That one time I was literally too awkward to function...

If you weren't already aware, I suffer from a horrible disease. In fact, it's terminal. It's called awkward. I am a person living with constant awkward-ness. There really ought to be commercials to increase awareness of this illness, I bet Sarah McLachlan could sing for it and everything...                                                                Awkward has made me do a lot of things in my life, things I try to forget about. There was the time when I tripped, not once, but TWICE in front of the most attractive senior's truck. My freshmen heart shattered as he laughed so hard he choked on his gum. There was also the time where I hacked my hair off to short-as-a-man territory and thought it was a good idea, newsflash, it wasn't. That year is still considered a very dark time in my life, pictures from that era have been disposed of. Or there was the time when the Jehovah's Witnesses tried to talk to me and I didn't know what to say to get rid of them and I'm pretty sure I was well on my why to joining their church.
Yes my life has been a never ending string of awkward moments. None so awkward as my last trip to the grocery store. I hesitate even to share this story, as it was a borderline painful experience, and I may spend years in intense therapy trying to recover from this blunder.
It's no secret I love my cat. Lucifer and I spend serious quality time together. Partially because we like each other, but also because not currently being in school seriously slows your social life down. In fact as we speak she's sitting on my lap. She enjoys the warmth of a good laptop. I'm a cat lady and it's totally ok.
 With that preface, let me begin my story. This last week I went to the grocery story. I was pretty frazzled because it was slushy in the parking lot and there was suddenly Christmas decorations obstructing all of the aisles and PEOPLE EVERYWHERE. You woulda thought it was black Friday in that place or something. I have a big problem with situations where I find myself wedged between a plastic Santa and a geriatric in leopard leggings. So to say I wasn't on my A game would be an understatement.  I wandered in frantic desperation looking for tortillas. Which of course couldn't be on the aisle with Mexican food, the bread aisle or any other aisle that you would picture tortillas on. Nay, they were by the ice cream.Which makes no sense to me...but whatevs.
Out of no where a man tapped me on the shoulder. He was late twenties, early thirties, with a stunning sweater vest that Dr. Huxtable himself would've been jealous of. He smiled and did what I assume was supposed to be a sexy eyebrow wiggle....or maybe it was just a twitch. It was hard to discern which. He said,
 "Haven't we talked before?" 
 I froze. Did I know this man? Was I supposed to recognize him? If I don't know him what am I supposed to say? I don't want to make him feel uncomfortable when he realizes we don't know each other? All these questions buzzing through my mind caused a rather long and painfully awkward pause. So naturally I blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
"No, I only talk to my cat."
That's the best my brain could come up with. I only talk to my cat. Even the most dedicated and antisocial of cat ladies weep at my bumbling answer. His eyes got wide for a minute and he chuckled and said "Too bad, you're cute anyway."                                                                                                            

   

                         

Waddup Monday

I really don't love Mondays. I know, it's the most cliche sentiment expressed by probably every human being on the planet. BUT I dislike Mondays for an entirely different reason than all of y'all.

I have no classes on Monday. That probably sounds like a dream come true. It's essentially my second Saturday. All of my weekends are three day weekends. But you know what?

It's too much of a good thing.
The mystique and magic of three day weekends are utterly lost on me because I've become sadly desensitized to their wonder. More than that, I become a completely hermit on Mondays because I really have nothing better to do than be in my room and do homework and occasionally blog.
I have a fear that I am inevitably going to become the Boo Radley of Ephraim.

I do some math, then color in my princess coloring book, then do some math, then get on pinterest, then do some math, then study preach my gospel (we'll address this later) then do some math, then dance around like a crazy lady, then do some math, then give dating advice, then do some math.
And if I'm feeling particularly adventurous I'll go grocery shopping.
I know what you're thinking. You're jealous. You wish you had my life. I know.

Before anyone starts jumping up and down like crazy in their seats thinking I'm secretly going on a mission because I just said I study Preach my Gospel, I'm going to have to ask you to calm down.
At this point in my existence, I have not made the decision to serve a mission or not. While,yes, the age requirement change has presented a wonderful opportunity for me to serve much sooner, it is still a very personal decision that I have not made yet. I'm not saying I'm not going, I'm just saying I'm not going right now. Ok? Everybody cool with that? Good.
The real reason I'm studying Preach My Gospel, is simply the fact that basically everyone I know is either preparing or serving a mission.  That's actually not an exaggeration at all.

 I am so clever sometimes it hurts. But really. That's prety accurate. And since all my friends are on missions and I'm writing or emailing them I figure its a good idea for me to know what they're learning and studying so I'm not completely left in the dust.

I also catch up on everyone's blogs on Monday. Which has basically led me to one conclusion.
I am never going to be an inspirational blogger. There is probably never going to be a day when you read a post that I have written, cry and vow to change your life. That would be fantastic, and I wish I had that power, alas I do not. However, if I have ever made you laugh or at the very least smile at something I wrote, I am completely satisfied.




So to everyone out there, Happy Monday.

Lifeishardmoveon

Being that I am young, relatively good looking and  single, I love dating advice. Really. I love nothing more than when people give me unnecessary and frankly unwanted advice on how to find, snag, and keep a man.

Being in college, has only escalated this blessing (to be read problem). Why? Because I have been ignorantly dropped into a dating pool of sharks. Marriage sharks to be exact. Also known as Returned Missionaries. Wonderful creatures rm's are. Funny, smart, good looking. But always on the hunt for their eternal companion.

To be fair, I am too. But rm's are in the marriage express lane, while I'm still wandering around on immaturity street. You follow what I'm saying?

There is nothing wrong with the college dating pool, really there isn't. If you are unhappy with it, you always have the option of getting out of the college dating pool. Of course there are only 2 fool proof ways to get out of the pool:

1. Death
2. Marriage

Naturally you probably want to shoot for number 2. Those who take this route of leaving the pool are generally the advice givers. Due to the fact that dead men tell no tales (wow did I sound like a pirate right there?)

I'm not saying you survivors shouldn't share your joy in leaving the pool, really you should. But when you're my Wal-Mart checker and you're asking me why I don't have a boyfriend. We have a problem.

Here is the dating advice I am holding FIRM to these days.

This kid is brilliant.
Life lesson learned Alec.

Life is hard move on.
:)

The Red Wheel barrow.

I love poetry. Really, I do. Its fantastic honestly, even if you aren't analyzing it every Monday Wednesday and Friday at 11:30 you can enjoy it. Read some, and it will be enjoyable. Especially if it's Dr. Suess because that man had it goin' ON! But I digress.

Poetry is food for the soul. (unless your soul isn't hungry right Marissa?)

But there is one poem that has been plaguing me. Bringing me anxiety and stress and inner turmoil and pressure! It's an extremely famous poem. A poem that has had many papers and interpretations put into it.

The Red Wheelbarrow

By: William Carlos Williams

So much depends

upon

A red wheel

barrow

glazed with rain

water

beside the white

chickens.

Yeah that's it. Read that sucker a few times. Now pretend you have a huge test on it, where you have to w rite a paper on the symbolic meaning of this poem. Please tell me you feel as lost as I do?

But apparently, I am the only one who feels that there is NOTHING going on in this poem other than some rain on a wheel barrow and some chickens chillin' next to it?

Alas, I fear I am.

Let me share the various interpretations I have heard.

Hipster Jeff

Oh Hipster Jeff, how I love that deranged yet incredibly attractive child. Hipster Jeff read through that gem of a poem, and turned it into an analogy of the cold war. The flippin cold war people! 16 words and 2 minutes later he comes up with the Cold War. Obviously the red wheel barrow is a symbol of communism, because red...Russia...Communism... You know? The white chickens are a symbol of democracy and America. ( Which personally I find to be an insult to America, because chickens are not exactly a shining example of brains and wit) The rain water is a symbol of the Cold war itself. Pretty deep right? Oh, it doesn't end there ladies and gents. Hipster Jeff took it a step further. He extrapolated from that analogy to make yet another brilliant point. What with all the rain that is going on, eventually the wheel barrow is going to rust over and become useless, whereas the chickens aren't going to be harmed by the rain (unless they drown...which is another story). SO! Communism is going to be defeated somewhat by the Cold War and Democracy and America is going to survive.

Yes, all this from that poem. Genius! Or madness!

My Bff Jill...who is actually named David Cardon.

Oh David. David david david david Harold David. That boy. Whatta goofball! Whilst I was trying to find some meaning in this wheel barrow rubbish I was textin Davie boy. And I will not even lie, I was bein a little bit of a brat. Because frustration breeds brattyness. And brattyness breeds hilarious voicemails from David. Can you tell he likes to leave voicemails? Yeah I don't actually know what why...but they are entertaining. So I texted him the poem and told him to figure out what it meant. In the most rude and snotty way possible. Why he puts up with me I do not know. SO! Here's what Dave had to say.

The poem is about a guy, who fell in love with a farm girl. And the first time he saw her she was pushing a red wheel barrow full of feed for her chickens in the rain. Their eyes met and there was a spark, a flame, a burning desire. And boom! They fell in love. So now whenever the man sees chickens and wheel barrows in the rain, he thinks of his farm girl.

Pretty impressive for such a goofy child right? I was blown away from that interpretation as well.

Which leads me to the point.

I'm pretty sure that William Carlos Williams, was writing about a red wheel barrow. In the rain. With chickens. No hidden agenda, no cold war symbolism, no love story.

I think he wrote it so that English majors would wrack their brains for some ridiculous deeper meaning, and he could laugh his face off. And so people like me would be utterly stumped for no good reason.

What do you think?

Thank you. That is all. 

Strange Clouds

Have you ever been frightened? So incredibly confused and disturbed that you didn't even know what to do with yourself?

No? Ok, must just be me over here.

Let me set the stage for this story. Today, Cayley decided to go to Salt Lake to see her long lost relatives...or something like that. Naturally I was slightly devastated because my home-girl was deserting me for a few days.

For some reason I thought that cookin fajitas for dinner would elevate my mood. Not because, fajitas normally have that sort of effect on me. Mostly because that just sounded like yummyness. So I ventured to the wonderful land of Wal-Mart (to be read, the house of horror) to buy peppers.
Does buying peppers make anyone else happy? It makes me happy. I think its the colors. Putting bright red and orange and yellow peppers in my basket not only made me feel semi-healthy but genuinely filled with joy. Which either is a testament to how much enjoyment I glean from the small and simple things....or a sign I really need to get out more. The point is in a sea of unhappy customers in a land of commercialism, I was the dumb little girl buying peppers happily.
Now this is the part where I'm fairly certain my favorite Aunt Cherene needs to pay particular attention. If you read nothing else. Please read this part. I bought the most fantastic Beatles t-shirt for cheap. Because it was so fantastic. I needed it. Granted its like 5 bazillion times too big for me. But I think I can pull it off somehow.
That just put me over the edge of happiness pretty much. Now, if Santa will kindly have his elves procure this little beauty I will just explode with joy.

I'm just sayin ok?









OK anyway. After the Wal-Mart trip. I took myself on a walk. Which was also pretty spectacular. Its practically the best time of the year, don't ya know? Fall is THEE best season. And I don't want to brag, but for a teeny baby college, Snow has a pretty darn cute campus. I picked a good place I believe.
On my walk, I encountered much wild-life. You think I'm going to make some smart alecky comparison between various stereotype students and animals? Sorry, no, I literally mean wild-life.
Like a praying mantis.
The kind that probably eat little girls purple painted ties.
I jumped over that sucker like a pro.
I do not even feel like that was overreacting. Because he was huge. And he probably would've followed me home and eaten my face off in the night if I had messed with him.

Face of a bloodthirsty killer

 But this next wild-life encounter I think you will appreciate more. Actually, it made m think of my sweet grammy Marilyn. I love that woman :)
My neighbors have nothin in their backyard except vast nothingness. And lots of tall grass. The kind that were I an obnoxious 4 year old I would so be inviting Shannon to play Lion king in. And in their tall grass today were nestled two little fawns.
Isn't that the most adorable thing you've ever heard!?
I wanted to squeal right out loud.

Something like this...but TWO of them.
So twice the cuteness.

It was a moment where I wished I had a camera. Or at least had brought my phone :/






Because fawns are cute. I have no qualms with the idea of shooting one of these in the grown up version...which probably qualifies me as a bloodthirsty killer. I'm pretty much ok with this. Bring the hunt on!!




Basically what I'm getting at was it was a highly serendipitous day. I came home after my walk and cooked up my fajitas. I used a new recipe that I found on pinterest. It was a disappointment, still really yummy, I just like my other recipe much better.

The rest of the evening was uneventful. The twins informed me of the Redmen losing their Homecoming game...again. Poor boys :/ They also told me that football boys smell funny. :) I enjoy their little gems of wisdom.

Then I went to sleep. Which sadly enough, is always the highlight of my day. Your head hitting the pillow and just WHAM!  being asleep. My favorite!

I know what you're thinking, 'ummmm where does the part about being frightened and disturbed come in??'
 Hold your ponies I'm getting there!

In my dream there was this odd buzzing noise, nay a vibration. My sleepy brain realized that was a phone call. Groggily I checked my phone. My pretty little pink phone had 2 voicemails.

2 voicemails where I got serenaded by Justin Bieber. We knew he loved me. This just confirmed it. Ok,  so maybe it wasn't the Biebs. It was probably Mr. Cardon. Being half asleep its easy to confuse the screeching of Mr. Cardon with the silky loveliness of the Biebs. I don't know how...but you know stranger things have happened.
Needless to say, it was a really weird moment in my life. Frightening. And disturbing. In broad day light when you're fully conscious its not a big deal. But half asleep, I assure you, its a scary experience.

While, I'm sure his mommy loves his singing all the time, I think I prefer it when I'm not sleepy and alone in my really dark room.

If it was possible to share this wonderful voicemail with all of y'all, trust me, I would.

Aaaaaaand that's it. Yup.

I'm gonna go back to sleep now thanks!

Got 99 problems...but a roommate ain't one!

I came home this weekend. Because I have the privilege and opportunity of attending the mission farewell of Robert Craig Bishop, occasionally known as Bill, as he goes to serve in Seoul Korea. In November, I will have the privilege and opportunity to be in Cedar to attend Ronald Vernal Passey's farewell, occasionally known as 'that kid with the nice car', as he goes to Novosibirsk Russia. In December, I will be back for the opportunity to attend the mission farewell of Alex Evan Jolley, occasionally known as Herbert, as he also goes to Seoul Korea.

I'm a privileged and lucky girl right?  There's no way I could be prouder of these boys :)

But, I digress. I came home with the intention of doing homework and hanging out with people. When in reality, I hung out with the twins and got caught up on all the Cedar City drama (it was good stuff) and then I spent the rest of the day with Cayley. Yes, the one I live with.

So essentially, I drove 169 miles, give or take, so I could hang out with a girl that I see every day. The irony of this situation is not lost on me. But you gotta understand, it was a necessary evil. And I will tell you why. Boys. Boys are the cause-ers of drama!

Unfortunately, Cayley and her lovely boyfriend broke up, which is a sad and dreadful experience. Meanwhile in the realms of my love life, I had just realized that Channing Tatum was a married man and our secret love affair was clearly a figment of my overly active imagination. I'm sure you can understand the grief of that situation.Cards of condolences are welcome in my time of grief.

But before anyone's imagination starts running wild, let me halt it in its tracks. NO, I did not see Mr. Cardon. Because that was not in the plan of coming to Cedar. And NO nothing is going on betwixt us. I know you understand. Thank you for your cooperation :)

So,anyhow, Cayley and I needed a girl party. The kind where you are eating disgusting unhealthy food and hating on men (even though you don't really hate men) and watching chick flicks that kinda make you lose faith in humanity because reality does not match cinema. But, instead of chick flicks we watched Napoleon Dynamite. Cause, well, its a classic. And we can quote the next line before its said. Which is incredibly sad, but enjoyable. It's just weird not being around her all the time. When I have tried to sleep,I have found myself wondering why I can't hear Cayley breathing, and it kinda freaks me out until I remember she's not across the room. I'm accustomed to her presence and its a little strange not having her around.

I'm more than just lucky to have a roommate that I like to be with all the time. Its rather serendipitous don't ya think? :)

Hipster Jeff

Ahhhh Hipster Jeff. A boy so wonderful he needed to get his own post.

So let's begin.
Once upon a time Erin Marty was in a class called "Intro to Poetry", which was quite an interesting experience. It was a place where a soft spoken stereotypical poetry professor with his custom made gold cuff-links and short skinny 60's ties waxes eloquent on adulterous poems and blushes while he does so. It's an environment where everyone fumbles around with grasping the deeper meaning of poems about prisoners that have had lobotomy procedures done. Intro to Poetry class is a breeding ground for hipsters. Its underground, not mainstream at all and therefore totally cool. Thusly we get to hipster Jeff. Hipster Jeff has the brown messy hair and an extremely scruffy face. Might I add though that its an attractive scruffy face? Cause it is. He has the typical ironically large nerd classes that cover half of his face, and every day without fail he manages to wear a t-shirt for a band that I have never heard of. Because my taste in music is decidedly too mainstream to even scrape the surface of his all knowing underground music ways. Sometimes he wears these ultra suave red Capri's that I'm 36% certain come from the children's section. And of course, no hipster outfit would be complete without a well-worn pair of TOMS. We read some pretty off beat poetry. Some might call it tasteless at times, largely because it IS tasteless sometimes. Sometimes, however, its just ridiculous. Like the other day we read a poem about a woman who is trying to get rid of all the gophers on her property so she ends up killing them one by one in different ways. How deep can a murderous gopher poem get? Well....Hipster Jeff piped up and began a  10 minute monologue on how this poem was really about the holocaust and the gophers were Russian POWs and the woman was a symbol of prejudice and hate.

And I was just sitting there like. Boom! Mind blown. Anything I would ever want to say about that poem was immediately never going to be said. Because holocaust comparisons blow everything else out of the water.

Ever since the gopher poem incidence, hipster Jeff has LOTS to say in class. I believe I have learned the deepest meaning in poetry possible because of this man. The fact that he's a bazillion times more attractive than the professor has nothing to do with me listening to him so intently....

Hipster Jeff is also believes Obama might be the anti-Christ. And that the entire government should be overthrown and we should just live by our wits. And he's a self proclaimed nonconformist.

So yes, he has flaws. But I'd be a lying woman if I didn't say I wasn't slightly in love with him. Because let's get real here, I'm slightly in love with everyone.

Boys boys boys!

Our neighbors are males. The football field across the street from us, is CRAWLING with males. Men waltz up and down the street like nobody's business.

There are a grand total of 9 men in my ward.

NINE. With like a bazillion girls.

Let the hunting season begin ladies.

Personally I think this is the man upstairs way of saying ' you need to stick to your studies'

Home Sweet Home?

I be here in my sweet sweet little adobe in Ephraim. I made it up safe and sound yesterday afternoon after a wonderful adventure.

I went to gas up Bueller and my debit card rejected my pin number. Probably the biggest panic attack of my life. Luckily I drove to the seminary and my daddy sacrificed his precious time with freshman registrars and took me to the back to change my pin number. That man is a hero.

I arrived after two and a half hours of singing unabashedly at the top of my lungs, and being frustrated with road construction and semis, I finally arrived. The magical moment of driving up to a cute little house is almost indescribable. Something along the lines of " Oh beautiful house! You're mine you're mine you're mine!! Ok not really mine but for $900 I get to pretend like your mine for the semester!" runs through your mind. The moment I stepped one foot out of my car, there was Cayley, running towards me screaming my name. It was terrifying but also really appreciated. We hugged and giggled and squealed while our attractive neighbors looked on in interest and fear. Who are these attractive yet clearly disturbed young ladies in the road?, they thought. Or at least, that's what they should have thought.

Then we unpacked. Nothing on earths is more enjoyable. Going up and down stairs while your super attractive neighbors watch you struggle to carry load after load after load of clothes really constitutes the perfect day. After we packed all of our things upstairs we went to Wal-Mart to buy groceries. And maybe we bought 27 dresses because its a classic.

We ate dinner, and Megan, an adorable girl I had French with in high school came to visit me. We watched 27 dresses and then talked forever. Because girls never shut up.

Sometime during the wee hours of the morning we staggered upstairs to go to bed. And in the hot muggy upstairs room of my darling little house I spend my first night in leopard print sheets.

It seems really surreal living here right now, because it seems like a sleepover. I desperately need school to starts so I can have something better to do with my life than rearrange furniture and dance in the puddles on the road during rainstorms.

Tonight Cayley and I explored a little bit of the campus and went to check out the Student Center. Not too shabby ladies and gents, not too shabby of a place. Unfortunately the bookstore isn't open or else I would have picked up my textbooks.

Speaking of textbooks. Biggest rip off of my life. Why are they so expensive? Ordering textbooks, or rather my mother ordering textbooks, made me decide my major mighty quick. Math and Science books are more expensive than English and Psych books. Not only that Math and Science is for losers. Very smart and rich losers. I am not going to be a smart and rich loser.

Anyhow, after our wanderings around campus we made dinner. We made homemade alfredo sauce with cute bowtie pasta and lemonade. I made the sauce Grammie Marilyn style: thick delicious and fattening! And yes, it was a hit with the roomies :)

Tomorrow I depart back to Cedar City, so  I may bask in the presence of Shannon and Matthew Charles Coffin at their ultra suave open house on Saturday.

In the words of the immortal Ferris Bueller, the inspiration behind my Buick's name and all around my hero in life-
" Life moves pretty fast. If you don't stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it"

Breaking up is haaaaaaard to doo!

Yeah I was totally singing that cheesy 80s ballad when I typed that.

But let's not be mistaken and panic and stand up and scream " For the love of garbage! I didn't know she was even dating anyone and now she's blogging about her break up! REBELLION."

Don't do that because that would be ridiculous, and also really really unnecessary. I am keeping all of my secret relationships secret...obviously.


I am breaking up with my overgrown unattractive hair. It needs some life breathed back into it. BIG time. Its so lifeless and flat and sad. Sometimes at night I can hear it crying for some love and attention.

I just need to find a trustworthy stylist. Like obviously duh I have one in my very own family. Except she's kinda in Montana. And I'm just not willing to drive the distance. :)

But seriously I'm like 97% hobo 3% chic. This is clearly a problem.

In other news. Missionaries are fantastic. You totally know that they're like super heroes and amazing when your a kid, but they seem so out of reach and unobtainable. And then all of a sudden the older you get the more personal it becomes because you actually know the missionaries that are leaving. Then BOOM. Those missionaries are your friends.

My home boys as pictured above, (Robert-Craig, Me, Ronald) have recently got their mission calls. Robert is going to Korea. Don't ask me where or like which Korea because I can't remember which one is communist and scary and which is not communist and still scary. And Ronald is going to some unpronounceable part of Russia.

Sippy Cup Confessional

I'm only 18 years young. Its weird enough moving away from my posse.

Its almost unbearable to have them go to scary foreign countries for 2 years.

They're going to be the best missionaries ever. I totally cried when they got their

calls and you better believe I'm going to cry when they leave!

Growing up is kind of nerve-wracking. Which I'm fairly certain I say that at least 30 times in every post. But I'm just the Peter Pan child ok? I am not down with this grown up stuff. I did not win 'Senior most likely to never grow up' for nothin!

Ok, now I just need to share a kind of adorable story. About Dave, my adopted brother. 

Remember him? Yeah adorable I know. The other day, whilst I waited for a completely different boy to text me ( why must they be such retards? haha) I got a text from Dave. The conversation went something like this

David- Hey! I need a favor!

Me-...as long as its not illegal I think the answer is yes

David-I need you to tell Poppa Heap  that mm=100

Me- Excellent! Super proud bro!

David- Thanks love.

In case your sitting there thinking...'what the beep was that' let me explain. mm stands for Mission Meter. As in David is 100% going :D Kinda thrills me, especially considering it was pretty iffy for a while if he even wanted to go. I'm proud of that young man quite a lot. 

Aaaaaand....I just really like this guy. 

HOUSE!!!!

Once upon a time I went to the village of Ephraim to have a sleeping party in my house.

Twas fantastico :) Cayley is my roomate who's parentals own the house and then we brought

Karolena with us for kicks and giggles.

Blah blah I know you're not reading this because you totally already

scrolled down to the pictures.

Whatever. I can take rejection :)

This be the front of my adobe

The side door

Half of our backyard. We didn't wanna take a full picture because then you would see our super hot male neighbors. But seriously...they're attractive. And there is a cowboy among them. I'm set for life :) kidding daddy, I mostly promise.

These be our kitchen, which yes is adorable. Minus the washer and dryer that just got delievered.

This is a super classy picture of me and Cayley's room with a mattress we dragged in for Karol. :)

Sorry they are poor quality pictures..I'm not a photographer...obviously :)

giggles

Guess what I'm going to blog about? Yup my job. Because pretty much its the most entertaining experience of my life. And if you don't enjoy  it, then you are a hater. Or a fascist . Or a funsucker. But you know what? No judgement, all God's children.

Anyway. I've just been having a ball working at Bryce and living part time in Tropic. I'm a lucky lucky lucky luck girl. Anyway onto stories.

 Funny Stories!


While ringing up 9 stuffed animals I was informed by a a 4 year old that orange lady bugs are mean. And they eat people. So y'all be careful I don't want you to be eaten by those bloodthirsty orange ladybugs...


I accidentally called chapstick, lipstick. The man blinked a few times and said with a completely straight face " I don't wear lipstick outside of my house. Its a deal I have with my wife."
I'm still debating whether he was serious...I'm hoping he was.


During a really busy spurt of tourists a semi-attractive young fella came up to me and says " Excuse me ma'am tell me the different colors you carry for the hoodoo shirt" in a pretty sexy southern accent. But I sat there thinking....you are stupid. See the colors we have on display, those are the colors we have. He then proceeded to tell me that we only had orange in his size. I offered to go look in the back. He gave me a sheepish grin and said "please?" So I went and brought him back a shirt in every color we carry. He made his pick, paid for it, winked and said thanks. Later, when I went to go stock t-shirts lo and behold there was in fact NOT a shortage of colors in his size. 
There is only one phrase for this gentleman.


Liar Liar pants on fire. 

See this? This is an autograph. Emily (6) and her grandmother came to my register buying like a bazillion (yes that an exact count) postcards. When I asked grandmother to sign the receipt Emily piped up "Everywhere we go I never get to sign anything!" So i told her I really needed her to sign this paper for me to back up her grandma's signature. She asked me what I was going to do with it. And I told her I was going to keep it so that one day when she became famous I could sell it on Ebay. Her entire face lit up and she said " I'm probably going to be famous when I grow up. I'm going to be the next Hannah Montana!"


Ho boy....I'm gonna be watchin for her on Disney channel now.




Anyway...those are my stories. Its pretty fantastic working with shan-dog. Except she was this flashy ring that chases attractive men from her line to mine. Not that I'm complaining...just excuse me while I blush wildly.

Peace and Blessings yall. :)