i am a girl.

Contrary to popular belief, I am a girl. With emotions. And a heart. AndsometimesItearupduringbirthingvideosinanatomy. (Gross, right?)

Boy: "Whoa... There are some girls are crying in the back!"
Me: "Yeah... Some people are so dramatic..." Sniffle.

Of course, I only teared up until they started showing the whole kahuna. (Yeah... we saw it all.) That dried up my lacrimal glands real fast.

i know more about your body than you do.

Seriously. I do. Ask me what nerve controls mastication? I'll tell ya. The muscles that move your thumb? Easy peasy. That bone in your foot that's hurting? I've got it. But put me in a room with a lab final, and I freak. Evidently I am completely incompetent in room 334, because I did not get the grade I wanted. Two qualities that don't mix well: perfectionism and self-deprecation, with a hint of overanalysis. Let's be real. I studied a lot. I knew my stuff. Or did I? Did I do everything that I could have done to study for this final? Well... No... So it's my fault. I should have known better. Right? Or do we just accept it like it is, like it was supposed to happen like this? (This is when you know it's bed time.) Such is life. Such is my freakish brain. (Including all 12 cranial nerves. I can tell you all about fetal development of the brain, too... Want to hear that?) Well... At least I was able to tie a pretty good-looking bow, right?

bloggy blah blah.

So. As you may know, I'm a freak. I have some strange habits. One of which is that I have a tendency to avoid people. I'm quite good at it. There are certain techniques to this. For example, you can calculate angles and speeds so that you happen to be in the perfect position just barely behind a very tall guy when you would have passed someone you know but don't want to talk to. You can also take different routes if you happen to see someone you know. There's also the age-old texting trick. I have a strange radar for awkward situations, and for whatever reason, they give me anxiety attacks. Yes. That's right. I'm pathetic. And super-awkward for having anxiety over awkwardness. Today I sat in my car for a few minutes instead of going to anatomy lab. And lo and behold, who should pass by but a couple from one of the blogs I read? It's a nice blog. And by nice I mean I live vicariously through her because I have no life. She's cute. Her husband is cute. Blah, blah, blah. So with all this cuteness passing me, did I jump out and say hi and thank her for her cute contribution to the world like a polite little blogger friend? Negatory. I just sat there. I am probably the coolest person who will ever not say hi to you.

the happenings of today.

1. Learning the reproductive system in anatomy. (Also affectionately known as "pornatomy.")
2. Poking a girl in anatomy with my pencil (on accident) and her not noticing.
3. Totally dropping my water bottle while holding a baby and spilling all over myself, completely sparing the little tyke.
4. FINALLY getting an apartment for the fall.
5. Cutting my own hair when it's ticking me off.
6. A letter from a good friend.
7. Pink lipstick.

a slight mysophobe.

Number of times I have spilled hand sanitizer on myself this weekend: 3.

Number of times I have used hand sanitizer this weekend: infinity.

Look, just because you're a little obsessive-compulsive doesn't mean that your inner klutz doesn't rear its ugly head every once in a while. And yes, this is really what my hand sanitizer says. I embrace it.

habits.

I am a creature of habit. Seriously. Come with me to Subway, I will get the same exact thing every time: a kids' meal, which consists of a 4-inch turkey sandwich on wheat, toppings of provolone cheese (toasted), tomatoes, spinach, onions, and cucumbers if I'm feeling crazy, with oil and vinegar and salt and pepper, apple juice to drink, and two cookies, one sugar and one chocolate-chip. And if I go to Pita Pit? A wheat pita with turkey, tomatoes, spinach, onions, cucumbers, and hummus and a tomato-pesto vinaigrette. Wild, right? Apparently it takes about 21 days to make something a habit. But what about breaking a habit? Does that take 21 days as well? I submit that it does not. Breaking a habit, especially a bad one, can take forever. Sometimes a fluke happens, but I've had habits that have taken years to break. So the moral of the story is not to create bad habits in the first place. Like... blogging and thinking about other things when you should be studying. Happy Friday, people.

daily theories.

Let me be real with you, I love spring term. I wish I could cram all of my college experience into half the time so that I can get a job in my field of study and move on with my adult life. Which brings me to Theory 1 of the Day: I Was Born Thirty Years Old. I was reading picture books (with words) to my younger brother at three or four years of age. A time-out meant that I would sit in a corner of my room and entertain myself by planning my day. I would like to get into the field of Communication Disorders as soon as possible, but I'm sitting in class right now. "Are you paying attention?" Dr. H asks the class. "No..." I say to myself. Which brings me to Theory 2 of the Day: Some People Are Riding a Higher Current of Learning and I Am Still in a Tide Pool. Seriously. Have you ever met someone whose brain just doesn't work like yours? Dr. H is more of a genius than I could ever dream of becoming. The only hope for the rest of us mere mortals is to read the book and hope we pass the test. Which brings me to Theory 3 of the Day: For Some Reason I Keep Getting Better Grades Than I Think I Will. Accounting 200 (aka The Dumbest Decision of My Life) involved three tests. I failed two of them. And when I say "fail," I mean lower than a 60. Have you met me? I do not just fail things. But this... I knew I was going to fail. So why try? (Yes, it was one of those apathetic semesters.) And I got a B in the class. Either our school system is totally whack, or my theory has evidence behind it. (Let's hope that this continues to prove itself over the next two weeks as I finish up midterms and take finals. Especially because I have no idea what's going on in class since I've been typing this the whole time.) So there you have it, ladies and gentlemen. I am a 30-year-old nerd in a 15-year-old's body (seriously, I've been asked which middle school I attend) whose real age is technically almost 20. And I'm spending my summer in a kiddie pool of knowledge. Peace out, Napoleon.

on pregnancy.

No, I am not pregnant. (Don't worry, Mom.) But I recently watched "What To Expect When You're Expecting." And except for a little bit of adultery and crude humor, it was pretty hilarious. I laughed, I cried, the usual. And halfway through the movie, I was thinking to myself, "Wow, it will be so fun to someday be married and have kids." WHAT? Have you met me? Obviously, there is some very good acting in that movie because I came back to reality this morning and realized that pregnancy will be total purgatory. I am absolutely terrified. Now, children I can handle. I'm a nanny every once in a while when I feel like I am capable of taking care of myself so much that I can take care of other little people, too. But carrying a small person INSIDE of you? Now that's a different story. I woke up this morning and laid in my bed on my stomach thinking about how much it hurt to breathe with my abdomen sandwiched between my other internal organs and a mattress. Then I thought about what it would be like to never lay on my stomach and still have the pressure of not only my internal organs, but the little baby organs of a little baby, and a little baby, all squishing down on my respiratory and digestive systems. Did I mention I also have asthma? "Oh my gosh," I thought. "I'm never going to be able to get a full breath again. I'm going to faint like five times a day from lack of oxygen to the brain. I'm going to go into premature labor on a plane. While I'm unconscious." (Don't ask... I have this terrible ability to imagine the worst outcome possible of any situation.) Not only is not breathing terrible, but do you know the many ways that a pregnancy can go wrong? Seriously. Something as simple as the blastocyst implanting in wrong place can mean that your baby is not growing in your womb, but your stomach. So eat and breathe up, ladies. This may be your last day to do so. (Unless you're not married like me, Mom. Trust me, I have plenty of days/years until I have children. Chill. Don't call Dad. I'm still your little girl... Who squished your organs for eight months. Sorry about that.)

summer has not begun.

Technically, the season we call summer has not begun. And neither have the joyous times that usually accompany the warm weather. Number of times I have actually worn a swimsuit outside: 1. Number of weeks I have spent peeling dead skin off my legs: 2. (You wanted all the gory details... right?) Unfortunately, my summer has not begun, because I am still in the lovely state of Utah. Today I wore a jacket to church and was still cold. Of course, this may be because I am always cold, but I like to think that it's Utah's fault. This week, I am grateful for LJ. On Friday, we had plans to go to a cadaver memorial service for the bodies that we work on in Anatomy. But... Upon arriving at the cemetery, we decided we would much rather go to City Creek, where we drowned our sorrows about school, boys, etc. (but mostly boys and school) in retail therapy. Did I change in a bathroom stall into the jeans I had just bought because my funeral-appropriate dress was ticking me off? Yes. Did I buy a hair wrap that I will probably never wear? Yes. Did we eat an unhealthy amount of Peachie-O's? You betcha. But every once in a while, when the sun isn't shining (both literally and figuratively), you just do what you want.

the boys.

So I nanny. When I walked into the house yesterday, this was the scene on the coffee table. I then continued to look around the house and find Chemistry for Every Kid on the island in the kitchen. This means that obviously the boys are not doing entertaining enough things and have to resort to intellectual puzzles and reading up on subjects they won't need for another 7 years or so. This also means I should probably step up my game with daily activities so they know that there is a world beyond vectors and the numbers 1 through 9.



When I stepped outside to embark on our trip to Goodwill, I found one of these planted on the step. Of course, I had already seen the unmentionables on a plate in the fridge, which is where this picture was taken, but still I proceeded to ask the younger of the two, "K, whose poop is this?" "M's..." he said with a sheepish grin. (That would be M, as in his older brother.) I'm starting to get to know K a little better. He's quiet, but incredibly devious. When I walked outside after running back in to grab something, he was holding a little black object with a red blinking light... He was filming me, the little bugger! I have no earthly idea what he could use footage of me for, but I hope nothing embarrassing. When I left, I drove over some cherry poppers, conveniently placed right behind my back driver's side tire... You know, those little fireworks that pop when you step on them? I have a pretty good idea who planted them there. I also have a pretty good idea that that person was also filming my reaction from behind the bushes. Sneaky, K. Sneaky. It's on.