Parting isn't an easy thing..

...unless what you are giving up is for an iPhone.

It's maybe one of the greatest inventions of all times (besides skinny jeans and George Foreman grills).

I.LOVE.MY.IPHONE.....but it came at a price.  And not just the $200 + $100 Verizon cancellation fee.

No, it was a sentimental price of voicemail messages of days long past.

This probably isn't the right and proper forum to be admitting this....but what the heck. Maybe I'm doing a service to everyone by disclosing that I do it too....(Nod with a yes).

No longer will I have the following to resurface every few months for re-saving approval and make me crack a nostalgic smile when trying to check the missed call from my gloomy credit card company:

1. Grandma singing me "Happy Birthday" two years ago.
2. Boyfriend #1 using his "smaushy" voice and telling me he couldn't wait to see me later that day.
3. Boyfriend #2 talking quietly under the covers so his parents wouldn't get mad that he called me so late. (How Taylor Swift is that?)
4. Aunt expressing her love and appreciation for stopping by for the weekend with some friends.
5. Boyfriend #3 awkwardly explaining why his call dropped. (We had just started dating...hence the need to clarify such a tragedy, let's be clear.)
6. Boyfriend #2 making his last call to me for two years before his mission.
7. Boy #4 upset that I left for school without saying goodbye.
8. Boy #5 Asking me out on a lunch date after my mother so nicely left my number on a napkin at the restaurant.

If you count correctly, that's a voicemail saved from every boyfriend. Every boyfriend I've ever had. Every boyfriend I've EVER had over the past four years.

I'm a sentimental creature, okay?

Each marked a tender stage of my adolescence.

.......

But now I'm twenty. Yup, twenty. And with twenty came my iPhone. And with my iPhone came a new, fresh voicemail system. And with this new voicemail system came no more annoying screen icons to get rid of by checking voicemails and pressing four to save. And with no option to press four to save came no way to save those eight voicemails any longer.

So if I'm doing my math correctly (if A=B & B=C, then A=C), with twenty came no way to save those eight voicemails.

Why does twenty have to be so vindictive to me?

Oh, oh. Because twenty begins a new decade: the decade of decisions, which CAN'T involve any wistful, over-saved, boyfriend-filled memories of fun.

But you want to know why I'll be okay?


......because I have my iPhone.


.....and I can probably find an app for that.

Nothing of much worth to say...except that summer is coming to a close and this may be the funniest thing I have ever seen.

Can someone invent the time machine for me--please?

It's the end of my Manhattan stay and I can't believe it. I spent the last eight months anticipating my eventful summer in the city and BAM! Just like that it's passed. Life really does pass by faster as you grow older.

Mom flies in tonight to help me pack up and to hopefully help decelerate/prolong my last forty-eight hours here. (I think our best bet is to just jam-pack ourselves with activities and dessert!) I've missed her SO much. Not to mention, I've always thought this experience would be so much more special if I could spend/share (at least part of it) with the people that mean most to me.

With that said, I couldn't feel any more love and gratitude for the friendships that I made here. I didn't anticipate meeting such great people. (More than that, I would have never guessed that I'd be willing to even give up the golden coast in order to not leave them!) I'm a lucky girl, to say the least. Honestly, it sort of feels like graduation all over again....and we all know how nostalgic and hard that was for me. But I'm learning that that's what life is all about. Chapters and sections. Converging beginnings and endings.

I suppose the most important part in coping with the next transition to my new chapter of life is to remember all that I learned and gained in this. I learned a tremend-stinking-ous ton. About my myself, about people, about community, about education, about business, and about culture. Plus, with the help of the many museums I visited, I now know more about Swarovski crystals, Couture gowns, the American woman, our Founding Fathers, Picasso & Van Gogh, the Japanese culture, ancient Egyptian/Mesopotamian culture, the evolution of weapons and arms, and the Korean Wars, than I ever thought possible. And no, the Museum of (substitute the verb meaning the act of intimate behavior here) was not included in my travels. But you do have to appreciate New York for it--it truly does have a museum or store for everything.

Anyways...here's to saying "bye"....because I refuse to believe in the absoluteness of "GOOD" bye. I'll be back people!


P.S. There's a piece of the Yellow Cardigan in there somewhere.

New York: I love you.

Okay....confession? I think I was destined to be a city girl. 
There, I said it.

All those meals I hated myself for eating super fast...
All those friends that used to get annoyed with my abnormally fast walking pace (especially considering I'm such a munchkin) at the mall...
Never learning to surf..
My tendency to be busy, busy, busy...
Etc, etc.


I now get it. I was born on the wrong coast!




(Let's not talk about the fact that I only have two weeks left.)

The good news? Brooke is coming to visit me tomorrow. I've been planning our itinerary for weeks!

Other good news? I finished the Gossip Girl series....which means Melody now has to watch High School Musical for me.

The icing on my summer cake? I found out this week that after this NY parade, a quick stop in Nashville, and few days in Las Vegas, I AM GOING TO HAWAII! Man, sometimes it all seems too good to be true.

Pneumonia.

No...I don't have it.

Pneumonia. Pneu-monia.

The word annoys me. I read the word and then can't verbally say it aloud because it tends to trick me. (Think Derek Zoolander not being able to turn left) I personally find the pronunciation so misleading.

PNEUAmonia.


Nope, not any better.

As if.

AS IF it doesn't kill me that I'm missing this season of SYTYCD...

AS IF it doesn't kill me that my home is so far away...

AS IF it doesn't kill me that I haven't seen my sisterhood and mission friends in months....

AS IF it doesn't kill me that I'm in the fashion capital of the country and don't have the money for any of it...

AS IF it doesn't kill me that the girls here are twig skinny and I don't have the body for the clothes anyway...

AS IF I don't mind the fact that I haven't had a home-cooked meal in weeks...(ya I know, speaking of body. ha!)

AS IF I don't sometimes miss spending my summer on the beach...

AS IF I don't miss my mom and pops enough...

AS IF all that weren't enough, I had to come across these today from photobooth.

I miss seeing these kids whenever I want.
I miss babysitting them when Ben & Lu go out on the town.
I miss gabbing with Lu till wee hours of the night with tons of homework still left to do.
I miss watching our DVR-ed shows together over cookies and milk (or another dessert of her choosing).
I miss painting her nails.
I miss scorning her for not taking care of her nails and/or showering.
I miss her green sweater.
I miss Cason saying, "Wawa, happy birthday!" even though it was nearly sixth months prior.
I miss that I'm now (literally) missing Luci saying "Wawa" for the first time.












Should I have titled this "I Miss"?

Operation: Chairlift.

A typical work day includes editing and uploading the latest media footage to the network drive, researching various grants and sponsorships, creating yet another Colin excel sheet of sorts, and writing more e-mails than I typical type in a week. I may or may not have left out the (pretty) frequent facebook update checks.....I'm only human.

Sara and I were surprised to walk into work on Friday and find that our sole task of the day was to pick up an office chair. A big, black office chair donated by a swanky financial trade company.



....it was fifteen blocks.



Can you just try and picture that sight for a moment? Doesn't it seem like it would be rather comical, doing it without my much depreciated car at home?

Well, leave it to New Yorkers to take the quirkiness and fun out of everything. They didn't look or laugh once at the sight of two young girls wheeling each other around Midtown. It's almost like no matter what, they've seen far more bizarre around this city.





I think it's safe to say that the chair needs some new shoes.

And maybe.....I do too.



Totally kidding! I say that to myself everyday.

Change For Kids.

That's who I'm working for.
An organization that is devoted to bringing arts, music, and literacy programs back into the underprivileged elementary schools surrrounding the wealthier Manhattan area (like Brooklyn, the Bronx, Queens...).

Money to sponsor these programs (as I'm soon realizing), doesn't grow on trees. So I help plan the events that accumulate the Benjamins they need....by researching and booking venues, contacting alcohol companies for sponsorships...you get the drill.

It's been fun! And I definitely couldn't complain when it brought me into the presence of professional skaters, a Gossip Girl, and the Yankees.

Just saying.

But life in the non-profit industry isn't all Disney. One moment I'm basking in the giddy glamour of going to big events and meeting the celebrities that involve themselves with the charity, and the next I'm transporting heavy equipment to and across an unconditioned Harlem school. Batting my sweaty forehead alongside the CEO of the organization puts things into their proper perspective fast, and I now understand the truth about non-profits: they have to do everything themselves. There’s no money to have a janitor or furniture mover, there isn’t even enough money to pay themselves extremely well--that would mean one less student had access to the escape and future presented by an arts and literacy education.

It's been quite the humbling experience, to say the least, getting close to kids that come from families living below the poverty line and seeing opportunity sparkle with the touch of a keyboard or violin presented to them. It's powerful. And I don't think I have ever appreciated music so much.





(Three of my favorite girls: 2nd graders Ruth, Melyanet, and Jada at their recital)

I've also never felt so small. There are so many more kids, schools, and causes that need help and attention....so I'm struggling to figure out where I can play into that equation. 

P.S. Where are my eyes in this picture?? Should we play a game of Where's Waldo?

If heaven...

                                                                                   ....doesn't have Serendipity...


                          ......then I ain't going!


                                                          It's really that good.

Thoughts.

 I walked the Brooklyn Bridge this weekend and was settling at a park with some Grimaldi's pizza when I got caught up in some thoughts.



These past few weeks have been a significant step in my life.

I began my first “job.”

Though it is just a “job,” and though I’ve had plenty of experience working, not having my father as the paycheck author makes me feel more qualified in calling myself an “adult.”

Is that silly? It’s still simple busy work like filing and running menial errands to the post office, except that this time I don’t have the cushion of knowing that no matter what the result of my work, my dad will love me unconditionally when we both take our shoes off at the door of our home.

I had absolutely no idea what to expect my first day of work—I was a walking mess. The only other time I can remember being that nervous was when I decided to try-out for the BYU Cheer Team my senior year of high school. Bearing this memory to mind, I quickly realized that the odds of unprecedented success were highly out of my favor since I fell on my face and nearly passed chunks on the judges at my time of introduction...

But what would be the point of life if it were nothing more than a mere pattern of humiliation and failures, almost a form of self-determined destiny? It would be nothing, right?

Right.

That’s when I came across my epiphany: the power of confidence.

I like to think that I’ve done my fair share of observation and research in the area of confidence; my specialty is in the realm of dating. Girl meets boy (or boy meets girl) and gives a few interested gestures or flirtatious banter to fuel the fire, in the form of self-confidence. One moment of vulnerability and low self-esteem too soon and the fire can fizzle out. With dating, confidence is invaluable. That’s why prospects come in numbers at a time or in long, arid spells of none.

Now I understand that the above seems like an unnecessary tangent, but epiphanies are complex.

Are you still listening?

Confidence was my ticket out of the toilet (literally). I came in twenty minutes early to work, shook with a firm handshake, flashed a pearly, close-to-but-not-quite arrogant smile, and settled myself in an aura of ease.

Thirty minutes later, I was entrusted with researching and contacting NYC event space venues and alcoholic sponsors, rather than the paper cutter...as was assigned to the new intern today.

So I suppose the point of my (long) message is:
If you believe in yourself, everyone else (like my intern director) will too.

Just go for it.

-Hay.

In this concrete jungle where dreams are made of

...I can't help but miss my roomies. I wish they were here to share this experience with me, too.



"Place title here."=  Love you girls.

I fear a fever.

BIEBER fever that is.

This is


and we decided that we wanted to attend the Today show's Summer Concert Series this last Friday. The guest:

Bieber.

We figured we should aim to wake up around 3:30 am if we wanted to get a semi-good spot. But we were so wrong. Parents had been in line since eight the previous morning. What a joke!



We managed to reach the front line of the back barricade (something I think we were both proud of)....but what intense fans! The eight to fifteen year-olds surrounding us were the rowdiest crowd I've ever been around, enough to take me (a closet fan) into survival-of-the-fittest mode. I'm ashamed of the things I said to these children.


"Hey you know what, life isn't fair, kid. Get over it!"

"Ya, ya! You think staying up all night in this line is painful?! Try going through college finals week, you punk."

"Girlfriend, JB isn't going to think your fanatic screaming is attractive. Why don't you make it pleasant for someone who has more of a chance."


(Okay....so I didn't really say that last one. But I was thinking it.)

I'm a bit ashamed. I could have crushed these delicate hearts' dreams....and I of all people should recall my own tween days of Aaron Carter obsession.



I suppose I should warn not to let my smile fool you?

The haps.

So. Tired.

I've been parading around the city like it's going out of style.
(As if this place were to EVER go out of style.....the fashion and glamour here is ridiculous.)





Double-decker bus tour: Check.




Eat a hot-dog at Coney Island (yes, the famous Nathan's hot-dog that hosts the 4th of July eating contest!): Oh ya.




See Lady Liberty: You guessed it.




Walk around till my feet could fall off: I don't care--I'm in New York (freaking) City.




Visit Staten Island: So fun.




Experience the nightlife: Been there, done that.




Central Park: What a beauty.
(Really, the serenity you can find there on a sunny afternoon is unreal in a city so busy. If I were a writer, a painter, a poet, or any other artistic prodigy, I would use it as an inspiration.)





Times Square: Too much to even fathom. It will take 5467 trips to truly experience it all.



The art: I'm in LOVE.

There is SO much to see and experience.

I'm trying not to overlook all the little details and hidden charm....and reminding myself of how fortunate and blessed I am to have the life and opportunities that I do. A homeless woman on the subway really hit that home with me. (She was pretending to talk on the phone to some friend. I wanted to give her my shoes and my dad's dental office number.)

"Let us rise up and be thankful, for if we didn't learn a lot today, at least we learned a little, and if we didn't learn a little, at least we didn't get sick, and if we got sick, at least we didn't die; so, let us all be thankful." - Buddha 

And good night.

THIS girl..

is in the BIG apple for the summer!


I've only been here thirty six hours and I can already testify that the phrase "the city that never sleeps" is no freaking joke.

I can't even begin to describe all the sights, smells, and sounds I've been introduced to. Just an hour ago I was rushed out of my shower and down the forever levels of stairs, into the hot dog/greek stand scented air of 14th Street for a massive fire drill, supposedly aimed to help with the chaos occurring underground ten feet to the west; the subway track couldn't rid itself of the human body it ran over upon entering the station.

Mother, I'm definitely not in Kansas anymore.

This guy made my first day much better, however.
Remember THIS guy?

Eric is a special person in my life that has spent one too many years being away as a hot shot soccer player upstate. Couldn't have picked anyone better to take my first stroll down Times Square or take my first ride on the city's elaborate metro system with.
Well.....James Marsden or George Clooney would have worked too..

But yes, I'm spreading my wings and trying on some new cardigan sweaters.
Who knows, maybe my first day at work tomorrow will be the right fit?

But maybe not.
We'll just have to wait and see!


P.S. So far I've refused to take pictures with my pride of coming off as a non-native city girl....and a little fear of pickpockets. I think I need therapy.
P.P.S. I need a better camera.

The Yellow Cardigan.

Preface. This is an epiphany that has sprouted/been realized/developed after being away from home and on my own in the real, independent college world this past year. (Note: All the opinions included therein are that of myself as an individual and do not necessarily represent the views of blogger.com, my girl scout troop (if I had one..), or the Walker family at large.)

Chapter One. My life and experience in high school was a breeze and a dream. In all honesty, it was in many ways too good to be true. I got nearly everything I could have ever wanted, when I wanted, and how I wanted. Imagine the perfect boyfriend, the extracurricular activities of choice, a generous home/family life, good girlfriends, impressive grades...you get the point. My life was grand.

Chapter Two. I entered the scene at my university thinking all would fall into place as it did before. I'd soon be discovered and again be one of the very best. I'd get the best grades, receive the best scholarships, make it on the Dean's list, yada yada ya. It didn't take long for some rejection to occur, possibly the very first substantial case of rejection I've ever encountered in my nineteen years of life. I tried to shake it off, but it kept coming. I wasn't the smartest, I wasn't the coolest, I wasn't.....you get the point. Enter the under-confident, submissive, self-conscious inflicting depression that I had up to this point, never seen reflected in the mirror. Further, I no longer knew what I wanted or aspired to do. I had no idea what I wanted my plans to be. How life had changed. The future seemed scary; I'd never felt so lost.

Chapter Three. I watched Confessions of a Shopaholic. I know what my mother is saying, "Where are you going with this? As it is you definitely did your fair share of damage on your Discover card..." But this isn't the point. I know Rebecca Bloomwood doesn't seem like the best role-model (I mean come on, she believes her destiny is to shop), but if you look behind her compulsive spending habits, you find a little more depth. I respect her. She found a way of morphing her menial talents and interests into a career (I say menial because mine are definitely menial) by finding muse in a green scarf, the whole time never abandoning her original style, even when trying to make her wrongs right. Catching my drift yet?

Chapter Four. I was shopping on anthropologie.com, in the sweater section to be exact. I came across this little number:




I know, it's adorable. I just wish it was a pretty floral color, perhaps a pale yellow. It's spring after all, and I've been cooped up much too long in drab, snow clothes. Yes, a pastel yellow of this sweater would be somewhat of a nirvana to me.....only they don't offer a pastel yellow. For the expense price of $128.00, I only have the option of the blackest of black, or this grainy white. Enter my epiphany.

Chapter Five. All the people and majors and jobs already out there on the market are like this grainy white sweater. They've been done before and taken. The dreamy yellow cardigan I envision, that could be me. A person, career, and future completely different than the rest. An original like Rebecca Bloomwood, "The girl in the Green Scarf." No more wallowing over the golden days of high school, which in all actuality is the borrowed time spent on Rebecca Bloomwood's credit card. This is the new me, in pursuit of my yellow cardigan.

Why not aspire to be something I haven't seen before?

Why would I want to become what someone already is?

From now on I'm going to see things a little different.

I'm going to dream a little different.

In sum, I'm going to be a little different.

I'm going to be my own big-shot.

P.S. My epilogue includes all the posts to follow, documenting the development and pursuit of the "yellow cardigan". I'm excited for my journey. And I hope you are too.

Some people make the world special just by being in it.

Death leaves a heartache no one can heal.

Love leaves a memory no one can steal.

Thinking of you this weekend, Air.

Xoxo.

Watcha got there, kid?

Receiving mail is so great, especially if it's a package from Mumzie & Daddio.

(And I'm not just saying this so I will receive more at an increased frequency in the future....though I wouldn't complain to that either....i'm just saying.)

Side note: do I use too many ellipses? I've become increasingly aware of how annoying it may be to some people. So for what it's worth, know that I'm working on it, and that I'm sorry for any irritation it may have caused.

(And I may or may not had to just refrain from adding some more, unintentionally of course. It's a habit, what more can I say?)

As always, the Easter Bunny spoiled me like Edward pampers Vivian in Pretty Woman. And lucky for me, the post man didn't refuse service to the poor, lowly college student that I am.....you know, because Rodeo Drive refuses it to her? Not so funny and clever? Okay.  It must have been a tough week; no wit to be found in here at the moment. But moving on.

What's funny is that my mom NEVER allowed me to have a sweet lunch pail like this when I could have really used one, as a major popularity-inducing device in elementary school. Instead, I had to sit at the left outskirt table in the cafeteria with the "almost-popular-but-not-quite-who-instead-have-to-focus-on-their-grades-to-make-up-for-the-fact" girls. But don't think I'm complaining! Sporting the random, plain company promotional lunch bag instead and being a scholar to make up for it, set into motion a life-long pursuit of nerdiness in all my completed years of public schooling, and ultimately got me to where I am now. (Which is where I always wanted to be.) So I guess what I'm trying to say is that Mom (oops, I mean Easter Bunny).....I was rather bitter and embarrassed of my lunch accessory back then, and (or would proper grammar be but?) I thank you a hundred times for your effort in making up for it now. Even if my chances of currently being cool these days are slim to none. Nevertheless, I'll let you know if the lunch box sparks some overdue miracles.

Oh, and new parents, be aware of the significant decision you are making when purchasing your child's lunch pail. I mean it.

P.S. If I wasn't a huge Twilight fan before, I am now.

P.P.S. The forty bucks was another nice, restituting gesture. Seriously.

P.P.P.S. I kind of forgot about the ellipses....so I'm going to have to ask for you to give me another break. I just quit biting my nails! Sheesh, give me a break. I'm taking one bad habit at a time.

P.P.P.P.S. Mom.......

...Really?

That's a lot of P.S.

peace.

Three is the lucky number.

It was Sunday night (yesterday). I have on my raggedy sweats and my hair is pulled back way tight with some obscure bumps and knots woven in on the surface.

I'll spare you some insignificant details but let's just say I definitely am not looking my best when a few of my guy friends burst into my door for visiting hours.

And as if my looks aren't enough to embarrass me, I'm also sprawled out at my desk, consumed in a copy of Chicken Soup: for the College Soul.

No one admits that they actually read that. (At least no one cool.) Crap.

Third embarrassment: I'm also crying at the story I'm reading about Chucky Mullins from Ole Miss, a football star turned paraplegic. And I mean totally bawling, totally weeping, for all my friends to see.

Just great.

I might as well have wet the bed.

Well.....ya.

And we call it: The Sisterhood.

....the Sisterhood of the Traveling VEST to be exact.

Can I just start by saying I love these girls?

(please don't mind our immodesty--we were in the process of playing dress-up!)

These are my very best friends here up at BYU....they fill the entire spectrum of girl species. 

Really.

Anyways, we used to all get giddy about living with each other once we moved out of the dorms this coming year.

That is until they all decided to transfer schools (except Lauren and me). So sad.

A little rewind: last semester sometime, we had pushed our beds together so that we could (comfortably) all watch a movie together. It was Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants. Love that movie. We were about half way through it when we had the ultimate epiphany. Oh my goodness, we are so them!

It goes like this:

Mallory: (the only brunette in the world that purposefully dyes her hair red) is Tibby. You know the weird one that puts the sticker on her forehead? Yeah. 

She's a little......different. But that's the reason you love her. You know? Plus, she eventually starts dating the sweet, video-gamer Asian kid. Mal also has that interracial relationship status thing going on too. Tibby.

Emily: (my roommate with the wannabe tattoo) is Carmen with the big booty. Emily has more junk in her trunk than anyone I know. I can almost visibly see the Oreos and Peanut Butter she treats herself to on study breaks go immediately there. Not really. But still. Carmen is the one responsible for the unlikely friendship of the group. Plus she is never afraid to speak her mind. Considering Em is the most assertive AND aggressive in our little group, we thought the characterization was pretty applicable. Carmen.

Lauren: (the blonde that looks like Baby Spice) is Bridget. She is the naturally beautiful, super athletic, always up for a good time, one. Considering most people don't classify cheer as a technical sport (which is such a shame because IT IS), she's also the only one of us that was a high school athlete....she LOVES to run. Frankly, it disgusts me. But whatever. I do have to add this little disclaimer though.  In the movie Bridget chases the most attractive soccer player imaginable, something we all can't quite say for Lauren. We are working on in it though....(kidding Lauren!). Bridget.

Me: (with the roundest face of the entire group) they say I'm Lena. I don't necessarily agree with their reasoning, but apparently I have the whole creativity thing going on like her. (I was so flattered). Plus, she's a more reserved brunette....... I can only hope that I'll someday find some beautiful Greek man as she does. I'll keep you informed. Lena.

Hillary: (wearing the crazy cheetah) she's Bailey, but for reasons I'm not even exactly sure. I think it was just because she always came up with random things to say.....maybe? In any case, we all kind of felt bad that we gave her the dead girl, so we decided she could be Lena's sister Effie who tries to steal Tibby's boyfriend, as well. Hillary has this weird thing where she crushes on older men and little children, which is kind of creepy. Don't you think? She wont hesitate to admit that she has a little something something for Mal's dad. Yeah.......Bailey/Effie/A simply weird girl. We'll just leave it at that.

Before Mal/Tib left us this semester, we held our little sisterhood ritual in the dark hall lounge at 3 am in the morning. We decided on the rules of the Sisterhood, written down in the notebook. Each sister gets the vest for exactly one month until she passes it over. The other rules you might ask? It's a secret.

Guess who's turn it is? 

You guessed it. I got this in the mail yesterday, such a nice surprise.

And guess where i get to send it? Hawaii, for the one and only Carmen in my life.

Isn't life so great and wonderful with good friends?

And we begin...

Em and I couldn't take it anymore.
As I sit here like I have all weekend long preparing for my last midterms, I realize I am beyond burnt out.
I just want to be able to watch the full season of Glee without worrying about pressing deadlines....
Or take a Sunday nap...
Or eat SUMMER fruits..
Perhaps see some friends at home...
Maybe cuddle with my mom..
Most of all, I just want my body to go back to normal.

37 days and counting, my friends.

Almost 36.

What's the word...

You know those days when you just feel.....BLAH...?

That's been today. Actually, it's been the past week.

Why do we sometimes get in these ruts? We don't want to work, we don't want to do laundry, we don't want to go to the gym, we don't care if we eat more evil calories, we don't care if we shower...etc..etc. It's so counterproductive since it only leads to us feeling more fat, more gross, more pathetic, more behind, more BLAH.

I hate BLAH.

Anyways, I was sitting in class today, thinking about BLAH, when my computer screen savor popped up with its picture slide show. Of all pictures, this decided to make an appearance, the first time I've seen it in a long time:

It made BLAH go away long enough to wink a smile, reminiscent of such a simple, happy time. I was a sophomore in high school when I found out that Nick Lachey was making a concert stop at the nearby Pechanga Casino. I called my parents in a frenzy and for whatever reason, they relented to get me tickets. Maybe my dad secretly liked his heartbroken album too....but back to the story. It was the night of the concert, my friends and I were anxiously awaiting the show, and in walks our cheer coach. "Coach Nic? What are you doing here?"

Supposedly, Coach Nic was good friends with dreamy boy's body guard. She claimed they exchanged texts all the time. I didn't believe her until she returned with three passes.

I was on the stage, inches away from Nick Lachey, and he sang to me. I could have grabbed his backside if I wanted to....(that thought did come to mind in my fifteen seconds of fame). It was probably one of the greatest nights of my life.

In fact, it was a lot like this:



I love moments like those; moments that are vivacious and unexpected. Now why can't we ever get into THAT kind of funk?

I've heard patience is a virtue.

 .....and that good things come to those who wait. Well goodness knows, I've been waiting.

I have been pining so long for my parents to fly my little sister Mackenzie out to P-town to spend a weekend with me.....and for her to fit me into her busy dizzy schedule (she's on two cheer teams, juggles two boyfriends, was just elected senior class president, yady-yada-ya). The time has finally come. It's like the curtain is about to be drawn.....and I am so giddy with excitement.

Kenzie, Kenzoli, Pookums, or if you'd prefer to call her Miss Booty, is one of my very best friends. Even though we are on complete different sides of the spectrum (I don't have the talent to commend ONE boys attention, much less TWO...), we balance each other out, with flavor. You know what I mean?

So I've come up with a few reasons as to why should she go to school up here:
1. I'm here. Need I explain more?
2. There are tons of cute boys. Can you imagine the damage she could do?
3. The Brutsch's & Barker's reside in the area. It's been such a blessing being able to be around my sisters and their families. Being able to watch my nephew and nieces grow up has been a priceless treasure.
4. I'm here. I missed her too much this year! We were not meant to be so far away from each other for so long.
5. We could cuddle ALL the time. We love that. It's probably one of our favorite hobbies.
6. She could give me tips....Ya, I know I'm supposed to be the wise, older sister. Don't rub it in, okay?
7. We could share clothes, again. It's been rough having to be creative with my own wardrobe!
8. She could drink BYU's chocolate milk ALL the time. She doesn't know it yet, but she's addicted. Just like me. Just like you would be, too.

And oh ya, did I mention I'm here?

Provo, we only got one shot at this Utah conversion. I'm ready to give this trip my all, my everything. Are you?

CAUTION: can be scary.

I was given this teddy bear by a dear high school friend of mine for graduation....a real treasure, right?

Wrong. I mean yes, he is a treasure in relevance to the friend who gave it to me, but out of that context, he makes me want to hide in the closet. You see, he was constructed at Build-A-Bear and therefore, has a voice. Cute, right?

Wrong. When I go to sleep at night in my little dorm bed, I tend to roll around. Sometimes I get caught in sheets, sometimes I have a full bladder, sometimes the room is a little too stuffy, but worst of all, sometimes I accidentally roll onto said bear and his deep, male voice projects itself to the room. "Hey Haley"....and blah blah blah with the recording. This all happens while I'm sleeping, in the dark. It's just about the creepiest thing imaginable at 3 am. A soft scream is justifiable, right?

Right. I love this bear--in the daylight. He's cute and cuddly, like the friend who gave it to me. But he's another being when the sun goes down--like a Chuckie doll, or a Furby, or a Peeping Tom.

Build-A-Bear should include a new amendment on their birth certificates. "Warning: Is evil from the hours of 7pm-6am." Or maybe an age-appropriate rating like they use on the movies?

Hope I make it through another night alive..

Law school or NASA?

I'm currently enrolled in a Biology class, you know.....trying to get rid of some generals so I can concentrate on my major classes involving political science. I watched my roommates last year go through the course; I saw them making drawings of mitosis and spewing the details of the structure of dna. It didn't look that bad so I thought, "Hey, I can do that." I was excited to get my left brain on.

Fast forward a few weeks. I found a seat on the first day of class, next to a girl with glasses. She was the stereotypical science nerd, and to be honest, I found it kind of refreshing. I began pulling out my notebook, my pens, my computer in case I got bored, when I began sobering up from first day semester jitters to listen to what the professor was dragging on elaborately about.  A compiled bird list? Required binoculars? A field trip to see the birthing of bears? A unit on bats and cats? Confused, I turned to the girl with the glasses. "Excuse me, is this room 355? In the Marb?.....and it is Bio 100?" It turns out the professor is a bit of a nut and takes a twist to biology. I didn't know then, but his class is referred to as the "bird watching class."

That's right.....


My homework is to go outside and watch birds...



And I'm not kidding. Really...that's what we do.

Another twist of his? Our Friday lectures are allotted for our required group presentations on quarters. STATE quarters. Do you find this guy as bizarre as I do? Please, say yes.

Anyways, I had to give my presentation a few weeks ago. My group picked Ohio. Ohio is home to the history-making astronauts Neil Armstrong and John Glenn, as was Orville Wright, co-inventor of the airplane. I concluded that this is probably the state's only claim to fame, as it is the most random thing that could ever possibly be picked to be depicted on their quarter....I'm just saying.

You want to know my claim to fame? Starring in our presentation video as THE astronaut who demonstrated "the biology of a space suit." I've been considering space ever since. Thank you Professor.


P.S. Yes, that is a Star Wars Clone Trooper mask....a little walk on the dark side never hurt anyone, right? Kidding!

I did it...

....I quit the atrocious habit of biting my nails. And let me tell you, it feels good. It all started out about five years ago, I was watching some tween movie that had Mandy Moore in it. (I'm thinking Chasing Liberty...) She kept biting her nails in a flirty, biting-the-corner-of-my-lip sort of way that I wanted to mimic. So I did. Or at least tried. It eventually developed into something completely obnoxious. Rather than sultry yet cutesy, it was loud and annoying, I admit. I'll spare you the details.....but just know I'm cured.

I've never seen my nails this long. They elongate my rather thick fingers, or at least somewhat, I hope? Ah, the femininity....

"Dude--there's a Chevron.."

....I should mention that my friends also titled this post "Californication." It's clever I know, but it reminds me too much of the noun "fornication," so I refuse to really pick up on it..

California. There really isn't a sweeter thought I can think of while I'm bundled up in a wad of blankets looking out a frosted window to a wilted, dreary Utah sky. Add the additional tragic pile of homework and studying that compares to the length of the trek to the Y, and you have the essence of my entire winter semester. I don't want you to get me wrong though, I've had a great couple of months, but there's something about the cold winter here that is a little, well...depressing. The excitement of snow precipitants either a. occurs when you are sleeping, b. takes place during your school day...forcing nothing but trembling and embarrassing trips to the ground as you make your way to classes, or lastly c. transpires for about as long as a song on the radio, leaving the same dead grass as your landscape. Oooh. Oh. And the real killer for me? Christmas already passed, so no more of that snowman, home-y, let's-cuddle-by-the-fire-and-roast-chestnuts business. Why? Whyyy? (Sorry for the whiny tangent.)

My friends and I decided to take advantage of our four-day weekend and travel back to my hometown. We crammed in my little bug, blasted some muse, and didn't hesitate to look back. Let me just say our little escape was PERFECT. The California weather decided to cease raining for a few days and let the sun work its magic on my now nearly alabaster skin. In-n-Out tasted like heaven in a wrapper, and my two Cali-foreign friends claim to have had as much fun as I did with the palm trees and sea breeze. How can people leave that place? Only six more weeks and counting till I move all my things back there for the summer....finals have never sounded so good!

I have this system worked out with my parents where I have a gas card, but it's only usable at Chevron stations. For any of you that have made this drive, you know that you have to be pretty thorough about planning out your pit stops ahead of time or you'll soon be stuck with tumbleweeds and fifty or so miles of red sand abyss on either side. I got so frustrated when I was nearing empty on my dashboard and couldn't find one of those blasted blue and white Chev signs. I ended up having to pull over at the nemesis, Mobil, and using my personal credit card instead. Within the next ten miles after, we passed probably four Chevs. I considered lighting one on fire, like they do in Zoolander, only I would make sure no one was around first since it was Chev I was mad at, and not the cashier. I've never resented a thirty dollar purchase so much. And let me just say, my friends can pick out a Chevron now like a bear smells food.

For our dinner stop we had to resort to a gas station jointed to Burger King. We waited in line for probably thirty minutes and decided that a whopper wasn't worth it, opting for lunchable pizzas and a chicken bake instead. My bake tasted like a shoe, or maybe one of those Harry Potter puke flavored jelly beans? I didn't investigate much further. In any case, bite that seven dollar purchase in the bottom too.


Me and Corey. Told you I'm white.


Lauren and Emily.

Despite these minor implications, we had so much fun. I know it's pretty, okay, REALLY cliche, but it was one of those "wow, I'm a college student" moments. It was great. Some of our best adventures:

Playing "pick-a-song-and-sing-it-the-best-you-can-at-the-top-of-your-lungs" game in the car. I still think Em won.



Going to the beach everyday.













Having a t.v. to watch the Olympics..though I have got to say the opening ceremonies this year weren't my favorite. This, however, is. Boy is a crack up on ice.



Darla (that's the name of my car) got to wear her hair down a little bit in what seems like forever. She hasn't been home since June! And she made completely new friends as everyone living at home has a different car than they did when we left.







I already mentioned it, I know, and it's probably more so not much of a big deal since we now have one opened in Orem....but In-n-Out. Oh how I missed it. I've refused to go in O-town because it's simply a home/California thing for me. It almost makes me mad that they brought it for the enjoyment of the Utah masses. Am I started to sound like an arrogant Californian? Like the stereotypical, egocentric American that foreigners complain about? I hate that. I'm stopping now...I promise.





When you are in the "BYU bubble," you forget about the outside, secular world. It was a new eye-opening experience going to Hollywood. The cat whistles, the hobos, the "shops"....you know what I mean.










To break up the nine hour drive, and have a little more fun before the next day of classes, we stopped in Primm to ride the Buffalo Bills roller coaster. This may or may not be my personal favorite part of the entire weekend. Just thought I'd throw that out there.



Not pictured: it was the birthday of my late cousin Aaron. It was great being able to make it to his party, where I got to spend quality time with my extended family (my aunt Sheri and uncle Marc are the greatest!). I felt a little closer to the someone I hold so dear in my heart. I miss you Air.

P.S. Grammy, thanks for my favorite meal on Sunday :] I miss you, too.