The Kelly Marie Memoirs

A state of affairs.

2012-02-10T13:56:00.000-08:00

February commences the 19th month that I have been a resident of Provo, Utah. Despite being here for a considerable amount of time, I do not count myself on being well acquainted with all of Provo's attractions. (i.e. I still have not hiked The Y. I am saving that for my last semester). However, the more time I spend in this splendid little niche of a city, the more I begin to understand the differences in personality between those from the numerous states of this country.

For all intents and purposes, I will focus today's remarks on the male species as I am "supposedly" in the market for a husband... (Note: The views expressed in this post are solely those of the author and are based upon broad stereotypes acquired via the Brigham Young University campus).

Mr. Utah-Utah men generally have a desire to dress well, which can be a plus because what girl doesn't want to date a smartly dressed man? However, this can become a problem when the boy you're interested in has better fashion sense than you do. Men from Utah have brains and are ambitious, however they can come across as a little pretentious (i.e. "I am from Zion, where are you from?" "My father is best friends with such and such general authority." "I was an AP on my mission." etc.). On the plus side, they tend to be quite witty and are great conversationalists, but unfortunately can be a little boring when you want to be more spontaneous or spend all night talking in accents. So I suppose if your one true desire is to laugh really hard, don't go looking for that in a man from Utah.

Mr. Idaho-Men from Idaho are all somewhat small towny, which is good. You can count on having a good laugh if you're in the company of someone from Idaho. But for some unknown reason, the Idahoan breed tend to get obsessed about something, whether it be politics or physical health. Don't get in the way of their obsessions.

Mr. Colorado-The only thing so far that I have noticed about men from Colorado is that they are outdoorsy. And since I am not particularly outdoorsy (really I'm quite stay inside and read a booky) men from Colorado and I don't have a lot in common. Thus leading to a very short summation of my experience with them.

Mr. California-There are major differences between northern Californian men and southern Californian men, but since it is one state (that is just too big for its britches), I will clump them all together. Californian men are enjoyable, are quick with a joke, and can often be good company. Nevertheless, they come across as quite shallow, selfish, and materialistic and are (whether they are aware of it or not) bent on rebelling against the Utah-Mormon stereotypes.

Mr. Arizona-In a nutshell, men from Arizona are delightful. They are ambitious, hard-workers with great senses of humor. They can astound you with their intellectual wit as well as make you laugh so hard your sides ache. They are fiercely loyal and true to the faith. Men from Arizona are the right choice always.

All other states in the union are either too easily forgotten or too far away to be considered, thus their men make no lasting impression upon my mind.

(This post may or may not be strongly affected by my love for Arizona and the fact that my beloved state will be celebrating its centennial on February 14th).

Happy Statehood!

A chronic problem: Punctuality

2012-01-27T12:18:00.001-08:00

I used to be the sort of person who was on time for everything. If you told me that we were hanging out with friends around 7:00, I was be there at 6:55. Being fashionably late was a thing I just never did, I always chose to be fashionably early. I was also the sort of person who showed up to soccer practice 15 minutes early because I was not going to be the reason the team had to run extra laps. I firmly believed in the old adage: If you're not ten minutes early, you're late.

But since the days of high school, I have ceased to be punctual. I even had to erase "punctual" from the list of qualities on my resume. I have now become anti-punctual, and am a follower of the newer and more modern principle: If you're ten minutes late, you're still on time.

And the horrible thing about being anti-punctual is that no matter what I do, I am always running late. I can wake up an hour early and still be rushing to my class, or work, or church. How does this happen?

Because I am constantly running late, it has become my excuse for everything. And it's not even a lie.

Why didn't I do my hair today?
I was running late.

Why am I eating a packet of microwave oatmeal for lunch?
I was running late.

Why didn't I shower today?
I was running late.

Why was I late to class today?
I was running late.

I wonder if this disease is incurable...

2012: The Year of Stardust and Hermione Granger

2012-01-06T12:50:00.000-08:00

Nine days into the year, and I am (remarkably) still alive. I believe that in their spare time, university professors practice scare tactics. For some it must be a favorite pastime. Each begins the first day of class piling loads of stress upon the shoulders of their students by poring over their carefully crafted syllabi and through blunt statements such as, "This class will kick your trash." While in my head I think, "I don't really need any extra help with getting my trash kicked. Somehow my trash will always find a way to be kicked. Sometimes I even kick my own just to make sure it doesn't get comfortable."

And then as tears begin to pool at the bottom of my palpebra inferior (lower eyelid), in my mind I reaffirm, "No! This is 2012. The year. The Year of Stardust and Hermione Granger, and I will not be defeated!"

Regarding The Year of Stardust, I admit that I am not actually sure what that entails as my roommate, Holly, and I came up with the idea (we recently ended Classy 2011)while in an extremely giddy mood. But whatever it is, it sounds great. (We have reason to believe that it has something to do with reaching for the stars and/or finding romantic interests this year).
The Year of Hermione Granger is a personal goal. This particular desire is the result of my having read the Harry Potter series all during my Christmas holiday. And for the benefit of those who are not familiar with the exemplary qualities of Miss Granger, I will relay those which I find to be exceptional.

1. Hermione Granger is a person of high moral character.

2. Hermione is a top-notch student. Exceedingly clever. She always has all the answers.

3. In the movies, Hermione is played by Emma Watson, who is incredibly classy for this day and age. She wears great clothes and is never promiscuous in style nor demeanor.

4. Hermione helps Harry and Ron (and Neville!) defeat a the darkest of all wizards.

5. Hermione is British.

6. Hermione eventually marries Ron Weasley, the best of all male redheads.

So this year is dedicated to my efforts to fill my life with Stardust and become more like Hermione Granger, who happens to be one of my very favorite female literary (yes, literary) figures. Don't be surprised if I start speaking with a British accent or popping my hand up in class and crying, "Mandrake root!" or at least having all the answers for once.

May your year be as successful as mine is going to be.

When all is said and done.

2011-12-16T12:18:00.000-08:00

There comes a time in every semester where one is utterly satisfied. It is the moment when every final and every project is finished, and grades do not matter because they have not been posted yet. This period is incredibly ideal.

At the moment, I can't think of a better feeling, than to be satisfied with your own efforts. Usually, I fight to keep myself from feeling this satisfaction because I know (in retrospect) I could have spent more hours in the library and less reading Anne Frank, I could have paid more attention in class and paid less towards the other shenanigans I was looking forward to. But I am satisfied now. And I will think those thoughts another day. If others aren't quite as satisfied with my performance, that doesn't matter at the moment. I am satisfied with me. I mean, I sprinted (clad in woolen coat and heavy boots) through BYU campus to turn in one of my final projects because I was not going to be late. That was pretty satisfying. And no one can't say that I didn't do my best.

And what makes it all better is the fact that I know that I will be home soon. Home. And that is more satisfying than anything else.

Merry Christmas.

If there was any control before...well, it's gone now.

2011-12-12T01:39:00.000-08:00

Last semester, due to an inordinate amount of stress placed upon me by this wonderful school that I love so much, I wrote a post about my inability to control my emotions. Namely the fact that I lost control of my tear ducts and they instantaneously erupted into an impressive geyser just because I was talking about my love for Little Women. I am afraid that not much has changed since last April.

The Lion King is a movie I haven't seen since I was a young cub myself, but today I experienced it anew. The movie never ever had much of an emotional affect on me as a child, but all of that changed when I discovered with these new "adult eyes" some deeper thematic issues, that the younger Kelly never picked up on. Mufasa died, and I bawled like a baby. I cried harder than Simba, and Simba is Mufasa's son. I feel like he has every right to cry more than I did, but for the sake of time in the film, he only was given a few measly minutes, while I on the other hand made up for the lost time with a half-hour's worth of irrepressible sobs.

But now unfortunately, other emotions are coming into play as the last week of the year is upon me, and as I finished up the cursed two-week period from Hades. My stress is now being displayed through these various means:

1. Alarming bouts of competitiveness

2. Inability to be touched by another human being without wincing and/or yelping

3. Severe irrationality

4. Colossal fits of sarcasm

5. Boisterous temper tantrums

6. Unsupervised planning of diabolical schemes (See No. 3)

7. Lack of desire to put on pajamas or to change clothes ever

8. Excessive use of the following phrases and/or words: "What the devil?" "Mother of pearl." "Hoity-toity." "Mamby-pamby." "Wishy-washy."

Disclaimer: I was very tired when I wrote this post, so I may not be entirely accountable for all that was said above. Add extreme exhaustion to the list. But don't fret, it will all be over on Friday, and then it's home to the Land of Sunshine and Happiness.

All systems are go and all bets are off.

2011-11-28T11:29:00.000-08:00

Last night I wanted to cry.

Not only was the Thanksgiving holiday over, but once today dawned it was the beginning of the two worst weeks out of the year. The two-week push until finals.

These two-weeks are horrible. And let me tell you why.

The time for procrastination has ended. If you procrastinate now, you will procrastinate your little rear end right out of Brigham Young University.

These two weeks are very much like the parable of The Ten Virgins. Some of us are quite on top of things, we have our extra oil at hand. The rest of us didn't have time to go to the market to buy extra oil because we didn't start looking for our lamps until it was time to go. And do you think that there is going to be any sharing of oil? Absolutely not.

I think the one thing that miffs me the most about these two weeks, is that it is ten times harder than actual Finals Week. Finals are a cake walk. A breeze. Child's play. Easy peasy, rice and cheesy. Comparatively.

For the next two weeks, I will be scrambling. Whipping out ten-page papers. Speed-reading articles on Shakespeare. Fingerspelling myself into a frenzy. So don't be surprised if you don't hear from me until December 16th, when all of this is over.

And this was my last act of procrastination until then. I need to go find my lamp.

Bon voyage!

The joys that I call "My Boyfriend"

2011-11-04T13:02:00.001-07:00

You may be shocked, and even a little dismayed.

I am in a relationship. And I didn't even change my status on Facebook. The nerve.

My new BF (all the kids are calling boyfriends "BF's" nowadays) is more than I bargained for, and if you know me at all, you know that I am indeed a bargain shopper.

The BF says all the right things.

He never interrupts my need to do homework.

He is never jealous.

He is a wonderful listener.

The BF is hilarious, and yet so deep, he often reduces me to tears with his philosophical, psycho-analysis.

He and I are perfect for each other.

Sometimes we do dastardly deeds, and break curfew to stay up until the wee hours of the morning with each other.

I don't mind waking up early if it means, I'm eating breakfast with The BF.

Spending time with him is the perfect excuse to get out of any and all social events and/or dates.

I don't need any other friends, because I have the perfect boyfriend.

And his name is Bill.

Mary Poppins was right.

2011-10-06T15:44:00.000-07:00

People who get their feet wet must learn to take their medicine.

I am heading home to get a spoonful of sugar before the snow freezes my tosies.

-KM

Sarcasm and How to Fail a Test

2011-09-24T14:36:00.000-07:00

This is my face. I have had this face for twenty-one years, and I am attached to it, and it is as attached to me as I am attached to it interestingly enough. On my face is my mouth, and sometimes it says some funny things. Sometimes what my mouth says gets lost in translation with the understanding of others.

I have discovered recently that some people cannot tell the difference between my sarcasm and my genuineness.

Examples of this:

1. A few months ago, a roommate {who shall remain nameless} was moving out and had packed away her pajamas and such things, but was still staying one last night at the apartment. I offered a pair of shorts and a t-shirt to serve as her pajamas. "I also forgot that I packed my underwear," she said. "Oh, just borrow a pair of mine," I replied in what I thought was a very obviously sarcastic tone. Apparently it was not sarcastic enough because the next morning, my favorite undies were pilfered. {Note: This is no way affects my good feelings towards said roommate, but who in their right mind borrows another person's underwear?! She just claims that I have a germ phobia, but I submit that underwear borrowing is crossing the line!}

2. Last week, I was in my religion class and let it be known that it is one of my favorite classes this semester. My love for it is only surpassed by my Shakespeare class. {Not sarcasm}. I was sitting by a girl I was not acquainted with, so to strike up a friendly conversation before class started, I asked, "Don't you just love this class?" She stammered a little, "Well...well...I sort of like it. You don't?" Come on. I LOVE this class! I just said that I did. How are you confused on this point? Apparently one should not be too ecstatic. It confuses people.

Now for some instruction on how to fail tests at BYU:

There are many ways in which you may fail tests here at the Y these are a few of the most common:

1. Be unprepared. Do not study. Just take that test whilst assuring yourself that going to class was enough for you to ace this test. No problem.

2. Don't go to class. Everything on the test should be in the book.

3. Don't take notes in class. Your brain can handle the remembering. It's too much of a hassle to carry a notebook and a pen {or a computer} anyways.

4. Procrastinate the day of your repentance. Simply do not prepare until you are about to walk into the testing center.

5. Completely misunderstand your teacher's instructions. {My personal favorite and most common mode of failure}.

Missed Punch Mayhem

2011-09-10T13:05:00.000-07:00

Being a secretary on the campus of BYU, it is my responsibility to fix the "missed punches" of our many employees. It's a simple process really, if someone forgets to punch in to their job or punch out, they email our office and we fix it. Enough said.

But sometimes, just sometimes, missing punches is much more complicated than all that. As is evidenced by this email:

On Thursday, September 1, 2011 I woke up to the sound of Jerry Lee Lewis pounding out "Great Balls of Fire" on the piano just like every morning for the past few months since I changed the alarm on my phone to this classic hit song. I knew today felt different, but I wasn't sure why, that is until I arrived on campus to an unusual commotion by the {My Building} building. Students were scrambling and crying out in fear, running wildly with their arms waving around like Apple fans after Steve Jobs stepped down. Amongst the screaming jibberish I could make the words, "RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!", "Dementors!", and "Dr. Macedone!". Being a good student, I decided to head to class anyway determined to outscore the other pre-med students who had slaved the night away in Janice Gorzynski's #1 bestkiller, Organic Chemistry, and sold their souls to the chemistry demi-god...the coveted A. Despite all the madness and face-sucking from the dementors, I managed to make it to class and a meeting with my lab co-workers afterwards {which was delightful by the

way, despite the horrifying scenes surrounding us}. As I left the meeting something chilled the back of my neck and before I could pull out my wand and "expecto patronum" that cracker back to Azkaban, I was in a full out face-sucking session and I'm not talking about the kind that might land you a spot in the bishop's office. Exhausted and delirious after being the subject of this twisted feeding frenzy, I desperately crawled to a punch station where I knew I had to clock out before I passed out or I might disappoint my comrades at the noble {Our Office}. The looters had already taken everything from the {His Building} building and left it a burning wreckage, and as I looked around at the carnage I noticed a small child huddled in the corner crying for help as the wolf vision hanging by only a wire threatened certain death from above. I had a quick decision to make, either clock out while the power was still on, or save the child and risk the power going out before I could retur

n to punch out. I knew that I would be receiving an email if I missed this punch, but I could not let my own misfortune get in the way of this innocent child's future. So, in a quick moment I leapt up on my feet, knees bloody from crawling over the rubble, and with renewed strength made my way over to the whimpering child and out of the building. Unfortunately, after that I passed out, and when I woke up everything was back to normal in the {My Building}, so I'm assuming we have a really great custodial team here which I would like you to send my thanks to, because without them...I mean seriously, this place would be a mess.

So I apologize that I missed this punch. And I know, I completely agree

I need to be better prepared for near apocalypse situations, however, I hope you'll be able to understand my situation and forgive my great misdeed.

Remorsefully,

{Insert Employee Name Here}

{An actual photo of a dementor attack}

To which I was duty bound to respond:

Mr. {Employee},

I am sorry to hear of the misfortune that occurred yesterday in the {His Building} building. Luckily, the {Our Building} Building is protected by several defensive spells which allow us to carry on with our work as scheduled despite the bombings, dementor attacks, and the like which frequent the {His Building}.

Because of your unselfish act of saving that child, your missed punch has been edited, so you will be payed accordingly as always.

I realize the difficulty of punching in and punching out when such circumstances occur, however, I remind you that an inordinate amount of missed punches is not a thing to be trifled with. So please remember to be prepared at all times for the following {which may at any time interrupt your need to clock in or out of your job in the {His Building}:

Fire, famine, flood, pestilence, any of the 10 plagues of Egypt, dementor attacks, nuclear bombings, everyday bombings, tornado, earthquake, hurricane, tsunami, pre-meditated war, un-meditated war, impromptu jousting tournaments, Jimmer Fredette sightings, economic depressions, alien encounters, or death.

Your business is our pleasure, and as always, keep your wand ready!

Sincerely,

{Name of my Office}

A Few Weeks in the Life of Kelly Marie

2011-09-09T15:30:00.000-07:00

My first two weeks of school are completed. Two more semesters and fourteen weeks remain.

The word on the professors thus far:

1. Richard "Rick" Duerden-Shakespeare
Best class I have ever had. Best teacher. Best subject. Best sense of humor. Best. Best. Best. Best. Best.

2. Zachary "Hutch" Hutchins-American Literature 1800-1865: The American Autobiography
Apparently they found every Benjamin Franklin Autobiography lover on campus and put them in this class. I for one, missed the memo, and am the only person in the class who finds it beyond tedious. Also, my teacher informed us that there is no possible way the receive an "A" in his class. And no, I am not very happy about this at all. But oh, how I will prove him wrong. Or at least somewhat less right.

3. Matthew O. Richardson-LDS Marriage and Family
If you ever need an instant testimony boost, Dr. Richardson is your man.

4. Judy R. Saunders-American Sign Language 201
Is it just BYU, or do all Deaf persons have a great sense of humor?

5. Eric "Rick" Walton-Writing for Children and Adolescents
Being taught how to write picture books for children by a man who writes picture books for a living couldn't have been better planned.

School will be school. I am doing my best to do better than simply survive. But at the Y, it seems that for most of us, survive is all we can do.

Segue.

If you thought that I would ever grow out of my awkwardness, you greatly overestimated the rate of my maturation.

The man who made me fifty dollars richer wandered across my path a couple weeks ago. In fact he wanders across my path so often, that I have invested in a "frequent crossing" sign for him. On this particular night, he was walking with Ettie, while Holly and I scampered on ahead to my car. I unlocked the doors, Holly and I got in, and Mr. PhD chaperoned Ettie ceremoniously to the car. She got in, but Mr. PhD remained at the door continuing their conversation. I tapped my fingers on the steering wheel impatiently, and then Mr. PhD leaned in towards the car {although not very far because all I could see was his arm}, "You know Kelly, I haven't forgotten." Referring to the alleged encounter from a few months ago. I stammered to his forearm, "Oh...uh...yeah....that would be kind of hard to forget." Meaning that I had been such an idiot that no one could easily forget that beyond awkward day. Then my elbow, which was resting on my steering wheel slipped and honked my horn. With the final word being my car's, Mr. PhD laughed, closed the door and we sped away into the night.

One day when he's an apostle, I will have great stories to tell.
To all a good Friday!

A Week in Humble Homelessness or Minding the Gap

2011-08-19T13:30:00.000-07:00

There is a period of time in Provo, Utah where a large portion of Brigham Young University's students become homeless wandering vagabonds.

It is a brief period of about one and a half to two weeks where students find themselves living between apartment contracts, although to those who experience homelessness during this week, it is an arduous marathon of sleeplessness and deficient hygiene. This foreboding time has been given the title "The Gap".

Most students reluctantly agree to pay an egregious fee to be able to have a home in either their old apartments or new apartments. The remaining number have willing grandparents or friends from whose homes they move aimlessly from day to day. But there is a sparse number of students who without friend or family are turned away into the cold of night with no where to go. Until their new apartment contracts are available, they live in the parks, under the bridges of Provo River, or in abandoned train cars. They store their priceless possessions on various places on campus or in their cars.

Let me share with you the experiences of a Miss M.A. Boman. Miss Boman is a dear friend of mine who is one of the unfortunate ones to have found herself utterly homeless during The Gap. She now lives from her car. All her earthly possessions are crammed into every inch of space available.

By day Miss Boman is an office specialist. By night she is a hobo.

After her regular shift from eight to five, Miss Boman leaves the office, packs herself into her now mobile home and purchases food from Pita Pit. After absorbing her dinner of turkey and wheat goodness, her mobile storage unit is transformed into her bedroom.

Miss Boman arises early every morning to do baptisms for the dead in the Provo Temple. A model of righteousness. But the Temple has become a matter of necessity for Miss Boman during this week of hard knocks. While Miss Boman is conscious of the spiritual reason she is in the temple, in true hobo fashion her trips to the Temple have become the times in which she is able to shower.

Miss Boman has survived this entire week living out of her car, sleeping in empty church parking lots, and showering at the Temple. Bless her beautiful hide.

I only wonder what other students are resorting to during The Gap.

With What Remains

2011-08-09T08:10:00.000-07:00

Oh sweet summer. You are blessed.

I have awkward tans in the most obvious places. Ice cream and fruit are summer staples. I am nearly always in some form of perspiration. Sometimes I have to drive my car with one finger on my steering wheel and another finger on my stick shift. I haven't worn socks since early May. Rain in the summer is better than anything else. People don't look down on you if you come home from work/school and put on workout clothes just because its more comfortable. There is a strange itchiness to to everything and nothing all at once.

But summer is coming to a close now. I can feel it in my bones. And I am avoiding doing anything responsible if I can help it.

Sometimes I don't wash my face before bed. For a solid month, I haven't been able to coax my body out of bed before 7:00am. I have been cooking my oatmeal in the office because I am always running late. I never want to sleep, as if staying up until all indecent hours of the morning will make the summer last longer. I want to hike any mountainous surface and yet I just want to stay home and fall asleep on the couch every afternoon. I want to be social but I also want everyone to leave me alone so that I may have some solitude.

I struggle with my summer shoulder angels, one quietly suggests responsibility and the other battles for lackadaisicalness. The shoulder angel I know I should listen to wants me to go to bed early, to rise early to run and to study my scriptures, but the other angel is so loud in his mediocre slothfulness. He revels in the fact that I have done NOTHING this summer. The 10K that was never run, the things that were never written, the clothes that never got sewed, the hikes that didn't happen, the books that didn't get read, and the dates that were never even an option. He has very nearly convinced me that I don't need to trouble myself with doing anything worthwhile until school starts on August 29th. Two more weeks of nothingness cannot be horrible when I am staring into the face of the everythingness that is about to commence.

And I haven't yet made up my mind as to which shoulder angel will determine this impasse with the minuscule remaining dregs of my summer.

Obsession and Addiction

2011-08-02T15:41:00.000-07:00

I, my friends, have a strange addiction. A very strange addiction indeed. I'm addicted to buying books. I may or may not have the right to blame this addiction on genetics.

I went to the BYU Bookstore this afternoon during my lunch break, searching for a little something for a friend's bridal shower. I spent the whole hour wandering around the store wondering what in the world I would get for her. After giving up on the knick-knack section several times over, I headed to the book section to see if maybe, just maybe there was something I could think of to give to her.

I found a cute book that suited my purpose just fine. And then I spotted it. The very section of the store I do not let myself wander into unattended. The area filled with shelves of the most precious little versions of all classic books any self-respecting English major {or any other major for that matter} should own. Jane Eyre. Peter Pan. The Scarlet Letter. The Picture of Dorian Gray. David Copperfield. Shakespeare's Sonnets.

The works.

I picked up a copy of Shakespeare's Sonnets, thinking to myself how perfectly precious it was. How I needed to own it. How wonderfully it would look tucked into my now overflowing bookshelf. Then I grabbed Peter Pan. "Oh, how I love this story!" I exclaimed to myself. {Inside my head naturally}. Then Jane Eyre caught my eye and found its way into my hands.

"I can't buy all these," I thought. "My money must be saved! I need to buy groceries and new shoes. The books can wait." I put Jane Eyre down. "Well maybe I can just buy one. They're not expensive. But just one of them." I held Peter Pan in one hand and Shakespeare's Sonnets in the other. My hands began to shake and my breath came in short bursts as I struggled to choose which precious treasure to leave behind; debating which book's feelings would be hurt worse if I left it there. I decided to spare both books' feelings and bought them both.

And that ladies and gentlemen is how my addiction works.

A Quick Succession of Busy Nothings

2011-08-01T09:21:00.000-07:00

It's August, and yet I feel as though I've done nothing with my summer. I feel that I've accomplished nothing. Nothing consequential or important anyways.

I've gone to temple trips, stake activities, ward activities, 80's dance parties, wedding receptions, garden parties, swimming parties, zumba classes, work, work, work, concerts, home evenings, firesides, reunions, farewells, homecomings, bridal showers, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera.

And still I feel unaccomplished, as though everything I do really isn't that important. Perhaps it's just a slump. Perhaps I'm just wishing summer would last longer. But perhaps it's a sign that it's time for school to start again.

Is This Real Life?

2011-07-21T09:13:00.000-07:00

I did the dishes just as if it were any other night. I came out to the kitchen to refill my water bottle before I went to bed. Amidst the dark, I noticed wide white circles on the floor as if it was light shining from some unknown source. To my surprise I discovered that it was merely bubbles emanating from our reliant dishwasher. With this new development, I can now do the dishes and the mop the floor at the same time. Ingenious!

It All Ends

2011-07-18T08:09:00.000-07:00

This post, though incredibly dramatic, contains some of the deepest feelings my soul can muster. If you don't think you can handle that, then by all means do not read on.

This past Friday, I went to the theatre for the last Harry Potter movie. It was tragic.

I bawled.

Loud.

At one point in the movie, I was sobbing uncontrollably. I felt sorry for everyone around me, because their frequent sniffles were no match for my wail. I cried through the last hour of the movie.

When I got home, my eyes were so puffy I could hardly see, but I felt as though I had my emotions in check. I went into my room to find Stephie, and we looked at each other and started crying all over again as we related to one another our feelings about what we had just witnessed. "You feel it don't you?" she asked. "The feeling that's it really is over?"

Holly came in and asked how I liked the movie. A normal enough question. "I loved it!" I blubbered. Then I hid my face in my hands, and rocked back and forth on my chair sobbing. "Are you crying because it was good or because it was sad?" she asked.

"Both!"

Holly left the room looking worried.

I've been on the verge of tears for the past three days.

It's not as though I'm obsessed with Harry Potter {okay maybe a little}. I always waited until everyone else was done reading the books before I read them. I have only gone to one midnight showing. But I can honestly say that I love Harry Potter.

I read the first book when I was ten years old. After I read it myself, my dad read it to me. Until the books on tape came out, no one had any idea how to pronounce Hermione's name.This may be silly to you, but it's as though I grew up with Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Every year was a new adventure. Something new to think about when I didn't want to think of my young pre-teen/teenager troubles. Then the movies came out and provided a visual aid to our childhood imaginations. Everything about Harry Potter was absolutely magical. The wonderful world of Harry Potter became my wonderful world.

And now it's all over.

My childhood has officially ended. It ended when the credits rolled on the last film. This is something I feel deeply inside that I can't quite explain. It's heart-wrenching. The Harry Potter Era has lasted over half of my lifetime. Eleven years. And now it's time to move on. Harry Potter will still be loved. I will still read the books from time to time and watch the movies, but that feeling that existed during these eleven years is quite over. If you haven't read the books or watched the movies {or enjoyed them *gasp*} you more than likely do not understand at all and are wondering why I'm blabbering about something that doesn't really matter. But I suppose the point is that it mattered to me. It mattered to me a lot. It's as though those characters were real and dear friends. {That's what happens when you read books you know. You form attachments.} I was part of the Harry Potter generation. It's something bigger than itself. It's something grander than I'm sure J.K. Rowling ever imagined. But it was beautiful.

It was beautiful.

Mud and Manti

2011-06-29T15:12:00.001-07:00

Last Saturday was magical.

Bishop's barn. Giant slip n' slide. Paddle boats. Beached whales. Sun burns on my feet only. Giant bowls of miniature candy bars. New crushes. Sun sun sun {insert Beach Boys song here}. Awkward bathing suit moments with the ward. Gross pond algae. Sun bathing on a warm rock. Water balloon volleyball.

Freesia. Road trips. Animal counting. Haunted mansions. Tree swings. Manti Temple. Anti-Mormons. Corny lines. Freezing wind. Bright stars. Darn flirts. 90's music. Lost peaches. Political discussions. Chitty-chats. Snacky-snacks. Good night's sleep.

It was pretty good fun you bet.

Press the Button Max

2011-06-24T12:14:00.000-07:00

Peter Falk passed away today. Now, if you're saying to yourself, "Honestly, I have no idea who Peter Falk is," he's more familiar to you than you think. He's just as much a part of your life as he is of mine. Well maybe he was more a part of my life than he was of yours. But you know him. You owe him your lifelong love affair with "The Princess Bride."

Without Peter Falk, life would be very different. I owe him some of my best childhood memories. All those Friday nights spent under blankets with my brothers and sisters watching either "The Princess Bride" or "The Great Race." Those were some quality times.

Peter Falk you will be missed.

Let My Love Open the Door

2011-06-23T08:22:00.000-07:00

Last night Steph, Rani, and I took a quick jaunt over to Salt Lake City.

The occasion?

Sondre Lerche.

My reaction?

I love this guy.

So cute. So nice. So funny. So talented.

Something great?

Small club. Standing up for three hours. Could have thrown something at him if I wanted to. Could have rushed the stage via the steps five feet from me. I am a perfect model of control.

Something unexpected?

Sondre is a rocker. I had no idea.

My favorite part of the night?

"Modern Nature" as the last song. It couldn't have ended any better.

That almost tops when Sondre Lerche looked right at me with his baby blues. Right at me!

Maybe I was blinding him with the flash on my camera?

The result?

I've been listening to Sondre songs all morning. I've also been on the verge of tears because of it. Good tears though. Tears of gratitude for great music and disbelief that I saw Sondre Lerche live.

Also great?

Kishi Bashi!

One man band.

Oh so incredible.

Could Sondre have a better opening act?

I don't think so.

{All images pilfered from the internet. The images I captured from the night are not so great.}

To the Dad I Love the Mostest

2011-06-20T13:09:00.000-07:00

Happy Father's Day to my Dad

The Best Horse We Ever Had

"Little Hoarse"

My voice was raspy, rough, and cracked.

I said, "I am a little hoarse."

They stuck a saddle on my back

And jumped on me--and now, of course,

They trot me and they gallop me,

They prance me up and down the town

Yellin', "Giddy up, little hoarse."

{Some things don't mean the way they sound.}

-Shel Silverstein

If You Give a Mouse a Cookie

2011-06-20T08:53:00.000-07:00

If you and your roommates happen to be dateless on a summer Friday night, you might want to go swimming.

And if one of your roommates has parents who have a heated pool in their backyard, you will more than likely go to their house instead of swimming in your apartment's pool of ice water.

And because you're girls and there won't be any boys around, you might order a couple boxes of pizza.

And because you might be too impatient to wait a full thirty minutes before getting in the pool you may get cramps ranging from your stomach to your feet.

And then you may spend an hour or two just floating in the pool with a foam noodle.

And then being in a pool with your good friends will remind you that when you were little, you always pretended that you were a mermaid, so you may spend the next hour describing what you would look like if you were a mermaid.

And if you're a mermaid, you will need a merman, so the next half hour will be spent describing him in all his half human half fish glory.

And then all this swimming will make you tired and so you'll pack into your car in your wet suit and bare feet {because your mermaid fins turn into feet when you get out of the water naturally}, and you'll go home and watch a romantic comedy from the 90's.

And chances are if you're dateless on a Friday night, you'll turn into a mermaid.

If I Only Had a Thumb of Green

2011-06-17T13:34:00.000-07:00

A couple weekends ago, we celebrated Steph's birthday late and my birthday early. We danced the night away. My lifelong pal, Katelyn, brought me a precious potted rose plant. She wanted me to have flowers that would last much longer than ones chopped from the stems and kept alive for a few days in a vase of water.

I think she overestimated my talent with plant-life.

In a desperate attempt to keep these beauties alive, I may have watered them too much...or not enough. I may have given them too much sunlight...or not enough. Whatever the cause of death may have been, I can only conclude that I am at fault. {Unless one of my roommates poisoned the roses out of spite}. I owned a plant for less than two weeks. There was no hope of resuscitation.

The funeral services were lovely.

I only hope I don't end up in the clink for the murder of an innocent, young plant.

The Nights When There are No Friends to Be Found

2011-06-13T12:50:00.000-07:00

One might think that with the marvelous Provo summer weather, hordes {literal hordes} of young, attractive college students would be simply itching to escape their apartments and ditch their cleaning check responsibilities to play multiple rounds of "Ghost in the Graveyard" or "Body Body."

Well, I'm sorry to disappoint you, but altogether too many young people would much rather scrub their tubs or be on dates than to just waste their Friday night to "hang out." Never underestimate the desires of the Young Single Adults to be both responsible and faithful.

So if you find yourself "dateless" on a Friday night in Provo, Utah, you have two options:

1. Clean your apartment

2. Wallow in self-pity

As for me, I choose to do both. I'm a multi-tasker.

The Refiner's Fire

2011-06-08T13:36:00.000-07:00

Around this time nine years ago, my home state of Arizona was ablaze with the Rodeo-Chediski Fire. The summer sky was consistently overcast, but not with clouds of rain. There was no rain. Just smoke.

I remember my dad telling those of us who still lived at home that there was a chance--however slight--that we would have to leave our home to escape the path of the fire. He asked each of us in turn what precious belongings we would take with us if we had to evacuate. I mentally went over every item I owned. I wanted to take everything. My books, my violin, my

dance shoes and leotards, my old journals, my knick-knacks, writing projects, photo albums, absolutely everything. I told my dad that and he let me know that we wouldn't have room for all of those things, and that we could only take the most important things we owned. To my twelve-year-old self, all those things seemed important, they were all a part of my daily life and my past and wanted them with me in the future. But I decided that the only thing I truly needed in my life and that I would take with me if we had to leave were my scriptures.

Now the Wallow Fire {as it has been dubbed} is currently burning again in my corner of the state. The loveliest part of Arizona will soon be nothing but stubble. I'm not there to witness the smoke, the evacuees, or any of it. But it's very real. Once again I have had to think about losing my home to fire. The fire is still quite far away from my hometown, but too close for comfort I should say. I would love to just pick up my whole house and move it to keep it safe, or better yet, stop the fire. But if I do lose my home, it's just a thing. As long as my family and friends are safe, that's all that really matters. And I have my scriptures with me, and that's all I would take. Of course, I would hate to lose everything, our family pictures, our mountains or books, all the family history my mom has collected, and all the things we have treasure as a family, but they really are just things.

As I have been praying over the past week {and praying hard}, I have had to wonder if this fire is what God has willed for us. We have prayed and fasted as individuals, families, and communities that the fire will be able to be controlled and eventually stopped, that rain will come, and the wind will cease to fan the flames. But what if that isn't what God's will is for us? I do not think that we should stop praying that the fire will end, but maybe we should include that we will learn from this fire what it is the Lord has planned for us. Maybe it's to finally bring us together as a community as we unite in service to each other. Maybe it's to learn to not put so much store on the temporal items in our lives, no matter how beloved they may be.

"Every man's work shall be made manifest: for the day shall declare it, because it shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is" {1 Corinthians 3:13}.

"That the trial of your faith, being much more precious than of gold that perisheth, though it be tried with fire, might be found unto praise and honour and glory at the appearing of Jesus Christ" {1 Peter 1:7}.

"When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee; when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee" {Isaiah 43:2}.

21 Years, 101 Posts

2011-06-06T12:50:00.000-07:00

I am officially 21 years of age this very day.

Ettie and Holly woke me up at 5:00 am so I could open my marvelous birthday package from Mama and Daddy. New books, movies, socks and salt-water taffies for me!

I went back to bed for four more hours.

All the roomies went to work and school. Aren't they dedicated?

I did a batch o' laundry and made myself birthday pancakes and listened to President Uchtdorf.

Then it was off to work where gerber daisies, berry vanilla lotion, and funfetti cupcakes were waiting for me. Best co-workers a girl could ask for.

Texas Roadhouse!

Party. Party. Party. Party. Bed.

I have also reached my 101st blog post mark.

So here's to 101 more.

Blog posts that is.

Fifty Dollars Richer Though a Little Worse for Wear

2011-06-01T12:12:00.000-07:00

"What would you do for fifty dollars that you wouldn't do for...not fifty dollars?"

In other words, what is something you would do for fifty dollars that you wouldn't otherwise do?

Well, I would tell a guy that I think he's charming and that he's the most interesting guy...man that I have ever met. And then I would tell him, "I think that we should go out again sometime."

And that is what I did yesterday.

Although it wasn't quite as suave as I make it out to be. In fact, there wasn't even a fraction of "suavivity" in that moment at all.

But the good news is, I am fifty dollars richer.

And that guy...man now knows that he is charming, which he deserves to know.

...I'm going to buy some new shoes...

To Be Like Clive

2011-05-30T23:44:00.000-07:00

I am currently in the midst of reading one of the greatest books ever written by one of the greatest authors that ever walked the face of this earth.

The Screwtape Letters by Clive Staples Lewis is a series of letters from an under-secretary devil named Screwtape to his fellow devil nephew Wormwood. If you don't mind, I would love to share a rather lengthy passage that has impressed me so very much.

{Being a devil and a servant of Satan, Screwtape refers to God as the "Enemy" and to Satan as "Our Father Below," so don't get confused, nor offended}.

"Now it may surprise you to learn that in [the Enemy's] efforts to get permanent possession of a soul, He relies on the troughs even more than on the peaks; some of His special favourites have gone through longer and deeper troughs than anyone else. The reason is this. To us a human is primarily food; our aim is the absorption of its will into ours, the increase of our own area of selfhood at its expense. But the obedience which the Enemy demands of men is quite a different thing. One must face the fact that all the talk about His love for men, and His service being perfect freedom, is not {as one would gladly believe} mere propaganda, but an appalling truth. He really does want to fill the universe with a lot of loathsome little replicas of Himself--creatures whose life, on its miniature scale, will be qualitatively like His own, not because He has absorbed them but because their wills freely conform to His. We want cattle who can finally become food; He wants servants who can finally become sons. We want to suck in, He wants to give out. We are empty and would be filled; He is full and flows over. Our war aim is a world in which Our Father Below has drawn all other beings into himself: the Enemy wants a world full of beings united to Him but still distinct.

"And that is where the troughs come in. You must have often wondered why the Enemy does not make more use of His power to be sensibly present to human souls in any degree He chooses and at any moment. But you now see that the Irresistible and the Indisputable are the two weapons which the very nature of His scheme forbids Him to use. Merely to override a human will {as His felt presence in any but the faintest and most mitigated degree would certainly do} would be for Him useless. He cannot ravish. He can only woo. For His ignoble idea is to to eat the cake and have it; the creatures are to be one with Him, but yet themselves; merely to cancel them, or assimilate them, will not serve. He is prepared to do a little overriding at the beginning. He will set them off with communications of His presence which, though faint, seem great to them, with emotional sweetness, and easy conquest over temptation. But He never allows this state of affairs to last long. Sooner or later He withdraws, if not in fact, at least from their conscious experience, all those supports and incentives. He leaves the creature to stand up on its own legs--to carry out from the will alone duties which have lost all relish. It is during such trough periods, much more than during the peak periods, that it is growing into the sort of creature He wants it to be. Hence the prayers offered in the state of dryness are those which please Him best. We can drag our patients along by continual tempting, because we design them only for the table, and the more their will is interfered with the better. He cannot 'tempt' to virtue as we do to vice. He wants them to learn to walk and must therefore take away His hand; and if only the will to walk is really there He is pleased even with their stumbles. Do not be deceived, Wormwood. Our cause is never more in danger than when a human, no longer desiring, but still intending, to do our Enemy's will, looks round upon a universe from which every trace of Him seems to have vanished, and asks why he has been forsaken, and still obeys.

"But of course the troughs afford opportunities to our side also. Next week I will give you some hints on how to exploit them,

Your affectionate uncle

SCREWTAPE"

This week's spiritual enlightenment brought to you from The Screwtape Letters {Letter 8, pages 38-41} by C.S. Lewis.

At Midnight Cinderella Turns Back into a Pumpkin

2011-05-24T15:19:00.000-07:00

In the wee hours of the morning, one might think that all of Provo's citizens are snug in their little beds dreaming of celestial marriages. But last night, I arrived home well after midnight and realized that my apartment complex is full of faithful young single adults who are not only hearers of the word, but doers also.

I locked my car and planted my keys firmly between my fingers. {Just in case any crazed, desperate RM's popped out of the bushes to propose marriage}. As I walked towards El Apartado, I heard a car door slam behind me, and I turned to see a good friend. I raised my hand in greeting, "Heh--". I was cut short by the sight of a beautiful young woman by his side. I quickly scurried away.

Before I could safely make my way inside, I unintentionally interrupted several other couples exchanging goodnight adieus.

I'm so pleased someone is anxiously engaged.

Water Water Everywhere But Not a Drop to Drink

2011-05-18T12:34:00.000-07:00

It's been steadily raining for a whole week here in the Valley of Contentment.
And look who I ran into after work the other day.

Yes, our outfits do match exactly.

Tip Toe Through the Tulips

2011-05-14T21:30:00.000-07:00

It's summer in Provo, but everyone here calls it spring. I suppose summer here actually isn't until June 21st. So it's spring in Provo, and I'm not going to school. Now that is the best feeling ever.
I have a great new job with great new people.

The sun is out most of the time, and if I had the skin for it, I might get a little tan. But I'll probably stay mostly pale. Which I think I'm okay with.

I can go to the pool any day and at any time, and I like that it's not unbearably hot.

All I ever want to do is do childish things such as playing hide and go seek and shooting passersby with squirt guns.

Summer time is shenanigan time.

And I plan on this being one of the most spectacular summers I have ever had.

I am going to run and hike and camp and swim and dance around like I'm a child. So here's to summer. Wishing you the best.

Home is Where You Hang Your Pants

2011-04-29T19:43:00.000-07:00

{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

2011-04-14T17:47:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-13T13:05:00.000-07:00

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

2011-04-01T12:44:00.000-07:00

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.

Dream a Little Dream of Me

2011-03-15T12:35:00.001-07:00

I had a nightmare about my paper that is due this week:

I arrived at my professor's office to give him my presentation, and my professor was no longer who it is now, but rather my high school government teacher, Mr. Nettles. Mr. Nettles smiled his wicked smile, rubbed his bald head and asked me to begin. I looked down at my paper and suddenly realized that all I had were a few bullet points. One of which included a statement that the Enlightenment was actually started in China during the rule of Mao Zedong. Throughout my stammering and completely made up presentation, Mr. Nettles would interrupt me and ask me impertinent questions. Then he pointed to my foot and asked me what happened. I looked down and realized that I wasn't wearing any shoes and my ankle was wrapped with an extremely dirty ace bandage.

I lectured Mr. Nettles for interrupting my presentation, and limped home with my filthy ace bandage as it began to rain. When I arrived home, my cousins Jason and Michael were on the front porch in white plastic lawn chairs. They looked over sodden state and dirty bare feet and Jason told me how horrible I looked. I glared at him and went inside.

And that was that.

The Straw that Broke the Camel's Back

2011-03-14T12:24:00.000-07:00

"There are some days sweet like honey, and some days tart like marmite."

Life has been tasting pretty sweet lately. I talked about it with my mom last week. About how I feel so happy and I don't know why. So many things have gone wrong, but I just feel. . .good.

This past week was spectacular. And I really mean that.

My soccer team and I played the worst game of our season on Friday. We lost 8 to 0.

My roommates and I threw a party for Roommate #5's birthday. When I say we threw it, we mean she said what she wanted, she organized it, and got it all moving. So it was really like she threw us a party for her birthday. She is great like that. That is why Roommates #1-3 and I love Roommate #5. We stayed up way past our bed time and drank way too many drinks spiked with 7UP.

That night, a late-hour-fizzy-drink-induced-sleep led to some interesting dreams. Including me getting brainwashed with a cantaloupe smoothie (something Elder U. says he drinks regularly on his mission) by a polygamist group up in the mountains. I noticed that a guy from my ward (who I never want to see in my waking hours, let alone in my dreams) happened to be a part of their group and he was asked to offer a prayer. For some reason he was confused as to what was happening in the world, so as he meant to pray for Japan, he said, "Please bless Jimmy." Then someone in the crowd yelled, "Japan!" He attempted to correct himself, "And please bless Jimmy's dad." Once again,"Japan!" And that was that. I don't know if I escaped from the polygamists or not.

I had an essay to write Saturday, but things just happened so I didn't get it done until this morning. An hour before it was due. Roommates #1 and #3 and I accidentally stayed up talking about boys and The Beatles until day light savings was in affect. I still don't get why day light savings exists.

On Sunday, I went with Lou to the Deaf Singles Ward. I realized how much sign language I actually don't know. That ward is in Spanish, English, and ASL. It was the loudest ward I have ever been to, simply because it is in a constant state of translation from one language into the other two. And I'll tell you what else, there are no secrets among the Deaf. If you sign it, everyone else knows about it.

I got back to my ward just in time for Relief Society. Then I told Roommates #1 and #3 that I would race them home from the church. And then we were off. It led to an an indecent race in our skirts and high heels to our door. I tell you what, I was running like a demon. Unfortunately, my demon-like run wasn't fast enough.

My visiting teachers came over for some pancakes and visiting teaching, but mostly for the pancakes. They are the best. If you ever need anything, they will be sure to get it for you. No questions asked. Which is probably why I will have a husband soon.

At ward prayer, I spent a good ten or fifteen minutes rocking on my heels with Coach Dennet. And then it was off to bed. Three hours later.

Just Call Me Klutzy K

2011-03-09T15:52:00.000-08:00

(Dear Sister, Please allow me to use your alias for this post.)

Last night I celebrated Anna's birthday. After a rousing night of Funfetti cake and BYU Creamery ice cream, I decided that it was high time for me to head back home to "El Apartado" to attack some homework. I balanced my leftover Cafe Rio in one hand and my wallet in the other as I hopped down the porch stairs. Certain that I had reached the bottom, I looked up at the passing cars on the street and confidently stepped down from what I thought was the last step. As I fell, I thought to myself, "Oh, I guess I missed a step." I crumpled to the ground in a sad heap and hoped that the girls inside didn't hear my mishap. I was immediately aware of two things: the first was that my Cafe Rio was still in perfect condition and the second was that my ankle was no longer in a perfect condition, namely, it was twice the size of its counterpart. As discreetly as possible, I gathered up my things, unlocked my car from my position on the ground and maneuvered myself into my automobile. Luckily, it didn't take much pressure from my foot to drive home, but it was however an adventure hobbling from my car parked out in the North-40 to my apartment.

I have been trying not to play it up because as a little girl, I was the sort who would put band-aids on mere scratches, wrap myself up in Ace bandages even if there was nothing wrong with me, or wear roller-blade wrist pads pretending as though I had a broken wrist. But it turns out that trying not to limp while limping just looks weirder than actually limping.

All is on the mend now but curse my weak ankles!

A Late Night Kind of Post

2011-03-02T18:47:00.000-08:00

Late last night (around midnight-ish), as I was doing the dishes still clad in my sweaty soccer clothes with my shin guards un-velcroed and flopping around my calves, I began thinking about what it was that I wanted out of my life.

I thought about the things that I wanted as a child, such as wanting to be an open-heart surgeon/astronaut/ballerina, having dark brown hair down to my bum, and having a husband with a British accent.

Then I thought about what I want now. The frivolous things such as having a pet dog named Asterix, the opportunity to travel the world, incredible style, becoming a brilliantly famous writer, getting more sleep, and having a husband with a British accent.

I plunged my hands into the no-longer soapy, gray water and thought about how my roommate would cringe if she were still awake. "Those things would be nice," I said to myself, "But I don't think that's what you really want." So I came up with some new things.

Most of all and most importantly, I want my life to be centered on the gospel of Jesus Christ. I want my nieces and nephews to always think I'm the coolest aunt even if I tell them I think video games are mind-numbing and that I would rather talk about something else. Someday I want to have a home filled with laughter, love, music, dancing, and big words. I want a mind always ready with good advice and hands always busy with work whether it be writing, doing to dishes, pulling weeds, or sewing on patches. I want to read every book on my list of "things to read" even if it takes me the rest of my life. I want people to see me and say the the person next to them, "If you don't know her, you should. She is a great person to know, and she'll make you laugh if you talk to her long enough." And you know, I think wanting a husband with a British accent will always be a constant.

Pretty in Peach

2011-02-28T16:15:00.000-08:00

When I found out that the ward was having a spring formal, I immediately thought that the solution was to buy the most hideous dress I could find. After all, I've done the whole Prom/Homecoming thing, and I didn't care to do it all over again. High school was great, but once was enough.

One Saturday, the roomies and I headed to Deseret Industries and I found it: a "gargeous arange farmal from the carner of narth-west Arem." It was pleated, it had billowy sleeves, shoulder pads, and it was peach. My least favorite color. It was perfect.

I showed my dress to my date prior to dance, just so he could be prepared. He took it surprisingly well. Kudos to him for being a great sort of person like that. He even decided that he would play along and found a tweed suit jacket with suede elbow pads. Needless to say, we were to most stunning couple at the dance.

That is until I realized three-quarters of the way through the night that you could still see through the skirt of my dress despite the fact that I was wearing white tights and two different slips.

I'm still pretending that I had no idea.

Oh What Do You Do in the Summertime?

2011-02-14T12:50:00.001-08:00

It feels like spring today, and I had three too many layers on when I went running this morning.

I have been trying to decide what to do for the summer, and I can't for the life of me come up with a good solution. To have a job or to not have a job, that is the question. No, it's not even a question, rather a matter of luck. February is almost over, and I still don't have a job. I feel a little (a lot) like a failure, but we must press on!

As I was telling my sister (and my mother, and my other sister, and my roommates, and my friends) the other day, I have a limited but various array of solutions for my summer.

1. One of my lifetime goals is to be an EFY Counselor, and I have been trying to apply for the past month, but for some reason, the BYU website doesn't want me to be a counselor. If I ever figure out how to apply, I will do so. I would be an counselor for the entire month of June. So that takes care of June at least. I get out of school in April...next semester begins in September...I guess two weeks of July would be spent at family reunions and the 24th of July, but that still leaves me with May and August.

2. I could move home and help my mom in the garden and scrape the popcorn from the ceilings and...As much as I would like to be home to do these great things, I don't think my parents really want me living at home for four months with not much else to do but scrape ceilings and pull weeds.

3. Find a good job and stay in Provo for the summer. Ah, Provo in the summer. It sounds heavenly.

4. THE ULTIMATE SOLUTION: I will find a job next week, which pays more than $7.00 and hour, and they will just love me because I'm fun and a hard worker.They will say, "Kelly, you are such a good worker, how about you work for us from now until the end of May, then take off June and July to do EFY and reunions and all those things you love to do in the summer, and then come back in August and stay with us until you finish college."

If it was only that simple.

Valentine

2011-02-10T23:20:00.000-08:00

I did get asked to be someone's valentine this year.

Unfortunately, he's on a mission.

Elder U. asked me to be his valentine in his most recent letter, but he said he would only validate the offer if the letter he sent was received before or on Valentine's Day.

I wrote back:

"I don't know if I can answer your valentine's question.

1. You won't get my answer back until after Valentine's Day, so even if I did say yes, it would be pointless.

2. I don't think missionaries can have valentine's.

3. Do Guatemalans celebrate Valentine's Day?

4. I hate Valentine's Day.

Ask again next year, Elder."

Was that wrong or was that right?

No matter.

Happy Valentine's Day!

Freshman Folly/ Dear John

2011-02-04T13:35:00.000-08:00

Earlier this week, as I walked into ASL 102, I noticed that the girl I frequently sit next to, who is normally quite sedate, was unusually chipper. I acted natural, and casually asked her how she was.

Small talk you know.

She responded enthusiastically, "Great! I just got a boyfriend three days ago!"

I'm the sort of girl who gets excited when others are excited, so I bounced around in my seat and asked for all the juicy details.

"Well," she said, "his name is [insert preferred name here] and I just like him so much. But he's getting his mission call in two weeks and then I will have to send him off for two years! But I like him so much and I'm so happy!"

Class began and I reminisced about that freshman-in-college naivety, that gleeful feeling of being liked by a cute, dorky, pre-mission boy. But then inside I laughed.

Oh how young we all once were. Oh how unknowing and unsuspecting. We looked at the world through rose-colored glasses and expected the best of every one and every situation. There was no reason for things to end poorly because the whole world was our oyster.

I hate that metaphor. Who eve likes oysters?!

I'm not judging this little freshman. In fact, I almost think it's cute. Almost. I just think that if I had the knowledge I have now when I was her age, a lot of things would have been different.

As I wrote that sentence, my Inner-Skeptic said, "Oh, please. You're only twenty. You think that makes you wise?"

Inner-Optimist: "I'm almost twenty-one!"

Skeptic: "Do you remember this post?"

Optimist: "What about it? I think it's cute in a dorky kind of way."

Skeptic: "Three missionaries? You sent off three missionaries. May I remind you that the two years are nearly up. You're losing time. They all come home this year. Not to mention the fact that you have since then added to the original list of three."

Optimist: "How many were there again?"

Skeptic: "Too many I care to count. You make me sick."

Optimist: "Don't you mean that we make us sick? What do we do now?"

Skeptic: "What is there to do? You got yourself into this mess, you have to get yourself out."

Optimist: "Don't you mean that we got our-self into this mess?"

Skeptic: "Stop that. Anyways, you aren't the same girl you were when those boys left you know. You actually liked the idea of having a boyfriend when they all left."

Optimist: "I like the idea of having a boyfriend...in movies."

Skeptic: "Those boys will be on the "wife-hunt" when they get home. None of them will want to marry you if you don't even want a boyfriend."

Optimist: "Is that so bad?

Skeptic: "Yes. Your problem used to be dating too much, now you don't date at all. You can't get married if you don't date."

Optimist: "I'm only twenty!"

Skeptic: "Almost twenty-one. Spinsterhood is on the horizon. You've got to get back into game mode. You need to start running more often and maybe actually doing your hair in the morning. No more weekends watching Pride and Prejudice and eating popcorn for dinner."

Optimist: "You're not my mother!"

Skeptic: "Our mother would say the same thing. Now go running."

Optimist: "After I finish this post."

A covert letter from my Inner-Optimist to the missionaries. Don't let my Inner-Skeptic find out.

Dear Elders (Jacob, Zach, David, Chris, Jordon, Preston, Jason, Elliot, Russell, and Brad),

I'm proud of you all for giving such faithful service for these past two years. I'm lucky to know all of you. Do you think you could ask your mission presidents for extensions?

Love Always,

Kelly Marie

Just for your information, I probably made up half of those missionaries' names. Probably.

Enter to Learn, Go Forth to Serve

2011-02-02T12:59:00.000-08:00

Do you remember when I used to complain and complain and complain some more about having to come to BYU and live in a frozen wasteland and live around all these Mormons?

Yeah, I feel bad about that.

I recently experienced a major change of heart. I think this change has been building up for a while, and now I'm not too proud to admit it.

I love it here. I actually do.

When it Snows

2011-01-25T13:07:00.000-08:00

It has been snowing hard all morning.
I have decided that in my own world, I will make it so it snows only on grass and other non-man-made...spots. There will be no snow on sidewalks, streets, or any other concrete/asphalt areas, and most definitely, there will not be any dirty piles of snow pushed up in parking lots.

I put on my new boots today to test them out. Ettie took one look at my faux-cowboy boots and said, "I hope you don't slip." I took her well wishes with me out the door. My boots probably aren't the best for snow...or any other kind of inclement weather. I did my best though to find some that were practical, yet not ugly, and these were the best I could find. Well, I found a lot of great boots, but my calves are much too "muscle-y" to squeeze into any boots meant for girls with chicken legs. Those poor girls with chicken legs. It's a good thing the boot industry took pity on them and made all boots their size, otherwise, their non-insulated legs would surely freeze. And no one likes girls with frost-bitten chicken legs.

So me and my not-too-practical but oh-so-cute boots walked to school through the wind and snow. By the time I reached campus, I was covered in crystalline white stuff, and I did my best to brush it all off before I went inside my building. As I entered the hall, I noticed that I was getting quite a few more looks than normal from other students, so I knew that everyone either thought I looked great in my new boots, or that there was something terribly wrong with the way I looked. I shuffled into the restroom and low and behold, I discovered that despite the fact that I had worn my coat hood up, a significant amount of snow had formed an ice patch on the top of my head. I quickly brushed off the snow, but it left my hair completely soaked and the ends limp and starting to frizz. I wished I could put the snow back where it was because at least it could then hide my damp hair which didn't look wet, but instead, rather greasy.

To top it off, my eyes were still red and watery because I had gotten something in them that morning while putting on my makeup. I had spent a great deal of the morning with streaming eyes, which made my mascara run and my eyelashes clump together, so it looked like I had only five eyelashes instead of...more than five. Walking through the snow only made it worse. So I arrived at my Enlightenment class looking as though I hadn't washed my hair in a week and as if someone had sprayed pepper spray in my eyes.

I wonder if anyone liked my new boots.

What's in a Name?

2011-01-23T19:27:00.001-08:00

Yesterday was Sunday. It is the best day of my week. When I was younger, it was the worst day. I hated having to bathe and wear dresses and frilly socks, and sitting through three hours of church. Now, I live for the Sundays, although I still hate to bathe. However, I take everyone else into consideration and I do shower daily...most of the time.

In Sunday school yesterday, our teacher gave us a lesson about the importance of names (pertaining to the testimony that is born of God by names such as John the Baptist, Elizabeth, Mary, Joseph, and Gabriel). The teacher had prepared a bag with every one's names and the meanings of each of their names, and it was our job to match the proper name with the proper meeting. Apparently, I'm a sucker for matching games because I loved it! Call me childish, I could play matching games all day long.

Here is the meaning of my name:

Kelly-warrior, defender

Marie-bitter sea

Well, I don't know how I feel about the whole "bitter sea" aspect, probably because I have no idea what that means. Am I tempestuous? A tempestuous, bitter warrior? Yeah, that sounds about right.

I love my name.

There's a story behind my name. It's much to personal to fling haphazardly on to the Internet, but it's a great story. My name means a lot to me because of why I was given that name. There is no better sound to me than to be called "Kelly Marie."

I'm proud of my name.

It reminds me of where I have come from, and to what family I belong, and the potential I have to do great things which will be connected with my name.

My name is great.

All in a Weekend's Work

2011-01-18T19:09:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I wonder if four-day weekends really are a good idea. It's all well and good to have a national holiday to celebrate civil rights and the American Dream, but it throws off my schedule and that makes my body confused. I rolled out of bed this morning at 6:40 and knelt to say my prayers. I think I was kneeling there for a total of 20 seconds when I realized that I wasn't going to say a very long prayer. I rolled over on to my side and debated whether to just breathe deeply or book it to the bathroom. I opted for the latter option and hopped out of my room while trying not to disturb Stephie, who was still sleeping, and reached the bathroom just in time to...never mind.

I took the day off school. Luckily, my presentation that was due today was re-schedulable (not a real word, but you have my permission to use it when you wish). I blame today's short illness on the weekend I just had.

On Friday: I went ice-skating with my roommates, stayed up cleaning the apartment until who knows when, and then watched countless episodes of "Say Yes to the Dress" with Stephie until who knows when.

On Saturday: Holly, Stephie, and I went to the ward party in the morning, where I catapulted a whole plate of barbecue sauce covered pork onto my sweater and lap. Cheers to being incurably clumsy! Holly and I spent an hour on the beds on the top floor of Bishop's barn talking about all the things we're worried about. We pushed Holly's car out of the snow, and then we attempted to fall asleep to a movie while piled together on the couch. I went with Ettie to my cousin's to do our laundry. I changed the worst (THE WORST) diaper of my life and came back home late smelling of essence of Indian food. That wasn't because of the diaper, that was due to the fact that my cousin's brother-in-law made Indian food...

On Sunday: I had one of the best days of my life. We had ward conference, and I cannot explain how much I love my ward. Hurray for BYU 56th! I think I want to make a cheer for the ward...I also love our stake presidency and our stake relief society presidency. I am "seriously so blessed!" Har-Har! Then we had a ward "munch n' mingle" hosted in our apartment and the apartment across from us. Hurrah for me being a social butterfly! (Now I'm annoying myself). I lost a game of Clue, and stayed up really late to watch Persuasion with the roomies.

On Monday: I attended an early-morning marathon of North and South and I have since vowed to never watch a movie like that with that many girls ever again. I have never heard so much swooning and screaming in all my days. It's a great movie, but do yourself a favor and either watch it by yourself or with a small group. A very small group.

And that brings us to today: I watched No Reservations and Singing in the Rain. I did a little bit of homework, and that's about it. And that is why I should never have four-day weekends.

Dear Condoleezza

2011-01-13T19:48:00.001-08:00

Dear Dr. Rice,

May I call you Condoleezza? May I call you Condie? Perhaps that's a little too personal.

Thank you for coming and speaking to the students of Brigham Young University today. Your words were inspiring, and it was a privilege for us to hear from you. I hate to admit that I am not up to date concerning politics. I did know that you were the Secretary of State at one time, but I have no idea what you did for our country during that time. I wonder if I would have appreciated you as a politician. I would like to think so.

You were quite charming this morning, and I was enraptured by your words. I got upset when the audience would begin to applaud after you proposed specific thoughts and opinions. I didn't want them to interrupt you. However, I cheered enthusiastically when you thanked our service men and women. I teared up a little as I thought of my Uncle Steve, my cousins, Hans, Davis and Francesca, and my friends including Mike. I appreciated your sincerity and your worry about the state of our country, but mostly I appreciated your optimism in these dark times. Thank you for having such faith in us as the future, and our ability to do our part in this world. What you said is true, "It doesn't matter where we came from, it only matters where we are going." Most importantly, thank you for encouraging us to continue to integrate our faith and our reason, as they are integral parts of us internally.

I was honored to be there to hear you speak today. I don't care if people were protesting your presence on our campus today, or if people protest your existence at all. We needed your words today.

Sincerely,

Kelly Marie

A Vicious Cycle

2011-01-12T12:44:00.000-08:00

If you don't want to hear me complain, then by all means steer clear of this post. The complaining herein may prove to be emotionally harmful...or you may just want to kick me in the pants and tell me to get over it. One or the other.

My mom always told me that if I couldn't change the situation, then I must change my attitude. Well what if I can change the situation, but I'm just not sure how? Am I allowed to have a sorry attitude then?

Everything about which I have an awful attitude are interconnected. It is an ongoing battle between the same circle of events and problems, and the solution to this circle of doom would be to step out of the circle completely. But, if this circle is life...then I don't really want to step out of it. I'm not so certain that the end of the circle of life would make things any easier, in fact, I might have more problems with being dead than being alive. So we can scratch out the option of leaving the circle. However, the circle of which I speak is probably not the over-encompassing circle of my life, but rather a small gear in the entire clock-work of my life...which is the clock...ever ticking...and tocking...like a clock does...

So my life's specific circular gear at this moment is this state of college student/unmarried (and not dating anyone)/antisocial/jobless/battling resolutions/lack of sleep/freezing to death/general desire to do absolutely nothing (laziness?)-dom.

Because I am in college, and constantly doing homework, this leads to:
A. Being antisocial.
B. Leaves very little time to hunt for jobs.
C. Leads to a severe lack of sleep.

Now this lack of sleep results in:
A. Being dateless because I look like a frizzy-haired troll.
B. Not wanting to date because I have nightmares about getting married to boys I don't want to marry.
C. Lack of concentration and ability to function at school.
D. Desire to do nothing but sleep.
E. Loss of ability to wake up in the mornings to run (which makes me feel good) and to study my scriptures (which also makes me feel good).

Because I live in a frozen tundra:
A. My skin is as tough and cracked as a fossilized dinosaur. Which adds to my already quite attractive "frizzy-haired troll" appearance.

So there you have it, the wonderful workings of the gear on which I live.

Outspoken and a Bit Tactless

2011-01-10T16:51:00.000-08:00

I have a gift. A gift I wouldn't mind being rid of. I am a tactless human being. Naturally, when I am being tactless, I have to be speaking at the loudest volume as is appropriate for any public place. Maybe sometimes louder than that.

Because of this "gift" many have thought me to annoying, inconsiderate, and sometimes just plain mean. Let me attach some related incidents that beautifully illustrate my tactless ability:

Incident #1

During the first semester of my college career, I was watching Enchanted with a boy I liked, and a couple of "dorm-mates" and a couple of their friends. We shared our names all around: Kelly, Serena, Brad, Davi, Eddie, Alyssa, etc. The movie began, and the characters were introduced: Giselle, Edward, Pip, the scary queen, that fat guy who is always the servant of someone...
I stirred through the bowl of popcorn attempting to find the M&M's buried in its depths. Then of course, I commented loudly, "Hmmm....I like the name Edward. Not Ed or Eddie though. Those are poor excuses for names." No one acknowledged my comment, and I continued to sift through the popcorn. A few seconds passed, and Brad leaned over and whispered into my ear, "Kelly, I'm pretty sure that that guy sitting over there is named Eddie." I pretended like I didn't hear him and played nonchalantly with the popcorn the rest of the evening.

Incident #2

This past semester, Lou and I were meandering across campus admiring the changing leaves. Lou exclaimed, "Don't you just want to take a picture of this?" I glanced around, taking in the scene, and noticed one bike on the rack with the seat covered by a large white trash bag. "You even want a picture of that bike with the trash bag on it?" I laughed loudly. A deep voice from directly behind us asked, "You like my bike huh?" I assured him that I really did as he ceremoniously climbed onto his plastic-protected seat.

Maybe I should keep my opinions to myself from now on.

How I Know it's Going to Be a Great Semester

2011-01-06T13:40:00.000-08:00

1. My English Enlightenment professor wears argyle sweater vests.

2. Said professor wants our class to have a name other than ENG 373. Something like: gold team. Nice.

3. The aforementioned professor also has a brother whom he calls Sidney Six Fingers. The reason: that brother was born with twelve fingers and twelve toes. Unfortunately, the extra appendages were amputated when he was born. He could have been a very talented pianist.

4. My ASL professor calls us her babies. She is great!

5. I learned the Fox Trot on Wednesday in my ballroom dancing class. Yes, I am taking a ballroom class. Isn't that classy?

6. My dance partner looked like Rusty Trawler from Breakfast at Tiffany's.

7. This semester ends in April. That's probably the best news of all.

Classy 2011

2011-01-06T13:09:00.001-08:00

Until the morning of December 31, 2010, I had never thought about the year 2011. Yes, I knew it would come, but I never thought about it. Probably because of my dislike of the number 11. It's just not a very pretty number compared to numbers like 10, 12, and 13. So in my mind, 2011 didn't exist because I always skipped right over it and planned for 2012. I had determined in my mind that 2010 would be "The Year." Have you ever done that? Where you decided that the culminating climax or epoch of your life will happen in a certain year? Well, I did, and 2012 was it.

Then, 2011 loomed up behind me (or in front of me rather) and I had no idea what to do. I was discussing the idea with my roommate, Holly, and we decided that we would dedicate 2011 to being classy. In my mind, 2011 is the perfect year to become classy. (Especially if 2012 is going to be the best year of my life). Thus, 2011 is going to be classy. We are going to wear classy clothes and say classy things and be generally classy. I bought an Audrey Hepburn calendar from Walmart and covered the wall over our television with the pictures. It's a reminder to us to be consistently classy. How can you not act classy when Audrey (the definition of classy herself) is staring at you?

I don't know what sort of classy adventures will come my way this year, but I am determined to become a better person because of all of it. I looked up the definition of classy in the dictionary, and all it said was "elegant" and "stylish." That definition just doesn't suffice for me.
To me, being classy is:

1. Presenting yourself well. Dress up on the days when you feel the worst. I did that for the first time the other day, and it really did work. I had a wonderful day! I know it wasn't wholly because of the clothes, but I didn't feel grungy. I carried myself better, and as a result I felt better, and had a better attitude.

2. Raising one's standard of living by educating one's self and saying good things. Associate yourself with good books and other good forms of media. Broaden your vocabulary and attempt to stay away from negative thoughts and words. Be kind.

3. Taking care of your body. Simple as that. (I know it's really not simple, but...it really is).

4. Expressing gratitude. Tell others you are grateful for what they do for you. Most importantly, when you pray, explain to your Heavenly Father that you are grateful to him for the specific blessings he gives to you.

My goals for this year, are somewhat along these lines, but much more specific. This year for me, isn't really about being like Audrey Hepburn. Although that would be great. What I want to accomplish this year, is to become more like the woman I have always hoped to be. I want to have greater self-confidence. I want to show more compassion and patience and charity to those around me. I want to get my body back into shape. I want to grow intellectually and care for the talents I already posses. I want to establish a closer relationship with my Heavenly Father, Savior, family, and friends.

It's going to be classy.

If I'm Up to It

2010-12-17T13:08:00.000-08:00

Well, I did it! I finished my very first semester at BYU. I woke up at 5:15 bright and early (it wasn't bright because the sun wasn't even close to being up yet) this morning after many prayers that I would actually wake up. I took my last two finals of the semester today, and then I sold back the last of my books. Good riddance!

I have no idea how I did in my classes yet, but I don't know when I'll feel up to checking those out. I don't want to think about it yet. Now all I am going to do is exactly what I want to do.

I might finish some last minute Christmas presents.

I might pack for tomorrow's long trip home.

I might just watch movies all day long.

I might just eat nothing but goldfish crackers and leftover orange sherbet ice cream.

I might not shower at all today all though my hair is long overdue for a wash.

I might vacuum this apartment...or I might not.

I don't know. It feels nice not to have anything immediate to get done today. I'll do whatever if I'm up to it today. It's a great day for up!

Dwain the Tub I'm Dwowning!

2010-12-09T12:52:00.000-08:00

First, I will pat myself on the back. Next, I will tell you why. As of 3:50 pm today, I will have completed everything (or very nearly) on my list from the other day. I would probably literally pat myself on the back if I wasn't too tired to do so. I don't mean to complain, but I have never gotten so little sleep in my life. Including the marathon essay-writing of last semester. During the course of the past two weeks, I haven't gotten to bed before 2:00 am once. Not once. This school stuff is draining, I'll tell you what. I know my mom is already shaking her head and my sister is saying to the computer, "You're going to get sick!" Believe me, if I knew better, I would make it a priority to be in bed at 9:30.

A little procrastination goes a long way. I didn't procrastinate a lot, I said a little. A lot of procrastination goes even further, so I just did a little. I would try and give you my list of excuses, but at this point, I can't remember where I've been for the past few days...So here is how the past couple of days went down:

On Tuesday night, I stayed on campus for an extra hour or so to write a paper. I went home, ate some dinner and then started working on the paper some more. I was writing until 5:00 am. I gratefully crawled into my bed until 8:00 when I started getting ready for school. Wednesday was another long day, and I was exhausted from the previous night's overhaul. When I got home from school Wednesday evening, all I could think about was how excited I was to go to bed. However, my bed would have to wait until I finished another paper for another class. I got to work on that paper immediately, and did my best not to get distracted. I did pretty well, but that paper (along with other assignments due today) kept me up for hours and hours and hours and hours...

1:00 passed and I was half way there. 3:00 passed, but I still had a few more pages to complete. 5:00 passed and I was almost there. 6:00 passed and my handwriting was no longer legible. My eyes would close for a few minutes at a time and I would wake up and not remember where I was. Finally, at about 7:10 am I had finished everything. I decided that I needed to shower (because that's what I usually do before bed) so I gathered up my pajamas and left my bedroom. I paused outside the bathroom wondering which was better, to smell nice and have clean hair, or to get a few minutes of sleep. I had to be getting ready by 8:00, so I decided to skip the shower even though I needed to wash my hair two days ago. My bedroom was freezing and I was just too tired to make any logical decisions, so I took my shoes off grabbed my blanket and a pillow and set up camp in the hall outside the bathroom. I knelt down and said my prayers and apologized because I didn't know if it was my evening prayer or my morning prayer, and I thanked my Heavenly Father that I had survived the night, and I asked to just survive the coming hours at school.

Right as I laid down, I heard one of the bedroom doors open and I heard the quiet shuffle of sock-covered feet. I looked up to see who was there, but there was no one. I close my eyes again, and a few minutes later, I heard the noise again, but still there was no one. By about the fourth or fifth time, I knew I was on the brink of insanity. I closed my eyes tight and tried not to think about the movie, The Sixth Sense. I was asleep for maybe 30 minutes when my sister, Ettie, found me in the hall. She knew something must be wrong because no person in their right mind sleeps in the hall on the floor unless they are seriously ill. She asked me when I had gone to bed and I told her I just barely got there, but by then I was already almost late. I staggered into my room and threw on a sweater and my comfy drug-dealer-esque shoes, pulled my hair back and put on Steph's fake glasses because the circles under my eyes were now miniature craters.

By the time I got to school, I was completely exhausted, and I had no desire to pick up my feet. I dragged myself to the stairs that lead down to the basement classrooms and contemplated sitting down and scooting all the way to the bottom instead of walking. But I used all my will power and got to class and turned in my last assignments for the semester. I have never been happier. But I think I'll save the celebrating for tomorrow and the following days of finals. The best part is, the worst part is over, and I will probably get to sleep in my bed tonight. In fact, I am planning on going to bed at 4:30 when I get home. At the moment I am going through the mild hysteria phase of exhaustion, and pretty much everything is funny, hence the title of this post...

A List of Things to Accomplish Before Week's End

2010-12-07T12:24:00.000-08:00

1. ASL presentation today at 3:00
Lora and I put the entire presentation together in half an hour this morning.

2. Party with the roommates when I get home because Holly is moving in!
This may or may not cut into two or more hours of my study time. Cursed roommates!

3. Read for tomorrow's classes
A couple hours worth of reading I am sure.

4. Practice for Sunday's musical number
I have nearly lost all ability to play the piano. Hopefully the violinists know what they are doing because I had to remind myself how flats and sharps work.

5. Write British Literature paper on Beowulf
Due: Tomorrow at 12:00
Status: Almost one whole paragraph completed

6. Get ready for an interview tomorrow at 2:00
I have an interview for a job! Yippee!

7. Catch up on half a semester's worth of reading for American Literature
Due: Thursday at 9:30
Well, I did all the readings, but I just didn't write in my journal as I was going along. That will set me back another couple of hours.

8. Write research paper for American Literature on "A Good Man is Hard to Find"
Due: Thursday at 9:30
Status: Maybe one solid paragraph

9. Fix flat tire
I still don't know how that happened.

10. Study for all finals until the cows come home

I have no idea how all of this will turn out. I don't ever remember what happened to the time that I wasn't spending doing homework because I can't recall doing anything else...but somehow I am still trying to get caught up. Yesterday, I fell asleep sitting up on a bench in one of the buildings for at least an hour and a half. I didn't move the entire time. I am fairly sure 1/16 of the campus population saw me drooling on myself. Finals: It's the most wonderful time of the year!

Holding Out

2010-11-30T13:10:00.000-08:00

Tomorrow is December. I have been holding out as long as possible to acknowledge that we are practically in the midst of the Christmas season. I will try not to acknowledge it for ten more hours at least. However, I did put one or two ornaments on my friends' Christmas tree, I did participate in snowflake-making last night at FHE (some of my FHE brothers surprisingly adept at making snowflakes), and I did play a Christmas song on the piano for my religion class today, but only because Brother Alford specifically requested it.

This holding out deal isn't because I don't love Christmas. Let's get this straight: I LOVE CHRISTMAS! The reasons why I don't want to commemorate celebrating until December 1st are as follows:

1. I feel like sometimes Thanksgiving is a little overlooked. Of course it is a major holiday, and everyone loves it because well we get to sit around and stuff ourselves with positively scrumtrilescent food. (Definition of scrumtrilescent: "A thing that is so wonderful that it is not accurately described by the words delicious, glowing or divine. Short hand for 'every word of positive nature in the dictionary at once.'" -Urban Dictionary) Thanksgiving ends and Black Friday commences. There are sales on Thanksgiving Day, people are lining outside of stores at who knows what time in the morning, and there are even post-Black Friday sales. It's just a little ironic and I don't appreciate the fact that we dedicate a whole holiday to gratitude and then the next night (or the evening) of we are dedicating our time to commercialism. I think Black Friday is a great idea, and I for one appreciate a good sale just as much as anyone else, but I think we should postpone Black Friday a week or so.

2. The Christmas season makes me incurably homesick. And I just don't want to start crying willy nilly until the appropriate time. Even when I am home for Christmas I am homesick. The snow and the trees and all the ornaments and songs makes me think of my family and how I wish that we could all cram into one house again for Christmas.

3. The start of the Christmas season also means the start of the end of the semester push and who ever wants to think about that? Not I.

4. Christmas makes me think of money, and I hate that. It's not about money or presents or anything like that. But I get stressed out about all the presents that my parents are getting for me when really I don't need a new coat or new shoes (although I do need those new socks) and I wish that I wasn't so selfish. I'm not going to lie, I love getting presents, but I wish I didn't. I also think too much about what I am going to get others because I LOVE giving people presents. More than I love getting presents. But I always want to give people the best possible presents, but I hate spending money. Yeah, figure that one out for me.

5. Did I mention that it makes me homesick?

So tomorrow I can start listening to Bing Crosby, the Carpenter's Christmas Album, Peter, Paul, and Mary's Christmas Album and my brother's annual Christmas mash up, and then the crying can commence.
Until then: Happy Last Day of November!

Family and Food Go Hand in Hand

2010-11-25T20:34:00.000-08:00

First of all, I have never had so much food in my life. Oh wait I have...last Thanksgiving. Oh what a great day it was. I am probably going to eat some pie while I write this. You can grab some pie for yourself as well.

I didn't get to go home to Arizona this year because we were expecting bad weather and it really is too far to drive for just a few (though wonderful) days. But Ettie and I were invited by our cousin Ben to have Thanksgiving with his family. I thought I would miss being home and everything about Thanksgiving in Arizona. But today the sun was shining, it was freezing, but the sun was shining anyways and that was enough for me. I did miss my immediate family very much, but I was with family today. I don't think I stopped laughing today.

Being so far away from home, has made me miss my family more than I ever have before. Being away from them has made me love them even more. I suppose that I took my own family for granted before. Mostly all I want to say is that I love my family more than anything and I can't wait until I can see them again. Happy Thanksgiving!

Mr. Body

2010-11-24T21:55:00.000-08:00

I went running this morning (when I say morning I mean this afternoon) for the first time in maybe a month. It's sad really how long the time is between the days I go for a run. I dreaded running in the cold, but I bucked up and donned a sweater and a pair of leggings under my shorts and headed out the door. My lungs froze in my chest as I attempted to take a deep breath of air. The run wasn't very long or hard. Well for me it was both long and hard because I hadn't been running in ages. I got passed by a guy running twice as fast as myself. Maybe three times as fast. All I can say was that he was going fast...or maybe I was just going slow. Both are valid guesses.

I never enjoyed running before. I remember when it took every fiber of my being just to run one lap around the track. But my mom kept going with me every day to the track, sometimes even late at night. She gave me such great encouragement then. I started with one lap and then two and then three and finally four. I remember the first time I ran a whole mile without stopping. It was by no means fast, but it was such an accomplishment for me. I ran that first mile, and then the next day I ran another, and another, and another, I ran a mile every day until I lost count of how many I had run. One evening I went to the track with my dad and I ran two miles for my first time. I had only planned on running one mile as usual, but I had so much energy that I just kept running. Around and around I went until my dad told me to stop. I was ecstatic. I just didn't want to stop. I don't hate running now, in fact I miss running every day.

But I think the most important thing I gained from those years of running was an appreciation for my own body. I was always very self-conscious and didn't love my body. I didn't hate it because goodness knows I would be dead without it, but I had very little appreciation for it. Today I was so grateful for my body even though I couldn't run very fast or very far and I was quickly tired. I am constantly amazed at its adaptability. Our bodies are so strong even in times of illness. So many little (but vital) things have to work together, and it's miraculous that they all do. It's amazing even that our bodies can get out of shape (like mine) and then we can get them back into shape again (like I plan to do). Frankly, I love my body. It may not be perfect, my skin may never be soft, and my nose may always be a little on the large side, but I plan on sticking with this body until the day I die. You can count on that.

Licking Envelopes

2010-11-23T21:28:00.000-08:00

I love letters. I love sending letters, I love getting letters. Everything about mail is great, the stamps, the envelopes, the stationary, even the uncertainty of when a letter will come. For the past year and a half (or so) I have been so happy to have good friends on missions. Because of their missions I have had a good reason to send mail and the upside to that is getting mail in return. I actually dread the day when they come home, because then who will I write? Maybe I will just have to keep sending missionaries out...I wonder how long that can last...Hmmm...I may or may not have creeped myself out.

The real reason for this post: I am grateful for letters. I will forever salute the man who invented mail. Whoever he was.

A Slice of Humble Pie

2010-11-22T22:06:00.000-08:00

This week is dedicated to gratitude. I decided to be cliche and join the throngs of others posting things they are grateful for on their blogs and on facebook this week in honor of the Thanksgiving holiday. You are most welcome.

Today's "gratitude object" is something I never thought I would be grateful for, and I'm not even sure if I'm actually grateful for it yet. I turned in a paper for my British Literature class today, and my teacher schedules a meeting with us to go over our papers in person. Not a bad concept I think, but it is quite a horrifying position to be in. I have never had the opportunity to watch a paper of mine get graded and I cringed every time her purple pen smeared the margins of my hard work. I must admit that I did not start this paper when I should have, and I may have procrastinated a little, but I did do what I could, and I did work hard. I just may have gotten a little distracted some time during my week. What can I say, I am not perfect, and neither was my paper. However, I felt that it was a good, solid paper. To my dismay, my paper was ripped to shreds. There wasn't a paragraph that wasn't graffitied with that hideous purple ink. The small, smiling lady behind the desk gave me every possible reason to feel as if I was the worst writer in the world while still trying to point out one or two good points. I couldn't see anything but the negative. All I saw was purple ink.

I knew it wasn't a perfect paper, but I did think it was good, even so, I left her office on the verge of tears. I was on the verge of tears for the continuing five or six hours on campus. I started to question everything: What made me think I could write? What made me think I could be an English major? What made me think I could succeed at this university? What else in the world can I do? I felt minuscule and insignificant and just plain awful. I still feel that way. I don't love being an English major. Most days I completely hate it, but I don't feel as if there is anything else in this world that I could do.

However, I am grateful that today was a hard day. Some days need to be hard. Some days we need to cry. Some days we need to realize what a huge role God has in our lives. I came to this university without knowing why I was coming; I still don't know why I'm here, but I trust that my Heavenly Father has a plan for me. He knows why I'm here. He knows I have a lot of work to do. He knows that I may have to major in something I don't love because sometimes we have to choose what is smart rather than what is fun or easy. He knows the days when I need to be humbled. Today was that day. Today I was given the biggest helping of humble pie I have ever had to swallow, and I am still feeling a little sick to my stomach. I think I will appreciate the pie more when it has finally digested.

*In good news, there is an update on my Media Project tab!

Harry Potter Week

2010-11-16T13:25:00.001-08:00

If I have talked to any of you recently, I may have told you about how my roommate is over and beyond in love with Harry Potter. During the past couple of months, Stephenie has read every book and when I get home from school, she'll try to start a discussion about it. Poor Stephenie, the conversation is not very stimulating because I can't remember a thing about the books even though I read and even enjoyed all of them. Stephenie will say, "Do you remember when such and such happened?" And I will say, "Umm...I don't even know what you're talking about." Or she'll say, "Remember when so and so died?" And I'll reply, "They died?!" I have no idea why I can't remember, it's like I've never read Harry Potter before. But this week, Stephenie and I are going to the midnight showing of the first part of the seventh movie, the wisdom of this decision is yet to be seen. But in honor of Harry Potter week, Stephenie is blogging every day about something Harry Potter-ish. You can see her blog here.

You know, I did start this blog with a purpose in mind, and I can't for the life of me remember what it was...Just like how I can't remember anything that happened in Harry Potter. Oh well. Happy Harry Potter Week! Whatever that entails....I would tell you, but I can't remember...

The Testing Center

2010-11-09T16:11:00.000-08:00

I took my first of two midterms this week. Hallelujah!
I think everyone needs to experience the BYU testing center at least once in their life, but since most of you can't, I will recreate the experience for you.

The photo to the right is just a small portion of the testing center. So after hours of studying I entered the testing center. I pulled out my student ID, entered through that center door and covered my picture as much as possible (because it is the epitome of an awful school ID photo) before I handed it to the incredibly grumpy looking young man behind the counter. "English 293," I told him as he quickly scanned my card. He tossed my card back to me and pulled open one of many drawers filled with various tests. He slapped it down on the counter and told me the rules for that particular test and instructed me to grab my test cover sheet from the printer. Then I pushed open the swinging door and entered the testing room. The testing center is always busy and I always have to search for a seat. The room is about 20 or 30 yards short of a football field, though not as wide. The walls are lined with huge windows accentuated by boxes of silk orchids, in between the windows are numerous posters emphasizing "Perseverance," "Endurance," "Diligence," and "Academic Integrity." I really have no idea how BYU expects us to cheat in there because among the five hundred plus students, there is about a one in a million chance that you'll sit next to another student who is taking the same test as you. (Yes, I know it's not possible to have a one in a million chance when there are only 500 people in the room. That was merely for dramatic effect).

Since I am naturally a "people observer," the testing center is one of the most distracting places on the planet. Students are steadily filtering in and out of the room, shuffling papers, listening to opera on their iPods, sharpening pencils, and occasionally sobbing, so I try to get a seat as close to the front of the room as possible so I can look out the windows and not at all the other people in the room. I found a reasonably good spot today, the only problem was getting from the door to my seat. The aisles between desks are only a foot wide, so I minced down the aisles trying not to hit any other students in the face with my bulky backpack. I didn't hit anyone today, but I myself have been hit several times while in the testing center. I settled into my desk and rejoiced that I had found a smaller desk than the one I sat in last week. Last week I took my British Literature test and the desk I sat in was built for a giant. The back of the chair was a good two feet away from the desktop and I slouched over that particular test for three hours. When I walked out of the testing center that afternoon I was a hunchback with a crippled right hand and a twitching eye.

The bad thing about English tests is that you never know how well you did. There is never one correct answer unless you are doing a multiple choice test, which doesn't happen very often. Writing tests take hours and you can never be sure if you did well or if you failed until you get your test back the next class and it is "graffitied" with red pen, which could be a good or bad sign. The good news is, I finished my test and right now that's all I care about. Now I am going to walk home in the freezing darkness and study for tomorrow's midterm. Stay tuned for the next episode from the BYU testing center.

Right as Rain

2010-11-08T17:43:00.000-08:00

As you might have guessed, it rained today; a steady, chilling drizzle all the live long day. I knew it would probably rain today, but I didn't really remember until I ran outside barefoot and in short sleeves with my phone so that I could have service enough to talk to my sister on the phone. I was freezing after five minutes. Next time I will be prepared and at least have some shoes on. After a good half hour of laughter with my sister, I ran back into the house, put on my shoes and my jacket and drank hot chocolate for breakfast. I thought I was warm enough to walk to school in just a sweater, but oh boy is Utah rain in November different from Arizona November rain...in that we don't really get rain in November. Nevertheless, I went on my merry way, and quickly froze. I walked through several large puddles that I absolutely could not get around unless I wanted to make a major detour. It goes without being said that my pants from mid-calf to toe were completely soaked, as were my socks inside my supposedly water-proof shoes, my jacket was no longer warm, and my bangs were no longer straight. For the remainder of the day I smelled...damp. Not wet like a dog, but just damp and moist. I also missed a few close impalements by the hundreds of umbrellas milling around campus. Eventually, I dried out in time for my last couple of classes, but then I just had to wade through slightly smaller puddles all the way home. It wasn't a bad day, and I loved the rain despite the nasty things it did to my hair. My next few weeks will be filled with attempts to ward off any and all attempts of those around me to listen to Christmas music a month early. I say, it's not time to listen to Christmas music until December 1st. However, I will allow a little leeway for Christmas music the day after Thanksgiving since it does "officially" begin the Christmas season. Bah humbug! (Until December). So while everyone else gets hyped up for Christmas, I am going to enjoy November with the rain and the leaves until it snows...tomorrow.

Progress

2010-11-02T13:00:00.000-07:00

I don't really want to write anything about my weekend even though it was great.
It was really great.
I'll just sum it up and tell you that I made progress and made some friends over the weekend. Yay me!

What I really want to write about is the most important thing that happened to me this weekend. Also, it is probably the best thing that has happened to me since arriving in Utah.

On Halloween, we had a special stake conference and Elder Robert D. Hales of the Quorum of the Twelve Apostles was there to speak to us. I had the opportunity to sing in the stake choir, and I think that was probably the best choir I have ever taken part in. I have never been that close to an apostle of the Lord before, and I couldn't believe the amazing spirit that was there that day. Elder Hales addressed us as young single adults and expressed the love that President Monson and the remainder of the Quorum have for us. Elder Hales spoke to us about knowing that we are children of God, that we each have a divine potential, that we have each been given special gifts, talents, and unique purposes here in this life, and that only when we truly love ourselves, can we show love for others around us.

In my life, I have experienced many instances where I knew a particular talk or lesson was meant just for me, but I have never felt that entire conference was all just for me. Every word of each talk and every song is what I needed to hear. My Heavenly Father knows my situation. He knows that I get scared sometimes and He knows that sometimes I don't have much confidence in myself and He knows most of all how much I need Him in my life.

Sometimes when I think about how others view The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints and I try to put myself in their shoes, I think I can understand how weird we seem to them. We are a peculiar people. An instructor once told me that as Mormons, we are either the largest group of nuts in this world, or we actually have the truth.

Well, we have the truth. When I think about not having the gospel of Jesus Christ in my life, my heart physically aches. I don't know how I would live my life without it. Needless to say, I would be lost. Thankfully, I know who I am. I am a daughter of God who loves me and wants me to find happiness in this life and in the life to come. Because of my Savior Jesus Christ, I can go home to Him. My family can go home to Him. I have a special purpose in this life. I am still trying to find out what that is exactly because I am no cookie-cutter cut out. I am Kelly Marie and because God loves me, I can love myself. I find pure joy through that knowledge and the knowledge that despite my imperfections, my Heavenly Father wants me to come home. I find joy in my family because my Heavenly Father loves them too and He gave me a heart to love them in return. I want to be with them forever. And I can. And I will.

"Thee lift me, and I'll lift thee, and we'll ascend together."

Balance & Overload

2010-10-21T13:26:00.001-07:00

Last weekend, a good friend chastised me for being anti-social. He was right to chastise me, but that doesn't mean that I enjoyed it. However, I do not know how to solve my anti-social problem. I don't try to be anti-social, it just comes naturally to me while I'm going to school. He thinks I'm wasting my college years by never leaving my house or the library. He thinks I have the potential to be a fun/cool person if I would just put myself out there. What a good friend. I can't decide if I want to keep him around or not...

My rebuttal: Believe it or not, I enjoy people, and I'm not completely awkward in social situations. I can meet new people and make new friends all by myself now, sometimes I even make people laugh. Can you believe it?! At the same time, I feel like getting my education is my main priority. I feel like I'm working in an increasingly narrow window of time to get this done.
Is that true?

His rebuttal: He tells me I am in the prime of my life and my college years should be filled with memories of good friends and great dates (do great dates ever happen?). He thinks I can't have a great time at college if I spend my Friday nights with my roommates watching chick flicks and embroidering handkerchiefs.
Well why not?

Lou's Grandma's rebuttal: We (being young women in general) will never get any prettier than we are right now. It's all downhill from here.
Please say I will somehow turn out like a good wine (not that I know anything about wine) that only gets better with age.

Ladies' (beyond college age) rebuttal: They tell me that I only think I'm busy now. Just wait until I'm married and have children. I'll only get busier.
So what you're saying is that I'm never going to sleep again, because I'm already running on only 5 or 6 hours of sleep (max) as it is.

So tell me your opinion on the subject through my handy dandy poll on the right. In the meantime, I'm going to spend my weekend studying for midterms and writing more papers. And no, I will not be doing anything social this weekend if you were wondering.

Not Your Ordinary Von Trappe Family Singers

2010-10-16T22:34:00.000-07:00

I pride myself in the fact that I come from the best family in the history of this planet, and seeing as they are so great, they often star the leading roles in my midnight dreams. I will relate one that occurred recently:

I was back home in Arizona with my parents and my sister Ettie, and for some reason the Nazis (or some other frigtheningly awful group of villains)were coming to our house to take us away. One of my father's good friends was assigned to guard us so we couldn't leave. How we had no idea he was a Nazi sympathizer, I'll never know. Before I knew it, my whole family (brothers, sisters, in-laws, nieces, and nephews etc.) showed up at the house and was involved in the escape plans. It was very Great Escape-esque, but much less organized and much more chaotic. Somehow we came up with an entourage of bicylces and for some reason, I was assigned to be on the unicycle tandem. I will explain how said contraption works: A normal tandem is lined up vertically, but a unicycle tandem is arranged horizontally so it is basically a line of unicylces welded together. Maybe I should patent that idea...If my family can handle a unicycle tandem, anyone can. So here I was on the unicycle tandem while holding my youngest nephew who is just a baby, with two other nephews, Joshua and Benjamin, and one of my sisters. I know what you're thinking, "Wow, Kelly, you're really talented! You can ride a unicycle while holding a baby!" Well, yes, my dream self can unicycle with a baby, she gets to do all sorts of neat things. But, unfortunately, my seat was too high for me to reach the ground, so my sister's job was to keep us all balanced when we had to stop.

So my family escaped with several tandems and other bicycles laden with nieces, nephews, and the rest of my family. My dream ended before I knew if we actually escaped the Nazis (which I hope we did), but the whole family ended up singing "Edelweiss" while we rode our bikes (and unicycles) down main street. We sounded perfect. What other family do you know that can sing "Edelweiss" in perfect harmony while escaping Nazis on bicycles? If you ask me, the original Von Trappe Family should have thought about using bikes instead of hiking over the Alps.

B is for Blessing

2010-10-12T13:22:00.000-07:00

I am a straight A student. I am bold enough to state that on a public blog. (Yes, I know that only my family reads it). I have never gotten a B in a class in the entirety of the 15 years I have been going to school. Well, alright. I did get a B the first quarter of freshman PE, but that was only because Coach Morgan didn't know I was on the soccer team (it wasn't for lack of trying). Once he found out that I was on the soccer team, I got an A every remaining quarter of the year. Oh, and I guess I did get a B my first semester of Theatre Dance in college, but I don't know how that happened because the teacher loved me....maybe I'll ask her about that one of these days....

The point being: I am a good student and I have worked hard to get nothing (mostly) but A's. I even got A's in physics and chemistry, but I owe that all to a higher power because I had no idea what was going on in those classes. Even so, getting an A in a class or on a paper feels very much like getting a huge gold star stuck to the middle of your forehead, and B's well it feels like the word "mediocrity" stamped on your forehead with permanent ink.

This week I have gotten three B's. One on my history paper, and two on different midterms. I'll tell you what, 83 is an ugly number compared to 93. But, those B's will not get the best of me. I gave on honest effort on all the work I put into that paper and those tests and if a B is what I get out of it so be it. I honestly feel lucky that I survived with B's. So this week, B is for Blessing. After all, it is better than having to wear a dunce cap and embroidering a glaring F onto all your clothing. Is that policy instituted anywhere? If so, remind me to never go there.

I Appreciate It

2010-10-05T13:45:00.001-07:00

In this world of ups and downs, (aren't you glad there are jackalopes around?) I've come to appreciate more and more the simple things I see everyday.

I appreciate that a lot of girls around here go through a lot of trouble to look nice each and everyday. They wear high heels and skirts, and their hair is always perfect. I appreciate it because someone has to make the sacrifice and wear high heels, and it sure as heck isn't going to be me.

I appreciate that some people have the talent to hold enormous amounts of information in their computer-like brains. But sometimes I don't appreciate when they try to share it all in an entire class period.

I appreciate the fact that my American literature teacher can apparate. He is never late to class. Here's the definition for apparation if you've never read Harry Potter:

apparation- a magical method of transportation, and is basically teleportation, having the user focus on a desired location in his mind, then disappear from his current location and instantly reappear at his desired location. It is by far the fastest way to get to one's desired destination, but is tricky to pull off correctly and disastrous if botched up.

I appreciate the that some people put in the effort to put fun things on their flip flops. Some people put ribbons, or scraps of fabric, while others put bunches of plastic grapes. That's effort.

I appreciate that my World Civ. teacher makes some reference to either The Hunger Games, Harry Potter, The Chronicles of Narnia, Les Miserables, or some other popular form of media everyday without fail.

Really, BYU is like a carnival everyday...except instead of rides there are just mountains of homework...

Conference Weekend

2010-10-04T16:52:00.000-07:00

For the sake of being quite clear, I got no homework done this weekend, but I do not have any feelings of remorse. Whatsoever. None. Zilch.

And this is why:

Friday was one of the happiest days of my life. I had the happiest reunion with my best friend, Marisa, and we may or may not have danced around my kitchen to "You Always Make Me Smile," and skipped around in a circle with Stephie and Lora when we were all together again. Then we spent the night trying to decide which flavor of Ben & Jerry's to get while Brent and Taylor chided us for taking too long. I don't like being chided when I'm deciding which ice cream to get. It's an important decision. But the answer to which flavor to get is always simple:
Everything But The...
It is, and I quote: "A Collision of Chocolate and Vanilla ice creams mixed with Heath Bar Chunks, White Chocolate Chunks, Peanut Butter Cups, and Chocolate Covered Almonds."
You can see why it is the obvious solution.

By the time we got to Lora's house, we were dead. Brent, Taylor, and Marisa had each gotten only a few hours of sleep as they had driven through the night from the Gila Valley to Provo, and I had only a few hours under my belt as I had stayed up until 3:00 am writing a satire for my English class. We decided Clue would be a good game to play, but five minutes in we agreed that it was taking too long, so Marisa skipped her way over to the Billiard Room (or was it the Ballroom?) and accused Colonel Mustard with the lead pipe (or was it the revolver?). Either way, the only accusation that was correct was that Colonel Mustard was in fact the murderer, and we were satisfied. After eating our ice cream and a short round of "Papa Loves Mambo" by Perry Como, Stephie and I went home.

Bright and early Saturday morning, we met back at Lora's and Brent, Taylor, Marisa, Stephie, and I left Provo for Salt Lake City. Why? Because we had tickets for General Conference of course. I followed behind Brent in my Honda Civic because I had no idea how to get where we were going. Brent is a speed demon. Emphasis on the word demon. Before we left, Stephie said the prayer and asked Heavenly Father to help us not get pulled over because we were most definitely going to have to break the law to keep up with Brent. Thank goodness he answered our prayers. I would have pulled us over if I was a cop. After only two near accidents, we traveled safely. Then we lost Brent. We got stopped at a light, and he sped on ahead. We weren't worried because we could just call Taylor who was with him to give us the directions of where they went. Oh, how our faith was in vain. The area we had parking passes for was full and Taylor, our once faithful guide and friend told us, "You're on your own." Oh thanks Taylor. Luckily we found a parking lot and between alternating running and speed walking made our way to the conference center, cursing Brent and Taylor the whole way.

Conference was fantastic, and we ran into several people we knew including a boy from our ward in Thatcher who is serving a mission in Salt Lake, an old roommate, a boy from St. Johns, and my sister's old roommates. It was great! I wish I could say more about how wonderful conference was, but you can listen to it for yourself if you missed it. My summary wouldn't do it justice.

The worst part of the weekend was saying goodbye to Marisa. We cried. Not just a few trickles of tears, but genuine alligator tears. Other than that, this was a beyond fantastic weekend which resulted in an ultimately boring post. Isn't it great how it works out that way?

What to Avoid

2010-09-28T10:24:00.001-07:00

During my past month (has it only been a month?) at Brigham Young University, I have discovered the key to finding a quality person. Well, at least, a quality guy.
Just abide by these rules:

1. Never go out with a guy who wears skinnier or tighter pants than you.

Also avoid those who wear tight v-neck shirts, cardigans, and brightly colored pants/shorts.

2. Stay away from men with mustaches.
Chances are if they have a mustache, they are bound to be sketchy.
Examples of sketchy people who have mustaches:

Carnival workers
Inmates
Captain Hook

3. Guys who are only ever wearing basketball shorts (or sweats when it gets cold) and a t-shirt are lazy more often than not...Or on the basketball team...Ask them if they're on the basketball team, if not, don't date them.

4. If he looks like he doesn't have any money, it's probably true. But if he looks like he has money, he probably has less and spends his money frivolously. (He probably spent all his money on his wardrobe of skinny jeans).

5. If Miley Cyrus or Kelly Clarkson is his ringtone...you can't help him.

6. Don't go out with guys who wear their dance pants and shoes to the ward dance.

7. I would advise you to stay away from those who twirl ribbons on the lawn...or anywhere else for that matter.

8. If the ring he wears is the size of a normal human eye, he either:
a) Won a state championship and still can't get over it.
b) Is in the mafia.
c) Both a and b.

9. There is never a good excuse to wear socks with sandals.

10. And most importantly, never ever ever go out with a guy with a mullet or a mohawk. And definitely don't go out with a guy who has a mullet and a mohawk, aka the mullhawk.

Well, I'm off to class.
You can be sure I'll be on the lookout for a guy with a mustache, skinny jeans, dance shoes, and a Miley Cyrus ringtone.

Sweaty Betty and the Weekend of Papers

2010-09-24T10:21:00.000-07:00

This post is kind of gross, so by all means, don't say I didn't warn you.

I haven't stopped sweating since I arrived in Utah.

To be frank, I wasn't expecting to sweat at all. In fact I was fairly confident that I would be living a sweat-free life as long as I was in Utah. Sweating is what we do in Arizona. I thought it was pretty exclusive. I guess I was just a little disillusioned because I really had no idea...

I am living my life in a constant state of dampness. I walk to school and the weather is perfect for a late September morning, a little bit chilly even, but I am guaranteed to arrive at class perspiring. I'm pretty sure that when I take off my backpack there is a perfect outline of where it was sitting. I'm always tempted to ask the people arround me if they can tell that I'm sweating on top of my shoulders, but that just might be a little less than socially acceptable. But just so we're clear, the walk to school isn't hard. I don't arrive at class out of breath, just sweaty. So if any of you are wondering why I'm not engaged yet, this is why. There's always an explanation for everything, but I have no idea why I'm sweating so much...

Along with the general, normal (but still gross) everyday sweat, this weekend will be accompanied by the "paper-writing" sweat. So if any of you were wondering, (because I knew you were) I will be spending this weekend in a tub of ice whilst I write my all so important papers.

Remind me again why I'm an English major?

Maybe that's why I sweat...

It's Better Than...

2010-09-19T19:12:00.000-07:00

Yesterday, as I talked to my parents on the phone, and dried my tears with the back of my hand, and wiped my nose with some scattered leaves on the ground (to prevent having to use my hand of course) I came to the realization that things really aren't that bad.

Things are good.

Life is good.

Life is joy and I love it.

I may not have a job right now...

...but it's better than not having the challenge.

School may be demanding and unbelievably hard...

...but it's better than not having the opportunity to go to school at all.

I may be constantly tired and weary...

...but it's better than pulling a handcart across a continent.

Sometimes I may despair that my plans will never come to be...

...but it's better than not planning at all.

I may get sad thinking about my past...

...but it's better than not remembering.

Sometimes I may get lonely and miss my home and family...

...but it's better than having no family or home to miss.

Today I was reminded of why some things don't go according to the perfect designs we have for ourselves. We signed up for this. We joyfully decided for ourselves to come to this world to experience pain and trials. Some people say there is no God, that Jesus Christ was nothing but a man who taught good principles, and that we who believe are fools.

But I would rather live my life as best I can, hoping and believing that Jesus Christ suffered for my sins and that I can be with my family forever, than to have no hope at all.

"I don't know how to speak of heaven in the traditional, lovely, paradisical beauty that we speak of heaven...I wouldn't know how to speak of heaven without my wife , or my children. It would not be heaven for me." -Elder Jeffrey R. Holland

Sometimes I may be criticized for believing the way I do...

...but it's better than having no faith and no hope at all.

The Smart Kids

2010-09-13T13:10:00.000-07:00

BYU is where the smart kids go.

Everyone here is a smart kid, and whereas in high school or at EA, I was considered one of the smart kids, here I am probably on the bottom most rung of smart kids.

(If we look at the population of BYU set up in a hierarchical ladder-type situation.)

Please don't think I'm saying that I am dumb because I don't think that at all. I'm not saying I'm a genius either...We'll just say that my mental capacity and abilities are...good? In decent working order?

But at BYU, everything is a competition. Especially if you're an English major (such as myself). I think all the human beings in my British Literature class are geniuses, or they act like geniuses in a show-offy-look-how-much-I-know kind of way. And they have me pretty dang well convinced that they are in fact geniuses. Maybe. Or show-offs. Whatever. I'm impressed.

Today we were discussing the components of pastoral poetry and these kids were using words such as: idyllic, bucolic, anomaly, and other big words I had never even heard of. I kept turning to Lora--who just so happens to be in almost all of my classes. I have no idea how that happened. Okay I do, we planned it that way.--to ask her if she knew what these words meant. She would frantically shake her curly head in the negative.

We decided we better start carrying copies of the dictionary with us to class.

One Week Down

2010-09-04T11:15:00.000-07:00

You've all been waiting on pins and needles for an update I know. Your week has been very nearly obsolete without my charming posts. Emphasis on charming. And witty. My posts are all so witty. So your wish has been granted: I am going to post today.

I have successfully completed my first week at Brigham Young University. It was only a complete success because my roommate Stephie reminded me at 8:30 pm that I needed to do my Doctrine and Covenants homework before midnight. The night before she had written me a sticky note so I wouldn't forget. But I did. I came home after a long day planning on doing everything but anything that had to do with schoolwork. Thankfully, Stephie had my best interests at heart. Certainly I would fail without her.

School is grand. Being here is...unbelievable. But along with being grand, school is hard. Really hard. Next to science, reading would probably be my worst subject. Unfortunately, that's all I ever do. Please don't misunderstand. I absolutely love to read. I love it, but I am a bad reader. I am really bad at it. I'm not illiterate, but reading is really hard. I am easily distracted. One word will make me think of five million other things, and before I know it, I'm finished with what I'm supposed to read and I couldn't tell you anything about what I just read, and I really don't have the time to read every over two or three times. So I'm working on that. Maybe being an English major is a bad idea, and I certainly feel like the dumb one in class compared to all the other English majors in my class. I'm working on it. I'll learn to focus.

On Thursday night we had a family "git togeether" at my cousin Ben's. Let me just say this: I have the greatest family. Surely my blog would be famous by now if I was as witty as them. I wish I could describe how great it was, but I'll just say that I laughed hard all night long. I don't think I'll mind spending eternity with such a great family.

Last night after going to the Provo temple and the quickest expedition to Walmart in all of history--except for when Risa and Lou completed a trip in a record five minutes--Ettie (Lynnette) had some friends over. They impressed us with magic tricks and Brian Regan impersonations. Brilliant. Then we played a few rousing rounds of B.S. and Pit. All good friendships are built on the foundation of card games. After they boys joined us in some peanut butter ice cream, they left and Ettie and I stayed up late to watch Ziegfeld Follies. We nearly wet ourselves when we watched this Red Skelton skit.

Today I'm going to read. I'm pretty sure the only thing I will read will be my homework. Maybe this time I'll understand Enlightenment era poetry. Maybe not. We'll see. And wonder or wonders, I get to do free laundry at my cousin Ben's house. I really am so lucky. Who cares if I don't understand poetry as long as I don't have to pay $5.00 in quarters to do my laundry.

In This Place

2010-08-25T20:14:00.000-07:00

This place has made me dehydrated. I wasn't lacking for water in Arizona and I probably drank less there, but Utah has dried me up like a raisin. Not like the ones that are still plump and juicy, but the ones that have been sitting in the box for so long they are eternally stuck together in a big rock-like lump. So as I was searching for something I could guzzle down my parched throat, my roommate turned on some snappy music so loud that her iHome speakers were crackling. It made me think of how great today was. I went to the Mt. Timpanogas temple with my sister and remembered when I was there before. It was the first temple I had ever been to and I got to see every part of it because it was the open house. I love that temple! While I was waiting for my sister to finish her session, a little family came out dressed in their white temple clothes after being sealed together forever. Oh happy day!

This afternoon, Lynnette dropped me off at the Wilkie so I could take that blasted office skills test. The lady was kind enough to let me take it even though they were supposed to be finishing up the testing for the day. I sat down at the computer pretty confident in my office skills. But au contraire! (Is that how it is spelled? You speak French right?) Apparently, one has to be fluent in Microsoft Excel in order to get a secretary job at Brigham Young University. Gee whiz. Oh well. I did not let that ruin my wonderful day. I left the Wilkie, pulled out my iPod and turned on "Till Kingdom Come" by Coldplay and I just went bobbing along my merry way across campus all the way home. I also listened to "Caroline" by Chicago. Great great songs! Check them out. Seriously. Do it.

I don't really know what the point of this blog was....I was really thirsty and Stephie was in the shower so I was bored...so here's a great post! Crazy things happen in this place, but no matter how much complaining I might do about being in this place, I am glad to be in this place. I might even be beginning to like this place.

Mercy!

"It is good for us to be here." -Thomas S. Monson

Record Breaking

2010-08-21T22:03:00.000-07:00

I am now an official record-breaker, and I feel pretty special.

Never has anyone anywhere (as far as I know) been asked out by two different bald red-heads in one day.

Lucky lucky me.

Unfortunately, I could only say yes to one, so naturally I went out with the one I like best.

But I am still a record holder.

That is all.

J-Dawg Heaven

2010-08-19T11:44:00.000-07:00

I have discovered heaven, and it comes in the form of a hot dog stand.

One word: J-Dawgs.

Not only did I get a FANTASTIC Polish hot dog with some super secret but super awesome sauce and a delectable cup of root beer for only $4, but I found my future husband. He works at the hot dog stand. He took my order, my money, and gave me my cup for root beer with naught but love for me in his eyes. I'm pretty sure he wanted to propose marriage to me on the spot, but there was a line. Next time hot dog man. Next time.

Day One of How Many?

2010-08-18T17:49:00.000-07:00

I survived my first day being in Utah. The people are crazy, and everybody is a runner, and no one looks at you when you pass them on the sidewalk. I suppose it would be kind of weird if everyone was chipper and friendly all the time, but is it weird that I expected that from Provo? I guess so. The good news is, everyone in my apartment complex is really nice, I even got help moving all my stuff in. It took ten minutes to pile everything in my room as opposed to the week it took to pack it all.

I applied for some jobs, took a very confusing office skills test, got a really ugly student ID, ran around in the massive library, found a backpack for $15, and got a really small and sort of crappy new phone. It's all been so crazy for me, and I feel absolutely lost and overwhelmed all the time, but it's frightfully boring to blog about. Believe me.

Just know that most of all, I am so grateful that my roommates are Lynnette and Stephenie. I couldn't ask for anything better, and I feel super lucky to have them.

My brother-in-law shared some wise words with me today: "Dear Kelly, work harder."

I guess that's all I really need to do. This place scares me to death and I feel ridiculously inadequate, but with lots of prayer and hard work, I know that everything will be fine.

I hope.

So Long, Farewell

2010-08-11T09:36:00.001-07:00

I made a monumental decision this morning. I am getting rid of my blog playlist. I know you're sad. I know you enjoyed my snappy music just as much as I did, but I came to realize a few things:

I get irritable when I'm listening to my blog playlist and I visit another blog and their blog playlist starts playing and the annoying cacophony of my Ella Fitzgerald and their Kris Allen mix together and it about drives me insane. So naturally, I hunt for their playlist to turn it off because I would rather listen to good ol' Ella than Kris Allen any day. I'm tired of the constant battle between my playlist and everyone else's, so I'm choosing to surrender. Besides, I know you probably turn mine off so you can enjoy what's playing on your playlist or your iTunes, just as I do. I know that it's not because we have personal vendettas against each other's playlists, in fact we're fairly confident in each other's good taste in music, but I know it's a constant battle. It is for me at least. So I am giving up my fight and surrendering my playlist. So enjoy the peace and quiet of my blog. But I would advise you to invest in some Ella Fitzgerald. She does the heart good.

Reverse Pyschology

2010-08-10T21:39:00.000-07:00

There is absolutely nothing I will miss about the Gila Valley. Not one little thing.

I won't miss Eastern Arizona College. I won't miss the teachers, the administrators, or the students.I won't miss the dirty, chocolate river (it's really a canal) that runs right through campus.

I won't miss seeing Mt. Graham everyday.

I won't miss all the hours I spent at the institute with all the teachers and people that I also will not miss.

I definitely won't miss how the prison workers keep campus so green even in December.

I won't miss the miles and miles of cotton fields.

More than likely, I won't even miss the Gila Valley Temple.

And I don't know anyone who would ever miss these Thatch Nasties. I know I never will.

And most of all, I will not miss this family. Not one little bit.

That's settles it. I am decidedly against missing anything about that wretched place.

"Reverse psychology is an awesome tool, I don't know if you guys know about it, but basically you can make someone think the opposite of what you believe, and that tricks them into doing something stupid. Works like a charm." -Michael Scott (The Office)

One Blog, Two Blog, Red Blog, Green Frog

2010-07-30T14:06:00.001-07:00

Who came up with the idea of a blog?

Does everyone have a blog?

Do all of these billions of blogs get read?

I hope so.

I think it would be sad if someone took the time to blog, and no one read their blog...

Sometimes I blog-stalk. Oh c'mon, I know you do it too. And then my ever-wandering mind gets to wandering and I wonder why we all blog. Do we really love it? Do we love the act of recording our thoughts and shenanigans, or is it all some mass craving for attention?

(Assuming our blogs are read of course.)

Or is it both?

I must admit that for me it is both. Very narcissistic I know. At least I can admit it. I like (and by like I mean love) people to read my blog. I want to people to read what a write. Not in a look-at-what-I-did-today way or a look-at-how-great-my-baby/life-is way because

A) My life isn't that exciting. I think it's great, but some people might get bored living my life.

B)I do not have a baby. So until I get a real one, I won't blog about how great my imaginary baby is.

(Provided I had one).

...What was I saying?

Oh yes, I write partly because I want people to read what I write (I secretly want to be published someday), and I want people to laugh at the things I laugh at (I secretly think I can be funny sometimes), and I write 98.642% of the time because I love to write.

Another Question:

Does everyone with a blog have professional photographers follow them around taking pictures of their children and crafts and food? Or are all bloggers professional photographers?

I think I'm missing a few key requirements of being a good blogger.

A)I don't have children.

B) I'm not very "craftsy" or "cheffie."

C) My pictures (if there are any) are of poor quality.

So I suppose the solution to my problem is to work hard to become "craftsy" and "cheffie," and score myself an awesome husband to go along with my awesome life. He will be (of course) a doctor and/or lawyer and a part time photographer. He will follow me and our perfect children around taking professional-grade photographs of our crafts, food, and of course our perfection.

Problem solved.

But until then, my blog may be lacking...

Gone, Gone, Gone

2010-07-29T11:15:00.000-07:00

I miss my hair.

Now, if you don't want to read about me wallowing in self-pity about my hair, do not by all means continue reading. I've had long hair my whole life--except for that time I had to chop it off after I got gum stuck in it. Now I know why Mama always made us put our bubblegum back in the Halloween bowl after trick-or-treating.--but now it's so short I can barely pile it on top of my head (my lazy hairdo).

Last summer, my hair started to fall out. Gross I know. You're lucky you didn't have to live with it. Handfuls of my beloved hair would come out in the shower and even more would fall while I was fixing it, and more would continue to depart from my scalp throughout the day. I guess I shouldn't complain so much, because I never once looked like I was losing my hair. Good ol' Badger genes. We'll never go bald...well at least the girls won't. But my hair did start looking very very unhealthy, so I decided that cutting it off would be the best thing for it. So I chopped it off. My hair was so short I could barely put it in a ponytail, let alone piled on top of my head. Egad!

The wonderful lady (Hannah DeRusha) who cut my hair did a great job, but she warned me that once I cut it short, cutting it would more than likely become an addiction, and that I might never have long hair again.

"Oh, pshaw," I replied.

Nothing would keep me from growing out my hair again. No matter how much I liked the haircut (and I did) I still missed my long hair. I even cried about it that night like Jo in Little Women.

And since that fateful haircut last July, I have cut my hair short again every few months.

She was right, it is addicting!

I am trying harder to refrain from cutting it other than the occasional trim.

I am on a serious mission to get my long hair back.

I want my hair to have the ability to do this again:

Bahah! That picture makes me laugh so much.

But until it grows out again, I'll have to resort to using pictures of me with long hair on the blog and my facebook profile.

*Sigh*

They Call Me...

2010-07-28T16:49:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I get bored at work and I doodle on scraps of paper and I usually end up drawing out my family tree over and over again. It's silly really, but it keeps me entertained and now you can be sure that I will never forget all the people in my family. In November, we'll have 30 persons of value (as opposed to those not of value) in our family when my sister has her baby boy, and I can't wait! (P.S. Sister, I really hope you don't steal one of my baby names because they are all brilliant. But I can't tell you what they are because if I told you, you would definitely use them because they are so brilliant).

Today while I doodled I wrote down all the nicknames I have ever been called. I came up with thirteen, and I am sure there more than that. Do you have that many nicknames? I thought not. (Sorry to be so snooty).

These are my aliases:

Kelly Marie

Kell

Kello

Kelly Bob

Kellykins

Kelly LaRue

Kelly Olga

Kell Kell (which I hate)

Kid

Gubbie

Kelly Belly (which I also hate)

Kelly Josephina

Smelly Kelly (not a favorite)

I think maybe you could call me anything and get away with it. Except for Kell Kell and Kelly Belly of course.

I Should Have Been Snoozy Woozing

2010-07-24T00:30:00.000-07:00

The 24th of July is the one week out of the year that I absolutely cannot wait for (besides Christmas). There is just oodles of stuff to do and I love every minute of it. On Friday, I played in my Alumni soccer game and got bit by dozens of mosquitoes (the game was fun too) and then I went to the family dance. Once I was there I realized that I belong to an awkward age group. Really, we just don't fit in anywhere! Most of the the male species at the dance were either under the age sixteen or already married. Needless to say, the pickings were slim...except for the few pickings who were not slim...My friends and I just pay $5.00 to chit chat with each other and complain about how tired we are and how itchy our legs are from the mosquitoes and how there are no guys to dance with, and if we do get asked to dance we complain about how awkward it was. I don't think we whine much until we go to a dance that we swear we're excited for before we actually get there.

I left the dance a little bit early as all my other single friends were leaving and I was starving from not eating much before my game. I decided to eat some of the pasta salad that no one else likes. So I sat down at the computer to check my email and facebook because I didn't want to eat in the dark. I would have turned on a light, but my nephews were snoring away (they were literally snoring) in the living room, and I didn't want the light from the kitchen to wake them up. Nothing too exciting was going on in facebookland just so you know, a few people found some new cows for their farms and some fishes died, but nothing too exciting.

I was really tired, but I just did not want to go to sleep, so I sat there for a while consuming the pasta salad and wondering if finding cows in facebookland is really that exciting. Then I got a text (all my exciting posts happen because of texts...) from my sister. Turns out she was in the hospital awaiting the news as to when she would have her gall bladder removed. She's so lucky. She had to go to the emergency room once already before I left, and I new that once I did leave, she would get to go again. Like I said, she's so lucky. So in all reality, I must have been prompted to stay up late and eat that pasta salad, just so I could be there for my sister when she needed me. Okay, so maybe not, but I am glad I was awake because I would have wanted her to be awake if I was sitting in the hospital. Probably because I would want to rub it in her face how I get to sit in a bed with plastic bed sheets while wearing a hospital gown and not getting to eat because I have to have my gall bladder out. That is definitely what I would do.

She always did have the best luck.

The Happening

2010-07-21T16:22:00.000-07:00

Sometimes, things happen. In fact, things happen almost everyday, but those are everyday happenings. What about those things that happen that don't happen very often?

Are those things meant to happen?

Are things better because they happened?

Because they happened, is something else going to happen?

Is that something else better than what could have happened?

Is what you wanted to happen better for you than what happened?

Or is it the other way around?

What are you supposed to do when they happen?

Did something you do cause them to happen?

Is it complete chance that they happen?

I guess sometimes things just happen.

I Meant to Post This Last Week

2010-07-16T12:53:00.000-07:00

Walmart is an interesting place, and I know you agree with me. It is one huge warehouse entirely devoted to mountains of unnecessary items and a few piles of necessary things. It's no wonder it attracts every sort of person you could imagine. We all go to get our few necessities (i.e. food, soap, socks, etc.) and we walk out with carts heavily laden with the "unnecessities" such as $5.00 DVDs, clearance rack t-shirts we're sure won't shrink even though we know perfectly well that they shrink every time, and pints of Ben & Jerry's simply because they're on sale.

Such was the case yesterday (which was really last week because I meant to post this then). I went to Walmart because all I needed was a package of lunch meat and some cheese. I grabbed the lunch meat and wasn't surprised to find that they didn't have the cheese I wanted because it's Walmart, they have everything but what you really need. While I was wandering around, I spied that Ben & Jerry's was on sale. How fortunate! I grabbed a couple of pints (Everything But The & Cinnamon Buns) and made my way to the register. I found my place in the back of a line that wound it's way into the women's clothes section. A woman in blue came by to tell us that we could checkout in jewelry or customer service if we didn't have any produce. The nice man in front of me laughed with me about how silly it would be to do that as it would take the same amount of time to get over there as it would to just wait. We both whistled our own little ditties (he had a very nice whistle) while we waited and I started people-watching...my favorite Walmart pastime.

I noticed that the woman in front of the nice-whistling-man had a cart of necessities and a couple pints of Haagan Daz. I wondered if she didn't notice that Ben & Jerry's was on sale. Maybe she prefers Haagan Daz...Then I notice how old the lady in front of the Haagan Daz lady was. Her skin was so ghostly pale I'm sure I could see every vein in her bare forearms. Then I noticed how frugal she was. Not only was she only buying necessities, but she paid the cashier with perfect change. Her change was nicely organized in a ziploc bag. While I waited for the lady to collect the correct amount of change so the line could move on, I started people-watching those who entered the store.

In came the motorcycle-tough-guys, (you know the ones with graying beards and leather vests with tassels), the couple who looked like they were on their post-temple Walmart date, several teenage girls in super-shorty-shorts, a few moms with children piled in their carts and hanging on the sides, and one woman who stood out to me from all the others. It was probably because her shirt said this: "I only appear normal."

I chuckled to myself, "Oh, I'm a sharp one, and you can't pull the wool over my eyes!"

The old woman with the ziploc bag of change carted herself away slowly but surely, the Haagan Daz lady checked out like a regular, as did the nice whistling man, and then myself. I kept watching the people going in and going out as I walked to my little blue car in the crowded, but not so crowded parking lot littered with receipts and Dr. Pepper bottles. Everyone from the "apparently" normal woman and the motorcycle mafia all go to Walmart with the same mission:

To get in and get out as fast as possible with more necessities than unnecessities.

But alas, we all have the same fate and fall victim to the the sale on Ben & Jerry's and the $5.00 DVDs. They get us every time. Wretched Walmart.

Destroy the Relationship

2010-07-15T11:56:00.000-07:00

Whenever you get a text late at night or early in the morning, in general, that text is pretty important. As a rule, text messages are not sent out during the times when the recipient may or may not be coherent unless they are very important. If that's not the case with you, apparently we're not friends with the same people. And perhaps you should look into getting new friends.

But I got an important text this morning. Well actually I got an important text last night, but the "texter" fell asleep before he could get to what he was trying to say, so he tried again this morning. The question he asked was one I never expected and I was appalled to hear such a thing coming from him--I didn't actually hear it because it was a text--as he is someone I highly esteem. "What is this question that was so appalling?" you may ask.

The conversation is as follows:

"Should I have a DTR with [name withheld]?"

DTR-n. an acronym for "determine the relationship," generally, a lengthy (usually several hours and/or days) discussion between two persons who feel a particular affection for one another to verify their relationship status

To which I replied, "Absolutely not." I thought that would suffice, but then I added, "You should never have one of those with anyone ever. Ever." I wanted my position on the matter to be quite clear.

"That's not what others say..."

I was sure I knew who it was that was giving him such awful advice and I wanted to point out that said persons are not in any kind of relationship with anyone, and their last relationships ended abruptly after unnecessary DTRs of their own. Luckily I dissuaded him of ever having a DTR with [name withheld] and hopefully with anyone else ever.

And this is why:

DTRs lead to nothing but miscommunication and confusion. And that is the way it always works. I have never met anyone who has had a beneficial DTR.

So I told my friend and he agreed. I reminded him that he likes her and that he knows she likes him, and that things were going fine. I then reminded him that he could just propose to her sometime soon and I'll find someone, somewhere, somehow...to propose to me and we'll have a double wedding in December.

It'll be great.

Spinach Souffle

2010-07-12T15:05:00.000-07:00

I believe congratulations are in order. My first attempt at a Julia Child recipe was a success. Well, it was a success in the terms that it was no where near as bad as that manicotti I made that one time. Let's just say that I will never be able to eat ricotta cheese ever again. So, the souffle was nothing like the manicotti. So congratulations to me.

This was such a monumental and momentous occasion that I asked my sister to document the evidence that I did in fact make a souffle. So naturally, she took a picture of every detail that involved our first souffle.

You should know that I did in fact wash my hands just for the occasion.

I probably spent more time reading the recipe than actually cooking the darn thing. Notice how dedicated I was to the souffle that I did not wash my hair. At least you know my hands were clean...

Note to self: Fresh spinach and cooked spinach do not occupy the same amount of space, and Swiss cheese tastes like rubbish.

The best face of the night.

Note #2: Be generous when buttering your mold (okay, so mine is really just a casserole dish, but it worked) otherwise, the souffle will stick.

I was whisking so furiously (I was using a fork because I forgot to get a plastic whisk) that I broke off part of the fork. We later played a game of "Who can find the fork in the souffle," and guess who won?

It's not but eggs and spinach.

Aren't you glad I left out the pictures of me cracking the eggs and beating the egg whites?

After half an hour of whisking, egg-cracking, beating, and sweating (the kitchen is a hot place in summer!) the souffle was ready to bake.

Voila!

It looked even better in real life, but once I got everyone into the kitchen for dinner, the stupid thing had collapsed. I guess when Julia Child says to serve it immediately, she really means it. So I was the only person the see the souffle in all it's golden, puffy glory.

So as I said, this souffle was basically just eggs and spinach, and that is exactly what it tasted like, except the texture was....quite unexpected. It was like eating an egg-flavored spongecake. So we (my sister, brother-in-law, and I) decided that this would be better as a breakfast dish served with hash browns, and that it needed bacon. Honestly, name something that bacon doesn't fix. Let's tell Julia.

Charming

2010-07-09T12:42:00.000-07:00

Charm- n. a power of pleasing or attracting, as through personality or beauty

On a scale from one to charming, I would rate at a two, or perhaps lower. There is no need to go into details, because this post (for once) is not about myself. But I do know seven ladies who go above and beyond the charming scale. They are the epitome of charming. Anyone would be lucky to know them, and I myself am very lucky.

Stephenie

Oh how I love Stephie! Stephenie watches out for others all the time, and I doubt she ever even thinks of herself. Everyone trusts Stephenie and she probably knows everyone's deepest, darkest secrets. It's a huge burden, but she never complains. She probably just got that fern to tell her its life story.

Megan

Megan is easily one of the most likable people I have ever met. Not to mention that she is also one of the most beautiful people I have ever met. Megan is always sincere. She gives sincere compliments and she never laughs half-heartedly. If it's worth laughing about you can bet it will be a genuine Megan laugh. No one could ever doubt where Megan stands on an issue because she will either tell them or she has told them already. She always sticks to her guns. Or do her guns stick to her?

Wendy

As this picture depicts, Wendy is much like Julie Andrews on Sound of Music; spreading joy and music to the metaphorical Von Trapp children of the world. How's that for a metaphor? Wendy makes everyone feel important and she wants everyone to feel happy. I don't think I've witnessed Wendy without a smile on her face.

Caitlyn

Before I knew Caitlyn, I just wanted to be her friend. That sounds creepy, but I noticed how charming Caitlyn was in high school when I started seeing her at various music functions. I didn't meet her until college though, and guess what? We're friends. So not so creepy after all! (Well maybe a little.) Caitlyn is spunky and quirky and dare I say groovy? She listens to the best music, reads the best books, and wears whatever she thinks is cool. (i.e. Her signature bracelet that just so happens to be a fork bent around her wrist). Whatever Caitlyn deems as cool really is cool. She's also incredibly compassionate and a good and true friend.

Anna

I've know Anna for a very long time, and I can't recall a time when I didn't admire her. Her family calls her Princess Anna, and it suits her. I have never heard Anna say a rude word to or about anyone. Ever. Anyone who knows Anna loves her instantly, and they don't just like her, they love her.

Lora

This is Lora, and she is classy. Notice the picture of her in a perfect outfit in Europe. All classy people go to Europe. Well, a lot of not-so-classy people go to Europe...but Lora is classy and she went to Europe. Lora has been one of my greatest friends since we were just wee lasses in kindergarten, and I plan on keeping her around. She's always good for a witty comment, a great suggestion for a book, or a trip to the movies. I think everyone needs a friend like Lora.

Marisa

Marisa is gorgeous inside and out as is apparent from this picture of her and her little sister. I think the best word to describe Marisa is: love. She sincerely loves everyone and everything. Marisa's laugh is infectious. She makes people feel good about themselves and people draw close to her because of it.

"Do you know the difference between a beautiful woman and a charming one? A beauty is a woman you notice, a charmer is one who notices you." -Adlai E. Stevenson

Oh, and these boys are charming too, but that's an entirely different post.

Bon Appetit!

2010-07-02T13:59:00.000-07:00

I think I've been obsessed with creating things for most of my life. When I was little I wanted so badly to know how to cook. I practiced and practiced and became the official cookie-baker for the family. I taught myself to crack an egg with one hand after watching Audrey Hepburn do it on Sabrina. Now I can crack an egg with each hand. Did that sentence make sense? I mean that I can crack two eggs simultaneously with both of my hands. Two eggs. Two hands. No shell.

When I was a little older I went through my interior-design phase. I watched Trading Spaces every Saturday night and I was determined to turn our house upside down with my creative skill. My poor mother. She humored me though, and let me change my room countless times. She even let me paint it with pink and blue stripes. It was horrid, but she let me do it anyways. Needless to say, I gave up on the interior design idea after the stripes did permanent damage to the eyes of anyone who entered my room.

In high school I entered the fashion-design phase. My favorite show became What Not to Wear and everyone around me was under my critical eye. My mom put up with that too. As did the rest of my family. Sorry everyone. I started to get a little better at sewing. Well, at least I could sew a basic straight line. My mom helped me sew dresses and skirts and anything I ever wanted to try my hand at. What a wonderful mother I have.

Recently, I became a huge fan of Julie & Julia. I think I've watched it a dozen or so times since I first saw it a few months ago. I absolutely adore it. After I watched it, all I wanted to do was cook. So my sister and I decided to cook our way through Julia Child's cookbook. Or at least the dessert section...But we decided it probably wouldn't be wise because we did want to keep some semblance of our figures and we didn't want that ruined by a summer of butter. But then I had a birthday and my wonderful wonderful sister and brother-in-law gave me Julia's Mastering the Art of French Cooking.

Could I have gotten a better birthday present? I think not. Oh, except my angel of a mother gave me a sewing machine for my birthday. I am just the luckiest really. I feel kind of bad though because I think the best thing I gave my mom for her birthday was....Aw heck, I've probably never given her anything that cool. And all I gave my sister for her birthday was Sword in the Stone and a stash of chocolate. I was really excited about that present and thought it was the best until I opened mine and there was this beautiful, hard-bound cookbook. I am terribly behind in points when it comes to gift giving apparently.

So thanks to my mother and sister, I will get to keep trying to cook and sew and I will get to create as many messes as I possibly can. The possibilities are endless really.

Bon Appetit!

Weakling

2010-07-01T14:39:00.000-07:00

I file papers for a living. Actually, I go to school so that one day I can maybe make a living, and in the meantime I file papers in my uncle's office so that I can pay my phone bill and buy unnecessary (but necessary!) scraps of fabric from Walmart. When I came into the office this morning, waiting on my desk was an ominous-looking stack of papers. I got straight to work, knowing that this particular stack could take a few hours. Four hours to be exact. The first step in the filing process is to whole-punch all of the papers. We got a new industrial whole-puncher that can punch up to twenty papers at one time which is supposed to be helpful, but due to a recent discovery, whole-punching is not as easy as it seems.

The discovery is thus: I am a weakling.

Well, either that, or this whole-puncher is well...tough. I have to resort to using both hands to punch more than five papers at a time, and since I have to file enormous amounts of paper, I simply can't punch five papers at a time. While getting lost in thought during this monotonous (though strenuous) process, I have often realized that while I'm whole-punching (this is now a verb) I have one eye closed and my lips pursed together and by the end of large stacks of paper I am perspiring slightly. Sometimes I even have to stand up to get the proper amount of leverage to punch through the papers. Oh how grateful I am that no one is watching me while I file papers. Or maybe they do and they just snicker silently to themselves...

Can you say weakling?

Windshield Wipers

2010-06-29T10:28:00.000-07:00

I kept putting off posting because I was getting really comfortable with having a picture of my parents with sweet, little Leah Marie at the top of my blog. I really do like it there. Maybe I'll just re-post that picture with every new post. Good idea? No? Oh. Okay. Maybe not.

So the above video was just too funny to me. I got out of my car and heard a loud squeak, and lo and behold there were these windshield wipers just going at it. I didn't think it was even possible for windshield wipers to operate while the car was off. So I sneakily pulled out my phone, hoping that the owner of the vehicle was no where nearby. I did feel a tad bit on the creepy side while recording the video, but it just needed to be documented. And besides, it wouldn't be funny to tell anybody about it without them seeing it because well...I am awful at telling stories. And I mean awful. Past boyfriends have often laughed, mocked, and then banned my story telling. Is it better in a blog? Oh, no. Maybe it's worse. Oh well, it's my blog and I can say what I want without the fear of mean boyfriends criticizing my story-telling skills. So if you have any criticism, just keep it to yourself.

And while we're on the topic of windshield wipers, I killed a bird while driving home to the Big SJ on Friday afternoon. I didn't purposefully kill it. In fact, I am certain that that particular bird was a kamikaze. Fortunately, my car was harmed in no way, but unfortunately, the bird was, and then I had to clean feathers out of my windshield. It scared me so bad. I was just driving along, minding my own business, watching out for Apaches (because I just outside of Bylas), and SMACK! A giant bird (okay, it was either a small crow or a big...other sort of bird) smashed its fragile body against the glass leaving a greasy smear and a portion of feathers attached to the top of my windshield. Poor bird. I found myself actually ducking inside my car as a few birds were almost too slow to get out of the way of my car as I drove to school today. The words "Bird killer. Bird killer," kept sounding in my head as more birds nearly met the same fate as Friday's suicidal bird. Poor bird. Why is it that things attack me outside of Bylas?

What really is in that water?

Father's Day

2010-06-20T14:27:00.000-07:00

The Top Ten Reasons Why My Dad is the Best

#10. He can do ANYTHING, including Taekwondo, operate ham radios, juggle, unicycle, fence, ride his bicycle for hundreds of miles at a time, build RC airplanes, hike anywhere, canoe, rappel, fish, fly kites, yo-yo (is that a verb?), boomerang (I don't know if that's a verb either), devil sticks, that cool ball thing that David Bowie does on Labrynth, and a million other things I can't think of. You name it, he can do it.

#9. He can fix anything. My Dad keeps the power plant running. When he retires, we probably won't have electricity any more. I remember once we were at the theatre at home and the projector broke down, and the owner came into the audience and asked if my dad was there. My dad got up from his seat, fixed the projector in five minutes, and we finished the movie. My mom said something similar happened to him in the temple once. If it's broken, my dad can fix it.

#8. He is spontaneous. My dad will do anything at the drop of a hat. If he gets an idea to do something, no questions asked, he'll go out and do it. He took me on an impromptu trip to the Grand Canyon so we could do our annual hike before I left for college. We nearly died because we weren't in shape for it, but it's one of my favorite memories.

#7. People can count on him for anything. If anything is asked of him, and there is any way that he can accomplish it, he'll do it. If he has to drive across the country to help someone, he'll go.

#6. He gives the best presents ever! I know that sounds very selfish, but it's really special. My dad always gives a lot of thought into every present he gives, and I've never gotten something I couldn't use. Ooh, last Christmas he gave us all these flashlights that don't use batteries. I've used it several times, and it is awfully useful. My dad makes every Christmas and birthday special.

#5. He always has a good story to tell. If you ever talk to him, chances are you'll hear a story. It might not have anything to do with what you were talking about, but it will always be a good one.

#4. He taught me to love reading. I don't remember a time when my dad didn't read to me. We read a fairy tale or part of a book every Sunday until I graduated from high school.

#3. He's always encouraged me to be great. Whether it was a soccer game, a dance recital, or a spelling bee, my dad was always there to encourage me to do and be my best. He's given me the desire to work hard and make and reach goals and give everything I've got in the life I'm living.

#2. He has a strong testimony of the gospel of Jesus Christ. I have always known where my dad stood with the gospel. He knows we have a loving Heavenly Father, a Savior who redeemed us from our sins, and that we have the ability and potential to go home to them and be made clean from our sins. He knows that our family can be together forever, and that is the most important thing in my life.

#1. My dad loves his family. Really, this and #2 go hand in hand. My dad is the greatest example of the love of Christ and loves my family so much. He loves my Mama and she loves him back. He loves everyone of his children and grandchildren despite all the trouble and worry and grief we have given him. We're so lucky to have him!

Happy Father's Day Daddy, I love you very very much.

Fancy Nancy

2010-06-18T13:31:00.000-07:00

It all started with Lora you know. Lora is the connoisseur (that's a fancy word for expert) of all written words. If Lora says it's a good book, chances are it will knock your socks off. So, while we were in Walmart we took a turn through the book section. (If you go to Walmart with Lora, there's no way you'll leave without going through the book section.) We wandered by the romantic novels and turned over all the ones we deemed as inappropriate for any eyes to behold (which we did often), and made our way over to where all the appropriate books were stashed. Lora gasped and snagged a misplaced book from the bottom shelf. "Kelly, you have to read this!" she exclaimed. So I did. And I loved it. Just like I always do if Lora tells me so.

Fancy Nancy

I loved the title and I instantly loved the little red-headed girl covered from head to toe in glitter and frills. I laughed out loud when Nancy taught her family the difference between plain and fancy. Yellow is plain. Gold is fancy. I wanted a doll named Lucinia Marabelle Chandelier just like Nancy's. I couldn't help but love Nancy. Lora and I giggled the whole way through the book. Nancy is tres chic (that's French for very fancy).

I remember being a lot like Nancy when I was little. I loved fixing things up and dressing up. Anything that had to do with being fancy. I wanted things to be perfect and as nice as possible. In fact I'm still that way. You probably can't tell from my t-shirt and jean clad exterior, but I love being fancy. I don't even think my roommates know that I'm fancy underneath. So maybe I need to bring back my own Fancy Nancy because I love being that person. It makes me happy, just like reading Fancy Nancy does. I'm not talking about trying to be perfect all the time or being worldly and obsessed with clothes and jewelry. No, no no, that's not what I mean. Fancy Nancy makes plain things beautiful and she makes life beautiful because of how she perceives it. Sure she throws on a few extra bows, but that's what makes being a girl special. There's always something to add and some way to make life brighter and more beautiful.

So, just like Nancy, I'm a tres, tres fancy girl.

Tomatoes

2010-06-16T14:24:00.000-07:00

Early-morning psychology is interesting to say the least. The class is packed with the leftover-summer-crazies.

leftover-summer-crazies n. 1. the persons who frequent the classrooms of junior colleges during the summer months, these persons tend to be eccentric in nature and personality

I spend most of the class wondering why what was just said was said at all. I think the teacher thinks I'm constantly confused about the subject, when in reality I'm just pondering on how one particular classroom can be the official melting pot of every variety of human being.

Some of my ponderings: Why does that woman wear white stretch pants and polka-dotted granny panties? Speaking of grannies, why does that 80 year old woman insist on wearing tank tops every day? Such a thing should not be done. Ever. And while we're on the topic of arms that should not be seen, did you know that if you get a tattoo when you're younger and then later gain a large amount of weight, that tattoo will grow with your ever-growing appendage. One size fits all. And speaking of tattoos, it is possible to have large tattoos on your neck (or small tattoos if you don't want to be too flashy). Such persons (with tattoos on their necks) might have once upon a time in their deep dark past been involved with drugs (the effects of which are evident). And if such persons divulge such information, it will in no doubt have the law-enforcers who are furthering their education peering across the classroom nonchalantly at the former drug abusers.

But surprisingly, despite the diversity of the classroom, there is really only one person that....well....How do I put this delicately....Chaps my hide. She's a front-row sitter with a thick Southern accent and on the first day, she announced to the class that she's a psychology major.

*I coughed to myself, "Brown-noser."*

In fact, everything she says is an announcement, and if there is anything to say, she'll be sure to announce it. No, she'll announce it whether there's anything to say or not. She even often repeats what our teacher just said. What is this? Dramatic emphasis?

Example from yesterday's class:

Mrs. G.: "An example is of how children in Russian orphanages have problems with communication. Because they aren't nurtured while they are young, they can have problems with language and communicating effectively with others."

Southern Chick: "That's right. When you don't nurture a child, how can you expect it to be able communicate with you? Russia is so full of problems. Those orphanages are just awful. The children are neglected and undernourished, and so they aren't able to communicate effectively."

Wait. I don't think I've got it yet. Could you repeat it one more time?

All her comments leave me wanting nothing more than to throw something at the back of her head--as I'm conveniently seated directly behind her. What I usually want to throw is tomatoes. Today I threw twenty-one imaginary tomatoes. Eventually, I ran out of tomatoes and resorted to wads of paper and finally my pencil. She didn't even notice.

I always feel bad though. Most of the class period I'm offering silent prayers that I won't want to throw tomatoes at her. Luckily, Heavenly Father is watching out for me and has never provided me with a box of real tomatoes.....As of yet.

To fully understand this personality, refer to this video: http://www.hulu.com/watch/11931/saturday-night-live-penelope--traffic-school

Keeping It Clean

2010-06-08T20:57:00.001-07:00

My psychology class today made me think of this picture. We were talking about consciousness and how people cope with problems and the stresses of life. Some people turn to meditation, hypnosis, but most turn to alcohol and drugs. So I turned to these women for great advice. Thank you prohibition women. You were a little bit extreme and your efforts were not welcomed, but you set a standard and kept it. I know I laughed out loud when I saw this picture, and I still do, but "Way to Be!"

These women were just the cream of the crop to say the least. So men, if you want to kiss these women, keep away from that liquor! (I'm still not sure if it's incentive or a deterrent). But the same goes for me. (Yet again, an incentive or a deterrent....I guess we'll never know).

The Greatest Fear

2010-05-28T10:51:00.000-07:00

Believe it or not, marriage has been the number one topic in my thoughts and conversations as of late. Everyone wants to talk about it, and everyone wants to remind me that my days of single-life are coming quickly to an end. (No, I'm not engaged, nor am I dating anyone). Imagine continually thinking about your greatest fear, whether it be spiders, heights, creepy men with shaggy beards, etc., all because people want to keep talking about it. That is me and marriage. I know my mom is sighing and shaking her head already at this post. Sorry Mom, I can't help it. I would go into the details of what exactly about marriage frightens me, but that would be a much longer post than is necessary. We'll save that for another day. I'm sure the topic will come up again.

But just like any girl, I've been planning my wedding since I found out about marriage. I might even look at dresses and rings every once in a while. I was looking at rings the other day in fact when a guy friend texted me and asked what I was up to, so I told him I was bored at work so I was looking at rings.

He said, "Well as nervous as you are about marriage, it's interesting that you browse through the most recognizable symbols of the very thing you fear."

To which I replied, "Blah, blah, blah." (My response to most things nowadays.)

So, yes, I do look at dresses and rings and dream about which temple I'm going to get married in, and what my dress will look like, and if I'll have a beautiful ring. I'm a girl, and I can't help it. Oh, and I might think about who I'll marry occasionally, but only occasionally.

So here are some of the things I've fallen in love with recently:

#1: Monique Lhullier

Okay, so I know these dresses aren't completely modest, but I hate dresses like this http://www.beautifullymodest.com/ Yes, I hate all of them. They all look the same. Sure they may throw in the occasional pleat here and there, but they're basically the same. Anywho, this dress is just classy, and I love everything about it. There would be sleeves of course and the sheer fabric on the top wouldn't be sheer, but you get the picture. (No pun intended).

#2: Alita Graham

I have always LOVED this dress! I think the only thing that would make this dress better--besides a higher neck and sleeves of course--would be pockets. Who wouldn't want a dress with pockets? You could keep all sorts of things in there!

#3: Monique Lhullier

Oh Monique Lhullier, you win the prize for creating the most modest dress by far! (Exeunt cleavage.) The only thing I don't like is the crazy fold on the bottom, but an overall A+ for sure.

#4: Le Spose di Gio

And this one is my favorite. Outstanding!

My mom likes to tell me that when I feel like I'm not ready for something, that's probably when I'm ready for it. I didn't think I was ready for middle school, high school, or college, but it happened anyway and I was ready. So when the time comes for me to get married, hopefully I'll be ready even though I don't think I'll ever feel ready.

Who knows, maybe it won't be so bad.

A Hoard of Compliments

2010-05-17T12:03:00.000-07:00

I graduated from EA! Yay! Boo! (Both happy and sad). It's been so great being here, and I have loved every minute of it (not every minute of physics though). During these two years I've met some pretty awesome people, and they are just the salt of the earth. Enough said.

During this past semester though, I have received a large number of great compliments. The people at EA are just so great. I will recap three of my favorites:

Compliment #1: It was the beginning of the "short season"--the season in which everyone wears shorts--and I had just donned my favorite pair of denim shorts and my plaid flippy floppies. I was walking down the sidewalk with some friends enjoying the wonderful sunshine when we began discussing our shorts and the splendid weather, when my friend (who happens to be part Hawaiian, Italian, Native American, etc.) glanced and my bare legs and exclaimed, "Holy cow Kelly! You need to tan!" I can't help that my legs are very nearly see through. Thank you very much.

Compliment #2: I was in the cafeteria eating dinner with Lora and two other great girls. We were sharing our plans for the future, and one of said girls started to tease me about going to the Y just to get married. (A continuing joke I am not fond of at all). She continued with, "But you already have the perfect mom hair do!" No comment.

Compliment #3: I was standing around talking with a group of girls after our last day of choir and certain sentiments of how much we were going to miss each other were exchanged. As I was about to leave, one of the girls who happens to be in my ward gave me a hug. "Kelly, you've really done such a great job in the Relief Society presidency this year," she told me, "and you've really just stood out. Your clothes never really matched, but you've done so well!" What do you mean they don't match?

Bridal Showers

2010-05-12T11:00:00.000-07:00

I didn't used to hate bridal showers. In fact I'm sure I used to thoroughly enjoy them. I was full of young, girlish sentiments and relished in the thought of having my own one day, I would get new dishes, pizza pans, and wait....frilly underwear? No, no, I'll just take the pizza pans thanks. Apparently, the concept of bridal showers has completely changed since my St. Johns days. Nobody gives pizza pans anymore. What the?

In the last month I have been invited to and attended six bridal showers. Six. I think that is more bridal showers in one month than I have been to in my twenty (nearly) years of life. These bridal showers have been a major shock to my fragile nerves. "Such spasms and flutterings!" Six days of torture in one month. I would rather sit through physics. Several times. I can't even describe how horrifying they all were. In fact I'm glad I can't describe it because I don't want to take anyone's innocence away. Mine was cruelly ripped away from me in the form of cute invitations and promises of good food.

I feel sorry for my husband--whoever he may be. In fact I might not even get married because I'm so traumatized. But if I do, we're going to adopt our children and sleep in twin beds. Sorry future husband, but when I think of bridal showers and marriage, this is what happens to my face:

And you don't want a wife who looks like that permanently.

One, Two, Ready...Go!

2010-04-19T16:15:00.000-07:00

I don't know if I ever blogged about my decision. My momentous decision. I'm going to Brigham Young University. The one university I have spent so much time making fun of and disliking. I'm going.

People ask if I'm excited, and I usually say, "No," or shrug my shoulders a little.

"Then why are you going?"

"I don't know."

When I say that I don't know, that's not entirely true. I do know why: Because I feel like it's where I need to be. I know I need to leave the Gila Valley, and go to Provo. I'm scared, and sad to leave this place. The Gila Valley has become my second home, and I will always love it. But I'm going to Provo. I'm going to be living with girls I've never met or heard of, and I'm going to to be one person among thousands. That's never happened to me before. In my whole life (all 19 years 10 months and 13 days of it) my name has meant something to those around me. Obviously, not everyone, but most people knew my name and knew my family. No one will know me there.

I'm kind of running in the dark with this one. It's something I know I've got to do, but I'm going to miss home, my family, my friends, the green grass of EA. So, with lots of prayers and faith I'm going to go. I'm going to be a Cougar. I might even buy a shirt.