Minnesota jargon, dontcha know.

I've lived in Minnesota for almost my whole life. We moved to Minnesota from Wisconsin (which is the same as Minnesota except there are less lakes and more cheese, and as you may or may not know, I have no problems with that) when I was three years old, so I'd say that 21 years out of 24 would be a suitable justification for saying "I've lived there my whole life". Living in the same place forever has its advantages. I didn't have the traumatizing experience of moving the summer before my senior year of high school, I was never the new kid at school and I have somewhere that I will always be able to call home. But I would say that living in the same place your whole life also has its disadvantages. There are habits and phrases that are very state specific and when you do go somewhere else and learn that people might not know what you're talking about, you start to wonder if you've been lied to your whole life.

So when I started going to school in Idaho and started making friends from all over the country, I was shocked to learn that not only did they not know what cheese curds were, Minnesotans have quite the variety of different names for things that we're all familiar with on some level.

As if Minnesotans don't already take enough heat for their accents (my mom actually trained me and my sister to not have MN accents. When people find out I'm from MN they usually say "Wow, you don't even have the accent!"), here are some other things that you might find strange about our way of speech.

I know some of these are definitely specific to MN, but some I'm not so sure. You'll have to tell me if your homeland says it too.

1. Duck, duck.......

Did you say goose in your head? Well in Minnesota you'd be the source of confusion. Because in Minnesota it's "Duck, duck, gray duck". That's right. Duck, duck, gray duck. I'm not really sure why the color gray was chosen or what a gray duck is (besides a duck that is gray...) or what sets it apart from other ducks and makes it so special that it gets to be the action signal for a game, but that's what you'll hear MN kids saying when they play this childhood game.

2. Flick someone off.

This one I'm not sure if it's MN specific or not. But when you give someone the middle finger, we'd say you flicked them off. I'm pretty sure my dad says it (he also grew up in MN. Born and raised. Even the same town.) but my mom who grew up mostly in Virginia and North Carolina says we're crazy and its flip them off.

3. Budge in line.

Remember the days in Elementary school when you'd patiently be waiting in line and some punk would sneak in in front of you as if you wouldn't notice? In MN we'd brand them as a budger. And say "Hey! No budging! Go to the end of the line". Apparently every where else you cut in line, you don't budge. I mean, cut makes more sense.

4. Ding dong ditch.

I only recently learned that not everyone calls it this. Some other states call it "ring and run". But you know, the classic "We're bored, let go have some fun" where you ring an unsuspecting persons house and run away before they answer the door.

5. Common phrases such as "dontcha know" "ya, you betcha" and "ohhh ya. ohhh sure".

My adventures in Idaho have allowed me to learn some other state jargon. These are the ones that I'm aware of so far, but please add to the list. Especially ones that come from your own state.

In Idaho/Utah they call the glove compartment of a car the jockey box.

In the South any type of soda is a Coke.

I can't remember which state (Washington, maybe?) they call a drinking fountain a bubbler.

In Canada a couch is a chesterfield, a hat is a took and they say "zed" for the letter Z.

thank you for traveling with us today.

My mom and I flew home from Utah today. Who doesn't love a good plane trip every now and then? I'm just waiting for the day that teleporting is real.

Today's flight wasn't bad at all. At all. Besides having to high tail it to the very opposite end of the terminal in Dallas to make my connecting flight and the beyond giant security line in SLC that wrapped through every aisle that's roped off and trailed all the way down past the luggage carousel and ALMOST out the door, it really wasn't bad.

I've started to just expect traveling to be horrendous, so having incredibly low standards helps the overall experience not seem so bad. And since I went to school far from home, I've had plenty of travel time that has allowed be to become a seasoned traveler. Not that my travels have been that exciting, it's mostly limited to the Western states on my journey back to Idaho.

Even though today's flight wasn't bad, I've sure had my fair share of travel horror stories.

Like the time my sister and I were on our way to San Francisco with our cousin to visit her dad/our uncle and our flight got canceled and in order to make it up to us we got FOOD VOUCHERS? Oh here. Here's a ticket for $1o that will buy you a water bottle and a stale sandwich. You can imagine the fight my mom put up and we were eventually on a flight that night. That was Northwest, by the way.

Or the time we had a layover in San Francisco (I'm only now realizing a slight trend...) and we were starving and trying to find something to eat, which by the way, is slim pickings in that airport. We were walking and before I realized it I had walked into the danger zone and my family was still behind me in the safe zone. My family tried to warn me and once I realized I turned around practically in the same step but the dragon security lady made me go through SECURITY again. Who designed an airport that has the already limited eating options outside of security? Pfft.

Or the time I ran out of room in my suitcases when coming home from school so I stuffed my backpack to the seams, and shockingly, it was too big to fit in the overhead compartment so they told me I had to gate check it and apparently I didn't put it in the right place (even though I set it down where everyone who has ever traveled sets gate checked luggage--to the right where the door is where they are loading the luggage down on the plane) and the snooty stewardess got on the loud speaker and said "would the owner of a polka dot backpack PUH-LEASE report to the front of the plane? IMMEDIATELY!" and they asked me if it was mine and why I put it there. I put it there because you told me to, Sherlock.

Remember the days when you got to check TWO bags for free dollars AND they gave you a meal? Now you're lucky if you get to your seat and someone else hasn't already shoved their clearly too big of carry on bag into your rightful overhead space.

What have been your traveling adventures? Or perhaps misadventures?

elf on the shelf, say what?

I came across this blog the other day and I was almost in tears by the time I was done reading it. If swear words offend you, then I wouldn't read it. I should probably be more selective in the things I read, but we're all working on something, right?

So I don't know about you but I have never heard of this elf on the shelf business. I did some googling and amazon.com-ing, and apparently, it's some Christmas tradition. According to my google searches and this blog post, it sounds like you hide the little elf and your kids try to find him. Or something. And somehow it's a game. I'm still making sense of it.

But can I just say, have you ever heard of a more creepy tradition? I mean besides some of the famous Christmas songs like "Santa Clause is coming to town" you know... "He sees you when you're sleeping, he knows when you're awake". And you're telling me that this creep is going to slither down my chimney and deliver gifts? AND I'm supposed to leave treats for him? No thank you. (For more creepy and obnoxious holiday songs check out http://jacobdivett.blogspot.com/2011/12/worst-christmas-songs-ever.html)

To me it sounds like elf on the shelf could be used as a form of punishment. You break a rule? Better watch out for elf on the shelf. You never know where your mom or dad is going to hide him. Perhaps in your bed. Perhaps in the cereal box so when you unsuspectingly pour your morning breakfast he appears in your bowl.

Did anybody do this growing up? Or has anyone at least heard of it?

Merry Christmas and beware of lurking elves.

change is coming my way

I think that the end of the semester (or the end of any phase in life) is a lot like pregnancy. Not that you become with child, but that there seems to be a never ending stream of emotions that change at the drop of a hat.

The other day I went to grad night. Some little meeting/ceremony where President Clark and Vice President Eyring spoke to the graduating students that were in attendance. Up until last night I couldn't wait to get out of this place. And be done with school. But as they were speaking. It hit me.

I'm going to be done with this phase of my life. D-O-N-E. Kind of weird, huh? No more classes, no more text books, no more testing center, etc. What will I do with my life? What will consume my time and worries? Something will, that's for sure. Work? Bills? Life? Yes, yes, yes.

Change is always hard. But it's kind of exciting at the same time. It's like we get a fresh start. We get to meet new people and have a blank slate. But when we've been in one part of life for a while (ahem...since 2005) you get comfortable. But comfort is where we get in trouble. When we're comfortable we don't see a need for growth and improvement.

As weird as this little town is, I'm going to miss it.

Here's to whatever is next.

rest in peace

Guess who died a year ago today?

forever seared in my memory.

Did you catch my traumatizing canoe story? Well in case you though I made it up, here's physical photo proof.

I'm not really sure why we are going in a different direction while everyone is watching us and having a seemingly good time while they laugh it up. See? Told you.

canoes are not your friend.

You would think after one, even two, traumatizing experiences all involving the same event, one would learn their lesson. But you know what they say. Third time's a charm.

So what is the event at hand that has caused so much grief and memories to shudder at in my life? Canoeing. That long and skinny boat and two beady little ores leave nothing but a sour taste in my mouth.

The first happened at a fairly early age in my life. It was a cool Wisconsin day, and my family and I were enjoying our time at the cabin.

My dad decided it would be the perfect day to spend some quality time with his daughters and take them out on the lake in the canoe. Sounded like a good idea to me. At the time.

We gathered up our life jackets and set into the canoe. My sister and I were both pretty young and lacking strength. We tried to help by steering with the other ore, but my dad was responsible for a majority of the work. A noble undertaking. We were paddling around and enjoying ourselves. Staying close to shore and in fairly shallow water in case anything happened.

We caught some pretty good speed and my dad's rhythm was a perfect match to the waves of the water as he pulled the ore in and out while simultaneously switching sides to produce a swift forward direction.

We were laughing and talking and were completely oblivious to the tree hanging over the lake that we were fast approaching.

Then it caught our attention.

My dad tried to desperately slow down, and in a matter of seconds all I remember was...

"It's pretty tall.....I think you're short enough....you should be fine...no wait! DO! Duck! GET DOWN---"smack. The tree quickly met my forehead. Knocked to the ground, luckily the boat didn't tip.

Occasion number two.

It was August. And my friends birthday. Her dad drove us (about five girls in total) to the river where we rented our boats and set out on our adventure. Everything was going well. We were enjoying each others company. One by one we started tipping. Getting back into a canoe in a shallow river isn't too hard. Getting into a canoe in a river with water above your head--a bit more difficult. We had to paddle over to the side so we could climb up the bank to get back into the canoe.

Then it started to rain. Then there was some more tipping. Some more tipping as people tried to get in and eventually surrender as some girls swam while others continued to row.

There was one girl who just could not catch a break. She was mad and swearing and wanted it to be over. Her anger increased with every tip. You knew when she was down. Sometimes our group got far enough spaced out that all we would hear was a splash in the distance soon followed by a loud and slightly dramatic scream of anger and frustration.

Guess who's down?

The adventure was coming to a close. And she was in the front of the group.

"OH MY GOSH. What is that--? Is that...a....COW?"

Yes. Yes indeed it was. A cow. Just standing in the river. Not another cow in sight. We made sure to paddle as fast as our little middle school arms would carry us. It's not every day you come into that close contact with a wild or potentially AWOL cow. What if he was dangerous? Or rabid?

The third and final one takes the cake for traumatizing canoe experiences. I would even take it against canoe horror stories of others. That's how bad it is.

It was a hot summer day and we were vising our friends in Wisconsin (coincidence? Doubtful). They had planned a canoeing trip for the day. I was worried, since canoeing had not proven itself loyal in the past.

We packed up some snacks and set out on our adventure. We arrived at the starting location and everyone that was in our group loaded a bus and we drove out to the river that we would be spending some quality time with. We stepped off and they had a little stand with all of the canoes stacked up that we checked out to use for that day. Now, calling these boats canoes would be generous. They were the dinkiest little things you have ever seen. They looked as reliable as an airplane made out of cardboard. And they were made out of fiberglass. Whoever thought of that money saving, eco-friendly idea should be fired immediately. Have you ever touched fiberglass? There's a reason you probably haven't. Because it hurts, it makes you itch and leaves a rash.

The boats were only big enough for two people. Everyone paired up. I was paired with my dad (I'm starting to see a correlation. Summer, Wisconsin, my dad...). These boats were incredibly prone to tipping. I think we had tipped our canoe at least 10 times within the first several minutes. You had to sit just so and any slight movement from either party dumped you into the lake.

We were going and going.

Tip.

Scratch my foot.

Tip.

Current.

Tip.

Someone tried to pass us.

Tip.

You get the idea.

We were nearing the end of the first stage of the canoeing drip of doom. We had traveled through a pretty substantial distance of river and little side rivers that led us to bigger rivers. I had totally lost count of the number of times we had tipped or how many times I had to chase my ore down the river and with every passing tip my fury only enraged. My increasing fury and tip after tip was quite the entertainment for the rest of my family and friends. Which only got me more worked up. Surely you can sympathize.

Then all of a sudden our boat started scraping the bottom of the river and then suddenly the river stopped.

Everyone ahead of us jumped out of their boat and in one swift motion they popped the canoe onto their shoulder and pranced off into the distance like it was their job. It didn't look too difficult, and the boats didn't seem too heavy. Yet somehow it turned out to be a miserable experience. My dad and I couldn't quite get the timing right. He would lift his side up to his shoulder and I would drop mine. He'd pick up his walking pace and the canoe would be lurched out of my grip. When we finally reached the end of the blasted portage we had arrived at the bank of the nastiest lake I had ever seen. Complete with all sorts of slime and murky water. I carefully tiptoed into the boat. If this boat even thought about tipping us, it would be done for.

I was itchy, mad and hungry and there was no way I was going to let this lake or the boat be victorious over me.

We made sure to keep our distance and go at a glacial pace so our boat would not tip. I was determined. I didn't care how long it took us to paddle across that lake, I would not end up in it.

Then I saw it. Face to face with my current nightmare. One of the boats in front of us tipped. They tipped into the nasty abyss of dirty lake water. My hart sank and started racing at the same time. I couldn't take my eyes off of them. They both were down and out and struggling to get back into the boat. My worries were quickly interrupted.

"Hey Christine...did you see that?! How bad would that be if---"

"don't. you. dare."

I didn't care what it took, I was not going down in that lake and my dad was only trying to egg on my fury. As you can imagine, I was beyond a foul mood by now.

We safely made it through the lake without a single tip and once we were back on a river my eyes could not have beheld a more glorious sight. The end. People were getting out of their boats and pulling their canoe to shore.

We were so close. And we hadn't tipped in quite some time. I was trying to pick up speed while maintaining balance so we could be done with this nightmare. Little did I know my dad had his own plan too. He was PURPOSELY rowing like a maniac and schlepping water INTO the boat so that it would sink. So it would SINK. My dad sunk the boat. On his own flesh and blood. I had HAD it. Had it. Done and done. I stomped out of the boat and left him to finish out the journey solo while he sat there like a fool laughing his head off.

My friends and family were rolling. Laughing like hyenas. Which I did not appreciate nor find nearly as funny I was still itchy, still mad, still hungry and now sopping wet. And you know what? I couldn't even sleep with a blanket that night I itched so bad.

And that's how I came to loathe canoeing. It's been some time since I've set foot in one. Perhaps I'll give it another try and I'll let you know if it leaves me with yet another traumatizing number four.

david duchovny, why won't you love me?

I found another culprit that steals my time. Netflix instant stream. Why? Because every episode ever of the X-Files is available. EVERY SINGLE ONE. I just barely started my marathon, which I intend to make some serious progress on during Thanksgiving break. One thing this year I will FOR SURE be grateful for.

The X-Files premiered in 1993, meaning I would have been six years old. I've seen quite a few episodes, but not many of the early ones. You see, Netflix really only has my best interest in mind.

There's quite the history in my life with X-Files. My mom got me into it. I had a close group of friends that had a similar interest in the X-Files. We may or may not have had a party for the season finale one year. Or possibly series finale, I can't quite remember. One of them REALLY liked the X-Files and we may or may not have called each other Mulder and Scully. If it did happen, it was sixth grade. Not exactly a record breaking year for good ideas or non-embarrassing stories.

Anyway...

The X-Files has a lot of things going for it, but I'd say one of the main reasons being this leading man.

Special Agent Fox Mulder. MULDER. He makes me melt just watching the show. His witty and sarcastic humor and masked nerd tendencies. The ultimate motivation for his job--solving his little sisters case. Obviously he's quite the family man.

There's hidden tension between him and Scully, you can tell he goes to great lengths to protect her. So clearly he's in touch with his emotions, I can get with that. Although the coming episodes and seasons will only confirm that my chances with him are done for as their relationship continues to grow.

And he towers over Scully, so he's got to be at least 6 foot. The definition of a true man, if you ask me. And his dark hair and dark eyes. Talk about a dreamboat.

I also may or may not have been so excited for the most recent X-Files movie that I made a t-shirt that said "Mulder is a FOX" and wore it to the movie theater. I thought it was wickedly clever and my family made fun of me.

I'm already dreading the season when Mulder leaves the FBI, due to his own abduction, and Agent Doggett takes his place. Don't get me wrong, Doggett brings a lot to the plate. He can run like nobody's business.

But he's no Mulder. And he never will be.

#ihopethesmokingmansinthisone #imgonnakillscully #andtealeoni #iwanttobelieve

Trick-or-....nevermind.

So the other day at my internship I was surfing the web (I'm a social media intern, so it's a legitimate use of time. Don't judge) and I came across this gem. Read it and then tell me you didn't laugh and or nod your head in agreement.

I decided to compile my own list of worst halloween "treats" ever. I mean EVER.

Halloween has its own set of rights. You only get this much candy for free one day out of the year. Those are statistics not to be taken lightly.

I'm sure we can all relate to Fez here. And just ignore the obscenity at the very end.

I have fond memories of my trick or treating days. And my neighborhood knew what was up when it came to trick or treating. They didn't skimp on treat giving. For the mostpart. Here are the top 5 worst Halloween treats that unfortunately, I've fallen victim to.

5. Peanut Butter salt water Taffy

Could you think of a worse flavor for salt water taffy? Besides maybe grass clippings? What are we, contestants on fear factor? Gross. My family used to take trips to Myrtle Beach where there are salt water taffy stores on every corner. We know salt water taffy. This is a disgrace to the entire salt water taffy corporation. Not to mention they're tough enough to rip a tooth or several out.

4. Caramels with white nougat in the middle

I don't even know what these are called, that's how gross they are. Even Google is ashamed of them. I couldn't find a picture of the right thing until I searched "individual caramels with white crap in the middle". It's true, you can even check my browsing history if you want.

Dry stale caramels with even more dry chalky "nougat" in the middle? Thanks, but no thanks.

3. Apples

Now don't get me wrong. I love me a nice crunchy apple. But on Halloween? The one day where it's OK to eat enough candy until you puke? Like I'm going to waste my time on an APPLE.

To quote Strongbad,

"What are you? Some kind of a dentist? Some kind of a hippie? Some kind of hippie dentist?"

I couldn't have said it better myself Strongbad.

Not to mention it typically caused your parents to go into a whirlwind of nervousness. The next time you go on a bike ride you'll hear them screaming in the distance "Stay away from that one house! You know the one that gave out APPLES for Halloween?"

Because odds are they either poisoned them or slipped razors into them.

2. Pretzels

These bad boys fall into the same category as apples. Delicious any day of the year except Halloween. Not to mention we already have a barrel of them in the pantry and they're packed in my lunch every single day.

Last and certainly LEAST

1. Wax vampire teeth

Can anybody say Halloween's worst idea EVER? These aren't even edible. And as far as I'm concerned...they're just taking up valuable space in your pillowcase that could be filled by more desirable candy.

So there you have it. My worst top 5 Halloween treats.

What are yours?

who am I?

Growing up I always thought that my features were pretty average for a white American. Blue eyes, light skin and brown curly hair. I’m not entirely aware of my heritage. But I know that my relatives and ancestors came from Europe (whose didn’t?), my Grandpa grew up in Canada and I have a pinch of Native American.

I grew up in the same town for my entire life. More or less. We moved there when I was three. And it happened to be the same hometown that my dad was born in and grew up. We Flemings like to stick to what we know.

Rochester is a pretty diverse town for being in the middle of farm country. I went to high school with people who had a wide variety of ethnic background.

My race was never confused. I was always that white girl.

Until I moved to Idaho. Oh Idaho.

I remember my first semester at BYU-Idaho. I had moved into the dorms, the semester started up and took its natural course. Then all of a sudden it started happening. Multiple times. I don’t remember all of the exact details...but I was somewhere with someone. We were carrying on our conversation when there was a lull in the conversation. I noticed them looking at me and they had that look on their face. You know the one I’m talking about. They’re debating if they should say what they’re thinking. Weighing out the pros and cons, if it would be offensive or if they should just take their chances. What do you do in this situation? So I just waited....not sure what to expect.

“So...um....what...well....uh......what are you?”

What am I? What does that even mean? You mean besides human?

“Uh.....”

“You know, like, where are you from?”

“Uh......Minnesota.....??”

“No....I mean....like....you know.....are you black?”

“I'm sorry. Am I WHAT?”

Now, don’t get me wrong. I would love nothing more than to be able to claim some African American heritage. But have you SEEN MY SKIN? It’s white. Or my eyes? They're blue.

I brushed it off as, well I don’t even know what, I had no explanation. I was dumbfounded. Dumbfounded, I tell you.

I went to my apartment and retold the story to my roommates. All five of them.

“Guys! Get this. So I was on campus today talking to this person and all of a sudden they ask me if......”

As I finished the story I waited for their agreement of the absurdity of this question. Nothing but dead silence.

They looked at me, looked at each other.

“I could see it.”

“Yeah, me too.”

“Sure. I mean you have big lips and puffy hair.”

Thanks?

I wrote it all off as ignorance. Clearly these people didn’t know what they were talking about.

So the semester went on. Semester after semester.

And I got asked this question AT LEAST once a semester. I finally decided that moving to Idaho must do some magic trick on your brain that causes you to not think rationally, because I was getting it from people from all over.

So I just got used to it. And when people started looking at me all confused with their furrowed eyebrows and half opened mouths I’ve just learned to say...

“I’m white.”

So after so many semesters I took a few off and went to serve a full time mission for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in Virginia.

It was one of my last weeks in the mission and I was serving in Norfolk. My companion and I were trying to find a street. So we stopped and talked to a man (who happened to be African American. You’ll see why this detail is important later) to try and get directions. He told us how to get there, we did our best to share the gospel with him and gave him a card for mormon.org

Then some chit chat started.

“Where are ya’ll from?”

“Utah.”
“Minnesota.”

“Oh. Alright. Alright. Well I know that you (pointing at my companion) you’re originally from Ireland. Because you have red hair.”

Which was only reddish. It was mostly brown. And I’m pretty sure it came from a box anyway.

“Oh yeah, um...yeah, I think I do have some ancestors form Ireland.”

Then it was my turn. (can you tell where this was going?)

“And you, I don’t even gotta ask you ‘cause I know you got some black in you.”

“Oh, no sir, I don’t. I’m just white.....”

“No. No, no, no, no, no. You got it in you...just embrace it!”

“Really, I wish I was but I....”

“No. Look at your eyes. And your nose. And that flower in your hair, that’s straight Billie Holiday!”

“All my relatives are white....I think I have some European ancestors too, you know like Ireland.”

“Well if that’s the case then there was some sneaking and creeping going on. Because you got it in you, I know you do.”

And there you go. A bona fide African American told me that I too am one.

After all, it takes one to know one. Or so I’ve been told.

time keeps on slipping, slipping, slipping...

Time 100% astounds me. Isn't it quite the phenomenon? I mean time is always changing. Even right now as I write this. I'm still writing it, still doing the same thing, yet time is still passing around me. Or even just thinking about what I was doing this morning, a few hours ago, even just a few seconds ago as I was typing earlier words to this post. I don't know if that made any sense at all to you, but it makes perfect sense in my head.

And don't even get me started on time travel, which I totally wish existed, because there are some pretty sweet moments in history that I'd like to go live. Or some times in my life that I wish could go back to, like that time when I got totally owned and didn't have a response. Well if time travel was real I could go back and give an awesome come back line and the recipient wouldn't even know what to do it was that cool.

Someone I know actually thinks that when you time travel you can't go back to a time before you were born. Which totally defeats the purpose of time travel if you ask me. Because it's real and all.

The one thing I do know about time travel is that JK Rowling is a time travel boss and I'm pretty sure she's the time travel guru.

So I've been thinking lately about time....and how I spend it and how I don't spend it.

This is usually how my day goes. I make a mental list of all the things I need to get done. Go to class, study, go to my internship, grocery shop, go to the gym, make a new playlist/routine for my cycling class, homework, etc.

Then when I get to the end of the day I realized that I've done oh, maybe, four of them. On a good day. So how on earth did I not do the rest? I mean that's not even that demanding of a list, considering I only have three classes this semester and I go to my internship three hours a day.

And then I remember.

Pinterest. Hulu. Amazon.com. and everything like such as.

These things totally suck the life out of me and before I know if I've done nothing but pin 80 new recipes to my food board on pinterest. Or watched the latest episode of Modern Family on Hulu. Or longed for new cupcake cookbooks on Amazon.com . Because I need a new cupcake cookbook like I need a hole in my head.

If I were diligent I would make rules for myself. Like I can only go on pinterest for 30 minutes AFTER I've gone for at least a three mile run. Or I can watch Modern Family after I've done all of my homework. And there is really no justification for looking at more cupcake books on Amazon.com because I like my head the way it is. You know, without holes.

Daily Affirmation

Daily Affirmation (from dictionary.com)

af·fir·ma·tion

 

noun

1.

the act or an instance of affirming;state of being affirmed.

2.

the assertion that something exists or is true.

3.

something that is affirmed; a statement or proposition that is declared to be true.

4.

confirmation or ratification of the truth or validity of a prior judgment, decision, etc.

5.

Law . a solemn declaration accepted instead of a statement under oath.

If only we all had this type of attitude.

i just don't understand

Do you ever get lost in your thoughts? I do. And let me tell you, sometimes it's enough to make me crazy. These are the things that I 100% do not understand.

1. Christopher Columbus.

How can he possibly say that he was the first person to discover America when the story goes that he got off the boat and met Native Americans? Even his own story doesn't line up.

2. How people don't realize what they're literally saying when they use the word literally.

Have you ever noticed how much people use the word literally? And when they do, have you ever stopped and thought about what they actually are saying when they use said word?

"She literally took the words out of my mouth."

"I was so sick last night I literally died" Which I literally heard when I was walking home from class one day.

"I literally cried my eyes out."

Literally, each would be quite the feat. But maybe not quite what they literally meant.

3. Starvation mode.

Is there really such a thing? You hear people say over and over "don't cut out too many calories when trying to lose weight. If you do your body will go into starvation mode and you'll end up not losing anything."

Well then riddle me this. Why is it that people who are anorexic (not that I'm promoting it by any means), children in Africa, victims of the Holocaust and contestants on Survivor eat next to nothing for days on end and before you know it they are withering away to dangerously low weights?

4. Natural Sugar vs. Sugar.

Sugar cane is pretty natural, last time I checked. I mean it's a plant and sugar is harvested from it. So natural sugar substitute like honey or agave, isn't really a substitute. It's just another option. And either way, it's still sugar.

Tune in later for more wonders of the Universe.

run and tweet that

So earlier today I was perusing through the books at Barnes and Noble. I was longingly gazing down the aisle wishing that I wasn't a poor college student and could afford more books. I was looking at the crisp and clean spines of the books that were sitting on the shelves, waiting to be picked up and purchased, when something caught my eye.

"Tweethearts".

Yes. You read that right. TWEET-hearts. OK fine. I was looking through the teenie bopper section, I was debating whether or not I should buy Pretty Little Liars the book series. ABC Family has totally sucked me in and now I'm curious to see how the books stack up. You caught me. But you didn't hear it from me.

So I'm ALL about social media. I think it can be a great tool when used correctly. And Twitter is one of those ones that can be a little tricky, it's great for businesses and I suppose celebrities (since being a celebrity is pretty much a business), but as for every day people....the use is lost on me. I have an account, but I'm still not really sure what to do with it.

But suddenly Twitter is taking over the world. I can't look at anything without seeing a hash tag and a string of words with no spaces that I need some type of legend to decode.

And now it's making its way into novels. NOVELS.

The subtitle was "A love story through blogs, emails and tweets"

what?!

I couldn't contain my curiosity anymore. I opened the book. I'm not quite sure what I was expecting, but true to the subtitle, there was page after page of what looked like screenshots from Twitter. Bits and pieces blocked off in a little box of 140 characters or less with a little profile picture to the side. Just like your tweet feed on Twitter.

And of course since this is a love story story (and a teen one), there is sure to be drama and multiple characters. I quickly glanced over the page I was on and there was some teen-angst banter going on back and forth between the two characters who I'm sure after many emotional days, eventually got together, became a couple, and lived happily ever after.

Tweets like "OMG dis is all ur fault. I never gave him a chance cuz o wat u said! Y do u always lie? #mylifeisover"

Not to mention, I'm convinced that Twitter and texting have single handedly (...double handedly....?) destroyed the English language.

the end is in sight.

For two reasons. All I have to do for this semester is go to an interview for next semester and then present my final paper for extra credit. I'm not too worried about either of them, I just have to go do them.

And then I have to finish cleaning and packing and I'm out of this place. And after this I will only have one more semester of this student housing nonsense. Reason number two the end is in sight.

I understand that there is only so much that can be done...but still. It's not the most exciting thing when you get the short end of the stick. And I understand that all students have been there, I'm just documenting my experience.

So last semester was a nightmare when it came to cleaning. I won't go back into it because it will make me frustrated and I'm aiming for a more stress free life. This semester has been better, but it's still having its moments. All I'll say is that if you've already left and you leave your stuff in the apartment...it becomes fair game of possession. And that includes donating it to the garbage can.

With the track system at BYU-Idaho there is a pretty constant flow of students in and out of apartments and campus. I don't even know how many people have lived in my bedroom up until this point. But I can bet it's been a while since one of them has cleaned the tracks on the window. So as it is white glove time and I'm totally moving out until next semester I had to clean my room with a lot more detail than I did last semester since the break was shorter and they didn't require me to move out during the break (does anyone else think its outrageous to pay $200 for storage for a room when nobody is going to be living here until I come back into the exact same apartment and most likely room?).

So I was scrubbing and scrubbing the window track since it had quite the collection of dust and grime in it. Oh, did I mention glass shards?

Last semester there was an incident of a crashing snowman head that left a nice hole in my window and glass all over the floor. Thankfully the apartment paid for it to be fixed.

But this is where things get ironic. When it comes to clean checks they come and check with a vengeance. And I would put a pretty penny down that sometimes they look for things or make up things just so they can take your money.

Well I would like to pose that residents should be able to do the same. Since I don't own this apartment, I'm not responsible for maintenance. They are. So the air conditioner that you took your sweet time to fix? Or the dishwasher that broke every other week last semester? The fan above the stove? The clogged sink and bath tub? All I'm saying is that if they are going to charge ridiculous fines, residents should be able to as well when they don't fulfill their responsibilities.

Not to mention, isn't remaining glass shards a little bit of a danger? In all fairness, I could have checked and cleaned a little bit earlier, especially since it was last semester. But on the other side, they could have checked to make sure they cleaned up their mess as well.

OK, enough ranting for today.

wishful thinking

The topic ideas have been coming in! Thank you so much. Please keep 'em coming. I'm still in desperate need of ideas. But here's the first one.

If you could just *BAM* have any talent without having to work at it, which talent would you choose? Not a super power, just a real life talent that real people have.

I'm going to answer this in two ways. What first came to mind was something that involved music, which is more like expanding an ability (and I use that term very loosely) that I already have. I play (again....using the term loosely) the violin and the piano. I'll spare myself the embarrassment and not tell you how long I've been playing them because for the amount of time I have been, I should be exponentially better than I am. Especially when it comes to the violin. I mostly blame myself because I didn't like to practice, but slightly blame by teacher because she DROPPED me. She said I wasn't progressing fast enough. Really?! Why does it matter to you? You're still getting paid if I'm correct. Don't worry. I'm not bitter.

But I think it would be beyond cool to be able to hear a song on the radio, TV, at a performance, what have you and then sit down and be able to play it. How does that even work?! People can pick out notes and recognize them, not to mention remember them, well enough to learn an entire new piece in a matter of seconds. Crazy cool.

OK, so that's the first way I'll answer that question.

I'll pick something entirely new, that I've always thought was cool but have no part of currently. I wish I could pick up on new languages like a boss. It comes so naturally for some people. I've heard that once you're fluent in one language it's pretty easy to pick up on others. Especially languages that are similar, like Spanish and Italian. And if you're good at languages the possibilities are endless. You could have a sweet job like working as a special agent like Sydney Bristow.

writer's block.

I'm not a professional writer or even a talented writer by any means, but I believe I am experiencing writers block. I don't know what to blog about. I try to make posts about a specific subject or a story. But I am coming up with nothing. A big fat blank.

I've heard about these exercises where someone will just start writing and they will keep writing and writing and then they will have a masterpiece. Malcolm even tried to get Cole to do it in the Sixth Sense because he heard that once you keep writing and you get into a flow of it you write and write and all of these feelings come out that you didn't even know you had. Which seems a little bit scary, if you ask me but I thought that seemed like a pretty cool idea so I tried it. Yes, I took life advice from a fictional character. Thank you M. Night Shaymalan.

Truth be told? It didn't work. At least not for me. And I'll tell you why. Because I'm a worrier. And my mind is constantly racing. This didn't work because I didn't know where to start. I mean how do you just start writing? What do you just start writing about? The possibilities are seriously endless. And what if you start writing about something and it gets you nowhere? Or you should write about a different subject because maybe it would bring something out that's more interesting, but how am I supposed to know what that subject is? See. Told you. I have and always will be a worry wort. My mom can verify.

But this is where you, my lovely friends, can come into play and to my rescue.

Leave a comment and ask a question(or statement, topic, etc). Maybe it can get some creative juices flowing. A question/whatever that might help me recall a story or experience or something to blog a post about.

Please and thank you.

WARNING: I'm getting old.

The other day as I was getting ready for the day I noticed the culprit. I tried to take a picture for proof but it wasn't working out so well. You'll have to use your imagination.

A GRAY hair. Gray and shiny. A GRAY HAIR?! And this isn't the first time one has surfaced. I think my sister so lovingly pointed one out to me while we were in Target by pointing at me, grabbing and yanking my hair and saying, in not the quietest voice you've ever heard, "Is that a GRAY hair?!" I think I was maybe 19 at the time.

Since when did teenagers and college students start getting gray hair? Isn't that something reserved for our grandparents? And really old people? When my grandma died she still had mostly brown hair.

I mean I'm not that old. I'm only 23. 24 next month. Of course according to Mormon folklore I'm a few years shy of becoming a menace to society. But still, I'm only in my 20's. Early 20's mind you.

I have heard that gray hair is a sign of stress. Which I guess wouldn't be that far off. I tend to get stressed fairly easily. And I have about two million things to figure out before I graduate in December. But the fact still remains that I've fallen victim of early-onset graying in the hairs.

For future gray hairs: please keep your distance. You're not wanted.

behold the power of...

CHEESE.

Yes, that's right ladies and gents. An entire post dedicated to our beloved cheese.

I don't even know where to begin. I'm sure I can trace this love back to the fact that I was born in America's Dairy Land. Wisconsin. I know they say that "Happy cows come from California" and it may be true, but you just can't compete with America's Dairy Land. Plain and simple.

For example. Wisconsin (and Minnesota...maybe other parts of the Midwest?) is home to the greatest fair food EVER.

Enter Cheese Curds.

Delicious deep fried nuggets of ooey gooey cheesy goodness. Now tell me these don't look scrumptious. Never mind the fact that it's cardiac arrest on a plate. It's yummy anyway. They are SO bad for you that my friend's dad who is a cardiologist doesn't let his family eat them. But they sneak them at the fair sometimes anyway. I thought these were a common staple among state fairs. I had grown up eating them every summer (and looked forward to it too!) But when I got to college people looked at me like I was crazy. "I'm sorry...have I ever eaten what? Cheese curds?" I tried hard to defend them, but I still came up short. They're a close cousin to the mozzarella stick...but better. Loads better. Sorry mozzarella sticks. Although you are quite delicious too.

I will firmly say that I could eat cheese every day and never EVER get sick of it. And I usually do. I try and work it in somehow. Whether it's a string cheese, cheese and crackers (I eat cheese and crackers so much that my roommate used to call me cracker), on top of a salad, on my sandwich, you get the point. And thankfully cheese has none of the common side effects on me that it may on others. Just saying.

The old and true standby when it comes to everyday cheesy snacks is most likely string cheese.

Has anyone ever noticed how many types of string cheese there are these days?? It is quite the decision when I go to the grocery store. I don't have too much of a preference, although I did have this one really weird kind one time that was american string cheese. Yes, somehow they put those slices of cheese into string form. It was weird. I will eat American cheese melted on a sandwich though. But that's beside the point.

Back to string cheese. When I was little I thought that the string cheese that was one big lump and you pulled off the individual sticks of string cheese was THE COOLEST THING EVER. I tried to find a picture of it but couldn't find quite the right thing. The first time I ever had it was when my family went to Myrtle Beach and we bought it at Food Lion. And don't get my started on string cheese etiquette! You MUST pull it apart. Not just bite into it. OK, so on occasion when I've been in a hurry I've given in to this type of string cheese eating. But mark my words. This is not a regular occurrence.

Does anyone have as hard of a time as my family has in finding a decent cheese slicer? Doesn't anybody know how to make quality products these days? We have this one old one that we've had for as long as I can possibly remember. The wooden handle is cracked from so much use and cycles through the dishwasher. And it slices the cheese PERFECTLY. I guess we got it from one of those party packs that comes with summer sausage, cheese and crackers. Well wherever it came from, it's a gem. And every other cheese slicer producer should get in contact with them and ask them a thing or two.

It always produces a sound slice of cheese that is the exact same size as the surface of the block and it's the same width all the way though. All with one swift movement. None of this random thick parts or breaks off so you have a weird shaped slice which totally throws off the cheese ratio for your sandwich. Nothing can compare to this cheese slicer! We've even bought new ones by fancy brands and they just don't stack up.

My favorite kitchen chore? Grating cheese! I don't know why I love it so much but I really do. Whenever someone is making something that requires cheese to be grated I immediately volunteer.

And yes, I have grated my knuckles before. But just once. And it wasn't that bad...and I didn't take it out on the cheese. I still love and always will love cheese.

milestones a plenty.

Tomorrow is a BIG DAY.

Are you ready for this?? At 6 am Mountain Standard Time I will register for my last and final semester of my undergraduate education. That's right. Bring on the BS of Communication/Public Relations.

I am finally down to the final stretch, in every sense of the word.

Which means that after 11 semesters I will finally GRADUATE.

And the best part? I don't have that many requirements to graduate so I don't even need to take that many classes.

Don't worry Mom, I'll still take at least 12 credits so I still get the best bang for your buck. Or Grandpa's. Anyway. It will be a well worth it semester.