Everyone in my family but me had a cold last weekend. This has caused my personal RN aka my mother to inquire after my health thusly:
MOM: How are you feeling?
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Well-
MOM: You wouldn't happen to have a (dramatic pause) COLD, would you?
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: ...no...I'm feeling fine.
MOM: Because I can get you medicine for your (dramatic pause) COLD.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: I don't need any medicine. I'm not sick.
MOM: Well when you need medicine for your (dramatic pause) COLD, let me know.
On Monday morning, I was getting ready for school, minding my own business and eating the citrus fruit my mother gave me to help my non-existent cold, when my nose started to bleed.
This happens on a regular basis because my nose hates me. Usually I get nosebleeds when I'm under a lot of metaphorical pressure, literal water or air pressure, or after I've had a sinus infection (which also happens a lot because my sinuses also hate me).
Sometimes, however, I get nosebleeds for no reason, like the one I got at Etch-a-Sketch's place several weeks ago. We were just sitting on her couch, watching Fraggle Rock, when my nose started gushing like an insincere woman. I got blood all over the bathroom sink and had to pull the kitchen garbage can next to me to better dispose of the box of tissues I was going through at a rapid pace. Etch-a-Sketch and Mr. Etch-a-Sketch had bought this box of tissues with their hard-earned newlywed money. In other circumstances it probably would have lasted them the rest of the summer.
This is what happens when I leave the house. People get bankrupted.
On Monday my nose was all bleeding and it was a problem because I had to get to school. I hung out in the bathroom for a while, trying to get the nosebleed to stop with the use of many tissues and pinching but not tipping my head back because that just drains the blood into the throat and who wants to drown in their own blood? Not me.
My mother heard me sniffing from the other room. "Do you want some medicine for your...COLD?"
"I don't have a cold!" I managed to gasp-shriek between torrents. I dared to pull the tissue away from my face to check if it was working. It wasn't. A cascade of blood cascaded upon me.
Did I mention that I was wearing a white shirt?
With fifteen minutes left until I had to leave for the bus, I gave up on stopping the blood. One hand clamped firmly over my nose, I used my other hand to finish getting dressed, brush my teeth, and do my hair and makeup.
It was not a very successful venture. For one thing, it was too hard to put on my jeans one-handed, so I put on a pair of shorts instead. Socks and sneakers also proved most difficult and I slipped my feet into a pair of sandals in lieu.
The nosebleed slowed enough for me to drive to my bus stop, and soon it stopped as suddenly as it had started. I was left a wreck, with blood all over my person.
I was also left to discover that it was chilly outside. My oh-so-convenient shorts and sandals suddenly became less convenient as my knees knocked together. The temperature traveled through my feet and my legs to settle somewhere in my core.
Now I have a cold.
Saturday, September 28, 2013
Monday, September 23, 2013
Half a Year Down
Yesterday was the sixth monthiversary of Awkward Mormon Girl. It was also Frodo and Bilbo Baggins' birthday. I'm not sure which of those things I should be more excited about.
Six months together, everybody. Things are getting kind of serious. In another six months, the trial period will be over and I'll decide the future of my relationship with this blog.
However. That's not until March. No point in thinking too much about it now.
One note about our first six months together: a lot of people read my blog secretly and don't tell me. I mean, that's cool. If you prefer to remain anonymous, I understand. I try to do that as much as possible myself.
On the other hand... if you want to follow the blog and leave comments and stuff too, I'd greatly appreciate that. Sometimes I feel like no one is listening. Slash reading. Even though the view count tells me otherwise.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, it's nice to get encouragement, and it's nice to get feedback. If you like what you see, let me know! If you don't like it, you should probably let me know, too. I can take it. Probably.
If I can't take it, I'll just sic Little Sister on you, and hey presto! Problem solved. For me, anyways.
Six months together, everybody. Things are getting kind of serious. In another six months, the trial period will be over and I'll decide the future of my relationship with this blog.
However. That's not until March. No point in thinking too much about it now.
One note about our first six months together: a lot of people read my blog secretly and don't tell me. I mean, that's cool. If you prefer to remain anonymous, I understand. I try to do that as much as possible myself.
On the other hand... if you want to follow the blog and leave comments and stuff too, I'd greatly appreciate that. Sometimes I feel like no one is listening. Slash reading. Even though the view count tells me otherwise.
I guess what I'm trying to say is, it's nice to get encouragement, and it's nice to get feedback. If you like what you see, let me know! If you don't like it, you should probably let me know, too. I can take it. Probably.
If I can't take it, I'll just sic Little Sister on you, and hey presto! Problem solved. For me, anyways.
Friday, September 20, 2013
Freudian Discourse
We're reading Freud in class now, something I've never done before.
"Oh Freud," I say to my book as I read, "poor, poor Freud." Because obviously the guy had no idea how ridiculous some of the things he said are.
You know that guy who just shows up at social events and starts talking about things no one cares about/which make everybody uncomfortable? That was probably Freud, back in the day. Like, at those early-twentieth-century Austrian dinner parties, after everyone finished their schnitzel and their spaetzle and was quite comfortable drinking Austrian tea and eating Austrian pastries, Freud would probably open his mouth and say, "About psychosexuality-" or "On the matter of the id-"
And then the butler, per his pre-party instructions, would say quite loudly, "Would any of the gentlemen care to come into the drawing room for a rousing game of Guitar Hero?" or whatever they did at early-twentieth-century Austrian parties.
When his nieces and nephews got married, they would fret over where to put Uncle Sigmund on the seating chart, because of course they were the sort of people who use place cards at wedding dinners which I think is a bit silly but some couples seem to find them necessary because they want to separate certain relatives in order to avoid an abundance of awkwardness. Now that I think of it, Freud was probably the reason place cards were invented in the first place.
Had Freud's contemporaries written children's books on how they felt about him, they probably would have written books entitled such things as No, Freud!
And Don't Let Freud Drive the Bus!
And If You Give a Freud Encouragement.
I'm learning a lot at college.
"Oh Freud," I say to my book as I read, "poor, poor Freud." Because obviously the guy had no idea how ridiculous some of the things he said are.
You know that guy who just shows up at social events and starts talking about things no one cares about/which make everybody uncomfortable? That was probably Freud, back in the day. Like, at those early-twentieth-century Austrian dinner parties, after everyone finished their schnitzel and their spaetzle and was quite comfortable drinking Austrian tea and eating Austrian pastries, Freud would probably open his mouth and say, "About psychosexuality-" or "On the matter of the id-"
And then the butler, per his pre-party instructions, would say quite loudly, "Would any of the gentlemen care to come into the drawing room for a rousing game of Guitar Hero?" or whatever they did at early-twentieth-century Austrian parties.
When his nieces and nephews got married, they would fret over where to put Uncle Sigmund on the seating chart, because of course they were the sort of people who use place cards at wedding dinners which I think is a bit silly but some couples seem to find them necessary because they want to separate certain relatives in order to avoid an abundance of awkwardness. Now that I think of it, Freud was probably the reason place cards were invented in the first place.
Had Freud's contemporaries written children's books on how they felt about him, they probably would have written books entitled such things as No, Freud!
Sample text: "If you give a Freud encouragement, he's going to ask you some invasive psychological questions. When you answer the questions, he'll probably write a case study about you. When he's finished, he'll publish it. Then he'll want to turn his observations of your behavior into a book. He'll start writing a draft. He might get carried away and turn his observations into a universal theory that isn't sufficiently justified and may or may not involve words of Greek and vague insults towards America."
I'm learning a lot at college.
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Why Scary Movies and Social Events are Pretty Much the Exact Same Thing
If you're awkward like me, watching a scary movie and attending a social event like a party or church activity are almost identical experiences.
When do I get all jumpy? When do my hands shake? At scary movies. And at social events.
In either case, I spend most of the evening petrified. Halfway through I try to convince myself to leave. After all, I only came for the popcorn.
I can't leave, though. Some dreadful force keeps me in place, forcing me to watch the protagonist of the movie undergo psychological torture/be the protagonist of my own life and undergo the psychological torture of interaction with others.
Just the thought makes me break into a cold sweat.
Once I'm finally able to shatter the terrible spell and escape, I get this feeling of self-congratulations. Like, "Well, that was utterly terrifying. More terrifying than Little Sister. But I'm really proud of myself for sticking it out."
So I metaphorically pat myself on the back. Then I try to repress the memory of what I just survived. Usually, I succeed.
I succeed so well that not long after I voluntarily subject myself to another movie or go to another party. And then it starts all over again...
When do I get all jumpy? When do my hands shake? At scary movies. And at social events.
In either case, I spend most of the evening petrified. Halfway through I try to convince myself to leave. After all, I only came for the popcorn.
I can't leave, though. Some dreadful force keeps me in place, forcing me to watch the protagonist of the movie undergo psychological torture/be the protagonist of my own life and undergo the psychological torture of interaction with others.
Just the thought makes me break into a cold sweat.
Once I'm finally able to shatter the terrible spell and escape, I get this feeling of self-congratulations. Like, "Well, that was utterly terrifying. More terrifying than Little Sister. But I'm really proud of myself for sticking it out."
So I metaphorically pat myself on the back. Then I try to repress the memory of what I just survived. Usually, I succeed.
I succeed so well that not long after I voluntarily subject myself to another movie or go to another party. And then it starts all over again...
Saturday, September 14, 2013
Happiness Enchiladas
Let's be honest here. My life shouldn't be that hard.
My immediate family is all alive and around and relatively (ba-dum-ching!) healthy.
My friends are many, and mostly accessible, and enormously blessed at this time in their lives.
I'm going to, and haven't been kicked out of, and am almost finished with that institution of higher learning known as college. I'm healthy. I have opportunities to grow and to help others grow. I'm flourishing. I'm happy.
Despite how swimmingly it goes, for some reason my life is still challenging.
Life isn't meant to be easy. Life is meant to be hard. Seems like once we admit life is hard, it should become easy. But nope. Life is still hard.
Just now I'm facing a series of personal tasks that are all a) difficult, b) difficult and unlikely, or c) difficult and possibly impossible.
It's a bit disheartening, really.
One of the reasons I'm fond of theatre is because theatre has scripts. I learn a script, I know what's coming, I know what I'm supposed to do. It's comfortable.
In real life, I don't always know what's coming, and I don't always know what I'm supposed to do. It's the opposite of comfortable. It stretches me. And stresses me.
I'd often like to curl up in my closet and refuse to come out. Or spend the rest of my life eating Chinese takeout and watching episodes of Avatar: The Last Airbender on repeat. That would make me reasonably happy. Unfortunately, I'm not okay with reasonably happy. I want the whole happiness enchilada.
Happiness enchiladas do not come to a girl who is hyperventilating in her bedroom closet. Happiness enchiladas come to a girl who moves forward not knowing what's going to happen, but carrying the faith that she will be guided and directed and blessed every step of the way.
Bring it on.
My immediate family is all alive and around and relatively (ba-dum-ching!) healthy.
My friends are many, and mostly accessible, and enormously blessed at this time in their lives.
I'm going to, and haven't been kicked out of, and am almost finished with that institution of higher learning known as college. I'm healthy. I have opportunities to grow and to help others grow. I'm flourishing. I'm happy.
Despite how swimmingly it goes, for some reason my life is still challenging.
Life isn't meant to be easy. Life is meant to be hard. Seems like once we admit life is hard, it should become easy. But nope. Life is still hard.
Just now I'm facing a series of personal tasks that are all a) difficult, b) difficult and unlikely, or c) difficult and possibly impossible.
It's a bit disheartening, really.
One of the reasons I'm fond of theatre is because theatre has scripts. I learn a script, I know what's coming, I know what I'm supposed to do. It's comfortable.
In real life, I don't always know what's coming, and I don't always know what I'm supposed to do. It's the opposite of comfortable. It stretches me. And stresses me.
I'd often like to curl up in my closet and refuse to come out. Or spend the rest of my life eating Chinese takeout and watching episodes of Avatar: The Last Airbender on repeat. That would make me reasonably happy. Unfortunately, I'm not okay with reasonably happy. I want the whole happiness enchilada.
Happiness enchiladas do not come to a girl who is hyperventilating in her bedroom closet. Happiness enchiladas come to a girl who moves forward not knowing what's going to happen, but carrying the faith that she will be guided and directed and blessed every step of the way.
Bring it on.
Thursday, September 12, 2013
World's Most Contrived
I broke a world record today.
What? Oh, you don't believe me? Well then, let me show it to you my way.
See, today when I got home from school I saw a pamphlet for Scholastic book orders sitting on the kitchen counter. Now, let me just say, book orders are one of the best things invented. There's nothing quite like ordering a book and then having it delivered to you all nicely shrink-wrapped a few weeks later. Then you get to take it home in your backpack and read it in one sitting. If it's Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, you end up sobbing at the foot of your bunk bed because you think that Ginny is dead and gone forever and now she and Harry will never marry and have three children.
That was a traumatic moment in my life.
Another, less-traumatic and in fact actually very awesome moment in my life was when I saw the book order pamphlet on the counter. There was this little blurb about a Guinness Book of World Record thing with space to write your own personal records.
At first I was like, "Oh, that's stupid. Writing your own personal records next to actual world records would just be depressing and show you you're a loser because you've never broken a world record."
And then I was like, "Wait. Every time someone breaks a personal record... they're doing something they've never done before."
And then I was all, "They've never done it before... which means it's never been done by them. At all."
And then I was like, "Which means it's something completely new to the world. Which makes it a WORLD RECORD!"
And THEN I was like, "Yeah! Fist bump!" And I fist bumped myself. And it was sad.
BUT. I've broken a ton of world records this week!
World Record for Number of Trips to Target by Awkward Mormon Girl: Broken!
World Record for the Most Nutella Awkward Mormon Girl Has Consumed in One Sitting: Broken!
World Record for How Many Times Awkward Mormon Girl Has Offered to Exchange Her Blood for a Passing Grade: Broken. These things happen.
World Record for How Many Times This Offer Has Been Turned Down: Broken.
World Record for How Many Times Awkward Mormon Girl Has Breathed: BROKEN! And what's more, I keep breaking it! Every few seconds!
World Record for How Many Minutes Awkward Mormon Girl Has Been Alive: Broken soooo many times. I just can't stop.
World Record for Number of Posts About World Records On This Blog: Omigosh. Totes broken. Somebody give me a prize.
What? Oh, you don't believe me? Well then, let me show it to you my way.
See, today when I got home from school I saw a pamphlet for Scholastic book orders sitting on the kitchen counter. Now, let me just say, book orders are one of the best things invented. There's nothing quite like ordering a book and then having it delivered to you all nicely shrink-wrapped a few weeks later. Then you get to take it home in your backpack and read it in one sitting. If it's Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, you end up sobbing at the foot of your bunk bed because you think that Ginny is dead and gone forever and now she and Harry will never marry and have three children.
That was a traumatic moment in my life.
Another, less-traumatic and in fact actually very awesome moment in my life was when I saw the book order pamphlet on the counter. There was this little blurb about a Guinness Book of World Record thing with space to write your own personal records.
At first I was like, "Oh, that's stupid. Writing your own personal records next to actual world records would just be depressing and show you you're a loser because you've never broken a world record."
And then I was like, "Wait. Every time someone breaks a personal record... they're doing something they've never done before."
And then I was all, "They've never done it before... which means it's never been done by them. At all."
And then I was like, "Which means it's something completely new to the world. Which makes it a WORLD RECORD!"
And THEN I was like, "Yeah! Fist bump!" And I fist bumped myself. And it was sad.
BUT. I've broken a ton of world records this week!
World Record for Number of Trips to Target by Awkward Mormon Girl: Broken!
World Record for the Most Nutella Awkward Mormon Girl Has Consumed in One Sitting: Broken!
World Record for How Many Times Awkward Mormon Girl Has Offered to Exchange Her Blood for a Passing Grade: Broken. These things happen.
World Record for How Many Times This Offer Has Been Turned Down: Broken.
World Record for How Many Times Awkward Mormon Girl Has Breathed: BROKEN! And what's more, I keep breaking it! Every few seconds!
World Record for How Many Minutes Awkward Mormon Girl Has Been Alive: Broken soooo many times. I just can't stop.
World Record for Number of Posts About World Records On This Blog: Omigosh. Totes broken. Somebody give me a prize.
Saturday, September 7, 2013
Braaaains
I have been tired all week.
My family decided a week ago that we would have family prayer together every morning and every night. I pray by myself daily aka have personal prayer. Personal prayer is a time to reflect on my own relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Family prayer is about the relationship between Heavenly Father, Christ, and the family. Because there are a lot of people in my family and we're all busy, we haven't had family prayer regularly for a while. My parents proposed that if we made an effort to change that habit or rather lack thereof, we might have more harmony in our home.
Little Brother and Baby Brother share a room and are the last two kids to get up in the morning. I suggested we have prayer in their room when they wake up.
LITTLE BROTHER: I don't want to have family prayer in my room.
BABY BROTHER: But you can have it in my room!
Cue Baby Brother's personal laugh track. Not that he's not funny, because he is, but we also laugh twice as hard at everything he says because he's the youngest.
We chose 6:45 am as the ETP (Estimated Time of Prayer)for the mornings.
Unfortunately, that's not why I'm tired. I've slept through family prayer every morning but one. I hit the snooze button thinking I have time, and then I don't, and then my family prays without me. So I haven't gotten to partake of the spiritual upliftingness but I have gotten tons of sleep.
Still I'm rather exhausted. Every day I've felt like a zombie. Not a zombie hobo, though. Just a zombie.
I suppose my being tired may have something to do with the whole college thing. It's pretty intense. I fell asleep in class on Tuesday and of course it was my most important class that is taught by one of the head honchos at Nameless Utah College. I don't think he saw me, but it's still not a very good precedent.
Maybe I'll tape my eyelids open. That seems productive and not overly drastic, right? #funnyjoke #thethingsIsay #what #I'msotired
...it occurs to me that I should go to bed.
My family decided a week ago that we would have family prayer together every morning and every night. I pray by myself daily aka have personal prayer. Personal prayer is a time to reflect on my own relationship with Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ. Family prayer is about the relationship between Heavenly Father, Christ, and the family. Because there are a lot of people in my family and we're all busy, we haven't had family prayer regularly for a while. My parents proposed that if we made an effort to change that habit or rather lack thereof, we might have more harmony in our home.
Little Brother and Baby Brother share a room and are the last two kids to get up in the morning. I suggested we have prayer in their room when they wake up.
LITTLE BROTHER: I don't want to have family prayer in my room.
BABY BROTHER: But you can have it in my room!
Cue Baby Brother's personal laugh track. Not that he's not funny, because he is, but we also laugh twice as hard at everything he says because he's the youngest.
We chose 6:45 am as the ETP (Estimated Time of Prayer)for the mornings.
Unfortunately, that's not why I'm tired. I've slept through family prayer every morning but one. I hit the snooze button thinking I have time, and then I don't, and then my family prays without me. So I haven't gotten to partake of the spiritual upliftingness but I have gotten tons of sleep.
Still I'm rather exhausted. Every day I've felt like a zombie. Not a zombie hobo, though. Just a zombie.
I suppose my being tired may have something to do with the whole college thing. It's pretty intense. I fell asleep in class on Tuesday and of course it was my most important class that is taught by one of the head honchos at Nameless Utah College. I don't think he saw me, but it's still not a very good precedent.
Maybe I'll tape my eyelids open. That seems productive and not overly drastic, right? #funnyjoke #thethingsIsay #what #I'msotired
...it occurs to me that I should go to bed.
Monday, September 2, 2013
Close Encounters of the Sisterly Kind
Baby Sister and I had an argument. As a peace offering, I brought her a chocolate cake doughnut from my work meeting.
Now, this work meeting was fairly early in the morning, which meant that when I returned home Baby Sister was awake but still lying in the bunk bed she shares with Little Sister. Little Sister was seated on a chair in the corner, quite near Baby Sister but unable to see her because of the placement of their bookshelf.
I hadn't brought a doughnut for Little Sister, but I figured that as long as she didn't see me giving the doughnut to Baby Sister, she'd never know the difference.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (discreetly slips the doughnut to Baby Sister) Here.
BABY SISTER: Uh... thanks?
LITTLE SISTER: What? What is it?
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (trying to use her eyes to convey the secrecy of the doughnut transfer) Nothing.
BABY SISTER: Thanks.
LITTLE SISTER: For what?
BABY SISTER: (not understanding the conveyance of the eyes) She gave me-
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: -a mysterious golden orb.
LITTLE SISTER: ...a mysterious golden orb?
BABY SISTER: ...this doughnut is a mysterious gold orb?
LITTLE SISTER: You brought her a doughnut?!
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Baby Sister. She wasn't supposed to know.
BABY SISTER: Ohhhhh. Sorry.
LITTLE SISTER: Why didn't you bring me a doughnut too?
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (to self) I give up. (heads for hallway)
LITTLE SISTER: (from bedroom) I TRUSTED YOU!
Now, this work meeting was fairly early in the morning, which meant that when I returned home Baby Sister was awake but still lying in the bunk bed she shares with Little Sister. Little Sister was seated on a chair in the corner, quite near Baby Sister but unable to see her because of the placement of their bookshelf.
I hadn't brought a doughnut for Little Sister, but I figured that as long as she didn't see me giving the doughnut to Baby Sister, she'd never know the difference.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (discreetly slips the doughnut to Baby Sister) Here.
BABY SISTER: Uh... thanks?
LITTLE SISTER: What? What is it?
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (trying to use her eyes to convey the secrecy of the doughnut transfer) Nothing.
BABY SISTER: Thanks.
LITTLE SISTER: For what?
BABY SISTER: (not understanding the conveyance of the eyes) She gave me-
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: -a mysterious golden orb.
LITTLE SISTER: ...a mysterious golden orb?
BABY SISTER: ...this doughnut is a mysterious gold orb?
LITTLE SISTER: You brought her a doughnut?!
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Baby Sister. She wasn't supposed to know.
BABY SISTER: Ohhhhh. Sorry.
LITTLE SISTER: Why didn't you bring me a doughnut too?
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (to self) I give up. (heads for hallway)
LITTLE SISTER: (from bedroom) I TRUSTED YOU!
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