The History of Show Choir

While dinosaurs roamed the Earth, somewhere in a distant cave, a simple (gay) caveman sat and perfected “the jazz hand.” This was the beginning stages of what is now known as show choir. While other cavemen were creating wheels out of boulders and slingshots out of pebbles, a more fabulous hairy man created the most popularized teenage art form. To simplify things, we will call this caveman Tony. Tony the gay caveman.

While sitting in a dark cave in the midst of the Jurassic Period, Tony mapped out all of the basics to a great show choir. Tony would never know that one day his dreams would become a reality. After sketching his plans on the walls of his damp cave, Tony fell asleep. Dreams of accomplishment surely filled the head of this simple-minded caveman.

Unfortunately, that same night, another (straight) caveman killed poor Tony. Supposedly a little inappropriate touching had occurred near the watering hole.

Nevertheless, Tony’s dreams had seemed to die with him. The world would never know of Tony’s accomplishments and the embellished dreams that filled his head…

…until the 70s.

While studying the hieroglyphics of the Jurassic Period, scientists uncovered Tony’s drawings. It seemed that a deceased (gay) caveman would finally reach his goals. Unfortunately these old and wrinkly scientists didn’t care for Tony’s sketches and disregarded their importance. Tony’s dreams were photographed, documented, and then stuffed into a dusty box to sit on shelves next to skulls and fossils.

It seemed that Tony’s vision would never be seen by anyone of importance.

Then came a wave of change…the 80s.

With changing fashion and music, Tony’s dream couldn’t have found a better home. While two stoned party kids perused the shelves of an abandoned science lab, they came across a rare piece of history. These two stoners looked at the maps of Tony’s dreams and saw their potential. It took marijuana and theft to breathe life into show choir.

Luckily these two kids happened to have very influential friends. After describing Tony’s plans to a group of young hipsters, it was decided that this dream had to become a reality. This was the moment in history that show choir became what it is today. Sadly nothing has changed since this group of burnouts interpreted Tony’s drawings.

It was decided that all women in show choir must have gravity-defying hair. This was established after interpreting a picture of a woman with her hair in flames. Only one thing can turn a woman’s head into a barbecue, hairspray. Sequins were determined to be the symbol of this newly formed art. Unfortunately Tony wanted to cover the girls in glass, luckily the 80s brought us a safer option. The last thing that Tony’s drawings revealed about show choir was that words must never be sung as they appear. Thus, in show choir, the word “I” is always “Ah.” This wasn’t actually in Tony’s original idea…it was just how cavemen talked.

After creating the first show choir, these stoners were quickly forgotten. Schools all across the midwest caught on to the trend and then it spread even further. Soon schools from California decided that their shows would consist of elaborate costumes and themes that even the directors themselves didn’t understand. The show GLEE brought show choir to every home in America.

This portrayal of show choir wasn’t exactly what Tony had originally dreamed, but he can’t exactly complain. Thanks to Tony, teens all across America now know what a “jazz square” is before they get “the sex talk.”


Fatty McChicken Patty

Recently, while talking to one of my best friends, she began to describe her childhood and her experiences growing up as “the fat kid.” What she told me was one of the most honest accounts of being fat that I have ever heard. Before you start to think that this is going to be a sappy story about body image and how it’s really the inside that counts, think again. Luckily, my best friend is hilarious and not someone who pities herself or others around her. I decided to write her observations because they are both truthful and hilarious. So, if you think making fun of fat kids is mean, go to and stop reading this while sitting on your couch eating Ben & Jerry’s and watching Cake Boss.

This is a collection of my best friends observations about the overweight. Don’t feel guilty when you laugh.

1. Why is it that during elementary school games, the fat kid ALWAYS has to go chase whatever ball rolls away? During four-square, even if the fat kid didn’t bounce the ball out of the square, the little fatty always has to waddle/run over to the ball that a little skinny bitch (purposely) threw out of the square. Adolescent fatties are always forced to catch whatever ball the skinnies decide to throw. Though I am not a historian, I believe that these very games are what drove skinny bitches to throw balls at grown up high school fatty-cakes. Once the fat kids decided that they weren’t going to retrieve ANY ball that a skinny kid threw, it was then decided that balls would just be thrown directly at the fatty. If the fatties of the world had just continued to retrieve balls that the skinny bitches threw, the skinnies would have eventually gotten bored and moved on to…..I don’t know…people in wheelchairs. A fat kids impatience is what led to their high school torment.

2. Watching a fat kid fall is an awkward moment for all involved. Think back to your childhood, or maybe a few days ago, and try to remember a time when you have watched a fat kid fall. Because of their obvious padding, it isn’t the harm of the fatty that we are worried about. Watching a fat kid fall is equivalent to watching a kid in wheel chair roll down stairs. Where is a fat kids dignity after they face plant into the gym floor? What if the gym floor cracks? It is an all-around awkward moment and should be avoided at all times.

3. While all playground equipment is awkward for the fat kid, the most obvious is the teeter-totter. Unless two fatties board a teeter-totter together, hilarity ensues. While watching this occur, I feel bad for both children. The fat kid is forced to sit on the ground with their legs crouched. The fatty has no other choice but to stare up at the little skinny hoe that they have propelled into the air with their fat ass.

4. When complimenting the fat kid about her body type….just don’t. Skinny people have a way of using compliments that sound nice at first, but then make you look like an asshole. For example, saying that a fat kids body is like a pillow…is not a compliment. People sleep on pillows, why don’t you just say that the fat kid reminds you of your Serta mattress? This leads me to laying on fatties. Sometimes if your best friend or significant other is a fatty-cake, you end up laying on their lap. Never say that they feel like a water bed. Saying that your bestie feels like a squishy, watery piece of rubber, is not complimentary and not appreciated by the average fatty.

5. Watching a fat kid eat is possibly the most awkward event you can watch a fatty participate in. For a skinny person, it is a hard decision on whether to stare intently, or pretend that you don’t see it happening. A happy medium is always the best path to take. The most awkward observation I have noticed about certain fatties, is that they attempt to eat so delicately. We all know that they want to shove that plate down their throat and moan in accomplishment, but yet they force themselves to eat like Princess Diana.

In conclusion, there are many hilarious things about the fat kid. While these observations may seem mean-spirited, please remember that these came straight from my best friend…a fat kid. Others mope about their weight and try to hide behind it. Skinny people can be just as awkward. If you didn’t laugh while reading this, you take things too seriously. If you can’t laugh at everything, you shouldn’t laugh at anything.

The Sorcerer’s iPod

It has become clear to me in the past few months, that the only reason I am not a hoarder, is because I lose everything I come into possession of. Literally everything I currently own or previously owned, has been lost during it’s time with me. There is practically no way to prevent this obvious character flaw. I have tried EVERYTHING.

I leave things in the same place every time, check that everything in my room is intact before I go to sleep, and constantly do the “phone, iPod check.” But, I still manage to lose everything I can get my well sanitized hands on. Luckily, everything that I had previously lost was easily replaced/found. I was never worried about keys, remotes, straighteners, or any other item available at target, until recently.

About a week ago, I realized that I had lost my iPod. This is a pretty normal occurrence. Once a week, usually Tuesday or Wednesday, I misplace my iPod. The solution to this is a simple one. My house holds three possible iPod hiding places: under/between the cushions of my couch, underneath the recliner in my living room, or in my underwear drawer where I usually toss it in a sleepy haze. My iPod always stays in these three places; this time it was different.

After the realization that I indeed misplaced my iPod, I did my regular routine of checking it’s three main vacation hang-outs. I searched underneath the cushions and only found three nickels and a flash drive. I then proceeded to the recliner where, while looking like Hulk Hogan, lifted the chair to reveal a truckers map…and no iPod. My last hope was waiting in my underwear drawer. I opened it (cautiously) and peered inside to find…..underwear. Other than the occasional lost sock, there wasn’t a sight of anything unusual. My stomach sank.

My iPod had hopped a train and I had gone through all stages of a loss, when my luck changed. While sitting in my grueling sixth hour study hall, I reached in my pocket expecting to get my phone. Once my hand had seized the item, I noticed that the shape and weight of this mystery item varied greatly to my phone. I pulled it out to reveal my long-lost ipod! My life had taken a turn for the better. I felt like Harry Potter when he realizes that the sorcerer’s stone has magically invaded his pocket. I had the power! The power of Pandora Radio!

I took my new finding home and sat down at my computer to do a quick Facebook creep…when I looked down to realize that my iPod was no longer sitting near my computer. It had disappeared. Where the hell did that slippery lil’ thing go?!

Voldemort has won this round. To this day, I still haven’t found my iPod. After doing my routine check for the hundredth time, it was never found in the dark crevices of my home. I wake up daily and mourn the loss of Pandora and her seamless way of mixing Adele with Lil’ Wayne.

Life good get better, but it certainly can’t get worse.

The infamous Annoying School Friend

Unfortunately I have been too busy (stuck in hell) to update my blog. But here I am, ready to talk about all the things that ALL of us hate about school. I am very aware that many teachers read my blog and I commend you 1) for having a life and 2) having a sense of humor. When I call SHS hell, I don’t really mean that it is….well maybe I do mean that it’s hell, but it is all in good fun. This blog is a sort of release. Instead of telling all of the annoying people in my school to, “screw off”, I type it. I can only hope that half of these people know that I am talking about them (possibly you) and that they/you change their/your annoying-ass tendencies…../personalities. All of you annoying-ass people have led me right into my next blog post topic.


“Annoying School Friends”

If you attend a middle school/high school and maybe even college, you indefinetly have these type of friends. The annoying school friends are the ones who didn’t quite make the cut. An A.S.F comes in all shapes and sizes (but mainly ages) and is always excited to see you. It is almost guaranteed that the moment you and this dreadful person make eye contact, that they will attach to you like a leach. Suddenly they have a million questions about your summer, class schedule, and other useless knowledge that you don’t want them to know. But before any of these never-ending interviews begin, you will hear one familiar phrase. This sentence is the go-to sentence for every A.S.F, it is practically all they know.

“Oh my God! I haven’t seen you like ALL summer!!”


This is possibly the most annoying sentence in the english language. Thus fitting the A.S.F to a tee. While the phrase is unusually simple, it says everything that needs to be said. In a perfect world, the conversation would end with the period of that spoken sentence. Sadly, the annoying school friend doesn’t realize that they are indeed an A.S.F and need to back the fudge off. My theory is that if they TRUELY cared, they would have contacted me over the summer. At least then I would just have to make up a fake excuse to avoid them.

The reason why you don’t see this person all summer is clearly because you didn’t want to speak, see, or interact with them. That is the most infuriating thing about the A.S.F stating it. “Duh I didn’t see you! Look at yourself, you are a mess.” This should be the sentence that ends all of this nonsense with the annoying school friend. But sadly this sentence is hardly ever uttered. Because you have to see this person on a daily basis, you have to grin and bare the seven-hour questioning about everything from where you get your hair cut to what brand of tampons you use. The badgering seems to never end.

Finally, after you have answered every one of this stupid bitch’s questions, you stumble away from your locker searching for an iced coffee or a cigarette. You have survived. Usually, after only one face to face meeting, the A.S.F completely forgets that she ever knew you. Until next school year starts of course.

All of this banter about the A.S.F may seem childish and cruel, but remember, you didn’t make their cut either. While you may have an abundance of annoying school friends, you may BE an annoying school friend. We are all guilty of having those “friends” that we only talk to at school. The one thing to remember is to always play it cool. Never act like you are excited to see this person, they are an extra. I don’t cream my tampon when asked if I want extra mayo on my Subway sandwich, it isn’t that big of a deal. Who cares. Never show emotion and never…EVER utter the infamous sentence.

“Oh my God! I haven’t seen you like ALL summer!!”

….dumb bitch.

9 more months in SHS-Belsen

As I woke up this morning, I admit, I started this in the negative. Everyone knows that the first half-day of school is the biggest waste of time, besides the friday before prom. What is the point of attending school for a maximum of four hours? I was waking up before noon so I could be lectured for hours about things I had been taught since I was potty trained. To me, this is a definition of wasting my time.

I got ready, refused to take anything to school other than chapstick and a sweet tea, and headed out the door. As I pulled into the parking lot, I looked around to find a sea of faces that looked tired, hungover, and ready to go home. It was clear that not a soul wanted to be in this hell-hole. I thought to myself, “How bad can this actually be?…It’s just school. I’m used to this by now.”

Sadly, I was mistaken.

As I walked through the front doors, I got in line to get my tattoo. My official number is now 2012418. This was definitely a new addition. It is practically impossible for me to forget my lunch code now.

I obviously knew this year would be different, changing principals is a big adjustment. At first I sympathized with the new guy. It’s a tough job to fill the shoes of a great principal. There are many different ways that this new principal could take his new role. Obviously he took the german way.

The odd thing about this Nazi invasion was the way our school was decorated. Instead of swastikas and arm bands, the teachers were wearing Hawaiian shirts and wacky sunglasses. Was this a trick that our new principal learned in the CIA?

“If you dress like you are a Hawaiian tourist, students never notice that are turning their high school into a prison.”

Well guess what dude, we noticed. Our day started with tattoos, then moved to an assembly that lasted approximately 17 hours. This assembly covered everything that students can absolutely NOT do. This list was extensive. I took the liberty of writing down a few:

  • NO purses (for the safety of students)

To justify this rule, I would like one case where a purse has killed a person. Because I have numerous cases where a girl has almost killed a person because she doesn’t have  a tampon handy. For the safety of the faculty and student body, girls need purses.

  • The words “I was just kidding” will not be accepted as an excuse for anything this year….or Mr. Young will, “come at you like a freight train.” 

I don’t have any arguments for this rule because whatever that train thing is, it sounds funny…and I want to see it.

  • Every door in the school, other than the front entrance, will be locked.

This sounds like they are trying to keep us in…not others out.Hence, PRISON.

  • Study hall will no longer take place in the media center it will take place in dungeons.

All I have to say about this is as follows: I have been denied the privilege to get on the computer ever since my middle school years with Mrs. Portwood, To this day, if I print something that is bigger than two inches, I get nervous that Portwood is going to catch me wasting ink….even in my own house. For once in my life can I please use a computer without having to beg for a pass to do so?

  • Only 3 minutes are allotted for each passing period.

Between girls not having tampons and guys not being able to stop and pee, student’s are going to be on edge. This three-minutes is going to look like the jungle scenes from Mean Girls.

While I respect and have nothing against our new principal, our school is now a prison. I am inmate 2012418 and the luau didn’t stop me from realizing it.

So…..Screw Off.

With any significant other, there are certain things that become annoying and monotonous. Texting is one of those things. There comes a point where you feel like every topic has been beaten to death, every inside joke has been repeated too many times, and you’ve seen every angle of each other that sexting can provide. Texting each other is now work.

Once the first “Hey” is sent, you scramble to find something to talk about. The labyrinth begins. It is now a fight to find things to talk about. You send the obvious, “What’s up” and to that he replies, “Nothing.” What the hell is there to say to that? That is an obvious sign that he is too lazy to come up with a topic and that he doesn’t really care about the conversation. So you give up. You don’t reply. It’s over.

Then you get  a message saying, “So….”. That is a fighting word. If you are too lazy to come up with something to discuss, there shouldn’t be a discussion. He obviously wanted you to think of something before and you gave up. Now he is back, demanding it once again. The “so” message is a trap.

For me, “…” this means awkward silence. In life, whenever there is an awkward silence, I fill the void with something witty or comical. In texting, I say, “Screw off.” If I am face to face with a person, I am forced to speak. Over the phone, I have the freedom to choose to continue watching Hoarders and to not text you back.

Farmville Hoes.

As I scrolled down my Facebook News Feed, looking for the latest relationship changes and FB brawls, I began to notice something. What the hell is Farmville?! Why are half of my friends buying tractors and herding sheep on my favorite social networking site? This was nonsense. So I investigated.

Apparently, Farmville is an online community of housemoms and babysitters who take care of imaginary farms. To me, this sounded like a waste of time. Why would anyone want to take care of pigs without receiving the obvious reward of a check at the end of the month? A person doesn’t earn anything from investing so much of their time. What the hell draws a person to this game? Is it the child-like fantasy of owning a farm? Personally, as a child, I never dreamed of milking cows and washing my clothing on a washboard. But I would never squash someone else’s dreams. So I thought to myself, there isn’t any harm in letting strangers waste their time…why am I so against Farmville? Then it hit me. I constantly have to hear about it.

Every time a person buys a new pig, I am alerted. Whenever someone has an imaginary drought, my news feed blows up. Can these fake farmers not keep their farming business to themselves? I finally got over the fact that certain people constantly farm online, when I started getting invitations. I have never talked to a pig farmer, but I am pretty sure they don’t invite their Facebook friends to start their own pig farming business. Do Farmville players not worry about competition? What if I sell my pigs better than they can and bankrupt their imaginary business? If they constantly play this game, why can’t they maintain the “realism” of it? Don’t ask me to buy you a shovel. I’m not a Farmville Catholic Charity. Buy your own damn shovel.

After hiding ALL Farmville updates and deleting the friends that constantly asked me to join, I calmed down and went back to my Facebook creeping life. I could now view my Facebook fights in peace and didn’t have to worry about hoes buying imaginary hoes for their gardens on Farmville. All was good…until people started inviting me to join something called Cafe World.

The nightmare had started again. Now instead of babysitters harvesting crops, they were cooking imaginary Thanksgiving meals. This problem hit close to home. I walked into my living room one day to find my mom sitting on the computer baking a cyber apple pie. I looked at her with shock in my eyes and said, “How about you go in our actual kitchen and bake a real pie instead of waiting thirty minutes for a pie that you will never taste to finish cooking?” Apparently this ACTUAL baking concept seemed abstract to her. I remained starved for weeks while my mom fed cyber-nerds a buffet of online treats. After a few meetings at a local church, my mom recovered from her online baking addiction. I have been fed on a daily basis this then.

Legal Note: My mom never actually attended addiction treatments for Cafe World.

P.S. The above note was to ensure that my mom will continue to feed me.

True Life: I’m abuse my cell phone

My cell phone is my baby. It is a shitty lil’ piece of poo, but just like mothers love their kids when they are obviously ugly, I love my lil tike as well. A cell phone can bring so much joy into someone’s life. Instead of giving kids in Haiti nourishment packets, give em’ all a blackberry. They would feel so important and established in life. Haitian kids don’t need food when they can BBM the hut next door.

Text messaging is life support. You can’t deny the joy and sense of mystery you feel when your phone vibrates. I’m not talking about when you are in a conversation with someone. I am talking about when you are sitting on the couch eating a bowl of ice cream while watching Bridezillas and all of a sudden….you feel a vibration. “Who could be texting me? I haven’t texted anyone all day.” Suddenly you feel like a food stamp at the IGA; everyone wants you.

While your phone can bring you an abundance of joy, it can also bring you a roller coaster of other emotions. Here are a few:

Anxious: When you see that the little wheel on your Verizon phone is “connecting” and you know that you are receiving a picture message. Outside you are calm but inside you are screaming, “Oh shit. If this is a guy naked I am going to freak. Who would be sending me nudes on a Wednesday afternoon? What if someone looks over my shoulder and see that I am looking at a dick pic?! Is it illegal if I just receive the message?”

Depressed: When you get out of the shower to find that you don’t have a single text or missed call. After building up all that hope in the shower that maybe someone had texted you while you were showering, you were let down by every single one of your contacts. Does anyone want to talk to you? The shower is the perfect place to miss a call because if you didn’t want to talk to them you can just ignore it and if it’s a potential suitor, well you are winning by not answering him/her right away. But unfortunately for you, no one wanted to talk to your lame ass.

Surprised: When you accidentally purchase fourteen ringtones. For anyone that has a shitty touch screen, you probably have had this problem. I was shocked when I got my cell phone bill to find that I had purchased ringtones to almost every single one of Alicia Keys’ albums. Sorry Alicia, you aren’t worth $34.95.

Anger: When you look through your text messages and realize that he takes approximately thirty-four-minutes to respond back and you respond within the same minute that he sent his message. This brings on a feeling of anger and desperation. Life’s a bitch sometimes and our cell phones highlight it.

Cell phones are precious to all of us and just like our soon to be or already born children, we love them through the good and the bad….even if sometimes we throw them against walls or put them in the freezer. Luckily for us, there isn’t a Cell Phone Protective Services. Our asses would be sitting behind a pair of thick bars getting massaged by a woman named Earl.

Don’t tell me about your problems!

As a strong believer in calling instead of texting, I often find myself in conversations that should only last a couple of minutes but somehow last for hours. Phones are a trap for awkward situations. There are so many ways to get out of these situations but often times, people don’t know how to use them. Here is a list of ways to get off the phone with someone in a timely manner:

1. The Houdini. The number one way to sneak out of a conversation is to pretend that something really terrible just happened. The trick with this technique is to not give too many details. The conversation should end something like this:

Annoying Person: So…I am trying to decide what color to dye my hair. It’s really making me upset. What do you think?

You: I don’t know…maybe you should go with the….AHHHHHHHH! HOLY SHIT!! OH MY GOD!! SHIT SHIT SHIT! >click

Annoying Person: Hello?

This is such as easy way to end a convo for many reasons. If they call you again, you don’t even have to answer. They will automatically assume that you are still dealing with your emergency. It is the Houdini of phone conversations….perfectly fine one second then disappeared the next.

2. Bad Reception. This is possibly the oldest way to get out of annoying conversations. Practically everyone has used this trick sometime in their lives. Because everyone knows that it is an easy way to get off the phone, it is practically impossible to make people believe that you aren’t faking it. The best way to utilize the “bad reception trick” is to never hang up. Don’t ever try to make your voice sound like static! This is a dead giveaway that your ass is a liar. Instead, while the person on the other line is in the middle of a story just start talking instead. NEVER PAUSE. Pretend that you can’t hear anything on the other end. NOTHING. It should sound like this:

Annoying Person: ….He is such an asshole. I don’t know why I put up with it. Do you think I’m better than that? Am I as annoying as he says? I don’t think he appreciates everything I do when…….

You: (cutting off other person) So I went to the doctor the other day and I was sitting in the waiting room and there was the cutest guy so I…..

Annoying Person: (attempting to cut you off) Hey! Wait, I wasn’t done yet….

You: (without a pause) ….got up and sat next to him. He asked my name and everything and I gave him my number.


This usually only works with that friend that only cares about her problems. Make sure to never do this to an actual friend because they will genuinely care about what you have to say and then you are stuck talking for another hour. If you use this on a friend who still wants to tell her story, she will eventually just hang up. As long as you never stop talking, the annoying conversation will end. 

3. The Click. Sometimes things get desperate and our ears can no longer hear the obnoxious stories from people we obviously don’t care about. This is where the last trick comes in handy. When you finally can’t take it anymore, there is nothing else to do but hang up. The only way this works is if when you hang up, you continue to hang up. The person that you are talking to WANTS TO TALK TO YOU. If you hang up on them, they will just call you back. You must hang up on them again if you want this to work. The mean voicemail will be worth the time you will have saved yourself.

Sometimes we don’t want to hear other people bitch about their problems and because we are so f’in polite, we can’t tell them to shut the hell up. This is where these tricks come in handy. A disconnected phone call is always better than the words, “SHUT THE HELL UP BITCH!”

A tipsy munchkin and a drunken haze.

My granny is a simple woman. It doesn’t take fancy food or a Broadway show to entertain this woman. Talking to me is her entertainment for weeks. She loves to hear me rant and every once-in-a-while, I let her tell me a story or two. But, because she knows that she has a weekly blog written about her, she is very cautious about the things that she tells me. Every once in a while, if she has a little vanilla Coke in her, she will slip and tell me stories about when she was a teen.

One of these stories is about something that my grandmother doesn’t deal with often, alcohol consumption. Saying that Granny Peanut is a light-weight could be compared to calling the Jerry Springer show trashy. Light-weight is a good word, but it’s too simple. Usually the word light-weight is used to describe someone who can only consume a small amount of alcohol before getting drunk. A mouse could drink more than my grandma.

The way that she told the story, she didn’t include many details (probably because she doesn’t want me to write a blog about it…..) and she told the story quickly. I have taken the liberty of adding my own details, but the story will still have the same basics.

On a foggy night in Champaign, my grandmother and her roommate had just gotten off work. Exhausted and ready to sleep, they headed to their apartment to get a good night’s rest. The girls worked at Kraft foods and after stuffing boxes of macaroni and cheese for hours, they were ready to be home. They had made it halfway home when fellow Kraft employees ran up to them and asked if they wanted to go out to a bar to get a drink. They looked at each other reluctantly and decided, “Why not?”. They got to the bar and my grandmother and her friends ordered beers. This is where the trouble began.

My grandmother sat on her bar stool; her feet dangled in the air and she sat as close to the edge as possible, grasping the bar so that she wouldn’t fall off. That bar stool was a skyscraper compared to her tiny “Little People, Big World” body. She quickly realized that she was getting tipsy. “What have I done to myself?”, she silently questioned. All of her friends were big and she was a tiny, baby adult. Of course it would only take her a few sips of alcohol to put her on her ass. Everyone else was ordering round two and there she sat, about to topple over in a sleazy Champaign bar.

Finally, after what seemed like days, everyone was ready to head home. My tiny grandma was so relieved. She shimmied herself down the bar stool and headed for the door. Little did she know that she was knocking everyone else’s drinks out of their hands. She was a sloshed little midget and was ready for bed. She still doesn’t remember how she got back to her apartment but she still remembers the lesson she learned. Munchkins don’t drink….under ANY circumstances.