A double whammy

I decided that if Celine Dion and Josh Groban were ever to get together and have a concert, it would be something akin to a Mt. Vesuvius for menfolk. No. More like the atom bomb for the y-chromosome in general.

Ms. Dion, Bro. Groban: please don't nix all the y-chromosomes. Girls hate each other as it is, with very few exceptions (no one hates the Brittany!) and this social angst will only get worse if you have a concert together.

And it is a moral duty-nay, obligation-of radio stations everywhere not to play Celine Dion love songs in the same hour as Josh Groban love songs. Reports of people trying to drown themselves in water coolers are starting to circulate.

Its five-year mission...to explore new life

Yes I am blogging about Star Trek. I caught a glimpse of the Original Series today, and was simultaneously intrigued, disturbed and mesmerized at the same time.

You see, Cap'n Kirk, (who is the younger brother of this man) was making out with alienesque life-form played by one of those beehive-haired women of my parents generation, and it was kind of weird. They weren't talking about alien things. I think they were trying to seduce each other. I was like...huh. So that's how guys do things in the 22nd / 24th century. And he was saying the cheesiest things imaginable between fits of osculation where he smashed her mouth into her nose. I wonder if that's what silly putty feels like?

Note to trekkies: yes, girls probably want to be kissed like that. Provided they have breathing intervals within which you tell her cheesy things that make her brain evaporate.

Evaporate like that other UGLY alien who got zapped by the phaser which was only supposed to be set to STUN but in reality fried ugly alien into a platonic existence.

The point is, if you have big hair, hunky intergalactic space-men will want to seduce you with cheesy words, only because you work for the enemy and are eventually going to get ZAPPED.

The End.

You've Lost Your Queen! ... That's twice in one day!

The Swan Princess is kind of an annual ritual for Kendall and me. We have to wait for that pivotal moment...Derek and Odette are dancing in the grande ballroom and Derek proposes...kind of.

Derek: Arrange the marriage!
Odette: Wait!
Derek: What is it? You're all I've ever wanted. You're beautiful!
Odette: Thank you...But what else? Is beauty all that matters to you?
Derek: Uh...what else IS there?

Single most effective words ever spoken to put a man in the dog house. But for K & me, it's really just hilarious. Ken has too many boys telling her she's pretty--in fact, that's usually the first thing they say in asking-out. They're missing out on a little redheaded firecracker, I can tell you that. And then there's Lou. She's one of the most amazing girls I know...but boys are scared by her energy and intelligence. I don't really get it, but then again I'm not a boy.

Anyway, with the advent of homecomings and preference and whatnots, I'd like to dedicate Martina McBride's This One's for the Girls! to all my sistas out there who maybe feel a little like Odette. And in the hopes that, as in the end of the Swan Princess, your "Derek" comes to his senses. And even if he doesn't, just to know that you are beautiful beyond measure.

This one's for the girls who've ever had a broken heart
Who've wished upon a shooting star
You're beautiful the way you are
This one's for the girls who love without holding back
Who dream with everything they have...

Inspiration

Despite the fact that I don't really care for Paula Abdul in her role as pantocrator of American Idol, I do like her music. Like the song "Straight Up." I found it on the family MediaDrive this morgen, and it's got some good lyrics ('man.)

I've been fooled before, wouldn't like to get my love caught in the slammin' door, How 'bout some inspiration please? Straight up now tell me, do you really want to love me forever, or am I caught in a hit-and-run?

Sometimes I like songs that pay it forward like that. ;) Not heinous ones like "God Must've Spent a Little More Time on You." (sorry...anime again!)

That song makes me feel a lot like Galatea under Pygmalion's hand. I believe I'd rather have someone know my faults and love me more because I've tried to overcome those defects than turn me into the ideal woman who cannot, would not, ought not make a mistake. We're all striving toward perfection, and we help each other toward that goal. Negating faults and pretending we're already at the peak of our potential stunts us.

Not that we should always be reproving, either. Like Frank Sinatra's "Funny Valentine."

Is your figure less than Greek? Is your mouth a little weak? When you open it to speak, are you smart?... but don't change a hair for me, not if you care for me...

What I'm getting at is that I need someone who can pull me to higher ground when he's there, and who will let me help him to higher ground when I'm there. And when we're both there, we can walk together. I am a huge supporter of the idea of an eternal companion. Not my missing "half" but my missing whole. Two people who work intricately as a single cell but retain each's own respective and unique characteristics and spark of spirit.

Kind of like this song. Again, sorry about the anime... :)

I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you
But you just smile, you take my hand, you've been there you understand
It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true...

Back from the Dead

Well, sort-of. I just haven't had anything to write on this blog for a while, or at least not a lot I wanted the www to know.

Anyway, I'm actually going to relate a quasi-boy experience as it applies to the 5-year anniversary of September 11:

I was watching the news feed when the second plane hit. I saw everything, even the faux pas the news made in showing people jumping out of the windows to avoid the flames. It was horrifying. I live near a military airport, and I remember how quiet the sky was for about a week afterwards, and how eerie it was the first time I heard a plane in the sky again. But most of all, I remember worrying about my friend on the West Coast.

It shouldn't have been something to worry about. He was on the wrong side of the country. But I thought if the planes could get us in New York, what was keeping them from California? Thankfully Rob called me later that night and we talked for a long, long time. He had been worried about me all day, waiting to get off of work to call me, even though he knew there was even less chance of an attack in Utah than Cali. The first thing he asked me was, "I know this is silly, because you're in Utah, but are you all right?"

We were scared. Scared about his mission. Scared for the United States. Scared for the Church. Scared of everything. Most of all, I remember talking to him and finally feeling some comfort knowing he was safe and knowing he was worried about me in return. It was a good feeling on a day that otherwise would be a blot in my memory.

No matter what happens, we have good memories of those we've lost. No matter what they have done or said, these memories make it worth the time. It's like Kendall always says,

People will forget what you said. People will forget what you did. But they will never forget the way you made them feel.

On September 11, 2001, I felt like one of the most important people in America.

"You will not have room to receive it"

"You haven't been sleeping lately."

He didn't start the conversation with small talk. Just an assertion. I looked at him for a minute with an awestruck face betraying the sense of "how-could-you-know-that?" As he enveloped me in a hug, I was just thankful I didn't have to explain. He just knew.

It will never cease to amaze me how sometimes your friends just know. Even when you haven't talked in months, they know. They don't want an explanation unless you want to give it. And when you do, they are all ears.

I have the best friends in the world.

BLegh

All I can say is:

I hate cheesy love songs like a fat kid hates to jog.
Sappiness kills my mood. And my appetite.

Genuine love songs, them's okay. Imma have to say I'm a fan.

Thank heaven I can't play the saxophone. I would scare off the menfolk with greater frequency. Now the trumpet, that's a different story.

I dunno

I taught the 20-child nursery on Sunday. Isaac and Elias had more than the alotted amount of energy, and ran around and around the room for an hour an a half. Despite the noise and pandemonium, this didn't bother me. I figure if they get their energy out in church, Mom and Dad will count their blessings. And I'll go home and take a nap.

Anyway, I finally got them to settle down by presenting them with books and asking them to read to me. Isaac screwed up his face trying to make out what the story was saying. Then he turned the book upside down and was a lot more pleased with his comprehension. Then I gave them crayons and let them color all over the butcher paper on the table, and let them rip off the technicolor paper upon completion. The puerile thanatos was satiated. The children rejoiced.

My life is sort of this way. Sometimes I think Heavenly Father lets me run around and around in circles until my energy is spent. There is no use trying to slow me down, because my Spirit feels like it's going to burst out of my body. But when I am through running laps and freaking out, listless and still, then He starts giving me answers. Even then, sometimes I have to turn them upside down before they make any sense.

I feel this summer has been a series of progressively intriguing adventures, each specifically designed to give me the proverbial patience of Job. I've been around a lot of children, which in a sense has caused two reactions: on the one hand, there was never seen a more effective method of birth control; on the other hand, I've never wanted children more than spending time with children in nursery or with Kassy and Josh and my neighbors. It causes an heartache, swelling inside and sometimes a feeling of loneliness. But also hope. I may not have children for years to come, owing to the circumstance of not having an eternal family unit of my own, but my arms are not empty as I have considered them this long while. When your arms are open, something is bound to come and fill them.

Wonder Dog

If you're ever feeling crappy about anything, listen to this poochie. Make it your ringtone if you have to.

Good form, Peter, good form

So I beat Christian in bowling.
As in, I beat Christian by doubling his score.

I beat EVERYONE but Mike.
Which is braggable.

Two games in a row, baby.

He let me do a victory dance, act sassy, and shout exhuberantly every time I got a strike / spare.
+50 points.


Isn't scared by my Ms. Independent Vibes. Or Miss Anthropic. Or Miss Chevious.
In fact, finds my sassiness cute / "aww"ish.
+65 points.

Is hesitant about going "dutch", prefers to pay himself, but lets me have my say in the matter: +25 points.

Enjoys my quirky / confusing sense of humor, even if he doesn't get it on the first try:
+35 points.

Congratulations, Boi Tribe. You are slowly coming back into my good graces.
Your team member has served you well.

Chance of future outing: ... 70%.

Caveat

My general caveat at present to myself and my friends is just this:

Don't be reckless with other people's hearts;
don't put up with people who are reckless with yours.

Stickin' it to the man

Feeling satisfied.

I spent all morning yesterday doing service for disabled adults and youth, and it did a lot for me.

I am half-way through Mosiah. Go Abinadi, I love you! August will definitely see me finishing the Book of Mormon again.

My room is a whole lot cleaner as of this morning, including the huge pile of clothes I'm giving to D.I. and the box o' trash that is well on its way to a lonely landfill.

I got a letter from my roommate today!

Sigh

It's only 9 A.M., and already I feel like it's one of those days.

I really, really need a hug.

PDA

My dad has a pda. As in personal digital assistant.
He also uses his pda *for* pda. As in public display of affection.

Today in sacrament meeting he wrote Mom a note on the screen of his pda and handed it to her.

It said "I love U" in mannish handwriting.

Mom smiled.
It was cute.

Les Choristes Caresse sur l'océan (au palais des Congres)

This is my absolute favorite French song from the movie Les Choristes. OH, I hope you have headphones so you can listen to it, it's beautiful!

S Club 7 singing 'Bring Him Home'

This is mostly for Kendall, because she and I have a thing for this song and S Club 7. Yay British Bands!

Random Thoughts

Which isn't so much a title as an excuse to use Miss Kendall's house as a repository for the current "huh"s running through the glorified paperweight on my shoulders.

Rufus Wainwright, thank you for your song "Complainte de la Butte," (no that's not the French word for butt or anything like it), and for its ability to be put on repeat 16+ times with little annoyance to my subconscious. And the fact that it's neither romantic nor bitter, but something in-between, causing no objections from bearers of the reckless female hormone.

Current opinion on Pride and Prejudice: it makes too much sense.
Current opinion on Romeo and Juliet: same as it ever has been--disappointing.
Current opinion on CS Lewis: I love him like a fat kid loves cake.

Anything sounds seductive if you say it in Italian. I think I'm going to order spaghetti next time and say it in such a sultry accent that the waiter drops his tray.

A man will get my attention if he's etymologically knowledgeable.
A man will get my attention if he lets me talk about things that are important to me, always
having the goodness to say, "uh huh" or "really?" at all important intervals.
A man will make me smile if he lets me know I am worth a lot to him. I don't really ask for a lot.

There are few things better than Spanish rice.

When I'm an old lady, I will still hold my husband's hand in public.
I saw a couple the other day at the temple holding hands. She was fat, he was lean--it was the ultimate over-the-hill realization of Mother Goose's Jack Sprat.

And now, at long last, the Deutschmusik CD must make its debut.

Intruder

You know how it is. You're peacefully asleep early morning (6-ish), having dreams about whatnot, probably Jack Sparrow (wait...remembered the status of his dental hygeine...going to reconsider that one) or the library or math or whatever tickles your fancy, and a loud ruckus wakes you up. You bolt upright in your bed, trying to discern figures in the early morning light. You hear footsteps, rustling papers and strange breathing. My goodness, you say, it's an intruder. Being excessively protective of your body, you search in the darkness for a projectile or anything pointy. Your alarm clock will have to do. At least it has the element of surprise.

The rustling continues...

And then you hear your ten-inch-high chihuahua gently whimper at the door for you to let her in, because she's ashamed of herself for messing up papers in the hall and tripping down the stairs in the dark. And breathing funny like a little pig.

I almost bought a fish the other night. My friend thought it was funny that I wanted to go to Petsmart before seeing Pirates of the Caribbean. I figured why not... we have an hour to wait. Of course plan A then kicked in as Ali and her husband showed up and ushered us into the queue for long-awaited summer flick. Playing cards and all that was fun, but I still wanted my fish. Maybe I should have snagged one from Bells Canyon Reservoir.

The Luckiest

Swoon. So today I'm in a hopelessly romantic mood.

But Brittany, you say, whyfore?

Well I'll tell you. Sometimes I hear certain songs on the radio--most of them old school--and they make me think of happy, wonderful moments in my life. The current top of that list is Ben Folds' "The Luckiest" which phrase I happened upon this morning and it triggered a memory. A very good one, too--although the Boy doesn't know he was even a part of that memory. It was a song I had in my head just after Valentine's Day. Funny that.

My roommate and I used to dance around the living room in our apartment to songs like that. And songs like this. And if Kristi were home, we'd dance to this. Once we had a group of guys from across the complex come over and ask us what we were doing. It's an interesting way to make friends: you never have to worry about doing anything stupid in front of them, because you've already put forth your shamless self to their scrutiny.

I'm glad to say that the return of music, dancing and me singing out loud to myself has returned. I was playing the piano the other day while singing and I realized I was actually hitting the RIGHT notes!

This is monumental.

Eagles

Whenever I watch Return of the King, I get teary-eyed when the flock of eagles comes in to help the good guys.

I can't help it. Merry says, "The eagles are coming!," the good guys all look up with hopeful faces, and my eyes start leaking.

Same thing with the part where the griffins fly out in The Chronicles of Narnia, or when Aslan goes around healing all the stone people in the White Witch's castle.

And don't get me started on Matilda. That movie is lethal to my stiff upper lip department.

Advice

Boys, one word of advice to keep you from being seriously steeped in anti-male sentiment in your near future:

• When you get to your date's house, don't call her and tell her to come out. GO to the door! It's basic common courtesy, especially on the first date.

Also, don't use cologne as a weapon. It's allergy season.

That's all. [...] keep up the good work.

Ni le ciel, ni les étoiles ne m'éloignent de toi

"Neither the sky, nor the stars could distance me from you." I am going to frame this and put on my wall at home, because it's something I really believe in.

One of my favorite songs in the French hymn book is "Souviens-toi." I sang it many times at the MTC with the French missionaries. This haunting melody, courtesy of Dvorák, is familiar to many as "Goin' Home" in English: part of the New World Symphony, second movement. I wanted to share the words here since it's in my head... and yes I will translate:

Souviens-toi, mon enfant: Tes parents divins?
(Do you remember, my child, your Heavenly Parents?)
Te serraient dans leurs bras, ce temps n'est pas loin.
(You were in their arms, that time is not far gone)
Aujourd'hui, tu es là, présent merveilleux,
(Today you are here, in the marvelous Present)
Ton regard brille encore du reflet des cieux.
(Your countenance still reflects the brilliance of the skies)
Parle-moi, mon enfant de ces lieux bénis,
(Speak to me, my child, of those blessed places)
Car pour toi est léger le voile d'oubli.
(Because for you the veil of memory is thin.)

Souviens-toi, mon enfant, des bois, des cités
(Remember, my child, the woods, the cities)
Pouvons-nous ici bas les imaginer?
(Could we, here below, imagine them?)
Et le ciel jusqu'au soir, est-il rose ou gris?
(And the sky, until night, is it pink or gray?)
Le soleil attend-il la neige ou la pluie?
(Does the sun wait for snow or rain?)
Conte-moi, mon enfant, la couleur des prés
(Tell me, child, about the color of the world)
Et le chant des oiseaux d'un monde oublié.
(And the song of the birds in that forgotten place)

Souviens-toi, mon enfant: A l'aube des temps,
(Do you remember, my child: at the dawn of time,)
Nous étions des amis jouant dans le vent.
(We were friends playing in the wind)
Puis un jour, dans la joie nous avons choisi
(Then one day, we chose with joy)
D'accepter du Seigneur le grand plan de vie.
(To accept from the Savior the great plan of life)
Ce soir-là, mon enfant, nous avons promis
(That night, my child, we promised)
Par l'amour, par la foi, d'être réunis.
(By love, by faith, to meet again.)

Ach du lieber!

Ja, ja ja. You're expecting a German blog. Well, I'm sorry I can't furnish you with one. I was trying to pray in German the other day, and I realized that I can only pray for:

Food
Help with my homework
My family
Thanks for this class and for the Savior

So I decided I might get farther along with the Almighty if I decided not to become a German citizen.

Which leads me to a story.

Once upon a time, I had a roommate named Lindsay. Lindsay used to talk in her sleep in German all the time. It was weird. Mind you, she didn't speak German in real life. Only in her dreams. Ja, das war weird. It started a chain reaction of every roommate from thenceforth talking in her sleep. I now know bits and pieces of German, Korean, Spanish, Mumble, and Microbiology that I would otherwise have missed had I not had the roommates I did.

Which still doesn't change the fact that I can't find the Umlaut.
And we had German pancakes yesterday and they were yummy.

...Your cow here would die of fright!

Kick boxing is an excellent way to improve your flexibility, illegal ninja moves from the government, and get your exercise in for the day.

Followed up by ballet.
And jazz.

Gene Kelly, you have been summarily put to shame.

Boo yah.

Finnish RM fails drug test

News flash: "Finnish RM fails drug test."

Scene I: drug lab in United States. Mike brings up his specimen for analysis.

Drug Technician: This is green.
Mike: Well, the water in the bowl was blue.
Drug Technician: We put blue dye in there to prevent people from doing that.
Mike: ? ... That's not how they do it in Finland.
Drug Technician: "You're going to have to do it again."
Mike: Um...
Narrator: audience hears car wheels squealing.
Mike (at home) : Kassy, I failed the drug test and I can't pee!
Kassy: (laughs hysterically)... "How do you fail a drug test?!"
Narrator: Kassy gives Mike three glasses of water. No effect. They solicit advice from neighbor boy. Enter neighbor boy. (Stage left.)
Neighbor boy: Drink warm water!
Narrator: Half an hour later...
Mike: Kassy, drive FAST!
Narrator: And so, Kassy had to take her husband to the hospital just so he could go to the bathroom. And he passed his test this time.

The end.

Dr. Mario

Adventure. A glorified way of saying that what you planned has taken a series of wrong (or right) turns.

Kassy and I were supposed to go to the salon yesterday to get our hair deep conditioned and enjoy the goodness of superfluous yet necessary feminine pampering. Unfortunately, when her baby Joshua woke up at 6:00 A.M., his runny nose and sinus infection made a grand entrance accompanied by a nasty ear infection. The poor boy was screaming for a while and wouldn't eat. Then Kassy and I went to the pediatrician (who I have to shamelessly mention, was hot. Like Keanu Reeves in better roles minus his poor acting or better yet a very young Christopher Plummer with nice tan and contrived accent hot) and got several prescriptions for Josh.

Needless to say we didn't get our hair done. But we did get in a few good movies, most noteably Wallace & Gromit: The Curse of the Were-Rabbit. Now that is good entertainment my loves.

The downside of all this misadventure is simple: Yesterday night I had a general feeling of listlessness, a low fever and a headache in addition to fuzzy tummy syndrome. It's not so bad today, but I've decided when I have a baby and she / he gets sick, I am going to coat myself in a thick layer of plastic wrap and Lysol. And wear some sort of anti-deathgerm-making face mask.

That oughtta teach the little germies not to mess with me.

Assurance

"Our safety lies in the virtue of our lives.
Our strength lies in our righteousness.
God has made it clear that if we will not forsake Him,
He will not forsake us."
- Gordon B. Hinckley Oct. 2001

Sometimes that's all I think we need to hear.

Mr. Darcy Stare?

The "look" can be summarized in a few words from Nicholas Nickleby:

Fanny: "We don't need words...if you could only see the way he looked at me."

Tilda: "Did he look at you like this? If he did, you're engaged. That's the way John looked at me."

John Browdie: "I hope it was better than that, or thee'd have run to the hills!"

I was thinking about this yesterday as I was talking to Lindsay's cat. My feline friend was gazing deep into my eyes while I was talking and every time aforementioned kitty looked deep in my eyes, it would put its nose against my mouth. I was like, hmm...this cat is subconsciously obsessed with kissing me. It's completely oblivious to anything else I'm saying.

And then the idea struck.

I should learn how to do that "look."
The wisdom of this simpering feline may benefit us all.

The Lure

There are few things that will convince me to eat in the morning. One is the smell of fresh fruit; one is my dog biting at my pajama pant leg to get me out of bed and feed her; and one is a well-dressed and mysteriously attractive (tall, dark and handsome) man showing up at my door with roses (insert alternate flower here) and frozen birthday cake. That about completes the list.

And then today happened.

They were just sitting there on the table. That box, with the morning sun scintillating off its cardboard and ink surface... Stephen had forgotten to return it to the cupboard ... fool.

There was no one around except el chupeneibre. And so I gave in.

And ate a full bowl of Golden Grahams before the crunch had time to escape.

Yes Jon, you were right all along.

Pros and Cons

Con: Moving day.
Pro: Possibility of food as reward for moving day.
Con: Heavy lifting.
Pro: Uberhot muscles formed by heavy lifting.
Con: Getting Brian's hud together and putting it into Angry Johnny's truck.
Pro: Getting Brian's hud outta my house.
Con: Trying to move stuff with neighbor girls wanting to have tea party.
Pro: Crumpets.
Con: Don't know what crumpets are.
Pro: Dog eats crumpets.
Con: Moving the crumpet-filled dog to access furniture.

So I don't know if I even out in the end or not, but if anyone would like (puppy dog eyes) to help us move Brian and Lindsay into their apartment in Orem tonight, that would be a good thing and you'd prolly qualify yourself for heavenly blessings. We'll be starting around 5 or 6.

It will be the social event of the season.

Small Wonder

So since I've been home, I have somehow dropped five pounds. I don't know where it went. I can't find it. But I weighed myself this morning, and I was TINY.

Cwazy.

Soon I'll be Calista Flockhart or Emmy Rossum small.

Gross.

April showers bring May flowers

And they have a whole website dedicated to it. Fasn8n, really.

Does anyone know why is it generally socially unacceptable for girls to give flowers to boys? Sometimes I really want to, but this stigma in my head slaps my hands and says no.

Or better yet, could someone tell me the masculine equivalent to flowers? I don't want to give power tools, but...

An Ideal Husband

A BYU professor once said:

"If you find a person who fits 80%
of your needs or expectations,
you have a small miracle--
and should do all you can to hold onto them.

Guys, this ought to give you some encouragement. Why? Because women have a prefabricated set of qualifications mapped out for the men they date. Girls, I know you all made those lists in Young Women's. You know, the 45 traits your future husband absolutely must have in order to qualify as a candidate for your affections. We all have those little lists floating around somewhere, and most of them are nearly impossible to fulfil.

I found several of those lists today, as well as one of those "Letters to my Future Husband" that Mia Maid leaders encourage you to write before being old enough to date. I read the letter. It was pretty sappy. But hopelessly romantic, too. I don't know if I'd give it to my future husband or not, he'd prolly die laughing and then kiss me out of sympathy. And then I'd burn the letter.

I think I should post one of those "lists," though, and see how it compares to other girls' lists. It would be funny to see, and give guys and opportunity to see how spasmodically complicated the female mind is, even in the teen years. Pardon: especially in the teen years. I'll have to do that later today...

Endorphin

Sounds like a Star Wars midget-planet.

This week I started my summer workout routine. There's an awful lot of unused muscle floating around my little self, and I should do summat about that. Then I can look nice in a prom gown...except I'm not going to prom anytime soon.

And so I have a specific plan to improve:

abs-crunches
biceps-weights, pushups
deltoids-swimming
triceps-pushups
quads, gastocnemius-running

I've got my work cut out for me. But I think this will minimize the "I can't stand one more minute indoors" mood I'm currently undergoing. I hate this mood.

Endorphins rule. Job searches bite. I'm sore from exercising!

Link

Because let's face it. When you find a boy who lets you obsess about the Legend of Zelda and then play the video game for hours without complaint, then it's prolly time you should consider keeping him.

Just a thought.

Food Storage

So I decided that a definite bonus to someday getting married is the prospect of adequate food storage. Versus what I'm currently living on.

It's not that single people don't have food. We do. We just have to pick-and-choose from what our roommates have and what we don't, and thereby make a balanced meal. I guess I'm feeling guilty for once again pilfering one of Kristi's cans of chicken noodle soup, which I wouldn't have had to do if I had the unlimited resources of a can-goddess.

In contrast, Matt and Lily's pantry was chock-full of canned goodness of every type. I should know. I sorted it for them while they were on their honeymoon. Those canned whatevers would have come in handy this morning when I was looking for chicken broth.

And it's not just cann-ed goods. Married people also have access to the full gamut of spices. Mom does. They're sitting down in the Fruit Room, waiting to be turned into some fantastical garnish for who knows what. I can't even guess what half of those spices are. Does this make me an inadequate woman? I hope not. I'd hate for that to be on my resume.

Hands

My favorite thing about my boyfriend today is:

The fact that his hand is just big enough for my hand to fit comfortably in it. Sometimes, I think it was custom-made that way.

Networking

Warning: venting blog approaching.

It's a well-known fact that guys are constantly baffled by the underground organization known to some only as the Girl Network. It's a streamlined system that efficiently feeds women our gossip within the hour the event has happened, and keeps us apprised to the goings-on in our world. Membership, however, is exclusive and contingent on an intricate understanding of the Reckless Female Hormone. Guys get frustrated with our web of "knowingness" and we can't really blame them for being bewildered and / or frustrated with how much it pervades daily life.

But as I learned today, yes we can.

I've decided that guys have as extensive and clandestine network as we ladies do, and in some cases, it's more lethal. The key to the Guy Network is the principle of not-telling. We say they don't talk to each other about love / life / whatever, but they do. They talk about these things a lot.

Example:

My friend broke up with her boyfriend today. Recently-ex'ed-boyfriend (Danny) is mad at friend (Kristin) because she is still writing to a missionary (Kenneth.) This is not the pivotal argument of the break-up, but Danny chose to bring it into the fray. Danny had known about Missionary Kenneth since January because boy-network aquaintance and therefore bosom-companion (Thomas) had told Danny about Kenneth. It's not like this information was anything new to him. The "knowing" part of it wasn't bad. It was the fact that Danny never said anything to Kristin about this before, or that it bugged him, until they actually broke up. He'd gotten the secret from the Boy Network ages ago, and failed to properly apply his knowledge. It's not Kristin's fault that Danny skirted this important issue completely, waiting for it to surface at the most inopportune time.

Without making sweeping generalizations, as I'm about to do, I'm a bit miffed at the whole thing. If Danny had a problem, Danny should have addressed the problem. He should not have waited for the problem to explode or dissolve on its own, and then blame Kristin for the problem's being there. It wouldn't have been an issue if he hadn't made it one. Thomas, if the issue was bugging him, on his buddy's account, should have talked directly to Kristin instead of going over to Danny and undermining the relationship with potentially toxic information.

I guess all I'm trying to say is that the Boy Network is just as powerful and deceptive as the Girl Network, and both could use a bit more common sense in their delivery.

Taco Bell

I mean, you gotta give the boy credit for trying. Most guys see Kendall and just get bladder discomfort.

Taco Bell Employee (male): "Would you like to get a drink, ma'am?"

Kendall (female): "No thanks."

Taco Bell Employee (persistent male): "I meant would you like to get a drink with me?"

Kendall (confuzzled female): ". . . . . . . . . . . " (Promptly walks away.)

And that, my friends, is the classic BYU scene I witnessed not three hours ago. Oh pick-up lines, how I love thee! It's an invasive way to break the ice, but it sure does get attention. Like this: "Your lips look wrinkled. Do you want me to press them?"

That one is pretty great, and I'm sure at some time I may use it to my advantage. (Again... where is my boyfriend?!) but I've heard some strange / gross pick-up lines as well. And so today's blog is an open forum. Tell me about your best / worse lines and I'll rate them in order of how heinous / effective they are. Won't that be fun? ... you know you want to.

"I lost my phone number...can I have your's?"

Addendum

According to Kristi, there has to be an addition to the Hugs post.

17. The arms around your neck I want to grab your face and kiss you hug. So. Hot.

Not to be confused with what a bear does while mauling you.

And then there's the bad list addition:

7. The dead fish hug. Way worse than the dead-fish hand shake.

Dressing Up

Is a sure-fire way of getting my attention. I'm very happy the occasion for boys to wear tuxes doesn't come along very often, because that would be crazy. As is, I think tuxes are the suavest, nicest things on basically anyone. Even I look good in a tux. The only person on whom I despise a tuxedo is James Bond, and I pretty much hate him anyway.

So the sad thing is that we don't live in the 1800s, and there are few reasons to dress up these days (except church.) Sometimes I just want to pin my hair up all elaborate and wild and wear a formal dress. It's just one of those things. It's hard not to feel pretty when you are so shiny. But these opportunities to look / feel glamourous are few and far in between. Sad day for the fashion industry, and sad day for Brittany!

Kendall, I think this is the time for us to play dress-up at the mall.

Hugs

Are pretty much the best things ever invented.

Here are some of my favorite hugs:

1. The movie star hug.
2. The hug you get when a boy unexpectedly comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. Sigh...one of my personal favs.
3. The "I'm happy and I'm going to throw my arms around your neck" hug.
4. The pick-me-up and twirl me hug.
5. The "good night, our date was totally awesome can I see you again?" hug.
6. The "I want to kiss you, but I'll hold back for now" hug.
7. The crying into Boy's shoulder hug.
8. The "I can hear your heartbeat" hug. Sigh, love this one too.
9. The "leaning" hug. Best for kitchens.
10. The hug-into-kiss-back-into-hug hug.
11. The I love you but can't say it otherwise hug.
12. The I'll miss you hug.
13. The hug that doesn't really end, you just sort of wind up holding each other and talking while standing hug.
14. The I don't ever want to let you go hug.
15. The "how did I ever find someone like you?" hug.
16. The little kid / baby snuggle up to your chest hug.

Not such a fan of:

1. The pat on the back hug. Nearly as annoying as the head pat.
2. The doorstep scene "I can't wait for this date to be over, so why are you hugging me?" hug.
3. The "which one of us smells funny?" hug. This one is most alarming.
4. The "oh no...he's going to kiss me and I don't wanna kiss him!" hug. This happened once in high school...
5. The half-hearted hug.
6. The "I'm a popular girl, let's hug for the sake of looking cool" hug.
7. The virtual / digital "consider yourself hugged via email cause I'm lazy" hug.

Anyway, that's my thoughts on that for today. I think I need a hug. Preferably from the first list. Where is my boyfriend?

Nail Polish

As a matter of fact, I'm not really sure why girls paint their fingernails. The nail solution smells horrid, kills brain cells, and is most likely bad for the environment. That and almost the second you paint your nails, it starts chipping. You look good for a few hours, which Boy won't notice anyway, and then you have these strips of colour marring your otherwise lily-white, pure hands. It's like you're trying to look unpresentable. If ever I had a job interview, I would completely clean my nails, trim them, and make sure they were devoid of all color. It's supposed to be one of those power tactics -- clean, non-rough, warm hands are supposed to make a big impression at interviews, if only subconsciously. Ask Dad. He's the one who told me so. He said if your hands are cold or dirty before an interview, you should always go to the restroom and wash them in warm water.

Anyway, back to the issue at hand. Painting toenails is a completely different story, since I'm a big advocate of doing it. Again, I'm not really sure why. It's not like I want people to look at my feet. Feet are gross. I'm not saying this because I live with Rachel who has a serious vendetta against the Foot in general, I'm just saying that aesthetically speaking, feet are not the most pleasing to the eye. I guess having painted toenails slightly alleviates the offensive nature of the toe in general. And it gives me something to do with that extra five minutes between listening to CDs and dinner, or the break between Lord of the Rings: I and Lord of the Rings II.

I think I should market scented toenail polish that makes your feet smell like lilacs and inhibits mal-odor in every way.

Laundry

My mother once told me that there are few things more attractive to a woman than the smell of clean laundry. I think her power of suggestion is incredibly strong, because I fully agree with her. I love the smell of laundry detergent and the smell of soaps like Irish Spring (Icy Blast is the best...almost out of control!). Colognes that smell fresh are also a plus. None of this musk stuff...it reminds me of gym class. If a boy wants to get my attention, all he really has to do is rub soap on his skin and walk by. For sure my head will turn in a maximum of fifteen seconds.

So what is it about the laundry-fresh smell that drives women crazy? According to research, it's supposed to create a mental link of getting things done. Clean laundry = wife has done the housework. Wife has done housework = husband is happy. Husband is happy = wife has fulfilled gender role. It's really all quite basic, but I think it says a lot. I know for me, fresh smells and clean rooms make it easier for me to study, relax and feel happy. I like clean clothes, especially pajama pants straight from the dryer. The fuzzy feeling of fleece is also a plus, and make me want to snuggle.

So today's resolve is to go out and buy the new flavor of Tide: Tide with Febreeze. My euphoria was needless to say off the scale when I found out this product exists. How to make it mine?... hmm.

Grocery shopping

Is so much more fun when you go with a boy.

Grocery shopping, for the female, is fulfilling. It's hard to explain. Although it's just satisfying basic alimentary wants through monetary means, it goes beyond that. When you're shopping with a boy, odd as it sounds, you feel like you are making important decisions, and you are making them together. Whether there is a romantic spark between you or not, it's like being married without a title. You take into a account his opinion, add it to your own, and make a purchase. It sounds like rocket science, but it's not.

What I think is fun when shopping is trying to find the best deals. It's a way to basically show off all the good things you hopefully learned from your mother (or feign to have learned...how are they going to know the difference?). And in return, Boy will be adequately impressed with Girl's good sense and economy.

I'm all about these little details in dating and in life. This may sound like I've gone completely south of sane, but I know at least Kendall agrees with me. Going to Macy's sometimes can be a funner date than going to a nice dinner somewhere else. It's all about your company and the conversations you are able to have. I bet some boys would love to know the fundamental principles involved in the wonder of inexpensive dating...

Homework

Today's favorite thing about dating:

Doing homework together.

It's not so much that I like doing homework. On the contrary, I'd rather stare at the wall, watch a movie, go to dinner or paint. But homework is a relentless and omnipresent part of student life, and it must be addressed. So I love it when my boyfriend brings his homework over. Then we can both sit on the couch and study (semi-productively), knowing we're getting to spend quality time together while actually doing the work we're supposed to. It's nice. And after all, if my boyfriend weren't there, I'd probably find some way to distract him from his studies--whether on AIM or through my amazing mental powers that make him think of me. Not that I'm immune to any of that... It's way easier for me to concentrate with Boy there than otherwise, because I don't have to wonder where he is. This limits daydreaming, helps me complete my task, and makes me happy because I know that he's not stressed out as much about balancing the girlfriend and the studies. Plus, there is the perpetual promise of those nice little five-minute breaks for food and sparkling conversation. Ingenius! I'm amazed I didn't think of this sooner...

Welcome to Miss Kendall's House

Which is really a site I created while sitting next to Miss Kendall because she needs a blog. Everyone needs a blog. It's the law of nature. Like everyone should have a phone. Except I have no phone. I just bum calls off of other people. I guess one could say I'm kind of a hobo, but I don't eat chili out of cans, and I don't carry stuff around in a knapsack. On the contrary, I carry it around in a super uber-cool Vic.'s Secret bag. Now aren't you in awe of how cool I am? Figures. It's a natural primary reaction. Wait until you see my paperclip collection. Then I'd really have to stave off all your wiles.

But anyway, I'm sure as you've guessed, this site is for...random jibberish. Whatever I feel like posting. Which will probably entail a lot of dating advice, through the eyes of Kendall.

It is mandatory for you to post comments. I'm sure I could find some creepy way of tracking you down should you choose to view and not comment. It's just downright dishonest and will incur dishonor on you, your cow, and yo' whole family!