I wrote this back in November when it occurred. Just thought I would post it now.
“Ok. Let’s run through it one more time, then I have to go,” Jeanna, our dance advisor, called out.
We all rose to our feet and got in our beginning formation for our kick routine, the one we would be performing at the Semi-Finals for football on Saturday. The music started and I tightened every muscle in my body, focusing mostly on my core. We started doing our kicks. My legs were sore when I kicked that high, higher than my head, but it wasn’t unbearable. We were all trying our hardest to be sharp and smile. Smiling wasn’t that difficult. When you love what you’re doing it doesn’t take much concentration to smile.
We neared the end of our dance and got into “the worm” position. Alisha was going to start it, Robin was right in front of me with her feet on my shoulder blades, my feet were on Heather’s shoulder blades, and Jeannie would finish the ripple. The counts came and we rippled. My upper half came up as Robin’s was going down, though her feet were still up. I started to go down when I realized Robin’s feet weren’t on me anymore. Within a split second, I heard a sickening thud and a sharp pain cracked up through my nose as I felt Robin’s feet hit the back of my head and my face hit the gym floor. The dance was almost over, only one more eight-count, so I finished it.
But as I hit my ending pose, traitor tears raced down my cheeks and my head was pounding. I then noticed my upper lip throbbing, too. Jeanna was staring at me in concern.
“Are you ok?” She asked, “What happened?”
I didn’t answer right away. I couldn’t talk. The pain surged through me as I fought to hold back the already obvious tears. I finally explained to her what happened as I raised my hand to cover my nose, as though to protect it. It was already swelling. I felt something wet trickle into my hands and I pulled them away to look. Blood. I knew it wasn’t from my nose. My nose never bleeds. It was from my lip. It had split open and the blood was coming fast. With no need to verbally excuse myself, I stood up and ran to the bathroom.
I grabbed a tissue and held it there to stop the bleeding. When it finally stopped, I took a deep breath before looking in the mirror. Ugh. It was bad. My nose was swelling, shadowed from starting to bruise, and my lip was swollen with a huge split in it. Even with my high tolerance for pain, I cried.
I went and got it x-rayed. Not broken. Good. But it didn’t stop it from hurting. It was then I had to make one of the hardest choices. I couldn’t dance with my nose like this. I knew that. I felt it. There was no possible way without feeling like it was being smacked into the floor a hundred times over. And so, I gave it up: my once in a lifetime chance to go to All-State Dance. Yeah. I feel horrible I didn’t get to go, but I don’t regret my decision. My face is still throbbing. Oh well, it’s not everyday you get your face smashed into the floor. I’ll admit, it’s one thing I haven’t done yet, and now I get to say I have.
I looked horrible for several days. The split in my lip was really deep and didn't heal for about two weeks. The bruising on my nose spread to under my eyes. I looked really ridiculous.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
Annie Oakley
One of my mother's nicknames for me-when guns are in mind-is Annie Oakley. Today my parents and I were talking about one of the incidences (I think the very first one) that earned me that nickname. I would just like to share that with you.
Growing up we always had chickens. They were usually plain white, though the roosters were often different colors. They would always wander about the yard eating worms, fallen apples, and whatever else they could find.
One day my oldest brother, Jamin, and I were standing out on the back deck watching the chickens. I couldn't have been any older than 8 years old (though I was probably 6 or 7). Jamin was probably about 16 or 17. Then he got this bright idea. He went inside where my mom was fixing lunch. He asked her if he could see if I could shoot one of the chickens. She thought he meant with a BB gun, and plus I had never really shot before and never at a moving target, so she had no problem with it.
So Jamin brought out his gun. Only it wasn't his BB gun... it was his .22. He handed the me the gun, which was almost as big as I was. He pointed to one of the chickens and said, "Hey, Jess. Shoot that chicken. That one."
"Ok."
I pulled the gun up over the rail and placed the butt of the gun on my shoulder. Jamin stood beside me with a look of curiosity and humor on his face. I aimed at the chicken, bobbing it's head as it walked, and squeezed the trigger...
Jamin's expression quickly changed to shock and disbelief. I had nailed the chicken right in the head and killed it. With the gun still positioned in my arms, I looked up at him.
"She killed it! Oh my heck! I can't believe she killed it!"
My mom walked out onto the deck in answer to Jamin's shouting. "Oh, she didn't kill it," she calmly replied. Then she looked off the deck and saw the dead chicken.
They buried the chicken to "hide the evidence." But it was in vain. When my dad got home, I was so please with myself, that I ran up and told him that I had shot and killed a chicken. The only thing that he was really upset about was that, with a clean headshot, they had buried it, so now we couldn't eat it.
We all find the memory quite funny now. Though, since then, no one has ever told me to shoot anything unless they were completely serious.
Growing up we always had chickens. They were usually plain white, though the roosters were often different colors. They would always wander about the yard eating worms, fallen apples, and whatever else they could find.
One day my oldest brother, Jamin, and I were standing out on the back deck watching the chickens. I couldn't have been any older than 8 years old (though I was probably 6 or 7). Jamin was probably about 16 or 17. Then he got this bright idea. He went inside where my mom was fixing lunch. He asked her if he could see if I could shoot one of the chickens. She thought he meant with a BB gun, and plus I had never really shot before and never at a moving target, so she had no problem with it.
So Jamin brought out his gun. Only it wasn't his BB gun... it was his .22. He handed the me the gun, which was almost as big as I was. He pointed to one of the chickens and said, "Hey, Jess. Shoot that chicken. That one."
"Ok."
I pulled the gun up over the rail and placed the butt of the gun on my shoulder. Jamin stood beside me with a look of curiosity and humor on his face. I aimed at the chicken, bobbing it's head as it walked, and squeezed the trigger...
Jamin's expression quickly changed to shock and disbelief. I had nailed the chicken right in the head and killed it. With the gun still positioned in my arms, I looked up at him.
"She killed it! Oh my heck! I can't believe she killed it!"
My mom walked out onto the deck in answer to Jamin's shouting. "Oh, she didn't kill it," she calmly replied. Then she looked off the deck and saw the dead chicken.
They buried the chicken to "hide the evidence." But it was in vain. When my dad got home, I was so please with myself, that I ran up and told him that I had shot and killed a chicken. The only thing that he was really upset about was that, with a clean headshot, they had buried it, so now we couldn't eat it.
We all find the memory quite funny now. Though, since then, no one has ever told me to shoot anything unless they were completely serious.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Drill Competition
So we had drill competition this last weekend and it went pretty good. We didn't place, but we performed really well. There's definitely room for improvement, but I think our chances might be pretty good this year. There's just one problem.....
Some time during the competition, I really don't know when, I hurt my middle finger on my left hand. It has a funny bump on the side, it's swollen, and this morning it started turning blue. I don't know if it's jammed or broken. And really, I don't know if I want to know. (My mother's famous words that we don't let her live down: "If you can move it, it's not broken." That's a story in itself.) I'm not going to get it x-rayed. Bleh. I'm sick of that and it costs too much. So I'm just dealing with it. The funny thing is, when we do our military dance we have to have our wrists at 90 degree angles with flat hands. Usually, that's not a problem. Now, my finger won't go straight so my hand curls in a funny claw-like way. It actually looks really hilarious when we do the dance, and I feel so stupid. :)
Yesterday I almost couldn't get my ring off my finger. Really, it took me about 15 minutes sitting in church to get it off (my mom and I were switching rings again during sacrament meeting). So we decided I probably shouldn't put it back on that finger.
Silly fingers. They always get the worst of it. :)
Some time during the competition, I really don't know when, I hurt my middle finger on my left hand. It has a funny bump on the side, it's swollen, and this morning it started turning blue. I don't know if it's jammed or broken. And really, I don't know if I want to know. (My mother's famous words that we don't let her live down: "If you can move it, it's not broken." That's a story in itself.) I'm not going to get it x-rayed. Bleh. I'm sick of that and it costs too much. So I'm just dealing with it. The funny thing is, when we do our military dance we have to have our wrists at 90 degree angles with flat hands. Usually, that's not a problem. Now, my finger won't go straight so my hand curls in a funny claw-like way. It actually looks really hilarious when we do the dance, and I feel so stupid. :)
Yesterday I almost couldn't get my ring off my finger. Really, it took me about 15 minutes sitting in church to get it off (my mom and I were switching rings again during sacrament meeting). So we decided I probably shouldn't put it back on that finger.
Silly fingers. They always get the worst of it. :)
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Christmas Time is Here Again...
...and it doesn't feel quite right. Usually by this time I'm all giddy and happy, love going shopping and getting presents for my friends, and can't wait until Christmas Eve. This year I'm merely content... that's not the right word... restless... that's better. I'm not excited, not giddy, and with all the snow we've had, I haven't even had the urge to attempt a snowman. Shopping for gifts was more out of habit than anything. And Christmas Eve... it's just another day. Sad, isn't it?
It seems as though all the Christmas Traditions are gone as well. I wanted to go get a real tree this year like we use to. We didn't. The Nativity Count Down didn't even get mentioned. The chocolate Christmas count down was forgotten. Decorating the tree was... bad. Christmas lights are dwindling; no giant candy cane sticks making a lighted walkway, no light arch hanging off the quakie. I think... well... I hope that there is one tradition that will carry through: opening an ornament on Christmas Eve. But there will only be four of us instead of twelve. And I'm wondering if we're going to go to the Christmas Breakfast... we didn't go last year.
I haven't gone sledding or anything in the snow with my friends. Come to think of it, I haven't really done anything with my friends, period. My social life consists of talking to a few people in the morning at drill (Jeans is always one of them); David, Jo, Ryan, and Mr. Bake during band; and Loni in seminary. Then the occasional people that I just say hi to in the halls: Wheeler, Austin, Michael, Elijah. And that's about it for my social life. I guess if you wanted to you could count the all the unanswered texts I send, but I don't. It's like talking to a brick wall.
Jeans and I decided to take a last minute Christmas shopping run to Cortez on Tuesday, right after school gets out... well, before school gets out, right after the assembly. But shopping is just an excuse. We both want to get out of Blanding. We wanted to do a weekend road trip, but we're both almost completely broke, so we're just going to go one day. We'll also get to see Mark while we're there. That will be somewhat of a relief: hanging out with a friend outside of Blanding. Originally Jeans and I were going to runaway to Maui or Hawaii. But we figured we better graduate first in case we don't make it back. Not that either of us would really mind being stuck in Maui or Hawaii, but you know how it goes.
Now don't get me wrong. I love Blanding. I love Christmas. I love all my friends in Blanding, especially at Christmas. But it's just not right this year. I guess you could call me a Scrooge or a Grinch, or even a Scrinchy Grooge, but I just can't get into Christmas. I know, I know. "Christmas isn't about receiving; it's about giving" and "It's not the price of the gift that matters." But that's not really what I'm talking about. I guess I just miss not having my family at Christmas; I miss all the fun, silly traditions we had; I miss being little and not being able to control my excitement for Christmas because it had the greatest feeling in the world for me; I miss feeling that everything seemed right around Christmas time; but most of all, I miss my friends. And Christmas time hurts the most when you've lost a friend...
It seems as though all the Christmas Traditions are gone as well. I wanted to go get a real tree this year like we use to. We didn't. The Nativity Count Down didn't even get mentioned. The chocolate Christmas count down was forgotten. Decorating the tree was... bad. Christmas lights are dwindling; no giant candy cane sticks making a lighted walkway, no light arch hanging off the quakie. I think... well... I hope that there is one tradition that will carry through: opening an ornament on Christmas Eve. But there will only be four of us instead of twelve. And I'm wondering if we're going to go to the Christmas Breakfast... we didn't go last year.
I haven't gone sledding or anything in the snow with my friends. Come to think of it, I haven't really done anything with my friends, period. My social life consists of talking to a few people in the morning at drill (Jeans is always one of them); David, Jo, Ryan, and Mr. Bake during band; and Loni in seminary. Then the occasional people that I just say hi to in the halls: Wheeler, Austin, Michael, Elijah. And that's about it for my social life. I guess if you wanted to you could count the all the unanswered texts I send, but I don't. It's like talking to a brick wall.
Jeans and I decided to take a last minute Christmas shopping run to Cortez on Tuesday, right after school gets out... well, before school gets out, right after the assembly. But shopping is just an excuse. We both want to get out of Blanding. We wanted to do a weekend road trip, but we're both almost completely broke, so we're just going to go one day. We'll also get to see Mark while we're there. That will be somewhat of a relief: hanging out with a friend outside of Blanding. Originally Jeans and I were going to runaway to Maui or Hawaii. But we figured we better graduate first in case we don't make it back. Not that either of us would really mind being stuck in Maui or Hawaii, but you know how it goes.
Now don't get me wrong. I love Blanding. I love Christmas. I love all my friends in Blanding, especially at Christmas. But it's just not right this year. I guess you could call me a Scrooge or a Grinch, or even a Scrinchy Grooge, but I just can't get into Christmas. I know, I know. "Christmas isn't about receiving; it's about giving" and "It's not the price of the gift that matters." But that's not really what I'm talking about. I guess I just miss not having my family at Christmas; I miss all the fun, silly traditions we had; I miss being little and not being able to control my excitement for Christmas because it had the greatest feeling in the world for me; I miss feeling that everything seemed right around Christmas time; but most of all, I miss my friends. And Christmas time hurts the most when you've lost a friend...
Thursday, December 4, 2008
White Shirts
I have a serious issue with white shirts. I'll do just fine wearing a white shirt. My day will go by without incident. But if I'm wearing a white shirt, guaranteed something will happen. When I was at Region tennis, we went to a football game. I wore my white Royals shirt. After the game, we were walking to the vehicle (I was actually going home with my parents, but walking with the other girls). The girl in front of me stepped off the curb onto the grass. Only it wasn't grass, and it wasn't just a few inches down. It was a long way down, and it was a mud puddle. Now don't ask me how it happened, but it did. Something that only happens in movies. When she stepped down, mud splashed up and completely covered me; pants, shirt, face, everything. I honestly don't know how it splashed up that high. And it didn't even get her muddy, just me!!
So today, I was wearing a white shirt. For lunch, I was drinking chocolate milk. And I was being so so careful. I sat down at the table and set my drink down. I had triumphed. ...or so I though... My mom looked at me and gasped.
"What?" I asked and she just continued to stare. I looked down. Lo and behold, it was my shirt. Chocolate milk stained my shirt from the neck, down the left side, to the bottom. How that 
happened, again, I have no idea. I had been watching the milk the whole time and hadn't spilled a drop. Of course, it wouldn't have happened if I had been wearing a colored shirt. It never happens when I wear a colored shirt. Things always happen to me when I'm wearing a white shirt. Go figure. Like I said, I have issues with white shirts.
happened, again, I have no idea. I had been watching the milk the whole time and hadn't spilled a drop. Of course, it wouldn't have happened if I had been wearing a colored shirt. It never happens when I wear a colored shirt. Things always happen to me when I'm wearing a white shirt. Go figure. Like I said, I have issues with white shirts.This doesn't look as bad. When it happened (about twelve hours ago) it looked a lot worse. And no, I didn't stay in this shirt, I did changed for the rest of the day.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Chicken Fried
I've only been listening to my ipod as of late, and there are very few songs that I'm in the mood to hear on that. I guess you could say I've been listening to my "It's Not Fair" playlist (though I haven't actually named a playlist that... yet). But today I actually got to drive the Bronco--I've had very limited vehicle access since the Cadillac was totaled and my mom now has run of the Bronco. Plus, my motorcycle parts haven't gotten here, so I've just got my feet (and Dallas' truck when he's kind enough to give me a ride and I'm not stubborn enough to refuse).
So I was on my way home from work, listening to the radio and a song came on that I actually really like, but haven't heard in a while. It's called Chicken Fried.
A little bit of chicken fried
Cold beer on a Friday night
A pair a jeans that fit just right
And the radio on
I love to see the sunrise
See the love in my woman's eyes
Feel the touch of a precious child
And know a mother's love
That's just the chorus, quite catchy actually, but the whole song is really good. (Sorry, Dallas. It's country. You wouldn't like it.) It put me in, not necessarily a good mood, but a better mood than what I've been in lately.
Funny how it`s the little things in life that mean the most
Just a few of the little things I thought of that make life great (I'll steal a few from the song):
Chicken Fried (I love chicken)
Jeans that fit just right (the best)
Radio (come on, belt it out!)
Sunrises (I see few)
Sunsets
Good friends (that take anything you throw at them)
A mother's love (can't beat that)
Rain (Always loved it)
Early mornings (I'm wide awake while everyone else is still groggy)
The Bronco (I think my brothers will agree)
Snow
Hot Chocolate
Rain
Spring
Leaves in the fall (buckhorns especially)
Good friends
Dancing
Rain
My dog (She looks like a Twinkie now)
A smile
Rings (all jewelry, actually)
Good friends
Feeling flexible
A true, unforced laugh
Good friends
These are some of the little things that mean so much to me. Yeah, there's more, but I'll just let you get the idea. And yes, I did repeat some things. I hope you now understand that I do like rain :) Even if you're in a bad mood, you can still find some chicken fried. ;)
So I was on my way home from work, listening to the radio and a song came on that I actually really like, but haven't heard in a while. It's called Chicken Fried.
A little bit of chicken fried
Cold beer on a Friday night
A pair a jeans that fit just right
And the radio on
I love to see the sunrise
See the love in my woman's eyes
Feel the touch of a precious child
And know a mother's love
That's just the chorus, quite catchy actually, but the whole song is really good. (Sorry, Dallas. It's country. You wouldn't like it.) It put me in, not necessarily a good mood, but a better mood than what I've been in lately.
Funny how it`s the little things in life that mean the most
Just a few of the little things I thought of that make life great (I'll steal a few from the song):
Chicken Fried (I love chicken)
Jeans that fit just right (the best)
Radio (come on, belt it out!)
Sunrises (I see few)
Sunsets
Good friends (that take anything you throw at them)
A mother's love (can't beat that)
Rain (Always loved it)
Early mornings (I'm wide awake while everyone else is still groggy)
The Bronco (I think my brothers will agree)
Snow
Hot Chocolate
Rain
Spring
Leaves in the fall (buckhorns especially)
Good friends
Dancing
Rain
My dog (She looks like a Twinkie now)
A smile
Rings (all jewelry, actually)
Good friends
Feeling flexible
A true, unforced laugh
Good friends
These are some of the little things that mean so much to me. Yeah, there's more, but I'll just let you get the idea. And yes, I did repeat some things. I hope you now understand that I do like rain :) Even if you're in a bad mood, you can still find some chicken fried. ;)
Monday, December 1, 2008
Crowing
I just had to put a note about my dad's chickens. They aren't full grown yet, but they're getting there. One of the roosters is really confused. He's learning to crow, and he's pretty good at it now. The thing is, he crows in the evening instead of the morning. :)
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