This post written by sixteen year-old me.

I have the flu! It’s really terrible! I don’t even feel like updating my blog, cruel world! Or washing my hair! The worst part is that I’m a minimalist, so I don’t even have appropriate loungewear (read: sweatpants + sweatshirts). Super sick AND super sick of pajamas! How sorry do you feel for me right now?

In lieu of an original post this week, I’m outsourcing to sixteen year-old kristy who wrote this blog-worthy e-mail back in July of 2005.  It’s kind of spooky how little my writing style has changed since 2005. And by ‘spooky’, I mean worrisome. Thankfully, I don’t have to edit it. All I have to do is provide a little background info for you, stranger.


When I was little my grandmother moved into an apartment (#1); my aunt and her family moved into #2; and my mom and I moved into #3. There was even a time when we occupied the whole (four-apartment) building because my uncle and his family lived in #4. Now, #4 is my aunt’s office. And, obviously, my mom and I don’t live in #3 anymore. Here is a rudimentary drawing so you can get an idea of how the apartment building looks.

Those lines are stairs. All of the apartments have outside entries.

Back in 2005, my family had an elevator built for my grandmother. It had become increasingly difficult for her to walk up and down the stairs to her second-floor apartment, but she was used to her home and definitely did not want to move. At that time, the apartments were also having their plumbing fixed. The following is an e-mail I wrote to my cousin Vanessa. I took out my family’s last name because of on-line predators, duh.


Dear Vanessa,
Yesterday the most random things happened. Carol & Caren, correct me if I miss anything or mess up the course of events. Okay, here goes.

As you remember from your lovely visit to Chihuahua, our plumbing is being repaired. It turns out that some tree roots are interfering with the pipes, so we must have some trees removed.

Yesterday, all was well in the **** households. The housekeepers cooked, cleaned, and left. The engineer and builders were hard at work making the elevator. The plumbers were yet again hacking at the ground and making our home appear to be even more war-torn. And the tree cutters were adding the final touches to this gruesome scene with branches and leaves scattered amid the rubble. At Carol’s house we were all watching Gilmore Girls, Caren and I arguing over who should have to shower first, when in comes Martha, ‘UNPLUG EVERYTHING! sdakdknkanknkbnbkaffaj CABLE! TREE! kkdnaknfdkajkdjfajf UNPLUG EVERYTHING!’ We promptly obeyed, and Martha proceeded to call the Electrical Commission because somehow the tree cutters had let a huge branch fall on a wire and the wire broke and the tree was sparking and smoking and stuff. Soon after Martha called the E.C., the cops arrived to verify our claim. The sparking was getting worse, so we proceeded to call the firemen, who had already been alerted by the cops and were on their way. Only two came, an old one and a young one, which I thought was not enough because there were a lot of beautiful girls to be saved, and our beauty requires 20-30 firemen AT LEAST (this is assuming, of course, that all of them are hot). Alas, only two came and the old fireman sent the young one to do his job. He proceeded to hack at the big branch with an ax, which produced more sparks, more smoke. Finally, he tried to kick down the branch before the other branches ignited, but the bottom of his boots had metal plates and what did we learn in Science Class? That’s right, metal is a conductor. Yes, our fireman—the one who was supposed to save us—was electrocuted. Thus, we were again maidens in despair until he pulled himself together, flirted with Caren and showed her his ‘hole’ (caused by the electricity that surged through his body). The branch fell. LOTS OF SPARKS! And guess where the branch fell? THAT’S RIGHT! On a beehive, destroying their home. The poor bees had nowhere to go. They just flew around until Animal Control came and exterminated them. At this point there were about 15 to 20 neighbors watching the scene. We were worried Martha would get sued because the little fireman was electrocuted, but I guess she damsel-in-distressed her way out of it (thank goodness!). Then, the newspaper showed up to photograph the whole fiasco. Finally, the Electrical Commission arrived and repaired our electricity. So, let’s count how many non-****s were here yesterday:

1. Plumbers
2. Elevator Builders
3. Tree Cutters
4. Cops
5. Firemen
6. Animal Control
7. Newspaper
8. Electrical Commission

YEAH, it was quite a day.


This post written by sixteen year-old me.

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