Stoplight Splash Fight

Today my mom asked me to go shopping with her for tonight's barbecue. We stopped at a light right in front of a house where a father and his son were having a water fight. The son had the hose, the father had a super soaker water gun. The son obviously had the advantage, and the father reverted to hiding behind a fence. You could almost hear the laughter.

Eventually, the son followed his dad into the backyard. He sprayed the hose a few times, and then came back to the front yard, empty-handed.

Even though he couldn't hear me, I said to him, "Oh no. . . You never leave the hose alone with your father."

His dad came back to the front yard, gun in one hand, hose in the other, and it appeared that the thought that his father would use the hose against him finally crossed his mind. He reached for the hose, but it wasn't given him. Then the light turned green. As we drove by, we caught the attention of the dad, and all four of us laughed with each other, even though we were strangers. It was a beautiful moment.

Lost in London, Evensong, and a Party

Today I got lost while trying to get to church. Not because I was completely incapable of finding out how we've been getting to church every week on my own, but because every possible way of getting to church was inaccessible to me. So that made for some creative "solutions" that didn't actually end up working.

There are three underground lines that I can access from Notting Hill: the Circle and District (which are accessible via the same platform), and the Central line. The Circle and District lines can be a bit unpredictable, especially on the weekends, so I normally take the Central line and transfer once before getting to the train station which then allows me to get to the right area for church.

Well. The Circle and District lines weren't running this weekend due to maintenance, so I headed down to the Central line, thinking it would be just fine and that I'd be there early. WRONG! There was someone on the track for the Central line, and we were all told to find alternative routes because the Central line wouldn't get us where we needed to go quickly enough.

There was literally no other way I could get there by tube, so I started heading back to the Centre to find Internet access (actually, I don't know what I was doing because I was too irritated to form a coherent plan). I ran into Dr. Talbot on the way, and he helped me find a bus that would take me to the train station. I missed the bus by mere seconds and found myself waiting at the train station when Dr. Talbot and his wife, Sandy, showed up. They were going to be getting on the same bus as me to get to their own ward in Hyde Park.

The bus to Victoria station didn't come. And it didn't come and it didn't come until, finally, I realized that, even if I did make it to the station, I would have missed my train. By the time I was having this revelation another bus showed up that was headed to Wandsworth. My ward is in Wandsworth, so I hopped on. My words to Dr. Talbot were, "What's the worst that can happen?"

I figured out the answer to that as I found myself wandering in a strange part of town in the rain for an hour. I really wanted to make it to my ward because Elder Holland was speaking there for a special meeting. However, after an hour of being lost, I realized that I was going to miss that meeting regardless of how fast I walked.

I was frustrated, but then a thought came into my mind reminding me that, while hearing Elder Holland speak in person would be incredible, it's not the most important part of going to Church; the most important part is partaking of the sacrament. Upon realizing this I found my way to the bus stop and took the same bus I had ridden there (going the opposite direction) back home. I figured that, at 10:15, I could make it to the Hyde Park ward in time for the eleven o'clock meeting.

I was praying so hard at this point that I would be able to take the sacrament. I kept saying in my head, "I don't care what else happens, I just would like to take the sacrament," over and over and over. Prayers work because, in spite of a few more missed stops and backtracking, I made it to the building five minutes before the meeting started (it actually started at 11:10!). God is always mindful of us, and He knows just how to help us most.

I ran into Amy and Chloe at the same meeting because it was impossible to get to their church building, too. They had had a similar experience to mine, except they weren't alone, and I think the area in which they were walking was a tad more familiar. . . I was in what felt like a sketchier area of Chinatown in NYC. Oh the fun that was.

But the most important thing is that I made it to church. It was a good meeting, and I was so grateful to be there. The Church is true no matter where you are, and that is the most beautiful thing to me.

Amy and I were going to catch a bus home, but then the stop we were at was bypassed due to something that I don't understand. So we walked home. I don't think I've ever taken so many "Sunday walks" in one day in my life! Ah today was one for the memories. And stories.

I got home and started packing because I leave for Paris (squeal!) early tomorrow morning! I think, for me, packing is primarily mental. I have the hardest time getting started because I have it in my mind that packing is the worst thing on earth, but then I do it and it's not so bad after all.

In the midst of my packing, Chloe came up and told me they were going to be going to Evensong at Westminster Abbey a little after two. I joined them, and we had a good experience. We got to sit right in Poet's Corner which was thrilling, and there was some beautiful music.

It was interesting being in a Catholic service. The Catholic church gets a lot of things right, and I learned things I needed to hear tonight, but there are more complete truths out there that I am so grateful to have access to. The Book of Mormon clarifies so much, and modern prophets are such an incredible blessing I'm afraid I've taken too much for granted. I learned a lot more than what was being discussed doctrinally tonight.

We got back to the Centre an hour or so before we needed to be back down for dinner, so I finished packing. I'm delighted that I still have oodles of space in all my bags, and they're all still well under the weight limit. Hooray for easier travel!

After dinner we had a retirement party for Dr. Durham. Unbeknownst to me until tonight, we were the last group of students he will ever have. I am so grateful I had the chance to take a course from this wonderful professor. I learned so much, and I grew to love him. He's a good man.

So, basically, a Sunday that started out amazingly frustrating ended up being simply amazing. It was a good way to end the Study Abroad part of my trip. Life is a wonderful thing.

Adventures Underground

Today was more exciting than I'd originally anticipated. Sarah and I set out early to do our last author assignment for our Literature in London class. This assignment took us all over London, and we were working on it for a few hours. We saw some cool things, though, so I'm not complaining.

This particular assignment gave us a glimpse into the lives of John Donne, George Herbert, and John Milton. There were also some things we were asked to find that I'm pretty sure don't exist. Like the plaque commemorating the site where many Protestants were executed. Oh my goodness Sarah and I looked forever for that thing with no success. We did see a statue of a horses head, though, so that's sort of the same thing, right?

We also went to Liberty Inn which was definitely my favorite location we visited today. It was so beautiful and quiet. Liberty Inn is a school of sorts (I believe) for lawyers. The gardens were en pointe, and the chapel was beautiful. There was even a section of the stained glass window in the chapel where John Donne's name had been scratched in. It's amazing the treasures you find if you know where to look.

On our way to our last location we decided to stop at a small Italian place next to Lincoln Inn. It was called Little Bite of Italy or something like that. The guy running the shop was a very friendly man who wanted to give us coffee more than anyone I've ever met before. We got juice instead. And pasta. The pasta was delicious, and I wouldn't mind going back. However, I know the likelihood of that happening is pretty slim. After all, I'm in my last week in London. Crazy, that.

Sarah and I ate lunch on the benches of the tube station and we got onto the train when we were done eating. We visited the final location and then went to head home. It was noon by this point, so we had decided to visit the Natural History Museum before going home. That turned out to be one of our less-than-bright ideas.

We hopped on the tube and then got out to transfer at Edgware Road. Because the train we were on runs in a spiral we had to transfer lest we end up in a part of town I don't believe we've visited. We hopped on the right train and waited for it to move. We waited and waited and waited and waited. . . I've never had to wait that long for the train to move, even at Edgware Road. We waited until we were told to get on another line and transfer later down. However, that train didn't show up.

We found one that was going in the right direction and got on that one (we had been waiting for fifteen minutes on the platform by this point). As the train we were on was just starting to move, the train we originally wanted arrived. So that was frustrating.

We basically just followed the delay and found ourselves waiting at yet another train station. We were tired by this point and just wanted to go home. We'd given up on the museum. Sarah found another route home, but, due to our still-fresh familiarity with the tube station and a mis-label on the platform, we ended up in a place I've never even heard of. Eventually, we found a way to get home, but we were so fed up by that point. I think I'm done with tube adventures.

We did make it home, and we grabbed ice cream on the way, so we were smiling by the time we walked in our front door, so it wasn't a huge loss.

After that adventure I settled down to work on my Literature final. I'm just over halfway done now, but I think I may have to change my approach to make it easier on myself (and to ultimately write what the professor wants). I think I'll be treating this a bit like the poetry analyses in AP Lit. This could be fun.

In the Dean's Yard (I think) of Westminster School

Oh look! Westminster! It really is a beautiful place.

The Houses of Parliament. We were supposed to make it in there for the assignment, but the people at the gate wouldn't let us. Maybe we were too early.

Found in Marble Arch tube station.

Lincoln's Inn

Lincoln's Chapel (the outside)

John Donne

Donne was a preacher here, years after he attended school here.

Our last location was St. Giles' Chapel which is right across from the Barbican. I really like the Barbican.

And that was today. The last Monday in London certainly made itself memorable.

Markets and Other Adventures

Today I realized that I'll be home one month from tomorrow. That's crazy. I'm almost halfway done and already the weeks behind me are a bit of a blur. A happy blur, but a blur.

This morning we went to Portobello market again. We all got crepes for breakfast and, though the lemon and sugar crepe was incredible last time, I decided to branch out and get the ham and cheese one. I preferred the lemon, so that means I'll have to go back again. Darn ;)

We walked along the crowded streets again and shopped less than last time. It was the 150th anniversary of the market and I believe the streets were even more crowded than last time (though that may have been my imagination).

These guys were playing by the place we got our crepes and we stood and listened to them for a while because they were so good. They made an announcement about business cards so I went to grab one before we continued on our way. This was the conversation that ensued:

Guys: Thank you thank you.

Me: Thank you! You guys are so good!

Guys: Thanks. And where are you from?

Me: I'm from America.

Guys: Yeah, but where?

Me: Utah!

Guys: Oh cool oh cool. Yeah we were just in Jackson, Dallas, LA area. (I don't think they know where Utah is).

Me: All good places.

Guys: *Emphatic nods*

And then I left. And they started singing again and I forgot the slight awkwardness that had been our conversation. I did give them my spare change, though, so I'm sure they didn't mind. And maybe I've raised awareness of Utah. Possibly.

Portobello road is an incredible place, but it drains me. I had to go home and rest after spending time there last time, and the same thing happened today. I took a very long nap and, after I woke up, thought about doing my homework. I even started one assignment, but then Kenna came home and I got distracted. And then I Skyped home because I miss my family.

That's probably been the hardest thing about being here. I adore this program, I love my roommates, I love my classes. I love seeing the city through educated eyes, and I am so incredibly grateful for this amazing opportunity, but I'm a homebody. This is my first time living in a place where calling my mom anytime is not really an option. Every other time I've lived away from home I talked to my mom every day because she really is one of my best friends. I wouldn't trade this opportunity for anything, though.

After reconnecting with home I followed Lizzie downstairs to keep her company while she was doing her laundry. We passed the time in pleasant conversation and waited for the cycle to finish. Upon entering the laundry room we found an entertaining surprise. Rather than see wet clothes in the washer we found bubbles. Lots and lots of bubbles.

Last night the washers had shut down mid-cycle while Lizzie was trying to do her laundry, so we thought the bubbles were a result of excess detergent in the clothing. We put the clothes through a rinse cycle and that only caused the bubbles to grow. So that was exciting.

Eventually we decided to transfer the clothing into the next washer to rinse them and then to finish laundry from there. I was laughing so hard at this point that I couldn't stand up straight. When we opened the washing machine bubbles flowed out. I was just glad it was bubbles and not water (though there was some water that was left sitting in the bottom of the washing machine) coming onto the floor. Bubbles are easier to contain and clean up. Who knew laundry could be such an adventure?

This is one of the permanent shops at Portobello. They have a lot of wooden things (glasses, phone cases, watches, etc.)

I probably took a picture of this house last time, but how could I not? It's too picturesque to pass up.

Waiting for the timer to go off. . .

Waiting some more. . .

Realizing that the bubbles weren't going anywhere. Putting the load through another rinse cycle only made the more bubbles.

So you see, my friends, it's possible to have adventures wherever you are--including a laundry room.

Chips and Salsa

Chips and salsa is one of my favorite things in the whole world. If you were to ask me if I wanted to go get pasta or chips and salsa I would choose the latter (which is saying a lot because pasta is my favorite meal ever). If you asked me if I would prefer cupcakes or chips and salsa, I would absolutely choose chips and salsa. If you were to ask me if I would rather have ice cream or chips and salsa-- Actually that's too hard of a choice. I would choose both.

Anyways. Chips and salsa, my friends. It is the most wonderful combination there ever was. I always want it. If you replace "tacos, enchiladas, and beans" with chips and salsa in this song you would pretty much understand my feelings.

I made salsa last night and I ate it as soon as I came home from school. The chips were so broken up that it was tough using them as a means of getting salsa into my mouth. So I made chips and salsa "cereal" and I ate it with a spoon. If you are also a salsa-lover and have not yet tried this I wholeheartedly recommend it. Or just get chips and salsa as soon as possible and enjoy them in the conventional way. Either way, partake of the happiness. Because, really, that's what it is.

New Windows, New Imaginings

Well doTERRA moved. We're now in Pleasant Grove and it's a bit more of a drive than I like, but at least the building is nice. There's even a gym that I will likely never step foot in so that's a plus.

The new building has a nice view of the distant mountains, the freeway, and the construction zone of the still-expanding doTERRA building (seriously, it's going to be doTERRAtown or something). In any case, they sat me by the enormous side windows and next to people who are much more content to read comic books than to talk to me. So I find myself staring out the window on a pretty regular basis. But only because the phones are so slow and they don't have any projects for me and we aren't supposed to read or do homework. Yup.

In any case, it's mesmerizing to see the cars drive by on the freeway (way more fascinating than it should be) and I love to imagine where those people are going and what adventures are in store for them. It's also riveting to see the progress the construction workers are making. They're making quick work of the building to be sure. And the other day I saw this:

The forklift was pulling a large flat of bricks out of the back of that seemingly tiny car. They did it and I was so impressed.

Man. And I thought trees were distracting.

Stowaway

Well I have all my things from my apartment in my bedroom now. It's kind of a disaster right now. I just need to find a day when I can buckle down and organize everything.

I have unpacked a few things, like my clothes, and found that I'd brought home a stowaway in the process. Unfortunately, this stowaway isn't a welcome guest anywhere and I was less than happy to find it had followed me home.

This stowaway is a smell. It is a very distasteful smell that emerged in my apartment about a week or so before I left. This smell originated in our refrigerator and baffled us because it smelled strongly of old fish and we didn't have any fish in our fridge. We cleaned the fridge three times and even gave it a bleach bath, but the smell remained. Some of us in the apartment began losing our appetite and I joked about us joining the stinky fridge diet (because we would open the fridge and immediately lose any appetite we had).

One day Michael cooked the fish she had stored in the freezer. The same smell that had been in living in our fridge was released into the apartment and nothing we did was able to exterminate it. We opened the windows, diffused lemon oil, used Fabreze. . . And yet the smell remained. It did begin to dissipate a little bit the day I left. I was grateful that I would be moving out and away from the smell.

Imagine my disappointment when I discovered that the smell had taken a liking to my clothing and infused my clothes with its essence. Stowaways aren't always a good thing, you know. I'm just hoping that my clothes will air out. . . Fish happens to be one of my least favorite smells.

Thanks in Advance

Tonight I bought myself flowers:

You see, flowers make me really ridiculously happy and I love getting them. In fact, it kind of makes my day because it makes me feel so loved and special. They're also beautiful and happy and all sorts of wonderful.

I recognize that buying flowers for myself is a bit unconventional and, in the eyes of some, sad, but I want to let you in on a secret: my future husband doesn't know me yet. He doesn't know that I've wanted flowers lately. So I bought them for myself in place of him.

So I would just like to say thanks in advance, darling. The flowers were lovely.

Guys, Brains Are Important

Brains are important and I shouldn't be allowed to go out of the house when mine is out of commission. I especially shouldn't do anything requiring competence. . . That usually ends up going poorly for me. Take today for example!

I woke up sick. My head felt like my brain was hiding in a corner just out of reach and that an angry construction worker was going to town with a jackhammer in my skull. And then, of course, my skin didn't want ANYTHING touching it which was difficult because I had to go be a real person today. Well, kind of.

I made it to my English class on time and I even did my French homework before class. However, by the time French rolled around I knew I would be useless in the class. I sent my homework with a classmate and meandered home. I knew I needed to rest up before taking on my French test I had later tonight.

Well I slept until my phone woke me up and then I decided that then was as good a time as any to take the test (as illnesses usually get worse, not better, as evening approaches). I dragged myself out of the apartment, hated the warmth of the sun on my sensitive skin the entire walk up, and considered laying down on the hill leading up to campus (I'm dramatic when I don't feel well, guys).

Anyways, I made it to the testing center, signed up for my test, and walked in to brave the inevitable storm looming ahead.

Something unique about the Humanities testing center is that you trade your BYU ID card for scratch paper and you get your ID card after you're done with your test. As I was waiting to get my scratch paper stamped I noticed that my phone was sitting on the table next to my ID card. I grabbed my phone and put it with the rest of my stuff before sitting down to take my test.

Forty minutes later a girl was missing her phone. Remember that my brain isn't working properly (and that I'm directing all of my smarts toward the test) before judging me on my next actions.

I realized that the phone I had grabbed earlier may not have been mine, but I wasn't sure if I was allowed to leave my desk while I was taking a test. I figured I would just check the phone after I was done and see if I'd mistakenly grabbed someone else's phone under the impression that it was my own.

Well the situation escalated over the next forty-five minutes. I finished my exam a few minutes after the campus police showed up. I exchanged my scratch paper for my ID and went over to my things. There, on top of my backpack was a phone that was the same model as mine, but in a different phone case. I then remembered that I had silenced my phone and put it in my backpack just before walking into the testing center.

With a good dose of embarrassment I walked over to the desk with the testing center people and the policeman with the phone. I told them, "I thought this was my phone and it's not. I am so sorry."

They thanked me for returning it and assured me that it was fine when I asked if I'd caused a problem (I obviously had, but they were too nice to tell me so).

And THAT, my dear friends, is the "brain" with which I took one of the most challenging tests of my life. Brains are important, everyone. Brains are important.

Another Snapshot

It was my Sophomore year of high school and I was walking to the front doors with my best friend so we could go home. I ran into my friend Nick. He had another guy with him. Apparently they were friends.

I introduced myself to Nick's friend and, after a conversation, decided that I wanted to know what his name was. He told me it was Steven.

I sometimes have a difficult time remembering people's names unless I'm able to make some sort of connection to it. I have an uncle named Steven so the thought process went something like this: I have an uncle Steven. This guy has the same color of hair as my uncle. Steven. I can remember that.

I committed to remembering his name and walked away. The next time I saw him I said, "Oh hey Steven!" I didn't really catch that it took him a moment to register that I was talking to him. I probably assumed that he didn't remember who I was. He did answer to the name, though, and we parted ways.

A few months later I was talking to Brittney about Steve. She finally broke down and told me that she had been in on a secret but felt bad about keeping it from me. Steve's name was not really Steven. It was Logan. He and Nick thought it was so funny that I was calling him the wrong name that they had decided to keep the charade up for the entire year. I was annoyed, but I decided that, even though I knew the truth, Steven (Logan) would always be Steve to me. And, if it bothered him, he would just have to tell me.

I call him Steve to this day and I still have a difficult time remembering which is his real name. I usually just refer to him as Steve-Logan if he ever comes up in conversation. Seeing as how I'm not in high school anymore and my friend group is largely different, that doesn't happen very often. So his names are buried somewhere in the recesses of my mind right next the equations used in geometry. Unused, maybe a little dusty. . . Old.

This happened years ago and I only thought about it tonight because I met a man named Steven. At least, I think his name was Steven. I don't know for certain, though. After all, I learned in high school that you never can tell with Steves.

Essays and Encouragement

Once again I've left a large-ish essay until the last minute and once again I've discovered myself fighting that bane of existence commonly referred to as writer's block. This is starting to be a sadly familiar experience.

Anyways, I texted someone about how I really didn't want to write my essay and he sent me the most wonderful response there ever was (I think. But I might just be tired and therefore everything in the world is hilarious). . . Anyways.

I was staring at the screen of my computer trying to think of a brilliant thesis when my phone buzzed. I then read the following words:

"Yes you do. If some guy came up to you and was like, "Hey, I want to write your paper," you would be like, "NO!" and then you would shove him in the face. So, yea. . ."

As I was still trying to recover from that text I received another one, marginally less humorous:

"(Wow. . . I'm not quite sure where that came from)"

I'm not sure either, D. I'm not sure either. But sounds like a magical place full of laughter and integrity (and maybe some mild violence but we won't dwell on that aspect tonight).

I think the best part of that whole text is that he predicted my reaction pretty well. 'Cept I would shove this guy in his shoulder or arm. I'm pretty sure his face would be too far away as I'm sitting down at a computer (also, pushing on someone's face is mean. We all learned that in Kindergarten.).

I guess I'd better get writing. I certainly don't want to be obligated to face-shoving. Here we go.

The Heater Troll

The heater in this apartment has a difficult time kicking on the first time. If you pay attention you can hear the click of it trying to ignite five or six times before the heater wakes up and starts to work.

My imagination ran wild when that happened once and I pictured a little troll trying to light the flame. I can picture his hunched form in our closet trying over and over (a little nervously that this will be the time it doesn't work and that he'll get in some sort of trouble) to get the flame to take.

Don't worry little troll. If you can't get it the first time I understand. Sometimes I have a hard time lighting things on fire, too. I just appreciate all you're doing for this apartment. Keep up the good work.

Another Spider Story

My mom has decided that it's probably a good idea for me to start walking with her in the mornings. I like walks, and I feel guilty for not exercising as a general rule. So I've agreed to join her at six-thirty every morning for a walk.

This morning was day one. I woke up and turned on the light, still groggy from a shorter night than I would have liked. But it was fine. I was up. I then happened to look at my wall and then I was truly awake. And truly terrified.

There crouched on my wall by the ceiling was an enormous black spider. It was bigger than a quarter. No joke! I couldn't access anything on that side of the bedroom for the fear that the monstrosity would leap onto me and inject poison into my body.

My mom came down to find me on my bed, legs against my chest, staring at the spider on the wall daring it to move, and praying that it wouldn't. My brave mother offered to kill the spider for me and I was finally able to put on my deodorant and clothes and leave on our walk.

I decided today that I will probably always be terrified of spiders. That fear is woven into my very being. And you know? I've gotten along just fine with it my entire life so farm I think I'll be able to cope with it for the rest of forever. And I will have a husband to kill the creepy crawlies someday. So I'll be just fine. I just might be a bit paralyzed until a gracious spider-slayer comes to my rescue.

Lately. . .

. . . I've become a horrible blogger. And it's not because things haven't been happening. I guess I've been busy enough to let this fall by the wayside. Whoops!

And now there's so much I COULD write about I don't know where to start. It's the most frustrating form of  writer's block, I think--when you have so many avenues to explore that you can't pick one and settle.

Here goes. . .

Britton and I went to a wedding reception last night. Usually, I love wedding receptions, but last night's was much too formal for me. It wasn't one of those show-up-and-mingle receptions. This was one of those you-must-RSVP-weeks-in-advance-and-then-you're-assigned-to-a-table-and-you-sit-there-and-stay-there-to-eat-dinner-and then-there-are-speeches-then-cake-then-you-leave-and-that's-the-only-time-you-leave-that-table ones.

Britton was invited to be one of the groomsmen yesterday morning and, because Britton was planning to spend the evening with me, the groom said Britton could bring me and that it wouldn't be any trouble.

However, I threw the mother-of-the-bride into a small fit with my presence. She kept saying that there wasn't any room for me in the reception area and that the only thing I could do was go to the restaurant on the other side of the building and bill her. She wasn't incredibly gracious about the whole thing and was very intimidating as I was sitting on the windowsill and she was standing in her high heels. I kept saying,  "It's fine. No worries. Don't worry about it," just to get her to leave. I was quite uncomfortable.

She finally left and Britton and I started talking about alternative solutions to the reception. The main argument for Britton staying was that he needed to be there for pictures (as he was one of the groomsmen). He went and found the groom and explained the situation. I stayed on the windowsill and tried to appear like I wanted to be there. 'Cause I really didn't.

Britton returned with the groom who then said that there were three empty seats at the back table and that Britton and I could sit there. We walked in and I tried to stay out of the lasers I was certain would come out of the mother-of-the-bride's eyes if she saw me there. We made it to the table without any further incident and I made sure Britton was hiding me from the her view in case she chanced to turn around.

The food was good, the company at our table was pretty kind, and I was so glad to leave when it was over. I know that my wedding reception isn't going to be anything like last night's. I don't want the equilibrium of the universe to be destroyed if one extra person shows up. Mine is going to be FUN! :)

So that was the story on my mind. The End.

Grammar Nazi

Sometimes, being a "grammar Nazi" (aka an English major who likes to educate people on the language they're speaking) has its downfalls.

Like if you correct someone who said something was going fast when it was actually going quickly.

And then they start talking about slow, slowly, fast, quickly, it's all the same thing. . .

And you mean to say "Yes, but some are more correct than others" but this comes out: "Yes but some is mor-" and you get that far before you realize that you made an enormous grammatical mistake.

And you both laugh so it's fine, but you're a little embarrassed. Because you know better.

Sometimes, this happens. Because even a grammar Nazi is human.

A Dollar

So last two Fridays ago (the 5th) it was raining during my class break. I had to go to the Wilk to find a classroom and ultimately ended up window shopping in the BYU Bookstore.

I kind of failed at window shopping that day. I bought two books. So much for that.

But here's why:

I found this book. Look at the sticker:

A DOLLAR! I like the story and it's only a dollar! How could I ever pass up a book if it's only a dollar?!

That's what really killed me. I continued to wander around the bookstore looking for other good deals and found another book I was interested in reading.

It was 25% off so I caved and bought it. Little did I know that I would forget that I have a life outside of books once I started reading. Since that last week, I have read the first two books of this series and am just waiting for my roommate to lend me the third.

I've been binge reading. But it's been so good to forget about homework for a few days. All because of a book that was only a dollar. It's been a happy thing.

Kitchen Adventures

No, that is not tissue paper. Yes, that is our counter. This is dye from a flyer we got last week and somehow the pink bled from the paper to our counter in a nice little rectangle. The crazy part is that only a third of the flyer bled. The counter under the rest of the flyer was unscathed. Luckily, with the help of a magic eraser, we were able to banish this unwanted decoration.

Who would've thunk?

Who Knew?

I've never considered myself an artist. Ever. But I found an app that makes me feel so much more confident about my abilities!

So I found this because I was at a funeral with my family. My baby sister was being difficult and so I started looking online for apps that would entertain her. I found this finger painting one and she really liked it. It was fun watching her play with it, and then my other sisters wanted in on the game. . . I didn't have my phone on my person the entire funeral service.

But I sat down to figure it out later that day and had good times. And I made something I was actually proud of! So I'm sharing it here. :)

Ta-daaaaa! So it isn't that incredible, but I'm pretty pleased with my efforts. And that is the extent of my artistic ventures. Aren't you so glad I shared? ;)

A Newly-Discovered Talent

I learned tonight that I am excellent at talking on the phone. . . even if there's nobody on the other line. I can still carry on a brilliant conversation that keeps that one weird guy walking behind me at bay. I suppose I'm just a superb conversationalist ;)

Maybe I should have been more kind and let the awkward envelop me, but I wasn't in the mood for it tonight. So I talked. And told the "person on the other line" all sorts of good stories, and she told me a few herself. And I made it through my walk to rehearsal safely entertained.

I figure by telling you this that you'll either laugh and think I'm ridiculous (which I readily admit to) or stare at the screen in shock thinking I am the most horrid person on the planet. But I have no control over what you think or feel. This is who I was tonight. Maybe that person will be different, and more kind, next week. Who knows?

Shoes. I Pretty Much Hate Them.

I have incredibly difficult feet to fit into shoes. I am an eight and a half double-wide, and the shoe can't extend above a certain point on my foot or my instep won't let me put the shoe on. I have always struggled to find shoes--when dances came around, instead of worrying about the dress (thankfully those fit without alterations), I would stress for weeks about the shoes I'd have to find. Shoes just aren't easy friends for me to find.

Today I got this e-mail from my mom:

"Good news, I was looking for some shoes in a 3E width and I found some that I know you'll love for your birthday.  But I can't wait so here's your sneak peak.  Don't you just LOVE them?  Don't worry that they cost $165 because you must have shoes that fit your feet!!!

Love you,

Mom"

And this was the attached picture:

They are honestly some of the ugliest shoes I have ever seen, but her e-mail sounded so excited that I thought she was serious. I sent her this text when I saw the e-mail:

"Mom, not to rain on your parade, but I don't like the shoes. I think they're kind of ugly. And I don't need any more black shoes. Brittney wants to know if you were joking about them."

My mom called me back practically in tears because she was laughing so hard.

Basically, I am THE most gullible person on the planet. At least we got a good laugh out of the whole thing. After I'd gotten over the fact that I'd been had, of course. What can I say? I trust my mom.