Monday, March 31, 2008

Have I Learned My Lesson?

I should know by now when to keep my big mouth shut, but I can’t help that there are cute boys everywhere. If in your head you notice beauty, handsomeness, a chiseled physique, etc. you ought to speak up. There’s nothing wrong with admiring the attractive people around us. Well, unless it backfires on you. Case in point: J.G,J.B, A.?, and my favorite, T.M.

So, first story: cute boy sits next to me all semester in Cognition. I didn’t know his name for the first half of the term, I thought it was Blake. Anyway, I know it now and I opened my big mouth to a friend who told a friend, who told his roommate, who told him. Naturally, we went out, and no horror story, but nothing left to pursue. (Unfortunately he thinks the date gave him the green light to pursue me. My bad.)

Number two: my sister’s boyfriend’s roommate happens to be tall, bleach-blonde shaggy hair, balla’ for real! (He dunks, and 75% of the time makes it in every time.) Again, I confided (what I thought was) secretly to my sister during one of our sleepovers. (Yes we have adorable pajamas, yes we paint nails, and yes we spoon.) She told her beau and he told his roommate. I must say, he had a fighting chance. Not only is he adorable, he’s funny, athletic, all-in-all a blast. Again, nothing to pursue (at the moment!)

Three: I just met him but apparently he’s been in my school ward all semester. We bowled together and I informed his FHE sister how cute he is. She’s working on a quick last minute hook-up before I go home in 2 weeks. The good news is nothing serious can bloom (I don’t think, anyway!) He’s from Idaho, which makes me think I should stay over the summer….it’s not too late to change plans and spend the summer up here!

Last: Okay, another one I just met last week. My absolute favorite-T.M. (And I’m pretty sure if any of these prospects got wind of my blog they’d recognize their initials, and well, no harm done.) He is gorgeous! And way tall. I actually have to look up when I stand next to him-YUMMY! And he’s hilarious (which might clash in a long run, cuz he’s 98% fun-fun-fun, 2% serious/deep.) The minute he left my apartment, I ranted and raved to my roommates that I fell in love. Seriously, I never believed in love at first sight, but OHHHH! it exists! I am smitten by this boy and I don’t even know why. I think my roommates spilled the beans because tonight we were flirting a little, then I got all shy and awkward cuz it occurred to me that he probably knew!

Moral of the story(s): I should keep my mouth shut from now on. I can admire cute, gorgeous, handsome, etc. men to myself…then again, what’s the fun in that? I wouldn’t go on all these awkward/fun/unforgettable dates and realize he wasn’t quite the one for me. At least at the rate I’m going I never have to live with the regret of not knowing!

Monday, March 17, 2008

Old Fong’s Fortune Cookies, Actually Truths?

I don't know how I feel about fortune cookies. I think they taste alright, not too sweet and not too bland. Tonight for FHE we went to New Fong’s (actually the Old New Fong’s because the real new one is built on 2nd West street.) My fortune read: “Everything will soon come your way.” I feel good about that, except maybe that means everything good and bad? And I'm already getting most of the good, so I don't know how I feel about the rest of everything coming my way. I was hoping for my roommate's fortune which read: “You will take a big risk and win.” If I got that fortune, I’d be halfway to Vegas right now getting ready to take “big risks.”

Then I thought, why don’t they make up real truths, instead of fortunes? If I were typing away in the back, I would give 'fortunes' like: “The big giant one is coming your way”. In the end, I guess fortunes are like horoscopes; they are meant to apply to everything and everything. I think they should switch to more advice giving cookies than fortune cookies, like, “Don’t forget to floss”; “Wear your seatbelt”; “Too much candy will turn your poop green”; real stuff like that. Yeah, I’m gonna send a suggestion right away to New and Old New Fong’s.

Sunday, March 16, 2008

Oh, to be in love!


I’ve heard a lot of proposal stories ever since I’ve been up at BYU-Idaho. Most of them are moderate, some are super lame, but some…WOW! Like early today, this guy set the bar. Not only did he get tons of family and friends involved in a Renaissance theme, he got the town horse to go along with it. This proposal will go down in Rexburg history. You would have to be there to get the full effect, but if you’re really curious, contact any girl from Tuscany or any guy from Rockland to give you complete details.


Throughout this magnificent event, which I am proud to have witnessed, I couldn’t help but think about how I want my guy to propose to me. In high school, when I was “in love”, I always thought my boyfriend at the time would pass notes in class and finally he would get caught by the teacher who would then read the note aloud in hopes to reprimand the trouble maker. But, while he stood up and read the note, somewhere among the sweet nothings about me would be, “Will you marry me?” Then the class would cheer and he would whisk me away and we’d ride off into the sunset in his 1996 Subaru Outback. (Though, he’d have to get me back by 3:30 pm for volleyball practice.)


Now that I’m a little older, a little more mature, a lot classier, I’ve put a lot of thought into this. I’ve come up with new ideas. 1) We would go to the zoo and walk around. When we got to the monkey exhibit, there would be a huge gorilla who we could feed and he would hand us things; one of the things he would hand me would be the ring box. Then, a parrot would fly down and squawk, “Will you marry me?”


(Okay. So because this is very unlikely, I came up with something else that would be special to me.)


I always fall in love on the golf course, I can’t help it. It has the right setting, good feelings; everything happens on the golf course during the summer. Idea 2) We would be on the 18th hole at the end of a round and putt our final shots. When we walked to retrieve our balls from the hole, my guy would kneel down to pick up both balls. Since he would be on one knee, he would look up at me and open a box that looked like a golf ball on the outside, but had the ring inside, and ask, “Will you marry me?”


Who knows how it will happen? It better be creative and original. It doesn’t have to be fireworks and horses and a circus; but it has to be meaningful and creative.

Friday, March 14, 2008

We All Get Distracted




So, I definitely should have been studying for my Cognition test tonight. I’ve known about it for at least a week; the teacher even pushed back the deadline to take it, he dropped a chapter from the entire test, and he minimized it from 100 questions to 45. What more could I possibly ask for, right? Well, I had all the best intentions of cramming this week. Monday I had FHE-I didn’t actually make it, no excuse. Tuesday I planned a group movie night at the cheap theater-I couldn’t really stand up all my friends. Wednesday, America’s Next Top Model, need I say more? So here I am, Thursday…well, Friday morning really.

Just as I finished my midnight snack, I headed to my room determined to study. On the way I passed the bathrooms and the mirrors. Naturally, I let my hair down, gave it a shake, and blew myself a kiss. Something didn’t feel right. My hair was too flat. Ever since it’s been growing longer I’ve always wondered if I could create the Farrah Fawcett look. So, I curled my hair and topped my do’ off with a dozen spurts of hair spray.

My point is, we all get distracted. Exhibit A: My nephew sat down in the basement with me this past summer and tried so hard to help me with my sewing project. I love my nephew, but when pins, needles, and scissors scatter the carpet floor, it’s an accident waiting to happen. I created a diversion: “Max, I need you to go give this pillow to Grandma. She needs it. Can you go run upstairs and give it to her?”

He gave me his biggest smile and clutched the pillow tight to his chest as he rounded the corner in his awkwardly cute waddle-run. I waited to hear his feet clomping up the stairs when he disappeared behind the corner, but then all I heard was, “SHOES!!!!” Next thing I know, he comes around behind the basement door clunking in Grandma’s big old shoes, no pillow in hand. So, I couldn't help to drop what I was doing, and top off his outfit. We all like to dress up once in a while. It makes us feel good. And we all get distracted.

I may not get a great grade on my Cognition test later, but my hair could stop bird watchers in the mountains. Let’s just say if I were hiking by, they’d be getting more shots of a massive brunette bouffant rather than White-breasted Nuthatches or Yellow-bellied Sapsuckers.

Thursday, March 13, 2008

I Used to Hate Life

Because they get soggy within ten seconds of immersing them. I tried them plain, without milk and they tasted delectable. But something seemed off. I came to the realization that it’s okay that they get soggy because at least they don’t cut up your mouth like Captain Crunch (also very good, but you can get that same taste without the pain by eating peanut butter out of the jar with a spoon).

Thursday, March 6, 2008

Italian Stallion

The last time I had an honest, sincere crush on a guy, I still wore converse sneakers, ribbons in my half-pulled back hair, and overalls. Yes, the last heart-throbbing, day-dreaming, palm-sweating crush I had was my best friend’s brother. We were in second grade, and he was a cool fifth grader. I remember having my girlfriend tell him every day after lunch that I liked him and thought he was cute.

These days I try to go about revealing my crush through more subtle ways such as smiling, talking, maybe even a little flirting. That would seem to work out, but for the real thing, here’s my story. Last winter, I thought I found the man of my dreams. The one I would marry some day. I just could never get his attention long enough to start a conversation or at least get a name exchange. For that reason, he remains the anonymous Italian Stallion. He’s a cup of hot chocolate: tall, dark, and delicious. (Actually, I don’t think he has a drop of Italian blood in his gorgeous body. He might come from Greece or somewhere exotic where the sun shines most the time.)

Recently, I ran into him at our gym up at school. Midday, not too crowded, plenty of open treadmills, and he just happened to get one right next to mine. Time ticked away. As he warmed up, I saw I had only 3 minutes left till my cool down. I frantically conjured up a plan to get his attention. I would speed the pace up to 10 MPH so he could see how in shape I was. Then, just at the climax, I would “trip” and go flying back off the moving belt. It might hurt, I thought, but the action would prove its worth when he came to my rescue.

Well, this never happened because just as I built up the guts to go through with it, my machine signaled the end reading, “COOL DOWN…5 MINUTES”. I walked out my time, a sweaty mess, and got off. I made my way to an empty corner in the gym and proceeded to stretch. Off in the distance, I could see the Italian Stallion going full speed. Maybe next time I’ll challenge him to a race, I thought. At least I have time before the next rendez vous to think of a more natural (and socially acceptable) approach.

Tuesday, March 4, 2008

Narrative Distance

Mid-Range: He held her face, pushed her hair back, and kissed her.

Close-Range: He took her face into his strong hands. The wind blew her golden hair around his hold and he brushed a few strays behind her cold ears. He drew her face closer. Just as she thought their lips might meet, he planted a gentle kiss on her soft, pink cheek. She barely felt it, except when he pulled away, the icy air tried to cover the lingering warmth of the embrace on her skin.

Internal-Range: (Okay, so I'm still trying to figure out what my publishing teacher was talking about today in class; I know there are distinct differences among the three ranges, but the only internal-range I can think of gets a little spicy...)

Monday, March 3, 2008

Not A Material Girl

I never really considered myself a “material girl” but I recognize I do live in a material world. Recently, I dropped and broke my hot pink Razr phone. I thought, No big deal. I’ll live, and at least I’ll get a break from the tight leash my phone holds on me. Well, that worked for maybe 5 hours, 4 of which were spent from distractions of class and eating. After I got home, it hit me that I really do need a phone. My younger sister so kindly let me use her old high school phone; silver and blue, complete with a blinking service light, small enough for the trendy factor, thick enough it didn’t disappear in my bag like some of these phones that actually double as bookmarks.

This phone on lease just didn’t cut it. My Razr felt so comfortable, like a favorite pair of underwear. You just never want to take them off. This temporary phone served more like a pair of Granny Panties. Good for emergencies, yes, but embarrassing to be seen with.

I miss all the cool features of my hot pink phone: camera, speaker (I can’t even multitask with this other phone!), multiple alarm times, spicy ringtones, and call waiting. With desperation in my voice and the help of my dad, I found a new maroon Razr on ebay for pretty cheap with all the above features plus a better picture and built-in MP3 player, estimated to get here in three days. No, I wouldn’t really consider myself a “material girl” per se. I’m more of a “bells and whistles” type of girl.

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