Story Time

Greetings readers, it certainly has been awhile. Not that anyone is waiting anxiously by their computers trembling in anticipation for my next post, but I nevertheless feel the need to apologize for my lack of regularity. Finals, etc. I guess.

So, the real reason for this post is to officially leak my engagement into the blogosphere--in case you don't have facebook or haven't talked to me in awhile. So it's out there, I'M ENGAGED. To be married. . . in case that wasn't clear. I suppose you'd all like to hear the story now? No? Well, the title of this blog is story time so you'll just have to hear it anyway; it's fairly simple so don't go getting too excited.

First, we went to a very fancy restaurant in Salt Lake called Faustina's--me and my fiance that is (Christian if you haven't already gathered). It was just fancy enough to serve a dessert with lavender in it, and yes, I ordered dessert. After that we went to see the Utah Symphony perform Haydn's Creation at Abravanel Hall, which, by the way, was fantastic. Once our taste buds and ears had been sufficiently entertained, we decided to walk around down town and treat our eyes to some Christmas lights. We walked first around the outside of temple square (the square itself was closed), and then around the downtown streets.

By this time I was freezing cold and getting a little sick of all the drunk folks hanging out downtown. Luckily for Christian I have no sense of direction so I thought we were headed back to the car when he wanted to sit down on a bench at the Gallivan Center. Really? A bench? I'm freezing my toosh off. But I sat down anyway and cuddled up to him only to turn and find him giving a little speech and holding out a ring. After gawking for a good fifteen seconds I managed to say yes and then quickly yanked my gloves off and squealed at him to put the ring on. I have to gush for a moment and tell you how beautiful and sparkly it looked with all of the Christmas lights reflecting off of it. We reveled in our love for a moment (not a very long one, it was still cold), solicited a couple of slightly tipsy people to take a picture, and headed home. When I arrived home I found a dozen white roses on my bed (good thing I had made it that day) and a very sweet note. Nice move on Christian's part in case I had started to doubt myself already ;) .

So there you have it. The story of our engagement. No definite date yet, though it's a tentative May 1st. I will know for sure by tomorrow so hold on to your boots.

10 Reasons to Love November

1. Pumpkin chocolate-chip cookies

2. Pumpkin pancakes

3. Pumpkin bagels

4. Pumpkin cream cheese

5. Pumpkin cheesecake

6. Pumpkin pie

7. Pumpkin casserole

8. Pumpkin soup

9. Pumpkin seeds

10. Pumpkin cheesecake Ice Cream

I may or may not have consumed all of these things within the same two week period.

The American Way

There are times in life when you just have to stop and appreciate the ridiculous conveniences that surround us. Sometimes it's when I get a freakish craving for french fries at two in the morning; today it's the wonders of late night grocery shopping. It turns out that I much prefer this kind of shopping. There are no crowds. There are good parking spots and available carts with non-squeaky wheels. I can compare brands for as long as I like without feeling someone breathe down my neck or hearing the impatient tapping of toes. I can stop in the middle of the aisle to review my list and stand on my cart. I can even stare confusedly at the frozen meats for as long as I want without feeling slightly embarrassed. It's actually relaxing. Grocery stores frequently stress me out, but not at 1am. At 1am I just breeze up and down those aisles, sometimes even singing along to the grocery store radio. Thank you America.

For the beauty of the earth

So, I know that I have already posted my share of I love fall pictures, but that doesn't change the fact that today is beautiful. Things are feeling stormy outside and as I walked home from campus the wind was blowing hard and the world was raining leaves. And it was wonderful. And as I stopped and stared up into the beautiful oranges and yellows falling all around me and staying on my shoulders, I wanted to share it with all of you. Especially with Angelica because she lives in Phoenix and doesn't get to see this. She does get to see Layla and Weston every day though and for that I am eternally jealous.

Greetings

The other day Christian and I went to Borders and I saw the coolest greeting cards by the counter (because everything by the counter at those fancy-dancy bookstores is by definition cool). They were super artsy and had a sort of semi-3D thing going on. Pure inspiration. Of course they were way overpriced, and of course after I saw them I could think of nothing but making cards. Unfortunately, it was already too late to go to the craft store and get fancy-dancy supplies (which would probably end up costing me more than just buying a card), so I had to make do with what I had. It was fun. I want to make greeting cards as a career. And cookies. And stuff with cheese in it.

Why God Created Sundays

Where There's a Will There's a Way

WE have faith in old proverbs full surely,

For Wisdom has traced what they tell,

And Truth may be drawn up as purely

From them, as it may from "a well."

Let us question the thinkers and doers,

And hear what they honestly say;

And you'll find they believe, like bold wooers,

In "Where there's a will there's a way."

The hills have been high for man's mounting,

The woods have been dense for his axe,

The stars have been thick for his counting,

The sands have been wide for his tracks,

The sea has been deep for his diving,

The poles have been broad for his sway,

But bravely he's proved in his sriving,

That "Where there's a will there's a way."

Have ye vices that ask a destroyer?

Or passions that need your control?

Let Reason become your employer,

And your body be ruled by your soul.

Fight on, though ye bleed in the trial,

Resist with all strength that ye may;

Ye may conquer Sin's host by denial;

For "Where there's a will there's a way."

Have ye Poverty's pinching to cope with?

Does Suffering weigh down your might?

Only call up a spirit to hope with,

And dawn may come out of the night.

Oh! much may be done by defying

The ghosts of Despair and Dismay;

And much may be gained by relying

On "Where there's a will there's a way."

Should ye see, afar off, that worth winning,

Set out on the journey with trust;

And ne'er heed if your path at beginning

Should be among brambles and dust.

Though it is but by footsteps ye do it,

And hardships may hinder and stay;

Walk with faith, and be sure you'll get through it;

For "Where there's a will there's a way."

Eliza Cook

Urban Spoon

I love to eat. I love to eat out. I love to eat out at delicious food establishments. That is why, my friends, I love Urban Spoon. My now favorite friend Camille introduced me to this magical site at work the other day and I am addicted. I have more than once attempted a google search to find new/well-reviewed restaurants (I'm not cool enough to have an i-phone with fancy restaurant apps), and let me tell you, it has never ended well. Compound that with the fact that I have recently decided that I must branch out from my usual restaurant rut and discover new and original restaurants--I have spent too long chain-frequenting and succumbing to the mass-production-profit-greedy man!

So, back to the point. My problems have been solved--or at least quelled somewhat. Urban Spoon is a website where users in various cities rate local restaurants and/or write reviews. My favorite part is that the reviews are organized by genre so it's easy to find whatever kind of food you're craving. Although I should say that there are some restaurants listed which don't need or deserve to be renewed (Wendy's, really? Do we need to review Wendy's?), but it's nevertheless a great way to find the best in your city. So, all of you get on there and get reviewing so that I can find more yummy restaurants! Get eating!

[NOTE: I don't mean to brag, but I just want you to know that I take secret and great satisfaction when I click that little abc check button on the top of my post box and it brings up a little green message that says: No misspellings found. It makes me feel independent of machines.]

Cooky

I really like decorating sugar cookies. I REALLY like it. So, figuring I'd seize the last few drops of summer time, I headed to the cooking store to find some non-holiday-themed cookie cutters. I then proceeded to spend all night. . . and a good way into the morning decorating. I think I might be a little mental, but look how pretty!

Really?

Not that I'm making excuses or anything, but I don't normally watch reality television. While in Phoenix, however, my sister Courtney was watching the show So You Think You Can Dance which I found surprisingly entertaining as I sat down to join her, soon accompanied by my sister Angelica. I would like to share with you a little tid bit of the glory we beheld. With all the authority of reality television behind him, one of the judges boldly uttered the following train wreck of attempted poetics--looking very proud of himself--and all to a glassy-eyed audience seemingly awed by his eloquence yet apparently oblivious to the actual words that were coming out of his mouth. And without further adieu . . .

The performance ends, the host chats it up with the panting dancers for a moment, and all eyes turn to the judges for their expert opinions. Placing his chin on his elbow searching for the right words to express his profound critique, taking a deep breath and a long pause, and gazing heavenward as if for divine inspiration, he begins to speak:

"Being outside of your comfort zone represents umfa. . unfam. . unfurmiriarity (he struggles with this word but it doesn't seem to deter him and he moves forward with the utmost confidence) and it also represents darkness. And when faced with certain challenges like being out of your comfort zone of your gen-gen-genre you have to go and befriend characteristics of your challenge and you see the music. But when you see the music, you have to see certain pieces of music with your ears. And when you see with your ears, there is no darkness. And I saw no darkness within this routine."

Applause erupts from the awestruck audience who have just been privileged to hear from the Homer of our age. But just when you thought he was finished he clears his throat and begins again over the enthusiastic cheers:

"A lot of dancers they tend to forget that there's a pocket of music [. . . like a pita pocket? I'm not following. . .]. Each specific you know piece of music has a pocket and you have to get in between those instruments, you feel me?" [no, I really don't].

Now that's what I call entertainment. But seriously, who let this guy on T.V.?

St. Lucia

When I decided to write an Honor's Thesis I had no idea it was going to involve this many perks. I've been in St. Lucia in the West Indies for the past two weeks--a trip funded by the Honor's Program--working on my thesis. I'm writing on a book-length poem called Omeros by Derek Walcott who lives in St. Lucia. The poem is anchored in St. Lucia and is essentially an investigation of the St. Lucian identity. Consequently I was able to go and spend time on the island, positioning myself within the poem, visiting the various sites mentioned, and getting a feel for the culture and issues there. I've gotta say, not a bad way to spend two weeks.

Christian came with me as he's prone to take any and every opportunity to travel and we spent 12 glorious days on the island. The landscape was absolutely stunning and the culture pretty fascinating. I was also able to meet Derek Walcott--the author--who turned out to be quite funny. I'm sorry I'm not writing more here, perhaps I'll expound on my experiences later but right now going into any sort of detail seems overwhelming. So I'll just post a few pictures and call it good for now.

If you are what you eat. . .

. . . meet Lanee:

Most Important Meal

I woke up. I went to the kitchen to eat breakfast as always. I pulled out some oatmeal and cooked it up. As it was plain oatmeal I threw in a spoon full of extra crunchy peanut butter and coconut. Protein, flavoring, good. Then I thought: I should put some chocolate chips in there. So I did. They melted and made a gooey, delicious, brown substance which I promptly began scooping into my mouth. This is really good, I thought. This is really familiar, I thought next. And it was then that I realized that I was essentially eating no-bake oatmeal cookies in a bowl for breakfast.

Flighty

I went on a lovely one day vacation on Monday. Well ok, it wasn't lovely, but it was a lot more lovely than the 48 hour drive endured by my parents and little brother. So here's how things went down:

I got up early Monday morning and headed to the airport to catch a one connection flight to Minneapolis where I was to meet my immediate family, to join my extended family who live there for a lovely week at the cabin. I made it through security--after a slightly creepy incident involving the security guard hitting on me--and rolled my little carry-on happily to my gate. I boarded the plane, was seated next to a very young, very lovey couple, and before I knew it I was ready for take off. A mere hour and five minutes later we landed in Denver where I was to have a two and a half hour layover before jetting off to Minneapolis, the land of the mosquitoe.

To my surprise, Colorado greeted me with an alarming message on my voicemail; it was my mother telling me that due to some unforeseen circumstances the vacation had been cancelled. This seemed especially odd since my mom, dad, and brother had just driven 24 hours to the lake-y state less than a day before. After talking to my mom it was determined that unless I could get my flight changed back to Salt Lake (I was flying on a one-way ticket) I would have to fly to Minneapolis where they would meet me and then drive the 24 hours back to Salt Lake. This did NOT sound like a good option.

Still confused about the cancellation and desperate for another option I approached the airline's help desk. I walked up to the woman behind the counter and clumsily attempted to describe my situation--explaining that someone in my family was sick and that our vacation was cancelled and that I had to get back home. Conveniently enough I was on the verge of tears the entire time, something I was not fabricating but that I'm sure only added to my case. I think maybe it was the prospect of driving 24 hours with my coughing brother in a small car that made me a little misty. In any case, the woman clearly felt sorry for me and managed to get me on a flight back to Salt Lake in a half an hour and waived all of the fees.

Relieved, I headed over to McDonalds to be reminded of the horrors of airport fast food, and before I knew it was back on the plane with the same grumpy flight attendant who had manned my earlier flight. Two crosswords and a sudoku puzzle later I was back home enjoying the rosy memories of my one hour Denver vacation.

Still, all your sympathy should go to the ones who drove to Minnesota and back. I'll take the two one hour plane rides any day.

(By the way, can anyone tell me who told Frontier Airlines that it was a good idea to paint creepy animals on the wings of their planes? Really, and Delta's going under?)

7 Day Itch

For the last week or so I have had a mad itch to clean something, to organize something, to glue something to another something in a sorry attempt at an art project. I feel this compelling need to do or create something that will somehow dramatically increase the organizational and aesthetic quality of a space. A need. Unfortunately, everything I can think of dramatically reorganizing is in my apartment where I will only be for another two months. Thus it seems useless to take on a project there--to lose all of the benefit in two months?! I can't even deep clean anything because I am going out of town for a week and can't stand the thought of scrubbing on my knees only to leave it for my roommates to enjoy and soil. So you can see that I have a problem here.

Now I have tried to fix this. I have reorganized all of the drawers at work, I bought a little tiny adorable day planner to micro-organize my day in, I've been making my bed every morning, I even bought a new dress today--which usually solves everything. But to no avail, I itch on. Raar.

Angels Among Us

(Disclaimer: This post is in no way intended to be sacrilegious and should be read with the knowledge that its author intends no measure of seriousness, only a little light-hearted humor)

Remember that talk by Elder Holland from October Conference about angels surrounding us? (If you're not a member of the LDS church, don't be offended, just play along--the majority of the people that read this--at least those who comment, are). Well, he talks about the people around us being angels, and let me just tell you, I just met one.

I am at work right now, on my usual Wednesday night shift (otherwise known as the longest shift of all time). Twenty minutes ago, about five hours in to the shift of death, feeling very bored of my book and otherwise quite restless, an angel arrived. I looked up from the desk to see a twelve pack of Diet Coke floating by in front of me. Ok, there was a girl carrying it but I didn't really see her. Turning to my coworker I said something like "Oh man, now I want Diet Coke". Apparently the girl heard me and she turned excitedly (anyone with that much caffeine does everything excitedly) and asked if I wanted one. I laughed a little and shrugged it off but she insisted and before I knew it there was a beautiful, shiny can of Diet Coke in my bored, restless hand. It was. . . a miracle.

In other news, on my way home from work I ran into a raccoon. Not a joke. It arched it's back and ran away. Coincidence?

An Ode

To Interlibrary Loan:

Because you give me any book
My heart could dare desire
Because you don't ask why my life
Would one such book require

Because my every whim you grant
And always very quick
I needn't even leave my chair
It's processed with one click

Because you give me access free
To every subject matter
I write to you this ode of praise
To thank and dote and flatter

I want the world to know the joy
You've brought into my life
That maybe they will seek your aid
Whilst in literary strife

Best Week Ever 5/4 - 5/9

You may or may not have had a VH1 obsession at some point in your life. You may have even watched it when it still had something to do with music, or you may be one of those who are now shamefully remembering the entire day you wasted watching a marathon of America's Next Top Model. You may be proudly relating to yourself the fact that you have never watched VH1 or maybe that you don't even know what VH1 is. For all of those may-nots, the last I checked (which might have been 11th grade), they played a show every week called Best Week Ever where comedians and other famous-for-no-reason-personalities commentated on the week's events, counting down the best things about it. Anyway, I have decided to do this on my blog (except of course, I am not a comedian, nor am I famous, nor do I intend to comment on anything significant to anyone else). This is a good idea for several reasons: first, it will give me an excuse to blog about nothing and post ridiculous pictures; second, it will help me to appreciate things (this idea must have originated in a relief society lesson somewhere); and third, I will update my bloggedy blog more frequently. So, without further adieu and unsolicited advertising:

10. I got into both of the classes that I want to take Fall semester which were previously full. This means there will be no need to endlessly harass the professors of said classes until they let me in--although I had some solid strategic planning underway. Unfortunately, I failed to realize that one of them conflicted with a class I was already registered for. . . woops. I am now considering staying in both classes and running between them everyday pretending that I have some sort of bladder problem (which some would argue is true).

9. I discovered a phenomenal antique store in Salt Lake where I bought some phenomenal jewelry and had exciting conversation with a phenomenal old woman who was buying phenomenal old barbies from a phenomenally shady looking man.

8. I chopped my hair off. Chopped it right off.

7. While chopping my hair off I finally found the perfect hair stylist. For years I have been fantasizing about having a stylist that always gave me a good cut and was somehow not ridiculously over priced and was also probably gay. Instead I always ended up at great clips or getting my hair butchered by a strange Hispanic man who kept cutting presumably because he so enjoyed chatting in Spanish resulting in the loss of much more hair than I had intended. But I have found her, and she is wonderful. But not gay (that I know of).

6. Sunshine

5. I experienced the joy that is Banana Cream Cheesecake from the Cheesecake Factory, courtesy of my little brother Sam.

4. Cinco de Mayo party = huge success. Viva La Mexico!

3. I finally decided on a topic for my thesis and it is officially underway! I'm writing on Derek Walcott's epic poem Omeros and will probably be in St. Lucia for a week in July doing research.

2. I got to hang out with Ms. Alysha Bruce (see photo) for the first time in a long time and it was wonderful.

1. Christian made me breakfast and dinner yesterday for "Future Mother's Day" and it was delicious. And he wore my ruffle-y apron.

da DUM da DUM

As a prerequisite to this post it is necessary to review the previous posting entitled "Urban Jungle."

Today I walked out of my new apartment and sitting on my doormat was a raccoon. Granted it was a dog toy with a bell inside, about the size of my forearm and probably belongs to the therapy dog that just moved in next door, but still. They are following me. WHOA.

Sustenance, Shelter, Sleep

I can't decide whether to make this first line a reference to the Jungle Book and "bear necessities" or something much more sophisticated like Thoreau's outline of our basic needs. Then again, The Jungle Book was based on Kipling, but I don't think there were any singing bears in the book. Probably I would choose the singing bear anyway. I'm not feeling very sophisticated.

Sustenance
I can't actually remember the last time I went to the grocery store, which probably means it was a really long time ago. During finals week--and ok, the two weeks preceding--my roommates and I collectively abandoned the kitchen. No one felt they had the time or energy to cook or clean and so it became a quarantined room that you avoided entering at all costs because the sink was full, the trash overflowing, and the smell permeating. Plus we had to be out in a couple of weeks anyway which would require a thorough cleaning so why bother, right? (apparently). At some point I had to stop drinking water at home because I couldn't fit my Brita pitcher under the faucet to fill it up. Also there has been no time for grocery stores and I wanted to avoid moving one ounce more than absolutely necessary. Now finals are over and I am finally in my new apartment and there has still not been any time for grocery stores. Basically I have eaten out more in the last month than probably in my entire life combined. I have had sandwiches from every place imaginable: Subway, Blimpie, Gandolfo's, Einstein's, Great Harvest, and even a vending machine once. I did eat at home this morning, I found some oatmeal in the bottom of one of my boxes. Currently I am at work drinking an orange soda. I don't think I have ever bought an orange soda in my life. It may in fact be the most artificial liquid on the planet. But after ten minutes of staring blankly at the bleak options in the vending machine, I had a sudden flashback to Kenan and Kel and somehow decided to buy an orange soda.

Shelter
On Wednesday night I finished my finals, and my best friend The Branbury decided to kick me out of my apartment at noon the next day. Lovely. Consequently I spent all of Wednesday night and Thursday morning frantically shoving things into boxes and scrubbing mysterious marks from walls in preparation for our "white glove cleaning check". When the RA's finally showed up it turned out to be more of a cleaning glance, which was a little frustrating since I had spent so long cleaning, but at least they didn't notice the holes in the walls where the mirror hung or the marks on the cabinets from the tape that held pictures up. Thanks to Christian and friends I was able to get my masses of possessions up the three flights of stairs at my new apartment, where I then did the best I could to make it look that I had not in fact just transferred ten million (slight exaggeration) boxes into the living room so that Missy could get passed off for moving out--I'm not technically allowed to move in for another week. My other two roommates are out of town until some unknown date so currently it's just me and my lovely boxes which I have not had one second to unpack. I've found if I can close my eyes fast enough when going to bed I can relax enough to sleep without thinking about the boxes. By all current estimations I will have time for those on Tuesday. There are also about 15 lamps to keep me company and one mysterious ottoman. The mystery remains as to how they all came to reside in the same apartment.

Sleep
I also haven't really slept in awhile. I mean, I've slept, just not for more than four to six hours at a time. Although last night I did get a rousing eight hours. Still, I think I'm due for a good long marathon of slumber. Maybe once the boxes stop talking to me in my sleep.


I forgot one last S. . . . .

SPRING!!!

Glory glory glory hallelujah.

Everything's Amazing, Nobody's Happy

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LoGYx35ypus

Oh to be ten years old. . . .

I am at work in the Learning Resource Center at the Harold B. Lee Library on Brigham Young University campus two days before finals. I am at work, surrounded by frantic students with rumpled hair, some odd imprints on the sides of their exhausted faces (the unmistakable sign of an unplanned nap on a keyboard or textbook), stacks of books slipping out from under each arm, barely-honor-code-appropriate 5 0'clock shadow on their faces, and clad in the same sweatshirts and old jeans they wore yesterday which were doubtless picked indiscriminately from a pile on their floors that has been there since the last time they did laundry--if they can remember when that was. Yes, everyone is in a state of frenzied half-consciousness, exchanging knowing glances with passers-by, acknowledging the fact that a wave and a smile might just suck up the last of their energy if they tried it. Everyone, that is, except the blond-haired, blue-eyed, rosy-cheeked ten year old standing in front of me. There he stands, using our phone for the seventh time in the last twenty minutes to call his mom who works upstairs, smacking his gum, and carelessly spinning his neon orange yo-yo in ten feet concentric circles which I can't help thinking could easily take out a sleep-deprived freshman. I can hear him trying to convince his mom that he cannot complete the rest of his homework alone, that it would be more fun if they could do it together later, and that he should therefore just watch TV until she gets off of work. Yep, I totally wish I was this kid. I want a neon-orange yo-yo, and I can already think of five solid arguments as to why I should watch TV and not do my homework.

Coping

I have discovered that with great stress comes great addiction. I'm serious, I find myself thinking constantly of the next food/beverage I will consume--my sole consolation in a day of paper writing.

When I discovered they sell these babies in the ever-so-convenient twilight zone of the bookstore, it was pretty much over. One on a good day, three on a bad one. This can't be good. But it is, it's soooo good.

Other coping strategies include: Cottage cheese, Olive Garden, goldfish, impromptu yoga, and excessive hand washing and teeth brushing.

P.S. Don't judge me, I'm watching a movie for homework right now, it's multi-tasking not time-wasting.

Metaphor

As I was standing behind the desk at work gazing absent-mindedly (aka staring down super creepily) at the patrons (that's the fancy name we employees call them) walking through the library, contemplating the gloom and destruction known as finals that lay before me, I came up with the perfect metaphor. It's almost an allegory really. I should give some credit here to Amber, my lovely coworker, who, after being subjected to my metaphoric musings, suggested I write a blog about it (as far as I can figure, this could be for one of two reasons: a. she noticed I haven't posted on here for a month, or b. (and maybe more likely) she thought there was a good possibility that I would stop talking and sink back into thought with this suggestion). So here it is in all its glory (or not):

I was canyoneering several years back with my dad and sister, and we came upon a swim about halfway through the canyon. We stopped for a moment, as one does before any obstacle, and I stood at the brink of the dark abyss of water before me feeling masses of dread and anxiety weigh heavily on my body. This was the. last. thing. I wanted to do. Seriously, the last. It was freezing. The water was stop-your-breath-lump-in-throat cold and there was no sunshine reaching this cranny of the canyon. The canyon was narrow and winding, making the length of the swim impossible to determine--no end in sight. The water's depth was impossible to tell and my feet wouldn't touch bottom. The water was dark and rotten-smelling with a thick film of dust and slime on the surface. And possibly the best part, there was a dead rabbit floating about ten feet into the swim. A dead, unavoidable rabbit. Dead for long enough to be half decayed but still recently enough to be disturbingly recognizable as a close relative to Thumper. As I stared at the cold, narrow, winding doom that lay before me, the inevitability of it started to sink in. I realized that there was absolutely no way I could avoid this. I couldn't turn around; it's not like you can climb back up 60 foot rappels. Even as I realized this my body reeled back in obstinacy. I didn't want to do it. I really, really didn't want to. I remember the feeling of absolute dread as I realized I HAD to do it, that there was no alternative. Needless to say, I did it, I survived, and I accidentally kicked some stinky dead rabbit water in Angelica's face.

This, that I have just described, is what finals are like. They are there, they are unavoidable, they appear to be never ending. Even though every fiber of my being is searching for a way out, I know there is none. They are a necessary evil and I cannot get around them. I honestly cannot see the end of the next two weeks, it does not exist in my psyche. I have to overcome the all too natural resistance and force my body forward. And I might even get some dead rabbit water kicked in my face. So it goes.

Josie May

GOOD NEWS: another healthy addition to the Aho clan has arrived!

Josie May Aho was born early Tuesday morning to Merritt and Stacie in Phoenix. She is perfectly healthy and adorable. I can't wait to meet her! Congratulations guys!

Urban Jungle?

SITUATION: Out my front door, up seven stairs, ten feet down the sidewalk, where the untamed wilderness of the Provo River meets the slightly more civilized world of the Branbury live a legion of raccoons (I would say family, but who am I to assume their relation? Or tribe, but that just seems to conjure up some sort of politically incorrect connotations involving Native Americans).

ORIGIN: These furry little friends (or foes. . . this has yet to be determined) first appeared a couple of months ago. The common consensus seems to be that they were originally attracted by the cat food that some well-intentioned individual started putting out to support the growing number of stray cats also wandering the area. The unintentional result seems to have been the creation of a feeding ground for any and all scavenging animals.

ENCOUNTERS: I will admit that when my roommate Heather first described the raccoons I thought she might be lying, or at least that the animal in question could have been a particularly large model of the aforementioned cats, plumped up by the free food. After my other two roommates and at least three neighbors described similar sightings however, their existence became undeniable. By far the most eventful encounter was Heather's recent. . . experience. For some reason I still haven't quite pinned down Heather was delivering brownies to some boy at two in the morning. While returning to our apartment and text messaging, she heard a hissing in front of her. Quickly pocketing the phone Heather looked up to see one of our furry masked friends poised in the middle of the sidewalk, teeth bearing, hissing (Heather has re-enacted the event for me in the very same spot so as to ensure accurate reporting--though she found recreating the proper hissing noise somewhat difficult). At this point she ran. Taking shelter one stairwell over she watched anxiously for an opening. After a couple of minutes the raccoon retreated a bit towards the riverbed and Heather took the opportunity to sprint to the door and get inside. Fearless and curious as she is, she apparently came back out to observe the raccoon, who, upon seeing her again re-commenced hissing and began approaching her. After slamming the door, Heather spent the next couple of minutes watching through the blinds as the raccoon descended the stairs and sat in front of our door, staring. Now I'm not trying to be paranoid, but I think there might be something up here, are we being stalked by raccoons?

FACTS: According to a disturbing account on This American Life (a public radio show), rabid raccoons are likely to attack and are almost impossible to kill (think 50 bludgeons with a tire iron and five gunshots--two separate accounts). Also, apparently they can pick complicated locks and remember them for up to six years--it says so on Wikipedia which anyone can edit so you know you're getting the best information out there (thank you Michael Scott).

SUGGESTIONS: This is the part where you say something.

Eternal Perspective

THIS, right here, is why I will one day marry

A Very Good Year

All The Best Moments and Pictures of 2008:

JANUARY: When we were at Chili's (it's the new golf course) for my birthday, Estee hit on our 200 lb. black waiter only to find out his girlfriend was sitting two tables over staring us down. She also told him he looked like the black guy on The Office, which he apparently took to mean Stanley instead of Darryl and appeared to offend him somewhat.

JANUARY and 1/2: Not one, but TWO bad haircuts this year! YEAAHHH. In January, as you may recall, I chopped it off to a couple inches above my chin and when it finally grew back I marred my forehead and created a strange excuse for bangs. So I think what I'm saying is, I should totally cut my hair again.

FEBRUARY: Ok, speaking of hair, in February a couple of us went up to stay at a condo in Park City for the weekend and someone had the brilliant idea to dye every one's hair. SO, Estee dyed hers "dark brown", which turned out black, which made her look a little like Cher. Ingrid dyed hers "darker blond" which in fact turned out to be gray, and later pink when we tried to fix it, and finally a nice shade of light brown after an expensive and panicked trip to the salon. All in all a fabulous weekend.

MARCH: When the sun came out this year, all of Helaman Halls migrated to the quad equipped with blankets, sunglasses, and some homework which they promptly forgot about the moment they laid down to soak up the rays. Those were the best days.

APRIL: Ummm. . . so this one time in April I went skiing on a gloriously sunny day on the last day of the season. On medication that made my skin sensitive. With no sunscreen. Then my face turned a color red rarely seen further than a mile from the sun, then a lovely shade of crackly yellow and finally, four days later, it evened out into a nice tomato red and I could leave the house again. Well, I won't do that again.

MAY: I finished my first year of college and left the dorms behind for good. This involved about 37 trips to the car to load up all of my stuff and Deb's and my very last cleaning check during which our RA sauntered into the room in her characteristically slow and heavy-stepped gait, scrutinized every last surface of our room (including all of the really high ones which she could see and I couldn't), and then in her heavy southern drawl asked me to clean the windows again.

JUNE: In June Courtney and I volunteered for the Ragnar Relay which various family members were running. We were assigned to be there from 4:30am to 10am. Consequently I had a 44 oz. Diet Coke. That coupled with Ragnar stickers, t-shirts, and plenty of tired runners to harass with excessive amounts of cheerfulness and on-the-spot ditties (some with accompanying dances) made for a seriously good time.

JULY: For about two months this year I looked like a Dr. Seuss character with a polka dotted tummy courtesy of Ecuador's finest bed bugs. Totally Awesome.

AUGUST: While at the James Taylor concert at Usana (best concert EVER) I sat behind a deceptively mild looking middle-aged couple, probably in their late 40's or early 50's who, between beers, wowed the crowd with their highly suggestive and energetic dance moves and make-out/necking sessions. Definitely one of the more disturbing things I've ever witnessed but admittedly mildly entertaining.

SEPTEMBER: Emma hosted a superhero themed birthday party at the tumbling gym; consequently, Sara sported a rose-patterned swimsuit paired with some lovely tights and a cape which prompted the exclamation: "ROSE WOMAN IN THE SKY!" (ask me later for proper voice inflection directions) which has since been repeated at least once a day, taking on meanings ranging from "hey" to "I have nothing to say and desperately want to enliven the moment"; needless to say it has become a staple in our every-day jargon and thus deserves due recognition.

OCTOBER: A couple of friends, my dad, and a friend's dad Bruce Cummings took a canyoneering trip near Hanksville at the North Wash canyons in October. Pretty much as a constant commentary throughout the trip we were throwing out quotes from Baby Mama and a certain Mad TV skit, and I think one of the best moments of my year was hearing Bruce quoting these (which he had never seen, and would probably, under any other circumstances, find completely ridiculous) on the last day. This just proves that if you repeat anything enough times it becomes funny.

NOVEMBER: Definitely the highlight of the year: the birth of Weston Bruce Hatch. Weighing in at some 7 pounds at birth the kid has gained a pound a week since and is now a 2 month old in 6-9 month outfits and one of the most adorable little chubsters I've ever laid eyes on.

DECEMBER: Julie and Emily threw a SWEET New Years party filled with lots of insane theatre (English accent please) where I was able to act like a crazy person (myself) and no one even gave me a second glance. It was fabulous.

Here's to another good one!