The Zombie Flies I Lived With

It started with a fly.  A single, demon fly. Until it was joined by another single, demon fly. (Yeah, I meant single in two ways, unfortunately.)

1 fly + 1 fly = 14+ flies.

Unfortunately.

There are two things that make this math problem even more unfortunate.  First of all, it was happening inside my apartment.  Second of all, it was compounded, so:  7 flies + 7 flies = 98+ flies.  And so on.

The naivety of my roommates and I at the beginning stage is almost funny now.  We were almost amused, thinking we had just left the window open too long, killing a fly here and there.  Until the problem increased and we realized it was coming from inside the house.

We went a little crazy.  We deep-cleaned the whole apartment down to the last corner of the forgotten cupboard, but found nothing.  The fly nest was a mystery that we would not soon discover.

We called the landlord, who claimed there was nothing they could do.  We called the exterminators, who claimed the same.

The flies kept breeding.

At this point, we were still naive enough to think that the problem would somehow take care of itself if we tried a little bit.  We killed the flies slow enough to catch, and left the rest to die.

ROOKIE MISTAKE.

Before we realized it, we had created a super breed of fast, determined zombie flies.  They were smart enough not to land.  Ever.

We were alone.  We were living the apocalypse.  There was no going back.

Eventually we got the fly killing down to a science.  It was a two-man job that we took in shifts, day in and day out.  One person wielding a squirt bottle, catching the flies off guard and weakening them.  The other with the swatter, finishing them off.

We got really good at it.  Fly killing was second-nature.  We were mean, fast, merciless killing machines.

We were living in a world where insect corpses were commonplace, and killing 47 flies during a single lunch break was routine.  It was disgusting, but we were so enveloped in the world we no longer had a sense of living-space dignity.

We all went through periods of apathy.  "I've made peace with the flies," we would say, "I don't mind them so much anymore."  We needed to pull each other out of these hallucinatory states with passionate speeches about our declining quality of life and mental health.  Occasionally, one of us would crack and bleach the entire kitchen or buy an expensive-but-useless fly trap.  It was a war zone and we were the soldiers.

We had stopped having visitors because we were embarrassed, but after a while we just let people come.  We would laugh at their feeble attempts with the swatter.  Amateurs.

This mind-numbing battle we were living went on for months.  We were beyond exhaustion, we were past the point of questioning what was real and what was right.

The flies were too strong, and they were breeding too fast.  This was the end.





Then the exterminator called and said that whoever we had talked to before was full of crap, and they came and sprayed our apartment and our problem was solved.


P.S.  Finals week is hard.  Also, happy anniversary to my blog!  Also, this might be the first post ever without any pictures...too graphic.

Childhood Confessions

I didn't know the difference between Michael Jackson and Michael Jordan.

I was sure a pair of elves named Emily and Eric lived under the house across the street.

I had a special branch in the tree where I wrote science fiction and fantasy stories.

I wanted more than anything to be a kid on Zoom.

I had a crush on a kid in Kindergarten because he drew really good horses.

I would eat Werther's candy and save the wrappers for when I was watching "Charlie and the Chocolate Factory" so I could join in on singing "I've Got a Golden Ticket"

I invented a game with my brothers called "Stinky Sock Man"

I had a recurring, terrifying nightmare where my grandmother turned into a rabbit.

I liked to ride my bike around the block while listening to The Hooters cassette on an old, pink Walkman.

I could weave almost anything out of some long grass.  I usually tried to sell my creations.

I was mad when they didn't discover me on the street and ask me to play Hermione.

I was afraid to admit to the kids at school that I liked U2 and Journey, not the Backstreet Boys and N'Sync.

I dumped water on a new watch because I didn't believe my mom when she told me not to get it wet.

My fifth birthday party was Esmeralda themed.

Blogger's Block

Hey there.

I realize I haven't posted in a while.  That's because I've been working through a really tough thing called "Blogger's Block."  Don't ask any questions, it's a super sensitive topic.

Anyway, the major symptom is feeling like I have nothing to write about.  Another symptom is barfing.  Probably.  I haven't actually experienced that one yet.

I talked to an expert, and she said the best way to cure the block is to post something on my blog, even if I don't feel good about it.  That's why what you are about to read is complete crap.  You know what?  Don't even read it.  You might be the one barfing if you do.

...

...

...

...

...

I see you didn't take my advice.  Very well.  Don't say I didn't warn you.  Or threaten you with severe digestive discomfort.

This had been my life lately:

(I meant to draw attention to the complicated nature of this photo, but now all I'm seeing is the Death Star, which might also be a very accurate representation of my life recently.  I'll let you figure that one out.)

For one thing, I'm getting mixed messages all over the place.  Well, not really, but the juxtaposition of these photos did cause quite the existential crisis:

I emailed the second picture to myself.  The email read, "Don't let this pic fool you.  You are your own best friend."  I've actually been emailing myself a lot since school started.  It feels pretty good.  The following is straight-up copy/pasted from an email two weeks ago:

Heeeeey there.

It's real awkward in this computer lab.  But you rock and you finished this paper like a boss.  Now eat some smelly crackers and print your paper.

Go watch Singin' in the Rain.  You deserve it.

Loves,

Amy

Hmm.  Yes.

I guess it's good that I'm writing this blog post.  I've had a lot of things to say lately, but Twitter is too restrictive and Facebook is too annoying (I keep saying I hate Facebook, but that's a lie based on how much time I spend on the dang thing).  I came this close to posting a few things.  Lucky for you, I didn't.  Even more lucky for you, I'm about to go crazy here, on my personal blog and therapeutic outlet. 

Get your game face on.

1.  Yesterday I deleted/organized my emails.  All 3,851 of them.  Then I had night cereal because I deserved it.

2.  At least 80% of all status updates I've ever seen are about the weather.  It's like Facebook small talk, except with Facebook there isn't a social obligation to say anything.  At all.  Stop it.

3.  I'm hilarious on Twitter.  Not really, but pretty please follow me anyway @AmyLouHilton.

4.  You know the buttons you push at crosswalks to get the walk signal?  I never push them an even number of times because I convinced myself it will cancel out my walking request.

5.  I have a lot of celebrity doppelgangers.  You remember THIS, right?  Well I've started getting a new one:  

Emma Stone

6.  Can you tell I just learned how to put links in my blog?  I'm excited about it, too.  As a matter of fact, I'm about to do it again.  HA.

7.  My cousin read THIS one and told me that he, too, thinks about the names printed on milk jugs.  He always thought they were the names of the cows that gave the milk, but realized that doesn't make sense because boy cows do not make milk.

8.  This post is like one of those episodes of a sitcom where they reminisce about things that happened in other episodes.  Also, I'm obsessed with television.  Good thing I work for a broadcasting company.

9.  I ran out of things to say.

10.  This is the end of the post.

11.  Wait, seriously.  Go home.

12.  Why are you still here?  I was about to take off my pants.

13.  Fine.  You know what?  The pants are coming off whether you like it or not.  I'm tired.

14.  Feeling awkward?  GOOD.  Now maybe you'll leave.

15.  Furreels?

16.  Look, you're not making this easy for me.

17.  Get!  Get outta here, you old dirty stray!  I never wanted you here in the first place!

Kbai Luv you!

If Weeeeeeeeeeeee Were a Movie

Recently I've been thinking more than usual about life, love, the universe, and bacon.  Because I've suddenly got time for that sort of thing.  Lots and lots of time.  Alone time.

Luckily, I'm good at entertaining myself.

I'm also pretty comfortable with who I am.  I like myself.  That isn't to say I don't have insecurities, because, golly, I do.  But I think I have what is at least a somewhat healthy self-image.  BUT I've been trying to figure out who I would be and/or how I would act if I were put into certain situations.  And in this instance, by situations I mean movie genre.

Here's a little mood music to get you through the rest of the post:

Hey, don't judge.  I know you all know every single word to this song.

If I was in a ROMANTIC COMEDY, I'd be the weird, quirky friend of the strong, likable female lead that ends up with the awkward best friend of the main romantic interest.  There would be a scene where we both either discover our mutual love for Adventure Time or run into each other at a Huey Lewis concert wearing identical T-shirts.  That short scene would be the extent of the basis of our relationship, because everyone would rather watch ridiculously good looking people fall in love.

This is me, in character and holding a bone.

If you looked closely at the back cover of the DVD case, you'd see a tiny picture of me.

If I was in a DRAMA, I'd be a background extra.

But I would ROCK IT. 

If I was in HORROR film, I'd be the person that still dies, but dies last because I'm far too trusting of the all-too-obvious psychopathic serial killer.  I would have met him at the cozy diner of the backwoods-y town of Why-Is-Anyone-Living-Here-Ville and accepted his invitation to check out the china cabinet collection in the backyard of his secluded, abandoned RV park.

Yep, he's definitely a killer.

That's my "I'm about to die" face.

If I was in an ACTION flick, I'd be that ridiculously annoying girl that can't do anything but was forced into the action when she accidentally got on the wrong bus in Chinatown.  Literally everyone would hate my character, and the director would think back and wonder why I was ever in the film at all, because it definitely wasn't for sexual appeal.  There would be a scene where I happen into the enemy's hideout and am captured while trying to find a place to pee in the woods.

There's also a part where they give me a gun and then regret it.

If I was in a MUSICAL, I.....

I would not be in a musical.

Well, maybe.

Annnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnyway, I think I need some new hobbies or something.  Maybe I'll start panning for gold or playing the harmonica.  Both are viable options.  In the mean time, I think I'll stick to playing my GameBoy Advance that I FINALLY decided to bring to college.

Milk Names

Have you ever noticed the names printed on gallons of milk?  I think they’re the names of the employees who check the milk.  Probably.  The quality milk quality checkers.  (I couldn’t decide if ‘quality’ should go before or after ‘milk’ so I put it in both places.)  Don’t worry, I took a photo just in case you have no idea what I’m talking about:

Have you ever wondered about these people’s lives?  Maybe I’m crazy, but I think a lot about these people on a regular basis.  The only problem with this is that I will never ever find out who these people really are.  Instead I invent stories for them.

Eric, for example, is 52 years old and has a wife and two children, both of whom attend college in the state of Colorado.  His wife stayed at home but recently started a jewelry business which she promotes on her blog.  Eric has high cholesterol and enjoys taking care of his raspberry bushes with his Shih Tzu named Tony.  Eric is actually the CEO of Western Family, and happened to inspect this gallon of milk while doing his time on the TV show “Undercover Boss.”  After doing the show, he fired an incompetent delivery guy and gave nobody a raise.  His dog Tony recently got a cataract in his left eye.

David is 16 years old and wants to be an accountant.  He lives with his grandmother, Evelyn, who got him a job inspecting milk because she’s good friends with the manager’s wife, Martha.  He works every day after school except on Tuesdays, when he has oboe lessons.  David skipped the first grade but doesn't tell anyone because he’s a bit short.  His father is a truck driver he only sees on holidays and his mother was killed in a boating accident when David was 4.

Diana is a 20 year old blonde who is originally from Kentucky, but moved to Nevada when her boyfriend, Ron, joined a band and dumped her.  People are always telling her she looks like Hilary Duff, but she just doesn’t see it.  She got a small apartment in a college town and inspects milk to pay the rent.  In her spare time Diana watches Ellen, eats oatmeal, and looks at pictures of Ron on Facebook.

Anyway….It’s been a good day.  If you asked me what I did, I might say that I went to work, did my laundry, and cleaned my room, but I did so much more, too.  I found a dead spider in my suitcase.  I danced to Ke$ha all by myself.  I watched a video of Nick Jonas playing baseball and he fell on his face.  I remembered being clever when I named my aloe vera plant Ali V.  I ate a handful of Skittles and saved the red ones for last.  I thought of some Amy Proverbs (watch for them on Twitter @amylouhilton).  I drank out of my Captain America cup while listening to a song called Captain America, and I didn’t do it on purpose.  I stepped on a pinecone.  I took a selfie of me in my shorteralls:

AND I read an amazing story written by my good friend Wes (http://inscape.byu.edu/2013/06/13/so-close-to-heaven/).  You should read it as well.

Grandpa

My grandfather, Clesse Hilton, was an amazing man.  He passed away last Thursday and I'll miss him but I'm glad he finally feels better.  He's a man of integrity and character and the perfect example of a perfect example.  Also, he's funny and hardworking and faithful and he looked like a movie star:

 

Father's Day was the last time I got to talk to my grandpa, and he told I was beautiful and gave me a kiss on the cheek.  It meant a lot to me then and it means even more now.

When the earth is covered with a blanket of pure white and much of nature is dormant, when the pace of human activity slows and a warm hearth and a good book make being inside very enjoyable, when the short days are too long and the long nights are too short, then I think Winter is the most beautiful season of the year.

When white turns to brown and brown turns to green, when seeds again promise new beauty, new food and continuity of life, when all of nature revives and shakes off the lethargy of winter, then I think Spring is the most beautiful time of year.

When windows stay open around the clock, when a cool breeze is longed for, when the road to everywhere beckons, when perspiration is socially acceptable, when rain refreshes and lightning illuminates and thunder booms, then I think Summer is the most enjoyable time of year.

When green turns brown and yellow and red and gold, when barns and bins and bottles are full and when seeds are saved, when the first fingers of frost touch mine, when six-year-olds excitedly run to school, eager to learn, when preparation ends and performance begins, when all is in readiness, then I think Fall is the most enjoyable time of the year.

Winter, Spring, Summer, Fall ---

 Written by Clesse Hilton circa 1989 (on the back of the Sept. 1988 page of the Kaysville 13^th ward calendar). 

I love you, Grandpa!

http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/deseretnews/obituary.aspx?n=clesse-snow-hilton&pid=165465015#fbLoggedOut

Hey! That Was Mine!

One time I had a discussion with some fellow film majors about how, even though regular people die tragically every day, the world would probably be more upset if somebody were to bomb, say, the Oscars.  Who would be in movies?  What kind of people would we obsess over?  I know, it's a sad thought. (There are two thoughts I could be referring to.  Although it would be sad if every actor was killed, it's also sad that the world might care more about that than the people already dying.)  BUT what came out of this discussion was an idea.  What would the world do if all the actors died?

I didn't develop the idea a whole lot, but I did get to the point where I thought it might make an interesting movie in one way or another.

Except then I saw a trailer for a movie called "This Is The End" and now I'm feeling like somebody ripped-off my brain.  Only I could have done it better.  Probably not, but I still get the feeling they're not doing it right:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6z5Wykasdls

don't even watch the link I included just now

It's not like this is the first time this has happened.  I got the same feeling when I first heard "Viva La Vida" by Coldplay, although that may have just been Deja Vu or the fact that they ripped off some other song.

One time I had an idea for a movie where a team goes together into a man's dream, where they go into another dream and another dream, and at the end it's unclear whether they're still in a dream or not.  Also Joseph Gordon-Levitt was there.

I didn't think of that.

One time I had this super hilarious idea that was so incredibly funny, I had to write it down so I would never forget it.  I wrote down "red box ninja" and now I don't know what it means.  I do know, however, that this doesn't have anything to do with my red box theory.  I have this theory that some day in the near future, red boxes are going to sprout arms and legs and machine guns and take over the world.  It wouldn't even be that hard!  I mean, they're EVERYWHERE!!

If anyone steals this idea and makes it into a movie or a short story I will give up on life.  And love.

One time I built a snowman.  His name was Petey, and this doesn't have much to do with stealing ideas, except for that what happened to Petey explains how I feel inside.

 Literally one hour later

Also one time I felt like going to Denny's and then all of a sudden my friend was like, "Let's go to Denny's!"  Needless to say, I got offended and this person is no longer my friend.

I suppose I shouldn't be too bitter.  I've probably inadvertently stolen someone else's idea before.  It's not like being uncomfortably awkward was an original idea.  But here I sit, living someone else's idea.  I wonder if this person feels like Petey.

Anyway, I'm supposed to be writing a research paper about Tina Fey right now.  Which is actually pretty awesome but it's still a research paper.

Here's an incredibly beautiful arrangement of one of my all-time favorite songs by my favorite band Bastille, which was started by Dan Smith who has great hair.

A Midnight Montage of Musical Madness

For the first time ever, I decided to take classes during Spring and Summer.  Turns out that during spring term (since classes are accelerated) they don't give you that two-week-long "get your brains in gear" grace period.  They load you up starting day one.

First day of class.

So it was for this reason I found myself pulling an all-nighter within the first week of school.

If you know me at all, you know that I have a super hard time focusing for long periods of time (if at all) and I get distracted very easily.  You would also know that I procrastinate as much as possible.  You would probably also know that I love TV.  I get hooked on television shows like those people who get addicted to stinging themselves with bees.  Wait.  That was just one lady I saw on an advertisement for a TV show called "My Strange Addiction" which I will never watch.  Anyway, I had recently become infatuated with "Community" and I spent all the time I should have used for homework watching 1200 episodes of it in three days.

Community

As I finished the billionth episode and looked at the clock, I realized it was 4 o'clock in the morning and my project was due in six hours.  I tried working on it, but all that happened were several failed attempts where I ended up in the kitchen questioning my existence. 

I swear on my love for lemon bars that I tried.  I tried so hard to make myself work, but my brain did not want to concentrate.  I know this is something that not everyone will understand...but I was not physically capable of concentrating that night.

I was beyond frustrated with myself, and I didn't want this semester to be a repeat of the last one (where I miraculously squeaked out acceptable grades after slacking off for too long).  I locked myself in the bathroom.  I don't know why I did this, probably for privacy, even though everyone else was asleep.  I sat in the bathroom and cried.  Crying is not something I do very often, but I'm human, too, dangit!  I cried for a long time and then I prayed a little as well.

I made sure to compose myself before coming out of the bathroom.

"THIS IS IT," I thought, and I sat down at my computer.  I clicked "play" on one of my gigantic playlists and let Spotify pick a song at random.

Except it probably wasn't random.

The song that played was "Be Still" by The Killers.  Talk about an inspiring song.  Geez, my life could be a Romantic Comedy infused with dramatic themes but minus the romance. (Dramedy.  I think I mean Dramedy.)  I sang along with some of the lyrics at the top of my whisper-voice,

"DON'T BREAK CHARACTER
YOU'VE GOT A LOT OF HEART!

RISE UP LIKE THE SUN
LABOR TILL THE WORK IS DONE!"

And then I did my project.  All of it.  Thank you, Brandon Flowers.

I went to class and turned it in.  Then, because I had slept for 90 minutes and hadn't showered, I decided to go straight home.  In my rush to avoid further human interaction, I prematurely crossed the street, stopped traffic, and got hit by a bike.  The guy on the bike was some sort of super polite Irish hipster.  (I tried to find a picture, but apparently this particular culture of people are too cool for the internet.)  We were both fine.

When I got home it was past noon.  I ate one pudding cup and called it breakfast.  Then I had another pudding and called it lunch.  Then I had a handful of Raisin Bran and called it justification.

Next thing I know there are two or three maintenance guys in my apartment, and I was trapped in my bedroom with a bit of mud-masky goop on my face and...no pants.  I was just hoping nothing in my room needed to be fixed.  I pretended to be asleep a few times when I thought they might be coming in, but I was ready for anything.  I didn't notice until much later, but I was essentially the mom character that you see in the grocery stores on TV shows:

What am I turning into??

Nothing happened, and they eventually left.  I seized this opportunity to take a nap.

I was so tired I could have slept for days, but I watched another episode of Community first.

Short Stories: Part 1

     I've decided to write a series of short (very short) stories.  This post includes the first installment of these stories.  As it turns out, they're all true and they're all about me.  Woops.  Anyway, we'll see how this goes.


"Why am I getting a notification in this, the darkest hour?" she wondered aloud.  Then she saw it was eight o'clock and she'd been up all night.
-April 2

Her heart became a hummingbird because she had eaten powdered sugar, so she walked around a lot with nothing to do.
-April 6

The thing that excited her most about the upcoming road trip was the opportunity to make mix CD's.  She thought about that instead of her finals.
-April 11

As she told a story about the amount of sleep she was getting, she realized those were the only stories college students ever told, and she was tired of them.
-April 11

As she filled the smoothie machines, she imagined what it would feel like if they all exploded and covered her in slush.  She welcomed the thought.  Instead, her supervisor came and informed her that she'd won a free lunch for cleaning so well.
-April 15

She didn't want to throw the orange peel away because she had removed it in one piece, but she couldn't keep it forever.  She said a little eulogy as she tossed it in the trash.
-April 22

End note:  I illustrated these and intended to include the illustrations....but I'm a horrible artist, so I threw them away instead.

Also, I realize these are incredibly boring.  It's experimental.

California

This post is merely for bragging purposes, and there's nothing you can do about it.  HA.

Last weekend I went to California and it was fun.  So there, my weekend beats yours.

That's it, that's all I wanted to say.  Lucky for you, this (painful? probably) post is short.

Also, DISNEYLAND.

Kbai.

P.S.  Sometimes I am literally so overwhelmed by how much I love my friends, my heart physically hurts.

Second P.S.  I got my first speeding ticket!

This Post Is About Tacos, But Not On Purpose

     I am a woman.  I am a young-looking young woman.  I am a small woman.  Also, I am a woman.  All of these things make me approachable in other people's eyes.  I suppose this is why people think it's acceptable to interrupt my iPod time to hand me things and make a speech about whatever it is they're promoting.  I'm generally a friendly person, but as a rule of thumb:  if I'm walking, I have my ear-buds in, and you are a complete and total stranger, I suggest not trying to talk to me.  Muy emphasis on the stranger part.
     
     Now everyone thinks I'm an extrovertedly rude introvert.  (Is extrovertedly a word?  I thought it was, but there is a wavy red line underneath it that makes me think I invented it.  I am a genius.  It should be a word.  When they add a new word to the dictionary, do they give people credit, like in the back of the dictionary or something?  I'm going to look into that.)  I'm actually a nice person and there actually is a point to all of this nonsensical ranting.  The point is that I have a story about people handing me things on campus.  Nay, I have TWO stories about it.  Buckle up, boys and girls!  (Either do that and keep reading, or realize you're bored and leave this blog.  Go ahead and choose the latter.  Crush a girl's dream.)


Exhibit A

     The date was February 3, 2012.  (Remember that detail!  It will come up again later in the story!)  It was a Friday (Also remember that.), and a gloomy one at that.  Sometime late in the morning, a girl who is almost always happy was walking across campus, and she was not happy.  This girl was me.  I was cold and hungry and tired and lonely and overwhelmed and grumpy for reasons I will not go into.  I decided that the only thing that would comfort me was a taco, which is a conclusion that I come to quite frequently.  Fortunately, whoever's choice it was to put a Taco Bell in the student center had had a vision of me, and they knew that I would one day celebrate my victories and mourn my sorrows whilst snarfing their mainstream beans and cheese.  (Sidenote:  My mom knows me so well, she got me a Taco Bell gift card for Valentine's Day this year.  Best.  Mom.  Ever.  Also, I should think about eating better, but let's not dwell on that.)
     
     Unfortunately, I made the mistake of walking through the main hall of the student center.  This is the dreadful place on campus where horrifying things called organizations set up hideous things called booths and pass out disgusting things called flyers.  I had battled my way through most of the hall unscathed, using a tactic I like to call "Keep Your Head Down," when somebody thrust out their hand and shoved a flyer directly in my face.  I stopped dead in my tracks, kept my hands in my pockets, and slowly raised my head to look this trespasser squarely in the eyes.  The person that stood before me was a huge Polynesian man.  Did this intimidate me?  No.  Did I back down?  No.  

     Instead, I gifted him with one of my notorious frowns:

(This is a very accurate depiction of my real frown.)

     I am not a very intimidating person, but this very large man-full-of-muscles looked absolutely terrified.  He managed to squeak out a, "Hockey?" before I grabbed the flyer and walked away.

     I was about to crumple the demon scrap and throw it away, when a short wave of curiosity spilled into my soul.  I read the flyer.

     That was when I remembered that the universe has a sense of humor, and that it likes when I'm happy.  When I read this, I laughed so loud and so long and so by myself that everyone in the student center thought I'd just lost my marbles.  If anyone had just witnessed the entire exchange, they were thinking that I was a sick person who reaped joy from frowning at others.  But the flyer was incredibly hilarious and it had accomplished it's heaven-sent intent (rhyme, rhyme, rhymity-rhyme) of making me happy once again.  Then, as an added bonus, I went home and posted the picture on Facebook and said something like, "Sorry, hockey team, but Friday is actually the 3rd.  Nice tries, though." and more than two people LIKED my post!  Everyone knows that getting likes on Facebook equates true happiness.

Story #2

     'Twas a good time, the new year.  A new semester had just begun and I was already making new friends and conquering life and feeling good about myself.  I was enjoying a glorious day of classes and decided to celebrate by purchasing myself a (you guessed it) taco.  I was walking through the student center once again when a mystery approached me from afar.  I noticed her long before we came in contact because of the way she was dressed.  She was wearing a plaid pant-suit and a very large, very strange red hat.  She looked a little something like this:

(I swear all I did to find this picture was google "crazy red hat."  The internet loves me.)

     She came up to me and gently placed a paperback novel in my hands.  "Would you like a free novel?" She asked.  "Sure," I said nonchalantly, even though what I was thinking was, "Only an insane person would pass up a free novel."  I thought later that maybe I should be wary about a novel given to me by a stranger in a red hat, but I read it nonetheless.  It was free and it was a book, both of which are weaknesses of mine.  It was called Mind Games and it was actually an entertaining read with a fairly compelling story and it looked like this:

     

     The moral of these stories is that you should never be afraid to accept something that somebody is offering you.


     Unless it's drugs.

Note to Self

Going to school full time, working part time, working on three separate film projects, being involved in church, having a social life, and getting enough sleep all at the same time = impossible.  Some of these things will inevitably get less attention than recommended (these things will most likely be school and sleep).*





   

   


     *Despite an obvious lack of success in some areas of your life, you can still somehow be incredibly happy.  Sorry, bitter and/or pessimistic people, but MY LIFE ROCKS.

Burning a Birthday Effigy

     Turning 21 was a new experience for me, which sounds like a really stupid thing to say because, well, DUH.  Obviously it was a new experience, I haven't turned 21 before, have I?  I have not, but there were a few things that set this birthday apart from the rest.

     First of all, I had three different celebrations.  Wait, I've totally done that before.  It's great.

     Secondly, I did something twice last week that I've never done before, and somehow it's turned into a birthday tradition.  On Tuesday it was my friend's birthday, and he decided he wanted all of us to write down something we didn't like about ourselves so we could burn it.  We combined our scraps of paper and made an effigy, which we burned.  It felt good.

     We decided to make this a birthday tradition.  Then it was my birthday on Saturday.  We decided to take things up a notch.  Along with four of the coolest people I know, I went out to Utah Lake to burn a second effigy.  We drove for a while on a dirt road until we felt like we were away from the world, and then we walked out onto the frozen lake.  The fog was such that you could look towards the middle of the lake and see nothing but white.  We were floating.  We were flying.  Just the five of us.  Burning these things we didn't like about ourselves was freeing.

I think I like this new birthday tradition

The following pictures are for these reasons:

1.  I like making people laugh.

2.  Since turning 21 four days ago, I've been thinking a lot about how I got to be who I am.  These pictures might help others understand.

3.  This last year has taught me that it doesn't matter what I look or act like.  I'm freaking awesome and I always have been, I just didn't used to know it.

(Current picture of me)

     Ooof.  Growing up is hard.  I think it's safe to say, however, that I got progressively less awkward.  Boy, was that one crazy journey.  It was great then, but I'm glad to be passed all that.  I'm loving life the way it is right now!

     I normally try and end things on a happy note, but I'm going to turn that around this time.  I know this is going to make everyone feel despondent, but that's what happens to me every year after my birthday.  Do you know why?  Because after my birthday, it's FEBRUARY.

     I hate February.

     It's a really good thing I'm good at being happy.  This month is going to put my happy skills to the absolute test.

     Just kidding, I'll end this on a happy note.  Look at this picture:

This is me and my brother.  I was 16.

Feel free to refer to us as Batman and Robin.

     

This post is a little ramble-y and annoying.  Sewry aboot it, eh?