I'm not dead. I'm just a college student.
And the semester is almost over. I took my first final today, have another at 7 am tomorrow morning (gritting teeth), and two more Tuesday.
I think the weather is schizophrenic. We'll be granted a couple glorious days of sunshine and warm temperatures, then—WHOOMP. Five inches of snow. As I leaned against the wind that sent stinging snowflakes into my face the other day, bundled up in a sweater, coat, scarf, beanie and boots, I thought it strange that under my sweater was a sunburn I procured while laying out in the sun for an hour on Sunday, in shorts and a t-shirt. The weather is schizophrenic, bipolar, or a murderous psychopath, or all of the above. The white Y on the mountain looks like it's playing peek-a-boo. Now you see me...*snow*...now you don't!
Time to memorize some German verbs and their nominative, accusative, dative, and genitive conjugations, as well as every grammar concept we've been taught all semester.
Beten Sie für mich!
(Pray for me!)
Friday, April 17, 2009
Saturday, February 7, 2009
Vehicular Woes
Of all the areas in which my scatter-brainedness could choose to manifest itself, the area relating to cars and all things mechanical has to be one of the most trying and inconvenient—and, in hindsight, the most entertaining.
Take, for example, this clip, which I recorded a little less than a year ago, when I first embarked on this scholarly adventure—and also when I first encountered snow.
Needless to say, I now own a state-of-the-art dual ice scraper and brush, which occupies a permanent spot on the floor of the passenger side of my car. I don't worry too much about the passenger whose feet might occupy that spot. First of all, I am rarely solicited for rides, as my Chevy Metro is not large enough to carry a lot of people.
The other reason that I don't often give rides is the result of yet another of my frequently embarrassing shenanigans. In April of last year, as I was preparing to head home to Texas for the summer, I had found a storage facility where I could leave my car until I returned in the fall. At my mother's recommendation, I planned one morning to drive to the facility and "check it out". Of course I gave myself too little time to travel to, find, and inspect the warehouse before returning to my apartment to finish packing, complete last-minute cleaning checks, and take my last final before a shuttle came to deliver me to the airport.
It seems that poor planning almost always yields unexpected and unprepared-for circumstances—out of spite—a concept I became extremely familiar with that morning. Though I followed the online directions I had printed out explicitly, I couldn't find the warehouse. After at least half an hour spent on a wild goose chase, determined to locate it, I could no longer ignore the clock on my dashboard. Heaving a sigh, I began to head back to Provo. But soon after that, I noticed that my tank was dangerously close to empty, so I stopped to fill up before I got back on the highway.
After refilling, and uncomfortably aware of the time, I quickly grabbed the receipt and yanked on my door handle.
It didn't open.
I yanked again.
No response.
For a minute I simply stared in disbelief at my car, and at the keys which seemed to glint mockingly at me from their resting place on the passenger seat.
Fortunately, the cashier in the station said that police officers who happen to be in the area are generally happy to help motorists such as myself for free, and quickly contacted one. He arrived within three minutes, and, with the pleasantries and gentle chastisement typical of law enforcers, tried his hand with the slim jim on the driver's door. After several minutes of bending, poking and jiggling, he had failed to unlock the door, so he tried his luck with the passenger side. Several more nail-biting minutes passed, and still the door refused to open. I was tempted to kick my car for its stubbornness, but know from experience that such a loss of temper will result only in a swollen toe.
The officer was determined, and this time pulled out a tool resembling the instrument doctors use to measure blood pressure. Using a wedge to pry the passenger side door open slightly, he slipped a large, flat, fabric square into the door and began pumping it full of air, thus forcing the door open wider and wider. Then he simply grabbed the slim jim and used it to snare the lanyard which, I was now more grateful than ever, was attached to my keys, pulling them out through the gap.
I thanked him profusely, nearly grovelling, for rescueing me from a situation that I had begun to fear would force me to miss my final. He of course admonished me to be more careful in the future in order to avoid being in this situation again, and I made all sorts of heartfelt promises.
Shortly thereafter, I discovered that, in his efforts to open the passenger side door of my car, the kind officer had jammed it. The interior lock was frozen halfway between locked and unlocked, and no amount of jiggling, prying, twisting or pleading would get it unstuck.
By this point I was so frazzled that I almost didn't care, knowing that I had many other things to worry about before I went home, and that the car would be sitting in a warehouse all summer anyway. And to this day, if ever I give someone I ride, I must use the key to open their door from the outside and let them out.
As I said, though it makes it quite awkward in the rare case that I do give someone a ride, I have since been able to make light of my mishap. It makes for an interesting conversation, anyway.
But someone must not think my life is interesting enough.
I did it again a couple weeks ago. I stopped after buying groceries to fill up on gas, had even thought against it because I wasn't sure I had the time, but I did it anyway—and once again, I turned after replacing the nozzle in its holster to find that the wind had blown my car door shut. It was locked, and my keys winked at me from the passenger seat. Again, vainly I pulled the handle again and again and again. Then, swallowing the urge to kick my car the second time, I dragged my feet inside the little station's store and told the lady at the cashier's desk of my predicament.
"There's a mechanic right next door who might help you out," she said. "His name's Paul."
So I rushed next door to find Paul. Find him I did, but he seemed hesitant after he learned my car's model. "Those cars' doors have lots of little fragile parts inside that break easily, which can jam the door," he said.
"I know, the passenger side is already jammed from the last time I did this," I blurted without thinking. He just stared at me for a moment while my face crimsoned and I inwardly cursed my big mouth.
After we had exhausted any other options (my cell phone was also locked inside the car, I had no spare key with me, and I hadn't memorize the number of any roommate who could bring one to me), he consented to help me out and followed me to my car.
Just as with the police officer, minute after minute passed while the door refused to unlock, no matter how many different sizes, shapes, and lengths of tools the mechanic used. I was beginning to worry that the door would never open, but, finally, it did. Again I showered my hero with thanks and asked if I could compensate him, but he refused to be paid. Thinking of the groceries warming in the back of my car, I thanked him again, started my engine, and sped for home, loudly scolding myself the whole way back.
I pulled into a prime parking spot right next to my building, turned off the engine, snatched my purse from the passenger seat and pulled my door handle.
Broken.
For one panicked moment I wondered if I was locked inside my own car, then had the idea to roll down the window and open the door using the outside handle. So now I have to jump through all sorts of hoops not only to get out of my own car, but to let any passengers out. When I've accumulated enough funds I'll go back to Paul and have him fix my doors as repayment.
In the mean time, perhaps I should invest in a snow shovel, too?
Take, for example, this clip, which I recorded a little less than a year ago, when I first embarked on this scholarly adventure—and also when I first encountered snow.
Needless to say, I now own a state-of-the-art dual ice scraper and brush, which occupies a permanent spot on the floor of the passenger side of my car. I don't worry too much about the passenger whose feet might occupy that spot. First of all, I am rarely solicited for rides, as my Chevy Metro is not large enough to carry a lot of people.
The other reason that I don't often give rides is the result of yet another of my frequently embarrassing shenanigans. In April of last year, as I was preparing to head home to Texas for the summer, I had found a storage facility where I could leave my car until I returned in the fall. At my mother's recommendation, I planned one morning to drive to the facility and "check it out". Of course I gave myself too little time to travel to, find, and inspect the warehouse before returning to my apartment to finish packing, complete last-minute cleaning checks, and take my last final before a shuttle came to deliver me to the airport.
It seems that poor planning almost always yields unexpected and unprepared-for circumstances—out of spite—a concept I became extremely familiar with that morning. Though I followed the online directions I had printed out explicitly, I couldn't find the warehouse. After at least half an hour spent on a wild goose chase, determined to locate it, I could no longer ignore the clock on my dashboard. Heaving a sigh, I began to head back to Provo. But soon after that, I noticed that my tank was dangerously close to empty, so I stopped to fill up before I got back on the highway.
After refilling, and uncomfortably aware of the time, I quickly grabbed the receipt and yanked on my door handle.
It didn't open.
I yanked again.
No response.
For a minute I simply stared in disbelief at my car, and at the keys which seemed to glint mockingly at me from their resting place on the passenger seat.
Fortunately, the cashier in the station said that police officers who happen to be in the area are generally happy to help motorists such as myself for free, and quickly contacted one. He arrived within three minutes, and, with the pleasantries and gentle chastisement typical of law enforcers, tried his hand with the slim jim on the driver's door. After several minutes of bending, poking and jiggling, he had failed to unlock the door, so he tried his luck with the passenger side. Several more nail-biting minutes passed, and still the door refused to open. I was tempted to kick my car for its stubbornness, but know from experience that such a loss of temper will result only in a swollen toe.
The officer was determined, and this time pulled out a tool resembling the instrument doctors use to measure blood pressure. Using a wedge to pry the passenger side door open slightly, he slipped a large, flat, fabric square into the door and began pumping it full of air, thus forcing the door open wider and wider. Then he simply grabbed the slim jim and used it to snare the lanyard which, I was now more grateful than ever, was attached to my keys, pulling them out through the gap.
I thanked him profusely, nearly grovelling, for rescueing me from a situation that I had begun to fear would force me to miss my final. He of course admonished me to be more careful in the future in order to avoid being in this situation again, and I made all sorts of heartfelt promises.
Shortly thereafter, I discovered that, in his efforts to open the passenger side door of my car, the kind officer had jammed it. The interior lock was frozen halfway between locked and unlocked, and no amount of jiggling, prying, twisting or pleading would get it unstuck.
By this point I was so frazzled that I almost didn't care, knowing that I had many other things to worry about before I went home, and that the car would be sitting in a warehouse all summer anyway. And to this day, if ever I give someone I ride, I must use the key to open their door from the outside and let them out.
As I said, though it makes it quite awkward in the rare case that I do give someone a ride, I have since been able to make light of my mishap. It makes for an interesting conversation, anyway.
But someone must not think my life is interesting enough.
I did it again a couple weeks ago. I stopped after buying groceries to fill up on gas, had even thought against it because I wasn't sure I had the time, but I did it anyway—and once again, I turned after replacing the nozzle in its holster to find that the wind had blown my car door shut. It was locked, and my keys winked at me from the passenger seat. Again, vainly I pulled the handle again and again and again. Then, swallowing the urge to kick my car the second time, I dragged my feet inside the little station's store and told the lady at the cashier's desk of my predicament.
"There's a mechanic right next door who might help you out," she said. "His name's Paul."
So I rushed next door to find Paul. Find him I did, but he seemed hesitant after he learned my car's model. "Those cars' doors have lots of little fragile parts inside that break easily, which can jam the door," he said.
"I know, the passenger side is already jammed from the last time I did this," I blurted without thinking. He just stared at me for a moment while my face crimsoned and I inwardly cursed my big mouth.
After we had exhausted any other options (my cell phone was also locked inside the car, I had no spare key with me, and I hadn't memorize the number of any roommate who could bring one to me), he consented to help me out and followed me to my car.
Just as with the police officer, minute after minute passed while the door refused to unlock, no matter how many different sizes, shapes, and lengths of tools the mechanic used. I was beginning to worry that the door would never open, but, finally, it did. Again I showered my hero with thanks and asked if I could compensate him, but he refused to be paid. Thinking of the groceries warming in the back of my car, I thanked him again, started my engine, and sped for home, loudly scolding myself the whole way back.
I pulled into a prime parking spot right next to my building, turned off the engine, snatched my purse from the passenger seat and pulled my door handle.
Broken.
For one panicked moment I wondered if I was locked inside my own car, then had the idea to roll down the window and open the door using the outside handle. So now I have to jump through all sorts of hoops not only to get out of my own car, but to let any passengers out. When I've accumulated enough funds I'll go back to Paul and have him fix my doors as repayment.
In the mean time, perhaps I should invest in a snow shovel, too?
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Sunday, February 1, 2009
Dastardly Davy
One morning Dastardly Davy slipped furtively into the northern wing of the palace, his cuddly fellow conspirator in tow, to see what mischief he could make.
Little did he know that I had discovered his cunning plan.
Mwahaha.
He quickly discovered the treasure—Em's jewelry box—and sat in a corner to count and weigh his spoils (or eat them), unaware of the danger that approached.
I jumped out from behind the curtain with a triumphant cry. "Aha!" I crowed. "You shall not escape now, for I have caught you in the act, you diminutive fiend!"
I jumped out from behind the curtain with a triumphant cry. "Aha!" I crowed. "You shall not escape now, for I have caught you in the act, you diminutive fiend!"
With hardly a blink at my sudden appearance, the child merely grinned."Why, good Lady, I know not of what you speak! I am lost, and cannot find my way. Tell me, I pray, wherein I give offense?" he said, his golden hair glowing in the afternoon sun.
I faltered for a moment, astonished by his heavenly countenance. "Surely you are not lost, nor have you come here by chance. You have stolen the treasures—I see them in your hand!" I cried, pointing at his chubby fist.
The boy turned his head and looked at me with one chocolate-brown eye and an angelic smile.
"Kind Lady," said he, "You are wise and generous. Surely you cannot suppose that I, a poor child, could be guilty of such an abominable crime! As I wandered, I heard a terrible noise, and knew at once that it must be some terrible mischief! I ran as quickly as I could, but found only these priceless jewels cast carelessly upon the ground when I arrived. Perhaps my approach frightened away the evil robbers who intended to steal these treasures! I only wish that I had come in time to catch the villains in their crime and prevent their escape.""Oh, dear child!" I answered. "Would that you had not arrived before the brutes escaped, lest they had done you harm! Nay, for all is well. You have found the jewels, and they have not been stolen."
The boy smiled yet greater. "I knew that you were wise. Oh Lady, what shall we now do with these treasures? I am certain that, in your wisdom, you know that we cannot leave them here. What if the robbers should return for them again? I must go for help, so that we may carry away the treasures safely!"
"Oh yes!" said I. "Go quickly, good child, quickly!"
The child bowed low, the light casting golden rays across his face. "I shall not spare another moment, good Lady. Fear not for me! I shall find assistance, only be sure that you do not leave this place, save the robbers find you!"
And so Dastardly Davy, with the precious jewels still clasped in his plump hand, danced away like a cherub, leaving me besotted and blinking in the sunlight.
Monday, January 19, 2009
Surprise Guest
One morning as I was heading off to school, I noticed that our next-door neighbors had left a full garbage bag outside their door. Not that this is unusual (nobody likes to take the trash to the dumpster when it's below 20 degrees outside). What caught my attention on this particular occasion was the small trail of trash leading from a fist-sized hole in the bottom of the bag towards the stairs. I soon forgot about the incident, however, as I skipped my way down the stairs and speed-walked to the bus stop.
When I returned from work that night, the mysterious trash bag had been removed and the stray litter picked up. Again, I gave it little thought as I began tallying up all the homework that would be facing me once I walked through my front door.
Later that night, I sat on the kitchen counter as roommate Ali was leaving to hang out with her friend Greg. I honestly don't remember what she was saying over her shoulder as she opened the door, because at that moment I saw a small dark shape skitter away from our neighbors' front door.
"Kitty!" I squealed.
Ali turned and immediately began yelling incomprehensibly. Carly and Kylee screamed before they'd even seen the feline and ran to the door. All three of them ran to the edge of the landing, squawking like hens, pointing after the poor thing as it ran down the stairs.
I still sat bemused on the counter, thinking, Geez, it's just a cat.
Ali ran back inside. "IT WAS A RACCOON!" she shouted.
That explains it, I thought.
Then all four of us collapsed in a fit of giggles.
We are currently trying to decide on a name for our rabid friend. Any suggestions?
When I returned from work that night, the mysterious trash bag had been removed and the stray litter picked up. Again, I gave it little thought as I began tallying up all the homework that would be facing me once I walked through my front door.
Later that night, I sat on the kitchen counter as roommate Ali was leaving to hang out with her friend Greg. I honestly don't remember what she was saying over her shoulder as she opened the door, because at that moment I saw a small dark shape skitter away from our neighbors' front door.
"Kitty!" I squealed.
Ali turned and immediately began yelling incomprehensibly. Carly and Kylee screamed before they'd even seen the feline and ran to the door. All three of them ran to the edge of the landing, squawking like hens, pointing after the poor thing as it ran down the stairs.
I still sat bemused on the counter, thinking, Geez, it's just a cat.
Ali ran back inside. "IT WAS A RACCOON!" she shouted.
That explains it, I thought.
Then all four of us collapsed in a fit of giggles.
We are currently trying to decide on a name for our rabid friend. Any suggestions?
Saturday, January 17, 2009
A New Year
Forgive me, friends, for I have sinned against Blogdom. It has been almost two whole months...woops. And apparently some people would actually like to hear more about the strange experience that is my life.
Well. All I can say is that I fell off the bandwagon somewhere...probably right about the time I was up to my armpits in homework and finals...and now I must redeem myself.
So, the holidays have passed all too quickly and I find myself once again steeped in textbooks and papers and quizzes and all other assignments and duties which are, sometimes, the quagmire of school. It's not all bad, of course. My roommates and I seem to find a way to make things interesting, though it usually involves lying on the floor, kicking our legs in the air, and laughing until we snort. Not to mention squealing as we chase raccoons away from our front door, or as we discover unrecognizable food items hiding in the dark recesses of our fridge, or as we wax each others' armpits.
I got a job. Well, a new one. I was working from 9pm to 12:30am Monday through Friday in the campus library as a custodian. Inexplicably, I would find myself sleeping through my alarm in the morning or struggling to concentrate in class. Go figure. So, after a year and a half of scrubbing toilets, I set off into the world to find a new way—relatively speaking. BYU is rather a world of its own. And what do you know! There is a whole plethora of other custodial jobs out there, free for the taking! I now work with a cool guy named Brad in several of the buildings in the southwest corner of campus. It is definitely the easiest job I have ever had. If I'm not careful, I'll be left with no work ethic whatsoever. Our duties include:
-making sure the relatively few restrooms have toilet paper and paper towels
-picking up little pieces of paper left by students who don't seem to be able to read the directions on the paper towel dispensor and pull with two hands, thereby ripping off little pieces of towel and leaving them lovingly on the floor by the tens and hundreds for custodians like myself to pick up. These were affectionately called "chunkies" by us custodians at the library
-going back to Milt's office and chatting for half and hour while we eat cheetohs and Farley's fruit snacks (Milt is our supervisor)
-twiddling our thumbs while we think of what else we can do for the next two hours
-maybe wiping down some windows or cleaning drinking fountains
-vacuuming a couple hallways in the Joseph Smith building...maybe
-and I'm not sure what else...I've only had the job for a week. A couple nights ago we spent about 45 minutes torturing Milt with riddles
I work from 4-8pm, Monday through Friday, leaving plenty of time to study or chase raccoons with my roommates before going to bed.
I. Love. It.
And now for school. I'm taking six classes if you include the lab:
BIO 220A + lab (animal diversity—my lecture professor speaks like he's half asleep, and my lab teacher speaks like he's Chinese, which he is)
BIO 270 (animal restraint—we get to wrestle with pigs and cows and I know not what—SO excited)
PWS 270 (animal husbandry—I don't know what I was expecting, but we basically learn how to become ranchers)
German 201 (one semester of German left after this—ach, fröhlicher Tag!)
REL C327 (Pearl of Great Price—a book of scripture for those of you not familiar with it)
So that is Holly's Life 2009 so far. How quickly it will pass.
Jetzt muss ich meine Hausaufgaben machen, oder die Klasse Montags meinen Hintern kicken werden (now I must do my homework, or Monday's class will kick my butt).
Auf Wiedersehen!
Well. All I can say is that I fell off the bandwagon somewhere...probably right about the time I was up to my armpits in homework and finals...and now I must redeem myself.
So, the holidays have passed all too quickly and I find myself once again steeped in textbooks and papers and quizzes and all other assignments and duties which are, sometimes, the quagmire of school. It's not all bad, of course. My roommates and I seem to find a way to make things interesting, though it usually involves lying on the floor, kicking our legs in the air, and laughing until we snort. Not to mention squealing as we chase raccoons away from our front door, or as we discover unrecognizable food items hiding in the dark recesses of our fridge, or as we wax each others' armpits.
I got a job. Well, a new one. I was working from 9pm to 12:30am Monday through Friday in the campus library as a custodian. Inexplicably, I would find myself sleeping through my alarm in the morning or struggling to concentrate in class. Go figure. So, after a year and a half of scrubbing toilets, I set off into the world to find a new way—relatively speaking. BYU is rather a world of its own. And what do you know! There is a whole plethora of other custodial jobs out there, free for the taking! I now work with a cool guy named Brad in several of the buildings in the southwest corner of campus. It is definitely the easiest job I have ever had. If I'm not careful, I'll be left with no work ethic whatsoever. Our duties include:
-making sure the relatively few restrooms have toilet paper and paper towels
-picking up little pieces of paper left by students who don't seem to be able to read the directions on the paper towel dispensor and pull with two hands, thereby ripping off little pieces of towel and leaving them lovingly on the floor by the tens and hundreds for custodians like myself to pick up. These were affectionately called "chunkies" by us custodians at the library
-going back to Milt's office and chatting for half and hour while we eat cheetohs and Farley's fruit snacks (Milt is our supervisor)
-twiddling our thumbs while we think of what else we can do for the next two hours
-maybe wiping down some windows or cleaning drinking fountains
-vacuuming a couple hallways in the Joseph Smith building...maybe
-and I'm not sure what else...I've only had the job for a week. A couple nights ago we spent about 45 minutes torturing Milt with riddles
I work from 4-8pm, Monday through Friday, leaving plenty of time to study or chase raccoons with my roommates before going to bed.
I. Love. It.
And now for school. I'm taking six classes if you include the lab:
BIO 220A + lab (animal diversity—my lecture professor speaks like he's half asleep, and my lab teacher speaks like he's Chinese, which he is)
BIO 270 (animal restraint—we get to wrestle with pigs and cows and I know not what—SO excited)
PWS 270 (animal husbandry—I don't know what I was expecting, but we basically learn how to become ranchers)
German 201 (one semester of German left after this—ach, fröhlicher Tag!)
REL C327 (Pearl of Great Price—a book of scripture for those of you not familiar with it)
So that is Holly's Life 2009 so far. How quickly it will pass.
Jetzt muss ich meine Hausaufgaben machen, oder die Klasse Montags meinen Hintern kicken werden (now I must do my homework, or Monday's class will kick my butt).
Auf Wiedersehen!
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