Honoring My Heritage...From A Computer Chair.

Nebraska is very flat. Flat, flat, flat. Flatter'n a flat slice of flatbread flattened with an anvil and run over by a truck. Everywhere you look, not a single mountain. Even if you stand on the tallest thing you can find (say, your RV) and squint your eyes and shade them with your hand (since Hollywood suggests that such an action improves your long-distance vision), you would never see a mountain. Not even an anthill. Nebraska probably doesn't even have ants. You'll never experience motion sickness in Nebraska, because driving in your RV feels just like gliding. The bumps on the highway that you felt in Utah simply don't exist in Nebraska - they've found a way around that. A new formula for asphalt, perhaps. Whatever the cause, Nebraska is certainly flat. Flat, flat, flat.

Not that I've ever been to Nebraska.

Dad has, though.

This week, while I have been in school, my dad, three of his sisters and my grandmother have been in an RV, making a pilgrimage to Nauvoo. They call themselves Reverse Pioneers. Appropriate, since they're leaving the Salt Lake Valley and travelling to Nauvoo, from whence our ancestors fled. They traveled through the flat, flat flat Nebraska and a town in Missouri which was not so flat, but that was mostly due to the fact that everything in the town was an allusion to Mark Twain. After these adventures, they made it to their finish line (Starting line. Which is it, Reverse Pioneers?) in Nauvoo, Illinois.

Dad pointed out in their travel log that "Nauvoo has become a Mecca for Mormons." I suppose this is true - being an LDS citizen of Utah, you need to travel back to the place of our persecution at least once in your life. Now, Jewish youth receive a coming-of-age ceremony when they turn 13. Catholics are baptized in their infancy, and most young women have some sort of grandiose ceremony when they turn 15. Something about "coming out," which, ironically, means that they are now recognized as ready and able to date young men. All giggles and siggers aside, the point is that most of these milestones are reached at a youngish age.

So, it can't be any wonder that I, so very close to adulthood, am feeling a little left out of the milestone party. It's like I've been denied an opportunity at perfection, leaving me spotted and incomplete. I have not yet made my pilgrimage to Nauvoo. I have tried - I begged to pile into The Beast with my dad, grandma and aunts - but it's never amounted to much, other than sympathy. My day of perfection will come, yes...but probably when I'm old and married, with six kids under age 7 and two dogs and a doormat that says, "Welcome to our loving home."

Yes, readers, that day will come.

I'd better hurry up and get married.

A Love Story

Last night, I stayed out until 2 A.M. with two of my favorite girls in the world. Two sisters, 19 and 17. For propriety's sake, I'll call them Lauren and Mandy.

The three of us (The Three Musketeers since we could open our eyes), one boy and one aunt, went to an Ogden cemetary to scope out some ghosts. No luck, in case you were interested. We laughed and talked and scared ourselves silly; we evaded cops and snuck around in haunted places. On the way home, our aunt (the young and crazy driver of the getaway car) pulled up to a McDonald's to grab some shakes.

Now, some background. Lauren, a beautiful, bright woman of nearly 20, has struggled with eating disorders for about 4-5 years (give or take one). She's had some pretty bad spells, but now it's easy for her family to tell when the addiction is pushing her back into that dangerous mode. On therapist's orders, she is not allowed to refuse any treat that's offered directly to her, even if she genuinely isn't hungry. So, imaginary readers, you can probably guess what happened when we pulled into the drive-thru.

As we pulled up and began the discussion of our various orders, Lauren was silent, which is not at all like her. Mandy, who was sitting next to me, turned to her and they began a semi-silent sister to sister conversation. "Yes." "Mandy, no. You'll be wasting your money. I'm not getting one." "Lauren, you need to listen to me. Yes you are." They went like this until the mechanical box called for our order. By then, Lauren was in a panic, and Mandy was resolute. We ordered one for everyone, and when it came to be Lauren's turn, she simply shook her head. Mandy turned to our driver, and with the air of a paramedic instructing a civilian onlooker, said, "She likes Oreo."

Lauren burried her face in her hands and sobbed quietly, defeated. Mandy took the opportunity to talk to a more humble sister. "Lauren," she said, "You're getting into this mode again. I'm not going to just watch that happen." Lauren peeked a tearful eye over her hands. Mandy continued. "You tell yourself lies every day, Lauren, and it's not true. Whatever you're telling yourself right now it's not true." Lauren continued to shake her head and say, "I can't do it..." over and over.

Our wise aunt, who herself has struggled with addictions, bought Lauren her Oreo shake and pulled into a parking spot. She turned around, handed Lauren the shake, and talked to Mandy quietly, understandingly.

"Why is it so important that she does this?" She asked.

"Because," choked Mandy, ambushed by tears. "Be-cause...I'm not doing this again." She turned away from Lauren and rested against the car window.

Lauren sobbed, looking from the frozen terror in her hands to her tearful sister. "Fine," she whispered, "I'll do it."

"That's a girl," said our driver. "Just one tiny bite. The next one will be bigger. One tiny bite is all anyone can expect."

Lauren picked up her spoon, and put it down. "Mandy...I'm sorry." She sobbed, her face dark. "I'm sorry...for...I'm-I'm sorry for ev-ev-Oh, I'm sorry."

Mandy looked at her. "You don't have to be! You don't have to be if you'll just listen to me and trust me!" She paused, then spoke more calmly. "You have no. idea. what this has put me through. Please, listen to me."

Lauren took four deep breaths, picked up her spoon, and skimmed the surface of the spoonful with her lips. "I feel like I'm gonna throw up," she said to Mandy. "But you're not," said her little sister, looking her in the eyes. She smiled through her tears, and Lauren smiled as she continued to prepare herself for the next bite.

"Good girl. Good girl," said our aunt. "Let's go home."

I once went with a group of youth to an army training facility, where we participated in several teamwork and leadership experiences. At the end of the day, an adult leader commented, "I am so impressed with how many times today I saw someone that was in a stable place reach out their hand to someone who was in an unstable place."

It wasn't until last night that I understood that completely. I've never seen a more perfect love than I did last night, watching my cousin force her older sister to eat an Oreo shake.

Thoughts

• The Lord does indeed work in mysterious ways. I was afforded the opportunity to say what I needed to say (see yesterday's post) without even sending an email.
• I'm going to go the the temple a lot more often, becuase I am grateful that I'm worthy and that I know the power therein.
• The ACT is straight out of the infernal pit.
• ACT practice tests are monotonous and repellant.
• My ACT score actually matters to me now, making it harder to concentrate and finish in time.
• I have yet to finish an ACT reading practice test in the alloted time. I always go over.
• How on earth did I get a 29?!?! I can't even read!
• Actually, I can read. I'm just discouraged.
• Taking a break from hanging out with Sam. This is a good thing.
• Moab in exactly six days and 23 hours and 13 minutes!!!!
• I need a swimsuit.
• I need a pedicure.
• I need...want....need? a new dress.
• I gotta get back to work.
• Spring Fling starts in 16 minutes!! No wonder I can't concentrate.
• Spent the majority of the day at Centerville Junior High. Played in the orchestra.
• Said hi to Jackson, Kelson, Chloe, Dylan...my brother and his friends. Gave my brother a hug.
• Did not say hi to my old teachers. I have moved on.
• Watched 10 minutes of Freedom Writers when I got back to school. Excellent 10 minutes. Time well spent.
• I still have 14 minutes to go....may as well do something meaningful.

"After all...

...what's a life, anyway?" -Charlotte's Web, E.B. White.

It has been an interesting day. Sometimes, my days go on in a random, odd sequence of unrelated events, but sometimes, they seem to have a theme, like a cheesy dance or a rigged Sacrament meeting.
Today's theme was the above quote. In English, we debated the death penalty and the rights and wrongs thereof. After fists flew and tempers flared, we closed the class with that piercing quote from E.B. White: "After all...what's a life, anyway? We're born, we live a little while, we die." It was a sort of statement as to the fragility of our lives compared with the inevitability of death, and the omnipotence of fate.
After school, my dad called and informed me that my great grandmother had passed away. Again, I got the chills as I thought over our English class. "What's a life, anyway?"

For Family Home Evening, we went to a farm down the street from us, which just had an influx of baby animals. I am by no stretch of the imagination an animal lover...I barely get along with my doggy. Still, I mustered the strength to hold an hours-old baby goat!! Oh, my goodness, he was so tiny, and so warm and soft...he even smelled good, for a goat. He squirmed and and bleated, and I just about fell in love.
As I sat there, stroking his soft, clean(ish) hair, I pondered life. I thought about Charlotte's question: "What's a life, anyway?" and I had a legitimate answer, though it was more of a feeling than a coherent thought. I considered the wonder of life, the beauty of motherhood, and the joys of the family. Obviously, I thought, God never intended us to ask that question. Our lives are His greatest gift to us. I thought over the miracles that I see every day, the miracles of new life, of birth and resurrection, and of peace after death.
And as I sat with that little fuzzy miracle in my arms, examining its little ears and tiny hooves.....the darn thing POOPED ON ME! My warm fuzzies turned into wet nasties, in a split second. (I almost took a picture of my slimy hands for you, dear readers...but I decided to wash them six times instead.)

Walking home, my dad laughed at me, and related to me another perfectly themed quote. This one came not from a fictional spider, but from a Jewish spiritualist hippie guru, Abraham Joshua Heschel.

"A person only dies when he ceases to be surprised."

Now, HE knows what he's talking about.
And I think I'm covered for a little while.

Perfectly at peace,
Girl17.

Another Adult Roles Adventure

Ugh.
We're doing a real-life assignment...we were assigned spouses. I just bought a house, a car, and I am planning a weekly menu, which must include milk with every meal and 5 fruits and vegetables a day...because our two children, ages 3 and 5, have to eat well.
On Wednesday we get our "unexpected expense". Our car will probably blow up.

I'm still too little for life.

Avoiding English Homework in the Name of Justice.

Here's the thing.

It's not that I don't care about the death penalty, and it's not that I'm too lazy to debate about it in class, like we will be doing next week. It's not that I'm just too bored with it to form an opinion. Actually, I've formed a strong opinion, and I really do care deeply about it.

I'm dreading this assignment because I feel that my significance in the world is not enough to make my strong opinion matter. I feel almost wrong being the one to decide how it should be.
This is not a decision regarding school uniforms or tomorrow's cafeteria choices. These are human lives - not just those of the criminals in question, but those of the innocent who could be punished needlessly as a result of my anti-death-penalty opinion being put into action. This is a question of justice on an immeasurable scale. I can't say what the best thing is...but really, can anybody?
Who are we to make that call?

Random Hilarity

Maya had her underwear turned backward last night, so that the front part was uncomfortably situated on her bum. I joked about it as I helped her fix them.
Me: We should get Maya a thong. Hehe.
Maya: I already have a thumb! See, I have two of them, and this is the one I suck on.
She popped her shriveled thumb into her mouth, while the rest of us rolled on the floor, laughing.
I love my family.

'What's wrong with YOU?!' An Allergic Horror Story

I've never, ever had an allergy before. I always felt so sad for the people I knew who were allergic to milk or carpet or sunshine. I counted it a bragging right that I was invincible when it came to food. I could eat anything! Right on!
But....nevermore. I think I'm allergic to nacho cheese.
You know. The gross, rubbery yellow stuff that resembles the dairy product? You put it on your chips at games and parties and such, and you have to eat it fast before your chips get soggy and disintegrate. It comes plain, mild, medium and hot. You put jalapenos in it if you're extra cool. I guess I won't ever get that chance, though. I have my first allergy.

Last night, I went to a family dinner at my aunt's house. Dinner was a hard-core taco bar, fully stocked with chips and all kinds of toppings. Being the girl that I am (meaning always, always hungry and never really concerned with the consequences of eating constantly), I shoveled it down as soon as I arrived. It was oh-so-satisfying, and instead of shouting at me for my negligence, my stomach gurbled happily. (I'm very in tune with my body, as you can tell.)

Unfortunately, I discovered soon after eating that my stomach was deceiving me. Not only was IT unhappy, but my whole body had begun a very slow but alarming revolt. Talking to my cousins, I became aware of a terrible itch right below my right forefinger. I didn't think anything of it until it started spreading. When I examined my hand, I noticed that it was red, itching and swollen to a very noticeable degree. I mentioned it to my mom somewhat apathetically - "Somethin's wrong with my hand...look at that." And didn't really think anything more of it. Soon, however, I felt even more incessant pressure in my fingers, and upon further examination, I found my right hand to be about 25% bigger than my left.

My cousins and I went through everything I had eaten, and tried to narrow it down to something I might be allergic to. We didn't draw any conclusions, but in thinking about it more, I believe I've discovered the culprit...nacho cheese.
I became more inclined to pin it down when I woke up at three in the morning and threw up everything I had eaten the day before. Let me tell, you, there is NOTHING worse than throwing up. I would rather have my whole body swell up like a balloon than spend 15 minutes bent over a cold, unfeeling toilet bowl, shaking and expelling things you only see when you are bent over in such a manner. My stomach turns just thinking about it.

So, readers, it is now 2nd period, and I am at home in my jammies, hating nacho cheese. If someone could bring my Physics homework to me, that would be awesome.

Why My Future Daughters Will Play Little League Sports

Okay. So today my school played host to a dance competition for little girls in Davis County. I didn't have any part in it, as the extent of my dance ability is confined to head banging and the Beginner level in DDR. I didn't even have to watch. But the whole ordeal, with the posters and the concessions and the sparkly leotards for sale and the little girls plastered with makeup, made me SO angry.

The world of competetive dance, especially here in Utah, is like a jungle. Only the strongest and bravest survive, and if you are weak, cry easily, or harbor a physical need for food and water, you are automatically unfit. Ever see the movie Mean Girls? That scene where all the girls in the high school go bananas and start attacking each other? It's JUST like that. Not high school, particularly, but definetly the dance community. The young woman who can dance and stay out of that trap is a very rare, very lucky girl. It is tough! It's such a high-pressure, competetive environment, one that makes 16 and 17 year old girls cry on a daily basis. They cry for all kinds of reasons, not just that dancing automatically makes their lives dramatic. They cry because the skin on their scalps is being rubbed raw and peeling off. They cry because every day is a new battle to stay thin and gorgeous. If you don't feel like being gorgeous, too bad. You suck it up, suck it in, and be that superstar that Mommy knows you are! They cry because their muscles are torn and hyperextended, and there's a teacher in front of them, yelling that they can't stop or they can find another instructor. They come home every night worn-out, dehydrated, and without a normal teenage exsistance.
Wanna know the worst part? In order to get to this point, these girls have been doing that since they were three.
They woke up, pulled on their sparly outfits, painted their faces and glued on fake eyelashes, to go to a competition at some high school. When they were three.

These are CHILDREN! These girls are pulling their little bodies around in ways that little girls' bodies are not yet physically equiped to handle! Little bodies are not meant to do those things! I guess it's not going to kill them, but when they get older, are they going to have issues with their muscles and tendons?
I don't have a huge argument to pitch about the physical aspect. What bothers me more is the social, psycological part. These precious little people are being thrust into an environment where they are forced to compete, and they compete to WIN! In this community, they learn that it is not okay to lose. They learn that losing is avoidable, and that if you are living up to all you can be, it will not happen to you. They are being taught to compete with other girls in a vicious way. Do you remember your little league soccer games when you were a kid? No matter who won, at the end of the game, you all lined up and slapped hands with the other team? "Good game, good game, good game, good game..." Dance isn't like that! It's about WINNING. Eyes on the prize. It doesn't matter if your twin sister is in the opposing company, you will WIN at all costs. Only the best girls win, and only the winners are worth a scrap of flourescent pink spandex.
These girls are learning to compete against each other on the dance floor, and it hurts their ability to keep friends. They are also learning that hey MUST win to be accepted. Those little dears have a rude awakening headed their way when they realize that losing HAPPENS. No matter how cool you are or how hard you work, you will FAIL at one point in your life. Fact of life, Little One. These girls are missing that lesson. We need to be teaching them that no matter how sucky their last routine was, they are still beautiful, wonderful little people! They need to know that they are loved and prized by other people because of who they are, not how well they perform.

Walking out of my last class, I saw a little girl (probably no older than five) in a full split, wearing fake eyelashes and enough glitter hairspray to style the entire cast of The Lion King on Broadway. She looked cute, I guess, as her mother gave her a pep talk. Eyes on the prize. Sure, I guess it was cute. I thought it was sad. Wouldn't that little girl SO much rather be eating a cupcake and coloring? Heck, I wanted to be eating a cupcake and coloring, but I am 17! I can't justify it, but SHE can.

Oh dear. I wish I could stop the music, steal a microphone, and will those mini-stars out of that place.
Carpe Diem, Girls! Sieze the Day.
Say No to competetive dance.

As heard on the Band Trip

"Oh, Heck Flippin Dammit-DANGIT! I mean dangit!.....But that's what they saaaay!"

"Casey! Where are your pants?!"

"Tiara, we have to be at the bus in five minutes! Why are you still naked?!"

"I'm watching you."

"Honey, what happened to your savings?" "Uh...I uh...I dunno." (three days later) "eBay finally came!" "what's that, honey?" "It's a Storm Trooper costume." "....HONEY!"

"Guys, I have some REALLY bad news. We haven't let the maid in for two days, and we are out of toilet paper." "....That is very bad news."

"I'll go to the Dans with you!"

"You're not Indiana Jones! You're a butthead!"

"You look like princess Leia...that means we get to see you in a metal bikini!!"

"Hey, is the Princess a babe? If she is, I'll fight in the tournament!"

"Dani, I'm really your number one fan, that's why it says your name on the back of my shirt." -Chaston

"DisneylaaaaaaaaandDisneylaaaaaaaaandDisneylaaaaaaaaaaandDISNEYLAAAAAAAND! ....Hey, it worked!"

"One hundred and two! Hundred and three! Hundred and four!"

"What's that Mr. Chaston?! You can't swim? Oh, shoot, I'll save you, I just have to go get my group of four! ...... Okay Chaston, we're here to save you! Let's count off! ONE! TWO! ....Crap, where's number three?! Oh, YEAH, number three is in the bus, sad because he can't touch the water! What's that Chaston? Save you? Oh...well...I would, but...someone told me I can't get in the water! I gotta go get my light jacket!"

"That's my boyfriend."

"Mr. Burt, nobody really wants to talk to you right now."

"BLACK AND WHITE KNOWS HOW TO FIGHT!"

"George, your last name is now Smith, and you are thirty-one."

"And then...he burped."

"IT'S A SMALL WORLD AAAAAFTER AAAAA- NOOOOOOOO!"

"I really am Han Solo."

"Obviously, band parents love their children more than orchestra parents." -Chaston

"You guys, I'm leaving."

"I need a bathroom....NOW."

"Tiara, I have a crush on every boy. What am I gonna do?"

"BANGBNAGBANG! BANG BANG! BANGBABANGBANGBABABANG!"

"Oh...hello, Mr. Burt, I wasn't expecting you. Which is...why I'm standing...here...in my pajamas...and no bra."

"It doesn't matter. You can scream all you want, it won't change anything. They already know who's going to win." (one hour later) "GGOOOOOOOO! AAAAAAAH GOGOGOGO GOOOO! WOOOHOOOO! AAAAAH BLACKANDWHITE WAAAAAAAH! THIS IS AWESOME! GAAAHGOOOOOOOO!" -Thomas

"I'm still finding food in my shirt."

"It smells like gym socks down here..."

"Good attitude?! Don't talk to me about good attitude! Wanna know where my good attitude went?! It's ON THE BEACH!!!!"

"It's cause I'm fat."

"You guys, I have like six concussions cause of Becca's mom. Now shut up and be quiet so I can go to bed."

"Dani! Your SHOE!"

"She screamed, 'Becca' the WHOLE time."

"I bet he crapped his pants!"

"Anthony, dude, you can't go in that one."

"Casey, Becca wants to know why you're mad." "I'm not mad." "He says he's not mad." "Oh, okay." "She says okay."

"I wasn't trying to pinch his butt, I was trying to lift up his shirt!"

"If she had pinched your butt, it would feel like this."

"AIIIIDA! AIIIIDA!"

"Danger around every turn!" "I eat danger for BREAKFAST!" "Are you hungry?!" "STARVING!"

"...only one napkin?"

"Sorry guys, I was pooped."

"Waka wakaaaa!"

"Hey Becca, will you get my phone out of my back pocket?"

"CAROLE SLAPPED MY BUTT!"

Instant Karma

I have a mosquito bite.

I'll never complain again.

How cruel the world is.

Longing

I WANT SUMMER!

The weather is teasing me. I look out my window in the morning and let the sun shine into my room. It's gorgeous, and I missed it dreadfully....winter was SO long. HOWEVER, even though the sun is bright and deliciously warm, going outside still requires a jacket! I am sick of this pretense! Bring me the sunshine AND the warmth of summer! I am tired of coordinating my outfits with jacket involved. I am ready to throw on a t-shirt and shorts and sandals!
I want to get a pedicure and not have to cover it up with socks!
I want to eat ice cream and not be cold for the next day and a half!
I want to be SO excruciatingly hot that I speed all the way to Jamba Juice and gulp it down in four seconds! Then I'll get another one! Then I'll go to Grandpa's and beg for popsicles like I did when I was five! He'll give them to me, and they'll hit the spot like they always have.
I want a tan line in the shape of my favorite flip-flops, which are gathering dust in my closet. I want Lagoon to open, I want to sleep outside, I want to go camping, I want to hear the sound of lawns being mowed and smell fresh-cut grass! (I don't want to be responsible for the fresh-cut grass, though. Please.)

I WANT A SUNBURN! I want to feel the sun beating on my skin, and consider for a moment how old I will be when I die of skin cancer. Then I want to decide that I don't care, because my beach towel is comfortable and I can't reach the sunscreen from where I'm laying! When Mom wakes me up and says, "You look like a tomato! Go inside!" I will refuse, and dive back into the pool or lake...because...water protects your skin, right? At least it feels like it should. So I'll continue fooling myself, and bring 3 bottles of Aloe Vera gel with me every time I leave the house. It's worth it! I want that sunburn!

I am not looking forward to exactly 2 things this summer. 1 - Mosquito bites. I can't fool myself into thinking those are pleasant. Not at all. 2 - Waking up early. My new job will require me to be at work at 8:30 in the morning. I will most likely resent that. But! I will be spending the day with 3 adorable children, getting sunburns and playing preschool games. My favorite things!

So, readers, I sit here at the computer, in flannel jammies and a microfleece blanket around my shoulders, which hasn't left that spot in over 3 months. I look outside, and the sun beckons me outside. The spring breeze whispers promises of warmth, and gorgeous white clouds adorn the enticing, deep blue sky.

I will not subject myself to this torture any longer.
I'm going back to bed.

Favorite Things, Number 5

21. The indispensable humor of Jack Black. I watched Nacho Libre with my friends yesterday, and I was the only one laughing my head off. Seriously, how is that NOT the funniest movie you've ever seen? Nacho Libre, Kung Foo Panda, and VERY select few (as in, like, two) Tenacious D songs, are just ridiculously hilarious.
22. Reconciliation. I talked to Boy17 for the first time in a long time, and had a...a...what was that called? Oh! A NORMAL conversation! Nobody was mad, nobody was crying. It was a little tense, which is to be expected, but I feel much better now - nobody likes to be hated, after all, and that conversation was a clue that I am not. At least not by Boy17, who could probably send me to the hospital with a flick of his finger. Nice to know.
23. Lazy Days. On Thursday, I wore glasses, a ponytail and my Utah State t-shirt. It was awesome.
24. The incredible people of this world who don't really know they're being watched. One of my friends made a prom dress out of newspaper, complete with newspaper shoes and hat. As she walked through the halls at school with the getup over her regular clothes, some people stared, some scoffed, but most people just smiled and wondered. Kim, this adorable girl, always does things like this. She's the one who you talk about when you're in the car going home. "Ohmygosh, did you see Kim today?! That was SO funny!" But what stands out about Kim is not necessarily her newspaper clothing or her sequin-tye-dyed leggings she wore to that one Stake Dance. It's her character. Her friendliness, her ability to lift people with her smile (or....her outfit). I truly admire someone like that.
On Friday, I trudged to the SBO elections assembly, where a few of my friends were giving election speeches. Greg, who is running for SB President, gave his speech in the form of a full out rap, with the help of his campaign manager Derek, who was wearing suspenders and Harry Potter glasses. Greg is tall, lanky and very white. He is usually seen around school in a U of U shirt and khakis, with a big textbook and a brown lunch sack. Friday, though, he was in a huge hoodie, sunglasses and bling. Sharp, intelligent Greg...rapping in front of the entire student body. I was impressed by is sick skills, obviously, but more for the same reason I am impressed with Kim. Greg's the friendliest person you'll ever meet. He doesn't use his intelligence to one-up anybody, and doesn't think he's above anyone else in the world...as demonstrated by his public tribute to Vanilla Ice. These people are awesome, and they don't even know their impact. I hope they learn one day how many lives they were able to touch. Thanks to Kim, Greg and everybody like them.
25. Being 1/4 of the way done with your goal of blogging 100 of your favorite things.

Favorite Things, Vol. 4

Here's what's going on: I, being 16, have limited free time, which is the only time I have to blog, or even to come up with blogging ideas. Sometimes I get inspired in the middle of class, work or a date, but usually I need some down time to expand those ideas and make them into something worth reading. Down time, for me, means I have nothing to do, nothing to freak out about, and nothing significant happening. This hasn't happened to me for a really long time. That being said, I only have time to post more of my Favorite Things, which I force myself to go over every day anyway. I have time to write them down if I've already thought them up. If anyone can guess what all of these have in common, you officially know me the best out of anybody in the world.

16. Mr. Lund. Is this creepy? Am I creepy? I was told by EVERYONE in my life that I would hate physics, judging by my intense disdain for math. "Physics is hard, Dani, are you prepared for that commitment?" "Are you sure you can handle that?" "The teacher is a nut, Dani, you might want to think this over." "Physics? Really?" "Physics is pretty much ALL math, Dani...do you really want to do this?" Can I just say something do the doubters? I LOVE physics! Mr. Lund is an extremely gifted teacher. He's hilarious, and has a way of relating to teenagers, especially when they tend to struggle. I don't know why he likes me as a student, but somehow we get along. Plus, having Sam in two of his classes this year gives him a quirky insight into my personal life. Creepy? Oh well. He's a pretty cool guy.
17. Phil Collins' Tarzan Soundtrack. What breathtaking music! This soundtrack has amazing melodies and phenomenal lyrics. Phil Collins is very versatile in his style, he can basically do anything. Listening to the same exact album, I giggle and laugh and dance and sing at the top of my lungs, but I cry, too. Great messages in the lyrics, and Phil's casual voice is perfect for the songs.
18. Breaking away from routine, once in a while. This morning was the second of three late start days in a row (see Favorite Thing #15). Instead of sleeping in, like I did yesterday, I went to breakfast, and had some heavenly waffles. I was praised and promised a medal of bravery for eating Sam's cooking (seriously, it was waffles. Not hard!), and was laughing to the point of exhaustion before I had even been awake for two hours. That was fun.
19. "Don't dwell on it!" Brilliant advice. When a thought pops into your head that's gonna bring you down, squash it by refusing to think about it. How can you lose that fight if you refuse to let it hurt you?
20. Inside Jokes that make you laugh when NOBODY else has a clue. "I'd like one McGorgeous, extra beefy, extra cheesy, with blue eyes, please. Oh, and could you take off the hat?"

Zebra Print Shoes...or Favorite Things, Episode III

I am so overdue for a post about some things in my life that make me grin. Once I reach 100, I'll have to reward myself.

11. Zebra Print Shoes. AND shirts, pants (though I've never actually seen that), hats, masquerade masks, headbands and purses. I have a thing for zebras. It's fairly new.

12. Being on time for Physics. Mr. Lund's classroom is set up in such a way as to invoke THE most embarrassment and shame possible when you walk in the door late. Also, he puts the chairs on top of the tables before he leaves the school, so his first period class has to take them down. When you walk in 5-10 minutes late, you have to interrupt the lecture (or quiz, heaven forbid) with the noisy, awkward mess you make as you take your chair down. Needless to say, I am far too experienced in being late for Physics. This morning, however, I was ON TIME with flying colors! I took down my chair with everyone else, and Adam gave me a thumbs-up for being so punctual.

13. Drawing or playing games with your calculator when your math teacher thinks you're working. This sounds like something a slacker would do to pass the time, and seems like a fairly boring way to kill class time. However, it is exceptionally difficult to stifle hysterical laughter in a room with one teacher and 10 students, all of whom are silent. Once your body can't hold it in and you have to go "pppffsnnkkhtt!!" You feel like a monstrous idiot, and everyone laughs at you internally, except for Sam, who laughs at you openly. It's HIS fault I'm laughing anyways. I never thought I could excrete so many endorphins in a Math classroom.

14. SQUID! What can I say about this one? Honestly, it just happened. It's pretty much a big deal.

15. Late Start Days. Glory Hallelujah, for the deep love of all that is good and holy in this world! I LOVE sleeping in!

On Princes and Oatmeal: What A Girl Wants.

What do girls look for in the boys we date?
This is a looming question, ever-present and yet perpetually unanswered. It seems to confuse every male in my life, and no matter how much they grow, their wisdom on this issue never seems to expand. However, this is what we do know. Society has given men a prototype by which to gauge their success when it comes to women. The closer you are to attaining this name, the better off you are. Once you have been given this honorary title, you are golden. This measurement tool has also been given to women, to rate their own proficiency and taste when it comes to choosing a man. We compare our dates, boyfriends and crushes to this single prototype, this one invincible, flawless phenomenon.
His name is Prince Charming.

Yes, readers, you know this guy. This is what the typical girl wants in her life. This is the face of happiness and perfection. As a girl, having this man in your life is something of an accomplishment. To say, "I have found my Prince Charming" is to say "I will never have another problem! Be gone, fools and players of the past! Let me enjoy my new-found bliss!"

The Prince Charming in your life will be exactly what he is cracked up to be. He will shower you with love and attention, make you feel beautiful, and kiss your hand, sending tingles down your spine. He will adore every little bit of you, inside and out. He will get to know your little intricacies and flaws, and he will love them. Without hesitation, he will be at your side to slay dragons, creepos, or the big spider you found on the bathroom floor. He will profess his love eloquently, on one knee, with a bunch of flowers from his castle garden. He will make you swoon and sigh, and eventually, you will have to admit that he is, undoubtedly, perfect.

Over the last two weeks, I have made a very interesting and revealing discovery: I do not want Prince Charming.
Prince Charming is certainly handsome. He's brave and strong, and has a way with words. But his eloquence and charm are just the problem. This is not what I want to find when I legitimately begin the search for the Love of My Life.
The guy I want is a little more like Mowgli, from The Jungle Book. Upon seeing the most beautiful girl he's ever seen, Mowgli forgets the entire world around him, and, as I like to say, he turns into oatmeal.

The guy I want to find is not exceptionally brave! He's not stunningly handsome, and he doesn't necessarily have a high tenor Broadway singing voice.
I want a guy who will kill a spider for me, but I fully expect him to run away when the fire-breathing dragon starts roaming the town. I don't want him to profess his love on one knee, with a perfect bouquet of freshly cut roses, without a single stutter. I want the boy who takes my hand and says, "I just, I just feel so....you're just so...I mean, you know? It's like, you just....I love you!" I want him to stutter and grin and feel silly!

I don't want my guy to serenade me under the balcony at midnight. I want him to strum a guitar with his feet up on the arm of the couch, miss a note and laugh at himself, embarrassed that he displayed imperfections in front of me. I want the guy who will grin like an idiot when I walk in the door. I want the guy who is out of commission and needs 5 minutes to regain consciousness after a peck on the cheek from me. When he picks me up for a date, I don't want him to say, "My Darling, you look positively ravishing...forgive my astounding ignorance, but is that stunning dress fuchsia or magenta?" I want him to say, ".........duh...uh, WOAH."

I want a boy who will turn into oatmeal when he's around me, losing all solid concept of time, space and matter!

Prince Charming is a great guy, to be sure. He's perfect. Perfect, handsome, and boring. The guy I want is not like him. He's a little more awkward, and a little less fantastic.
I am a Princess who does not want to find A Prince. No, what I want is to find MY Prince. He's not like Prince Charming, and he's certainly not perfect.
That is precisely what I will be watching for.

Youthful Nostalgia, By Brother8.

This is a song that Eric wrote while he was home sick. As he wrote it, he was undoubtedly staring out the window, with silent tears streaming down his freckled cheeks. It is to be sung to the tune of Frere Jaques.

I hate winter, I hate winter.
Where's the sun? Where's the sun?
I wear a heavy coat, I wear a heavy coat.
I'm ready for fun. I'm ready for fun!

Poignantly stated, dear brother. I myself entirely loathe the winter, and also find it tremendously more difficult to have fun when it's freezing outside. The arrival of the sunshine brings many more happy memories, and many more opportunities to have the time of my life. As I consider the coming years, and the maturity that they will require from me, I realize even more that I have to make the opportunities I do have really count. I have some big plans to do so. This summer will be the best yet, if only to make up for time lost and wasted in the knee-deep snow.

Favorite Things, Part B

6. My Girlfriends. Right now, I think I could be happy if I never talked to another boy, ever again. This doesn't stem solely from my hatred for the current reading assignment in Adult Roles, but from the drama which occurs on all fronts of my life. People say that GIRLS are dramatic?! Our lives would be peaceful without the MEN, thankyouverymuch! Sometimes there is nothing better than talking with my girls.
7. When I do one little thing wrong, and one person starts ripping on me, but then EVERY other person involved sticks up for me and starts ripping on THEM. Dude, seriously...I love my friends!
8. MoTab. Yeah, I'm serious! The Mormon Tabernacle Choir. I love it, for many varying reasons. I love the stereotypes surrounding them, their outfits, and their hairstyles. I love the music and the spirit surrounding it. I love the abbreviation MoTab, as it is yet another testament to the predominantly Mormon culture in which I live.
9. Mormon abbreviations and acronyms. Oh my goodness, we shorten everything here! MoTab, MoMo, LDS, BYU, BYC, EQP, DL, ZL, YW, YM, BSA, DI, GA, FHE. I could tell you thousands of others, if I had a lifetime to waste. But that's what it's all about, right? Why waste time saying entire words when everyone understands by the first letter? When I moved to UT, I vowed that I would never submit to this wacky trend. Well, call me a MoMo, but I'm a DoG and I read my BofM while I listen to MoTab and I have FHE on Mondays!
So, in the words of my FAVORITE MoMo, "Stick that straw in your juice box and suck it!"
10. My Dad. My father recently recieved a "Heroes in Parenting" award. I'm not surprised, not the tiniest little bit. I love you, Daddy.

Diamonds and Weddings and Love...Oh My!

I'm taking a class for college credit in which we learn very little and accomplish very little. The class is "Adult Roles," and it takes care of a financial literacy credit and a few general ed hours.
On my first day in the new semester, we started a unit on marriage, and I was assigned to read "Finding the Love of Your Life," a book written by the founder of eHarmony.com. My teacher says that most of the females in her class particularly enjoy this unit, and really eat up anything that has to do with love and weddings.
I must be the exception....because I don't like it.
I resent having to read this book. I am 16 years old! I don't want to find the love of my life right now! Eventually, yes, but NOW?! I don't even know if I have wisdom teeth yet! I can barely keep my room clean, and you want me to find the LOVE of my LIFE?! I lack the maturity to have the healthiest of friendships, let alone relationships. I am a child! The idea of growing up and being on my own scares the zits off my adolescent face....how am I supposed to deal with growing up and devoting my life to another person?!
Don't get me wrong. I am capable of loving another person. I have the ability to love someone and want the best for them and want nothing as badly as I want their happiness. I know what it means to say "I Love You," and I know how to navigate the tip of that iceberg. But it's just that - the very tip. I'm willing to venture that I know more than most teenagers know about love, but I lack the maturity and self assurance to apply in person what I know in theory. I still have WAY too much to learn. I still have to grow up. I am absolutely not ready to begin searching for the love of my life. You want me to read a book about this?! And learn from it?! No!!

Another reason that I so despise this assignment is that it is mostly pointless. I am not going to read a book, fill out a worksheet, and suddenly know that much more about love. I'm going to learn how to love by loving. Loving my friends, family, and those around me that I see every day. I'm going to learn, through experience and prayer, what the love of my life should look like. I'm going to learn and work to become the love of someone else's life. Isn't that the essential other half to that process of "finding the love of my life?" I need to focus on those things. I don't need to read about love from a man who created an online dating service, and rely on that knowledge to actually teach me things.

Another problem. In the same lesson, we spent a substantial ammount of time talking about engagement rings. We learned about different cuts and weights and sizes, insurance policies and prices. This is infuriating! WHAT do diamond rings have to do with marriage?!?! The first engagement rings were blades of grass, and what was the divorce rate THEN?! Now, we spend hundreds of dollars and many hours on selecting the perfect, beautiful ring for our loved one, and for what?! Is it bragging rights? Is it a sign of true love when you can't lift the deadweight ring on your left hand? NO! Diamonds have nothing to do with true love. Yes, they are a lovely tradition and they are pretty, and when I find that Love of My Life, I would most likely request a moderately nice engagement ring. But if it didn't work out, the relationship wouldn't fail! Heck...if he had to carve my ring out of balsa wood, it wouldn't change the fact that it was real love.

Maybe I'll be that lady who lives alone with 7 cats. You and the Love of Your Life can come visit me in my solitary bitterness.

180 Pounds of Pure Scandanavian Viking Superhero!

I know what you're thinking.
"...Pure Scandanav...what the...who is this girl?!" I know that you roll your eyes in annoyed apprehension of my girlish giggling and chatter. Even now, you try to determine where in the world this title came from, and to whom it was assigned. No, dear readers, this blue-eyed Demigod is not someone I actually know, and in fact, I can't remember his real name. "180 pounds of pure Scandinavian Viking superhero" was the title given to a competitor in the Winter X-Games, which I found myself watching on TV today. The alternate title of this post is "5 of My Favorite Things," but I want to immediately establish that Scandanavian superheroes are not on the list. However, first on the list is:

1. Those hilarious one-liners that pop out at you when you're not really paying attention. You really think I was actively watching the X-Games? Heck no. I was spacing completely, and I tuned in JUST in time to hear the announcer declare some snowboarder "180 pounds of pure Scandinavian Viking superhero." As I watched American Idol yesterday, a Revlon commercial came on that informed me that using Revlon's lipstick would give me "Explosively Sexy Lips." Haaaaahahahahahaha!! Explosively?! Quite the adverb, Revlon. Love it. Also, my physics teacher woke me up in first period today by announcing, "EVERYONE in this room is attracted to you!" Of course he ruined it - "...gravitationally speaking, I mean." I went back to sleep after that, but it WAS funny!
2. Barbeque Sauce. I'm serious. I love it. Close up there with A1 and Ranch, it is an indispensible condiment. And I love it.
3. Redvines. I'll just put this out there right now. I don't care what you think, I don't care how much I still have to learn and grow, and I don't care how much my values and opinions may change. I will NEVER love a mortal man as much as I love Redvines. EVER. I seriously doubt they could be any more delicious.
4. Sitting down for the first time in four hours. One of my coworkers trudged into the boss's office after a long stretch at the register. As he sat down, he let out the biggest sigh of relief, and said, "That.....was AMAZING." He's totally right. It's the best thing ever.
5. Those moments that are just...funny. I sat in AP American History today, listening passively to a lecture, and I heard, behind me and just to the left, a soft but very distinct snore. From directly behind me there came a muffled snicker, and behind me to the right was a bigger one. Back and forth, the giggles grew, until they spread to me and those on my right and left sides. The offending sleepyhead jerked awake to the sound of 10 people laughing quietly, snorted rather loudly and said "Huhmmgmwhat..?" The teacher never strayed from her passionate lecture. She had no idea.

Mind you, these are only five of my long list of things that make me smile. More to come, dear readers, more to come.

Boy8's First Jam Sesh

I have a mini-passion in my life, and it makes me very happy.
When I drive anywhere, especially to work, I crank up the radio as loud as I can stand it, and I ROCK OUT. This means shaking my hair out and flipping my head everywhere, bouncing in my seat, occasionally singing along.
This little quirk of mine has given me many funny stories to tell, and even got me out of doing dishes at work once. I pulled up to the stop light across the street on my way in to work, and my shift leader saw me dancing as rambunctiously as I could manage with a seat belt on. Because it entertained him so profoundly, he deemed my Jam Session an "Epic Win," and informed me that I had immunity from all dishes responsibilities. See Dani Grin.
Tonight, we drove up to Grandma's house for her 74th birthday party, and on the way home, I broke out my earphones. Eric was sitting next to me in the back of the minivan and, not feeling inclined to listen to "I'm A Little Teapot" (Girl3's cassette choice), he asked me if he could listen to my music. I plugged him in, but informed him that I wouldn't let him listen if he didn't dance with me.
We cranked "Are You Gonna Be My Girl" by Jet, and I taught him how to dance like a wild animal. At first he was embarrassed, and when I told him what to do, he went, "....no! Heck no!" But as the car ride went on, he got more excited, and by the time we reached home, we had the whole song choreographed. I kept checking with him, saying, "this is fun, huh?!" and his reply is still making me laugh.
"Yeah!" he puffed, in between bounces on the minivan bench. "But it's so stupid!"

Ha, ha, ha! This was the first time I've spent bonding with my little brother in a really long time. I don't know why I find it so liberating to dance like a maniac in my car (or in my bathroom while I get ready, or in the back room at work when anybody could be watching, or cleaning my room), but it just makes me extremely happy, and it was so fun to have Eric participate in the madness with me.

Eric is totally right. It's silly. I look completely ridiculous. But really...that means absolutely nothing to me.
I will continue jammin' in my car (and bathroom and bedroom and kitchen and walk-in pizza freezer) until my joints turn to dust and I'm being carried around in an urn.
Smiling,
Girl 16.

In Which My Father May Loose His Tongue, Which Has Heretofore Been Bitten.

If you live in Utah, you are undoubtedly aware of a phenomenon which occurs about six to eight times during the school year. I don't know when it began, and I don't know why. All I know is that whenever there's a school dance, people go absolutely bananas. When you ask someone to a dance, it is considered quite unorthodox to simply call them on the phone and ask them. It's imperative that you spend a minimum of $10, and ask them in a way that rhymes and makes it difficult to find out who the asker was. I won't spend a lot of time on this, because every blogger in Utah has at least one post that deals cynically with the traditions and customs of High School dances. I will say that I don't mind it, and I actually think it's fun and exciting, even if it requires a little more work. My dad does not share my opinion. He posted not very long ago a rant about the topic, in which he praised his own capacity for tolerance. He counts himself magnanimous because he hasn't said anything to me about it, and blogging about it doesn't count (apparently). He has indeed raised the biting of his tongue to an artform.
My Friday night afforded an opportunity for my dear father to raise his eyebrows in pleased surprise at the situation. I was asked to the upcoming Valentine's Dance. The asker was a boy I know from work, whom I am quite thrilled to be accompanying. We got together after work to have a movie night with my friends on Friday. When I dropped him off at his house, we chatted for a few minutes before he looked me in the eye said, "Because I'm so terrible at these things, I'm just gonna come right out and say it...Dani, will you please go to Valentine's with me?" Of course I beamed and replied that I would love to, he gave me a big hug and we were back to chatting about Horton Hears a Who and how we both can recite random movie lines accurately.
He spent no money, very little time, and less stress than asking to a dance usually causes. Some would count this lazy and rude, but I loved it! It was organic and sweet, and it also means that I don't need to answer in a way that will cause me stress.
My dad has declared that he will never, ever approve of the boys I date. But does Sam's refusal to conform to the asking standards of the rest of Utah have a positive effect? Is he an exception to that rule because he swam against the current and asked me in person? Either way, I'm excited. Valentine's Day is going to rock.

So Much More Than Pathos.

I had to grow up a little bit more today.
While I stood at the register at work today, whining inwardly at my lowly position, a man who looked about 45 came into the store. He looked just like everybody else for a minute, but as it came to be his turn at my register, I noticed he was different. This man leaned heavily on a cane and shook as he walked. He was bent over, at least at a 90 degree angle, and I could see that he was fiddling with his glasses. I thought that he just had trouble putting them on, but as I continued to watch him and prompt him that it was his turn, the smile was forced off of my face. The glasses that he was struggling with included only one scratched and mangled lens. The man was focusing not on putting his glasses ON, but putting them TOGETHER, slowly and carefully guiding them into the right position. He nudged and pulled the single lens into the left side of the frames, which consisted of thin metal for the top half and crudely knotted fishing line for the bottom. From the way he knew exactly what he was doing, I could see that it had been this way for a long time. When he finally got them on, he looked up at me, and when he saw my face, he smiled half-heartedly and said, "One is better than none, I guess." As he stepped closer, I noted more about him. He smelled heavily of smoke. His voice cracked and knotted, like he had been screaming a long time and was reluctant even to speak. I could barely see his left eye through the scratches on his one lens.
This man took about 10 minutes to decide what to order. He ended up with two of the cheapest pizzas on the menu, which he paid for with food stamps. He saved every penny he possibly could, and when he made any decision, it was drawn-out and deliberate. He handled his wallet and very little money with a certain care and delicacy that I have only seen in children. To children, money is an enormous phenomenon, and they interact with it as such. If you watch, you'll see that a preschooler is fascinated by the whole transaction process - he'll pick out his items very carefully, make doubly sure that he has enough money with him, and he'll carefully consider his decision to the best of his fun-size ability. That is exactly the way this man acted with his money. He counted out his bills twice and put them gently into my hand, watching them, not me, as I stored them away.
Something else struck me about this man. The entire time, he showered me and my coworkers with thanks. He called me Miss and said Thank You after every small interaction we had. He made sure to thank us on his way out, and never once let his happy attitude falter. He looked me in the eyes, and when he had a question, he seriously listened to and contemplated the answer. Talking with and serving this little man nearly broke my heart. I wanted to hug him, I wanted to buy his dinner, I wanted to do ANYTHING I could for him. Instead, I marvelled at the way he acted and spoke, and I felt a great love for him that I've never felt for a stranger, and never ever for a customer over age 6.

The very next person to walk up to my register was different. Her black hair was beautifully cut and her nails were long and perfectly manicured. She plopped her Gucci handbag down on the counter, obviously annoyed with the delay caused by the man ahead of her, and glanced down at me without so much as a twitch of her lips before saying, "Umm, I think I'll get...." She proceeded to name 2 or 3 expensive pizzas. While I rang them up, she perused the add-on orders below the counter, and carelessly tossed a tub or two of cookie dough onto the top, deciding, "I think I'll get one of these....and one of these." When I told her what her total was, she simply handed me a credit card without even internalizing it, and waited until I was finished. To her, I was The Labor. She never smiled at me, and mumbled Thanks under her breath as she turned to go.
The direct, sharp contrast between these two people was shocking. It scared me and it enlightened me, interacting with them one right after the other. I was so surprised at how unaware the were of each other. She, with her leather purse and crimson fingers, had no idea about the pain that he had probably experienced. He, with his dingy clothes and crumpled cash, had no insight into the world in which she lived. He simply could not have any idea.
I wanted to yell. I wanted to cry. I wanted to open up the eyes of the world and let them see what I had just seen. How appropriate that we have been discussing Social Darwinism in my history class! I've always stood in the negation whenever the argument arises, but I've been more in the middle, trying to see both sides of the debate. Today, the decision was made for me. There is no better argument for the support of mercy and love and compassion than the image of a crooked little man putting together half a pair of glasses.
Not everyone is powerful and secure. Not everyone knows what they're going to eat next week. When you need new glasses, you go and get some. It may cramp your budget for a day, but it's a very worthwhile exchange. If he had the means to buy new glasses, this man would have done so. He could not, and he accepted that he could not. His glasses were awful, but that is his life. He could not stand without a cane, but that's how it goes. Did he want to take home more than he bought? Probably. Was he more hungry than the size of his purchase indicated? Probably! Could he do anything more? Absolutely not.
I have grown up a little bit more today.

Are we human...or are we dancer?

It's been 2 weeks. 2 weeks of freedom, laughter and bliss. I made 2 amazing friends, sustained a headache from dancing all night for 2 nights (sooo worth it), and read more than half of The Awakening. I slept in every day. Monday seemed so far away.
And now, it's Sunday night. Monday is tomorrow, and I am making a futile attempt at the homework that I ignored for 2 weeks. My school bag is still crammed with my clothes and pajamas from a sleepover, and I can't focus on anything scholastic, unless you count my regret at not having seen Yes Man OR gone shopping over the holiday.

I am SO looking forward to the coming year. These two weeks have given me so much, specifically really good, true friends, which is something that has been missing in my life for a long time. I found them in two people whom I had no idea I would be friends with. They are judged and even disliked by some people, but I have found nothing to dislike as yet. I feel a sense of freedom and immense gratitude that has come from my friendship with these two. Mostly, I just feel comfortable with them, and I found that I don't actually care what others think of me anymore, or of my friends. What a discovery! I've smiled more in these two weeks than I have for a long time, mostly thanks to these two.
(Note: The title of this post is a tribute to them, because sometimes I actually just don't know. We dance. A lot.)

I've decided that, even though tomorrow will thrust me back into routine, I'm going to get through it, a lot easier than I did last semester. And when weekends roll around, I'll have so much more to look forward to. For now, at least, I know that I can rest, smile and be thankful for everything I have. What an awesome Christmas break.

It's Like A Car Accident...

...It's horrible, but I can't look away!

I'm pretty sure that E.T. is the creepiest movie Hollywood ever thought up. Boy5 is obsessed with the show, and watches it about 3 times a week. I haven't watched the whole thing yet, but every time I catch a glimpse of a scene, I get the heeby-jeebies. This movie used to fascinate me when I was little, so the creepiness hasn't blossomed from some childhood trauma associated with the Extra-Terrestrial. It's only recently that I've started to freak out about it.
As yet, I have no explanation. It's just awful. It's weird. It freaks me out.

And I sit here, watching E.T. die and Elliot slowly flicker in and out of conciousness with him.
Isn't humanity funny?

Thrills! Spills! Scandal! Snore.

I'm trying to read a book written by a woman who died in 1904.

Apparently, it was extra-controversial and scandalous...in 1904. It caused women to weep and men to grow weak in the knees...in 1904. Mothers shielded the eyes of their young ones from the pages of this devilish work...in 1904. It provided an insight into the scandal and adventure in the lives of upper-class women...1n 1904!
I could try to make this as full of explanation as I possibly could, but the facts are these:
The Awakening bores me. It is a boring piece of great literature. Kate Chopin was a brilliant woman and revolutionary author...who died in 1904!

I had no problem reading Macbeth, which is in fact set in 11th-century Scotland, and was written by William Shakespeare, who died in 1616. I take comfort in this, because I know my problem does not stem from the book being too "outdated" or its author being "too old" (meaning dead for 105 years). This means that I'm not TOO uncultured. It's not as if I'm rolling my eyes and saying, "This is gay. Lets go light something on fire, Beevis." I'm really trying! It's just that I can't grasp the excitement embedded in people who "stroll" and "sip" things, and "go on visits" and have "dear friends." I can't find pleasure in reading about a perfect 18-century woman who has only one flaw, and that is that she insists on talking about her ever-evasive "condition," the symtoms of which are invisible and unapparent to everyone around her! Honestly, I can't bring myself to care if Mrs. Pontellier is uncomfortable in a society of Creoles, despite her having married a Creole. Creole sounds like something fruity and delicious, if you ask me, and that makes my mouth water, which distracts me. How am I expected to read a book which draws my attention AWAY from it?! It's repellent, I tell you! This book is only 100 pages long! Why am I having such a hard time being interested in this?!

In every english class I've ever been in, with every book we've ever read, I've always been the one to practically sprint into the classroom, full of praise and wonderment at the current reading assignment. I leaped into class with To Kill A Mockingbird in my hand, yelling at everyone that would listen to me. "OH MY GOODNESS! DID YOU READ LAST NIGHT? Atticus Finch is my HEEEERO! He's all this super-cool laid back lawyer whose all like, You won't get away with this, I'll use my brain power and break you down have a nice day, and then this dog comes in and its all going crazy and Atticus grabs his shotgun and he's all BLAMO!! and the dog is gone and the kids are all like, duuude, and the sherrif's all, Ol' One Shot done it again...WOW this book is INCREDIBLE!"
When we held class discussions, my hand was in the air and my eyes here sparkling, pretty much constantly.
I give 104% on analysis essays, I adore my english teacher, and I plan to name my future pets (or anything else which requires naming, excluding children) after my favorite literary characters (Atticus Finch, John and Elizabeth Proctor, and Lennie Small). I am in love with literature. So what is this bizarre change in what has always been a perfect love?
It's never been the plot that I love so much as the underlying meanings and ironies and the different dimensions of characters. That's the stuff a book is made of - the plot is only a framework.
When I got the assignment to read The Awakening, I was promised some seriously beautiful, dense stuff. My teacher, who is a hero to me, sang praises to this book in class (She's like that. It surprised no one). My father, also a hero and an english Ph.D., promised me a rich supply of character dimension and themes similar to those in Their Eyes Were Watching God. WHERE ARE THESE THINGS HIDING?! I am seeing NO dimension, ZERO emotion, and TOTALLY skewed and irrelevant bits of information about 4 people! Mr. Pontellier wears eyeglasses. Mrs. Pontellier got a sunburn. The boys enjoyed croquet. Don't forget the umbrella, Darling. The man lived in the third house. As opposed to a dirty, muggy dungeon with a wrongly accused Frenchman and first mate of the Pharaon who later becomes a count and self-made ledgend, which would be much more exciting. Hmm...someone should do something with that. Oh WAIT! Alexandre Dumas wrote an incredible book with that very idea, and HE died in 1870! Nobody in The Count of Monte Cristo strolled or sipped things.
I'll read The Awakening. I'll get through it, even if it takes pretending I died in 1904. Literature is one of my great loves...am I wrong not to love it all the time?