Spiders, part IV

I'm pleased to announce that I've experienced a paradigm shift.

After my initial post about spiders, someone explained a theory he had about bees and spiders, etc. I don't completely remember the conversation, but I walked away considering the idea that spiders and bees maybe, possibly, are not very emotional creatures. Whoever it was told me that he didn't really think that they had feelings. It was something I had never really thought about. At the time of the conversation, I'll admit that I was less than convinced of his viewpoint.

All along, I've been feeling like spiders and bees were part of some sort of conspiracy. And as I continue to reflect on the conversation that I had with whichever friend it was, I realize more and more that my thoughts were completely irrational and, really, impossible. Insects and arachnids simply do not hold conferences to discuss attacking humans. They don't have squashing drills where they practice dodging shoes or jumping around wads of tissue. Big spiders don't tell baby spiders about the thrill of scaring a poor girls into abandoning perfectly good blankets or rooms. They just don't. It's all just very disturbing anthropomorphism, and it probably stems from books like Charlotte's Web and James and the Giant Peach.

Since then, I've realized that my friend is right. And suddenly, spiders seem much less dangerous that they did before.

I have exciting evidence that attests to my change: I have (personally) killed four spiders in the last three days. And two other insects. And I smashed all of them with my bare hands! Okay, not really. I actually used tissue for three of them. And a shoe for a really big and juicy one. I'm so proud of myself, though, because I really couldn't kill spiders before. It's still progress, though. The best I could do was spray excessive amounts of smelly spider-killer on them, and even then I was afraid to pick up the bodies for fear that they would come back to life.

You still won't see me on Fear Factor anytime soon, but I would like to thank whoever it was that I chatted with.

Did you hear about Hugo and Kim?

Almost every day, funny things happen at the call center.

Management specifically tells us not to try to convince people to be interested in online college classes: either they are interested, or they are not, and either answer is okay. We just want to know.

People don't realize that, though. They think that we're going to pressure them to spend money or sign up for something, so they get really defensive. They just wanted their FREE! Dinner for two at Chili's! or FREE! Pair of jeans! Or to WIN! A laptop!!! and so they clicked some button saying that they were interested in college classes.

Occasionally, people will admit that they just wanted the free thing, and that they're not really interested. I commend their honesty. More often, people will say they "made a mistake," and that's okay too. (I've made a huge mistake!) Or they'll say that they don't remember filling the form out. Fine. [My personal favorite response is "Oh, I changed my mind. I'm not interested anymore." In that one, they're taking responsibility for having expressed the interest (however fleeting and related to incentive), and still communicating their disinterest politely.]

Other times, interesting things happen. Sometimes people (other than the ones that we're calling for) start interrogating us (sometime I'll have to post about the time that I actually was interrogated...). When it happens, it usually turns out to be:

1) A jealous spouse. (Sad. My husband and I will not have trust issues when telemarketers call.)
woman's voice: "Hello?"
me: "Hi, is John there?"
her: "Who is this?"
me: "It's [me] with the [Company], is he there?"
her: "Why are you calling?"
me: "He had expressed an interest in some college classes. Can I talk to him?"
her: "College classes?!"
me: "Yes..."
her: "And you're from where?"
me: [sigh.]

2) A concerned parent. Since people are kind of greedy, they sometimes try to maximize their share of FREE!* (*but not really) stuff by signing up their children for free stuff too.

"Hi, is Madison there?"
"Madison? What's the last name?"
"Yeah. Jones. Is she there?"
"Um. Well, this is the Jones', but...Madison? What does this regard?"
"Oh, I'm calling her back about some college classes she had expressed an interest in. Can I talk to her?"
"Who is this?!"
"It's [me]. She'd filled out a form saying she was interested--"
"College classes!! Madison is two months old!"
"Oh! I guess that's a little early to be starting college."
"Yeah, I don't know how that happened!"
(I do.)

In another variation of this, a kid actually does sign up, but they're too young and don't have their parents' permission. This is especially concerning to parents when my male coworkers call for their middle-school aged daughters.

3) A confused relative. This is actually a variation of #2.

"Henry?"
"Yeah, is he there?"
"Um. Henry? What is this about?"
"Oh, I'm calling him back about some college classes she had expressed an interest in. Can I talk to him?"
"Who is this?!"
"It's [me]. He'd filled out a form saying she was interested--"
"No! College classes!! Henry is 293847239 years old!"
"Oh!."
"Yeah, he's not interested in classes. I don't know how -that- happened!"
(I do.)

4) Something completely random.

We tell people that we're calling from the "Career Institute" and sometimes people misunderstand what we're saying. One time a guy got really mad that my coworker Joe was calling.

"Who IS this?"
"It's Joe."
"From WHERE?"
"The Career Institute."
"[much calmer] Oh! You had me worried there for a minute. I thought you said you were calling from the "Queer Institute."

Or another time, as an attempt to embarrass my coworkers, a guy pretended to be really friendly on the phone, but kept giving pornographic...instructions? to someone that was in the background. Really disgusting stuff. The high school kids who called him loved it. The called back again, and put the guy on speaker phone, and he did it again. I was already tired of their immaturity and lack of professionalism, and after that, I had them moved.

Yesterday, I heard a lady frantically tell someone on her side of the phone that there were police all around the house. She returned to our call and asked me if I could please hold for two minutes. I could, I told her. It took more than two minutes, but when she came back, she was really interested in online college classes. She wanted to take criminal justice classes. Didn't matter which degree, she said. I found that amusing.

Also yesterday, I called a nun. She wasn't there, but that left me with some questions. Can nuns take college classes? Do they use the Internet? Do they apply for FREE!* dinners and jeans and to become mystery shoppers? Do their relatives do that on their behalf? I just really didn't expect that from them.

Last week I kept calling a Mary Katherine. We keep the same papers, so I call each person up to four times (until I talk to them) and then the morning people will try four more times if I don't get ahold of them. WELL. I remembered M.K. because she had it set up so that it plays music while you wait for her to answer. We draw music notes next to the people that have those. Usually they're ghetto songs, but hers was lovely classical music that I enjoyed listening to. I had already listened to it three times when I called her on Friday. After the music it goes to her answering machine where she tells you in her southern accent that you've reached Mary Katherine and she isn't available, blah blah blah. On Friday, though, she answered.

"Hello?"
"Hi, this is [me] with the [Company], how are you?"
"Ahblow espainyol." [WHAT? I was shocked. She had just told me in a thick American accent that she spoke spanish. I knew full well that she spoke English, but I thought I'd humor her...]
"Hablamos espanol!" [I told her that we spoke her language.] She hung up on me.

Yesterday I was rude to someone on the phone for the first time. And I think that's commendable, since I've been working there for a month. A lady kept asking me who I was. Over and over again. And I told her that I'm [me] and I was calling for Uzo. And she kept not understanding, and I kept asking if Uzo was there, and if it was the right number. And the lady was really rude. She said, "If you don't know who you're calling, just get off the phone." And she hung up on me! And I was annoyed. Because I did know who I was calling. So I called her back and said, "Listen! You don't have to be rude. If it's the wrong number, just say so!" And I hung up on her. And everyone around me stared, because I never raise my voice on the phone.

The end.

...and men are that they might have joy...

Life is good.

I don't have much to report other than that I'm happy. I can't remember ever being happier, actually.

One of the big things that I learned on my mission was that my happiness does not (and should not!) depend on external things. And I'm sure that's helped... but I feel like everything is finally falling into place.

I'm working. And one of my jobs is a job that I really love. The other job...isn't. But I have made friends there, and they offer me a lot of hours and throw cheesy parties.

I'm doing pretty well spiritually. I'm happy with my new calling. I got home-taught twice! yesterday.

My apartment is nearly finished being painted, and that is a Very Good Thing. I enjoy living with my sister.

I have amazing friends.

I'm going to a concert this week. It's 'Band of Horses' and I'm really looking forward to it.

I'm falling out of like with the guy that I've been interested in. And that will be okay. [Also, I'm discovering that I need to set some different criteria for guys that I want to be interested in. Previously, the qualifications were: 1) intelligence 2) spirituality 3) personality. The problem is, now, 1) to get into BYU in the first place, guys have to be relatively intelligent; 2) They also tend to be members of the Church, although their spirituality does range; 3) Since my mission, I get along with pretty much everyone. So I'm pretty much impressed with basically half of Provo. (Okay, not really. But you get the idea.)] I think I'm finally completely over The Boyfriend, too, which is another Very Good Thing.

I have my phone, so I never feel too stranded or lost. Also, I'm remembering where things are in the Provo/Orem area. And that's always nice.

I'm exercising regularly. (Hm. Maybe that's why I'm happy. Endorphins.) One of my coworkers wants us to start exercising together after work every day, and the idea sounds wonderful to me. Despite my lack of coordination, good workouts are one of my Favorite Things. And I take vitamins again, which makes me feel healthy.

Problems are being worked out. I thought that I was going to have to fly to California a couple weeks ago to keep resolving something, and instead, some deep thought and an extremely productive phone call resulted in a favorable outcome. Which is to say, I didn't have to fly to California and won't in the future, either.

Those are the things that come to mind right now. Life is still very busy, and sometimes very stressful, but overall, I am happy.

The End.

My dear readers, I regret to inform you that I won't be around to write for you much longer.

You see, I'll die a miserable death this winter: I'll most certainly freeze to death.

I remember suffering from a severe case of layer-fatigue during my winters in Italy. I hoped that nearly eradicating skirts and dresses from my wardrobe would ameliorate that problem. Avoiding skirts can only do so much good, though-- we're still in September (September!) and I alternate between feeling smothered and feeling freezing cold.

My poor Southern Californian blood is simply not accustomed to these extreme temperatures. As it is, I'll have to buy shoes this weekend. I only own flip-flop sandals, but I fear that I'll lose my toes if I don't bury them in shoes. I'll also buy socks. Who knows if I'll end up buying boots, too.

I'm already drinking hot cocoa every day. Sometimes twice a day. What will I do in December? Or January?

If I am not buried in snow (while, say, waiting for a bus), please do have a nice funeral service for me. Might I suggest hyacinth or hellebore as flowers? They thrive in winter climates, and that might suggest to the people who attend that although I was unable to withstand the cold, there is still hope for them.

Buses

O, public transportation:
How do I hate thee?
Let me count the ways.
I hate thee for thy inaccessability,
and for thy excessive cost,
and for thy complete and utter disregard for schedules...

I've had some (adjective) experiences with public transportation lately.

I expected to be a seasoned bus-rider. After all, I've been riding buses for nearly two years now. We used buses for most of my mission. But the buses in Italy have different norms than the buses here. In Italy, people always enter the front doors, and exit in the back. Exiting from the front doors is strongly prohibited. Entering the back doors is, too. And so, when my bus pulls up, I am often over-eager to board the bus. I step up through the front doors, and the bus driver tells me "Wait! Not yet!" because there are people lined up to exit the bus from the same doors. It's poor organization, if you ask me. Sometimes, the bus driver doesn't warn me in time, and people run into me as they try to disembark. It's embarrassing.

Also, in Italy, they expect you to be able to balance. The bus only stops long enough for people to board, and then it keeps going! Here, you board, chat a little, the driver waits for you to find a seat, and then you're late for your transfer bus.

Another difference is: I am nearly convinced that UTA is owned and operated by a private mental institution.

In Italy, public transportation is very mature, and normal people use it as an alternative to high fuel costs and extreme traffic congestion. Here, it seems to be the internal transportation system of the mentally disabled, offered to the public at a cost-- sort of like how you can attend a library that technically isn't your library, but it costs a lot and is inconvenient to get to.

I offer evidence:

I saw a old man at the transfer center who was stark raving mad. He would begin talking to people, call them over, and then wouldn't let them leave. A man from the bus company told him that they'd had this conversation before; he wasn't allowed to be on the premises. Why-ever not, he wanted to know? Part of the reason was the bottle that he was clutching in his left hand. Would he please leave? No. But the police would be called. And that didn't matter. Bus Man went off to call the police and the guy kept talking to people. He started asking for money. He told people he wanted water. Could he have money to buy water? People would point to a drinking fountain that was 20 feet away. They would tell him that they didn't have money to give him, but he could use the drinking fountain. And he'd ask them to BRING the drinking fountain to him. Or water from it, anyway. When people said that they didn't have cups, the guy would go off about how all people in Utah are hypocrites! And he would start yelling about it. The police finally arrived as my bus was pulling away.

Interesting things happen ON the bus, too. One man waited until the bus was pulling away from the stop to yell frantically at the driver: "LET ME OFF THE BUS NOW!!!" "I WANT OFF!!"

Or, another guy watched a lady talking to the driver, raised his hand to mimic a gun, and used his finger-gun to shoot at her repeatedly.

Another time, a guy with a really loud voice explained to a woman that the way to raise an IQ (even one of, say, 50? the woman asked...) was to "give the brain credit" for everything that it knows. Because people know things subconsciously, and there are connections there. We just don't give our brains enough credit. [He talked about this for an hour.] I saw him on the bus again a few days ago, and this time he was telling jokes. I wish I remembered some, because they were quality jokes. People around him actually asked him to stop talking.

People are usually friendly, like him. I've found this to be especially true with my bus drivers. They're usually the same every day, and when I'm the only person on the bus, we sometimes chat. This was especially true before I got my ipod. I had a conversation with one of my bus drivers in Italian. And that was pleasant.

Other friendly gestures are less appreciated. On Friday, for example, a guy came up to me while I was waiting for my bus at the transit center. He introduced himself and then said, "I want to go see a movie tonight, but I don't want to go alone. I'll pay for you. Will you go with me?" I told him I was busy, even though I hadn't decided what I was doing that night. It was instinctual, really. There was no conversation to prepare me for his invitation, and I have a natural inclination to refuse date invitation from guys that I don't already know.

Well, I'd better go. It's almost time to catch another bus.

Another post.

Last week I had my Personal Industrial Revolution.

I opened a bank account, and the bank is sending me a free ipod (!) sometime soon. I got a cellphone. And then a couple days later, I won another ipod (!) at work. Optimistic filled my little ipod with wonderful music, and now I feel like I'm living in a movie because my life has music playing in the background, all day long. (Ichinichigiu?)

It's so nice to have a phone. I'm so happy to finally have one, that I've downloaded a bunch of stuff. I have games! And I've been downloading ringtones, too. My phone is so personalized. One of my favorite features of the phone is that it has photo caller ID and individuals can have their own ringtones. For example, if Robert Poste were to call, his picture would show up and the ringtone would be a lively tune that I chose and downloaded just for him.

I have the 'California' song (that everyone sang to me in Italy) for my CA people. For my mom and little sister, I have the theme from 'The Hills' because we used to watch it together.

These are good things.

Except...unfortunately, my phone never actually rings.

The first reason is because people seldom call me.

The second reason is because both of my jobs ask that we limit cellphone usage. I keep my phone in my pocket and it vibrates instead of ringing. (It's less exciting than personalized stuff, but still functional.)

Last night, though, it proved to be a problem.

I went to Optimistic's apartment to watch the second half of Apollo 13 and an episode of Arrested Development. And then I left.

I am terribly uncoordinated, but I do love exercise. Before my mission, I had a gym membership and I would often go to the gym, or go running outside at 11ish pm. It was wonderful.

After a year and a half of daily pasta consumption, and two jobs that require a lot of sitting (as opposed to waitressing, which is great exercise), I decided yesterday that it was time to restart with something active.

Earlier in the day, I bought athletic shoes, and I went to Optimistic's apartment with every intention of exercising afterwards. I wore loose athleticish pants that had no pocket, so my phone was in my bag instead.

I exercised, and started walking home in the rain. It felt so nice. (A German saying: Rain makes beautiful.)

A block away from my house, someone honked at me. I thought maybe it would be someone from church, or something, but it turned out to be Optimistic and Robert Poste!

They explained that Lavish had worried I'd been kidnapped because I didn't come home right away.

They had tried calling me. And of course, I didn't hear my phone because it didn't ring.

When I got home, Lavish explained that she worried because I keep being impressed with how nice people in Provo are. I once took a ride from a stranger in a Provo monsoon, and so she worried that I'd taken a ride from a stranger (because of the rain), and that it had turned out to be someone that wasn't nice. ("Couldn't you choose some other time to exercise?!") And that was why she'd dispatched the search party.

The whole thing kind of surprised me, though. I expected all three of them to be asleep. And I'm 1/8 sorry for keeping them from getting to bed earlier, but really I'm 7/8 deeply satisfied. Because I have wonderful friends. If there actually had been a problem, I wouldn't have been dead in some ditch somewhere for a week before people noticed that I was missing. And I was thinking about how lucky/blessed I am to have real friends when I realized that I have another story about this. But it'll be for another time; my break is already over and I need to get back to work.

Hello? Who is this?

I am thoroughly enjoying Job #1. I've been auditing lately. It's been fun because I get to see some delightful old advertising. I've been working on old telphone books from England, which features half page ads with messages like:

Call Up Your Friends By Telephone

and

Don't say HULLO
...
Announce Your Identity

They're wonderful.

(As an aside: If anyone knows someone with images that they would like to have scanned and processed...like lots of rolls of old film. Or microfiche. Or very old books... to have scanned. Do let me know. They've started offering our services to the public, and I get an ipod if I refer someone who signs a contract.)

Job #2...Well. I still have mixed feelings about it. Lavish told me that I've gone to the "Dark Side." Hm. I told her that I didn't like it either, but that they were going to be paying me. (She replied, "Would you be an abortion doctor if the pay was good?") So, as penance, I've decided to share some dirty secrets.

1. Don't click on pop-up ads for Free Laptops! Free Dinners! Free Jeans! or Free! anything else. Just don't do it. If you do, you will enter your personal contact information (for your Free! thing, right?) and then they will ask you to sign up for different offers. One of them may be for school on the Internet. Just say no! Every little button you click means that your information will be sold to other people. Then at the end, they'll force you to either sign up for something that costs real money, or you'll give up. And your information is out there, either way. People will call you like crazy.
2. If someone on the phone tells you that they got your information from a form you filled out, you probably did it. Even if you don't remember doing it. We really don't call up random people for kicks. ALSO, other people sometimes enter your information in those sorts of things (all it takes is your name and phone number) in order to get back at you for something. We're not asking for your credit card info on the phone, so you don't have to be suspicious about us having shady motivations. Our shady motivation is just to sell your information to more people. Which isn't great, but isn't much worse than you filling out the form in the first place.
3. Supposing that someone calls you and you're not interested, what should you do? Well, if it's us, you should answer the phone and tell us that you're not interested. We don't try to change peoples' minds about things, we just call to see if you're interested or not. Some people think that ignoring the calls is a good solution. It really isn't. If you never answer when we call, we will call you 8 times (4 in the morning, 4 in the afternoon/evening). And then, you go on a "never contacted" list that we will pull out later when we don't have enough new people to call. If, instead, you tell us that you're not interested the first time that we call, we won't call you again.
4. If you think that saying "DO NOT CALL ME AGAIN!" will get you taken off of "the list", you're wrong. The only time we put people on the Do Not Call list is if they specifically say the word "list". If people call you, tell them to take you off of the list. By law, they have to do so, and send you something saying that they did within a month. If you don't use the magic word "list" we just write "Not Interested." Which is a little different. (One man here in Utah makes a couple hundred thousand dollars every year by looking for pop-ups all day long, putting his information in EVERYTHING, and telling companies to take him off of their list. If they don't send him something within a month, he sues them. And he wins, over and over.)
5. Your information is very valuable. Some companies will pay hundreds of dollars for ONE name and phone number. They told us about a list of 20 names that was worth thousands of dollars because they came from a really good survey. Or something. But who knew there was so much in it for other people?

The end.

Calling people is sometimes funny. I'll post some Job #2 stories later. And bus stories.

Right now, it's time for dinner.

Spiders, Part I

A couple nights ago, there was a massive spider on my wall, right above my bed. My eyes widened and I backed away.

I offered to spray it with spider-killer and Lavish said that I couldn't because it would make our room smell. She told me to smash it. I couldn't. "I can't," I told her. I'm terribly afraid of spiders. She tried to talk me into killing it by making it sound like it was simple. But I still couldn't do it. Since it was such a simple thing for her, I suggested she kill it. "It's on your wall," she said.

So we tried to talk our other sister (visiting for the weekend) into killing it. "Here's what I am willing to do: Give me a BIG piece of Tupperware, and a BIG piece of cardboard..." She went to look for suitable trapping material, and found one of our roommates (who had just returned from a long camping trip).
"T, are you afraid of spiders?"
"No." (She wasn't. I bet she catches spiders with her bare hands, just for fun.)
"If you'll kill this one, you'll be my hero forever."
"Sure."

My sister tried to warn her about the size of the monster that was occupying my wall, and roommate didn't even care. She probably thought my sister was exaggerating. The roommate came into our room and said, "Holy crap, that is huge." And then she smashed it with a little piece of tissue. And that was the end of it.

I started wondering: why am I so afraid of spiders?! Bees and june bugs elicit similar reactions.

The classic reasons that people are not supposed to be afraid of spiders are:
1. They're small. (But so are many dangerous pathogens...)
2. They're more afraid of us than we are of them. (I'm not so sure about this one. How can something that simple know to be afraid of me? Also, many small dogs act like they're bigger than they are. Chihuahuas bark at big dogs all the time.)
3. Spiders have never hurt me. (That I know of.)

But to some degree, these things are true. It would therefore be logical to decide that I'm not afraid of spiders. Too bad it isn't that simple.

I've figured this out, though. The reason I am afraid of spiders is because they have superpowers. Consider these examples:

• They walk up walls.
• They have extra limbs. (Note: Octopuses also have extra limbs, and they are equally scary. In movies, they are virtually impossible to defeat.)
• They have eyes that face different directions. Which equates to special vision power.
• They can fly. (Not true of all spiders, because technically if they fly, they're not spiders. However, there are some insects that look quite a bit like spiders that do fly. Also, this reason is especially poignant when it comes to fear of bees and june bugs.)
• They hang in mid air.
• They disappear and reappear, which gives them the element of surprise.
• They are armed and dangerous, sort of. I've heard that some spiders have 1000s of tiny teeth, and are poisonous. (Just, their mouths are too small to be able to bite us.) (Bees have a stinger, which means they're always armed, which puts them on the offensive.)

And with so many convincing reasons, it's no wonder that spiders terrify me.

I'm still here.

I actually haven't disappeared. I've just been busy. (And have a temperamental Internet connection here.)

I needed a job, so I've been sending out resumes like nobody's business.

I almost didn't go to my first interview, because I wasn't sure if I wanted the job. Branflakes was kind enough to drive me to and from the interview, despite my uncertainty. The interview was great! We laughed and joked about Lemony Snicket books and other things. By the time I was done, I really wanted to work there.

And I got the job! I've only been working there for a week and a half, but I'm very happy with it.

Things that I like about my new job:

• Everyone brings their ipods to work. Like, really everyone.
• And often, people wear jeans.
• I have a really cool security badge that has my picture on it and something inside that unlocks doors.
• My coworkers are friendly! They plan parties and ice cream trips.
• During our break, everyone plays a card game together.
• I worried that it might be telemarketing or something like unto it, and instead it isn't at all. I process images.

And then, as though that wasn't enough...

• Every Thursday morning they feed us. There were a dozen different kinds of bagels, and 15? different kinds of cream cheese. I love bagels. They also have donuts and fruit.

I really enjoy work.

I'm not attending school this Fall, though. I was really looking for more than just a part-time position.

I navigated buses to attend another job interview. The second interview was for a construction position (don't laugh). It offered 60 (sixty!) hours of work per week. Which sounded perfect. I went to my interview and was immediately offered the job. Wonderful.

I filled out a bunch of paperwork. I took a test on the computer about how often I hit people, share drugs with coworkers, and steal things from companies that I work for. Fine. I took my drug test. (A kind I've never taken before; it involves sucking on a hard lollypopish thing that softens with saliva.) Good. I finished my safety training. No scaffolding higher than thirty feet. Excellent.

We sat down to discuss the details. I needed a hard hat, safety glasses, and gloves. They would be provided. I needed steel-toed boots. They would not be provided. No problem. I was to report to the site (not near Provo) at SIX AM, and work would go until 4 pm. Hm. My job that I'd already accepted was from 8 am until noon. Alas, it wasn't meant to be.

Yesterday, I completed two more tests (online) for a company that wanted me to do them before our interview. The first one was 90 minutes long! It had six sections, and was very similar to the SATs. It featured personality questions, which-do-you-prefer (teaching someone a new skill, or creating art? etc.) questions, vocabulary questions, analogies, math questions, number-sequence what-comes-next questions (20 23 28 14 17 22 11)... It was intense! And then the second test that they wanted me to do was similar to the construction one. [EDIT 10/17/07 - If you found me by googling the sequence: The answer to that sequence is 14. The pattern is +3, +5, x 2, +3, +5, x2, ? so the next one is +3 and 11+3 is 14.]

Two real questions from it were: Indicate your current use of any illegal drugs. * Daily * Once or twice a week * Weekends * Once or twice a month * I do not use illegal drugs * I'm not sure how often. annnnndd... The small amount of drugs you sold or gave your coworkers was not enough to hurt their performance. * I agree. * I'm not really sure about their performance. * I have never sold or given any illegal drugs to my coworkers. There were like 180 of these suckers.

And then! (After all of that!) I accepted a different job today. Starting tomorrow, I'll be working 10 hours per day between the two jobs. I'm really hoping that the new job works out; I'm supposed to be there an hour after my first job ends, and it takes about that long on the bus to get there. We'll see.

Job hunting has been my main excitement lately.

Other things I've done:

• Last weekend I was in a parade! I handed out Otter Pops to hot people (like, many people in the sun; not just the good-looking ones.)
• I've been reading books. I read Freakonomics (Levitt), and Prozac Diary (Slate), and I'm currently reading Basic Eight (Handler) and Me Talk Pretty One Day (Sedaris).
• My birthday was this Saturday. Lavish took me to see a play, since I was in the mood to see one. We saw 'A Funny Thing Happened on the Way to the Forum' and it was fun. Both Lavish and I remembered enjoying it before, but we must have been quite a bit younger then. It was quite different from what we remembered.
• Attended my cousin's wedding reception.
• Went to the Death Cab for Cutie concert.
• I've watched a lot of Arrested Development with Optimistic. I'm through the first DVD of the second season. And I really enjoy it.
• I finished my Sociology class! I got an A. (Everyone I know keeps buying textbooks for their Fall classes, and I'm jealous. I miss school.)

I think that's all. With any luck, I'll go back to writing shorter, more frequent blog posts. (Oh, sad. The pictures are not posting. I'll try again later.)

Utah.

Well, I've finally done it.

I moved to Utah a week ago. I made it official during the week by getting a library card.

My sister didn't tell our roommates that I was moving in, which made the move a little more interesting. Our roommates seem nice enough. The only problem is, I can't tell them apart! They're two blonde sisters, and they look nearly identical to me. I really am trying to learn which one is which, but for now I'm addressing them without calling them anything. It's sometimes awkward. Take a couple days ago, for example:

Our neighbor came over. I couldn't remember his name, even though I'd met him twice already. He wondered if my roommates were home. I told him I'd check. I went downstairs and found one of them on the couch. "The neighbor is here," I told her, not specifying which neighbor. I walked back to the door. "One of them is," I told him, not specifying which one.

I just know it's going to cause problems later.

I'm enjoying Utah so far.

There are so many people my age. I keep wondering what happened to all of the older adults. Also, it appears as though BYU hands out small children as part of matriculation. Everyone here has a toddler and a baby. Well, not everyone. A lot of people do, though.

And people go walking. Outside. I walk outside. In fact, I walked past an impressive statue of Brigham Young. They just don't have statues of of him in front of Californian libraries. It was nice.

Church is different here in Provo. I mean, it's the same everywhere, and all that, but my student ward here is much different than my family ward back in California.

We had Relief Society first, and our lesson was on the importance of marriage.

It reminded me of a game we would play while I was on my mission. I would choose a gospel principle (for example, "the fall of Adam"), and then the other person would fan through the scriptures, randomly stopping on one page, and pointing at a verse without looking first. Then they would have to explain Adam's fall using some random scripture that would generally not be related to it at all. If they knew their scriptures well, it would be easier because they could explain the background story of the verse, and from a story you can usually make connections. The game was an amusing one.

But as I was sitting there in RS, I kept wanting to guess what the real lesson was about. Because it seemed like the lesson could have been about anything and still been about marriage. It's easy. Emphasis just goes on different parts of quotes: "and she stood by her husband."

And then, as though I hadn't had enough fun, our next class was "Choose Your Own Adventure" style. We could choose between two separate Sunday School classes!

The one that we chose reminded me of the math class in the movie 'Better Off Dead'.
Teacher: "Who would like to read?"
Entire class: "OH, me! Pick me!"
Teacher: "John?"
Everyone else: "Aww."
(repeated throughout the lesson)

And then our sacrament meeting had stadium seating.

And what could be better than stadium seating for sacrament meeting?

Writely

Today I've been using Google's new online word processor, which is called Writely.

I'm having fun with it. So far, it's by invitation only.

I think I have unlimited invitations.

If anyone is interested in trying it out, just leave a comment (or let me know somehow), and I'm happy to share.

That's all.

Memory Lane

I started packing today. I mostly sorted papers. I found a lot of things that I had forgotten all about. Pictures from high school. An extra-special Publications Pass that I could use to get into anything (events or games), or out of anything (class). Scripts for conversations with the boy that I had a crush on all through high school (I'd get nervous!). Letters from my host-family to my mom, in amusing English (for example, a letter about a "put-luck" that we were going to). A note that I passed with one of my sisters during a sacrament meeting, all about my first kiss.

I found a bunch of fun things.

Some of the best things that I found were in the marginalia that I'd written during a couple of my classes.

I present, for your entertainment, four entertaining education-themed stories or lists of quotes. I'll present them in chronological order, I guess.

1. Science class, 6th grade.
I had a teacher who didn't like me. I was too much of a goody-goody, by her standards. One time we were doing group work, and we had to switch stations and solve a scientific mystery. My group was not working on stuff at all. They were gossiping about their friends, and discussing weekend plans, and that sort of thing. We were running out of time and didn't have our work done. I told them nicely (but a few times) that we should focus, so that we didn't lose points. The teacher got mad at me for asking them to get back to our assignment. Other times, the teacher would pick her nose, and chase students around the room, trying to wipe her booger on them. If she decided she didn't like someone in class, she would shout "Raise your hand if you think Johnny's a looooooserrrrr!" And she'd raise her hand and everyone was supposed to raise their hands. I'm sometimes sensitive, but she made me cry on more than one occasion. I would complain to my mom, who would complain to the office. My mom came on a field trip because she couldn't believe my wild stories that I would come home with, but the teacher behaved really differently when parents were around. The school assigned me to a 7th grade science class that she taught, and I think that was the beginning of me choosing my own schedules even when they were set for us. The next year, she was gone. I don't know what happened.

2. English class, sophomore year of high school.
My high school was a competitive one. For the statewide standardized-testing, we had weekly school-wide test-preparation classes. During sophomore year, everyone (and I do mean everyone) learned to write essays well. Really, I think it was the only thing I learned in high school. My teacher was also the drama teacher, and she was very dramatic. In everything. The way she spoke, her behavior...everything was dramatic. As I was sorting papers, I found an essay from her class with a comment that reads: "D+ (Would have been an A- except for that "could" in your final paragraph.)" I used the word "could" in the very last sentence of my essay, and so my grade dropped from an A to a D! (It was actually kind of funny, too, because the essay was about my trip to Chicago. Yeah. A trip that I never actually went on. She would give us stupid prompts, but didn't mind if we made things up.)

On another occasion, the same teacher made me move my desk to the front of the class, and sit facing all of my peers for 2 or 3 weeks. I'd forgotten my rough draft at home when we were supposed to have it, so she told me I was not allowed completing the essay and instead would do grammar exercises as I faced the class.

At the end of the last day of school, about half of the people in my class started packing up their things early. They left probably 5 minutes before the bell rang, excusing us. She did not like it at all, and told those of us that stayed (for the last 2 minutes of class) that we should get out a piece of paper and write a haiku. It was our "final assignment" and it was worth 500 points; much, much more than the final exam had been worth. All of those people who had gotten up and left...well...too bad for them.

3. Civics class, senior year of high school.
I had an old, short, bald man who had attended Harvard and was brilliant. He was...Persian maybe? and had a big accent. He had a doctorate. He knew everything about the government. He really did. He believed in hard work. He was also a democrat, and had the sneaky habit of stating his opinions as facts. I called him on it one time, and he agreed with me. And after that, whenever he said something that sounded like opinion but was based on real evidence, he would finish it deliberately "Miss [Mylastname], that is a fact." During the year, Bush won the election (for his first term as President), and I brought celebratory cupcakes for my whole class. They were "confetti" style with red dots on the inside, and had red sugar on top, and BUSH! written on them. He let us eat them, and even ate one himself.
But anyway, I found quotes that I'd written down in my planner...

"The US Steel Co...The President told him to go to hell, in essence."

"If you mix up these scantrons you will pay a hell of a consequence."

(while reading grades) "You have a C." [some girl "C?"] "C. You know like sea like the ocean sea."

(talking about another teacher) "I called him a big haus[?]. He thought I called him a big ass. He wasn't very nice about that."

"Blonds have more fun. If I were a brunette, I would not agree. And we don't have any redheads in here. They have a lot of fun."

(someone asked a question and he looked turned to a different girl...) "Well, Blondie, you wanna tell her?"

He had a little card that was printed really nicely, not just hand-written, and it said "I don't know about that, but it sounds like BS to me." He would hold it up to respond to things we said, sometimes.

"You are a student and you don't give a damn. Then we get a society of citizens who don't give a damn. And a damn government. And then you b**** like hell."

He told us about an assignment "you may call it a project." and we mmmed and he said "Now that's tremendous enthusiasm for learning!"

4. English class, sophomore year of college.
I had a really funny lady, who was very direct. She would get mad if we didn't bring coffee to her class, or at least something to eat or drink, so that we didn't lose interest. She also taught us how to be good students by using "the thinking nod" and a look of sudden comprehension. She was very sarcastic with us, and was amused when we were sarcastic back.

"If you really don't know what the heck something means, then don't put it in the essay. Because then I read it and know that you don't know what you're talking about."

"Gosh, you're saying she's a fictional, imaginary person created by a dead Greek guy?"

"Soo, should you be a bas**** or be nice? [class replies, "Be a bas****!"] OK. That pretty much sums up that chapter."

"Wherefore: it's a fancy and pretentious form of 'therefore' that none of you are EVER allowed to use."

"By the way. Is following the rules in here [The Prince] a straight ticket to hell? Suuure! But it doesn't matter because politics and morality are completely unrelated."

To the class, about our final exam: "I showed it to my office mate and when he saw it, he said I should put mattresses in the parking lot so that when you fling yourself [over the third story railing] you'll have somewhere to land."

Good times.

I'm engaged! Kind of.

While I was on my mission, a lot of people that I know from church got married. I missed all of their weddings and receptions. And it was fine.

This evening my best friend from high school got married. She and her man had been engaged for exactly 1000 days today. She had a classic wedding. It was at a country club, but it had a gazebo, and the same clergy guy who married her parents. And everything was gorgeous. She was pretty. He looked nice. They had bridesmaids, flower-girls, and a live orchestra. After the wedding we all went inside for a huge meal. I brought my mom as my guest, and the little card told us that we were to sit at table 19. We cooperated. Our table also had two couples that my friend knew from college (including one weird guy who kept flirting with me and another girl), a girl that remembered me (that I didn't remember) from high school, and a guy, Trevor, that my friend had known for-ever, that she had actually thought she would end up marrying (but didn't.)

At first things were a little awkward. None of us were really friends, except for the girl who thought we were. Mom and I teased her because she didn't know which silverware to use when. Everyone talked about school, and what they were doing with their lives, etc. We all became good friends.

And after a couple hours, it hit me. I wanted a wedding. I wanted the pretty dress. And to be in love with someone. And to dance together. And have someone to go grocery shopping with, etc. I told my table so. It was a nice wedding, they agreed. A little bit later, when there was a pause in the conversation I looked at poor, shy Trevor and said:

"Hey, wanna get married?" I was going to ask him by name, except that I kept forgetting whether he was a Travis or a Trevor.

His eyes widened, he jerked up, and he said "WHAT?" or "HUH?" or something like that. He about fell out of his seat. The rest of the table stared at the drama that was unfolding.

I was kidding. And he knew I was, too, because I don't think we ever even talked in high school. We knew of each other, you know, but I don't think we ever had a single class together or anything. We never hung out together. I knew that my friend liked him, and he knew that I was friends with her. But that was really it.

My table got very excited about my proposal, though. The girl who knew me got really into the whole thing and asked him what his answer was or something. He looked at her, still shocked. It was really funny. I grinned. I told him I was kidding, he didn't have to marry me. He told her that we didn't have to call it off so fast--he was still deciding.

The rest of the night there were jokes about my engagement to Trevor. When there was the boquet toss, they announced that engaged people should still participate because they weren't married yet. My table made sure I'd heard that part.

And then, Mom drove him home. She had offered since we live relatively close and gas prices are high. There was no point in someone driving all the way back out to the country club when we would be going the same way home anyway. We were talking about something during the drive and he commented about how I was still partially engaged to him. I told him that yeah, he should keep me posted on our wedding plans. He said he would. I said "yeah, and if we keep talking as much as we have since we graduated..." and everyone laughed. I hadn't talked to him at all since we graduated. Not once in the past five years.

It was all pretty funny, though. When I'm around quiet people, I do a pretty good job of pretending to be an extrovert.

In other news, I met with a Mexican chef to learn how to make tamales. I took long and detailed notes as he explained how to make them. We bought all the stuff at a Mexican grocery store (where all of the loudspeaker announcements were in Spanish!), and I'm going to make them this Monday. He'll come over and help get me started. I love tamales.

I have a ton of other stories to blog about from this week, but I'll save them for another post. I have another talk to write for a baptism that I'm speaking at tomorrow.

The end.

Two Surprises

Over the past few days, I've knitted two scarves. Now, I'm working on a hat.

Scarves are all the rage in Italy; they come in every color you can imagine and people wear them all year long. Wool scarves are for winter, and normal ones are for the rest of the year.

Milan is known as the fashion capital of the world, so one might think that scarves are about to become a new trend throughout the world. However, in thinking so, one would be wrong. Scarves may or may not become fashionable in the future, but for Italians they serve an important function: they protect people from colpo d'aria, or in English a "hit of air."

Like many Americans, when I first heard about colpo d'aria I was dumbfounded. Could such a civilized people really have an established common fear of breezes? (They feel the same way about us when it comes to capital punishment: Could a first-world country really still be doing that?) And the answer is yes. Despite sweltering summer heat, air conditioning is rare in Italy. People do not use ice cubes. If you open the windows of a hot bus, there are some old ladies who will throw fits about it, even during the summer.

During an intolerable summer night, I insisted upon having a fan to cool me off so that I would be able to sleep. My companion was a girl from southern Italy, and she made me position the fan so that it was only facing my bed (instead of the whole room). In the morning she let me know that it absolutely needed to be readjusted--the air bounced off of the wall behind my bed, onto another wall, and then towards her bed. It wasn't very strong, but she could feel it. And that was enough.

When people would express concern for me (I usually don't like having things around my neck), I politely explained to them that as an American, I was born immune to colpo d'aria. "But, really?" they would ask. "Mhmm," I would assure them that nobody in America is ever affected by it. Ever.

I'm not so sure about that anymore. The same companion who didn't like our fan explained to me how colpo d'aria really works. She claimed it was scientifically proven, even. You see, it isn't so much about being hit by air, per se. It's more about sudden change of your body's temperature. And I've heard of that before, even in the States. So while some old ladies take the whole thing much too far (and my companion agreed that they do), the idea really is not so far-fetched.

In fact, I think I've gotten a colpo d'aria lately. I am sick! And I haven't been around sick people, that I know of. And it's summer, for goodness sake. But I have noticed big changes in the temperature lately. And I have been in and out of air conditioning, and in and out of the pool (mmmm... In-N-Out...), and slept with a fan blowing directly on me most nights (see my post about sunburns).

(I bet some people would really think it was funny that I brought an Italian superstition home with me.)

But hit of air or no, I woke up sick as a dog this morning. I faithfully pressed my snooze button every five minutes for an entire hour. I wasn't sure that I wanted to go to church. Or even leave my bed, for that matter.

I did, though. I made it to Sacrament Meeting in the middle of the announcements. I picked up a program and went to sit on a pew in the middle of the room. I sat down and opened my program only to discover that I was printed in the program as the first speaker. Oh boy. I had no idea that I was supposed to be speaking. They had asked me a few months ago to speak 'sometime in July' but had never told me the date or topic.

I got up and walked to the exit, and showed the program to my mother because she'd joked about me speaking today. We giggled for a few seconds and then I walked up and sat on the stand with the other girl who was speaking today. She told me that she hoped I had a lot to say because she had timed herself speaking slowly and her talk was less than ten minutes long. I told her that I had no idea that I was supposed to be speaking, and she looked at me with wide eyes.

My mom signed to me from the pews: "Should I call your sister and have her e-mail Duchess' talk to me, and go home and print it for you?" I grinned, and shook my head no. (You can read about why it was funny here, in Lavish's blog.)

So I said a little prayer for help, and outlined a talk while they finished the announcements and we sang the opening hymn. And then after the Sacrament I was supposed to speak. I got up and gave an amazing talk. It lasted just over fourteen minutes. Another guy from our ward is leaving on a mission and it was his farewell last Sunday with our ward, so I spoke about missionary work. And about following the instructions that Christ gives us in the New Testament. I started by talking about some things I'd heard on a BYUTV talk that I watched yesterday, and everything just flowed beautifully afterwards.

Of the 250ish people that were there listening to my talk, over a dozen stopped me in the hallways to compliment me, or thank me for speaking. It was all just one more example of how when we pray God listens and really does help us; before I prayed I really had no idea what I was going to talk about.

During the second hour of church, I always teach a lesson on the Old Testament to my Primary class (of 9-10 year old kids). Today there were six kids instead of four. We talked about Naomi and Ruth, and about following Christ's example and being examples for other people. My kids are so much fun. I love 'em. (I'm going to be such a good mom someday.)

Anyway, that was my day.

On Being Home and Returning Home

After talking with Lavish, I decided not to move to Utah yet. She will be coming to visit at the end of July and offered to take me back to Utah with her.

This is a better idea for a few reasons: I'll be in Provo instead of Salt Lake City, which will be more pleasant for me. I will maybe, possibly be able to work with her instead of getting whatever random job that people will hire me for, and that would be nice. Also, I'll still be in California in a couple weekends or whatever day it is that my best friend from high school is getting married. And considering that she's been engaged for like two years and will be disappointed if I don't attend, I want to be there.

So, while I was really hoping to meet Petra before she left and be friends with Tolkien Boy for longer before he moves; alas, I'm still in California.

Also in California are my father and my little brothers who returned from their three week trip to Minnesota. I heard my favorite story about their trip yesterday.

"What happened to your foot?" I asked Seven when I noticed some pinkish spots.

Part was from his sandal rubbing his foot wrong, and the other spot was from....a leech!

"WHAT?" I exclaimed.

"A leech. From camping." He had actually returned from swimming and then later someone noticed them.

"Huh." He didn't think anything of it.

"There were twenty," he added. "Only one big one, though."

"So you had twenty leeches on your foot?"

"Yeah, at least."

"Did they hurt?"

"No."

"What did they feel like?"

"Nothing." (And tonight he explained that when leeches first bite things, they numb the area so that what they're biting doesn't realize it's being bitten.)

"How big were they?"

"Um, the small ones were about the size... (he showed me something about an inch long), and the big one was about the size of (he showed me something about four inches long.)"

"How did you get them off?"

"Uh. Brian pulled them off. And one he had to kill and then pull it off." Apparently the little ones came off easily, but the big one was really attached. There was blood everywhere when they pulled it off.

A funny thing is, my brothers think nothing of it. They're like "oh, yeah, that. BUT a different time there was this HUGE STORM!!" and I"m like "uh huh, a storm. BUT tell me about the LEECHES!"

Who knew this kind of stuff actually happened?! I keep making Lake Lachrymose jokes that nobody appreciates. I enjoy them.

Changes...

I'm probably moving this week. This Sunday, actually.

My aunt and uncle have pretty much talked me into moving up to Utah and staying with them. I had never even considered the idea. I think it should be good, though.

They're really excited that I've agreed to it. My little cousin keeps coming up with things for us to do together when I get there. My aunt and uncle are listing all of their city's most eligible bachelors for me.

So basically, I have until Sunday morning to pack everything up and organize things here. (This is all happening very fast.)

Really, though, it's not that crazy, I guess. The last five times I moved, I had only two days to pack my life into suitcases and prepare myself for change. Missionaries do that sort of thing for transfers. (I've been joking with my mom and telling her that I really don't even have to start packing until Friday.)

This should be interesting.

As an aside, the coolest thing happened on Saturday. We were at Home Depot to buy chlorine for the pool, and we found a baby bird that was learning to fly. It was hopping around on the floor inside (in the covered gardening section). It totally acted like a domestic bird, though. It let us hold it without trying to get away. I felt like Snow White! We moved it to an area where it was less likely to get trampled by shoppers.

By the way, "shoppers" really sounds too feminine for a store like Home Depot. Maybe their shoppers should be called "builders" or something. Calling them shoppers gives me a mental image of two buff construction guys with hard hats, walking through Home Depot and having a conversation: "Like, omigosh, that 2x4 would be way cute on that project of yours!" "Oh, I know! The other day I saw Billy with one, painted lavender, and I said to myself: I can't live without one just like his!" "You should totally get it. Just splurge."

Anyway, my sister used her phone to take a picture while I was holding the bird. So I'm actually in this picture. Kind of.

Wear Sunscreen!

Something that was always fun about Italy was that people have no reservations when it comes to giving compliments. Saying hello to strangers was a pleasant experience because they would often reply "Ciao, bellissima!" (Hello, most beautiful.) I know that their response had very little to do with how I actually looked because I was a frumpy sister missionary. Still, it was nice to hear. It was something that reminded me that I was in Italy--most people just don't go around greeting strangers like that here.

I have a sister who does, though. (Number three. The one whose hair we dyed.) "Hey, beautiful," she'll greet us. [As an aside, one time a different sister went to pick Three up from the airport and brought a sign for her, and I think balloons. Instead of writing my sister's name on the sign, she put "Beautiful" on it. She said a bunch of people stopped her and thought they were really funny. They'd ask her, "Looking for me?" They would think they were so clever, but really she got it over and over again.]

Today, as I was walking home from school I got honked at three times. (And not for crossing in dangerous places.) It was the same guy, in his oh-so-sexy waste management dumpster collecting truck. He passed me three times separate times during my five-mile walk.

It really made me laugh. Here's why: I look ridiculous. If I had worn shorts, he would've seen that my legs are red as a lobster, but just up to my knees. More sun on my legs hurts more than fabric rubbing against them, though, so I wore pants. I am so sunburnt. I can't even walk! I hobble.

Yesterday, Mom had a Board meeting for the breastfeeding group that she volunteers with. They had it at somebody's house in Newport beach. It was beach-front property, so my sister and I spent all day at the beach while Mom was at her meeting.

The afternoon was pleasant. There was sand, there were waves, and there were hundreds of little kids (aged...6-12?) in red suits, all participating in the Jr. Lifeguard program. They were adorable. We had fun watching them do their trainings since they were on both sides of where we had set up. Some of them surfed, they swam a lot, etc. All in groups of like, fifty. (Half of the group went to swim around something, and when they came back the other kids wanted to know if it was easy. "Easy-peasy, lemon-squeezy," one kid told his friends.)

So, my sister and I laid out under a canopy and I studied math, and she rested. Except, see, I didn't realize that my legs were out from underneath the shade. I promptly burned the backs of my legs to halfway up my calves. Whoops. And it hurt, so I rolled up my capris so that they were at my knees. That way, they wouldn't rub against the burned part. Big mistake. I thought that since it was already 4ish pm, I'd be fine...

After a while longer, my sister and I were ready to go. Mom was still at her meeting. My sister and I built a big sand sculpture of a lady feeding her baby. We collected shells so that could be more colorful. The baby had reddish hair and was in a white blanket, and the momma had blonde hair. And purple eyes, and red lips. It was a very original piece, and all of the old ladies at Mom's meeting really enjoyed it. My sister took pictures of it with her cellphone.

...but I ended up burning the rest of my calves. Pretty badly, too. Drat.

On the way home, we stopped at the neighbor's house for aloe vera. My sister said they had some and that they never use it. It turns out, they practically have a jungle of aloe vera. Now we're best friends. They gave me two giant stalks. And asked if I knew how to apply it. "Lavishly," I told them; they laughed.

So I went home, and I applied it. Twice. But it still hurt. And I had filmy legs.

Walking has been tricky because (at least initially, for the first little bit after I stand up) I have to keep my knees bent. My toes point out all funny. I barely lift my feet and shift them forward a couple inches. It's like whenever the muscles under my skin move, it moves the skin on top. And that hurts. Really, it's pretty pathetic looking.

Here's a suggestion, kids: Don't get sunburned the night before you have an important final.

My attempts to get some rest were futile. I tried laying down and couldn't really. I tried finding some comfortable position, but there was none. I tried laying sideways on my bed so that my bum was on the edge and my feet were on the floor. It was hopeless. I got up and took Tylenol. It didn't help. I put more aloe vera on. It still hurt. I remembered a tube of Neosporin, which I began to love while I was on my mission. I remembered that it said "+ Pain Relief!" on the outside, and I went to my other bedroom to get it. Sure enough, it listed burns as one of the things that you could apply it to. Sweet! I applied it, and boy did I ever. Instead of a tiny dab of it, I wore it like it was going out of style. And I think it helped. Maybe I just felt like it did because I wanted it to so badly.

I put a big fan at the end of my bed and finally, after a long time, I fell asleep. I woke up a bunch, and didn't get much rest, but... I did eventually sleep.

When I woke up in the morning, I couldn't walk at all. It was kind of like waking up with pink eye, and your eyes are glued shut... One of those things where you're just like, "Huh. Now what." My legs are still cherry-popsicle red, and have impressive purple welts. Diiiiissgusting.

After about fifteen minutes of holding walls and sitting down every few seconds, I finally got to where I could walk. And even this afternoon, standing in one place still hurts quite a bit, but when I get started walking, I'm mostly fine.

My math final went all right. I'm glad the class is over. You know how people talk like the people they're around? I've noticed over the past few days that sometimes I echo my math teacher. He says, "Oh, reeeeeallaaaaayyyyy?" when we supply an incorrect answer in class. And sometimes, I hear that in my head when people tell me things that I know are wrong. Just like before, I would sometimes want to answer our house phone like it was my restaurant phone. Funny.

We killed the manti. Not on purpose, or anything. I didn't feed them to the lizard. I think they just dried out. I don't know how it happened, but I'm not too surprised that it did.

I am tired.

I am very persuasive. It's a talent that I didn't know I had. I've really noticed it a lot lately, though.

It goes like this:

6:30 am. Alarm goes off. It's not a pretty music alarm, or a light fading alarm-- just one that beeps impatiently in some off-key note. A travel alarm, actually. I haven't been able to find my real one.

I look at the time. I press the snooze button and start talking to myself (not aloud)...

"Good job. You totally woke up early," I'll think. (And really, I'm right. Six is an unearthly hour.)

I continue, "--and for that, you really deserve to be able to sleep a little longer."

It seems like sound logic to me: I did something good, I deserve a reward, and the reward I want most is sleep. So I flip the little switch that turns the alarm off, or doze in between times that I have to press the snooze button...

Until I finally actually get up at...when? Ohhhh, 7:30 am. Which is when I'm supposed to be leaving the house. And then I have to scramble to get ready as fast as I possibly can.

In the morning it seems to make sense, but when I think about it later, it kind of makes me laugh.

I have had two big tests that have returned me to "official college student" status by forcing me to stay up cramming until it starts to get light outside. Ah, the joys of summer school.

My math teacher has done a good job of keeping me awake, though. He says some of the funniest stuff, in his own little math-teacher way. Yesterday, he finished solving a problem on the board and he asked us "You like writing Solution Set?" He was talking about a way of writing the answer that goes like this: Solution Set {(1,3)}, where the answers would be 1 and 3.

We stared at him, and didn't say anything. He asks a lot of questions that he doesn't really want answers to. Yeah, we were quiet except for our class All-Star, who says he loves math, sits in the middle of the front row, and shouts out the answers to everything. "YES!" our All-Star shouted out, emphatically.

"Too bad," the math teacher responded. "That is tooooo much writing. You have to write this thaaaang, and a commaaa, and this thaaaaang... We will just puuuut a baaahhhhx." He boxed his answer.

He thought for a minute and added, "By the way. When you write the book, you have to be very formal. But we are not writing books." So. Since we're not all writing math textbooks, we're allowed to omit the solution set. Sweet!

And then today, we finished Section 5.4. We had 15 minutes of class left, and the math teacher said he wanted to do half of 5.5 and then we could go home. He wrote the title on the board:
Section 5.5 Nonlinear Systems of Equations.

"Do yeuuuu know what we will studaay in 5.5?" he asked us. Our class All-Star shouted out something that was wrong. "No. We will studaay Nonlinear Systems of Equations. Now we leeern somethaaang. Now we caaan go hoooouumme." And that was it. He put the section title on the board, and that counted as starting 5.5 so he dismissed the class.

He makes me laugh.

Two more little items of news:

I am on call for jury duty this week. And that could be exciting. I just called to know if I have to report tomorrow, and I don't. I'm grateful, because I have a temple trip planned with my mom and sisters.

Right before my little brothers left for a three week long vacation with my Dad, the neighbors granted us the privilege of adopting two manti. Lucky us. I think we should feed them to the skink. Not really. That would be mean.

In Dire Need of a Dyer.

Recently, I had the opportunity to dye my mother's hair.

She was to attend a large regional conference for an international parenting organization. It was only natural (well, technically, unnatural) that she would want someone to fix her roots. I volunteered to help. I did a very good job, and did not stain my clothes, or hers. Her hair came out all one color.

As I pulled out the instructions and started to prepare the dye, though, I remembered the only other time that I have ever participated in the hair coloring process.

One time Lavish and I "accidentally" dyed our other sister's hair jet black.
As the black sheep of family, Three had started looking for trouble. She found a group of "friends" that had questionable reputations. She started spending time with them. And she decided that she wanted a particular shade of reddish hair that a bunch of them had. We objected.

One day, I was leaving for the gym and Three asked if she could come with me. Not to go to the gym, but to go shopping at the stores nearby. For what? Oh, just makeup. Fine. I happily included her in my gym trip. I discovered later that the real reason Three wanted to come was because she wanted to buy the forbidden red hair dye. Nobody would drive her to get it.

That really bothered me. I didn't want to help her assimilate into the group of troublemakers. Had I known that she was planning on buying hair dye, I would not have taken her. It was too late, though. She'd already bought it.

So Three started asking everyone to dye her hair. Everyone at home, anyway. She was impatient, and so desperate that she even asked my Dad to do it for her. He wouldn't do it either.

Then I got an idea. I whispered to Lavish: "What if we dyed it and it didn't come out red?"

It was ingenious. "I can't believe I didn't think of that first," she whispered back. Lavish volunteered. She offered to dye Three's hair at three pm sharp, the following afternoon.

Lavish and I got out of school slightly earlier than Three, and we quickly drove to the drugstore to buy hair dye. Black, we decided. We splurged and bought the temporary kind that would wash out in 3 to 5 washes. It was more expensive than permanent hair dye, but since the whole thing was a joke, it didn't seem right to dye it permanently. Besides, her hair is naturally light brown (kind of close to my hair color), so black wasn't really an ideal color for her.

Around that time, a big family joke was that Lavish would have characters that she would pretend to do sometimes. For example, in the kitchen sometimes she would pretend she was on a cooking show. She would make up a fake accent and develop a funny character. Lavish announced that she was Jasmine ("Yas-meen"), and pretended that Three was coming to a fancy salon. We asked Three for her red dye, "to set up".

Oh, and did we ever set it up. We locked the bathroom door, and I poured the red dye into something else. I washed out the container really well, and replaced the red dye with our new black dye. We put up the instructions for the red dye and hid the actual red dye and the rest of the black dye kit.

Three came in, and the show began. Did she want a test strip? The instructions said that people should test a small, hidden lock of hair first to be sure that they're not allergic to the dye. And that the color comes out right. How long would it take? No, she definitely didn't want to wait that long.

So we pretended to follow the instructions that we'd posted, for the red dye, and began to dye Three's hair. It was coming out really dark. (It was supposed to!)

"It's coming out really dark," we told her, sounding slightly concerned.

"Oh, it does that. It gets lighter when you wash the dye out."

"Uh. It's really dark, though," we told her. She reassured us some more.

In the end, wouldn't you know it, it came out black. Oh, and not only black. It was jet black.

I walked into the project room, where my mom was. "Well. It came out really dark," I told her. Three walked into the room. Mom gasped. "I guess we won't be doing family pictures any time soon," she said.

How could it have happened, they wondered. Lavish and I knew what it was: Sun-In. Three had used Sun-In to make her hair slightly blonder a year or so before, and it was definitely a chemical reaction. (Of course, that would pretty much be impossible, but everyone bought it.)

At first Three was mortified. But then, the people she was trying to impress thought that black was a really cool color. She decided that she really liked it. Which was even worse.

All of us went to high school together and seeing the reactions of other people at school, Lavish and I laughed on the inside all day long. Finally, so that someone else could appreciate the joke, we told this one kid that we knew from church. Oh, and what happened? He told everyone, Three included.

We assured everyone that it was temporary dye and would wash out. Except, she kept washing it and it kept staying really black. I figured it out, though. The black dye was only supposed to stay in her hair for 3-5 minutes, or something like that. We had been following the red dye instructions, though, and since they were for permanent hair dye, those instructions said to leave the dye on for 25 minutes. Oops.

We never got in trouble for it at all.

She continued to dye her hair black for a while after that. Now it's back to a normal-ish brown shade.

The end.

On Volcanos and Pachyderms.

Yesterday my brother brought his second-grade volcano project home. It was volcano made of flour and salt clay, and painted brown with red lava streaks. It featured a special hole that you could put...baking soda? and vinegar in to make it erupt.

Today he had another one, and he was just as excited about it. He called my sister over and said, " Did you see my volcano? I made a replica of the one I have at school!"

"You made a what?" she asked.

"A replica."

He's seven and he makes replicas.

Lately, we've been teaching him "big" words. Replica isn't one of them, but it could have been. As things come up in conversation, we call him. "HEY B! Wanna learn a new word?" He comes running. Recently I taught him about being facetious, arachnophobia, and triskaidekaphobia. My sister taught him about misnomers and being garrulous. Dad taught him 'superfluous.' He's known 'confiscate' for a long time.

He's seven, and he uses this stuff in conversation.

It's not that big of a surprise, really.

There is a system called Baby Signs that my mom discovered around when Seven was born. Seven learned sign language before he could talk, and we all had a lot of fun signing with him. Instead of crying because he wanted more food and couldn't tell us, he would just sign that he wanted more, and we'd give him more food. It was great.

Naturally, we wanted to do the same thing with B when he was old enough. B learned a few signs, but not nearly as many as Seven had. Instead, B started talking. Somehow, my sister Lavish and I got the idea to teach him animal names with our Beanie Babies. We had tons of them because they were popular. At the ripe age of two, B learned probably thirty different animal names.

Oh, but we didn't just teach him 'cat' and 'dog', oh no. In fact, we didn't teach him those at all. Instead, he had a 'feline' and a 'canine.' He also had a marsupial, a dromedary, a pachyderm, a bovine, an arachnid, a crustacean, a lagomorph, a mollusk, and a serpent. And about twenty others with similar names.

So there he was this two year-old boy who identified animals by their scientific names. "Look B, do you see the feline?"

Oh, we'd show him off all the time. We'd say, "B, go get your ______" and he'd run off and find the right toy. Or we'd put all of the animals out on the floor and make him name them all. He thought it was a fun game. Adults were impressed.

I was asking my sisters to remind me of some of the animals that we had, and we remembered something else that he did. Before my mission, he was about five years old. He collected church Pass Along cards. His brothers had Pokemon and Yu-ghi-Oh cards, and he had his Pass Along cards. The elders would come visit and he would get really excited and want to see which cards they had so that he could go through and see if he had all of the ones they did. He'd carry around a thick deck of them.

What a funny kid.