Society's Most Undervalued Assets

1. Jack Black.  Let's get real.  Jack Black is a god.  He can act, he can sing, he is hilarious, he is attractive in an "I would marry him in a second because he would make me laugh so much I would have the abs of Denise Austin" kind of way.  And he stars in the greatest movie ever made.  God bless Nickelodeon for producing that treasure.  Honestly, Nacho Libre is a HUGE part of my life. Some might even argue that it is my life. *See below pie chart.

2. Fiber.  Fiber is the greatest nutrient (vitamin?) to grace this earth.  I don't know what it is classified as.  I don't bother with such trivial details.  I just eat it.  Fiber is awesome because 1) It fills you up so fast. I can hammer 3 bowls of most cereals, but try doing that with Grape Nuts.  Ain't gonna happen. 2) It keeps you full for a long time.  I don't know about yall but eating has become a burden.  Poor word choice.  Eating is NEVER a burden.  The process of preparing to eat is a burden.  Another poor word choice.  I am always prepared to eat.  The process of preparing/procuring food to eat is a burden. You have to decide what to eat.  And then Momma isn't around to fix it for you, so you have to fix it and then it sucks and then you just end up eating Chef Boyardee and that atomic orange sauce coats your cheap plastic bowls for which your ghetto dishwasher and Great Value dishwasher detergent are no match, and then you have stained Chef Boyardee bowls.  Not classy. 3) Fiber is funny.  I don't know why but I think it is so funny.  I got these tortillas at Winco the other day that have 12 grams in one tortilla.  If I made a quesadilla that makes a grand total of 24 grams.  And that's not even including the refried beans.  WOWZERS.  I know people are afraid of fiber because they think it will make them poop all the time.  Don't be afraid.  Your digestive system will adjust, and it will love you.

Watch this. Fiber IS funny.

3. Leashables.  I was introduced to leashables back in the 3rd grade thanks to my dear friends the Rindlisbachs and the game called "If Dean Catches You Without Chapstick on Hand You Owe Him a Dollar."  Dean would always say "Nicki, Nicki Tembo, some boy is going to want to kiss you one day and you don't want sand paper lips." Third grade Nicki was totes grossed out by this as is present day Nicki. Nonetheless, I was an active participant in this game/ training regiment because my piggy bank couldn't afford not to be.  Like any good coach Dean equipped us the necessary equipment in order to train successfully, and I became the proud owner of a Leashable. I wore that thing everywhere.  Clipped it to the belt loop on my pants and rocked the softest lips Edinbrook Elementary will ever see.  That Leashable is packed in a box somewhere in my basement but finding it is number one on my agenda of things to get done when I go home for Christmas.  Then I'll be fit to get all makey outey with these upperclassmen and meet a Mr. Hotbod Handsome face.  (If you didn't catch the Teen Girl Squad reference you are undervaluing another one of society's greatest assets).

4. Country music. Whenever someone says something extremely ignorant and whoreish like "I like all music except for country" or "Country music sucks, you sing about tractors being sexy." Number one, obviously they have never seen the John Deere 5E Series tractors.  If those don't do it for you, I don't know what will.  Number two, they are a lost soul, or cow, if you will, that needs to be herded into greener pastures. I used to be one of those people, but I have since repented.  If you are reading this and you are one of those people, this is your intervention.  It's time for a change, and not the Obama kind, the good kind.  Country music truly is good stuff. God and Heavenly Father are referenced frequently as is church attendance, family, and living life right. How many times are sex, drugs, dropping it low, and getting buck in here referenced? Never. (I intentionally left out drinking because admittedly, country music references it quite a lot, but quit being so self righteous and embrace it.) Please listen to this song and tell me again country music sucks.

Listen to this. 

5. Sweat bands.  Like much of society you may associate sweat bands with the below homosexual aerobic instructors, high school athletes trying to look cool, or Avril Lavigne and her following of punk rockers who attempted to turn them into accessories.  I feel bad for sweat bands, they've got a lot of stigmas behind them.  They are not a fashion statement, they are not an accessory, they are just practical.  As a student taking gymnastics, racquetball, zumba, and playing intramural basketball, the practically of sweat bands manifests itself everyday.  Never again will my sweat drip down into my eyes, or fly off landing on the poor individual next to me.  And thanks to sweat bands I no longer have to do the whole pull my shirt up to wipe the sweat number, flashing my rock hard abs, making all the girls super jealous and making them think I am a dirty pirate hooker just trying to show off, and making all the boys want to inappropriate relations.

6. Bagel guillotine.  This thing cuts your bagels perfectly in half.  You don't have to saw away at it which inevitably leads to one half of your bagel being too thin and burning up into the toaster to a crispy critter and the other half going through 3 rounds and still not being cooked.  This will be the first item on my wedding registry list.  Just a heads up, so if you see it on sale you can go ahead and buy it.  

7. Gauchos. Okay fashionistas, why did everyone decide gauchos weren't in style anymore?  I rather enjoyed wearing pants that were as comfy as sweats yet were considered dressy.  I wore them ALL the time and people thought I was sophisticated and classy.  I held onto them as long as possible and wore them well into high school, a solid 2 years after everyone else quit wearing them.  After all my pairs "disappeared" in the wash, I had to revert back to sweats, which are much less praised in our society.  Dubbing gauchos as unstylish is the most ungrateful things our society has done since deeming the Backstreet Boys bush league.    

8. DI.  Deseret Industries.  Delightful Inspirations.  Whatever you prefer to call it, it is an amazing place.  There's no way around it.  I go every single week and it never gets less awesome.  I have found everything from a George Foreman, to a North Face Jacket for $10, to cat mugs, to banana chairs, and even NASCAR gear.  DI has it all.  While unpacking this semester I realized over half of the things I own are from DI.  And that folks, is the way it should be.  

9. Pegs. Pegs are the niftiest modes of transportation, even surpassing the Razor scooter. Wait, what, I don't have to sit on the handle bars and fall off, receiving a minor blow to the head, and nature's nose job?  I can just stand there and not even contribute to our forward movement? I'm as conservative as you get but a free ride is still nice every once in a while.  I just don't understand how these aren't still cool. Every time I pass a bike rack on campus I scan for a bike with pegs and I have yet to see a single bike with pegs.  If I were rich the first thing I would do is go around and put pegs on every single bike around campus, and this campus would be a much better place because of it.

10.  Gameboys.  Gameboys totally fell by the wayside after the PSP and Nintendo DS and all that.  It is really a sad thing because I spent a few solid days, maybe weeks, this summer playing some Red Version Pokemon on those bad boys and I just can't wrap my mind around why kids don't play those anymore.  Is it because they don't generate their own light so when you played them on road trips you had to turn the overhead light on in the back seat and you would forget to turn the light off and then when you woke up to go to Disneyland the next morning the car battery was dead?  That is honestly the only somewhat legitimate reason I can think of.

11.  Blogging. I just spent forever writing this blog post instead of doing homework, and I don't even feel guilty about not doing my homework even though I have accomplished nothing and it is 2:19 in the afternoon. So if you ever want to feel productive without actually being productive, blog.  

A Girl Can Dream

My sister just showed me this precious, precious gem (thank the heavens for youtube, right?) and it got me thinking about my life. There are so many hopes, goals, and aspirations that I have in my little old heart that just sit there. Melissia, er I mean Melissa has shown me that dreams are meant to be heard! No matter how far-fetched, unrealistic, or personal they might be. So Melissa, I want to say thank you. Thank you for keeping it real.

This is a piece I wrote after some encouragement from this video entitled, "Michael Buble Fan Fiction: The BYU Dance"

"This is hopeless," Michael sighed, as he took a long sip from his water bottle he kept backstage. "How can I sing about love when I don't even know what it feels like?!"
"Michael, Michael... just take a deep breath." his manager coaxed. "We have this same conversation at every concert, but you somehow always manage to come through for me in the end. You'll be fine, now get back out there!"
"Not this time." The dreamy singer in a well-tailored suit asserted. He dragged a hand down his perfect face in an exasperated sigh. "This is my last performance, Chris. I can't do it anymore. It hurts too much! I need somebody to share my life with."
He sexily strutted back out to the stage set up in the Garden Court of the Wilkinson Student Center. He looked out at the sea of couples swaying to the music, and felt sadness well up in the very depths of his manly chest. Suddenly, the door to the Garden Court flew open, and in walked the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life. His jaw dropped, and he completely missed his cue to come in on his hit song "Everything", but that didn't matter to him. Nothing mattered to him, but knowing the beautiful angel's name. He jumped from the stage and ran to meet the blonde bombshell.
"Hey, I'm Michael." he said, his eyes scanning her body from top to bottom. It was obvious from his expression that he liked what he saw.
"I'm Kylia Early." the beautiful co-ed replied. "I'm a mix of Norwegian and Danish. In a hot way."
"Obviously. I noticed that you aren't wearing a wedding ring."
"Neither are you." she pointed out quite observantly.
"Yeah, that Argentinian super model I married wasn't hot enough for me. I mean, now that I've seen you I don't even know what I liked about her. Let's dance." he said as he escorted her out to the floor.
Even though President Samuelson was there chaperoning the dance, he threw the honor code to the wind and let Kylia and Michael dance with their bodies pressed tightly together. It was obvious that their connection was established in the pre-existance. Dear old Cecil decided right there and then that a student as beautiful and desirable as Kylie, I mean Kylia, should be put on full ride scholarship indefinitely. And be granted automatic A's for any course she chose to take. And have her face painted next to the big "Y" on the mountain.
Michael slowly leaned down to her ear and whispered seductively, "Your calves aren't fat, they're super athletic looking. Plus that push up bra is really doing it's job; the girls look great."
"Oh, Michael," Kylia sighed, "you know just what to say to take a girl's breath away."
"Then say you will come away with me tonight. We will run away to New Zealand and I will sing beautiful poetry at you while you sit there and look hot." Michael begged, looking like an adorable puppy dog.
"Ok." said Kylia. They took a taxi to the airport where his private jet was waiting and they made out all the way to New Zealand. The End.

near death experiences by kerri and brianne

africa is just full of surprises.
you wake up every morning
wondering if this will be your last day on earth.
we would just like to share with you a FEW of our crazy experiences.
sympathy cards are welcome.
 - falling into the nile river in some crazy insane rapids similar to a giant turbo mode washing machine. we were under water for at least 20 minutes. (or something around there) BOTH of us saw our lives flash before our eyes. we even went so far as to say goodbye to our fiance's in our heads.
- getting parasites. one of us was even lucky enough to get sent to an african hospital for 3 days. she lost 30 pounds and is now weighing in at a little over 75 big ones. nice and strong for her wedding day.
- near death by warthog. we literally almost lost our lives to a warthog. we were minding our own business and posing in a picture when that nasty thing charged at us! we both screamed and it took about 10 minutes to calm down. we lost so much respect for pumba.
-walking on a bridge across some raging water. ghetto african bridge got a big chunk missing out of it and one of us failed to notice the missing chunk and fell right through. if it weren't for handrails, there would be one less foxy lady in this world.
- boda boda wreck. whats a boda boda you ask? a little ghetto african motorcycle that these usually creepy men drive us around on. we were just driving down the street and before i knew it, we ran head on into a car! i (kerri) will probably have a nice scar on my calf for the remainder of my life. quality.

so anyways, i hope reading this you found yourself pitying us with great intensity.
because we kinda deserve it.

but really, africa isn't all bad. we've had some way good times too, believe it or not.
we'll write about that later though.

we will just leave you with this moment that captures us about to be thrown into the raging rapids.

NoOb STaTuS

Noob.  I am the office noob.  They might as well replace the word "Intern" on my badge with "NoOb".  Which by the way, INTERN is written in big, red, ALL CAPS letters.  As if I don't stand out enough already, they had to make sure the fact that I am an intern is clear to all.  So needless to say, I only pull out my badge to quickly swipe through security every morning and then it gets shoved back into my briefcase as quickly as humanly possible.  But I'm afraid that regardless of whether or not my badge is visible, people always know I'm an intern.  Nevertheless, I still refuse to sport my badge, in case of the rare instance that someone doesn't automatically assume I'm an intern.  So here are my theories as to how everyone has the uncanny ability to know that I am an intern:

1. I look young.  People always ask which one is older, me or my sister.  She's 15.  I'm 20 and a half. That's a problem. (Yes, twenty and a half.  I just had my half birthday.  Two days ago.  I didn't get a single half birthday wish from any of yall.  Terrible friends.  Did I celebrate my half birthday?  Definitely.  Memorial Day was so two weeks ago and the 4th of July (my favorite holiday besides Christmas) isn't for another 3.5 weeks.  So naturally my half birthday breaks up this long stint of no celebrations and I am most grateful it does.  So naturally, I show my gratitude by celebrating.  And this year consisted of eating at The Varsity.  World's largest drive-in.  Best onion rings I ever had.  And delicious fried pies.  Followed by going to Centennial Olympic Park in downtown.  They had the Olympic rings and they sprayed water out of them.  Within 10 seconds of setting eyes on that beauty I placed my beloved phone in the hands of a trustworthy caregiver and ran through that blissful water playground.  All these little kids were playing games and I tried to get in on them but they kept running away from me.  I don't know if it was part of the game or if they thought I was creepy.  Either way it kinda hurt.  I was the loser kid on the playground.  No one wanted to be my friend.  Thank goodness I was cool in elementary school and never had to deal with that until the age of 20.5.  Which at this point in my life my confidence and self-esteem was high enough that I was able to easily absorb such a devastating blow.  Anyways, it was like 10:30 at night so after I am drenched head to toe and am pretty chilly I realized I need to air dry.  So I run through this park and out onto the streets of Atlanta.  And then back into the park because I realize I'm barefoot and that just kinda grossed me out because admittedly, the streets of Atlanta aren't the cleanest. I also found an empty concern venue and mounted the stage and sang Celine Dion's "It's All Coming Back to Me Now" at the top of my lungs.  But after a few minutes I realized that I was singing very loudly and the people walking by were looking at me very strangely.  So I realized that they were probably mistaking my less than desirable singing voice for intoxication and with a wink of my eye, and a whip of my hair, I quickly dismounted the stage for lack of desire to have a run in with the law that night. It was so many life dreams come true.  Singing on stage to a nonexistent crowd, Celine Dion, running the streets of Atlanta, seeing a crime scene (Oh yeah, forgot to mention that.  There was the yellow tape that says "Crime Scene Investigation"and everything.  My money is a stabbing.  Someone got shanked.  Yikes.) Anyways, needless to say it was an amazing half birthday.  Half birthdays are great.  They are also very undervalued.  Celebrate them, people.  You think that's weird? False.  It is not.)  Woah.  Holy long tangent.  But anyways, I look young.  Or maybe it's just that I'm short.  Regardless.  They always know I am an intern.  I get on the elevator the other day and the guy is like, "So you're an intern." And I'm frantically check myself to make sure I'm not wearing my badge.  I, of course, am not because I have self-respect, so I'm like "Whaaaat?  How did you know?"  Curse my baby face and vertical challengedness.  Dead give away.




                                 

2. I get lost.  And when I get lost, people always know I'm lost.  I don't know how they know.  Maybe it's because I'll walk by their cubicle like 5 times.  Maybe they have overly acute senses and can sense that I am lost.  Or maybe it's because my facial expressions match those of the picture below. (This is by no means meant to be degrading towards our 43rd president, George W. Bush.  I love Dubya and would never even dream of belittling him.) But before I can even ask someone to point me in the direction of conference room D7 or whatever obscure, remote place I am trying to find, they will always ask me if I'm lost.  Inevitably, I always am.  (Unless I am on my way to the cafeteria or the parking garage.  I know how to get food and get home.  Crucial.)  So they will then walk me to wherever I am trying to get and drop me off with a cookie and a pinch  on the cheek.  Okay, they don't give me a cookie or a pinch on the cheek (although I'd totes be down for a cookie). Getting dropped off at a meeting screams one of two things.  1) "Who is this chick?  She must be a big deal. She has a personal escort to all her meetings.  Lemme get one of those." Or 2) "NOOB.  She gets lost and only finds her ways to meeting because people take pity on her."  If people go for option two, that's fine. It still beats being lost.  The other interns leave early for meetings to factor in time to get lost. On the other hand, I have people escort me to my meetings, giving the false pretense of importance.  Additionally, I waste no time being lost.  Also, networking. You get lots of face time with all different players in the business.  Genius.

                                   

Upon deeper thought, I think my "lost face" may look more along these lines.

3. I do things like the story that follows.  So Friday I'm craving a hot chocolate something fierce.  But it's in the middle of the day, and it's summer.  So really, it shouldn't be hot.  So I get this brilliant idea.  Frozen hot chocolate.  Starbucks does it.  Why can't I?  Well here's why.  So I go and make my hot chocolate, which by the way, there is a machine that makes it for you automatically. You just put the packet in the machine and it measures out the water and everything.  Still blows my mind.  So I have my cup of hot chocolate and I stick it in the freezer.  But before placing it in the freezer I try to strategically place it where it won't spill.  I was like probably shouldn't put it on the door in case someone opens the freezer in a fury.  I know sometimes I do that when I have the hungries and I just can't seem to get to my pizza rolls quick enough.  So door is out.  So I place it on the wire rack.  It didn't register in my mind that the wire rack also was not a choice option because it could easily tip, as happened about 5 seconds after placing my cup of hot chocolate on the rack.  Tipped over, spilled all over the shelf below and everyone's Lean Cuisine frozen meals.  After saying a few choice words, I just stood there and laughed.  Because it was pretty funny.  But then I realize it's 11:45.  Lunch time is upon us.  People are gonna be coming to get their lunches at any minute.  So I begin frantically removing all the food and wiping down the boxes of Lean Cuisine because they are getting all soggy.  I'm preparing for the worst, expecting people to start coming in at any minute to find me man handling their lunches.  I'm planning out what I am going to say "Oh hey, I'm just wiping down your lunch because I spilled my hot chocolate all over it.  Why was my hot chocolate in the freezer you may ask?  Because I was making a juvenile concoction.  Sorry your box is all soggy.  Also, you may only want to cook it half as long as the box says because it is probably halfway thawed by now.  Good day sir." I thought about tacking "Have a good lunch" on at the end but I thought it best not to because it would draw more attention to the fact that they may not be capable of having a good lunch because I very well may have ruined it.  Thank goodness only a few people came in and luckily none of them were the patrons whose lunches had been affected by this incident.  I just stepped out of the way so they could open the fridge and they just looked at me weird and I said "Yeah, had a little mishap."  And they just kinda awkwardly smiled.  And then the left.  And then I laughed.  Best part is, turns out, frozen hot chocolate making should be left for professionals.  And I am by no means a professional.  Also, turns out homemade frozen hot chocolate isn't what I expected at all. It was one of those things that sounds like an awesome idea in my head.  But upon execution...not so awesome.  I was sorely disappointed. It tasted like an ice cube with a hint of chocolate.  Also, it was the consistency of a slushy.  Not at all what I expected.  Somehow in my mind I thought it was going to taste like a frosty.  Which also makes no sense because frosty's are ice cream based.  Not water based.  Why didn't I think of that before this whole fiasco?  NoOOob.

This is how I pictured the end result of my frozen hot chocolate.  Obviously minus the whipped cream and toppings.  This is not at all how things turned out.  

4.  I always say the wrong thing.  We had a breakfast my first week so my I could meet my team and they went around the room and the all got to ask me questions to get to know me.  My boss asked me who my celebrity crush was.  My answer.  Andy Samberg.  Afterwords I realized I probably should have picked someone that people consider more dignified and classy, like Leonardo DiCaprio.  Not the star of Hot Rod, and "I'm on a Boat".  I was also asked what my favorite movie was.  Nacho Libre.  Obvs.  But after answering I realized I should have said something like The Da Vinci Code or The Count of Monte Cristo so they thought I read classic literature and enjoyed thought provoking, movies with a well developed story line rather than juvenile humor.  Whoops.

5. Today I once again wanted some hot chocolate.  But I didn't want it hot.  And I didn't want to have another frozen hot chocolate incident.  Neither did I want to eat that stuff again.  Yikes.  So then I remember how I used to always just eat the packets.  Lick your finger and eat it like Fun Dip.  Naturally.  So I'm doing that.  And one of the sugar granules does down the wrong tube or whatever.  I don't know how to explain it medically.  I'm not a doctor.  But I start coughing and hacking for like five minutes so everyone around me is like what is this chick's deal?  Did she just light up her first cig in there or something?  But anyone, can choke, not just interns.  So I continue enjoying my afternoon snack.  Then in walks a co-worker, my finger covered in hot chocolate powder mid-way to my mouth.  No recovery there.

6.  The last reason I am always dubbed as an intern is probably because I am an intern.  And a noob.  I am still amazed that I have my own cubicle with my name outside it, one of those Lenovo Think Pad laptops, an official Home Depot email with a signature at the bottom with the Home Depot logo.  And what really gets me, still gets me every time- an extension number. My first day I was totes wigging.  Number one rule of not looking like a noob is PLAY IT COOL.  I was not a rule abiding citizen that day.  I may or may not have taken pictures of my new surrounding and sent them to my mom.  I also may or may not have gotten caught taking the above mentioned pictures.  Also, I am overly excited by everything there.  Everything from the big auditorium with the microphones in front of each seat which totes makes me feel like a member of congress, to the M&M machine that doesn't require money, to the baskets full of candy free for the taking, to the Country Chic lotion in the bathroom, and most importantly, the pellet ice like they have at Cafe Rio.  I eat 4 cups of that ice everyday.  It may or may not be my favorite part of my job.  Also, the M&M machine.  Not only are they free.  But peanut.  My favorite.  So obviously I take full advantage of this situation, or blessing, if you will.  The other day I dispensed a little more than anticipated, and as I'm walking back to my cubicle cupping a hefty amount of peanut M&Ms in my hands I pass several key players in my department including the VP of Decor.  (Yes hands.  Plural.  Way too many to be held in one hand.)  Nothing says intern like hoarding M&Ms.

As I wrap up this rather hefty blog post I am realizing that there are many reasons that I am instantly dubbed an intern.  Moral of the story, the saying "Actions speak louder than words" really is true.  Or in my case, "Actions speak in the place of words."  But it's all good.  I've embraced my intern status and will gladly take my place at the bottom of the totem pole.  Rock it, love it, embrace it, welcome it.  My motto for noob status.  And life.  Over and out.

Happy Mother's Day Peggy Dee!

Mother’s Day is always a difficult holiday for me because my mom is really hard to shop for. At least, I think she is. I’ve never actually tried. And it’s even harder to celebrate now that I live in Utah because it’s not like I can send a present all the way from here. At least, I don’t think I can. I’ve never actually tried that either. But thanks to our technologically advanced society, I know that a sincere heartfelt blog post will be just as cherished as any old cliché gift, like oh, a diamond tennis bracelet, and it will probably last longer too! So that’s the first reason my mom is awesome, she raised a thrifty daughter that is gifted with words. (Just FYI I’m talking about me, not Kacey. She’s not thrifty, she’s a tightwad. haha love ya Kace!)

So, without any more ado, here are the top ten reasons why I love my mom today. (There’s definitely more than ten reasons why I love her and so they change depending on the day. These are today’s. They could very well be very different tomorrow.)

1.       My mom loves taco bell. Not just loves it, actually. She LOOOVES it. Capital letters, multiple o’s, love. That might be weird but I love that about her. Every time I go to taco bell I can’t help but think about my mom. It doesn’t matter where we’re traveling in the world or what other delicious and exotic cuisine may be available, she is always down to hit up the taco bell. I love it. Plus, I happen to be eating a crunchwrap right now. This one’s for you mom.

2.       I have a hot mom (hopefully this doesn’t embarrass her) but for reals that woman has style. We’re talking Coco Chanel classy and fabulous. I didn’t even realize just exactly how hot she was until I came to college. I’ve worked with teachers way younger then my mom and I’m always baffled when they tell me their age. The woman has a gift. Plus, it comes in handy for me when I’m dating a guy and she comes to visit because I never have to stress about passing the Hot Mom Test. Score.

3.       My mom is one of the most giving people I know, which is why her and my dad were made for each other. Seriously. New to the ward? My mom already has your kids at our house and all your laundry so you have some time to yourself. Funeral? Where can she put the potatoes and rolls? Moving? She has seven kids she will gladly offer you, even though only about two of them would actually be useful. Dee is great and all, but service should have been her middle name.

4.       Speaking of names, my mom gave us great names. Not too creative, but also not too boring. Practical, but still cute. And even though she had a theme, she didn’t sell out and spell Courtney with a K. (Sorry all you Kourtneys out there but your names looks freaking weird. And sorry I said freaking mom)

5.       My mom is smart and she figures things out for herself. Her mother died before she even got married, so she had no one there to show her all the ropes of motherhood. I’m still just trying to figure out how to take care of myself! Plus she can cook, sew, clean, and nurture with the best of them. And run a successful dance studio on the side. And help coach drill team. And make it down to Utah every time Courtney is dancing. She. is. amazing.

6.       My mom thinks I’m a star. I’m aware that this is a quality most mothers have, but it’s still awesome. She thinks I’m way prettier, funnier, smarter, and more talented than I actually am or ever will be, and I love her for it. I always feel so proud whenever she makes one of my sisters call me for advice on hair and makeup. I love that she thinks I’m an expert on all things style, when really I just read too many magazines, buy too much makeup, and more often than not judge people based solely on their appearances. Only a mother could make those qualities seem like a good thing.

*Update on the crunchwrap, this thing is seriously lacking in the meat and cheese department. I hate that. If I wanted a pile of gross, processed lettuce and tomatoes, I would have gone to the salad bar next door. Amateurs.

7.       She’s always sharing her knowledge with all of her kids. Like the time in the car “Lady Marmalade” came on the radio and she taught Courtney and I how to correctly say, “Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir” (Don’t worry she followed with, “It means will you sleep with me tonight, so you’re never allowed to say it again. But at least now you know how!”) Or something more practical like the proper uses of done and finished. “A cake is done, but you are finished.” Super useful stuff. Now I can go up to strangers in the library and say, “When you are finished with that assignment voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir?” haha. totally kidding mom, no worries.

8.       I love that she loves the movie Baby Mama. Here at school, I judge peoples level of coolness by whether they think that movie is funny or not. I can’t even count how many times my mom has seen it now and she still laughs every single time. Anyone who understands the comedic genius that is Amy Poehler and Tina Fey is a person that I would be proud to call my friend. Or in this case my mom. Can I say Momfriend without sounding like a dweeb? evidently not.

9.       My mom has always been a supporter of my love of cats. I honestly am not entirely sure how she feels about them herself now that I think of it, but she is willing to let me love them no matter how wrong society may think it is. She even does things to fan the flames. She would send me videos of Loola Mae when I got to school, just so I wouldn’t miss her so much. She would text me pictures, or funny stories. She let me buy her an overly bedazzled cat collar (which is another fetish of mine she is more than willing to support. She loves that I love all things pink and sparkly). Everyone reading this may be thinking, wow this is seriously unhealthy, but not my mom. Peggy Earl is a friend to cats, the color pink, and all items bedazzled.

10.   The last reason I really love my mom today is because she loves my family. She has always been an amazing example to me of what a mother, wife and daughter should be. She supports my dad in everything he does, and because of their relationship I know that I am going to have a very happy celestial marriage someday. She takes care of her father and siblings. It doesn’t matter if they’re close or far away, she will be there for them in a second if they need her, no matter what. She never ever lets a problem that needs to be solved get in the way of a person that needs to be loved. She has helped all seven of her children develop strong testimonies of the gospel so that we would be able to stand on our own one day, and there really is no better measure of success for a mother than that.

Mom, we all love you so much. I hope you have the best mother’s day ever because you deserve it. 

 P.S. Sorry foxy ladies  but I had to use the blog for my own selfish purposes today.

update via texting convo

claire and i have been living the dream lately.
if you don't believe me then please observe the following conversation:
"whats up claire? how is georgia?"
"well its good. we watched mulan and went on a walk. thats a party at my house. so yeah, umm georgia is good. how is jeff?"
       side note: claire has always had such a way with words
"Claire doggg i've stayed in so many random houses the past couple days and met like 3 trillion old people who are in some random way related to jeff. I'm kinda over it"
         side note: they usually forget my name even after i've corrected them multiple times. i feel like they are applying shampoo directions when saying my name. (lather [call me wrong name], rinse [i correct them, they apologize], repeat [...and again 10 seconds later])
"haha funny!...I hung out with an old man at church today. he seemed alright"
         side note: man action for claire- SCORE.
"i feel forced to plaster on a smile as i say 'I'm from colorado..yeah its great.' or 'communication disorders...ya its fun' or 'yeah i like to sing...its great'. it gets so old i HATE SMALL TALK. also right now i am sitting in some random office in a house of people i've never met while jeff is socializing with his cousins in the kitchen. this is right up there with hanging out with old men." 
             side note: this house had a canary bird right outside my door. those things should be recorded and used as a ringtone to wake up and annoy every single person in america.
"haha that sucks for you i avoided people at church so i wouldn't have to do that sort of thing. Small talk makes me feel like I'm being suffocated by a plastic bag."




anyways, as you can tell- our lives are just so exciting right now.
you are all probably jealous.
so i went out of way to tell you all what is going on
so you can live vicariously through us
cuz who wouldn't want to small talk with old people?

Airports and Time Travel

I pity the fool that has to sit next to me on the airplane tonight.  I went on a 3 mile run beforehand.  Did I shower afterwards?  Nope.  No time.  Packing?  No. Watching tv?  Nailed it.  I’m looking and smelling pretty fresh right about now.  Also, I’m going pass out as I am done shoving my oversized carry-on into the overhead bin compartment. And I’m a drooler.  And I’m in the middle.  So chances are I’m probs going to drool all over some stranger’s shoulder.  No big.  

So I am sitting in the airport about to start my summer full of adventures. Airports are an interesting place.  They change me.  They cause a stirring somewhere deep within me and put me into what I can only label as “Airport Mode.”  Creative, I know.  Is airport mode a good thing?  If you are a traveler who means business much like myself, yes, it is.  I will not get in your way.  I will not slow you down.  I will not burden you by stopping you and asking you to point me to my gate.  I will not hold you up at the security checkpoint.  I will have my laptop, shoes, and jacket in a container waiting to be scanned through security.  I will not pitch a fit about my rights being violated when I am selected to go through the naked scanner.  I welcome it.  But I do find it odd that I am picked every time.  Coincidence?  I think not.  I will not get on the moving sidewalks and stand there like a pin head.  I will take advantage of those things to quadruple my walking speed.  On the other hand, if you are a small child, an elderly person, a leisurely traveler, or anyone else who gets in my way, Airplane Mode may very well be a terrible thing.  Maybe even dangerous. I am generally a very laid back, agreeable person, but something about airports change me.  I get in this mindset. Pure business.  Move it or lose it folks.

Another thing about airports is that I have the worst luck traveling.  My latest flying adventure involved a terrible suitcase mix-up in which I ended up with the suitcase of a middle-aged man.  The one before that involved me running across two terminals in the O’Hare airport to catch a plane that was waiting to take off because of me.  Did I have a suitcase with defective wheels? Of course.  Was I sick? Naturally.  Did I have an asthma attack? Definitely.  So I’m trying to make a mad dash and I’m huffing and puffing because my lungs are all congested from being sick.  (Without fail, I always get sick after finals week and spend the first couple of days at home out of commission.)  So I have to dig my inhaler out of my backpack.  As I look up from digging around in my bag I see one of those glorified golf carts that they use to tote around old people.  It was empty.  The keys were in it.  Holy heaven send.  I stood there staring at it for a second and as I started to walk towards it I got this terrible flash in my head of my mug shot on The Today Show and Al Roker detailing the story of how a college student ran down a family of five in the Chicago airport in her desperation to get home for Christmas.  I thought that would probably reflect poorly on me, so I used my better judgment and made like a banana and split.  I make it to the gate and there is this woman standing there and asks if I’m Nicole Hamilton.  You know you’re in trouble if the gate agent knows you by name.  Then I get on the plane and I’m the very last row, so I get to walk past every single person on that plane as they glare at me.  Lay off the Hatorade folks. I have never felt so hated in my life.  Except that one time I told a Mexican joke very audibly in a Mexican restaurant.  And this time before that, I was flying with my dog, and he escaped from his cage because he is some kind of crazy escape artist.  For reals.  I called him Houdini.  So I have to run and chase him down and the airport workers are all mad at me and give me a lecture something along the lines of “Ma’am, your dog is crazy as hell, keep your animal under control.”  So I can’t wait to see what tonight’s flying adventures hold.  It’s a redeye flight so I am sure I will not be let down.  Bring it. 

As a side note, if you don’t fly redeye flights you don’t know how to travel.  Redeyes are the greatest invention ever.  You hop on the plane, pass out, wake up, bam you’re there.  Seriously, I fly redeyes every time.  I get on the plane, pass out before the plane even takes off, and don’t wake up until the kind soul next to me gently nudges me awake after we’ve landed.  It’s as close to time travel as you will ever get.  Also, heaven forbid, but in the event that my plane is hijacked or the plane malfunctions and crashes, I will be blissfully unaware.  I'll sleep through it all.  I always have wanted to die in my sleep.  Redeye flights make dreams come true.  They are truly one of society’s most undervalued assets.  

Fox Hall, Friendship, and Farewells

Ladies and gentlemen.  Actually, just ladies.  Specifically my girls Kylie, Brianne, Aubs, Jess, Amy, Claire, Becca, and Kerri.  Welcome to our blog.  A blog?  Yes, a blog.  Bloggity, blog, blog.  You may be wondering, Nicki, a blog?  Has Hell frozen over?! No, it has not. Still as hot as ever.  The fire and brimstone have indeed not turned into glaciers.  Now that the status of Hell has been cleared up, let me explain myself.  No, I am not going all domestic and mommy status on yall.  I have always been a bit of a blog hater, considering them to be just another platform for moms to brag about their kids, recipes, domestic junk, and other stuff no one cares about.  But I am here to tell you blogs can be cool.  More specifically, this blog is cool.  This is going to be our means of keeping up with each other this summer.  The occasional FB status will not suffice.  Not for this gang.  We roll deep.  So this is where the blog comes in.  Yall come on here, give us the dirty deets of your life: shenanigans, run-ins with the law,  hospital visits, hood rat stuff you do with your friends, etc.  You know, the usual.  With everyone going their separate ways this summer- Idaho, Washington, Texas, Colorado, Wyoming, Florida, Georgia, Ohio, Africa, and Aubs holding the fort down here in Provo, I am confident there will be many adventures that will need reporting.  Don’t fail me.

Yall hold a special place in my heart.  The part right next to my dog and Nacho.  WBD.  Way big deal.  We’ve laughed, we’ve cried, we’ve laughed until we cried, we’ve laughed until we’ve peed ourselves, we’ve laughed until we justified our laughing as an abs workout and skipped going to the gym.  Words can’t describe how grateful I am that God smiled upon us that fateful day when we made our room selections freshman year.  Our lives would not be the same if we hadn’t ended up in the basement of Fox Hall together.  That’s the cold, hard truth.  And you, my friends, can take that to the bank.

I am going to miss yall something fierce this summer and I will count down the days until we are back all back in the Promised Land together.  In the meantime, yall have a great summer. 

Brianne and Kerri- have fun getting married and playing with the adorable little black orphans in Africa.   Do your best not to get some kind of parasite or a worm or some other disease that is running rampant in the village.  Don’t drink the water.  Unless it is labeled Aquafina or Dasani.  Also, don’t forget to get me some kind of souvenir.  Preferably one of the orphans.  I’d like that a lot.  I would even go so far as to say I would be eternally grateful to you if you brought me back one of the ninos. 

Becca- live it up in Africa as well.  Give the ninos some mclovin’ from me.  Learn a tribal dance that you can teach me when we get back.  Have fun getting engaged to Ben.  Come on, we all know it’s going to happen.

Kylie- have fun teaching the rugrats dance.  Show them our Ke$ha music video for some real dance moves.  Find a cat and give it all your love.  That’s what Loola Mae would want.  Join my petition to Kraft for them to bring back the birthday cake Oreo’s.  And don’t forget the advice of our beloved Skydancers “D the d!” and “I can make it happen, if I really try.  I can fly.  I can soar, I’ve got wings, I can do anything.” 

Jess- tell the town of Carey hello for me.  And Mama Shawna, and the rest of the Parke family.  Eat lots of potatoes, keep the grounds at the school looking spiffy, go rebuild the jump and get some air under those tires, and shoot a rock chuck or two. Or three.  Or four.  Try not to start anymore kitchen fires.  Even though I know you won’t because I won’t be there to spill hamburger grease into the burners.  And most importantly, keep a look-out for Chipmunk Cheeks.  You never know when he’s gonna pop up. 

Aubs- hold the fort down here in Provo.  Make sure the gym-goers are clean shaven and worthy Honor Code abiders.  Keep living the life of an 80-year-old woman- nine o’clock bed time, watching movies with subtitles.  Throw away all your clip-on earrings.  You are a real woman now.  Pay the Provo library your weekly visit and try to convince everyone you come into contact with that Avatar: The Last Airbender is cool. 

Claire- enjoy the humidity of Florida.  Work hard, made that paper.  Dollar, dollar bill, yeah.  Visit some old folks homes.  There are lots down there.  Keep being a baller.  Join me on my excursion to Harry Potter World, and pay me a visit in ATL.  We’ll paint the town.

Amy- rock that visitor’s center in Kirtland.  Send us letters telling us about all the dudes that mack on you despite the fact that you are on a mission.  Simply irresistible.  And don’t worry.  I’ll be paying you a visit in August.  At long last you will meet the Hamilton herd.  It will be a blessed occasion. 

As for me, I’ll be up to the same ole, same ole.  Quoting Nacho, eating refried beans, drawing the infamous Garfield pictures (and maybe one or two of Tony the Tiger), writing poetry, immersing myself in the Bollywood culture, wreaking havoc on society, and adding the prefixes- mc- and sch- to words like it’s nobody’s business.  Schwat?!  Schyou schnow schit.  Schwoopies.  SchI schjust schsaid schit.  I’ll be visiting the family up in Ohio, loving on my dog hardcore, making my way down to northern Mexico (San Diego), dropping in on my North Carolina folk, and living it up in ATL with my black men.  And most importantly, I’ll be keeping it classy as always.

Yall have a great summer.  Go crazy.  Do what you feel.  Make a bucket list.  This is the time to live it up.  Do things you’ve always wanted to do.  Don’t let money or fear hold you back.  Remember, they will always make more money and pain hurts, but only for a minute.  Life is short so go on and live it.  The only restriction is don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.  But let’s get real.  That’s not much of a restriction.  You know my only stipulation is to keep it classy.  Take it easy, ladies.  Peace and blessings.