Seriously.

I don't want to talk about it.

Stuff It Up Your Stocking

I spent an entire day Wednesday searching for an electric frying pan or electric jar opener from Black and Decker. All the stores I went to were out of them and the employees looked at me like I was crazy when I asked them if they had any. Because it was 3 days before Christmas. But I wasn't even the idiot who left the shopping until then. I was done with my shopping. It was my dad. But he doesn't like shopping. Or planning in advance. Or paying in advance for that matter. So even though he had to go to Southcenter mall anyways to pay a bill, he still sent me to three malls looking for things he could give my mother. I ended up buying an overpriced personal DVD player that she wanted, wrapping it up and cursing my way through the day. But did he say thank you? No. "Oh, and while you're out... could you get all the stocking stuffers?"

And later that night I had to go to my sister's house for dinner and to spend the night. The dinner was just for me because it was my birthday dinner. But my mom and dad threw a fit because they wanted to be invited. But my sister said no. But Wayne, instead of just dropping me off, jumped out of the car ahead of me, ran up the steps into my sister's house and made himself comfortable. Then when my sister and her husband had to leave to take their dog to the doggie ER, my brother cried to me about how selfish I was for not spending more time with him even though I had just spent the entire day with him shopping for that stupid DVD player. These were his reasons...
1. I didn't go shopping with him on Monday
2. He was better than me because he visited me on Friday
3. I always brought other people along
4. My "one minute" always means "one hour"
So I yelled at him. In sign. And I told him the following...
1. I had the flu on Monday. He knew that. But did anybody call me at all that day to ask if I was okay? No.
2. He came over on Friday with his laptop and said two words to me. Hi and Good-bye. He came over for the wireless internet, not for me.
3. I care about a lot of people and I'm only here for 2 weeks.
4. My "one minute" means "one hour" when I spend that "one minute" with him too.
And then I told him to shove it and grow up. And then we played darts.

I hate Christmas because we never do anything but argue. Nobody plans anything and then when we're in the middle of an unplanned day somebody gets mad at somebody else for not planning anything who then blames somebody else for being lazy and then the tree starts on fire. I do have a few traditions. This is what they are...
1. I buy all the stocking stuffers (which I didn't do this year)
2. I go grocery shopping for all the "holiday food" (which I didn't do this year)
3. I ignore them yelling at me for getting the wrong things and spend both days in the kitchen cooking meals and treats with my headphones on
4. We eat the same breakfast of English muffins, sausage, eggs and orange juice on Christmas plates and glasses.
5. We open presents... well, we watch Wayne open presents.
6. We go take naps (I read a book)

I have to be at my mother's house by noon. I don't know when I can leave on Christmas. Probably not until evening. It's after eleven so I'd better go pack the essentials... my headphones and my big bottle of Excedrin. Bring in the new year.

What It's Like To Be 24

My Birthday was on Sunday. But since it officially started on Thursday with our dinner at Olive Garden, I begin here. So far, being 24 has included...

• One delightful meal with wonderful friends including some game that involved me getting hit in the head with my presents and giving out compliments or wishes or something
• One equally delightful Italian woman who reminded me how utterly lucky I was to have so many friends who loved me
• One red-eye flight to Seattle and a very generous roommate for making the drive to the airport with me
• Seeing my Julie and five beautiful babies
• Having my family birthday dinner cancelled because my mom didn't feel like it, but getting to go see a movie with Julie which is really what I wanted to do anyway
• Spending over $25 on medication for my two-week long cold
• Getting over that cold on Sunday morning
• Going to church and seeing so many friendly faces from my childhood
• Eating dinner at my parents' house
• My grandma asking over and over if it was my birthday
• My grandma, in a moment of clarity, asked how old I was... I told her I was 24. She gasped, smiled at me and said, "I got married when I was 24! This could be your year!" (Even my senile grandmother has it out for me.)
• Watching Super Size Me
• Getting the Flu (Double Badness... I won't go into details)
• Having poor Julie take care of me as I lay useless on her couch for over 24 hours
• Having my Sarah come over with a birthday present and a reminder that I was missing out on making gingerbread cookies (I'd better still get to eat one later this week!)

Which brings me to today. Tuesday. I like Tuesday. And I feel good. I think I'll go shopping...

A Letter I Composed Last Night

To Whom It May Concern at Wasatch Elementary,

I am writing to inform you of my recent decision to come in late to work on Wednesday, December 15. My reasons for this decision are as follows...

• In the last 48 hours, 29 of them were work hours, 10 were hours asleep and the other 9 were spent praying for death.
• I have gained almost 15 pounds since last Christmas.
• My lungs burn, I'm still fighting off the last of my Pink Eye episode and I'm coughing up things that should never be allowed in the human body.
• I have a huge final tomorrow that I haven't been able to study for it yet and I will cry through Christmas if I lose my only solid A.
• My foot hurts.
• The heater on my car doesn't work.
• Let's face it, I would have been late anyways.
• I just took NyQuil so there's no way I'm getting up in time to make it even if I change my mind or if you say no.
• My roommate is crazy which means I haven't had a good night's sleep in four months.
• My mom is crazy which means I haven't had a good night's sleep in almost 24 years.
• You're crazy if you think I'll be showing up at 8:30.
• My head hurts, the room is spinning, I have no friends, no life, no motivation and my room is a mess.
• You can't make me.

In conclusion, I'll let you know when I'm coming and I'll let you know when I'm leaving. You will smile and nod and pretend to care. And we'll all walk away happy. Or at least alive.
Sincerely,
Emily Hansen

Hell Week 1 and 1/2

Yesterday I worked at Wasatch from 8:30am until 3:45pm. Then I drove at the speed of light in order to work at Kara's from 4pm until 11pm. Then I went to my friend's house to pick up her prescription for Loratab since she won't be paid until Friday and she has ovarian cysts that make life very painful. Then I came home and couldn't sleep.

Today I work at Wasatch from 8:30am until 4:30pm. Then I will then quickly drive to the mall to work at Kara's from 5pm until 11pm. Then I will have to hurry home and study because I have two finals tomorrow.

Tomorrow I work at Wasatch from 8:30am until 3:45pm. I will then have to run to campus and pray the line in the Testing Center isn't too long so I can at least have a few minutes to take my 515 test and then be at my scheduled three-hour 420 final by five.

But then it's over. Because I get to play on Thursday night. And early Friday morning I will be on a plane bound for Seattle.

I can almost see the end of this semester's dark, grimy, cold and depressing tunnel.

Excedrin and Mountain Dew

I got roughly five hours of sleep last night. Which wouldn't be a big deal if I had gotten regular amounts of nightly sleep for the past four months. But I haven't. And so today I look like I'm addicted to crack. I have bloodshot and stingy eyes. I can't walk in a straight line and my speech is even more slurred than usual. My head felt like it was being squeezed in a vice and I could hear the pounding in my ears. There was only one solution. I dug up a couple of Excedrin and then walked down to the teacher's lounge to buy a Mountain Dew to wash the pills down with. It reminded me of a scene from several years ago that brought a bit of joy to my heart and got me through the remainder of the day.

Dec 6 - 10 Hell Week Update (finished items in italics):
CPSE 410 Case Study Portfolio
CPSE 410 Presentation
CPSE 410 Final Exam
CPSE 420 Case Study Portfolio
CPSE 420 Presentation
CPSE 420 Final Exam
CPSE 400 Final Paper
CPSE 400 Final Exam
IP&T 515 Final Exam

Babysitter's Blog: Day 4 of 6

This is my fifth day with little sleep the previous night. I have done at least two dozen loads of laundry. Cleaned and re-cleaned each room at least a dozen times (a baker's dozen perhaps?) and have run the dishwasher five times. I have changed about two dozen diapers (some of them containing toxic waste as Derek would say). I have helped three children with their homework each night, trying to explain the differences between different types of Canadian settlers, helping with third grade vocabulary and first grade speech lessons. I have wiped away uncountable tears and have rocked the small and the big babies to sleep. I have stayed up late making last minute arrangements for the next day, picking up toys and watching a bit of unanimated TV. I have worked hard this week to make the house clean, the children happy and the environment upbeat. I'm telling you, having five kids around is hard work!! And I've loved every minute of it. I've laughed so hard my sides have hurt more times than I've changed diapers. And I've had a blast making the messes that never seem to get cleaned up. And there have been more moments of pride for their accomplishments than there have been loads of laundry.

A big piece of me wants to just stay here forever. No. Here's a better plan... how about the Faerbers come home from Tahiti to switch places with me? And then when they're at their end they'll switch with me again. And we'll just keep switching and switching. A week at home with the kids. A week on Tahiti with the sun. Sounds like heaven to me.

Poison

"Poison" is the name of the perfume by Christian Dior that once resided in a fancy purple glass bottle with a clear glass lid. Less than five minutes after our arrival home from church, as I was just starting the mass production of chocolate sandwiches, Fallon, number four of the five children I'll be watching until Friday evening came up to me and handed me Poison. Empty. With the lid gently placed back in position. With a Q-tip inside. She looked up at me as if waiting for a thank you after her discovery. I don't know the worth of the perfume. Or how much was in there. But I do know that her breath smelt like a woman ready for a night of dancing. I panicked. Within five minutes I had killed their little girl. I sent the other kids downstairs and searched for the Ipecac. I couldn't find any. I called my mom. No answer. I called her cell phone. No answer. I called Sandy. She said it was probably fine, to give her milk and to call 911 and talk to Poison Control. I poured Fallon some milk as I called 911.
"911 Emergency. How can I help you?"
"My little girl swallowed some perfume. Could you please connect me to Poison Control?"
"Is she vomiting?"
"No."
"Does she look sick?"
"No."
"Do you want me to send an emergency vehicle to look her over?"
"No. I think she'll be okay. I just want to talk to Poison Control to make sure."
"Okay, I'll connect and when they answer I'll talk first."
"Okay."
"Poison Control. How can I help you?"
"I have a mother on the line who's little girl drank perfume. Go ahead." (She hangs up. I stop for a second to try to understand why it was that she had to talk first to say absolutely nothing I couldn't have said.)
"How old is your little girl?"
"4."
"What did she drink?"
"Poison. It's the name of the perfume she drank ironically enough."
"Well, perfume is alcohol based with a few oils in it. It would just be irritable to their mouth."
"Didn't seem to phase her any."
"Is she in good health normally?"
"No, she has Down syndrome and a bad heart."
"Huh. Okay. Ya, well... she probably won't even throw up. Did you give her some milk?"
"Yes."
"Okay, well she should be fine. If she starts acting funny or getting sick give us a call back."
"I will. Thank you."

And that was my first day on the job. Poison and 911. I'm ready for my bad mommy award...

Really.

Tomorrow morning I leave for Seattle to watch five babies for five days. I'm excited. Really.

Also, I just saw on TV that a new Adam Sandler movie is coming out. I love him. Really.

It's 1am and I haven't packed yet. Mostly because my clothes are still in the dryer and partly because I'm too lazy. Really. Really.

Relax. Just Do It.

I'm getting to that point in the semester where I'm starting to sweat a bit. So I've taken up some new modes of relaxation.

I've started coloring during class. At first I tried to sneak it. Picking only one or two crayons out of my backpack and quietly coloring a page of Mickey and Minnie mouse enjoying a campfire, hidden behind a notebook and my purse. But then a girl asked, "What are you doing that for?" And I had no answer ready so I told her the truth. "Because I like it. It relaxes me. And because I like Mickey Mouse." She watched me color. "Wow, you're right. It's relaxing me just watching you color." I'm a genius. I pulled my box out and proudly added color upon color until Mickey and Minnie were in matching outfits and the night sky had brilliant mixed colors of blue and blue-violet.

I've also taken to a new website I thought of visiting after thinking about how much I missed my friend Heather and how I'd give anything to be in Southern California doing anything but what I'm doing right now. So I went to the San Diego Zoo online. Animals are relaxing. They eat and sleep and don't stress about how many words are in an essay. Then I discovered that not only are there pictures and information about animals but you can actually watch them! As if you're really at the zoo! So I now spend spare moments I find between the hours of 9am and 4pm Pacific Time watching the pandas eating bamboo, the apes swinging between trees, the elephants just walking around and the polar bears playing with whatever they throw in their cage for entertainment.

Also, I've found that almost killing my mother with a quickly developed lie is also relaxing. I have recently inherited five children for five days. I will be watching them during Thanksgiving break while their parents enjoy the blue skies and blue waters of Tahiti. The other night I decided I'd best tell my parents soon to give them time to adjust to the idea. My dad answered, and I told him the new plan. He laughed. Not because he was excited but because he knew I would be murdered by a piercing scream when I told my mother. I heard him creep into his and my mother's bedroom and say, "Linda? Emily's on the phone. She has some shocking news. But it's okay. Everything's okay. The news is just sort of shocking so be ready." I laughed at the introduction and between the three seconds between the end of that intro and the "Hello?" from my mother led me through this thought process..."Wow... this is perfect... he totally set me up... I'll tell her I'm engaged... she'll freak out... no, she'll really like it... then when I take it away she'll be disappointed and as if I'll ever get married and then she'll be even more mad... no, can't use engagement... pregnancy then... yes, i'll tell her i'm pregnant... fornication is funny..." And so I took a deep breath.
"What is it?" she asked.
"Mom... I'm pregnant."
Followed by a quiet, "What?"
"I'm pregnant. I know it's a bit shocking but it's going to be okay."
Almost thirty seconds passed of complete silence and then she laughed, "No you're not!"
I laughed too. Wow, I had her going there. "No, I'm not. But I will have five babies on Thanksgiving."
"No you're not!!"
But I am. And I can't wait! I'll have my coloring pages, my online zoo and my babies. What more does a girl need in her finals survival kit?

My Big Fat Toe

I had to go in for another ingrown toenail surgery today. But it wasn't with the regular doctor I liked. Because my BYU Health Insurance wouldn't cover it. It was at the BYU Health Center. With some guy I didn't trust and who swung his sharp cutting tools around like an overconfident gunslinger about to shoot his own foot. So instead of paying $70 with the guy I like and trust, I spent a $10 co-pay and $37 on medications and powders I'm sure I don't need. I'll also be paying another $10 in two weeks for a check-up that I'm sure I don't need either. So what did I save? About $13 and a trip to SL. What did it cost? My faith in BYU for deciding that students didn't deserve a doctor that's actually gone to medical school, and my feeling of safety when within a mile radius of that place.

Sabbath Day Hauntings

We had thousands of bags of candy to give out last night at the mall. I was dressed up in my pink and black"rock star" get-up. The kids started coming at noon. They were really cute. "Twick-o-Tweat!!" By four-o-clock we were out of candy. I felt too bad turning them down and so we decided to start handing out mis-wraps, mint truffles that had other companies' logos on them. I'm pretty sure we weren't supposed to do that. In fact, we decided never to bring it up again. We handed out about 500 of those. Our supervisor had told us yesterday that if we ran out of candy that we were just supposed to stop and tell them we were out. So at 5-o-clock that's just what I did. I went out and took down our orange "Trick-or-Treating Here" signs. But parents got angry. They came in anyway. We told them we were out of candy. They said, "A candy store out of candy?! What about that right there?" They pointed to our jar of unwrapped mint truffles that we hand out as samples. We told them that they weren't wrapped and we felt that that wouldn't be okay. Isn't that breaking the biggest and oldest Halloween Trick-or-Treating rule? They said to shut up and give their kids the candy. And they want one too! Fine! So we started delving out unwrapped mint truffles. I handed the job over to our new 16-year-old employee. My five our stretch of bending over the counter to hand out candy had to end. I pretended to make caramel apples. We were on our last jar of samples when I heard him. Mr. Nasty. He started yelling at Miss Sixteen. He told her that there was a line and that it was horribly rude to hand out one at a time. He tried to grab the jar from her to spill them on the counter. She pulled away and said she couldn't do that. The candy wasn't wrapped. He started yelling at her saying her method of distribution was too slow (as he was holding up the line by stopping long enough to yell at her.) I snapped. I did. I had dealt with rude parents all night. I told that guy that we were doing all we could. That we had taken down out orange signs hours ago. That we had planned for thousands of children but that we were out and making due with what we had for the children. And that he could take his bad attitude right out of my store. He screamed and yelled. Security came. His kids ran away. I prayed that they would be kidnapped and taken to live with somebody who had a soul.

Halloween

Tomorrow is Halloween at Wasatch Elementary. It's the cutest day of the year and a very important one for every teacher's sanity. At least it is for mine. And I think it has saved many a child's life. Oftentimes when a child is being absurdly annoying or defiant often mutter, "You're lucky you're cute right now!" And it's true. I believe that there are certain children who's lives have been spared just because they're cute. Halloween strengthens this childhood defense. Because during those times that I'm at my end, when I think the only thing left is to scream and run away leaving the situation unsolved, I can picture that child in their Halloween costume and laugh a little thus sparing the child's life and years of therapy for both of us.

Last year there was this little hellion of a child. Only six years old but very defiant, uncooperative and rude. Every day was a struggle. Every thing was a struggle. I was ready to snap. But then came along good ol' Halloween to the rescue. The kid showed up with a home-made frog costume created out of a green sweat suit, foam styrofoam balls for eyes on his green hood and even little green felt frog feet strapped to his feet. He came running out to recess. No, he came hopping out to recess (literally) and I laughed so hard I cried. And from that day forward every time he was just about to make me crazy, I pictured him in that frog costume and it seemed that all was right in the world again.

And so I look forward to tomorrow's festivities when the hundreds of children at Wasatch will dress up and parade around the gym in their costumes. But almost as much, I look forward to being able to dress up. I spent almost an hour tonight in Claire's picking out the perfect accessories to go along with my costume. And since it seems that there will be no other opportunity to dress up this year, I have rise to the occasion tomorrow and get all of my Halloween fever relieved during our half day in the first grade at Wasatch Elementary. And maybe, just maybe, when one of my co-workers or student gets frustrated with me they'll picture me in my Halloween costume, give a little giggle and let it slide.

Table for One

I had another long day. I got out of class at 7pm and left from campus to run some errands. I went to University Mall, bought a stopwatch for class and then realized that I hadn't eaten yet that day. So I wandered into the food court, bought a sandwich and sat down to eat it. I was almost done with my meal when I suddenly snapped out of my own thoughts to look around. There were whole families talking and fighting over fries, couples, groups of friends. And I was sitting alone.

And I didn't care. I looked at my watch. I had to hurry.

I finished my sandwich, picked up my things and continued on with my errands.

I Believe

Yesterday, in the First Grade I was sitting in the back of the classroom hidden by a book case. Fortunately for me the book case didn't block the sound of this conversation between two of the boys in the back row...
Colson: Did you know that Santa Claus is magic?
Jake: Yeah.
C: Cuz he is.
J: I know.
C: No, really. He really is magic.
J: Duh, okay? I know! I even saw him once!
C: No way! Really?
J: Ya, I was asleep on Christmas Eve and Santa Claus climbed through my window because he couldn't get in the house any other way and when he was climbing in my bedroom window he accidentally stepped on my little sister's squeaky toy and it squeaked and it woke me up and I opened my eyes and I saw him! And he looked surprised and scared that I saw him and ran away.
C: WOAH!!! Really?
J: Ya, it was awesome!
C: I can't believe you actually saw the real Santa Claus!
J: I know. It was really cool.
C: Hey, you guys! Everybody! Jake saw the real Santa Claus! He climbed into his bedroom window on Christmas Eve!
Class: Ooh! Aaw! Woah! Cool! Awesome!!

Rah Rah, Ry-Ry!

Today's the Ryster's birthday. The good ol' Buckarama*. And I do mean old. 25. A quarter of a century. Old. I remember when my sister turned 25. And I called her and teased her and made her cry. And she cursed me that one day I too would turn 25. I didn't believe her. But now it's only 2 years away. Okay one year and 2 months. Oh, why did I have to tease her? Why am I cursed to one day become like Ry-Ry? Old. And kind of weird. With imaginable hair. Happy Birthday, Ry-Ry!

*I am not responsible for the contents of this website. It was not thoroughly explored. I pretty much just saw the page that said, "It's not about Buck" and almost died laughing and thought it best to write a blog that would allow me to share it and celebrate the guy's birthday at the same time.

Reassurance

I was running late to work yesterday. Just like most days. Okay. All days. But yesterday I was a bit more late than usual. It's my job to get a little girl off of the school bus in the morning since she can't walk down the steps by herself. I usually make it right before the bus pulls up but yeterday I found myself driving two cars behind the bus which meant I had to really hurry. I pulled into a parking space, grabbed my backpack out of the back seat and made a mad dash towards the parked bus. I was almost there when my backpack suddenly rejected it's load of text books, binders, childrens' reinforcers and trail mix. My water bottle shot off towards the bushes. I took off my backpack and started to pick up my belongings. The bus driver or a peer would help the little girl off the bus. She'd be fine. But I was off to a rough start. But then a little fourth grader who had been playing football with his friends ran over and started helping me pick up.
"Your stuff just fell out?"
"Ya, I guess I didn't zip it up all the way. Thanks for helping."
"No problem. This one time, my cousin gave me his old backpack to use which I thought was really cool until I used it and it had a huge hole in the bottom and all of my stuff dumped out just like yours."
"That stinks."
"Ya, so it's okay. It's really not a big deal. It happens."
I thanked him again for helping me pick up my things and for being so kind and he ran off as quickly as he had come. I smiled. It was cute having a little fourth-grader reassure me. And I wanted to keep him. He could be my little reassurer. That way whenever I did anything stupid he could tell me that it wasn't a big deal and that it could happen to anyone. And whenever I got frustrated he could tell me that I was doing the right thing and could handle it. And when I was pressed for time he could run around and help me pick up the mess I made. And I wouldn't mind keeping him around because he's a cute kid and pretty small so maybe he doesn't eat that much.

Senitheft

Jon Harmon said that I could make up that word senitheft and that it if I said that it meant "stealing from old people" that he would support that. Thanks, Jon. I appreciate that support. You've always been a dear friend to my warped vocabulary.

I chose this title because my parents may very well be senithieves. They've stolen money from me before. They steal money from my little brother and now, I do believe they have moved on to my very old grandmother. The cause for this reasoning are supported by the two following examples.

A) My mother offered me my grandmother's money to pay for school even though I know my grandmother very well and she has never gotten me a gift over the sum of $20. I refused the money trying to prevent senitheft.

B) Today when I was talking to my parents trying to decide whether or not to come home for Thanksgiving, my parents offered to let my grandmother pay for the trip. The conversation went as follows... (the phone went back and forth between my parents)
Em: I don't know if I can afford both holidays. And I have stuff to do down here.
Mom: Do you want to come home for Thanksgiving?
Em: Yes, but I don't want it to break me.
Mom: You should come home.
Em: It would be nice.
Dad: Are you coming home for Thanksgiving?
Em: I don't know if I can afford both holidays. And I have stuff to do down here if I can't come home.
Dad: Do you want to come home for Thanksgiving?
Em: Yes, but not if it'll break me.
Dad: Huh, let me talk to your mom.
Em: okay.
Dad: Your mom says that your grandmother says she'll give you the money for the trip if you want to come hom.
Em: Dad...
Dad: What?
Em: Did she really say that?
Dad: Yes...
Em: Dad? Are you sure?
Dad: Well, mom said she said that.
Em: Are you sure we're not stealing from an old lady?
Dad: (laughs) How about you talk to mom and grandma about that?
Em: Okay.
Mom: What?
Em: Are you sure we're not stealing from grandma?
Mom: Yes! You're grandma really wants you to be with the family for Thanksgiving.
Em: Are you sure?
Mom: Want me to ask her again?
Em: Yes.
Mom: (shouts to grandma) Mom? Do you want Emily to come home for Thanksgiving?
Grandma in the background: What?
Mom: Do you want Emily to come home for Thanksgiving?
Grandma: Ya... sure... whatever...
Mom: (to me) Your grandma says she really wants you to come home.
Em: But you didn't mention her paying for it. Does she know that her money's been offered?
Mom: YES! Gosh! (to grandma) Are you willing to help Emily pay for her trip home so she can be with the family for Thanksgiving?
Grandma: Uh...
Mom: So that she can come home and the whole family can be here?
Grandma: Fine! Give her the money!
Mom: (to me) Your grandma says that she really wants you to come home and that she's happy to give you the money.
Em: Huh. It didn't sound like that to me. I have enough in my account right now to cover it so how about I pay for the trip myself and if later I can't afford groceries then I'll call and grandma can help me buy some food. But I think I'll be okay.
Mom: Ya, okay. That'll work.
Grandma from the background: Does she want the money or not? You need me to write a check right now?
Mom: No, I think Emily's going to try and do it herself.
Grandma: Oh, alright...

I may have prevented senitheft this time but I can't always be there to prevent it and now I'm a really poor white girl. D'oh! It's a good thing Seattle is gorgeous. Like Kat.

Drunk and Dialing

My sister called me tonight. My sister hardly ever calls me. So I answered it. She asked me what I was doing. I told her. She asked me again. I told her again. There wasn't anything wrong with the connection. Nope, she was "drunk and dialing." She said that she was just hanging out with the guy she married and decided to get drunk and dial. It's a fun game she plays. See, my sister is much more relaxed and honest when she's drunk. And much slower. She actually has a list of people she calls when she's drunk. And I am now on that list. "Aren't you glad that you're on my drunk and dialing list? See, I'm not like mom and dad who only calls you because they're worried about something. I call because I want to know what you're up to." In all honesty I am glad to be on her drunk and dialing list. Not only is my sister more relaxed and honest and nice, so am I. It was a pleasant conversation, but it's still just a drinking game. Sounds like a quality FHE activity to me!

Female Rage

I was listening to my Female Rage CD today in my car. It's a beautiful outlet that I had almost forgotten about. On my way home I rolled down my window, turned it up and started singing the angry girl songs and thinking to myself, "All men are..." when I looked over at the car to my right and saw him. A nasty older white man in a beat up truck with greasy red hair and an even greasier red mustache. He winked at me and kissed his lips at me and did the upward head nod thing. I turned back to face the front, clenched my steering wheel and sang louder.

Gah!

I sat in the same seat for three hours today. The same seat. There was no moving. I sat there through Sacrament Meeting and Sunday School and Relief Society. My attention span isn't long enough for that. My body can't sit still that long. And so, in Relief Society, when I was less than one hour away from freedom at 5pm and my Relief Society President informed us that there was a Stake Leadership meeting at 6pm and then named off my calling as one that was required to go, my filter was temporarily out of order and I let out an exasperated, "Gah!" I said the quiet part loud. Oops. I thought that maybe nobody heard but the girl in front of me was laughing so hard that she was crying. She looked back at me and through her tears and laughter she said, "I love you!" I don't know that girl's name. But I love her back.

I have to go to that meeting now...

No Time to Say "Hello!" Goodbye! I'm late, I'm late, I'm late!

I did some calculations the other day. I'm working about 45 hours a week. I'm taking ten credit hours at BYU and putting in around another twelve hours a week in homework.

45
10
12
--
67 hours

This leaves exactly no time for things I want to do, like play with my friends. But I tend to do a bit of that anyway. Which is why I dipped into my sleep time. Which is why I'm always tired. And grumpy. Which will eventually lead me to having no friends. Which will allow me to get more sleep. Which will make me happy and cheerful again (maybe). Which just might cause me to make more friends whom I will play with instead of sleep...

Anyway, my point is, this morning I woke up grumpy and overwhelmed at the thought of all the things I didn't get done this weekend and I just wanted to go home. Or at least just lay there. Uninterrupted. All day. And just as I began to play with the thought my cell phone rang. It was my Relief Society President. Calling to remind me about the Board Meeting at 5pm (which I had conveniently forgotten) and to also tell me that I'm supposed to go to Ward Correlation at 12:45 (and every 3rd Sunday from now on). So I might as well fill the 1:45 - 5pm gap with church. Fine! Fine! I'll go! I'll go to all your meetings and classes. I'll go to work. I'll Visit Teach. I'll magnify my calling and care about the girls and remember their birthdays and call them to ask why they weren't at church. I'll do my homework and take those tests. I'll go to FHE and call my parents. I'll run my errands and pay my bills. I'll find time for my friends and for play. I'll do it! But I get to eat whatever I want and it can't snow!!! Those are my terms.

Out of the Tent

I have the internet now. In my own apartment. And cable too. Which takes away the camp-like atmosphere and the continuous desire to make S'mores and sing campfire songs. And I've missed my Blog. Sometimes things happen that totally stink but before you can get too mad you realize it's going to make a really entertaining blog and suddenly it doesn't seem so bad. Or, on the contrary, something great happens and being able to publish it on the web to really rub it in makes it all the better. Or sometimes you do something cool or embarrasing but there were no witnesses to your experience and writing it down and putting it up on the web for everybody to read seems like the only way to make an experience like that as entertaining as it was meant to be. Well, my friends, I'm not going to lie to you. You've missed a lot of cool stories while I was being kept hostage in my prehistoric cave and there really isn't time to go back and tell each one. So just laugh a little, cry a little, get a bit frustrated, eat some chocolate, feel stressed and eat a s'more on my behalf for the past few weeks...

My Sister's Wedding

Today was the big day. After rehearsal last night, my sister and I drove back to her place and promptly fell asleep. We woke up early this morning, around 7am and began our wedding day adventure which included losing my dress, finding it a half hour later, driving to a small Costco-like place to buy plastic shot glasses, setting up the reception hall, going to her hair appointment and to her make-up appointment, then hurrying to get ready myself before pictures.

I was the Maid of Honor and as I stood there next to my sister as she got married, I tried my best to hold back the tears. She was beautiful. And I really do like David. His love for her was written in his eyes and it was just the reassurance that I needed that this was, in fact, the right thing to do.

Then my eyes glazed over the audience and I realized that I only knew a very small percentage of those in attendance. A handful of family members and about five people from our home ward. That was it. The rest of them were friends from college or work, or people that David knew (including one not-so-attractive SheMan). My sister and I lead completely different lives. This statement was solidified by the presence of three kegs of beer, an open and overflowing bar, disco lights, smoke and 80's music. Our weddings will be as different as our life perspectives. Mine will be a small and quiet ceremony in the temple, the reception will be simple but tactful and maybe even a bit elegant but there certainly will be no strong liquor, no kegs and not even a hint of wine. When I was feeling uncomfortable holding some guy's beer as he hunted for matches, trying to think of new ways to say no to the countless drinks that were offered to me and trying to understand why having three guys holding up upside down over the top of the keg was supposed to make drinking more entertaining, my sister and her husband will be bored out of their mind at my reception.

Tonight, I was only a guest in her life. I was given a one-day-only pass into friendship with my sister. And I loved every minute of it. We're so different and yet so much the same.

As a side note, this whole experience has allowed me to discover a new talent. A reception hall full of drunk people think I'm freaking hillarious when I give Maid of Honor toasts. Seriously, folks... I was a hit!

Another side note, a drunk man who can barely stay on the road can find his way home better than me. Why do I know this? Because I had to follow his home.

It's Been Eight Days Since My Last Confession

It's been eight days since I've last written a blog. And so I write eight confessions.

1. In the past three weeks the longest block of sleep I've had is almost seven hours. I am tired.
2. I have already written this blog but it didn't post and now I'm trying to remember what it is that I wrote last time and debating whether it's even worth reposting.
3. I have moved to a new apartment in Provo. And by "moved" I mean that all of my belongings are scattered about the place in no particular order.
4. I drove from Provo to Renton in a little less than fifteen hours. This included over an hour that was wasted looking for a car charger for my brother's cell phone, the traffic in Salt Lake, the traffic in Boise, the four one-lane construction backups and the at least seven stops to satisfy stomaches, bladders and gas tanks. Can we guess how fast we were going when the freeway was clear?
5. Being viciously cut-off by a large semi just in time to be stuck behind him during a very large stretch of road that allowed only one lane of traffic made me think of words my grandmother taught me while playing poker. Then being stuck behind this same semi for almost an hour as he went 45 in a 65 made me grateful my two Deaf passengers never heard what was muttered.
6. My sister gets married in three days and I still need shoes, a hair appointment and a Maid of Honor speech.
7. A recent requirement for me to swallow my pride was more painful than my weeklong struggle with my kidney stone.
8. I miss my Villa friends!!

I confess.

Seventeen

I'm trying to remember what it was like to be seventeen. When I was seventeen I remember thinking that my parents had no idea what it was like even though they claimed they knew exactly what it was like and therefore understood exactly what I was going through. They kept saying, "Hey! I was seventeen once too you know!" I was seventeen once. And I'm only twenty-three now. And already I can't remember what it was like exactly to be seventeen. I realize even more fully now that my parents were full of crap. I'm at a loss of how the seventeen-year-old mind works. I'm at an even greater loss of how the seventeen-year-old male mind works. And so, how is it that I'm supposed to entertain two seventeen-year-old boys? How can I be sure that I'm the coolest big sister that ever existed? How can I make them open up to me and tell me the gory details of their seventeen-year-old existance? How can I be sure that they're making right decisions at home and with their friends? How can I be sure? Oh, gosh. I am so not ready to be a parent! But I'm not. Phew! So maybe we'll stick to Seven Peaks, the mall, Lagoon and making stupid jokes. What else can you do?

Sleeping with the Light On

Most people that know me, know that I'm a huge pansy. Especially when it comes to the cinema. I have a weak stomache for violence. And by a weak stomache, I mean that I get nightmares. Horrible nightmares. And it's not only violence. As a child I was even scared of E.T. (I just didn't trust him. You shouldn't let something that can move his head up and down like that, and can make his finger and belly glow into your house. If those guys in the scary white suits are willing to break into your house to save you from him then maybe you should hand the freaky thing over. And when he left, I wasn't relieved. I just thought he was leaving to get his friends together before coming back to finally turn that glowy finger against us.) And Jurassic Park. Just the idea that somebody could get hurt throws me over the edge. I just can't handle it.

But every once in a while, out of curiosity, I'll gather my bravery and see a scary movie. Alfred Hitchcock made me curious and I've watched several of his films. They gave me nightmares but his movies were pretty and more suspenseful and creepy than violent. And now Mr. Shyamalan evokes that same curiosity. Out of prodding and promises from friends that they'll warn me so I'll never see blood, I have seen The Sixth Sense, Signs, and Unbreakable. And although the first two were scary enough to give me nightmares, I decided to go see The Village.

I spent half of the movie whimpering in Kat's lap. And the first ten minutes home searching all the dark corners of our apartment. And almost two hours watching happy, funny television in hopes that those things would be in my dreams instead of the few scenes I had actually looked up to see between my fingers that were over my eyes during the movie. But even with that "Happy Bedtime Prep" I still had to sleep with my lights on. I had to do what I've done for years when I was too scared to sleep. I went to my happy place. I pictured myself waiting in line at Splash Mountain, getting into the log, wandering through the ride, listening to the happy music, going down the big waterfall and laughing through the splashes and then getting off and moving on to another ride until I fall asleep smiling. I can usually do that and be happy even in the dark. But not last night. Last night I had to sleep with the light on.

Another Piece of Plastic

Today I got another piece of plastic to add to my ever growing collection of plastic cards in my wallet. Each one reminding me of my ever growing responsibilities as an adult every time I open it up. There's the debit card, the credit card, the student ID (reminding me about tuition. d'oh!), my phone card, my Smith's card and now... my Costco card.

The Costco card was a gift from my parents so all I had to do was go up to the membership desk, give them an address and business name, pose for a quick picture and wait for them to hand me my year-long pass into this Grownup Disneyland.

I wandered in and out of the isles looking at all the wonderful things this warehouse had in store for me. If I had money. I tried to think of something I needed. But everything I thought of didn't require so much of it that buying it in bulk was necessary. I watched mothers wrestle their children back into their carts and hiss the word NO with such force that even I was tempted to put the few items I had picked up back on the shelf.

I wandered over to the Costco optometrist who with one quick movement fixed the glasses that had been hanging on my face crookedly since Christmas when my brother sat on them. And she fixed them for free. And gave me a big smile.

I ate a whole meal at their little food nook for $1.91.

On my way out, I filled my gas tank up with Costco gas for $1.79/gallon. Quite the steal!

Yes, yes... I think I like my new Costco life. Even though I feel like I've been playing dress-up all morning. Just pretending to be an adult for a little while. But every time I open my wallet, there they are. The shiny plastic cards of reality.

Binge Drinking

I went on a five-day drinking frenzy. I drank gallons upon gallons of water. Why? To pass a 2.1mm Kidney Stone.

It all started early Monday morning when a sharp pain woke me up around 5:45am. Yes, my kidney woke me up at 5:45 am on a day that I didn't have to be to work until 1pm. So already my kidney had declared war.

I writhed in pain on my living room floor armed with a water bottle, my cell phone, a big bowl and some tears. I thought it'd go away. It didn't. I feared appendicitis and so I did the mature thing to do. I called my dad. I woke him up at 5am Seattle time. I cried and in choppy language told him the problem. He told me to wake up Kat. I hung up and called for Kat.

We called Anna, our nurse next door. She poked me and told me that she thought it was kidney stones. Kat and Anna told me I had to go to the ER.

I have a phobia of hospitals, doctors and needles. I had been in this particular ER several times before but this would be the first time I'd be going in for me.

It took two nurses and four stab wounds before they were finally able to get an IV into the crook in my left elbow. I didn't think anything was worth an IV. Morphine made it worth it. And that stuff they gave me to take away my nausea made it worth it. And the extra morphine they gave me made it worth it too. I spent most of the 5 hours I was in the hospital asleep. But when I was awake I used sarcasm for my self-defense.

A few fun moments in the ER:
Number One
doctor: It's probably kidney stones.
nurse: All the women I've talked to who have been through child birth and have had kidney stones all say that kidney stones are more painful.
me: Thanks. That helps.
nurse: (blank stare)
me: It doesn't seem fair. I mean, at least the pains of child birth are rewarded with a cute baby. Kat, after I pass this kidney stone, can we get a puppy? It only seems right.

Number Two
nurse: Oh, my. Have you been given anything for your nausea yet?
me: I have this bucket. (I point to the bowl I brought from home.)
nurse: (laughs) No, I mean medicine. Have they put anything in your IV to make your nausea go away?
me: You can do that?? Bring it.

They said it would take a few hours to a few days to pass the stone, told me a drink a lot of water and said that pain killers would be my best friend. Comforting words.

I went home, drank and drank until our tap begged for mercy, and writhed in pain for three days until Thursday when I went in for a CT scan. It gave us three pieces of vital information. 1) The stone is 2.1mm in size. Just small enough for me to pass on my own. 2) It was stuck on my hip bone and would need a lot more water and time to help it on it's journey. 3) It had friends.

Good news: Today I felt a lot better after around 11am. I was able to eat a salad and two pieces of garlic bread in one sitting. I only had to take pain medicine three times. I was able to sit up more than lie down. I was able to sleep comfortably for the first time since Saturday night.

Benefits of week-long war with kidneys: I now know the ins and outs of daytime television. Bishop said I passed the Mom Test. I now know that I'm not allergic to Lortab or Morphine. I know all about the urinary tract. I know that I can depend on my friends, my ward and my bishop. I also now know that I can survive the at least three others that are on their way...

But where's my puppy??

Home Sick
 
I can only remember being "homesick" three times in my life. 
1)  The first time was when I moved a thousand miles away from the only home I'd ever known to go to college.  But it wasn't the typical freshman homesickness.  I didn't miss my family, really.  I didn't yearn to be within those walls.  I didn't miss my bed.  I didn't miss those chats with mom.  I had never really had that anyway.  I missed my friends.  My home ward.  The kids I babysat.  My youth leaders.  That was the "home" I missed so much that I didn't eat for the first three months of college life. 
2)  The second time I was "homesick" was the fall of my Junior year of college.  I had spent the summer living in the Faerbers' basement and had spent almost every night rocking their precious baby to sleep.  There was almost always at least one extra little body in my bed.  There was always a cute face, a cute remark and childish games to play.  There was a safe place to come home to every night.  And I ate up the luxury of always having Julie to talk to.  Even though I knew they weren't my family and that it wasn't my real home, it was nice to pretend for a while.  And leaving was hard.  I still remember looking in on each of the four children as they slept, kissing them goodbye and then being grateful that Julie hadn't woken up to say goodbye to me so that she didn't have to witness my shameless tears as I wheeled my luggage out of their front door.  I cried myself to sleep for three weeks missing my dear friend and her beautiful babies.
3)  The third, and most recent time I felt that same heavy feeling of homesickness was Tuesday night as I drove off after dropping Shelby off at the resort in Park City.  We had spent over 24 hours together but it still didn't seem like enough time.  She had slept over at my place.  She went to work with me and I introduced her to my co-workers and students as my niece.  And I didn't feel like I was lying.  And we went to McDonalds and went swimming and got ice cream and went to the park and watched a movie and ate Taco Bell and played dress-up and sang Disney songs together until she fell asleep in the front seat of my car as I wound in and out through the curvy canyon roads on the way to Park City.  And I found myself again looking down on the now five Faerber children as they slept and kissing them goodbye and not being able to hold back the tears as I drove away and slid through the canyon roads and being so grateful for the time I was able to spend with them and hoping so much that they knew how much I loved them.  But missing them so much already that even though it was 2am when I got home and I was tired from playing hard, I still tossed and turned for hours before finally falling asleep.  And only found comfort in knowing that I could still call Julie.  And that I would be in WA again next month for another Faerber fix.  And understanding that sicknesses come and go with the seasons but relationships with people you love can survive any type of weather. 

I just feel a little home sick... and hungry.  Mostly hungry.

Chocolate and Shrek
 
So I started my first day at the little chocolate shop.  I loved it!  I'm pretty sure I was trained by an eighteen year old.  She would intermittingly stop to comment on a cute guy that she sees walk by every day, on the creepy guy that works at some chicken restaurant in the mall, about the things in the store she has broken, eaten or given away and about how she only got this job because her sister is the supervisor.  My co-worker was funny.  But the customers were hillarious. 
Customer:  How much is this?
Me:  $9.00.  There's a tag right there in front of it.
Customer:  Oh, how much is this?
Me:  $12.95/lb.  It's right there on the tag
Customer:  Alright.  How much is this?
 
Customer:  (In rude tone) How much is this?
Me:  $12.95/lb.  $13.50 if you want it in a box.
Customer:  Well, how many chocolates is that?
Me:  24
Customer:  And why is the box more?  Is there something special about the box?  Can I eat the box?
Me:  No (but I do have a few ideas about what you can do with that box...)
 
And then I came home.  And I went to the "pool" party at the Villa.  Except the pool was full of acid and could not be swum in.  But I went inside and they were watching Shrek on the big screen.  I saw my Chris on the couch facing the screen so I walked over to him, put my hands on his shoulders, massaged a bit, then leaned down and asked, "So... how you doin'?"  And then he leaned up to where our faces were almost touching to say he was good.  Except at that moment we both realized that we didn't know eachother.  So I said, "Oh, good."  And then walked away to find Kat who informed me that Chris was at the movies with Leah.  Information that would have been helpful to me five minutes ago!  How many times do I have to make mistakes like this before I start making people show me ID before I say hello to them?

Brave Little Me

I've had to make a lot of decisions lately. Big decisions. But this last weekend I finally made them. I really did. And so last night, as I was lying in bed getting comfortable for a night's sleep, I didn't thrash or stay up half the night worrying about what I was going to do. Because I already knew. I wasn't worrying about the consequences of my decisions because I knew I had made the right ones. I thought for a moment about how brave I was for making the decisions I did, about how many fears I had faced and about how good it felt to be in control of my own life. Brave little me. An independent adult. I thought about these things. But just for a moment, because I was already drifting off into a blissful slumber.

But suddenly a loud noise made all my relaxed muscles recoil into a tight ball of panic. It sounded like a gunshot. And my first instinct was to run out of my room and crawl into bed with Kat. And I would have, too. If I hadn't had been too scared to move. But I was. And lucky for me, my senses started working before my limbs. It wasn't a gunshot. It was probably just a random firecracker. Another one went off a few minutes later and I heard the distinct difference. I relaxed again and laughed at myself. I'm the Diet Coke of Brave. Just one calorie. Not brave enough.

Travel bLog
July 9-10, 2004
Renton, WA - Provo, UT

Faerbers' full Suburban loaded with two weeks' worth of family supplies, my luggage, three adults and five children (10, 8, 6, 4 and 2) and two glorious screens hooked up to a life-saving DVD player

Pacific Time
5:00pm - Faerbers pick me up from my parents' home.
6:00pm - Left tire place with freshly rotated tires and headed towards freeway.
7:15pm - Five children realize we're going to be in the Suburban all night and find it necessary to set up "beds" right away. Arguing begins.
7:20pm - Two babies sit calmly. Older three go into meltdown. Oldest boy throws tantrum for being stuck between the two "savages."
7:45pm - It becomes calm again after promises of beatings if Dad has to pull the car over.
9:00pm - Start of 45 minute stop at Walmart in Pendleton for diapers, potty, seating switch and directions. (Note = We had been taking the wrong freeway.)
11:00pm - McDonald/Subway stop for late dinner.
12:45am - "She's touching me" meltdowns start up again. Parents turn the TV off as children complain and demands that they all go to sleep.
1:30 - 3:30am - My turn to drive. Not much to see. Radio on quietly so as not to disturb the sleeping chilren.
3:30 - 5:30am - My turn to sleep. Beautiful.
4:30am - Baby Dalton wakes up.
7:00am - Other children start to wake up.
8:25am - Fallon throws up. I begin the wipee clean-up as neighboring children recoil in horror.
8:30 10:00am - McDonalds stop for clean-up, breakfast and a chance to let the children run.
11:15am - Stop in Lehi to switch drivers.
11:30am - I drive us into Provo! I get my stuff out of the car. Children discover that I have a pool.
12:00pm - We all go swimming.
1:30pm - Faerbers leave for Park City.

Trips' Featured Films:
Spy Kids
Some twisted form of Thumbelina
Barbie Nutcracker
Bugs Life
Cody Banks

Mountain Time
5:30 - 7:30pm - Take a nap. Wake up not knowing what day it is or whether it's morning or night.
8:30pm - Kat, Lisa, Ann-Marie and I go to Panda Express for some dinner.
9:00pm - Watch "Miss Congeniality"
10:45pm - Go to bed. Sleep for 8.5 hours.

I loved the trip with my good friends and favorite kids! And yet, it's so good to be home!

Direction

It turns out that I have no sense of direction. My friends Sandy and Julie say that I couldn't find my way out of a paper bag. I told Caroline's dad that barnyard animals have a better sense of direction than me. He promptly told me that since barnyard animals actually do have a very finely tuned sense of direction, that they most definitely had a better sense of direction than me. But more than anybody, my dad knows that I'm stupid when it comes to me trying to figure out how to get from point A to point B. And so I sat down with him last night to plot my trip from my parents' Renton home to Pier 59 in Seattle where the Seattle Aquarium is located. We realized that there were two routes I could take. One appeared to be a bit quicker so I chose that one. I'd get on I-405, merge onto N I-5 and get off on Madison. Cake. It wasn't my usual Seattle route (I-405 onto I-90) but it seemed simple enough and I was familiar with I-5. But apparantly not familiar enough. We got to the merger for I-5 and I directed my mother to head north but the sign for I-5 south said that it was headed for Seattle. I called my dad.
"Where are you?"
"We just got off I-405 and got onto I-5 N. Is that right?"
"What?"
"We took I-405 to I-5 N."
"No, tell me in places. What did you just pass?"
"Paine Field."
"You mean Boeing Field."
"No, Paine Field."
"Boeing."
"Dad, I know where I am and I'm telling you we just passed Paine Field!"
"Are you telling me that you're in Everett??"
"YES!"
"How did you get there??"
"We took I-405 to I-5 N!!"
"You did what??"
"Aaggh!! We got onto I-405 and merged onto I-5 NORTH!"
"Woah! You're way off!"
"This is what you told me to do!"
"No..."
"YES! You said that I could either take I-90 or I-5 N."
"Yes... but certainly you know that you have to go south past Southcenter and get on I-5 N there in order for that to work. I mean, you lived here for 18 years!"
"What in our history together would make you believe that I would know something like that??"
"Hehehe. You do tend to get lost a lot."
"Grrrr. Just help me get out of here!"

We turned around and got to the aquarium without the excess "help" from my father. And it was a lovely day, too. With petting ponds, sea otters, seals and five Faerber children. "I love Seattle in the springtime..." or summer.

Baking and Bonding

I saw my mother for the first time since Christmas on Sunday afternoon when I walked into Sacrament and sat down in her pew. I smiled the most genuine smile I could muster and she smiled back. It caught me off guard so I did a double take. When I did, my eye caught hers and I saw sincerity. And every moment since has been a pleasant one with my mother. I spent most of the evening with her yesterday. We went grocery shopping together so I could gather the ingredients I would need to make supper and she was delightful.

For dinner I made baked chicken, twice-baked potatoes and corn-on-the-cob. For dessert I made my dad's cheesecake. She was kind to me and talked to me and even helped out a little. She thanked me, complimented me and asked if I would play some games with her. I did. I had no reason to run away. When I decided it was time to go back to the Faerbers, she put on her shoes and drove me over there without complaint or guilt trip.

I don't know what's happening or how to respond. But I like it.

Ferries and Fires

The Lunsfords were all together for the holidays at their cabin on ">Lopez Island. I arrived in Seattle at noon. Left the airport around 12:45, got to church a little after 1pm, stayed for Sacrament meeting, hopped in the van and drove up to Anacortes to catch the ferry. An hour or so later I was in the cabin with my pseudo family. And I was happy. I went kayaking around the island. And I was happier. They fed me salmon and twice-baked potatoes. And I was even happier. We all loaded into our trucks, cars and vans and headed over to the part of the island where they'd be setting off fireworks. We put out our blankets and chairs and settled in for the show. The show began with a few fancy fireworks but within the first couple minutes of the show, the fireworks became just fire! It was the second year in a row that this had happened and so we joined the others, packed up our things and headed back to our cabin. We set off a few of our own fireworks on the beach. And I was happy. The next morning we got up early to catch the 8:50am ferry back to Anacortes. They were letting 90 cars on. I was car number 185. The next ferry came around noon. They let 94 cars on. The next ferry was supposed to come at 2pm. But it didn't. Because some guy flipped his car in reverse instead of drive back in Anacortes and backed up the ferries for a while. I was dealing with ferries for 7.5 hours. But I had a van full of my pseudo relatives. So I was happy.

Why, Why, Why?

Yesterday I ate a Taco Bell Bean Burrito, Soft Taco, Mountain Dew LiveWire Slurpee, a bite of Kat's Kara's Mint Chocolate Truffle Bar and a chocolate/vanilla swirl dipped ice cream cone.

Can somebody explain to me why I was up until almost 3am with a stomache ache?

And why, why, why the next door Provo High School band would decide that 7:30am would be the perfect time for practice? Why?

The High/Low Game

Liz would occasionally have us play the High/Low Game. At the end of the day we'd tell eachother the lowest point of our day followed by the highest point of our day. Here's my high/low for yesterday...

Low...
Almost getting in a fist fight with a nine-year-old.

High... (It's a toss up between...)
Taco Bell lunch and
Softball Practice

WAIT! NO! I changed my mind.

My High Point was...
Seeing Chris in his Spiderman costume!

It doesn't get much better than that.

Mac and Cheese

I do not like Mac and Cheese. It's true. There was a time, of course, when I did. When I would beg my parents for it. Dream of it. At least, I'm assuming there was a time like that. I can't remember. All I can remember is mounds and mounds of Mac and Cheese. We were poor and Mac and Cheese was cheap. So we ate Mac and Cheese. A lot. Mac and Cheese with tuna. Mac and Cheese with Cream of Chicken. Mac and Cheese with extra cheese. Mac and Cheese with tuna and extra cheese. Mac and Cheese with tuna and Cream of Chicken. Mac and Cheese with Cream of Chicken and extra cheese. And on special occasions, Mac and Cheese with tuna, Cream of Chicken and extra cheese. Oh, I do not like Mac and Cheese.

When I went away for college my parents bought me a present. A giant case of Mac and Cheese from Costco. I didn't eat that year. I had had enough of Mac and Cheese.

My Life

My life gets weirder and weirder every day. Maybe Liz is right and I get weirder and weirder every day. But whether the egg or the chicken came first, they both happily coexist. Let's take Friday for example.

Ring! Ring!

I rolled over in my bed to look at my clock. It was well after 9am. Embarrassed about sleeping in so late I sat up, gave a few throat-clearing "ahems" and answered the phone.

"Hello?"
"Hi, Em?"
"Ya..." I tried to sound cheerful and awake.
"This is Chris and I was just wondering if you would rub aloe on my back."
"What?"
"Ya, my roommates usually do it but apparantly they caught on because they're all gone. If I come over, will you do it?"
"Uh... of course. Come on over."

Did Chris really just randomly call me up to ask if I would rub aloe on his back or am I still dreaming? I'd better get up and look presentable (a.k.a. wipe the dried drool off my face) before he gets here.
Was it a dream? No. He came over with his aloe and I rubbed it on for him to try to prevent peeling. My work here is done.

A few hours later...

Ring! Ring!

"Hello?"
"Hi, Em?" It was Chris.
"Ya..."
"Would it be possible for you to take me to Gunnies so that I can buy a cowboy hat?"
"Right now?"
"Ya... we're leaving for the rodeo."
"Well, I'm taking Ann-Marie on some errands... I suppose we could stop at Gunnies..."
"Great!"

A few hours later... on the way to Gunnies... with Ann-Marie, Chris and Duard...

"Thanks a lot for taking me to Gunnies. I just really want a hat for the rodeo."
"No problem."
"Ya, I already have my cowboy shirt. So all I need to get now is a hat, a big belt buckle and a Spiderman costume."
"What??"
"Huh?"
"What do you need a Spiderman costume for? Do you own any normal clothes?"
"Hehehe... well, I'm taking a date to see Spiderman 2 next weekend and we're going to dress up."
"That's a great idea! I think that every Saturday our ward should go to the dollar theater and dress up as characters."
"Yes!!"

Maybe it's just my life with Chris that gets weirder and weirder. No, that can't be it.

Entertaining Two Teenage Deaf Boys for Ten Days

My seventeen-year-old brother and his little friend, Chris, are both coming down to visit me in August. I told them they could come for a week. They added on an extra weekend without letting me know beforehand. I still feel good about it. My mom called today in a bit of a frenzy (a bit early in the game for a frenzy but I'm willing to work with it) because she didn't know how much money she should tell Chris' mom to give him. She wanted to know in detailed form what kind of activities we would do and how much it would cost. She told me to keep in mind that the boys get bored easily and that I should plan on a lot of activities. This is what I sent to my parents...

Lagoon
$31.95 + tax
(Parking is $7)

Seven Peaks
$18.50 + tax
(Parking is $2)

BYU Bowling (please have the boys bring their own shoes)
Mon - Thurs before 5
$2.40/game
Mon - Thurs after 5
$2.70/game
Fri - Sat before 5
$2.65/game
Fri - Sat after 5
$2.95/game

Nicklecade
$2.25 admission fee
$0.05 for each game

Movie Theater (There's a Deaf Night 2x/wk at a local theater with CC)
$4.50 before 5pm
$7.50 after 5pm

Spending Ten Days With My Baby Boys?
Priceless

That comes to a little over $70 for these activites (if we played four games of bowling before 5pm on a weekday, brought $5 of nickles for the nicklecade, went one time to each park and to one matinee movie). Which I'm guessing will be enough to entertain them for 2.5 days. :o) Also, please keep in mind that they are capable of eating more food than I eat in a year. Asking me to pay for their appetite is like asking me to pay to solve world hunger. (a.k.a. Please send money for food.)

Hurray for time with the baby boy! The Big Sister Taxi will be leaving daily for new adventures. You may call apartment 65 or my cell phone to make reservations to join the Sista Summer Club. (Brothas welcome.)

Needles, Knives and Dr. Mario

I hate doctors. I really do. Except for Dr. Mario who I've found a new fondness for. But perhaps that's because I know that he's not going to jump out of the machine with needles and knives and just start hacking away. With Dr. Mario I know that I'll leave in one piece and without any bad news. But tomorrow I'm going to see Dr. Brown. And he and Dr. Mario are on two very different playing fields. Dr. Brown is a very nice man but I'll be paying him to cut my foot open and fix yet another ingrown toenail. That means we can't be friends. Sad, but true. I'm terrified. Just the thought makes me sick to my stomach and induces all sorts of irrational fears. What if the numbing stuff never wears off and I never feel my foot again? What if he slices wrong and he cuts off a toe? What if I accidentally look down and see blood? Or a needle? Or a knife? Or Dr. Brown with the blood, needle and knife? Or what if my mom is involved somehow and instead of fixing my toe he just removes my whole leg? Oh, dear. Oh, dear. It's going to be hard to keep my cool. It's going to be hard for me to not cry or have a panic attack or sing my comfort songs only in my head. Maybe I'll find my happy place and win Dr. Mario over and over again in my head... Dr. Mario, HELP!!

She Whines

My thumb nail is falling off and the process is disgusting.
But also kind of cool.
I think I may have applied to the wrong program.
Oops.
Transitions are hard.
Really hard.
I think I may go "home" for a few days in July.
Am I stupid?
My parents don't want to see me.
There's a shocker.
My parents do want me to support them financially.
Seriously. What the crap?
My sister still hasn't called.
The Maid of Honor needs some info.
My brother still hasn't responded to my messages.
I'm supposed to be his favorite.
I'm a social reject.
Obviously.
I have a headache.
Again.
I need another job.
Po' white girl.
I'm kind of hungry.
Taco Bell withdrawels.
But at least my mom's not as fat as your mom.
Phew! That was a close one!

Work Free

I don't have to work tomorrow/today. Yep, I've got Fridays off. It's a beautiful thing and the only reason that I've decided to give up my original in-bed-by-eleven plan and fight it out with my laptop instead. I've won the battle... but I hold out little hope for the war. My computer hates me. I'm guessing that it senses it's own guilt-gift status coupled with disappointment that it will never see a graduate level class. I occasionally tell it to suck it up and point at it with disdain, threatening to sell it to some sucker and buy new clothes instead. There are other times that I try being the good cop and attempt to convince it that it still has value even though I really only use it to write meaningless blogs like this one, read/send email and watch Strongbad kick Homestar. Over and over. Important stuff. I've decided that my patience with this machine makes me some kind of hero since I have not yet taken it to the third floor and chucked it down onto the sidewalk below. A vision that brings joy to my heart and has brought me comfort in the last couple of weeks that this stubborn beast has refused to turn on at all. Furthermore, I have also decided that one day, when I have enough money to buy a new computer and eat in the same month, that I will find that Dell intern
(in his prison cell) and punish him further by giving him this computer as his only means of entertainment. Until he dies.

She Works Hard for the Money

So I started a new job. I'm in the "Tadpoles" class at Adventure Time. "Tadpoles" is code for eight children under the age of two. I love babies. A lot. But I can't help but feel aweful whenever I'm in that place. Some of those babies are in this daycare from 7:30am until 6:30pm. Every time they do something cute or funny I can't help but feel bad that their parents are missing it. Or at least somebody that will be a part of their lives for more than a few months. It's a good daycare. The people are nice and the place is clean. There are lesson plans and activities. But I still don't like being a part of it. But do you know what the worst part is? It's not the eight children under the age of two in a small classroom. Or the eight tiny behinds that need to be changed every ten minutes. Or having to clean up the mess after lunch and snack. Or the constant battle to keep little Jaeman out of the trash. No, no. I can handle that. The one thing that drives me up the wall are the other adults in the room that feel it necessary to take their voices up two octaves while talking. Because, obviously, we want the children to learn and mimick us and that can only be done in very high squeaky voices because everybody knows that small children can only hear sounds that are usually only picked up by dogs. It's like the people that just speak louder and slower when confronted by a person that doesn't speak English. The volume and speed isn't the problem, buddy. It's the content. And the face you make when you talk that slow...

August 21

My sister's getting married.

Dude, Where's My Car?

Sunday Afternoon
Villa Parking Lot

Chris, Ann-Marie and I walk out to the parking lot to attend the Deaf Ward. I lead the group to the spot where I always park my car. Except... it's not there. "What the crap? Where's my car?"
Thinking that maybe I'm just an idiot and parked my car some place else in the lot, we started wandering around looking for it. But it wasn't there. I thought that maybe somebody was just playing a prank on me and moved it. I mean, I did steal Ramos' car last year. A couple times. And moved it to make him crazy. I had it coming. So we looked around the entire Villa parking lot. No car. Ann-Marie and Chris went to my place to listen to Kat laugh about it. I went to Provo High School and the Seminary building with Lisa to see if it was over there. It wasn't.
By now, an hour has passed and there's still zero sign of my car. And I don't know anybody who would play a prank like that any more. I mean, I only know my parents. And so I came back to the apartment. A small crowd had gathered there because somebody losing a car is entertaining and new. Who loses a car? It's not like I lost the keys. I lost the whole freaking car! What's left to do? It's been an hour. I can't find it. I guess it's stolen. I don't know who in their right mind would steal my car but it's the only other thing I can think of. So, I called the police.
And they hung up on me.
So I called back.
And I reported it missing.
"I'll send an officer over."
"Okay," I said.
And I waited. The people talked and laughed about funny mission stories. I laid on the big yellow ball of happiness, sprawled over it on my back. And I just thought as I waited for the officer to arrive.
I thought about my checkbook balance. And about how I needed to repaint my toenails. And about how much I disliked police officers. And about how the school year was almost over. And about how I should probably visit my family at some point. And about how lame yesterday was because I had to be at work on a Saturday at 7am...
I shot up! I gasped! "It's at WORK!!!" I yelled. "It's at work because I had to be there at 7:30am and then I carpooled up to Salt Lake for that convention thingy but I got out an hour early and so YOU drove me home!" I pointed accusingly at Kat. The room was silent only for a split second before the laughter and mocking started. Yes, I am an idiot. I didn't forget that I parked my car a few slots away than usual... but a few blocks away from usual.
And so I called the police back.
"Hi, I'm Emily Hansen and I just reported my car stolen. But I just had an epiphany and... it's not."
"Okay, we'll cancel the call."
"Thanks."
And that was it.
I'm retarded.

Wilde

I've been helping out in Mrs. Wilde's second grade class in the afternoons lately. And trust me, it's not just a clever name. That class is WILD! And Mrs. Wilde herself is somebody I'd hate to be stuck next to on a plane. I come in right after lunch recess and every day thus far she's been late. So I'm stuck in the hallway with 33 screaming second graders trying to convince them to not spray each other with water from the drinking fountain and, by all means, not to spray each other with water from the toilets. But today, not only was Mrs. Wilde late... she decided not to show up at all. The principal met me in the doorway of the classroom and asked if I'd seen her.
"Nope, not since morning recess."
"Oh. Well... I don't think she's coming back."
"Uh, okay."
Mrs. Densley took one look around at the screaming children as they jumped off of desks, played in the closet and fought over a bouncy ball. "Hey, What do you usually do right now?"
"Well, I used to tutor but I've been an aide in this class for the past few days."
"Perfect! The class is yours."
And she walked away. She just left me there. With 33 screaming second graders.

Emily Ann Hansen

It just so happens that my name is common. All three of them. And combining them just makes it all the more common. Emily Ann Hansen is almost the equivelant of John Smith. During my years at BYU I was one of eleven Emily Hansens and one of four Emily Ann Hansens.

As a result of this common nonsense, I got an announcement in the mail today. Susana Cristin Bair and William Reed Harty will be married on May 29th in the Los Angeles Temple. I have been invited to their reception in L.A. that evening. What does this have to do with anything? I don't know Susana or William!

I can only assume that they have made the same mistake as numerous others who have emailed and called me to ask me about classes I'm not taking, to invite me to hang out with people I don't know and to inform me about things I don't care about because of my name. Route Y is a beautiful thing but only if you know something about the person you're looking for because just typing in Emily Hansen will get you nowhere when you're trying to find that cute girl in your chemistry class. It's not me, guys! Wrong numba!

For most girls they fear inheriting some long, odd name. Not me. I'd embrace it. I'm ready for a bit of flavor to my common name. As long as it doesn't start with with an R. Or a T. Because then my initials would be EAR or EAT. And what if I lost my hearing later or got obnoxiously obese? What then? That would just be sad. Get it? Because I'd be deaf with the initials EAR. Or really fat with the initials EAT. And we can't have that. No, no.

The Real Deal

Today Kat and I decided to leave our small yellow and orange Nerf football at home and venture into deeper waters with... a real football. So, we did what any girl in our situation would do. We borrowed the ball from our neighbor, changed our clothes and shoes, did our hair and added the necessary accessories (a backwards, tilted baseball cap) to prepare for our new adventure. And then, since we were looking pretty cute pretending to be athletic, it became obvious that pictures must be taken on this momentous occasion. So we knocked on our neighbors' door, heard boys and ran away. Then we had another neighbor take pictures of us with the football in "footballish" poses. With all that out of the way and with a few minutes of daylight left, we ventured over to the big field across the street to "play football." And by "play football" I mean we were going to see if we could actually throw it. And then, if that finally became possible, we were going to attempt to catch it.
Just outside the fence were two high school boys. I don't know why they were there. Perhaps they were waiting for their mom to pick them up after their boyscout meeting. Or they got in trouble for not putting their saw away properly in woodshop and had just gotten out of detention. In either case, there were two high school boys watching us. And this is what they saw...
They saw me "throw" the ball straight up in the air, landing halfway between Kat and I (who were standing only a few yards apart). They saw me cheer and do the Dance of Joy when I finally caught it. They saw me turn a full circle and then eye the ball suspiciously when Kat's cell phone rang and I didn't know where the sound was coming from. While Kat was on the phone they saw me focus really hard before I tried to kick the ball. They saw the ball I kicked fly backwards over my head, off the fence behind me and into the parking lot. They saw me when I put all my strength into throwing that ball and they saw that after I released it I flew around in a full circle then ended in a heap on the ground. They saw that the ball that I threw at full strength still barely made it to Kat who was still only a few yards away. They saw Kat and I look relieved when Leah called to have us come over to meet her mom. And they saw that we looked tired as we walked home. Because we were.

Dream Weaver

Mr. Giles is our elementary school's janitorial custodian. Monday he came into our first grade classroom and walked to the back of the room where I was sitting grading state tests. "Hey! I had a dream about you last night!"
"What?" I asked, hoping I had misheard.
"You were in my dream last night. It was really weird!"
"Oh, yeah? Huh..."
"Yep. Let me tell you about it."
"Okay..."
"So, you and Mrs. Hannig and two other teachers and my old Bishop and his son all went to Salt Lake City to the Church Office Building to try out for the Mormon Tabernacle Choir. Do you sing?"
"No."
"Huh. Anyway, I wasn't there to try out but I was supporting you guys. And you would go in one at a time to audition and if you made it you'd come out with a patch of fabric which was half black and half gold. And you'd also wear a black robe that looked like a graduation robe. Which is weird too because the Mormon Tabernacle Choir doesn't wear robes."
"Huh."
"Ya, anyway, you were the first one to go in and you made it! Congratulations!"
"Thanks."
"You and Mrs. Hannig were the only two to get in."
"Interesting."
"Are you sure you don't sing?"
"Yep, pretty sure."
"Okay, anyway... you were so excited to get into the choir that you wanted a haircut. And since I cut hair, I offered to do it for you."
"That's cool that you cut hair. I didn't know that until about a month ago." (The guy seriously went to beauty school!)
"Ya, so, you wanted an undercut and I was willing to do it for you for your new look for the choir even though your hair was already pretty short."
"I do want an undercut."
"You do?? I'm psychic!!"
"I knew it."
"Ya! Cool! Anyway, I went to get my haircutting shears but they were so dull because somebody had used them to cut some branches off a tree."
"Weird."
"I know! It's a really weird dream! So, the scissors are really dull and I'm trying to hide that fact from you since you already seem kind of nervous about having me cut your hair."
"Sorry."
"It's okay. So I start cutting your hair but since I'm left handed, and my scissors were so dull, I accidentally scratched the back of your neck on your right side as I was coming around. And you didn't really complain but you just said ouch and when I looked at where you put your hand I noticed just a little scratch. It didn't bleed. It actually looked like an old scar... Do you have a scar on the back of your neck?"
"No."
"Oh. Anyway, you were so upset about me scratching you that I left you alone for a while so you could gather your courage to let me finish."
"I can be a pansy."
"Oh. Well, it was at that point that I realized that there were two older women kissing just inside the Church Office Building."
"Ew."
"I know! So everybody had to wait as the General Authorities who were listening to the auditions escorted the women out."
"Weird."
"I know!"
"It was also at that point that I realized that President Hinckley was there. Except he was wearing a black toupe as a disguise. Nobody recognized him but me even though it was so obvious."
"Hahaha! You had a dream about President Hinckley in a black toupe?? Hahaha!!"
"Ya ya. So I come back to you and start cutting your hair again and at that moment my wife flipped the light on in our room just in time to hear me say, "I just gotta finish her hair!" and she asked me who's hair I was cutting and I woke up and told her it was some random girl from work."
"That's officially weird."
"I know! I didn't even see you on Friday!"
"No, I was outside all day."
"And I only saw you twice on Thursday when we said hi to eachother in the hall."
"Ya, that's all I can remember, too."
"The lesbians I can explain because there are two old lesbians that Mr. Johnson was tellling me about the other day. And the other people in the dream I had just recently seen. But I can't explain why you were in my dream. Maybe I just want you to date my son."
"It's a possibility."
"Ya, that must be it."

The Miracle of the Petting Zoo

So I was at work yesterday. Nasty habit. I was coming in late from my lunch break. Another nasty habit. But fortunately for me, the children had not yet come out for their afternoon recess. I sat down on the park bench, reached into my backpack and pulled out my book. Suddenly, out of the corner of my eye, in the parking lot behind the playground I could swear I just saw... a donkey? What the crap? I blink a few times and look more closely. Yep, a donkey. And is that a freaking pony next to it? Oh, my gosh. I'm losing my mind. I have finally snapped. I'm seeing things. I'm freaking hallucinating. But if I'm going to halllucinate then why am I seeing farm animals? Why not hallucinate my very own Brad Pitt or Orlando Bloom or a new wardrobe or some ice cream? Why farm animals? WHY? And do I hear a goat? Oh dear. I'm officially crazy. We all knew it would happen eventually.

But then a child comes out. She runs for the swings but suddenly freezes in her tracks. Her jaw drops, her eyes grow wide and then she turns to me and screams, "Miss Hansen! I see a donkey!!" And then she ran for the parking lot.

I was probably supposed to stop the children from going over there. They weren't on school property, the animals were there for Oakridge (the school next door) and if all the recess children went over there it would be really overwhelming for the animals. But I didn't care. I was so relieved that the children saw the animals too that I was willing to let them do whatever they wanted.

And they did have a goat. A baby one that was less than a week old and it kept making a sound that resembled the sound of a horn on a child's bicycle. And there was an ostrich. And some rabbits. And a couple geese. I have no idea where these animals came from. But they were there. I swear. I have yet to officially crack.

Boo!

I left my DJ post for a minute and while I was away a few boys took over, including two creepy boys. Kat came over to me and said, "Em... I want to go over there to pick the next song but the creepy boys are over there." I didn't know what I was going to do about it but I walked over there, squeezed between them (they were really tall), just stood in front of the computer and started scrolling. The boys left without a word.

Kat came over. "Fixed it," I said.
"What did you do?"
"Nothing. I just came over here and that was enough for them to want to leave. I've got the power!"
"Wow."
"Oh yeah! The power to make boys want to leave! Hey... wait a second... that's not a good thing!"
"But just the creepy ones! That's a good thing!"
"Whatever. It's not just the creepy ones. Crap. I've got the power..."

It's true that sidekicks should have some kind of super power that really doesn't really do anything all that helpful. Apparantly mine is clearing a room of the male gender.

I Got Nothin'

I've been thinking all week about writing a new blog. Something mildly entertaining and yet informative. Some small anecdote that would also allow me to brag about my trip to Hollywood to see American Idol. But I just couldn't do it. It turns out that not only am I not entertaining, I also have nothing of value or interest in which to inform my mass audience. Go figure. And so I resort to lists of events that will be, I'm sure, about as entertaining as my grocery list.

Monday
*packed and dawdled until noon
*drove to Hollywood, CA with Liz and Camille
*stayed in sketchy hotel with a half constructed room and the risk of a construction worker barging in at any time

Tuesday
*slept in, watched the last quarter of Drumline, checked out of sketchy hotel
*drove around Hollywood, hunted for the Hollywood sign and the stars
*walked Hollywood Blvd in the 95 degree weather... ah... summer at last
*went to studio to watch American Idol, sat in the middle section, four rows behind the judges and Gloria Estefan
*watched as Simon poked Paula until Paula turned to him and said, "Stop it!" only to have Simon retort with the infamous, "What? I didn't do anything." This happened over and over. It was like watching two elementary children flirting.
*stayed longer to watch an extra taping of a special episode of American Idol that will air on Monday.
*left for Provo right after we got out, drove through the night

Wednesday
*pulled into Provo around 7am
*showered, napped, prayed for death
*got up around 11am to go to work
*did nothing as children poked me and put things on my head
*talked to Heather, had a delightful conversation. i love her.
*went to heather's birthday party, left early with intention of going to bed early
*stayed up talking until after 1am

Thursday
*woke up early and went to work
*did nothing as children poked me and put things on my head
*stayed after work for some stupid meeting, made stupid comments that made co-workers laugh and supervisor glare, still can't remember what I said.
*moved some stuff from 59 to 65
*went home early with intention of going to bed early
*threw yellow volleyball around living room and giggled my campy giggle
*stayed up talking until well after 1am

Friday
*woke up early and went to work
*did nothing as children poked me and put things on my head
*got off work at 1pm
*moved rest of stuff from 59 to 65, cleaned like mad for check-out
*ate and showered
*went to David and Brandi's wedding reception in Bountiful
*ignored crowd of people outside my apartment with intention of going to bed early
*typing this sorry excuse for a blog instead
*talked to Heather until 2am, had a delightful conversation, had me laughing so hard I couldn't breathe. i love her.

Squatter Season

It's summer time. And with the season, especially in a college town, comes the inevitable squatters. It's understandable and expected. But shouldn't there be some rules that go along with all this squatting? I mean, some of us are actually paying rent here. Although I have no squatters of my own this year (knock on wood), I feel for my friends who are paying the man and still end up sharing their precious summer space.

Rule #1: This Is Not Your Room
I take you to Turner and Hooch. A classic among cinema giants. Hooch, a canine squatter, arrives at Turner's house expecting a lot more than what he's paying for (which is, of course, nothing). Turner takes the dog by the collar and leads him into each and every room of the house. At each door he pauses and says, "This is the ____. This is NOT your room." For Hooch, he got the laundry room. For our squatters of the human nature, it's any place we can find the space. This is not your room.

Rule #2: This Is Not Your Food
You're not paying rent so you best be buying your own food. Actually, my cupboard is your cupboard... just please, please at least pretend to ask first. And occasionally wash your own dishes. This is not your food.

Rule #3: This Is Not Your Stuff
Squatters, depending upon their dependency, will require the use of your stuff as well as the use of your space and food. Fine, use it. But be nice to it. And by all means, please do not remove all of my things from my apartment, leaving behind only my broken computer that you broke and some random crap you didn't want any more while I was away visiting my family during a break from school and then disappear with no forwarding number. That's called stealing, my friend. And it is not a choice way to pay somebody back for squatting in their home for the past several weeks. This is not your stuff.

Squatting is an art. If done correctly and with enough flair, the squattee will not even know they're being squatted upon.

Graduation Day

Congratulations to my Caroline and Ann-Marie!
I love you!