Sitting on the top bunk in my new apartment with absolutely NOTHING to do (refer to Nonsensical Nugget number 3), I feel as though letting my fingers fly may relieve the altitude sickness. It must be time for Ghetto and Ghet-This Monday! Never heard of it? Remove that rock from above your cabeza.

Ghetto: The shredded couch on the third floor that is foaming at the cracks and positively buzzing with diseases. I'm sure this could make for some great cuddling if given the chance, but mostly I'm just pleased that I know where to come when I'm in a Bigger or Better battle of massive magnitude.

Ghet-This: Matching roommate dresses as a joke on the first day of church will collect you a reputation, paparazzi problems, and a plethora of nerdy engineers who will not let you leave ward gatherings.
Note to Self: Exchange guitar class with jujitsu class.

Ghetto: Wood paneling straight from the 70s all around the living room. Lest you fear, the brown is broken up by a wall of whitewashed cinder blocks. The Brady Bunch meets Prison Break. This is great.

Ghet-This: "You are really long," is the most sincere compliment I have received all day or ever, closely followed by a continual 3-hour-long bout of, "I like your Did you buy them together?" Why no, engineer, we all happened to buy the same hideous polyester box gown from D.I. independently and then miraculously wound up being bound together in the coincidental bonds of roommatedom. P.S. I like the outfit coordination between you and every other gent in the ward! Did you all go shopping together?

Ghetto: Plaids upon plaids. Is a matching set of plaid couches really not enough? Must we choose pillows in plaid of a different variety to adorn them? I suppose this isn't entirely ghetto, just headache-inducing.

Ghet-This: After becoming nauseated by the effort it took to respond to the dress question every minute on the minute, we started by responding with, "Oh hey, we're triplets!" I don't know how old we are. I also don't know how anybody bought that. But then again, don't we look so alike?

Ghetto: My shot-glass collection. I luh it.

Ghet-This: It's a mile walk to and from work; I definitely deserve all-you-can-eat Kneaders french toast in the morning with  the million or 6 lovely ladies who live with me. You're all invited to this 8-month-long Estrogen partaaaaay.
Ghetto and Ghet-This

 "I don't think I'm going to wear this outfit tonight. It's a little revealing."

So he wore this instead.

Oh, and guess what I had for dinner? Actually, don't. I totally deserved it. Again.

Tomorrow I'll move out for real. Promise.
Jordan Says

Flowers we unlawfully nabbed from a dangerous local drugloard-inhabited location.

Flowers I was offered for free at my swoonishly brilliant floral shop job, one day after risky flower-nabbing behavior.

Default wardrobe. Every. Day. It's not healthy and it's not flattering.

$5 nail job. Nothing beats late summer.

And it was all yellow

Let's be on death row for a minute.

What do we request to savor as our final bites as a mortal in this earth life?

The walk to Old Electric may seem like five miles, but we will welcome our just chair treatment, feeling confident about our perfect last food choice.

and berries.
and buckets of ice-cream, 'speshly if we're lactose intolerant.

But why? There are so many better things to be had, such as massive slabs of beef and hot gooey brownies.

One word: Heartburn.

It will be incredible. We will beg for death, and the relief will be great.

But if we ever really are on death row, I will kill us. Make good choices.
No really, last meal

Why does moving out feel a lot like driving down the street spur of the moment with some things I grabbed from my closet at random? What happened to freshman year, when my bags were packed a month in advance and I coordinated with my roommates to determine who would bring the blender and who would bring the measuring cups?

Honestly children, moving out is like NBD. Pack underwear and gum and a picture of your dog, and you'll be golden. Don't worry, you'll talk to your family every day when you call home to ask your mom how she always broils your grilled cheese chicken sandwich. You will also visit to drop off your laundry and ransack the food storage.

This is all inevitable.

When your parents wonder aloud why their year's supply suddenly looks like seven months, remember that you are still a good person who has not suffered death by hunger, and then become suddenly enthralled in the moles on your left arm.

I didn't even cry once when I first moved out, which for some reason surprised me. I have a heart of stone. Marble I'd guess, or maybe quartz.

Yesterday I moved out once more. Today I am typing these tender thoughts on the toilet, tearing myself apart with tantalizing taunts as to the true reason I took the ten-minute trip to the home-town not twenty hours since the initial transfer to tenancy.

The verdict? Not only was my apartment 8 trillion degrees, but I wanted a good last meal. When I told my family yesterday morning that I would be moving out yesterday evening, they were all like,


And then I consumed fend-for-yourself-style leftovers for dinner. Not that I have anything against leftovers, it just wasn't the good home-cooked family meal I hold so dear to my heart.

So today I returned and my mom was all like,


and my brothers were all like,

"Why are you here?"

And then we had dinners. This time was much better. We ate all together. Leftovers.

Hint taken, family. I'll leave now. I realize it is time to be a big person and cook for myself. I made a 50-serving-size batch of nasty-looking artichoke soup to freeze. Looks like leftovers for the next four months for me. Must run in the genes. 
Last meal

things I love that will leave you shaking your head in incredulity

Budgeting: The perfect balance of numbers, organization, and thriftiness. I think these may also be the attributes of a boy scout.

Toast: And this is why I can't buy bread. But really.

Boredom: When you honestly can't think of anything you could be doing. That is a rare treat.

Stalking with a Purpose: I prefer to think of this as information collecting. It gives me a boost of energy and makes me feel like I have a mission in life.

Shot Glass Collections: I've never even bought a shot glass, and the most risque beverage I've ever downed was a cool Dr. Pepper. I feel as though shot glasses are sort of white trash, so I don't know why I find joy in them. Perhaps because my roommates won't stop buying them for me. I can't figure what it is about me that screams, "Give me shot glasses!" but I'll go with it.
Five Nonsensical Nuggets

The Ingredients:

lack of exercise
backpack shopping
the realization that I would rather buy balloon pants than a backpack
a hike behind this outfit:
a little brother who is inside the outfit pictured above
natural water slide down giant rocks
the sewing of leopard print, one-piece sleepers
discovering how to induce sneezes
inability to figure out how to stop induced sneezes
two dozen sneezes + one dozen tissues
cleared sinuses + red eyes
boogers everywhere, but mostly just on tissues
tmi on my blog

Simple Wednesday

It might not be a good idea to go up into the mountains, pick a bunch of weeds, and arrange them in a dirty vase.

It may not be a good idea to sign up for a Floral Design class when your major is Mathematics.

It could possibly be a bad idea to make boutonnieres out of leaves you find in your yard. 

Roommate bonding over grease-nasty Chinese take-out and an oriental centerpiece arranged by thine very own super white hands could be iffy. 

It's not always awesome to buy fake flowers from the dollar store, stuff them at random into a block of foam, and call it art.

Or maybe you could do all these things and call them stepping stones to getting hired on starting as a florist (skipping the typical lowly cashier position) at your local Campus Floral shop.

My very first wrap design. What a child.

Or if you'd rather, you could eat Nutella or save lives or any number of activities less sissy than playing with flowers all day. 

Translation: Starting next week, life takes on a new charmed sort of pace as I begin my recently acquired job as a florist on campus. Dream come true up in this piece. Boo. Yah.
Dream Job-inated

There are few things that make me want to go spend triple-digits worth of dollars more than shoes that look like ugly, colorful feet.

Vibram KomodoSports

Peer pressure is wrong to practice and to cave into. This is why when Freddy, the running buddy last year started wearing Vibram Five-Finger shoes, I mostly just ignored them, shoving the shoes into the back of my mind as something a crazy bandwagon-esque runner person might wear.

Then Sarah, the roommate and running buddy for next year had to go buy some. I turned to internet reviews in order to justify my not owning these hideous creatures, but alas, Google let me down and I knew I must break the rule about peer pressure. Since I already caved, I might as well be on practicing end as well.

I've already victimized Jake. You should probably do some research yourself, because nobody on the entire internet has anything bad to say about their fitness experience while wearing these.

I was a skeptic since toe socks make me cringe, but these are amazingly comfortable. I would ditch all my other shoes and wear them to school and church if that were socially appropriate. The more I wear them, the cuter they seem. And I didn't hit the triple digits after all because buying them new off of eBay saved me 25%. [imagine the following said in a black man voice] Money in the Grocery Fund!

Plus, I shaved 30 seconds off my mile while looking like an exceptionally lurpy Hobbit. There's no losing.

You didn't want your next paycheck anyway

My brother is a stallion, as long as you're talking about taste in music. If you need something to ward off that radio nonsense that is always stuck in your head, check this dude's tunes:

I apologize if his track links don't work. They often don't. Just try back later or using a different web server and that'll probably do the trick.

This is for you, Steve. Sorry my response time is a month on the slow end.
Music Fix

Cherry: Honestly, it just gets lost in the crowd. Who's going to go for boring old cherry when there are so many other brighter, more exciting flavor options to explore?
Watermelon: Somewhat overrated and overabundent, but I'd pick it over 3 out of the 5.
Apple: Makes me feel like Snow White but less romantic. One day I'll suck into that apple and cough off to a raucous death, my sole hope of awakening being mouth-to-mouth by one of the old ladies in the back office, or maybe the heimlich by Mary and Pippin. Anybody else have an unfortunate and immediate choke-reflex to only this flavor?
Blue Raspberry: The best. My supervisor is the sweetest; he always smuggles them to me because they're rare and he knows they're my favorite.
Grape: Well, grape and cherry are both favorites, but grape is a little more favorite.

Peanut Butter Filled Pretzel: The death of me. 
Mint: 2 for 25 cents, if you know what I mean. Wink, wink.
The lineup

I'm in the business of fooling the human mind into thinking its body is eating partially healthy, when in reality its body is eating zero percent healthy. It's a rigorously rewarding line of work.

Call it brainwashing or whatever. I like it.

It's time for a cooking journey. Join me.

I advise you make a lovely missionary recipe book for that special someone and/or brother.
He will love it and/or send it untouched back home 23 months out.

Many of you did the following in high school chemistry--this is the only information I retained from that class.

Many of you did not do the following in high school chemistry. You individuals must pay especially close attention, because this is more applicable than the periodic table and more astonishing than a cheap magic show.

Brown Sugar flavoring not necessary

So do you believe in magic? 
If not you'd better start, because how a box of Ritz crackers turns into a pie that 
looks, smells, and tastes exactly like apples is beyond me.

The journey to the awesomeness that is Ritz Chemical Apple Pie will jump further higher on your awesomeness radar if you have a crust ready to go, leftover dough with which to make improv pastries (Nutella, lemon curd, maraschino cherries, cream cheese), a boy who will weave the top Native American style, and a brother who will treat you all to "homemade whipped cream" by pouring half & half and powdered sugar over the top.

Happy baking. Science Rules.

It's apples, or not. It's chemicals. It's pie.

And we like to party.

Murder Mystery Dinner date with the broho?
I've never actually heard of a broho.
I'm down.
Chris is back

The best day

I swear, this is all that happened.

For some reason, this was on my bucket list.
Oddly enough, it was actually the only thing on my bucket list:

"Sell mints to unsuspecting couples up Squaw Peak." (the local make-out point)

Now that we done did the deed, I have no goals for the future. I really need to re-evaluate my life.

It rained. Please excuse the hair. I usually do.

To calm your worries

The fact that I have a photo folder on my desktop labeled: 

Squaw Peak--Scandy.

More on this later.

Simpleton Pleasure #8: "Lookout" Points

This youngster returns from his two year vacation. He's the one in the middle, with the hair part.

I'm excited and all, but I sort of wish I had some more time to enjoy stealing his clothing and sweat-nastying it up on morning runs. 


He needn't know. 

More than anything else, this means I only have one more day to abuse my position as official babysitter of his Facebook page.

I offered to be the recipient of cash or even cheap airport souvenieres on behalf of keeping things boring, but it turns out he'd rather have a smattering of spice accross his Bookface reputation. 

Would my time be better spent uploading entire albums of pictures from his junior high years, or immaturely making 12-year-old-girl commentary on his friends' walls? 
Oh, the procrastination. If only I had time to do it all. Why do I do these things to myself?

Now that you have met the planker, feel free to admire our execution of the sport. 

That was not a pun, but I will proudly pat myself upon the back for noticing that it could be if I were saying it about anyone else.

My apologies, but I cannot resist a good smack-talking. If this doesn't apply to you, feel free to skip several lines.

However, to my special out-of-state planking, friends...I would like to pose a question:

Can you plank on snowy glaciers in the middle of July?

No, I'm not sure you can do that.

Points for Utah.

Back to paid programming:

Go climb a mountain. 

Avoid the trail. 

Find dinosaur-egg mushrooms bigger than your face.

Stumble upon cougar dens littered with horridly huge kitty poo, and scamper away. 

Have a snowball fight. 

Boil some hot chocolate. You only live once.

No, we are not in fact interdigitating. Go ahead, zoom in. This feels awkward to me, too.
These pictures were stolen off Facebook. 
Hide yo wife, hide yo kids, hide yo pictures. I'm thieving everyone out there.
The hills are damp if you know where to look

Truth: We're not all that discreet these days.
Truth: Most of you are out of state, so it doesn't matter. Shock value achieved.
Truth: No you may not click to enlarge. 
Impromptu phone pictures are phone-sized for a reason.
Truth: I have 8 million posts for you this weekend, give or take 7.999 million.

You may call him Jake.


My brown brother Eric leaves for a two year vacation of the suit and nametag wearing variety this exact week. 

A few days ago he shot me a text, because he is great and knows how much I appreciate a good pun story:

"Laura. I thought of you today. I think i made a punny. My uncle said he would rather attend my farewell than go to a funeral he is attending. I said 'yeah it will be a little more lively.'"

And just like that, Eric San Diego will be getting a yummy package from me at ye olde Missionary Training Center. 

I am not hard to please, people. Think simple thoughts.

And this one from another friend. I don't think either of us realized it was pun material at the time, but now I think it's just grand:

"I have to work out every day or I'll go crazy. I love the feeling of lifting--it just...pumps you up. You know?"

Why yes, I do now. Pump those muscles. Pump 'em good.
San Diego made a punny, how 'bout you?


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