of one of the Blair 8/9 residents, in which case I would hope their host will take it upon himself/herself to take responsibility.

After speaking with some of my male hallmates on this topic, it has also come to my attention that one of the regular patrons of the men’s bathroom on our hallway has a seemingly incorrigible penchant for vomiting in one of the sinks.

I’m sorry that this topic has to be the bulk of the content of my email to you. I want to thank you for your warm presence in the dorm this year, and for your attention to this email.

Best wishes to you and yours,

His kind response, if you were curious:

Subject: Re:

Thanks for the heads up Liz. I’m sorry that your bathroom’s in such a bad state. You’re completely right, of course – it’s unacceptable both for the other people in the entryway and for the custodians. I’ll send out an email to the people in the entryway. Hopefully it won’t happen again. If it does, though, we can take further steps.


After this grueling experience, I couldn’t help but recall times in the past when people have recklessly abandoned their waste in inappropriate places. Like the time last year when my entrymate threw a pregame, during which one of her guests became so inebriated that one of my roommates opened our door to him, dick out, peeing on our door. This same night, someone (presumably the door-urinator) also attempted to expel their vomit out of a second floor window in the stairwell, only for it to be blocked by a window screen and somehow drip down the ledge, onto the floor, and down the stairs (!), leaving a trail of chunks of what were clearly poorly-digested chunks of bacon (?!) all the way down to the basement (?!?!).

This crime scene, including the drip marks on our door and sticky puddle of dried urine next to it, lasted for at least four days and inevitably gave rise to a heated discussion on our entry Facebook group, in which residents urged the pregame hostess to take responsibility for her guests’ destruction (construction?).

One resident’s post:

If someone wants to step up and claim responsibility for the state of our entryway I will be happy to help that person thoroughly clean the entryway. but it is fucking disgusting in here and I dont want my mom to have to walk on some college kid’s vomit and piss when she is helping me move out this weekend. Again, im not trying to point fingers, but we’re effectively college sophomores now, and we should be mature enough to own up to our own mistakes, and resolve the situation and move past it.

An excerpt of the hostess’s response:

‎1) I have been trying to figure out if anyone knew anyone here who may have done it since Sunday. 2) I started cleaning it myself this morning. 3) If you were all such “mature sophomores” you’d realize upperclassmen puke everywhere all the time and the janitors clean it up, were in college. You’re lucky you saw this only once or twice this year. 

To be as fair as possible, I should note that the hostess went on to say that she had recently heard some troubling news about a family member’s health, so she had been preoccupied that week.

Clearly, however, the claim that “upperclassmen puke everywhere all the time and the janitors clean it up,” is no excuse for the perpetuation of this type of behavior and is, thankfully, not factual, although my recent experience makes me begin to doubt that.

And so my message to you is this: if you find yourself about to be sick, please try to contain yourself. Do the right thing and do what I did during frosh week: bring your trash can into the bathroom to vomit (?), get locked out of your room without pants on in the process, and sleep on your neighbors’ window seat for the remainder of the night. If you find the urgency of your situation has prevented you from taking the tactful, logical steps I took, please do the right thing and at least try.

Try taking a note from the girl my dear friend Melissa and I encountered in a bathroom stall while on “safety patrol” during eating club formals weekend last spring: vomit on the floor while sitting on the toilet, see the error of your ways, and attempt to clean up your regurgitation with your bare hands, performing for others a sort of dance, framed by the floor and the bottom of the stall door, of just your hands fruitlessly swiping at a vomit-covered floor, like two malfunctioning window wipers.

The poor girl meant well, and I like to believe that deep down, beneath the lapses in judgment such as those my hallmate, the door-urinator, and the door-urinator’s hostess experienced, we all do.

A Brief Encounter With A Special Cat: In Memoriam

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(???? – January 19, 2013)

In Memoriam 

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We found Garfield one day this summer, napping on our pool furniture. At first, he ran away when anyone tried to approach him. After we started leaving treats on the chair he liked to sleep on, he began to stay longer and longer, until he and my parents would sit by the pool together for hours. 

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He was old and deaf when he found his way into our backyard, and my mom initially thought that he had just wanted to find a peaceful place before he died.

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But he quickly became a part of the family, getting along well with my sister’s dog, pictured above, and following my parents around when they did their rounds around the gardens and feeding the chickens, even into the winter when it was cold and snowing. Despite being sick, starved, and abandoned when we adopted him, Garfield was affectionate and quick to trust.

Due to health problems associated with old age, Garfield was “put down,” as they say, this afternoon.

His presence in my life and mine in his were fleeting–but better short than not at all.

Whatever your plans this weekend, be sure to pour one out for this homie.

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I am actually so nervous that I just publicized the URL of my blog on my Twitter that the palms of my hands and the soles of my feet are sweating. I am truly freaked out that anyone on the Internet could read this. I’m probably flattering myself, and only a handful of you will read this, and isn’t what I’m experiencing now called the spotlight effect in social psychology? But I can’t really get over the concept that I’m probably going to end up writing some deeply personal things, and there could be some malicious sedentary man reading my blog somewhere who is really good at the Internet and is trying to find out where I live so he can come and kill me. Or even someone on my very campus who hides behind an online Twitter parody account of an organization I am a part of and interacts with me online and knows who I am but I don’t know who they are and for all I know I could see them on a daily basis and not even know it, and do I wonder if every person who looks at me strangely is the person behind the Twitter account sometimes? Um, no, that would be insane…regardless, there is something inherently creepy and trust fall-y about publishing on the internet. It’s like giving a speech in a room with a blindfold on, and you’re not really sure if anyone is even there listening to you, but maybe you’ll hear a chuckle or the sound of feet shuffling when check your site stats one day and see that someone, be it that sedentary man or that anonymous schoolmate, is listening.

But I know that readers can make comments, so I implore friends to utilize this when they see fit, so at least if the sedentary murderer man is reading this, he will know that PEOPLE WILL NOTICE IF I GO MISSING.

And I think part of me is afraid that I’ll get in trouble for some reason. Like I’ll write something alluding to someone on here and that person will find out and get offended. Or I’ll write something personal and it’ll go viral and I’ll be really embarrassed. Or when I’m famous someone will unearth this and do who knows what with it. You wanna know why I think these things? Here’s a story.

The only time I ever got sent to what is colloquially referred to as “the principal’s office,” but in my school was known as the “upper school head’s office,” was in the 6th grade. If you read my first post, you already know that I had a website in my youth. Like it was .com and everything. I would change up the general appearance of it every now and then, and I distinctly remember how at the time I got in trouble, the website had a “rustic” theme going on. I had photoshopped some apples and used Georgia font; it looked really good. You probably think I’m saying it looked really good sarcastically, like how people always say things about stuff they did in middle school, like “yeah I had the Rachel haircut. It looked really good,” but I’m serious. It actually looked really good.

There was an awful girl in the 6th grade who made everyone’s life miserable. I wish I could remember examples of what she did and said, but I can’t remember. It was the classic middle school stuff, though, but somehow so much worse. I guess one day she did something that was so mean that I wrote about her on my website, which I believe I put a link to on my AIM buddy profile. A couple of days later, I got asked to go to the upper school head’s office, caught completely off guard. I had no idea what I was there to talk about until she, a petite, grey-haired lady and fierce enforcer of the no-makeup and you-must-wear-socks uniform rules, handed me a printed out version of my website to me and asked me if I knew what this was.

I think you know the feeling I’m talking about when I say that my heart started pounding, my cheeks got all hot, and my palms started sweating much like they still kind of are right now, and I felt like my chest was going to explode with hot air. I imagine she said something to the effect of, “you shouldn’t be writing mean things about people on the internet,” but I was too busy looking at the printout of my website. It wasn’t just a printout; it was annotated and highlighted. It turns out that this girl’s mother had been alerted to the existence of my website and had gone through and highlighted everything that offended her about it. This makes it sound like I was some psychotic cyberbully who had an online burn book. This was not the case. It was essentially just a benign (Edit: angsty) middle schooler’s blog. For example, the only word that sticks in my memory that I remember she highlighted was the word “freaking,” and that was the worst one. (Edit: Okay, I just remembered that it actually said “fucking.” Hahaha. Whatever.) I do think I made the mistake of mentioning her by her first name, but hey, I was young. Dear lord do I wish I could see what I had on there. But at the same time, do I? It would likely be ten times more cringe-worthy than the responses to the rude Honesty Boxes I got freshman year of high school that I downloaded last year from Facebook. I quoted Lil’ Wayne in some of them.

So, after it dawned on me that I was, for the first time, in trouble, I started crying. The upper school head was a really nice lady, and let me sit in the chair in her office that allowed me to be mostly concealed from the passers-by by a large filing cabinet. I realized later that I don’t think she actually wanted to get me in trouble. The girl I wrote about was resented not only by our grade, but by the faculty too, she was that bad. When a parent purposefully goes directly to an administrator in order to get an 11 year old girl in trouble, though, I guess she has no choice. I sat there in the office, deeply upset, for a very long time. Usually when someone got in trouble, they’d be “suspended” for the rest of the day and have to sit in the upper school head’s office in full view of anyone who passed by her window in the busy hallway. I’m not sure if she intended to enforce that punishment on me, but it took me long enough to get myself together that I ended up in there for the rest of the day anyway.

I deleted the entry as soon as I got home, and the whole website not long after that.

So, yeah, that’s why I’m afraid to post things on the internet. Can you think of any way I could get in trouble, though? I can’t think of any reason why I would get disciplined. I think I’m more afraid of embarrassment, being so exposed, and ridicule, to be honest. And that whatever you put on the internet is out there. Forever. Right? But if I want to be a good writer, won’t I end up writing about myself anyway? And wouldn’t I want my writing to be published to reach a wide audience? Should I be making decisions like this at 4 AM? Can you believe that girl’s mom did that? It’s not just me, that was kind of crazy, right?

I am too nervous to think of another title

When I first attempted to make a blog tonight, I tried REALLY hard to use WordPress because a website I found after I googled “best blog website” had a poll that voted WordPress as the best host. But it was so hard, and I had to open Firefox for its website to let me open an account then they tried to make me PAY MONEY to customize my blog theme. Yeah right. I know a scam when I see it. Then I started doubting myself and started thinking that I was bad at websites. Then I thought to myself, why am I allowing a WEBSITE to make me doubt myself? How can you even be bad at a website? I had my own website in the 5th grade, with a real domain name and everything. I knew HTML. I could make frames for christ’s sake and I knew my way around Photoshop, so don’t you DARE make me feel like I don’t know how to use a website, WordPress. Don’t you dare.

So then I returned to tumblr, on which I already have two blogs. You can look at one of them at It was my first foray into blogging that I started last year during finals after being inspired by my roommate Lily’s ( active tumbling. I just posted a bunch of pictures I thought were interesting. I think that’s what pinterest is for but I refuse to use pinterest because I think it is dumb. The other one is a secret.

There are two stories to explain why I started a blog tonight–the long one and the short one.

This is the long one:

When I was somewhere around the ages of 11 to 13, I can’t remember, my main interests were (and still include) food and clothing. My mom told me to write a blog. I thought about it for a second and then thought, no. Blogs are lame. No one would read my blog. The word “blog” is silly, and this “blog” fad will pass.

I didn’t know it at the time, or maybe I just refused to believe it, but my mom is pretty much always right. A couple of years later, I caught wind of this little girl who started a blog about her main interests, clothes and being annoying–sorry, that was rude–, Tavi Gevinson. She starts a blog about clothes, posts some pictures of her dressing weird, and boom, internet celebrity. All of a sudden she’s in Teen Vogue, designers are sending her clothes and inviting her to her shows, and the whole Internet is on her dick, excuse my language. I distinctly remember one of her posts about a designer sending her a skirt with a pattern of some galaxy on it and thinking, “that could have been me.”

And so, I tentatively waded into the modern internet scene step by step. Facebook, then Twitter, then no Facebook (one of the best decisions of my young life, I highly recommend), then Instagram, then my first tumblr, LinkedIn thrown in there somewhere (I had to do it for a project, I refuse to join the “work force,” it sounds too proletariat), etc. But I’ll never get over the fact that I didn’t beat Tavi Gevinson to it.

This is the short story:

Tonight, I went to my dear friend Caroline’s room to watch Downton Abbey with her and my other dear friends, Mimi and Kathryn. One of Caroline’s friends messaged her about starting a blog, and we got to talking about blogs. Of course, I brought up my bitter resentment of Tavi’s success (I won’t talk about her anymore – I’m OVER IT), and my three dear friends enthusiastically encouraged me to start a blog. It’s not too late, they said. And they said they would read it. So I’m going to do it! Well, by the time you will have read this, I DID it!

And if you’ve been paying any attention, you’ll have realized that this in fact has not been posted on tumblr, but on WordPress, because I enjoy a personal challenge and the blue background of tumblr depresses me.