The Roommate Diaries: The Oreo Experimentation

So, this is a new aspect to my blog, because I need to vent...occasionally. It is just recording all the strange and mystifying things that my roommates have done, because someone needs to record it for the world. No real names shall be used of course...unless they really tick me off.



So the Oreo Experimentation: Now, I am not accusing anyone of not being able to cook, but some people are not bakers, because they never bake anything unless it comes from a box or prepackaged. So two of my roommates attempted to make homemade oreos, which are not difficult to make. However, they struggled with the most basic of steps: mixing the dough....yes that's right, stirring. Because there is shortening in the dough, it can be hard to stir at first. So, with amusement, I watched try to use a wooden spoon. Instead of using their hands (like most people would) they instead had a good 5 minute conversation about how if they had a pastry cutter, it would be so much faster. Finally, one of them realized that they should just use their hands. But then the concern was raised that they might melt the dough and make it more gooey...laughing yet?

At this point, I had to intervene. I assured them that nothing would happen to the dough if they (gasp!) mixed it with their hands. So the moral of the story is that when making cookie dough, be sure that you are familiar with all methods of mixing.

Hi, my name's Katy and I'm a clean freak...

So, I literally get a headache if I am surrounded by a mess. Blame it on being a custodian. I get a headache, I get cranky and I just need my space to be clean. When my living space is clean, then I am happy. And so for the last week I haven't really been to my apartment too much because I have been helping my parents repaint their living room (inheritance points!). So when I walked in the door the other day, I about had a heart attack. My apartment was trashed. There were dishes piled a mile high in the sink, the floor was filthy, spaghetti sauce was dried onto the stove and surrounding walls...need i go on? Well, after grumbling under my breath, I decided I would let them (meaning the proprietors of this mess...*cough* roommates *cough*) clean it up because FHE was going to be held in our apartment that night and it was not my mess!. Well, I dashed home to help paint and then I returned late last night, expecting a clean apartment...sigh...no such luck. If its not clean when I get home today...so help me, there will be choice words written on the white board.

If worst comes to worst, I am hopping the fence and moving in with the crazy people

I'm Back!!!...all three of you that read this...

So, I noticed that I haven't written anything in almost three months...my excuse: student-teaching. It has been one of the hardest yet most rewarding experiences that I have ever gone through. Unfortunately, I cannot share too many details online (privacy laws and all that) but I have loved it. My students are great and I am going to miss them when I leave in 5 weeks.

Most recently, I have been teaching about Rome to my world civ. classes and it has been a lot of fun (for me at least). Anyway, one day, when we were learning about the emperors of Rome, we watched this ultra-cheesy video called the "evil emperor song" where four emperors sing about how bad they were (look it up on YouTube, its worth one view). Well, since that day, we have had to show it at least three more times and every day we get more requests to watch it. These kids make me laugh. The one thing they will probably remember from this course is the evil emperor song.

This is it...

The day has come...one that I thought would never come actually. Tomorrow I start student teaching at a high school in the Salt Lake valley. Naturally, I am experiencing some stress and anxiety over this, which is manifesting itself mostly in very bizarre dreams involving evil roommates and pirates.
The hardest part about being a teacher is you wonder if you will actually have any influence on the students, or if you will become the teacher that everyone loves to hate. I feel like I am going into this position without the brightest prospects, which is frustrating and frightening. But I also understand that I am a short 3 1/2 months away from graduation, and nothing is going to stop me at this point from reaching it. So, wish me luck, because tomorrow, a new chapter in my life begins.

Horror stories about speaking in Church: Part 1

You know how you will always have those terrifying fantasies about speaking in public and something goes horribly wrong, like you forget to get dressed or forget that you were supposed to speak, etc. Well, last sunday I got to experience one of those fantasies when I got a call at 9:30 saturday night asking if I would speak in church the next morning. Preparing the talk wasn't a problem and I had it done by 10:40 that night. However, the next morning I woke up not feeling so great. I thought it was nerves because I do get nervous before I have to speak publicly. So I went to church and went to the front of the room, sat down so everyone could see me, and then realized something was horribly wrong. I had remembered to get dressed, I had my talk and scriptures in hand, but apparently I forgot my stomach that morning.
Yes, I had the stomach flu and was expected to speak for 10-15 minutes. There were three speakers and so I thought my chances of going first were pretty good. In fact, as the bishop got up to announce the order, I wanted to whisper "let me go first!" but i didn't...and so I went last.
As the first speaker got up, I thought "Ok, I can do this, I can make it through to my turn..." over and over again. 5 minutes into first talk I had to leave the room and didn't come back until the second speaker had been talking for 5 minutes. I was feeling pretty crummy and by the time it was my turn, I honestly have no idea what I said or if it even made sense. I just read what was written on the paper in front of me and hoped that I was coherent. As soon as the meeting was over, I rushed home and spent the next two days worshipping the procelain king and becoming reaquinted with my mattress. I am just grateful that my stomach kept it together until after the meeting was over. So next time you feel nervous about speaking publicly, just remember, it could be so much worse.

Me, Myself, and the Lacrosse Stick

So, happy news for my apartment this fall and winter. Management at my complex decided to give it a new paint job and new carpet! Hooray! However, in order for that to happen, my roommate and I needed to clear out for a week so that they can do it. So we have just moved the necessities to another apartment for the time of the construction. Well, since it was a holiday weekend, my roommate went to go stay with family which left me all alone…which I’m normally okay with, but this time I was in a new apartment all by myself…on the ground level floor.

Now, one thing you should understand about me is that I have an overactive imagination, especially when I am alone (hence the time I convinced myself at work that there were zombies in the building…stupid cadavers)…so me being alone in an apartment that had just suddenly become a whole lot more burglar/crazy-serial-killer-friendly wasn’t the best situation for me to fall asleep in.

However, I have a secret trump card: my trusty lacrosse stick. In a mere matter of seconds, I can beat somebody unconscious if I have to (typical of American sports, eh?). And so, I took comfort in the fact that I would have my lacrosse stick next to me…until I realized I had left it in the old apartment, safely located on the top floor, nestled in my closet.

I, of course, did the sensible thing and ran out at 11pm to get it. However, on the way to my old apartment, a tree decided to jump out and scare me…stupid tree (remember…overactive imagination).  Well after I taught that a tree a lesson (firewood anyone?) I retrieved my lacrosse stick and it became my new best friend for the rest of the night J. I am happy to report that I survived the night, due to my lacrosse stick and sheer exhaustion which would have let me sleep through an earthquake.

I was Homeless for a night...

Okay, the title might be slight exaggeration, but this is my blog so I get to spin things how I want, got it? So this last 4^th of July, a few of my siblings and I decided to reserve spots for the local parade…and by reserve I mean spend the night on the street like a homeless person. Now granted, not all homeless people have memory foam mattresses that allow them to spend the night in “blissful” slumber. Apparently, people don’t believe in sleeping when they spend the night on the streets.  To begin with, the man who spent the night next to us treated us to the best of ABBA until 2am, and if that wasn’t bad enough, his five children watched Mama Mia! twice! In addition, the corner we had reserved was apparently the hangout zone for every young single adult in the greater Provo area, who enjoyed high-five parties (which consists of slapping hands while shrieking like little girls).  Finally, about 3am, we finally fell “asleep”. I was back awake in less than an hour as all the drunk people came out of the woodwork (someone had to protect the land!).

All in all, it was fun, once-in-a-lifetime experience (because I sure as heck ain’t ever gonna do it again). The greatest lesson I learned though, was that if I ever had to spend the night on the streets again, I am going to do it in a graveyard.

Anyone need a large sign?

Growing up, every time my family travelled to and from California, we would drive pass this ghost town nestled in the mountains. You can’t see it from the freeway, but what you can see, is the giant Hollywood-esque “Calico” sign on the mountains, undoubtedly the creation of some schmuck in the California bureau of tourism. However, this last time I went past Calico, I began to wonder who had possible created the sign. I knew that Calico was a mining town before it was demoted to ghost town. So I commented to my family that maybe perhaps the town would have been more successful and actually survive if they, the inhabitants of Calico, had spent more time trying to get people to come to their town, or heaven forbid, mine some more instead of building a giant sign across the mountains.

I mean honestly, who builds a giant sign for a ghost town?! It’s like broadcasting a giant failure and asking people to come spend money to stare at a bunch of empty buildings…oh wait, that’s what most tourist attractions are…my bad. So the next time you happen to be driving through southern California and if you happen upon an abnormally large sign in the middle of a desert, think of Calico, and all that could have been.

On a completely unrelated note, I am thinking of putting a giant sign above my apartment complex that reads “Gingham”.

The Bicycle of Death

You know, there’s nothing quite like zooming downhill on a bicycle and realizing that the brakes don’t work. I know what that feels like: Pure Terror.

This last month I was able to get my bike fixed (the inner tubes needed replaced) I was thrilled that I would get to ride it to work (hey, an eight minute bike ride totally beats a 30 minute walk). My first day, I peddled up the slight incline and then turned onto the main street that leads to my apartment. I realized with excitement that I had reached a hill and that I would be going down it. So I eagerly started peddling, going faster and faster. I looked ahead and saw that I needed to slow down to avoid a truck that was pulling out and so I squeezed the brake…nothing happened.

Surely this is a fluke, I thought to myself and squeezed harder. Still nothing happened. It was at that glorious moment that I realized that my brakes did not work. Oh joy. I finally managed to slow down by squeezing really hard on my front brake, which for anyone who has ever watched America’s Funniest Home Video’s knows that squeezing too hard on the front brake will result in disaster. I arrived at my apartment, safe, but knowing I had a slight brush with death.

Now you may think, surely after that bike ride of terror she has stopped riding her bike until it is fixed…let’s just say, if you are ever driving down the street that I live on, you may see me zip by on my old, decrepit bike, screaming in terror, and yet enjoying every second of it.

Yeah, there’s something wrong with me.  

An Explanation

So I feel that I should explain the title of my blog…just in case someone checked it out and went “Oh my goodness! She has the mentality of a 5 year old!” Which, some days I do, especially if there are no chocolate chip cookies left.

In all seriousness though, the reason my blog is titled Stuffed Tigers and Red Wagons is because of a great philosopher who wrote that “…All life is travesty!” just kidding (shout out to my fellow MST3K fans...all three of you). The real reason is because of my favorite books as a child. And no, it wasn’t Hop on Pop or Are you my Mother? It was actually Calvin and Hobbes. Yes, the comic strip. My dad had a few of the books and it was my favorite thing to go into his den, pull them off the shelf, and read them. I delighted in the antics of six-year old Calvin and his friend, Hobbes, a stuffed tiger. They had many adventures in a wagon (that’s right, it was red).

So I, being the great philosopher that I am, decided that my blog should reflect some deep inner-thingymambobber about myself. And so the reason for my title, is that regardless of what adventures, difficulties, and experiences I face in life, as long as I have my trusty stuffed tiger (aka family and friends) and a red wagon (aka, a place to collect my thoughts and reflect on my journey) to help me, I would be just fine.  And so far, I am making it.


P.S. I would also like to note that I do own a stuffed tiger...his name is Hobbes and he spends all day on my bed acting as a pillow and then at night he keeps my feet warm. 

BYU's Bucket List

You know how people create these bucket lists--things they want to do before they die? Well I have a bucket list for BYU. These items included such things as climbing the Y, attending a BYU/UofU football game and watching a certain red team get slaughtered (2009 oh yeah!), being a freshman mentor, etc. etc. However, there were two important items on that bucket list: Learn to drive the gator and get into the utility tunnels at BYU.
Allow me to explain what the gator is: Created by John Deere, the gator is a small, truck-like-tractor that is green. It is a clutch and so I have never been able to drive it, because I have never learned to drive a clutch.
Well, this last month my co-worker (who does the driving of the Gator) went on vacation for a week. I sensed an opportunity because my time at BYU is almost gone. Heaven smiled down on me because my boss asked me to go grab the gator for him. I explained that I did not know how to drive a clutch but if he wanted to teach me that would be great. Well, my boss agreed and so I got to start learning how to drive the gator. Oh the bliss! The thrill of shifting gears and using both feet to drive!
Learning to drive it has been a little rough at times, but with each new day i am getting the hang of it. So next time you are at BYU and you hear the rumble of clutch approaching, you may want to dive out of the way, because you never know who might be in the driver's seat.
Now...the utility tunnels.

Ciao