Garfield County Penitentiary Prisoner #87640

#87640, turn to your left. *Click* Turn to your right. *Click* Guard, escort this delinquent back to her cell.

This is what could happen if you, like I recently did, suffer a sudden lapse in common sense and decide to make an incredibly idiotic decision.

One cloudy fall day, about a week ago, I started out for a typical run with my cross country team. We started down a familiar running path that runs east-west across Enid. The path had recently undergone some repair to make it nice and paved. Most of the renovation was done, but they were still working on some of the very beginning, tearing up the old path, and laying new cement. We jogged a mile up the path then had a friendly team race over the next mile and back. We started to jog back to the stadium; I lagged in the back of the group about 400 yards behind the rest. As we neared the beginning of the path,  we noticed that the contractors had just laid some fresh, new cement. Take a moment to ponder this image. Freshly laid, sparkling gray cement, whispering your name seductively. It calls to you. Some other teammates had already  written in the slab, including my valedictorian best friend. Naturally, I did what any other crazy, brainless teenager would do. I quickly and neatly wrote my initials, "RP" in the corner of the slab. I ran away, leaving my legacy immortalized in the gray stone behind me.

The next day, my friend approached me and told me that the contractor had called the city, who then called the school, and imminent doom was awaiting us. I started to get nervous. How was I to know that my silly little initials would cause such a fuss? I texted my mom.
Me: How much trouble can you get in for writing your name in cement?
Mom: Did you sign it Rachel Pypex?
Me: Haha, no just my initials, but I think I'm in trouble...
Mom: Well good luck with that!

Thanks mom for the comic relief. Let me explain the Pypex story. Two of my five mischievous uncles found some wet cement while delivering their newspapers on their route, at about ages 12 and 14. The elder, Matt, wrote MP and the year. The younger, and slightly more devoid of sense (at this moment at least, he's actually very smart), Mark, had written out M-A-R-K P-Y-P-E, when Matt caught what he was doing. "What are you doing? Don't write your full name!" Panicking, Mark slashed an X for the last letter. MARK PYPEX. Turns out, it wouldn't have mattered anyways, because the woman who owned the new cement witnessed the whole escapade and called my grandma. Therefore, we allude to this story in all acts of signed vandalism we experience.

Anyways, after my mom cyber-mocked me, I was called to the principal's office with my fellow vandals. He explained that he knew we were good kids who just made a stupid decision. He also explained that the contractor was being very understanding, having a teen of his own, and was trying his best not to get us in legal trouble with the city.

We are still waiting to hear if the city has accepted the contractor's attempt to fix the cement. If they have, I'm off the giant, three-barbed, legal hook. If not, I can kiss $500 of my future babysitting money goodbye.

Moral of the story: Don't write your name in wet cement. Write someone else's name, or a cool code name, or your alter ego's name. Not your own. Or else you will end up a marked vandal and have to face mockery from your family and friends and history teacher who refers to you as Garfield County Penitentiary Prisoner #87640.

Welcome and a few words on flat tires...

Hello all! Welcome to my blog! If you've come to read about petroleum engineering or how to knit a scarf out of spaghetti noodles, unfortunately you've come to the wrong place (however I would like to become an expert on spaghetti knitting one day). If you've accidentally stumbled upon my blog, stay if you like to hear about funny friends, crazy family, delicious food, and lots of spiritual epiphany.

Now for a few words: Nitwit, oddment, blubber, and tweak! I applaud you if you caught the reference; if not, you're missing out on my all-time favorite book series featuring a boy with a lightning scar. Anyways, I will share with you a small story about my most recent flat tire (notice I said most recent and not first!). My right front tire had been going almost-flat for a few weeks. I don't know the cause, however, I suspect it may have something to do with my reputation for curb-checking and/or my less-than-leisurely style of driving I use in order to get to school on time. Mi padre took the leaky tire off then mi madre went to have it fixed. Then I had the privilege of putting the tire back on with help from my resourceful and ever-patient father. You might be wondering what the moral of this boring anecdote is. There are two morals: one, try to avoid violently launching your car up/off curbs, and two, be grateful for a father who is willing to not only change the tire for you but also teach you how to change tires (and teach you how to cut a canteloupe too!).

Keep visiting and I promise the stories will get more entertaining. But for now, I hope your satisfied with my flat tire story and the promise of many more to come! (Stories, that is.)

Love and fresh tires,
Rachel