Wednesday, March 30, 2011

#25: Burning Flesh=REALLY REALLY BAD

A few years ago on one fine October day I was in a sculpture class. I am less familiar with 3-D art, and even less familiar with the tools used to create them. I will never forget the first day of class...it consisted of the professor showing us all of the scary power tools and all the gruesome ways we could mutilate our bodies if we weren't careful: "Don't put your fingers too close or they'll get chopped off....It wouldn't be a good idea to put your tongue on this....Watch out for sparks when welding, one time a student caught her pants on fire..." You can imagine the horrific possibilities going through the minds of us visual learners.

Fast-forward a month or two. I was working on a metal sculpture, which consisted of welding pieces together, as well as cutting them. To cut thick metal, you can't exactly take a household pair of scissors and make cute metal snowflakes...you have to use what is called a "cutting torch." The name is what it implies--it is a torch with a flame so hot, it cuts the metal. That's pretty hot. Like, thousands of degrees fahrenheit hot. As such, as with most other equipment, we were required to wear heavy fire-proof jackets and gloves.



Anyway, I was cutting my metal, or at least attempting to, because the metal kept melting to itself where I had cut. I was almost done, so I took off my mask and gloves. The part I was trying to come off had only been partway sliced, with a couple of segments still barely attached to the remaining metal. I then had the bright idea: oh, well, I'll just grab the metal piece and break it off with my hands." Somehow, the neurotransmitters in my brain forgot to transfer the oh most important information that because I had just used a TORCH the metal would still be as if recently pulled out from the flaming bowels of Mordor...as well as the info that I had just taken off my protective gloves.

I grabbed the metal with both hands.

It took about 2.5 seconds for my peripheral nervous system to relay the following excruciatingly painful message to my brain:
                                                          "YOU ARE AN IDIOT."


My index fingers, thumbs, and palms screamed in fiery agony as I wildly looked for any sort of relief. I dove my hands into a bucket of water meant to cool of hot metal while the words "idiot idiot idiot" rang through my mind. I then went to the sink on the other side of the room and ran my incinerating flesh under the cold sink water, which did little to relieve the pain that was unlike anything I'd ever felt, or have felt since.However, I was hyperfocused on my project and felt pressured to get it done. So, trying desperately and futilely to ignore the scalding fingers, I put my gloves back on and went back to my project.

At this point, my teacher came in. I was so embarrassed at my stupidity and not eager to become another one of his horror stories told to his future student that I did not tell him what I had done. After about a minute, he stopped and asked, "Do you smell that? It smells like burning hair..." I replied in the negative. He looked at me and gave me the up-down while I tried to look as normal as possibly...hiding the fact that I was clenching my gloved thumbs like a stress ball to try to squeeze out the excruciating pain. After an awkward moment, he concluded, "Well, you look alright. You must have burned your glove or something." And he went back to helping me with my project for the next ten minutes or so.
After he left, I rushed back to a sink, soaked my hands in water that couldn't get cold enough, then wrapped my smoldering hands in wet paper towels. Then I headed off to my next class to get some homework done during devotional time.


On my way to my class, I ran into a friend, who cordially asked me how I was doing. Instead of responding with the usual, "I'm great! How are you!" I cried, "I'm in a lot of pain!" I showed her my hands, which amazingly had turned to a sickening yellow and green. She made an expression as if she had just seen an innocent animal get run over and told me to go at least get some aloe vera or something. She went with me to the Bookstore to get some. But of course...it was closed for devotional. I thanked her anyway, and then hurried off to the Creamery, where I worked, to buy some aloe there. I found one of the supervisors there, explained my predicament, and was told sensibly to go to the doctor. I finally had to admit that I needed some serious medical help and quickly made the ten minute walk to the Health Center, my fingers and hands still screaming at me as my flesh continued to incinerate.

In record speed I was admitted, where nurses instructed me to keep my hands in water that was so freezing, that the water hurt almost as badly as my burn. By the time I left, my hands had been slathered in some goopy cream and covered with bandages that made me look something similar to Mickey Mouse.





The next couple of days involved me wearing plastic bags on my hands to shower and getting strange stares from my classmates who were under the impression that I was trying to make a fashion statement. Fortunately, the burns healed miraculously fast. Amazingly, I also had no thumbprints for about 2 weeks. I was told I'd have made a perfect criminal...too bad criminals need more than their thumbs...otherwise I would have had a promising new career. :)

Two days after the burn incident, my car was totaled (not my fault for the record). And a couple weeks later my then bf and I broke up.

Hence, why I do not like the month of October.

Monday, March 28, 2011

Come Thou Fount REDO

Okay, same song, but with 4 part harmony. It is amazing what one can do with a mac. :D Once again I am singing all four parts and playing the piano. Some of the overlapping parts are kind of off...I'm not a pro...but I think it still turned out pretty alright.

Saturday, March 26, 2011

Creating: Come Thou Fount


Disclaimer: I'm no pop star. At all. I do not pretend to be. But when I made this song, I just had to include the lyrics, because to me that's what makes this song SO powerful. This song has a lot of special meaning to me, and just including the piano part wouldn't cut it for me. However, I also was able to figure out how to harmonize with myself, so the soprano AND alto parts (and the piano!) are all me. :D I feel so tech savvy. :D So don't feel obligated to listen, but I figured there was no point in creating something if it wasn't shared.

Come Thou Fount

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

#24: Computers. A necessary evil.

Computers. They're fascinating really. And they are quite necessary as a student. However, computers also cause a lot of stress. My freshman year of college, I found it necessary to obtain one. However, we didn't see the need of getting me a laptop that would only be outdated in a few months, so I decided that renting a computer would be a good choice for me that year. The awesome thing was, the place to rent them happened to be located just across the street from my dorm. So I figured, hey, I'll just walk across, have them box me my rental computer up, and I can carry it home no problem.


Mistake #1: Never assume anything.


I went across the street on a convenient day and walked in the building that indicated its rental services. I found myself in dark empty halls, and wondered where the heck I was. Following signs I went down some stairs, down another sketchy hall, at the very end of which was my destination: a little room filled with computers and a couple of employees.
    I informed them of my need, paid for it, and then the one guy asked, "Do you have a car?"
    "Nooo....."
    "Hmmm...."
They then pulled out a beige library cart looking thing and proceeded to pile unidentifiable tangles of wires and various Dell computer parts onto it. I guess a box would have just made too much sense. As collateral to get the cart back, I had to give them my BYU ID card, and they sent me on my way out the back door so that I wouldn't have to trudge up the stairs with my new cargo.


Mistake #2: It is a good idea to call a friend/relative who owns a car when large objects are involved. (A year later I apparently hadn't learned this lesson...see Chronicle #3: The Cake Crossing.)


     I barely made it down some makeshift wooden ramp out the door, pushing my load along. I began to cross the parking lot when I reached a rather large obstacle. Apparently someone thought it would be a great idea to stretch an enormous black pipe the circumference of monster truck tires across the parking lot. There was no way in heck I'd be able to lift the cart over it without disaster.
     I was about to turn around and take the long way, when one of the workers came out to rescue me. He had me hold the monitor while he lifted the cart over the pipe. Unfortunately, when he lifted the cart over, one of the wheels of the cart completely fell off. Fantastic. Now, instead of saying, "Oh, that might be a problem--let's get you a new cart", the guy just wiggled the wheel loosely back into its spot, and sent me on my merry way to finish my journey to my dorm.
     I finished crossing the parking lot and reached the street corner, where I waited to cross, trying to ignore the many cars that were passing by. When the red hand switched to the white walking man signal, I began to push my cart down where the sidewalk levels with the street. That is when that sneaky little wheel decided to make another escape for it, and completely popped off again. Only this time, there was no one to help me, and I was neither tall enough nor strong enough to balance my now three-wheeled cart overflowing with computer parts and simultaneously put the wheel back into its place. So, I set the wheel next the monitor, and began to proceed with a gimpy library cart across the street.
     I jiggled my way to other side, and proceeded down the sidewalk that led to my resident hall, all the while trying to balance this 3-wheeled monster, and catching pieces of my comp that kept falling off. Somewhere on that stretch I believe my mousepad made a successful getaway, as that was the last time I saw it. I vividly remember the lawnmower man passing me in his riding lawnmower and me feeling extremely ridiculous.
  I finally made it to my dorm. Fortunately, I lived in the last room on the back of the building, where a door was placed. I dug through my pockets to get my ID card to swipe myself into the building. Then I remembered. My ID card was with the computer guys so that I would return their ghetto cart. I heaved a long sigh, and pushed my way to the front entrance, which did not require ID access. I prayed that no one would be in the front lobby to watch my circus act, and fortunately no one was. I arrived at my hall, and with some difficulty managed to prop the heavy door open and get my crippled cart through it. I'm still not sure how I managed that one.
  I made it down the hall successfully and arrived at my room, did another balancing act of opening the door and getting my computer through it, and like a student that just finished a 10-page paper, breathed a victory sigh. My face was red from a mix of embarrassment and physical exertion, and I leaned against my risen bed to catch a breath. Then, the cart, with no one to keep it steady, in slow motion, fell onto its wheelless side... and the computer and monitor began to slide off to an imminent death. With cheetah-like reflexes I grabbed the cart and in the nick of time, prevented my rental from completely crashing to the floor. I immediately placed everything onto my desk, where they could not make any more escape or suicide attempts.
    Now completely cherry-faced, I resorted to my quickest therapy--bubbles. I pulled out my bubble bottle and blew them until I felt like I could return the stupid satanic cart back to its owners. When I got the cart back (after carrying it down the stairs and through the creepy halls), I made the cart/card exchange and informed them that their cart was busted.
    In badly timed humor, they cried, "You broke our cart????"
    I wanted to kill them.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

#23: And now the epitome of every Sunday

I think it's only appropriate to post this along with the "epitome of every baptism" post (see #22). This video could represent almost every Sunday morning on the mission...those stressful hours before church as we picked up (or attempted to) our investigators and get them to church. This was my last Sunday in the mission and was in a trio with two amazing sisters, an American and a Columbian. There is one little part where I had problems with the subtitles and they overlap a bit...but it's only for a second. And I hope you enjoy the Paraguayan Polka background music. :)

#22: The epitome of every baptism we had in Paraguay

So, I believe in God, and because I also believe in an opposition in all things, I also believe in Satan. Going on a mission will reinforce that concept, because every every EVERY time we had a baptism, something would go wrong. And not something little, like the water was too cold...I mean like the locks were changed to the baptismal font without even the Bishop's knowledge, so we'd have to do the baptism in a chapel 45 minutes away. Stuff like that. We got a little video of one certain experience, when we had 2 kids that were getting baptized, Jose and Rocio.





Here's a pic of Jose and his enormous baptismal clothes....we had nothing else.


Tuesday, March 15, 2011

#21: Selective hearing? Try selective eyesight.

You know how every once in awhile you do something dumb that your friends or family make sure you never forget? This is one of those stories. It's not very long, but my family still gets a kick out of it.

One night, I'm not sure how old I was, 14-16 maybe? we decided to order pizza for dinner. I'm not sure from where, but whichever place it was, at the time it was going for a new funds booster by selling NEW TWISTED CRUST PIZZA!!! And to be sure that we all knew about it, printed on the top of each pizza box in big bold letters were the words: NEW TWISTED CRUST!

One of my siblings read it aloud semi-jokingly, "Oh look, twisted crust!"

Me: "Where?"

Family: "Right there. On the box."

I looked at the box. Then looked at the sides of the box.

Me: "Where? I don't see it."

Family: "Angela, it's right there on the box!"

I looked again. Still couldn't see it. I think I even lifted up the box and looked under it. I honestly had no clue where they were looking. My family members were now having mixed reactions of laughing or shaking their heads at my utter stupidity. I never saw it. We ate all that pizza and I still never saw the stupid "Twisted Crust." How long do you spend eating pizza? Twenty minutes? Yeah, twenty minutes of that dang label staring me in the face...and to this day, I still don't know where exactly those words were written. Yep. That moment right there could represent so many hundreds of similar moments that happened to me from birth to age 21. I must have reverse tunnel vision.

Every now and then, when we order pizza, a family member who thinks they're just oh-so-funny will exclaim, "Oh, hey, look! This pizza has twisted crust!" Thanks for the reminder.

5K for Benjie!!

You guys--I did something I have never done before, and something that is really hard for me: a 5K! It was the Rex Lee Run for cancer research. You had the option of sponsoring the name of a cancer fighter, so of course I had to do it for Benjie Dobson, who was the inspiration of this blog and its title (see my very first post for details.) We put "BD" (her initials) on our cheeks along with hearts, put pink streaks in our hair (for Benjie of course!) and on our sleeves wrote the names of every person we knew personally that had fought cancer. Pink for those we lost, and green (life) for those who conquered it. Kathryn and Daniel did it with me and our goal was just to beat the two guys that had dressed up in huge sumo wrestler costumes...which we did. :) However, the winner of the 10K (which started 15 minutes later) totally beat us. Haha. That's ok. I didn't do it to race. I did it for myself, to prove to myself that I could do hard things, and for Benjie.


Wednesday, March 9, 2011

#20: Bernarda...my experience with a retired prostitute

    So, about a year ago, I was on my mission with dear Hermana Welch as my companion in the po-dunk town of Villa Hayes. One late night, we were just one "new investigator" short of reaching our goals for the day, and that week we were extra determined to do anything--so we called our Zone Leaders and got permission to stay out late. It was past 9:30 and we were close to our house...clapping (you clap your hands instead of knocking) a house at that hour would have been unreasonable, and so we desperately wandered the dark, vacant streets, hoping against hope that someone would be sitting outside.
   About two blocks from our house, we saw some hope--two elderly women were sitting outside of a despensa (a little neighborhood store that sells bread rolls, soda, etc.) and we eagerly approached them. One quick look told us that these ladies were VERY Catholic (I have NOTHING against Catholic people--a lot of my best friends are Catholic, but as a Mormon missionary, Catholics weren't usually receptive to us). They let us sit down and managed to teach them a quick principle--I think on Sabbath-day observance...but I don't really remember because the one lady wouldn't stop talking talking talking and we could hardly get in a word edgewise. And then when my companion started praying, the other lady, a very short and stout woman named Bernarda, began to mumble her own invented prayer every time my companion said something. It took every ounce of energy I had to keep a straight face but we made it through, and Bernarda agreed to have us come over again.
    And come again we did. Honestly, I did not expect our spiritual relationship with Bernarda to progress, as most elderly people that we taught were very comfortable in their ways and not about to be swayed by a couple of "misioneras mormonas." But to our great surprise, Bernarda accepted the commitments we gave her, and even came to church with us (one time she got the times mixed up and got there at 6 in the morning....fortunately our branch had seminary with the youth at that time and she participated right along!)
   We began to learn some very interesting things about Bernarda. The first was that her "despensa" pretty much only sold beer, cigarettes, and old gaseosas (soda)--her store was covered from ceiling to floor in beer advertisements. She also had these really creepy paintings of women bathing in streams adorning her shop.
   We also learned very quickly that Bernarda always had good intentions, but, to put it lightly, was not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed. We grew to love her, but it was very much like teaching a small child trapped in a 70-year old body.
   Then, upon trying to contact her neighbors, we heard rumors that our sweet Bernarda had in fact, once upon a time, been one of the local hookers. We brushed it off as just another silly neighborhood fable, the kind which we often heard while tracting extensively in the same neighborhoods. But when we brought our mission leader to meet her, when we clapped the house, he said quietly, "Well...I guess everyone can repent...." With some probing, he confirmed the rumors we had heard--Bernarda had been infamous back in her day from sleeping around with other local men for money. Fantastic.

   The story gets better.

   One day, when we went to visit Bernarda, she told us how on our last visit we had mentioned that we would help her put some cream on her back to help her sore muscles. I honestly could not recall such a conversation taking place and determined either my Spanish skills must not have been that great, or Bernarda was simply imagining things (I still lean towards the second one...) We told her we could help her out today, and dear old Welchy added, "My companion would LOVE to help you with that." I shot her a death look. I didn't really mind giving service. Even this kind of service. But I did mind having my agency abused in making that decision for myself.
   Once our lesson that day ended, I was hoping that Bernarda had forgotten about our little promise, but Hermana Welch most kindly reminded her that I would offer my cream-application services.
   Bernarda disappeared to get her cream. I prayed that her back wouldn't have some nasty unheard-of disease or leprous condition, and could only imagine what kind of horrific home-made herbal concoction my hands were about to touch. And since we taught Bernarda in her shop, which was open, we could be seen by any passerby within a block. I hoped against hope that she wouldn't take off her little slip-on dress in front of everyone. I braced myself for the worst.
   Bernarda returned with a little white container, and placed herself before me with her back towards me, eagerly awaiting her back treatment. I opened the container, and, to my surprise, instead of finding some primordial herbal recipe, was faced with bright orange goop that smelled not unlike Bengay. As the pungent minty smell penetrated my innocent nostrils, I glanced up and noticed Bernarda had not taken her clothes off, and I silently sighed, grateful I would only have to touch the exposed upper triangle of her back and neck. And then, as I began scooping the unnatural tangerine-colored substance onto my fingers, Bernarda suddenly wiggled her jiggly arms out of her little sleeves, and let the top half of her dress fall limply to her waist. My fears were confirmed. And, like most days, she was not wearing a bra.
   At this point a shot laser death glares at my companion, who somehow was managing to hysterically laugh without making any sound. While her body silently shook with uncontrollable laughter, I began to rub the orange minty nastiness on Bernarda's now fully exposed back...which mercifully appeared to not have any kind of condition I needed to worry about. I tried to keep a constant death stare on my companion, who showed no mercy, while simultaneously looking outside to make sure none of the neighbors had wandered outside to get an unsuspecting boob show.
   Bernarda then started saying, "Mas fuerte! Mas FUERTE!!" ("Harder! HARDER!!") So, not only was I expected to lather this icky crap on her back that was made of who-knows-what, she wanted a deep tissue massage as well. So, I pressed harder. More death stares. More noiseless laughter. I just tried to avoid catching any undesired glimpses of our investigator's large, sagged and wrinkly bosoms, which were swinging around in their new-found freedom and kept trying to play peek-a-boo with me.
  
   "Mas fuerte!"
   
    Sigh. 
  
    Eventually, she felt that she'd had enough and to the gratitude of the neighborhood children's mothers, she put her dress back into its place and concealed her girls. I put the lid back on the white container and went to the back of the store to wash my hands clean. But, the goop. would. not. come. off. A dirty dishtowel was offered to me to dry my hands, which thankfully got most of the stuff off, but I could still feel the ever-present feeling of the cream within the crevices of my hands.
  
   When I got back, Hermana Welch asked, "So, does that cream help your back a lot?"
   To which Bernarda responded, "Not really."
    I almost died.

Monday, March 7, 2011

#19: High school....I look back and still cringe.

   So, one of my friends had a pretty embarrassing moment today, which reminded me of a somewhat similar experience from high school that my memory had repressed. I won't share his in a public space without his permission, so I'll just go straight into mine.

   So, FLASHBACK about 5 years to my junior year of high school (wow, has it been THAT long??). Every now and then, my asthma reaches rather unfortunate levels and one day this inconveniently happened while I was at school. My school was also rather inconveniently placed on a hill, and my chemistry class was located at the top. I huffed and wheezed my way up there and managed to get to class. I made my way to my seat that was almost in the back, grateful I had made it. However, as class progressed, despite the fact that I was not exerting my body in any way, my lungs became deplorably worse. For those of you lucky ones who don't have asthma, try strangling yourself. That's about what it feels like. It got to the point where I didn't even think I'd be able to walk to the nurse's office--I was getting no oxygen. I struggled my way to the front of the class to inform the teacher in so many breathless and wheezed words that my lungs were denying almost all oxygen access. She asked if I could make it to the office, to which I shook my head. She said she'd call the office to come get me, and so I went back to my seat.
   Now, at this point I was envisioning some office personnel driving up to the classroom door in one of those cool golf carts that they zip around the school in, have me inconspicuously leave the class, and have me sit next to them, after which they would speedily zoom-zoom me down to the office, which was on the other end of campus.
  
      However, about five minutes later, I heard a thu-THUNK...THUNK...KA-THUNK. 
  
     I, along with the other 35 kids in class, turned our heads in the direction of the door at the back of the class, where two teenage office aids were struggling to push a brown, uncomfortable-looking wheelchair over the metal threshold of the doorway. Sweet merciful heavens, they are coming for ME. I think the only way they could have made the situation any more conspicuous would have been to announce their entrance with a megaphone. After overcoming their noisy obstacle, they "zoom-zoomed" or rather, squeeky-squeekied my new set of wheels over to my desk, into which I sat my kabooty. I kept my head shamefully lowered so as not to look at any of my peers, who were excitedly whispering to each other and wondering what the heck was going on. I was then wheeled out of the class, with at least 36 pairs of eyes following me out the door. At least we made it back over the threshold without too much problem. Actually...I don't even remember because I was too preoccupied with the fact that I still couldn't breathe and that the whole class had just seen me be emergency-wheeled out of the class. I guess it could have been worse though....it could have been a stretcher....or I could have fallen out of the wheelchair on the way out the door. Thankfully I was spared a little dignity.
   I was soon whisked away to the nurse's office, or rather, nurse's portable building, where I received what little medical attention they could give me. Unfortunately, there are lots of classrooms to pass before reaching the nurse, and many teachers leave the doors open due to lack of an air conditioning system. Awesome. Fortunately, though, my younger sister had been sitting in one of those classrooms and saw me being wheelchaired (yes I just verbed a noun) away to the medical room. She got permission to leave class to see what was up and make sure I wasn't dying. Blessed supportive sister. I was soon picked up and missed the rest of school, instead using that time to spend quality time with my loyal nebulizer machine forcing gaseous medicines down my chest.
   Oh asthma, as if the inhalers didn't already make me look nerdy enough. Thank you for keeping me humble.
 

Saturday, March 5, 2011

Birthday Resloutions

I feel the need to blog about something normal, like my current life. I also made some goals and feel that by posting them in a public place, I will be more apt to keep them.

So, this month I turn 23. According to singlemormongirl.wordpress.com I will officially be "spinster" age in the Mormon culture. Screw that. I'll get married at the right time to the right guy. In the words of Michael Buble, "I just haven't met [him] yet." And you know what, that's okay. It doesn't mean I don't know how  to date just because I didn't get married at the age of 19 like all the other girls in my family. God just has a different plan for me. I've been able to do a lot of other wonderful things, like a study abroad and a mission, through which I learned TONS of things that I personally could not have learned any other way. BUT this post is not about my dating life. So, anyways....

Without going into too much detail, these last few months have been a really huge struggle for me, especially in the health department, which has in turn affected the other areas of my life such as school, spiritual with-it-ness, self perceptions, etc. But in the process of it all, Heavenly Father blessed me with an amazing person in my life named Becky. I've never met her in person, but we e-mail often and have become rather fond pen-pals. She's had some of the same struggles that I've had, and has imparted to me a lot of wisdom. One of the things she mentioned was running. 

Now, exercise for me has always been a tricky thing for me. I've been overweight (until recently losing a bunch of weight from being sick), last time I did a sport was when I was 10, have asthma, and have another lung problem that I won't go into. Basically, exercise for me is HARD. But I do feel great after running. But also feel SUPER self-conscience running in view of the public eye where all can see my enormous bosoms flopping around all over the place without any shame. 

BUT I have learned in the last year that I am a FIGHTER. And so, I decided that despite all of my obstacles, in order to help myself out, I have began running. I run at night when I am less visible, and I don't run fast or far and definitely walk more than I run. But it feels AWESOME afterwards and I feel like I am so much more in touch with my body and spirit. I go to the temple and back and while at the temple I stop there and stretch for 15-20 minutes and just think about things. 

So today I was beginning to feel crummy and knew I needed to run. So I did. And while I did, I thought about giving myself a birthday present: Health. Healthy body, spirit, mind, and social life. So I decided to make "Birthday Resolutions." I am so excited about these. And I need to remember that if I mess up, it doesn't mean I failed. These are GOALS, not where I need to be every moment. No one is perfect. They are pretty simple, but here they are:

My Birthday Gift to Myself: Birthday Resolutions
·      A Healthy Body
o   Running; 4 times a week, but can be replaced with muscle workout
o   Swimming once a week with Kathryn
o   Eat healthy
·      A Healthy Mind
o   Continue Therapy
o   Avoid stress by staying on-campus to do homework
o   Create feeling of independence by getting a good job
·      A Healthy Spirit
o   Go to the temple once a week
o   Read scriptures in the morning
·      Healthy Social Life
o   Join a club?
o   Try to keep Saturdays open

Long Term Goals
·      Marathon! Goal: in one year: March 2012
·      Graduate: December 2012
·      Have a good job  

Sp

SS

Friday, March 4, 2011

#18: One of those things that's okay when you're 20 months old...not 20 years old...

Warning: 1) This is kinda gross.
                2) Don't judge me. Or it will happen to YOU too. :)

      Ok, so once upon a time, I was getting ready to go on my mission. I'd already had the Bishop's interview and had scheduled the interview with my Stake President to get my papers rollin.' The night of the interview, my friends and I decided to go to Macaroni Grill for dinner. I can't remember what the occasion was...Lindsay's birthday maybe...? Anyway, I love Macaroni Grill because they give you crayons and you can draw on the tablecloth, and I just have a hay day every time covering the area with doodles and faces and whatnot. However, I do not like Macaroni Grill because whenever I get some sort of buttery pasta dish, it makes me feel sick. Like, REALLY sick.
    This day was no different. We enjoyed our meals, but by the time I paid my bill, my intestines were sending out some major S.O.S. signals. I also had my interview to get to, and still needed to go home and change into church clothes. As I left the restaurant, my innards were having a raging dance party and I knew not only did I need to get home, I needed to get home FAST.
  The distance between Macaroni Grill and my then-apartment is probably about 15-20 minutes, which would make it about 15-20 minutes too long. I hated speeding, but went a little fast in worries that I might not make it. I knew it would be a close call, but trusted on the tender mercies of the Lord. However, the closer I approached home, the closer my large intestine was to becoming more infamous than Mount Vesuvius. The clock ticked ever so slowly....soon I was on the verge of perspiring from a mix of anxiety and corporal agony. My thoughts became increasingly more panicked as I drove: "...getting closer....sweet heavens help me make it...(I really started praying....)...oh my gosh I'm going to be late for my mission appointment....oh my gosh...oh my gosh...please make it...please make iiiiitttttt....... HOME!!!!!" 
   I parked as quickly as possible. However, those last torturous 15-20 minutes had been sufficient for my body to convert every last solid particle in my belly into a liquified concoction of unadulterated hell. I began walking quickly...then broke into a sprint...then very quickly realized that running was NOT a good idea...but I was desperate. I half-ran, have sped walked. It was a race. A race between me and my  intestines. Every other system in my body was ready for the ultimate showdown. I was SO close. SOOO close. And then, 25 steps before I reached my apartment door...I exploded.
   I want you to think for a moment what your first thought would be if you suddenly crapped your pants without having any self-control at all. I would imagine it would be similar to mine: "Oh my gosh. I crapped my pants." Yes, profound, I know. I'm sure you can already imagine the subsequent thoughts of embarrassment and feelings of idiocy.
    I quickly burst through my apartment door and was in the bathroom in 2 seconds, where I remained for the next 20 minutes. By the time I got out, my roommates had sensed that something was very wrong and asked if I was okay. I told them, "No...I am SO sick," grabbed new clothes, and went back to the bathroom.
   Now, I don't want you to think that God was totally merciless. Sometime during the whole ordeal, I got a call from the Stake Secretary asking if it would be okay to make my appointment a little later, as the Stake President was running behind. Tender mercies. And fortunately, after all of that, I was okay. I survived, had a successful interview, and three months later received my call to lovely Paraguay...where, like almost everyone else, had intestinal problems at least once a week for the duration of my time there.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

More Creating

So, I was stressed out from school, so once again I found myself in the Alma Lab making music. These are a variations of some well-known hymns. The pedal function didn't work so well at the beginning of the songs while recording, so the beginnings sound choppy. And there are definite screw-up moments in these...but I'm not pro and I just do this for fun, so I don't care too much. Hope you enjoy!

How Great Thou Art

I Stand All Amazed