figuring it all out.

Here is the deal.

I want a house.

Oh, I want a house very badly.

However, houses require money.

It's been interesting--over the past few months, I've made the subtle shift from the politics section of the bookstore to the business section. I've been reading up on everything. I think I could be a good entrepreneur, but I just don't know what to do with myself.

I have:
- my CD
- my calligraphy?
- my music/sightreading/piano/singing
- composition skills (music)
- writing skills, publication skills
- my knowledge of the environment, esp. DIRT (yay dirt)
- my...okay, knowledge of politics, current events, the Constitution
- my speed reading abilities

Hmm. Okay, that's all I can think of for now.

I'm working on writing a speed reading class. We'll see if it ever sells...

moving

Well, kids, we're moving. Moving back to Maryland where the grass is green and the tax rate has chased every millionaire out of the state. Exciting times. I've been packing all day. We'll be moving into my grandma's vacant house this coming week, and then moving back to MD around the 3rd of September.

FYI.

the creepiest thing. ever.

I've been meaning to blog this for over a week, but here goes.

My friends, sometimes creepy things happen. And I am about to tell you about one of those times.

Carl and I got back from MD about two full weeks ago. It was all jolly and good, of course, until we did the laundry.

Now, I will admit, I am a little obsessive compulsive about my laundry. Essentially EVERYTHING gets hung up on hangers and put in the closet, with the exception of, basically, socks. But, I can't just have my clothes on any old hanger: no, all hangers must be either plastic or crocheted over, because otherwise they leave those little hangermarks in the shoulders, you know? And those always make my heart frowny. :^[

So we were putting away the laundry, and I was hanging things up, and then, from out of my closet comes--



THE UGLIEST GREEN CROCHETED OVER HANGER IN THE WORLD!!!

At first I just furrowed my brow. "Carl, where did this come from?" I asked. I assumed it was a present or something. Sometimes people make those for me because they know of my OCD ways with that sort of thing.

Carl didn't know.

The hanger was old. It was looking a little raggedy, for sure. And so distinctive: bright green with a poufiness of random yarn coming off the intersection of all the wires. Kind of dirty. Obviously, this hanger had been places.

And Carl had never seen it before.

And neither had I.

And we'd just been out of town for a week.

When I was in Austria, I went to Girls' Camp with the stake there. I had my own personal translator and everything, LoL. But the girls tried to speak in English for me and the other internationals. And one night, they told this story that kept me awake at night for years, about a girl who didn't know that a cannibal was sleeping under her bed.

Luckily, we don't have a bedframe, so our mattress is right on the ground--crocheting cannibals was my first thought. I was glad to see that the culprit could not be sleeping under my bed.

The more I thought about this hanger, the more creeped out I became. It's not like you can exactly forget a hanger like that. I'm not sure it's even possible to forget a hanger like that, with its stringy, dirtied green yarn. Hiding in your closet, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

And here's the thing: I cleaned out every closet when we moved in, myself. It wasn't that long ago. And I'm obsessed with using the correct hangers for all my clothes. I KNOW I would have noticed something like that.

And yet, it was hiding out in my clothes like it had always been there.

True or false: there are only a few ways for certain items to end up in certain places. Yes, I suppose according to the Heisenberg Principle there is some sort of chance that the hanger randomly materialized in between my dress pants and my T-shirt collection. But I also suppose it's a little more likely that someone put that hanger there--which, in a decent world, only Carl or I would be putting hangers there. But if neither of us put that hanger there... then how did it get there??

Oh wow. Just writing about that hanger is creeping me out all over again.

If you have a theory about how the crap such a creepy hanger got to be in my closet, you can post it in the comments. Because seriously, I can only think of two options (materialization, and crocheting cannibals).

vending machine emergencies

Haven't been on for a while. I've been busy.

Today I went to the vending machines and for the first time saw a sign that said in the case of vending machine emergencies outside of normal office hours, you should call campus police.

I didn't even know vending machine emergencies could exist.

You learn something new every day.

wha...?

I'm just sitting here minding my own business.

A few minutes ago, some lady came past me, yawning. I looked up, made eye contact, and smiled--something I usually try to do.

I was amazed when she started talking to me. I didn't think she was talking to me at first, but yep, it was me.

"I'm so tired!" she said. "But it's still morning. I have a right to be tired." Brief pause. "I was just up so late trying to find my card! You know. My card." Pause. "Good thing I live where I do. Cleaning checks, you know. You know. I have to go to an appointment."

She kept on talking. I couldn't take it. Eventually she left, and as she was leaving she passed some other girl and started talking to her.

This lady did mention something about Medicaid during the conversation, so I'm guessing there was a good reason for our strange moment.

And yet, I'm still a little weirded out.

Oh well.

"female impressionism"

I was looking at this thing right now on gay celebrities (I NEED TO STOP FOCUSING ON RANDOM TRIVIA AND DO SOMETHING PRODUCTIVE WITH MY LIFE), and there was a caption on one of the guys saying that he was a "New York female impressionist."

Of course, my first thought was that he was a painter. He was, indeed, holding a painting in the picture of him.

But then the rest of the caption talked about how he was beaten and stuff for being gay and how he was dressed. And that's when I realized that being a "female impressionist" has nothing to do with actually being female or being an impressionist.

It has everything to do, apparently, with being a drag queen.

The news media... is so strange. "Female impressionism?" At least they could pick a phrase that doesn't come hand in hand with images of Renoir and Manet. O.o;;

UPDATE: A real female impressionist.

home stretch.

School is almost over. The freedom is so close, I can almost taste it, except not really, because you can't really taste freedom, can you.

This week is stressful.

TO DO:
- finish amazing hard Soils midterm
- take O Chem quiz
- take O Chem midterm
- finish 12-page research paper
- give oral presentation (after I come up with a presentation)
- Pesticide Olympics
- Tea Party meetings every night at 5 pm in the Kennedy Center (you should come!)
- keep up to date on current events
- Soils quiz
- Inferno stuff
- write critique of someone else's 12-page paper

Hmm. And probably other things too.

Well. Life's okay. Oh yeah, I have to apply for a job. Oh well.

So anyway. Sorry if I'm lame this week.

Poor Carl had to stay up until 9 pm last night writing a paper, and then he had to wake up at 2:30 or so to finish it. My poor man. And we have to be on campus today until basically 6 pm. Yay being on campus for 14 hours straight!!! WOOT!!!!!

x.x;

Lesch-Nyhan thoughts

Yesterday I went in the Bookstore. I was checking out this non-fiction book I don't know the name of, by the guy who wrote The Hot Zone. The last chapter was on something called the self-cannibals. So I read it, always being intrigued by anything that sounds that strange.

These self-cannibals are victims of a hereditary disease called Lesch-Nyhan disease. It's a sex-linked disease, which means it's carried on the X chromosome, much like hemophilia. Women don't get it, because they typically have another X chromosome to take over from the defective one; men do get it, because they only have one X (and one Y, remember?). They don't have a functional copy to erase the effects of the defunct X.

This disease intrigues me very much. You can tell if a child has it because right off they will urinate orange sand. Yes--urinate orange sand. It's from a buildup of uric acid in their blood. Lesch-Nyhan is basically the suppression of a particular enzyme that keeps uric acid levels manageable. Because of this, up until recently Lesch-Nyhan people would die of gout and kidney failure by typically the age of four. Now, most Lesch-Nyhans die around age 20, though some live much longer.

But the amazing thing about this disease is that the physical aspects of the problem are hardly the most devastating. And not only that--this other aspect of the disease has apparently no genetic marker. And sufferers of Lesch-Nyhan have the same exact brain structure as typical, non-Lesch-Nyhan people.

Lesch-Nyhan people are self-inflictors. Self-saboteurs. They compulsively destroy their own lives--even as they cry out for help. A picture in the book I was reading showed a boy who had chewed off both of his lips, and his own hands had torn out his palate bones one by one. These people bite off their own fingers, even as they scream for restraints. They beg for people to tie their hands to chairs. One man I read about used a fork to hack off his own nose--in a restaurant. As he screamed for people to stop him.

And this behavior is not limited to physical self-sabotage. These people are the cruelest to people they love most. You can tell a Lesch-Nyhan person loves you because they will never say a kind word to you. You can tell a Lesch-Nyhan person hates you because they will be extra sweet to you. If you ask a Lesch-Nyhan person what they want to do, they will tell you the exact opposite of what they actually want.

This is called a behavioral phenotype. It is amazing to me because I cannot fathom a disease that could sidetrack the most basic of human instincts: self-interest. I am incredulous at the concept of a disease that would cause a person's body to harm itself. And even more, I am amazed at the concept of a disease that would make a person compulsively lie to prevent his own happiness.

This particular disease is troubling to me. I wouldn't say my faith is shaken, but I had never contemplated the idea of a behavioral phenotype--a set of behaviors genetically predetermined that simply cannot be sidetracked. The mere existence of this sort of disorder is a strong argument for the third tenet of Darwinism, the one that repulses me to the core. The one stating that people cannot make choices, because our genetics predetermine everything about us. The one claiming that people are no better than animals, destined to evolve in the same way. The one that says that free agency is a mere delusion.

Because if there is such thing as a behavioral phenotype, who is to say that anyone truly has free agency?

If everyone's behavior is determined by his or her genetics, then there really cannot be responsibility. I remember this one time in an elevator, my own genetically-mutated brother reached out and grabbed some random girl's boob. Awkward. We tried to pry his hand off her boob (awkward!!!), and when it was over, no one thought worse of my brother, not even that girl whose boob it was, because we all recognized that James has no real control over his own behavior. You can't hold someone accountable for something they didn't choose.

Do you see what the issue is here?

I just have to wonder, how many of my obsessions are manifestations of my own behavioral phenotype? Arguably, all my actions are. Arguably, every choice anyone makes is really only a manifestation of predetermined genetic makeup.

And yet, if this is true, then what is the meaning of life?

Weird.

So anyway, I guess I'll come back to this post later. Anyone else find themselves bizarrely affected by the knowledge of this disease's existence?

Miss America Story.

So, I have had limited contact with Miss America contestants--to my knowledge I have only known five--but is it just me, or are they all exactly the same? Only one I have met is not totally... exemplified, shall we say, in this story.

THE STORY

So this chick I'm working with for the Tea Party movement has her eyes set on being Miss America. She's running for Miss Provo this year. Anyway, we were trying to increase membership in the Tea Party movement. And as she went through her list of friends to invite them to the movement, she just kept on this running commentary: "Oh, this guy will hate me. Oh, this person will hate me. Oh, this person will hate me..." over and over until she'd invited 200 people.

"Allie," she said, "I just made 200 people hate me!"

So I go to her Facebook page and she only has like 204 friends. Which means I have approximately 4.5x as many friends.

"Don't worry about it. I made 500 people hate me this morning," I said.

She stopped talking.

Until then I needed her email for the group. She started spelling out something, and then she was like, "! Just kidding! I can't put that one up! I don't want people to know how old I am!" And so I deleted it. She waited. "I'm only nineteen," she said. "I mean, that's really, really young."

And then she kept saying that. Different variations, over and over.

So I finally said, "No worries. I understand. I was 16 when I started here, and I just turned twenty."

She stopped talking.

:O)

Here's the thing: if you really care about not letting people know how old you are, YOU DON'T EVER BRING IT UP. When you really care about the prejudice and random crap people put you through for being young, you avoid the situation at all costs. You would NEVER ever ever put your birthyear in your email, and if you had an email like that, you would just let it die out. Never touch it again. You would not be telling your greatest secret to everyone on the street.

Oh, Miss America contestants... when will you learn?

licenced.

Maybe I spelled that wrong. "License" is one of those words that I can never remember how to spell (lisense? license? licence? wtf?), along with that horribly annoying word, exercise (exercize? excersize? exersize? wtf?).

I took my Pesticide Application exam at the Dept of Agriculture yesterday. Here is the dumb thing:

There are three tests. One of them, Private, is open-note and you can look at anything you want as you take the test. The other is Commercial. That one, you can't look at anything except what they give you. It's the same exact test, just one way you can basically cheat, and the other way you can't.

Well, I showed up with no notes, and took the test. Private. Because I am retarded. I had to take it closed-note and I didn't even get the licence that lets me work for hire with pesticide.

And beyond that--even though it was closed note, I took the tests in 1/4 of the time they usually take, and I got over 15 points more than I needed to pass.

So, I've been beating myself up on that one. I should just go back and retake it for a commercial license.

Last night we had a meeting about the upcoming Tea Parties. I always get so angry at those things, and then I just feel so helpless I just cry. Lame. Somehow I need to figure out what I can do that involves more than getting into arguments with idiots on facebook.

eh.

I'll be honest--just blogging for the sake of blogging this morning.

The burn's okay. Looks progressively more disgusting as it heals. Carl has been an angel helping me take care of it.

I turned in most of my application to the Utah County Water Conservancy District yesterday. I have to get them my transcripts today. I really hope I get the job. It's $32/hour ($60k/year), and beyond the pay, it sounds fantastic. It combines labwork with teaching with research. I would keep vats of invasive species for study; check the drinking water of Utah County for drinkability; and teach lessons on drinking water quality. The facility is beyond fabulous. And it would make enough money for Carl to be a full-time writer starting out.

Today is our three-month anniversary.

Um. Tea Party meeting tonight, 7 pm W241 Tanner. That will be exciting.

I have nothing else to say, really. Sorry.

Actually I lied. Dropped SW yesterday. THe end.

burned.

While baking yesterday, a pan slipped out of my hand, fresh from the 360-degree oven. Slashed into my left arm, on the underside of it, by my bicep. Immediately skin start peeling off.

We couldn't rinse it under water, on account of that there were no sinks where I could shove my entire left torso, so we had to go find a giant sprayer to cool it. The water temperature would swing from being really warm to really cold.

Then, for the first time ever, I had to fill out an accident report, since the burn was so long (5 inches) and 2nd degree. They apparently have to file some sort of thing that says what they'll change in the future so it won't happen again. I told them, I just lost my balance. CONFLICT! I don't know what they finally put down but I hope it doesn't make baking weird.

Then a SM took me to the Bookstore to buy a burn bandage, which they didn't have. So instead she helped me down to the locker room where I tried to change--changing your shirt when you have a giant burn on your arm is so lame.

Well, then the EMTs called, searching for me in all the bathrooms in the Wilk. Only I was in the locker room in the basement, which you need a secret code to get into. So we had to go back upstairs for them to treat it.

At this point, Carl decided that for once he would buy lunch at the Cougareat, and just as he got to the front of the line, my friend C came up to ring up his order. She recognized him and told him I had been burned and where to find me. He came rushing, and was apparently really worried when he saw the 9 EMTs in the fishbowl office, all crowding around me.

The EMTs gave me a burn bandage and wrapped me up, and then they all wanted to practice on me random things, like taking my blood pressure, and looking at my pupils, and whatever. Apparently they have a test on EMT-ing this week and wanted some practice.

So anyway, once upon a time, I got a giant burn on my arm, and all these EMTs came to the Cougareat and I filled out an accident report. It was exciting, and now my arm hurts. The end.

another post about my dumb job

Just thought this was funny.

Just took a personality/career test. It told me I should either be a political analyst or.....




a cook.


Ah, baking....


[i r o n y]

my dumb job

1. I took the opening shift for Thursday mornings, because the Thursday baker quit. I also work Thursday afternoons. I just miss for one hour, so I can go to class. Some other chick comes in to cover the ovens.

I always knew I was a fast baker, but this is ridiculous.

On MWF, baking typically ends from 3:30-5 pm. On TTh, baking has typically ended around 2-3:30 (I bake afternoons on TTh).

Today, I opened and closed, and I ended at noon.

Exactly noon.

When I am not hampered by slow bakers, I can finish the baking in under 6 hours. Honestly, from 6-9:30, I finished 4 entire racks of bread, and we only had 5 to start with. The next baker wasn't quite done with the last rack when I got back 1.5 hours later. According to what I had already done, if I had kept up that speed, I could have organized over 1,000 cookies and baked the entire last rack in that amount of time.

I'm bugged because if I can bake so fast, it means I get fewer hours. Which to me means I should get a raise. I can do the baking that would normally take over 10 hours in under six. To get the money I would need to get per hour based on how fast I am, I would need a $3.32 raise. According to my calculations, anyway--and since I dropped math when I was 15, my count may be dubious. But I think it's right.

Gah. Need a raise.

what is going on?

So, I'm pretty much really confused.

Something is going on and I have no control in it at all.

I made it up through the final final interview for TFA, and they turned me down. Then, well-- well--

My professor asked me to come and meet with him about the grad school position I applied for. So I went. He had me sit down, and told me that I didn't get in--but the reason he wanted to tell me this in person was because of what a great candidate I was. Of all the applicants, I and the girl selected were the top two. They debated for a long time over who would get the position. In the end, the one deciding factor was the other girl's experience with sage or something. Dr. G told me that the next time he had a project come up, he would email me. And he told me that my "packet" was impressive enough that I should be able to get in anywhere that I would ever want to.

And he told me that even though I didn't take the GRE, my academic achievements were significant enough that he was 100% positive I would have scores "above and beyond" what would be necessary for anyone's program.

I was really excited at the time that he would think that of me--and now I'm a little confused. Now what do I do? No TFA, no grad school for me or Carl, no plan, no nothing.

Oh, and here is a funny tale. I got my Civ paper back, and I had an original A on the paper, and then the TA scratched it out and gave me a B because it "wasn't unique." So I had my actual teacher reread it, and he gave it an A+ and had only great things to say about it, and actually offered me the TA position for next year over it. Even though I didn't even read the book I wrote the paper on, I just read a lot of Wikipedia and used the index to find quotes. But he really liked my paper.

So, I don't know. My professors have always been really impressed with me, which has been nice, but... I mean, I have no idea what's going on. If I were really that cool, I would probably have figured out what to do with myself for after graduation.

Wtf.

The Roses of Success

I have been missing this song! Here are the lyrics:

Every bursted bubble has a glory!
Each abysmal failure makes a point!
Every glowing path that goes astray,
Shows you how to find a better way.
So every time you stumble never grumble.
Next time you'll bumble even less!
For up from the ashes, up from the ashes, grow the roses of success!
Grow the roses!
Grow the roses!
Grow the roses of success!
Oh yes!
Grow the roses!
Those rosy roses!
From the ashes of disaster grow the roses of success!


For every big mistake you make be grateful!
Here, here!
That mistake you'll never make again!
No sir!
Every shiny dream that fades and dies,
Generates the steam for two more tries!
There's magic in the wake of a fiasco!
Correct!
It gives you that chance to second guess!
Oh yes!
Then up from the ashes, up from the ashes grow the roses of success!
Grow the roses!
Grow the roses!
Grow the roses of success!
Grow the roses!
Those rosy roses!
From the ashes of disaster grow the roses of success!


Disaster didn't stymie Louis Pasteur!
No sir!
Edison took years to see the light!
Right!
Alexander Graham knew failure well; he took a lot of knocks to ring that
bell!
So when it gets distressing it's a blessing!
Onward and upward you must press!
Yes, Yes!
Till up from the ashes, up from the ashes grow the roses of success.

me procrastinating.

The Plant and Wildlife Science department at BYU is interesting. Several of the professors don't have graduate degrees. They're just old poor farmery guys who are amazing at soil science.

My boss, Dr. Hopkins, is a genius. He was recently in the NYT because of a new slow-release N fertilizer he's working on. I've helped him with the research. He's a really cool guy.

He told me the other day, being Friday, that if I wanted to go to grad school, I should.

Now, I hate school, but I think grad school might be okay because

1. I would be paid to go.
2. It's only 2 years.
3. It would be 100% Life Science, none of this wack "English 315" crizzap.

So, since I'm a month past the deadline, I have the next two hours to throw together an entire graduate application. Exciting!

Ah!


PS. LoL. There's this chick on FB who used to be in my Relief Society, and she always likes to write mean things about my posts on Obama. Today she wrote that I am "so annoying" and that I should "stop being such a hater."

To which I really have to ask: why not just unfriend me? Am I super missing something here? LoL.

fear not

I am way less emo today than I was yesterday.

I hate school, but oh well! I was just offered a new job, and I'm checking to see if there are any community management positions around, because I know I'm qualified for them. My last class is offered in the evening in Spring, so I could potentially have a full-time job.

In the depths of my depression yesterday, I went to the BYU Bookstore to look at the book The Survivor's Club. I had never read it. And I still haven't, but it was really interesting to read about what makes a person survive or die.

For example, it was previously believed that people would die after having assumed a body temperature of 95 degrees F. One man, "Professor Popsicle," took it upon himself to disprove this idea. He has submerged himself in frozen water for hours, he has injected freezing water into his veins. He has proved that people can survive at the body temperature of 88 degrees F. What this means is that people in frozen water don't die from hypothermia; they die from fear and giving up. They essentially let themselves drown.

Yesterday I was ready to let myself drown.

Today, I am saying: W/E SUCKAAZZ!!

Because, that is the correct answer. I'm cooler than school anyway. Right? (Don't answer that.)

Also, my prof just emailed me and said that even though I missed the GRE, he would pull some strings to see if they'd accept my app for grad school anyway. I could have a full-time assistantship with the Plant and Wildlife Science Department studying the life cycle of farmed Wyoming big sage! Woot! Woot!

Perhaps life is okay after all.

AH!

I just was emailed by the graduation police guys and they said that I can't graduate because PHIL 205 doesn't actually fulfill the GE I thought it did!

AH!

AH!

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

I CANNOT BE HERE PAST APRIL. I WILL GO INSANE BEFORE THAT

the other emergency, and other updates.

On Friday night, Carl and I decided we were going to spend the weekend in Las Vegas. We planned everything, went to sleep, and got up the next morning at 6 to be on the road by 6:30.

Little did we know it was blizzarding.

Things were fine until we were about 100 miles south, right off of Scipio--I drove over some snowy road and lost control. We spun around about three times, and then careened backwards over the side of the road, about 100 feet. We stopped about 20 feet short of a ravine.

At first the car wouldn't start, but God answered our prayers and soon the engine started running again. We decided we'd try to push the car up, which was ridiculous because not only was the slope something like 15 degrees, we were very far down, and it was still snowing madly, and we'd driven over about seven bushes. I suppose we drove over them too fast for them to compress for real.

So we climbed up the snowy embankment and stood by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Carl called the cops; I guess a couple other people had seen us fly backwards down the hill, and the troopers were already on the way. Soon enough, a giant Walmart truck had stopped about a quarter mile past us; we watched as it backed up to be right across the street from us. The trucker rolled down his window and invited us to come sit in his truck.

So we did. His name was Al. Al the Walmart trucker. He wondered if we were going down to Las Vegas to get married on Valentine's day. We explained that we were already married. :o)

We talked for a while; soon the trooper guys showed up, and went to go inspect our car. They called a tow truck.

Riding up a crazily steep slope being pulled up by a tow truck is one of the most frightening things ever. Aside from actually falling down the slope and thinking you're going to die the whole time.

The tow was $200, and miraculously the car was 100% okay, even though it's a '94 Corsice that's been rebuilt twice (that sucker is old and has been through a ton!). So we finished driving to Vegas.

Once again, we miraculously survived. What is up with this week??

the emergency.

Yesterday.

At 6:30 am I started driving to SLC for my GRE. It was in the heart of Provo when I realized I'd forgotten my purse. I turned around and drove for a while frantically before I realized that my purse was just under things. So I turned around and kept going.

Everything was fine until about 7:15, at which point

a) it started hard-core snowing, and
b) my contact fell out.

Magically I made it safely to the U of U campus, but I couldn't read any signs, so I ended up missing my exam. Then my husband wouldn't pick up his phone and my cell was dying. I couldn't stay at the gas station where I'd parked, so I had to drive perilously back to a fast food restaurant with an open parking lot.

Eventually Carl did pick up his phone, and he and my grandmother accepted the mission of picking me up. They arrived about two hours after I was stranded.

Then came the stress of figuring out where the heck my contact went. I was sure it was stuck behind my eye, which is a terrifying feeling. In the end, Carl went back out to the car after we got home and checked out the floor of the driver's seat. Sure enough, it was there, dry and shriveled and broken.

All in all, several miracles happened yesterday. I'm glad I'm alive--and that I have the best family ever.

best songs.

Here is my list of best songs that ever existed, in sort of order, but not really.

1. Eye Conqueror by Third Eye Blind
2. Invincible by OK Go
3. When It All Comes Down by The Last Goodnight
4. Beautiful Day by U2
5. All the Way by Trey Warner
6. Amaranth by Nightwish
7. Incomplete by The Last Goodnight
8. Dani California by Red Hot Chili Peppers
9. Birds and Fishes by Venus Hum
10. A Good Idea at the Time by OK Go


I take the GRE in an hour and a half.

I am the conqueror
I taste your scent in the wind
I set my sail but then you sink my boat
So I begin to swim
Bash my foes until I win
Lances smash across the chest
That's my quest you wonder why
I will never die
The only thing I bleed for is you

Oceans of love
I've crossed them for you
In the Matrix of your garden
I find you in bloom
Now that you found me
No one's gonna get around me

I'm coming for you
Coming for you
Coming for you (Can we get this all together)
Coming for you (Can we get this all...)

Nothing I cannot do
There is nothing I wouldn't do for you
And you put me all through the worst
I am cursed with a light that's made to burn
That's where I shine
And now you'll be mine

Oceans of love
I've crossed them for you
In the matrix of your garden
I beg your pardon
Now that I've hardened
No one's gonna get around me

I'm coming for you (Can we get this all together)
I'm coming for you (Can we get this all together)
Coming for you (Can we get this all together)
Coming for you (Can we get this all together)

I am the conqueror
Byzantine mozaic in the heat
I am cursed, through the worst
With a life that's made to burn
That's where I shine
And you, you, you, you, you
Are mine, mine, mine, mine, mine!

Oceans of love
I've crossed them for you
In the Matrix of your garden
I find you in bloom
Now that I've found you
No one's gonna get around me

I'm coming for you (Can we get this all together)
I'm coming for you (Can we get this all together)
Coming for you (Can we get this all together)
Coming for you (Can we get this all together)

I am the conqueror
I am the conqueror
I, am the conqueror
I am the conqueror
I, am the conqueror
I am the conqueror
Am the conqueror

the worst experience.

I was going to write this post about my O Chem test. So, I'll start with that.

You know, I've never had a test before that I didn't mostly understand.

I've never experienced that feeling of, "what the crap?" when I opened up a test booklet.

I generally never study, and just get A's, and I like it that way.

Well, for all that I do OChem really well in class, and I do well on the homework and haven't really struggled with it since I actually did the work that one time a few weeks ago, I really had no idea what to do with the exam.

Example: he asked for the original drawing of, and then a stereoisomer of and a constitutional isomer of trans-1,2-dichlorocyclobutane.

Uh, excuse me?

trans-1,2-dichlorocyclobutane????????

For it to be trans, doesn't it have to be 1,3-dichlorocyclobutane? According to the definition of trans?

I know what trans means. I know it. I know what cis means. That is basic chemistry anyone who went to high school chemistry should know. 1,2-anything shouldn't be able to be trans. On account of trans means that the substituents are diagonal from each other--it's 1,3 or nothing, baby!

wtf?!?!

So that's 20 points of a question that I clearly either didn't understand, or was written poorly.

Life sucks.

On the other hand, the worst experience was not just not getting my O Chem test. It was actually reading about Obama moving the census from an impartial third-party to the White House. He will personally control the redistribution of Congress and I for one am not pleased with that. An impartial observer should do that, not the most liberal senator in the history of our country.

Freak.

Oh, also realizing that the bailout will cost $60,000 per family in the United States. That was also a sad wake-up call.

Amen.

update

The surgeons came up with a new chemical compound that's supposed to neutralize the acid in his stomach. It's apparently difficult to implement the compound in reality, and since it was just invented, who even knows if it works.

It all leads to some devastatingly hard questions.

For example:

One of my relatives has suggested just removing the entire tube and sewing up the hole. No more spilled gastric acid, yes, but he would starve to death.

On the other hand, arguably without functional gastric acid he still would starve to death, being unable to digest food.

If the whole thing is just to reduce his pain, which is less painful: starving to death, or having your flesh burnt through to the guts with hydrochloric acid?

I read Ann Coulter's latest the other day, and mostly loved it, but she brought up the case of Terry Schiavo. It's been a while, hasn't it? But in my bioethics class we talked about it. When is it all right to let a person die? Is letting a person die the same as killing them? Did that guy kill Terry when he unhooked her from life support? Or did he just let her die? Is he held accountable for murder?

It's kind of like my brother. We have a DNR on him: is it wrong? Is it right? What if we never had installed the tube? The tube is basically a form of life support. What is it that makes dying by starvation bad but dying by acid burning your guts out not bad? What made it okay for my parents to get that G-tube installed but makes it not okay to put him on oxygen if he stops breathing? What is it that made it okay for us to surgically prevent his rectum from puncturing his lungs, but makes it not okay for us to restart his heart if it stops beating?

What is this?

okay, new thought

Okay, done moping on the vast ingratitude of this world.

My mom just emailed me--I guess my brother is doing way way worse. The briefing for those of you who don't know my brother:

1. He's two years older than me (22-almost-23), dying from a chronic degenerative metabolic disorder he's had since birth. He has been the major influence in my political development. Currently, he has had cancer 3 times (and currently still has it), permanent staphylococcus, muscular dystrophy and atrophy, constant tonic and grande mal seizures (we're talking once every 3 minutes since he was 4 years old), esophagal atrophy, severe myopia, and basically everything else you can think of. His rectum is 1200% the normal size (the organ is supposed to be about half an inch long, his is over a foot long). He is on untested doses of nearly every medication he takes. He has never been able to speak and his brain development is about that of a two-year-old's. He's almost died from too many things to name.

But now the problem is his gastric tube.

We took him to a wound specialist a few weeks ago, because the burn from stomach HCl has created a permanent burn around his tube entrance. For the past several years, it's been reasonable; obviously having a stomach constantly bleeding from acid burns isn't cool, but in the past it's been doable. In the past few months, it's gotten worse. The entire tissue around his tube has deteriorated. No one can do anything about it.

My mom is meeting with surgeons today to see if they can do anything about it.

In the meantime, pray we don't get socialized healthcare, and pray that James doesn't have to feel the pain. Please?

random thoughts

I have started this blog entry over and over again.

Suffice it to say that some people suck.

I invite Shakespeare to explain how I feel:

Blow, blow, thou winter wind,
Thou art not so unkind
As man's ingratitude;
Thy tooth is not so keen
Because thou art not seen,
Although thy breath be rude.
Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh-ho! the holly!
This life is most jolly.

Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky,
Thou dost not bite so nigh
As benefits forgot:
Though thou the waters warp,
Thy sting is not so sharp
As friend remember'd not.
Heigh-ho! sing heigh-ho! unto the green holly:
Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly:
Then, heigh-ho! the holly!
This life is most jolly.

yesterday.

Yesterday was... so exciting. Drove up to campus with Carl at 4:05 am, as usual. Got out of the car and realized I'd forgotten my power cord. Oh well, I thought, I'll just not use my comp today.

But then I realized that I'd also forgotten my work clothes. Good work, Allie. So I had to leave at about 5:30 to go back and get them. I stuck around to charge my phone and do some laundry and cleaning; at 7:30 I started heading back up to campus. When I was about halfway there--we live like 15 minutes away--I realized that I'd forgotten my cell phone. So I turned around and got it. At least I had my work clothes.

Then Carl and I watched Legend of the Seeker Episode 11, which was amazing as usual, and then I went to Organic Chemistry, which was mind-numbingly boring as usual. Then I went to work--

And I'd accidentally brought Carl's black shirt instead of mine!

Ah!

Happily, they didn't make me go get another shirt, because I already have like 5 of those things (that's what happens when you work at the same place for almost 5 years... the extra uniforms pile up).

But then I had to wear my actual shirt, which was lame.

The baking went all right, however.

~~~~~~~

Other than that, my final interview with Teach for America is just one week away (!), I get my stupid library course done today, and Y Publish tonight should be fun.

Lately I've been trying to think what to do with myself. I'm applying for a job at Envision Utah for the summer--urban design and TOD? I'm down. And experienced, yippy day. But it's in SLC. I'm not sure if I can get a full-time job with the Utah Recycling Coalition (my current other employment place, excepting the bakery). I could probably keep my part-time position, but who knows.

I don't really know what I want to do, or where to look for jobs. I know I'm qualified for a bunch of things, mostly because I'm already certified in Cultural and Natural Resource Management, and I'm getting my certifications in ESL Teaching and Pesticide Application on Turf and Ornamentals in the near future.

I wouldn't mind working in an urban design place like my old work at DCED, or working with landscape management or in a soil laboratory. I have issues with illegal immigration, so I could see myself being a little unhappy in a TESOL situation, even though I have a 4.0 in the minor. I have a bunch of publications out with CAI, so maybe I could go into management through them and get my PCAM or something (I think that sounds SO superfun), but who knows? So much depends on if we stay in UT for the next few years or if we get into TFA and end up in Mississippi. Or if we go to Korea or something. I was just invited to China with NSCS. Who knows? So much is up in the air.

What to do...

stress.

Life has gotten 100 million percent more stressful.

Gah.

I was going to write more about it, but now I don't feel like it. That just makes it more stressful. Wow.

Bleh.

It's okay: 12 more weeks. Really, only 11 and a half. 11.5 more weeks until graduation.

I can do it. I can do it.

the awkward moment.

Carl and I went to the downstairs of the Wilk to chill after his work. I was writing on my novel, and he was playing Hearts. On the couch kitty korner to us sat some random guy.

Well, Carl and I started talking about going away to Las Vegas for the weekend, to "put the wild and crazy in our sails." That's a phrase my mom always uses about going to Las Vegas. We start looking up hotel deals and talking about reservations. They're pretty expensive. I point out that last time we went to Las Vegas, we slept in the car. Which is true. We went there for Carl to ask permission to marry me from my Dad. We slept in the car on the way back (by that I mean, Carl slept and I drove).

Well.

So we're talking about that, and then we were reading the article I posted last, about Michelle Obama's Fashion No-No, and we had to look up a term that had an awkward meaning. So then we roffled about that for a while.

And then. Preface: every time Carl kisses me in public, I tell him that PDA is gross and wrong.

So.

We had to go to class, and Carl started kissing me there on the couch in the basement of the Wilk. The guy kitty korner to us was laughing so awkwardly, I pulled away. Then:

"Want to do something gross and wrong?" Carl asks, a reference to what he's already doing, which is general innocent PDA.

"Uh, no," I say. And I run to the elevator, hoping that one guy isn't watching. Talk about AWKWARD!

AWKWARD!

So yeah. Wild and crazy, Las Vegas, hotel reservations, sleeping in the car, bukake references, gross and wrong--yay. Yay. I'm glad that guy was there to witness everything in my life that could possibly be taken the wrong way. L. O. L. I'm sitting here in OChem and trying not to die of suppressed laughter.

Wow.

O_o

the new job.

One thing that many couples don't fully internalize before they get married is the idea of Finances.

At least, this is what several bishops told me and Carl while we were engaged. Actually, we'd been talking about finances regularly since before we even got engaged. But, you know, whatever.

So, as it turns out, being married is about 3X more expensive than being single. Lame? Yes. But oh well. Carl, being the man that he is, went looking for a job and found one: early-morning custodial in the Law Building.

That's why I'm blogging at 4:38 AM. Every morning now we get up at 3 and hop along merrily to work, except he works and I don't. I just do homework. It's nice to have those hours to myself to work. The guy in charge of everything lets me usurp the Break Room and basically do whatever I want until 8 am. Sweet.

Anyway.

Classes are all right. I'm taking 19 credits: Logic, D&C 2, O Chem, Soil & Water Quality, Science of Pesticides, Classical Civ, and English 315. It is a load, but I'm getting through it. Only 15 more weeks of school! But who's counting!

I'm still at the Sub, just baking away TTh. It's not bad this time. Because I'm the fastest baker, I always get off my shift like an hour early, or more. On the other hand, I need the hours. On the other hand, I'd rather eat less and not work so much. Oh well.

Other than all of this... third reception coming up this Saturday, so we're flying out to Oregon on Friday. No rest for the weary. Oh well. Then we get to come home and be done.

Our little home is looking good. We have a living room, kitchen, dining area, laundry, bathroom, study, bedroom, and exercise room, in addition to loads of storage space. It's pretty exciting and we're totally loving it. It's nice to have so much space. We're still settling in, but at least our living room is almost cleaned up. Hooray. We have a couch now, the coffee table, several bookshelves and a thing for the TV. Most of my art is up, including the amazing picture my brother drew. It looks like a photograph but it is actually a charcoal sketch.

So that's my life...

the long overdue post

So guys: weird. 200th post, end of the semester, Christmas, New Year's, and I got married!! There is so much to blog about!

Except for the whole Getting Married thing, the rest of the past while has been relatively uneventful. Just cleaned a lot, um, packed a lot... yeah.

We had the reception for the wedding the night before, on Tuesday. It was wonderful. We had Christmas trees everywhere lit up with white lights, luminarias lighting the way to the reception hall entrance, a chocolate fountain complete with waiters. Translate: it was awesome and you missed out if you weren't there. I sang Carl a song, with my bff on the violin and me on piano and vocals, and then Carl and I danced to Mon Essentiel by Emmanuel Moire, and my dad and I danced to Fields of Gold by Sting, which always makes me cry now. Aw. We cut the cake to I Think I Love You by the Partridge Family, also, and if you don't know that song you should totally look it up on youtube, on account of it being amazing.

So, yeah, it was good. We got married the next day, on the windiest day I ever remember. My veil was going kerAZY as we tried to take pictures. But I guess we got some good blowy pictures, from what I hear.

We spent our two-day "honeymoon" at the Washingtonian Center, which was fun. Two days is not nearly enough though.

So, now we're here in Utah, annoyed because things are not working out for us to move into our new place, so we kind of have to exist in this really retarded limbo for a while. That's okay. At least I have that Carl guy to cheer me up all the time. Le sigh.

Well, gotta run, catchya on the flip side--