The Small Elephant in The Room

My Spanish conversation lab usually consists of no more than five people for an hour. It’s always a bit awkward as 30% of the time we don’t catch what our teacher is saying or asking us, and we all speak haltingly, nervously, and quietly. When a new person comes to the lab, it’s very apparent and slightly exciting. 

So today I waltz into the classroom, and do a double take.

There was a new boy.

With glasses, and tousled blonde hair. 

In my SPANISH conversation lab. 

You got to understand. As an English major, I’ve discovered this rather unfortunate, but not unexpected, phenomenon in my classes: NO MALES. And if there are males, they are married, or a little too hipster, or old.

A little too Hipster

Because of this, whenever an attractive man happens to be in one of my classes, Aragon’s speech in LOTR Return of the King echoes back to me: “Hold your ground…a day may come when there are no boys at all in your class or when they are all married but it is not this day! Today we fight!”

I boldly took a seat near him, and got partnered up with him for all the speaking activities. Things were going successfully until we flowed into a normal conversation about high school. Cleverly, I asked “Cuando saliste de escuela secondario?” (when did you graduate) as a casual attempt to gage his age. 

“2008, y tu?” 

Sheepishly, feeling very much like a little freshman, I replied “el ano pasado” which surprised him.

“2012?” He asked, I nodded, and then he continued, “So tienes diecinueve anos?” (You are 19?)

Regretfully, I corrected him, “Dieciocho,” then speaking faster, “pero mi cumplianos es en Mayo!” (18, but my birthday is in may!) He nodded, then proceeded to simultaneously smile and kill the excitement and hope fluttering around in my chest, “That’s quite a grande age gap between us,”  

After that, things just got worse. 

At one point, we were supposed to create a story, or tell each other stories using these strange phrases of sentences on the board. I had no idea what was going on, as my teacher talked very quickly, but needed to talk, and so I desperately picked a line and went with it. 

“Hay un hombre extrano a mi puerta……y el dame un elefante pequena,” (There was a strange man at my door, and he gave me a small elephant). 

The guy frowned in puzzlement, and asked “un elefante?” and in reply, I muttered “Si, pequena”. 

Then we sat there, silent. 

What was supposed to be a conversation opener, successfully transformed into a conversation ender, all in the form of a small elephant.

                                                         Moral(s) of the Story  

         

Sleep deprivation + a foreign language x the presence of an attractive male= Word Vomit.

Being Age Zoned sucks the fun out of everything. 

-ANNALEE

Glass is see-through, right?

So every day at work I wash fingerprints off of the glass doors of the Benson Building. It's surprisingly satisfying because the fingerprints are so visible and it's easy to tell when it's been cleaned. I usually try to clean the doors at 10:05, so that I miss the class break and am not trying to clean while other people are trying to use the doors. However, if someone does need to come in while I'm cleaning, the great thing about the Benson Building is that all the doors are double doors, so people can always go through the door I'm not cleaning....

Or so you would think. Yesterday at work though, I was washing fingerprints off the doors, and I saw a guy coming towards me from outside. He made eye contact with me, so I knew he had seen me. This was a regular occurrence, and is usually followed by the person changing their course and walking through the other door. This guy started to follow the usual pattern and veered towards the other door, and then surprised me by opening the door while I was cleaning it. He walked through, did this weird giggle thing, and walked away. No apology or anything. It was weird. The end. 

-Jessica

Female pain. Brought to you by Lizzy Gunn.

WARNING: THIS IS A FEMALE PAIN POST

Okay so I'm about to say something kind of TMI but it's a necessary integral part of this story..

I'm on my period. My freaking period. Oh yeah you guessed it.

But hey, at least I'm not preggo right? In two years I'll beat teen pregnancy. 

So I went to take a shower and I was like super pumped to go to my biology class after because we're discussing this biological thing that's super duper interesting and then...

mild cramps. 

Okay... whatever. That's normal. I'm a woman. I can handle this. I mean.   I'm a woman.

Then the water goes cold. 
Okay. Whatever. 

Then the water arbitrarily shuts off.
Okay. My conditioner isn't all the way washed out. Whatever. 

I daintily step out of the shower.
DEBILITATING, MIND NUMBINGLY , EXCRUCIATING CRAMPS. 

I couldn't move, couldn't talk. I just lied in writhing pain and agony. I like to call it.. the "Pain Dance".

10 acetaminophen pills later, I was in a mentally coherent state. 

*Later that same day*

Awwwwwlright,
So at night Hoolie, Cass, The Juicy Georgian Peach and I all got together to watch a movie, eat chocolate ice cream, and be in our pajamas. Girls' night.

One problem for lil' ole me.
Cramps.

So hey, dearest heating pad that is actually Sadie's,
You are my best friend. 
Wanna make out with my cramping lower abdomen? Yeah? Great. <3 
We make a lovely couple. 

So we're all nestled and cuddly on our couch watching She's The Man. Scooping, shoveling delicious marshmallow caramel chocolate ice cream into our girl mouths. And I've wrapped the heating pad around my tummy under my shirt.

Then my FHE broski shows up.
Randomly.
And he's like "What is that?!"
He eyes the pad pokin' out beneath my shirt.
Peek-a-boo. 
I look at him. "A heating pad."
Him: What.
Me: I have cramps. 
Him: I think girls all make that stuff up.
Me:
Him:
Me:
Him:
Me:

Me: *shovels some ice cream into mouth*
Me: YOU HAVE NO IDEA
Me: *shovels more ice cream into mouth*
Me: WHAT CRAMPS ARE LIKE 
Me: *a little more chocolate ice cream*
Me: OR WHAT IT'S LIKE TO BE A GIRL

You're welcome womankind. 

I got yo' back. 

❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ ❤ 

Always faithfully yours, 

Elizabeth Sakura Gunn 

Swinging and Clinging

For all those who know me, or have read previous posts, they are well aware that my dancing is in a league of its own- so good, so awkward, so Sadie: however you describe it, it's something special.  My one main problem with dancing is the fact that I cannot follow choreography.  My slow reaction to figuring out what is left and what is right could be the source of this problem, but mostly I just can't figure out how to make my body look graceful.

Tonight, Julie and I went on a double date with a couple guys in our ward.  Where did we go? BYU Swing Dance Club.  My inability to learn new dance moves is incredibly inhibitory, but I decided to put myself out there and try it.  Luckily, my date was my good friend Evan, who is just as incapable with learning new dance moves as I am.  As the night went on, I felt like Evan and I were starting to get the hang of it.  We were going fast, were in sync with each other, and he could even spin me. Success.  In my mind I felt like we looked dang good:

How I think we looked swing dancing

How we really looked swing dancing

Sadly, I knew the limits of my dancing abilities, and my perception of how things were going was far from reality.

After a couple songs, Julie and I switched partners.  Julie's date, is known as "the Man".  He's smooth, dates a lot, and is just an all around cool guy.  Not to mention he is also Elder's Quorum President.  I had only formally met The Man once, and both of us had forgotten, so really we were just meeting now. 

The Man is a good dancer.  He was trying to play it cool saying that he wasn't good and hadn't really done this before, but I knew better.  I was positive this was not his first rodeo.  I tried to follow, but ended up being so lost on anything except a simple spin in and spin out.  

The Man was determined to teach me new moves.  Wrong move on his part.  The Man's favorite move includes spinning the girl behind him with one hand and reaching his other hand back for her to grab behind both of their backs.  He didn't explain this concept beforehand, leaving me trying to follow his confusing lead.  As The Man spun me backwards and extended his hand near his waist behind his back, I blindly reached and grabbed for his hand.  Only I DIDN'T GRAB HIS HAND.  In my confusion, I hadn't reached far enough, and I GRABBED HIS TUSH.  I had gotten my hands on the butt that belongs to a man, for all intensive purposes, I had only met 45 minutes ago.

Ladies and gentlemen, I think I just won the award for Awkward-Dancing-Creeper.  I would like to thank my parents, my friends, and most importantly my Dancing Skills (or lack thereof).

Needless to say, The Man and I didn't dance any more songs together...

--Sadie

Well, I thought I took my birth control ...

So... I'm pregnant.  Or rather, was pregnant ... I suppose.
My baby, conception and birth on Sunday, was rather painful.
I finally understand a mother's love.

I have this friggin' weird problem. Don't laugh. Kay? Kay.
I don't pass gas.
I don't know why, 
I don't know how,
But I'mma thinkin' that there's a-somethin' wrong with my intestinal tract here.

Well anywho, most animal products produce gas, am I right? Or am I right? 
So because of this I live a pescatarian life-style, almost vegan. 

BUT SADIE'S MOTHER MADE US THE MOST DELICIOUS MEATY BUTTERY ANIMAL-PRODUCT-INFESTED FOOD ON EARTH. 

Oh my goody-goodness. Can you really pass that up? So I ate three servings of roast beef and mashed potatoes.

And then I ate 4 servings of ice cream and ....
2 of cake. 

Then after dessert, I could feel myself bloating to the size of a blimp. No, literally. A blimp.
I turned to Annalee on my left,

"I ate too much, I feel sick. My stomach hurts"

A look of "Oh Lizzy" was returned.

I started to feel myself expand even larger. My stomach was bubbling like champagne. It was like a horror scene from CHARLIE AND THE FREAKING CHOCOLATE FACTORY.

Yes, I was that berry chick. But instead of delicious berry juice, I was filled with ... red meat gas.

.... 

I'm not even exaggerating. 

I submitted to my abdomen, posture racked like a woman with child. I even started to rub at the belly.

I attempted to act like a normal human being after dessert. Then we stood up... I kind of clamored up, and everyone saw it.

My belly looked like a 5 month old fetus was kickin' about. 

Sadie exclaimed "I think I'm gonna pee!"
Cassidy started to rub at the belly.
Annalee couldn't even look at me without cracking some sort of guffaw.
Julie told me I actually looked pregnant.

At first, I was like: HALLELUJAH SWEET MANNA  

Then I was like:  Sweet Mother of Pearl, What have I done. 

Word of warning: Don't let this happen to you. 

Sincerely and seriously yours, 

Elizabeth Sakura Gunn.

Caliente: A Cautionary Tale

I've taken spanish since first grade. I'd like to think that if I was stranded in a spanish speaking country, I would have the wits enough to have small talk, explain the situation roughly ,and get to a  teléfono. Taking University Spanish in college, I 've discovered that my accent is quite terrible. It only increases when I have to address the class, and especially degenerates during oral exams. Strangely enough, I've found that it's only semi-pasable when I pray in class. It's probably due to my brief, but utterly heartfelt, desperate prayer: Padre del Cielo, Ayúdame.

Anyways, I was feeling fairely confident for my oral exam today after I watched 5 hours of La Fea Mas Bella (Spanish version of Ugly Betty) this past weekend. I sat on the bench in the crowded hall with my amigas, reading the prompt with a smile: You recently met the prefect match for your friend. Describe the physical and personality traits of the person to them, and encourage them to go on a date with them.

As the exam wore on, the stoic expressions of my teacher and his creepy cat tie made my smile falter.

Listening while my friend described my ideal man, I gathered courage from my many hours of spanish televsion, and attempted to make it more of a conversation.

"...él tiene el cuerpo del gimnasio," She took a deep breath, getting ready to go on to personality when I interrupted.

"Caliente!" I said enthusaistically, embarrassingly drawing it out in a suggestive tone. My teacher flinched and groaned, and a cute boy leaning in the hall choked. A terrible feeling pooled in my stomache. How many times had I pronouced caliente? I knew that word since first grade. It's one of the few which are satisfying for me to say. I pushed the disapointment aside as I stumbled through my own descriptions, even succeeding in getting my teacher to laugh.

At the end of our exam, he told the two other chicas his light crtique on their grammar and such, before turing to me. Surprisngly, he had little to correct. Then, he sighed and started blushing. I felt decidedly uncomfortable with his reddened cheeks.

"And, caliente does not mean what you think it means. Don't ever use that as a description for anyone, "He actually squrimed. My other two friends laughed. I didn't, not understanding why.

The cute boy spoke up, grining at me amusedly, "It means something verrryy different", he laughed again, "Next time use guapo or bonito." I blushed, smothered the strange urge to call him guapo or bonito, and thanked him for the advice. He nodded, and laughed again.

My teacher grinned at us awkwardly as we walked back into the classroom. Once inside, both girls released great peals of laughter. Embarrassed and faintly annoyed, I asked them what caliente meant in that context.

"It means," she paused, taking another steading breath, "...loose," she finished in delicate BYU reply. The other girl roared again, nodding her head furiously. I flushed and winced.

"So after you said that he had a gym body, I basically exclaimed: Promiscious!"

I took their shocked guffaws as confirmation.

Moral(s) of The Story

Word meanings change depending on the context.

Refer to attractive people as: guapo, bonito, attractivo, suavo.

Spanish Televion does not translate directly into fluent, BYU appropirate spanish vocabulary.

You know its bad when the teacher blushes.

-Annalee

Behind Closed Doors: Bare Boys For Breakfast

Upon realizing we knew so little boys in our ward, we decided this semester to enact "Boys for Breakfast" every Sunday this semester. So today we trudged over to the boy's apartments, wholly unsuspecting of the treat waiting for us.

We knocked on the door.

And waited.

Laughing slightly, we all called out , "Hellooo!" and in reply, the door slowly opened several inches with no one seemingly behind it.

Then, a tousled head of brown hair gradually came into view. Following slowly, was a rueful grin....and a naked bare shoulder and glimpse of unclothed chest.

We stood there in silence, unsure if we should avert our gaze or continue staring. After a few seconds, we all started giggling. High pitched, nervous giggling. Thankfully, Sadie got it under control and managed to invite him and his roommates for breakfast.

I could barely look at him. Having grown up with brothers and been on a swim team for years, I've grown accustomed to the ease which boys parade about shirtless. But his strange twisted posture, and hints of his state of dress (or lack thereof) forced the idea of him being more than shirtless.

We didn't even make it out of the lobby before laughing hysterically. Poor kid.

Breakfast will be interesting.

Moral(s) of The Story 

Make sure you are properly dressed before answering the door. 

The idea of people in their underwear is not a confidence inspiring image. 

Giggling is freeing. 

-ANNALEE 

*Kudos to SARAH MUMFORD for the title.