I have neglected you and I'm sorry. It has been a busy week or two between going home, weddings, National Star Wars Day (May the Fourth be with you), umping softball for the first time in my life (meaning watching a game of baseball or softball for the first time in my life. Yes, it made me naseous.), and going to California for my bestie's wedding.
Now that I am finally back I have one or two or ten assignments and to-do's before I will be back in blogging shape. Sit tight, calm down, and be excited to hear about my second encounter with Captain Hook and how I almost got arrested in Vegas last weekend. (You were bound to find out sooner or later Mom.)
In the mean time, enjoy this picture of my pregnant Jenna, and a not pregnant me. I'm so excited to be a honorary aunt!
Much love,
Katie
P.S.- Happy 25th anniversary to two amazing parents. You've done pretty alright, if I do say so myself.
This week I started spring term, and my last few classes of undergrad work. I have been a little nervous because one of the classes I have to take is only offered on Tuesdays until 5:30 and I have staff meeting every Tuesday at 5. Walking to the class I told myself that most English professors are really chill and it should be no big deal. The sun was out, I had eight more weeks of class, campus was emptier than normal, and I was feeling all 500-days-of-summer.
I ran into a few friends along the way and told them the professor and the class I was heading to.
I started to worry when this was the reaction I got:
"CRITICAL THEORY....? WITH PROFESSOR....???" they said.
They told me he was mean. They told me he hated everyone, that he was the scariest professor I would ever have. They told me he especially hated redheads they thought. They told me I had spilled something on my shirt. (Not relevant, but also true.)
"WHYYYYYYY?????" I yelled.
"You know why!" someone said back.
And I did. I knew why. I knew it was because I had all nice, fun, and understanding Professors for four years and I just couldn't graduate college without having one make me question my existence. I knew it was because I had offended the Gods of Summer by signing up to go to school during these sacred sunshine months. I knew it was because my life is so full of irony that the only time I ever had to leave a class early was the one time I was petrified to ask. I knew! But I was hoping they were wrong. I slowly walked the long green mile down to the back corner of the dark basement where my class was held. I could feel the cell phone service and internet access dwindling with every step. I took the closest seat to the door, planned my escape route, watched the clock. When the clock struck three the door slowly opened and a man walked in wearing a long dark coat. He set his books on the table with his back to us, took off his coat and turned around....
This picture might seem like an exaggeration (almost everything I say is an exaggeration, deal with it), but it's closer to the truth than you think.
Because when he turned around we quickly discovered that the man literally had a HOOK FOR A HAND!
I about passed out.
He spent the next two hours lecturing us on classroom etiquette and the odds that we will understand what he is teaching us (3 in 1,000 apparently.)
He informed us that anything below a "C" was unacceptable and that quite a few of us would be deemed unacceptable.
And he did all this with a dry-erase marker tucked between the prongs of his hook.
Finally, he passed out his syllabus, and on the front page, in bold, it read,
"you will not come late or leave early unless there is an emergency."
I wondered if my heart giving out, out of fear of his hook-hand constituted an "emergency."
Eventually the time came that I had to leave for work.
I had been sweating so much the past few hours that there was no way I was getting out of there without him sensing the change in humidity when I left the room.
I held my breath, counted to three, and bolted.
I thought I could hear him behind me all the way up the stairs.
I breathed a sigh of relief out in the fresh air again until I realized something.
I was going to have to go back on Thursday.
Thursday came and all day I felt like someone was sneaking up on me:
I was paranoid. I walked into class and this time the Professor was already in there. I slowly approached him, keeping my hand at the level of my face (more a phantom of the opera thing but I was taking all precautions). He asked me if I was the one who had left early last time and I launched into a long explaination of why, talking a mile a minute. When I finished he smiled, rubbing his hook hand and said... "Of course. I will e-mail you notes on what you missed each week."
And that is how I learned for the second time in my life not to judge people based on how they look or what people say about them. The first time was in sixth grade when I told a kid he was weird for parting his hair and then I had a crush on him all through middle school.
Moral of the story: I should have known. Hook is one of my favorite movies.
I'm going to start off on a super random note because I just watched the craziest video.
Why are we not freaking out more about parrots? I mean, they are the craziest things! Watch this and try and not agree with me. If a human imitated things like this, Oprah would keep her show going just to host them.
I feel like we should all be running around all the time going "OH MY GOSH. THEY ARE SOOOOO CRAZY!"
Maybe this is a weird way to start off this post, but I just feel like all of us have gotten so used to seeing these crazy/weird things on the internet that we forget to realize that THAT BIRD IS TALKING!?!?!?!!
Think about it.
I think I have spent way too much time on my couch this weekend thinking about weird YouTube videos.
Lets get to the important part of this post.
I graduated.
Kind of.
Technically I still have to take a spring term class, and I will actually be sticking around for two more whole years for grad school.
But if you don't count all that stuff, then I did! Look:
I graduated with my brother Jordan. But we're not twins. Or married like the announcer at graduation thought. Gross. This is us ringing the victory bell. When you graduated from the college that has been ranked America's #1 Most Stone Cold Sober school every year for the past 12 years, there are only so many ways you can go crazy and celebrate. Like a giant chime. Or graduation robes that show my ankles. Or...nope. That's about it.
Sea of blue. I might have gotten emotional or something embarrassing. I really do love BYU.
And, as always (I've graduated twice now), graduation comes with goodbye's. Because my brother Jordan is sticking around Provo and the rest of my friends are too lazy to graduate on time (okay, okay, I had a short major), I didn't have too many of them. (That sentence sounds deceiving if you read it fast. I meant that I didn't have a lot of goodbye's, not a lot of friends. Even though I don't have a lot of friends either, that is not something I'm willing to discuss on my blog.) I would like to give a shout out to this kid though:
Him, Mr. Chris Aguilar and Miss Aly Pineda (soon to be Mrs. Larsen!) are the only ones who have stuck out all four years with me here in Provo.
I love them all
Ryan is off to New York in a few weeks for graduate school and I'm so excited for him, even if I'm nervous to not have him around as the mediator between Chris and me when we fight over major moral dilemmas like whether or not he should have an ongoing crush on that girl with the blonde chunk in her bangs.
This is my brother Jordan. (The one who is not a little girl.)
This is Mitt Romney.
This is Snoop Dogg.
What do all these people have in common?
According to my dream last night they are all the people who will survive the end of the world, apocalyptic-man-eating-fly invasion by hiding in a bunker underneath Snoop Dogg's house.
I guess, according to my subconscious, all the world will really need is a rapper, an economist, an older brother and a weird girl who blogs and writes poetry.
Things we would probably do to pass the time:
1. Try and convert Snoop Dogg to mormonism so Mormons can literally take over the world. (And flies, apparently)
2. Help Snoop Dogg come up with alternative album names to his 2009 album "Malice and Wonderland"
3. Help Snoop Dogg come up with alternative album names to his 2010 album "More Malice"
Suggestions: "I'm Still Angry and I Still Have Pigtails"
4. Swat flies.
5. Wait to die off. (When your options are your brother, a 64 year old conservative or Mr. Malice, ending the entire human race is just something you are going to have to deal with.)
This is the last time I eat tacos at 1 a.m. before bed.
I fell asleep last night at 7:00, woke up around 11 and read for an hour, then fell back asleep until 10:30 this morning.
Erin sometimes tells me she thinks I have a disorder because I sleep so much.
I would worry about that more if I wasn't sleeping all the time.
So I cut my hair last week.
The general comments I keep getting are things like:
"You did?"
and...
"It looks exactly the same."
Wrong. I took off a good amount of inches. (Actually Erin did. I had her cut it because I am cheap and because she is good at it.)
Apparently there just isn't much of a difference between ultra-super-long and pretty-long,
which are the only two hairstyles I've had in the past ten years.
I hate change. So sue me.
The best part of my weekend was the 2nd annual 90's party.
I went home after work to get ready for it, and after trying on 3 different outfits I realized all I was doing was putting on the same clothes I wear every day.
I love the 90's. So sue me.
In the end I went with a denim ruffled skirt and a lace cutoff top.
Laura rocked the floral shorts.
One of the great parts of the 90's is how sassy it was.
"Take a picture. It will last longer."
L's on the forehead.
Bleached tips.
The explosion of the word "like."
And lets not forget the phrase that can stick it to anyone, when combined with a few thumbs and forefingers, "whatever."
There is some debate about whether or not these things were actually "90's" or if I just think they are because I spent 4th grade in the 90's, but I think its probably both.
The best part of this party (besides everything about it) was the special guest appearance by TLC.
*RIP Left Eye. Her anti-scrubs movement really spoke to my 11 year old soul.
(*I wrote that statement alluding to the fact that I haven't heard much about her in a long time. Upon further wiki-gation I discovered that she actually DID die in 2002 in a car wreck. RIP Left Eye. This time I mean it about you actually being dead, and not just not hearing your music anymore on my clock radio.)
Al Borland was also there. I spent an unnecessary amount of time on this post reading about fake television characters and deceased female rappers on Wikipedia.
More fun facts for you: Al was left handed and was originally supposed to be named Glenn.
With two N's.
Later in the evening we took the 90's to In N' Out where we bought it shakes and talked about white cargo pants. Other highlight of the week: I won some English contests and got free food for it. I also got free food for my sister who was nice enough to sit with me through a two hour banquet. I like poetry. So sue me.
I have been planning for months to do a 100th post....post.
And then I got really excited about the whole fake-thesaurus thing, and forgot that my next post was THE 100.
Rats.
I only just figured this out because Jessica Marshall and I just spent three hours sitting in my living room waiting for Jimmer to be on Jimmy Kimmel. I had never actually watched Jimmy Kimmel before until the whole Brandon Davies fiasco, and, after Mr. Kimmel's super offensive remarks about my school and my religion, I swore to never watch again.
However, Jimmer just has a way of melting my heart and getting me to do things that I swore I would never do again (cry in public, skip a Saturday afternoon nap, fall in love...) and so, I watched.
He was on screen for about sixty seconds total, sitting next to Kemba Walker in a blue checkered shirt that was so precious he could have been on his way to OZ with Dorothy herself.
Now that I have the Jimmer fix I have been craving since the tournament ended, I am ready to drop dead into bed.
Sorry this post isn't more exciting. Late night shows really take it out of me.
