that's NOT an exit

Sophia (seen above, beautifully) asked me and John to help her with her parents' friends' sons' birthday/communion/get-well-soon party by playing games with 40 eight-year-olds (or 48-year-olds). I realize that sounds really confusing, but it wasn't. We blew up a TON of baloons, face painted, ate food, directed a scavenger hunt, stuffed baloons into young boys' clothing, swung a big jump rope, ate more food, gave tattoos, and cleaned up. By the end of the night, I had fifteen tattoos, fourteen of which are the logo of my school on one arm. The last one is a big zombie scar on my other arm.

I made forty dollars!

Then afterwards we went back to sophia's house, stuffed our face some more (I'm a major contributor to the childhood obesity statistic) and played cards with her family, whom I LOVE.

PS I apologize for my gap of blips, as I've just backblipped all this week. I get distracted quite easily and have the memory of a seive.