I Can't Get The Computer To Make An Aigu Accent, And I'm Too Lazy To Copy/Paste It From Word, So I'm Foregoing The French Well-Wishing

This is the last chance I'll have to jump online before the new year, so I thought I'd write some kind of Year Wrapping Up post prior to heading up to good ol' Latrobe, PA to visit my grandparents.

So. The year. Well, it started in January and ended in December, now didn't it? And, like every year, I have resolved to drink chocolate milk in the upcoming year. I figure that it's a resolution I'll definitely keep, and why make things harder on myself? Chocolate milk is awesome. Well, not the sorry stuff you get when you take milk and squirt a little chocolate syrup into it. That stuff is gross. But the stuff they distribute in vending machines around my university campus...THAT stuff is awesome. And I fully intend on drinking as much of it as humanly possible, smacking my lips, and feeling the warm fuzziness of both a chocolate milk rush PLUS the descending knowledge that I am furthering my New Year's Resolution falling upon me while I squirm with happiness, a smooth, brown semi-circle gracing my upper lip. If anyone else would like to make this their New Year's Resolution as well, I will in no way consider it stealing; instead, I will welcome you as one of the Enlightened.

Anyway, the year happened, and I found myself returning to BYU again and again, like a sailor heeding an extremely virtuous and upright siren's call. As for the future? Well, I just realized that I may be able to get out of taking French ever again if I transfer to SVU, so we'll see. That extra $30,000 a year spent on tuition just may be worth it.

Happy New Year, peoples.

P.S. Does anyone else feel slightly disconcerted by the thought of 2006, in a vague, not-fully-realized way? Or is it just me? Shoot, I hate it when I get uncertain feelings of impending doom. Or maybe I just don't like the feeling of a year ending in 6. Yep, I think that's it.

This Life Has Been A Holiday

I know you're worried that I've disappeared for a while. You're wondering if perhaps some internet stalker, upon reading about my skinny dipping exploits, decided to track me down and murder me; or perhaps you're an old reader, and are worried that the nutcrackers have taken over my house and I am now suffocating in a gruesome pile of little, bearded men; or perhaps you just think that I ate too much turkey and am still in a tryptophan-induced slumber.

None of the above have actually occured, however. I assure you, I am safe and warm. I just went out of town for a while, and was staying in a house that only believes in dial-up, and rather than bruise my soul in such a painful manner, I decided to pretend that the internet hadn't been invented, and I soothed myself with rereading Confessions of an Ugly Stepsister for the third or fourth time. While I was even awake. Yes, haha, because you see, I am allergic to my grandmother's house, so I decided to get some Claritin and take it, so I wouldn't be sneezing through the pre-Christmas festivities. Yeah, remember how I don't take drugs ever, or even put caffeine into my body? Well, the shock of medication coursing through my system put my body out for fifteen straight hours. I checked the box the next day when I woke up, and apparently, overdosing on the stuff "may cause drowsiness." And to my body, ONE PILL is overdosing.

Anyway, once I returned from visiting family, then it was time for Christmas, and all the...joy...that brought with it. All I'll say is, I don't always feel like eating cheesecake, and people shouldn't get offended and weepy-eyed over that fact. That was my Christmas.

And then of course came Post-Christmas, and the shopping frenzy. It's a family tradition to shop both on Black Friday and the Day After Christmas, and since I always miss Black Friday (as I'm continually jetting off [literally] to random places across the country for my Thanksgiving holiday), we have to expend all the shopping energy we have into the Day After Christmas sales. By "we," I mean "my mother and I," because dragging boys along on such ventures is pointless. They are such whiny babies, always complaining about everything. Sheesh. So my mom and I hit a couple stores, and I spent my gift card money, and it was a great time. For some reason, I really enjoy shopping in the crowds like that, and I have no idea why; what possibly makes such a thing exciting rather than stressful. Maybe I'm always secretly hoping some stranger will kidnap me in the confusion of the throng, and I'll get my face plastered all over the milk cartons. And if my face is on those milk cartons, you people had BETTER buy them.

So that's what I've been up to. I hope you've all been very merry yourselves, swilling down eggnog and caroling through the lamp-lit streets, or whatever it is you people get up to during the holiday season.

I Can't Believe I'm Actually Confessing This To The Internet

When I come home for the holidays, it's always a whirlwind of activity as I try to cram as many people into two weeks as I possibly can -- and of course, I don't really ever have two WHOLE weeks, because, it being the Holiday Season, there's a lot of travelling to go see family and whatnot. Don't get me wrong, I love my grandparents and uncles and second-cousin-once-removeds and whatnot, but it means that I have less time for revisiting old high school friends and old violin friends and old church friends and the like.

Which means that I'm busy. Terribly, wonderfully, hectically busy. But the busyness does mean that I don't have to stay long in the house and puzzle over the enormous collection of nutcrackers that are threatening to stage a coup d'état and take over the household with their fierce painted-wood frames and their various assorted weaponry. You can see why I don't want to stay inside for long.

What I did right when I got back was to dash out the door (literally -- some people came over and distracted my mom, so I grabbed my swimsuit and ran out the door to Megann's awaiting car) and head over to Jenny's place. Jenny has a hot tub, you see, so it's basically the default hangout spot; we're not dumb.

I get there, and Aimee bombards Megann and I with a huge hug -- it's nice, because we haven't seen her in four months, and she's bundles of fun. Jen and Craig said hi from the kitchen where they were too busy with the pizza to grant us similar hugs. It's okay, we just know who NOT to buy Christmas presents for. Anyway, there was mushroom pizza (of course, because these guys know how to do pizza right), so I made my way over and grabbed some and snarfed it down. I loves me some mushroom pizza, and I'm too cheap these days to actually PAY for it. Not when I know I have free pizza just waiting for me anytime I can get myself to Virginia -- oh, the perks of knowing someone who works for Domino's.

After pizza, Sean came over and we all headed out to the hot tub. Very carefully. Because the East had gotten a huge ice storm a couple days before, and everything was covered in ice and snow, and the deck was not exempt from such conditions entirely. But we all made it and fell awkwardly into the tub, everyone shifting around to find their ideal spot. You can see how spoiled Americans are just in analyzing this one occurence. We were in a frickin' HOT TUB, enjoying ourselves and our winter break, and some of us (okay, me) refused to sit in a spot that was too deep, and others wanted the very deep, and there was much shifting and grabbing of snow and throwing it at the unsuspecting and whatnot. THEN. Then, haha, someone got the idea to make snow angels. So we tramped out in pairs (in our swimsuits, remember, because we were hot tubbing)and rolled around in the icy, crusty snow. It was a lot of fun until I woke up the next day and noticed cuts on my flesh from the sharpness of the snow. Oh, well.

We couldn't hot tub all night, so we went in and watched a movie or something. Once the guys left, the REAL fun began. Meg had brought marshmallows and chocolate and oreos, and we were going to try our hands at making oreo s'mores over Jenny's grill. There was a lot of catching marshmallows on fire, and I wish I would have gotten some pictures of the state of my face after eating several s'mores. I don't know what happened, but somehow I was talented enough to get marshmallow ALL OVER ME. I am just wonderful like that.

The thing was, it was cold outside where the grill was, and we got really cold. So we decided to get in the hot tub again, just we four girls. I hope you can see where my mind is going with this. So of course, we stripped down, wrapped ourselves in towels, braved the arctic conditions ("Eff, it's cold" was a phrase I heard a lot as we navigated our treacherous way back to the hot tub), threw the cover off, and removed the towels for some skinny dipping in 103º water. The secrets that come out when you're unclad in a hot tub with four of your best friends is quite remarkable. And that, folks, is what I do for fun.

You'll note, of course, that all of this was accomplished while none of us were intoxicated. It IS possible to have fun while remaining sober, and if anyone knows about that, it's the Mormons. Of which I am one.

The next day, I ran home to church, changed in record time (a skill necessary for all BYU students to know), and spent three hours wondering how it was possible for me to not know ANYone anymore. My mom loves me so much that for dinner that night, we had sausage corn chowder, which is one of my very very favorites, and I think we watched A Muppet Christmas Carol to get us in the mood for Christmas. And then I watched Grey's Anatomy to spoil that Christmas-y mood. So I had to come down then and look at the tree in all it's white-lighted, glowing glory, and I felt better.

After that, it's all sort of a blur. I'm leaving early tomorrow morning to go to my grandparents' up near Philadelphia, so I'm trying to cram everyone in before they leave for New York and Alabama and Hawaii and who knows where else. Jerks.

Oh, and also: I spent the entire morning wrapping Christmas presents. And I just wrapped two. Only two. I am the worst ever at present wrapping, with my need for getting the corners JUST PERFECT and my fear that I won't have enough paper, and the vast quantities of tape I have to cover each package in before I feel that it is secured enough. Wrapping presents is an exhausting task, and I still have no idea how my grandmother always manages to get everything to look so NICE. My mother tells me she uses a ruler and starts in July. I believe my mom on this one.

And now I'm heading out to go see "The Chronicles of Narnia" again. I'm watching this to get myself in the mood. I think I have it memorized by now, and I hope you all enjoy.

It's all about the Hamiltons, baby.

Yet Another Post About Studying. It's Like I Can't Do Anything Else.

Here's to spending the day skimming over the first half of the Old Testament. How many other college students have classes like this -- and go in to see their professor of religion on a regular basis like I do?

I just miss getting to mull over the deep questions, and so few people seem willing to go there. These days, anyway. I won't always have finals to break my brain, so I have to seek after my own tough questions to mull over.

What I'm really trying to do is justify the fact that I've spent all day in my room as well as the fact that I actually really enjoy writing essays on a strict time table. One of these days, maybe I'll even have real friends to play with and take me away from my pile of books. Maybe?

Made With Real Orange Oil

Years and years ago, when I was still yet a young lass (but not too young to be aware and appreciative of the finer things in life; in other words, I couldn't still have been in middle school, because middle schoolers are aware of nothing outside of their own bratty little heads), I was walking around some store during Christmastime, probably with my father, and I came upon small blue boxes stacked up in a display. The colorful red and gold wrapping of whatever it was in those boxes caught my attention; it all looked so cheery and wonderful, and it came in a BLUE BOX. Boxes are such wonderful things. They keep everything straight and organized and neat, especially if they're all of uniform color and size like these were.

Anyway, the boxes said something about "chocolate oranges," and I knew I had stumbled upon something new. Now I'm sure my father was with me, because I remember that one of the blue boxes was purchased for me, and you know the way that girls can wheedle their fathers into anything. I must've looked up at him plaintively and he crumbled in the sweet gaze of my bright, young eyes. And so I took a blue box home with me. I undid the newfangled thing in the comfortable safety of the kitchen, and noted the sticker on the mottled, shiny wrapping that read "whack & unwrap." And so I whacked. And then I unwrapped. And then...and then I fell in love.

Oh, the chocolatiness, mixed with the sweet, slight hint of orangey exoticism. It's like reading Heart of Darkness, only a Heart of Darkness that ends happily, with Kurtz marrying his Intended and smiling happily in front of everyone, with orchids and lilies draped over everything, and Marlowe fulfilled that he has had his adventure, while his Aunt finds a nice, suitable English girl to marry him off too, and no one had to die, they just went on a little trip to find out what this Africa was all about. That was kind of like what eating my first chocolate orange was like, except probably (maybe) a little less literary.

After that first one, many, many, many chocolate oranges followed. I developed a sort-of obsession, which makes sense when you realize that five years later I would be comparing it to a darkly post-colonial novel about the horror within humanity, and that I've made similar comparisons all year long. I just can't let things go, even if they're not entirely appropriate or healthy. Anyway, Christmas was such a happy time of year for me, because of the comfortable blend of citrus and cocoa blend. And also probably that whole "peace on earth, good will toward men," and the fact that I could enjoy it all bundled together with two weeks off from school, hooray!

I liked chocolate oranges so much that my first MSN Messenger name centered around it.

Then, things started getting in the way, and I didn't have anymore time for the blue boxes and the whacking and unwrapping. Life is like that. But, the other day, when I was in a store, I spied another display of blue boxes, and I decided to get another chocolate orange. It is, after all, Christmastime.

I whacked and unwrapped yet again, as I was so used to doing. I popped a piece into my mouth. I realized that maybe I do hate capitalism after all. Because those jerks at Kraft have changed the recipe, and now it tastes entirely different. Not glaringly different, but enough different that I don't recongize it. The taste doesn't mingle as well. It is DIFFERENT.

And so I have learned, yet again, that you can never go back. It's time for a new Christmastime tradition.

Soon Will Be The End, When I Shall Find Freedom

Hahaaaaaa is all I really have to say. I know that probably made all of you intensely curious, but you know what? Tough. I'm the kind of girl who gets her hair completely soaking when she's outside in sub-freezing temperatures just because someone told her not to, so if you really think you can coax me into telling you more, you're crazy.

Oh, but there's one thing. Um, if you have the notion of going hot tubbing in the winter and the snow, it's a really great notion, so go for it, but don't forget to hydrate yourself occasionally, or you might find yourself running barefoot through the snow back into the house and not being able to listen to whatever the heck your friend is trying to say to you because WILL THOSE BLACK SPOTS NOT GO AWAY.

Oh, and another thing. Without my headphones and my hoodie, I don't think I'd be making it through finals preparation. I don't know how the rest of you peoples function, but I need the both.

P.S. Congratumalations to Megann for playing her recital. Everyone go to her blog now and say nice things to her. NOW. She's beautiful and funny and talented, and I think she needs more recognition for being such an awesome friend.

Finals Week

Batten down your hatches and screw up your jam jars, kiddies, because FINALS WEEK IS HERE!

I decided to kick off the week by turning in a paper that has blasphemy at the very core of its defense, figuring that A. either my professor won't mind because he's more of the open-minded, liberal English professor type, or B. he'll think he's misreading and puzzle over my paper for days, finally just giving it an A and schlepping it back to me with big red ???'s all over it. Either one of these scenarios I can definitely live with, but I'm hoping for the latter, because at least I'll get an A.

But before it's all over, I'll write four papers, turn in one portfolio, visit the Super Private English Major Types Only computer lab 18 times, take approximately 3 in-class finals, pore over 500 pages of sacred texts, and curse the name of Slavoj Žižek 13,428 times.

And to all of you out there who are going through the same thing: Much luck to ya.

I Need TiVo

It's a sad thing when "I'll dream of you" becomes a threat rather than the standard sweet goodnight.

My question is, what did people who suffered from poor sleep do before they invented television.

Mr. Glowie 2.0 Is The Name Of The Computer You've All Been IMing Me About, To Clarify

Why do I sometimes come off as aloof? It's because I'm too busy forming emotional attachments to THINGS that I don't have any room left in me for people. It's sad, I know, but there it is.

Upon discovering my apartment had been broken into over Thanksgiving Break, my first thought was panic for the state of my computer. Not because if it'd been stolen or broken I'd be internetless; the internet in this place has gone out far too often for me to be thrown off so terribly anymore. It is because my computer has a soul, and NO ONE HAD BETTER HURT MY BABY. Or take it, for that matter. Also, let's discuss all the music I have stored on here -- the music that, yes, I attach feelings too. Memories even, sometimes. Okay, often. All the old papers I've attached myself too, and all the all-nighters I pulled to get them done. All that sacrifice, I really have no choice BUT to feel.

And it's not just my computer. And it's not just computers in general, although Mr. Glowie 2.0 holds a special and fond place in my heart and HOW COULD YOU MAKE HIM YOUR SECOND PLACE COMPUTER, YOU EVIL MAN. Sorry for the outburst. See? Emotions all over the place, staining everything, dripping and pooling into puddles on the floor. But I have intense loyalty to Glowie that brings the irrationality burbling up. Do I really think Art is evil? No. Well. Awesomely evil in my favor, yes, occasionally. But when I got that phone call and he told me his plans for Glowie, it hurt me inside. Really. Physical pain, a tightness in my chest. For the feelings of a computer -- the shame and the slight of an inanimate object.

Do not even get me started on what happened when my mother proposed I toss all my childhood toys.

Is this a sickness? Is it curable? Do I even want to cure it? But the oddest thing about this -- really, the thing I cannot explain, but that points boldly and glaringly to my complicated, layered, terribly difficult self, is that I am a Tosser. I like throwing things away. In fact, I remember back to a seemingly distant past where I had to be taught how to keep my memories. How to save those Denny's receipts and those envelopes and those...well. It doesn't matter. But I wonder if there's a pattern lurking somewhere that dictates what I can toss away and what I struggle to hold onto no matter what. I do both with equal alacrity.

K8N4-e ASUS

Today I got to talk computers with the boys. I mean, okay, mostly it was Art telling me what to write as I typed it all into the Google searchbar and then me getting frustrated and hating Google and hating Linux and hating my life and not knowing what anything meant really, but still. I'm learning. I mean, Jennay called me for computer help. That means something, right?

I'm only saying this because for years I thought I was adopted. My whole family knew everything there was to know about computers and spent their time hacking into top secret government websites probably, while I didn't even know how to count in binary. And then I went off to college, with my very own computer in tow, and it was like my life suddenly began.

Basically, though, this is a long-winded route to simply say that if you have a little extra cash weighing you down this Christmas season, I'd like this.