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.

Things I Hate.

The following list is a collection of things I have found distaste for since coming back to school.

1. People who ride their bike handless.
2. People who hold hands in public.
3. People who have relationships.
4. People who make up their own harmonies to hymns at church.
5. People who can go for long, healthy jogs in the mid-day heat.
6. People who don't ever not speak in double negatives (Marina, that's directed at you).

I could smerf on for ages, but I would like to be thought of as a charitable and kindly person.  So I'll stop before things get crazy.  And if you examine items 1-5 closely, you'll notice a general trend.  Go ahead and read the items again, but add "because I can't" after each sentence.  Maybe then my distaste will be easier to understand.  Or maybe you'll just feel sorry for me that I live a lonely non-athletic life.  Either way I'd probably hate you a little bit.

I Love My Mom.

Really, I do.  My momma is pretty great.  When she's not teaching high schoolers, baking pies, or feeding the homeless, she's giving me dating advice.

Through Facebook.

Drunken Escapades, Pt. 2

A few days later, the drunk girl called me. I had to call her phone to find it, so presumably she misdialed off the incoming call list. I got a call from a number I didn't recognize and answered, with hopes that it was a job calling to hire me.

Me: "Hello?"
Drunk girl (clearly drunk again): "...it was Travis.  I... I paid my [expletive] bills!"
Me: Confused silence
Drunk girl: "I had so many [expletive] bills!  There was the [expletive] DirecTV bill and I [expletive] paid it."
Me: Awkward silence
Drunk girl: "So... so don't [expletive] worry!"

Then the call ended.  What have I done?  Does this mean I can add drunken confidant(e?) to my resume?  Cause I think that would be kickin'.  Maybe I would have finally been hired to the job at a bakery downtown I really wanted to work at.  Does drunken confidant(e) not add a little spice to a resume?  Tell me I'm wrong if I'm wrong, but I think this will really help me in the professional world.

The moral of the story is that I am never going to do nice things for anyone, ever again.

Drunken Escapades, Pt. 1

But don't worry, they're not my drunken escapades.

One night on my way home from work I decided to take a detour through the sketchy part of Pocatello (aren't they all?), when I passed a car pulled over to the side of the road.  After much internal debate, I turned around and went back to see if I could help them with anything (despite the fact that the only useful thing I might be able to provide is a cell phone with internet capabilities- my car knowledge is seriously limited).

The car had stalled, and the two girls who were driving it needed some gas.  I offered to drive them down the road to the gas station about half a mile away to fill a can with gas.  This is where things started to go downhill.  One of the girls asked me to push her car to the gas station... with my car.  Well that was definitely a solid negatory.  I talked them into riding in my car to and from the gas station, after which, I would take off.

I have had very little experience with alcohol, so I didn't realize exactly what I had gotten myself into until we were on the way to the gas station, and I started paying attention to what was going on.  One of the girls was moderately sober, but the other was very intoxicated.

Much thanks to my daddy, I had an empty gas can in my trunk for emergencies.  We filled up and then filled their car.  I waited to make sure their car would start and I could go home with a clear conscience.  If only things were that easy.  The car didn't start.  I pulled up next to them to see what was going on, and patiently waited at their side while they got into a drunken argument about what to do.  They decided to push the car out of the road and walk home.  So they started pulling valuables out of the car.

That was the point at which a cop pulled up from the other direction. DrunkenPants (hereby known as DP)  panicked and immediately got into my car while the more able minded girl tried to explain the situation.  The police officer asked us to get out of the road and moved on.

In her panic, DP dropped her phone on the pavement.  But wasn't able to comprehend what I was saying and insisted I call her phone while she drunkenly searched my car.  Meanwhile, Girl 2 started checking their car for her phone, which she was unable to find.  Then, DP confided to me that she had Girl 2's phone and insisted we weren't going anywhere until Girl 2 returned her phone and made me promise not to tell G2.

I found the phone on the pavement, where I knew it was going to be, and returned it to DP, who then returned G2's phone.  At this point, DP begged me to walk them home.  Even though their house was across the street.  So I accompanied them across the street.  And by "accompanied," I mean I navigated DP up and down the curbs and stairs with several "step up here" and "step down here" whilst half dragging her.

The best part was how they thanked me once we were finally inside- with shots.  They insisted I join them in taking shots, and when I politely declined, they asked if I wanted to watch them take shots.  Surprisingly, I passed on the second offer as well.

Such lovely folks in Pocatello.  I really think I bonded with those girls that night.  They also invited me to their garage sale the next morning.  I should probably look them up on Facebook or something, I sense a lasting relationship in the works.

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.

Self Discoveries.

This summer, I've taken up employment at a local call center.  During my long days of training, I came to several conclusions while I was supposed to be learning how to engage, be empathetic, and listen.  Yes, I recognize the irony in not listening to a lesson about listening.  But if I'm being honest, I feel like I have a pretty good grasp on customer management- pretend to be interested and above all else, don't ever tell the customer he/she is an idiot.  Even if he/she is potentially the dumbest person I've ever smerfed with in my life.

But I digress.

The following are very important life lessons I will remember always.

1. Long nails give me the heeby jeebies.  Maybe it's because I played piano for a very long time, and the importance of having consistently short nails was ingrained to me in third grade when my piano teacher would not allow me to continue playing until I cut my nails, washed my hands, and was thoroughly lectured on the negative effects long nails have on performance.  One of my coworkers has freakishly long nails, and every time I see them, I shudder and all I can think of is the disturbing picture I saw in a Guinness world records book once of the longest nails in the world.  Am I alone here?  Long nails are the worst.  
2. I have very little patience.  We played twenty questions as a bonding experience one of my first days, and I was interested for the first three questions or so.  Then I lost all hope and spent the rest of the game calculating how much money I was being paid per minute to listen to my coworkers try to identify a taco in twenty questions or less, completely tuned out.  Which brings me to my next point.
3. I have a breaking point when it comes to learning new material, after which I am decidedly done.  I am unable to continue paying attention, and I zone out.  I quickly realized if I sat at the back of the room and leaned in to my cubicle, it looked like I was just following the lecture on my computer, and my instructor was not able to see anything I was doing.  That is how I read upwards of a dozen books in three weeks of training.
4. According to my instructor, adding "mundo" to the end of any word basically makes it Spanish.  True storymundo.

As a bonus, I found this on my second day.  What a great indicator of my time as an inbound phone technical specialist.  Smurf this, indeed.

A Tribute.

During finals week, I almost quite literally lived in the library.  I was at the library by at least 11 every morning and stayed until it closed at 2.  Obviously, I had lunch breaks, DrawSomething breaks, dinner breaks, napping breaks and exam-taking breaks, but I was basically in the library all day, every day.  So when I came home with Jessie on Wednesday night/Thursday morning to find my door locked, I was really mad.  Really mad.  Sara and I taped a magnet over the doorjamb so the door couldn't lock.  With complete trust in the magnet, neither of us carried our keys anywhere.  So here I was, locked out at 2 AM, still needing to be ready for my most important exam in less than six hours.  Jessie, who carries her keys with her, got into her room and found this on her bed:

Although Jessie and I were tempted to keep fifteen mini M&M tubes to ourselves and tell Sara and Marina (who were not present) that there were only four total, we reluctantly divvied them up fairly.

 With the following note from Ashley, addressed "to: The Smerfs"

While she was in her room finding this, I was grumpily making my way down the hall to Ashley's room, where I would have to wake her up and ask her to open my room for me.  Once I found out that it was just a loving joke, I felt so bad about how bitter I was, and immediately decided that Ashley is amazing.  True story.  And this time, when I say true story... I mean it!

Ashley- you rock.  You were a great, very patient RA, we smerf you with ALL of our hearts, and we will miss you muchly next year!

The Rules

Several months ago we decided that, just to simplify things, the four of us would only hate people as a group. And it really did make things easier for a while. Every once in a while, one of us would just announce, oh by the way, we hate _____ now. And so we would. It's almost always a man. Make of that what you will. It never lasted very long though; we just don't have the commitment for long-term hatred.

Yesterday, though, things got complicated. It all started when Katie and Jessie asked Sara and I to save them seats in church. We did, but they were stolen a couple of minutes later. This evidently ended our friendship. And since they hated us, we soon realized that WE were obliged to hate us. We wallowed in self-loathing for a couple of hours before we were forgiven. But it got worse. Evidently, during our brief seperation, Katie and Jessie began planning for the Civil War. They started recruiting boys for their team. When they had recruited Alex, and Michael supported us, we suddenly realized that we all hated both of them. So, naturally, we spent the rest of the afternoon asking people which side they would support. No matter what they said, we responded, "Good. We hate you now." Many people were confused. There was no correct response. Except for what Asa sent, which consisted of just this picture:

There's no way to argue with that.

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.

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.

As Long as it's 3,000 words...

I told Katie that she either needed to put me out of my misery or come write my paper for me.

She sent me:

APaperForMarinaYouAreVeryWelcomeHereIsYourA

Marina Haddock

Professor Something

Mythology 101

13 February 2012

Mythology is a Perversion of Decency

Everyone is familiar with the classic Greek myths. The tales of Greek heroes and gods are shared in early school years, and later analyzed in high school and college. It is easy to be blinded by the popularity of the highly dramatized Greek legends and overlook the disturbing themes underlying our favorite tales. Nearly every Greek myth bears at least a slight mentioning of incest, rape, or unicorn beating. This problematic pattern allows readers to ponder the real meanings behind the classic Greek favorites, and to explore the possibility that the Greeks aren’t as “cultured” as we have believed for centuries. In fact, is it possible that the Greeks are just greedy unicorn users and abusers as well as dirty, dirty pedophiles? Could it be that all the celestial Greek inbreeding is the REAL leading cause of puppy deaths today? Indeed, recent scientific discoveries and preliminary tests are the beginning of what will be a long, thorough investigation into the Greek psyche and internal reasoning.

I sent her: The paper is for my philosophy class. But thanks. I'm probably putting this on the blog.

However, I am still working on the paper, and I hate it so much that I'm seriously considering throwing this in on the end. I don't think anyone will notice, do you?

because a prank war isn't a prank war unless it starts with a bottle of urine.

it started with an empty bottle of powerade. things just went bad from there- because nothing good comes from late nights. let me begin with that.

about two weeks ago, our dear friend leah was sitting in our room, talking with us, when she picked up a powerade bottle and said "hey guys, i'm going to pee in this." i was like "sure, ok leah, whatever" and dismissed her. until a bottle, helpfully labeled "Pee for Katie" showed up in our fridge. after some very scientific tests, it was confirmed as pee.

one of these things is a bottle of urine. the other is a piece of corn. guess which one leah was freaked by?

we were appalled and revenge hungry. so on a fine sunday evening, we snuck into her room while she was out and stole her closet door as well as the face to her dresser drawers. unfortunately, she figured out what was going on and caught us in the act. that was the turning point in which leah opted for war.

before/after

sara, jessie and i went to my house last weekend for some much-needed girl time. fearing revenge, we were careful to make sure the doors were locked and no one left leah any chance to break in. i should have seen the signs saturday night, when leah starts texting me, asking me if i like sausage, but not telling me why.

anyways, we came home monday night to a room completely SMERFED up! she inflated over 100 trash bags and hung them from the ceiling and walls, she switched mine and sara's mattresses, she wrote "poop" all over our window, she switched all our drawers (jessie's and marina's, also) and she hid a bunch of vending machine sausage on a secret shelf. also, she claims to have peed in our sink. probably, that really happened- we don't like to think about that.

the moral of the story is that leah is a wildcard, but revenge is in the works. more on that later...

Missing. Presumed Married.

We don't react to disappearances very well around here. The other day Katie walked out of the room (without her phone) and didn't return for ages. We began to panic. When she finally came back, we demanded to know where she had been.
Her: Jeez guys, I was only gone for like forty minutes.
Me: It was long enough. We assumed you had gotten married.

Today, I went to take a test, and apparently I didn't give enough advance warning, because I came out to find eight or nine new text messages.

Jessie: It's been forty minutes...are you married?
...
Are you dead???
...
They have fried ravioli at dinner!! (because even the dead/married need ravioli)
...
Btw fhe is at seven. You should come home before then!!
...
If you're planning to elope, you at least need to let me go dress shopping with you!!

Sara disappears all the time, so she probably has at least twelve husbands by now. The moral of the story is that we have too much free time. Or too little. Or that we're clingy. I'm not totally sure where I was going with this.

Smerf. This is really important to some people.

(not so) subliminal messaging... pun intended!

i want to preface this story with the following scientific facts:

1. i do NOT condone swearing!

2. in fact, i did not ever swear in high school.

3. somehow, since coming to a private religious university, i've started swearing. not regularly or anything, don't call the bishop- just now and then.

that preface got bad fast... anyway, here's the real story. abbreviated. i got into a fight with a close friend of mine this morning, and i was so mad about it all that i changed his name in my phone. i don't want to even be tempted to text him or call him until he's nice to me again (i sound really petty here. which i am. but if you knew the whole thing, i like to think you'd understand. but probably, it'd still be petty.), so (DON'T JUDGE) i changed his name to "ASSHOLE."*

this is where things got weird. when i tried to rename him, this is what happened:

looks about right, yeah? well when i hit save, the following is what it saved as:

WHY?!?

why is my phone censoring me? why did it change his name to "Buttface" and not "Butthole?" how does it know his last name still, to include it after "Buttface?" IS "BUTTFACE" EVEN A WORD?! i feel like i'm taking CRAZY pills or something!

probably this is a cosmic sign. but c'mon universe, i think i've only sworn like four times this whole school year! regardless, i'm still trying to figure out what is going on. if you have an explanations or theories, please let me know!

-katie

*every time you start judging me, read scientific facts 1 and 3. and remember that i'm a crazy person, so you have to be nice to me. or else i'll pull out the full crazy on you and smerf you while you sleep.

science is the worst.

last week in my physical science lab, we went over a sample question in which we discussed Einstein's theories of relativity and the six self-evident truths. in particular, we went over the principle of simultaneity.

the problem we were to puzzle over explained an argument between me and my non-gender friend. in this "real-life" situation, my friend is standing on a railcar that is traveling at 3/4 the speed of light. as i watch he/she/it pass by, lightning bolts strike BOTH the front and the back of the railcar.

now i'm supposed to figure out who saw how much lightning when and where and other such nonsense. here are the real questions. HOW is my friend just casually traveling on top of an open railcar at three quarters the speed of light. now i've been educated in idaho. i don't know much about science... but i'm pretty sure that the speed of light is REALLY FREAKING FAST!

second, WHY IS NO ONE CONCERNED THAT MY FRIEND'S CABLE CAR WAS HIT BY LIGHTNING?! obviously the whole argument is moot, as my friend is DEAD now. if the absurdly unrealistic traveling speed didn't kill him/her/it, clearly the lightning would have.

i almost didn't answer the question. out of principle. but i couldn't bring myself to lose points on such an easy assignment. so instead, i left this:

the moral of the story is that science is whack. as is my friend, because he/she/lady gaga was clearly smerfed over by fate, and is probably dead.

i have a dream.

i have lots of dreams, actually. in fact, i spend a good deal of my nights dreaming (and not getting proper sleep), which is why i have the under eye circles of a meth addict.

sometime in the last few days, i had a dream in which i was a contestant on a game show about neat freaks. if you have a messy room, you're off the show. serious business, guys. in that dream, the judges came to my room while it was a mess, so i begged them to give me another chance. after they agreed, i made jessie and marina move all my crap into their room, so it'd look like i'm a neat person. they came back, and i was approved for another episode. and that was the end of that dream.

now normally i don't have dream sequels... except for this morning. i dreamed that i could hear the tv crew next door, making a surprise cleaning check. i knew i was next, but the room was a mess, and smerf it, i wanted to win that show!

when i'm tired, i don't think right. last night, we had an impromptu 2am pizza party, so suffice it to say that i was extremely tired this morning. so tired, that i actually got up, out of bed, and started cleaning, so i wouldn't be disqualified from the competition. no joke. after about ten minutes, i realized that it wasn't real and i could probably go back to sleep, but by then i was invested in this chore, and too tired to understand that i was behaving like a crazy person. so i just kept cleaning.

finally, i crawled back into bed, satisfied with a room neat enough to pass a cleaning check for the most boring reality tv show ever. not the strangest thing i've done while semi-sleeping, but it makes the top five for sure. on the bright side, i can't remember when the last time my desk was so neat.

too legit (to quit).

this past weekend, i went to vegas with some friends (probably there will be more about this later). during one particularly crazy hour, i was offered a tramp stamp by our lovely friend, leah. obviously i said yes. and then chickened out.

leah doesn't take no for an answer, and after a very smerf-tastic struggle, i ended up on my back, held down by three people while leah took a sharpie to all readily available, unmarked surfaces of my skin.

i ended up with a face on my stomach, a diagram of cave people shooting and roasting a sheep on one arm from alex, a gorgeous likeness of myself from marina on the other arm, and a portrait of thomas hobbes and john locke on each shoulder from michael and asa, respectively.

most importantly though, leah gave me knuckle tatts, deeming mine a "thug life."

that was on saturday night. i washed everything else off for church, but decided to leave the knuckle threats. as a warning. (un)fortunately, i washed off the "t" before making said earlier decision. leaving a more accurate representation of my life:

not ready to let go of my new lifestyle, i had nate reapply my tatts, but with a new addition, courtesy of asa (who decided the night before that we should all replace our "l"s with "r"s):

and that's the story of how i became a mob boss.

because nothing's more legit than a sharpie tattoo.

-katie

our fridge is not a fridge.

sara and i have a contraption in the middle of our room.

it looks like a fridge. it sounds like a fridge.

but don't be fooled... it's a contraption of doom and aggravation.

even on the lowest settings, it has a tendency to freeze everything inside. including drinks.

anyway, i noticed the "fridge" wasn't closing right the other night, and i opened it to fix whatever was blocking the door to find a busted diet coke can and frozen diet coke covering nearly every surface. normally i would laugh this off and put it in my ramble-y story box to tell over dinner some night... except this is the FOURTH time a diet coke can has exploded on me. SINCE AUGUST!

twice our "fridge" that is really a freezer has caused diet coke to smerf everywhere. yes, i should've known better and prevented a second time, but i forgot. anyway, enjoy some pictures and a good laugh at my expense. my hallmates sure did.

the worst thing about the whole experience? i had an open container of raspberry lemonade yogurt sitting on a shelf that i started eating, then lost interest and put away to eat later. now it is questionably edible, as there is diet coke all up in it. normally i might throw it away, but come on now... raspberry lemonade! doesn't sound that delicious? not anymore.

-katie

if he could've, i think he would've run away. screaming.

i had an encounter with one of the new boys in our ward yesterday. his name is britton (i think... he didn't stick around long enough for me to double check) and he is in the same physical science class as jessie and i. jessie, social butterfly that she is, invited him to sit with us, and then walk back to the dorm with us afterward.

it just so happens that i get a little tongue tied around new people sometimes, and i say all the wrong things. it also just so happens that i have been a bundle of nerves lately as i consider my various potential classes/futures. i've been really stressed the last few days about making sure i'm in good classes this semester that i'm more socially inept than usual.

with that in mind, consider what this poor new kid must be thinking as he walks down freshman hill with jessie and myself as i start rambling about my mid-year crisis and how conflicted i've been feeling. then jessie, trying to comfort me, mentions my mini-breakdown/cry fest the night before, and that's it. we've completely lost him.

i wish i could've told him i'm not normally so smerfing chaotic, but if i'm being honest... i'm a big basket of crazy. i saw him later that night and apologized while explaining that i usually dole out the crazy in little bits until people are used to me. but i don't think he understood.

tragic, really.