An email to a roommate MIA

Dearest Katie,

I have to be honest with you.  Ever since you left, we've had a hole in our hearts.  We were afraid that our apartment would be forever lacking one, and we couldn't bear living like that.  But then, something marvelous happened!  We replaced you!  Hannah is great, but after a few days we knew that she would never fill that hole in us created when you went to Jerusalem.  This led us to think:  Is Katie the reason for that hole?  We have replaced you, you'd think the hole would be full.  But no, after a few weeks thinking on the matter, we discovered the real reason for the hole: Zac Efron.  He's gone, Katie.  You dragged him out of our home, and we miss him terribly. Hannah doesn't replace him the same way she does you.  We needed another "Zac Efron"-esque roommate.  And we needed him fast.


That being said, it was Jessie's birthday yesterday!  We had a party and balloons and cake and the whole shibang.  It might be worth mentioning that it was Tyler Nicholas' birthday as well.  Have you ever met Tyler's sister, Sarah?  I've only met her once, but she's fantastic.  In fact, she printed out ginormous pictures of Tyler and hung them up in the halls of Building 4 so that anyone passing by would be bombarded with his smiling face, with text on the picture announcing it was his special day!  


It is now that our two stories combine.  It is here that I feel I must also warn you.  It has been far too long since we've seen you, Katie.  Like, a whole two weeks!  You may have forgotten.  Katie, I beg you to remember that we are the kind of people who would keep a bottle of urine in our fridge until it starts to freeze and turn to slushy pee.  We are the kind of people who get very excited over a new product known simply as "Handerpants."  And yes, Katie.  We are the kind of people who take full size pictures of other people's boyfriends and hang them on the walls of our apartment.  Especially if said pictures are this one:

Yes.  T-Nick is in the house.  Specifically OUR house.  And though he may not be a celebrity like Zac, you've got to admit, we've definitely got the next best thing.


Hope all is well with you and yours!  Have a wonderful day.  And please, try your hardest not to miss us too much.  Crying like that is just embarrassing.

-Sara

The Men Won't Be Able To Get Their Hands Off... Our Hands?

Real life conversation between Sara and myself.  Real life stuff happening right here.

I'm not entirely sure, but this might be the reason we're single.  Because we don't yet have handerpants.  And in case you're wondering, here's some information on how you can order six pairs for yourself:

I think my favorite part is the tagline: "your hands never need to go commando again!"

Matt Is the Best.

I have all sorts of problems with my computer.  I'm pro at picking up viruses and malware. It's probably all of those "You're the 1,000,000,000th Visitor" notices I keep clicking on.  The flashing banners get me every time, darn them.  Since my fields of specialty don't extend past Facebook stalking, hoarding candy corn, and making a fool of myself in public, I leave technology to technology people.

Enter my friend Matt.  I took my computer to his apartment last week and left it there with a vague "something is wrong, please fix it."  I picked it up a few hours later with high hopes.  Matt said he cleaned several viruses off and handed it over.

When I got home, I realized what he really spent three hours doing.  Messing with my settings.

I thought I was crazy at first, because computers don't talk.  Well now mine does.  Every time I turn it on, off, open a new window, open a new tab, click a link, etc., my computer reminds me that I shouldn't trust Matt with my computer every again.  It alerts me to system changes with a kindly "Matt is the best."

Sometimes, if I leave my computer alone for a while, it reminds me anyway.  Just to keep me on my toes.  It might be the best thing that's happened to my computer, and I kind of lovehate it.  For now, anyway.

The awkward trials of being accidentally funny

Apparently, I said something funny a few days ago.  Katie swears by it.  But she can't remember what it was.  However, even though none of us can remember me being funny, I have been pressured into remembering it and then writing a blog post about it.  It's possibly the most stressful thing I've ever been through.  I try to dig through my memory for something funny I might have said 3.6 days ago, but I just can't recall it.  Every once and a while I'll say something that I think might be it, but then I look at Katie and she makes no response, or worse, gives a pity laugh.  I'm patronized by the idea that I might have said something amusing that might have changed my entire life for the better and perhaps could have made me money and fame and gotten me several boyfriends, but I just can't remember it.  Also, apparently that one sentence (thought, word, idea?) that I sputtered out 3.6 days ago used up all my funny.  Sorry guys.  I can only be funny when I'm about to go into a memory lapse, apparently.  And that memory lapse also affects my roommates.

Maybe that funny phrase was actually a magic spell, and it makes whomever hears it forget what I said.  Pretty useless, admittedly, unless your goal is to make several people crazy trying to figure out what it is that I said, including myself.  I'm pretty sure if I figure out how to harness this superpower, I could be president of the world.  Or something.  Because I could say something stupid that would make people stop voting for me, but then they would just forget what I said and just remember that I was funny.  Success.  I'm gonna have to practice this.

...

What kind of bear has no teeth?

A gummy bear!

....Yeah, I don't think that was it.  *sigh*

I'm good at breaking and entering. Or others are just bad at locking doors.

Our building, good ol' Glenwood Number 4, is the furthest one from campus.  It's so far!  Once I even get to the Glenwood parking lot I have to walk past 3 buildings just to get to ours.  Sometimes my subconscience gets impatient, and I become sure it can't be that far.  So I unconsciously turn into the third building and go into the matching apartment there.  The first time this happened was during the first week of school.  We were still unpacking, and there were boxes and dishes and misc. items all over the kitchen. We all left that morning vowing that we would organize when we got home.  Well, when I walked into the apartment after school, everything was clean and tidy, and there was even a vase of flowers on the kitchen table!  I froze, thinking to myself, "Wow!  My roommates have been busy!  I wonder who got the flowers!"  As I continued to walk through the entry way, however, something felt off.  The couches were in different spots, and the decorations that we had haphazardly put on the wall that morning had disappeared.  That's when it hit me.  This was not the apartment I was looking for.  I quickly exited that apartment and shut the door, then walked out of the building like nothing had happened.  When I finally got to our building and entered our real apartment, there were the boxes and dishes and a distinct absence of flowers in a vase.  Home, sweet home.

This has happened numerous times since then.  You would think that I would learn that we live in building 4.  Actually, no, let's be real here.  I'll never learn that, but you would think that the owners of the apartment I keep walking into would learn to lock their door.  I've met them now, they're very nice.  They were pretty convincing when they pretended to understand why I can't figure out where I live, even after 3 months.  I'm sure we'll soon be on first name basis, and then they can give all my information to the psych ward and have them come pick me up.  They know where I live and everything.  So, if one day I just up and disappear, I'm either at the matching apartment one building over, or in the psych ward.  Either way, please come get me.

S"NERF"ING ADVENTURES

So, today, we went crazy.  But that's normal here.  We went a special kind of crazy today.  Our roommate Jessica came with two nerf guns (one with a laser to help you aim... so cool!) so we've been randomly attacking people throughout the semester.  But today, the flame within us grew to a forest fire.  We began to desire something more.  A full out war, instead of just sporadic battles.  So we all went out and did the practical thing: bought all the nerf guns we could afford!!!  Which, albeit, was not many, but now we all have one.  We defended the decision with the fact that these guns would probably come in handy if ever a zombie apocalypse were to occur.  At least, they couldn't hurt.  I am the proud owner of TWO nerf guns.  Be afraid, cuz I've been practicing my aim.

See?  Aim at Marina:  Check! 

Aim at the camera: Check!

And lastly, aim at the ceiling: Check!  I'm good at this.

We plan on attacking any unsuspecting intruders.  Or non-intruders.  If you walk anywhere near the vicinity of our building, watch your back.  Or don't, and then you can be blissfully unaware of what is sneaking up behind you.  Mwahaha....

Ornithophobia.

My sister works at a fast food restaurant in town.  It's a little drive in with the best fries in town.  It's also a little drive in with the most annoying pigeon infestation in town.  Pigeons get into the roof and nest.  You would never know unless you go into the bathroom, where it's quieter.  If it's the right time of year, you'll hear the incessant little chirps of a million baby pigeons.

One of her coworkers decided to take the matter into his own hands a few weeks ago.  He got one of the baby pigeons out of the roof and put it in a box outside the restaurant.  He claimed he was going to take it home and kill it.  My sister, animal whisperer, protested and decided to bring the bird home until she could find someone else to take care of it.

We kept it in the garage at first.  Just for a few days, until the pigeon grew out feathers and could fly on its own, at which time, she would release it into the "wild."

A few days turned into a few weeks, as pigeons don't actually grow that fast.  In that time, my dad secretly started bonding with the pigeon... he's a gentle soul.  He took the pigeon out of the cage we kept it in and started petting it and cuddling with it sometimes.  Needless to say, by the time the pigeon actually was old enough to leave, he was attached to us.  My brother even named him.

By the time Archibald T. Chirps had enough feathers to smerf the coop, he was part of the family.  One of my siblings even made him a Facebook page (does it get much more official than that?).  That was about the time we learned that pigeons are not dynamic animals.  They settle in where they are raised and won't be moved.  Our multiple attempts to forcibly relocate him were unsuccessful- someone would drop him off away from our house, and about half an hour later he would be back.

What's worse though, is that Mr. Chirps decided he is the kind of family pet that should live inside.  On multiple occasions, he has made his way INSIDE our house, much to my horror.  My sister quickly shooed him out while trying to calm my frantic screams.  Turns out I'm terrified of birds (add it to the list).  But really, the thought of a pigeon breaking into your home and making itself comfortable is frightening. It's enough to give anyone the heebie-jeebies.

Wish us luck, hopefully the bad weather will drive Mr. Chirps away.  Until then, avoid the deck.  It's his territory now.

texts to a stranger.

every sunday and wednesday nights in our hall, we have visiting hours. for two hours, twice a week, boys are allowed in girl halls and vice versa. i have a guitar class during the wednesday visiting hours, so i come back from class once a week right as the boys are asked to leave. this particular wednesday, we were left with this gem on our hall mirror:

i'm always down for a good thyme. especially when i don't have to worry about the repercussions of making a fool out of myself.

after some brief inquiry, i found out it was a boy's number- he was visiting one of our hallmates and left his number behind as a joke. a few girls in the hall had already called, but he didn't ever answer.

so i texted him. and our conversation went a little something like this:

me: hey. i'm looking for some oregano. can you hook a girl up?

stranger: Oregano huh. Depends who and where this girl is.

me: look i'm just a girl from pocatello, idaho who loves her herbs.* and you come highly recommended.

stranger: I think people misunderstood my message. Thyme was just how we decided to spell time. I don't have special herbs.

me: what?! i was really hoping to impress my fhe group with my famous oregano spaghetti sauce!

stranger: I'm terrible sorry to disappoint you and to have deceived you.

me: no, its cool. i get it, there you were, taking artistic license with the phrase "looking for a good time" and here i am, hoping for some high carb deliciousness. whelp if ever you're in town, you bring the oregano, i'll bring the pasta, and we can party like it's 1994.

me: or if you're more suited to basil or frankincense, i don't actually know what oregano is. just bring party hats and we'll call it good.

we continued to text a bit longer. turns out we both love reading, and share the same favorite books- twinners! the conversation died off a little after that, and i haven't heard from him since, but i'm still waiting for our party. i told him we should meet at chuck-e-cheese, as i'm pretty sure they provide party hats there. but this whole debacle was three weeks ago, and i'm so sure i'll never hear from him again, i'm practically deodorant. in the case of a mad part-ay, everyone is absolutely invited! hope to smerf you there!

*i was hesitant to say herbs- i didn't want to imply that i was looking for pot, and i think that's what he interpreted. although if i'm being real here (which i usually am), he could've maybe actually given me pot, told me it was oregano, and i wouldn't have known. "famous" spaghetti sauce, indeed.

Scooters, and the Many Uses Thereof.

We got ourselves some brand new wheels, y'all!  

Isn't it hot??  We named him Jorge.  It's a Spanish name, apparently.  Which means it is not pronounced like "George."  Duh.  Who would think that?

In testing out our new wheels, we've taken Jorge all over Helaman Halls.  Outside, inside, even up and down the stairs.  We've discovered that it's so much easier and faster to scooter down the hall rather just walk.  Psh.  We don't walk.  Come on.  That's so mainstream.

Because of Jorge the scooter, we have stumbled upon an important truth- and we even did it using the
scientific method.

Step 1: Ask a question.
Would it be beneficial to you to have a scooter if you were randomly being attacked by a mad man?

Step 2: Do background research.
Surprisingly, there are not many scholarly articles on the most effective use of a scooter if one is being raped or molested.  Too bad.  So we settled with asking a few of our hall mates what they thought.  Mostly, we just got weird looks, so we abandoned our research and moved on to step 3.

Step 3: Construct hypothesis.
Having a scooter like Jorge with you in the event of unsuspected attack would be beneficial because you could scoot speedily away.

Step 4: Test with an experiment.
This was easy enough.  Katie and I took turns playing "Mad Rapist" while the other scootered down the hall at high speed.  Turns out, no matter who was running and who was scooting, the runner could always catch them.  We wanted more evidence, however, so we recruited Leah to help us.  She was very willing to chase us down the hall, and the same thing happened.  It wasn't until she switched roles that we realized there was more to this experiment than met the eye.  Leah, upon being chased, turned around to face her attacker.  She picked up Jorge the scooter and began to beat the "Mad Rapist" until she no longer felt threatened.  Then she calmly set Jorge down and walked back to her room.

Step 5: Analyze results and draw conclusion.
If you are ever scootering through campus, be aware that although it may be faster and less work than walking (especially down hill), nothing is faster than just plain running.  So if your fight or flight instinct tells you to run, ditch Jorge.  He'll live, I promise.  And he might even find it in his heart to forgive you.  Eventually.  But if your fight or flight instinct tells you to beat the living daylights out of the creepy man behind you, smerf off and let Jorge do all the work.

we ♥ summer.

today is a beautiful day. it's snowed probably four or five times in the last week. generally, it's been depressingly cold. so cold in fact, that i actually wore pants under my pants twice last week. but today is different. it's sunny. it's breezy. it's warm. and when it gets warm, great things happen....

...the track kids emerge from hibernation...

because who needs real men when you can take hyper-zoom pictures of shirtless strangers and then use the computer to zoom in further and check out their ab muscles? not us. we don't do that. we just shout things at them. after all, why not abuse the excellent view we have of the track? we're nothing if not opportunists.

it was so nice that even we were outside for a while, studying. and by studying, i mean meditating. and by meditating, i mean napping. and by we, i mean me. jessie and sara might have been legitimately doing things... but i was too busy smerfing the warm sunshine behind closed eyelids. anyway, enjoy this collaborative shot of people enjoying the beautiful warm weather. because here, it never lasts long.

Mercenaries For Hire

Ok well maybe not mercenaries, it just sounded cooler. Actually, Katie and I are now master Private Investigators. But I mean that's basically the same thing right? Who hires a PI unless they plan on killing people. We just multi task. I guess that means we can charge you double! Anyways...

Once upon a time, there was a girl named Marina. Marina was in the process of obtaining housing with her friends. But you see, Marina was running late for class and did not pay attention to the instructions given to her by her friends. Those instructions were to fill out her information on the last sheet of her contract. At least she was kind enough to provide her signature (but only one, don’t get crazy).

[Insert Marina’s friends: Katie and Jessie, here after told from Jessie’s perspective]

So we made our decision on where to live for next year. We read the contracts…well really I read the contract and told them the important stuff. Now all we had to do was sign and turn in our contracts. However, we were having trouble finding a time where we could all trek over to the office. You see, we all have very different schedules and there is never a very good time that all of us are at home. It was then decided that Katie and I would have the honor of representing everyone. As they both had class and would be gone by the time we retrieved the documents, we told Sara and Marina to fill out their contracts and leave a blank, but signed check in the rooms and we would handle the rest.

Apparently Marina felt we should get to know a little bit more about her.

The back of the contract held tons of information such as home address, emergency contact, driver's license number, social security number, birth date, etc. There were also portions that needed to be initialed and a signature at the bottom. Guess which part we needed Marina to fill out? Yes, that's right, all of it! Guess which part Marina filled out?....only the signature. This put us in quite a bind. I had a class that I needed to be back for shortly, the office was closing, and Marina had no service for her phone nor would she had seen it if we texted her. So we did what we do best..creeping :)

That's right. We stalked Marina. We started with what we knew: her name, birthday, phone number, favorite color, age, email, and we hoped for our sake that we assumed correct on her criminal record. Next came the ward directory which had her home city. Then we moved to Yellow Pages where Katie searched her last name in the right city to find her home address. Using Facebook's contribution of her mother's name, we confirmed the address. All that remained was a social security and driver's license number. Being Marina's close and personal bestest friend...or her roommate...I happen to know where she keeps important documents. Luckily this super secret place was unlocked. I rifled through all of it until I held in my hand that golden little card with her SSN on it!

Yes, I know you are thinking how we failed to obtain every aspect of information, but cut us some slack, it was our first job. And if I had my dear friend Matt on call, I'm sure he could have easily walked me through hacking into the DMV to get her DL#. But seen as how I had already reported on my contract that my criminal record was clean [and it was written in pen!!] , there was no risking it. I don't think they would take lightly me smerfing government organizations.

Katie willingly took the identity of Marina long enough to initial all spots. And there you have it folks: a finished contract, completely and totally true. That is the whole and honest story of how Marina got hijacked. So the lesson here is...do what Jessie tells you! Or you run the risk of identity theft.

Wendy's: The Fast Food Failure.

Did you know that at Wendy's you can "eat great, even late?" But only if you have a car. Multiple times we have tried to go on a late night Wendy's run, only to discover they will not give you fast food goodness unless you have a car and can go through the drive through. The first time this happened, we just borrowed a car from a few random men. No big deal, guys, don't worry. We're alive and still virgins.  The second time, we had no choice but to smerf back to campus and grab my car. Lame.

By the way, did you know Wendy's gives out their recipes? They print them all over the bags! They're going to go out of business if they keep giving out their secrets like this....

Also, have caution. Fireworks are allowed on the grass. Good to know.

Some wise wisdom. Or something.

YUMMY!!!!!

In conclusion, don't go to Wendy's, because they're racist against people who don't have cars, and they give out their recipes anyway, so you might as well just make the fast food yourself at home. The End.

Part 1: Surprise Field Trip to Area 51

Traumatic. That is how Katie and I would describe the adventure we had on Wednesday. The term "adventure" is used very loosely. Adventure implied that fun was had. They are usually memories that you can share over tea and crumpets at a reunion with your friends and say “oh remember that time we…” and everyone falls out of their chair laughing. No. This was not one of those times.

It was just another Wednesday, or so we thought. I needed to go to the Bio Lab but somehow Katie convinced me to go to the Pendulum Café with her. It probably wasn’t that hard to be honest; I love food. So we start walking in the direction of the ESC, but we didn't realize until too late, that there is not a door from the direction we had come. Us being our lazy selves, we find the nearest door to enter through instead of walking all the way around. We fool ourselves for a few moments thinking we know exactly where we are. Oh how little we knew. All we could see around us were white walls and closed doors, an occasional set of lockers here and there. The only thing we were thinking was, "oh my gosh...what country are we in and how do we get back to Provo.." Katie literally did question whether we actually were still on campus.

We have absolutely no idea where we are going and how to get out, so we do the natural thing: instead of going back out and going through the familiar door, we start wandering halls, randomly choosing directions. Katie starts to panic. Now you see, when she panics, it doesn't turn into wide-eyes, cowering in a corner, or hyper-ventilating. Katie starts rambling, more so than her normal speech. She says anything and everything that comes into her head and usually it involves some shouting...okay a lot of shouting.* Nearing her breaking point, she stops in the middle of the hall and says "Jessie. Is this a government base? Are we trespassing? IS SOMEONE GOING TO DRAG US INTO AN OPERATING ROOM AND TURN US INTO ALIENS?" I did the normal thing and laughed at her, but I secretly wondered if there was some validity in her statement. It after all is a science center. There is a human cadaver lab on campus, why not alien experimentation? It did match my previously suggested theory of being in Area 51. Finally, I suggested we go upstairs. Katie brushed it off, but then we came across a staircase and she suggested going up.... Oh that's a fantastic idea! Why didn't I think of that...

We emerge to real sunlight and find ourselves at the end of a hallway that'll take us straight to the café. You cannot imagine the relief we felt, especially Katie's as she had stated that she was on the verge of smerfing from exhaustion and lack of food. We raced over, got our lunch and enjoyed a pleasant meal while trying to put the experience behind. We walked out, decided I would find Katie in the library after I was finished with biology. I bid her farewell and walked toward where I believed the lab was. I thought the traumatic events were done for the day. Again, how wrong I was.

Normally, this would be where I would tell you the second part of this story. If you've read our previous blogs, you know we're not normal. I have decided to wait and tell you the second part of this story later. One, this is a very rambling blog and you can only take so much of that before you zone out. Two, it'll give me something else to write when Katie tells me it's time that I write another blog. So despite the fact the second is a selfish reason, the first is for your own good. You're welcome.

*this is katie. i would like to say that it was not shouting. it was raised voices. ladies don't shout.

The Dumb Man's Guide to Dinner Dates

There's a youtube video that's been getting a lot of attention lately. It attempts to answer the question, "Can Men and Women Be Just Friends?" Ultimately, the students at USU came to a negative conclusion. To this I say, really? Guys, is it really that hard to just be friends? I would have supported men, defended the position that they are not just flirtatious beasts out on the prowl, looking for some innocent prey to attack, but lately I've seen strong evidence suggesting USU was right.

Exhibit A: There was a guy who was one of my good friends. I liked hanging out with him, and eventually I even started to have a little bit of a crush on him.

Then he went crazy.

He called me 8 times within the course of one hour. 8 times! And all he wanted to do was ask me if I wanted to have dinner with him. So, to all the men out there, here's the break down. To ask a girl to dinner, calling 1 or 2 times is sufficient. She'll see that you called and that you wanted to make plans. Even 3 times is acceptable if there's not much time before you need a reply. However, anything more than 3 tells the girl, "Help! Answer the phone! I'm dying, call an ambulance!!" Knowing this, imagine what I thought when I saw that I had 8 missed calls! Needless to say, I answered call number 9 (I didn't have to wait long, either), expecting a catastrophe. Upon finding out that dinner plans were the only thing crushing his skull, all I could think about was how much I wanted to smack him in the (insert body part of choice here).

In closing: Men, be careful when being persistent. A little goes a long way. Always remember that the twin brother of persistence is creepy, and no girl ever wants to meet him.

Happy hunting!
-Sara