Before, all I needed was my journal, because I could chat it up with anyone that mattered every day. But now I'm gone. Stranded. About 10 miles away (ya, I could probably walk home). In P-town. Having the time of my life. And I'm not letting you guys read my journal, so I figure the time is ripe like Tim's feet to get this blog a rollin. What I'm trying to say is...Fam Bam, Geek Squad, [anyone else who is looking for a good blog to stalk during work when they get sick of Harry Potter] I MADE THIS FOR YOU!!!! (Didn't catch the reference? Shame. Go here. I wish I could say Julian was my homeboy. Sadly, I'm not that cool.)
College is fabulous. Having only been here for a week, I am definitely qualified to say that. 5 years and 7 changes in my major later, I'm sure I'll be changing my tune. For now, check back every so often for pictures and thoughts. Such as this:
This is my roommate, Sarah. She's super cute and she smiles in pictures. Sometimes when it's after midnight and we should be in bed, we have funny misunderstanding. As I'm painting my nails and reading a textbook:
Sarah: Are you highlighting your book with that?
Me: Uhhhh, ya? (I'm slow)
10 minutes later:
Sarah: I just love moleskins!
Me: Oh my gosh, me too!
Sarah: I have a black one at home that I really miss, but I like my yellow one too.
Me: Ya, they're so nice. Uhhhhh...ya. Wait, what?
She was talking about her journal. I thought she was talking about the blister patches and was going with it. Yes, with that much enthusiasm. I just couldn't bear to burst her bubble if she really thought they were that cool. Hence the picture. Moleskins, a highlighter, and nail polish.
When it's the night before I move out and I can't sleep, I:
-Pack my undies and "Men of Hawaii" calendar (these 2 items are unrelated)
-Lie in bed thinking about how I hope in the morning I can get to my journal, which for some reason is being stashed in the glove compartment of my car, before Jordan finds it and provides his high school buddies with a good laugh
-Give up and grab my ipod, succumbing to such sleepy artists as Michael Giacchino, Enya, and Aaron Copland
-Spend an hour looking for "Kaysonisms," a reminder of my Lyceum orchestra days when I played Copland's Appalachian Spring and befriended Dylan, the Man Flute
-Bust out the Harry Potter (book 6, on this occasion)
-Sneak upstairs for a 3 in the morning snack: smoked pepper jack white cheddar cheese and homemade granola
-Break my own blog ban
I daresay I'd better not log onto Facebook if I think there's any possibility of dozing off for these last 3 hours . . . nah. Here's to the beginning of many sleepless college nights. Cheers.
(That's a good band name.)
Seeing as I talk to all, what, three of you every week, and as nothing worth mentioning really happens to me during the summer, I am banning myself from the internet until September first. Turns out I have better things to do. Like eat snowcones by myself in the park. And expand my D.I. china collection. And injure myself sleeping in the van after getting locked out. It's a good life.
I've got it all planned out.
My first true love's kiss, that is.
It will begin with a summer challenge.
I'll dare him to grow out a marvelous mustache.
(Mustaches are funny, girls. And old school awesome. Humor me.)
If he is hesitant, I will question his manhood.
He will not refuse the challenge.
He may ask what I will give him for doing it.
I will tell him anything he wants.
Facial hair is a big deal.
Weeks, or possibly months later (depending on the growth rate of his upper-lip army),
When afternoon hikes and group picnics have sparked up a lil' somethin,
He will drop me off on my doorstep one night.
I will "suddenly" remember my promise to him.
"Looks like little Joey's not so little anymore,"
I'll tell him, because that is what we will affectionately christen the creature.
"Now what do you want from me?"
"Hm," he will ponder,
"Anything I want. I could ask you to bring me breakfast every day for a month.
Or I could make you walk around campus dressed like Barney the Dinosaur.
But I think I will just ask you to let me kiss you instead."
"Well," I will say,
"A deal is a deal. I've never kissed a moustachio'd man before."
"Me neither," He will respond.
Because my true love is a funny guy.
...I open a soda and an hour later I can still hear it crackling in its can. It's like it wants to eat me.
"Hey Bret, if I want to transfer someone, do I press the transfer button?"
"Hey Bret, what's the difference between mute and hold?"
"Hey Bret, if this person's account has already been canceled, can I cancel it again?"
[pointing at the phone and mouthing silently] "Hey Bret, this lady sounds like she wants to kill me. What should I do?!?"
I figure that with this record, I really have no pride to maintain. So, I brought my Happiness Book to work on. With all my down time, I was getting unhealthily good at Sudoku anyway.
"Hey Bret, do you like this page? It has lots of my favorite flowers on it."
Fact: I have never failed an internet stalking venture. Whether I am trying to find a website that "does not exist" or your dear friend Johny Johnson from Somewhere, Illinois who somehow does not have a Facebook account, I will emerge victorious.
I knew things (that quite frankly freaked me out) about all my roommates before I even spoke to them. Mind you, I didn't get any of this from Facebook:
You can imagine how nervous all this made me. I even found pictures for two of these brilliant, stunning people. Then, just for kicks, I internet stalked myself. Biggest MLIA moment of my life. It took my saner roommates actually emailing me to come to the realization that these people are down to earth and we have a lot in common. Even if they are cooler than me. Which they are.
Moral of the story: Internet stalking is only so reliable. Also, Laura is a creeper. Roommates, when you actually meet me and stumble upon this post, I encourage you to comment about how creepy you find me. As if you haven't gathered that already. Love you all!
I knew things (that quite frankly freaked me out) about all my roommates before I even spoke to them. Mind you, I didn't get any of this from Facebook:
•Roommate 1 was president of the LDS Eastern Home Educators Youth Conference Committee. She likes reading, singing, and graphic design, and she designed posters that hang in her local library.
•Roommate 2 was a recipient of the National Merit Scholarship in Texas. That means she's like a super genius. She's smarter than me and you.
•Roommate 3 organized a massive children's book drive in Salt Lake City. What a babe.
You can imagine how nervous all this made me. I even found pictures for two of these brilliant, stunning people. Then, just for kicks, I internet stalked myself. Biggest MLIA moment of my life. It took my saner roommates actually emailing me to come to the realization that these people are down to earth and we have a lot in common. Even if they are cooler than me. Which they are.
Moral of the story: Internet stalking is only so reliable. Also, Laura is a creeper. Roommates, when you actually meet me and stumble upon this post, I encourage you to comment about how creepy you find me. As if you haven't gathered that already. Love you all!
Old Lady gives Young Man her most prized possession.
Young Man falls in love with a dead lady who lived 70 years ago.
Young Man goes back in time by hypnotizing himself.
Man finds Lady, who refuses to speak to him.
1 Day Later
Man and Lady are completely in love and discussing marriage.
1 Minute Later
Man catches glimpse of a penny from the time period he's supposed to be living in.
Man goes back to the 80's, while Lady screams his name like she's in Psycho.
Man is sweat nasty, but instead of taking a shower and trying to re-hypnotize himself, he goes into shock and stops eating.
1 Week Later
Man does not miraculously recover.
Lady does not find way to come to the future to be with him.
Man does not regain sanity or really try to do anything to get back to his true love.
Man dies of starvation and a broken heart.
(Meanwhile, Lady has spent 73 years alone and depressed.)
~
This, my good people, is an American Classic: forty minutes of boring character introductions, twenty minutes of plot development, five minutes of romantical warm fuzzies, and then they die. If I was Man, or Lady for that matter, I would be highly upset at the tears of joy shed over my miserable life. But at least the story ends with a 30-second happily ever after-death scene.
And could someone please tell me where that pocket watch came from in the first place?
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