Typical Sunday Scene

Attractive and amazing home teachers come, they leave, Sadie realizes her fly has been down all day.

Acca-awkward.

--Sadie

Falling For You

Three cheers for being the first post of the new semester!

After many days sliding on ice here in Utah Valley, today the roads and sidewalks finally cleared up.  I had a clean record: no slips or falls for the whole winter season (please notice my past tense here...)

I had no desire to get dressed yesterday, as it was Saturday and I sort of had intentions to make it to the gym, so I put on my stretchy pants.  The roomies and I needed to make a quick run to the Creamery, so I slipped on some casual shoes and went out the door.  We needed to cross the street, but there was a car at an awkward distance away- we had two choices: run across, or stay back and wait.  I decided to run.  Unbeknownst to me, my roomies decided to stay back.  I bolted across the street in front of the oncoming car and slipped in a puddle of rain.  I went crashing down and ended up in the middle of the road in fetal position.  Unharmed but wet, I popped up, jumped to the sidewalk, and almost fell down again from laughing so hard at what had just happened.  The driver of the car, who clearly saw everything, stopped, rolled down the window, and embarrassingly asked if I was okay and if I wanted a ride.  My roomies and I could not stop laughing the whole time to the grocery store.

After arriving at the Creamery and collecting all my groceries, I stood in line with my arms full of tortillas. "Got enough tortillas there?" Yes, thank you weird stranger for noticing my affinity for burritos... I thought to myself.  I nodded, smiled, and mumbled something to the guy standing behind me in line and then turned back around.  15 seconds later: "What are you making?" "It's cold here." "I don't need a jacket, but I'm from California" "The rain is messing up my hair" "Can you trade me a twenty for a ten?" "I'm not a BYU student, I just followed a girl here, but it didn't work out..."

Wait, was this guy really hitting on me in line at the BYU Creamery?  Yes. Yes, he was.  After this interesting encounter, Annalee realized why California boy wanted a little bit of Utah Sadie (well, aside from my charm and good looks): The stretchy pants.  My booty is by far my best (and biggest) asset, plus, who can resist a tush as perky as mine?  So I apologize, California boy, that you had to stand in line right behind The Behind.

--Sadie

With Wandring Awe

You would think that the Lord's House would be the one place I would be immune from awkward moments, but apparently God gives us agency and lets us be as embarrassing as we please wherever we want to be.
This past week Annalee and I decided to join the ward choir.  Why? I have no clue.  According to the roomies I have a coffeeshop voice (No idea what this means, but it reminds me of Phoebe from Friends singing Smelly Cat in the Central Perk. Ha.)?  So let's just assume that singing is not my forte.
This Sunday was our ward Christmas program, and so the choir sang three lovely songs between talks. After one particular heart-wrenching talk given by one of my studly FHE brothers, I was under the impression that the choir was going to sing our final hymn.  I get up, walk out of my row, and proceed to walk down the middle aisle towards the stand.  After walking about 15 feet, I realize that no one else is walking with me.  In fact, no one else is getting up out of their seats at all.  I look back at Annalee and Julie, who are in the choir as well, and notice they are painfully trying to resist from laughing in a silent Sacrament Meeting.  I run back to my seat and try to keep from giggling myself at the whole event.  On the plus side, I walk very well in heels.

--Sadie

Merry Christmas

One particular night my beautiful lady friend Renae asked me to go out dancing with her and I was so down. So I danced and no boys danced with me and so I left.  Who's going to stay at a dance when no boys are hitting this up? when I have sexy lover waiting in my apartment?

Like, I mean c'mon. I'm a sexy beast.

Anywho, I came home and no one else was home.  So I put my hair up and started to wash my makeup off. I was scrubbing my face down with my rough towel and then I had that tight feeling in my bladder.  It was like "ooh great I have to pee" so I did what any other sane person does when they have to use the restroom. I undid my pants.

I had finished. But let's face it. I'm a lazy woman.  Just straight up I put everything off. Procrastination to the point where I didn't hook my belt and rebutton my pants. What's the point? I'm at home.

...then a horrifying knock on the door.

I thought, "okay, just look through the peep hole" I figured that it was just a room mate that had forgotten to bring their key with.

So.. I look. And there's a dozen people, half girls, half boys. Boys.
They had their backs turned, and I couldn't tell who anyone was.  "Haha," I thought. "I had just misheard the knock on our door for someone else's apartment. They're facing 2211" and I started to walk away.

Then a phrase that made the angels in heaven cry for me: "we see your shadow through the crack in the door, open up!"

So I thought... "Well, maybe it's Jessica and a bunch of her friends, there was a girl with straight brown hair.." and I open the door.

Ba-da-bing, ba-da-boom, Christmas carols are being sung to me. My face makeup-less, red and splotchy from my rough towel.  Hair up.  Pants undone. 

I suavely and without drawing attention started to awkwardly button my pants and put my belt on in the shadows of the hall in my apartment in front of these boys and singing girls. To no avail. 

God bless us, everyone. Merry Christmas.

Bun Cake

About a month ago on a Sunday afternoon my roommates and I were in the kitchen making dinner and one of the girls from a neighboring apartment knocked on the door. We all shouted a friendly “COME INNNNN” like we always do when someone comes a knocking. She came in the kitchen and asked if any of us had a Bundt pan. Me and my roommates must have simultaneously had the same thought cross our minds because we all immediately started mimicking Tula’s mother “bond-t" cake scene from My Big Fat Greek Wedding. Someone even exclaimed, "There's a hole in this cake!" Our neighbor was a little surprised, and I think we were too. I love how we are all awesome enough to be able to quote something that amazing at the same time =)

Here's the actual scene from the movie:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WPvO53JHnmY

The Joker

So I was walking home from the Creamery on Halloween night - by myself- and suddenly a car on the road passing me in the opposite direction swerved to get dangerously close to the sidewalk where I was walking. The window was rolled down and just as the car passed me this guy dressed up as The Joker (from Batman) stuck his head out the window and laughed like a maniac. His face was actually really close to mine and so it was really frightening! He had all the face make-up on and everything. At first I was really freaked out, but then I decided that whoever these people were, they were pretty awesome.  =)  

-Cass

Giovanni and Catherine

 I name things. I think it is a natural need that humans have. However, something interesting happens once you give an object a name. It takes on human characteristics. 

 I had two swim bags during high school. The first was a bright purple duffel bag, named Phyllis. I loved it, and used it not only as my swim bag, but my book bag. Phyllis grew to hate my very being because of the extra weight. Very shortly into the season, she ripped her strap from me. No matter how many times I had it sewed or tied, she, like a bitter shrew, would destroy it in spite of me, achieving the awkward and uncomfortable result of making me carry her with her short handles everywhere. She also liked to trip me, wrapping the useless strap around my feet when I would get out of my desk. She grasped onto edges and corners of doors, tables—whatever she could wrap her cloth around, anything to slow my progress throughout the day. 

The second bag I got was a ridiculously large ivory and purple duffel bag. I named it Billius, mostly because it rhymes with Phyllis and one of my best friends hates Ron Weasely (Billius is his middle name).  Billius, thankfully, never despised me. He was just the clumsiest fool ever. Walking off of a bus, the poor dear couldn’t help but bump into the seats, sometimes even the people in the seats. He, bless his seams, got in the way of everything. Both have now retired into the depths of my closet. 

 Anyways, this past week at work, my coworker and I finally named our vacuums. It’s been four months, and we finally got around to it. Italy is to my coworker, what England is to me, so we decided to give one an Italian name, and another one a British name. We stared at the larger of the two, and eventually, the bright yellow cord (bright because we clean it once a week) started looking more and more like a large, heavy gold chain necklace.

 Keep in mind, we are both running on very little sleep.

She dubbed it Giovanni. Giovanni’s floor takes roughly 45 minutes to vacuum, an hour if it’s really messy, and as he and I worked together to clean, I couldn’t help but start to see him less of an it and more of a he. Eventually, when I looked at him, his appearance reflected that of a fat, greasy, balding, heavily jeweled Italian man. When the squeaking got on my nerves, I mumbled to him that he was a squeaky, squeaky vacuum. As he refused to pick up the fringe from notebook paper and the remnants of fall tracked in, I murmured that he was a lazy man, and needed to suck it up, and do his job. The squeaking seemed to get louder in protest. I swear I could almost see him do the stereotypical hand motions of Italians.

Now, every time I take his handle, I swear he is curling his lip, and scowling. 

                

My awkwardness with vacuums has only increased. Some (Giovanni I’m speaking to you, Catherine is the perfect example of what a Vacuum should be, silent and efficient. The British slogan, “Keep Calm and Carry On” comes to mind when I think of her cooperation with getting the job done. You are a slimy, sneaky hoover.) Vacuums and I disagree, which leads to made up conversations in my head with the inanimate object, which is not so inanimate anymore. 

  I wonder if I'm crazy.

  

 Moral(s) Of the Story

-Naming something gives it power, sometimes to interrupt your sanity

-Be careful what you humanize

-Custodial work is beginning to warp my view of the world.

-One author once said to "write what you're obsessed with", It seems I'm consumed by thoughts of vacuums, as this is my second piece on them. What does this say about my life?

-Annalee