The Poisonwood Bible

Stunning. Astonishing. Gripping. Homework.

Homework it was, but it didn't really seem like it. I enjoyed it immensely. If you are keeping one of those lists of books you'd like to read, I'd suggest you put this on the list (if you haven't already read it).
The story is about a Baptist family in the 1960s, going on a mission in Congo. The dad is pretty much an idiot, a hypocrite proclaiming repentance to a timid and kind people he doesn't understand. The oldest daughter is very worldly, only cares for the latest trends. The twins were interesting. Leah is a tomboy, but Adah...Adah was my favorite character. She suffered from...(can't remember scientific term...hemo...something) but in short, Leah got all the nourishment in the womb, and Adah got little. Because of that, Adah is only a "half-brain"...she has full control of her left side, but her right is crippled. She reads books backwards. She has an interesting mind. Ruth May, the youngest, is a girl of determination. Orleanna, the mother, is very afraid of tropical diseases, but feeds the family and keeps them together.
My favorite thing about this book was the fact that it was told by everyone, including five-year old Ruth May. Nathan (the Father and Preacher) had no say whatsoever in this book. This novel was told by five women. You got to look deep into each one's personality, and see through their eyes. The variety of perspectives gave you an unbiased look at their experience.
A must-read at some point of your life.

I must admit one con...the last 80 pages just seemed to drag and were rather tedious.

Mischief

I was in a very delicate situation. It was late at night, and a half-inch of snow blanketed the ground. Doyle and I had snuck into Josylnn's backyard. We contemplated at how to surprise her. Her family were all awake and hopefully were being loud, so we could prevent ourselves from being heard. We wanted to surprise Josylnn when she was in her room. But to my dismay, her room is on the third floor, with a private balcony. And Doyle was determined to get up there. We had moved a table, put a chair on the table, and Doyle nimbly and quickly got onto the roof, over the railing, and onto the balcony. Now it was my turn. I have to admit there are three things I hate: heights, climbing to them, and snot. I stood there in the cold, in disbelief that Doyle wanted me, the clumsiest oaf ever to walk the earth, to climb onto the roof and onto that balcony. I stared up at her with my soggy present in hand. I handed her my present, and I set to work. My hands were numb, beyond feeling, and Doyle's gloves weren't really helping. They actually made things slipperyier ( I know that's not a word. I like to make words up.). As I finally got my hold onto the railing, I realize that it's a wobbly railing. Plus, the railing is nice and tall, not easy to swing my legs over. Soon, I found myself stuck on top of the swaying railing, terrified, while Doyle impatiently tells me to hurry up. I look down, realizing I'm almost three stories in the air, and one bad step or hand placement would probably put me in pain, let alone get me shot for terrifying Josylnn's family... I pray for the ability to balance myself just this once, and I bravely swung my other leg over, and alas! I made it!
The timing couldn't have been more perfect. Josylnn just finished showering, and the next step was for her to go to her room. And there she was! She called us, and we asked her to open her back door. I chuckled at the look of confusion on her face, then I loudly hop over to where she can see us.
The look of surprise and astonishment and anger was all worth it.

Songs...

My top ten most catchy songs: (Which means that whenever I hear it, it gets stuck in my head for days on end...)


10. "They Gave Each Other a Pledge..." -Fiddler on the Roof
9. "You Never Give Me Your Money" -The Beatles
8. "Lullaby" -Peter Brienholt and the Big Parade
7. "Defying Gravity" -Wicked
6. "My Favorite Things" -The Sound of Music
5. "Helter Skelter" -The Beatles
4. "She's Leaving Home" -The Beatles
3. "Because I Have Been Given Much" -Hymns
2. "Don't Scratch Your Butt" -A Prairie Home Companion
1. "Unto Us" -Mormon Tabernacle Choir


Looking back on this list, I realize this is a very random list of random songs...but...that's me! I'm a very random person...

how do I love thee? Let me count the ways...

After receiving my schedule for second semester, I knew something was terribly wrong. I was enrolled in three classes, two of them credit earning. I was supposed to be enrolled in at least six classes...but after fixing it, I ended up with eight.
Yes, after much contemplation, I decided I'm going to try calculus once again. I have found this year that I'm missing math. So much that I try to do weird problems mentally. Only they don't work. I don't know how to write problems, and after last night, I don't remember how to solve them either.
So, I will be studying hard over the holidays and the few weeks before second semester starts. I hope I will be caught back up by then. If I'm not...all well...I'll work all the harder, right?
So, calculus, how do I love you?
1. Your problems seem to apply to real life. (Wow, a ladder slipping, and sliding away from the wall...I wonder how fast it's slipping? Let me write down a problem, and I'll figure it out!)
2. You make me feel intelligent when I can successfully tell you where there is a "hole" in a function, or the limits...but I'm afraid a very little amount of people care where limits are on a curvy, wavy line...
3. You help me kill time I don't have with your incomprehensible mysteries.
4. You make me appreciate mathematicians.
5. You give me more knowledge on how to manipulate a TI-calculator.
6. You give me more knowledge, period.

But, I'm afraid, calculus, that you make me cringe in one area: The AP test itself. Then I begin to hate you.

Our Christmas Tree...

Can you find this won-derful bird in the previous two pictures?

Say What?

This post consists of a few of many of my little mistakes and blurts that I encounter due to my hearing...or the lack of it...

Misheard lyrics:
"...and in the middle of negotiations... you break out..." (The Beatles "You Never Give Me Your Money")

"Na na na na, na na na na, hey hey hey, doin' fine..." (Steam Na na Hey hey [kiss him goodbye])

"You just gotta let it grow....you just gotta let it grow..." (Eels "I Need Some Sleep")


Conversations/statements:

In a class, we were talking about good communication skills. The teacher asked us to give us some examples of good communication. A girl raised her hand and said, 'good eye contact.' As I pondered on her answer, I thought about the way I communicate...I never really look people in the eye, as I'm focusing on what they're saying by reading their lips...so without second thought, I blurt out, 'good lip contact'. There goes the class...

During water polo practice, we got an assistant coach who we've never seen before. I wondered why I liked him so much. Then I realized why. Even though I couldn't hear, I could understand him on first try, because his lips were so readable. Without thinking, I tell him that he has nice lips...whoops!

Life

Someone recently asked me what's going on in my life...
Well. The usual. On my "long" days I wake up a little after 5, go lift weights, swim, go to school, swim, coach a swim team, then go home to...sit down. On my "short" days, I wake up, go to school for three hours, go home, go swim, coach, then come home.
Then on the weekends, I catch up with everything (like sleep) and everyone.
Pretty dull, eh?
I'm experiencing only a small dilemma for the moment. I'm sure it'll pass. I love coaching, it's fun and all, but I dislike getting home so late...so I can eat, fool around for an hour...then go to bed. I want to ask my boss to find someone else to coach, but I know I can't do that, as the pool has paid my coaching fees and to make me "eligible". I also just attended an "in-service". All well. The weekends are MINE after 12:00 pm on Saturdays!
That's about it with my life...thank you for asking...
I'm shocked and scared at how fast the days are flying by. I'm already half-way through second semester! Ack! Dung beetles!

Pitter Patter...

As I was relaxing, watching the T.V. while trying to figure out how to make a dreamcatcher, I hear a faint chhk! chhk! chok! cok! I ignore it. I continue to watch Star Trek and enjoy myself, thinking that Q has some great insults for Worf, such as: "You have a macro head...with a micro brain!!" Or such useless phrases like that.
Then it starts again...chhk! chchchchkk! I finally realize what's happening: I'm being invaded. Yes, my house is currently invaded by...mice. If you move the tiles around in my ceiling, you can hear a mouse quickly scamper away.
I'm sorry to say that we have killed one already. We just have to get the rest, or my top ramen and brown sugar won't be safe!
Mom will probably buy peppermint oil. Apparently mice don't like peppermint oil, and once they smell it, they move out. It'd be nice if they moved to some other neighbor's house. Then we wouldn't have to do the sorry deed of terminating them. At least they're not rats like that one year...
Winter has definitely settled in. The mice are back.

Tooth Fairy

I remember staring into the mirror, analyzing it, trying to see if tonight will be the night. I tug at it a bit, to see if it will give. Nope. Not tonight. But I really want it to be tonight! I try again...so painful. Sweat starts to lightly cover my face. I squeeze my eyes tightly shut, roll my eyes backward, and TUG. My fingers lose grip on the slimy thing. I grab an old rag, wrap it around the pearl, and tug. And with a ssshhhhpok! The white, priceless pearl emerges. I can only be triumphant for mere seconds, and then...the blood rushes out of the hole in my head. I put my mouth on the faucet, rinsing my mouth several times. I smile at myself in the mirror. I find the hole. I gingerly inspect it with my tongue. Gums had never felt so weird.
The tooth in my head, I do the traditional way of making sure the fairy knew I had a tooth for Her. I rush out of the bathroom, and think of the three most important spots in the house. I rush to the kitchen and scream, "Tooth fairy, tooth fairy, I lost my tooth!" I then go to the family room, and bellow, "Tooth fairy, tooth fairy, I lost my tooth!" Then I go to the most important room: Mine. How else would she know where to go? I say the same phrase, and I'm satisfied. I carefully placed the tooth in my pocket. I will put it under my pillow later.
Night finally arrives. I place the tooth in an envelope, and place it gingerly under my pillow, anxious for the money I was going to get. I got different amounts every time. I wondered how much the Tooth Fairy would pay for this one. Is it worth a lot? She must have some way of determining its quality...I will just have to wait.
The Tooth Fairy never came in the middle of the night. I know this because I woke up often at night, and inspected the area underneath my pillow. She always came right after I fell asleep, or right before I woke up. It always has puzzled me, and always will.

Happy Birthday!

Happy Birthday mom! Sorry about the picture, it's from last year's "birthday party."
Thank you for being the best mom one could have. My most vivid memories from when I was a kid was riding bikes, hiking, etc., and being utterly miserable at the time because you would keep going and going and going....regardless if I threatened to stay behind, or of my tears. But looking back on that, I realized because of you, I am very much the person I am today. You not only made me stronger, and built up my endurance, but you also gave me some wonderful character from that. I've learned from you that whining won't get you anywhere, crying doesn't either...but a fall? With lots and cuts and scratches? Gets you a minute of sympathy, but you must pick yourself up and keep going.
I also remember the times in the winter when we'd snuggle under a blanket over the heater, and I would proudly read books to you. Usually the entire book itself would consist of three sentences. But still! I was very proud of myself. Then you made me advance to novels. I remember Amelia Bedelia, and The Boxcart Children. Yes, you and dad both instilled the love of books into me. (Dad used to read to me at night in all sorts of funny voices. My two favorite books that I remember him reading to me? Stuart Little and The Lion The Witch and the Wardrobe. Thanks, Dad!)
Thank you so much mom, for making me the person I am today. Have a sweet time at work tonight! I love you.

Thanksgiving

These are some Thanksgiving pictures. I took forever to get around to doing this because I'm usually too lazy to find the camera, hook up the camera, figure out where the blasted pictures show up on the computer, browse the pictures, save the pictures, then finally, upload the pictures....
First I must start with the person who undoubtedly ate the most food, and kept eating and eating and eating...
Pretty soon, his ma's arm got tired...so she plopped a big yam on his plate, just to see what he would do...

He grabbed the whole thing, and kept going!

Micah, however, was more interested in sampling any plastic that could be found on the table...

Poppy was more interested in accomplishing the feat of reaching the blinder cords...

And Oscar? He was more interested in attacking the already-bloated-and-tired Reed.

Oscar also showed off the fact he can reach over his head and touch his ear--which means he's ready to go to school.

Dad also showed off his creativity by reading a story to Oscar and Poppy. The creativity? He didn't read the words given to him to recite, but read a story about a bunny named Oscar, only he was known as Oscar Stinkybottom and Snottynose. He didn't only amuse Oscar, but us viewers and listeners as well.

I was going to post a few more, but Blogger is being frustrating, so I'm done.

A day of...boredom?

Well...I woke up today bright and early and worked out for two hours. Then I proceeded to hurry home to bid farewell to family members I won't see for a looong time. After they left...the house seemed so big and empty. No shrieks of "Be quiet Poppy!" or Poppy's belly laugh.
So...to escape...I got all my library stuff gathered together, and first I went to Smith's Marketplace to develop some pictures. Then I went to the library to clear some things up, such as a DVD I turned in a week ago, but they still say I have it checked out...just small matters.
Then I went to seagull to get a scripture case. But while I was at Seagull's, I had the temptation to buy a ring. I like those rings, and I lost mine months ago. I forgot what size I was, so I tried the sizing rings on. I started with a size eight. Waaay too big. Then I went straight to a six. Went down very easily, like a charm. But...it won't budge! I can't get it off! I decided that I was going to walk away with the sizing rings, and casually "browse" around the store, while trying to slip it off. To my dismay, the sizing rings were chained to the stand! Imagine me casually walking away, only to hear a huge rattle of rings, and a chain attached to my ring finger...
I finally get it to budge, but the knuckle wrinkles were the next obstacle to my freedom. I casually look at the rings, trying to appear very interested in the soccer one. After about a five minute's struggle, the ring came off! I was free! I hurried and bought the scripture case and bolted out the door.
Once I got home, I find that my dad's replacing the old water heater, because it was leaking this morning. He calls my name, asking for help, telling me I'll need gloves. I nonchalantly walk to him. "I need you to hold this pipe while I saw some of it off." The saw was an electric one. For the next minute, I feared for my hand, as he sawed this metal pipe within inches of my precious hand...I kept letting go when I got scared, so at last, I just looked away, and with a chink the piece of pipe came off.
Well, that's all that happened today. You didn't miss much.

Just a Post

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving is a gronderful holiday, as it gives us a day to reflect and be thankful for all the things we have, before commercialism attacks us on the double tomorrow. Brace yourselves.

It's so nice to have a couple of days off to spend with family, to see people I don't see everyday, much less in the same house!

I'd write some comment here about the first comment I received on my last post, but as my friends and family actually read this blog, I can't be discreet. (ha ha! I'm just kidding!) No, it simply isn't worth it. I will not waste my breath anymore on the subject, as it already has been wasted too much.

Okay, this seems the right time to confess this fact to ALL my friends: I am a trekkie. There you go. (I think my family already knows THAT.)

I'm racking my brains for anything else of little consequence to tell you...hmmm....apparently my life is very uneventful and unimaginative at the moment. It's full of excitement, so I don't have to improve on it with my imagination!

Speaking of imagination...I just remembered something! When I was younger, in the elementary school years, my mom would wake me up bright and early. She then would drive me to the pool, and I would swim for an hour or so. She would drop me off then go to the store to get some food. While she was gone...I was alone in the pool with a couple of old people and a lifeguard. It was incredibly boring. Sometimes I would imagine I was some sort of sea-creature that had been tamed, and people would ride me from one "shore" to the other. (the walls I visited every forty seconds...) I then would get my pay, and they'd go on their way.
Other times I would imagine I was a creature of some sort that could swim, and I would hurry to catch up to "bad guy" ships, and sabotage them.
Anyhow...if you ever want to know what I'm thinking about when I'm swimming in an empty pool with no entertainment...I start to imagine...Nowadays, I'm afraid I'm actually starting to think about my strokes, and sing Les Miz songs in my head.

Turkeys

Benjamin Franklin makes me laugh. I enjoy excerpts of his writing, such as this one, a letter written to his daughter, concerning the Eagle as a national mascot...

Franklin's Letter to His Daughter (excerpt)

"For my own part I wish the Bald Eagle had not been chosen the Representative of our Country. He is a Bird of bad moral Character. He does not get his Living honestly. You may have seen him perched on some dead Tree near the River, where, too lazy to fish for himself, he watches the Labour of the Fishing Hawk; and when that diligent Bird has at length taken a Fish, and is bearing it to his Nest for the Support of his Mate and young Ones, the Bald Eagle pursues him and takes it from him.
"With all this Injustice, he is never in good Case but like those among Men who live by Sharping & Robbing he is generally poor and often very lousy. Besides he is a rank Coward: The little King Bird not bigger than a Sparrow attacks him boldly and drives him out of the District. He is therefore by no means a proper Emblem for the brave and honest Cincinnati of America who have driven all the King birds from our Country . . .
"I am on this account not displeased that the Figure is not known as a Bald Eagle, but looks more like a Turkey. For the Truth the Turkey is in Comparison a much more respectable Bird, and withal a true original Native of America . . . He is besides, though a little vain & silly, a Bird of Courage, and would not hesitate to attack a Grenadier of the British Guards who should presume to invade his Farm Yard with a red Coat on."

What do you think? What would life be like if the turkey was our national mascot? Are they really nobler than an eagle? I'm pretty sure we'd still eat it...hmmm...

Lindsey

I owe a lot to Lindsey, one of my sisters. She was the one who cultivated my very vivid imagination.
I remember watching her make a dreamcatcher. It was a very beautiful dreamcatcher. She hung it above our bunkbed, and I asked her what it was for. She told me that it caught bad dreams, so we wouldn't have to have nightmares. I believed her fully. I woke up the next day, she was already at school, and I found something very peculiar in the dreamcatcher. Black things. They were caught in the web. I was too scared to touch them, and I played around with my stuffed animals, and did all the little things little kids did, and waited for her to get home. I immediately asked her what those black things were. She said simply, "Bad dreams." I was amazed. She plucked them out of the dream catcher and threw them away. Soon, it became my job for cleaning them out and throwing them away. They were all sorts of shapes and sizes. They all were black. Eventually, there were fewer in the dream catcher. Then none at all. I ask my oh-so-wise sister why this was, and she said, "They keep getting caught, they know they can't come here, so they aren't going to try anymore." And that was that.

Another such instance...a dragon. He lived in the ceiling of our little room. I would write notes to him, and he to me. I would leave the notes halfway shoved into the ceiling, and he would leave his on my bed. He had very weird, squiggly handwriting. I remember leaving a note for him, and anxiously waiting for his reply. I would play outside for a while, then run downstairs to look at my bed. Nothing. I would look and look, but he would never reply 'til it was dark. When I felt close to my new friend, I asked him for something I never dared asking anyone else. I asked him if he could make me fly. He said that he will give me some wings in his next note. Boy, was I excited! I played on the swing and trampoline that day, imagining flying to grandma's, flying to wherever I wanted to go, flying to the moon! I imagined that the wings would cover most of the bed, huge long feathery wings, white as the puffy clouds. Now I would truly be complete. My greatest wish all throughout my childhood was that I could fly. Now it was finally going to come true! I finally received his next note. It was...just a note. I was cruelly disappointed. Too disappointed to even read the letter. My sister comes down, and asks me what's wrong. I tell her. She tells me to read the letter. I open it up, and a pair of very, very small wings come out with a safety-pin. The dragon explains that he is a very small dragon, and those were the best wings he could make for me. Still, I was disappointed. What was I thinking? There are probably hundreds of people who have befriended dragons, but are any of them flying? No. Humans weren't meant to fly with wings. Humans are meant to ride on wings, but never to fly for themselves, to experience the exhilaration of being in the sky, free, alone, and independent. I have experienced it. I've had endless dreams of flying, and oh, what an experience! To be flapping those wings, to be...I shouldn't carry on...

...Return to the real world.

Surprises

Yes. I was very surprised today. It was the usual at church, and I was being dulled by the monotone of the speaker, my dad was "resting his eyes", so I turned to entertain my mom with some Gratitude Grams that I have received. (Many say that I smell...do I?) I hear some shuffling beside me, and I thought, "Oh, great. People to sit next to us, and they have kids!" I turn to take a better look, and to my sheer amazement, it was my brother, his wife, and their kids!!! Some of you may not know, but they live 700-800 miles away. My mom's eyes go wide with confusion, and nudges my dad with her elbow. My dad grunts, thinking she's trying to wake him up, only 'til she nudges harder does he realize we want his attention. He looks over, looking not very dazed. He must've known. I didn't! So now my house is fuller, and noiser, and more complete.

As I walked home from church, I hear sounds of laughter and giggles, and screams. In my head. Whenever I walk home from church, I go through the playground and field of the elementary school I went to. So I remember flashes of memories, of people, phrases, and of memorable moments. I laugh to remember our petty feuds. I remember when I would distract the recess aides so we could play tackle football...etc. Usually the sounds of laughter fade away once I step out of the field and back onto the public sidewalk. Today, they didn't.
There was a terrible boy that I remember as "Donny Boy." He would scare me and my sister, and some other people I walked with. I remember the adrenaline rushes, we had to be very cautious and careful, while one scouted out the next corner. The scout would come back and say "Donny Boy is there. We must run." So we would run. And scream. I remember turning to glance back and seeing a boy with eyes full of hate and rage followed by others, chasing us.
Donny Boy was something I started to look forward to everyday. The terror was something that almost couldn't be endured. Apparently he hated my sister because they were friends, and they were playing out in the snow, and she kicked some snow at him, and hurt him, or something...and he's been mean to us ever since.
Apparently one day, my sister had enough. She cornered little Donny Boy, and grabbed him by the collar. I don't remember what she said to him, but knowing my sister, she probably threatened him in some elaborate way. I remember watching this, confused, and awed. I don't think I will ever forget that.
Years passed by, as they always do, and I went to the store with my mom. As we went through the checkout, I was amazed to see the bagger. It definitely was Donny Boy. For no unknown reason, I was terrified to see him again. I shyly and timidly hid behind my mother.
Nowadays, I have no idea what his real name was, or where he ended up. He will always remain a childhood monster in my memories.

Number one-hundred

Yes. This is my 100th post on this blog. Reflecting on many posts, I'm not sure if they count. But this post is officially number 100. Do I have a life? No.
I had the pleasant experience of taking a trip to the library today. Only to find out that I can't renew or check anything out due to "Excessive Fines" or something like that. So I saunter over to the counter, to the intimidating librarian. I boldly state "I'm here to pay my fines." She takes my card, and states that I have many things overdue. I know. However, I am filled with shame. The fine was exactly $10.80. So if you hit that number, beware: you won't be able to function at a library. However, these fines weren't from one occassion. This amount of money covers four months of fees. I think that's a pretty cheap membership, for what I get out of it!
While at the library, I saw a goofy looking movie. Little Women. Here's the catch: the 1949 version. I have to admit that it is a little corny, but I liked it much better than the recent version. Jo was fantastic, and in that movie, she was more like the character I imagined. She said some fantastic quotes like, "I wish I was a horse." "Oh, bilge!" "Christopher Columbus!" Etc.
So...that's all my little brain would like to share with you today.

November 16, 2006

Today is November 16, 2006.
It is rather a gloomy day here, and there is no sun to be seen. That's the way I like it. Either the sun is out without a cloud in the sky, blinding me, the school-mole who has no classes with windows. Or...the sun is out, with shiny glistening bright stuff on the ground, blinding me on the double. Today is very nice, as I can have my eyes wide open without pain, and I don't have profusely sweaty armpits, as it's chilly. I can actually wear a jacket without sweating everywhere. It's kind of sad that I can sweat on cue.
I've decided that November is nice and quiet and calm, kind of like the peace you experience before a huge storm. At least Thanksgiving is celebrated quietly and pleasantly with family, a reflection on the simple things in life we are thankful for. The day after Thanksgiving...uproar, "products! Products! PRODUCTS! Buy! Buy! Buy! You aren't happy with what you have, you want MORE! Buy! Christmas Sale! Come now! Only 24 hours! Blah blah blah."
Christmas, what are you? You cause stress and even...unhappiness. You commercialize, you advertise, you manipulate. You throw yourself on us after Halloween, or even as soon as July with your "Christmas in July" campaign.
I thought you were something quite different. I thought you were a holiday to enjoy, a holiday to be thankful again. After we are thankful for our possessions and lives in November, I thought we got to be thankful again for Christ, and for His willingness to come down and live with us lowly people. But...even the "Reason for the Season" products have made me somewhat skeptical. Buy these cute doo-dahs that say "The Reason for the Season" so we can make more money! Does it truly make people stop and reflect on why we even have Christmas?
I think I enjoy Christmas more than some of my friends. After Christmas day, many people seem gloomy and depressed...why? I don't know. I guess the excitement build-up is massive, and the day comes and goes quickly, like any other day. Then it's gone. You opened all of your presents. Woo hoo.
I enjoy the quiet Christmases. In my youth, it was all about the presents. Now, today, often the family doesn't even open the presents 'til evening of Christmas Day! A laid-back Christmas with family is necessary to actually enjoy it. (At least, that's my experience.)
What do you think?

Routine, Routine, Routine

Wow. It's amazing how boring life can get, and once your little routine is disturbed, it is either a welcome disturbance, or it upsets you for the rest of the day.
Usually I welcome these little quirks with open arms.
Til yesterday.

I am considering two colleges for school. I can't decide between the two. It is currently the early signing period. It ends tomorrow night. Both coaches called. I asked the first coach if I could wait until the late signing period, would it affect his offer? He said not at all. He would like me to be comfortable and confident with my decision.

The other coach? He pretty much scared me by saying that if I wait for the late signing period, he might not have any money left to offer me. I should make my decision now. Last night. Does he need to send the papers for me to sign? He needed to know last night. I decided to call his bluff. I said that I will probably be deciding in the spring. He reluctantly tells me that they might be able to hold off some money for me. Then he continues to chatter, filling my head with dreams and glory. If I joined his team, the relay would probably make it to nationals. NATIONALS! But after I hung up, I looked deep down inside of myself, and I don't really care if I go to nationals or not. Granted, it would be cool, but still...It's not one of my biggest dreams. It wasn't even on my goal list until he planted it there, inside my head (but after looking in myself, it died, like a miserable weed).

All I want is to swim for a year or two, and be the best I can possibly be. Then I want to go on a mission. Then I'll just transfer to my favorite school in the whole world (which doesn't have a swim team...) and pursue any major I like.

Of course, my mom likes to scare me. "Where will you get the money? How are you possibly going to pay for it?" (concerning transferring to another school where I can have a happy experience) So I guess I will continue to work and save, and who knows? Maybe I'll take the ACT when I get back from my mission and hopefully get a good score like I did last time. (I recently learned that the score "expires" or something after a certain time...is that true?) Then my tuition will be covered. If my wonderful sister still lives up there by that time, maybe I'll impose on her and her family, and live with her, and in exchange? I'll babysit. By the way...is Mom stating a fact: That because I have opportunities to go through college without paying a cent, if I choose to not go, but pay to go elsewhere, she won't help me because I threw my opportunity away? (I'm just kidding mom! I know you would help me! ...right?...right?)

So, yes. Life throws us curveballs. Usually I like them. Until last night, that is. I hope to encounter a happy quirk soon.

Post for tomorrow...

Mmm...Sleeping in...
That swing holds so many memories for me!
The pickle tongue
My favorite picture on the computer...

Learning is fun

As you all have heard, millions of times, the trick question: Do rainforests produce most of our oxygen? No. The ocean does. I've heard this for years and years, and I never knew how the ocean produced "way" more oxygen than the rainforests...did it come from the plants in the oceans? The fish certainly don't produce oxygen...does it come from...? But after today's lecture in marine biology, I now know.

The picture above is the answer. These little one-celled organisms are called diatoms. They are the ones who produce all the oxygen that confused me. There you go.

Everlost

I'm not a huge fan of fantasy. However, I read the book Everlost by Neal Shusterman. It is...kind of a fantasy. I don't know. However, it is a quick read. Took me two days, and as some of you know, I'm quite busy. Anyhow, I really enjoyed this book, even though it followed the fantasy recipe somewhat, it had an interesting twist. Instead of some fantasy land, (well, maybe it is...) it's a story about kids not quite alive and not quite dead. What happens is that they get lost on the way to the "light", and they end up in Everlost, condemned to exist forever. Very interesting. I enjoyed it, as it was a gripper, and it wasn't the usual 700+ page fantasy novel. (You've seen those, right?)

BTW, happy Halloween! Hope you guys have plans and have fun. However, if you are like me, that's fine, too. I'm just staying home, watching a pleasant boring movie, and going to bed nice and early to hopefully recover from a "trifling cold."

Sadie Hawkins

This years Sadie Hawkins was the funnest dance I've ever been to (with a date). The only flaw was that no one would listen to me about my ideas about the day activities. They just...thought one up two weeks ago like this: (We were in the showers after practice) "We need to come up with a day activity, come up with some ideas." I leave the showers to go get dressed while I contemplate fun ideas like carving Jack-O-Lanterns, then blowing them up. One of the girls run up to me five minutes later and says, "We're going to go to laser quest."
Laser Quest? I've never enjoyed laser games...I get to shoot people. Woo hoo. I come up with a variety of ideas, paint fights, the zoo, a hike--stuff that would keep us outside, and indeed, it was a glorious day yesterday. I actually got some people convinced to go to the zoo, of all things, but they decided to shoot that idea down with the rest of them. Laser Quest. My, my.
When we arrive at the place to play a blinding stupid game of laser quest, we were 16 people. The person at the front desk told us we had to reserve a game...wait, I thought they were smart enough to do that! But they didn't. So, we finally all got together, and, we can't play a game. I weakly suggest the zoo. Everyone scorns the idea. I like the zoo. What's so wrong with the zoo?
Anyhow...for the day activity, we ended up at some place called Playland, or something. It was full of huge blown up things you'd see at a carnival. All of them (or so it seemed) were reserved for 10 and under. We played around, and eventually played tag, for which we got yelled at. We lasted 45 minutes for 20 dollars. Joy.
For dinner we had Panda Express "cater" us, and we each paid twenty dollars. I was slightly frustrated, because if we went to the place itself, everyone could have gotten what they like, about 12 bucks per couple. Instead, we had huge buckets of white rice, chow mein, fried rice, orange chicken, and sweet and sour pork.
The dance was interesting. Our group for some reason just couldn't dance. Everyone was just standing around in little groups, looking very awkward. That's when I had the brilliant idea of...foot tag! It was a very amusing sight to behold, because the person who was "it" and whoever they were chasing, were often running around to the beat in dance-move type steps. Only, really fast. It was very amusing. The only way I can somewhat properly describe it...it reminded me of a Russian dance.
My partner and I enjoyed it. We danced fast to the slow dances, and danced extremely fast to the fast dances. How fast? you may ask. So fast that my neck feels like it has a whip lash.
Then we went and had some pie, played a quick game of mad gab, then we went home. I'm very glad it didn't drag 'til one o'clock. I was snugly home at 11:45 after dropping off a few people, and I was glad.

Next time, I hope to have more voice and be more in charge. I doubt it will happen though, as the girls have put it, "I have less experience in dates and dating." He he. I don't care.

What in the World?

Reliving daily wonders of my childhood

As I walked to church today, the sun was directed at my face. As usual, I kept walking, and kept looking, and kept blinking. But when I blinked...many little childhood things came back to me. I used to be so puzzled as to why when I blinked inside, or in dimly lit areas, it'd be a "black" blink. But when I blinked outside, facing the sun, it was a "red" blink. I remember puzzling over this, only I didn't think very logically as I explained it. All I knew that sometimes I'd blink, and it'd be black, and sometimes red. Y'all probably don't even know what I'm talking about.

What about the rainbow you can see if you squinch your eyes slightly facing the sun? Yes. There is a rainbow. Try it sometime.

What about...staring into the vast blue sky, only to see weird specks floating around, and if you move your eyeballs quickly, those specks move, but at a different rate than your eyeballs? I forgot all about those...until today. Now I'm noticing them more than ever and it's driving me crazy! (do you even know what I'm talking about? There's weird specks of...stuff floating on your eyeball juice, apparently.)

What about just lying down, and watching the clouds roll by?

What about playing in the leaves in the fall, only to realize that pile has been there for a while, and little creepy crawlies are in the leaves?

What about snooping in all the weird corners in your house, knowing every nook and cranny to the speck...only to forget about them a few years later, and even more years later, discover it again...only to sit down and...remember?

What about watching an ant hill, how all the ants work and run and lift?

What about crying hysterically in school and you can't stop, because a teacher had been mean to you, and accused you wrongly?

What about kicking the crackling leaves in the brisk autumn air, without a care in the world?

Where did my childish cute gait go? The one that shows I don't have full control of my limbs yet, the one that says, "I don't know where I'm going, and I don't care if I get there last or first."

What about being amazed by every little gadget you got in your kids meal?

What about the exhilarating joy of being able to finally reach something that you could never reach before?

What about....

I am not, and never will be done growing up.

Sadie Hawkin's Dance...

The theme is "Superhero Sadies" and everyone I've talked to are going as Batman, Spiderman, Superman, etc. The usual superheroes. I've come up with something quite different for my shirt:














No. It isn't wonderwoman. That would probably go with Superman. No. It's something I made up at a lunch table in ninth grade, and now I get to let it be known: Wedgie Woman! That image above will appear on the front of my shirt, and on the back it will say:

Wedgie Woman

Enemy to sagging pants, butt cracks, and other obsceneties of that nature.

Defender of Modesty.

Full of Fury.

Fear her wrath.

Now that I know who I'm going to be...who is my friend going to be? Captain Underpants? I think not...and my brainstorming is failing to help me.

Life goes by so fast.

While getting ready for bed yesternight, I asked my mom if I needed to get up early for anything. Dad said, "Yes, we need to wake you up at 5 am!" Appalled, I asked why. Mom replies, "Just to look at you." My dad asked my mom where she got that phrase...from her parents? He went on to explain that when he was young, you had to ask to be excused for dinner. Often his father would reply, "No. Stay here. I want to look at you for a while."
It seems only yesterday I was a little girl (yes, I was little at one point in my life) running around, pretending that I was Jungle Girl, swinging from the trees, saving animals.
It seems only yesterday that I finally finished my first book that contained 10 sentences, after much frustration.

It seems only yesterday that I would cuddle with my mom sitting on the heater under a warm blanket in winter as I read her the first few books of the Boxcart series.
It seems only yesterday my dad would be a "monster," lying on the ground. If you sat on his back, and scratched it, he would come alive, and he would try to get you to tickle you.

It seems only yesterday I was at elementary school, a little tomboy oddball who no one wanted to play recess with. I forced the boys to let me play with them. I quickly made friends that were mostly boys. Tackle football behind the aide's back was the funnest thing I ever played, apart from four square with tennis raquets and balls, or hockey with brooms.

It seems only yesterday that I had a conversation with my mom, my upcoming fears for middle school. What if I don't make friends? I don't want to do my hair. Will I find all of my classes?

It seems only yesterday that I was upset because I couldn't find my Yellow Submarine CD, only to find I left it in Mrs. Yates's classroom. 

It seems only yesterday that I started high school, fearing that I'll get shot. Rumors weren't true.

It seems only yesterday that I...oh, wait. That was yesterday...
Looking back on time, and precious moments remembered, I am terrified at how fast time goes. I am already 17 years old! 

Life really is a pop quiz. You are with a bunch of friends in the premortal, then you walk into a room to take pop quiz, trying to get all the answers right. As you take the pop quiz, you notice the people also taking it all arrive at different times, some people get less time to take the pop quiz than others, and each person is unexpectedly told to stop their test, and to exit out of a different door. Then you are told to stop the test, you walk out of the room. You joyfully reunite with friends that finished before you, and wait for others to finish. 

Life is so quick. Enjoy it. Live it.

I'm grateful for...blogging.

I actually am. I'm very happy that I have a habit of posting random things, because it has strengthened my brain storming muscles. It has made me keep my imagination alive. Et cetera. Now, Abby, what are you rambling about? Get to the point!
My point? I'm a master procrasinator. Not quite a Jedi Master of procrasination, but I'm getting there. I realized the half-hour lunch break that my rough draft was due next...my rough draft that has the opening line, "I wear size eleven shoes." Thankfully, due to my practice of writing about stupid and random things, I was able to complete the rough draft and eat my lunch and watch an episode of Mythbusters (I eat in my coaches room with the swim team, and we watch movies, series, etc. during lunch on a huge screen, which is radical and fun.) I don't know what kind of grade I'm going to get on the essay...all I remember of the essay I wrote was...the first line: I wear size eleven shoes. And my last line: My feet have molded me.
All I remember was that I was rambling about my attempts to find something that would put my feet to good use: Basketball didn't work because I stomped on all the kids, soccer worked for a little while, but honestly? I couldn't run. I was like a baby moose among fast little tigers. I was bewildered, and I fell down a lot. Then...swimming. The sport I loved, and it loved me back.
Because I started swimming, I gained many valuable characteristics such as: hard work, dedication, self-motivation, passion, self-discipline, etc. I learned all of this because of my feet.
Therefore, because of my feet, I am who I am today. Even though my hobbit-like feet will never fit in a dainty shoe, they have given me valuable lessons. My feet have molded me.

So, yeah. It was probably more elegant and well-thought out. But that's the general idea of what I rambled about for my essay. Have a good day!

Million Dollar Baby (found in my cluttered drafts)

Whoever is a celebrity baby must feel cursed. Sure, you get fame and money that every common person craves. Nevertheless, you are monitored, quite like Big Brother. Every move that you make, the public knows. Every mistake you make, will be blown out of proportion, and you will make it on the gossip mags for a day. Every time you go out, cameras will monitor you. Everyone you meet, may seem like your friend...but they might not be a real friend.
I often wonder about these poor human beings, what a burden they carry. The public is always watching. They hardly get a time of privacy to themselves.
The worst part? It wasn't their choice. Their parents just happened to be very famous, and they happened to be very famous babies, their baby picture on every stupid magizine on the market when they were born.
The pressure they face...I'm very thankful to be a common person. I can walk outside, and no one notices. I can walk into a store, and no one cares, unless you buy something. I can have real friends. I have a wonderful family, not torn apart by scandal and fame. I'm very thankful for not being a million dollar baby.

Random Ramblings...again

I had my first swim meet of the season today! It was amazingly fun, and I did rather well for a first meet.
The most interesting highlight of the meet had nothing to do with swimming. It was right after one of my races, and I was on the ground stretching. An old guy with down syndrome comes up to me and says, "are you sad?" and before I can reply, he has wrapped me up in a big hug. Later, while I'm still stretching, he laughs and asks what I'm doing. I said I was stretching, he gives me a big smile and walks away.
As I leave the pool, he sees me and recognizes me and a big smile lights up his face. He pats me on the back and walks away.
It actually made my day, even though I don't like being touched, even by friends...

Review on "Fairest" and Fire

Yes, I'm going to do a review on a book before I continue with my usual ramblings. The book is called Fairest, by Gail Carson Levine, the same person who wrote Ella Enchanted. It takes place in the same world Ella resided, but it's based on the story of Snow White. I must confess that it was very gripping, I couldn't put it down. I wish it was longer and deeper, as it took only a casual day to read. I enjoyed it very much, and Levine has a wonderful imagination and loves to throw in unexpected twists and and turns. I recommend it to all who don't have anything to read, or are reading something so deep and hard, and they need a break...I'd consider this book "brain candy". If you know what that means...

Anyhow, on to my rambling about random things. Today's topic is "Fire" (Supplemented by me ma). Fire...good topic. Fun stuff to play with...until it goes out of control. I confess I haven't told you guys a good story (but short) about my recruiting trip to the U. We went to the Pie on the second day, a scary underground basement/restaurant/bar thingy. Lit candles were everywhere. I was immensely bored, so I started to play with my paper-covered straw. I was seeing how close I could get to the candle without it catching on fire. I turned my head for a split second, and alas! It was burning rather quickly. I frantically blew out the voracious flame, only to scatter it to the other recruit sitting across from me. Apparently it burned on her skin before going out...whoops. I deserved the scowls and looks of annoyance that were directed at me for the rest of the night. All well.
Fire is loverly. I'll leave it at that. (But the story provided doesn't make it sound loverly, but believe me...it's fun to play with...provided you're willing to get burned...)

Laaaast Recruiting Trip

I'm on day two on my last recruiting trip! Yay! I come home early tomorrow! This trip was so far the best one, (key word "so far")...They had decent activities that were...appealing to me, and didn't force me to stay out 'til one or two in the morning. I was in bed by 10. Yay! (That's 11 Utah time) I've decided to list here and now the pros and cons of every college I've been to, and I hope it makes sense...

UNIVERSITY OF UTAH
Pros

• Nice and close (TRAX easily accessible)
• I like the education program there
• I like the swim program
• I got a good scholarship offer

Cons

• Team doesn't know proper language or...behavior? skills...(drinking)
• I don't escape Utah's "bubble"

BYU

Pros

• Good environment
• Pretty close
• Decent scholarship offer

Cons

• Don't get to meet very many people with...different backgrounds, you don't get as much of a taste of different cultures
• Many of the teammates are married...and they have...three years of swimming to go...I'm not saying it's a bad thing, it's just...yeah.

WSU

Pros

• I really like the team
• I love the campus and location
• Close to Rickcolletoscoppy
• They let this really cool dog run around on deck while you practice...

Cons

• Very far away from home...
• Not as good of an educational program in the areas I want to study...
• The swimming program...might not be challenging enough...(shh...don't say anything.)

People make me laugh.

Yes they do.
On announcing that I'm going to visit Washington State this weekend at church last Sunday, everyone told me it's a party school. I asked them how they knew. "From my friends." I politely ask them if their friends have been there. "No, they go to the University of Idaho, which is like, oh, about like, 10 miles away." So I say, "So, you haven't been there...your friends haven't been there...How do you positively know that it's a...'party school'?" They put on an offended face and walk away.
I didn't mean to insult them if I did...I've dealt with this kind of information before. My first day of high school, I was a little nervous. I had heard so many rumors about Kearns... "...It's ghetto..." "...there's a lot of gangs..." "don't get shot!" "...lots of drug dealers..." "...for stupid people..." The last comment didn't scare me, it just made me skeptical of all of the input I got about Kearns. After the first day, I was a little...ornery...how can people immediately assume the all-knowing attitude, and tell you about a place they've never been to? (I know, I know...I'm dangling my prepositions...leave me alone.)
I have learned from this experience. Now, whenever people tell me information, whether about schools, or about...drama they just had to tell me about, etc. I politely ask where they got their information, and if it's from a friend who knows a friend who hasn't even been there...ha! Your information is worthless. Sorry.

Explanation

The reason why the previous post was there, is because I get to write an essay like that about me. It's for admission essays for college. My teacher asked us to write a few options for our opening line (like "I am a cripple")
Here is what I wrote for ideas:
I suffer from Youngest Child Syndrome.
I hear normally with hearing aids.
I have T-Rex legs, I can't find pants that fit ME.
I wear size eleven shoes.

Guess which one she picked that seemed to have the most potential and the most unique? The "I wear size eleven shoes." I didn't even see that one coming. I was just writing random phrases about me. Now, I get to write an essay similar to the one below, only about me, and the opening line is "I wear size eleven shoes." This one is going to be interesting to build on.

On Being a Cripple

The following passage is written by Nancy Mairs, who has multiple scierosis.
"I am a cripple. I choose this word to name me. I choose from among several possibilities, the most common of which are "handicapped" and "disabled." I made the choice a number of years ago, without thinking, unaware of my motives for doing so. Even now, I'm not sure what those motives are, but I recognize that they are complex and not entirely flattering. People-- crippled or not--wince at the word "cripple," as they do not at "handicapped" or "disabled." Perhaps I want them to wince. I want them to see me as a tough customer, one to whom the fates /gods
/viruses have not been kind, but who can face the brutal truth of her existence squarely. As a cripple, I swagger.
But, to be fair to myself, a certain amount of honesty underlies my choice. "Cripple" seems to me a clean word, straightforward and precise. It has an honorable history, having made its first appearance in the Lindisfarne Gospel in the tenth century. As a lover of words, I like the accuracy with which it describes my condition: I have lost the full use of my limbs. "Disabled," by contrast, suggests any incapacity, physical or mental. And I certainly don't like "handicapped," which implies that I have deliberately been put at a disadvantage, by whom I can't imagine (my God is not a Handicapper General), in order to equalize chances in the great race of life. These words seem to me to be moving away from my condition, to be widening the gap between word and reality. Most remote is the recently coined euphemism "differently abled," which partakes of the same semantic hopefulness that transformed countries from "undeveloped" to "underdeveloped," then to "less developed," and finally to "developing" nations. People have continued to starve in those countries during the shift. Some realities do not obey the dictates of language.
Mine is one of them. Whatever you call me, I remain crippled. But I don't care what you call me, so long as it isn't "differently abled," which strikes me as pure verbal garbage designed, by its ability to describe anyone, to describe no one. I subscribe to George Orwell's thesis that "the slovenliness of our language makes it easier for us to have foolish thoughts." And I refuse to participate in the degeneration of the language to the extent that I deny that I have lost anything in the course of this calamitous disease; I refuse to pretend that the only differences between you and me are the various ordinary ones that distinguish any one person from another. But call me "disabled" or "handicapped" if you like. I have long since grown accustomed to them; and if they are vague, at least they hint at the truth. Moreover, I use them myself. Society is no readier to accept crippledness than to accept death, war, sex, sweat, or wrinkles. I would never refer to another person as a cripple. It is the word I use to name only myself.

Home again, home again...jiggitty jiggity jig.

Yes, I have come home once again from a recruiting trip. This one, however, was much more pleasant. But of course, every recruiting trip will have its flaws. I did not fit in with this group of people at all because they were just like (please excuse my expression...it's my honest first impression and thought) preppy Bingham high school girls. They all wore the trendy clothes. They all wore makeup. Their hair was perfect. They all talked about boys (or in many cases), or their husbands. That wasn't all...one of the activities was shopping at the University Mall, oh my! I was perfectly and immensely bored. I do have to admit that it was very nice not having to plug my ears or eyes.
The highlight of the whole weekend? Comedysportz. This awesome place down in Provo. It's a live show, with two teams and a referee. They play different games for different points, but they have to use suggestions from the audience. All of it was very amusing and enjoyable. I believe that Doyle and Jos and I will have to go one day. (The best part? It cost only eight bucks for a 1 1/2 hour show! Sweet!)
All in all...I didn't get offered as much at BYU. This is going to be one hard decision to make.
Do I want to be in a great environment, live inconveniently away from home and not really fit in?
Do I want to be in a crappy environment, with easier access to my home (TRAX), and hopefully make a difference?
Do I want to go some college no one has ever heard of, and escape this decision?
Now that you've read this pretty pointless post, please get back into your own life.

For the Benifit of Mr. Kite...actually, for Jos.

My English Teacher Makes Me Laugh

She seriously does. She is so awesome because she speaks to us students as equals and goofs around with us. One interesting thing that happened today in English (which I have for about three hours in a row...) . It was the five minute break between Literature and Language, so I ran out into the hallway, goofed off, slammed some sophomore's locker shut (I know them, don't worry) and walked back in. I started to go toward the filing cabinet in order to get my folder, but too many people were surrounding it, so I make a sharp military turn to the right and march to the dum-dum basket. (She has dum-dums, and you can take one whenever, she never seems to get ornery when you come up for the fifth time to snitch a dum-dum. I think today I ate about six. I'll probably be a brown-nose and buy her some more, as I feel bad.) Only to hear her laugh, as she has been watching me since who-knows-when. "You are so odd," she tells me. I chuckle. (I have never actually been called "odd". I have only been called weird, psycho, stupid, crazy, abnormal, etc.) Then she says, "I dreamed about you the other night." When I heard this phrase, I wasn't sure what to think. It isn't everyday that your English teacher tells you that they had a dream about you. She goes on to explain that she went to a "water polo meet" with me at the University of Utah, and that there were games going on, but I was swimming. She was trying to coach me on the butterfly stroke, and then she woke up. I show my amazement with a flabbergasted face. "Why in the world would you dream about me?" I ask. "Probably because you are so odd," she replies.
I love random days!

Les Miserables

mmmmm...the musical that got me started on musicals. Les Miserables. I finally got the entire collection of songs from the library, not just the highlights, which I own. It is such a magnificent story and musical. I seem to love and go for the musicals that have meaning, have insights on human nature, on people, how they think, what happens to them in certain circumstances. I love each character, and their place in the story. I just wanted to let you guys know my love for this musical, and someday I hope to read the book. I'm very excited that they are going to be performing Les Miserables at Pioneer Theatre in April. I'm buying tickets!!!

Two Observations on Humans

Yesterday I had the wonderful chance to go to a sold out game; University of Utah against Boise State. I believed that it would hopefully be a close game. Boy, was I wrong. As Utah was being killed, I had the opportunity to glance around and look at the spectators, 75% of whom weren't even watching the game. I can't figure out humans. Do they support a certain team or sports group, so every time that team wins, they can scream and chant at the other team's fans? As I left the game after third quarter, all of the Boise State fans were waving us out, screaming, swearing, and who knows what else at us. Some U fans were flipping off the Boise fans, or yelling back. Amusingly enough, as I watched all this in silence, these sports fans reminded me of monkeys. They were all messy, couldn't even figure out how to throw away their garbage, screeching, jumping up and down, making ruckus...they simply reminded me of howling, screaming monkeys. I will never become some obsessed sports fan, chomping on a few wieners, gulping my XXXL coke, and screaming and yelling with my mouth full, and being plain annoying. I will never become the kind of person where if my team wins, I'll be "in your face," or when my team loses, I'll simply become unbearable to be around as I give every kind of excuse possible, including the ol' "They lost because Pluto isn't a planet anymore" excuse.

Yesterday, I also had the opportunity to go to the Pie by the University (of Utah) yesterday. Sitting at a table on my right were four people, all very drunk. Yes, they paid lots of money to buy fermented wheat juice, and then to gobble it all up...so they can act like idiots. Yes, my views on beer are sour. The ugly colored drink with froth on the top just isn't appetizing. People who drink it to "have a good time" confuse me. What's so great about throwing up? Yes, you may be having a good time having your senses being befuddled, saying stupid things, and doing stupid actions, but soon enough, you'll probably be spending some time with your face in a toilet bowl. The last place where it should be. Whoever thought of drinking gross fermented wheat juice must have been a little crazy. (The pizza was GREAT, by the way. I wish I could've stayed there longer to observe human nature...)

P.S. These views are my own views, and my own views only. None of the people who I have put their links on the right are involved, blah blah blah. If you don't agree with my opinions, well, too bad, as I have made these opinions very carefully, with at least two years of study in the category involved. Please realize that I have nothing against monkeys, but I do have something against beer, as it assists in the killing of people on the road, but also assists the stupid driver in getting a weak sentence simply because he was drunk, it wasn't really his fault. Blast! Why can't we be like other countries who, on first offense of drunk driving take away your car.

Recruiting trips can make you appreciate being alive

Whew. I'm glad to be here. In one piece. When one goes on recruiting trips, one apparently is assigned a "host" (who is a member of the team...). As we set out to do many various activities, including going downtown (technically it's "uptown"), my host didn't possess a car. Because of this, I got to ride with a rich daddy's big boy. Yes. He was from the "East" side, in a fancy brand new car, that goes from 0-60 in a few seconds. AND he was still obsessed about his old high school: Skyline. Because of this, he was one of the people I loathe the most. Those idiot drivers that swerve in and out everywhere, going 60 MPH in a 35 MPH zone. On my trip back from the Rocky Point Haunted House to the dorms, my hands were clutched so tight that they hurt, but I couldn't unclench them until I was on firm ground. I'm still phased out from the crazy driving (no stopping, unless it's a red light, at least 80 MPH on the crowded freeway, swift out of control turns, looking at radio more than the road, more often than not taking up two lanes, etc.) and I hope I recover. For now, I vow to walk wherever we're going, except for the first trip in the morning, and I hope to catch a ride with someone else besides this lunatic named Drew.

I've finally got caughten up!

Yes, I finally got one, but my feelings about getting one are mixed. I've never liked them in the first place, except for the essential moments where I had to let my parents know where I was, but I had no way of contacting them. I hate the harsh ring, saying that someone is demanding to talk to you at that very minute, and if you don't answer the phone, you'll get reproached. I dislike the thought of going out of your way to buy one of these, then refusing to use it to talk to people, you'd rather write to them. I have never understood that. Talking gets the conversation done oh, about 100 x quicker, and more efficiently. My friends text each other "oh, nothing" or "ha ha ha." The worst that I have ever seen was one girl text messaging one letter of the alphabet every 10 seconds to her friend. How...boring. Yes, I'm staying away from the text messaging addiction many people have, and I'm actually going to talk on my cell phone.

St. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band

Well...After my forced workout at eight o'clock at night, I drove by a friend's house to pick up my parka and hat. They made me take something else to watch for the first time. A movie called "St. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band". The entire movie is made from the Beatles's songs, and only the narrator (Mr. Kite) actually talks. Most of the songs are sung by the Bee Gees and Peter Frampton. That movie was...far out there. Of course, the songs were too. How could you make a movie out of the St. Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band album, and keep it normal? Anyhow...very...interesting...Watch it only if you have absolutely nothing else to do. My favorite part was "Maxwell's Silver Hammer" performed by Steve Martin. The most disturbing part was the song "Come Together" sung by Aerosmith...who has such terrifying looks and...such a huge scary mouth...

Borned about 50 years too late

Thank you to my wonderful friends, Jos and Doyle. You have infested me with a disease. I can't decide if it's for the better or for the worst...bad?...worse?...But I am permanentally infested, and I can't get enough! I am going to pay a visit to people who have plenty of this substance they can give me for free. Some people I have to beg, since I've used a lot of theirs, and they are hesitant to give me more, as they've never seen a teenager of this generation with such an appetite for something so..."outdated".
Yes, I'm now crazy about the Beatles. Now it's pretty much all I listen to. It's pretty much all I look up. Want some useless facts? Here you go: Ringo Starr has appeared in a Japanese advertisement for apple juice; 'ringo' is Japanese for 'apple'. Ringo was also the first Beatle to be a guest star(r?) voice for The Simpsons, the other two eventually followed suit....I'm looking at a lot more, but I'm afraid I'm going to bore my audience.
What else can I say? I've gotta go and look up some lyrics now. Please excuse me.

I LOVE rain!

I already had a cold, and I'm afraid today's expeditions won't help me recover. I was in search of some ducks to shoot (with a camera, of course) on the Jordan River. I was quite far away on the path when the rain decided it's going to pour buckets and sheets. Luckily, I had my camera bag with me, so my camera is safe. Myself, however, was another story. I've never had my face dripping with rain. My clothes are currently soaked, and my hair is wetter than when I take a shower. It was the most fun I've ever had! Running with a huge camera bag in one hand and a tripod in the other made running difficult. I made it into the car, and realized that I finished my roll of film, so I decided to pay a visit to a store to get it developed. The rain calmed, then when I got out of the car to go into the store, it began in a full downpour once more. I ran in, turned in the film, and I decided it would be wise to run to my car, even though I was thoroughly soaked. As I ran, I ran into the middle of a ginormous puddle, at least 10 feet every direction, and 5 inches deep. The water splashed everywhere! It was very fun. I think my most exciting and fun moments in life have been in rainstorm. I just love rain! :)

My Ultimate Opposite

I look at her in the eyes. She is my total opposite. I'm green, she's purple. She asks me if I'm a swimmer. She can probably tell by the miserable state my hair is in. I reply casually, "Yeah." She comments on how she has never gotten wrong in guessing if someone is a swimmer or not. She laments the day she'll be mistaken. I tell her a key factor to help her realize if someone is truly a swimmer or not: Look at the hair on the neck, if it's short and there's a lot of it, they're probably swimmers because that hair gets broken off by the swim cap. I watch her in the mirror. She looks at my disheveled destroyed disgusting hair in horror. She's brave to ask ANOTHER question: "Did you like, try to highlight your hair, or something?" Duh. If I'm a swimmer, I'm probably in chlorine a lot. Hmm...maybe I'm in the sun too. I explain to her that the sun loves to highlight my hair when I'm not looking. She says, "Yeah, at the roots, your hair is like, a totally different color, I just thought that some coloring experiment went wrong."
Those two pieces of conversation were the deepest parts of the entire conversation I had with her. Everything else was small talk. In fact, the entire conversation was small talk. I must have seemed hostile, as I HATE small talk, and I just don't want to talk to you if you are cutting my hair. Just cut it. I'll pay you and leave. Just don't talk to me, please!
So, you probably have alluded the fact that I cut my hair. Yes I did. No, it wasn't dramatic, you can't tell. I'm just trying to grow it out, but it never makes it past the point I was at, so I am hoping a trim will get it going again.
I forgot why I HATE getting my hair cut. The small talk. The fake smiles. The grimaces at my hair. The price. Looking at myself in the mirror. (When I look in the mirror, occasionally I want a friend, so I give a knowingly grin at my friend in the mirror, only to realize the hair person is watching me. Ugh.) Et cetera.
Anyhow, just thought I would tell you. Have a good day, as I must go do some coaching now. Ta ta toodles.

Utter...Embarrassment.

Oh, my goodness. I didn't know I'd spend my evening looking at honest Abe's face...or trying to put together three identical puzzles, but all of the pieces are slightly different by a bilimeter or two.
Yes. I did something awful. But I have hope. I ran to the hungry paper shredder to shred up my information, when I felt my left hand being tugged toward the angry mouth. Yes. It ate up three five dollar bills, and my only hope is to save every five-eighths and the serial number. That way I can messily tape it together, and get some money back If I trade it with the bank.
How embarassing. Why does that have to happen? I was tempted to paste them together, and hang it on the wall to remind me how ugly and pointless money is. Really, what is it worth? Nothing. Just...service for service. It's like trading...only you use some ugly green paper to ensure the other person happiness.
I'm tempted to take a picture of this chaos, but I'm too lazy to take a picture, connect the camera to the computer, find the picture, save the picture, browse the picture, upload the picture, then place it somewhere perfect. Eh. You can imagine what a shredded five-dollar bill looks like.

In Mourning

Brittanica thought he was a ballroom dancer. Someone that I used to love watching on TV is now dead. Sure, he had crazy hair, and strange outfits, but he had a sweet Australian accent. He didn't die in a very normal way. He was killed by a stingray, whose barb punctured his heart and killed him. So, who is this guy? Steve Irwin. The Crocodile Guy. "Crikey" is what comes to mind.
I'm sure you can find the story of his death anywhere, but if you can't, here it is. Yes, the person who helped me love watching animals and animal documentaries is never going to entertain me again.
The world seems a little bit more empty, as one of the most enthusiastic and exciting people met his match--a stingray.
I guess that's what happens when you decide to choose a hazardous occupation, such as, oh, only playing around with some of the most dangerous animals in the world. Eventually, they show just how dangerous they are.
Of course as you read stories about him, they will start with all the positive things about him and his life, then they will start on the negative, point out all the bad things he has done, the risks and failures. I think the media always tries to leave a bad taste in your mouth.
My favorite memory of him? One year for valentine's day, I used The Crocodile Guy valentine cards. They had radical inscriptions, such as, you guessed it: "Crikey!"
His legend will live on in our hearts, and on tv.

Fulfilling my promise

I promised that I will do my best to keep up my blog, even though school has started, and here I am, fulfilling that promise.
I had a significant experience today. Something I had never experienced before, and something I probably won't experience again. Unless I become a tornado chaser. Something I've always wanted to be, though I'm not sure why. Anyhow, back to my experience. It was a normal, sweltering day at my school, and when the final bell rang, I was relieved because I then could walk to the pool and get cooled off. I got cooled off before I even took 30 steps from the school. Then it spotted me and attacked me before killing itself on the school building.
Yes, I was, for the first time in my life hurled (well, technically it hurled itself into me...) into a dust devil. At first I thought it was a gust of wind attacking everyone ahead of me, but I realized there was debris flying in circles everywhere up to 50 feet high!
When it got to me, I realize how silly I was. My first thought was, "My backpack!" I grip my backpack fiercely, refusing to let the wind hurl my precious homework away. Dirt had never hit me so hard. It kind of hurt, but left no marks, so I am not allowed to complain.
Anyhow, how is your school coming along?

Summer, where hast thou gone?

Today is my last day of summer. All I can remember is that it flew by my ear, (so that I could hear it was here) then it hovered above my head, and just now, it shot off like a rocket.

My accomplishments this summer:
1. I worked for 1 and a half months.
2. I rode 60 mile bike rides, twice.
3. I competed in Long Course State Swim Meet and did fairly well.
4. I went on a vacation for the first time. (To Pullman, WA).
5. I made some new friends.

My goals that I had, but did not accomplish:
1. Balancing a spoon on my nose for longer than 17 seconds.
2. Sticking out my tongue and touch my nose.
3. Running at least 2-3x a week.
4. Reading all those books that I wanted to read.
5. Organizing my new scriptures. (This includes putting quotes where they belong in the scriptures, highlighting, notes, etc.)
6. Building a coffee table for my sister, who asked for one, but failed to give me dimensions. (I will probably make it in woods this year...)
7. Visiting my Grandma more often.
8. Didn't improve my smelling ability. (Ooh! Ohh! Good story! Ahem: I was talking to one of my YW leaders, somehow we got on the subject of sniffing cell phones...and she has the most aMAZing nose! She is an appraiser, so she sees lots of houses, and she can walk into a room, and tell you how old the person's son is. [I don't know if you can tell with gals...] She can tell from ages 11-19 or so. Apparently, boys smell different at every age. I guess I was wrong. I thought they all stunk.)
9. Overcoming my fear of talking on the phone to strangers.
10. Last, but not least, I still haven't honed my skills of confusing and terrifying new lifeguards...Oh, I got quite a few laughs, but I could've done better.

Goals for school:
1. Graduate. (Because of seminary, it cuts it kinda close, plus I'm taking classes on EHS, and I'd better finish them, or I probably won't graduate...eek!)

Not utter agony this time.

I didn't get as many salt lines on my face this time. I don't have sore lungs that burn when I breathe in deeply. I don't even have a crappy tan from my bike shorts!
I rode the 100 k. Again. Today. At Cache Valley. Where it smells sweet as you pass the corn and alfalfa, then it smells nasty from the animal manure. I went a lot faster this time. (Probably because I drafted off of my pa.)
But do you want to know the best thing ever about the ride today? There were only 2 hard climbs. Instead of 20. Like in Pullman. Other good things were: very, very good trail bars at the rest stops. The swedish fish and good food at the rest stops. And this tour gave you lunch after! Such good food. Probably because I was hungry. The other nice thing? Lots and lots of people. Means you get to draft off of them. (If you can keep up, that is.)
The sweetest moment of the ride: A nice long downhill where I hit 40 MPH for the first time.
The worst: The climb up the nice long uphill.
Scary moment: Didn't notice an U.R., and almost ran over it. (U.R. stands for "unidentifiable roadkill".) The other scary moment was that I was drafting off my pa too closely, his back tire and my front tire were overlapping, just inches away. (My tire is on the right...) then he swerves to the right, and to avoid hitting him, I almost hit the deadly gravel drop-off by literal millimeters.
Anyhow...I still exclaim in my head during the hard moments (I did it constantly in Pullman) "I PAID to do this!?!?!"

Have a good start of school, y'all, and keep on track to graduate!

Tour de Lentil

Word: Bonked
Unofficial definition (a.k.a. the definition as the Edges know it): When you go biking or hiking, (or performing some sort of exercise), you run out of water and sugar to keep you going, and your muscles use up every possible piece of energy you can offer, then all of a sudden, your muscles stop. Your legs won't go anymore. All you want to do is get off of your bike and lie on the ground.
This has happened to every family member but me. I was sure as close as you can get without getting bonked. My brother said that when you are bonked, you start eyeing the meridian in hopes to find half-full pop cans, discarded food, etc. One time, he found Poppy flowers on the side of the road...he picked them and ate them. It gets that serious. I didn't get that serious. But It got to the point that I was being driven half-crazy. I have found a new torture that will get me talking. A looong bike ride in the rolling hills. (The other? A practice that my old dentist was: To determine if my tooth had a cavity, or was plain sensitive, he'd pour liquid nitrogen on a q-tip, then press it hard on the tooth in question. That is the worst sensation I have ever experienced.)

That is all I can say about the Tour de Lentil. Ugh. I was ready to burst into tears. It never clicked in my head that since Pullman, WA is a bunch of rolling hills, that I will be going down the hills. And up. And up. And up! (I think you got the point.) By the end of the ride, I was about to crack. Once I saw another hill to climb, I just wanted to curl up and die. But, fortunately, that didn't happen. I just let out heaving sobs because I was so tired and frustrated. I was frustrated because my poor experienced father had to ride with me...and wait for me. He could've been done at least an hour sooner if he took off. My brother finished the ride under three hours. It took me six. I was pretty much the last person to finish the stupid ride. What do I get to show for all of this? A tanline, and a lousy t-shirt. (Actually, the t-shirt is quite nice looking.)
I don't know if I'll ever want to do THAT again. At least I accomplished something new this summer.

Dangnabbit!

I shouldn't of worn flip-flops yesterday. I've never felt such an adrenaline rush before. From 0 to 20 to wipe out in just 6 seconds.
I'm currently in the slightly boring town of Pullman, WA. One fact that should be known about this town is that it has endless hills. They don't look significant at first, but yesterday morning, I found out that they can be deadly steep. My nephew and I (and my parents, that's a given) were walking to the neighborhood park. Lots of ascendings and descendings were approached on our journey. My nephew, Oscar, brought his sweet razor scooter. He refused to let me use it. While he was playing in the park, I was allowed to hold it. I looked at it closely, and there was a warning on the scooter. "WARNING: DO NOT RIDE IN SLOPED AREAS." I thought in my head, "Duh. Of course you ride it on slopes, specifically downhill slopes. Otherwise, how do you have fun on it?" On the way back to the house, Oscar gave me the scooter for uphill and he got it for downhill. Or he'd cry. After climbing a very steep hill, Oscar took it from me, but wouldn't ride it downhill. He said this one was too dangerous. I thought "Phsssh. Yeah right. It looks perfect." My mom heard him say it was too dangerous, and she turned to me and said, "I want to see you try it." She egged me on, convinced Oscar to give me the scooter, and I was off.
That hill appeared harmless, but I am now convinced otherwise. The scooter picked up tremendous speed in so little time. Soon I was using my foot to try to stop the scooter, or at least slow down. Darn flip-flops! They almost flipped off! The next thing I knew; "I'm out of control...I'm going down! Mayday! MAYDAY!" I let out a little grunt. The end result: The left side of my body kissing the pavement, rebounding, and licking the pavement. I'm glad the most impact was right on my belt. That means less torn skin. I immediately look up when I'm finished crashing. My dad is running to me. Right on cue. I immediately stand up, as it hasn't started hurting yet, and say "I'm alright." My dad and I start walking back to the house. We have a ways to go. Pain sears through my body. I stop to look at my wounds, not bad. Weird red liquid is starting to come out of my cuts. My hip hurt, my palm has some missing skin, my knee has road rash (which will soon turn into a scab, by the looks of it), my ankle also lacks a top layer of skin, my elbow as well. This morning, my hip area is turning a beautiful blackish-blue. My mom hopes that I learn something from this. I did. Don't listen to your mom when it comes to scooters.

Lentil Festival!!!

I'm a gonna go to the National Lentil Festival in Washington! I'm leaving tomorrow in the early hours of the morning, and driving for...ELEVEN hours!
I will be going up there to visit my brother and his family. I haven't seen them for a long while.
I'm also going to participate in the Tour de Lentil on my bike. Yes, it says 100k, but that's only approximately 60 miles. I'm excited! I'm very glad it ain't a bike race, but a bike ride.
So...I don't know if I'm going to have access to a computer up there, so, I will be gone until about Monday. If you need anything, sorry. I'm unavailable as far as I know...
Windy...er...Lentil Festival, here I come!

Keyboard digging

Google search: "Keyboard Digging"
Results: "Did you mean Keyboard Logging"?
Darn.

Keyboard Digging

When you read the title "Keyboard Digging", you are probably thinking, "What the putrid bologna?" That is what I thought, too. Until I saw them.
The Keyboard Digging people. They call themselves "Keydig" for short.
The Keydig people are a dying race. They are very timid, and hide in the dark corners of the world. Because of their timidness, and the world's rapidly growing population, they are being kicked out of their territory. They are the red squirrels of the park. The grey ones are taking over.
Some of you Darwinismists will just say, "the survival of the fittest!" So, if grey squirrels become so plentiful to overpower us humans, does that mean they were fitter, or was it because of their numerous population? Okay, we're quite off-topic.
The Keydigs.
So, how did they get such an outrageous name??? It all started back, way back, when typewriters were the general method to get ideas on a page. The lazy people of the civilized world were tired of having to clean out the typewriters. (Typewriters get dirty, just like computer keyboards...whether it be food, or gradual grime build-up from your fingers...) So they imported some people from a small island, and their job was to clean the typewriters. To clean the typewriters/keyboards, they use their delicate, small fingers to dig into the cracks, and scoop out the grime. They grew so popular and useful, that everyone used them. "Hey, can I borrow your Keydig?" "Sure! Just give him back sometime next week." The Keydigs didn't mind this occupation. It was better than sitting around on an island and documenting the different smells of the world. (I don't know if this source is reliable, as to where they came from. Others say they are escaped Oompas. They were sick of chocolate.) Some distinguishable characteristics of these people are:
1. The sock-tying ceremony. The Keydigs have a wonderful and unique ceremony where they get together, and bring all of their lone socks. (The socks who have lost their mate.) And they dump these socks in different piles, and match the socks with another to the best of their ability. The Keydigs have never wasted a sock because the other was missing. This ceremony traditionally takes place in a moonlit children's park on the eve of April 2.
2. Their meals: This has to be explained. They have meals very often, but in very small portions. For example, one Keydig I met ate according to this schedule: Pre-breakfast at 6:23 am. Breakfast at 7:34 am. Post-breakfast at 8:45 am. Pre-brunch at 9:54 am. Brunch at 10:12. Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera!!
3. The Rope-making tradition. These Keydigs are very adorable in all aspects. Except for this one. They collect and save hair (from their backs) and eventually braid it into a very reliable rope. Gross. Usually the men do this one.
4. Piercings. If you know what to look for in piercings, you won't always know exactly who's a Keydig, and who isn't. They don't have any.
5. Greetings. The Keydigs have a unique way of greeting each other on the street. They walk up to each other, and smell the other's left hand. They believe that The left hand is the hand that's supposed to smell good, as the right does all the smelly and dirty work.

This is all I have discovered and witnessed so far among the lost people: The Keydigs. Watch out for them!

*Verb accredited to Jos and noun credited to Brittanica.