I almost died of Lyme Disease tonight.

My name is Anna. I have a red, itchy, uncharacteristically warm arm that houses something akin to a bull's-eye rash. The rash has produced one large streak that travels from my elbow up to my shoulder. The pain isn't just topical; it has infiltrated my ligaments as well.

After talking with my mom (a nurse) and dad (a doc) about the condition of my arm I called the nurse's hot line of my old student health services. A nurse advised me to go to urgent care tomorrow, and here's what she said when I told her I couldn't go in tomorrow because of a work conflict: "Fine. Then you absolutely have to go tonight." So I did.

As it turns out, my rash that exactly resembles the rash of those suffering from Lyme Disease, is likely not from an insect bite but rather from some bacteria that mysteriously entered my arm. And the streak leading up to my shoulder is the bacteria trying as hard as it can to reach the lymph nodes, which fight off the bacteria.

So don't worry. Although I almost became Irene* from Real World Seattle, I dodged the bullet in the end. Stephen will not be slapping me!**



*Irene's experiences a relapse of Lyme Disease. She eventually moved out of the house, ostensibly over health concerns over the disease, but years later, during a reunion show for the various casts of The Real World, she appeared in a video in which she aired her criticisms of the show and her bitterness regarding her time on it.

**In one of the most dramatic and controversial moments in Real World history, Irene McGee's housemate, Stephen Williams, having been insulted by McGee as she was moving out, stopped her car as she was leaving, opened the passenger side door, and slapped her. Williams was ordered by producers to attend a series of anger management classes, which he is then shown to complete successfully.

Owie.

I fell off my bike.

And by fell off, I mean I was hurled many feet in the air when my back brake graciously decided to stick against the wheel, forcing me over the handlebars and onto the pavement where I proceeded to roll and skid with my bike somehow on top of me, bruising the frick out of my legs.

Here is a gross visual.

Regardless of what it looks like, Wolverine did not in fact have his way with my leg. I'm guessing those four scratches were somehow from the pedal?

I wish I could tell you this was the first time I fell off my bike. But I guess when your pimp ride is a 12-year-old Diamondback Outback, aka The Steel Behemoth, aka piece of crap bike, this kind of stuff happens more often than the average biker would like.
I need a new bike.

I could kill T-mobile.

My phone hasn't rung for months. But you know what? I loved my little pebl. He was cuter than most phones. And you could hold him so easily in your palm. He also snapped open on a hinge, and he would occasionally attract my metal earnings because he had magnets in him. It would be so cute when I had to yank my earring away from his powerful magnetic skills.

But phones need to ring. Vibration doesn’t always cut it. For example, if you’re dead asleep and your fan is on high, you aren’t going to hear that little fricker vibrate, oh no. So it was time for me to get a new one.

I sauntered into my local T-mobile store yesterday to procure my next lil’ buddy. I picked the Motorola W490. The employee who was helping me was excited to get to his golf game, though I secretly rolled my eyes because I had felt the 99 degree weather outside and I knew he would suffer. Little did I realize, I was the one that would soon be suffering.

“Here, let me make sure all of your numbers are on your SIM card,” he said. I told him all the ones that were supposed to be on the card were on there. “Let me just make sure,” he said.

What happened? Well, I’ll tell you. He deleted ALL OF MY PHONE NUMBERS. Gone. No discount. No apology. He just awkwardly told me the (obscene) amount that I owed him for the new phone.

Then I was forced to make a Facebook event inviting everyone I’ve ever known to re-give me their digits, like I’m some sort of incompetent telephone basket case. Let me tell you this. Not having phone numbers that you have always, always had makes you feel completely cut off from the world. And what’s worse…not knowing who is calling you and being forced to say “who is this?” and then endure your callers giggling and saying “guess whoooooo?” all day long.

I burned my butt.

Look. I am in sunny California, and it is beautiful. I went to the waterpark, the ocean, the pool, etc. and enjoyed every moment of it. What has this trip given me, however, besides a slightly worse cold (from all the vino intake) and triple the amount of freckles I started out with?

Answer. One massively defined bikini butt line. We're talking white on red contrast here. As soon as the suit sides end, the red starts. Does anyone have any recommendations for ways to travel via airplane that do not involve sitting?

A numerical look at the 4th of July

Enjoyed over the holiday weekend

• Approximately 20-30 malt beverages
• 3 Chipotle feasts
  
• 2 rooftops; one with a small yet sufficient pool, the other with charming patio furniture
• A 7-person cuddlefest during downtown Minneapolis fireworks
• 3 days of tanning without sunburning (literally a first)
• 4 games of pool

Dealt with over the holiday weekend

• Insufferable 95-degree Sunday heat
• A non-air-conditioned apartment during insufferable 95-degree Sunday heat
• 1 supremely awkward male encounter
• A 6-hour traditional and very religious wedding in which I only knew my date
• A 3-hour wait time for dinner at this wedding
• 1 slow realization that our "singles table" was served dead last at this wedding