Monday, December 12, 2011

Hair color addict

Sometimes, when you haven't been anywhere very interesting, and the third graders aren't being particularly hilarious, and you haven't locked yourself out of your dorm room in a while, all you can do is blog a picture of the pink hair you keep adding to because you are a hair color addict . You are probably supposed to be working on a final paper, and are sick of Facebook and Pinterest.

"Affirmative action was designed to keep women and minorities in competition with each other to distract us while white dudes inject AIDS into our chicken nuggets." --Tracy

Tuesday, November 8, 2011

The SL,UT Project: Part 2

I skipped last week. Shut up.

For this past Saturday, I looked up a few thrift stores in Salt Lake, because I really like cheap things. The two I found that were closest to campus were called Retro Rose and Misc.

Retro Rose is just a cute little thrift store with mostly decorations, organized by color. There are two floors of just stuff.

...and then my camera ran out of battery. Which is a huge shame, because the orange section was definitely the funnest. The kitschy stuff isn't nearly as cheap at DI, but it's fun. 

There was also this cat that kept walking right in front of me and then stopping, until I tried to walk around it, and then it would lay down and make me pet it. I am not kidding, it did this to me like six times in a row, so it took a really long time to get over to the clothes. 

There isn't a ton of clothing, but there was some pretty fun stuff. It's really too bad my camera died, because there were a lot of things that are kind of a dream come true for me, as a person whose favorite fashion muse is Barbara Feldon on Get Smart.

It's a pretty good place for any aspiring Agent 99, I think. Maybe I'll actually get something there someday when I'm a more adventurous dresser.

Misc. was really fun, too. Also not as cheap as DI, and not a humongous selection, but it was cool to look at the stuff. I used some birthday money to buy a couple sweaters, which was fun.

And so there you go. Once again, if anyone knows of something fun they want to do with me in Salt Lake sometime, let me know. 

Wednesday, November 2, 2011

Third graders are hilarious, part 4

As soon as I walked into the classroom, all the third graders started yelling my name. I thought I was just really popular, until they calmed down and they told me what was going on.

McKayla: It died this morning.
Thomas: We only had it for four weeks.
Luke: He MIGHT be hibernating.
Teacher: He kept running and running on his wheel yesterday and we couldn't get him to stop, and this morning he was dead.
Zoe: It was my turn to take him home tomorrow.
Luke: He might be hibernating!
Thomas: Hamsters only hibernate in the wild!
Zoe: He was cold when we touched him!
Luke: He could still be hibernating!

A moment of silence for Mr. Chubby Cheeks. Also, for the third graders' innocence.

"Pete, can you tell the bald eagle at the zoo to stop scaring me?"            -- Tracy

Saturday, October 22, 2011

The SL,UT Project: part 1

I woke up this morning needing to DO something, so I put in my ipod, packed my bag, and trekked it down to the Trax stop. It was about halfway there that I had a vision. What if I took a little part of my week to not study and actually go somewhere besides my dorm and the library? What if every Saturday I visited a new place in Salt Lake that I have never been to? What if I took pictures of it? What if I blogged about it? What if I became a rocking tourist in my own town? And what if I called it the SL,UT Project? (Because I will stop laughing at that joke when it stops being funny--never.)

So here we go. 

Today I decided to visit the Gilgal Gardens. I hadn't heard of this place until I read a newspaper clipping about it at work, and I immediately investigated. Turns out it's super close to campus--located at about 749 East and 500 South. It's right behind Hire's Big H and the Wonder Bread Factory, so it is both hidden and delicious-smelling. 

The Gilgal Garden was designed and built by Thomas Battersby Child, Jr., beginning in 1945 (it used to be his backyard). It's basically this menagerie (Did I use that word right? Whatever.) of bizarro religious sculptures including a sphinx with the head of Joseph Smith, the statue from King Nebuchadnezzar's dream, and a funky self-portrait. And way more. It is free for the public, and is open for visiting from 8 am to 8 pm from April to September, and 9 am to 5 pm October to March. More information can be found right here.
I didn't think to bring my camera before I left today, so the following pictures have been stolen from the internet.

Then I ran to the City Library, because I have only been there once before, and was excited to get a library card. A library card I will surely never use, seeing as I work in a different library, but whatever. It felt good. There was also some kind of book sale going on, so I got a cheap copy of The Essential Tales and Poems of Edgar Allan Poe, just in time for that part of the year when it's always cloudy and all the trees are dead and I like to get my morbid on.

Speaking of morbid, the City Library is having a Dia de los Muertos celebration on Oct. 29th, which I think sounds pretty cool. Someone should go and decorate a sugar skull for me.

Those were also cyber-thieved. So there you go. More to come, for sure. And I would love suggestions, too. And if anyone wants to have some urban adventures with me, shoot me a text.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

Third graders are hilarious, part 3

Reading from a book of Halloween jokes...

Andrew: What kind of animal do ghosts ride? I'll give you a hint. It's in your dreams.
Me: Um... a boogie man?
Andrew: No, a nightmare. Get it? 
Me: Oh, yeah. I get it.
Andrew: But the boogie man is the king of your nightmares.

"How do I know this isn't another dream? Wait a minute. All my teeth are loose. This is real." --Tracy

Tuesday, October 11, 2011

Third graders are hilarious, part 2

Andrew: Have you ever seen a piranha, Miss Anderson?
Me: I have, in an aquarium.
Andrew: Did you know if you ran into a piranha, it would lap up all your flesh?
Me: All my flesh?
Andrew: Including your bones.

Andrew: Did you see our new class hamster?
Me: I sure did. What's his name?
Andrew: We haven't voted on a name yet, but I think he needs three names.
Me: Like a first, middle and last?
Andrew: Yes. I already thought of them. Fuzzy Tissue Sleeper. Because he is fuzzy, I saw him eat a tissue once, and he likes to sleep. See what I did? I looked at his personality, and I used it to help me pick three names.

Liz: No, I told you, your lizard cannot be the musical guest.
Tracy: Of course not. His album doesn't drop until December.

Wednesday, October 5, 2011

The Bucket List (perhaps someday starring Morgan Freeman)

I fully realize that the "bucket list" trend is becoming somewhat of a cliche, but I am taking mine very seriously. So here is my bucket list--slightly edited for the public--green ones completed.

Before I have a family
-Develop a habit of drinking enough water everyday
-Develop a regular exercise routine
-Learn a considerable amount of sign language
-Do a study abroad
-Learn to wear high heels with ease
-Become comfortable riding a bike around the city
-Do some cool henna thing 
-Become comfortable sewing clothing
-Learn to like whole wheat 
-Participate in some kind of study

Before I die
-Visit every inhabited continent
-Learn how to make sushi
-Learn how to knit
-Do something adventurous with my hair
-Become fluent in a foreign language
-Be able to play the Fantasie Impromptu by Chopin all the way through
-Own and pay off a house
-Maintain an attractive figure
-Meet one of my favorite celebrities (Tina Fey, Paul Simon, Matt Damon, Morgan Freeman, Dustin Hoffman, etc.)
-Feel comfortable eating at fancy restaurants
-Know off the top of my head how to make at least one dish for every course of a meal
-Go to New York 
-Own a pair of (real) sassy glasses
-Become proficient at styling hair
-Own all of my favorite books
-Spend a night in the Plaza Hotel

"But there was so much left on my bucket list. So many kinds of buckets I wanted to own." --Tracy

Third graders are hilarious, part 1

While making leaf prints:

Andrew: I love art. I would do anything for art. Even give up my exercise.

Andrew: You know what the scariest kind of plant is?
Me: No. What?
Andrew: The Venus fly trap.
Antonio: I have a Venus fly trap. They eat bugs.
Me: Plants shouldn't be able to do that, should they?
Antonio: Well, Venus fly traps are, like, ten percent animal. Yeah, probably five or ten percent.

Lola: Wow. Good job tracing those leaves, Miss Anderson!

During a reader's theater:

Teacher: And then Noah, I brought you some butterfly wings to put on for this part.
Noah: (groans)
Mike: And then make him wear a dress!

Teacher: So at that part, Noah, go ahead and shake your wings.

"If you get rich off this stuff, just take care of my family. I don't want my kids to have to go to college."  --Tracy

Saturday, October 1, 2011

Doorbells and sleighbells and schnitzel with noodles.

I'm on a list binge, I guess.

All the time I'll find myself saying seeing something and saying, "That is one of my FAVORITE things." I finally decided to start writing them down. So if I were Oprah, and you picked up a copy of O Magazine, and you opened up to the favorite things page, here is some of what you would find:

-Little boys with spiked hair.
-Kids wearing dress up clothes in public.
-When people on SNL can't keep it together.
-Getting on Facebook and having 1 new friend request, 1 new message, and 1 new notification.
-Lady park rangers. Actually, all park rangers. Ladies are just especially adorable.
-Little kids in glasses.
-Men who look terrifying but are really nice.
-Dogs who look terrifying but are really nice.
-Making a to-do list of things I've already done, and checking each item off the list.
-General authorities with accents.
-Junior high girls who look super awkward, but you can tell will be gorgeous in, like, three years.
-Couples where the lady is taller.

There will definitely be more.

"I love foxy boxing. It combines two of my favorite things: boxing and referees." --Tracy

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Boys: read no further.

Any guys who read this, which is probably not many, should stop here. It's gonna get pretty girly.

Well, I warned you.

It's hard to have a good attitude during that "visit from Aunt Flow," seeing as it is one of nature's most frustrating events and also happens to be accompanied by a tidal wave of rage hormones. But today that all changes. I have done my best to come up with a bunch of reasons periods don't suck that bad.

-They provide you with an appropriate time to take a bunch of pills and pass out on your bed.
-You have to eat more. You just do. It's not like you want to, you just have to.
-You can completely break down in tears and then say, "Sorry. It's just that time of the month."
-You can smash a plate against the wall and then say, "Sorry. It's just that time of month."
-You can do things like tell your brother you need the bathroom first, and when he asks why you can point to the cupboard with the tampons and watch him squirm.
-The time spent in the bathroom being sick to your stomach can also be used for lots of things, like thinking of lists of reasons why periods don't suck that bad.
-You can do this fun thing I do sometimes where I buy a different color of pad the month before and then forget what color it was, so it's a fun surprise when I take them out.

And that's enough of that. Excuse me while I go smash a plate against the wall.

"I'm in the middle of a RAGING period.... of economic turmoil."   --Jack

*Note: My mom asked me if I find my 30 Rock quote first and then write the blog, and the answer is no. There truly is a 30 Rock quote for every occasion. 

Monday, September 26, 2011

Is this your sock?

It's a really, really good thing I'm not one of those high school graduates who went right off and got married, because according to recent studies, I can barely even take care of myself and one tiny dorm room at the same time. Here are some highlights from two Saturdays ago:

Saturday morning I walked a visiting friend out to her car. I had a paper to write that day before I left for the evening, so I hurried back to my room. I got up to the third floor, shuffled through my bag, and realized I had left my keys inside. I knocked and knocked, but my roommates had apparently all disappeared within the five minute window that I had been gone. I decided that was okay because I needed to grab some lunch anyway, and then I could go to the cd store which I had been wanting to do. Once I got to the cd store, on the complete opposite side of campus, my roommate called me to tell me she was in the room, and only would be for a half hour. I lied that I could be there in fifteen minutes and sprinted across campus. I was wearing horrible shoes and my flat feet seized up, but I was not deterred. I even ran up my stairs, lost my shoe, and had to run back down for it and then up again. It was like Cinderella - prince + asthma. I barely made it in as my roommate was leaving.  

I had plans for the night, so I was going through my clothes trying to find a white shirt. As I did this, I realized that not only was my white shirt missing, but so was a gray cardigan and various pairs of socks. Also a lot of underwear. I pulled my room apart before I realized that they were all the same color, which meant that maybe....

I had left all my whites in the washing machine. The washing machine used by the entire building. Downstairs. FOR THREE DAYS. WITHOUT DRYING THEM. Sure enough, there they were, somehow unstolen. I threw them in the dryer. 45 minutes later I headed back down for them, deciding I wouldn't need a hamper because it was such a small load. I piled the cardigan, white shirts, socks, and underwear in my arms and headed up to the third floor again. I shuffled through my bag with one hand. I had left my keys inside. And were my roommates home yet? No. They were not.

I knocked on my RA's door for several minutes before I saw the note that said he was out of town. So I hauled myself and my underwear down to the next floor. That RA was gone, too. So was the one on the first floor.

"That's okay," I thought to myself. "I can call the front desk." But had I left my cell phone in my room, also? Why, yes. I had. So I picked up my load of laundry (sans hamper, remember) and trucked it out to the Housing and Residential Center. Did I mention I was wet from a recent shower? Did I mention I was wearing a bright orange t shirt? Did I mention I was carrying a humongous wad of underwear? Did I mention it was not a very short walk? The Asians just stared.

The guy at the desk said he'd walkie-talkie for a guy to let me in, which never actually happened. That's okay, because my other roommate was home by the time I had made my very unique walk of shame back. She had a few friends over who she introduced me to.

Me: Nice to meet you.
Guy: Is this your sock? It was outside the door.

Morals of this story:

-Bring your keys, no matter where you go and how many roommates are home.
-Bring a laundry hamper, too, just to be safe.

"If you're running low on laundry, a swimming suit makes perfectly acceptable underwear." --Liz Lemon

Monday, September 12, 2011

Freedom of Choice.

And you thought this would be political. Nope, just tampons. 
Ladies' restroom, second floor MBH.

Thursday, September 8, 2011

Who put a couch in here?

I am not a very big person. So, my bladder is also not really big. So, I go to the bathroom a lot. So, I have seen a lot of campus ladies' rooms. And I've noticed something great: they are all really interesting. They have weird furniture, weird signs, weird windows, and weird grime. I am certainly no photographer, but every time I visit the restroom I wish I had a camera.

I was thinking about this last night, so before I went to bed I threw my camera into my bag to take to class this morning. It worked out really well because I had to sprint to the restroom after a long movie about westward expansion, so I got a few shots in. Then I took some pictures of the restroom.

Again, not a photographer. Not even one of those hipster kids who pretends to be a photographer and really just has Photoshop. Just messing with a cheap point-and-shoot and iPhoto. If I were an artist, I might say something like, "I just want to draw attention to the details in the things we see every day and don't necessarily consider beautiful."

But I am not an artist, and so I'm going to say something like, "Bathrooms are weird."

Grime on the hinge of an out-of-order tampon dispenser in the AEB.

This is the sign outside that door. The walls in that building are all cement like that, which is actually very cool.
This couch is in a tiny room just outside the ladies' bathroom in the JWB. 

"I didn't get a bathroom door that looks like a wall by being bad at business." --Jack

Wednesday, September 7, 2011

That's the name of the lady who cleans our house.

I went through this phase a week or two ago where I was wondering if I had picked the right major. I mean, I'm a freshman, so it's not a big deal for now, but the teacher licensure program is long and full and I really need to know ASAP. I had been thinking about the icky parts of teaching that I had been learning about in my classes, and thinking about the majors I had been considering before. Stories of overworked, underpaid elementary school teachers were starting to make, I don't know, orthodontics look a lot more interesting.

I went to work yesterday and was filing papers mindlessly when my boss came over, and apparently out of the blue, asked me what grade I wanted to teach. I didn't even remember telling her my major, so I was a little surprised. I told her I was hoping for fifth or sixth grade. She smiled and told me she came from a family of teachers. Then she told me about her aunt Ella Mae, who, when she died, had crowds and crowds of people at her funeral.

"She influenced so many people," Liz said. "You help shape those kids."

So I'm back to knowing what major I want. Which is good, because I started my fieldwork today. And I loved it even more than I expected. I'm volunteering in a third grade classroom at a school downtown. They call me Miss Anderson. It's so adorable I want to cry. 

We were doing interviews to get to know each other today, since they just started school, and I was talking to a little girl whose name is not really Shirley (there are creeps out there).

Shirley: What's your first name?
Me: Maggie.
Shirley: That's the name of the lady who cleans our house.
Katie: So... your mom?
Shirley: No. 
Katie: Your... sister?
Shirley: No. I don't know. I've only seen her like once.
Katie: So not a member of your family?
Shirley: No. 
Katie: That's weird.

Which basically sums it up. We're supposed to only work in schools with an at least 45% nonwhite population, so it's a real potpourri of kids. One little girl was talking about how she was adopted from Nepal, and her adoptive family is sponsoring her biological family so they can go to school. They do a lot of class in Spanish, too. And I heard one white kid say to a little Latino boy, "You have a great accent."

So, I love it. And that's without getting paid at all. But those kids better come to my funeral.

"Last time I taught, I was like Robin Williams in Dead Poets Society-- by which I mean I got fired." --Pete

Sunday, August 28, 2011

That post where I used the word "menstruated."

I don't need to say that I am the only daughter in my family, because the two people who read my blog already know that. So they could probably guess that the idea of moving away from two younger brothers into a space with three other girls made me pretty apprehensive. Based on past girls' camp experiences, I was sure it would take less than a week before the estrogen wafting from our rooms would drive me to some kind of breakdown.

But guess what? It's been over a week, and I am getting along beautifully with my wonderful roommates. There hasn't been lick of tension, and I happen to know two of us have already menstruated. It is different, though. Among my observations:

-There is hair EVERYWHERE. Looong hair. On the rug. On the bathroom counter. Everywhere. And not brown hair, like I'm used to. Blonde hair. Between my toes after I stand on the bathmat. Too graphic? Let's move on.

-The trashcans fill up very quickly. The reason I think this is different than with boys is because a disturbingly high percentage of boy trash does not make it to the trashcan.

-The toilet paper disappears even faster than the trashcans fill up. It took me a good amount of contemplation in the bathroom before I realized why me and one other girl go through a roll so much faster than me and two boys. Duh.

-When a girl says, "My room stinks," what she means is, "My room doesn't smell like perfume."

-Girls do this weird thing where they go in their rooms and are quiet for extended amounts of time. No one yells, no one wrestles. It's like a freaking zen garden up in here. It would be eerie if it wasn't so sheerly amazing.

-Everyone is willing to admit they have feelings. They just say it without any shame: "I want my mom," "I'm freaking out," "I cried today." And when they cry, they don't mind if you notice. It's bizarre.

There is more, but I need to snag the bathroom before someone else does. Girls take twice as long in the bathroom. It's probably because we wash our hands. Then I'll probably check on my roommates and make sure they're not dead, because I'm still not convinced it should be this quiet right before bedtime. I love my life.

"Female jealousy is an evolutionary fact, Lemon. If you try to breed it out of them, you wind up with a lesbian with hip dysplasia." --Jack

Saturday, August 27, 2011

You are tiny, like an Asian.

Sometimes what makes your day special is the quantity of quirky encounters you had that day. Sometimes, it is just the quality of one or two small, silly things that happened. But once in a while, we are blessed with both quality and quantity of truly bizarre events in a 24-hour period. Like yesterday, for me.

(Also, I am not a fan of the long blog. But I couldn't really help it on this one. I'm sorry.)

Before I start, though, you must know how many Asians there are up here on campus. I am not being a racist. There are just so, so many. Most of them are exchange students here for a few months, being sponsored by their government to learn skills at American universities. They come from Thailand, Taiwan, China, Japan, Korea. They are all very sweet and cute. And so numerous. It is not an uncommon occurrence for me to get on a mostly empty shuttle that will immediately fill with exchange student after exchange student, leaving me the only white person there. It's just such a bizarre feeling after four years of living in northern Utah. Anyway.

Yesterday, at a shuttle stop, a very nice Asian guy came over to ask me a question about the shuttle system. I helped him out and told him to just follow me because I was headed to the same place. We started talking a little, and then, out of the blue...

Jeffrey: Why are your eyes a weird color?
Me: Um. I don't know. (pause) Because my mom's eyes are blue and my dad's are brown?
Jeffrey: I see. That's weird.

He was very nice. He was from Taiwan. He's headed back in a week to study international business.

A few hours later I decided to take the bus to Smith's for some groceries, and another very sweet Asian student sat next to me. She looked like she was sixteen. I introduced myself, and she immediately said...

Ann: You are tiny, like an Asian!
Me: I know.
Ann: How old are you?
Me: I'm eighteen.
Ann: Oh, really? I would have guessed 25! It's so hard to tell with Americans!
Me: How old are you?
Ann: You guess my age.
Me: Jeez. 21?
Ann: (Giggles) I am 28! I am ten years older than you!

She was also adorable. She's from Thailand and is studying English until December. We exchanged numbers so I could help her practice her English.

I got off the bus a couple blocks later, and waited at a crosswalk. I clicked the little walk button like a law-abiding citizen does, but as I waited, an old lady on the other side of the street just started crossing. JUST STARTED CROSSING. SIX LANES OF TRAFFIC. AND TRAX TRACKS. WHILE THE TRAFFIC HAD A GREEN LIGHT. I watched in terror and awe as she stopped between each lane to let a car go and then go for it herself. She must have seen me staring, because when she made it to my side, she bestowed upon me these words of wisdom:

"Someday when you're older, you'll have the balls to do that, too."

I can only hope, old lady. I can only hope.

Then, I saw a man in a long, black cape.

The rest of the day was fairly uneventful, until my roommate (who I love very, very much) came home tipsy from a frat party...

Me: I need to find Lucy.
Unnamed roommate: Lucy?? (hysterical laughter)

And with that, I went to bed.

Two quotes for tonight:

"A drinking contest? What am I, twelve and at my boyfriend's frat party?" --Jenna

"She said she was seventeen, but then she said her last boyfriend was Asian and that crap doesn't start til college." --Dennis Duffy

Sunday, August 21, 2011

This is college.

This is how 75% of my conversations have gone for the last three days:

Hi, so what's your name? Nice to meet you. I'm Maggie.
(Oh! That's my dog's name!)
I know. I'm from Centerville.
(Where's Centerville?)
That's just north of Bountiful. You know Bountiful?
Never mind. Where are you from? What are you majoring in? I'm doing elementary ed.
(Wow! That takes more patience than I have! Ha ha ha!)
Ha. Ha. That's what everyone says.

On Friday night, the school hosted a dance party outside for everyone who had just moved in. My roommate and her friend and I were hanging around, and one very cute, very, very nice boy came over to introduce himself, which of course lead to...

Hi, so what's your name? Nice to meet you. I'm Maggie.
(Oh! That's my dog's name!)
I know. I'm from Centerville.
(Where's Centerville?)
That's just north of Bountiful. You know Bountiful?
Never mind. Where are you from? What are you majoring in? I'm doing elementary ed.
(Wow! That takes more patience than I have! Ha ha ha!)
Ha. Ha. That's what everyone says.

Then his very cute, very nice friend joined us.

Hi, so what's your name? Nice to meet you. I'm Maggie.
(Oh! That's my dog's name!)
I know. I'm from Centerville.
(Where's Centerville?)
That's just north of Bountiful. You know Bountiful?
Never mind. Where are you from? What are you majoring in? I'm doing elementary ed.
(Wow! That takes more patience than I have! Ha ha ha!)
Ha. Ha. That's what everyone says.

Then another.

Hi, so what's your name? Nice to meet you. I'm Maggie.
(Oh! That's my dog's name!)
I know. I'm from Centerville.
(Where's Centerville?)
That's just north of Bountiful. You know Bountiful?
Never mind. Where are you from? What are you majoring in? I'm doing elementary ed.
(Wow! That takes more patience than I have! Ha ha ha!)
Ha. Ha. That's what everyone says.

It felt so college-y, flirting with guys at a dance party. So we all went off and danced. They were very, very fun as well as nice and cute. Things were going swimmingly. I showed off a couple Irish stepdancing moves, which always gets the guys. In fact, said moves probably inspired the next conversation:

Cory: Do you guys drink?
Kate: (Who thought he asked if she needed a drink. Of water.) Yes!
Me: No.
Cory: Do you smoke weed?
Me: No.
Cory: That's okay. You're a great dancer.
Me: Thank you.

So there you have it. Somewhere between that and getting invited to a toga party and going to my first singles ward and eating on my bed and having several public transit misadventures, it has finally hit me that I am a college student. A very hip, self-assured college student.

Oh, wait, that was the girl I sat next to on the bus. I am the terrified college student who accidentally took the bus to Sugarhouse when she meant to go to the Smith's four blocks away. But whatever. It'll be great, right? Right?

"How's this for grown up? Last night, I put milk in my Apple Jacks." --Frank

Monday, August 1, 2011


I am not marriage-crazed, really. I could happily wait 5-6 years before tying any kind of knot.
But that doesn't mean I'm not planning already.

My mom says she was so stressed planning her wedding that she didn't have time to enjoy it, so I like to think that by already knowing my wedding colors, the gist of my decorations, where my dress is coming from, and what the bridesmaids will wear, I am avoiding a few premature gray hairs. Right? A day doesn't generally go by when I don't skim for ideas, and save a couple pictures in my folder titled “Wedding” on my desktop.

But then today I imagined myself in this situation:

Sitting with my laptop open in some class, a cute guy sits down next to me. We introduce ourselves and hit it off. Just before I open up a word document, he catches a glimpse of a folder entitled “Wedding.” This could mean I am engaged, or worse --insane. He pretends to see a friend come in, excuses himself, and flees.

I panicked. Quickly, I created a new folder entitled “Normal” and moved the “Wedding” folder into it. Brilliant. Now let's re-imagine this situation:

Sitting with my laptop open in some class, a cute guys sits down next to me. We introduce ourselves and hit it off. Just before I open up a word document, he catches a glimpse of a folder entitled “Normal.” Perfect, he thinks. She's normal. He asks me on a date and a month later, we are married. Our wedding colors are all shades of white and the bridesmaids have matching clutches. The reception is at an art museum and each table has a centerpiece of paper flowers in jars. The cake has golden raspberries on top of it and there are lots of garlands made out of paper doilies.

That's more like it.

"See, this is exactly the kind of thing that happens when there's no order, no planning. Hitler and Martha Stewart would have hated that wedding." --Liz Lemon

I think I got something to say to you.

Get it? Like from the Rod Stewart song? (Confession: I've never heard that song before. I had to look up the lyrics.)
(Actually, Brother Hassan used to sing it to me in seminary.
Me: I don't feel comfortable when you sing that song to me; it's about his adulterous lover.
Bro. Hassan: Don't say "adulterous lover" in my classroom.)
Seeing as my last journal entry ever was way over a year ago and terrible, I'm hoping having a blog will help me record some life. Mainly I'll probably be following other people's blogs, though, and quoting 30 Rock. So no one get your hopes up.

"Every year my Aunt Alice sends me a wool sweater for Christmas. We get it Aunt Alice, you're a sheep." --Kenneth