My day has been challenging and it's only 10 am.
So I'm housesitting/dogsitting for a good friend of mine while they're out of town, which is the sweetest deal ever because I can go to work and make money and make money while working and making money. It's like poor-college-kid-trying-to-pay-off-school heaven. Plus, Amber is awesome and her dogs are adorable, so everyone wins.
Anyway, so I'm housesitting and I've only been here since Saturday, but I feel like I'm getting settled into the routine of taking care of the dogs and knowing where stuff is and whatnot. I get ready for the day, do my hair and makeup, and eat breakfast, and all that's left to do is get dressed and leave for work.
Now let me explain the root of this problem- the other day, my dad informed me that after work we would be meeting up and going shopping for "professional" clothes, which got me excited, because shopping, that's why. Anyway, so we meet up at DownEast because there are cute clothes there...but I was informed that cute church skirts apparently don't equal office wear? I dunno. So we ended up at JCPenney and got me some classy Liz Claiborne blouses (My definition of "blouse" and my dad's definition of "blouse" are two very different words. Like, I was thinking a cute cotton-y top with lace on it or something and he was thinking button-up with long sleeves and no cute butterfly/bike/owl print and not even anything sparkly...what the heck, dad?) and pencil skirts and whatever. And, as annoyed as I was that I needed to dress up, it was fun getting some really nice-looking stuff, considering that most of the time I wear jeans with a "tee" (not a blouse, don't call it a blouse!) and some cute sandals or something. What can I say, I'm 18, I can pretty much wear whatever I want.
Anyway, the stuff that i got was really nice and needed to be hand-washed and ironed and whatever. So, in an effort to keep these professional clothes wrinkle-free and ever classy, I hung them up in the car. When I get ready, I will go pick a top out of the car and go change and it's no biggy and whatever. So I go outside to get my colorful, polka-dotty top, still in my pjs (American flag tshirt and Fremont Junior High PE shorts (yeah, I still have them)) and I hear the door, that I left cracked a little bit so I could easily walk back in and the dogs wouldn't run out, click shut. I figured this was no biggie, because I had unlocked the locks from the inside before walking out to get my top. Sorry, blouse. But somehow the bottom lock, which has been tricky for me anyway, fell shut and locked me out. I ran back to the car to grab my extra key and when I looked into the car I realized with horror that I HAD LEFT BOTH SETS OF SPARE KEYS IN THE HOUSE, ON THE KITCHEN COUNTER. LIKE, MAYBE 5 FEET FROM THE DOOR. WHICH HAD APPARENTLY DECIDED TO LOCK ITSELF. I freaked out and tried to think of solutions and my first thought was that Amber had said something about a spare key in the back. I grabbed the only shoes I happened to have in the car (my sparkly black work flats- what can I say, I keep my footwear classy even when I'm in my pajamas) and walked around the back. The dogs had run out of the doggy door and were barking at me as if to say "Hey Lauren why are you outside you silly human you just come on inside through the doggy door okay why are you so upset come play with me friend I love you wait why are we outside can I have a treat PLAY WITH ME PRETTY PLEASE" and I tried to focus and find this key. It wasn't in the grill. It wasn't under the rug. Finally, I saw one of those extra key things attached to the hose and angels started singing and I was like WOOP gonna go get dressed, told you it was no biggie, self!
Aaaaand the key wasn't in there. And then I thought what cruel person buys a spare key compartment thing WITH NO SPARE KEY INSIDE. Then it hit me that OHHH that must be the spare key I was given that is sitting on the counter, in the kitchen, next to the original set of keys I was given. Gotcha. So I was the cruel, heartless soul who took my spare keys from myself. K.
And here's where my freaking out escalated and I was like crap, now I probably need to go get help because my freaking phone is inside. And if i need to go get help that means I have to talk to people in my pjs with no bra while wearing my sparkly work shoes. WHY.
My only other solution that was coming to mind was to go talk to Amber's neighbor, Gena, who is super chill and might also have a key and probably won't judge my choice of outfit.
So I get in the car because I had my car keys because I'm not THAT stupid and go to Gena's. Aaaand I knock on the door and she isn't there.
So I sat there in the mini, with my work shirt hanging up behind me, mocking me in the rearview mirror, laughing at my stupidity. Well, I mean, not LITERALLY but I could feel it's judgey-ness.
So then I figure my only option left is to show up to Bonita's house, unannounced. I mean, I kind of do this anyways, but never in pajamas at 9 am to ask if I can use her phone because mine is locked in the house along with the two sets of keys I have to said house and also, can I call Canada? Because my family is suddenly Canadian and I'm not. Typical stuff.
But really, I did go to the Frost's and Bonita seemed a little confused about why I hadn't texted her before I showed up, but she was cool and even let me use her cell phone to call Canada and cry to my mom about how I would probably die without all my stuff. She said to calm down and gave me Amber's number so I could text her. After a lot of phone calls from me and my mom and a lot of searching, we found out that Gena wasn't answering her phone, this has happened before, and that the simplest solution was to track down a small child who was little enough to fit through the tiny dog door. But of course! Why didn't I think of that?
I guess I thought maybe it would be weird to track down some little kid I don't know, ask them to come with me to a house that isn't mine, and basically break in for me. I'm not a criminal, I swear. (That's probably what all criminals say).
So anyway, then my mom is like "Oh!! Dylan (my cousin) is probably out in Mesa for swim practice...I'll call them." And, since the universe decided to not hate me for once, he was, in fact, in Mesa, and right around the corner.
So Bonita and I drove seperately down to the house like a caravan of weirdos, so that she would have her phone on her incase we needed backup. Wes and Dylan were already there when Bonita and I arrived, and Dylan squeezed through the little doggy door, which was actually kind of unbelievable to me because that thing was SMALL.
Anyway, the point is, I got in the house. And I have basically had the keys in my hand ever since.
Oh, and I will probably be getting some ice cream tonight. Because it was traumatizing, that's why.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Friday, July 12, 2013
Life Lessons via Slurpee
I just got back from Canada. It was wonderful and perfect....except for one incident that was the first time in a while that I wanted to burst into tears like a little kid in public.
So, it was my last full day in Canada, and in Vancouver they have all of these beautiful bike paths running through the city. My parents brought three bikes and decided that, before I left, we needed to go on a biking adventure to this pier and market thing, which was fine by me because as the oldest of 4 you don't get a lot of one-on-one parent time because a)your parents are too busy running after your six year old little sister and b)I am technically an adult now and don't need constant supervision and c) my siblings are all younger and, therefore, WAY cuter than I am so I totally get it.
Anyway, so we walk down to the lobby and get our bikes and at this point I was stressing because I stress about everything. Oh, and I hadn't even touched a bike in, like, 8 years. That's almost a decade, people.
I voiced this concern and then my dad was like "umm have you ever heard the phrase 'it's like riding a bike'? of course you will be able to pick it up again, that's how this works" but apparently he hasn't ever seen me ride a bike, because even when I was "good" at riding a bike, I wasn't actually "good" at riding a bike. I could get up on the bike and sort of balance, but I freaked out everytime there was even a little bump in the road and I couldn't pedal uphill because I feel pretty heavy when I am trying to get my body weight up a hill on a foot-operated, more annoying version of a car (side note: looking back, the fear of bumps was actually quite rational because at the time I lived in a really desert-y area with lots and lots of cholla cacti. So if you fell off due to a bump you were gonna get stabbed. And those suckas HURT. boom. irrational fear, justified.) Anyway, so I get on the bike thinking it would be easy like dad said, WHICH IT WASN'T, and then we figured out that the phrase "it's like riding a bike" literally applies to every person on the planet except me which isn't surprising to me at all because I struggle in that whole being-an-average-person area.
But, anyway, we start our bikeride and the view was amazing. The bikes went through parks and gardens and awesome city areas by the water and the pier was amazing and great. The market atmosphere is awesome and the view of the boats on the water was so cool.
So then after having all this fun it's time to bike back. I was trying to stall and avoid it because I knew a lot of it would be uphill. And if any of you have heard of my adventures in weights class this last year, you know I'm a huge wimp. I was legitimately worried about passing out from exhaustion whislt trying to bike uphill and then ceasing to exist or something. It was very scary. But, finally we HAD to head back so I reluctantly followed.
It was mostly uphill, and, while it WAS beautiful, it was freaking hard to get up those hills. I don't think my legs have ever hurt that bad before. And it was starting to get hot. So, after I kind of gave up and threw a dramatic fit, and decided I was done with life and I would just curl up in a ball and die there, because biking SUCKS. So then my dad was forced to bribe me with something, and he claimed that if I just made it over the hill and down the street, there would be a 7/11 and we could get slurpees. That was reason enough to stop throwing a fit and just push through, so I biked all the way there like a freaking champ and we got our slurpees.
Slurpees are special. This is a topic my family has pondered and researched for quite some time, and we've decided all slushie-like drinks fall into two categories. Category one is the run-of-the-mill, sugary, watery slushie things that are common at most gas stations. QT and Circle K fall in these categories. Their slushies/freezonis/whatever you want to call them are really icey and syrupy, and after a while they harden into an un-drinkable ice cube floating in dyed sugar water. While these types of slushies are okay, they are really nothing special and usually the flavors they offer totally suck. But the sad part is that these are really, really common. And they are merely tolerable. And usually just taste gross after you're halfway done. Category two in the slushie drink world is completely different. These drinks are your ICEE and slurpee drinks. They dont just dump some flavoring into some ice and call it a delicious frozen treat. No. These are made differently. They have some sort of carbonation added so theyre more light and airy than the inferior type. When you dispense them into the cup they inflate and spill all over you. It's part of the fun. And they usually come with one of those awesome spoon-straws so you can enjoy the whole thing all the way till the end, because you'll actually want to consume stuff at the bottom of these bad boys because it's actually edible and delicious. They cost a little more typically, but you get what you pay for- total frozen awesomeness.
So anyway, we're at the 7/11 (one of the lone places where you can still get the delicious types of slushie, along with random ones like some Burger Kings (con: limited flavor options and super expensive), the occasional circle k, and some targets (even more expensive)) getting our hard-earned slushies. I got the cream soda flavor, which was fantastic because I hate fruit-flavored frozen treats in general (soda flavors for the win), AND it was FUSCHIA. Happy, bright fuschia. Basically this stuff was pure joy.
So I get my big-ol' 42 ounce (Canada is weird about sizes), neon pink slushie and me and dad and mom sit and watch hobos (including one old guy wearing sunglasses with marijuana leaves painted on them- what a straight up gangster) and asians and the other residents of Vancouver walk by and we drank our slurpees and chatted and life was good.
For those of you who have never eaten around me, you should know that I am probably the world's slowest eater. I could probably go into Guiness book of world records for it. I think turtles probably eat faster than I do. And snails. And old people.
But anyway, I am ESPECIALLY slow when it comes to frozen stuff. I am easily prone to brain freezes and I don't like subjecting my brain to that kind of abuse after all it's done for me. So I eat slowly and carefully and enjoy the treat I got. Haters get upset with me for it, but they're haters so this is expected.
So I'm drinking my slushie and dad is like 3/4 of the way done with his and I'm like halfway. Maybe. Okay, more like 1/3. So dad decides it's probably time to head back and we took our slushies and started walking our bikes back.
Things were all fine and dandy until we got to the final stretch of the walk home- like a million flights of stairs. WITH A BIKE. AND A SLURPEE. But my dad didn't seem to mind and just started trekking down the steps like it was no biggie. I shrugged and followed, telling myself that if I could make it through the valley of death (aka like 5 minutes of slightly uphill biking in perfect weather) I could get down these stupid stairs. So I follow them and it's all good and then ON THE LAST LANDING BEFORE THE END MY SLURPEE SLIPPED OUT OF MY HAND AND EXPLODED ON THE SIDEWALK IN FRONT OF ME.
I kind of just sat there for a second and stared at the neon pink all over the sidewalk. It was legitimately heartbreaking. And, to make matters worse, there was a large group of canadian elderly taking a nice stroll, probably to go get delicious slurpees, and they saw the whole thing. There was a collective sound they made that was the sound of "awwwww, poor widdle girl dwopped her swurpee on the gwound" and that just made things worse and now I REALLY wanted to cry. My first instinct was to pick it up and throw the cup away atleast, because apparently I was turning into a hippie and Vancouver was wearing off on me. So I grab it and one of the old people was like "I don't think that's save-able little girl" or something along those lines but I just ignored her and said "i'll go throw this away" when really I shoud've probably thrown it at them and ran away crying. But anyway, I made the sad walk down the final, shortest flight of stairs and bid farewell to my delicious, only halfway finished, neon cream soda slurpee. My mom told me I should take a final sip but the damage had been done and I just needed to say goodbye. I threw it in the trash and picked up my bike like a freaking champ and began the sad, long walk back home. My mom asked if I was okay and I just said "I really want to cry right now for some reason." probably because I'm emotionally unstable. And also because here I am, technically an adult, out in the big bad world with my slurpee that I worked so hard for and it was cruelly taken from me prematurely. And when I dropped it I felt like a little kid, powerless while everyone pitied them and talked about that "poor little girl who dropped her slurpee at those stair things" for the rest of the day. Seriously, I'm not joking you guys, it was TRAUMATIZING. Terrible. A sad end to a fantastic day. But, whatever, I guess it was character building. Like, the universe saying WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD, PUNK.
So, it was my last full day in Canada, and in Vancouver they have all of these beautiful bike paths running through the city. My parents brought three bikes and decided that, before I left, we needed to go on a biking adventure to this pier and market thing, which was fine by me because as the oldest of 4 you don't get a lot of one-on-one parent time because a)your parents are too busy running after your six year old little sister and b)I am technically an adult now and don't need constant supervision and c) my siblings are all younger and, therefore, WAY cuter than I am so I totally get it.
Anyway, so we walk down to the lobby and get our bikes and at this point I was stressing because I stress about everything. Oh, and I hadn't even touched a bike in, like, 8 years. That's almost a decade, people.
I voiced this concern and then my dad was like "umm have you ever heard the phrase 'it's like riding a bike'? of course you will be able to pick it up again, that's how this works" but apparently he hasn't ever seen me ride a bike, because even when I was "good" at riding a bike, I wasn't actually "good" at riding a bike. I could get up on the bike and sort of balance, but I freaked out everytime there was even a little bump in the road and I couldn't pedal uphill because I feel pretty heavy when I am trying to get my body weight up a hill on a foot-operated, more annoying version of a car (side note: looking back, the fear of bumps was actually quite rational because at the time I lived in a really desert-y area with lots and lots of cholla cacti. So if you fell off due to a bump you were gonna get stabbed. And those suckas HURT. boom. irrational fear, justified.) Anyway, so I get on the bike thinking it would be easy like dad said, WHICH IT WASN'T, and then we figured out that the phrase "it's like riding a bike" literally applies to every person on the planet except me which isn't surprising to me at all because I struggle in that whole being-an-average-person area.
But, anyway, we start our bikeride and the view was amazing. The bikes went through parks and gardens and awesome city areas by the water and the pier was amazing and great. The market atmosphere is awesome and the view of the boats on the water was so cool.
So then after having all this fun it's time to bike back. I was trying to stall and avoid it because I knew a lot of it would be uphill. And if any of you have heard of my adventures in weights class this last year, you know I'm a huge wimp. I was legitimately worried about passing out from exhaustion whislt trying to bike uphill and then ceasing to exist or something. It was very scary. But, finally we HAD to head back so I reluctantly followed.
It was mostly uphill, and, while it WAS beautiful, it was freaking hard to get up those hills. I don't think my legs have ever hurt that bad before. And it was starting to get hot. So, after I kind of gave up and threw a dramatic fit, and decided I was done with life and I would just curl up in a ball and die there, because biking SUCKS. So then my dad was forced to bribe me with something, and he claimed that if I just made it over the hill and down the street, there would be a 7/11 and we could get slurpees. That was reason enough to stop throwing a fit and just push through, so I biked all the way there like a freaking champ and we got our slurpees.
Slurpees are special. This is a topic my family has pondered and researched for quite some time, and we've decided all slushie-like drinks fall into two categories. Category one is the run-of-the-mill, sugary, watery slushie things that are common at most gas stations. QT and Circle K fall in these categories. Their slushies/freezonis/whatever you want to call them are really icey and syrupy, and after a while they harden into an un-drinkable ice cube floating in dyed sugar water. While these types of slushies are okay, they are really nothing special and usually the flavors they offer totally suck. But the sad part is that these are really, really common. And they are merely tolerable. And usually just taste gross after you're halfway done. Category two in the slushie drink world is completely different. These drinks are your ICEE and slurpee drinks. They dont just dump some flavoring into some ice and call it a delicious frozen treat. No. These are made differently. They have some sort of carbonation added so theyre more light and airy than the inferior type. When you dispense them into the cup they inflate and spill all over you. It's part of the fun. And they usually come with one of those awesome spoon-straws so you can enjoy the whole thing all the way till the end, because you'll actually want to consume stuff at the bottom of these bad boys because it's actually edible and delicious. They cost a little more typically, but you get what you pay for- total frozen awesomeness.
So anyway, we're at the 7/11 (one of the lone places where you can still get the delicious types of slushie, along with random ones like some Burger Kings (con: limited flavor options and super expensive), the occasional circle k, and some targets (even more expensive)) getting our hard-earned slushies. I got the cream soda flavor, which was fantastic because I hate fruit-flavored frozen treats in general (soda flavors for the win), AND it was FUSCHIA. Happy, bright fuschia. Basically this stuff was pure joy.
So I get my big-ol' 42 ounce (Canada is weird about sizes), neon pink slushie and me and dad and mom sit and watch hobos (including one old guy wearing sunglasses with marijuana leaves painted on them- what a straight up gangster) and asians and the other residents of Vancouver walk by and we drank our slurpees and chatted and life was good.
For those of you who have never eaten around me, you should know that I am probably the world's slowest eater. I could probably go into Guiness book of world records for it. I think turtles probably eat faster than I do. And snails. And old people.
But anyway, I am ESPECIALLY slow when it comes to frozen stuff. I am easily prone to brain freezes and I don't like subjecting my brain to that kind of abuse after all it's done for me. So I eat slowly and carefully and enjoy the treat I got. Haters get upset with me for it, but they're haters so this is expected.
So I'm drinking my slushie and dad is like 3/4 of the way done with his and I'm like halfway. Maybe. Okay, more like 1/3. So dad decides it's probably time to head back and we took our slushies and started walking our bikes back.
Things were all fine and dandy until we got to the final stretch of the walk home- like a million flights of stairs. WITH A BIKE. AND A SLURPEE. But my dad didn't seem to mind and just started trekking down the steps like it was no biggie. I shrugged and followed, telling myself that if I could make it through the valley of death (aka like 5 minutes of slightly uphill biking in perfect weather) I could get down these stupid stairs. So I follow them and it's all good and then ON THE LAST LANDING BEFORE THE END MY SLURPEE SLIPPED OUT OF MY HAND AND EXPLODED ON THE SIDEWALK IN FRONT OF ME.
I kind of just sat there for a second and stared at the neon pink all over the sidewalk. It was legitimately heartbreaking. And, to make matters worse, there was a large group of canadian elderly taking a nice stroll, probably to go get delicious slurpees, and they saw the whole thing. There was a collective sound they made that was the sound of "awwwww, poor widdle girl dwopped her swurpee on the gwound" and that just made things worse and now I REALLY wanted to cry. My first instinct was to pick it up and throw the cup away atleast, because apparently I was turning into a hippie and Vancouver was wearing off on me. So I grab it and one of the old people was like "I don't think that's save-able little girl" or something along those lines but I just ignored her and said "i'll go throw this away" when really I shoud've probably thrown it at them and ran away crying. But anyway, I made the sad walk down the final, shortest flight of stairs and bid farewell to my delicious, only halfway finished, neon cream soda slurpee. My mom told me I should take a final sip but the damage had been done and I just needed to say goodbye. I threw it in the trash and picked up my bike like a freaking champ and began the sad, long walk back home. My mom asked if I was okay and I just said "I really want to cry right now for some reason." probably because I'm emotionally unstable. And also because here I am, technically an adult, out in the big bad world with my slurpee that I worked so hard for and it was cruelly taken from me prematurely. And when I dropped it I felt like a little kid, powerless while everyone pitied them and talked about that "poor little girl who dropped her slurpee at those stair things" for the rest of the day. Seriously, I'm not joking you guys, it was TRAUMATIZING. Terrible. A sad end to a fantastic day. But, whatever, I guess it was character building. Like, the universe saying WELCOME TO THE REAL WORLD, PUNK.
Rest in Peace, delicious cream soda Slurpee.
July 10, 2013- July 10, 2013.
Tuesday, June 18, 2013
How do i twitter? A Crash Course in Tweeting
So yesterday my aunt/bff Staci texted me and asked me to help her figure out twitter. We've been saying we would have a twitter-instruction party for a long time but it just hasn't happened. And, seeing that she's going on a road trip this weekend and needs some good ol' fashioned internet entertainment, I figured I'd write a condensed guide to the weird little world of twitter.
HOW TO TWITTER
by Lauren Haws
A tweet is like a facebook status, but with a character limit of 140. The beauty of this character limit is that where on facebook you basically have unlimited space to be funny and entertaining, the wannabe comedians of twitter must be funny in much less space. Which leads to more hilarious stuff.
To write a tweet, open your twitter app and look for the little quill pen icon in the right upper corner:
Say hello to my twitter feed. I "follow" people and their tweets show up on my feed. Just like when you friend someone on facebook and their posts show up on your newsfeed.
So you click on the little button and it takes you to the compose tweet page:
So type out your message in the little box. Speak your mind, but keep it confined to 140 characters (surprisingly more difficult than you would imagine).
I wrote out my message, and added a hashtag.
A hashtag is a set of words with a "#" sign in front of them with no spaces between which turns the word that is hashtagged into a link. If you click on the link, for instance, in this tweet the hashtag is "bffs4life", so if I tap on the hashtag it will take me to every other post on twitter with the hashtag "bffs4life".
Hashtags can turn hilarious when used ironically. For instance, I was on facebook (one of the last to hop on the hashtag bandwagon after twitter and instagram) and one of my friends posted a post about the new facebook hashtags that was something along the lines of "facebook has hashtags now?! #wow #hashtags #arewehumanorarewehashtag"
#AREWEHUMANORAREWEHASHTAG hilarious.
Anyway, don't let hashtags wig you out. After exploring twitter for a little bit you'll start to get in the groove of hashtags and it'll be easy to throw them in there.
Notice I also have "@bentleysusan828" thrown on there. This is like a hashtag but it links to your friend's twitter profile. So when I publish this tweet, someone could tap on her name and go to her profile. Tagging someone also causes it to show up in their notifications. So it is also used for responding to tweets.
See, if I click on the connect tab at the bottom, it takes me to all the tweets I was mentioned in. So let's say I click on that last one.
Here's the actual tweet. I like this tweet, so I tap the star icon- this means I favorited it. It's exactly like "liking" something on facebook. That will also pop up on Hannah's notifications, and that'll probably make her smile (see folks, this is how you win friends and influence people. Through favoriting tweets on twitter.)
But that tweet is kind of too awesome to just favorite. So I can go one step further:
I tap the little green-arrow-circle-thingy icon. This means I retweeted it. This copies the tweet and moves it to my profile. That means that other people can see it, and it looks like this:
It will show up like this on my profile AND on my friends new feeds, as if I was the one who tweeted it- the only difference if that it has the little "retweeted" thing at the bottom. So as you're scrolling through your twitter feed, you'll see lots of tweets from people you don't know...this is because people you follow are retweeting them- because they like them, or they think they're funny, or they're something nice.
This is also how people get twitter famous. Because if your tweets are being retweeted, that means a whole new crowd of twitter users gets exposed to your tweets and they can go follow you if they like what they see. So, if you get retweeted that is something to be excited about.
So this last icon is the reply button- this is how she wrote the tweet to me in the first place. I made a comment about something in a tweet, she wanted to say something and responded with that tweet up there that I favorited and retweeted. I saw her response because when you hit the reply button, it automatically starts out the tweet with that "@..." reply thing with your username. And then you just type and publish like a normal tweet and this allows them to see it.
once you're done with a tweet, just hit the home button in that corner and it'll take you back to your news feed where you can look at some more tweets.
One of the other entertaining twitter activites to partake in is the "trending topics" category. Trending is a list of popular tweets, that can be found if you go here:
click on "discover" at the bottom.
Then scroll down until you see "trends":
There might be some gems right here, but if there isn't, tap "view all trends" and it will take you to a big ol' list:
and scroll through until you find something you think might be entertaining. I noticed "#wrongfilmquotes" at the bottom and figured that seemed like a winner:
Scroll and read and laugh and experience the hilariousness. If you have something funny to contribute, go create a tweet with the featured hashtag in it and your tweet will appear here, too.
Anyway, to wrap it all up, here's some twitter fun that happened to me this morning.
So I noticed in the trending category, one of the top hashtags was "#oneruleduringsex". I personally didn't even need to click on it, I just had an idea for a post. So I did a little google search and attached an image and voila!!:
(I couldn't fit it all in one screen shot, but theres the whole thing. Note the "six favorites" at the bottom and the two responses. Booyah!)
Hey, I thought it was pretty funny.
Hopefully this was somewhat helpful.
xoxo, Lauren <3
PS: I have some personal favorite people that I follow so I'll just list 'em:
The Bloggess @thebloggess
Thanks Obama @dangitobama
no @tbhjuststop
Wrong Lyrics @wronglyrics
Kat Barger (she's my english teacher from junior year and she cracks me up) @katplusgatz
YA BOY BILL NYE (gangsta speak+ science= hilarious) @yaboybillnye
Puns @omgthatspunny
Typical White Girl (a personal favorite of mine) @TypicalGirl
HOW TO TWITTER
by Lauren Haws
A tweet is like a facebook status, but with a character limit of 140. The beauty of this character limit is that where on facebook you basically have unlimited space to be funny and entertaining, the wannabe comedians of twitter must be funny in much less space. Which leads to more hilarious stuff.
To write a tweet, open your twitter app and look for the little quill pen icon in the right upper corner:
Say hello to my twitter feed. I "follow" people and their tweets show up on my feed. Just like when you friend someone on facebook and their posts show up on your newsfeed.
So you click on the little button and it takes you to the compose tweet page:
So type out your message in the little box. Speak your mind, but keep it confined to 140 characters (surprisingly more difficult than you would imagine).
I wrote out my message, and added a hashtag.
A hashtag is a set of words with a "#" sign in front of them with no spaces between which turns the word that is hashtagged into a link. If you click on the link, for instance, in this tweet the hashtag is "bffs4life", so if I tap on the hashtag it will take me to every other post on twitter with the hashtag "bffs4life".
Hashtags can turn hilarious when used ironically. For instance, I was on facebook (one of the last to hop on the hashtag bandwagon after twitter and instagram) and one of my friends posted a post about the new facebook hashtags that was something along the lines of "facebook has hashtags now?! #wow #hashtags #arewehumanorarewehashtag"
#AREWEHUMANORAREWEHASHTAG hilarious.
Anyway, don't let hashtags wig you out. After exploring twitter for a little bit you'll start to get in the groove of hashtags and it'll be easy to throw them in there.
Notice I also have "@bentleysusan828" thrown on there. This is like a hashtag but it links to your friend's twitter profile. So when I publish this tweet, someone could tap on her name and go to her profile. Tagging someone also causes it to show up in their notifications. So it is also used for responding to tweets.
See, if I click on the connect tab at the bottom, it takes me to all the tweets I was mentioned in. So let's say I click on that last one.
Here's the actual tweet. I like this tweet, so I tap the star icon- this means I favorited it. It's exactly like "liking" something on facebook. That will also pop up on Hannah's notifications, and that'll probably make her smile (see folks, this is how you win friends and influence people. Through favoriting tweets on twitter.)
But that tweet is kind of too awesome to just favorite. So I can go one step further:
I tap the little green-arrow-circle-thingy icon. This means I retweeted it. This copies the tweet and moves it to my profile. That means that other people can see it, and it looks like this:
It will show up like this on my profile AND on my friends new feeds, as if I was the one who tweeted it- the only difference if that it has the little "retweeted" thing at the bottom. So as you're scrolling through your twitter feed, you'll see lots of tweets from people you don't know...this is because people you follow are retweeting them- because they like them, or they think they're funny, or they're something nice.
This is also how people get twitter famous. Because if your tweets are being retweeted, that means a whole new crowd of twitter users gets exposed to your tweets and they can go follow you if they like what they see. So, if you get retweeted that is something to be excited about.
So this last icon is the reply button- this is how she wrote the tweet to me in the first place. I made a comment about something in a tweet, she wanted to say something and responded with that tweet up there that I favorited and retweeted. I saw her response because when you hit the reply button, it automatically starts out the tweet with that "@..." reply thing with your username. And then you just type and publish like a normal tweet and this allows them to see it.
once you're done with a tweet, just hit the home button in that corner and it'll take you back to your news feed where you can look at some more tweets.
One of the other entertaining twitter activites to partake in is the "trending topics" category. Trending is a list of popular tweets, that can be found if you go here:
click on "discover" at the bottom.
Then scroll down until you see "trends":
There might be some gems right here, but if there isn't, tap "view all trends" and it will take you to a big ol' list:
and scroll through until you find something you think might be entertaining. I noticed "#wrongfilmquotes" at the bottom and figured that seemed like a winner:
Scroll and read and laugh and experience the hilariousness. If you have something funny to contribute, go create a tweet with the featured hashtag in it and your tweet will appear here, too.
Anyway, to wrap it all up, here's some twitter fun that happened to me this morning.
So I noticed in the trending category, one of the top hashtags was "#oneruleduringsex". I personally didn't even need to click on it, I just had an idea for a post. So I did a little google search and attached an image and voila!!:
(I couldn't fit it all in one screen shot, but theres the whole thing. Note the "six favorites" at the bottom and the two responses. Booyah!)
Hey, I thought it was pretty funny.
Hopefully this was somewhat helpful.
xoxo, Lauren <3
PS: I have some personal favorite people that I follow so I'll just list 'em:
The Bloggess @thebloggess
Thanks Obama @dangitobama
no @tbhjuststop
Wrong Lyrics @wronglyrics
Kat Barger (she's my english teacher from junior year and she cracks me up) @katplusgatz
YA BOY BILL NYE (gangsta speak+ science= hilarious) @yaboybillnye
Puns @omgthatspunny
Typical White Girl (a personal favorite of mine) @TypicalGirl
Monday, June 17, 2013
I Would Blog More But My Life is Boring and I Basically Have Nothing To Write About.
This blog post could alternately be titled "The Life Of a Recent High School Grad Anxiously Awaiting College". Either way.
I've gotta say, lately I've felt really lost. Not like can't-find-your-mom-in-Walmart-when-you-were-five (which wouldn't even be an issue today because the five year olds all have iPhones and they can just tweet about being lost and their moms will read it and be like "@littlefiveyearold k. I'll come find you. hugs #lovemykids") but more of a showing-up-to-a-party-and-you-only-know-one-person-and-they-don't-talk-to-you-because-they're-too-busy-socializing-with-their-friends-which-are-unfortunately-not-your-friends feeling.
And it totally sucks.
I knew there would be a lot of big changes after graduation. And I knew I would feel different. But everyone who said I would feel different made it seem like I would feel more free and excited for the future, but I find that I just feel confused and lost. I go to work everyday except Saturday and Sunday and I sit at a desk and answer a few phones calls and lots of people come up and complain and it just is not that fun. Not that 40 hour work weeks are ever fun. And meanwhile, tons of my peers have scholarships so their working is just adding to their spending money, while I'm a little over halfway to my money-saving goals (I have time, thankfully, but it would be nice to just be saving all of this for fun money).
And then there's church. The Mormon church has a youth program that is for 12 year olds to high school grads...so I'm officially out of young women's. And that's so weird for me. For six years I have been totally spoiled- I had a class of girls all my age who were going through the same stuff and usually went to school with me. I had at least 2 leaders specifically assigned to me, to making sure I was okay and happy and who would always be there for me. I had a weekly mutual activity that was a fun escape from my problems and things that were weighing on me and have some fun. And now I'm in Relief Society, the program designed for women...but I don't feel like I belong in there. At all. I am in a completely different stage of life. I am this teenage girl and many of them are young moms, middle aged women, and elderly women. Which is fine. And they are all fantastic women. But I just don't feel like I belong. When I sit down in relief society I feel like I sat down in the wrong room and I need to go back over to young women's. And I hate feeling that way, because I know they work so hard so that I don't feel like that...but it happens anyway. And it's hard for me.
It sucks being lonely.
And as I look around it seems like I am the only one feeling this way. Everyone seems to be having fun, going on adventures with their friends, moving out to college for the summer programs, leaving on missions, and just having a great time and loving life. And I'm here, doing nothing too exciting, feeling like a fish out of water.
And the worst part about this is I WANT TO BLOG BUT THERE IS NOTHING TO TALK ABOUT BECAUSE MY LIFE IS SUPER DUPER BORING AND LAME. For real you guys. I apologize for being whiny. I will try to write about more exciting things because I want to start really getting into this blogging business.
In other news, I have found some really cool stuff lately, too.
1. The Last Five Years by Jason Robert Brown.
I am kind of a closet theater nerd. Well, sort of. I just enjoy a really well written play. And that's where The Last Five Years spoke to me. The play tells the story of a couple and the course of their relationship as they meet, fall in love, get married, and then divorce, all in five years. And that's where it gets even better. Jamie, the husband, tells the story chronologically, starting right after their first date. But Cathy, the wife, tells the story backwards, starting with the day Jamie moves out and ending right after their first date- so the couple only directly crosses paths once in the middle at their wedding. The whole thing is (obviously) very emotional, but what got me was the final song- "Goodbye Until Tomorrow/I Could Never Rescue You". Cathy starts off the song singing "goodbye until tomorrow" after their first date, while Jamie, after packing his things and moving out post-divorce, sings "I could never rescue you" and basically says goodbye forever. Even if you don't watch the whole thing, I would highly recommend listening to this song. So awesome.
Here's the original cast members singing Goodbye Until Tomorrow....sooo good. The audio isn't the best quality but the performance is on point.
Here's another favorite- the opening song to the play. This one is phenomenal. Watch out for some of the amazing lyrics- my personal favorite: "Jamie is over and where do I turn/covered with scars I did nothing to earn/maybe there's somewhere a lesson to learn/but that doesn't change the facts/and that doesn't speed the time". like OH MAH GOODNESS what is life this is brilliant.
And here we have what is probably my favorite song of the musical- Jamie singing how in love he is with Cathy. And it KILLS ME. SO cute.
2. TWITTER
I never thought I'd be a fan of twitter but, what can I say, I'm in love. It's like talking to yourself on a public forum. It doesn't get better than that. Plus, hashtags. Nuff said.
3. OMG YOU GUYS MY HAIR FEELS OKAY
If you read my last post, here's a hair update- IT FEELS OKAY. Like, guys, I only have to wash it every other day. I get to sleep in now. Best thing ever. And maybe someday I'll have nice hair. Hopefully.
Well, anyway. Cross your fingers that I get out of this funk.
I've gotta say, lately I've felt really lost. Not like can't-find-your-mom-in-Walmart-when-you-were-five (which wouldn't even be an issue today because the five year olds all have iPhones and they can just tweet about being lost and their moms will read it and be like "@littlefiveyearold k. I'll come find you. hugs #lovemykids") but more of a showing-up-to-a-party-and-you-only-know-one-person-and-they-don't-talk-to-you-because-they're-too-busy-socializing-with-their-friends-which-are-unfortunately-not-your-friends feeling.
And it totally sucks.
I knew there would be a lot of big changes after graduation. And I knew I would feel different. But everyone who said I would feel different made it seem like I would feel more free and excited for the future, but I find that I just feel confused and lost. I go to work everyday except Saturday and Sunday and I sit at a desk and answer a few phones calls and lots of people come up and complain and it just is not that fun. Not that 40 hour work weeks are ever fun. And meanwhile, tons of my peers have scholarships so their working is just adding to their spending money, while I'm a little over halfway to my money-saving goals (I have time, thankfully, but it would be nice to just be saving all of this for fun money).
And then there's church. The Mormon church has a youth program that is for 12 year olds to high school grads...so I'm officially out of young women's. And that's so weird for me. For six years I have been totally spoiled- I had a class of girls all my age who were going through the same stuff and usually went to school with me. I had at least 2 leaders specifically assigned to me, to making sure I was okay and happy and who would always be there for me. I had a weekly mutual activity that was a fun escape from my problems and things that were weighing on me and have some fun. And now I'm in Relief Society, the program designed for women...but I don't feel like I belong in there. At all. I am in a completely different stage of life. I am this teenage girl and many of them are young moms, middle aged women, and elderly women. Which is fine. And they are all fantastic women. But I just don't feel like I belong. When I sit down in relief society I feel like I sat down in the wrong room and I need to go back over to young women's. And I hate feeling that way, because I know they work so hard so that I don't feel like that...but it happens anyway. And it's hard for me.
It sucks being lonely.
And as I look around it seems like I am the only one feeling this way. Everyone seems to be having fun, going on adventures with their friends, moving out to college for the summer programs, leaving on missions, and just having a great time and loving life. And I'm here, doing nothing too exciting, feeling like a fish out of water.
And the worst part about this is I WANT TO BLOG BUT THERE IS NOTHING TO TALK ABOUT BECAUSE MY LIFE IS SUPER DUPER BORING AND LAME. For real you guys. I apologize for being whiny. I will try to write about more exciting things because I want to start really getting into this blogging business.
In other news, I have found some really cool stuff lately, too.
1. The Last Five Years by Jason Robert Brown.
I am kind of a closet theater nerd. Well, sort of. I just enjoy a really well written play. And that's where The Last Five Years spoke to me. The play tells the story of a couple and the course of their relationship as they meet, fall in love, get married, and then divorce, all in five years. And that's where it gets even better. Jamie, the husband, tells the story chronologically, starting right after their first date. But Cathy, the wife, tells the story backwards, starting with the day Jamie moves out and ending right after their first date- so the couple only directly crosses paths once in the middle at their wedding. The whole thing is (obviously) very emotional, but what got me was the final song- "Goodbye Until Tomorrow/I Could Never Rescue You". Cathy starts off the song singing "goodbye until tomorrow" after their first date, while Jamie, after packing his things and moving out post-divorce, sings "I could never rescue you" and basically says goodbye forever. Even if you don't watch the whole thing, I would highly recommend listening to this song. So awesome.
Here's the original cast members singing Goodbye Until Tomorrow....sooo good. The audio isn't the best quality but the performance is on point.
Here's another favorite- the opening song to the play. This one is phenomenal. Watch out for some of the amazing lyrics- my personal favorite: "Jamie is over and where do I turn/covered with scars I did nothing to earn/maybe there's somewhere a lesson to learn/but that doesn't change the facts/and that doesn't speed the time". like OH MAH GOODNESS what is life this is brilliant.
And here we have what is probably my favorite song of the musical- Jamie singing how in love he is with Cathy. And it KILLS ME. SO cute.
2. TWITTER
I never thought I'd be a fan of twitter but, what can I say, I'm in love. It's like talking to yourself on a public forum. It doesn't get better than that. Plus, hashtags. Nuff said.
3. OMG YOU GUYS MY HAIR FEELS OKAY
If you read my last post, here's a hair update- IT FEELS OKAY. Like, guys, I only have to wash it every other day. I get to sleep in now. Best thing ever. And maybe someday I'll have nice hair. Hopefully.
Well, anyway. Cross your fingers that I get out of this funk.
Monday, June 3, 2013
adventures in hair
dear diary,
today is the third day in the last three years (but specifically the last 2 weeks) that i have not washed my hair.
i would say the pickiness regarding my hair began 2 days before I started junior high. I was twelve, and I wanted to try to spice up my lame, ash brown bob into something a little more exciting...so hair dye seemed like a logical change. I went to the store with my mom, picked up a box of herbal essences auburn hair dye, and came home to try it out. I followed the directions to a T-- mixing everything correctly, having my mom help with the application, setting the timer for exactly 20 minutes. And the whole time my mom kept saying "wow, this is really red-looking" and little twelve-year-old me was like "oh, itll look different on my hair, I'm sure" but to be honest, I think I was a teensy bit worried about the outcome of this grand hair-dying adventure, and I anxiously waited the 20 minute block out to see my crazy new 'do.
Right as the timer rang I rushed to wash it out and, to my horror, it was red. Really really really red. Fire hydrant red. Or, that's what I remember (in hindsight, it probably wasn't all that bright. I was just an insecure little girl who was quite shy and couldn't really rock any sort of unique hairdo). But anyway. It was really really really red. I remembered sitting in front of the mirror, staring at my vibrant locks and wondering why the crap did I just do that to my hair. AND it was two days before my FIRST DAY OF JUNIOR HIGH. Oh dear. This is a disaster, I thought. I could never reverse this (this was before my days of being a hair-dying master and knowing that I could pretty easily fix this disasterous 'do with an 8 dollar box of hair dye from the store and a little know-how, but whatever) and I would be stuck with Ariel hair (but less pretty because it was short and not a lovely flowing mane) for the rest of my life and people would laugh at me and what was a girl to do? I decided to wash it again. I noticed everytime I washed it the dye faded a little....and this was where a monster was created, my friends.
Yes, I do believe that this was the day that I became addicted to washing my hair.
Now, you might be thinking to yourself, how is that a bad thing? Are you upset at yourself for taking too many shower and being far TOO clean? Nope. Turns out washing your hair daily is a bad thing.
But, first, another hair mis-adventure in the life of Lauren.
So it was the fall of last year, and I had my hair the longest it had been since kindergarten. I loved my hair.It was long. it was thick. It was just lovely. But it was battered. Seriously. My hair was on it's deathbed. But, of course, me being the obsessive hair-washer that I am, I just kept washing and blow-drying it...ON A DAILY BASIS. I was literally frying my hair. Not to mention I had a little adventure with some blonde-ness for the summer and that basically beat the crap out of my hair.
But alas, I didn't notice the damage until it was too late. I just kept straightening with my 500+degree (and probably illegal/black market purchase) straight iron and equally damaging curling wand. I never deep conditioned, never trimmed, and one day I made a truly heartbreaking discovery.
My hair was uneven. Seriously. I had fried one side of my hair so badly that it was shriveling up and making one side about two inches shorter than the other.
My worst nightmares had been manifested. I had to cut my hair that I loved so dearly. There was no other way (except maybe getting extensions on just one side, but that's kind of dumb). So I called up my fabulous hairstylist and made an appointment. I felt like I was going in for an evasive surgery. Or maybe going to my own execution (that may seem dramatic, but most girls will understand the weird emotional attachment to hair).
At my appointment, I explained my dilemna and (I completely blame myself for this one) I said "Can you take off all the dead stuff? And can I have layers?" You know in horror movies where the stupid victim hears a noise in the cellar and is like "Well, that was scary. Better go see what that was!" and you want to throw things at the TV and scream NO WHAT ARE YOU DOING CLEARLY IF YOU HEAR A NOISE IN THE BASEMENT THERES A PROBLEM LIKE SERIOUSLY DUH? Or in a romance movie where the effortlessly beautiful main character meets the dashing troublemaker and falls in love and you know he's cheating on her and you're like NO HE MAY BE CUTE BUT HE'S BAD NEWS? Yeah, if this was a movie of me and I was watching it I would probably say NO DON'T ASK FOR THE DEAD ENDS OFF YOU KNOW THAT'S HAIRDRESSER CODE FOR "CHOP IT ALL OFF PLEASE" NO STOP LAUREN and throw handfuls of popcorn at the screen.
She started cutting and she put a peice of hair in front of me and said "That's a long piece". And I felt my stomach drop because it was AT LEAST 4, maybe 5 inches shorter than my old hair. I wanted to cry. The regret was terrible. I sat there and watched all my beloved hair fall to the ground and I tried to stay calm. But when I got home to my new, actually kind of short haircut, I bawled. My hair was gone. I didn't even feel pretty anymore. I was seriously distraught. And before you all judge me, none of you can claim that you've never cried over your hair before because I KNOW you have!
So anyway, here I am, 8 months later and my hair is still no where near the length that it was. I want my long hair back. And I am bound and determined to get it there before I go to college in January.
I decided something had to change. Why was my hair suddenly at a standstill? Why wasn't it growing faster? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?! And so I asked my aspiring cosmetologist sister who seriously has some of the most fantastic, long hair I've ever seen in my entire life, and she said "Well, stop wahsing it everyday".
What the heck? Why would I do that? What a ridiculous request. She was silly. I could keep washing my hair, it gets icky....right?? If I don't wash it, it turns into an oily mess. But, according to her, not washing it regulates the oils and encourages it to grow. And it keeps it from breaking off, so it appears to grow faster. Sounded pretty mice to me, but I could literally not even stand the thought of my second day hair. At least, not at school.
But I just graduated high school. And I have until January until I start school. So what better time to start than now?
So here I am, my third time not washing my hair. And I will admit, it gets so much better. So wish me luck, I will have my hair back by college, and healthy this time.
And I'm gonna be the cutest college freshman you ever did see at BYUI. Not to mention really humble, too.
today is the third day in the last three years (but specifically the last 2 weeks) that i have not washed my hair.
i would say the pickiness regarding my hair began 2 days before I started junior high. I was twelve, and I wanted to try to spice up my lame, ash brown bob into something a little more exciting...so hair dye seemed like a logical change. I went to the store with my mom, picked up a box of herbal essences auburn hair dye, and came home to try it out. I followed the directions to a T-- mixing everything correctly, having my mom help with the application, setting the timer for exactly 20 minutes. And the whole time my mom kept saying "wow, this is really red-looking" and little twelve-year-old me was like "oh, itll look different on my hair, I'm sure" but to be honest, I think I was a teensy bit worried about the outcome of this grand hair-dying adventure, and I anxiously waited the 20 minute block out to see my crazy new 'do.
Right as the timer rang I rushed to wash it out and, to my horror, it was red. Really really really red. Fire hydrant red. Or, that's what I remember (in hindsight, it probably wasn't all that bright. I was just an insecure little girl who was quite shy and couldn't really rock any sort of unique hairdo). But anyway. It was really really really red. I remembered sitting in front of the mirror, staring at my vibrant locks and wondering why the crap did I just do that to my hair. AND it was two days before my FIRST DAY OF JUNIOR HIGH. Oh dear. This is a disaster, I thought. I could never reverse this (this was before my days of being a hair-dying master and knowing that I could pretty easily fix this disasterous 'do with an 8 dollar box of hair dye from the store and a little know-how, but whatever) and I would be stuck with Ariel hair (but less pretty because it was short and not a lovely flowing mane) for the rest of my life and people would laugh at me and what was a girl to do? I decided to wash it again. I noticed everytime I washed it the dye faded a little....and this was where a monster was created, my friends.
Yes, I do believe that this was the day that I became addicted to washing my hair.
Now, you might be thinking to yourself, how is that a bad thing? Are you upset at yourself for taking too many shower and being far TOO clean? Nope. Turns out washing your hair daily is a bad thing.
But, first, another hair mis-adventure in the life of Lauren.
So it was the fall of last year, and I had my hair the longest it had been since kindergarten. I loved my hair.It was long. it was thick. It was just lovely. But it was battered. Seriously. My hair was on it's deathbed. But, of course, me being the obsessive hair-washer that I am, I just kept washing and blow-drying it...ON A DAILY BASIS. I was literally frying my hair. Not to mention I had a little adventure with some blonde-ness for the summer and that basically beat the crap out of my hair.
But alas, I didn't notice the damage until it was too late. I just kept straightening with my 500+degree (and probably illegal/black market purchase) straight iron and equally damaging curling wand. I never deep conditioned, never trimmed, and one day I made a truly heartbreaking discovery.
My hair was uneven. Seriously. I had fried one side of my hair so badly that it was shriveling up and making one side about two inches shorter than the other.
My worst nightmares had been manifested. I had to cut my hair that I loved so dearly. There was no other way (except maybe getting extensions on just one side, but that's kind of dumb). So I called up my fabulous hairstylist and made an appointment. I felt like I was going in for an evasive surgery. Or maybe going to my own execution (that may seem dramatic, but most girls will understand the weird emotional attachment to hair).
At my appointment, I explained my dilemna and (I completely blame myself for this one) I said "Can you take off all the dead stuff? And can I have layers?" You know in horror movies where the stupid victim hears a noise in the cellar and is like "Well, that was scary. Better go see what that was!" and you want to throw things at the TV and scream NO WHAT ARE YOU DOING CLEARLY IF YOU HEAR A NOISE IN THE BASEMENT THERES A PROBLEM LIKE SERIOUSLY DUH? Or in a romance movie where the effortlessly beautiful main character meets the dashing troublemaker and falls in love and you know he's cheating on her and you're like NO HE MAY BE CUTE BUT HE'S BAD NEWS? Yeah, if this was a movie of me and I was watching it I would probably say NO DON'T ASK FOR THE DEAD ENDS OFF YOU KNOW THAT'S HAIRDRESSER CODE FOR "CHOP IT ALL OFF PLEASE" NO STOP LAUREN and throw handfuls of popcorn at the screen.
She started cutting and she put a peice of hair in front of me and said "That's a long piece". And I felt my stomach drop because it was AT LEAST 4, maybe 5 inches shorter than my old hair. I wanted to cry. The regret was terrible. I sat there and watched all my beloved hair fall to the ground and I tried to stay calm. But when I got home to my new, actually kind of short haircut, I bawled. My hair was gone. I didn't even feel pretty anymore. I was seriously distraught. And before you all judge me, none of you can claim that you've never cried over your hair before because I KNOW you have!
So anyway, here I am, 8 months later and my hair is still no where near the length that it was. I want my long hair back. And I am bound and determined to get it there before I go to college in January.
I decided something had to change. Why was my hair suddenly at a standstill? Why wasn't it growing faster? WHAT DID I DO TO DESERVE THIS?! And so I asked my aspiring cosmetologist sister who seriously has some of the most fantastic, long hair I've ever seen in my entire life, and she said "Well, stop wahsing it everyday".
What the heck? Why would I do that? What a ridiculous request. She was silly. I could keep washing my hair, it gets icky....right?? If I don't wash it, it turns into an oily mess. But, according to her, not washing it regulates the oils and encourages it to grow. And it keeps it from breaking off, so it appears to grow faster. Sounded pretty mice to me, but I could literally not even stand the thought of my second day hair. At least, not at school.
But I just graduated high school. And I have until January until I start school. So what better time to start than now?
So here I am, my third time not washing my hair. And I will admit, it gets so much better. So wish me luck, I will have my hair back by college, and healthy this time.
And I'm gonna be the cutest college freshman you ever did see at BYUI. Not to mention really humble, too.
 |
| sigh. my old hair. RIP. you are missed. |
 |
| look at that uneven hair of mine. oh dearest me. |
 |
| a post haircut shot. can you see how short that is?! and look how distraught i am. I wasn't kidding. |
Wednesday, May 29, 2013
the thrilling life of a new adult
well.
i'm done.
it's over.
like, for real. I am a high school graduate. When did that happen?! I know I have been complaining for, like, 13 years about getting out of here but it all happened in a blur and here I am! At work. Watching the clock, hoping 5 rolls around faster so I can go home. Ah, yes. Adulthood. Exactly as I imagined it would be.
I also woke up on Tuesday freaking out (typical)because I suddenly realized that I just began the rest of my LIFE. I just opened a new chapter which includes going to college, dating attractive return missionaries, marrying one of those hawt return missionaries, having a kid or two, graduating college....like, seriously. This stuff will probably all happen to me within the next decade. I realize it's happening, but it still hasn't hit me. I still think I'm going to go back to Queen Creek High School in July and start up another year. It is so surreal.
And part of me wonders if it will ever really "hit me". Do you notice you're getting older as it's happening? Or do you only notice once it passes you by? It seems like just yesterday I was going to Queen Creek graduation my sophomore year for orchestra and watching my "grown up" friends don their purple n' gold cap and gowns and walk across the stage, and I missed them and we cried and then they left and it was over and it really did feel like it would take a lifetime for me to get there. Aaaaand apparently it ran past me so quickly that I barely even noticed. It was like ten seconds had passed and suddenly I was wearing that purple cap and gown and walking across the stage.
The day of graduation I had to get up early. Graduation rehearsal was at 8 am and attendance was mandatory. So I rolled out of bed and stood alphabetically- Hegel, Haws, Harris- with my two line buddies and we sat in our rows and the kids complained about how totally laaaame the principal was and how totally lame getting dressed up for a graduation ceremony was (how dare the school tell us we have to look nice for theonly high school graduation we'll ever have. Those monsters. ) and how they were so tired and wanted to go home and then graduation practice was over. So we went home and I curled my hair all nice and put on my fancy dress I had acquired for the occasion. And then I went to put on my cap and gown and that's where I felt a little weird. Like, aren't I just a baby? They don't let babies graduate. There must be a mistake.
But then I looked in the mirror and I was this 18 year old who had not just gone to high school but finished. And I wasn't a baby- I was really tall and was capable of driving a car by myself and had a job. And suddenly I realized I was COLLEGE BOUND in a few short months. And then my mom told me it was time to go.
So I got dropped off to go early with orchestra. We rode the bus and exchanged stories about our orchestra adventures from the past few years. And I had this pain in my chest when I thought about how I technically wouldn't be a member of Queen Creek High School Orchestra and that I wouldn't be orchestra president anymore.....and how it was literally hotter than the depths of Hell on that bus and my dress apparently wasn't very breathable because I was sweating like a pig.
So we finally get there and we do sound checks and talk and remenisce and we take our senior group picture with Mrs. Payne. And then the teacher tells us it's time for us to leave to go join the other graduates and well, you know, graduate.
I join my line buddies in HarrisHawsHegel formation and we walk into the arena to the tune of Pomp and Circustance being played by some of my closest friends. And my face is on this ginormous jumbotron and I wave.
We're finally sitting and the speeches start. They're funny and encouraging and poignant, and I feel so sad that I don't feel sad at all. Then it's my turn to leave the crowd of graduates for one last song with the little orchestra that had been my musical family for the past three years.
AND CAN I TAKE A BREAK REAL QUICK TO JUST SAY THAT MY CELLO WAS OUT OF TUNE SO I HAD TO FAKE PLAY MY LAST SONG OF HIGH SCHOOL. YEAH. CARRY ON.
So anyway, then it's our turn to actually get our diplomas and suddenly I'm on stage and holy crap I'm next and then I walk up and grab my diploma, get excited, and sit back down.....and then I realize that I pretty much just initiated the beginning of the rest of my life. Not my high school life where I had to do what was expected of every other highschooler or where friends were petty and annoying (no offense, love you guys <3) or where I didn't have any other choice but to sit there and wait it out. Nope. Now I could pretty much do whatever I want. My new life will consist of all the exciting things, all the REAL things. And, as startling as it is to suddenly be here, I could not be more thrilled.
Friday, May 17, 2013
concertttt
You know, there were times during my senior year when I thought I would never be done.
Like, when it was hotter than Hell outside and Coach Kopp made us run hills like a million times in weights and I was 99.9 percent sure I was going to pass out and die.
Or when I was preparing for my All State Auditions and I had like two days until my audition, and I felt all awesome and prepared and then we found out that I had prepared the wrong solo for my audition. My brain imploded and I just shut down pretty much and had to take the next two days off of school and practice for 8+hours both days to catch up. NOPE. NOT OKAY.
Or when I decided to submit a senior project for orchestra and I typed up my little essay and everything, and it was a beautiful day outside and I was right on time for school, and THEN MY MOM HANDS ME A MILKSHAKE AND I PUT IT IN THE CUPHOLDER AND GUESS WHAT RIGHT AS IM ABOUT TO PULL INTO SCHOOL IT DUMPS OUT RIGHT ONTO MY AWESOME ESSAY THATS DUE IN 5 MINUTES.
There have been challenging days for sure. The days where I really just want to go home and cry and eat some ice cream and probably top it off with a nice nap. Those days where I thought "There really isn't any way this day could get worse at this point." and the universe seemed to take that as a challenge and was like "Is that a triple dog dare? Cuz I'll do it."
But there have been some amazing moments this year, too. And this last week has been one amazing week. Specifically the end of this week.
On Wednesday night I had my last orchestra concert of my high school music career. That's emotional anyway, but this time was especially sad for me because I wasn't just playing- I was conducting.
In my orchestra programs in Queen Creek and many other cities, it is pretty typical for the teacher to allow seniors to choose and conduct songs. I have watched tons of my friends do this in the past, and I have been planning out my project in my head for FOREVER. I picked a song (Folk Tune Air and Fiddler's Fury by Alexander Safford), worked on it with the class for foreverrr (which still didn't feel like enough time), and pretty soon I found myself at dress rehearsal for the concert.
So here I am, without my teacher (aka my mentor, aka there to keep me from losing my mind) because she's conducting the youngun's, and I am standing on the podium in the orchestra room with the baton in my hand, and my hands are shaking, and I am really really scared. The piece is in two movements (for those of you who aren't following me, movements are like the sections of the song. In this case, there was a slow movement and then a fast movement.) and the fast movement was struggling a little.
But it's not like this was an easy piece. Fiddling music can be some of the most challenging because it forces the players to play differently than they're used to, and some of the passages can be dizzying fast or extremely intricate, or both, as was the case for this particular song. I had watched my violins, who are traditionally the ones given the most brutal passages of the music, get together and practice the music, and send each other recordings and consult each other about the music and I thought it was the sweetest thing. They weren't just doing it for themselves- they were also doing it as a gift to me. And it was touching.
So we worked and worked and ran the song what felt like a million times-- at slow tempos, fast tempos, with a metronome, without a metronome-- you name it, we tried it. And I also worked- I took the score home and had to study it by listening to hundreds of recordings to try and figure out what kindof sound I wanted (each piece has it's own little personality each time as new group plays it), and then when I found one I liked I had to figure out what I liked about it and how I was going to get my group to do that. And there was one thing I really liked about the recording I was studying from- it was fast. Really fast.
So I did what Mrs. Payne told me I had to do and practiced conducting... with my earphones in and my ipod playing the recording and conducting an invisible orchestra with a pencil as a baton, facing my mirror so I could see what I looked like. Talk about the weirdest thing ever. And not only that, another thing I figured out is that conducting a group that actually watches (unlike being the chorister at church (thats my calling-- holla!)) is REALLY hard to conduct. Like, seriously, it's not just waving your arm around (I really did think that). Orchestral conducting involves cueing in sections and following a score and transitioning speeds and conducting patterns and through all of it you have to stay consistent and steady- because if you fall apart, the group will probably fall apart, too.
So I "practiced" night after night in front of my mirror and felt like a weirdo, but soon the conducting became easier and easier and suddenly I was doing things without even noticing, like standing up straighter and conducting more confidently. It was really, really cool.
And yet, here I am the night of the concert, still stressed out, despite all of my hard work. Like, what the heck, man? I got up on the podium and ran through the songs and the fast movement- the movement I had selected the song specifically for- was sounding a little sketch. I was sad and disappointed and concerned and stressed and everything else all at once, and to top it off, it was freaking hot in the orchestra room and I was sweating like a pig. Gross, but true. Those polyester orchestra dresses don't exactly breathe.
But then, just as I felt like I was gonna lose it and probably just quit/pass out right there, my cute little stand partner Ashtyn tapped me on the shoulder and handed me something. She told me she made it just for me. I unwrapped it and there was a framed picture of me playing the cello with an awesome, hand-decorated frame around it. It was so thoughtful and just as I thought the emotional roller coaster was over, another girl handed me a note from Mrs. Payne wishing me luck. And then another card signed by my class saying how much they loved me and how excited they were for me to conduct. And the gifts just kept coming- frames, notes, cards. I couldn't help it, I cried. It was one of the sweetest, most touching moments I've had with my orchestra class. I don't think I'll ever forget looking out at them smiling at me, just as we're about to go out on stage, reassuring me that all the hard work didn't go to waste and it was worth it.
And it went perfectly. I have never heard them play so well, and I have never been so nervous for a performance ever. EVER. But somehow the world didn't end, and everything was okay. I can't really think of a feeling that compares to looking down at them from the podium, and randomly one or two will glance up and smile to reassure me, and maybe just to wordlessly tell me "Thank you, I appreciate what you do."
And, in a week I have to leave them. How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard?
-Lauren
Like, when it was hotter than Hell outside and Coach Kopp made us run hills like a million times in weights and I was 99.9 percent sure I was going to pass out and die.
Or when I was preparing for my All State Auditions and I had like two days until my audition, and I felt all awesome and prepared and then we found out that I had prepared the wrong solo for my audition. My brain imploded and I just shut down pretty much and had to take the next two days off of school and practice for 8+hours both days to catch up. NOPE. NOT OKAY.
Or when I decided to submit a senior project for orchestra and I typed up my little essay and everything, and it was a beautiful day outside and I was right on time for school, and THEN MY MOM HANDS ME A MILKSHAKE AND I PUT IT IN THE CUPHOLDER AND GUESS WHAT RIGHT AS IM ABOUT TO PULL INTO SCHOOL IT DUMPS OUT RIGHT ONTO MY AWESOME ESSAY THATS DUE IN 5 MINUTES.
There have been challenging days for sure. The days where I really just want to go home and cry and eat some ice cream and probably top it off with a nice nap. Those days where I thought "There really isn't any way this day could get worse at this point." and the universe seemed to take that as a challenge and was like "Is that a triple dog dare? Cuz I'll do it."
But there have been some amazing moments this year, too. And this last week has been one amazing week. Specifically the end of this week.
On Wednesday night I had my last orchestra concert of my high school music career. That's emotional anyway, but this time was especially sad for me because I wasn't just playing- I was conducting.
In my orchestra programs in Queen Creek and many other cities, it is pretty typical for the teacher to allow seniors to choose and conduct songs. I have watched tons of my friends do this in the past, and I have been planning out my project in my head for FOREVER. I picked a song (Folk Tune Air and Fiddler's Fury by Alexander Safford), worked on it with the class for foreverrr (which still didn't feel like enough time), and pretty soon I found myself at dress rehearsal for the concert.
So here I am, without my teacher (aka my mentor, aka there to keep me from losing my mind) because she's conducting the youngun's, and I am standing on the podium in the orchestra room with the baton in my hand, and my hands are shaking, and I am really really scared. The piece is in two movements (for those of you who aren't following me, movements are like the sections of the song. In this case, there was a slow movement and then a fast movement.) and the fast movement was struggling a little.
But it's not like this was an easy piece. Fiddling music can be some of the most challenging because it forces the players to play differently than they're used to, and some of the passages can be dizzying fast or extremely intricate, or both, as was the case for this particular song. I had watched my violins, who are traditionally the ones given the most brutal passages of the music, get together and practice the music, and send each other recordings and consult each other about the music and I thought it was the sweetest thing. They weren't just doing it for themselves- they were also doing it as a gift to me. And it was touching.
So we worked and worked and ran the song what felt like a million times-- at slow tempos, fast tempos, with a metronome, without a metronome-- you name it, we tried it. And I also worked- I took the score home and had to study it by listening to hundreds of recordings to try and figure out what kindof sound I wanted (each piece has it's own little personality each time as new group plays it), and then when I found one I liked I had to figure out what I liked about it and how I was going to get my group to do that. And there was one thing I really liked about the recording I was studying from- it was fast. Really fast.
So I did what Mrs. Payne told me I had to do and practiced conducting... with my earphones in and my ipod playing the recording and conducting an invisible orchestra with a pencil as a baton, facing my mirror so I could see what I looked like. Talk about the weirdest thing ever. And not only that, another thing I figured out is that conducting a group that actually watches (unlike being the chorister at church (thats my calling-- holla!)) is REALLY hard to conduct. Like, seriously, it's not just waving your arm around (I really did think that). Orchestral conducting involves cueing in sections and following a score and transitioning speeds and conducting patterns and through all of it you have to stay consistent and steady- because if you fall apart, the group will probably fall apart, too.
So I "practiced" night after night in front of my mirror and felt like a weirdo, but soon the conducting became easier and easier and suddenly I was doing things without even noticing, like standing up straighter and conducting more confidently. It was really, really cool.
And yet, here I am the night of the concert, still stressed out, despite all of my hard work. Like, what the heck, man? I got up on the podium and ran through the songs and the fast movement- the movement I had selected the song specifically for- was sounding a little sketch. I was sad and disappointed and concerned and stressed and everything else all at once, and to top it off, it was freaking hot in the orchestra room and I was sweating like a pig. Gross, but true. Those polyester orchestra dresses don't exactly breathe.
But then, just as I felt like I was gonna lose it and probably just quit/pass out right there, my cute little stand partner Ashtyn tapped me on the shoulder and handed me something. She told me she made it just for me. I unwrapped it and there was a framed picture of me playing the cello with an awesome, hand-decorated frame around it. It was so thoughtful and just as I thought the emotional roller coaster was over, another girl handed me a note from Mrs. Payne wishing me luck. And then another card signed by my class saying how much they loved me and how excited they were for me to conduct. And the gifts just kept coming- frames, notes, cards. I couldn't help it, I cried. It was one of the sweetest, most touching moments I've had with my orchestra class. I don't think I'll ever forget looking out at them smiling at me, just as we're about to go out on stage, reassuring me that all the hard work didn't go to waste and it was worth it.
And it went perfectly. I have never heard them play so well, and I have never been so nervous for a performance ever. EVER. But somehow the world didn't end, and everything was okay. I can't really think of a feeling that compares to looking down at them from the podium, and randomly one or two will glance up and smile to reassure me, and maybe just to wordlessly tell me "Thank you, I appreciate what you do."
And, in a week I have to leave them. How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard?
-Lauren
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