So, Mom . . .

You know how I've always had a bit of an overactive imagination? And how our family went through that phase where we watched at least ten prime time murder mystery shows a week? And how I've been living by myself in my apartment for the last week? With no roommates? In the dark? Alone? With only a Nerf Gun for protection?

Well I've imagined about 48 different scenarios now that all end in just about the same way:

Consequently, I just wanted to get this out before . . . whatever happens.

First, when I was younger I used to pray that I’d get sick so you would make me apple juice and I could watch The Little Mermaid all day. It seemed like such a sweet deal to me. When prayer took too long, I took matters into my own hands.

Really, really sorry about that.

Also, you were so kind as to pack me a Capri Sun each day for lunch from first to sixth grade, during which time I always expressed gratitude to you and an undying love for this heaven-sent juice box that could only be compared to ambrosia from Grecian mythology.

I lied.

I sincerely believed that you enjoyed buying the stuff so I pretended to like it. Truthfully though, I thought they tasted awful and threw them away. As in, probably all of them.

Again, my bad.

Finally, whenever you made oatmeal, I would hide as much of it as possible so I didn't have to eat it.

I’m not telling you this because I think you didn't already know that, because we both know what was going on. Rather, I would just like to apologize because no matter how hard I try, I cannot make myself feel badly about doing it. Seriously, I hated that stuff.

Well, I'm glad I got that off my chest. Talk to you soon mom!

Probably.

Heather The Great: A Child's Story

This is just a short story I wrote for my nephew's 1st birthday.

Heather the Great could be everything. And she was.

Sometimes, Heather was a dancer.

Other times, she was a famous athlete.

Once, Heather decided she wanted to be an animal, so she became a fox with flowers in her hair.

Then she changed her mind, and became a racecar driver instead.

Another time, Heather wanted to be an acrobat; she glided across the tightrope with the greatest of ease.

Often, Heather was a model; everyone took pictures of her wearing the prettiest clothes in most stylish way.

On Tuesdays she was a princess who ruled her kingdom with love and fairness.

Or she was rock star with the most beautiful voice in the world.

Occasionally she was an artist, a scholar, or a cowgirl, but not at the same time.

Heather even learned to fly, and almost became a bird so she could fly away above everyone else.

But then, Heather realized she was tired of being everything.

Because, you see, everything wasn’t very fun alone.

So instead, she decided to share her everything with Jasper . . .

The Great

And to her, he was everything. 

Expectation and Reality

My freshman year, I developed a particular affinity for BYU Creamery Mini-Loaves, which are essentially glorified, 5 inch long loaves of mildly stale bread. I loved that stuff, and went through it like manna from above, especially when finals rolled around. I’m pretty sure I probably consumed three loaves a day.

My supply exhausted, I was walking to the creamery one afternoon when I noticed a hunched woman picking through the leaves by the curb. Her coat was torn, her face dirty, and I heard her muttering to herself. Clearly, she was homeless. I hated that idea: homeless at Christmas.

As I was putting the plastic-wrapped packets of joy in my basket, scenes from church seminary videos were flashing through my mind. I made sure to get an extra mini-loaf, and imagined exactly how the on-coming scene would play out:

We would then instantly become best friends as we bonded over our mutual love for processed grain products. We would go on nature hikes together, we would make a secret handshake, she’d teach how to knit, and I’d inspire her to get a college degree. Ten years down the road she would babysit my kids and our story would be on the cover of The Huffington Post. Yep. I knew how these things went down.

I approached her and struck up a light conversation. We chatted about weather and leaves, and I discretely lead the conversation to bread.

Kind lady in the green jacket: I love collecting leaves! Some can be so pretty, even at this time of the year!

Sarah: I have always loved leaves. I also love bread. I eat it a lot.

Kind lady in the green jacket: . . .

Sarah: I bought extra bread today.

Kind lady in the green jacket: . . .

Sarah: Would you like to share my extra bread with me?

Kind lady in the green jacket: Sorry, but do you think I’m homeless? Because I’m not. I have a house three blocks down the street.

Sarah:

And then I died.

How to Exercise Like an English Major

There are very few things I hate in this world. The first is oatmeal. Second is economics.

The third is exercising.

Think about it—you purposely lift things that don’t actually need to be lifted until your biceps explode and you can’t see straight because of the sweat obscuring your vision, and all for what? To be in even more pain the next day! Who came up with this idea?

 

Throughout high school, I developed several alternative methods of acquainting myself with physical activity.

• Extreme viola playing
• Intensive gardening
• Watching various sports films
• Prolonged Shakespeare reading
• Headstand practice
• Walking to class
• Sleeping in odd positions in order to replicate soreness

Then I went to college.

Within a week of moving to Provo, I realized that everyone, EVERYONE here bikes, runs, hikes, and plays Ultimate Frisbee. Daily. It was like moving to a Utopian Biking Society right in the middle of the Wasatch Front.

What's more, my roommate was an exercise and wellness major--yes, you can MAJOR in working out at BYU. The pressure was tangible: I didn't want to exercise, I had to. The only question was how to do it.

Through my experience over the course of the last two years, I have developed a fail proof method of participating in physical activity for the physically inept.

Step 1: Identify your abilities.

Step 2: Lie to yourself. Blatantly.

For example, you can learn much from this method:

Sarah: Hey, let's wear exercise clothes and running shoes--they're comfy!

Sarah: Great idea! I love sweatpants!

Sarah: Hey, we should check what the weather is like today, just in case sweatpants are too hot.

Sarah: But my computer is off.

Sarah: You're right! Good thing we can just step outside!

Sarah: Hey look! Our neighbor's light is on!

Sarah: Let's go see what she's doing!

Sarah: Wait, why are we walking past her apartment?

Sarah: We really need to check out the traffic!

Sarah:We don't have a car! And why are we speeding up? What--

But by then it's too late. I'm halfway to the Creamery.

Step 3: Take full advantage of your weaknesses (i.e. you total lack of direction).

Step 4: Utilize your strengths.

It's a slow process, but by implementing these simple steps, you too may become a fitness enthusiast extraordinaire.

But then again, perhaps not.

I saw Bambi's mom

I believe in zombies, and I will tell you why.  I came back from school early winter semester so I could work a few days before the semester started.  It was a blast.

Needless to say, the hours spent alone did not do much in the way of helping me maintain a stable emotional balance. The longer I spent alone, the more desperate I became. At one point I found myself attempting to learn the Armenian National Anthem. In Chinese.

To compound the issue, I also became absolutely determined to do a headstand, which may not seem especially problematic until you understand the extent of my coordination issues. I practiced for an hour a day through the break, leading to massive headaches and an impressive sized bump on my head, in addition to other unnamed possible effects. (Still, it was a month before I could do a headstand with the wall.)

All this to say, by the end of the break, I was fraying a little at the edges.

It was a cold, dark, eerie morning on December 30th. Witching hour--the last few minutes before the sun rose. The streets were deserted, and a pallid fog had settled over all of Provo; something sinister lurked in the darkness.

Along came innocent little Sarah Perkins, curls bouncing, happily imagining various conversations she might have with the founding fathers while on her way to her 6 AM custodial shift. Little did she know the danger that lay not two blocks away.

Skipping happily, distracted by Franklin's rather saucy response, she did not, could not notice . . .

The carcass.

Yes, I was so oblivious I nearly fell on top of it. My shrill scream pierced the silence. Still, I was determined to retain as much composure as possible. Straightening up, head erect, I stepped around the body and continued towards the MTC with as much dignity as I could muster, but shaken now, and silent.

The world was mute, but for a quiet, rhythmic sound. Soft at first, it grew louder . . . and closer.

It was the sound of hooves on cement.

I didn't take the time to glance behind me; I knew what I would see.

I sprinted onward, the MTC glowing like a shining edifice of safety before me. Images of dad's hunting excursions, the horns mounted on my sister's wall, Bambi, Twilight flashed through my mind--all of them: my fault! And now it was too late. All too late.

The hoof-prints came faster and faster. It was right behind me!

With a shuddering gasp, I shot past the guard and slid behind the gate surrounding the MTC, safe at last.

Walking home, I saw a bit of fur where the deer once was, but nothing more. They tell me the public health control cleaned up the body, but I know better.

It's still out there somewhere, just biding it's time. When it comes again, I'll be ready.