Sometimes at work, I help make Harley-Davidson funeral sprays.
I know. That's hot.
This is what our bums looked like
when we met these guys:
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These are the beautiful star players of the BYU Men's Basketball team.
They walked up to us as we were whacking each others' bums with newspapers and started listing off common names.
"We have a pizza delivery. Is there an Emily here? Or a Rachel? Or a Sarah?"
"I'm Sarah," said my roommate, "but probably not the right one."
"No, it's you!" they insisted, "Who else is here?"
"Laura."
"Ishel."
"Shelby."
"Ya! You're the right ones! These are for you."
As they handed us the Pizza Factory pizzas and other coupons, Sarah and I silently hyperventilated while the rest of the group took the pizzas, confused.
The others were visiting from BYU-Idaho, so they had no idea what was going on. One girl almost invited them to play with us.
We all regret that she held back.
"Is that a camera?" asked Charles Abouo.
"Looks like it," said Brandon Davies. "Here get a picture. You'll want it later."
They were right.
And this was the conversation when I got home:
Laura: Mom, I met Charles Abouo today.
Mom: Who's Charles Skabooboo?
Laura: Nevermind.
Public Frenemy #1 sabotaged my winning putts more than once and hid my golf ball in his pocket.
But then he got it out of the pond when it ricocheted backwards as I jump-putted, so he's on the path to redemption.
Jump-putting is great.
So is sit-putting.
Also dangerous, though.
I'm just glad the little boy whose chest served as shot-deflector on the last putt of the game is still living.
Solar white on top, delectably brown on bottom.
This is the result of going outside to study, while wearing pants of a different length each day, and waking up an hour later with a new awkward tan-line and no homework done.
I'm trend-setting. Ombre legs are going to be sooooo in this year, you guys.
I took a scandilicious picture of my ombre-ness, but I figured you'd like this one better. It's not very effective in illustrating the new trend, but it is highly effective in illustrating my self-timer handicap.
Plus also, it's ok to get mustard and mayonnaise stains on your dress and don them proudly the rest of the day. They're like battle-wounds from a barbecue war-zone, but less noble and more piggy.
. . . and then I looked up and my neighbors were watching me from their back deck.
It's a good day when your best friend comes home from Europe and brings you gorgeous jewelry and gorgeous chocolate.
But mostly it's a good day just because the best friend came home from Europe.
Because now I have someone to go to ritzy art shows with while eating the free hors d'oevres and wearing blue-jeans. Party.
This. Is. America.
Land of the free. Home of the raves.
"I'm telling you, this shirt is changing my life. Now guys compliment my clothes. Huge guys."
Like a pro, I pulled the massive delivery van into reverse in an attempted parallel park.
However, I must be a female driver because it took me a good four seconds to realize that the reason I couldn't move any further and there were metal-on-metal shrieks exuding from my rear (the car's rear) was that I had indeed hit the truck behind me.
After looking both ways to make sure no one I knew would see me, I hopped out and examined the damage. I held my breath and released it only when I discovered there was but a paint scratch on the front corner of the truck. However, I'd need to find the driver and have him pull back an inch so I could move without causing further damage.
About this time, my boss's boss walked by. Oh good. Although the driver had come and happily moved his truck with a "don't worry about it," the boss's boss called the police to get the incident reported. Good thing, too, because the campus cops probably haven't had this much excitement since those two Oreos were reported stolen from a TA in the math lab.
The situation became awesome when the cop stepped down from his official minivan wearing real-life aviators.
"Here's what we're going to do," he sniffed. "I've issued the report but I'm not going to give you a ticket, because the situation's already messy enough as it is."
It seemed only fitting, what with the messiness of the situation and all, to fill out the paperwork on two bridal magazines, which the boss's boss and I flipped through and giggled at as Bad Cop checked my Driver's License.
If I don't make the Police Beat this time, so help me . . .
However, I must be a female driver because it took me a good four seconds to realize that the reason I couldn't move any further and there were metal-on-metal shrieks exuding from my rear (the car's rear) was that I had indeed hit the truck behind me.
After looking both ways to make sure no one I knew would see me, I hopped out and examined the damage. I held my breath and released it only when I discovered there was but a paint scratch on the front corner of the truck. However, I'd need to find the driver and have him pull back an inch so I could move without causing further damage.
About this time, my boss's boss walked by. Oh good. Although the driver had come and happily moved his truck with a "don't worry about it," the boss's boss called the police to get the incident reported. Good thing, too, because the campus cops probably haven't had this much excitement since those two Oreos were reported stolen from a TA in the math lab.
The situation became awesome when the cop stepped down from his official minivan wearing real-life aviators.
"Here's what we're going to do," he sniffed. "I've issued the report but I'm not going to give you a ticket, because the situation's already messy enough as it is."
It seemed only fitting, what with the messiness of the situation and all, to fill out the paperwork on two bridal magazines, which the boss's boss and I flipped through and giggled at as Bad Cop checked my Driver's License.
This one's bad for my ego.
Don't believe me?
I took before, during, and after shots of this 88-point move.
I made the purple captions.
I concocted the word p'zwn'd.
I cackled on the couch and bragged to my brethren.
I blogged about it.
It must be time to download the Draw Something app,
because I could really use some smartphone humility in my life.
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