I was struggling with writer's block because the only interesting things that I've done this week were cutting my own hair (which turned out alright) and burning my finger on a straightening iron (which, by the way, I do own, but I did not go out and buy a straightening iron; I found it in the bathroom cabinet when I moved into the Coach House last August and who am I to throw out a perfectly good flat iron?) Because neither of those are good topics for whole blog entries, I was going to write how I've come down with some illness that has made me really like really shitty pop music. But maybe it isn't really shitty? Seriously. I thought I'd stop after "Promiscuous" and "Sexy Back," but now it's "S.O.S." by Rihanna and (especially and) "Ring the Alarm" by Beyonce. Hooooly shit that song is good.
But then Carissa IMed me from Kenya!
This should be good news to everyone: Carissa is now in Africa, alive, and saving the world, one small Kenyan at a time. I was excited to hear from her, especially since she told me that our friend Matt has been sending her print-outs of my blog and she was excited to hear about my life even though I've been really bad at writing actual letters.
The big news from Carissa's exploits from Africa include a bull that chases her around her yard and chickens that rummage through her clothes in her room. I also checked to see if she had gotten any worms yet (she told me that there's some variety where the worm will grow out of your fucking skin, which is one of the thousands of reasons I will not be going to Africa). She hasn't gotten worms! Yay! Then I asked if her tattoo has scared any of the people she's working with (it's of an owl and she found out that in Kenya people believe that owls are bad omens for sickness in children), and she said, "Yes. I think it killed a cow the first night I was here."
Ah, I miss Carissa!