This is Serious

I need something. Anything. Because despite what I've been telling myself for the past three weeks, sitting and staring at walls is getting old.

I have absolutely no idea what to do with my life. I just want to get out of Provo. This need to flee the coop has been steadily increasing, and when I read Katie Cullen's blog about the possibility of going on a cruise, I realized: THIS IS SERIOUS!

Please, please, please give me ideas for vacations, jobs, and/or lifestyle changes that you would think I would be capable of doing.

Thank you.

The Woes of Womanhood

Welcome to the hormone train that I call my life. I have been really sick this past week and I'm about to start surfing the crimson tide next week, so basically I'm emotionally and physically out of control.

Not that I am typically a nice person, but you should really try to stay out of my way. I'm sleep deprived and very stressed. These two states of being have also contributed to the fact that I can't go to the gym, and thus I have no emotional outlet and led to further weight gain. Katie Cullen has taken over the position as my therapist as well as personal trainer, so I should be doing better soon.

I spent Hallow's Eve at the State Hospital in a Forensic Unit. It wasn't as fun as it sounds, but I did get a lot of homework done. I actually found out the hospital still has prison jumpsuits and I really wanted to wear one for Halloween, but I was informed that I would be fired if administration found out that I had been wearing one, and I am really poor, so I need my job (even though I will act like I don't). Can you imagine me in a prison jumpsuit with "USH Forensic Unit 2" on the back? I know, it would be the best thing you've ever seen.

Work and school are basically my life.

This brings me to another update. I am no longer single. Details will follow, if, and only if, I ever get a ring put on my finger. Being the superstitious person that I am, I will not put into writing this relationship, because then it is doomed.

Life is crazy, full of headaches and emotional breakdowns. But I'm just going to keep on keeping on.

Facsimile of a Sham

Well, I know you all are waiting in anticipation for news on my life.

Here's the gist: I'm 21 years old, I'm graduating from BYU with a BA in psychology in April (clinical and social) and a minor in MFHD, I have no idea what I'm going to do with my degree, and I'm single.

Things I still love: chocolate, Romania, mail, cruises, sitting and staring at walls, and laughing.

Things I still don't like: Talking about the current state of my life, dieting, running, my panic/anxiety attacks, and not fitting into my favorite pair of jeans.

Grease Fires and Finals

Today I almost burnt down my house for the second time. The first time was when I was making popcorn (no matter how enticing it may seem to mirror the picture on the package, do not. Three minutes is too long to cook popcorn, or so I've learned), but this time it was a grease fire. Yes that's right, I will make a horrible wife.

What happened: I was cooking a hamburger in the oven, and the grease caught fire, well there's more to it then that but that's the gist. I was hearing the normal sizzling sounds, when I went into the kitchen to check how much time was left. There was black smoke billowing out of the oven. Then I realized that my precious chunk of beef was aflame. So I did what any normal person would do and started laughing hysterically. I opened the oven and gave the flames a good blow, only to have the flames increase and literally reach for my face. Then through my continual repeating of "Are you serious?", "I'm going to make a horrible wife.", and more laughing, I collected myself, and closed the oven and turned it off. By that point, our nice, clean and white oven was now black. After about five minutes the fire went out, and I was able to enjoy my patty amidst the smell of barbecue and grease.

The update on my life is that I am on a one month sabbatical from work. I have finals this week meaning Wednesday (and no Jessie Cordell I am not going to actually study). And I will be going home for some well needed R&R on Friday.

True Life: I am Georgia Nicolson

So, I have found out that if I was to be a fictional character, I would be Georgia Nicolson. If you haven't read any books from her series, you should. It is basically the diary of a 14-year-old British bird, and basically it is the story of my life (had I grown up in England). And basically we have merged personalities, so I now use about 100% of her vocabulary.

Update on my life. I still work at the State Hospital. I still love it, kind of. That's about it.

Why I Have to Get Married

For the past week or so I've had these random bug bites on my arms and legs. I jokingly told people that there was a spider in my bed. Then two nights ago, at 3:00am, I was reading in my bed, and out from under the comforter came a 50-cent-piece-sized spider, which was making a B-line straight for me. It wasn't a Wolfe spider with long legs, no, it was a fatty spider who was probably pregnant will millions of little spiders babies inside of it. Anyways, I have never moved that fast in my life. I jumped out of my bed and under my breath stated "Are you serious?!" because it was 3:00 in the morning and I was being attacked by a spider. So I frantically searched for a flip flop. Once I found one (I was a little disoriented), I had to search through my blankets for this mammoth of a spider. I couldn't get it near the wall to smash it, so I had to go get toilet paper to smash it. It made a huge crunch sound and I debated whether to throw the smashed spider in the trash or in the toilet, I mean what if I didn't smash it all the way and it crawled back into my room? "Whitney, your crazy" is what I told myself and put it in the trash.

As I returned to my bed, I did the cockroach shake to everything on my bed (for those of you who do not know what the cockroach shake is, it is the shaking out of all your bedding every night before you go to bed. I learned how to do it in Romania from Candice Cheney Carter). Anyways, so I was fuming about having to smash this spider. Basically my plan to live with Katie Cullen for the rest of my life went down the drain because Katie is the type to catch and release the spiders. That won't do. They need to die. I realized then that I have to get married so I don't have to deal with spiders anymore. You see, for the past few months I have been considering the single life. I guess this is God's way of saying I need to date.

Lessons Learned:
I can't be single for the rest of my life.
One of my dating credentials is that you must be ok with or act like you're ok with killing spiders.

Cysts, Moles, and Making Doctors Uncomfortable

Today for the first time in my entire life, I received external stitches. Let's go back to January, when a mysterious blue bump appeared on my face. I tried popping it with a needle, but it just made it a huge red bump. After talking with Katie Cullen, we decided that it was a cyst. I talked to the nurses at my work and also the nurses at the ER (when I was there with a patient) and they all told me to just put hot compress on it. Well, I did and nothing happened. I still had a blue dot on my face. So I decided to go to the dermatologist because my Utah State insurance will end in August.

So today I went to the office and let me just say it was something start out of Trout Creek, Montana. It had dark patchwork-pieced-together-carpet, dark woodwork, white plastic walls, and random pictures of nature. They had me go sit in a room and wait for the doctor. The doctor came in and asked "I'm Dr. Stone, this is my PA assistant. How can we help you?". I stated "Get this thing off my face" pointing to the cyst on my face. I told him "It's a cyst and it hurts when you touch it". He said "You said the exactly the right thing 'It's a cyst and it hurts when you touch it'. We'll take it off". I stated "I also have moles for you to look at". Before I even finished making this statement his assistant was inspecting the mole on my arm. Now I have been to numerous doctors who have looked at the mole on my arm and stated "Just keep watching it". I also showed the doctor the mole on my left breast. Without hesitation the doctor, to no one in particular, stated "Ok take out the cyst and the moles are gone". I began to lift up my shirt so that the doctor can remove the mole. The doctor stated "No, no. Just pull it down this way so that you're more comfortable". What he really meant to say was "You having your shirt up is making me and my assistant uncomfortable". I said "Whatever works for you", because since I regularly sit have naked while people rip the hair from my 'crotch' I have grown very comfortable exposing myself in rooms full of people.

I continued to ask a million medical questions as usual. The doctor administered the shot into my breast and I looked the other way. Then he states "You won't feel anything, just a little pressure". I look down at a swollen, bloody mole and a scalpel and said "Cool". "What are you studying?" The doctor asks. "Psychology" I nonchalantly state. "Have you ever considered medicine?" he asks me. "Yes, but I'm very, very bad at chemistry" I reply. The doctor states "Well in high school I was bad a chemistry, but in college it was different". I told the doctor "Yeah, my high school chemistry teacher told me 'You might as well give up now because you'll end up in retail'". The doctor, his assistant, and the nurse spent the next mole removal trying to tell me how wrong my teacher was and all that jazz.

I asked for a mirror to watch the removal of the cyst. They used a mole punch to cut straight to the core of the cyst. My face was bloody and the doctor was pulling chunks out of my face. It was awesome. Then it came time to stitch up my face. I begged the doctor to let me do one of the stitches. He said that because it was in such an awkward spot he couldn't. He told me that if I get a mole off my stomach, then he will allow me to. He also told me to go home and "look in places where the sun doesn't shine for moles and I will gladly take them off for you". Good thing I got a brazilian wax so I can examine places the sun doesn't shine.

When it was all over, I asked the doctor how soon I will be able to go swimming. He asked, "Well, try to stay out of public pools for a while." I asked "What about the lazy river at Seven Peaks?". He said "That will be fine as long as you use waterproof bandaids and put vaseline on them every half hour. And try to keep your head above the water". Little did the doctor know that I rarely put my head under the water.

Moral of the story: don't try to lift your shirt in a dermatologist's office, wear sunscreen, check places where the sun doesn't shine for cancerous moles, and if there's a blue bump on your face for numerous months, it's probably a cyst.

Fire Crotch

Today at work I got kicked in the crotch by one of my patients. No, it wasn't the one who normally targets me (our most aggressive patient), nor was it the black man who thinks he's white who throws things. It was our brandnew patient who has an IQ of 56 (for all of you who aren't psychology nerds, the average IQ, well depending on what test is administered, is 100 with a standard deviation of 15). Anyways, this patient did not want to come in from the courtyard, so he sat down in the middle of the hallway. My co-worker went over and picked him up while I held the door. The patient started kicking at the wall so my co-worker shifted his weight and the patient kicked me. It was like a slow motion movie. He turned and face me. Looked directly at my crotch and then delivered a very hard swift kick. Among the panic that insued, I remained calm. I was even making jokes. He had actually kicked me in the best place possible, because it didn't hurt when he kicked me, probably from the fat that is contributing to my small veins. So after he was escorted by other co-workers of mine, I returned to the courtyard to bask in the sun, laughing to myself that I had just been kicked in the woman parts.

When I returned to the unit the nurse asked me how my shin was doing. I told her my shin was fine, but that wasn't where the patient kicked me. I had to explain it was my crotch. Now I am a very open person, but I like to use anatomically correct terms. But apparently there aren't anatomical terms for the front of the crotch. I had to fill out paperwork and type up reports on the incident, and with every 'crotch' that was written I became more and more uncomfortable. Why? Because I couldn't use words that I'm used to using like uterus, vagina, or cervix. No, I was stuck repeatidly writing 'Crotch' and like a 7-year-old-schoolboy I was embarrassed. I didn't even know how to spell crotch, I had to ask the nurse.

Then the doctor came in to assess the situation. The nurse so kindly told him "Whitney here got kicked in the crotch".There was that word again. Crotch. Crotch, crotch, crotch. By this point I had embraced the fact that I had been kicked in the crotch. The doctor asked "Are you ok?". I turned to him and stated "I don't think I'll be able to have children, but other than that I'm fine.". Everyone laughed but then when I was filing an incident report the paper stated 'are you injured?' and you had to check yes or no. Well, I didn't know. Can you break your crotch? I had to make a new box that said 'unknown'. The nurses told me that I wouldn't know until I used the bathroom. So naturally I was terrified that when I went the bathroom I would be in extreme pain. So an hour later, when I got the nerve to use the bathroom I was suprised to find my crotch was not broken.

Don't worry, since I filed an incident report, if anything happens Utah State Hospital (ie. Tax payers of Utah) have to pay for it.

Plasma and the Lack of Donation

So this past week I finally got the nerve to donate plasma. After stalling for about 3 hours I went. When I got there I was told I needed my social security card, which I didn't have. But the man decided to "look at my veins". After a few minutes of pumping my hand the man informed me that my veins were too small. Yes, that's right your veins can be too small. The guy behind me told me, "Yeah, think of a caprisun straw, that's about the size of the needle" and why he tried talking to me I have no idea. I turned to him and said "I can handle that" and turned back to the phlebotamist and stated "Are you freaking serious?". He was freaking serious. I thought my friend Caroline was the only person in the world with small veins, because she has small arms. I plead with the man, "I've never had any problems donating blood with this vein" pointing to the fatty vein in my left arm (I've had to do a lot of blood work this past year because of mono and working at the State Hospital, don't think I'm a drug addict or anything). "You need two veins so that if something happens to the first, we have a backup". That should have been a redflag right there, but I want the money that comes from the donation. So I asked what I could do and he stated "Do bicep curls with low weights and high reps". (Katie Cullen are you listening to this?) Sounded easy enough, but because I'm not a fulltime student BYU won't allow me in the weight room. So therefore, I can't donate.

As I sat pondering about my donating failure, I realized what a fat joke this whole thing was. Exercise to donate plasma? No thank you. I'd rather spend the money I should have earned by donating on McDonalds.

Is Arthritis Fun?

No arthritis is not fun. Let me give you all a background on the latest development in my life, yes it is arthritis. Ok, so we all know that my mom is crazy. Well now she is a crazy who is training for a marathon. And since her recent weightloss is giving me a complex, I decided to train for a marathon too. Yes it is true, diets don't work, Weight Watchers does. Anyways, so I've started running, I know can you believe it?! Me running. Ok, stop laughing, this is serious. I now have arthritis in my right knee, due to reasons I'm still not sure of. And I'm supposed to wear a brace on my leg and dope myself on ibprofen. Yes, I do have the body of a 75 year old balding man at the age of 21, and yes I am still not married. What is a single BYU co-ed about mission age female with arthritis supposed to do? I've decided to eat as much as possible because food loves me, it never gets mad at me, and it is always there for me. Ok, maybe that's what I want to do, but I'm really doing nothing.

For all of you interested in the rest of my life, I will give you an overall update. For those of you who aren't interested, you can stop reading now, but I bet you've stopped along time ago, or why are you still reading this? Anyways, as you can see I have no life. Well, actually I do have a life, just a really, really boring one. I work about 60 hours a week at the State Hospital in one of the forensic units (no, not like CSI, forensics means that it is a prison). Yes I work at a prison, and I love every minute of it. Especially being called the "B" word almost everyday (I'm going for the Queen B title), walking into "inappropriate" situations between two patients (one with his pants down), having water poured on my head, being spat on, and being a target of the most aggressive patient on my unit. I absolutely love it. A

So my advice is don't run, ever, unless you want arthritis like me which is still not fun. But I really can't complain because my brother has had arthritis since he was 2. He's my hero, I love you Duke!

Oochie Wa Wa

So today I experienced a Brazilian wax for the first time. Not as awkward as I thought it was going to be, I mean sure I was half naked surrounded by four people looking at my cauch, but I didn't feel awkward at all. And the girl who waxed me was from my freshman ward, yes, Provo is that small. If you need a Brazilian wax, let me just recommend the place I went, very classy. It wasn't a dark alleyway like I thought it was going to be.

This wax is a continuation of a year in which I am doing things that terrify me. I have now eaten every part of a lamb, donated blood, waxed my cauch, and tomorrow I am going to donate plasma (well hopefully I will if I can get my pulse rate low enough). My list continues as I realize what terrifies me and I continue to do it. If you have any suggestions, just let me know.

Trying but Failing at Being a Good Samaritan

So, my calling in church is "emergency preparedness co-chair". Basically I am in charge of letting the ward know where to go in case of an emergency. I also am in charge of all the food drives and blood drives. Well, today marked the second time our ward/stake had a blood drive. Last semester was the first time I had ever donated blood. Minus the minor freakout I had where my body went into convulsion shaking, it went all right. Then the American Red Cross kept sending me all of this propaganda about how only 25% of first time blood donors ever donate again, and basically made me feel like a horrible person for keeping all of this clean (minus living in Eastern Europe, mononucleosis, and the occasionally drug use) blood inside of me. So I decided out of the pureness of my guilt-ridden heart to donate for a second time, just to beat the statistics. Anyways, so I woke up early today (10:00am) in order to make it to my appointment at 12:15. I get all the way up there (on campus) and go through the whole screening process. On the outside (and I thought on the inside) I was calm and collected. I passed the blood pressure and iron scan with flying colors. Then all of a sudden the lady told me to take deep breaths. She kept telling me to do this, and I was like "What?! OK." Then she told me that my pulse was too high to donate blood and that I needed to find my 'happy place' and keep breathing deeply. 5 minutes (5 actual minutes) of namaste breathing later, and my pulse was still way too high. It has to be under 100, which is what most people's are when they are exercising heavily, but mine even after the "cool down" process was still 106. She then told me that I was not able to donate blood today. You may be asking, why was your pulse so high? Because I was panicking, and hate needles going into my flesh. My mom told me "Well at least you didn't yell at the lady like you used to. It's kind of funny how you used to say 'get away from me lady' and now they are telling you to go away." Yes, I used to yell at nurses, but let me just tell you I have had ALL of my shots that you get throughout your life, three times (yes three) because we switched doctors so many times they lost my records twice. Anyways, the whole ordeal wasn't such a bust because she told me that I could still get snacks from the snack table. I went over and saw the glorious Famous Amos cookies and was content. But, there were people all around the table and they were all staring at me. It was one of those awkward moments where you have to say something, and I said "Well I can't donate blood, but they said I can get refreshments anyways." There was an awkward silence and everyone was staring at me, so I grabbed myself a bag of Famous Amos and said "I don't have AIDs I promise" and left.

Well, I killed two birds with one stone, I didn't have to donate blood, and I still got some cookies.

FYI

I would just like to inform everyone, that if you for some reason see someone with wrist-to-waist handcuffs being escorted by two regularly dressed individuals, it is STILL not polite to stare. I had to take one of my patients to the emergency room last night and everyone just sat there staring at us. Not just the little side stares you give when you want to see what's going on, no, it was the full-on stop-conversation-so-there-is-silence-when-you-walk-by, turn-and-look-with-a-gaping-mouth-stare. I wanted to say "What? You've never seen someone handcuffed before?!" Now, I can understand the kids and the old people staring who were there, but you'd think the idiots who are in the ER on a Saturday night would have some manners. But then again, there are in the ER so they can't be too bright. But nonetheless my patients (usually) do not stare at you, so therefore, do not stare at them.

Thank you.

Hanging Loose; My Going Topless Experience

So, today in my Psychology of Gender class, 40 minutes until we were allowed to leave, I got this strange feeling I wasn't wearing a bra. I thought "This is weird". But I specifically remembered putting my bra back on after my basketball class. So I sat, and tried to pay attention to the lecture. But I kept feeling more and more like I wasn't wearing a bra. Then I started second guessing myself thinking "maybe I didn't put my bra back on". So, I reached in my shirt to feel my brastrap. It was there, but really loose. I didn't think much of it, and told myself "see you are wearing a bra". Well, this strange feeling didn't go away, so I decided to scratch my back, and conviently check for my bra. To my suprise, there was no bra strap on my back. Somehow, it had come undone. Then I started to think, "did the people behind me undo my bra?", "No Whitney, how could they do that?!". Anyways, so by this time we still had 30 minutes left. So I sat there thinking "This is kind of nice, maybe I should go braless more often." But then I remembered a conversation I had with Jessica Balkman yesturday about how if you don't wear a bra your boobs will sag to your bellybutton when you are old. And I also remembered I had a test I had to take. So I began thinking of ways to get my bra back on. I was so consumed with thoughts of putting my bra back on, that I probably should have just gone right then to the bathroom, but I stayed in the class thinking "would it be so bad if I just put it back on while I was sitting here?" Then taking note of the married, very conservative guy next to me, I thought it might not be appropriate. Class ended and I went and put my bra back on. I still do not know how this all happened. I originally thought that it had broken, but when I put it back on all the hooks were in place. Anyways, through all of this I have realized that I have never set a bra on fire, and I've always wanted to do it.

Burning a bra is my next goal in life.

Paste Fericit

Isus Hristos a inviat! Adevarat a inviat! Well, I started Easter off calling my family. I talked to my grandma and my mom. I ate half a bag of minature Reese's peanut butter cups and a half a bag of speck-tacular peanut butter M&Ms which were delicious, and my favorite color (an aqua blue). Then I went to church. I came home and made myself some chicken that tasted horrible. Then I made brownies. I ate the brownies with Dreyer's thin mint Girl Scout cookie icecream (don't worry the icecream was on sale for cheaper than a box of Girl Scout Cookies) and watched Tim Burton's "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" and the first half of "The Sound of Music". I then ate the chocolate bunny I had salvaged from Walmart. This bunny was the saddest bunny you have ever seen. It's ears were broken, and it was the only one left. They gave me a 10 cent discount, so I just had to buy it. Well, I ate it, and it was the worst tasting chocolate I have ever tasted. Worse than Romanian chocolate (for those of you who haven't eaten Romanian chocolate, it's really, really bad). You would think since it was so bad that I would stop eating it, but I didn't. I ate the whole thing, and hated every minute of it. Then, when I was brushing my teeth Jessica goes to me "Whitney, you know you have chocolate all over your back right?!" Yes, I had chocolate all over my brand new white shirt (and by brand new I mean the second time I had worn it). Not to mention it was all over the couch. So, today for the first time I used a Tide pen, which was awesome. I don't know how well it worked, but it was fun to use. I'll find out tomorrow when the laundry is done. But thank you Jessica Balkman for noticing the chocolate, and being prepared with a Tide pen. Today, I also sat reminiscing about last year, and how I was in Romania and attended midnight mass. And how you light your candle at Mass and walk it home, and it is supposed to give you good luck (if you make it all the way home). Then I remembered how I got all the way to the elevator of my bloc (that's Romanian for apartment complex), and was frantically trying to converse with some of my neighbors, that in the midst of it all, my candle blew out. So this year is supposed to be more lucky than last. We'll just have to wait and see. What a great Easter.

Paste Fericit!

Basketball 2

So last night, my roommates took me to the Sonics game for my birthday. It was the best birthday present ever! We drove up to Salt Lake, stopped at McDonalds, and I realized that I have an internal compas for McDonalds, because I was able to get us there without ever being there before, and not having to turn around once. I made a special order to get a #7 with a hamburger bun instead of a club bun, because club buns are nasty. Let's just say: a special order + the drive through + a man that doesn't speak English = mass confusion. Once we figured everything out, and two reciepts later, we were able to 'enjoy' our meal. Needless to say, I will never be ordering a #7 again. Anyways, on to the game. The Energy Solutions Area is not the Key Arena. The televisions outside the arena are little 10" sony TVs straight out of 1992. Loved it. Let's just say the game between the Sonics and Jazz looked more like a WNBA game than a NBA game. I have never seen the ball go through that many legs in all of my years of watching NBA. Anyways, the highlights of the game included a sweet half-time show with a man who juggled balls onto a piano, and yes he was better juggling/playing the piano then I am just playing the piano. The best part of the experience was that Lil' Jon was there. Yes, I'm serious. It was awesome. Ye'ah! Ok!

Dominating in Basketball

So a few weeks ago, my roommates and I (and by my roommates and I, I mean me volunteering my roommates), auctioned off a game of basketball. Well, last night we played against the house that bought it at the service auction. Let me just say, we played on an outside court, with the kind of flooring that is on oldschool home basketball courts, you know the kind that doubles as a tennis court and basketball court, that is little squares connected together. Anyways, so not only did we have that, but the sun was in our eyes the whole time. Also, we were playing with a very slippery men's ball. With all this being said, let me also inform you, that Kira, my 5 ft tall roommate jumped the ball at the beginning. The other team won the jump, but I intercepted their pass, which ended up dislocating my thumb. Not knowing that it was dislocated, I pulled my finger to pop it, because that's what you do when you jam a finger to stop the swelling. It wasn't until later when I was thinking about it that I realized that I had reset my thumb. Anyways, with one hand out of the game, I was forced to play with only one hand. I would like to tell everyone at this time, that the other team was a house of 9 guys. We only had 4, but luckily Nate Lawler stepped in (we would have died without his skills). So they had 4 subs, and we had none. At half time, it was tied. I am serious. Second half started, and I'm pretty sure we were winning because their coach stopped keeping track of points, I mean who honestly stops keeping track of points unless you are losing? Plus I can't remember them actually scoring second half, and I know that I scored at least 3. Anyways, all I have to say is, never underestimate the power of the Richardson House's basketball skills. We may be a bunch of females (plus Nate), but we will still dominate you.

Harold B. Lee

Ok, so Katie Cullen and I were at the library (yes, this is the second time this semester I have actually gone there, not counting trying to go to the accounting lab), working on our D&C lecture, and writing Katie's cover letter. We were discussing the fact that Katie had typed in "Anorexia Orem" into the Google search engine, when the guy next to us (wearing his full army get-up, mind you) jerks his head from his computer and stares at me. I then told Katie to type in "A Center for Change" which is the eating disorder clinic that Katie is applying to work at (not to seek treatment from). A few minutes latter the guy leans over and says to me "You know there is an free eating disorder clinic here on campus" as if I was in need of some eating disorder counseling. I quickly assured him that we were job hunting, and that I knew about the center on campus. He then nervously asked me "Do you know if non-students can get counseling from them?" I replied so politely with "I don't know but if you contact them, they can let you know or give you a reference." We continued working, and all of a sudden he started making noises as if he was mad at his computer. I seeing that he had strategically placed his army hat close to me, broke the awkward non-silence (since he was making weird noises) and asked if it was true that if you put on their hat they have to kiss you. He said he had never heard that, but did I want to?. And I quickly responded that he would have to provide the kiss if I put on the hat, not that I wanted it. Katie just started laughing and then I had to explain that that's what the ROTC kids at my high school said. A few minutes later, the guy said, "well just so you know I'm very flattered". I was like what? I was just asking a question, not implying anything. But I just smiled and laughed to myself.

Why do people at BYU have to converse with one another? Can't we just do our homework in peace?

Why I am doing this.

PS You may be thinking, Whitney you're not married, no one cares, and why are you doing this. Well, because I don't have a life, and YOU ARE reading this, AND in the wise words of my idol (and also Bobby Brown) it's my prerogative.

Grandpa Englund's Birthday

Last Sunday, it was my Grandpa Englund's 82nd birthday. I went up early to my grandparent's house to go help with dinner. Well, they didn't need my help. So I asked my grandma if I could try on her wedding dress. Let me just preface this with the fact that Jessica Balkman is wearing her mother's wedding dress when she gets married, and since I haven't fit into my mom's wedding dress since I was thirteen (thanks to my abnormally large ribcage), I felt that maybe I could fit into my grandmother's dress. Well, I put the dress on and I was barely able to get my arms into the dress, not to mention the 4'' to 6'' gap in the back. I made the joke to my grandma that if I lost 25 lbs I could fit into the dress. She said, "Well yeah that will do it." And she was completely serious. She later commented "Well if you just lose that weight, you can fit into the dress." Needless to say for the first time in years she didn't ask me if I needed anything else at dinner.

Round 2 of my evening happened at the dinner table. The week before when we were having dinner my grandmother lectured us about politics. I'm serious, she made us read this republican propaganda because she knows my cousin isn't a republican. I made a joke this week about how we wouldn't have a lecture on politics. Then, all of my aunts and uncles preceeded to talk about Barack and Hillary for the rest of the meal. While my cousin Jordan and I just sat and laughed and ate all of the pot roast and bacon.

Round 3 happened when I was using the bathroom, and my grandpa walked in on me. There are two doors into the bathroom; one from the family room/walkway and one from the side bedroom. I locked the door to the family room, but didn't think to lock the bedroom door. All of a sudden someone started jiggling the door handle, and I said "I'll be just a minute". Then there was silence, and my grandpa opened the side door. The funny thing was, is that I wasn't embarrassed at all, but I think my grandpa was.

Round 4, seriously there are four rounds. I didn't realize there were four rounds until my cousin Jordan mentioned how my uncle hadn't talked to the two of us the entire time we were there. Literally, didn't say anything to Jordan, and just said "Hi, Whitney". When Jordan said goodbye to him, he didn't even look up. I decided to give him a hug, because I think if you are going to at least pretend to be my family, I'm going to treat you like it. My uncle put his hand out for me to shake it, and I just stood there with my arms open for a hug. He leaned forward, and I thought he was going to hug me while he was still seated. So I leaned forward, but he stood up, right into my shoulder. I ended knocking his glasses almost off his face. He was so angry, but he tried to hide it. And then some how I ended knocking him down back onto the seat. He wasn't happy about that either. But I guess that's the karma he gets.

Happy 82nd Birthday Grandpa!

Am I Seriously Doing This?

Ok. So, who is going to read this anyways? Probably just Kaitlin Dew, who I give all the credit for me creating this. I will try to give you updates and highlights of my life.