My One-hundred-and-thirty-seventh Post

So my sisters Martin and Faybe like horror movies. I’ve also been lead to believe my sisters like me. So, when I’m home and there’s a scary movie in the dollar theater, they often drag me along with them to a predictably late-night showing. You’d think they’d learn that I don’t. like. scary. movies. But since this particular series of events has happened on quite a few occasions, I must conclude that they’re just dumb. (I mean really! If I spend two hours muttering supercalifragilisticexpialidocious under my breath to distract myself while maintaining a death grip firm enough to leave fingernail marks in your arm—do you think I’m enjoying myself?) But maybe I’m dumb too, considering the number of times I’ve watched scary things of my own volition. Like that time I accidentally let The Exorcism of Emily Rose come up on my Netflix queue (I probably will never watch about a third of the movies in my queue, I just put them there because they catch my attention for some reason or another) and then, instead of just sending it back, I felt obligated to watch it. Alone. At night. It wasn’t even that scary, I just cannot handle suspenseful jump cuts and intense soundtracks.



Erm, I don’t remember why I started talking about this (I think it had something to do with the thriller-esque qualities in Veronica Mars), so I’m going to bed. I’ve been procrastinating for about a week and tomorrow it judgment day. Wish me luck.

My One-hundred-and-thirty-sixth Post

Items which Amazon.com recommends to me based on previous purchases:

• Clarissa Explains It All - Season One
  
• Laundry: The Home Comforts Book of Caring for Clothes and Linens
  
• Farewell to Manzanar: A True Story of Japanese American Experience During and After the World War II Internment
  
• Slaves, Peasants, and Rebels: Reconsidering Brazilian Slavery
  
• I Am America (And So Can You!)
• Wincing the Night Away (The Shins)

UPDATE: Just to let you know, this is not a wishlist. So don't tell Mom to buy me all this stuff, Martin. Except maybe the last two.

My One-hundred-and-thirty-fifth Post

Since I'm home for a week, I asked my mom to schedule me a dentist appointment. My appointment is an a little less than an hour and I just realized my mom expects me to go by myself. Alone. Without anyone else. What is she, crazy? I can't go alone! There will be waiting rooms and then scary things they will put in my mouth. Plus what if they give me some noxious gas and then I have to drive home, but I'm so loopy I crash and die? Then she'll be sorry she made me go to the dentist alone. Then she'll be sorry.

My One-hundred-and-thirty-fourth Post

So I'm going home for a week. I'm way excited.

Speaking of which, if any of you aren't doing anything Friday, I sure could use a ride to the airport. My flight leaves at 2:45pm, so I'd like to leave Provo by 12:30-ish. I can always just take a shuttle, but I'd rather not. There's $20 bucks in it for you to cover gas. Let me know if you're interested (leave a comment or email theahem [at] gmail [dot] com).

My One-hundred-and-thirty-third Post

Swedish things I have eaten today:

• Fish
• Meatballs
• Nobel prize

My One-hundred-and-thirty-second Post

My budget for this month is entirely shot to you-know-where. I spent too much on shoes, birthday presents, play tickets, and now I only have $4 left of my discretionary budget. I’ve been debating whether to use my “extra” $50 to buy groceries, or if I should just tough it out and live off of my “food storage” until December. On one hand, there’s really no reason why I shouldn’t use the $50—this is sort of what it’s there for. I budgeted it so that if I end up with extra expenses, there’s a safety net to keep me from diving headlong into my savings when cash runs low. But I also need to admit that I spent too much on luxury items this month. If I punish myself by limiting my spending for the rest of the month, then maybe I’ll be more reserved in my future spending. I also need to consider that Thanksgiving is this month, and I’ll be going home for about a week. That technically should reduce my grocery $ needs, but I have a feeling I’ll be spending all the money I would have saved by hanging out with my sisters and being frivolous with money. *sigh* So I guess I’ll tough it out until I go home, then spend my $50 frivolously, and then try to be better next month. But everyone knows I’m no good at being thrifty when it comes to Christmas. Dang it! Stupid holidays.

My One-hundred-and-thirty-first Post

Yesterday was my day of not doing stuff, including test taking, class going, working, cleaning, blogging, or any of the other things I thought I was going to do.

Today has been my day doing/planning to do stuff. I made a list of all of my current obligations through next week. It’s nice to have it all organized. I also took one of my tests today. I should probably be studying for the other and possibly taking it right now, but I’ve decided not to rush. I will study tonight, and then take it tomorrow morning. Doesn’t that sound well thought-out? I think it’s okay to procrastinate a little bit as long as you have a plan of when you will actually get stuff done.

There is a football game tonight, which means work will be extra crazy. I’m actually kind of excited about it.

NOTE: I've decided that posting everyday is silly. Sometimes I just don't have anything to say.

My One-hundred-and-thirtieth Post

Notes of interest from yesterday:
-I bought adorable shoes (I considered red ones, and grey ones, but I finally settled on the brown ones, and I'm in love with them)
-I experienced my first car accident (I was a only passenger, but it was still really scary)
-I broke my goal to blog everyday in November (but hopefully this will make up for it).


So it turns out I have an uncontrollable urge to supply a word when someone pauses in the middle of a sentence. I use it as a communication tool to (a) help the flow of the conversation and (b) convey my understanding of where the speaker is going. I think in casual conversation this can be useful. In class settings, though, it sometimes gets out of hand.

During a lecture, when a professor pauses, searching for a word, I can't keep myself from muttering an appropriate word under my breath. But I'm not as involved in class discussion as I would be during a conversation with an individual. So my thought process does not always follow the nuances of where the professor is driving the discussion, but instead forms its own pathways. The word I mutter under my breath is therefore more reflective of my thoughts than the professor's, and sometimes doesn't make sense in the context of the lecture. Unfortunately, this becomes a problem when I am sitting close enough to the lecturer that they overhear my muttering. Since they are searching for a word, they immediately pick up on my suggestion, but then realize it doesn't make sense, using up even more time as they attempt to find the right word.

Take this morning, for example. We were discussing grammar structure. As in nouns and semi-colons and such. My mind was somewhat distracted, so I started thinking about how semicolons act as a mirror in sentences. On one side there is an idea, and then on the other side a reflection, distortion, or expansion of that idea. Feeling quite pleased with this comparison, I jumped back into the lecture just as my professor was saying "And so, while commas act as separators, semi-colons function as..." And then he paused. My need to 'fill the void' kicked in automatically. Because of my thoughts, the most obvious word to supply was the word "mirrors," which I murmured quietly to myself. My professor over heard this, and (since it didn't really make sense in context) it took him a few moments to process it and understand where my thoughts were. We then ended up having a side conversation about that idea, while the rest of the class sat confused for a minute or two. Thus my mumbling managed to derail an entire lecture. While in this instance it actually made me feel kind of cool, the result is more often simply disruptive or embarrassing. I really wish I could find an on/off switch for this habit.

My One-hundred-and-twenty-ninth Post

I have a pad of post-it notes conveniently located on my desk*. I have it there so that I can write down important things. Right now, I have written the number 27 and circled it several times. Clearly, this is something important I need to remember. Too bad I have no idea what the 27 was supposed to remind me of.

*My desk is really just a tiny table I found in the top of my closet when I moved in. Before that, I had my computer set up on the floor in the corner of my dining room. The minuscule table is a marked improvement, but I don't think you can really call it a "desk."

My One-hundred-and-twenty-eighth Post

I'm cold.

And tired.

And I have a headache.

Welcome to Novemeber, everyone.

My One-hundred-and-twenty-seventh Post

As I was walking down the stairs in the Wilk today, there was an elderly man who offered to race me down. I won.

My One-hundred-and-twenty-sixth Post

So most of you Office fans out there remember the episode when Michael asked his employees to share stories about loved ones who had died. Ryan told a story about how his Uncle Mufasa had died in a wildebeest stampede in Africa (clearly using the very recognizable plot from The Lion King). This scene has inspired a game called My Uncle Mufasa, which works in a similar fashion. You basically tell a well-known story, only you slightly alter it so that it happened to someone you knew. The listeners have to try to identify what the original story was. As they figure it out, they raise their hands, and the last one to get it loses. Usually you’ll start off with something obscure (“An old friend of mine grew up working in a circus act, but he quit when his entire family died in a freak accident”), and then as the story goes on, you can make it more obvious (“Eventually he became the ward of a famous millionaire. They ended becoming partners and formed an awesome dynamic duo.”). If there are people who still don’t get it, you can become a little more forceful (“It’s a good thing he paired up with that millionaire, otherwise he might have resorted to robbin’ people to get by.”). It’s a fun game, especially if you’re playing with a good group of people.

So the point of telling you this is so I can share this humorous incident from my history class last night. We were discussing the Great Depression, and the professor asked if anyone had any stories about the lives of their ancestors from that period. Several people shared brief anecdotes, and one guy raised his hand and told how his great-great-grandfather had moved his large family from Lithuania to Chicago in hopes of improving their lives. But, when he lost his job at the meatpacking plant, he ended up doing dirty deeds for the political bosses in the area just to survive. (In case you didn’t recognize it, that is a very brief plot synopsis of The Jungle, by Upton Sinclair, which we had read the month before.) Now this was towards the end of a 2½ hour class, and most of the students were zoned out or sleeping. Those of us who were actually paying attention, though, started looking around wildly trying to catch someone’s eye to confirm that, yes, that really did just happen. The professor just smirked slightly, and commented that perhaps the guy’s grandfather should have written a book about his experiences. Then he called on another guy who was raising his hand who told a story about how his family had owned a farm in Oklahoma, but that it had been destroyed in the Dust Bowl. They had to migrate to California looking for work as fruit pickers and ended up living in an abandoned railroad car until the economy recovered. (This, of course, was an adaptation of The Grapes of Wrath.) I couldn’t believe it! We were actually playing My Uncle Mufasa in the middle of a history class! And it was hilarious! I think our professor started to sense how far this could get out of hand when three more hands went up. He ended the class discussion and continued on with the rest of his lecture. I can’t even begin to tell you how happy it made me.



**Warning** Some parts of this incident may have occured only in my imagination. But, trust me, it's more fun to imagine they're real.

My One-hundred-and-twenty-fifth Post

I stayed up until 5am this morning reading. I didn’t stay up because the book was so absolutely amazing I couldn’t put it down. I just felt like staying up all night reading. So I did. The problem was finding a place to curl up for the night. My room was out because the roommate had a headache and I figured forcing her to sleep with a bright light on would be a bad thing. The living room was out because the other roommate and her sister were watching a movie and being girly (aka loud and giggly). So I ended up going next door with the hope that it would be a bit more accommodating. It looked good at first—krebscout asleep on the couch, Uffish typing serenely on her computer, and the love seat piled high with blankets and pillows. But then Uffish wanted to chat. And as much as I usually like it when people talk to me about their lives, I just wanted to read. So I disengaged and returned to my warm little hollow. The chat continued without me for a while, but eventually everyone quieted down. I stayed there reading until I decided it was time to go home. I continued reading through most of the night in my living room. And it was really fun. I may have been a little sore this morning after sleeping on the couch. Other than that, though, I was very happy with the way I spent my time.

My One-hundred-and-twenty-fourth Post

So I used to think that watching TV online was the best thing that ever happened to me. How else could I have watched the entire first season of Heroes in the space of just a few days? So I started watching my favorite TV shows whenever I wanted (instead of not watching them at all because they didn’t fit into my schedule). It was great. If I had a spare hour on campus, I had something to entertain me! I would never have to miss House again! Martin started to bug me about How I Met Your Mother, a somewhat obscure comedy on CBS that we’ve both enjoyed in the past. So I added that to the list of things to watch every week. Then Thirdmango wrote about Gossip Girl on his TV blog, and I realized that Kristen Bell was the narrator. So I had to at least watch the pilot. Then I just sort of got into the habit of watching it every week. Then Hamburger was curious why I wasn’t watching Grey’s Anatomy anymore, so I went online with the intent to figure out what was happening, but then I accidentally got sucked into the spin-off of Grey’s, Private Practice. I don’t know if I’ll keep up with that one, but for now I’m keeping an eye on it. I was chatting with Martin online the other day, and she suggested I preview Samantha Who? to tell her if it was any good. It is. It got added to the list. I also discovered Pushing Daisies from Martin, and since it’s pretty much wonderful and everyone who’s anyone watches it, it got added to my list as well. Someone on the Board Board mentioned Jericho, and I also ended up watching that over the course of the last month or so. Luckily (or perhaps unluckily), there won’t be any new episodes of Jericho until January, so for now I don't have to watch every week. Oh, and if I ever miss the Office, I catch up on that online as well. That’s eight shows I’m watching each week. So clearly, TV online is not the best thing that has ever happened to me (but it sure is fun).

My One-hundred-and-twenty-third Post

Okay guys, I just wrote an entire post about disposable cups. Then I realized that I had written an entire post about disposable cups and deleted it. (Summary: 12oz cups rock!)

Unfortunately, now I can't think of anything much to say. I would use this opportunity to vent about my job, but Drazi came by work today, and I was able to get all of my frustration out by talking with her. I could talk about school, but I'd really rather not think about it more than I have to. I could talk about the stuff I do when I'm not working or studying, but that would severely limit the scope of the conversation. Well, I guess I could give it the ol' college try. Here goes:

*thinking hard*

Oh! I know! I've been trying to leave my wallet at home when I think I can get away with it because I've been spending too much on impulse-type things. Unfortunately, that means that I'm constantly running home to get my wallet. I forgot that I need my ID card to print something, or I forgot I promised Hamburger I would buy the tickets to Divine Comedy today, or some other random thing that I just didn't think about. It's starting to get annoying, so I think I'm just going to start carrying my wallet. I figure out some other way to fix my spending habits.


Anyway, I'm off to study and then I have to run home and grab my ID card before I take my test. *sigh*

My One-hundred-and-twenty-second Post

Once upon a time my “friend” was really sick, so she was on some pretty fun drugs. I was sitting on my bed flipping through a recipe magazine; she was on her bed concentrating on breathing.

Me: I wish I had mint extract. There are so many cool things I could make with it.
Her: Yeah… there was something awesome I know you can make with it… what was that…?
Me: Um, brownies?
Her: No…

…

Her: I remember! It was mints!
Me: No kidding, I can make mints with mint extract?
Her: Yeah!

Things I’ve done today:
-Not written a paper
-Bought mint extract
-Learned what Chicken Grenades are (grenades which have been battered and fried similar to the way that traditional fried chicken is prepared)

My One-hundred-and-twenty-first Post

I like chocolate milk, but I seldom buy it. I was grocery shopping yesterday, and in a last minute impulse buy, I picked up a half gallon of chocolate milk. When the cashier (I detest self checkout lanes) informed me that my total came to $15.00, I took it as a sign that buying the chocolate milk was the right thing to do. After all, if I hadn’t bought it, my total would have come to something lame like $12.92, and I would have missed the opportunity to pay exactly $15.00 for my groceries. And really, that’s probably a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. So don’t judge me.

The real tragedy was when I got home and realized I didn’t have any bendy straws. Luckily, krebscout was able to lend me a few so that I could truly enjoy my chocolate milk.

My One-hundred-and-twentieth Post

A few days ago, I received a package from home. Since all of my family was at home for Labor Day except me, they took pictures of all of the fun stuff they did. Then they sent me the pictures along with something to represent each activity (i.e., microwave popcorn to represent going to the movies). My mom claims it was to let me know they missed me, but Martin reassures me it was just to rub it in. In any case, isn't my family great?

Also, I've been thinking a lot lately about charity. Mostly about how uncharitable I am. If someone says something a little bit on the edge of doctrine during a Sunday school lesson, I silently scoff at their ideas. If someone says something very mainstream, I will mock them for being clichè. There's really no way to escape my scorn if you're speaking out loud in my presence.

Interestingly enough, I don't think it's all my fault. Instead, I blame all of you*. That's right, You. I get to listen to your rants about idiotic people who give horrible lessons that reference Chicken Soup For the Soul more often than the actual material in the manuals. I laugh along with you at your humorous stories about people who manage to find the exceptions to the "there are no stupid questions" rule. I see you when you roll your eyes and complain that all ward activities are lame. Now in most cases, I agree with you. I see your point. But here's the problem: I probably respect you a lot, and I probably crave your approval. If you think an activity is lame, there's no way I'm going to want to go. If you mention something negative about a lesson, I'm going to find it difficult to see the positive things about future lessons. I've been carefully honing this skill for several years now, and it turns out, it's a really hard habit to break.

I've pretty much stopped enjoying my church meetings and become very cynical (or uncharitable) about the whole thing. Now, really, I can't blame you all for this. It's really my fault, and ultimately, my problem. But I think it might help me out a little bit if we all try to be just a little bit more charitable.

I don't want you to censor yourself just because I'm around. But in talking with some of you, I find a spiritual side of you I was previously unaware of. Can we maybe let this shine through a little more often? Emphasize the good things more than the ridiculous? Share the important spiritual stuff instead of tucking it away behind a façade of humorous anecdotes? Please? This is important.

Thank you for your time,

&etc.




* This is, of course, much easier than blaming myself. Please forgive my momentary weakness.

My One-hundred-and-ninteenth Post

So sometimes, when I'm on a public computer, I start typing in my blog address, and I'm really surprised when it doesn't pop up as a recently visited site. Heh. Apparently my subconscious has an inflated perception of the popularity of my blog.

Anyway. It has been a rough couple of days. Work has been very crazy and I have been working very long hours all week at Job #2 (and it's not over yet). I almost cried yesterday when my confused coworker informend me that it was Tuesday, not Thursday as I had thought. On top of that, Drazi quit last week, so I am the only supervisor left in my area at Job #1. My poor trainees have been working there all week only quasi-knowing how everything is supposed to work. They're doing a great job, but I wish I wasn't working quite so much at Job #2 this week... it would give me more time to train people before fall semester starts.

The best things about yesterday (in no particular order):

• Rasberry cheesecake
• Seeing krebscout in unexpected places
• A letter from BonBon, "my missionary"
• Bruschetta (one of my most favoite foods in the world)
• Getting to go to sleep before midnight

My One-hundred-and-eighteenth Post

So sometimes I'm running late, and the easiest thing to do with my wet hair it to twist it up into a bun and secure it with an elastic band. I feel frumpy all day when I do this.

But I've recently discovered a viable alternative! If I take an extra minute to pin my hair up into a bun, it makes me feel instantly classy and self-assured all day. Hurrah!

My One-hundred-and-seventeenth Post

So right now, I'm scared to go "home."

It's ridiculous that I'm so afraid of change that I've been staying with my friend Hamburger instead of going "home" and unpacking and getting to know my new roommates. I think I'm just afraid of what a huge change this is going to be for me. Ugh.

So I should just go "home" right now... but tomorrow is Hamburger's birthday, and I promised to make her breakfast. So maybe I'll stay one more night...

My One-hundred-and-sixteenth Post

I saw a friend of mine do this, and it seemed like a good idea. Here are the ABCs of my summer:

A is for adventures I’ve gone on.
B is for books I have read without feeling guilty for wasting time.
C is for cell phones, which make it possible for Faybe to text me non-stop.
D is for Drazi, who makes going to work easier (and maybe somebody else, too).
E is for electric bills being sky high.
F is for flowers blooming everywhere.
G is for the Grand Canyon, where I had a lot of fun with family.
H is for Harry Potter.
I is for ice cream, there’s really nothing better for hot summer days.
J is for Jequirity, my blog.
K is for kite flying, which has yet to happen, but hopefully will soon.
L is for lightening, which reminds me of home.
M is for movie nights, the staple of my social calendar.
N is for napping—it never gets old!
O is for orange pepper carving—like pumpkins, but better.
P is for pond swimming, the best kind there is.
Q is for quiet time in the mornings when no one else is home.
R is for rainstorms on warm days.
S is for shish kabobs on the grill!
T is for twenty-one, the age I will soon be turning.
U is for unusual people I’ve gotten to know.
V is for vehicles, both krebscout’s and Hamburger’s… they make my life easier.
W is for working, which makes my life possible.
X is for x-ray vision: I’ve totally got it.
Y is for you, who have probably had some sort of impact on my life this summer.
Z is for zebras, which (I'm sure you agree) are amazing.

My One-hundred-and-fifteenth Post

I know I haven't blogged very much recently. I really don't feel like writing anything new right now, so instead of a thoughtful and humorous blog entry, I offer you the contents of a word document that's been sitting on the bottom of my screen for a week or so. I don't know what else to do with it.

Two girls stood outside the theater in the sparse shade offered by a nearby tree. The sun glared off the sidewalk, causing the taller girl to squint as she looked down at her friend.

“They’re going to let me take trig/pre-cal next year,” she said, suddenly.

The shorter girls eyes lit up. “Really? That’s awesome, Rhiannon! Maybe we’ll be in the same class. What period are you taking it?”

“Um… actually, I’m… I’m not going to Sabino."

The shorter girl’s eyes clouded over in confusion. “UHS? I thought you were on the wait list.”

“Yeah. They called last week to let me know I got in,” she said guardedly. “I wonder where Allison is.” Rhiannon turned to search the parking lot for Mrs. Brown’s little VW Rabbit. “She’s going to go to UHS, too,” she added casually.

“I know. She told me that the last week of school. ”

The girls stood there in silence for a short while. Rhiannon continued to watch the traffic on the street in front of the theater while the shorter girl surreptitiously tried rearrange her shirt into a more flattering position. A slight breeze temporarily alleviated the heat rising up off the sidewalk, causing Rhiannon to glance up at the sky. “Do you think it’ll rain?” she asked her friend, hopefully.

Her friend jumped at this sudden question. “Probably not,” she predicted, casually tucking her bra strap out of sight. “It usually doesn’t rain until the beginning of July, so we’ve still got a few weeks of this heat.”

“I’m never going to get used to summers here,” Rhiannon complained.

“You’ve been here for three years! You’d think you be used to it by now. I think that’s Allison,” she said pointing to a car turning into the parking lot.

My One-hundred-and-fourteenth Post

Just for you, a recap of how I first read each of the Harry Potter books:

1&2: I had heard about the books from one of my teachers who had been reading the first book aloud to one of her classes. When I saw them for sale at Costco, I talked my mom into buying the first two. (This would have been in 1999, just after book 3 was released. I was 13)

3: Martin and I had devoured the first two books, so we were very happy when my mom brought home the third book a few weeks later. I was very excited, and in order to ensure that the book would be "mine," I promised Martin she could read it first if it could belong to me. After we made this agreement, I found out my mom had bought the book for me, and it would have been mine no matter what. I started reading the book whenever my sister put it down, creating issues when we both wanted to read it at the same time. One night, I was babysitting a neighbor kid, so I had brought the book with me. Martin showed up at the house, demanding the book back.

4: This was the first of the books that I actually read on the day it was released. I woke up that morning, convinced my mom to give me the cash, and then had to beg my brother, Menace, into driving me to get it (we ended up going to a little toy/bookstore nearby).

5: For book 5, my mom ordered the book online, for same day delivery. It was supposed to get to the house by 10am, so I slept on the couch, so I could be the first to see the delivery person when it came. It didn't come before 10, though. In fact, by 2pm, I was very distraught. Luckily, pretty much all of my siblings were into the books by this time, so my parents figured it was worth it to buy a second copy. My dad went out, and returned home triumphant with the book by about 3pm. The other copy didn't come until about 6pm that night. I took the book and pretty much read it all night, falling asleep just before 6am, then getting up at 7:30am to finish the book, and go to church at 9am. Martin was forced to read aloud to the rest of my family for the next week or so, so they could all hear it at the same time, instead of fighting over it.

6: This came out the summer after my freshman year of college. I was home that summer, so I was able to take full advantage of the situation. I illegally stocked my bedroom with wheat thins, licorice, fruit snacks, and Pringles. I had carefully timed my sleep schedule so that I could stay up as long as necessary. I also finally convinced my parents to put a locking doorknob on my door. I went to sleep at about 9pm. My mom and older brother went to good ol' Wal-Mart just after midnight, and left my copy of the book outside my bedroom door. When I woke up at 6am the next morning, I was able to open the door, squeal in delight, and seclude myself in my room until I was finished reading.

7: I’m not sure exactly how this will go down. I’ll be at the Grand Canyon this weekend, so it might get a bit complicated. As near as I can tell, it pretty much involves me, Martin, and Mean Mommy (and perhaps a brother or two) ditching out on our family reunion, and driving for an hour out to Flagstaff in the middle of the night to pick up several copies we’ve reserved at the local Barnes & Noble. Martin will most likely be forced to read aloud to us for the drive back (I can’t read while driving… stupid car sickness) to the campsite. Then my mom has promised to bring us each our own personal light sources so that we can retire to the “reading tent” and not run down the batteries in the cars. There will be a Harry Potter breakfast the following morning, and it is likely that Martin will once again be forced to read aloud to the younger kids (because she’s so good with the voices “Hawy!"). Hoorah!

My One-hundred-and-thirteenth Post

I don’t think we should blame others when things go wrong, and I’d like to think I’m okay with the “buck” stopping here. But… does that mean I have to pretend I’m an idiot?

Somebody I was working with today managed to make a huge mess while trying to show off for me (I’ve gone over it several times in my head… but really, there isn’t any other explanation for what he was doing). Anyway, I sent him off to work in another area so I could fix things up. Several people (including a couple of my supervisors) came by, and asked about what I was doing. I had decided that I was absolutely not going to say “So-and-so did this,” because, really, I should have been more aware of what he was doing and told him to knock it off. Anyway, I just ended up explaining what had happened in ambiguous terms. But I know they all think it was me who did it.

Sigh. Responsibility sucks.

My One-hundred-and-twelfth Post

Unfulfilled Promises
About that political post I was working on… I got scared. It's just going to sit in my drafts folder forever, 'cause I know I'm never going to finish it. I was writing about a recent Supreme Court ruling. It was mostly my internal struggle between liking my First Amendment rights, and wanting my government to be less corrupt. But really, who says I have to choose? (Besides, the Supreme Court is really good at making those decisions for me.)

Harry Potter
One of the problems I've been having lately is that I spent one summer a couple of years ago reading some (quite excellent) Harry Potter fan fiction. Now I get mixed up about whether something really happened in the books, or whether it was just in a story I'd read. So... that sucks.

Angst
I hate my job. It just has me completely burnt out. I was just sitting there last Thursday as the last vestiges of affection I had for my job slipped away. All of the benefits—the friends, the monetary compensation, the feelings of accomplishment, etc.—suddenly stopped outweighing the costs—the late nights, the unappealing work, the unpredictability of it, the suckiness of it. I should quit. But the other two supervisors are going to be quitting soon as well. If we all leave, things will be harder for the people I leave behind. And I’m not sure whether I can do that. Besides, I have a sneaking suspicion that I don’t actually hate my job. But I did Thursday night. Boy howdy, did I ever.

My One-hundred-and-eleventh Post

Some of you might have noticed that I have not been blogging nearly as much as I used to. This is because every time I sit down to write something clever or witty, I end up writing some simpering rubbish about how awful my life is. But right now I’m working on a political post that is really scary. It’s scary because those of you who know anything about government will realize that I know nothing. Those of you who know little about government will be bored to tears.

So brace yourselves.

My One-hundred-and-tenth Post

My grandma is really good at sending letters. One time she wrote me a letter thanking me for coming to visit her. The next day when I checked the mail, I found another letter from her, because she was afraid she had forgotten to actually thank me in the first letter. But I like getting mail a lot, and I like my grandma a lot, so the letters are a good thing. Not unexpectedly, my grandmother sent me a letter last week after I had been to see her (my mother was in town, so I actually had transportation to Salt Lake, where my grandparents live). Here's the first paragraph of the letter, which is just... well, you'll see...

A strange item showed up after you and your Mom were at our house last week. I asked your mom, but she did not think it belonged to her, so the only alternative we have is to return it to you. Enclosed you will find a shiny gold fake coin. It was behind the couch mixed up with the pink afghan which was also behind the couch.

Yes, folks, my grandmother sent me a shiny fake gold coin. I'm not exactly sure why she thought it had to be mine, as I don't think I've made a habit of leaving behind gold coins when I've visited her in the past.

I love the fact that the coin had gotten "mixed up" with the pink afghan behind the couch. Scandalous! That afghan is such a bad influence.

Anyway, now that you know the truth, you should all be jealous, because my grandma is awesome. And there ain't nothin' you girls can do about it.

My One-hundred-and-ninth Post

When I was eight or nine, I asked my older sister to pick a poem that she thought represented me. I have no idea why. I think it was probably because I was learning about poetry and how it usually symbolizes something else. So I wanted a poem that characterized me. She chose a poem by Emily Dickinson, and I had her write it out for me in her "fancy" writing. In the past, whenever I was having a hard time, I would think about it and be comforted.

Recently the first line has been running over and over in my head. “How lonely is the little stone/That rambles in the road alone.” After a while of just hearing those words in my head, I started to actually think about them. Why had I never picked up on how disparaging this poem was? It was about a lonely little rock who doesn’t care about anything. So I looked up the whole poem so I could sit and stew about it for a while. But when I saw the actual words, I realized why I had never picked up on it before. I was remembering it wrong.

How happy is the little stone
That rambles in the road alone,
And doesn’t care about careers,
And exigencies never fears;
Whose coat of elemental brown
A passing universe put on;
And independent as the sun,
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute decree
In casual simplicity.

The stone isn’t lonely, it’s happy. The stone is happy because it doesn’t depend on other people or uncontrollable events in order to feel fulfilled. It adapts and is happy whatever the circumstances.

I wonder why I was remembering it wrong today, when I never have before. I like this poem a lot more now.

My One-hundred-and-eighth Post

List of books I smuggled out of Martin’s apartment during a recent visit:

• The Alchemist (Paulo Coelho)
• Memoirs of a Geisha (Arthur Golden)
• Brave New World (Aldous Huxley)
• Flowers for Algernon (Daniel Keyes)
• The Secret Life of Bees (Sue Monk Kidd)
• The Eight (Katherine Neville)
• The Scarlet Pimpernel (Baroness Orczv)
• 1984 (George Orwell)
• The Chosen (Chaim Potok)
• Ishmael (Daniel Quinn)
• Anthem (Ayn Rand)
• Party of One (Anneli Rufus)
• Raise High The Roof Beam, Carpenters (J. D. Salinger)
• The Joy Luck Club (Amy Tan)

I had to borrow an extra dufflebag just to get them all home. But I'm really happy, now.

My One-hundred-and-seventh Post

Okay, I’ve spent forever creating the most awesome post about my trip this last weekend, but it’s mostly all pictures and quotes, which I doubt any of you would find nearly as funny. Anyway, I guess it’ll all just have to stay on my family’s blog. I will, however grant you a token picture of a bag of M&Ms. Originally, the picture was of Faybe and I making funny faces. We later noticed that Faybe’s massive bag of M&Ms was in the background. I cropped it, but I still think it’s funny that she buckled them in.



Also, I’ve been wearing a sparkly ring on my left ring finger since about last Thursday. My little sister gave it to me. I’m a bit disappointed that nobody really noticed it, though. Actually, Sil saw it during our family dinner last Sunday. But she mostly just raised an eyebrow and asked me if I had anything to share.

My One-hundred-and-sixth Post

It’s 4am right now, and I just got back from a very long road trip. Faybe and I were in the back seat, ignoring all pretenses of personal space as we sprawled all over each other in an attempt to be comfortable. Martin sat in the middle seat throwing up for the last five hours of the trip. (That’s right, Martin, I wrote about that on my blog.) Sweetheart was also in the middle seat, but she pretty much slept most of the time (thankfully). Occasionally, she would wake up and start to fuss a little bit, but I just had to reach over into her car seat and adjust her blanket, and she would calm right down.

Sometimes when you find yourself in the dark, and you think you’re all alone, it’s nice to have somebody reach out a hand and reassure you that it’s all going to be all right; you’re not alone.


More later, but now it's time to sleep.

My One-hundred-and-fifth Post

Once upon a time, during my freshman year, I found myself alone in my room. So I locked the door, turned on some really loud music, and started dancing.

We didn’t really lock our bedroom doors ever, so when one of my roommates gave a quick knock and started to open the door, she was quite surprised to find it locked. I quickly composed myself, turned the music down, and unlocked the door.

She found my behavior a little suspicious, I guess, so she asked me what I had been doing.

Me: “Erm… I was… dancing.”
BonBon: “Really? You were dancing? Why did you have the door locked?”
Me: “Um… because?”

So she turned the music back up, opened the door really wide, and we proceeded to “rock out.”

I’m really gonna miss that girl when she leaves on her mission next month.

My One-hundred-and-fourth Post

Confession time.

Once upon a time, I would do the crossword puzzles in the Daily Universe in the morning. Then I would be annoyed that I couldn’t figure out the answers, so I’d look them up online.

Later, I would pick up a fresh newspaper on my way to work and do the crossword puzzle again. But this time I would already know the answers, see? And my coworkers and everybody would think I was really smart.

I’m thinking of bringing back this tradition. Is that dishonest?

My One-hundred-and-third Post

One Monday evening several years ago, my FHE group was going to play soccer. I was really excited about this, and I was jumping all over the place, literally. Just as we were dividing into teams, I came down on my ankle the wrong way. For those of you who don’t know, breaking my ankle is probably one of my biggest fears. I became instantly terrified by the shooting pains coming from the general direction of my ankle. I knew I hadn’t broken it, because that would have probably killed me right then and there. But I thought I might have sprained it. I spent the entire activity courageously walking/limping around the field in an effort to loosen it up and convince myself that it wasn’t serious. The activity ended, and my roommates helped me get home. We then proceeded to watch a movie while alternately applying hot and cold packs to my ankle, thinking that it would magically fix whatever was wrong. Eventually, I decided to go to bed, hoping that everything would be fine in the morning. Unfortunately, as soon as I found myself alone in a darkened room with nothing to think about but the throbbing pain in my ankle, it suddenly seemed to get much worse. After about half an hour, my roommate came in to find me crying and generally being inconsolable.

She determined that I should get a priesthood blessing, and so she called up a couple of boys from the ward, who scurried over to the apartment. I didn’t think I needed the blessing. My ankle wasn’t really sprained or in any way permanently damaged, but that didn’t keep me from being afraid. I knew that most of my worries were just irrational fears that wouldn’t have any effect on the recovery of my ankle. I didn’t want people to think I was just being silly and making something out of nothing. But my roommate had already made the call, and I figured it couldn’t really hurt.

They came and gave me the blessing. I went to sleep. In the morning I was fine and I was able to get to all of my classes without any trouble at all. I took this as a sign that I didn’t really need the blessing anyway, and that my ankle would have been okay regardless.

Looking back, I realize that the situation was a little bit different than I had interpreted it at that time. The blessing wasn’t really for my ankle, as I had thought, but for my fear for my ankle. It was my fear that was causing me the most difficultly, not the pain in my ankle. The blessing served as a comfort to me to reassure me that things would go according to God’s plan, and that I shouldn’t let my terror overshadow my faith in the Lord.

You’d think from this example, I would have learned to ask for blessings when I need that reassurance, but I haven’t. I don’t want people to think that there is something wrong with me, when it’s really just my fear of something being wrong with me. Asking for blessings tells people that there is something not quite right in my life, and I don’t ever feel like explaining what that is.

My One-hundred-and-second Post

Some tips for you:

• Don’t feel too bad when you get stood up. Unless it’s by your parents.
  
• Stop and smell the roses. Especially if they are on your grandmother’s old-fashioned rose bush.
  
• Don’t let a mysterious object floating in your pool keep you from swimming. Except when it’s really mysterious looking; then let someone else go first.
  
• If you find religious-themed chapstick, give it to krebscout. Bonus points if you get it for free.
  
• Don’t feel guilty for secretly enjoying Donny Osmond’s Love Songs of the '70s. You’re not alone.

My One-hundred-and-first Post

As previously mentioned, I went shopping on Saturday. But it wasn’t all just frivolous spending of money; I also learned a very valuable lesson: read the labels! Just because something looks like what you usually buy does not mean that’s what it actually is. I thought I bought some lotion, which I was very excited about. Turns out, I actually bought body wash. I spent good money on it, so I suppose I’ll get around to using it eventually. I really wish I had the lotion instead, though. I also accidentally bought some conditioner instead of styling cream. The bottles look exactly the same down to every last detail except that at the very top in small writing, one says “Conditioner” and the other says “24/7 Cream.” I guess I’ll use the conditioner—who knows? Maybe I will like it.

But still. Read the labels.

Also, my sister Martin chastised me for not doing anything special for my One-hundredth Post. In an attempt to make amends for this egregious mistake, I suppose I will have to dedicate my One-hundred-and-first Post to the Dalmatians. All 101 of them.

My One-hundredth Post

Drazi and I had an adventure outside of work today. It involved lots of busses, Wal-Mart, the mall, and the dollar theater. It was quite the afternoon.

As much as I like Drazi, I don't like her at all when she's with her roommates or friends. When we're alone she's pretty awesome, but with others she becomes very judgmental. I'm not saying I'm not judgmental, but I would like to think that I'm a bit subtle about it, for the most part.

But it really has been an awesome day.

Also, I like to click the “refresh” button in Google Reader, because, for just an instant, it changes to say “refreshing.” And that greatly amuses me.

My Ninety-ninth Post

Dear Genuine Draft,

I’m sorry I almost killed you tonight for no apparent reason. I realize now that it was very stupid to throw a hefty chunk of metal in the general direction of your head.

Please forgive me? I’ll give you frozen broccoli… and some painkillers… and my first-born child.

&c.,

My Ninety-eighth Post

So... my awesome vacation. Perhaps this will be boring for you to read, but I'm excited about it and feel like writing. It will be six days and five nights of whirlwind activity... except for the times when we plan on being non-active. If you don't understand who the characters are, you should reference the Cast of Characters.

It will start early on Thursday, May 24th. This is my Dad's birthday, and also the day that Faybe will graduate from high school. I will start my grand adventure here in my apartment here in Provo. I will (hopefully find a kind soul who will) drive to the airport (for gas and compensation?) and board a plane headed towards the city where Martin lives. My plane will be inevitably delayed by at least six hours, and I will arrive at my destination to face a very angry sister who will then ignore me during the long drive from the airport to my parent's house in my Hometown, USA. We will then attend Faybe's graduation ceremony, and present her will all sorts of illegal paraphernalia (you know... tortillas, beach balls, hip flasks) that she can sneak in under her gown to entertain her while she sits through 12,000 rounds of Pomp and Circumstance.

On Friday, May 25th, the next phase of the vacation begins. My three sisters (Faybe, Martin, and Mean Mommy) will all pile into Mean Mommy's very lovely minivan (along with Bil and Sweetheart) and we will ROADTRIP! to a very lovely nearby state. We will arrive at our destination in the late afternoon and check into a reasonable priced (aka cheap) hotel. Faybe, Martin, and myself will baby-sit our cute niece Sweetheart while Mean Mommy and Bil go to see an evening performance of Wicked (you know... the musical?). Upon their return, we will then probably get very rambunctious and act like twelve-year-old girls very late into the night. Oh, I can hardly wait.

On Saturday, May 26th, we will enjoy a free continental breakfast (read: free muffins and juice in the lobby) at our leisure before Faybe, Martin, and I brave some form of public transportation to arrive at the theater to take in a matinee performance of Wicked (you know... the musical?). We will then check out of the hotel and drive back home where we will most likely all crash at my parent's house in a drunken... er... sleep-deprived stupor.

[Random aside: If you're wondering why we didn't just all go to the same show, you should stop being silly and realize that a six-month-old baby isn't exactly welcome at a musical performance, no matter how cute she may be. And leaving her at home with her two older siblings would also have been unwise, as she would probably never speak to her mother again... once she learned to speak, that is.]

On Sunday, May 27th, we will probably be awakened quite early by Princess and Little Boy, who will secretly be disappointed that their parents have returned during the night to whisk them away from Nana's indulgent care. We will probably go to church at some point, and then we will have the official celebration of my Dad's birthday.

Monday, May 28th is Memorial Day, but as far as I can tell, it will be a fairly tame day with general family bonding/togetherness activities. Martin and I will probably leave sometime that evening to drive back to her apartment for a Jurassic Park movie marathon... er... I mean, to get some sleep and recuperate from the weekend's activities.

The next morning we will have to get up quite early, as I need to be to the airport by 6am on Tuesday, May 29th for my flight back to good ole Utah. I will then perhaps find a caring soul waiting for me at the airport to drive me back to Provo, thereby officially ending my vacation.

Now, doesn't that just sound awesome?

I thought so.

My Ninety-seventh Post

Miss Uffish Thought was kind enough to loan me Miss Manner's Guide to Excruciatingly Correct Behavior, which I have spent a large portion of my day reading. I don't think I'm really going to change any of my behavior, but it has made me feel guiltier about licking the cream cheese off of my fingers after devouring a slice of warm banana nut bread... WITHOUT A FORK AND KNIFE! *gasp!*

My Ninety-sixth Post

So It seems I have forgotten how to blog, neh? Well, never fear, I shall overcome this temporary weekness!

Except... I can never think of anything fun to blog about lately. I wrote this up about a week ago, but I had changed my mind about posting it. Since I am now at a loss for things to blog about, I’ll use it anyway. It will be very exciting, but first you will need to know...

The Cast of Characters (or, a brief description of family members that may or may not play an essential role in my vacation):

• Mean Mommy: My eldest sister. Pfft. This title is of her own choosing, and it does not reflect my opinions about her parenting skills. Married to Bil (my Brother-In-Law… get it?) with three children, Princess (4 yrs), Little Boy (2 yrs), and Sweetheart (6 mo).
• Menace: Formerly Menace to Society, but since he got married last year, he is now just a Menace to me. Married to Sil. Since none of you know them, I feel no guilt in revealing the fact that they are expecting their own little bundle of joy in about, oh… eight months or so.
• Martin: At one time referred to as Sundevil, the Sundevil Apostate, or the Sundevil Who Refused to Come to BYU For Some Reason that None of Us Can Understand. She has since graduated from college and so instead, she will be referred to as Martin.
• Faybe: I gave my little sister this title when we were kids, and it has lasted throughout the years. Faybe is actually her superhero alter ego. (I believe my superhero name was the Super-Duper Waker-Upper… my power was being able to wake up small children in time to catch the bus to school. Not nearly as cool as Faybe.)
• Char: Char is one of my little brothers, and he and I are buds. Best known for naming our cat after himself.
• Runner: My youngest brother, so titled because he likes to run. A lot.

Aaaand... now I don't feel like telling you about my awesome itenerary for the last week of May. I guess you'll just have to check back later.

My Ninety-fifth Post

I decided I want to blog about something, but I didn't have a particular something I wanted to blog about. So I just started free writing. Unfortunately, none of the thoughts that crossed my mind where interesting enough for me to want to expound. Instead, you get one sentence from each idea I almost wrote about:

• I’ve always had a hard time choosing subject lines for emails.
• I want to be above reproach. I want to set the example that others point to as exceptional.
• I have a small crush on you, so it makes the situation just a tad weird.
• So please stop trying to convince me it is okay.
• That’s all well and good in theory, but here’s my question: if she can’t take care of herself, whose responsibility is she?
• When she came home much later, I was still watching the West Wing.
• Several people where I work have decided that they just don’t need to come to work anymore.

The end.

My Ninety-fourth Post

Isn’t today just wonderful?

I’ve been just happy all day. This may be due to some wonderful music I’ve been enjoying this morning. Or maybe it’s left over from last night’s IHOP party (which was incredible). Or maybe it’s that classes are almost over and I’m just a few short days from being free for the summer!

Anyway. I had some plans for the day, but they didn’t work out as well as I wanted. Instead, I will tell you what I would have liked to do.

I would have gotten some ice cream. Vanilla ice cream, in a sugar cone. I would have sat out side in the sun, enjoying the slight breeze, and letting the ice cream get just a little bit melty so that I would have to work hard to keep it from dripping all down my fingers. Then I would have gone on a walk. A long meandering walk. It would have involved grass and bare feet. And maybe somebody to hold my hand. That would have been perfection. But this day is so good, I’m enjoying it even though I didn’t get my ice cream or my walk.

*contented sigh*

Now if only the pool would open…

My Ninety-third Post

I’ve spent the last week or so being very, very stressed about a final paper for my favorite (and most challenging) class from this semester. I sort of finished it last Tuesday, and then I had to redo a lot of stuff with it on Thursday. Sometime next week I’ll probably get really stressed about it again before I finally turn it in to my teacher next Friday.

It’s like the paper that never ends!

Anyway. I’ve been staying up way too late the last couple of nights. And, since I haven’t had a lot of free time for food and such, I’ve been living mainly off a package of Oreos I foolishly bought earlier this week.

I’m pretty sure this is not a good strategy for remaining healthy.

Also, I work two jobs. Job #1 is one where I have set hours when I come in every week. Job #2 is one where they schedule me when they need me. I’m not scheduled very much at job #2 because I told them not to.

This week, I switched several shifts (at job #1) with Drazi, my coworker of some renown. It worked out better for each of us scheduling-wise, so I’m really glad we did it. But. Drazi’s shift is longer than my usual one and a lot more taxing on my energy. It was really fun, but maybe not the best timing what with end of the semester stress.

Also, job #2 has started getting busier with the approach of the end of the semester. So I have been working a lot more than usual there too. I really do like working at job #2, but it has its own accompanying stress factors too.

I worked over 9 ½ hours yesterday. And then I came home and just wanted to go to sleep. So I intended to. But instead I watched Oh Brother, Where Are Thou? And then I was going to go to sleep. But instead L’Afro came over and I sort of tagged along with her and krebscout on several adventuresome projects. At about 3am, I fell asleep on the couch while they where chatting like little old biddies. (I think they were there until almost 5am last night... er... this morning.) Then I woke up at about 7am and staggered back to my room to sleep for another hour or two before waking up and cleaning for cleaning checks.

I think I’m surprisingly happy despite all of this. That may have something to do with the fact that there was lemon cake when I woke up this morning. Mmmm…

P.S. The reason I was going to blog was to talk about time warps and alligator cakes. Since I didn’t actually mention either of those things, I will instead just dedicate this post to them.

For all of those time warps and alligator cakes out there, this one’s for you.

My Ninety-second Post

My sister, Martin, just discovered this blog. I knew eventually somebody from my family would find it. She told me that now she knows about it, she'll be reading it regularly to correct me when I'm wrong about something.

Great.

Anyway, Martin is about 40 years old and lives alone. Well, unless you count her six cats. Then you wouldn't say she lives alone because you would be busy trying to count her six cats. Let me save you some time: there are six of them.

And she thinks the only thing grosser than Rolos are Kit-Kat blizzards. She can’t stand them.

And she's unemployed.

And she hates Christmas.


(Just try to correct that, Martin!)

My Ninety-first Post

Sometimes people do things because they like you and don't want to hurt your feelings. You shouldn't get offended. They do these things because they like you. That's something to celebrate.

Also, sometimes cleaning really can act as a stress reliever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

So I IMed my sister the other day, and when she didn't respond, I wandered away from my computer. When I came back, I found the following message, apparently sent by my 4-year-old niece, Princess:

* hi eT ES [pRINCESS]
* DO
* you want me to sho you sam beg nambs
* 100 788966775 452909 446464 67677 67778 56661 9687 796887 69687 646 56657476566b6767 556675475 575 2358385476 44646546 576 587r6 5575700 4646 23566767 46511 778800444 68687 646465 46e64 664658 6575 664655 5764657574 475
* do you want me to caont to
* 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19

Isn't that amazing? She's FOUR! She's not even supposed to be able to read yet, much less type some-what coherent messages to her aunt about big numbers. Her spelling is definitely non-standard, but if I know the general context of what she's saying, I can definitely understand. For example, from a grocery list:

tarteas = tortillas
joses = juices
aegs = eggs
ches = cheese
apl-sos = apple sauce

Isn't that cool? I have the smartest niece in the whole world. And she's cute too.

My Nintieth Post

This is my second post in one hour. Sheesh.

Good things for today:
*My mom is awesome (see previous post)
*I wore my impractical lipstick and felt great about it.
*I finally got to see my lantern alight and glowing. Mmmm... firelight!
*I figured out why my work was scheduling me for weird times.
*I saw both Tangerine and Quandary while I was at work. Only one of them saw me.
*I had an interesting lunch with a girl I barely know. It was surprisingly un-awkward.

A guy from my ward just knocked on the door and offered to give me and/or my roommates a "really good" hug for 50 cents each.


I considered it.

My Eighty-ninth Post

My mom is in town. Today, she took me to the store, picked up an Easter basket and told me to fill it with whatever I wanted. The following is a list of what ended up inside of said basket:

bread
an kite
5x7 picture frame
Reese’s eggs
hair clips
starburst jellybeans
hair elastics
bubbles
sunscreen
apricots and mangoes tea lights
impractical lipstick
mascara

Some of these things I picked out. Some of them my mom picked out. You should try to guess which is which.

Also, I love my mom.

My Eighty-eighth Post

Life lesson for the day:

Pickles will have no effect what-so-ever on your eternal salvation. Make something else your priority. Like listening in class.

My Eight-seventh Post

When I was little, we lived in a very small house. Well, it never seemed all that small to me, but looking back, it definitely was. Especially considering the number of people that lived there. We basically had seven kids divided up between two bedrooms: the three boys in one, and the four girls in the other. There was an excess of stuff and shortage of space. Our bedroom floor was literally covered in a generous layer of toys and games at all times. Every once in a while we would have to clean our room and it was torture. I can’t believe how mean mothers can be.

Since cleaning is not intrinsically fun to children, we had to come up with ways to do it that would entertain us. The most common tactic involved the two older girls sitting on the top bunks “fishing” for toys and such. They would each have a makeshift fishing pole consisting of a sturdy stick, some sort of string, and an old ice cream bucket. They would lower their buckets, and my little sister and I would have to fill the bucket with the specific type of toy they requested (Barbies, crayons, Polly Pockets, etc.). You’d think this sorting ritual would have some sort of positive effect on the organization of our room. It really didn’t as all of the items they “caught” were pretty much just dumped into the toy box or into the lesser used side of the closet. (We probably would have utilized the space under our beds as well, but it was too valuable to during our fort-building efforts)

[Aside: I just remembered that in my childhood, I was very lazy, but rather resourceful. I would stay up late at night reading in my bed, but when I was ready to go to sleep, I was too comfortable to get up and turn off the light. So I fitted several long cardboard tubes together to form a collapsible “light-dousing” device that I kept by my bed. It was just long enough that if I stretched, I could just reach the light switch from the comfort of my bed. Brilliant.]

When the cleaning was done, we would proudly escort our mother into the room to show off our handiwork. As long as we had avoided putting laundry or dishes in the toy box, she would smile and declare our room officially “clean.”

Sometimes I feel like I’m still using the same tactic in my life today. My life is a complete mess; every once in a while, it gets to the point that I can’t stand it anymore. I find that if I just shove everything into the closet (I actually do do that, but I’m trying to be metaphorical here, not literal), I can live under the guise of having a perfect life—for at least a few weeks or so.

So maybe it’s not the best long-term strategy, but it sure is satisfying to look around and not see the mess every once in a while. Satisfying indeed.



Also, don’t add vanilla to homemade honey-butter. It’s just weird. It's not so much the taste as the smell that's weird, but still. Don't do it.

My Eighty-sixth Post

Two thoughts for the day, one of which is much happier than the other. I'm sure you can figure out which is which.

I was in the middle of saying something to somebody today when he turned around and started talking to somebody else. And it wasn’t just a brief interruption to quickly wave to a friend, or deliver important information. He left me just standing there with my mouth agape trying to decide whether to finish my sentence or not. So I left--just walked away. I don’t think he even noticed. Hmph.

~*~

There is a magical quality about doing something with a large group of people. Nobody knows everybody, but it doesn’t matter. You become great friends with everyone--just for a few hours, at least. And it’s a lovely feeling. I hope I have the opportunity to experience it more often.

My Eighty-fifth Post

Sometimes I pretend to be an authority on a subject that I really know nothing about. I know lots of little bits and pieces of information that, when combined with an authoritative tone, make people believe I know what I’m talking about.

I am really good at giving people answers. People often ask questions that they want an answer to, but they don’t really care what the answer actually is. I found that if I act like an expert on a subject, people will believe what I say. Armed with a few arbitrary facts about a subject, I can pretty much speak with such confidence that no one has any clue that I secretly have no idea.

One time I was chatting online with my friend Bonbon about Thomas Pynchon’s Crying of Lot 49. Now, I have never read this book, and all I know about the author is that his books are typically really dense and complex. So while she complained about how awful it was, I took a quick trip to Wikipedia where I discovered that it is basically about a huge conspiracy involving something about a muted horn. We then proceeded to have an entire conversation about the book. She was astounded later when I mentioned I had never actually read it.

Sometimes this gets me in trouble though. I recently borrowed Yann Martel’s Life of Pi from my sister. I haven’t had much time for reading, so I haven’t gotten around to it yet; it has just been sitting on the bookcase in my living room. The other day, Optimistic. picked it up and asked my opinion about it. Now, instead of admitting that I hadn’t read it, I pretended that I had. I said many incomprehensible things that really didn’t apply to the book at all, and I generally sounded like an idiot, which I was.

So maybe I shouldn’t be so authoritative all of the time. Maybe I should try to be meek and humble and have all of those other beatitudal attributes.

Yeah.

My Eighty-fourth Post

As you can see, I have added a Harry Potter countdown clock to my blog. This is because I like Harry Potter. Not the movies so much, but I get really into the books. When the sixth book came out, I sequestered myself in my room with a box of Wheat Thins and some Red Vines until I had finished reading it. I don't know what I will do this summer, as it is likely I will be in the middle of nowhere sleeping in a tent when book seven comes out. I may end up making a midnight drive with my sister to the closest Wal-Mart to buy it. And then we may stay up all night in the car reading aloud with the dome light on. And we may accidentally run the battery down so far that the car won't start the next morning. So we'll end up stranded in the wilderness for a few weeks. And we'll run out of food after a while, and we'll have to cast lots to decide who to eat first. But at least we'll know what happens to Harry in the end. And that’s the important part.

Also, I have decided that retirement makes absolutely no sense. I mean—you work hard your whole life, and then suddenly at the age of 60 you just… stop? And take up needlework or some such nonsense? Yech. No, thank you.

My Eighty-third Post

I am really happy right now.

I got to feel really productive and in control at work. And I made chocolate chip cookies that everyone enjoyed. And I walked barefoot in the park. And then I played on the swings.

I am content...

Even though I have to get up and go to work in just a few more hours. That's all the time I've got. Time to sleep.

[10 points to anyone who caught the musical reference in the above paragraph.]

My Eighty-second Post

krebscout: “Why is the Internet retarded?”
Me: “Umm… because Al Gore invented it?”

My Eighty-first Post

So I successfully switched out my hard drive with the one my dad sent me. Yay! And it only took me about an hour to figure out what the administrator password was so I could actually use “my” computer. It's definitely nice to have a computer around, but I've got to admit that a part of me is sad that it's back. I mean, I went an entire two weeks without the convenience of having a computer to satisfy my every whim. I had to think about song lyrics, instead of just looking them up. I had to plan my time better so I could print off a worksheet I needed for class. I couldn't check my email every twenty minutes. And as annoying as that was, it was also kind of nice.

Up until my freshman year of high school, I wasn't allowed to use the Internet at all—not even for school projects. My family didn't believe in it, as ridiculous as that sounds. Eventually they gave in, and just before my junior year of high school we finally got Internet access in our home. Getting the Internet represented a radical change in the way things were done. I'm sure we all remember having to look things up in the encyclopedia or getting books from the library about subjects we were interested. It was a process and a commitment to learning that I have only distant memories of. Now, if I come across an allusion to something I don't recognize, all it takes is a quick trip to Wikipedia: an instant source of knowledge with no commitment at all.

My elementary school used to have a contest each year with a set of questions that you had to use library resources to research and answer. The questions would be things like the inauguration date of some president, the phone number of a local business, or the ideal planting season for a certain plant. I remember one time I actually had to use a rhyming dictionary to answer one of these questions. I can guarantee that they no longer hold this contest, because the Internet has made it obsolete—every question could probably be answered with about half an hour in front of the computer. It's sad that today's kids will miss out on experiences like these.

So maybe I’m just nostalgic. Maybe I’m pining for the good ole days. I’m sure I’ll get over it. Especially when I realize I have two weeks’ worth of catching up to do on my favorite websites. Mmm... Toothpaste for Dinner.

My Eightieth Post

I haven't been blogging as much lately because of my computer woes. So instead of getting what probably would have been 4 separate entries, I will just give you the highlights in one hefty super-entry. Enjoy.

Box

There was this box, and I wanted it to take up less space. But it was made of really thick waxy cardboard, and I couldn't just rip it up or collapse it. So I decided to crush it by jumping on it. I set it down in front of me, and then I jumped on it. And then my entire body proceeded to tell me how stupid I was. See, the box didn't cooperate as well as I was expecting. Instead of staying put, it slid out from underneath my feet, and I fell back onto the very hard floor. Now I have a really awful headache and some rather unpleasant bruises. Stupid box. Grumble, grumble, grumble.

Hands

Cold hand contests are stupid. For those of you who are uninformed (as I was until recently), the basic idea is that you stick your hand out the window of a car, and it gets really cold, and then it gets really really cold, and whoever leaves their hand out the longest wins. You may ask: why would anyone do this stupid thing? The answer is that people are stupid. I was introduced to this "game" by Genuine last Saturday. But I must admit, Genuine beat me fair and square. Even if it is a stupid game.

Sleep

I slept forever yesterday. And by "forever," I mean I slept for 13 of the 24 hours that comprised the day. It was awful. A two hour nap is refreshing. A six hour "nap" is depressing. Especially since it totally messed up my sleep schedule and I woke up at 5am this morning for no reason at all. Yech.

Sausage

I made sausages last week. That's right: sausages. I started with ground pork, various spices, and intestinal casing (that's right: intestinal casing), and I ended up with sausage links. It was not a pleasant process, but I must admit that I'm glad I did it. Now whenever anyone brings up the mysterious process that is sausage making, I can proudly proclaim that I know first hand how sausages are made, because I've done it. I wish I had one of those 'life goals' lists, and I wish 'make sausages' was on it. Because then I could check it off. Bravo.

Also, you should all come to the Mafia Party that krebscout and I are throwing this Saturday. See here for details. It will be awesome.

My Seventy-ninth post

So, thanks to Yellow, I’ve just found out that the hard drive on my computer is pretty much dying/dead. This means I had to call my father last night. Here is a sample of how the conversation went:

Me: My laptop is dead.
Dad: I’ll take a look at it.
Me: No, Dad, it’s dead.
Dad: Mom can get it while she’s up there next month.
Me: Okay, but it’s still going to be dead.
Dad: I’ll take a look at it.

A little bit later…

Dad: Do you have a docking station up there with you?
Me: No Dad, I don’t really have the room for it.
Dad: Well, I’m sure you could find room.
Me: No, Dad. I don’t have room for one, and I don’t want one.
Dad: Well why didn’t you say that in the first place? Why don’t you want one?
Me: I just like my laptop, it’s much simpler.
Dad: I thought your laptop was dead.
Me: It is.
Dad: So why don’t you want a docking station?
Me: that doesn’t make sense. And I don’t want one because I don’t.
Dad: Okay, well, if you’re not going to be logical.
Me: Yes, Dad, I’m illogical.
Dad: What are you saying?
Me: You know what I’m saying. So what am I going to do about my computer?
Dad: Do you have an extra monitor up there with you?
Me: No, Dad, why would I have an extra monitor?
Dad: Well, I know we talked about getting you a docking station when you moved up there, so maybe you had a monitor to use with it.
Me: Yes, we talked about it and I said I didn’t want a docking station and that I didn’t have room for it. So why would I have an extra monitor lying around?
Dad: Well, it was just a question.

Anyway, I’m being a little facetious. My dad is really awesome--he’s sending me a different hard drive. It’s actually the hard drive out of my brother’s computer which is my laptop’s twin. Since the display doesn’t work on it, my brother can’t use it. (Well, actually, he can since he has a docking station, but he’s using a different computer now anyway.) Also, in case that doesn’t work, he’s also sending me a pretty old, low-tech laptop that he doesn’t use anymore. I suppose that will get me through the rest of the semester.

So I’m probably looking into getting a new laptop this summer. I am not at all excited about this prospect:

Spending lots of money + having no idea what I’m looking for = bad experience.

Anybody wanna help?

My Seventy-eighth Post

Computer: Why are you broken? I have no idea how to spend my time. I think I've started to annoy my roommates because I have nothing to entertain me while I'm at home. So I bother them. A lot more that usual. Please, for the love of all that is electronic, get well soon!

Former acquaintance: Why oh why did I have to run into you? Yes, you're very funny. Yes, your engagement story was truly riveting. I just simply didn't have the time. I needed to eat quickly and then get back to writing my paper! So next time, I would prefer if we just pretend not to see each other, okay? Okay.

Co-worker: You are a nice guy. But please try to be more subtle when you hit on me. Your directness is starting to unnerve me.

Netflix: Why does it take you an entire week to receive the DVDs I mailed back? I'm in the middle of the 1st season of 24, and I really need to know what happens next.

Hamburger (roommate): I love you, but please don't ever do that again. It's very emotionally trying for everyone involved, and I can't handle it.

Jdawgs: You are delicious. I can't believe I waited this long to get to know you. Welcome to my life (at least, when I can afford you).

My Seventy-seventh Post

I have started writing several blog entries that I know I'm never going to finish, because organizing my thouhgts about some issues and events is just too hard. Instead, I'll list a few excerpts:

I believe that I should have high standards based on my personal interpretations and belief system… but I don’t think I have a right to apply those standards to anyone else. Now the problem arises when we look at the issue of universal societal standards. There are some things that are just plain wrong.

I have a great fear of my existence—especially when you add in an eternal perspective. For some reason I have eternity pictured as a very intricate video game that just never ends. And though it may be fun and challenging and engaging, it never ends. There’s no moment when you can sit back and say “I did it! I’m done!” And it’s really distressing me right now. Curse my linear brain!

I have a secret. I love hosting. I love presentation. I just seldom have the friends or the money to experiment with.

Okay. Um. That's it for now.

My Seventy-sixth Post

Let me tell you about a good friend of mine. I will call her Tomboy. She is the most Christ-like person I have ever come to know. For the last two years, she is the one I have gone to with all of my problems because I know she can help make it better. She can inspire me to be better because I know that she genuinely cares about me and my problems.

She has been out-of-town for a while, so I haven’t spoken to her much in the last few months. She came back a couple of days ago, and when I realized she was home, I couldn’t contain my excitement. In fact, I was slightly miffed that she hadn’t come to see me yet. My exact thought was “She has to come, I need her!”

So anyway, I was pretty stir-crazy last night and I needed to escape from my apartment for a while, so I went to her place. I figured we could catch up and then she could help me figure out how to fix my life.

[aside: I had the weirdest experience walking over to her apartment last night. I was almost hit by a car. As I sat there in the middle of the road trying to figure out how I had gotten there, I really felt no emotions. Nothing that I would have expected to feel after such a close call with serious injury. No anger, no fear, no relief. Honestly, the only thought I really had was that my pants were all muddy, and I would have to wash them.]

So I got to her apartment, and we made small talk for a bit. After a while, her roommates went to bed, and I felt like I could really talk to her. I knew some of the things that had been happening in her life, so I started asking about them, and she began to get really emotional about it. I had no idea there was that much pain beneath the surface, and I had no idea how to help her. I felt like my presence was only making things harder, and I was suddenly ashamed of how selfish I was to expect her to magically help me with my problems, when I couldn’t even comfort her in her pain. Actually, I was in shock. Why, Heavenly Father, does she have to go through so much pain? Why is it that one of your most valiant daughters, who is so righteous and loving, has to deal with this? Why can’t you lessen her pain and help her, as I can’t? I was quite distraught over the whole thing. And then I sat there listening to her for several hours as she tried to answer my silent questions herself. I was so ashamed that even while going through so much tribulation, she could still see Heavenly Father’s plan so much clearer than I could. I knew that eventually she would be okay—better than okay, because God’s promises are sure. And He will not give her more than she can bear. I just wish He’d help me better know how I can help. At least I was able to sit with her and listen and let her know that I am her friend. I just wish there were more I knew how to do.

~*~

On a much lighter note, my roommate DancerGirl is getting married today. When I came home last night, she was already asleep. I wanted her to get as restful night of sleep as possible, so I was absolutely silent as I prepared for bed, set my alarm, and crawled under my covers. I then spent the next two hours lying perfectly still trying to suppress the urge to cough until I finally fell asleep. Seeing as how I’ve been sick and have been coughing every two minutes for the last several days, this was quite a feat. I know she’ll never know of my sacrifice, but I was proud to offer it. Congratulations, DancerGirl. I’ll miss having you around.

My Seventy-fifth Post

So I was just chatting online with someone when I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten to do something. Although I knew what it was I had forgotten, I was distracted and it didn’t quite register in my conscious mind. Regardless, I knew it was important so I grabbed a nearby pencil and jotted down a reminder about what I needed to do so I wouldn’t forget again. I just barely looked down and realized what I had written:

pray about it!

Good advice. Thanks, subconscious!

My Seventy-fourth Post

Somebody asked me why I’m not writing for the Board now-a-days. I wrote the following in response. When I realized I haven’t blogged in almost a week, I decided to post it here as well.

As to my relationship with the Board, it's only sensitive in my own mind. On one hand, I would love to write for the Board again. I'm just afraid that if I ask Yellow, he'll say something along the lines of "Thanks very much for your offer, but no thanks." Then I would be crushed and feel depressed about it. [**RUN-ON SENTENCE WARNING**] On the other hand, he might say yes, and I'm terrified that if I start writing for the Board again, I'll slack off and not fulfill my quotas, thus disgracing myself in the eyes of our illustrious editors, making them regret letting me come back.

So maybe I should just follow the precedent set by other alumni writers and slink off into the sidelines. But living with krebscout makes that hard. :) She's always dragging me to writer gatherings and such. Which makes me miss the Board all the more. I'm constantly worried that other writers resent my presence at these gatherings, but nobody really says anything, and I enjoy them. So I persist in my attendance. I suppose I'll stay where I am for the time being-- many of the perks of being a writer (the social ones, at least) without any of the responsibility. We'll see how long that lasts. :)

My Seventy-third Post

I know what nostalgia is. This isn’t it.

Nostalgia is when I listen to a certain song and I am suddenly transported back to the brief period of time my family lived in an apartment when I was nine years old. I can hear the weird rhythmic clicking sound that my beat up neon green tape deck would make as I drifted off to sleep listening to the Newsies soundtrack.

Or when I am listening to David Cassidy & The Partridge Family, and I am suddenly on the bus on my way home from marching band camp. I can distinctly remember the aching of my feet and the faint smell of gasoline that permeated the back of that bus.

This makes sense to me. I hear something that I closely relate to an event from the past, bringing these almost forgotten memories to the foreground of my mind. But just now, I experienced this feeling, except that there was nothing from the past I was connecting to. I remember having similar feelings when I first heard this song a couple of weeks ago. It’s a feeling of nostalgia, but I have no idea what I’m nostalgic for. This has happened once or twice before with different songs. I just can’t seem to put the pieces together and find the bigger picture. I have no idea how to better describe it.

My Seventy-second Post

So the other day, krebscout told me I could be her sidekick. I’m so excited about this. I hope to receive a list of my official duties in the near future. Wahoo!

Also, krebscout and I went to DI yesterday to purchase some various items we were in need of. In the process of our search, krebscout found what I could only describe as, well… a gigantic fork. It is over a foot and a half long, and it is at least 4 inches across. She decided her life would not be complete until she owned it. As we continued our stroll about the store, she began to use the fork as an extension of her arm, pointing things out by gesturing to them with the fork. This wouldn’t be all that hilarious except that when I wrote myself a note to remind me to blog, I wrote the following about that incident: “big fork: wild gesticulations.” Hee. Anyway. We now have a large fork hanging on our living room wall. Wonderful.

PS~ I’m hoping sidekick is not a synonym for lackey, because that sounds way less glamorous.

My Seventy-first Post

Oatmeal and I are now friends. We were strained acquaintances for a while, but we’ve recently sat down and worked out our differences. I’ve agreed to pay more attention to it—not just calling it up randomly whenever I want to make cookies. It has agreed to taste good and maintain a palatable texture.

Welcome to my life, oatmeal. I hope we will stay on good terms for a long time to come.

My Seventieth Post

So once upon a time, I was a freshman. I was really bored, so I was going through some random blogs of people I barely knew through facebook. I ran across a post someone had written about the 100 Hour Board, and how awesome it was. So I checked it out. I became hooked. I read for months and months until I finally got up the courage to ask the Board a question. My first few questions were pretty random, and I signed them with whatever pseudonym came to mind. At some point, I asked a question about Heritage Halls, and signed it as Heretical in Heritage. I thought this was quite a clever ‘nym, so I stuck with it in many of my future questions to the Board.

Eventually, I moved out of Heritage Halls, and I decided it was time to change my handle. I knew no one on the Board would know who I was if I changed my signature, so I asked quite a few questions in a short period of time to get my new name out there. I signed all of these as Baked Alaska.

At about this time, I decided I would really like to be even more involved with the Board than I already was, so I applied to be a writer. I was accepted (possibly just to keep me from asking so many questions), and I began my writing career the summer after my sophomore year. I had never intended to use Baked Alaska as my writer ‘nym, but it just seemed to work out that way. So I wrote for the Board for several months and got to know the other writers at numerous Board parties and other writer-type activities. Unfortunately, school started, and I started finding myself struggling to keep up with the current questions on the Board. I was in the middle of a semester that would determine my future at BYU (if I didn’t do well in my classes, I would most likely not be able to return). So after a bit of stalling, I resigned from the Board. This was probably a very good move, since I was able to get a 3.0 GPA that semester (for the first time since high school) and remain in school.

But I missed the Board. It had been a big part of my daily routine for over two years, and I now had many friends affiliated with the Board, especially my roommate krebscout (whom I had convinced to apply). So I continued reading daily, and eventually I started asking questions again as Rejected in Regency, a throw back to my days as Heretical in Heritage.

This whole time, I had been involved with various blogs of family and friends, always using the title of “ahem.” (which basically started as an inside joke with my sisters). At first, I really never intended to make my personal blog public, so I didn’t care what name I was using. But I did start making comments on others’ blogs, and a few people started to know me by “ahem.” as well. So when I started telling people about my blog, I didn’t really want to distance myself from those comments or blog-relationships I had established. So I stayed as ahem., and for the most part, I tried not to write anything that would specifically link my blog to any of the ‘nyms I had used over the years (with a few exceptions). But I have finally decided that since any of you now reading this most likely know who I am anyway, it doesn’t make sense to keep up the façade of secrecy. I don’t really care anymore. So there you are.

My Sixty-ninth Post

I came into my room this evening to find two surprises:

1) A very fluffy wedding dress, taking over my roommate’s half of the room
2) krebscout, sleeping in my bed

I really shouldn’t pretend to steal her cell phone anymore. Tonight I accidentally took it with me when I went to work, leaving our poor krebscout without contact to the world at large. Sorry to any of you who tried to call her tonight. My bad.

Also, the Board’s booth was awesome. And I’ve decided it’s finally time to come clean about my multiple identities. This will be an exposé the likes of which you’ve never seen. Stay tuned.

My Sixty-eighth Post

I watched Oliver! tonight. In celebration, I decided to pick a pocket or two… actually, it really was just one: krebscout’s. I have her wallet and cell phone. I’m waiting to see how long until she realizes I have them.

I was going to tell a story. The gist of it was that during the regional science fair awards program my freshman year of high school, I had prearranged to hug my friend whenever she got an award. It worked pretty well until about the eight time she stood up (she seriously won over $1500 in scholarships and whatnot for her amazing project), when she decided that was probably enough hugging. Yeah… this is why I wasn’t going to actually tell this story. It’s not clever or funny or insightful. In fact, the main point is probably that my friend was amazing to win so many awards her freshman year while competing against all of the juniors and seniors from our region. I wish I were that cool.

In conclusion, something I said a couple of years ago, that unfortunately still holds true:

“If you ever hear anything juicy about my love life, it’s probably a misunderstanding”

My Sixty-seventh Post

Have you ever found yourself doing something that you knew was wrong, but you had no desire whatsoever to change your behavior or rectify the situation?

Yeah, how does one deal with that (hypothetically, of course)?