I Am Not a Pterodactyl

Okay, this is another pre-pubescent me story. You're welcome.

I went to private school until half-way through second grade. That was when my parents decided to main-stream me. The adorable little charter school I was attending was in serious financial trouble, so I guess they figured it was high time to move me from one failing system to another (we'll talk about my views on the educational system some other time.).

I learned pretty quickly that public school was serious business. We sat at assigned seats, which were grouped into "pods" with other students. We ate lunch at the same time every day. We had to ask to use the bathroom. But the weirdest thing for me was that we had units. Like, for a set number of weeks we would all learn about a certain topic. It would permeate every aspect of our day. When we learned about pioneers, we wrote pioneer journals and did word problems about how many oxen Jeb would have if he gave four to Sally because all of Sally's oxen were brutally murdered. Stuff like that. We also moved seats every unit. Boy, was that exciting.

One fateful day, it was announced that our next unit would be dinosaurs. The boys in the class rejoiced. All the girls pretended to scoff. It wasn't cool to like dinosaurs if you were a girl. Everyone knew that. My teacher, Ms. Foley (who was as close to Ms. Frizzle as any teacher could get), told us to all stand up so we could get our new seats. I was put at a pod with two other girls (I forget who-- they were irrelevant) and two boys. I was new to boys.*

One of the boys had been at my old pod. His name was James. James, even durring other units, loved to talk about dinosaurs. He knew everything about velociraptors. Seven-year-old-me found that wildly sexy. I recently ran across an old journal I wrote in around that time. The first page says (I'm not even kidding), "I love James. He is cut. He nows abut velosoraptors." And then there are a million deformed hearts.**

The other boy was different. His name was Bert. Bert had a reputation for being the class know-it-all, and also for being kind of a jerk. Now, I was new to the public school system, so I often found myself competing with Bert for the position of teacher's pet and class brain. He had the advantage of having two anthropology professors as parents. It was so not fair.***

One day, durring recess, Bert approached me. I immediately sensed that something was afoot. He'd breeched the Cootie Line. 

"Hey, guess what?"

I looked at him suspiciously. "What?"

He pushed his glasses up his nose. "My dad told me that all humans are turning into dinosaurs."

"No they're not." Wait, are they? What?! This was not discussed in Unit Time.

"Yeah they are. My dad said. And guess what else?" His pale, smug face glowed with the light of knowledge I did not posses. I considered driving him away with a nice round of Kissy Face, but I thought better of it. 

"What?"

He leaned in close. I could smell the peanut butter on his breath. "I'm turning into a pterodactyl and so are you. We're going to be the only pterodactyls on Earth." Bert paused, presumably for dramatic effect. "We're going to have to mate."

Mate. Mate. Mate. It echoed in my head. I didn't exactly know what "mate" was, only that it meant that I would have to be Bert's wife. My life was over. I would never marry James. 

Ms. Foley blew the whistle, signaling the end of recess. The rest of the day was torture, sitting across from James, just knowing that I'd never have him. Every time Bert spoke, I cringed more than usual.

By the end of the day, I was so fed up that the first thing I said to my mom when she picked me up was, "I have to mate with Bert." And then I burst into tears. Through sobs and gasps I recounted what Bert had told me. My mother called Ms. Foley that night. 

The next day, Ms. Foley sat us down in a circle and explained that people do not turn into dinosaurs.

Nope, we don't. But these days, I find that more and more unfortunate. 

x,

   g

* My first and second grade classes at my little Montessori school were comprised of me and five other girls. This was probably due to the fact that I made out with every boy in my kindergarden class.

** My taste in men has changed surprisingly little since second grade. I mean, I like people my own age, but the sexiness of velociraptor knowledge has yet to fade. 

*** Looking back, I think this whole thing was just a plan to sabotage me so that he could steal the title right from under my nose. It was probably also driven by his inability to properly express his affection for me. Which I totally get. I'd be lying if I said I'd never thought about trying this.

Thoughts from the Airport

I have been traveling since 7:30 am. Two time zones later, I'm stuck in an airport because a flight to Charleston took up residence in my gate and refused to leave. I guess they over-booked the flight so much that they need to move four people to a flight that leaves at 11:30 tonight from a different airport. Trouble is none of the highly compliant passengers headed to Charleston were willing to budge on their flight time. The (really not) adorable couple across from me were complaining about it for at least a half hour. The girl even called her mom to check if it was okay if they got in late. Based on the half of the conversation I heard, her mom was fine with it. But no, they didn't take one for they team, they stayed to complain.

Then the airline gave up and (somehow) got a bigger plane. What? That's a thing? They moved all the awful Charlestonians to another gate. It was fun to watch them run when they were informed that their plane was leaving immediately. Revenge is sweet.

Except it isn't. They had caused such a delay that the airport had no choice but to skip my flight altogether and send in the plane scheduled for the next slot and change my gate.

Ugh.

So now I'm sitting in an airport, waiting for my flight to come at least two hours late. I know I'm complaining. Oh, well.

Being stuck in an airport for prolonged periods of time can be pretty interesting. I got to listen to a pilot hit on a super-skinny chick who works for a non-profit, which was pretty much the most stereotypical chick-flick senario I can imagine.

The horribly un-adorable couple going to Charleston talked a lot about how much the world sucks for them in particular while downing Five Guys burgers. How can you be sad about the world while eating Five Guys?

An adorable older couple talked to a young mother and gave her baby Cheerios. The gentleman gave up his seat so the mother could sit down, saying, "Here, you need this more than I do." I'm glad there are still people like that in the world.

Two middle-aged business men compared web browsers and joked about the end of the world. The one guy was excited to see his mother "before the world explodes." Cute.

I watched two strangers become friends, talking about books, and the news, and how hilarious daily life was. It struck me as kind of magical that two people who will never see each other again could become so close so quickly.

And I watched a lot of people be alone. Airports are unique in that they bring a whole lot of people together from all kinds of places very briefly and then fling them all over the world. Some people like to reach out of their worlds and connect with someone else's. Some people like to stay in their bubble, drink their coffee, and read their novel. Neither choice is wrong or better.

I'm more of an observer. I like to find out people's stories from just watching them. Is that super creepy? It probably is.

Anyway, I'm homeward bound after six months away. Wish me luck.

x,
   m

Facebook Questions!

Hello! I realize I've been MIA (yet again). I want assure everyone I'm okay. I've just been... dealing with some stuff. I think I'm on the upswing so yay!

Today, I asked Facebook to ask me questions so I could answer them because I was feeling lazy. Oh my gosh, Facebook did not disappoint  I got everything from Victoria's Secret to science-y stuff. I had a lor of fun answering these questions. Enjoy.

   x,
      m

15 Facebook Questions (in the order they were received)

1. How many times have you had to dispose of a body, and how have you done so in the past? I'm a strong advocate of acid, but high grade hydrochloric acid's super pricey... Any suggestions? 

(Dear FBI: I know I'm already on your watch-list, and I'm just joking... you can take your patriot acts and shov- :sniper bullet passes through brain:)

Wow. Getting weird right off the bat.

I have disposed of exactly one dead body in my 18 years of life and it was the body of my fish, Gowie. I was 5 and Gowie had a nice... water burial. In the toilet.

Assuming you mean larger bodies, Siri recommends hiding dead bodies in reservoirs  metal foundries, swamps, mines, or dumps. I recommend not killing people.

2. So Micaela, what have the past few months taught you about life? How has living in Utah affected your life and career goals? Have you met any non-weird boys yet?

The last few months have taught me to appreciate meat and vegetables, avoid unscented laundry detergent, stock up on toilet paper, actively try to see good in other people, and cry when I really need to. I know that's not terribly deep, but this is what seems significant to me so far.

Living in Utah has shown me that it's good to surround yourself with "good" people, but it's better to surround yourself with genuine people. Utah is filled with good people, as is any place, but sometimes it feels like genuine people are few and far between. It's also shown me that, as great as Utah is, I will not be living in Utah after I am done with college. Career-wise, I'm still in limbo.

Non-weird boys... Short answer: Yes. Long answer: I'm learning to embrace the awkward. (In other words, they're still weird, but I'm learning to fin it adorable.)

3. What color would the grass be is Tim Burton was in control of the universe?

Orange.

4. How can people like places or traveling when they have never been or done it before?

I really love this this question. I guess it's the same as liking a person you've never met or loving a song you've only ever heard your friend sing. Places have personalities, like people, and I suppose we connect with places based on our experiences. I, for example, really love Barcelona, Spain, even though I've never been there. I know I love it because I've seen it in pictures and movies and have fallen in love with what I know about the history and culture. Will I ever actually go there? I have no idea.

5. Are you engaged yet? When are you getting married? Am I invited to the wedding? What's your wedding song gonna be? Will you marry me?

No, I don't know, you may be invited to the reception, All About Us by He is We and Owl City, no.

6. How would you describe your perfect day?

Can we assume that I have unlimited resources and the ability to teleport? Cool.

I would wake up at 9:30 am to a gorgeous and nerdy man bringing me a Magleby's Fresh French Toast Platter. I would then enjoy breakfast in bed followed by a refreshing shower. A limo would pick me up and take me to a full service spa, where I would receive a massage, mani/pedi, and facial.

After that, I would teleport to Japan's best sushi restaurant and enjoy a sushi date with Andrew Garfield (who is in love with me). We would laugh and talk and be quite romantic, until I told him I needed to go. He would kiss me goodbye, wiping gentle tears from his face.

I would teleport to Sanibel Island, FL, where I would meet all of my best friends for an afternoon of relaxing in the sun. I would finish the day off with a sunset dinner on the beach with all of my favorite people (my dad, my best friends, my puppy, etc.). We would probably have Thai food, but I wouldn't really notice what I had to eat because I would be so happy to have all my favorite people with me.

Then, I would teleport back to my childhood home just in time to watch the fireflies come out. I'd go to bed at 11.

7. What do carrots remind you of?

Okay, so, in middle school, I rode the bus with my best friend, Laura. Sometimes we would get really cold waiting for the bus to show up, so I came up with this crazy idea that saying "I'm a carrot" over and over helped us keep warm. To this day, I swear to Gosh that it helps.

8. What's the meaning of life?

This video. Or 42. Pretty much, go read/watch The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.

9. Who the eff is Hank?

BOOM.

Now go watch the Vlog Brothers.

10. Why can't people come up with thoughtful questions on the spot?

For the same reason that people can't come up with thoughtful answers on the spot.

11. If both hydrogen and oxygen fuel fires, then why doesn't water burn?

You pose an interesting question.

12. If a zombie bites a vampire, then that vampire bites a human, does the human become a zombie or a vampire...or a zompire?

Wow. Pressure. All my life, I've been preparing to answer this question.

First, we must establish whether or not vampires can contract disease (since zombie-ism is traditionally said to be transmitted in the form of a virus.) After consulting aioros (a highly reliable source I found on some random webpage), "Vampires are not succeptible to viral illness. If your vampire appears sick, its probable he/she just wants blood, attention, or to not be taken out for walks in broad daylight."

So the answer to your question, as posed, is the human would simply become a vampire. However, what would happen if a vampire bit a zombie who then bit a human? Interesting. I am inclined to think that the human would then, indeed, become a zompire. This is contingent on my hypothesis that zombies can contract vampirisism. I am still in the process of testing said hypothesis.

13. are you on winter track? I want to see you

I am assuming that you are asking if I'm on winter track at BYU-I. The answer is no, as I do not attend BYU-I. Sorry.  :(

14. Why am I only lesbian when Victoria Secret fashion shows are on?

Sexuality is a personal thing that you define between you, yourself and... you. Apparently, your brand of lesbianism only manifests when you're watching anorexic and freakishly tall women wearing itsy-bitsy panties and oversized angel wings. I mean, that's not my thing, but I guess it could appeal to someone...?

Then again, it is possible that you have a thing for starving angels with growth hormone disorders, in which case I urge you to get counseling.

15. Define existence. (Not trolling this time.)

Define "not trolling."

Dragon Pictures and "Banoo"s

I remember it like it was yesterday. 

8th grade band practice had just ended. I was struggling to get my metal folding chair onto the chair racks without dropping my baritone (which was about the same size as me, since I hadn't yet grown) when he approached me, scrawny body clinging to his tuba (which was much bigger than him), glasses falling down his face. 

(He needs a name. Let's call him Jeff.) 

Jeff had long been a thorn in my side. His behavior in 7th grade Spanish had nearly driven me to screaming several times. For, you see, Jeff had three of the most annoying habits anyone can ever have, ever: drawing detailed and sometimes sexually explicit pictures of dragons (think Napoleon Dynamite) and showing them to everyone, correcting everyone every time anyone bothered to open their mouth, and pronouncing "baño" (the spanish word for bathroom) as "banoo."  

Seriously. Banoo. 

Since I was a good student and kinda on the shy side, teachers tended to seat me next to their "problem" students. I think the assumption there was that I'd rub off on them, which everyone knows never happens. * Jeff was a problem student. Guess who sat next to him in Spanish, band, and (briefly) social studies? 

Yup. Me. 

And I was a nice kid. I didn't make fun of him like the other kids. I listened when he explained why his 34th dragon picture was different than all the others, tolerated his mispronounced Spanish in silence, and didn't punch him in the face when he said, "Actually, Ms. Rose, that's wrong" for the 5 millionth time. I didn't think much of it. We weren't friends, and as long as he never talked to me outside of class, there wasn't a problem. Sure, he was weird, but he didn't seem to be contagious. I had been raised to be nice to other people, even when they were a little bit creepy. And he was one person I was actually taller than, so he wasn't threatening.  

Anyways, as I wrestled my chair, I hear him say my name. "Mici!" I turned around to find him right behind me. "Um, hi, Jeff..." I said. I subtly glanced around the room to see if anyone had noticed us talking. Safe for now. 

He cleared his throat and looked me dead in the eyes. "If I asked you out, would you say yes?"

"Um, no." I felt my cheeks go hot. Sure that someone must have noticed us by now, I turned to go.

"Will you go out with me?"

I looked back at him. "No." And I walked (ran?) away, leaving him and his tuba standing by the chair rack. I never talked to him again, preferring to ignore him. 

I told my friends about it later and we all shared a good laugh. After all, Jeff had asked me on a date, and, even though I wasn't exactly a prime catch, I was too good for Jeff... 

Right?

Well, years went by, and I didn't have him in any of my classes until Senior year. He walked into my math class. Nothing had changed. He still had the same annoying hobbies. I was still assigned to sit by him. We all made fun of him. 

But then, one day, he disappeared from school and never came back. Different stories circulated-- his father beat him up really bad, he tried to hurt himself, his mom left his dad-- but all anyone could confirm was that he wasn't dead. Even his girlfriend, who I knew from Marching Band, didn't know much. One thing was sure, though-- his abrupt disappearance wasn't a positive thing. Something bad had happened.

I still don't know what happened to him, and I don't think I ever will. I don't have many regrets in life, but one of them is making fun of Jeff. I don't feel bad about not dating him, I feel bad about ignoring him, laughing when other people made cruel remarks, and letting sarcasm ooze into all my comments to him. I'm not delusional-- I know we never would have been friends-- but I regret the little things that I did that helped make his life harder. 

As someone who's suffered quietly, I know what it's like to have to put on a brave face and pretend nothing's wrong, and I know how much little acts of kindness help. I also know how even the smallest comment can take a horrible day and make it worse. 

Here's to noticing the Jeffs of the world, the underdogs, the lonely, the bizarre, and the broken. Here's to making the extra effort to smile at someone just because, to not rolling your eyes at a comment you think is stupid, and to tolerating other people's quirks. You never know what they're going through. 

Happy weekend, dear Snarkites!

x, 

   m

*Actual result- I was well-versed in lock-picking theory, cuss words, half the school's sex life, and the soccer team's drug habits by the time I graduated from high school. 

Sorry I'm Not Emma Watson

I've realized that a lot of my blogging has focused on the past, so this is just going to be an update on some thoughts I'm having. Because I know you're all super curious.

"Is the whole shuttle playing a joke on me?"

I live in "on-campus housing," which is funny because I'm actually about a mile from the outskirts of campus, so I take a shuttle to and from campus most days. I'm not gonna lie, I kinda love being off-campus, and I kinda love the shuttle.

It's a pretty classic set up--seats along the wall, bars on the ceiling for standing riders-- and it's almost always crazy full. It literally makes my day when I get an actual, sitting-down seat. Those of you who have seen me try to do anything involving balance (including walking) know that I am not gifted in that area. Standing on the bus is torture in my mind. I cling to the bar so tightly that my hand is usually numb by the time I get off. My whole arm gets tingly. I've fallen on people a few times. It's bad.

But on the occasions that I'm seated, I experience another phenomenon more strange than my inability to balance. With few exceptions, people don't sit next to me. They would rather stand and have their arm yanked off when the shuttle goes over speed bumps than place their behinds on a seat adjacent to me. Today, for example, two guys opted to stand rather than taking the seats by me. Do I smell bad? Is there something going on that I don't know about? Am I scary? And yeah, there have been brave souls who take the seats next to me, but those seats are always the last two open. You guys, I don't even know what to make of that. I would rather sit by the scariest, most intimidating person at BYU every time I ride the shuttle than stand. I'd rather sit next to pretty much anyone than stand. This may be a result of my balance issues, but I'm pretty sure most people prefer sitting to standing.

Times like that make me think, "Jeeze, sorry I'm not Emma Watson."

"Why can't I just be Emma Watson?"

I love Emma Watson, and even though I try to avoid obsessing over celebrities, I'm a little bit obsessed with her. She's gorgeous, talented, funny, and smart as heck... and let's be real, she's British. Every outfit she wears, haircut she gets, thing she says, and movie she makes send me into a kind of reflection on my life. I mean, she's so... cool. She was in Harry Potter. She's totally nice. People sit next to her when she rides the shuttle.*

I think she kinda represents who younger-me thought I would be by my age, and right now the only thing that I've achieved is having Emma's haircut. So that's something, at least.

"Holy crud, does Fuze juice actually have milk in it?!"

Yes, it really does. Time to take some Lact-Aid.

Anyway, hope y'all had a good week! Happy weekend. :)

x,
  m

*I could not confirm that Emma rides a shuttle, but if she did, people would totally sit by her.