I had to roll my eyes upon seeing Bachelor's Grove Cemetery in the list. I went to college with a boy that spent most of his high school years with half a dozen other kids basically pranking/harassing people that went to Bachelor's Grove to investigate the "ghosts". And they themselves never had a single ghostly experience in all their nights of screwing around in the cemetery.
@Daisy Razor, where you also wearing a thick black choker? I'm pretty sure I was.
The Shedd Aquarium in Chicago has a turtle with buoyancy issues due to a boat accident that cracked its shell. They play videos about the turtle's rescue, but they basically say that the turtle is happy swimming in the way it has adapted to swim (kind of backwards and always with the rear of the shell rising in the water).
On The Braid
When I was in 1st grade, my 14-year-old sister suddenly decided that she was going to wake me up at 5:30 every morning to put two french braid pigtails in my hair. I had no choice in the matter. They were so tight and straight that I'd look surprised for the first hour they were in. She did that every morning for about three months- and for the first time in my life, my mother (who couldn't even do a ponytail) let me grow my hair to my shoulders because the braids looked nice and she didn't have to deal with my hair.
Then, one morning, my sister had to leave early before school and didn't braid my hair. My mother tried for about fifteen minutes to do just regular pigtail braids. It was a disaster.
That afternoon I was forced to get my hair cut to an earlobe length bob. A hair cut I wasn't allowed to linger from again for another four years (when I had figured out how to french braid and style my own hair).
My copies came to me via a musty box that also contained The Boxcar Children and The Mystery of Edison Brown (a book that I don't think anyone outside my family has read). All yellow-paged and lovely, passed down through my mother and her four sisters until being given to me. Thank goodness they're not first editions- because they've been worn out to hell.
The paper jackets are almost all missing and I'm so afraid to read some of them that I ended up getting digital copies of the books so that I'd stop wearing out the old physical copies.
My parents never had The Talk with me.
Instead, when I was 10, my 16-year-old sister got pregnant (I don't know if they ever had the talk with her either).
I had to witness all the drama first hand. A lot of fighting while she was pregnant, a lot of grossness in the bathroom during and after, a lot of sadness for a few years when the baby's adoptive parents quickly stopped sending updates and pictures, and the constant looming secret we had to keep from family and friends.
That was enough emotional damage during my formative years to make sure I stayed a virgin for as long as possible while also having a strong urge to become as knowledgeable about sex as possible. Good job, Mom and Dad!