If I Could Just Pick A Major…

Greetings, squadlings, and apologies for the lack of posts these past two weeks.

I have officially wrapped up my first year of college! I finished finals last Thursday…then ended up in the hospital on Sunday. Vertigo is not fun, children.

So, yes, I am officially a college sophomore. Yeehaw. That being said, I am officially a college sophomore who has no idea what the hell she wants to do with her life. 

I have yet to declare a major, and quite frankly, I am nowhere near close to declaring a major. I have no idea what I’m doing with my life.

I’m 19 years old, and I’m currently stuck between two majors: Journalism, and Communication-Sciences and Disorders. Journalism, because duh, and CSD because…well, it’s interesting. I debated becoming a Veterinary Technician, or even a Veterinarian, for a while, until I realized I’m waaay too unintelligent for such a thing.

Journalism seems pretty easy; loads of Humanities courses and a few social sciences. I like those kind of courses. CSD seems interesting, except for INTRODUCTION TO FREAKIN’ NEUROSCIENCE. NO THANK YOU. (Except my brother’s girlfriend is a Neuroscience major, because both she and my brother are superhuman genius monkeys, so I could ask her for help…)

If anyone reading this has struggled with picking a major, FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, HELP ME.



I Swear I’m An Adult…

Do not judge me for this post. I will hit you.

Let me just get right to the point here: If you’ve been following my blog since I first started it (which I know for a fact that none of you have), you may remember my first post, titled Stuffed Animal Hospital?. Well, basically, I wrote that in November, but alas, here we are again. By the way, if you haven’t read that: Read it, or this post will not make any sense. 

I eventually gave up hope that Dotty would be repaired; I couldn’t afford to fix him, so he would live the rest of his stuffed animal days in cyclopsness. However, now his eye is not the only problem.

Dotty is about fifteen or sixteen years old, as far as I can remember. Not only is he a cyclops, but he’s starting to get a little…well…thin.

As time goes on, stuffing inside of stuffed animals tends to disappear. Where it goes, I will never know, but considering Dotty is my oldest stuffed animal, his stuffing has basically just turned into a ball in the middle of his body. It’s depressing, really. He used to be able to sit up straight, and now he just flops over.


Well, as mentioned in my previous post, I began speaking to a woman named Beth who runs a “stuffed animal hospital” in California last November. After giving up on fixing Dotty, I stopped talking to her.

Guess who got an email from me last week? Beth.

Beth once again explained her pricing to fix poor Dotty, and promised she would take good care of him.

My 19th birthday –yes, I’m serious– is on Sunday, and in the car today, my mom mentioned something about Dotty. She knows that Dotty’s cyclopsness bothers me, and she mentioned that maybe we could get Dotty’s eye fixed. That is, until I told her what the price would be to send Dotty to California and fix him. As I’ve mentioned before, it’s not outrageous, but to anyone who doesn’t understand my love for stuffed animals, you’d probably punch me in the face if I told you.

This is going to take some convincing, but I’m hoping it will all work out.

You’re probably thinking “Are you insane? It’s a stuffed dog.

Saddle up, squadlings, it’s story time.

Yes, Dotty is a stuffed dog. I got him on a camping trip when I was either three or four years old, and I’ve had him ever since. He was my companion when I was home sick from school. I would hug him and cry when my older brother was “mean to me.” When I was little, all I wanted was a dog, but I couldn’t have one (now I have two, go figure). Dotty was my dog. I “fed” him Grape Nuts more often than I should have. Sorry, Mom…

Yes, I know I’m ridiculous. I plan on taking Dotty, along with a plethora of other stuffed animals, to my university with me when I transfer out of community college. Don’t even bother asking, honestly.

My point is, repairing Dotty has been something I’ve wanted to do for years. Now that he honestly needs more than just a new eye, I figure, why not?

Oh, right, because I’m broke.

Don’t judge me.


A Letter to Grandpa G.

This is a letter to my maternal grandfather. If you would like to read the letter to my paternal grandfather, click here. Grandpa G. passed away on October 14th, 2005.


It’s been ten years since you died. Holy. Crap. That’s insane.

I was eight when you died. Unfortunately, I remember that day all too well. Like I mentioned in my letter to my other grandfather, I really wish I didn’t.

I have some good memories of you in there, too. You always used to come to the park with me and my brother. You would sit on the bench while we rode around the small train with our mother, and you would wave each time we passed you. I remember you sitting in the garage at the big, white house and watching me and my brother play in the driveway.

I remember the despair in my mother’s eyes when we lost you.

Can you believe that ten years later, the house still feels weird without you? Holidays are always weird without you in the kitchen, wearing that red and black checkered shirt you always wore. I still see that shirt at Grandma’s house sometimes, and I have the urge to take it. I don’t know why.

The last thing I remember you buying me is a glass book end with a dog on it from the antique store you and Grandma loved so much. I managed to go eight years without breaking it, but unfortunately, everything on my desk decided to topple over one day, and the dog lost his tail. My dad said he’d glue it back on for me, but he hasn’t gotten around to it. What can ya do?

The last real memory I have of you is when we were at a party at Aunt Meg’s house. You gave me a dollar, and twenty minutes later, you tried to give me a dollar again. I explained to you that you had already given me a dollar earlier, and you became confused, insisting I take the second dollar. I remember being sad when that conversation ended; I was sad that you couldn’t remember.

You’re a great grandfather, can you believe that? Tim has a son named Elias, and Chris has a daughter named Charlotte. How crazy is that?

We’ve tried to get used to the fact that you’re gone, Grandpa. But honestly, I don’t really think anyone has.

Say hi to Aunt Jeanie for me, ok?


A Letter to Grandpa S.

If you know me, you know that I’m very interested in my family history. Through my adventures, I came across my grandfather’s obituary: He passed away on September 12th, 2002. This is my letter to him.


Holy cow, has it really been 13 years? Thirteen years since you died? Wow. I was only five, but God, I remember that day like it was yesterday.

Frankly, I wish I didn’t.

I wish that one of the few memories I have of you wasn’t when you were laying in a hospital bed, unresponsive to those around you. I wish I remembered fishing with you, camping with you, going to your house and playing with blocks on the floor with you…But I don’t. I can’t remember what you were like back then. I hate that. I wish I could remember more of the short time I had with you.

Remember that little wooden car you made me? I still have it. It’s on my dresser; I’m looking at it right now. I keep it safe. I plan on taking it with me when I move out for school, hopefully the second half of next year.

School. I’m hoping to attend University of Wisconsin-Eau Claire, your old stomping ground! I wonder what your reaction would have been when I told you that. Grandma’s pretty stoked.

I’m reading over your obituary as I write this. “Charles leaves behind eight grandchildren.” Oh, how times have changed! There’s thirteen of us now! Nicole, Max, Brynn, Lauren, me, Erin, Nathan, Kellen, Kenzie, Ella, Norah, Owen, and Luke. It’s crazy how some of those kids won’t even know you. Well, frankly, it sucks.

We’re all doing just fine. Don’t worry, so are your kids. We keep ’em busy around holidays, that’s for sure.

I guess the main thing I want to say is thank you. You know what for, I don’t have to get into that.

A lot has changed in the past 13 years, Grandpa. I wish you were here to see it.