So You Know

Basically, this is a post to tell the winternet that I'm still alive. It thinks I died. But I didn't. I'm still breathing and stuff. Maybe when I have more time I'll say something entertaining.

Asdghweilgwegmooghshy

I am the most apathetic person in the whole world. I have a paper about a paper due tomorrow. I still don't really officially have a topic. I.e. I haven't even kind of started to do things. I'm going to die. I have a programming midterm this week. I don't know how to program. I have a quiz. I don't know how to read. I have another quiz. I still don't know how to read. And I just don wanna. I'm going to fail. There's nothing for it. I should just get married, pregnant, and drop out. Quick, find me an engineer! Oh wait, they're everywhere. There are even a few I've been dating. Well that makes this easier. Who needs an education? Who needs to do all this work? I'm going to drop out, sit on my donkey, watch tv, eat milk duds, and expect someone else to provide for me. Because I'm entitled to it. Oh wait, no. Dang. I guess instead I'll just spew on this blog, buckle down, and hit this thing. Carefully, and with much thought, of course. Though I may still eat some milk duds.... Shhh.... At least I look good, because I put on clothes in an attempt to make myself feel like I was doing things. I like water. It's delicious. Wish me luck, here I go!

Shooom! (that was the sound effect of beginning to get to this paper thing, as well as managing my time well enough to not fail my quizzes and midterm).

Chapter 63: In Which I Encounter A Bucket, And Forget My Binder

This all begins at 5 am. False. Earlier than that. Point is, I get up early. Early early early, especially given last night's bedtime, plus yesterday. So. I'm tired. I finish with my Early Christianity class, where by the end, every blink was practically sending me to sleep. I walk outside with my mother. It's a lovely day. We chat. I'm almost falling over. We say goodbye, and I go to lie in the lovely shade/sun mix off yonder. I lay down. It gets darker. I hope the sun will come back out. The wind picks up. I hope it'll stop. I hear thunder. I think I should go inside. I don't. I'm tired. I think this several times, as the elemental behaviors slowly escalate. But I don't, because I'm a dweeb. Then, without warning or build up, it is absolutely POURING rain. Dumping a bucket. I dash inside. Go upstairs to the comfy benches where I sleep. Set my stuff down. Realize that my binder with my pens, pencils, papers, and all purpose notebook with all lectures from all classes, was not with me. I had been using it as a pillow, and in my mad dashing, had left it. Outside. On the lawn. In the rain bucket dump. I run down the stairs, dash outside, realize that in the space of 4 minutes, the dumping has been reduced to hardly a drizzle (thus the singular of "bucket"), run to where I was trying to nap, and pick up my binder. 'Tis rather wet. I take it inside, go back to the rest of my stuff. Plop it down on the table, and look at it. Exchanged sympathetic glances and "Hey" with the girl sitting across from me. Feel it. Pray that my stuff wasn't ruined. I open it, and all is well! Nothing is wet! Sure, my hand leaves a wet print on the outside, but undamaged by water are the insides. I myself am rather damp.
So it's one of those days. I slept on my hair wet last night, and had super high hair this morning. Didn't look crazy, like the exotic male bird hair that usually happens when I do that. Just tall. But I also need a trim, so that back is long and I look like a teenage boy from the 80's. So I have goofy hair, I'm very wet, my binder is wet, I didn't get my nap, my feet kill, and I have no lunch (just snacks. No vegetables though. My life is hard).
But I still have my lecture notes, and I'm not dead, asleep, or starving, which is good because my next class starts in 10 minutes.

A Little More Latin Than Necessary (Part 4)

This past week has been full of dancing. Latin dancing twice and country dancing once. Thursdays are still the best, naturally. This means that I was really excited to go, which I did and was there for two plus hours, and never sat out a dance. It was once again, a surreal evening. It started out perfectly normal. I danced with the same fellows I usually danced with, it was great fun, etc etc. Then a guy that I dance with frequently, who has offered to car pool to Salt Lake with me who got my number last week, and forgot to save it got my number again. Then there was this other guy that I know who I've been dancing with for quite awhile, who also got my number, because he likes me. I'm never sure how to feel about these things. Anywho, we're up to four twenty-five year old Latinos with my number. Again, not sure how to feel about this. This is still just a tad strange, rather than surreal, and still fun. Then another guy who is very nice and very short and older (I think) asked me about my Spanish, and told me that a) I need to practice my Spanish and b) I needed to come next week. Which I tend to do anyway, but whatever. Anywho. So by the time that I'm dying of tiredness and ready to leave, I have three guys closing in on me after every dance for the next one, which is a bit surreal. So finally I'm dying of tiredness and I need to leave. So I do. Then this guy in a car is like, "Hey! Do you remember me?" I went over to talk to him, because I thought he was a guy who taught salsa in Salt Lake and had talked to me about the team he was putting together in Provo. False. I did not know this until after he was old and went all seductive on me. Basically, that's when things got REALLY surreal, as this old Peruvian guy who I thought I knew but didn't went all seductive on me. And... yeah. Super weird. Very odd. Just very very very odd. And he wanted to go dancing with me on Friday. And he emailed me. But I didn't have access to my internet. Which is okay, cuz it was really strange. So then I went on Friday. But I went with my friend from my ward in Illinois who doesn't ever dance, and I was just wearing what I'd been wearing that day. I realized in the middle of it that I looked like a boy, as a guy who always asked me to dance looked right at me and walked by. So when I took my friend home I changed out of my giant man plaid shirt and put on heels and earrings. Which didn't really help. So I went home and slept. But then I went country dancing last night, because you can never go dancing too many times in a week. And it was fun, but doesn't have as much variety as Latin dancing. So. Still my favorite so far.

Moral of the story: avoid old Peruvian guys who you think you know but it turns out you don't :)

I'm OLD!

You know how when you spend too much time in water your skin wrinkles and you get all pruny? I once had a friend tell me about a time as a small one that she went swimming. She was in the water for a really long time, and upon getting out noticed the pruniness of her skin. She turns to her mother, and in almost tearful horror says, "Mom! I'm OLD." The implication here being that as old people are wrinkly, if you're wrinkly you're old. So, if old people take a lot of pills, and I take a lot of pills, then I'm old. Veritably ancient, as it were. It's around 8:30 in the morning, and I've already taken 7 pills. Supplements, for the most part, but still. What kind of a diseased human being takes so many stinkin' little capsules?! My poor throat gets tired. "Gosh, another one? That's the 30th pill in three days. Give it a rest, will ya? I'm sick of this. Eat some yogurt or ice cream or something." Needless to say, my throat doesn't really appreciate them ("Needless to say" is such an odd lead in to something that you are most definitely going so say.... (also, I'm willing to bet the phrase "A run for your money" originates in horse racing (or something of the sort))). I think my body does though. My skin (except on my hands) has almost achieved normality! Wooo! Go skin! Also, I am feeling well enough in the mornings to do a few exercises without wanting to die. Oh yeah. Serious progress here. On an unrelated note, techno can be really boring. It is also Tuesday, which means Thursday is only two days away. And... school starts a week from tomorrow.

La La La La!

That would be joyous singing, in case you're wondering. Basically, today is a beautiful day. Why you ask, is it such a beautiful day? Because it can be! And by that I mean I slept in, good food is on the menu, and I have a ridiculously cute niece. My house is also drowning in fruit (seriously, I could go swimming in raspberries). My computer is fixed cuz my dad is super cool, and I am becoming less and less leprous as time passes. How cool is that? Super cool. You can't truly appreciate soft, smooth skin until yours feels like hard cracked leather. Dry, flaky, miserable leather.... Where I used to rub my arms in an effort to not scratch them off, I know rub them to feel how non disgusting they are. Oh how standards lower! Dooby doo bee doo!

Have a nice day :)

I'm A Tiny Little Insect!

What I really mean by that is that my sister had her baby (yesterday). I'm an aunt! The funny thing about that is that it makes me seem like the one that matters and did work ("Congratulations! I'm so happy for you!"). But I'm not a first time mother. I didn't carry a growing human being in my body for nine months. I didn't go through labor or give birth. Mostly I just watched all of that. I get, however, to claim all of your congratulations for having a fertile and willing sister and brother-in-law. Thanks :) I had something to do with that.

It was a natural home birth, as that's how our family tends to roll. Aunts, grandmothers, mothers, sisters, a father, and good friends were present. The day was filled with good pictures, good quotes, good friends, good vibes, and good wishes. Also, a lot of really hard work and a great reward. The labor went well. We decided that it started at approximately 1 am, became labor labor around 9 o'clock in the morning, and le bebe was born at 1:48 in the afternoon. It was a little girl, she weighed 7 pounds and 10 ounces, and was 21 inches long. Ridiculously cute. Naturally. She's related to me, so of course I think she's adorable (plus, we share genes, how could she not be cute? (I'm just kidding (mostly))). The mother is fine, she tore a bit and needed to be stitched up, but not bad. Grandma and Grandpa are very excited, as are all the tiny little uncles and aunts. Basically, it was one exciting day, and we're very grateful for it. 

Congratulations, Sister and Brother Dearest :) Good work.

P.S. I want you all to know that my sister was positive it would be a girl. It was. I also want you to know that she told me she was pretty sure "this baby is coming on the 22nd." It did. 

Life Status

Sometimes I eat lots of food at work. Then life is good because I'm not dysfunctional. Then I come home and make dinner and get the dishes done, and life is even better. And I get my minimum six hugs, and acupuncture, and I accomplish the recycling, and I don't go on any dates, and my phone doesn't die, and I don't bleed too much from my leprosy, and I don't feel like murdering people, and I eat fresh tomatoes, and life is just beautiful. Then roommate (not the porn star one) make chocolate covered strawberries, and I get my life in order and clean my room. And even though I'm not going to California, I'm happy. And I like you :)

I hope your day was as good as mine. Better, because I particularly like you at the moment (kissy face).

Meh

Some nights. I hate people. And I want to kill them. All of them. Then I feel very worried about myself, my roommate, my sanity, and how that knife got to my hand.... I'm freezing to death. It's the middle of August in Utah. The desert. And I am freezing. Part of this is due to peppermint. And part of it is because I'm broken. And I'm going to go get in my hot tub. Which is actually my grandma's, but that's okay. Some days, you just need a long hug, a good fiction book, and someone to tell you it'll be all right. But instead you have grocery store sushi, a blog, and no one. But that's mostly due to laziness, so it's all kinds of all right.

Dear Reader, I hope your night is lovely, your days are filled with sunshine and happiness, and that you get your minimum six hugs a day. Much love :)

A Little More Latin Than Necessary (Part 3)

There tends to be a little more Latin than necessary in your Latin dancing when you go two nights in a row in a single week, rather than just one. So Thursdays are Salsa Chocolate, where there is much salsa, some bachata, and a little merengue. Most people are fairly good dancers, and some are great. This is the night that I like to go. Fridays are called the Bachata Room, and there is much bachata, cumbia, and merengue, some banda, and a little salsa. I went once, with the originator of my Latin dancing, and he was grumpy the whole time for the lack of salsa. I mostly danced with him, and thus did not have tons of fun. As such, I avoided Friday Latin dancing. But then. I took my cousin from Chicago Latin dancing with me on Thursday. She loved it as much as I, and so naturally we went Friday too. It was not quite the same... For the following reasons.
1. The music. It's four times as loud as Salsa Chocolate, which is pretty loud. The Bachata Room is feel-it-in-your-chest-I'm-going-to-be-pushed-about-by-sound-waves loud. Definitely not as pleasant. In addition to this, the songs are melded together, making it hard to extricate yourself from dancing with whomever you happen to be dancing with. This is opposed to Salsa Chocolate, wherein there is a distinct beginning and end to each song, and you dance one or maybe two dances with the same person in a row.
2. The lights. Salsa Chocolate they hang out, maybe change color, chill.... Bachata room they strobe, and flash, and pulse, and all that jazz.
3. The people. At Salsa Chocolate there are decent amounts of people, and they are about half and half young and older. At Bachata Room there are hundreds of thousands (hyperbole) and they are all young. Except for my forty-year old who likes to ask me out, because  naturally he was there too.
4. The dancing. Salsa Chocolate is a more proficient dancing scene. About a third of the people have no idea what they're doing, and the other two thirds are tons of fun to dance with. Bachata Room, some people know some stuff, but on the whole you encounter mediocre dancers. There's also quite a bit of standing about in little groups doing we're-American-and-thus-don't-know-how-to-do-much-so-let's-jump.
5. The atmosphere. At Salsa Chocolate it is largely we-love-to-dance-this-is-fun. You can encounter various vibes (young and sexually frustrated, old and sexually frustrated, I love to dance, young and clueless but trying, old and kind, etc). At Bachata Room there are fewer (in my experience. I think my cousin got better vibes). Pretty much young and sexually frustrated. i.e. most of the night was spent trying to avoid too much closeness.
These above things resulted in this equation.

Deafening music + epilepsy-inducing lights + crowds of young people (and lots of cologne) + bouncy dancing and twirling + avoiding too much closeness and partner extrication = Go-my-oodness-I-feel-like-I'm-on-drugs-and-I-want-to-leave-this-place-nowish.

It didn't start out like this, but it builds. So after awhile I was quite ready to leave. Especially since one of my goober encounters was with my forty-year old, who then wanted to find me after we danced the first time, which was absolutely not comfortable. And so he kinda sorta stalked me for a bit. So. My cousin saw I was ready to get out of there, and though she was having much more fun than I (encountering fewer goobers), said that she just wanted to stay for the next bachata set, and then we could go. That sounded great to me. So while we waited for the music to change we went and sat in the back of the club by the bathrooms on the couch, in normal lighting, and where the music sounded normal. Twas nice there. Then there were a couple guys who were back there. Cousin had danced with one of them quite a bit, and the other was wearing orange, so I had noticed him because he made me think of my brother. So they came over, and started talking to us, and hanging out, and danced with us in the back where it didn't feel like you were on drugs, and then life was better, and the night less unnecessarily Latin. And we went home and slept.

So basically, Fridays are good if you bring large groups of people, or you accidentally meet really cool nice people.

I Believe In A Thing Called Naps

It's like believing in a thing called love, but less stressful, and decidedly less involved. Just sleeping. Maybe some strange dreams, but other than that it's the best. Since taking my trip to Illinois, I have taken a nap/fallen asleep every day. For the most part it hasn't been intentional. But I have no responsibilities, nothing to work on, nothing to worry about, nothing to get done. And I could do things; like read or take walks, or try harder to see old acquaintances and friends, etc. Or I could lie on my comfortable bed, and slip into unconscious bliss, to reawaken hours later, having lost nothing and gained everything. A few more hours of not having to think about anything, and the pleasant feeling that you've accomplished nothing, and that's okay. It makes me wish we took siestas. Being at work does too, actually... Americans are silly. Siestas aren't just a pleasant idea, or for lazy people who stay up too late, or other cultures. I think siestas are inspiration from the Gods. How pleasant would it be to finish up with a little something at work, go eat a delicious meal, find a couch, and conk out for an hour or two? I'd be willing to stay til 7 if I got a break like that in the middle of the day. It sounds glorious. Since I more or less am master of my own hours, I may do just that. Because that would be freaking sweet beans, yo. Naps are so lovely, and babies have the right idea. They eat and they sleep. That's what I've been up to here, and that's what I wish I could do always. Maybe add a few other things in there, but those are definitely the most important ones (Latin dancing being next on that priority list... ;) Point is, napping is beautiful. Life is better after a nap. You're more beautiful after a nap. Sounds are sweeter after a nap. Tastes taste better after a nap. Sights are more sightly after a nap. Napping is glorious, and we should all do it. So go, start believing (and then don't stop (believing)).

Well, That's A Bit Odd

Remember that roommate I used to have? I taught her how to do handstands, and she's a porn star, and has a 30 year old boyfriend? Yeah, so the important part in this story is the 30 year old boyfriend. The next important part is the part where she may be delaying a mission to possibly marry the guy, who may be proposing soon. Also, I have a friend that I went to high school with. We are good friends, and there are essentially two women he dates. Me and a curvy expensive car (bahahahahaha! Some of you will get that....). Point is. He asked me out. I could not go, for personal health reasons, and I would have to take the day off and he asked the night before. So. That was a no. And like I said, he only dates two women. Other women who he could have dated either had newly acquired boyfriends and were in love, or were backpacking off in the wilderness. That kind of thing. So he was freaking out about finding a woman. So I say to roommate, "You should go. That would be hilarious." (We are Latin dancing at the time. It's been quite uneventful for the past while). This suggestion results in just that. So my friend from high school who may or may not be madly in love with me, took my ex-roommate who is also my brother's ex-girlfriend who is practically engaged to a 30 year old man on a date. Which was a triple that included my little brother, and the other two were boys that I had been their first dates for. Just some of those crazy random happenstances of life. Plus, later that day she had a date with her boyfriend. Hilarious? I think yes. Appreciable by the boyfriend.....? I don't actually know. Knowing my friend, and the content of their date's discussion, I would say yes, as he is about as threatening in the romance area as a stuffed bunny, without any hard facial features.

Um....

Writing a post used to be, "Oh my! So many options! Of what shall I write?" Now it's like, "Uh..... turns out I have nothing to say. I can't just write about nothing. That's so.... just no." So then I don't write. However, I am absolutely feeling the urge to make my mark upon this world, to put myself out there, and to say something to all you people. You know. The idea that somehow this reaches past my computer screen. Besides, I can't disappoint my devout audience (I haven't obtained much popularity, so I don't have plurality, thus it's not "audiences"). One reader suggested I write stories about my adventures on choir tour. This would be entertaining. However, I am in something of a lethargic, unentertained mood, and so to write of entertaining things in an unentertained fashion would be much like cooking delicious food when you're not hungry. I'm not sure I know what that means. But. Irrelevant. Point is, this is going to be one of those rambly post where you're like, "I have no idea what she's talking about." But it will be short, so you'll only have time to think that once, and then it will all be over. This wouldn't be true if I didn't have to go to work. But I do. So I'm going to put in my squirrel earrings, not eat more food, forget something that I should do or bring, and then leave. 

Have a lovely day :)

A Mythical Morning

I took a bath this morning. It was a lovely bath. I put me some comfrey in it. I am a leprous human being (not for real, but for real), and comfrey is good for drawing out infection. So I decided to add comfrey to my bathing experience. Upon getting into my leafy tub, I left this world and became an minor ancient Greek goddess. I became a nymph. It's quite hard to not feel nymph like when you're covered in little green leafy things as you bathe about. Also, my grandmother has quite the fanciful tub. So that helped. In any event, this meant that my life had changed from working as a gopher in an office, coaching gymnastics, and going on dates to running away from amorous satyrs, frolicking about in the woods, eating delicious fruits, and following gods about. I decided that following the gods wasn't my style. If they really want you they'll find you. Avoiding amorous satyrs sounded good, and so did eating (especially fruit). Also frolicking, which I believe involves dancing, and I am quite fond that. Therefore, if you need me I would look in the woods, in the produce section of the grocery store, or in the bath (but that's inappropriate, so maybe just knock on the bathroom door).

Then I got out of the tub and drained it. Then I told my friend that if she went in the bathroom and found little green things all over the tub, I didn't know anything about it.

Chapter 389: In Which I Shred

I swear that's all I did at work today. It's not true, but it feels like it. I go in at 8, which is when I go in Wednesdays and Fridays. I open the building, as I tend to be there right at 8 instead of at 8:15. Half an hour later, no one else has come in. I wonder if maybe I didn't get a memo... The big issue is that I only have about forty minutes of work before I need one of the ladies who makes me do things to direct me. And neither of them are there. One of them does show up, not too long after I'd started to go quietly insane, and I did some other random stuff. But she was very preoccupied, and the rest of my stuff was all taken care of. I swiveled in my chair a lot. Then she left early. And the other lady was off doing who knows what. So I could work on employee files, which I didn't want to do, or shred the giant stack of paper that was waiting to be shredded. I chose to shred. Her shredder hates life, and anyone who tries to use it. It warmed up to me after awhile, and needed to be turned off and cleaned only once every ten pages instead of every three. This, however, was after two very large, and time consuming clogs that I had to clean out. This involved the scissors, a paper clip, and me detaching my nail from my thumb. I work in an office, right? You'd think I'd injure myself when I coach. No. I get paper and cardboard cuts, I detach nails, stab myself with prongs, and in general mildly wound myself. It's quite pathetic really. At gymnastics though, nothing ever happens to me. Sure, sometimes I get kicked in the face, or almost landed on, but nothing as serious as paper cuts. My life is truly fraught with danger. I'm going to go clean the bathroom....

Do You Love Me?

Do you love me?

Then tell me so.

Do you need me?
Do you want me?

Then tell me so.

Do you like my smile?
Would you like me to stay awhile?
Do you think about me when I'm gone?

Then tell me so.

Do you care about me?
Do you cry for me?
Do you pray for me?
Do you hope for me?

Then tell me so.

Do you want for me?
Do you fight for me?
Do you keep me close to your heart?
Do you sigh for me?
Would you die for me?

Then tell me so.

I love you.
I want you.
I love your smile, and want you to stay all the while.
I think about you often.
I care for you, cry for you, pray for you, hope for you.
I want what you want.
I fight for you.
I hold you near and dear to my heart.
I sigh for you.
I would die for you. 

Spew

Sometimes, I house sit for my grandparents. And there aren't really any computers there that they didn't take with them, or that they want to be used. I also haven't dug my laptop out of my filthy bedroom where I haven't actually moved into yet, or gotten my other laptop fixed. So I kinda sorta more or less completely gave up on bothering with the whole computer thing. It just so happens that at the moment I'm in Idaho with my friend for her graduation, and she's doing a lot of stuff that she needs to do, and I have her computer. Thus, my email has been taken care of for the first time in over a month, and I am also writing a blog post! Yay! Because you all missed me, so much. Not really, but the little thing that tells me how many page views I have is telling me zero. Which is a little depressing when you think of all the millions of people who get on the internet every day for obscene amounts of time. Not really though, because this is the kind of thing that's hard to find on purpose. Also, my hair, on it's growing out way, looks super goofy when I sleep on it wet. Just so everyone knows. I might get it shaped and cut again, but not until after I pay for a variety of other stuffs. Oh, the life of a poor college student. I really really want Latin dancing shoes. And I haven't been for FOUR WEEKS. I'm dying here. It's really quite tragic. BUT! Next week. It will happen. And much joy and happiness will result, and I will get to see mi amiga my once upon a time roommate. And my phone is dying. But not dead yet. Point is, the screen has acquired a scratch, and I don't really know how that happened. And grump. But it's okay. It's a good little (it's actually pretty big...) phone. And my friend has a graduation tree! It's like a Christmas tree, but with very different ornamentation. And I hate clothes. And my leprosy. And it's a good day for doing nothing. Oh yeah! The crack on my screen kinda looks like a flattened spider... Like off the comic strip Garfield? Yeah, that. It's actually pretty cool. And because I have a sweet flippy screen, it changes position. Oh yeah. And I brought my little sister to Idaho with me, but I seem to have lost her... I don't know where she's gotten off to... I also don't know if I should be worried about that. And I might need to get dressed soon, because the blow dryer just went off. That sounds suspiciously like someone who is almost ready to start a day. I guess I'll go get on that... Sigh....

I've Been Expecting You

You know those dramatic moments in movies, when the hero walks into an office with an amazing city view, and there's the bad guy behind a desk, facing the window, who then turns dramatically and smoothly, with fingertips together and says, "I've been expecting you."? One time that happened to me, but just a bit differently. Picture this. You walk into the public restroom. Sitting in a char (it did not swivel) facing the door is a small person. Fingertips together, legs crossed, the whole schmear, and they say, "I've been expecting you," with a mischievous little grin. Generally in a Hollywood flick you can determine or know exactly what such a line/scenario would mean. In real life, it's a little less straight forward. Expecting me? Because I'm human and would have to pee eventually? Because someone framed me to set up a meeting to set my life on a roller coaster of action packed events? Because you're clinically insane? Because I told my little sister that I needed to pee, and then got waylaid by someone, so she ran to the bathroom and sat in the chair and waited for me because she might be a little something of a weirdy? Oh that one makes sense...

Then! There was the time I accidentally woke her up at about midnight. I was sleeping in her room because mine was inhabitable at the time. She had fixed the remote that turned on her light from any location, and so had put that in some unknown place. This meant that I could not flip on the light and check to see what obstacles lay in the way of my getting to the bed, and where she was so that I wouldn't land on her. So I just went for it. Tripped over a lot on my way to the bed, made a lot of noise, and totally landed on her. This resulted in her waking up and about an hour of giggling or so. We talked, but mostly giggled. Probably because my little sister would say things like, "Oh! I have bubbles on my underwear!" Because she's super odd. I wonder where she gets it....

Turn, Driver, Turn!

Once upon a time, I hate people who don't use their turn signal (disclaimer: this is for humor purposes only. I don't really hate people, and certainly wouldn't for frivolous reasons of that previously stated.). I think that there is probably a special corner of hell reserved specifically for them. They're not there for funsies, or as an extra; you can't pass safety and emissions inspection without them! Clearly they're important (well.... we would hope that necessary for safety and emissions means that, but who knows?). Anyway. Once upon a time. I was driving. And I was going to turn left at a particular stop light. Everyone across the intersection from me was in the "straight" lane, which is also the right turn lane. I was turning left. There are two lanes on the road I was turning onto, so people turning right across the way and people turning left (like myself) could do so at the same time. Theoretically. See, if none of the 7 people who are turning right signal that such is the case, I cannot safely turn left. If you exist, dear reader, I would love to hear about your frustrating turn signal stories.

Also, I think that some national team or another from Utah should be named "The Utah Jaywalkers" because I feel like that adequately sums up pretty much everything about Utahan driving. For instance, I walked to the bank from my new place of employment last week. They are on opposite sides of Springville main street, which is in fact, quite main. Instead of using a stop light and a cross walk as required by law, I found it much more convenient to not go out of my way too far up or down, and to just jog across the road in a brief break in traffic. As did all the other pedestrians in similar situations. In fact, I was driving home yesterday and saw an old woman in a mobile chair. She was waiting to cross the same road. There was no marked cross walk, stop light, or any such thing. At that particular intersection. However, there was a cross walk a single block up. But did she want to use it? No. She is (as many of us are) a true fan of the Utah Jaywalkers. I went on choir tour once. There was more than one time that small children from Utah almost died jaywalking in Los Angeles, Branson, and Chicago.

I'm sure you'll be hearing more along these lines in the future. And now dear reader, I wish you pleasant dreams, a sweet life, and no headaches.

No, I Really Have A Banana!

I don't know what you do when you have no school and only work 8 hours a week, but I get another job. This means that instead of becoming a cashier at Walmart or working for Sears or Seven Peaks, I took a job with my aunt in her office. This means that I get to set my own hours, and that I can't really work outside of normal office hours; i.e. I have evenings and weekends to my own little socialite (haha) college student self. Woot! Anywho. Yesterday was my first full day of work. It began like this. I was told to be at the office at 10:00. I had gone to bed past one, and my little sister was kind enough to agree to wake me up by 9:00 so I could shower and leave by 9:30 to be there on time. She then left for some reason, and arrived home at 9:15 to wake me up. So I showered very quickly, clothed myself, and ate breakfast in the car, all in exactly enough time to arrive at the office at precisely 10:00. Where there was no one. I was by my lonesome (in terms of people to advise, instruct, and slave drive), which does not make for a productive use of time. Fortunately, I had stuff from the previous afternoon to complete, and so worked on that. It was then convenient that 45 minutes later when I was finishing that, a slave driver arrived to put me to work and to instruct me on what the devil was to be done. My day further involved a trip to the post office, the bank, the mall, searching for a banana, and learning how to pintrest. Pintresting is not terribly difficult, but I had never before done it. The banana search was directly related to the mall. My aunt told me to return some pants, and to drive her car. She wanted her banana though. I could not find the banana. I went back into the office and told her so. She told me, "No! I really do have a banana!" And then I went and found it in the trunk under the pants. Twas all very interesting. Then the mall. And then a birthday celebration, and dinner at Magleby's. And. That is what one does.

Tales Of A Teenage Babysitter

I babysat again yesterday. The same whole trampoline, I'm a monster thing, etc etc. This time, as part of my monster roll, I decided to wrap them up in blankets as burritos. This was met with much enthusiasm and enjoyment. I thought about how much they clamored to be wrapped in burritos and left in tunnels of monsters, and how that was partly my fault, and I maybe shouldn't have done that. But then it made me think of a time, years ago, when I babysat different little girls. They wanted to play unicorns, and rocket ships, and I don't even know what all. This mostly involved picking sparkly pink as the color of (insert whatever game we were playing) and then changing their minds. My structured mind couldn't handle the non-plotness of this/ games. So I made up a game about witches, which actually had a plot. Which somehow came to involve eating each other. And every single time after that, when I came over they wanted to play the witch game. Probably the third time that I came over and they were super excited to play the witch game, I thought about what I had possibly done. I taught them cannibalism! So after I thought about that, I didn't feel so bad about making them excited about becoming burritos. At one point we left the basement and went to the kitchen. I don't recall why. So then they made each of us cups of gummy bears, which they consumed. It was a lot of gummy bears. I wondered if I should have stopped that. But I didn't. I'm decently certain my little sister would be a much better babysitter. In all fairness, it seemed legit, and their mother had said they could eat anything they wanted before she left. So. Then they wanted to paint. With only green. So they did. They painted little Disney color pages and stuff. The oldest told me she was going to paint me a pretty picture to take home and give to my mom. Which she did. In all green. Basically, she turned the page from white to green. But it was cute, and she made sure I took it home. They also wanted to see me do gymnastics, which meant I did some flips on the tramp for them. But then they wanted to do them too. They are 2, 3, and 4. So. I more or less spun them upside down. It was good enough for them. Anywho. It was another good time, hanging with some small fries, and possibly altering the course of their psychology forever :)

No Wisdom For You!

I dunno what you do when you have no school and don't work Fridays and it's a glorious day, but I get knocked out and have parts of my body completely removed and then thrown away. Wisdom teeth my good friends, are apparently useless and so must be removed. They stabbed my arm, injected me with stuff, I was out like a light, and essentially woke up getting into the car. Which, if I recall correctly involved piques.... Then I almost died in the car a few times because I would fall asleep and my gauze would become saturated. As no part of my face works, this would result in trickles of disgustingness going in places they shouldn't, and violent cough/inhale death fits. Also, I cannot speak hardly at all. I sound like a mentally (this is not supposed to be offensive or in jest) disabled person, unable to create certain sounds at all with my mouth, making communication incredibly difficult.

Day 2
After arriving home (this is yesterday), I ate some yogurt. While bleeding profusely. Not pleasant, let me tell you. Then my family left me entirely alone at home. So I took my for real pain killer, and it took an hour to kick in. Which was horrendous, because at this point I was in pain. Not "Death!" kind of pain, just like, "Holy shoot my face my face my face my face, this is incredibly uncomfortable" kind of pain. Anywho. I then decided to take a bath and see if it would help alleviate said pain. It did, and eventually the drugs kicked in. So I go to get out of the tub. I dry off okay, I put on my giant man plaid shirt okay, then I start walking and my body tries to faint. So I quickly go lay down in my little sister's room, but it's too hot. I couldn't stay there. So I walk/stumble out to the deck, where I lay myself down. Granted, I wouldn't really say that I had complete control of my body. My head hit a little harder than I would have liked, but it's not like I collapsed. But apparently it was pretty loud, because then my little brother comes out, sees me, informs my dad that I've died on the deck, and goes to get him. This resulted in the third degree. What was my name, was I alive, etc etc. All those questions they asked trauma patients and people who have had brain surgery. But I was alive, it was okay, they let me lie on the deck for awhile (pantless, which my littlest brother found to be of import, and informed everyone of in the resulting telling of the "She died on the deck" story.) Then I pretty much went to bed. I awoke here and there in the night, but it wasn't bad and I just went back to sleep. Upon awaking this morning, I had hair like Medusa. Or a colonial wig. It's all about perspective. In any event, I look stunningly attractive at the moment.

Day 3
Day 2 further involved sitting around while a friend did yardwork, and going to an epic party involving delicious (though I could not eat) Armenian barbeque, and dancing. And getting home very late. Then I hated life. And was tired of my face and eating yogurt.

Day 4
I'm sick and tired of this crap, yo.

Y Not?

I will tell why not. Because I have never been to the Y, and did not know anything about how to get there. And then the other Y not would be because the Ecuadorian friend with you at 10:30 pm who wants to hike the Y doesn't know how to get there either! That's Y not. He told me he knew how to get there because he had been several times and such and such. But really he didn't. Mostly his way of getting there involved driving in the general direction of the mountain on which the Y was. And that was about as close as he was getting. And he made me go this way, and that, and back again, and around this way, and up to there, and turn left, then right, then left, left, right, left, right, right. Basically he had no idea. We did, however, eventually find it. I sincerely believe it was a fortunate accident. And because I lovingly supported my little brothers' dancing and got lost repeatedly looking for a giant piece of the alphabet, there is no Latin excitement this week.

And Take Your Baby And Lift

I dunno what you do when you have no school and only work two hours a day, but I jump around holding small children. Yes, that's right. I agreed to babysit today for a woman in my ward. I didn't know anything about her children, her house, or anything. But hey, unnecessary. So first off, this place is crazy. It's my understanding that they live in the basement of his parent's house, which is probably how all this is possible. Number one. HUGE theater room. Like, "Whoa. That's a big screen" kind of big. The popcorn machine and theater seats are on a deck type deal. Next, there is a little plastic rock steppy thing... next to a slide.... that goes down to a trampoline. Then there's the game room under the deck of the theater room, with air hockey, Foosball, and secret tunnels. Basically, twas ridiculous. I spent my time being a monster, a baby, and a carnival ride. They decided that one of the funnest things there was to do was have me hold them and jump on the trampoline. I had been silently whining to myself about how I didn't work out that morning. Psh, who needs it? I would put one down and the next one immediately starts, "My turn, my turn!" It was exhausting. Then I told them I had to take a break. The oldest asks me, "Do you have enough energy yet?" I say, "No, not yet. I just need to rest for a few more minutes." After approximately twenty seconds she's back again. "Do you have enough energy now?" "Nope. Not yet." "How about now? Now? Now? Now? When are you going to have enough energy to keep jumping?" Also, they all have pierced ears (they're three little girls). The oldest was fascinated with my earrings. She put them in and took them out several times. The right side was fine. The left was a little more difficult, but she didn't want me to put it back in. So she put it gently off to the side and told me it was there for when I needed to go home. And then we both forgot about it. So there's a rather large hoop earring in their basement by the trampoline...All in all, twas fun.

Freezing To Death In A Hot Tub

I don't know what you do when you have no school and only work two hours a day, but I freeze to death in hot tubs. It's the second time that it's happened, in fact. It looks and feels like a beautiful day. I need money. My grandmother needs her hot tub cleaned. I need my grandmother's hot tub cleaned, as I spend plenty of time in it. So. I agree to clean her hot tub. Unfortunately it has decided to rain. Yes, of course, rain. Which isn't too bad. I'm already wet from sloshing around in the almost-but-not-quite empty hot tub and from spraying filters with a very energetic hose, so no big deal. It's just sprinkling. BUT THEN. As I am working on the nitty gritty parts of hot tub cleaning, it begins to really rain. Not just the sprinkling or the "Oh look, rain!" kind of rain, but like, "I AM RAINING ON YOU!" kind of rain. So I was quickly becoming drenched, and there was no sun. So I was starting to get a little cold (plus, if you know me, I tend to be cold anyway). But why stop for rain when the entire point of what I was doing was so water involved, and I was already wet? So I didn't. So my back was completely drenched. My pants were soaking. I was wet through and through. And this, was incredibly difficult to rectify. I ended up inside shortly after this, discussing taxonomy with my grandfather. Then food and such in the kitchen. They have a large house. It is not a terribly warm, large house, and so the tendency toward coolness combined with the wet of my clothing was not a good combination. In the end, my wet clothes made it very hard to get warm. Hours after the rain soaking I was still wet and still shivering. My hands and feet felt like those of a corpse. I tried laying in the sun. I tried being inside. I tried moving. Nope. Still freezing. So then I sat in my car, which was blessedly warm. But I still I did not achieve warmth. So on round two of hot tub cleaning (after I had spent some time in my car), I was again freezing to death (shivering, I tell you! In the middle of May, in the sunshine!), as I sat in the hot tub. It is what would be called, ironic.

A Little More Latin Than Necessary (Part 2)

As yesterday was Thursday, back to Salsa Chocolate we went. The roommate (who is no longer technically my roommate), my Asian salsa friend, and my Ecuadorian friend all went this time around. My shoes were horrible (which I didn't know until too late), I was tired beyond all reason, and my little old Latino was out to get me more than last week. He told me I was beautiful. Then he says, "How was your day?" and I say, "It was good. How was yours?" and he says, "It was alright. But it's better now.  You know why, don't you?" I say, "No actually, I don't." He says, "Because I am dancing with you." Then he told me he would miss me, that he loves me, and asked me for my number, and asked me out again. He also asked the roommate out and for her number, so either it's not personal, or his aim is to somehow get to me via her... Then there was this other guy, who seemed nice, but I was so tired that I was useless. So resistance was not at its usual level, which resulted in more Latin than necessary. And even though there were a million guys and very few girls, I still only danced with the same few people. Which was vaguely frustrating. But then I was just like, "Dang man, no. I'm done." So then I went to the car. And waited for other people to come so I could leave. Because I was exhausted, my feet killed, and I didn't want to bother trying to avoid little Latinos who want my body. And that was this weeks installment of Salsa Chocolate.

Chapter 78: In Which There Are Too Many Things To Say To Put In This Title

Once upon a time. I was alive. So then I had to clean my apartment. Which was filthy. Especially the bathtub, because it was stained and horrible. So my friend who is awesome cleaned out the bathtub, but it was wet. So she took off her pants. Good plan. And then I was like, "Ha ha! This is hilarious." Then I put it in my blog. To go along with the suspiciously naked theme. Also, one time I told my roommate about my engineer friend saying, "Think digestive thoughts," and she totally heard, "Think suggestive thoughts." But don't do that. Because it's a bad plan. Also.... sometimes I intentionally am a goob, and then I decide that I'm horrible. And it's happens. Much too frequently. Then I spend many hours applying for jobs and going absolutely nuts. Which is not unusual either.  So then my brother and my pantless-bathtub-cleaning-friend make fun of me because they think I'm psycho. Which is a secret, so don't tell anyone. And I'm tired. So I should go to bed. But whine whine whine. So probably won't. Also, sometimes people snap in front of my face, and then I'm like, "Woah, someone snapped in front of my face! I should put that in my blog." And at that point, I decide that I should probably go to bed because this is deteriorating way too fast to be coherent and I refuse to punctuate for the rest of tonight's thought process so hopefully I run out of juice soon but I probably won't because when you're tired your brain goes BUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUHHHHHHHHHHHH for a long time and then it's like well that was weird and your life continues in it's strangeness til eventually they drag you away from the computer with your eyes unblinking and your fingers twitching then they finish your blog for you because they think they're hilarious which they might be but don't tell them that because we wouldn't want it to go to their heads like helium because then they would sound funny but not as funny as that other gas that my super awesome chem teacher used that one time that made him sound like Zerg from Toy Story which made everyone incredibly happy which is pretty impressive because Monday mornings in chemistry during finals week is a pretty hard time to make people happy. I heart you. Goodnight. She's done. (<--- Random perspective shift! What can it mean? *shifty eyes*)



No really, she's done now.

A Little More Latin Than Necessary

I love latin dancing. As I am a short white girl, you may ask how this came to be. Well this guy from my ward in Illinois was like, "Hey, I need help learning how to salsa dance. Help me." And I was like, "Sweet. I love dancing." So then we started learning. And he took me to this place called Salsa Chocolate where there is much dancing and happiness. Then he dropped off the face of the planet (as in he got a girlfriend) and I didn't do so much dancing. Then my cousin was all like, "Hey, I need help learning how to salsa dance. Help me." And I was like, "Sweet, I love dancing and I kinda know what I'm doing." So then I started helping him learn how to dance. But I'm his cousin, so he's not very good at dancing with me outside of specified practice time. But still, because of that I started going to salsa club on Tuesdays. Then I forced my roommate to learn how to do some basic social latin, and we went to Salsa Chocolate with my cousin and a few friends from the ward. Which was fine and dandy. All kinds of fun. Then I met an Asian who wanted to practice salsa with me, and I was like, "Sweet. I love dancing, and I hopefully I don't disappoint." (He was a ballroom dancing at UVU for awhile; i.e. good dancer). So me and my roommate went back to Salsa Chocolate again, this time with our Asian. Which was mostly fine and dandy. Until.....

The Roommmate's Trauma Story

There was this guy (there are a lot of them actually), but he was phenomenally attracted to her long, blond, glorious hair, and her curvalicious body. So she danced a billion dances with this guy (which really means he asked a billion times, and she couldn't always escape) . He says things like, "You're the most beautiful girl in this room." And tells her not to go on a mission, that all of the guys want to propose to her, and that she should stay. And that she was the most beautiful girl in the world. And that they had a song, and that he would wait for her. He added her on Facebook. And asked if she remembered him. In her words, "How could I forget?" I mean, he got as close to a marriage proposal as is possible for knowing someone for only one evening. 

And then there was....

My Trauma Story

So there's this little latin guy, who I have danced with a lot over the course of the my Salsa Chocolate and salsa club experience. And every time we dance he got a little closer. And so I try to avoid dancing with him much, and do my best when we do dance to avoid too much closeness. I do my best, but it's incredibly difficult. In any event, this past Thursday night was serious escalation. It wasn't so bad for most of the evening. I had avoided him pretty well for the most part. But then, I was sitting, and it was late, and it was fine and dandy. Then he came and sat next to me and we started talking and stuff, and that was still pretty alright. Then he asked me to dance. And it should have been a dance that's hard to get close in. But he made it a different dance. So I was trying very hard to not let him get as close as he was trying to. And he essentially almost kissed me once. Then... he says,

"What are you doing after this?"

"Sleeping," I say as my heart skips a panicked beat.

"Well would you like to get some food, or something?" 

"Uh, no thank you..." I say, hoping that's enough.

"Why not?" he asks slightly pouty like.

"Well, I need to get up in the morning and move." Which is the absolute truth. And then he asks for a second dance. I notice roommate has been dancing with proposal man. I say, "No thanks, we're actually leaving." So I steal roommate from proposal man and we book it out of there. Why is this so traumatizing (other than tendency toward way too much physical)? Because this little Latin guy is well over forty. That's why. He's more than twice my age. Could be my father. And I know that I've been mistaken for the mother of my fourteen year old brother, but still....

Think Digestive Thoughts

You know that feeling when you've completely overstuffed yourself and you feel fat? Not like, "Oh I'm such a pig and I am grotesquely obese and I look fat" fat, but like, "Go my oodness my stomach is distended and I feel fat" fat. Yeah, that happens to me frequently. And of course, whenever this happens one must so say with the phrase, "I am feeling fat, and sassy" (because some of us can't avoid being sassy). So I was out with my engineering friend for dinner at a delicious restaurant (Banana Leaf. Super good. Go there.), and I ate tons of food really good. So then I was like, "I am feeling fat, and sassy." And he says, "Just think digestive thoughts." I laughed. Because that's hilarious. But then I began to think. And the more I thought about, the more I liked it. I eventually came to the conclusion that it was brilliant. In fact, it should be the new way to lose weight. I mean people are all about having healthy metabolisms, or getting their metabolism started in the morning with a good breakfast and stuff of that sort. So mind over matter, right? Think digestive thoughts. Think enough, and you can make your body digest more and better. Who needs a naturally speedy and healthy metabolism? Who  needs liposuction?  Using the power of our thoughts, we can become slim, healthy people. Easiest and least expensive weight loss product ever. Kind of like FDR did his fireside chats, we can have Michelle Obama do a weekly Digestive Thoughts program. That would help tremendously with our nation's obesity problem. And then we can make apps and programs for our smart phones and tablets to guide our digestive thoughts. Then we can move from digestive thoughts to active thoughts. We can think about running, swimming, dancing, football, etc. to complement our good digestion. Then we can think thoughts about thinking to make ourselves smarter too. We can do anything if we just believe. So, let's get started thinking ourselves some digestive thoughts.

Chapter 91: In Which The Roommate Brings Home A Boy... Who Isn't Her Boyfriend

Let's preface this by the text I got from her earlier today. "Is there a proper way to respond when someone professes love to you...and isn't your boyfriend?" I thought this was rather odd. Truly. But then I came home from work, and walk in to find my roommate and a boy on the couch. My immediate reaction is that hey, it's the 30 year old boyfriend. But then it is clearly not. This guy is blond, not bald. He is introduced as that one guy in her physiology class that she talks about all the time. And then the whole professed love thing made sense. Apparently it's not terribly unusual during the massage trains in their class together. So. They are studying, which truly they are (no funny business, don't worry, 30 year old boyfriend). And they seem to be happy, and well fed. Because before leaving for work I had left a chicken breast out to thaw. I come home, thinking that either it would still be there, waiting to be loved and made into deliciousness, or that the roommate would have made it into something. And she did. And she and he freaking ate it all. So I need to study for a final, and I need to eat, because I never really ate lunch, even though I was going to have roast.... so now I'm like, "Go my osh, they ate my food and are super loud and I'm horrible at studying when there are people here." So I decided to write a blog post about it because I'm whiny. And then secretly what they're doing is studying randomly interspersed with interesting and good conversation. So nothing is accomplished on my end but vague frustration. Which continues to be the case, as he leaves, and my roommate does her D&C final. Which should be good, because peace and quiet, right? Good for studying. No. Apparently all I want to do is talk and avoid studying for this final. Which I imagine wouldn't be terribly difficult if it weren't for the very insistent nagging voice in my head telling me to make good decisions with my life, as I have thus far failed to do so. But I will prevail! Hopefully in the making good life decision direction...

Chapter 22: In Which Being Upside Down Is Introduced

So I coach gymnastics, which is all kinds of fun. And today me and my roommate worked out together. Part of my quasi regular routine is handstand push-ups. So naturally I had to teach her to do handstands. We used the wall for this, because that's the easiest way to do handstand push-ups. And it's much safer for everyone involved. It was quite the adventure. She did eventually get it, but on the journey there were several moments of uncertainty. Screams, hysterical laughter, collapsing, the possibility of imminent death once or twice.... But it was good! Learning new skills is so useful. I mean, how would being able to flip yourself upside down be not helpful in real life? For instance. When my roommate loses oh say.... her paycheck. Or her keys. Or her temple recommend. In the dumpster. Now she will be able to ninja-like flip herself into the dumpster, instead of the awkward climbing that usually accompanies such situations. Or when you see some money on the ground. What's the best way to get to it? Bend down and pick it up? Of course not! You cartwheel and grab it at the same time. Or what if the ground is super nasty and you don't want to get your feet gross? Walk on your hands! Or when you're in a crowded club and you want to impress the humanoid of your choice, how would you do that? Look sexy and smile invitingly? No, don't be ridiculous. Backflip! Or say you want to hear what your friend is saying about you to that attractive person over there. Casually enter the conversation? No! Spiderman hang. Oh yeah.

Return of the Leprosy

My body does not love me. Imagine how much you do not love termites or cockroaches. Imagine how much plant life does not love the desert. Imagine how much you do not love something you do not love. That is how my body does not love me. I am a leper. And it is getting worse. Not just getting worse from the getting better that previously it was, but extending beyond the condition it had been in to one that is worse. So, so much for my antibiotics and steroid creams. Oh well. It's just pain.

Chapter 57: In Which Well That Was Weird

Sometimes I never really talk about my roommate except briefly. Then she becomes a porn star, and now I have an entire blog post devoted to her weekend (which secretly includes Monday). We begin with boyfriend who buys her a swimsuit. For which he needs measurements. Then, she goes home teaching (which is a male activity) and has a church brother hit on her. Even though he knows she has a thirty year old boyfriend. They spend several hours together. Then the boy next door comes by, bearing me kind gifts of carbonation, and tells her to spoon with him. Then, reposing on our couch, he stays and takes a nap, after making her sing him lullabys. Then she aces her physics tests. She then comes home, discovers she has won one hundred dollars, and then floods the kitchen trying to clean the dishwasher. She then gets turned about and very confused trying to find me to pick me up to attend our family home evening. At which she eats a splendid supper of cookies and cannot speak English. And there was decidedly more weird stuff that only makes sense if you know her, and still other things that I probably just shouldn't post about :) So I won't... Even though I really want to.

Daydreaming By The Daffodils

Picture this. An Arby's sign, with a crowd of daffodils (as in three) growing around one of the posts. A solitary figure sits between, gazing at the flowers. What goes on in that head? A day dream? A conversation rehearsal? Contemplation of the world at large? An internal discussion about the biology and chemistry of plant life? Who knows. Let's make something up. The solitary figure is a girl. She's at a fast food restaurant. Let's stereotypically assume that she is emotionally distraught, because clearly being near a fast food restaurant means she's going to be eating. Fast food, as it were. So. Emotional distress. But what? And why? Well.... men of course. So now she's emotionally distraught over men, and is sitting in front of a fast food restaurant, but why not in it? How about because... she's waiting for a friend. On whose shoulder she will cry and with whom she will eat chocolate. Yes, good plan. Okay, so emotionally distraught over men female waiting for a friend. What happened that she's emotionally distraught? Well.... let's assume her heart is broken. Yeah... good plan. Seems logical, stereotypical, and cliche. But how and why? Well there was this guy. And he and she clicked super well. Yes, yes indeed. Good plan. But that's generally happy making... So... They were together, and life was grand and beautiful and romance flowered, and they were meant to be together. They were soul mates even. But then! He, in a moment of panic was like, "No, though I love you madly and passionately, and you feel the same, we cannot be together! For we've only just met (and this isn't Romeo and Juliet)." And so a decision is reached that together they will not be, but "merely friends." Alright. And they must have been together near an apartment complex, or maybe a park or something, and not terribly far away... So after this discussion, they part ways. And even though they both think (or pretend to think) it was a grand decision and that the other is happy, probably they both think life sucks. Yeah.... But then they won't tell each other, because it's a love story, and communication isn't allowed. So then this lonely, miserable girl walks over to the Arby's sign, and waits for a friend. But why was she walking? Why no car? Because.... She's a college student! Which means she must be waiting for her favorite roommate. Alright. Recap. Emotionally distraught college student female, over a man who she loves and he loves she, but they can't be together because of an unclear objection. This might be Shakespeare worthy.... Or a bad Hollywood romance... Oh look! Her favorite roommate arrived. She has a car... That's nice. And they go into Arby's, presumably to eat. Well. I vote we were right. Hopefully her life works out and she's happy... Because there are a lot of things in fast food that ain't so good for you... Wouldn't want her to join the ranks of the American obese...

Chapter 9: In Which I Forget All Cool Blog Titles Possible

There are some beautiful flowers on my here table. Why? Because some marvelous romantic young man swept me off my feet, bringing me roses and showering me with sweet nothings. Oh wait, no. That's not how it went at all. They're not even roses, and my roommate bought them, cuz she felt like it and they were 99 cents and oh yeah, she's compensating for her completely unromantic thirty year old boyfriend. Which is close enough. Flowers are nice to have. And I love Frankie Valli and the Four Seasons. And sometimes I come home, thinking that I'll make myself oats. But no! Because forsooth, there are barbecue chicken taco thingamahoodahs waiting on the stove. Because my roommate is beautiful. And it was marvelous. And sometimes I go to BYU concert choir concerts when I could be a) at a Synthesis concert or b) studying with the dang cute guy in my American Heritage class. And secretly I'm kind of whiny about it. But then it is a thing of glory and beauty and my soul is enlivened and enriched. And life is beautiful. And then you get home after a long day, and less clothes. And then your roommate comes home and says, "I'm going to less clothes." And so you say, "No, that's not allowed." Then she goes, "Says Miss Knee-High-Socks-And-Man-Shirt-With-No-Bra." Then she goes and takes off her clothes, and wanders around in short shorts and a bra. And you're glad for once that it's her who needs to make sure that the blinds are closed. Sometimes you need to do lots of homework, and your roommate quasi swears and makes fun of you. Frequently. Oh yeah, and she dated your brother. Twice. Wait, no, not twice. And then she's like, "Do I ever happen in your blog?" And I'm like, "Yeah, briefly." So now she's starring. And she's naked. So now she's a porn star.... Well that escalated quickly. But it's okay because she's a babe. Like, the men want her, the women want her, the young men want her, the old man has her.... The usual. In fact, even guys who have their own quasi-non-girlfriends spend hours making fun of her, just like grade school. But with less tag... And decidedly more sexual tension. Well, this is a really weird blog post... I hope that no one is traumatized. And kids, don't eat too many marshmallows in a sitting, or your stomach blows up and you die an unpleasant death.

Chapter 35: In Which What?

Yup. Sometimes, that's all there is to be said. What?

Chapter 34: In Which It Is 12 O'clock At Night (Morning?)

I am going to babble. I believe that's what one does late at night. Or is it early morning? I'm not sure I love the way we have of counting days. The biblical Jewish way of doing it was good. Evening to evening was a day. Makes sense right? The morning was the morning, of last night's previous day, and that evening a new day began. In all fairness though, deciding what the devil the month was was not scientific. I vote we don't do that. Basically, people saw a new moon and went and told some guy, who had pictures, and they pointed at the picture, and if everyone agreed, a new month began! And then they lit fires to tell everyone. And sometimes the Samaritans, just for fun, would light fires whenever to throw people off. So. Dates of the then time, don't agree so well. But hey! Not that it's terribly relevant to anything. Also, I'm always proud of myself when I spell words right that I used to always get wrong. Sometimes, I forget that I'm not in grade school, that I'm not 12, and that other people know that too. Alas, no more gold stars for me. Not that I ever got them anyway. I sincerely believe them to be a myth, as I have never experienced them for myself. Naturally, they can't exist. So neither does heroin. Also, hair. Sometimes, I think that I wish I had long hair. And then I remember how I would look just like everyone else. And I also think that I like my short hair. Then I think how it's money. And how my current length represents an entire four months of growth. Do I really want to give that up? Especially since there are so many males who tell me to grow it out? And attractive ones? But at the same time there are people who like it short. And in the end, I don't truly care what any of them think anyway, and I'll do what I want. If only I knew what I wanted.... Oh hair. How you beset me so. Good thing I don't have to think about it until I have money and can afford to get it cut. Then I have to make a decision. Which secretly I already made. I think.... So I write unpublished blog posts. One of them was me whining. If you happened to view my blog for like, a specific five minutes, it was published for a bit. But then it stopped. So this one kind of replaces that one in the what-the-devil-is-she-going-on-about-this-has-nothing-to-do-with-anything kind of a way. Also, my leprosy is getting so much better. I just want everyone to know that I am much less leprous than I was. Though I still need to bathe in bleach a few more times. Note to all of you people who someday get a skin condition that makes your hands dysfunctional and/or causes some kind of serious pain or discomfort; rinse off after you bathe in bleach. Your skin doesn't love you otherwise. Though if you have a skin disease for which you need bleach bathing, your skin probably doesn't love you in the first place. Which is unfortunate, because it's unity at home that brings about healthy relationships. How you gonna make good relationships if your insides can't get it together? Once upon a time I deleted facebook. And sometimes I wish I hadn't. And right now is one of those times. But it's good that I don't have one, because then I would get even more distracted than I am by this blog post, and then wouldn't go to bed for hours instead of just minutes. So Phew! Good thing. That's all I'm saying. Well, no, I've said a lot. Also, I would like to add a disclaimer about bleach bathing. It merely means you put approximately a fourth cup of bleach in a full tub of water. It helps to draw out infection. So you're not really submersing yourself in chemicals. That would probably not be beneficial :) Emoticon! Now you know how I feel. Not really. You just saw the ironic smile that accompanied the last inane statement. I love dancing. And once upon a time, there was this guy at church who was super cute. And then I saw him all kinds of random places around town. Turns out that he lives with this other guy I know, and I finally met him and he has a funny laugh. Coincidences have been happening like crazy recently, and I don't know what's up with it. Also, I rather enjoy fruitsnacks... I think they would be useful on the chemistry exam that I'm going to be taking, for making up molecule models. I hear dots are the way to go, but I feel like you get more bang for your buck with fruitsnacks, and I like them better. Also, sometimes I am truly a poor college student. And realize how poor I am. I don't even have spare change. That means I have nothing. Silly rent. Silly me, not going to get paid until my employer had no checks and we went on spring break for a week. Good think I have rice and chicken, and really, that's all you need. False, on both counts, but I do have food. It's just not as exciting as it could be. I made fried rice tonight. It was good. And now there are leftovers. YAY! And.... Sometimes people happen and then I think about how I should go to bed but then I just word vomit onto this blog post that is getting really long. I know people who never use punctuation and it almost sounds like that in my head. I hope you're reading this in an entertaining fashion or this will be completely wasted on you, which would be truly unfortunate. Waste not, want not, as my good friend They says.

Keep Your Blood Off the Furniture!

Sometimes, entertaining people come over. And by that I mean my roommate's friend and his cousin. His cousin just makes fun of my roommate and talks about how glorious he and skydiving are, and my roommate laughs, and then her friend bleeds. Yes, bleeds. It started like this. We needed some almonds for the salad. We had just obtained an ulu knife (an Alaskan (as in Eskimo) knife design) which is a rather strange (and thus exciting) knife. So my roommate began cutting almonds, but then took a phone call. So her friend says, "Here, I have two hands. Let me do that." She looks away. She looks back. He's only using one hand. She says, "What happened to your hand?!" He says "Nothing." She says "Don't lie to me." He says, "It's fine, really." She says, "False, let me see your hand!" So he finally lets her see it when it's clear that the bleeding will need to be stopped, as it is coming forth from his clenched hand. i.e. he really did cut it and could no longer deny. She takes him to the bathroom, they wash it off, are glad he still has a fingertip (mostly), yada yada yada. And then life goes on, we eat dinner, he keeps a tissue on his finger for most of the night because it won't stop bleeding. And then I step in something. And it's red. I say, "Dude, no bleeding on my floor!" and his cousin is all, "Oh come on, it's BBQ sauce." False. Twas blood. And then I go into my bathroom. Blood. On the toilet, on the sink, in the garbage. I have the greatest of sympathy for his almost decapitated finger. But dude, blood on the floor, fridge, toilet, counter, in the almonds.... Keep your blood off of the furniture.

It's Disneyland! It's Christmas! It's an Antiobiotic!

To the tune of "It's a bird! It's a plane! It's Superman!" Basically, I have not been so excited for something for quite some time. What is this excitement about? Antibiotics and steroid creams. You might ask why that would be exciting. Let me tell you (those of you who are sensitive may want to skip this....). I have recently acquired a skin disease (called dishydrotic eczcema) where your body leaks protein out of raised bumps on your hands and feet. And they crack and bleed and are super gross. And then it spreads, and you totally look like a leper. And then it gets worse and worse, and then there's a bacterial infection too, and you can no longer move your fingers because they're so full of nasty crap, and every movement is painful, and life is horrible. And so then, after years and months and decades of agony, you get prescriptions for it. And I have not been so excited for a long time. And not just like, "Finally, this stuff will go away," but like, "Glory be and oh joy! I get to start my medication tomorrow! :D" And that's how I've been feeling. Taking pills has never been accompanied by so many smiles...

Three Times A Sock

Once upon a time I was coaching gymnastics (this is not on infrequent occurrence), and we were discussing the recent (as in in the last few years)  fad of wearing mismatched socks, because my associate was wearing one black ankle sock, and one long striped one. As a result, she was not truly "hip" because the "usual" way to wear mismatched socks is to wear thin, neon colored, ankle socks. I mentioned this to her. She spoke on how it didn't matter, because she wore shoes except at gymnastics. And socks do what socks do, matched or not. I found this to be quite profound. And thus it occurred to me, that a sock is a sock is a sock. Thrice a sock, as it were. Which brings me to this poem:

I am three socks, I know,
For thinking, believing, and for saying so,

In poetry, so filled with literal truth.

But what wise man, would not be a sock,

If he would not deny it so?

For wisdom is but naught
Unless with difference it is fraught.

Through rhyme and prose,
The philosophies of this world doth go,
And I thought that through the verse,
I might fetter this mental dearth.
It seems to be so, as now, I am but two.

Though not quite like Moses,
Who doth suppose that his toeses,
They are roses, I do suppose erroneously.
For I suppose us to be as socks,
and Twice at that.

And as this poetic prose goes on,
I, like a pair  of socks,
So low in the scheme of clothes,
Which was two, am reduced to one.
Only once a sock, and nothing more.
There is but little else for me to do,
But to find a foot on which to dwell.
I think I'll look for Moses',
For I hear they smell well.

(inspired by John Donne: The Triple Fool)

Which seems to conclude my discourse on socks. I seem to have exhausted the supply of sock related issues for the moment, but I do hope that you have the happiness of finding matching socks and wearing socks without holes. May the goblins not steal your socks, neither the left nor the right. May the dryer eat a whole pair instead of just one, and may your feet ever smell of roses.

It'll Be Okay, Little Leper

Mostly, that's a hilarious sentence. So I had to entitle something that. And there are beautiful truths embedded in it. You should find them. And my apartment smells like chickeny deliciousness. And I wonder if anyone READS this. It's my theory that people accidentally click to it and then leave as soon as possible. Why? Because MONEY! False, actually. That's the correct response for all questions in history and economics. And health care. Also! Sometimes you delete your facebook. And then your friend (who is also your brother's ex-girlfriend) who essentially lives at your house, doesn't even tell you that she's in a relationship! And so you find out via your roommate (your brother's other ex-girlfriend), who sees it on facebook. And then you realize, that over the course of your college experience, that not only have your social skills and flirting abilities been reduced to absolute zero, but you also apparently don't exist! It would seem one must have an electronic presence to merit attention. Or information. And ignorance is bliss. Thus, I am slowly becoming incredibly happy.... Without my knowledge. But hey, that makes me even happier. Gee, I feel myself sinking into indescribable bliss as we speak. I really hope someone somewhere is laughing right now... Every time I write a blog post I debate about what I can say about who because I don't know who a) does read it or b) who might at some future date. So... then I usually don't. Which is probably for the best. Besides, it keeps the world at large in ignorance, thus increasing the world wide supply of bliss. Ahh, I feel so much better about my non-contribution to society.

At Least It's Not Flesh Eating Bacteria

Some days are just out to get your soul. You can't wake up, you didn't get any of your homework done, nobody loves you, you look like a leper because of your multitudinous skin diseases for which there seem to be no explanation or cure, you're in pain, people mistake you for the wrong gender, you forget to bring your dance shoes, you lose an earring, you don't understand the calculus, your backpack decides to have technical issues, and you're hungry and tired all day. And your car is behaving strangely. And there are too many people to take care of at work. And then you're trying to be a good person, but people make it difficult without even telling you, and then you're just grumpy. And even though all you want to do is eat ice-cream, take a hot shower, go to sleep, and ignore the world, it's not all that bad. In fact, it's days like these when your better nature has to rise to the occasion. At times like these we must hold our heads high, and tell ourselves to be grateful. Grateful I tell you, for all those things that went wrong, because there are alternatives that could be much worse. You just have to be grateful for the little things. For instance, that your little sore throat in the morning isn't cancer. Or that your car's transmission didn't blow up, it just acquired a new idiosyncrasy. Or that at least you have a job to be dissatisfied about. Or that you had earrings to lose, you're getting an education, and you have the ability and the resources to remedy things like being tired and hungry. It is on days like these when we must remember that there are people who have it worse, and that our problems are not really bad, or sometimes that they're not even a problem. And that even if they are, so what? It'll be okay. Soul-eating days are all good; they make non-soul-eating days much better. Life is all about perspective, see? Bad things can be bad, or they can be learning experiences (oh the clicheness! It's leaping off the page to strangle you!). When your salsa partner decides to ignore you for forever, when no one responds to your texts, when your roommate makes you make dinner, and you feel like you look like a teenage boy from 80's, when you're hands feel like they're going to fall off; there is always a bright side, because it could be worse. Because at least it's not flesh eating bacteria.

Cease Your Incessant Kissing!

Why do I bring this up? Spring of course. The time of year when people's hearts and minds turn to love. In all fairness, there's no guarantees that it's actually spring yet, as it tends to snow randomly into June, but people are hopeful. The effect is the same. I was thinking about this, as I walked around campus. There are substantially more smiling people, substantially more male to female interactions, and substantially more hand holding and the like. But why? What about spring makes us all so twitter-patted? Some say it's just the good weather. People are happy and coming out of the winter blues, and that equates to romance and increased social interaction. Others say spring is the time of love and it's just the way it is. I have a different theory. It's because we're reminded what each other look like. Classy as fall and winter fashion is, it's not the same as spring and summer. That is not to say that people are wandering around falling out of their clothes. But all of a sudden, the weather is warm, the coats, boots, hats, scarves, parkas, and face-masks go back in storage, and we go, "Oh yeah! That's what a male/female looks like!" We remember and then we like it. And thus, we all go ga-ga and get twittered-patted and pathetic. Nothing to do with beauty and romance and hopeful ideals. Nah, our hormones just remind us what we like about the other sex. Now. Spring, love, romance. Kissing. I accidently sat across from an engaged couple in a study area. This, was a bad plan, as I did not yet understand the consequences of my actions. Little did I know. I understand that they're madly in love, that they do not see each other much or often, and that they must wait to get married and that life is hard and stressful and love is beautiful and exciting. But! If I were to dictate their conversation it would go something like: How was your day kiss It was fine kiss How was your day kiss You seem stressed kiss Do you want to talk about it kiss No I'm not stressed kiss Did you call your parents kiss No kiss You should do that kiss Probably kiss Do you want to take a trip between this time and this time kiss Meh kiss and etc. Point is. There is no punctuation, as the kissing fulfilled that function just fine. I admire their love and stuff and stuff. But I've decided kissing is an incredible annoying noise. Not when oneself is engaged in the activity; it's kind of in the back of your mind. But when you're trying to do calculus, it's incredibly frustrating. And so, to all those engaged or newly wed couples, sitting on top of each other and punctuating your conversations with kisses in study areas and places of the sort, I would kindly ask you, to cease your incessant kissing.

Chapter 18: In Which I Get Locked Out of My Apartment Again, and Look Forward To Chemical Failure

I still have not taken that chemistry test. But I have to. I have no option. But let me tell you story.

I moved to an apartment to go to school. Yippee. Turns out that people lock their doors or something. I understand that people do this. I understand that they always have. I just never did, and so it was something of an adjustment to me. So much so, that sometimes I forget that our door locks. So a few weeks ago, I ran outside to my car to check for my vegetable jar (in which I carry my daily vegetables) which I had not been able to find in the apartment. I am fortunately wearing clothes and shoes (which is unusual for me if leaving the house for the day isn't happening in that next 10 minutes). I go to my car. I do not find my vegetable jar. I run back up to my door. I cannot open the door. I try. In vain. For several minutes. I finally give up. My roommate is gone at work, and has a big presentation that day. All of my books, homework, assignments, my computer, my phone, a jacket, food, and most importantly, my keys, are all in my apartment. I have no access to them. So after standing about freezing for a minute, I run over to apartment 27. This is where, "the boys" live. My friend from high school was going to come hang out with me that day. I now had no way to contact them. I was going to work on a lab report with my chemistry group. I now had no way to contact them. I needed my lab report. And my notebooks. I now did not have them. So. I asked if I could borrow a phone. I called my roommate, she didn't answer. I sat about. I hadn't even brushed my teeth yet. This was ridiculous. I had been going to meet with people at 11, it was now 10:30. So I went to my (unlocked) car, got a pad of paper, a pen, and a pencil out of the glove compartment. One of "the boys" was kind enough to give me gum, another kind enough to let me use his phone, and still another kind enough to give me a ride to the school. I call my high school friend and tell him to meet me in the chemistry building. I run over there, and meet up with my lab people. They are kind to me, and print me a new lab. And... make fun of me. I take notes on borrowed paper, I send my friend on a wild goose chase, earn his everlasting hate, use random people's phones, meet up with my roommate, and steal her keys. In the end, I made it home, made it into my apartment, got my lab turned in, and I got to work. All's well that ends well, and it's a pretty entertaining story. I made a quasi-vow that that would never happen again. But then.... it turned Tuesday again.

Let me tell you another story.

I have a big chemistry test. I am not prepared for it. I need to sleep, accomplish studying, and do peripheral homework for other classes. Instead I take cake to "the boys", and teach my roommate basic Latin dancing. Then I go to bed, and try to get up in the morning to study. I fall back asleep, and feel sick. I try to study. It sort of works. I fall asleep again. I listen to more Latin music. I try to study. I walk outside in my slippers (I'm wearing clothes already, hoping that somehow being clothed will equate to academic motivation. It didn't.) to relieve my mounting insanity. The door closes behind me. I stand. I breathe. I turn to go inside. I can't believe myself. I stand about, trying to open the door, yet again, in vain. I run over to apartment 27, and no one is home. I have no phone, again. I have no car, again. I have no computer, no books, no nothing. There is a kind young man fertilizing the lawns of the apartment complex, and I ask to borrow his phone. My roommate answers, sounding confused. She tells me she will shoot me if I tell her I got locked out again. I'm glad she has no gun. She, fortunately enough, had not yet gone to the testing center to take her test and turn off her phone. So she said she would be home in approximately 20 minutes. Excellent. I have no shoes, no jacket, no one in the apartment complex I know who's home. So what do I do? What anyone does in that situation. Go lie on the sidewalk in the sun, and take a quasi-nap. Which I did. And I am fairly certain that the people who hear me sing constantly (and loudly), watch me carry/pull around my giant backpack, watch me jump down the stairs, listen to me talk to myself, and find me lying on the sidewalk in the middle of the morning in my slippers, think I'm freaking insane. Which I might be. Anywho. Roommate let me in, I ate food, changed out of my dirty sweater (I'd been lying on the ground in it for 20 minutes or so), and prepared myself to leave. And now, here I am again, trying to study, but not. The predication for the end of the story goes like this:

I get no studying done. I go to calculus for the last 15 minutes so I can take a quiz. I go to work, where frustration and inefficiency abound. Then I rush to the testing center to take the chemistry test, where I spend three hours furiously trying to not fail. But then I do. And then I go home, knowing that I deserve every percent I got wrong, and instead of going to bed like I should, play solitaire for hours on end and listen to Latin music. Then wake up and hate myself the rest of the week. Good thing I don't eat cake.

Dear Reader, I love you, and I hope your day is going well :)

Chapter 17: In Which I Most Lilkely Fail A Chemistry Test

Sometimes, I really just don' wanna. Today is one of those days. Or nights maybe. I have a chemistry test to take, and no desire to study. Which would be alright if I were better prepared. But I'm not. Obviously... In any event, I'm sitting at my computer, thinking about studying. But it's my roommates birthday, so now we're going to go feed males cake. Which is good, cuz I certainly can't eat it. Which is  a gluten intolerance issue, not a must-stay-skinny issue. You know what they say, you can't have your cake and eat it too. Obviously, as we have cake, and I can't eat it. But I have it. I always thought that was a dumb saying. This might make it dumber... Who knows. Anywho. Roommate, the ancient two whole decades age today. Age is weird stuff. No matter how old I get, someone who was the age I happen to be always seemed older. And I think that will forever be the case. I'll always be young, merely because someone else got there first. And then I'll die of old age and wonder how it happened... And now we feed people cake.

The Beginning

This is my first post on "Well now. How 'bout that?" I would like to thank the internet and the culture that has given me this great voice and opportunity to say the whole lot of nothing that will be coming forth from this. That has given me moment to think that I matter and that the reach of my thoughts will extend beyond my apartment. This will be a blog of whatever the heck I happen to feel like at a moment in time. I would like to think that I'm entertaining, but secretly I think it's probably all in my head. I would like to think that I'm clever, original, thought-provoking and fresh, but I'm fairly certain that's all in my head too. Statistically speaking, the likelihood of me being truly exceptional is low.  Woohoo! I am mediocrity! Most likely? But who knows. Maybe statistics don't apply to individuals, when each and every one of us differs from every other one of us. So maybe I am great. That would be cool. Anyway! Welcome to "The Beginning" of my blog on absolutely nothing in particular. If you read it, I hope you enjoy. And I love you.