Friday, June 14, 2013


So, I moved to Hawaii in September. I didn't really have a good reason to, I graduated from school and couldn't think of anything better to do, so when a friend called me and asked if I wanted to move out here with her, I jumped at the chance. (Wouldn't you?) I went into the move with pretty lofty expectations. I was going to find a kick ass job that allowed for maximum beach time, find a kick ass apartment (right by the beach, duh), meet a kick ass guy (preferably a professional surfer/famous person), and basically just have the all around most kick ass time ever. I blame these expectations on the viewing of too many Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen movies as a child. They were always having fabulous adventures with hotties. Remember that time they went to Paris?

So what actually happened? I bought a moped, named it White Lightning, and then crashed that bad boy straight into the ground at the end of February. One slam to the asphalt of King street, two urgent care visits, a few x-rays, and one MRI later, my Olsen twin dreams were shattered by the news that I had a bruised rib, a blown out ACL and a torn meniscus. Whoops. My biggest worry went from " I want to go to the beach today?" to " I want to get knee surgery in Hawaii or in Arizona?" Awesome.

To those who know me, this honestly doesn't come as any sort of surprise. To put it mildly, I fall down a lot. My entire life, I've been the girl who's always hurt. To name a few of my mishaps, one time I fell through a stage, I broke my foot in 6 places falling down some stairs (well, technically I fell into a trap-door basement, but we've all heard that story before), I once gave myself a black eye while painting my own toenails, and a friend recently told me that the first time he met me I fell down some stairs at a party. Oh, and I also got a bruise on the back of my leg that was approximately the size of Texas trying to climb the fence to sneak out of the Royal Hawaiian hot tub.

Anywho, after two months of being in possibly the hottest knee brace known to man-kind, getting hit on by some serious creepers (hey girl, you wanna play doctor?), and lying shamelessly about how I got my injury (basketball, volleyball, surfing, shark bite, car accident, you name it, I probably said it with a smile on my face) I went back to the lovely state of Arizona and got myself a brand spankin' new ACL. Which brings us to right now. I'm about 3 weeks (?? I'm too lazy to figure it out exactly) out of surgery,  back in Hawaii, just started physical therapy, have no job and am not allowed to do any sort of physical activity, so I have decided to chronicle the recovery process in the blog, because why the hell not? Weird stuff happens to me on the regular, so hopefully it'll be an entertaining read. And if not? Well.........I don't really know what to tell you.

Yokohama beach. To show that I really live in Hawaii, I guess. I don't know. 

Night Fury, my super kick ass brace that I don't have to wear anymore. 

The knee. Post surgery. Gross, eh? 

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