The Little Mermaid is E-----VIL

My eyes have been opened. I thought I had a safe childhood. I thought I was decently protected from the degrading messages that the world sends to women, especially young girls. I played sports. My dad (a man) cried in movies. I was never exposed to doctrine that would tell me that I was worth anything less than I really was. Haha. Who was I kidding??? Apparently if I watched Disney, or any form of media, for that matter, I was being sent subliminal messages that I was a girl - and everything that this implied in a world run by men. Today I realized that even what used to be my favorite Disney movie, a movie filled with a cute and comical seagull and a beautiful princess, was really just one more mark against everything I am.
Arielle may have been on my shoes (and on my underware, for that matter) but she was also a girl who was on a quest for romantic love and placed its importance above everything else in her life. She went to Ursula because she wanted her to help her win the heart of the pretty-faced prince (whom she hadn't even met, might I add). What does Ursula say? She says that in order for her to do this, she would never be able to be with her family again. Arielle makes the brilliant observation that if she becomes human, she would have to leave her father and her sisters for good, to which Ursula replies, "That's right. But you'll have your man. Life's full of tough choices, isn't it?" Apparently not in Arielle's world. She, like we all know, chooses the man over her life. Ursala's help does not come without a price, however. She requires the one thing that Arielle cherishes above all -- her voice. From a feminist point of view, this is something that all women cherish and that has been fought for. It represents opinion, freedom, a vote, value. The woman's voice represents equality and power. And if Arielle wants to get her man, she has to give it up. But how will she win her man if she can't talk, she asks, in dismay? Wise Ursula again has an answer:

"You'll have your looks, your pretty face.
And don't underestimate the importance of body language, ha!"

She continues:

"The men up there don't like a lot of blabber
They think a girl who gossips is a bore!
Yet on land it's much preferred for ladies not to say a word
And after all dear, what is idle babble for?
Come on, they're not all that impressed with conversation
True gentlemen avoid it when they can
But they dote and swoon and fawn
On a lady who's withdrawn
It's she who holds her tongue who get's a man."

Apparently the propaganda works on the redhead because after agreeing to leave her family behind and give up her voice, she ultimately changes even her body to be able to have a chance with this sap up on dry land. Thus, a five-year old watching will learn the following the lesson: To get the boy, I need to forget my family,keep my mouth shut, and alter my body to fit what he will want. Great! That's exactly what I want my daughter thinking.

When Hans Christian Andersen wrote the original fairytale, he wished to teach a lesson to young girls, that maybe being frivolously stupid (pardon the bluntness) isn't such a good thing. In his story (which Disney so conveniently changed to make people "happy") the Little Mermaid goes up to land, only to have her dashing young prince fall in love with a real human and marry her, breaking the Mermaid's heart. She thinks of all that she has given up and of all the pain she has suffered. Ultimately she throws herself into the sea, ending her life. But now, we wouldn't want our children to be subjected to such tragedy and despair! We merely want them to go through life miserable, mistreated, and victimized so that they can experience the pain and suffering later on in life. But happiness sells tickets.

Now, I may be going overboard in analyzing a seemingly simple and harmless Disney cartoon. Maybe I am being too cynical. But hey! I'm a sociology major! Tonight at tutoring I asked the little girl I was working with what her favorite Disney movie was. She of course replied, "Arielle!" I just smiled, shook my head, and told her how cool Mulan was. In the end she came around. I think she'll be okay. As for the others who were innocently exposed to the wrath of the sea urchin so many years ago...poor unfortunate souls.

Here's to You!

I have so much to do! So naturally, I give my blog a much needed makeover and decide to post after MONTHS! Utterly (great word) despicable. Alas! Like a cat with nine lives (or more like 47) I'm back on my blog and have a renewed drive to enlighten the masses with my wisdom and insight. (Thanks for reading Dad). So here goes another round of letters scrunched together slightly resembling coherent words. Love it.

It's 11:30 p.m. and I've got Rascal Flatts on the iTunes. I'm beyond tired but I can't sleep (and obviously don't find homework to be an acceptable alternative). I have so much on my mind. So many things to think about. So many thoughts. It would be pointless to sleep at this point. Tossing and turning like a salad (yeah, I'm hungry). I could read my scriptures - I should read my scriptures. I will read my scriptures. When I finish my new found love again.

Somehow listening to country music never fails to make me nostalgic and warms some deep inner core that I have within me - somewhere. Maybe it's because Dad used to take me to the radio station while he was Deejaying until midnight. I would fall asleep on the floor, serenaded by the great ones - Garth Brooks, Reba. Don't break my heart, my achy breaky heart. I must have called in and requested that from Dad a million times. I am now offering my official apology to the city of Roseburg for that. Really. I was five. I also am whisked back to summers at home, in high school. Nothing beat a long, hot, hard day at the blueberry farm, jumping into my truck with dirt smeared down my face, sweatmarks making a trail down to my neck, rolling down my window, turning up Rascal Flatts full blast, and then hitting the country road through the valley, headed home. The air smelled like summer. I smelled. Period. But that was the beauty of it! Sigh. I miss it.

Why am I going down memory lane? Seriously. I have so much to do. Maybe it's my escape. My distraction. Ok, I will be good and end this post and only check Facebook ONCE before going to bed. I'm so happy to have another way to get sidetracked. To conclude my first of many blogposts to come in this fine Spring season, I would just like to quote the great Rascal Flatts in a shout-out to my adoring fans (thanks for reading Dad)

You're the heart and the soul and the reason [I] do what [I] do, here's to you!

Where is the Reason to this Madness?
An update on my half-marathon life

It had made me anxious all day. It was Thursday, and while Thursday provided its normal craziness of five classes in one day and of trying to stay awake and alert during my Doctrine and Covenants class, it also, in this last month, has offered me an even more fabulous gift - 900 East.

As you all may recall from reading about my first day as a half-marathon runner, I have begun training. And I must confess, the movies definitely make it look easier than it is. They are totally acting in those running scenes in Central Park. I can sense the camera crew member waiting off camera with his bottle of Evian water and a fan (and maybe a bowl of grapes.) This is the real world people! And so since that first monumental beginning of this ever so important chapter in my life, I have ran every Monday, Wednesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Monday we take on south of Campus in a loop drawn out by Google Maps himself. On Wednesdays we hit the metropolitan city center of Provo, passing the only bar within city limits and the one black guy, and on Thursdays, I take on, face to face, my worst enemy. For those who have visited Provo, you might remember this street best as the sight of the BYU Creamery. This would, then, produce warm and fuzzy memories of death by butterfat. Trust me, I would much rather die that way than the near death experience I have once a week. Let me elaborate so that you can take this prisoner of war death march with me. Go with me to this last Thursday.

I begin at my house, a normal, even expected place to begin a run. Nothing too dangerous or risky. Yet. I start to jog, these days at a relatively decent pace - some may even see me and think I'm running. It must be the headband. I wear it for that effect. The run starts out great. I feel strong. I can feel the stretching in my thighs and calves and I swear I can feel them growing muscle with each stride. I push the button to cross the street, taking great satisfaction in the fact that I didn't even need the excuse of the crosswalk to breath, like I normally do. The white walk signal flashes before me and I glide across the street with ease. I continue in my runner's bliss for the next three blocks. And this, my friends, is where my vacation ends. As I take a left turn, my life literally takes a turn for the worst. Welcome to 900 East. You won't enjoy your stay.

900 East is a hill. I am not talking about a hill with dips and points of mercy. No. 900 East shows no weakness or pain. It knows no mercy. It bleeds ruthlessness. And it dares me to take it on. Having no choice but to challenge it, I turn on my iPod and begin climbing Everest. Immediately my muscles tighten, but I cringe, knowing it's not because they're getting bigger, but because they're threatening to turn to mush at any moment. I keep pushing. Jock Jams comes on the playlist and I feel a surge of confidence. "Are you ready for this?" I pass the creamery, barely breathing, and I see the people inside enjoying their ice-cream, throwing their heads back in laughter and carelessness. I'm like Peter Pan looking in on Wendy and the others, shut out in the cold from the warmness and happiness. But like Pan the Man, I have a mission. And though it may not be a man with a hook as his arm, it does have many lost boys: The MTC. The Missionary Training Center is my goal, my golden destination, my never-never land. I whip my head from the creamery window and refocus my efforts. My strides become more determined and I continue the ascent, the wind whipping around me and the rain batting my already sweat-drenched face. The drops mix with my own wetness and snot drips into my mouth. Everything just blurs together. But I hardly notice. I can see the lights of the temple, and I know my finish is closing in. I turn up the iPod and push.

I feel like I'm going to throw up now. All of the sudden I want more than anything to turn around and join the strangers at the Creamery. Their life looked so rosy and and grand -- so easy. A voice inside tells me that I can. What's making me run this crazy mountain anyway? I'm not getting a grade on it or getting paid by the hour. Where is the reason to this madness?? But then I spot the MTC flags, and my mind rushes back to my time within the MTC gates. Were those two months of mass-produced, gas-producing food, breaking out in hives, having to make a top-bunk bed every morning that I had nicknamed Satan -- was two months of that easy? I don't think so. I pushed through it. I ate that food. I taught those lessons in Spanish even when my skin was blotchy and made me look like I was dying of some highly infectious form of a tropical Amazon virus. And I tackled that bed every morning at 6:30 in the morning. And you know what? I won. And if I can do that, by golly, I can make it to the stop light.

Holding the puke inside of me and repressing every urge in my exhausted and defeated body to stop and fall to the ground in a pile of mush, I press forward, determined to endure to the end. This one's for Satan (my bed), I think with a slight, crooked (somewhat senile) grin. In just 15 more feet I find myself at the top of the mountain, stop and put my hands on my knees, trying to tap into some remote part of the human respiratory system. Beads of sweat fall off my face in sync with the pouring down rain. Through blurry eyes, blurred both from the weather and from the lack of oxygen to the brain, I look around me, wanting to be assured that I had not died and gone to Heaven, but that I was still in Provo. I spot a woman carrying a casserole dish wearing high heals, headed toward the nearby stake building. Yep. Still here. With heavy limbs but a happy heart, I begin a slow walk back down 900 East. No one had been there with finish line tape or a big bouquet of flowers to congratulate me. The casserole lady barely awarded me a glance. But you know what? That was okay! Next week, however, I will need a mariachi band rooting me on. I can kill Hook once, but seriously. Twice?? Stay tuned for my obituary.

Familia Barcos Update

One of my favorite less active members in Ushuaia was the Barcos Family. We were able to help them ignite the fire again after 13 years and I recently received this family picture taken on the shores of the bay in Ushuaia. They are such an incredible family and it was so inspiring to me to watch how they allowed the Gospel to change their lives. It not only helped them each invidually, but it literally saved their marriage. They are one of the most active families in the branch right now and LOVE sharing the Gospel with everyone. Sandra, the mom, is a returned missionary and I love to see her put up old pictures from her mission on Facebook as she recalls her incredible experiences. Gabriel, their oldest son, who got baptized just before his ninth birthday in December, wants to serve a mission in the United States. I told him he can come eat tacos at my house anytime!

Gabby with his friends at his baptism. All his friends are nonmembers and he invited them and their families!

Familia Bobadilla Update

Maria Bobadilla recently sent me an email with pictures of her with some of the church leaders who visited Ushuaia last week. I had called her the Friday before to see how they were doing and she was so excited! She says she will finally learn how to be a relief society president! Can anyone of us imagine trying to run relief society or young men's with only four months of membership experience? Most of us would shake in terror with a whole lifetime of membership behind us. These two people are such an example to me! They are saving up to make the cross-country trip to get sealed in July. They have to go all the way to Uruguay! I so wish I could be there, but my trip would be a little more than cross-country...Anyway, these are the pictures Maria sent me. They make me so happy! The mission will never be over (:

Maria in the Ushuaia chapel with General Relief Society president Julie Beck

Maria with President Bowen, the South America South area president (Argentina, Paraguay, Uruguay) and his wife. They live Buenos Aires right now.

This is Hna. Gonzalez's last day before she was transferred. She was my companion when we found the Bobadillas, taught them, and watched them get baptized. If you look at the fridge behind Jorge, you can see they still have a picture of the two of us doing what we did best...EATING! (: Hna. Gonzalez was training a "gringa" (northamerican, english speaker), something we always joked about her doing!

The Top 10 Things I learned at BYU This Week

1. Social stress makes it harder to pee. I was introduced to the forbidden world of mens' restrooms on Wednesday and learned that it is taboo to stand next to a guy at a urinal if there is one open farther away. If someone stands next to you, it can create social stress, which makes the urinary tracts speed up and slow down at the same time, preventing you from peeing as soon, or as long. A study showed that when men thought they were completely alone, they started to pee in 4.9 seconds from the time they started trying. They also peed for 24.8 seconds. In contrast, when there was a man standing right next to him, it took him 8.4 seconds, and he only peed for 17.4 seconds. This is called STAGE FRIGHT.
2. BYU students are truly criminals at heart. In my social psych class we were given paper and a pencil and told to write the first thing that came to our mind after reading the prompt. The prompt read, "If you were invisible and could do anything without anyone ever knowing, what would you do?" In a class of 30 students, 20 said they would rob a bank. I said I would steal a car. Desperate times, call for desperate measures! It's a good thing we have an honor code...or more like it, LAWS.
3. BYU is NOT in compliance with Title IX. Nor are the majority of the Division 1 colleges. They have a plan to get in compliance, but it's the same plan they have had for 10 years. This means more scholarships go to male athletes than females. The football team is God.
4. Between 2000 and 2004, there were 624 jobs for head of coaches of women's teams sport teams at U.S. colleges. Men received 74 percent of them.
5. BYU used to have actual live cougars at games, two baby cubs. Thus the mascot. The mascot's name is Cosmo from the word cosmopolitan supposedly referring to the cosmopolitan community at BYU.
6. Ecstasy is the worse drug for your brain. It melts parts of it. So don't do it.
7. I learned six weapons of influence, or, in other words, how to manipulate people to do what you want them to do: reciprocation (door-in-the-face technique), commitment and consistency (foot-in-the-door technique, low ball technique), social validation, liking, authority, and scarcity (think about those disney movies that go into the vault!) Knowledge is power.
   
8. I can make a difference. (Thanks Greg Mortinson, founder of the institute that builds schools for girls in Pakistan and Afghanistan)
9. In the first case of child abuse in the US, the child was removed from her abusive foster parents based upon laws established for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. Children had not rights.
   
10. The most organized gang, and one of the most dangerous street gangs in the US today is MS-13. It's mostly Hispanic, and they decapitate. Stay out of the dark alleys of the LA...

So there you have it! I consider some of it more useful (like the pee rates) compared to other things, but now you know what your financial support is helping me learn! So next time you are at a urinal or taking ecstasy or playing a college sport, think of me! And think of BYU.

The Professor

I am in the library right now, and, at this point, am thoroughly convinced that I have a late onset of ADD. I can't focus! This lack of ability to concentrate has sent my eyes wandering and my mind meandering. The is when I spotted him. Again.
I usually study at the bottom of the library in the Social Science department. I tend to migrate towards the back of the large room in order to deal with my recently self-diagnosed disorder. The first time I came down here, there was an older man, maybe 60 years old, sitting at a table nearby. He had books crazily spread out around him, stacks of notebooks piled up in front of him, and a piece of paper upon which he was frantically writing, his body swaying slightly with each stroke of the pen. Upon first sight, I assumed he was a professor doing research. As my study session went on, I began hearing a voice. Looking around, no one new had joined us. It was still just the man and myself. I quickly realized that he was talking to himself as he wrote, muttering things under his breath has he almost violently engraved his thoughts into his notebook (and probably the desk as well.) I began to watch him, trying not to make it obvious, but completely engrossed by the behavior of who I thought was a professor. Throughout the whole two hours we were nearby each other, he continued to write just as feverishly as when I arrived. I so badly wanted to see what he was writing, but I restrained myself. After about two hours, he abruptly stood up, put on his coat, picked up his books, and walked away, muttering to himself and moving with a slight twitch. I was intrigued.

Now here I am again. In the library. Bottom floor. Back of the room. And I find myself with my friend again. This time, as I observe him with an increased curiosity, I notice that he is not writing with any ordianry pen. In front of him sits a bottle of ink. He is writing with a quill pin! After each feverish session of writing he stops to dip his pen into the ink, and then begins again. Like clockwork. At one point, he stopped longer, stood up, yelled at the kid at the table next to him to watch his stuff (demanded, not asked), abruptly left for what I assummed to be a bathroom break, and then returned to resume his work. I couldn't help but compare him to Russel Crowe's character in "A Beautiful Mind." In the story, one of my favorites ever, the professor is insanely intelligent, but suffers from Schitzophrenia. Throughout the movie, he spends moments in the library frantically working out mathematical equations as students sit around and watch in awe, all the while he muttering to himself and is completely absorbed in his own little world, a world so beyond our own that not one of us can even begin to comprehend it.

Is this man, the man in the blue who writes with a quill pen, a beautiful mind, as well? What is he writing? What is he thinking? What makes him work with such passion and such intensity? When he went to bathroom I almost walked by his table to steal a glance at the materials he was using, but again, I restrained myself. These questions will continue to poke me with their need to be answered. The man will continue to intrigue me. Mystery will continue to enshroud him as he hides behind his stacks of books and his heaps of notebooks. If the day ever comes when I find out his name and his purpose, I shall be at peace. Until then, I will continue to observe him and his interesting behaviors. And I shall call him The Professor. Updates shall surely follow.

Defying Gravity

So I was Elpheba from "Wicked" for Halloween and it was pretty darn awesome, let me tell ya! The green paint was a little messy, but well worth the pictures and the memories (: People came all at once and quickly slurped up the green punch (lime sherbet and gingerale), the mango salsa and chips, and pumpkin chocolate chip cake. We shouted at each other as we played an intensely competitive game of Catch Phrase, and people ended the night sprawled out on the floor, not from drunkness, as one might expect at a college party on a Friday night, but out of sheer exaustion from playing riled up rounds of board games. At 2:30am the last scragglers picked themselves up off the floor and made their way home in the cold rain. It was only then that I realized the feat that lay ahead of me: How to get the green OFF my skin. Well, 45 minutes later and no hot water left, it was, for the most part, off! I say "for the most part" because later on Saturday a friend spotted green paint inside my ears. But nothing a Q-tip can't fix! Anywhoo, the party was wicked awesome. It was, as you might say, just one short day in the Emerald City.

With My Own Two Hands

I can change the world
With my own two hands
Make a better place
With my own two hands
Make a kinder place
With my own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands
I can make peace on earth
With my own two hands
I can clean up the earth
With my own two hands
I can reach out to you
With my own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands

I'm gonna make it a brighter place
I'm gonna make it a safer place
I'm gonna help the human race
With my own
With my own two hands

I can hold you
With my own two hands
I can comfort you
With my own two hands
But you got to use
Use your own two hands
Use your own
Use your own two hands

With our own
With our own two hands
With my own
With my own two hands

Ben Harper

Happiness is...

Happiness is...

• A sunny Fall afternoon jog through the old neighborhoods south of campus, crunching the golden leafs underneath my Nikes
• Falling asleep in the park in the grass using my textbook as a pillow (and maybe getting a little bit of drool on page 132.
• A constant incoming supply of chocolate
• Sleeping in until 8:30 am (the latest I could make myself sleep!)
• Taking deep breaths of the fresh Fall mountainous air
• Wearing a light, long scarf!
• Friday!
• Realizing that I CAN get groceries on Sophie (even if I do wobble with all the weight! Note to self: Don't buy so many CANS.)
• Spending an hour just browsing the grocery store shelves at Smiths. I love grocery shopping by myself!
• Special K with strawberries
• 6:30 am runs in the dark jamming to the Spice Girls
• Every single crunch leaf on the ground at this moment
• The old houses decorated for Halloween
• GLEE
• Watching "Psycho" at the International Cinema and being MORE scared of people screaming in the room than by the movie!
• Gelatto in Downtown Provo
• Making new friends, including an awesome girl from Uganda.
  
• Peace
• Having all of these things in ONE day!
  

God's Idea of Disneyland

"I feel like I'm at freaking Disneyland!" exclaimed, Camm Clark, a skinny blond-haired rock climber from Orem. We were heading down the steep, red rocky cliffs of Bryce Canyon, entering nature-made alleyways and towering water-carved rock sculptures. In front of us walked a group of six Asians, each with their tiny digital cameras snapping pictures and talking fast. Behind us hiked two Germans, and behind them, five people from Portugal. As I made my way down the steep path, I couldn't help but think how right Camm was! With tourists galore, lines of people dressed in signature cargo khakis, rimmed hats, sunglasses and fanny packs, all waiting to have the experience of their lives, the similarity was quite profound. The only difference? This theme park wasn't a spin-off of a figurative mouse, or for that matter, a product of any imagination - except God's. And I can tell you right now, He really knows how to design them! Bryce Canyon National Park is breathtaking in natural beauty, and it left my jaw dragging on the red dirt-covered ground.

The adventure began late Friday evening, when a group of us loaded up the back of Camm's Explorer with our sleeping bags, bread and peanut butter, and the energy that only crazy kids in college can muster up. We made the four-hour drive in the dark, finally arriving at our campground, where we drove around blindly looking for a place to rest our weary, travel-ridden bodies. We had hardly opened the doors to the SUV when the park ranger drove up and upon seeing our age told us that quiet hours PROMPTLY start at 10:00 and that our neighbors get up at sunrise. We looked around...What neighbors?? Nevertheless, despite having just been completely age-profiled, we politely nodded our heads and told her thanks for the information. After eating hobo dinners and roasting my new obsession (toasted coconut-crusted marshmallows) we bundled ourselves up to the hilt, ready to take on the 20 degrees forecasted for the night. I tend to have what I have termed "Camper's Luck" and ended up sleeping the night away on the hard, cold, gravel, with only the tent tarp between the lumps and my body. Nevertheless, I arose in the morning, excited to discover Bryce Canyon (and to eat the sausage, bacon, eggs and banana bread made by your's truly!) In the bathroom we ran into a lady from Holland brushing her teeth. It was a short but bonding moment as we talked about our individual hiking experiences. She too, was headed to Disneyland, along with the crazy Hungarian women we met ten minutes later. I never realized Utah could be so multicultural until I spit in the sink alongside two new friends!

Hike #1 was the main event. We made the 6 1/2 mile trek, scaling canyon walls and sliding down trecherous drops (ok, so only because we went off the main path! I know, I know...) In between dying and, well, dying, I gulped down water like I had never tasted it before. The warm, Southern Utah sun beat down us in strong spurts. And I loved every single minute of it. By the time we finished, we were dirty, hot, sweaty, exausted -- and we couldn't wait to get to the next one! We fuled up on peanut butter sandwhiches and black pepper jack Dorittos (my second new obsession), jumped in the Explorer, and drove to the site of our next hike. Three out of the four of us fell soundly asleep in the only 15 minute drive (no, the driver was not one of them!) and when we arrived we had to be woken up by cocunut-covered marshmellows. Sugar will do the trick ANYTIME. Hike #2 was called "Swamp Canyon." Dissapointinly, however, we did not see swamps, let alone the alligators that Dalin, one of the more interesting boys on the trip, was expecting to see. Sorry Dalin. As it turns out, the forrest had experienced a recent fire, and we found oursevles walking through black, crumbling trees and piles of ash. At some point, someone finally realized the fun in it and we stopped going any further, where we of course promptly sat down among the death and whipped out the playing cards to play SCUM. Have you ever played SCUM? It is my third new obsession. I ruled it.

By the time we returned back to the car, we were again dirty, hot, sweaty, exhausted, and smelling of death. One by one we piled into the welcoming cushy seats of the Explorer and waved goodbye to the majestic red mountains and towering columns of Southern Utah. Forget Anaheim. Bryce Canyon is the Happiest Place on Earth.

My First Day as a Half-Marathon Runner

Intensely immersed in a warm and fuzzy dream, the content of which I cannot recall due to its... fuzziness, I was suddenly jolted in the upright position by an alarm set a notch too high. Shaken, but not stirred, I glanced at the clock. It glared back at me: 6:30. From previous experience, I knew it was five minutes faster than the satellite hovering thousands of miles above me, so I hit the snooze button, convinced that I would still be considered a hard-core half-marathon runner on my first day of training. When the second alarm went off, I reluctantly threw back my covers, said my prayers, had to wake myself up from saying my prayers, and slipped into my flip flops, preparing myself for the first day of my new persona. "Hey now, you're an all-star. Get your game on...."
The apartment was eerily quiet (what am I talking about? It was AMAZING!) and after throwing on two layers of clothing and a hat, I stepped confidently out, ready to face the world as seen through the eyes of a runner. I took a deep breath, raising my arms to the sky, insync with my profound inhalation. And then I coughed.
I took off at a good pace. The Spice Girls were singing to me, and I felt like I could take on the world. Peace echoed throughout the neighborhood, the weak and the feeble still in their beds with their warm and fuzzy dreams. I ran. And I ran. And I ran. I felt like a gazelle in Africa, darting across the Serengeti Desert. Only I wasn't on the verge of being eaten. After running for what seemed like days, I began to tire, and a bead of presperation slid down my right cheek. "Wow," I thought. "That was such an amazing run!" I felt strong. I felt solid. I looked at my phone, anticipating at least forty minutes gone. Abruptly I stopped, the lone bead of sweat flying off my face. It had been only ten minutes. My deep breath this time was not one of freedom and peace, but one of frustration and disbelief. "WHAT?" I thought. I began to walk, realizing only then that my legs felt like JELLO and my chest was filled with runner's mucus. Spice Girls had dissolved into a melancholy melody of Sarah Mclachlan (how did that get on there??) and my sweat had turned to salt. Ten minutes as a Half-Marathon runner and I was already drying up! A little discouraged, I began to jog again, feeling the stiffness in my body. By the time I reached our apartment, I was wiped out. I fell to the carpet and attempted to stretch. Upon being rudely reminded that I can't touch my toes (I get about to my knees...) I laid back, my body flat on the floor, and closed my eyes in a demonstration of defeat. Day one as a half-marathon runner. I could really go for a warm fuzzy right now...

"It's a good day, and they say it gets better."

Happy Sunday!

I won't start off by saying that I'm bad at writing on this blog because I ALWAYS say that and I always pledge to be better and then I always find myself in the same place! So, I will just pretend I have always written on here!

This weekend has been great! It's General Conference weekend, which also means it's time for mission reunions! Since none of my companions were going, and my mission president isn't back yet, I was not in attendance, but Hna. Warren (the sister I came home with) came over Friday night along with a now married sister who was in the mission (she's from Medford, and informed me that she and her new husband want to buy a piece of land in ELKTON, OR. I held back my first reaction of horror! I wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake some sense into her! Roseburg, she said, would be there big city. Poor girl. Should I warn her about Drain?) But it was great to talk to them. We talked for hours, telling stories, sharing memories. It made me sooooo trunky for the mission!

On Saturday it was the first day of conference, and my life was blessed when my professor sent out an email extending one my midterms until Wednesday. While I was going to have to miss conference to take it, I could now enjoy it! There is a God! Haha. The last time I watched conference I was at the end of the world among the most amazing people on earth. And I ate up every single word, finding inspiration for myself and for my investigators. I didn't want conference to end!! Now here I am six months later (has it really been six months??) and it was SO weird to watch it again! Ok, so it made me trunky AGAIN. In the mission I developed the tradition of thinking of three questions to which I wanted answers and then looking for those answers in conference. Yesterday my first question was basically, "How do I know what to do with my life? Or how do I focus my life?" because basically, I have no idea! Some things never change! The first talk was from Elder Scott, and he started off his talk by asking what we can do to be spiritually led in our decision making, in order to make our way through this life. My mouth gaped open. And my pen got to work! My mom referred to it as a neon sign. It just makes me happy to know I'm not the only one who needs guidance at this time in their life. And it helped remind me how I can get that guidance and what I need to do in order to keep myself more in tune. More meaningful prayer. More meaningful scripture study. Service. Love. I know that if I am consistent in the little things, that the guidance will come, even if it comes piece by piece (and then that's when I practice patience!)

After conference, I signed on to MSN Messenger (something I haven't done in months!) and that is when my weekend was really made! I finally got to talk to Maria Bobadilla (do you remember Jorge and Maria who got baptized my last weekend in Rio Grande?) She is doing sooooooo well! I wanted to cry when she told me that she is Relief Society President and Jorge is president of the Young Men. And they are going to get sealed in July in the Uruguay temple (Buenos Aires is closing in Nov. for repairs). They want me to go!!! So I'm starting a "Send the Sister Back" fund. Feel free to donate! I also got to talk with two more converts and just felt truly blessed at seeing how well they are doing and that they are still going to church. That amazing feeling of joy and gratitude and overwhelming happiness that I felt so strongly during the mission many times came rushing back to me. I realized that it's not a feeling so easily experienced being caught up in the details of crazy, daily living. It felt good. And then, I of course just missed the mission yet AGAIN! Haha.

School is going great. I'm studying way too much, but it's paying off with my midterms. So far I've taken two and they've gone really well. I took a two hour one on Friday, mostly in essay form, and basically just wrote ten pages about different societies as viewed by different early philosophers, including Plato, Hobbes, Locke, Kant, and Hegel. GOOD TIMES, let me tell ya! I've slacked in studying this weekend with conference, but I figure that it's healthy for me to get that spiritual strength back up. The nerd can wait until Monday!

Well, I hope this gives you all an update on my life! I will try to write more frequently (look! I'm saying it again!). Maybe I'll get on a mission schedule of writing once a week! Ok, here's my goal: Every Sunday I will try to update the blog! Ready? Set?...........

Peace out!

PS: I've decided to become a runner. I am thoroughly convinced that it takes a necessary gene, one that neither of my parents have passed on to me, but I am determined to defy biology. I am, after all, a sociologist. My culture can make me who I am! Does anyone want to do a half-marathon with me? Grandma??

My Major Rocks My World

You know you like your major when you are excited to go to school! Long gone are the days of freshman biology and Stats 221. My Tuesday and Thursday mornings, and Wednesday evenings, are filled with pure cerebral growth. I've heard the smoother your brain is, the less intelligent you are. In middle school we created the insult of "smooth-brained." So it must be true, right? I am getting so many wrinkles! To say just a few words about what I am learning, let me address the modern world. In my social theory class we are talking about personal and impersonal relationships. You (meaning the reader, most likely a member of my family and thus fitting the following definition) and I have a personal relationship. The bank manager and the person trying to take out a loan have an impersonal relationship. The manager could care less who you are personally. He or she just wants to know whether or not you are in some way benefiting them with minimal expense. Modern society is moving more and more towards a society of impersonal relationships. Look at my day, for example. Today I met with a woman who corrected my Spanish essay. I didn’t even find out her name. Later I went to the grocery store. I can’t tell you what the cashier looked like. This evening I went to a ward family home evening. I knew two people there – I talked to no one else.A world full of impersonality. So what does this mean for us as human beings? We don't know who we are! And we are trying more than ever to find out. This has not always been the case. Consider 14^th Century Europe, for example. In a time when kings ruled, knights defended, and peasants toiled, there existed little opportunity to create oneself. One was born into a particular social class, and there he or she remained for the rest of his or her life, passing on the status to children, grandchildren, etc. Very rarely did one move up. People were born royalty. Well if I want to achieve royalty status in today's terms, it's possible (seemingly unattainable, but not beyond the peasant's reach). I can buy that new Range Rover, a Rolex, and a house in Aspen (in my dreams) and attain modern-day princess status in the eyes of those around me. On a slightly more realistic scale, in picking my major, I am creating myself. When I picked sociology, in part, it answered the question "Who am I?" When I turned on "So You Think You Can Dance," in part I added to that answer. There are so many options and so many ways to create oneself! Is it no wonder then, that at this time in my life I sometimes go insane????? The concept continues with this: How does one know he or she has finally found the right identity? I've changed my major so many times. How do I know sociology is the correct one? Actually, it drives me insane! But a famous sociologist claims to have the answer...love. Love equals affirmation. To say “I love you” is to say “I affirm you,” “I accept you,” “I understand you.” "I accept the identity that you have created." This kind of affirmation can only come from a personal relationship. I can get an “A” in Spanish 321 and it does in fact affirm a part of me, but not all of me. As a human being in a modern society, I need someone to tell me that they think I am great just the way that I am. Isn’t that what makes a great Juila Roberts movie? It makes sense, then, that during the time in young adults’ lives when they are trying hardest to form their identities, at the same time they are also most fervently seeking out that special someone who will give them that love, or that affirmation.
So basically, the bottom line is that I need to find myself a man! Haha. Kidding. Sort of. It's just an interesting concept, one of many floating around in my head from my amazing classes. Sorry this entry is so long! I just got caught up in the subject! It makes up for not writing for so long, right?? Well I will try harder. I promise! Until then, I want you all to know that I affirm you.
Peace.