Intervention.

I think I have a problem you guys.  I'm staging my own intervention.  With myself.  Thanks Self.  You're the best.  And your hair is growing out so nicely!  Psych.  You look like a fetching mullet gone wrong.  But that is not the point of this post.

The point is, you have an unhealthy obsession with wearing men's outdated clothes, and thriving on compliments about them.  Someone said they liked your jean jacket?  Do NOT triumphantly declare (in your head or otherwise) "THANKS!  It was my DAD'S!  TWENTY YEARS AGO!  People do not care.  They do not care and likely they think you're a freak for 1) happily admitting such a thing and 2) for wearing that outfit in the first place.  The same goes for his socks, his shoes, and multiple items purchased from the DI.  Did I mention people don't care?  Oh I did?  Good.  Because not only do they not care, but there's a very good chance they don't actually mean any of the compliment.

There's two kinds of compliments you see.  There's the sincere compliment (rarely given) and the stuff people say trying to make their words sound like a compliment when in reality, what you're doing/saying/wearing is so completely embarrassing that they feel awkward for you and all the stares you're getting.  Thus, they try to diffuse the pathetic situation by addressing the elephant in the room (YOU) and making it seem admirable somehow.  You know this.  You've watched this happen between OTHER people.  But when it comes to you, well then, all bets are off.  Because you tend to not be able to read any social cues when it comes to yourself.  Your sad sad naive self tends to think that every word people say, every gem that falls from their mouths is completely sincere and honest.  We call this Papa Jim syndrome.  You walk away from every interaction thinking, "MAN.  That person is SO NICE."  Unless they just killed your dog and tripped you.  Then you think, "Well they probably had a hard day, maybe someone forced them to commit murder.  And as for the trip, well that was pretty funny wasn't it?  What a great sense of humor."

While this innocence may be endearing to some, it's really messing up your sense of reality.  As in, you have none.

GET A GRIP

Why do you get such a perverse pleasure from it anyway?  Are you trying to flaunt some societal norm?  Listen, I'm not asking you to wear a sock bun or black leggings with tall brown boots or anything else worn by seemingly every.  fetching.  female. at BYU.  Go ahead, flaunt some style or whatever you call it.  But ENOUGH with the bragging about outdated mens clothes.

Grace please come back into my life.

Trust me, your future self (there's quite a lot of these "selfs" aren't there?  have you checked your meds lately?) will thank you.

I'm glad we had this little talk.

Thought Processes

The Testing Center intimidates the fetch out of me.  Why you might ask?  Well let me go all therapist/patient on you.  IT'S MY PARENTS FAULT.

Before I came to BYU, my parents had a favorite story to tell me.  Actually they have lots of these favorite stories.  Always warning stories, "you know who else didn't clean her room?  Jenna.  Do you know where she is now?  DEAD."  Like every time I drive through the intersection of 27th and Highland Papa Jim MUST tell me about the time our neighbor got T-boned there.  "Now Sierra, you know this is the intersec... YES DAD.  I KNOW"  And then I speed up and pretend to ignore oncoming traffic.  I love our conversations.

Luckily for me they also have a story revolving around the testing center, so I could be sufficiently cowed and terrified before I walked in.  Apparently a cute charming charismatic boy from our ward didn't just get IN TROUBLE (enough to scare me right there) but got KICKED OUT and got A ZERO on a test for goofing off.  And by that point I'm curled in a fetal position on the floor because an embarrassing spectacle, disapproval, and bad grades?  Sweet lanta just kill me already.

Now I've already made it through a semester and taken more than a few tests, in fact, I even got away with wearing leggings during one test; so when I walked in on Monday, the trepidation levels were minimal.  Which means of course it's time to wreak havoc with my irrational fears.  Hello brain.  It's been awhile.

I'd lost my calculator a few days before but that was no problem right?  Really.  It would be fine because I could rent a calculator.  Everyone says so.  (But what if they're out of calculators?  What if they really don't have calculators?  What if they laugh at me and I have to walk of shame home past everyone in line?) NO.  It will be Oooooohhh Kaaaayyyy.  Breathebreathebreathe.

Luckily they really did have calculators for a mere 50 cents, so I took one, found an open desk, and sat down.  Halfway through taking my test I realized that my calculator, you know, that piece of plastic I'd sweated over getting actually didn't. work.  Whenever I tried to multiply or divide the calculator added a few zeros.  5 divided by 10 became 5 divided by a thousand.

Crap.  Crap crap crap.

(Am I allowed to stand up if I'm not done with my test?  What if they think I'm going to look at notes and cheat when I'm really only going to exchange a calculator?  Do I take stuff with me?  Do I raise my hand?  I DON'T WANT PEOPLE TO LOOK AT ME)

I kept the calculator.

I know, I know.  Pathetic.  Just wait.

Because, I rationalized, I can just move over the decimal points by two places.  No problem.  I can handle this.  Crisis averted.

Then I left the center, studied for an hour, and returned to take another test.  This time they gave me a working calculator and didn't even charge me for it because it came with the test.  I sat down under a large poster that read "KEEP YOUR BACKPACKS COMPLETELY UNDER YOUR DESK AND DON'T OPEN THEM AT ANY TIME" Normal.  

Things were going my way.  Until I opened the pocket of my backpack where I always keep my pencil.  The pencil I'd had less than two hours ago to take my other test.  It wasn't in there.

Crap.  Crap crap crap crap.

(I know it's got to be in my backpack somewhere! If I just keep looking through it... But what about that poster?  They're going to kick me out for peaking at a cheat sheet!  Why is the sound of looking for a pencil so dang loud in this deathly silent hall??  Why am I freaking out about this?  It HAS to be there!  ...  It's really not there.  Should I stand up?  Should I raise my hand?  Do they rent pencils too?  And then there's the whole issue of OH MY GOSH PEOPLE ARE STARTING TO LOOK AT ME)


I took the test with a spare piece of lead.

Day 3

2 down.  3 to go.

Here's the sweater.

here's me going back to accounting.

toodles

Sweater Day 2

1 final down, 4 to go.

Here's what's next:

It really is a shame I'm studying in an area that is like ninety percent attractive man.

The full sweater effect.

I won't tell you how long it took to get that picture

*Close this eye.. no wait.. the other eye!  No wait tilt head the other way!  Shoot, it looks like I'm in pain.  Should I smile?  AGH that 's worse!  Delete!  Delete! Oh well."

Also if you think you just felt an earthquake -  you didn't.  It was just the sound of every stomach in a 500 foot radius of me, growling as they watch me finish off the most delicious philly cheese steak e'er.  (Thanks mom.)  *EARTHQUAKE CAUSED BY GROWLS OF STARVING COLLEGE STUDENTS*  Breaking news, you heard it here first.  Someone call Fox 13 and tell them to call off their yellow journali ahem.  Reporters.

I'd post a picture of it but then I remembered I'm viciously opposed to posting food pictures.  It's an ethical thing.  (See mom?  I do have some morals.  Damn morals.)  Also... I ate it. Please, you think it's going to last long enough for me to stop stuffing my face and take a picture?  Good.  And you probably don't want to see a picture of what a stomach looks like while it's digesting food.

Wait you do???

Perfect.

Anatomy is the best.

Just Another Day at the University of the BY

A conversation between me and a complete stranger.

(I'm walking out of the building behind her)

Her: *Pushing the door from the wrong side* "Oh shoot that's embarrassing!" *sideways glance at me*

Me: "Don't worry, it happens to the best of us"

(We continue to walk, coincidentally going in the same direction.  Which I guess means to some people that the tactful thing to do is carry on a conversation.)

Her: "So the review helped don't you think?  I was actually surprised at how much I remembered."

Me: "Well yeah I guess the integration of material helps because now instead of just memorizing random words there's some meaning behind them to make it easier to understand."

Her: "Yeah.  You know I don't really feel like throwing pots at your husband is a good idea though."

Me: "Wait what?"

Her: "You know, how they were saying in Cohash* culture it's like a sign of endearment to throw a pan at your husband?"

Me:  "I'm sorry, what review did you just get out of?"

Her: "Oh.... probably not the same one as you."

Me (delightedly trying not to bust up): "Yeah, I just came from Anatomy."

Her: "Oh mine was something something cultural science heritage something global crap."

Fine that last quote wasn't exact.  I don't remember what she said.  Mercifully at that point I was turning right and she was headed to the left.  So I could laugh all I wanted.  

Bless people.

*Also I have no idea what she said.  I was thinking about CoASH which is acetyl CoA from chemistry.  Probably that's not what she was talking about either.  Unless those enzymes have a violent domestic life we just haven't covered yet.

I Eat This Crap Up

Accounting, while incredible painful, comes attached with two professors in possession of a wacky sense of humor.

Behold, an excerpt from one of my practice problems:

"Heber Smith, a college student in Utah, is investigating what he believes is a promising business opportunity.  His idea is to manufacture and sell plastic jello molds in the form of the Salt Lake Temple.  Heber has a tentative purchase commitment from a book and gift retail chain for 4,000 units over the first three months of initial operations."*

Plastic jello molds in the form of the Salt Lake Temple.**

Hold on.  Wait.  Just let me... one more time.

Plastic JELLO MOLDS SHAPED LIKE THE SALT LAKE TEMPLE.

YES.  SO MUCH YES.

Brilliant.

This is hysterical people.  I love crap like this.  Love it like a fat kid loves cake.  I love it when people have the that wry sense of humor and add it into small details of an otherwise normal or boring situation Bless you Norm Nemrow for being a wack job.  It's right up my alley.



*I just want you to know that I clicked back and forth between screens to type this up, it wouldn't let me copy and paste.  THAT'S how important I thought it was.

**Guess what you ALL are getting for Christmas??

The Good

Look at that.  Three posts in the SAME. WEEK.

Are you suprised?  You shouldn't be.  I promised I would write.  And now that I'm at BYU my promises are soooo much more meaningful.  Like Karl G. and the Honor Code, I'm bound by my word of honor. Draw a line in the sand!  I shall die in this blogging circle with mine honor intact!  Read that with chariots of fire playing in the background.  Way inspirational.

Filthy honor code.

In order to write this much, it means that I'm putting off other things.  Like schoolwork.  Which you know is probably not that important anyway.  Except when I fail my classes and can't get into my program and have to drop out because school is too expensive it's going to be YOUR basement I'm living in.  Yeah I'm talking to you Marleen.  I hope that with all your urging for me to write more you factored in the possibility of having a hobo trying to sneak into your basement, filching bits of your food, and scaring your children.  It'll be so much fun.  You can make sure I have fresh cardboard every week and in return I'll write clever clever things.

But on to the good.  With all the tests and scheduling problems and unhelpful advisors I've gotta remember the good.

The size. I thought living at this huge school with all these people would kill me.  Except for the few time I did hide in the library shelves to avoid crowds though, I was wrong.  I love the anonymity.  Yesterday I watched a guy walk across campus with a legit boombox on his shoulder.  Didn't even phase anyone.

The resources.  Last year to study for biology I, ok Slamdon had to buy a recording device to record lectures so we could review them over and over.  This year, my anatomy teacher records his lecture on his own and puts it online where I can listen to it any time.  On top of that there's about 800 TA's that hold lecture reviews several times every week.  Last year in my science lab I went once a week for two hours and then didn't return until the next week.  This year in lab, there's a two hour lecture and a possibility of four hours of open lab offered from as early as 7:00 am until 11:00 pm.  There's an accounting lab, a chemistry tutoring center, which I've basically set up camp in.

The people I'm living with.  I explain the difference it makes to live with girls that I actually know and like.  They're so dang cool.  Here's something that'll really blow your mind.  They actually cook.  Like prepare meals for themselves.  Like human beings.  This instead of buying $40 of groceries and then leaving them in the back of the fridge to rot and eating fast food instead.  Weird right?  They make homemade applesauce, they train for half marathons, play the violin in a band, edit applications for grad school.  They also dog pile on the top of the bunk bed while I'm trying to sleep.

Wait I'm making it sound like I live in some superhuman sorority house.  It's really not like that.  They've only thrown bologna at me while I sing Celine Dion ONCE.

There's just a million little things.  It's the walk to school.  It's the prayer before anatomy class - not nearly as pod people as I thought it would be.  It's the extended library hours, the international cinema, the window conversations with the neighbors next door.  It's being able to give my dad a heart attack by jumping out at him when I see him on campus.

I just love it here.  I love life.

Doggy Paddle

Oh hello there.

Blogging tendencies have been a little bit lax of late, mostly because my brain (AHEM.  my cerebral hemispheres, frontal lobe, insula lobe occipital lobe etc..) is crammed so full with other thoughts.  There is SO MUCH to learn.  I used to write posts in my head for days, first of all because I'm straight up weird.  Seriously there's a little voice in the back of my mind that often narrates my life.  Have I mentioned this before?  Probably.  That little voice is unfortunately not very reliable for remembering important things.  But ask me to share a storybook style tale about the two seconds on campus where you recognized someone?  I'm your woman.  I'll have you reeling with plot twists and married with babies before you even finish asking.*

Second of all because did you know sarcasm is a LUXURY?  Seriously.  All this cleverness that is my wit does not come as naturally as you think.  I had the time to compose my thoughts into hysterical sentences as I walked between classes, those moments before I fell asleep.  I had days to compose posts in my brain.  Now those moments are filled with thoughts about concepts I'm learning, trying to remember things for tests, worries, and often just the bliss of nothingness. I steal times for little bits of nothingness every chance I get, trying to concentrate only on the gorgeousness of the world.

Maybe it's not just BYU.  Maybe it's because I'm a junior now and finished with most of my gen eds.  And I don't mean to complain, but dang this is hard.  I don't just have midterms, my class schedule balanced out so the test are spread out pretty consistently to every week or two.  And consistency is really not my strong point.  I'm more of a "lay it all in one big pile and I'll make one massive hurdle over it and then be done for a few months."  I have a LOT to learn.  A lot of habits to change.

But you know what?  Thank goodness.  Because even though I'm not acing my classes, I'm being pushed.  Like really shoved in the pool sink or swim sort of pushed.  I prefer that over treading water for the rest of my life.  I'd rather be the crap of the cream than the cream of the crap I guess.

That's not to say the days aren't without stress and tension and the occasional bubbling of ulcer beginnings.  So before I get overwhelmed with it all, I try to remember what I love this place.

Which I think I'll write about later because I'm really sick of this post.  It's been in my drafts box forever and now I kind of hate it.  But I'm going to publish it because I want to remember this feeling.  This time of just barely keeping my head above water, but loving it.  Really really loving it.

ttfn

*Do I make sense to anyone?  Anyone?  I tend to ramble I know.  And SOMEtimes I re-read and edit my crazy thought process for you to follow.  But only sometimes.

Details

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.

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...
THE SLEEPING PEOPLE.

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.

Rejection

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.

Meet Billy

Before I talk all about my first day of school - actually I probably won't do that at all because it'd be very long and only interesting to me - let me share this one story about the picture on my ID card.

Apologies to those who've heard this story before.  But when I find a funny story that people enjoy (or at least I think they enjoy it.. that's what the grimace means right?) I tell it several times because hey, I'm not that clever that often.  And true to my upbringing, if you have something good: WEAR IT OUT.  Those shoes can actually last two years longer than you think.  Just because they're five shades dingier (yet simultaneously five shades more faded) doesn't mean you can't still USE THEM.  What?  You have a new pair of shoes?  Great.  Those old shoes can become work shoes.  You already have a old pair of almost-but-not-quite-worn-to-dust work shoes?  Great!  You have a NEW pair of CUTER old work shoes!  Or better yet, move them into the little room that holds all the preparations for the last days when the earth blows up and all the shopping centers have burned in sinful materialistic flame.  Because then no one will care if I'm wearing that striped shirt that is "so adorable" but also makes me look like a lumpy dough bag.  Although if I did come down to me to repopulate and all I had were these storage clothes, the future generations would be screwed because any man, desperate or not would take one look and say, 'oh no dough bag'.  He may reconsider but probably not before he gets hit by an asteroid.

So dear readers, prepare to hear this story over and over and over again, every time we meet someone who hasn't heard it yet - and there are about 7 billion people in this world - until this story is memorized, can be recited backwards letter by letter, and is past the point of even the redeeming powers of duct tape.

I'll try not to drag it out, because really it could have started a year ago, when I took a math class so I could work at the Y.  I'm again taking this math class, because I went back to Cedar before it ended, taking an incomplete.  A process which in and of itself could out the Odyssey to shame.  Basically, I had to get a new ID card.  Ok.  Shouldn't be that hard right?  Riiiiiiiiiight.

And it begins.

The search for a new card led me to the library, where a very helpful sign said, "ID Cards" with an accompanying arrow.  Perfect.  So I followed the sign through the library, around a desk, around a corner, and to a door with another sign.  This one read, please go to the front desk to get your ID card.  Well ok then.  I retraced my steps.

"Hi I need to get a new ID card."

"Well what happened to your old one?"

Thinking that honesty would be the best policy and already expecting a charge anyway I answered, "Oh I lost it forever ago. It's been at least a year."

The man at the desk stared at me and said, "Well since you admitted you lost it that almost makes me want to charge you the fee for a new card.*"  And then he laughed awkwardly like that would diffuse the weirdness of his statement.  It didn't.

Knowing that class would be starting soon, I impatiently told him I didn't care about the charge but to just tell me where the heck to go.  He sent me out to another office, where I paid and they sent me back to socially awkward man so he could take my new ID photo.

Now really I should have just waited.  Waited for a different day when I hadn't come straight from swimming or at least for a day when I was wearing make up.  But since I'd already paid the d-a-m-n charge I followed the man back through the library, around the corner, and to the door that originally denied me access.  Here Mr. SA* kind of muttered, "there's a mirror if you want to fix your hair."  To which I replied, "what? Don't I look good?"  I think he still might be red.

I stood on the little x and started to smile because I was told the camera would click on 4.  It clicked on 2.  Apparently it was a new camera and no one knew how to work it.  Here's the result.

 

I know.  I know.  I could have retaken it but I was super late for class and really, it kind of captures my feelings about the whole adventure.

So meet (as my family calls it) Billy.  As in, Billy BYU.  My pained looking alter ego. Destined for all things awkward.  I'm sure he'll be in lots of stories this year.

Do you know how often I use my ID card?  For about everything.  I'm ashamed every time.  In fact, even having this up on the screen is scaring the other people in the library.  It's scaring me at least.  

School rocks.

*I asked him later what I could have said in order not to pay and he stammered out that sometimes if the card gets stolen they don't charge.  I think my card will be getting stolen VERY soon.