Don't Ever Let Fear Stop You.

Yesterday afternoon, I was sitting in the large dining room of a nursing home, trying to take deep, calming breaths.  It was my second week volunteering there.  Last week, I just showed up with a group from Y-Serve (BYU's service organization) without realizing that the purpose of the visit was to perform something. It's called Utah Healing Arts, in fact. 

Last week I brought nothing.  This week, I brought some piano sheet music.

I sat in the back, trying to breathe deeply through my mouth, trying to forget the funky smell that was in the air, pep talking myself while my fellow BYU students played the guitar, sang, and even hula danced. 

I was the last person to perform.  I stepped up to the grand piano and shakily arranged my music, apologized to the wheelchair-bound crowd for my stage fright, and then began.

I knew the song very well, but my mind was foggy and my fingers were tensed, and I hit wrong note after wrong note.  Awkward pauses and disjointed transitions littered the air as my notes jumbled all over each other.  I just kept playing until the last note, nodded at the applause of wrinkled hands, gave a smile and eagerly sat down.

"Oh well," I thought.  I did my best, and that was okay.  The thing is, I knew I was going to be nervous, and I knew I hadn't practiced that song in a while, but I wanted to do it anyway.  I just wanted to contribute something. And I did!  So it was enough to make me happy.

As we were leaving, I began going around to say goodbye to everyone.  An old man in a wheelchair with a breathing tube in his nose took both of my hands and complimented me on my piano-playing.  Then he looked right at me and said, in a wheezy voice, "Don't EVER let fear stop you from doing something."

So I just wanted to say to that man:  Thank you.  And I will definitely try.

My Haters are my Motivators: Bullying and Forgiveness.

warning: this post has no pictures, is super wordy, and really long. proceed!

About a month ago, we talked about bullying in my classroom management class. We began by talking in generalities; the concept of bullying seemed so distant to us as self-assured college adults.

Then, my professor asked us each to write down an experience with bullying--either as the bullied, or the bully--and drop it anonymously in a hat.

As she pulled the slips of paper out and read them, the normally lighthearted, last-class-on-a-Friday-afternoon attitude melted away and faces turned somber as we all returned to the memories of our fragile child-like state, back when we couldn't see our worlds beyond the playground gossip or the sound of lockers slamming.

We listened soberly as my professor read the stories of students in our very class who had endured physical or emotional abuse in school. I looked around. Everyone looked so confident, so adult-like. Surely none of them had been bullied? But they had. Even more difficult was listening to the stories of those who had been bullies themselves and then sorely regretted it.

It made me reflect. I wouldn't say that I was ever a target for bullies, but even so, I was teased just as much as anyone else, maybe more. I remember loving school but hating school at the same time. I remember tears shed in bathroom stalls and painful hours watching the clock so I could escape the prison of popularity contests and endless drama.

I look back, and all that seems so distant. I almost only have the good memories. I'm so grateful to be growing up and growing into myself, no longer worried about "the kids at school." (And if you are still in school, just know that in a few years, "the kids at school" won't even matter to you.)

When I was home for Christmas, I went into a dressing room at the mall. Lo and behold, the dressing room attendant was one of the meanest girls in the 7th grade. She hadn't really "bullied me," but I remember having classes with her and being teased by her. I was scared of her. As she took my shirt and led me to a dressing room, I thought, "Should I be trying to prove something right now? Like, how mature I am now? How I don't have glasses or chicken legs anymore? Should I be acting extra confident, just to show her?" But then I realized I really didn't care about what she thought. She didn't seem to remember me, and she looked like she had fallen on hard times, and I wished the best for her.

IT FELT GREAT.

It's really nice to look back and just get over things. So here I go:


Dear boy who said I looked like a sissy because I wore a dress to kindergarten,

We all say silly things when we are in kindergarten. I said many such things. And, you were right, I was a sissy! No hard feelings.
Love, Amy



Dear Girls who used to steal things from my bag in 7th grade art class and ask me inappropriate questions and call me a teachers pet and make fun of me until I got teary eyed,

Yeah. That was pretty mean. You guys weren't even "cool girls," but you just decided to tease me to make yourselves feel good about yourselves when I came into your class in the middle of the year and didn't know anyone. But that's okay. You just didn't have confidence in yourselves. Who does in 7th grade? Luckily, I have more confidence now. I hope you do too.
Love, Amy



Dear Boy who kicked me really hard in the stomach in 5th grade during a soccer game, even though the ball was nowhere near me and then laughed when I was on the ground with the air knocked outta me,

That was harsh. But I wholeheartedly forgive you for it. Even though you were probably the most conceited meathead the fifth grade ever saw. I mean, you thought you were the coolest thing since the Backstreet Boys, every point in your spiky hair was carefully shaped, and your mom brought you Starbucks during lunch. I wondered if you were still the same, so I looked you up on Facebook and you are shirtless and flexing with bottles of vodka in your profile pic. (really, it is borderline hilarious how you are exactly the same). I'm sure the natural course of life will hit you soon, and maybe you will be humbled. Maybe not. But I wish you the best! fo'realz.
Love, Amy


Last but not least:

Dear future students of mine:
I'm trying really hard to learn to be a good teacher, but you should know that I'm not perfect. Sometimes I just skim my readings, sometimes I am late to class, and sometimes I intend to write concise blog posts but instead write posts that fall just short of a novel. But know this: I will create a safe, bully-free environment for you to come to every day. I will teach you to respect each other and I will try to model that with my own actions.
Love, Amy
PS: you're not allowed to call me Amy when I'm a teacher, but since I don't post my last name on my blog, you can just call me Mrs. Fredette for now and we'll call it good.

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.)

Hot Dogs.

I feel like everyone can agree that hot dogs are generally just gross. I mean, sure, we still eat them, but they are basically cheap meat scraps ground up and shoved into a casing. (sorry for that image... truth hurts)

We still eat them because 1.) they are delicious, and 2.) it's practically un-American not to.

Hot dogs taste especially good when:
-you are really, really hungry.
-you are camping and you roast them over a fire
-you are at a sports event
-you buy them from a street vendor
-one word: Costco.
-it is summertime and you just played outside and/or went swimming for two hours at a barbeque.

Conclusion: hot dogs taste best while outside and when very hungry.

So yeah, I'm a big hot dog supporter when it's an authentic hot dog experience: doughy bun, dripping in ketchup and mustard, hot dog straight off the grill, eating surrounded by family and friends. Fantastic!

It wasn't until I came to college (and then got a pinterest account) that I realized that some people go for an alternative hot dog experience. Some people cut up their hot dogs.... (shudder)

I think that cutting up hot dogs takes away every redeeming factor about hot dogs. No reminiscing about summer picnics. No joyous laughter as the ketchup drips from the bun down your arm.

I have a low tolerance for unique hot dog presentations. I think it has something to do with being exposed to the texture of the inside of a hot dog. Which is questionable. And nasty. And not really "meat" in the traditional sense of the word. Also, I gag easily.

And so today we will be going over the "ick factor" of different forms of hot dogs, borrowing from the US Homeland Security Terrorist Advisory System.


LOW:
The authentic hot dog experience. Ahh. Pleasant.


GUARDED:

Hot dog without a traditional bun. Suspicious, but likely still delicious.source

ELEVATED:
Cut up hot dogs in mac and cheese. Stomach is turning. This is becoming NOT OKAY.

source

HIGH:
Cut up octupus hot dog. I cannot look at this picture without gagging. WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS TO A HOT DOG. So unnatural. The fact that the hot dog meat is now in the form of tentacles is too much for me....

source

SEVERE:
THERE IS SPAGHETTI PUNCTURING THE QUESTIONABLE HOT DOG MEAT. (I don't even know if you can call it meat.) How can anyone eat slimy spaghetti out of the carcass of a punctured hot dog!!!??? I need to lie down.

source

Now that I feel very woozy and almost certain that I offended at least some of you (i still love you if you are a big alternative hot dog fan), I will leave you with my favorite kind of hot dog, and call it good. Presenting, my hot dog named Candy:

not good for eating. but GREAT for cuddling.

Dreams.

Saturday night I had a dream that my whole ward was going on a fishing trip together. Everyone was all loaded up in tons of cars in the parking lot, ready to go, when I realized that I hadn't packed yet!! (ahh)

So I ran up to my apartment and grabbed a duffel bag and ran back down to the parking lot, but my duffel bag was empty. Everyone was like: Amy!!! Hurry up and get your stuff!

So I ran back upstairs and got my toothbrush, and ran back down, but realized I needed clothes too.

So I ran up and got socks and ran back down. Then I ran up and got pajamas and ran back down. Then I ran up and got jeans and ran back down. Needless to say, everyone was pretty upset with me. And needless to say, I woke up STRESSED.

this is a picture of me with a fish.
for your visual enjoyment.

not that it matters, but I caught 7 that day
(it matters)

Then, last night I had a dream that I was at Subway and I asked for a six inch sub with ham. Instead, the lady took out a flatbread and put an entire rotisserie chicken on it. I was like, "No, I wanted bread with ham!" And so then she made me a meatball sub. And I was like, "NO! I wanted HAM!" And then she called the police and they arrested me.

Not that I'm a dream interpreter or anything, but what I gather from these dreams is that I am a little too stressed out lately. (Also: I eat way too much Subway.)

Planner Preoccupation

Yesterday morning at 8 am, I arrived at my classroom, opened my backpack and reached around inside. Suddenly, my heart starting racing wildly, my palms began to sweat intensely, and I started to feel a little light headed. I wondered how I would even survive the day.

No, I didn't have a panic attack; I just realized that I left my planner at my apartment!! For the first time this entire semester! It was terrible.

I don't know how it happened, but over the last few busy months, my planner has become like air to me. I NEED IT TO BREATHE. I've always been a planner-nerd, but this semester has seriously killed some brain cells, because I cannot accomplish anything unless it is scheduled in my planner. I carry my planner with me every day to school, to church, even to the grocery store. IT'S STRAIGHT UP SAD.

It's gotten to the point where I think I would roam the streets of Provo with no purpose in life, eating garbage and drinking out of gutters with a perplexed look on my face if I ever lost it.

I hope I never lose it.

today I put eating breakfast on my to-do list. I would not have done it otherwise.

I am convinced that the greatest feeling in the world is checking off a box on your to-do list. The box just stares at you, menacingly blank inside those four, crisp lines, taunting your inability to get things done. But once you finally achieve a task, all your effort culminates into a neat little X. Proof that you are actually a productive human being. Ahhhh. Feels so good.

Confession: sometimes, when it gets to be bedtime, and there are more boxes unchecked than checked on my to-do list, I write in productive things I did and check them off. It makes me feel better about myself.

Shhh....

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.

Why I Don't Watch Scary Movies

When I was in high school, I went to lots of movie nights at my friend Jessica Welch's house, because that's where the cool kids went back then. One night began like the rest, but ended in my being traumatized and scarred for life.

Because we watched The Skeleton Key. I had never seen a scary movie before that day (other than an Alfred Hitchcock movie I had watched for an assignment, and I think my mom held my hand. and it wasn't that scary.) I remember thinking: oh, it can't be that badddd....

It was that bad. Because I drove home in terror, and I believe I turned around and checked my back seat every 1.3 seconds the entire drive home and then I slept with all the lights on in my bedroom. I'm pretty sure I had to sing "Jesus Wants Me for a Sunbeam" to myself into the night until I was convinced I wouldn't be murdered by a creepy old voodoo woman.

I remember that I was a frequent babysitter when "When a Stranger Calls" came out, and thinking: you kiddin' me?? I'm not going to watch a movie that scares me from babysitting ever again.

But then I watched that movie on a Saturday afternoon with my freshman roommates because it was on TV. It was actually our first or second weekend of the college experience. I remember holding their hands and screaming so loud the walls of our dorm seemed to echo. Kirsi couldn't handle it, she mostly listened in from our bedroom down the hall. Can't blame her!

this was, collectively, all of us

It was only a couple weeks later that I saw my third scary movie, also with my freshman roommates. (can you say bad influence!) It was "Disturbia" and I'm pretty sure I screamed a lot and almost peed my pants.

I just get scared really easily, and I always have to hold someone's hand. Thankfully, my lil sis Sarah held my hand when we watched Harry Potter 7 so I wouldn't be scared by Voldemort, and my homegirl Ashley held my hand/ let me hold her arm during the scary parts of Super 8.

With Halloween around the corner, with it's haunted houses and spooky corn-mazes, I have come to a conclusion, and that is this: Being scared is almost never fun. Unless it is an excuse to hold a cute boy's hand, and then it is totally worth it.

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.

Why Blogging Has Become a Low Priority...

These days, my life is looking like this, pretty much every day:

7 am: wake up after sleeping a mere 4-5 hours because I was doing homework into the night.

8 am: class. don't forget to take your daily morning slim fast can, or else you will starve.

8:15 am: receive 3 new homework assignments for the next class.

11 am: get out of class. do homework.

noon: eat lunch. go to some lab or another to do some crazy project. type up the essay that's due that you didn't get to. print out posters for teaching and laminate them. Hurry and do some reading because there is going to be a quiz on it. write some lesson plans.

2-ish: more class. receive at least 3 more homework assignments.

4 pm: get out of class. realize I am so hungry I may perish. then go to next class.

4 pm til 7 pm: go to more class. stomach rumbles so loud many presume a t-rex is at large. receive more homework.

7 pm: go to apartment. consume large quantities of food. or go to wendy's and consume large quantities of food there because you haven't actually been grocery shopping in 2 weeks and you ran out of cheerios which was basically all you ate anyways.

8 pm: do homework.

9 pm: do more homework.

10 pm: do some more homework.

11 pm: read a 40 page reading assignment that takes 2 hours and write an essay on it. (if only you could see the future, you would know the professor would choose not to collect it.

1 am: do more homework. make a pb&j sandwich for tomorrow, even though you know it will only get mashed in your backpack and you will likely throw it away without eating it. shame.

2 am: collapse from exhaustion into bed.

7 am: repeat.

Did I mention that I am taking 7 classes right now? They are kicking my trash. I plan to either continue this daily routine until:

a) I die,
b) my professors develop a sense of mercy, or
c) Jimmer decides to marry me and I drop out of school because I'm going to be a rich NBA wife.

All good options.

PS. Tomorrow I am teaching a 2nd grade PE class. Got my whistle and my cute laminated signs and CD of exercise songs. Lets hope I get some sleep tonight, because otherwise I feel bad for those second graders. I may curl up on the floor while they do jumping jacks. JK!
PPS: I included "Getcha Head in the Game" from High School Musical on my CD. Duh. How could I not pay tribute to my workout inspiration, Troy Bolton? The kids will love it.
PPPS. Do kids these days still like High School Musical? Oh dear.

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.

Psych!! -ology.

I'm kind of competitive.

I say kind of, because it really just comes and goes. Some days, I don't get too upset if I win or lose a game of ping pong or scrabble, but other days, I will flip out if I lose. Sometimes I even make up random challenges for myself. Kind of psychotic? Who knows.

Speaking of psychotic, I'm in a psychology class right now (last general to finish, holla!) and this morning I had to go participate in a 2 hour research study for credit in the class. I dragged my sorry little butt out of bed and walked to the lovely Taylor Building up the road, sniffling all the way with the cold that is slowly, but surely, coming on. (Who thought it was okay for it to snow in April, anyways?)

I couldn't have cared less about this study. Really.

this picture makes me crave smoothies.

I walked in, and after being sent to different parts of the building by misinformed secretaries, I went into a room with a researcher and filled out an hour-long questionnaire on a computer that made me over-analyze every aspect of myself and wonder if I was, in fact, more a terrible person than I ever thought.

Have you ever lied to someone? Uhh.. yes...
Have you ever done something you knew was wrong? ......Shoot. Yes.
Have you ever become so angry that you yelled? .... yup....
Have you ever done something that later filled you with guilt? Ok, ok! I AM A TERRIBLE PERSON, I get it!!

Then I watched a ten minute video of fish swimming around in the ocean. I think it was supposed to be relaxing, but I spent the entire time wondering if it was a trick and a shark was going to pop on screen and scare the heck out of me.

Then, the researcher explained that he was going to play audio of a string of numbers, and I had to add them in groups of two as it went along, adding the newest number to the number before it and so on. Its harder than it seems peeps.

2.. 5...(seven!)..3...(eight!). 4...(seven!).. 2...(six!)..9..(eleven!)..5..(fourteen!)...7... (twelve!)..

But all in my head. Each run through was going to get faster and faster, until I barely had time to speak in between numbers. Also, he was going to take my blood pressure after each trial, and he told me the study was to research stress and pressure to achieve or something like that.

Something clicked inside me (maybe it was the dayquil?), and I decided I was going to beast this freaking study and WIN it.

So, using my ten fingers and every cell of math ability in my brain, I pounced on every single math test, yelling out numbers and and frantically trying to remember the number that came before the one I just said. I messed up a lot, but I kept going, desperate to prove that I was a math genius.

Then, as he took my blood pressure, I tried to magically bring my blood pressure down through the powers of my mind and through deep breathing.

I just HAD to win the low-blood-pressure-high-math-ability challenge!

I felt like I did pretty well, and wondered when I would find out if I won or not. Then I walked out and realized: You cannot win a psychology study.

This is a fact.

But I still kind of want to practice that math thing and go try again to see if I do better.

Well, I better head to class. I hope I win the stepping on every leaf challenge as I walk. Don't get in my way fools.

March Sadness

Lesson learned: when you are about to watch an intense basketball game, don't eat five slices of pizza and who knows how many pieces of crazy bread because when it comes down to the final seconds and they are tied, and you are jumping up and down and screaming your heart out, you will end up on your friend's apartment's floor, rolling and moaning in pain.

Even though tonight's game didn't end the way I wanted it to, it was still a great night. BYU was amazing as usual, and it could have gone either way. We even went into over time, and we got to see Jimmer hit some three-pointers from a mile away.

And even though we lost, we made it to the Sweet Sixteen, and that's pretty awesome.

And even though we lost, I watched Jimmer's last game in the company of some of my best girl friends, and it was actually pretty funny how loud we were screaming and how much we were jumping and hyperventilating.

After the game, I felt pretty crushed, and I just wanted to cry, but I couldn't. So laid on the couch and made Ashley tell me sad things so I could get a little cry going and let out my repressed emotions. All I mustered was a mere eye glisten, but it helped.

Group therapy is very useful in these types of situations.

And even though we lost, Jimmer still looked pretty hot with his chin bandage on.

Today I walked into the boys bathroom...

I knew it looked different as soon as I walked in. Darker tiles. No pink.

This sign should have been more prominent.

Then I saw a boy blowing his nose at the sink.

His eyes got really big and he said "ahhhhhhh"

And then I turned bright red and said "ahhhhhhhhhh!" as I spun around and ran out the door to hide in the girls bathroom for ten minutes.

I wish I could say more but, seriously, I'm still getting over it. And what else is there to say, really?

CONSOLE ME.

A Cruel JK

Just kidding.

The world still hates me.

We didn't even get into the David Archuleta/ Motab concert last night. Along with hundreds of other people. It was over-ticketed. Too many tickets given out for too few seats. Talk about a crummy week.

David was very heartbroken that I wasn't there. Also, that's a broken heart, not something eating his neck.

There is one last chance... one remaining hope.... for me to cheer up and get out of this slump of grumpiness....

I AM GOING HOME TODAY!!!!!

As long as we don't get stuck in another blizzard/ the world is attacked by aliens before we get there.

PLEASE WORLD.

PUH-LEEEEEEESEEE give me this one.

Or else I will become permanently emo. And these people don't come here to read emo. They come here to read funny. They come here to read about Kesha and me getting shanked in laundry rooms.

I promise to recycle more often if that helps.

Thanks world.

Love, Amy

Reading Day

I found the perfect spot in the library: a cubicle right next to a window.

Wearing a cozy sweater, hair braided and out of the way.

Filled up on Subway on my way to the library.

Got my study candy stash.

I thrive on sugar highs...

And a full water bottle.

hydration is key!

Loaded up with textbooks and study guides galore.

taking pictures in the library gives me an adrenaline rush

I'm ready for a productive reading day!!!!



.... But maybe I'll watch the Office first.



Oh no. Its really happening. Welcome to finals.

Intensity

The past few days, I have totally been livin' on the edge like you guys wouldn't believe. No one better tell me my life isn't full of adventure because it TOTALLY is now.

First of all, my mom and I caught a matinee of Harry Potter the other day. And when the concessions girl asked if we wanted to upgrade to a large popcorn for just 50 cents more.... We... said.... YES.

Then my family went to a Trans-Siberian Orchestra Christmas concert thinking it would be a great way to usher in the holiday spirit. It turned out to be more heavy-metal head banging than Christmas spirit. We couldn't hear for a while afterward. Totally rock and roll. Super intense.

On Sunday my sister and I started driving back up to Provo and we hit major snow 10 miles from Cedar City. It took an hour to travel those 10 miles to Cedar and then we got stuck in the snow. And who got out and helped a kind man push our car out of the snow? This girl! Totally didn't succeed though but I am proud nonetheless.

We stayed the night in Cedar because the road conditions were just too bad and it was getting dark. We ate at a Sizzler that had food poisoning written all over it. Don't tell us we're not dangerous, we totally are.

Our lovely monochromatic meal. We ate all of it drenched in ketchup. Including the soggy toast.

We ate our sketchy chicken doused in an ocean of ketchup (definitely helped, couldn't even tell it was chicken) and then turned in at a motel.

Early Monday we braved the Utah roads again. It was so cold the windshield wiper fluid kept freezing. This was a problem. The upside is that we got to see almost every gas station from Cedar to Provo! And who would want to miss that?

I got back to Provo in the afternoon and then went to the library and wrote a paper for 8 straight hours.

So yeah. Intensity is my middle name. Watch out. I even step on all the sidewalk cracks.

I'm also pretty exhausted so if you need me I'll be in my bed hibernating until winter is over!! Byeee!

The Night I Almost Got Shanked in a Laundry Room.

Once upon a time, mere hours before going home for Thanksgiving break, I was doing all of my laundry in the middle of the night. That’s just how I rolled when I was a freshman.

We were taking so many people in the car that we had no room to bring laundry home. And all my laundry was dirty. This is what led me to be creeping down the dark stairs into the dorm basement all alone at 3 a.m. to put my clothes in the dryer.

I opened the laundry room door. The light was on. Then a girl I had never seen before in my life came at me with a kitchen knife.

I screamed.

She stopped. Then she said “Sorry, it’s just for protection… You never know who could be down here in the middle of the night!"

Then she took her laundry and her knife and left me all alone in the dark, creaky laundry room.

And that is how I almost got shanked in a laundry room.

Chicken About Birds

Hello, and welcome to another installment of:

Things You Didn’t Know About Me (Or Maybe You Did) (Or Maybe You Didn’t and Now You Do and Wish You Didn’t)

There are many things to fear in this world. Let us make a list. (I like lists, have you noticed?)

Legitimate Things to Fear:

-painful death

-terrorists

-sharks

-kidnappers

-falling from great heights

-getting hit by cars (especially pertinent to college students who walk everywhere and almost get hit by cars in crosswalks on a daily basis)

-snakes

But I fear one thing more than anything on this list:

PIGEONS.

Scariest thing on this planet. Period.

Pigeons are like flying rats that like to swoop towards your head with their large talons. They have red, satanic eyes that look like they want to kill you. The flapping of their wings makes me drop to the ground and cover my head and cry. Pigeons hate us. You can just tell.

The first time I can remember this fear being an issue was when I was at a car wash, the kind where you eat popcorn while you wait for your car to come out. My big sister and I stood outside around all these people eating popcorn while pigeons swooped around and attacked. It was traumatizing.

Also one time a pigeon pooped on me at Disneyland. While I was eating. Pigeons are so evil they are even out to ruin the happiest place on earth.

Luckily my little sister is braver than me, because she would have to escort me from my car into high school if there were pigeons in the parking lot. I can’t even walk towards pigeons. They will fly towards my face and beak me to death, I just know it.

Actually I am scared of most birds because I am not a fan of large flying creatures that carry disease. The sound of flapping wings is the most terrifying sound in the world.

"I want to kill you!"

I just had 5 panic attacks in the last minute looking at this picture.

So there you have it. Pigeons are out to kill me and I would probably rather wrestle an alligator in a snake pit at the top of a 100 story building while being chased by a terrorizing kidnapper than ever come near a pigeon. If anyone has any advice for overcoming this terror, or better yet, would like to volunteer to wipe out the world’s population of pigeons, I will love you FOREVS.

Thanks for tunin’ in!

PS Brownie points to anyone who makes a Ms. Anderson reference in the comments.

Man Alive!

(I learned that phrase from my New Testament teacher. He's a pretty legit guy. He is also kind of old but I appreciate learning from cool phrases from my elders)

This week has been a little harder for me to get my act together than usual. Does anyone else ever feel "off" for a couple days?

You know those people who walk around totally put together all the time? Not a hair out of place? Always graceful? Smiling? Attracting hordes of the opposite gender? Is anyone reading one of those people? If so, please let me know how you accomplish that. Because this week I am just NOT one of those people.

It all started early Monday morning when I rolled out of bed and two minutes later, accidentally rubbed toothpaste in my eye. Yeah. Tell me how I managed that because I have no idea. Then later Monday morning, after strenuously running up a big hill to get to campus, I ran into an old friend and right then my sweat glands decided to have a pool party and my lungs decided to give out and stop delivering oxygen. So that was really cute.

Another highlight from this week: I emerged from the basement of the library into the afternoon sun and my eyes went into denial and would not ADJUST to the harsh rays of burning sunlight attacking my face. I felt like I would go blind and I had to walk to my next class across campus. And I didn't even have my sunglasses. So I started squinting the most intense squint I could possibly manage, but that wasn't cutting it, so I put up my hands to shade my eyes... and looked like a total loser. Mind you, no one else around me was having problems with the sun. It is there, up in the sky, every day. I think my retinas just forgot how to deal with it. Then my eyes gave up on attempting to handle the sun and begin watering like crazy.

So there I was, wandering across campus, hands over my eyes, blinded by the stupid sun with tears streaming down my face. It was at this point that I wanted to dump out the contents of my backpack, pull it over my head, find some shade and curl up in the fetal position until the sun had set.

I kind of have a history with this problem:

Ruining pictures one squint at a time!

"Amy! Put your hand down!"

"But I can't seeeeeeeeee!!!"

Then I drank an entire water bottle right before class and had to go to the bathroom really bad just in time for my professor to teach us about the disastrous effects of heavy rainfall.

So if you happen to see an out-of-breath girl with toothpaste in her eye running to a bathroom with tears streaming down her face, no worries, its just me. Totally normal!! Ahaha... ha..... ha..

MAN ALIVE!!