A Study Break Discussion of Mac&Cheese

Since I am taking a study break to make food and I'm also waiting for some water to boil for my Mac & Cheese, I find it appropriate to address the following photo: 

I saw this a few months ago on Pinterest, and found it to be both true and hilarious. The infamous "To open push here" tab has been victimizing thumbnails and willpowers for just about as long as I can remember. While I have labeled it simply as a deceit (see word and arrow in photo above) and a punisher of young, hungry victims, I have another item of business to discuss:

This darn thumb tab is completely and totally useless. 

Most people are not aware of this, because, as stated above, it's mostly just a horrific item intended to make us suffer. But suppose, just imagine with me for a moment, that it did, in fact, work as it purports to work. What would be the result?

You would, indeed, be able to pour the macaroni out of the box and into the pot of boiling water through the nice little opening that the tab would theoretically provide. This, if it were possible, would be true.

But what of the cheese?

I speak here of the cheese packet, the cheese that is the "Cheese" in "Macaroni & Cheese." One might even refer to it as "The Big Cheese." (Though there may be some argument as to whether "The Big Cheese" should refer to the largest cheese, or what Kraft claims its Macaroni & Cheese to be--that is, "The Cheesiest." As yet, consider the question in question to be still under debate.) 

Back to this cheese packet and the tabbed opening of the Macaroni & Cheese box. Let's say you have, by some feat of human strength, agility, and unbeforeseen prowess, managed to get this tab open, thereby creating the opening that permits the macaroni to exit the box in an orderly fashion. Now you want to get the cheese packet out of the box. You tip the box, but alas! The cheese packet is, shockingly, too large to fit through the tiny opening that the tab provides. What do you do now?

You open the darn box the way that boxes are meant to be opened, and fetch out yo' cheese. 

So tell me, world: why in the heck would I use the danged tab opening when I have to open the box the old fashioned way anyways to get the crappin' cheese out when I am fully and completely capable of opening said box the old fashioned way, fetchin' out ma' cheese and settin' it on the counter, and then pouring the noodles into the pot of boiling water, thereby avoiding the thumbnail abuse and ego-damage that this box entails to any person fool enough to try to use the stinkin' tab?

You know, I think that the tab just exists as an insult to humanity. Because we're not smart enough not to pour the cheese packet into the pot of boiling water with the noodles. 

Then again, we're not smart enough to figure out the motherfatherin' tab, so I guess I really don't know who is really in the wrong here. 

Huh.

Anyways ... time to get back to the books!

Hair

I almost wrote you a little musing about the current state of my hair. Because when I look in the reflection of my broken laptop screen, what I see gives me a very distinct impression. But when I started writing this musing, it became rather unintentionally offensive.

On a completely unrelated topic*, have I told you about my favorite 30 Rock quote?

"Kenneth! Your haircut is disrespectful to lesbians!"

- Tracy Morgan

*wink wink, nod nod ... 

Procrastination and Motivation

I no longer believe in trying to do homework when I'm not in the mood.

Why? Because I languished on my bed in weird, contorted positions that resulted in significant discomfort for a good half of the day, and spent the rest having terrible posture at my desk and making my back hurt. And what did I achieve in the midst of all this pain and suffering?

ABSOLUTELY NOTHING REMOTELY RESEMBLING PRODUCTIVITY.

I might as well have been breaking scads of dishes on the kitchen counter with a face of complete despair and disgust, because believe me, I was/am DISGUSTED with myself, and despairing at the horrific waste of a day that today truly was. And it's not just because I completely failed in regards to getting my paper written earlier, but that I knew that I couldn't do it. Every time I pulled the documents up on my screen, I stared at them miserably for a few seconds, tried to read a few pages, but just collapsed from sheer paper-loathing every single time. But because of fear of the possibility of never reaching that point of motivation and inspiration that always inevitably strikes at a reasonable time, I just sat in front of the freaking computer achieving nothing and feeling gross for hours on end. HOURS. HOURS. I KNEW THAT I COULD DO NOTHING TO MAKE MY PAPER HAPPEN AND SO I JUST SAT HERE AND WATCHED IT NOT HAPPEN WHEN I COULD HAVE GONE OUT AND DONE SOMETHING AWESOME WITH MY DAY. Idk what I possibly would have done, but it would have been AMAZING. Or maybe, ya know, I just would have gone to Wal-Mart or something. Anything would have been better than what I did.

Wow. In my angsty pit of regret, I completely forgot the awesome part of this story.

At approximately 8:45ish, I was laying on the floor of the living room with Chelsea and Paul, staring at the ceiling, when suddenly I knew it was time to get up and write.

And I churned out more (and at a higher quality) in a single hour than I did in the previous who-even-knows-how-many hours (but if we were gonna guess, somewhere in the realm of 12-15).


Suffice it to say that I am never, EVER doing homework when I don't feel inspired ever again for as long as I live. In other words, goodbye guilt, and hello FUN THINGS :)

Loveables: Pond's Dry Skin Cream

So I know that a lot of people keep a list on their blog or whatever of products they love. In the past, I haven't had much of a fondness for any particular products ... I've just been randomly trying things here and there, and if I like it a lot, I'll buy it a couple of times. But this past Saturday, I struck gold x 3, and believe me,  you're going to hear about each and every one of these items, and hopefully more come along (because who doesn't want to love the things they use, right?) So, without further ado, I present you with Loveable #1: Pond's Dry Skin Cream.

Now, if you know me, you know I'm not a dry person. In fact, I'm a very (though I hate to say it) moist person, for the most part. I can probably count on one hand the number of times that I've absolutely HAD to put lotion on my hands because they were dry, and I'm pretty sure the number drops by more than half when we cut out the times that the dryness came from over-washing my hands with hot water. That all being said, I've started to notice a little bit of dry skin on my forehead, and around places where I picked the living daylights out of blemishes. Dry spots make make-up look like make-up instead of like nice face, so I figured it was time to get a moisturizer. I had heard about Pond's Cold Cream before, but (1) I never use make-up remover anyways, and (2) it's December in Utah--like I'm going to put something cold on my face on purpose! But right next to the cold cream was the dry skin cream, and, as they say, the price was right-- around $5 for 6.5 sweet ounces. 

Can we just call this one love at first rub? 

Seriously though. On Sunday night when my face just felt tired and my skin felt abused (because, ya know, it's cold and lousy outside), I rubbed some of this sweet nectar on my face and it was incroyable. Yeah, that's right. I just Frenched on you. You know it's serious when I French on you. This stuff is like giving your skin a drink of heaven. Okay, maybe I'm going way overboard here, but I'm a huge fan of this stuff. And totally regretting not getting the 10.1 oz. container.... 

Snobbery

I'm going to have to throw out the possibility that some majors may in fact be smarter than others. And I don't just mean the biochemical engineers. Maybe this is all coming about because I'm something of a logophile, and an English major, and therefore am frequently surrounded by those who have a similar love of words, phraseology, orature, and hearing the sound of our own voices saying those words. (Hence... this blog. Obviously.)

I've taken the opportunity this semester to delve a little bit into another area of study that caught my interest last fall, and signed up for a sociology of gender class. It was pretty okay, but definitely felt like a battle against my own weak-sauce conservativism (I say weak-sauce simply because I consider myself predominantly politically illiterate and completely unable to argue my own opinions, as I don't spend a lot of time thinking about them). Anyways, I'm getting so far off the track that it's boring me to death, and we all know that I get more pleasure out of writing these things that any of you get from reading them, so if I'm bored, you must be gouging your eyes out, or no longer reading this post (congrats if you are). Back to sociology of gender!

The first day of class, we took the time to have everyone introduce themselves, their major, hometown, etc. This, I believe, is moderately unusual in a class of 40-50 students, but we did it anyways because the syllabus (and the class) was painfully simple and took about .2 seconds to discuss. The breakdown of this monotonous introduction hour came to about this: the majority of the class were either sociology or psychology minors, but there were a few variants here and there, some business majors, a theater major, ... and myself, the single, solitary English major in the whole place. Now, I don't mean to be judgmental (*ahem* who are we kidding? I'm being hugely judgmental, and you better believe I mean it) but I've come to the conclusion that I think I'm smarter than at least a few of these people. 

Don't get me wrong. They're still valuable human beings who are capable of doing many good things, and somewhere in my heart of hearts, I probably have some kind of love for them. 

But I cannot hold back the stink eye when I catch someone saying the word "like" 30 times in a 45-second comment. (See my post A Rant: "Like" for more on this subject.) And even though that may be a worst-case-scenario, over the past few days of listening to presentations on research papers, I've been subjected to some of the most horrifically slang-peppered verbosity of my life. Or maybe it's just never bothered me this bad.... in which case, I can only blame my sociology of gender class. And who ever heard of a sociology class making someone more intolerant? And, in my case, I probably got a little more sexist because the girls are far more likely to make idiotic comments that are watered down with "like"s and "ya knows" and "so"s and "just"s and "just-like"s and "doesthatmakesense"s that if you cut them out, they're probably only saying somewhere in the ballpark of twelve significant words that contribute to a coherent message for every 50 that come out of their mouths .... Not that I'm suggesting that my professor is, in any way, shape or form, responsible for my decreased tolerance and increased sexism. It's my classmates! 

I suppose it isn't fair of me to feel like I am smarter than these individuals, because they probably know a lot more about sociology than I do. And yet, I cannot stop myself from believing that a vital part of being smart is being able to communicate in a way that doesn't make you sound like an insipid thirteen year old in a Justin Bieber t-shirt. (Okay, so maybe the t-shirt has nothing to do with anything.) But seriously guys. I don't want your message from concentrate. I want the concentrate when I'm at school. Don't make me listen to all your other stupid words, please. You're wasting them, and you're wasting my time. 

A Taste of My Own Meds

Every now and again, I find myself getting a taste of my own medicine. Nothing big, just little things here and there that keep me on my toes. Now, you'd think that these moments of recognition would make me repentant. After all, I'm feeling essentially the same feelings that my behavior inflicts on others, which should open my eyes and make me a better person.

But, as you might have expected, considering my rather suggestive lead-in, this isn't exactly what happens.

Let's just say that, hypothetically, I am not very good at texting in general, but I'm pretty bad about texting back. It's not always intentional. Sometimes I just get distracted, think I've responded, and forget, or I delete the text and forget to respond to it. You know how it goes! There are all kinds of things that can happen that prevent me from texting back in a timely fashion! Whatever. It's not a big deal. Anyways, we're going to move ahead with this hypothetical situation and  say that I got a text that started a conversation that, hypothetically, I had been rather hoping would start, and that I had actually been planning on starting myself, except for the part that I hadn't done it yet (because, ya know, bad at texting).

Let us suppose that this hypothetical conversation was going pretty well for a few texts. Pretty normal, just chill ... And then SMACK--it collides with the no-text-back-brick-wall in glorious slow-motion. Let's say, hypothetically, that for once, it's not me who has failed to text back. Rather, I'm the one who ends up with my unsuspecting face slowly being smeared all over this little wall we've got going on.

Whoa, whoa, whoa! Wait a second! Hold your horses! You should know that I am not--absolutely NOT-- hypothetically strung out over this hypothetical conversation. I am by no means hypothetically smeared over anything. If this hypothetical situation were actually my real life, my feelings would be nowhere near that dramatic. But I'm really running in the opposite direction of my ultimate point here (which, in case you hadn't noticed, seems to happen to every single blog post I write. I swear, this thing should have a subheading, "DANGER: TANGENTIAL WATERS AHEAD!" or "The Long and Extremely Indirect Run Leading to an Only Mildly Comical and Frankly Rather Stupid Slide" ... and now I've tangented from my tangent ... Oh my land ... ).

Let's get back on the pony, shall we? Just so I can finally make this one stupid point I'm trying to make.

And that is this:
(if you're from Colorado Springs, you just read this is Bish. P's voice...)

As a bad texter-backer, hypothetical situations like these in which I don't get texted back in a timely fashion should be inspirations for reform, repentance, and recovery from my unfortunate plight. But that's not what happens. Nope, not at all. When I get a taste of my own meds, like this hypothetical texting situation, I don't find myself repentant at all. Nay, I find myself thinking, "Wow! This actually works!" 


And instead of being cheesed about the whole dang hypothetical thang, I'm proud and impressed, both with myself, and the party who happens to be subjecting me to this medical treatment. 

Go figure.

And for goodness' sake, text me back already. 

I'm Practically Famous

Guys, I'm practically famous!!!!***


(***If you're using a really loose definition of "practically" ... and "famous" ...).

I'm in a music video. Of sorts. And it's only on YouTube. And the guy's not really famous much at all.

BUT... I'm still in it. So. Whatever. At like 0:06.

Yay. I'm so cool, y'all.

Except not really. Just enjoy the novelty of this moment.

A Tribute Post to L

I realize this is totally out of character for me, as a "blogger" (I don't think I've ever thought about that term in relation to myself before, and I find I don't really like it) ... but I'm going to do it anyways. 

Today, my blog post is a tribute to a friend from a long, long time ago. We haven't talked or seen each other since I was like ten, we've been Facebook friends for less than six months... the long and short of it is that I don't really know this girl at all. 

But really, I do. 

Since I don't want to be creepy, I'm not going to use her name (which maybe makes it more creepy? But for some reason makes me feel less creepy ... idk). We're just going to call her L. 

For the few years that I knew L,we were pretty good buddies. She was a grade ahead of me in school, she was smart, beautiful, talented, awesome, and so much fun. I loved her family, and I still look up to her mom as an example of the kind of mom I want to be, because she was the kind of lady who didn't let anything her kids did get her fussed. She would sit out on their driveway with a loaf of bread, a knife, and peanut butter and jelly, and she would just make sandwiches while her kids were out playing. She had all kinds of funky traditions that were just fun without being a pain in the butt. It was awesome, and truly inspiring. 

L was one of the people I always wanted to be like, and now that I know what she's doing with her life (hats off to you, Facebook), I find myself even more inspired by the life she lives. I'm inspired by the things that I can tell she does or doesn't care about. I'm inspired by the adventures she takes, and the inexplicable vibe that I get about her perspective on life. I realize I'm being vague, but if I were less vague, I'd feel creepy ... Let's just leave it here:

L, you're never going to read this, but you're totally awesome and I am so grateful for the person that you are and have been. Thanks for inspiring me for the past ... what, thirteen years? Something like that. :)

A Rant: "Like"

It seems to me that there's always at least one person in a class who frequently feels compelled to comment, and who, unfortunately, also grates massively on your nerves. Perhaps it's just the simple fact that they seem always to have something to say that is truly bothersome and inspires you to look for other reasons to want to plug your ears and shout "LA LA LA LA LA" every time their hand goes up in the air ... but we all know that we find those other reasons. Whether or not this is the case for you, I will leave to your own interpretation of yourself. But for me, whether this is the true reason that I'm bothered by one of my dear classmates' comments, or simply a justifying cover-up for the fact that I seem to glean nothing from the words that come out of her mouth, I don't really care about right now. Because the fact that I'm hung up on right now is that this girl cannot eradicate the word "like" from her vocabulary.

Am I being oversensitive? I mean, lots of people use the word "like" in ways that extend beyond its dictionary definition, and they do so with very high frequency, compared to other words. "Like" has become our space filler, the word that comes out of our mouths when we realize we don't know the word we really want to say, the word that seems to indicate an impending metaphor ... but not really. I could go on, but I'll just stop for the time being, because I'm sure, scientific minds that you all have, want some evidence to support my point, and not just my own unadulterated irritation.

Last class, I took it upon myself to tally the number of times she said "like" in one comment. In one comment, probably lasting 30-45 seconds, she said the word "like" 32 times. It doesn't even seem possible, does it? But let me tell you how possible it is. There were moments when I could barely finish one tally before I had to put two more down. There were a lot of "and like, it's like" and "and it's just like" and sometimes some "and like, it's like, just like" ... (And I won't even mention (beyond this single moment) how many "ya know?"s there were smushed in there as well). I know, it's sounds like I'm kidding. But I assure you, I am 100%, bet-your-bottom-dollar, I'm-going-to-claw-my-eyes-out serious about this girl. I'm amazed that she could actually convey a message that was so watered down with "like". It was truly horrific.

And that being said, I'm going to pass you over to Taylor Mali, who is (1) a perfectly fantastic slam poet and personal favorite, (2) full of words of wisdom on how we do, and should, converse.

First Video: for the purposes of my own message, I recommend watching the first minute or so. You can keep watching if you want to hear his poem (which I also recommend) "Any Language Much Less English"



Second Video: I've posted this here before, but it's just fantastic, so I'm posting it again. You should watch all of this one, and enjoy the beautiful typography. :)




He's brilliant. I wish everyone would watch these things. Can you even imagine how much better comments in class would be?

:)

Stupid Sarcasm

Maybe I'm just imagining things, but I've been seeing the following pop up in a lot (and I mean a LOT) of status updates on Facebook. Maybe you're familiar with it. It goes a little something like this:

" That awkward moment when your sarcasm is so advanced that people actually think you are stupid! "

Now, maybe I'm a meanie, but I often find myself tempted to leave the following in the comments:

" That awkward moment when your stupid is so advanced that you actually think you're sarcastic. "

 Oh my honeys ... Please leave the building. Just ... please.

The Reality of Frozen Yogurt

Frozen yogurt places are quickly becoming Utah's greatest culinary prostitute. Is there a single block between Provo and Salt Lake that doesn't have a Yogurtland, Spoon Me, Spoon It Up, Yozone, etc.? If it weren't for cupcakes, fro-yo would be Utah's only culinary prostitute, and we know that the only thing taking up more real estate than fro-yo places is LDS chapels. (Now don't get me wrong--I love the fact that I can travel down 9th East in Provo and see, I dunno, 28 chapels and 13 more under construction (rough estimate).)

But I'm digressing from my point. 

I've never really been a frozen treats kind of girl. I can enjoy a good vanilla cone, or small dish of ice cream every now and then, but I will never be the kind of girl that craves it. Blame it on my sugar-free-cereals upbringing, subsequent sugar gluttony, and then recovery. Or blame it on the fact that I have sensitive teeth and a tongue that just don't like cold things. Whatever reason you choose, take it, run with it. Fact is, I'm not an ice cream girl. Or a frozen yogurt girl. If anything, I'm a frozen custard girl, but that's another topic for another day. For me, the point of frozen yogurt is to get enough to allow you to get as many mini gummy bears as possible half-frozen on top of it. The fro-yo's just an adhesive cooling device. 

Now, I suppose the fact that I'm already not such a fan of frozen yogurt really discredits my reliability as a giver of the following opinion, but so be it:
Frozen Yogurt is a LIE, STEVEN!!! 

Just kidding. Your name isn't Steven. I was just channeling Jack Black there for a moment. (Please view the following video if you no comprendo.)

Anyways. Back to the reasons why frozen yogurt is a lie. 

You may notice as you have gone to these frozen yogurt places that fro-yo typically has the consistency of soft-serve, maybe a little firmer, and is somewhat less creamy and more tart than regular ice cream. This is in the style of regular yogurt vs. cream. In theory, frozen yogurt and ice cream are just the significantly chilled versions of their refrigerated counterparts. 

This is not true. How do I know? Because I am eating a frozen yogurt right now and it is not the same as fro-yo!

I know. That doesn't make sense. Because frozen yogurt and the general concept of fro-yo are two very different things. I'm talking about a yogurt, Raspberry Yumberry to be exact (yeah, idk what a yumberry is either. Stop worrying about it. It tastes good, and that's all that matters.) which I bought probably a week ago. This yogurt, as it so happens, fell victim to the everyone-in-our-apartment-has-too-much-food incident, which tends to result in fridge-tetris, hard-to-shut-doors, and an inability for the cool air to get around to everything. You may be thinking that this is a problem because the food closest to the door can't get cool. Oddly enough, that is not the problem. The problem is with food getting stuck in the back where all the cool air is also stuck. Hence, the reason I think of that area as the second freezer. 

Other foods of mine have been a victim of this, mainly produce, like the lettuce and my celery (R.I.P. celery). You wouldn't think that freezing would really be much of an issue. Just defrost it, right? WRONG. My poor celery got freakishly floppy and looked bruised, and the lettuce last year was just as much of a disaster. Needless to say, I get a little angry with the fridge, but it's nbd, right?

I suppose I should have realized that my Raspberry Yumberry yogurt, having been knocked back into the second freezer area of the fridge, might have fallen victim to this chilly death. It wasn't until I pulled back the foil that I actually recognized that it was, in fact, frozen. And instead of moving it to the front of the fridge and allowing it to slowly defrost, which may have worked, I kept pulling back the foil. 

This was the wrong decision. 

Somewhere in my head I thought, "This will be fine. It'll be just like fro-yo in a cup. Or like one of those awesome Minute Maid frozen lemonades. Just with a more yogurt-y taste."

WRONG, my friends. SO MUCH WRONGNESS. 

I may have experienced some anger at this realization. 

And what a realization it was.

Turns out, when yogurt freezes, it also separates. Yeah. Into the watery-ish part, and the actual yogurt goop part. To make matters worse, I tried to microwave it slowly, so as not to have warm yogurt. I tried a couple sessions of 30-seconds at 50% power, which were interspersed with spoon jabbings into the little cup. Welcome to shards of ice in yogurt dregs. 

At this point, fearing the imminent yogurt soup, I gave up on the microwave, and decided to stir it into submission. Nothing like a little friction to get things moving slowly, right?

Still so wrong. 

Ultimately, I ended up with some watery room-temperature Raspberry Barfberry melange with little cottage-cheese like curds of stubborn still-frozen yogurt dregs swimming in it.

What I'm really trying to get at is this:
frozen yogurt 
is not the same as 
frozen yogurt.

And you know what the worst part of it all is?

... I still ate it. 

A Rather Overdue Ramble

So I figure it's time to get back to this blogging thing. I haven't posted since mid-June, and I've got seven drafts sitting between now and the last post, each of them starting out with something along the lines of "Well, I'm back!" or "I'm such a loser because I haven't posted in forever" .... The irony of it is all so very beautiful. And maybe this will be just one more dumb draft to jump onto the pile, but I sure hope not. What's even funnier is that I wrote this paragraph last night, before going to Rachel's to watch Pushing Daisies, and it almost got discarded, but I'm committed to getting this darn post published.

Life has been so good to me lately, and once again I find myself counting blessings that so far exceed anything I could have possibly done to "deserve" them. I will spare you the list, because I feel like it would come across a little like bragging, which I don't want to do at all. I know I have done nothing to merit the life I've been given, the bizarre monsoon-season of blessings that seems to be perpetually drenching me with happiness. Sure, I have my angsty moments, and there are times when things in my life aren't obviously either blessings or something-less-bless-ful ... but it seems to me that there's a blessing in everything, and it's always better to choose to see something as a blessing than to see it as something else. It's weird that I'm even saying this right now, because I haven't been in a particularly good mood today ... not terrible, but not really good either. Mostly bored. Kind of like Lady Dedlock...



That's from Bleak House, if you didn't already know. (And if I know you who will read this, you most likely don't. She's great though, isn't she?)

I've been so bored lately, waiting for something exciting, trying to figure out what I really want to do with my life (especially since I tried to figure out my schedule today ... it's weird having to pick through the last few classes I  have to take). You get the gist. At any rate, it's not very exciting, and I'm super distracted right now by the following video:



So this is the kid that won the last American Idol season. He's seventeen, and you sure as heck wouldn't guess that after hearing that voice. Homeboy's a bass and a half. Or, as Nicki Minaj would put it, a Super Bass. He seriously sounds like he's almost 40. It's incredible.


... and suddenly I have nothing more to say. I'm too distracted, too bored, to keep writing. Whatever.

In Memorium. Sort of.

Last summer, I became a full-blown Fossil fan. I'm still too painfully frugal to buy anything at full price, but being a mere hour away from a Fossil Outlet, and having a Dillards five minutes away that has ridiculously fantastic sales makes Fossil much more accessible. While I love all of my purchases oh-so-very-much, I particularly loved a certain red striped scarf. Do you all remember it?

Scarfy at Sundance with friends.

Scarfy likes pizza.

Me, Scarfy, and our sidewalk manfriend.
This picture would be nothing without Scarfy, let's be honest.

How could you forget it? It's made more appearances in pictures of me than any other accessory I have, and has starred in two consecutive profile pictures. Really, it doesn't get much better than that scarf. It's red, striped, stretchy, and it's Fossil. Swoonarama.

Some of you might also remember the tragic day in ... probably February when Scarfy, that dear, sweet, stretchy, beloved scarf, was abducted, never to be seen again. It all happened on a very rough day, a day on which Heather and I went to the gym. It was cold outside, so I had worn my scarf up to class that day. Having become exhausted earlier than my fellow healthy people, I had gotten changed first, and took a seat outside the gym doors. While I waited, I was still very warm and indoors, so I put my coat and scarf in my backpack. At some point in the process of getting out a book to read and returning that book to my backpack, I removed Scarfy, and because of the angle of my vision relative to the ground and my seat ... I was not able to see my beloved scarf when I grabbed my things and walked away, leaving that precious scarf behind.

One rotten, nightmare of an evening later, (it was a Wednesday, and I had a late class, and, as I recall, the whole day had been a nightmare. Even my family here in MO remembers it because I called my mom about how miserable and terrible it was, topped off by the loss of my scarf), I went looking for Scarfy down at the Smith Fieldhouse. I asked if anyone had turned it in to the desk outside the gym--no one had.

Now tell me: if you had found a scarf like Scarfy, would you return it to the desk instead of taking it with you? Like heck you would! You'd have taken it too because it's JUST THAT AWESOME. This is unfortunate for me because I never saw Scarfy again. I'm sure someone, somewhere is keeping that scarf hidden until next winter so that they can pretend that they bought it and not have to worry about me catching them in their thievery on campus (because believe me, I looked at every single reddish scarf I saw for like a month, hoping to catch the thief red-necked). I'm pretty sure I cried on my way home that day, and it took me a long time to get over it. Scarfy, you will be missed ...

... or rather, not so much.

What is this blasphemy?! you ask. Well, let me tell you (and really, I should have told you a couple of weeks ago when it happened ... I've just been a loser and not told anyone for inexplicable and unaccountable reasons):

Over Memorial Day weekend, I returned to the Fossil outlet, hoping to perhaps catch a glimpse of a Scarfy-scarf. Unfortunately, those dreams were not to be realized...

... until Memorial Day itself (2 days after my fruitless search at the outlet) when my mom, having just returned from Vegas, pulled out the exact same scarf (which she had purchased at a Fossil outlet in Vegas) and gave it to me :)

Needless to say, I am BEYOND HAPPY. I love my scarf.

"What A Frickin' Life I Have"

--Michael Buble

I got called out a couple of days ago for not blogging recently. It's a show of just how busy I've been that it's taken me this long to get around to fixing that problem. Yes, it's been almost a month since I last blogged, and frankly ... there's not too much to be said that I haven't texted or Skyped or Facebooked to you all, and the majority of that isn't something that I think belongs on the internet anyways (wink, wink) so am I off the hook? Or at least forgiven? :)

Let me tell you what my weeks look like these days.

• Sunday: Leave for church at 9:10, church 10-1, hang out until 1:30-2ish, home by 3, ... w/e.
• Monday: Wake up at 7, get to work between 8 and 8:30, lunch 12-1 either by the statue of Lewis, Clark, & Co. or in the park by the governor's mansion, leave work by 5:15, bed by 11:30 (attempted, usually)
• Tuesday: Same as Monday, but leave for institute at 6:10, institute 7-8:30, hang out sometimes until 9:30, home by about 10:15.
• Wednesday: Same as Monday.
• Thursday: Same as Monday.
• Friday: Same as Monday.
• Saturday: Sleep in as late as possible, do stuff, bed by midnight.

Now, I suppose it's fair to point out that (1) I'm only in my third week that looks like this, and (2) there's usually some kind of date/hanging out activity that happens on Friday or Saturday, so it's not quite so dry and stale as it may seem.

But it's still pretty dry and stale. I'm making $13 an hour instead of $25 an hour like I was originally told, but I guess the fact that I'm only a junior in college with no kind of similar experience makes me less valuable to the team anyhow. I pre-populate, edit, and track documents, among other things, which today included being the scribe for a 3-hour long meeting. Now, I don't want you to think I'm complaining, because I'm really not. Let me explain.

This summer is teaching me a lot about the phrase "I will ... open you the windows of heaven, and pour you out a blessing, that there shall not be room enough to receive it."

I'm not going to be explicit in the nature of said blessings, because, like I said earlier, not everything in my life right now is something I want to post on the internet. But here's what's up: I'm being blessing beyond my capacity to receive. Or, rather, I'm being blessed with things that are far above my maturity, skill, and personal merit, and my capacity is so small at times that there is simply not room for me to juggle one blessing, let alone two or three or twelve. They become difficult to handle; they are (for lack of better words) cumbersome and unwieldy in my small and graceless hands. I simply don't know what to do, and I feel lost and like a failure, and it's a challenge. I should be dropping these things left and right; I should be curled up in my bed, amazed that I was able to even touch these kinds of blessings.

But somehow, I'm hanging on to them. Or maybe they're hanging on to me ... I really don't know. Maybe there's some kind of divine glue or tape or thread that is keeping me attached to these things, even when everything about me and them is like magnets being pushed together with the same poles facing each other. The forces of nature should be pushing these things away from me, but they aren't.

It gets a little more interesting too ... I think that, rather than me clinging for dear life and watching my fingers slip and feeling a strain, I'm feeling better equipped to handle these blessings. It's almost like I'm being blessed by my blessings at the same time that I'm being tried by my blessings ... because trials are blessings ... and it's like this outrageous cycle of blessing and trying and trying and blessing and on and on, over and over again.

The craziest part to me is that I wasn't going to come to Missouri this summer. I was going to go to France, and after I decided I wasn't going to France, I was going to stay in Provo ... because really, what could there ever be for me to do in Missouri? Work at Old Navy and have no friends? I also was about 95% sure that my scholarship was in the tank because of my French 321 class, and I figured I could make better money by working a couple of jobs here in Missouri (one of them being Old Navy) and I'd be able to make up at least a little bit for losing it. Furthermore, I had only been casually considering coming home for a couple of weeks when one afternoon I found myself sitting on the couch doing homework and then suddenly I had the most bizarre, all-consuming bout of homesickness. We're talking instantaneous crying jag, and after that I knew I couldn't stay in Provo for the spring. I couldn't do it, not for anything. I felt like I was running into my parents' bedroom in the middle of the night like I did when I was little and I had a bad dream.

So tell me how, after all of that, I ended up not only keeping my scholarship, but getting a job that pays almost twice what I was making at Old Navy, with more hours than I ever could have gotten at Old Navy, which happens to be in my line of work/study, and is a way more legit job that is really intended for college graduates which will carry much more significant weight on a resume than just about anything I could ever even have dreamed of?

Oh, and let's just throw in the fact that I've been spending a lot of time with one of the most awesome, impressive, fantastic people ever. (I won't say any more on that subject.) And just chuck into the whole mix the thousand other things that just seem so far beyond the scope of what anyone should even be allowed to hope for in their life.

I mean, I don't even know what to think, let alone what to say. There is simply not room enough to receive the things I have been given, and not enough room in heart to contain the gratitude that I feel. <3

Winnie the Pooh

A couple weeks ago, my mom and I saw the movie Prom while waiting to take my sister home from one of the proms she was going to (4/5, and it was 2 hours away from our house). One of the previews was for a new Winnie the Pooh movie, which I really want to see. Why? Because it’s in the same style as the old Winnie the Pooh’s! Which means stuff like this:

I just love that. The picture and the words interacting like that … it’s just so cool, and so different from anything else. It’s also massively nostalgic, and just plain delicious. Shouldn’t that be the way reading actually is? You get so caught up in the story that the words just wash away? I think it’s kind of a lovely thought.
Also, love me some Winnie the Pooh. (But really, what kind of a name is that?)

Diet Update: I've officially lost 10 lbs. We'll see if that monster banana split I'm planning on consuming tomorrow totally destroys that ;)

Random Musings on Being Home and Whatever Else Comes to Mind While I'm Sitting Here

Don't mind the Fall Out Boy-esque title to this post. It just happened. Normally, I prefer a concise title. But the current one seems to reflect my general mood right now.

So! I'm home! I know I technically already posted something after being home, but it wasn't really about being home, so it doesn't count as much. You know, I cannot believe it's Thursday. The days are flying by me without me having a chance to say anything about it. They just disappear! I swear!

Well, as far as news goes, I am (as you might have heard) on a diet. A really rockin' and effective diet, but as a first time dieter, I'm absolutely dying. Now first let me explain how this diet works. It's called Ideal Protein, and it's a phased dieting system where you start off cutting out not just sugar, and not just carbs, and not just fat ... but all three. That's right, folks. I'm on SERIOUS restrictions here. A typical day looks like this:

Breakfast: Protein shake, or Ideal Protein pancakes

Lunch: 5 oz. of some protein, and 2 cups of vegetables

Snack: Some Ideal Protein snack, such as apple cinnamon soy puffs, peanut balls, barbecue chips, or lemon bars. ***

Dinner: 5 oz. of some protein, and 2 cups of vegetables

In case you hadn't noticed, yes, this diet (in the phase I'm in right now) is fruit free. And I drink so much water that I'm in the bathroom like 4 times an hour. It's kind of heinous. As far as other rules go, I don't have to eat everything exactly when it says to eat it. Often, I only have a cup of veggies during meals and use the other cup to stave off the hunger monster during other times of the day (since I am basically a 100% all-the-time-hungry kind of girl. Really. Little known fact: I am rarely not hungry). I'm also allowed to eat as much lettuce as I want! (Yes, my diet now matches my rabbit-teeth, thank you for noticing :D) Often, we (since my mom, dad, sister, aunt, and grandma are also on the diet) boil some rhubarb chunks and serve them up with Splenda, cinnamon, and a dash of vanilla. It kinda tastes like pie at first, and then eventually it's so sour and you've eaten it so many times that it starts to lose a little bit of its glory. We also have cabbage with rice vinegar, Splenda, and soy sauce. This is pretty tasty as well--for diet food.

That's becoming quite the caveat in my eating experiences recently. Such as, "It's good ... for diet food." Because who are we kidding, THIS CRAP ISN'T GOOD. It's just good enough that we're willing to choke it down for a few weeks to get rockin' beach bods (and yes, that's what I plan on having).

So how does this diet work? Well, basically because you're eating, like, nothing, your body goes into ketosis. Ketosis is when your body stops running on the food you're taking in and starts running on the fat that's stored on your body. You stay on this until you've achieved 90% of your weight loss goal, and then move onto the next phase. I haven't watched the video for it to explain all the scientific mumbo jumbo, but I know it also gives your pancreas a rest, and is enormously effective. I've never felt so in control of my weight before. Just to give you an idea of how effective this is, my grandma has lost 60 lbs. since January, and she is skinnier now than she's been in my whole memory. She's tried so many diets, but this one actually worked. And basically as soon as you start getting chunky again, you just go back into ketosis (and the Ideal Protein products aren't actually necessary for this) for a little while, and bam--the weight's gone. I've only been doing it for a couple of days, and I haven't been religious about my scale-checking, but I'll let you know how it goes after a week. I'm so excited!

Oh! I almost forgot! You might have noticed a few stars/asterisks (***) after my snack section in the daily menu. Let me explain: these are some of those "for diet food" snacks. For example, with those barbecue chips, there's a weird, meaty aftertaste (apparently that's what protein tastes like. Yum). Now, I've managed to put up the things that are actually really good for diet food. I haven't had the apple cinnamon soy puffs yet, but I hear they're pretty bomb. The peanut balls ... well, they're kind of like peanut butter around a malt ball (ex. a Whopper), but it's slightly more granular than a malt ball. And those little puppies are delicious. I would eat them by the bucket if they were eat-as-much-as-you-want. The lemon bars are actually like granola bars, but they're lemon poppyseed, so the inside's all grainy and poppyseedy, and then there's a lemon frosting-like thing that it's been dipped in. Oh, baby, it's really good ... for diet food. What I didn't mention were the puddings (even my mom, with an experienced dieter's stomach of steel can barely choke those down without serious doctoring). And in case I didn't clarify, those barbecue chips could curl your big-toe hair (assuming it isn't already curled ... ).

Other downsides to this diet include:

• Price: each snack or other meal replacement item is $3 a pop. Which I suppose is okay because it's supposed to replace a meal, but at the same time ... yikes!
• Halitosis: one of the signs of ketosis is stinky breath. And it's not just your everyday stale morning breath. It's like someone parked a Port-O-Let in your mouth. Just sayin'.
• Fatigue: because your body is running on its own fat stores, you get pretty tired pretty easily. I haven't noticed this as much because I haven't really tried to do much since I got here, but my sister will vouch for this. I might also be having headaches, but there are other possible explanations for that too, so I'm not sure.
• Bathroom: I hate being in the bathroom. I will avoid it for as long as I possibly can, basically subduing the gotta-go feeling until the pipes are ready to burst. Unfortunately, because of the huge amount of water I need to be drinking in order to process all the protein I'm consuming, I'm in the bathroom all the time. (Think Zac Efron in 17 Again talking about being hungry, which, oddly enough, is also how I feel.)
• Being Hungry: my parents aren't having as hard of a time with this, but my sister and I are just on the verge of death with hunger. And since I have little to do, I have little to distract me. Also, I keep ending up at the grocery store where everything looks delicious. I have been craving homestyle mac'n'cheese for days now, and there's been a bag of rolls making googly eyes at me since Monday night.
• Cheating: on this diet, you can't cheat. You can't have a lovely cheat day and say, "Okay, well, I'm going to treat myself to a little bit of cake today because I've been doing so good these past few days!" No. You can't do that at all because it kicks you out of ketosis, and then you lose all your fat-burning momentum. It's not worth any of the things you're suffering (see list above) to suffer the effects of cheating. So that bowl of jelly beans that I've been hiding in the cabinet ... yeah. I can't even pop a couple of those because the sugar might throw my body out of ketosis and ruin everything. And my goal is to lose my 90% of my weight loss goal as fast as freaking possible so I can get back to eating real food.

So yeah. That's the stat on the diet. I hope it works, and quickly. I actually really think it's awesome, and ... yeah! Hoorah for diets! :)

I also went on a couple shopping trips over the past couple of days. My mom had a meeting up in Columbia, so my grandma and I hit the mall. I looked gross, and therefore had no intention of buying anything (plus I kind of expect to go down a size or so, and I don't want to buy clothes that are going to be too big in a couple of weeks) ... But I confess I did. Remember this Seventeen cover from like 2 years ago?

Me too. It's awesome, and the best part of the whole thing is that necklace that she is wearing. I have been coveting a necklace of such style--huge, flowers, multi-colored, kind of flat in the way that it lays on you--since I saw that cover. And I am proud to say that I finally have one. Now, it's not exactly what TSwizzle's got going on, and it's quite a bit more gold than that one. It's got a chain-mail-y base with these big gold flower charms that have fake diamonds in the middle of them, and then multicolored beads all over. Sounds ghastly, I'm sure. I'll take a pic on Sunday (when I will wear it for the first time) and post it so you can see what I really mean. It's quite the necklace, let me tell you.

I also managed to acquire a grand pair of shoes. I can't find a picture of them online (or the necklace), but I will probably also wear those on Sunday in which case there will also be a picture of them. They're darling. Floral, bright colors, a really nice brown leather for the straps, kind of a wedge-type heel, and a big yellowish green flower right on the front. Peep toes, of course. So cute. Can't wait for you to see them. They're more flattering than almost any shoe I've ever worn, not just because they make my feet look tiny, but because they just plain make my feet look good. And when do my feet ever look good?? Passable, sure, but good? Rare enough that I can't think of a time that they actually looked legitimately good. I'm stoked to wear them; I think they'll go together smashingly!

Hmmm .... other things, other things. Well, I've got a job, or should I say jobs, and some quite resume-pumping work at that. It's pretty exciting stuff.

Also, I can't believe it's Thursday/almost Friday. I feel like it was just this morning that I was thinking, "Wow, it's Tuesday! Josh flies out today! We were just sitting in his kitchen a week ago, being shocked that he was going to fly out in a week ... and now it's here!" Only now it's been two days since then, and I can't figure out how time is moving so quickly! I feel like I must be sleeping through my days or something. I guess they're all just so lack-luster (and I've been kind of not exactly changing my clothes too much every day) that they're all just melting together.

Well, I suppose now's the time to post. This has been really long-winded and silly and pointless, but that's what happening in my neck of the woods (thank you, Al Roker, and too many hours of the Today Show this morning for that little phrase) ... Toodlepip! :)

The Parable of the Fork

In only slightly belated celebration of Easter, I'd like to share with you all a story that was told in sacrament meeting yesterday. It's called The Parable of the Fork:

There was a woman who had been diagnosed with a deadly illness and had been given 3 months to live. Her doctor told her to start making preparations to die, so she contacted her pastor and had him come to her house to discuss certain aspects of her final wishes. She told him which songs she wanted sung at the service, what scriptures she would like read, and what she wanted to be wearing. The woman also told her pastor that she wanted to be buried with her favorite bible. Everything was in order and the pastor was preparing to leave when the woman suddenly remembered something very important to her.

"There's one more thing!" she said excitedly.

"What's that?" came the pastor's reply.

"This is very important," the woman continued, "I want to be buried with a fork in my right hand."

The pastor stood looking at the woman not knowing quite what to say.

"That shocks you doesn't it?" the woman asked.

"Well to be honest, I'm puzzled by the request" said the pastor.

The woman explained: "In all my years of attending church socials and functions where food was involved, my favorite part was when whoever was clearing away the dishes of the main course would lean over and say 'you can keep your fork.' It was my favorite part because I knew that something better was coming. When they told me to keep my fork I knew that something great was about to be given to me. It wasn't Jell-O or pudding. It was cake or pie. Something with substance. So I just want people to see me there in that casket with a fork in my hand and I want them to wonder 'What's with the fork?' Then I want you to tell them: 'Something better is coming so keep your fork too.'"

The pastor's eyes were welled up with tears of joy as he hugged the woman good-bye. He knew this would be one of the last times he would see her before her death. But he also knew that that woman had a better grasp of heaven than he did. She knew that something better was coming. At the funeral people were walking by the woman's casket and they saw the pretty dress she was wearing and her favorite bible and the fork placed in her right hand. Over and over the pastor heard the question "What's with the fork?" And over and over he smiled. During his message the pastor told the people of the conversation he had with the woman shortly before she died. He also told them about the fork and about what it symbolized to her. The pastor told the people how he could not stop thinking about the fork and told them that they probably would not be able to stop thinking about it either. He was right. So the next time you reach down for your fork, let it remind you oh so gently that there is something better coming.

:)

Pet Peeve: Guess What

I'm just going to take a quick moment to address a stupidity of the English language. Yes, I too am guilty (as always). But it's a problem, and we need to talk about it.

The phrase "guess what" has got to go.

Let's just start with the first annoying part: How the heck are you supposed to punctuate that?? I mean, technically it's a question ... but you aren't usually expecting people to guess because the whole point of saying that is that they probably won't guess it, right? But when you say it and you know it's only a pseudo-question, so basically there are three options:

1. "Guess what?" which conveys nothing but b-o-r-i-n-g and makes people feel like they have to answer a question, and what are they even supposed to say? (This will be addressed shortly. Never you fear!)
2. "Guess what!" which doesn't acknowledge the fact that it's technically a question and sound stupid
3. "Guess what?!" which is just too much emotion, and you don't want to overwhelm people or over excite them for something that just ain't that great (and it's usually not, because life ain't that exciting, folks)

All in all, not a good choice among them. Lame, eh?

Now let's say you're on the receiving end of said question. This is how it usually goes:

Person 1: Guess what[? and/or !]

Person 2: What?

** PAUSE **

Me: Okay, now let's examine this response. "What?" Since when is "What?" the appropriate answer to that question? It's not. It's just what we say because we don't want to get into a situation like Person 1 is about to create ...

** PLAY **

Person 1: No! I said for you to guess!

Person 2: (Doesn't want to guess. What kind of stupid game is this?) Ummm ... I don't know ...

Person 1: Come on! It doesn't matter! Just guess!

Person 2: (The stink eye is about to come out. Super doesn't want to guess, because no matter what they say, it's going to be wrong and they're going to look stupid.) Uhhhh ... you're pregnant. (Hint: Not an appropriate guess, usually.)

Person 1: No! I *blah blah blah something about how great their life is blah blah blah* ...

Person 2: (Doesn't care. Still feels stupid about the pregnancy comment, and wants to unleash the stink eye on Person 1 for putting them into that position.)

Person 1: (Selfish snot.)

The end.

As you can see, "Guess what?/!" is a stupid question, and it needs to not be a part of our speaking anymore. Because it's mean, and confusing, and just a big lie all around. Boo on GUESS WHAT!!!!

:)

Blog Re-Vamp, and A Dating Pet-Peeve

Okay, so I know that I've been squirrely with the design of this blog all over the place, but now there's a bigger change going on -- NEW BLOG TITLE! I figured now was a prime time to do it because this is my 101st post! Crazy, huh?? It's almost hard to believe.... almost. Of course, I'm rather verbose, and there's probably 20+ drafts scattered throughout Blogger, Windows Live Writer, and Word ... but who really knows. There's 100 on here, and that's what counts.

So, why "The Happy Pessimist"? Well, first off, I think that's what I am. I know it seems a little bit contradictory, but I think it's very possible to be both pessimistic and happy. I guess a more accurate title would actually be something like "The Optimistic Realist," but that doesn't have quite the same ring to it, and really doesn't mean the same thing. And I mean it to mean what it means, which is "I'm a pessimist, and dangit I'm happy too!"

Additionally, I feel like it's about time I adopted some kind of blog-identity. It just feels right. I don't know how much of a difference that makes, but it feels different. Sort of. Not really. Plus, I have the advantage of not making a title-specific blog address, so I can change the actual title whenever I want. Suck on that. :)

Anyways. That's all the news on the blog re-vamp. On to my newest dating pet peeve. Are you so ready for this, people?

So here's what's up: When you're 15 and you're trying to sneakily date someone and you keep saying "It's not a date," but it looks like a date, smells like a date, sounds like a date, etc. ... it's a date.

BUT

When you're in college, and you're repeatedly getting called to repentance for not dating and not getting married, you don't get to rip your moves off the 15-year old pubescent boys. It's severely not cool.

In college, if you want to go on a date with a girl, you ASK HER ON A DATE. Not "want to hang out?" or "want to play?" (which is just hecka annoying for a bajillion other reasons) or "a bunch of us are doing this want to come?" No. NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO. These are all the wrong way to handle the dating situation. I suppose you don't actually have to say the word "date" (though it's much preferred, as it makes things that much more clear). You do need to make the Three P's (Planned, Paid For, Paired Off) very clear from the very beginning to count it as a date.

Let me give you a situation I have recently become acquainted with (and dramatized for effect).

A young woman was hanging out with herself one day, and a young man texted her and said "Wanna play tonight?" (You boys have REALLY got to stop saying that. It's infantile and creepy sounding.) She said okay, and they determined to meet up later that evening to do something. When they met up, they decided to get some food, as friends are wont to do. Upon arriving at the restaurant, the young man offered to pay. She said no, that she could get it, but he insisted, and she gave in. They hung out that night, had a fun time, and that was the end of it.

Or so she thought.

The next day at church, the young man's roommates and friends asked her at different times throughout the day, "How was your date last night?"

The young woman was surprised. She hadn't been on a date. She had hung out with a friend. Yes, that friend offered to pay ... but that wasn't the intent from the beginning. At least, she didn't think it was. In her mind, it hadn't been a date. How could such a misunderstanding have happened?

Here's another story that happened to me about a year and a half ago. I met this guy at a party, and we became Facebook friends, and one night he invited me over to his house to watch a movie with him and some of his friends. Being uncool and having no form of vehicular transportation and this guy living far away, I said, "Sorry, I can't make it." Eventually it came out (though I was much more cool about it than the way I just explained it) and he said he'd come and pick me up. So he came and got me, and then he said he was hungry and that he wanted to grab some food at the Taco Bell. He asked if I wanted anything, I said no, and we proceeded on to his place.

There wasn't anyone else there.

Now I'm thinking either this guy was really clever, or he didn't have any friends, or he was the lonesome loser that got left out when everyone else wanted to have fun. So since there's nobody there, we put in Hot Rod and sit on the couch and it's super awkward because we don't know each other at all and, like I said, there was no one else there, plus his house was really creepy and gross. Eventually, the night came to an end, and he took me home.

So, what I'm still wondering is ... was that supposed to be a date? I mean, it kind of came off looking like one, and he did end up asking me out on a real date later on (which lasted 45 minutes, muahahaha), but what was that heinousness? There's an even more important question though:

Don't I have the right to know if I'm on a date or not?

I don't feel like that's an outrageous expectation. Is it? I'm going to give you an answer for that: No. No, it is not. Girls have the right to know when a boy thinks he's on a date with her. Which is why it is preferable that the word "DATE" is used when inviting a girl to do something, if that something is indeed being perceived by you as a date. Okay, kids? If it's not going to be a date, make that clear also. There are creepy, overeager girls too who will turn anything into a date. SO MAKE YOUR INTENTIONS CLEAR.

You know, I feel like this applies to a lot of situations, and I feel like there are a lot of problems that would be solved in this world if people were just straight-up honest about things, if people actually said the things they were thinking instead of trying to hint at or suggest or imply or whatever their actual thoughts. In the words of John Mayer, "Say what you need to say. It's better to say too much than never to say what you need to say."

It really blows my mind that some people can talk so much without saying anything. You'd think with all the time we spend talking about ourselves, updating our Twitter accounts and telling people what we're doing and posting pictures of things we've attended and stuff we've done ... that we'd somehow find the ability to convey our actual thoughts, feelings, intentions. But we fail. Big time. Is anyone else frustrated that we deal with all this miscommunication and misunderstanding when we really don't have to? Why?

I really don't get it. Not to suggest that I have superior skills in the communication department, because heaven knows I've had my fair share of responsibility in these types of matters. I'm just saying, something needs to change.

Loneliness

I don't like how long it's been since I wrote a blog post. Nope, not at all. I also don't like being swamped with school work and studying and tests and papers and all that crap. I wish we didn't have to have all this institutionalized garbage. I wanna go back to togas and the School of Athens, where we all just sit around and talk, and then bam ... one day you're just legit and that's the end of it. I really need to take fewer classes next semester.

Anyways, I've been thinking a lot lately about being lonely. I've had a few times recently where I've felt that way, and I'm sure that there will be many more in the coming months. I mean, I'm at this point where the summer months don't really have anything for me. I've got nothing for me here in Provo, and nothing really for me in MO either, except a job and my family. But even still, there's no progress to be had anywhere it seems like. Just me, waiting around for things to happen. Hopefully that's not how terrible it is. But getting back to what I was getting at ...

Sometimes we get lonely. And not just a little lonely. I'm talking all-consuming aloneness, deep and bitter feelings of abandonment. Whether or not we are actually as alone as we feel or not, the fact remains that those feelings are there, and therefore they are real, and we are lonely.

The funny thing is that we can't just feel lonely and function normally, even act normally. We do things to either cope with or indulge our feelings (and sometimes both).

Sometimes the things we do are stupid.

I don't necessarily mean stupid-dangerous, or stupid-illegal, or stupid-big-consequences. Just stupid. Stupid-little-consequences, or stupid-insensitive, or stupid-selfish, or a whole host of other things. Only, when we do these things, we're stuck in lonely-land ... the one inside our heads. It's like temporary, mild insanity, and what I want to know is are we responsible for acts borne out of loneliness?

I know it's kind of a weird question ... but are we? I mean sure, you can control your feelings to some extent. But sometimes you let your guard down for a little bit, and suddenly you realize you've completely given yourself over to these unhappy feelings, and you're not in the driver's seat anymore. And that's when you do the stupid things.

But is it really your fault? I mean, your head is swimming with unhappiness, and you are legitimately (at least slightly) completely nuts. Can you really be held responsible for anything you do in such a condition?

I don't know. I want to say no.

I also want to tell my inner immature self to grow up. Hah.

Should Have Knocked On Wood

I am going to have to write this quick because I absolutely HAVE to study for my French midterm which I have to take this afternoon and therefore can only write for the next 17 minutes (aka until 11:45).

I just had the most bizarre experience. Well, that's not quite accurate. What I'm experiencing is like emotional contractions. (Which I guess suggests that I'm in emotional labor and am about to pass an emotional baby, none of which is true or really relevant or even metaphorically applicable, so let's ignore that.) And what I really mean by that is that I'm having really intense bursts of really intense emotions, with downtime in between.

For example, starting about 15 minutes ago, I had an explosive blast of homesickness which had me crying for 5 minutes. About 8 minutes ago (3 minutes after the 5 minute crying jag stopped) I had another burst, which lasted for about 2 minutes. I suspect that in a little while, I will have another burst, and will cry about something else (or the same thing, or nothing at all) for some amount of time and then it'll subside, and come back, and subside for a while longer, and come back again ... and on and on and on.

Now what's causing this? Well, there are a few culprits, and who knows how equally these are contributing, but here's a little list:

• School stress, which is huge because I've got so much to do and so little time to do it, and I really don't want to fail all my classes. Like really, really badly.
• Emotional stress, which is also huge because I just don't have any idea what's going on anywhere and everything else that is stressing me out is making me emotional and then I can't do the things that I need to do.
• Homesickness, because let's face it: I love my fambam and I'm not so keen on taking that Classical Civilizations class during spring term.
• Confusion stress, which means I just don't know what I am doing with my life right now and I feel like I have all these decisions I need to make and I can't make them because I'm so confused and emotional and stressed out and I can't give anything the time that it needs.
• Medical stuff, a.k.a. I didn't get my blood tested in October, and I still didn't get it in November, or December, or January, or February ... and I probably won't have it done in March. I didn't do anything because I felt fine. Also, don't have a car and it's just hard to get stuff like that done when you've got so much else on your plate. But now it's starting to seem like maybe that's causing a problem, since I'm starting to recognize those symptoms that I was having 2+ years ago. Isn't that just great?

The stupid thing is that about a week ago, we were talking about hormones in Marriage and Family, and I was like "Haha. I'm on very particular and specific and steady daily doses of hormones, so I don't really get affected by them. Mood swings? Crying and not being exactly sure why you're crying? Who even has to experience that? Not me!"

Hah. Hah. Hah. I am not amused.

A Good Rainy Summer Day

This photo got posted on a blog that I follow:

I don't feel dreary, or sad, or tired. Well, a little tired. It is nighttime, after all, and it has been a long day. But that's not what this is making me think of, or making me want.

What this photo makes me want, and oh what I wouldn't give for a good, gentle, rainy summer day at the lake. I am lake-sick right now, bad. I think I've learned this about myself. I don't really get homesick. I get lake-sick. Why? Maybe because it's the only place that has been a constant in my life for over twelve years now. Sure, I've spent more time in other places, other houses that have been "home" for a while. But the lake is something I've always been able to look forward to. Yes, it's a big, scary lake, and it's full of nasty fish, and the water's pretty gross, and there are a ton of bugs, and when the thunder storms come, I start to be afraid of dying and the dock detaching from the property and all of my grandparents' hard-earned possessions disappearing into that murky brown water, never to be seen again. It's not all happiness and joy.

But it kind of still is. :)

And darn it, I miss it right now. I just want to be laying out on a deck chair on a hot afternoon just as a rainstorm blows in, and I want to get soaked until I'm cold. And then I want to go upstairs, take a warm shower, put on my sweats, and sit on the couch or the bed upstairs and just watch it rain, rain, and rain some more. That's what I want right now. That's the state my mind is in right now. That's how I feel, except for the fact that it isn't actually happening.

Is it wrong that I kind of want to go "home," just for this?

Who Says?

If I knew that when the sun rose this morning, it was carrying with it such a bitter reminder of my own fallibility, I might have buried my head under my covers and refused to get out of bed.
Perhaps I’m being a little over-dramatic right now, and I’m willing to accept that. Tomorrow, today probably won’t seem like such a disappointment. But for now it is and I deign it my responsibility to be honest and confront this unpleasant sense of disappointment in myself. Allow me to explain how this all went down.
Yesterday, I decided that I needed to take a little sleep, so I got all comfy on the love sack and shut my eyes. I’m not exactly sure when I went to sleep, or really when I woke up. I just know that at some point in the middle of my sleeping, I woke up abruptly and remembered that I had a paper due at 5 p.m. today. I am immensely grateful that God (and yes, it was God. I hadn’t thought of the paper at all, except for the 30 seconds of class last Wednesday when my prof mentioned it in passing) was loving enough to remind me that I had a paper due. Even if it was in the middle of a nap.
Being that I have decided not to do homework on Sundays, I didn’t do anything about it, and merely lamented the fact that I had failed to remember earlier, and also that I failed to study at all for the American Literary History test that I had to take today. And yes, it had to be today because my professor’s one of those lame people who only keeps tests open for one day, even if that one day doesn’t work for you AT ALL. So here I am with this massive conundrum: I have to study for a sizeable midterm, and write a paper, oh, and go to a group project meeting and do other homework all in one day.
Now, I realize that I could have managed my time better, and if I was a better student, I would have remembered these things and prepared for them and today wouldn’t have been a massive stress bomb on my life.
But I’m not, and I didn’t, and it was.
The paper took me WAY longer than it should have, and I turned it in frantically 1 minute before the deadline, knowing full well that it was more than 50 words too short, a.k.a. automatic 10% deduction. So that was disappointing.
It was also disappointing that I didn’t start studying for my test, which I needed to start taking by 8:00 until 5:00. Let’s look at the time breakdown here:
-Relatively Minor Paper: 11:00-5:00 (6 hours)
-Definitely Significant Test: 5:00-6:20, 7:00-8:00 (2 hours and 20 minutes)
Is this at all sensible, or indicative of which one should have been my top priority? No. Not at all. Very much the opposite, in fact.
So, after dinner group, I came back and studied more (and missed out on Heather’s pies ), and then charged up the hill, which meant my calves were on FIRE, and prepared for an abysmal failure. On the upside of things, the test didn’t turn out to be an abysmal failure. However, the overload of stress that today was can’t really be ignored by the tiny fact that one test wasn’t an abysmal failure. I am simply too entrenched in the general unhappiness of today for that to happen. (Tomorrow I will be fine, so don’t worry about me. I’m just expressing things as they are in the present moment.)
Right now, the only thing I’m finding consolation in is the song, “Who Says?” by John Mayer. Just ignore the stoned part.

Who says I can’t get stoned,
Turn off the lights and the telephone,
Me in my house alone?
Who says I can’t get stoned?
Who says I can’t be free
From all the things that I used to be,
Rewrite my history?
Who says I can’t be free?
Who says I can’t get stoned,
Call up a girl that I used to know,
Fake love for an hour or so?
Who says I can’t get stoned?
Who says I can’t take time,
Meet all the girls on the county line,
Wait on fate to send a sign?
Who says I can’t take time?
Who says I can’t get stoned,
Plan a trip to Japan alone?
Doesn’t matter if I even go.
Who says I can’t get stoned?It’s been a long night in New York City,
It’s been a long night in Baton Rouge.
I don’t remember you looking any better
But then again, I don’t remember you.

I almost did some crazy things tonight. Not crazy in the get-stoned-or-something-equally-rebellious kind of way, but just the doing-things-that-I-know-would-end-very-very-badly kind of way, because sometimes we want things that aren’t good for us. Like ice cream and J Dawgs and extensive exposure to sunlight.
Speaking of sunlight, today was a great reminder of a little pessimistic lesson that I’m rather fond of at present. I’m perfectly aware that it’s pessimistic, but you can kind of turn it on its head, and then it’s not pessimistic anymore. I just think it sounds and works better in the pessimistic sort of way.
So today I was walking back from class, miserably anticipating finishing my paper, I was walking through the sound circles area in front of the JFSB. The sun was shining, it was beautiful, and I can’t deny that. But we had one of those semi-rare moments when, despite the sunshine, it happened to be raining. I had no clue where that rain was coming from, but it was definitely falling on my face. And here’s where the pessimistic lesson comes in:

Just because the sun is shining
doesn’t mean it isn’t going to rain.

Isn’t that lovely? Sure, you can flip it and say that just because it’s raining doesn’t mean the sun isn’t shining. But let’s face it – usually when it’s raining, the sun ain’t gon’ shine. That’s just the way it is. Whereas the first one … well, it just works better and you and I both know why.
Blame it on all the Byron and Keats I’ve been reading today, but dangit, I reserve my right to be pessimistic sometimes. And right now I’m having a pessimistic moment, and I feel like shouting to the world that even if everything in your life is going just peachy, it doesn’t mean that you’re not going to end up with a wet face and shoes. That’s just the way life works. It’s not perfect always. Doesn’t mean you can’t be happy anyways, but it means that disappointments are going to come regardless. Sometimes, you’re just going to have to turn in papers that aren’t exactly what you hoped them to be, and you’re going to be practically hyperventilating and praying that all those six hours spent writing this tragically imperfect paper don’t come to a bitter finale by not letting you upload your paper. (Thank goodness that didn’t happen, even though for a little bit, I was totally scared that it was going to.) Sometimes you’re going to be sitting at a kitchen table trying to cram as much information about transcendentalism and realism and naturalism and romanticism and regionalism and whatever other crapism that you’re supposed to know into your head as you can, even though you haven’t done any of the reading since the last class, and your professor sometimes acts like he’s stoned on the sound of his own voice and his own stupid trivia and makes you want to punch a baby. Sometimes you’re just going to be so disappointed with the way you handled things, and the fact that you can’t do everything, and that you make really stupid mistakes sometimes.
Sometimes these things happen.