Phew

I discovered a fantastic way to spend a few hours on a Friday night. The first hour was spent with a girl with a severe case of this and has the functionality of a 3 to 6 month year old. She loves music and smiles when she hears the 5 songs that her favorite toy plays over and over and over and over and over. I could sing them all right now, but my face won't glow like her toy so it won't be worth it.

Soon I was put in charge of a 5 year old with this. I love him. We spent two hours doing things that every 5 year old loves to do. We played in a ball pit, jumped on a little tramp, ran up and down ramps, climbed through tunnels, went down slides, threw balls, knocked down block towers, spun rings, took off our shoes, wiggled our toes and laughed while watching snippets of Alice in Wonderland. It was a great way to rest my mind from the cares of the week and focus entirely on someone else. Service is refreshing--so are children. I am excited that I will be able to serve at this center a few more times throughout the semester. I felt myself change in the span of a few short hours. I became softer, forgiving, tolerant, loving, and full of the spirit.

I dropped by a soccer game to get some DVDs. No luck. I guess Jack Bauer and I will have to resume our date next weekend. I guess this one was full anyway.

When I woke up this morning I had forgotten how packed my day was. 8:15 ward breakfast before heading to the Marriot Center for some good old fashioned advice on raising my unborn children. Why does it always feel like the only lessons I hear in that building revolve around the urgency of me GETTING MARRIED, HAVING CHILDREN, RAISING A RIGHTEOUS POSTERITY! And doing it all NOW! NOW! NOW! I don't want to yet. Please? I left a few minutes early (which was good because a couple in front of me started SUCKING ON EACH OTHER'S EARS during the broadcast which was not only inappropriate and distracting, but put a severe dent in my reverence level) to play the violin with my mom. Music is transformative and I am grateful almost daily for the years of trudging to lessons and cursing as I did etudes that brought me to where I am today. Thanks Mom. You're great.

Luckily my lunch date was pushed back 30 minutes which gave me time to blow dry my hair. Why was I getting ready? I don't know. He was nice but as soon as we talked about music I knew it would never fly past a first date. I probably named off 25 artists NONE of which he had heard of. Ever. I blame it on the fact that he grew up in Singapore going to the international school. All he listens to is MOTAB and classical music, which is great and all, but I save that for lazy Sunday afternoons, not Saturday nights cruisin' State. I was also distracted by how disproportionate his arms are to the rest of his body. Oddly too small. He wants to go out again and I'm already known as the girl with a million excuses. Oh bother.

I worked a short shift with Provo's hoity-toitiests and had it reaffirmed to me again that "celebs" are just people. I love the local Bigwigs however. The women all see just how much skin they can show and still wear G's and the men comb their hair too much and talk about business while their women hang on their arms. They laugh loudly and drop five grand on Disneyland tickets in the name of "philanthropy." Someday, I want to drop five grand on a whim philanthropically. I'll hold up my bidding placard almost as high as my nose, and when I bid I'll smirk as I think,"Heh, there goes a pair of shoes or a weekend get away. Oh well (sigh)."

After I rushed to date number two and watched Divine Comedy which was what the name claimed until the last skit which got long. But I felt so blah and not fun. I wanted to jump up, grab a glowstick in my teeth and laugh like the hoity-toities while carrying on witty conversation and proving that I'm smart and put together. But I think a bowl of chicken noodle soup is more interesting than this boy. It's probably more enthusiastic too. Needless to say I didn't feel the need to sparkle. Truth is, dates aren't fun when you don't really want to be there with him in the first place.

After tonight all I wanted was a hot bath. The kind that burn a bit as you lower yourself in and almost smother you in steam. Mmmm. . . I grabbed my book and slouched down the hallway only to find the most disgusting tub ever to be found in an apartment with people actually living in it. I wanted to cry. The grime and undissolvable "moisture beads" (aka PLASTIC crap that sticks to EVERYTHING) tested not only my will to take a bath but my love of my roommates. Instead of grabbing a tissue and wiping my eyes, I grabbed the bleach and started scouring the tub from top to bottom. I blessed the "dungeon shower" (that I use to avoid the cesstub) a hundred times for being unobstructed by mounds of hair and moisture beads. The tub gleamed when I was through and beckoned me "Come, stay awhile. Seek shelter, comfort and refuge in my porcelain arms."

I was interrupted after a solid 45 minutes of reading by my sister who wanted to borrow a shirt for church tomorrow. Sometimes I wonder if my sisters would love me if I lived in a nudist colony.