If a man's wit be wandering,...

"... let him study the mathematics." Francis Bacon

Ah, communication. Sometimes it seems as if the more we develop new ways to communicate, the harder it is to converse with people. Okay, so the quote & the first sentence don't really have much to do with each other. Um, they don't. Not really. Only in context of the entire post. You see, every so often, my little sister will tell me to update my blog so that she can know what's going on in my life; or, as she so aptly puts it, so that she can stalk me on something other than facebook. Except, now I have my blog automatically updating to my facebook page, so she probably doesn't need to even come to this website at all. Anyway, I like to know what's going on in the lives of my family, & I don't always let them know what I'm up to. I can't remember the last time I talked to any of them, or saw them in person, as I've been swept away in a tumultuous wave of study, band, and trying to have a life. After this week, it'll just be band & trying to have a life, and after Christmas I'm just going to try to live. Not just survive, but live & thrive, all of which are great words to use if you're playing Bananagrams & get the "v" tile...

I wanted to be able to take a break in the middle of this week, but if I'm going to attempt to go to that basketball game on Thursday, I might not be able to pull it off. Here's what my week looks like:

Today (which is over now, but this makes the week seem more complete):
religion final at 11am
take a shower in the women's restroom on the 11th floor of the SWKT
dance final scheduled for 5:45 (but the instructor changed it to 5:15...)

Tuesday:
study.eat. study. repeat as needed
Spanish phonetics final from 3-6pm
study for the lit exam of doom

Wednesday:
studystudystudystudystudy. BREATHE. studystudystudystudystudy
Spanish Literature final exam of DOOM from 5:45pm-7:45pm
collapse in exhaustion

Thursday:
PIZZA DAY (no, wait, that was last week... oops)
study day. no finals. the end is near.

Friday:
pray fervently
study
eat
study
Economic Development final from 2:30-5:30pm

& then I'm done with my undergrad educational career.
I'd really like to do something to celebrate once that exam gets handed in. My idea? Go see the lights on Temple^2. I've never really seen them, although I did get to walk hurriedly past them last Thursday. They seemed really pretty, but I'd like to really be able to enjoy & observe. Plus, it'd be an added bonus if I wasn't freezing due to lack of pants (dresses never are winter friendly). As many people as would care to join me should come! Feliz Navidad!

Methinks the Spirit whispers,

"no man has found 'pure space,'" - William W. Phelps ("If You Could Hie to Kolob")

I should be studying. I should be immersed in Spanish for the next two days, not even bothering with the English language & all of its nuances. I should be doing the problems at the end of the chapters, as I know that my professor pulls most of the test questions from them, or at least has some permutation of them on the actual exams. I should be studying my scriptures, & then getting ready for bed so that I can better utilize my morning study hours. Should, should, should... Debo, debo, debo... pero hay cosas que a veces no entiendo... Por ejemplo, grammar.

Alright, so, I was sitting on my extremely comfortable couch this evening, reading through my Spanish phonetics book, when my roommate expresses her frustration that one of the guys in her group put an extra (second) space after each of his periods, & that she now had to go through & delete them all... um... Did I just miss something here? I may have grown up in California, but I was always taught that you're supposed to have 2 spaces between sentences... Well, that's if it's just one period-- if it's 3, then one space will suffice. This i serious stuff right here, a completely new concept/way of thinking. It just blows my mind... So what do I do? I start looking through my text to see if prof. Alba had a single or double space thing going on between sentences... I couldn't tell. Then I decided to ask everyone I know. John grew up with the 2 spaces, Andy's had 2, I have 2, Katie has 1, Mandie said that she'd heard of both (she's lived in Oregon, CA, & UT)... & that's everyone that I've heard from now. Is this a regional phenomenon? Does it differ in state across time? Did it start as 2 and switch to 1 for time constraints, or is the addition of that 2nd space a result of minimum page requirements? I just don't know what to think anymore, & I really can't handle this new information in the midst of finals (chiste-- it's just a convenient distraction from my studies). What say ye, everyone out there within eyesight of this blog? Two spaces, or not two spaces-- that is the question.

"I cannot introduce a topic,

...because how do I know what will interest you? Ask me questions, and I will do my best to answer them." Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre

So, my roommate Nic told me the other day that she likes how I start all of my stories as if I've already been talking to you for about an hour... Which I guess is true, because I usually can't stand small talk. I enjoy talking about random things, but so help me if I have to ask yet another person where they're from, what their major is, & when they're graduating. Don't get me wrong-- it's not like I don't want to know those things, but how can you possibly glean much of a person's character if they're giving you the same 2 minute spiel that they've rehearsed since their first time at a BYU singles' ward fhe? & it's also slightly annoying from the standpoint of being asked those questions-- if someone asks me my major, there's only so many questions that you can take from there, especially if my interrogator thinks that math is hard/they could never understand econ/oh, you must like money & business... kind of deal. I guess I can see some interest in trying to determine what kind of cultural upbringing you have, so maybe asking the person's city/state (not city-state, which makes me think of ancient Rome for some reason...) has some merit in defining the social language of a person, but somehow I doubt that's why people ask it. Usually they want to make ties in their mind between people that they already know, even if you don't know them, because if you live *close* to the other person then you might somehow be like them... Or not.

Alright, it's hard to figure out what to say at first, so you revert to those cursed, standard, survey-filler-control questions/variables. Luckily, you can usually tell gender at first glance, or that'd make for some awkward moments. Just don't go there. Still, you can have a list of things that you'd like to know, or have just been thinking about in general, & use those to facilitate conversation. I like to ask people which Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle is their favourite. It doesn't matter if you like the same one as me, or even if you have a favourite. You don't even need to remember them all, but at least it can get you thinking back to your childhood & watching cartoons/playing with action figures with the other kids on the block. Plus, those villains were something else, weren't they? I mean, there was that pig guy with the mo-hawk, & the Brain, & all those ninjas that followed Shredder... Classic. I once had an interesting first date dinner conversation about the death penalty (disclaimer: try not to bring up political topics unless you feel that both of you will be able to handle differences in opinions without getting awkward).... The point is, if you talk about something that's somewhat mundane, then you're not likely to remember the person's name very well... talk about something that doesn't deal with either of you directly, yet you can both relate to on a random level, & the experience will be so much nicer. In my opinion. Obviously.

I remember rather enjoying Jane Eyre when my visiting teacher recommended it to me in December of '05. However, as I look back on what I romanticized out of it as a younger woman, I realize that Jane still had a bit of growing up to do. Granted, there wasn't that much for a woman to do in that time period, but still... What is wrong with a lady introducing a topic-- so what if the man doesn't find it interesting? You can't expect anyone to pull the full weight of any conversation; that just makes things tiresome/tedious. I consider myself to be a shy girl. Sometimes, I just can't seem to find words in English to describe my thoughts, or I'm too intimidated by the awesomeness of my peers to instigate something interesting. It's all a big shame, really, & I've decided to take the advice of someone awesome & get rid of my shame. No one will bite my head off for me trying to talk to them. There are so many people that I want to get to know better, that I need to stop having this Jane mentality of waiting for them to ask me a question, & simply go forth & start the dialogue. I'm graduating in December-- what am I waiting for?!

Hey, who's your favourite Ninja Turtle...?

"If you can't take a punch, ...

you should play table tennis." - Pierre Berbizie (some famous Rugby player...)

Wow, I really haven't written in here for a while... I remember giving my friend Andy Heim some guff about not posting in his blog other than the first time he made one, but I figured I'd at least be able to update in this bad boy a bit more often... Instead, I kind of shunt it off for when I have no plans or roommates to talk with on a Friday night. Like tonight... Sigh...

My first ever memory is me at about 4 or so years old, running in a circle in the family room of our La Verne, CA house... I think I was chasing my oldest brother, Cory. & then, I fall & crack my head on the bricks surrounding the fireplace. I don't remember much after that...

Then there was the time when I was... gosh, how old was I? Maybe somewhere in the middle of elementary school-- can't remember-- but I was in the back yard with my siblings. We were playing "baseball", except instead of an actual baseball we were using like, a nice big red kickball. Well, it seemed huge to me at that age, anyway... So, I'm standing to the right of my sister Katie as she gets ready to swing. Remember that I'm young & don't really know much about sports. She tells me that I shouldn't stand there because she's going to swing, so I move to the other side. Don't ask me why I felt the need to stand there, maybe I was waiting for my turn to be at bat... Anyway, now I'm on her left, & she takes a huge swing--- crack!--- she obviously gets the ball, but apparently she's one of those obstinate kids that also likes to follow through completely with her swing, & the bat ends up going at an equal force into my forehead. Okay, so not *into* it in the bloody sense, but it hurt very bad. I had a bump the size of both of my fists there, & remember having to ice it for a looooooong time. Strangely enough, we didn't go to the hospital that time. Huh.

& then there was the time just this past June, a few days before my sister's wedding, where she was going through the temple, & I was at a doctor appointment in Fontana... I go in to get some blood work so they can make sure I'm not anemic or dying or anything, & after I get outside the door of the lab, my vision starts to go out like an old fashioned television that's just been turned off & the pictures all fade from the side into the center. Instead of sitting down at the first sign of blackness, I turn around & start to go back into the lab to sit down... sigh... I put my hand on the door, & don't remember much after that... I do remember coming to a little bit later & wondering why I was on the floor/how I got there, & then people started to pick me up & the next thing I know, I'm on a bed with a bunch of Hispanic nurses & a doctor all looking down at me... No clue as towards distance or time that elapsed,... good times... & then they took me to the ER for a few hours because the nurse heard me hit my head pretty hard on the floor when I went down the first time. I say, whatever. I can deal with it. The end.

She said "you don't understand what I said"

I said "No, no, no, you're wrong."... -the Beatles

So, I'm taking a religion class this semester, & one of the things we had to do was write a paper, no more or less than 2 pages, about some experience or something that you feel strongly about. Emphasis on the feelings part... Well, how was I supposed to do that? I'm not exactly the best at describing my emotions, especially not when you impose some sort of length constraint-- it completely changes the game for me. Which got me to thinking about how I've never been that adept at expressing myself, or at least not in person. So I decided to do a little bit of a cop-out & write about when my dad died, but I didn't focus on the death, so much as the inability that I ever had to talk with him... So here's the "paper" that I turned in earlier, which is in short just a way of me telling the world that I'm too busy/lazy to write something new. Deal with it. :::

I was a very soft spoken child, to put it mildly. Much to the chagrin of both my parents, I seldom spoke much, and when I did it was usually in an “inside voice”. This meant that I never got in trouble for misbehaving, but it also meant that I missed out on some crucial connections with my parents and siblings that I’ll never be able to have again. Since my junior year of high school I have learned to step out of my comfort zone and open up to my family regarding my emotions, my fears, and my dreams, but I never understood just how much pain I must have caused my parents until now. I always assumed that if I did everything that my parents asked of me and followed the laws of the land as well as the laws of the gospel that Mum and Dad would be more than pleased with who I was. Yet, I wonder how much they were longing to have me talk with them during those formative years.

Don’t get me wrong, I did talk to my family, but I was always on the timid side. I preferred to think of myself as a great listener. For some people, though, listening isn’t enough—it sure wasn’t for my dad, at least. My father would never hear anything that I said, and I don’t mean that in the figurative sense. I remember saying something, probably pointless and obvious like “that’s a big burrito”, but because my dad couldn’t hear what I had said I would have to repeat it; then again, because I would mumble. This would go on until I had said the same phrase about four times, and I’d become painfully aware at just how pointless the sentence was. After a while I just stopped trying to say much around my father because I knew that I’d have to talk louder than I felt comfortable. To paraphrase a common saying, if you don’t have anything to say, why say anything at all?

All growing up, I continued to be shyly quiet at home. I even remember, very clearly, sitting at the kitchen table one September afternoon in 2002, with both of my parents in the room, to hear my dad say “Amanda is the most ungrateful child I have ever known.” It was as if I were invisible and deaf to him. I couldn’t say anything; I just sat there, thinking my response of, “it’s not that I don’t say ‘thank you,’ it’s that you never hear me when I do.” I was embarrassed, I was ashamed, and I was alone. It hurt to think that I felt more confident of my Heavenly Father being able to hear me when I pray, even though I can’t see Him, than my earthly father being able to hear me when I stood face to face with him.

The sentence mentioned earlier was the last thing I remember my dad saying to me before the crash. About a week later, as he was on his way to dialysis, my father drove his motorcycle into the back of a truck that was parked in the fast lane without its hazard lights on. He was air-lifted to an ICU in Los Angeles; later they’d move him to a hospital in Fontana that was closer to my mom’s work. He looked shrunken, he had a halo, and he had no teeth. This time, he was the one that couldn’t talk, and I still didn’t know what to say. I remember the frustration in his eyes as he struggled to grasp where he was and what had happened—he still thought that he needed to get to Pasadena for work. After about two weeks, he could walk-slightly- and things started to look better. He didn’t seem as confused, and was glad to see us visit. As I left his room one Sunday night, he looked me in the eyes and mouthed “I love you”, to which I replied “I love you, too, Dad.” The next morning I awoke to a dark, quiet house. My dad had died in the hospital that night. Although it took sixteen and a half years for him to hear me, at least I finally knew that he loved me, and that he knew that I loved him.

Friday Night

/My heart is still beating" The Click Five

Wow. Can I just take a little breather, please? Let me step back for a moment to regain my presence. I'm going to start by saying that life is scary. There are so many nodes & paths that you can follow, & you'll never be too certain which ones lead to your own personal Nash EQ... the best you can hope for is to reach a few subgame perfect Nash Equilibriums as you figure out how to get where you might want to be... It's like reading a map in Arabic where all the streets look more or less the same, your destination isn't clearly marked, & also assuming that you do not, in fact, read Arabic. Plus you don't know how long you have, because chances are your map places you in the midst of a dangerous place full suicide bombers. Or maybe ice cream truck drivers. You can't tell; it's all in Arabic.

I applied for graduation today. Assuming I don't fail any of my classes this semester, I will be graduating in December with a BA in Economics, & a double minor in Spanish & Music (I don't care if that's not supposed to be capitalized...). The end. El fin. Double bar line. But wait, there's more! ... I'm just not sure what that is... Part of me still wants to try for a mission, while the other fraction wants to get out in the job market. The hard part is not knowing what values to assign the probabilities of either. One of my BYU econ professors once said that the best thing about being an economist is that you get to spend the rest of your life figuring out what you want to do when you grow up. I also heard once, from some random source that I cannot recollect for the life of me, that one way to pick a major in college is to study something that you're very interested in but also very bad at-- that way when you graduate you'll be good at it. Or something along those lines. I'm pretty sure that if you were to ask some of my close friends, or ex-boyfriends, what one of my biggest faults is, they'd tell you that I'm way indecisive. My major is essentially, in the most basic breakdown of definitions, the study of choices (the allocation of scarce resources). I'm graduating soon, but I still can't make up my mind... I can, however, be indecisive about it using a more advanced reckoning & vocabulary. That's a plus, right?

And now for something completely different...
Winter term, I knew what/where I'd be & with whom. No questions asked, really. While for me that group of people essentially just decreased by one person, the value that I associated with that person makes it seem as if the robot in control of the language settings on my life just switched everything to Arabic. I really wish they'd stop doing that, or pretty soon I'm going to just have to pick up that language. I didn't think tonight would be hard for me, so the mistake of poor planning falls on me alone, I guess. It doesn't help that the humor/personality of my econ prof reminds me strongly of an ex-bf of mine, thus making me super nostalgic each lecture... Yet, here I am. Friday night. My heart is still beating, but for how long?

They want me to tap dance!

... I don't want to tap dance..." HP 3 movie

So, I'm kind of tough, right? I mean, I'll spit while riding a bike, I have the "don't mess with me or I'll kill you" walk down pretty well when I go to my car in the parking lot late at night, & my major & instrument are predominately male. When I was in first grade I gave an uppercut to this huge second grade bully. I love James Bond films. I'm not big on the touching. So-- not a 'dainty fairy' or anything like that. Hmmm....

My largest irrational fear is the sound of airplanes flying overhead. I react to sound; I jump at almost everything, my scariest nightmare as a kid was a sequence of sounds/sensations that grew continuously & exponentially louder/stronger, & music is a big part of my life. Anyway, aside from loud sudden explosive noises, I'm really freaked out by spiders. Ugh. So creepy, leg-y, & just gross. Plus they bite you. & watching the movie Arachnophobia as a kid didn't help things either... Yet, they're not always so freaky to me. My room at my mum's house in Claremont is what used to be a third car garage, so all throughout high school I would find little 'friends' trying to become my roommate. Spiders, crickets, ... well, that's pretty much it, actually. So, naturally, I kept a wooden sword (that I got in 7th grade from Medieval Times) next to my bed & used it to squish & beat the little suckers to death. very effective because it had power & distance. I could never kill a bug with like, a tissue or napkin & my hand. I mean, then you'd feel their body crunching beneath the thin papery substance - sick!

Well, it turns out that without my wooden sword thingy to keep the creepy crawlies at bay, I am really just a pansy. An example: last semester, I saw a spider walking across the floor towards my roommate's bed, & she told me that since I spotted it, I'd have to kill it (even though it was clearly heading towards her stuff...). I kind of... wasn't able to kill it. I got an old shoe from my closet, & got close to it, but didn't want to make myself more vulnerable to its disgusting-ness, so I have crouched & kind of threw the shoe hard at it and scampered immediately back to my bed. The spider just moved closer to my roommate's backpack. ::Sigh::

Anyway, last night kind of brought a re-visitation of the spider troubles... I can kill a little guy if it gets too close to me (ie, in my house as long as it's small enough & there aren't any men around to kill it for me...). I've slayed a few of them this summer. But when I got back home at around 1am ish last night (I rode a bike to the dollar theatre, or I would have been back sooner) I promptly made the change to the pjs, which also meant liberating myself from the shoes.... Ah, freedom. Headed to the bathroom to brush the teeth, but there was a big old spider on the bathroom floor. Ugh. I turned around to get a hard shoe from my closet, but on the way back to my room I saw an even bigger spider (according to my roommate Nic, it could have borne her children...) that was lurking on the wall in a corner by another roomy's closet. That one was HUGE. It made me make one of those disgusted/frightened sounds. Shudder. So I get back to my room where there's plenty of open space that isn't full of spiders. & as I look out at the hallway, I see another really big spider on the linoleum beneath the last step of the staircase... It was just a bit smaller that the big papa daddy by the closet, but it was definitely brown. & while I stayed as far away from him as possible, I did notice that it had a couple light brown/almost tan markings on its gross little hairy body. The one in the bathroom was fairly light, almost white, and the fatty one by the closet was probably black. But the brown one... I'm thinking it was probably a brown recluse, which is definitely not a pleasant thought. It looked like some of the pictures that pop up when you google-image search for them. So, the story... I freak out, all the lights are on downstairs, & I'm sitting on my bed looking out into the hallway at this brown recluse (maybe). So I text my friend that I borrowed the use of bike from. Then my home teacher. That was a bit harder to do, as I felt a bit like a little girl or the woman that jumps up on a chair if someone mentions a mouse, but I was rather scared. I almost called him, but then I realized that a) it was a silly urge, b) it was about 2am by this point, & c) even if he did come over, I'd have to get past the spiders to unlock the door-- which was not something I could do... So I tried to sleep. & when morning rolled around-- when I could hear my roommates walking around above me, I gave Nic a call & asked for her help to kill the spiders. She came down & saved the day... sort of. She took care of a tiny little black guy that was by my door (he wasn't even there last night), and the huge black one by the closet. Oh, & the white one in the bathroom. But we couldn't find the brown one. He wasn't there by the stairs when I woke up this morning. If it were a smaller guy, & if he were any color but brown, I'd just shake it off. But now I'm just a bit more freaked out. If it really is what I think it is, then there's a huge, highly poisonous spider somewhere still in my house. & I have no idea where. Hopefully somewhere in a dark corner of the laundry room, or else outside. Or maybe it died because it sensed that it was the decent thing to do... I don't know. All I know is that I'm a little girl who's too afraid of spiders to get close enough to kill them, & that I'll be wearing shoes in this house at least until after we get the foundation sprayed or something... That would be one spider bite whose magical powers would definitely not be the stuff of movies. At least, not one that you'd want to show your children...

PS, if anyone wants to kill the spiders for me, you're more than welcome... I'll make you cookies! but not out of the spiders, eeew....

"..it is not requisite

that Amanda should run faster than she has strength.." Mosiah 4:27 (with slight alteration...)

So, sometimes it seems as if everything follows a cyclical pattern. There's the economy, which takes its turn going through recession & expansion... There's the pride cycle, which does pretty much the same thing except you replace the temporal with the spiritual... There's the relationship game, which I have long been convinced that I only date someone I really like every two years... & then there's health. Okay, so health doesn't really travel in a cycle (maybe a bicycle...?), but there are some things that keep coming back to me. Sort of like a painful deja vu, if you will...

When I was in fourth grade, I sprained my ankle, which put an end to my dreams of becoming a great jazz saxophonist (really, that was a blessing to the whole world-- I'm terrible on the sax...). Anyway, I was on crutches for about two weeks, which is never fun, but it's some unwritten rule that everyone has to be on crutches at some point in your life, & it may as well happen when the worst consequence is that you can't carry your sax to school anymore instead of your can't make it to class or work on time. So, no big deal, that came & went, blah blah blah. The really crummy thing was what happened like a month or so afterward.

So, the day before the absolute coolest field trip in the fourth grade (CA Gold Rush Days-- where you get to go hiking in the hills or something & pan for gold, pretending that you're one of CA's early settlers or something..) I felt a bit of a painful twinge in my hip whenever I tried to move it in a certain direction. Hmmm... Maybe that's just sore from not really being able to walk on it a couple weeks ago, right? I'll just sleep it off- it doesn't hurt that bad, & it'll probably just go away in a day or two like my sprained ankle did.. Cue ominous music. I wake up the next morning, & all was pain. I couldn't move either of my legs without this excruciating pain that shot through both of them. This was not the dull ache of a sprain, but like someone was jabbing a hot spear into me whenever I thought about moving them even a fraction of an inch... My mum had to help me change into a dress because there was no way I could even try to get pants on. Luckily I'm a girl & that is socially acceptable. My brother (I can't remember which one- I was in pain & it was over 13 years ago...) had to pick me up to put me in the van, & I get to take a field trip to the doctor's office. No CA Gold Rush Days for me... My family physician can't tell what's wrong with me, the x-rays show no abnormalities, so they ship me off to the medical facility in Fontana (about a half hour drive east of our city, off the 10, depending on traffic), where I stay for six days. Not even a full week. I'm really not sure what was wrong with me. They couldn't tell at first what was wrong with me- or, at least, they didn't tell a 10 year old what was wrong with her- but there were words thrown about like 'water-on-the-knee' {a build up of white blood cells in single location that gives the swollen appearance}, 'severe acute arthritis', & even the possibility of 'lime disease'. Hey now~ I wasn't eating any limes to get like this, someone please tell me what's going on! Grrr... It took me a week to be able to really move my legs again without that huge pain. I remember my dad sleeping on the chair next to my bed each night. Probably the best memory of his love for me that I have of him. Other than his last "words" to me being "I love you"(since he really didn't have any teeth or a voice at that point, I'm not sure if it counts for actual words). Anyway, I couldn't stand that ordeal. I'm not sure if I really did have lime disease, or if that was just the closest thing they could relate it to...

So, after that, every couple of months I would have a day or two when I couldn't move one or both of my legs in a certain way, but that eventually stopped. Until 7th grade, & I vividly remember a girl in my PE class (Amanda Brockman) coming at me while swinging a baseball bat & saying that she had escaped from a mental institution & was going to kill all other Amanda's out there... Maybe that's why I don't much like watching softball or baseball... But since then, no, not so much with the days of not being able to walk or move. Every now & then I wake up to a huge leg spasm, or my foot will randomly decide to cramp up for a half hour. Meh, I can deal with it all, no biggie. But, I hope you can appreciate why I get really nervous/scared/anxious whenever doctors tell me that whatever I'm going through is not normal (bleeding without pain) & that they don't really know why it's happening, just that it is. I hate going from one doctor to the next just to be told that they don't know exactly what's wrong, but maybe this other bloke can take a look around & see how to fix you. I don't want a bandage, I want the name of the condition! A name is a most powerful weapon. For instance, now that I know I have UC, I can know what to expect, how to treat it, & when to seek help if it gets worse.

Sunday afternoon I had another episode that reminded me of fourth grade. Starting in the afternoon, & progressing all evening, I couldn't move my right leg without at least a little pain. By the time I decided that it would be a good hour to sleep, my leg wouldn't let me. There was absolutely no position that I could find myself in that wasn't very painful. I was up for at least an hour or two, & I could barely hobble around on my one good leg. I was crying. I was scared. It reminded me so much of the pain I felt 13 years ago & had to be hospitalized for; I didn't want to have that happen again. I don't know how or when I finally fell asleep for the first time. Probably around 3. Then waking up at 5-6 to take some more pain killers, followed after a while by another 2 hour nap. Then I figured I'd read a bit upstairs from Jane Austen's Emma, & that's quite a boring book, so I fell asleep for a half hour then, too. Beside the point. The point, if there is one, is that this experience really terrified me. I have some plans that I really want to be able to execute, but if this stuff randomly happens to me, then how will I be able to walk or bike ride up to 15 miles-ish per day? How will I be able to manage not being able to see a doctor when time is no longer an available commodity? So much is coming in my way for what I'm aiming at, & I don't want to be blown off course. I have a work to do, & it will get done, whether I can literally move or not.

Sin que seas, en fin, sin que vinieras

brusca, incitante, a conocer mi vida..." Pablo Naruda

There you have it. He's gone. Not quite as suddenly nor as inspiringly from my life as he came to know it, but I won't see him for two years now. Perhaps longer, maybe even forever... Sam is now in the MTC. I know, I know - I said long ago that I wouldn't wait for a missionary. I even figured that coming to BYU as a transfer student would spare me from that whole situation, & considered myself to be quite clever. Okay, I didn't really think of myself as clever, but I never thought I would date a Pre-Mish... I never thought that I would fall in love with an anime-loving, Gumby tie- wearing, Computer Science major from Wisconsin, but I did. I even gave him a spatula, & what better way to say 'I love you' than with the gift of a spatula...? He's such a wonderful guy & I'm sure that he'll be the most amazing missionary ever.

I'm not 'waiting' for him. He is not my boyfriend. For the next two years, he is going to be in a serious relationship with the LORD, & who am I to try to vie for his affections, to try to distract him from the work that he has been called to do? I have my own life to live, & I can't waste the next two years pining after the best man I have ever dated... We came to an understanding while he was in WI & I was (am) in UT-- that I should date. Or, at least, try to. If we're both still single by the time he gets back, then he said he'd like to give it another go-round, but that is assuming a lot of things. It's assuming that he'll still want me in his life, that I'll still be around, that no one else will come in the way. People change a lot in two years, I mean, I've changed sooo much just in this past year alone! My DNA is still the same ( I hope... cursed zombie-vampires...) but life led me on a little lane of experience and growth... I know that Sam was the perfect guy for me before he embarked on the road of missionary-ness, but who's to say that it'll still be true on the other side of Arizona & my graduation? {btw, I'm mainly writing this for me... I don't much care who all sees this} In short ("too late"), I have to let him go & trust that as long as I'm doing what's right that God will lead me to the life that He needs me to have, whether it leads me back to Elder Sieber or not. Translation: I have to try to let other guys into my life. For my sake as well as for Sammy's. Sigh...

So now what? Well, I figured I'd post a bunch of pictures of Sam. Yup. May as well, since I won't see him for a while. & since after this I won't have any new ones of him, really, to post. Maybe in three months I'll have some of me with someone new, maybe I'll never really fall in love again... Just gotta live & see where it takes us, eh?

Dinosaur Sam???

I guess you could consider the Heart Glasses Night as a precursor to the path that Sam & I would take together... Full of silliness, hearts, and much laughter and good times...

I think this was the day when I realized how much I liked Sam. I mean, I liked him before, as a friend and all, but seeing him with alien & lobster balloons really captured my heart... & after that I decided that a 4 year age difference didn't really matter at all. If only I had figured this out earlier-- I might have enjoyed much more Sam-time...

...but it had to come to an end, & much sooner than I wanted to, I found myself driving my Samurai to the SLC airport so he could get ready for his mission from the convenience of his home in Green Bay, Wisconsin. His flight was delayed for a few hours, so we went to the Pie, but he was the one to take photographs there, & for some reason he couldn't find any pics later... :(
Of course, the next time we would see him, we won't have the luxury to be nearly so close or comfortable with each other. Gotta follow mission rules, & keep it at arm's distance and a nice firm handshake...

Naturally, his last meal before the MTC would be none other than 'Kung Fu' Panda Express... & his creative/random/Samish side emerges at the end of the meal (not that it was hiding much :P)

Till we meet again, Elder Sieber. <3

I get by

... with a little help from my friends," the Beatles

I got switched from being on Rachel VP's team at work to Whitney Miller's team. No big deal, really, except for the fact that you're highly encouraged to sit with your team, & I had an awesome desk by Rachel that was right next to the windows. So, if I needed a little pick me up I would just look outside until I got a call. Very therapeutic. Yesterday, I finally sat in the area that I'm supposed to be in, which has no view of the outside world but a straight shot at the glowing ball that tells you how busy it is. Plus there are much more people around, so I feel a bit more insignificant. It's almost the most depressing area you can be in at Data Entry, I think.... Naturally, I started off work feeling just down. Not my usual peppy, friendly, cheerful self. I had break at 6:45pm, so instead of letting myself feel very down, I decided to text a couple of my friends at the same time to get that support that I needed. It's actually quite something for me to even see that I was able to try to contact others at a time like that when a year ago I probably would have locked myself in the bathroom to cry, assuming I could even make it out the front door to begin with... Good friends are necessary to one's survival in this calloused world... Anyway, here's my question and their responses, in order, exactly as they appear in my phone:

Me-- to friends:
For some reason i feel a bit blue today. What would you do to cheer up if you were me?
Jun 11, 6:27 pm

Fr: Andy Heim
If i were you? Find a musical soundtrack and sing at the top of my lungs. Or some jazz standards
Jun 11, 6:28 pm

Fr: Nicole Gillie
Call my Sam, go get Panda, watch anime, play my trombone, and/or watch Kung Fu Panda
Jun 11, 6:30 pm

Fr: Joel Leaman!
Cook something yummy, watch a cool movie, go hang out with friends, play Nintendo, go shopping, make cool plans for a random trip ...
Jun 11, 6:34 pm

Fr: Joel Leaman!
Also, you could go and register at stumbleupon.com and see all the cool stuff there.
Jun 11, 6:39 pm

Fr: John Nielsen
Eat some popcorn. Watch something funny. Talk to a friend. Do a secret act of service.
Jun 11, 6:46 pm

Fr: Pirate Sam Sieber
I would watch "about a boy"? Perhaps I would read over my journal. I might even pray.
Get me to tell you you good things... You are special and awesome.
Many times, we cannot see the full picture, and it bugs us.
On rainy days you get wet (or at least it's wet out) What's important is that you don't catch hypothermia. The lord has your back; and he is invincible. (life is a tag-team game) I like you :)
Perhaps I would take a nap and sleep (blu) off
Jun 11, 8:50 pm

They all made me smile. I did a bit of each of those, although the only ones I used while at work was Andy's suggestion to sing. Which I did. & I had a couple techs tell me that they wish they could get me for all of their calls, or that I was their favourite agent there. Which is what keeps me feeling sane when I go in to work. ... Like I must do presently. Farewell! (I promise myself that I'll write something more insightful when I'm done with my Spanish class next week)

Everybody's got something to hide,

...except for me and my monkey" the Beatles

Sometimes I wish I could go running and running and running to my heart's content, never stopping or slowing down, but as soon as I face the doorway to the expansive world outside, I realize that I don't know where I would go, or why I'd be going. So I stop, perplexed at the notion that you can run for the sake of running. I need a reason to run, a reason to fly over the pavement and pant until my breathing is able to normalize itself, a reason to venture out and feel free. Also, my only pair of tennis shoes kind of suck-- I got them in January and they're kind of falling apart in the heels. For some reason, I also feel very ridiculous running by myself. I would love to go running with another person, or with a dog, but the by my onesy thing for some reason feels unsettling. I love to bike on my own, but running, not so much. Yet I always want to fly away.

Apparently, chase dreams are supposed to symbolize fleeing from some problem that keeps coming up, or your unwillingness to face the tides of change in your current life. I'm pretty sure I'm always running from something in my dreams. What is it that I'm hiding from? Maybe that's why I get overcome with the desire to run during the day-- part of me is just trying to escape reality. The odd thing is, I think that life is pretty fine right now. My roommates are awesome, Provo is beautiful, my work is okay, and I get to watch movies in my Spanish class. I have enough money to eat well, and I am head over heels for an amazing guy. Okay, so that amazing guy is in Green Bay right now, and I might not be able to see him for at least 2 years, but as long as I can still call him, as long as letters can make to AZ from UT and back, as long as he still cares to have me in his life,,, I'll be fine. I just miss him. I'm fighting the silly urge to request a Fri/Sat off work so I can fly to him (literally) and hold his hand one more time before he gets set apart. But that's just silly. Irrational. Over dramatic. Yet, as I walked to class yesterday, all I wanted to do was leave for the weekend because I don't have class on Monday.

About two years ago, I just wanted to leave Provo. Get out, and just keep driving until I got too tired and I'd rent a hotel room in the first town I could find. I'd just keep going after that, driving and driving until I felt like it was time to come back to Glenwood. Going to places I've never seen before. The only thing that really stopped me was the fact that my brother had entrusted me with his car, and I knew that he wouldn't want all of that unnecessary mileage on it. So I had to settle for driving around parts of Provo that I'd never ventured to before. I just kept trying to find the highest point I could so that I could look out on everything and let my mind imagine that it was flying off to the edge of the horizon. I did find a pretty cool church parking lot on the top of this little hill thingy, and you can see a lot of Provo & Orem from there, but not BYU campus, which was very important. I didn't want to get up someplace just to see the small area where most of my life occurs... It's very peaceful up there. Sometimes I go back when I'm feeling particularly down about something. It's my escape. & it's a lot closer to home than some random field in the middle of Montana...

On a related note, I love driving up to work. Well, the view that it brings... For some reason, when I look at Timp and the gorgeous backdrop that it provides, especially that one cliff part, I can't help but to think of the cliffs of Gondor from Lord of the Rings. I guess APX is cool to work at if you think of yourself as working in Middle Earth, trying to keep the forces of Mordor from invading the homes of hobbits the nation over. &, I'm done. Huzzah for random pointlessness...

Tal vez no ser...

es ser sin que tu seas," -Pablo Neruda

I'm getting really lousy at writing in this bad boy. Sorry about that. I do keep a nightly journal, but uh, not going to let many people read that, so it's not much of an excuse. Anyway, after the brutality that was Linear Algebra, I've decided to scrap the math minor and revert to the Spanish.... It also helps that I've fallen head over heels for a Spanish speaking Elder with the last name of Sieber. Okay, so he's not out yet, but he will be in less than a month. He's the first and only guy that's ever treated me exactly how I want a guy to treat me. He makes me want to be my best, and so I'm going to try to do just that. I trust that God knows what He's doing, and did by placing Sam in my life at that point of my growth, so I'm going to do my best to grow close to Him and see where that leads me. Of course, I'd be more than thrilled if that leads me back to Elder Sieber in a bit over two years. He's just that awesome. & lucky for me-- there is no charge for awesomeness. Or attractiveness... If there were, I'd be pretty broke right now, he's just that awesome. & attractive. :D

So in my Spanish lit class (SPAN 339 at BYU), we've been studying poetry. I memorized this beautiful romantic sonnet for class on Friday, by Pablo Neruda (Soneto LXIX, from his Cien sonetos de amor), but earlier in the term I had to write/compose my own sonnet, about whatever. The only requirements: endecasilabo, catorce lineas, con rima consonante como ABBA ABBA CDC DCD, o ABAB ABAB CDC DCD or CCD EED is what I ended up with my last two things... anyway, I figured that since Sam already has my letter, I'm safe to post this up on the interwebs... It's not the best, but it is my first.. Also, I'm not sure how to get the accents and stuff in these here web thingies, so if the letter has an accent, I'll just bold it, ok?

Soneto I: a Samuel
Mi alma es para ti-- te digo en sincero,
y aunque estas alla, tienes mi amor.
Pero tu no me pienses, ten valor--
querido hispanohablante misionero.

De verdad- mas que todos yo te quiero,,,
tu alma, tus sentimientos, tu sabor.
Mientras trabajas por nuestro Senor
prepare para salir en enero.

Y por eso nos sentimos muy calmas
que vale la pena salvar las almas.
Nos di que lo que hagas, haz por El.

Aunque dos anos duraran muy largo
pasaran tiempo dulce y tiempo amargo,
mi Querido, Preferido, Samuel.

It is a mistake to think you can solve any major problems just with potatoes

-Douglas Adams, Life, the Universe & Everything

I had a hard time thinking of a good quote to start off with. Part of the problem was that I was looking for something that expressed logically the sentiments I wish to describe. Then I realized the foolishness in that because what I'm feeling and thinking has no logic, really. So I picked something silly, from one of my favourite trilogies in five parts... It actually kind of fits, though...

Something wonderful has happened for me in my life. I'm still trying to figure out how I let this happen... I fancy someone. Muchly. Like, I see the good in pretty much everything, and life is grand kind of fancying. I haven't fancied someone, at least not as much as this, for about two years now. Which is why this is a big deal to me. I've dated between then and now, had boyfriends, etc (wouldn't you like to know what etc means here...), but I can't say that I fancied them. I wanted to, but no... it didn't really click together with my randomly discriminatory emotions. I can't quite explain, but for some reason I enjoyed spending time with these guys, but I knew that living with them long term would probably drive me crazy. I've probably only fancied about... 3 guys in my life. So, in a sense, fancy is that awkward stage between liking someone and possibly loving them. Oh, I don't like to use the l-word about a guy or anyone, really, unless I never intend to take it back. Like, legitimately use it, not in the "I love lamp" kind of way... or said in passing about your ward, roommates, sports team, etc. Blah.

Part of what happens when I fancy a guy is that I get super conservative in how I allow myself to interact with them. I have a huge bubble-- I jump at everything and my first reaction to someone touching me is to move out of their reach or in some other way flee the situation. Once I start to trust a person, I can train myself to remain calm if they sit close to me on a couch or in a car or something. If I like someone I might even let them hug me, although quite often it leaves me feeling super awkward but I've learned to mask my face so as not to offend my friends (which is why I carry one of those Phantom masks with me everywhere... jk). Of course, my body sometimes decides that it'll trust certain guys instantly, & I don't feel that sense of claustrophobia when they come into my personal space by holding my hand, hugging, or kissing me. So, unless I'm extra aware of that just being a random body reaction, it gets me into trouble. How irresponsible of a reaction, Amanda...

But when I fancy someone, my bubble becomes permeable to them... I find their touch, their presence to be most welcome and desirable, and the lack of contact to be suffocating. Yet, I fancy them, which means that I view them in utmost respect and want to be able to continue being in their good favor for as long as possible. Translation: no matter how badly I want to kiss the guy and cuddle and all that other stuff, I won't do it. I can't. My heart and mind won't let me do something that would gamble their presence in my life. I just want to be able to be my best, and respect them in the same way I want to be treated, which means that anytime I would try to make a move, I have to ask if it's okay, or at least be given very obvious cues that let me know what's up. Which brings me to the beginning quote.

I am ridiculously oblivious to my own standing in relationships. While I can see usually if someone likes another person, if that other person happens to be me, then I'm blinded to accurate interpretations of flirtations. Meaning that I will not know if I'm dating someone unless I'm flat out told by that person (well, we'd have to be in agreement verbally or ... written-ly...). This is how I ended up 'dating' a guy for five months without ever being sure during that time that we were dating. & while I did ask if we were dating, he combatted it with some vaguely nonspecific words, and a reference to him 'having a missionary'. & then we'd end up spending practically every waking hour with each other- studying, eating, playing, working, etc... I was terribly confused. In my mind/fantasies, I assumed that we were, but I never really felt comfortable referring to him as my boyfriend. It's a silly term, anyway. & while I eventually fell in love, I only ever kissed him on the cheek, as I respected him and valued his worth too much to risk having a physical embrace that could potentially be a way to represent the carnality of our mortal selves.

& I find myself in a similar situation of obliviousness now... See, I didn't plan on this. I liked this guy before (as in, I liked him before I fancied him), and thought that he was cool and all, and enjoyed spending time with him. I entertained the idea of dating him when I first met him, but then I found out that he was a freshman and decided that most people wouldn't be in favor of an age difference reminiscent of Padme and Anakin Skywalker... So I didn't want to scare him by trying to flirt. Well, random circumstances led us to realize that we "like" each other (ie, fancy). & although the normal person would have picked that up from the hand-holding and the talking at length and the spending time with each other bit, I could only realize that he liked me because he told me. I mean, I know that I fancy him, but I couldn't tell if he felt similarly unless I asked and he said straight out. I don't like to make too many assumptions, if any, when it comes to the corners of someone else's heart. So now, people that know me ask if I'm dating this guy. My answer: I have no idea. He hasn't said that we are. In a certain descriptive account of the term for dating, then we probably are, but I can't really say. I mean, he's leaving for GB after finals, & then a mission to AZ on 10 June... I'm just certain that I particularly fancy him more than pretty much any other guy I've known; his unique set of personality traits, mannerisms, interests, humor, and physical appearance is exceptionally appealing to me in every way. The most that I'm able to say without feeling overly awkward to people is that he is my Statistically Significant Other.

"How do I go back to california?...

How do I leave the green fields here?"- Emerson Hart

BYU does not have a Spring Break. I see this as a tragedy, but at the same time can follow their line of logic. Supposedly, there are statistically significantly more deaths over Spring Break than there are during the Thanksgiving and Winter breaks combined. Yet, I think there are many students who are willing to play the gamble of a higher probability of death than stay in the homework laden dreariness of school for a week in the middle of the term. Most of them would probably utilize that time to catch up on their homework and episodes of some random television program, like Azu Manga Daio. Not that I know how to spell that one, anyway...

So, like any rational human being (I'm going to buy an orange. I'm going to buy another orange. I'm going to buy another orange....), I gave myself my own little 'spring break'. That's right, I went to California for the weekend. Thursday through Sunday. What's more, I was able to get my very own Sam to accompany me. I think everyone should get a Sam. It would probably also help with the homework stresses, as well as having a relief driver. & I'm very glad that he did come, as it got me to look at my growing up geographical and socioeconomic area with a different lens...

Sam is from Wisconsin. The Green Bay area, if I'm not mistaken. I've never been there, but I'd love to go someday. Also, I'm pretty sure that their cheese is better, but I'll never know until I try it. Perhaps cows derive the same utility from snow that I do, which would make the "Happy Cows from CA" commercials a bit more unrealistic. Anyway, I'm pretty sure that Green Bay and Claremont are two very different spheres, or, rather, cities... For starters, in WI they call them "bubblers" instead of "water/drinking fountains". I must admit that I rather like bubblers more than the other options... And a bunch of other random things and mannerisms that I was able to observe from my pirate comrade in arms, but this isn't a post about Sam. I'd have to do much more homework for that. This is a post about CA.

California was my home for about... 20 years. Give or take. While I love it, I know that my time as a Californian, or at least my time for living in CA, is drawing to a close. Every time I return, that feeling comes over me. In a sense it's sad, but for me it also means that I have somewhere else to go in the world. Where? I'm really not that sure, but I'd like to think that it'll be somewhere around Michigan or Wisconsin or Minnesota. Who knows, maybe I'm going to relocate to Green Bay; become a Packers fan and wear cheese on my head while grinning in the frigid, frozen snow. Actually, that doesn't sound too bad... & I keep digressing. California... Los Angeles-Long Beach Metropolitan Statistical Area... The 909 as it touches upon the 626 and others... Home... The growing up place, at least...

There is a part of "home" that I'll always love, and that's the undeveloped wilderness in the foothills near my house... the tide pools, away from the eyesight of the un-sightly tourists in bathing suits that are two sizes too small... The way the freeway makes me think of a waterfall at night... & of course, Patty's burritos and falafel from Saca's-- those will always be super delicious, even if I'm not supposed to eat spicy food anymore. I hope those things always stay the same. I visited a few places that I used to frequent while I was growing up, like Ramona Middle School, CHS, and downtown La Verne, where I used to work at a place called Podge's that no longer exists in that location. Now it's The Local Deli. I worked there until November, and even that has changed! The place that I used to watch the BYU football games during last season doesn't even feel familiar to me anymore... how sad! I noticed this all as I was driving and dragging Sam to whichever place popped into my mind at the time and seemed plausible enough to travel to. Like the Circle K (strange things are afoot there, or so I've been told). I don't know if Sam caught up on this, but I felt as though I was chasing down something that I used to know, feeling into the dark in the hopes of grasping something that made me think, "yes! This is CA, this is my home, this is me", but each time I pulled my hand out to inspect I came up with only shadows of the past, already moving into a completely different direction than my own. Big wheel keeps on turnin', CA keeps on burnin'... er, doing stuff...

I would recommend a random road trip to CA to anyone with the desire to experience something new. Maybe you'll get something different out of it if you actually go to LA or the beach, or San Diego (Saint Doug, as I like to call it), and especially if it's up to the San Fransisco Bay Area... I wouldn't mind CA if it was just for visiting, but there's just something inside of me that knows that I could never really live there again. I could reside there, maybe, if I had to, but I wouldn't really be living... The beautiful thing about life, though, is that it's living-- it's always changing, ever moving into the shadows of our understanding until we learn enough about it and us that we can see the tip of it's nose, before it plunges even further into the unknown...

They're so famous,

... they're in-famous. (3 Amigos)

So, the following has been through quite a few iterations to get from my mom's chocolate chip cookie recipe to my infamous Stress Cookies...
Ingredients:
1/2 C Applesauce
1/2 C Yogurt (or butter)
1/2 C Peanut Butter
1 C Sugar
1 C Brown sugar
2 eggs
1.5 tsp vanilla

2-3 C flour
1-2 or whatever C oatmeal
1 tsp salt
1 tsp baking soda
3 packets of hot cocoa mix
about 2 king sized candy bars, minced, &/or half bag of chocolate chips

So... here's what you do.... Cream all of the first set of ingredients. In a separate bowl thingy, mix the second set of ingredients. Then... get this... you combine the two! Shape them onto an ungreased pan (if you're going for the apple/yogurt instead of /butter route, then make sure to flatten the cookies), and bake at 350F for 11 minutes. Then you may eat them. You can also eat the cookie dough, but no one really needs to be told that...

An economist is...

...a man who states the obvious in terms of the incomprehensible. (Alfred A. Knopf)

The other day I was walking home from school, as I am prone to do on a daily basis, and reflecting over the events that had just transpired in my life. I mean, it's a good 20 minute walk from the Talmage building, so why not utilize that time to ponder? As I neared my dwelling unit (a really awesome house), an attractive specimen of the opposite gender, who happens to be in my ward, asked me how my linear algebra class was faring. Not in those awkwardly eloquent terms, though. Naturally, being the Amanda that I am, I stammered out some ridiculously cheesy saying that I'm pretty sure my brain has put a mental block on due to the embarrassment that particular memory would command...

Which got me to musing about the question itself.... "How's your (Epsilon) class doing?"... I had just spent about... five hours in the Math Lab-- how could I possibly give an unbiased answer to that question? Granted, when people ask for your opinion, they are looking for bias-- if bias is absent then how could you possibly claim it to be your opinion? But my opinions are more like flow variables, always changing from the currents of life. That particular day I would have been ripe to answer that I absolutely detested that class and would like to have it listen to Vogonic poetry... At the same time, I remembered that at other times I could get homework done in about a half hour, and found it very manageable. The more I thought about it, the more I took into account everything, and the less accurate my sentiments became to me. My opinions at that time weren't the ones that I'll hold for that class in the Long Run; I could be feeling very differently a week from now, or a month, or a month and a day... The point is, the reason you can't give an accurate depiction of a class right after you've been doing homework for it is that your perceptions at that point in time are so skewed... Like kissing.

I'm sorry for those of you who will be disgusted that I'm comparing math and affection, as I'm sure there are many out there who think that the two should never come near each other (as in, if math came near affection, then affection would wilt into a dismal depression, thereby killing much of the love and happiness in the world. Keep them far apart), but as for me and my... closet... um, ... well, to me mathematics is the ultimate language of love; if a guy can recite equations or economic theories or really really integrate some beast of an equation, it's about as seductive to me as Shakespeare or poetry to the more normal type of female...

That was a long aside... But yes, kissing. Romance. Love, if you will. When you're so overcome by passion and have those rose-coloured glasses over your eyes (or my special heart glasses!), can you really say what someone is like? I'm not talking about the couples who have been married for 45 years, but the relationships formed around me in the "Single" world... Well, in my world at least. I have the tendency to see most people in a way that I hope for them to become, especially if I feel a romantic pull towards them. I see the people struggling with some difficulty eventually being able to overcome that with the proper help, and try my darndest to overlook the minor annoyances of my peers and associates. They recommend this kind of thinking of others in such places as church and the Bible and so on. Should be a good thing, right? Uh... except for when it gets me in trouble with the men-folk. I need to get a better handle on that whole, 'all things in moderation' aspect of life... I am an idiot when it comes to guys. If I like a guy, and that guy does something big like kiss me, then woah! My previous, level-headed views on what constitutes a jerk or a gentlemen are defenestrated. Usually, the guy is a jerk (according to my roommates and male confidantes, but maybe they're just taking my side), but no matter how hard I try, I'll just see him as wonderful, trying his hardest, and hey-- everyone messes up now and then. So, he can be a total "lame-face" to me, and really jerk me around, but I can't hold him to that. I call this the positive externality of kissing. This is where the guy's personality, appearance, and behaviour all get a huge boost because of the spillover from the extreme emotions I connect with a kiss. It's 'too much of a good thing'. When you're already in a good, solid emotionally founded relationship then this affection addition can really help to solidify your basis and strengthen your connection. If you're just starting out and not even sure if you fancy the fellow or not, then it's what I see as a huge problem, because in my experience that's usually a pretty good indicator that the guy *is* a jerk, but I only realize that in retrospect. I mean, if I had realized that the guy was a jerk before I let myself get so emotionally attached (& with some men that comes on very quickly for me) then there'd be no way in the University of Utah that I'd consider swapping genetic tissue from our mouths... gross!

I was born on Easter; that heightens my affinity for that holiday. I especially like what it stands for religiously. As a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, I've never celebrated Lent, though... Well, I'm going to try it out this time around. I am going to give up kissing. This may seem like a bit of cheating, as I'm not currently dating anyone, but I'm going to work on that too. Besides, that whole aspect usually never comes up in situations where I'm expecting it-- that's why I had to make a rule for myself to not kiss a guy on the first time studying with him... This should be interesting: Amanda, trying to jump into the dating scene again, with a goal to not kiss anyone in any form until after Easter. When is Easter, anyway?

Cosmo bleeds blue

--I'm pretty sure that's from a Cosmo movie. Or it should be...

Sooo... I am pretty darn happy right now. Scratch that, I'm pretty darn hungry. Dang it, I thought I had that the other way. Anywho, I just wanted to take a break from my normally 'eloquent' postings to let y'all know that I am of the utmost fortune to be able to play for the BYU Women's Basketball's Pep Band, AKA, the White (Women's) Band. I have missed this kind of band setting for a long while, and to be able to come back to the whole thing right now is what keeps me going through the weeks sometimes... Granted, I don't really know many people in the Women's Band, but I love playing the songs & just being there...

Okay, so I really must agree with all of the people that say that women's basketball is not exciting, because.... it really isn't. It's much lower scoring than Men's, but even with all of that, there's an overwhelming lack of enthusiasm from the crowd. Come on, people! If you come to the game, at least cheer with some sort of unabashed gusto to really try to help them pump up. I feel sorry for the girls that play this sport because they're so under-appreciated for what they do. Okay, so maybe it wouldn't be so lame if more people attended. I think so, at least. These girls are there doing their best, having fun, and how much more would they love it if a larger portion of the student body were to cheer them on? I really hope that the Men's team gets as many offensive rebounds tonight as the Women's team did-- that would be awesome. But, what I really wish would happen, because I think this would make the events more exciting to me, is if people would just get into it, be embarrassingly Cougar-ish, and started up cheers for the sheer enjoyment of it all. Win or lose, all that I want is for the audience to wake up from their food comas and pretend that they're drunk and think the team's the best in history of that day. Spice it, please. The band can only do so much, after all. the end.

It's true hard work never killed anybody,

..but I figure, why take the chance? (Ronald Reagan)

Sorry, but I find that quote amusing when you think about how that man is practically idolized by the type of Americans that think that welfare recipients are lazy bums who should just go out and work because they obviously haven't been looking hard enough for something to pay for their ridiculously overpriced necessities of food, clothing, and shelter... & that's all I'll say before someone tries to use a Keynesian Cross to ward me off..

I've been experiencing a rather strange phenomenon for the past duration of time, namely, that whenever I sit down to accomplish some sort of homework task my mind goes blank. I'm somewhat like a computer that's been left turned on for too long, and then neglected for a few hours while you go out to play, so that when you come back to it after it's been hibernating for a while everything takes twice as long to process and the time randomly gets frozen. That's about where I stand, except at the current moment I happen to be sitting-- no need to get into the awkwardness of standing at my own desk in my study, AKA practice room, AKA pantry, AKA closet. I think that my closet is about the same size as some of the bedrooms that you find South of Campus. Perhaps this is part of my problem-- I associate the library with too many people that I'd like to forget, so instead of living there like I was once so accustomed to, I have made my closet my personal study. The flaw in this is that the opportunities for distraction increase by tenfold when I'm in this roomy sub-room which means I end up finishing very little of the homework that I set out to do. Granted, I have no comparison to the way I'd perform if I were in a different study environment, as personal behaviour changes from year to year. I think that all of this might be from the rather nasty burn-out I encountered at the end of last Winter term.

One measuring stick that I'm prone to use would be the posts in this blog. I like to go back and read through past journal entries and homework assignments every so often, and the same goes for previous blogs. The discrepancy between the substance and focus of those blogs compared to my current stream is quite embarrassing to tell you the truth. Then again, I still do on occasion think about the opportunity cost of dating and the way that sunk costs factor into relationship efforts. Perhaps that should be the subject of my next blog.... It's just that a lot of things I've already touched upon, and instead of taking the effort to explain something different I go off on these random asides, like an IRS agent that is forced to retell Shakespeare in their own words while they're working on the audit of an old orphanage.... I've got too much math on the brain to really come to this and let everything loose. Pretty much, I've been reduced to cramming in a few scrambled thoughts whenever I feel a particular need to escape my integration filled life.

So, for my benefit instead of yours, here's a list of some things I should write about: sunk costs in relationship models, first impressions and their relationship with the way you trust a person later on (not necessarily contingent upon how trustworthy they act in the course of your acquaintanceship), the beauty-subjectivity gradient, mathematics in music, just how oblivious is oblivious, and the Jane Austen portrayal of two women after the same man as a more realistic depiction of romance than Hollywood's version of 2 men:woman... let me know if you have preferences for something over another, or other random suggestions. Oh, & I might just post my recipe for stress cookies. If I feel like it...

If a sheep eats bushes, does it eat flowers, too?

“A sheep eats whatever it finds.”
“Even flowers that have thorns?”
“Yes. Even flowers that have thorns.”
“Then what good are thorns?” – The Little Prince

What a difference a year makes. Time, ever constant, relentlessly moving forward, makes the best of us all… “Time is what changes kittens to cats” (Buffy the Vampire Slayer), and so it is that even a small increment of time as a year (well, on the larger scale of things) will result in a drastic change in virtually all aspects of life. Granted, not all years have the same impact on the quality of life or even the maturity that you gain, which is why I think it’s kind of hard to use age, or even age-squared as the continuous variable that it is while running regressions—what’s to say that the year that gets added to your life at age 21 has the same effect as the year that you add on at age 46? Anyway, that’s not the point here; I just wrote a very simple econometric paper for my economics of the labor market class and have regressions on the brain… Hmm, how should I best phrase the sentiments that I wish to portray? I guess before I can talk about the first quote I should insert one of my favourites by A. E. Housman:

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard a wise man say,
‘Give crowns and pounds and guineas
But not your heart away;
Give pearls away and rubies
But keep your fancy free.’
But I was one-and-twenty,
No use to talk to me.

When I was one-and-twenty
I heard him say again,
‘The heart out of the bosom
Was never given in vain;
‘Tis paid with sighs a plenty
And sold for endless rue.’
And I am two-and-twenty,
And oh, ‘tis true, ‘tis true.

Last year, well, it kind of sucked. Whatever. I guess the only really neat outcome of all the disgruntled mess is that I can really relate to that poem, because as a 22 yr old, that really describes how my views towards dating changed in the same time period. Not to say that I didn’t grow and improve in some aspects of my life; it wasn’t a ‘complete waste’, but it the prettiest part about 2008 was perhaps the fact that I got to write ‘2008’ at the top of each journal entry. 8 is just prettier than 7 or 9. & I’m rambling again. Okay, so there was a guy that I dated last February that really messed me up a bit; he was quite a jerk, which in turn has made me just that much more reserved towards men than usual. Plus, I realized over the summer that I had a strong emotional attachment to one of my guy friends, so that whole ‘endless rue’ aspect hit home like a burglar with a nine-iron…

To go back to the Little Prince quote, I became a flower, too afraid to be out in the open night air. I became just that much more aware of all the dangers that exist in a flower’s world, such as sheep, who will only try to devour the flower without a thought to the people who care for said flower. So, I did what any self-aware flower would do—I grew thorns. These thorns had the purpose of protecting me from the sheep and the tigers. I withdrew from the company of friends and family, hiding in my own world. Men scared me, like, I was absolutely terrified for a while to even be with one in a room without an obvious escape route mapped out and ready to implement at a moment’s notice. Flirting was completely out of the equation, and if I thought that a social situation might even hint towards more date-like than not, I’d be the first with an excuse to stay out of it. Thorns. Many of them. That was me.

What good are thorns? The sheep will eat the flower whether it has them or not, so why should I even bother as a flower to have them. Answer: I shouldn’t. They are pointless, and will only take effort away from my petals, ie, good qualities/quirks/charms. Coming back to BY U has caused me to realize that there’s no way that a girl such as myself can possibly avoid every single jerk out there, as some of these guys are quite well camouflaged, but that hiding from all men doesn’t seem like the best course of action… I’m going to try to shed my thorns, see where that gets me. Maybe nowhere, but at least it’ll be farther from where I stand right now. Notice to world: Amanda is coming back. Watch out!