I used to be much dumber...

The cool thing about little sisters is that they remember really dumb things you did when you were 14 years old. And then they remind you about them approximately 7 years later on Monday afternoons while you are sharing lunch, and it is hilarious.

So....

Once upon a time, when I was fourteen years old, I was at a youth dance. Tender, I know. And there was also a boy at this youth dance. Well, there was more than one boy at this dance, thank goodness, but one in particular who was causing me great distress.

You see... he liked me. GASP. How dare he??!! What a travesty! So much angst and drama and emotional pain!!!

Apparently I didn't like him back... not even a little. In fact, I thought he was a weirdy, which is kind of rude of me, even if he kind of was.

So when the rumors began circulating at the youth dance that he was going to come ask me to slow dance in a while, it was like a world-wide CRISIS on my hands. My peaceful life as I knew it was on the brink of collapse, people!!!

His friends came over to my friends, and my friends went over to his friends, begging him not to come ask me because it would be really awkward and I didn't want to dance with him because he was creepy. Oh the stress!

So when the next slow song came on, I was on high alert. Then, my shrieky, over-excitable friends
began to panic as they saw this boy approach me from behind. We did what any group of completely level-headed, logical fourteen year old girls would do:

I dropped to the gym floor and curled up in the fetal position as my friends huddled around me to shield my body. And then he left. And then we ran to the girls bathroom screaming.

So nowadays, whenever I do something really dumb, like sleep through my morning class or watch five hours of youtube videos before starting a paper....

at least I can remember that I used to be much, much, much dumber.

this is so not true. okay, it's a little bit true. ha.

(and hallelujah I didn't hang out with that group of friends much longer. but really... dumb.)

It's Not Easy Being Green.

Oh gosh you guys. I wasn't going to tell this story. It's dumb. But you persuaded me. jerks. jk. but for reals.

I was super nervous for my first drama class, for four reasons.

1. I don't do drama. I'm a drama queen (ha), but I'm no actress.
2. The class is almost four hours long. At night.
3. I have a fear of public speaking /slash/ looking stupid /slash/ looking stupid while public speaking.
4. The ratings for this professor said she makes you get out of your comfort zone.

I like my comfort zone.

So of course when class started and I only knew a couple of people in the room, I was quite tense and ill at ease. I sat there with my fists clenched under my desk, and it didn't help that moments before this class started, I got some bad news that made me quite emotionally unstable. And then it didn't help that I started crying during the opening prayer.

Bad start.

So I sat there, all nervous and awkward-like, and tried desperately to convince myself that I was totally normal and everyone was going to love me, and hey, maybe I'd make a great actress and everyone in this class would be my eventual besties and such. But then, the professor handed out a personality test; you know, the kind where you find out what color you are.

BLUE: nurturers, people-persons, emotionally motivated, etc.
GOLD: organization lovers, those who love structure, go-getters, etc.
GREEN: independent thinkers, competence-driven, math/science type of mind, etc.
ORANGE: very impulsive, love being in the spotlight, very competitive, hate structure, etc.

I took the test honestly, and I almost tied for three colors: green (35 points), blue (32 points), and gold (31 points). And I thought it represented me pretty dang well too. You see....

I'm very much a people person with a nurturing emotional side, and I love structure and organization, but on top of all that, I am an independent thinker. I resist just agreeing with people for the sake of agreeing and I refuse to do things that don't make sense to me.

Our professor told us that most the class was probably blue (being nurturing elem. ed majors and all), and gestured to a part of the room for "blues" to congregate. She knowingly predicted that there'd be a few "golds" and a few "oranges" and pointed out their areas as well. But nothing about green. The class began moving excitedly, while I sat there, forgotten.

Then she exclaimed: "Oh! And every once in a while, we'll get ONE green in the class!" and left it at that. I still sat there, panicked. I was a "green."

I raised my hand and told her so. "We have a GREEN!!!!" she exclaimed with excitement, "You will be with me!"

So while the rest of the class bonded with each other and probably became instant besties, I was whisked to a chair in the front of the room, away from all my peers, to talk about my personality with my drama professor.

She talked to me about my "green" aspects, and I told her the things I identified with and didn't identify with. And then, I had to stand up in front of the whole class full of people wondering why I was the only green to explain my "green-ness" (while also strongly emphasizing that I had almost tied with blue and gold so everyone understood I was just like them too and not some total freakazoid.)

It was then that my professor took it upon herself to describe the "typical Green" while I sat there, facing the class:
-doesn't understand emotions.
-would rather spend time with computers than with human interaction.
-may say things like "I am all alone, but don't feel bad for me, because I like to be alone."
-"live long and prosper" (please note she did the Star Trek sign while saying this.)

While she said these things, the whole class of sensitive nurturers just stared at me, their emotionally-motivated, people-loving eyes penetrating my uncaring green soul.

Maybe they weren't judging me, but.. they were totally judging me.

personally, I find the Green Giant very attractive and he's green.
so take that, haters.

Then we talked about what color of people we most identify with and which color we least identify with or struggle getting along with. I sat facing the class while most of them seemed to agree that the color they least understood was GREEN. Some of them even described "green" people they had conflicts with in the past.

Pretty sure they hated me by association at that point.

We spent two hours talking about our colors. It wouldn't have been so bad to be unique. In fact, I might have loved it on a different day when I was feeling more outgoing and less like my emotions would crumble at any point in time into a mess of tears. At the end of class, our professor assured us that we wouldn't have to divide according to our colors again, and that she wouldn't even remember our colors. Then she pointed at me and said, "Except for you, because you're the only GREEN!!"

Next time I have to take a personality test, I am going to lie, cheat and steal my way to be the majority color in the room.

I've also decided to avoid wearing the color green to that class at all costs, even if it falls on St. Patrick's Day, in order to NOT remind my green-prejudiced class that I am the only green. Maybe if I never wear green they'll just forget it all happened and accept me as one of them. I am willing to endure pinching injuries.

Other things that are out for drama class: taking broccoli as a snack, any talk about environmentalism, and grass stains. This just got real.

Sing it Kermit.

(DISCLAIMER: please note that any/all emotional trauma has been resolved by this point through telling this story to many friends and laughing extremely hard. also, my class may not hate me as much as implied (but we'll see for sure next week) (ha). please also note that my newly acquired aversion to the color green, however, is painfully real.)

The Return of the Cave.

Long, long ago (last school year), I had an awesome/ funny/ chill roommate named Anne. Anne and I bonded very strongly over something: we. hated. the. cold. weather. with. a. passion.

And so, when the bitterly frigid winter winds crept into Provo, Anne and I took refuge in our room. More specifically, in our beds. You see, even our apartment was cold, and we both owned heated mattress pads (Anne purchased hers after I testified of their necessity), and on most days, there was nowhere we wanted to be more than tucked away warmly in our beds. (except Hawaii, which is where Anne transferred, the lucky dog.)

human toaster oven. essential of life.

So night after night, we'd come home from school and work and activities and social outings (we weren't total hermits, mind you), and promptly hop into our beds and crank our mattress heaters up. We'd do our homework there, we'd talk across the room from our beds, and we'd often tuck ourselves in and watch shows on Hulu into the night. Our apartment was on the first floor, but it was actually underground, therefore our bedroom was in the basement and only received minimal light.... even at high noon when not a cloud was in the sky. (Seriously, that place was DARK. You could not see the sky from the window.)

This is what became known as "our cave."

It was how we survived the winter, all tucked away in our dark, cozy lair of a bedroom.

The seasons changed, and Anne started school at BYU-Hawaii, where she now lives near the beach and is probably way warmer and tanner than she could have ever hoped to be. And I lived in Provo all summer when the weather was perfectly warm, and then started the Elementary education program in the fall, becoming busy and bustling and productive every single day.

My bed became but a distant stranger.

But, alas, the winds of change blew again, and the mercury began to drop, the mountains began to turn white, and my schedule became less busy (as I finished with two of my seven classes). I began to find myself with more free time than I could have dreamed of. It began with 8 am alarm clocks and early, productive mornings, but as the mornings became darker and the days became colder, IT somehow happened.

IT HAPPENED.

And I want Anne to know about it. What happened, you ask??

THE RETURN OF THE CAVE DWELLING.

Welcome to the place I now prefer to spend all my free time:

no need to make the bed anymore, I climb into it so often...

At least this time my "cave" includes a large window with plenty of natural light to go along with the comfy sheets and plentiful pillows!

Please don't judge me: I am cold ALL the time. And I just wasn't made for cold weather. Or, you know, using my time to accomplish things.

ha. ha. ha.

p.s. I wrote this post sitting in my bed. At 3 pm. ha. ha. ha.

I Struggle with Dressing Myself.

Today was a special day...

...because today I accidentally wore my shirt backwards. To school.

I got ready really, really, lightening fast before dashing out my front door. As I walked, I thought the neckline of my shirt was suddenly uncomfortably high, but I didn't think much of it.

When Kirsi and I discovered together that my shirt was backwards during the forum, we laughed until we cried. No really, there were tears. And they weren't because Senator Joe Lieberman's speech was emotional (no 'ffense Senator, it was still good).

she's so proud of me.

scandalous back exposure.

EMBARRASSING.

Don't worry. I switched it around. But not before I ran into one of the elementary school students from the math class I tutor AND her mother.

She said, "Mommy! There's my teacher!"

And all I could think about when I met her was: this woman probably is wondering how I could possibly be a competent teacher if I can't dress myself properly.

WELCOME TO MY LIFE PEOPLE. I'm just cute like this all the time.

Breathing: A How To Guide.

One beautiful thing about Brigham Young University (other than the fact that Jimmer went here and I love him) is that it is built on top of a mountain.

Some say hill... but I say mountain, because hills are cute little green things that you go skipping down singing songs about how they are alive, but mountains are things that make your lungs explode and cause you to want to die.

And so, every BYU student's life consists of trekking up and down these inclines, especially those of us that live down the large hill south of campus. And of course, anyone who ever goes down to the athletic buildings west of campus have to tackle the infamous RB stairs, which look like this:


Oh, so sorry, wrong picture. They just look so similar sometimes! The RB stairs look more like this:


In addition to trekking up and down hills outside, every building has lots of stairs, and elevators are shameful things that everyone will look down upon you for using. (well not really, but kinda)

The point is, unless you are a superior athlete, you experience frequent episodes of breathlessness while traversing this beautiful campus. And that is why I am writing today... to lend support and advice. Because you always seem to be walking amongst non-out-of-breath people who have been walking on level ground when you emerge from a steep ascent like a mountain-climber.

There are several strategies for retaining your composure and cool factor (aka: swagger) while you are desperately out of breath.

1. The "Suff' and Huff":
You mount those last few steps before reaching the top. Your lungs are beginning to burn and you feel the lack of oxygen building in your brain. As your foot reaches the top of the stairs/hill, you begin gasping wildly for air. You walk towards your next class, and see a total hottie approaching. As you pass, you nonchalantly hold your breath and smile. Then as soon as he is out of earshot, you gasp like a fool and breathe as deeply and loudly as possible. You begin to pass someone else and hold your breath, or just breath as quietly as possible. Repeat, until you are breathing normally once again.

social appearance rating: 9... other than the sweat trickling down your brow, you appear totally normal to passers-by!
potential for suffocation: 10.... this is why I have named it the "suff' and then huff."

2. the "Vigorous Nose-Breathing" technique:
This technique is helpful in loud crowds, or in situations where people are mostly pretty far away from you, because it can get pretty loud (you know...). You keep your mouth closed and smile, and try to intake as much air as is humanly possible through your nostrils! Win! An occasional deep breath through the mouth is recommended.

amount of cool factor that remains intact, visually: 87%
amount of cool factor that remains intact, audibly: 0%, because you sound like a wheezing old man.

3. The "Man Those Stairs Made Me Sleepy!" method:
This one is simple: Just cover your mouth and pretend you are yawning like a bear coming out of hibernation while you desperately gasp for air. A bear that yawns for a really long time. Disregard the adrenaline that is pumping through your veins while you feign drowsiness.

success in camouflaging your out-of-shape-ness: high
chance for receiving concern from others that you have narcolepsy: very high

4. The "I Just Really Enjoy Whistling Silently" strategy:
This one is definitely one of my faves... you just purse your lips into whistle formation and breathe deeply. I enjoy it because you have the ability to take deep, life-sustaining breaths, but it keeps your mouth gasping to a minimum.

sustaining life: 5 stars
flirting by looking like your lips are puckered: 8 stars

5. the "I Shamelessly Enjoy Living" mindset:
In this method, you actually disregard what people think of your hot-mess desperate breathing, and decide that you enjoy a regular intake of air, so you just breathe as much air as you need and don't think about how people perceive you.

self-confidence and sensibility score: perfect 10
creativity in breathing technique: a disappointing ZERO.

And lastly,
6. "Exercise So You Are In Shape Enough that You're Not Actually Out of Breath When You Summit Over 100 Stairs."

But that's just crazy talk, so we won't go there.

BYU Parking 101

Back in the day before I had a car in Provo, I used to walk... everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Like, really far sometimes. I once walked three miles in 20 degree weather to go to a museum for a homework assignment. I prided myself on my walking abilities, trekking the terrain of campus and the Provo area like an independent soldier, not reliant on a car for anything! Who needs a car to carry a gallon of milk and 4 bags of groceries home?? Pshaw!

Now I have a car. And so I drive pretty much everywhere.

Fact: it is easier.

Fact: I am now lazier.

For example. As you may have heard, I am taking a PE-teaching class this semester, which means class in the athletic building all the way up the hill, across campus and down the mountainside. It is really far from my apartment, which didn't used to phase me when I had class there back when I was a pedestrian warrior... but now?

I drive.

Please see the visual representation for further explanation.


It only makes sense.

Problem: The parking lots fill up by 8 am. So I usually drive over before 8 to park and then do homework until my 9 am class. Yesterday, however, after abusing the snooze button on my alarm clock, I found myself waking up with a gasp at 8:40 am.

It was the moment of truth. Do I accept the fact that there will be no parking and run straight to class since it will take me at least 20 minutes to walk there?

Or do I spend ten minutes brushing my teeth and putting on mascara and then drive over there, refusing to believe that there WILL be no parking. Not a maybe. A definite.

My life policy involves living in denial, so of course I drove. Yay!! I compiled the events that ensued into a BYU Parking 101 tutorial:

Step One: Pray that you will find a parking spot quickly so that you will be on time to class.

Step Two: See a dozen other cars circling the lot.

Step Three: Convince yourself that you are somehow superior to them and will somehow find a spot even though it is obvious that none of them can.

Step Four: Drive down each row of cars.

Step Five: Drive down each row of cars again, super fast.

Step Six: Freak out a little because it is now 9 am.

Step Seven: Almost get clipped by another car who whipped around a corner.

Step Eight: See a car two aisles away backing out. Punch the gas pedal and zoom over there, only to see the spot taken by a closer car.

Step Nine: See a man walking from the buildings to the parking lot.

Step Ten: Moment of truth. Your pride? Or getting to class sometime this century?

Step Eleven: Decision made.

Step Twelve: Begin creepily following said man in your car.

Step Thirteen: Look away casually when he repeatedly glances back at you looking creeped out and annoyed.

Step Fourteen. Continue driving slowly behind the man as he walks as if driving at 3 miles per hour directly behind him is purely by chance.

Step Fifteen: The target car has been reached. Aggressive blinker maneuver!!!

Step Sixteen: Endure dirty look as he pulls out. PARK IN SPOT. Shriek with joy.

Step Seventeen: Bolt from car because you are now eight minutes late to class.

As you can see, parking at BYU after 8 am is a vicious and cutthroat procedure. If you try it, I strongly urge you to follow my patented 17 step program to help you find the spot of your dreams.

I more strongly urge you to wake up early so you don't have to attend class with bedhead. I even more strongly urge you to forgo driving when possible and just walk to class because:

a) it is good for your health.
b) it is good for the environment, and
c) you will receive less dirty looks from men after stalking them in your car.

I hope you've learned something.

Battle Wounds.

When my alarm went off this morning at 6:30 am, I opened my eyes and realized that it was still mostly dark outside. I groaned and rolled over. And then I realized that I couldn't move my neck. And my back was really stiff. And my knees were throbbing. And then, when I sat up and swung my legs out from under the covers, I noticed brown and green bruises all over my knees.

It was an eventful Labor day, I remembered. But being the humble and subtle person that I am, I will just leave it up to you to decide how I managed to bruise myself up yesterday, resulting in all-over body soreness.

A) I was walking down the street, when I saw a baby crawling out from her front yard, right into the path of an oncoming pickup, so of course I immediately did a ninja dive and scooped the tot up while rolling across the asphalt just in time to dodge certain death.

"don't mention it, baby."

B) I ran a marathon super fast, and tripped and fell just before the finish line, bruising my knees, but then quickly jumped back up and broke through the awesome ribbon, winning the entire race.

this is exactly how I look when I run. yup.

C) I spent the entire day building a home for an elderly couple, placing each floor tile in position on my hands and knees, therefore causing bruising.

it was nothing, really.

D) At IHOP, after eating enough hashbrowns and french toast to sink a ship, I slipped in a puddle of water and fell on some tile.



Once again, I'm not telling you which one is the true story...

ITS UP TO YOU PEOPLE. Decide for yourself. Just keep in mind how cool I am.

A Story that Needs to Be Told.

Sorry for the lack of blogging this week. I just started the elementary ed program, and..... phew. Also, I didn't have internet in my new apartment for a week, and the internet company did everything in their power to keep it that way. But, after hours on the phone and a 30 minute drive to talk to someone in person, I prevailed. Boo ya, internet company, boo ya.

But great news! I am guest posting over at a fabulous blog called Stress Case today! It's kinda like a recap of some of my awkward moments. You should all check that out and leave a nice comment. (wink).

Back in this neck of the woods, I have a special treasure of a story for you. It's one that I've often told my friends, but never thought to write.... until NOW. (dun dun dunnnnn).

Have you ever heard the phrase "stranger than fiction"? Yeah. That's my life. I couldn't come up with this stuff.

Two years ago, my wonderful sister Jess and I decided to treat ourselves to manicures on a frosty Provo night, so we headed down to one of the local beauty schools for some shiny fresh nails on the chi-zeap.

oh yeah.

We sat down at their cute little nail stations and began the small talk with our beauty school students. It began well. It really did. We talked about school, the weather, the weather some more....

But then the polite conversation train, not only hit a few rough patches, but de-railed and then exploded into a fiery mass of devastation, not unlike that scene from Anastasia. (But unfortunately hottie Dmitri wasn't there to rescue me)

You should know something about me. I have half thumbnails. Don't freak out. Its okay, I promise. I was born with only half a nail on both of my thumbs. The other side of each nail bed is just skin. It doesn't hurt, it doesn't bother me, and no I'm not an alien. 'sssssallllgoood.

My cute little nail technician was mortified.

"Oh my gosh! Does it hurt??? (No) How did it happen?? (I was born with it) How do you cope?? (normal explanation to normal questions ensue.)"

Then she got pretty creative.

"Do you have phantom pains? Like when someone has to have their leg amputated, they can still feel tinglings where their leg used to be???"

Welp, I can't say I'd heard that one before. (PS, the answer was no... no phantom fingernail pains...)

And then I found out that she was a philosopher too.

"That SUCKS. But at least you were born with it, right?"

"I.... guess so?"

"So then you didn't have to wake up one morning and be all like, 'Gahhhh! I have half-fingernails! I'm so retarded!"

Thanks, beauty school student, for the insight. I would have been mad if I wasn't so focused on biting my lip from exploding from laughter.

It turned out, my cheap manicure kinda sucked. But I'd say it was definitely worth it, because the insights and memories I gained on that special night will live on forevahhh.

10 Things I Enjoy More Than Moving

10. getting cavities filled.

9. sitting at the DMV.

8. getting blood drawn.

7. writing research papers.

6. painfully long car trips.

5. eating ramen noodles.

4. running. and I really hate running most of the time.

3. getting rear-ended.

2. bronchitis.

1. pretty much anything in the world.... besides moving.

Conclusion: having to move into a new apartment is the hardest thing ever. Console me.
Conclusion 2.0: I am a total drama queen and I need to get over it.

Have you had to move recently? If so I am giving you a virtual high-five for your survival.

if in doubt, wear a belt. please.

Last night at the library I began reading an article in a children's magazine about sumo wrestlers for a homework assignment. I turned the page only to find a full page picture of a real life sumo wrestler, naked rear and all.

It reminded me of last week in one of my classes when a large man in the front row stood up to fix his sagging pants and I saw a large portion of his posterior for a disturbing few seconds.

Dear World,

Please spare me from being visually assaulted by any more fat men's naked butts in public. I really can't handle any more. Give me time to recover from the emotional scarring at least.

hesitantly yours,
Amy

Surprise!

Last week, my friend Kelsey and I went out to dinner for a much needed chat sesh. As we were leaving and getting in my filthy car, we discovered that we both love washing cars. Then we looked to our left, and not 50 feet away, we saw a car wash! It was a beautiful thing.

Several change-machine incidents and some significant mental preparation later, we were spraying down my little silver car with exuberance. Somehow, the spraying turned to singing, and the singing turned to dancing, and the camera came out and our adventure turned to modeling.

don't let this Alaskan girl fool you.... She is HOT.

workin' that sprayer.

As I was posing something fierce, Kelsey said, "Uhhh look over there!"

Yes readers, we didn't notice the line of cars in the Wendy's drive-thru watching us, with laughter and applause. SURPRISE!

It was a tender experience.

SURPRISE Number Two:
I actually managed to make blog buttons. I know, I know, nothing short of a miracle. If you want to snag one for your blog, I would be so honored! Here's a basic one, or you can find more up in the "buttons" tab, complete with button-choosing guide.




<a href=http://myhappilyevernow.blogspot.com><img alt=”My Happily Ever Now” src="<a href="http://s1139.photobucket.com/albums/n544/amynLV/?action=view&current=BLOGPICS.jpg" target="_blank"><img src="http://i1139.photobucket.com/albums/n544/amynLV/BLOGPICS.jpg" border="0" alt="Photobucket"></a>"/></a>

Have a great day, and remember kids: always check your surroundings before you dance in a carwash.

Amy's Riveting "Bandaid" Metaphor.

The rumors are true. I'm back in Utah. The long-awaited for day arrived, a week ago, to move back to my beloved Provo. But it meant moving away from my even-more-beloved Las Vegas.

The day after I arrived, I was talking to one of my best friends on the phone and we agreed: one of the hardest things about college is transition. You never want to leave where you are. You don't want to leave college life when its time to go home for a while. And then you don't want to leave home when its time to go to college for a while. But it's so good for you to go through that. You learn to make home wherever you are. You learn to make your friends your family when you don't get to see your family anymore.

And then I came up with the metaphor: leaving home is like ripping off a bandaid. (Sorry is that gross? Too bad, its my blog baha) You have to do it sometime. Its healthy for you to take off (otherwise your skin gets all pruny... yuck). There comes a time when it has to happen. You know its gonna sting a little, and it does, but then you are okay. And then you are totes glad you ripped off the bandaid!

And on your first ever solo six hour drive to Provo, you see a guy hitchhiking right next to a "Prison Nearby, Don't Pick Up Hitchhikers" sign. And then you see a lady walking a pig on a leash by the side of the freeway. A PIG!!!! And you jam to some awesome mix CDs that your friends made you. And you move into your apartment with only the few belongings that you packed into your little sedan. (okay, not that few...)

ready to hit the road... wearing a Jimmer shirt, duh!
I Jimmered that drive.

And then you accidentally drop your phone down a staircase on Father's day and it smashes. And you cry. And then you get an even better phone. And you start your classes and you freakin' LOVE them. And then you really don't feel well for an entire week... so you cry. But you realize that you have friends here and you love all the opportunities before you. And you are comfortable in your home away from home, and you love it. And you're happy you ripped off that bandaid.

That metaphor got a little out of control there. I apologize.

But for the record, I really did see a lady walking a pig on a leash.

And that is all I have to say.

Domestic Goddess in Training.

I'm pretty sure yesterday was the most domestic day of my entire life. Nay, I am certain that yesterday was the most domestic day of my entire life. I went grocery shopping, I cooked, I cleaned, I scrapbooked, and I SEWED.

Yes, you read that right. I sewed. As in needles and bobbins, stitches and sewing machine kind of sewing. You see, I have this thing where I really like fashion (I can tell many of you are suddenly skeptical...) and I have been craving summer skirts.

Yes, craving, like you would crave a strawberry popsicle on a warm afternoon. Those light, cotton-y bright skirts are so summery and I want a ton of them, so I decided to commandeer my mom's sewing machine and her cupboards of fabric and make myself some skirts. I didn't need help, I didn't need advice. I know how to sew baby blankets and pajama pants. How hard could a skirt be? I found instructions entitled: the Twenty-Minute Skirt.

I think there should of been a disclaimer that said: the Twenty Minute Skirt***

***Unless your name is Amy and you fail at life, in which case plan on four hours.

I measured. I cut. I ironed. I pinned. I sewed. I sewed some more. I sewed some more. I tried on my skirt. It didn't fit. I ripped out hundreds of stitches. I sewed some more. I ripped out more stitches. I sewed again, and this time it even fit!! I wore it all around the house admiring my domesticity.

this is my skirt. it was sew hard to make. boom I went there!

Then as I was getting ready to leave the house wearing it, my dad said, "Uhh Amy.... I think there's a hole in your skirt...."

"Oh that's impossible Dad!" said I.

I looked. My stitches were falling out of the back seam, leaving a gaping hole.

So in conclusion, sewing is a fun, inexpensive way to have new clothes, except that if you wear something I sewed, there is a good chance you may suddenly find yourself naked in public.

Embarrassment Quota: Met.

I think the universe has daily quota for my embarrassing moments. The quota almost always gets filled. And that's okay because I learn to laugh about these moments.

Today, however, was very impressive. I believe I have met my quota all within five minutes! New record.

I was hurrying down the JFSB stairs to my psychology class, and immediately it came to my attention that my calf muscles were about to explode. This is because I have taken up a new fitness routine which includes going running up hilly roads. Each step down that loooong stair case caused me to want to scream out in pain, but instead I managed to let out little squeaks instead. Picture me awkwardly waddling down a ridiculous flight of stairs, squeaking like a deranged baby animal with each step. It was cute.

Then, I rushed into my class to find that the clicker quiz had already began. So I threw down my backpack to pull out my iClicker... and a bunch of tampons came out with it. Smooth, Amy, smooth.

So then I decided to just stand in the back of the lecture hall to take the clicker quiz, lest anything awkward happen while climbing over people to a seat. Suddenly, exhaustion overcame me from my descent down the stairs. I decided to lean back against the wall.

Suddenly, the classroom fell into darkness. Murmurs began as all the students began to wonder why it was suddenly pitch black.

"Hmmm," I thought. "What an interesting time for the teacher to decide to turn off the lights."

"Hey!" A girl in the back row nudged me. "You're leaning against the light switch!"

Indeed I was.

I'm on a roll today. Happy Friday, folks!

Someone take my contacts out for me.

Yesterday I glued on fake nails because I like to satisfy my inner diva. They are bling-blinging, which is highly desirable and I bought them at the grocery store for $3.50 so they're totally worth it.

Right now I want to take a nap, but its too hard to take out my contacts with these suckas.



Also, I have an entire pack of Starbursts and I can't open the wrappers.

When I was in high-school I would go with my friend Chandice to get our acrylic nails done. It was awesome and I loved them. I was pro at wearing long nails. But alas, I haven't worn acrylics for two years and I forgot my skills... Today I had to resort to my teeth to open a ziplock bag.

Maybe being a bling bling diva is not worth it. Good thing these babies will fall off by tomorrow. Although, I don't now, the clickety clack of typing with long nails is highly satisfying.

Also, having diva nails makes me feel flashy and fly and often induces me to present the following poses:

the "Ima Gangsta, fool!" pose.

the "I rock this party" look... highly popular.

"The Claw." Strangely delightful. You should try it immediately.

the "I just figured out how to open the starburst and ate the entire package."

Someone please ban me from my webcam. After you take out my contacts.

This week calls for a sugar coma.

Yes, in fact, I am moping about my room alone on a Thursday night, too burned out to pick up homework or even look at the enormous To-Do list that has been growing all week and completely kicking my trash.

Yes, dear readers, I did have plans to go to a play tonight for credit in one of my classes, for which I sprinted in and out of the Wilk between commitments earlier today to buy a ticket, and walked all the way back to campus in the cold tonight, ticket tucked safely in my pocket.

Yes, I did arrive early, only to find that my ticket was missing, following which I retraced my steps all the way back to my apartment and then halfway back to campus, finding no trace of said ticket anywhere.

Yes, there is a half gallon of cookies and cream in my freezer and I intend to utilize it.

Some people choose to get drunk, I get sugared out of my mind. And then fall asleep early.

Happy trails!

photo courtesy of Dell Webcam and brewing insanity explosion...

"My Valentine's Day was On Fire."

Probably because we had an electrical fire break out in our oven while my entire FHE group was over trying to make sugar cookies.

the early stages of the fire. It got pretty large.

What a tender Valentine's Day.

Hope your day was full of love and fun and one less call to 911 than ours was!

PS Know where your power breakers are.

Its Alarming Really...

I struggle with a lot of things, I think that's pretty clear... forming coherent sentences, eating spaghetti, remembering what floor I'm on when I get into an elevator...

But perhaps the thing I struggle with the most is waking up in the morning, because I am most definitely a complete failure at it.

I have church at 9:00 am... I love church and always have a desire to go and be on time and look like I DIDN'T just comb my hair with an eggbeater after putting on clothes from a dumpster. But sometimes this is not the case. Nay... oftentimes this is not the case. Nay... hardly ever is this the case.

Last night I decided to do something about it. I decided to stay home on a Saturday night, go to bed early, and set three alarms for Sunday morning. Take THAT life, I was gonna be on time to church and I was gonna look HOT! Boo ya!

Wakeup time this morning: 8:33 a.m.

I turned off all three alarms in my sleep.

I feel like my readers need to appreciate the dexterity that this entails:

My phone is a touch screen, and to turn off the alarm, one must press firmly on the small floating orb that appears on the screen, get a firm grip on that with one finger, and drag it at just the right angle through an arc.

I know this picture rivals Van Gogh... you are welcome for introducing this beauty into your life.

If I can perform such impressive feats of skill in my sleep, I think I'm going to start taking my exams and going on dates while asleep also. Things can only improve.

What tips do you have for waking up in the morning?

The Laundry Cycle of Amy

Laundry is a viscous cycle in my life....

It all begins when the laundry basket is empty and all the clothes are clean. All is well in the world. I make a solemn vow to myself to keep up on my laundry.

A week passes. The laundry basket is barely even full!

Two weeks pass. I feel a twinge of guilt every time I see those smelly clothes crammed into that basket.

About three weeks have passed. Utter denial.

A month later. I desperately need to do laundry, but I would rather poke my eyeballs with hot needles because now my laundry basket resembles Mt. Everest. I shudder.

I finally do my laundry. It takes hours and hours of hauling heavy loads down the slippery concrete steps, dozens of quarters, spilled detergent, awkward laundry-room encounters, clock-watching, trips back and forth, back and forth, drying wet loads over and over as I watch my money disappear, and I am filled with despair as wretched tears are wept while my hours slip away.

I haul all my laundry (consisting of almost all the clothes I own) back to my apartment and throw them down in exhaustion.

The next day, now that they are well-wrinkled from lying in a pile, I remorsefully hang up every piece of clothing I own and re-fill my wistful looking closet.

Empty laundry basket. PURE JOY.

All is well in the world.

I vow to keep up on my laundry next time.

REPEAT.

Guess where I am in the cycle today? Hahahahahahaha....

Dang.

Help Me Aunt Jemima, You're My Only Hope

I'm not a bad cook.

I've been making grilled cheese sandwiches and scrambled eggs for myself since I was eight years old, buttering and assembling and frying in my tiny little pan with a pride that could not be crushed by my friends who were still eating cold peanut butter sandwiches for lunch.

I progressed from there, learning to make macaroni and cheese, rice dishes, spaghetti with Prego, Alfredo noodles from a packet. I helped my mom make dinner sometimes, chopping the vegetables for stir fry, watching pots for her, and mashing the potatoes once in a while.

She taught me how to make my favorite meals and I got better at making them as I got older: sweet and sour pork, tacos, beef stroganoff, stir fry, meatloaf. I took a cooking class in high school where I learned to make homemade cream sauces, pot roast, rolls, delicious pulled pork sandwiches, salsa chicken....

I can follow a recipe. I feel pretty confident in the kitchen. I usually eat pasta or taquitos or frozen chicken for dinner, but I know I could cook if I took the time to buy the ingredients to make real meals and spend more than 10 minutes in the kitchen a night. I could. Or at least I tell myself that as I heat up a frozen dinner at nine o'clock at night...

But one thing humbles me without fail:

Breakfast food.

I can't make it. Ever.

Omelets turn into scrambled eggs. Fried eggs turn into rubber. Hash browns either burn to a crisp or float in the pan like sad, soggy failure. Bacon burns black. The sausage usually comes out okay, but where's the satisfaction in cooking decent sausage links? No where. Waffles crumble or burn.

And pancakes, Oh the pancakes.

Whether too thick or too thin, too burnt or too light, gooey in the center, crumbly, tough, tasteless, lumpy, or plain disgusting, I have NEVER made a decent pancake. It haunts me.

I tried again this afternoon for lunch. This is what I got:

A pile of crumbles that tasted worse than flour paste.

New requirement for future husband: MUST COOK GOOD BREAKFAST FOOD. Or be willing to take me to IHOP once in a while.

Otherwise I am going to be living a sad life of cold cereal and oatmeal. Shiver.