A Pointless Post Concerning Valentines Day and Belly Dancers

On Valentines day a boy gave me a flower...

He was four (or five? possibly six? what, I barely know how old I am) but, personally, I think that makes it cuter. I also got Valentines from my entire Lit class. Among the notable well wishes and compliments (50% of them told me I was smart... which would have been flattering if I wasn't sure that they said that because they couldn't remember anything else about me), I was told that I was smarter than Glenn Beck... Thanks, Kiana. I think.

Be warned: This post has no point. I just wrote an essay about Beloved that was dripping with points, and I've run out. So this will be throughly pointless.

I've been studying for my drivers test (finally) and have spent most of the time wondering who wrote the manual. Whoever it was delighted in obvious truths such as: "No one can see as well at night as they can during during the day."

Um... Yes. Thank you for that. I was unsure before.

I really like some of their hypothetical questions too, one of which involved jaywalkers and asked how a mature driver would engage in such a situation. Among suggested answers was "give them a little nudge to show them who's road it is." I guess can't really begrudge them that one. If I wrote a driving manual I'd probably work in as many incredibly stupid answers as I could.

I hope I never write a driving manual. Ever. I do wonder how you'd go about getting that job, though. Kind of like being a tattoo-artist. Do you have to be licenced  or read a manual? Who do you practice on? And belly dancers too. How do you learn to belly dance and when does it stop becoming a slightly strange hobby/exercise regime and start being a profession? I'm not sure. And I don't think I care enough to google it.

One of the problems of living in a small college town is that it really isn't part of The Real World. Most people here go to school or work for the school. We don't have any driving manual writers, tattoo-artists, or belly dancers that I'm aware of. And while that's OK we're not chock-full of chefs, engineers, interior decorators or farmers either. The result being that when I sat down to write out my possible future occupations (for a school thing--I'm am neither cool nor nerdy enough to diagram my future without my grade being involved) I could only think of four. Four occupations total, not occupations I wanted. They were: teacher, plumber, and beautician. And tattoo-artist

Help.

I am going to finish these posts and leave these thoughts and go study for my theory midterm. Hegel and Gramsci are calling, folks. I'm going to go answer them so that I'll maybe have some occupational options later in life. I don't think I'd be a really good tattoo-artist.

Over.

Christmas, Chocolate, and Other Good Combinations

This is what a merry Christmas looks like at my house.

It's what I saw this morning when I woke up. Mei woke up at three-thirty, but was kind enough to put off waking me up until an hour later. At which time I looked at the clock and told her promptly to go back to sleep. We emerged at seven, partially awake and covered in blankets. Because I am much more of a seven o'clock person than a four-thirty person. Four-thirty isn't even really morning. It's night. An ungodly hour of the night.

I know I haven't posted in two (and a half?) weeks. This wasn't because I forgot about it. The first week I was suffering and stressing (and every other distressing verb starting with a S and most other letters) under finals. I decided to actually write essays instead of getting on and complaining about them. (You're welcome.) The week after that I was lazy. Also, nothing was going wrong, which made it strangely difficult to write. It is slightly depressing to me that my writing abilities extend only as far as my ability to complain, but I have a hard time feeling sad that there was nothing to complain about this last week.

It is gratitude that now prompts me to break out the haze of laziness. This morning I unwrapped many beautiful presents. My grandma sent me several gifts, but high among them is a 100 year old poem book by Henry W. Longfellow. Grandma, it's beautiful in every sense of the word. Thank you.

Some of the other gifts I received were mentioned mentioned in my letter to Santa (as seen below). So, to Kelsey and Aunty Kathy, thank you very much for my scarf, drivers-licence and very generous transcript.

The scarf, combined with a jacket and sweater, compliments of my parents and Mei, are sure to prevent me from freezing at college next year. My drivers-licence is also much appreciated. I plan on using it today since I see it expires tomorrow. The transcript is lovely and the comments are full of half truths and blatant lies. Like, from my math teacher, Mr. Graph, "She can add like nobody's business." Not only is this in itself not true, but it totally neglects my unfortunate interactions with the evil generally referred to as geometry. Thank you so much. I'll mail it out Monday.

But you know, Santa, I'm still waiting to be accepted to colleges. Thank you for the end to my long-winded sickness, though, and also my A in IPB. Especially the A in IPB.

(A short bragging moment: Dr. Ford, who gives A's about as rarely as my dad, gave me a 96.8% on my final essay. Can you see me jumping up and down? I did right after I got the grade, and (because I'm a actual clutz as well as a social one) injured myself on a chair in the process. Getting A's on essays in IPB is especially satisfying not only because they're difficult to get, but also because I make such a dork of myself in class. It's nice to be able to show that, no, I'm not a total idiot. And, yes, coherent thoughts do take place in my brain, even if they rarely come out of my mouth.)

As long as we're talking about my Christmas gifts I have to mention that I have, at long last, gotten a food processor, which only leaves scholarships and enlightenment left. One down, two to go. I also have a beautiful new cookbook called Baked Explorations. 

It is full of chocolate and sentences like, "In recent years there has been an explosion in salt sophistication."

I love it. So much.

Last night my family went around and counted the Christmas lights in our little village. This is a tradition which my mother, Mei and I take part in full-heartedly. My dad participates by driving us around, but finds it all a bit hypocritical because we're disappointed when our Christmas light regulars neglect their colored, glowing duty, and yet we never put up any lights ourselves. In case you were curious, our count was 201 houses with Christmas lights or some other significant decoration, such as inflated Santas of giant Christmas bulbs.

My dad also thinks that opening one present on Christmas Eve, one of our hallowed family traditions is not so great. Bad, in fact. He thinks it's a transgression, if not a sin and refuses to have anything to do with it. He says a man must stand by his principles in controversial situations like this.

Controversial situation my foot. It's one present! It's Christmas Eve!

I love Christmas Eve even more than Christmas day, I think. Christmas day I'm often tired and sugared-our (we've got this amazing hot chocolate... and regular chocolate... and cookies... and lemon curd... and whipped cream... and candy-canes.... and--you get the idea), but Christmas Eve is much more quiet. It's about carols, and cooking with my mom and Mei, and arguing with my dad about whether or not heavenly beings are angered by me opening a present before Christmas. It's when I realize how amazing it is that 2010 years after Christ's birth, much of the world is still celebrating his birthday.

Anyway, all I really wanted to say is thank you to my family for the presents and, to the rest of you, thank for your comments, and just being interested enough to watch my muddle my way through learning how to blog.

Merry Christmas!

Dear Santa

Dear Santa,

It's December and, because I'm a thoroughly considerate, non-procrastinating person, I thought I'd get a letter out to you now so that you'd have time to locate anything you might need to put under my Christmas tree.

1. I'd like to be accepted to college, please. A scholarship or two would be nice too, if you have the time. I just turned in my application in on Wednesday and didn't (!) weep or fall over with relief. (You would think that I would, and you haven't even heard about the unforgettable 2010 transcript drama. Suffice it to say: two hours, seven offices, all visited several times... But, you know all about this, don't you, because you see me even when I'm sleeping, which has always creeped me out a little bit, but the creepiness has increased since Twilight came out... I'm off topic again, aren't I?)

2. I would like a drivers license and to know how to drive. If you could put a green bow around this one, that'd be fantastic. I like green.

3. I would like a scarf. Because even though my aunt, who lives by the college I'm probably going to, says that I won't starve (which is a little too bad, because I was thinking I might take the opportunity to be a starving artist), she also told me it's almost impossible to get a job at that college. So I'm thinking that I might be homeless, and it's cold there too, so I'm going to need a scarf. Please.

4. I would like to know where I should go to graduate school. Actually, my dad would like me to know, so could you address this gift to him? He asked me a few minutes ago. I told him I was going to Brown. "Hmmm... Where is that, anyway?" he asked. I said I wasn't sure, but I heard Emma Watson really likes it there.

5. Can I stop being sick now too? Please? My stomach kind of feels like it's eating itself which, besides being traitorous, is also a little bit cannibalistic. And I really don't feel good about having a cannibalistic stomach. So can I have a new one? Or maybe a new immune system, I think mine's been broken for a while now.

6. An A in IPB. I've worked hard in that class (cross my heart) and it'd be nice to get a sense of that on my report card. This is pretty high on the priority list. Like, before the scarf and the new immune system.

So that's all for now. I'm attaching a list of books/music/movies that I'd also like. Oh! And a laptop, please? I've been really-kinda-pretty good this year.

We have eggnog in the fridge and the Christmas tree is up, in all it's shining and somewhat tacky glory. (Mom has this thing about tacky Christmas ornaments. I don't get it, but I have developed some fondness for our pig angel/ballerina. And the sparkley, glorified fire hydrant with tassels is... No, yeah, I don't really have any defense for the fire hydrant.) Anyway, that means it's Christmas, so I know this is your rush time. Thanks for reading my letter--I figured that it would get it quickest to you over the internet, and since I don't know you're email I put it up on my blog. Hope that's OK.

Merry Christmas,

Marissa

Crazy, In The Best Sense

(Marissa)

This weekend was crazy, in the best sense of the word.

Mei and I were involved in a cultural celebration for the rededication of our temple. Last night we preformed for our prophet, earlier that afternoon we preformed for half the town, the night before that we were practicing until eleven and the previous two nights we practiced until ten.

Last night when I got home I sat down and, still sitting in my mom's wedding dress which I'd worn for the closing (on a side note: there are reasons people don't wear wedding dresses every day) I opened my email and found this:

This is a photo taken from Brother Ford's phone on Friday night. I'm not sure what time it is, but I assure you that I was asleep, despite the noise of almost screaming their heads off in support of Tonga, Samoa, some awesome dancing with brooms or just in an effort to say something to the person next to them. Loud.

I'd show you pictures of the celebration but I don't have any. I don't really know what to tell you about the production. It was amazing what was pulled off, the leaders rocked and the kids did great. I'd never been with that many youth before. I stood maybe two feet from the prophet.

It went well and I'm happy to resuming a usual schedule which involves me going to bed some time before ten and being able to go to the Harry Potter film whenever I want. And, somewhere in between sleeping and movie seeing, I hope I'll manage to make a lemon tart for Thanksgiving and finish applying for college.

Over.

P.S.
Mei, mom and Elle just finished reading Wives and Daughters and aren't sure what to read next. Suggestions? Anyone?

We NEED A Little Christmas

(Marissa)

The universe is conspiring against me.

Dramatic? Me? Nah.

In any case, it does seem like people, nature and commercial industries are doing their utmost to make me think that it is already the Christmas season.

For example: My dad has been playing Christmas music since he got back from Boston. And not just every now and then. Every day. Every time he sits down to his computer up comes the youtube fireplace, complete with crackles, and Pandora radio makes it's appearance. Christmas classics, (often annoying) country, (almost always annoying) pop... So far, no Bing Crosby, though. That's is where I put my foot down.

It's also raining. Pouring actually. The drops are big and they come down hard, greying up the sky and letting the air de-humiditize. (I can make up words if I want to.) Where I live rain is kind of equal to snow. Not completely, of course. We get rain in the summer and everything, but winter here is the rainy season. And this is winter rain.

Last but not least, commercial industries have once again demonstrated their inability to read the calendar. I've been seeing Christmas decorations up in stores since before Halloween. In Ross yesterday Mei and I got into this huge argument about reindeer vs. snowman. (Back me up here, guys, reindeer, right? See, Mei? My blogger people from Germany think so too.)

Just as I was about to move on to other topics my dad sat down and started suggesting movies to watch. Among them White Christmas, The Bishops Wife, and Miracle and Thirty Fourth Street...

I don't want to be a partypooper. I like Christmas as much as the next girl. Maybe even more. I am way, way ready for Christmas. If it were Christmas I would be making lemon curd. I would be done applying for college and would be trying to appease the scholarship gods instead. I would wear socks because my feet were cold without feeling absurd. I would not be worrying about my grade in IPB. I would be shopping for Christmas presents, playing holiday music myself and decorating Christmas trees. I want it to be Christmas too, but it's not and that's it. Let's just let it go. Move on. Wait and be patient and...

Oh, whatever. If you can't beat them join them, right? I've got a proposition. Why don't we just make it Christmas? Couldn't tomorrow be December 10th? We can do Thanksgiving, finals and applications after the new year. I think this pretty brilliant. Who do I appeal to? Is this a presidential decision?

We need a little Christmas. Right this very minute. So I'm going to finish up and wish you a

Don't be surprised when you wake up tomorrow and it's December 10th. Anyone know the White House's phone number?

Over.

Yeah, This Is What I Think About

(Marissa)

Hey guys, guess what?

It rained today. And I just had a bowl of the worlds best pineapple. And now I'm smiling inside. (And not failing Gov.) It's the little things, you know.

Today my completely amazing Lit teacher tried to convince me to apply to Stanford... Until today I thought it was spelled "Standford." Stanford, in terms of an actual place, is a little bit little bit like the moon, or maybe Wonderland in my head. You know, Alice and Neil Armstrong get to go there and I... I go to Utah, probably. (Nothing against Utah, guys. I like Utah, even if it's mountains aren't as pretty as mine.)

So I thought about it for a while. And then, when I was at the bus stop, I remembered that I have B's and I would have to take the SAT or ACT again and subject tests. And that it is extremely likely that when I go to college I will have a major meltdown. I will turn into a pathetic puddle of pathos and poor roommates will have to walk around me or, if they are extremely kind they'll throw me tissues from a safe distance. The bus stop is a place of crushed cigarettes and crushed dreams, I guess.

In California (or Washington, Rhode Island or Vermont) a major meltdown would be a complete disaster. In Utah I have family an hour from campus and they're much more likely to throw me tissues than I imagine roommates would be.

I actually had no intention of writing a post on this. I was going to tell you about how the jack-o-lanterns around my town are starting to mold over and cave in and how I ate breakfast this morning to White Christmas. "You know," I told my dad, "ethically you're not allowed to listen to Christmas music until after Thanksgiving dinner."

"I thought of that," he said, "but then I remembered how thankful I am for Christmas."

I was going to tell you my dad got back from Boston on Sunday night and brought us back red and gold leaves and holiday-ish aprons. Which was a big improvement on the snickers bar he brought me from the New York airport and the shampoo bottles he brought back from California.

I was going to tell you about how cute my little sister was as a flower on Halloween, how I helped her glue-gun petal-shaped material onto the brim of a witch's hat, which she'd cut away from the point and put her face through, and the amazing green scarf she used for her stem.

I was going to tell you about how I made a total fool of myself in Peace Building again. No surprise but surprisingly disappointing. Obviously I can't be a mediator because I get irritated with how difficult people in conflict are and I can't keep a straight face. Brother Ford quoted What About Bob and I've had the misfortune of seeing that movie many times. How are you supposed to not laugh when your professor explains that there are two kind of people in this world, the ones who like Neil Diamond and the ones who don't?

I was going to, and I guess I already did. That's good, because I have homework, and I should be exercising right now.

Over.

Happy Halloween

(Marissa)

Let's face facts. We all have stupid ideas from time to time. It does seem to me that I have more than my fair share (see Adam Popcorn), but we're not going to get in to Fate's slighted hand again. In any case, I have placed wearing my beautiful pure white dress to school on what happened to be a rainy day (have we talked about my school's mud? it's red) firmly into that not-such-good-idea folder.

Let's rewind a year. Last year Katie called me on my totally lame Halloween-ness. (Again.) It's true. I'm a complete party-pooper. I'm trying really hard right now to think of a Halloween when I wasn't either an angel or a witch, but nothing is coming... Oh! I was a Gypsy once. Anything more than that would have taken more creativity than I felt like giving to the holiday. So we decided last year that this year I would not lame with Katie. The plan was that Katie would be Elphaba

(Wicked. If you don't know about it, google it. and then help me convince my dad that he has to take our family to see it) and I would be Galinda.

(I'd like to think that's because I'm blond and not because I bear any resemblance to her in the personality district. Right, Katie? Right?)

Katie reminded me occasionally throughout the year (and this week), but it wasn't until this morning at when Katie walked in fully decked out in costume that I actually remembered. It was an awesome costume. Especially the shoes. I love your shoes Katie! Anyway, after that kind of shaming I had to go home and rifle through my closet. I came out with my white dress. And the hat Andrea brought me back from Finland. I looked at the clock and thought, "Oh, gosh, I don't have time to curl my hair," then I looked at the mirror and thought, "Oh, good, I don't have to." First time in a long time that my hair and I have gotten on together.

It was raining at school. My heels kicked up mud. It was hard concentrating in Gov--er, GOPO. Not that it isn't always, but especially so today. Anyway. Bad idea. The good news is that my dress is still white. The bad news is that it is possible that half the school has seen my slip. I don't know because there are too many layers to that dress to keep track of them all. And slips are, you know, slippery.

I went straight home and (after humming a few bars of Loathing) and put on the roomiest pants I could find and a sweat shirt. I've finally realized why I wasn't born a princess. I don't think princesses get to wear big ugly sweat shirts or painted up pants. They have to wear beautiful dresses with many layers and stiff, gorgeous fabric all the time. Poor them. They can't spill milk all over themselves or run through rain and kick up red dirt onto the back of their legs. I'm grateful for my jeans and my oversized sweaters. Bless them.

My weekend has now begun. Tonight I have a party (what? you thought I had no social life? just because you're right doesn't mean that you need to rub it in), tomorrow there's a hike (if it isn't pouring) and I'm making caramel apples with Katie and watching Sherlock. (It's a modern remake of Sherlock Holmes from BBC and it's so much better than it sounds. The plot holes are gaping but the cleverness of the lines is more than enough to make up for that. It's on PBS's website.) Monday and Tuesday are days off. I love long weekends. They're gifts from God and a reluctant DOE.

I'm supposed to be cleaning right now so that my poor mother (husbandless while my father is enjoying the fall weather in Boston) doesn't have to. You notice I always blog when I'm supposed to be doing things? Anyone else seeing a pattern?

Happy Halloween.

Yesterday

You know what I wasn't doing yesterday at ten o'clock? Taking the ACT.

It feels oh-so-good. It's possible that for the rest of my life I will keep track of ACT dates, just to revel in the fact that I am not trapped in a school room with scary posters trying to remember what the distance formula is or, an even harder question, why I care (...Got me). I hope that I don't do that, though. That will mean I lack things to celebrate.

In any case, at the time that many of my more unfortunate classmates were decoding evil science problems I was here, with these people

I know that was too many pictures. But they're so cute! (They're my neighbors--except for the first one, which is Mei. They brought me cookies on my birthday. They have a little sister who's picture refused to be posted, and she was the one who told their mom that I had to have "strawberry" cookies. Adorable.)

We were picking pumpkins. And red onions. And corn. I did not know those things even grew here. The corn is delicious. The red onions yummy. I haven't eaten the pumpkins. Incidentally, pumpkins are hard to pick. They like to stay on their vines and they have unfortunate bristles.

It did get hot and there were no caramel apples (to my lingering disappointment) and I was very tired while we picked because, while I'd known we were going, I hadn't realized that we were required to get up at seven o'clock to get there and I did not go to be at an hour conducive to me responding well to that wake-up call. But I wasn't taking the ACT.

I wrote my first essay for college this week. It had me seriously freaked out. That wasn't helped by Brother Ford's list of things he'd fail us for. However, the essay did make me realize what I love about blogging. I love not citing things. I love not putting on a cover page (or not forgetting a cover page and having to send an apologetic email to my teacher). I love using fragment sentences and not making my parents proof read. Mostly I love not being graded.

I also have to write a short story. I'm half way there. I'll post it Tuesday if I don't hate it by then.

Over.