Do Not Provoke When Sleepy

I went home this weekend to spend some time with a friend of mine who is going to be moving down south next month.  On Friday night, after having been home for only a couple of hours, I decided to take a bath (which is always a must, because my parents have this ridiculously amazing bathtub.  I could seriously fit three of me in it).  So I start the water running, and I get in even though the water isn't very hot. 
Well, the tub gets about a third of the way full before the water starts running cold.  Yes. Cold.  The ends of my hair are wet, but my scalp is dry.  And I'm only partially submerged and freezing.  So I get out of the tub, wrap myself up in a towel, and my exhaustion from having not slept well in two or three days due to unexplained nausea hits me like a freight train.
I walk out into the living room and start to almost cry: "Mom. . . Dad. . . There's no hot water and I just want to take a bath and go to bed and I'm really sleepy".  This kind of behavior was probably cute when I was 6, but I'm 21.
So my dad goes downstairs to fire up the second water heater, and I go back into the bathroom to keep my feet warm in the water and play scrabble on my phone.  Twenty minutes later, there's still no hot water.  I almost start to cry again.  So I get the blow dryer and start drying the wet ends of my hair and end up pointing the blow dryer at my body to try to get warm again.
But then I thought: hey, it's not the end of the world.  I'll have a bath tomorrow.  And at least I'm not in the Congo or somewhere where I work all day just go have enough to eat to fuel me for the next workday so I can have enough to eat for the next workday.
But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't still cranky and almost crying by the time I crawled, half-damp, into bed.  I swear, I need more sleep than a newborn.

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This Is Why I'm Hot. . . Errr. . . . Single

So once upon a time there was a girl named Whitney. And she was the most oblivious girl in the entire world. Oh, you think I'm kidding?

This summer, Chris and I went to go pick up a pizza and these really very forward Islander guys were like "HEY THERE, do you know any good clubs around here?" And I, being the friendly, local-looking girl that I am, assumed that they really wanted to know where the good clubs were. So I told them that Provo wasn't really the best place for clubs and they should hit up Salt Lake and to have a nice day. We got in the car and Chris just stared at me, kind of bewildered, and was like: "Whitney, they were hitting on you."

Oh.

Kind of like there is this guy that I know from this place (I don't want to be too specific here), and he keeps flirting with me like once a week, and I don't even realize it until fifteen minutes later. So, guy that i know from this place, it's not because I would say no if you asked me out! It's just that I'm oblivious and I need a neon sign, okay?

And I thought boys were stupid. . .

I am a Meat Popsicle

If there's one thing that people who see me regularly know, it's that I've lost weight. Not necessarily because they've seen the weight loss, but because I talk about it a lot. Obsessively, even. I refer to past events as being "thirty-five pounds ago", or I will refer to a time when I looked like a contestant from the biggest loser. Seriously! Two winters ago, I weighed 48.8 pounds more than I do today.

But that's not really the point of this entry. The point is that two winters ago, I had poor circulation and an extra fifty or so pounds of insulation and I was still perpetually cold. Last winter, I weighed about 25 more pounds than I do today. I had poor circulation and 25 more pounds of insulation than I do now. And this year? I do not believe in global warming, because I'm freezing! All the time!

The other day I went to bed with sweatpants, two shirts, a sweatshirt and fleece socks on. Oh yes. And I was still a-shivering in my bed. But I've always been cold, so I didn't think anything of it. Until the other day I was at Chris's apartment and we were just hanging out and my teeth started chattering. Inside the apartment. His reaction was priceless. "Seriously?! You're that cold?" Luckily, he was kind enough provide me with a space heater to attempt to stall the onset of hypothermia.

Though I'm convinced he only did so because my fingers were freezing around the controller and that was going to make playing Little Big Planet impossible.

Anyway, if extraterrestrials decide to invade our planet anytime soon, please feel free to offer me to them as a delicious dessert. A high-protein, moderately fatty and aesthetically pleasing popsicle for carnivores. Mmm. . . delicious!

Move Over Ripley's Believe it or Not:: BYU Campus is a Freak Show

I love walking to class. I really, truly do. I like to put my headphones in and bounce along to whatever I'm listening to (my favorites? Travis, Vampire Weekend, The Shins and Elvis. All of them will put a little spring in your step, I swear) while I enjoy the scenery and a fair amount of people-watching (we won't mention that I'm only taking one class right now, or that it's completely dark outside by the time I get out of said class).

Now, I only live about a ten minute walk away from campus but I saw three amazingly unusual things on my way to class today. The first of which was a pair of shoes hanging over a power line. I took a picture of them on my nifty camera phone and sent it to Chris and mentioned to him that my next door neighbors are selling drugs. He gave them the benefit of the doubt and said that they could very possibly be selling sex. But I believe the tennis racket in the window is the preferred advertisement for purchasable pleasure around these parts. While I considered whether I would be more uncomfortable with my neighbors being pimps or dealers (pimps, for the record. I live far too close to the alleged brothel/drug den to be safe if their meth lab blows), I passed a giant sign advertising a "White Trash Bash".

What on earth is a White Trash Bash and why would someone want to participate in such an ignorant abomination? My brain cells are committing suicide just thinking about the atrocities to intelligence that would occur at a party so ill-conceived. And the longer I think about it, the stupider I get. See that? I just used the word stupider. Pretty soon I's gonna be talkin' real dum-like.

But I digress. And I saved the best curiosity for last. And sadly, I did not get a picture.

Remember in the third grade when you had to get a lift from your friend when only one of you had a bike? If memory serves correctly, I believe this was called "pumping" or something similar. You would sit on your friend's handlebars and try not to fall off or cut your feet off in the spokes of the tire. Well, I saw two grown man-boys engaging in that kind of riotous activity (I have a hard time calling males my age "men". It just feels weird. Not to mention, grown men don't usually give each other rides on their handlebars). AND the guy sitting on the handlebars was playing a guitar and singing. I have no idea what he was singing/playing because I was walking uphill and they were speeding wildly downhill.

I wonder if they ran the stop sign at the bottom of the hill, would the bicycle cops give both of them a ticket, or just the driver?

Now that I have a blog, I have nothing to blog about

Happy Halloween week! The next five days are set to be full of various Halloween-related activities. I need to make my older sister's Little Red Riding Hood costume, carve a pumpkin, watch The Nightmare Before Christmas, and practice my caramel apple recipe. Oh, and figure out how to make a realistic-looking pregnant stomach for my Juno costume (pictures will be posted during the beginning of November, I swear). All while keeping up with my homework, getting to the gym regularly, and somehow managing to get at least 7 hours of sleep every night. I love being a working college student with seemingly unattainable fitness goals.

In unrelated news, do you ever stare at a word too long and start to think: wow, that looks weird? Because I sure do. Today I was staring off into space during church a little bit (I most definitely did not get enough sleep last night), and I happened to be staring off into space right through my hymnbook. And the word hymns really does look quite strange. Don't believe me?

HYMNS

Go ahead, stare it for a moment.

Now tell me that isn't one of the weirdest-looking words you've ever seen. Yeah, that's what I thought.