Annamal Unscripted

NERF to the Noggin

2010-10-02T18:54:00.000-07:00

Ever been hit in the noggin? What a whack of degradation. Ever hit someone in the noggin? What a reaffirmation of superiority. I experienced both today in a NERF war for the textbooks.

It all began with an innocent soccer practice. I've always been afraid of soccer balls. It may be from the time a soccer ball killed my childhood rabbit, traumatizing me forever. Soccer ball, fox, they're all the same to me. Or it may be because soccer balls are hard and about the size of your face and people kick them at you and sometimes they miss and just kick you directly.

Anyways, I wanted shin guards and a face mask to protect myself from my warrior soccer beast athlete husband, but he insisted I get over my fear of soccer balls instead--plus the shin guards only came in "Pansy".

We played, we joked, we laughed, I flinched, I ran away in fear, and we came together as a soccer team in love and unity. Then we grabbed our NERF guns and started shooting the heck out of each other. Hits to the head, face, eyes, other areas of pain (sorry, Honey), all legal.

After our war, we left our guns and darts strewn about the playground, I mean battleground, so that other children, I mean children, could play with them. I forgot we were in Mormon-covered Lyman, WY, so it might take a few weeks for some kid to steal them and know to shoot them at people instead of animals.

I've Started Playing Animal Crossing

2010-09-25T13:12:00.000-07:00

It was only a matter of time. Sigh.

Knock Knock Me Out

2010-09-25T12:37:00.000-07:00

Jokes backfire. My philosophy until now has always been, "anything's worth a laugh." I have made this startlingly evident on many occasions to the embarrassment of those who associate with me.

Examples? Well, my senior quote in the yearbook reads, "Hyacinths for the soul" (an attempt at jest since my grandma forced my mother to submit the same dandy line as her senior quote). Now all my high school peers think of me as sensitive and introspective -two of the worst qualities to be known for in high school.

Another time I signaled "LOSER" to a friend

who I'd sped past on the road only to receive a harsher gesture in return from the 70-year-old driver who I'd mistaken for my friend.

Every choice has its consequence and every joke has its risk, but I have really put myself into a pickle this time.

Eric loves the game Animal Crossing on Game Cube. I first witnessed his obsession while in Texas soon after our wedding. You see, his eight-year-old niece, whom the game was more appropriately designed for, would yell for help. Eric would grumble, trudge to her rescue, and "show" her how to play the game for a co

uple hours.

The game consists of talking animals (a sin against nature), repetitive musical tracks, ugly characters, and tedious tasks resembling indentured servitude. I swore to Eric that I would die if I ever saw the game again, so when we found a version for Wii, I thought my world was ending.

But my vocalized hatred of this game only reinforced the potential hilarity of buying the Wii version for Eric's birthday. Big mistake.

I may as well have addressed the birthday package to "Pandora".

So now I sit, lamenting my shortsightedness, listening to the garbled voices of ugly animals ordering my husband's avatar around instead of hearing my own garbled voice ordering him around.

I think it's time for some Animal Crossing Frisbee. Or, better yet, Animal Crossing road kill.

Zzz He He

2010-05-14T23:07:00.000-07:00

I think of the funniest jokes when I'm asleep. Or maybe my head is just a really good audience. Doesn't matter, though, cuz I can't ever remember them. Ha, but oh are they GOOD.

Fear Everything

2010-05-06T10:29:00.000-07:00

Doing yardwork makes me jumpy. A branch grazing the top of my head feels like a bird stealthily launching itself into my hair, rolling leaves look like scurrying mice, and any itch must be a giant bug crawling up my pant leg or arm or neck.

You know what else makes me jumpy? Going to the doctor's office. The doctor always walks in right when you are licking the last tongue depressor or before you can get your napkin outfit properly situated.

Zoos also make me jumpy. I can't help but imagine myself toppling into the lion's pit or getting tapped on the shoulder by a giant gorilla. You know, zoos are almost as scary as an overflowing toilet. Almost. Don't worry, though, the glass and bars that come up to your hip will protect you from the unpredictable animals six times your size who endure the stares and taunting of passersby everyday.

Subtleties

2010-04-26T13:38:00.000-07:00

Whenever I need something that I can't just come out askin' about (how rude would that be?) I simply hint around at the subject until the other person thinks my idea was in fact his/her idea all along. Let's face it, confrontation just gets people into trouble. Look at Tiger Woods!

Is your life full of embarrassing confrontations and awkward inquisitions? Would you rather eat cold cereal than call the pizza guy? Does your laziness restrict your mobility?

If you answered "YES!" to any of these questions, throw away the anti-depressants and follow me as I take you on a journey of interpersonal improvement. I'll show you how to avoid even positive confrontation and protect your fragile comfort zone with these neat tricks!

Problem 1: Your dad asks you to call your grandma to set up a family dinner date while you're in town. Both your parents and sister are perfectly capable of setting up the appointment, but they asked you. What should you do? Just call your grandma as a warm gesture of love and obedience? Maybe... before you learned these tricks.

Solution:

Always start with making up logical excuses for yourself. For instance, say things like, "I thought you wanted to call her to catch up. You forgot her birthday last year and still haven't made it up to her." or "I would love to call her, but I (trail off here)." If that doesn't work, feign stupidity, sleep, or deafness.

Problem 2: Your mom asks you to invite the new girl over for a "play date." The thought of building social interconnectedness within your heart and neighborhood frightens you. What should you do?

Solution: If you haven't overused the "Maybe another time, I think I am coming down with something" excuse, try faking an injury or spreading rumors about the neighbor's infectious disease.

Problem 3: Oops, you forgot to buy noodles at the store. Oops, you also forgot that you hate doing things that other people can do for you. What should you do?

Solution: Make the problem seem a lot bigger than it really is. Complain about every facet of your day until pity puts the other person into action. Be sure to say, "No, you don't have to do that. Are you sure?" a few times before accepting so as to keep up courtesies.

As we have learned, appearance is everything and maintaining self-comfort at any cost is always worth it. If you found this article helpful, you may also enjoy:

"Excuses for Being Late: Scattergories Approved"

"Build Yourself Up by Pulling Others Down"

"Justifying Procrastination: You Deserve This!"

"Flaking Out With Finesse"

Good luck on your comfortable journey of avoidance and non-obligation.

Meditation I

2010-03-15T16:00:00.000-07:00

The other day I walked near a beautiful, blossoming plum tree and took in a big whiff of the sweet fragrance. Summer is here, I so gayly (that one 'gay' that doesn't mean homosexual) noted. Then, I realized what I was smelling was really the open box of Froot Loops in my arms. So I shoved a handful of Froot Loops into my mouth, shrugged, and walked upstairs.

Well, needless to say, those Froot Loops put me in a pensive mood, prompting both reflection and ingenuity. Below is a list of said ideas:

Life's Questions Unanswered:

1. Am I addicted to ice cream or to Mcflurry spoons?

2. Are tomatoes REALLY a fruit? And why does everybody know that?

3. If I were to eat while walking, something would have to even out, right?

4. Why do people persist in naming their children nonsense words?

5. Can I name my baby Peanut Butter Anderson? Mmm... peanut butter.

6. Are there any butlers not named Martin or Jeeves? Just because I have a friend named Martin can I treat him like my butler? (Martin, if you are reading this, you forgot to fold my socks)

7. I forgot about Toblerones. Those are delightful. Nut Rolls too. But Nut Rolls are unexpectedly delightful. Oops that's not a question. Or is it?

8. Pirates, time machines, unicorns, and lasik eye surgery... real or imaginary?

9. Where did clementines come from? Rhode Island?

10. Canadians???????????????

Life's Questions Answered:

1. What do teachers really discuss in the teachers' lounge?

Your assumptions are completely correct. They complain about you.

2. Did we really elect a man named Barack Hussein Obama Hitler as President?

What a silly mess we got ourselves into! Oh well. What's in a name?

3. Why does everything smell like toots on car trips?

Those really are toots that you are smelling.

4. Which came first, the chicken or the egg?

I'll tell you when you're older.

5. Was it cool to like Power Rangers when you were a kid?

Maybe. If you also thought Pokemon and having no friends was cool. (Just kidding, my popular/dynamite fiancé)

6. This is pathetic. 22 years and I only know 5 things. My investigative efficiency is clearly lacking.

Signing off.

That's my new phrase that means, "Ending? Who wants to think of an ending when it's taken you 22 years to think of the answers to 5 life questions?"

Pigeons

2010-02-11T16:01:00.000-08:00

I foster an unorthodox degree of animosity toward pigeons. In fact, when I think of pigeons, I think of stupid. Prancing around, warbling nonsense, their big heads sliding back and forth.

I think what bothers me most is their lack of self awareness. They don't understand their current position as bane of the bird species or bane of all the earth species. They don't even look over their shoulders when you tell them how stupid they look standing around like that.

Well, to be honest, I am not proud of my unwarranted loathing of pigeons, but surrendering my hostility toward them is impossible. I promise I've tried. I stared at a group of pigeons for two whole minutes the other day searching for redeeming qualities. The only redeeming qualities I could find were that:

1. There were nine of them standing there instead of ten

2. They didn't bully me with their warbling (this time)

3. They all flew away when I happened to tread briskly in their general direction

Not redeeming enough, pigeons. Upon closer observation, I also discovered that pigeons look like fish with wings. They also have pig in their name and they eat trash.

Pigeons. Hmm... I suppose they rocked Home Alone II. How did they get them to sit on the bird lady like that?

Not Putting a Title Here Might Make Me Seem Edgy

2010-02-01T18:09:00.000-08:00

Four score and seven years ago, I found myself faking originality. For instance, nobody likes burnt popcorn. I thought I did, but nobody does. Because nobody does, I thought I did. In truth, it tastes like a blossom of ash and smells like a carcinogen. There's no getting past that.

Sometimes deciphering originality from the mainstream can be nearly impossible because of originality's widespread popularity. A paradox, indeed. In fact, I still can't decide if I'm for Obama or Socialism. Oh, whoops, same thing.

Oh yeah, and what the heck am I supposed to be wearing these days? Skinny jeans? Psh... try NOT finding those in every store you walk into. Obnoxious looking geek glasses? A headband across the middle of my forehead? Footie pajamas and a cowboy hat? (wait... that was one of my unintentional fashion statements).

At least I can count on Disney Channel movies to keep me original. Especially High School Musical. I mean, nothing's more unheard of than a college student obsessing over High School Musical.

I suppose my originality comes from doing things nobody else wants to do. Like spraying cooking spray directly into my mouth or actually eating that mystery concoction.

I have also convinced myself that being dubbed "Designated Brownie Batter Spoon-Licker" each year of college isn't at all degrading. I am not too proud to look like a starving lard consuming the dregs of the brownie bowl.

So, friends, Romans, countrymen, give me your batter-dipped spoons, your over-hyped adolescent films, your blackened ashy cancer-causing popcorn...

and I will show you true originality.

(On an end note, I invented blogging.)

What's Good

2010-01-22T22:56:00.000-08:00

I'm getting married so my brain won't function. Or perhaps I am getting married because my brain won't function. That's what all the non-mormons think, anyways. The contrast between a mormon response to a wedding announcement and a non-mormon response continually reminds me that mormons are, indeed, a peculiar people.

"I am getting married about five months from now in July."

Mormon Response: "Perfect. You're engagement time will about quadruple your dating time. Ever consider moving it up to May?"

Non-Mormon Response: "Wait. July of THIS year?!?"

"I am 22-years-old"

Mormon Response: "Man, you sure are lucky to have found a man older than you up at school. You barely dodged the relationship limbo they call the singles' ward."

Non-Mormon Response: 'Oh, how sweet. She genuinely thinks it will last!'

"He and I are both going to be English teachers."

Mormon Response: "I hope you don't mind being poor."

Non-Mormon Response: "Very, very, very poor."

"We've been officially dating since Thanksgiving."

Mormon Response: "Oh yeah? Well my cousin dated for ten days before she got engaged and my grandpa proposed after three dates and my mother's aunt just ran into this guy and she knew she'd marry him so they went and got married and..."

Non-Mormon Response: (Grin, blank stare, exhale, exit room)

To mormons and non-mormons alike, marriage might mean the death of independence, a plea for poverty, or an onslaught of annoyances; but, to me marriage will mean one simple thing: incredible blog material.

Student Teaching Update

2010-01-08T14:20:00.000-08:00

You know all those times when you've fallen asleep in a room of people and they start talking around you whispering, "She's asleep," and then you have to concentrate really hard on keeping your eyes closed because you think you've fooled them but the joke is really on you because now you are forced to lay there with your eyes closed for an honorable amount of time just so they think you were, indeed, asleep when they were talking about you? That's sort of what student teaching feels like.

Is There an Echo in Here? I Wish. That Would Make Conversation a Whole Lot Easier.

2009-12-29T12:50:00.000-08:00

You know what I love? Repeating myself. Not only does it double the duration of hearing myself talk, but it also doubles my chances of being heard. It's a good thing I am going into secondary education.

Coming home from school offers bounteous opportunities for repeating myself. You know what I love? Repeating myself. A common conversation at my house goes as follows:

Me: "Mom!!! Phone's for you!"

Dad: "What?"

Mom: "Okay, I'll get it!"

Dad: "What? Are you calling me?"

Me: "No."

Dad: "Anna! Is the phone for me?"

Me: "No, Dad."

I also enjoy telling stories that only get interesting toward the end. That way, people are bound to say, "wait, who did this?" or, "hold on, what happened?" right when I start wrapping things up. Seeing as my stories change with every telling, this gives optimum opportunity to add a little flavor to my tales. It's like getting to roll the bowling ball three times on the last frame. At least, it seems like it would feel like that. I guess I wouldn't know.

My stories often feature the same characters that always make up my life, yet they remain faceless strangers to my parents each time I begin a story.

Mom: "So, who all was there?"

Me: "The usual. Martin..."

Dad: "Martin Milius?"

Me: "No, Dad. The other Martin we know. Plus Kelsey, Brittney, Tom*..."

Dad: "Tom who? Tom Selleck?"

Me: "No, Dad. The one you always say, 'Tom who?' about."

Mom: "Now, who was there?"

Dad: "Tom Johnson? Oh, that Tom boy in our stake?"

Me: "Oh, you know what? Actually nobody was there."

Dad: "What?"

Unfortunately, this conversational trend seems to be genetic. My mom asked me, "Anna, jfwa io fjlkds take down Christmas decorations today?" I can't possibly understand what she was asking of me. It sounded sort of like, "Anna, jklw vni empty jlki the dishwasher," or, "Anna, afie you're fjiofaeio; too old lkanv watch cartoons."

I have concluded that hearing is a gift not to be wasted or overused.

*Name changed to protect the innocent

Annimezing

2009-12-05T17:02:00.000-08:00

Welp, it happened. I was invited to see an anime movie. I am not sure what the protocol is on responding to this type of invitation, so I had to think fast. Lucky for me, I am an expert at speaking before thinking.

One time while observing a larger man mount a mechanical bull I remarked, "He shouldn't be riding the bull, the bull should be riding him!" to none other than my larger colleague who merely glanced awkwardly in my direction. "umm... cuz he's so good," I said to clear up the miscommunication. I don't know what he thought I meant by it, I mean the guy was quite the bull rider.

Another time when my mom tried on a shirt in the store dressing room I said, "It's kind of cute but a little worn," to which she remarked, "This is the shirt I came in."

After careful consideration, I have chosen to keep the third example under wraps. See, I am learning from past mistakes!

I knew when my friends started calling having a big mouth "pulling an Anna" that it was time for a change.

In conclusion, watching anime means you are a weirdo and I want nothing to do with it. No amount of thinking is going to change that statement.

Don't Bother Me. I'm Breathing.

2009-11-11T09:58:00.000-08:00

The last two times I've tried to write in my blog, I have fallen asleep. I bore myself. That is saying something because I could be entertained in a square, white room with my hands strapped to my back.

I don't see why everyone has to bother me to actually do things. "Anna, let's go to your best friend's birthday party," or "Anna, you can't leave a three-year-old by himself," or "Anna, you should probably get that checked out." "Excuse me," I say, "You are interrupting my breathing."

That's why I try to surround myself with easily entertained people.

Pros?

1. They are a rewarding audience, laughing at simple gibberish words or toot jokes

2. They understand my efficient energy saving techniques some refer to as laziness

3. They tell the best toot jokes.

Cons?

Hmm... negatives of being childlike and carefree... think, think, think.

Looking back, I have always been easily entertained. As kids, Doree and I invented a brilliant game in which we would roll a foosball ball on the carpet towards a goal. When we made

a goal, we could eat a chip.

Another time we layed in my hallway upstairs gargling melodies for about an hour. We even used to memorize all the answers from the first edition of Nintendo Jeopardy. The only competition was who could buzz in the fastest. (FYI: if the question includes the word "snake", the answer's an asp.)

And I'll never forget when Doree pushed me all the way from her house to my house in a bright blue wheelbarrow, a feat rivaling Everest.

Simple entertainment has existed forever. Look at marbles, jacks, paddleball, and calculus for example. Easily entertained people, may as well be dubbed the creative geniuses of our time.

Needless to say, creative genius flourishes in Rexburg, Idaho.

My Post is Longer and Perhaps More Intelligent Than Your Post

2009-11-03T17:49:00.000-08:00

My name is Anna Liggett and I am an over achiever. What's so wrong with that? I showed up to class for a book presentation yesterday with a giant tiger's head I had mounted on cardboard, an elaborate display complete with carefully picked book quotes, and even animal crackers to complete the theme. Okay, and I sort of coordinated my outfit to match the display. It was, well, cute.

I may have also spent an hour and a half writing a resume as a fictitious character or looked up the spelling of 'fictitious' just to make sure it was spelled right. You can roll your eyes all you want, but nobody hates over achievers as much as over achievers hate over achievers.

If you want to see a whole package of over achievers wrapped with a tight, gold ribbon, just check out the English majors. As everyone knows, no one better than English majors themselves, English majors are intellectual elitists. In a classroom of these bright builders of America, a common discussion goes as follows:

Teacher: "Good Literature," must write dramatically on board. ...e-r-a-t-u-r-e circle, circle, underline, a couple dots for good measure, "What is good literature?"

Students: Intellectual elitism look on their face.

Over Achiever 1: "Good literature should cause change in the world."

Over Achiever 2: "I am gonna play devil's advocate here," because I am so open minded and intellectually advanced enough to see both sides of any issue and not feel emotionally attached to either side so I can make anyone look like he is wrong, "But, what about all the good books that don't cause change in the world?"

Over Achiever 3: Oh, he set me up so well. I just need to name an author and a title and everyone will think I actually read in my free time. "Yeah, like... uh... like. Oh, it just left me. Harpo Lee To Kill a Mockingbird. Boo Radley."

Over Achiever 4: Deno, no... connotation? No it's 'D' for definition. "I guess we all need to agree on the denotation of 'good' when referring to literature"

English Major Who Fell Through the Over Achiever Cracks: "One word. Twilight!!!!!"

Over Achiever 5: "I think we need to be the change we want to see in the world."

English majors, including myself, often think they are smarter than they really are, which means they think they are smarter than everyone ever. They pretend to idolize prominent figures, when in fact, these figures become little more than their nemeses. As such, they seek to subtly backhand these figures where possible.

"Ahem. I admire the literary merit of Edgar Allan Poe. Although his maniacal plot lines leave us questioning his sanity, his legacy lives on." Or else, "Mark Twain was a master of satire, but he hated Mormons. Boo." Or, "Wordsworth uses simple words to express his simple appreciation of the complex serenity we call 'nature'."

Man, this post just reaffirms my proper place as an English major. My voicemail even says, "So you've come to the master for guidance. Is that what you're saying, grasshoppa?" Dang, that is so Eng. Maj.

Halloweenie

2009-10-30T09:51:00.000-07:00

Halloween! It's almost here! I can't wait to celebrate the birth of, oh wait, the freedom of... no, that's not it. Our Irish... hmm... what are we celebrating again?

Oh yes! Murder, evil, trickery, and fear!!!!! My neighbors have already decorated for the season with bloody butcher knives and a headstone that says, "You're next!" stuck to their front window. I think I am gonna head over there first.

Actually, it turns out that it's "illegal" for "college students" to go "trick-or-treating" in "Rexburg". So, I am skipping class to think up a new strategy for tomorrow night. Here's what I've got so far:

Objectives:

1. Get candy

2. For free

3. Avoid arrest

Plan A: Obtain switchblade from neighborhood Wal-Mart store. Follow children around. Cut hole in children's trick-or treat bags. Collect trail of candy.

Plan B: Dress as Obama. Ensure parents that their candy will be split equally among all trick-or-treaters. Take candy home for self and friends. Accept Nobel Peace Prize.

Plan C: Inform parents giving out candy that their house is on fire. Agree to risk life to continue "giving out" bowl of candy. After, light house on fire to destroy evidence.

Plan D: Dress as Phantom of the Opera. Turn off power at houses giving out candy. Threaten there are more tricks where that came from over loudspeaker. Instruct parents that their children are at risk if they don't keep their hand at the level of their eye. Collect candy.

My Promise: As a law-abiding citizen, I agree to uphold the statutes of the Rexburg Constitution by following the "No college student trick-or-treaters" law. Fortunately, the loopholes above will provide optimum opportunity for celebration while allowing me to demonstrate my integrity as a citizen of this great town.

Happy Halloween, Rexburg! I can't wait to see all the floozy witch, floozy fairy, floozy bumblebee, floozy vampire, and floozy Michael Jackson costumes you all come up with!

Toot Uncommon

2009-09-12T09:55:00.000-07:00

My mother and I often talk about mummies and their exploitation. Believe it or not, it is a huge problem faced by the Mummies of America today. Why? Because there shouldn't BE Mummies of America. We pull them out of their Egyptian pyramid fortresses and put them on display in museums. All those warnings about eternal curses are just poppycock. Right? Wrong. The curse of the mummy's tomb has poisoned America. Just take a look around out our broken society. Those mummies are probably rolling in their glass cases.

The first curse? Tooth Decay. First of all, it ruins the happiest thing we have in our dismal existences - candy. Rainbow lollipops, chocolate bars, and licorice, soda pop, and even little fruit chews with smiley faces have ulterior motives. Second of all, we are dependent on the dentist, who may as well have the head of a jackal.

The second curse? Lines. The grocery store, bank, even Disneyworld, the happiest place on earth, all have lines in common. I wish I could get embalmed now so I wouldn't have to rot away in lines. Heck, if I wanted to rot away, I would just watch tv, eat candy, or write in my blog.

The third curse? Country Music. Worse than pulling your brain out your nose.

The fourth curse? Double Knotted Shoelaces. They make you look like a nerd, but their necessity trumps their lack of style. Not only do we have to tie our shoes, we have to do it twice. It just reminds us that our best is never good enough.

The fifth curse? Facebook. Connecting you to all the people you never wanted to see again. The Ex-boyfriend, the weird kid who breathed on your arm in class, the adult version of the little kid you used to call "Fat Head". Facebook is an early Day of Reckoning.

If only I was there to interpret the hieroglyphics. I could have prevented all of this. People should come to me to prevent things more often.

Cowboys and Pioneers?

2009-07-28T10:25:00.000-07:00

Nothing screams Utah like alien hair, Mormons, and Pioneer Day!* Although, I think the alien hair has transported to Idaho. Well, and the Mormons. But Pioneer Day remains Utah's cherished holiday.

As we attended the festivities this year, I realized that some people don't quite understand the meaning behind holidays they celebrate. You'd have thought I would have figured that out when my friend asked my British neighbor how they celebrate The 4th of July where he's from. But no. It hit me when Ian pointed out the Indians pulling handcarts in the parade. I dunno. Maybe they were just portraying the assimilated Indians who journeyed with the pioneers.

Ignorance provides the ultimate conditions for deceit, so I got to scheming. I am an optimistic person. I look at every situation and ask myself, "How can this benefit me?" Then, I do whatever I can to achieve my goals, no matter the costs. It's like they always say. "It's important to be nice, but it's nicer to be important."

That's why I propose a new holiday called, "Economic Stimulus Day" on September 1st of each year. This holiday will boost the economy and raise the spirits of Americans all over the world. On September 1st, each American will send 20% of their year's earnings to a specified location that will surely distribute the cash to various clothing stores, car dealerships, and chick fil a's across the country. For now, we'll just call the specified location A.L.I.G. Get More, Inc. We're here to serve you.

I know, I know. Sometimes I even surprise myself. See you September 1st for a happy Economic Stimulus Day!

*Note: Utahns do not deserve to be stereotyped. Oh my heck are they good people.

Peeve is a Nasty Word but an Even Nastier Problem

2009-05-11T16:14:00.000-07:00

I was conversing with a fellow man about pet peeves the other day. He remarked that he hates it when people spell things rong. A stimulating discussion followed as this is my pet peeve as well. I expecially hate it when peeple spell things rong in advertisements or anything of a professional nature.

More importantly, however, the anger and consequent tension in the air after addressing this pet peeve revealed to me a more important discovery. My real pet peeve is people who actually have pet peeves. I mean, the only ones I have relate to spelling and cleverness in professional settings which, in my mind, are pretty reputable pet peeves. People who have time and a desire to think through what their pet peeves are should probably contribute that time to more worthy occupations such as inventing things, curing diseases, or bringing pogs back.

When you think about it, people who have pet peeves are the kind of people that raise their hands in class to tell the teacher he forgot the periods when he wrote, "I am smarter than everyone That's why they hate me" on the board. Or else they are the kind of people that correct you when you say, "See you tomorrow," when you won't really see them 'til the next day. "Don't you mean Wednesday, he he." "Oh right, how could I be such an idiot. Thank you for clarifying that for me." They may even tell you to stop for pedestrians or chew before you swallow. Those people. Their satisfaction must come from discovering what annoys them most and then pointing it out to people or else letting the irritation build up inside until it explodes like an eighth grade papier maché volcano project.

It doesn't help that every getting to know you game asks, "what's your biggest pet peeve?" Wait... let me grab my notebook so I can remember not to breathe around you. Pet peeves, shmet peeves. Sometimes we are too sensitive about our own comfort. Here's a list of my pet peeves:

1. People with pet peeves

2. Misspelling in a professional setting

3. People chewing with their mouth open

4. People who correct other people when what they say is understood just stated incorrectly

5. Leaving 3 seconds or more on the empty microwave

6. Buttoning the top button of a polo shirt

7. People who dislike Donny Osmond

8. Teachers that give homework over holidays

9. Stop signs

10. Country music

11. There's a lot more where that came from

12. People who make lists that don't end at 10

Woo! I'm glad I got that off my chest!

DoO DoO DOo DOo DoO DoO DOo DoO

2009-01-22T16:05:00.000-08:00

I had a real life Twilight Zone happen to me the other week.

It was a dark and stormy night. I casually walked to Doree's front door to retrieve her for the impending adventures that evening and made note that she lived in apartment 101. "Hmm...I daresay that is a palindrome," said I to myself. Feeling an instant bond with the apartment (as my name is also spelled the same forwards and backwards), I smiled as Doree shut the door behind her. "Evening," said she. I tipped my hat to her and we were on our way.

Then a terrible conflict arose. "Dear me," I said. "I am hungry." My other associates in the back of the car seconded that emotion but nobody could think up a place to dine. Then, as if some other power overtook us, we all agreed on Quiznos.

As I was engaged in the cheery conversation that surrounded me, I glanced at the address on the door of Quiznos. By golly in adhesive numbers it read 101 left to right. And right to left. "This cannot be happening," I muttered under my breath.

After a jovial time at Quiznos, we exited unaware of the unusual happenings before us. We entered the car and, as my snot was frozen inside my nose and tremors took hold of my frigid body, my eyes naturally wandered over to the temperature indicator. No, it was not 101 degrees, BUT there were exactly 101 miles left before the car would need more gas.

I recounted the story to my associates who patronized me for a small moment with their "oohs," and "ahhs," just as I expect of you. It's crazy but true. Stranger than fiction. 101% unbelievable but 101% real.

DMV? More like suck away your youth and destroy your self-esteem.

2009-01-22T14:30:00.000-08:00

I am currently on hold for the DMV to renew my license. Who would have thought that the wait music they play could make sweet little me so angry? I'm tellin' you. There isn't anything in the whole world that gets me as frustrated as smooth jazz. It's right up there with the word "b**ger" ewwww... and getting sweaters stuck on your head. Ooh, or stepping in a puddle on the kitchen floor wearing socks.

I am twenty-one years and two days old today. I really can't concentrate with this smooth jazz playing. It's been 27 minutes already. Now 29 minutes. I feel like I am lost in a Full House episode. Cut-it-out.

I finally talked to a lady. She made me feel like Danny feels when DJ tells him she doesn't want him to sing in front of her friends. I had forgotten how small and dumb I was. It was nice of her to bring that to my attention.

That reminds me. I had a little trouble paying attention in class today. Unfortunately, when I was switching hands to lean my face on, my teacher thought I was trying to answer the question. I had no idea what the question was and had to ask him to repeat it. The other kids laughed at me. Like that happens in college. Anyways, I still had no idea what he was talking about when he repeated it so I just muttered something like "education means money, like, you know, you've got a lot of it so you are realistic and um... cuz when you understand stuff you, uhhh...appreciate it. So, social class plays a role." Then the teacher gave me that, "that has nothing to do with what I asked but I am going to try to keep speaking to you and moving my hands as if you said something of value" face. I really need to learn that face before I become a teacher.

On my birthday I got a package that they stuffed so tightly in the mailbox I couldn't pull it out. After literally ten minutes of pulling at it, which ruined my hair by the way, I had to destroy it with my mail key and pull out the contents. Wouldn't you know it... the empty box was still stuck in there. Doree had to drive over and pull it out for me. Must have been a sword in the stone thing. What a champ.

I guess I can conclude that my 21 years has taught me that DMV workers are all-knowing, when in doubt use phrases like "social class" and "you know what I mean," Doree is taller, stronger, and smarter than I am, and smooth jazz still sucks.

Defining "Cool"

2008-12-23T17:17:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I feel like performing social experiments. You know, doing crazy things to see how people react. Rachel had to do one for her class once. She decided to wear two different shoes. Nobody really noticed so I guess that means it should have increased my faith in mankind or something. We certainly are a tolerant group, I mean letting people walk around with two different shoes on without so much as batting an eye? Come on!

Well, most of my social experiments are done inadvertently. I'll be minding my own business when I notice the stares, the giggles, or the foreign objects hitting the back of my head and I'll tell myself it's okay. Joke's on them.

For instance, I don't have a car and when you have to walk around Rexburg, it goes from Tinkerbell size to Rosie O' Donnell size real fast. My solution? A state of the art Razor scooter with orange wheels and foldable capabilities. When I pulled it out last, my roommate was like, "No way! You are part of the scooter gang? Cool!" I just nodded and flipped open my scooter like I knew what she was talking about. Then I was on my way.

I can get up to pretty high speeds until I see a crack in the sidewalk. Then I have to jump off real fast and run with the scooter a little ways. It often spins around and smacks me in the shin. You would think in Rexburg where kids walk around in coats long enough to cover their knees and Indian war paint a girl on a scooter would be old hat. Oh wait, that's just me.

Anyways, riding a scooter around is no picnic. People jump out of your way as if you are rolling out of control or they just give you this, "Wow, you must think you are pretty cool" look. I admit it has forced me to considerably cut down my scooter riding time which has led to other complications such as increased roundness of my abdomen and whole body in general.

I tried to take care of this roundness at the gym which led me to yet another inadvertent social experiment. I was scheduled to meet Doree there at 7:00 sharp so by about 7:05 I was running out the door. I changed into my gym clothes and realized I had forgotten my tennis shoes. Usually this isn't a problem since the shoes I wear to the gym suffice, but that day I had worn my platform heeled gray snow boots complete with little chi-chi balls that dance as I walk. Fully aware of my strict obedience to every dare presented to me, Doree suggested I wear the boots to work out. So, I slipped them on below my gym shorts and admired how well they matched my gray shirt before stepping into the crowded gym.

Doree wasn't even embarrassed of me. She's a keeper. I saw a girl I knew there and waved. She saw me alright and looked away. Lame. My cousin always tells me about cute guys she talks to at the gym, but they've never talked to me. I thought all guys really wanted was a girl with some confidence. What says confidence better than gray boots with gym shorts?

Top 5 Worst Things that Ever Happen

2008-10-17T12:52:00.000-07:00

So, I was thinking. Now that I have written about the Top 10 Greatest Things that Ever Happen, it would be foolish not to pair it with the Top 5 Worst Things that Ever Happen. That way, we can partake of the fruit. Enjoy the knowledge of good and evil. In case you were wondering, I mostly like to live in as much ignorance as possible, so I am only going to allow myself to think of 5 bad things. Once again these are in order of how they came into my mind.

1. Sneezing Right After Applying Mascara

With the concentration of a heart surgeon, mouth wide open, eyes popped, you slide the mascara wand across your delicate lashes making sure each wet ball spreads evenly to the tips. Sniffle sniffle achoo. Voila, you're an emo. Then you have to wipe it off with wet tissue getting white residue on your cheekbones and rubbing foundation off in patches in the process. Fuh-rust-trate-ing.

2. Clothes Falling Off of Hangers

You're in TJ Maxx arms full of clothes to try on when you spot the cutest jacket ever. As you go to grab it, it leaps onto the floor, hanger and all. You bend your knees, lowering yourself like a pregnant lady, and pick up the jacket from the sleeve when the hanger tumbles to the tile below. By then, I'd just drop the jacket, step on it, then walk away. Not really. Ha, that reminds me. When we were kids, one of my brothers once, I won't name names, said in a way only Eric could say, "Just throw it on the ground, that way the janitors will be happy they can do their job." Man, he's got a lot of faith in the intrinsic motivation of the business world.

3. Barfing in a Taco Bell Parking Lot

The funny thing is, I hadn't even eaten there yet. Imagine that. I was in the "ghetto" of Colorado (yup, it even had creepy gas stations) when it happened. My friends were inside Taco Bell and I was sitting on the sidewalk after puking into a vacant parking spot (don't worry, it wasn't the handicapped parking). I turned to see a ripped black man who was ripped in a tank top that showed off his rippedness with a Doo Rag on his head approaching me. He came up and said, "Hey, are you alright? Do you need me to buy you a drink or something?" Nice guy. I think he might have thought I was drunk by the way he was talking to me. I wasn't.

4. Asking a Question to Someone Who Doesn't Hear You

What are you supposed to do. Ask it again? Then everyone who DID hear you will make fun of you or laugh at your awkwardness. Don't ask it again? Then everyone who DID here you will be waiting for you to ask it. Also, you might never know the answer (not that we care about the answers to many questions we ask anyways.)

5. Writer's Block

Invitation to Inspiration

2008-10-07T20:04:00.000-07:00

Sometimes when I'm in a computer lab, I like to type random letters real fast just so people think I am a typing wizard. I was doing that just a second ago. It makes me feel like those old fashioned secretaries. Hmm... has anyone really ever examined their notes? I'd bet they all just say aslkdjfowncekneewjojfaw. Yup. People around here are lookin' at me wishing they could type that fast.

My best friend, Doree and I were just trying to write some lyrics for our big break at Music Outlet. We (I) came up with some rich stuff. Lucky for us, you don't need any musical talent to perform there, just an original song. Now I'm not saying talented people haven't performed there before but...

Well, it appears that I care an awful lot about what other people think. Not in that insecure sort of way. More like in that cocky sort of way. Yeah, that's it. I want people to know I am a typing wizard and know I am a music outlet maestro. That way they can think, man if that girl can do it, anyone can! I like to think of myself as an inspiration, really. If you have any stories about me being inspirational in achieving your dreams, feel free to write to me.

Ten? I Can Think of Ten Million.

2008-08-07T22:28:00.000-07:00

Top Ten Greatest Things That Ever Happen

(note: list in order of appearance in my stream of consciousness)

10. Finding money on the ground- is there anything sweeter than glancing up from double-knotting your shoes only to be greeted by dear Brother George Washington? I mean, seriously, it rivals finding the cure for cancer. I once found 20 bucks on the ground only to have it snatched away by a boy who'd said he lost it. That incident would go on my list of Top Ten Worst Things That Ever Happen. He gave me 2 bucks for finding it, though. The cheap dirtbag.

9. Sneezing - Few bodily functions offer as much satisfaction as sneezing. Especially when people say "God Bless You" afterwards. I mean, not only do they acknowledge your sudden discharge of saliva, they also gently plea for the welfare of your soul. Much like the Pledge of Allegiance, the ever considerate "God Bless You" has taken a backseat to the less taboo "Bless You," which I find unfortunate.

8. Getting Braces Off - Oh wait...that never happens.

7. Waking Up Before Your Alarm Goes Off - There's something strangely satisfying about beating your alarm clock even if it's at 3:00 A.M. It's like stickin it to the man, you know. Breaking the shackles of monotonous obligation that give an alarm clock its power.

6. Talking in Your Sleep - It doesn't matter what you say. When you're asleep, it's all funny.

5. Sticking Your Head Out a Car Window - heh heh whoo, that's a rush. In the event of front seat passenger drool, slow-reflexed bugs, or side swiping vehicles however, this Top Ten Greatest Things That Ever Happen item will become null and void.

4. Falling Backwards in a Chair - Funnier when it happens to somebody else. Also funny when other people fall in general. Like how Rachel slipped on the ice in Rexburg when my sudden "Ooh!" at finding 12 cents on the ground startled her.

3. Getting a Message on Facebook - Wall Posts, notifications, pokes, comments, blah blah blah. The real juicy stuff always comes through messages on facebook. Seeing a simple (1) next to "Inbox" honestly makes my heart skip a beat.

2. Finding Freak M&Ms - Quasimodo M&Ms taste better than the rest. I also love finding peanut M&Ms that are missing a peanut. Such discoveries cause me to reflect on the universal weakness of mankind. At one point or another we've all sent the peanut M&M off without its peanut. Just like all the times I've told fat jokes in front of fat friends :(

1. Candid Camera For Reals - Moments in which you look around and think, "hmm...am I on candid camera or did that really just happen." For example, I was walking by myself some feet away from an overweight middle aged woman when she stopped in front of a house, looked around, grabbed a little girl's bike from the yard and rode off only to return the bike moments later and continue on her way. "Wow," I said to myself. "That lady really just took an eight- year-old's bike for a joy ride." Yes...it's a true story.

In conclusion, life is pretty dang good.

Happy America!

2008-07-02T22:18:00.000-07:00

Well, the 4th of July is soon approaching so I may as well give a salute to America. It's a great time to reflect on the rich history of this nation. Good thing I don't know much of it, or that would take more time than my attention span allows. So instead I will salute Independence Day as I know it.

Fireworks. Some years I feel they are completely overrated, other years I can't get enough of them. Kinda like Donny Osmond. This year I'm heading to Wyoming to set them off legally. It will be quite the show. Hopefully Joseph and the Technicolor Dreamcoat quality.

Hot Dogs. If you don't know already, doctors say hot dogs may cause pancreatic cancer. Shyeah right, soon they'll be saying cigarettes cause cancer too. Ever tried Spam? I swear it's just canned hot dog with a slight cat food aroma. It's good though, you should try it.

Soda Pop. I'm usually a conservative drinker, you know one pop at dinnertime, but when the 4th rolls around, all discretion flies out the window. Unfortunately, a two liter doesn't fit in the lawn chair cupholder which is why I also salute...

Fanny Packs. The 4th brings neighbors together and for some reason it seems like neighbors are always either wearing short shorts or fanny packs. Sometimes both. Also scrunchies.

Here's to you America! Happy 4th everybody (aka, the two people who read my blog)!

Discrimination is the Best Medicine

2008-06-11T16:36:00.000-07:00

Ahh...Political Correctness (if correctness is even a word). You know, I really try to be politically correct which is hard to do in this day and age. Instead of stereotyping minorites, I find that a nice dose of reverse discrimination keeps me safe and on the politically correct track.

You know what I mean. Whenever I'm at the airport, I signal TSA about potential terrorists. I'm relieved when I see them checking twenty-two year old white women pushing strollers around. Strollers, ha, more like anthrax sponges. Whenever I'm at the clothing store, I stand next to the dressing room making sure the attendant gives the customers the right number. That Gladys is always trying to sneak leather pants out under her moo-moo. Man, that policy is sooo hetero. Whenever I am in a crowded area like church I keep careful hold of my belongings (hello tithing, cha-ching!), and check my pockets after walking past the primary children. You can never be too careful.

RUOCD2?

2008-06-11T16:13:00.000-07:00

In my opinion, everyone has mentally ill tendencies. It's one's ability to control these impulses that preserves his or her sanity. For example, are you ever sitting at your desk in the office quietly typing away when the sudden urge to climb onto your desk, do an irish jig, and sing Moulin Rouge almost overwhelms you? Or have you ever been in a dark theatre watching a play considering the consequence of giving the gray haired man directly in front of you a wet willy or at least flicking the center of his balding head? Of course no sane person would ever follow through on such impulses but we all have them.

Am I right?

Well, I'm just gonna come out and say it right now. I hate stepping on the cracks. I walk around campus with my head down dodging all the cracks in the cement. Right, it's a dumb habit, but where do you think the saying, "It's all fun and games until somebody gets hurt," came from?

So far I've diagnosed myself as having OCD tendencies mixed with slight ADD and a sprinkle of Bipolar Disorder. Guess we should add hypochondria to the list, heh heh. Consider this my plea for help.

Don't Forget a Title...Don't Forget a Title....

2008-06-11T15:43:00.000-07:00

Hey! I'm back. So, it took me about an hour to get into my blog today. It seems I forgot my password again. You know, many life experiences have proved just how poorly I keep track of information. My subconscious simply refuses to remember anything that doesn't interest me. This wouldn't be so bad if I wasn't surrounded by people who remember everything like when their friends are going on vacation, or what teachers they signed up for, or which shoe goes on which foot. I'm not kidding! I can hardly remember to zip up my pants and my friends are practically holding a gun to my head asking me to recall my pin/account number?

Well, I thought maybe I should be worried about my absentmindedness when I heard something somewhere about absent minded people being geniuses. According to this whatever it was, geniuses are forgetful because they don't focus on humdrum details that others do. Their genius minds are so busy being wildly creative, they just don't process minor information. Well, Eureka! I knew there was some way I could blame my forgetfulness on something other than genuine, inconsiderate disinterest.

Guitard

2008-05-15T18:01:00.001-07:00

I've been trying to learn the guitar for a while now. Turns out, it's kinda hard and hurts my fingers. Remember that time I asked for a unicycle for Christmas? Yeah, it's kinda like that. Sure, it "would be cool" to play the guitar or ride a unicycle, but who has that kind of motivation? But seriously, if anyone wants to teach me, I want to learn the guitar. That would be cool.

Sometimes when I have big ideas like learning the guitar or starting a blog, I picture myself getting invited to Oprah because I am so incredibly famous. I guess that's all the glory I need, because I am all talk no follow-through. No, really you should try it. It's like getting the reward without any effort, and Oprah is that cute up close.

Speaking of cute, I was applying for a scholarship the other day when I thought, wow, I can make myself sound pretty pansy-ish. Writing to me is like an excuse to be a pansy. That's why I like it so much. I can really express myself. See, "express myself" = 100 on pansy radar. You know what I mean.

I guess somebody is considered mature when they can appreciate the arts. I consider myself appreciative about the arts, but still giggle inwardly when a poet uses the word "gay" for happy or when an artist paints a bum crack. Ha, I said gay. What do you think the artist is thinking while he's painting a bum crack anyways? Does he use a model?

Nah, I really love art, but Jay knows what I'm talkin about.

Forever Young

2008-05-11T19:14:00.000-07:00

I always thought blogging was for Emo kids but here I am. This summer has been pretty exciting as always. I work putting medical kits together in a tiny room for eight hours a day. One time I counted to 1,000 just to see how long it would take. Turns out it took 23 minutes. Shoot, maybe it was 27. Well, looks like I'll have something to do tomorrow.

I've been thinking about attending the singles ward, but last time I went the only cute guy turned out to be a missionary. Also, everyone thought I was 16. I'm often mistaken for a high schooler because of my fresh, attractive features and my glistening braces. I'm actually 20 years old. When I was 18 I got carded at The Da Vinci Code. That's right...a PG-13 movie. It does have its perks though. A waiter once brought me a free kids' sundae at a barbeque restaraunt designated for children 12 and under. Also, I'm surrounded by low expectations, which makes impressing people pretty dang easy.

On June 11 I am finally getting jaw surgery to fix my bite. That means the braces come off around November. Watch out world. I am pretty excited about it. It means I will be on a liquid diet for about 6 weeks eating my meals through a syringe, but hey my teeth will finally fit together. My roommate suggested I eat an entire jar of peanut butter to gain weight before the operation. In my opinion, this is the best advice I've ever received.