Gumption? Hullo?

When I went home for the summer, I spent a few days recovering from two long semesters and one very long flight from Utah to Maryland. Kelly and I set up camp on the couches in the living room, slept until noon, ate food and chatted all day, watched Ugly Betty and the Office until 4 in the morning, and occasionally looked for jobs online. But it was just a few days. This is perfectly normal for two healthy college students.

Unfortunately, my dad didn't see it that way. He tried anxiously to be patient with us at first. But then....okay, maybe a few days became two weeks, and he became concerned. I remember one morning in particular, at about 10:30, waking up to a familiar monologue. My dad was sitting by the couch, talking animatedly at me. He said all the usual things: "This isn't normal, Heather. I mean it." "You've got to get up, and get out there, and get a job." "Come on, sit up, come on." There were the occasional interjections: "Oh my pillow! Heather, Heather stop! You're drooling on my pillow!" As I opened my eyes and wiped my mouth, I vaguely remembered getting the same speech the day before, and the day before, and probably the day before that. But then, my dad said something new: "I've never seen you like this. It's like you've lost all your gumption."

Fast forward to this semester. Well, first -- fast forward to two weeks after this speech. I had one full time job, two part time jobs, and one very very part time job. Now, fast forward to this semester. It's probably been the hardest semester for me yet, where classes are concerned. I'm taking 16 credits, and, even though I've taken this many before, it wasn't this difficult. My classload this semester is full of classes that are much less interesting than my classes in previous semesters, and much more rigorous. In short, I don't want to learn about the things that are turning out to be more difficult to learn, making it even worse.

I started out with plenty of gumption. Winter break was a nice refresher for me. I went home, played with my family, visited some friends, and came back ready to tackle the new semester. I tried to be interested in my subjects. Most days, my classes don't start until 12, but I tried to get up at about 8 or 9 every morning to study and work on other things I needed to get done. I signed up to be a mentor at an elementary school. I got a job at ColdStone. I was overflowing with gumption!

Then, suddenly, something happened.....midterms. All of a sudden, school decided to hurt my feelings. Last week, I was slammed with five tests. I was also asked to give a talk on Sunday. As an FHE mom, I had to plan an activity for this Monday. Furthermore, my laptop was stolen on Tuesday, right out of my apartment. Oh, and the mailman told me he hates me and thinks I'm ugly.

I'll recover, I told myself. I can come back. There's still time before the semester is over. After one particularly bad test on Monday that might as well have been a list of derogatory comments on my appearance for how good it made me feel, I called my dad. He told me how pretty and intelligent I am, per my request. I felt better. I went to bed that night, determined to wake up the next morning at 7 to get ready for a group meeting for a project at 8. I knew, as I closed my eyes, that I would wake up to a better world. I woke up at 7:30. Hmmm. That wasn't really what I had planned to do, now was it? I hurriedly threw on some clothes and make up and miraculously made it to the bus stop in time for the 7:42 bus. I went to my group meeting, then to my floral design class, and then to the library for a nice nap in the fourth floor bathroom with all the couches. I went to my New Testament class, had lunch with Kelly, studied, and went home. I felt pretty good about how well I was recovering so far.

On Wednesday, I intended to wake up at 8 to give myself time to clean for cleaning checks, do my homework, and go to mentoring. I told Aimee and Chelsea both that I need to be up at least by 9, and if they would be so kind as to yell in my sleeping face if I wasn't, I would greatly appreciate it. They gladly obliged, but somehow, I didn't get out of bed until 9:30. By the time I had gotten ready and finished my homework and cleaning, it was too late to go to mentoring, and too early to go to campus. So of course, I decided to take a little nap before going to my first class. It was 11:41 when I woke up again, and I had missed the last bus until 12:12. I considered my options. It was a nice day, and I could walk to school. (I was sure I would be able to make it if someone gave me directions.) My other option was going back to sleep. Which option do you think I took?

I had to drag myself out of bed at 12:35 to get to the bus in time to get to my 1:00 English class. Chelsea reminded me that it was Saint Patrick's Day and picked out a green shirt for me to wear, so I sluggishly changed my outfit and stumbled out to the bus. From there, my day did improve. While on campus, I was very productive. When I went home, I was determined to continue in this streak of gumption.

Sadly, my natural me won, and I ended up at Kelly's apartment, making and eating cookies, chatting, and wandering Raintree with some boys who were considering moving in and had requested a tour. I went back to my apartment and spent about two hours on facebook and other time-wasting websites. I finally eeked out some homework at one in the morning and went to bed.

This morning, my 9:30 floral design class was cancelled (thank goodness). I planned to take the 10:42 bus to campus to work on some homework before my 12:00 New Testament class. I hope no one took the 10:42 bus hoping to see me there, because they would have been sorely disappointed to know that I was still in bed at that time. In fact, I was in bed until about 1:05. All I could think as I sat up and called out, "Hullo??" to my still-at-home roommates was:

Whelp. Guess it's gone again.

My gumption, that is. I really think it's gone. Today marks the second day in a row that I slept through my 12:00 class. HOW PATHETIC!

Tonight, I had quite a bit that I needed to get done. I made a To Do list and turned on Chelsea's laptop. (Since mine was stolen, my roommates have all been super-nice about letting me use theirs whenever I need to. It is making my life a lot easier!) Then, something that shouldn't be so surprising to me happened: I wasted more time. Chelsea came home right when I had started being productive and asked if Aimee and I would like to go see New Moon in the dollar theater. I did want to. It started at 10:05. I could finish my paper, go to New Moon, and get back in time to get to bed at a decent hour.

I didn't finish my paper by 9:40.

I went to New Moon.

How could I refuse? Aimee and Chelsea were ditching their boyfriends, and we were all wearing our respective boy's clothes. Furthermore, on the subject of clothes, Taylor Lautner doesn't wear many in this movie. I can look past Edward's pale chest and sadly lopsided nipples because of this fact alone: Taylor has 10 ab muscles. I counted. This was definitely an event I had to be apart of.

And now, here I am. It's almost 4 in the morning and I am blogging. Blogging.

Of course, I have had good intentions throughout this whole ordeal. Tomorrow, I plan on waking up at 9 and taking the 9:42 bus to campus. I will meet with my group from 10-11, work on my application for the Writing Fellows from 11-12, and go to class from 12-2. I will eat lunch with Kelly and then study until who knows when. We will see how well this plan works out, I suppose. If my gumption continues to be MIA, I really can't be held responsible for my lack of motivation.

Thankfully, I have at least been getting all my homework done. When I am actually awake, I do my assignments. I just did one before writing this blog, in fact...a writeup for my humanities class. The assignment was to pick 3 sins and assign creative punishments to those who commit them, in the style of Dante. Here's what I came up with:

Sin #1: drawing graffiti. People who do this would have to spend eternity trying to graffiti a building while someone bumps their elbow every 2 seconds, messing them up repeatedly. If they get frustrated, someone else will spray spray paint in their face.

Sin #2: stealing a college student's laptop. People who do this would be shrunk down and put inside a laptop keyboard while the college student they stole from types out their term paper.

Sin #3: flirting with missionaries. People who flirt with missionaries would be sentenced to the nunnery. They would spend eternity in a convent, getting smacked across the face every time their thoughts drifted to boys. Also, all the girls whose missionaries ended up marrying a girl who flirted with him while on his mission would flick rubber bands at the flirting girls.

I think those are pretty appropriate punishments. I can't say I've been personally affected by graffiti, but I feel a much stronger connection to the other two sins.

Let's talk about sin #3 for a minute. (I mean, why not. Four hours of sleep is totally enough to function on.) I have seen a growing trend recently that bothers me quite a bit. It's called, missionaries marrying girls they met on their mission. In every case, they will insist that they didn't do anything wrong. There was no flirting while they were on the mission. Things just turned out the way that they did. They were perfect for each other. The circumstances that they met under are inconsequential, since they didn't start dating until after the mission was over. And who am I to say that this isn't the truth for every one of these couples? I really can't. I'm just saying, it's a growing trend. And as someone who sent off a missionary, even if I'm not waiting for him, I am annoyed by it.

Believe me, I understand the appeal of missionaries. As 19 to 21-year-old boys, they are right about my age. Typically, they are good boys, in tune with the Spirit, happy to serve others, good at talking to people, hard workers. They walk around or ride their bikes a lot, so they're probably pretty fit. They keep their hair a respectable length and never look too scruffy or unkempt. And there's two of them.

So, that's great that you didn't flirt with him. That's awesome that you just really connected over the scriptures. Good for you abiding by mission rules as you purely lusted after the cutie with the name tag.

But if all those things are true, then why the hey are you two getting engaged three weeks after he's released?

This is why I included flirting with missionaries as one of my sins.

Well, I guess I'm going to bed now. Wish me luck in waking up tomorrow?

How delightful

Sometimes, at random points in my day, I will feel bursts of excitement, for no reason in particular. I hope you know what I'm talking about...when you feel just thrilled to be where you are, to be so unalterably you, whatever the circumstances.

Here are some things that make me feel like this more often than not:

1. Popsicles. I don't know what it is about them, but popsicles can make my day instantly better. They are so delicious and not even really bad for you. I get one every time I take a test and now, I actually look forward to going to the testing center because of them.

2. Letters. I usually feel a little sick when I'm walking to the mailbox, because I am disappointed more often than not :( But on those days that I actually do see my name on an envelope casually leaning against the wall in my mailbox, I get so happyy. I can't stop smiling and I usually can't wait until I get back to my apartment to open my letter.

3. Walking through campus. Today I had one of these moments when I was walking from the back of the library to the front of the library. I realized I was walking among amazing people, and I got goosebumps at the thought that I was allowed to be in this place that I love so much.

4. Kisses. I think kissing is fantastic. I don't do it very often, because I'm really picky about who I kiss. Like, reallyy picky. But maybe that's why I like it so much; I've never had a bad experience with kissing.

5. The Cougar fight song. Last night the Cougars took on the San Diego Aztecs in basketball, and I was in attendance. I had heard it would be a really intense game and I was not disappointed. Usually I think of human sacrifices when I think of Aztecs, but our boys were far from being sacrificed. Final score? .....Not sure. BYU scored 80 points, so I got cake. And that's what is really important. Anyway, every time we sang the fight song, I just felt this huge sense of pride. I'm here, I'm in college, I'm a cougar, and I'm sO happy about it :)

6. Motorcycles. Ever since I was little, I have LOVED motorcycles. When I see a boy on a motorcycle, he is instantly 5x cuter than I might otherwise think he was. Wrapping my arms around one of those boys and zooming off through traffic gives me such a high. And when I get off the motorcycle after my ride, I have to consciously hold myself back from kissing the boy. It's embarrassing. We won't even be dating, I won't even like him, and for some reason I have to actually remind myself of this so I can stand up straight.

7. Giving blood. Last time I got so excited that I had to come back 2 days later because my heart rate was too high. That's how much I love giving blood.

8. Pickles. I am seldom happier than when I am eating a really good pickle. I get one every Wednesday at the Blue Line Deli and in those moments when I am eating it, all my problems disappear.

Of course, there are other things that make me feel happy, content, or pleasantly surprised. I love talking to my parents on the phone. I enjoy working out. I'm pleased when I do well on a test. I used to like driving and singing along to the radio, when I had access to a car. I love holding babies when they're happy. I like getting new clothes. I think it's fun to get dressed up and go to dance parties. But these aren't the things that randomly thrill me, that make me so happy that I am myself. I guess it's the little things that really do that!

"Today you are you,
That is truer than true.
There is no one alive
That is you-er than you." ~Dr. Suess

Oh heyy, Heber.

This weekend was very eventful. On Friday, I went to the same pool party I went to last week. It was even more fun this time because Winnie, Kelly, Jackie, and Jackie's roommates all came too. Next week, we might have even more girls! The actual party was fun, but possibly the most memorable part happened while we were driving to the party. We got lost and pulled into a correctional facility to figure out where we were. The only thing I could think of in that parking lot was the trailer for that new Leonardo DiCaprio movie "Shutter Island," and I kept expecting him to jump up and stare at me through the car windows. In retrospect, I probably shouldn't have mentioned this in a car full of girls, but I did, and within seconds we were speeding out of the correctional facility.

On Saturday, I went to the Cougarette concert! It was a very last-minute thing and I'm lucky that everything worked out the way it did. Kelly told me that she was going to usher so she could get in and watch the concert for free. Since Victoria was performing, I had really wanted to go, but I hadn't gotten a ticket in time. Kelly said I could come, too, and in the end, it was me, Kelly, Sterling (who told her about the opportunity), my FHE brother Nate, my FHE husband Tor, and his girlfriend Brooke. Ushering was the easiest job in the world. We walked in, approached an authoritative-looking person, and were quickly given our responsibilities. My post was at the doors upstairs on the right. As soon as the lights went down, I closed the doors and joined the audience. Victoria did a great job and it was a really fun performance!

On Sunday, my roommates Chelsea and Crystal horribly abused me.

Today, I had the craziest day. I woke up at 8, did homework, ate breakfast, got ready for the day, and took the 11:12 bus to campus. Once there, I hurried to the testing center, looked over my New Testament notes for 10 minutes, and took my test. I got 100%!!! It was my first 100% in the testing center and it was so exhilarating that i took a picture on my phone :) I didn't have much time to revel in my accomplishment, though, because then I had to go to my humanities class. I had to run out of there to print off my English paper and go to my English class, and then I was heading to my D&C class. I had lunch with Kelly, Winnie, Danielle, and Kelsey at 3, but it wasn't very exciting because I was studying for my floral design test. I studied for an hour, and then it was back to the testing center. I swear I have taken more tests in the last two months than I took in the other3 semesters of my entire career as a college student combined. I don't really mind I guess, since every time I take a test I buy myself a black cherry-pomegranate Popsicle, but it is still kind of hard to keep up with all the tests. Because I am there so frequently, I just made Heber J. Grant a Facebook page and put myself in a relationship with him. Anyway, I was planning to take the 6:15 bus home, but the test was going so well that I finished in time to catch the 5:45 bus if I hurried. When I got home, I figured out some last-minute stuff for FHE and then went over to my husband's apt so we could all drive to the bishop's house together. In my ward, one Monday each month is for dinner at a member of the bishopric's house. They are always so delicious and fun, and this time was no exception! When we got home from that, I went to Tashi's birthday party and then finally got home for real.

I really don't mind being busy. I actually really like it when I can look back on a day and name a long list of things that I did in a span of just 24 hrs. It's encouraging and empowering.

However, I do mind being tired, so I'd better get to sleep.

Real quick shoutout to Julie and Jacob!!! Julie just turned 16 on Sunday, and Jacob just turned 11 on Friday. Julie is beautiful, kind, talented, funny, and really sweet. She is fun to talk to and fun to watch movies with. Her smile is infectious and I love being around her! Jacob is a darling boy. He will go out of his way to help people and is friends with everyone. He is clever, amiable, and pure-hearted. He never tries to hurt people and he is generous and thoughtful. I love both of them so much and I can't believe how olddd they are getting!

The Importance of Ratios

In my humanities class, we are learning about Ancient Greece. One of the things we learned is that their sculptures started out very mathematical. In fact, they had a particular ratio that they called the "golden ratio," because everything looked so good when based on this ratio of 5:3. I've actually heard about it in my humanities class, my floral design class, and my history of creativity class, so apparently it's kind of a big deal.

Here's a ratio that I like even moooore than 5:3.....40:7. That is the approximate ratio of boys to girls at a party I attended on Friday, and in my opinion, that is better than 5:3. Like no offense to Euclid....I'm just sayin'.

The party was a pool party that I heard about from Troy. Troy is one of the boys who sold pest control over the summer and one of my absolute favorites. He is from Montana and the very picture of a mountain man. At first we thought he was grouchy and unpleasant, but eventually we discovered that he is actually a giant teddy bear. All gruffness aside, Troy is a sweetheart, and I completely adore him. He is the one I will be calling if I run into any more LoveSac douchebags. (He is also the one who will be DJing at my wedding!)

To give you an idea how close Troy is with our family, he came to our house for Sunday dinner every week. He set me up on a date with one of his mission friends. He frequently has lunch with Kelly and I, now that we are all living in Provo, and makes an effort to keep in touch with the other siblings via facebook. Over the summer, his girlfriend, Heather, came out to visit him, and he brought her to meet us. Mhmm. We are important people in his life. We definitely approved of Heather. She is also a sweetheart and they are so good together.

Anyway. Two weeks ago, Troy called me and asked if I wanted to go to a pool party. I couldn't, but I thought it sounded fun. This week, he told Kelly and I that he would be picking us up at 8, and we didn't really have a choice....we were going to the pool party. It was hosted by a 39-year-old man who sold pest control and is now retired. He has a wife, one 4-yr-old daughter who is adorable, a poolhouse with a pool, hot tub, heated stone floors, and changing room, a Ferrari, a Viper, a Cobra motorcycle, some other car that was covered, an elevator, a theater, pool tables.....basically a perfect life. I think the only thing he doesn't have is hair, since he was bald. He has parties every Friday and just invites a bunch of college kids who might be interested in selling pest control for him over the summer. Well, I'm not interested in that. But I ammm interested in boys that are interested in that, so I was pumped out of my head for this party.

The party was very fun. There was a ton of pizza and soda, and a ton of boys. The lights in the pool house were turned down so no one could tell that I haven't been tan for months. I was planning on just sitting on the side of the pool and cheering for the cute boys playing basketball, but that dream was shattered when they started playing volleyball and I had to actually join in. I am terrible at volleyball, so I was concerned that everyone would regret asking me to join as soon as they realized my lack of skill, but I guess I forgot to take into account the whole ratio thing. Being one of only about 7 girls at this party, they were thrilled to have me. Whenever it was my turn to serve, I got at least 3 tries to send the ball over the net. If it came close, a boy in the front would benevolently tip it over, and play would continue normally. If it went over, I was enthusiastically applauded. Throughout the game, I was profusely praised for merely looking in the right direction. If I stood there stupidly while the ball came sailing right at my face, undoubtedly one of the boys would lunge in front of it, valiantly trying to save me. If this attempt failed, the boy would apologize for getting in my way when he should have just let me have it. From a totally objective standpoint, I was not the team's most valuable player. But based on how quickly the game of choice changed from volleyball to basketball after I left to sit in the hot tub, you might think I was. It all goes back to ratios.

There are going to be pool parties every Friday at 8, and if anyone following this blog wants to come with me to one of them, just let me know :)

Soliloquy

For my History of Creativity class, I had to write a soliloquy in the style of Shakespeare. It could be about love, university life, duty, or something else. I chose love :) We also had to include two words that we made up. I put the new words at the bottom of my soliloquy. Here's what I wrote:

Here

It’s so comfortable now, right here in his pocket
I’m snug and I’m warm right here in his palm
There’s a picture of him right here in my locket
I’m feeling excited, nervous, and calm.

Wrapped up in his arms, I can’t help but shiver

I shimmy and dance right here under his thumb
I see bursts of light but the moon is a sliver;
I’m happy and full from just one little crumb.

How quickly he thinks of these calliverbations

That all at once serve to excite me and soothe

And slow down my reckless heart’s quick palpitations –

My thoughts are all jumbled; his speech is so smooth.

If I could, I would stay right here in this bubble

I cannot be free if not trapped by his gaze.
I’m dizzy and breathless—I know that he’s trouble
But life makes so much sense in his beautiful haze.

Here with him I say things without even thinking

Words born in my heart still sound new to my ears

Each statement of love feels familiar as blinking
This continued amoralogue stifles my fears.

The sun in his smile is clouding my vision –

I’m all tangled up in his mystical art;
I cannot avoid this oncoming collision,
So I’ll pull up a chair for him, here in my heart.

Calliverbations = beautiful words, eloquence. (calli = beauty, verb = words)

Amoralogue = expressions of love. (amor = love, logue = speech)

I really wish I could play the guitar. I would put this to music and feel totally legit.

I should be studying for Humanities now.

But i can't. I can't look at another naked man. And they are all over the pages of my humanities book.

From the very first day of class, I have felt out of place. Why? Because when the first nude sculpture flashed up on the screen, not a single comment was made. There was a wiener staring at me and I was the only one feeling mildly anxious about it. There were no nervous titters, no awkwardly darting eyes. I was the only one who looked around to see how everyone else was handling this. And they were all handling it splendidly. Our teacher might as well have plastered a picture of a gourd on the screen for all the excitement it stirred up.

Since that time, I have seen countless depictions of male genitalia, Roman and Greek. I was not aware that this is what I was signing up for when I registered for Humanities 201 last November. I think I am the only one who has been a little bit fazed by this in my whole class. Am I just really immature? I never thought this was the case, but maybe it is. I am just not comfortable analyzing naked men and their junk for an arts credit.

Well that was refreshing. I'm going to actually study now.

Holy Mole-y!

My body hates my moles. For whatever reason, my skin has launched a full-frontal attack on these little guys. One by one, a white circle forms around my moles and they get smaller and lighter until they are completely gone without a trace. Sometimes, when people notice one of them, I say it's a hicky, because that's kind of what it looks like. Only, it's a lighter spot of skin rather than a darker spot of skin.

A mole on my neck was my body's first victim. I didn't think much of it....I've never been particularly fond of my moles. In fact, when I was younger I was glad that we weren't allowed to wear bikinis because I was so self-conscious of one particular mole right next to my belly button. It's not like it's abnormally shaped or hairy; it's just your average, run-of-the-mill brown splotch, but for whatever reason, I used to thank my lucky stars that belly shirts were no longer in style because of it. Anyway, I didn't mind when the mole on my neck disappeared forever. I still didn't mind when similar white circles had formed around four of my other moles and the process of erasing them from my skin had begun. I mean, they weren't doing anything to me. I wasn't suffering any funny side effects, so why should I care?

It was my parents who insisted that I see a dermatologist, anxiously expressing their concerns about cancer and gangrene all the way up until I was seated in the office of a friendly dermatologist with wide eyes and shiny pink lips and nails. I showed her my moles and answered her questions. Her diagnosis was quick and definitive: the moles were called halo moles, and there wasn't any problem with what they were doing. She explained that sometimes, when people have a really good immune system, their body just decides to attack and get rid of their moles. It's not a problem, really, and it is in no way related to cancer. She did say, however, that this happens to very few people, and the people who do get halo moles usually only get one. Sometimes a person will get two. I have five or six, and she said she had never seen or heard of anyone getting so many. She concluded that I must have a really hyperactive immune system. I was very pleased with this diagnosis.

And now we come to the point of this post. Why, if my immune system is so fantastic that it can take time out of its busy schedule to address such a minute cosmetic concern as my harmless little moles, can my body not fight a common cold?

Today I woke up at about 9:30 in the morning, which is fine, since I didn't have class until 12. Then I realized that I was coughing and snotting like an entire waiting room of a doctor's office and went back to sleep until about 3:30 this afternoon. It was a fitful sleep that I woke up from several times throughout the day, feeling disoriented, short of breath, and clammy. Hello? Why is getting rid of my moles a more pressing issue than this? I think my immune system does not actually have its priorities straight.

I think I should be better by tomorrow, at least better enough to go to school. I really hate being sick; I think it is a phenomenal waste of time, and you don't even look cute. There is one upside though that I just discovered: when I am sick, I turn into some sort of culinary genius. (Which is really too bad, because you probably shouldn't be handling other people's food when you're sick, since who wants your germs, anyway?) But today, I made a coddled egg without even realizing it. Yeah. Maybe I am disproportionately proud of this, but "coddled egg" just sounds so domestic to me.

Chopin and Show'n-a-shan

Before you start to read this, I should warn you: this is going to be a really weird post. I'm just thinking a lot about bathrooms at the moment, and this post definitely reflects that.

OK.

When we were younger, my sister Kelly told me that every time she flushed the toilet, she thought in her head the following chant: "Show'n-a-shannnnn-ba-da-dam-bam-bammm-aw-aw-aw-aw-aw! Boom, ba da doom boom. WOO!-bang." Try and say it. That's what a toilet flush sounds like. Ever since then, I have also heard this chant in my head every time I flush.

Today, I went to the bathroom in the library. Fourth floor, outside of the LRC. For those of you that aren't aware, the front room of this bathroom can be a magical, posh room of luxury if you want to take a nap, and is completely furbished with couches, pillows, and arm chairs. I myself have been there on many occasions between classes to catch a quick snooze, and I've always had a pleasant experience (barring the time I was rudely awaken by someone with explosive diarrhea). However, if you are not going there for a nap, and instead to use the facilities, you might feel like you are walking into an important audition, which you will give from a confessional booth instead of from a stage.

I was going there to use the facilities.

I walked in to find three of the couches occupied with sleeping girls, one of the armchairs occupied by a girl studiously doing her homework, and the other armchair invitingly unoccupied. Duly noted. I made my way to the confessional booth bathroom stall, acutely aware of the heavy silence. As I walked in and closed the door, not a sound could be heard other than the irregular scratching of pen on paper. I'm sure all the girls in the heavenly foyer area were concentrating on their own activities, but I was squeamishly diffident to the idea of four utter strangers knowing exactly how I spent the next minute or so.

Let's just be clear: I've never had a shy bladder. My sister cannot pee in a cup to save her life, contrary to sound science that states that the contents of four water bottles all consumed in quick succession must come out one way or another. I, on the other hand, apparently have a closer relationship to camels than most people and don't need much water. This is nice for many reasons--for example, I hardly ever get thirsty, and I don't have to carry a water bottle around with me. However, there are also a few downsides, the most relevant being that pretty soon after I do have a drink of water, I had better be on the lookout for a bathroom. So I've never really suffered from Kelly's complex.

But today, as I sat in my stall, wishing the girls in the foyer would kindly put in their headphones for a minute, I would like to think that I at least felt some of her pain. It wasn't all bad, though; because of this, I thought of a wonderful idea.

Classical music should always be playing in the restroom. I mean seriously....why are bathrooms so quiet anyway? No one wants to hear everyone else doing their thing. I appreciate such innovations as loud hand dryers, clunky paper towel dispensers, and over-eager automatic flushers that help eliminate some of the awkwardness. But day after day, because none of these modern conveniences exist in the primitive bathroom by the LRC, girls are forced to shuffle abashedly from their stalls past four or five girls who may as well have been in the stall with them.

If classical music was playing throughout the bathroom, this would no longer be such an ordeal. You could time everything perfectly. Cymbals would benevolently cover up every unseemly sound that might come from your stall. Gone would be the days of awkwardly waddling past your unintentional audiences. Classical music would put the pleasure back in peeing.

Now I'd like to go back to the anecdote I brought up earlier about "Show'n-a-shannnnn-ba-da-dam-bam-bammm-aw-aw-aw-aw-aw! Boom, ba da doom boom. WOO!-bang." When I thought of this idea of having music in the bathrooms, I thought it was brilliant. Now that I have thought about it a little more, I've come to the conclusion that I associate music with going to the bathroom. Here are the reasons I have come up with for why this might be:

1. This whole "show'n-a-shannnnn" chant. I've thought it ever since I was little. Is it anything, really, other than adding music to a typical bathroom routine?

2. The "pee-pee in the pot" song. When we were potty-training, my mom would sing the following song:

"I am learning how to pee-pee-ee in the potty,

Pee. Pee. Pee. Pee! In the pot.

Pee. Pee. Pee. Pee! Go right in.

Pee. Pee. Pee. Pee! Do it again."

There's another bathroom-music connection.

3. One time when my grandparents were visiting, my grandma spent 5 minutes to describe a "lovely, musical" episode of flatulence she had recently experienced. So I guess it runs in the family to connect the two.

4. When I was in orchestra in high school, my director, Mr. O'Bryan, would frequently tell us that our performance had sounded like poop. In one particular case, he told the oboe that she should embrace her role as "the kid who comes along and pees in the sandbox and ruins it for everyone." (In other words, she was supposed to play as obnoxiously as possible.) Well, well. Music and bathrooms.

5. I remember one FHE when I was about 7 or 8 years old, and I left to go to the bathroom. For some reason, as soon as I got in the bathroom, I had to sing. I hadd to. So I sang my little heart out for the entirety of my visit, and when I was done, I went out to see that my whole family had left and hidden in the laundry room. It was a funny experience and yet another reason why I associate the bathroom with music--it just seems natural.

So in conclusion. All I'm trying to say is, if elevators can have music in them, shouldn't bathrooms, too?

And just while we're on the subject of bathrooms, I'd like to make a note for the boys, too. Apparently, there are three unspoken rules of using the men's restroom. I've heard that they are:

1. Don't talk to each other.

2. Don't look at each other.

3 If there is a urinal open that is not immediately next to a urinal being used, use that one.

Here's what I think they should be:

1. Don't poop in the urinals.

2. Don't urinate anywhere other than in the urinals (i.e., on the walls, ceiling, etc.)

3. No racing. Everyone should be allowed to comfortably go at his own pace.

Of course, I have no authority on the matter whatsoever. I'm a girl. I've been in the boys bathroom a few times, I will admit, but never to use the urinal. I never plan to use a urinal. These rules are just things that I think sound good, and if I were a man, I would appreciate everyone adhering to them.

I think I've touched on enough awkward subjects for one post. Good night :)

Love Sacs and Douche Bags

School may have been cancelled this Monday, but here's something I learned over my 3-day weekend: douche bags have LoveSacs. Maybe it's a generalization, but in my experiences so far, I'd say it's been pretty sound.

This is a new trend I've noticed going around Provo. Bean bags, as it turns out, are for little girls and their friends at sleepovers. LoveSacs are for little men and their potential NCMO's at all hours of the night.

Here are some things you can assume /expect when you walk into a boy's apartment and you spy a LoveSac conveniently placed before a very nice TV:

1. They probably spent quite a bit of money on said TV. This is because they spend a lot of time in front of it with whatever girls happen to follow them home on any given night. This does not, however, mean that they will spend a lot of time actually watching the TV.

2. The guys who live in this apartment are douche bags. They come in all shapes and sizes. They can be premies or RM's, ranging in age from about 18-26, typically. Some dress nicely and smell good, while others are prime candidates for "What Not to Wear." There are gamers and there are athletes. Despite all of these idiosyncrasies, the thing they all have in common is their horniness.

3. Upon entering and noticing the LoveSac, you will feel a sense of mild discomfort. This will only increase as the night progresses, and you will want to shoot yourself by the time the boy sitting next to you tries to slip his hand into your tightly-clenched fist....for the twenty-sixth time in a row.

4. The guys you will be spending time with are not guys of the highest caliber. They may not avoid the niceties altogether, but the words rolling off their tongues will be practiced and mendacious. The more time you spend with them, exchanging pleasantries, the more apparent their insincerity will become. Oh, sure, they will ask you where you are going to school, what your major is, where you're from, and your favorite color. The more sophisticated ones often try to lay a foundation for a shadow of a friendship, luring you into a sense of false security by picking one thing to tease you about. This gives the impression that the two of you are, in fact, close friends. Inside jokes are a favorite tool of these con men. There are those who are so dedicated that they will go so far as to avidly inquire after your long-gone great-grandmother's floral preferences, but you will not be fooled. You will recognize the hollowness of the things they say because of the unmerited confidence with which they try to make a move on you immediately following their carefully placed comment. It is astounding.

5. You will be watching a scary movie. It is a statistical fact that girls are more inclined to make out with guys after watching a scary movie than after any other kind of movie. This statistic makes practical sense, and even guys who have not heard it stated as a hard and fast statistic will swear by it and count on it. Since the guys you are hanging out with are douchebags, this will be even more than a convenient truth to them: it will be one of their favorite mantras. (You'll find it right up there on the list next to "'No' means 'yes,'" or at least an accommodating 'later.')

6. You will be getting home much later than you had planned on, or want. When you find yourself in this situation, beware! Douche bags feel no obligation to bring girls home when they ask, particularly if the hour is respectable. Depending on how severe their lack of respect is, they may not even feel an obligation to bring you home when you openly discuss with your friend all the people you could possibly call to come and rescue you (admittedly a short list, considering the time of night--or morning). In fact, they may not even act flustered while you and your friend toy with the idea of walking home, a distance of several miles in winter-clad Provo at 4 in the morning. This will not faze them, as you may have hoped. In fact, they will think it is completely normal and try to give you a hug as you leave.

7. Following this harrowing experience, you will find yourself in a state of embarrassment at your own naivety. You will replay the scenes to yourself, storing away the things the boys said that initially caught your interest and sliding them neatly into a drawer in the filing cabinets of your mind labelled "CAUTION! AVOID!" You will also find yourself annoyed that you ever appeared to be the kind of girl this new generation of LoveSac Douche Bags would prefer. You will subconsciously check the length of your skirt and the scoop of the neck on your shirt, only to approve of them all over again. You are not the problem. You are a tasteful and classy individual, if a little naive.

But here's my question. Is it really naivety to assume that you will be given a ride back to your own apartment when you request it? Should this assumption really be chalked up to inexperience, or is it a reasonable expectation that was sadly tromped all over in an unfortunate (but rare) experience?

Women all over the globe can be heard to lament that "chivalry is dead." In my opinion, chivalry is opening doors, small acts of protectiveness, a coat in the mud, even standing when the woman of the house enters the room. I can live without these things. I am perfectly capable of getting my own door and stepping around the mud puddle. It's not a "deal breaker" if the boy turns off the heater without asking me if I am comfortable and warm. Of course I will be pleased if a boy does do these things, but I don't mind a more modern man, either.

Taking a girl home when it was you who drove her to your apartment, and she tells you she is ready to leave, is not chivalry. It is common respect. I would even go so far as to say it is common sense. If your mother did not instill this idea in you, your conscience should have taken care of it. When a girl says, "Please take me home," you take her home. That some boys think it is acceptable to essentially hold a girl hostage is ridiculous to me. A few days ago, I would have even said it was inconceivable!

Unfortunately, it is not so far-fetched as one might hope.

Young single women of Provo, be on your guard against these skeezes I have just described.

I'll be hoooooome for Christmas

Although for a second there, I didn't know if I would be! The East Coast is currently experiencing more snow than it's dealt with in the past several years, and Marylanders trying to drive in snow are a little bit like a barbershop quartet trying to play football. So naturally, at the sight of a snowflake, the state had to go into emergency lockdown mode and all flights coming into Maryland were rescheduled.

Kelly and I were supposed to fly home on Saturday, but when our flight was cancelled, we ended up going to a barbecue for the elder's quorum in Kelly's ward, watching Surrogate at the dollar theater, packing, cleaning, and hitting up The Loft on our real last night in Utah of 2009. So although we ended up going to the airport fourteen hours after we had originally planned (and 3 hours after we got home from The Loft), I think we spent those hours very well.

Our flight was at 7:55 in the morning; boarding time was 7:25, so we left Raintree at 5:00 am. I don't think I have gotten up this early the whole semester (although I have been up at 5 am, it just hasn't been because I was getting up then). Shout-out to Winnie, who was nice enough to pull herself out of bed and take us...what a good friend! In order to bring everything we wanted to and keep the trip as inexpensive as possible, Kelly and I stuffed everything we could in our carryons and brought no checked luggage. I also showed up at the airport wearing two pairs of jeans, two pairs of shoes, two tank tops, one long-sleeved shirt, a hoodie, and a coat because that was what didn't fit in my carryon. I think it's also important to note that I had planned very carefully that I would be going home on Saturday. I had been counting so heavily on this fact that I didn't do laundry for a few weeks leading up to this weekend, so I was also wearing my swimsuit bottom because I had run straight out of underwear. Not really ideal, but what can ya do. Especially with snow as impudent as this.

Originally, we had a direct flight, but with the cancellation, we were switched to a flight that had a layover in Cincinnati. I was pretty certain that we would get delayed in Cincinnati because of the snow and we would end up stuck there in some obscure hotel for days before we could get a flight out. I had visions of a very haggard Kelly and I, hitchhiking our way home, wearily pulling our suitcases behind us through Ohio. I imagined us finally arriving at our cheerfully lit home just in time for December 26th...2010. Thankfully this didn't happen. Our flight out of Ohio wasn't even delayed, and we made it home right on schedule.

While on the flight from Cincinnati to Maryland, Kelly and I discovered something important. The flight attendants came up the aisle with the drink cart and asked us what we wanted. I got my usual cran-apple juice, while Kelly went out on a limb and ordered a virgin bloody Mary. She was pumped to see that it was on the menu of complimentary drinks. We sat in eager anticipation as the stewardess mixed this delectable surprise up for us in the cabin. Kelly took the first bold sip and let me tell you something: that limb she had gone out on, suddenly crashed to the ground. Here are some common misunderstandings about this concoction:

1. A Bloody Mary is some kind of cheerful berry drink.

2. You do not really have to be that drunk to enjoy a Bloody Mary.

3. You will be happy if you try a virgin Bloody Mary.

I would like to dispel all of these right now. Right this minute.

1. A Bloody Mary is, in fact, some kind of gross tomato juice disaster that has had spices added to it. There is nothing berry-y about it. There is also nothing cheerful about it.

2. You would have to be slobberingly drunk to enjoy such an abomination. I don't drink, but if I did, I don't think I ever could get drunk enough to enjoy it.

3. If you try a virgin Bloody Mary, you will not be happy. When I let those few drops trickle across my tongue and down my throat, my whole body rebelled as it never has before. It was the most vile substance I have ever experienced. I tasted it and felt instantly angry that such a thing had ever come into my line of vision.

Of course when we discovered how horrendous this thing was that had come into our hands, we couldn't stand to look at or smell it. We artistically arranged all of our napkins and snack wrappers on top of the cup and waited for a flight attendant to notice and take it away.

Finally we arrived in Maryland. We flew into the Reagan National airport, so only Mom and Dad came to pick us up. Sarah called four times while we were driving home to ask how many minutes or seconds before we would get home. She is so cute! A brief status update on everyone:

Sarah has lost her two front teeth, and her hair has grown about a foot. Jacob is the exact same. Joseph is as tall as me now. WHATTT. No one told Julie about the bench. And Nicole hasn't changed at all, either.

If I had forgotten for a minute that I was home, there were multiple points throughout the evening that would have reminded me that I was. For one thing, my dad tried for ten minutes at dinner to finish the following sentence: "I was thinking today, and I wonder..." You might wonder what he was wondering, but you will find yourself wondering that for a very long time. I am still wondering what he was wondering, because he never quite got to say. Every time he got close, something happened that triggered the onset of an extensive medley of songs.

Last night we had a big huge sleepover in the living room, all the girls. For some reason my house turns into a frozen tundra at night, so we all huddled for warmth on the couch with several blankets from Nicole, Julie, and Sarah's beds, and both couches. When I woke up at 3 am, I was shivering under one solitary blanket, Nicole was on the floor, Sarah was on the other couch with Kelly, and one of my sisters was snoring away under a two-foot tall pile of blankets. At my request she kindly moved over and shared her blankets with me and I slept soundly the rest of the night....or so I thought. Apparently this wasn't the case as Nicole told me this morning that I actually started crying and saying, "Who would make such a sound?" and then backhanded one of my sisters several times when I learned that it was her snoring that was causing me such grief.

This morning while Kelly and I were doing our laundry, we came across some clothes that we had made when we were much younger, about 7 and 8 years old, when we were learning how to sew. I had been making a purple dress, and Kelly was making a floral print skort, complete with a matching hot pink shirt and floral print scrunchie head band. For some reason her shirt was a rectangle....only turned the wrong way. We put on our clothes and recruited Joseph to photograph our awesomeness. I think that Kelly looks like some 80's Malibu Barbie and I look like a purple Polly Pocket. We are way too attractive for our own good, that's all I can say.

Ignore the time stamps on these pictures....I don't know what the problem there is.

Anyway that's all for now. More on my crazy family later :)

Mary, Mary....Quite Contrary??

This blog is devoted to my roommate, Mary. She is only my roommate for exactly 7 more days, because she's going to England for a semester, so I have to write about her fast.

When I first met Mary, I thought she was the sweetest person. She is the studious one and the peacemaker in our apartment. Sometimes she drives me places, or makes me food. It's been very pleasant living with her.

This week, our relationship apparently took a turn that I did not see coming. We entered new territory.

We became the kind of friends that snap at each other.

Yes. It's true.

Two nights ago, Mary's home teachers were over and I mentioned something mean that Mary said at the beginning of the semester, the first mean thing I had ever heard her say. Before I even got to the punchline, Mary interjected, "Hey Heather. I'm glad you curled your hair today." I smiled. That was nice, wasn't it? "Thank you..." I started to say, when Mary jumped in again and said, "--because you didn't shower yesterday." Oh. Oh my. Well that wasn't quite so nice anymore was it?

It turns out that Mary really did like my hair, she just forgot that it wouldn't look very good for me if she went around proclaiming the details of my poor hygiene with her home teachers, eligible bachelors in our ward, sitting right there. And in all honesty, this explanation makes sense, when you know Mary. She doesn't ever intend to hurt people's feelings. But everyone lets out something they didn't really mean to say now and then.

So I recovered. Our friendship was back to normal. This morning, she drove me to school. I tried to give her directions. She kindly went the right way regardless of what I told her. I came home from studying and ate a bread stick she made for me. We sat in the living pretending to study and genuinely enjoying one another's company.

Then came the fateful suggestion. "Can I watch a movie?" Mary asked plaintively. "No," I thought, "Don't. I have to study. Please go back to studying, Mary."

Five seconds later, "What can we watch?" she said, and started looking through our collection of DVD's.

All was lost. I would never get anything done with a movie on. My final grade depended on the continued silence of the TV in our living room. I could have gone back to my room, but I was feeling so antsy that I wanted to be somewhere that I could be social and still get my work done. When the TV is on, I turn into a zombie. I get nothing done.

"No," I said, "Don'ttt put on a movie. Let's just..."

Mary interrupted. "I need you to use your big girl voice," she said.

My mouth stopped moving. I just stared at Mary. Her face immediately registered penitence as she turned sheepishly away and laughed. Five minutes later, I was laughing, too, and everything was better. However, we've passed the point of no return. I am sure that from this day on, our relationship will never be the same.

It's ok though. I love Mary :) and I still think she is the sweetest person.

Joyyyy to the World!

Today I went to ward choir for the first time ever in this ward. I had a brief stint in choir last year and then all of a sudden I just....stopped going, I don't know why. Why did I decide to start going today? I guess the reasons just all stacked up in a way that it would have been silly for me not to go. For one thing, the choir director, a girl in my ward named Megan, stood up and announced that we are singing next week at some big stake thing and she wanted everyone to come to practice today, even those who had never been. It sounded like the perfect day for me to start going! Also we were going to be singing Christmas music (of course) which is my favorite thing to sing. Furthermore, she put out a special plea for more girls to come because the boys have historically outnumbered the girls every time. I am almost always more than happy to volunteer in situations where more girls are needed because they are being hopelessly outnumbered by boys. (Oh and did I mention that Megan was bringing treats for those who came? This also may or may not have contributed to my decision.)

So, at 1:30 this afternoon, I found myself marching through the first real snow this year to the Raintree clubhouse where the choir practice was being held. It was a quite enjoyable practice. We started out singing "I am a Child of God," just to warm up, and then started on the Christmas songs we will be singing in church next week. I don't know what it is about Christmas music, but I cannot stop smiling when I'm singing it. I'm sure I looked ridiculous, but it just makes me want to smile as big as I ever have and sing as loud as I possibly can. It's like I want everyone to hear me singing about Christ's birth or something. We are just singing three songs, O Come all ye Faithful, Joy to the World, and Picture a Christmas.

The people in my ward choir are a really fun group, and we don't sound bad, either! I think I am going to continue going next semester. When I go for a long time without singing, I forget how much I like it, but I really do love singing, even if I'm not the best at it.

At one point during the rehearsal something really funny happened that reminded me of a discussion we just had in my marriage and family class this past week. During one of the songs, the girls sing while the boys hold an "ooooooh" on a D. I guess that's the starting note for "I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas," because while Megan was trying to explain this to the boys, someone started singing that. Almost all of the boys joined in and proceeded to enchant the rest of us with a lovely rendition of this classic Christmas song. Before they could finish, one of the boys who wasn't singing (named Sam) interrupted. "Hey, everyone! Megan is trying to lead a rehearsal and you are all being very disrespectful! She has worked very hard and no one is giving her the respect she deserves. I have been in positions where you have to get up in front of people and I know that it is very difficult when no one is listening or giving you the time of day." etc. He went on for a full minute, calling everyone in the room to repentance.

BRIEF INTERMISSION TO SAY THAT I HATE WHEN PEOPLE THROW SNOWBALLS.

At some point in the middle of his scolding, I realized that I hadn't been doing anything wrong when he got mad; in fact, the girls had all been very cooperative! It was the boys who had started singing "White Christmas," which had prompted this outburst in the first place, that he was really talking to. I looked up and scanned the choir. All the girls had assumed a penitent stance, their eyes lowered and their expressions remorseful. I then glanced over at the boys. Every single boy had his head up, his eyes trained on Sam. The top of the tenor section was rippling as every head nodded in agreement with everything Sam was saying. When his speech was done, I watched as several guys reached over to give him a high five or a congratulatory pound. I was amazed! How could these boys think that he was talking about anyone but themselves?

After pondering this for a few minutes, a discussion we just had in my marriage and family class came to mind. I don't remember how it came up, but I raised my hand and mentioned that I had been doing an exercise video recently and I noticed that the whole time, I was being barraged with enthusiastic compliments by Lena Pareira. I said that I have never seen a football huddle that contained that much love and encouragement, and therefore, I have concluded that boys are encouraged by different things than girls.

My teacher said that was very true and brought up a friend of his who has coached men's and women's soccer for years. His friend said that you need to adopt two totally different coaching methods when you're talking to each team. When he would talk to the men's team during their halftime, she would just tell them everything that needed to be improved. He could maybeee throw in a compliment or two, but for the most part, it was yelling about what they should have done, what they had better do this time around, and what he never wants to see again. As he presented this pep talk, he would look at every boy's face, and he could tell that they were all thinking the exact same thing: "Oh, he's talking about so-and-so. Yeah, he really needs to step it up. I'm doing my best, I'm carrying this team! He's not talking to me, definitely not. Gosh, why don't these other guys get it?" Then they would go out and play harder to make up for those other guys who the pep talk was clearly intended for.

When coaching the girl's team, however, it was a different story. 90% of the talk had to be complimenting their performance. "Great job on this, really nice work. I like how you're working as a team. Susie, I love that pass you did. You girls are awesome." Then he would say one thing, one thing, that they needed to improve on, and every single girls eyes would just drop, and he would know exactly what they were thinking, "Oh, he's talking to me. He's totally talking about that time I totally blew it a few minutes ago. I really should've been on that. There's no excuse, ughhh I haveee to do better! All the other girls are good. I'm the worst on this team. I know he's talking about me." And with just that one little suggestion, the girls essentially do all the work for the coach.

In choir it was the same situation. All the boys were certain that Sam was talking to someone else. All the girls were certain that Sam was talking about them.

Anyway, the rest of the rehearsal went smoothly. We sound beautiful, and I'm sure that we will inspire thousands with our voices next week :)

Feelings

Feelings are a funny thing. They don't always correspond exactly with the things that happen to you. In fact, sometimes the most wonderful things can happen to you and it just makes you feel horrible. Feelings aren't very easy to predict, it seems. Feelings also are very determined to make you feel however they want, no matter what else happens to you. Sometimes that's a good thing, but sometimes I would just rather my feelings stay out of it, thanks.

Time is another funny thing. Everyone perceives time differently. Some minutes take years, and some years take only a few minutes before they are over. One time, my brother Joseph was 8 years old for about 3 years. It was ridiculous! And everyone in my family remembers this. It took forever for him to turn 9. Now he's 13 (ehm. I think?) and I don't even knoww what happened to him being 11. Until these kinks in the system have been worked out, I'm going to have to conclude that we as humans have very crude methods for telling time.

But while we're talking about time, I think it would be worthwhile to mention that one year ago today, Jake took me on our first date together, to go rock-climbing at the Quarry. That was pretty fun, I think :)

PS Here are my new favorite songs:

Listen to the lyrics. They are the most wonderful thing I ever heard.

Phone Twins!

The other day as I walked through the Wilk, a flash of blue caught my eye. Could it be? A baby blue chocolate LG Verizon phone just like mine? My heart leapt as my suspicions were confirmed. Clutched in the hand of someone engaged in what was no doubt a very important conversation was the very same phone that I had in my own pocket. I knew exactly how it felt to have that phone pressed to my cheek, exactly how it sounded when the person on the other line's voice whizzed into my ear from across the country. I felt an unexpected thrill as I thought these thoughts.

I found myself marching towards the Verizon customer, reaching for my phone, ready to tap them on the shoulder and say, "Phone twins!" so they could share in my excitement. Luckily I came to my senses before this potentially embarrassing act was performed, changed my course, and continued to my class, still smiling from the (almost) encounter.

But why did I get so excited over such a little thing?

Here's what I've come up with. I think that, deep inside, we all have that longing to establish commonalities with other people. We want to discover things about us that are similar. We relive good memories over and over again with the people who were there with us.

Similarities are conversation prompters. This Halloween, I dressed up as Alice in Wonderland. At one of the parties I went to, I saw someone dressed as the Mad Hatter wandering around the gym. I ran over to him, grabbed his sleeve and said, "Hey! Are you the Mad Hatter?" He said, "Yes! Are you Alice in Wonderland?" I told him I was. Well obviously we were meant to find each other at this party. Recognizing this, we wasted no time. We took pictures together. We chatted for about 10 minutes. We danced and then we went our separate ways. So maybe I didn't meet a lifelong friend, and maybe I won't even recognize him again if we run into each other at the next sale at the BYU Bookstore, but we had a fun time exploring our similarities at the Halloween party, and sometimes, that's all a similarity is good for...a good conversation.

Other times, though, it can have a much bigger effect. People look for friends who have similar interests, hobbies, schedules, and humors. We date people who like the same things as us. We celebrate our various cultures because we like to know that there are other people like us. Studies have shown that couples are less likely to get a divorce if they are about the same level of attractiveness as their spouse. (Also if they have the same fundamental beliefs about religion, how to raise children, etc. I just wanted to specifically mention attractiveness as a factor.)

I think this desire to seek out people who have things in common with us is because we want to know that we all came from the same place. Maybe it sounds like a stretch, but I am going to tie this into evolution. Scientists look at the differences in a species and try to figure out why those differences are there. They backtrack and try to look at the basic similarities in a species. These similarities are what tell us where all the different branches of the same species started out originally. I am sure that we all knew each other before this life. I am sure that we all have divine characteristics. When we try to find things we have in common with each other, we are searching to find and recognize those basic qualities that we share with one another.

That's all :)

PS I had a wonderful Thanksgiving Break and I'm so excited to go home for Christmas!!!