hypothetically speaking

Have you ever tried sleeping in a cave?

Well technically, neither have I. But. If you have ever seen the bunk bed that Katie and I share [yes, my roommate's name is Katie, too], you would most likely have made an observation that went something like this:

"Huh. Wow. Whoever sleeps on the bottom has to sleep in a cave."

That would be me.

And if you have ever slept in a real cave you understand. Unless it was a really big cave and/or had bats in it. Because my bunk bed sports neither of those amenities.

I really don't mind it as much as I thought I would. I do have to make certain accommodations, such as shining a light awkwardly through the wooden slats at the foot of the bed so that I might read at night. But while I joke that I have to get all the way out of the bed to turn over, that isn't actually the case.

Yes, for the most part, I actually enjoy my little submarine-esque bed. It's a little like being six again and being able to sleep in a fort that I made for myself.

Well, just on the off-chance that you ever want to relive your childhood and pretend you live in a fort and/or have impetuously joined the Navy, and decide to buy a bunk bed that more-than-slightly resembles a cave, I caution you:

If your alarm goes off in the morning, DO NOT - I repeat, DO NOT - sit up as fast as you can to turn it off. Because if you are anywhere over 3 feet tall - and statistically speaking, I would surmise that you probably are - you will most likely hit your head on the board above your bed. And that hurts. Really badly. Possibly even a little bit throughout the day.

I mean, not that I've done that or anything.

Just hypothetically speaking, of course.

newest love

So I have a new love.

As you know, for many years, the love of my life has been Dr. Pepper. And then I came to college and discovered Mr. Pibb [you think it's the same thing, but it's not, I promise...1,000 times better]. I have loved Mr. Pibb (and DPep, too, whilst MP isn't available) for approximately 4,381 days. [Just kidding. I have no clue how many days. But I do remember that blessed first night at McDonald's when I tried DPep for the first time.]

Well, step aside Mr. Pibb, you have a new competitor.

And my new love shall be named as thus:

Horchata Smoothies from QT

Oh how I love thee.

Sometimes, I actually crave these babies over Mr. Pibb. I know. Earth shattering.

Before your world stops turning completely, let me just reassure you: I still love me a good Mr. Pibb.

But.

Now they have equal spots as my go-to drink.

Thank goodness my roommates love a QT run just as much as I do.

Bonding time has never tasted better.

[Except for that Mango-Habanero Chicken Chantal made last night. Dang I love my roommates.]

all things

Last week, I was a counselor for a Young Women's conference. It was a lot like EFY but only for girls between the ages of 11 and 16.

Best week ever.

I am exhausted. Still. Days later. But it was great. I felt like it was at least as awesome for me as it was for the girls. There were awesome speakers, incredible role models, uplifting messages, and girly activities like fashion shows, dances, and dress-up parties. It was fantastic.

I took notes through the whole thing and came out with some pretty memorable quotes. Unfortunately, I don't have my binder with me right this second, so I'll post some of my favorites later. However, the quote that stuck with me most throughout the conference was, strangely, not even mentioned in the conference. It was something that just replayed in my head over and over, and I knew I had heard it in a general conference talk somewhere, sometime. I just didn't know why it was stuck in my head. The quote was,

"I can do hard things."

Maybe it was stuck in my head because being a counselor at this conference was hard for me. It was awesome, wonderful, inspiring, and all other positive adjectives previously mentioned, but it was also a lot of work. Maybe it was stuck in my head because I felt so inspired to do something great with my life after listening to so many accomplished speakers. Or maybe it was stuck in my head because Heavenly Father was trying to tell me something...and I'm just not quite sure what that something is yet.

It wasn't until today that I remembered that I wanted to look up the talk where that quote came from. After doing a quick search, I found the talk by Elaine S. Dalton from the October 2008 General Conference. It turns out, however, that I only got half the quote right. Sister Dalton says,

"Last general conference, I was called by President Monson to be the new Young Women general president. As I stood in the presence of a prophet of God and was given this sacred trust, I pledged that I would serve with all my heart, might, mind, and strength. Prior to this calling, I had a small plate inscribed with a motto that read, 'I can do hard things.' That little plate bearing that simple motto gave me courage. But now if I could change that motto, it would read: 'In the strength of the Lord, I can do all things.' It is on that strength that I rely today as I stand at this sacred pulpit."

1,000 times better.

In the strength of the Lord, I can do all things.

Even hard things.

That quote epitomizes how I felt the entire week.

Thank goodness I didn't have to do that by myself.

And thank God I won't ever have to.

craziness

I thought about naming this post "The Most Random Night of my Life," or "Mom Was Right About Talking to Strangers," or simply "I Hate Bugs," but I just felt like none of them gave last night any justice.

"Let me explain. No there is too much. Let me sum up."

Baaasically, it all started out with a cockroach in Katie's and my bedroom. When Katie saw the little demon creature made by God, she screamed. Then when I realized what she was screaming about, I screamed and we both ran squealing down the stairs. Then my roommate Chantal wanted to help us kill it, and we tried to decide between us who was the bravest, but alas…none of us proved to be of a brave heart. Let me put the rest in bullet point form:

- We attempted spraying the cockroach from 5 feet away so we could stay as far away from it as humanly [or bugly] possible.
- Heard it making noise in the bag and screamed.
- Called all boys we could possibly think of and FINALLY got ahold of Jared Pager.
- He said he’d be there in twenty minutes and joked that he’d bring scorpions.
- I told him I’d kill him.
- Went back to our room five minutes later and discovered that the cockroach was gone.
- Screamed some more.
- Eventually found it under my dresser dying.
- Sprayed it some more.
- Realized it was finally dead and were too scared to pick it up to throw it away.
- Jared arrived and removed the cockroach from the scene.

This is where it gets even more interesting:

- While Katie was outside throwing away the “cockroach bag,” a woman ran up to her and asked to use our restroom.
- Katie was so taken aback that she said yes.
- This woman ran ahead of Katie, opened our front door [much to Chantal, Jared's, and my surprise], and ran up our stairs.
- We got an incredibly shocking view of this woman’s body from this upward angle.
- She wasn’t wearing very many articles of clothing…and what she did have on was…extremely revealing.
- She turned around most of the way up the stairs to ask where our bathroom was. (?!?!?!)
- She stayed in there for a few minutes, and then came out and said, “Nice house,” and left.
- We checked to make sure she hadn’t stolen anything,
- And appropriately named her “the Hooker.” Believe me, she fit the part.
- Interestingly, there were “track marks” in her arms from too many needle drugs…prohhhbably not the prescription kind. If I had to make a guess.
- We didn’t find any drugs hidden inside our toilet.
- Or behind our shower curtain.

Third strange occurrence for the night:

- Our front door handle broke. So we were locked inside and had to take the door handle apart. At 1:00 in the morning. Thanks, Cockroach. Thanks, Hooker.

What an eventful night. Here is what I have learned:

- I am a sissy. [Cait says I should have figured this out from the Litterbug post.]
- My roommates are sissies. [But not as much as me. Maaaybe I should have mentioned that when I said "we" sprayed the bug, what I really meant was "they" sprayed the bug.]
- Don’t let strangers in your house…especially at night when they look like they’re druggies and/or hookers. [Just say no.]
- I could be a handyman. [Except for the fact that my roommates did all that work, too.]
- I am tired. [But I wasn't too tired to go get slushies from QT at midnight with Katie and Chantal. We needed comfort food.]

And, last but not least:

- I have awesome roommates. We have a ton of fun in weird situations. [Even cockroach-infested, full-bladdered-hooker, broken-doorknob situations.]

Lots of laughing ensued after (and even during) all this craziness.

Good times.

reputation

A few days ago we had the convocation ceremony for the engineering school. Because I was a staff member and not a student, this gave me certain privileges. Let's review:

1. I got to go where I wanted, when I wanted.
2. I got to tell people what to do and where to go.
3. I got to wear a headset. (Freaking awesome. Love this. It made me feel important. Or maybe like a kid again. I can't decide.)

And most importantly...

4. I got to eat the food.

When we got to the arena, my eyes first caught hold of the food table - before anything else. My senses for such things are acute. Even if I were blindfolded, I would probably still know where to find the food table. More specifically, I would probably still know where to find the free food table. Immediately I grabbed a brownie, knowing from experience that if I didn't act quickly, I would be out of luck. (Faculty can be so greedy sometimes.)

Later, after the ceremony had started, my coworker brought me three more brownies, which I am ashamed to admit I promptly ate. [My excuse: No time for dinner.] A few minutes later, another coworker offered to bring me some brownies. This time, I refused, much to the shock of everyone around me. I had decided enough was enough. Although I like brownies, I wasn't excited at the prospect of possibly turning into one.

You see, I have this reputation at work. Everyone knows I like food. Free food. And often, junk food. Everyone brings me food. All the time.

Occasionally, I think about changing this reputation, since I'm certain it's probably not the most flattering reputation to have.

But let's get real, people.

I really like food.

litterbug

Today I was sitting outside eating my lunch, drinking my Dr. Pepper (a category unto itself), and reading by the fountains outside the MU like I always do. Just a typical day...or so I thought.

When I finished drinking my 32 ounces of Dr. Pepper (hey...he is a doctor, for crying out loud!), I threw my cup into the grass. Now hold on...please stop judging me. I was not throwing it into the grass to litter. I am not a litterbug. I threw it on the ground simply because sometimes it's windy outside, and the wind has a tendency to want to blow my trash into the fountain. And that, my friends, would be littering by default. So I threw it on the ground so I could pick it up when I was done reading and throw it away.

When I was done reading I put my headphones in and picked some awesome music to listen to on the walk to work. Then I...yep, you guessed it...reached down to pick up the cup so I could throw it away...only to find a swarm of ants crawling around inside of it. My brain went into overdrive. This had never happened before! Before I even knew what I was doing, I threw my hands into the air and sent the cup [and my headphones and my ipod] flying. It took me a second to figure out what had happened. I looked down at the cup, headphones, and ipod lying in the grass and began to laugh. Finally I picked up my ipod, lest any ants should try to infiltrate it as well, and stared longingly at the cup. I wanted to throw it away, I really did. But in the end, I just couldn't get myself to pick up the millions of insects crawling around inside it. So I just left it there.

I know.

I am a litterbug.

I can only pray that Mother Nature [and the poor groundskeeper who has to pick up the cup] will forgive me.

Walking to work, I kept picturing myself throwing my hands into the air and sending projectiles flying. This resulted in my laughing a good deal during my walk. Which made me laugh even harder, because I kept getting really weird stares for laughing so spontaneously...by myself.

Oh, self. What am I going to do with you?

roxy

So I think it's time I finally introduced you to the newest love of my life. [And yes, I might have multiple loves-of-my-life simultaneously. I'm sure you understand.]

If you've already met her, I'm sure you consider yourself lucky.

If you haven't, meet Roxy. [Or, if you have already met her, please allow yourself some time to admire.]



[Just to avoid any confusion, let me clarify: the girl in the picture is me. Not Roxy. Me. Make sense? If you're reading this blog, you probably already knew that. If you're my best friend, and you're just figuring that out now, you're demoted. The car is Roxy. Okay. Just had to make sure.]

*Sigh* Isn't she beautiful?

When I first laid eyes on Roxy, I knew my life would never be the same. Even now, one-and-a-half weeks later, my feelings remain unchanged.

If you're confused as to why I am in love with this car, go back up and take a look at that picture again. Go ahead, right now. Now that you've done that, you're probably not confused anymore. But if there's any lingering confusion, let me just say: I have never owned a car in my twenty-one years of living. Sheesh, that's probably like a fourth of my life. So I've gone one-fourth of my life [give or take] without any wheels. My pioneer ancestors are probably shaking their heads at me in disbelief at this moment, but if you are from this century (which I hope you are, because if you aren't, that would be weird on so many levels), you understand.

Plus, in the one-and-a-half weeks that I've had her, we've gone many-a-place, had some delightful, in-depth, one-sided conversations, and jammed out to some pretty awesome tunes. She's a fantastic listener, let me tell you.

And the best part about it is, I think she loves me, too.



[Again, just as a refresher. Car: Roxy. Girl: me.]

Call me crazy.