I love my Liz, Heather and Kat. It's true, you know.

The "Shout Out" thing is comments... I think... I'm not very smart...

I think that I might be done. Can I be finished? Can I go? I forget.

Today I got kicked in the head. Now, usually when I use this phrase, I mean it metaphorically... you know... like I had a bad day or something a lot less than pleasant happened. But today when I say that I got kicked in the head I mean it literally. Ya, I literally got kicked in the head. It hurt. A lot. The abnormally large seven year old boy kicked me in the head. And what started the tantrum that resulted in a kick in the head? The no-breaking-pencils rule. Ya, I wouldn't let him break his pencil... he tantrumed... and I got kicked in the head. At one point (after I blacked out but before his mom got there) I was sitting there holding him down and thinking, "Why in the heck am I here? Is the pay rate sufficient for this kind of crap? And most importantly... who am I?" I learned two very important things today... one - seven year olds can kick really hard and two - I hate my job. And also... I need Taco Bell and/or chocolate... anybody??

Sometimes I forget that I'm a student. I come home from work, sit down and start eating. Then suddenly a little alarm goes off in the back of my brain. I can barely hear it... it's buried deep... but it goes off and suddenly I remember that not only am I a student but I also have homework due. What?? Homework. Oh dear. I rummage through my disorganized folders looking for clues. How many classes am I taking? Have I always had this many classes? Wait, I'm a TA? Oh dear, oh dear. This is when I realize my situation. One hour till go time and I have a paper to write and about 30 student papers to grade. How did this happen? How could I forget that I'm a student? Have my roommates been slipping me my stupid pills? They did like me a lot on those things... but no. Hmmm... it's one of life's mysteries... dote!... gotta run... only 15 minutes left...

As a young child I used to have this one reoccuring nightmare. I was younger than six because my little brother wasn't born yet... or at least he hadn't entered my dream land yet. My parents, my sister and I are all in our kitchen when suddenly a huge monster bursts through the door! He yells in his growly voice, "I'm going to eat one of you! You choose!" As soon as he finishes saying this my parents and sister are already pushing for towards the monster. It didn't take them long to agree on who it would be. I would wake up just after he grabbed me and before he put me in his mouth. It was all very scary. Except... the monster, although big with pointy teeth, was bright pink... with purple poka dots. What the heck?? Ya, that's the funny part. I can still picture the monster... and I just have to laugh... because no wonder he was so mean... he looked like a circus freak... maybe he was such a bully because all the other monsters made fun of him. And then I feel sorry for the monster. But then I remember that he did try to eat me. And then I just get mad again. Jerk.

Top 4 Ways to Tell if You're the Screech in Your Group of Friends:
4 - Other "friends" only hang out with you when your group of friends are around, are distant/rude to you when you're alone, and/or ignore you in public.
3 - When old friends bring up past memories it usually starts with, "Remember that one time when we made you _____?" and/or when they discuss their favorite/most fun moment as friends, you weren't invited.
2 - You're irritating, clumsy, unattractive and socially dysfunctional but your friends still keep you around.
1 - Look around. Are all your friends cool? Then chances are that the Screech is you.

Today Elizabeth Bennett won the "good best friend" award. I love her. That's all.

VICIOUS CYCLE:
I'm in a vicious sleep cycle. On Saturday and Sunday, I sleep long hours... sometimes nine or ten. By Sunday night I'm not willing to go to bed and stay up late doing nothing in particular (or sometimes talking to roomies if they're around). Monday through Friday night are spent with my roomies. I know I should go to bed since I have to be up early for work, but I don't. How could I resist? My loves are up together talking and there's no way I'm missing out on that! So Monday through Friday I get between 4-6 hours of sleep a night. By Friday night I'm very... how do I put this... CRANKY! Last night is a clear example of this. Actually the last couple of nights were splattered with crankiness. I took a few harmless comments too seriously and got all wounded. Last night should have been absolutely delightful, and it was, but I was definitely on a high crank level. It went from a girls' night out to a "let's beg 2 guys that give Em the eebie jeebies to join us until they give in and then put them in the back seat with Em so they can poke her and make jokes about her uncommon silence" kind of night. (Even though in reality it went from a girls' night out to "let's make this more fun by inviting more people" kind of night) And then let's not forget the long walk to the JSB with the "what's wrong? why are you so quiet? what are you thinking about? why are you lying to me? why are you a liar? it hurts my feelings when you lie to me like that" even though I wasn't lying at all... by that point my coping mechanisms had kicked in and my brain had regressed to a pile of agreeable, silent mush. It wasn't that I was lying, I just wasn't really able to put whole sentences together. Good times. But all in all I had a good time. Which is funny really. The film thing was fantastic. It's true that I'm a midget and I was sitting behind a lady with large hair but it turned out to be a good thing... she blocked the screen during the cucky parts... and I was sitting between my girlfriends so leaning over and invading their personal space wasn't a big deal. Point is... my life is good and happy... I am a crank. But... today is Saturday!!! Yay!!! I'm at the peak of my cycle! Come over and play! Quick!!!!

A fun little anecdote...

Over Christmas break I was grocery shopping with my mom. This is always a very long and tedious process. We go to something we need... let's say bread... we look at the bread.
I say, "Mom, which kind do you usually get?"
"Oh, I dunno."
"You don't know?"
"Uh...?"
"Okay... well, how about you just get this kind? This kind is fine."
"Did you compare prices?"
"Sure, Mom. I think we're going to be okay here."
"Do you think Wayne will eat it?"
"It's bread, Mom. And also, Wayne's a 16 yr old boy... he'll eat anything..."
"Okay... if you feel it's best."
"I really do. This bread may change your life."
We put the bread in the cart. One item down... 8 billion left to go! So we continue on... but before we get to item two we run into somebody my mom (or both of us) knows. A 5-45 min conversation follows. Conversation done... we move on to item 2... and the cycle continues on... one isle to the next... one person to the next... vicious...

Finally, we get to the soda (what the heck??? I meant pop. Pop!!) isle. Now this is where things get extraordinarily bizarre. I grew up in a very small house and the small garage gets ridiculously cold and since I'm from Seattle and it's the same weather all year... it's cold all year! This is great (unless it's your only hiding spot in the house and you end up layering in old clothes left in boxes since the mid seventies) for storing food... or more specifically... pop. There's a pile as tall as the Great Wall of China in there... Sprite for Dad, Diet Pepsi for Grandma, Dr. Pepper for Mom, Root Beer for Wayne... cases upon cases of soda pop. It's crazy. It really is. Anyway, Mom and I are approaching... the isle!!
I say, "Okay, Mom. Do we really need anything down here? I think you've got the soda thing covered."
"What?"
"Pop. I mean pop. I think you've got the pop thing covered."
"What?"
"Okay... let's try this... I think you have enough pop."
"But there's a sale."
"Yes. But I don't know if you can fit more pop in the garage. The scouts could use the wall for climbing."
"Don't be smart."
"Sorry. But we don't need more."
"But there's a sale."
"But we don't need it."
"But there's a sale."
"Remember that one time when you bought Spam just because it was on sale?"
"Yes."
"Did anybody eat that Spam?"
"No."
"So did you really save any money then?"
"Yes. It was two for one. Good deal."
"Yes, two for one is good if you use it... but you spent money on something that wasn't used so therefore you actually wasted money..."
"What?"
"Nevermind. What kind of pop do you need?"
"Um... Sprite... some Dr. Pepper... Grandma probably has enough Diet Pepsi but we might as well buy it while it's so cheap... some Root Beer..."
"Okay... great... I'll just pile it all in then... you wait here..."
"Emily, as a special treat, I'll let you pick out a kind of pop that you want."
"I leave tomorrow. I won't be able to drink a whole case of pop."
"Fine! Gosh, every time I try to do something nice for you you get all snippy."
"I wasn't being snippy."
"You hate me, don't you?"
"No... Mom..."
"WHY?"
"Mom! Thank you! Thank you for letting me pick out some pop! Wow! That's super! Let's see! Look at all the choices... hmmm..."
"Ya, you pick whatever you want... it's your special treat..."
"Thanks, Mom. I'll get my favorite... Cherry Coke."
"WHAT????"
"Cherry Coke."
"But that's so bad for you!"
"We're talking about pop... so yes it is..."
"How about you get Cherry Pepsi instead?"
"Why?"
"Coke is so bad for you, Emily. I'm so disappointed in you. You're supposed to be an example for you brother."
"Mom... if you're talking about caffeine..."
"Yes! Caffeine!"
"Yes... well there's just as much caffeine in Pepsi... and Dr. Pepper... and some Root Beers..."
"No there's not."
"Yes there is."
"No there's not. Not as much as in Coke. Coke is bad. Pepsi is much better for you. Get the Cherry Pepsi."
"Whatever. You said I could pick my pop and I'm picking it. Cherry Coke is my favorite. I pick Cherry Coke."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Fine. You were always the difficult one."

Yep... I'm the difficult one. The demon child that drinks Cherry Coke. I drank one can and then I went back to Provo. Good deal.

I am unpretty. Apparantly this really bothers my friends. It doesn't bother them so much that I'm not pretty... as it does that I admit that I'm not pretty and won't say otherwise. They feel this is unhealthy. As if I don't have self-esteem because I don't believe myself to be attractive. But this isn't true. I just don't value myself by my appearance (or by my intelligence for that matter). It would only end in tears. I believe that this is healthy. They wouldn't ask a guy without legs to admit he was a fast runner. And they wouldn't be shocked when he didn't put that as one of his self-esteem boosters. He'd base his self-esteem elsewhere. Healthy choice. I base my self-esteem on other things such as... my ability to tie my own shoes... my ability to read... my ability to roll my tongue... and my ability to scare the living daylights out of my roommate by putting on a hoodie and entering a room. But still they'll say, "But, Emily. You're pretty! Just admit that you're pretty! Fine, then tell me WHY you don't think you're pretty." OK guys... here it goes... my reasons for knowing that I'm not pretty are three fold... One - I can see. The mirror and pictures (past and present) reflect otherwise. Two - Even my family and close friends growing up have told me that I'm NOT pretty. This fact wouldn't just change overnight. Three - In my billions of psych classes we learned about different levels of attractiveness based on responses of peers. Test done on me = NOT attractive! And so, my lovely ladies... survey says, "Emily is NOT pretty." Carry on with your own opinions. Say it if you must. But I will not say that I'm pretty.

An email from Dad...
"How about if I take $50.00 out of your checking account to make a payment. So please reply to this e-mail telling us how much over $50.00 you want us to take out of your account to make a payment."
Great idea, Dad! Take what you need! You need $50? Oh, over $50. Gotcha. Well, no problem. I'm rolling in the dough. Chump change. And if that's not enough then I can always sell a kidney or something. But what do you need the $50+ for? A graduation gift for me, you say? Well, how sweet! It's the gift that keeps on giving! Take a few extra bucks out for some confetti.

This all reminds me of a great family tradition... I used to think that we didn't have any... but I was wrong...
It started when I was thirteen. At least I think it did... before then I wasn't exactly checking my account balances... anyway... this year for Christmas I wanted a stereo. We always get one nice gift for Christmas ($100+) and then a few smaller items (like socks). So my mom took me out to pick out my stereo (well, it wasn't exactly that simple... but you get the point). We go to some electronics store and I pick out one of the cheaper stereos (I knew my place... but I also made sure it had a karaoke function... or else there was no point in getting it at all! obviously!). So blah blah blah... Christmas morning comes and I open up my stereo. I'm happy and giddy... my sister is FURIOUS! (Another great family tradition... Judy's Christmas anger) She screams at my mom about how unfair it is that I should get such a nice gift since I'm such a horrible person... blah blah blah (insert demeaning remarks aimed at 13-yr-old Emily here). Mom replies back... (is she going to stand up for me?... no.) "Judy, now think about it. Would I buy Emily a gift like that? No. She's paying for half of it." Judy, now pleased, opens up her gifts. She's joking, right? She just said that to make Judy chill? No. She really did make me pay for the other half of the stereo. And so the tradition started of Emily paying for her own gifts. Birthdays, Christmas, graduation, etc. I usually do get gifts, but I pay for it. And if I don't pay for it in cash then I pay for it in pride. Any gift that is given to me from my parents (sometimes even if I do pay for it) comes with a side dish of guilt. My parents bought me a bike (pink) when I was sixteen. I had wanted a bike since I was ten but they decided to get if for me after I could drive. And to this day my mom guilts me about how I should be so grateful that I have parents that buy me such nice gifts even though I'm a horrible daughter.

I'm not a fan of this tradition... and so today I'll break it... I'll email Dad back and tell him to forget it. No more gifts. No more birthdays, or Christmas, or graduation. If I'm going to pay for the gift then I'm going to pick it out myself and not have to worry about the following guilt trip. No, no. No more.

Today was one of those great days that you just want to remember forever. I slept in until 12:15. We went to Taco Bell for lunch, then tied Jay to a chair and made look pretty close to Rufio with red sparkly spikes in his hair, then there was the portion of the day where he stole Kat's and my car, and Mandy and I went to his apartment and stole something, then there was the large brawl with Kat, Micah, Jay, Heather and I. Let's not forget putting Jay's truck up for sale, then him moving the sign to my car and at least four different people calling me and leaving messages on my machine to ask questions about the sale... good times... and now I've got the pictures to prove it! Muahahaha!

Booter Nazi Guys... they're evil... pure evil... as I'm typing, they're out there with their flashlights and boots searching for an opportunity to make some poor college student cry. I got booted once last summer and had to go through a whole ordeal and whine my way to the top to get it off without a charge even though I LIVE HERE and HAVE A STICKER! Booter Nazi Guy is out there telling me to write him a check or else he's not going to liberate my car as I'm pointing to the sticker and saying, "Are you crazy??" And he was. What's even more horrific is the way they strut around outside in the parking lot. I had a friend visiting from Seattle last week. She saw the flashlights through the blinds and said, "What's going on out there?" I told her that it was the Booter Nazi Guys. She peeked through the blinds to see what was going on and one of the Booter Nazi Guys beamed her with his flashlight right in the eyes. I could hear them laughing from my bed as my friend screamed, "Ow! My eyes! Who ARE those guys??" They're the Booter Nazi Guys. They booted my roommate twice this week and her sticker was in plain sight. I don't know how they can miss it with their big flashlights and boasted intelligence. Something must be done. Maybe I can create a sort of Booter Nazi Guy Repellent to spray on my car. Booter Nazi Guy Repellent is a must have. And while I'm at it, maybe I'll create a Creepy Guy Repellent, Parental Guilt Trip Repellent or Perfume Sales Lady Repellent. Yes, a genius plan indeed!

I love my roommates. They're fantastic. Here's the top ten reasons why my roommates (Kat, Liz and Heather) are better than your roommates...
Ten- They like chocolate. They have/make chocolate treats. They share chocolate goodness with me.
Nine- My "through roommate association" perks list is endless.
Eight- They're good listeners and actually care about what I say (when they can understand me).
Seven- They insist that I'm pretty, smart and capable or great things to the point where I almost believe them.
Six- They tell me I'm stupid when I'm being stupid. (and even sometimes when I'm not for an added bonus!)
Five- They make me feel wanted and loved.
Four- They're really mature.
Three- They're slow with the knocking me over the head (sometimes) and quick with the forgiving.
Two- They're my best friends and they make me happy.
One- All three of them are gorgeous, ridiculously intelligent (genius!), creative, genuine, thoughtful and just plain WONDERFUL!
So there! I have the best roommates EVER!

hehehe

Many important things can be learned from Joe... or from Angelica. For this one, I'm siding with Angelica. They're sitting in a car and Joe's trying to have a little heart to heart. Angelica spills but then stops. Joe says...

Joe: I don't mind talking
Angelica: Well I do! This is one of those typical conversations where we're all open and sharing our innermost thoughts and it's all bullshit and a lie and it doesn't cost you anything!
Joe: Look I don't know you. I don't think I know anybody. You're angry. I can see that. I'm very troubled. I'm not ready to... there's only so much time. Use it well. So I'm here talking to you. I don't want to throw it away.
Angelica: I have no response to that.

Good call. I don't have a response to that either. But I'm still sticking with Angelica. If it doesn't cost them anything then it's best to zip the lip and move on. So, remind me again what I'm doing here on this blogspot?!

The parentals... I'm pretty sure I've found the source of my headaches. I got an email from my dad today (along with a phone call but my ridiculously wonderful roommate took care of that) and my head turned into a breeding ground for pain. He wrote, "So again I emphasize to update your checking record book as soon as you write a check. Because if you don't get in the habit of doing so, it could be very costly to you. You will be on your own in a few weeks, and I will not be able to help you out by warning you." Oh, how I'll miss this fatherly advise. What he failed to mention was the cause. Good ol' dad decided to "borrow" a few hundred dollars from my checking account (and didn't deem it necessary to tell me about it) which has now resulted in me overdrawing more than TEN TIMES! But of course it's my fault. Little irresponsible Emily made a stupid mistake again. I will be "on my own" in a few weeks. (Whatever that means... when wasn't I on my own?) But tomorrow I close the account and open a new one that dad can't dip into so easily.
It's funny though, it really is. It reminds me of a scene from Will and Grace when Jack asks his son for money so he can grab a hotdog to eat on his way home. His son hands him two dollars. "But I just need one," Jack says. But his son gives him a fatherly pat and lets him keep the extra dollar. "You're a good son." I must be a pretty #@! good daughter. They got a whole lot more than two bucks... but they won't be getting the motherly pat. Maybe it evens out then. I dunno.

People say that you attract people who are like you. Apparantly I'm a huge freak. I'm Emily. The not so attractive, should be in a straight jacket, Weirdo Magnet.

Boy One: GAVIN
He was my quasi-boyfriend for over a year. I say quasi-boyfriend because at no point did I actually like him. I just went out with him because he told me I was pretty and would sneak out of his house at night to come visit me. Sometimes, he bought be pretty things. I liked that. But then he wanted make out. I'd kissed him. Lots. But I wasn't about to make out with him. He ate lotion for crying out loud. No, no. Also, he'd created a great habit of following me everywhere, and telling me and writing me notes about how he wanted me to marry him, etc. So I broke up with him. He got upset. Gavin's a psycho. He threatened to commit suicide. We renegotiated and got back together. But then I remembered that I didn't like him. Not even a little bit. So I put his friend on babysitting duty and dumped him again. He never committed suicide but I got some pretty creepy letters... and a few bizarre phone calls...

Boy Two: GROPER
I don't remember this guy's real name. He was the first guy I went on a date with (besides Prom and Jason who doesn't count) since Gavin. I met him on campus and his opening line was, "Have we met before?" No. "Not even in the pre-existence?" Awkward laugh. He's kidding. Wow, that was really funny that he used that. I'm amused. But where did he take me? To General Conference. Weird. But it was okay. I really wanted to go to General Conference. At least I wouldn't have a whole lot of awkward first date talk. So we stand in line for General Conference. The line wraps around Temple Square a couple of times and then goes through it to the new Conference Center. Did I mention that the line was long? Yes, very long. We talked. We talked about his home country (I don't remember where... no, I do... Brazil!) and how he learned about the Church and when he got baptized and about his travels, etc). "And so I come here for a wife." I freeze. Hmmm. That's not funny. And now that I've been talking to him, he wasn't being funny with that pick-up line either. Oh, no. He reaches out and puts his arm around me. Downhill. Falling downhill. We walk past the SLC Temple. "One day we will go in there together. When do you think that will happen?" On the 4th of... NEVER!!!!! Oh, dear... what do I do? Well, we're almost to the Conference Center and then Conference will begin and he'll have to back off because you can't talk through Conference. Genius. But apparantly hands can say a whole lot more. Through the whole Conference he was touching me. I know he must have only had two hands but they were everywhere. I was tempted on more than one occasion to yell, "President Hinckley! HELP ME!!!!" But I knew that that would be no good. Not a good way to make friends. So I sat through it until Conference was over. We met my friends outside and I did the best I could to get out of there fast. Groper called two or three times everyday after that. He was the only guy I've ever stood up. And eventually, I told him that I moved and left no forwarding address or number. Goodbye, Groper.

Boy Three: Stewart
I had to go back and look his name up. But his name is Stewart. He found me on some Microsoft Profile or something. I think I posted it around four years ago when I created my email address. "My name is Stewart and I'm from Malaysia. Hopefully we can hook up sometime and meet in persons." It started. Now he emails me, and emails me, and emails me... insisting that we go out. No, Stewart! NO!!!!!

Boy Four: Sam? Stan?
I'm not really sure. He's from Lousiana. He called a few weeks ago. It was a wrong number. He started asking me all kinds of questions and I responded with "Uh-huh... okay..." apparantly he likes that in a girl. "You're really funny!" He said. "It's hard to find funny girls like you. You must be pretty. We should go out." Uh-h... wait a minute! No. We hung up. That's the end of Sam...na? But, no. He called back yesterday. I guess he's not that kind of guy that gets discouraged just because a girl hangs up on him.

And now the roommates ask... "Em, why won't you date?" But the answer is so simple. If he likes me, then there's something definitely wrong with him. It's best to just RUN AWAY!!!!!!

My sister called me today. She's never called me before. So, when I heard her voice on the phone I assumed what anyone in my situation would assume. That my parents were dead. Yes, they were dead. My mind went racing about how I would have to get my brother while at the same time tried my best to keep a faint smile on my face since I had company over. Judy went on with the details. "Emily, something happened yesterday that I thought you'd like to know." Dang it. It's too bad that my parents are dead. "David and I went with some friends to the cabin in Oregon." Oh, so maybe my parents aren't dead. But somebody is. "Yesterday we went for a walk on the beach when suddenly..." Oh, no! Did he drown? How did he die? "...he got down on one knee and proposed." WHAT???? My sister's getting married. Wow. This is much better than the other option. Yes, I'm definitely a fan of the marriage vs the mass death. Marriage good.

Last night my friend stopped by to tell me that he got accepted into the doctoral program at BYU for Clinical Psychology starting this spring term. Ya, ya... I'm happy for him and everything but strangely upset. That could have been me if I wasn't born white trash! If I had money I could have taken the GRE and paid for application fees and then that could have been me moving on with my life. But no. I'm poor. In four years he'll be a doctor and I'll still be scraping up the cash to take the GRE. Bitter. OK. So I'm not really all that upset. It still takes a genius to get into the program and I'm no genius. Still, I'll wait my year, work my tail off try to get in. Besides, Dr. Hansen sounds weird. Ew.

Let's talk about Dell...
I hate them! I hate them!! I HATE THEM!!!!! What's the deal??? All of their commercials are so happy! With their little interns and round the clock customer service. I'll give them customer service! I spent two hours on the phone with them the other day, was hung up on FOUR times (each time I call back I get the message "All lines are currently in service. Please don't hang up.") and when I finally reached a human being that knew what I was talking about (and spoke English although very broken) he told me that my computer was LOST! It was signed for in SLC by my receptionist. Interesting facts... I don't live in SLC and I certainly don't have a receptionist. Anyway, I finally get my computer back and I take it out to find that they did... NOTHING! They had three things to do and they chose to do nothing! Anger... I call them back again... another 20 min wait, a new guy and what do they say? "Uh... we mail you a part, ok? Everything fine? You want us mail you part?" Sure... mail me the part... like I know what to do with it. Basically, I'm still paying for a computer that won't even turn on during midterm week and have a very intense relationship with 3 Dell guys. Not fun. I just want my computer to turn on!! Headache...

Headache Update...
I'm on day six. Day SIX! It's hurting me... and it hurts! (I was wack... no sorry, man, I was wack) Here are the top five possible reasons for the prolonged pain...
five... Heather was right and I really do have a sinus infection (take note that even if this is true, I still choose headache over doctor)
four... The fact that I've been wearing the same pair of contact lenses mixed with the wrong prescription of glasses for way too long
three... The stress of school and work have taken the form of a small hammer hammering away like an old hammer dog in my head
two... The family ordeal has gotten way out of hand and has made a nice home of stress, anger and confusion right under my occipital lobe or...
one... Karma rears her ugly head again and is paying me back for every time I gave my mom (or anybody else) a headache through my obnoxious behavior and thousands of irritating questions and sarcastic remarks over the years.
But back to my point. My head hurts. Make it stop.