(I've been waiting for months to use that one. Brilliant eh?)
So here goes. It's my final night at home and where am I? In my bed of course. With ice cream melting and First Aid Kit playing and it turns out I'm a lot more of a home body than even I realized.
Tomorrow I'll move into the top floor of a house, converted into the tiniest independent "apartment" I've ever seen. Seriously. If my cousin Dara* who lived in downtown Manhattan ever saw this place even HE would curl up and die. And this is the guy who paid like 50,000 buckaroos for a half bedroom apartment. In the words of my dear roommate: "it looks like an abandoned nuclear warfare zone. But it has potential." Well that's ok then.
I tried to move in today but guess what? There are girls still LIVING there. Which means, first of all, that the $25 cleaning fee I paid up front is not being used to clean the practically decaying carpet (held together only by the dead skin cells of twenty bajillion footsteps I'm sure) and is instead probably supporting the landlady's I don't know, diet coke addiction. (Provo gets pretty cray cray.) It also means that I'm expected to move on a SUNDAY. Sin. siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnnn! What an ox in the mire situation. I may have to start counting my steps. How could you BYU?
In the occasion that I survive the nuclear warfare zone and my lungs don't immediately turn black and flee from my body I'll start classes on Monday. I'm terrified. The idea of walking into a building I don't know, into a classroom I don't know, full of people I've never seen before in my life throws me back into the anxiety I used to feel (okay STILL feel) walking down the halls of high school.
I KNEW good ol' suh. I would recognize faces in ever class, in every hall, in every study room. And even if I wasn't friends with them, there was a lot of comfort in the familiarity. I knew SUU. I knew all of my nutrition professors, was friends with those crazy charismatic fun kids in leadership spots. So comfortable. So easy. Which is exactly why I'm transferring of course. Time for me to step out of my comfort zone. Time to grow. To better myself in a way I don't think I could have accessed at suh.
But the terror remains. Let me give you a little demonstration ok? SUU's graduating class last year: 1700. BYU's graduating class: 6800. More than three times bigger. oooohh-KAY. No BiG dEaL.** I'm starting all over. New track for classes. New program to apply to. I know. I know. I'll be fine. I really do know this deep down. It's what keeping me from crumbling and living in the basement for the rest of my life. I'll be ok. Good. Great even. But it doesn't make me any less nervous in the awkward about to move and restart interim.
So come Monday***. It's going to be just a little gish in a big pond. Swim little fishy. Swim your frickin' heart out.
*Google him. He only is the number #1 analyzer (read RICH) in the beverage industry. It's fine. I rock at Jenga. We're totally related.
** very Very VERY big deal.
***I'll be blogging a LOT more than in the summer. I seem to blog best when I'm putting off homework out of pure obstinacy. Which I'm sure you'll be grateful to hear. Tell me you're grateful. I get so dang vain about this blog. Telling me you like it strokes my ego like you wouldn't believe. (I'm talking to you lil catie poo meyer. Makes my day every time. Seriously. I'm pretty much your loyal blogging servant over here.)
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Sunday, June 10, 2012
Weekend Words
"It was right then, between when I asked about the labyrinth and when she answered me, that I realized the importance of curves, of the thousand places where girls' bodies ease from on e place to another, from arc of the foot to ankle to calf, from calf to hip to waist to breast to neck to ski-slope nose to forehead to shoulder to the concave arch of the back to the butt to the etc. I'd noticed curves before, of course, but I had never quite apprehended their significance." - John Green
And one more John Green Quote. Seriously, read the whole thing. I'll even do lots of random line breaks to keep your attention. (Admit it, you skim when it's longer than six or seven consecutive lines. CONSECUTIVE! I mean honestly, who's attention span is that long?)
"Maybe it's more like you said before, all of us being cracked open. Like, each starts out as a watertight vessel. And these things happen - these people leave us, or don't love us , or don't get us, or we don't get them, and we lose and fail and hurt one another. And the vessel starts to crack open in places. And I mean, yeah, once the vessel cracks open, the end becomes inevitable.
But there is all this time between when the cracks start to open up and when we finally fall apart. And it's only in that time that we can see one another, because we see out of ourselves through our cracks and into others through theirs.
When did we see each other face-to-face? Not until you saw into my cracks and I saw into yours. Before that, we were just looking at ideas of each other, like looking at your window shade but never seeing inside. BUt one the vessel cracks, the light can get in. The light can get out."
And one more John Green Quote. Seriously, read the whole thing. I'll even do lots of random line breaks to keep your attention. (Admit it, you skim when it's longer than six or seven consecutive lines. CONSECUTIVE! I mean honestly, who's attention span is that long?)
"Maybe it's more like you said before, all of us being cracked open. Like, each starts out as a watertight vessel. And these things happen - these people leave us, or don't love us , or don't get us, or we don't get them, and we lose and fail and hurt one another. And the vessel starts to crack open in places. And I mean, yeah, once the vessel cracks open, the end becomes inevitable.
But there is all this time between when the cracks start to open up and when we finally fall apart. And it's only in that time that we can see one another, because we see out of ourselves through our cracks and into others through theirs.
When did we see each other face-to-face? Not until you saw into my cracks and I saw into yours. Before that, we were just looking at ideas of each other, like looking at your window shade but never seeing inside. BUt one the vessel cracks, the light can get in. The light can get out."
Saturday, June 2, 2012
Meow?
Hello world.
I haven't had much to say because life is so NORMAL. Which is weird in and of itself. No live action fruit ninja fights outside the dorm. I love home. I love normal. But what can I write about it? You GUYS. I went to bed at ELEVEN. And got up at EIGHT. And then I WATERED PLANTS. And PRACTICED the PIANO. And learned how to COOK some of my mom's recipes. WOOOO Look out world!
Isn't that the best?
But a few things have been going on. I got a job. It's... well it's a job. I work at an Inn, which is fun when it's super busy, although on the slow days I think the wall has a permanent indentation from where I bang my head into it. I work the front desk, meaning I answer phones, make reservations, check people in and out, etc... And like I said, when it's busy it's a blast. So many unexpected questions come up that there's no way I could be trained on dealing with every situation. (On the first day someone asked me about the differing sizes of the tubs. Wha?) This is a very couples based business, expert in special occasions. Ah the Inn, where everybody is super in love, except the front desk worker. Yours truly.
Which brings me to my next point. I've done something I swore I would never do. I mocked these people unceasingly, made means jokes about it, slated it for the weird and too sentimental. I've... I've... I've fallen in love with my cat* Save me. I woke up one morning with him sleeping on my shoulder and instead of getting up and chucking him off the roof like I normally would have, I laughed. Laughed and thought it was frickin' adorable.
I'm turning into a legitimate cat lady.
Not only do I love my cat, but my parents have turned in to cool people. Seriously. I love hanging out with them. Did you know they're hysterical? Cause they are. If they were in a cool contest, they'd be ice and your parents would be lukewarm tap water.**
Someone set me up. Boys are foreign creatures right now. They're either on missions or home for the summer, or away on summer adventures. Obviously work doesn't provide many options because while yeah, I've met many a cute guy, they're all MARRIED. And home wrecking has really never been an option for me. So unless next to my piano, or the corner of Barnes and Nobles becomes a really hot hang out spot, it's looking like a solo summer. And you know what I say to that? GOOD. After months and months of being social all the fudging time, I love being on my own.*** But still call me if you want to hang out. Chances are I still like YOU. And want to hear from you and catch up and all that crap. I'm just not in the mood to go clubbing in the hopes of snagging a man.
I guess for now all my affection is reserved for the cat. Winston. Or Melville. Or Mumford. Or Wayne. We tried name him like eight times but nothing stuck. He gets all my snuggles that lucky creature.
* I did not choose to have this cat in my defense. It was an unfortunate circumstances and a horribly botched attempt at being thoughtful. True to Gish-style. Ask me about it in person because really, it's too embarrassing to talk about here. Actually don't ask me about it. It's too embarrassing to talk about anywhere.
**This is mostly because they listen to NPR with me. So mostly likely I'm moving to their level. Suddenly the idea of gardening? FASCINATING. Learning about different types of bike valves? FASCINATING. Listening to old Talking Heads songs and laughing at David Byrnes suit? So. Much. FUN.
***Unless you really want to set me up. Which I'd also be totally ok with.
I haven't had much to say because life is so NORMAL. Which is weird in and of itself. No live action fruit ninja fights outside the dorm. I love home. I love normal. But what can I write about it? You GUYS. I went to bed at ELEVEN. And got up at EIGHT. And then I WATERED PLANTS. And PRACTICED the PIANO. And learned how to COOK some of my mom's recipes. WOOOO Look out world!
Isn't that the best?
But a few things have been going on. I got a job. It's... well it's a job. I work at an Inn, which is fun when it's super busy, although on the slow days I think the wall has a permanent indentation from where I bang my head into it. I work the front desk, meaning I answer phones, make reservations, check people in and out, etc... And like I said, when it's busy it's a blast. So many unexpected questions come up that there's no way I could be trained on dealing with every situation. (On the first day someone asked me about the differing sizes of the tubs. Wha?) This is a very couples based business, expert in special occasions. Ah the Inn, where everybody is super in love, except the front desk worker. Yours truly.
Which brings me to my next point. I've done something I swore I would never do. I mocked these people unceasingly, made means jokes about it, slated it for the weird and too sentimental. I've... I've... I've fallen in love with my cat* Save me. I woke up one morning with him sleeping on my shoulder and instead of getting up and chucking him off the roof like I normally would have, I laughed. Laughed and thought it was frickin' adorable.
I'm turning into a legitimate cat lady.
Not only do I love my cat, but my parents have turned in to cool people. Seriously. I love hanging out with them. Did you know they're hysterical? Cause they are. If they were in a cool contest, they'd be ice and your parents would be lukewarm tap water.**
Someone set me up. Boys are foreign creatures right now. They're either on missions or home for the summer, or away on summer adventures. Obviously work doesn't provide many options because while yeah, I've met many a cute guy, they're all MARRIED. And home wrecking has really never been an option for me. So unless next to my piano, or the corner of Barnes and Nobles becomes a really hot hang out spot, it's looking like a solo summer. And you know what I say to that? GOOD. After months and months of being social all the fudging time, I love being on my own.*** But still call me if you want to hang out. Chances are I still like YOU. And want to hear from you and catch up and all that crap. I'm just not in the mood to go clubbing in the hopes of snagging a man.
I guess for now all my affection is reserved for the cat. Winston. Or Melville. Or Mumford. Or Wayne. We tried name him like eight times but nothing stuck. He gets all my snuggles that lucky creature.
* I did not choose to have this cat in my defense. It was an unfortunate circumstances and a horribly botched attempt at being thoughtful. True to Gish-style. Ask me about it in person because really, it's too embarrassing to talk about here. Actually don't ask me about it. It's too embarrassing to talk about anywhere.
**This is mostly because they listen to NPR with me. So mostly likely I'm moving to their level. Suddenly the idea of gardening? FASCINATING. Learning about different types of bike valves? FASCINATING. Listening to old Talking Heads songs and laughing at David Byrnes suit? So. Much. FUN.
***Unless you really want to set me up. Which I'd also be totally ok with.
Monday, May 7, 2012
I'm home. Back to the place where my roommates don't play Celtic Women in the morning, followed by death metal. That place where 2 a.m. is a time to sleep, not bake brownies and invite friends over.
I woke up at one o'clock. PM. A full twelve hours of sleep. This may have been because my Dad listened to 1776 the entire drive home, slipping me into a time delayed coma that hit at midnight. Or maybe I finally maxed out on my sleep debt and the collectors came. With high interest rates and bats and tylenol pm.
I drove out of Cedar City yesterday around six. I could think of all the reasons why I should be sad. I could think of all the reasons why I should be excited. But really, I didn't feel much of anything. I'd said my goodbyes, breathed in the campus as I walked to my last classes, mentally memorized the neighborhood as I ran late at night to give myself a break from studying. I even teared up a little bit as I wrote about some people who I made good friendships with, who I won't see anymore. I won't miss them in the aching everyday feeling that lingers. I'll miss them when I see them again, and think about all the new memories I haven't been a part of.
But as I closed the trunk for the final time and looked around, I knew it was time to move on. I'm ready. It's very matter of fact really. My two years are over, it's time for summer, and then for transferring. Maybe it'll hit me later, maybe it already did. Either way, there are no tears. Just a soft thoughtful feeling of what I could cry about,. It's nice to know there are things I could cry about, that I experienced some really good times. I feel prepared. I learned not to fear the ladies in the front office - something that's terrified me for as long as I can remember. I asked a question during my biology final, actually raised my hand for clarification, something I've never done before because I didn't want the surrounding attention. It's a ridiculous notion, that people around me would notice I had a question and think ... well who know what I was afraid of them thinking, but I was. My worst fear came true, I planned a program for residents and no one came. And I was fine. This year I re-learned (finally) how to really study. Too many easy general ed classes can ruin even the best of habits learned from Mr. Felt. But now I remember. I remember and I'm ready to do it again, for many many classes.
I've said a lot of thank you's over the past few weeks. Thank you's, and I'll miss you's, and recognized a lot of important relationships. There's a lot more to dwell on, plenty more I learned. But right now, it's summer. I'm home and I have to mow the lawn before my dad gets back from the market. I just have one more thing to say.
Goodbye SUU.
I woke up at one o'clock. PM. A full twelve hours of sleep. This may have been because my Dad listened to 1776 the entire drive home, slipping me into a time delayed coma that hit at midnight. Or maybe I finally maxed out on my sleep debt and the collectors came. With high interest rates and bats and tylenol pm.
I drove out of Cedar City yesterday around six. I could think of all the reasons why I should be sad. I could think of all the reasons why I should be excited. But really, I didn't feel much of anything. I'd said my goodbyes, breathed in the campus as I walked to my last classes, mentally memorized the neighborhood as I ran late at night to give myself a break from studying. I even teared up a little bit as I wrote about some people who I made good friendships with, who I won't see anymore. I won't miss them in the aching everyday feeling that lingers. I'll miss them when I see them again, and think about all the new memories I haven't been a part of.
But as I closed the trunk for the final time and looked around, I knew it was time to move on. I'm ready. It's very matter of fact really. My two years are over, it's time for summer, and then for transferring. Maybe it'll hit me later, maybe it already did. Either way, there are no tears. Just a soft thoughtful feeling of what I could cry about,. It's nice to know there are things I could cry about, that I experienced some really good times. I feel prepared. I learned not to fear the ladies in the front office - something that's terrified me for as long as I can remember. I asked a question during my biology final, actually raised my hand for clarification, something I've never done before because I didn't want the surrounding attention. It's a ridiculous notion, that people around me would notice I had a question and think ... well who know what I was afraid of them thinking, but I was. My worst fear came true, I planned a program for residents and no one came. And I was fine. This year I re-learned (finally) how to really study. Too many easy general ed classes can ruin even the best of habits learned from Mr. Felt. But now I remember. I remember and I'm ready to do it again, for many many classes.
I've said a lot of thank you's over the past few weeks. Thank you's, and I'll miss you's, and recognized a lot of important relationships. There's a lot more to dwell on, plenty more I learned. But right now, it's summer. I'm home and I have to mow the lawn before my dad gets back from the market. I just have one more thing to say.
Goodbye SUU.
Sunday, May 6, 2012
Generic Name Boy
Dubbed so by none other than our very own Ry Guy.
My mom thinks I have a thing for fall flings. Possible. Two out of my last two relationships happened and ended fall semester. Dalton and David. Same initials and everything. I swear that's a coincidence.
I met David because I had a massive crush on his roommate as a freshman. Honestly, I should probably include that squeeb in the category of "people who influenced me in Cedar City." But I can't just yet. I don't quite have the words to cover that fiasco. It didn't work out, that's the main point. But David did, for awhile.
Despite being hopeless over his roommate, I remember meeting David and thinking he was a cute, fun guy. We talked a few times but summer came and we both went home - opposite directions. Then I ran into him at the bookstore during the first week of school and stopped to say hello. I walked away from that conversation disappointed; he didn't seem very responsive and I figured he just saw me as that pathetic girl chasing after his roomie.
But then he got my number (probably from same said roommate) and called me. And he planned, hands down, the best dates I've ever been on. We went roller skating at this funky old roller rink on the outskirts of town for the first date. The next time, he took me to the DI. Stop right there. Marriage? Absolutely. Done and done. He took me to the DI, we picked out something for the other one to wear, and went to dinner. RIGHT up my alley. He picked out this shirt for me, and I tried to pretend it really was hideous, while in the back of my mind laughing because it was something I would have worn normally. I picked out a bib for him. And was so impressed because he wore it like it was the latest fashion, no shame.
We had a picnic on his roof, played people bingo at Wal-Mart, and he taught me how to cook authentic southern style fried chicken. I loved every minute. Six dates to hold my hand. Nine until he kissed me. Yeah I counted. For the first time, I could picture myself really falling in love, and even marrying someone. He was grown up. A senior, applying for grad schools, sharing an actual house, growing vegetables and splitting wood in the backyard. Plus he sweet talked me with biology talk. That may have clinched it.
He had impeccable timing. When I had to move out of my residence hall, he came over to help me pack, and after days of worrying about everyone else, I finally had someone to worry about me, and listen to my fears. At the end of the semester I was moving yet again, dragging suitcases down the long cement walk dimly lit by the broken street lamps. I felt worn out and on autopilot. He showed up just as I was reaching the stairs. I looked up and he was standing there, backlit, so it took me a minute to register who it really was. If it had been a movie there probably would have been a hallelujah chorus in the background.
I would have seriously considered marrying him and moving to where ever he went to grad school. But I didn't love him. I wanted to. So much. I could see everything working perfectly. He was so solid, steady, and kind. But I didn't love him. After almost four months, I didn't feel any different than I did after our first couple dates. I wanted it to work, but I knew it wouldn't, and I knew I was wasting his time. So after the break, it was over. We never really discussed it, somehow he just knew, and that was it. Didn't see him again for a few months. I took his blood glucose levels for my research project. Sufficiently awkward.
So it didn't work permanently. But it was a step in the right direction I think. He wrote a song for me; I touched (and cooked) raw chicken for him. These are not equal actions of devotion obviously. But hey, he tried his best with that song.
But it was worth it. I finally had a first kiss when my hair was clean.* I finally dated someone older than me. I finally pictured a future, albeit only for a few months. Good luck David. You were wonderful, ideal even. I hope you find someone equally as wonderful.** Thank you.
*This was a big deal. Both of the last guys got dirty hair first kisses. I was determined to break my streak and I ducked out twice until I looked dang good.
**As long as she's not prettier than me.***
***Joke.
My mom thinks I have a thing for fall flings. Possible. Two out of my last two relationships happened and ended fall semester. Dalton and David. Same initials and everything. I swear that's a coincidence.
I met David because I had a massive crush on his roommate as a freshman. Honestly, I should probably include that squeeb in the category of "people who influenced me in Cedar City." But I can't just yet. I don't quite have the words to cover that fiasco. It didn't work out, that's the main point. But David did, for awhile.
Despite being hopeless over his roommate, I remember meeting David and thinking he was a cute, fun guy. We talked a few times but summer came and we both went home - opposite directions. Then I ran into him at the bookstore during the first week of school and stopped to say hello. I walked away from that conversation disappointed; he didn't seem very responsive and I figured he just saw me as that pathetic girl chasing after his roomie.
But then he got my number (probably from same said roommate) and called me. And he planned, hands down, the best dates I've ever been on. We went roller skating at this funky old roller rink on the outskirts of town for the first date. The next time, he took me to the DI. Stop right there. Marriage? Absolutely. Done and done. He took me to the DI, we picked out something for the other one to wear, and went to dinner. RIGHT up my alley. He picked out this shirt for me, and I tried to pretend it really was hideous, while in the back of my mind laughing because it was something I would have worn normally. I picked out a bib for him. And was so impressed because he wore it like it was the latest fashion, no shame.
We had a picnic on his roof, played people bingo at Wal-Mart, and he taught me how to cook authentic southern style fried chicken. I loved every minute. Six dates to hold my hand. Nine until he kissed me. Yeah I counted. For the first time, I could picture myself really falling in love, and even marrying someone. He was grown up. A senior, applying for grad schools, sharing an actual house, growing vegetables and splitting wood in the backyard. Plus he sweet talked me with biology talk. That may have clinched it.
He had impeccable timing. When I had to move out of my residence hall, he came over to help me pack, and after days of worrying about everyone else, I finally had someone to worry about me, and listen to my fears. At the end of the semester I was moving yet again, dragging suitcases down the long cement walk dimly lit by the broken street lamps. I felt worn out and on autopilot. He showed up just as I was reaching the stairs. I looked up and he was standing there, backlit, so it took me a minute to register who it really was. If it had been a movie there probably would have been a hallelujah chorus in the background.
I would have seriously considered marrying him and moving to where ever he went to grad school. But I didn't love him. I wanted to. So much. I could see everything working perfectly. He was so solid, steady, and kind. But I didn't love him. After almost four months, I didn't feel any different than I did after our first couple dates. I wanted it to work, but I knew it wouldn't, and I knew I was wasting his time. So after the break, it was over. We never really discussed it, somehow he just knew, and that was it. Didn't see him again for a few months. I took his blood glucose levels for my research project. Sufficiently awkward.
So it didn't work permanently. But it was a step in the right direction I think. He wrote a song for me; I touched (and cooked) raw chicken for him. These are not equal actions of devotion obviously. But hey, he tried his best with that song.
But it was worth it. I finally had a first kiss when my hair was clean.* I finally dated someone older than me. I finally pictured a future, albeit only for a few months. Good luck David. You were wonderful, ideal even. I hope you find someone equally as wonderful.** Thank you.
*This was a big deal. Both of the last guys got dirty hair first kisses. I was determined to break my streak and I ducked out twice until I looked dang good.
**As long as she's not prettier than me.***
***Joke.
Friday, May 4, 2012
Diplomatic and Adventurous
Have I ever mentioned that here at SUH* they take their Resident Assistants very seriously? Actually I know I have. They do not kid around. While some of my other friends went to their schools a day or two early for training, I left weeks early. August 2nd, a good twenty days before my first residents would arrive. I arrived and looked around at a room full of people, with no idea what to expect. From earlier classes I thought I liked most of them, but really I was clueless.
The Resident Assistants are an exuberant bunch. Very very exuberant. A roomful of them is more like a roomful of fifty energetic puppies. They have that kind of awkward air that says "I know I'm being being loud and laughing ridiculously at dumb jokes, but I take pride in this. " Think Jr. High students at their first dance, secretly feeling awkward, but acting real big to hide it. Bless their hearts. I really do enjoy them, just in small doses. Baby aspirin doses.
Not all RA's are energetic puppies, some are normal people. After all, I was one right? (ahem) Madi was in charge of the hall two above me, the lovely C300. Every month had massive programming requirements, so typically everyone teamed up with each other to plan. And we couldn't just plan a program, we also had to creatively advertise. No one would really punish you for just doing a poster, but the disdain in the eyes was apparent. Thankfully, Madi has the ability for the most creative advertising I've seen. We did an MBTI program and how the heck do you advertise for that? With massive paper brains of course. Massive brains hung all over the hall and connected with string until it looked like a ropes course. Duh.
So in my search for friend-able people, I found Madi. She never ceases to surprise me. One minute she's all soft spoken, eloquent and insightful, "You're a monkey Michael? And what kind of monkey are you? And what do monkeys eat?" And then she'll let loose with, "And what sound does a monkey make? This: OoOOooooOooOOOOOOO- AAHHA - AH AH" a perfect imitation, loud enough to call George of the Jungle's monkeys all the way back from 1997 and send them storming to her house, ready to do her bidding.
One time I had the opportunity to go on a snowshoe-ing trip for a few days. Did I have any idea how to snow-shoe? Nope. We were also supposed to sleep in a yurt. Had I ever even heard of a yurt? Hell no. Did I desperately want to go anyway? Oh yeah. But tentative as I am, I needed SOMEone to come with me. Luckily Madi was good with only twenty four hour notice for a spontaneous trip up the mountains. She took me to her house, outfitted me with snow boots, snow pants, a flashlight, a sleeping bag, basically making it possible for me to go. To the yurt we went.
It's like she has no inhibitions but at the same time is completely aware of others and diplomatic. She can go from a sincere, "Sierra you look beautiful" to the best the BEST zombie dance walk I've ever seen. Never mind it startled the boy next to her so much that he almost needed a change of pants, and caused the rest of his group to stare in astonishment and then laugh in delight.
She has a story for everything. "Did I ever tell you about the time a boy turned me down after the second date because I wouldn't convert to his religion?" "Did I ever tell you about the time I tackled a snowman to avoid a kiss?" They never get old.
And she's responsible for this fantastic quote, "Star Wars 1 through 3 are liked the desperate housewives of the galaxy."
Amen.
Madi. I will miss you. One of these summers we really will make it to visit Idalina (one of the people we met on our yurt adventure actually) and go to Floyd Fest.
Also. You have awesome hair.
(I might miss you the most)
*Not it's real name. Just how I pronounce it.
The Resident Assistants are an exuberant bunch. Very very exuberant. A roomful of them is more like a roomful of fifty energetic puppies. They have that kind of awkward air that says "I know I'm being being loud and laughing ridiculously at dumb jokes, but I take pride in this. " Think Jr. High students at their first dance, secretly feeling awkward, but acting real big to hide it. Bless their hearts. I really do enjoy them, just in small doses. Baby aspirin doses.
Not all RA's are energetic puppies, some are normal people. After all, I was one right? (ahem) Madi was in charge of the hall two above me, the lovely C300. Every month had massive programming requirements, so typically everyone teamed up with each other to plan. And we couldn't just plan a program, we also had to creatively advertise. No one would really punish you for just doing a poster, but the disdain in the eyes was apparent. Thankfully, Madi has the ability for the most creative advertising I've seen. We did an MBTI program and how the heck do you advertise for that? With massive paper brains of course. Massive brains hung all over the hall and connected with string until it looked like a ropes course. Duh.
So in my search for friend-able people, I found Madi. She never ceases to surprise me. One minute she's all soft spoken, eloquent and insightful, "You're a monkey Michael? And what kind of monkey are you? And what do monkeys eat?" And then she'll let loose with, "And what sound does a monkey make? This: OoOOooooOooOOOOOOO- AAHHA - AH AH" a perfect imitation, loud enough to call George of the Jungle's monkeys all the way back from 1997 and send them storming to her house, ready to do her bidding.
One time I had the opportunity to go on a snowshoe-ing trip for a few days. Did I have any idea how to snow-shoe? Nope. We were also supposed to sleep in a yurt. Had I ever even heard of a yurt? Hell no. Did I desperately want to go anyway? Oh yeah. But tentative as I am, I needed SOMEone to come with me. Luckily Madi was good with only twenty four hour notice for a spontaneous trip up the mountains. She took me to her house, outfitted me with snow boots, snow pants, a flashlight, a sleeping bag, basically making it possible for me to go. To the yurt we went.
It's like she has no inhibitions but at the same time is completely aware of others and diplomatic. She can go from a sincere, "Sierra you look beautiful" to the best the BEST zombie dance walk I've ever seen. Never mind it startled the boy next to her so much that he almost needed a change of pants, and caused the rest of his group to stare in astonishment and then laugh in delight.
She has a story for everything. "Did I ever tell you about the time a boy turned me down after the second date because I wouldn't convert to his religion?" "Did I ever tell you about the time I tackled a snowman to avoid a kiss?" They never get old.
And she's responsible for this fantastic quote, "Star Wars 1 through 3 are liked the desperate housewives of the galaxy."
Amen.
Madi. I will miss you. One of these summers we really will make it to visit Idalina (one of the people we met on our yurt adventure actually) and go to Floyd Fest.
Also. You have awesome hair.
(I might miss you the most)
*Not it's real name. Just how I pronounce it.
Thursday, May 3, 2012
My Muffin Top is All That
Oh Ry Guy.
What is the story of Ryan? Well I'm not exactly sure. In the same stake pretty much our whole lives. Went to the same Jr. High (I thought his name was Brian for months) and High School. And then the same college. Ryan you creep. Get your own life.
Joke.
We were always in the same friend group but it wasn't until the last few years that I actually got to know him. He looks hella intimidating.
The turning point might have been when a bunch of us planned to cook a Sunday dinner, now that we were far away from our doting, meal providing parents. Ry guy was pretty much the only other one to contribute a meal plan, cooking skill, and the thought to help clean up. I thought, "wow Ryan is like a complete person that can function on his own. Self-sufficiency. Weird." This was the dinner when I called my parents and apologized for every single time I turned up my nose at a meal or left without at least putting away my dishes. Karma has a sick sense of humor. Um.. sorry again parentals.
So we ate real food together. And a lot of junk food. We share this disease - ihateeveryoneitis - and the only treatment was withdrawing from the world inhabited by complete idiots and watching 30 Rock while ingesting large amounts of junk. Basically we were real big snots. But everyone else really was stupid so it was ok. We took many trips to the DI because few other people seemed to appreciate the beauty of already worn clothes. And then we laughed at the people who actually wore new clothes with name brands. Weirdos.
We took many* a trip to St. George to sell plasma and sometimes just to get the heck out. I followed him to the gym (where he works out obsessively) where he taught me the importance of using the shoulder machine.
"But Ryan I don't want to."
"Do it Gish. It'll make you look like Michelle Obama."
Let's see.. there's the gym, the food, the clothes, the plasma. AH. I also need to somehow incorporate the volunteering with children, the music, and the writing. Oh look. I just did. My apologies, it's just that that the little part of me, you know, the one the dictates my ability to coherently write descriptions and transitions that aren't crap took my last two finals and then curled up on the couch where I've been sleeping and died.
Sooo anyway. Ryan is a real good writer. And he tries to make his school work real good and not just slide by. Once he made me go to the park with him in the middle of the night so I could take pictures of him all dead like with syrup (blood) on his face. It was negative two degrees and he still took off his shirt for the integrity of the photo. Dedicated, this boy is. And he took these real cool pictures:
Ryan kind of does everything. I think that's the draw. He's interested in life, in everything, in learning, trying new things, going on adventures. It's the best. (This may be why he's changed his major what... four times?)
My ability to write in full sentences is continuing to slip. Ry Guy. You are fantastic. I hope you escape this tiny town one day. If not, I'll probably come visit you as an old man and remind you what a "downtown" looks like. One with more than one street.
*Many? Did say many? Mom I mean one. Really..
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)