Scarred for Life.

So back during my high school orientation (wow, that was a decade ago for me) we were broken up into groups and given a tour of our high school. Yes our school was huge and a tour was necessary; Independence High is one of the largest high schools in CA with 4,500 students. In our groups we introduced ourselves and as an ice breaker we told a story behind any scar we had.

This morning I looked at my hand and cringed at the newest scar I got. While taking cheesecake out of the oven, my un-mitted hand touched the inside of the oven and was burnt. That left a mark on my left hand which I’m hoping will lighten up a little with time. Sadly, I think I’ve gotten more scars this year than all other years of my life combined.

One upon a yesteryear I used to think scars were badass and hotttt. Not so much anymore; its like another physical imperfection that you may need to start covering up with make-up or a band-aid. So in addition to my hand scar, I got another 3 (2 on my knees and one on my elbow) from playing soccer with Hondurans. The game was brutal. Pouring rain, concrete floor, no soccer gear, no pleated shoes… kinda bad idea.

The scar on my left shin tells the story of a wild night in Davis involving drunken dancing in the Jacuzzi by my apt. From previous years, I have a scar above my eye, on my forehead, my wrist, and my chin.

Yep, if every scar tells a story, I’m about ready to publish a huge autobiography based on them.