The End

Truly, if I knew that the world was ending at approximately tomorrow afternoon here's what I'd (not) do:
Not study for my tests that I wouldn't take.
Chew all that gum just sitting there (waiting for my current pack to be emptied half-piece after torn half-piece) chewing whole pieces, many at a time, bubble blowing til my jaw hurt.
Call as many long distance phone numbers as possible to talk with dear friends seven hours ahead so as to not waste any night hours whatsoever.
Take a shower; a long luxurious one.
Wear my red high heels.
Ride in a taxi. Anywhere.
Maybe I'd just take my boyfriend to Vegas and marry him. (He wouldn't be interested in gambling that night. Or else.) I'm not too huge on sinning, so yeah, I'd make the effort. After all, there are things worse than a would-be death tomorrow.
Last meal: Papa John's. (Definitely wouldn't be starting that "Flat Belly Diet" book)
Surely I'd cook something. Ah yes, the chocolate covered peanut butter rice krispie ice cream bars idea I had. That for sure.
I'd go somewhere really dark at night (far from the lights of the Strip) and watch the stars. It's true, they don't do much for needing watching, but if it was nearly the end of our spot in the universe as we view it, there could be a great show. If not, husband, pizza, ice cream, gum bubbles and star ceilings never were a bad mix.
I'd break as much stuff as made me feel indestructible. Especially my cell phone. Well, just before the end.
Then I'd sit down and listen to my favorite classical music as the world melted like a plastic cup in the fire so I wouldn't be breathless and suspicious in the afterlife. It would be as if I'd been there all along.
I'm kinda in the mood for a good excuse to be irresponsible.
The End.

Post 91

I have an hour and a half before midnight when I'll be taking a quiz that I have to take before 8 am tomorrow morning. I don't do homework as much as possible on Sunday so since I prefer staying awake late to waking up early, I'll be waiting until Monday, i.e. Midnight. It will be a test about candy. I'm excited to read that chapter. The other chapters were not as enjoyable. But I'm a candy nut. I love desserts. I really need to feed this passion and be a cook a good majority of my life. I project that I'll have culinary studies coming up at UVU. I'm just gracing BYU for a little while. One day they'll wish they used inspiration more than bias to accept students into their school when they see how cool I am and that they could have been the ones to brag about it. But I won't let that ever happen. Not me.

Um, I was going to say, there's nothing special about 91. It's just how many posts I have at this point. Actually, one of them is still a draft...I wonder if they count that one or not. I don't think I'll ever post that one. But it started out really well. Anyway, I have favorite posts. This won't be one of them.

Seven/twenty-one/two thousand and eight is the date tomorrow. It's my friend's birthday (I'll never forget that again) and the year anniversary of Axel Giraud's baptism. He's the awesome man of a missionary's dream. Never have I seen anyone so concerned to be completely repentant before his baptism. I know we'll never be perfect (hence why we get baptized) but his intention was real, his desires were pure and to the Lord. And as far as I have heard recently, he's doing really well. I'm so glad about him and his life. When we have God in our life, the joy runs deeper, the problems still flow but the support comes from all sides and we learn oh so much when we rely on the guy who knows everything. I love God. In fact, so much of me loves God, that if you took that part away from me all you'd have left is a piece of meat. Probably not that edible either. Depending on your meat preferences.

I'm very bored so I'll wrap it up here. A few random things first and you'll leave me be: Toffee bananas is not a great dessert. Cell phones seem to rule our relationships. I can't find my spare key. My roommates are so really truly awesome. If I could be an aquatic animal I would choose an octopus and I compared myself to an octopus this evening. I find much pleasure in speaking French. And cooking. I love cooking. It's like 91% of my spare time usage.

My bare feet traced lazily through the slightly yellowing grass on my way to check the mail. As a fallen plum squished through yesterday's perfectly manicured toes, I thought to myself, "It certainly has been a long time since I wrote on my blog." And indeed, the mailbox showing no fan mail, again, confirmed that I must get a-writin'. So, while my delicious bran muffins are in the oven, I advance.
I have a great friend that has read 17 books and written nearly two this summer. Have you noticed how summer is only about half-way through? The grass already has. I've read The Ultimate Gift, Inkheart, Twilight, New Moon or Eclipse (whichever comes second), Le Petit Prince (in French of course), Harry Potter 7 (ah what joy), and I've started Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close (which already, as I told one friend, I have fallen deep in curious love with). I'm going to school right now so my readings are assigned more so than hand-picked. But the other night when I was reading Alma 34 (that's in the Book of Mormon) I suddenly had this image of a simple one room event and I reached for my pen, somehow turned off my inner-editor, and wrote about 7 small-notebook-from-France pages of a story. It felt like I'd finally gotten to The Smart Gym: For brains and Intellect. Finally a good work out. Upon revision of course my editor is disgusted and just wants to reject every line. But I've put the event on paper.
Well, 18 minutes are up. These are some delicious bran muffins.

Another Year

More of a few of my favorite things:

nonstop exhausting days (now and then)

peeling bananas (but not eating them)

chewing bubblegum in the shower

pleasant surprise birthday guests

receiving and opening packages

leaving it better than finding it

getting jokes the others don't

killing spiders (is that bad?)

getting it right on my own

not working at the MTC

anonymous gift giving

holding ball pythons

kissing baby cheeks

marshmallow wars

hittin' the bullseye

foreign languages

v.i.p. invitations

measuring cups

playing hostess

experimenting

a clean house

growing wiser

blank paper

celebrating

stretching

observing

gift cards

missions

popcorn

dreams

Alaska

eating

books

hugs

Twisty Review: looks are deceiving

My boyfriend and I go to a restaurant in Heber City, Utah called Spin Cafe. Our waiter introduces himself as Twitch (well, I'm pretty sure. I didn't want to double check like an idiot..."did you say Twitch?.) His first words are, "here's the bad news." My, how discomforting that is! I never thought what that could feel like, because I'd never heard it in the restaurant setting before. He continues with a list of items they're out of for the night. Talk about your first impressions! Jeez, Twitch. That's not so bad. He does the best he can, I guess.

But, if the food's not great, it's not great.

http://www.spincafe.net/index.htm

It wasn't great. We take our seats, and just looking at our menus, Ty has already hit his elbow twice on the poorly designed and chosen floor chair. I'm sitting pin straight on the booth seat. We ask Twitch if it's alright to turn the table to sit side by side (like planks). He doesn't see any problem with it. Neither do the other two people in the cafe. So we make our move and order a dozen sweet & spicy smoked wings...priced at 5 cents less than $11.00.

Were we just hungry or were they really that great? The wings are good. They come with a tasty blue cheese ranch dipping sauce and sticks of celery and carrots. We have high hopes for the rest of what suddenly all comes out at once: our order of half a chicken and a "dinosaur" rib, each with two sides: veggie of the day (broccoli) and onion rings (he wasn't clear I'd be paying more for them); soup of the day (white bean vegetable) and salad (of the end of the day...).

Twitch declares them as voted the best onion rings in the state. I'm moving! The broccoli, actually good. The soup did not seize its day. At all. The salad, we're pretty sure, is the weeds from the parking lot, rinsed and padded with spinach leaves Popeye would be ashamed of. At least the ranch sides with it...

The half chicken must have been a baby. A runt baby. And the cooks felt so bad for it, they didn't want to smother it with any sort of sauce so I'd taste it. The rib is so fatty. Really. So ribs can be. But this one really must have come from an unpopular dinosaur that the other dino-kids teased. For main dishes, these really left us wanting to taste something more: anything at all. (And the bbq sauce. I don't use this word often: yuck.)

Around us, the help take care of us and ask if there is anything we need. Not really able to say, "yeah, better food," we graciously accept the water refills and ask for a to go box for the onion rings left over after I'd eaten only four. My mom likes them. Only, she'll never find out if she does because when we both felt kinda like the food was passing all too fast and went to the bathroom, Twitch threw them away in the whirlwind table clearing contest he must have...with himself. Quick! Have to make room for all. . .those..customers. not coming. Like me. Not coming back.

We pass on dessert. I remember the prices above $5 for each item, which is probably a tiny scoop of their acclaimed Gelato. Bbq and Gelato together? What a spin.

When the check comes it doesn't really hit me that we just spent $50.00 until down the road Ty repeats in disgust "$50.00? We only spent $37.00 at Carrabbas the other night."
"Really?" It dawned.

That was not a $50.00 dinner. It was not a $37.00 dinner. It was not a good dinner.

Spin cafe, eh?
Spin, verb: 1. a sick turning in circles sensation? check. 2. Rotate customers rapidly? check. 3. Take a trip in a motor vehicle? go somewhere else!

Going Bananas

"You know what I like to do?" I asked as I watched him prepare his breakfast of champions.
"Hm?" he replied without interest.
"I like to slit its throat and/or behead it, then pull back and scalp the rest of it." It's true. The knife makes a resonating 'shling!' noise of triumph.
"Then I skin it alive," he added.
I laughed, stunned by his witty participation. "Yeah you do!"
He always does. Takes him 10 minutes just to, well, skin a banana. There's no better way to describe what he does. I think it's a waste of time. He's a bit crazy.

Why?

Was it my driving? Was it that I looked like I just got out of bed? Was it me? Or is he as crazy as he looked?

I was driving my school bus. It's love school bus number nine. Nothing but high rollin good times and good feelings, until Monday morning. Okay, it's not that dramastic. This guy's head was covered in hair pointing every direction. It reflected the directionless look on his face. He was crossing the road intersecting the one I was cruising down seeming to wish he hadn't been walking around town all night. He neared the corner of the crosswalks and cut toward my road. I'm not sure why I was looking at him (maybe to make sure he didn't jump out in front of me), but he was looking back. His frown deepened in suspicion and he raised his right arm, bent his elbow down and stuck out his thumb. What? the crap. He just gave me a thumbs down?

Truth

Truth is, I don't ever want to be in a coma because then all the hairs that I pluck would grow out frighteningly and unallowably long.

No Ordinary Glove

Actually, this is any ordinary glove. The only reason it became blog-worthy is by what my dad said. I believe we had just prayed as a family and the glove was innocently resting its palm on the couch. my Dad snatched it up and said, "I wonder if the police are looking for the hand this belongs to?"



Rather stunned at his comment we stared, ears risking to hear him explain, "Well, I found it at the bottom of a cliff when I was hiking up the canyon. Just one."

For Now, It's Spring

One can't help but smile in this spring sunshine.



Flowers' smiles are contagious.