Will you be my neighbor?

Closing day was last Wednesday. Move-in day was Thursday, which meant that meet-the-neighbors-day was also Thursday.

It all started when Stephen and I pulled up in front of the house just to bask in its beauty one more time before we started moving stuff in. I accidentally honked the horn.

Twice.

The second time, Neighbor #1, who had been dutifully shoveling his driveway, came up to our car.

"Everything okay?" he asked,  sounding a little annoyed.

"Yeah yeah, everything's fine!" Stephen assured him. "Sorry, she wasn't trying to honk."

#1 hesitated. "You honked twice."

"Yeah, she wasn't trying to, we weren't honking at you," Stephen said.

"Everything is good with the car?" #1 asked.

Finally he went back to his house and we got to work unpacking. It wasn't long before Neighbor #2 came along: a friendly elderly gentleman named Robin Forest (true story).

"Are they showing you the house?" he asked.

"We've already seen it," we explained. "We just bought it."

#2 lit up. He told us three times that he was glad we were moving in. He then proceeded to tell us about his old bishop in Washington, his bishop's son, a sister missionary in the bishop's son's mission, and the man that she ended up marrying. It wasn't him, and it wasn't anyone we know. But it was very nice of him to tell us, all the same.

We drove off to get more boxen. When we came back, #2 came over again with more stories! This time he also asked if we were LDS and if we knew when and where our ward met on Sunday. I thought that was very sweet of him.

As we were making another trip into the house, someone driving by slowed to a stop and rolled down their window.

"Are you guys moving in?!" called the driver.

"Yeah, we are!" we called back.

"Oh that's great, nice to meet you!" she responded. "I live next-door. It'll be nice to have neighbors again! What are your names?"

"Stephen," said Stephen.

"Heather," I said.

Pause.

"What are your names?" she said, louder.

"Stephen and Heather!" called Stephen, louder.

Pause.

"STEPHEN AND HEATHER!" yelled Craig, even louder.

Pause.

"I can't...."

"I already met them!" piped up Robin Forest from the porch next-door. "They're Stephen and...."

"I'll be coming back soon, Robin!" the lady in the car interrupted. I don't think she heard him, either. "I haven't forgotten about you, don't worry! Okay see you guys later!"

"Bye!" we called back, and she drove away.

We didn't have much time to miss her, because she came back about a half-hour later.

"Have you guys gotten dinner yet?" she asked.

"Yeah, we just ate," we told her.

"Well I thought you might be hungry, so I just brought you a little something," she said, and handed me two cases of mini-cupcakes and a loaf of sweet raspberry bread from Smith's.

I was very touched! "Ohhh, thank you..." I started to say.

She smiled and jumped in, "Yeah, I get stuff from the store all the time for free! I mean, these have just been sitting out, so they've been chilling outside, they're still good!"

"Yeah totally!" I said. Huh?

"Yeah, so, I get stuff all the time. I'll just leave things on your porch sometimes, and you'll know who it's from, and it'll be great!"

"Wow, thank you!" we said, and went inside. Looking a little closer, I discovered that the cupcakes and bread had expired on December 27th.

But a nice gesture is a nice gesture, and nice neighbors are better than mean neighbors.

(They are also better than neighbors with squeaky beds who live upstairs of you, what?)

Chaste by an Elephant

Today I walked into RelSoc, fully expecting to be spiritually fed via another lesson that I could not hear a word of due to the air conditioning. But that is not what I got.

My bishop for this springtime is a fantastic bishop. He is shortish, and spryish, and sweetish. (Not to be confused with Swedish.) He is enthusiastic and friendly and one of those bishops that just radiates charity. It was this man who stood up immediately following the opening prayer.

"We have this lesson at least once a year," he began. "The dreaded chastity lesson. And I know my daughters didn't always - or ever - love getting this lesson from me, so I'm sorry that I have to be the one to teach it to you girls."

"I think you'll do a wonderful job, Bishop!" one girl exclaimed rapturously.

A catcall? The bishop lost his concentration for a moment. "What's that?" he asked, smile still intact as he looked around the room, trying to identify the interrupter.

"I said, you'll do a wonderful job, Bishop," she said, a little less rapturously.

"Oh, I'm not so sure about that," he said, and tried to get back on track. "I'll just do my best."

He clicked a button and an image of Mt. Rushmore appeared on the screen behind him."Who has ever been here?" he asked. A few hands went up.

"Where is he going with this?" I wondered. "Is he going to take the all-of-these-men-did-it route? The, everyone-is-doing-it-but-you-have-to-do-it-at-the-right-time-with-the-right-person, route?"

"What did you think of it?" the bishop asked.

"It was cool," one girl said. "It wasn't as big as I thought it would be."

"Oh no!" I thought. "You can't say that in a chastity lesson!"

"Exactly!" the bishop said.

......wait, what?

"That's what most people say when they see Mt. Rushmore," he continued. Lots of emphasis on every other word: "It's not, as big, as they thought, it would be."

K but, really. Where are you going with this.

"We'll come back to this idea later," the bishop said. "Right now I want to show you this:"

Another button, and there was the bishop in a beautiful cream-colored tuxedo with a very big bow tie. His hairs were combed neatly. His date's hairs were feathered, just as neatly.

I don't remember why he wanted to show us this picture.....but I do remember that the catcaller struck again when that image lit up the screen. "Lookin' good, bishop!" she cried out.

I think the bishop anticipated some awkwardness in teaching this lesson, but he hadn't quite expected it in the form of loud compliments directed at him. His cheeks flared up and he coughed out an uncomfortable little laugh.

And then, he went on to teach a wonderful lesson. One of the best lessons about chastity that I have sat uncomfortably through. A rocky beginning

ehm, pun intended....

 did not deter my bishop from finishing strong.

2nd place goes to

and 3rd place to 

"What is...? Oh... Getting to know the opposite sex are we? Male female dynamics, all that. Sexual tension... it's all part of the high school experience... Continue, continue, please. But keep it cleaned up. Abstinence is key, abstinence is the best way, to not is....to not."

Aaaand I'd better just stop talking about it now. Happy Sunday!

How the Engaged Becomes Unengaged

"Miss Connor," he says, "When are we getting new name tags?"

There are 3 weeks left of school at this point. I shake my head. "We're not, it's so close to the end of the year, so we don't really need them."

"Oh okay." He keeps standing there, hesitating a little.

"Why?" I ask.

"Well I was just wondering, because I would maybe need a new one. Like with another last name on it."

I blink. His mom and dad separated last year, when he was in 1st grade. Not that it's unheard of to get remarried a year later, but I had just talked to his mom a few weeks ago, and I hadn't noticed a ring on her finger.

"Wait, why would you need a new one?" I ask, looking for some clarification.

"Because my mom is getting married to her boyfriend, and so my name tag would need to have his last name on it."

"What!" I am very excited. I really like his mom, and plus, I can tell this kid needs a solid father figure. I'd rather him have a step-dad than a slew of boyfriends.

"Yeah," he says, smiling.

"When did she get engaged?" I ask.

"May," he says.

I smile. "That's when I got engaged!"

"Yeah." He continues, "She's getting married in August."

"That's the same as me!" He nods. "Do you like her fiance?" He nods again. I'm very excited now.

My email says: "Hello Miss So-and-So, I tested C in reading today and he did a great job! Blablabla teacher stuff. Thanks, Miss Connor."

And then the PS at the end: "C  told me you got engaged in May and are getting married in August. That's so exciting, congratulations!!"

I got the following email back in reply:

"Hello.

wow... well first thank you for letting me know about reading, we love to read together. I'm glad it's paying off.

hahaha well I am not engaged? but Thank you, ha ha ha it must be wishful thinking on his end. He really likes my boyfriend.

I can't stop laughing!"


Well well. I guess this is what I get for telling my mom when I was in 1st grade that my music teacher had us play "Name that Tune" and I was the only one who guessed it when she played a primary song, and that she was in the Columbia 1st ward.

My LIFE

In case you are like the one person on this planet who was not already aware, I am awkward. I've written numerous posts about it. It's usually fine. I can laugh it off and convince myself that it's endearing and then I blog about it and it's fine.

Here are the times it has not been fine:

1. When I ran through the revolving door at the aquarium and almost knocked over a child. Sorry that Will Ferrell made me think it would be okay....

2. When I had my phone in my shirt and then it started slipping down but I had my shirt tucked into my skirt but I was in a hallway by myself so I thought it would be fine to just reach down and readjust it and then the ONE male teacher in the whole entire school came swooping out of his classroom and for some reason I thought it would be less awkward to keep my hand in my shirt than it would be to pretend like I hadn't just had my hand in my shirt, so I kept it there while we walked past each other and awkwardly said hi.....

3. When I ran into a pole on my first day teaching because I was trying to walk backwards to watch my class walk in a line.....

4. I feel like there was one time when I said something about how gross smoking was and then I turned and realized that someone was smoking right next to me and I recall it not being the okay kind of awkward, but I don't really remember why it wasn't okay. But it wasn't.

5. When I went up to my uncle in a movie theater in NYC and asked, "Can I have my ticket now?" And he looked at me and laughed and said, "Nice try!" and I realized that he was not my uncle.....

6. When a boy came over and my roommate asked, "Who is here?" and I peeked out of our room and said, "I don't know, but he's short." And then I realized how not quietly I had said that.

7. When I was at Disney World with my friends for the Spring Trip and we were in line and it was hot and I got really impatient and I said, "I'm about to start shaking this water bottle for entertainment! Aaaggghh!" And then I did shake it, but the lid wasn't on, so water went everywhere and got all over this girl in line behind me and she. was. pisssssedd, and then we still had to wait in line with her right behind us until we got to go on the ride.

We were so happy until that awkwardness happened.

 8. Tonight. When I went to a stake activity and ate some vegetables and ranch dip, and I was excited to get free food until the ranch dip was spicy and I didn't eat very much of it because my mouth was catching on fire. And then we were standing in a group with some cute boys and I was folding my paper plate into fourths, and then all of a sudden it popped out of my hands like one of those fold-up frisbees that you get in the mail from banks and realtors and stuff, and my roommate tried to catch it, but she just kind of batted it up in the air, and ranch went all over her hands and the plate landed and the ranch splatted and this girl who I did not know turned around and got sad that my ranch had gotten on the back of her pants. And I had no napkins. And my roommates ran away. And my face became a tomato. And the cute boys laughed at me. And I realized that I will never stop embarrassing myself. Never. Never.

Uncle Update

I just have a few things to say about this.

1. Many dads came to Dads and Donuts. The uncle did not.

2. At the end of the day, my student came and told me that his uncle still really wanted to go on a date with me.

3. I found his phone number written on a piece of paper on my desk.

4. Then I got a phone call from my student's mom, assuring me that the uncle (her brother) isn't weird and it would be fun if I went on a date with him.

Hmmmm.....

I think I am going to leave this up to you, dear readers. Should I txt the sexy uncle? Yay or nay? Please vote in my new poll! It is located on the right side of this page, up at the top :)

Kevin James in the Classroom

This Friday is Dads and Donuts in my class. At first I was really excited....what's not to love about free donuts and 30 minutes of my day already planned for me?

But then I realized that actually, there is something not to love about it. And I'm not referring to the donuts.....I'm referring to the dads.

See, here's the thing: school is kind of a mom's domain. Moms like to come in and volunteer and eat lunch with their kiddos and then leave and get on with their grocery shopping / book club / yoga class / whatever else they have planned for the day. I hand them a stapler and some papers, they gesture to a wall, I smile, and our conversation is over. I am confident that I will have a perfect bulletin board by the time they leave.

Dads, on the other hand, tend to feel kind of uncomfortable in an elementary school. Oh sure, there's the occasional dad who comes on field trips, the quintessential "cool dad" who struts in with his hat flipped backwards and his hand all ready to high-five anyone close to him, but these dads are not the norm.

The dad who is the norm looks more like....Kevin James. Picture Kevin James.

That should help.

Now picture him walking timidly up to the door of a classroom. He peeks his head through the window. He looks around anxiously until he spots his child. Feeling a little relieved that this is the right classroom, he slowly opens the door, as if opening the lion cage at the zoo, and takes one baby step in. He leaves the door propped open with his foot, makes eye contact with the teacher and murmurs, "Am I....." The teacher quickly nods and gestures him in. "Should I....do you want me to....." he continues. Suddenly there are 24 heads swiveling around to stare at him. You can imagine what that does to poor Kevin.

The interesting thing is, that in the end, the same work gets done, and it looks just as good as when the moms do it. It's just that I sometimes feel nervous that the dads are this close to getting up and running away.

Regardless, this Friday is a day when all the dads of my students are being invited into my classroom. They will sit in the 2nd-grade chairs with their knees up to the ears. They will eat donuts with sprinkles on them and glance around, wondering how they can possibly act in a way that will allow them to maintain some semblance of manliness while seated in such a position.

I was pretty excited about this, since I kind of love awkwardness. But then we got all lined up to go home today and I had this conversation with one of my students:

J: Miss Connor, my uncle wants to go on a date with you.
Me: ......Uh, what?
J: Yeah! My uncle!
Me: Hmmmm. Who?
J: My uncle [I forget his name] wants to go out on a date with you.
Me: [Nervous laughter....what is the protocol for this?? I don't want to go on a date with your uncle....] Oh....
J: So he might come to Dads and Donuts on Friday.

If their dad can't come, the students are allowed to bring a substitute. I guess it's my fault, because I did suggest that they invite their grandpa or uncle. But um, still.

I'm just a little bit nervous for this Friday now.

Unfortunately

I am here to tell you an unfortunate story.

It starts out fortunate, with some cute boys coming and sitting by my roommates and me in Sunday school.

My fortune started to wane a little when I couldn't hear anything that anyone else, the teacher or my classmates, was saying, so I started to color in a missionary letter for one of my best friends.

Which started up the "do you have a missionary?" conversation, which led into the "relationship status" conversation.

Which isn't too unfortunate, until it reminded me that I had to send a txt. And in my head, I was like: "Maybe I shouldn't txt during church. I'm supposed to be paying attention, after all." But since I couldn't hear anything anyway, I figured it would be okay.

So I just leaned myself forward in my little seat. My phone was mere inches from my fingertips.

And then, my heel slipped. I lurched forward. My face smacked the chair in front of me, and every boy in the ward turned to look.

I didn't even know what to do. I turned to the boy next to me and said stupidly, "Did you see what just happened to me?"

Of course he had.

But the story isn't even over there! Because a few minutes later, I decided I could try to get my phone again. I planted my feet firmly on the ground. I leaned forward. My fingers closed around my phone. I started to sit up to type out the txt I had to send.

My phone went clattering to the floor.

I felt like God was really bugged that I kept trying to txt during Sunday School, so I stopped trying then. Unfortunately, this happened several hours ago, and this is still kind of what I look like, in my head:

Smooth Move, Ferguson

Here's the thing about me: I love The Bachelor(ette). I love watching all those guys / girls compete for the love of one woman / man. But I have never had any interest in taking part of such a competition. (Except for that one time when I had a lapse of judgment and almost tried out to be on the show.) So, with that in mind.....

Dear Boy,

Thank you for the invite. I'm sure the other girl was just as excited when you invited her as I was when you invited me. It's kind of cute the way you thought that would be a good idea.

I guess I should apologize for the way I so blatantly refused to play along. I'm sorry that I can count the number of times I spoke to you on one hand. I'm sorry that when I told you I was bringing some friends, I forgot to mention that most of them were boys. I'm sorry that I enjoyed talking to them infinitely more than I enjoyed talking to you. I'm sorry that I didn't look your way whenever you had a supposed-to-be-funny outburst. That must have been frustrating for you, or at least a little annoying.

We all sometimes wish that we were The Bachelor, or The Bachelorette. There's something really exciting about the idea of a bunch of people all vying for your affection. And I'm sorry you didn't get to live that dream like you maybe were hoping. It just doesn't work as well when one of the competitors refuses to compete.

But it was fun.....really. Here's hoping that you have a happy semester, Boy. May your judgment improve dramatically.

Sincerely,
Me.

PS: Lest you think that this was the only mistake you made: Strike one was when you failed to impress my friends. Strike two was when you hated on One Direction. Suchhh a bad choice.

Awkward Turtle

Life can get a little awkward when……….

- You go to an elementary school (where you are supposed to be a teacher) and happen to be wearing the same skirt as one of the students.

-Someone asks how you and this boy know each other and the boy in question quickly replies “We flirt in church.”

-You go to buy a car and learn all about the dealer, including, but not limited to: his conversion to the church, the story of his move from Iran to America, how many kids are in his family, the life story of his favorite son, the story of the time he switched careers from making crowns and bridges for teeth to selling cars, his political leanings…..

-You can’t even bring yourself to smile at the people working at FedEx because that place is a joke and you feel a little bit like they are waxing your nostrils with duct tape because of how much everything costs.

-Sooomebody has to stand up and say how great of a game kissing rugby is, and no one else steps up to the plate, so it ends up being you. And then you’re that girl.

-You tell a few people that you are considering going back to your old ward this upcoming Sunday, and every last one of them responds: “Oh, there are no cute boys in your new ward?”

-And you have to admit that no, there are not.


-You have a dream that you are serving a mission and your mission president's wife is giving a presentation to welcome you to the mission, and she announces that Matt Damon is in the boundaries of the mission, and he loves the missionaries, so feel free to get rides with him whenever, but don't kiss him. She goes on, "It is soooo hard not to kiss him. But don't do it. My gosh. It's, like really hard." And then all the other sister missionaries turn to you and nod and confirm that it is so hard not to kiss him. 

-Also, Arie was supposed to be going to your mission, too, but he broke his leg right before. So that's a bummer. 

-You have to tell a dealer that you don’t want their car, and you find yourself channeling your inner Emily Maynard in the hopes that you will be able to break up with the dealer as gracefully as she broke up with 24 guys.

-You call your mom every day at the same time to ask her to get you un-lost again.

-You seriously consider going to the dollar theater to watch “The Lucky One” by yourself, since your Zac Efron fan friend is currently in a different state and your other friends expressed specific disdain for the fact that he won some Teen Choice Awards.

But for real, how could you find fault with this?

-You watch Toddlers and Tiaras and it has the opposite of the intended effect on you. As in, you watch it and kind of want to put your children in pageants….

-Someone txts you "Be there in a sex."

-The next day, someone else txts you "Ok, see you in a sex."

-Both someones are immediately horrified and correct themselves. Both someones get a txt from you that says, "I'm sexcited!" because you are convinced that it wasn't only funny the first time and that this is a joke that is okay to repeat with different audiences.

-You fill out a damage sheet for the apartment you just moved into, which is the same apartment you painted 2 years ago, and in the spot where it asks about whether the walls are white or painted, you not only list the colors of all the walls but also compliment them.

-You go to buy 50 composition notebooks, 25 pencil boxes, 25 highlighters, 50 colored pens, 30 dry erase markers, 25 desk name tags, 50 boxes of crayons, 60 erasers, 48 glue sticks, and 100 folders at Walmart, and the cashier asks: "Are you a teacher?"

-And you respond, "No, I just have a lot of kids." 

-And for a second, he looks like he believes you.

-You txt a friend and accidentally ask what time "Capture the Fag" is going to start.

-You meet the worst boy ever at the pool, and he is the really persistent kind who keeps trying to talk to you and your friends, despite your blatantly rude body language that clearly says "don't talk to me, in fact would you please go crawl into a hole because that's how annoying you are...."

-You go to a baseball game and are told by the little girl sitting in front of you “Okay, I won’t lick your legs. But they sure do look tasty!”

-You go to the bank to deposit a check like an adult and the banker goes to shake your hand and asks what your name is, and you have to shift everything you're holding to the other hand and pull the lollipop out of your mouth to answer, and you realize that no amount of check-depositing will truly make you into an adult. 

-You and your sister make cupcakes for a friend for her birthday. They are the best cupcakes ever. Then, you don't know where she lives, so you just eat a couple while you wait on getting her address.

-On a possibly related note, you learn, through personal experience, that it is indeed possible to eat 18 cupcakes in 5 days. By yourself. 

And finally, it can get a little awkward when all the things on this list are actually the little things that make your life really enjoyable :)

"Eventually!" Freaks Yelp

The whole week at EFY is super spiritchal, but Thursday is the spiritchal day. *Note: I do know how to spell spiritual, but because of this lady, I always think it's funner to spell it like "spiritchal."*

Anyway, Thursday was full of wonderful things. We went to classes, had a "Living Christ" activity, and learned about what a testimony is. I think my favorite class was Brother Huso's. The Husos the session-directing couple and I want to be just like them when I grow up. 

They are the quintessential Mormon couple; she is tan, blonde, and teeny, he's tan, muscular, and kind-smiley. They both have perfect teeth and do things like hold hands in the hall and fall asleep on each other during the variety show. He runs Iron Man competitions and is a high school principal, seminary teacher, bishop, and swimming enthusiast. She stays at home with their 5 (obviously beautiful) kids, runs marathons, and is an adorable session director's wife. I could go on. 

This is the Husos with one of my girls :)

So as I was saying about Brother Huso's class: on Wednesday, he came around and asked all the counselors what their group needed to hear, and what he should talk about. He started off by showing our answers, and almost every single counselor said something about how their girls needed to know that they are beautiful and awesome and have self-worth and blablabla. 

Then he showed a picture of the Mesa, Arizona temple. 

"So, we're from Arizona," he said. "And this is our temple. And I hate our temple." There were a few gasps and some nervous laughter. "Look at it," he went on. "It's so dumb. Who designed that? It's all boxy...." He clicked to the next slide.

"At least we don't have to go to the Provo temple though. I mean, is this temple a joke? It looks like a cupcake. And that steeple.  I don't know what the designers were thinking." Click.

"I wish I was from San Diego," he sighed. "They have a beautiful temple. Look at it. It looks like a castle. Wooooow. Now that is a temple." Click.

"Salt Lake has a pretty temple, too," he continued. "People come from all over to see this temple. No one comes from all over to see - " clickclickclick " - this temple."

He turned to the girls. "How many of you wanted to punch me when I was talking about my Arizona temple that way?" Lots of girls laughed and raised their hands. "Good!" he said. "How do you think Heavenly Father feels when you talk about yourselves that way? What do you think God cares about more: bricks, or flesh and blood?" 

During this class, he also shared txts that he had the boys send in with a message that they wanted to give to the girls. Most of them consisted of the words "You don't know you're beautiful!" (very original) or "You are beautiful daughters of God!" 

But one or two said things like, "Sarah, this is Jake, and you're my COW! Here's my number. Txt me!"

And you know I teased Counselor Sarah about that. 

Thursday was also Variety Show Day. My group had the final act and it was awe-some! If you are my friend on facebook, I thinkkk you can see it with this link.

If not, I'm sorry. Trust me that it was awesome. And know that I didn't learn the dance, since every time they practiced it was when I was doing variety show tryouts, but I got really excited when they were doing it, so I just danced along in the back. And I reminded myself of Regina George's mom. 

  

Friday was also full of wonderful things. Such as.....

Finishing our morning devotional and opening the door to see this sign (above) that the boys in my company made for my girls. All together now: awwwwww :)

Hanging out with my broder. Who is so spiritchal and awesome and taller than me?? Yeah I'm still trying to get over that one. 

Taking pictures as a company. This is me with the boys who made that wonderful sign, and shared their soda, and asked me to interpret their dreams every mealtime. 

Being secretly photographed every time Dalin and I sat next to each other. 

Or planned Devotional together. 

Or walked around together. 

Or ate together. 

Sometimes the pictures were taken through the leaves of potted plants.

Dalin often begged my girls to take more pictures of us together. He was loving the attention. 

And thus ended a wonderful week in Cincinnati.

Every Friend Yodels

Last week, I had the opportunity to be an EFY (Especially For Youth) counselor in Ohio. Don't ask me how I got this assignment. I know I'm from Maryland. I'm not really sure how it happened.

But since this was the job I was offered, I said okay and made plans to travel with my dad and brother, both of whom I love, and Lerone, who I do not love, to Cincinnati. Undeterred and only slightly discouraged by a series of dumb unfortunate events, in which

Lerone died 

and I cried 

and my dad sighed

and Joseph shut-eyed

and I turned into Dr. Suess,

I finally made it to Xavier University. 

^ this beautiful place!

This girl (below) gave me a nice hug and a summary of orientation. 

She's a peach. We were roommates once upon a time. Then she introduced me to my co-counselor, Dalin, and gave us time to plan and get acquainted. He said, "So tell me about yourself."

I hemmed and hawed for a little bit and then said, "I'm really good at interpreting dreams. I love dreams. Sometimes I have psychic dreams."

Disclaimer: I was really tired. I had woken up at 4 in the morning. For some reason, that seemed like it would be relevant / interesting / impressive. I just forgot that that's not the best way to introduce yourself, because you sound a little crazy. 

Dalin raised his eyebrows politely. "That's pretty cool...." he said. I think he was thinking of how possible it would be to get a new co-counselor. 

Finally I was allowed to go to bed. Ten hours after my head hit the pillow, the children arrived. 

(For those of you who don't know, EFY stands for Especially For Youth and is a week-long program for 14-18 yr old girls and boys where they go and learn about the church and make friends and play games and go to dances and have a grand old time. Everyone is put into groups of about 20-30, called companies, and assigned to a boy counselor and girl counselor, who are co-counselors with each other.)

I introduced myself to my girls. They were adorable. I loved them immediately. 

Other than that, Monday was pretty uneventful: We went outside to meet the boys. There were 12 girls and 8 boys, which is not the awesomest ratio, but is still awesomer than the group with 22 girls and 10 boys. Dalin walked around on his hands and offered my skills as a dream interpreter. We forced the reluctant youth to stand boy-girl-boy-girl. We played some games. We set some goals. We ate some dinner. We went to sleep. 

Tuesday was a classy day. As in, we had classes. It was also a little awkward when:

- I realized that I should have gone to EFY as a youth. Anddd at the same time I realized that I may have been the one getting in trouble for having my shorts too short. 

- I got syrup in my hair. And my co-counselor sweetly pointed out that this was the 2nd day in a row that I got something in my hair. 

- I accidentally referenced The Bachelorette and immediately felt like the worst EFY counselor. 

- Another counselor asked if my co and I were going to get married. 

- A boy pushed one of my girls against the wall, ran away, ran back, barked at her, and then ran away again. What??

- Dalin and I taught dance etiquette to our company and there was a riot when he told them how high on the back their hand should be. 

- One of the counselors saw a couple dancing really close, and he went up and danced by them and then slowly parted them and shimmied in-between them and said, "Leave room for Jesus!" and the girl looked at him like she wanted to kill him. And then later, all the counselors laughed about it. 

I'll blog more later about the rest of the week :)

Bachelorette Heather

Sometimes when I watch the Bachelorette, I accidentally start to feel like I am The Bachelorette. By that I just mean that I relate men on the show to men in my life.

And sometimes I accidentally almost try out to be the next Bachelorette, nearly giving my father a heart attack.

Also, I sometimes get way more flirtatious when I watch the show. Oops.

The Bachelorette also makes me think about what I would like to say to all of the boys who have ever had a part in my life. Sometimes I wish I could line them all up, like for a rose ceremony, but it would be way longer, because I wouldn't just hand them a rose or not. I would go down the line and tell them all exactly what I think of them.

To Bachelor #1, I would say: "I wish I could make up my mind about you. That would be cool."

I would give him a rose. And then I would flounce on over to Bachelor #2, to whom I would say:

"I wish it wasn't so easy to talk to you. I wish you didn't catch on to my jokes so quickly. I wish I didn't love your family so hard. I wish you would go jump in a lake and never take me to dinner again."

And then I would kindly send him on his way, out of my life forever, and turn to Bachelor #3. I would really love to smack him soundly across the face, but ladies on The Bachelorette use their words more than their open palms, so instead, I would probably say something like:

"You are so gay. I don't even have words. You are also super-horny and I don't think I've ever met someone as immature as you are. Anddd you are a slobbery kisser. If I never see you again it will be too soon."

And then I would snap my fingers and have some burly security guards come and escort him out. And by "escort," I mean "defenestrate."

To Bachelor #4, I would say: "Again, no. No. Stop making awkward comments. It's not going to happen. I can't stress this enough. Please stop being self-destructive."

And then, hopefully, Bachelor #4 would take my advice, and I wouldn't give him a rose, and we would both be much happier, and I could move on to the next man in the line.

To whom I would say: "Awkward that I had a dream about you recently. Also awkward that you are suddenly my favorite person in this line, but still in a totally platonic way." And then he would scoot on out the door and back to his lovely wife, who really is lovely, and we would all carry on in our happily separate lives.

Bachelor #5 (since that last one doesn't really count as a bachelor) is a man to whom I really have nothing to say. Besides, "I still wish I had timed that better, so I could have at least gotten a ride on your motorcycle."

And that would be the last time I ever expressed an ounce of sorrow that that is over.

Bachelor #6 is someone I would not be altogether thrilled to see, because I would have to say sorry to him. I'd have to tell him that, all toolish Facebook pictures aside, I actually think he's kind of a catch. And I really should have gone to the lake with him. I would offer him a rose, but I doubt he would take it.

Next I would say, "Oh hello, Bachelor #7. I don't know why I think you are so cute, but I really do. I may have told my friend that you look like Nick Jonas. It's a good thing, don't worry. I also have a secret goal that involves you serenading me by the end of the summer."

Hopefully, he would work extremely hard to help me accomplish that goal. I mean, there is a rose on the line.

But then I would get to Bachelor #8, who would probably have brought his girlfriend in an attempt to make me feel stupid. But I would just smile at her, wondering what on Earth she could be thinking, and tell him that if I had to relive it, I would reject him again. Even now that I know of the awkwardness that followed. Even if I had to relive that 100 times.

Once Bachelor #8 and his girlfriend had gone on their way, I would turn my attention to Bachelor #9. At this point, my burly security guards would hand me a palm tree, with which i would thump him on the head. Then I would say:

"You're the dumbest boy I've ever met! Honestly! And you look like you're twelve! And I don't care that much for you, but I can't understand you for the life of me. Literally, no understanding. Goodbye." Cue the burly security guards.

I would then grab Bachelor #10 by his lapels and shake him. And I would demand that he take me on a date right then, because I still freakin' want a date with that man. Emily always asks, "Will you accept this rose?" But our conversation would sound more like, "Take the dang rose."

When I got back from my date with Bachelor #10, which I'm sure would be a letdown after all this time and anticipation, I would smile winningly at Bachelor #11. And if I was feeling particularly bold, I might just say:

"Yeah, I did make it a point to memorize and call your number during kissing rugby. You better be there when I go again. I promise I'll try to say something clever this time. I was feeling a little concussed last time, okay?"

I'm sure he would respond positively. Especially when I handed him a rose.

As The Bachelorette, I would hand Bachelor #12 a rose, along with date card asking him to go country-dancing with me. For some reason, I think that would be so fun....but I think I would send him home after that.

I would tell Bachelor #13:

"Your girl has frizzy hair. And I don't know why you're in my line, you should be in my friend's line of bachelors.....but while you're here, I might as well tell you that you are ruining my life right now. I hope you're happy."

My producers would come and help him find the right line, and I would turn to Bachelor #14.

"Hi," I would say. "You're an idiot. I am going to txt you one more time....one. And that will be the last time we ever speak if you don't call me up soon afterwards to ask me to go fly a kite with you."

Oh, and then I would say the exact same thing to Bachelor #15. And I would ask them both on a group date for the next week.

And finally, I would ask Bachelor #16 this burning question I've been dying to ask for about a month now: "Are you gay?"

I would also invite this guy to come on my season.....

....provided he doesn't win Emily's heart,

 and I would send this guy:

p-p-p-packing. So fast. And you better believe I wouldn't be going to meet his parents. 

Menstruating Monsters Approaching

Last night, I was at work at Coldstone. I stood behind the register, cheerfully ringing people up. Customers scooted through the line, cheerfully ordering their ice cream.

"This looks so good!" one girl said to me as I rang her up.

"I love that kind!" I agreed.

"I'm going to be having cramps for a week because of it, but whatever," she added, holding out her credit card.

My hand froze mid-credit card grab. "Are you lactose-intolerant?" I asked, a little alarmed.

"No, just when I'm menstruating, I get really....." she trailed off. "Why am I telling you this?"

I laughed and took her card. "That's okay," I said, "I get it."

"You know what I mean?" she continued. "Just with your cycle, you sometimes really shouldn't eat ice cream that is drowning in caramel and other yummy stuff, but sometimes you just really want it."

The receipt printed. "I know what you mean!" I assured her, handing her the receipt. "Can you just sign there?"

She took the pen. "I still don't know why I told you all that...." she said, signing the receipt.

But in real life, I didn't even mind that much. She was actually one of my favorite customers of the night.....maybe even of ever.

Awkward

Today, I went to the Creamery on 9th. This is what I needed to buy:

and .

Oh, also:
.

Whatever. I am a twenty-year-old woman. Making this kind of purchase does not bother me. I am far too mature to be fazed by such a responsibility. Except, I have never had such an awkward experience with it as I did today.

My first priority was getting paper plates, for a class party we are having on Wednesday. Then I picked up some conditioner. Then, as I walked confidently towards the section for feminine hygiene, it happened.

The creamery was suddenly swarmed by all the freshman boys currently living at Heritage. Seven of them, all about eight feet tall, nonchalantly set up camp right in front of my targeted purchase. They looked around, discussing how they should be at Subway instead. I couldn't have agreed more. I wanted them to be at Subway, too.

After idly looking over the hair products for a few minutes, I got tired of waiting. I marched up to them, determined not to be awkward. "Excuse me," I said.

"Oh, sorry," said one of them, and started to meander away. His friends turned to look at what I needed. Twelve eyes fell on the tampons, six necks turned red, and six awkward freshman boys scattered to all corners of the store. I might as well have been buying the antidote to the plague.

Still, in my earnest desire to avoid awkwardness, I took my time to make an educated decision about exactly which brand and box I wanted. I then walked up to the cash registers, where I was rejoined by the six giant freshmen, still talking about how great it would be if they were at Subway instead of the Creamery. I don't know what was keeping them there.

I put my conditioner, paper plates, and tampons on the little conveyor belt. The lady at the register snatched the tampons off the belt, scanned them, and threw them in a bag. Then she smiled sympathetically at me. "How is your day going?" she asked, her voice oozing with compassion.

I smiled. "Great!" I said. She smiled knowingly and started scanning my other items. "How's yours?" I asked.

"Pretty good," she said, and told me my total. I paid, thanked her, and left the Creamery.

Never to return again, because I just don't think I can handle it.

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 :)