Friday, December 31, 2010

So Long, 2010

I guess this year's been good.
Sometimes depressing. 
A little unpredictable. 
Actually kinda boring.

But good. 
The highlights? I moved off campus. I did turn 19. Surprise. Melissa came home, Melissa moved next to me, Melissa lived with me. I had a job, I finished that job, I was once more without a job, but I just got yet another job that will hopefully last forever (well...not literally). Travis came home! I am still successfully unmarried. And, um...well...what else? I became bored with TV...I started working out...I hated school, I practically failed school...and.... Oh, ya--MY BROTHER GOT ENGAGED!!! She's pretty awesome.
This is them (Don't worry, awwing is natural). 

So what didn't happen? No boyfriend. Not for me anyways (melissa). And I have yet to be published. But I think I can live with that for now. Plus I have a few things up my sleeve--something to rock the world. Hopefully. And I am even more determined to just let life happen. 

2011 is going to be fabulous. For one, it is my TWENTIETH. A quarter of my life, finished and gone. I'll be able to say things like, "Teenagers are SO annoying" without everyone squealing "You're STILL a teenager!"  Really, my 19th year has dragged--and it's barely half-over. But, goals:
I'll take a road trip. Somewhere random. But awesome. 
I'll finish my world-class novel. 
I'll keep working out.
I'll read every book I own. Which is a lot now (I love christmas).
I'll be better at posting on my blog. 
I'll stop having catastrophic meltdowns and just trust that it will all be lovely.
I'll rock at my job regardless of the many nightmares I have had that tell me otherwise. 
I'll take a break from this awful thing called school. 

And maybe I'll even manage to snag a boyfriend. But that's hardly a goal. Also, I got me a new theme song. Thank you, OneRepublic:

Friday, December 10, 2010

In the Darkness

Yesterday pretty much sucked. All my classes were long and boring and exhausting and then the bus smelt like rotten eggs. And I knew no one would be home, which just added to the depression. But I was looking forward to just collapsing onto my bed (and watching Samantha Who!), so I open the door with a sigh, close it, lock it, situate myself to the darkness, readied my room key--
for a second, as I started walking, 
I wondered if this would be my depressing life forever.

And then I ran into the kitchen wall. 

Usually, I'm pretty good at sensing where I am in the dark. I don't like turning on lights--actually paying for utilities does that to you--so I've made the walk down the hall in the dark many a times. But I guess I took a wrong turn. And I just crashed into the wall. Full on, too. It's not like I saw it coming and pulled up short. No, I slammed into it; I wondered what the crap was keeping me from my room. ANd then I realized: it was a wall. That has always been there. So that's embarrassing.

But I laughed actually. Who wouldn't, right? I just plowed into a solid wall, a good two feet off my expected course. I rubbed my nose and chin and forehead and I was suddenly a little glad that nobody was home. And I'm sure heaven was getting a good laugh, watching that moment on playback again and again. I would.

I mean, I really ran into it.

God probably just wanted to slap the depression out of me. 
It worked.
I can't walk past the kitchen without giggling. 

Sunday, December 5, 2010

Mad Gab

The other day, Melissa and I were shopping (don't ask for what, that is an illegal question this time of year) and we were going to the car and I was beating her with the roll of wrapping paper when she stops, throws her arms in the air, and shouts, "_______________!"

What I heard? "I need the Witch of White Birds."

Um. "Sorry," I say, "is that a book?"

"What? No," she sighs, exasperated and choking on a disbelieving laugh, "I said _______________."

What did she say for real, you ask?

Answer: I need the windshield wipers.

And just on the way home, I was struck with how FUNNY that is, just because it really does sound exactly like witchofwhitebirds. Seriously. Try it: windshieldwipers vs. witchofwhitebirds. Ya. Exactly.

It just blows my mind.

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Just Counting

SIX more days of classes.
THIRTEEN more days till finals.
which I am not prepared for.
SEVENTEEN more days till I can be home.
which I may not be prepared for either, 
seeing as we'll be fighting over beds again.
TWENTY days till my little sister is suddenly 17.
** a slight pause to celebrate her...epicness. **
Three quotes I think of when you say "Laura":
1. "Inside the man, you find his...nucleus"
2. Twas, Twill, Twould.
3. "Please. Drink. My. Hot. Kool-aid."
I think this pretty much sums it up.
Anyways. Back to counting. 
TWENTY-FIVE more days till Christmas!
I don't know what to get anyone. Stupid picky people. 
And, most importantly, TWENTY-FOUR more days till Christmas Eve!!! which might be the best day ever.

[Here is where I would insert a picture from last christmas, but my family seems to be really bad at taking pictures.... Or we're just too distracted with the sparkly lights and piles of wrapping paper to bother with the hassle of pulling out a camera. So just imagine lots of smiling faces and awkward guffaw expressions.]

This will have to suffice. 
It's only a few of us, but it's Christmas. And it's family. And I love it. 

Wednesday, November 17, 2010

Um. Okay.

I'm sitting in the library--as in right now--and it is very quiet. But I can't stop laughing.

Three seats down from me there is a girl. With a beard. As in hair flowing from her face. And she's just sitting there, doing homework...with a beard. And no one else seems to notice. Which is why I'm thinking it might just be a hallucination.
I am very tired. 

But, see, I don't think so. She is the only one with a beard, after all. And I first saw it when she started talking on her phone, so I glanced her way--the sudden noise, you know--and then I went back to my homework. And then I looked again. And I kind of stared. And then I mouthed "What?" (sorta like this, especially the last three seconds). And then I just started laughing. But no one else was laughing and it is a library, so I fell to shuddering. And I just can't stop.

Is the world ending?
Am I losing my mind?
Is it just a freakishly femme boy?
Does she not know that she has something red and furry growing on her face?
Is it a disease?
Is it some weird school spirit day?
Maybe it's opposite (sexes) day? But she's wearing a skirt. And make-up. And looking rather normal--excepting that beard of epic proportions. It even matches her hair color.
Why is no one else laughing at this?

More importantly, does she have a Beard card? Because otherwise I'll have to report her to the Honor Code police. Facial hair is illegal.
And it's just a little bit wrong.  
and awkward.
and a bit disturbing. 
especially on a girl. 

I am really questioning reality right now. If I had a picture phone, I would sneak a picture. I really want someone to assure me that this is real life.

And now she is caressing it. Like the beard is her friend.

And I'm still laughing.

Monday, November 8, 2010

The Greatest Game Ever Played

A week ago, someone introduced Melissa and I to the License Plate game. We have a fixation with punching each other, so this was just a natural progression. And it's very simple: when you see an out-of-state license plate, you beat them in the arm. It's fabulous. I think it's the answer to all of life's problems. It's like I always say, "when in doubt, punch the crap out of someone."
Okay, so I don't always say that. But I will now. Because that's just a great motto. 

Anyways, it just so happens we live in a "diverse" place where people from "all over" come and live. Or at least to go to church. So, on Sunday, coming out of church in the not-so-bright sunshine, I needed to punch someone. So we got raucous. Our roommate and neighbor were in the car and they didn't play. 
Actually, I don't think that they understood 
what was going on for a while. 
Poor souls. 

We were screaming out the classics, "IDAHO!" "CALIFORNIA!" and punching each other severely. We would reach back and forth to slap each other across the arm. She was driving and I was in the back, so I guess I had the upper hand, reaching forward instead of flailing behind. And I was getting annoyed by her constant thrashing, so I grabbed her arm and beat the answers into it. 

And then...the moment that redefined everything I believed in.... 

On our slow traverse through the parking lot, with all of us laughing and Melissa whining about a dead arm and people looking at us funny and each of us screaming out states and bruising the white flesh. It was as we came to the end of the parking lot--the gold mine of pummeling-excuses--and we were breathless, eager, stalking the landscape with our eyes, hoping to catch one great finale. And we saw it. We saw it and screeched out at the same time: "NORTH DAKOTA!"   

O. M. G. So it does exist. 

Sunday, October 24, 2010

Where the Wild Things Are

It’s been a while. I’ve just been very unmotivated for the past while. Probably because it’s been progressively colder and wetter and gloomier, and school’s been harder and longer and boring-er. But here I am, back again. All thanks to Melissa and our stupendous laughs.

So, I was really hyper. And Melissa was getting annoyed with me which, naturally, made me even more giddy. She was making salsa and I was leaning back in the chair, mocking her in such a loving way. Then—I don’t know how it happened, really, we were eating salsa in the kitchen and our roommate wasn’t speaking because she lost her voice (which was pretty hilarious. Sad, but hilarious. Mostly, she sounded like Batman).

Anyways. She was there, and Melissa and I were sitting across from each other, bantering in an exasperating manner and, suddenly, I ask her to make a bird noise. So she chokes out this trill that sounded more like a deflating elephant. She claimed she'd just started laughing, so she tried again. It was just as bad/hilarious. Showing her how it’s done, I cooed like a pigeon. And she says “That’s not a bird, that’s an owl.”


We all started laughing—well, our roommate was wheezing, because her vocal cords were completely shocked; and when I laugh hard, I laugh silent; and Melissa was burrowing into her arm in shame, so there was actually no noise going on. We were all just choking on tears and laughing inside out. And it just got better.

After getting a grip on myself, I decide to test her obviously-lacking skills. Thinking of an animal that I have never really considered making defining noises, I say, “Make an alligator noise.”

So she rolls her eyes, still laughing, shrugs, and makes a noise. A whirring noise. Like a spinning fan.

I choke on my water, and we’re all back to laughing.

“That’s your alligator noise?” I manage, laughing incredulously, wondering what kind of nature shows she’d watched. And suddenly she chokes and sputters and stops breathing and starts shaking her head: “No, you said elevator!” So we laugh even harder. 
If that’s possible. 
Which it is. 
Because we did. 

I don’t think any of us really breathed for a while. We were gasping and laughing and gasping so we could laugh again.

An elevator noise.

She proceeded to make a fool of herself at my demand for quite some time. I got her to try a monkey noise, a T-Rex, and the classic Raptor bark. That was just great. If you ever run into Melissa, ask for her raptor noise. It’s brilliant. A bloody ripper. 

Though, I have to say, nothing exactly beats her “alligator” noise. 

Saturday, October 2, 2010

There It Goes

I came across a spider today. One of those big, brown, ugly ones. So I did what any mature, adult would do: I screamed for my big sister to come kill it.

She came grudgingly up the stairs with her choice of weapon. An empty orange juice bottle. Not exactly what I would have gone for, but I wasn't going to step in with any other suggestions, because then I'd have to take a swing of it. And, as you already know, I hate spiders.

Back story:
My greatest irrational fear is  that I'll try and kill a spider
but it won't die
and then it will be angry
and jump at me
and kill me, probably.

So, Melissa sees it up in the corner of the door frame and takes a swing at it--to try and scare it. 

I whimper. 

She takes a closer swing, hitting it so it balls up a little. Then, she winds it up, goes for the kill, and--BAM!--it suddenly jumps from its spot directly at Melissa. I scream, sure, but Melissa starts shrieking, running down the stairs, shrieking. 

Laura trips into the room, laughing so hard she's doubled over. I try to explain what happened, but when I started saying it jumped at Melissa, Melissa would answer with a panicked scream. 

We were all kind of laughing, Melissa was hyperventilating, bent over, scared to find the spider. I told her to check her hair. She screamed. She asked for us to search her hair, but we wouldn't go any closer. I wouldn't--self-preservation--and Laura was rolling on the floor, laughing. 

Melissa kept screaming, "Check my hair!" But she was too terrified to actually undo her pony-tail, run her fingers through her hair. I would be too. She ran her hands up and down her body, still freaking out, and I was still trying to tell Laura what had happened--with the spider just leaping at her. Not that it mattered; Laura was laughing herself to death with or without all the facts. 

It was pretty hysterical. 

We finally found the spider, dead on the floor (and by we, I mean Melissa; Laura and I were laughing too hard to be of any use). 

That moment, when the spider just made a sudden dive for her--I almost fainted. But then Melissa practically flew down the stairs, screaming and shaking, and I just had to laugh. Still, I am eternally grateful for her...bravery. If that had been me, I wouldn't have had the breath to scream, I would have just died. Right then and there. 

Saturday, September 18, 2010


This is my life.

Once upon a time, I craved donuts. I love donuts. So Melissa took me to get donuts. This is why I love her.

Then I came home, and my father asked me about donuts. He asked me where Melissa and I got them: "Did you go to Dick's?" And I just said, "Oh, we don't have Dick's."

For real, that happened. 

I immediately knew what I had said, but since I was in the presence of my father, I kind of swallowed my snort. Until my brother started snickering, and then I just couldn't stop laughing. And dad started laughing in his wheezy way, doubling over, tears flowing from his eyes. Melissa laughed indifferently. And I was just dying of laughter.

Total "LOL" moment.
More like "ROFL," actually.
Or even just a great "ROFLOL."

And, yes, we really don't have Dick's in Provo.


Thursday, September 16, 2010

A Bit Obsessed

So, for a while now, I've been hearing about "A Very Potter Musical," a parody done by some college. Last weekend, I got around to watching it. And it was hilarious. Seriously. I was laughing so much, so loudly--Melissa kept checking up on me. But it was just so great. It was long and some of it was lame, but most of it was fabulous. Like to-die-for funny. Watch it. It will change your life. 

But, anyways, I was watching highlights again today and all the songs were stuck in my head. Then I was watching TV spots for the upcoming film and I was just on this Harry Potter high. And I suddenly wanted so badly for there to be a real Harry Potter musical. I would totally pay money for that. 
Actually, I'd pay money for any production 
to get Daniel Radcliffe out of my head. 

I hate those movies. 

Wouldn't that be so awesome? I would love it. It'd be sick.
So sick I just used that word.

Just to inspire you all to agree, here is a clip from the first song in AVPM: "Get Back to Hogwarts." And can I just say I love Draco? So if you're only going to watch part of it, watch his (her?) part. You'll know when it is. LOVE IT! It's--ahem--"totally awesome."

Doesn't it make you wish a million things at once? Like...that you could really be excited to go to school, or that you could sing about it. That life could be a musical--period--with dances choreographed and everything. And that you could be a wizard (Slytherin!) and just hug the crap out of Malfoy. Or even that you could just go to the Wizarding World Theme Park (I would sell my kidney to get there right now). And, most of all, that there was a real, real, real Harry Potter musical. I would love that more than almost anything. 

Then again, I'm going through this weird, overwhelming, sudden Harry Potter craze. 
In one of my classes, we were talking 
about the characteristics of the Epic genre 
(basically, an unlikely hero, supernatural elements, 
years of complex journeying, and trials and such)--
think the Iliad or the Odyssey--and my 
professor asked for some modern examples. 
The first thing that came to mind?

 Harry Potter.

Friday, September 10, 2010

Kill Me Now

Okay, so this is highly embarrassing, but, whatever.

Last night, I was getting ready for bed around 11:35 and everyone else was asleep. So I'm writing in my journal about how happy a day it was (not.) and how I'm pretty stoked to go to bed and just sleep. Then, out of the corner of my eye, I see this disgusting
brown spider. And I about died. 
It was crawling along my baseboard at rather a fast pace and I immediately start whispering in a panicked voice, "omigosh, omigosh" over and over again. Before I can grab a shoe, it was under my bed and I was doing this nervous, panicked dance. 
You know, where you feel like your skin is crawling 
so you start jumping around, touching yourself. 

That sounds awkward.  

So I look and see if Melissa is awake, or my roommate who loves killing spiders. But the apartment is silent. Except for me. I am still dancing around, having a panic attack. I pull my bed away from the wall, but I don't see the spider anywhere. So then I'm curled up on my little desk chair, my hands shaking, and I know--I KNOW--I cannot sleep if I don't find and destroy that spider. I even contemplate sleeping right there, on my chair. Or pulling an all-nighter. Or sleeping on the floor, thinking even that is better than sleeping where a spider is hiding under me. 

Instead, I knock on Melissa's doors. I knock with my knuckles, with my fist, with my palm. I scratch at the door, I text her, I whisper her name. Nope, she is dead asleep. So I go back in my room, little panicked tears escaping my eyes, and an inner dialogue that goes something like this:
"Omigosh omigosh omigosh
if it just comes out, 
if I see it I can kill it
if I can just see it.
oh I'd so rather see it than not. 
I need it out from my bed.
I'm gonna die.
I can't breathe.
omigosh omigosh omigosh."

And then I suddenly see it crawling up my curtain. And I start whispering "omigosh" louder and faster. But I can't kill it. Because, one, that would ruin my curtain. Two, I am a big believer in closing my eyes and smashing things as hard as I can, so I would probably break the window or the blinds or miss and it would DESTROY me. So I'm just standing in my room, doing my nervous dance, still crying pathetically, clutching at my throat like I would rather kill myself than face a spider. And then, instead of crawling onto my wall, it crawls into my blinds. And then I really freak out. Because that is definitely not a one-man job. I mean, if I were to open the blinds, it would jump out and bite me and I would die and it would lay babies in my corpse. So I finally call Melissa. And then I knock, and she finally moves. 

Lucky for me, my sister loves me and understands--even shares--my fear of large arachnids. So she calmly comes in, pulls my bed away from the window, and prepares to pull the blinds while I stand ready with a shoe. Still doing my nervous dance. 

Up, up they go spider. OH. MY. GOSH. I almost collapsed into a heap and cried right there. Where did it go? I hate being plagued with that question when it comes to spiders. Melissa said maybe it crawled outside. Well, the idea of my window having a big enough hole for spiders to crawl in and out of wasn't exactly comforting. She told me to just leave my bed in the middle of the room and to just stop thinking about it. 

Let me tell you, easier said than done. I was still screaming "omigosh" in my head as I checked all my sheets, pillows, and blankets. Then I burrowed under them, engulfing myself in a very stuffy cocoon. I plugged into my ipod, listening to loud, soothing songs and playing solitaire, pretending I did not feel my skin crawling. 

Worst. Night. Ever. 

Friday, September 3, 2010

That's Me For Ya

Today, I was watching a TV show while brushing my teeth. And then something cute happened (on the show) and so I "awwed." Immediately, I choked on toothpaste; gasped, thus pulling my toothbrush deeper into my throat; coughed, spewing spit everywhere; and eventually tripped over to the sink to spit it all up.

It was hilarious and I was laughing as I gasped, minty saliva still dribbling from my mouth. Which was disgusting. Then I was just bent over the sink, watching myself fall apart in the mirror, giggling.

It totally made my day.
And it wasn't even that cute a moment, really
(on the show).

Also, my sister is famous. The BYU website has a slideshow of "Back to School" moments, and there she is....  
cute, huh?
(She's the one scrunched up in green,
hiding her face from the camera she knew was there.
Meanwhile, her friend boldly sits, 
soaking up the attention.

Thursday, August 26, 2010


So, no spoilers, I promise, but I just read Mockingjay, the final book in The Hunger Games series.
(Pretty, huh?)

I really meant to like it--I was excited to love it--but I just couldn't. Within the first page, all I cared about was who she ends up with.
(I am such a Peeta fan, it's unreal.) 
By the end of the first part, I just hated her. Incessant whining, constant complaining, self-important plotting. Ugh. It was awful, actually.
(That almost sounded british. 
I think it was the combination of ugh/awful.)

I think I have always disliked Katniss, not only for her silly name, but her determination to be uninspiring. She has a flair for dramatics and a knack for disobeying orders, constantly questioning and having a forever lack of faith in people. Then there is the tired cliche of love triangles, hers even more determinedly cliche because of the players--Strong, fiery, handsome Gale versus the quiet, sweet, charming Peeta. 
You have to have opposites, it seems, because 
when it comes to a love triangle, 
the girl never seems to have a general "type." 
Or, really, any sort of decisive characteristic whatsoever.
It's forever a nauseating back-and-forth:
the friend, or the lover?
the rescuer or the defender?
the  expected or the unexpected?
And it is like a law 
that the girl has to be annoying
and obviously unworthy of attention from either man.  

I was actually so mad that I didn't like the book. I loved the first one, even with her simpering nature. The second one was predictable and a bit lacking, but I thought the third--the final--could pull it all together. But I found myself rewriting it as I read. 

Here's what I would have wanted to happen:
Katniss should be determined to have Peeta back,
she should hatch some sort of ridiculous plan to rescue him
And when she gets there to save him--
he tries to turn her in, he says she's wrong,
he says he's one of them. 
So she hates him
and Gale rescues her and she almost kills Peeta.
Except she can't.
The next part is all about destroying the government,
turning the districts on the capital,
make the president go mad.
Then it's full-out war. 
Her mother should die, her sister should die,
she should kiss Gale while wishing Peeta was back.
she should be caught, brought to face the president
and Peeta should come in the room like a faithful servant. 
She should be crying, 
insisting the country could be saved,
that the games were wrong--even the problem. 
And the president should say something about how he turned Peeta.
He should ask Peeta to kill Katniss.
Peeta should move to do so, and then he should whisper 
something only she would understand, 
and he would go after the president, and they would fight the guards
and in that intense moment, she should scream at him
and they should kiss.
Gale should see, realize he lost and be heartbroken,
and then the president would still be alive,
and Gale would die fighting him.
And Katniss would kill the president
on national television.
And the war would be over, and things would be fixed
and Peeta and her would live happily ever after. 

I think I really could have liked that sort of book, instead of the altogether-unexciting events, journal-style moping, determined hopelessness and all-around randomness that the finale was. 

It was such a disappointment.

Sunday, August 22, 2010

If I Were a Witch

Tonight, we were discussing Harry Potter. Rather thoroughly, and literally for hours. It was great--probably one of the best conversations I have ever had.

We were talking about the uselessness of Hufflepuff, the randomness of Ravenclaw, the overall awesomeness of Gryffindor, then the evil nature of Slytherin. And it dawned on me: I would definitely be Slytherin.

Really, though, I think I would be. I am not brave--at least not in that nauseatingly-heroic way--so Gryffindor is out of the question. I'm definitely not smart enough to be in Ravenclaw (I mean, a riddle to get in the commons? Come on). Still, I would like to consider myself to be polarizing enough not to be cast into Hufflepuff, a place obviously meant for the leftovers. So, Slytherin it is. 
(a pun! a pun!) 

Not to sound too nerdy--what, with my suddenly impressive and extensive pool of knowledge concerning Slytherins (I researched, okay?!). They are cunning, ambitious, and probably just a bit manipulative and selfish--at least always sure to look out for themselves first.

Sounds like me, though, doesn't it? I could pull it off, easy.

It was Dumbledore who said something about their cleverness, determination, and a "certain disregard for the rules." And then the Sorting Hat actually said...
"...In Slytherin
You'll make your real friends,
Those cunning folk use any means
to achieve their ends...."

"...And power-hungry Slytherin
Loved those of great ambition...."

So maybe it's not exactly good, but none of the houses are really flawless. And Slytherin does have one amazingly-beautiful, possibly-perfect thing going for it:
If I were as gorgeous as Draco, 
I would probably catch myself looking in the mirror as well. 

Truly, the one downside? I would have to live in a dungeon with terrible lighting and probably way too many spiders. 

But, hey, I do look great it green. 

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

It's About Time

I guess I should be better at this whole blog thing, what with my booming fan base and all. 

My room has a soft orange glow to it. Like an Oompa Loompa. I got this sexy, sheer orange curtain--ironically, to keep people from objectifying me in my first-floor window.
(Get it? Irony? Sexy curtain, avoid objectification? ...clever.)

It's a pretty gorgeous room, I admit. Smaller than my last one, but prettier. And cozier. And, even though my bed feels like less than an upgrade from the floor, I like it here. 
Cute, huh? 
Green, blue, orange--oh my. 
Actually, the orange was a very smart move, seeing as my ceiling light has an orange design and all my pictures (including my awesome collage) have splashes of orange, and I even have orange magnets. 
What can I say? I am just a genius when it comes to feng-shui.

Here's a close-up of my curtain.
Quite tangeric, eh?
(I think if there was a job for making up words, 
I would really like that.)

This curtain proves to be a perfect investment: I never need a light on because the orange just MAGNIFIES the sunlight tenfold (I have always wanted to use that word in a casual context). Another irony, seeing as I just bought a pretty table lamp which I now never need use. 

But it looks pretty. 

So. There it is, my awesome room that you should all be jealous of. Or, I guess Melissa has the jealous thing down--she wants to buy a curtain now, just to try and live up to my awesomeness. A useless ambition (no one will ever be as cool as me), but flattering nonetheless
(Look! Another anachronistic word I used all casual-like.)

(ohp, I did it again.)

Monday, August 2, 2010

Fire Alarm

SITTING in the BYU library around three o'clock today, you might have thought it was the end of the world. I, for one, was watching TV online (which is probably what I'll be doing when the world really does end). Suddenly, an annoying flashing began. People groaned beside me and I took off my headphones only to hear a horrible, shrieking, pulsing alarm echoing through the library. The fire alarm. I groaned as well. But I obediently put all my stuff away, packing my backpack and following the crowd out towards the exit. Most were grumbling about disrupted study sessions, many were shouting loud enough for the world to hear about how the world is out to get them.
Really, some people's self importance. 

One thing you need to know: the BYU library is enormous. There is a lobby/atrium where the stairs meet and the main doors stand. But, as the fire alarm rang, a wall started to close, blocking the atrium (protecting the books or sacrificing the students, depending on how you look at life). This curtain had big letters painted bright read shouting "EXIT"--with arrows pointing to the left or right, where glowing signs read "Emergency Exit." Still, some people panicked, reading that exit as a final warning, the last word they would ever read if they did not first beat the slow curtain and reach the open spaces and clear exits of the atrium. There was actually a panic. It was just a door closing. But people began pushing for it, squealing and shouting and running to make it through, shoving quite inconsiderately as they went. Some people tried to point out other exits--the doors other kids (dare I say smarter kids?) were already walking through, safe and sound, even their egos unscathed. But, for some reason, the closing accordion door seemed to represent a desperate threat: get through or die. People booked it, pushing through with a cheer as if they were lucky to be alive. 
I was one of the few to make it through.
I guess that makes me cool, destined for greatness or something.
A chosen one. 

People were screaming as the space became too small to fit through. I swear I saw hands push through, begging someone to notice there were survivors still. Embarrassingly, the alarm stopped ringing seconds later. So did the screaming. No one even died. 

It was a valuable lesson: I witnessed just how few people could read neon-bright signs, complete with arrows and clearly signified exits, when faced with death by fire. 

Partly unrelated, I also saw someone run into a pillar.

Monday, July 26, 2010

Illicit Conversations

I had a meeting for work today, only it wasn't really a meeting. The whole team--nine interns, two directors--met up to casually interview the head of OIT (Office of Information Technology). We had previously sent in questions, and one of the directors was going to ask them all--it was our responsibility to take notes on the subjects we were interested in. Cool. I say all this just to justify my soon-to-be-apparent actions.

So, I was in said meeting, bored out of my mind, soon realizing my questions would be at the very end. I had my computer out, so I casually logged onto Facebook, expecting to simply waste time. But then Laura logged on. And it all went downhill. She told me a lovely story about telling some guy they should make cute babies together.
(Whoa, that sounds dirty.)
But it was a hilarious story, and I had to swallow a giggle. Remember, I am in a very solemn assembly of 12 people all focused in on technobabble that I could not understand; I was pretending to take notes, and laughing was not an option. And things just got worse.
Shelby: Who is this man?
Laura: He's not a man, he's a six year old boy.
And I about died. I seriously started shaking from laughter buried deep within me, just rising up into my throat, desperate to get out. But I couldn't let it out. I just covered my mouth and painfully choked on my laugh. And it continues.
Laura: Just kidding. He's 15. I'm so funny. 
Shelby: you know when you have a laugh
that NEEDS to get out but you can't let it?
So you hold your breath?
Laura: yes indedd. then I faint.
Shelby: ya. that just happened.
Laura: and everything is so much funnier
when you're not allowed to laugh. 
haha except he's not 6
but that's why it's funny
ah! I am so silly right now.
And I tried to log off, because my chest hurt from suppressed laughter and my neighbors were starting to look at my shaking self strangely. So I told Laura I was getting off. About...3 seconds later, I was back on, unable to avoid temptation. And this is what I came back to.
Laura: I just said that out loud
"I'm so silly right now" and sophie looked at me
It was great
And I nearly laughed out loud, picturing Laura, talking to herself, her blond hair bouncing a little as she bobbled her head in excitement. Like a little puppy.
Shelby: I'm going to have a giggle fit
Laura: Ha! Those are the best. I get them at work
and then customers look at me funny.
Then I say "don't judge me"
Shelby: I talk out loud when I chat online too. 
Except not right now, because then people
would think I'm INSANE
Laura: Haha do it!
Just start whispering under your breathe
I was about to throw up, not laughing was so hard. 
Shelby: Stop. making. me. laugh
Laura: you should say "stop. making. me. laugh." out loud.
Twould be hilarious
Shelby: Did you mean to say twould?
Laura: yes I did. Like "twas the night before
christmas" but more like "twould you care to dance?"
And here's where it got morbid.
Shelby: I just told myself to think of dead puppies 
to keep myself from laughing
Laura: hahahahaha that just made me do a deep giggle
dead puppies being bunted over a fence.
hahaha that's terrible. then the thought
of Sophie being bunted over a fence made me cry.
Shelby: laura you are going to be the death of me
I keep wanting to laugh--over dead puppies!
Laura: you should just laugh, and then it'll go quiet
and awkward and everyone will look at you, and it twill be like the movies.
yest. twil. twill. 
Shelby: twon't. I have to go. I can't do it.
For real. tbye
Oh, man, even writing this, I just want to laugh and laugh and laugh. In that meeting, not laughing physically hurt. Tears came to my eyes; my body was screaming at me, shouting to just let it out, release the tension, and just LOL. But I (mostly) kept myself under control. Aside from the tears and the inexplicable shuddering, I behaved normally. I think some of them--the ones I was sitting by, and none of the adults--knew I was dying from laughter. They found my pain humorous. Then again, so did I. It was probably the best work meeting I've ever had. 

Oh, Laura.

Sunday, July 11, 2010

Would You Like Rice With That?

MELISSA and I went to Taco Bell the other day. First, Melissa got lost and I suffered from heat exhaustion which affected us both because I started singing Taylor Swift songs in different accents and at higher pitches than Melissa thought humanly possible.
With me, any noise is possible. 

We pull into this middle-of-nowhere Taco Bell, mostly to get Melissa some sauce packets to send to Albania. But, since we're there, we figure we'll order two bean burritos. No big deal, right? Five minutes later, the girl comes back and says, "Sorry, we're out of beans--do you want to substitute rice?" Um. What? Taco Bell...out of beans?

Melissa asks for a soft taco instead; I dare to try a rice burrito--which the lady assures me is "actually good." So I guess they've run out of beans before.

For the next five minutes, we exasperatedly wait, laughing as they take orders then announce they are out of beans--would they like rice with that? Some people, of course, walked out; most had to have the news repeated because it is hard to believe that a mexican restaurant--with every menu item depending on beans--has no beans. And then they were just ridiculously slow. They were all little high school students, laughing at the dilemma, forgetting we were there. Still waiting. For a burrito with no beans.

Probably half an hour later, they bring our order to us--how nice. And, no, a bean burrito without beans is not good. Melissa swallowed her taco whole; I choked down way too much rice. And then we were out of there, still laughing and just a tinge insulted by the lack of beans in our diet.

I made up for it by eating 12 Reeses on the way home.

Friday, July 2, 2010

That's Hilarious

ONE of my favorite things to do is listen in on people's phone calls. Not in a creepy, glean-information-so-I-can-kill-you way, but just in passing.
Walking around campus takes awhile; 
you take entertainment and distraction where you can get it.

And it's just funny to listen to one-sided, out-of-context comments. People say some really random, stupid things. It all makes you wonder--and often infer--what their conversation is about, what the other person is saying, and why the crap they're saying it.
I think I sound like a real stalker. 
I'm not. 
Really, it's just in passing.

The other day, tiredly shuffling off to class, I turned down the wrong hall. So I sighed exasperatedly, wishing I could just skip class, obviously too tired to make it there safely. But then I passed this kid on the phone, and it made me smile. 

I heard him said something like, "Oh, ya? I can't believe that."
And then, "That's hilarious."

Totally deadpans it. No, humor, no laughing voice, no laughing period. Just, "That's hilarious. Think of the driest, least sincere, bored voice you can--and then say that. And it wasn't sarcasm. 
As  a sarcasm-addict, I am rather apt at picking up on sarcastic people. 
They are my friends. 

I don't know why it was so funny. Maybe because he was talking about something "hilarious" without even a hint of amusement. It should have been sarcasm. It should have been a conversation between me and my little sister:

"I went to see Eclipse."
"Oh, ya? I can't believe that."
"But Edward was hot."
"That's hilarious."
Bad example--I would have definitely laughed,
not happily, but incredulously.

If this guy had just had any sort of emotion, it wouldn't have been funny. I would have walked past him without snorting and thus covering it up by pretending to cough. 
People just don't like you listening in on their conversations. 
I can't imagine why. 
It's not like anyone judges them. 

That's hilarious. 

Thursday, June 24, 2010

The Experiment

I made pizza tonight. With pasta. On top. As in my pizza was topped with pasta. And not just any pasta—that would be boring. I put Thai curry noodles on top, all spicy and gooey and great. I also chopped up a jalapeƱo and pulled it all together with a scattering of cheddar cheese on top. That makes me all original and adventurous, right? And maybe just a tad disgusting.
Sometimes I think I’m pregnant.

But it was pretty good. The pizza itself was a thin crust chicken alfredo one, and then my kung pao noodles. Please note that this entire experiment was done in secret.
Like I need my roommates to judge me.

I casually cooked the noodles first, nodding and laughing nervously as they assured me it smelled good. Then I pulled out the pizza, moving my workspace to the smallest corner which I could then stand in front of, keeping curious eyes away. I hastily unwrapped the pizza, dubiously dumping the noodles on top. I ate a few to keep up appearances. Finally, I threw it in the oven, shutting the door quickly and pretending nothing was going on. I guarded that oven like it was my life. I didn’t want anyone sneaking a peek. When it was time, I pulled it out and quickly cut it, not willing to let it cool. Because then it would be there for everyone to see. So I sliced it, stored half of it, and then carried the rest to my bedroom where I ate in silent shame. Still, it was good. Unnatural, and with some contradictory flavors, but good. And rather spicy.

I guess my fears of being found out as a pasta-pizza eater are gone. 
After all, here I am, bearing my perhaps-disturbing confession to the entire world. Now I will assuredly be judged. 
In my opinion, you are all just jealous

Friday, June 11, 2010

Near Death

I hate EFY.

Yesterday, as I left Creative Writing (Last day, too, so yay!), eager to get home, I ran into this river of EFY kids. They were choking the path, a never-ending line of children coming from somewhere and heading everywhere. And, you know how they have to link arms and huddle together in their little companies? Yes, well, it makes passing through very hard. I decide to walk through the library to try and pass them--embarrassing enough, having to go in one door, say hello to the guard, then straight out the other, ignoring the other guard's quizzical stare. Turns out it did me no good. There were just more of them on the other side. I have to walk with them. Gross. But it gets worse.

I finally get into the WILK only to be faced by a large group of them, crying and holding each other as music plays. I suddenly remembered: it was their testimony night. So I quietly get around them, trying not to giggle at the sniffling and handholding. Then there was another group. I have to scurry past them. I think I am finally free. But another group, still linking arms and marching, decide to turn down the very hall I have escaped to. They cut in front of me, pinning me against the wall. Suddenly I knew exactly what it was like to be caught between a rock and a hard place. They were my hard place. I was literally walking alongside them, beside a couple who looked at me all funny. They were checking to see if I had an EFY badge. No, I most certainly did not. But I felt like I was an EFY kid. The leader told us--me--to keep moving. It was mortifying. Finally, I see the stairs, shining like a light at the end of a dark, terrifying tunnel. I wait for a break--a few oblivious couples march past, squeezing against me--and then I make a break for it. I practically skipped down the stairs, I was so happy to be free. I felt like a football player, making it through all those X's and O's.

I just--I can't stand EFY. They take over campus like maggots to a corpse. Gross, I know. But true. I have had to dodge way too many frisbees, ignore too many cat calls, and tune out all the EFY chants and claps and cheers.

I think I am an efyianphobic. There should be a group or something to help me work through this before I lose all control and just start strangling them. 

Monday, June 7, 2010

The Attack of, Well, I Don't Even Know

MELISSA and I were leaving Centerville again (what is it--the fourth week in a row?) in the late morning hours of Sunday. We were just getting onto the freeway, happily discussing cheetos. Melissa flipped her head back, glancing upward and away as she prepared to make an educated comment. Instead, she screamed--squealed--shattering my eardrums. My flight response kicked in, but I had nowhere to go so I just hunched forward, pulling my legs up and falling into a panicked ball that would make a possum proud.

"What is it?" I shouted, while she hyperventilated in a high-pitched way.

"Don't look!" She shouted, pulling over with a suddenness that scared a passing car. I was cringing, not moving, imagining a killer rat or a poisonous snake wrapping around my headrest. She shouts at me to get out of the car. I do. She curses, rummaging through things. I do not see a rat. She pulls out my laundry bin, screaming and letting it fall quickly so she can jump back.

"My pillow case!" I complain. She laughs nervously.

Finally, I dare ask what it is. She says she saw a spider. Such a scream surely meant a tarantula or a black widow. But she described it as smaller than a quarter. Sure, it was nasty and I was not getting back in that car till it was destroyed, but I didn't understand the need for such a scream.

After fifteen minutes--yes, fifteen minutes parked on the side of the freeway, unpacking what we had just packed and finding nothing--I asked if it was possible that she was just insane. She didn't think so. But, after those fifteen minutes, she admitted that we had to go. I told her I would not get back in the car with the laundry right by my head (where she had seen the spider). So she packed everything in on her side. Such a nice sister. I sat with my feet curled under me and my purse on the dash. For a long while, it was qiuet, the air tight as Melissa kept looking back and forth, shuddering. I thought of how easily I could scare her--just a quick scream and pointed finger. But then I thought about her already-terrifying driving skills and how such an act would surely whip us to our deaths. So I refrained.

When we got home, I made her carry my laundry up to my apartment and go through each article of clothing until she was sure no spider was there, busy laying babies. We never found that spider. In anything. And I have never unpacked so meticulously, or nervously. When I was left to fend for myself concerning my suitcase, I uttered so many under-the-breath "omigosh" that my roommate stopped to ask if I was okay.

It was pretty crazy, and a bit embarrassing. But at least it was memorable. And, hey, I can always use it as proof of Melissa's questionable sanity. :)

Friday, May 28, 2010

Life's Better as a Redhead

SO, this super-lame weekend, I was thinking that my life has pretty much been the same for YEARS now. Nothing really unpredictable ever happening. School, school, school. And I was supremely bored. So I got a haircut. Another predictable moment, seeing as I got an a-line again. And I wondered if it was too "mommy"-ish, so I wanted to color my hair.
(So let's see how many times I can say so)

And I dared to be different. 
I went red. Fiery, spicy red.

I was kinda more than freaking out. The dye was orange and frightening. When I rinsed it out, there was a pool of tang in the sink. Lovely. But I think I like it. Maybe.

It makes my green eyes pop, yes?

So (there I go again) I think looking in the mirror and being surprised will entertain me for awhile. And this is only semi-permanent. The box says "28 shampoos," so (ugh. bigger vocabulary needed) in all actuality, probably two weeks. Lame. 

I'm kinda starting to like it. 
But no more pink lipstick for me. 

Sunday, May 23, 2010

Spoiler Alert

Well, it's over. There's never been anything so emphatic in my life. For six seasons--spanning from 2004 to 2010, covered through 121 episodes (roughly 7,260 minutes)--I have loved Lost. Mostly, anyways. Sometimes I hated it.

Like, when they killed Charlie.
Or Juliet--twice.
And when they brought good/evil into it with the mystical brothers,
one remaining nameless to add to the...mystery.
And the guy who wouldn't age that just made no sense at all.
Or anything Dharma.
And then there was that phase where I despised Jack.
And Kate. 

But I have always loved Sawyer.

Nothing beats the first season. Except, maybe, the "flash-sideways" of the final season--the alternate reality where everyone got their happily ever after. 
Or so I thought.
Nope, turns out they are all...

Ya, as in no longer living. 
(No, dad, the island was not Hell)
They just all died, formed some sort of imaginary limbo-life where they could find one another, and, once they did, they met in a church where the doors swung open and that necessary white light filled the room, drowning out the faces as the silhouettes wandered into a supposed eternity of happiness. 


Part of me is okay with the idea. But a bigger part of me thinks it is a huge copout--a quickie "abandon ship" on part of the directors, writers, producers. Dead? Come on. Sure, that meant Juliet could get back with Sawyer, and Sayid could finally have Shannon, and Jin and Sun were alive, and Charlie kissed Claire--that is all what made it okay. But the cheesy concept and hurried just felt wrong. For a show that started so strongly, it sure ended weakly. 

It was like Knowing
As in it was okay up until the last fifteen minutes.
And then I was like "What the? Are you serious? This is it?"

So it is over. Like most things, it ended rather anticlimactically and overly sentimental. Still, it's Lost, so I remain a forever fan.

Mostly, anyways.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

I Should Definitely Be Better At This

SOMETIMES, it is really hard for me to keep up on this blog. I just lack the...inspiration. That primarily being laughter. Yes, I lead a pathetically depressing life. Sometimes. I think part of the reason I haven't had a story that induces laguhter, is just because how fast everything has gone.

Like, hello, it is mid-May already. When did this happen? I have already faced midterms for the terms. I turned nineteen (Nope, don't feel any different). I moved in--was it a month ago?--to my new apartment.
Let me tell you, the feng shui is lacking.
Except in my room, which is, indeed, awesome.
I tried to tell my roommates our living room lacks any real flare and that ambiance was even a bit depressing, but they just shrugged their shoulders and went to their seperate rooms.
This whole "private room" thing has its downfalls.

Not that I would ever willingly go back to room-roommates.

This is a really random post. Boring, too. But I am serious: nothing remotely funny has happened to me since I last wrote. At least nothing that would be alright to share on the world wide web.
Doesn't that pique your interest?
So I will end with that.

Wednesday, May 12, 2010


YESTERDAY, in my Creative Writing class, we were analyzing a famous poem alongside its first draft. My teacher warned us not to favor the first draft. Because anyone who loved the first was like someone who liked grilled cheese over caviar--they would be uncultured and lame.

A kid raised his hand and asked, "Who is Caviar?"

No joke.

Funny, huh? 

So, now, I am one day going to name...something/someone Caviar
Then it would be really funny.

Wednesday, May 5, 2010

Bad News, Bad Smell, Bad Day

I think my roommate might be dead.

There is this terrible aroma blanketing the entire apartment. At first I thought it was an old, wet washcloth, hanging by the kitchen sink. But, after a few minutes of eyeing it, terrified, I dared sniff it and, though it was gross--like a wet dog--it was not the source of the smell.

I sniffed a lot of things after that. The trash, the bathroom, the neighbors. I even took to sniffing permanent markers, just to get that awful smell out of my head. But it still reeks. And it smells as if it is coming from my roommate's room.

One of my greatest fears is that she is dead. I am living with a corpse.

I last saw her Friday night. I heard her come in. I heard her lock herself into her bedroom. And then...nothing. I have not seen or heard her since. And there is this inexplicable thought in my mind that she might, indeed, be dead. And I am smelling her putrid, lifeless body.

One thing I know for sure: she is terrified of crabs. But she owned one--just recently--and it escaped. That is why, she told me, she has yet to clean her room. Because she think she will see it and die.
That is what she told me. 
So, my theory is that she went into her room friday night, crawled into bed, felt something crawl across her, saw that it was the crab, had a heart attack and DIED. 

Makes sense, doesn't it?

I told my friend of my suspicions and another girl turned around and said, "You know, if your roommate dies, you get automatic A's for the entire semester."


I don't know how to react to that, nor can I condone the rush of hope that filled my breast.
Just kidding, I am not so heartless.

So, does anyone know what a dead body smells like?

I hesitate to post this. If it proves to be true, then I could most definitely be arrested for...something. I would be a prime suspect. Why didn't you report her missing, the police would ask daringly. And I would whimper and cringe, and they would pull this blog up. You think it's funny?, they scream, throwing their fists against the table. 

Oh, now I am terrified. 

So, a discretionary note: I do not really think my roommate is dead. Even with all the evidence presented, I find this to be an irrational fear. So, there. I just ruined my own story/drama.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

Happy Almost-Birthday to Me

FINALLY. I am almost, almost nineteen. It's about time. I think I have been eighteen way too long; this past year has just dragged on and on. Perhaps because so much has happened.

I (sort of) graduated HS. 
Okay, let's just say I just moved past HS. 

I came to college. 
I am now a middle-aged sophomore at college.
I have faced three finals weeks. 

I have now lived in three different places.

Melissa came home.
No one in my family is yet married.

I have no job. 
Nothing new there, I guess. 

I have no boyfriend.
That's embarrassing.

There are so many movies that I have seen and want to see. 
...I don't know how that is pertinent.

See? Lots has happened. This whole blog has happened. Think about that: all this wonderful, humorous happenings took place in HALF the time I have been eighteen. Man, I wanna be nineteen already. 

Speaking of time dragging and being filled with lots of events...
I have watched almost four seasons of Bones since April 19. 
And I just realized how pathetic that is. 

I need a life. 
Hey, what are birthdays for, right? Change. Newness. BAM--problem solved. 

On May 8, I will no longer be lame, but I will have a life. 
Promises, promises.

(Note the subtle reminder of what day my birthday really is.
This means you have no excuse to not remember. 
So, remember, and celebrate my awesomeness.)