diznef.

that's nineteen in creole. because that's what i am today. i've finally caught up to everyone else on the planet. and thank you for your happy birthdays! you are all such blessings.

sentimental things aside, let's get some sass up in here.

nineteen years of life, nineteen embarrassing things that happened roughly around each age. this also shows why i am who i am today. deep and emotional. goulet.

age: 1 = i was born. awkwardness was procreated. i was naked 80% of the time. i pooped my pants. (this does not only happen at age one, for the record. brace yourself.) i drooled incessantly.

age: 2 = i started walking. walking is crucial for any clumsy moment i've had for the past 19 years.

age: 3 = i was bitten in the face by a dog while i was pretending to eat it's food. this is still my safety reason as to why i am still single.

age: 4 = i was enrolled in school. i cried every second for my mother to come pick me up. clearly, i am an i-n-d-e-p-e-n-d-e-n-t individual. i also wet my pants at least once a week. you think i would have had this together by now. at least i was a cute son of a gun. minus the dog bite on my face. and bowl cut.

age: 5 = repeat age 4. stir well.

age: 6 = i was bitten by the same dog. again. in the lip. now i have a busted cheek and had the appearance of a cleft lip. luckily this was fixed. why am i single again? can't quite put my finger on it.

7, 8, 9, really don't matter. because 7 ate 9. ha.

age: 10 = i cut my own bangs. some people go through the haircutting age at 3 years old, but i'm a late bloomer. i had constant trendalls hanging around my forehead. faaancy.

age: 11 = i went to middle school. and fit right in with all of the other awkwardness.

age: 12 = i have literally forgotten this year. all i remember is where my locker was.

age: 13 = i was the self-proclaimed middle school bad a. i ran the school, honestly. i also wore a bridesmaid's dress to the 8th grade formal. hey, cooooool. it went up to my collar bone. and was periwinkle.

age: 14 = i survived my first year of high school. i played varsity basketball, and then exploded in softball. life of a champion. i also swallowed my ring in geography class and my teacher continued to ask me every single day if i got it back. pardon, not my teacher, for she was "not a teacher, but a geographer." last time i checked you were sitting in a high school classroom, but pardon if i'm confused.

age: 15 = driver's permit. life came close to ending far too many times for my driver's education teachers.

age: 16 = i figured out what a hair straightener was and said farewell to the afro. and got a car.

age: 17 = senior year. life. was. good. i did as little as possible. i harrassed mr. cooms (honeycooms, tecoomseh, kelli evans) until the second i left the classroom and learned absolutely nothing.

age: 18 = i went to college. survived school. pledged pi phi. completely wiped out in the chapter room. went to haiti. had my life changed.

age: 19 = nothing embarrassing yet. it's only been a few hours. did i mention how much i hate the number 19 because of my ocd? okay, neat.

the life of abby white. glad you're a part of it.

ps - describing my physical malling made me out to look like quasimoto. i'm normal. promise. ish.