I May Have Lost My Mind.

A list of English Words:

Blimey. 

Bloke.

Bollocks.

Cheeky. 

Cheerio.

Crikey.

Crisps.

Gaffer.

Git.

Higgledy Piggledy.

and it goes on and on.

Guys.  This is Manchester, England.

This is where I'll be spending the next 18 months of my life.

I checked my mailbox three times yesterday before that large envelope finally appeared.  Do you know what I learned?  I learned that steaming open envelopes is about the easiest thing in the world.  That sucker popped RIGHT open.
I planned to hurry and steam it open before anyone came home and then shower, read some scriptures, you know, prepare myself and open it on my own.  But between the steaming and the showering, people started coming home and I decided to wait.

There were no tears, at least until not Grace realized how close I'd be to Princess Kate and Princess Kate's nose.  Then she cries.

There was however, a LOT of shaking and laughing and the complete inability to form full sentences.

I prefaced the opening by saying I'd have to stop my damn swearing.  Carol LOVED that one.

Didn't really hit me until this morning.

I didn't hear anything my teacher said this morning.

Instead, I heard my brain going, "Manchester.  Manchester.  manchestermanchestermanchestermanchestermanchesterMANCHESTERAAAAAHHHHHH!!!

Manchester is currently: cloudy, 41 degrees, 65% humidity.  It snows less than 30 days a year but never gets above 60 degrees.  I'm supposed to bring thermal underwear, a lot of wool and an umbrella.

One thing is for absolute certain.  I will NOT be wearing these:

Bloody hell I'm going to England.

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.

I Hope. I Hope. (Though I Never Grew a Foot or Two)

Just a small announcement.

Sike it's a HUGE announcement. 

 I'm going on a mission.  

I thought my whole life I'd go.  But then as I got old enough to actually think about submitting papers (that was pre-conference aahbviously) I started to really freak out and change my mind.  There was so much stuff that seemed to get in the way.  I wanted to be a camp counselor in the summer.  I'd just barely transferred schools - could I really leave again so soon?  I wanted to study abroad.  Did I really want to leave and come back at 23?  That's so old, and probably I'd be super awkward and UNMARRIED.  (I hate that that factored into my thinking but it did.)  So I've been trying to make this decision for a few months now.  Finally after a lot of committed serious prayers, I was sitting in accounting class (of all things) and I just knew.  Then I sent my mom this four word email:

Subject line: mission

Content: "i'm going.  I'm GOING!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" 

I'm over the moon about it.  If I could leave tomorrow I would.  Seriously.  I told my Bishop that when I met with him on Tuesday.  I seriously considered setting my availability for the day after finals and Lizzie's wedding.  But after some more prayer and a talk with Mama C-Roll (she's always right) I think I'm going to set my availability for after winter semester.  May 2.  Which means I won't be able to actually submit my papers and get my call until January (You can't submit until 120 days before your availability date).  Painful.  I just want to go.  Seven months seems too far away to bear.  It's funny how before I couldn't imagine taking that time out of my life, a mission just seemed logistically impossible.  But now I can't imagine not going.  I never looked back.  Every worry I had before just... fell away.  I'm still sad about things I'll miss, but I know that this is the right thing for me right now.  My only regret is that I didn't make the decision earlier.  

So that's that.  If you come to my farewell, brace yourself because you'll probably hear about this all over.  And I'll be making the joke about never growing a foot or two.  Do your best to forget about it ok?  Or just practice your pity laugh - and it better by realistic.  

I guess this means the DI is going to be receiving a lot of my not-exactly-sleazy-but-perhaps-a-touch-short shorts and skirts.  If you want anything you best come over and claim it now.

Bring on the ultra conservative clothes.  I'm ready.  

I'll go where you want me to go, Dear Lord.  

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.

In Which I Expose Myself as a Leech and a Hipster

Marleen. Also lovingly known as Marleeny-Weeny.

The first new friend I made in this teensy yet alarmingly huge place I call a university.

She introduced me to her friends, and all of the sudden I had a group of very awesome people to hang out with.* It was miraculous. I didn't bond with a lot of people in my dorm... 'scuse me, residence hall (RA terminology) and it's quite possible Marleen saved my life. Without it I faced a long year of awkward social skills and few friends.

Marleen is also one of the coolest people I know. I liked her because she'd heard of Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros.** I thought, "this girl has good taste." Then she introduced me to about five million other bands and made me feel infinitely cooler. This girl was not a follower. I liked that she had opinions and personality. Before this I was torn between two styles. The one-dimensional sweet gal full of name brand clothing and pop music (or at least, that's how I saw it) and the slightly more punk, fashion-forward, hippie interested, indie music lover. That semester, I absolutely lived in the second.***

Before I mention these next few things, let me preface it by saying: Marleen was no-where near as lame as I was about these characteristics. Mine were trends I was picking up. Hers were legitimate interests and traits. She thought for herself, without letting other opinions influence her own. In trying to replicate this I went to an extreme. Another fault of mine, a tendency to replicate others, instead of create individually. And she was accepting enough that I felt confident enough to try these crazy things.

(Can we blame this on my inborn personality? An xnxx is in the middle of everything remember? So I tend to lean towards either end, depending on who I'm with because I'm comfortable with most everything. Average peeps. SO average.)

She was a part of my first college rebellion - hair dye. Mama C-roll hated that one. But with subtlety. "I just think your natural hair color is so pretty. Maybe we could do some highlights?" Read: that looks hideous and I think you're a jaded materialistic girl for doing it. Love ya mom.

And a part of my first societal rebellion - no makeup. Yeah who cares if I don't look good! All makeup is a tool to suppress women and impress shallow men! Boo! BOOOOOOOO!****

Ok those are kind of negative things. This is coming out to sound a lot worse than I wanted it too. But these stages I went through shaped what I am now and so they're important.
What I learned from Marleen (the simplified version, without psychotic, over obsessive perfectionist sierra):

1. It's ok to like things that other people are weird.
2. It's also ok to not wear make-up sometimes. You can still be attractive without it.
3. Life is more fun if you don't worry excessively about what others think. Go ahead, joke around with that person you just met, don't worry about a perfect first impression, don't take yourself so seriously.
4. There's more than one genre when it comes to music.
5. There's nothing quite like a good clever pun.
6. Study hard, play hard.

Overall it was the inspiration to be a little more confident in myself. Individual quirks are interesting, they help create a personality. And I did come away with an undying love for farmers markets, teevas, and all things in association with that. Hiking, dreadlocks, and weird people. I had these interests a little bit already, but I developed them that year.

We hiked. We listened to music. We played extreme jenga and went to a bonfire - where a gas can exploded and almost took my head off. Mom? I didn't tell you about that? Nevermind...)

Marleeny-weeny. I hope you get into that nursing program. I hope we keep track of each other. Thank you for being such a witty, down-to-earth, fun-loving, smart individual. I will miss your sass.




*a vaguely leech-like quality

**not very many people I knew had heard of that band at this point. Intro my hipster tendencies.

***I should specify that they're not mutually exclusive. I used to be snotty about it but I've matured. I realize that you can be sweet and a hippie. You can also be a punk and be one-dimensional. Now I LOVE EVERYONE, you're all great. I promise I'll only judge you a little if your truly favorite music comes from auto-tune and random rap verses in otherwise non-rap songs.

****Again, I'm no longer like this. Moderation in all things.

Home (Ah Home. Let Me Come Home. Home is Wherever I'm With You)

I get it. I think I finally understand why home is so important. There's a reason it's been repeated at least once a week 52 weeks a year 20 years of my life.

I've been so burned out lately. I didn't want to study, or do homework, or care at all about d-a-m-n residents (spelling it out makes it not a swear word, or so says Papa Jim). All I've wanted to do is go to the gym, and cook, and sleep, and read. I couldn't go home for a full weekend, but as I was sitting at the computer on Thursday, near tears, I just decided to leave.

I walked straight out of that d-a-m-n library, cancelled my Friday morning appointment with my English teacher, and drove home. Drove home like a bat outta hell. Like a reporter after a story. Like my brother when he sees a Cadbury Creme Egg.

I can't exactly describe the feeling of home. It's different for everyone I guess. I picture them in colors. Some homes are a full soft orange. Golden brown orange, something akin to baked sweet potatoes. They're busy and loud and noisy. Mine is cooler. Quieter.  Light blue/grey dryer sheet that softens the edges of a hard day and absorbs my insecurities.

Walking in that front door, a blue door with a star scratched in by my younger self, felt so right. I hadn't even told anyone I was coming home. For once this wasn't a trip for me to socialize and catch up with a bunch of friends. I just wanted to be with my family and do homework in the uninterrupted peace of my basement. Going home was my secret last resort, a little piece of relaxation I wanted all to myself. Have you ever read The Wanderer? It's about a girl who goes on a boat trip with her family, in a little boat they built. In it she describes a pair of socks (of all things.) I can't quote it directly but she basically says: "everyone hoards one pair of dry socks. you keep it and protect it and when you can't stand the dampness one second longer you slip on that dry pair and ahhh, relief." That's exactly how coming home felt.

I guess if I didn't have a home to return to I'd find some other way to manage. I'd find solace in something else, maybe have a good cry, and turn to my friends. But I don't think I could find the same kind of satisfaction and rejuvenation that I did from that little brick house with a big garden and twisted driveway. Before, my obstacles were insurmountable. Now, I they just look like a long walk uphill, one that I have the energy for.

I get why I hear so many church leaders talk about the sanctity of a home. I don't care what a home is to you; I know they're as varied as the people on the earth. I don't care if you have one parent or two, one or eighteen. I don't care if your home is a shack, a mansion, a bookstore even. Everyone needs to have a place to retreat to and feel welcomed. Having a place that holds people who've promised to rely on each other, to build each other, to make those rooms (or room) a place of peace and safety is as close to heaven as I think we can get.

Whatever I do in my life, however I break up my days and spend my time, I want to be sure that part of it is spent participating in and creating that little piece of imperfect perfection. Maybe I'll do this with a full-time career, maybe I won't. Maybe I'll do it with a bunch of kids, maybe I won't.

Thanks to the people who've made sacrifices so I could have that pair of dry socks. After a long, wet semester, they were much needed.

P.S. Papa Jim, you crying yet? Not my goal. But a bonus.

Security Bites Back

I have old woman paranoia syndrome.

You didn't know this existed? It does. Google it.*

I blame this - like any good twentieth century child - in part on my mother**

The paranoia goes like this. The website wants me to use a password! I must create something incredibly obscure and only relevant to me! It must have random capitalizations and numbers! If I don't I'll be hacked by this new fangled technology! All 400 dollars left in my savings account will be drained and I'll be ruined! RUINED! RUINED. Ruined. Ruined. ruined. And whatever I do I must NOT write those random passwords down because then some brilliantly clever person who wants to use my secrets (because I have so many and am so very VIP) will find them and use them to wreak havoc. ***

Usually I end up re-setting a lot of passwords and getting permanently locked out of my online bank account. Whatever, I can handle that. But then I got my email about getting into BYU.

I felt so anxious opening the email. Despite the assurances of people I knew, I wasn't guaranteed a spot. I know people scoff at this school but it is, a competitive place. My record is far from perfect and there's plenty of highly qualified people who don't get in, so I was very nervous.

I'd been counting down the days, I knew I was supposed to hear back by the 28th of February. On this particular day (I don't remember the exact date. Shame. I probably should have remembered it, photographed it, and scrapbooked it for future posterity) I must have checked every hour. After eight I finally stopped checking and settled in to wait until I could obsessively check the next day. But I guess BYU doesn't operate at normal office hours. I got a call around nine, from a friend asking if I'd received the email - she just had.

Cue heart attack.

So I tried to log on and read the email.

Shoot, what was my password again?

aahh.

For that matter... what was my username? (I applied a whole month ago ok? Why would I remember things like that?)

AaaHhhh.

Hmmm maybe I'll just try to change my password. Great, confirmation email sent to my email, I'll just go there and fix it.

Check email... Nothing is there? Why? (Note, I'm still on the phone) Repeat procedure. Laugh. Defend accusatory remarks made by friend. She accused me of being an idiot. She's right.

So I tried to call tech support.

Closed till the morning.

AAAHHHHHHHHHH!

Of course. I laughed some more, mostly to hide the frustrations at myself and the nerves. I planned to get up early and call as soon as tech support opened at seven.

Instead I slept in and rushed to the library to finish a paper before class. Then I rushed to housing office to fill out a form requesting a purchasing card to buy refreshments for a program that night. Then I rushed to wallyworld to buy the items and get the card back in time.

As I drove, my rebellious/stubborn side kicked in. Screw that awaiting email. I couldn't find out right at the moment, so I wasn't going to think about it a second more. I opened the sunroof. I turned up my favorite cd. I stuck my hand out the window and felt for the first time in months the sun warming it. I felt that kind of happy, jumping feeling that comes when the Friday bell rings or when you just start out on a long road trip. I was content.

I'm sure at this point my parents were having complete heart attacks. My bad, parental units. (PU for abbreviation.) I'll add some more funds into the "nice nursing home" jar.

Finally, FINALLY I made it back into my room where I could close the door and call tech support. I changed the password. I checked the email.

I got in.

*I hope you didn't really google it. What a waste of time.

**NOT because you are old, mother. You are NOT OLD. You are a SPRING CHICKEN. I blame it because you are a very cautious person who has instilled this quality in me and you will probably never have a stranger use your savings to fund a vacation to Aruba. It's a GOOD THING.

***That part I blame on reading too much Artemis Fowl.

Wuv. Sweet Wuv. Bring on Those Controversial Pink Hearts

Happy Valentines Day.

I'm sure everyone with a blog will be talking about this day. I'm envisioning a range from:
super anti - Valentines Day is overcommercialized, a way to turn love into business, a low point of society, a sign of a doomed humanity etc..
to: "Singles Awareness Day" - read: I'm all alone and super self conscious about it but I'm going to turn it into a joke so no one knows that I'm secretly dreading being alone for the rest of my life.
to: YAAAAAAYYYYYYYYY!!!!!! love Love LOVE!!!

Personally I'm kind of apathetic about this holiday. I guess if I were a very interesting person I'd
take a strong stance on either extreme and defend my opinion to death. At the very least my crazy ideas would get some attention. However, I'm not feeling very Rush Limbaugh-ish today and really, I fall somewhere in the middle (.. the average perhaps? Puns = yessssss). I don't know if it deserves all the hoo ha it gets because, like so many things in life, there's some pros some cons, but here's my theory: it is what you make it. And here's what I make of it: it's all good. Single? In love? t'ss alllllll goooooooooood.

But because I love being unoriginal and run-of-the-mill here's a brief Valentines post...

In honor of this special SPECIAL occasion, (here's to hoping dripping sarcasm translates via blogger) I'd like to post my favorite quote about marriage from mama c-roll. Hi ma, don't be offended, I like this idea.

"When it's 2 am, you haven't showered in three days, and the baby is screaming - you don't care how good he looks in those jeans - you just want him to clean the dang puke up."*

Aw love.To think I sometimes wonder why my view of marriage is not glossed, embossed, and glittered. I've grown up knowing it's hard work, and it probably sucks sometimes. But I'm still hoping that someday I'll find out it's worth it. Cause you've made it this far Mama C-Roll and Papa Jim. (25 years in June) So you must like each other a little bit.

Cheers!

*Recent correction from my mother. "Actually I would have said, clean up the dang puke." Thanks ma, for keeping me grammatically correct.