Milk: 1%, 2%, Whole, Oh My!

I grew up on fat free milk. Wait, that's not true; let me rephrase that: my family drank fat free milk while I grew up. I drank nothing, because I thought it was disgusting. White water, as my cousin so eloquently phrased it recently. I didn't even like putting it on cereal, I thought it was so gross.

Thankfully, I've seen the light on the cereal issue-- I honestly eat the stuff at least once a day. And I truly believe I could survive off of it. And not the sugar cereal nonsense, either. I'm talking the trinity of breakfast: Grape Nuts. Honey Nut Cheerios. Raisan Bran.

Anyway. Back to milk.

So, it wasn't until Steph got married and switched to the hearty 2% that I truly experienced milk. I didn't even know what to do with myself. It was so thick! It was randomly sweetish! And when I made it into chocolate milk, I. Just. About. Died.

Have you ever made chocolate milk from 2%? Or 1% for that matter? Holy crap, Batman, It's like a milkshake! The utter glory of it's deliciousness truly cannot be put into words. 

It's amazing what some fat can do.

So, instead of coveting normal things, like cars and knowledge and status symbols like normal people, I covet other people's fatty milk.

PJ Bottoms are Ruthless

My mother became a victim last night to that strange phenomenon of getting your big toe stuck in your PJ hem as you're walking and tripping yourself. It's a humiliating, scary experience, yet one most of us have all faced at one point or another. Why must our pajamas betray us like this? I can't imagine where we're going wrong in our relationships when our pants suddenly try kill us like this. It's like one day, they just snap.

"I'm tired of being washed on permanent press! I WANT GENTLE CYCLE"

"You're supposed to wash WITH LIKE COLORS ONLY, DARNNNN YOUUUU"

And they decide to murder you in cold water. I mean, blood.

So, moral of the story, child? Watch out for those sinister pajama pants. And do yourself a favor, and opt for the shorts instead.

Disney Days

So, this is the second time this week that I've heard "Let It Go" on the radio. Yes, the radio.

Now, maybe it's just me, but I thought we'd come to an agreement as an over-8-years-old society that if we heard that song one more time, we'd simultaneously explode and go on a face-punching spree.

Radio station, I honestly could not care less if you're doing "Disney Days" or whatever. TURN THE SONG OFF.

It gets stuck in your head for daaaaaaays. I mean, I knew the words BEFORE I'd even seen the movie. I know the words SPANISH, okay?! There was a little girl listening to it over and over and over and overrrrrr (At least seven times on repeat, I kid you not), while I was getting a pedicure with my mother. So, yes, in Spanish, too.

I'm a fan of the movie. I am not, however, a fan of the song. It's a total hissyfit. Elsa's whole existence is one big hissyfit. But that's another story.

If I'm not listening to Radio Disney, I don't think I should have to be subjected to that song. And I don't think that's unresonable at all, now, do you?

If you're going to play a Disney song, go for Hakuna Matata. Trust me, you'll get a lot better response.

Is it Weird That I Forget My Age?

Usually, about 3 or 4 months before my actual birthday, I unconsciously start referring to myself as the new age. Why is that? 

It's not that I'm trying to sound older or anything. It just happens. Like, this year- somehow, I turned 23 in my mind at least a month ago. My body clock... Or body calendar... Is waaaay out of whack.

In other news, my birthday is on Mayday, people :) Same day every year. 

And yes, THAT is a particular phenomenon that I understand, thank you very much!

Thanks, Random Legal Settlement!

Guess what I just found in my inbox?!?!

Dear Holly E, Good news! You are entitled to a credit of $20.21 for some of your past Kindle book purchases. The credit results from legal settlements reached with publishers Hachette, HarperCollins, Simon & Schuster, Macmillan, and Penguin in antitrust lawsuits filed by State Attorneys General and Class Plaintiffs about the price of eBooks.

Well, thank you random lawsuit that I had no idea was happening! I WILL use your $20.21! Had I known I was going to get a return on my e-book transactions, I would have bought a whole bunch more!

Found a Topic!

I finally found a topic, guys. So, that's good.

I was incredibly taken back by the response I got through social media. I had expressed my concerned over not knowing what to write about, and so many of you responded with wonderful ideas and memories we shared together. So, thank you, everyone. I really appreciated it.

I decided to write about the Native American sweat lodge ceremony I was able to participate in two years ago, in St. George, Utah. It was an amazing, moving experience that was randomly spiritual. It was an experience in another culture not many people have experienced, or know much about. It was one of the most remarkable experiences of my life, but it is a heavy one. The storytelling in my essay isn't as humorous and silly as it normally is, isn't as unique as I wanted it to be, but I'm happy with how it's coming.

It's much more personal than other essay's I've written, so I don't think I'll post it on here. If you would like to read it, however, just ask me. I'd love to send you a copy to read. I just don't want it on the internet for the entire world to see my personal problems.

My outlook on my life is once again in a more positive spot. So, that's good, too.

Nonexistent Personal Narrative

I'm incredibly frustrated. 

(And guess what?! I'm going to tell you why!)

Brace yourselves, I'm about to complain about my writing class again. I never expected to have so much difficulty with a class on my favorite hobby...

My current frustration? Personal narrative essay. This should rock! I finally get to write in MY style, MY voice! I was totally stoked about the assignment for about twenty minutes. Then it started going downhill real fast. Why?

I can't come up with a topic.

Fact: You don't realize just how boring your life has been for the last six years until you are asked to think of a significant experience in your life (happy, sad, moving, funny, it doesn't matter), and you can't come up with anything.

That's a lie. I have two topics I could write about, easy.  My health, and my writing (and significant times relating to each, respectively). But that's the thing. I've written those two papers. I've written them a gagillion times. I really, really don't think I can choke out another one.  It's depressing: both the subject matter and the repeatition.

It's no secret that I've missed out on a lot of things because of my health. I guess I'm just seeing that loss in a whole new light. And it sucks. How can you show up at school and say you have nothing to write about, because you've been mostly home bound for the last six years? 

I imagined my personal narrative would be hilarious and chock full full of my strange, ironic humor and writing style and that it would ROCK in happy light manor. But after two days of obsessing, I'm left feeling depressed and with no topic besides my default to.

How am I supposed to not let my health define my life, when I can't even come up with one measly paper with one measly, non health related life experience?

Cereal Commercials

You know what commercial bugs me? The Honey Bunches of Oats commercial. They go around filming people as they try it for the first time, and it's like... Who's never had Honey Bunches of Oats before? 

And do you really expect us to trust these fools' opinions?

Nice marketing, guys.

Strep Throat Ruins Families

So, would one of you like to explain HOW I CONTRACTED STREP THROAT?! Because, honestly? Whoever the sucker is that got me sick IS GOING DOWN.

I hadn't blogged about this yet (but now I have all the free time in the world), but I have my sister and her family staying with me right now. Including my 2 year old niece, Ellie, and my 6 month old nephew, Cameron. There are CHILDREN in the house. There are people VACATIONING at my house. And I'm infecting them with strep throat germs. My poor sister.

The only way I caught it (caught it, as in realized I had it) was because I forgot to cancel a regular checkup for this morning. It was too late to cancel, so I figured while I was there I would mention my throat. 

So, I'm shooting the breeze with the doctor, doing the check-up thing, and when we're finishing up, I mention my throat.

One look, and he's certain. He doesn't even run a test, because it's so apparent, with ulcers all down my throat (so that's why it's been hurting, got it!). Diagnosis: strep throat.

"Have you been around a lot of people lately?" he asks.

"Well, I went to a wedding last weekend. And I have family staying with me, including my 2 year old neice and 6 month old nephew." Panic.

"Have you been sharing drinks with anyone?" 

I repeat: I have my 2 year old niece and 6 month old nephew with me. What do you think we've been doing? Of course we've shared drinks! We've shared food! I've fed the baby off my utensils! We've snuggled! We've slobberred all over one another! "Yes. What do I do?"

He gave me antibiotics. "Once they kick in, you should be fine. Hugs, fine. But not kisses. And no coughing in their faces." (Oh, darn. Because coughing in people's faces is my idea of fun.)

So, as I have been momentarily banished from the bathroom by a bathing Ellie, I am laying on my bed, pouting. And now, I think I shall nap, my friends. For some reason, strep throat makes a person tired. I'll think up something interesting and intelligent sounding while I sleep... Maybe... We'll see... 

.....Zzzzzzzzzzzzz...

Why Essay Writing Sucks

So, for English class we're writing persuasive essays. Oh, essays. How I hate essays. 

No, that's not true. I hate the scholarly demands of essays. I hate having to use scholarly voice and scholarly technique in essays. I mean, I could argue that what I call my "rants" are actually essays. Unorganized essays, but essays nonetheless. I don't mind those, because it's me writing on my terms.  Essays for school are me writing, often on the same topics, but on their terms. 

I don't like their terms. I like myself some style and creativity to say what I'm going to say. I can get points across so much better (and, yes, easier) when I don't have to fit a certain mold.

Then again, to become a true writer, we must master all sorts of writing styles, especially the ones that challenge us. Especially the ones we hate. 

But we reserve the right to not like it. Or rather, the write. 

Ahhhhh... Get it? The write.... Haaaaaaaa.... Puns. Word humor. (That one was for you, Dad.)

Anyway. Back to my point. Persuasive essays. Topic: any controversary of your choice. Yeah....  That really narrows it down. Thanks. After much staring blankly at my computer screen, I finally remembered  some cool TV commercials about talking to each other about mental health issues, advertising a super cool website, up2sd.org, our San Diego site for mental health support. So, my topic: the stigma on mental health, and what need to do to get rid of it so people can feel confident in getting the help they need, and not be driven to suicide.

Yeah, heavy.

I mean, you think of controversies, and you think, heavy, right? But, really, controversies are just issues that people have differing opinions about, right? That they feel strongly about? That affect their lives? So really, anything can be argued as a contravesy.

What fandom is better: Dr. Who or Sherlock? (Okay, "better" is probably too subjective, but whatever.) Why Frozen is the best Disney movie of all time. Are cats better companions than dogs? 

I mean, you see how you could take this ANYWHERE? I mean, it'd take a bit of creativity to turn it out as a whole paper, but it can be done. 

I'm almost tempted to do it. 

But with a grade on the line.... I'll stick to the heavy, robo-student topic and be like everyone else. And suffer. But pass the class. And get into the writing program. To write more awful-topic papers. To graduate with a degree. And go on to write novels that are the antithesis of modeled essays. All so I can have one little phrase to put on the back inside cover of my books... 

"got an English degree from BYU Idaho."