Sunday, September 23, 2012


By far the best thing about my house is the roof access.  We live in what we've so lovingly dubbed "the attic" because it's just that, the (very small) top floor of a house.  We don't actually have a dishwasher - besides Carla that is.  Which means air conditioning also would be a ridiculous expectation.

My room is at the end of the hall, as far away from the swamp cooler as physically possible.  I'm sure I won't mind come winter, but for now sometimes it's like living in a little sauna.  A messy, dry, sauna lacking the masseuse and warm towels.  Ok it's nothing like living in a sauna.  Never mind.

When it's just too dang hot at night and the open windows only let in the crazy* outside noises, I grab my sleeping bag.  And then I head to the bathroom, where the window to the roof is.  And I do this super classy routine where I stuff the sleeping bag outside and then climb on the toilet and do my best Lolo Jones imitation as I stick my leg through the window and awkwardly pull the rest of my body behind.  I'd be so good at hurdles you guys.

Hard surfaces used to be impossible for me to sleep on.  I never slept during sleepovers or campouts.  But for some reason, I can on this roof.  Although I do sleep in libraries too now.  Provo is doing some Weird things to me.  It's not even that picturesque, any bird song has been replaced by tires on gravel and slamming doors, and there's apartments all around me, but there's these little details that I love.
 I love the orange light from the street lamp that shines through the leaves of the tree next door.  I love pulling on a sweatshirt to sleep in and the morning air before the sun rises above the mountains.

I think I'll want to remember these nights.  I could so easily forget about those few weeks in the fall semester when it was nice enough to sleep outside and I had roof access.  They're simultaneously completely insignificant, and yet so overwhelmingly important.  Life - my very own life - is made in these details.

*oh so crazy Provo.  we are just wiiiii----iiild over here.

Tuesday, September 18, 2012

I've Become One of THOSE People.

You've seen them in the library, slumped against chairs.  You've seen them in the hallways, tucked into corners.  You've seen them sprawled on the grass, limp on desks, and even collapsed on the floor.  They are...

During freshman year, whilst I was attending my favorite University in Cedar City, my good friend Katie F went to BYU (good friends in the way that we went to the same school, and talked at least once and I always thought she was like the coolest person in the world and even though we never actually "hung out" ... ok spoke... outside of sitting in the same classroom I always wanted to be her friend so I'm gonna claim it ok?  Give me this one).

There she found that sleeping in public is apparently a societal norm.  I looked at her pictures and lauuuuughed at those poor hopeless bums.  I also swore that when I went to BYU I'd never be caught in such a pathetic situation.

It took me three days.

I can't help it.  I fight it, really I do.  But it's just so conVENient.  There's all these little couches in little nooks of the library where all you have to do to be comfortable is lean your head back... like so... and
BAM.  out.  Out like Papa Jim when he tried to read me bedtime stories.  I don't think he ever made it past page four.  I always thought it was so dang weird.  Who could really be that tired?  Who could actually have so FEW inhibitions that you could truly Sleep in Public??

Ah the blessings of anonymity and sleep deprivation.

My inhibition have flown out the window.  Out the window, to the car and are currently road-tripping to Canada.  AYE????

Buenos noches from the comfy library chair in the most hidden corner.  (I do have some pride.)  And I know I'm basically a celebrity to you but please... no pictures.

Monday, September 17, 2012

The Adventures of Billy. Part One.

So we meet again fair boy.

Let's start with an introduction about my accounting 200 class.  This is an auditorium sized room, filled to the brim with students.  Three hundred at least, honestly.  This is the girl that occasionally hides in the corner of the library during the ten minutes between classes because there's just so. many. people. Too many people crowding the halls and looking at me.  Stop that.  STOP IT!  So MUCH EYE CONTACT.  So. Much. Overwhelming.


Now this class starts at 8:00 every Tuesday and Thursday morning, which is, you know, probably doable for well-coordinated motivated people.  Read: not me.  And on this particular Thursday we were assigned seats for group work.  Which meant that there really was no way I could rationalize not washing my hair (especially since it'd been a day.. or so...) and putting on mascara AT LEAST.*  We were supposed to look up the seating chart the night before and memorize it.   Riiiiiiiiight.  My teacher also warned us that being late was not recommended because you'd have to walk in front of all five million people and find your seat and make people move and interrupt the teacher...

heh heh heh.  See where I'm going with this?

I really probably could have made it.  But I also have this running schedule which is supposedly going to get me ready for a half marathon.  And I printed it off the internet so it must be trustworthy. RIGHT? Right.  And it called for me to go on a long** run that day.  And here's the thing.  When it comes to things like this I'm not flexible at all.  I'm brick.  I'm the BYU honor code and I WILL NOT DEVIATE.  I must go running every day my omnipotent schedule mandates and I Must go the Corresponding Distance and I MUST go in the MORNING.  Because if I go at night in this big scary city probably I'll become a headline in the news.

So I figured that all I had to do was get up at six, because hey, run for a 45 minutes, then have 45 minutes+ to get ready = GOLDEN.  Six rolled around.  Then 6:05, then 6:15.... because I kept rationalizing, "no way.  I can totes run it faster than 45 minutes.  I fantasized this as I laid completely stationary in my very comfortable sleeping bag.*** That's also when I think I won't check facebook that day, or will talk to that one boy in my chem class.  I'm such a liar in the morning.

By the time I got up, ran, got ready, and left for class, I was doing that awkward jog every other step zombie gallop all the way to class (the furthest building away as it turns out).  And after running my legs into little stumps (ahem.  little-ER) that morning I still had to make it up the seven flights of stairs that stand in the way of my classes.

The point is: if you happened to be walking on campus and saw a really sweaty girl in yellow pants, cradling her thighs and wheezing/speed-walking with an especially pained looking grimace on her face, it was definitely Billy.

It was also Billy who arrived late to class, dripping lotion-sweat and walking from the 38th row to the correct seat in the 7th row.  And then when that person had to get back up two minutes later to pick up the handout back on the 38th row?  Still Billy.  Poor thing.

*you're proud right mom?  the EFFORT i GO to.
**long for ME ooookay?  As in, more than three miles.  Shut up.
***Normal.  More about that later probably.

Thursday, September 6, 2012


Warning: my posts have become fetchin' long.  This brain just can't stop.  Probably if you only have a few minutes you shouldn't read this.  You'll best get the full hysterical effect if you're willing to devote some time to this bad boy.  No skimming.

I really debated about writing this, lest some of you start to think this is a boy blog.  Well here's what I say to that.  NEVER!  *gives sign to ward off the devil and spits.*   I mean really?  A blog all about boy drama?  Please bless.  No WAY.

But here's the thing.  It's just so dang funny.  To me anyway.  So if you don't laugh then probably there's something wrong with your sense of humor.  Mine's perfect.  Please try to change yourself into a perfect mold of me.  (That also means you'll probably gain a little poochiness around the abdominal area.  Apologies.)

So I decided to write about and share this.  It's the little moments I wanted to write about right?  The things that make an average life not-so-average.  I swear up and down and sideways and vertical and horizontal and SAGITTAL and CORONAL and TRANSVERSAL* that I'm not writing this to complain or get compliments or pity (oh gosh please no pity).  I just want to laugh about it.  Laugh laugh laugh.

Well I went out with this guy twice.  We'll call him ______ **insert Biblical reference here.  Once as a group date and then last weekend on a SINGLE date.  Apparently this is the one where decisions are MADE.  Such as: is this person who seemed normal around friends actually a complete weirdo?***  Such as: do I really want to continue to shell out mula and time and emotional strength to build any sort of relationship with this person?

We went on a bike ride - a tour of campus actually so I wouldn't keep getting completely lost and turned around.  Cute right?  And then we biked to a Peruvian restaurant where he proceeded to speak to the owner in Spanish.  (Swoon.  Well, mini swoon.  Like a sa-woon.)  The weather even co-operated.  It stopped raining just in time for us to go biking, rained while we were in the restaurant, and stopped again when we finished so we could bike home.  Doesn't that say FATE to you?

Overall it was fun.  He was kind of quiet - and so was I , but we talked enough and laughed and yeah.  No complaints.  He translated words into Spanish until I stumped him and then I made him do push-ups.  YOU GUYS.  I AM SUCH A FUN DATE.  Pay for me to eat (ahem: OUTeat you) and then I'll make you do push-ups.  WAY FUN.  But really.

Now when it comes to date drop off protocol, I have no idea what that even is.  Usually I manage a hug, drop my eyes (eye contact = so intimdating), and probably mumble something, IF I can get my brain to put together full sentences. I kind of waited for him to mention doing something again because I hate initiating it. I'm afraid of expressing unrequited interest (a valid fear as it turns out) and also of appearing too Forward.  It's like the cotton pickin' 1800's over here.

So I didn't say anything, he didn't say anything, and .. peace out.  What some of you may call a choke.  I resolved to try again thinking it was kind of my turn to initiate.  Sunday brought the perfect opportunity.    My roommates and I decided to try a cake recipe (soooooooooo domestic) which hey!  PERFECT excuse to hang out.  People like cake right?  I even texted him to make it more casual.  Totes cas. Not over-creepy I want to date you exclusively and get married and have your children clingy.  A few hours  later he responds "thanks for the invite but I have some ward stuff tonight."


Ward stuff?  Ward. Stuff.  Stuff.

Well so much for that.  I mean I could rationalize and say, maybe it was a meeting with the bishop!  Maybe he's planning the meeting and has to run it!  But in all reality: it was an excuse.  Rejection.  Which really, just strikes me as funny. Funny because I so overanalyzed everything, constructed the invitation text three or four times at least, asked the opinions of all my roommates.  And THEN!  Ward stuff.  Hahahahahahaha.  Sheesh.  Well sir, if nothing else, you missed out on some dang good peach pudding lemon glazed cake.****

Well I've moved on.  C Roll shared this quote with me: "you're at the biggest grocery store in the world.  Get shopping."

*Currently eating sleeping and dreaming my anatomy class.  Can anyone tell?  Anyone?

**Ang, remember how you wanted to stay updated on that one guy?  This is your update.

***hahahaha yes.  The answer is YES.

****Yeah I totally just dropped that to impress you with my baking skills.  I could RUN pinterest.