Thank You, and Goodnight.

Run

2012-01-29T23:58:00.000-08:00

Tonight, I just want to run. Run fast. Run far. Run from all of my stress, all of my angst. All of my troubles, all of my heartache. I just want to run.

Yet, as freeing and as grand as this sounds, it won't fix a thing. Our lives are made up of giant puzzle pieces, and our lifetime is spent trying to piece them together. We know that it probably will fall short of a masterpiece, but we hope that the final picture is beautiful, wonderful and worth it.

A lifetime ago, I sat in the Taylor 110 for missionary preparation class. I struggled in that class, and vowed that I would never, ever serve a mission. However, one thing I did gain, is a new understanding for God's view on our adversities.

Quoting Isaiah, Nephi teaches us this: "Behold, I have refined thee, I have chosen thee in the furnace of affliction." (1 Nephi 20:10)

This is why we can't run. We can't wander, can't stray. Because the promise is sure. All that is left to do is obtain.

Instant Joy

2012-01-27T23:33:00.000-08:00

Haiku

2012-01-26T20:43:00.000-08:00

I just saw this in Pinterest: "How to write a Valentines Haiku" My eyes lit up, and I clicked on the link that took me to this little piece of heaven.

When I was in fifth grade, I had an eccentric hippie for a teacher. His name was Mr. Bob. (For reals.) He taught us how to make nature notebooks. Scraps of recycled paper bound together with twine, and a stick, decorated with leaves. He then taught us the art of writing haikus. I remember that at the tender age of 10, I thought that a haiku had to be among the most ridiculous of things in the whole world. Right up there with fairies, sugarplums and love-at-first-sight.

To this day, I can't help but laugh at the mention of the word haiku, and I appreciate all of the mocking references on prime time sitcoms.

But I decided to humble myself, and write my own Valentine's Day haiku. Love love love.

Vain, shallow, hottie
Really ripped attractive abs
Let's be facebook friends

Box

2012-01-26T19:49:00.000-08:00

I am treading water in a dark, vast ocean, the tide nearly pulling me in so I have no control at all. I kick; my arms flail, and I gasp for breath as the water level hits right below my jaw. But with the rolling of the waves, it covers my mouth and nose, allowing only my frightened eyes to see the diminishing light of day.

Anxiety is about to overcome me, and I reach back into the far reaches of my brain grasping for sanity. There, in the hidden, dust covered corner of my mind is a small, fragile looking box labeled "inner peace." The box looks as though it has gone untouched for months, possibly years. The worries of a thousand days, and the fears of a thousand nights have kept me from this box. I reach, stretching beyond my limited capacity, meanwhile the roaring of the water, and the rushing of the wind is getting louder and louder in the forefront of my consciousness.

My fingertips barely grace the side. It pushes it a fraction of an inch away. The harder I reach, the more unattainable it is. Yet, something from the chambers of my heart urges me to go on, just a little further, almost there. With a grunt of determination and exertion, I reach with all that's left in me and grab hold of the box. In my panic, it drops on its side and the lid topples off. But no matter, my effort was not in vain. Glorious, brilliant, blinding light fills my mind and in the midst of an ocean of trouble and disaster, I am filled with that seemingly unattainable desire: peace.

From the Heart

2012-01-22T10:20:00.000-08:00

Last semester, I had the privilege of being part of this choir. It's called From the Heart. Maybe you've heard of it. (It's kind of a big deal.)

This semester, I am blessed to be part of it again. I get to work with talented, gifted and passionate people every week. I have grown so much from it.

Each Thursday and Sunday night, I get to sing my praises to the Most High God. There is nothing better. Nothing.

On my mission, I often felt that I experienced moments that could not be put into words. Teaching the Callisons, learning of the Atonement in Kalispell, afternoon appointments with Jan Frost and the unconditional love I felt for all I came into contact with. These were experiences that could not be fully or adequately expressed through words.

This is why I love music. It takes a beautiful thought and combines it with a beautiful sound. It allows me to bear my testimony to my Lord and Savior in a more complete, personal way. Taking personal ownership of the beautiful songs we sing allows me to be closer to my Master, my King. I cannot express the fulness of joy that comes through bearing testimony with song. But with each crescendo, key change and final note, my heart becomes more of His, who has owned it all along.

Work in Progress

2012-01-21T20:29:00.000-08:00

Rain fell on the pavement all day today. The wind slashed across my face, whipping my hair as I tried to tame it under my maroon Forever 21 hat. The cold precipitation hit my bare legs. I've never thought long skirts were fashionable. My high heels clicked across the tile floor of the bank. I deposited $55 and said goodbye to a friend. I picked up a copy of the Standard Journal and smiled as I saw the front page. I looked at the clock. 9:52 a.m. It was time to drive to the temple on the hill.

It struck me as magnificent as I slowed to a stop at the intersection of S 2nd E and E 7th S. The sky was dull and gray, yet the piercingly white building stood out against it in brilliant splendor. This was the house of God. The words of a song from last semester's From the Heart program began to play in my head, and my heart swelled with gratitude to my Lord, my God.

It always seems to rain sideways when the closest parking spot is in the next county over. I walked the cement steps, wobbling in and out of my wet shoes. Anxious grooms and excited families swarmed the lobby. Familiar faces greeted me, and I felt that I had come home. This is where peace is. Two hours later, I stepped back into the cold rain, feeling more assured, more filled with faith, more resolute. But like the brilliance of a sunrise begins to fade as the dawn breaks, the feeling of complete trust began to fade into the normalcy of life. A normalcy that is filled with fears, doubts and worry.

I feel that I relate better to Thomas. I doubt when I have every reason to believe. I understand perfectly Peter's zeal and devotion, yet his weakness as he sinks into the sea as the Lord calls to him. "Oh ye of little faith," more often then not becomes my mantra.

In the quiet corners of my heart, I yearn to be mighty in faith like Ammon, Moroni, Stephen, Paul, and Joshua. I want each day to "bind my wandering heart to thee." Blessings and tender mercies are showered upon me daily, yet in return I give my Lord an unwilling heart, and a closed mind. But I know with my soul that the transformation of my life is not yet complete. Indeed, I am a work in progress. A work that should frustrate and try the patience of the best of men. Yet because of the unending love of God, he let's me try again and again. And try I will.

Tonight, the snow falls softly on my windowsill, reminding me that change is always in the future.

Little Game of Love

2011-12-12T10:54:00.001-08:00

See what I've been working on this semester:

www.littlegameoflove.blogspot.com

Thank you, and goodnight

A Few Things

2011-09-04T21:44:00.000-07:00

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

2011-08-27T16:03:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-08-26T22:16:00.000-07:00

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

2011-08-24T17:35:00.000-07:00

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

2011-08-22T22:21:00.000-07:00

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

2011-08-22T14:56:00.000-07:00

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

2011-08-09T09:24:00.000-07:00

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

2011-08-06T09:10:00.000-07:00

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.

2011-08-05T12:03:00.000-07:00

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

2011-07-30T08:48:00.001-07:00

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

2011-07-28T10:40:00.001-07:00

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

2011-07-27T07:59:00.000-07:00

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.

Good Day

2010-02-06T13:35:00.000-08:00

Today is a good day. My sister and I drove to Walgreen's so I could get some last minute things before I leave tomorrow. (Ahem, hair products.) We blasted David Archuleta's CD full blast and belted it out with no shame. Afternoon well spent. While at Walgreen's I spotted the find of the century, and found my secret weapon for making friends in the MTC. Harry Potter Valentines. Yep. I just became the coolest sister in the MTC. Truth. With such clever Valentine's Day salutations as "Have an enchanted Valentine's Day!" and "We have a magical friendship!" along with a sticker insert for every card, what's not to love? It won my heart, as I suspect it will those who are in my zone. I'm very excited for this years cliche deceleration of love day. It shall be grand. My sister wanted me to get some Jonas Brothers Valentines, but on principle, I had to adamantly refuse. Sorry, Kenz. I just couldn't do it. While driving home, we were both confessing our super-secret-spy-crushes on Harry. My sister affectionately refers to him as "Hotter Potter." Cute. So after a day of David Archuleta, Harry Potter, and hair products, I have come to the conclusion that life is good. Thank you, and goodnight.

Dear Future:

2010-02-05T23:25:00.000-08:00

Dear Future:

Hi, it's me again. I thought I should let you know that I have decided something. When I grow up, I would love to live somewhere that has a Farmer's Market close at hand. Why you may ask? So that each week, I can fill my home with fresh flowers. I believe in beauty. Therefore, you should hook a sister up. Thanks in advance. You're the greatest.

Affectionately,

Emmilie

Thank you, and goodnight.

Tool in the Pool

2010-02-05T22:51:00.000-08:00

Today I checked off the last thing on my California To Do list. Flu Shot. Done and done. However, I've never felt more like a tool doing so. After filling out the dreaded paperwork, the lady at the counter asked me if I would like to make a 7 dollar donation for the flu shot. What? I thought to myself. Why are they asking for donations? With a befuddled look on my face, I declined. The lady looked at my like I was a tool, and proceeded. Now, before I continue, you have to understand that this week has been one of the most stressful of my life. My mind is not working properly, and more than once have I misinterpreted. This was no exception. After getting my shot, and feeling too legit to quit, I headed back up to the counter to pay. They looked highly perplexed that I was back, and asked if I needed more shots. Confused, I told them no. They told me I was all set, and waved me out. I wondered why they didn't ask me to pay. I paid $18.87 for the H1n1 vaccination at Walgreen's. I was thinking I was secretly a ninja, and had found a place where they didn't charge you for shots. "Why didn't they ask me to pay?" I asked. My dad responded with an incredulous, "That's what the 7 dollar donation was for, hun." That's when I felt like a tool in the pool. My dad explained that since it's the Public Health organization, they can't make me pay. What a square. The health care system has successfully bamboozled me. Well played, guys. So I'm going to mail 7 dollars to the Eureka Public Health office from the MTC. It's totally fine. God will punish me. Thank you, and goodnight.

Ball and Chain

2010-02-05T16:08:00.001-08:00

Last night, my peep Courtney and I were texting each other, talking about a mutual friend of ours who had just had a baby. She is younger than both of us. Answer=crazy. We both agreed that we were happy with where we were in life, and content with not being married. I then went to sleep, and had several bizarre and horrifying dreams about marriage. I woke up, relieved that it was all a dream, and laughed out loud. I checked my phone and saw that I had gotten a new message from Courtney after I had already fallen asleep. It was finishing up our previous conversation about marriage. It ended with "Ball and chain, man! Ball and chain!" I then laughed so hard I almost cried. Thank you, Courtney for your impeccable timing. It was just the thing I needed after waking up from such disturbing marriage dreams. Brilliant. So here's to being single. Thank you, and goodnight.

Dear Earth:

2010-02-04T12:35:00.001-08:00

Right, so I just experienced my second earthquake. Awesome sauce. This time it was a 6.0 magnitude, and I wasn't as close to the epicenter. But it still pretty legit. This is my second intense quake in less than a month.

Dear Earth, could you tone it down a bit? That's all I have to say. Love, Emmilie.

Don't get me wrong, the first one was pretty sweet, just because I could say that I was awesome, and had lived through an earthquake. This time it was like having to watch a crappy re-run of a mediocre sitcom that you really don't like all that much in the first place. I could have done without it. Now, every loud gust of wind, or diesel truck that passes makes my heart stop just a little bit. Aftershock? False. Gust of wind, or diesel truck. That's the problem with hearing the earthquake before feeling it. Everything stresses you out afterward. It's totally fine.

But it's all okay, because nothing broke, and we still have power. Life is good. Thank goodness for building codes. Please bless Haiti. Thank you, and goodnight.

Note to Self:

2010-02-01T22:05:00.000-08:00

Dear Self,

Do not go running after eating Cafe Rio salad, birthday cake, ice cream and m&ms. Generally it's a bad idea, and as a rule you should heed this warning. Passionately. Just saying. But props to you for still running 3 miles. You rock. Now pick yourself up off the floor and take it like a real woman. Thank you, and goodnight.

Bring It

2010-02-01T19:04:00.000-08:00

So kiss me and smile for me. Tell me that you'll wait for me. Hold me, like you'll never let me go. Cause I'm leaving on a jet plane, don't know when I'll be back again.

Bring it, Montana. Thank you, and goodnight.

Look-a-Like

2010-01-31T13:37:00.000-08:00

Right, so facebook is doing this thing where everyone is putting a picture of a celebrity they have been told they look like as their profile picture. This makes me laugh. First, I think it's kind of silly. It's a little narcissistic, but welcome to facebook. Second, I don't really look like any celebrity. It's fine. I have been told a couple of times that I look like Carrie Fisher. False. But whatever. Another reason this makes me laugh is because it reminds me of a time when I was in high school. It's a little flashback that goes a little something like this:

Once upon a time I was having a particularly annoying day, and all I wanted to do was to go to the movies by myself, and not talk to anyone ever again. I wanted to sit and fume. Alone. Luckily, Invincible was playing at the dollar theater, and Mark Wahlberg is attractive. Double prizes. So I went to the 6:50 showing, and sat down hoping that it wasn't too full of a showing. I was about a half hour early so I just sat and watched the same five ads replay. Fine by me. I didn't have to speak to anyone. Then, blessedly, it was 6:50 and the previews started. I enjoyed the first couple of them all alone, when suddenly a man came and sat down next to me, acting like we were the best of friends. Hold the phone, I thought to myself. We are not buds. I don't know him. At first I thought it was a mistake and that he thought I was someone else. Then I started listening to what he was saying. With a grand attempt and being suave and debonair, he greeted me again when he saw that I was finally paying attention. He started asking me all of these questions, like "Have you seen this before?" "Where are you from?" "Do you like football?" To all of this I responded with a befuddled, "wait, what?" and an occasional "Excuse me?" Then he threw out this classy line: "You know, you look exactly like Jennifer Aniston's twin sister." That's when it dawned on me. He was trying to make me his insta-date. False. That was a wrong choice, sir. First of all, it was a dark theater. You don't know what I look like. Second, I do not look like Jennifer Aniston, thank you very much. She has much better hair than I do. I was instantly furious that this fool was hitting on me when I wanted nothing more than to watch my movie in silence. He then made an even worse move and put his arm around me. Shut the front door. That is so not okay. I gave him a look that hopefully got the point of, "Excuse me? Chester the Molester? Please refrain." I think he may have misinterpreted though, because he looked at me, and said, "Hang tight, I'll go get us some popcorn." After his swift exit I sat there for about 5.7 seconds in a "What was that?" sort of daze. Then suddenly, I felt an overwhelming urge to get the heck out of there. So I left. After three minutes of a movie that I had completely missed because some square was trying to make me swoon. Swoon, I did not. Then I drove back home half incredulous as to what had just happened, and half furious over missing Mr. Wahlberg's really ripped abs. Then my better jovial nature took over, and I laughed out loud. That had happened.

So, in connection with facebook's look celebrity look-a-like week, I am highly tempted to post a picture of Jennifer Aniston. However, most of the world doesn't know that story. So I blogged it out instead. Thank you, and goodnight.

Awesome

2010-01-29T22:43:00.000-08:00

This just might be my new favorite website. Look it up: www.iamawesome.com

Thank you, and goodnight.

Invincible

2010-01-28T20:01:00.001-08:00

I've decided that I'm going to wear brave pants for the next 18 months. Well, brave skirts really. Then nothing will stop me. Maybe I'll get Superman pajamas to wear at night, therefore making me invincible. I think it's a good strategy. Thank you, and goodnight.

Fasting

2010-01-28T17:29:00.001-08:00

I am officially taking a fast from John Mayer. It needs to be done. Thank you, and goodnight.

Favorite Pastime

2010-01-27T11:12:00.001-08:00

So yesterday I got my missionary haircut. That was... fun. I once told someone that getting my haircut was the best thing ever. Why? He asked. Answer: Do you ever protest to people playing with your hair, and massaging your scalp? Reply: Good point. That was then. I now retract that comment. Since said conversation, I have had many a haircut that have sent my stress levels into shockingly high numbers. I am a little OCD about my hair. Acceptance is the first step, followed by admittance which can often be the hardest so I would say that I am well on my way to recovery. With that said, I will tell you that getting my hair cut is in all reality one of my least favorite things in the world, and I try to postpone it for as long as possible. Well with the whole mission thing coming up in like two weeks, I figured it would be wise to get the traditional missionary haircut. I carefully and with great detail explained how I liked my hair to be cut. 33 minutes, some molding gel, and a blow dry later my hair was done. Naturally, not in the way I asked for. The only consolation is that this time, it's not like I have anyone to impress. I'm going on a mission which is code for "Nun" for a year and a half. It's totally fine. But she did fix my bangs, which I won't even go into WHY they needed to be fixed- I may have a conniption, and she did manage to successfully give me layers. So all in all, not the worst haircut I've ever had.

However, it was the conversation that got me thinking the most. One of my problems with constantly getting such stressful haircuts is that I keep moving. The last 3 haircuts I've had have been in 3 different states. That makes it even more fun because you have to try new people out, and figure out what their style is. Also, it means that you have to dish out your life story each time. This time I was able to talk a lot about my mission and Montana. That was cute. Lori, my hairdresser told me that I should go snowshoeing while I was there, and I almost wept. She asked me how I liked Ferndale, and I told her that I loved it. Then she asked me a seemingly harmless question. "Have you done anything fun since you've been here?" That one got me. I have had a wonderful time being home. I've loved every minute of it. I told her that I had taken a trip to Oregon, and am going again this Saturday. (I love the temple.) I had gone to the beach several times, and had mostly just been really busy getting everything ready for my mission. That didn't sound to impressive to me, but nonetheless I had enjoyed myself.

Later, when I was home trying to decided if I liked my haircut or not, I replayed that conversation in my mind. I finally came up with a decent answer for her: I've lived. Plain and simple. I've lived. I love my life so much, and find so much joy in the day to day adventures and nonsensical events. Isn't that how it should be? Shouldn't the fun in life be the living of it? While I have not done anything too amazing or earth shattering while I've been home I've been happy. I've laughed everyday- some days I laugh so hard I cry. (Like when my dad tells me how big my hips are, or when I made that unsuspecting Elder Packard feel like a tool, or when my sister unleashes her killer wit, or during Family Home Evening.) See? Life is fun. Families are fun. Growing is fun. Learning is fun. Working, striving, progressing, and becoming can be fun. Life is wonderful, and what I do for fun is live it. That's my favorite pastime of all. Thank you, and goodnight.

Dear Future:

2010-01-26T11:55:00.001-08:00

Dear Future:

When I grow up I would so much love to own a treadmill. That would be great if you could hook a sister up. Thanks so much. Again, you're the best.

Love you,

Emmilie

Thank you, and goodnight.

18 Days

2010-01-23T20:15:00.001-08:00

18 days. 18 days and counting people. 18 days until I enter the MTC. Oh, snap. 15 days until I fly to Salt Lake. Um, what? Yes. It's really happening. It's a very surreal feeling. The sisters asked me the other day what I thought about all of it. This was my answer. "Surreal. Very surreal. And I still haven't come to grips with the fact that I'm going to Montana." Truth.

I used to be a large advocate for knowing exactly what is going to happen next. Then one day I found myself telling someone, "It's kind of fun not knowing what's going to happen." The truthfulness of what I was saying hit me, and I embraced the fact that my future is something that is discovered in the experience of it. Isn't it better that way? We are constantly counseled to find joy in the journey. There is so much truth to that statement. Finished are the days of postponing my happiness. I decided a long time ago that I would not wait to be thinner to be happy. I would not wait until I was somebody's girlfriend to be happy. I would not wait until I was smarter, or prettier, or more athletic, or more popular. Indeed, I decided that it was pointless to wait to enjoy the life I have been blessed with. Instead I embraced the present. Now, moments of fear still come. The future is scary, but the knowledge that my Father has a plan for me is enough to get me though. Indeed, it is kind of fun not knowing what's in store. So I'll love whatever may come. I'll find joy in the journey. In 18 days I'll begin the next chapter of my life. I'll welcome the future with faith. Thank you, and goodnight.

Dear Future:

2010-01-22T16:23:00.000-08:00

Dear Future:

Australians are nice. Especially the men. Just throwing that out there. Do with that what you will. Thanks in advance.

Yours,

Emmilie

Thank you, and goodnight.

Just Say No

2010-01-21T22:01:00.000-08:00

No, I will not finish my vegetables. I will not put my shoes away. I will not hang my skirt up, nor will I put that dish in the dishwasher where it belongs. No I will not say "I'm sorry," or "I was wrong." No I will not practice the piano. No I will not stop saying that. I will not wear clothing that matches. I will not stop listening to that offensive music, nor will I turn it down. No, I will not be unbiased or dispassionate. I will not live under the false pretense that everyone lives happily ever after. No, I will not pretend to like it when you make the same joke 37 times in a month. No, I will not sit quietly, nor will I stop dragging my feet. I will not do my homework, and I will not get off of facebook. No, I will not come back to you, and no I will not stay. No I will not get ready for bed. No I will not change my tone. I will not change my mind. I will not change my opinion. I will not change my shirt. I will not change your tire. I will not change the way I look at you. I will not change the way I feel. I will not change my perfume, nor will I change my style. I cannot change what happened. I cannot change what I said. No I won't go on a date with you, and no I don't ever want to. No I don't like you, no I don't think you are attractive. No I don't want to go to the gym. No, I don't want you to touch me. No I didn't mean that. I won't think for you. I won't do your work for you. No I don't like that, and no I don't think you should continue. No I don't like Walmart. No I wasn't talking about you, and no I didn't mean to offend you. No I don't want to do that right now. No I'd rather live in Florida. I don't like cheesy lines, and no I'm not falling for it. No, I wasn't using you. No I don't like talking about it, and no I didn't bring it up.

This is for all the times I wanted to just say no. Thank you, and goodnight.

True Love

2010-01-20T17:26:00.000-08:00

So, my heart officially belongs to Northern California. It is breathtaking, glorious, and for the moment, home. There are many reasons to love such a beautiful place, and one of them is called winter. The winters in Northern California are divine. Not a hint of snow, pretty sure ever. Since arriving here in mid-December, we have had mostly sunshine, and mid 50-60 degree weather with an occasional breeze. Lovely. Now, these past few days have been what you would call a "typical" Humboldt County winter. Rain, and lots of it. Indeed, there are very few moments of dryness. It's allowed me to embrace my inner Northern Californian, and today I went to the store in yellow rain boots, a Carhartt vest, and my trusty green Flight of the Conchords hat. I felt legit, too legit in fact, and was overwhelmed by the need to admit my becoming a byproduct of Humboldt County.

I heart Ferndale. And here's why: today when I was driving through town, the blessed sun came out for just a few minutes before the torrential downpours began again. "Life in Technicolor," one of my personal favorites by Coldplay was blasting, the sun was shining through my window, the mist was settling in the trees, and I was able to fully acknowledge the beauty of where I live yet again. How blessed we are that God is an artist as well as our creator. How blessed I am to live in a place that speaks to my soul. I love the Redwoods. I love the mist that hovers serenely over the wet asphalt, the color of the trees as the sun sets. I love the smell and sound of the ocean as it crashes into the coast. I love the drive to Centerville Beach, my Somewhere Only We Know place. Yes, my heart belongs to Northern California. I shall miss it. Thank you, and goodnight.

Grown Up

2010-01-15T11:31:00.001-08:00

I've decided that some things in life make you feel grown up. I would imagine that getting married and having kids definitely falls into that category. Serving a mission is something that makes me feel really old. I feel as if I have achieved the status of a "grown up." I am unsure of my feelings towards this new label. It hit me the other day when I was trying on some of my new missionary get-up, and looking oh so much like a sister missionary. It hit me when I bought practical shoes. It hit me when I was running errands the other day. It hit me when I was buying clothes in preparation for the temple. It's hitting me now as I'm getting ready to drive to Medford. I'm growing up. Life is changing. Life is progressing. I'm stepping into that realm of adulthood whether I want to or not. It's scary, but in a much larger way, it is beautiful.

Though far from perfect, my life is in a place where I would want it to be at the age of 21. I have experienced many things in my life. I have had many opportunities and circumstances from which to learn. I have observed much; loved much; grown much; laughed much. And it's not over- not even close. I have so much ahead of me. I feel good with where I am now. These past few days have been ones of deep introspection and contemplation. I have had many realizations for good and for bad. Yet each realization has helped with my progression. So often I have relied on my Savior. I have relied on my Lord to get me through; to guide me to where I am today. I love this scripture from the Doctrine and Covenants: "Verily, verily, I say unto thee, blessed art thou for what thou hast done; for thou hast inquired of me, and behold as often as thou hast inquired thou hast received instruction of my Spirit. If it had not been so, thou wouldst not have come to the place where thou art at this time." (D&C 6:14) How blessed we are to have a loving Heavenly Father who will guide us to all places that will be for our benefit and progression. How blessed I am to have a knowledge of this. How God loves his children.

I have been highly blessed of the Lord all of my life. Every blessing, every trial has led me to where I am today. Every lesson learned, every mistake made has shaped me into the person I am becoming. Truly, God's work and glory is to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of his children. How blessed we are to be sons and daughters of a king. I love God with all of my heart. As long as I have that knowledge, I am ready to enter into that realm of adulthood, that sphere of continual progression, and return home. Thank you, and goodnight.

Please Bless

2010-01-14T16:32:00.000-08:00

So I came to the sudden and slightly harsh realization today that sister missionaries are always nice. They are so sweet, accepting, forgiving, and they always say positive and uplifting things. I am pleading with myself that over the next 18 months, I can be such a sister. Please bless that I can be nice. Please bless that I can say nice things. Thank you, and goodnight.

Minor

2010-01-14T15:07:00.000-08:00

Right, so I'm 21. I promise. For the most part, I feel that I look my age. I've never been taken for older than I am, so I suppose that's a positive thing. It's probably the type of thing I'll appreciate more when I'm older. Yet currently, I have not reached that "older" status. Oh no. In fact, it may be possible that I am going backwards. Yesterday, when I went to teach with the sisters something happened that made me laugh out loud. It's a little story that goes a little something like this: The woman who's daughter we were teaching turned to me, and asked me if I go to Fortuna High. As in currently. False. I laughed a little bit, and told her no, I am home from college for a little bit, but would be leaving on a mission in about a month. This makes my age of 21 legit. She looked rather surprised, but expressed excitement for me. I didn't really think anything of it. I heart such nonsense. Then today, I was shopping on Main street, and went into a store with lots of old lady clothes, and some sweet socks that made my heart ache for my dear friend, Kinsey Bowman. Love her. Anyways, the lady greeted me kindly, called me "Hun," and let me browse. Then she asked me in a very motherly way if I was playing hooky from school. Considering the only school near by is Ferndale High School, I assumed that she too thought I looked like I was in High School. "What the eff?" I began to think to myself. This was odd. Twice in a period of two days my age was mistaken for 17. Great. So I finish my shopping, and clutching a bag containing hideous missionary shoes, I head home. My dad was at home when I got there, and one of the first things he says to me is that the guy that works at Valley Grocery thought I looked like I was 17. Incredulity rushed through me. What the St. Francis? I am in fact, NOT 17, thank you very much. Not even close. So I have this weird thing called everyone apparently thinks I am a minor. Awesome. For the record, I am so not. Thank you, and goodnight.

Beautiful

2010-01-13T22:16:00.000-08:00

Dear world, I would like to announce that today was a beautiful day.

It is not often that one feels such a complete sense of purpose, peace and rightness in regards to her future in one day, but alas- such was my day. It was the kind of day where I couldn't let anything thing really irk me. (Not even those fools at Horizon Business Products) It was the kind of day where I ran a 5k, and felt great. It was the kind of day where I sang out loud in my car, and didn't even care. It was the kind of day where I got to laugh with my brother. It was the kind of day where I taught with the sister missionaries, and felt complete; whole; certain that I am doing the right thing in serving a mission. The kind of day where I genuinely love everyone, and more often than not I can see the good in them. The kind of day where I didn't feel bad about giving those tools at the gym some sass. The kind of day that warranted productivity. The kind of day where I thought in big words. The kind of day where I had a lovely conversation for over an hour with a dear friend. The kind of day where I didn't fear the future, I embraced it. The kind of day when I didn't regret the past, I loved it. The kind of day where you score points because you DIDN'T have to get your eyes numbed at the optometrist. The kind of day where you are at peace with yourself and the world. The kind of day that calls for curly hair, and flip flops. The kind of day where sweatpants are divine. The kind of day where you clean, clean, clean. The kind of day that calls for order and organization. The kind of day in which you cross off things from your to-do list. The kind of day to wear heels. The kind of day to smile. The kind of day to laugh. The kind of day to sing. The kind of day for me. I like today. Thank you, and goodnight.

Dear Future:

2010-01-12T16:06:00.000-08:00

Dear Future:

I would love to go to law school. Also, I would like to have a house with a white picket fence, and lots of tasteful artwork. Thanks. You're the best.

Always,

Emmilie

Thank you, and goodnight.

Dear Future:

2010-01-12T14:36:00.001-08:00

Dear Future:

Please bless that I marry someone that has a very short last name. Like three letters short. Thanks.

Love you,

Emmilie

Thank you, and goodnight.

Dear Future:

2010-01-11T23:09:00.000-08:00

Dear Future:

Last night I dreamed that I was married to John Mayer. That was divine. He sang me beautiful songs about love, loss and nonsense; it made my heart sing. I was happy, and that was great. Now, I know that he is like 12 years older than me, whatever. That's fine. I could probably deal with that. But if not, or if for some reason John Mayer is unavailable when I finally do get hitched in like 8 years, I would so much like to hook up with a fool like him. Please bless that he plays the guitar, has a voice that makes me melt, writes his own songs, and has lyrics that make me think- and smile. That would be so great if you could hook a sister up.

Thanks,

Emmilie

Thank you, and goodnight.

Careful What You Wish For

2010-01-10T13:42:00.000-08:00

Remember that old adage that goes a little something like "be careful what you wish for." Heed it. Yesterday I was doing what I do best, contemplating my life with a healthy dose of introspection. I was also thinking about my blog, naturally, yet I found myself uninspired with the amount of exciting posts, or lack thereof. It's fine. So I remember thinking, "Dude, I wish something really exciting would happen." Fail. At precisely 4:27 PM that afternoon, something exciting did in fact happen. It's called an earthquake. A 6.-freaking-5 earthquake. I was making rice for our Cafe Rio pork salads, when all of the sudden, there was a very loud unnatural sound. It sounded like a washer that gets a little carried away while on spin cycle. "What the eff?" I thought to myself. Then I looked around the corner into my living room. Things were starting to shake. "What the-" Then it dawned on me. "Oh snap. This is an earthquake." That's when all of that elementary school earthquake drill preparation gets put to good use. I automatically headed towards the nearest doorway and held on. It was the most bizarre and unsettling feeling watching the clock, the vase and other trinkets fall off of my mantle and smash to pieces. It was so weird to have everything in sight shake uncontrollably. The pictures became skewed, and the candles began to rattle off of the coffee table. Then suddenly, it all stopped. My dad told us to all get outside, but there were power lines falling, and sparks flying, so we booked it right back inside.

"Was that an earthquake?" My little sister asked. Um, I'm going to have to go with a yes on that one, chica. The moment after the earthquake was one of the most surreal moments of my life. Luckily, I was able to stay calm. (Which was an act of God because remember how bad weather/natural disasters are my biggest fear? Pretty sure earthquake falls under that category.) I picked up my cat who was possibly more freaked than I was, and held onto my sister- then we bonded. Nothing like a natural disaster to help you become a better stronger family. Isn't it about time? I looked into the kitchen, and my heart sank. Our precious pork for the salad was now all over the floor. Not gonna lie, that was the worst part of the whole thing. I was pissed. I really wanted that salad.

We started cleaning up, letting family know we were okay, and trying to salvage our dinner. My dad is on the fire department, so he booked it to go help the town and get the 411 on what happened. Apparently the epicenter was 22 miles from my lovely little town of Ferndale. Eureka and Ferndale were probably hit the worst, and there was a great deal of damage to both cities. Meanwhile, Will called home and told us that there was a possibility of a Tsunami warning. Awesome sauce. I love living right next to the coast. That's when I started to freak. The potential of having two natural disasters happen in the same day was enough to accelerate my heart rate. That and I was starving, which anyone who knows me will attest is not a pleasant thing, and may or may not make me not the best version of myself. So, trying to maintain some semblance of peace and calm, I get an extra set of clothes together and my trusty Book of Mormon, in case we would have to evacuate. Then I prayed my guts out. It's fine. Luckily we had power, so we were able to check the radio, which delivered sweet blessed relief: there was no tsunami warning in place. They also informed us that we had just experienced a 6.5 earthquake. That's when I felt too legit to quit. I had survived my first earthquake, and stayed calm, thank you very much.

Luckily there weren't too many aftershocks, and they were small enough that you could barely feel them. There were a few that would happen right after another, and they would get bigger. That was a little freaky. I looked around the room and everyone had the same expression as if to say, "Please bless that it doesn't get worse." Luckily it didn't. The whole concept of going to sleep and waking up to a 6.4 or 6.6 aftershock was...super great. That was highly terrifying, and once again I prayed my guts out. God must love me or something, because there were only some small tremors, nothing too bad.

So I was super brave, and deserve mad props...or something. But I also think that I have had my fair share of earthquakes for a while, and would like to be done. And next time you wish something more exciting would happen, be warned. It could come in the form of the shifting of tectonic plates. God be with you. Thank you, and goodnight.

The Treasure State

2010-01-08T16:58:00.000-08:00

Right, so I got a letter from my mission president today, which is highly exciting. It gave some good info on about the great state of Montana, and what is apparently "one of the best missions of the church." (Verbatim. Eat it.)

However, I must admit that I laughed out loud when I read this: "You will be expected to follow [the dress and grooming guidelines] when you arrive in the Montana Billings Mission. Even though this is cowboy country, western clothes, cowboy boots, and buckles are not acceptable proselyting attire." Oh darn.

It also talked about preparing for the winter months. Oh snap. Bring on the boots, the scarves, the ear-bands, the gloves, ski masks, and parkas. Today it was a lovely high of 6 degrees in Billings, Montana. That will be fun. Times 3.

I am so excited to go on a mission. It will be such a good thing for me to be in a place where I am totally out of my element. A place where I can serve all those around me in love. I am so excited to go to Montana. I can't wait to gain a love and a fervent respect for such a beautiful place. I can't wait to meet people, and share such a divine and inspired message with them.

Bring on the Treasure State, folks. I'm ready. I love you, Montana. Thank you, and goodnight.

Horoscopes

2010-01-06T19:27:00.000-08:00

Right, so today I was super lucky and got to sit in the waiting room of an Orthodontist for an hour and a half. The best part is that I've already had braces. I've served my time. But alas, I served another hour and a half. It's fine. I'm also awesome, and didn't bring a book. Awesome sauce. Instead, I decided to leave it to fate, and see what magazines said office would provide for me. AARP, Teen Vogue, Highlights, and Sports Illustrated. So I flipped through some issues of Sports Illustrated thinking that it would at least be some decent writing. Now, while I will admit there were some fine selections of journalism, it generally helps if the reader gives a crap about what he or she is reading. Now, maybe that was my bad- I started with a golf article. Fail. But that's okay. It was well written, and I learned all about the tournament that the pros call "Disney." Cute huh? After thumbing through two articles devoted entirely to college basketball and football, I had had enough. I was looking for some sort of Rick Reilly brilliance, but alas, there was none to be found. (In the 7.3 minutes that I spent looking.)

The office had several copies of Teen Vogue, and so thinking of those "Sexy Fall Fashion Tips" I rolled my eyes and picked up a copy. It was actually highly entertaining in a ridiculous sort of way, and I was shocked at how many articles were devoted to battling acne. It's war. Then I happened upon the horoscopes. I quickly found Leo, and ready on anxiously. This was my February horoscope: "Host a V-Day party and play matchmaker. Keep an eye out for the guy who stays late to help clean up afterward. (He's more interested than you think.)" Then I laughed out loud. Apparently love is coming my way. Oh snap. Too bad the majority of the month of February will in fact be spent in the MTC. That would be a prime place for a "V-Day" party. I'll see what I can do. Oh snap. Reading this helped me to remember my love for trashy teen magazine horoscopes. It's a love that's real and true, and highly nonsensical. Thank you, and goodnight.

Revenge

2010-01-04T21:05:00.000-08:00

Okay, I'm going to be a pal and let you in on a little secret. If ever you are mad at someone, don't scream at them; don't punch them in the face. Instead, take them to the gym and make them do lunges. 3 sets of 15. That'll show 'em. For about a week. So if you are contemplating how to seek your revenge on that list of enemies you have so unfortunately accumulated, look no further than your local gym. Thank you, and goodnight.

Incredulity

2010-01-03T18:42:00.000-08:00

I have decided that life is funny, and boy are silly. How I heart life, and how I mock men. Silly life; you trickster. Thank you, and goodnight.

Creep-o-Meter

2010-01-01T22:39:00.000-08:00

Right, so I was watching the Food Network tonight, my other love, and Guy Fieri, who's last name is apparently really Ferry... whatever... was hosting. There has always been something about this guy that makes me feel a little sketchy. I've just never trusted him. I was watching him, when all of the sudden I realized that he had not one but TWO gaudy pinky rings. Fail. I don't trust men with pinky rings. Especially gaudy ones. Then, immediately after I realized that he was also wearing a gold chain necklace. Double fail. I also really don't trust men who wear gold chain necklaces. It's fine. Then, feeling slightly concerned, I realized that this fool also had two pierced earrings- thereby causing me to find a third reason not to trust him. To top it all off, my dear brother pointed out to me that he had facial hair that he probably stroked creepily. Indeed, he was correct. My mind exploded. Never in my life have I ever seen a person that has sent my creep-o-meter into such a high level of warped speed. I'm still feeling a little stressed. Wow. If ever you meet a man with gaudy pinky rings, gold chain necklaces, two pierced ears, and facial hair, run. Run fast. Thank you, and goodnight.

This is Why I'm Smart:

2009-12-30T16:22:00.001-08:00

Here are a few things I know. These things make me smart. Ready, go:

Jamba Juice makes everything better.
John Mayer's Battle Studies is brilliant.
I am absolutely terrified of my garage.
Tylenol PM is my ultimate panacea.
The atonement is real.
Laughter is my favorite form of exercise.
Broken hearts suck.
Coldplay says what I feel.
I am 87% sass.
Centerville Beach is my "Somewhere Only We Know" place.
Libby's is the best kind of pumpkin.
Painting is therapeutic for me; also coloring.
Slippers are among the most comforting things in this known world. That and kisses on the forehead.
I hate MLA.
Red Curry at the Thai place in Fortuna is too hot; Red Curry at the Thai place in Rexburg is just right.
Driving past the Bay on 101 is my favorite part of my day.
I hate texting.
Alligators open their mouths to regulate their body heat. (Or something like that.)
Facebook steals my sleep.
My dream for my life changes twice daily.
George Clooney is the modern version of Cary Grant.
Being an optometrist would be sweet, because you could look at eyes all day long.
Engagement pictures are funny. And mostly awkward.
If ever you attempt to do laundry in the Mountain Pines laundry facilities, first of all don't, and second of all, NEVER use powder detergent.
98% of all men are babies. (No offense.)
I can successfully operate a turnstile.
Sometimes I think in terms of blogs and John Mayer lyrics.

This is why I'm smart. Thank you, and goodnight.

Such a Girl

2009-12-28T14:22:00.000-08:00

Okay, so I don't like to admit this, but it needs to be done. Sometimes, I really am a pansy. I know, you are probably all shocked...or something... but it's true. Why do I bring said weakness up? Because a few recent trips to the gym have reminded me of what a girl I am. Lately, every time I got to the gym I stop half way through due to the fact that I am about to pass out. Now I would like to tell you that it's because I have had such an awesome workout and am achieving the status of "fully awesome." False. I am achieving the status of "fully lame," and it's kind of pissing me off. Not gonna lie. This whole working out thing didn't use to be an issue. I used to be able to work out for an hour and feel nothing but the sweet rush of exhaustion and endorphins charging through my body. Now, not so much. As I peel myself off of the machines, stumble over to get some water, and sit down with my head between my knees I feel nothing but defeat and frustration. What the St. Francis? Why do I fail at life?

One possible conclusion is that this past semester I had an awesome social life, which equals a not so awesome exercise routine. Another possible factor for my failure is that I did this thing called stop eating. Which was kind of bad. Not intentionally though; I'm not anorexic. Promise. I just hate eating; it takes up way too much time, and it's such a hassle. But apparently your body needs foods and nutrients. Whatever. So maybe I'm nutrient deprived, and my body can't handle running at freaking 6 miles an hour. What the heck? Suck it up body. Suck it up.

So now I'll just try to re-build my endurance and my pride, and complete a full work out without having to stop and rest like a girl... Pray for me. Thank you, and goodnight.

Dear Future:

2009-12-27T22:19:00.000-08:00

Dear Future,

Please bless that I marry someone dashing. Sort of a Cary Grant figure. That would be great. Thanks.

Your Truly,

Emmilie

Thank you, and goodnight.

Singles Ward

2009-12-27T10:53:00.000-08:00

Almost two years ago today, I attended my first singles ward. This does not include college wards. That's another story in an of itself. Now, I have been to a few since then, but this ward in Arizona was my first. That was a funny time of life. I had just finished my first semester of college, and was home in Prescott for four months. That was back when I was still pretty socially awkward, and can you believe it? Shy... Truth. It was also a time of life when I was still trying to figure out who I was, and find peace with it. Ah, the joys of youth. It's fine. Today, I will be going to yet another singles ward. It's slightly entertaining to me this time, seeing how much I have grown up. Now I just don't bloody care what people think of me. It's totally awesome. It also helps that I will be leaving in about a month to go serve the Lord, so it doesn't really matter how people perceive me. I do what I want, fools. Eat it. How cool is it to be able to see your progression? I love that. I also love the fact that I know that I can engage people in conversations without being awkward. That is also wonderful. Thank you, Orlando for teaching me ward social skills. Now, when you read this don't get the impression that I was a menace to society just two short years ago. False. But anyone who knew me then and knows me now will admit that I've shed that awkward sweater. Now sometimes I put it back on for fun. You know, strictly nostalgic purposes. It's fine. But for the most part I am a capable and confident adult. So eat it sucka.

It also helps that I have had some experience in singles wards, as well as those nonsensical college wards. I know who to avoid, who NOT to hit on, and who to flirt with shamelessly. It's great. I also highly love how every singles ward is essentially the same, and you know what to expect. This time I will probably meet a hippie or two. I heart you, Arcata. Thank you, and goodnight.

Essence of Emmilie

2009-12-26T18:49:00.000-08:00

Sometimes there are lyrics to songs that describe my life, or more realistically, my outlook on life. They speak to my soul, and help me to find the words to explain how I feel. In essence, these lyrics are Emmilie.

So come over, just be patient and don't worry.

Anything less than "I love you" is lying.

Do I have to fall asleep with roses in my hands?

Oh what good is it to live with nothing left to give, forget but not forgive, not loving all you see?

Maybe when things turn green again it will be good to say you know me.

Oh love, don't let me go. Won't you take me where the streetlights glow? I can hear rain coming, like a serenade of sound, now my feet won't touch the ground.

It's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, oh it's a hard, it's a hard rain, gonna fall.

This is the deep and dying breath, this love that we've been working on.

I noticed tonight that the world has been turning while I've been stuck here dithering around.

I know the heart of life is good.

Monday you can fall apart, Tuesday, Wednesday, break my heart Thursday doesn't even start, it's Friday I'm in love.

I could write a song, a hundred miles long, well that's where I belong and you belong with me.

I get by with a little help from my friends.

Tears stream down your face; I promise you I will learn from my mistakes. Tears stream down your face And I...will try to fix you.

I never meant to cause you trouble; I never meant to do you wrong.

If only I don't bend and break, I'll meet you on the other side; I'll meet you in the light.

The sun is up; the sky is blue; it's beautiful, and so are you.

I could write it down, and spread it all around; get lost and then get found, not swallowed in the sea.

I'm the hero of this story, don't need to be saved.

This is my life. My life is beautiful. Thank you, and goodnight.

Patience

2009-12-25T18:52:00.001-08:00

So there was this one time when God told me to be patient. Little did I know how serious he in fact was about that. Little did I know what a blessing this would be in my life. But guess what? Patience is still hard. It's hard to sit back, and let it all happen. It's hard to wait. But knowing that God knows best, and that he has a plan for me, one that equals happiness is what gets me through. So I'll hang in there; I'll be patient; I'll have faith. I love him. He loves me. It all works out. God lives. Thank you, and goodnight.

Progression

2009-12-24T16:48:00.000-08:00

Christmastime has come again. I can't believe how much has happened in a year. It was quite the year, my friends. Quite the year. And as I look into 2010, I can only imagine how much is going to change still. It never ceases to amaze me how much our Father in Heaven loves us. He teaches us in the ways that teach our minds as well as our hearts. He stretches us in ways we never thought we could. He molds us into the sons and daughters we are destined to become. Now granted, progression isn't always the funnest of activities. Sometimes it pulls your heart out. Sometimes it pulls your hair out. Sometimes it makes you want to punch someone in the face. But everytime, when "what has to be has been," it makes you thank your Lord and maker for his goodness and mercy for helping you to become that which you never thought you could have. He has taken a peice of coal and turned it into a diamond. Truly, we are all precious jems in his sight, thanks to his infinite love and wisdom. Thank goodness for the atonement that makes us more each day. Thank goodness for our Heavenly Father's perfect plan; a plan of happiness; a plan of redemption; a plan of peace. How I love God. How I love his plan for me. How I love his children. How I love progression. Thank you, and goodnight.

Here's to You, 2009

2009-12-21T09:31:00.004-08:00

So I have decided that this year has been good to me. I learned a lot. A whole lot. I experienced a ton. As per usual, it was a year of ups and downs, goods and bads where ultimately the good always outweighs the bad. I've been doing a bit of introspection lately, one of my favorite things to do... and realized that I have grown more in this last year than I ever thought I possibly could. I found myself this year- it was quite a lovely discovery. Indeed, looking back this time last year is almost a laughable thing, simply because of how much I have changed. And then as I look into how much is going to change in the next year, I know that I will be laughing still. Thank goodness that this life is all about progression. Thank goodness I can look back on this past year, grateful for everything that happened. It all helped me learn, love and grow. I'm better because of it. So here's just a little smattering of all that happened this past year:

Fell in love with Orlando.

Interned for Disney World.

Met some celebrities.

Dressed like a Grandma for work at Epcot. Sexy.

Had my first taste of missionary work.

Ate lots of sushi.

Danced it out on numerous occasions.

Went hotel hot tubbing.

Caught a gator with my bare hands.

Danced it out Disney style.

Met Mickey Mouse when Kinsey came to visit.

Had my bridal shower at the Grand Floridian. You heard me.

Watched the NBA Finals and had some intense Kobe faces.

Went on many a Wendy's run.

Dressed like a paleontologist for work at Animal Kingdom.

Spooned with Dale.

Went to the beach with my lovelies often.

Ate the Kitchen Sink on the 4th of July.

Used my swimsuit to death.

Met a Pez dispenser.

Went to Warped Tour, and almost died in a Mosh Pit.

Turned 21, went to a real bar...and ordered Shirley Temples...

Discovered Twistee Treat.

Slummed it with Obama.

Went to the fair with my family.

Finally got my face painted.

Discovered that California beaches are much colder than Florida beaches.

Went to a firetruck parade.

Turned in my mission papers, and got called to Billings, Montana.

Went back to school.

Survived Mass Media.

Made lots of friends.

Fell in love with a boy.

Said lots of goodbyes.

Went to a tractor parade.

So here's to you, 2009. Thank you, and goodnight.

Y Chromosome

2009-12-16T15:00:00.000-08:00

Okay, so the past three days have found me more offended than I have been in quite a long time. Perhaps offended is the wrong word. I don't normally get offended. I think being offended is a stupid choice.I just get passionate. And by passionate I mean I get mad- some of the time. This was one of those times. What caused said passion and anger? Well, I attend BYU-Idaho. Indeed, it is a wonderful place. Some jokingly refer to it as "The Lord's University." Well I have a thing or two to say to those people. The Lord loves his daughters, and does not appreciate when proud, chauvinistic men demean and degrade them, thank you very much. In the past two days I have taken more hits on my current state as a woman than I remember in quite a while. Last time I checked there was nothing wrong with not possessing said blessed Y chromosome, and to all those of you out there who consider me defective, or dare I say it, inferior, I say in the most lady like way possible: eat it sucka. The other day in my English class we watched a youtube video entitled, "Women, know your limits." Look it up. I dare you. It taught a supposedly valuable lesson. Women apparently should never express their thoughts out loud. Instead, we are expected to keep quiet about such things as politics, the environment, sports, the economy and other such intellectual conversations. How cute that a woman has an opinion, but how foolish of her to share it. Well here I am. I am sharing my opinion: You are an arrogant, male chauvinistic pig. I'd like to have a battle of wits with you any day. I understand that this was a joke. I am sensible enough to know that this was intended to make people, mostly male, laugh. (Yes, I know I am a woman, but women have their moments of sensibility too. Shocker, I know.) However, my professor continued to tell all of the women to "know their place." Whether it be in getting dessert, or expressing their opinions, he never once refrained from reminding me what my supposed place was. I was fully under the impression that my so-called place was at the side of a man. Neither in front or behind him, thank you. Yet I am perfectly capable of standing all by myself. It's pretty awesome. I don't need a man to tell me where my place is. Oddly enough I am more than capable of figuring it out for myself. Thank you. It's situations like these and countless others that occur in rapid succession all over campus that absolutely infuriate me. I am woman. Hear my passion. And guess what? I wrote all of that by myself; without the help of a man. I suppose your wretched little Y chromosomes are overrated after all. Thank you, and goodnight.

I'm an Adult

2009-12-15T19:19:00.000-08:00

This got me through thick and thin, good and bad. This will make you smile. A little bit a lot.

Thank you, and goodnight.

Vows

2009-12-13T19:38:00.001-08:00

I, Emmilie Buchanan, hereby solemnly promise that in 12 years, when I take engagement pictures, I will never take pictures by the railroad tracks. Also, I promise to never take a picture with an awkward couple pose, unless it is done so mockingly. This I swear on pain of death. Thank you, and goodnight.

Anthem

2009-12-12T18:06:00.000-08:00

There's surely somewhere a lowly place in earth's harvest field so wide,
Where I may labor through life's short day for Jesus, the Crucified.
So, trusting my all to thy tender care, and knowing thou lovest me,
I'll do thy will with a heart sincere,
I'll be what you want me to be.

I'll go where you want me to go, dear Lord,
Over mountain or plain, or sea;
I'll say what you want me to say, dear Lord,
I'll be what you want me to be.

Thank you, and goodnight.

Failure.

2009-12-10T19:26:00.000-08:00

BYU-Idaho makes finals hard. They don't have a 24 hour library. Fail. They also don't sell caffeinated beverages on campus. Double fail. So instead I shall pray. Please bless that I can finish my 15 page paper- yes the one I just started- by tomorrow at 10:15. Thank you, and goodnight.

Perfect World

2009-12-08T23:04:00.000-08:00

In a perfect world, Joseph Gordon Levitt would be my boyfriend. Just saying. Thank you, and goodnight.

Sass You

2009-12-07T19:02:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I feel like I live my life on a sassy meter. Today, I'm averaging from anywhere between an 8.7 to a 9.4. Yeah, watch out. I'll sass you. It's the kind of night that I have to remind myself that Christmas means the birth of Jesus, so I can't make sarcastic comments about it. It's the kind of night when you are more likely to get an eye roll from me than a smile. It's the kind of night where I won't hold back, I'll tell you how I really feel, and I'll look you dead in the eye when I do it. It's the kind of night when I just might punch you in the face. It's the kind of night where I have a witty, generally biting comment for everything. Oh, don't misunderstand me. I'm not mad. In fact I feel great. Just about 5.2 points more sassy than normal. Don't worry about it. It's fine. Just enjoy this, and if you are inclined to take things personally, I'll just talk to you tomorrow. Peace it. Thank you, and goodnight.

Desires of My Heart

2009-12-06T19:00:00.000-08:00

Pretty sure I wish I was black. Then I could sing amazing. This is not a new desire. After I saw Dreamgirls how long ago? I was convinced that I wanted to be black. Yep. It's true. But alas, I am nothing but a white girl, and will never be fully awesome. So here's to all you divas out there. Sing is sister, just sing it. Thank you, and goodnight.

More Truth

2009-12-06T16:32:00.000-08:00

Once again, it was time to press the refresh button on my life. It was time to snap out of it. It was time to look up. It was time to step forward, and with hope walk towards what God has called me to do. I read this scripture this morning, and it filled my soul with peace.

"Wherefore, ye must press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men. Wherefore, if ye shall press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end, behold, thus saith the Father: Ye shall have eternal life." 2 Nephi 31:20

All is well.

Thank you, and goodnight.

Truth

2009-12-05T10:29:00.000-08:00

I still love him.

Thank you, and goodnight.

Snowmen

2009-12-03T16:43:00.000-08:00

Okay, so this is funny. Today I was at work. That's not so funny, but this part is: I was proctoring in the Music Room. The Music Room is great for many reasons. One of which being that it has windows. You can look out them, and know that the sun still does shine even when you are in such a wretched place. It's fine. Today, I look out of said windows and what do I behold? The sun? Well yes. Also, I saw a 7-foot tall snowman walking, yes walking across the quad. Um, what? Yes. I am right. It was one of the most bizarre things I have ever seen in my life. I ran to the window, and stared in a sense of warped fixation. It was one of those moments where you worry about yourself, because you are in fact watching a 7-foot snowman go for a little stroll. There were two girls walking towards the snowman, and they looked just as baffled as I felt. The snowman just offered a little wave to them. They laughed, and kept walking. For about 47.3 seconds after the snowman passed out of sight, I stood there staring. That had just happened. Still, I cannot fully fathom what the crap that was. But there you go. Then I laughed out loud. Thank you, and goodnight.

-30

2009-12-03T16:34:00.001-08:00

Do you know how cold it is outside? Too bloody cold. It's around this time in the semester that I stop leaving my house unless I absolutely have to. I always plan to leave, and go back to the library in hopes of being more productive. But then I walk home through the frozen-cold-19-degree tundra. "No way." I think to myself. I'm never leaving again. So then all I can do is have a hope and a prayer that I'll be able to motivate myself from my nice toasty bedroom. Please bless. Please bless. I hate the cold so much. Montana, here I come. Today some girl from there told me that on average it gets to be about -30. That's totally awesome. I'm terrified. Remember that one time I lived in a place that had an average of -30? That place was called Minnesota. Remember all of the horrible things that happened there? Yeah... that will be so great. God will bless me, right? It's fine. Thank you, and goodnight.

Tender Mercies

2009-12-02T09:21:00.000-08:00

"...But Behold, I, Nephi will show unto you that the tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance." 1 Nephi 1:20

These past few weeks have been filled with tender mercies. Tender mercies come in the form of friends, encouraging words, validation, bishops, mission calls, phone calls, priesthood blessings, peace, fortuitous meetings, not having to sit alone, groceries, sister missionaries, family, words of affirmation, pumpkin pie, service, outlets.

God loves me so much. God loves me enough to give me hard things. God loves me enough to send tender mercies. God loves me enough to tell me no. God loves me enough to send me to Montana. God loves me enough to fulfill promised blessings. God loves me enough to reconfirm my faith whenever it starts to waver.

God is great. God is merciful. God is just.

Thank you, and goodnight.

Love

2009-12-01T20:22:00.000-08:00

I love so many things in the world. David Beckham is one of them. Also, awkward moments. Thank you, and goodnight.

Feels Like:

2009-11-30T22:13:00.000-08:00

Current weather for Rexburg, ID:

17. Feels like 8.

Current weather for Billings, MO:

32. Feels like 25.

Current weather for Ferndale, CA:

43. Feels like 43.

Current weather for Orlando, FL:

64. Feels like 64.

Right now, I feel like 8 degrees. Gross. And my immediate future is not looking too much warmer. I have much trepidation about Montana winters. Whenever I tell anyone that I'm going to Billings, there is the expected laughter, followed by the admonition to prepare for the cold. That's really comforting, thank you.

Dear Montana,

Please don't kill me with your wind, snow and overall cold exterior. I'll cry.

Love, Emmilie

Currently, I still feel like 8 degrees. Thank you, and goodnight.

Womanizer, Baby

2009-11-30T21:00:00.001-08:00

I believe there is an epidemic among men. Now, while I have not fallen victim to this personally for a while, I have still been affected. I would venture to say that every woman at some point in her life has fallen prey to this disease. What is this disease I'm speaking of? Womanizer, you're a womanizer, baby. Indeed, men all over the world are busy left and right taking advantage of impressionable women who are swooning for their chauvinistic ways. What exaclty is a womanizer? Read on, dear friend. Read on.

Womanizer: [woo m-uh-nahy-zer]

-noun
a philanderer.

Womanize:

-verb
to pursue women lecherously.

There you have it. A womanizer is nothing more than a foolish man who goes around making each and every woman he comes into contact with feel special. Feel like the exception. Feel like they have a spark. Feel pretty. Feel good. Now, is it wrong to make another individual feel good, feel special, and feel pretty? False. Is it wrong to do so with the intention of leading said woman on, while never intending to have any sort of commitment to her? Truth.

Stop reading right now, and ask the closest woman to you if she knows such a man. I imagine something like this will happen. Her eyes will roll in disgust; her jaw will jut forward, and her overall countenace will turn to irritation and animosity, as she shakes her head with fire in her eyes. "Yes." She is sure to reply. She knows of such a man. "Steve." "Hank." "Jerry." "Tom." "Billy." "Danny." "Bobby." "Rick." "Dan." "Hal." Fill in whatever name you desire, his actions will be the same. She will then proceed to tell you in the most animated and passionate manner possible of why Hank, or Tom, or Bobby is scum of the earth. I'm sure his philandering will include flirting- with her and every other girl in the room. She will tell you of all the times they leaned in too close, or touched her arm or hand, or hair. It will include how she was convinced that he was in fact "in" to her. It is also sure to include the weeks and weeks she spent in between the flirting waiting and touching for Hank, Tom or Bobby to call her. It will include how attractive Hank, Tom or Bobby indeed is, and how naturally she couldn't just let it go; he is a hunk, and he made her feel special. She will then tell you how Hank, Tom or Bobby showed up to some party where he said he would meet her, and probably 4 other girls with some babe in red lipstick on his arm. That's when she and the 4 other girls took a hint, cried it out, ate some ice cream and started a bitter vendetta against Hank, Tom or Bobby.

It's a vicious cycle. But guess what? It happens every day. And until men like Hank, Tom and Bobby man up, realize the inflence they have on women, and decide to give them the respect they deserve, the cycle will just keep on repeating.

Now you know. You know what a womanizer is. Boy don't try to front, I know just what you are. Womanizer, baby. Thank you, and goodnight.

Go.

2009-11-30T11:26:00.000-08:00

You know, some things in life are just confusing. Some things in life will rattle your brain. Some things in life make you laugh. Some things in life make you cry. Some things in life teach you to love, some teach you to live. Some things in life help you cope, and some things make you grow. Sometimes life teaches you to choose between what is safe and what is right. Life will always surprise you. Perhaps this is why I love life so much. Perhaps the true joy is found in the opposition; in the progression; in the triumphs. Truly, men are that they might have joy. So go. Have joy. Have life. Have love. Have heartache, and laughter, and sadness, and excitement. Have it all. Live life. Love life. Thank you, and goodnight.

Future

2009-11-28T14:56:00.000-08:00

Dear Sister Buchanan:

You are hereby called to serve as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. You are assigned to labor in the Montana Billings Mission. It is anticipated that you will serve for a period of 18 months.

You should report to the Provo Missionary Training Center on Wednesday, February 10, 2010. You will prepare to preach the gospel in the English language.

Sincerely,

God. And President Monson.

It happened. I finally got my mission call. 7 weeks after putting my papers in, many prayers, decisions, tears and testimony builders later- I have been called. To Montana. Bet you didn't see that one coming, did ya? Well me either, pal. But guess what? The more I ponder, the more I pray, I know that this is where I am supposed to be.

Not gonna lie- I am kind of terrified to go. I don't do small town very well. Oh, and did you know that Montana has the third lowest population density in the United States? Awesome sauce. Coincidentally, it is the fourth largest state. Ironic? Perhaps.

But guess what? I get to preach the gospel for the next 18 months of my life. That's worth living in Montana. That's worth tracking through farm country. I am so excited to serve my Lord. I know that this is the next step for me. And 20 bucks says that when I get back I can tell you anything you want to know about Montana, and have my Billings pride. Don't knock it till you try it, sucka!

This is cool: My mission covers the ENTIRE state of Montana, and part of Wyoming. Cool, huh? Don't deny it. You're jealous.

So on February 10, 2010 my life will forever change when I enter the MTC, learn how to teach by the spirit, and go forth, bearing testimony of my Savior, Jesus Christ. I can't wait. Montana, I heart you. Thank you, and goodnight.

Mental Capacity

2009-11-27T18:37:00.000-08:00

Sometimes I think it would be funny to convince people that I'm crazy. This generally occurs when I catch myself doing something that a crazy person would do. Such as muttering to myself, laughing out loud when nothing funny happened, making awkward eye contact with someone because you either thought that they were looking at you, or that you knew them, or answering my text messages out loud. Actually, I do these kinds of things quite frequently. I have this problem where sometimes I get so into my thought process that halfway through it, I will say the climax of my thought out loud. That's kind of weird. I won't even deny it.

For example, one time when I was working for Red Robin, I was the only hostess with a drivers license, and coincidentally a car. Therefore I was the errand girl. I bought crayons, whipped cream, and an occasional Rock Star for the cooks. One week, Red Robin seemed to run out of something at least once a day, and I was called upon to make the Harmon's run. I was pondering this, and after an afternoon of "Hello, welcome to Red Robin! Have you tried the Whiskey River BBQ Burger?" my brain was desperate for some stimulating thoughts. So naturally I began to dissect my current state. I was slightly concerned because I was becoming such a regular shopper at this Harmon's grocery store that people were going to start to know me by name. Then, in my 17-year-old nonsense, I began to feel self conscious about always wearing the same thing there. (Which was nonsensical, becuase it was a uniform. It's okay. I was young and impressionable.) Anyways, I remember thinking long and hard about this. Luckily I came to the conclusion that it was a good thing that I owned two different colors of my Red Robin shirt. Therefore, they would not think I was so homeless-looking and poverty stricken. Now, here's the problem. Upon making this realization, I said this outloud while in the midst of a busy Harmon's parking lot: "Good thing I have two shirts or else they would think I was a hobo." Upon this declaration I recieved several looks that clearly questioned my mental capacity. I don't blame them. Maybe they didn't think I was a hobo, but they surely thought I was unstable. It's fine.

Again, I will admit that this is weird. But alas, it happens, and one day not too long from now I will not correct myself. I will not conform to the social norms. I will convince some innocent passerby that I am legitimately crazy. And then I shall laugh. Thank you, and goodnight.

Life Takes Intrigue

2009-11-25T00:49:00.001-08:00

Life is interesting. I am reading my blogs from last November, taking a little gander at what life was like, and what my most pressing concerns were. This time last year I was waiting for my letter from Disney, still saying yes to awkward dates, and expressing some well played witty remark about the latest presidential election. Now, I am currently waiting for a mission call while trying to overcome idiotic people, mostly men, who try to tell me that I am wrong for serving a mission. Oh really? Why don't you go ask God on my behalf, for I am clearly not capable of receiving personal revelation myself, thank you very much.

It is highly interesting, however, seeing how much I have changed in the last year, and how much I have been prepared for my mission. A year ago I would not be as forward as I am now. A year ago I didn't write the way I do now. A year ago I didn't have as much confidence and self-assurance as I do. A year ago I still cared what people thought. A year ago I wasn't as brave. A year ago I didn't know what it meant to love someone. A year ago I didn't think I was going to serve a mission. A year ago I didn't trust God as much as I do now. A year ago I was from Arizona... kind of. A year ago I was scared.

Secretly, I'm still scared now. A mission is a scary thing. The future will forever scare me. The unknown is a frightening concept. Yet, in this moment, I know that God is with me, and will be forever. And in this moment, that is all that I need to put one foot in front of the other, and follow my Savior, knowing that because of him, "there is always hope smiling brightly before me."

See? Life is interesting. Thank you, and goodnight.

Where Do You Get Off?

2009-11-24T19:54:00.001-08:00

I am sick of male chauvinistic pigs who try to tell me that the decisions I make in my life are wrong. How dare you. Thank you, and goodnight.

Team Jacob

2009-11-24T15:43:00.000-08:00

Right, so I saw New Moon today. I expected to hate it, not gonna lie. But, for the most part, I actually highly enjoyed it. I won't lie, I laughed at the inappropriate time thrice, but can you blame me? The part when Edward and Bella were frolicking, yes frolicking, through the woods was enough to send a better woman than I though the roof. I mean, really? Who wrote that? Anyways, frivolous frolicking, and nonsensical slow-motion shots of Edward walking with his front shirt open, billowing in the wind aside, it was a decent film.

Confession: I am now Team Jacob. When I read the books, I was Team Edward all the way. But after the fateful casting of total fool Robert Pattinson, I made the best decision of my life, and stitched to Team Jacob. Bless you Taylor Lautner, bless you. Thank you for being brave, and in a cast of non-actors, having the audacity to show some integrity to your craft. Thank you for acting. And thanks for the extra 30 pounds of muscle. Nice touch.

Again, audiences were baffled by Edward Cullen and Bella Swan. You'd think that they wouldn't be nearly as awkward around each other, what after making a film together- twice, and oh I don't know, acting like they are in love. False. The awkwardness is just as prevalent, and painful as it was in the first film. Dudes, pull it together. You suck.

I highly enjoyed the wolves in this film. Way to be a pack, and way to be in the movie, whilst keeping me there as well. I enjoyed all the scenes without the vampires. They were the most believable, and the most real. Props.

Again, as a whole I enjoyed the film, and would see it again. Hopefully by the fourth one Bella and Edward won't be so bloody awkward. Thank you, and goodnight.

Guilty Pleasures:

2009-11-23T15:14:00.000-08:00

Jason Statham
CS4
Flo Rida
Dark Chocolate
The Beach
Black & White Photography
80's Music
Hot Rod
Rock Band
The Smell of Cedar
New York City
Ne-Yo
Red Shoes
Sweet Tomatoes
Daisies
Violin/Cello
Blogging
Jackets
Art Museums
Northern California
David Beckham
People Watching
New York Burrito
Old Movies- especially with Cary Grant and Jimmy Stewart
Pumpkin Flavored Anything
Playbill.com
Hair Products
David Archuleta's Crush (Don't judge me.)
Gossip Magazines

Thank you, and goodnight.

EFY

2009-11-23T11:32:00.000-08:00

Right, now don't take this the wrong way, but today I made a realization that I'm quite happy about. Today I was thinking about mutual acquaintances/friends. Those are always interesting situations. I love playing the insta-friend game. As I was thinking about said relationships, I was thinking about all of the random ways that my life is intertwined with those around me. I know so many people through the friend of a friend of a stranger who I know through a distant high school acquaintance. Or maybe we just had a class together or something. Of all the ways that I know people, I was so happy to realize that I never knew anyone from EFY. Now, I could not tell you why this created such satisfaction inside of my heart. While I think that EFY is a great thing, it was never for me. For several reasons. 1. I always equated EFY with dances. That was no bueno. Ever. I hated stake dances more than most detestable things in life, and on principle swore them off at age 15. 2. I hated the concept of being escorted around everywhere. I can walk by myself, thank you very much. 3. I thought it was nonsensical that a big part of EFY was "hooking up" with some 14-year-old hunk for a week. Now don't get the impression that I am in fact anti-EFY. On the contrary. I think it's a wonderful thing where teenagers can come unto Christ, and gain a testimony of him. Awesome. I just could never take all the excess of nonsense. With that being said, I stand by the fact that I'm so happy that I don't have ties to anyone awkwardly though EFY. One more little accomplishment in the life of Emmilie. Thank you, and goodnight.

Confession Session:

2009-11-20T08:20:00.001-08:00

Now, to make my life easier, and the conversations less awkward, I tell people that I am from California. This is what we would call a fallacy.

Fallacy: a mistaken belief. The notion that Emmilie is from California is a fallacy.

I have only lived in California for two weeks of my life. It's fine. Yet it's just so much easier to say that I'm from California. I'm not really from anywhere else. This is why I return to the argument that goes a little something like this. "I'm from America. Eat it." (But people generally want a few more specifics. Selfish.) For the most part this fallacy, or mistaken belief, works out quite nicely. However, someone always seems to know someone from California. That poses a problem for me, because they then proceed to ask me geographical questions about my NOT home state. These are questions that I should know the answers to. Sadly all I really know is that I live in Northern California. San Diego and LA are south. That's all I've got. I've flown into Redding once before. I live next to the ocean. I think that the Oregon border is just a few hours north of me. I really don't know where Riverside is, even though when asked I will always feign recognition and understanding. You see, it's not that I'm a liar. Oh, no. I just refuse to say that I'm from Utah... and I'm not really from anywhere else. The life of a gypsy.... What more can I say? I have learned a lot though. I know that Eureka is different from Yreka. Yreka is north. I also know that Arcata is different from Arcadia. Arcadia is south. That makes me sound a little bit more legit when people ask. I'm basically a work in progress. And maybe someday I will learn the geography of my state. But until then, know that I'm basically a fallacy. Thank you, and goodnight.

Smile

2009-11-19T20:55:00.000-08:00

This brought a smile to my face today. Smiles are good things.

Thank you, and goodnight.

Gypsy

2009-11-18T09:35:00.000-08:00

Okay, so yesterday I had a little field trip to the bank. I met Patrick, and my theory was confirmed. I also came to another little realization. A realization that I had forgotten for a little while. It goes a little something like this: I really am a gypsy. I realized that every time I go to make some important transaction at the bank, or donate blood, or vote, or register for classes, or fill out an insurance waiver, or confirm a reservation, or try to mail a package home, or start a new job, I have to go through at least 4 different addresses to find out which one I last gave them. Take yesterday at the bank: I was closing a CD, and they asked me all of these security questions. I always fail these, and could be considered a high-level security threat because I always tell them the wrong address. They asked me the dreaded question, and I racked my brain to figure out which address I last gave them. I tried my physical address in California, and tried to remember my mailing address... (That's another problem in an of itself... in some places I have two addresses to remember. A PO Box, and a physical address. It's hard enough to remember what my current place of residence is let alone two possible addresses.) Fail. They had me down for an Arizona address. The physical address. It's fine. I sighed in exasperation and told them that we move a lot. Then my personal banker changed it to my California address. Bless him. Then Tommy, my poor personal banker, was bamboozled again when he saw that I had a Utah driver's license with yet another address on it. Sorry Tommy. You'll understand when you're older. Luckily I have tried to gain some semblance of order in my life and am now in possession of a California license. I gave him said license, he made the switcheroo, and I am a little bit closer to fooling the establishment that I am in fact from California. Indeed, it is slightly nonsensical. Please bless that the CIA never has to try to find me. They won't know which address to check first. Thank you, and goodnight.

Breaking Point

2009-11-18T07:48:00.000-08:00

Hitting breaking point isn't always the funnest of days. Hitting breaking point is when you worry about your rapidly declining sanity. Hitting breaking point is where you want to punch someone in the face, and visualize what it would look like. Hitting breaking point includes lots of tears. Hitting breaking point requires a lot of introspection. Hitting breaking point increases your heart rate, and therefore convinces me that it will be the death of me at some point. Hitting breaking point makes you irrational and emotional. Hitting breaking point make me irritable. Hitting breaking point gives me a headache. Hitting breaking point requires listening to John Mayer, Coldplay, and Jason Mraz. Hitting breaking point requires lots of faith.

Today I hit breaking point. Thank you, and goodnight.

Theory

2009-11-17T18:11:00.000-08:00

Right, so I have this theory. A theory which was confirmed today while I was at the bank. It goes a little something like this: I'm pretty darn sure that every Wells Fargo in America has an employee named Patrick. Coincidentally, each employee named Patrick likes to play the game called, "Hit on Emmilie." I don't understand this game. Yet it continues to boggle minds everywhere, as it happens every time I walk into a Wells Fargo. Today was no exception. Today I went into Wells Fargo, and guess who happened to work there? Yep. Patrick. And guess what game he played? Answer=yes. And I laugh. And mocked him slightly. It's fine. Next time you go into a Wells Fargo I will bet you 10 dollars that there is an employee named Patrick who may or may not try to hit on you. You have been warned. Thank you, and goodnight.

Happiness

2009-11-15T17:55:00.000-08:00

This brings happiness to my heart.

Thank you, and goodnight.

Irony

2009-11-14T20:40:00.001-08:00

I find it ironic in so many ways that my favorite John Mayer song is in fact, Dreaming with a Broken Heart. Oh, life. You are a trickster.

Thank you, and goodnight.

"Get married or else your life sucks."

2009-11-13T13:04:00.000-08:00

Alright. I've finally snapped. Be prepared for a full-fledged rant. Thank you. You have been warned.

Today in my D&C class we talked about dating vs. hanging out. The Brethren have made it quite clear that dating is to be preferred over hanging out. Hanging out can be harmful for young single adults, as it deprives them of one-on-one time with the opposite sex. Thank you Elders Oaks and Ballard. Indeed, marriage is an essential part of our eternal progression, and is very important. Sister Beck said that due to the amount of hanging out, the Church needed to teach more on the doctrine of family, and it's importance. Clearly, this is an issue. I agree that if there is too much hanging out that can be potentially problematic in getting a date. Granted. Man up there, men. Ask the lady out.

Then we delved deeper into the conversation of dating at BYU-Idaho. My professor said this: The reason that the Church spends so much money on education is that they want to create a place where young adults can gather to meet people their age to marry. This apparently is the only reason for the creation of such institutions as BYU, BYU-Idaho, and BYU-Hawaii. Upon hearing this, I had to adamantly disagree. I would like to think that the $1649 I pay each semester for tuition, the $382 I spend on books, and the $1095 I spend on housing is not in fact for me to find a husband, but to gain an education. But our culture, which places so much emphasis on "gaining as much education as possible," ironically, is telling me that I will only have worth if I graduate from this University with a husband. Forget a diploma, as long as you have a husband you will be accepted.

The Oxford English Dictionary defines University as: "The whole body of teachers and scholars engaged, at a particular place, in giving and receiving instruction in the higher branches of learning; such persons associated together as a society or corporate body, with definite organization and acknowledged powers and privileges (esp. that of conferring degrees), and forming an institution for the promotion of education in the higher or more important branches of learning; also, the colleges, buildings, etc., belonging to such a body." Last time I checked, I attend Brigham Young UNIVERSITY Idaho.

How dare you tell me that I am here to get married! How dare you tell me that that is WHY I should be here! Excuse me for wanting an education! Excuse me for wanting to be an educated, contributing member of society! Excuse me for wanting to have a successful career and taking the necessary steps to get there! Pardon me.

Now I will be the first to admit that a University like this is the prime area for young people with similar standards to meet, date, fall in love, and get married. It happens every day. I think it is wonderful. But for someone to have the audacity to tell me that the only reason that a University such as this exists is for people to get married is wrong. And yet, every day, this way of thinking is positively reinforced. I have had teachers tell me that their class secretly is not Acting 121, but rather Dating 101. I have gotten extra credit for going on dates. I have sat in classrooms where the professor has told us that we had to get up and talk to someone in the class whom we have been physically attracted to. (Yes, he was joking, but seriously though.) I have been in classes where we were admonished to take a test early, but not if it got in the way of our Friday Night Date. Things have gotten out of hand.

Has anyone stopped to think about how this maniacal push to get married is becoming more detrimental to us than helpful? Currently, the divorce rate in the United States is 50%. I have heard many a rumor that in the LDS culture this rate is higher. Why is that? Because there are institutions masquerading as Universities that force feed unsuspecting young adults the lie that they must be married to be happy. In a sense, it is almost brainwashing. I was away from BYU-Idaho for almost 10 months. I lived outside of the "Mormon Bubble," as it's called, and experienced the "real world." In those 10 months, I discovered something that I had never known while living in Rexburg. I realized that I was a single daughter of God who had just as much worth as a married daughter of God. Just because I am unmarried does not mean that I fail as an individual. On the contrary, I do great things every day. Great things like strengthening my testimony, building God's kingdom, and realizing who I am. Meanwhile, in that tiny town of Rexburg young couples are committing matrimony far too quickly. They hardly know what they are doing, and know even less about the person they are committing to. Indeed, couples are marrying far too quickly, which in turn lends to the rising divorce rates. It's becoming a vicious cycle. Yet who can blame these poor couples when everywhere they turn, they are having the concepts of dating and marriage shoved down their throats?

In August of 2004, David A. Bednar stated that Brigham Young University-Idaho is a Disciple Preparation Center. In that talk, Elder Bednar talks about how at Universities such as this, we are taught to come unto Christ, gain a better testimony and understanding of him, and learn of him. We learn to become better disciples, and receive the tools and the spiritual preparation in order to help build God's kingdom. While this certainly does include the concept of marriage, that particular concept is not all encompassing. I am convinced that Elder Bednar also meant that gaining an education in a particular field or craft will be beneficial to our overall salvation and discipleship. Surely it does not strictly include marriage.

What about the girl, we'll call her Peg, who graduates with high grades in Elementary Education? She had a terrific time during her four years at BYU-Idaho. She made many friends, went on several dates, and gained many new experiences. She is now student teaching at an Elementary school in Magna, Utah where she will go on to accept an offer to teach there permanently. Now Peg has one flaw. She is unmarried. Do you mean to tell me that after completing her education, graduating with a bachelors, serving faithfully on the Activites Committe in her ward, and participating in a realm of campus activites, Peg failed in her time as a student, simply becuase she did not marry? That is what we are being taught.

Today as I sat during that D&C class, feeling my anger and frustration boil with increasing intensity, my eyes glanced down at the paper of the boy in front of me. This was written on his paper: "Get married or else your life sucks." That is what we are being taught here at BYU-Idaho. Get married or not only will our lives suck, but we will be seen as failures. Quite a daunting lesson.

Thank you, and goodnight.

Patience

2009-11-13T09:24:00.001-08:00

So God is teaching patience. And it is slightly painful. My mission call is not coming this week either. So I will say what I have been saying for the past month, "Maybe next week." Pray for me. Thank you, and goodnight.

Business Up Front, Party in the Back

2009-11-11T14:05:00.000-08:00

I have an FHE brother who is pretty cool. Pretty cool indeed. His name is Stanford. Stanford is from California and likes to surf. Stanford has also reached the "Awesome" status due to the fact that he has in fact successfully grown a mullet. Confession Session: Mullet's are awesome, but they stress me out. There is something so unnatural, and so 1980s about them that it makes me cringe. Now Stanford explained to me how it gets to be a pretty stressful feat sporting such a do. He apparently has to worry about outside forces such as static. "You can't have a staticy mullet. No one wants that!" To this, I promptly laughed out loud. Then Stanford, in all his awesomeness tried for the better part of three minutes to get me to run my fingers through his mullet. To this, I promptly refused. Adamantly. I think he got over it, but to get back at me he started rubbing his mullet all over my arm. To this, I promptly screamed. It's fine. Bless Stanford in all his awesomeness, and his mullet. Thank you, and goodnight.

The Silent Creeper

2009-11-09T13:37:00.000-08:00

So I'm sitting in my favorite spot in the library doing my favorite thing. Blogging. Indeed, I should be researching campus crime, or writing a review on Extracts from the Diaries of Adam and Eve, or even working on my synthesis of William's Jim in South America. There are plenty of things that could be occupying my time at the moment, but instead, a random boy sitting adjacent to me is capturing my full attention. Now, one of the reasons I love this spot so much (the breezeway if you must know...) is because it is perfect for a little sport called people watching. This boy, we'll call him Andrew is sitting in one of the chairs, no bag, no tote, no books, no nothing. He is just sitting, checking out every single girl that walks past him. Now, normally when people sit in the breezeway the read, listen to their Ipod, stress about Accounting 201, study for Anatomy and Physiology, or even write an occasional blog or two. But Andrew has other things than school on his mind. They come in the shape of women. I find it absolutely fascinating that he can so unabashedly sit there and prey on women with impressive ease. I guess if you have the spare time, why not? Props to you, Andrew, props to you. So here's to all of you silent creepers out there who in your free time like to check out the opposite sex. Dude, be a little more ninja like. Thank you, and goodnight.

Thank Goodness

2009-11-08T23:42:00.001-08:00

I love the atonement so much. Thank goodness for a loving and merciful Heavenly Father. I love him. Thank you, and goodnight.

Wonderful to Me

2009-11-08T14:09:00.000-08:00

I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me,
Confused at the grace that so fully he proffers me.
I tremble to know that for me he was crucified,
That for me a sinner he suffered, he bled and died.

Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me
Enough to die for me!
Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful to me!

I marvel that he should descend from his thrown divine
To rescue a soul so rebellious and proud as mine,
That he should extend his great love unto such as I,
Sufficient to own, to redeem, and to justify.

Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me
Enough to die for me!
Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful to me!

I think of his hands pierced and bleeding to pay the debt!
Such mercy, such love and devotion can I forget?
No, no, I will praise and adore at the mercy seat,
Until at the glorified throne I kneel at his feet.

Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me
Enough to die for me!
Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful to me!

Such are the feelings of my heart this day. Oh it is wonderful, wonderful to me. Thank you, and goodnight.

Mass Media

2009-11-04T13:55:00.000-08:00

This is how I feel everyday in my Mass Media class. Secretly I really like it because it's so nonsensical. Like today I read a hilarious blog, and tried not to laugh out loud. Also, I played with Silly Putty, and made plans to bring coloring books. I took some pictures with my trusty mac, and I ate a giant pixy stick. Oh, never fear. I do in fact know what we talked about. Answer=Public Relations. However, what it is that public relations does I could not tell you. It's alright. Most of the time in Mass Media I online shop. One time I was having a particularly frustrating day, so I shopped for red shoes. Most of the other times I just shop for sweaters or jeans. Sometimes I take sassy pictures like this, and feel narcissistic. Yes, Eric- I admitted it. Some times I have dance parties to "Rock Around the Clock," or we bust it out to that one horrendous "it's just like a Mini Mall" commercial on Youtube. Look it up. Indeed, Mass Media is my relaxing class. It's super chill. And maybe my professor is super hilarious. So that's always a plus. I heart funny professors. And I mean that in the best way possible. Thank you, and goodnight.

Ask Any Mermaid

2009-11-02T13:18:00.000-08:00

Right, so we are discussing jingles in my Mass Media class. Naturally, my brain goes immediately to the Chicken of the Sea commercial. Since that first fateful day that I heard the Chicken of the Sea commercial, anytime people talk about tuna it plays in my head for the next four days. Awesome sauce. So now, for the next four days of my life I will have this playing in my head:

"Ask any mermaid you happen to see- what's the best tuna?? Chicken of the Sea!"

Oh snap. Pray for me. Thank you, and goodnight.

I Hate Rexburg.

2009-10-30T11:34:00.001-07:00

Okay, so this is a hate post. Ready, go.

I hate Rexburg. I hate the weather. I hate the dry air. I hate the infernal wind that blows in every direction every minute of the day. I hate the snow. I hate the mist that messes up your good hair day. I hate the culture of "Get married now. You fail if you don't get hitched." I hate it. I hate it all.

The other day, I decided that eight years from now, when I get married and have to choose where to live, I will live somewhere humid, warm, and beautiful. Never again will I choose to live in a place that is so dry that it makes my hair nasty and full of static. Never again will I live in a place so dry that it gives me Eczema all over my left arm. Never again will I live in a place that inspires me to never get ready, because the moment you step outside, the rain, mist, sleet, slush, or snow eternally messes up your hair. Never again will I live in a place where I have to lather my body up with lotion each day so that I don't die of dry skin. Never again do I care to live in a place that makes my legs look like the Grand Canyon. Never again do I want to live in this wretched little place called Rexburg. No, I won't say anything nice about it. Don't make me. Thank you, and goodnight.

Ode to Blaine

2009-10-21T13:59:00.001-07:00

So yesterday, I went on a date with Eric. Eric is cute. I like him a lot. Eric likes me. We are dating. And it is fun. Yesterday, when we were walking to Pita Pit, we passed a man on a skate board. While attempting to be awesome, this man, we'll call him Blaine, hit a rock, went flying, and rolled to his almost death. Now, poor Blaine's pride was certainly wounded, as was his right shoulder. But instead of being kind, considerate and Christ-like people, Eric and I had to turn the corner immediately because we were laughing so hard. We are sinners. It's fine. This little experience made me realize a few things. First, I love life; it's just funny. Second, I will never ever skate board. Third, I'm a horrible person. Please bless Blaine, and my twisted soul. Thank you, and goodnight.

Awesome.

2009-10-19T09:08:00.001-07:00

Okay, so today was a super awesome morning. I got up extra early because I had a lot to do before my first class at 12:45. I got up and got moving, which was a tender mercy in and of itself because guess who forgot to set their alarm? Um, yep. It's fine. So I decided to be ambitious with my hair today, and I did it curly. Well, I didn't have my glasses on when I was curling it, and because I'm awesome I burned the side of my neck... now it kind of looks like a have a hickey. Which is completely false, thank you very much, but alas. It's awesome. And of course I can't properly cover it up because I am in fact out of concealer. It's fine. Love today. Whatev, I say to myself laughing a little bit. That happened. I got all ready, and opened my front door. It was pouring. Awesome sauce. I was so mad. So go back and change into something slightly more grungy and put my hair up, exposing my false hickey burn to the world. Then I battle the elements on the way to the library and fight for a Mac. Luckily I win, but the battle continues as I fight for the printer to work. 5 trips to the Copy Spot later, I finally print off my rough draft for Visual Media. It's been an awesome morning. I heart rain. And curling iron burns. And faulty printers. Thank you, and goodnight.

Pandemic

2009-10-16T15:40:00.000-07:00

So the word "Pandemic" is in our everyday vocabulary. Indeed, I cannot seem to make it through the day without hearing about the Swine Flu at least thrice. Now, remember how I am kind of a germaphob anyways... it's fine. But lately all of this talk about H1N1 is stressing me out. Is it bad that now, whenever anyone tells me they are not feeling well, I instinctively lean as far away from them as possible without being too offensive? Is it bad that when someone coughs I want to apply hand sanitizer faster than a speeding bullet? Or if someone tells me that they have been throwing up, it takes every ounce in me not to run from the room? Is that bad? Oh, and I love it how when someone tells you they have been sick you automatically worry about yourself. "Oh snap. How am I feeling? Okay? Sick? Like I have Swine Flu?" It's a problem.

BYU-Idaho keeps sending out emails each week compelling the students to stay home if they are sick. The professors have been told to be very lenient about people missing class due to Swine Flu... bless them. It seems as if once a day in at least one of my classes my professor announces that a number of our class emailed him, and are sick with the Swine. While this is an awesome precaution, I have my doubts about its effectiveness. This is why:

The other day at work a man comes in to take his Biology 276 exam. He looks rough. Granted, most people do look rough when they come to the Testing Center of Death, but we give them a break. It's scary here. Yet, this man looked worse than just the regular "I'm-taking-a-test-rough..." He was pale, sweaty, and his eyes were a little bit glazed over with a faint look as if he was going towards some far distant light. No bueno. Then I observed this man a little closer. He was panting, and gasping for breath. Indeed, he had just climbed the stairs of death, and was slightly portly, but I should not have felt like I needed to call 911 to put this man on oxygen. He then approaches me at the printer and is leaning on the counter in an attempt to support his rapidly declining body. Instinctively I cringe away, and hold his test out for him putting as much space in between us as possible. Then he coughs a little, tells me he can't use anything on his test, and saunters into the testing room. I thought I should pray for him, but I washed my hands instead. It was pretty intense, and all I wanted to do was make him go home and go to bed.

Indeed, I don't know how affective these new precautions will be. It's people like our Biology 276 friend who like to contaminate us all. So take heart, and use Purell. Thank you, and goodnight.