After College

Sel and I are both currently working on our hoop jumping skills. False: We are not practicing for church basketball season. False: We are not fulfilling our dreams of joining the circus...yet. True: We are trying to look like the fanciest poodles in the arena for those menacing medical/grad school judge panel. (Note- I have always kind of dreamed of dying poodles pastel colors for Easter and having them deliver me cadbury eggs and jolly rancher jelly beans in a basket..)

Here are some of the things I have been noticing.

1. Getting into medical school is infinitely more difficult than getting into any other graduate program I have ever heard of. That poor boy has a lot on his shoulders, BUT those shoulders are some of the most capable, sturdy, fun to ride atop of shoulders I have ever known. Not worried in the slightest about Sel impressing the judges. He kind of impresses everyone with his brilliance (and charming little boy smile)

2. I should have gone to BYU-I. Yes, it is a frigid wasteland of seeming death, BUT it has gloriously small class sizes. One of the most important things for both Med/OT school are letters of recommendation. With BYU's typical science classes of 300 plus, being B.F.F.'s with your prof is not happening anytime soon. Even in the upper level classes Sel and I am are in currently, it is so dang hard to get to know your professors. Especially if you have a billion things to do that going into an office hour or two is requiring you to call a bunch of humans and explain you won't be able to make it to your usual appointment. Do I wish I was super tight with my profs? Heck to the yes. Not just for letters of recommendation, but because I genuinely would love to hear all about their wonderful, brilliant, quirky lives.

3. OT School + Med School = Poor. Yes, I know taking out student loans is expected and they get paid off one way or another. The daunting thing is though precisely how much that entails. My very bright mom-in-law said we should look at it as an investment, but I sometimes wonder if I would actually want to invest in me. I definitely would invest in Sel over and over again, but come on...I should be studying for my two quizzes tomorrow and am instead blogging about how worried I am at succeeding at life. Elle Stock's are going at 1 Rupee right now.

4. Studying for the GRE while trying to balance school, work, saving the world from man eating dolls, volunteering, and normal bodily maintenance things (showering, eating, sleeping) is really, REALLY not happening. As in I have studied a grand total of twenty pages.

5. Figuring out what to do with yourself for a year in P-town while Sel finishes school is not particularly exciting. Mostly I just worry about whether or not I will become the college graduate working at Mickey Dee's. (No Offense lil sis. That was a very respectable occupation when you were 16)

6. The only thing really motivating me to continue to raise my violet died fluffy body through flaming hoops of impossibility is the idea that I might someday be an actual OT. I might actually be a fetching Professor of OT. Dr. Elle. I would, of course, require any and all of our future offspring to refer to me as Dr. I might actually be able to get paid to teach a stroke victim how to eat again or play with four-year-olds on a trampoline all day. I could hang out with my friends at the mental hospital all day while we make dream catchers. Who wouldn't want to get paid to play with people you know you are going to love?

Ugh. Anybody else feeling like they would rather drink shots of arsenic tainted cough syrup than do all of these fun application items?

Flickin Chicken

This past month has been one mourning a most epic tragedy that was simultaneously coupled with a most fantastical event. Let me first begin by illustrating the fanastical event called "Le Date Ala Chicken" We decided to set up two of our friends and go on a double date with them. The male friend, Blind Dave (which ironically sounds a lot like Blind Date) with our female friend, Mulan.

(Blind Dave)

(Mulan)

Sel and I wrangled up a rotessiere chicken and other delectable picnic-esque foods and headed to the ever classy, ever exciting Wilkinson center with our smashing companions.

During dinner, Mulan revealed to Blind Dave her desire to go into Brain Discount Sales. As she is a neuroscience major, this makes complete sense. Who better to trust in the purchase of your next brain than a neuroscience graduate? She promised to start a website soon to advertise her up and coming business.

After dinner, the games began. Flickin Chicken is played like frisbee golf with a movable target except the frisbee is a small rubber chicken. The point of the game is to hit the targets in the least amount of throws and win the honor of wearing the Cap of Chicken Flickin Victory)

(Mulan wearing the Cap of Chicken Flicken Victory)

I was obviously the best considering my extensive background in athletics. (I lost. Big time. Even bigger than you are currently imagining actually.) While in the library, which has become a favorite to get into shenanigans at, we placed the target atop a bookcase. Stepped back a few rows and started by attempting to throw it over the other bookcases. On our second throw, a security guard decided to mozy his authoritative self over to our game arena. We hurriedly pretended to all be in separate rows looking intensely at some very outdated books.

After he left, my poor chicken, chacochiko, was nowhere to be found. We continued looking on every single row for the next forty-five minutes. I was getting desperate because I know how rubber chickens can have severe panic attacks when separated from their rubber chicken family members. I decided to face the evil security guard who probably kidnapped my chicken on his rounds. I went to the first security desk and asked if anyone had turned in a brown, small rubber chicken.

Security Girl 1: A brown rubber chicken? Hahahahah.

Me: No. I am serious.

Security Girl 1: Wait, really?

Me: Yes. A security guard just passed by me about 30 minutes ago and I was wondering if he picked up my chicken.

Security Girl 1: Um....let me go check. (Enters Security Office) Hey, Chad, did you by chance pick up a rubber chicken in your last rounds?

(Outbreak of laughter)

Chad: Wait, You're serious? No. Of course not...Why would there be a rubber chicken in the library?

Twenty bucks that kid totally stole my chicken and was too embarrassed to admit it.

After our sad ending to our happy game, the four of us decided to leave and hope chacochicko would find a nice book to nest next to for the next couple of hours.

(Rubber chickens love to play hide & seek, but they couldn't beat the likes of us)

(Mulan, Blind Dave, & Sel Proudly Displaying their non-lost chickens. Mulan developed such a tear jerking love for her chicken that she refused to do anything put kiss it's rubbery cheek for the entirety of our Snookie eating)

On the offhand chance the Chad the shifty security guard did not in fact steal my chicken, I will be posting "Missing Chicken" posters around campus. The reason I didn't do this immediately after the disappearance is because of the Nugget Alert. The Nugget Alert is similar to filing a missing persons file, expect you have to wait 24 days to post the alert about your missing chicken. If any of you find one that looks just like this (see below) except brown, please contact me ASAP. Chacochicko's family most sincerely thanks you. A reward will be given for the swift return of our beloved friend.

B.F.F.'s

Guess what B.F.F. stands for?

Brave & Ferocious Fighters

Bavarian French Fascists

Bali-wood Favoring Freaks

B-Asian Flexibility Fiends

or, if you want to be cliche,

Best Friends Forever.

This has been the weekend (slash a year and a half) of being B.F.F's with Sel.

Our date nights for the past few weekends have been A-W-E-some :)

Two weekends ago we tried out Banana Leaf (delectable new Indian restaurant-the owners are from Sri Lanka and are soon to be our B.F.F.'s-Bali-wood favoring freaks) & went to "One For the Money"

Last weekend we were supposed to go to P.F. Changs and then to the Peking Acrobat show. Turns out P.F. Changs is annoyingly packed on Friday nights. And so is that new sandwich place by the mall. And the Mexican restaurant by the mall AND Iggy's. Not Five Guys though...Aside from taking way too long to find an institution that would take our money and feed us, the show was SPECTACULAR. I decided long ago that Asians are not human. They are super human. Some too amazing to be real types in all areas-physical, mental, social, emotional, etc. These acrobats were insane and Sel and I are still blown away.

This weekend was our Euro date night. I was in charge of planning it and kind of failed at first. On Friday Sel got 100% on his anatomy test. 100% on a 100 question test. Not real. I am married to someone who maybe has some Asian blood in him...maybe our babies will have beautiful almond shaped eyes and perfect raven colored hair!!! Also, the poor chap has another test coming up for that class and is probably going to get ANOTHER 100%. Anyway, after Sel's test I was planning on having a lovely dinner ready for us. Instead, I got distracted by one of the ultra fluffy sofa things in the JSB with sunlight basking it in welcoming warmth. I was awakened an hour later by Sel's phone call that he was done at the testing center. We walked home and spent the next two hours deliberating between the many options I had come up with. Sel does not really do well with being hungry. Who does really? So by the time 8:00PM rolled around he was REAL hungry and real frustrated that his wife was failing the dating planning responsibility he has been taking on since we first met. I mean, come on, what doesn't that boy ace? Huge tests. Date planning. Being the best human ever.

FINALLY, I decided we were going to walk to Smith's, buy stuff for bruschetta, and have a Euro picnic in our living room.

The very cultural movie we watched was Triumph of the Will. Never heard of it? Oh, that's because it is Nazi propaganda documentary :) Hold up. False, we are not supporters of the Nazi Party. I learned all about the director, Leni Riefenstahl, in my civ class and Sel is all about learning anything and everything about Germany. Anything. It was interesting for a bit, but it also made me feel like punching Hitler in the face and swiftly ripping off his hideous nose hair extension mustache and stuffing it down his throat. When don't I feel like that though? Nurnburg, as I learned at age 6 looking through my dad's pictures, is one of the most beautiful cities in the world and I desperately want to go there. :) Maybe for Christmas. Mom, Dad? Wanna go? Cool. Great. Awesome.

Also, this weekend has been spent perfecting our Nerf battling skills. I have now mastered the battle axe. As in, I can catch the handle of the axe all LOTR style in midair. I have never felt more legit. Sel has mastered his Nerf macing and, as always, dominates the Nerf sword. His foot work far surpasses mine. We also got some fantastical guns for X-mas from our cousins, Jesse & Syd, and had battles with them during our homework breaks. Nerf RULES folks.

B.F.F's all the way!!!!!!!!

Looking Back

So it is a busy week. A week of lots of things to procrastinate by reading my old journal when I should be reading my psych book...

I just wanted to briefly share this entry I found about Sel :) cause it made me smile and made me realize how well things can turn out if you don't try and mess it up by being crazy-

November 7th, 2010-Sel has everything I could ever want: patience, brilliance, ambition, compassion, spirituality, athleticism, he is distractingly handsome AND he has a great family. He even has the small things I didn't even realize I wanted-he served the same mission as my dad, he puts his arm around me, he laughs like a little boy sometimes, he makes me laugh all the time, he makes hysterical faces, seems genuinely concerned about me, doesn't care for watching sports all that much, loves traveling, appreciates the same YouTube videos I do, doesn't care that I am clumsy, lets me vent to him, opens the car door for me every single time, wants the same number of kidlets...I could go on, but the very few remaining pages of this journal force my hand still. I don't necessarily need to know that this is the boy I am meant to spend the rest of my life with, but it would help to know that relatively soon... I need to know that he can handle me-my occasional outbursts of emotion, my idiotic moments, those critical times where I pull away instead of draw close, my lack of life skills. I need to know he will chose to love me not just inspite of these things, but almost for them. I think my parents have that kind of love, loving one another's weaknesses in a way. I don't think I will ever struggle loving another human being, especially him. I already want to do all these things for him to let him know how I love him, but I fear of overwhelming him, having it be excessive. I am truly terrified of putting my heart fully on the line for someone I already care so much about and having it possibly be rejected. I don't think I could survive it very well at all. Thing really will turn out the way they are supposed to. I shouldn't fret because I know there is a plan for me one way or another

Love, L

I teared up reading this because I remember feeling this way. So terrified of rejection that I almost hindered the happiest thing that has ever happened to me.

Sel is amazing. Journals are amazing. Procrastination is amazing. Sonic cherry limeade is amazing. Taking tests on material you haven't studied and not caring because you have lots of amazing things in your life called graduation in a few shorts months is..almost amazing...maybe?

Commentary

I should be studying for my anatomy practical tomorrow. Isn't that how it always goes though? I should be doing something else when I decide to blog.

Sel and I have interesting conversations from time to time. I usually tip toe around becoming too emotionally involved in our conversations when they are of particular interest to me. My emotional attachment to the words coming out of my mouth ensured I never did well in debate during high school. Anyway, our conversation today started after reading an article about the murder a 19-year-old muslim woman. She was brutally tortured and then strangled by her husband. The reason: she gave birth to a second daughter opposed to the son her cruel husband wanted. Another story was briefly listed of another 19-year-old who was tied up and raped by her cousin's husband. When she reported the incident and her pregnancy because of it to the police, they threw her in jail for three years. The reason: she had committed adultery by their law. She gave birth to her baby on the floor of the jail. She is doomed now to either live out the rest of her life in jail, be released and likely murdered for bringing such a dishonor to her family, or marry the man who raped her to legitimize the birth of her daughter.

Having studied anthropology fairly extensively for the past few years, I appreciate and love differences in all types of culture. This, however, is disgusting. This is wrong. Everyone, no matter what their background, should see this for what it is.

In our conversation, Sel and I came back to the fact that America isn't too far off from these backward Afghan ideologies. How often does a girl who gets raped get the blame? She drank too much or was wearing too revealing of clothing. Many victims hold back from reporting rape because they are made to feel like it was their fault. After an hour or so of discussion of whether the victim could have avoided the situation or not, Sel and I reached a bit of a conclusion on how current societal ideologies of sex are to blame. I really want to be able to express my true thoughts on this, but know my actual thoughts are weakened by my inability to properly verbalize these emotions. I beg you not judge me too harshly as I know I might not come across the way I want to.

There is a problem with how casual an act sex has become. Lust has replaced love and respect and devotion. Strangers are giving one of the most personal aspects of their selves to one another. A piece of them forever given to another they may never speak to again. Some claim casual sex with multiple partners has no effect on them whatsoever. It is liberating. No remorse. No regret.No emptiness. Maybe they are telling the truth, but I have a hard time fully believing it.

Rape is obviously a different situation. The part of that victim's soul is being stolen through a violent physical act. I am not trying to say the victim is at fault in anyway. I am saying the opposite. I am saying this issue goes beyond just a single victim and a single rapist. Society is not what it should be. There are plenty of things people criticize almost hourly about today's society. A lot is centered on politics and what fault is to be placed on whom. I know it might not be as plausible as evaluating how to fix the national debt, but attention should be paid to the issue of society's current ideas about sex. The more skin the better, fashion seems to say. Men can become manlier by having sex with as many partners as possible. One night stands are totally acceptable. In watching a T.V. show over Christmas break, I was shocked by all the things that happened in one episode. Three high school friends decided to have a three-some and on a another story line, a fifteen-year old was plotting how to properly give her virginity away to a 19-year-old drug dealer. Oh and the father of the fifteen-year-old was having an affair with a neighbor. I don't feel as if I am being prudish by pointing out that this is an issue. Teen Mom is one of the most popular shows on MTV. Girls in Jr. High admire and aspire to be like these poor girls who must forever live with the life changing responsibility and duty of caring for a child while still being one themselves.

Sometimes when I think about the way things are now in America and in the world, I feel hopeless. I think of the broken families with broken hearts. Americans hoping their paycheck will last them till the next one. I think of the civil war in Uganda. A seemingly never-ending war of violence and death and heartache. I think of Romanian orphans who stare at gray walls in stale beds with little hope of having more than a few minutes of human contact a day. I think of the women in Afghanistan who are killed for giving birth to a child of the "wrong" gender. Of these women who are by some twisted law to blame for being taken advantage of.

I know I sound gloomy, but I promise I am getting to the good part. When I feel this hopelessness, this feeling that I want so desperately to fix everything wrong in the world, I remember where my hope lies. I don't care what religion one reading this might be, but if you have one, I know you know the world has light in it. Even if you don't believe in God, I bet you know there are people, lots of people, who are amazing and beautiful and are fixing this world one person at a time. You probably are one of those spectacular people. A belief in a world without rape and murder and suffering is not religiously exclusive. Human beings alike want happiness no matter what their background. I come from the background of being a Mormon. Being a member of the Church of Jesus Christ is my hope. My everything. Following it's teachings has given me a sense of indescribable peace. A knowledge that everything is not lost. It will never be lost. Morality and humanity have not completely evaporated. More people in the world than not still care. Being married to Sel and knowing how wonderful a permanent, eternal relationship is makes me want to tell everyone they can have it to. Cause they can. They can feel as happy and grateful and hopeful as I do. I know I am just going on and on, but I really wanted to try at least a little to express something deeper than my usual injury/awkward stories. It might be obvious right now why I don't try to do this more often because I just can't seem to capture what I want to...All the same, hope you are having a brilliant day! (and studying/doing the things you should be doing opposed to putting it off like I have...)

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