Mother Goose: Innocent Nursery Rhyme Author, or Bankrupt Philanthropist?

My family is weird.  Ya know how Santa comes on Christmas?  Well, in my family, Mother Goose comes on New Year's Eve and gives presents to children.  I'm not sure if they have to be good or not.  I'm also not sure about a bunch of other things.  Like, Why doesn't Mother Goose come to everyone?  Why New Year's Eve?  How does she get in the house?  Is she actually a goose, or does she just call herself that?  And where do the famous nursery rhymes come in?

In order to find out, I asked a bunch of my family members about Mother Goose.  Turns out, they all had different theories.

One theory is that Mother Goose is just that--a goose.  10 feet tall, in fact.  She carries the gifts in her ginormous tail feathers.  And as she flies off into the night, she cries, "HONK!  Happy New Year!  HONK!"

Theory Number Two:  Mother Goose is not actually a goose. She's an old Grandma.  Very similar to Mrs. Clause.  She owns a goose.  She rides it, in fact.  Now, I've seen geese, and they're not big enough to ride.  So, either this goose is inherently magic, or it eats those little pills like on Alice in Wonderland, that make it grow or shrink depending on which one it eats.

Who knows.

And, apparently, she only comes to some houses.  Like, not even all our state, or our county, or even all of our city.  In fact, I'm pretty sure we're the only house she comes to.  Weird...

So, if you ever want to find out more about Santa Clause, read a book or watch a Christmas movie.  There are none of those about Mother Goose, so good luck.  Oh, and happy new year.  Or something at the end of February.  Honk.

Hot feet. The opposite of cold feet.

Marina's family is full of good people.  They think of her often.  Many times, they randomly send her money.  Other times, they randomly send her other things.  Like entire sets of dishes--plates, saucers, more different large plates, and bowls.  Oh, and teacups.  What dish set would be complete without 10 teacups?  None, I tell you!  Although Marina was graciously accepting of the two ton gift, a small problem arose.  And by small, I mean, you know.  Not so small.  We have a little less than 0 space in our kitchen cupboards (plus, come on Marina's family.  If we didn't already have dishes by now, we would have been eating like cavemen for months.  Cut us some slack.  We only did that for a few weeks).  Where were we going to put the mass amounts of dishes that had fallen into our possession?  Who knows?

But if you know us, you know that we are innovative human beings.  We found a small space on the shelf above our cupboards where we could stack all the dishes.  So we began.  The shelf, as I mentioned, is above the cupboards.  Aka, it's high.  And we are not at all high.  In height or drugs.  Which is unfortunate.  So in order to get the dishes up there, I climbed barefoot onto the counter and stood on the stove while Marina handed me the many dishes that were soon to call that shelf home.

All was going well, and we were very proud of ourselves for being so brilliant.  *Enter Tim, our FHE dad.*  We obviously don't go to FHE enough, or he would know to expect sights like this from us.  Let's be honest, standing on the stove is not the weirdest thing any of us has done.  Or the most dangerous.  One time Katie set a piece of paper on fire and then proceeded to carry it directly to the trashcan, which happened to be full of flammable materials.  Good thing the rest of us were able to put that fire out before it started, or we might have had an amazing blog post plus a less amazing law suit.  But I digress.

Tim began to stare up at us, with a mix of sheer amazement and concern.  He offered us a step stool in an effort to get me off the stove, but we were content and politely declined.  We continued using our amazing assembly line skills, until I heard Tim say, "Is the stove on?"

Without turning to face him, I looked at Marina and said, "Yeah, could you turn that off now?  It's getting kind of uncomfortable."  Tim's face was priceless.

I think I'm only good at thinking of one-liners when I'm being judgmental.  Keep that in mind.  If I'm ever able to think of a funny one-liner right when it's needed, you're being judged.  Or I'm just extraordinarily witty that day.  You decide.  Do what your heart tells you.

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!"

Quietly Disruptive Saints

Sometimes, we aren't the most engaged people in Sunday School.  We fall asleep, we play games on our kindles, we doodle and write various notes to each other.  But at least we find ways to entertain ourselves without disrupting others, right?  It's the thought that counts....  Ok, not my best excuse, just roll with it.  Today, Katie and Marina and I wrote a story together to keep us awake.  We each wrote one word and then passed it the the next person.  I started with "Dear," and then Marina went, and then Katie.  I tell you this so if you see a particularly strange or concerning word, you can use your math and pattern skills to determine which of us is the culprit.  Or, you know, not.  That would be an incredible waste of your time.  Go make us some cupcakes instead.


Dear Prudence,

Don't forget about th'Alamo!  Everyone will kill small indigenous Irish elephants, unless Batdog viciously intervenes.  Should the battle prove lasting, gather all bears.  They always attack enemies, hurling hula hoops toward medium sweaters, bursting bubbles, and cinderblocks.  Luckily, bears are very susceptible to brainwashing.  Unluckily, they tend to have short-term attention spans.  It seems that you only benefit if you curl Elizabeth's limbs.  Weird.  Though dolphins inevitably revolt, bears are essentially victims of the dolphins.  Grotesque conspiracies arise due to widespread elephantitis.  Sick specimens are transported due to contaminated blood.  Avoid drinking unbleached blood.  It causes telekinesis, but also leprosy.  When hallucinations end, grab your compass.  North is bad.  Run East, but only if bears limp with elephantitis.  The sunrise signals safety.  Roll left if moss grows under walrus graves.  Roll backwards determinedly.  Don't jump diagonally, else incite the wrath of superhuman children.  They smell like rotten rutabagas and mushrooms, beating acidic pulp into orange sippy-cups.  Obviously bears enjoy pulp-free OJ, thus superhuman children torture them with forced pulpy OJ.  Luckily children aren't able to escape if there are cookies.  Trapping them is simple, especially when oreo's are available.  Remember to remember the Alamo.

Love,
The Hunchbacks.

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*

Foot In Mouth Disease.

I celebrated unofficial "Ugly Sweater Day" on campus yesterday.  On my way to my first class, I passed a girl wearing a borderline ugly/ironic American flag sweater.  I was booking it to class and clearly high off endorphins.   As I passed her, I stopped and shouted "Hey, ugly sweater day?"

No.  She was just wearing it.

I mumbled an obligatory "Oh... well I like it?" and ran away.  I really hope I didn't ruin the sweater for her.  Thank goodness there are 30,000 students here.  Although by Murphy's Law, she will be joining me when I go abroad next semester.  And possibly be my roommate.  That's kind of how my life works.

Wow dad, your Alzheimers has really gotten bad!

We think we are hilarious.  Sometimes I'll relate our stories to a member of my family; I can barely get the story out due to laughing so hard.  Our antics our met with silence and occasionally a courtesy laugh.  Every now and then I get lucky and can get actual laughs.  That's when I know we've scored; we've been validated.  As this only happens every now and then, there's a small part of us that hates those people who are naturally hilarious.  Mostly it's respect, but jealousy is definitely in there.  We wish we could be that funny on cue.

There's one person we know who we can't hate, even though he fits the funny person profile perfectly.  We love him too much.  His name is Ian.  He was the RA of the boys hall we were paired up with last year.  Since we moved, we don't see him anymore (which is rather depressing).  One day on Facebook, Ian posted about how he needed to borrow some racquetball equipment.  Being the lovely person that I am, I told him he could use mine.  A day or so later I receive this wonderful voicemail from him:

Ian: "Hey Jessie. How's it going?  It is Ian.  I just want to thank you for letting me use your racquetball racket.  I'm actually using it for a date on Saturday morning.  So if things go well, I'll name my first daughter Jessie "Smerfson".  Then one day in the future, she'll ask me, 'Dad.  Why am I named Jessie?' And I'll tell her, 'Well Jessie, I actually don't... I actually don't remember anymore.' And she'll be like, 'Wow dad, your Alzheimers has really gotten bad.'  Sorry I couldn't say that without cracking up."

You see why we love this kid? I listened to this voicemail on the way home class.  I had to control my peals of laughter seen as how I was around random people and did not want to look psychotic.  As soon as Katie arrived home, I played it for her.  Repeat with Sara and Marina.  The only reason we could hear the rest of the message is because pillows were near by that we could shove our faces into.  All of us loved it.  It still remains saved on my phone.  Every now and then, we pull it up just so we can listen to it again.  Our dream, maybe with some practice, is that we can be on the same playing field as these type of people.

The Story of Why I'm Not Allowed to Go Back to the Library. Like, Ever.

There are two places in the library where I study.

1. The periodicals, my favorite place on campus.  Open, well lit, lots of windows, some trees (real ones, I kid you not), and plenty of space.

Unfortunately, I have a hard time focusing, so if I need to study hardcore, I can't stay in the periodicals.  There are too many people and far too many loud librarians who think loudly refilling the printers with paper is an hourly task.  In such conditions, I peace out and head upstairs to my second study spot.

2. The carrels on the opposite side of the south elevator on the fifth floor.  There are just two, they face a wall, and they are very hard to find.  Seriously, you go around a corner, then around another corner, then around another corner to find this little nook.  There is even a window to gaze out of when I feel stir crazy.  The big problem?  There is no local outlet.

Luckily, I'm a problem solver.  There is an outlet about fifteen feet away, and if one doesn't mind disturbing the tranquility of the fifth floor, you can shove the carrel over to sit by an outlet.

One lovely Tuesday, in an attempt to get into study mode, I went to the fifth floor and started to set up camp.  I started pushing the desk to an outlet when everything went smerfishly awry.

One of the legs of the desk broke.
(In my defense, I'm pretty sure that thing was structurally unsound before I got there!)

So there I was, panickily holding up a desk that was getting heavier by the second, with no idea what to do.  And the longer I stood there, the more hysterically funny the situation got.  Do other people get into these situations?  Seriously.  I was just standing, supporting the desk, trying so hard not to burst into laughter, doing my best to look completely innocent whenever someone came near.

Although the leg was precariously loose and threatening to snap, I managed to wrangle the desk back into a moderately reasonable position against the wall.  As soon as I was convinced it wouldn't fall over, I high tailed it out of there and have since resolved to avoid the fifth floor

I'm still trying to decide if I should a) never speak of this again, b) leave an anonymous note for the library staff about the broken carrel, c) show up in a carpenter's disguise (complete with mustache and toolbelt) and attempt to casually fix the problem on my own, or d) break the other legs (in for a penny, in for a pound).  

BYU Addictive Substances

We take what we can get.  And we abuse it heavily.  At the moment, all of us have an incredibly unhealthy obsession with this song:

Skip to 1:59.  Trust me.

The effects are borderline inappropriate.  It's like Ecstasy, but you won't get kicked out of school for listening to it.  Musical Ecstasy.  Yes.

Join us...... It's fun..... You know you want to...... Live a little..... YOLO.

Crazy One-Liners We Use to See Who is Listening

Sometimes we wonder if anyone's really paying attention when we're rambling. That would be embarrassing.... So we've come up with a solution to find out. Randomly include these crazy one-liners in normal conversation and see who catches the weirdness. Enjoy.

-I made out with him so passionately, I think I might be pregnant
-We had to dig a hole to hide the evidence.
-Then he told me I should probably go see the bishop, because that's just inappropriate.
-I ran away screaming.
-And there I was.... Handcuffed to a chicken...
-All my problems would be solved if I just had a life sized chicken suit!
-But I was like, "Wait, don't go in there! That's where the clowns live!"
-Your daddy must have been a baker. Cuz you've got a nice apron collection.

-Once I ate a smurf. It tasted like arctic hen.
-I just can't sleep ever since the monkey stole my parents
-One time I wandered into the produce section of the grocery store, and ended up in Narnia for 3 hours. I came back and realized, Mom was right! I shouldn't take candy from strangers!
-I saw a cat today, and realized I was really hungry for some tacos.
-And then I was like, "No, you can't take my baby!"
-My mom still tells me what to do. Sometimes she calls me and reminds me not to eat things out of the garbage.
-Last year, I had an affair with the couch. I haven't looked at pizza the same way since.

And there it is folks. The product of our very bored minds. Make of it what you will.

no worries, we only TRIED to kill each other

This semester, I registered for a beginning racquetball class hoping to improve my game...however, I believe that I have gotten worse. It's probably my own fault. In this class, I am not alone. My friend Vanessa has it with me. You know the drill: if you know someone within your class, you usually practice with them. This may not be such a good idea. You see, Vanessa and I try and kill each other.

When we actually end up playing a game, we only partially play. A fourth of the time, we spend watching the ball fly by us, too lazy to chase after it. A fourth we actually attempt to to hit the ball, but completely smerf it up. The next fourth we spend on the floor laughing because of our ridiculousness. And the last, we actually play. You see how this is a very counterproductive class?

Lately however, I've been noticing a trend. Either we subconsciously hate each other and our mind guides our racquet, or Vanessa and I have amazing skills of almost hitting people. We have a record number of near misses on our score charts. A few hits have even been noted. But nbd guys, we're not actually trying to kill each other...it just comes naturally.

What's even worse: we've started playing doubles in class. We have played three games. Out of those three games (and six people) we have 'almost' hit every single one of the players (including ourselves) multiple times. And out of those three games, we have at least hit someone in two out of the three games. However, we are not to be held liable; we warned them in the beginning that we are "very good at almost hitting people". I even apologized!!...through our fits of laughter. (yeah, most of the hits were my fault..) I did feel remorse (my bad Matt and girl whose name I can't remember), but you have to admit that it is slightly hilarious.

Needless to say, Vanessa and I have become really good at dodging accelerating projectiles. But if one day I just vanish from off this blog due to untimely death via racquetball...you'll know why. But don't blame Vanessa, it's not like it was on purpose or anything...

I'm out of toothpaste. (sarcasm font)

Sara: Hey.
Me: Hey there.
Sara: 'sup
Me: Studying in the lobby with awkward couples.
Sara: YEEESSSS!!!!!!
Me: Your enthusiasm is inspiring. I think Jessie and I are now going out by default.
Sara: Going out....?
Me: We had to complete the Vegas marriage circle. Obviously.
Sara: Ah. Lesbian. Sweeeeet dude....
Me: Basically. Is this against the honor code?
Sara: ....Let's say no.
Me: Oh good. We wouldn't want to do anything scandalous.
Sara: Never! *gasp*
Me: I resent your insinuation that we are anything but model citizens.
Sara: Well, we were late to FHE...I'm pretty sure that's the worst thing we've ever done though.
Me: Have we ever been on time...to anything?
Sara: I was on time to dinner once. **
Me: I aspire to be you someday.
Sara: I know. It was only a matter of time.
Me: Because you just have that effect on people?
Sara: Now you understand.

**Commentary by Jessie: "How can you be on time to dinner???? It's not a scheduled thing!!! I don't understand!!!" As I am typing this, Marina is smerfing up in fits of laughter. She is clutching her stomach because of said fits. Would you like to know what said fits are about? Marina was worried no one would get the extreme sarcasm in this conversation so Sara suggested having a sarcasm font. Marina's retort what was, "I would always use that font! 'Hey Jessie, do you want to go to dinner?'" Katie proceeded to sit there and think it over trying to understand the sarcasm in it...until she realized that that was the whole point of it...Oh look, Marina's back in fits of laughter...