The world is your oyster!: September 2010        

These are a few of my favorite things:

pina-colada flavored italian ice
dance parties
dressing up
love :)


My name is Heather.

I am 22 years old.

I am an East Coast girl
who also loves Utah.

I love my life. How could I not?

The world is my oyster :)
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Thursday, September 16, 2010


wants me to blog about her. But she hasn't talked to me in about three weeks because she dropped her phone in the ocean. I'm getting a lot of pressure from her direction in the form of guilt trips via facebook wall posts, but I just don't know what to talk about. Nicole has too big of a personality and I wouldn't even know where to start! I will have to blog about her when I go home in November to be the ehm,


at Kelly and Dahl's wedding.

For now, I will just refer everyone to her blog. She is hilarious and I think you will love reading it :)

Tuesday, September 14, 2010

Tuesday NIGHT

I work every Tuesday night at Coldstone. And every Tuesday night, we have a certain customer come in who we like to call, "Tuesday Night."

The first time he came in, I thought he had lost a few of his marbles. He walked in as if he owned the place, struck a pose, glanced around, looked satisfied, sucked in his breath and then shouted, "Iiiiiiiiit's TUESDAY NIGHT! Tuesday night at COLDstone! YEAH!"

This is Tuesday Night (left) with one of his friends who came in with him this week.
I looked at Rhiannon, a little alarmed. Who was this person? Why was he acting in this manner? Rhiannon looked up from what she was doing, too, but seemed more annoyed than really concerned. I decided to ignore Tuesday Night and went back to scooping ice cream.

It wasn't long before Tuesday Night got to the front of the line. He leaned comfortably on the glass and smiled at us. "Are you guys PUMPED?" he asked, grinning from ear to ear. "It's Tuesday NIGHT!" The blonde girl he was with looked a little embarrassed and hit him playfully on the arm. "I don't know why he's doing this," she said, by way of apology.

At this point I started to think it was funny. I couldn't tell if Tuesday Night was having a horrible date with the blonde and was trying to get revenge by embarrassing her in public, or if he was completely enamored and was trying way too hard to impress her. Either way, it was entertaining to watch as he looked at her in mock offense. "Look at you," he said; then, turning to us, "Look at this girl, can you believe her? First she....she asks me on a date. Right? And then - then! She acts like I'm embarrassing her." He shook his head at us. "She doesn't understand that it is TUESDAY NIGHT at COLDstone!" he finished dramatically.

And so it continued. By the time we made it to the cash register, I wanted this couple to stay together forever and everyone in the store was openly staring at Tuesday Night. Some shook their heads, but most of them just laughed. If the blonde was embarrassed, she didn't show it. She calmly leaned against the wall, eating her ice cream, while Tuesday Night ran around the store, high fiving the other customers, learning the names of the crew members, bursting into song, and otherwise causing a ruckus that oozed enthusiasm for our store.

In my head, I made up an entire story, about how Tuesday Night and the blonde were on their first date together, and how they were going to kiss tonight. I was thrilled for them. I had practically planned their wedding announcements out. This whole dream was solidified when I told them the total and Tuesday Night looked at the blonde expectantly.

"Are you gonna get that, princess?" he asked, smirking.

She blinked up at him from her ice cream and slowly shook her head, laughing.

"Whatttt, what do you mean no? Look at this. This girl....Okay." said Tuesday Night, "If a girl asks a boy on a date, doesn't that mean she's going to pay for him?"

"I did not ask you on a date," the blonde said, laughing. "I maybe enticed you to ask me on a date but that is not the same thing! Youuu asked me."

Tuesday Night looked at her, beaming. ("Ohmygosh, he totally wants to kiss her," I thought. "He's going to. Tonight. Ahhhh.")

The blonde looked coolly at her ice cream and said, "Pay for me, yo."

Tuesday Night was ecstatic at her sassiness. He pulled out his money and paid. Then he gave me a high five that made me lose feeling in my hand and left, spewing cheers for Coldstone as he went.

Fast forward to Thursday night and repeat this exact scene. Only change one thing: the girl. I was shocked when I looked up on Thursday and saw Tuesday Night walking in with a short brunette. What happened to the blonde? I thought frantically. The first explanation that my brain was able to formulate was that maybe this was a different boy, but no. From the way that he was yelling about Coldstone, it was undeniably Tuesday Night, with a different girl.

I was a little sad, since the brunette did not play off of him as well as the blonde had. She liked him more than he liked her, so I was annoyed that he was here with her and not with the blonde. Nevertheless, it was still an enjoyable visit, and I began to wonder if Tuesday Night was going to come in every time I worked.

From then on, Tuesday Night has come in every Tuesday night but one, living up to his name. It is always very exciting. It got even more exciting one night when Sarah, one of my managers, was covering for Suiha, who usually works on Tuesday nights. I came into work and was greeted by this: "Heather, I met a boy!" I was very excited and listened as Sarah told me all about a new boy she had just met the night before. He was funny, nice, cute, etc. Sarah really felt interested in him, which hadn't happened in a long time! And he was going to come in to visit her, so I would get to meet him and approve.

Somehow our conversation turned around to Tuesday Night, and I told Sarah how glad I was that she was there. This time, she would get to meet Tuesday Night! So now we had two customers to look forward to seeing.

At some point in the night, I was in the back room doing dishes when I heard it:

"Oh, YEAH! Tuesday NIGHT! Whooo!!!"

I dropped whatever dishes I was holding and ran out to tell Sarah that Tuesday Night was here. She was at the stone and turned around when I approached her. "Heather," she said, "It's him." At the same time, I said, "Sarah, that's him!" Then, "What? How did you know?" Sarah looked confused at first, then horrified. She turned around and watched as Tuesday Night asked a customer what they were eating and then repeated their order in an excited yell for the whole store to hear.

"Oh my gosh," Sarah murmured.

Small world, I guess. You never know what is going to happen. At least some things stay consistent, though....Tuesday Night coming in every Tuesday night, for instance.

I wonder what will happen next week?

Thursday, September 9, 2010

Hair Days: The Good, The Bad, and The Ugly

One day in my high school Spanish class, we were learning about body parts. My teacher, Mrs. Tilley, would give us a hint and we had to guess which body part she was describing. At one point in the game, she said: "Es muy importante por las chicas" which means, "It is very important for girls." Saira, a kind of ditzy girl who sat next to me, tilted her head to the side and said, "Pecho?" (which means chest). The correct answer was not "pecho," but "pelo," which is hair. Although I think both answers would have worked, it's true. Hair is very important for girls.

We straighten it, curl it; we braid it and crimp it; we twist and tease our hair until it looks absolutely perfect....or at least kind of acceptable. And then there are those days when you can't do anything at all with your hair, no matter how hard you try, and you just march around campus feelingggg awful.

I had one of those days last week. I planned my outfit on Tuesday night and carefully picked out a black headband with a cute red and gray plaid flower that would match perfectly. The next day, I woke up and my hair was just out of control. I don't even know what it was doing. After messing around with it for a few minutes, I threw the headband on, placing it really close to my hairline, and hoped for the best.

After my first class that day, I was leaving the Telmage building and caught a glimpse of my reflection in one of the glass doors. I immediately felt the urge to find a razor and shave my head. Somehow, my hair had gotten all messed up and was sticking up in random loops that came sprouting out of my headband. I was horribly embarrassed and only was able to feel okay about this because I had just come from mission prep and wasn't interested in anyone in that class anyway, since they were all premies. Disaster averted.

Or was it? For the rest of the day, I was paranoid, constantly patting my hair and readjusting my headband to make sure it didn't look ridiculous. I would say that my encounter with my own reflection as I was leaving Mission Prep was just the beginning of a string of incidences that, whether actual or just invented by my really mean imagination, created a disaster of a day when pieced all together. I was not truly comfortable until I was home in my own apartment and my headband was far away from my head.

The next day was Thursday, and my entire experience was different. Why? It was because of my hair.

Do you think that sounds dramatic? Well it's not. Just listen.

On Thursday, I agreed to be a model for my friend Kelsey's theater makeup class. As a thank you, all the models were allowed to keep the fake eyelashes that they used on us. After I took off all the other makeup, Kelsey nicely put them back on my eyes and sent me on my merry way. Suddenly, the world was a different place! I was glamorous! I was in such a good mood that I almost stopped by Jamba Juice on my way back to the bus, despite the line. Almost.

(Something you should know about me: I hate waiting in line at Jamba Juice. I can do it anywhere else, so it's not just an issue of my own impatience. I cannot wait in line at Jamba. I don't like it enough to. And it costs a little-lot of money. And I can't justify it. And I only go sometimes when there is literally no one, like not a single soul, even considering getting in line.)

I walked around campus and just blinked happily at everyone. The eyelashes were pretty long, but it didn't even matter that people might be able to tell they were fake. I just felt like the whole entire world was different. It was a little sad to take them off, but I'm over it. Those eyelashes were just what I needed to get over my bad hair day slump from Wednesday.

So take courage, my friends! If you have a bad hair day one day, there is always tomorrow for a good one. And remember, there will always be fake eyelashes to erase the effects* that an unfortunate hair day may have had on your psyche.

*In almost all cases except maybe this one.