Home is Where You Hang Your Pants

{I have had every good intention of capturing my time at home through the magic of the digital camera. So here are some recycled photos from years and months gone by because of the failure of that intention.}

I escaped Happy Valley last Friday in a runaway Toyota with a curly-haired fellow BYU refugee. After ten hours of delightful detours, we made it back home to where the wind blows, the sun burns, the ground is dry, the scenery is brown, and the sprinklers are always on.

And then the family was off again to the Valley de Gila for Easter, where pancakes, Just Dance 2, dollar hot dogs, "Oh Heck", ice cream cones, and corny jokes were our game.

On Wednesday, I laced up my Nikes and went for a late-morning run. I was ready to hitchhike home about a half a mile in, but I dug down deep and dragged myself the rest of the way. I came home took a shower {after laying on the floor for an hour will-powering, bribing, and daring myself to do some sit-ups} and then promptly caught THE QUINSY. Alright, so it's not the quinsy, but it's nasty, and I don't like it a bit. Ask my mom, I didn't make it up, my temperature was 101 yesterday. To celebrate, I took a bubble bath, and nearly froze to death.

Today, an early afternoon excursion took Karen, Linz, and I to Snowflake to visit ol' Elder D. who just got home yesterday from his mission to Louisiana. We kept the conversation nice and awkward for a good hour or so. If the conversation ever strained, my kleenexes, hand-sanitizer, and I made sure to liven it up a bit.

Being home in Arizona is wonderful. Sickness or not. So I'm going to end my day with some more orange juice and How to Train Your Dragon with Mi Padre.

Happy Springtime to All and to All a Goodnight!

Breaking it Down

Yesterday I had every intention of not writing again until this semester was officially over. We are at least one step closer. I'm trying to write my last paper of the semester, so naturally. . .I am not doing that right now.

The stress of the semester's end bring with it a torrent of unnecessary emotions. These emotions took over my normaly steel-caged heart on Sunday night.

A great friend from the ward, and fellow English major came to visit me. (Mostly because I demanded that she come visit me). We began to talk about books (naturally) and as we discussed Harry Potter, The Hunger Games, Jane Eyre, The Book Thief, etc., several other friends/roommates filtered in. Said friend and I decided it would be a good idea to share with each other which books and/or movies make us cry. I can count the number of books that have made me cry on one hand: Little Women (the very first book that EVER made me cry), Where the Red Fern Grows, and The Book Thief. I count the movies on the other hand: Little Women, Remember the Titans, A Little Princess, and Titanic. (Now before you go all crazy, I only watched Titanic because I love the story of the ship. Not any of that Leonardo DeCaprio and Kate Winslet crap.)

As I was talking about this subject on that fateful Sunday night, with friends gathered all around me, I began to describe the beauty of Little Women. I was talking about the scene where Beth dies (Yes, Beth dies in the end. I'm sorry if I ruined it for you) and I just began to bawl my little eyes out. I couldn't even control it, and it was horrifying. My roommates looked at me in concern, because Kelly crying in public is pretty. . .well, it's not very often that an even like that happens. I got a concerned and unsure pat on the back from the guy next to me, and then I retreated to my room where I listened to the Little Women soundtrack over and over again and kept crying.

And that's what happens when I am too stressed out for my own good.

BEWARE!

Outsourced, Outdated, Out of It

It's Zombie week around these parts.

I thought I wasn't getting enough sleep before, but boy howdie the week before finals is killer.

I went to bed early last night though.

2:00 am.

I am quickly losing my ability and/or desire to get the normal things done.

Such as basic cognitive processes and motor skills, getting dressed, brushing my teeth, showering, putting on makeup, etc.

But despite my lackadaisacal-ness, all is well. It's the last day of school before finals.

I just might make it.

I will see you on the other side.

The other side being April 20th, the day I finish my first year at BYU.

Well What Do You Know It's Friday

One week ago today, my best friend, Risa, came to visit for the twenty-first anniversary of Lou's birth. Lou created a detailed schedule for everything we would do during every second of the weekend. Naturally, the first thing on the list was to drive to Walmart to get chocolate and ice cream so we could watch Megamind. On our way out of that giant disorganized mess we call Walmart, I looked over to the crane games and longingly sighed. It's been a lifelong goal to win something from one of those money stealing machines. So my dear friends took it upon themselves to make sure my dream came true. We scrounged through our purses (which are just as disorganized as Walmart itself) and found quarters. Quarters which are as precious as gold to poor college students.

Risa and Lou inserted their inestimable quarters into the machine and I manned the controls. Positioning the crane perfectly over the desired object was like attempting to land a lunar module. I punched the red button, the claw opened, went down, and closed half-heartedly on the ear the creature. The claw went back up with nothing in its grasp. I moaned and pressed my face against the glass, staring at what I knew I would never have.

Lou and Risa produced two more quarters. Just enough for one more try. Then we saw it. A stuffed Superman action figure. He was perched precariously on the edge of on the dark pit where the toys were dropped if they ever had the chance to get caught by the claw. We knew we could grab him. Or knock him into the pit. Or something. In went the quarters. Down went the claw. Up came nothing.

I didn't even have a chance to cry before Risa's arm was shoved through the trap door with my newly purchased umbrella. She maneuvered her Superman-stealing-contraption around his neck. "I paid for that thing, and I'm not letting it take my money!" she exclaimed. After several minutes of struggle, hysterical laughter from Lou and I, cheers from passing college students (who I assume had also lost countless quarters to these types of machines), and disapproving looks from sour-faced adults, Superman was free. He flew into our shopping cart with his polyester red cape, and all four of us flew out of the store together.

Now Superman lives on my bed propped up by my pillows. You know you have true friends if they're willing to steal toys from Walmart just so you can live your childhood dream. Well, it wasn't exactly stealing. . .We paid a dollar for it. In quarters. Quarters are priceless.