There It Is

I always have a problem starting these things. Perfect one liner opening? Usually takes me awhile to find. I have the need for a perfect segway to start discussing things which really clashes with my abrupt spazoid tendencies to jump from idea to idea, no connection necessary.

So I'm skipping that today.

Just imagine something about how the things you want to do the least sometimes bring the most benefit..

..and go to me sitting in institute this morning. I've been slacking this semester in my attendance and was actually planning on not going today. I got up early to stand in line to sell my textbooks back in the vain hopes that if I was one of the first they wouldn't tell me they'd already bought all those books back and don't need mine anymore - so find another use for your useless csis book. Cuddle up with that behemoth of required reading. Hmph. Snobs.

And a whopping 25% later I'd finished - much earlier than planned. If I hurried I'd be just barely late to institute. To go or not to go? On one hand hot chocolate and a newspaper was calling me. On the other hand "do something your spirit wants to do but your body doesn't." Thank you BYU Education week years ago.

I went.

Before I go any farther let me preface with a story about that good 'ol Christmas spirit.

I have none.

I went to music and the spoken word downtown a week or two ago and the message was about enjoying the preparation of Christmas as much as the final event - something I agree with whole-heartedly. But where is the preparation? Snow yes. Check. So. Much. SNOW. (I wanted to say dang but i refrained.) Advent Calendar? Yup. But in all reality my thoughts are preparing for finals week instead. I have every day planned out, I'm always thinking hours ahead so I don't forget all the things I need to do. Preparation is pretty much squat. Yes family, this does mean your presents will be bought probably on the 20th and probably from the DI. My bad.

Ok now back to institute. (Sorry for the background, stop snoring. People are looking.)

I walked in as they were singing the opening hymn. O Come All Ye Faithful.

And woah - there it was.

Suddenly I felt it. A touch of Christmas excitement. (And that day the Grinch's heart grew two sizes more. Or whatever the darling rhyme is.)

I spent most of the hour reading words to some of the Christmas Hymns. I wanted to belt it out actually, but some things are just not socially acceptable. and I pictured people cowering with hands over their ears. possibly sobbing. (voice = slightly off-key). So I just read.

"Sing choirs of angels (not me obviously)

Sing in exaltation;

Sing

All ye citizens of heav'n above..

..yea Lord we greet thee,

Born this Happy morning;

Jesus, to thee be all glory giv'n.

Son of the Father,

Now in flesh appearing;

Oh come let us adore him,

Oh come let us adore him,

Oh come

Let us Adore Him

Christ

The Lord."

And that Charlie Brown, is what Christmas is all about.

Merry Christmas.

Is this for real?

Can anyone listen to this without laughing? Really?

I swear I'll pay you if you can.

Please just imagine my reaction because I don't have the words to describe.

Nothing says Christmas like chinchillas.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NViv04wJUTA

For Ang

Normally I'm not much for posting pictures of myself.

But a comment from this gal changed my mind. "Girl. Pretty sure reading your blog is going to become my favorite pastime. Can I make a request? I wanna see that 4 inch long A line of yours. Yes, I might have just read ALL of your posts."

Stop right there. You read all my posts?

*Falls to the floor in a faint*

Request anything you want.

My affection and undying loyalty have been bought. I am not above bribery - go ahead, stroke my ego. I'll blog about whatever. Heck I may even write you a song.

(Mom I think the reader total is high** enough now, you can stop paying people.)

Ang thanks for making my day.

**five. SD = plus or minus 3

Grandma, Grandma!

Carol.. here's to hoping you'll catch that title reference.

What I hear on a daily basis:

"Oh I could see your grandma bun across the library."

"Nice old lady glasses."

"Hey we're supposed to dress up in 90s clothes tomorrow.. so Sierra you can just wear what you normally would.

"Buttnugget (guess who this one is from?) you need to stop doing your hair in that compound swoop, Warren Jeffs went to jail today."

"Sierra, is that shirt from the DI?"

It's ok. I'm old. I also like to go to bed early, knit, and bake cookies for my grandchildren. Just call me babushka.

A Grouchy Rant. Or a Call to Higher Standards. You Choose.

You know what phrase I hate? Not actually like a catchphrase (what's the sitch?) but something people say all the time when talking about service. It's become so canned and cliched. The conversation goes something like this, "service doesn't have to be hard guys, just a simple smile can make someone's day."
Aaaaaand cue: vomit reflex.

Don't get me wrong, I'm all about being friendly, having a positive attitude, and taking a minute to do something kind. But I am so past this "just smile" junk. Because I think we can do more.

Guess what? We're out of Jr. High. That was back when smiling at the wrong person could mean either:
1) you like them (and heaven forbid anyone find that out)
or
2) social suey. "what??? you just smiled at that girl?! She has braces AND last years jeans. You are OUT! Go sit by the trashcans at lunch."

Most people I interact with on a daily basis DO smile. I think it's time we went a little bit farther. How about sincerely asking how someone is, not accepting "fine" and actually listening to the answer? How about writing a short note to someone thanking them for a service they did? an anonymous note about a specific characteristic you love? Pick up someone's favorite candy bar or pack of gum at your local wally-world. (I so live in a college town.) Actually don't do that, the Mart of the Wal = bad bad place. Go to a mom and pop store instead, fight monopolizing corporations and make someone's day. Two birds with one stone. Boo ya. Or pull an Alyssa and scrape the snow off of my car. Pull a Landon and toss me a chocolate pudding like it's no big deal.

By all means keep smiling. That's wonderful. A great first step. But please someday move on - move up. Cut the surface-y junk examples and think about REAL life.

We can do this people.

It Is.

Today we sat in the Pastry Pub and talked about a test you had to study for.

You told me all about what you were learning in Chemistry.

Enzymes, peptide bonds, inhibitory molecules on the active site.

And then you stopped. Grinned. And said, "all this talk is pretty sexy isn't it?"

Here's the thing.

Yes. Yes it is.

Nesting. Someone Stop Me.

Well I made it. I moved into my new place of residence and I love it.

You know you've been living in a sleep study when the most exciting part of your day includes a tub only shared by two people, (two! no more waking up at the butt crack of dawn to maneuver twenty other girls out of their showering spots) an oven, and .... drumroll please... my very own Washing. Machine! Bliss.

It feels like I live in a house again. And with that has come this insatiable urge to decorate. All I can think is, (use your imaginary high pitched squealing voice - you know, the one I hate) "oh em GEE! We can buy coordinating furniture! And put up pictures! And Christmas lights on Christmas! And a tree! And precious inspiring quotes everywhere! Matching sweaters anyone?
I dunno what it is. I'm nesting or something. Slap me before I pull out the scrapbook.

All mocking aside, it does make me excited for my own home someday. I want to thrift ninety percent of the decorations and then pay ridiculous amounts for the remaining ten percent on stuff that just looks like it's been thrifted. I think it comes out of my desire to create. Create something wonderful where nothing was before. Nothing mock-worthy there.

Other random thoughts.
Apparently "thrifted" isn't a word. Go away hateful squiggly red line. It should be a word.
Did my post so eloquently entitled "squelch" ever show up? I swear I posted that a solid five to ten times.
Everyone keeps talking about how they're already in the Christmas mood. I'm not feeling it. I haven't even thought about Thanksgiving. Does that make me a scrooge? I think I'm just too busy to even think about vacation yet.

Procrastination

It used to be facebook.

Then I met stumbleupon.

Then it was various pointless websites (grouchyrabbit, iwastesomuchtime, dearblankpleaseblank)

Mix in a little blogstalking. (50% I know, the other 50%... not so much)

And then I started a blog.

Now when I have large blocks of time in which I should be studying I end up writing several posts. Usually I just save them as drafts so I can easily post them later. Cause sometimes when it's rolling around in my brain I just gotta write it down.

Eventually I ended up getting tired of the previous distractions.

But I have a feeling this one will last quite awhile. Probably because I get to talk all about my view of the world and no one interrupts.

Hello procrastination. Thy name is blogger.

Bitter

Dear girl sitting next to me in the library.

I have two tests and a quiz to study for, a paper and a lab report to write. And I have to move everything out of my room to a place still unknown. You're watching Glee on Hulu.

I hate you.

One of These Things is Not Like the Other..

A true fashion statement here on campus.

Cowboy hat. (Twenty five gallon at least.)

Mullet.

Cowboy boots.

Hollister shirt.

wait. wha....? Hick meets uber preppy surfer cool in jr high name brand? Ok. That's cool.

but fyi. large felt logos splashed across your chest do not a city slicker make.

In the Meantime...

Amidst all the boxes and packing life goes on. School continues, papers are still due, and classes must still be attended. But sometimes professors work with you.

A quote from my economics teacher.

"So apparently Juniper Hall burned down or got eaten by a dragon or something so we have all these refugees fleeing to Poland or something so now your test is on pushed back to Wednesday."

Thank you Professor Berri.

I'll send you a postcard from Poland.

In Keeping With the Season: A Scary Thought.

Homeless.

Well not exactly. But I don't know where I'll be living a week from now. With a roommate? On campus? Off campus? With anyone I know? No idea.

My residence hall is being closed. Everyone has to move out by Sunday. The heating/pipes are busted beyond repair. The build is hecka old anyway and with no way to keep the residents warm during the winter months (and it gets very cold here) out we go.

My first thought?

Yes. Now I don't have to change that dang lightbulb.

Second thought: hey! I just decorated my room the way I like it! Do all that again? Shoot. We all know I'm not crafty.

But then it sank in. Adios my little residence hall. Sometime in these past two years I learned to love your ugly green carpet, the asbestos in the ceiling, the way I could just yell down the hall and talk to everyone. I loved the teeny rooms that forced everyone out into the common area where we'd watch movies, have dance parties, and birthday cake. Bless your fifty year old outdated heart.

I'm not too nervous really. I know I'll have someplace to live. It might not be ideal but I'll have a roof and a bed. Necessities? Check. I can work from there. What I am worried about are my residents. There was definitely some freaking out associated with this news. Tears, stress, one or two "I need to go punch something"s. (You know who you are - and thank you for not.) I'm in charge of these gals. I love the heck out of 'em. Mostly I'm sad that the community I've worked so hard to build will be split up.

So this week. I have a test on Friday. A paper due. Probably a quiz. I have a lab research paper to finish (and by that I mean start) and what else? Oh yeah. I have to box up room, pack everything and move. And then there is the 21 other girls I need to help. Emotional toll? Yes. I will be stocking up on the tissues, the pillows for those that need to punch, and I'll work on my soothing voice. "don't worry. It'll be ok. You'll have a place to live. We'll work it out. Please don't pull the drinking fountain off the wall."

Things That Amuse Me

Ok let's just get it out there. I have a weird sense of humor. After all, what other 19 year old girl voluntarily spends her Saturday morning listening to the hi-LAR-ious puns of NPR? (Carl Kasell thank you for existing.) It's fine. I've come to terms of acceptance with my weird self.

So I'm wacked. Maybe that's why I find this amusing.

(once again *pictures that should go here are at the top because that's all I can figure out. Yes I go to college. Don't worry.)

This is the paper towel dispenser in the bathroom. And a knob to turn in case of emergency.
...
Emergency?

"Mom! Quick - I've sliced an essential artery! My life is bleeding out! And the worst part is... THERE'S NO PAPER TOWELS!!!! oh please no. the humanity. What Can I Do?????"

"Don't worry **darling! I know what to do in case of an emergency! I'll just TURN THE KNOB!!"
"bleeding miraculously stops. End scene with sunset, violins, and mother-daughter bonding. Another save by the emergency feature of paper towels"

phew.

*These pictures by the way were taken very stealthily by yours truly. There were girls washing their hands when I wanted to snap my shots. So I had to resort to fixing my hair. For a long can time. Which is harder than it sounds because my hair is about four inches long. How long can you "fix" an A-line? (I mean, I could have just snapped the shots but I have some pride.) At least I didn't resort to popping zits - but it was close. Hi my name is Sierra and I take pictures in library bathrooms. Date me. I'm real cool.

**My mother has never once called me darling. It it really was her she'd probably use one of her more original terms of endearment. Like buttnugget. True story.

Cutesy (my seventh level of hell)

I tried to write this post before. And then I promptly messed up and erased the whole thing. yaayyy technology. So this will not be nearly as eloquent as the one before. (just use your imagination k?)

But. A quick summary.

Cute = throw up in my mouth a little bit.

It's a great word when I want a generic lazy description. But heaven forbid it should ever describe me.

Why? Because I've come to associate it with general gushing and things nauseatingly adorable. Sometimes I feel like girls strive to be nothing other than cute. Depth is not important, just as long as it looks good. Cute is precious, but completely inept. There's no real value or gain.

This sounds harsh, and may admittedly be a long overdue reaction to years of being "cute." Thank you freud. I blame it chubby cheeks, baby fat, and a tendency to look a solid five years younger than I actually am.

I would much rather be intelligent, useful, hard working, loving, gentle, creative, determined, strong, thoughtful, or pretty much anything else. But cute?

Shoot me.

This being said...

The picture above is of a bunch of birthday cards that I made for residents in my dorm.

As an RA of mostly freshman girls, I remembered how lonely my first birthday away from home was, so I've tried to make theirs a little more special. I make the cards and have all the other residents sign. Then we sing and have cake and give the card to the birthday gal.

And while I've tried to leave out the pink lace and excessive exclamation points (HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!!! u r sooo cute!!!!!!!! we love u sooooooooo much!!!!!!!!!!) these homemade cards could very well be described as... gulp... cute.

*shudder*

I tried not to be. I fought it. I resisted. But with a limited spending budget celebration gets a little creative. It was forced on me. I'm not adorable by choice.

Now excuse me while I go giggle and overedit pictures and spread sunshine and do everything short of pooping bows and glitter.

Love This More Than Words

Sometimes I come across things that I love so much I want *everyone to know about them. This picture falls in that category. I claim the bangs and puffy sleeves of the little girl on the left.

*everyone clearly means the three people that follow this blog - hi mom! (Lizzie.. Ryan.. bless your hearts.)

The Psychology Paper I Wish I'd Written

Psychology. My 1010 class.

After the teacher handed back the first test he told us that if we re answered the questions we missed and wrote a one page paper describing what we learned from our experience of taking a multiple choice test, he'd give back half the points missed.

I know this is a generous offer, and I took advantage of it so clearly I don't have a lot of room to be snobbish here, but the paper thing got to me. I mean, if the paper had to explain why the answers are correct it' be one thing - but what we learned about test taking strategy is entirely another.

I mean really? I know I'm in a class of mostly freshmen (judge me I'm not in all upper division classes), but we made it this far, shouldn't we at least know how to take multiple choice tests? I'm thinking ACT, SAT,and the eight million other state mandated curricular tests issued in my high school experience. Oh well, I wanted the make up points so I wrote the paper anyway. But here's what I really wanted to say.

First Test - and What I Learned About Multiple Choice (actual title)

I learned that the expectations of intelligence and basic skills for incoming freshman in college are squat.
Other than that?
Nothing.
Wait. I learned I should study a little more.
Actually. I knew that so...
Nothing.

The End



That doesn't fill the one page requirement? Shoot.
Note to self. Next time just study harder, get a better grade, and skip the bitter essay for make up part.

A Rather Average Post

So I've done it.
Joined the world of blogging.
Actually I have a confession to make. I've had this blog before. Did I ever do anything with it? No of course not. So a year (or two) and a total of three posts later, I'm starting over. I'm all about good intentions I guess.
And now that I'm MUCH older and sooooo much more mature and responsible (sike) I think I can handle keeping up a blog.

To begin, a quick introduction yeah?
I'm Sierra and my life is pretty much.. average.
Average intelligence, average looks, average talents.
But here's the thing. It's still my life and somehow all of those average, seemingly moments add up to something kind of ... above average.
And I want to keep track of those moments.
So here goes.