Do You Speak My Crack-a-Lackin' Language?

I'll admit it: I am just a bit crazy about quoting movies. OK, really crazy. Even toeing the line of obsessed, I suppose. Let me tell you why. 

Ever since I can remember, staying home sick from school was actually kind of fun.  Best. Day. Ever! I got to stay home all day and watch whatever movies I wanted. Of course, I always picked Disney movies because they make me happy and they were about the only kind of movies in the house. My sisters and I wore out the VHSs (wow, am I that old?) because we watched them so much.

Because of this, my sisters and I became experts of those movies. We could watch a movie once, maybe twice, and already have favorite quotes picked out and have most of the movie memorized. The other zillion times of viewing the movie was just for the giggles and so we could quote along.

My sisters and I would even have entire dinner conversations completely in movie quotes. If we had chicken pot pie, there was always a “I don’t want to be a pie. I don’t like gravy” in the conversation somewhere. Or when passing the salt, “Ooh, take it Kronk, feel the power,” to which the response was, “Oh, I can feel it.” My poor parents were usually lost, and our witty quotes went right over their heads.

Now, I'll be talking to people and quotes just slip out of my mouth, like daisies. At that point, either they think I'm really clever because—regardless of whether or not they know I'm quoting—it was cleverly woven into the conversation, or they think I'm really weird. My quote slips right through their fingers, and they can’t grasp what I’m saying. My quote-loving heart bleeds a little when this happens.

 

Luckily, I found someone to marry who speaks my crack-a-lackin language. I like him, I like him so much. You hate him compared to how much I like him. He has bewitched me, body and soul, with his clever tongue and witty remarks. There will be many quoting fests between us, to infinity and beyond.

Ducky Love

At BYU, there's a duck pond just south of campus. It's one of my favorite places, especially when there are little ducklings to fawn over. There are always lots of kids at the pond who either chase or are chased by the ducks. It's a great place for studying, having a picnic, or just relaxing.

It's also a popular place for couples to go on dates.  After all, what's more romantic than lobbing tiny pieces of bread to ducks and watching them squabble over it? Little do the couples know that the ducks also have love on the brain.

There are two ducks in particular that I always see together. I call them the Married Ducks because since they're always together, it's easy to think of them as being married (if ducks do such a thing).

One night, the Married Ducks found their way to my apartment complex and were waddling around the pool in front of my apartment. They were so cute that I fed them a piece of bread. I tried to lure them closer to me, breadcrumb style, but they were too smart for that and made me use what's left of my softball skills to throw the pieces of bread over the fence to them so they didn't have to move.

They come back to my pool from time to time, and I get ridiculously excited and rush inside to grab some bread (you would be excited too if you were desperate for a pet and your apartment complex banned them). It makes me happy to see two little creatures so happy together, toddling away, wing in wing.

Psych: More than Just an Ab Workout

The first time I ever watched Psych was at one of my best friend's, Janelle's, house. I thought is was so funny, and we laughed until we cried and almost wet our pants. It was the best ab workout I've ever gotten!

From there, my twin, Lavender Gooms–I mean Amber–and I took it upon ourselves to catch up on all of the seasons on Netflix. I think it only took us about two weeks, and then we started over again. We couldn't get enough of Shawn and Gus's shenanigans. Phrases like "C'mon, son!" and "I've heard it both ways" became part of our everyday language. We probably drove our mom crazy from watching it so much. She'd always know we were watching it from the booming laughter that drifted up from downstairs. Not only was it funny but it was also pretty clean. Good, clean humor is hard to find these days amidst all the gore and sensuality that worms their way into shows.

However, Psych isn't just a good show that I am obsessed with; the show also played a role in how my fiancee, Jerrick, and I started dating.

We met in a print publishing class (CHUM 230 or DIGHT 230; I've heard it both ways) at Brigham Young University. We sat next to each other, and one of the topics that got us to finally start talking to each other was Psych. We found out we had the love of the show in common and discussed the episodes each day after they aired. Jerrick didn't have cable, so one night I invited him over to watch the episode at my place so he didn't have to wait until it went online to watch it, and we've been watching it together ever since. We even made–wait for iiiiiit– Psych t-shirts as one of our earlier dates.

Last night was a bittersweet episode: the last episode of Psych. As I snuggled with Jerrick and watched the final episode, I couldn't help but think back to last year (almost exactly a year ago) when Psych helped bring us together. I will dearly miss the Blueberry and searching for the pineapples in the episodes and hearing Gus's latest name. But if Psych had to end, that episode was the way to do it. If my roommates and future sister-in-law wouldn't have been there, I probably would have cried. And since Jerrick is a sympathetic crier, he would have cried too.

Farewell, Psych. Thank you for all of the great memories, quotable lines, and laughs. You are totally dope.

Would You Bee So Kind as to Get Off My Lunch?

The day started out great: I had rocked my volleyball test (the board at the testing center had even called me fantastic); I had enough change to buy cookies and cream milk (a BYU specialty); and it was finally starting to look like spring. By the time lunch time rolled around, I decided it was warm enough to eat outside. I took my milk and sandwich to my favorite bench between the Kennedy building and the Eyring Science Center. It was peaceful there; there weren't too many students around and I was partially blocked from view by some mostly dead shrubbery.

I decided to look up a conference talk (read it here) to listen to on my phone while I enjoyed my lunch. I got my earphones out of my backpack and put them on the bench on my sandwich. That left both hands free to take the case off my phone so the ear jack would go in all the way. I turned back to my earphones and froze. There, sitting on one of the ear buds, was a bee. As I watched in horror, the bee climbed off the bud and onto my sandwich. The nerve!

Now, this was a delicate situation because I'd had run-ins with bees on campus before, and those haven't ended well. Mostly they ended with me dancing around like a fool while people slowed down to stop and watch the crazy girl swat at what they thought was nothing. This time, I was determined to solve the situation with as little hubbub as possible.

I calmly gathered my volleyball shoes and ear phones, and put my phone back in its case so I could make a quick get-a-way. As I stood by the bench, watching the bee, I pretended to be texting on my phone so people wouldn't think I was crazy while I was keeping my eye on the bee. When no one was watching, I made my move, but a swift kick to the sandwich did little to faze the bee.

 I had just about given up my sandwich as lost when the bee crawled onto the bench. With renewed energy, I swiped my sandwich and ran for dear life. Still afraid of the bee coming back for my sandwich, I bolted down my meal and dreamed of a world with no bees.

The Sound of Memories . . . Er, Music

Just like how the smell of freshly mowed grass takes me back to my days as a softball player, the sound of certain songs also bring up different memories.

Today while I was studying in the living room, my roommate was playing music. One of the songs that came on her Pandora was "Fireflies" by Owl City. Suddenly, I was no longer on the couch reading about dialects; I was sitting at a pottery wheel making my very first mug. Now, this was way back in my junior year of high school when I took a pottery class. My teacher would play music while we attempted to mold shapeless mounds of clay into acceptable containers and struggled to keep the clay from flying off the wheel. I remember that that was the first time I had ever heard that song and it reminds me of how much fun that class was.

"Just the Way You Are" by Bruno Mars takes me back to sparkling and cascading silk and hot, sweaty bodies dancing around me. That was the theme song of one of the high school dances I went to. Whenever "If I Had You" by Adam Lambert comes on the radio, I'm taken back to a volleyball court. It was one of the songs on our warm up CD that helped get us pumped and ready for a game. The first time I heard "We Are Never Getting Back Together" by Taylor Swift, I was in the Creamery on Ninth in Provo with my first boyfriend. We broke up the next day. On a happier note, the first time I heard "Beat This Summer" by Brad Paisley, I was having all sorts of crazy adventures with my now fiancee.

Some songs, like "Fireflies," are more than just another song on the radio; they take me back to specific memories. Music takes me on a dance down memory lane.

Food that Talks Back

Last week, the winter season decided I needed to suffer for a while, so it gave me a lovely cough and an ever-flowing nose. With finals coming up, I decided to take lots of medicine to try and get over my cold before I tortured my brain. As part of my treatment, I got my favorite cough drops (the really delicious Breezers cough drops that are good enough to be eaten like candy). However, I got a surprise when I opened the bag for the first time to soothe my burning throat. The wrappers were covered with little words. At closer investigation, I read things like, "High five yourself," "Turn your 'can do' into a 'can did'," and "You've been through worse." My wrapper was giving me motivation! That pleasant surprise pretty much made my day, and I looked forward to finishing one cough drop just so I could unstick another and get inspiration from the wrapper.

This got me thinking about what other foods might be saying to me. Those fries last night might have warned me that eating them was probably going to cost me an extra trip to the gym or that apple a few days ago might have applauded me for eating healthy and promised to give me vitamins. The carrots from work might have screamed, "Pick me, pick me! I'm healthy and help you see!" (Apparently they're good rhymers.) Then they would be frustrated when I choose the smug cookies instead.

Maybe it's a good thing food doesn't really talk, but it sure made being sick a little more enjoyable.

Have an Ice Day!

I absolutely love going to college at Brigham Young University. It's a great place with lots of great people. However, sometimes going to college is dangerous. Now, I'm not talking about singed eyebrows in chemistry lab or broken noses in basketball class or anything like that. I'm talking about the ice.

Coming to college, I had to adjust to actually walking through snow. In high school, all I had to do was drive to school and make it inside the building before freezing. All my classes were in the same building or just across the street, so I never really had to worry about wearing good shoes or making sure to layer up. Everything changed when I came to BYU.

Freshman year I had to learn to wear the right shoes during the winter if I wanted to keep all my toes and to wear as many layers as I could without looking like I'd already gotten my Freshman 15. Every day I had to walk up a hill to get to campus, which was fine until the snow came and it became more of an uphill ice rink. Fellow students linked arms and went slowly up the hill together. If people fell, someone would help them up because heaven forbid we be late to a class. It was hard work trudging up that hill in the snow, but it was kind of fun because everyone banded together to help each other make it to class.

The winter of my sophomore year was the worst. All of campus was a sheet of ice, and students were falling left and right. Some even had injuries like broken limbs from taking nasty falls, all in the name of trying to get to class. But school had to go on, so we buckled down to face the dangerous ice and shuffled, slid, and scooted to class.

So this year as the snow starts to fall and the sidewalks become slick as butter, I'll be strapping on spiked cleats, cladding my knees with volleyball pads, and praying to make it to class with nothing more serious than a red nose.