Literally. Disclaimer: I'm about to provide too much information aka TMI Alert. If you have a weak stomach and dislike the word "poop," I suggest you don't read this post.

Boh has had bouts of diarrhea since Monday and yesterday topped each and everyone of them. He had an accident (more like explosive diarrhea) in his crate while Jake was at UMBC and I was at work. Oh and I was rejected from the MA in Communication program at Johns Hopkins University. Needless to say my evening was full of feces and tears. After work, I felt like crying and hiding from the world in my bed while watching Netflix and eating all the chocolate I received for Easter. Instead, I cried, ate chocolate, did the dishes, and searched for other graduate programs. After having a comfort meal at Panera with my partner-in-crime, Jake, I felt a lot better and decided that being productive would be a better way to get my mind off of everything that's happened recently.

Again, it's been almost a month since my last blog post. Earlier this month, Boh had an emergency visit to the pet ER due to a stomach blockage. This stomach blockage happened because Boh ripped Jake's slipper apart while we were asleep and swallowed a large piece of rubber. I swear if this dog was an actual child and not a fur child, he would be six years old and his name would be Jimmy. Jake and I would receive many calls from Jimmy's school for doing things like innocently asking the teacher what a vagina is. As much as it would be inappropriate for him to do that and annoying to receive yet another call, it's somewhat endearing and you couldn't help but love the kid. That's what Boh is like to us. He's a little shit, but Jake and I love the dog so much it's insane.

Between dealing with Boh, applying for grad school, having surgery (I'll explain in another blog post), not being to work out because of surgery, being rejected from grad school, it's been difficult to be positive. However, you just have to laugh at all the shit in your life. It's the little things they say, and whoever "they" may be, they are correct. Spending time with Jake at Panera yesterday improved my mood drastically. At the beginning, I was fighting back tears as I ordered my You Pick Two with Cream of Chicken and Wild Rice Soup and a Power Kale Salad with Chicken. At the end though, I was laughing with Jake about my melodramatic idiosyncrasies and promised I wouldn't lay on the floor crying listening to "Atlas Hands" by Benjamin Francis Leftwich like I did during the summer as I was experiencing a quarter-life crisis. I blame the artist in me for my frequent expressions of hyperbole.

So when life gets you down, find the positive things in your life. Even if they're little, it's still something.

Earlier this week, I was going through my email,  looking at articles, deleting some, and unsubscribing from others. While doing so, I found an article about skin cancer that scared me. It was horrifying actually and made me regret past decisions in my life. The main theme around these decisions? Tanning.

Ever since I was little, I love when my olive skin is tan. My definition of a perfect summer day involves basking in the sun on the beach while listening to music as the day passes by. Just writing about it makes me want to jump on a plane to somewhere sunny and 75. Now growing up, my mom would slather SPF 50 on my little brother since he didn't inherit my dad's Sicilian skin and burns easily. On the other hand, I would run away as soon as she approached me with the sunscreen. I hated the gooey, smelly stuff. I preferred the Banana Boat tanning oil my cool teenage cousin used.

Fast forward to high school and my friends introduced me to my new frenemy: the tanning bed. Living in a small town, there were only two salons. Of course I went to the one where around prom time, they offered buy one, get one month of unlimited tanning. After the final school bell, so many junior and senior girls would rush to the tanning salon. Ah, what nice memories waiting for the tanning bed. That was the beginning of my bad habit.

This bad habit continued throughout college, especially when working full-time at my internship prohibited me from laying out during the summer. Even after graduation, I used my full-time job as an excuse to frequent the tanning salon. I could transform into a bronze goddess any time of the year! How cool is that?! Except here are some facts from Redbook Magazine that I wish I wouldn't have ignored for the past six years:

1. Your risk of melanoma increases by 75 percent when you use tanning beds before the age of 35.
2. Last year, the International Agency for Research on Cancer shifted indoor tanning devices to the highest cancer risk category: "carcinogenic to humans." (They were formerly classified as "probably carcinogenic to humans.")
3. Tanning can be addictive. For some people, UV radiation can have a druglike effect; they feel dependent on it and can experience withdrawal symptoms, says David Fisher, M.D., Ph.D.
4. Not only are tanning-bed users more vulnerable to melanoma, they're also 2½ times more likely to be diagnosed with squamous cell carcinoma and 1½ times more susceptible to basal cell carcinoma.
5. Starting this July, you're going to pay a 10-percent tax every time you slip into the tanning booth.

So this year, I'm going to finally kick my vice and make some changes:

• No more tanning beds (despite how great it makes me feel).
  
• SPF 30 when I'm at the beach.
• Wear a face moisturizer with sunscreen in it (sun damage helps wrinkles to form).
• Invest in some sunless tanning products.