Anxieties of One Naturally Inclined to be Antisocial

Nearly every Friday night, the LDS Institute in Logan puts on an activity of some sort. While all are invited to attend, they don't tend to attract the large crowds that they could. To be fair, you could say that some are more successful than others, but for the most part, they get a small turn out. Then again, what is your definition of small?

Last Friday, I was telling my room mate Eden about the crowd that these activities tend to attract. From my own harsh personal observation, I informed her that you'll always get a few geeky boys that show up right on time who are obviously girlfriend (and quite possibly friend)-less and are hoping that the night will introduce them to their eternal companion. It seems like they force themselves to go for this reason, not because they're just looking for a good time. They've no other options, and nothing better to do. Then, as the night goes on, the crowd that joins them isn't much better according to social standards. Man, I'm brutal. I apologize. As you'll see if you keep reading, I've no room to talk.

In any event, she was intrigued, and wanted to go over and have a look at these creatures. I didn't have any objections, and so we went over right as it started at 8 o'clock. Like a knife would fly to a magnet, I was immediately pulled into the gym upon entering the building when I heard a live jazz combo playing for the activity. I'm not sure why they were there, because the activity was advertised as a "MexicanFiesta", not "Big Band Dancing."

Just as I had promised her, there were two couples dancing on the floor, and about three guys standing off to the side. There was one boy in particular that I pointed out to her as being a prime example of these socially-challenged specimen. Gah! I'm terrible! Somebody please stop me.

Done. Before I could go on in my judgmental ways, this boy made a B-line for us, and asked me to dance. It wasn't a question though, for before I could answer he had taken my hand and dragged me out to the middle of the gym. What followed was one of the most humbling, embarassing, and yet hilarious moments of my life. And sadly, only three guys and Eden were there to see it.

I had no idea how to dance with this kid. He didn't say a word to me the whole time.
"What's your name?"
Silence.
"Uh..what am I supposed to do?"
Silence.
(I collide with him as he tries to spin around me or something)
"Oh! My bad! I'm sorry, I'm really bad at this."
Not even a smile.
(I continue to fail at trying to be smooth about this)
No reaction.

It was awful, but everytime I looked over and saw the look on Eden's face, I had to laugh at myself. Even still, this kid had not showered in who knows when, and so I looked over at the band with a look of "Please. Just stop playing." By some miracle, it worked. The last note came, and I left.

This would be a good place to end, wouldn't it? Well, too bad. The point of this post has not been presented yet. We're getting there though, I promise.

Being Friday as it was, and finding myself alone back at the apartment, I actually wandered back to the institute building. The Jazz music was pretty good, and I wanted to hear more of it. That was all I wanted though. It's funny- I often complain about being alone even when I am surrounded by others. Here was my chance to meet people even though I was alone for the chance to make friends and avoid loneliness in the future. And yet, I didn't want to talk to anybody. I wanted to get lost in the music, and not be bothered with random, 'Would you like to dance?'s and subsequent small talk. I was terrified at the thought of such things. (For those of you who know me, my dance anxiety had very much kicked in at this point.)

So, my question now was how do I listen and watch the music without having to talk to anybody? We saw how well being a wall-flower had worked out for me with Eden. To my relief, I snooped around and found a little curtained room up above the gym and stage. You can see everything going on down below and not be noticed if you peer through those curtains. So, I ran to the snack table, hoarded as many chips with salsa (Ah. We now see why it was advertised as Mexican Fiesta. Clever, eh?) and trailmix as I could carry, and ran up to my secret spot to enjoy the show by myself. I did embark on a few dangerous missions back to the snack table for lemonade and refills, but I slipped back and forth almost unnoticed.

I spent the next two hours overlooking local musicians, watching people having fun and dancing, and eating chips and salsa like there was no tomorrow. During the intermission, I did go down to compliment the band and request that they play Blue Bossa (which took them by surprise. Blue Bossa? Who would request that? A jazz major. They were afraid of that. But that's a post for another day.)

As the activity drew closer to ending, I couldn't take it anymore. You may think, based on my behavior that I've told you about, that I don't like being around people. That I enjoy being alone, and antisocial. That couldn't be farther from the truth. I hate it. I long to be outgoing and friendly. I yearned for someone or ones to be with and dance with. For some reason, there is a barrier there that I can not seem to master. I chicken out everytime. You'd think that chickening out would be the more comfortable route, but it's not at all. It's kind of like an endothermic reaction requiring a high activation energy: Before the reaction occurs, you're at a state that's lower than where you want to end up, but there's a huge hump to get over that requires a lot of energy to spark. Very rarely can I get over that hump, so I stay down low in the dumps instead. That, world, is why Brittany has a hard time with dances.

As I said, I couldn't take it anymore. I had to dance. But I couldn't go down to the gym! I couldn't dance there alone, but dancing with someone was impossible for me too. So, looking about me and finding a dark room occupied by no one but me and old chairs and risers just taking up space, I began to dance. It was great because no one could see me- not even me because it was dark. I danced, and I danced. I even pretended that I was dancing with someone else. Ridiculous? Pathetic? Perhaps so.

I learned something about myself that night. I'm no better off then those boys who show up to activities right on time. I don't even go, and it's not because I'm doing other things with other people. I have no one to go with, and I'm too afraid to go by myself. If I did have someone to go with, that would mean I would have a friend and I'm sure that if that happened, going to the institute activity wouldn't be on the agenda. At least those other guys/people try. They have more than I have, and I of all people have no room to judge them.

Timmy Willy Part 2: Pictures

Here are the pictures that I have of the late Timmy Willy. I will stop gushing over him after this post, I promise. It was his little rear end that had all the cuts and scratches and neosporin on it.

He was a cutie- no getting around the matter.

Here I tried to get his cute little face. He tried to sleep, but I don't think he could get much shut-eye because he was in so much pain.

The Tale of the Late Timmy Willy

This is not a picture of my hand or Timmy Willy. I only have pictures of him on my phone, and the phone will not let me send picture messages to my email address right now for some reason. Timmy was a brown fancy mouse, so really the only thing this picture portrays that's relevant to my story is the fact that Timmy was tiny just like this white one. Actually, he may have been smaller.

A couple of days ago, I went to Petsmart to see if they had any bunnies or chicks for Easter (which, by the way, they did not.) While looking at the rodents there, I noticed an adorable tiny brown fancy mouse. He was smaller then the other mice in his cage, and had a perfect fluffy coat and tiny mouse features. While being endeared, a bigger mouse came over and attacked the tiny brown one. It was horrible! The brute chased him around and kept biting his little tail and hind legs. The brown cotton ball tried to fight back with bites and such, but it didn't appear to do him much good. Some sort of "save the helpless creature" instinct of mine kicked in as soon as I saw he was bleeding, and I knew that even though I can not keep pets in my apartment, I needed to take him home to save him from dying.

The mean black and white mice continued to pick on my mouse as I waited for an attendant to come and rescue him. While it wasn't my first pick, he received the name Timmy Willy during the wait. When the Petsmart employee finally arrived, she looked at Timmy and recommened I take another brown mouse home since he was pretty beat up. She said something about how she meant to separate him from the others for a few days so he could heal, which I recognized as being code to the customers that he was going to die. But I didn't care. I'd become too attached after naming him and all to let him die in Petsmart. Since he was so mangled, she adopted him out free of purchase. It was a fun feeling to walk out of the store holding a little box with holes in it in one hand and a little bag of mouse food in my backpack.

The whole bus ride home was spent pondering where I would house Timmy. I decided to keep him in a plastic drawer from my room that seemed deep enough to keep him from getting loose. However, after holding and watching him for a few minutes, it became apparent that the plastic drawer would not be needed, because Timmy was very still. He didn't move around much. Even though it had me worried, it was kind of nice to be able to hold him without him squirming all about. I spent the next several hours in the apartment of a friend who didn't have roommates so we could keep Timmy a secret. We watched over Timmy the whole time. We heated some soy milk for him, and tried to help him drink some water too. He drank a little bit, but not much. He also didn't eat anything. While it was nice not having him poop at all, him not eating was sad to see because it accentuated his poor health.

I ended up sleeping over because I didn't want to leave him. The Petsmart lady told us to rub some Neosporin on his wounds to help them heal. We did so, using a Q-tip to be gentle. I think that Timmy was infected, because he didn't smell very good even for a male mouse. It was wonderful to hold him. If I put him on my stomach while laying down, he would crawl up and tuck himself under my chin, or between my neck and shoulder. His whiskers and tiny paws tickled. We didn't want to sleep with him since we might squish him and...sleeping with a mouse would be kind of gross, so we put him in a small box padded with tissue paper and placed it on the night stand next to her bed. I got up to check on him a few times during the night, given a bit of hope everytime I saw his heart still beating.

Timmy died sometime between 3:30 and 7:30 in the morning. When we woke up, he was on his back, stiff, legs in the air, and tiny teeth poking out of his mouth. It was a sad day. I miss the little bugger. He was darling, and seemed so sweet and docile because he was sick. It was a lot of fun to just watch him crawl around or close his eyes upon being petted. I have a new respect for rodents. They're not the ideal pets, but definitely have some perks. I'm glad that Timmy was able to die away from the other mice that caused his death in the first place.

False Advertising

Welcome to my 34th (now) Semiannual Post-on-de-blog!

I am fully aware that it's been awhile since the last installment, and much has happened to me in life that would be more relevant to blog about than what I am about to post now. In fact, this post is quite overdue. Here's the story behind it: Approximately eight months ago, mis amigos Alex and Matti from the University of Utah and I were hanging about in the halls of Chapel Glen 803 during the wee hours of the morning. We saw a flier about housing at the U (which I shall type up for your reading convenience) and had a good laugh about it. I pulled it off of the wall, said I would blog about how misleading it was, but put it away and forgot about it. Yesterday while I was going through some old papers, I found the sales-pitch flier and had a good chuckle again. Even though I don't live at the U anymore, it's still worth the blog.

The poster looks something like this:

• At the very top, it reads "Live the life. Live on campus."


• Directly under this is a very large picture of a female student (taking up roughly 50% of the poster face). Above her is a house with a caption beneath reading " Why live there?...", and below her is the same house surrounded by the signature University of Utah "U" with the caption "When U could live here?". There is a dashed line connecting the two that swirls and loops around in the same way that someone might illustrate the path of a flying bee.


• Beneath the picture is the following text:

And by the way...

• Free Internet, cable, and utilities
• Eat from dusk until dawn in the Peterson Dining Room
• Suite style rooms
• No commuting and parking hassles
• Late-night trips to the library with ease
• 2,000 built-in friends (you can all rendezvous in the MUSS)
• Crimson Nights, free movies, concerts, and more.
  

Imagine not having to wash a single dish, take a weekly trip to the grocery store, pay a single bill (other than rent), or hunt for a parking space ever again. As a student involved on campus, you can walk to and from meetings, you're closer to labs and your faculty, you can drop in to the free drop-in tutoring in the Peterson Heritage Center and never miss an activity because you're only a few steps or a shuttle ride away! That's what students living on campus are already experiencing.

I suppose that it wasn't really necessary to give you that much detail about it, especially since I am going to retype the points I would like to focus on. Oh well- what's done is done. I'll start with the bulleted section in red:

Free Internet, cable, and utilities- Explain to me how paying to be in a room where the costs of those things are included is free. You can't tell me they just threw those things in generously. I think a more appropriate statement might have been "Don't pay for internet, cable, and utilties separately!" If it's not coming from rent, then it's coming from tuition or taxes...both of which you pay. Ta Da! Next.

Eat from dusk until dawn in the Peterson Dining Room- This is humorously misleading. Why? Well, to me 'dusk to dawn' means from about 8 o'clock at night to 7 o'clock in the morning. Guess what. The HC isn't open during that time period-- ever. In fact, it's hours are a little inconvient, especially on weekends. I could be forgetting, but I believe they aren't open from 2 to 4 in the afternoon, and they close around 8 o'clock at night ("dusk"). Natalie, please help me out with the weekend hours. Also, they make it sound like you can just come in and eat whenever you want during all those hours, but that is a lie. Depending on your meal plan, you have to be careful to make sure you spread them out. This leads me to another complaint: the meal plans are really crappy-- no happy, reasonable medium to be found. They only offer plans with more meals than you could use but would still have to pay for, or not enough. Obviously, the minimum that should have been said was Dawn to Dusk.

Suite Style Rooms- Again, extremely misleading. While they do have some "suite style rooms" (which are really just bedrooms and bathrooms and a room in a hallway that connects to the main hallways of the dorms) most of the on campus housing at the University of Utah is strictly dorms. It's like living in a hotel pretty much. You have your room which connects to the bathroom, and that's it. Suite Style Rooms? While they did have lofted beds and a reasonable amount of floor space, there was nothing sweet about them. Some Suite Style Rooms would be a better description for incoming students to know.

No commuting and parking hassles- I suppose they said this because there are many people that drive up to the U from the southern end of the valley, or Tooele even, so comparatively it's not that big of a commute. But as far as commuting goes, being on campus wasn't necessarily super stellar. I had a fifteen minute break between classes that were on polar opposite ends of campus: The music building on President's Circle, and the Honors House on Fort Douglas. If I walked it, it took at about thirty minutes. Shuttle? About twenty. It's still a commute-not a walk down the street. As for parking, HA! Everyone knows that parking at the U is the worst! It's no exception for those that live on campus. Whenever I went anywhere with someone in their car from the dorms, we usually had to park far away (which, wasn't that bad, but kind of annoying when you were carrying something or if it was freezing) upon return.

Late-night trips to the libaray with ease-This kind of goes along with the commuting thing earlier. It's not really the safest idea to walk the 20 minutes down to the library late at night, especially if you're by yourself like I usually was. That means you would have to shuttle it. The shuttle doesn't run as often at night--especially late at night. Also, the normal blue and red routes absorb the green route at night, so it takes longer to reach the normal stops. Ease? Well, that depends on what you call 'ease'.

2,000 built-in friends (you can all rendezvous in the MUSS)-First of all, I love that they used rendezvous as a verb here. It reminds me of moutain men (like, Jim Bridger mountain men) for some reason. Anyways, this is also a little bit of a joke/stretch. 2,000 friends? My year at the U was one familiar with loneliness, and that wasn't because I didn't try to make friends. It's hard- mostly because of the U being a commuter school, and a lack of people on campus that you would want to hang around. It wasn't unusual for me to come home to my bathroom smelling like marijuana. My entire floor smelled like it actually. It also wasn't unusual to see people outside smoking hookah and whatnot. Not the friendliest of environments.

Imagine not having to... hunt for a parking space ever again-Shame on them for throwing this in twice. As I said before, the hunt for parking was constant and never-ending.

...you can walk to and from meetings...because you're only a few steps or a shuttle ride away! - I guess their definition of 'a few' and my definition differ. I usually think of it as not many. I wonder how many steps one takes on the 30-40 minute walk across campus. If you could get there by taking a step a minute, even then you're up to 30. We'll be kind and say this was kind of an exaggeration.

You know, I really enjoyed this. Perhaps I should blog more often. I sort of regret that this post is mostly pessimistic and critical. I promise I'm not like that most of the time. It was just interesting to note the numerous flaws in this advertising. Now the world knows the truth. Goodnight.

Osmond's 50th

I had a couple requests to blog about the Osmond Family and Tabernacle Choir Concert that I went to on Friday, July 25th. While I suppose it was a blog worthy event (because really, anything is) this will probably end up just being a bunch of random comments and thoughts. I can't really think of a way to piece it all together in a flowing, sensible manner.

The Osmonds make up a tiny bit of who I am because they are a big part of my mom's family. My mom and her siblings were huge fans, and still are. I have listened to a great deal of their greatest hits and not so great songs over my years. The Osmonds are ok. I like to think of them as a clean Backstreet Boys type of band from the seventies. Most of their songs, and their TV shows were extremely cheesy. I mean, let's face it. The Plan? Yeah. Enough said. However, they are good singers-- no one can deny that there is a lot of talent in their family. The one thing that endears me personally to the Osmonds, and in my opinion gave them their little niche of fame, is their harmonizing ability. My great-grandparents had a record (that our family inherited, much to my delight) of the Osmond Brothers singing as a barbershop quartet back in the 1950's. The oldest of the four brothers at the time was twelve years old, and the youngest was six. It's adorable.

In any event, the purpose of this concert was to celebrate two things: 1. Pioneer Day, and 2. The Osmond's 50 years in show business. As a result, the songs on the program were a mix of pioneer and hertiage songs by the choir, and old favorites from the Osmonds. I went with my dad and his mom, and my brother. Oddly enough, the biggest Osmond fan in our family, my mother, didn't go. That's only because she was in Idaho at the time. No worries though, she's going to see Donny and Marie in Las Vegas in December. Good ole Mom. Commence comments about the concert...now.

We'll start off with my only complaint. The eight brothers allowed their little sister Marie to take a solo for the evening. I have never been a fan of Marie Osmond. She sang How Great Thou Art. They turned it into a pop arrangement, and she wore a very gaudy dress for the number. Putting all my negative comments and criticisms aside, I didn't care for it.

It was interesting to note that the volume of this concert was much kept down in comparison to rock concerts I've been to. I felt like I couldn't hear! It was kind of funny. I know that the conference center has the capability to knock your socks off, or blow out your ear drums. But, they kept it down to a reasonable level.

My brother and I were familiar with every single "Old Osmond Favorite" from the 70's that they played, including Down By The Lazy River, Yo Yo, and One Bad Apple. We knew that Donny has long since gone through puberty. When it came to the parts where Donny used to have really high solos, we looked at each other and smiled. Those songs won't ever be the same.

While there are nine siblings total in the Osmond family, only seven of them were well known in the world and attained any sort of fame. The two oldest brothers are deaf, or hard of hearing people. Have you ever received a ...oh wait, just kidding. Anyways, for the last number they had those two come up and join the other seven on stage and sign during the song. It was kind of cool.

This always seems to happen

The other day, I was introduced to an extremely catchy tune. The bass line, though repetitive, is irresistable. In fact, I wasn't even aware of what was going on lyric-wise the first six times I listened to it because I couldn't get over the bass and the way it gives the song a nice tone touch, moves around in a cool manner, and blends in perfectly yet directs the underlying harmony lines. It's one of those songs that was made to be played when you're driving in your car so that you feel like the king/queen of the world and at the peak of being cool.

I was so happy that I had stumbled upon such a find. Because I had never heard it before, I thought that it was a rare find and that I had been the one to discover this. For some reason, I had it in my head that I'm pretty up to date with what's going on in the music world. I don't know why I thought this, because I never even listen to the radio. But somehow, I got all puffed up about discovering this new cool song. And then, my sister came in and said, "Whatcha listening to?"

I was quickly humbled. Apparently, this is a hit tune everywhere. It was kind of funny, I was actually disappointed to find out I wasn't the only person on the planet that knew this song besides the band members themselves. That didn't last long though. As disappointed as I was at not being able to introduce my sister this really cool song, I couldn't help but smile and laugh as she said, "Oh my gosh! I love this song. They play it on X96 all the time! Everytime I hear it, I get out my bass guitar!" and proceeded to whip out an air bass guitar. We aired and danced through the rest of the song, and had a jolley good time.

And yes. I did listen to that song while I typed this post.

And...we're finished!

Attention, World! I have an announcement to make:

I, Brittany Doyle, am the proud owner of a sixty thousand dollar mouth. (Yay for insurance! And parents!)

Yep, that's right. You read that correctly. After eleven years of oral surgeon, orthodontist, and dental appointments, I am through! My mouth is finished. I can't describe to you how elated I am. Here's the tale:

It all started when I was in third grade. The dentist said I was missing many teeth, and that I would never be able to chew again unless I had major oral surgery work in the future. My parents took me to several oral surgeons, who all said, 'Alrighty! Looks like you need our help. Come back when you've gone through puberty!' And so, things didn't really start kickin until high school. From sophomore to senior year, I suffered through braces just like everyone else. Right before they were ready to be removed, I was given the ok to have my severe underbite corrected by oral surgery. Best two weeks of my life....not. But hey! I lost ten pounds in a week thanks to the liquid diet. Great as that was, it wasn't the end of things, oh no. Next came the five implants (four on top, one on the bottom [front and center]), which required three surgeries in and of themselves: one to put them in and cover them, one to uncover them, and then the pesky one in the back had to be "reuncovered" because some funky growth regrew after the first time. ("Fascinating!" Dr. Austin said. Ha.)Once the rods were in place and properly uncovered, and once I had visited a special shades doctor to get my teeth bleached to the max, my dentist finished the job by placing fake porcelain teeth on top of each one. I had my last crown put on this week.

And that's it! There's a good chance that I will undergo a little procedure about a year from now to fix a receding gum line (don't I sound like an eighty year old?) that happened in the hub bub of all this surgery business. But it doesn't really count because it wasn't supposed to happen, and isn't completely necessary.

Here's the best picture timeline of all this jazz that I could come up with:

Before. This is a terrible picture that was taken my sophomore year before anything serious went down. I look...greasy and gross. But here you have the braces and underbite thing going on, so...yes....

I love this picture. This was taken at the hospital after my jaw surgery. I am hooked up to an oxygen machine, an IV that is also connected to pain killer distributer of some sort, and another mechanical contraption that kept track of my vital signs. Yay for complimentary teddy bears of the pediatric ward!

Ice-packs are a boat load of fun. Really.

I had to wear a funky retainer with a fake tooth on it for many months while we waited for the implants to heal. I kind of miss it.

After. Yay for being able to chew!

Music, music, music...

There were a couple of times over the Thanksgiving break that I was reminded of the power that music has over our emotions. They made me reflect upon different occasions in my life that I have been "moved," so to speak. I've been to jazz concerts where I couldn't stop smiling and I wanted to go home and listen to more. I've been to symphony halls where I couldn't feel myself because I was so lost in what was going on. After seeing uplifting movies on the big screen, I always walk out with my head held higher and feeling ten times taller as the mighty movie score is playing. Singing hymns has usually had the power to cheer me up whenever I'm sad. And then, there's the music that can move you to tears...

That's what happened this week. I took a friend to a favorite pretty spot of mine where I had been sad once upon a time. For some reason, there was some really pretty piano music playing in the car as I began to tell the story. I couldn't finish it before we both began to shed tears.

I've discovered that I have to be careful with music like that. There are songs that if played when I'm in a blue mood will invoke crying no matter what. That song normally wouldn't have made me cry, but given proper circumstance (like a painful memory) it did. I've been on the verge of tears all day today. As a result, I didn't listen to any music by choice. On days like today, I can't listen to Regina Spektor, or Sissel, or Phil Collins (ha!), or Tchaikovsky (however you spell that), or Josh Rouse, or Mason Jennings, or the Chipmunks (just kidding...wait, maybe not..) or...wow, the list is quite long.

So...what are your thoughts? What music do you like to listen to when you're happy? When you're sad? What's your song of the day? What did you have for breakfast this morning?

Reaching for the floor

I would like to announce to those of you that see this that I finally touched my toes! This journey has been long and painful at times, but it feels really good to have accomplished a goal.

I originally planned on being able to touch my toes by graduation, but I wasn't very diligent in my nightly stretches. However, thanks to a quick ten minute stretch almost every night for the past two weeks, I was finally able to do it.

I can't go right down and touch my toes yet; I usually have to warm up for several minutes first. But still. I've never done this before, and now I can check it off my list of goals in life. Next step: palms to the floor! Or maybe the splits! There's no stopping me now!

A Midsummer Discovery

All parking spaces at the Sandy Civic Center ("The end of the line, as far as we go.") Trax stop are created equal.

There's not a shady spot in the lot.

A Post-Mother's Day Post

This past Sunday, I learned that dads don't understand Mother's Day. They seem to think that it's about flowers, and chocolate, and pretty cards, and all that material jazz. Little do they know that if they bring contention into their homes in an attempt to create a perfect day for their wives, they've missed the boat.

A few days before Mother's Day, my dad gave me some money and asked me to pick up a little gift for my mom and a nice card for all of us to sign. I tried to pick up the stuff on Friday, but I couldn't find the cards in the store and ended up staring at candy and snacks for almost an hour. Hungry and low....not exactly a good combination. Anyways, Saturday night came by, and my dad caught me in the garage to ask if I'd fulfilled his assignment. I hadn't. I told him that rather than go to the store with the truckload of others who had forgotten cards, I could just make something for everyone to write on. That idea was shot down as preposterous. Why would Mom like some dinky thing that her kids had made for her? I'd ruined everything, apparently. Of course, who should come by to see us arguing than Mom. Do you think it pleased her that Mother's Day was causing contention in our family? Even if the intentions to make her day were good? I think not.

My Sunday school teacher, Connie Ballou, told our class the next day that that morning there had been a fiasco at her house in an attempt to create her perfect day. Someone had let their big yellow lab into the house, and it ended up tracking mud through their kitchen, into their living room, up their stairs, through her room, and up onto her bed. Her husband went downstairs, and yelled at the kids for letting the dog in the house and ruining Mother's Day. Even though a pancake the size of Connie's head was made to help make up for the mud, two of her young girls felt so bad that they went to church in tears. Am I the only one seeing a problem here?

So, there you have it. Dad's don't really get it. It's really not about the stuff or the frills of it all. It's about saying I love you. I'll have to keep that in mind for the future.

February 25th

George already has a picture somewhere on this blog, but it's his birthday today, so we'll give him another. Actually, there's some uncertainty as to whether Feb 25 is his birthday or not. He said once that he thought it might have been the 24th. I guess it doesn't really matter when or if you celebrate your birthday, so we'll say it's the 25th.

Back to George...he would have been 64 today. He was the ugly Beatle, but in my opinion, the second most talented. I rather like listening to his guitar solos, and some of his songs weren't half bad. The funny thing about the songs he wrote is they were either really good (like Something, or While My Guitar Gently Weeps, or Here Comes the Sun) or really not so good (like Blue Jay Way, and Only a Northern Song, and I Want To Tell You). George died at age 58 on November 29, 2001. His death was ascribed to lung cancer that had metastasised to the brain (thanks Wikipedia!) I remember hearing about his death on the radio either that day or the next while getting dressed to go to school. It was a sad day.

I was reminded that George's birthday was coming up because I found my Rubber Soul CD that Melissa burned for me on February 25th, 2005. I remember that day as if it were yesterday. I went to Michelle's basketball game with her family, and afterwords we went out to eat at Golden Corral. I sat across from David and Melissa and watched them talk to their aunt and uncle about politics, and some dentist somewhere that has his office decked out in Star Trek stuff. I remember thinking to myself that Natalie had told me about the very same guy. Michelle had hurt her ankle in the game that night, so she was a bit limpy and unable to play foot tag with me in the parking lot. Again, it was a sad day, but perhaps she was happy for the excuse. I also discovered that night that David is really good at that game, even with sandals.

Melissa didn't give that CD to me until Feb 26. That was a sad day too, because the Lady Miners lost to Layton in the state championship final. It was the first game I had ever seen Bingham lose. After it was over, the team's families waited for over an hour to meet them outside the locker room. I occupied myself by watching David and his cousin run around chasing each other with invisible guns. It was also during this wait that Melissa bestowed upon me probably the best of all the Beatles albums.

After muchos tears and hugs went around when the girls came out, Michelle's parents took her grandparents out to the car, and her siblings walked her to the bus. It was really cool to observe, actually. I looked over to see just Daniel, Jonathan, Melissa, David, and Michelle walking and talking together. I bet that doesn't happen much these days. Anyways, I took Michelle's place for a bit and rode home with her siblings. They drove to KFC to grab some stuff to take home, and formed a "No Chicken Left Behind Pact" in the car to make sure no food would be wasted. Melissa had run 23 miles that day, and her knees being sore became evident when David and I tried to include her in our backseat game of Tag, You're It. When we got back to the ranch, we ate dinner and watched 101 Dalmations with the chilluns. A friend came by the house to take Melissa and David to see Hitch, and she gave me a ride home on their way out.

Wow. I didn't mean for this to be a boring journal-like type entry about days gone by, but that's the turn it took. Some things just stick in the brain. The moral of the post was going to be: No matter how good you are at the guitar, don't smoke. It'll getcha.

The World's Best Babysitter...EVER

SCENARIO! Your leaders decide to babysit the ward babes on Valentines Day to give parents a night off for romancing and such. You show up to the combined activity, and there's a primary room full of children that seem content to run around chasing each other for the rest of the night. By some miracle, you organize them into groups and send the groups rotating to different activity stations throughout the stake center. The next hour or so is spent playing RedLight GreenLight, Don't Eat the Heart, Bingo, Tic Tac Toe and Mother Goose, frosting Valentine cookies, coloring animal pictures, and making bracelets with a bunch of eight year olds. Towards the end, all the kids meet back in the primary room. Parents will be arriving soon, you need to entertain the monsters for about thirty more minutes, and they're starting to make paper airplanes with their coloring book pages. You don't want the parents to see this chaos. What do you do?

SCENARIO! You go over to a friends house to assist with babysitting her niece and nephews. The kids are adorable, but a handful. As you walk in, the father greets you and says, "Welcome to Madness!" You see that he says this because his grandkids are running around, and he's not even gone yet. Their grandparents leave, and you realize that this energy they're taking out on the furniture might not burn out for awhile, and you're not going to be able to keep up. What do you do?

Believe it or not, these scenarios aren't from a Sunday School lesson where you give the answer to your strip of paper in front of the class. They actually happened to me. It was during these scenarios that I discovered who the best babysitter in the world is--the television. In both cases, the kids stopped running around almost immediately and gathered around to watch the movie as soon as the trailers started to play. That's amazing! No matter what I do, no matter how many piggy back rides I give, and no matter how crazy I act, there's no way I could have kids attention that quickly and for that long. While it was nice to have them quiet and settled, I didn't like seeing their blank eyes glued to the TV. That just can't be good for their brains! Or anybodys for that matter. It made me seriously consider how much television I'll let my kids watch, if I ever have kids someday. But, it's so easy to just turn it on and have them taken care of so you can do something else. I don't know. Commence the end of this random post....now.

They're back...

I remember when people would email these things all the time back in 9th and 10th grade. There was one girl in particular (the "Big Lantern") that would send me at least one a week. It became kind of fun after about a month to read them and see how many I'd get right. I thought they'd died out until I checked everyones blogs for the first time in over a week, and WHAM! Melissamerica allowed us an easy post! Copy, paste, delete, fill in, and there you go- you're set for a few weeks. Thanks Melissa. Guess I'll join your craze...

What’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever eaten?
I ate a sucker stick once. It disintegrated in my mouth. Nasty.

What’s something you do that you wish you didn’t do?
There's a million things I wish I didn't do. I wish I didn't grimace when making mistakes in a performance.

What was the last song you sang when no one else was around?
Through the Fire and Flames--Dragonforce

In the movie about your life, which actor would you choose to play you?
Kim Possible

Where’s the last place you went on vacation?
Disneyland

If you were arrested, who would be your “one phone call?”
My parents I guess. Who else?

What book are you currently reading?
Using Both Sides Of Your Brain

What historical event would you like to have been present for?
The arrival of the pioneers in the Salt Lake Valley. I would have told them to keep going till they found the green of Washington or Oregon.

Name something you can’t do very well.
I can't do physics very well at all. I'm not used to thinking at school. It's been a weird change.

What's the worst injury you've suffered?
I haven't really suffered any tremendous injuries. No broken bones, nasty cuts, or cavities even. I'm pretty healthy all around.

Name one thing that makes you a “freak of nature.”
I have an abnormally chubby face that turns red a lot due to some skin disease. I also bruise real easy.

What day in your life would you like to go back and watch as a spectator?
I'd like to watch my auditions from last Saturday as a spectator.

What song currently tops your “most played” list in iTunes?
Jerk It Out--The Caesars

Name something you intend to do but haven’t done yet.
Do my homework, write my scholarship essay, and read the five books I checked out from the library. They all count as one.

If you could do anything you wanted today, then rewind the day and start over fresh—no consequences—what would you do?
I would have sluffed school and spent the entire day hanging out with my friends somewhere cool.

What was your most recent purchase?
A ticket to the winter play "The Curious Savage." Highly entertaining.

Name one thing you’re looking forward to doing this week.
I'm looking forward to Concerto Night being over tonight!

For the sake of the day

On this Martin Luther King Day, I’d like to post one of my favorite stories about my great grandparents. Bit of background: They’re my father’s mother’s parents. I knew them quite well. Grandpa Chipman spoke slow and preachy- like. He always told me, “Roses are red, violets are blue. Angels in heaven say I love you!” Grandma was real fiery, esp. in her old age. She just spoke her mind. They were married for over 76 years, and were given an award from the governor of Utah for being the longest living married couple in the state in 1999. Grandpa’s advice for a long, happy, and successful marriage: "KNOW THE TEN COMMANDMENTS AND LIVE THEM. THAT'S THE BEST ADVICE I CAN GIVE." Both Grandma and Grandpa lived to be about 95 years old.

About ten years ago, my aunt Annette went down to American Fork to visit my great-grandparents on Martin Luther King Day. I imagine that they sat down around the kitchen table and pulled out the Rook cards. At one point, their conversation turned to the holiday. I cried when my aunt told me this part, because I was laughing so hard. It went something like this (Annette in green, Grandpa in red, and Grandma in blue):

Grandpa, it’s Martin Luther King Day!

Ah yes! I have a dream!

Beans!? Why do you always talk about beans!?!

No Grandma! I Have A Dream!

We just had beans! I’m not making you anymore beans!

No Grandma! I HAVE A DREAM!!

Well, I’m not making more beans. If you want some, you’ll have to get them yourself. Beans…

Needless to say, they were hard of hearing by the time 90 rolled around. It was hilarious, and sad at the same time.

*Bit of advice- don’t tell stories like this in your English class. It won't translate well in such a setting, even if you just read the poem The Bean Eaters as a class. Not that I speak from experience.

You Know?

You know you have a problem focusing when A.P. research is spent planning senior pranks and pretending your life is an action movie.

You know you're sick when you fall asleep and wake up without a voice.

You know you're really sick when there is more mucus in your throat than in your nose.

You know you're in trouble when the teacher reads, the class laughs, but you don't.

You know it's going to be a good day when a teacher doesn't show up to class and a sub is nowhere to be found.

You know it's winter when you can't get out of bed for fear of freezing to death.

You know your health's in jeopardy when you can't see the mountains because of the smog.

You know life is good when you're bass is amped.

You know you're bored if you take the time to blog about it.

Sequels You Won't See in Theatres

10. Free Willy 6: Willy's Revenge

9. Star Trek: Journey to the Bottom of the Sewer

8. Beavis and Butthead Become Mature, Responsible Adults

7. Pocahontas Attacks!

6. Babe: Pig in the Meat-packing Plant

5. Godzilla Goes to Therapy

4. Land Before Time 18: Oh Wait. They did do that one.

3. I Really Still Know What You Did Four Summers Ago (Or Was it Five?)

2. Titanic 2: Sink Again

1. Star Wars 27: Because You Just Can't Get Enough

Science Humor

I thought it would be fun to utilize my artistic skills and illustrate some funny stuff. One is from chemistry, and the graph of three different runners in a race is from fizzix. These two pictures aren't connected in any way, shape, or form. They're not laugh-out-loud funny, but between their cheesiness and my sad attempts at creating them, I'm pretty entertained.

Brain fart

Yesterday, I took my first physics exam, and left feeling a bit annoyed with one of my answers. It was bugging me because the answer I put didn't seem right, and I knew it was an easy question, but I wasn't sure how to get the correct answer. You know the story, because this sort of thing happens to everybody at one point or another. That being the case, you should know what happens next.

Because physics is my last class of the day, I walked out to my car right afterwards. As I touched the hot door handle, the light bulb above my head lit up, and I figured out how the problem should have been solved, and what the correct answer was. A huge wave of satisfaction hit me because everything was finally clear again. But, that feeling of triumph was almost immediately washed away by one of horror and disgust at my own stupidity.

I believe the question went something like this: "A man traveled 120 miles in one direction going 120 miles per hour, turned around, and came back going 60 miles per hour." Part c asked: What was the man's average speed? An easy question. Somehow, I came out with an answer of 240 miles per hour. That seemed like a lot, but my tired brain ignored the warning and gave up, rationalizing that he wouldn't get it done before the bell rang anyways. It wasn't until I was out in the parking lot that I realized all I had to do was take the total distance traveled and divide that by the total travel time.

240 miles per hour!? For his AVERAGE speed!?! That's ridiculous! The fastest he went was 120, so how could his average possibly be faster? GAH! What was I thinking? I'm an idiot! I now know that the correct answer is probably 80 miles per hour, which makes much more sense. But that doesn't matter now, oh no. Blast my stupid stupidity! If I could turn back time...

Goodbye Summer

As many of us have acknowledged, summer is over. Tonight's the night we lay awake for hours and think about the first day of school. It's like Christmas, only it stinks in the morning. So I thought I'd wrap up the vacation by thinking back and reporting it's outcome. I posted some summer goals here earlier. Some were met, and others were not.

Get a job: I did get a job. I was hired the last week of school to the local Red Hanger Dry Cleaners staff, and worked for over two months. I took clothes to be cleaned, sorted them into drycleaning and laundry piles, checked all their pockets, undid every button in sight, tagged each individual item of clothing so as not to lose them, entered each one into a computer for identity purposes, and then gave clean clothes back to their owners. Dealing with angry customers was the best. If you want to make a counter person at your drycleaners day, leave them a note of appreciation in your pocket, or a tip. Sadly, I was laid off for requesting "too much time off" for my surgery. I'm still a bit peeved. So, I'm back to being unemployed.

Learn the Napoleon Dynamite Dance: Ha! I kind of forgot about this one. To those of you who were going to join me in this adventure, I apologize. This is the second summer that it's slipped through my fingers. Curses!

Join Marching Band: This one didn't happen either. But it's not exactly my fault. I was surprised to find that my family did not support this idea at all! Even my aunt and grandparents put in a few choice words against it. I felt horrible after that. Making the practices would have been nearly impossible because of my job anyways. Oh well. I'm not disappointed about this at all, really.

Jaw Surgery: I'm happy to report that all went well. There was zero pain in this process, just a lot of discomfort. I now have a tremendously great appreciation for food and the ability to eat it. I believe I came closer to death then I ever have before in my life. The beginnings of a funeral plan were made, heh. Because of the liquid diet, I lost almost 10 pounds. As of right now, my cheeks are still a bit swollen, I can eat almost anything, rubber bands are the only thing holding me back, and my chin is numb. Thank you to those who came to visit or contacted me during my recovery period.

Learn how to read: I read some books. About six to be exact. I was kind of slacker this summer though. The reading didn't make me any smarter, that's for sure.

Finish the Beatles: Oh man. This is hilarious. I don't remember making this goal. While I didn't "finish the Beatles" (whatever that means) I did familiarize myself with more of their tracks, with little help from my friend. I acquired about 80 more of their songs by illegal means, so life is much sweeter now. Also, I checked out the Beatles Anthology from the library, and enjoyed over 11 hours of its footage. Yay for documentaries!

Become: I didn't become much of anything, other than a slug perhaps. Didn't bike, hike, play much pool or solve many sudoku puzzles. What a lame goal.

Touch my toes: Bah ha! Forgot about this one till it was much too late. Much too late. I had a few different dancers try to help me with this one, but it's not working out so well. I'll keep working on it, and maybe in a few years it'll just happen.

Other noteworthy occurances that weren't on the agenda:

• 10 day trip to Idaho
• Rodeo in West Yellowstone
• Many visits with friends
• Grizzly bear, wolf, and coyote sightings
• Phone call from Ms. Pratt
• Glowstick War
• Superman Albertson's trip
• Multiple late-night visits to Campbell's
• Hermy's Concert
• JAMB girls
• Del Taco trip in Zorro/Superman/matching sheets costume
• Maxwell's Silver Hammer slide show