Costa Oh-Maya Goodness

Now that I am not sitting on my couch counting the number of things I should be doing: grading papers, studying for finals, cleaning our apartment, etc. I can sit on my parent's couch in Ohio with Sel doing nothing but being super happy that we dominated all of the things I normally think about doing when in P-town. Also, we got to go to Chi town for the past two days with my family and it was fantastic! We also got to go to the Ukranian village because my parents have replaced me with a beautiful Eastern European high schooler. I (take a deep breath) even ate some red meat so I wouldn't offend the kind Ukranians who prepared a scrumptious meal for us while we were there.

I now have found time to relay one of my favorite stories from our honeymoon. Our first port on our cruise was Costa Maya, Mexico. Sel and I got all geared up with the fancy red mom pouch we purchased in Florida and our pounds of sunscreen. After a beautiful snorkeling adventure, we had to decide whether to join the throng of overweight tourists wearing swimsuits two sizes too small

at the beach bar (there was a Fat Tuesdays at EVERY port we went to) or invent our own cultural excursion. Since we had a coupon for a free non-alcoholic drink at Señor Frogs, of course we had to do that. It was free, right? And if there is anything my sweet husband has to use, it is something that is free. Another defining thing about Sel, he is fantastic at saving money. He hates spending something he knows he could save. Sometimes this is great, sometimes it is not so great. Unfortunately, that day was a day that it was not so great. We decided to not pay for a taxi and walk the three miles into town. In the 100 F+ weather. As we started our walk, we were confronted with none other than a fleet of Mexican machine guns and 50 or so armed solders. I panicked and told Sel we should just go back to the boat and gain some more weight. Sel looked down at the coupon and shook his head, "Everything is fine. It is just an award ceremony. This will be fun". As we weaved our way around the machine guns, I looked up and meet eyes with a sniper hiding behind some fourth floor curtains. He stealthily slide back behind the curtains just as I tugged on Sel's hand in an attempt to get him to look at the disturbing sight. Sel shrugged and pulled me forward. We finally found the complex where Señor Frogs was, but everything was shut down because Mexico does this wonderful thing called Siesta (America NEEDS to adopt this pronto). Señor Frogs was open though. We ordered some truly nasty sugary drinks that made our dehydrated selves more thirsty. I also made the mistake of ruining the "freeness" of the drinks by tipping the bartender. Whoops.

Since we were super parched, we decided to go to one of the grocery stores we saw on our walk into town. We had a grand total of 10 pesos, which we used almost all of buying fun Mexican drinks. This was actually one of my favorite parts. No one spoke English and I didn't recognize most of the food on the shelves.

We left feeling much better and not so unhappy about our 2 mile journey in the scorching sun. We were almost to the port when a feeling of utter terror washed over me. One huge ship sat gleaming in the sun ahead of us and it wasn't ours. No other ships were in sight. Hit L's Panic Mode.

L: OHMY! OHMY! Sel where is our ship?! What time is it?

Sel: 4:00PM

L: We were supposed to be back at 3:00PM. It left us. We are stuck in Mexico. We don't speak Spanish! We don't have our passports! We don't have our phones! We have one peso! ONE PESO! That won't get us ANYTHING! We are going to die. Right here. On this sidewalk next to that humongous Iguana. When will our parents know we are gone? In 5 days? 6? We're going to die. We are pretty much already dead. I feel dead.

Sel: Our ship is behind that big one.

L: No it isn't. How could you possibly know that? Why aren't you freaking out? We have been married for ONE WEEK and we are already going to die. Why aren't you panicking?! Are you not understanding how hopeless this situation is?

Sel: Take five more steps and five deep breaths.

L: (Wringing my hands & hyperventilating) I can't. I can't. I only know four words in Spanish. None of those are "Can we please borrow your phone?" or "Where is the American Embassy?" Or "Please don't kill us and don't bother raiding our mom pouch because we just spent the little money we had with us on some really good mango juice"

Sel: L. Walk to me.

I took five shaky steps forward and saw what Sel wanted me to. Our ship. Nestled sneakily and oh so sweetly behind the huge Royal Caribbean ship.

We're still married. Can you believe that? He stuck with me even after my melt down. Know what else? That hasn't been the only time my panic button has been triggered. Sel is the best, most patient human I know. Turns out I have the best husband in the entire universe :)

Merry Christmas!!!

Flabby Arm Girl Strikes Back!

I have been sitting on the couch for the past half of an hour trying to tell myself I really need to study for finals. The only thing I have studied is the cool picture on the front of my abnormal psych book. I have decided to talk about a recent life victory that will hopefully get me into my conquer all mood.

If you regularly read this blog, you will remember a few weeks ago when my exercise physiology TA mortified me in front of my entire class. It was a grand old time. Our last lab was designed to test our VO2 max (aka the best way to determine your cardiovascular health). My awesome partner and I ran an easy mile and then did the ASU treadmill test. Essentially, you run naked on a treadmill in front of your class and they take a vote on whether you are fat or not.

Okay, not true. But maybe a test like that does exist somewhere...I could see Greece doing something like that.

Moving on. You increase the grade 1.5% at 6mph every minute. You just keep increasing the grade until you collapse. Guess what the average of my three tests was?

51.56 mL/kg/min.

Guess what the class average for the girls in my class was?

44.32 ml/kg/min. The high: 51.56 (Me suckas)

The boys?

51.25 mL/kg/min. The high: 53.12 mL/kg/min (only this dude and another dude beat me)

Oh, I'm sorry. Did I see that correctly?

Did the girl with the flabby arms, the hole in her heart and a passing out issue beat the whole fetching average of my BYU athlete filled class?

Hahahahahahahahaahahahahahahahahahahahahaahahahahaha. Hope my tricep fat doesn't smack you too hard in the face while I pass you during my next marathon! SUCKAS!!!!!

Tom Riddle and Antisocial Personality Disorder (Sociopathy)

I LOVE my abnormal psych class. Easily my favorite one this semester if not my entire college career. I just finished one of our assignments and decided to share a snippet or two of it here. It certainly isn't my best written paper, but it was easily one of my favorite to ever write. The lovely paper was nine pages long, but I digested a bunch of it for your reading pleasure. You're welcome.

Patient Profile

Full Name: Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr.

Birth Date: December 31, 1928

Eye Color: Blue/Red

Hair Color: Bald

Weight: 190

Height 6' 3''

Referral

The reasons for Tom’s referral are almost innumerable. His continual murders are the most prominent characteristic of concern. Tom has illegally controlled, tortured and killed countless wizards and muggles using the three unforgivable curses. He shows a complete lack of remorse for his actions and seems to actually derive an intense pleasure from killing. He has admitted to killing muggles in particular for the sole purpose of amusement. Another characteristic of concern is his grandiose sense of self-worth and his exaltation of himself in all aspects (Lykkan 2006). Tom believes he is the most powerful and most important wizard to ever live. This belief instills a sense of entitlement for anything he desires whether it is legal or not. Tom commands a small band of followers known as the Death Eaters who he demands refer to him as “Lord Voldemort” or any other title of superiority. He tortures those in the group who do not treat him with the upmost reverence. Should one of his Death Eaters displease him in anyway, Tom will mercilessly kill them. He tends to kill the displeasing Death Eaters in front of the others in the group as means of reinforcing his superiority and terrifying his followers into complete submission. His continual and extreme disregard for the law and more importantly, humanity, are areas of serious concern.

Diagnosis

Tom Riddle meets all of the criterions of Diagnostic and Statistical Manual for Mental Disorders (DSM-IV-TR) for Antisocial Personality Disorder. The first criterion consists of a pervasive pattern of disregard for and violation of the rights of others indicated by meeting three of the seven outlined personality patterns. Tom definitively meets five of the listed seven patterns: (1) Tom consistently shows a failure to adhere to lawful behaviors through his numerous murders and use of illegal curses. (2) He repeatedly lies to not only those closest to him, the Death Eaters, but to anyone he desires to manipulate. (3) He uses aggression and terror as tactics to attain his desire for power. He also shows no remorse for “having hurt, mistreated, or stolen from another” (DSM-IV-TR). (4) Tom is easily irritated by the minutest things, such as an individual laughing, and responds aggressively by torturing or killing the one causing him annoyance. (5) Tom’s only concern is for his own well being, but he shows a complete disregard for the safety of both those he knows personally and strangers alike.

The second and third criterion for antisocial personality disorder are that the individual is at least 18 years old and there is evidence of conduct disorder before the age of 15. As Tom is roughly 71-years-old, he far exceeds the necessary age limit to be diagnosed with this disorder. Knowledge of his past aggression, cruelty, superficial charm, and deceitfulness while in the orphanage indicates he likely had conduct disorder before entering Hogwarts at age eleven.

Reviewing the stories known of his childhood, it appears he had conduct disorder opposed to oppositional defiant disorder. While still at the orphanage, the workers described Tom as extremely odd and frightening at times and at others the most polite little boy one could ever encounter. There are no known instances of Tom purposely defying the workers other or arguing with them (Czunder 2005). As previously mentioned, Tom often stole possessions from the other children and hoarded them like trophies. Tom usually initiated fights and after getting into one with a fellow orphan boy, he hung the boy’s rabbit from the rafters in the boy’s bedroom. Another occasion indicating Tom’s having conduct disorder occurred a year before he left the orphanage for Hogwarts. He took two orphans, Dennis Bishop and Amy Benson, into a cave while on a field trip. The worker, Mrs. Anne Cole, who was with the children during the field trip said Tom did something so horrifying to Amy and Dennis while in the cave that the children were unable to speak for months afterward.

Tom does not have schizophrenia or manic episodes characteristic of bi-polar disorder. There is no record of him having delusions, hallucinations, disorganized speech, or lack of motivation. On the contrary, Tom has excessive motivation in achieving any and all of his plans. Though Tom has an inflated sense of self-worth, he shows no signs of a flight of ideas, distractibility, or decreased need for sleep.

Another unlisted characteristic in the DSM-TR-IV, but included in the Hare’s Revised Psychopathy Checklist is superficial glibness or charm (Hare & Neumann 2006). “People with this disorder appear to be charming at times, and makes relationships, but to them, these are relationships in name only. They are ended whenever necessary or when it suits them…. They seem to have an innate ability to find weakness in people, and are ready to use these weaknesses to their own ends through deceit, manipulation, or intimidation and gain pleasure from doing so” (Blais, Smallwood, and Groves 2008). The previous mentioned instances of Tom killing his most faithful followers meet the criterion of ending relationships whenever it suits the individual. Tom has also shown instances of being able to perfectly pinpoint weakness in others and play upon those for his purposes.

Treatment

There are only a few options for treatment of this disorder. “A combination of firm but fair programming that emphasizes teaching individuals skills that can be used to live independently and productively within the rules and limits of society” (Sheil 2011) has been shown to be effective. Medications to help treat some of the comorbid conditions, anxiety and depression, should they exist, have also proven to be effective. Tom, however, shows no sign of anxiety or depression. With Tom’s numerous murders on his record, he will likely be sentenced to the forensic unit of the newly renovated Azkaban Mental Hospital for life. Treatment options should focus on helping Tom adjust to life in prison specifically focusing on teaching him interpersonal skills to reduce incidents with fellow patients and staff.

Sel: The Spider Slaying Sniper

It has almost been four months since I became Mrs. Sel. I feel like time is speeding by at an alarming rate and can hardly believe it has already been four blissful months. I have decided to brag about Sel here and how absolutely amazing he is. If you don’t want to turn green with envy (this phrase has never made any sense to me considering I have never, ever heard of a physiological response eliciting green coloring-other than maybe the moment right before someone vomits-which I guess one might do if they were envious…), I would suggest you not read this.

Every single morning I get to walk up to Sel’s smiling, perfect face. We usually end up slamming the snooze button three or four times because A. Our apartment is freezing in the mornings B. We are exhausted C. We frankly just like to cuddle under our toasty covers D. I keep hoping that if we stay in bed long enough, a house elf will appear with two steaming plates of breakfast.

Sel is a fabulous cook and is constantly preparing delicious meals for me J One of our favorite things to do is invent new meals together. Sel’s favorite thing we have ever made was a big, fat vat of chili. (Sel actually didn’t make this. It was all me. Which explains why it was a total disaster and we took dead last for the chili cook off…whoops)

Sel slays spiders on a regular basis for me. Our house has an abnormal amount of spiders who are under the impression we are kind, welcoming Bed & Breakfast owners opposed to vengeful, merciless spider snipers.

Sel is not a normal human. I have been reading a few books about marriage in an attempt to avoid studying for finals and have been initiated into the marriagehood club, which means I get to hear random stories about other people’s marriages. What I have concluded from all of these is that Sel is truly exceptional. There seems to be a divide in a lot of instances of what tasks are designated for a husband and a wife, yet Sel ignores these in favor of doing everything together. In fact, he and I both wrote up all of our 250 thank you cards this weekend. While I am sure there are some husbands out there who helped with thank you cards, I haven’t heard of a single one yet.

Seeing Sel after a long day of school, work, volunteering and such is the happiest sight in the world. He just beams at me like I am the best thing he has ever seen and will exclaim for at least ten minutes, “I love you! You make me so happy! I missed you!” while enveloping me in huge bear hugs.

He gives me at least ten sincere compliments every single day and gets giddy when he buys me presents. Want to hear the supreme amazing thing he did that will forever go down in the history of manhood? Sel did the full out Black Friday. Sel is extremely and wonderfully spending conscious which is a perfect balance for us because I sometimes go a little excessive in buying presents for people. He toughed it out as we spent plenty of money on our loved onesJ We left the house with D^2 at 11:30PM, returned to the house briefly at 3:30AM, unfortunately fell asleep for a bit in which Sel had to wake me up. Despite me practically spitting venom at him (and poor Brian) because I A. despise shopping, B. think 5AM is Satan’s hour, C. was soooo tired, D. really, really detest shopping, he sweetly and patiently carried me upstairs to the car to shop from the early hours of the morning until 10:45AM. You heard that correctly. My sweet husband shopped for other people for nearly 12 straight hours. Sel was then the one later that day to suggest we wrap all of the presents together. Sel = the best husband in the whole universe. Look at all this mush on one page. Isn’t it awesome ?! It is! Because Sel is awesome and life is awesome and whoever just read this is awesome.

All The King's Horses

Did you know repeated mild head injuries dramatically increase the chance of developing Alzheimer's?

Guess who probably has a 90% chance of developing alzheimer's? C'est moi.

The hardest part about accurately calculating this percentage is my inability to remember all of my concussions... Memory loss and head injuries, weird. Here is the scientific data I can most accurately use to support my probability.

Concussion 1: I was 10 and my sister adored Brittany Spears (before she caught skankitis). She begged me to hang up a poster and since I was such a star sister back in the day, I agreed. We snuck down to the kitchen and carried one of our cursed bar stools up to her bedroom. As I started taping up Brittany's sucker eating face to the wall, Brittany spit in my face and I fell back slamming my head into the bathroom door frame. Next thing I remember, I was looking up at my parent's worried faces. The major downfall (get it?) in this instance was that Brittany fell behind the dresser when I fell and took forever to retrieve.

Concussion 2: My family and I had just moved to Michigan and this wonderfully sweet girl (let's call her Meridith) invited me skiing. Me + Ski before this = falling, trees, tears, blood, frozen tears, falling. Pretty much, my track record lead me to believe I was fantastic at skiing. Meridith and I decided to go over a massive ski jump. We are talking about HUGE. As huge as a sidewalk curb. Next thing I knew, I was strapped to a stretcher being dragged by a jet ski. It took me twenty more minutes to remember why I was in Michigan and not in Kansas (go ahead. Say it. I heard it all the time after we moved to Michigan from Kansas).

Concussion 3: I am often under the impression I am ridiculously tough. Which, of course, I am. One day, I told him he needed to learn how to properly play football. Who better to teach him than the NFL's number one pick for most valuable player of every position? Me. We lined up facing one another and then my intimidating strength frightened him and we both fell to the ground. I hit my head (an unusual occurrence) and began to rant and cry and go a tinsy bit crazy. After spending the next four hours in the hospital, I got the spend the rest of the night being woken up every hour by his sweet aptly named sister.

Concussion 4: Yesterday. My sweet husband and I were crowded happily into a full house of our lovely family members. We found a spot to sit on the stairs. You know how girls have this odd propensity to be super ticklish? And then they giggle in this adorable, charming way that makes those of the male sex want to tickle them more? I have the first part down annoyingly well, but my "giggle" sounds more like a hyena being dangled off a cliff by Scar. I also having the obnoxious habit of "writhing". Sel decided to tickle me and the chain reaction of hyena laughing and writhing commenced and my head slammed back onto the wood floor. One of the things about Sel's family is that everyone is ridiculously tough. Today we watched multiple wrestling matches between our little cousins and even while they were being repeatedly slammed into the floor, they were beaming. There was no way I was going to burst into tears in front of a room full of our toughened relatives. I retreated upstairs and made the mistake of calling my parents while in hysterics. This is what I was trying to tell them "I hit my head on the stairs and it hurts and I think I have another fetching concussion". This is what my mom heard, "I feel down the stairs, am hemorrhaging, no one knows I am laying pathetically here and I need you to call Sel, and D^2, the C.I.A., Dr. Who (cause he is super awesome) and one of those 'I Survived' producers so this bit can be aired in a few weeks and make me super famous". My mother called my sweet husband and mom and dad-in-law rushed upstairs. Sel was first up and I was NOT going to the hospital which I attempted to make very clear to Sel by repeatedly saying it over and over and over and over and over AND over again. Luckily, there are two doctor's, a nurse, and a schoolteacher in the family who made sure I didn't have to go to the retched hospital. Yeah! Happy Thanksgiving!

Thankfully, the after headache was very mild and Thanksgiving Eve proved to be very happy. I have so very much to be thankful for, including a quick recovery time. I figured I would tell this entertaining story instead of a cliche list of all the things I am thankful for (though those lists are wonderful to read and write) Also, Sel is the sweetest husband in the world and I am so grateful for all he does and is.:) I love him LOTS :) Hope your Turkey Day was full of food, happiness, family, and more food!

Identity Theft: New Girl

There is this new show on Fox called "New Girl" with Zooey Deschanel. My mom called me a few weeks ago after the pilot telling me I HAD to watch it because she reminded her of me. Then Kit and Caboodle told me to watch it because she reminded them of me. Then my dad called. Then my sister. Then four of my friends. Then my aunt. I decided it was high time to see what all the fuss was about. You know what? Her character does remind me of myself. A lot.

BUT here is the big, fat issue with this. Zooey Deschanel is infinitely cooler than me so I feel as if I can't really claim a similarity. Second, the more I watch it the more I get slightly creeped out by how many similarities I see. Third, I am now afraid to do things I normally do for fear someone will accuse me of trying to act like this character. I am now afraid to use "Your mom" as a response to almost everything. I am afraid to sing phrases (horribly off key of course) opposed to saying them. I am even afraid to be afraid of hurting people's feelings.

She even lives in an apartment with three guys like I do! Wait...it is just me, Sel, and a whole colony of spiders. I bet some of the spiders are male though...

Points for Normalcy

(look at how normal and boring we are. Sometimes I wonder how we live with ourselves)

I haven't done one of these in a while. It is called a non-disastor/calamity/awkward encounter blog post. Weird. I know. Sometimes my life is normal for a stretch which tends to leave me paranoid and waiting for the next black cloud storm.

Things have been blissful, but busy. Pretty much ask any human in America, even homeless Tom who sits by the mental hospital 24/7, and they will report their life being busy. I guess another point for normalcy goes to Sel and I for falling into the category 100% of Americans do. Want to hear the fun things we get to do in a week?

1. Go to school. This, contrary to what I might have reported in the past and will likely report tomorrow, is fun. Except for Exercise Physiology. Exercise Physiology blows and I still detest going there four times a week. Luckily, this seems to be a similar consensus among my peers after our last test (which, amazingly, was even more ambiguous and poorly constructed than the last)

2. Volunteer at Head Start. Easily the BEST 3 hours of my entire week (and Sel's). Pretty much we get to play with pre-schoolers, read stories with them, and eat snacks. When I leave Head start, however, I have difficulty going back to grown-up life where your teachers no longer feed you treats and your friends don't jump up and down and run to hug your legs when they see you. Think it's too late to change my major to early childhood education?

3. Utah State Mental Hospital. Sel sadly does not get to do this one with me. Instead he is volunteering through a hospice center (along with working in a bilayer lab cause he is fantastic like that). There are so many blessed stories from my time here, but I am still not sure what exactly I am allowed to talk about. I shadow an occupational therapist who runs a group of 4 patients. On Wednesdays we spend three hours cooking with them, doing crafts, and other OTish stuff. I have learned the art of keeping my back to the wall unless one of the patients decides my back looks like one of those cat claw sharpening boards. After the patients return to their units, I get to be grilled by the OT to see if I observed anything and whether I hold any potential of succeeding in grad school. On Fridays (my favorite) we go on van rides. My job= making sure they don't take anything from the bathrooms they could try and kill themselves (or others) with. My parents and their blessed talent for using the same joke over and over again love to say "What?! They let you out again?!" Every. Single. Time I call them after I leave the hospital. Sometimes I don't have to wonder too long on why no on laughs at my jokes. Anyway, learning A LOT and pondering on possibly (if I take a few more self defense classes) on doing one of my 12 week observations for OT school at a mental hospital.

4. T.A. Still love my job. A lot.

5. Nerf Battles with Sel. He's winning right now...:/

6. Plotting Ways To Beat Sel in Nerf Battles.

Reading over this even made me bored, BUT I am waiting for Sel to finish doing homework right now after having finished all of mine. Do you think I should throw a battle axe at him or go for the glow in the dark dart gun?

The Pedosmile and Hallow Cat

I am usually fairly paranoid. This comes from ample life experience that has led me to believe I attract the abnormal. Going to my abnormal psych class is NOT helping my paranoia nor is volunteering at Utah State Mental Hospital. On Halloween, we talked about pedophiles amongst other disturbing sexual disorders which added fuel to my belief creepy people are everywhere. Luckily, I am married to a hulking man beast who is also quite suspicious. Unluckily, when we are together everyone (including the 90-year-old widow living in the house next to us), could be a crazy serial killer.

Halloween night, Sel and I were determined to find "What Lies Beneath". We looked EVERYWHERE: Walgreens, Smiths, 7-11, the Provo and Orem library, BYU media center and Red Box. Alas, no mildly scary movie. We had no other choice but to go to Wal-Mart at 10PM. Do you know who else goes to Wal-Mart at 10PM? Those select, elitist individuals whose main calling in life is to star in a horror film. Every single day at 10PM, Wal-Mart holds auditions for the freakiest of the freaks. As Sel and I scanned through the murder provoking bins of $5 movies, I felt the eyeballs of another human looking at me. I looked up and gave a polite smile to the guy next to me. I figured his attention was drawn to me because I was fully decked out in Hogwarts attire. Who wouldn't want to admire my fantastical robes made by my mom-in-law? Then I moved to another bin, and Mr. Pedosmile joined my bin two minutes later. Not unusual. Yet. He started to move a little closer to me and every time I looked up, guess who was staring me down and flashing an awkward lip smile framed by a dirty stache? He eventually left and I continued to drown in 800 copies of cheap movies. A few minutes later, I felt eyes on me again. I almost screamed as I stared back at Mr. Pedosmile hiding behind some ties a few feet away and shooting me his creepo smile. I decided Sel needed to come to my bin NOW. He, because he is the best, made his way over to my bin the way any gallant protector would. Sel scanned around for Pedosmile, but he had slithered into the clothes section. Of course. As is tradition in ANY store we go in, we made our way over to the Nerf aisle so Sel could admire the beauty of "safe" weaponized machinery. He assured me Pedosmile was a normal human simply looking around the store who unfortunately smiled like a classic van driving, glasses wearing pedophile. AND THEN lo and behold Mr. Pedosmile was lurking at the end of the Nerf aisle. I decided it was time we got out of there before he pulled out a weapon that shot more than orange fluff balls. I did a classic horror film look back as we exited the store to see Mr. Pedosmile looking longingly down the aisle at us.

Flash forward to 3AM later that night. Sel and I had just finished our studying/homework and were looking forward to five hours of blissful sleep when an eerie sound started to drift in through the window. "Mehooowll". We both tensed and continued to listen as a second mehoowll joined the first. I mentally cursed my father for telling me his novel, "Pet Cemetery", was from a dream he had. Liar! It was based on a real story and two of the cats from Pet Cemetery were outside our window hoping to scratch us to death.

Me: "What is that?!"

Sel: "Probably nothing. We should just go to sleep"

Me: (muttering under my breath) "It does NOT sound like nothing. It sounds like a ghost cat choking down human blood"

Sel doozed off and I stared at the window with blood shot bug eyes waiting for Clarissa the Cat to bust through the thin glass. In the morning, Sel helped calm my fears about the ghost cats.

Sel: "So the reason I didn't think we should look out the window last night was because it could have been a serial killer/rapist. They use the technique of recording cats or crying babies so you will open the door and they can kill you"

This was a HUGE comfort because I would much rather be brutally tortured by a psychotic human with zero remorse who derives intense pleasure from hunting out victims and watching them slowly die than being scratched by a ghost cat. Who wouldn't prefer a serial killer/rapist to a transparent ball of fluff? I know I would.

Ghost Cat

V.S.

Serial Killer

Flabby Arm Girl

I am an Exercise Science major. Do I love it? No. Do I like it? Most days. One of the prerequisites for my major, which I unfortunately overlooked, is Jock 101. The Exercise Science major has the following demographic. 45% are BYU athletes, 55% could be BYU athletes.

Do I have anything against jocks? Generally no. I have yet to meet a fellow classmate who I whole heartedly detest. The thing about it is being in this major is a reminder every single day that I am an uncoordinated nerd who should be writing an anthropological thesis instead of studying the physiological development of skeletal muscle.

I had a lab today entitled "How Fat Are You?" (The department tried to make it sound more scientific by calling it "Lab 3: Body Composition"). I would say I have a generally healthy body image. I would be lying if I said I never have those "whale days". Those days where I consume so much chocolate (amongst other supremely healthy food items) that I begin to feel as if a whale might mistake me for a possible mate. BUT I do really love my body. It is magnificent how many wonderful things it does every single day. One thing I have always found funny about our society is how one shouldn't ever talk highly of their body. If you receive a compliment about your body, you must immediately point out something that is amiss or insist the complimenter is mistaken. One must also never point out to another that they are looking heavier than normal. Other cultures are so much more open about this aspect. I think it is because those of other cultures don't have this twisted American ideology that worth is directly tied to weight. Whoops! Getting off topic...this is not a commentary on skewed societal ideologies.

My lab is taught by a graduate student in Exercise Physiology. She is also an extreme swimmer who told us at the beginning of class that she has 9% body fat. As she was explaining how to to measure a skin fold with a caliper, she decided she needed someone to help her demonstrate. She began to scan the room for a possible subject.

Soccer player. Soccer player. Football player. Swimmer. Swimmer. Aha-the black sheep.

Instructor: "Ah. You-blue t-shirt girl. Could you come up here please?"

All of my fellow classmates swiveled to look at the person she was referring to. I looked behind my praying she was referring to someone else. Alas, no one was behind me :(

I walked grudgingly to the front of the classroom.

Instructor: "Aw you have the perfect arms for this (aka, your arm resemble an oversized bat wing). Please turn your back to the class.

I waited for the dodgeballs to mercilessly pound the back of my head, but instead something much worse happened. My instructor pinched my arm fat with a caliper and then proceeded to jiggle my arm around.

Instructor: "Now most of you will have to be more aggressive in grabbing the fat because there might be as much on your partner's arms. If there is, you should be able to jiggle it a bit like I did to loosen the layer of fat from the muscle"

I walked back to my chair hoping my arms would fall off.

I know I am supposed to be in this major, but sometimes I really, really wish my classes didn't emphasize the art of arm fat jiggling. Who knows though. Maybe zombies will attack someday and me and my flabby arms will take flight while the muscle bound athletes get their brains eaten.