tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-330350202024-03-13T08:30:09.113-07:00Life in the Immaculate "VO"Let the offbeat social commentary begin!Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.comBlogger64125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-32521029791955097392010-04-24T16:06:00.000-07:002010-04-24T16:29:51.250-07:00Takes One to Know OneWhat is good writing? <br /><br />Is it the kind of thing that makes you think? Does it change the way you view the world and make you want to undo all the wrongs you've ever done? Does it make you wish you could go back and do more wrongs than you did, just for the sheer, beautiful regret of it all? Does it make you laugh, cry, wonder, gasp in surprise? <br /><br />Or does it simply make you glad to be alive?<br /><br />I was just thinking about the difference between "good writing" and "bad writing" after reading an article in the SLC Examiner about author vs. author slurs over the past several hundred years. (It was actually pretty funny, but also harsh at times.)<br /><br />I know I've been guilty of hating on fellow wordsmiths in the past, even those who are much more experienced and well, published, than I am. (In fact, it's usually those ones I hate on the most in my pithiest moments.) But then I started thinking. (A dangerous pastime for me, and often a large consumer of my time I'm afraid.) <br /><br />Why do we (writers) feel that someone else has to FAIL in order for us to SUCCEED? Is there some kind of indelible, widely-published writer's "Law of the Jungle" or something that states we must either kill or be killed just to sell books? And whenever someone markets their project in a certain way or writes a certain manner of fiction at a certain time and happens to hit the big time, why do we all (myself included) feel the need to tear that person down out of jealousy? Where does it say that there is a finite number of authors who can become internationally known in such-and-such period of time? It's not like a marathon, where every person who crosses the finish line before us counts as one less place we can attain in the overall ranking. At least, I don't think it is.<br /><br />In reality (in literature) whenever an author hits it big, that person is probably paving the way for other authors more than he/she is shutting them out of a chance for future success. Just look at Dan Brown. When he started being the next thing in books, a TON of others who'd been writing the same sort of hidden cypher mysteries for ages finally got noticed. And Stephanie Meyer (though a non-favorite of mine for quite some time) did seem to manage to get young teenage girls--as well as a few closeted boys--to fall in love with reading again. In the long run, those changes will probably HELP future authors more than they'll hinder them.<br /><br />So what is this obsession with arguing over whether a bestselling writer's work is "deserving" or not? Obviously, they did something right. And if (God willing) I'm ever in the position of someone like Dan Brown or Stephanie Meyer, I'm sure that I'll appreciate not being called a hack just for the sake of assuaging some burgeoning young writer's wounded pride.<br /><br />Actually, it's a lesson we can all apply to most things in our lives. Instead of hating on someone for their successes (that you don't have), instead of counting it as a fail on your own part and a win on theirs, maybe chalk it up to a win for the whole human race. "Yeah, go team humans!!! Woooohooo!!!" <br /><br />Anyway, I just thought I would share that. With myself as well as the rest. <br /><br />Have a great, positive day!Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-84767788749924460192010-04-13T00:40:00.000-07:002010-04-13T00:43:05.212-07:00The Seven Yard RuleHey everyone, I know it’s been a little while… and I’m sorry. Did you miss me? Are you feeling alone in the world without my occasionally biting, yet ingenious rhetoric? Do you sometimes lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling, and think “Why have you forsaken me, Vero!? WHY?”<br /><br />I thought as much.<br /><br />By way of excuse, I offer you this slightly enigmatic explanation: the best is yet to come, my friends. You can take this little tidbit and run with it, or you can spend endless hours trying to prize further information from me, and upon failing, curse my future progeny. Make of it what you will, but know that I am otherwise engaged in a task most impressive.<br /><br />Anyway, today’s topic is one that I’ve often wondered about, but never blogged about. It is of course, the always unspoken, never recorded yet nonetheless universal “Seven Yard Rule.” What do you mean you’ve never heard of it? Preposterous! I shall explain…<br /><br />Picture this: You’re walking down a long, practically empty hallway. In either direction, there are no doors, perpendicular passages, or escape routes of any kind. All of a sudden, someone enters the hallway at the other end, traveling in the other direction. Panic sets in. You’re facing each other, approaching ever so slowly. It’s inevitable that your paths will soon intersect. Social morays dictate that you will acknowledge them in some way, yet at the same time you both instinctively fear the intimacy of prolonged eye contact. You see them, and they see you. But the distance is still too great for a the traditional nod or muttered “how are you?” to be anything other than awkward and ineffectual.<br /><br />What do you do? The answer is obvious, and like I said before, completely programmed into your very being. You continue walking, staring at the floor or pretending great interest in your cell phone or other electronic device. Perhaps even the texture of the walls. You look at anything, everything EXCEPT the person in your path…Until they are EXACTLY SEVEN YARDS AWAY.<br /><br />At this point, you will both look up at the EXACT same moment, regard one another as though seeing each other for the first time. Then you’ll exchange the socially appropriate smile, nod or “how are you?” if occasion permits. Once you’ve passed, a small sigh of relief will pass your lips. The moment of inevitable social interaction has passed. That is, until the next unlucky pedestrian happens by…<br /><br />That, my friends, is the Seven Yard Rule.Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-51689634244477420482010-02-06T22:46:00.000-08:002010-02-06T22:48:13.538-08:00ZOOBIEISMS:The Layperson’s Guide to Understanding “Zoobie” Talk<br /><br />INTRODUCTION:<br /><br />What is a Zoobie?<br /> A “Zoobie”, regardless of recent marketing, is NOT a fuzzy, bean-filled child’s toy in the shape of a jungle creature. (If you’re wondering how I even arrived at this conflicting definition, please see zoobies.com.) While this seems to be a valid definition, based on recent copyright actions, the definition of a “Zoobie” that this *usage dictionary chooses to focus on is the following:<br /> <br />ZOOBIE /Zooh-bee/<br />1. A term used in Utah, mainly Utah Valley, to describe the excited bunch of Mormons that go to BYU and engage in excessive social activities. It's very common usage here.<br />2. A group of people characterized by their fondness of acronyms relating to LDS and BYU subjects<br />3. A highly intense example of what happens when you combine spirituality, excessive amounts of study, and no mood-altering substances whatsoever<br /><br />“I was awoken [sic] late at night with chanting by who [sic] could only be the Zoobies, exclaiming in chorus that they were to, ‘Paint the Y! Let's Paint the Y!’” <br />(Urbandictionary.com)<br /><br /><br />*The term “usage dictionary” is here used loosely and in the very informal sense. This guide is not to be considered all-inclusive, or even totally correct. Definitions are subject to ameliorate, pejorate, or undergo slight semantic shift based on listener inference. <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />ZOOBIE DEFINITIONS AND TERMS, BY CATEGORY:<br /><br /><br />SOCIAL INTERACTIONS<br /><br />BREAK-THE-FAST <br />n. A popular, occasionally BYU-sanctioned singles ward activity that is geared toward bringing ward members together into the same area with the goal of fostering relationships and greater understanding between genders. The event usually includes a lunch or dinner-like meal, and can either be provided by the ward leadership or a committee, or it can be “potluck style” (i.e. bring your own macaroni and cheese or spaghetti and don’t forget to take your pot back home) This is the formal, official term for this activity, but there are several other informal slang terms for this event. (See “Munch n’ Mingle”, “Graze n’ Gaze”, “Linger Longer”, etc.)<br /><br /> “Hey Dave, don’t forget it’s Fast Sunday, so we’ve got Break-the-Fast.”<br /><br />DTR /Dee-Tee-Ahr/<br /> n. An acronym that loosely stands for “Define the Relationship”, but has grown to include several other variants of the noun form, such as:<br />1. A discussion between two parties that can be held at any phase in a romantic relationship, usually referring to relationship status<br /><br /> “Shaun and I had a DTR last night.” <br /><br />2. A discussion that is launched by one of the parties in a “couple”, meant to solidify the status of a dating relationship through forcing the other party to talk about it openly<br /><br /> “Jennifer, I think it’s time we had a DTR.”<br /><br />3. An attempt to make a dating relationship exclusive, generally thought to be initiated by the female in a BYU dating relationship, often feared by co-ed men in general<br /><br /> “Beth tried to make me have a DTR with her last night!”<br /><br />v. The verb form of DTR, basically meaning the same thing but informally used to denote subject/object relationship in the DTR discussion<br /><br /> “Man, I can’t believe you totally DTR’d me!”<br /> Or “I am not going to DTR with you, Kevin!”<br /><br /><br /><br />FWB /Fwub/<br />n. An acronym for the term “Friends with Benefits,” can be applied to a NCMO partner by their non-significant other. Usually only used in a very, very informal setting (i.e. one roommate to another, when the subject of this term is definitely out of hearing distance)<br /><br /> “Jim, your FWB is on the phone!”<br /><br />GRAZE N’GAZE<br />n. An informal slang term used for the auxiliary social event in a singles ward. While less commonly used, this term strongly implies a motive for social connections, with an added incentive of some food.<br /><br />“Steve, you know why I don’t like the Graze n’ Gaze. It’s a total meat market!” <br /><br />LINGER LONGER<br />n. Yet another term for the auxiliary ward social, this term can be anything from the typical after-church fast-breaking activity, to the light snacks offered after RS/EQ. Usually this event is meant to entice ward members into staying a bit longer and talking a bit more than is absolutely necessary, as opposed to the “instant flight” that usually occurs directly after meetings. <br /><br />“We don’t have time to stay for the Linger Longer, we have to go make dinner for the Home Teachers!”<br /><br />MUNCH N’MINGLE<br />n. Another term for a Break-the-Fast activity (or a similar event where food is present as an incentive to socialize during an auxiliary ward function). The implied semantic connotation present in this phrase is that socialization is a secondary objective to the feast portion of the activity.<br /><br /> “Where did you meet your new boyfriend again?”<br /> “At the 167th Ward’s Munch n’ Mingle last week.”<br /><br />NCMO /Nic-Moh/<br />n. An acronym that commonly stands for “Non-Committal Make Out”, used by co-eds to describe an encounter where a male and a female meet at a predetermined time and place to “hook up” or kiss, but no other relationship status is pending or implied. This term is very informal and usually only spoken in casual settings. Also, the practice is generally frowned upon.<br /><br /> “Yeah, that time didn’t mean anything though, it was just a NCMO.”<br /><br />v. The verb usage of this particular acronym is a variation of the noun form, a derivation which literally means “to non-committally make out”. Only used in very informal settings and rarely as a propositional phrase, unless the speaker is completely unaware of social connotation or has little or no scruples.<br /><br /> “So…you wanna NCMO?”<br /><br />TUNNELING <br />v. The shortened, slang form of “Tunnel Singing”, a popular nighttime activity for BYU students. Almost always takes place in the large overpass area near the Marriott Events Center, and the majority of attendees are either freshmen or live in on-campus housing. Common themes of a tunneling event include several a capella hymns sung by flashlight and blanket toting students, announcements of mission calls from Premies, and assessment of potential future dates.<br /><br /> “Lance, are you coming tunneling with us later?”<br /><br />WARD FLIRT<br />n. Another term for Ward Prayer; this carries a connotation of skepticism for the event, based on a perceived underlying purpose: obviously, to get ward members to date each other.<br /><br /> “Jake, don’t think I didn’t notice you checking me out at Ward Flirt.”<br /><br />WARD PRAYER <br />n. A popular, BYU-sanctioned activity where student single’s ward members gather after regular meetings, usually in the evening on Sundays. The activity usually includes an opening prayer and hymn, introductions of some kind, a short message, and a closing prayer and hymn. Refreshments are optional, as is attendance. Incentives range from the vague promise of cookies, to the cute girl in building C. <br /><br /> “Hey Kristin, come on! We’re gonna be late for Ward Prayer!”<br /><br /><br /><br />EVENTS<br /><br />DEVO /Dee-voh/<br /> n. The shortened, commonly used term for Devotional (sometimes called a forum); this is held on campus every Tuesday at eleven am in the Marriott Center during fall and winter semesters, and in the JSB auditorium during spring and summer terms. Common activities included in a campus “Devo” are opening prayers, group hymns, musical numbers by the Men’s or Women’s Choruses, introductions by President Samuelson, and addresses from various keynote speakers. General authorities usually visit at least once a year to speak at a Devo, during which time attendance usually triples or at least doubles. <br /><br /> “Do you know who’s speaking at Devo next week?”<br /> “Yeah, it’s Eyring, man. I’m totally there!”<br /><br />HOLY WAR<br />n. The annual football game where BYU plays its arch-rival team, University of Utah. Marked for its intense advertising campaign, its catchy red v. blue color scheme, and its ability to exponentially increase the amount of team spirit at BYU in a single week; unfortunately, spirit generally returns to normal directly after the game. The term, while informal in its origins, has actually spread across the United States and is occasionally used by sports announcers, national publications, and even general authorities when discussing the occasion.<br /><br /> “This year’s Holy War is shaping up to be more brutal than ever!”<br /><br />PREFERENCE /Pre-frence/<br />n. A seasonal dance held at BYU; the main thing that categorizes this activity is that it defies, or bends, tradition in the most general sense. For, rather than the men asking the women to attend, the girls are supposed to invite the guys. It is therefore called “preference”; as rumor has it, this is because for once, the girls actually get to choose their dates instead of simply going with whoever asks them first.<br /><br /> “Hey Jess, do you have a date for Preference yet?”<br /><br /><br />CAMPUS LOGISTICS<br /><br />ASB, the<br />n. The acronym more commonly used for the Abraham O. Smoot Administration building, which is also sometimes referred to as the “Smoot”; most likely because Smoot is a very fun word to say. This building houses many facilities that are necessary for a BYU student’s registration needs, as well as the Purchasing and Travel office, BYU Payroll, BYU Info… and is also rumored to hold what amounts to BYU’s version of the CIA. However, those who have attempted to find proof of this organization’s existence have never been heard from again, so it’s possible we may never know. <br /><br /> “Hey Bill, I’ll be right over; I’m just passing the ASB.” <br /><br />BRIMHALL, the /Brimm-hall/<br />n. As it is for many print journalism majors and other classifications of communications majors, the George H. Brimhall building, or the “Brimhall”, is commonly referred to as a journalism student’s “home away from hostel”, “that really ugly building over there,” the center for the Daily Universe, and a really good place to find cute girls who are never too busy studying to go out.<br /><br /> “Derek, where did you meet Kathy again? She is SO cute!”<br /> “One word, dude: Brimhall.”<br /><br />CLIFFS OF INSANITY<br />n. The informal, niche slang term for the stairs that climb the west side of campus, from the RB or the SFH up to the newly completed JFSB. These stairs are several flights long and climb the hill at an approximate seventy-five degree angle, and are notorious for causing extreme shortness of breath in overfed freshmen and under-active upperclassmen. <br />The term itself was stolen from the popular 1987 Zoobie favorite, the Princess Bride. Stealing quotes from this movie and applying them to life in Provo is a favorite Zoobie pastime, in addition to reusing quotes from Napoleon Dynamite, Zoolander, and Nacho Libre. <br /><br /> “Hey man, let’s wait until it’s dark and sled down the Cliffs of Insanity!”<br /><br />CLYDE, the<br />n. An abbreviation that stands for the W.W. Clyde Engineering Building, which is home to about fifty-six percent of the eligible male population on campus. For this reason, you will often see younger female students who have no classes in this building nonchalantly “hanging out” in the first floor common areas. The unfortunate side of this strategy is that the husband-searching hopefuls often do not realize that eighty percent of the target population in this building is married, and the other twenty percent have absolutely no intention of conversing with the opposite gender. Ever (IF). <br /><br />“Oh my gosh Lily, let’s go buzz the Clyde and like, see if there are any cute guys!”<br /><br />CRABTREE, the<br />n. An abbreviation of the unlikely-named Roland A. Crabtree Technology Building; the Crabtree is where one can find a solution for any known computer problem or technical issue; provided that they can learn to speak “tech” well enough to communicate with the natives.<br /><br />“Janell, I can tell you’ve been in the Crabtree all day, because you’ve got a certain haze about you. Remember, complete sentences are good sentences.”<br /><br />FRESHMAN HILL<br />n. This is the local slang term used mainly by anyone who has ever lived in on campus housing (specifically, Helaman Halls), or someone who spends a lot of time on the western portion of BYU campus. It refers to the sloping path that leads to and from Helaman Halls and the Tanner Building (TNRB), and is the site of many occurrences of freshmen hazing, and an equal or greater number of proposals. <br /> “Why do they call it ‘Freshman Hill’? It’s not even a hill.”<br /> “Dunno…Because ‘the Cliffs of Insanity’ was already taken?” <br /><br />HAROLD<br />n. The affectionate, though less commonly used abbreviation for the HBLL, or Harold B. Lee Library. Usually spoken by those who spend so much time there that to them, the library itself has become a sentient life form.<br /><br /> “Hey Rosie, let’s hang out tonight.”<br /> “Thanks, but I can’t. I’ve got a date with Harold.”<br /><br />HBLL, the<br />n. A common acronym for the Harold B. Lee Library. Located at the virtual center of BYU campus, this structure is more like home to a majority of Zoobies than their actual homes. <br /><br /> “Do you want to meet at the HBLL? I’ll be in Periodicals.” <br /><br />HFAC, the /Aych-Fack/<br />n. The official acronym for the Franklin S. Harris Fine Arts Center (without the Franklin S., it’s HFAC; with the Franklin S. it would’ve been the FSHFAC, which is too hard to pronounce and remember, apparently). The purpose of this building is ninety percent musical, and about ten percent educational. While there are a few classrooms designed for lecture-style teaching, the bulk of the rooms are soundproofed and filled with resonant banging or the strains of a novice musician’s latest masterpiece. The HFAC is also home to the Dejong Concert Hall (pronounced Dee-yong) and several musical theater productions a year.<br /><br /> “Do you know what time Hamlet starts?”<br /> “No, but I’ll bet someone in the HFAC would be able to tell you.”<br /> <br /><br />IPF, the <br />n. This acronym stands for the Indoor Practice Facility, which is a relatively new addition to BYU campus. Within the large, rectangular structure is a full-sized practice football field, or two side-by-side soccer practice fields. The IPF has proven quite useful for year round training in the likely event of inclement weather, as Utah is quite prone to having. Also, the IPF has made it possible to have certain specialized sports and physical education classes during the winter semester.<br /><br />“I have Martial Arts class over at the IPF, but then I’m free for the afternoon.” <br /><br /><br /><br />J-DAWGS<br />n. The Lord’s answer to the humble prayers of those who drink caffeine on a fairly regular basis; this small entrepreneurial hot dog stand can be found at the southeast corner of campus. In addition to selling actual Pepsi products, the stand also offers gigantic hot dogs for a reasonable price. In short, J-Dawgs is a Zoobie dream come true. <br /><br /> “I’ve got fifteen minutes before class starts. J-Dawgs, anyone?” <br /><br />JFSB, the<br />n. JFSB is an acronym for the Joseph Fielding Smith Building, one of the newest (and best—inserts shameless flattery) buildings on campus. The JFSB is home to the colleges of language, some humanities, and philosophy. So, if you want to declare an English language minor (or Elang), this is the building you would want to visit.<br /><br />“Why does my cell phone never work down here? It’s like the JFSB basement has vortex capabilities or something!” <br /><br />JKHB – JKB, the<br />n. What was once called the Jesse Knight Humanities Building (or the JKHB) has now been shortened to simply the “JKB”, or Jesse Knight Building. Sources say this is a result of the completion of the newer, larger JFSB, which has taken over most of the humanities departments. One can still attend language classes in this building, and it also holds a pretty good monopoly on the elementary education major, as far as location of classes.<br /><br /> “Where in the world is the JKHB? I can’t find it on the map!”<br /> “Oh, you mean the JKB? It’s right by the ASB; you have an old map.”<br /><br />JSB, the<br />n. This acronym stands for the school’s center of religious instruction; a building named the Joseph Smith Building after the first LDS prophet and founder of Mormonism. The building is mostly used for classes having to do with religion, but will also occasionally host other events on the weekends, such as Divine Comedy shows or really old black and white movies. The much hated Bio 100 “mass class” also meets here, and is a very lovely time and place for a nap.<br /><br /> “Shh, be quiet! Don’t you know you’re in the JSB?”<br /> “Yeah, what’s with that? It’s like church in here.”<br /><br />KMB, the<br />n. Acronym (the Zoobies LOVE the acronym, in case you haven’t noticed) for the Knight Magnum Building; the sometimes Bond-reminiscent named structure houses a practice facility for auxiliary performance clubs like “Living Legends” and “Young Ambassadors”. Also, if you ever walk by the KMB and hear tap dancing and a few bars from Hello Dolly, keep walking. It’s completely normal (IF). <br /><br />“I wish the KMB weren’t so close to J-Dawgs. I can’t stop humming ‘Zippety Doo Dah’ while I’m standing in line, and it’s embarrassing.”<br /><br />MARB, the<br />n. Most popular acronym for the Thomas L. Martin Building. I’m not really sure what goes on in this building, aside from several BYU student wards’ Sunday meetings. <br /><br /> “Where do you have to go now?”<br /> “I’ve got class in the MARB at three.” <br /><br />MTC /Em-Tee-See/<br />n. The shortened, acronym version of the LDS Missionary Training Center. Though not actually located on BYU campus, the MTC is referenced so often by Zoobies that it might as well be. (Though, to be sure, the inevitable mixing of lifestyles that would ensue could cause a few culture clashes.) Life in the MTC, while not too far off from life in the dorms, is surprisingly a lot more regimented than life on BYU campus; believe it or not.<br /><br />“I walked by the MTC again today; I was hoping I could catch a glimpse of my future RM boyfriend.” <br /><br />RB, the<br />n. The acronym that occasionally takes the place of the fully named Stephen L. Richards Building, also often called the “Richards Building”. The only reasons for going into this particular structure would be to attend dance classes or P.E. classes, to participate in BYU intramurals, to go to HEPE 129 (which is the 3rd most hated class on BYU campus), to utilize the free gym, or to pick up on dance class girls. <br /><br /> “Where is your volleyball game tonight?”<br /> “Naturally, it’s in the RB.” <br /><br />Smith Fieldhouse (SFH), the<br />n. For some reason, Zoobies tend to shy away from using the provided acronym for this building (SFH). This might be for a number of reasons: it might take too much breath to say, the letters might be easily confused, or perhaps because the bulk of the students who use this building are consecrated sports junkies, it sounds too much like a college football team that they hate or something. For whatever reason, the George Albert Smith Fieldhouse is most commonly called “the Smith Fieldhouse.” <br /><br />“It’s too cold to run outside, I’m going over to the Smith Fieldhouse to do laps on the indoor track.” <br /><br />SMOOT, the <br /> n. Another slang term for the ASB. Once again, because it is very fun to say. <br /><br /> “I need to go take this add/drop card to the Smoot.”<br /><br />STAIRS OF DEATH<br />n. A secondary term that is often applied by students to the ridiculously long flights of stairs that can be found on the west and south ends of campus. Sometimes as many as 80-90 steps in height, they are very hard to climb when one is out of shape and are of a very terrifying gradient. See also “the Cliffs of Insanity.”<br /><br />“Ah man, I left my Chemistry 100 book in the RB. Now I have to climb the Stairs of Death again!” <br /><br />SWKT, the /Swick-it/<br />n. Definitely in the top five most fun building acronyms to say; the Spencer W. Kimball Tower is also among the tallest buildings on campus (if you’re not counting the smoke stack thing with a huge Y on it, which students rarely do). This square, thirteen-story building is home to the College of Nursing, the American Heritage lab, and nobody really cares what else.<br /><br />“Has anyone ever been to the top of the SWKT? Gosh, I would love to bungee off of there.” <br /><br />THE BOARD<br />1. n. The first Zoobie definition of “the Board” (note that it is never “board, the”, but always “the Board.) is the infamous, nefarious, or simply famous (depending on who you are) 100 Hour Board. “The Board is a BYU online forum of volunteer students who answer any question they are asked within 100 hours. It is also a place where diverse personalities can interact in a forum relatively free of a social judgments, a place where sensitive and personal questions can be addressed anonymously and given doctrinally-centered answers by a group of caring peers, and a place to learn the history of the billboard, how many pages a Word document will hold, and how to get a locker in the RB locker room. It's funny, friendly, and fascinating.” (Quote taken from http://theboard.byu.edu/) <br /><br /> “How many floors are in the SWKT?”<br /> “I don’t know, ask the Board.”<br /><br />2. n. The other definition most commonly attached to “the Board” is the large bulletin board located in the basement level of the Wilk, or WSC. This board contains 3 x 5 cards posted by Zoobies hoping to buy or sell anything from wedding dresses (used or unused) to winter housing contracts.<br /><br />“Did you check the Board to see if there were any openings for fall semester? I really want to live off-campus.” <br /> <br /><br />THE Y /Thu-Wye/<br />n. Built in 1906, “the Y” is a large, painted cement capital letter branded on the hillside above BYU. It was originally intended to spell out “BYU” and would cover several acres of land, but instead was left as simply “Y” and thereafter the university itself is sometimes referred to as such, as an even shorter form of BYU. When Zoobies use this term, it is usually in reference to the one on the mountain, as the use of “the Y” to describe the school is considered an outsider tradition. (LDS non-Utah residents with friends/family at BYU will often use this term to describe the school, but the rule is similar to that of the term “SoCal”, which is only used by people who do not live there, or as a tongue-in-cheek self-depreciation by those who do.)<br /> “Let’s go hike the Y!”<br /><br />WILK, the (WSC)<br />n. The Earnest L. Wilkinson Student Center (which is the social hub of BYU campus if you’re a Zoobie) is never referred to by its entire name, except in very formal settings such as this one. Everywhere else, you will either hear it referred to as “the Wilk”, or the “WSC” if someone is looking down at a map of campus.<br /><br /> “Do you want to meet in the Wilk for lunch again today?”<br /><br /><br /><br />MISCELLANIOUS ZOOBIE TERMS<br /><br /><br />BELMONT GIRL /Bell-mohnt Gurl/<br />n. This term refers to a female BYU student who may or may not actually live in the Belmont complex that is located in the ritzy area east of campus. The name did, in fact, derive from the well-spread reputations of girls who actually lived there; now it can be used by a Zoobie to describe any girl who seems to be living on a large budget that is not her own, drives an expensive car that she did not buy for herself, and seeks a husband who can continue to support her current lifestyle. Supposed earmarks of a Belmont Girl are: huge sunglasses, clothing in the absolute latest fashions, and excessively tan skin out of season. <br /><br /> “Yeah, Susan is cute. But she’s kind of a Belmont Girl.” <br /><br /><br />BUTTERFACE /Buht-her-face/<br />n. This term applies to a female “specimen” who is attractive from the neck down. The term is very informal, and usually only voiced by the immature, male Zoobie. It derives from the phrase, “Yeah, she has a good body, but her face…” Hence, the “but her face” shifts to “Butterface.” It is not a flattering or nice term, and is sure to be viewed as an insult by most listeners. <br /><br />“I’m embarrassed to say that I learned about the term ‘Butterface’ from my father-in-law.” <br /><br />CECIL /See-sill/<br />n. This is the first name of BYU president, Cecil O. Samuelson. It was popularized as a label with the advent of the phrase “Cecil is my homeboy” in 2005, which spurred irreverent Zoobies to begin calling the eminent educational leader by his rather hilarious first name, instead of President Samuelson, as his position deserves. <br /><br /> “I heard Cecil is going to speak in our ward next week.”<br /> “Cool!”<br /><br />CHASTITY LINE<br />n. “Chastity Line” is the slang term used by Zoobies to denote the invisible line in a male or female’s student apartment where the common areas end and the living areas begin. In most apartments, it is the line between the kitchen or living room and the hallway leading to bedrooms and restrooms. This line is generally feared by Zoobies because crossing it would break the Honor Code. <br /><br />“Dude, make sure your UVSC girl doesn’t cross the Chastity Line; she doesn’t know any better.” <br /><br />CIVILITY DICTATE, or DICTATE CIVILITY<br />v. This term, taken directly from the BYU Honor Code, has been re-formed into a slang verb phrase that means “to use the restroom.” This is because in the Honor Code, it is illegal to cross the “Chastity Line” in an apartment of the opposite gender, even to use the restroom; except in extreme cases of emergency or “when civility dictates.”<br /><br />“Hey Laura, if you don’t mind I’m going to ‘dictate civility’ before we go.”<br />Or, “Don’t ‘civility dictate,’ John, when you can just as easily go across the hall.” <br /><br />COSMO<br />n. Since October 15, 1953, Cosmo the Cougar has been known as the official mascot of BYU. He can be seen at almost any sports event, doing things like hand stands and t-shirt shooting for the crowds of BYU fans. Though it is not widely known, Cosmo is actually powered by at least three different anonymous male students (who are undoubtedly Zoobies to the core) per year. One of the main characteristics of Cosmo, besides his BYU jersey and fuzzy face, is that he is never allowed to speak; he only communicates through elaborate sports pantomimes. <br /><br />“Hey, did you see Cosmo on BYU TV last week? That story was hilarious.”<br /><br />COUGARETTES<br />n. The Cougarettes are the other, more feminine mascots of BYU. Unofficially (IF). Comprised of about twenty talented female dancers, the Cougarettes dance team performs at major sports events and competes on a national level. This group is not to be confused with the BYU Cheerleaders, which are an entirely different organization. For a male Zoobie, making this mistake could result in a member of the Cougarettes becoming offended and refusing to date the erroneous party.<br /><br /> “Did you see Mark’s new girlfriend? She’s a Cougarette.”<br /> “Right on! Go, Mark!”<br /><br />CTR /See-Tee-Ahr/<br />v. Another one of the beloved acronyms, CTR is not only used by Zoobies, but by members of the LDS church all over the world. It stands for “Choose the Right”, and is a central motto of Mormons, BYU students, and Zoobies alike. <br /><br /> “Have you seen my ‘CTR’ ring?”<br /><br />EQP<br />n. An acronym for the “Elders Quorum President” in an LDS ward. Used mainly by Zoobies because of the frequent nature of this title’s usage in Zoobie conversation; when you repeat it enough, saying Elders Quorum president becomes redundant.<br /><br />“I just got a call from my EQP. He said I need to pass the sacrament tomorrow.”<br /><br />EXEC SEC<br />n. The shortened, rather lazy form of “Executive Secretary”, which refers to a position that is held by at least one person in every LDS ward. For some reason, this position is always held in BYU student wards by the Zoobiest of RM’s imaginable. The reason for this phenomenon is unknown.<br /><br /> “Will you give the exec sec a call later today and make an appointment?”<br /><br /><br /><br />HT’s<br />n. An acronym (surprise!) that stands for Home Teachers, a position that nearly every priesthood holder in an LDS ward holds. Their job is to visit a certain, assigned group of people (both male and female) each month, and report back to the EQP on the well-being of ward members. These visits almost always occur within the last one to five days of any given month. Zoobies shorten this title for convenience, and due to their obvious obsession with acronyms.<br /><br /> “Hey Lori, get out of the shower, the HT’s are here!”<br /><br />MEAT MARKET<br />n. This term is a self-depreciating phrase applied to anything from ward Break-the-Fast, to the MFHD major. Basically, the usage of this term implies that the speaker senses an underlying goal to “pair off” participants of said activity or group and re-package them into an eternal couple. This term is not necessarily always used in a negative way, but also can take the form of good natured ribbing.<br /><br /> “Wow, look at all of the RM’s; it’s a total Meat Market in here.” <br /><br />MFHD /Em-Eff-Aych-Dee/<br />n. Among the most notorious majors at BYU is the Marriage and Family Human Development major. This acronym is applied to many students in a very official sense, but can also be directed at someone who isn’t actually in the major but seems to be looking for marriage first and graduation later. Usage is divided in that sense. This term is not gender specific, but it most often applied to female students.<br /><br /> “My roommate, the MFHD, told me that I should date more.”<br /><br />PREMIE /Pree-Mee/<br />n. This slang term used by Zoobies means “Pre-missionary”, and is applied to young men who have not yet left on their missions. When spoken by female Zoobies, it is usually a case of not wanting to seriously date, for the obvious reason of an impending two year split for the relationship.<br /><br /> “I like Nathan a lot; it’s too bad he’s a Premie.”<br /><br />RM<br />1. n. An acronym meaning “Returned Missionary”<br />2. n. One who is very desirable to female Zoobies, if subject is male<br />3. n. One who absolutely terrifies male Zoobies, if subject is female<br /><br />“My roommate got engaged to an RM who was two weeks back. How’s that for making sure we’re at BYU?”<br /><br /><br />SWEET SPIRIT<br />n. A term applied to a female who is desirable as far as personality, spirituality, and general temperament. Usually carries a negative connotation that she is not very good looking, and is therefore considered a derogatory term.<br /><br /> “Jane is such a sweet spirit; it’s a shame she’s so plain.” <br /><br />VT’s<br />n. The Zoobie acronym for Visiting Teachers, which are the Relief Society version of Home Teachers. However, there are some slight differences. VT’s only visit other women, as opposed to HT’s who must teach both male and female ward members. Also, the time of visiting varies from HT’s, usually in the sense that they arrive several weeks earlier every month. They also tend to bring treats, rather than expecting to be fed treats. <br /><br /> “Tara, the VT’s are coming next Thursday. Are you free then?”<br /><br />WARD MENU<br />n. The slang term for the ward directory that is passed out to all members of a BYU student ward, which contains photographs and contact information for each individual member. The reason it is often referred to as “the Ward Menu” by Zoobies is that inter-ward dating is a favorite pastime of the average Zoobie, and this directory makes it much easier to get in contact with prospective dates.<br /><br />“Have you seen the Ward Menu yet? Check out apartment 275, they’re like their own Meat Market.”<br /><br />YELL LEADERS<br />n. This is the official name of BYU’s cheerleading squad. They are absolutely not to be confused with the Cougarettes for any reason. Some important differences: the Yell Leaders are formed of both male and female students, and they perform cheers on the sidelines rather than choreographed dance routines. Also, they are a bit more athletic as a general rule. <br /><br />“Did you hear that Aaron quit the football team to become a Yell Leader? No one saw that coming!”Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-4122610524174524572010-02-01T01:03:00.000-08:002010-02-01T01:11:12.345-08:00A Little Schizo...Okay, so I'm not sure why I'm this way but I can't seem to pick one blog and faithfully maintain it. As a result, I'm stuck jumping around from blog to blog and sporadically posting whenever the mood strikes me. It's like I'm trying to be the Jason Bourne of blogging or something.<br /><br />Until I figure out which of these characters I truly am, here are a couple of blogs you can feel free to search me out at if you're feeling particularly curious. (I doubt you will, I'm just saying...)<br /><br />http://killercheesepuff.blogspot.com/ (The Oldest Blog)<br /><br />http://yulebetterbelieveitsucks.blogspot.com/ (The Holiday Blog)<br /><br />http://vandersun.wordpress.com/ (The "Serious" Blog)<br /><br />http://thedoorstepscene.blogspot.com/ (The Dating Blog)<br /><br />http://cantstaybabyitscoldoutside.blogspot.com/ (Blog from when I lived in Vail)<br /><br />http://specialedsurfing.blogspot.com/ (Blog from when I lived in Hawaii)<br /><br />...And I THINK that's it. Holy CRAP, I think I might actually be a little schizophrenic with paranoid delusions of grandeur. And/Or I just kept forgetting the address of my blog every time I lapsed, so I kept making new ones every time. Yeah...I think that's probably it. <br /><br />Anyway, if there's anyone (anyone at all) who knows how to combine blogs and still keep the original date/time stamp--with minimal effort, if you please--I implore you to acquaint me with this process!<br /><br />Once again, thank you for your continued patience. I love you all!Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-71220624801993494222009-12-12T23:58:00.000-08:002009-12-13T00:04:42.945-08:00BLOCKED!Omfg I am blocked I am blocked I am blocked blocked blocked blocked.<br /><br />Aaaaaaaaauuuugh.<br /><br />Ever had a story inside your head that is so wonderful, so magical, so heartbreakingly genius that it's practically splitting you in two? <br /><br />Ever had a character who's so real and so conflicted that you find yourself talking to that person and arguing over whether or not they're going to let you tell their story? And in the end, you have to agree upon a truce to share your head with them so they don't try to possess you and take over your life?<br /><br />Or, have you ever gotten to a fork in the road (metaphorical, of course) that has about twenty different directions you can go...and none of them "feel" just right?<br /><br />That's pretty much where I'm at. My story is gumming up the gears, my characters have all gone on strike and the little writer in my mind is sitting down in the middle of the road and sobbing into her hands in bereft self-doubt. <br /><br />These are the life and times, people. <br /><br />This is what it's like to write a novel. <br /><br />...I sincerely hope we both (my story and I) survive to tell the tale.Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-76981968336164589182009-12-06T16:30:00.000-08:002009-12-06T16:56:14.228-08:00Things.Okay, so I've concluded (based on past advice from my longtime writing idol and bosom facebook friend, Suz B., as well as some thoughts of my own rendering) that I need to start blogging again as often as possible.<br /><br />This is for two reasons: One, as a daily warm up to keep my fingers limber for the task at hand--as though putting in countless hours each day at work typing up docs orders and diagnoses as complicated in spelling as the elusive hematochezia...which I can't help laughing at because it sounds like "toe cheese"...but in actuality it's a very serious ailment and not funny at all. Heh--and...where was I?<br /><br />Oh yes. Point number two, which was that if I don't keep blogging and something terrible--such as hematochezia, or something not nearly as hilarious sounding but equally dire--were to happen to me, the world might pass on never knowing the inner workings of my fabulous mind.<br /><br />So here it is, today's quintessential blog, (never really grasped the semantics of that word fully, but love using it because it just sounds so important. Almost like it's the perfect embodiment of all words meaning "totally awesome".) in which I will unburden myself from a few things I've been meaning to get off my metaphorical chest:<br /><br />1. I know this isn't really shocking, but I'm obsessed with really stupid made for TV movies. Especially ones that appear on the Scifi channel, like the Ginger Snaps series. Horrible acting? Yes. Can I stop watching? I'll try...<br /><br />2. I've always been secretly envious of people who can crank out a masterpiece and manage to surprise everybody. I'm not talking about those famous serial killers, who once they've been revealed all their friends and neighbors are like, "Oh my gosh, but he seemed so... nice. So harmless!" Then again, maybe I am. Because one day, I'd like to write a book that gets made into a movie or heck, even a TV show, and I'll be shooting the bull on Craig Ferguson and all my friends and former classmates back home will be all, "Wow, is that the weird girl from eighth grade biology? Never thought she'd ever amount to anything spectacular." <br /><br />3. For the past several Years, I've had a secret crush on Neal McDonough. I don't know if it's the cool, collected exterior...or the Lemon Head charm... whatever it is. He's hot. And I would totally go see a romantic comedy starring him, providing there are also guns and stuff in it.<br /><br />4. My former professor sent me an e-mail yesterday asking when I was going to turn in my internship paperwork, and I had a tiny, momentary nervous breakdown. Because I graduated like, six months ago. It was exactly like one of those dreams you have where you're back in high school and it's graduation...and they tell you that you have to take high school all over again, even though you're now twenty five and married. But this one was worse, because I wasn't entirely certain she was kidding.<br /><br />5. I have like thirty followers on Twitter, even though I've only posted stuff on there like, twice. Instead of being flattered by this, I'm really a bit creeped out. In fact, it's recently become a habit to look both ways before I get into the car. <br /><br />6. My life really isn't that interesting. But you probably already knew that.<br /><br />7. Sometimes, I have no idea what day it is. Yesterday this woman came into the hospital and she was like, "Oh, I was here on June 10th, dearie. So you can find my records, right?" And I said, "Sure, no problem. Those don't drop out of the server until they're like a month old." She looked at me like I was sassing her, but I honestly wasn't being sarcastic. I just happen to live in a black hole where time and space have little or no meaning. <br /><br />Anyway, that's about all I can come up with at the moment. These posts will get better as I practice more. I can almost promise.Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-34679857038854095402009-12-04T02:45:00.000-08:002009-12-04T02:50:25.995-08:00Comin Out!I'm writing this with my iPod, so I'll be brief. In fact, if I'm really lucky by the time I've finished writing this I'll be ninety. <br />Anyway, it's time I came clean about why I suck at updating. You see, dear friends... I'm writing a book. <br />There. I've said it. Feel free to mock me with impunity. <br /><br />Oh, and one last thing: Stephanie Mayer can suck it. That is all.Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-84642448695113291922009-03-10T16:48:00.000-07:002009-03-10T16:49:25.252-07:00Why Being "Gifted" Totally Blows (Part Tres)Somehow, I survived through years of this internal torture. I had muddled through, somehow, and I was only a semester or two of classes away from graduating. I was going to be the first woman in my family to get a college degree. I applied for graduation in the late summer, and cried tears of joy because even I honestly never thought that I would make it thus far. But a part of me whispered that even though I was close enough to spit across the graduation day platform (hypothetically), I didn’t deserve to be set free of my own personal academic purgatory. I still had to pay for my sins.<br /><br />But the part of me that was desperate to prove myself, and to finally finish, said “yeah, you can do this!” That part, which was so desperate to be done feeling like I didn’t belong, like I was constantly struggling just to be average, said “just make it through this last semester, and you’ll be fine.”<br /><br />Now we come to the climax of this tale: my ultimate struggle to graduate, to conquer my inner bad student, and to escape with my life.<br /><br />I can't even tell you how tempted I am to stop trying, to embrace my strengths and just be happy with what I have. To go on working, and just let the skills I’ve learned be enough proof of my capabilities. I can't tell you how often, even now being so close, I have to stop myself from thinking that I'll never be able to finish, that I’m just not college material.<br /><br />At this point, even with so much on the line, I'm past trying to succeed. I'm just trying to survive. I can beg for understanding, but it will be for a lifetime of academic transgressions. I have become a chronic academic underachiever, in danger of failing the final test of life.<br />But I've been in danger of failing, in one way or another, for the past four-and-a-half years. I was in danger of failing before I even set foot on this campus. The feeling is terrifying, humbling and totally demoralizing, but it’s not new.<br /><br />I know that I'm not what you might call a "good" student. But I have learned that I can be pragmatic, hilarious, successful, hard-working, and confident. And I know that everything happens for a reason, even though I might despair at not knowing why. So I can't say that I regret my actions during my academic career. I can't promise to become the kind of student that I'm not. Because if it hadn't been for the decisions I made, I might have been a great student. But I believe I would've also been a less fascinating person. And a MUCH suckier writer.Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-22893860188103243622009-03-10T16:18:00.000-07:002009-03-10T16:19:55.149-07:00Why Being "Gifted" Totally Blows (Part Deux)At [University], I quickly found that in this new, hard-core scholarly world, even my frantically renewed academic efforts meant little or nothing. Dozens of kids around me in each class could dance circles around me academically; they knew it, and I knew it. Though I wasn't remotely what someone would call stupid, for the first time in my life, I felt stupid.<br /><br />During the first semester of my freshman year, one of my advisors thought it would be fun to put me in an advanced mathematics class. I failed that class with flying colors. I know now that I didn't have the foundation, or the discipline to put four hours of study per day into a subject that I couldn’t begin to understand, but it broke me all the same.<br /><br />For me, that moment, the moment where I first realized that I could actually fail, was my emotional undoing. I had never come close to failing a class before, never done anything that was so academically irrevocable. Suddenly, I found myself wracked with fear every time I took a class that wasn't already included in my set of skills. I didn't see a challenge as learning something new and exciting, but as another chance for me to fail; another chance for me to be "less than."<br /><br />This rationale would probably make no sense to the average person, especially if they've never found themselves being defined by a grade. But it made sense to me, because during my formative years, I wasn’t ever defined by anything else.<br /><br />As I was experiencing the onset of academic self-loathing, I was also constantly on the prowl for other ways I could distinguish myself, ways I could feel proficient to offset my malfunction as a student. I also needed money. So, I started working thirty or more hours a week, in addition to my classes (and sometimes, instead of my classes). I was always a hard worker, and being good at my job got me the praise I felt I needed. I started to value myself by how much I could earn, and classed seemed more and more trivial, because I couldn’t perceive an immediate return on my efforts.<br /><br />This was all well and good, until the exhaustion of a constant work-study struggle for survival set in.<br /><br />And because I couldn't hate my job (because it fed me, naturally) I started to hate school. I blamed it for making me feel like my best wasn't good enough. I blamed school for trying to fit me into a mold that I felt I would never fit into.Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-91436656012917902682009-03-10T16:15:00.001-07:002009-03-10T16:18:09.557-07:00Makeover.<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NpynS5fehs8/Sbb0rSsO3JI/AAAAAAAAAC8/HFKitSigIbE/s1600-h/makeover2.png"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5311701835118992530" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 455px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 143px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_NpynS5fehs8/Sbb0rSsO3JI/AAAAAAAAAC8/HFKitSigIbE/s400/makeover2.png" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-59599885249832736412009-03-10T16:09:00.000-07:002009-03-10T16:11:01.764-07:00Why Being "Gifted" Totally Blows (Part One)I'm not what you might call a "good" student. When I was five, they—“they” being the powers that be of Oregonian academia—pulled me out of kindergarten and announced to my parents that I was "intellectually gifted." After that, I was never allowed to be normal again. I was put in special, after school programs for the "TAG" (Talented and Gifted) kids at my school. At the age of seven, I was forced to boil colored water in beakers and recite geography while my friends played outside.<br /><br />Middle school started, and I had every hope of being one of the "cool," normal girls. Instead, I was placed in a special homeroom where we had to read Great Expectations (unabridged) and write a hundred pages of "reflective journaling" on what we thought, during a period where other kids got to socialize and play tic-tac-toe. It’s a wonder I don’t hate writing. Though I still hate Great Expectations.<br /><br />My freshman year of high school, I declared that I'd had enough of being solely classified by my peers as a “smart” kid. You see, I happened to know that deep inside, there was much more than academics to me. I was also a funny kid. A talented, artistic kid. A kid who was royally sick of being pandered to and forced to enter spelling bees and adult writing contests. So I rebelled. I ran for student body office and joined three different clubs. A type of nerdyness still, yes. But I no longer had to be the "smart girl".<br /><br />In fact, I had made myself so busy with all of the extracurricular stuff that my grades began to suffer. I also started to be treated like a human being. I learned to talk like a teenager instead of using four-syllable words as a rule. And I had fun. I grew socially, and actually started to become my own person. But I’d stopped writing.<br /><br />By the time I was wrapping up high school, I had become so wrapped up in not being a “smart” kid that I’d forgotten how to study. I'd learned early on that if I didn't do any of my homework, I could still make B's and finally get left alone—for the most part—by those teachers who were looking for "Blue Chip" students to raise and pick on. I could have friends, and a life. But I also found that I could no longer remember how to do complex equations or place all of the countries in Africa onto a map.<br /><br />When I applied for a prestigious university, I knew my chances of being accepted anywhere impressive were slim. I wanted to go to BYU, for reasons even I didn't fully understand. Now, I realize that I was driven to live somewhere far away from home, so that I could start a fresh academic slate, and fill it with mediocrity. All I had ever wanted was to be one of the “normal” students, as I hadn’t had that even in high school, because I had still been remembered as “that third grade prodigy who won all those writing contests.” However, when I was actually accepted to a good university, I didn't count on the fact that my life-long problem of feeling "too special" and "too smart" would instantly become moot, even without self-sabotage.Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-5260728330795859202009-02-06T21:11:00.001-08:002009-02-06T21:11:54.250-08:00Bored = New Blog<a href="http://vandersun.wordpress.com/">http://vandersun.wordpress.com/</a>Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-58471397874639020342008-03-31T19:06:00.000-07:002008-03-31T19:14:00.064-07:00Academic Karma Rears its Ugly HeadI would like to take this opportunity to formally apologize for everything I've ever said about school. I like school... school is my friend. Nice University, please don't bite me.<br /><br />So, yeah. This semester has been like the train that goes through the intersection that you're sitting at, hoping that it will be just a few cars because you're already late for work and you really don't have time to sit and watch as the many <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">graffitti'd</span> boxes on wheels go by... but just your luck it's always the forty-five car train that seems to have no end and is all empty cars anyway so <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">wtf</span> do they have that many to begin with....<br /><br />That's what it's been like. The whole semester. One ridiculous and totally unnecessary (not to mention irritating) delay after the other. Road blocks at every turn, and the promise of VERY severe consequences if I step out of line even ONCE. The problem, of course, being that I've gotten so used to making my own rules that I can't necessarily even remember where the line I'm supposed to be in is...<br /><br />Just so you know, (and this is merely for posterity) I'm learning my lesson. A lesson that is hard, <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">uncheatable</span>, and apparently, worth about 35% of my overall grade. Yikes.Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-3424404395809947662008-01-14T22:26:00.000-08:002008-01-14T22:56:06.086-08:00Double DeuceIn exactly four minutes, I will be 22 years old.<br /><br />So yeah, that's cool. But what have I accomplished? Well, er... hummm... Let's make a list:<br /><br />When I was in 6th grade I won a writing contest for high school students, and I think I got published in a book of short stories somewhere, but good luck finding it<br /><br />I walked at 8 months, which means it only took me 240 days to figure out how to stop falling down. "Take that gravity, booyah!" I would have said, if I could speak.<br /><br />One time I saved a kid who was almost drowning.<br /><br />I didn't quite suck at snowboarding as much as I thought I would the last time I went.<br /><br />When I was ten, I got up in front of like 5,000 people and sang "Hero" by Mariah Carey. I think that was when I was too young to be scared out of my mind of singing in front of large groups.<br /><br />I won DECA State two years in a row, in Financial Managment Decision Making. I never studied, and I hate banks.<br /><br />I've been to Disney World twice.<br /><br />I once got to participate in a Pirate ship activity that involved throwing cannonballs.<br /><br />I've been to Nassau.<br /><br />A few months ago, I finally got to go to Graumann's Chinese Theater. Matt Damon has freakishly small hands.<br /><br />I graduated high school and went on to college. Trust me, where I come from, that's way cool.<br /><br />I kissed the 2004 national DECA president on live television.<br /><br />I've been on TV lotsa times. Lame, KBYU TV.<br /><br />I have still never been arrested.<br /><br />I once drove Hawthorne Heights to a haunted house, and made up a story that made the base player scream like a little girl.<br /><br />When I was in high school, Reel Big Fish came into Coldstone while I was working and I had them sign my timecard for my brother.<br /><br />I've never drank alcohol, smoked, or puked in a sock drawer.<br /><br />I've written about 5 book outlines, but still no proposals.<br /><br />I almost pierced my belly button, once. (Robbie wouldn't let me, but I would have)<br /><br />I lived in Hawaii, and jumped off waterfalls almost every day after work.<br /><br />I lived in Vail, and it was freaking cold.<br /><br />I tripped over Shaun White.<br /><br />I can play one song on the guitar. I don't know the words yet.<br /><br />I have two of the coolest brothers EVER.<br /><br />I made friends with a four year old who doesn't like ANYBODY. And I did it with cheese.<br /><br />I could sing the entire score of Phantom of the Opera, with lyrics, when I was 8.<br /><br />I taught roughly 60 people how to salsa dance one summer.<br /><br />I once taught someone my own version of the discussions, three days before I never saw her again. I wonder if she ever read the book I gave her.<br /><br />I lived in a nudist colony camp for a week when I was 14, but there was a strict "clothes on in front of visitors" policy. Thaaankfullyyy...<br /><br />I've done nine internships.<br /><br />My mom still doesn't know about the time I got in trouble at girls camp for stealing 40 lbs of green beans. We gave em back! Eventually.<br /><br />I go to BYU, I'm over 21, and I'm still single!<br /><br />I still talk to my best friend from when I was 12.<br /><br />I still haven't graduated, and I don't care if I was supposed to.<br /><br />I have remained alive and relatively healthy for 21 years, 23 hours, and five minutes. And still breathing!<br /><br />And now, for my greatest accomplishment of all, I am going to try to go to bed before midnight!!! (A first in a very long time)Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-1730417701121838282008-01-05T16:53:00.001-08:002008-01-05T17:06:40.418-08:00Why I Never Learn My Lesson:I would just like to take a brief moment to say, HA. Ha ha ha ha ha, ha ha. This goes out to all the hundreds of students who waste time studying every day. Those who camp out in the library, who give up opportunities to grab pizza on the way to (or in lieu of) classes, and those who don't date because they "are too busy with school".<br /><br />I am here to tell you that all of these "time proven" and "classic" strategies of study are overrated. And I MIGHT get thrown into Karma hell for saying this, but it's true this semester. At least for me.<br /><br />Can I get a witness that I did not go to class for at least 1/3 of the semester, not because I had any truly pressing engagements or emergencies, but mostly because I just "didn't feel like it"? Or that I stayed up all night the week of finals watching Youtube videos and knitting, instead of cramming? For one of my finals, I literally just walked in and took it without looking at a book beforehand. But did this stop me from having a positive attitude? No, it DID NOT!<br /><br />Alas, my friends. I fear that I may be permanently ruined by my continuous occurences of freak academic luck. If we had skin on our teeth, as the adage says, mine would probably be gone by now, due to frequently catching the edge of an grade with minimal effort on my part. It only adds insult to the injuries of fairness that I got an A in almost every class. Indeed. I am probably going to be punished for this in the long run.<br /><br />But for now, I'm not sorry!Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-69265546448127578522007-12-06T01:18:00.000-08:002007-12-06T01:27:37.579-08:00Why NOT World Peace?***Disclaimer: This post is probably not a good idea for people who are narrow-minded, overly judgmental of 3am blog posts, or who are smarter than me.***<br /><br />If I may preach a bit:<br /><br />People always say that life is full of choices.<br /><br />Why is it that when beauty pageant contestants are asked what their one wish would be, they always seem to say World Peace? Does this seem a little too consistent to anyone else, like maybe they've all visited the same lobotomy doctor? Why not an end to famine, or an end to American obesity? Or heck, if you're going to go that far into the realm of "<span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">anything's</span> possible" lobotomized thinking, why not just say "World Happiness" and leave it at that. I'm sure it would lead to World Peace, but the two are not necessarily mutually exclusive. For example,<br />there might technically be peace in America, but that doesn't mean that thousands don't go to sleep hungry. And loads of people <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">commit</span> suicide every day.<br /><br />As Aldous Huxley suggested in a Brave New World, peace all over the world won't necessarily mean that everything is going to be okay. We could have peace and subjugation, like in Orwell's 1984. Or, we could one day reach peace simply because we've become too compliant to fight with each other. Maybe we're all going to drown ourselves in pleasure until we're either too fat or too stoned to care about anything, much less fighting for things we want or think we need.<br />Whatever the case, (and I know that this is an unpopular point of view) I don't necessarily feel that peace is the answer to all of our problems. An end to fighting will not end hatred for the small-minded, just as an end to discussion will not end a difference in opinion.<br /><br />I started thinking along this line of topic earlier tonight when Tara asked me what I would end, if I could end anything in the world. I thought about it for about two seconds. "Dishonesty" was my answer. In this, I meant that not only would people no longer feel the need or be able to lie to one another, but to themselves as well. Just think, about 70% of the world's problems would become that much simpler. No more murders going unpunished, because all we would have to do is ask someone if they did it, and they would respond. No more closet pornography addicts<br />masquerading as husbands and fathers. Much less gossip, because people would only say what they knew to be true. No more relationship grief, no more cheating. Dating would be a cinch: "Do you like me?" "No." "Okay then, thanks for playing." No more crappy talk shows. Lawyers would be nearly obsolete. No more international terrorism: "Do you have a bomb?" "No." "Okay then, have a nice flight, Mr. Abdul." No more girls pretending to eat. No more wondering whether what a person is saying is genuine.<br /><br />I think in all the world, the thing that has caused me the most pain over time has been not knowing the truth until it is too late, or being mislead by people I trusted. Which is not to say that I've never lied. I have, and I know the shame that comes from knowingly presenting the<br />opposite of truth, and the effects it can have on the world. If I could go back in time, I think the ONLY things I would change are things I have said that were either untrue in general, or untrue to myself as a person. There is no despair greater than hindsight, the knowledge that you went down a path without letting yourself truly see what you were doing, or thinking about what your choices meant.<br /><br />Why not just re-evaluate some things? Maybe we're not all really living the lives we seem to lead. In fact, I'm sure a lot of us aren't. If we all took a second to question our motives, or ask ourselves if we really believe the things that we say, wouldn't things like war and hatred just kind of die out on their own? And if they didn't, at least we wouldn't have to walk around in so many circles before we came up with a solution to each of the world's problems.Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-56151392132734923712007-11-29T23:27:00.000-08:002007-11-29T23:31:30.543-08:00Stress = School + Time x Apathy. Solution = Comic<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NpynS5fehs8/R0-71L3o8MI/AAAAAAAAACM/x31_PbMOLOg/s1600-R/illness.png"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5138532222246645954" style="CURSOR: hand" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NpynS5fehs8/R0-71L3o8MI/AAAAAAAAACM/Q_J_fycv03w/s320/illness.png" border="0" /></a><br /><div></div>Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-39927380992839863702007-11-19T22:59:00.000-08:002007-11-19T23:02:25.682-08:00Avatars<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NpynS5fehs8/R0KGer3o8FI/AAAAAAAAABM/W6QOgBTnDRM/s1600-h/Avatar2.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5134814386886078546" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_NpynS5fehs8/R0KGer3o8FI/AAAAAAAAABM/W6QOgBTnDRM/s320/Avatar2.gif" border="0" /></a><br /><div><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NpynS5fehs8/R0KGXb3o8EI/AAAAAAAAABE/qUJDXukW_Zo/s1600-h/Avatar1.gif"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5134814262332026946" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; CURSOR: hand; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_NpynS5fehs8/R0KGXb3o8EI/AAAAAAAAABE/qUJDXukW_Zo/s320/Avatar1.gif" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><div>Hey, it's me if I were made by a crazy Japanese animation person!</div><br /><br /><div></div><br /><br /><div></div></div>Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-24813834175992109022007-10-29T14:07:00.000-07:002007-10-29T14:14:56.379-07:00Abnormal MaladyMy heart is pounding, my breath comes in shorts gasps. My head feels as if it's about to explode. I can't remember a time when I did not feel this way, as though memories of the light and life that used to be mine have been snuffed out, along with my ability to breathe normally. My hands shake, my voice is a scarred and unrealistic representation of itself- or maybe it's really someone else's. My neck wants to collapse with the burden of holding my pounding head erect, and I never want to leave this bed again to venture out into the cruel world that caused this terrible state.<br /><br />What is wrong with me, you ask? Is it unrequited love? Anger? Jealousy? Hate?<br /><br />No. It's a freaking head cold. And I swear on everything both holy and desecrated that if it moves into my chest, there won't be words for the suffering that follows. Call me dramatic, but I hate being sick more than anything else in the entire world. More than being tired, wet, cold, or drowning. Seriously, it sucks. Pity me, cause I don't know if I'm going to make it!Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-76881068812489894702007-10-29T00:29:00.001-07:002007-11-19T22:50:52.673-08:00Treatise on SchoolIn this, my friends, I'll be brief.<br /><br /><br /><br />School is a bore,<br /><br />And feels like a chore<br /><br />Instead of before,<br /><br />When I loved to explore<br /><br />What was in store.<br /><br />There was knowledge galore<br /><br />And now, I implore<br /><br />Each day is a war,<br /><br />For class I ignore<br /><br />I don't go anymore.<br /><br />My money I pour<br /><br />Don't check my test score<br /><br />My head's a dull roar,<br /><br />And school makes me snore<br /><br />So let's go to war,<br /><br />And rebel some more<br /><br />"It's on!" will we roar<br /><br />As we even the score,<br /><br />With our once paramour<br /><br />And school will be nevermore.Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-73336591497496525512007-10-25T01:04:00.000-07:002007-10-25T01:22:44.854-07:00Stolen Philosophies"The best way to waste your life, ... is by taking notes. The easiest way to avoid living is to just watch. Look for the details. Report. Don't participate.” - <a class="sqa" href="http://en.thinkexist.com/quotes/chuck_palahniuk/">Chuck <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0">Palahniuk</span> </a><br /><br />I love this. It's what I'm all about lately. Don't think. Don't study things out overmuch. Don't worry what is going to happen if I choose A, or what <span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1">could've</span> happened if I chose B. Watch, and learn, and be. Reporting is what I do. I see subtle hints in the world, themes and quirks that make up life- and I express it the way I can. Living is what I have often studied, but not truly done until now. Enjoyment can be found in the simplest things. People have been saying it for centuries, and why disagree? Why not just seek instead to find those things for ourselves? I have never been an advocate of the "Life should be easy" school of thought, but I do not believe that life should be automatic. Or programmed. Like everything that is divine in man's experience, great events in life should be surprising, revolutionary, and profound. I endeavor to live an <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2">existence</span> comprised of such moments. To record my profound moments of inspiration as if they are <span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3">Iliads</span> or Odysseys of epic proportions. Because for me, they are.Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-74326703647280741912007-10-15T01:58:00.000-07:002007-10-15T02:01:53.628-07:00What can I say that hasn't already been said?This pretty much says it all: everything there is to know about me right now.<br /><br /><em>Pen Holder</em>, Flyleaf<br /><br />I feel your eyes crawling over me<br />As though I am something more than me<br />But I don't have anything good enough to say<br />I did not make myself this way<br /><br />I'll show you what he did,<br />But I won't take the credit<br />It's not mine anyway<br />I just held the pen that day<br /><br />And I don't deserve this<br />This time right now<br />It's not something for which I can take the bow<br />And I don't deserve this<br />It wasn't me<br />I can't take glory for something that I can't be<br />I don't deserve this<br /><br />I know what perfection is like<br />And I cannot stand before its might<br />And I'm so far from what you think that I must be<br />I just drown myself in mercy<br /><br />And all the art that I supposedly create<br />Is simply a faded reflection of something He's already madeVandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-35283100419906096812007-10-03T02:54:00.000-07:002007-10-03T03:05:41.722-07:00Endings and BeginningsWhen I someday sit down and write the story of my life, it will be merely the highlights--the parts that I remember, that have stood out in some way because of their importance. Moments like this, they seem so crucial when they happen, until a little time passes and then they pale in comparison with the things that last. These moments I'm referring to are the endings.<br /><br />No one really knows, when a saga begins, if it will be one that continues forever. Was it a chance meeting between two heavanly beings, destined to collide and form a greater body much later in history? Do two events merely brush for a moment, and then continue on barely worse for the wear? I submit that you'll never really know if you've begun an ending, or a beginning, until it ends. Or, it doesn't.<br /><br />This happens in every aspect of life. Some seem to have it figured out from the beginning, but really, they just chose right on the first try. Others of us locate our destinies by the trial and error method, finding out what is wrong only when we hit the wall and have to go back again. I seem to do this a lot more often, and in my search for the path that is truly mine to wear, I seem to have covered more territory. In this way, I am an accidental explorer of possible destinies, a traveler on walkabout who often becomes lost but is not really lost at all, because the destination is as yet unknown. Yes, in this way, I tend to earn a bit more than my share of scrapes and scars, but I also end up with more stories to tell at the end of the day.<br /><br />And today is an ending. One that I will not regret, for I cannot have known. It's true that there will always be second-guessing, on whether I should have turned back much earlier, or brought along less baggage that I will now have to lug all the way home, or perhaps whether the choice to pursue this particular path was even a strong bet. In the end, all I can do is shrug, rub some ointment on it, and shoulder my pack for another beginning. One which will hopefully end differently, or not at all.Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-31914329240393595002007-09-25T14:04:00.000-07:002007-09-25T14:39:16.160-07:00Faking ItWhenever a door closes, another one (or a window) opens. Variations of such. It just wasn't meant to be. Whatever doesn't kill you, makes you stronger. You're so much better off without him, her, them. Don't cry because it's over; smile because it happened.<br />Fake it till you make it.<br /><br />A lot of people say a lot of things about love. Some say it is an illusion, or that there are different levels unseen to the human eye, and each has its own different set of rules. Some also say that it is foolish to give love without receiving it in return, instead going about it in increments, until the person to whom you are giving your heart matches your bet and then raises to the next level. That is the logical economical way of going about loving people, like it's a casino game.<br /><br />But in my life, I've come to realize a curse I seem to have that's maybe not a curse at all. I seem to always be giving my heart to people who either don't really want all of it, want it only some of the time, or change their minds and try to return it later. Or, I'll want to give it but when I go to look for it, it's gone and I can't seem to remeber who I loaned it to that hasn't yet given it back. Life is funny that way. Great minds are always quoting about how you can choose everything. But there are a lot of things that I find myself doing that I didn't choose. Holding onto things that my mind doesn't want anymore, or fighting against feelings that I can't explain, I don't know where they come from.<br /><br />I like to think of myself as an independant force, completely in control of my own actions. But sometimes I have to wonder who is really pulling the strings. Because I know it's not me. Or is it just a different version? In times like these, I find that I enter a semi-liquid state. No longer a rock, my feelings change drastically and daily, and I often don't know which way is up. But I pretend I do, because showing my fear and asking for help would be totally unacceptable. So I freeze or I boil, depending on the day. But on the outside, I'm jello. I bounce back from everything that happens to me (or it looks like I do) and wiggle in a cheery way so that no one gets down by being around me. (I actually really do this, in case you've never seen it.) I smile and laugh and sometimes I think am actually a more likeable person when I'm secretly miserable.<br /><br />Sometimes, I'm proud of my ability to so convincingly <em>fake it until I make it.</em> But I have to wonder, what happens when I do make it, but can't stop faking?Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-33035020.post-47061219773576822142007-09-20T00:38:00.000-07:002007-09-20T02:31:09.207-07:00Insurrection in MatrimoniaI love creme brulee. It's a delicious french dessert, and it never fills you up, and yet somehow you end up regretting it, but in a good way. But my favorite part is the crispy sugary crust that coats the top of the underlying gooiness... and this is where that tangent ends. However, the tangent did have a point, and it was that sometimes, there is a gooey exterior hidden underneath a sometimes brittle or sugary topping.<br /><br />In the first case, I would like to point out exibit A. The roomate, I think we're calling her Ohara, who is actually a lot like me. You see, at first, I had her pegged as one of those girls who is, ah... shall we say, kind of a brat. Daddy's girl, different boy every week, yada yada yada... but in short, I was way off. She's actually a super nice, way cool person who is secretly hilarious. And then there's Helga. Exhibit B. I somehow managed to leave this out last time, but ironically enough my second (obviously not the first, which was the "I hate animals" convo) impression of her was pretty good. She seemed nice, actually. And this is where we draw the line between the creamy broads and the rotten fruits.<br /><br />See, we had a conversation in my house tonight that didn't just scare me, it kinda terrified me. Because somehow, it started out as a free-for-all making fun of engagement pictures time, and before we knew it, most of the cynics present had brought out their prototype wedding rings and were comparing band sizes and carat preferences. Can I just say AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA<br />AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA<br />AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA<br />AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU<br />UUUUGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! ?<br /><br />I appear to be living with a house full of closet matrimoniphiles. Are you SERIOUS!? Here, I thought that moving into an older ward of house dwellers was like anti-engagement insurance. And now I see I've unwittingly joined the secret chapter of Marriage Hopefuls Anonymous.<br /><br />I mean, don't get me wrong, marriage to the "right one" is great and everything, but I tend to look at is more as a life-changing pact between two people who are really, really into each other. Not so much as an institution that must be adhered to, or a final clause in a contract that one has to complete before graduation, or else.<br /><br />But although I am a confirmed and dedicated member of the Insurrectionists of Matrimonia guerilla party, I have to stop and wonder when moments of honest insanity like this happen: are we all (and by we, I mean single women in Provo) really just kidding ourselves? Is everyone really just trying to display themselves to their best husband-catching advantages, like in a Jane Austen novel? Meanwhile man-hating facades decorate every other doorway and spiteful literations abound, but all we really seek is an end to our false desire for independance? We advertise ourselves as big game, more impressive and worth a considerable challenge, but we seem to put up a surprisingly pathetic struggle when the hunters actually do come calling.<br /><br />It's a little like a theme park, actually. (And when I run out of analogies, I'll let you know.) All signs advertise a big scare and lots of adrenaline fueling escapades, but gosh darn if there isn't lots of cotton candy and seatbelts to destroy the illusion of a real adventure. Kid stuff, really. And I'm partially joking about the cotton candy. It's delicious, even if it really is just spun sugar with a little high-fructose corn syrup (which is essentially, sugar) and a little flavoring thrown in.<br /><br />All I'm really saying is... Girls, honestly. If we really expect people to believe our declarations of stand-alone awesomeness, shouldn't the coating go all the way to the inside? And not just a fake diploma or two (Ahem, MFHD...) to throw off the scent of desperation? Let's just be WHO WE REALLY ARE. (Whether that be sassy know-it-alls, wish-we-could-be-bad girls, or scary German perfectionists...seriously scary ones) Because, we AREN'T catalogue entries or items on a dessert menu.<br /><br />And inevitably, I think the men we're truly after (but say we aren't) won't be looking just at the surface, anyway.Vandersunhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09062558423838419104noreply@blogger.com3