Awesome Possum.

I was sitting in the passenger seat of my mom’s car, on the phone with my husband. My mom was driving. Ethan was telling me he had a good day at work. “Awesome,” I said.

“Possum,” said my mom enthusiastically, then giggled a little at herself.

Ethan continued telling me about his day. “Awesome,” I said again.

“Possum,” my mom repeated, then giggled a bit more.

“Is that your mom?” asked Ethan. “Say awesome again.”

“Awesome,” I said.

“Possum!” yelled my mom, and guffawed. And giggled a bit. Then guffawed again. Then trailed off in some more giggling.

Ethan did some guffawing himself. “I think your mom has hit silly-times,” he said. “And I think that’s awesome.”

“Possum,” I said.

“AWESOME!” yelled my mom, and cracked herself up for the next few minutes. Ethan and I just kept talking, although I’m pretty sure by this time, we were both mentally keeping track of the amount of time it took Mom to calm down. As Mom and I pulled into the driveway, I told Ethan it was probably about time I hung up the phone. He told me that, overall, it had been a good day, and if we were lucky, we could get my mom to completely lose it.

“Awesome,” I said, then looked at mom pointedly.

“POSSUM!!!” she gasped out, as she laughed herself to tears. By this time, me and Ethan were barely keeping it together. Everyone was laughing at Mom, and all she had to do was talk about possums. It was a good day. ♦


Chocolate Milk and Other Devious Plans

Still addicted to chocolate milk. What’s worse, now it seems to be spreading to Bri.

Yesterday, I was drinking the last (!) of my chocolate milk, when Bri said something funny and it nearly came out my nose. She thought that would be hilarious, and made it her new goal. And as I drank the last of it, I suddenly had an image of Bri jumping in front of my face and screaming bloody murder, just to get chocolate milk out my nose. And I nearly lost it again – even though she never even did it. I just cracked myself up thinking about it.

Today, we discovered that we don’t have any chocolate milk mix left. We both sat and pouted for a few minutes, then Bri got out some milk and a hot chocolate mix. It didn’t mix very well, though; I don’t know how it’s any different from that Nestle stuff, but it just kind of clumped on the top of the glass like… something gross that you wouldn’t want to drink. (We still did, of course.)

And then, as I took my last sip, Bri stopped mid-sentence, leaned forward, and screamed at the top of her lungs. Martha, an unsuspecting and innocent bystander in the whole thing, was terrified. I nearly lost it again – but I kept it together in the end, and about five minutes of laughing later, I managed to swallow.

Let the games begin. ♠

Slip Slidin’ Away

This morning, we had an ice storm. I’ve never seen one of these before in my life, and I’ve never heard of it in Utah, but here it was. We’ve had snow on the ground for weeks, but this morning it rained and then promptly froze. Martha warned me this morning that it was icy outside, but I was in a hurry and I was running late to class.

I quickly decided that it wasn’t worth the rush. After about 10 minutes, I had made it across the street and was skating my way across the gym parking lot. Every step I took, I kept praying, “Dear Lord, please send some kind soul with a car.” I held out hope for some gallant gentleman who would offer to drive me to class and spare me the 2 hours it would surely take to get to campus at the rate I was shuffling along.

I was on the phone with my dad, telling him how ridiculous the weather was, when I heard honking behind me. Excited, I whirled around – and off of my feet, landing on my backside and my left elbow. My phone flew, my book-bag fell, and I looked up to see the world’s greatest bus driver, signalling me to hop in. As I stepped into the bus, he asked, “Are you okay?” I said yes, and the whole bus erupted into laughter. Apparently, they had been holding it in until they knew I wasn’t hurt. I don’t blame them for laughing, though; our heroic driver picked up every foolish pedestrian along the route, free of charge, and the whole thing really was hilarious to watch. If you’d like to see a sample of the new Provo penguin shuffle, check it out here

A Letter to the Downstairs Neighbors

Dear Kind Souls,

I would like to thank you for your continual patience with us. I realize we are rather loud. Please understand: there are 6 of us up here, and only 3 are above 20 years old. Have you ever seen that many teenage women in one room? Things can get messy. And right now, 5 of those 6 are dealing with final exams. All without the aid of caffeine.

It may surprise you, dear neighbors, that none of us drink. None of us do drugs. We are all physically stone-cold sober. But I’m sure you’ve wondered a time or two what was going on up here. I’ll tell you the truth. We don’t drink because we’re Mormon. But more to the point, we don’t drink because we don’t need to. It’s in our blood already, somehow. We were born to scream strange things at each other and collapse on the floor with little warning because gravity suddenly switched directions. I’m not sure how this happens, but I hope you don’t hear the laughter too loudly through the floor.

So please know that we care. Even when we’re yelling at each other, we care. Even when we’re laughing at each other, we care. Even when you hear the pitter-patter of feet chasing one another in circles or the slamming of someone’s head in the shower door over and over, or the off-key singing of “Happy Birthday,” or sudden realizations of, “I’m not wearing any pants!”…we care. And we frequently wonder what our downstairs neighbors must think of us.

Try to think well of us. And while I can’t promise the madness will end any time soon, you’ve never yet come storming upstairs to confront us with a hockey mask and a chainsaw. And for that, we stand in awe.

With love,

219. ♥

Taking Down American Capitalism

I love getting phone calls from my mom. And the best phone calls always start with the words “Okay. I was minding my own business….” Those are the phone calls when I get to sit back, relax, and hear about some antic from my brother, father, or dog.

This one was my brother. Apparently, mom and dad took Andrew to the mall to buy some shoes (since the dog ate his old ones.) He wasn’t thrilled about the whole shoe-buying thing, but he went along sulkily and they found some shoes. Then Mom saw something shiny (a Bath & Body Works sale) and had to go smell all the lotions.

In the middle of the store, there was a Christmas display. It was a pyramid of plastic bottles and perfume, topped with an enormous plastic ornament – a glittering, delicately stacked tribute to American commercialism.

With one blow from Andrew’s mighty fist, the great ornament fell – and with it tumbled the perfumed altar of corporate America! As plastic bottles flew and scattered, my mother turned around, realized with horror what her son had done, and began waving her arms and shouting, “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!” But it was too late. The deed was done.

Fortunately for all involved, my brother is a notoriously cute kid. (And by “kid,” I mean that he’s 20 years old – adorable, but definitely old enough to flirt his way out of any situation.) The store management completely understood that it was “an accident” (riiiight) and didn’t require my parents to pay any damages. My mom claims that there weren’t even any perfume bottles opened in the incident, although some of the decorative plastic on the bottles was chipped. And of course, Mom was humiliated! No parent should have to go through such social chaos!

But then I started asking questions. Why was he so mad? According to my mom, there was no logical reason he should have been so upset, except possibly the flu shot they made him get at the doctor’s. And he has pink eye. And of course, he has celiac disease (which means he can’t eat gluten, or anything that’s touched gluten,) and they had to forcibly wrestle a french fry away from him at dinner. Oh, and the dog ate his shoes. But that’s it. No biggie.

I told my mom she was lucky. If that was how my day was going, I might have punched her instead of the ornament. ♦

An Answer to Prayer

I was kneeling by the side of my bed the other night, silently praying, when I heard my roommate Bree drop her phone from the top bunk. I paused my prayer to chuckle a bit as I heard it bounce against the wall. I started praying again, and heard her fishing around for the cord, hoping to pull the phone back up to the top bunk. I paused again to laugh.

And then I heard a mighty “Whump-bump-babumm-sliiiiiiide-CRASH!”

I opened my eyes and peered into the darkness. Like manna from heaven, Brianna had fallen from her own bed and onto my own. And as I knelt by the side of the bed laughing, she quietly asked, “Was I the answer?” ♥

A Silly Tourist

I was going to the dollar movies today with my friends, Hillary and Alexa. Hillary and Alexa are sisters – and let’s just say, they’re some of the only people I know with more energy than myself. If we could have somehow converted the antics in that car to electricity, we could have powered New York City for a couple hours, I think.

Anyways. As we spazzed our way down I-15, I looked over and noticed a large RV next to us, driven by an enormous truck. In the passenger-seat of the truck was a tall blonde woman, clutching a very nice camera, and looking out over the desert to the west of us. She looked like the quintessential tourist that we love to make fun of here in Utah. I could just picture her getting out of the truck at Arches National Park with khaki shorts, a polo shirt, and an $80 metal “walking stick” that, for some reason, every out-of-towner seems to think is a necessity for hiking.

The woman caught me staring at her, so to avoid embarrassment (hers), I smiled and waved. She smiled back and returned the gesture. I commented to Hillary and Alexa in the front seat, “That lady just smiled at me! She should have taken my picture! Look at that camera! With a camera like that, I’d be taking pictures of everything!”

Then I glanced over again, and saw she was still looking at me. She gestured with the camera and raised her eyebrows. So I smiled and waved again, and she took my picture.

I have no idea who that lady is, but I just went down in history as “that crazy lady in Utah” on somebody’s road-trip album. And I’m proud to fill that slot. Somebody’s got to do it – and I don’t know anybody who fits the bill better. ◊