I'm super excited to be writing from the comfort of my bed in home sweet Rochester. Is it just me, or is everything prettier in Minnesota?
It's been a rough week leading up to the joyous moment when I hopped off my flight at MSP (geddit) (#miley) that is going home, especially because last week consisted of getting all four of my wisdom teeth taken out and eating Cream of Wheat three times a day. Getting their wisdom teeth taken out was a rite of passage for most of my friends in high school, but my family didn't believe in that specific branch of modern medicine. Did I feel the teensiest bit superior to all of my friends who complained about numb cheeks and painful gums and not being able to eat solid foods for a week? Did part of me secretly celebrate that, finally, Hispanic people found a loophole that I could wholeheartedly support? Yes and yes. I sincerely apologize for being such a jerk. But rest assured that after all of my hopes and dreams of never needing to have my wisdom teeth taken out crashed and burned, I've come away with this experience with tremendous respect for all of the 17 year-olds who are stuck on the couch eating jello while their non-Caucasian friends are stuffing their faces with chewy food.
To be honest, I was hoping to come out of the event with tons of hilarious stories about silly things I said while I was high off my meds. It turns out that painkillers make me boring and depressed, so I have no funny stories to share. As Ernesto can attest, the only notable things I said after coming out of the procedure were some questionable comments about being in love with Selena Gomez, and I cried when he reminded me that I couldn't use straws to drink things. HAHAHA OH ME.
Getting my wisdom teeth taken out was an excellent excuse for me to watch disgusting amounts of TV, so I saw the first two seasons of Private Practice, the Dr. Sloane-less spinoff of Grey's Anatomy. Private Practice is like GA's unassuming, laid-back younger sibling who manages to get away with lame jokes and predictable plot twists because everything takes place in Los Angeles. It's all good. When I wasn't watching Addison Montgomery being the LeBron James of neonatal surgery (and getting judged by Netflix for doing so three hours straight), I tried catching up on House of Leaves. I still don't know what's going on in that book, it's a hot mess.
Anyway, all of that stuff happened and then I got on a plane to Minnesota, waving goodbye to Ernesto as he said, "I swear to you over my dead body not to eat any of your Sour Patch Kids while you're gone." One delayed flight and a banana nut muffin later, I stepped onto sweet Minnesotan soil and greeted my favorite midwestern paradise with open arms. It almost didn't matter that my face was still roughly the size of a planet.
My brother took our family to a block party in Minneapolis where Motion City Soundtrack was playing a set, so we spent the night singing along to the soundtrack for our collective teenage angst. Yay whiny music! And my sister took a picture with Justin Pierre! Yay Natalia! Now seems like an appropriate time to thank my wisdom teeth for being a part of my forget-me-nots and marigolds. That being said, see ya never. I'm gonna go spend the next 10 days convincing my family that it's okay to like the "Cruise" remix unironically.
To be honest, I was hoping to come out of the event with tons of hilarious stories about silly things I said while I was high off my meds. It turns out that painkillers make me boring and depressed, so I have no funny stories to share. As Ernesto can attest, the only notable things I said after coming out of the procedure were some questionable comments about being in love with Selena Gomez, and I cried when he reminded me that I couldn't use straws to drink things. HAHAHA OH ME.
Getting my wisdom teeth taken out was an excellent excuse for me to watch disgusting amounts of TV, so I saw the first two seasons of Private Practice, the Dr. Sloane-less spinoff of Grey's Anatomy. Private Practice is like GA's unassuming, laid-back younger sibling who manages to get away with lame jokes and predictable plot twists because everything takes place in Los Angeles. It's all good. When I wasn't watching Addison Montgomery being the LeBron James of neonatal surgery (and getting judged by Netflix for doing so three hours straight), I tried catching up on House of Leaves. I still don't know what's going on in that book, it's a hot mess.
Anyway, all of that stuff happened and then I got on a plane to Minnesota, waving goodbye to Ernesto as he said, "I swear to you over my dead body not to eat any of your Sour Patch Kids while you're gone." One delayed flight and a banana nut muffin later, I stepped onto sweet Minnesotan soil and greeted my favorite midwestern paradise with open arms. It almost didn't matter that my face was still roughly the size of a planet.
My brother took our family to a block party in Minneapolis where Motion City Soundtrack was playing a set, so we spent the night singing along to the soundtrack for our collective teenage angst. Yay whiny music! And my sister took a picture with Justin Pierre! Yay Natalia! Now seems like an appropriate time to thank my wisdom teeth for being a part of my forget-me-nots and marigolds. That being said, see ya never. I'm gonna go spend the next 10 days convincing my family that it's okay to like the "Cruise" remix unironically.
