Thursday, June 30, 2016

ALL Manner of Creeping Things.

Lately I've been feeling extremely paranoid and spastic.  For those of you who know me well, this is, of course, not unusual behavior for me.  But anyway, it all started on a sunny Tuesday morning at about 6:45am.  I woke up, and there was a black spider on my chest (my breast to be specific).  I hate spiders.  I screamed bloody murder, threw off my shirt in a frenzy, and ran to the kitchen.  When I felt composed enough to take care of the spider (20 minutes later), it was gone.  Thus, I haven't slept in my room for about a month because somewhere... there is a little demon that lurks.

This was only the beginning.  When I sit on the couch and feel the slightest tingle, I leap away in Olympic fashion and look furiously for a spider.  One time, when I was dozing off (in the guest bedroom), I saw something black fall on the freshly laundered sheets.  I screamed again, only to find that a black hair elastic had exploded from my hair (which happens frustratingly often).  A few weekends ago, I was taking a shower when I felt something strange in my hair.  I pulled out a FAT black ant (which was just as disgusting as a spider).  By this time, I was thoroughly creeped and was willing to swallow a gallon of DDT if it kept things away from me.  

But it gets better.  God saw it fit to place flying fowls, insects, and all creeping things on our wonderful world.  And all of them have managed to terrorize me, so God must love me.

One afternoon, I came home from school to find something black hanging on the corner of my door.  It looked leathery and strange, and at first I thought it was a deformed slug.  But as I inched closer, I saw black fur.  I had my suspicions about this creature's identity, but to "say it... out loud" was to ask the unspeakable.  The landlord was working on the house across from mine and asked me how my day was.  He was really nice, so I asked him if he could identify the... thing on my door.  He readily agreed, shimmied his ladder on over to my place, looked up closely and said, ".... HOLY S**T, that's a BAT!"  Then he said, "Call your father," and promptly shimmied away.

After the bat fiasco, I noticed a replacement in that same corner of my house:
   Indeed... a bird's nest.  And the birds even left gifts for me all over my front door and lamp.  I wasn't sure if I could remove the nest because I couldn't see any eggs.  If there were eggs, I wouldn't have been able to remove the nest due to some bird, protection, wildlife, nature, Bambi preserve or something.  So, while I waited for my dad's help, the outside of my house was swarming with birds.  And I hate birds, too.  They flew right over my head, they screeched when I was close to the nest, and I'm convinced that they stared at me as they sat on my lamp.  I felt like this:


And perhaps the cake on top, I was not happy to notice an unexpected visitor, just three days ago.  It was really hot outside, and I have beautiful but hot skylights in my house.  So understandably, I wasn't exactly... entirely clothed.  I sat in my favorite chair reading a book when suddenly, I saw a leg resting on top of my beautiful but hot skylight.  I freaked out and ran in the different room and tried to figure out what was going on without being spotted (by then, I was decent).  It turns out, some construction workers were doing some maintenance, which required going on top of the house.  And as smokin' as I feel partially clothed, I really really really hope they didn't see me in my glory.


Oh, and for my friends who asked, my research and writing on a certain "creeping woman" is terrorizing me, too.  Cheers.

Wednesday, June 8, 2016

Domestic Travels & One Exotic Adventure.

I've returned to the blogosphere after a month and a half long hiatus.  I would like to say that I was on vacation, but in actuality, I've been getting my rear kicked in a class I'm taking.  Let's just say that I find Wordsworth irritating and his pal, Charles Lamb, absolutely snooze-worthy.  (For you Brit-lit lovers out there... if I've wounded your soul, I'm sorry).

I should not complain, though. My busy summer has been interspersed with fun trips with the family. The first and best was, of course, Disneyland with the whole family.  At first, I was worried about this trip.  I find that as I grow older, I turn snottier and like crowds of people less and less.  But, the magic of Disneyland made everything... perfect.  Here are the trip highlights:

- Theo loved tea cups and even started to spin the wheel
-  I was beating everyone in Buzz Lightyear's Astro Blasters until Brigham suddenly dominated
- Dad played the good sport and ran across the park to get fast passes
- During the parade, Kylie yelled at me, "Elsa is coming! ELSA IS COMING!!!"
- Indiana Jones was our first ride of the trip, and it's right next to the Dole Whip shack
- We loved walking through Radiator Springs; we just didn't get "cozy at the cone"
- Mom was reprimanding me for making her wait in an "airplane museum."  That is, of course, before she found out that Soarin' through California is the best ride ever.
- Dad seemed to really like Star Tours until I saw his face slacken as he experienced motion sickness.
- The "Paint the Night" parade and World of Color shows were, honestly, my favorite part of the trip
- Disneyland made me have a severe existential crisis.  It made me realize that I want to work there, and live there, and watch Disney movies there, and have babies there.  AND it made me ask the worst question of all: what the heck am I doing with my life?




That didn't go too well. 




My second mini trip was to Farmington, New Mexico, the glorious land of rocks, dirt, and dust. The drive there was actually quite fun.  I love red rock, but we saw gray rock, tan rock, and even turquoise rock.  I got to see my dad's family and my grandpa.  I haven't seen him for eight years, which reflected in our strained conversation.  He asked me two questions: "Do you still play the piano?" & "So how many boyfriends do you have?"  (Not really & zero).  One of my favorite parts of the trip was going to the Aztec Ruins National Monument.  I'm not really sure why they call it the "Aztec Ruins."  I'm pretty sure the Pueblo people lived there.  Even so, the ruins were pretty remarkable, and I've figured out where I could live if I ever become a hobo.

At that moment, a gust of wind conveniently blew under my shirt and made me look pregnant. 

Cuuuute.

Pretty amazing, yes?
And last, but certainly not least, I bathed in the waters of Fiji.  No really, let me explain.  I went for a quick run and got back to my house in Provo.  I tore a notice from my front door without reading it and slapped it on the kitchen counters as I ran for the shower.  The shower felt good, and I was right in the middle of lathering with shampoo when... the water, my water, shut off.  I was panicking because I had a meeting later that afternoon, and there were still suds in my hair.  So, I did the only thing I could think of—I wrapped a towel around me, ran to the fridge, and grabbed the Brita pitcher of water.  I poured the chilled water on top of my head, which was horrible. I'm still convinced that my neighbors could hear me shrieking.   But the pitcher of water wasn't enough, so I ran back to the fridge and stole two bottles of Fiji water that I stole from school.  I poured those over my head, too, and finally got all of the suds washed out.  When I got dressed and read the notice on my counter, I wanted to swear (and I might have).  It informed the neighborhood of a maintenance check that required turning off the water.

By the way, the waters of Fiji were not idyllic, nor were they refreshing.  They were cold, and agonizing.