Book Recommendations

From time to time, people ask me about my favorite book. The truth is that I have fifteen favorite books. They're not the only books I recommend to people, but they're often the first ones I recommend.

They are (in no particular order):

Danny the Champion of the World, by Roald Dahl: This might be the only children's book Roald Dahl wrote that has no magical hi-jinks. It's all stuff that conceivably could happen in the real world, including a vivid scene of teacher-child beating taken straight from his own life. (The teacher is basically a more violent version of Severus Snape.) The main plot of the story has nothing to do with teachers; it's about a boy named Danny who lives with his father just outside of a small British village. His father is a very exciting person and, it turns out, secretly a poacher. (Almost everybody in the book is secretly a poacher.) They concoct a mad plan to make a statement by poaching every single pheasant from a nearby wood. The plan involves raisins and a baby carriage. It doesn't involve Danny's friend Sidney, who does almost nothing the entire book except exist unnecessarily. IT'S A GOOD BOOK, THOUGH.

The Hobbit and The Lord of the Rings trilogy, by J. R. R. Tolkien: I know, I know. Cliché, but I do love 'em. They are far, far better than the live-action versions in every conceivable way. The Return of the King might actually be my favorite book of all time. Except that the ending has always been difficult for me to swallow. Although just recently, I've started to accept it.

Harry Potter, books one through seven, by J. K. Rowling: I've talked quite a bit about Harry Potter on this blog, so you should all know my feelings. My favorites are the first and the fifth. The fifth book is amazing. So intricate. So many good jokes. So much Luna.

Romeo and Juliet: Together (and Alive!) at Last, by Avi: I actually kind of hate Avi, but this book is comedic gold. Well, it was before I read it 10,000 times. It's about a group of students who decide that the only way their friends will confess their love for each other is if they star in a production of Romeo and Juliet. Combine all the awkwardness of elementary school crushes with all the cringeyness of student-directed productions, and voilà.

Bloomability, by Sharon Creech: This one's about a girl named Dinnie who has been overlooked her entire life. She ends up studying abroad in Switzerland, and...well...this book has some complex ideas about people and political conflict and language and all sorts of interesting things. It really makes you think.

Sleeping Freshmen Never Lie, by David Lubar: This book is also pretty complex. It features an aspiring teenage writer named Scott Hudson who's just trying to figure out high school. It raises some interesting questions about being true to yourself no matter how much you may not fit in and why treating other people well matters, even (especially) when they have nothing that benefits you. There's also a lot of English language cleverness in general. No one that I've recommended this book to has ever disliked it. After Best Friend Boy read (well, listened to) it, he was inspired enough to take me to see a movie that had a similar story (called Tim Timmerman, Hope of America). Good stuff.

Wirth It

Context: This post is about my second day at Comic Con 2017.

I've been wondering lately: why is Comic Con a thing?

Think about it. We go to this massive event in hopes of seeing some random people most of us have never seen personally or met before and will probably never see personally or meet again. And we don't just go—some sacrifice ludicrous amounts of time and money to do it.

Why do we even care? Why does it matter?

I think we do it because humans are reciprocal creatures. These people have touched our lives from beyond the page or in front of the camera. Some of them have even indirectly changed us. So we go seeking them in hopes that in some way, we might return the favor. We want to be part of their lives the way they're part of ours, even if we only shake their hands or tell them our names or stand beside them for a ten-second photo op.

After day one, Heather Dixon, and Jess Harnell, it was day two with Elijah Wood, the voice of Wirt.

A little background: one time when I was younger, my second cousin told me that I had Elijah Wood's eyes. You know, big. Blue. Intense. I could see it, but I also had my doubts. Now, years later, I had the perfect way to settle the question. The plan was that after I got my picture taken with Elijah Wood, I would be able to look directly at the photo and compare our eyes.

Well, guess what? Towards the end of our first day at Comic Con, my eye started swelling. I assumed it was allergies, so I took a six-hour generic of Benadryl. That seemed to help a little, but the next morning my eye was still somewhat swollen.

I don't like having a swollen eye on any day, but it was especially bothersome on this day of all days when I was going to get a photo op with Elijah Wood. I couldn't have my eyes swelling when I needed them be nice and normal so that I could determine if I actually did have Elijah Wood's eyes! Ya know? So I took another pill for good measure.

Satisfied that the crisis was averted, I proceeded to get myself ready for the day. I was wearing a new Over the Garden Wall shirt that I'd purchased especially for the occasion. Not being able to say hello during our photo op last year was abnormal. Favorite Cousin told me that his experience was that usually you got to exchange greetings with the celebrity before the photo. With this in mind, I'd spawned a second but almost-as-important photo op plan: Elijah Wood would see my shirt as we approached him, and he'd say, "Nice shirt!" Because how could the voice of Wirt not appreciate a shirt with Wirt on it, I ask you?! It was a brilliant plan. Foolproof.

Our photo op wasn't until the afternoon, so Favorite Cousin and I started our day by hitting Elijah Wood's panel.

News flash: Elijah Wood's normal-person voice is just Wirt's voice!

I had no idea! He's faking that prissy Frodo accent in The Lord of the Rings, so I didn't know what his regular voice was like. But I grabbed a few videos of him and it basically just sounds like Wirt talking and aaaaaah it's amazing.

I was really excited to hear more about Elijah's work on Over the Garden Wall. This was Comic Con, so I figured everybody would be into some really obscure stuff. But no. No. Almost every question was about The Lord of the Rings. And I was just like, "People! There are literally hours and hours of bonus material about these films that you can find on the Special Feature menu on your DVDs! There is many an interview about them! There is at least one book about them that I know of! I already know the answer to most of these questions, and so should you! Ask Elijah Wood some questions about things we don't already know everything about!"

But alas, as this tirade was completely in my head, it did no good. Almost every question was about The Lord of the Rings, and Elijah Wood got kind of awkward about it. He said it was hard to "articulate" (he probably said the word "articulate" like ten times), and I think he even said that being a part of filming the series was kind of isolating because so few people could relate to the unique experience.

After that, Favorite Cousin and I puttered around a bit. We shopped for Captain America t-shirts and Hogwarts watches. We looked at many a piece of artwork and ate funnel cake, if memory serves.

Then it was time for our photo op.

I kept thinking that some kind of disaster would strike, but it didn't. We got in line behind these people who were dressed in impressive full-on Tolkien elf costumes, ears and everything. Who does that?! They do that, apparently.

Last year, Evanna Lynch was trying to catch a flight, we were super-rushed through the line. Like I said, we weren't allowed to really talk to Evanna or anything.

I guess that memory made Favorite Cousin determined not to waste any of Elijah Wood's time, because when we were still a few people back in line, he turned to me and asked what side of the picture I wanted to be on.

It seemed like we would have a minute to figure that out when we got to the front of the line, but no big deal. We got closer...and closer...and closer.

The elves strode up to Elijah Wood. He looked at them and said something like, "Nice costumes, guys!"

He was totally going to compliment my shirt! I just knew it.

Then it was our turn. Favorite Cousin rushed forward...and so did I.

"Hi—oh. Okay," said Elijah Wood. We were on either side of him before he could even look at us...or at our shirts.

Noooo!

We got our photo. Then, to be polite, I said, "Thank you!"

Then Elijah Wood looked at me. I was just a couple inches shorter than him, so I got a full-on blast of the famous eyes.

And...whoooaaa. I was stunned. They were so blue. So intense and mesmerizing. I was, like, frozen solid for a second or two under the sheer force of them.

"Oh," he said. He sounded as dazed as I felt, but he also sounded confused. "You're welcome."

And then...it was over. Favorite Cousin and I went to claim our photo. While I was let down that Elijah Wood hadn't even seen my shirt, I was excited to compare his eyes to mine in the photo. Plus he'd looked me right in the eye and talked to me, so that was cool! Except he'd been so dazed and confused! Why was he so dazed and confused?

As we waited, I told Favorite Cousin about my plan to compare my eyes with Elijah Wood's. Favorite Cousin understood and seemed to think this was important. When we claimed our photos, he helped me conduct the comparison.

My assessment was that our eyes were similar, except that mine were greener and looked a lot darker.

Favorite Cousin agreed. In fact... "It almost looks in the picture like your pupils are dilated."

Wait. What? "Are they dilated now?"

He said that they were.

What the—I contacted my mother the RN. Was it possible that dilated eyes were a side effect of Benadryl generics?

As it turned out, it was possible. It was factual. My eyes were really dilated, I discovered upon looking in a mirror.

I remembered how dazed and confused Elijah Wood had seemed.

I'd gotten a really good look at his eyes. He must have gotten a really good look at mine.

Although I'll never know for sure, I have a sneaking suspicion that Elijah Wood was so dazed and confused because he saw my dilated eyes and thought I was stoned.

If that's the case, though, at least I did make an impression...it just wasn't with my t-shirt.

Wakko Loves Awkward Mormon Girl

I said I probably wasn't going to go back to Comic Con. Yet I still went back to Comic Con.

Why did I?

I had a whole speech prepared for you about why, but then I reread my post about last year's Comic Con and realized that I had already shared literally everything I was going to say to justify my return:

In August, I told Porch that I might go to Comic Con if certain voice actors or Muppeteers ever came but that I couldn't think of any live-action actors I cared enough about to spend the money on. I've just never been that into movie stars. I would consider going to Comic Con to see Elijah Wood, but only because he did such a fantastic job voicing Wirt in Over the Garden Wall, not because he played one of the leading characters in a critically acclaimed and financially successful film adaptation of one of my favorite book series.

You might see where this is going. Because yes indeed, Wirt himself aka Elijah Wood decided to hie himself to Salt Lake Comic Con this very year. I waffled. I wavered. Finally, when Favorite Cousin declared his intention to go, I decided that, despite how much I'd disliked Comic Con's atmosphere the year before, I would join him.

I also decided, after some agony, to take Friday from work and do two whole days of Comic Con instead of just one. For one thing, I thought that if I were less rushed, I'd have a more enjoyable experience. For another thing, the price of a Saturday pass was barely less than the price of a multi-day one. Might as well upgrade.

Last time, I pretty much saw only Evanna Lynch. I didn't attend any panels featuring big names. This time, I intended to catch as many celebrities as I could. I wouldn't just ogle the likes of Billy Boyd and Jeremy Shada from afar. I would meet or see as many people whom I admired as possible! Dick van Dyke panel? Yes please! Stalk Jodi Benson? Wouldn't miss it! Jess Harnell autograph? Faboo!

So on Friday, September 22nd (also Frodo and Bilbo's birthdays), Favorite Cousin and I went to Comic Con bright and early. Parking was a nightmare, so we had to walk approximately 10,000 blocks to get from the car to the convention center. The good news was that meant exercise. The bad news was it also meant freezing because Utah decided it would be fun to skip over fall and start in on winter.

Eventually, though, we got where we were going. The idea had been to attend Dick van Dyke's panel first thing. Except the night before, Dick van Dyke had canceled his panel, so we weren't sure what we were actually going to do. Except as we entered the convention center, it was announced that Dick van Dyke's panel was un-canceled! Wonderful! We hurried to the ballroom to get good seats.

By the way, there's this guy at Comic Con who apparently is always stationed in the ballroom. We saw him there last year whilst waiting for an Ian Somerhalder panel that Favorite Cousin wanted to see (we had to leave before Ian showed up, though). I remembered Ballroom Guy from last year because of his terrible puns and showing off his socks and trying to encourage everybody to dance randomly. I liked his socks, but we didn't want to dance randomly, so we sat there in uncomfortable silence while the cameras captured the people around us dancing.

And then guess what?

Dick van Dyke, that's what!

I got a bit of a video of the panel, but now that the Blogger app is finally defunct, I haven't been able to figure out a way to get videos off my phone and into the blog. However, here are some things that happened at the panel:

• The interviewer asked Dick van Dyke if there was anyone he wanted to work with. He replied, quite flippantly, "Oh, I don't know. Most of them, I did."
• He spoke of the upcoming Mary Poppins. In the original movie, he was made up to play the ancient bank owner. He's playing the new bank owner in the upcoming movie, but he doesn't understand why he has to wear makeup this time: "They're making a 91-year-old man look like a 91-year-old man." He said that this time, he's also being chained to an accent coach. "After 60 years of bad jokes, maybe I'm off the hook for my Cockney accent."
• He was quite excitable and adorable. At some point, he got up on his feet with excitement to talk about a Bert animatronic he'd gotten from Disney World. He laughs with an open-mouthed Muppet laugh, just like in his movies.
• He talked at length about Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. He said that "Me Ol' Bamboo" was a very difficult number to film and that it needed about thirty takes. He said that "You Two" was his favorite song in the film, and he rhapsodized about how much he loved driving Chitty Chitty.
• He commented on the animated penguin portion of the original Mary Poppins and how much it blew him away. "Penguins are good dancers, too."
• He said that he never worked on anything he wouldn't want his kids to watch.
• The interviewer asked Mr. van Dyke how he felt when he realized that he's brought so much happiness to so many people. He responded warmly, saying, "I've just had the best time I can imagine."

Later in the day, we also went to a Back to the Future panel featuring Christopher Lloyd and Tom Wilson. I mostly wanted to hear Christopher Lloyd (another Over the Garden Wall star), but as it turned out Tom Wilson was quite funny.

So that was fun!

But that's not all! I also had oodles of fun stalking some great people!

First I stalked Heather Dixon. Heather Dixon is an awesome artist who writes this blog. She said on Instagram that she would be at Comic Con and that anyone who stopped by and mentioned the post got a free 5x7 print. Which I guess means that it wasn't stalking since I was sort of invited to come find her.

But either way, I was like, "Yes, Heather Dixon! I will come to your Comic Con booth! But because I want to meet you, not necessarily because I want your art!" Because honestly guys, Heather Dixon seems like the coolest.

Following the Dick van Dyke panel, I dragged Favorite Cousin over to Artist's Alley. After some confusion, I found Heather Dixon's booth!

And then we talked! I told her that I'd seen her post on Instagram, and she asked if she was following me on Instagram!

And I was like, "What the what, Heather Dixon?! Why would you ever want to follow little old me on Instagram?!"

But she totally did! Right there!

Then she asked me what print I wanted, and I chose one of her beautiful Cinderella prints! (Cinderella was my favorite princess when I was two, so sometimes when I have to pick a more classic Disney character, I go for her.)

It quickly became clear that I'd lied to myself about wanting to meet Heather Dixon more than I wanted Heather Dixon's art, because I kept looking and looking at that pretty thing and squealing a little bit inside.

Then I stalked Jodi Benson, the voice of Ariel and Thumbelina aka my entire childhood. That one was definitely stalking—see how creepy this photo is?

I also stalked Corbin Bernsen of Psych fame a little bit. Favorite Cousin took a stalker photo of some actress whose name I can't remember (I just remembered... it's Eliza Dushku). I pretended to be reading a sign to give him an excuse to stand near her booth and covertly snap an image.

After that, I decided to get an autograph from the one and only Jess Harnell! I used to like Animaniacs as a kid, and I rewatched it last year. My brothers and I were Yakko, Wakko, and Dot for Halloween 2016. I also heard that Jess Harnell is the nicest and that he loves Salt Lake Comic Con beyond reason (he came last year as well, and he keeps bringing his band, Rock Sugar, with him). So, I figured, not a bad celebrity to meet!

I wasn't sure whether I wanted a picture or an autograph, but I finally settled on an autograph because they had a super cute print of the Warner brothers (and the Warner sister) for Jess to sign. Favorite Cousin, bless his soul, agreed to wait in line with me even though he had no idea who Jess Harnell was and had no intention of getting his autograph.

As I listened to Jess talk to all the people ahead of us, I grew very excited. He had something kind and special to say to everyone. I heard him talk to a little boy in a Wakko voice, even using the word "faboo."

Then it was my (our) turn!!!

Jess Harnell looked at me and said, "Hello, pretty girl. What's your name?"

I told him, and he said something like, "What a beautiful name. I don't hear that name very often, but when I do, I think it's so pretty."

He asked who Favorite Cousin was. He asked us if we were going to any of his panels or to the after party where Rock Sugar was playing. "Come on, Awkward Mormon Girl. Come on, Favorite Cousin!"

Then he leaned over to sign the print of Yakko, Wakko, and Dot, saying something along the lines of, "Well, let's say..." And then he started using Wakko's very own voice, and said, "Wakko loves Awkward Mormon Girl, and not just because she's adorable!"

I died. Died. DIED. So dead! I was flustered with delight as he wrote "Wakko loves Awkward Mormon Girl!" and signed the print.

Then he asked if I was an Animaniacs fan, and I said that I was. He asked if I'd heard that they were making more episodes, and I said I had, and then I mentioned that my brothers and I had dressed as the Warners for Halloween. Jess seemed to like that and said he wanted to see a photo of that sometime.

Now here's where I messed up a bit. It seemed like Jess was about to either ask me to tweet a photo of the costumers at him or come back next year to Comic Con and show him a photo then, but I cut him off by blurting, "I can show it to you right now!"

Swiftly I brought up the photo, but as I did, I realized that I was probably being disrespectful of Jess's time and of the people waiting in line behind me. So I felt flushed and embarrassed when I handed my phone to him. He looked at the photo for a minute, laughed, and said, "Oh my gosh, oh my gosh"—though he didn't say "gosh"—"I love the mini-me!" (Baby Brother.) Then we said our goodbyes and thanked him and hustled away.

Here's the thing about me: I don't care what everybody thinks of me, but when I do care about what someone thinks of me, I really care. And I did care what Jess Harnell thought of me, because I admire his talent, so I felt pretty dumb thinking of how I basically forced him to look at that Halloween photo.

However, I did tweet about meeting Jess Harnell, and he liked the tweet shortly thereafter. So I felt better and like maybe I hadn't been as cringey as I'd thought.

Also, the Seamstress pointed out that since Rob Paulsen (Yakko) had retweeted my photo of my brothers and I dressed as Yakko, Wakko, and Dot, our costumes had the official approval of two out of three Warner siblings. Neat!

Wautumn

Well, folks, as of yesterday fall is officially here. (It was also Frodo and Bilbo's birthdays.) Fall has been here unofficially for a while. Over the course of about a week, the temperature nose-dived from 80s, 90s every day to the 50s and 40s.

Not that that's super unusual. In Utah, we have a fine tradition of cutting fall time short. However, for the last few years that's usually taken the form of indefinite summer well into October. And I can't lie—I much prefer that to the prospect of early snow. But if it can't be helped, it can't be helped.

In Phineas and Ferb, the boys have summer in winter and call it S'Winter. (In a later season, they also do S'Fall.) What are we going to call winter in fall? Wall? Wautumn? I'm open to suggestions.

Fragments of Unfinished Posts

Sometimes it takes me months or years to write a blog post. More often than that, though, I start and then never finish posts that I don't feel right about for one reason or another.

Last night, I was going through drafts of unfinished posts and thought I'd share.

First, a fragment from a Christmas post that I eventually restarted and finished. It took me a good two years to write up what I was trying to say. Here's how part of the beginning originally went:

"Right this way," said the hostess. She started to take us to the fun part of the restaurant, where little wooden dividers separate everyone from everyone else so it's like being alone in a jungle of neon lights and plastic booth seats. And in that jungle, you can feel free to be yourself because it's just you and the people sitting with you. Also the waiter. Your secrets are safe with the waiter.

I also found a post titled "My Life as a Hobbit." It was a post trying to explain why I love hobbits so much. Also why I prefer the animated version of The Return of the King to the live-action movie. It was scattered, at best. The two memorable lines that I want to preserve are:

On a perilous quest to find my SAT scores in the depths of my bedroom, I stumbled across an unevenly cut piece of paper covered with my pre-teen scrawl.

and

If you like dragons, dwarves, and the white pony wearing sparkly armor, then you should not watch this movie. There are no dragons in this movie. No dwarves. And no sparkly-armor-clad ponies.

I also started a post called "The Road Goes Ever, Ever On." That's more hobbit stuff, for those of you unfamiliar. It was a post explaining why I decided to leave the country a few years ago. I will probably use that title eventually for a travel post, but it will be markedly different from the draft I stumbled across.

There was also a post about why my family loves Disneyland so much. That one just did not come together very well. I may try again at some point. I'd share a bit, but it's not that good.

Penultimately, I found a post called "Adventures in Book-Selling." This post was meant to describe my brief stint of unemployment during my last year of college. I'd felt like I should quit my fast food job but not look for another job for a little while. Strange as that was, I went ahead with it. In the two months where I didn't work, I tried to sell my textbooks on Amazon. Selling textbooks on Amazon would have been a lucrative career...if I hadn't been in college (the textbooks had to be mailed within a certain number of hours after the order was placed, which conflicted mightily with my school schedule) and if I'd had an unlimited supply of packaging (sometimes packaging and shipping cost more than the profits I made from the book).

This post didn't get very far, but here's what I opened with:

It's one thing to be in the grips of The Neediness. It's another thing entirely to be under the shadow of The Nothingness.

If The Neediness is when you care too much and feel extremely insecure, The Nothingness is when you don't care enough and are so self-satisfied you can't imagine changing whatsoever. The Neediness is unsteady, but The Nothingness is stagnation.

It probably would have been a real chipper post.

The last thing I found lost in the annals of Blogger was actually not a post. It was a draft that I filled with text messages copied off my phone. That way, I could delete texts off my phone to make room while still having a copy of the ones I wanted to remember. Such as:

Best Friend Boy: No problem. It was very nice to catch up. :)

And there we have it. All of the unfinished stuff floating around on Blogger. Hope you're gladdened by being able to see it, even if it's not in the originally intended form.

Give Me a Hint

We call the inability to decide "wembling." And by "we," I mean me and the fraggles. And by fraggles, I mean fraggles, the most delightful of creatures save hobbits. (Actually, I'm fairly certain that fraggles and hobbits are related somehow, because they have very similar cultures. But I digress.)

My favorite fraggle, Wembley, is so indecisive that he was named after his indecisiveness. He is so indecisive that he has difficulty choosing between two almost-identical shirts. He is so indecisive that when his best friend asks, "What do you want to do?" Wembley responds, "Can you give me a hint?"

Now, I am not an indecisive person.

I know what I want. Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, I just know. I was built with a homing device, it seems, that leads me to my desires like a bee to its hive or a salmon to its ancestral spawning ground.

I know what I want, unless I don't. Because after every ninety-ninth moment of decisiveness, there is one moment of indecisiveness. I am unused to indecisiveness; therefore, I do not handle it well.

So when some kind souls gave me a $50 Amazon gift card for Valentine's Day, and when I subsequently realized that I couldn't think of a single thing I truly wanted, it triggered my indecisive skillz, big-time. I have become nothing but a mass of floundering, wembling jelly.

I could get a new dress. There's this dress on Amazon that I was, indeed, eyeing a few weeks ago. But I decided to buy a different dress that was less expensive and which I could try on and buy, personally, from a physical store. To buy another dress would be overindulgence, and not the pleasant kind, but the wasteful kind.

There's this orange toaster on Amazon which I kind of like. But it seems terribly anticlimactic to spend such a thoughtful gift on a boring kitchen appliance.

I don't have many DVDs, so I could get one of those. But I did get three new movies for Christmas, and besides, I spent my last Amazon gift card on the first two seasons of Rocky and Bullwinkle. It would be better to get something different this time.

Best Friend Boy said, "Get a book." But I have so many books. Not that you can ever have too many. It's just that every time I splurge, I buy myself a book. Shouldn't I spend a gift of $50 on something I wouldn't normally be able to afford?

Porch said, "You could buy groceries." Lol no.

I need help. I need lots of help. What should I buy? In the words of Wembley Fraggle, give me a hint. Ready...go.

He Is the Gift

I have to say, The Lord of the Rings is one of my favorite Christmas stories.

Now, now, my good people. Before you cry, "Foul!" and "That's not a Christmas story!" allow me to compare the story of Frodo to the story of Christ.

A humble hobbit chooses to carry a great burden for the sake of his people. He suffers all kinds of afflictions and anguish. While he ends up adored by many from other lands, most of his own people fail to recognize the sacrifice he made for him.

Sound familiar? Then try Harry Potter on for size.

Harry chooses to die for the people he loves. When he willingly lays down his life, it evokes an ancient magic that saves those he dies for. His death allows his friends to live. And then Harry comes back to life, giving a whole new meaning to the phrase "The Boy Who Lived."

I could go on. Every love story--I don't mean a romantic story but a true love story of sacrifice--is a Christmas story. It's a retelling of the story of the man that Christmas is all about. A retelling of the story of our brother, savior, lord, and king, Jesus Christ.

I'm a gift person; I told you this. And His sacrifice is the greatest gift I have ever received.

Merry Christmas.

And God bless us, everyone.

Hobbits and Hanukkah

You're surely aware that the new Hobbit movie came out this past week.

You likely aren't aware that the start of Hanukkah was that same day.

Little Sister and I went to see the movie with Favorite Cousin. I wore the cloak of Lothlorien from my Frodo Baggins Halloween costume. Favorite Cousin bought a special promotional cup for his very large soda. I liked the cup but I never drink that much soda. Especially not in movies. In fact, it just so happens that the last time I ever drank a large soda was when my dad bought me one at The Return of the King. Within an hour, I had to go to the bathroom incredibly badly but I didn't want to leave lest I miss something. I spent the rest of the movie with a burgeoning bladder. At the end of the movie, there's a scene where Frodo says goodbye to this friends at the Grey Havens. It is very emotional.

And very long.

So, no. I did not wish to drink any soda. But I did want the cup. So I purchased it along with a small portion of the chocolate-hazelnut gelato I got hooked on when I was in Italy.

Hmm I thought, eating gelato whilst holding the very expensive cup I did not plan to drink from and wearing my single hobbit costume piece in a crowded movie theatre full of people dressed like people going to a crowded movie theatre normally would be. I can't tell if this is the epitome of adulthood or a low point.

After the movie, Little Sister and I could not remember where we'd parked my car.

This wasn't momentarily forgetfulness, either. We seriously walked around the parking lot for twenty minutes, unable to remember where my car might be.

There was much confusion.

"This must be what it was like in Mirkwood," Little Sister said, referring to the previous hobbit movie. "We'll have to climb a tree to see above the cars."

"What if we can't find my car and we miss Hanukkah?" I asked.

"Maybe," Little Sister said, "we'll have a Hanukkah miracle and your phone battery will last for eight days."

Eighteen Months

Well, well, well.

I am eighteen months older and wiser than when I started this blog. So are you. So are the hobbits. In fact, it's Frodo and Bilbo's birthday today! Cue the confetti, balloons, and noisemakers.

I love you all, people who read this blog. Probably. Maybe not. I don't know half of you half as well as I should like. And I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve. And yes, I do quote Lord of the Rings every chance I get. So sue me. Except not really because suing people won't solve your problems. Are you listening to me, America?

In other news, I've been trying to train myself so that I will eat carrots as snacks instead of eating sugary things as snacks. Whenever I am successful in eating a carrot, I give myself another carrot as a reward.

It is not actually very motivating.

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.

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.

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...

Peanut Butter, Rubik's Cubes, and Witchcraft

Aaand now it's time for what you've all been waiting for: another Ask Awkward Mormon Girl post!

•Creamy or crunchy peanut butter? Be honest.

Nutella.

But when Nutella-less, creamy, of course. Creamy peanut butter is the protein source of champions and high ACT scorers.

•How do you know if a guy likes you?

This is an area I have a lot of expertise in, since I am in a relationship of almost nine months.

(With a blog. But still.)

When you get to be a certain age, if a guy likes you, I think that he should just tell you.

That doesn't mean that he will. But he should. And if you like him, you should tell him too. If people would just be honest with one another, like seventy-two percent of the problems in the world would disappear overnight.

If all else fails, just, like, steal his diary or something.

•How do you lose a stalker?

Stay away from cornfields.

•How do you work without getting bored?

Find a job that you love. Because when you love something, you will never get bored of it.

Just kidding. I get bored of stuff that I love all the time. Except not hobbits. I never tire of hobbits.

What you need to do is spice up your relationship with your work.

Remember how wonderful everything was when you first got together? Recreate that old spark by dressing up for the time you spend together.

Buy small gifts for your job. Bring it chocolates and its favorite flowers.

Write nice notes for your job and put it in its sack lunches. If you don't make sack lunches for your job, now is the time to start. The more effort you put into the relationship, the more you will get out of it.

• How do you choose a present for your mom?

Don't buy her a loufa.

Thanks to everyone for submitting these questions! Now I will answer the ones I was sent by you-know-who.

Dear awkward mormon girl,
Please answer the following questions:

•Have you ever solved a rubix cube before?

A few years ago, Baby Brother purchased a Rubik's cube for me for my birthday. He often came to my room to play with it. Eventually, he broke it.

He then brought me another Rubik's cube and brought it to my room. Because I am not a genius-child like him, he knew I would not know that it was for me unless he made it very, very clear. So he put a sticky note on it that said, "To Awkward Mormon Girl from Baby Brother."

Also one that said, "New Rubix cube" because people who are not genius children can't identify objects unless they are labeled.

Now he comes to my room every day and asks me when I'm going to mix the Rubik's cube up. I don't want to mix it up because I know, from years of experience, that I will never be able to solve it, and I think it's beautiful the way it is.

Which is a long way of saying no, I have never solved a Rubik's cube. But Baby Brother probably has. In less than a minute. Simply by looking at it.

If not, please attempt to solve one during a commercial break the next time you watch t.v.

You first.

•What is your favorite type of fence? This is my go to question when I'm getting to know people, and I'm curious to know yours.

My go-to question when I'm getting to know people is "What is your blood type?" But to each their own.

I like picket fences. Because "picket" is fun to say. It's like a hobbit name or something. Picket Baggins.

•If I had 26 Cheetos and gave Tinkerbell 37 cosmic brownies, how many sour cream buckets would Rafiki leave on our doorstep?

None. But Phineas and Ferb would put half a gallon of ice cream on the roof.

•How did your attempt at the rubix cube go?

As well as my attempt to win an Oscar. Both are imaginary.

P.s. If you solve a rubix cube during commercial break, you probably didn't actually.

You know me so well.

After asking me these questions, Little Sister sent me another message on my iPod.

Little Sister: Did you get these messages? Because for some reason I'm getting them on my iPod.

Little Sister: Bad iPod.

Little Sister: Technology confuses me.

Me: Oh, I'm getting them all right.

All of a sudden, a message that I had not typed appeared on my side of the screen.

Little Sister on my account: Oooh is this sent from your account?

Me: What is this stop it.

Little Sister on her account: Woah. I'm like in two places at once!

Me: Devilry. Witchcraft.

Little Sister on my account: I'm not actually sure how I'm doing this...

Little Sister on her account: Okay goodnight hahahahha.

Me: Goodnight. Tomorrow we will burn you at the stake.

Little Sister on her account: You will think you are burning me.

Little Sister on my account: But it will actually be you. ;)

Little Sister on her account: Tehehehehhehemuahahahahahha.

Me: ...I am way more creeped out right now than I should be.

Christmas Post!!!

What I said: "Baby Brother, do you want to go Christmas shopping with me tomorrow?"

What Baby Brother heard: "Baby Brother, do you want to go back in time and help Christopher Columbus discover America with me tomorrow? And go to Hogwarts? And lick to the center of a Tootsie pop?"

That is the only explanation I could think of for his reacting this way:


 

MOM: Baby Brother told me that you're taking him Christmas shopping. Is this true?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: ... yes?

MOM: (exclamations of wondrous joy at this improbable miracle)

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: WHY IS THIS DIFFERENT FROM THE FIFTY-THREE OTHER TIMES I TOOK HIM TO TARGET THIS YEAR I DON'T UNDERSTAND.

But then, suddenly, I did.

One year my workplace had a Christmas party instead of a work meeting. The party consisted of some important work information, followed by treats and a game.

Coincidentally, our work meetings also tended to consist of work information followed by treats and games. The only real difference was that this time we called it a "Christmas party" instead of "December workplace meeting." I'm pretty sure more people came to that party than to any meeting before or since.

It's that word: "Christmas." It's like word caffeine. Attach it to something average, and it becomes the best ever. Attach it to something people don't really like, and it's suddenly appealing.

Shopping = chore.
Christmas shopping = epic journey of untold magnitude!

Listening to small children sing loudly and off-key = legal form of torture.
Elementary school Christmas recital: extreme adorableness overload and goodwill towards all mankind.

Party = a dangerous social venture resulting in untold stress.
Christmas party?! Break out the eggnog!

Okay. Let's try something.

Bills. Meh.
CHRISTMAS BILLS!!!!!

...nope. Still meh.

Halloween

Dude. It's, like, Halloween and it's not snowing.

For Utah, this is a small miracle.

The candy is bought, the costumes are prepared, and Baby Brother and I have hung the pumpkin lights on the stairs. Well, tried to hang the pumpkin lights on the stairs. The job is substandard at best. One of us is to blame more than the other.

...why are you looking at me?

Fun fact: Most of my Halloween costumes have been homemade. My mom used to make them for me. As I've gotten older, I've made them myself. We Obnoxiouses are the super-creative type. We can make something out of nothing. Out of paper clips. Out of lint.

A few years ago, the younger siblings and I decided to be the core cast of Avatar: The Last Airbender: Aang, Katara, Sokka, Toph, and Zuko. But not Suki, because no matter what people say, I refuse to accept Suki as a main character. SHE'S IN APPROXIMATELY TEN EPISODES, GUYS. Come on.

There were two problems with this choice. One) Have you ever seen an Avatar costume on sale at the supermarket? Yeah. Didn't think so.

The sibs and I spent $30 at Deseret Industries. We bought six or seven used pieces of clothing, cut them up/ripped them apart, and pieced them back together to make our very own, super-awesome homemade Avatar: The Last Airbender costumes. They were legit, I tell you.

The real problem was problem Two) We are three girls and two guys, whereas the cast of Avatar has three guys and two girls. Someone had to cross-dress. Guess who?

For the record, I made a very attractive Sokka.

Speaking of which, I would like to announce that this year, I will not be cross-dressing for Halloween.

This is also a small miracle. Apart from Sokka, in the past ten Halloweens, I've also dressed as Frodo Baggins and Wembley Fraggle. This year I seriously thought about being Peter Pan. But since I'm actually a girl, I suppose I should dress as a girl once in a while, too. For the occasion, I'm even going to wear makeup.

HAPPY HALLOWEEN!

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.

I (Don't) Wanna Hold Your Hand

Baby Brother is now a year older.

First off, I just want to take a moment and show off this amazing Perry the Platypus cake that Mom and Baby Sister made for him.

Second off, I'm proud to tell you that for his birthday Baby Brother received a Perry the Playpus t-shirt, a Perry the Platypus football, a Phineas and Ferb roller coaster set, and a stuffed platypus exactly like the stuffed platypus I wanted for my birthday two years ago except I asked for a blue one and he asked for a white. Clearly Baby Brother is a man after my own heart.

Lastly, I feel the need to express how much I hate it when Baby Brother gets older. Well, perhaps hate is the wrong word. I'm happy to celebrate each new year I've spent with him. I like him almost as much as I like Phineas and Ferb and/or hobbits.

I, however, very strongly dislike some of the things that stack up with each year that passes. Baby Brother gets taller. More sarcastic. He becomes more of a brother and less of a baby.

I don't feel entirely ready for that, but the metamorphosis is as inevitable as the tide. As inevitable as the end of summer. As inevitable as everything changing when the Fire Nation attacks.

I can try to fight it, though.

When I took Baby Brother to Target to look for a birthday present, he kept not holding my hand. Even a few months ago he held my hand all the time. At Disneyland he hardly let go of it. He would just step up beside me and grab my hand, and life was good. Just weeks later, however, not only would he not grab my hand, as soon as I tried to hold his he'd twist out of it within moments.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Baby Brother. You have to hold my hand. Otherwise I might lose you in this Target. Then you'll be stuck here. Then the next time I come, I might have forgotten about you and I won't recognize you. And then you'll never get home.

BABY BROTHER: You go to Target, like, every week. You won't forget about me in a week.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Well, maybe I won't go for a few months. It could happen.

BABY BROTHER: That seems unlikely.

My pride was severely wounded because a) What kind of genius-child says "that seems unlikely" at this age? Baby Brother, that's who, and with snarkiness while he's at it and b) He still didn't want to hold my hand.

Fine, genius-child I thought. I'll just hold my own hand!

It was not a fulfilling experience.

Sitting For, But Not On, Praying Mantises

Guess what I have in my room right now?!

If you guessed a whole package of birthday cake Oreos, you're wrong. 'Cause I ate the last of those yesterday.

If you guessed a hobbit, you're also wrong. Though that would be cool.

If you guessed praying mantises, you're right! I give you an A for good reading comprehension skillz. Since praying mantises are in the title and all.

There are four of them! Greenie Mantis, Rosie Mantis, Blanco Mantis, and Crimson Mantis. No, those aren't actually their real names, just names I am giving them so that they can be anonymous on this blog. I use pseudonyms to protect the innocent, the guilty, and the mantises alike. Yeah, you'd think praying mantises wouldn't need anonymity, but you just never know. Maybe they're being targeted by the Mantis Mafia.

Besides, the pseudonyms are more to protect their owner, my friend Porch. Porch is visiting his grandparents for two weeks, and he asked me to take care of his beloved pet mantises while he is gone. So I've changed the names of his praying mantises in order to obscure his identity and make him interchangeable with all the other people who own four pet praying mantises and leave them with an awkward friend whilst on vacation.

...

...

...It's foolproof I tell you.

Porch said his mantises would require (and I quote) "food, water, and lots of love."

I could do food. I could do water. And I am positively overflowing with love, so I agreed to open my home up to Greenie, Rosie, Blanco, and Crimson.

Presently, Porch arrived at my house, toting the praying mantises and spouting instructions.

PORCH: You can spray them with this spray bottle every day. That's their water.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (enthusiastically) Okay!

PORCH: You can feed them every three or four days. Here are some fly pupae.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (enthusiastically) Okay!

PORCH: You'll have to put them in your fridge.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (slightly less enthusiastically) Okay...

PORCH: By the way, there's a chance they might die while I'm gone. They're reaching the end of their life cycle.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (not enthusiastic at all) O...kay...

PORCH: Also, Greenie and Rosie might lay some eggs.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: O...

PORCH: If they do, just leave them there. They're infertile.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: ...kay... how do you know?

PORCH: Because when I tried to get them to mate with Crimson, they didn't do anything. And then I split them up real fast because I was afraid they'd eat him.

PORCH: If you're feeling adventurous, you can try to mate them and then if he gets eaten, just tell me he died of old age.

PORCH: I'm just kidding. Please don't actually do that.

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (faintly) ...okay...

I quickly gathered the threads of my courage and screwed it to the sticking place or whatever that one William Shakespeare dude said in that one MacBeth thing.

PORCH: (on the porch) Thanks for watching them!

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: (courage screwed tight to the sticking place) Pssh. They're just like children. Small... green... spiky... cannibalistic children. I'm good with children.

Indeed, I do have excellent children skillz which are easily adapted into mantis skillz.

Each day when I wake up, I turn to the mantises, who are living on my bedside table in a space I cleared for them next to my Precious Moments Mulan doll. I cheerily greet them by name, like so: "Good morning, Greenie! Good morning, Rosie! Blanco! Crimson!" as I spray them with their daily water.

Now, the praying mantises don't do much. Really they just sit in their little habitat jars, hanging out in the leaves or on the wall or on the ceiling. So for a while I wasn't sure how my daily greeting was being received, but then I figured out how to read the mantises' expressions. When they're happy to see you, they're all

When they're annoyed, they're like

When they think your jokes are lame, they're all

And when they want a cable-knit sweater, they go

Let's all just take a moment and appreciate the fact that praying mantises know what a cable-knit sweater is.

Because of my expressive guests, I've had a lot more traffic in my room than usual. As soon as the mantises were settled, my parents and siblings made pilgrimage one by one to see Porch's pet insects.

"Ooooh," they all said. "Ahhhh." And then, invariably, "What are the sponges for?"

For you see, the jar-habitats of the praying mantises are done up like so: Each has a side of the jar cut away and replaced with netting for breathing purposes, and each has a small square hole cut near the top and stopped up with a sponge.

"I'm not sure what the sponges are for," I admitted. "Porch didn't say."

Then there were the grasshoppers. When Porch brought his pets to my house, there was also a grasshopper in each jar, for the mantises to attack and eat at their leisure.

For the first few days that I had the mantises, when I checked to make sure none of them had died I would also check on the grasshoppers to see if they'd been eaten yet. No, they had not. They were just there, sitting around like the praying mantises, which was all fine and dandy except for the fact that they were TRAPPED IN A JAR WITH A PREDATOR. You'd think the grasshoppers would, like, be moving around to avoid the mantises if not actively trying to escape.

But no. No escaping. No avoiding. No moving except for the occasional hop that made a little thwack sound against the plastic of the jar.

Either those grasshoppers had come to terms with their impending deaths, or they were just really stupid.

Days went by. I sprayed the mantises, and they made various facial expressions, and the grasshoppers sat around, and when I brought back some coconut chicken kurma and naan from an Indian restaurant I put them as far away from the pupae in the fridge as possible.

Then it was feeding day, and I found myself sitting on my bedroom floor with Greenie's jar in my lap, clutching the plastic container of fly pupae in terror.

Was I scared of Greenie? Of course not.

Was I scared of the fly pupae? No. I mean, it was kind of gross and kind of freaky, but I've long resigned myself to a future filled with gross, freaky things. (One word: childbirth.)

No, the terror in me stemmed not from insects but from a sudden thunderbolt of thought.

How was I supposed to get the pupae into the jar?

They were too big to poke through the netting. The only thing I could think of would be to take the lid off the jar, which opened up a whole realm of problems. Like, all of the praying mantises were currently clinging to the underside of the lids, so how I unscrew one without accidentally hurting them? And Blanco and Crimson had wings--what if while the jar was open, they flew away? How would I catch them again? What if I couldn't catch them again? What if one of them got out and I accidentally stepped on him? Or sat on him?

These were the thoughts that had set me a-trembling.

"Okay," I said to myself, "deep breaths. Deep breaths. You can do this."

Could I? That was still unclear. Regardless, it was clear that I had to. Letting the praying mantises starve and breaking Porch's heart was definitely not an option. Therefore, the mantises must be fed.

Therefore, the lids must come off.

Therefore, we were all doomed. The mantises perhaps to be sat on. Myself perhaps to scar my friend's confidence in me for life and beyond.

It couldn't be helped. Cautiously, I unscrewed the jar.

"Come here, Greenie," I said soothingly, turning over the lid and holding out my hand to the mantis. I've held her at Porch's before, and it was pretty easy. I just had to be considerate of her feelings.

Greenie inspected my fingers but made no move towards them.

"Come here. I'm not going to hurt you." With some careful maneuvering, I managed to scoop her up. Placing my hand in the jar, I tried to gently push her off my fingers and into her home.

She crawled farther up my arm instead.

"Uh..." At first she was going quite slow. Then I nudged her in the direction I wanted her to go, which she apparently took as a cue to scurry up my arm. Because that's what she did. Greenie ran right up like she was being chased and made a beeline (mantisline?) for my sleeve.

"ACK!" My other hand shot over and fished her out before she could cozy up in my underarm. "Get out!" She squirmed. I tried to hold her in a secure yet gentle grip and moved my hand back towards the jar.

Just then, there was a small sound.

A thwack.

The grasshopper had jumped.

The grasshopper. In all of my worst-case feeding scenarios, I had forgotten to factor in the grasshopper. I'd left the jar wide open because Greenie was in my hands and she couldn't escape, but the grasshopper could.

It landed on my bedroom carpet and flicked its antennae in a self-congratulatory manner.

"No no no no no." I flailed the hand not holding Greenie at the grasshopper in an effort to recapture. I would've, too, had it not hopped away a split-second before my fingers connected.

Greenie took this opportunity to once again make a break for my sleeve.

"AUUUUUURGH." At this moment I was forced to reevaluate my life. I was trying to put fly pupae in a jar. A praying mantis wanted to take up residence in my armpit. And now I had a grasshopper loose in my bedroom.

My bedroom. A grasshopper! Loose. Invading my space and hopping all over my stuff! Not cool.

How could Porch possibly feed four praying mantises every three to four days if feeding one of them was like being in a freaking war zone?!

....ohhhhh... the sponges.

This revelation gave me the motivation I needed. Somehow I got Greenie back in the jar, screwed the lid back on, and pulled out the little sponge. I stuck four pupae in through the tiny square hole and stopped it back up again. Easy peasy, one two threesie. I fed Rosie, Blanco, and Crimson successfully and crumpled against my bed in relief, where I breathed a sigh of relief and stared aimlessly at my hair accessory box.

All was well.

That is, except for the grasshopper running around in my room. That annoying little thing could be anywhere right now...

I squinted.

...or it could be sitting just a short hop away from where I had last seen it?

I jerked upright. Yup, that was the grasshopper, just sitting on the edge of my hair accessory box. No trying to hide itself. No hopping free in my room. Just hanging out there, doing absolutely nothing.

I ran to the kitchen for a plastic bag.

"Okay," I said to myself. "Softly now." My estimation of the grasshopper's intelligence had gone up enough that I assumed it would hop away if I spooked it. After all, not only had the grasshopper been smart enough to escape from the jar, it had also had the presence of mind to immediately jump a second time when I tried to recapture it.

Then again, it had taken about three minutes of the jar being open before it had actually made a break for it. And it was still just sitting there...

The omens for my success were mixed. Like a lioness on the prowl, I noiselessly crept across my bedroom carpet.

The grasshopper was in my sight.

I poised to spring.

The grasshopper did nothing.

I pounced! Surprising grace and agility came to my aid. I slammed the plastic bag down, and looked to see-

-that the grasshopper was still sitting in the same spot. It was right under the plastic bag. It was recaptured. It didn't react in the slightest.

When I pushed the grasshopper back in Greenie's jar by way of the sponge hole, it kind of quivered. Then it jumped to a twig and sat there. Just sat. Not paying even the least bit of attention to the mantis sitting dangerously near.

"Wow, grasshopper," I said, "you really have zero survival skillz."

Sure enough, the next day the grasshopper was gone. And Greenie was all, "Omigosh, where did it go?"

There were several insect legs littering the floor of her jar.

To Sting or Not to Sting

Disneyland is always an adventure.

Sometimes when I tell people about the five-day park-hopper passes my family buys, they say, "Five days? How can you spend five days at the same amusement park?"

I can spend five days or more at Disneyland because Disneyland isn't misnamed. Unlike other amusement parks, it truly is a land, a world of its own, a small country.

When I was in Europe, I only spent a few days apiece in Germany and Austria, and I didn't even begin to experience what those countries had to offer. I stayed over a week in Italy and still only began to make her acquaintance. Well, it's the same thing with Disneyland. I've never come close to doing all there that I want to do, and I doubt I ever will.

This time was my first time actually going inside Sleeping Beauty's castle. There's this cute display within that tells the story of Sleeping Beauty in a style I can best describe as pop-up book. Like, it's all in pictures but the pictures have depth and moving parts and little surprises.

It was awesome. Awesome enough that for a moment I actually saw some value in being a Disney princess. But that only lasted for that moment because then swords!

The Castle Heraldry Shoppe beckoned right outside the castle's doors. Going inside, I saw a flipping sweet pirate sword. And a flipping sweet model of Peter Pevensie's sword from Chronicles of Narnia. And some flipping sweet Greek daggers and Roman gladiuses like the kind they use in Percy Jackson.

I was suitably impressed. I love swords. I have a collection of short swords/daggers that I've purchased over the years at the Utah Shakespeare Festival. Granted, most of the swords had nothing to do Disney properties, but I was not complaining at all. When it comes to movies featuring awesome swords, Disney leaves a little something to be desired. Disneyland, however, always surpasses my wildest dreams. Again--swords.

I saw lots of swords that I liked, but I didn't buy any. And I was happy about that. See, before the trip started I decided I could spend only x amount of money on souvenirs. This is what we adults call a budget. And yes, I am an adult. I do still have some growing up to do, but overall I'm about there. I mean, I rip off my own Band-Aids. If that's not adulthood, I don't know what is.

Being as adult as I am, I knew I had to stick to my budget. Most of the swords exceeded that budget. The ones that didn't, I did not want enough to feel justified in spending so much money.

"Wow, look how mature we are!" I said to myself. Then I high-fived myself. It's way easier than high-fiving someone else, just lonelier.

Then I saw it.

Sting.

Sting the sword.

Sting the sword that belonged to Bilbo Baggins.

Sting the sword that also belonged to Frodo Baggins.

They say love at first sight doesn't exist. They say that the only emotion that can exist at first sight is lust.

There may be something to that. 'Cause the moment I saw that sword, I wanted it.

My internal dialogue went something like this:

ME: I want that sword.

ALSO ME: It costs more than our budget.

ME: It's Bilbo's sword.

ALSO ME: It's twenty-five percent over our budget.

ME: It's Frodo's sword!

ALSO ME: Plus shipping.

ME: It's Sting!!!

ALSO ME: It's backordered twelve weeks!

ME: Sting is so shiiiiny. I love it.

ALSO ME: What would you even do with it?

ME: It loves me.

ALSO ME: It's an inanimate object.

ME: I want it. I need it.

ALSO ME: That sword is the equivalent of x amount of hours at work. Think about this. Pretend that you worked x amount of hours, and your boss said, "I'm not paying you today, but I will give you this exact replica of a hobbit's sword instead." Would you be okay with that?

ME: Yes.

ALSO ME: You're ruining my logic.

ME: I wants it. I loves it. My preciousssss.

Only discipline gained from ripping infinite amounts of Band-Aids from my epidermis aided me in leaving the Castle Heraldry Shoppe without becoming the brand-new owner of that beautiful replica of beautiful Sting. It was quite painful, but the further away from the store I went, the more I was free from the blade's spell, and the happier I was that I had behaved in an adult manner.

Instead I bought myself a Phineas and Ferb t-shirt that says, "I Know What We're Going to Do Today!" and a Precious Moments Mulan. Because even adults need shirts with cartoon characters on them and Disney Princess dolls.

Like Riding a Bike

Today Baby Brother and I went on a bike ride.

Every time someone says, "It's like riding a bike," about something that once learned I should remember the rest of my life, I always think, "Then it's hopeless!"

See, I had quite a bit of trouble learning to ride a bike. I didn't learn until I was eleven years old, and only then after much trouble and toil. I then used those skills for just a short time. The other day when I pulled out Little Brother's bike, it was my first time riding since I was thirteen, tops.

But Baby Brother wanted me to ride with him. When Baby Brother wants me to do something with him, I find it very hard to refuse. He's cute and little and has big eyes, like a puppy. Or an anime character. Or a hobbit.

My first time on a bike in years and years went okay. Baby Brother seemed to have way more confidence in my biking skillz than I did. When we passed some hardcore bikers wearing hardcore biking clothes, he commented, "We are not as good as them." I found it very gratifying that Baby Brother put me in the same class as himself, because in all honesty he bikes much better than I do.

There were some boons, though. When I found I wanted to move to the side, my bike moved to the side like magic. I didn't fall over. Eventually I even remembered to use the hand brake instead of stopping with my feet.

Close to the end of our ride, I heard this weird whump-whump sound.

"Probably that's a normal bike sound," I said to myself. Yet the farther I went, the worse it got, until it was like a pestle in a mortar: WHUMP! WHUMP! WHUMP! At least, that's how I imagine a pestle in a mortar sounds. Haven't ground much corn or herbs lately, myself.

Eventually I got off and looked at the tires. The back one had completely separated from the frame.

Aside from that incident and also aside from Little Brother's bike being uncomfortable (girl bikes seats are way more comfortable than boy bike seats, which makes no sense if you think about it), Baby Brother and I had a lovely time, such a lovely time that we've done it twice more since then.

The second time Baby Brother suggested I take Little Brother's old bike, which is a child-size bike instead of full-size. I clambered on it. Lo and behold, I fit. My knees felt like they were up to my ears, but I could pedal. Also lo and behold, the bike handled really well. I took it for a spin on the driveway.

MOM: (looks out the door) What are you doing?

AWKWARD MORMON GIRL: Little Brother's other bike is broken, so I thought maybe-

MOM: No.

I took a razor scooter. Let me tell you, that was a mistake. The scooters nowadays are nothing like the scooters back in my day. Man, the scooter I owned had hand brakes and a board big enough to put both feet on and glide. This razor scooter was tiny, and flimsy, and it had no power. Every time we reached a crack in the sidewalk, the wheels would slam against it instead of going over, nearly bucking me off.

Today's ride went much more smoothly. I took Older Sister's bike. Baby Brother had a successful run around the neighborhood and then went on the bike trail near our house.

One problem, though--the bike trail runs through a swamp. We were biking along, minding our own business, when suddenly we were passing through these swarms of mosquitos. Hordes of mosquitoes. Gangs of mosquitoes. It was like we were Jets and they were Sharks and we'd come into their territory and now we were having a rumble.

These mosquitoes, somehow they managed to attach onto my skin as I sped through them. Immediately I began to itch. And itch. And itch. These literal suckers were driving me crazy. So of course I began to blow on them. Which meant that I wasn't paying attention to where I was biking.

Terrible things happened in that moment. Terrible things like the mosquito didn't seemed fazed at all. And I just itched more. And I almost rode off the trail into the underbrush. And had I actually done that terrible thing, Baby Brother would have laughed.

He didn't get to laugh, though. Though he did get to when I rode into a heap of pinecones on the way home. So I laughed when he rode into a clump of vines. And then I ran into that same clump. And then he ran into some rocks. And a fence.

Let's just say Baby Brother and I are still learning.