h2ohhh

If any of you are like me, then you like your diet coke fixing.  Or diet whatever.  I enjoy diet coke.  But I really enjoy diet mountain dew code red.  I always feel slightly ridiculous buying it at the grocery store because it seems like a bit of an odd soda choice, but I like it so much that I keep buying it. 

But here's my dilemma.  I know that I shouldn't be drinking near as much diet soda as I do.  But I can't help it.  I've tried to stop.  So many times.  I remember thinking that missionaries weren't allowed to drink soda because the missionaries at home NEVER DID.  And I was even a little sad thinking that when I embarked on my mission I wouldn't be able to have a single sip of diet soda for 18 months.   Not that it was that big of a deal, I got over it pretty quickly.  But you can imagine my delight when at my first meal in the MTC there was a coke soda fountain machine in the cafeteria.  Caffeine free only of course.  I drink caffeine.  A lot of members don't (to each his own) but I guess they like to cater to the masses. 

I try to drink more water.  I really do.  But when the fridge at work is fully stocked with both and I can drink water for free at home, I tend to go for diet coke at work.  The only problem is, is that I still buy diet soda when I go to the grocery store, so I'm also drinking diet soda at home. 

I don't even drink regular soda that often.  It's too sweet.  I'll drink it every now and then, but not very often.  Besides, I'd rather eat my calories than eat them.   

I drink water too.  Just not as much as I should.

I've heard all of the health dangers that come with drinking diet soda.  But you know what?  Cheeseburgers and bacon are bad for your health too.  But they're still delicious and we still eat them.  

I will admit though that I can do my part to drink more water.  So here it is, my pledge to drink more water and less diet soda.   

dear boys

I stumbled across this blog the other day after checking up on my old roommate and friend.

I have a fascination with the blogging community.  I really like when I get inspired, especially to write, when perusing through others thoughts and little ditties.

Here's one that I wanted to have a go at, and besides.  I couldn't resist the cleverly designed corresponding button.





Dear boys,
I hope one day I birth a lot of you.  I want as many boys as possible and as few girls as possible.  Seriously.  Like four boys and two girls.  And I'd really like a boy first.  I've always wanted an older brother, so I figure the next best thing is to give a daughter an older brother.  So keep that in mind.

Dear boys,
Do you know how easy it is for you to look good?  Seriously.  All you have to wear is a nice fitting pair of jeans and something as simple as an equally good fitting plain colored tshirt and BAM.  Looking good.  Girls have to worry about soooo much more.

Dear boys,
As I've mentioned before, black square glasses never hurt anyone.  If I end up dating you my only requirement will be that you never wear your contacts and only your glasses.

Dear boys,
It doesn't take much to impress a girl or make her feel important/special.  Most are pretty simple.  Take out in the park is fine.  I know the Bachelor would tell you otherwise.  That dates must include private helicopter rides overlooking a vast mountain range ending in a picnic with a gourmet meal that you single handedly cooked while simultaneously flying said private helicopter.  But have you noticed the success rate of the Bachelor?  I think you'd have better odds going into business with Donald Trump. 

Dear a boy,
Did you fall in a mine shaft?  Did you just come out of a coma?  Were you attacked by a werewolf?






 

what's a girl to do?

So....
Confession time.
I'm not much of a girly girl.  Like not at all.  I own more chucks and vans than high heels.  I think I own one possibly two dresses.  Four at the very most, but I really only wear one of them, and I've only worn it once.

My daily make up routine consists of mascara.  Sometimes.  And on a really good day, eye shadow.  But let's not get crazy.

I got blind sided the other day and went to a Mary Kay party.  I wanted to crawl into a corner and silently weep because their skin regimen consists of THIRTEEN steps.  THIRTEEN.  Including five eye creams.  I don't know why you'd even use one eye cream (I don't even know what eye cream is, I mean obviously it's lotion for the eyes (or rather the skin around the eyes.....?!??!??!!!) but what purpose does it serve?  Can't that skin be lump summed into the face and therefore face lotion would also work?!) let alone five.  Woof. 

And all of that is BEFORE the foundation and powder and blush and three eye shadows and everything like such as.  Come on. 

I'm sorry, but I'd rather sleep an extra hour and I'd rather put that money aside for a house mortgage.  And just forget about transporting all of that makeup around in a make up trunk on wheels, because we all know how I feel about rollie backpacks. 

I've only recently ventured in to the world of earrings and nail painting.  I still feel a little awkward doing it.  Like it's not really me, ya know?

I have some friends and old roommates that totally rock the glammed up look.  Everything possible including big poofy hair, because you know what they say.  The bigger the hair, the closer to God. 

But that's them, and they look good.   I feel like if I were to go out in heels and teased hair and big flashy jewelry people would run in sheer terror.

But why do those things have to define femininity? 

Now, I wouldn't say I'm a tom boy either.  I don't love sports.  I'll play, but I'm not going to promise mad skillz.  I also think that I still can't quite pull off every look on this web site, but it seems to fit me and my personality much more.

So maybe I can't rock heels and a little black dress.  But rather skinny jeans, vans and a plaid shirt.  While still managing to look like a girl.

Did you know that I'm in love/obsessed with plaid?  Serisouly.  It's ridiculous.

I'm a sucker for boys that pull off plaid.  I'd be 100% done for if you wear plaid, a good pair of jeans, shoes of your choice (preferably something in the sneaker family. Vans, chucks, etc.) and black square glasses.  If you speak Spanish, then there really is no hope for m

free flying

There’s something about being in nature, and I don’t just mean outside at the park. Although that’s enjoyable as well. I mean completely away from the city and void of any distraction. You and the solitude and nothing else. Not even other people. It’s something incredible. I dare to say amazing. But not in the way everyone exhausts the word to describe every cookie ever baked or every cupcake ever frosted. Not that kind of amazing. Truly amazing. As in to astonish greatly. Sure, I love cookies and cupcakes as much as the next person, but I wouldn’t go as far to say they astonish me.

Nature, on the other hand. Now that’s a different story. Not just nature, but all that lives and dwells within. Every creature great and small. To think that they were each created by the literal (another word I don’t use lightly. Have you heard how I feel about that word?) hand of a Divine being.

I don’t have too many passions. There are a lot of things that I’m interested in and plenty of things that I use my time to participate in. But I don’t have one great passion. I suppose one day that might change. You know, when I have a family and all. I guess it’s because I’m kind of an easy going person and fairly neutral. Not that easy going people can’t have passions. I don’t tend to take sides, rather I look for the truth on both. Or if you take a side it means you aren’t easy going. I think I simply lack whatever emotion is connected to true a single passion. I don’t think my words adequately describe what I’m thinking, but at least I know what I’m trying to say.

However, one thing I find myself particularly drawn to lately and perhaps even passionate about are birds. They’re incredible. At times I find myself wishing I possessed their capabilities. The ability to fly. I love watching that moment when a bird is about to take flight. They ruffle their feathers, as if mentally preparing themselves for each flight. Telling themselves “I am capable and I am strong. I can do this.” Upon completion, they push down to gain momentum and then soar away. In an instant. In one swift and beautiful movement. I love that moment when their feet press down and then almost simultaneously lift off the ground. They quickly move from one phase to the next. Trusting their instinct all the while.

Or to sing a happy song. There’s nothing quite like a calm and quiet morning. Accompanied by the comforting melody of a sweet songbird. It’s as if they are welcoming all the potential of a brand new day. Anxiously awaiting new opportunities that lie in store.

I love Maya Angelou’s poem “I know why the caged bird sings” and how closely it relates to human existence. The caged bird is fully aware of their capabilities yet outside forces prohibit them. Outside forces that are outside of their control that ground them. While the caged bird is grounded, they are forced to watch their peers around them. Fluttering by freely without a care in the world. Perhaps taking advantage of the capabilities and freedom they possess.

How unlike them are we? I venture to say not very. I know in my life I have found myself on both sides. Maybe even at the same time. I let outside forces get me down.

The part that touches me the most is the very end. Her words are beautifully written that paint such a clear picture.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied
so he opens his throat to sing

The caged bird sings
with a fearful trill
of things unknown
but longed for still
and his tune is heard
on the distant hill
for the caged bird
sings of freedom.

Maya Angelou

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams. I can't even imagine being in that position. To look down at the headstone marked with “Find joy. Be happy. Start an eternal family.” would be a nightmare in every sense of the word. All my greatest hopes are dead. Never to come to pass. Never to spring forth and have life.

His wings are clipped. Void of all potential. Meanwhile suffering with the vision of what could have been.

For the caged bird sings of freedom. Their greatest hope is to rid themselves of all things grounding. Whether self imposed or not. To be free and fly above the influence.

Oh. And if Harry Potter were real and I was a wizard, I totally hope my patronus would be a bird.

perma-kid

Although my last post was all about entering the fancy world of becoming an adult, I've learned along the way that I still have a lot of kid tendencies. Not that I'm childish and immature. I take responsibility where responsibility is required. But sometimes you just can't help but find joy in the simple things in life. Even if they are typically enjoyed by kids.

A lot of my kid at heart tendencies revolve around my sense of humor. There are still some things that I know I shouldn't laugh at but I just can't help it. Sometimes I'm even shaking I'm trying not to laugh.

Like when I worked at the elementary school and a kids new year's resolutions were "to fart, show off and fart again". Talk about setting the bar high. But come on. How is that not funny? Maybe I'm a perma-teenage boy instead of a perma-kid.

From time to time I've been known to enjoy teenie bopper music. If one were to browse my running playlist they may or may not find songs from the musical stylings of Miley Cyrus, Justin Bieber and the Jonas Brothers. Maybe. I'm not saying yes, and I'm not saying no.

On occasion, I watch the Disney channel. Well not super recently, but more recently than I'd like to admit. Hannah Montana is pretty sassy, and I always like it when people aren't afraid to speak their mind. As long as it's not rude, malicious or back biting.

I can't let go of my ridiculous beanie baby collection. They're all packed away and stored somewhere at my house in Minnesota, but throwing them away or donating them seems like I'm saying goodbye to my childhood memories forever. Just like Andy in Toy Story. Although it had a happier twist, some new kids were able to enjoy the toys he had so lovingly cherished and cared for. I think I like the idea that maybe one day my kids will want to play with them and it will also save them an umpteen amount of money because they won't have to spend all of theirs on silly things like I did. But when you're a kid, it's not silly. It's a product of your hard earned allowance after doing chores all week.

It seems like just yesterday the biggest thing I had to worry about was whether I should spend my summer days riding bikes, reading or swimming at the pool. It's easy to get stuck in the grind of the work week and begrudgingly living for the weekends. I think we could all benefit from holding on to the simplicity of childhood for as long as we can.

how to tell if you're an adult.

A few months ago I graduated and entered the real world. I'm only now starting to realize what that really means. And I'm sure it's only a minute percentage of total understanding. I haven't even experienced marriage or having kids or things that only further secure adulthood.

So far, these are some surefire signs that I'm dipping my toes into adulthood.

1. Bills, bills, bills.

Because of the benevolence of my very gracious parents, I've avoided a substantial amount of bills up until this point in my life. Not to mention that all of the apartments I've lived in beforehand included utilities in rent (PS Rexburg, outside in the real world, nowhere includes utilities and comes furnished. It's very gracious of you, but it's quite a slap in the face when one starts apartment hunting in the real world). But now my money has to go towards things like water, gas, electricity, etc. I really think twice now before I leave the room and every single light in it turned on.

2. I find myself wanting to save for things like a COUCH. I went to Ikea the other day to buy a rug (what have I turned in to?!) and found myself drooling over this absolutely divine couch. It would be a pretty big purchase, but I figure, what a better time than now to buy one? Or at least save to buy one. I don't have a husband or any kids and my bills are minimal. I might as well buy something now before my future family starts to suck up all of my money.

I used to save for things like ipods and cameras. Now I'm saving for home furnishings.

3. Sales on things like hand soap. I went to Target today and soap was on sale. SOAP. Two giant things of it for $5. I was thrilled. I feel like that screams nothing but lame.

4. I splurged the other day and bought two new footstools (excuse me, ottomans. My friends looked at me like I had suddenly grown a third arm out of my head when I used the word footstool instead). But I'm in love with them. They're gray. And perfect.

It seems like lists should always be in increments of 5. Maybe it's the OCD talking. But unfortunately I can only come up with four. For now. Stay tuned.

let's get fly.

I've realized lately that my blog doesn't have a very consistent tone. Usually I'll focus a post on a specific topic, but other times they're random thoughts that sometimes relate to current updates in my life. I guess that's why this is my blog. I can do whatever I please. And haters gonna hate.

I love this song. I crank it up whenever I go running. And it's by Atmosphere, and they hail from Minnesota. Enough said.

I love the line "empty the pack and watch your wings grow back".

Without sounding totally angsty, sometimes at the end of the day life sucks. Bad things happen to good people. And I don't know why, but I do know that all we can do is shake it off and go on to what's next. Because odds are it's something a whole lot better.

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.