Utah in the Springtime

Editor's note: these pics are for real. like, fo sho f'realz.


This is the hill south of campus as I was walking to class yesterday at 11 am.




This is the hill south of campus (from the other side) as I was walking home from class at 1:45 pm.

That's less than 3 hours for those of you who failed math.

HOLY WEATHER WHIPLASH.

A few hours later, it was sunny one minute and literally snowing the next while the sun was still shining (!!!!). Utah, you will be the death of me.

Amy and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.

It's 10:30 a.m. on a Thursday right now. I slept four hours last night. I was writing a stupid paper. Dumb paper. It was on a literacy theory that I didn't even like. Dumb paper.

Then I woke up late this morning, and my eyes were burning really bad. Like, really bad. I put in my contacts and it stung like crazy. Like, really stung. And my hair looked awful, so I tried to straighten it, but I gave up and threw on my clothes and began to walk to class.

I walked all the way down the stairs at my apartment complex before I realized it was raining. So then I walked all the way back up the stairs and back into my apartment and into my room to get my umbrella. It had stopped raining by the time I stepped back outside. I ran down the stairs and stepped in a huge puddle at the bottom so that one leg got all wet.

I ate two granola bars for my breakfast as I walked, and then my throat got really dry, so I pulled out my water bottle from my backpack just as I summited the massive hill. Except I dropped the water bottle, and the lid popped off and all the water rushed out and began gushing down the walkway, and all the people behind me had to dodge the water and it was really embarrassing. Then I had to chase my water bottle down the hill because it was rolling, and when I picked it up, all the water had fallen out and the spout where my mouth goes was covered in dirt anyways. I was really thirsty, too.

By the time I got to class, I was an entire ten minutes late and my hair was crazy and my nose was sniffly and my pant leg was still wet. We were doing presentations.

Right before it was my turn to present, something got in my contact lens, like a piece of grit or something, and I had to blink like crazy but I couldn't get it out, so I just presented my theory with a piece of grit in my eye. And my voice kept cracking because I was tired. And now, class is over and I'm sitting in a vending machine room drinking chocolate milk thinking about what a terrible, horrible, no-good, very bad day this is turning out to be.


You've read that book, right? Well not Amy, but Alexander and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day. I was just thinking about it because we read it in my drama class last week and talked about it last night.

I mean, poor Alexander! First of all, he woke up with gum in his hair and that's awful! And he didn't even get a prize in his cereal box, and his best friend decides to demote him to third best friend, and he gets a cavity and then at bedtime, he has to wear his railroad pajamas. And he hates his railroad pajamas. Like, really hates them.

It really was a bad day, and he didn't forget it. He wouldn't let himself forget it.

But you know how Shakespeare said that a rose by any other name smells as sweet? I disagree. If you call a rose a mucky-rotten-scum pocket you will probably think it smells a little less sweet. And if you call a bad day "bad" it's going to be bad, and when you call a bad day "good," it might be at least mediocre.

So I'm embracing my mediocre day, thankful that I get to go to my world religions class with the amazing professor who is possibly my favorite ever at BYU. And I get out of class at 1:30 and don't even have any commitments this afternoon so I can take a good nap in my warm bedroom with my new space heater.

This is turning out to be a pretty good, acceptable, semi-decent, all right day. And I'm gonna enjoy it.

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.)

On Being Really Cold.

This morning when I was walking to class at 7:45 am, I checked my phone and it said it was 8 degrees.

Then I cried. (JK. I would have but the tears would have frozen anyway.)

I was wearing 3 shirts, a thick sweatshirt, my warmest parka, a thick knit hat pulled down low, gloves, and two pairs of thick socks with my insulated snow boots. So overall, I was doing okay warmth wise, I would say, other than the sensation that someone was repeatedly slapping me across the face.

Except that they don't really make any winter gear for your tongue, which truly is a shame. I don't recall ever having this experience, but I literally thought my tongue was freezing inside my mouth as I walked. When the cold air came into contact with my tongue, it felt like it was going to turn into an icicle. So that was fun.

via pinterest

I HAVE PROBLEMS WITH THE COLD. Just putting that out there. It truly baffles me to this day. When I'm cold, my entire face turns red, and not "cute rosy cheeks" kind of red, but like, "straight up skin disease" red. And my nose instantly runs like crazy and then my eyes water so much that it looks like I walk around campus sobbing, and when I see friends they seem concerned, but I can't assure them that I'm fine, because sometimes my lips get really numb and its hard for me to talk normally.

UGHHHH.

But I really am getting better. My first year living in Utah, I was really miserable when the earth turned into a frozen wasteland. I think it's because being really, really cold was such a foreign feeling to me that my instinct was to panic and assume that I was going to die.

But now that I know that cold air won't kill me, I think I'm okay. I am even trying to have a positive attitude about it. I think it even lasted about 10 minutes, up until I thought my tongue was frozen over.

Someone please knit a tongue mitten for me. I will love you.

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.

EFY is turning me into a crotchety woman.

There's this youth camp program at BYU called "Especially For Youth" (EFY) that brings thousands of teenagers to campus every week. They are EVERWHERE. Everywhere, I tell you. Sometimes I get really scared when I am walking to class and almost get stampeded by a crowd of youngin's.

unbelievably tender EFY picture from the EFY website...

Many more valiant souls love the EFY kids' presence. People like my tender roommate Ashley. She is nicer than me. She actually likes teenagers. She used to be an EFY counselor. She wants to teach high school for goodness sake. I admire that.

But I didn't even like teenagers when I WAS a teenager (six months ago baha). But now that I am the ripe old age of 20, I am a crotchety old woman. Ok, I'm just being dramatic. I do like teenagers. I just don't like obnoxious people of any age. Allow me to tell you a story:

Last week, I got a headache when I was at school in between classes. So I went to my favorite napping hallway on campus, a secluded hallway in the wilk with dim lighting and plentiful soft benches, with plans to nap that sucker away if I could.

It began well. I positioned my backpack as a pillow, curled up with my back to the open hallway and started to drift off into dreams of a headache-free life.

Time passed, and I began to become aware of something going on. The grogginess lifted, and I realized that I was surrounded by hundreds of teenage EFY kids pushing through the hallway next to me. I laid there with my eyes closed, confusion settled deep in my brain, hoping that if I didn't move no one would notice me.

"WAKE UP GIRL!" came a puberty-laden shout inches from my ear.

"He he... hehe... she's sleeping..."

"Dude, we should, like, go shake her or something. haha."

Poke. Poke. Poke.

I tensed. Was someone REALLY poking me right now???? Oh no he didn't.

If I had a hose, I would have gone to town.

Today, an EFY counselor yelled at me for going down a restricted hallway until I told him,"I'm not an EFY kid... I'm a BYU student." Slow down, homeboy.

EFY is a great program, I love it. I love BYU. I love teenagers. I love campus. I love the world.

It's just the punks in general that I could really do without. Maybe I should get a cane to wave at them? It'd really be fitting for a spinster like me. baha.

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

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.

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