Tuesday, September 29, 2009

This Is Me Avoiding Homework

OF course, I have just done homework for three hours straight. Which is a new record for me. I've never had to do so much homework in one sitting. I don't really like it. At all. Stupid seven-page study guide.

FUNNY story: I bought my first ink cartridge (which is hard to do, actually. There are about a million kinds of ink cartridges; how was I supposed to know/remember what printer I had? I had to go back home and look it up then I had to google which cartridge was for that one. psch.). And I was on Skype with Laura (who is adorable and super sexy), trying to print a paper at the same time. I thought I had enough ink in my old one to get me through one more paper. But it wouldn't print. So I change cartridges--yes, I managed. And.... Nope. Still wouldn't print. I was so PO'ed. Ugh. I was ready to rip my hair out or shoot small rodents. So I tell Laura I have to go, because it's hard to concentrate when she's making weird faces to surprise you when you're not looking. So I get off and I rip open my printer and pull out my ink cartridge, cursing it and all its closest friends and family. That's when I noticed.

The protective sticker was still on.

I managed to laugh in a sad, pathetic sort of way. I took it off, put it in, and my paper printed without problem. So, there, I do have blonde moments. Just not as frequently as others do (Laura.)

IT was pretty funny.

SO I have a bunch of laundry that needs washed, but I want to wait because I'm going home friday and that way it doesn't cost me a dollar. So, this week marks the first week of me not washing my clothes once a week. I know, Ashley, you're probably disgusted by my lack of hygiene. Since you wash your clothes so often.

THAT'S that then. I should probably do more homework. Gross.

Saturday, September 26, 2009

Mm What You Say

WE were standing in the lobby talking about Johnny Depp when Leslie suddenly whispered--and I quote--"Snape is attractive." Hold the freaking phone. Say WHA?? Ya. That's what she said. We just stopped talking and stared at her. I asked if I was high or if she really had admitted to thinking a forty-something, bitter, crabby, crooked-nosed, greasy-haired wizard actually constituted "attractive." She said her friends and her had a HP marathon where they decided he was good--sure--and attractive. Her reasoning? Because he had cool sleeves. Yes, Snape is now considered attractive because he has hot sleeves. Sexy-sleeved Snape. Lovely.

IN other news, Laci woke up deciding to redo the kitchen set-up. I walked in to find, not only had she swept, but the chairs were everywhere and the couch was skewered into a corner. I screamed "Feng Shui!" and she stared for a long time. Turns out nobody knows what that means. Which is exceedingly lame. But I quickly educated them, and our neighbors. Because I opened my window and talked to Elly and Adelay next door. We discussed Feng Shui loudly as people walked past, giving us weird looks. Whatevs. They wish they had a newly vamped, feng shui-ridden apartment. We (and by 'we' I mean 'I') put the couch at an angle because angles are pleasing to the eye. Also, it added variety and took away the tension of the straight lines and right angles. Yay. It's pretty chill. It was a relaxed enough atmosphere for Elly to want to stay in the room for four hours straight. We just listened to my music and made cookies. They were delish. Also, I avoided homework. So that is a plus. In at least a few ways. But it is also a major plethora of negatives...hm.

WE also watched The Princess Diaries. Which I realized is lame because 1) It is cliche and melodramatic and 2) There is not the attractiveness of one Chris Pine to keep me distracted.

I heart Chris Pine.

ALSO, that movie makes me want to watch Runaway Bride. About a million people in The Princess Diaries are in Runaway Bride. Like, what the crap? And why is it called The Princess Diaries anyway? She doesn't even use the diary till the last five seconds.

ANYWAYS. It is now late and I am tired. Those last days of being sick are no fun. Cuz you know you should be taking it easy/healthy still. You know, avoiding dairy products, drinking lots of liquids, sleeping. But you just don't want to anymore. And my nose is all tired and rough and raw and it's awful. Still, it's been a fun weekend.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009


I am sick and it is cold.

ALSO, I didn't do well on my Human Development test but only a very small part of me cares.

IN happier news, I love my Honors Writing class. I have gotten tens on all my short papers, subjects varying from parental stories to cheesy cliches. So, go me. Also, my personal narrative made her laugh and that made me happy.

THERE are way too many T.V. shows on and it's a temptation I'm finding hard to resist. Bones, Community, Flash Forward, Glee--why, why are they so addicting?

DID I mention it was cold?

Sunday, September 20, 2009

Waiter, Bring Me Some Water.

RANDOM things first:
Mom, you are now 51 years old. wOw.
Laura, I read Thirteen Reasons Why and I LOVED it.
I actually managed to watch When A Stranger Calls (it wasn't that bad).
Amanda bought my ticket for a friend for $45, which was sweet till I found out there were people waving 100s just in hopes of getting one.
(So, heres the deal: I'll go down to the stadium to go to the game, but if someone offers me 100+ to take my place, I won't be saying no.)
There is an miniature african antelope-esque creature called a Dik-Dik.
There is also a variation called Kiles Dik-dik.
Which is hilarious.
Clean laundry is lovely.

BUT, now, the story: Sarah came down for the weekend and we went over to Michelle's because she was home alone. That's where we watched When A Stranger Calls--Note to self: scary movies are better when watching with Michelle. Anyways, it was suddenly 7 and we decided to go to Olive Garden because, hello, that's delish. There's a 20 minute wait because it was some high school's homecoming. But, whatevs. We got in--after a kind man let us know John Wayne's name is not John Wayne--and we were sat and then our waiter kneeled before us and we ordered waters. All around. We eventually get those, some salad, breadsticks, and way too many plates to handle. But I was passing the salad to sarah and, with my terrible depth perception, I totally knocked her glass over and it got everywhere. We mopped it up with our napkins and were left with soggy-everything. But it was fine. We asked one of the waiters to get us some new napkins. Then our food came. ...No napkins. Plus, sarah and I had no water. It took fifteen minutes to get more. We were ignored. Our breadsticks disappeared, our salad diminished. Nobody seemed to care. We asked our waiter--the one we were supposed to tip--to bring us napkins. He never did. Our insignificance was a slap to the face. Still, we were laughing. Then we were full and we got our checks and we gave them our cards and we were moaning about what to tip our sad service when we realized we had been charged for water. Um, no thank you. So we told one of the waiters and they took our cards back to fix it. THen we asked for to-go breadsticks because, hello, we were growing agitated. The guy looked at our cleared plates and got all worried and, slowly working it out, he said, "Ya...I'll get you some breadsticks...to go." As if we had just asked him to kill his own mother. He brings back a pile of breadsticks and throws a to-go bag in our laps. Thank you. So much. Then our checks finally came back and poor Michelle had been charged for the entirety of the appetizer. But we were annoyed and didn't want to wait around for another waiter willing to sift through their various mistakes. So, Michelle, I owe you $2.something.

We didn't tip.

Wednesday, September 16, 2009

What A World

SO, I know I'm a little obsessed with that worldly world out there. I like reading magazines and stalking celebrities--if only to brutally mock them. I know I know a lot more about celebrities and movies and the whole entertainment industry than a lot of my friends do. For instance, I know that Vanessa Hudgens was listed in the "Best Dressed" issue of People this year. Please, kill me now. I also know that Ben Barnes is wasting his beautiful face on a twisted-Casanova-esque project: the remake of Dorian Gray. Another, please-kill-me-now moment. Kate Gosselin got a new haircut. The More to Love season finale happened to be hilarious. Adam Shakman is joining the panel of judges on SYTYCD permanently--a bright spot. Ellen will be the fourth judge on Idol--sweet. And Kanye West has proven once again that he is indeed annoying.

BUT all this comes about because of a very sad, very heartbreaking bit of news: My roommate, Laci, does not know who Audrey Hepburn is. We showed her pictures, listed movies, and she just stared blankly before getting bored and beginning to talk about "pianos." I was flabbergasted (a great word, FYI). It truly hurt to hear someone say they do not know let alone recognize, appreciate, or adore an ICON of history. Audrey Hepburn happens to be classy, beautiful, graceful, and nearing perfection. She could very well be one of my heroes. Who can not love her awful accent in My Fair Lady? Who gave us Breakfast at Tiffany's? She is the only female actress I literally love--aside from Reese Witherspoon who, I'll have you know, is still going strong with Jake Gyllenhaal. The girls around now are just LAME. But, Audrey, man, I wish I could go to lunch with her.

TO prove her awesomeness and further my idolization of her, here is one of the best quotes to ever fall from the lips of a celebrity.

"I believe in pink. I believe in manicures.
I believe in overdressing.
I believe in primping at leisure and wearing lipstick.
I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner.
I believe in kissing; kissing a lot.
I believe in being strong when everything else seems to be going wrong.
I believe happy girls are the prettiest girls.
I believe that tomorrow is another day,
and I believe in miracles."

SHE happens to be awesome. And this is my tribute to her, because if any of you don't know her, you seriously need to get out more. Rent The Roman Holiday--it's a classic.

Tuesday, September 15, 2009

The Devotional

PRESIDENT Monson spoke at our devotional today. I knew it was going to be crazy--people went at 6:30 AM to get a good seat. It started at 11:00. I went with some friends at 10:00 and their were loads of people pouring into the Marriot center. We were forced into the benches in the ghettos of the stadium. It was so uncomfortable. My legs have never hurt so terribly. I felt ready to just stand up in the middle of it, just to stretch. I wanted to straighten my legs desperately, but I couldn't. So I just sat, moving them in awkward ways, hoping to distract them from the discomfort.

BUT it was a great meeting. I love the prophet. He's always been one of my favorite speakers, but it's been a while since I've heard him. He talked about the prophets he has lived through and served with. He would tell their favorite hymn, what they loved to eat, a message they were famous for, and what they would say if they were there now. And he shared some great, personal stories involving them. They became human. He became human. He was no longer just the prophet; he felt like a friend. We were laughing with him, even remembering with him. Of course, the best moment was when he was talking about an experience with Spencer W. Kimball. When a father came, wanting to change his son's mission calling, Kimball kindly tried to make him understand that the apostles had God's authority to call his son, not him. But the man didn't get it, leaving feeling like he had managed to change the calling to Bristol, England. Kimball then turned to Monson and said "Aren't some parents unusual?" Monson told us that wasn't the word he would use. Then, "But he wasn't in the navy like I was." It was hilarious. Especially when he admitted that was not in his prepared talk. The prophet unscripted!

HE always kept us laughing. And he did it in a way that kept us thinking. I learned so much from that hour with him. I came away so grateful to be a part of this church where we are blessed with prophets--humans, called by God to lead us and teach us. Even those I never knew; the ones I can't remember--I can still learn from them and there lives. President Monson even joked about how the times have changed, but those prophets can still influence us.

IT was a great day, even with the uncomfortable seats. Even though I was so far away from the stand and from him, I felt so close. God lets us feel His love through others, and I'm grateful for a prophet who shares such love.

Saturday, September 12, 2009

Oh, Dear

EMBARRASSING story of the year--no, my entire life? I made a butt call. At a bad time.

SEE, my roommates and I went to Walmart because that's what college kids do. And we happened to be supremely hyper. We had cabin fever because we hadn't left the apartment the whole day. So, in the car, we went psycho. On Leslie's ipod, she has the Evanescence song, "Wake Me Up Inside." And that is a fun song to sing. Laci, Sydney and I freaked out. We were screaming this song, taking the different male and female parts. Literally, screaming. And we didn't know the words, so it was like loud, horrific groans of death and gibberish. Plus, we were laughing so hard through the whole thing. It was a horrible rendition. Really, truly awful. Ear splitting. It gave Leslie a headache.

WELL, we get to Walmart, we go to Walmart, and we come out of Walmart and I notice I have a missed call. From Kim. So I call her. And she says I had called Chelsea. And that they had heard our entire display of craziness. It turns out, my butt decided it would be funny to call Chelsea while I was rocking out. ANd I didn't know. So they--Kim, Kelsey, and Chelsea--were laughing at me for three whole minutes and I didn't even know it.

HOW embarrassing. Really, I'm hard to truly embarrass, but I was practically mortified. But in a hilarious way. At least it wasn't my bishop or my grandpa or someone who would have died of a heart attack had they heard such awful groanings (such as Ashley). That could have been really bad.

STILL, I must apologize to Kim, Kelsey, and Chelsea. Sorry if your ears are bleeding now.

Friday, September 11, 2009


ON the happiest of days, Chelsea, Kim and Michelle surprised me!! Then they took me away from my diaper-smelling home and Kim drove us to 1984 eerie-land. The Colony: open from Dawn to Dusk. It was entirely creepy. All the houses were the exact same, all the cars lined the street. Nothing stirred. It was silent and stuck in an eternal twilight zone. The was one guy, standing outside on his porch, looking lost and frightened. We walked past and, in the most pathetic voice he asked, "Have you seen my roommates?" Um, no. No, we haven't. Then, as we passed a guy who was working on his car, he stood up and said, "Hello, sisters." Freak out! We were laughing, it was so uncomfortable. We had to take pictures like we'd been taken over by the body snatched. Which was hard, because keeping a straight face in that crowd is practically impossible.

EVENTUALLY, we found our way out of the twilight zone. Since we were still on BYU campus and they were so jealous that I got to live there 24/7, the hid their jealousy behind not-so-mild disdain and mocked the perfection that is the BYU student population. They unrolled all their windows and decided to make the BYU co-eds squirm. So they turned on ABBA and shouted inappropriate things out the window:

MICHELLE really got into it.

THEN we got to their apartment and it was adorable and about twice as big as mine. My room would fit in their bathroom. I was terrorizing Kim and Chelsea about their love lives, getting very excited by the idea of throwing, not one, but two bachelorette parties. (They are going to be off the hizza', FYI). We found a letter from Chelsea's missionary and it really melted my heart. It was wholly poetic and entirely beautiful. Oh* love.

SOME missionaries came over and it made me miss Melissa. (January 6th, people!) When they were gone, Chelsea began pestering the "investigator" in the most innocent and slightly naive of ways. Since this girl was Navajo, Chelsea just had to ask if her father was chief. And if they lived in tepees. It was hilarious. Michelle and I were dying of laughter and Chelsea just went blissfully on.

ON the way home, we screamed "Battlefield" at the top of our longs and it pretty much rocked. Jordin Sparks has nothing on us.

BUT it was a perfect day, and hilarious. They made me smile and that was a relief.

P.S. For those of you who care, my book did come. I read it in 2 1/2 hours and it was wonderful, though not as fabulous as the first one--but still amazing!--and now I have to wait like a freakin' year for the next one. And I thought ten days was hard.

I really hate series.

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Wherefore Art Thou?

DID I ever tell you how Suzanne Collins' book, The Hunger Games, changed my life? Well, it did. I bought it on a whim and wound up reading it in three hours, physically unable to put it down. And the ending! OM-freakin-G, what is with people and cliff hangers??! So I immediately got online and ordered the sequel five days before it was to be released. Letting my blonde genes take over for a single second too long, I ordered it through Barnes and Noble. Now, for the last TEN days, I have been cursing myself. "Why? Why, oh, why?" It came out September 1, leading me to believe I would be able to read it over the Labor Day weekend. Alas, friday came and went--no book. Saturday came, and went--no. book. I went to bed in tears. Because such news meant I wouldn't get it, not till Monday--no, because that is a holiday--but not until TUESDAY. I could live with that. Really, I could. But it is now WEDNESDAY and I still do not have it. So, curses again: "Why? Why, oh why?"

THE Hunger Games sits on my shelf, alone without its companion. It's sleek, black cover with the gold arrow pointed at my heart constantly reminds me that I, too, am alone. Without the sequel, Katniss is still retarded and in denial about the perfection that is--well, I won't ruin it for you. But I am always irritated: whenever I step in my room and see it, the space meant for the sequel still there, empty; whenever I step out into the lobby and there are no boxes with my name on it; whenever someone even mentions reading or books or says anything that could possibly remind me of my torturous state--it's driving me insane!!!!


OKAY. With that out of the way, I can now tell the story I meant to. Which actually has something to do with my angst.

SO, it was tuesday and I didn't have class till noon. I settled in to watch the devotional on my computer. But then there's a knock at my door--which is surprising, seeing that everyone and their three-year-old (because there are a lot of those at BYU) was at the Marriot Center. But, of all things beautiful, it was a UPS guy! and he hands me a box and leaves. I thought it was my book. I brought it in, eager to rip it open and plunder its treasures. But it was the wrong room. It was not my name. It was my neighbors. So, in all my disappointed anger, I take it out in the lobby, put it on the delivery shelf, and walk back into my room.


BECAUSE Shelby forgot her keys. And all my roommates have this OCD need to lock all the doors all the time. So I was stuck in this lobby, barefooted with only a box that did NOT hold my precious book for company. All my roommates were at devotional. The entire campus was closed for devotional and I had to get in before devotional ended because I had a class right after. Instead of crying, I started laughing. Laughing at the ironic injustice of the world. Eventually, I marched to the central building, pounded on the door--because I heard voices, and I was determined/desperate--and someone answered. They gave me a key, I walked back, got my keys, took their key back, and went home.

STILL no package, I'll have you know.

Monday, September 7, 2009

Bad, Banana Bread! Bad!

I have the best banana bread recipe. Ever. It's straight from heaven with love. And I had two perfectly rotten bananas just waiting to be sacrificed to the Great Banana Bread. So it was Sunday night and I decided to make some. All my roommates happened to be sitting in the kitchen, all on the couch, just watching me. Which wasn't as intimidating as it sounds because, hello, they are my roommates:

Sarah, the sweetest RA ever
who, I'm pretty sure,
is incapable of saying a mean thing.

Sydney--like Australia--is very much the opposite.
She thrives on saying mean things,
and so we are friends.

Leslie is the most Utahn Utahn
I have ever known. She happens to be
the longest running joke

Laci is the one constantly playing
the "piano."

SO it was fine. But the BYU oven sucks. And there is my downfall. The banana bread wouldn't bake. (I have been on this wicked sweet alliteration run all weekend. I just happen to be amazing with making my magical words melt. Ya.) It was in there for forty-five minutes when it only called for thirty. The top was turning brown, but I stabbed it again and again and the middle was still a banana-ey mess of death.

I had this tiny little dagger knife for piercing the breads innards and I was holding it in my mouth as I texted. Because that's how I roll. But it was frightening Sarah, who came over to remove it from my mouth, sure I would suddenly fall and die and she would have to write a report. Sydney just mocked me, saying I looked retarded. I said I looked like a rhino. Which Leslie tried to disprove by saying it was coming out my mouth, not my forehead. Details.

FINALLY, I pulled out the bread, deciding moist bread is a good thing. But then the top caved in, revealing a very, very moist center. So we put it in the way-too-complex toaster over. Five minutes later, I pull it out, smoking, because the top was burnt like death. Stupid toaster. And the center still wasn't done. So, whatever. The center just sucks. We take it out of the pan and proceed to eat it. The sides were delish. Like, fantastically. Our neighbors came over, it was so good. But then there was just this blob of goop, sitting on the cutting board like a work of modern art. Nobody wanted it, everyone laughed at it. Because it was pretty funny.

THERE must have been a strange amount of sugar in the bread, because Sydney went cRaZy. She tried to sing "Because of You," by Kelly Clarkson, but, alas, she cannot sing. Then she relived our "La la la la la la" moment, horrifying poor Leslie.

OUR neighbor came over for like a split second, quickly leaving once she witnessed our many abnormalities. But I think it's pretty epic. They're just jealous. Like Sydney is jealous of me.

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Pigeon Calls & Seduction Songs

NOT many people know this, but I am a pro at pigeon noises. I sound just like one. You just coo in the back of your throat and it comes out like magic. Leslie said it made her want to go to the zoo. (Ya, I don't get that either.) I've been cooing for the last two days. My direct roommate, Sydney, really loves it. She loves how I perch on my bed, stare into her eyes and coo. It has changed her life.

ALSO, I can do a mean seduction dance to a freaking great seduction song. It goes "La la la la la la...la la la la la...la la la la la la la la" in a really high, slow pitch that sends chills up your spine. Actually, it's a 70's classic by Minnie Riperton called "Lovin' You" as featured in Disturbia. Check it out. It will change your life. These loud kids were playing it in the lobby at midnight and it inspired me. It's been stuck in my head ever since. Just those "la la's." They get me. I was singing it to Sydney as she made her bed for the night (Ya, I don't get that either.) and she told me to sing it to Leslie. So I wrap my leg around the door frame and sing it--so sweetly, so softly--it changed her life. Actually, she was horrified. Called me bad. All over a little leg! Sydney, on the other hand, thought it was great. For the next twenty minutes we added moves, simply perfecting the whole soul of it. Now we've got it down. And it's hot.

SO, basically, it's been a night of changing people. And I think that's a great thing. I could die, fulfilled. All because I know how to coo like a bird and swing my hips like a woman.

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Old Faithful In the Kitchen

I was at Elly's for dinner--she is one of my summer roommates who happens to now be my next-door neighbor. I got there early because I was starving and bored. So she was in the process of making Enchilada's, which were, by the way, amAzing.

ANYWAYS, her sink wasn't draining. There wasn't any water floating in the sink, but it was hanging out in the drain...not draining. Turns out, her apartment had that problem before and so they called Maintenance who told them to turn on the disposal. So I'm sitting at the table, twiddling my thumbs, and Elly decides to try that. I was just about to joke around, scare her, by warning her that it would probably all explode up in her face. But her hand was already on the switch. And she flipped it. And it exploded.

FROM the opposite drain, this geyser of chewed-up beans, lettuce, oatmeal, tomatoes, and who-knows-what-else just shoots up. Straight out of the sink, exploding with a great Bang! and beautiful fountain work. It hit the cabinets and showered down across the counter, the food, the sink, the floor. And Elly.

IT was hilarious. There was this instant where we just gasped--Elly's face was priceless--and then I burst out laughing and she hurried and turned it off, keeled over, laughing just as hard as me. Through the laughs, I asked her kindly to do it again, this time so I could record it. She wouldn't. So we just laughed. The kitchen was covered in what looked like vomit and Elly hurried and changed, still laughing about the fact that her sink had just spit up all over her. It was truly disgusting. So we laughed about it the rest of the night. I suggested she invite someone she disliked highly to come and "fix her sink" by turning on the disposal. Then I'd have my camera ready and it'd be the next web hit.

BUT, mostly, it made my day and I was happy for the rest of it. Ah, the college life.

ANOTHER funny story that really doesn't concern me: My blonde little sister, who I love, was looking for a vocal coach. One was offering lessons for $20 a month. But, she was talking to this young, single guy who said he'd teach her for $15. So, the always-loveable Laura says, "Fifteen? I'll do you."


I'LL just leave it at that.