"Make Everyone Twins."

You know how some people write down thoughts they have in the night, so as to not lose what might possibly be a great idea or dream?  I write down thoughts I have in the day, forget about them, then find them months later and am entirely baffled.

"Tricolor antelope with night vision."
"And it's stretchy, so I'll never have to buy a new one!"
"3 Thurs u"

What do these mean?  How do we know that antelopes have night vision?  Is there a party Thursday at 3 that I'm going to miss?  Serious stuff.  I am increasingly giving up on the hope that one day my mind will make sense and I won't confuse myself.  The older I get, the less likely that seems.

Puftina the Stay-Puft Marshmallow Woman

Once upon a time I signed on to sell concessions at football games. This seemed like a good idea at the time. That time was summer. I worked the last game yesterday night, when it was distinctly not summer. In fact, the high was 36 degrees, and the low was 17. And part of the time it was actually snowing. The solution? Wear every article of clothing that I own, and some that Sara owns.  Here's me beforehand:

And here's everything that I wore and/or packed for the game:

But not the bed sheet.  Don't be ridiculous.

The sad part is that when I got there I put on most of the things in the bag.  And zipped up the jacket.  And wore two hoods.  And wrapped a scarf around most of my face.  I think I was wearing eight layers in total, and it was still a little cold.  But, at last count, I still have all of my fingers and toes, so I'm putting it down in the success book.  Imagine that I ended this with a picture of me coming in the door, wearing everything, clutching a cup of hot chocolate, and covered in about an inch of snow.

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).  

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.

The Bathroom.

Now of course it wasn't anything like this.
The monster was yellow.

Sometime this week, I realized that in the last nine weeks I've been working at this call center, every time I use the bathroom on the main level, I always go to the exact same stall.  Don't ask me why, I can't explain it.

When I noticed the tendency for the middle stall, I decided to smerf things up.  I went a different stall... and found some sketchy toilet paper on the handle.  So I went back to the safe, standard stall.

The next day, I tried to break routine again by going to a third stall.  Nothing was wrong with the toilet, but it felt all wrong. I actually felt claustrophobic, and became convinced that the stall was smaller than the usual stall.  Then I counted the number of tiles across the front of both stalls and compared- exactly the same.

That was when I realized I was standing in a public bathroom, staring at the floor in front of the stalls, silently counting the tiles with my feet.  And looking like a nutter.  Business like usual.

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.

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.

yelling at a cop isn't illegal... right?

because if it is, i'm in trouble.

last night was a big basketball game. i went out with leah and marina, and when i came back, all the spots in our parking lot were full because of all the jerks who stole our parking for the game. as i circled, i became increasingly angry and aggressive, especially in passing people who were parked in non parking spots that made it difficult for me to drive through the lots.

on my last circuit of the lot, i came around a bend where a large truck was obnoxiously stopped in the middle of the road. not in the middle of his lane- in the middle. of the road. and not only was this jerk obstructing traffic, but his brights were on, which made it even more difficult to maneuver around him.

by this point, i was so smerfed up because i couldn't park ANYwhere, that i threw my arms up and started yelling things at this guy from inside my car. he was out, walking around the side of his car, and threw his arms up at me too and started yelling at me. i finally got around the nose of his truck... and was able to see the university police logo on the side of his door. then, looking back, i noticed he was in a police uniform.

i yelled at a cop tonight, folks. THAT'S why you shouldn't drive angry... you do stupid things like make angry gestures at authority figures, and then park in the dairy queen parking lot because you're afraid he'll hunt you down and ticket you and send you to jail. true story.

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.