Ice Ice Baby

I've been informed that ice crunching means more than a signal of iron deficiency.

Supposedly ice crunchers have pent up sexual tension...

I think I'll leave it at that. :)

Soy divertida!

Today someone threw me off guard. (Today by the way has been a much better day.) They asked me the simplest question. Subtracting school work and subtracting acting...

What do you do for fun?

And you know what. I was stumped. I know that I do stuff, but it has been a while since I sat down and made time for fun. Ack! I am my mother.

So over the next couple of days, weeks, whatever, I'm going to compile a list of things I like to do for fun. Not things I do because they will make me a better person. Not things I do that make others happy. (I'm not saying I shouldn't do those or that I'll stop.) But things I do to make me, Emily, happy. Feel free to contribute things you think I like to do in the form of comments. Or suggest things you like to do. I need ideas.

#1 I shamelessly drop anthing I'm doing whenever I notice Good Will Hunting is on TV. Life stops, whether there is five minutes or two hours left in that movie.

Breakthroughs and breakdowns

Did you ever just feel so nauseated from personal emotions that you wanted to vomit them all over the sidewalk and never have to deal with them again? I know. The image is graffic. I just feel so... sick. I don't know. I feel confused, disappointed, tired (thank you mono-relapse), overwhelmed, and lazy. And, I just feel like a slacker for feeling this way. There are so many elements out of my control and while I should be able to recognize this and move on I keep snagging my foot in the door.

Today was incredible for me in Improv though. I took risks I never would have taken before. I guess I just wanted the opportunity to prove what I have on stage. Is that vain? I don't know. I just want to cry from feeling... lost. It's not about not getting a part. It's not about other problems and struggles I'm currently dealing with. It's a general all around feeling. I'm tired of it. I know that I'll learn something from this crap I'm feeling right now. But, for once I'm tired of lessons. I know that I have to trust God knows what is best for me. Right now though I'm having a hard time. I hate that I feel that way. I hate that I can't think, "Hey, you know what's best. If I willingly turn my life over to you, you will make me happier than I could ever make myself alone." I hate that I feel like I'm making myself unaccessible to the Atoning power of Jesus Christ. I want to be forgiven and feel peace. I want to be rid of all my ill feelings so I can accomplish what I need to.

I guess if I can't vomit physically (and trust me my stomach definitely wants to) a verbal hurling will have to do. So here's a page full of blah. And here's a vulnerable Emily for the taking.

From great generations come great questions

It's been almost ten months since my grandfather passed away and I am reading the 100 American Milestone Documents for my American Heritage class. Right now I am on President Franklin Roosevelt's Radio Address unveiling the second half of the New Deal (1936). This affected my grandfather's life! He voted; he was concerned. It makes me want to cry. I wish I could talk to him again about what it was like. How he made decisions.

I chuckle to myself when I think about my grandfather's political affiliations. He would never talk politics with anyone. He said the three things you never talk about with a man so as to avoid confrontation are Politics, Religion, and How to Raise a Family. Because everyone thinks they're right and no one wants to change. But, my grandfather broke his rule. One day as I was folding laundry he came up to me and just spilled out all of his feelings about the current political news. I think Clinton's scandal had just erupted. And, even though my grandfather had some of the highest morals I have ever known I was surprised about what he had to say. He told me about Kennedy. He talked to me about the New Deal. He wanted me to not evaluate a person based on one area of their life, but to look at the entire picture. He wasn't saying what Clinton did was right. He wasn't saying that Clinton was the perfect president. He was giving me a lesson in how to judge a man (or rather a lesson in how I should never make face judgements on a man). He was teaching me about life by swirling me among the images of his world. For a time I was enshrouded with images of the CCC, World War II, Vietnam, and the Great Depression.

I don't think he ever talked politics with anyone but me from then on. At least in the immediate family. Another day when he found out what I had registered as he came up and said "We're a lot alike you and me." I was thinking "How much of me is him? How much of me wants desperately to be the kind of man he is? Concerned about everyone's needs around him." And, as I silently wish my own political beliefs upon others I can't help but think about why they are what they are. How much of who they are is composed of their role models? Are they thinking "how much of me is him?"

I've been realizing more and more that I need to become more socially active in my community. I don't mean in an annoying "I'm going to force my opinion on you whether you like it or not" kind of way. I mean that I need to stake a claim to my beliefs, reevaluate them all the time, and look for opportunities to serve others. I don't want people to look at what I represent and see me as just a result of my desired profession or a desire to be an odd-ball in a very dominant culture. I want people to see who I am and what I stand for and say "Hey... that's Emily." I want to live my life and when I die my grandchildren say. "How much of me is her?" "How much of me is her?"

All the colors of the rainbow

One week of school down. Too bad I'm still kind of clueless about my schedule. To quote Sheila "Oh Emily. You're so pretty." (As she pats my silly little head.) However, it looks like I got into the section of Acting Improvisation that I wanted to get into. Several of my acting friends are probably not happy about it, but I'm doing what I can to get into the major. Which I found out is looking more and more positive. Thank goodness. I was so worried. One more audition and if I improve even just a little from last time I should make it.

Speaking of auditions I auditioned for a couple of shows. I got the lead in a student written, student directed show that will be put on one of the mainstages here. I'm still kind of shocked about that one. The other two shows that I auditioned for are biggies here on campus. I didn't make call backs for the Shakespeare, "Two Gentleman of Verona." But to my complete surprise I did for "Getting Married!" "Getting Married" by George Bernard Shaw is the senior project. There was one role that could be filled by an undergraduate girl and I was one of four to get called back. I don't know yet if I'll get the part but I was honored to even be considered. I think I have a good chance at playing Edith. But we'll see. "Getting Married" would be the first show at BYU where I would have a lead. Plus, the director is the head of the acting department. And, I'd be working with all seniors who know the ins and outs of the major and it would be incredible to just glean some of the knowledge they have gained over their years at BYU. Okay, it already sounds like my hopes are sky high, but I really am trying to be as realistic about it as possible. If it doesn't work out it will definitley be fine. I have a lot on my plate as is.

So the Utahn who speaks Italian who I kind of liked never called me back. (Ha. To all those people who think I date like crazy or weild some sort of magic influence over guys.) However, the guy that I sort of was amazed with all last year is in two of my acting classes and appears somewhat interested. He is incredibly talented and driven (the qualities I find most attractive) and frankly the fact that I even like a teensy bit scares me to death. Can I like an actor? My mom would flip, that's for sure. I'm not pushing this in one way or the other. I recently saw him in a performance and was reminded again of how talented he is, and two that he is an amazing kisser. Which reminded me of the fact that I still haven't kissed on or off the stage. My fear and anticipation of this is now reaching epic proportions. What if I'm boring? What if I'm a drooler? Would you guys still associate with me?

:) I was just thinking of this conversation I had with one of my guy friends. He laughed when he noticed how frequently I chew my ice. "You know what all that ice chewing means, right Emily?" "Yeah," I began eyeing him carefully, "it means I'm iron deficient." "Well, that too." "Wait, hold up what else does it mean?" I responded. "You're sexually frustrated." Well I guess Sheila was right again about those Mormons. ;)

Anyway, back to this boy. He has the coolest name. I think when he was born his parents were like, "I want this son to be an actor. So let's call him..." His name is a color. And no it's not analogous to the Paltrow "Apple." I realize by now that any one of my acting friends could figure out who the guy is by now so I might as well use his name. But, I don't know. A little mystery never hurt anyone. Which is why I guess my friendship with him right now has got me so intrigued.

Death to the Hangout Kings

Only in Provo is "hanging out" spoken out against. Date. Date. Date! is the mantra now. Actually that's not entirely accurate. We just have this ecclesiastical leader who thinks that all the boys in our ward are shallow and will only ask out hott girls. Or the Bishop thinks that the guys go over in droves of four or five to ravage the girls' apartments of their food. Okay. Whatever.

The problem is you have a couple of girls who go crying to the Bishop about how they are not getting asked out. Translation: They are not getting asked out by the ward 6-Pack and turn down any guy that looks a little like John Heder. (No offense to dear Napolean.) And I said looks a little, not acts a lot like. :) Get with it girls and get with it dear Bishop. I agree that some of the guys need to date more. And, sometimes it's a little hard to understand what a guy's intentions are if he is coming over frequently but never taking the relationship to the next level. (Although if you are just misconstruing friendship for something more than that's your fault chica.) But honestly, I'd rather get asked out less than get asked out every night of the week by some stranger I don't really know to walk around Kiwanis Park for the eighth time sharing a fifty cent ice cream cone. Can you even buy a fifty cent ice cream anymore? Oh well, as they say in Italy Chu ca fa (or something like that).

Focaccia!

Another couple of crazy weeks gone by. Last Saturday I went on a double date with my roommate. It was the first time we had been invited out on a date together. We went rock climbing which was a lot of fun. Well, we like to say 3/4 of the date was fun. We liked the activity, we liked being with each other, and we liked one of our dates. The other was well... you meet all kinds of people here. :p And, no comment on whether it was her or my date.

Anyhow at one point during the date we had a little fire to roast marshmallows. My date served a mission in Italy so he knew Italian. I know Spanish so I thought I'd have some fun con la lenguaje. As he was building the fire I said in a somewhat sultry voice Que bella. To which he responded Mama Mia! Lake was like what the heck are you saying. So I repeated the conversation and she blurted out loudly "well then... Focaccia! Rigatoni!" I love her.

But my life has been full of white Utahns who know Italian. Especially one in particular... That's right! Emily has finally progressed to developing a crush on a boy! Who knows where this will lead. At least I know I'm not asexual. ;)

You want a job with that?

For all of my friends who have wondered how long I could annoy them by saying I'm getting a job and not getting one, the end is in sight. Actually you have already hit the brick wall because today was my first day of getting paid for a job you clock in at. And just what glorious position of work does Emily have? I am a CASHIER GIRL. :) I'm actually really excited. I will be getting paid. On a regular basis. Real money. It won't be 100 bucks for 80 hours a week (*ahem Millbrook* though I love it). I will be working at the Cougar Express. It's this checkout place that people can by a drink or a bag of chips at. And because I'm working there I will see everyone on campus. I'll be the hottie in the hairnet.

I've decided that as much as Utah is ragged on, it's a pretty cool place. There is so much to do, and the people are awesome. It's great to play a flirt again. And, I love my roommates. I'll miss having my sister out here with me. She seems to fit in so well with my ward. Okay so I have so much to do today and yet I'm blogging. I think I'm in denial that summer is drawing to an end. I have a lot of mixed feelings about that. Namely, I can't be lazy.

Oh, and because I love them so much here's another list of why I'm really happy with the way my job is working out right now.

1. The hours. My schedule is insane. I really want to be an acting major so I didn't want something that would absorb all my time. Just a little supplementary job. Six hours plus all the subbing I can choose from is plenty for me.
2. I can take all the classes I planned on taking.
3. I can still go to Devotional.
4. I can audit Norwegian. ;)
5. I will be paid a decent amount.
6. I won't be around food every day. Only the days I'm subbing so I won't smell like hamburgers. Not that there's anything wrong with hamburgers; I just don't think it'll will be Elizabeth Taylor's next perfume line.

Why procrastination sucks

So I have these friends who have successfully gotten away with procrastination for... well, a long time now; and, I don't know I thought maybe just maybe I would try it. I did this for a number of reasons. One becuase of what I was delaying. I fly out from PA to Mormonville tomorrow. No, today! (As it's 12:30 at night and my sister and I fly out of Baltimore at 6 pm.) And, packing always seems so final. Two maybe everything would magically arrange itself in my suitcase at the last minute and I wouldn't have to face the fact that I won't see some of the most amazing people in the world for another four and a half months. I think I'm beginning to see what I'm really blogging about. It's not procrastination. Even though I discovered that it definitely doesn't work for me. It's leaving all of this behind. Sappy, sappy, Emily. Good grief.

On some positive notes. I came back from the shore a darker shade of fair. This can only be determined by putting my arm next to my stomach. Yeah, the whole two-piece scandal fell through. I really have no guts. Another is the memories I have. My mom being "attacked" by a wave and jumping into my beach chair for protection. This attempt to save herself not only failed miserably but it resulted in her getting a huge bruise on her leg and the two of us toppled in a heap on the beach. We were covered in sand and let's say indecently readjusted in our swimwear. Of course it's much funnier to hear my mom tell the story. She is a character. I'll miss that. And, I'm really happy I can say that I'll miss that. Another great memory of the beach trip is watching my supposedly frugal brother (ha) waste all of his money on one of those vending machine claw things. He did get a dollar bill out of it. (After spending five.) And he was going to take the dollar back home and wave it in our faces to prove that the game could be beat, but then the kid that went next to him put in a quarter and on his first try got five bucks out of the machine. My brother never came back with the dollar. Or anything else for that matter. The dweeb. Boy I love him. :)

So I think I'm getting sentimental again and normally I could care less if I put anyone through the cheesy good stuff, but I'm feeling exceptionally raw tonight. Too much going on that I've had to leave unsaid for tonight. Too much to think about. And, too mono-annoyed of a body to stay awake any longer for all of this. You know I love ya.

A Very Merry July

To the beach my family is venturing. We survived the pre-vacation packing. Huzzah! Though the entire time I felt like Lucille 2 from Arrested Development. Vertigo/Mono-- it's one and the same. I figured out how I got mono. I did get it from a boy. Not from kissing, from sharing the same darn drink. So life lesson to be learned: boys really do have cooties.

I can't believe that I'll be back in Utah so soon. School's in a month. Gross. I have so much to do. Having mono has been an enlightening experience. I really don't know how to relax and when to slow down. I've also become really aware of my spleen.

Things I want to do while at the beach:

1. Lay in the wonderful, wonderful sun.
2. Tan in a two-piece. (A little scandalous, this I know.)
3. Read. Specifically Harry Potter, though I've been having mixed feelings about reading it. I love the book. But I am knowing I'll have to wait another two years for another and then the series will end.
4. Eat my fill of seafood. I can't afford it while in college. Bless those wonderful parents for allowing me to mooch so much of it now.

Send me a comment for more wonderful beach bum ideas.

The Kissing Disease

No. This is not Emily announcing her desire for men and their lips. (Even though that is never too far from her thoughts.) This is her announcement that she has mono. So before my dear friends stop inviting me places or coming to see me because they think I am infectious here are some things they should know.

1. Mono is contracted 30 days before the symptoms appear. Before a scapegoat is hung, none of you PA people gave it to me. You can relax.
2. There is nothing anyone can do to avoid getting mono. Oh sure you can stop kissing people. (For you lucky jerks who get all the action-- why quit when you're ahead? :) ) You can not share sodas. But mono can be picked up from just breathing. And, since 85% of the population are carrying the virus as we speak, it's pretty hard to guess who not to speak to. Unless anyone wants to live like Jake Gyllenhall in Bubble Boy it's best to get over the paranoia. If you haven't contracted mono already you will. Might as well hang around me so you can get it before school starts. (I'm kidding. I'm not infectious now.)
3. Compared to rheumatic fever, the black lung *cough* (Mmm. Derek Zoolander), lukemia, and emphezema, mono is relatively mild.
4. Symptoms can be misinterpreted as Strep or a spider bite (both I have experience with so it was an easy misdiagnosis).
5. I'm alive, doing fine, wishing I could run around, but seeing all the movies people have made me all my life for never seeing. I'm taking recommendations.

There it is to a T. What's funny is the only symptom I do not have is being continually tired. Luckyyyy. Actually not being tired is driving me crazy. I feel like I should be running around, playing with my cousins, the works. But no... I'm stuck in a couch. Couches I've determined are death. Well, they're boring. Sometimes my temperature spikes up. That always makes me tired. Yay for hot flashes and cold spells. Being sick with mono is like being on that acid trip I'll never take.

Well, I'm breaking the first Mono-Recovery Commandment:

THOU SHALT SLEEP

I need to get some zzzs. If anyone needs me I'll be self-medicating with Arrested Development on DVD, Anna Karenina (see former blog), and Harry Potter. Or I'll be redirecting the Emily Burnworth/Johnny Depp collaboration of Charlie and The Chocolate Factory. But that's a whole other blog...

Who wants to be Russian?

Certain friends of mine have inspired me to try the Honors Program again. In an attempt to get into it again I decided to read Anna Karenina. I figured if its good enough for Oprah its good enough for me. (I don't really base all of my decisions off of that woman. I had wanted to read Anna Karenina before.) Well, all I have to say is Tolstoy is deceptive. I read The Death of Ivan Illych last year and it was a quick read. Needless to say I didn't know Anna was an epic 900 pages. I should have known better; I mean, Tolstoy did write War and Peace.

I didn't like Ivan so I don't really know why I took a crack at Anna Karenina. There was something about a screaming, dying man that just didn't do it for me in Ivan. But Anna is surprisingly good. I'm trying to read 100 pages a day, which is a lot easier to do when a book is not like reading a driver's manual... or pilot light instructions. :) My favorite book is also by a Russian--Crime and Punishment. So now I just want to eat Borscht and listen to my friends who served Russian-speaking missions. Plus, it's awesome that Russians have about six names. I would be referred to as Emily Diane, Emmie, Emilia Diana, and Evelyn Daphne (that shows how random they are sometimes). Go land of the Rus!

Inadequacies

I'm home. It felt so good to see Caitlin, Jackie, Sheila, and Brian today. It amazes me that six months have passed since I have seen them last. So much has happened in that time and despite all of the change that has occurred in our lives, talking to them is like sinking into my favorite easy chair. Not that my friends are easy. ;)

I know that I should never compare my own progress in life to anyone else's, but sometimes I find it difficult to not feel like a slug. Some of my new friends amaze me. They are the types that are pulling a zillion different degrees in college, maintaining a 4.0, applying to grad schools at places most people dream of, running their own non-profit organizations, upholding church callings, working, being in plays, and still managing to have dance parties in their apartments. I love them; they challenge me and make me focus on what is important to me in my life. I don't know. I guess I wonder what I'm supposed to be doing right now. Where am I supposed to be? I've got all these loose ends that I don't tie up because I'm not sure which ones should be tied.

Tomorrow I want to go swimming. I want to go to the library and check out some books for my Honors requirements. I want to go hiking. I want to talk to my sister. I want to prepare my devotional for Sunday evening. I want to go see Caitlin's show. I want to call a close counselor friend of mine and ask if I can volunteer for any of her programs.

Somethings bound to succeed. I'll figure out what I"m supposed to do somehow.

Let Hell Week Begin...

Thus begins our tech runs for Holes. 9-2 classes. 6-11 rehearsals. 8 credits. Yep I'm might have just entered the realm of insanity. It's about time I joined all of you guys who live a crazy busy life. ;)

Tonight I don my long, curly, goregeously Gothic, Latvian wig. And a tiny corselet that reminds me why I'm glad I was born in this time period. Then I get to marry my "dad's" best friend, the old, fat pig farmer Igor Barkov. It's times like these that remind me of why I love theatre. (Wish you all could see me squeal like a pig.)

Why Emily hasn't gone grocery shopping...

In response to Sheila's response on my blog I am updating. Not because I have the time and not because all of you are hanging on my every word, but because I love Sheila. Yes, sweetheart that was for you. :) I realize that the whole Rob thing is a dead horse I've resurrected just to beat back into the ground. But, those of you who know me know that I'll probably be dealing with that on some degree for the rest of my life. In a much happier sense I am sure.

So it's been a blessing that I haven't been grocery shopping.
1. Because I don't have the money
2. Because I don't have to ride the bus to get to the store
3. Because I don't have to feel guilty for asking my parents for money.
4. Because this punk girl who owes me 130 smackos still hasn't paid me because "wo is her, she doesn't have the money either." I'm sorry but screwing me over doesn't really cut it. She promised that she would pay me absolutely no later than May 1. Welcome to May 10 and her second housing reimbursement is due. Snarl.
5. Because the creamery's selection is really getting boring. And who wants to pay five bucks for a Box of Honey Nut Cheerios.

I sound bitter. I'm really not. I'm loving college right now. I have a feeling this going to be a long blog as I explain what's going on in my brain and in my life.

I love my new apartment and the people living at and around my complex. This is where the not having to pay for my dinners partly comes in. I've actually been asked out on dates. It's been the weirdest thing. And I feel kind of guilty because I'm so used to doing the asking and at least going dutch on the bill. The guys at my complex are older and all of them have jobs and cars. So I've gone to restaurants rather than the normal Cougareat. My brother would be proud. I've actually gotten out.

I wrote about two pages more and all of it got deleted. I love you all and want you to know what's going on in my life, but I do not have another half hour to spend trying to remember what I typed. Darn technology.

Loving the love of my life

It's a Saturday. I'm going out with the girls for Coldstone and a movie at the dollar theatre. That should be nice. Currently I'm listening to A New Brain, a musical about a homosexual couple struggling with the problems that heterosexuals face. And darn it, all I can think about is Rob. I still love him... and I think I will all my life. It's so frustrating because I know he's happy with Kyle. And I love Kyle; he's great and he makes Rob happy. And Rob's happiness is all I care about.

So there's one song on the CD called "An Invitation to Sleep in My Arms." Gordo has brain problems, possibly a tumor, so everyone is unsure how much longer he will live. His boss is expecting him to finish writing the song to his musical by that night or he'll lose his job. But Roger, his lover, has just invited him to sleep in his arms. Who knows how much more time they have to share with each other in life. And they argue about which is more important. Here are some of the lyrics:

Roger:

Would you ever
Consider
Lying close to me tonight?
Could be exciting.
I'm inviting you to sleep in my arms.
Maybe we'll laugh to loud
Maybe we'll dance and you will sing.
Maybe we'll smile at all the pleasures
Sex and eating often bring.
Maybe we'll say no words.
Just saying nothing is sublime.
Maybe we'll read a book you always meant to read
For which you never had the time.

Forget the writing,
I'm inviting you
To sleep in my arms.
And if you snore,
I'll let you snore.
Maybe there's more,
Maybe there's more.

It's funny. When I romantically loved Rob all I wanted was to sleep in his arms. Just wake up and see him smile at me and stroke my hair. I hope he's happy and getting everything he ever wanted.

It's not that I'm not dating. I am. More so right now than I ever have. (Don't think that's a ton, it's like twice a month.) But in that very back corners a part of my heart is saved for him. I know in time that will go away. I anticipate it. But still I love him. I think I always will.

The Bags I Carry... both under my eyes and from obligations

It's late. I should be working on my lesson for Enrichment. I should be reading my scriptures. I should be studying Spanish. But most of all I should be sleeping. Instead I feel compelled to write. I've just been so stressed lately. This weekend will not be a weekend. I have two tests on Monday, another Spanish test Wednesday, cleaning checks, Enrichment, and acting practice tomorrow, and performances to attend, Holes meetings, and dance midterms next week. Yay for me.

I saw "Left Behind" tonight. It was a modern dance performance of the women who were left behind when their husbands served in the Mormon Batallion. My modern dance teacher choreographed the best number. She is incredible and I love her. Everytime I see a performance I think, my word I want to be able to dance like that. The sad thing is I probably never will be able to, but I am working so hard at improving. My teacher says that I should not give up hope, and that I should audition for the production. Especially since she heard I could sing. (How does she KNOW that? I never told her.) I need to think positively. I need to believe that some day I might be able to move in the way I saw those women move.

I have no idea what I'm going to do about classes for this spring (and next fall). I'm so confused with life. I know I want to get a BFA in either Music Dance Theatre or Acting, but I don't know what that's going to be and how I'm going to be able to squeeze everything in. I wish life were just slightly more seamless right now. I can't think of anything else I want to do than act and sing. I really feel like that is where my calling is. So often I worry if Heavenly Father has a completely different objective for me.

I need sleep. I guess I'll get up early do yoga, prepare my enrichment lesson, shower, and study. Wow, that sounds social. I'm really trying to find balance. Obviously this weekend won't be a success. Cest la vie. I wish I could sleep for twelve hours. Five or six will have to do.

Waking up to the college life

This morning I was awakened to my wonderful friend Camie. I think it was the first time in a loooong time that anyone woke me up by tapping on my door or saying Good Morning to me. I realize that that makes me sound like a nut, but if you didn't know that already well then you really shouldn't be reading my blog. Anyway it was nine o'clock, a reasonable time on a Saturday I suppose. (I went to bed after four last night so my body didn't really agree.) But we had the nicest visit. I keep thinking about how she will be going to BYU-Idaho next year. That will really suck. We've both gotten to be so close. As girls usually talk about boys, she left me thinking about one in particular that I find rather intriguing.

First, it should be known that it takes me a long time to develop a crush on someone. It took me over three years to fall in love with my best friend, and another three to learn to love him in a different way when I was dealt the reality blow. So the fact that I was thinking about a boy on a half sunny/ half rainy Saturday was unique. I fell asleep with him on my mind and ended up dreaming about him. It was a weird dream where he held my hand in the produce section of the Creamery while we ducked out of view of this weird stalker boy that keeps following me around. I really have no idea why I am writing this. Perhaps the maudlin effects of Moulin Rouge are working on me. But honestly you think that watching a full hour of Mr. Bean would assuage those emotions. :)

As far as the basic details of my life go... Spanish is killer. I study for hours to get B's if I'm lucky. We just finished studying when to use the pluperfect subjunctive or pluperfect indicative, positive and negative pronoun modifiers, impersonal speech, and indirect speech. My brain is swimming. I don't know why I have the desire to keep studying this language, but I really want to learn it. My teacher is inspirational. She is from Columbia and just this week finished her thesis. So she's going to get her doctorate after a fifteen year struggle to learn English, to get an education, and to combat discrimination as a Latina. When I went out to dinner last night with my friends she was there. It's really fun talking to her because she needs to practice English and I need to practice Spanish so we switch. And she'll be like ohhh how you say frijol in English, and I'm like "Bean, maestra!" She calls me Tia because Emily is too difficult to pronounce. I like her nickname; it reminds me of Mrs. Mosser and my PA friends.

I auditioned for a role in BYU's production of Holes. (Yes, the same Holes as the book and movie.) There are so few female parts, but I did end up getting one! My character is Myra, which no one probably even remembers. She has about six lines. However the only other female character that can be played by a girl my age has about twelve lines. To get an idea about who Myra is... In the beginning she is the girl that earns Stanley's great-grandfather his curse. The one that the fat pig debate is over. The director described the character to me as dumb as dirt. The only thing she has going for her is that she is incredibly beautiful. I don't know whether to find this description flattering or... well, fill in the blank if you want. So this should be interesting. This also clinches the fact that I will be staying here for the spring semester.

It is now two o'clock and the weird bell tower is ringing. I am still in my pijamas... I'm turning into a true college student. So this blog was kind of a weird hodgepodge of things. But that's kind of the way my life has been assimilated lately. Here's to dreaming of handholding, passing Spanish, and playing a ditz. (Which my parents keep saying is not too far of a stretch.)

Son of a...

So I'm taking TMA 121, Voice and Diction for acting majors. We study the International Phonetic Alphabet and are learning how to speak the Standard American dialect. To those of you who don't know how that's any different from normal speaking think of hearing Shakespeare performed. The actors don't sound like normal people, they sound kind of British. At the same time though they sound too American to be British. There you have it Standard American.

Well on Wednesday one of my fellow MDT friends in the class brought up the real reason we were all taking Voice and Diction. (Yeah, I know it's required for the Music Dance Theatre major but that's small beans when compared to this trying argument.) The girl--whose name also happens to be Emily-- (Welcome to BYU... where if you don't have five brothers and sisters and at least on of them is named Emily or Ryan you should transfer.) dropped the loaded question. "So if we're learning the original form of speech, or the proper way of speaking... how does one pronounce c-r-e-e-k?" A silence fell over the classroom. You may think I'm kidding but everyone held rapt attention. Unfortunately our teacher, who is red-headed, Mormon version of Jim Carey was being entertained by someone else. I dug out my International-Phonetic-Alphabet-Standard-American-Whatever-the-heck-else dictionary to see what the authorities said.

While flipping through the pages I couldn't help but remember sixth grade. I had a different teacher on Fridays for some weird reason that takes too long to explain. Mrs. Lavelle was an angel when compared to the regular teacher. Unlike the she-who-will-not-be-named, Mrs. Lavelle knew how to relate to us. During English class one day the creek/crick argument came up and she settled it on spot.

"This is the way I look at it. Do we have a town in our community called Beech Creek or Bitch Crick?" To sixth graders who had just started getting the flavor for cuss words on their tongues she taught us a lesson in proper English we would never forget.

So that's what I was thinking as I was looking up what the dictionary said. Here is the passage that I found:

"Creek" prounounced creek and crick, crick is much less frequently used in the South, but appears to be the native form in the North and East. Creek, originally a North British dialect form, is still native in the Appalachians. According to Horn's, Jordan's, and Luick's Historical English Grammars, crick represents the original word, later altered to creek and then spelt c-r-e-e-k. Crike is the much earlier recorded form. At first creek was not a spelling pronunciation, but the spelling creek doubtless encouraged it's spread. Luick thinks that American crick represents the normal Standard English development.

I couldn't believe it. All these years I grew up thinking I was better that the back woods Pennsylvania kids because I said creek. Turns out they were right and Mrs. Lavelle was wrong. I live near Bitch Crick.

The heartbreaker that I am

In a few short days we will have entered what I have now dubbed the Seargent Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club month. However, I refuse to wallow in my singlehood. The first reason is that V-day is just another completely commercialized holiday to get boys to spend money on roses or chocolates. (I don't like either, so in case a boy does feel like going out on a limb for me they don't have to spend much.) The second reason is I've been free for 19 years. 19 years of personal development! How many people can say that? Okay so maybe that's just a bunch of hoopla to convince myself that I am just too cool for a relationship. And that I intimidate boys. I've been told it's my height, it's my confidence, it's my femininity (riiight to that one), blah, blah, blah. Frankly it doesn't really matter.

For while I think that it would be really cool to get to know someone at a more personal level and perhaps you know kiss a little, :) I've realized that relationships scare me. (Plus, can't you just get to know someone at a more personal level by just being friends?) I have applied my self-evaluation during my classes. Here is what I've discovered. Marriage is freakin' scary. And, I don't want it to happen to me for awhile. I think this is why I steer away from the returned missionaries. I actually decided to forgo my earlier plan of taking Doctrine and Covenants before Book of Mormon part 2 for this very reason. I sat in DC class surrounded by all of these guys that a couple of weeks ago were spouting off scripture in fifty different languages and for some reason (call it paranoia if you will) they all looked like they were going to pounce on me with an engagement ring (another thing I don't really like or want).

What all of this has to do with the Seargent Pepper month is kind of beyond me now. But any reference to the Beatles is usually a good one. I guess what I want is to have a boy pay me some interest. Even if it were to just to get to know me better as a friend. It's also kind of a reassurance that no I'm not the intimidating "Abominable Snow Girl" I think I am. (Personal joke, sorry.) So February looks interesting one way or the other. Either I'll find a friend or discover more of me... and if I get too lonely I'll just put on some George Harrison and call it a month.