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.