Utah has the most temperamental of weather. It's like an older sister. Or a pregnant mother. Or an attractive friend who half the time acts like they are in love with you and then the other half of the time treats you like they would only go to your funeral for the funeral potatoes.
The past few weeks have been particularly disorienting. The weather's all, "Yeah, it's definitely winter...just kidding, it's more like spring...oh! Oh! I know! How about a sunny morning, followed by two hours of snowstorms, and then the rest of the day can be warm but cloudy???!!!"
On Tuesday the temperature got to sixty degrees Fahrenheit. And yesterday, the weather apparently decided that its friend the Mississippi River should fall from the sky. For seven hours. Straight.
The streets were flooding. The wheels of my car kicked up sprays of water that drenched passersby. Or would have, had there been passersby. Which there weren't. Everyone who was not an amphibian or a semi-aquatic mammal had the good sense to stay indoors.
Little Sister insisted on venturing outdoors. Not because she is an amphibian or a semi-aquatic mammal (although once Older Sister and I convinced her she was turning into a mermaid--but that's another story) but because she is a ballerina. Ballerinas must have ballet lessons. Ballet lessons must be driven to. And so on.
Thus I drove Little Sister to her ballet lessons.
There are three ways to reach Little Sister's ballet studio. The first way was blocked by a very slow, very wet train. The second way was blocked by very slow, very wet traffic.
The third way it was.
The third way involves a half-mile on the freeway.
Getting myself to go that way was kind of like taking grape cough medicine. I had to do it quickly or I would lose my courage. So I speedily pulled onto the freeway and began the half-mile.
And a treacherous half-mile it was. Everything was obscured by gray. There was water everywhere, and we just knew that one of the cars speeding by was going to lose control and slam into us. Or that we would lose control and slam into somebody or something else.
"Well," I said, "this is really scary."
Scary, but without incident. We got off the freeway unharmed.
"Hey!" Little Sister yelled as we turned towards the studio. "Turn on your lights!"
"Who, me?"
"No, that guy." She nodded towards a car as gray as the rain. I hadn't even noticed it weave around us.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Good, 'cause my lights are on. The normal ones are, at least. Not the bright ones. I don't even know what the bright ones are for.
LITTLE SISTER: Yeah, me neither. I know you're not supposed to use them with fog.
A thoughtful silence.
LITTLE SISTER: They're probably for caves.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Oh, of course.
LITTLE SISTER: Or underwater voyages.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Like skydiving.
LITTLE SISTER: ...
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: ...I meant scuba diving.
Friday, February 28, 2014
Thursday, February 27, 2014
More College Quotes
My sophomore year of college, I took a lot of notes. And in the margins of those notes, I wrote funny and insightful things that my professors and classmates said. Here they are, provided for your education and entertainment.
(Disclaimer: All these things were said by other people. I am only a messenger.)
“I don’t believe anyone has ever had a life that boring.”
On good literature: “It shouldn’t be something that you have to suffer through.”
“When I read it, it makes my heart feel dead.”
“I personally don’t care as it happens to make me ill.”
“I go to sleep and everything is like out of my head.”
“What is a close reading?”
“Reading something closely.”
“It should be called a slow reading, not a close one.”
“Are you eating the paper?”
“You’re comparing William Shakespeare to Christ now?”
“It looks like granola but it tastes like sunshine.”
“Where did that come from?”
“Nowhere. Just his imagination.”
“Oreos are all about shame because people judge you no matter what way you eat them.”
“I went canoeing. I also sang Pocahontas songs the entire time.”
“I used to use ‘aver’ a lot in college ‘cause I thought I was smart.”
Composition of best research paper ever: “I agree. Period. Works Cited page.”
“When I was younger, I loved breaking into churches.”
“I’m not sure I know what facetious means.”
“I’m not sure you do.”
“Citrus is perky.”
On academic writing: “It is a peculiar genre with peculiar rules.”
“It sounded interesting, but it really wasn’t.”
“No one needs to know about Russian formalism.”
On “The Dispute Between Mary and the Cross”: “I love Debate Mary.”
“I’m like an owl because they’re kind of cute but also awkward in a scary way.”
“Little children are so innocent. Most of them.”
“And old people are just old.”
“Are you sick?”
“No.”
“Allergies?”
“No. I just sneezed.”
“How did it go? Better or worse than you expected?”
“Better.”
“How better?”
“I didn’t get an asthma attack.”
“Some of you said that presentations freaks you out… did you just stop breathing?”
“You’re just as boring as all get out, aren’t you?”
“Pretty much.”
“Good for you.”
“You, ma’am, can leave my country.”
“If it’s a serial killer wearing Awkward Mormon Girl’s skin, I would like to die knowing that I made its life that much more impossible.”
“Religious strife is delicious.”
“I really love her ‘cause I just do.”
“David, being the idiot that he is, doesn’t get it.”
“David and I could probably hang out, because I don’t get it either.”
“They accepted my application for some reason. I wish they hadn’t."
On decrepitness: “At some point, we’ll all be that way.”
“There has to be a reason for myth other than myth-busting.”
“An accident doesn’t happen to just one person.”
“Anger is pointy.”
“Why does this group scare me?”
“Norse people have no concept of time. It’s a terrible, terrible thing.”
“Barney lied really bad.”
“Imagine if some dog composed a symphony. We would not be able to fully enjoy it.”
“But if worst comes to worst, you could still kill all of us with your thumbs. That gives some perspective.”
“There was a lot of crying. No one bought anything.”
“I’m just really glad that musical theatre does exist in real life.”
“Like right now, or today?”
“…Yes.”
“The power of Christ: it’s just insane.”
“Language doesn’t need to be elevated to be effective.”
“No one’s ever said that in the world.”
“Who said hope and death are opposites?”
“Guys, I would love to argue with you all day.”
“In my mind, I’m a white orchid.”
“That’s probably why I’m really good at talking.”
“I think I’ve always thought that, but I didn’t know that I thought that.”
“Maybe I’m a terrorist, but I definitely don’t feel that way at all.”
“I love fractals, but the most important thing in life to me is table tennis.”
“Life’s just not my thing.”
“What kind of animal are you today?”
“A bear, because I’m ready to hibernate.”
“What kind of bear?”
“A bear that hibernates.”
“…and then he died. It’s very sad. Heh-heh.”
“Sing everywhere now.”
“You’ve just kind of rearranged the deck chairs on the Titanic.”
“Great writers die of good communicable diseases.”
“Death by handout.”
“What are you guys doing?”
“Babylonian mathematics.”
“I say, ‘That’s great, Chaucer. I don’t know what that rank means, so explain yourself.’ But he won’t ‘cause he’s dead.”
“It’s kind of like having Mass now, except for all the time.”
“Grab some mead, grab some bagpipes, grab some buds.”
“It’s all about you, Chaucer.”
On Canterbury Cathedral: “It was sort of like the Vegas of Medieval England.”
“…like a desperate housewife, but with medieval garb and without all the plastic surgery.”
“People had no carpets in those days.”
“I don’t care at all about Chaucer, I just want to hear what Tyrwhitt has to say!”
“I’m a Scotsman, and Chaucer was practically Scottish!”
On knights: “Think about what it meant to be that gracious while wearing a tin can.”
“You sound like a torture and execution device. Fo sho.”
“Feel free to jump in, fellow Cross-mates.”
“…let’s not make that a thing.”
“Why is this lady eating flowers?”
“Before we accrue any more bad habits…”
“Chaucer is the most famous medieval aerial photographer.”
“Jane Austen can divide worlds.”
“Some of these texts are pretty sexy things.”
“This level of creativity is frightening me.”
“You can grow up on a street in Bangladesh and write gangster rap. Maybe.”
“For some reason, in America, we have this idea that old plays must be done in a faux British accent.”
“People aren’t objective. People are fickle. People aren’t rational.”
“When someone lights themself on fire in protest, that’s when you know you need to change something.”
“I guess everything’s an argument.”
Works of Chaucer: “Fanfiction in the Middle Ages”
“I feel left out as a man.”
“How do the words affect the reading of the text?”
“Words: Argue for or against.”
“My response: True.”
“Most people conclude that it’s just not sensible.”
“Why would anyone who wants a support group come to me?”
“One of the worst things you can do for your cause is filibustering.”
“Or carpetbagging.”
“Santa Claus does not exist. You’re alone in the world.”
“Descartes would be devoured by the velociraptor.”
“Geometrically.”
“We shouldn’t confuse complicated with contrived.”
“A lot of our life’s not a scientific experiment.”
“What if you were diagnosed with a disease? Would you go to someone with a realist approach to medicine, or an anti-realist approach?”
“I’d cover all my bases.”
“All species do manipulate their environment. We’re just the most successful.”
“So the most manipulative?”
“I hate the ocean.”
“I’m always smooth.”
“Except for when you just said that.”
“How was your weekend?”
“Yes.”
“You’d either have a lot of wrecks or you’d kill yourself.”
On Choose Your Own Adventure: “I always died. No matter what I chose, I died.”
“It’s sort of like life in a way.”
“This lady is so horrible, she had to kill her.”
“I’m just talking in code now. It’s okay.”
“Nobody saw that I was stealing this clicker thingy. Nobody was paying attention.”
“In some strange places like Mars, they do say ‘bananas.’”
“Impress your friends: make a word that is five miles long.”
“Sorry. I just like putting people down.”
“Wow. I’m talking a lot today.”
“That’s why God invented Google—so you can go look it up.”
“You ever hear about people setting you up for failure? That was like the perfect moment.”
“So the American fast food corporation and international finance, together, is the death of fascism.”
(Disclaimer: All these things were said by other people. I am only a messenger.)
“I don’t believe anyone has ever had a life that boring.”
On good literature: “It shouldn’t be something that you have to suffer through.”
“When I read it, it makes my heart feel dead.”
“I personally don’t care as it happens to make me ill.”
“I go to sleep and everything is like out of my head.”
“What is a close reading?”
“Reading something closely.”
“It should be called a slow reading, not a close one.”
“Are you eating the paper?”
“You’re comparing William Shakespeare to Christ now?”
“It looks like granola but it tastes like sunshine.”
“Where did that come from?”
“Nowhere. Just his imagination.”
“Oreos are all about shame because people judge you no matter what way you eat them.”
“I went canoeing. I also sang Pocahontas songs the entire time.”
“I used to use ‘aver’ a lot in college ‘cause I thought I was smart.”
Composition of best research paper ever: “I agree. Period. Works Cited page.”
“When I was younger, I loved breaking into churches.”
“I’m not sure I know what facetious means.”
“I’m not sure you do.”
“Citrus is perky.”
On academic writing: “It is a peculiar genre with peculiar rules.”
“It sounded interesting, but it really wasn’t.”
“No one needs to know about Russian formalism.”
On “The Dispute Between Mary and the Cross”: “I love Debate Mary.”
“I’m like an owl because they’re kind of cute but also awkward in a scary way.”
“Little children are so innocent. Most of them.”
“And old people are just old.”
“Are you sick?”
“No.”
“Allergies?”
“No. I just sneezed.”
“How did it go? Better or worse than you expected?”
“Better.”
“How better?”
“I didn’t get an asthma attack.”
“Some of you said that presentations freaks you out… did you just stop breathing?”
“You’re just as boring as all get out, aren’t you?”
“Pretty much.”
“Good for you.”
“You, ma’am, can leave my country.”
“If it’s a serial killer wearing Awkward Mormon Girl’s skin, I would like to die knowing that I made its life that much more impossible.”
“Religious strife is delicious.”
“I really love her ‘cause I just do.”
“David, being the idiot that he is, doesn’t get it.”
“David and I could probably hang out, because I don’t get it either.”
“They accepted my application for some reason. I wish they hadn’t."
On decrepitness: “At some point, we’ll all be that way.”
“There has to be a reason for myth other than myth-busting.”
“An accident doesn’t happen to just one person.”
“Anger is pointy.”
“Why does this group scare me?”
“Norse people have no concept of time. It’s a terrible, terrible thing.”
“Barney lied really bad.”
“Imagine if some dog composed a symphony. We would not be able to fully enjoy it.”
“But if worst comes to worst, you could still kill all of us with your thumbs. That gives some perspective.”
“There was a lot of crying. No one bought anything.”
“I’m just really glad that musical theatre does exist in real life.”
“Like right now, or today?”
“…Yes.”
“The power of Christ: it’s just insane.”
“Language doesn’t need to be elevated to be effective.”
“No one’s ever said that in the world.”
“Who said hope and death are opposites?”
“Guys, I would love to argue with you all day.”
“In my mind, I’m a white orchid.”
“That’s probably why I’m really good at talking.”
“I think I’ve always thought that, but I didn’t know that I thought that.”
“Maybe I’m a terrorist, but I definitely don’t feel that way at all.”
“I love fractals, but the most important thing in life to me is table tennis.”
“Life’s just not my thing.”
“What kind of animal are you today?”
“A bear, because I’m ready to hibernate.”
“What kind of bear?”
“A bear that hibernates.”
“…and then he died. It’s very sad. Heh-heh.”
“Sing everywhere now.”
“You’ve just kind of rearranged the deck chairs on the Titanic.”
“Great writers die of good communicable diseases.”
“Death by handout.”
“What are you guys doing?”
“Babylonian mathematics.”
“I say, ‘That’s great, Chaucer. I don’t know what that rank means, so explain yourself.’ But he won’t ‘cause he’s dead.”
“It’s kind of like having Mass now, except for all the time.”
“Grab some mead, grab some bagpipes, grab some buds.”
“It’s all about you, Chaucer.”
On Canterbury Cathedral: “It was sort of like the Vegas of Medieval England.”
“…like a desperate housewife, but with medieval garb and without all the plastic surgery.”
“People had no carpets in those days.”
“I don’t care at all about Chaucer, I just want to hear what Tyrwhitt has to say!”
“I’m a Scotsman, and Chaucer was practically Scottish!”
On knights: “Think about what it meant to be that gracious while wearing a tin can.”
“You sound like a torture and execution device. Fo sho.”
“Feel free to jump in, fellow Cross-mates.”
“…let’s not make that a thing.”
“Why is this lady eating flowers?”
“Before we accrue any more bad habits…”
“Chaucer is the most famous medieval aerial photographer.”
“Jane Austen can divide worlds.”
“Some of these texts are pretty sexy things.”
“This level of creativity is frightening me.”
“You can grow up on a street in Bangladesh and write gangster rap. Maybe.”
“For some reason, in America, we have this idea that old plays must be done in a faux British accent.”
“People aren’t objective. People are fickle. People aren’t rational.”
“When someone lights themself on fire in protest, that’s when you know you need to change something.”
“I guess everything’s an argument.”
Works of Chaucer: “Fanfiction in the Middle Ages”
“I feel left out as a man.”
“How do the words affect the reading of the text?”
“Words: Argue for or against.”
“My response: True.”
“Most people conclude that it’s just not sensible.”
“Why would anyone who wants a support group come to me?”
“One of the worst things you can do for your cause is filibustering.”
“Or carpetbagging.”
“Santa Claus does not exist. You’re alone in the world.”
“Descartes would be devoured by the velociraptor.”
“Geometrically.”
“We shouldn’t confuse complicated with contrived.”
“A lot of our life’s not a scientific experiment.”
“What if you were diagnosed with a disease? Would you go to someone with a realist approach to medicine, or an anti-realist approach?”
“I’d cover all my bases.”
“All species do manipulate their environment. We’re just the most successful.”
“So the most manipulative?”
“I hate the ocean.”
“I’m always smooth.”
“Except for when you just said that.”
“How was your weekend?”
“Yes.”
“You’d either have a lot of wrecks or you’d kill yourself.”
On Choose Your Own Adventure: “I always died. No matter what I chose, I died.”
“It’s sort of like life in a way.”
“This lady is so horrible, she had to kill her.”
“I’m just talking in code now. It’s okay.”
“Nobody saw that I was stealing this clicker thingy. Nobody was paying attention.”
“In some strange places like Mars, they do say ‘bananas.’”
“Impress your friends: make a word that is five miles long.”
“Sorry. I just like putting people down.”
“Wow. I’m talking a lot today.”
“That’s why God invented Google—so you can go look it up.”
“You ever hear about people setting you up for failure? That was like the perfect moment.”
Monday, February 24, 2014
I'll Bring Honor to Us All
NAMELESS UTAH COLLEGE: Congratulations, you're in the Honors program. That makes you special!
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Yay!
NAMELESS UTAH COLLEGE: It also means that you have special problems!
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Less yay.
NAMELESS UTAH COLLEGE: One of the problems of Honors students is that they don't ask for help, even when they need it. That's something you're going to have to learn to overcome!
My life has shown this to be the understatement of the century.
I had math with Best Friend Boy every year of high school. That first semester was pretty rough.
MATH TEACHER: So, class, do you understand all the things I just told you?
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Not entirely, but I will frantically work all the problems backwards from the answers in the back of the textbooks until I have reverse-engineered the process by which the answer was deduced. I would rather do this than ever, ever, ever ask for help. Ever.
BEST FRIEND BOY: (raises hand) I don't understand. Could you show me again?
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: What?! What is this weakness? You shame us all!
MATH TEACHER: (shows the class again)
BEST FRIEND BOY: So if X and Y and the coagulant of Z blah blah blah high school math then answer?
MATH TEACHER: Yes, and also Boolean algebra blah blah blah most correct answer.
BEST FRIEND BOY: Okay. I get it now.
Pretty sure Best Friend Boy never had to reverse-engineer math processes.
You'd think I'd learn. You'd think I would have gotten to the point where I would realize that sometimes people need help, and that it's okay to need help, and in fact it's often better than not needing help in the first place.
Well, the truth of the matter is that I did learn. And then I forgot. And then I relearned. And reforgot.
Someday maybe I'll learn it for keeps. I definitely, however, am not learning it for keeps in the Nameless Utah College Honors program.
Putting a bunch of people who won't ask for help together and expecting them to learn how to ask for help is like putting a bunch of lepers together and expecting them to stop having leprosy.
HONORS PROFESSOR: Do you understand the subject matter, class?
HONORS STUDENTS: Oh, yeah. Oh, sure. Oh, completely.
PROFESSOR: (leaves)
HONORS STUDENT: I have a knife in my backpack if anybody would like to kill themselves instead of failing the test.
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Yay!
NAMELESS UTAH COLLEGE: It also means that you have special problems!
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Less yay.
NAMELESS UTAH COLLEGE: One of the problems of Honors students is that they don't ask for help, even when they need it. That's something you're going to have to learn to overcome!
My life has shown this to be the understatement of the century.
I had math with Best Friend Boy every year of high school. That first semester was pretty rough.
MATH TEACHER: So, class, do you understand all the things I just told you?
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Not entirely, but I will frantically work all the problems backwards from the answers in the back of the textbooks until I have reverse-engineered the process by which the answer was deduced. I would rather do this than ever, ever, ever ask for help. Ever.
BEST FRIEND BOY: (raises hand) I don't understand. Could you show me again?
AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: What?! What is this weakness? You shame us all!
MATH TEACHER: (shows the class again)
BEST FRIEND BOY: So if X and Y and the coagulant of Z blah blah blah high school math then answer?
MATH TEACHER: Yes, and also Boolean algebra blah blah blah most correct answer.
BEST FRIEND BOY: Okay. I get it now.
Pretty sure Best Friend Boy never had to reverse-engineer math processes.
You'd think I'd learn. You'd think I would have gotten to the point where I would realize that sometimes people need help, and that it's okay to need help, and in fact it's often better than not needing help in the first place.
Well, the truth of the matter is that I did learn. And then I forgot. And then I relearned. And reforgot.
Someday maybe I'll learn it for keeps. I definitely, however, am not learning it for keeps in the Nameless Utah College Honors program.
Putting a bunch of people who won't ask for help together and expecting them to learn how to ask for help is like putting a bunch of lepers together and expecting them to stop having leprosy.
HONORS PROFESSOR: Do you understand the subject matter, class?
HONORS STUDENTS: Oh, yeah. Oh, sure. Oh, completely.
PROFESSOR: (leaves)
HONORS STUDENT: I have a knife in my backpack if anybody would like to kill themselves instead of failing the test.
Saturday, February 22, 2014
11/12
I used to love writing essays. My teachers would say, "Okay, now you have to write an essay."
And I would say, "Essay?! Whoo-hoo!"
And then I would write an essay, and I would enjoy it.
And my teachers would read it, and they would enjoy it.
And there was joy to the world. To all the boys and girls. To the fishes in the deep blue sea. And joy to you and me.
Now, however, I don't love writing essays. In fact, my feelings for essays are quite the opposite.
I would give some tragic backstory as to how this jadedness happened, except I'm not entirely sure myself. I have this impression that I quit loving essays because of some intersection of Miss Kantspell, existentialism, and getting my wisdom teeth removed. But that's just me.
Anyways, it just so happens that I'm an English major, emphasis on creative writing with a history minor and an honors degree. The point being that I write stuff. And some of that stuff is essays.
Today I had to write an essay. And by write, I mean "slog through at the approximate speed of dripping molasses." Which slogging I managed to do through a strategy that involved Pinterest, Izze soda, Rocky and Bullwinkle, children's literature, and a serious headache.
The essay is done. The headache rages on. The strange aftertaste of blackberry Izze soda lingers. Already the memories of whatever it is I just wrote are being repressed by my brain. Now I'm blogging.
Blogging, not slogging.
Now I'm snickering.
And I'm not talking about the candy bar.
If I did have a candy bar, though, I would break it into two pieces and offer you half. And you would say, "Thank you."
And I would say, "You're welcome."
And you would say, "Congratulations on blogging for eleven months straight without actually giving up or spontaneously combusting."
And I would say, "Thank you."
And you would say, "What are you going to do with this blog after the trial year is up?"
And I would say, "Well-"
And you would say, "Wait. Is this candy bar a Snickers?"
And I would say, "Why yes."
And you would say, "I'm allergic to peanuts."
And then you would have an allergic reaction.
And things would be awkward.
Well. What else is new?
And I would say, "Essay?! Whoo-hoo!"
And then I would write an essay, and I would enjoy it.
And my teachers would read it, and they would enjoy it.
And there was joy to the world. To all the boys and girls. To the fishes in the deep blue sea. And joy to you and me.
Now, however, I don't love writing essays. In fact, my feelings for essays are quite the opposite.
I would give some tragic backstory as to how this jadedness happened, except I'm not entirely sure myself. I have this impression that I quit loving essays because of some intersection of Miss Kantspell, existentialism, and getting my wisdom teeth removed. But that's just me.
Anyways, it just so happens that I'm an English major, emphasis on creative writing with a history minor and an honors degree. The point being that I write stuff. And some of that stuff is essays.
Today I had to write an essay. And by write, I mean "slog through at the approximate speed of dripping molasses." Which slogging I managed to do through a strategy that involved Pinterest, Izze soda, Rocky and Bullwinkle, children's literature, and a serious headache.
The essay is done. The headache rages on. The strange aftertaste of blackberry Izze soda lingers. Already the memories of whatever it is I just wrote are being repressed by my brain. Now I'm blogging.
Blogging, not slogging.
Now I'm snickering.
And I'm not talking about the candy bar.
If I did have a candy bar, though, I would break it into two pieces and offer you half. And you would say, "Thank you."
And I would say, "You're welcome."
And you would say, "Congratulations on blogging for eleven months straight without actually giving up or spontaneously combusting."
And I would say, "Thank you."
And you would say, "What are you going to do with this blog after the trial year is up?"
And I would say, "Well-"
And you would say, "Wait. Is this candy bar a Snickers?"
And I would say, "Why yes."
And you would say, "I'm allergic to peanuts."
And then you would have an allergic reaction.
And things would be awkward.
Well. What else is new?
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Super Super Senioritis
Today I was reading through my school notebook. I found a birthday wish list, drafts of several blog posts, to-do lists, doodles, maybe-names for my future children, and a comparison of the clothes I wear to the clothes my mother wishes I would wear.
Oh, and, you know, some actual notes for my actual classes. But they made up a rather small percentage of the notebook's contents.
The truth of the matter? I can be a little attention deficit. Always have been. Probably always will be.
BUT. This semester I also happen to be a senior in college.
I have senioritis.
SUPER senioritis.
I can't pay attention to anything for, like, longer than four point six eight minutes.
I can't even focus on things I actually want to do, much less taking notes in class.
My professor is like, "Something something birthright citizenship--"
And my brain is all, Citizenship... citizen... country. My ideal country would have chocolate currency.
"--something and then the Irish maid poured a bowl of soup on the minister's head--"
I will never understand Twitter.
"--something something something and that is how Victoria and David Beckham are trying to take over America!"
You know what is delicious? Curry is delicious. I would very much like some curry right now.
...wait.
David Beckham?
What is he talking about-- never mind 'cause now I'm thinking about hobbits!
...yeah. I know, I know. Right now you're probably thinking, "Awkward Mormon Girl, this semester is doomed. You are doomed. You are more doomed than a doom buggy from the Haunted Mansion at the Crack of Doom on Doomsday."
Have a little faith in me, geez. Although I have no idea what's going on in any of my classes, somehow I got 125% on my last quiz.
See? I can make this work!!! I can do it!!! I can pay enough atten-- ooh, shiny.
Oh, and, you know, some actual notes for my actual classes. But they made up a rather small percentage of the notebook's contents.
The truth of the matter? I can be a little attention deficit. Always have been. Probably always will be.
BUT. This semester I also happen to be a senior in college.
I have senioritis.
SUPER senioritis.
I can't pay attention to anything for, like, longer than four point six eight minutes.
I can't even focus on things I actually want to do, much less taking notes in class.
My professor is like, "Something something birthright citizenship--"
And my brain is all, Citizenship... citizen... country. My ideal country would have chocolate currency.
"--something and then the Irish maid poured a bowl of soup on the minister's head--"
I will never understand Twitter.
"--something something something and that is how Victoria and David Beckham are trying to take over America!"
You know what is delicious? Curry is delicious. I would very much like some curry right now.
...wait.
David Beckham?
What is he talking about-- never mind 'cause now I'm thinking about hobbits!
...yeah. I know, I know. Right now you're probably thinking, "Awkward Mormon Girl, this semester is doomed. You are doomed. You are more doomed than a doom buggy from the Haunted Mansion at the Crack of Doom on Doomsday."
Have a little faith in me, geez. Although I have no idea what's going on in any of my classes, somehow I got 125% on my last quiz.
See? I can make this work!!! I can do it!!! I can pay enough atten-- ooh, shiny.
Friday, February 14, 2014
How to Navigate the Friend Zone and Other Important Relationship Advice
In honor of Valentines Day, I present to you Ask Awkward Mormon Girl Relationship Questions.
Questions I was asked on the blog:
• What does it mean when a guy always looks at you?
Choose one or more of the following:
1) It means that he thinks you are cute.
2) It means that you have dirt on your face.
3) It means that you are fifteen-year-olds and your every emotion is conveyed through covert looks and chance encounters.
4) It means he LIIIIIKES you and wants to keep you in his sights.
5) It means he doesn't like you and he's trying to keep an eye on you so he can avoid you.
6) It means potato.
Questions I was asked in person:
• How do you know when a guy wants to kiss you?
Right before he goes in for the kill, he gets this look on his face. It's, like, half "I have a migraine" and half "Your lips look like a river of molten chocolate."
(Not to be confused with the look on a guy's face when he has an actual migraine whilst standing near an actual river of molten chocolate.)
• How do you break up with someone who you've been dating for a while?
Breaking up with someone is painful no matter how it goes, but there are ways to lessen that pain.
The first way to lessen the pain: meet in person. Speak honestly, but kindly. Be direct. Set break-up boundaries and then stick to them.
The second way to lessen the pain: break up through shadow puppets.
• How do you break up with someone who THINKS that you've been dating for a while?
You just have to put your foot down and be all, "I've been thinking about our non-existent relationship. I know that we have not been dating for a long time. For all these months, we haven't had something special. But now I'm feeling that... that... that maybe we should keep not dating."
Tears may be shed. Accusations may be hurtled helter-skelter. It will be difficult, but your insignificant other deserves to hear the truth.
Question from Little Sister:
Dear Awkward Mormon Girl,
• How do you navigate the rocky, extremely dangerous, semi-fatal terrain known as the friend zone?
In order to navigate this rocky, extremely dangerous, semi-fatal terrain, you will need rock climbing gear, a hard hat, and a hobbit. Because hobbits are cheerful and not easily daunted, and the friend zone is daunting indeed.
You will also have to tend to your physical needs. You'll have to have ice cream. Ice cream is the foodstuffs of the friendzoned. You'll also need shelter. But don't worry, you can build suitable shelter from the crystallized salt of your tears.
In the friend zone, you will face many obstacles. Possibly there will be spiders. Possibly you will run out of ice cream. Definitely there will be sad soundtrack music and paper cuts.
Eventually, one of a few things will happen.
1) You will successfully advance from the friend zone to the love zone of the object of your affections.
2) You will not reach the love zone of the object of your affections, but on your way you will somehow wander into somebody else's love zone. And you'll discover that you like it. And happiness and sprinkles will be yours.
3) You will never make it out of the friend zone. Ever. You will never be in a relationship. And you will buy yourself chocolates and cry yourself to sleep every night while watching Titanic.
Questions I was asked on the blog:
• What does it mean when a guy always looks at you?
Choose one or more of the following:
1) It means that he thinks you are cute.
2) It means that you have dirt on your face.
3) It means that you are fifteen-year-olds and your every emotion is conveyed through covert looks and chance encounters.
4) It means he LIIIIIKES you and wants to keep you in his sights.
5) It means he doesn't like you and he's trying to keep an eye on you so he can avoid you.
6) It means potato.
Questions I was asked in person:
• How do you know when a guy wants to kiss you?
Right before he goes in for the kill, he gets this look on his face. It's, like, half "I have a migraine" and half "Your lips look like a river of molten chocolate."
(Not to be confused with the look on a guy's face when he has an actual migraine whilst standing near an actual river of molten chocolate.)
• How do you break up with someone who you've been dating for a while?
Breaking up with someone is painful no matter how it goes, but there are ways to lessen that pain.
The first way to lessen the pain: meet in person. Speak honestly, but kindly. Be direct. Set break-up boundaries and then stick to them.
The second way to lessen the pain: break up through shadow puppets.
• How do you break up with someone who THINKS that you've been dating for a while?
You just have to put your foot down and be all, "I've been thinking about our non-existent relationship. I know that we have not been dating for a long time. For all these months, we haven't had something special. But now I'm feeling that... that... that maybe we should keep not dating."
Tears may be shed. Accusations may be hurtled helter-skelter. It will be difficult, but your insignificant other deserves to hear the truth.
Question from Little Sister:
Dear Awkward Mormon Girl,
• How do you navigate the rocky, extremely dangerous, semi-fatal terrain known as the friend zone?
In order to navigate this rocky, extremely dangerous, semi-fatal terrain, you will need rock climbing gear, a hard hat, and a hobbit. Because hobbits are cheerful and not easily daunted, and the friend zone is daunting indeed.
You will also have to tend to your physical needs. You'll have to have ice cream. Ice cream is the foodstuffs of the friendzoned. You'll also need shelter. But don't worry, you can build suitable shelter from the crystallized salt of your tears.
In the friend zone, you will face many obstacles. Possibly there will be spiders. Possibly you will run out of ice cream. Definitely there will be sad soundtrack music and paper cuts.
Eventually, one of a few things will happen.
1) You will successfully advance from the friend zone to the love zone of the object of your affections.
2) You will not reach the love zone of the object of your affections, but on your way you will somehow wander into somebody else's love zone. And you'll discover that you like it. And happiness and sprinkles will be yours.
3) You will never make it out of the friend zone. Ever. You will never be in a relationship. And you will buy yourself chocolates and cry yourself to sleep every night while watching Titanic.
Saturday, February 8, 2014
A Defense of Ron and Hermione
Shipping is the politics of internet fandoms.
I don’t mean this shipping:
Or this shipping:
I mean the promotion of a relationship from a series.
For example, I would like Toph from Avatar: The Last Airbender to end up with Sokka. So verily I ship Toph and Sokka aka Tokka.
I also ship Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase from Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Phineas Flynn and Isabella Garcia-Shapiro from Phineas and Ferb. And Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger from Harry Potter.
I don't like to get involved in big discussions about shipping much for the same reasons I don't like to get involved in big discussions about politics. Such discussions tend to make people focus on the wrong things.
However, out of all the fictional things I love, Ron and Hermione's relationship is one I particularly cherish. And so given the current turmoil over J. K. Rowling's statement that she regrets pairing them together, I decided that this time, I will throw in my two cents. Or Knuts, if you will.
People say, "Hermione is too good for Ron. Hermione deserves better."
People. How could you say that?!!!
There aren't any guys better than Ron Weasley. There are guys who are different than Ron, but not better.
I mean, look at the kid's qualities. He's funny. He's a loyal friend. He sticks up for others--Harry, Hermione, Neville. He's obviously brave--he puts his life on the line every June and sometimes more often. And no, Ron's not as academic as Hermione, but he certainly is smart. He's a chess prodigy, for crying out loud. Not to mention that he's tall and athletic.
I don't mean that Ron is flawless. My understanding is that out of the trio, Ron is the one most connected with his own emotions. Hermione filters her emotions through facts and logic. Harry constantly sacrifices his emotions to his noble spirit. Ron, however, does what he feels. That means he can be both incredibly selfish and incredibly selfless. He struggles with this pretty much every single book--but in the end, he always chooses to do the right thing. He always comes through for his friends.
This sums up Ron's character arch nicely:
Yes, Hermione is brilliant. She's talented. She's a good and loyal friend who means well. And the icing on the cake--she's pretty.
But she's still annoying. She tends to be critical and uptight. Ron knows that. He makes fun of it in Book One especially. But he likes her anyways. He decides that he loves her anyways.
Let me repeat: He knows who she is, her faults as well as her good qualities, and he loves her anyways. And she sees his faults as well as his good qualities, and loves him anyways. Wow. What could be better than that?
Some people desire to pair Harry and Hermione. I understand why. Everyone should end up with someone who really cares about them, and Hermione definitely cares about Harry and vice versa.
Yet we'll never know whether a Harry/Hermione relationship would work out, because it isn't in the books. The books go out of their way to show how platonic Harry and Hermione's friendship is, while Ron and Hermione's is full of chemistry and spark.
That's how the books are written. And the books are over. And Ron and Hermione are together, and no controversial interview quotes can change that.
In another universe, in another version of Harry Potter, Ron and Hermione could have ended up with other people. But that's not the version J. K. Rowling wrote.
She wrote a version in which Ronald Bilius Weasley and Hermione Jean Granger were developed in such a way that it's unthinkable for them to end up with anyone else.
I for one am very happy about it.
ANNOUNCEMENT: I am planning to write a relationship Ask Awkward Mormon Girl for Valentine's Day. So please, leave your love-related questions in the comments, and I will give you splendid advice in return.
I don’t mean this shipping:
For example, I would like Toph from Avatar: The Last Airbender to end up with Sokka. So verily I ship Toph and Sokka aka Tokka.
I also ship Percy Jackson and Annabeth Chase from Percy Jackson and the Olympians. Phineas Flynn and Isabella Garcia-Shapiro from Phineas and Ferb. And Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger from Harry Potter.
I don't like to get involved in big discussions about shipping much for the same reasons I don't like to get involved in big discussions about politics. Such discussions tend to make people focus on the wrong things.
However, out of all the fictional things I love, Ron and Hermione's relationship is one I particularly cherish. And so given the current turmoil over J. K. Rowling's statement that she regrets pairing them together, I decided that this time, I will throw in my two cents. Or Knuts, if you will.
People say, "Hermione is too good for Ron. Hermione deserves better."
People. How could you say that?!!!
There aren't any guys better than Ron Weasley. There are guys who are different than Ron, but not better.
I mean, look at the kid's qualities. He's funny. He's a loyal friend. He sticks up for others--Harry, Hermione, Neville. He's obviously brave--he puts his life on the line every June and sometimes more often. And no, Ron's not as academic as Hermione, but he certainly is smart. He's a chess prodigy, for crying out loud. Not to mention that he's tall and athletic.
I don't mean that Ron is flawless. My understanding is that out of the trio, Ron is the one most connected with his own emotions. Hermione filters her emotions through facts and logic. Harry constantly sacrifices his emotions to his noble spirit. Ron, however, does what he feels. That means he can be both incredibly selfish and incredibly selfless. He struggles with this pretty much every single book--but in the end, he always chooses to do the right thing. He always comes through for his friends.
This sums up Ron's character arch nicely:
"Dumbledore knew what he was doing when he gave me the Deluminator, didn’t he? He - well," Ron’s ears turned bright red and he became engrossed in a tuft of grass at his feet, which he prodded with his toe, "he must’ve known I’d run out on you."We also must remember that Hermione is super annoying.
"No," Harry corrected him. "He must’ve known you’d always want to come back."
Yes, Hermione is brilliant. She's talented. She's a good and loyal friend who means well. And the icing on the cake--she's pretty.
But she's still annoying. She tends to be critical and uptight. Ron knows that. He makes fun of it in Book One especially. But he likes her anyways. He decides that he loves her anyways.
Let me repeat: He knows who she is, her faults as well as her good qualities, and he loves her anyways. And she sees his faults as well as his good qualities, and loves him anyways. Wow. What could be better than that?
Some people desire to pair Harry and Hermione. I understand why. Everyone should end up with someone who really cares about them, and Hermione definitely cares about Harry and vice versa.
Yet we'll never know whether a Harry/Hermione relationship would work out, because it isn't in the books. The books go out of their way to show how platonic Harry and Hermione's friendship is, while Ron and Hermione's is full of chemistry and spark.
That's how the books are written. And the books are over. And Ron and Hermione are together, and no controversial interview quotes can change that.
In another universe, in another version of Harry Potter, Ron and Hermione could have ended up with other people. But that's not the version J. K. Rowling wrote.
She wrote a version in which Ronald Bilius Weasley and Hermione Jean Granger were developed in such a way that it's unthinkable for them to end up with anyone else.
I for one am very happy about it.
ANNOUNCEMENT: I am planning to write a relationship Ask Awkward Mormon Girl for Valentine's Day. So please, leave your love-related questions in the comments, and I will give you splendid advice in return.
Friday, February 7, 2014
Dream a Dream and See
Last night I had a dream that I was friends with a lot of woodland creatures, including Brer Rabbit from Songs of the South/Splash Mountain. Then there was like an apocalypse or something in the woodland but the woodland was actually a college campus in the middle of a river and I had to run through the woodland-college-campus making sure all the creatures were okay except I couldn't find Brer Rabbit so everyone thought Brer Rabbit was dead but then I found him and hugged him but he wasn't a sassy animated rabbit at all just a big fuzzy real-live bunny.
That isn't the weirdest dream I've ever had. Oh no. Far from it.
I've had a strange dream almost every night of my entire life. I usually remember them. Vividly.
As a child, I had a recurring dream about a man in a poncho who would watch me from outside. He'd be there, and then be gone, and then be there again. My dream-parents would either warn me to stay away from poncho man or poncho man would disappear before they could see him and they would tell me I was imagining things. Neither response was encouraging.
Poncho man never said anything. He never moved except to blink in and out of existence. He just watched.
Here are some other things I've dreamed over the years:
I was the Brave Little Toaster's sidekick. I was animated. I looked awesome.
It was the first day of third grade. I was late and I didn't know anything.
The kittens on the calendar above my bed turned into Ernie and Bert. They talked to me. Then they died.
I was in a play that I'd never rehearsed and I didn't know my lines.
Older Sister was a yellow blanket. I was a red blanket. Older Sister was taken to the dump and I never saw her again.
I was late for my junior high class. I couldn't find my backpack and I was only wearing my underwear.
I folded Little Sister up inside my sunglasses, which killed her.
I was in a play that I had rehearsed and I didn't know my lines.
The Chess Master was a super hero named the Green Arrow and I was a superhero named the Yellow Lemon. Our superhero mode of transportation was bikes.
My second-grade class was having school in my bedroom.
Favorite Cousin died and I had to speak at his funeral. Except he was very much alive but my entire family wanted me to think he was dead.
Porch thought he was a cat.
I was late for my high school class. I'd forgotten to do my homework and I couldn't navigate the school.
I was in a car that started going backwards down a hill.
Baby Sister and I went to a buffet inside a department store. I was irritated because my cup was full of pizza and I didn’t want to have to drink the tomato sauce.
Baby Brother was adopted.
I was in a play that I once had a starring role in, that I knew backwards and forwards and inside out, and I still didn't know my lines.
My parents had chosen my husband for me.
I could fly but only by jumping off the roof of my dollhouse.
My house was being invaded by some creepy invisible creatures. When I tried to get help, I couldn't speak.
I was taking a math class in college but I hadn't attended since day one. An English teacher from my high school and my science teacher from junior high were the professors.
I was a hobbit.
And much, much more.
By the way. Not too long ago, the poncho man made a reappearance in my dreams.
I was, and still am, thoroughly creeped out...
That isn't the weirdest dream I've ever had. Oh no. Far from it.
I've had a strange dream almost every night of my entire life. I usually remember them. Vividly.
As a child, I had a recurring dream about a man in a poncho who would watch me from outside. He'd be there, and then be gone, and then be there again. My dream-parents would either warn me to stay away from poncho man or poncho man would disappear before they could see him and they would tell me I was imagining things. Neither response was encouraging.
Poncho man never said anything. He never moved except to blink in and out of existence. He just watched.
Here are some other things I've dreamed over the years:
I was the Brave Little Toaster's sidekick. I was animated. I looked awesome.
It was the first day of third grade. I was late and I didn't know anything.
The kittens on the calendar above my bed turned into Ernie and Bert. They talked to me. Then they died.
I was in a play that I'd never rehearsed and I didn't know my lines.
Older Sister was a yellow blanket. I was a red blanket. Older Sister was taken to the dump and I never saw her again.
I was late for my junior high class. I couldn't find my backpack and I was only wearing my underwear.
I folded Little Sister up inside my sunglasses, which killed her.
I was in a play that I had rehearsed and I didn't know my lines.
The Chess Master was a super hero named the Green Arrow and I was a superhero named the Yellow Lemon. Our superhero mode of transportation was bikes.
My second-grade class was having school in my bedroom.
Favorite Cousin died and I had to speak at his funeral. Except he was very much alive but my entire family wanted me to think he was dead.
Porch thought he was a cat.
I was late for my high school class. I'd forgotten to do my homework and I couldn't navigate the school.
I was in a car that started going backwards down a hill.
Baby Sister and I went to a buffet inside a department store. I was irritated because my cup was full of pizza and I didn’t want to have to drink the tomato sauce.
Baby Brother was adopted.
I was in a play that I once had a starring role in, that I knew backwards and forwards and inside out, and I still didn't know my lines.
My parents had chosen my husband for me.
I could fly but only by jumping off the roof of my dollhouse.
My house was being invaded by some creepy invisible creatures. When I tried to get help, I couldn't speak.
I was taking a math class in college but I hadn't attended since day one. An English teacher from my high school and my science teacher from junior high were the professors.
I was a hobbit.
And much, much more.
By the way. Not too long ago, the poncho man made a reappearance in my dreams.
I was, and still am, thoroughly creeped out...