Trashy TV Observations

I didn't watch a lot of TV growing up. Really, I didn't. But when I got to college, Hulu and all those sketchy Chinese video streaming websites became popular and I started watching shows that my friends were talking about. It started with Gossip Girl, which became my secret obsession freshman year. A couple years later I got into Pretty Little Liars (I know, I know). And then being home for two months without any friends, and then I was unemployed, and you can just guess: trashy TV became my best friend. It's cooled down a little bit, but when I was sick this weekend the addiction reared its ugly head again. So I've made a couple of observations about these shows, since I am now an expert.

1. The cell phones. THE CELL PHONES.
Have you ever noticed in these shows that every other episode the characters have a new cell phone. And the camera always zooms in on it. On a related note, I feel like they always text in all caps. And sign off with their name. And talk about highly sensitive information that should probably be shared in person instead. Gotta love product placement.

2. Stop trying to make Bing happen, it's not going to happen.

Speaking of product placement, I was watching a show a while ago and the characters were talking about a question you had and one of them said, and I quote, "Why don't you Bing it?" 

Bing it? BING it? Since when is that a thing? Oh yeah, it's not. But it is in trashy TV shows. At least the ones I watch anyway.

3. All masquerade balls, all the time

I knew I grew up in Arkansas, but I didn't know that masquerade balls were that common. They seem to be a staple in the social lives of these TV characters. They're actually just a vehicle to move the plot along. The "anonymity" of a masquerade ball (that is, if your friends are really bad at recognizing your face from the nose down) is just too much for the writers to refuse. 

"Best friend isn't a person, it's a tier"

I was watching "The Mindy Project" on Monday (if you haven't watched this show yet, you need to start. It's awesome), and Mindy dropped some serious knowledge on her coworker.

"Best friend isn't a person, it's a tier"

Finally, a way to explain my life to people that get confused. "Wait, your best friend is from Kentucky? I thought she was from Idaho." "Was your best friend's wedding in May or August? You've said both." I mean, there are people out there who have had the same best friend since they were born, but I haven't.

I have best friends that I g-chat all day on slow days. I have a best friend that I text pictures of my outfit before I go out (she sends me hers too. I'm not a complete weirdo). I have a best friend that scores the same as me on every personality test. I have a best friend that sends me music when I'm having a tough day and another one that surprises me with mail. I've had a soccer team best friend and a best friend in Comms 318.

I'm reading "Lots of Candles, Plenty of Cake,"  a memoir by Anna Quindlen. In her chapter on girlfriends, she writes:

"Ask any woman how she makes it through the day, and she may mention her calendar, her to-do lists, her baby-sitter...But if you push her on how she really makes it through her day, or more important, her months and years...She will mention her girlfriends."

I like having lots of best friends. I think you avoid having the whole 7th grade drama of "SHE'S my best friend. You are my second best friend" by having multiple. And it's an open position for me. You just need to like going to Cafe Rio and singing in the car and participating in the occasional choreographed dance performance.

I Didn't Choose Diet Coke, Diet Coke Chose Me

Have you seen this? It's the best. It looks like the "Diet Coke hunk" is making a comeback. I'm ok with it.

I was talking about Diet Coke with my friend the other day and it hit me. Diet Coke isn't just a drink. It's a lifestyle. You name drop it. You're not just getting a drink, you're getting a Diet Coke. You Instagram it. I am not immune to this.

"I'm so addicted to Diet Coke," you laugh and all your friends agree. "McDonald's $1 drinks on me!"

The PR nerd in me loves it. What has Diet Coke done to create a true lifestyle brand? When I see another girl holding that beautiful silver can I think, "that girl gets me." And I don't even know her. How did they do that?

Drinking Diet Coke says something about you. I don't know what it says, but it's something and Diet Coke has capitalized on it. Maybe it's the assurance that you're drinking something with zero calories, even though it's zero calories of poison that will undoubtedly kill us all in fifty years. Or it's the feeling of superiority and sophistication over the peasants that drink regular Coke. Or the aliens that drink Pepsi.

Oh, and guess who the new brand spokesperson is for Diet Coke? My girl:

5 Things That Shouldn't Give Me Anxiety But Totally Do

1. Ordering food. I don't consider myself a very picky eater (except for I'm allergic to most fruit and I think tuna is just one step above cat food) but you wouldn't know it from the way I order food at restaurants. I was at Cafe Rio the other day with my very specific order: pork salad with rice and beans, SHREDDED lettuce (no lettuce butts for me, no thank you), guacamole on the side (I milk this thing for two meals and if the guacamole is in the salad it turns brown and tastes weird), no pico (oh yeah, I hate tomatoes too), no cilantro (they pile it on, ok?) and two dressings (again, two meals). While these are all completely justifiable instructions, the lady looked like she was cursing my ancestors. I get anxiety from ordering food because I feel like the person making it doesn't understand me and my weird food needs.

2. Picking the music. If I'm in the car with someone and they hand me their iPod and tell me to pick something I go into the early stages of a panic attack. Do they want to have a Taylor Swift sing-along? What about a early-2000s pop-punk flashback? Do they want to listen to the whole song, or just until the bridge? Please never put me in charge of the music. My stomach is growing ulcers just thinking about it.

3. Driving with other people. I love driving by myself, but put other people in the equation and I really don't like it. I'm worried they're judging me and I'm not used to the extra weight in the car and everyone's talking and I just really can't handle it. We can take my car, fine. But you better believe that I won't be driving it.

4. Being the first in line at a stop light. Sometimes I get these moments when I'm driving where I become extremely self-aware. Like, who put me in charge of this machine? What are brakes? Where is the gas pedal? Green means go, right? Are all the cars just going to follow me like the Israelites following Moses into the Red Sea? I didn't sign up for this. Switch me places, someone.

5. "The Nut." When I was little, a sister who shall remain nameless announced that she couldn't eat the bottom of her banana because there was a nut in it. Seems legit, right? I have since taken this philosophy and applied it to pretty much everything I eat. Sandwich, carrot stick, cookie, whatever. I really can't eat the last piece. There's a nut in there, people.

They Get Me

So lately I've been thinking a lot about my favorite television and movie characters,  and why I like them. And after a lot of thought (read: I have a long commute) I realized that they're my favorites because they are a lot like me, and I have a lot to learn from them. So without further ado I give you, the people that get me:

Kathleen Kelly, You've Got Mail

My love for Kathleen is no secret (it's actually my love for everything remotely related to Nora Ephron, RIP) and it's because I see a lot of myself in her, and a lot of what I want to be. She's the product of maybe too many Jane Austen novels (like me). And she's quirky and funny, charming and enchanting, as they say in the movie. So maybe she's more of an aspiration, but I'd like to think I'm like her.

"Sometimes I wonder about my life. I lead a small life. Well, valuable, but small. And sometimes I wonder, do I do it because I like it, or because I haven't been brave? So much of what I see reminds me of something I read in a book, when shouldn't it be the other way around?"

Literally me.

Rapunzel, Tangled

I was always at a loss when people asked me which Disney princess I was most like. I'm not as bookish as Belle, and my parents put too much of the fear of God in me for me to identify with Ariel. So...that leaves me with Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty basically, and I hate cleaning and Sleeping Beauty scared me too much as a kid.

That was until Tangled came out, and finally we have a princess who is 100% insane. I remember watching the part where Rapunzel argues with herself over whether she should go back to the tower, and everyone was laughing and I was just like "this sounds like a conversation I have with myself every time I'm about to make a big purchase. Or choosing what clothes I want to wear. Why are they laughing like this is not the most relatable thing in the world?"

Elliot Reid, Scrubs

I had a boyfriend in high school who said I was Elliot in real life, which I can't 100% disagree with. I can be super competitive, even about things that don't matter, and I'll be the first to admit that I have quirks on quirks on quirks. Like I had to take notes alternating blue pen and black pen, otherwise the whole system would shut down and I had to go buy a new notebook and start from scratch.

I promise I'm not a crazy person.

Jenna Maroney, 30 Rock

Ok, this is mostly a joke, but I wouldn't have spent this much time thinking/writing this post if I weren't at least a little bit like Jenna. I wouldn't even have a blog if I didn't have some Jenna-ness in me.

Tami Taylor, Friday Night Lights

Let's just say, my use of "y'all" has increased now that Tami has made it socially acceptable. Tami Taylor is my everything. She's tough as nails, but stays kind and caring. And homegirl kills it in her cowboy boots, which is why we're pretty much the same person.

"Don't call me lady, hate that. Thanks so much."
That's probably something I would say if the guy at the deli was giving me attitude.

I'm Feeling Lucky

We bought the car I drive now from a guy that worked for Google, so my license plate holder says "Google: I'm Feeling Lucky." I'm starting to think that this is a lucky charm. Because I've driven with a couple of people (or as I like to call them, haters) who have told me I'm a bad driver. Say what you will about my driving skills, but I've never had an accident. But I'm starting to believe that this is less about my driving ability and more about my "I'm Feeling Lucky" license plate holder.

There are several examples that prove my point, just from this weekend. When I was on my way to Elizabeth's wedding, there was crazy road construction on I-15 N between Vegas and St. George, plus it was really windy. I was gripping my wheel the whole time. When I got to Provo, I noticed a large chunk of plastic dragging under my car, and the sides of my fender popping off. The people at Ken Garff Honda told me I needed a new bumper and it would be around $500. Less than I expected, but still more than I can just pay out of pocket. But, luckily my wedding date is an insurance expert who told me the magic words to say to the insurance people. He also told me twenty times that I didn't look fat in my dress, but that's a story for another day. I told the magic words to the people, and BAM. $100 and my insurance rate won't go up. I'm feeling pretty lucky.

Then today, while I was on the phone with the insurance people, parked in my car in the 108-degree heat with the air blasting, a couple of hooligans got in their car next to me and slammed their truck door into my poor mirror. I honked really loud (which in hindsight was a huge overreaction) and checked to see if there were any dents. There weren't. I'm feeling pretty lucky.

And then at Target after work, I was reversing out of my parking spot when I saw the minivan in the stall behind mine start to pull back too. I figured he could see me, since I was already halfway out of my spot, but he kept coming back. I started to honk again this time (why do I think this is a good idea?) but he didn't stop. I started to try to get back into the parking spot but I was too late and he slammed into the back of my car. I marched out of my car to survey the damage. Nothing. Nothing on his bumper either. I wouldn't have cared, but still. It was nice. I'm feeling pretty lucky.

So there you have it. My license plate holder is a lucky charm. Let's just hope the luck doesn't run out any time soon.

My Family

First off, Happy Mother's Day to the best mom in the world. Thanks for teaching me to sing Shania, cook a mean Texas sheet cake and notice beauty in nature. You're the best and I love you.

Dang. The '80s look good on you, and that's saying something.

While I was digging through old scrapbooks to find these pictures, I found some serious family gems.

I'm the only one with chunky legs. It's my burden in life.

Is there a "Precious Family Picture of the '90s" contest we can submit these to? Seriously.

That hat. Miss it.

My face.

It doesn't get more '90s than this picture. 

You can BET we were rocking matching outfits. Always. 

So many memories. Like how between the ages of 6-8, the main source of contention between my little sister and I was that she thought that tigers hatched from eggs. Or the time that grandma's cat literally died in the middle of her living room floor and no one wanted to say anything. Or playing with cousins. Or getting all the kids to play "Neighbors," which was a glorified game of House and definitely the most boring game ever, but we had the entire neighborhood in on it.

My family's kind of the best. Sorry, everyone else. 

Karaoke Star

I've always wanted to be a famous singer. It's like, my not so secret dream. I have a decent voice, not great, but decent enough. But I choke when I get in front of people. It all started with my 7th grade show choir auditions. But it's this nagging feeling in the back of my mind whenever I see someone else sing. I was born to perform, baby.

We've been planning to go to karaoke night for a while. I knew that this was my chance to finally perform in a safe environment where no one would really judge me. I decided on "Like a Prayer" by Madonna (hey, if I was going to channel my inner Sam I knew I had to sing Madonna. That's just how it works). I practiced for weeks. Like, played the karaoke version on YouTube and sang to myself when no one was home.

We finally went to karaoke night at Pizza Pie Cafe last night. I put my name in and waited. And waited and waited. We were there for almost two hours before they called my name. Well, first they called this girl named Lacey who turned out to be eight years old and could sing a mean version of "Someone Like You." I was a little worried about how I would top that, but whatever.

So I go up there and I am shaking like a leaf. The organ intro comes on and I start...

"Life is a mystery..." Whoops. Microphone wasn't on. Thanks for catching that one, overweight DJ.

I could feel the tunnel vision coming on. I wanted to die. But then all the randoms, I mean, audience, decide to get up and start dancing along. They probably felt sorry for me, but I'll take it as them being my adoring fans.

I decided to just go for it. Everyone was singing along so I couldn't really hear myself. But I did all the things I wanted to do. I did an audience point. I danced a little. When it got to the "let the choir sing" part I got everyone in the room singing.

Basically I lived the dream. And you know what? Next time I'll probably shake a little less. And maybe everyone won't keep gesturing for me to put the microphone closer to my mouth so they can actually hear me.

Easter Traditions

In the Connor family, we have lots of Easter traditions. We follow the trail of candy to our Easter baskets, dye eggs, the works. Holidays just aren't the same up at school. My mom sent me a box of chocolates, but I really wanted to do something Easter-y.

We went to Macy's and bought the old school egg dye and eggs. I literally had to Google how to make hard-boiled eggs. Trophy wife in the making, obviously. And I was a little rough on the eggs when I put them in the water so some of them turned into these:

WHOOPS

So today I had the boys over to dye the eggs. And you know me (or you don't, that's fine too), I love planning activities. Like from 5-6 we will dye the eggs and then from 6-6:30 we will divide into teams and have an egg hunt. And then I have to remember that I really have no authority over these people and they don't have to do what I say. Weird.

Then Ryan took it upon himself to hide the eggs in our apartment. He set up a couple decoys (mugs turned over all over the room so we'd think there were eggs under there. Sneaky). Oh and funny story, he hid one of the eggs and poured dye into my cup from dinner yesterday. So I go to take a sip of Diet Coke for strength and get...a mouth full of purple dye. Grossest moment of my entire life.

Wake Up and Smell the '90s

But seriously. I love the 90s. I know it's kind of like the cool thing to do now, but whatever. And remember how everyone in the 90s would always talk about how it was the 90s?

Golden.

   

20 Ways To Rationalize Your Pinterest Account

My friend shared this article with me today. I'll admit, I'm as guilty as everyone else of having a slight addiction to Pinterest. I have 20 boards with 834 pins (The number may go up today. It's a slow day at work). I've gotten outfit ideas and yummy recipes. On the other hand, I've tried stuff on Pinterest that wasn't a good idea. Like pretzles with Hershey's kisses and M&Ms on top. Hot mess. But over all, I think Pinterest is great, in moderation of course.

"This is the hairstyle I will use for the wedding that I’m planning. No, I’m not engaged. Don’t worry about it."
Guilty as charged.

What are your thoughts on Pinterest? Love it or hate it?

A New Addition

I can't believe it has been a whole week since my new addition arrived. I have been so selfish and keeping her all to myself. So without further ado, I give you.....

Genevieve the iPhone. 

I first found out I was getting an iPhone about three weeks ago. I told all of my friends and family as soon as I heard the news. I couldn't believe it! After all this time, I was going to have a little iPhone of my own!

As any new mommy will tell you, waiting is the hardest part. I waited and waited and waited. I would look at pictures of her little face almost every day. You could tell I was in the mommy mode because I started nesting. I bought her accessories and a cute little case.



She took SO LONG to get here! I tried everything. I ate spicy Cafe Rio. I went running. I cleaned my kitchen. I bounced on my birth ball (Just kidding. I don't have one of those). But still. No Genevieve.

Finally she came. It was a cold Saturday night. I went out to check the mail and all of the sudden I knew. But something was wrong. We rushed to the AT&T store to try to get Genevieve to turn on. She wouldn't. Something was wrong with her SIM card. There was nothing we could do, so Jimmy at the AT&T store sent us home. We were very disappointed.

Finally, on Tuesday everything lined up and I went to the AT&T store. I had decided not to do this naturally, and Jimmy wasn't there so we had another AT&T associate help us. It still took forever. We waited and waited and waited. I was so impatient! I just wanted her to get here! And then finally....

Her little screen lit up. She worked! Here she was. Mine all mine. After all this waiting, I finally had my own iPhone. I was so happy and so overwhelmed at the same time.

The proud mama.

Genevieve's first feeding!

Thank you so much for all your love and support. I couldn't have done it without you!

Santa and St. Nicholas

Disclaimer: I had a very happy childhood and I loved Christmas growing up. My happiness has not been diminished in any way by what I'm about to say. 

So growing up my parents didn't teach us about Santa Claus. We didn't leave out cookies, we didn't write letters, nothing. What was their reasoning you ask?

They thought that if we found out they were lying about Santa we would think they were lying about Jesus.

It makes sense if you think about it. However, I have yet to meet a kid whose testimony was shaken by the realization that their parents lied to them for eight or so years about the existence of a man in a red suit.

I knew who Santa was, but for as long as I can remember there was always an older kid around to cast doubt on any budding belief I had in the guy. So when a female relative who shall remain nameless pulled me aside and offered to tell me the truth about Santa and where babies came from, I found the latter a little harder to believe. (A couple years later my mom gave me round 2 of "the talk" and I kept quiet to see if the stories matched up. They did.)

I did, however, have a magical period where I believed in St. Nicholas. The St. Nicholas celebration is a German tradition where children leave their shoes outside on the night of December 5 and St. Nicholas fills them with candy and toys.

This year St. Nicholas came to me, Alex and the brothers. 

Ryan thought that if he put out bigger shoes then St. Nicholas would fill them to the top with candy. But St. Nicholas saw straight through that crap.

90s Kid For Life

I ran across this article today.
Hilarious.

My personal favorites:
5. In some inevitable shift of the time-space continuum in which James Cameron continues to rob humanity of all that is good and sacred in this world, Fern Gully will be known as that movie that ripped off Avatar. It will be up to us to crusade for what is right. It is up to us to explain that Fern Gully was not only a predecessor to Avatar, but far better, in that it contained both Tim Curry as a singing pile of molasses and Robin Williams rapping about animal testing in the pharmaceutical industry. (As a side note, if you have not recently listened to the full lyrics of the “Batty Rap,” I recommend you do, as they are horrifying.)

I. Loved. Fern. Gulley. It also scared the crap out of me. Something about the singing slime monster just creeped me out.

7. Though on the surface, they are the exact same thing in every conceivable way, whether you liked The Backstreet Boys or N*SYNC said more about your character than all of the terrible macaroni art you could ever make for your child psychologist. Essentially, liking *NSYNC meant you liked Justin Timberlake, as he was clearly the Seabiscuit in that race from the get-go. You even liked him with his terrible, icy-blond mini-fro. Liking the Backstreet Boys gave you a bit more of a cultured palate, as there was no clear Diana in those Supremes. Nick was kind of the wholesome, if northern-Florida-redneck safe choice (save for his humiliating younger brother, Aaron). Brian was the shy, sensitive type. AJ was the hottt, dangerous meth addict. Kevin Richardson was mute with sexy, sculpted facial hair. No one liked Howie. Choosing between the two groups was like choosing between two beloved children, but once that line was crossed–there was no going back.

I'm an NSync girl till the day I die. But I loved Lance, and I feel like that says a lot about me.

8. “I wanna really really really wanna zig a zig ahh,” has a meaning, and all true nineties kids know it, but we must never share it. Like the Illuminati, it must remain between us, the keyholders. With great power comes great responsibility.

Ah yes. Spice Girls. We used to play Spice Girls in elementary school. I was small, I was blonde, I was born to be Baby. But my mom never let me see Spice World.

9. Lisa Frank is not the name of a woman, it is the name of a movement, a culture, a way of living. It is a theory, a concept, a belief in something greater than yourself. It is the belief that all girls are entitled to dolphins covered with rainbows, jewel-encrusted frogs, and unicorns in acid-trip colors hugging each other. It is the ideology that no notebook is complete until it literally hurts your eyes to look at from so much color saturation. It is the hope that no school supply, no matter how insignificant, will be left un-bedazzled. It is the knowledge that your eraser cap, and that of your granddaughter’s, and her granddaughter’s after her, will not be some boring little nub–it will be a diamond covered with butterflies in a rainbow of colors. It is the dream of a better tomorrow.

 Accurate. Too accurate. How many Lisa Frank folders did I have? Too many.

10. Incredibly depressing women in Indiana covered in cats and glass figurines they buy at The Hallmark Store used to troll the web 1.0 to invest thousands of dollars in tiny stuffed animals filled with plastic beans. That happened. Beanie Babies were not just significant, they were the first example most of us had of envy, greed, and wrath. If someone messed up that little heart-shaped Ty tag, so help you God, that was the end of whatever contact you had with that monster of a human being. That tag-less Beanie Baby was now trash, and you had to deal with the consequence. It was at that moment, that de-valued Beanie Baby moment, that most of us accepted the truth… we’ll never have nice things.
I CRINGE at this one. I have a MILLION Beanie Babies. I have the full set of cats named Flip, Skip, Chip, Whip, Zip, Kip, Dip, Lip (I don't even know, I'm making that up at this point). But I remember I had a beautiful unicorn one named Mystic that I brought to show and tell. AND GUESS WHAT HAPPENED. My so-called "friend" ripped the tag off. I'm pretty sure I cried. And never spoke to her again.

RIP forever, Mystic.

Laundry Thoughts

Every dorm/apartment I've lived in (except for the glorious couple weeks I spent in a condo) has had a communal laundry room. Here are some facts about the laundry room:

Fact #1: You will NEVER be alone in the laundry room. The weirdo of the apartment complex will always come in right as you're loading your undies into the washer. And, depending on the situation, he'll either keep his eyes down and mind his own business like a good little weirdo or he'll lean against the wall and watch you. This happened to me today. Nothing to see here buddy, move along. No? Ok, don't mind me as I put every pair of underwear I own in this washer. Take a picture, it will last longer.

Fact #2: I believe there is a special circle in hell for people that take other people's laundry out of the washer so they can use it. Like, could you wait five minutes? Also in this circle of hell? People that use class e-mail lists to invite people to take their stupid survey. Oh yeah, and people who play acoustic guitar without being asked in group social settings.

Fact #3: I'm all about separating whites and colors. I'm not about to turn all my Target white v-necks pink (contrary to what you see in movies, that's not actually how it happens. They usually just turn gray. But there's nothing, and I mean NOTHING, worse than a gray white t-shirt). But all bets are off when it comes to the dryer. It all goes in. I don't care. I'm a poor college student and I have a Cafe Rio lifestyle to maintain. I can't afford to shell out another dollar to separate my laundry in the dryer. Sorry, I'm not sorry.

Fact #4: In my apartment complex, the dryers are stacked on top of each other. That means you put your laundry in, close the door and then push the left button for the top dryer or the right button for the bottom dryer. 70% of the time, I push the wrong button. I close the door, push a button, and then suddenly the wrong dryer starts moving. I have to stop everything and unload all of my clothes, and put them in the other dryer. It's fine. It's an extra little show for the weirdo who's probably still watching me.

Fact #5: Laundry expands after you take it out of the dryer. I don't know why. But it makes an interesting walk through the parking lot back to my apartment.

One day, I will have my own laundry room. It will be wonderful and it will look like this:
Notice the lack of the weirdo leaning against the wall.

VH1 Countdowns

I LOVE VH1 Countdowns. There's nothing better than sitting down on a Friday night, flipping on the TV and seeing that "100 Greatest Kid Stars" is on. (Actually, I can think of a lot of things that are better than that. Things like, you know, having a social life. But whatever.)

With a VH1 Countdown, you can sit down for a sold two hours or more and be entertained without ever having to leave your couch or change the channel.

The best is watching a Music Countdown, Top 100 '90s Hits, 100 Greatest Songs Of The 80s, etc., with other people. Last week I was at my friend Elizabeth's house with her boyfriend Nathan and Greatest '90s One-Hit Wonders came on. Everything stopped- we were all glued to the TV. There's nothing better than sitting there and then all of a sudden:
"Oh my gosh oh my gosh! I love this one!" And then everyone starts singing the next few lines of whatever song it is. And of course EVERYONE knows the song. Or the dance.

"Everyone in 1996 was doing the Macarena."
Truer words have never been spoken.

Or this one:

My favorite memory of this song is not in the '90s, but at a dance here at BYU. A kid thought he would be hilarious and drop down into a push-up every time they said "I get knocked down" and then get up, obviously, when they said "But I get up again." He must have underestimated how many times they say that phrase because by the end of the song he was drenched in sweat and no one wanted to dance with him for the rest of the dance. Classic.

Most Embarrassing Moment

When people ask my most embarrassing moment, I usually don't know what to say. Either I don't get embarrassed easily or everything embarrassing that's ever happened to me is on a pretty equal level. But now, I finally have an actual "most embarrassing moment."

It's Saturday and I'm taking my History 202 midterm in the Testing Center. I've been up all night every day for the past week. I changed my address to the library. Just kidding. But close.

But I am blowing through this test. I feel good about all the multiple choice and I'm working on the short answer and essay questions. About halfway through writing about the Opium War (a conflict between Great Britain and China in 1839 that resulted in the entrance of foreign imperialist powers into China. Sorry, couldn't help myself) when my papers and scantron fell of my desk.

I leaned over to grab them but they were just out of reach. I stuck out my foot to see if I could drag them a little closer. Yikes. My toenails hadn't been painted in over a week. So I reached down again. I reached just a little farther......

My desk tipped over. Into poor unsuspecting kid taking his religion test. The noise was loud, everyone looked at me, and the poor kid had to push me back into place and steady my desk. And the worst part? I wasn't even done with my test. I had a whole essay to finish. I just wrote something down really quick and ran out of there as fast as I could.

I got a 95% on the test though. That has to count for something, right?

The Hunger Sickness

When I was little, I believed in this disease called the "hunger sickness."

Let me explain.

My first experience with the "hunger sickness" was when I was about five. We had just moved to Colorado and were living with my grandmother while our house was being built. That was a great time. I walked to school and had two teenage uncles that would watch me perform on a daily basis. My uncle Justin worked at pizza place and knew how to toss the dough in the air like they do in the movies. I was amazed.

Anyway, when I was five I was a pretty picky eater. If it wasn't mac and cheese, hamburgers, or bean burritos I pretty much hated it (I still love all those things, by the way). One day my grandma made something I didn't like and refused to eat.

I woke up in the middle of the night STARVING. I tried to get out of my bed, but my legs were so weak that I couldn't walk. I was convinced that I was dying and needed food stat. I crawled slowly to the stairs that led upstairs to the kitchen.

I didn't make it to the stairs. I fell asleep in the middle of the floor. I crawled some more. Fell asleep. Crawled up a few stairs, fell asleep again. By the time I made it to the top, it was early morning and my uncle Jason was up getting ready for school. He walked in on me face down at the top of the stairs.

"What are you doing?"

I looked up at him and whispered in a pathetic and heart-wrenching voice:

"Jason. I have the hunger sickness. I can't walk. I'm dying."

He propped me up on one of the kitchen stools and gave me a Carnation Instant Breakfast. I drank it like it my first meal in years. Then I feel asleep on the kitchen counter.

I still get the "hunger sickness." Except now it's usually solved by heading to McDonald's and ordering a #1 with a large drink.

Things I Think are Funny but No One Else Does: Part 1

I feel like if someone to were write my biography the longest chapter would be called "Things Melissa Thinks Are Funny But No One Else Does." It's kind of the theme of my life.

Here's some back story. So my mom has a lot of siblings (four sisters, one step sister and four half brothers). This means A LOT of cousins ranging in age from 29 to 8 months. I'm cousin #9. Being cousin #9 means two things:
1. I am the fourth girl cousin aka there was no chance in heck that I would ever get to be Mary in the cousin Nativity pageant. I was always some animal or, if I was lucky, a shepherd. In my future family, Mary will be an equal-opportunity position, but I digress.

2. I was not a part of the exclusive "big cousins."

"The Big Cousins" were everything I aspired to be. They actually got to drive Grandpa Thom's tractors instead of riding in the shovel. They were the first in line to ride Uncle Brad's motorcycle. When we went to the pool they were put in charge of buying and distributing the snacks. They were an elite group, and I wanted in.

All the grown ups were oblivious to the fact that a mere seven months separate my cousin Brian (big cousin) and I (not big cousin). Seven months! That's nothing! Surely there was room for one more big cousin? Apparently not. If I wanted to be a big cousin I had to earn my way in.

The big cousins were big into jokes and I figured if I could prove how hilarious I was, I could be accepted as a big cousin. My perfect opportunity came at Thanksgiving. All the big cousins were outside playing. When they knocked on the door to come in, I opened it wide so they could see me and then slammed it and locked it.

I couldn't stop laughing. What a hilarious joke. It didn't really occur to me that it was freezing outside. I couldn't wait for them to come in and praise me for the excellent trick I just played on them. I waited and waited. They didn't come in. A while later my aunt came downstairs. She wasn't laughing. Apparently locking your cousins outside in the cold is frowned upon in my family. I was stuck at the little kid table. Again.

I was still cracking up.