It's a wisely accepted fact of this world that you can hardly be prepared for all the challenges and surprises you face in life. The best you can do is be ready to accept and roll with that for which you are not prepared. And I do try to be adaptable. However, there ARE a few things that even the most stout of heart and cool of head cannot simply brush away because the possibility of it happening just... wasn't... existent... but then it did.
For instance, I never anticipated that the day would come when I could see Severus Snape dancing. It isn't that I didn't believe I could never come across the bat-like potions master in person, it's simply that I could never have envisioned him dancing. However, I must now tell you that that is EXACTLY what happened. Granted, he was a bit younger than his Hogwarty-yeared self. More like Severus the grad student than Snape the professor. But it was him! He had the long, jet black hair slicked back, and the nose, and a long dark coat, and... it was so... Snape, Snape, Severus Snape - DUMBLEDORE! He was wearing headphones attached to an ipod as he stalked the corridors - I mean campus - cloak billowing... Then all the sudden, he stopped, STRIKING A POSE. And then he DANCED as he continued stalking. Though I suppose it wasn't really stalking anymore... And even weirder yet - he had skillz
In other news: I got to feel very domesticated today. ...Somehow that really doesn't sound like it's meant... Due to a gross disequilibrium in the distribution of Nice Notes of late, I offered to provide Manly Man with applesauce. I've come to really enjoy making applesauce since gaining access to a roommate's electric skillet. Mayhap I shall invest in one someday... When I'm rich. So anyway, I went about the making of the applesauce - even donning a cute lil apron. I received a great many comments from my roommates about my blossoming maternal assets. ...Again, that doesn't quite sound like it's intended. o.o()
So then Manly Man came over and kidnapped me for an hour of cultural awareness - which didn't really turn out to be all that culturally aware. It was a celebration of things Brazilian. Mostly it just seemed like a reunion for RMs with Brazilian flags in their apartments. There were sandwiches - not so Brazilian. But the soda was authentic. And it was good too. May have to ask Manly Man what it's called. And there was salsa dancing by the ballroom dance team.
And the best part of all: I randomly ran into VEEBA!!! (That's Eva Brady for those of you that haven't met her kids. Yes, she has kids...) She studies the Portuguese, which they speak in the Brazil. I speak the English. Which isn't spoken so well in the America. And even worse in the England. And then we happened across Mary Brooke from girls' camps long past.
What the foot's wrong with me, eh? I used to bemoan the fact that I had to drive for hours to see my friends and would hurl myself over any obstacle to make it happen. And now we live minutes away. We go to the SAME FRIKKIN' SCHOOL, and we never even talk anymore! Grar...
Moving on!
After being made more culturally aware, I skiddled over to the Marriott Center for my first and the last basketball game of the season.
Side note: whoever designed the crosswalk systems such that there is no convenient way to cross the street between the Hinckley Building and the Marriott Center deserves a good smart kick to the shins. Or better yet - a number of good smart kicks from an entire soccer team. Yeah. That sounds good.
So I'm glad I went to the game. It was a good one. However, I could feel the fact that I haven't had a decent night's sleep in two weeks. Jessica was very good about letting me use her boyfriend as pillow. I'm grateful. Boys really do make the best pillows.
And on the walk home, I got to clarify the misconception orbiting my love (or apparent lack thereof) for sports. I've always been a very sporty girl. I love sports. Especially playing. Don't like watching quite so much, but I love participating. Always have. It really makes me sad to realize that it's been two years since I've been involved with any kind of team. Granted, chronic illness did kind of get in the way during high school, but in the two years I've spent in Utah, I've hardly even had a case of the sniffles. Yet I've never really recovered my former energy and stamina that made me such a die-hard player. And I don't have an excuse anymore. I have a pair of new ruby-red soccer cleats that have never had a chance to be broken in, and I'm not really in good enough shape to consider playing real sports at all. Maybe I should look into joining ward intramurals anyway...
So now I'm going to wrap up this reattempted post with a couple of thoughts that deserve to be stated, but that didn't really have a place to fit into the rest of the post:
Hiccups make singing along with your headphones somewhat difficult - and significantly sillier.
I truly believe that no one should be allowed to call themselves an American if they were not involved with some kind of baseball league as a child.
You know Journey. Even if you don't know that you know Journey.
I prefer that my Meatloaf sing "Bat Outta Hell" and "Paradise By the Dashboard Lights" rather than sit on my dinner plate.
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Quote- "The best thing you can ever do is the right thing. The worst is nothing." -Roosevelt (don't remember which, though)
Music- "The Mysterious Ticking Noise," Potter Puppet Pals
Mood- sleepysleepysleepy
1 comment:
It's called guaraná.
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