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.

Lobotomized

I have occasionally wondered how different I would be if I had a lobotomy. Would there actually be much of a difference? After today, I have come to answer that there would be a huge difference. My lobotomized self would likely have more common sense. I would probably just sit around and drool instead of deciding to cut my own hair with the kitchen scissors.

This is not a new event unfortunately. In my desperation to have the trendy new side bangs for my high school graduation, I took the kitchen scissors and ensured I was the hottest human at graduation. Which is obvious from this stunning photo

Please notice those impressive chunks of hair emphasizing my cool factor. If I wasn't so amazing at school, then I would probably pursue a career in hairdressing with an emphasis on bang cutting. (Just a quick update on my academics: I have to take my nutrition test tomorrow and abnormal psych on Monday. I dare you to ask me how much studying I got done yesterday while watching Dr. Who with Sel)

Moving on to today's incident. Last night, I had a dream I kept trying

to cut my hair with a pizza cutter while Sel explained how his high school girlfriend was abusive. After I woke up, I continued to think about my dream. Not even an AMAZING pancake breakfast cooked by Sel or scarring all my students with my favorite lecture on gender could make me forget about it. I knew what I had to do and there was no denying it; I had to chop off the end of my braid with all of it's evil split ends. After taking my hair out of it's braid, I realized my hair was lopsided. I decided to try and make it even which led to this:

and some of this

I am a genius

Sel called me just as I was about to chop off my bangs in the similar fashion to how I cut my American Girl Doll's hair. These are the thoughts that went through my head

"What if I don't tell him what I just did and just keep my hair in an eternal ponytail?"

"I bet he won't even notice if I don't tell him...hopefully...probably.."

"Maybe, he will be so impressed with my abilities that he will ask me to cut his hair in a similar fashion"

Sel wouldn't stop laughing and told me I HAD to take a

picture or he would divorce me. Okay, he didn't actually say that last part, but he was pretty insistent. Since he thought it was so funny, I thought I would give him a special little token to treasure. I am thinking of making it into a necklace for him for Christmas (P.S. He still hasn't noticed it is on his pillow yet :)

Is there a happy ending to this story? You betcha. I drove to Great Clips after my field trip with my friends from the Utah State Mental Hospital and Cassie fixed me all up. This is how our conversation went

L: "Hi. I need my hair cut."

Cassie: "Great! Sit down... That's funny...did you know you have a huge chunk of hair missing back here?"

L: "What?! Are you serious? Does that normally happen?"

Cassie: "No..."

L: "That is just so, so weird!"

I think she thought I was crazy. Maybe I fit in better with my friends from the mental hospital than I ever imagined.

The Chocolate Moon

Every month I am struck with the task of suppressing "the creature". Before I discuss the difficulties of suppression, I shall discuss what the creature actually is. The creature is difficult to define as it can change not only psychologically, but physiologically at any given moment (anyone else ever every realized how annoyingly similar these words are? I have.) After extensive study of the creature, I have compiled its nature into two very broad categories

1. Banshee Stage- while physically docile, the specimen will often take to laying on the floor and moaning about the end of the world. The creature will also threaten 3-4 times within a ten minute period to cut out its organs. This moaning should not be taken lightly. The creature must be told the following things within 2 hours of the onset of moaning to prevent dire flooding repercussions:

"You are exceptionally beautiful even though you haven't showered and are laying on the floor like a pathetic lump"

"Everything you are complaining about is completely rational and I greatly sympathize with you"

"You are gorgeous and I like your oversized night shirt"

"You don't have to go to class. What you are suffering from obviously prevents you from doing so"

2. Shewolf Stage: This is the most dangerous stage for the creature to be in. Physical and emotional harm will occur to anyone who knowingly or unknowingly upsets the creature. The creature is most vulnerable and, therefore, aggressive at these points. Extreme caution should be taken. Luckily, the shewolf stage has very specific physical manifestions indicating the dangerous stage the creature is in. The shewolf will be unshowered, have unkempt hair, will be wearing a hideous smattering of bagging clothing, and its eyes, oh its venomous eyes, will actually be spraying its victims with hydrochloric acid.

I was bitten by this most atrocious disease when I was 13 and have been desperately searching for a cure ever since. In the many years I've spent studying this debilitating disease, I have found an extremely helpful suppressive chemical: Theobromine. It's street name: Chocolate. When the full moon of death hovers over me, normal food turns to sawdust in my mouth. My very cells reject normal nutrients and I am left ravenous for the sole energy provider. I begin to question why things not made of chocolate even dare to exist: chairs, traffic cones, books. All are simply taking up valuable chocolate space. The creature slowly begins to emerge unless I ingest massive amounts of chocolate. My meals begin to look like this

Breakfast: Coco Puffs with Chocolate Milk

Lunch: 1/4 lb Heath Bar Fudge

Snack: Kit Kat Bar

Dinner: Licking the dark chocolate off the bottom of granola thins

Dessert: Drinking a gallon of hot chocolate and then resorting to simply snorting the coco up your nose for quicker chocolate uptake

My parents, my sister, the Milks, Sel, and my roommates are all the unfortunate eyewitnesses to my condition. Please comfort them (especially Sel) if you see them around :)

If you happen to be suffering from similar Creature symptoms, I must adamently recommend theobromine. There is hope! You are no longer required to seek the help of Severus Snape for a cure! You will be free to snog in the Hogshead anytime you want once you eat at least a pound or two (or six) of this a day.

The Von Trapp's Musical Baby-Sitter

(The Von Trapp's musical baby-sitter and I being excited about our recent visit to a French bakery)

My mom is the best phone conversationist I know. She also excels in how to deliver important news via text message. This was her latest text to me was

"Uncle Norman died this morning"

Which I read while eating breakfast with Sel. Notice please how she breaks the news gently, explains in great detail what happened, and offers words of comfort and consolation.

One of my favorite phone conversations recently went a bit like this.

L: Hi Mom! How are you?!

Ma: Child. You give me migraines.

L: How do I give you migraines?

Ma: I just read your last blog post and I think I developed an ulcer or two by the end of it. How are you and Sel going to survive in the real world?

L: Mom. We are in the real world.

Ma: Provo is not the real world. In the real world, your car would get stolen if you left the keys in your front door.

L: Valid.

Ma: You worry me so much

L: I worry you in a cute way, right?

Ma: No! There is nothing cute about it.

L: What about in an awesome way

Ma: No! Not in an awesome way.

L: I am a survivor mom. I have made it this far haven't I?

Ma: (sigh). Yes. Who knows when your luck is going to run out...

Gotta love the words of confidence and comfort from my love struck Puerto Rican mother. I do have to hand it to her though. It would be pretty migraine producing to have a child like me to worry about. That is precisely why they recently replaced me with a perfect sounding child from the Ukraine. :)

In other news, I AM GOING TO BE AN AUNT!!! I am so excited I can hardly stand it! The worst part is that my new sister and brother (Joy & Roy) live in Ohio. Did you notice how Ohio is not within ten minutes of Provo? Do you know what this means? I am going to have to spoil their adorable, chubby cheeked baby from afar. :( That is why they are planning on moving to Provo in January after the baby is born. Roy and Joy are going to transfer to Hogwarts with Sel and I :) Who needs medical school when you know magic? Right? Right? Here is a picture of them being cute. Now just imagine a bouncing ball of joy lovingly smooshed between them in this picture. Now imagine me holding the bouncing ball of joy while being sandwiched by Joy & Roy. That, my friends, would be a blue ribbon type of picture.

* Dear Mom, I love you.

$1.68

I am thinking of renaming my blog "Tips On How To Make Your Life More Complicated" orToHoMY MC"

Tip Number One: Be forgetful. Life is much easier for the mindful human being. Do you ever find yourself wishing you were stressed about leaving your personal belongings in places they didn't belong? If yes, you are already one step closer to a more complicated life.

Tip Number Two: Be uncommonly clumsy. This includes, but is not limited to: knocking irreplaceable objects over, vacuuming up your husband's i-phone charger and causing the vacuum's soul to catch fire, hitting classmates with your overstuffed backpack, and falling over at inopportune times.

Tip Number Three: Manage Your Time Poorly. This will ensure your already lengthy list of homework due dates, exercising, projects, lesson plans, assignments that need grading, and home organization will become massively longer and complicate your life in a way you have only dreamed of.

Don't think these tips will work for you? Well, that is why I am going to provide a true story about a reader who took this advice to heart.

Reader (Not a paid internet actress): "I had tried time and time again to make my life more complicated without success. I was becoming discouraged by how easily it was for me to be successful in school, my job, my physical fitness, and my life in general. Then I found these three keys to making my life more complicated. Take Sunday night for example. My handsome husband and my talented cousin and I were driving jollily back to P-town after a wonderful family dinner in the Riv. We noticed the fateful gas light flashing to inform us we had 0 miles left (other than the 20 miles left in reserve). I told my husband to pull over at the nearest exit so we could fill up. When we got to the gas station, I noticed my wallet was not in the car. The wallet containing the only source of money my husband and I currently had. I had applied Tip Number One to my life in this instance and been forgetful in leaving my purse in our second car (currently in the Riv waiting to be repaired). I had also utilized Tip Number One the day before by leaving the car keys/house keys in the lock all night long. My husband and I rounded up enough change to pay for $1.68 of gas aka not even half a gallon. This made our lives wonderfully complex. We were partially saved from destitution by an angelic being known as the Mugster who drove all the way from the Riv to P-town at 10PM at night to return the wallet I successfully forgot. The really remarkable part of my success was also achieved by leaving my phone on the back seat. I utilized Tip Number Three by then managing my time poorly for four days to ensure I could not retrieve said phone and car which, again, increased the complexity in my life. I would absolutely recommend these Three Steps to anyone hoping to make their life laughably complex.

I have one more announcement to announce that diverges from "The Three Steps to Life Complication" I am going to show exclusive pictures here, on this blog, sometime in the next few weeks of...HOGSMEADE. You heard me. Sel and I were both accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on August 12, 2011 and got to go to Hogsmeade for a weekend. Hold on to your broomsticks.

Also, Sel is the handsomest man in the universe (Please Refer to Image Below For Proof)

The First Law of Domestication

So in my head I was going to try and condense all that happened in August into one post. And then my head hurt. And then I remembered my dream to be mysterious (which has never ever happened in my entire life). I may write about how August was the best month there ever has or ever will be or I may not. Now onto the subject I will undoubtedly fail this semester-
Domestication.
Ha. I know. Me and Domestic don't really belong in the same sentence. The thing is I happen to be married (to the best man in the universe I might add) and there is some unwritten rule that you have to be more domestic when you are married. Here is my report card of domestic skills I had before I got married:
Sewing: N (Nonexistent)
Cooking: D (Dangerous)
Laundry: S (Satisfactory)
Cleaning/Organization: N+ (Mostly nonexistent)
Time Management: L (Laughable)

I would show you my married domestic report card, but then you would be as horrified as I would. You might even become so depressed by my failures that you would justify eating the Lindt truffles from Grandma & Grandpa Warden that maybe your husband and you decided to only eat on Sundays. And then maybe you would feel bad about having a lack of self control and justify eating another Lindt truffle. And then you would need to disguise your downfall by wrapping up tin foil in little truffle sized balls and putting them in the now empty spaces where decadent chocolate used to be. Whoops...

The first load of laundry I did as a married woman was a bit disastrous. Sel drives the batmobile. (not exactly, but it is really cool). Sel's car comes with this nifty key that you can keep in your pocket at all times. You just stand next to the car, it senses the key in your pocket with it's bat radar, and then unlocks the door for you with a laser. Same thing for locking the car. You start the car by pushing a big button (my favorite part) and your key gets to kick back in your warm pocket the whole time (though you do have to feed it flies from time to time). Sel's key happens to also cost $600 or so. It also happened to get the blessed chance to swim in a washing machine for 45 minutes because I forgot to check his pockets. My artistic tin foiling wasn't going to fool Sel in this instance. Luckily, because the bat key has super powers, it is still in working order.
Organization/Cleaning has also dropped a grade level or two because the Bungalow (our apartment) currently resembles the aftermath of multiple natural disasters: an F5 tornado followed shortly by a 10.0 Earthquake and topped off with a massive spider invasion. The reason our suitcases are still unpacked is because we are just making sure we are prepared should another disaster hit...
Cooking: :) So Sel made me breakfast our first day of school. He made sesame seed and swiss toaster things with freshly sliced tomatoes and cucumbers on top and sliced up some tasty fruit for us. Guess what I made for breakfast the day before that? Reese's Puff's with skim milk. Sel always sets the curve WAY too high for someone with my cooking background. We have made some pretty delicious dinners together this week solely because he is some sort of gourmet chef and he has mastered the art of L supervision.
Time management hasn't really worsened. It has mostly just remained impressively low on the grading scale. Sel helps with this though. We have woken up every morning this week to exercise, read our scriptures, and eat a nutritious breakfast (as long as I am not in charge of making it). Yesterday, however, I went home to "do homework" while Sel was in class. This is what happened-I decided to eat our pizza leftovers while I read my Nutrition book. The first sentence in my nutrition book talked about how pizza was unhealthy. The nutrition book had to go away until I decided it was forgiven for chiding me on my food choices. I then decided to find my TA books which were (of course) in the bottom most box in the second bedroom. I decided I needed to unpack some boxes so I could actually get my books out. I found my old journal and two hours latter got a text from Kit. Homework accomplished without Sel: 2 pages read in my nutrition book.
Here is my marriage advice to the world: Marry someone just like Sel because he is the most patient, loving, sweet, forgiving, patient, perfect man in the universe. Also, if you see Sel you should give him a hug so he doesn't feel so sad that is wife is the least domestic person in the universe.