Unoriginal Thoughts

Leaving!

2012-01-04T10:26:00.000-07:00

I could've written some beautiful essay on my life in the past year and how it's changed me forever, but then I got distracted by something else. It was probably some comic.

So let me inform those of you who don't know me but for some reason still read this: I have been called on a mission to Anaheim, California! I'm leaving in less than 3 hours for the MTC, where I will stay for 3 weeks and then go on my merry way to California!

If you're interested in writing me, here's my permanent address:
Sister Liesl Emma Hansen
California Anaheim Mission
2500 N Bristol St
Santa Ana, CA 92706United States

I will see you all in a year and a half! If you have ever stopped by to leave a comment or just have something to read to make your boring work day (you must be REALLY bored to come here), I appreciate it. I'm sorry that I've managed to drop off the face of the earth and never updated, and that I am now informing you that I am further dropping off the planet for an extended period of time.

Also, if you're ever looking for some recommendations (which I'm sure you are, because I have impeccable taste) of things to do to kill your time, I suggest you read this and this and this and listen to these guys and these guys and these guys too.

Okay, see you! Seriously, thank you for stopping by. I appreciate it so much.

some announcements of some import

2011-09-18T19:17:00.000-06:00

First off, I cut my hair:

I love my haircut for several reasons:
1. I never did my hair when it was long and now that it is short, I will never have to do it again.
2. I feel very free with it and realize that not everybody will like it and that is a-okay
3. It covers my large forehead.

Secondly, I pierced my ears. This is a Big Deal because my parents never let me or my sisters pierce our ears until we were 18. Heidi did it, but I never got around to it. My decision coincided with the chopping of hair, because I thought, "My chin is way too short so I'll distract people with shiny earrings."

My mom, however, did not see my logic and said, "You just thought you didn't have enough holes in your head, huh?"

Also, being LDS and 21 and single and awesome, I submitted my mission papers. If you would like to hazard a guess as to where I will go, please feel free to say so in the comments.

Wizzum Teeth Part II

2011-07-29T18:58:00.003-06:00

So! I have dry socket. From what people have told me about the awfulness of dry socket, I honestly thought it was going to be like this:

Instead, dry socket is obnoxious pain that never goes away unless I take 10,000,000,000 pain killers or shoot myself in the head, whichever relieves faster. So I went back to the oral surgeon to complain and he said, "Well, first we'll irrigate that little hole of yours, and then put in some medication."

Irrigate? Wait, what?

But instead he just squirted some weird blue stuff into the hole, made me spit it out into a cup ("Hey, there's the popcorn I had last Thursday!"), squirted it in again, and made me spit it out again.

Then he put in this weird green mucus substance into my mouth:

Actual size-ratio

That stuff tasted nasty, and made everything else taste gross too. But it's gotten rid of the pain pretty well so far, and I now only take painkillers when I'm shrieking in total agony.

Oh! I also potentially have lockjaw, a.k.a trismus. It's impossible to open my mouth more than 1.5 fingers for me. This hasn't stopped me from talking, much to my father's dismay, but it makes eating a little difficult.

I had a dream the other night that my jaw was unhinged and I had to fix it by finding the little doohickey it hinged on. I'm very proud that I didn't panic one bit.

Anyway, I hope I will finally recover from this. I'm just glad I no longer look like some swollen she-beast.

Wizzum Teeth

2011-07-21T12:22:00.002-06:00

I got my wisdom teeth removed on Monday. Most of my days were spent on Lortab, barfing up the Lortab 4 times, switching to ibuprofen, and then getting earaches. I imagine this is how I looked after the surgery:

Sadly, being knocked out doesn't make me so much charmingly loopy as it just makes me a great drooling mess. And then the swelling began.

So now I feel like this:

Forever alone.

Oh, well. I'm sure the swelling will go down. The only real problem has been the pain which has been...wait for it... A REAL PAIN!!!!!! Hahaha no but seriously it sucks. We've had family in town for the last three decades and since I'm not exactly used to all the babies and kids running around in the house, I'll admit that without my pain meds I lost my patience several times. I imagine this is how the nieces and nephews saw me:

...Yeah, uh...sorry about that, kids.

Well, hopefully I will be more normal looking by next week. I can't make any promises on the behavior, though.

And then I stayed up super late

2011-07-10T02:34:00.003-06:00

Have you ever had those surreal moments where you don't feel quite like yourself - where you look at yourself and think, "Wait. This is me? Seriously? This is who I am?"

I used to have those moments all the time as a little kid when I was about 7 or 8. Then they went away for a while and I had it again at 11. And then they only came rarely and sporadically.

It happened again tonight, when I was driving home from dropping off my old roommate at her apartment. The moon was huge and I wasn't ready to go home yet. I wanted to take full advantage of the fact that I was up remarkably late without feeling the consequences. That is the joy of 21. Being young enough to do stupid things like chase the moon at 1:30 A.M. I drove on University Parkway, chasing a falling moon, until I realized that it was too late: the moon was sunk.

I turned the car around and drove home. As I approached state street and began to turn left, I looked at my hands. I had been singing along with the radio "I just haven't met you yet" and my voice was hoarse and raspy. I examined my voice, listening to me sing along with Michael Buble and thought, "Huh. So this is me. Hmmm. This is me?" I turned left and tried to keep a grip on my identity.

Now I feel normal. Ish. I mean, I'm still up late. It'spast 2:30 and I seriously need some sleep. I don't know if that moment came as a result of sleep-deprivation (probably) or just me realizing I'm not as good of a singer as I like to think I am. Maybe it came from being back in Utah for a full week and trying to adjust to that life again and missing the place that I was just starting to call home. Maybe it's dehydration. Maybe I'm born with it. ~~Maybe it's Maybelline.~~

Hmmm. It's always an unusual experience. I'm just sitting there, unable to comprehend the fact that I'm alive, living the life I've got and that I am who I am. As for now, I'll get some sleep.

An expansive update on my life

2011-06-16T20:06:00.002-06:00

Well, howdy.

Now that I've freaked you out with my glorious face, let me tell you what's been going down since the end of April.

This may or may not have been self-plagiarized from my family letter. However, I don't believe in pretending there was never a huge gap in between updates and would rather spam you with long posts about happenings. So if you're related to me, you can just stop reading now and look at the pictures and then leave me a comment that says something like, "yeah, sure, whatever."

The Babe: Hendrik is adorable. UH-DOOR-UH-BOWL. I watch him 4 days a week and he's a pretty chill baby. Every time he sees me, he says, "Deezee!"

He loves the TV shows Chuggington and Special Agent Oso, which I love making fun of. Oso is this creepy stuffed bear who helps kids solve everyday problems. I'll admit I was disappointed when I saw him help a little girl fix her ripped book by taping the pages together. I was hoping he'd do some special agent stuff and magically sew the book back together or produce a new one, but you can't have everything.

We play together a lot, whether with his toys or in his room (he likes to climb inside his closet and turn on and off the old swing chairs) or outside. He loves going outside. My favorite thing to do with him is put him in his neat little seat (rhyme) on his bike and we whirl around town. He's a tantrum-thrower for sure, but I like the guy.

The Boston: Likes: the Common is by far one of my favorite places to go to. It's such a beautiful park and it's fun to walk around. Boston is fun to walk around in general, because the buildings are gorgeous and all the people are interesting to look at.

The people. For the most part people here aren't unpleasant. Some are friendlier than others and I generally keep to myself, but I've found myself connecting with people I never thought I would. Right now I'm taking a figure drawing class in Allston, an obscure part of Boston, and I've gotten along really well with the people in that class.

I like Rocco Ricci, who owns the coolest name ever AND the studio we draw at, pictured above. The people there are nice and I've gotten a lot of good drawing in. I look forward to it every week and will definitely miss having resources like that on hand when I'm back in Utah.

Some tourists more fascinated by a squirrel than the park around them. I can't blame them. I was fascinated with that guy's shorts and tanline.

One of the unfortunate side effects of solitude: lotsa myspace pictures

I feel like I've come to hate children less since I've been a nanny. This is...good, right?

Mmmmhmmmm, Boston is beautiful.

I really try not to be creepy when taking pictures of other people. I've not yet mastered the skill of stealth.

I have a love/hate relationship with the public transportation system. It's efficient, and the people are pretty friendly. I was lost on the way to church one day and this man started talking to me about music. At first I thought he was crazy because I usually think random strangers who talk to me are crazy, but he seemed pretty normal and we had a good conversation. It's something that I feel like we all have in common, and everyone's pretty good about giving directions.

Right now I hate the public transportation system. I hate, hate, hate it. Last night I was waiting at a bus stop for 20 minutes so I could go to my figure drawing class and I saw it approach. I stood up, smiled, and...

It drove right on by.

I couldn't believe it. Me and this other guy at the stop just watched it drive right by us. Wow, I'm so glad that the bus driver was so considerate to not stop for me. I wouldn't have wanted her to, you know, DO HER JOB. I ended up missing the class again.

And speaking of dislikes...

Dislikes: I hate Boston's street system. Today I was 15 minutes late for church, which is impressive since usually I'm over an hour late. I hadn't been to sacrament meeting in weeks. In fact, I started getting bored because usually around that time I would be freaking out about how lost I was. "Oh, dang it, I missed the turn. No problem, I'll just turn around here - HOW THE HECK DID THIS TURN INTO A ONE-WAY STREET? WHY AM I ON A BRIDGE? WHO'S THAT HOBO? WHAT THE #@$% IS WRONG WITH THESE DRIVERS?!"

The nice thing about it, however, is that it's kind of a rite of passage to be lost in Boston. So I'm on my way to becoming a pro. Too bad I'll be leaving by the time I get used to being lost all the time.

Mellifikent: Kent and Melanie have been very kind to me so far. We've done a few things together, like going to the beach on Memorial Day and watching movies together. I cook for them once a week and Kent has dished up (Get it? DISHED UP? Okay, okay) quite a few things of his own. Impressive. My favorite thing about getting to know Kent and Melanie is seeing how much they love their son. Of course, all parents love their kids, but it's different when it's just the first kid and you're witnessing it firsthand.

Me: This has been one of my lonelier jobs. While I love Hendrik, he's not much of a conversationalist and I ache for some company of my own age. I'm finally starting to make some real friends here. I had a great time at church on Sunday and felt at home. It helps that I was actually almost on time. Afterward I visit taught a girl and hit it off really well with my companion and then I went to have dinner at one girl's apartment and we watched Pinocchio.

But not all loneliness is bad. I've come to write a whole lot more (but I'm reading less, which is depressing) and I've been drawing like crazy lately. I actually have this drawing blog that I'm updating more than this blog. I've ridden one of Kent and Melanie's bikes all around town and I LOVE it. It's so gorgeous here. While I still despise how easy it is to get lost, I love how each street has such variety to it. I'm starting to find connecting streets now and have found some great trails into forests and explored wildernesses around here.

Anyway, I'll let you go now. I really do hope to be able to tell you more stories about the things I've done and the places I've gone to.

Peace out, girl scout.

Contains too many baby pictures

2011-05-25T12:41:00.001-06:00

All right, I’ll be the first to admit it’s been a while.

It's been a while.

Okay, now what?

Just kidding! I'm so funny.

So! I suppose you want to know what’s going on in my life? I’m pretty sure that only 5 of you are aware that I’ve temporarily relocated to Massachusetts. I was chatting online with my friend Ben yesterday about how I can’t scan anything on my laptop and then he, thinking I was still in the Provo area, said “Just come to campus, there are scanners everywhere!”

I told him, “Well, I would…except I’m in Massachusetts.”

And then Ben sheepishly responded, “Oh yeah…”

So, yes. I’m in Massachusetts, which I can finally spell without having to do spell check.

I currently reside in a small town about 40 minutes from Boston, which is the same traveling time from Provo to SLC, and yet it feels closer. Probably because when you’re traveling from Provo to SLC it’s like MOUNTAIN after MOUNTAIN after ANOTHER MOUNTAIN and so you have these huge landmarks that make you feel like you’ve just climbed the tallest mountains, only you drove around them.

Here, on the other hand, all the towns look the same so they all sort of blend together. It’s also a huge pain for driving because I’ve gotten lost here so many times. You can't use landmarks to help you find your way. You can make one wrong turn and you'll end up in another town. Or if you're driving on the highway, if you miss your exit, you can't just get off at the next one, drive a couple of extra miles and you're there.

No. You have to drive ALL THE WAY TO THE OTHER SIDE OF BOSTON before you can turn around. But I'm not bitter. I'm just grateful I'm not the only one who gets lost all the time here. In my singles ward, the students understand me completely when I talk about getting lost and it gives us something to talk about.

Anyway, I’m here taking care of this adorable boy, Hendrik.

This is the cover for his newest album, "I'm no Superman."

I love taking pictures of him because he gets way up close to the camera and says “CHEESE” and practically knocks you over while you’re taking a picture of him.

"Am I in the picture yet? Now? Now? How about now?"

It's not a bad job. It's tested my patience and gag reflex, but Hendu is just so adorable I can't stand it. So here, have a picture of us!

Hair unwashed for your convenience

Aw look, he climbed into one of his old swing chairs.

Hah! You thought that baby pictures were reserved for just moms, didn't you? And there will only be more. RUN WHILE YOU CAN, FRIENDS.

Don't worry. Next post will probably be about Boston. Either that, or kids' TV shows.

Memes and mustaches

2011-04-16T11:01:00.003-06:00

Usually I avoid filling out these things, but let's be honest: I'm also sort of a sucker for them. So when Brianna tagged me, I couldn't resist. So yeah, feel free to skip this if you don't want to know my ABC's.

Age: 20. ALLLLLMOST 21. Every year I always get really excited about my birthday because I think, "Once I'm a year older, people will take me seriously!" But then they don't anyway because my face is perpetually 15. That's okay. I'll be forever young. I'll be 62 and STILL look like I'm 15.

Bed size: Twin. I used to think that people who slept in full-size or even bigger beds were rich, or just plain spoiled.

Chore you hate: Cleaning anything. As a grade-A slob, I'm only slightly concerned when I see growth in the vast recesses of my room.

Dreams: When it comes to bizarre dreams, I think I could beat out pretty much anyone. And yet nobody ever wants to hear about them.

Essential start of your day: plenty of sleep and food. When I'm without either, I'm filled with rage. RAGE.

Favorite color: Green. I had to write an essay about this for my nonfiction class. I'm sure it's very exciting and I will make you all read it someday. Also red is awesome. As in red with RAGE.

Gold or silver: siiiiiiiillllver and goooooooollllllllldddd....silllllver and goooollllldddd...sorry, what was the question?

Height: 5'3"ish or 5'4". I can never tell. My friend Eric is about 5'4" and he was very excited the day he discovered he was taller than me. "Shrimp!" ONE HALF INCH, ERIC.

Instruments I play (or have played): Piano. I took lessons until I was 16, and I've played on and off ever since. I also played clarinet in junior high, which I'm sure I could've gotten good at if I tried, but because the band teacher hated me I didn't want to try. I spent my last year in band in the back with my friend Becky and the trumpet section making fun of the teacher.

Job title: Moron who dances outside holding that "Bucks 4 Books" sign

Kids: At least two, but a third one may have slipped in there somewhere. It's hard to tell.

Live: Yes, I'm alive, although I've heard you get great wifi in the afterlife.

Mom's name: Mopsy, Ma, Muh-thurrr, Squaw (it's rare when we call her that, but it's only natural she gets called "Squaw," since we call my dad "Chief")

Nickname: Weasel, Leez, Leez Leez, Mooch Pooch, Pooch, P, Liesley, Leezul, Gretl, Weez, Lissa, Lah-weez

Overnight hospital stays: Never have. At least, that's what they WANT me to believe. But I know the truth...

Pet peeve: At the moment, unreliable people. Also chompers and gum poppers. Worst sound ever. Once Kurt texted me "Why is the sound of people eating so aggravating?" and I responded, "Why does the sound of people popping their gum sound like legs breaking? It's because I broke their legs."

Quote from a movie: "I used to be legit. I was too legit. I was too legit to quit. but now I'm not legit. I'm unlegit. And for that reason, I must quit."

Right or left handed: Right, but I do all my punching with my left hand. It's the reason I lose every fight.

Siblings: A BILLION!!!!!! No, but seriously I have 10. 7 brothers, 3 sisters, 7 gazillion nieces and nephews.

Time you wake up: 8:00am. It is pretty much physically impossible for me to sleep in.

Underwear: There's something, just something about the word "underwear" that makes it innately hilarious. When I was little I'd be sitting in the living room with Heidi and Tyler and Tyler would stage whisper across the room to Heidi, "UNDERWEAR!" and I'd just lose it. I still do to this very day.

Vegetables you dislike: celery. Bland, stringy, loud. Not even when it's smothered in peanut butter can I bear it.

What makes you run late: everything and nothing. I can't remember the last time I was on time for anything. Wait, that's a lie. I was on time to church last Sunday and that's when the bishop announced, "Our prayers have been answered! We no longer need to pray for apartment 6."

X-rays you've had done: Teeth, Wrists, Knee. At age 10 I knocked out my two front teeth and broke both my wrists. Not the best year. Then last year I sprained my knee. Also not the best year. What is it about every ten years I injure myself? I dread turning 30.

Yummy food you make: Yummy chicken. No, really, that's what it's called. That stuff is fantastic.

Zoo animal: MONKEYS! I hate movies about monkeys, but I sure would love to be one. Those guys can do anything. They have hands for feet, they swing through trees, eat mangoes, fling poo, you name it. I envy that lifestyle. Envy and RAAAAAGE.

Speaking of rage, have some mustaches.

My roommates will probably kill me for putting up these pictures, but they made me laugh.

One night Brett and I just really felt like putting on mustaches. This is probably why no one sits next to us in church.

In other news, I'm going to be a glorified babysitter for these guys for about two months, which should be awesome. I'll be sure to put at least one picture up. I'll try to smile at least once.

Unfiction

2011-03-29T18:05:00.002-06:00

After taking a creative writing nonfiction class, I'm convinced that the only people who read and write nonfiction are slightly mentally unstable.

Writing nonfiction? Fun.

Rambling is my best friend. Lengthy essays + rambling = yesssssssssssssssss

It's the one time I'm totally allowed to talk about my favorite topic (me) with reckless abandon. Or I can choose another topic and gab about anything to do with that topic - or anything not. Usually I end up telling stories about my secret perverse life as a Harry Potter fanfiction writer.

Whatever, it's my essay. I do what I want.

But reading nonfiction? Gross. It's so long and pretentious and boring.

I lose interest by the 23rd sentence in the 1st paragraph, because I fell asleep in the middle of reading and all I can think about is that weird dream I had about grocery shopping with King Kong and confronting him about his allergies.

Montaigne, the father of the essay, wrote many interesting and profound thoughts. It just took him forever to say it. I'm sure he was a great guy, but man alive, what a bore. Or boar. Both, really. ~~On a tangent, boars have impressive mullets. Or are they fauxhawks? Discuss.~~

When reading nonfiction, I rarely connect with the author. As funny as Dave Barry is, it's a big deal when I remember his stories. I only read Eric Snider's Snide Remarks when he's making fun of PETA or Twilight. Nonfiction is just hard to get pulled in by.

It's in fiction where my true love lies.

A couple of weeks ago I was at Borders in the children's section and rediscovered my childhood friends: Sheila Tubman, Peter Hatcher and his little brother Fudge and Ramona Quimby.

I didn't just relate to Ramona, I was Ramona. I was her when she threw temper tantrums, when she kicked the wall, when she struggled in school, when she fought with her sister. I had the same delight in spinning in front of multiple mirrors and yearned for that best friend like she did.

I care more about fictional character's love lives than I do about my own friends' love lives. After watching the 6th Harry Potter movie, I texted a buddy, "I just watched Harry Potter 6. Harry and Ginny were awkward."

He responded, "I'm so glad you texted me in the middle of the night to discuss the lives of fictional characters! I hope you lost as much sleep as I did."

Obviously, he was not as engaged as I was.

I want to tell stories like Harry Potter. I want to write fiction that people draw fanart of and make it their guilty pleasure to write fanfiction on it. (Also, I just looked up fanfiction.net and discovered that there is actual fanfiction for C.S. Lewis's book A Grief Observed, which kind of makes me laugh.)

But writing fiction is difficult. I struggle with crafting characters. I envy the authors who say they've never based their characters off of real people. How - just how - is that possible? I've tried and tried to take qualities I know that happen to exist in people and put them in characters, like "Bob has a sensitive nose, is cranky when hungry and tired, enjoys pina coladas and getting caught in the rain, also he is an assassin."

But they never stand for me. They aren't real. I don't care about Bob. Screw Bob. For all I know he was killed by a volcano and raised from the dead by a mango-worshipping orangutan.

I would so much rather write about people I know and the stupid things I do. That's real.

Besides, it seems like every time I try to make up a character, they end up being a spinoff from myself or someone else I know in life. Clearly I could continue to work on this character and make them their own. I do believe if I worked on it, I could write fiction.

I just don't know how.

Which is why I stick with nonfiction. Besides, I will never get tired of talking about myself.

Sorry, I can't hear you over the sound of me laughing at you.

2011-03-27T16:14:00.003-06:00

I think it's hilarious when people fight. This is probably a bad thing.

I don't mean knock-down drag-out fight. I can't stomach violence, heavens no. It horrifies me. I mean arguing, yelling, general annoyance, like watching parents discipline their children. I don't know why I find it funny, but there's just something - just something - about it that cracks me up. Fighting is bad, obviously, but man, is it ever funny to watch.

I wasn't always this corrupt. I remember when I would watch my childhood best friend Michelle fight with her mom and her mom would send me home when Michelle was throwing a tantrum. I never thought it was funny. Her mother terrified me. I usually went home crying because I was afraid her mother would kill her or worse, Michelle would be grounded for life. Which she was, often.

Then the times changed and I got a new best friend, Staci. We laughed at everything and anything. I mean anything, which included arguments.

I remember when I was about 14, the age where you're old enough to know better but too stupid to actually apply it, I used to go to Staci's house and every once in a blue moon she'd have an argument with her mom. I'll never forget the day Staci got into a fight with both of her parents. That was great. Man, that was awesome.

So there Staci and I were, sitting in the kitchen and eating cookies and milk and enjoying life in general when her mom came in and started yelling at her. I'm sure a conversation happened that led up to the argument, but I don't remember and I kind of don't care. This makes for a better story.

All I remember is how her mom started yelling and then Staci was yelling back. I started to smile, but quickly stifled it. I did my best to maintain control, like shoving as many cookies as possible into my mouth while attempting to look concerned, even gulping down some milk to prevent from choking. A snicker may have escaped, but that could've been a cough. I was fine. Everything was going to be fine. I'm fine, I swear.

Then Staci's dad came in and started yelling at her too.

That's when I lost it.

I started laughing. Loudly. I covered my mouth but was still pretty obvious about it. I had to find a hiding place quick. I tried my best to hide my face underneath the counter top, giggling to myself and peeking over the edge every once in a while to make sure they couldn't see me laughing. Unfortunately, the stool I was sitting on was one of those spinny stools, and I was in an awkward position. I had to hold onto the counter and on top of the stool while simultaneously hiding my head underneath the counter without falling off.

I fell off.

I stumbled onto the floor while they were still fighting and tried hiding behind the stool so they wouldn't notice I had fallen off.

Mind you, I was fourteen. I should've been mature enough to realize, "Oh...they're fighting. This is sad. This is really sad. I'm so sad that people have to fight. Also, I shouldn't hide behind stools because that's stupid."

But then the bigger part of my brain, the elephant that controls emotion said, "THIS IS SO FREAKING HILARIOUS! I'M HIDING BEHIND A STOOL! SHEER BRILLIANCE! BAAAAAAAAAHAHHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHA" and so I kept on laughing.

It didn't escape the parents' notice, however, that a 14-year old was hiding behind their kitchen stool and laughing at them. So I got sent home. That and Staci was grounded.

But as soon as I left through her back door and hopped the fence, I laughed my whole way home. Actually, I don't think I even waited to hop the fence. I'm pretty sure I was laughing as I stumbled down the steps to her backyard.

That guilty delight remains to this day. When I was still working at a restaurant, one of the waiters, Juan*, got into a fight with the busser, Luis. I don't even remember what the fight was about, but there was definitely tension. At one point I witnessed Luis purposely blocking Juan's way and Juan shoved him out of the way and stomped out of the room. Luis gathered up his tools and barged into the kitchen. The rest of us sat there in awkward silence.

Then my coworker Glo stifled a snicker, and I started to laugh. We sat there in that booth cracking up about them fighting while Glo explained to me what was going on. For the rest of the day, neither of us could take Luis or Juan seriously.

I try to maintain control when I see people arguing or children throwing temper tantrums. I try to think, "Liesl, don't laugh. This is awful. It's not funny, you big jerk. STOP LAUGHING, DANG IT." It doesn't work. I laugh anyway.

I have a theory about that. I usually laugh the most when I hear parents disciplining their children. I think it's because it reminds me of all the times I fought with my parents and threw temper tantrums and I'm really glad I've gotten past that, for the most part.

This, I believe, gives the universe permission to laugh at me whenever I'm in a great rage. Go ahead, laugh at me. I probably deserve it, since I'll be going to hell for laughing at other people's misery. I can't help that it's so hilarious.

*Name has been changed because I can't remember it

Quickie

2011-03-19T21:57:00.001-06:00

You don't have to read this or care about this, but I wanted to see how quickly I could write a blog post about...well, we'll figure that out in a second.

Right now I'm putting off doing a homework assignment due at midnight. I should've started it earlier. I'm kind of annoyed with myself for not starting earlier. The reason I've been putting it off isn't my usual lack of motivation (something I also need to work on), but because it's a really hard assignment. It's for the animation program that I want to get into, but it's 3D animation which is a lot more like math and a lot less like art. Not so fun.

I've always had issues with math. Actually, that's sort of a lie. I loved math in second grade when I was good at it. Then in 3rd grade I was introduced to socializing and I found that to be a lot more fun than doing long division. I fell behind, and have been barely trying to catch up ever since.

So when it comes to doing hard things, let's be honest: I don't want to do them. Because it's hard. And because it's hard, it means it'll take time for me to understand what I'm doing. And since I'd rather be watching Kung Fu Panda (which I'm doing right now), I do that instead of homework.

But since I'm smart enough to realize what a dope I am for doing that, I looked up a site for motivation and found this. It's worth a look.

Okay, back to work. That took me two minutes longer than it should have.

Rant to Drivers

2011-03-16T18:53:00.000-06:00

Hey, you.

Yeah, you. The person who doesn't slow down while I'm waiting to cross the street. Yes, that's you. The one in the small Camry. It's okay, you can come out. I see you pretending you don't see me. Is it all right if I remind you of something?

YOU ARE IN A CAR.

Chances are, you'll be getting to your destination 10 times faster than I am, and that includes waiting for lights and other pedestrians like me crossing the streets.

You're in your cushy car. A warm car. I'm walking in snow. Or you're in an air-conditioned car while I'm sweatier than a yak in the Sahara. ~~I guess now would be a good time to shave my legs, huh?~~

Yes, slow drivers are frustrating and are equivalent to that jerk in your class who, in his nasally voice, reminded the teacher to give out homework. Yes, there are idiot pedestrians completely oblivious to the rest of the world. Yes, those bicyclists are obnoxious and frightening. Plus, they wear spandex.

I should know. I've been all three, minus the spandex. We all think we're right.

Look, you're probably miserable. After all, you inherited your car from a smoker and some clown welded hubcaps to the ceiling. The air conditioner's broken and the heat is permanently on. Your window rolls down only halfway. A tree branch fell on your side view mirror and broke it off. You ran out of money AND windshield wiper fluid the same day a bird pooped right in your line of vision. Your sister keeps singing off-key. Loudly. So you turn on the radio. All the songs on the radio suck. Someone steals your radio while you're stranded at a red light. (How did they do that, anyway?) Your stupid brother farted. You try to stick your head out of the half window to breathe. But then you hit a cat. It was your boss's cat. You crash into your boss. You lose your job for killing your boss and his cat. You run out of gas. Your brother doesn't. Your sister thinks the best way to cope is to sing. Oh, and you're twenty miles from home.

But honestly, I don't think it would hurt anyone - literally - if you slowed down in the morning when I need to cross. And keep your eye out for bicyclists, because I'm one of 'em, too. I'll stop for you if you stop for me.

Oh, and you should probably wash your car. The dead cat stuck on the front of your car is starting to smell.

Photo courtesy from this guy. Hideous car courtesy Italy.

5 of the 6 answers on the back of a trivia card

2011-02-18T10:58:00.000-07:00

This nonsensical piece is an exercise I did in my creative nonfiction class. it's inspired by the essay "The 6 Answers on the Back of a Trivia Card." My teacher handed out trivia cards and had us make up answers to the questions. I would have done all 6, but for one of the questions I couldn't figure out whether my answer was racist or not. And if I have to ask that, well...it probably is.

What’s the biggest city on the island of Java?

In Java? Frankly, I’d say Mozilla Firefox or something like Windows 7 because it never shuts up about making me upgrade to the newest installment of Java, which in turn makes me upgrade to the Yahoo toolbar. I can’t upgrade Java without installing the Yahoo toolbar, which makes me hate the Yahoo toolbar.

Dude, I use Google. I use Google because it doesn’t make me upgrade to anything and it has considerably less obnoxious properties than the Yahoo Toolbar, although sometimes Google Instant can be really annoying, especially when it takes you to a page you didn’t want to go to because you weren’t finished typing.

Plus, there’s that whole condescending “Did you mean…” and you know that they’re just aching to add “hey, idiot” at the beginning of each question. But other than that, I love it. I especially love whenever it’s some special day in history or some obscure person is born, Google changes its title page to something interesting (When it did that Pac-Man thing? Golden) and makes my day just the weensiest bit better.

The day Yahoo outshines Google will be the day I finally update Java. But for now, I’ll just keep doing my usual “upgrade until I get to the Yahoo toolbar so my computer will just shut up about it” spiel.

Oh, and I used Google to find out the biggest city on the island of Java, which is Jakarta. So there, Java.

What decade first saw U.S. women vote in equal numbers to men?

Frankly, I've never voted. Now, before you cart me off and lynch me for being a terrible citizen, let me explain.

When I was 18 and could first vote, I missed the registration and was in another state and was completely ignorant of the absentee ballot thing. Then last November when we had another election, I was registered and READY TO VOTE and then I had zero time all day and no transportation to get to the specific elementary school I had to vote at, which was in Milwaukee. Okay, that’s a lie. But it was far enough away that I would miss all my important classes if I walked there and back again. Sorry. Maybe in 2012?

Oh, and it was in 1950. I was genuinely surprised to find that out.

What animal’s fat was most often used in the manufacture of explosives during World War II?

Pig’s, apparently. Sick.

It’s amazing that fat can be used at all while manufacturing explosives. How does it work? Is it some chemical in it? Or is it just that the blubber is so disgusting that the other parts of the explosive just explode themselves with embarrassment?

Oh, gross it’s pig fat pig fat pig fat PIG FAT SICK GROSS NASTY EW EW EW I CAN’T BREATHE I HAVE TO GET OUT OF HERE – BOOM!

What size of triple-E sneakers does Shaquille O’Neal slip into?

Size 21. That must mean...he has really big feet.

This has nothing to do with Shaq, but one time I was watching T.V. with my brother Kurt. He was flicking through the channels when we landed on a Mountain Dew commercial. The commercial was of people at a rock concert, rocking out with their Mountain Dews. (Side note: wouldn’t that make the soda explode in their face? What’s the point of bouncing around with soda in your hand?)

Kurt, who hates rock, said to me, “Liesl, there’s a difference between the worldly and spiritual. This commercial, for example, is worldly.”

He changed the channel. “This…is spiritual.”

It was a Lakers game.

What John Wayne movie did critic Renata Adler call “vile, insane, dull, stupid, rotten and false”?

The Green Berets. Huh. That’s interesting.

Honestly, I would say The Searchers, but that’s because that’s the only John Wayne movie I’ve seen. I wouldn’t say it’s dull, rotten or false (although I bet a lot of people could argue about the accuracy of their portrayal of Indians), but there were definitely vile elements of insanity in there. But it has the famous line, “That’ll be the day,” so it’s not all bad.

In conclusion, John Wayne is rugged.

I should be in bed

2011-02-09T23:31:00.000-07:00

But here's a quick story:

Today I was walking on campus carrying packages to the post office. A guy walking by asked me, "Do you need help with that?"

I glanced down at his taped up knee and remarked, "No, but it seems like you need help with your knee!"

"Oh, this? I'm good. I can carry those for you if you want." I handed him two of the packages, and we walked to the post office together. As we walked, I learned that his name is Hawaiian (I can't remember it now, but it's something like "Lawuja" or something like that), but he's from Fiji. He was remarkably smiley and friendly.

When we got to the post office and he dropped off the packages, I thanked him for the help. His response, "Thank you for giving me the opportunity to serve!"

It made my day.

I appreciate those people who not only are helpful in doing things for me, but are kind enough to give me a genuine smile or share a conversation. Thank you, boy from Fiji. I'll try to be more helpful and friendly on campus, thanks to you.

Here's what I did on Friday. (WARNING: BORING)

2011-02-06T23:48:00.005-07:00

First I paid rent. Then I danced around like a maniac to bad Ke$ha music and did pilates to Mari Winsor ("Use that powerhouse! No hula dancing!") so I could A) get endorphins so I could be happy and not shoot people, 2) get the necessary exercise to make my back not hurt as much, and D) sweat.

I have this slight fascination with sweat. What is it about sweat that makes it so gross? Is it really that gross that you have to shower IMMEDIATELY after you've sweated your armpits silly? Is it really that smelly? Sweat can't be all bad.

Please keep in mind that there is no attention to anatomy in this and that my armpit hairs are an exaggeration. I keep my armpit hairs trimmed regularly once every 6 months. Once it gets to the 5th dreadlock, I figure it's a good time to shave.

Of course, having revealed all these burning questions within my heart probably reveals the more questionable parts about my character, but moving on.

Then that night I drove up to Salt Lake ALL BY MYSELF. This is a big deal. I rarely drive all alone to faraway places. When I usually go on trips, it's with other people and the only way they'll ever let me drive is if their life and/or car depended on it.

Them: Man, I'm so tired. I can barely keep my eyes open.
Me: Need me to drive?
Them: No, no...that's okay.
Me: You sure? You just took a sleeping pill, downed three turkeys and it's 3 A.M. We're driving through the Sahara desert with only one rest stop that we just passed 2 hours ago.
Them: No, I'm fine. Really.
Me: No, really, I can drive. I don't speed...much. I wear my seatbelt, and for the most part, care about the passengers in the car.
Them: Naw. We don't have that much left.
Me: We have 3000 miles.
Them: Traffic's not that bad. I can speed through.
Me: We're being attacked by camels and yaks. You're on the verge of unconsciousness. Pull over and let me drive.
Them: That'll only waste time and gas.
Me: If you pass out, we'll crash into a bunch of camels and yaks. You'll be decapitated, and I'll be alone in this desert.
Them: No problem. I've got life insurance.
Me: I will also probably throw up all over your nice new car.
Them: ...fine.

So that's why it was amazing that my parent's let me borrow Mabel and drive to SLC to hang out with an old friend. Look, it's not a big deal to some people. There were no creepy guys or some person with a hook, the weather wasn't bad, and aside from getting lost, it was a pleasant drive all around. Well, except for the occasional road rage and Wendy's.

I especially loved driving around the point of the mountain and looking over at the Salt Lake Valley and seeing the lights range from sparsely populated areas to the big ol' dense ones. Inversion is disgusting, but it made the city look misty and mysterious (MISTERIOUS AHAHAHA) and...I don't know, it was just fun. I rarely go on trips like that by myself.

Maybe, for me, this was a step toward independence. I actually drove to a place FAR AWAY (well, 40 miles) AT NIGHT (inversion helped make things lighter) BY MYSELF (me, myself, and the radio chock full of overplayed pop songs. I was aching for the weird, bizarre indie music I've been listening to lately by the end of the drive) in a big, scary city that I don't go to very often.This...this is even bigger than when I went to see Harry Potter by myself in California. That's pretty big, considering it was IMAX.

On that note, can you imagine driving through the Sahara desert being attacked by camels and yaks? You'd probably get really sweaty.

Of Thumbs

2011-01-20T17:06:00.003-07:00

Photo courtesy of Taylor Merkley

“Physicians say that the thumbs are the master fingers of the hand.”

What Montaigne says is true. I used to suck my thumb, you know. It was pretty impressive how well I knew my left thumb. It had this strange little miniature wart on it (my mom used to tell me it came from sucking my thumb in an effort to get me to stop) and it was the only thing that helped me get to sleep. We had a most enjoyable relationship, because it was something that lasted longer than any candy or treat. It wasn’t as tasty (unless I covered it with chocolate or syrup, which I occasionally did), but it was secure. My thumb would never leave me. Oh, sure, there was the occasional thought of, “Shoot. What if it dissolves, too?” But then I realized that if the skin and muscle eventually got chewed off, I could just gnaw at the bone every once in a while. It never dissolved, thank goodness. I was happy and my thumb was happy.

My parents, however, were not. They attempted many methods to get me to stop: nasty-tasting nail polish, promise of reward, threats, bribes, etc. Nothing worked. No other finger tasted so good or was as reliable as was my thumb. Oh, the reliability! Sometimes my parents and siblings made me imagine a life without my thumb; if all my sucking eventually made it completely dissolve.

What if I couldn’t write? Well, that wouldn’t be a problem, I’m not left-handed, I would point out. Okay, what if you couldn’t hold anything? I’d use my right hand, was my response.

But then what if my left thumb really did go away and I was forced to suck my right thumb? Then that’d leave too and where would we be? Perplexing, really. I wouldn’t be able to write or hold onto anything as easily. I imagine eventually I’d get used to it, but think about it! Your thumbs just dissolve! Forever gone. That sounds like an English song.

I remember in elementary school the trick kids would try to play on me by sticking their thumb in their palm and stick out the “nub” and say they lost their thumb, which is a really dumb joke. You’re not fooling anybody, buddy. It’s right there, fool. I can still see your skin. There isn’t any blood. The only thing that would convince me was blood.

Which is probably why the only thing that worked in getting me to stop sucking my thumb involved blood. On my 10^th birthday (and still a prominent thumb sucker at that old age, I’m proudly ashamed to say), I knocked out my two front teeth falling off my bike. Blood was everywhere, and boy howdy, it was disgusting. I screamed a lot. Everyone screamed a lot, really. It’s pretty unreal to knock out your teeth.

I got my teeth shoved back into me, but they were plastered in there with a bunch of weird plaster gunk and a wire on my teeth, and there simply wasn’t enough room for my teeth, the plaster, and my thumb. I speculated about my teeth having a showdown with my thumb, but then I was afraid of shoving my teeth up further into my gums and I discovered that I valued my teeth more than my thumb. So I quit cold turkey. Bye bye, thumb. Good night. Sleep tight.

After my teeth were healed, I tried it again. It tasted kind of bland and did nothing for me. I realized that the relationship had changed. We had both changed. Our personalities didn’t fit. When my thumb realized I valued my teeth more than I valued it, it shut down and refused to give me that comfort I had once received. It just wasn’t the same anymore. It was kind of tragic, this end of an era.

Still, we had something, didn’t we? No other finger gave me the security or the entertainment or comfort that my thumb did. Thumbs truly are the master finger. Thanks, thumb. I’ll never forget you. It’s kind of hard to, actually. You’re the one helping me write this, after all.

This is something I wrote for my creative nonfiction class. We had to read an essay written by Montaigne and then write an essay with the same title and a quote in it. I may or may not have made up some stuff in there. Come to think of it, I think it was actually my RIGHT thumb I sucked, because I looked at my thumbs and discovered the circular shape non-wart on my right thumb. Oh, well.

Empty head

2011-01-04T15:53:00.000-07:00

Holy Hannah Montana, I have never been so uninspired in my life.

I don't know what to write. I hate this. I'm sitting here on an uncomfortable marble slab, trying to think of what to write. Into my head pops nothing. A great, vast amount of nothingness, partially black but mostly gray. Floating around in it are zero ideas about what subjects to write about and how I can go about them in some clever, interesting way. Instead I have to sit on the uncomfortable slab of wretchedness with a numb tailbone and bemoan my fate and GRIPE GRIPE GRIPE WHINE WHINE WHINE as I wonder when my muse will come back.

Honestly? I think she went out to lunch, and if she has my personality at all, she's putting off coming back to my head and is thinking up excuses about why she's so late. Then, when she finally DOES come back, she'll come running in, gasping for air and saying, "Sorry! I swear I was going to come sooner, but I had to inspire some other people first, and then I needed to have some lunch too but then I found out I didn't have any money so then there was THAT whole embarrassing fiasco of begging everyone behind me in the line at Subway to donate to my cause, and then I kind of met this really cute guy and forgot all about inspiring you. Whoops. I am so, so sorry. Seriously. So sorry."

But I guess that's what I get for being someone who enjoys putting things off. My inspiration likes to do the exact same thing. So for now, I'm going to have to work through the painful sad swamp devoid of inspiration like that horrible one they had in The NeverEnding Story. Hey, maybe my Muse will show up on a freaky flying dog to rescue me. But in the meantime, she'll be debating between a Spicy Italian footlong and a BLT.

The Apology

2010-11-26T13:03:00.001-07:00

Oh, dear. I didn't exactly keep my goal of writing for 11 days, now did I?

Excuse #1: I got extremely sick last week. Normally that wouldn't be a hindrance in writing, but I was actually sick enough that just looking at the computer screen gave me motion sickness. I was exhausted. Weak. Pathetic. (Whimper.) I spent my weekend in mostly horizontal positions and/or fetal positions or worshiping the porcelain goddess. My train of thought was less along the lines of "What am I thankful for?" and more "holy crap I want to die," although I would say I became very grateful for Pepto Bismol and cranberry juice, as well as parents who were willing to take me in while I whined and complained.

Excuse #2: I went to California. Everyone knows that you can't get internet access in California. Okay, bad excuse, although the wireless connection at my grandparents' is pretty bad. But I spent more time being a tourist, writing a paper I didn't want to write, and drawing drawing drawing, all the while avoiding blogging. So another thing I'm grateful for: this trip I took to California. I hadn't been anywhere besides Idaho and Utah in over two and half years and it was driving me absolutely insane. Going to San Francisco helped cure some of the cabin fever.

Excuse #3: I'm lazy. Well, that's not really an excuse so much as an explanation. I considered blogging, but thought "no, I'll just write one on Thanksgiving and that's it." But then Thanksgiving came and went and I found considerable distractions (food, drawing, food, cousin and friends coming by, food, pie, finally watching the Harry Potter movie, food, pie, food, food, food) that just conveniently kept me from writing. But I'm grateful for the chance I had to have Thanksgiving here in California, see a cousin I hadn't seen in over five years, meet new people, have some delicious pie, and go see a movie by myself. I've never done that before, especially in an unfamiliar city. It was rather fun.

So maybe I'll write a proper Thanksgiving post sometime (translate: probably never), but I hope you will accept my dearest apologies and enjoy the two pictures I somehow managed to upload despite the awful internet connection.

Also, pie.

Sick today

2010-11-17T16:25:00.002-07:00

Not feeling so well today.

I am grateful for good health. I should probably stop taking it for granted. Also, I'm grateful for sleep. Lots and lots of sleep.

Wind

2010-11-16T22:44:00.044-07:00

Here's a quick one.

Living in Rexburg for a year and a half gave me a love/hate relationship with wind. It can really be obnoxious, because the wind never, ever stops. One time the wind was blowing so hard that whenever I stood still, I was pushed by the wind and had to hold onto poles or cars or buildings or each other to even try to remain in the same spot. That's how bad the wind was.

Still, there were times I loved it. I would watch the leaves fly through the air and around me as I walked around. Ashleigh and I would use the wind to our advantage while biking downhill because it made us go SUPER SUPER fast. I felt extra cool when I was at the top of a hill and my hair was blowing every which way.

So tonight as I was riding home on my bike and stopped at a light, the cold wind blew on my face again, fanning my hair out. I had one foot on a pedal while the other foot was on the ground, balancing myself on the bike. The streetlights helped provide dramatic effect. When the lights went green ~~and the flags went up~~ I soared home through the wind, enjoying the biting sensation on my skin.

Wind has this sort of charm to it, even in the cold. It's powerful and can feel so good. Plus, it makes me look awesome to the umpteenth power, thereby granting me unquestionable authority.

By the book

2010-11-15T21:20:00.000-07:00

Today's topic is about books. Have you ever read something so wonderful and fantastical it consumed your entire world and changed the pigments of your eyes and skin and hair and you floated through the air and got turned inside out and exploded into a million pieces? No? Okay, guess I’m the only one.

I learned how to read through Calvin and Hobbes and a bunch of other comics. I’d like to say that Harry Potter changed my life; it did. I’d like to say Flipped changed my life; it did. As did The Book Thief, along with The Goose Girl, the Ramona books, the Chosen, and Ella Enchanted and Asterix and Tintin and Foxtrot, and oh, did I mention Harry Potter? I feel he needs to be mentioned twice. Honestly, I never loved reading like the way I loved Harry Potter.

I remember when I read the first book, feeling chills at the end of the first chapter. Then there was the second book and I was so delighted over Harry figuring out the whole mystery behind the Chamber of Secrets that I jumped up and down and screamed, “YES! YES! I KNEW IT! WOW! YES! YES! YES!” Or the third book, which I listened to on tape. I remember feeling the exhilaration Harry felt when they won the Quidditch cup and cheered and leapt around the room. I remember crying in the fourth book after Cedric Diggory was murdered, just before he was transformed into a vampire. When I read the fifth book, I stayed up late into the wee hours of the night holding a flashlight underneath my blanket, just trying to finish it.

That’s when I went crazy. Thirsty for more knowledge of Harry Potter, I went on the internet, looking up sites that specialized in Harry Potter, exposing myself for the first time to fandom. The revelations given in the fifth book opened up an entire world of debate and speculation. I wrote exceptionally bad fanfiction and pored over fanart. I read online theories and debates about the next book – just who was the half-blood prince, anyway? Were the Marauders (you know, Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs) extreme pranksters? Did Snape love Lily? I spent hours upon hours immersing myself into this world.

Boy, did I ever love it. I very possibly could have been one of those crazies, so great was my love.

When the sixth book came out, I was in British Colombia visiting my friend Jessie. They got the UK version there, and since those versions don’t even HAVE illustrations, I wasn’t planning on reading the book until I got home from vacation. Jessie preordered it, so when it arrived, she spent a good portion of the night reading it while I shunned the non-illustrated version.

It was about a good 9 hours until I broke.

Early the next morning, Jessie was upstairs and the book and I were downstairs. Alone. I stared at the book as it lay quietly next to the couch. It stared back like a smug cat, knowing just how superior it was to my weak flesh. I couldn’t stand it anymore. Burning curiosity overcame me, and it was going to kill that stupid cat. I grabbed the book and buried myself in its contents.

After an hour, Jessie came running down the stairs yelling, “Noooo!” We spent that day trading the book back and forth, discussing it in between reads. I watched movies to kill time and tapped my fingers and kept glancing over at Jessie to see if she had progressed any further within the last 2 minutes. I hated that Jessie found out before me who the half-blood prince was, but she was there to hear me scream, “NO!” when I discovered Snape killing Dumbledore. I cried during the entire funeral. I felt anguish over the chaos that was happening in their world. When I finished the last sentence, “…there was still one last golden day of peace left to enjoy with Ron and Hermione,” I closed the book and sat.

And sat. And sat. And sat. I just sat there staring at the floor and sniffling, pathetic like her dog.

Then I finally got up, wiped my tears, and went to find Jessie to talk about the book with her, so we could have broken hearts together.

Then came the seventh and last book, in which during the event I locked myself in my room and disappeared into Harry’s world, completely in love from the very beginning. I left only for necessary reasons, like using the bathroom or running an errand with my parents, but even then I took the book with me. I was not allowed to have a life until I finished.

I finished it in about 7 hours. Not bad, really. I closed the book, sat, smiled, and then skipped all throughout the house, hugging everyone I could find. Note: do not hug your mother while she is cooking something hot.

The obsession with books hasn’t stopped. I’m positively engaged by interesting characters and intriguing writing, so much to a point that I will lock myself in my room for hours or go out in public without getting dressed just to find a good story. I bend over backwards to find out what book a complete stranger is reading and forge friendships with them if we both love the book. This is what books do to me. This is why I am grateful for books. Oh, yes.

11 Days of Thanksgiving

2010-11-14T23:11:00.033-07:00

The other night I was at my friend's house when I saw a copy of the Reader's Digest sitting on the table. Having had a long-lasting history with this magazine (I used to steal it off our corner table in the living room and read it crouching over the furnace while eating oatmeal cream cookies), I snatched it and jumped on her couch to read it while she and some other friends made conversation (and a delicious yellow cake to boot). It was the special Christmas (or the winter holidays, I suppose) edition, which is my favorite. It's filled to the brim with inspiring stories that slam me in the chest cavity, right where my heart used to be but has now been replaced by a miniature vintage black bowling ball.

In the Reader's Digest I found a story written by a man whose life was not going well. He was getting divorced, flat broke, and to add insult to injury, 40 pounds overweight. He was depressed and was having little to no luck. He said he often had this voice in his head that called him a loser, until one day he said he heard another voice say,

"Until you learn to be grateful for the things you have, you will not receive the things you want."

And Thus Began the Attitude of Gratitude. He wrote out thank-you letters to the people in his life and it improved his life vastly aaaannnnnnd...that's about the part where I started to skim the rest of the article because I really, really wanted some cake. Mmmm....cake....

Still, that sentence stuck with me. Well, actually, I was afraid it wouldn't so I immediately tweeted it from my phone so I wouldn't forget it. But that's even better, because I can't even find this article on rd.com, which fills me with sadness and despair.

Anyway, my point. it inspired me to do something every blogger and their dog's blog does every November: write about things they're grateful for. I will be doing it for the next 11 days (well, what's left of today and the next 10 days after it) until Thanksgiving, because it's the 11th month (AND it's 11:11 right now! Make a wish!) and it'll help me cherish life and all that crap. Okay, well, I was actually planning on starting it yesterday and doing the whole "12 Days of Thanksgiving," but then I got lazy. Every day I will write about something that I'm grateful for, like my family and friends and galoshes and watching people get pooped on by birds.

Today, I am grateful for elevators. They're just so handy. They get me and my lazy bones to the tops of buildings that are far too high for their own good. Once I rode in an elevator that lit up like the Tower of Terror ride at Disneyland, except I've never actually been on that ride. I love to jump in them and get that butterfly feeling, like maybe for one stupid split-second I'm actually flying. It's short-lived, but hey, it's my thrill and I'll do as I please.

One elevator in particular I love is in a building I'm in all the time on campus. I named this elevator Flo, short for Floor. She has a sister named Glo, but I don't like Glo as much because she has this ugly metal floor. Flo just sounds so dang pleasant every time she says, "First floor. Going up." Yes, ma'am.

I've had conversations (mostly one-sided) with Flo, telling her about my day and what I needed to do that day. I've asked her, "What should I do about this assignment or class or why is that person so difficult to like, Flo?" and she's answered. Okay, well, she said, "Fifth floor. Going down," and I took that as a sign that I should probably go to class, but still! Flo speaks to me, guys.

Which is why I was devastated when she broke down. "FLOOOOOOOO!" I cried, falling to my knees and sobbing while the main theme of The Last of the Mohicans played in the background. I began the treacherous journey of actually using the stairs and even using Glo on occasion. I like Glo fine, but she's no Flo. It was rough this past week. I kept stumbling down the stairs due to misuse. All the other elevators reminded me of Flo and I wept bitter tears as I rode each one. It was actually kind of embarrassing when the snot started getting on all the elevator buttons.

But this week, Flo will ride again. I will fly again. And that, my friends, is why I'm grateful for elevators and also the sanctity of naming inanimate objects. There's a beauty that comes with finding attachment to things that don't even have a heart, just like me.

Here, take my sweater.

2010-11-01T23:23:00.002-06:00

Last night, I was on my laptop and ~~wasting time~~ being extremely productive when my roommate ran up to me and exclaimed, "LIESL! Do you realize that this will be the last night we will ever see of October 2010?"

I glanced at her and then back to my computer screen and mumbled, "Oh, yeah. Sure. Whatever." And then she kicked me in the shins and I leaped off the computer and we started wrestling mid-air. I won, of course. But that's besides the point.

I feel the exact same way she does. Every year, when the months hit the double-digits and the temperature drops, I become more aware of the impending new year. In fact, I'm usually that person running up to people and shrieking, "HOLY CRAP! WE WILL NEVER SEE NOVEMBER 7TH, 2009 EVER AGAIN! MARK YOUR CALENDARS, PEOPLE!"

Funny thing is, I never do that at the beginning of the year. I'm never the person upset about January and February leaving. My attitude progression is as follows:

January: AAAAAAAUUUUUUUGGGHHH I HATE THE COLD I HATE JANUARY I HATE LIFE
February: AAAAAAAUUUGGGHHHH THE COLD NEVER ENDS LIFE STILL SUCKS I HATE YOU FEBRUARY
March: I HATE MARCH CURSE YOU WIND YOU CRUEL MISTRESS, YOU
April: Rain! It's getting warm again! Yessssssssssss
May: Wahoo, it's my birthday! Life is good-WHAT?! IT (adjective deleted) SNOWED IN (adjective deleted) MAY?
June: FINALLY, it's warm! Geez!
July: Whatever
August: Whatever
September: Whatever
October: Hey, will you look at that? Fall! I love fall!
November: Wait, what happened to October? It's November! And December's just around the corner! Don't leave me, November! I hardly knew you!
December: Crap, the year's ending! No! Quick, cherish every day! Suck the marrow out of life! Suck the marrow out of everyone else's lives! I resolve to cherish every day and not waste all my time on the computer and stop watching stupid movies every weekend! I love life! CHERISH CHERISH CHERISH CHERISH CHERISH

And then the cycle starts over. The year doesn't really start getting good until around April/Mayish. Coincidentally (or probably not so coincidentally), that's also when winter semester ends. Then comes the summer, that lasts too short or too long, depending on the day. Fall comes and I'm back in school, excited to see old friends again and excited for the classes I'm taking. It's when so many holidays are coming up: Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas, and there's this energy and magic that comes with it all. Perhaps it's all the holidays, or the chill in the air and the first snowfall and the changing colors and change of scenery, or maybe it's the ending of a year and the anticipation of a new one, or just the sudden busyness that comes all at once with school and work and holidays and travel. The whole world is alive at this time of year and I love it.

Then sadly, the holidays end, and so does the energy. The world is dead, with only a few quick bursts of energy that come with Valentine's Day and those warm winter days. The rest of the winter is spent in misery, dwelling on the gray skies and the ice wind and jumping on the bandwagon of griping about weather. Life sucks and then you die, a horrible, slow, painful death and then worms DEVOUR YOUR FLESH.

But funnily enough, as much as I'm looking forward to being eaten by worms, I've discovered life actually doesn't have to be that way.

I was talking with a friend of mine about winter and how much I hated the cold and how it filled me with Siberian rage and hate when he said, "Oh, yeah. I'm definitely a warm person. I'm from southern California. But you know, last winter I made a goal to never, ever complain about the weather, and it was the happiest I'd ever been."

Huh.

How about that?

So here's my goal for the upcoming winter: don't complain about the weather. I've allowed myself some liberties in that I can gripe and whine and bellyache and moan about everything else except the weather. No, sir. No more "I hate the cold!" or "this wind blows!" or "I wish it would stop snowing!"

Now, I'm not about to rip off my clothes and go rolling around in the snow, but hey, maybe I'll learn to appreciate the other things. At the very least, I'll be rid of one thing that makes me unhappy. It's the least I can do. Perhaps my next year will be better for it - HOLY CRAP THIS IS THE LAST WE WILL EVER SEE OF NOVEMBER 1ST, 2010, PEOPLE! CHERISH EVERY MINUTE!

Creative Panic: Nepenthe

2010-10-12T13:59:00.002-06:00

Yesterday in my creative writing class, I was late (as usual) and almost missed the free write we do at the beginning of each class. Our prompt was "Nepenthe: something that causes forgetfulness of sorrows or depression." I jotted this down while people were reading out loud theirs and somehow managed to yank this out of my head in the midst of my hurried writing.

I was so depressed about how badly I did on two of my midterms that I took Nepenthe to forget my sorrows. Unfortunately, this drug makes sweeping generalizations, so it assumed that my school woes extended to ALL of my classes, and made me forget that I was in school altogether. When the effects wore off, I found myself standing in the stadium parking lot on top of a tall step ladder screaming obscenities. I suddenly remembered that I had to finish my second draft for my creative writing class, so I dashed it off and raced to school. Unfortunately, I was abducted by aliens on the way. They'll do it every time.

losing my snooze

2010-09-19T03:31:00.004-06:00

Insomnia sucks.

A lot.

Especially when you're sick with a sore throat and a stuffy nose and all you can feel is that dry air in the back of your throat. Because hello, you’re supposed to be resting your body, but your body isn’t having any of it at all. It’s rebellious and it’s proud. It’s saying, “Haha, look at me, I’m just going to make you toss and turn until 1 a.m. until you can’t stand it anymore! Just TRY sleeping! JUST TRY!”

The first time it happened was awful. I had no idea what was going on, but that night I somehow just knew I wasn’t going to sleep. I tried so hard. My roommate was gone, so I was completely alone. I turned over and over in my bed, trying to find the perfect position. I wondered, "Are my sheets a little too clean for comfort?" and longed for that familiarity one derived from drooling all over their sheets. I texted my brother, who worked a night shift, for advice and he told me to read a comic book. I got up and drew and read until 4 a.m. when my body finally decided, “Oh, yeah. Sleep. Huh. Guess it’s important after all. How about that?”

The next month, I found my body was once again refusing to cooperate. This time, my roommate was there, but despite her best efforts to be supportive, got washed up onto the Shores of Sleep all too soon. I consoled myself again by texting my brother for advice, and read Calvin & Hobbes and Foxtrot by the lamplight. I soon found rest, and it wasn’t as bad as it was the first time. It didn’t happen again for about eight months.

One night, I couldn’t stop dwelling on how angry I was with this one person I worked with. It consumed me so much I kept punching my mattress because that jerk tricked me into working an extra shift for them. (I really suffered. Truly.) This time, because I was too sleep-deprived to see sense (Sense: “Extra money! Also: extra money!”) and too mad to even see straight, I went downstairs and got out a Rick Steves DVD on Austria. I sat and watched and felt the 2 ½ year-old nostalgia pluck away at my heartstrings as Rick Steves pranced through Vienna, frolicked in the Alps, and gave me helpful tips about where I could get the best beer. It was surprisingly very therapeutic, and after it was over I went right back to bed.

Tonight, however, I’m sitting on the couch in my apartment, drinking Simply Lemonade and wearing freshly laundered pajamas, but lacking in comic books and Rick Steves. I’m in dire need of a cough drop, and so far the best thing I’ve done so far was to wash my filthy hair, listen to soundtracks, and find refuge in griping about it online. It’s frustrating and the thought about not being able to sleep gives me butterflies in my stomach – no, moths, because butterflies are too pretty and nice – I get moths in my stomach and I just wish they’d fly away so I can finally get some rest and rid myself of this horrible feeling in my throat.

Still, on the bright side, I finally have an excuse about falling asleep in church tomorrow.

So, what do you do when you can't sleep? What's your therapy for insomnia?

Conversation between Ashleigh and I

2010-09-04T01:31:00.002-06:00

Me: I saw our old friend Michael on campus today.
Ashleigh: Did you talk to him?
Me: Not really. I went up to him and told him I loved him, and so he kissed me while everyone around us clapped. Then I threw up.
Ashleigh: And then you made out again after that, right?
Me: Duh.

(Note: actual incident did not happen)

Jerk Aggressive Driving

2010-06-24T14:31:00.002-06:00

My Vati taking a picture of something boring

Last Thursday, which felt an awful lot like a Friday, I was late for work.

Ma was out with my mode of transportation and hadn't come back yet. Obviously, she had died, because the only reason Mom would ever be late for ANYTHING would be because she was dead. Even then, she’d make sure to be a few minutes early. So I had to go with my next best mode of transportation: Dad, who has the hair of an old man and the spirit of a chicken. No, wait – he has the legs of a chicken. He has the spirit of, I don’t know, a boar or something.

So while I was waiting for Dad and mourning Mom, I killed time by arranging the funeral. I had picked out the song ("Bill Grogan's Goat") and was composing the eulogy entitled "It's An Adequate Life" when Mom pulled in with Mabel the minivan. She apologized profusely while I cried tears of joy, threw all the groceries she bought onto the lawn, and then leaped into the car and zoomed away.

I was pulling out of my neighborhood when Dad turned the corner into it. He saw me and flipped a U-y (question: the shortened version of U-Turn: is it spelled ewwy? Youey? Yoo-ee? Discuss.) and came up behind me. I got the lead when I pulled out into traffic and he still had to wait to turn left. I drove off toward work thinking, No way will Dad catch me up.

And then his silver Buick went screaming by me at 300 miles an hour.

“GAH!” I yelped as I watched him tear down the road and ease into my lane a good 9 or 10 cars ahead of me, whereas I only became slowed down even more, thanks to the pokers I got stuck behind and the clown who likes to turn right without actually getting into the right-turn lane.

Next, we got onto University Avenue, one of those super long roads that happen to lead us both to our destinations. Dad and I drive on the same road together until we get to an intersection where Dad turns left and I go right. This intersection is about 642 blocks away. My goal: catch up with Dad before he goes left.

Dad was still way ahead of me and I knew that the only way to catch up with him was to turn into that jerk aggressive driver and start passing cars. Only problem is, Dad also happens to be that type of driver. Nothing against you, Dad, it’s just a fact. I actually kind of admire it. While all jerk aggressive drivers are highly obnoxious, when you happen to be that jerk aggressive driver and are doing a pretty impeccable job of it (i.e. managing to not kill anyone), it’s quite the power trip. Seriously, I feel so cool when I can drive like that. Time slows. I can hear a butterfly’s wing beat. I can feel my own heart beat in slow motion, right out of my untrimmed chest. I can smell people from a mile away. I can even watch people sneeze, which is really, really gross. When people start getting wasted by a girl in a MINIVAN, the whole universe is in balance.

So there I am, trying my best to move ahead of poking cars, but encountering that obnoxious problem of being stuck behind a jerk who’s moving at the same speed as some other jerk and I can’t figure out which moron is going faster, so all I can do is tap my fingers and feet and bite some nails and change the radio station because all the songs suck and yell, “GO, GO, GO, IDIOT!” Meanwhile, Dad was up ahead weaving in and out of traffic without any effort whatsoever. At this point, I became quite positive he sold his soul to the devil for his driving skills, and I began contemplating doing the exact same thing.

However, good things come to those who don’t tailgate and my luck, luckily, changed. I started changing lanes and passing cars without granting death wishes on the drivers. Dad, of course, was still cruising along like crazy, but I was beginning to catch him up. I passed another car – he passed three, and did a couple of front flips with his car to boot. I changed lanes while jumping up and down in my seat and letting out yips like a Scottish terrier. He was cutting into lanes so quickly they caught fire. I was trying my best to even accelerate, which doesn’t work well with Mabel, who rides like a cow. But I remained optimistic. Cars in between us were becoming fewer, probably because Dad vaporized them with his driving powers. I was getting closer, closer, closer…

And then came that cursed yellow light. One lousy block away from our turning points.

Dad drove right through.

I didn’t.

I swear I heard him cackling in triumph when he drove through that yellow light, ending the race once and for all.

I let out an incredulous howl of rage, frightening the person in the car next to me. I shook my fist and shouted, “WELL PLAYED!” Then something snapped. It was my overstressed mind, or maybe just my fingers. Laughing manically, I declared war on all nations, drugs, and people who think peeing in the shower is gross. And then I spit on some orphans. Well, nix the orphans. I giggled like a goon the rest of the way to work and may or may not have hit a few pedestrians for good measure.

I later confronted him about the race, but he feigned ignorance on the matter. He claimed he had no idea we were racing. Liar. I saw that gleam in his eye and a smile that suggested otherwise. “Otherwise,” the gleaming, smiling eye suggested.

Happy belated Father’s Day, Vati. I’m quite positive you won’t read this. It’s cool. Just be aware that next time we race…you will die. I mean, I will win, by using my new and improved jerk aggressive driving. Just you wait, chicken legs. Just you wait.

A weasel by any other name

2010-05-06T16:02:00.007-06:00

Why, yes, I am sitting on my bathroom tub, taking a picture of myself.

When people ask me for my name, the exchange usually goes like this:

“So, what’s your name?”

“Oh, it’s Liesl.”

“What’s that?”

“It's LEE-ZUL!” I bellow.

And then they’ll smile in recognition and say, “Oh, like the Sound of Music!”

I’ll nod, smile, and say “Yup,” and we continue on with the conversation. But every once in a while, someone asks, “Do you get that all the time? It must really bug you, doesn’t it?”

Well, yeah, I do, but no, it doesn’t. There are far worse things than connecting my name with the Sound of Music, because hey, it’s an uncommon name, and whatever helps them remember my name works for me. Often I’ve told people it rhymes with ‘weasel,’ but the Sound of Music always wins out, because weasel sounds too nasty to them, which insults me, and then pop! goes the Liesl. (Get it????)

Or how about that kuh-razy pronunciation of my name? I've had my name butchered many times, and it's a never-ending debate for some as to whether that S is pronounced like an S or a Z. Just the other day, a guy I work with came up to me and said, “It’s killing me. How do you pronounce your name?”

“Oh, I don’t care how you say my name,” I said, waving him off.

“But I need to know!” he begged me.

“Okay, fine. It’s pronounced ‘lee-zul,’ but you could say it either way and it won’t bother me.”

Another girl I work with walked in and contributed her opinion: “I like to keep it Austrian, so I say it as ‘lee-sul.’”

“Actually, in the German language, they pronounce their S’s like Z’s,” I said, but then she pointed out that in the movie The Sound of Music, they pronounced it with an S sound. We were going to have a fabulous debate, but then I had to get back to work.

All my life, I’ve either had people mispronouncing and misspelling my name or giving me bizarre nicknames. I’ve heard ‘em all: Weasel, Leez (or Leez Leez), Lissa, Whammy, Lissi, Liesley, Sleaze, Legal, Lysol (not just a cleaner!), Louise, Wheez, Weezgah, Mooch Pooch, Pooch, P, P Double O, Speedy, Leslie, Utah, America (Oh, those Canadians), Leisl, Wiesel, and many others that I’ve probably forgotten. Honestly, you give me a nickname and if it rhymes with my name, chances are, I’ll respond to it.

In my experience, however, there seems to be quite a rhubarb about people mispronouncing and misspelling names or associating them with something. For instance, my friend Cindy can’t stand it when people call her “Sid,” or there’s Suzannah, who often gets people singing to her, “Oh, Suzannah, don’t you cry for me…” Hannah responds murderously to people calling her “Hannah Montana,” and too often with my friend Mike Black, people are saying the same joke: “You’re not black, you’re white!”

It's not just my friends, either. Anne of Green Goblins herself was reduced to homicidal tendencies when Gil called her "Carrots!" Nobody, not even J.K. Rowling, knew how to pronounce Hermione Granger's name until the fourth book. And I'm betting that in biblical times, Abraham probably had to keep telling people, "It's not Abram anymore, it's ABRAHAM."

I can understand the annoyance. I'm sure that everyone gets something about their name. Once, when I went to Austria, the place my name actually ORIGINATED, a native there pronounced it “Lye-zul”. At first I was annoyed and thought, “Seriously? What a jerk!” and then popped him in the face, but when my friends kept laughing about it, I started thinking it was funny too, because hey, shooting people in the face is funny.

Misspelling and mispronunciation happens all the time, guys. Julia Louis-Dreyfus, of Seinfeld awesomeness, got her own Hollywood star on the walk of fame, which is fine and dandy, but they misspelled her name on the star. Was Julia angry? She was absolutely tickled. In fact, she wanted them to keep it there because it made such a great story. But they changed it back, which was a real shame, because it was hilarious.

So, here’s my question: is it really all that awful for people to do things like that, whether it’s a mispronunciation or a misspelling, or calling you stupid nicknames like fatso and bubble pants or singing the same old song when they see you? What if it's a term of endearment? I call my dearest friend Ashleigh "Trash," due to a simple rhyme with her name. She told me that it brings her joy to hear me call her that.

My suggestion? Don’t tar and feather people for that stuff. Yes, it can become weary. The originality of people is inspiring. But really, get over it. There are worse things out there. I’ve dealt with it all my life, and for crying out loud, quit making facebook groups about how much it bugs you.

On that note, I think we can all agree on one thing: it really is a crime to name your child Clarence.

In the Valley of the Goblins

2010-04-12T10:05:00.002-06:00

About a month and a half ago, my friend Gwen and I decided it'd be a great idea to trek to Goblin Valley. Instead of having the usual conversation that most dreamers have: "We should go!" "You're right! We totally should!" and then end up not going, in our own conversation, we decided, "No. Let's REALLY go." And thus we planned it out, figuring out the boring details of driving and food and such and so, and executed it in fabulous detail.

Without further ado, feast your eyes upon this rather large amount of pictures:

The Fabulous Four: me, Gwen, Lauren, Mike

Oh, by the way, we also hiked Slot Canyon. Just thought I'd throw that out there.

Okay, so that rock Ryan's currently scaling? I tried to climb it, but a lot of the time, climbing sandstone felt a lot like this:

Yeah, a little scary. But with a little help from my friends, I triumphed!

Climbing up scary slippery rocks stressed me out a little, so Aubrea and I walked around on the plateaus, sat and rested for a while, ate orange slices and Pringles, and listened to "Meet me in the hotel room" on her iPod touch. Pretty relaxing, if you like rap, that is.

Ecstasy over sitting like a bump on a log...or like a person on a rock, really.

Check out those injuries, baby.

Aubrea, who ended up hanging out with me most of the time (and ended up in most of my pictures)

Darci's mushroom rocks of joy

Gwen has a slight fetish for rocks. Slight.

Wow.

Chillin'

The coolest picture

Lauren, don't look so happy to be alive. People might think you're enjoying yourself.

Probably one of my more normal-looking moments.

I swear, that tiny rock in the middle looked just like a frog. It was neat.

After scaling the impossible cliffs, I was invincible. It was AWESOME.

A cool cave we found

Inside the cool cave. There were these other girls in there, and when they had left, we crawled all the way in and found some other girls part of the same group above us. Thinking we were part of the group, they asked us, "Are you guys okay?" Bewildered, we replied, "Uh, fine, thanks, how are you?"

Aaaaand a group photo. This was self-timer on my camera, and it was so windy I thought it'd knock my camera over. I steadied it on a rock, gingerly pressed the button, and ran for dear life. There will be more pictures...later.

P.S. Check out the awesome book-review blog I'm a part of. You can also find it on the sidebar by the title of, "This blog makes me feel cultured." It gets updated a lot more often than my own abandoned book-review blog, and you can still see my awesome taste, or other people's awesome tastes if you disagree with mine (which is blasphemous, if you ask me). We're also having a giveaway, but it won't happen until we have 50 followers, so get off your lazy butts and follow us and enter the contest!

Sunday Dinners: a field guide

2010-03-29T00:48:00.014-06:00

If you were to ever come eat dinner at my house while I was growing up, this is probably what it would end up like. Not that we always have some ritualistic massaging of each other's shoulders, but it was always entertaining in one way or another with my massive family. I'm the one in the front, wearing the blue apron and stretching to massage some invisible specimen. The one massaging my shoulders is Brian, and behind him is Kent, then Dad in the middle, Tyler, Heidi, Kurt, and Craig. These aren't even all of the kids.

Sunday Dinners in the Hansen household tend to be ones of a peculiar nature; in that they're louder than most rock concerts, the quietest one being heard by neighbors down the block. And yet some of my fondest memories of my growing up years consist of those Sunday Dinners we had every week.

Picture this: ~~A rustic hunting lodge~~ Sunday afternoon, 5 o'clock. I'm in my room, reading comic books or daydreaming about something or other when the bliss of my solitude is interrupted by Ma and the rest of the family yelling: "1...2...3...LEEEEEEZZZUUUUUUL!!!!"

So I'd trudge downstairs, we'd yell for other family members, have a family prayer, and then move into the dining room to eat. Sometimes Tyler and I would race, with Tyler always beating me and smugly declaring, "I WON," followed by my whiny protest: "I wasn't racing!" while the rest of the family sauntered in. But we'd have to have a blessing first, so the food would be sitting in front of us while the starving children suffered, taunted by its delicious smell. Sometimes I'd try to secretly eat in the middle of the blessing, and then someone would tattle saying, "LIESL ATE DURING THE PRAYER!" and then I'd call them out for opening their eyes during the prayer, and we'd have a debate about who was the greater sinner, but it was usually interrupted by Ma yelling at us to pass the food.

And thus began our meal.

I feel that it would be appropriate (but not highly important, hence the size) to guide you readers (all three or four of you) in the seating arrangements. See the blue bench on the right side of the picture? Four of us were squashed on that bench. I sat closest to the front (observe, if you will, the half-eaten cake, which was and is still typical of me), next to Heidi, then Tyler, and then Kurt. Kurt sat next to Dad, who is currently seated. He's the exasperated old guy, probably weary of his children's ridiculous antics. Ma sat on the opposite end, and on the other side, Kent sat next to Dad, some random kid (usually Craig or JoEllen, depends on who was living at home at the time) in the middle, and Brian next to Mom, whom I affectionately refer to as Mopsy. There are more kids in my family, what with the added brothers of Bruce and Neil and the sister Paula (but she was married before I was even born), and when they were there, someone was usually banished to sit at the bar in the kitchen, right next to the table.

All right, now that you're acquainted with the order of kids, let's look at the order of food, eating, conversation, and how one should expect to react:

Be aware of the slang that is used, whether it's by Ma calling us "tiny little family" or "major wastage" or "You will eat your nice meal!" or calling gravy "gravola."
Never, EVER serve Kurt first, especially if you are hungry. He will hog the food without remorse.
If you raise your arms during dinner, be prepared to guard your armpits with your very life, because chances are, the pit will be tickled, and it will be painful.
When it comes to eating dessert, the middle piece of a cake is the most coveted. Brian, the victor of most dessert pieces, has managed many highly skilled evasive maneuvers to get the middle piece, whether it's through innocently asking, "Who wants cake?" or simply passing on all other pieces. Although one time Kent and Heidi, who had to go to work early, decided to deviously cut out the two middle pieces before dinner even began. Cheaters.
Wasting - also known as "major wastage" - second to murder in Ma's book. Oh, and if there's leftovers? Chances are, she'll sneak them into some other tasty meal. She's that talented.
There will probably be movie quoting. Mostly.
Oh, and sports.We'll definitely talk about sports at least once. Or twice. Thrice.
Don't forget the loudness, especially at birthdays. We sang the songs loudly and off-key, and it was so impressive that our Polish non-brother recorded it, grinning happily as we sang to him.
Kent laughs at his own jokes. Then again, so do I.
Speaking of laughing, my laughter is most impressive. I would sometimes become so hysterical at dinner that I was sent to the bathroom to calm down (apparently, toilets and sinks have calming properties), but people could still hear me laughing through the thin bathroom door.

So tell me, have I painted you a picture? Can you picture it thoroughly enough? Yes? No?

Even if you can't, I can. Vividly. As I should, since they're my memories, even if they've been altered somewhat with hindsight.

But now that mostly everyone's all growed up and moved out and married and have their own Sunday Dinners with their growing families, ours has shrunken somewhat. Tonight, Ma and Pa had to go to a fireside and so it was just me, Tyler and Brian. All three of us. Tiny little family, indeed. We didn't even have homemade cake for dessert, but store-bought pie. But it's not all bad. It's a good chance for me to get closer to my brothers. After dinner, Tyler left early, but Brian stayed and we had a good conversation that lasted for well over an hour. Heck, the pie was good, too.

But every once in a while I miss those Sunday Dinners, or even the plain ol' weekday dinners. So I relax for a minute, smiling as each memory comes to my mind like an old snapshot. There's Tyler grabbing Kurt's head and turning it to the side and yelling, "MADE YOU LOOK!" and Kurt yelling "AAARRRGHH!" ready to strangle Tyler. There's the other time Heidi and I were laughing so hard we both had to go to the bathroom in order to shut up. There's cornbread flying through the air, launched by Kent as he dives to make a perfect catch. Singing "Part of Your World" while Dad rolled his eyes at us. Craig rolling his lip over a spoon. Dad's corny jokes. Kurt's long string of cheese from his chili relleno that stretched past Heidi and I. Kent massaging Brian's shoulders, Brian massaging mine, and suddenly starting a big chain of massages. Loud birthday songs and blowing out all the candles. People fighting Brian for his coveted seat. Dropping food onto the floor so as to give the illusion that I actually ate it. Mom's famous meals of parisiers, beef stroganoff, mashed potatoes and gravola, rump roast, pot roast, pork chops, and much, much more. Confusing exchanges: "Please pass the salt." "To who?" Passionate conversations. Fear of leftovers. Delight in dessert.

And every Sunday night, Kurt made popcorn. It was the salty crowning delight to the blessed event, whatever that means. But we "vultures," as Ma refers to us, crowded around and grabbed at the popcorn, every man, woman, child, niece and nephew for themselves.

These Sunday Dinners have bonded me to my family closer than any other tradition. And not just Sundays, but dinners in general: Thanksgiving dinners, Christmas dinners, Memorial Day barbecues, birthdays; all of them have given me great delights and laughs. My family may have grown, and as a result, shrunken in size concerning the commonality of get-togethers. I don't care. I remain a firm believer that nothing bonds people together like food. Especially Ma's. Mopsy, you're a genius with the food, you are. A right genius.

Currently re-vamping like everyone else does

2010-02-16T16:04:00.000-07:00

Well, I got sick of looking at my face. It's not that I don't like it; quite the contrary. But I just felt the urge to change. So for now we'll be having this plain boring set-up, although Amy likes it. Shucks, Amy.

So when I've taken care of my homework and caught up in my classes (which will be never), I will eventually update it. Eventually. Ish. Also, I got tired of the "or the lack thereof" phrase so I got rid of that too. I suppose you might say I'm feeling restless. Very, very restless. Yeah, I'm trying to work on that.

Welp, see you later!

Major time wastage

2010-01-19T22:05:00.005-07:00

Yesterday my charger committed suicide. Wait, no - I killed it. By accidentally ripping apart the cord that was already wearing thin. So essentially, I euthanized it. Just call me a regular Kevorkian. My laptop's battery, drained emotionally, internet surfingly and Facebookingly, died in despair, to rise no more. Or at least until I charged it again.

So. Being fabulously proactive, I diagnosed the situation and went and ordered a new charger, but it won't be here until next week-ish. Now I rely on the home and school computers to solve my problems, and I don't have as much time to waste because I don't want to be caught looking at Facebook while at the school library. For some reason, it just feels wrong to be on there while hogging a computer to myself when somebody might need it.

After 2 days of being laptop-less, I have discovered something embarrassing and interesting: I depend on my computer a lot more than I realized.

Since I can't waste as much time as I used to, I'm actually committed to finish my homework so someone else can use it as soon as possible, because if I assume correctly, they're all big fat procrastinators like me who need to take quizzes for their class or spew out thoughtless papers or catch up on their anthropology, which actually doesn't require a computer, so why am I still on here? GET OFF, GET OFF, MA NEEDS TO USE IT.

Mom can wait a few minutes. I continue.

But in the process, I have actually been able to think more meaningfully on the given topics and concentrate better and even have cleaner thoughts, because I'm not on my computer. I've FURTHER come to discover that I can run faster than Mom drives (which doesn't say much), I've grown 4 new fingers, I still hate cheeseburgers, and I can bite into HUMAN HEADS!

Well, maybe not the last one, but whatever.

I shared the newfangled news with a coworker tonight, and he told me that for his positive psychology class, they made a log of everything they did for a week, and through that, he discovered how much time he wasted on Facebook. I agreed, and realized the other things that had become a huge waste of time for me, such as Twitter, MLIA, Blackboard (Hah! I kid), and a little too much blog-stalking.

Funny thing is, though, I'm not sure if I learned anything from this experience. I mean, it's only been two days, which haven't been terribly revolutionary (unless you count yesterday's bowling experience, at which I totally took full advantage of the bumpers and earned myself a sweet 109) and oh, look: I'm STILL wasting time on the computer.

But my point is (and I do have one) that I actually have used my little shriveled brain for once. It will probably never work again.

From I to Y

2010-01-04T14:29:00.004-07:00

Noise. Voices. Music to my ears.

There's a constant buzz of conversation. Somebody claps. One girl talks with a motor mouth to her friends, who must have incredible powers to discern what she's talking about. Gum pops, echoing over the babble, and resounding in my poor, poor ear. Faint piano music plays a continuously repeating part of a song, probably the only part the player has mastered. I am all too familiar with that type of piano playing. It's a pretty song, however, and adds more melody to the monotone hum of my background music.

It's ridiculously crowded. I'm currently sitting on The Comfy Chair on the second floor next to the terrace of the Wilk at BYU. Of all the times to come here, it obviously didn't leap into my mind that noon was going to be one of the busiest times of the day. I managed to find this chair only through persistence, luck, and perhaps a little blackmail added in for good measure.

It's my first day, which is surreal. Walking around campus and looking for my classes and buildings feels like my head's fallen off and is bouncing around while my body pretends nothing happened and keeps on walking like it knows what it's doing.

Strange. I've been on this campus multiple times, ever since I was 16 and got a job with the catering department. I'd come with Dad to his work and I'd have time to wander around, which I did. I felt so at home, like I owned the place. This happened again the next summer when I audited a German class before we left for Austria. I strolled on the bridge by the bell towers, admired the mountains and their closeness and pretended to blend in with the EFY kids during lunch. After graduation, I spent more time in Joe Vera's, but I went to Education Week and felt happiness in the huge crowd of people. After that, I ran off to Idaho and fell in love with the school there.

But when I came back home to Utah for the winter, I once again returned the campus with Dad, having time to kill before and after work. I found refuge in the library and discovered my budding fascination with the art of animation by going through all their amazing books. I learned about Disney, Chuck Jones and the Looney Tunes, the people behind Beauty and the Beast, and the masterpieces produced. It fueled my desire to go to BYU and get into their animation program. I applied for a transfer, and BYU accepted it. Although it took quite a bit of debating and deliberation, I finally decided to go for it.

So after all this time, preparation and psyching myself out, like clandestine lovers finally getting together except not, I'm an actual, genuine, bona fide registered student at BYU.

Weird.

It's odd being a new student again, and that guy's brightly colored shoes are even more odd. But that's besides the point. Being a transfer student, I have found myself drifting between "seasoned college student" and "obvious clueless dope" during a majority of my classes. I feel like a tiny guppy, squashed in the crowd of thousands of other fish.

I'm optimistic, though. I imagine by the end of the week I'll be feeling used to this place. I'll be ready to learn, work (well, somewhat), and maybe even improve as a human being. And perhaps I'll even develop the same love for this place like I did for BYU-Idaho.

Hopefully.

What I've Been Up To (Contains far too many pictures and similes)

2009-11-15T00:00:00.013-07:00

To start off, I'd like to make an announcement:

I AM NOW MAKING MY BED.Granted, it looks slightly sloppy, and yes, there's crap on it, but nonetheless! I will have you know that my bed looks like that every day, Mom. There's hope for me yet.

Also, observe Idaho before the weather bleaked out:Whoa! Wrong one. Never take pictures while falling off your bike, kids. People. Beings. Something.

Ah, there we go. See? Pretty.And more pretty.

And me taking pictures of bridge reflections.

I have also decided that graffiti and train bridges make the world go round.

And then the train came flying at me like a rabid goose on a motorcycle. Mostly.

Here's an interesting story: our FHE brother Chris, whose mother, like mine, seems to think that you can never have too much food from home, gave him this watermelon. It was so huge that the minute I saw it, I knew that I could carve it like a pumpkin. And so I did. Ashleigh gutted it and tried to make the remains into a smoothie, which ended up tasting quite weird and not at all like watermelon. Probably because we added orange juice concentrate, bananas, sprite, and a minimum of watermelon. Eh, it all worked out. I had a rather fun time carving it.
Hannah dubbed it "Scarface," while everyone else called it Pierre. "What is the capital of South Dakota?" "Ooooo-Pierre."
Ain't that beautiful?

"What the flip was grandma doing at the dunes?"

Here's us attempting to have eyes. Hannah failed by showing her camera.

And then me and my buddies went for a hike to enjoy the fall colors before the leaves dropped like a fat man stapled to a hummingbird.

There's David and Ashleigh crossing the river. I attempted to do so also and failed like a mosquito sucking on a mummy. Miserably.

This was taken from the bathroom of a random nearby indoor pool in the mountains. I mean, where else would it be?

As for now, I've spent the rest of my time taking pictures on my way to school...
Taking pictures of myself in the mirror...
And falling in love with this stuff.
And now it's cold. And slightly snowy. I'm not sure how I feel about this. Cold? Fine, I'll bundle up. Snow? Bring it. Wind? I'm fleeing for the border like a menstrual woman for the bathroom.
Well, that should hold you over for a good 3 months. Later!

Oh, also today's my half birthday. Feel free to leave some half-hearted birthday greetings.

"I was a yo-yo!" "WAS?"

2009-10-27T15:25:00.003-06:00

I'm not allowed to embed this particular video, but I thought you'd be interested in viewing the Toy Story 3 trailer.

Watch it. Are you excited? Suicidal about sequels? Have sworn off any sequel, even if the makers are passionate about their stories?

I trust Pixar. In their world, story is king. They have phenomenal characters, and they're hilarious. Me, I'm pretty thrilled.

So...

2009-10-24T13:22:00.002-06:00

I just got accepted to transfer to BYU Winter semester.

While I'm pretty sure I'm going to go, I'm still considering other options.

Kind of cool, huh?

Okay.

2009-10-07T17:02:00.005-06:00

Yeah, I'm still horrible at updating. I'm like Kent in that, because there are quite a few things I would like to write about, but I tend to put them off because it's such a pain to update and upload and all that jazz. I'll just write about one thing that's been on my mind for a couple of days instead.

On Sunday, my friend Thomas Nielsen passed away.

He had leukemia for years, ever since 8th grade, and got meningitis last week. Because of his weakened immune system, he died from it. Yet he never complained, and he was optimistic about his life.

Tom and I were never terribly close. I never knew how to act around him. His father had a very loud singing voice. I loved his mother, who told the best stories. Sometimes, when I'd call her up and Tom answered, I would end up thinking of her as "Sister Thomas" and ask for her, and then feel foolish when I realized I got the name wrong. I always kept track of him, though. I thought about him on and off, and fasted and prayed for him because I really did care about him, although I rarely talked to him and never knew how to approach him. I think I had the fear I'd blurt out something tacky about cancer. Silly me.

When I went home for the 7-week break, by chance I ended up hanging out with him on a Friday night with some other friends, Monica and Lauren and Danny. We watched "The Italian Job" and ate ice cream. We joked around and had a pretty good time, and I left thinking, "Thomas is pretty cool. I wouldn't mind hanging out with him again."

So afterward on Sundays I'd sit with Monica and Lauren and Tom and we had our goofy and funny moments in church, one particular instance of the four of us being squished on a bench with a bunch of other people. When I found out he was out of remission, I told him, "We don't mess around," which was a motto he had about his cancer. He nodded and thanked me. Through those weeks, I got to know him a little better. Just a little, but it resulted in something neat where I didn't feel awkward around the person I only knew as somebody my age who had cancer, and we were friends.

We were friends.

As I said, we weren't terribly close. Still, I cried when I found out, and was distraught during classes. I'm not pleased with the method through which I found out of his death, which was Facebook, but I talked to my dad and Sister Judd, whose son was close friends with him (but also became close to him herself), and they comforted me. He's on a mission now, serving the mission he had wanted to serve all his life. I'm okay. He's okay. And I hope and pray for his parents that they'll be okay.

I'm glad I knew him, even if it was for a few weeks. He became my friend. That was good enough for me.

Peaches 'N' Pirates

2009-09-10T00:00:00.003-06:00

Something I have always admired about my mother is that she has never stopped furthering her education. Even after graduation she continued to read books, which is a feat unheard of, especially since the only things people read in college anymore are Facebook tag notes, and even then, they stop reading after 3 sentences when they realize it has nothing to do with them. Mom makes continuous efforts to learn new things by gardening, cooking new recipes, traveling to new places, handling finances (i.e. being cheap) and meeting new people and getting to know them as well as she can.

Her knowledge is exhibited in her cooking (“Mom, what's for dinner?” “FOOD!”), her everyday conversation (“Didn't you think that was funny, Mom?” “No. I thought it was stupid.”), and her fondness for words (“FOOL, FOOL, FOOL!”). She is an example to me and has given me my talent* for writing, and my passion for education, although our tastes vary slightly (“All right! Harry Potter Lexicon! All the trivia I'll ever need to survive in Harry Potter Fandom!”).

And after all this, she still continues to learn. Her latest venture?

Piracy.

Yes, Mom has become a thief, plunderer, pillager, desperado – a pirate. Mom, however, would disagree with these adjectives. She would call herself an entrepreneur, an opportunist, charlatan – a heroine, and all in the honor of her peach ice cream industry.

You see, the Relief Society was having a little get-together in which frozen desserts containing cream were presented in a variety of flavors, and my mother, being highly successful in all that is food, (you should see the size of my dad's gut; pay no attention, however, to my chicken legs and spaghetti arms, it is merely the shallow end of the gene pool in which I dabbled lightly) volunteered to bring peach ice cream. I don't blame her. She's the patron saint of peach ice cream.

One of my fondest memories growing up – that is, when I was actually growing and not developing munchkin-like tendencies due to my stunted growth – is when Mom made homemade ice cream. We'd have family get-togethers, which meant Mom cooked a lot and I ate little. I mostly ran around with my cousins and/or nephews screaming like a banshee as I attempted to teach my sister's Barbies how to fly by flinging them out a window with the Barbies being attached to a hunk of rope, which later became known as the Barbie Bungee, which I am quite sure is now a dance. Or a rock band. Prognosis: Barbies have no wings, therefore they cannot fly, and now they have no heads, therefore my sister is very angry with me.

Anyway, when the ice cream was ready, we children would flock about with grubby, grabby hands high in the air, being impatient to inhale the frozen goodness. Her usual flavors were either peach or raspberry, being made from peaches and raspberries in our yard. It was delicious. It was like heaven in clear plastic cups I love to rip apart. It was then I knew I would not be able to function without Mom's ice cream, because frankly, I never ate. I think the only way I even survived childhood without being malnourished was that I simply photosynthesized by soaking up UV rays and drank the chlorine water in pools when I had my swimming lessons in June. The rare macaroni and cheese with a bacon bit attached would make its way into my system somehow – and how that occurred is still a mystery to this day.

Most unfortunately, however, peaches only surface every other year in our yard, which makes the ice cream rare. When the peaches do make themselves manifest, the birds, having never gotten over their one-hit wonder with Alfred Hitchcock, attack the fruits of our labors. When my parents ran off for a vacation, I took it upon myself to rescue the peaches from those dastardly creatures. The casualties of the peaches were many, for the birds were poopy. Alas, the peaches I bravely emancipated were small in number and plumpness.

So, with our peach count being low in supply and the ice cream high in demand, Mom was growing desperate. But then, it came to her knowledge by an anonymous informant (that is, Michelle told Mom) that a certain person (Michelle's mother, Sister Watabe) was in possession of trees known to produce colossal peaches, and said person was on a quest in Baltimore. I joked, “Just hop the fence, fight the dogs, and you should be able to pull it off!”

Certainly, my tone was a joking one, but when you're marketing peach ice cream to Relief Society ladies, there is no joking. So after Mom obtained this information, she and Tyler schlunked into the Watabe's back yard and made off with their legendary peaches. Tyler told a thrilling tale in which Mom made battle with the dogs while he swiped the scurvy fruits from their nests. I was slightly disappointed in Mom, but the disappointment didn't last long when she gave us all peach milkshakes, which, of course, were delectable, and most likely drugged to make us forget about the whole thing.

But the peach incident did not go unnoticed. Sister Watabe came by, freely offering us grapes and peaches, when Dad caved and confessed the whole thing. She took it rather well, judging by her laughter. Either that, or she was insane.

When Mom came home from the Ice Cream Shindig, I gave her the news that she had been found out. Outraged, she confronted Dad, whose excuse was that he assumed it'd be okay if he told Watabe what was going on. Okay? It's less than okay! “She'll think I'm a thief!” cried Mom. Um, that's because you are a thief, Mom.

Mom's plan of action was to call Watabe and explain her entire plan for world domination, being your basic modern-day monologuing (you know, when the villain explains his plan for world domination and stuff). After that, she took her some peach ice cream, clearly taunting Watabe. If that's not pouring lemon juice on a paper cut, I don't know what is. All that education paid off. My mother is definitely an evil genius.

Happy birthday, Mom!

*See gene pool

"Ronald Reagan DIES......his hair..."

2009-08-26T16:11:00.013-06:00

Being the spelling freak I am, it was difficult enough for me to misspell that. Obviously, that joke is much better said than read, but I had to have SOME way of announcing my new hair color that I'm sure all of you care about so much.
Mom's words were, once again, "More metallic."Aww, I actually look like a friendly human being.

Anyway, I went on a hike to Stuart Falls with my friend and her brother, in which a good time was had by most. The exception was my arms and legs, because I put on a little too much ON! instead of OFF! My bad. However, that general area is still pretty gorgeous.About a majority of my scenery pictures are of Lauren and Jesse's backsides, but here we are.
Obligatory self portrait!
In an attempt to look awesome, I trotted into the pool and froze to death while the water cascaded over my head. Did it work?
Anyway, it was gorgeous and blah blah blah. Next topic of interest is...Michelle's birthday! In which Michelle turned...something, I'm not quite sure. I forget and/or cease to care about my sibling's ages when they reach the age of 25. All I know is, they have birthdays, they're older, the world still goes round, the sun still shines on the birds and the bees and the cigarette trees in the big rock candy mountain.

Since Michelle is the main breadmaker in the family, Mom made her dinner and Bruce made her a fantastic yellow cake and stuck an obscure amount of candles in and called it good.
He's very proud of himself, as you can tell.

The candle-lighting ceremony was the most ridiculous and frustrating one we've had to date. First Michelle tried striking the match, but it wouldn't have any of it. So we passed it onto Bruce. Didn't work. Brian took a whack at it and completely missed the mark, and Tyler tried it, but to no avail. Finally, Dad struck a match on the bricks and it lit. After the song, Tyler persisted with the matchbox over and over until it finally lit.

I like his look of determination. Makes me laugh.

Okay, I'm done here.

A quickie

2009-08-19T22:59:00.004-06:00

I've been going to Education Week this week, which is something I've made a little tradition of ever since I was 15. Or 16. Doesn't matter. I go to interesting classes and meet new people and learn about things in a way that I leave feeling better than when I came in. I go by myself, which is great because I get to go to any class I want and I can talk to anyone I want. I'm not too shy to stay within my circle of friends, because I don't even have any friends.

I've been going to an Effective Communication class, because I am just now starting to understand the "Men are from Mars, Women are from Venus" jokes that I never got before. I effectively communicated to some people sitting behind me that their chomping was a little too loud for my tastes, and they were kind enough to stop doing it. I felt like a jerk, but they assured me it was okay, and I didn't have to suffer through the lesson listening to the masticators behind me.

One wise thing I learned from the class is this: "Real men don't cry." "Jesus wept." Think about it.

Mundane occurences in my life I find to be quite droll

2009-07-31T10:08:00.011-06:00

I'm currently reading the "Uglies" series. I finished Uglies yesterday and now I'm starting on Pretties. When I talked about it at dinner last night, I saw the wheels turn in Dad's head before he said, "Was Pretties written by the Wicked Witch of the West?"

I think I get a little too passionate about things. When I saw Harry Potter, afterward I texted my friends, griping to them that Harry and Ginny were too creepy. ("Take my hand" is enough to make me puke. Thinking it just makes me shudder.) When I got a text back declaring, "I'm touched that you would text me in the middle of the night to discuss the relationship of fictional characters," I realized I may have been overreacting a little. I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one sweating small stuff. My brother Kurt thanked God in his prayers when the Yankees finally lost. If that's not over the top, I don't know what is.

Last night I went mini-golfing with Brianna. We tied with a humble score of 60, and did it indoors at Trafalga. It was pretty neat to be glowing in the dark. The indoor course had an underwater theme going on, with sharks and whales painted on the walls and octopi everywhere. It had ominous background noises, which got me more into the mood of mini-golf. Nothing says minature golf like a shark attack.

I got a hole-in-one twice (my favorite was on a particularly difficult course that I nicknamed "the putt and the pendulum," complete with a swinging bar over the hole), although other times I whacked the ball too many times, so we resigned ourselves to fudge the score. I was trying to jump a curb in a particular hole, because if I played normally, I would most likely screw up, and that would require me to start over. I hit the ball, which bounced off the curb and hid itself among the rocks and octopus gardens (no, not beneath the shade). The second time it jumped over the wood fence, bounced down the stairs, and right into someone else's hole. The highlight of the course, however, was when Brianna whacked her ball so hard, it went flying into the middle of the pool.

I have an ever-growing obsession with the Beatles. I've heard all their famous songs, a lot of their not-so-famous, and find myself heartily defending them whenever some nincompoop (i.e. my ignorant nephews) accuses all of their songs being about drugs. I would much rather listen to the Beatles than Lady Gaga, because when I listen to her songs, I know exactly what a disco stick is.

I've decided I'm going to try for animation. This means more drawing, more creating, more trying, and less computering.

I love my family. The last week of school, I was so burnt out that I didn't care if I failed my classes, I just wanted to see my family. I got my wish, and I didn't even have to fail school.

Excuse my manners if I make a scene

2009-07-07T18:26:00.006-06:00

This is how I'm currently feeling:A possible reason behind the madness (no, not zits, look at the picture!):
My attitude towards thus:
And life will only get more stressful. However, the stress will be worthwhile, because at the end of the semester, I'll be with the ones who tolerate me the most:
So if you don't see me in the next few weeks...you'll know I actually have a valid reason for being absent, instead of my usual excuse of, you know, lazy.

The reason I live and breathe

2009-06-30T23:23:00.006-06:00

This is Bernie. He helps me draw.

He's kind of shy, but hey, he's pretty cute. He's got a really wooden personality - OH SNAP I KILL MYSELF!

...Anyway. So that's about the size of it!

EDIT: Here's a quick rant. I checked out "Here Lies" by Dorothy Parker in the library, and was enjoying myself until I came across something unusual. Somebody had crossed out (in pencil, so I can erase it, thank goodness) the swearwords, and corrected the character's grammar in their dialogue.

...Seriously? You don't do that. You don't ever correct a character's dialogue. It's there on purpose. Don't deface public property. Don't edit Dorothy Parker. Not everyone thinks that swearing is pure evil. It adds to the character. Do it with your own books, fine. Not with a library book. That's tacky.

Because I have no desire to type at this moment

2009-06-30T16:53:00.003-06:00

And then to provide a nice contrast:

Well, hope that beautiful face made your day! It sure gave me something to think about. How I hate ugly people.

...Okay, I don't hate ugly people. I just like to say that.

If a dream is a wish your heart makes, then I must really want my parents to be Nazis

2009-06-28T18:26:00.002-06:00

Because I write the way I talk (think rapid changes of subject and obsessive dwellings on mundane subjects), I'll put down my dream I had the other night in list form. I think it's more fun that way.

My dream Friday night involved the following things:
1. Crossing a river in Idaho with Mom, Dad, Kent, and my nieces Lizzie and Maria - as in, we had to walk across to the other side if we were ever going to get to the party we wanted to go to
2. Maria hopping in an inner tube and almost drowning
3. Kent and I pushing her across the river, only to have her go over a cliff to nearly die
4. Kent soaking my socks
5. Our mirth over Maria's near-death experience
6. Maria's temper tantrum about her almost-demise in a snow storm, eventually turning her Chinese
7. Mom and Dad dressing up as Nazis in dark green bathrobes and cute little Nazi caps for a dinner party (I did Nazi that coming)
8. Lizzie's growing obsession with the river, furthering her descent into madness

Seriously, what goes on in my mind to come up with dreams like THESE?

In Which Liesl Whines. A Lot.

2009-06-22T22:38:00.004-06:00

I haven't the foggiest idea of what to write. That's why I'm terrible at updating. I'm tired of putting up photos, and I always feel pressure when I'm trying to update because my mind does either one or two things: 1) goes blank 2) tells me I can't write. And that is why I never update. (By the way, I'm not trying to fish for compliments here)

Frankly, it's ridiculous.

First of all, it's a BLOG. It's not the Declaration of Independence, or my senior thesis. I don't need to impress future employers or persuade the Queen of England to knight my brother. Secondly, I've been taught all my life not to care what people think of me. But that's a problem I'm still trying to figure out. I like people to like me. I like making people laugh. It's like when I meet somebody, and if they make me laugh, I have to make them laugh in return, because if I make them laugh, then they'll like me! Right? Right!

But maybe it's wrong. I've found that I like the people who love ME, not the person who makes them laugh. That's just the icing on the cake. Or the white stuff in the Oreo. Or the strawberries in my cereal. The raisins in Mom's mush. The apricot jam on the crust. The Chaco tan to my foot - OKAY, OKAY, WE GET THE IDEA. And that's all you really need to know.

So, back to the blog. I've found that I'm happiest writing for myself. That usually happens in my journal. I'm using delicious words I've discovered (It gives me a plethora of joy), and since there is no audience, I don't care whether I'm funny or not (although, I occasionally fantasize about the poor mishap to stumble on my journal in the future, read it, and run away screaming). Rather, I'm more satisfied with getting down my feelings and I'm more willing to try different styles and I'm encouraged to try to write better and more often.

So, to make a long story endless, I'm still trying. It's taking time. But at least I've started to use the logic I got from my Logic class.

In Which Liesl Expresses Her Deepest, Most Heartfelt Desires and Spills Her Darkest Secrets

2009-06-11T21:46:00.001-06:00

Never mind.

The small things in life

2009-05-31T17:53:00.005-06:00

While I was doing the dishes today, my roommate Ashleigh stood talking to me. She said, "We should try to do one random thing each day."

I went over to her and said, "You mean like this?" as I pulled down her shorts. To some, her reaction was less than classy. To me, it only made the experience more glorious.

I write this with a tear or two in my eye...or maybe that's just the dust from outside. But I just have to say that it's little moments in life like these that get me right here in my bicep.If you look closely at my arm, you'll notice some scratches there. These were acquired from my crime-fighting adventures just this weekend. Very exciting to experience, very boring to tell.

It's a brand new day, and the sun is high, all the angels sing, because YOU'RE GONNA DIE

2009-05-05T13:37:00.007-06:00

Because doing things in list form make me feel somewhat organized, I will chronicle my life as thus.

What is going on in my life right now:
1. I'm back in school, and I'm actually enjoying the classes people told me I'd hate.
2. I'm living with some pretty swell people, aside from the fact that some of them do not possess the talent for gum control, but I suppose that the worst could happen is that I'll kill them. Which is possible.
3. I am poor and can't find a job, because all the other jobs available are for people who are clearly more qualified and interested in; for example: Chemistry Lab T.A., or Technical Student Researcher. Boring, and also requires you to be majoring in that subject. Lame.
4. I'm learning just how much I love the computer, which means how much I should stay away from it. Such is the tragedy of this kind of love. The tragedy of this makes Romeo and Juliet look like a playful romp.
5. I've found a fascination with taking pictures of objects like my fingers and eggs. So we'll end this on that note with pictures of eggs. And fingers. And eggy fingers.The evil, dreaded sink!Some lovely, happy eggs I decorated for EasterAaaaahh! My brother!

Okay. Bye.

Worthless Wednesday

2009-04-08T17:53:00.004-06:00

Due to an outcry from rabid, shrieking, fangirls (okay, just one, and it's Connie, who I don't think I have ever heard shriek in my life), I have decided to update with MORE UNORIGINAL IDEAS! YES! And I'm super proud of that subject title.

Stolen from Kent.

8 things I did last week and this week (Oh, the answers might be embellished a little):
1. Read "The Book Thief," which I can't shut up about
2. Brought an awesome strawberry shortcake to our ward's Break Th' Quickness; note: it was awesome and went like hotcakes...or dare I say, shortcakes
3. Learned about the Line of Action and how awesome it is, and how much easier they are to draw than the rest of the cartoon
4. Watched Mom struggle to put up the new curtains
5. Went to a bridal shower and successfully transitioned from being more comfortable with girls to being more comfortable with guys due to all awkwardness that was at the shower
6. Kicked trash at "Brick Breaker," this game on my cell phone
7. Learned how to levitate
8. Brushed my teeth at least once! New record!

8 favorite current books (Because I don't watch T.V. It is full of sin. And Mom would make me turn it off, anyway.)
1. Ella Enchanted
2. The Goose Girl
3. The Book Thief
4. The Harry Potter Series
5. Flipped
6. A Long Way From Chicago
7. The Chosen
8. Les Miserables

8 Fave restaurants (I rather dislike this question, seeing as I was raised by the cheapskates of the century, and so I have eaten at a limited number of restaurants. I'm thinking I've eaten at 5, which means I can't even choose which ones of those are my favorites. I thusly boycott it by naming my favorite musicals. At least I've seen more than 5. Plus, this gives me an opportunity to brag on how I've seen FOUR SHOWS ON BROADWAY. HAH.)
1. The Drowsy Chaperone (Hilarious. Brilliant. Original.)
2. Wicked (Chilling story, and inspiring music. Showstopper.)
3. West Side Story (Probably the only musical I've ever cried in. I'm kind of ashamed to admit that I cried at all in something like West Side Story.)
4. The Lion King (I absolutely adore the music in this. "Can You Feel The Love Tonight" was way too long, though)
5. Hairspray (Catchy music. Admittedly, I also like this because I paid $20 to watch it standing for the first half, and sitting in the front row for the second half. Link looked right at me. He was formerly on "Making the Band," which I admit to actually have watched)
6. Annie (Hey, it was the first one I was ever in. And I LIKE the song "Tomorrow.")
7. Once On This Island (the story and dancing was lovely)
8. Damn Yankees (Well, not reeaallly...but I am proud of the newspaper article I wrote that ended in, "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn." Hah.)

8 things I'm looking forward to:
1. Going back to school in Idaho
2. Fam reunion in July
3. My logic class
4. The sweet, warm weather of Idaho (I swear it exists.)
5. Seeing my roommates again
6. Getting better at drawing
7. Knocking over those hapless pedestrians on my new bike
8. LEAVING

8 wishes
1. I had a million bucks - HOT DOG!
2. I want to know the year I would die. Really, I would.
3. My mother loved me
4. I could travel to Antartica and save all the psychotic, dancing penguins
5. That I could live in Vienna again
6. To be skilled at animation
7. To leave on a mission right now and not have to wait 3 lousy years
8. That I could go to China and teach English

8 people to tag
Constance
Pettit
Marcindra LaPriel
That creep who never comments
Woo
J.K. Rowling (Hey, I can dream)
The fisherman off the coast of Madagascar
Anyone else with time to kill

That's what I'm talking about

2009-03-16T21:46:00.001-06:00

Things I like about my job:

Friendly boss who trusts me
Great co-workers
Plenty of time to read
Good food
Happy customers

Things I hate about my job:

Crabby customers
The corn-chip breath is a highly toxic and very bad-smelling gas. Overexposure to this leads to crabbiness, shouting for no apparent reason, and if taken in extreme dosage, the reactions of those exposed to CCB are, at the very least, violent, and may lead to a murderous rampage akin to genocide. Tic tacs - not gum, because you act like a cow - are a highly advisable remedy for this dreadful sin.
Customers who act like they own the place, thus walking in and seating themselves without telling me, or rearranging tables to suit their own needs. People, you are regulars. I don't know if it escaped your notice, but you don't live here. Let me seat you. Or else I get in big doo-doo, and it shall be ON YOUR HEADS.

That particular incident happened today while at work, which was frustrating because not only was my brain turned off for reasons unknown, but I also had my hands full with customers who needed to pay and order and O HAI ARE YOU THE SERVER BRING ME LOTSA CHIPS N SALSA - No, dunce, I'm not the server. I'm the hostess. There's a difference. I do a lot less. As in, I sit around and do nothing. And I take people's money. And then I go on break and do nothing in a more leisurely manner.

...Ahem. Forgive me for getting carried away. Anyway, I discovered a new outlet to getting out my annoyance at the customers without snapping. I decided to draw, and came up with this:I was so proud of it that I scanned it onto the computer and decided to share it with you all. I was able to clean it up a little, too. Yay. Anyway, if this bottled rage continues, I might have to start a comic series of LIESL: JUSTICE WOMAN of me bashing people's heads in for being stupid. What do you think? Should I change the name?

Someday this will all make sense. This blog post will, at least.

2009-03-14T16:18:00.002-06:00

I was blog-stalking (somebody has GOT to come up with a word for that because I'm lazy and sick of having to hyphenate stuff) today when I spied this quote:

"We just get the one life, you know, just one. We can’t live someone else’s, or think it’s more important just because it’s more dramatic. What happens matters. Maybe only to us, but it matters."

I'd have to raise my hand and say, "Uh, yeah. I second that. Definitely." And nod vigorously for emphasis.

It makes more sense as to why I was so irritated with a friend of mine when I was trying to explain why I had certain difficulties with certain things and she'd continue to say, "Normal. Normal. Normal! Normal."

I wanted to jump up and shake her shoulders and cry dramatically, "Yes, well, I don't CARE how normal my feelings are, they could be the most ordinary feelings someone ever had, but can you please treat me like a human being that is frustrated and needs somebody to understand and not diagnose?!" And then I'd biff her where she stands.

But instead I sat there fuming, resolving to never confide in this person again. Well, I have since then, but I'd still have to say there are better listeners out there.

Anyway, my point is - what was it again? Oh, yes. I think I'm in love with you. Wait, wrong line. But you should get the idea without me banging it on your head repeatedly.

Here's some food for thought: why do people say banging over the head? Does this mean they aren't really hitting them, but the air above them? Discuss.

That which brings me happiness and joy

2009-03-01T10:08:00.005-07:00

So, if you'll remember from the post before the last, I mentioned a timeless photograph of Mom and the Creeper from Washington, D.C. and my desire to have that picture. Well, thanks to my fabulous brother Brian, I now am in possession of that very picture. If you want to see it, please send me a check for $3000 dollars, and I'll send it to you - what? What do you mean, that's wrong? Okay, okay, I'll show it to you.None of us have ANY idea who that guy in the red shirt is. All we know is, we've been had.

Oh, I have another picture. Several years ago (think 6), we all gallivanted to Disneyland in search of excitement, adventure, and good food. What we found there were lines. Heidi, Tyler and I still had a good time, but Mom? She had the most fun of all. Here, have a look see:Mom was always the one filled with enthusiasm. We had to restrain her from tackling Goofy, her favorite Toon.

And yet again, more evidence of Mom having way too good of a time at Disneyland:It's a shame that it's blurry. That's one of my fondest memories of Mom, though. I'm still laughing about it to this day.

Big Hair News

2009-02-26T11:45:00.008-07:00

Well, I don't have big hair. I don't think I could have big hair to save my life. I wouldn't want it if I could, anyway. But I dyed my beautiful, radiant hair into EVIL METALLIC RED - well, those were Mom's words. I like the color, though.Can you just feel the debauchery spewing forth in all its corruption?

Oh, and Mom and Dad's engagement anniversary was on the 12th. To celebrate, Mom made an interesting concoction:Aw, THAT'S SO CUTE. It tasted quite delicious.

Oh, and I'm currently in Idaho for the next...day. It's a wee bit snowy.So...basketball, anyone?

Well, I'm bored. Later.

What a paparazzi girl

2009-02-20T21:56:00.015-07:00

When you have no life like me and there's time to kill, there's no better way to slaughter it than than to VENTURE FORTH INTO THE UNKNOWN, or, in other words, explore blogs, which is nice when Psych isn't uploading.

In the process of my blog discovery, I landed on Fresh eyes on London, which features great snapshots of daily life in London. The photos are of great quality, and it's interesting to see what this talented photographer can take from life. This person (whatever her name is, I'm sure she has one) is funny and insightful with her candids.

I love candids. They're genuine and rare. Frankly, I'm really sick of all the posed pictures I see on Facebook. You know, the ones where they have albums that have ONLY these types of pictures:Pay no attention to the Statue of Liberty growing out of my head...

Or the people are taking about 700 pictures of themselves, all making remotely the same expression. For example:
I took like 20 of those on New Years when I was sick of playing Uno and David wouldn't stop banging on the table. Which has nothing to do with anything, but who cares?

I hope you get the point. Those pictures are SO BORING no matter how exciting they ought to be. You know, the pictures that are basically like, "Here's us in Central Park. Here we are at the Grand Canyon. Here's us on the top of Mount Everest. Thanks for cutting off my head, Mom. Here's us and the Great Wall of China. Here's me and King Kong falling off the Empire State Building. Pass the Cheetos. Here's us and a suicide bomber...I see Garence had to go and put his finger on the lens and ruin it for everyone else."

See, I prefer pictures that tell stories, or have just SOMETHING vaguely interesting about it. Like this picture:This was taken April 2007 when I went to NYC with my drama class. We're on top of the Rockefeller Building/Center/whatever it's called. The only reason Brianna and I took this picture was to see who was taller. I handed it to a fellow classmate and said, "Take a picture. Now." They took my command quite literally. I was going to delete it afterward, but I was amused by how crabby we looked, so I kept it.

Now, not all posed pictures are bad. Some are amusing situations, like thus:This was my junior year of high school when my Newspaper class got out early and so Julie, Briana, Becky and I went and lay down in the middle of cross hall to see what would happen when school ended. The results were rather amusing, what with people stepping over us, dodging us, and asking us, "what are you doing?" Existing and letting people know. What are YOU doing, infidel?Kent and Melanie's wedding luncheon. Check out Dad's stalker eyes.An imitation of the awesomeness of a similar picture taken back in 1996. Mark's imitating the creeper who managed to sneak into our picture and look like his arm was around Mom. Someday I will have to get a hold of that picture and show you all.

But back to my point. Was there one? This post may have been another excuse to show a bunch of pictures of myself. Oh, yes. Now I remember it. When you take pictures, don't just do the standard cheesy-smiley-happy-shiny-people thing. Be a little flamboyant! Tell a story! Pictures are so much more interesting when there's a story behind it. Which gives me an excuse to show you some fun pictures (although a little Photoshopping may have helped a little, here or there, I confess):This was taken at girls camp this last summer when everyone was being artsy fartsy and craftsy...fraftsy? I'm no good at that stuff, so I decided to fool around with the camera instead. I took a megaphone and experimented on my dear friend Camlyn. Here's her eye, taken through the mouth end...And then taken through the shouty end. This is why I love candids, and Camlyn too.

Oh, yeah, and one more thing: If you were ever caught on candid camera, what would you want to be caught doing? Where would you be? What would you look like?

It's all in me head...it's all in me head...

2009-02-19T09:36:00.011-07:00

I have a tendency to imagine conversations with people. They're usually with people that I don't talk to often (so I don't really ever imagine a conversation with my parents or with close friends), but would like to get to know better. Seeing as I end up not getting to know these people, I have to resort to my imagination to have conversations.

But because it's MY imagination and MY head and MY personality that's involved, I don't end up knowing these people particularly well. They get to know me instead. In our dialogues, I am usually smart, opinionated, clever, and dripping with sophistication. And the other party is dumbfounded by my intelligence. Now, if the member of this other party is male, the conversation ends in him falling in love with me. Sad, but true. If the member of this other party is female, they tell all their attractive male friends or acquaintances about how interesting and cool I am, and they all want my number. Yes, I'm ridiculous. It embarrasses me to share this with you, because I like you all to think that I'm above that. Sometimes I imagine conversations with people who I don't want to date or don't have that end in mind, but we're not going to concentrate on that. That might make me look almost intelligent, heaven forbid.

This sort of thought process happens a majority of the time. The rest of the time, however, another part of me, the logical, thoughtful and cynical part of me, emerges. I lurk in the back of my mind with a big smirk on my face, slouching and crossing my arms and giving snide commentary, such as "HAH!" or "Give me a break." That's when Dreamy Me gets ticked off and storms back to Smirking Me and then we exchange a series of slaps, socks, and swats. It usually stops there, but that depends on the day. On a bad day, it evolves into a full-fledged brawl involving hair-pulling, arm-yanking, knuckle-cracking, leg-biting, butt-kicking, head-locking, and walloping in all the rest of the areas I didn't mention.

After a few moments of that, the referee in my brain comes blowing the whistle (and boy, does my head hurt then) and there is a tongue-lashing among all. Then a trial occurs, in which all the sides of the case are presented, and usually the Smirking-but-logical Me emerges victorious, because she points out to me, "Had you not been daydreaming and actually concentrating on that book you were supposed to be reading for class, this never would've happened, you dolt!" So then we all apologize and then link hands and sing "Kumbaya" or something happy like that.

...Well, that doesn't really happen. I do have a more logical side that says, "You're scheming again, idiot," but there aren't really any cat fights that occur. But that'd be pretty funny if it did. It'd give me something more productive during work, anyway.

It's like painting grass and watching it dry as it grows!

2009-02-07T20:46:00.013-07:00

As you had seen in my penultimate entry, I informed all that Mom had painted the living room. (Note: this was breaking news. You could've used it for your current events class.) Well, she kinda did.Note: this picture is edited slightly. I did it to add contrast. Tyler doesn't believe Mom painted that wall, but she painted it such a pale green so Dad could watch Monk in HighDef.

However, just painting the living room wasn't enough. She started singing all this drivel about how she wanted more and wanted to be part of some world...oh, wait. I'm talking about Ariel. So Mom contented herself with painting the study, and recruited me thus. I slapped on my painting uniform, and proceeded to attack the wall.I in said uniform. Yes, unbuckled pants and all. If you'll look closely you'll see that I'm wearing the shirt Kent gave me for Christmas in 2004. It says, "My big brother is cooler than your big brother." It started to fade, so I wore it to a black-light ball in which it got splattered with paint. That just shows my love for Kent.Observe the organized books and the bookshelf in a DIFFERENT PLACE. Oh, snap.I like this picture and can't wrap my head around the reason why. Also, when people say "wrap my head around" it gives me a very funny mental image.
Who knew we had so much junk?After painting so much, I decided to be creative and paint a creepy tree kind of like the one they have in "The Ring" except this one wasn't on fire, nor was it created by some sinister girl who hasn't learned how to part hair and has water coming out of her ears. Mom promptly painted over it.* Dad and Tyler liked it, though.And then after dinner, we moved all the books and actually attempted to organize the bookshelf. Et voila!

Oh, and one more thing...When Dad came in to sand everything - which means making lots and lots of noise and generating dust galore and opening windows so everyone can freeze their innards - Tyler played the piano the entire time in a serene manner. I hereby award him with the "Calm, Cool, Collected" award for allowing NOTHING to faze him. Wow.

*No, she didn't. I just wanted to make her sound heartless.

This is where you pretend I'm interesting

2009-02-05T17:27:00.002-07:00

I'm not an enormous fan of texting, and when I text, I usually (although lately I've gotten lazy) use capitals, commas, periods, and everything else in-between. It makes texting funner for me (also, funner is a word: see here), which is why I'm treating you all to what made me crack up this afternoon (in other words, I'm showing you how witty I am and you are thusly obliged to laugh):

Bethany: Are you still coming over tonight?

Me: Did the sun rise in the east this cold winter's morning? Is the Pope Catholic? Do dogs pee on brick walls? Not even the Mariana Trench would keep me from coming over, for my love is as deep as that dark, cold abyss.

Bethany: Okay good i will see you then.

I'm probably the only person in the world who uses all grammar rules when it comes to texting. Eh, it's fun for me.

I just wasted 5 minutes of your life

2009-01-30T18:09:00.007-07:00

Mutti went running off to California last Friday, leaving Vati and I desolate...and so we celebrated by going to Olive Garden with Brian and Tyler! Dad loves to go out to Olive Garden whenever he can since Mom won't kiss him with garlic breath.

Dad and I proceeded throughout the week foraging for food by digging in the Goodwin's dumpster for our ladder and some old food. We barely managed to escape their seven rabid Alaskan Wolves and decided that begging was the way to go. On Monday night Bruce and Michelle took us in as we proceeded to destroy their home by ransacking their fridge, pantry, and forced them into their cupboard under the stairs. After that, we went home and watched "About A Boy," which I recommend to all. Quite amusing.So, after avoiding death by starvation (Dad and I discovered steaks at Uncle Harmons), Mom came home. I welcomed her by wearing the shirt she adores.
Also, Mom painted the living room.Oh, yeah, and cool sunset.And thus concludes another session of "worthless but obligatory news update."

Possibly the best MLK Day ever

2009-01-20T08:07:00.006-07:00

Yesterday our truly tiny little family participated in the annual tradition of bowling on Civil Right's day. I had work beforehand, so I drove the van. Brian and Tyler also came in separate cars, and we waited for Mom and Dad to come along.

I set up the family onto the lanes. Our names were "Boy," "Boy," "Ma," "Pa," and "Me." I was quite imaginative that day. Miracle Bowl has upgraded to plasma screens. The graphics that play when you bowl are still just as stupid as ever, but you can see your speed on the screen. Tyler bowled the fastest of 17.something for the fastest bowling. I got the lowest speed because of my incredibly weak spaghetti arms. Someday I will be like linguine. When a lane wasn't being used, the screen saver displayed pictures of big cities and/or countries: London, Paris, Florence, Venice, Holland, etc. It was pretty cool to recognize all the places we'd been. Yeah, we're awesome.

Mom, I daresay, was feeling pretty smug about last year's victory, in which she kicked our trash. She proceeded to bowl gutter ball after gutter ball. Well, pride goes before the fall, in which the pins most certainly did not. They have no pride. I liked the dejected expression on Mom's face every time she got a gutterball. Tragically, there is no footage. Then, when she got a strike, she strutted like a rooster. Oh, Mom.

Brian and Dad weren't doing too shabby. Dad got a couple of strikes and came in 2nd place. Tyler managed to hit almost all the pins down every time. I swear, there was always one pin left standing. "I just want ONE strike!" was the whine, while still managing to beat us all.

I was doing just as fantastically as Mom. At one point I asked Brian if I could use his glasses, in which I could see out of one eye. Man, Brian's eyesight is really terrible. You can guess how well THAT little bowling session went. A very obvious GUTTER. I finally swallowed my own pride and asked Brian and Tyler for some tips, which is a big deal for me, because usually I hate it when people try to help me when I bowl, no matter how awful I am. And man, am I awful. Tyler told me to mostly concentrate on trying to better my arm instead of trying to see how high I could score. I tried it out and proceeded to get spare after spare after spare. I got three spares in a row! It was AWESOME! I'm proud to say I beat Mom with a score of 73.

After bowling, we decided to go to the Training Table, since Mom no longer needs to cook ever again. Tyler left first, then Brian, and then me, and then Mom and Dad. I drove alongside Brian on University Parkway until we had to come to a stop on 8th east. I ended up being behind Tyler, while Brian was on Tyler's right. We raced the rest of the way to the Training Table.

Brian took a shortcut that Tyler and I forgot about, and so Tyler and I had to wait for the light. However, when we pulled into the parking lot, Brian had decided to walk. CHOKE! Tyler jumped out of his car when I was still climbing out of mine. I yelled "DANG IT!" as Tyler and Brian raced towards the doors and tied there. They were holding open the doors, laughing and trying to catch their breath. I took advantage of this opportunity by walking through the doors and saying, "Thank you, gentlemen," because I meant to do that all along. Really. The funniest part was when we were walking to our table and Brian was claiming, "I wasn't racing!" Sorry Brian, I used that excuse YEARS ago.

Mom and Dad finally arrived. The rest of dinner consisted of the usual Dad asking us to repeat ourselves, Mom considering herself above ketchup unlike the rest of us heathen barbarians (although she wasn't above dipping sauce), Tyler avoiding sitting next to me, and Brian whining about cheese fries. Ah, family.

It's going to be cold...it's going to be gray...and it's going to last for the rest of your life.

2009-01-10T16:19:00.007-07:00

Mom wants a weather update. I don't see why; she's living here to SEE it. So here you go.

On one miserable Monday morning, I was on my way back to bed after scripture study when I decided to open the blinds. There was an incredible sunrise, and I took a picture.
Afterwards, I charged downstairs and yelled at Mom to look at the sunrise. She glanced at it and said, "Red sky at morning, sailors take warning!"

I asked her, "What on earth does THAT mean?"

"It means there's going to be a storm," she explained, working on her crossword puzzle.

Eh, there won't be a storm, I thought, and jumped back into bed.

Later, I drove to work and sat and read. I had a perfect view of the outside and saw that it was beginning to snow. It started coming down pretty heavily. When my shift was over (I work a measly 3 1/2 hours), I brushed off the snow and drove home, frightened for my life and for the state of the car. I averaged around 35 mph, which isn't so bad on University Avenue when it's snowing that badly.

Observe my the fruits of my diligent car-digging and wiping of Tyler's car.

That night, it was STILL SNOWING. For FHE, Mom announced that we would be shoveling our driveway and shoveling out Tyler's car while it was still snowing. Joy. I do enjoy the silence that comes with heavy snow, though, and snow gives a light at night (rhyme!) that one can't experience, and so I took a few pictures. And by "few," I mean several hundred.

Personally, I'm a fan of how cool the cherry tree looks right here.

Observe the huge stacks of snow.

The weather outside? Definitely of the frightful variety.

My awesome snow angel!

The playhouse that will probably collapse one day

It snowed well into the night and was lightly sprinkling in the morning. The stack of snow on this table was HUGE.

Another reason why I like how light it is when it snows: our backyard is REALLY creepy at night.

And then our poor, poor, forlorn mop.

This post made me happy but you probably won't be able to tell by looking at my face

2008-12-31T09:30:00.004-07:00

Yesterday I decided, "You know what, Liesl? You keep talking out loud to yourself, and soon you'll be thought crazy like the Old Man and the Sea."

My other self replied, "Nonsense. They're just jealous they don't have an awesome talent of making themselves look like fools like you do."

And then I thought, "You know what? You're right." And then I jumped down from my perch and did a ridiculous happy dance.

Well, okay, that's not what really happened, although I have done that dance before. Just not yesterday. What actually happened yesterday was I decided to straighten my hair, do some makeup, make my eyes smoldering and dazzling, the whole shebang.

Apparently, the smoldering eyes make me look angrier than usual. I went into work feeling very attractive indeed, when one of my coworkers exclaimed, "You look so unhappy!"

I replied, somewhat defensive, "I am happy!" and managed to make it sound like a snarl. What can I say? I hate people!

(Okay, it may seem like this post was purely made for links. Which it is. Which makes this side note totally worthless.)

This is quite normal. I have a tendency to look crabby when I'm really relaxed.'Tis the season to be jolly...

However, it's nice to know that I'm not alone. When I read this post, I started cracking up because of what happened last night. I recommend that if you click on none of the links, at least click on that one. It's the reason I made this post, anyway. That blog is probably one of the funniest blogs I've ever read. Go read it. Now.

Happy New Year, everyone!

How to win friends and bamboozle idiots

2008-12-11T11:36:00.011-07:00

A few weeks ago, I went to the Manwaring Center (think the Wilkinson Center, except BYU-Idaho) with my roommate, Ashleigh, to go eat dinner. I needed some cash, and so we stopped by the ATM. Ashleigh was in a hurry, and was bouncing up and down impatiently while I got my money. I snatched the money and shoved it in my pocket, and waited for my receipt.

And waited.

Fourteen. Whole. Seconds.

Those were the longest fourteen seconds OF MY LIFE. In that time, I could have eaten dinner, used the bathroom, played a little Xbox, read "War and Peace," analyzed and written a 15-page research paper on it, take a layover jet to New York city, run to the top of the Empire State building, spit, run down again, and come back without even suffering jet lag. But noooooo! I had to WAIT for a stupid RECEIPT!

Do you see how rough it is? Do you see how I SUFFER?

Instead of accomplishing the above, I had to wait. I rolled my eyes impatiently, tapped my foot, and said, "Man, this is taking FOREVER!"

Then I realized: this is instant cash.

It took me FOREVER to get INSTANT CASH. This isn't how it's supposed to be. We live in a sick society, people. Our society has become so degraded in a way that it lies to us, in order to compensate for our complaints. Our society tell us that we have developed feelings of entitlement and act like the world should be handed to us. I've got news for you, society. Guess what? We are. We ARE entitled to special treatment. Not only should the world be handed to us on a silver platter, but spices and utensils should be readily available along with a little bit of bacon on the side. The world is not my oyster, but my steak, medium rare, and dripping with sauce. I deserve it, simply by being born. I can't believe how long it's taking the ATM to realize that.

On another note, we ran out of toilet paper. However, I saved the day, and was very humble about it too, I might add. Anyone who says otherwise is just jealous. I may need to tone down the pride.

On a college note, I have finished most of my classes. I have one class left - "huzzah," I say - and then I'll be home for the winter semester.

After much experiencing, analyzing, and observing, I have come to decide that I really enjoy BYU-Idaho. Sure, it has its faults, but overall, I'm pretty happy here. Heidi dared me to write about what I've learned here. They may or may not be sentimental, so if you don't want to read them, you don't really need to. Some things I've learned/observed/have thoughts on are:

1. Procrastination. Hard work may pay off after time, but laziness always pays off now. Wait, that's not it. Procrastination is kind of bad when you're an art major. You can't cram for a painting or a drawing. These things take time. I learned this through staying up into the wee (weeee!) hours of the morning. I'm not sure if I've applied it, though.
2. I feel a little more sentimental towards the people here than I did in high school. There are so many friendly people here. One night I was walking with Ashleigh to watch a movie and we met a girl on the way and were saddened when we had to part ways. You can make friends with almost anybody here. Thus, I really like the people. Most unfortunately, it's harder to retain friends. With our track system, one can't as easily remain friends with the people they meet.

For those of you who understand the track system, skip this paragraph. If you don't, continue to read. Up here people are assigned certain semesters. There's fall/winter, winter/summer, and summer/fall. I got the summer/fall, which means I stay home in Utah for the winter. This is also why our family has been having issues scheduling a reunion, because I RUIN LIVES. Just kidding.

Anyway, because I love the people up here more easily because everybody acts like they like each other (strange ideas, I know), I've grown more attached to them. I was saddish when my Book of Mormon class ended. There were some of the neatest people in there! I wanted to get to know them better, but it is so hard to socialize during class (see number 4), and so the best I can do is smile at some people, say hi, have a few conversations, and then... never see them again. Ever. When I was in high school, that wasn't so bad. After all, all of our classes were in the same building and we saw the same people every day for the entire year. By the time those older than me graduated, I was sick of them anyway! Graduation? YES! GET ME OUT OF HERE! But up here, our time is short. The population of the school is huge. The chances of seeing the same people around campus is very slim.

Anyway, I talk too much. My point is: I love the people here. I can't waste time or be shy.
3. My friend Connie said it before, and I'll repeat what she said. Family is all. You. Have. Believe it or not guys (meaning, you: family), I actually really love you. I have grown to appreciate my family so much more after I moved out.
4. You can't really socialize during class. In each class, I've made only a few friends. Most of my social life depends on my roommates and my ward. Who'd have thought?
5. You really can sleep in when you get to college. Before I moved out, I possessed the inability to sleep in past 9. Now that I'm in college, I've boasted sleeping in until 11 (which is really nothing compared to so many people).

Well, I'm hungry. I think I'll go have some food. "Big gulps, huh? ...Well, see you later!"

R.I.P. Brain

2008-11-27T22:57:00.010-07:00

It seems as though every time I get on the computer and onto the blog, I forget what I was meaning to write about, or what I decide to write about suddenly looks stupid. I'm unsure on what to blog about (like blogging's an art...pffft), and so here's my lame excuse as to why I don't update very frequently. I feel like Kent in his "worst post ever," but even THAT wasn't that bad. If you have any suggestions as to how I could make it more interesting/better/cooler/funner, I'm open.

And now, for some pictures.....This was taken at Sundance when my roommates and I went home to Utah for the weekend. We aren't very talented at taking pictures of ourselves, but I like the picture anyway. The less I see of Ashleigh's face, the better.I'm not exactly sure if it's right or wrong to put up a picture of me in my long underwear...but I thought I looked like a little kid with the popsicle and the book and decided to document the footage.I just like the expression on my face. And the orange tasted delicious.

"The sea monkeys have my money... yes, I'm a natural blue..."

2008-11-07T09:42:00.005-07:00

I like looking at Heidi's extremely warm-looking pictures and contrasting them with my own "Iceburg"/Rexburg pictures. I look forward to Christmas when Heid's freezing and I'm not. Well, it's not like I've developed super powers of immunity to cold from living up here. But I like to think so.

I don't hate the cold so much, but then again, I'm sitting in a well-heated apartment. This apartment is extremely well-heated to a point that one can sit around comfortably in their underwear when it's ten below outside. Okay, it's not that extreme, but I'm not kidding you when I tell you it's ridiculously warm. This is a huge difference compared to living in Orem when Mom would be "boiling" at 60 degrees and turn the heat way down, thus forcing us kids to huddle over the furnace and it'd NEVER be warm. What a blessing it is to be up here with a bunch of girls who freeze to death at 85 degrees.

JoEllen tagged me with this thing. Like her, I tend to forget what I'm supposed to do when on the computer and so instead I cruise the internet. No wonder I'm on the computer so often. Man!

The task of this tag is to list 6/7 Random Facts. My question is: who the heck cares?

1. I have a fetish for trees. I climb them and take pictures of leaves because they are just that fascinating to me. Probably to nobody else, though. I also name the trees. My favorite tree here is named Nancy. The other trees are Frank, Fred, Phil, Fran, and Ethel. Oh, and Edwina. I love Edwina. There's another tree I'm good friends with, but unfortunately, I've forgotten her name. Tragic.

2. My biggest pet peeve is hearing somebody chew their gum and pop it. Loudly. I swear, the next time I hear somebody pop their gum, I'll take a shotgun and fire two warning shots...into his head. Or hers. I hate that stupid rule.

3. I like to think I'm funny. As to whether or not I actually am funny is up to you, but I'm perfectly content to make up stupid jokes and laugh hysterically at them all by myself. And I do.

4. Like JoEllen, I also like to whistle. I'm really good at it, too. I can whistle in and out, thus enabling me to whistle for hours without losing breath. I can whistle loudly and clearly and have a vibrato. While I consider this to be a real talent, everyone else would probably consider it annoying. However, I'd actually like to start a whistling choir. Or hear one like that.

5. I have fantastic long-term memory. If I have something memorized, it's there forever. My short-term memory, however, would be likened unto Dory's personality in Finding Nemo.

6. I absloutely cannot sing in the shower. I did once. And will never do it again. I can't understand how "fantastic" one's voice sounds in the shower. My voice sounds exactly the same. In fact, the bathroom only makes my already carrying voice even louder.

7. I like the number 7. It's all I ever think about.

I don't feel like tagging anybody. I'm a tagging pooper. Or a tagging turd.

I really need to start focusing more when I write on my blog.

All Hallow's Eve

2008-11-03T16:05:00.007-07:00

I'm not a huge Halloweener (some might say I'm more of a Halloweenie, yuk yuk yuk), seeing as I haven't seen a fantastic Halloween in a good three years. The last good Halloween happened in 9th grade. My friends and I went to the more prosperous neighborhoods and raked in the Reeses, compiled the Kit Kats, and snarfed the Snickers with pleasure. It happened before Daylight Savings Time (more like Dawn Sucks Time) ended, and for some reason, that insured good weather, which is a rarity in Utah. And afterwards it went downhill from there.

However, this year I decided not to be a complete party pooper (only a quarter of one), and decided to have a costume. Out of the blue I decided to be Lil' Orphan Annestance and semi-permanently dyed my hair for the occasion. The costume ended up looking like this:

Well, I attempted to look like her at least.

A touching moment between Aubrey and I.

My roommates and I. Left to right: Aubrey was "Smarty Pants," I was Annie, Ashleigh was a vampire, and Angelica was a gypsy.
...And then it turned into a photo shoot.The evolution of the sneeze. You really don't need to look at these.

The guys have it REALLY great up here.

Anyway, that's all. Maybe I'll write. Maybe I'll do homework.

"Burn it down? Are you kidding me? This is hand-carved mahogany!"

2008-09-27T11:12:00.010-06:00

I figured I might as well update and grace the internet with my presence and share a few misadventures of my own forgetfulness. Or clumsiness. Or both. And then some. These are the horticulture gardens. Most people probably aren't impressed by apple orchards, but I love these so much more than the other gardens, even though the other gardens are prettier. But the problem with the other gardens on campus is that there is absolutely no privacy except on Saturday mornings when everyone, including me, is asleep. And I'd like to remain in that state, personally. Man, I love that temple in the background

Basically what brings me delight. Eventually I'll take pictures of the other gardens and make a slide show. Hopefully, the weather will permit. So one day I was on my way home from visiting the gardens and was riding Ashleigh's bike when I jumped the curb and fell off the bike, thus making a fool of myself in front of a passing car, although I was okay. Unfortunately, the bike chain fell off as well. So I got my hands dirty and after a few struggles and whines and ouches and the like, I managed to get the chain back onto the bike. Hey, that rhymed.

Exhibit A: Greasy bike fingers. And thus ends Pointless Story Number 1.

Pointless story number 2:

I'm not that bad of a cook. After all, anybody who can read can cook. But most unfortunately for the girls of our apartment, none of us brought a toaster. So we have to resort to using the broiler in the oven. This oven is about fifty years old (well, maybe not that old) and we have to constantly check on the toast to make sure it isn't setting the house on fire. So one day I decided to make open-face tomato sandwiches, but figured it'd be best if I'd toast the bread first so I wouldn't suffer with soggy bread, as I had suffered badly the night before.

I put the bread on the "popper" pan (this pan pops every time it gets hot), shoved it into the oven, turned on the broiler, and went to plug in my laptop. On my way, I was distracted by Ashleigh's and Angelica's conversation, so I talked to them for about 30 seconds before plugging in the laptop. After plugging it in, to my horror I realized that the toast could be BURNING UP THIS MINUTE!

I dashed down to the oven and opened the door, only to discover the bread hadn't even budged. The pan hadn't even popped! The Liesl was relieved (okay, I was going for a 3-way alliteration there but sort of failed), and to celebrate my cooking skills, decided to add to the dinner. I got out some grapes, washed them and dumped them in a bowl. Afterwards, I cut up some cheese. When I was washing the tomato to cut, I remembered the bread.

I hurriedly opened the door and stood in open-mouthed horror as I watched smoke fill the entire dorm. The bread itself, most unfortunately, was toast. Pun intended, but this is toast in the sense of, "No use trying to fetch Dorothy! She's toast!"

Never have I seen such beautifully blackened bread... So I had to chuck those two pieces and put on two new pieces. I cut up the tomatoes, and searched for some milk and rummaged for dessert and discussed with Aubrey my stupidity... and forgot the toast. AGAIN! But at least I remembered it earlier, so it wasn't done for. I just had to cut off the sides and the bottom and it was edible. Disgusting, but edible.

Liesl burned her toast and wept bitterly.

BUT there is hope for me yet. I bought a pie crust at Albertson's, bought some apples, sour cream, and made a beautiful and Totally Amazing apple sour cream pie!

It was a hit among my roommates. I even preheated the oven!

Danke Mutti

2008-09-10T12:36:00.005-06:00

I thought I'd give Mom a birthday present by updating my blog. Congratulations on being so old, Mom! I love you.

As tempting as it is to write about BYU-Idaho and how exciting everything is (I tell you, I'm a real party animal: I went to bed at 10:30 last night.), I end up boring myself to death. Instead, I will be totally unoriginal and share one of my favorite Mom anecdotes.

We were on a side trip on the Study Abroad to Budapest, Hungary. Dad had scheduled a tour for the students, so all of the students were waiting around in the lobby of the hotel for the bus to be ready and the tour guide to arrive. The weather was beginning to get colder, and so we all bundled up.

Mom looks rather cute in her coat, thought I, and emboldened by this, I approached her with a wide smile and requested, "Mom, can I have a hug?"

Mother replied sharply and loudly, "NO!"

The students around us cracked up. I ended up being hugged by Heather to compensate for my lack of a mother's love.

Mom came up to me later and apologized, however. I hug her all the time anyway. On the last night of the study abroad, I hugged mom in front of several students and Eric remarked, "We need footage of this! This is even rarer than Bigfoot!"

So here is my proof that my mother is a very loving person:

"Hot air balloon? Too expensive. Giant slingshot? Too conspicuous. Enormous wooden horse? Too Greek!"

2008-08-29T15:24:00.003-06:00

I forgot that several months ago Mom wanted me to put up a picture updating the status of the weather. So here it is:

Well, that's how it WAS. In January. Snowed like crazy. I totally loved it. I think I was the only person in my school who did not complain about the excess snow. I should get an award for that. But here's how the weather is now:

Okay, not really. But I don't think it's rained more than twice this summer.

Anyway, thanks to my amazing stalking of blogs, I found this Totally Awesome Tag thing:

What name did you wish you had when you were a kid? I think I wanted the name Elizabeth, which is pretty ironic considering my name is a German nickname for Elizabeth.
Would you rather go without brushing your teeth or wearing deodorant? Hard to say. I have really good teeth that don't get cavities, but they sure feel nasty when you've gone a while without brushing. So I'd go with the B.O. I'd get used to the smell, probably.
In your opinion, what is your most annoying habit? Probably the fact that I tell "You Had To Be There" stories. I can never tell what they are until I'm in the middle of the story.
If bodysuits came back in style would you wear them? Oh, what the hey. Less clothes to wash.
If you were offered $300,000 to relive high school would you do it? For $300,000? Heck yes!Would you rather live without a cellphone or the internet? Without a phone. I've been without one up until 2 months ago.
What is one question you wish you could ask people but don't because it's not polite? Why are you so difficult?
Would you rather lose an arm or a leg? An arm, because I'd rather be able to walk than roll, even though I'm as lazy as they come. If I could choose, it'd be the left arm. I'm right-handed and it'd be totally worthless to lose that baby.
If you could only listen to one band or singer for the rest of your life, who would it be? Relient K, their songs have meaning to them. What about soundtrack composers, can we choose them? I'd choose James Newton Howard if that was the case.
What do you do in the privacy of your home that you wouldn't do in public? Pick my nose. What? You asked. Yes, yes, I wash my hands afterwards. Usually.
Would you rather have a pretty face with a pudgy body or a so-so face with a perfect body? Pretty face. One can always get into shape.
In front of a large crowd would you rather sing or dance? Dance, although I don't enjoy either in public. If I had lots of practice, I'd dance.
How often do you weigh yourself? Whenever I feel like it, which may be twice a month. I usually don't care, although I did it a lot before to see if I could donate blood yet. It was worthless, though, seeing as I lived in Europe.

And once again, I have forgotten my purpose in life.

2008-08-27T10:18:00.004-06:00

You know, it's funny. I have this ASTOUNDINGLY good long-term memory. I can quote movies like nobody's business and can (and DO) apply them to any situation in life. I remember fondly every tiny little thing that happened on a vacation, good or bad, and I STILL laugh at things that occured 5 or 6 years ago. My memories are like reruns, only they get funnier every time. I love my memory (although sometimes I get frustrated when people don't remember everything about me like I remember everything about them - this is a small flaw clearly displaying my vanity) and would be absolutely devastated to lose it.

Yet, for some reason, I am an incredibly forgetful person. Every time I have a conversation with somebody, I either forget what I'm talking about, or I forget the point in my conversation. It's very obnoxious. However, this has only gotten worse lately, so it could be happening due to the fact that I let my brain go nuts this summer by not doing anything that requires thinking (other than the standard 4 books a week stuff), plus, I've fried it by going on the internet far too often. And now I've forgotten the purpose in why I'm telling everyone this.

Either way, it's irritating me. Also, I have become extremely lazy (seriously, the only time I do any amounts of thinking is when I'm either at church or at work. Even then, my brain power is questionable.) and have lost almost all bouts of motivation. So what motivates you people? (Well, the real question should be, "What motivates you to read my blog? Why are you still here? Haven't you anything better to do, or are you seriously lacking in life as much as I am?") What gets you to clean that hideously messy room of yours (Mine right now looks like it's been ransacked), or to draw, write, read, sing, dance, yodel, hike, bike, or any of the like?

I really need to get to work. Set goals, especially since I don't want to kill myself while I'm up at BYU-Idaho. If there would be any reason for me to die up there, it would have to be because of the wonderfully cold weather and NOT because of the overwhelming work load. So now I want from all of you who read this (ALL of you!) to tell me your college stories or what got you motivated or blah, blah blah - but my point is (and I do have one!) that I need to know that I'm not alone in this unmotivatedness. I'm not sure if that made much sense.

Well, whether you read this or not, I have a new goal in mind: to have a point to each and every blog post. After this one.

Actually, I have quite a few goals, come to think of it:
1. Use the expression "well, no more" at least once in this blog
2. Exercise a little at least every day (meaning, walk around the cul-de-sac at least once, even if it kills me)
3. Think a kind thing about any person who irks me ("He's a really big jerk, but I must admit his taste in brands of toothpaste is simply superb!")
4. Put up a picture with each blog post
5. Think of more goals that have more purpose in them

Also, here are the rest of the goil's camp pictures.

The stolen tag

2008-06-24T13:29:00.002-06:00

Well, I'm a thieving little booger, so I stole another one of Heidi's journal entries. I'm so original.

10 years ago I was...
8. That was the summer our family went on a family vacation to Minnesota. First we took a detour to Moab, though. Our car's air conditioning didn't work, and so it was me, Heidi, Tyler and Kurt crammed in the middle seat together. Whenever I got hyper or out of control, I was condemned to the back seat. Mind you, that was a very effective disciplinary method. It was so hot back there I got knocked out and fell asleep right away.

5 years ago I was...
13 and happily gossiping with my best friends Staci and Christina. Ah, 13. That was a good summer, as I recall.

1 year ago I was...
17 and having the time of my life dancing it up at my brother's wedding. And driving with my sister and her beloved children.

Yesterday I was...
Biking up to Bridal Veil falls with my friend Mandi. I never realized how incredibly out of shape I am. It's awful.

5 favorite snacks
Pretzels
Snickers
Reeses
Popcorn
Cookies

5 Favorite Books
Calvin and Hobbes by Bill Watterson
Harry Potter by J.K. Rowling
Ella Enchanted by Gail Carson Levine
Flipped by Wendelin Van Draanen
Les Miserables by Victor Hugo

5 Favorite Movies
The Iron Giant
The Incredibles
The Lord of the Rings Series
Beauty and the Beast
The Lion King

5 Favorite Places to Run Away to
My room
The roof
The canal by the track
The library
Trees

5 Bad Habits
Procrastinating
Picky Eating
Reading too much into situations
Being incredibly emotional
Biting nails

5 things I would never wear...
Well, I have no fashion sense nor do I particularly think on a daily basis about what I wouldn't wear, so... I'll just have to stick with common sense of what nobody in their right mind would EVER wear.

5 pet peeves
Chomping of any shape or form
Gum popping
Flaky people
Throat clearing
Jerks

10 Things I Enjoy (Well, I changed it from 5, but I like a lot of things and can't narrow it down to just five, okay?)
Hanging out with people I usually don't hang out with
Watching and analyzing any movie possible
Riding my bike
Drawing
Reading and analyzing books
Listening to movie soundtracks
People watching
Big long discussions about nothing in particular
Making other people laugh
Laughing

5 Favorite TV Shows (This probably means I have to have seen it more than once)
Seinfeld
Arthur
Magic School Bus
The Office
Scrubs

5 People I would like to meet (Dead or alive, preferably alive)
President Thomas S. Monson
J.K. Rowling
James Christensen
The guy who thought up Public Transportation
F. Enzio Busche

I tag whoever read this and thought of muffins.

On the birds and the bees and the cigarette trees

2008-06-09T20:55:00.003-06:00

So I haven't updated in a while. So sue me. (Actually, don't. I'm officially a starving college student.) But anyway, here's what has happened to me in the last month in 5 sentences or less:

I graduated AND turned 18 AND got a new job AND lost that job AND got a new job again AND got called as the Laurel Class President. AND developed an addiction to pretzels. Seriously, those things are like... food for the gods. Or at least food for the salt gods.

But you should know that I now work at the gathering place for all Hansens when one in the family gets endowed/baptized. As a cashier and possibly waitress.

Also, this kid gave me a $15 gift card (nice kid) for iTunes and I got some pretty sweet new music that includes but is not limited to:

Enya
- Wild Child, Caribbean Blue, Book of Days
O Brother, Where Art thou?
- Big Rock Candy Mountain, Man of Constant Sorrow, Down to River to Pray, Didn't Leave Nobody But the Baby
And The Village soundtrack.

All in all, it's pretty swell to listen to new stuff. You know what I discovered (and kind of hate) about iPods? Because we have access to pretty much any song that ever existed (except for that hideous gopher song, thank goodness), we don't appreciate the music as much. I mean, wasn't it amazing when you could turn on the radio and hear a song you haven't heard in years and start freaking out? It always made my day! I loved that! Now I hate the radio because all it plays is overplayed songs! It's the reason for the teardrops on my old car!

But anyway. I think that we really should appreciate the songs we listen to even though we can listen to them ALL THE TIME we should still love them just as much and perhaps listen to them sparingly because they won't be there forever, you know! So appreciate your music!

To quote Hobbes (from Calvin and Hobbes, not Thomas Hobbes), "If good things lasted forever, would we still appreciate them?"

So I challenge you today to actually think about every song you listen to on your iPod (or mp3, or if you have neither, then your CD player or whatever it is that you use for your ear candy). Why do you like that song? When did you first hear it? What makes it so special to you? Why do you like that genre of music? Think about it, okay?

As the sun blasts my Vati's eyes, I ponder on the meaning of pinatas

2008-04-20T19:10:00.003-06:00

Because I am a copycat, I will steal Heidi's idea of commenting on teachers that left an imprint on her, regardless of whether she liked them or not. I'm graduating from high school soon, and I've enjoyed it more than most of my siblings.

Kindergarten: Mrs. Adams. Well, I don't remember much about her as a teacher, I remember that I cried when kindergarten ended, so I'm pretty sure I liked her.

First Grade: Mrs. Dunn. I swear I had ADD. My memory of Mrs. Dunn consists of me being too bored to work on math during class and fetching my jump rope and jump roping and beating people during class and her hitting her desk with her ruler because I was misbehavin'. Don't remember much else.

Second Grade: Mrs. Turner. The only reason I ever liked math and was good at everything. Had "Zero Hero Day" where we'd celebrate numbers every ten days and watched School House Rock. Had snack time after recess. Fabulous teacher. Loved her.

Third Grade: Mrs. Firth. I was in the "smart" math class and the "smart" English class with Mrs. Petty, so I didn't really see much of Mrs. Firth. She thought I was silly and had a fondness for saying "Liesl Hansen" slowly whenever she saw me.

Fourth Grade: Mrs. Caloca. She was pretty cool. I liked her. We had about three different teachers for 4th grade, really. Mrs. Buchanan, who will forever remind me of Professor McGonagall, Mrs. Caloca, and Mrs. Hooker. For a very long time I never understood why people laughed when they heard the name "Mrs. Hooker." Mrs. Hooker was very animated at reading, though, and made science interesting.

Fifth Grade: Mrs. Smith. Amazing teacher. We had "Play Day" every Friday and throughout the week we earned minutes. One time we got the entire morning. One time we only got 30 minutes... we were pretty bad. She was a great listener and had pretty fun lessons.

Sixth Grade: Mr. Salmon. Told the best stories. Had the worst punishments. They were called "marks," where one would have to copy spelling words over and over. One mark = write spelling words twice. Two marks = write spelling words four times. The more marks would double the number of spelling words to write. Once you got marked 6 times, you'd have to write a report. I was the first girl to get marked 6 times. I still haven't written that report. Probably should someday.

Mr. Salmon was a really, really good teacher. We digressed a lot, and it was a rowdy class, but I still had a lot of fun. He'd read books out loud after lunch every day and we'd listen real close because he'd make stuff up and we'd have to catch him at it so we could get candy. When he read us "Wait 'Til Helen Comes," a scary story, he randomly would yell out loud and scare everyone and we'd all jump in our seats. Once, we were watching a movie, "Jason and the Argonauts," and there was a part where Jason was fighting a bunch of skeletons. Some of the boys were sitting near the T.V. and everybody was getting into the movie. Mr. Salmon sat behind everybody else. He took advantage of this. He got out of his seat and crept over to where the boys were in front of the T.V. He slightly pushed Marc, a boy with a high-pitched voice. Mark screamed very, very loudly. It was rather funny. Anyway, I'm talking a lot again.

Now on to Junior High teachers: Mrs. Aland for English. I didn't exactly love her, but that was where I first felt talented in English. Our class was a little rowdy, but she loved our class anyway.

Mr. Halversen: actually wasn't that great of a person, or a band teacher. I spent most of my time in this class making fun of him or attempting to cut class without actually doing so.

Mrs. McCune for 7th grade pre-Algebra: Because of her, I hated math. She didn't have a sympathetic nerve in her system. I think it's because her nervous system was concentrating on making her face twitch like crazy.

Mrs. Inouye for Math: because of her, I actually liked Geometry. She was really nice. Had big lips.

High school: Mr. Downs for English/College Writing: pretty funny old guy. His assignments, however, are incredibly predictable to a fault, so that I can do everything last minute and get the same grade for something I'd spend a lot of time on. For some reason, actually likes me.

Sid Hatch for P.E. Recreation: I feel sorry for him sometimes when he attempts philosophical questions in our class because we're all idiots. Either way, though, he's a fantastic person. He took our class on a ski trip, where I got to talk to him more and got to know him well. He's really good at four square and lets us watercolor when we want. He's a real jokester, too and makes me laugh.
"Hey, Mike, do you know what the knot of the day is?"
"Um, no."
"Man, you are such a loser."

Mrs. Stanton-McAtee for Newspaper: hated her grading system. She called some of my writing "crap," which was a little hard on my ego. However, she made more sense than some people I met and was incredibly sympathetic when it came to real-life dilemmas. I loved listening to her talk about issues because she knew what she was talking about and I learned a lot about not judging people because of that class.

Brother Packer: Great seminary teacher. Very funny, and very good lessons. Loved having him.

Anyway, high school was fun, but I won't really miss it. So, that's all about my teachers. Maybe next entry I'll discuss my favorite classes.

A Culinary Chronicle

2008-03-19T23:49:00.003-06:00

On Saturday I had work in the morning, which was nice because that meant my evening wasn't shot after all, contrary to what I thought. Afterwards, my car and I went skipping home and I called up my friend Ashley to lure her into my evening schemes. She foolishly agreed, and I informed mother (well, she guessed and scolded me) that Ashley would be joining us for dinner. I then proceeded to finish my chores so as to not interrupt my play time with Ashley.

Ashley came, and I proceeded to bombard her with one picture after another from the Europe trip. She graciously looked at them all and was kind enough to act like they were interesting. After dinner, we were looking at some more pictures when our friend Whitney joined the ranks and our duo became a trio. I then declared loudly (to immediately be shushed by my nephews watching "Babe" {Quick story. When I was about five, my family and I went to the theater to watch the movie "Babe." Afterwards, my brother Craig was carrying me and asked, "So, what'd you think of the movie, Liesl?" I replied defiantly, "I hated it!" in my little five-year old voice. So adorable I am.} and did not want their singing squirrels interrupted) that we must make the brownies now or forever hold our brownie mixes. We charged towards the kitchen, me leading the way.

I had bought some cheap brownie mix and two boxes of baking chocolate, one semi-sweetened and one unsweetened. After mixing up the, well, brownie mix, I recruited Whitney and Ashley into a fun game called "Chop the Chocolate." It was fun, although neither of them trusted me with the chocolate because it went everything they ever believed in concerning brownies. I had gotten this new and unique recipe from a friendly arch-rival, and since I trusted this said arch-rival, I remained adamant. We first diced the semi-sweet, which we mixed in with the, well, mix. Then we sliced the unsweet and sprinkled it on top of the mix.

After forcing Ashley to hold bowl while I scraped out the mix into the pan (and then, to my horror, realizing I forgot to grease it and thusly had to get a new pan), I put it into the oven (after an argument with Ashley about preheating; she said I should preheat it and I said I didn't need to. I won the argument by making this valid declaration of all I believed in, "Honey, I've been going without preheating all my life," which caused her to laugh hysterically and I started the oven while she wasn't looking.) and set the timer for 45 minutes. This gave us plenty of time to drive to the bookstore and get the books Ashley wanted (A Long Way From Chicago and A Year Down Yonder, in case you were wondering).

For some strange and twisted reason, Ashley wanted me to drive her Suburban. I had no objections, but secretly thought she was lazy for not wanting to drive. We drove to Borders, and while we were driving around in the little "Riverwoods" platz, I noticed a bunch of guys and girls in formal dresses (the girls, not the guys). I used my logical reasoning skills (Which, according to Ashley and Whitney, did not exist) and deducted they were going to prom. I made the suggestion, "Why don't we catcall at them? Like, hey, nice dress! WHOO!" I said this while some of the girls and boys in formals turned to look at us while I was driving through the parking lot. Whitney and Ashley strongly believe they heard me. I do not, seeing as the windows were closed, the radio was on, and the car was loud. I think they simply heard the car drive up and were curious as to who it was.

We made it back 10 minutes before the brownies were done. I could smell it already, the wonderful melting butter... wait. My brownies did not have butter in them. Curious, I went into the kitchen and came nose to popcorn, being held by my selfish Vati, who did not share. We killed some more time by looking at all my family pictures ("Liesl, you look exactly the same in all these pictures. I swear you don't age.") until the moment finally came. The brownies were done! I yanked open the oven door and to my delight, discovered they were done and that the preheating was unneeded, just like I always trusted. We wanted to eat them right away, but seeing as some of the melted chocolate was bubbling away, I figured it was best to let them cool off. So we did the sensible thing and took them outside while talking about roofs, of all things.

After this was done, we went to Ashley's house and cut the brownies. I opened my mouth, popped in a brownie, and... it tasted pretty good, except for that little bitterness of the unsweetened chocolate. I felt like a failure and Whitney and Ashley reassured me (for the rest of the night) that the brownies were good. I took their word for it and we went on our merry ways to watch the movie "Clueless."

The moral of this story is: don't get unsweetened if you're going to add baking chocolate to brownies. Definitely go for semi-sweet. It'll work out a lot better.

GAHL!

2008-03-14T21:31:00.002-06:00

Okay, okay, okay, DISCWORLD is a world created by the author Terry Pratchett. His books are brilliant and amusing. The world itself is probably the coolest thing ever. It's flat and is held up by four enormous elephants on top of an even bigger turtle. The turtle swims through space. People can fall off the world, and the world has wizards and magic and tourists and walking Luggage. My favorite character is Death, who looks as most imagine him to look, and he speaks in capital letters all the time. Anyway, that's Discworld. I'd say more, but I talk too much.

Leaving Oesterreich

2007-12-13T00:40:00.002-07:00

Boohoo. :( We leave tomorrow. So, just letting you know, I DID get in all the trips and even a little bit of Vienna (you'll have to do some searching, but I promise you, it's there) into this blog. Of course, I did make some other side trips I'll have to tell you about, including the wonderful temple trip of Frankfurt, but that'll come... later. Why? Because I'm lazy. So, for those of you who had faith in me... high fives all around! As for those of you who didn't, eh... shrug. I dunno.

I plan on returning to Oesterreich, although I don't know when. But I promise you, it will happen.

So, see you later!

The Devil goes to Praha

2007-11-30T03:52:00.000-07:00

WE'RE AT PRAGUE!

Huzzah. Okay, so my summary of my times in Prague is basically this:
Well, not really. But anyway...

Prague! Praggity Prague Prague. Seriously, Prague.

The first night I was there, I wandered around St. Wenceslas Square with Stephanie. We took pictures, avoided scary people, pickpocketed (Just kidding!), and walked a lot. I thought it was great, but didn't think it was so wonderful when on Friday we walked all day. Boohoo. Anyway, a funny thing happened to us on the way home. We were crossing the street when this jerk of a car decides to turn where we just so happen to be walking. As Stephanie shrieked and dashed, I cried out defiantly, "Pooheads!" and brandished my camera menacingly. The car managed to back up and apologized. Okay, the last part didn't really happen, but I realized that had I gotten hit, my last words would've been "pooheads." It was a reflective view on life.

The next day we went to the Jewish Quarter. This place didn't depress me as badly as Mauthausen did. We went inside one museum that had names of Holocaust victims from this Jewish Quarter hand-written on the walls. They were covering the walls and the writing was small. I saw Kurt's and Alice's names on there, although there were no Hansens. I remember going upstairs and looking at things children had made in the Ghetto. One that particularly stood out to me in my mind was a rolled-up piece of parchment that had drawings on it. I recognized one to be of Mickey Mouse and other cartoon characters. Mom read the label, "For Aunt Irma on her birthday." It was so touching yet broke my heart. I wonder if Aunt Irma ever got it.

After that, we roamed through a twelve-layer cemetery among many bunched-together graves. I loved the way it looked with the leaves and trees that I couldn't resist taking a few shots. After that, I edited them, and so I have several artsy shots that you can skip.

Later that day we wandered about and went a "perusing" the sights of Prague. Actually, that wasn't on Thursday. On Thursday we decided to meet up with Brian, who was staying with some friends of his (see The Others to your left, the title "Friends of Brian that I stalk...sorta"). I was starving and sunk so low as to buy some McDonalds and scarfed down my better-than-United-States-taste-wise hamburgers and fries while everybody else went inside the Natural/National/forgot the name History/thing/Art, maybe/museum place. We then went tearing after them, and looked at a bunch of stuffed animals and bones of enormous whales. It was interesting, but I wasn't really into analyzing the animals as I was into quoting a movie with each animal I saw (See a lion: "Simbaaaa." See a hyena: "Mufasa. OOoohh. Do it again." See a bug: Some quote from Bug's Life. And so on.).

Stephanie, Heather and I ended up eating at this place called Two Cats, which as it turns out, serves us literal cats. Okay, not really. We were a little afraid on that, however, because Stephanie ordered a dish that included in the title, "A La Two Cats," so we were a little unsure. It was adequate. I had some greasy fries. Afterwards we scampered off to TGIFridays and had some dessert, and then tore off to the Opera House and saw the Barber of Seville.

I feel like giving a review of the Barber of Seville, so those of you who don't really care, can skip this paragraph. Oh, I have a question. Am I grammatically correct here? Because I can't tell. Anyway, the Barber of Seville had a superb singing cast. It was set about to be in contemporary...time...thing, and the house was really bizarre looking. It was shaped like an enormous Egg and had an eye painted on the front. On the "back" (well, inside) of the house, there were posters of things and the most random thing: a penguin set on a perch. I thought it was amusing, but the best part was when during one of the songs, when the guardian was singing to what's-her-face, she gets so annoyed that she rips the head off of the penguin and throws it at him, bounces off, and it goes into the kiddie pool. Fantastic. I laughed hysterically and had a gay old time. So, although not everybody will have my experience I had in this, I advise you all to go see The Barber of Seville, if you ever get the chance.

I apologize for some of the bad quality of these pictures. :(

On the way home, we were unsure where to walk, so we turned onto this street that we saw a bunch of guys running onto. We thought they were just kidding around, but when they started yelling and jumped on this guy and started beating him up, we turned around immediately and went down another street. I wish I could've done something, but alas, I could not. Later, we saw a police car drive by with its sirens on. Then we heard fireworks, which, in our paranoid state of minds, sounded like gunshots. Ellen turned around and started to push me into the safest place possible, but I said, "No, we're fine! We'll be fine!!" even though I was scared half to death (thank goodness that didn't happen twice). Turns out, the fireworks for the opening of a brand new department store building. Man, that was freaky.

On Friday, we went to this castley place and went upstairs, downstairs (not in our nightgowns) and took a million pictures. Our tour guide, Vladimir, who has the most awesome voice and the most awesome name, was probably annoyed with us, but he was very patient with our constant picturing and posing. I fell in love with Prague and its beauty. Honestly, the colors there are amazing. I would love to go there in the winter. Or Winter. Do we still capitalize?

I walked all day Friday, which was not what I wanted to do. Dad bought me a day pass, but I forgot the meaning of “only for emergencies” and fixed it in my mind that I wanted to get my money’s worth, even if it was Dad’s, because I am a cheapskate. But we walked with some other people, because Stephanie wanted to “actually hang out with other people.” Pssshhh. Socialize? Lame. We (Heather, Stephanie, and I) ended up being with Anne, David, Andrew, Taylor, and… that’s it. Anne left early, but not before she was a witness to the gruesome acts of Liesl.

So we went to a bagel shop and got some delicious food. I got a BLT bagel, which had this nasty mustard on it, but other than that was pretty good. I split a chocolate cheesecake with Taylor, which was absolutely divine. It blew my mind, and that’s probably why Prague’s taking me forever to update. That was delish, and then we began to walk home. I still was up for getting my money’s worth, so when I saw a metro/subway station, I was all up for jumping on it! Stephanie and Heather bought themselves passes, so we did some serious subway hopping. For those of you who would like to hear this pointless story o’ fun, just simply say so and I’ll tell you. Later.

The next morning was great. Stephanie, Heather and I got on a streetcar and went to this quiet little part of Prague. There were hardly any cars around, and it was so quiet. It was cold, but that was okay because I had a wonderful coat on. Heather wanted to go to the Kafka museum, so we went up to that area. She felt like going through it by herself (or she knew of mine and Stephanie’s ignorance of Kafka's apparent genius) so she sent us to sit on this wall by the river. We had, as it turned out, a great view of the Chas' Bridge, the river, and a bunch of swans. It was great to sit there and listen to my "Truman Show" soundtrack in the peaceful morning. Later Heather came by and we took a bunch of pictures of ourselves because we're cool like that.

Then we walked a whole bunch and then rode the train home. That was fun, too, but I don't need to rehash that.

My Life Philosophy

2007-11-27T14:09:00.002-07:00

This is dear to my heart.

Honestly, Prague will be updated by the end of the month. I promise.

Mom Simpsonized

2007-11-24T12:32:00.002-07:00

Yes, eventually I'll get to Prague, but Mom wanted to be Simpsonized. So here she is!Maybe I'll even do Dad... or Brian... or even Tyler...

The Joy of Cooking Millhouse

2007-11-22T12:54:00.002-07:00

Actually, this has nothing to do with cooking or Millhouse, although that was a pretty awesome part in the Simpsons episode where the teachers eat the students. Man, that was funny. But since we're on the subject, somewhat, I'm conforming to the trend of Simpsonizing ourselves. Heidi put on on her blog, so I'm going to do it too.Yesterday I played football in the park with some of the other students. I never actually got to hold the ball, or even caught it, but did a bunch of running around and grunting and even gave Brittany a gentle hug while attempting to get the ball. I did sac Brian, and did the sac-dance Craig taught me about 4 years ago. Anyway, that was fun, but now I'm extremely sore all over, especially at the back of the back of my back.

Thanksgiving for us was also yesterday, and I'm proud to say that I did not do any major wastage. I cleaned my plate, although I felt disgusting afterwards. The food was pretty good, and I ate about 5 of the mom-shaped rolls. As in, you know, the shape of the usual rolls we have at Thanksgiving. Not like we're eating Mom.

We had a talent show, in which I performed with Mutti, Brian, and Vati in "The Train Song." I forgot some of my lines, laughed in the middle of it, but for some reason people still liked it. After that, Brian showed his own version of the train song. The students were roaring. Literally. I loved the talent show, honestly. Anyway, Julie read an awesome poem that she wrote, which reminds me of my next story...

Today I went to the Chocolate Factory. It was neat to see this enormous soccer ball made out of chocolate, although I wondered how old it was, and if it'd taste really bad. The tour there was mildly interesting. We watched a video, which was in German, and which I couldn't really understand. It was more fun to make fun of the people in the video. We then went upstairs and saw a bit of the factory in action (faction in action), but I was disappointed because we couldn't go inside. So, we pressed our faces against the glass and looked at the people like they were zoo animals. Some couldn't keep straight faces and openly mocked us, but we got chocolate! There was this marzipan truffle that was absolutely divine. Ich mag es. Then, after everybody was going downstairs, we were still taking pictures of ourselves and eating our chocolate. A man came out of the factory doors and had this entire tray of chocolate and was offering some. Free? Duh! So of course, we took it. Somebody said, "Good thing we stayed, guys!" And we all took wonderful bites... and the chocolate exploded. I looked at what I had and inside the chocolate was some sort of liquor. This wasn't your typical rum-chocolate, which isn't that bad. Well, it's kinda bad. This stuff looked like hard liquor and it was disgusting. In Julie's poem, there was a line that said something along the lines of "unintentional alcohol consumption," which happened today. So, watch out for the free stuff.

Song of the week (well, what's left of it): What is Love? by Haddaway. Listen to this, I beg of you.

Happy Thanksgiving, everybody!

P.S. Happy birthday to the stalker in Italy.

Highest of Lights

2007-11-19T13:17:00.001-07:00

I don't feel like updating about Prague because I'm lazy. So, instead, I bring you the highlights of pictures of awesomeness. First, to start off, I'd like to show you a picture of me on the happiest day of my life:You might want to click on it for a better view. I probably have the best frown in the whole world. If you think this is bad, you should see the photo I.D. for my visa. Now that's scary.Who wants rhubarb pie? Brian? You hungry?
I wonder where I get my cheerful countenance from? Dad?
Nothing remarkable about this picture except the fact that I had just woken up.
Schmucks and booties that way. Also, that picture was taken sometime in late August, when it was just me, Mom, and Dad. Later we went with the students, maybe 4 weeks later, and the exact same bike was there. Am I right?
Have you hugged your music today?...I think mom looks absolutely adorable in this picture.Sleeping boar...And an ad for stomachache medicine. Mom thought you'd like that one, Kurt. And before I forget, let's hear it for Franz Schubert and Ludwig Van Beethoven! (Yes, there were other graves too, but I'm lazy. Like I said.)

Oh, and this pretty little grave I saw on November 1, All Saint's Day:
Preciousssss... no, really, though, I love that picture.

I know I already showed you these pictures, but the awesomeness of these things need to be emphasized.
You'll never believe who I just met!

Well, I'm bored. See ya!

"Two cities combined: 'Buda' and 'Pest.' What is this modern-day city named?" "...Paris?"

2007-11-15T10:57:00.003-07:00

It's my half-birthday today! Happy half-day to me! I'm so happy!

Budapest was fabulous. This was a great trip. We got to our hotel, went on a tour that I didn't pay attention to too often, walked around this Sleeping Beauty/Cinderella/Some other Disney Princess that I didn't name-esque castle, and ate out at a fancy schmancy restaurant. I got this meat cooked in red wine, but it was quite good. We walked around and took pictures of the city at night, and then went back to the hotel and swum in their pool. That was easy. Okay, I'm done.

Naaaahhhh, I'm just playing! Gotcha! The next day was the day we went to the Jewish Quarter. That was pretty interesting and not as depressing as I thought it'd be, so that's lovely that I was able to sleep that night. We went into the largest synagogue in Europe, which was, incidentally, designed by a Catholic architect. It was very beautiful and looked a lot like the Catholic/Christian churches I've been in, only the cross was replaced by the star of David. We then went to look at a bunch of Jewish things in a museum, like the Torah and the pointers and these crowns and other jewels and precious artifacts. It was pretty swell.

Later, I went with some people to Statue Park, which was full of old statues from the Communist Regime. Like Mom, the government hates leftovers, so they put all the statues here for entertainment and climbing upon. Dave climbed on the big running one, and then Anne climbed up, and then I climbed up, and there we sat until I was on the verge of falling off and smashing my face, so I decided to get off. It was pretty cool to see all the different statues like Lenin and Stalin wannabes and all these other weird and freakish-looking things. It reminded me somewhat of "Animal Farm."

Then we drove around on a bus and ate some Pizza Hut (that's actually some of the best pizza I've ever had), and then we got on a very crowded bus that was very jerky in all of its movements. Poor Heather kept falling over and we ended up going across the bridge, which we did not want, so we had to cross it back again just to hike to Lady Liberty. The hike was very pretty and fun. We looked around at Lady liberty, looked at some of the other statues, and started to hike down when we realized that we had lost Stephanie and Heather. (Okay, I realize that you might have no idea who was in our party, but personally, I think you all just should pretend that you do know what I'm talking about instead of complaining about it.) So Brian went wandering around to find them, no such luck, so we just decided to walk down the mountain. i saw this wonderful playground with the steepest slide ever, even steeper than the one in Salzburg, but unfortunately Brian was a jerk and wouldn't let me. So we kept walking, and ended up losing Brian as well. But eventually, through a little prayer and waiting a whole bunch, we found Stephanie, Heather, AND Brian! Huzzah!

It was Heather's birthday that day, so we had to celebrate it somehow. So, we went to the mall. The mall fascinated me, and I was even more fascinated to see Mom and Dad there! Wow! Anyway, we wandered around and watched the fountain and asked Heather if she wanted to eat something fancy, but she said no, so we just decided "dash it all" and went to the food court. That was fantastic to wander around. On our way home, Heather tried to run through a fountain without getting wet (one of those fountains that go springing out of the ground) but it fell on her back. Haha!

That night I finished the Book of Mormon for the fourth time. Eat.

Now, onto the third day! Anne and I decided to go to the island and chill. That was fun, even though we felt a little uncomfortable around all the lovers. On the island there's this awesomely sweet fountain that sort of "dances" along to songs playing in the background. My favorite was when it played the Emperor's Waltz and it got really super-de-duper powerful and went shooting up in the air. There was a beautiful weeping willow next to it, but the bench was taken. Anne loved looking at the weeping willow, but that resulted looking at a couple having a good time. "Gahhh, Liesl, they're doing it again! Gross!"
"Anne, stop looking at them!"
"I can't help it! It's so distracting!"

We wandered around the island for a while. It was very, very beautiful, but I can't understand why people would make out there, because they can't SEE anything. I think I have problems with graphic PDA. Mom has issues with it, period. I asked her for a hug and she said, "NO!" and Heather and Stephanie burst out laughing. Rejected by my own mother! Anyway, we sat in a crazy twisted tree. Anne ate a little food, then took a nap on the tree while I took some "artistic" shots. There was a cute little boy wandering with his mother and brother and with my mad stalker skillz I took a picture of him. If only I could do The Cuteness on this blog, but you'll just have to imagine Kurt's "Heaahh!" and Craig's baby cry.

After wandering around and looking at these ruins (and taking more pictures), we decided to leave the island, but sit by the fountain and listen for a little longer. There were more people there by this time, including one man in a gray Speedo. For the life of us, Anne and I could not figure out why he was wandering around in a Speedo while the rest of the island was fully-clothed. We tried to find these natural hot-spring baths, but they were closed, so it couldn't have been that... anyway, I kept looking at this guy to see if he'd dive into the fountain or something, but he just wandered around, occasionally talking to one woman who I'm assuming was his wife or friend or something of the sort. So then the fountain started playing the song "Time to Say Goodbye," and then this guy started dancing/directing it. It was very bizarre, the way he was wiggling around like that and waving his arms wildly. I tried not to stare, especially since he started noticing all the stares (who could help themselves? Speedo Man here is just prancing along to some cheesy song...). Anyway, that was the strangest person ever, but hey, whatever makes him happy, I suppose.
Well, if you click on the picture and look right next to the fountain, you can see Speedo Man.

The next day (the last day), we went to the spa/baths/natural hot springs. They're naturally heated by these hot springs, so even though it was fall and kind of cold, we were quite warm. I recommend going there. It was fabulous to go swimming around in their whirlpool/lazy river of sorts, sit underneath a fountain, and then soak in a very, very warm bath. I had no towel for myself, and the towels that the other girls had were pathetic sheets that the spa had provided, so I dried off the natural, cold way. I am now completely desensitized from looking at so many Speedos (large men, little suits) and will never be fazed by a single one again.

Let it snow, let it slush, eat some mush

2007-11-11T05:45:00.002-07:00

Well, it snowed today. At first I was happy to at last see some snow, but later I changed my mind when we had to walk to the streetcar station. But I am glad that I have some great clothes for this winter. I hardly had any long sleeves or woolen socks back in Utah because they weren't necessary. But yesterday I went to the Naschmarkt and got 3 sweaters and a long-sleeved blouse for the price of 11 Euros. I deserve a pat on the back for that. Also, boots are made of win. Get leather boots and no snow will get feet wet. Huzzah!

There you have this pointless story for you to think about today.

P.S. Next post should be about Prague.
P.P.S. Just kidding, it'll be about Budapest. Gotcha!
P.P.P.S. Okay, leather isn't working THAT wonderfully. :(

Night Train to Florence

2007-11-09T01:39:00.002-07:00

Disclaimer: I didn't remember everything we did, seeing as the Italy trip was so long ago. So, I went gallivanting off to Allyson's blog and read through it. Thanks go to Allyson "Spectacular" Cox, for being so descriptive.

Sheesh. We're finally at Italy. Who reads this? Should it be a "we" thing, or should I just be selfish and just put "I went to Italy" or something? Even more importantly, does anybody care?

We traveled there by train and woke up around 5:30-ish to get off. When we arrived at our hotel, we left and wandered around in our sweats. It was quite comfortable, and it's great to see Florence earlier in the morning when there isn't a huge swarm of tourists buzzing around. Well, anyway, it's gorgeous in the morning.

So later I somehow managed to walk up all 642 (or something like that) steps of the Duomo. Even though I was very tired and Eric was trying to make me dizzy and fall down and die and Andrew had this obsession of graphically discussing Dante's Inferno (which is painted inside the Duomo [Hey. I don't care that Duomo is correct, I feel like an idiot {or "duomo," because it looks like the word "dumb"} for writing that. It will now be called the Dome, well, it will be if it is ever mentioned again. I doubt it will.], I believe) and the different ways people were punished in hell, I had a splendid time. The view was spectacular, like always.

It was quite (repeat, quite) crowded later that day and we cleverly avoided the crowds (okay, not really) and got some lovely gelato. Allyson has developed this tendency to get hit on by very forward Italian men, so we made it a joke that they weren't hitting on her, they were hitting on Eric! Some of the comments were hilarious, or the lack thereof. One man said "Mmmm!" when he saw Allyson. But I digress from what we did. Uh... what did we do?

So we walked around a LOT. It was kind of fun, and at the same time, kind of not. We wandered around Florence and I just kind of stared off into space while Eric and Allyson shopped. I'm still not a big shopper, unless it's for me and I know that I'm going to buy something. We then met the rest of the group at Michaelangelo Piazza and I broke up with Eric and Allyson and Heather and chilled with some other girls.

Day 2! We...... SHOPPED! Well, it wasn't that exciting. It was more of Alec and Errison getting leather jackets while I stood around and sniffed the leather. Everybody else went to Pisa and took pictures while we wandered around the city. It was pretty cool, though, we got to see parts that were devoid of tourists. Later we went to the Uffizi (spelling, please) and I saw some neat art there, like the Birth of Venus and... some other stuff that I can't remember the name of.

So THEN the next day, early in the morning, I went to the Acadamia. I saw David in the stone flesh. It was pretty awesome. Michaelangelo did a spectacular job. David was so intricately carved and so enormous! I was absolutely fascinated with it. Of course, I visited other exhibits and even played a harpsichord. And since I couldn't think of any Mozart or Bach to play, I played Debussy instead. Duh.

Later that day we took a train to Venice. Huzzah! I loved Venice. It was so pretty at night when it was raining. We went to a restaurant and I had this divine spaghetti. Then, we went back to the Hotel and just fell asleep.

The next day I hung out with Anne. The entire time. She drove me crazy. No, I'm kidding. It was fun because we just chilled, basically. We walked all over the city and got this delicious hot chocolate. It warmed us right up in the cold. It flooded that day, so there were all these platform things that we had to walk on. When we got to San Marcos Square we saw many people wearing rubbers and some had yellow bags right up to their knees. I stayed on the platforms. It was one of the worst crowds ever, though. It was like the Crosshalls from Hell. Whoever went to Orem High knows what I'm talking about. My, how crowded it was! We managed to push through and see everything we wanted to see, like the Rialto and the canals and gondolas. Unfortunately, those gondola rides cost about 70 Euros (sometimes less, sometimes more) so I didn't get to go on one. Boohoo :( but it was still neat.

After getting some lunch at Burger King (really Italian, I know) and walking around for a while and crossing a bunch of bridges, Anne and I went back to the hotel. We sat on our bed and watched a soap opera in German and fell asleep. It was great, because we were so refreshed when we woke up! We got dinner and then wandered around Venice at night. It's absolutely beautiful. It's tragic how it's sinking and dying, but I guess that's what happens when all you have left is tourism. Ah, Venice. How I miss thee.

Quick story: So when we were on the train home, it stopped and they announced that they would be there for a half hour. David, one of the students, got off and so did Mom. But then the next thing we knew, the woman was announcing us leaving. Dad tried to convince her that his wife was there, but she was all, "No, no, we have to go! We have to!" So Dad gave me the tickets and jumped off. I felt a little scared since I didn't have the keys to our house and had a lot of luggage to lug home. Thankfully, some of the students (namely, Camille) were volunteering to let me stay with them at their places. But luckily, by pure luck and a great miracle, another train that Dad, Mom, and David had hopped on caught up with us! I'm very grateful that I got an answer to my prayers.

So, who noticed that I updated the blog? Also, tell me what you think of these slide shows.

Mmmkay

2007-11-04T13:16:00.002-07:00

For some strange reason, whenever you start an entry on this blog it publishes the post the day you STARTED it and not the actual day you posted it. So, I wrote this thing about Salzburg and it'd be really nifty if ya'll went down and looked for October 20 because that's when it was started.

I tore out Heather's heart and stamped on it

2007-10-21T13:41:00.002-06:00

Because Heather is a drama-queen who feels the great need to be in this blog, I dedicate this post entirely to her:
Heather is awesome, to say the least. She's very funny, and cracks me up. She is delightful and always has a kind word to say about everyone. Geez I feel like I'm promoting Heather in this. Okay, here's an awesome picture of Heather:Ah, I love this picture. Okay, one more picture of Heather, and then this will be all.Happy now, Heather?

Perhaps I had a wicked childhood? ...Naaahh.

2007-10-19T16:28:00.002-06:00

Yay! Salzburg! Honestly, Salzburg was probably one of my favorite trips, which of course includes Hallstatt, which was just as fun. In Salzburg they held this festival, I'm not sure for what. Our tour guy said something about a Catholic Saint, not sure, wasn't really paying attention. It was great fun, though. I got these delicious hashed browns with lamb one time. My first time eating lamb. I couldn't help but think "Mary Had a Little Lamb" while eating and it didn't help that the guy who gave me the food (who was a jerk, by the way. He treated me like I was an idiot, saying "That's not free!" when I didn't immediately pay. Jerk.) had a bloody band-aid on his finger. That made me a little iffy about it. Well, I'm not dead, so the lamb was probably okay.

So, later that day in Salzburg (oh, yes, earlier that morning we had a tour. The guide was a little arrogant, in my opinion [apparently, everything is Salzburg is besser. I wasn't notified. I'll have to reprieve it.] but I suppose I learned more, when I paid attention, that is.) we tried to hike up to this castle thing. No, just kidding, we wanted to find the amphitheater that was in The Sound of Music. I didn't care much for the amphitheater, all I wanted was Gazebo time. So we hiked up a bunch of stairs, and although it was very, very pretty, I was very, very tired. We ended up going to some ruins, though, that was sweet.

Did I mention the - oh, nevermind. So, back to what we were talking about. Um... okay, so... what'd we do? Blimey, I completely forgot.

So we then walked up to the castle and took a bunch of awesome pictures there, which I promptly deleted because they can never be seen by eye of man. Actually, I don't know why I can't find any of them, so I had to do some massive borrowing, which actually isn't that bad. The castle was fun, though. Later that night, we watched "The Sound of Music."

The next day my highlights were this: going to the Liesl Gazebo, and going on this "scary" ride. I was brave, but Anne wasn't, who couldn't keep her hands off of me.

Liesl is a very rare male name.
Very few men in the US are named Liesl.
Be proud of your unique name!
source namestatistics.com

I thought that was amusing.