suitors

1:20 and no suitors? What's wrong with these guys anyway? -Dr. Clark

Peanut Butter and Honey

I've recently taken to peanut butter and honey sandwiches, a favorite of mine when I was a child. And a recent writing prompt made me recall many of the events of my childhood. So I've decided that writing for classes can have purpose, and now it's going in my blog. This is the beginning to an introduction for my autobiography.

Stained glass windows, cocker spaniels, large stretches of green grass, my favorite band-aid-looking swing, kiddy pools, canaries, begging mom for a few minutes more, the ghetto, humidity, sand, feet of snow, the original Nintendo, willow trees, mountains, grandparents, garages, tree forts: my mind travels through the places I love, the distinct memories of my childhood.

I was born in a St. Joseph's hospital, and carried to a recently purchased red brick one-story-above-the-ground, one-story-below (otherwise known as a basement)home with a large stretch of green grass, that band-aid resembling swing, a bright-highlighter blue kiddy pool with some duck design inside.

The cocker spaniel's name was Velvet. She was picked up as an additional member of the family a few weeks before my birth on May 14, 1986. Her black, crimped fur, silky and always shiny brandishes my memory. She was like my twin, born within weeks of eachother, she was family to me. The day she was put to sleep was a wet day. After snapping at the paperboy on his usual route, my parents decided it was time. I couldn't have been older than 8, though I want to say I was. But I distinctly remember the yard and the paperboy, both of which were located in the town I was born.

Marshfield- most people from Wisconsin don't even know where the dairy-farming community is. An acquaintence I met at college considered her familiarity with the home state and realized she had once been on a fieldtrip there when her elementary school's future-medical-related-career-interested child visited the hospital there once.

self-discovery

I've always wanted to do one of these silly things. So here is my attempt at self-discovery. If you remember something I don't, by all means tell me what I've forgotten.

Three Names You Go By:
1. Heather (or Heath, or Heath-OR)
2. feather (weather)
3. (heathen) teapot

Three Parts of Your Heritage:
1. dutch
2. english
3. danish

Three Things You Are Wearing Right Now:
1. a black skirt with a sort of muslim swirly design in light blue and turquoise with silver sequins
2. my strappy black bitty-heels
3. off-white gathered shirt (there's got to be a nme for it), peasantish(?)-goes with every skirt I own shirt

Three Things You Want in a Relationship:
1. love
2. communication
3. trust, understanding, butterflies, friendship, maturity, beauty (perhaps that's not 3)

Three of Your Favorite Hobbies:
1. traveling (learning new languages, observing, chatting)
2. going to parks (stargazing, swinging, playing games , swimming
3. listening to/participating in/attending: musical events, festivals, restaurants

Three Things You Want Really Badly At The Moment:
1. Something pleasantly surprising
2. A bo-berry biscuit from Bojangles
3. To leave the country

Three Pets you had/have:
1. Binford (my darling, overly-large-noggined labrador)
2. Daisy (my slow moving, sweet-heart of an old labrador with lots of tumors and a bit overweight)
3. Cleo (my ridiculously large, half-siamese feline, with a gray and black tabby coat)

Three Things you did last night:
1. Played ERS with Hillery at Rock Canyon Park (the bowl)
2. Went to Borders -and then decided I want to buy some books at Barnes & Noble (Nectar in a Sieve, Great Expectations, et plus) because they were too expensive at Borders, and they have those great-deal classics books
3. Looked for decorating colors at Walmart

Three things you ate today:
1. Nothing so far, it's 9:07am at work
2. a container of lemon yogurt waits to be eaten
3. a bottle of water would like to be filled

Three people you last talked to:
1. My mom, aunt Anna-Clair, and my darling cousin Kendrick (when they dropped me off)
2. Heidi
3. Hiller-illery when I told her that I wanted to kill Morissey today because she was listening to the Smiths and they were driving me crazy for some reason

Three Things You're doing tomorrow:
1. SEGO festival!
2. Eating
3. Maybe waking up in Amy's cabin

Three longest care rides:
1. NC to UT
2. UT to San Fran with my family
3. Provo to Escalante (because of the darkness, the deer, the bad directions, the highway construction, getting lost about five million times, and it taking 6 1/2 hours- 2 1/2 hours more than expected)

Three Favorite Holidays:
1. Easter
2. Christmas
3. May day (not really, but I wanted to say it cause my birthday is in May, but it is also Kaitlyn's birthday, which is cool)

Three Things You Can't Live Without:
1. mammals (that includes people I love and pets)
2. music
3. religion

Three things you like about yourself:
1. my eyes
2. my style
3. my tastes (music, food, films, etc.)

Three things you dislike about yourself:
1. spots (in whatever form)
2. impatience
3. not having a perfect memory of things

Three things that scare you:
1. stupidity
2. crazy folks
3. discontent

Three of your everyday essentials:
1. good music
2. making a mess of my room (at least once, then trying to clean it up)
3. some form of sugar

Three of your favorite bands/artists today:
1. Youth Group
2. Feist
3. Kings of Convenience

Three of your fav. songs at present
1. Gnarls Barkley- Crazy
2. Gorillaz- Tomorrow Comes Today
3. Kings of Convenience- Parallel Lines

Three new things you want to try in the upcoming year:
1. painting, decorating, and loving the house I'm moving into
2. being a psychology major
3. being a better person

Two truths and a lie (in any order):
1. I have never broken any part of my body
2. I've gotten a ring stuck on my finger and required the emergency room to cut it off
3. I love gaucho pants

Three things about the opposite sex that appeal to you:
1. adorableness
2. intelligence
3. interesting-ness (yeah, if they can make up great words like me)

Three things you just can't do:
1. Dance Dance Revolution
2. Croquet (when people are around)
3. Stop eating sugar

Three careers you're considering:
1. Clinical Psychologist
2. Mediator
3. Mother (kind of a career, I want it somewhere in there)

Three places you'd like to go on vacation:
1. Seattle, Northwestern states (most likely of the three)
2. Europe (London, Italy, Sardegna, Iceland, Scotland, France, Spain, Portugal, Czech Republic, Scandanavian countries- everywhere)
3. Australia, Africa, South America, the Orient, tropical islands (the works)

Three kids names:
1. Julia - great Beatles song
2. Lillian - Youth Group inspired, though I won't ask her to behave like the girl in the song, "Lillian lies to avoid all the questions"
3. Joel- just always loved it and one of the best books in the Bible
(there are too many I've considered, and now I can't find my list with all of the names)

Three things you want to do before you die:
1. travel the world
2. raise a family
3. figure out what I'm good at and do it

buzzing

I'm scared for the guy who got in the elevator that was buzzing really loudly.

it's hit me: that one plus one is one.

It's hit me. Full force. I stood in a circle of friends last night, and I realized I'm old. Still unable to get senior citizens discounts nor ride the scooters at Walmart, but there are sometimes sneaky gray (or maybe blonde) hairs sneaking in brown hair.

Two of my friends got engaged a day ago. The initial shock hits you head on. I should've expected it, trips to Texas immediately following Winter Semester, exclusively hanging out all the time, and the mandatory family game night every week.
And I sit in my room wondering on my twin sized bed, with an unacceptably messy room, in my halter top because I'm way too hot for anything else: how do you know? I thought it would just be completely clear. Is it? When you start leaving away messages that say "I love such and such" is that a tell-tale sign you're ready for marriage. I don't want to challenge peoples' or friends' judgement, but I guess I'm not even close to the point where I could see myself married. I'm worried about divorce, the statistics, the young lovers moving to married-couple-hood realizing they don't love eachother with 2 kids and another on the way.

I stare at one of my senior pictures. The bring-your-friends-along picture, where three of my high school friends and I are posed ridiculously around eachother. 2 of the 4 are engaged or married. I still feel young. I guess I've left the high school days, the "I can't date anyone" excuses. It scares me. I like to say it's because I haven't met the right one. That's what they force feed you in movies, in romantic stories of your relatives' past, in romance novels (not that I've read any- well I don't think Jane Austen or Bridget Jones count).

All around me I sense instability. And then my shuffling itunes comes up with Badly Drawn Boy, One Plus One is One. "Why can't you see that one plus one is one? Much greater than the sum of its parts... it's time to take the gun out of life." And Damon Gough reassures me that I'm not the only one feeling this way... "it still boils down to love. Please, give me some peace."

bad idea

late night climbing onto suitcases
with wad of paper in hand
prepared to attack spider
that has crawled onto ceiling

inevitable:
suitcase slipping out from under feet
falling flat on bum
"ouuuuuuuuuucccccccchhhhhhhhhhh!"
Hillery yelling from late night homework-doing
"What happened?!"
No response.
Spider not dying from attack-
but hurrying near one of the many
still unpacked boxes
finding the only shoe I can wear
because hot oil landed on my foot friday
and then whacking spider
thrown in trash with original,
useless wad of paper

repaired

1 earring
No chairs
5 spots on shirt and re-ironing said shirt at least 5 times
Burnt fingers from really hot ironing board (feel better at least)

broken

Things that have been broken today:
1 pair of jeans
1 chair
At least 4 crepes
1 bracelet
Someone's heart

in the mood for love

I rewatched this amazingly beautiful Chinese movie called In the Mood for Love. It was at the IC winter semester, and at that point in my life I was as the title suggested, as are most people at almost any stage of their life. Four months and a heartbreak later I searched the shelves of the suggested movie section. The first time we saw it, we noticed the beautiful choice of Nat King Cole songs in Spanish. The second time, we guessed at the songs, waiting impatiently for "Quizas, Quizas, Quizas." It finally arrived at a crucial moment at which the two friends must decide whether to remain faithful to their spouses (who are cheating on them with eachother) or to have an affair. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. I take note of the songs and search out a cd that contains Nat King Cole en espagnol. Just another album to add to one of my lists. One of many lists of things I want to read, watch, purchase, listen to, or check out from the library. Strewn about my room, the office desk, and wherever else I accidentally left one. So here is today's...

To Do in the Next Few Days

Watch more Arrested Development
Read Northanger Abbey
Not spend any more money (besides what is necessary, like Pizza Night)
Not fantasize about Mark Darcy (this includes driving past house, calling his phone with *67, or checking blog every five minutes to see if a new one has appeared)
Avoid certain people at all costs
Clean room
Drink lots and lots of water
Don't check myspace 50 times a day
Buy more movies
Buy more cds
Use time wisely (read, take a nap, watch movies)
Do not call people who don't call you
Don't read people's blogs who don't read yours
Be nice to mother

awkward greetings

I went to my parents' ward today. Instead of seeing the someone I actually attended the ward to see, I re-encountered a pompous, somewhat obnoxious boy from the past. Recently returned from a mission, reviving interests in girls who don't like him, and seeming to think the same sentiment was returned to him. He greets me with what I take to be a pseudo-handshake, pull-you-in-to-kiss-you like the french do. I keep it to a hand shake. "Or you could give me a hug..." he says. Jumping straight up, I try a sideways hug. Less interest, concern, commitment, etc. He squeezed. Squeezed me, pulling me to his cheek on an acquaintence hug. I do not recommend squeezing hugs while sideways. Awkward. I knew it, my little brother knew it, but I'm not quite sure the R.M. did because he continued talking and going on as though we were best friends. I sat down and just laughed to myself every five minutes as I thought of the handshake/hug. Witnessing the awkwardness, my brother nudges me and laughs. And I recall stories from Day's market, eyes peering through the egg cartons to say hi to my little sister. All the thoughts of awkward hellos and conversations that should never started enter my mind. This is a boy who does not give up. Turns and smiles during the sacrament in my direction followed. Running into a past Young Woman's leader I find him standing next to her. He gushes about his entire life plans for sacrament meetings and locations in the next few week. And I wonder, does it ever stop?

garden clogs

I purchased a pair of moss green garden clogs at D.I. today. It was the very type of shoe I've wanted to purchase since I was about 7 years old. There they sat amidst the misfit shoes. Just an unexpecting shoe browser, they met my eye. Perfect size, perfect price ($3). And now they will have a lovely home in my cluttered closet, unless it's a beautiful rainy day like today, or if I decide to take up gardening.

Spring Cleaning and Security

Moving requires cleaning. This is one thing that has been reiterated in my mind multiple times this past week. Everything has gone from the apartment to the house. The distance that separates them is a mere 5 miles (maybe). Still, I wonder how I acquired so much junk. I made at least 10 trips going back and forth due to poor resources for transportation (both car and rubbermaid containers). I often resorted to stuffing the shopping bags full of candleholders, fans, hoodies, jewelry boxes, and anything else I couldn't carry. My mom dropped off the car, as she said she'd take Binford on a walk from my apartment back to the house (little did she know it would take over an hour and a half, when really it should've taken her about thirty-five minutes- most likely due to the sniffing and peeing on Binford's part).

I packed the car, for the most part, by myself. My little ones and select helpers aided one Sunday before the mandatory move-out date. Load by load, my room was not my own anymore, neither of them. I packed everything into my light apple-green room where no one had lived except for the weevils that infested my desk (but that's another story). Brittney would come to nearly-empty-apartment room and say, "Everyone is leaving me." Though 2 roommates remained, and one of them was one of her bestfriends, I can understand the fear. We're in a transitionary period, students coming and going, friends serving missions, transferring schools, leaving for the summer, going on studies abroad.

Where is the security? Perhaps in the lunches my mom makes me before I go to work, or making me tell her where I'm going whenever I leave, my dad helping me figure out what's wrong with my airport wireless, my mom forcing me to eat family dinner ("or else I'll have to do the dishes), and the locked doors at all hours of the day. Maybe it's Heidi coming into my room with her bathrobe, bath towel, and Wuthering Heights waiting for Hillery to bring epsom salt so she can scrub off her newly acquired coat of paint, but instead falling asleep on my bed while I read the oh-so-scandalous, oh-so-entertaining Bridget Jones the Edge of Reason. My bank account is suddently full of money while not having to pay rent, maybe it's the use of a car whenever I need it, my mom coming in for five million wakeup calls. Though my room isn't in complete order, it feels like home again. I miss the walls, seeing the trees through my window, letting the light shine in. I look forward to having time to read and finish books I want to read, watching movies I've wanted to watch for months, playing and not feeling guilty about it. The summer is a lovely time.

Childhood

I rediscovered swimming. The butterflystroke, frontstroke, backstroke, breastroke. Jumping into the pool three or four times before finally feeling warm. Nightswimming and dayswimming. Summer playlists for the pool. Floating rafts and beach balls. My mind races as I try to think of games I played as a child. We swam with the snow falling down and the occasional snowball getting chucked at our heads, stormy weather where my porcelain skin can't get touched, and the occasional overly-sunny day where I might get the opportunity to cover the farmer's tan I received while steaming table cloths at the red and orange wedding. I still get chuckled at everytime I emerge from the pool or in any outfit that might conceal the defined line and above that the sun hasn't seen. Losing something and then finding it again is refreshing.

The smell of chlorine has filled my nose for a few weeks now. Everytime I waste my day away in the water, I remember things that only re-enacting could bring back. I convinced my mother to let Hillery stay at my apartment for thirty minutes longer because the pool closes at 10pm and it's one of my last opportunities to go swimming before leaving my continually-strange-smelling apartment (usually from the rotting bananas or hidden piece of chicken on the floor). My mother agreed, after making me promise to take the Strong Vocational Interests Test. She thinks it will be a life changing experience and allow me to decide exactly what I want to do with my life. I laugh at her.

After giving her consent, we jumped into our swim suits. Chuckles followed us as we sported our multi-colored skin. We hurried to the pool. Diving in and out multiple times to calm our chattering teeth. Finally we felt ok. "The color game!" Hillery shouted. What was the color game? Do I even remember? "Where you choose a color and dunk the person in the water everytime they guess wrong, then the full dunk when they guess right." So it began, color after color, "Green," dunk, "Purple," dunk "yellow, blue, black, white," dunk, dunk, dunk, dunk. "Rainbow!!" dunk dunk dunk dunk dunk. Hillery wasn't very good at this game. "If it's not in a box of crayola 24 colors it doesn't work." Gray. The game was repeated and repeated. I'm sure the 20 or so group of people outside of the pool laughed as they heard us carry on with our child's play. Elbow playing, pool baptism, and laps after finally deciding Hillery would never guess copper. It might not be in the 24 crayon box, but I haven't seen one of those in years. Crayons are never in boxes anymore. They're on the table of a restaurant, in a rubbermaid box, or broken from being poorly stored. We hold our breath in the pool, counting the seconds till we can heave in a new batch of air.

Swimming laps till pool curfew, arriving soaked on the doorstep. We clean ourselves up. I continue reading. Hillery drives home to continue personal progress. Our begging to stay in the pool is not, "Mommy just a few more minutes..." it's, "Can I have the car for another half hour? Please..." And if so I'll take a test that will point me in the right direction for a career. But breathing in chlorine still feels the same.

It's summer

Which means I might be able to keep a regular blog. I can only say I'll try (and maybe do).

Wants and Demands

I want to travel the world on a yacht with someone who knows how to sail.

I want to eat yummy-exotic foods.

I want to know every language.

I want to take a nap on a hammock in the sunshine.

I want spring/summer shoes to return.

I want to find meaning in everyday things.I want to live in the city (London, please).

I want to eat blueberries, raspberries, and blackberries by the bucket (they have antioxidants and I hear those are good for you).

I want to wake up with the rain falling on the tin roof, while I'm safe here in your arms.

So all I ask is for you to come away with me... (But that was an aside.)

I want to buy and consume some more rice pudding.

I want to kick the habit of eating five million cadbury eggs a day.

And lastly, I want to discover something beautiful everyday.

lovely, lovely

There wasn't any snow to be shovelled off the astro-turf today.
Boys in luxury cars blasted rap.
#6 on ( ) played through the bustle of city traffic.
Men on campus tiptoed like they were toddlers.
Students adorned the lawns.
Girls picked the white blossoms off trees.
Wind blew through hair and through my window.
I smiled at people as they passed.
The sun reached every exposed pore.
Studies were lost.
Daffodils and pansies crept up overnight.
The snow-covered mountains seem distant and unreal.

thoughts for a nearly-spring day

My hob nobs are getting stale.

My pants are getting wet from wintry days.

My bangle is banging against the fake-wooden desk.

My contacts are drying out in the stale office air.

My patience is wearing thin.

My rice pudding is nearly gone.

My fruit-and-vegetable-eating is non-existant.

My desire for something new is emptying my bank account.

My CPK make-your-own pizza wasn't worth five dollars.

_____________________________________________________________

Springtime is nearly here.

Sushi for 3 bucks was yummy.

Make Yours Like Mine is deliciously good.

I'm not sick of all music.

Good shows are coming up.

My friends/family have started playing with garage band.

The IC is cool.

The semester is half over.

I can sometimes go to the other French section.

The snow is pretty and probably won't last long.

I'm saving my money to travel this summer (or will be once my next paycheck is in).

I have a friend in the diamond business.

I am deciding now to do a lot of fun things soon- like camping.

My car's back window is fixed, after having been shot by a trained assassin with a bb gun. The assassin missed me though.

My duffle bag of warm weather clothes came out.

I don't have to pay rent for a few months.

I might get a gym membership.

Life is good/great/beautiful/magnificent.

I'm going to start taking more pictures.

Last friday was lovely.

my favorite rice and a stomach ache

I finally woke up this morning with the sun shining through my window. My apple green room cluttered with rubbermaid boxes of genealogy, the sheets in their usual disarray after having me as an inhabitant, Binford hair covering the bed spread because I needed him at 3.30 this morning when I wanted someone to cuddle with. My sleep was the kind where you wake every 45 minutes, realizing you should wake up but you keep sleeping because you can.

In the early morning hours, 2.50am to be precise, I sent Heidi a text message, "Are you still awake?" I waited a few minutes. Nothing. I called. No answer. Heidi is never asleep this early. Just my luck. I've had this fear since I was a child left alone at home, that my family will just disappear. Desert me. At the very moment I need them or feel the loneliest. Last weekend my car's back window was completely shattered. Carly called at 10.30am, but I didn't pick up. She came in my room and told me to come look at my car. I stood there confused for a few minutes, assessing the damage, then let her go to her parents house and I walked back to my room to call my mother. I called multiple times with no answer. I called every single person in my family in desperation. I left messages. I waited for over an hour, when finally my little brother, the last person I would've expected, called me back. He was playing basketball, my parents were cleaning the chapel. Theory disproved, again.

I phoned my dad at 2.55am. It went straight to his answering machine. He's probably avoiding the hospital calls he gets at all hours of the night, I thought. I called my mother. I let it reach her answering machine. Hung up. Picked up my cell phone again and held down "3" in my yellow-and white tiled bathroom. It rang twice and she picked up, sounding exhausted, "Hello?" I tried to stifle my voice, but bathrooms only create a loudspeaker. Someone was sleeping on the couch in the front room, one guest was on the floor, another sharing a bed with Tiff. I started crying, "Mom, my stomach hurts. I can't sleep. I've tried for an hour and a half. I took my roommate's ibuprofen, and I still hurt. What should I do?" She calmly helped me, went through the problem, consulted my father, and said she could only help me if I went home. We arranged for her to pick me up. I went back to my room. Turned on the bedside lamp and waited. I got impatient and called her, "I'm here honey." I opened the front door in the dark, locked it back up as I entered the cold 3:15am air, hood up, slippers on, and then trudged to the car waiting for me. We reached home after hitting every red light. My parents gave me drugs which I gulped down with Snapple Apple juice, and I shut their door dragging Binford along with me.

My mom entered my room, Binford had left four hours prior (he's an early riser and barker). "I have some sad news, Saffron is dead." My bright yellow, darling canary who suffered a lot of neglect and poor cage cleaning, was dead. About 5 1/2 years old, he'd lived a good long canary life. He'd survived a cross-country move, being locked in a moving van, taken care of by neighbor children, chased by yellow labs, and eating a poisonous plant. This little man was a trooper. He had been more active in the past few months than I had ever seen him. Orange slices and classical music could be the reason. "He lived a good life, and he was happy. He sang with me this morning. But I came back and he was collapsed in his water feeder. Tail feathers straight up. You're going to need to bury him. Your dad and I need to go to a funeral of your dad's aunt who we haven't seen for 27 years."

After minutes of explaining what I must do to bury the bird, taking care not to have the cat or dogs to dig him up, we settled on a blank checks box as a casket of sorts and throwing the entire bird cage and the green-leafed fabric cover my mother had made in the trash. Saffron deserved a proper burial. We settled on the tree near the recycling, yard waste, and garbage cans. I tried to dig his grave on my own, but discovering a massive earthworm, screamed and scared the neighbor's dog. I employed Heidi's services. In pajamas the triple-H oversaw his burial. We covered the spot with a stepping-stone nearby. Said our goodbyes. And left him to the elements and the nearly-spring day.

i ran away

think I might've played Playstation for about two and a half hours last night. Most of which was spent singing songs that never should've been written. "Cause you're everywhere to me. When I close my eyes it's you I see. You're everything I know that makes me believe. I'm not alone, oh whoa whoa. I'm not alone." But my Valentine is a mighty good singer, so that makes up for it in the team competitions. And, I dare say, I got a little more competitive than the last attempt at Cameron's, my voice was shaking, I threw 8 months of voice lessons out the window, and sang "You're the one that I want, doop doop doo doo doo. Hoo hoo hoo. [Repeat] The one I need. Oh yes indeed." at the top of my lungs.

I'm kind of nostalgic lately, deja-vu-(y). I want to be in Chelsea petting my dear canine friend Woody. Or on the beach of some Mediterranean island. Maybe even in the city of love, although my last experience with it lead me to believe it wasn't so much love but a lot of dirty old men who like to grab butts of unsuspecting/innocent females from Idaho. Even Disneyland would be ok. My dear Hilleroy will be leaving me in about a day to go there. I lack the funds, the necessary time off school and work, transportation, people who would seriously go, and the impulsiveness to just leave. Sometimes I wish I had that.

It's been three years since I've been. Princess parades, Peter Pan rides, over President's Day weekend. Downtown Disney. Strangely appealing to me. From the french food to the trees covered in twinkle lights. I can't forget the unpaid actors on Valentine's Day. The two of them about 17, girl in a white top and a flamingo pink polka-dot skirt, boy wearing his straight-leg jeans with fifties rolled pant legs and fifties shoes. Chasing eachother through the little corporate-planned imitation of a street, past the people buying eclairs at the cafe, past the high school students eating their spicy-shrimp and fries, without a care. I wanted to be in that. Not just an onlooker to a pure and innocent love, or what I've come to embody as such.

My itunes brings up a familiar song on shuffle. I Ran Away, an obscure Coldplay b-side. One that I played on repeat on my blue panasonic cd player, the kind that plays burned cds only when it wants to. It was the theme song of the vacation. A little melancholic, a little wistful. But it sums up what that trip meant to me. Reminding me of where I am, sitting in my spotted office chair. Spots from some unidentified food consumed in the laziness that exists in the slow hours at the office. Avoiding cataloging the artifacts of some archaeological find. I am longing for a place I hardly know, the unfamiliar. Fifties attired, high school couples, the fabricated perfection of a street in LA. I'll sit here, three years later repeating the same song I did then. Dreaming of escape, of somewhere else that I may not even love, but which sounds much more appealing than anything else today.

Things I Learned Yesterday

Life had a lot of lessons for me yesterday. Here are just a few I can remember...

I am perfectly incapable of eating a clementine without losing at least 20 seeds on the carpet of my work.

If you wear a red sweater (that looks like Christmas) and hop in the shower afterwards, don't get scared and think you're bleeding if there's lint all over your armpits.

Accordion playing at your apartment can become an every day event. (In addition to Jewish engagement parties that last for about 10 scary minutes).

Don't have family home evening in an apartment with a broken couch.

For some reason the f-bomb isn't as offensive when dropped by Australian people.

Any mention of the word "gold digga" becomes the reason for 5 minute laughing spurts.

Facebook won't log you in if you're writing your address @nm.byu.com instead of @nm.byu.edu.

Every game of Wise and Otherwise (and Taboo for that matter) must include at least one mention of the movie Elf or just elves in general.

You can make eight thousand dollars off dumpster diving for Wendy's cups.

Suriname is pretty much equivalent to Narnia.

Everytime I drive Amy's car I break something (ie. steering wheel, window, the starter).

Don't order a salad at Olive Garden. It comes free for just sitting there.

Pray and fast about every family home evening you attend.

Mr. B. is now an appropriate name for my father. (Mrs. J is beginning to become acceptable for my mother.)

Games till 1ish in the morning are probably bad for school nights.