why it really IS a disney world...

(i bet you weren't expecting that)

Yeah, not so much...

You know those times when you put a quarter into the gumball machine and get like 7 gumballs for the price of one?

Or when you buy M&Ms from the vending machine and get 3 packets for 60 cents?

Yeah...that doesn't happen to me. Things like THIS do:

Yesterday, I got an email from my great aunt that she sent out on our family listserv. She was reminding us to write in to the quarterly newsletter by Friday because she was putting it together and only had a few responses.

I got the same email SEVENTEEN TIMES. No, I am not exaggerating.

The first three or four times I chalked it up to multiple mouse clicks and a dial-up connection.

Times five through nine I figured she had some short-term memory loss and was stuck in some sort of Ground Hog Dayesque repetitive pattern.

By the time thirteen came around, I was guilted into actually WRITING something, which I sent in between times fifteen and sixteen.

After that it just got annoying.


AND THEN...

I got a text from a friend in the BYU Orchestra reminding me about an upcoming performance. When I texted back for the price, she responded, "FREE!"


SEVEN TIMES. No, I am not exaggerating.


Sometimes technology is more trouble than it's worth.



And I didn't even win the Mexican Lottery today ):

I wouldn't be suprised if I got struck by lightning...

So last week I went out with one of my friends from freshman year who was in town for the week. We met up with Aaron, his old RA, and Aaron's wife, Emily for dessert at TGI Friday's. Aaron asked me if I was going to be in town this summer and said he wanted to set me up with his brother.

His brother is, and I quote, "Cute enough, but a little...odd."

Despite my excitement at the possibility of going out with such a catch, I'm not exactly a fan of blind dates, so I politely declined despite numerous attempts to get me to change my mind.

I ran into Aaron today on campus and he again asked me if he could give my number to his brother.

I said no.

He said please.

I said no.

He said pretty please.

I said no.

He said, "With my brother's luck, you'll probably be dating someone by the time he calls you."

...

I gave him my number.


But before you judge, just remember that it wasn't me who said, "Don't put all your eggs in one basket."

Let's just hope that applies to fried eggs as well...

So this is slightly embarrassing . . .

I found this posted on the internet . . .






Now I just want to know how they got ahold of my AP Calculus test . . .

one . . . one . . . one . . .

Okay, so I have this secret confession called this semester has been really hard for me:

No, my professors aren't slowly killing my soul.
No, I'm not depressed.
No, I'm not being bullied for my milk money.

The truth is I'm sick.

I have this rare, degenerative disease that causes me to emotionally regress. The disease has advanced so rapidly of late that I have been reduced to the mentality of a three-year-old. I am having an increasingly hard time counting past "one"; double digits are now laughably out of reach.

You see, it was this exact time last year that I was steeped to my eyebrows in English culture--both refined and not-so-refined. Now I am in Provo, and the mundane aspects of life like trudging around campus hefting a load of editing books that weigh more than an abnormally large baby, or spending half my paycheck on gas, or vacuuming are suddenly so much sadder than they used to be.

This tragic truth is literally underscored in semi-permanent ink in my 2006 journal/planner:
While my 2007 self was cleaning out the garage so the cars could fit, my 2006 self was cleaning out the Cadbury machines on the platform at Charing Cross.
While my 2007 self was programming eacademy, my 2007 self was studying the program while sitting front-row at Les Miserables.
While my 2007 self was reading about the Oxford Comma, my 2006 self was walking the streets of Oxford.
While my 2007 self was fruitlessly battling a never-ending pile of laundry, my 2006 self was fruitlessly battling a never-ending pile of laundry using BioSoap.

Apparently "masochistic" is a word prospective employers generally tend to frown upon when asking prospective employees to describe themselves in three adjectives or less, so the planner had to go.

But I still found myself constantly thinking about England. Something had to be done. Taking into account my cognitive reversal, I decided to try a game called, "Count how many minutes you can not think of England." It went something like this:

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 11. ??? Oh, 1611. The year the King James Bible was commissioned. Also the door code to the London Centre. London... Oh blast!

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11. Elevensies. Like from Lord of the Kings. Written By J. R. R. Tolkien. Member of the Inklings who lived and taught at Oxford... Oh blast!

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. Symbolizes perfection. An important element of sacred space. Found in cathedrals such as the famous one in Canterbury... Oh blast!

1, 2, 3, 4. Tea time. Yum. I love tea. Especially blackcurrant. And scones. Especially the ones they had in Ambleside... Oh blast!

So, yeah. It was basically a fantastic failure. Until last night.

Last night I was at school for waaay too long. As a result, campus was virtually deserted as I hurried towards the Marriott Center parking lot. It was bitterly cold, and the snow blew across the tarmac in great gusts. If there was any noise, it was drowned out by the howling of the wind. Despite the fact that I couldn't feel my nose, my ears, or my toes, but could definitely feel my right elbow, I stopped for a moment. It was so peaceful; there seemed to be nobody else on earth. I was the only one. It was a moment of profound inner-reflection:

1. One against the wind. Alone in the elements. (Wo)man against nature. Like Ernest Shackleton. (Ha! For once my stream of consciousness didn't flow into Lake Wintermere, Loch Ness, the Serpentine, or the Thames! Excellent progress. Continue.) Ernest Shackleton. Famous explorer who traversed deepest Antarctica after his ship was crushed by massive icebergs. Later in life implicated with his brother in a famous jewel heist. Jewels never recovered. Popular myth asserts that they are hidden somewhere in the walls of his house. The house was purchased by The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in the 1960. Was extensively remodeled and currently serves as housing for BYU's study abroad programs based in London...Oh blast!

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