I have a tendency to complain about Spanish class. But today was possibly the best Spanish class I've ever had. Because we had a fiesta!
This fiesta wasn't an ordinary one. Normally, Spanish class fiestas consist of lots of cookies, a few brownies, and the occasional plate of muffins. Nice and healthy spread, I know. Well today, instead of the usual fare, we actually had (relatively) authentic Spanish food. See, the point of the fiesta was to get graded. We had to find some form of Spanish food, do a little research, and type it up, along with the recipe. That was one half of the grade. The other half was to actually make the food and bring it in to share. Hence our fabulous party.
I've decided that I like Spanish food. And I wish I knew how to make it for reals. Someday I'm sure I'll learn. Right now I have to settle for being grateful that it exists.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Monday, May 24, 2010
Umbrellas
Today would have been a relatively regular Monday. Except it wasn't. Because it snowed. For those of you skeptics out there who think I made that up - believe it. Mother Nature dumped a good two to three inches worth of ice on us this morning. Needless to say, I was not a happy camper.
But, the morning didn't turn out nearly as bad as it could have, mostly because I realized there was precipitation before I walked out the door this time and took precautionary measures. Namely, using an umbrella.
I got my umbrella at the beginning of my freshman year, when my mom and I went shopping for dorm room essentials. I tried to tell her I didn't need one, that it would just be a waste, but she insisted, and I finally relented. I am very grateful now that my mom forced it upon me. I haven't used it much since I got it (maybe five times, if that), but the times it has been put to use have been welcome indeed. While it doesn't keep me miraculously dry, it does keep the worst off my head, and since I don't particularly enjoy getting wet, that's good enough for me.
But, the morning didn't turn out nearly as bad as it could have, mostly because I realized there was precipitation before I walked out the door this time and took precautionary measures. Namely, using an umbrella.
I got my umbrella at the beginning of my freshman year, when my mom and I went shopping for dorm room essentials. I tried to tell her I didn't need one, that it would just be a waste, but she insisted, and I finally relented. I am very grateful now that my mom forced it upon me. I haven't used it much since I got it (maybe five times, if that), but the times it has been put to use have been welcome indeed. While it doesn't keep me miraculously dry, it does keep the worst off my head, and since I don't particularly enjoy getting wet, that's good enough for me.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Home Videos
While at my uncle's house tonight, after the usual popcorn and chocolate shakes, my aunt decided to bust out the home movie of their wedding reception. Simply because I happen to be in it. I was two when my aunt and uncle were married, and my family and I timed our annual weeks-long road trip across country so that we would be in Iowa in time to go to their reception. The video of the whole thing is hysterical.
First, we showed up. Keep in mind this reception happened in 1992, so the styles were drastically different. My mother was rocking a peach dress with coke-bottle glasses and a perm, while my dad actually had hair and was using a camera that belongs in a museum. Carlton had a cute striped shirt and matching tie on, complete with a very severe part in his hair, and Derek apparently preferred the bow-tie look, though he followed in Carlton's footsteps as far as hairstyle goes. And then there was me. I was asleep in my mother's arms for the entire first half.
Well, then I woke up. And the first thing the camera catches me doing? Picking my nose. Luckily my mother noticed what was going on and quickly swatted my hand away before I could eat the result of my efforts on camera. Boy was I a classy child. The rest of the night I seem to be clinging to some pair of arms or another. I must have been grumpy, because I refused to be set down, except for about five minutes when we took a grandchildren picture with my grandma. And even then, my mom had to coax me to give up my death grip on her neck. I don't know what was wrong that night, but whatever it was made me quite the anti-social child.
But that's okay, because the video was still hysterical. Derek bopped around in his bow-tie the whole night, getting into everything, including the wedding presents. There was one adorable moment when the camera shows us holding hands during the five minutes of picture-taking I agreed to let go for. What a cute older brother! And Carlton with his sharp little outfit popping up in unexpected places. We were so darn adorable as little kids! I just love home videos, and I wish we had more of them back home. I'm grateful that those memories were preserved. Because really, why wouldn't I want a tape of me picking my nose?
First, we showed up. Keep in mind this reception happened in 1992, so the styles were drastically different. My mother was rocking a peach dress with coke-bottle glasses and a perm, while my dad actually had hair and was using a camera that belongs in a museum. Carlton had a cute striped shirt and matching tie on, complete with a very severe part in his hair, and Derek apparently preferred the bow-tie look, though he followed in Carlton's footsteps as far as hairstyle goes. And then there was me. I was asleep in my mother's arms for the entire first half.
Well, then I woke up. And the first thing the camera catches me doing? Picking my nose. Luckily my mother noticed what was going on and quickly swatted my hand away before I could eat the result of my efforts on camera. Boy was I a classy child. The rest of the night I seem to be clinging to some pair of arms or another. I must have been grumpy, because I refused to be set down, except for about five minutes when we took a grandchildren picture with my grandma. And even then, my mom had to coax me to give up my death grip on her neck. I don't know what was wrong that night, but whatever it was made me quite the anti-social child.
But that's okay, because the video was still hysterical. Derek bopped around in his bow-tie the whole night, getting into everything, including the wedding presents. There was one adorable moment when the camera shows us holding hands during the five minutes of picture-taking I agreed to let go for. What a cute older brother! And Carlton with his sharp little outfit popping up in unexpected places. We were so darn adorable as little kids! I just love home videos, and I wish we had more of them back home. I'm grateful that those memories were preserved. Because really, why wouldn't I want a tape of me picking my nose?
Saturday, May 22, 2010
The Opportunity to Write
Remember that internship I got a while back? Well, I've finally started doing things for it! This week, I wrote an article for an online website. One of my tasks is to write about an article a week on a topic of my choosing, as long as it somehow relates to books. The article I wrote for this week was really quite fun, and I've decided to post it for your reading pleasure. Here it is:
Looking for a Good Book? – 5 Hunting Tips for the Stumped Reader
Don’t you hate that moment when you finally finish the last chapter of a book so good you just couldn’t put it down – and realize you don’t know where you’ll find another page-turner? It’s depressing, the knowledge that you are book-less until the next great read crosses your path. But do not despair; all is not lost. Here are five tips to aid you in your quest for a good book.
1. Explore the author – Most authors don’t write a single masterpiece and call it quits. Take Barbara Park, author of the Junie B. Jones books, for example. She has currently written twenty-seven books, and is probably still going! And she isn’t alone. Chances are that if you find one book by an author, you’ll probably find at least one more written by the same person. So if you liked the first book, explore. You never know what other good books he or she may have published.
2. Ask the librarian – Librarians are the hidden treasures of the literary world. Many of them studied literature for years in college, and some even specifically focused their studies on how to be a librarian. They know so much about books it would blow your mind. And they are generally more than willing to help if you just ask. So ask! They can point you in any direction you choose, from new releases to classics, murder-mysteries to romance novels – you give them an idea, and they can help you find it.
3. Look up book lists – TIME Magazine-ALL-TIME 100 Novels; Newsweek’s Meta-List of Top 100 Books; The Modern Library: 100 Best Novels; these only scratch the surface of the plethora of book lists out there. How do you find these lists? The way you find almost anything else these days: search for them on the internet. You’ll find more good reads than you could hope to get through in three lifetimes.
4. Join a book club – Thought book clubs were only for your grandma and her friends at the country club? Think again. Look for a book club at your school, your local library, your community center – or get your friends together and make your own! Participating in a book club not only exposes you to good books, it also adds an event to your social calendar. With the potential for good books and good friends, and maybe good refreshments if you’re lucky, book clubs are a great option for any reader.
5. Browse the shelves – If all else fails, just get out there and start looking. Head to any place with bookshelves, be it the library, the bookstore, or your neighbor’s personal collection, and search. Pick a letter and head down that row, or choose a genre to browse through; anything to get you searching. If you find a book that looks interesting, check it out. There’s a good chance you’ll find several not-so-good books, but with a little patience, you’re bound to find even more really good ones.
There you have it: five tips for the next time you have a book drought. Hopefully at least one will lead you to yet another great read.
Today I'm grateful for the opportunity I have to write. Since I'm only taking one class this term, and that one class is Spanish, I've had no opportunities to write anything in English, and I'm actually a little sad about it. So it's great to be able to write fun articles about libraries and recommended summer reads. Even though no one may read them but the few who read this blog, at least I'll enjoy writing them.
Looking for a Good Book? – 5 Hunting Tips for the Stumped Reader
Don’t you hate that moment when you finally finish the last chapter of a book so good you just couldn’t put it down – and realize you don’t know where you’ll find another page-turner? It’s depressing, the knowledge that you are book-less until the next great read crosses your path. But do not despair; all is not lost. Here are five tips to aid you in your quest for a good book.
1. Explore the author – Most authors don’t write a single masterpiece and call it quits. Take Barbara Park, author of the Junie B. Jones books, for example. She has currently written twenty-seven books, and is probably still going! And she isn’t alone. Chances are that if you find one book by an author, you’ll probably find at least one more written by the same person. So if you liked the first book, explore. You never know what other good books he or she may have published.
2. Ask the librarian – Librarians are the hidden treasures of the literary world. Many of them studied literature for years in college, and some even specifically focused their studies on how to be a librarian. They know so much about books it would blow your mind. And they are generally more than willing to help if you just ask. So ask! They can point you in any direction you choose, from new releases to classics, murder-mysteries to romance novels – you give them an idea, and they can help you find it.
3. Look up book lists – TIME Magazine-ALL-TIME 100 Novels; Newsweek’s Meta-List of Top 100 Books; The Modern Library: 100 Best Novels; these only scratch the surface of the plethora of book lists out there. How do you find these lists? The way you find almost anything else these days: search for them on the internet. You’ll find more good reads than you could hope to get through in three lifetimes.
4. Join a book club – Thought book clubs were only for your grandma and her friends at the country club? Think again. Look for a book club at your school, your local library, your community center – or get your friends together and make your own! Participating in a book club not only exposes you to good books, it also adds an event to your social calendar. With the potential for good books and good friends, and maybe good refreshments if you’re lucky, book clubs are a great option for any reader.
5. Browse the shelves – If all else fails, just get out there and start looking. Head to any place with bookshelves, be it the library, the bookstore, or your neighbor’s personal collection, and search. Pick a letter and head down that row, or choose a genre to browse through; anything to get you searching. If you find a book that looks interesting, check it out. There’s a good chance you’ll find several not-so-good books, but with a little patience, you’re bound to find even more really good ones.
There you have it: five tips for the next time you have a book drought. Hopefully at least one will lead you to yet another great read.
Today I'm grateful for the opportunity I have to write. Since I'm only taking one class this term, and that one class is Spanish, I've had no opportunities to write anything in English, and I'm actually a little sad about it. So it's great to be able to write fun articles about libraries and recommended summer reads. Even though no one may read them but the few who read this blog, at least I'll enjoy writing them.
Friday, May 21, 2010
Edited Movies
When I turned the TV on today, to see if there were any crimes shows on that I could watch while doing Spanish homework, I discovered that instead there was an edited movie playing on the usual channel. The movie happened to be Tristan and Isolde, which I've seen before, and is really a very sad story. So I watched the end of it, and promptly fell asleep, waking up about an hour later to discover that the channel was now playing an edited version of Casanova, which I had not seen and has Heath Ledger in it. I was all over that.
After that movie ended, I decided to turn off the TV and run a few errands. But channels are tricky, and they sucker you into things before you even realize what's happening. Next thing I knew, the edited version of Atonement was on. I'd always wanted to see that movie, but since it was rated R, I never had. It was quite a conundrum. Go out and be productive, or stay and watch another movie. Well, I confess that I'm a movie junkie, and Atonement won. Consequently, my errands didn't get completely finished tonight, which means I have no milk for cereal tomorrow morning, but such is life. I think I made a good choice.
Which leads me to the grateful item of the night: edited movies. I personally don't understand why it's necessary to make R-rated movies in the first place, and it bothers me when movies that look really good are rated R, especially if it's for something totally avoidable (honestly, it's generally not necessary to say the f-word every other sentence). But that's the way it goes, and as long as it is this way, I'll continue to watch edited movies. And I'd personally like to shake the hand of whoever came up with the genius idea that brought them about.
As a side note, I'm now completely caught up with my blog! Thank you to Skyler for forcing me to do so.
After that movie ended, I decided to turn off the TV and run a few errands. But channels are tricky, and they sucker you into things before you even realize what's happening. Next thing I knew, the edited version of Atonement was on. I'd always wanted to see that movie, but since it was rated R, I never had. It was quite a conundrum. Go out and be productive, or stay and watch another movie. Well, I confess that I'm a movie junkie, and Atonement won. Consequently, my errands didn't get completely finished tonight, which means I have no milk for cereal tomorrow morning, but such is life. I think I made a good choice.
Which leads me to the grateful item of the night: edited movies. I personally don't understand why it's necessary to make R-rated movies in the first place, and it bothers me when movies that look really good are rated R, especially if it's for something totally avoidable (honestly, it's generally not necessary to say the f-word every other sentence). But that's the way it goes, and as long as it is this way, I'll continue to watch edited movies. And I'd personally like to shake the hand of whoever came up with the genius idea that brought them about.
As a side note, I'm now completely caught up with my blog! Thank you to Skyler for forcing me to do so.
Early Mornings
Thursday, May 20, 2010
I absolutely hate when I forget very essential information. It's even worse when I tell myself not to forget whatever the information is - and I forget it anyway. This unfortunate situation happened to me today.
While doing my Spanish homework yesterday, I realized that I was in charge of the BOCA for this morning's class. The BOCA is the name for the class opening schedule. It involves a hymn, a prayer, and a presentation on a Spanish topic of your choice. Yesterday, I thought to myself, 'hey, don't forget to make a presentation for class tomorrow; it's worth five extra credit points, and you need all the points you can get.' After which I promptly forgot that this was now on my to-do list.
Until this morning, at around six forty-five when I was in the shower. What an awful feeling, remembering that in little more than an hour, I would be giving a presentation that I didn't even know the topic yet. Good thing I get up so early; it gave me the necessary time to throw together a pretty terrible power point on the Day of the Dead (a Mexican holiday), and I got my points. So, as much as I hate it, I'm grateful that I get up so early in the morning. Not only does it give me a little wiggle room in the mornings, but it has actually made my days more productive as a whole. Which is nice. It's a good thing I have help getting up so early though; otherwise, I'd probably miss class every day.
I absolutely hate when I forget very essential information. It's even worse when I tell myself not to forget whatever the information is - and I forget it anyway. This unfortunate situation happened to me today.
While doing my Spanish homework yesterday, I realized that I was in charge of the BOCA for this morning's class. The BOCA is the name for the class opening schedule. It involves a hymn, a prayer, and a presentation on a Spanish topic of your choice. Yesterday, I thought to myself, 'hey, don't forget to make a presentation for class tomorrow; it's worth five extra credit points, and you need all the points you can get.' After which I promptly forgot that this was now on my to-do list.
Until this morning, at around six forty-five when I was in the shower. What an awful feeling, remembering that in little more than an hour, I would be giving a presentation that I didn't even know the topic yet. Good thing I get up so early; it gave me the necessary time to throw together a pretty terrible power point on the Day of the Dead (a Mexican holiday), and I got my points. So, as much as I hate it, I'm grateful that I get up so early in the morning. Not only does it give me a little wiggle room in the mornings, but it has actually made my days more productive as a whole. Which is nice. It's a good thing I have help getting up so early though; otherwise, I'd probably miss class every day.
Thursday, May 20, 2010
The Graveyard Book
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
I love reading, a fact I've unfortunately forgotten in recent years. Something about reading nothing but "classics" in my classes has jaded me somewhat towards the whole practice of reading. Which I find to be a tragedy; there are so many good books out there, it would be a shame to taint them with bad memories of a few not-so-good books.
Recently, however, I've picked up the habit again. Really, it's because I don't have much else to do with my time. I go to class from eight to ten, do a few hours of homework, maybe take a nap, catch up on any other business, and then have several hours of time to use as I please. This week has been a bit busier than normal, what with a midterm and extended grocery shopping trip thrown in the mix, but I've still had a fair number of free hours. To fill these hours, I started reading.
The book of choice was The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman, and I finished it tonight. It was fantastic. The book is about a little boy named Nobody Owens (Bod for short) who is raised by ghosts in a graveyard, and his life and lessons learned as he grows up. It reminded my of the idea that "it takes a whole village to raise a child," but altered to be "it takes a whole graveyard to raise a child" instead. The whole storyline was just so original, and slightly creepy in a non-disturbing way. And it imparted some very good wisdom along with the tale. The only problem is that I'm done with it. And have nothing else to read. I think a trip to the library might be in order. And a thank you to Gaiman's storytelling for reminding me of the pleasures of reading.
As Silas (Bod's guardian) tells him, "All the people here have had their lives, Bod, even if they were short ones. Now it's your turn. You need to live." What good advice.
I love reading, a fact I've unfortunately forgotten in recent years. Something about reading nothing but "classics" in my classes has jaded me somewhat towards the whole practice of reading. Which I find to be a tragedy; there are so many good books out there, it would be a shame to taint them with bad memories of a few not-so-good books.
Recently, however, I've picked up the habit again. Really, it's because I don't have much else to do with my time. I go to class from eight to ten, do a few hours of homework, maybe take a nap, catch up on any other business, and then have several hours of time to use as I please. This week has been a bit busier than normal, what with a midterm and extended grocery shopping trip thrown in the mix, but I've still had a fair number of free hours. To fill these hours, I started reading.
The book of choice was The Graveyard Book by Neil Gaiman, and I finished it tonight. It was fantastic. The book is about a little boy named Nobody Owens (Bod for short) who is raised by ghosts in a graveyard, and his life and lessons learned as he grows up. It reminded my of the idea that "it takes a whole village to raise a child," but altered to be "it takes a whole graveyard to raise a child" instead. The whole storyline was just so original, and slightly creepy in a non-disturbing way. And it imparted some very good wisdom along with the tale. The only problem is that I'm done with it. And have nothing else to read. I think a trip to the library might be in order. And a thank you to Gaiman's storytelling for reminding me of the pleasures of reading.
As Silas (Bod's guardian) tells him, "All the people here have had their lives, Bod, even if they were short ones. Now it's your turn. You need to live." What good advice.
A Rainstorm
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
The weather hasn't been so nice in Provo recently. To be fair, it hasn't been snowing, which I am very happy about. If it were, I'd probably drop out of school, pack my bags, and permanently vacate this town for sunnier places. But it isn't, and I'm still here. What the weather has been doing recently can be most accurately described as 'spitting.' It lets loose little bursts of misty drops every so often, but never quite makes it to a full-fledged rainstorm. This tends to psyche me out more than I'd like; do I bring an umbrella? Wear a jacket with a hood? Or not worry about it at all?
Today, I'm sad to say that I made the wrong decision. It wasn't raining when I woke up, though I did vaguely remember getting a little wet during the night before I closed the window above my bed. Well, actually my memory was that someone was throwing water at my face, and I was yelling at them to stop, but upon a little further reflection, I don't think that was the case. Anyways, since it wasn't raining, and the day seemed to hold the promise of sunshine, I thought I would be safe without any form of rain protection at all, and walked out the door with nothing but a t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops to protect from the elements. I should have known Provo better.
Sam read me a quote the other day that was something along the lines of "If you don't like today's weather, wait fifteen minutes and it'll be different." I think that describes Provo perfectly. Because when I walked out of class today, it was pouring. Not sprinkling, not spitting, not even lightly drizzling. Pouring. And what choice did I have, but to walk home in it. So I did. And walked through my front door ten minutes later looking like I'd just gone swimming. So much for getting ready for the day, because I just had to do it all over again.
But as I reflected on it later, I realized I didn't really mind getting drenched. I actually like the rain. There's something about it that fascinates me, and it sounds really cool on the roof. Plus, playing in the rain is one of my favorite outdoor activities, right up there with swinging (as long as I can change my clothes soon after, because I hate wet clothes). I know it's a little weird, but today I'm grateful for my unexpected drenching. It reminded me how much I love the spontaneity of nature. Unless it involves snow, that is.
The weather hasn't been so nice in Provo recently. To be fair, it hasn't been snowing, which I am very happy about. If it were, I'd probably drop out of school, pack my bags, and permanently vacate this town for sunnier places. But it isn't, and I'm still here. What the weather has been doing recently can be most accurately described as 'spitting.' It lets loose little bursts of misty drops every so often, but never quite makes it to a full-fledged rainstorm. This tends to psyche me out more than I'd like; do I bring an umbrella? Wear a jacket with a hood? Or not worry about it at all?
Today, I'm sad to say that I made the wrong decision. It wasn't raining when I woke up, though I did vaguely remember getting a little wet during the night before I closed the window above my bed. Well, actually my memory was that someone was throwing water at my face, and I was yelling at them to stop, but upon a little further reflection, I don't think that was the case. Anyways, since it wasn't raining, and the day seemed to hold the promise of sunshine, I thought I would be safe without any form of rain protection at all, and walked out the door with nothing but a t-shirt, jeans, and flip-flops to protect from the elements. I should have known Provo better.
Sam read me a quote the other day that was something along the lines of "If you don't like today's weather, wait fifteen minutes and it'll be different." I think that describes Provo perfectly. Because when I walked out of class today, it was pouring. Not sprinkling, not spitting, not even lightly drizzling. Pouring. And what choice did I have, but to walk home in it. So I did. And walked through my front door ten minutes later looking like I'd just gone swimming. So much for getting ready for the day, because I just had to do it all over again.
But as I reflected on it later, I realized I didn't really mind getting drenched. I actually like the rain. There's something about it that fascinates me, and it sounds really cool on the roof. Plus, playing in the rain is one of my favorite outdoor activities, right up there with swinging (as long as I can change my clothes soon after, because I hate wet clothes). I know it's a little weird, but today I'm grateful for my unexpected drenching. It reminded me how much I love the spontaneity of nature. Unless it involves snow, that is.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Spanish Class Ending
Monday, May 17, 2010
Sadly, it's been one of those days where I just can't really remember what I did with my day. I find that to be rather pathetic. Probably because I spent practically all day studying Spanish, and that tends to fry my brain in a way I've never encountered before.
I don't know what it is about Spanish, but for some reason it's just one of those things that I cannot grasp. I began my bilingual studies in seventh grade, and have continued them till now, expect for my freshman year of college when I decided to take a break. So you would think, after seven years of it, that I would be pretty darn fluent. Well, you thought wrong. I'm awful.
Which makes my Spanish class this semester that much more difficult. I'm already bad enough, but when you add "eight in the morning," "every day," and "two hours long" to the mix, it makes it exponentially worse. So what am I grateful here? Well, I guess it's the knowledge that Spanish is almost over. I can't even express how happy it makes me to write those words. Not that I don't like the Spanish language. I would love to be fluent. It's that I don't like the Spanish class. I'm very thankful that I'm almost done.
Sadly, it's been one of those days where I just can't really remember what I did with my day. I find that to be rather pathetic. Probably because I spent practically all day studying Spanish, and that tends to fry my brain in a way I've never encountered before.
I don't know what it is about Spanish, but for some reason it's just one of those things that I cannot grasp. I began my bilingual studies in seventh grade, and have continued them till now, expect for my freshman year of college when I decided to take a break. So you would think, after seven years of it, that I would be pretty darn fluent. Well, you thought wrong. I'm awful.
Which makes my Spanish class this semester that much more difficult. I'm already bad enough, but when you add "eight in the morning," "every day," and "two hours long" to the mix, it makes it exponentially worse. So what am I grateful here? Well, I guess it's the knowledge that Spanish is almost over. I can't even express how happy it makes me to write those words. Not that I don't like the Spanish language. I would love to be fluent. It's that I don't like the Spanish class. I'm very thankful that I'm almost done.
Heroes
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Today was a very good day - minus the fact that I went back to Provo. So really it wasn't the best day at all. But such is life.
It was actually a little bit of a stressful day, to be honest. Due to a slight miscommunication, I was ride-less when I woke up. This presented a problem; since I have a Spanish test tomorrow, I sortof needed to make it back to Provo tonight. Plus I already missed class on Friday, and I didn't think it was the best idea to miss class on Monday too. But I didn't have a ride. So, what to do.
Turns out some friends of a friend of Maren's were driving back this afternoon. So Maren give me her friend's number, who then gave my number to her friends, who then texted me and offered a ride. And voila! I was saved. (Though they did demand cookies in exchange.) As I got in the car, one of my fellow passengers informed the driver that he was practically a hero for helping me in a pinch. Tonight I'm thankful for heroes. Without one I might still be in St. George. Which I would love, but isn't really conducive to doing well in school.
Today was a very good day - minus the fact that I went back to Provo. So really it wasn't the best day at all. But such is life.
It was actually a little bit of a stressful day, to be honest. Due to a slight miscommunication, I was ride-less when I woke up. This presented a problem; since I have a Spanish test tomorrow, I sortof needed to make it back to Provo tonight. Plus I already missed class on Friday, and I didn't think it was the best idea to miss class on Monday too. But I didn't have a ride. So, what to do.
Turns out some friends of a friend of Maren's were driving back this afternoon. So Maren give me her friend's number, who then gave my number to her friends, who then texted me and offered a ride. And voila! I was saved. (Though they did demand cookies in exchange.) As I got in the car, one of my fellow passengers informed the driver that he was practically a hero for helping me in a pinch. Tonight I'm thankful for heroes. Without one I might still be in St. George. Which I would love, but isn't really conducive to doing well in school.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
The Pleasant-ness of Swinging
Saturday, May 15, 2010
I absolutely adore swinging. I've loved it since as long as I can remember. And when I swing now, it's not that I'm relieving my childhood or flashing back to all the good times I used to have; I legitimately still enjoy swinging. There's just something special about the rush of air in my face, or the little jump of the swing when I get too high, or the rust smell on my hands afterward. I love it.
In case you hadn't already guessed, today I got to swing. In a very pleasant park on a very pleasant afternoon with a very pleasant person. (Nevermind that the park was meant for five- to twelve-year-olds. The swinging was still pleasant.) I've decided that swinging is my warm soapy water of the outdoors, and I cannot wait for summertime to really arrive, so that I can have more pleasant afternoons with pleasant people. Thank you to today's swing break, for making me realize that I'm definitely installing a swingset in my backyard when I finally have that real house I've always wanted.
I absolutely adore swinging. I've loved it since as long as I can remember. And when I swing now, it's not that I'm relieving my childhood or flashing back to all the good times I used to have; I legitimately still enjoy swinging. There's just something special about the rush of air in my face, or the little jump of the swing when I get too high, or the rust smell on my hands afterward. I love it.
In case you hadn't already guessed, today I got to swing. In a very pleasant park on a very pleasant afternoon with a very pleasant person. (Nevermind that the park was meant for five- to twelve-year-olds. The swinging was still pleasant.) I've decided that swinging is my warm soapy water of the outdoors, and I cannot wait for summertime to really arrive, so that I can have more pleasant afternoons with pleasant people. Thank you to today's swing break, for making me realize that I'm definitely installing a swingset in my backyard when I finally have that real house I've always wanted.
The Fact That I'm A Girl
Friday, May 14, 2010
I don't know what it is about boys and camping, but for some inexplicable reason they seem to go hand-in-hand quite frequently. Myself, I've never been a fan of camping. I can handle cabin camping, like at Blue Knob. I think I could stand RV camping, but I've never actually tried it. I even can be semi-okay with sleeping under the stars, though in all fairness, the only time I've done that was on Trek, and I'd have fallen asleep just about anywhere at that point. But tent camping is something that I cannot do.
My reasoning for this is understandable: I've had too many bad experiences with tent camping. The extreme Maryland humidity making the inside of the tent rain; the tent pitched on a slanted slope with no stakes; the endless round of bugs parading through the tent flap, whether or not it's closed. Tent camping is something I just cannot handle, and something I refuse to subject my children to in the future.
Now, why this slanderous post? Because Skyler went on the Fathers and Sons campout with his brothers and dad tonight, leaving me to ponder my extreme good fortune - I am a girl. And tent camping is not on my required list of activities. Oh hallelujah.
I don't know what it is about boys and camping, but for some inexplicable reason they seem to go hand-in-hand quite frequently. Myself, I've never been a fan of camping. I can handle cabin camping, like at Blue Knob. I think I could stand RV camping, but I've never actually tried it. I even can be semi-okay with sleeping under the stars, though in all fairness, the only time I've done that was on Trek, and I'd have fallen asleep just about anywhere at that point. But tent camping is something that I cannot do.
My reasoning for this is understandable: I've had too many bad experiences with tent camping. The extreme Maryland humidity making the inside of the tent rain; the tent pitched on a slanted slope with no stakes; the endless round of bugs parading through the tent flap, whether or not it's closed. Tent camping is something I just cannot handle, and something I refuse to subject my children to in the future.
Now, why this slanderous post? Because Skyler went on the Fathers and Sons campout with his brothers and dad tonight, leaving me to ponder my extreme good fortune - I am a girl. And tent camping is not on my required list of activities. Oh hallelujah.
Monday, May 17, 2010
Roadtrips
Thursday, May 13, 2010
I love roadtrips. However, that statement deserves a bit of explanation. I don't particularly enjoy the actual part on the road. But the time in between those long hours of monotony make up for any horrors suffered. So the roadtrips themselves are worth it. Which is why I love them so much.
I believe this weekend marks the seventh time I will be making the trek to St. George since January. Really since February, because I didn't go down until half-way through, during the long weekend. Each way, the car trip takes anywhere from three to four hours (for some reason, the trip down takes closer to four, and the trip back closer to three; it's extremely depressing, and I wish it were flipped). Plus there have a been a few trips that were more on the long side, due to inclement weather and an unfortunately ornery tire. So we'll say each way takes four hours. That's eight hours of driving per trip (give or take). Multiply that by seven trips, and that's fifty-six hours spent in a car. Not to mention the twelve-hour round trip to Disneyland. And I willing submitted to all that; in fact, I jumped at the chance to subject myself to it. I must be crazy.
But I promise you that I am not. Because the time spent in St. George is more than worth it. Which is why I'm looking forward to yet another trip this weekend, this time courtesy of the St. George Shuttle. Hopefully it doesn't turn out as sketchy as it sounds, and I make it to my destination in one piece. And in case you were wondering, the moral of this mathematical post is to say that despite the pain and suffering of the drives themselves, I'm thankful for roadtrips. I don't know what I would do without them.
I love roadtrips. However, that statement deserves a bit of explanation. I don't particularly enjoy the actual part on the road. But the time in between those long hours of monotony make up for any horrors suffered. So the roadtrips themselves are worth it. Which is why I love them so much.
I believe this weekend marks the seventh time I will be making the trek to St. George since January. Really since February, because I didn't go down until half-way through, during the long weekend. Each way, the car trip takes anywhere from three to four hours (for some reason, the trip down takes closer to four, and the trip back closer to three; it's extremely depressing, and I wish it were flipped). Plus there have a been a few trips that were more on the long side, due to inclement weather and an unfortunately ornery tire. So we'll say each way takes four hours. That's eight hours of driving per trip (give or take). Multiply that by seven trips, and that's fifty-six hours spent in a car. Not to mention the twelve-hour round trip to Disneyland. And I willing submitted to all that; in fact, I jumped at the chance to subject myself to it. I must be crazy.
But I promise you that I am not. Because the time spent in St. George is more than worth it. Which is why I'm looking forward to yet another trip this weekend, this time courtesy of the St. George Shuttle. Hopefully it doesn't turn out as sketchy as it sounds, and I make it to my destination in one piece. And in case you were wondering, the moral of this mathematical post is to say that despite the pain and suffering of the drives themselves, I'm thankful for roadtrips. I don't know what I would do without them.
A Working Oven
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
In a similar vein as yesterday's post, today's topic is another little rant on the abysmal state of the apartments in Provo. We discovered a few days after moving into our current place that the oven doesn't work. The whole contraption is the most ghetto gas death trap I've ever seen. Only three of the four burners work, and we think the actual oven ignites, but it's sketchy at best. Mostly it takes years to heat up the slightest bit and fills the entire apartment with the smell of gas - but there is a flame down there!
Needless to say, we don't use the oven. Personally I'd like to live through Spring term, and I honestly think prolonged use of that thing would cut that goal short in a hurry. This leaves me in an awful predicament, because I like to bake. And I've been wanting to make banana bread for probably about a week now. I thought I had a good chance of making it because the maintenance man did make an appearance last Thursday, but he said he would be back to finish the job on Friday and has yet to surface again, so I've just about given up hope that our oven will ever make it back to full strength.
This is where Maren comes in. She's just so wonderful; she willing let me invade her apartment to make a few loaves (though she did get her own loaf out of the deal, so maybe there were ulterior motives). The end result was a rather tasty batch of banana bread. And the whole experience left me grateful, once again, for something I don't have: a working oven.
In a similar vein as yesterday's post, today's topic is another little rant on the abysmal state of the apartments in Provo. We discovered a few days after moving into our current place that the oven doesn't work. The whole contraption is the most ghetto gas death trap I've ever seen. Only three of the four burners work, and we think the actual oven ignites, but it's sketchy at best. Mostly it takes years to heat up the slightest bit and fills the entire apartment with the smell of gas - but there is a flame down there!
Needless to say, we don't use the oven. Personally I'd like to live through Spring term, and I honestly think prolonged use of that thing would cut that goal short in a hurry. This leaves me in an awful predicament, because I like to bake. And I've been wanting to make banana bread for probably about a week now. I thought I had a good chance of making it because the maintenance man did make an appearance last Thursday, but he said he would be back to finish the job on Friday and has yet to surface again, so I've just about given up hope that our oven will ever make it back to full strength.
This is where Maren comes in. She's just so wonderful; she willing let me invade her apartment to make a few loaves (though she did get her own loaf out of the deal, so maybe there were ulterior motives). The end result was a rather tasty batch of banana bread. And the whole experience left me grateful, once again, for something I don't have: a working oven.
A Real House
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
I think the thing that I love most about swimming is that I don't have to focus on it. With other forms of exercise, like running for instance, I have to focus on them, like how to keep putting one foot in front of the other. But with swimming, I have the ability to develop some form of rhythm, so that I can keep plugging along while leaving my mind free to think about whatever it would like.
Today it decided to get homesick. Of the billions of topics it could ponder, and my mind decided to make me long for home. How nice. I decided that what I wished for most at that moment was my house. Do you know how many crappy apartments there are in Provo? Entirely too many to count. In fact, it's infinitely easier to count how many good apartments there are, because they'd probably fit on one hand.
Take my current apartment, for instance. The kitchen fan creaks when it's windy outside; walking on the carpet makes the bottoms of my feet black; and the shower makes the apartment sound like it's about to collapse. Or my previous one. The wireless only worked when it felt like it; we had ants invade our kitchen more than once; and the shower drain had a bigger hairball than I thought possible. And the saddest part of the whole thing is that practically every affordable apartment in Provo has similar problems. Do you see why I'm pining for an actual house? Especially my house in Maryland. For all its oddities, I love it. And I can't wait till I can get one of my own and finally leave the torture of ancient apartments. Even though I won't get one for several years, I'm still grateful for real houses. Boy are they underrated.
I think the thing that I love most about swimming is that I don't have to focus on it. With other forms of exercise, like running for instance, I have to focus on them, like how to keep putting one foot in front of the other. But with swimming, I have the ability to develop some form of rhythm, so that I can keep plugging along while leaving my mind free to think about whatever it would like.
Today it decided to get homesick. Of the billions of topics it could ponder, and my mind decided to make me long for home. How nice. I decided that what I wished for most at that moment was my house. Do you know how many crappy apartments there are in Provo? Entirely too many to count. In fact, it's infinitely easier to count how many good apartments there are, because they'd probably fit on one hand.
Take my current apartment, for instance. The kitchen fan creaks when it's windy outside; walking on the carpet makes the bottoms of my feet black; and the shower makes the apartment sound like it's about to collapse. Or my previous one. The wireless only worked when it felt like it; we had ants invade our kitchen more than once; and the shower drain had a bigger hairball than I thought possible. And the saddest part of the whole thing is that practically every affordable apartment in Provo has similar problems. Do you see why I'm pining for an actual house? Especially my house in Maryland. For all its oddities, I love it. And I can't wait till I can get one of my own and finally leave the torture of ancient apartments. Even though I won't get one for several years, I'm still grateful for real houses. Boy are they underrated.
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Reliant K and Paramore
Monday, May 10, 2010
Gosh I've done so many new things since I came to college. Like going to concerts! I'd never been to a concert (besides church choirs and school bands) until my first semester, when a few of us saw Coldplay. And tonight, I attended the second concert of my life - to see Reliant K and Paramore.
I don't really know these bands too well, but Maren had an extra ticket and needed a concert partner, so I jumped at the chance to go. I guess it makes me feel like a bit of a rebel when I go to rock concerts. And I'm definitely glad I went, though I am a little worried about my ability to hear tomorrow.
The bands were both very good, even though I didn't really know any of the songs, and it was generally impossible to actually hear the words they were singing. But they played very well, and the lead singer of Paramore was quite possibly the craziest person I have ever witnessed. I have no idea what she eats for breakfast, but I want to eat it too because she had the most energy I've ever seen. She hopped and danced and ran and head-banged around the stage for probably a good hour, while still managing to sing in a very good voice the entire time. It was insane, and I'd be willing to bet she had a killer headache by the end. But her antics just made the concert that much cooler. I'm grateful Maren had an extra ticket, so that I could get a little taste of rock culture.
Gosh I've done so many new things since I came to college. Like going to concerts! I'd never been to a concert (besides church choirs and school bands) until my first semester, when a few of us saw Coldplay. And tonight, I attended the second concert of my life - to see Reliant K and Paramore.
I don't really know these bands too well, but Maren had an extra ticket and needed a concert partner, so I jumped at the chance to go. I guess it makes me feel like a bit of a rebel when I go to rock concerts. And I'm definitely glad I went, though I am a little worried about my ability to hear tomorrow.
The bands were both very good, even though I didn't really know any of the songs, and it was generally impossible to actually hear the words they were singing. But they played very well, and the lead singer of Paramore was quite possibly the craziest person I have ever witnessed. I have no idea what she eats for breakfast, but I want to eat it too because she had the most energy I've ever seen. She hopped and danced and ran and head-banged around the stage for probably a good hour, while still managing to sing in a very good voice the entire time. It was insane, and I'd be willing to bet she had a killer headache by the end. But her antics just made the concert that much cooler. I'm grateful Maren had an extra ticket, so that I could get a little taste of rock culture.
Guinea Pig Dishes
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Living near family is absolutely wonderful. Especially very loving and generous family who loves to have you over to their house and tries to fatten you up no matter what you say. I've never had better popcorn than my uncle's popcorn. He's practically a professional homemade popcorn maker; you'd be surprised at how much skill it takes to butter and salt it to perfection.
The food tonight was a little different than the normal popcorn and Tang Death. They'd just finished dinner when I went over, and my uncle all by force-fed me what was left. They had quite the dinner: some form of meat, edamame, grapple, and the guinea pig dish of the night - bombay sweet potatoes. Let me explain the guinea pig dish. Apparently my uncle likes to experiment every so often, and he picks some exotic or interesting recipe to try. Tonight's recipe had a bit of an Indian flavor: sweet potatoes with tomatoes and spices that are usually only used in conjunction with curry dishes.
When he first explained what this dish was, my uncle made sure to warn me that it was weird, and would probably never be made again in their family. So I will admit that I went into it expecting the worst. First, I generally don't like sweet potatoes. Second, I generally don't like Indian food. And third, I generally trust my uncle's opinion. So the dish had nothing going for it and everything against it. And it turned out to be fabulous. I loved it, which surprised everyone, including me. I loved it so much that I asked my uncle for the recipe, and he willing gave it to me. So I got a new recipe and a greater appreciation for guinea pig dishes. I just love experimental cooking.
Living near family is absolutely wonderful. Especially very loving and generous family who loves to have you over to their house and tries to fatten you up no matter what you say. I've never had better popcorn than my uncle's popcorn. He's practically a professional homemade popcorn maker; you'd be surprised at how much skill it takes to butter and salt it to perfection.
The food tonight was a little different than the normal popcorn and Tang Death. They'd just finished dinner when I went over, and my uncle all by force-fed me what was left. They had quite the dinner: some form of meat, edamame, grapple, and the guinea pig dish of the night - bombay sweet potatoes. Let me explain the guinea pig dish. Apparently my uncle likes to experiment every so often, and he picks some exotic or interesting recipe to try. Tonight's recipe had a bit of an Indian flavor: sweet potatoes with tomatoes and spices that are usually only used in conjunction with curry dishes.
When he first explained what this dish was, my uncle made sure to warn me that it was weird, and would probably never be made again in their family. So I will admit that I went into it expecting the worst. First, I generally don't like sweet potatoes. Second, I generally don't like Indian food. And third, I generally trust my uncle's opinion. So the dish had nothing going for it and everything against it. And it turned out to be fabulous. I loved it, which surprised everyone, including me. I loved it so much that I asked my uncle for the recipe, and he willing gave it to me. So I got a new recipe and a greater appreciation for guinea pig dishes. I just love experimental cooking.
Leftovers
Saturday, May 8, 2010
I consider the first bridal shower I've ever been to to be a success. An awkward success, but a success nonetheless. I was rather worried about how the evening was going to go, mostly because of the horror stories I'd heard from my roommates, who have attended rather a lot of bridal showers. But it definitely wasn't what I expected.
I have to be honest. The food was the most successful part of the whole thing, though it would have been hard for it not to be amazing since Maren was in charge of it. We had chocolate-dipped strawberries, homemade salsa, and those wonderful Oreo truffles, which were even more wonderful than I thought they would be. And the best part was that we had leftovers. What could have been better? I definitely think that chocolate-dipped strawberries will be an excellent breakfast tomorrow morning. For which I am very grateful.
I consider the first bridal shower I've ever been to to be a success. An awkward success, but a success nonetheless. I was rather worried about how the evening was going to go, mostly because of the horror stories I'd heard from my roommates, who have attended rather a lot of bridal showers. But it definitely wasn't what I expected.
I have to be honest. The food was the most successful part of the whole thing, though it would have been hard for it not to be amazing since Maren was in charge of it. We had chocolate-dipped strawberries, homemade salsa, and those wonderful Oreo truffles, which were even more wonderful than I thought they would be. And the best part was that we had leftovers. What could have been better? I definitely think that chocolate-dipped strawberries will be an excellent breakfast tomorrow morning. For which I am very grateful.
Thursday, May 13, 2010
Bridal Shower Shopping
Friday, May 7, 2010
Sam's bridal shower is tomorrow. I have never in my life been to a bridal shower, much less to a bridal shower where the guests are college students. I always figured they were for all the old ladies in your ward to give you practical gifts like lamp shades and tupperware. And there are certain bridal showers like that. But then there are others, affectionately called 'toned-down bachelorette parties' by those in attendance. Tomorrow's bridal shower is expected to fall under the latter category. And I'm not sure I can handle the all sorts of awkward it will be.
In preparation for tomorrow's festivities, Maren and I spent the evening at Walmart. Maren ended up in charge of the whole thing, and I volunteered to be her trusty sidekick, which meant I accompanied her to the store so that I could push the cart. We spent entirely too long in the store, and were practically going stir-crazy by the time we were done; I'm almost surprised we made it out of there alive.
But we managed, and then spent the rest of the evening making Oreo truffles, divine little creations that take very little effort and almost no time to whip up. I must say, the knowledge that these heavenly morsels will be in attendance tomorrow makes me quite a bit more excited for the whole thing, awkwardness and all. Hopefully I make it through tomorrow without too much blood rushing to my face. Let's not think about that; I want to bury my face in a pillow by just starting to. Instead, I'll settle for being grateful for bridal shower shopping. Anything at Walmart is always an adventure.
Sam's bridal shower is tomorrow. I have never in my life been to a bridal shower, much less to a bridal shower where the guests are college students. I always figured they were for all the old ladies in your ward to give you practical gifts like lamp shades and tupperware. And there are certain bridal showers like that. But then there are others, affectionately called 'toned-down bachelorette parties' by those in attendance. Tomorrow's bridal shower is expected to fall under the latter category. And I'm not sure I can handle the all sorts of awkward it will be.
In preparation for tomorrow's festivities, Maren and I spent the evening at Walmart. Maren ended up in charge of the whole thing, and I volunteered to be her trusty sidekick, which meant I accompanied her to the store so that I could push the cart. We spent entirely too long in the store, and were practically going stir-crazy by the time we were done; I'm almost surprised we made it out of there alive.
But we managed, and then spent the rest of the evening making Oreo truffles, divine little creations that take very little effort and almost no time to whip up. I must say, the knowledge that these heavenly morsels will be in attendance tomorrow makes me quite a bit more excited for the whole thing, awkwardness and all. Hopefully I make it through tomorrow without too much blood rushing to my face. Let's not think about that; I want to bury my face in a pillow by just starting to. Instead, I'll settle for being grateful for bridal shower shopping. Anything at Walmart is always an adventure.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
Naptime
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Today was a pretty normal, nice humdrum day. I got up, went to class, came home from class, and had the whole day before to do with what I liked. So what did I do? I took a nap. A two-and-a-half hour nap.
I'm not entirely sure why I've been so tired recently. Granted, I have been getting up an hour earlier than I did last semester. And I've actually started working out on a (semi) regular basis. And I go to bed about an hour later than I used to. But honestly I really have no idea why I'm so tired all the time!
Thankfully, my schedule is such that I have time to take two-and-a-half hour naps. I have no idea where I would be without my nap-time; I already sleep through half of Spanish, so I really don't think I should catch up on sleep during the other half of the class too. There's just something so beautiful about napping, and I'm so grateful I have time to do it. Because I'm pretty sure I would have missed at least three Spanish classes already if I didn't.
Today was a pretty normal, nice humdrum day. I got up, went to class, came home from class, and had the whole day before to do with what I liked. So what did I do? I took a nap. A two-and-a-half hour nap.
I'm not entirely sure why I've been so tired recently. Granted, I have been getting up an hour earlier than I did last semester. And I've actually started working out on a (semi) regular basis. And I go to bed about an hour later than I used to. But honestly I really have no idea why I'm so tired all the time!
Thankfully, my schedule is such that I have time to take two-and-a-half hour naps. I have no idea where I would be without my nap-time; I already sleep through half of Spanish, so I really don't think I should catch up on sleep during the other half of the class too. There's just something so beautiful about napping, and I'm so grateful I have time to do it. Because I'm pretty sure I would have missed at least three Spanish classes already if I didn't.
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Full-Time-Student Status
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Never in my life did I think I would be grateful for a full load of credits. However, that was before I realized the extreme stinginess of BYU. I'm only taking one class for Spring term, which I must say I rather like, but it means I only have part-time-student status. And that means I don't get into the BYU gym for free.
Maren and I decided to go swimming tonight at the gym on campus. So we trekked over (I say trekked, but it's about a five minute stroll from my apartment) and went to get wristbands (because BYU requires a wristband to use any of their facilities). The girl at the desk swiped my card, and all my problems started. First I had a ten dollar fee because I never returned my towel from last semester (I'm pretty sure I lost it). Then she informed me that I had to pay twenty-two dollars and fifty cents in order to get a facility use pass to go swimming, since I'm one credit short of being a full-time student, and only full-time students can use it for free. Really? Is that really necessary? Bah humbug.
So I paid the fee, and used the pool. Good thing the pass wasn't just a one-time use, or else I would be even more annoyed than I am. Darn BYU. At least their frugality made me grateful for a full class load. Probably about the only thing that will.
Never in my life did I think I would be grateful for a full load of credits. However, that was before I realized the extreme stinginess of BYU. I'm only taking one class for Spring term, which I must say I rather like, but it means I only have part-time-student status. And that means I don't get into the BYU gym for free.
Maren and I decided to go swimming tonight at the gym on campus. So we trekked over (I say trekked, but it's about a five minute stroll from my apartment) and went to get wristbands (because BYU requires a wristband to use any of their facilities). The girl at the desk swiped my card, and all my problems started. First I had a ten dollar fee because I never returned my towel from last semester (I'm pretty sure I lost it). Then she informed me that I had to pay twenty-two dollars and fifty cents in order to get a facility use pass to go swimming, since I'm one credit short of being a full-time student, and only full-time students can use it for free. Really? Is that really necessary? Bah humbug.
So I paid the fee, and used the pool. Good thing the pass wasn't just a one-time use, or else I would be even more annoyed than I am. Darn BYU. At least their frugality made me grateful for a full class load. Probably about the only thing that will.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Crime Shows
Good heavens I'm beginning to think I'll never catch up.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
I don't know how I would have made it through today if there weren't such a thing as crime shows. See, I somehow managed to get about three days behind on my Spanish homework (never mind that's it's only a week into the semester), and had to spend the majority of my day trying to catch up. Which I didn't finish doing, in case you were wondering.
I don't know if you've ever tried to do six hours of Spanish homework straight before, but it's practically impossible without feeling insanity creep in. To combat this, I've discovered the beauty of the crime show channels. There are three of them that play crime show marathons all day, every day. As an added bonus, they all play different shows. One has Criminal Minds and CSI Miami; one has Law and Order: SVU and NCIS; and one plays nothing but the original CSI. What a great variety! I'm almost convinced that I would not have survived the day if there wasn't such a thing as crime shows. Because even though they scare the bejeebers out of me if I'm home alone at night, during the middle of the day while doing Spanish homework, I couldn't be more grateful for them.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
I don't know how I would have made it through today if there weren't such a thing as crime shows. See, I somehow managed to get about three days behind on my Spanish homework (never mind that's it's only a week into the semester), and had to spend the majority of my day trying to catch up. Which I didn't finish doing, in case you were wondering.
I don't know if you've ever tried to do six hours of Spanish homework straight before, but it's practically impossible without feeling insanity creep in. To combat this, I've discovered the beauty of the crime show channels. There are three of them that play crime show marathons all day, every day. As an added bonus, they all play different shows. One has Criminal Minds and CSI Miami; one has Law and Order: SVU and NCIS; and one plays nothing but the original CSI. What a great variety! I'm almost convinced that I would not have survived the day if there wasn't such a thing as crime shows. Because even though they scare the bejeebers out of me if I'm home alone at night, during the middle of the day while doing Spanish homework, I couldn't be more grateful for them.
Friday, May 7, 2010
Target
Monday, May 3, 2010
I love shopping, which is a slight problem when combined with my poor-college-student status. I've had to go through a rather painful process of learning to only buy what I need, and I'm hoping for the day when I won't have to worry about that anymore. My hard-earned skill was put to the test again today on yet another roommate shopping trip, this time to Target.
I love Target. It's just such a wonderful place, and it's relatively cheap too. I managed to find everything on my list, including food, for around forty dollars, which I think was quite a steal, especially since my list included new goggles and cutting boards. So while I wasn't able to buy everything that I would have liked to (because that would have been about half the store), I was able to get what I needed for cheap. Thank you, Target, for your wonderful steals.
I love shopping, which is a slight problem when combined with my poor-college-student status. I've had to go through a rather painful process of learning to only buy what I need, and I'm hoping for the day when I won't have to worry about that anymore. My hard-earned skill was put to the test again today on yet another roommate shopping trip, this time to Target.
I love Target. It's just such a wonderful place, and it's relatively cheap too. I managed to find everything on my list, including food, for around forty dollars, which I think was quite a steal, especially since my list included new goggles and cutting boards. So while I wasn't able to buy everything that I would have liked to (because that would have been about half the store), I was able to get what I needed for cheap. Thank you, Target, for your wonderful steals.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
My Dad's Age
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Today is my dad's birthday. He's forty-nine years old. What a weird thought, that he's pushing fifty. But I guess I am twenty now, so I shouldn't be too surprised.
Age is such a funny thing. I've been pondering it a lot recently, what with life hitting me in the face much faster than I thought it would. I don't feel my age, but much younger, like I really should be finishing up my sophomore year of high school, yet somehow I find myself in college. This insecurity is compounded by the fact that I'm generally mistaken for younger rather than older; maybe it's my lack of height that skews others' view. I'm strongly reminded of the flight attendant who kindly informed me that you have to be fifteen to sit in the exit row on the airplane and almost asked me to switch seats before I kindly informed her that I was nineteen and a half, flying back from Christmas break to finish my sophomore year of college. Her surprise bordered on insulting. That was an extreme case; mostly I'm mistaken for somewhere around eighteen. Though if I play it right I can occasionally trick people into thinking that I'm as old as twenty-two. It's a stretch, but I can pull it off.
The whole thing has been faintly bothering me. I already feel too young - I don't want to look too young on top of that. And the worst part is there's virtually nothing I can do about it; anti-aging creams abound these days, but aging creams, well, you must be crazy if you want that. It occurred to me today, however, that maybe I shouldn't worry. My dad is practically fifty, but you wouldn't know that just by looking at him. And that's not a problem. Yes, people might mistake me for a mid-pubescent teenager right now, but someday that will change, and they'll be mistaking me for forty when I'm really fifty-one. Which will be much appreciated when the day comes. Meaning there's no reason to stress about it now. And while I don't think I can honestly say I'll enjoy people asking when I graduate from high school, at least I can learn to not let it bother me, and look forward to the day when it becomes a compliment. So thanks to my dad's birthday for reminding me to look at the positive side.
Today is my dad's birthday. He's forty-nine years old. What a weird thought, that he's pushing fifty. But I guess I am twenty now, so I shouldn't be too surprised.
Age is such a funny thing. I've been pondering it a lot recently, what with life hitting me in the face much faster than I thought it would. I don't feel my age, but much younger, like I really should be finishing up my sophomore year of high school, yet somehow I find myself in college. This insecurity is compounded by the fact that I'm generally mistaken for younger rather than older; maybe it's my lack of height that skews others' view. I'm strongly reminded of the flight attendant who kindly informed me that you have to be fifteen to sit in the exit row on the airplane and almost asked me to switch seats before I kindly informed her that I was nineteen and a half, flying back from Christmas break to finish my sophomore year of college. Her surprise bordered on insulting. That was an extreme case; mostly I'm mistaken for somewhere around eighteen. Though if I play it right I can occasionally trick people into thinking that I'm as old as twenty-two. It's a stretch, but I can pull it off.
The whole thing has been faintly bothering me. I already feel too young - I don't want to look too young on top of that. And the worst part is there's virtually nothing I can do about it; anti-aging creams abound these days, but aging creams, well, you must be crazy if you want that. It occurred to me today, however, that maybe I shouldn't worry. My dad is practically fifty, but you wouldn't know that just by looking at him. And that's not a problem. Yes, people might mistake me for a mid-pubescent teenager right now, but someday that will change, and they'll be mistaking me for forty when I'm really fifty-one. Which will be much appreciated when the day comes. Meaning there's no reason to stress about it now. And while I don't think I can honestly say I'll enjoy people asking when I graduate from high school, at least I can learn to not let it bother me, and look forward to the day when it becomes a compliment. So thanks to my dad's birthday for reminding me to look at the positive side.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Stick Shift Driving
Saturday, May 1, 2010
For some reason, I've done an abnormal amount of driving this weekend. First was my freeway/almost-getting-killed-by-weird-St.-George-drivers experience yesterday. And today was my stick shift experience. When I was learning to drive, it never crossed my mind that someday I might want to know how to drive anything besides an automatic. Even after Carlton informed me that girls who drive stick are hot, I just wasn't very interested. He forced me to try it a few times, but I was pretty darn, if not downright, terrible, and that was the end of that. So to be honest, I'm not sure what changed my mind recently, but something did, and I have been slowly-but-surely learning to drive it during my trips to St. George (Skyler's car is stick).
Today was another practice session, and this one might not have gone very well. In fact, it's one of those experiences that I can laugh about it now that it's happened, but at the time, it was not at all funny. Up till this point, I felt like I'd been doing well, all things considered. I generally only killed the car when reversing, and I could shift with relative ease between gears (shifting into first from neutral wasn't so smooth, but let's not discuss that). So I wasn't perfect, but I wasn't the worst out there. However, tonight's trip changed all that.
It started out like normal: Skyler's mother asked us to pick something up for his brother Chance's birthday, and Skyler decided to let me drive. I managed to get out of the driveway and onto the road without destroying anything, and we headed on our way. Turns out the place we were going was up a hill across town, and the route we picked happened to be a detour road for the St. George Iron Man. Novice stick driver + stop-and-go traffic + hills = a recipe for disaster.
Well, we made it to our destination, eventually and with much frustration on both sides. I haven't been that frustrated in a long time, at least not with something so trivial as driving. And I can't say anyone has been so frustrated with me in quite a while either. Now you might see this as a bad thing - where's the positive in frustration? Well believe it or not, some good did come out of this situation. I firmly believe that to really know someone, you have to see him at his worst. And while semi-minor frustration is not the worst it can get, it's definitely a change from perpetually happy. Not that I think perpetual frustration would be a good thing, because I definitely prefer happiness, but looking at the positives here, I think occasional frustration has its benefits. And I'm grateful to my stick shift driving fiasco (success?) for helping me see the silver lining in what could have turned into something ugly.
For some reason, I've done an abnormal amount of driving this weekend. First was my freeway/almost-getting-killed-by-weird-St.-George-drivers experience yesterday. And today was my stick shift experience. When I was learning to drive, it never crossed my mind that someday I might want to know how to drive anything besides an automatic. Even after Carlton informed me that girls who drive stick are hot, I just wasn't very interested. He forced me to try it a few times, but I was pretty darn, if not downright, terrible, and that was the end of that. So to be honest, I'm not sure what changed my mind recently, but something did, and I have been slowly-but-surely learning to drive it during my trips to St. George (Skyler's car is stick).
Today was another practice session, and this one might not have gone very well. In fact, it's one of those experiences that I can laugh about it now that it's happened, but at the time, it was not at all funny. Up till this point, I felt like I'd been doing well, all things considered. I generally only killed the car when reversing, and I could shift with relative ease between gears (shifting into first from neutral wasn't so smooth, but let's not discuss that). So I wasn't perfect, but I wasn't the worst out there. However, tonight's trip changed all that.
It started out like normal: Skyler's mother asked us to pick something up for his brother Chance's birthday, and Skyler decided to let me drive. I managed to get out of the driveway and onto the road without destroying anything, and we headed on our way. Turns out the place we were going was up a hill across town, and the route we picked happened to be a detour road for the St. George Iron Man. Novice stick driver + stop-and-go traffic + hills = a recipe for disaster.
Well, we made it to our destination, eventually and with much frustration on both sides. I haven't been that frustrated in a long time, at least not with something so trivial as driving. And I can't say anyone has been so frustrated with me in quite a while either. Now you might see this as a bad thing - where's the positive in frustration? Well believe it or not, some good did come out of this situation. I firmly believe that to really know someone, you have to see him at his worst. And while semi-minor frustration is not the worst it can get, it's definitely a change from perpetually happy. Not that I think perpetual frustration would be a good thing, because I definitely prefer happiness, but looking at the positives here, I think occasional frustration has its benefits. And I'm grateful to my stick shift driving fiasco (success?) for helping me see the silver lining in what could have turned into something ugly.
Maryland Roads
Friday, April 30, 2010
It's always been a source of confusion for me when people say they hate driving; I just can't grasp that concept. I love driving! Mind you, this could be the part of me speaking that's been car-less for two years, but I liked driving even before my loving brother totaled my faithful car two months after I put the keys in his possession. I passed my permit test with flying colors on the first possible day I could, and I squeaked by on my license test shortly thereafter, so I was a legal, insured driver almost before I went on my first date.
However, since I am currently car-less, I've had very few opportunities to drive in the past few years. Which is why it was so exciting to be able to drive today! Maren and I made what's becoming a routine pilgrimage to St. George. Halfway through the drive, she decided that she wasn't alert enough to drive, and I took over. I'd forgotten how much I loved driving as we cruised down the freeway. Then we actually made it to St. George, and I rediscovered the downsides of it. First was the retarded roundabout with two lanes (sort of) and seven exits with medians thrown in for good measure. Then there was the school zone, where I swear I saw a snail moving faster than the cars. It was almost worse than driving through downtown DC after an Orioles game. We eventually made it to Maren's house (after a few close calls), and a crisis was averted.
The whole experience made me realize something I never thought of before: Maryland is a great state to drive in, especially when compared to Utah. I'm grateful I've had the privilege of driving in that beautiful place for most of my motoring career, because I'm pretty sure I would have died by now if not for the wonderful thing that are Maryland roads.
It's always been a source of confusion for me when people say they hate driving; I just can't grasp that concept. I love driving! Mind you, this could be the part of me speaking that's been car-less for two years, but I liked driving even before my loving brother totaled my faithful car two months after I put the keys in his possession. I passed my permit test with flying colors on the first possible day I could, and I squeaked by on my license test shortly thereafter, so I was a legal, insured driver almost before I went on my first date.
However, since I am currently car-less, I've had very few opportunities to drive in the past few years. Which is why it was so exciting to be able to drive today! Maren and I made what's becoming a routine pilgrimage to St. George. Halfway through the drive, she decided that she wasn't alert enough to drive, and I took over. I'd forgotten how much I loved driving as we cruised down the freeway. Then we actually made it to St. George, and I rediscovered the downsides of it. First was the retarded roundabout with two lanes (sort of) and seven exits with medians thrown in for good measure. Then there was the school zone, where I swear I saw a snail moving faster than the cars. It was almost worse than driving through downtown DC after an Orioles game. We eventually made it to Maren's house (after a few close calls), and a crisis was averted.
The whole experience made me realize something I never thought of before: Maryland is a great state to drive in, especially when compared to Utah. I'm grateful I've had the privilege of driving in that beautiful place for most of my motoring career, because I'm pretty sure I would have died by now if not for the wonderful thing that are Maryland roads.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Yoga DVDs
Thursday, April 29, 2010
I am not a natural-born athlete, and it's something that I've always known. Not that I particularly mind the fact that I prefer reading to running, but it would be nice if I enjoyed exercising a bit more than I do. Pretty much the only form of cardiovascular exercise I enjoy is swimming, naturally one of the most high maintainance sports out there; what would possess me to enjoy a sport that requires nothing more than space to run when I could love one that needs special clothing and thousands of gallons of water contained in a small pool that's only available for use during the wee hours of the morning?
However, setting aside my cardiovascular preferences, I'd like to talk about another form of exercise that I discovered. It happened one day last summer when I was flipping through the 639-odd channels that we have on our TV in Maryland (better said, when I was flipping through the menu to see if anything good was playing). During my search, I found the FitTV channel, and what happened to be on that channel was a yoga show. I've always loved yoga, and by 'always' I mean the two times my Young Womens group has done basic yoga during Mutual. So I flipped to that channel, and fell in love at first sight. The show was phenomenal, and consequently became part of my summer morning routine - fall out of bed, throw some clothes on, and roll out the yoga mat. I've never enjoyed mornings more.
Which made coming back to school that much more depressing - basic cable doesn't get the FitTV channel, meaning early-morning yoga was no longer an option. Until my birthday, that is, when my parents gave me yoga DVDs. I have a feeling they will end up being my most-used birthday gift ever, a use that started at six o'clock this morning when I re-instituted my summer morning routine. I've never been so grateful for exercise.
I am not a natural-born athlete, and it's something that I've always known. Not that I particularly mind the fact that I prefer reading to running, but it would be nice if I enjoyed exercising a bit more than I do. Pretty much the only form of cardiovascular exercise I enjoy is swimming, naturally one of the most high maintainance sports out there; what would possess me to enjoy a sport that requires nothing more than space to run when I could love one that needs special clothing and thousands of gallons of water contained in a small pool that's only available for use during the wee hours of the morning?
However, setting aside my cardiovascular preferences, I'd like to talk about another form of exercise that I discovered. It happened one day last summer when I was flipping through the 639-odd channels that we have on our TV in Maryland (better said, when I was flipping through the menu to see if anything good was playing). During my search, I found the FitTV channel, and what happened to be on that channel was a yoga show. I've always loved yoga, and by 'always' I mean the two times my Young Womens group has done basic yoga during Mutual. So I flipped to that channel, and fell in love at first sight. The show was phenomenal, and consequently became part of my summer morning routine - fall out of bed, throw some clothes on, and roll out the yoga mat. I've never enjoyed mornings more.
Which made coming back to school that much more depressing - basic cable doesn't get the FitTV channel, meaning early-morning yoga was no longer an option. Until my birthday, that is, when my parents gave me yoga DVDs. I have a feeling they will end up being my most-used birthday gift ever, a use that started at six o'clock this morning when I re-instituted my summer morning routine. I've never been so grateful for exercise.
Monday, May 3, 2010
My Short Walk to School
Wednesday, April 28, 2010
Spring classes started yesterday. Well, spring class for me. I decided to just take Spanish because it's the only class I'm really trying to finish before heading to Jerusalem. Plus if I take classes during Spring term, I have to pay for them, but if I wait till Fall or Winter, I don't. Seems like a no-brainer to only take one class really.
The only problem with this one class is that it starts at eight o'clock in the morning. Disgusting? I think so. Luckily for me, I moved to a new apartment for spring term. And this new apartment is not a mile off campus like my last one was. Instead, I can see campus from my bedroom window, and I can set foot on campus by walking across the street. Which means that, even though I have to get up at an awful hour to spend two hours in class trying to understand a foreign language, I don't have to leave twenty-five minutes early to get there. I can actually get to campus in less than ten minutes. It's a fabulous set-up. I'm very thankful for my short walk to school, because it gives me an extra fifteen minutes of sleep time. And that makes the early hour a little more bearable.
Spring classes started yesterday. Well, spring class for me. I decided to just take Spanish because it's the only class I'm really trying to finish before heading to Jerusalem. Plus if I take classes during Spring term, I have to pay for them, but if I wait till Fall or Winter, I don't. Seems like a no-brainer to only take one class really.
The only problem with this one class is that it starts at eight o'clock in the morning. Disgusting? I think so. Luckily for me, I moved to a new apartment for spring term. And this new apartment is not a mile off campus like my last one was. Instead, I can see campus from my bedroom window, and I can set foot on campus by walking across the street. Which means that, even though I have to get up at an awful hour to spend two hours in class trying to understand a foreign language, I don't have to leave twenty-five minutes early to get there. I can actually get to campus in less than ten minutes. It's a fabulous set-up. I'm very thankful for my short walk to school, because it gives me an extra fifteen minutes of sleep time. And that makes the early hour a little more bearable.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
Visiting Teachers
Tuesday, April 27, 2010
I moved into a new apartment today, and it was extremely stressful. Well, perhaps stressful is the wrong word; frustrating would be a little more accurate. Not only do I hate moving in general, but I especially hate moving practically all my possessions from a basement apartment on one side of town to a third-floor apartment on the other. I hate it so much that it qualifies for my 'Top Five List of Things I Would Like to Never Do Again' list, at least for the time being. To be honest, it might have even made the number one spot, managing to beat out 'mincing garlic' and 'watching Dumb and Dumber.' That is a very large feat, in case you were wondering.
However, something amazing happened while my roommate and I were in the process of carting hundreds of pounds worth of crap . . . I mean very important home-making objects to our new apartment: her visiting teacher called. And what did her visiting teacher say? "Hey, I remember that you were moving today. Would you like some help?" More welcome words have never been spoken.
So she came over, bringing my visiting teacher (who also happens to be her roommate) with her to help us. I am so grateful for their help. It took us four carloads to finally haul everything we owned to our new residence, and I cannot imagine having to then drag everything up to the third floor without their help (and the help of Maren, which was appreciated just as much). I don't know that they will ever read this, but if they do - thank you. Visiting teachers really are wonderful.
I moved into a new apartment today, and it was extremely stressful. Well, perhaps stressful is the wrong word; frustrating would be a little more accurate. Not only do I hate moving in general, but I especially hate moving practically all my possessions from a basement apartment on one side of town to a third-floor apartment on the other. I hate it so much that it qualifies for my 'Top Five List of Things I Would Like to Never Do Again' list, at least for the time being. To be honest, it might have even made the number one spot, managing to beat out 'mincing garlic' and 'watching Dumb and Dumber.' That is a very large feat, in case you were wondering.
However, something amazing happened while my roommate and I were in the process of carting hundreds of pounds worth of crap . . . I mean very important home-making objects to our new apartment: her visiting teacher called. And what did her visiting teacher say? "Hey, I remember that you were moving today. Would you like some help?" More welcome words have never been spoken.
So she came over, bringing my visiting teacher (who also happens to be her roommate) with her to help us. I am so grateful for their help. It took us four carloads to finally haul everything we owned to our new residence, and I cannot imagine having to then drag everything up to the third floor without their help (and the help of Maren, which was appreciated just as much). I don't know that they will ever read this, but if they do - thank you. Visiting teachers really are wonderful.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)