Classes have begun. For me, this means many things. Spending ridiculous amounts of money on textbooks which I will most likely open twice during the entire semester (once for midterms, once for the final) and then sell back for 30% of the original price, getting used to walking to campus (my chauffer has graduated, much to the dismay of my delicate feet. No high heels for Meggan this semester...), and a ginormous influx of people that make driving to the 7-11 around the corner a 30 minute endeavor. And as long as the weather is nice, it also means that it is time for the cherished ritual of library wall heckling. This is a sport that was introduced to me by my former roommate Lisha. It began as sitting outside, enjoying the sun, and playing an informal game of "who has more friends." Lisha, of course, annhilated me at that game. However, as time progressed, "who has more friends" evolved into "who can make more friends," also known in the common world as "heckling."
Today was the first heckling day of the season. The sun was shining, my new haircut was working, and I was fully pumped up to meet some new friends. I am, after all, an art history major, and as much as I love my classes, they just don't offer a whole lot of male-female interaction. Our day started off slow, but eventually Lisha and I built up enough momentum to make things interesting. Most of our advances are received warmly (our two most successful new friends resulted in a BBQ invitation as well as an email exchange. Not that we will persue the aforementioned boys, but heckling is all about making the connection). But some people just don't know how to take a compliment. As one particular fellow passed, Lisha said, "I like your jeans." Nothing offensive, nothing obnoxious....and he GLARED at us. Some people don't know how to respond, but at least they give an awkward smile or something. A response such as nice-jeans-boy's is just uncalled for.
31 August 2005
18 August 2005
rock you like a hurricane
Sometimes I carpool to Salt Lake with my friend Melissa. She works at the Gateway mall, which is a mere matter of blocks from my office, and so whenever she is scheduled to work the beloved 8-5 shift, she and I arrange to drive together. I save gas, get to use the carpool lane, and, most of all, have company on what is normally a long, lonely commute.
One morning in June, as we were just passing Thanksgiving Point, we saw the common sight of hang gliders in the sky. Today, for some reason, there seemed to be a lot of them-- maybe there was a convention or something. Anyway, we began to discuss the concept of hang gliding and if it was something we would enjoy doing. I made the comment that although such an activity would clearly cater to my daredevil palette, I was hesitant to go at that particular location. It was, after all, right across the freeway from the penitentiary. What if a large gust of wind picked me up, carried me across I-15, and dropped me right square into the middle of the maximum security recess area? Seeing as it was 7:15 in the morning when we had this conversation and we had gotten about 4 hours of sleep the night before, we found this to be an extremely funny possibility. I realize that to the reader this seems quite humor-less, but for some reason it had us in stitches for the rest of the drive. That evening, as we approached the point of the mountain on our journey home, we both got the giggles again.
Fast forward to a week ago. It is again 7:15, though this time, our heroine Meggan is driving all by herself. I am suffering from a severe case of fatigue, though this time, since I am alone, that fatigue transfers into a coma-like daze rather than a case of the sleepy sillies. Talk radio is at full volume, frosty diet coke in the cup holder, and my eyes are transfixed on the bumper of the car in front of me (which apparently is transporting the proud parent of an honor student. My mom never would put those stickers on our car, and now I understand why.). All of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of orange nylon. There is a hang glider who has broken free of the pack. I am assuming his detour was unintentional, as he is getting perilously close to the ground, which happens to be an intersection. He makes several sharp turns back and forth and eventually lands safely in the Lehi Park and Ride lot. I was so fascinated with watching him that I almost hit that honor student'’s proud parent'’s car.
Fast forward again to this morning. Melissa and I are driving together, and as the point of the mountain comes into view, I start laughing hysterically. So badly, in fact, that tears start running down my cheeks. I explain the story of the wayward glider to her. She laughs a little, but apparently fails to see the humorous nature of this tale. I explain to her that if a glider could make it that far off course, surely an emergency landing at the penitentiary is not as far-fetched as we had originally imagined. We measured the distance from the Park and Ride lot to the mountain, and sure enough, it was 2.5 miles. Plenty of room to land you in the middle of the big house.
One morning in June, as we were just passing Thanksgiving Point, we saw the common sight of hang gliders in the sky. Today, for some reason, there seemed to be a lot of them-- maybe there was a convention or something. Anyway, we began to discuss the concept of hang gliding and if it was something we would enjoy doing. I made the comment that although such an activity would clearly cater to my daredevil palette, I was hesitant to go at that particular location. It was, after all, right across the freeway from the penitentiary. What if a large gust of wind picked me up, carried me across I-15, and dropped me right square into the middle of the maximum security recess area? Seeing as it was 7:15 in the morning when we had this conversation and we had gotten about 4 hours of sleep the night before, we found this to be an extremely funny possibility. I realize that to the reader this seems quite humor-less, but for some reason it had us in stitches for the rest of the drive. That evening, as we approached the point of the mountain on our journey home, we both got the giggles again.
Fast forward to a week ago. It is again 7:15, though this time, our heroine Meggan is driving all by herself. I am suffering from a severe case of fatigue, though this time, since I am alone, that fatigue transfers into a coma-like daze rather than a case of the sleepy sillies. Talk radio is at full volume, frosty diet coke in the cup holder, and my eyes are transfixed on the bumper of the car in front of me (which apparently is transporting the proud parent of an honor student. My mom never would put those stickers on our car, and now I understand why.). All of a sudden, out of the corner of my eye, I see a flash of orange nylon. There is a hang glider who has broken free of the pack. I am assuming his detour was unintentional, as he is getting perilously close to the ground, which happens to be an intersection. He makes several sharp turns back and forth and eventually lands safely in the Lehi Park and Ride lot. I was so fascinated with watching him that I almost hit that honor student'’s proud parent'’s car.
Fast forward again to this morning. Melissa and I are driving together, and as the point of the mountain comes into view, I start laughing hysterically. So badly, in fact, that tears start running down my cheeks. I explain the story of the wayward glider to her. She laughs a little, but apparently fails to see the humorous nature of this tale. I explain to her that if a glider could make it that far off course, surely an emergency landing at the penitentiary is not as far-fetched as we had originally imagined. We measured the distance from the Park and Ride lot to the mountain, and sure enough, it was 2.5 miles. Plenty of room to land you in the middle of the big house.
15 August 2005
my get up and go must've got up and went
I had somewhat of a coma day on Saturday. Coma days consist of excessive sleeping in/napping, the wearing of sweats (at least, until I find the perfect bath robe. Then I will alternate). Coma days can be a lot of fun, but they really take a lot out of you. So yesterday I was feeling guilty for my day of slothfullness, and I decided that a little packing for my big move next weekend (a whole two doors away!) might make me feel less lazy.
Moving is one of the most stressful situations I can be put under. I moved a lot when I was little, so I have always associated empty U-Haul boxes with bad feelings. But I am trying to be a more positive person, so I tried to find all of the good things about moving.
1. Out With the Old…
I have a tendency to collect clothing. And I really have a difficult time parting with it, even if it is a hideous item that I haven’t even CONSIDERED wearing in the past two years. Example: In my upstairs storage closet (also commonly referred to as the Seven Minutes in Heaven Room), I have a large blue military-style bag that is half filled with old pairs of shoes that I can’t get rid of. Every time I even consider taking a load of them to DI, scenes from toy story flash through my head. Wouldn’t my shoes rather be in a storage bag at my house than in the possession of some shoe-abusing crazy like that Sid character? Some pairs are not so bad…I have an old pair of Roxy tennis shoes that I wear when I go out shooting or fishing because I don’t worry about them getting dirty. But some of those shoes are truly hideous. Like the Dr. Marten sandals that I knew I would die if I didn’t get in the sixth grade. Ew. (And in case you are calculating the timeline in your head….no, my feet haven’t grown since I was 13.) There are also several pairs of shoes from my platform shoes era, circa 1999. Also not a particularly glamorous fashion phase of my past. But I digress. The point is, when I have to move, I am miraculously blessed with the power to get rid of superfluous belongings…old movie stubs, old bluebooks, t-shirts from my American Eagle phase, etc. Of course, many items manage to escape the great extermination or else why in the devil would I still have that shoe bag? But each move I get braver and braver, so I predict that by the time I graduate (which could be anywhere from 2 to 10 years from now), I will have only half of what is in that bag.
2. In With the New…
Call me shallow. Call me materialistic. But one of the best things about moving is the excuse to go hog-wild at Wal Mart. We couldn’t POSSIBLY survive another day in 210 without some new drinking glasses, so I’ll take 4 martini glasses, some festive margarita glasses with a cactus on the stem, a handful of coffee mugs for chilly morning treats, and a box of 12 regular glasses. And what the heck, why not throw in a new shower curtain and some candles. We’ll be back tomorrow to buy what we forgot…
3. Adventure
Perhaps your new living situation will be perfect….no one will be annoying, messy, loud, etc. and you will all get along swimmingly. Or maybe one will be gone all the time, one will become a dear friend…and one will be fresh off of the airplane from India, insisting to cook smelly food in the kitchen throughout the day and make your bathroom an unbearable living space. Granted, I am going into this situation knowing all three other girls rather than playing the game of random roommate roulette, but still, one never knows. Here is hoping that the next few semesters will be Shiny free.
4. Surprise!
I am the first one to admit that I am a bit of a pack rat (only I don’t like that phrase one bit. Ew. Let’s refer to this condition from here on out as a "collector"). However, cramming all of my stuff into such a miniscule living space means that some stuff is going to be stashed and forgotten. Forgotten, that is, until it is time to move. Ta da! Suddenly, as I sift through piles and boxes, I have found my missing earring, a lost homework assignment (dang it, that would have done so well if only I had turned it in), a photo or two, and an entire box of winter clothes you hadn’t really forgotten, but they just look so exciting after an entire summer of struggling with the I-need-to-be-modest-but-it’s-so-freaking-hot syndrome. Plus, I almost always make a profit... don't you love it when you go to fold a pair of pants and a five dollar bill falls out???
5. Helping my Friends
A few months ago, we had a lesson in church about service, and one of the sub-topics was abandoning pride and letting people serve you. That having been said, I will be moving this weekend and would LOVE to provide you with an opportunity to serve. You’re welcome!
Moving is one of the most stressful situations I can be put under. I moved a lot when I was little, so I have always associated empty U-Haul boxes with bad feelings. But I am trying to be a more positive person, so I tried to find all of the good things about moving.
1. Out With the Old…
I have a tendency to collect clothing. And I really have a difficult time parting with it, even if it is a hideous item that I haven’t even CONSIDERED wearing in the past two years. Example: In my upstairs storage closet (also commonly referred to as the Seven Minutes in Heaven Room), I have a large blue military-style bag that is half filled with old pairs of shoes that I can’t get rid of. Every time I even consider taking a load of them to DI, scenes from toy story flash through my head. Wouldn’t my shoes rather be in a storage bag at my house than in the possession of some shoe-abusing crazy like that Sid character? Some pairs are not so bad…I have an old pair of Roxy tennis shoes that I wear when I go out shooting or fishing because I don’t worry about them getting dirty. But some of those shoes are truly hideous. Like the Dr. Marten sandals that I knew I would die if I didn’t get in the sixth grade. Ew. (And in case you are calculating the timeline in your head….no, my feet haven’t grown since I was 13.) There are also several pairs of shoes from my platform shoes era, circa 1999. Also not a particularly glamorous fashion phase of my past. But I digress. The point is, when I have to move, I am miraculously blessed with the power to get rid of superfluous belongings…old movie stubs, old bluebooks, t-shirts from my American Eagle phase, etc. Of course, many items manage to escape the great extermination or else why in the devil would I still have that shoe bag? But each move I get braver and braver, so I predict that by the time I graduate (which could be anywhere from 2 to 10 years from now), I will have only half of what is in that bag.
2. In With the New…
Call me shallow. Call me materialistic. But one of the best things about moving is the excuse to go hog-wild at Wal Mart. We couldn’t POSSIBLY survive another day in 210 without some new drinking glasses, so I’ll take 4 martini glasses, some festive margarita glasses with a cactus on the stem, a handful of coffee mugs for chilly morning treats, and a box of 12 regular glasses. And what the heck, why not throw in a new shower curtain and some candles. We’ll be back tomorrow to buy what we forgot…
3. Adventure
Perhaps your new living situation will be perfect….no one will be annoying, messy, loud, etc. and you will all get along swimmingly. Or maybe one will be gone all the time, one will become a dear friend…and one will be fresh off of the airplane from India, insisting to cook smelly food in the kitchen throughout the day and make your bathroom an unbearable living space. Granted, I am going into this situation knowing all three other girls rather than playing the game of random roommate roulette, but still, one never knows. Here is hoping that the next few semesters will be Shiny free.
4. Surprise!
I am the first one to admit that I am a bit of a pack rat (only I don’t like that phrase one bit. Ew. Let’s refer to this condition from here on out as a "collector"). However, cramming all of my stuff into such a miniscule living space means that some stuff is going to be stashed and forgotten. Forgotten, that is, until it is time to move. Ta da! Suddenly, as I sift through piles and boxes, I have found my missing earring, a lost homework assignment (dang it, that would have done so well if only I had turned it in), a photo or two, and an entire box of winter clothes you hadn’t really forgotten, but they just look so exciting after an entire summer of struggling with the I-need-to-be-modest-but-it’s-so-freaking-hot syndrome. Plus, I almost always make a profit... don't you love it when you go to fold a pair of pants and a five dollar bill falls out???
5. Helping my Friends
A few months ago, we had a lesson in church about service, and one of the sub-topics was abandoning pride and letting people serve you. That having been said, I will be moving this weekend and would LOVE to provide you with an opportunity to serve. You’re welcome!
13 August 2005
just a small town girl
I love television. And I have always suspected that most other people do as well, they just don’t want admit it. It is much more sophisticated to refer to tv as a mindless waste of time and that you prefer to spend your time pondering on the writings of Nietzsche. Really, we all know that when you are sitting at home alone, you are sitting on the couch, dumbfounded at the kitchen wonder that is the Magic Bullet (and honestly, who wouldn’t be? That thing is AMAZING!). It reminds me of high school, when for some inexplicable reason it was uncool to like McDonalds. Taco Bell and Wendys were perfectly ok, but NEVER McDonalds. But now that we are trying to grow up and be honest about our feelings, we can admit to the fact that some days, nothing hits the spot quite like a Big Mac and fries.
We have yet to hit that point with tv. Some things are much less controversial, like the Olympics. The Olympics are a time when all mankind agrees that the television is a remarkable invention—it is able to capture the spirit of the Olympics like written news never will. However, the rift between tv fans and foes widens with other shows. Lots of people watch late night talk shows, a few less people watch any number of reality tv shows, and no one will admit to watching the lowest of the low. MTV reality shows. And I am talking about the really shameful shows, like Punk’d, Pimp My Ride, My Super Sweet Sixteen and my personal favorite, Laguna Beach. I don’t know why I am so drawn to the melodramatic lives of wealthy teenagers, but I am. And so are a lot of other people. But if this show is ever brought up in mixed company (and by mixed, I am referring to fans and non-fans), it is almost immediately met with a collective sigh and head shake. But I am ok with standing alone. Or at least, what I thought was alone…
So the other day, I was watching Laguna Beach reruns after I got home from work. Included in this particular episode was a scene set to the Journey hit “Don’t Stop Believing.” Well, the next day at work, I could NOT get that song out of my head! I tried to ignore it, hoping that it would pass like a flu and I would be fine the next day. I lied to myself like this for 3 days. So on Friday, I broke down and went to Wal Mart on my lunch break to purchase Journey’s Greatest Hits. Wow, that is some great music to sing along with at the top of your lungs. It got me all the way through my go-home traffic, which normally drives (pun intended) me to a murderous rage. When I got home, I still hadn’t had enough, so I blasted the cd while I cleaned the apartment. I was so caught up in perfecting my next karaoke act that I missed a call from my uncle (who is apparently a dead ringer for Joey from Friends). I returned his call promptly and explained to him that I hadn’t been able to hear my phone ringing over the stunning vocals of Steve Perry. (Quick side note: in this day and age of the ringtone, is it still appropriate to say that one’s phone was ringing? Or would it be more accurate to say that your phone “sounded” or “sang”?) He laughed and said that at work earlier that day, he was downloading songs off of iTunes (BYU professors have busy days, apparently) and was baffled to see a Journey song on the Top 10 Downloaded Songs List. “Was it ‘Don’t Stop Believing'?” I asked. Indeed it was. I explained that that very song was what had inspired my purchase earlier that day, because it had been on Laguna Beach that week. Clearly, this strong of a response to this particular song can’t be a coincidence. Journey hasn't been mainstream in years, and now it is all of a sudden the number 8 download on iTunes.
Interpret it as you wish-- I see it as undeniable evidence that Laguna Beach is the new McDonalds.
12 August 2005
my best judgement signed its resignation
I realize that the presence of a blog with my name on it may raise a few questions. The first of those questions being "Whatever happened to your oath to never blog?" In my defense, allow me to list the events which have led me to blogging:
- Everybody else is. It's true-- I am a lemming. I can't stand being left out of the loop.
- My summer internship. I have spent the summer working for Design West Architects, which has contributed to my need to blog in two ways:
-- I am becoming quite computer savvy. Of course, this is a relative statement. But I have spent a large chunk of time perfecting my Adobe Illustrator skills and now I feel like a genius. And I would appreciate it if all of you truly computer literate people could leave me alone to revel in my ignorant glory. Anyways, blogging seems like the next step in becoming part of the tech crowd. Yes, I know I’m miles away from that, but go with it…
-- I spend 40+ hours a week sitting in front of a computer, and I only have actual work to do for about 10 of those hours. I get bored and internet shopping gets monotonous…I feel like I have seen every single shopping site in the world (does anyone else remember that commercial a few years ago with the guy who was on his computer when all of a sudden a window popped up, congratulating him for successfully surfing the entire internet? I think it was an ad for high-speed internet or something). I have spent a lot of time emailing and such, which leads me to number 3… - For some reason, I am much funnier in the written form. I spend good amounts of time corresponding with friends in the corporate world during my day (and in case you were wondering, I email instead of IM because I have to run a lot of errands and nothing is more annoying that having to repeatedly abandon IM conversations. Email is a lot less stressful). Anyway, I was reading through my archives (thank heavens for gmail) when I realized how incredibly clever I can be when I have the time to carefully plan out what I am going to say. And who am I to reserve the right to appreciate my wit to the select few on my email list? That is just unfair…
- Jumping out of an airplane. Last Saturday, I went skydiving with seven other friends in scenic Erda, Utah. I am a big fan of risking my life by jumping off of high elevations (bridges, cliffs, bungee towers, etc.), but I have always been a tad wary of skydiving. But as soon as the idea was proposed, I said yes. I couldn’t turn down the opportunity to skydive with a bunch of friends (please see item #1). The experience was incredible…what I thought would be a once-in-a-lifetime experience would totally be a weekly experience if I had the funding for it. The experience inspired a slideshow set to the Top Gun soundtrack (which I find just as amusing everytime), an online photo album, a blog post by Richard, and the creation of three new blogs. Apparently, an occurrence such as this demands a web log.
So there you have it. I have caved in.
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