Lists. Lyrics.

I got up early this morning to finish my thematic lists for my feminist class.

Advice: Never take a feminist class when you are engaged. It will anger you. 

Disclaimer: I did not know it was a feminist class when I enrolled, because everyone told me it would change after the first two weeks.

To rid myself of such drama feminization, I started to edit our wedding playlist. The one for our wedding reception, that is. And I have forgotten about so many songs. Like this one:

Oh, I swear, I know I believe it

I can't stop hearing all this singing

My soul has never had this feeling, it feels like gold

You got so much love in you. I'm amazed that I'm talking to you

You look like the songs I've heard my whole life coming true.

Oh, and somehow I had never heard this song. But Andrew exposed it to me last week:

Good day, Sunshine. 

I need to laugh and when the sun is out, I've got something to laugh about.

I feel good in a special way. I'm in love and it's a sunny day.

Good day, Sunshine.

We take a way, the sun is shining down. Burns my feet as they touch the ground.

:)

So Dreamy

Reasons I want Andrew to come home from work.

1. I love-a him. A lot.

2. I miss him. A lot A lot.

3. I do not like to be home alone

4. I want to cuddle

5. I like everything better when he is around.

6. I could not decide which blog to write this on

7. I put pictures up on Facebook while deciding

8. I don't like putting lots of pictures of Andrew and I on FB (except the 75 that already exist) because I feel like I am bragging. I promise I am not.

9. My eye itches

10. I am cold

11. My nose is cold

12. I want to talk about George Harrison and why there was so much online about him today

13. I want to do my art project for our apartment and I want him to be there when I do it.

14. I love him.

15. I miss him.

16. I have to leave him for 2 weeks 5 days next Saturday.

17. I am lonely when I have down time and he is not around because I feel incomplete and distracted

18. I don't have to wait much longer anymore because he is on his way home.

If you want to vomit in your mouth a little after seeing such an overflow of emotion, I will not judge you. And I doubt love-of-my-life-Andrew would, either.

Extra Blog

I'm still keeping this blog, but I started another one today that I can use for my writing resumes (because they ALWAYS ask for a blog link and I don't want to give them this one). It'll probably be mostly fictional stories as well as some creative nonfiction. I only have one entry on it as of an hour ago so we'll see how it develops. SO if you want, look at it here. And in this new one you can actually make comments and I have an upfront way to follow it, unlike this one where it takes people forever to figure it out. Cause I am just so sneaky.

P.S. Still tired... but still sos o happy...

Time

I always think I have all the time in the world and then it sloooowly all goes away before I get everything done. Then, when I plan on getting up early, I sleep instead. I never get enough sleep and I want it all the time.

Good thing school is almost over.

Have to admit, I'm a little worried though.

Smashed Finger

This weekend our parents both came and they get along so well. It's so nice.

And my parents love love Andrew. I knew they would.

Also I got my amazing, lacey, vintagey wedding dress. NBD.

And Andrew got a brown vest.

Today, Andrew rolled the window on my finger and it HURT. 

My nail is purple. Good thing the boy is cute or he would be so busted.

Especially since we have engagements soon and it's my left middle finger.

This picture is for revenge cause he HATES it:

 

The Downer of Being in Love

I hate it every night when Andrew leaves.

Hate it Hate it Hate it Hate it Hate Hate it.

Maybe that sounds childish. But really. I hate it. And when he leaves, I pout. I don't mean to. It just happens. And then I keep pouting until he is out the door. And then for a few more minutes until he sends me a text message. It is a sad experience we replay every night starting at 11:45 or 11:50 and ending at about 12:15 or 12:25. It's a cycle that will never end- except for when he's in Europe and I'm in Missouri- until 88 days from now and then it will never happen again. At least not in the exact same way.

A Little Love and a Little Quote

  

"That was the thing. You just never knew. Forever was so many different things. It was always changing, it was what everything was really about. It was twenty minutes, or a hundred years, or just this instant, or any instant I wished would last and last. But there was one truth about forever that really mattered, and that was this: it was happening. Right then.. and every moment afterwards. Look, there. Now. Now. Now. 

-The Truth About Forever

Cause you only live once.

Why Flamingos are Pink

Andrew has set the record straight.

I cannot write a story about a blue flamingo because, apparently, flamingos are only pink because they eat shrimp. Who knew? Andrew knew.

Andrew knows a lot of things. For example, the first time he came over, he came over with his roommates and fell asleep on the floor. Apparently I did not make a good first impression (although, really, we had met six months before. He didn't talk then, either). That is not my point. My point is that the first thing I ever remember Andrew Lynn Chandler saying to me besides "uh-huh" or "cool" was "Ostriches don't stick their head in the ground." Such a statement changed my life. How was I supposed to know they only act like they stick their head in the ground. I am not an ostrich scientist. Or a flamingo scientists. 

When I started to write this post, I was going to apologize that I wrote a story about a blue flamingo. But I am not sorry. If I want to make a story about a blue or yellow or green flamingo, I will. I do not care if it is not possible. I defend my flamingo story. Even if it was written in 20 minutes, under developed, and just for pure entertainment. If I want Flamboya to be blue, she will be blue. And no, I will not run Sunshine out for lying. Flamboya forgave her. So can I.

Also, here is Andrew's list of ugly baby animals:

1. Flamingoes

2. Snakes

Just don't tell him baby dragons aren't cute. Because, apparently, baby dragons are adorable. As are baby skunks. As are baby octopuses.

Oh, and if he had a baby skunk, he would name it Wilbur. 

The Blue Flamingo

Right now, I have a choice.

I could rewrite my paper about the painting The Birth of Venus for my history class or I could write a little something-something. And I choose: A little somethin-something. 

This is a writing exercise where I pull a story out of nowhere, so don't just me if it's lame:

Once upon a time, there was a Flamingo named Flamboya. Flamboya the Flamingo was not like other flamingos. 

She was blue.

All the other flamingos were pink. Her mother, her father, her brothers, her sisters, her friends, even her flamingo toy. They were not all the same shade, but they were all the same color: PINK. When she was a little flamingo, before she could stand up on one leg, her mother would tell her how special she was.

Her mother had never known a blue flaming before, either, but she told Flamboya that she should be proud of being different. She should be proud of being blue. She reminded her how everyone wanted to see her when she was born. No one, not anyone, had ever seen a blue flamingo. Everyone wanted to see her. She was beautiful, her mother told her.

This made Flamboya like her blue feathers. She liked that they set her apart from all the pink in the world. She liked to be the color of the sky.  She was shy, but she liked that she could be seen. She was not ashamed of being blue. Then one day, Flamboya met a new flamingo. 

"My name is Sunshine," the new flamingo told her.

"My name is Flamboya," Flamboya said shyly.

Sunshine laughed. "Your name is funny. Girls shouldn't have 'boy' in their name."

Flamboya did not know what to say.

Sunshine continued, "Why are you blue?"

Flamboya did not know what to say. She did not know why she was blue.

Sunshine kept laughing until she strutted away. 

Flamboya went home and asked her mother why she was blue. Her mother said she did not know why Flamboya was blue, either, but that she loved her even more because she was blue. She thought Flamboya was the most beautiful flamingo in the world. Flamboya felt better.

She did not feel better the next day.

When she left her house in the morning to play with her friends, Flamboya saw Sunshine standing in the middle of them.

"Flamingos are not supposed to be blue," Sunshine taunted her. "Flamingos are not supposed to be orange or yellow or green or purple. Flamingos are supposed to be pink." 

Flamboya said, "I am a flamingo and I am blue. Blue is a pretty color, too."

Sunshine ignored her.

"I have never seen a blue flamingo," Sunshine continued, "Maybe you are not a flamingo. Maybe your dad was a bluebird."

Flamboya did not know what to do. She looked at her friends for help. They did not say anything. Instead, they looked at the ground or looked at the sky. Flamboya walked away. She did not know what else to do.

Sunshine did not stop there. For two weeks she made fun of Flamboya every chance she got. One day, she told her she should leave Flamingoville. Flamingoville was for flamingos, she told Flamboya. They were not for blue birds.

Every night, Flamboya talked to her family about Sunshine. Her mother told her to be nice to Sunshine. Maybe Sunshine was just sad. "Sunshine is not sad," Flamboya told her mother, "Flamboya is mean." Flamboya's brothers and sisters agreed. Flamboya was mean to them, too. 

The next morning, Flamboya went on a walk all by herself. She did not want the other flamingos to see her. For the first time in her life, she was ashamed she was blue. 

As she walked, Flamboya came across the field of magic pink flowers. She stopped to look at the flowers dancing in the wind- and then she saw something. Flamboya saw something she had never seen before. She had to rub her eyes to make sure she was not imagining. 

When she opened her eyes, she saw it again - A YELLOW flamingo. The flamingo was picking flowers in the middle of the field. She was all alone. Flamboya had to talk to her. She had found a flamingo who did not have pink feathers- she knew they would be best friends.

Flamboya ran to the yellow flamingo. When she got there, she stopped. She knew this yellow flamingo. She had come to town a few weeks before. The flamingo was Sunshine.

Sunshine looked up from her flowers. She saw Flamboya and dropped them.

"You're-- you're yellow!!" Flamboya exclaimed. She tried not to point at her. Her mother had told her that was rude.

Sunshine hung her head. "I know."

"But you're always pink. How are you yellow?" Flamingo did not know what to think 

Sunshine hung her head farther. "When I lived in Flamingo Hill, everyone made fun of me. They called me canary. They said I was not a flamingo because I was yellow. Then we moved to Flamingville and I found these flowers that turn my feathers pink."

"Why would you do that? Why would you not be yellow?" Flamboya was amazed.

"I did not want to be made fun of. And then, when I met you, I was afraid. I thought that if we were friends, the other flamingos would make fun of me, too. So I said you must be a bluebird."

"I am not a bluebird," Flamboya said. "And you are not a canary. We are flamingos."

Sunshine did not say anything. She looked so sad. Flamboya felt bad for her.

"I have an idea," Flamboya suggested, "How about you stop eating the flowers? You do not need to be pink. Just be yellow. Yellow is pretty. Like the sun."

"What if we get made fun of?"

Flamboya thought for a moment. "If we get made fun of, I promise to be your best friend forever and ever."

"Really? Even though I made fun of you?"

"YES!" Flamboya exclaimed.

Sunshine smiled.

Flamboya and her new friend made the short walk back to Flamingoville. When they arrived, everyone looked at them. They had never seen a yellow flamingo before. They came and talked to Sunshine and Flamboya. When Sunshine explained that she was really yellow, everyone laughed.

But they did not laugh to make fun of her. They laughed because they were having fun. Flamboy and Sunshine went to the playground with their new friends singing, "Flamingos are not just pink. Flamingos are yellow and blue and red and green and orange! Flamingos are not just pink."

And they lived happily - and colorfully- ever after.

The End.

So Nice. So Weird.

It is so nice having the person I know I am going to spend the rest of forever with. It is so weird having the person I know I am going to spend the rest of forever with.

No really. Think about it.

All growing up, regardless of race or religion or gender, we think about getting married. It's innate. We all want companionship of some level. Or at least hope for it. I've always been a dreamer, but I was never one to dream about love. Sure, I had my moments where love got me down. But it wasn't the forefront problem in mind. Especially starting last August, I basically only thought about writing and photography and plans for the rest of my life such as humanitarian work and publishing. Then I met Andrew and everything turned upside down.

It's fun though. I like it. I love it. It's nice to sit on the couch and cuddle for hours, though I'm sure my roommates hate it. Sometimes we are a total PDA fest and I would apologize, but my ring sparkles all on it's own. And it's amazing to know that no matter what, there will always be someone there to rely on. Someone more than a friend and someone who chose to be part of your family. Does that sound sappy? I don't care. I used to not care too much for real, nitty gritty love (just ask all my ex's), and now I'm ridiculously in it. For-e-ver.

Oh, and in case you were curious, we're getting married 5 months and 1 day after our first date. YIKES! I love it.

ENGAGED.

So today after school, Andrew and I went to a park and read books. Then we went to the mall to pick up Chick-fil-a and then we went to a pavilion and ate. Next thing I know, Andrew starts complaining that his stomach is sick: He needs to sit down or go on a walk or something. But he does not want to go back to the apartment. He wants to stay outside. So I suggest a few places, and in the interest of time told him we should go on a walk because, initially, that's what he wanted to do. And it was closer to our apartments.

So we go to the park behind the temple. Not Rock Canyon. The one with the gate. But Andrew said it was too crowded, so we left and went to Rock Canyon. And as we're walking along the grass, he keeps asking me how I want him to propose to me. I told him I did not care as long as it wasn't in the apartment or in the car. So he keeps asking, dropping lines like "Do you want me to propose to you in Salt Lake?" or "My teaching companion said I should do this..." and then we go in this little pathway between some dead trees and he just stops walking. 

So I turn around to look at him. He looked funny. And then he asks, "What about right here?" And me, believing him ten minutes before when he said he did not have my ring yet, said, "You don't have the ring yet." And before I knew it, BAM. He's pulled out a little brown box out of his backpack (that he insisted he bring along with him for our walk), drops down to one knee, and opens the box, all in one swift movement. Then I started jumping up and down and forgot to say "Yes" when he popped the question. And I laughed and could not stop jumping.

This is what was in the brown box:

Later, he told me of all his elaborate plans this week that just kept falling through. So, in the spur of the moment, he decided just to do it there. In the midst of dead trees.

We also spent a good time tonight singing Hellogoodbye Lyrics such as:

"You should know, it's true

The part about my love for you and how

My heart's about to burst into a million pieces"

And that's the story I will tell for the rest of my life when someone asks  how my husband proposed to me.

Distracted

In case you're curious, I'm still distracted. And I'm missing Women's History. Again. Because I am distracted (also because I just woke up). Moreover, I'm going to turn in an English paper late. I've never turned a paper in late. Ever. Not in elementary school (do they have papers in elementary school?). Not in junior high (when I got accused of plagiarism by Mrs. Davis). Not in high school (when I sometimes had to sit in the hallway for talking or laughing too much. Like this one time my friend and I gave a presentation and we laughed so hard our teacher kicked us out. During our presentation). AND Not in college. Definitely not in college, because in college, I get bugged if I have anything lower than an "A". This semester, I'll be lucky to get something besides a "C". Actually, I might just be lucky to get a "C". We will see. I used to be the most focused woman in the world. Now I walk around all the time thinking "La La La... Love Love Love... La La La". And I love it. Because, even if I failed out this semester (which would never, ever happen), I would look back and think "La La La... Love Love Love... La La La" and grin. Because life is that silver lined right now.

So if you think it can't happen to you, you are wrong. Cause I thought it never would for me. Ever. 

(I was wrong)

Facebook

Andrew deactivated his facebook today. So my relationship status is lonely. Before, it always said "In a relationship with Andrew Chander". Now it says "In a relationship." So to all those wonderers out there: I am not in a make believe relationship. My boyfriend just thinks he is too cool for facebook. I think it's the new facebook layout that sent him running...

Here Comes the Sun.

"Here comes the sun and I say: It's alright. Little darlin, it's been a long, cold lonely winter. Little darlin, it feels like years since it's been here. Here comes the sun, here comes the sun and I say: It's alright. Little darlin, the smile's returning to their faces. Little darlin, it seems like years since it's been here. Here comes the sun. Here comes the sun and I say: It's alright."

Obviously, I did not look too cute today. Oh well. The sun is OUT and it is oh so beautiful. I love it. 

I am not into school or work. This morning when I was prying myself out of bed, Andrew sent me a text telling me that school was our focus right now. I do not want to focus on school. I want to focus on my plans and my man. But then again, I'm so distracted my fingernails are completely chipped, my eyebrows are awry, and I do not want to go tanning. It's funny for me to look back at pictures and see how put together I used to be. Sure, I've always had my own style and sass. But I used to be meticulous about my appearance. Now I just go. This makes me feel guilty because I could be so much hotter. But then again, I don't really care. Because right now, I am so much happier than I ever was at my hottest.

Today I had a long text conversation with a friend I have not seen in a year and a half or so. While texting, she asked me about a boy I used to be extremely close to. This shouldn't have been a surprise since the last time I talked to her I was in the thick of my relationship with said boy. But it still surprised me because I never think about it anymore. I had to put myself back in that situation and think of what was going on the last time we spoke. She was very surprised that our relationship ended and that we no longer spoke. I didn't give her details, just said we parted ways a long time ago. Right after I told her, she asked if I was serious with my boyfriend she saw on facebook. It was funny- like she knew that since I wasn't in my previous relationship, I must be close to getting married to someone else. The point is, it made me think. And all I really have to say is this: I don't know why that relationship happened, nor do I care anymore. Or think about it. I'm so glad I'm with someone who is nice and considerate (even if he is a little punk and a little younger than me which the latter I never, ever thought would happen, even if by four months). I was so unhappy in that relationship, but I stuck with it because I knew it was the right thing to do (Which it was. and it was also right that it didn't work out. Which is twisted and weird but whatev). If it had worked out, I always would have been unhappy. Now I get to be happy all the time and I am so, so glad.

The END.

Lazy Lazy.

Sometimes I am really lazy. Like today. I slept in until 10. And it felt so wonderful. Then my new plates (so cute) and new shower curtain (so adorable) came in and I talked to Lexi about unmentionable things that are a little nerve wracking. Then I talked to my Mama about plans and reservations for 30 minutes where I found out my little bro is so sick he's on like 4 kinds of medicine. Noah is just so cute, even when he is so sick. He's just a nice little boy. I love him. Then I reserved a study room, which I want to try and see if they're a good idea. Andrew and I make a group, because a group makes 2. I can't study at home, but I feel suffocated studying in the library when I'm with another person. I like to be able to talk if I want to talk. Thus the group study room is fabulous. I'm gonna get so much done! I'm late to work right now because I need to be there in 13 minutes and I have not showered. Gross, I know.

I just feel so... happy and excited and distracted that I do not want to focus, especially when I know I can push things back. I also sometimes need some alone time, which I am invoking right now. I was in a really bad mood last night, so I'm glad I got the extra sleep and conversations in. BUT I really, really don't like to be told what to do. I never have. Maybe I should work on that. My mama always described it as "you were always going to do the right thing, you were just going to do it how you wanted to." So true. Families are great, and I am so excited that in a determined amount of time, I will have a second one. Really I will have three, and one main one. A new one. And that is so exciting and it was so random and unexpected. No wonder I have trouble focusing.

On another note, I need to be so much better about taking pictures and writing. Those are my favorite things. I got the cutest blue journal which helps with writing, but I still have to remember. Sometimes I can't think about anything besides the person in the picture above, as wonderfully cheesy as that sounds. This picture was last Thursday right after (or maybe right before) Andrew and I made a very important phone call about a very important date (June 25th). Life is just so exciting. And I am so content and happy and I like that I finally found someone who fits without making him fit. I dated around for a long long time (almost 7 years) before I found one I wanted for keeps. But this one stuck. And I love it. And I love him.

I probably shouldn't write that on my blog because my ring finger is still bare. Oh well. Too late.

2 is better than 1

.LoveLoveLoveLove.

This used to be my theme song:

The train is almost here. This decision seems so clear. I can feel the habit cutting like a knife. In the end, I know that it is gonna drive right into me. Cause I'm a drifter and I know that doesn't do me any good. Moving on from place to place, never staying where I should. I left him just to leave. No, I left him cause he needed me. I can feel him looking at me like I stole his '67 chevrolet and drove it away. Cause I'm a gypsy and I know it doesn't do me any good. Moving on from place to place, never staying where I should. I walked into another strange place, didn't see a single face that I recognized or wanted. Guess it's on to the next chase. Cause I'm a drifter and I know that doesn't do me any good, moving on from place to place never staying where I should. Yeah I'm a gypsy and I know that doesn't do me any good, moving on from place to place, stealing hearts just cause I could... (by Rosi Golan)

Now this one is:

If you were falling, then I would catch you. You need a light? I'd find a match. Cause I love the way you say "Good Morning" and you take me the way I am. If you are chilly, here take my sweater. You're head is aching? I'll make it better. Cause I love the way you call me "Baby" and you take me the way I am. I'd buy you Rogaine when you start losing all your hair. Sew on patches to all you tear cause I love you more than I could ever promise and you take me the way I am. You take me the way I am... (by Ingrid M.) 

Edchacation

I need to be better about writing and photographing. They are my favorite things. Along with loving. And dresses. And church.

So today my women's history class talked about women's education. Apparently, my teacher and her colleagues often have female students come and tell them that they are afraid to succeed. They do not want to look too ambitious or overzealous. They do not want to seem too career-oriented. In other words, they do not want to scare off the men.

I do not understand this concept. I'm all about my double major, even though I don't know what I want to do as a day job while I try to establish myself as an author (which is, I know, a long shot. My mother reminds me as often as the "what are you going to do with your life?" question arises). I don't know if I will ever be published, but I know I am going to try. I want to do what I love doing. I don't understand why that is a problem for some girls. I don't know what every girl in the world should want to be, because every girl in the world is different. However, I believe every person should try to be their best. So why not through education? I'd rather be at school than be in a 9-5 I detest. I'd rather be in school than anything else though, which is ironic because I did not want to go to college for a long, long time. I just wanted to be free, away from any kind of structure. I don't feel that way towards school anymore. I love to learn. That being said, I often feel like school gets in the way of my education.

Just a Sunday Afternoon

 

 

Today I went to church and I wore my cute new green dress. Apparently, it was see through. In my apartment, no one reminded me. Instead, they told me how adorable it was. I agreed. I did not realize it was as transparent as green saran wrap. So I went to church, cardigan stuffed in my bag, and sat down in Relief Society-- where I realized I could see my legs through my skirt. Suffice to say, all day church long I tried to cover myself up. It's a pity though. That dress is just so cute and flowy.

After church, we went on a scooter ride. We stopped up by some houses and I busted out my Nikon. It was fabulous. I never thought I would meet someone who would be content to hang out with me while I get my photography on. More than that, I did not think I would like it if I did. I was right, because I don't like it. I love it. I like that I have found a boy who actually likes things I like, who does what he wants, and likes it that I do what I want as well. It's the exact opposite of feeling suffocated. It makes feel liberated. It makes me feel free.

And I am so tired. And happy. And I need to start my homework. Badly.

Weekends are just too short. 

Trouble.

I have done something bad.

I have found this website.

It has everything cute a woman could ask for. So, after Andrew left tonight I did what any woman would do: I bought a journal. It is ridiculously great. It was once a cook book, published in the 1950s. Not anymore. Some cute woman in California tore out the pages and then lovingly stitched in new, blank pages. But not just blank pages. There are three sections: one in cream, one in pink, and one in graph paper. It was 25 dollars. Good style is not cheap. But it was worth it. Why? Because as I type this, 450 blank pages of life are heading my way. I've been so bad at keeping a journal since last summer. Maybe this will help me out.

I'm at the KCI Airport

Yes, I wrote a few hours ago.

No, that does not bother me.

So tonight my mama and my 2nd mother (Aunt Sandy) drove me to the airport. I even got to sit in the front seat which, let me tell you, is a big deal to the Bogarts. Okay, not really. But still. I got to sit in the front seat and it was fabulous because my dad's front seat has heated seats. My dad is a high roller (But not really. In fact, I doubt he has ever gambled. In any way. Unless it had to do with streaking or corn dogs... that just sounded wrong. My dad is a good person.). 

Anyway, on the way to the airport my mama, Aunt Sandy and I had a little conversation about the way in which we live our lives, only not so deep. (Notice I'm doing that thing professors hate you to do? Only not really because this is not a research paper. I did it again! I will stop now.)

So. Back to my story and not my parentheses. My aunt, Mama, and I had a good talk the last few minutes of the drive. My cousin Katy is at BYU Idaho. She is a little bit of an over achiever, which can be a good thing but also damaging. And her last semester was so traumatizing that this semester she's taking a few real classes and then classes like weight training and aerobics to help her chill out.

But let's face it: In college, we all need to chill out. Sometimes I stress out so much that I start stressing because I'm stressing. It doesn't have to do with anything else. I remember hearing a story once from one of my mom's friends who skipped all of her classes one day and had a girls day with her roommates. Being the naive thirteen year old I was, never having skipped a day of school or received anything below an A, I was shocked. How could a person just skip a day from school and totally nix her responsibilities? And then she said the magic words, "If I hadn't skipped that day, it would have been just another day. Now it is a memory." The words hit me hard. 

And they hit me a little too hard.

In high school, we were allowed to miss 15 days a semester. That means we were allowed to miss 30 days a school year. That means we were allowed to miss an entire month of school. You can let out your breath. I didn't miss 15. I missed 18. Every semester. My brother had sweetened up the attendance officer for me his years preceding me. All I had to do was smile and say "Hello Mrs. So and So" and BAM I was free. Outta class and outta mind.

Then I went to college and something happened. I had to be in class to get good grades. I never skipped class. Ever. If I had to be out of town, I'd tell my teacher two weeks in advance, all the while showing them my glittering reports and papers. I was excused then, too. Then last semester happened and I never went to Roman History after the second test except for once or twice. I'd sleep halfway through my 8 oclock which gave me a grade reduction. I'd skip French so that I could write papers. It wasn't that I didn't want to go to class. In fact, I cried once because I was sick and had to miss class. But the reason I was sick was because I had been so stressed my body shut down. I let stress get in the way of school. I let school get in the way of school.

Last week, I studied myself nauseous for an English exam. I studied so hard my eyes started to cross. I'll be honest, I like that feeling. I like to feel like I know everything. It's elating. Then I got into the testing center and I wanted to cry when I saw the test. And I knew I hadn't done everything that I could have done, which was true. I had not finished all of my reading. I had not taken notes on all of my reading. I doodled on some of my class notes. Somehow I finished the test and turned it in. Then I went home, finished grading papers, ate dinner that my amazing boyfriend made for me, hung out for an hour and a half and went to sleep, still secretly stressed and fearful that I would fail the test, fail the class, and fail my academic career. My academic career. I had done badly on the test. My life was over.

Then I woke up.

See, I learned this time last year that life is about balance. But I never put it into practice for more than a few months. Around last May, I forgot about that. I wanted everything to be perfect. I was in a terribly unhealthy relationship, I wanted good grades, and I wanted to look better. I was so stressed that I had to go on medicine to control my hormones (hello, birth control). And that didn't help. In fact, I got more stressed after the relationship ended, after I got my first B-. I got a C last semester. Yes! A straight up C. I had to try not to cry. But then I woke up the other day (Wednesday), and I had an epiphany. An epiphany that had gotten away from me. An epiphany that I have already written down: Life is about balance. 

So here is the summary of my conversation with my mama and my aunt, after so much summarization: I have a lot of things in my life: my religion, my family, my education, Andrew, my friends, my two jobs, my writing, my photography. Sometimes, okay, all the time, I want to do what I want to do, which usually means having fun. But I have fun with all these things: I adore my religion- I love faith and the happiness and pure peace it brings. It is the best feeling and I love the seemingly endless number of facets that come along with it. And I love that I get to learn more about the Church every day I am at work. It is amazing! I love my family, I love love love to learn, I don't want to write online how amazing/wonderful Andrew is to me and how much fun we have together because I don't want to make anyone jealous (he is that good), I have amazing friends who love to have fun and to chill and to be there for each other, and I loved both of my jobs when I took them, until I let them stress me out. I also want to write all the time (as obvious by the length of my entires) and I never, ever want to get sick of photography. These things are all part of me, and I shouldn't let any of them overwhelm me. So I'm going to stop. I'm going to stop stressing. Sometimes I'll get 100% on my tests. Sometimes I will get 75%. Sometimes I'll have time to cook dinner, other times I'm just going to eat a pb&j. It ain't a life or death situation. It's just life.

But I wanna keep living and loving and laughing because those are the BEST things. And if you don't love who you're with or what you're doing, you've already lost yourself. I've found myself repetitively over and I'm not letting myself get away this time. I am so here to stay. 

High School Bedroom/ When I Was Eighteen

I am in my high school bedroom. Being in my high school bedroom always turns back the time in my head. It's like I never left but at the same time, it's like I've never been here. Mostly because all of my stuff is out of it and the walls aren't yellow anymore and all of my photographs and sketches are pulled down. Now it's a guest bedroom. .

Today I went to my home ward and left after sacrament to finish some homework (I didn't finish) and start David's birthday dinner. We're pressed for time since my flight leaves at 7 something and Nathan heads home right after the baptism.

Besides being in my high school bedroom, I'm also typing on my old laptop that now belongs to my baby sister. Except she's not a baby. She is eighteen years old which blows my mind. And it makes me think of what I was like at eighteen.

When I was eighteen, I usually spelled my name "Elisa" only sometimes using "Lissa"

When I was eighteen, I stopped scrapbooking and started painting and focused on taking real photographs.

When I was eighteen, my hair was short and straight. Until I found out it was wavy.

When I was eighteen, I would hide out in my room when I came home.

When I was eighteen, I was not planning on going to college anywhere at anytime.

When I was eighteen, I decided I would go to Mizzou two and a half weeks before graduation because my best friends were going there and I did not want to get left alone.

When I was eighteen, my brother Nathan was already married

When I was eighteen, my brother Josh was dating my best friend and he was in boot camp and about to be shipped to Iraq.

When I was eighteen, my other best friend got married two weeks after her eighteenth birthday.

When I was eighteen, I kissed a boy on my senior trip who had been kicked out of BYU-Idaho for starting a fraternity.

When I was eighteen, I thought skinny jeans were atrocious

When I was eighteen, I had a puppy named Suzie Q.

When I was eighteen, I played on the tennis team and I complained about being too tan.

When I was eighteen, I moved out of my house.

When I was eighteen, I wanted to be twenty-five. Or at least twenty-one.

And I don't feel nostagic. Not one bit. Because I am so glad I am not eighteen anymore.
Oh. And I was twenty in the picture above. Not eighteen. And I lived in Salt Lake. Not Lee's Summit.

I Look Like My Brother Josh

... Which means I look like a man. Case in point? Look right above this text. That is the best poker face/scary face I can manage, plus the claws. And I still look like a man, despite my flowery headband and eyeliner and painted nails and obvious girl qualities because, well, I am a girl. A girl that looks like her brother and THUS looks like a man. Don't fight with me. [PS I only put the sepia picture up because, well, after writing this post I did not want to start my paper. Still. So I documented myself in old school tones as well. Look at it while listening to the OK Go song about being hot. You know the one. That is all.]

I do not want to write about prostitutes. Well, I do. But I don't. I don't want to write about them at this instant and I do not want to write a historiography because they are difficult. I shouldn't whine. I veto people's papers all the time. In fact, for class on Friday (that I will not be attending thanks to the baptism of my cute little brother David), my class has to read Emile by Rousseau. Want to know what I did on Monday and last night while dinner was cooking? I graded almost thirty papers about Emile. Except they focused on the parts with the priest, and I need to focus on the education of women because that is what you do in Women's Classes.

Also, last night I failed a test.

Well, maybe not. But maybe so.

I'll find out within the week.

Today in the class I bombed my test in (transatlantic literature), I sat and thought about how I would rather be writing and how this summer I want to quit my jobs and work in a flower shop and write my book outside. Because my book is waning in love. That is not okay. I want my first book to be in the publishing works when I graduate college. A little too ambitious? Maybe. I do not care. I can do it. But I'll tell you, ever since I decided (for real) that I wanted to be a writer, my grades have suffered. Because instead of studying, I just want to write. Don't get me wrong, I love to read. It is important. But I want to WRITE. And about things I want to write about. 

On another note, I do not like to make decisions or spend a lot of money, but I made some today and I bought three skirts on eBay. I know what you're thinking: eBay. Gross. You are wrong. EBay, when used correctly, is a gem. The only downside is that you do not get to try the clothes on. Like that green dress that looked super cute online and was a terror in the box. Or the white dress that never came. Whatev. Four bucks ain't gonna break no one. At least not today.

Man, I am long winded when I do not want to do something.

Scratch that, I am long winded all the time.

Lake at Sunset

Hey Mama

Hey Mama. This post is for you. Like usual.

We went to Color Me Mine today and it was splendid. You would like it. In fact, you would like it so much that you would have taken me and Anna there as small children. There was a little girl there this morning with a rumpled blue dress and blonde hair and a paint smudge on her cheek. She kept catching my eye and laughing. I told her hi when she stood by me at the paint bottles. She grinned. I bet she was all kinds of trouble, and I know I was that much trouble when I was that little. And I am probably that much trouble now (when I have the time to be).

Also, Mama, today I did something you would not be that proud of. Andrew came over for dinner when he had a break from work and guess what I wore? Pajama pants. I'm not ashamed. I wore pajama pants I've had since high school. Maybe even junior high. They're the light blue old navy ones that have weird lookin' green and white flowers. I cut them off at the knees in the ninth grade and sometimes I would be sneaky and wear them to church activities and even to school and if my professors questioned their clothing status, I would say they were capris or gauchos or something un-pajama like so I would not get into trouble. It was not a lie though, because they hit where capris do and they swing baggily like gauchos (by the way, I believe gauchos are so heinous they should be outlawed). Do you remember when I got sent to the principal's office for wearing pajama pants in high school? I was so mad. But then again, I have never liked dress codes. In fact, I think the only (or at least main) reason I wore pajama pants was because you thought they were sloppy and I thought they were comfortable and I did what I wanted. (Side note: About an hour ago, Andrew tried to teach me to say "I do what I want" in spanish. I did not want to say it in spanish because my mouth does not work that way and it is embarrassing for your boyfriend to hear you stutter a language they not only speak but teach. BUT maybe I could learn it just so I could say it in front of Nathan and then he would make fun of me). I am ready for warm weather when I do not have to wear pants. They're so constricting.

ALSO today I did go tanning like I told you I would. That is why I got off the phone with you. I had to talk to the girl behind the counter. She was tan and she had freckles, but the only reason that is relevant is because I am tan and I have freckles which is a weird combination. Then I went tanning and I did not strip completely naked. I only say this because I know it will make you feel better about the hygiene of tanning beds. So, I laid there and the fake sun felt so so good and before I knew it fifteen minutes were up. And as usual (when I wear clothing), I checked to see if I had any tan lines and I did not. Which is bogus. BUT I just checked and they are there. My legs are tanner already. I love being part Mexican. Cha ching.

That is really all I have to say today.

Now I will call you and tell you to read.

Stress and Fireflies

I am stressed.

I have a lot of theories on why that could be such as lack of sleep and a few B assignments (don't laugh at me) and a stack of tests that want to be graded. But I do not want to talk about such things. Instead, I need to take a few minutes and write. Because that is how I abolish stress. And right now, the stress is overflowing. Except for in the boyfriend department. I feel pretty excellent about that one for the first time in like, ever.

---

This is the first page of my book, tentatively titled When Fireflies Fly. You'll see why:

When I was a little girl, my brothers and I would sit in the backyard with my mother and my sister and watch fireflies sparkle. We'd stare as they stoically suspended in mid air and giggle peals of laughter when they zipped from one end of the never-ending backyard to the other. Most of the fireflies we watched had yellow lights, but sometimes they were orange and sometimes they shimmered pink. Once, my brother Andrew captured a blue one. We gathered around him and peered into his seven-year-old cupped hands. I was enraptured.

I called them Twinkle Bugs, and sometimes Mama let me catch them. I was amazed every time I held one between my childishly excited fingers. Every once in a while, I'd sneakily touch their lights when Mama turned her back and powder would trace the palms of my hands. It glowed and glittered even after I set the firefly free and I would hold my hand up almost to my nose, captivated by the swirl of light.

Before Mama gave me free range of the yard to trap Twinkle Bugs, however, she would punch air holes in the top of jars. As she did this, I collected grass and leaves to shove in the bottom. Then I would run around in the dark, cramming as many fireflies as possible in the jar, shrieking with delight. Afterwards, I'd take them to my room and climb on my bed. I'd lie on my stomach, the sticky Southern air settling in around me, set the jar at eye level and stare through the thick glass. 

They were beautiful. 

They shined bright, blinking as often as I blinked. I thought they were magic. Eventually, though, if I did not let them out in time, their lights slowly faded. Their sparkle stopped shining, and their blinks became far apart. Eventually, they got tired, laid at the bottom of the jar, and quit gleaming altogether.

I could not bear to see the Twinkle Bugs stop twinkling. I could not bear for them to look normal. They were extraordinary and beautiful and I wanted them to be that way forever. So, on nights when I felt adventurous, I'd wait until the whole house was silent and then I would crawl through the window of my first floor bedroom or creep through the back door. I'd set my tiny toes on the cool grass outside, walking as far away from the house as I dared. Then, gently, I would unscrew the cap from the glass jar, lifting the fireflies as far as my child arms could reach. And then, in an instant, the fireflies would swirl all around me. And when they flew, they were free. They were free in a way I craved to be.

--- 

This is nowhere near the front of the book:

When I was in fourth grade, Ava and I would rush to finish our work early so that we could sit in the bean bag chairs. They were next to the bookshelf lining the back of the classroom and over the books, our teacher had one of those banners. You know what I'm talking about. They say things like "I think I can, I think I can, I think I can" with pictures of the blue engine huffing and puffing. This one did not say that. Our teacher's banner said "Extra is the same as ordinary, expect for that little extra." 

I looked dreamily at that poster every day. I'd recite it in my head as I walked home and jump to it when I jumped rope. I knew that it was a life changing statement. 

Halfway through the school year, I worked up courage to talk about it. Sitting in the bean bags one afternoon, I looked at Ava and told her, "When I get older, I am going to be that little extra." She had never even noticed the poster. She asked me what I was talking about and I told her it didn't matter. I knew I was going to be exceptional. I was not going to be normal. I was not going to be ordinary. I was that little extra.

Sleepin' in the SC

Today I have done not one, but a few things.

I went to Women's History where I had to write about a reading I did not do and then I went to work and then my boss took us out to lunch and a lady who knew our boss told us (me and aimee) to never, ever marry a returned missionary who had been home less than two years and to remember that 50% of LDS marriages end in divorce and pretty much if we wanted to be happy, never ever get married.  She also told us about her smokin' (literally) great-great grandmother who loved religion but loved her vices and it was awesome. After that I went to class late, because of the lady telling us stories, and then I had a pop quiz on the first emo kid (Poe, duh) and I did not know what to say because truthfully, I opted out of the reading because I read the poem six or seven months ago and I wanted to cuddle on the couch instead. But let's be realistic, if Jane Austen had the choice of actullay being with a super sweet, cute boy or writing about one, she would have picked being with one. And since I was supposed to also be finishing a Jane Austen book, I say this comment to make myself feel better. Then I went back to work and I fell asleep reading letters. Yes, I fell asleep. So, since my hours for the day were already surpassed, I left work and now I am waiting for my next class to start up and it will be ridiculously good. Or boring. Only time will tell. I've never been on an editing staff before. I'm hoping I like it which I should, because I read most the papers and the papers I didn't read, Andrew read them to me. La. La. La.

PEACE.

RIGHT now!

I am sitting on my bed with my necklace in my mouth, waiting for the new man to get off work and listening to a mix that consists of ACDC, Ingrid, AND Taylor Swift. That's right- I like a lotta genres of music. I don't just like to stick with one. It's called v-e-r-s-a-t-i-l-i-t-y.

And it would be really funny if I just misspelled that.

I want to be an author. I want to be a writer.

And in the grand twist of things, when something really, really good happens I just don't even know what to say or write because I get embarrassed and giggle and put my head in my hands and say "AH!" I'm hoping that it is cute.

I've just seen a face I can't forget the time or place where we just met 

She's just the girl for me and I want all the world to see we've met

Had it been another day, I might have looked the other way

And I'd of never been aware, but as it is I'll dream of her tonight

Falling, yes I am falling and she keeps calling me back again

I have never known a like of this

I've been alone and I have missed things and kept out of sight

But other girls were never quite like this

Falling, yes I am falling and she keeps calling me back again

Cute

"Your face is really warm, too."

"I think that's because I'm blushing."

Lyrics

Heavy is the mind that can't be told when it's time to let it go

Heavy is the heart filled so full with sorrow

But worry can't help a single thing and when we're out of heads

At least we're out in the open

The warning signs of a troubled mind it's all the things we can't see

We can't hide

But when you kiss me in ways I've forgotten, Love is a swimming pool

With no bottom

We've got to hold on, the water is rising

Now all we ever want is to be loved

Whether sun or stars above

All our trouble, all our toil is toward no greater earthly goal

So never mind what logic says

I say logic's a guy who outta empty his pockets

All we want is an open mind

Y'know the kind ya can't hurt, ya can't buy

And when you kiss me in ways I've forgotten, Love is a swimming pool

With no bottom

We've got to hold on, the water is rising

Everyone spends a little time fighting the drift back out to the deep end

When I asked you to throw me a line

That's when you pulled me out by the heart strings. 

We thought the weight of the world would have us sinking like a stone

If we should ever lose our hold

But we rise to the surface the moment that we know

There is nothing to fear down below -The Submarines

Just a good one.

Sin

I have had an interesting, busy, long/short, fun week.

I met new people and learned new things about my old friends and I slept in late and got up way too early and ate crackers and chicken and cheese and I even went snowshoeing and did not get injured or wind up in the hospital like I always seem to do and I got a cute card in the testing center and I finished the maps at work and am getting reacquainted with my friend S. Norman Lee, a man who died in the 50s that I already did a big collection on and now have a new addition and my mama sent me new clothes and I read Coleridge and Wordsworth and Wheatley. Also I wore my cowboy boots again, finally.

That is all I have to say. I need to jump start reading Persuasion before I leave again.

I am not a big Jane Austen fan. I think that makes me a sinner.

Things I Do Not Like

1. Having too much homework to have a life

2. My homework today

3. The feeling after you go from really, really hungry to really, really full

4. The headache I have from being really full

5. Technology

6. Being slow on the uptake

Right now, I am frustrated because my computer does not want to install my new printer. Also I am frustrated because Pops did not buy me a USB chord to go with my printer. Yes, I realize I should be grateful to have a printer. But what good is a printer without a USB chord? Thus, I stole Kendra's to install this baby and it still is not working. Lame-O.

To ease out my frustration, I will say a few things I do like. And I like a lot of things.

1. My jacket that I have worn for 2 days in a row

2. Cute, CUTE and cheap dresses off ebay. Oh yes.

3. The terms "Dear Heart" and "My Little Sweetheart"

Now I am re-installing it. Is that a bad thing?

Whatev.

The History of Clothes

When I left work this morning, I swiped my card on the Kronos machine and pivoted towards the stairs. As I turned, I saw Geoff with red hair walking my way. Geoff is a work friend, but I am hesitant to even call him that. He is funny to talk to and super nerdy like me but he is also the person who tells me when I do things wrong, which is all the time because I am a rebel and try to loophole required fields on processing documents (intentionally and unintentionally). Also, I think he thinks I am ridiculous, and that suspicion was confirmed today. When I saw Geoff, I smiled and waved like usual. No big. I started to pass him on the stairs, but then he stopped me. 

"Lissa," he said

And I thought, "What did I do wrong now? If he tries to correct me, I am going to tell him I need to get going." But that is not what I said. Instead, I tentatively squeaked "Yes?"

"I wasn't sure that was you when I first saw you."

"Oh," I replied, trying to make an escape before he told me he needed to talk to me about my work performance.

"I have something to tell you," he said and I knew I was in trouble.

"Yes?" I said again. Apparently, when I think I am going to be lectured I don't know what else to say.

"I have never seen you wearing something so... muted." (Actually, I'm not sure that's what he said, but it was along those lines.)

"Say what?"

"Yeah, you usually wear something bright. Like red."

"Oh." 

"And you're wearing brown and pink today..."

"Well," I informed him, "Sometimes I wear black."

"Yeah, but when you do, you wear it like BAM! Like your bag."

"Well, I love my bag," I told him. Then I laughed and started walking up the stairs, but he stopped me again. He said something else about me wearing colorful clothes.

And I said, "I am going to take that as a compliment."

I was halfway up the stairs by this point and there were people around me. Geoff stood by the foot of the stairs as he said, "Well... it's not a compliment, but it's not--"

I cut him off. "I'm taking it as a compliment."

And then I made my escape. I didn't even get in trouble for my processing skills (or lack thereof).

But now I know that people, even boys, pay attention to what I wear. I think that is weird, because I don't remember much of what I wear. I remember sometimes, but not always. 

Let me rephrase that: I can remember what I wore when memorable events happened. For example, the pink tank top I have on today-  Right after I got it, I wore it when I had one of my first kisses with Jon, a boy I dated in high school. I think I wore this tank top (under a white wife beater) to a frat party at Mizzou when I proclaimed my (or rather Kelly's) black and pink mini skirt B. Spears worthy. I also wore this tank top when Anna came to visit me in Salt Lake. I also wore this tank top both summers of EFY. I also wore it one late night not last summer, but the one before while I talked to David (who will no longer acknowledge my presence on campus, but that is okay) on a hill by a parking lot. I wore it when I went home this summer and watched Sophie. I paired it with a purple wife beater and cut off, rolled up shorts and flip flops and it felt like summer. I wore it today when I talked to red-headed Geoff on the HBLL stairs. I think it came from Kohl's years and years ago and I wash it every two weeks. It is starting to get holes.

And my brown shirt? Well, it's history is not as long, mostly because I don't always like to wear it. When I wear it, I usually wear it under that white smock dress of mine, but that presents a problem because it likes to snake its way up to my ribcage. BUT I know I wore it the day after my birthday last September. We had a bonfire, that originated as a Cowboy and Indian bonfire, only to get shot down and become a normal fire. Also I liked to wear it tucked into jeans and skirts because it cannot ride up that way. I am just thankful I am skinny enough to tuck my clothes into my clothes. So maybe I do wear it a lot, but it has not seen as much life as my tank top.

My jeans, my shoes, and my sweater were all acquired over Christmas, thus they have no history.

But WAIT. That is a lie. My shoes have a history. Two Mondays ago, Provo was covered by a blizzard and I, Elisabeth Bogart, did not feel the necessity to wear boots. Instead, I wore the shoes I wore today. They are cute cloth flats with no traction and while I wore them, I thought I was going to slip and die. I should have been concerned for my welfare, and I was until Chad helped me down the walkway, but my mind couldn't help worrying that my shoes would be ruined (which they weren't, thank heavens).

That is all I have to say today. 

OH. And the other day I fixed the toilet. Yes. I fixed the toilet and Becci helped. Kinda. I am working on expanding my talents.

Ink.

The past few days I have gotten more into blogging. It is faster than writing in long hand.

Today I turned in some pages I graded, went to work, went to the class I grade (TA) for, and then I came to the library and sat down. But before I sat down in the library, I went to the bathroom. Life changing, I know. Who does that between classes? 

Anyways, while I turned on the faucet to wash my hands, I looked in the mirror surrounded by florescent lighting. And there it was: Ink. Right under my nose. There were two inky marks, which probably originated as two spots... and no one told me about it all day long. Not when I handed papers in. Not when I went to work in the SC. Not while I sat in Albert Winkler's History 202 class. Not when I handed students back their papers. Not when I talked with the other TAs. The ink stayed above my lip and under my nose, defiantly staring down those in front of me. It branded me in the way only ink can. I am a victim of ink.

Drama.

Water Cup

 

This is what I look like today.

I must admit, I am weird looking. Multi ethnic with a big nose while lookin mostly white.

But I'm feeling like myself again... again. 

In the words of Audrey Hepburn:

"I believe in pink. I believe that laughing is the best calorie burner. I believe in kissing, kissing a lot. I believe in being strong when everything seems to be going wrong. I believe that happy girls are the prettiest girls. I believe that tomorrow is another day and I believe in miracles."

Gotta love her.

Staying Awake

This picture is super cute big, but weird-lookin' small.

I'm just hanging out. Staying awake because I do not have school or work tomorrow, which is fabulous. I finally finished grading papers today while my roommates watch "Another Cinderella Story" and I swear my IQ dropped ten points. Don't get me wrong- the girl in it is cute, and I guess the story is okay if you're into super super teeny bop cheesy. But I am not. I like things to be real, and the movie industry/most of Hollywood really, really bugs me. It also bugs me that so many kids think they need to feel so many emotions about everything all the time. Yes, emotions are good and sometimes you get mad or sad just to feel, but I hate it when I see people create emotions out of nothing. I'm guilty of it, and everyone else probably is as well. That is my tangent.

The other night some boys and a couple of girls came over that we don't really know well. One of the girls and three of the boys stayed well past curfew and they were funny. I was tired and I kept going off on tangents- even more than usual which is ridic because I go on tangents all the time. I can't even help it. For example, Kendra talked about hitting her head on the snow/ice while living at King Henry and I said, "King Henry is just bad for heads. Like this one time, when I was walking home from campus, a bird pooped on my head." And then everyone laughed at me. (That really happened, by the way, and I screamed. Loud. And then I could not stop laughing the whole way home while I tilted my crappy hair away from my face. Drama)

Speaking of drama, that night I kept saying "drama" to every story that was told. And then everyone kept making fun of me for it. One of the boys, his name is Sean, hit the couch and said "DRAMA!" and I was so tired I didn't even know what was going on.

Sometimes I come off as a ditz and I do not even care. Actually, I think I kinda like it because then people are surprised that I'm relatively smart and much more ambitious than most.

Speaking of ambition, lately (as in the past 4 months) this is what I wanna do with my life:

1. Publish not only a novel, but academic essays and short stories. Right now I am writing a novel tentatively titled "When Fireflies Fly" and a children's series called "Lulu and Zuzu's How-To" which is funny.

2. Teach for America when I graduate

3. Grad School somewhere not in the West... probably the North East. And either in American or European History or Creative Writing or Literature (my Dad started out with two focuses in grad school.. I could too. Then again, it took him 10 years to graduate)

4. I STILL need to exhibit photos in a show. I'm just lazy when it comes to that one.

5. Obviously, I wanna get hitched and have about fifteen children, half of them adopted. BUT I want to get married because I am in LOVE and not because I feel like it is my last and/or only chance... I've seen so many girls in Provo rush into marriages they are so not ready for.

6. Also I want to be a better cook

7. Also I want to go on a humanitarian trip or teach English to kids in third world countries

8. If I do not get married, I want to join the Peace Corps

9. Oh, and I wanna be good. :)

"Cause I'm a drifter and I know it doesn't do me any good. Moving on from place to place, never stayin where I should." -Rosi Golan.