Prom is more fun than eating gummi-bears on a swing-set, and this is why:
(once upon a time these colors weren't washed-out)
Maybe when spring semester's over I'll get a website up and running.
And maybe I'll become emperor of the world.

Dropping my Economics class. Picking up a Fly Fishing class. This is real.

When you only know how to play two songs on the guitar, they probably shouldn't be Blackbird and Classical Gas. But they are. I don't know how this happened, but I feel good about it.

Some classy guy I wasn't even dating broke up with me. Uhh . . . ?

Real friends build their weeks around woman dates to J Dawgs.
I like to keep my dog PG-13: everything but jalapenos. No weeping on woman dates.

I saw a dead guy today. He didn't look half bad besides, well, you know.
Flower delivery to funeral homes is frighteningly fun.

Mint fingernails. Traffic cone toenails. Let's be honest: I'd break up with that too.

Ordered a new phone. It's a smart one. The color is gold, because I'm a high-roller. Maybe this will keep me from chipping off all the paint and spinning it like a top and leaving it in the fridge. Or maybe  paint-chippage will increase for the benefit of blinged-up teeth and I'll leave it in increasingly extreme environments because it'll be smart enough to get itself out.

Here's a picture representing the second time I went speed dating and got funny stories and never wrote about it. This was the beginning of the brigade of ethnic men in my life.
What I learned attending 4 hours of classes this afternoon: "Ich hei├če Laura."
Google Translate could've told me that in like 5 seconds. 
When my ritzy smartphone arrives, I'm quitting college.

Good news: I saw a dog today.

Better news: Along with making a dozen corsages this weekend, I will be reading the Book of Mormon in its entirety. Because I can. And because it'll put some things in perspective. And also because I'm insane.
This is my life.

Thanks, brother.

Happy When Hacked

Remember Freddy? I miss Freddy. I think he's actually going by Fred these days. My little baby's all grown up and saving Columbia. And doing really smart things like this:

That's my boy.

I'm an awful letter-writer. There are too many people I should be keeping up with, so to compensate I just don't keep up with any of them. Don't worry, it makes sense. Nonetheless, I found this in my inbox today from my BFF Fred:


I imagine finals are coming up.  Good luck with them!! I´m sure that you´ll rock them and do great.  Let´s just say however that I don´t envy you at all. :)

-Elder Cannon

Seriously, who remembers stuff like that when they're halfway around the world? If I were out of the country, finals would be the first thing I'd have cast from my mind. 

If you don't have a friend like Freddy, please find one for the sake of your sanity. Too much saneness is never good. There's a Fred for that. 

The Fred for the Win

You may have heard it's finals week.

Um . . . I made a really long snake today while waiting for a YouTube video to load.

Actually I made a longer one than this, but I was too into keeping it alive to capture a screen image. 

John Butler's a really good guitarist. I've listened to the song Ocean on repeat about 4 dozen times today. No, but really. It pays to have friends who are in the know about cool guitar songs. Unless you want to actually study so you can do well on your finals and get good grades so you can get into a good professional school and get a good job and make good money. In that case it doesn't pay to have friends who are in the know about cool guitar songs.

So . . . turns out my dad's a punny guy. 

"Watch it. I could beat you up. I beat you up today, and I beat you up yesterday too.  I beat you guys up all the time. I'll probably beat you up tomorrow. Maybe if you set your alarm clocks earlier you could beat me up from bed in the morning sometime."

Rapidly Growing Reptiles and Child Abuse

Remember this quote, from like two days ago?

"Hand me a frying pan and a cutting board and I'll cook you up veggies and delicious meat dishes all day long."
Ya . . .
I volunteered to bring teriyaki chicken, the main dish, to a potluck dinner this afternoon. I had a bag of frozen chicken I needed to use up before the end of the school year, so I figured this would be a fantastic idea. 

Ya . . .
Said dinner is happening in half an hour and I have no food left except a bag of shrimp and some Italian dressing. I hope these people like seafood because the teriyaki chicken isn't looking so hot. I take that back; it's looking too hot. 
On the upside, the flower's real pretty, wouldn't you say?
Don't listen to me. I'm a filthy liar.

Some people learn sketchy things about themselves when they go to college. Perhaps they discover that they have an unhealthy obsession with inappropriate late-night talk shows and caffeinated beverages. They might find out that they haven't grown out of High School Musical or Justin Bieber. Worse yet, they may even ascertain that *gasp* they are just like their mother. I, too, have come to realize a truly disturbing truth about my adult self.

I hate baking. With a passion.

And not because I'm bad at it--I'd daresay my baked goods are unexpectedly delightful, actually.

Tonight I made oatmeal butterscotch chocolate chip cookie cupcakes with butterscotch butter-cream frosting.
(Please mutter that under your breath twelve times as fast as you can. Please make sure you do this with a friend in the room.)

Death in a cupcake tin? Yes. To die for? Also yes. I guess that's logical.

This is where I would post a picture of the beautiful cupcake display I spent ten minutes putting together for the sake of phony blog professionalism, but there are no cameras here and my phone's dead, so . . . here's a plagiarized picture for you to enjoy:

Despite the success, I loathed every second of mixing, whipping, baking, and icing. Sure this is in part due to my aversion to sweets, but really, I just honest-to-goodness don't like the baking process.

Hand me a frying pan and a cutting board and I'll cook you up veggies and meat dishes all day long.
(And yes husband-to-be, sandwiches too.)

Just please keep the butter, brown sugar, and frosting tips in a corner far, far away from me.

Kudos to those who bake.
Does this make me a bad Mormon?

Goal: Accomplished.

I finished running X number of miles ("X" stands for eXtra unimpressive) this semester and got my brag-worthy free t-shirt that fools boys into thinking I'm an athlete. I'm really glad BYU's gone back to their original blue, even if the only reason they did it was to make money off of all the new merchandise we have to go buy now.

 New Goal: A Sorta/Kinda Six-Pack. By my birthday.

My birthday is in a month. May 8th. Scoffing is encouraged on your part, but it's not as lofty a goal as it sounds. Allow me to expound.

I realize that not even Taylor Laughtner on anabolic steroids could achieve true six-pack-dom from nothing in under thirty days. I also realize that women with ripped abs are frightening and icky. However, somebody I know told me it couldn't be done, so . . . here we are.

Basically, I'd settle for a softly defined stomach. Super softly defined. I mean Starla's great, but . . .

ya, no. Let's stay away from Starla status.

Someone realistic told me it couldn't be done, and thus the sorta/kinda six-pack goal. This isn't a problem. At least it won't be a problem starting tomorrow, because that half-pound bag of Victory Jellybeans had to be eaten in one sitting today since I earned them pwning everyone in the family Easter Egg Battle (smash confetti-filled eggs over your opponents' heads and you get to rob them of their eggs; crying was involved).

Happy Finals! As a fourth-timer of Finals Week, I advise calling it a night at 2:00 a.m. and then waking again at 5:00 a.m. to resume your papers and projects--it's a more effective tactic than pulling an all-nighter. And remember, it doesn't matter how awful things get or how sure you are you're going to die, because when it comes down to it, it'll all be over by next Thursday at 4:00 no matter what.

And by three Thursdays after that, I'll have sorta/kinda six-pack stories to brighten your day, I'm sure.

Sorta/Kinda Six-Pack

"I finally went to the gym last night. I guess you could say I'm a gymmer."


(This one was cultural. If you don't get it, you're probably still a person--one who doesn't live around these parts and must be cooler than me.)
Punday Monday

guess what I'm doing today?

Yes. And if I don't come back alive (oh yeah, please pray for my life), I'll go out hoping that I will have made a sizable impact on the earth. (morbid pun not originally intended, but so fabulous that I must later re-post it to Facebook, thereby making it intentional.)

Indeed, falling over Moab at sunset should be dream-like. 'Twill be a golden weekend.
Never thought I was suicidal, but

"Whoever has babies first gets this huge box of baby clothes I've been collecting!"

"I saw the neatest thing on Pinterest today!"

"Bring your date to Grandma's house for the family Easter egg hunt!"

"Cold cereal for dinner!"

"Come look--I found your wedding dress!"

"I put cheesecake bites on my frozen yogurt. It was so yummy!"

"Have you seen Jordan's friend? His body is godlike. Really, he's in the garage. Go check him out!"

Mother Says

My Brother, The Stallion:

Watch his moves as he serenades the ladies.
(but make sure you're logged into Facebook first)

This is how he went about asking some pretty-lil'-thang to Prom.

He's the skinny lurp in my dad's old neon scouting hat. Cool outfit, bro.
Song: Kiss, by Prince.

Our entire family dances like Bill Cosby (facial expressions and all), but Jordan's the only one cool enough to pull it off.


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