Little Game of Love

See what I've been working on this semester:


www.littlegameoflove.blogspot.com

Thank you, and goodnight

A Few Things

I've decided a few things:

• I hate that I blush so easily. 
• I NEVER want to live in a big city. 
• Boys who strut make me laugh- at them. 
• I love missionaries, and missionary work. 
• I love love love to make people laugh. 
• I acutally really like dangly earrings.
• I would rather eat something salty than sweet. 
• I wish that every enjoyable moment of my life could be photographed. 
• I miss Montana every day, and hope that I never stop missing it.
• I'm a little narcissistic, and a little vain.
• I love the Book of Mormon. 
• What I lack in skill I make up in trash talk.
• I like men that wear tool belts, but I don't like men that are tools. 
• I very much believe in Jesus Christ. 
• I'm not a missionary anymore, but I still love to get mail. 
• Demetri Martin's jokes never get old. "Ladies..." 
• My family is a little unconventional, but I really like them. 

That's all. Thank you, and goodnight. 

Nair

I would like to tell you a story. While I was on my mission, I served in a place called Kalispell. While there, I found myself in a car share with two Elders by the names of Lanham and Henriksen. They are dear friends, and we had many a good times. Sometimes the Elders would have sleepovers. I will not begin to try to explain what happens at these sleepover. Just know that when Sister Ivie and I would ask, we would quickly withdraw the question when the Elders began to look uncomfortable answering.

Car Share in Ronan

There seemed to be an epidemic among the Elders in regards to leg shaving. In fact, one night, Ivie and I got a phone call from our Zone Leader asking us how to prevent razor burn on his thighs. After laughing for approximately 18 minutes, we got control of ourselves, and life could move forward. When we finally caught up with the Elders the next day, the first ones we saw were the Columbia Falls Elders,  Buckman and Colby. Being like, my best friend and all, it only made sense to tell Buckman about how our Zone Leader shaves his legs. We get done telling the story, holding the sides of our stomachs, and wiping tears from our eyes only to look at an abashed looking Elder Buckman looking back at us. "Oh, is that weird that he shaves his legs?" Buckman asked. "Um, yeah!" I respond, shocked that he was not sharing in the hilarity of it all. Elder Buckman looked slightly sheepish and changes the subject. Something was up.

Elder Buckman and Sister Buchanan

Eventually, Sister Ivie and I decided to ditch the Elders and to the rest of our P-Day shopping by ourselves. We stole the key from Elder Lanham, run across the parking lot, and began to suffocate in the heat of the enclosed vehicle. But something was terribly wrong. The most putrid, and foul odor I have ever experienced began to creep into my consciousness. "What is that?! Do you smell that??" I asked Sister Ivie. With a look of utter disdain that confirmed my fears, we began to search for the source of the stench. Glove compartment? No. Underneath the seats? No. Underneath the mats? No. I open up a little compartment on the dash, and what do I find? A seemingly harmless legal size envelope. I pick it up, and give out a little scream. "What is THAT?!" There was a dark brown goop seeping through the envelope that could quite possibly kill a small child if inhaled too quickly. My imagination began to run rampant as to what could be contained inside this envelope of death. I turn it over, and I behold that it is addressed to an "ELDER BUCKWOMAN" who was currently residing in Columbia Falls, Montana. It was Elder Lanham's handwriting.

 Henriksen, Lanham, Ivie, Buchanan

Trying not to vomit at the swelling stench that was killing us slowly, I bolt out of the car, envelope in hand and track down a one Elder Michael Lanham. "WHAT IS THIS???" I scream at him waving the defiled envelope in front of his face. A mixture of emotions plays across his face, and he finally gives me a sheepish grin. "So you found that, huh?" Ready to punch him in the face, I demand an explanation. Apparently, the Kalispell Elder and the Columbia Falls Elders had had a sleepover the night before, and Elder Buckman had Naired his legs. Vomit. Ever so sneakily, Elder Lanham swept up the remnants of his leg hair, and was going to mail it to him. I had to appreciate the sheer comedic genius of this plan, and began to laugh and laugh. Suddenly not feeling quite as hostile towards these fine servants of God, I told Elder Lanham we could only be friends again if he promised to clean out the car, and keep Elder Buckman's leg hair locked in the trunk. He complied, shampooed the carpets 4 times, and to this day if you asked Michael Lanham about Nair, I'm sure he would laugh.

I only bring this up because last night I had the single worst experience of my whole life. I tried to wax my underarms. I failed epically, and there is a perma-red patch that burn like the dickens. I refuse to go on, but from now until eternity I will be sticking with one of two options: Professionals from Vietnam, or Nair. I refuse to send you any in a legal size envelope, however. Thank you, and goodnight.

Confession Session.

I wish I could sing like ADELE. I wish I could take back every mean thing I've ever said. I wish I was a genius at driving a stick shift. I wish I could teleport to Montana right now. I wish I could tell everyone they are a child of God. I wish that my future husband is a babe. I wish that I could pull off the color mustard. I wish that all the stuff in my room would magically pack itself. I wish I could remember everything I've ever learned. I wish I could fast forward a couple months, and take a peek at my life.

I'm grateful for my family. I'm grateful that God's plans are not my plans. I'm grateful for my mission. I'm grateful for cream cheese and jalapenos. I'm grateful for Coldplay. I'm grateful for the temple. I'm grateful for red lipstick. I'm grateful for witty people. I'm grateful for Forever 21. I'm grateful for the Restoration of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I'm grateful for attractive attorneys. I'm grateful for the Priesthood. I'm grateful for hard things.

I like chips and salsa. I like manly men. I like the cello. I like Rexburg. I like road trips and dance parties. I like memories. I like blogging. I like Daniel Craig. I like the color red. I like sharing the gospel. I like to sing. I like to dance. I like to write. I like to laugh. I like Will, Polly, Gardner, Julie, Cooper, Nate, McKenzie, and Jillian. I like my dog. I like Facebook. I like Wendy's. I like black and white photography.

That's all. Thank you, and goodnight.

Dirt Bag

So it happened. I re-entered the dating world. And quite frankly, I'm already over it. So here's the story: My second Sunday back I went to the singles ward. I very quickly became very overwhelmed as a certain young man named Tim asked for my number. Oh snap. I was completely out of my element. I'm used to passing my number out the masses on the back of a mormon.org card, while resigning myself to the fact that more likely than not, this potential investigator will not call back. But this is different. A very single man was asking for mine, and had every intention in the world of calling me back. Oh dang, oh dang, oh dang. But, I figured it would be good practice for me to re-enter society with. So I complied.

A week later, via text, I had myself a date set up. The Elders serving in my ward informed me that it was lame to be asked out via text. "You are not a dog, and that is not a whistle!" A rule to live by. Nevertheless, I still had a date for Thursday. It was a nice date. He took me to a Mexican restaurant, we talked about our missions, and I very much enjoyed my Chile Verde burrito. Then, after mentioning that I was in the process of learning how to drive a stick, Tim offered to let me practice with his car. I agreed. We drove tot he church parking lot. That sneaky little boy put the moves on me as he showed me how to shift. He carefully, and meticulously placed his hand on top of mine to show me how to go from first to second gear. Real sly, sir. Real sly. I gave him a look or two, but didn't say anything. Sneaky little devil. I'm not ready for these kinds of games...

He took me back home, and I was trying to think of how I could sneak in a handshake, but he went in for the hug, and it was a nice enough date that I figured I may as well just comply. We had another date set up... but Tim wanted to take things to the next level... like texting me every minute of the day. Kind of weird. Just met ya. And not that into ya. Sorry, Tim. I would respond with one word answers, and sometimes just not respond. I felt like a jerk! But that's what dating does. It turns people into dirt bags. I am such a dirt bag. I kept thinking, "You have to be wondering what I'm thinking, Tim!" It's not like I was really giving him anything to go off of here. Poor guy, he gave it a valiant effort.

Finally, via text (because two can play this game...) I told him that I just wasn't that into him. Pretty sure I felt like a jerk, and pretty sure he was a little bit upset. Sorry, Tim. He ended up canceling our date for tomorrow, and I can't say I blame him. I think it's a little bit better this way. Bless your heart, Tim. One day you'll find a babe that will love everything about you. I'm just not her. Best of luck though. One day, I'll go on a date with some hottie I very much like. See, everything will all work out, Tim. Sure do love ya. (Not in that way. It's fine.) Thank you, and goodnight.

Complex

Okay, so I've never been that great at commitment. In fact you could say that many a time, I've shied away from it. Number of real life relationships: 1. Number of kind of relationships: let's not go there. Am I ashamed? heavens no. Do I have a possible complex? eh, you're getting warmer. This fear of commitment doesn't just extend to the realm of dating and courtship; oh no, this covers gym memberships, phone contracts, hey, I get nervous downloading Adobe Flash Player onto my computer. Going on a mission almost killed me, but it was way less stressful than eternal marriage. 18 months, or the rest of eternity? So I went on a mission. Now, coming home, there are a lot of things looming ahead that require a great deal of commitment. I'm taking them one day at a time. I've been on a date and have a few more coming up. I'm registered for school, and will be attending in the Fall. Today I did something that has commitment written all over it. I am how the owner of a 2007 Chevy Cobalt. It is beautiful. But as I sat in the muggy office at Mickey's Car Dealership, I felt the perspiration begin to form on my forehead, and not just from the lack of air conditioning. I was signing my life away 37 times on the dotted line, I realized that I was locking myself into the longest relationship I will have ever had. 5 years. Oh dang. I may or may not have freaked out, and contemplated ripping up the contract, and running out of the room. Reason prevailed, and instead I drove off the lot in my very own car. It was worth it. Am I still learning how to drive the stick shift? Why yes. Did I kill it turning onto my road today? Indeed. But did I love love love driving down the 101 as the sun set into the Bay? Absolutley I did. I think I'm going to look good in red. Thank you, and goodnight.

Wave Racer

Today is beautiful. I went running on my beach. It was rather fortuitious. I had the assignement of driving Nate to foootball practice, and decided to take advantage of the trip down the hill to hit the gym. Swamped, and stressed with the arduous task of selecting an auto insurance provider, I waited until the last possible minute to get ready to go. Racing around, trying to get changed, grabing my ipod, and throwing back my hair, I get out the door in record time. Nate and I race down Wildcat road, screaming as if we are on a roller coaster. More often than not he offers some dating advice, and rolls his eyes at me. We get into town when it hits me that in my hurry to get out the door, I forgot two major things. The key to the gym, and running shoes. Oh snap. "You could just go run barefoot at the beach," Nate offers. This is why I love him. I drop him off, and head to Centerville Beach, my Somewhere Only We Know place.

It was a perfect day. Slight breeze, sun shining, and not too many people. I turn up Chris Brown's "Forever" and start running. I haven't run in sand for a while, and it surprised me at how quickly it wore me out, but I didn't care. The sound of the ocean waves hitting the coast, combined with the smell of the sea salt made it all worth it. I looked into those foamy sea green waves and smiled. I kept running passing some hopeful looking fishermen, and watched some birds flying low on the water. I started running closer to the waves. When a particularly forceful wave would crash into the sand, I ran faster trying to escape the white foam from rushing around my bare feet. This game took me back 16 years to another sandy beach near Los Angeles, California. I was 7. My family and I were on the vacations of all vacations. I had just met Pocahontas and flown on a pirate ship; we had gone to Disneyland. But that evening, we watched the sunset from the beach. I remember thinking that life would never get any better. But it's our game that I remember most. We would get as close to the incoming waves as we could, and race back as they would rip across the hot sand towards our feet. Running, laughing, falling into the salty water, this is one of my favorite childhood memories.

Today I played that game again, smiling inspite of myself. I come to a tower of rocks, wondering if I would be able to outrun the crashing waves beating against the ancient rocks. I edge closer and closer, but am no match for the elements. The wave crahses over me, soaking me head to toe. Sand is in my hair, my eyes, my mouth. I laugh, and run the other way. The ocean has won the game again. I pray that my iPhone isn't damaged, assess it quickly, and without finding too much damage, run back the way I started. The hot sand begins to burn my feet, but I don't care. My heart is full of memories, my hair full of sand, and my face full of sun. It was a good day. Thank you, and goodnight.

Lifehouse's Everything Skit

I loved this. It's absolutley the truth. Very touching, and moving. Jesus Christ truly is our Savior. Thank you, and goodnight.

Hey Soul Sister

This is a little shout out to my sisters. McKenzie, and Cheyenne. Love them. Sometimes we watch movies. Sometimes we have dance parties. Sometimes Cheyenne teaches us the "Thriller" dance. Sometimes we talk about our Super-Secret-Spy Crushes. Sometimes we eat food. Sometimes we tell secrets. I love them. Thank you, and goodnight.

Oakland.

On Monday my dad had surgery on his eyes, so we road tripped it to Oakland. Please note, that this is the first time I've been in a real city in over 18 months. It was kind of crazy, but super fun. Before my mission, I wanted nothing more than to move to San Francisco, Manhattan, or Boston and live the big city life. Then God laughed at me, sent me to Montana, and changed my heart. Now, the city is a big and stressful place. I miss the openness and beauty of Montana. The rolling hills, vast wheat fields, and breathtaking mountain landscapes. Heavenly Father sure is a tricky one. He shows us what we really want.

Anyways- we arrived in Oakland, Kenzie and I hit the pool, and my Dad got a little bit of lasik. A little later, my Mom and sister and I attempted the daunting task of shopping for clothes. Confession session: Shopping for clothes is my favorite thing in the whole world. I LOVE clothes. For the past little while I'd been wearing frumpy grandma clothes. There is absolutely nothing hot about being a sister missionary. But, it may have brain washed me just a little bit. I remember in my first couple months of missionary life, I would get ready in the morning, look in the mirror, and feel depressed with how bad I looked. Hottie Grandma. Then, a couple weeks went by, and I began to be a little more confident rocking the white collar shirt, and red v-neck sweater. Suddenly, my mind began to warp, and I would look in the mirror, and think, "Dang, I look good." The transformation had begun. Now I have the task of undoing the damage. I had to relearn what was cute, and try to learn the new snappy styles. Let me just say that I failed epically on my first couple attempts. But that's another story. Luckily we found a Forever 21, and I felt like I real girl again. Grandma days: OVER.

The next morning, we popped on over to the Oakland temple. It was beautiful. Best part? I met one of my mission companions, Sister Emily Ivie there. She drove down from San Jose, and we had a little party. Love her. We reminisced, talked about mission drama, and laughed at the crazy things that happened to us in Kalispell. Like the time that creepy man at the library gave me this classy line: "If I owned a bakery, you'd be my sweetest cupcake..." Or when elders would call us and ask us for advice on what to do about razor burn. Classic. Then we ate at The Old San Francisco Creamery. Best ice cream ever.

 A little more shopping, a sassy new dress, and some Panda Express later, we called it a night, and were all ready to go home. The next morning met us with a 5 hour car ride back to Ferndale. I got a little bored, and maybe I took a photo shoot on my phone. I heart iPhones. Also, I love road trips with my crazy family. But ultimately I love the days where nothing necessarily newsworthy happens, but you go to bed happy because guess what? Life is good. Thank you, and goodnight.

Time Capsule

Yesterday there were more adventures in cleaning out the barn. I stumbled across a time capsule that I made back in the day. Where were you on November 17, 1999? I was collecting personal keepsakes, and writing letters to my future spouse. If I remember correctly, at age 11, I figured I would be married by 2010, and so I said that I would open in the night before my wedding. Well- that didn't happen. But I opened it anyways.

To my amusement I found pictures of the 11-year-old Emmilie Buchanan along with her hand and foot prints. Also, a list of 11-year-old like. Her hobbies? Cooking, scrapbooking, writing. Stuff she likes to collect? Cow stuff and hotel soap. Her favorite color? Lime Green. Favorite clothes? Toe socks, jeans, blue collar shirts. Favorite book? Harry Potter. Favorite song? Reflections (from Mulan). I was a cool kid. Included in my time capsule was the script for the first play I ever did, some hotel soap from my fabulous collection, and some cow figurines. Also a beanie baby and some ticket stubs from school plays I was in.

My favorite part was the letter I wrote to myself. It was pretty funny. It talked about how I was getting married to the "dude of my dreams." I gave myself a few pointers about getting married.

1. Don't freak out.
2. "Have daddy give you a blessing."
3. Remember that "your dude will take care of you."

My 11-year-old self gave the getting married version of myself a little pep talk. "Now, you are probably going to have some pretty big butterflies, but talk to the Lord for help. Your dude will take care of you."

Thanks 11-year-old self. Now marriage will be a piece of cake. All that's left for me to do is find my dude. Thank you, and goodnight.

Montana Part 1

Never in my life have I loved a place more than I love Montana. I've forever left a part of my heart there among the rolling hills, the big sky, and the mountainous ranges. Yet among all of the physical beauty of Montana, I came to love a beauty far more powerful and lasting. It was the beauty of the goodness of the hearts of the people. I love them. They forever changed my life, and I will eternally praise my God that he sent me to labor among them.

MTC!!

Hiking the Rims in Billings, MT

Georgie Scheetz. She is special. We taught Georgie in my first area. Her love and testimony of the Restored Gospel of Jesus Christ strengthened mine, and taught me to love missionary work.

Sister Smith, Sister Buchanan, Sister Engstrom.

Sister Stalions and I at Zone Conference in Miles City.

The Musselman Family. They are amazing! Heather and Craig and their sweet kids.

Glacier National Park. Hiking to Hidden Lake. Legit.

Elder Lanham, Sister Ivie, Sister Buchanan, Elder Colby, Elder Henriksen, Elder Buckman

Specialized Training in Missoula.

Elder Buckman and I being thugs at a bar in Eureka. Yes, a bar. Hooray for bowling on P-Day.

Jeremie Flanigan! Sister Ivie and I taught him in Kalispell. It was amazing to see the power of the Atonement change someones life so drastically. It's all real my friends.

Our sweet car share in Kalispell. Sister Ivie, Elder Lanham, Sister Buchanan, Elder Henriksen.

Outdoor Zone Conference in Ronan.

I love Montana. Stay tuned for part 2. I'll tell you a secret- it's really good. Thank you, and goodnight.

Rat Babies

Alright boys and girls- I'm back. Stay tuned for some sweet stories about the mission, but for now listen to this tale of horror.

Serving a mission entitles you to a lot of things. You get to wear the black name tag. You are in a perma-state of sleep deprivation. You go through the emotional unrest of being released. Upon your arrival, you have the arduous task of going though all of your stuff that's been packed away in boxes for the past 18 months. Yesterday, the task of "thinning out" my stuff began.

Nate and I loaded up the back of the car with boxes from the barn and drove to the back of the house. Nate started a fire and started burning the garbage that we found. A lot of the boxes had been damaged, which resulted in a lot of my stuff being destroyed. Cool. The second box was not nearly as salvageable as the first. There was a lot of filth and mold... super awesome. Suddenly, I was moving things around and saw something that looked suspiciously like a nest resting by my red phone. Oh dang. I gingerly moved it thinking, "how in the world did this get here?" I started screaming bloody murder as 4 pink creatures fell out of the nest. RAT BABIES. Not like developed rats or anything- oh no. Fresh from a FETUS rat babies!! Worst moment of my life. Now for the record, I can handle a lot of things: spiders, flies, bees, any kind of bug really. Are we besties? No- but there is definitely a mutual understanding. Rats and mice on the other hand- no sir.

Upon hearing my blood curdling screams, my mom came running to the window. "What's the matter?" I explained the situation, my voice rising in hysteria. "Oh. Um... one second." She responds. Not two minutes later she walks out back carrying our 21-year-old cat. Great. "Is she going to eat them??" I asked, sounding appaled. My mom gave me a look as if to say, "Yes, moron." She placed the cat in the box, and I held my breath and turned away- I did not wish to partake of the carnage and MURDER. Luckily, neither did my ancient cat. She looked at the babies, took a sniff or two, and climbed out of the box, looking rather bored.

Meanwhile, I'm still freaking out. My Dad comes out and gets it done. He grabs the box, and throws it in the fire. Rat babies=dead. I felt awful!!! My little sister asked if they were sacrifices. Great. No, McKenzie. We don't belive in that. Good ole' Law of Moses was fulfilled. We are just horrible people.

I've had this burden of guilt on my chest for almost a day now. I had to get it off. Don't judge me. And don't ever store your stuff in the barn. Thank you, and goodnight.