Flabbergasted

I am hurt and confused.

BYU blocked my blog. For adult content. Why, BYU? What did I do to you? Was the picture of me cuddling with fake John Lennon just too much for you? I checked my settings, and I voted NO on Adult Content. Please, dear BYU. Just tell me what I did wrong and I will try so very hard to fix it.

I'm sorry, bloggers. You can no longer waste time in class reading my excellent writing. Maybe that's what it was. President Samuelson felt that my wit and charm was too distracting for the students of this fine institution that I attend. I miss you, BYU.

Mr. Tambourine Man

I think the best kind of morning is a jingle jangle morning.

I'm hoping that's the kind where you actually sleep until it's not morning anymore. Because if it is, then this morning was a jingle jangle morning.

BoomBoomBoom

The thing about me is that I'm twenty.

So that's awesome.


Be honest.








I look more sophisticated now, right?

Expectations

I thought for sure that by this point in my life teleportation would have been invented. And I thought that for sure because my whole life my brother Jason has been telling me that he would invent it. That is the thing he was always going to be famous for. And I'm leaving for Provo tomorrow and how am I getting there? By a chair that flies through the sky that might offer TV and internet access if I pay for it. What is this world coming to?

Jason, I was counting on you.

This should be me

If I were a beggar, I would want a steak.

I guess I'm starting this whole series of things that I think about that don't actually mean anything at all. That makes sense, right?

My parents always said this to me: "If wishes were horses, then beggars would ride."

I personally don't think that beggars/homeless people really want a fleet of horses. I think they probably want a house. Maybe some food. I guess they could eat the horses if they wanted.

This has been weighing on my mind lately.

First one to the monkey bars gets to give the first closing statement!

Remember when you were a little kid and you would hear in random tv shows or movies about court cases, and they would have recesses? And you thought that meant that the different sides would all go to a park and swing together and play on the merry-go-round and stuff? And you thought it was a good strategy because it kept everyone pleasant and the justice system working like it's supposed to?

Yeah, times were simpler then.

Coaches

In Europe, there was a whole heck of a lot of time spent on coaches. Yes, coaches. Bow to my British-ness. Anyway, lots of time is what I'm talking about. If I had a talent in estimating, I would give you a number of how many hours. But I don't. Many many hours. These were sometimes really great times, and sometimes really awful, depending on morale, health, sleep deprivation, and of course the coolness level of the driver. There was much bonding on these coach rides. There was deep soul searching, carsickness, karaoke, and of course some serious conversation (mostly about boys). I think if it had not been for the coaches, I would not know these girls quite as well as I do, and I'm so thankful for that time, even though it got a little overwhelming at times.

One of my favorite things was when I got to be on the coach alone. Obviously, I was never actually alone. But there were certain times when every single person fell asleep, and I would wake up and realize that everyone around me was down for the count. This was a time when I would sit and think. I could keep to myself and take in the beauty that constantly surrounded me. Beauty like this:

You can even see the reflection of my camera. Trust me, it was prettier in person. I wouldn't listen to my iPod or try to find out if anyone else was awake to talk to. It was so calm, so serene, and was made even more special by the fact that I rarely had time to myself.

It's not about avoiding people, or not wanting to talk to them. It's just about those few minutes out of the day when I could wrap my head around the fact that I was traveling through England or Ireland or wherever we were, and I was so happy to be there.

And when that time was over, when the others woke up and broke out into a rousing verse of "Single Ladies," it was even more fun, because I had a new sense of appreciation for it all.

I left on a jetplane, and I really didn't know when I would be back again.

So everybody keeps asking for this story, and it's kind of a long one, so I though I would just put in on here for all you wonderful people. I hope you enjoy it and are also horrified by it.

After seven wonderful weeks traipsing around Europe, I was more than ready to come home. It was a fantastic time, and I was sad to leave, but I missed my family. On Friday, August 6th, I woke up at around 6:30 in the morning and started getting ready for big adventure home, not really ready for the actual big adventure that I was about to have. At 8:30 we were picked up by a taxi (for the record, I had wanted to leave earlier than that, don't know why I didn't say anything). I got to the airport with Kari and BreeAnn at Terminal 1 in the Manchester Airport.. We then learned that we needed to be at Terminal 2. So we lugged our giant bags through the airport until we got to the right place and found a massive line leading to the Delta counter. I waited in this line for about an hour and a half, worrying about missing the flight, when BreeAnn and I were pulled aside for security questioning, which was awesome because then we got to jump ahead and get right through to security. We had to rush, but we made it to our flight... and then waited an incredibly long time, as the pilot was waiting for somebody's bags and not taking off.

After an 8 hour flight, and no attempt by the pilot to make up time in the air, I did my best to rush off the plane, get through customs, and get to my connecting flight to Maryland. So I had to wait in a couple more lines, because there was no instruction about what to do with my bag or anything, and at this point I was sick of stupid lines. The lady at the baggage counter told me that I didn't need to wait, and told me in her slowest voice possible that "You need to hurry, ma'am." Yeah I know lady, thanks! By the time I got through the slowest security line ever, the plane was gone. I guess they don't wait for people in New York. So I jumped in the customer service line and waited for about twenty minutes until a rep got me a new flight at 6:35 to Reagan. She didn't mention I was on standby. I played Solitaire with my new Beatles cards until then.

The plane started boarding. Standby passengers were called. None of them were me.

So I jumped in the customer service line again. This one took about 45 minutes to an hour. When I got to the front they got me another flight at 9. I was on standby again, but I was the first person in line, so if they had any standby at all (which they usually do) I would make it.

The plane was so full they were asking for volunteers to give up their seats.

So I jumped back in the line. This time waited for about two or more hours until I finally got up there. While I was in line, my dad had gotten me a flight for 1:55 pm Saturday. Not the ideal situation, but it was a confirmed ticket, no standby. So that's what I told this guy, and he very enthusiastically told me he could do me one better. He told me he could get me a ticket for 8:30. My parents had told me I was on standby for the 8:30 flight, so I didn't know what this guy was talking about. I asked again and again if he was absolutely positive that he could get me a confirmed seat for the 8:30 flight. He kept telling me trust him, and he promised I would have a seat. He also mentions there is a catch. He would not tell me what the catch was until he booked my flight, but he did ask me if I had any cash. I though this man was going to ask me to pay him. I had no idea what was going on, and I wanted him to talk to me about it. Finally, after he booked my new flight, he told me it was at La Guardia Airport. IT WAS AT A DIFFERENT AIRPORT! Can I please remind you that at this point it was midnight and I was in New York City by myself. This man expected me to take a taxi to another airport in the middle of the stinkin' night and find my way around there. I was furious. I tried to make him get my original flight back, but the seat was already gone. I was stuck with this new flight, and I wanted to punch this man in the face.

I was trying to decide if I wanted to go to the airport now or in a few hours, when a very nice security guard told me there would be no point in going yet. She was incredibly helpful and told me where I could go lie out, plug in my laptop, relax a little bit. I bought internet because, by the way, my phone was on the verge of dead. I had no battery left. (Side note: my phone kept making noises at me and telling me low battery since around 11 at night, but I kept using it, and it didn't actually die until I was on my street in Maryland, two seconds from home. Now that's a blessing.) I sat over there and talked to my mom for a while and slept for about half an hour and at about 3:15 am I decided I was ready to go. There was a new security guard at the exit, and he told me that I shouldn't leave yet. I didn't want to take any risks, but I did talk to him for a little while. He was nice and we talked about religion and music and stuff and then I really had to leave, because I was getting antsy. He asked for my email... awkward. But he was also a very big help and was very nice to me, so I can't complain too much.

At 3:45 I went out to call a cab, and the taxi dispatcher was very friendly, helping me to pick the right taxi and talking to me while I waited. The safe, yellow cab came and although it was way more expensive than I wanted, I just needed to get there. At this point, I didn't really care. I got to the airport at 4 and stood in yet another line, only to find out I was at the wrong terminal. I'm so sick of this crap... Soooo I got on the shuttle to the right terminal, and listened to the driver talk about how stupid his customers are. Because apparently this graveyard shift bus driver at the airport who doesn't understand the concept of being in earshot is just a genius. I can hear you, you know! But they got me to the right terminal, and it was for these little puddlejumper airplanes that only flew to Boston, Chicago, and DC. They didn't even open until 6:30, so I parked myself and all my stuff in the front of the line, and slept and read until I could get my ticket and get through security. This part was all pretty chill and uneventful. At one point I started freaking out because I noticed the gate changed, but then I realized that it changed from gate 3 to gate 6, which were probably about 50 feet from one another. Ain't no thang. I got on the plane. It was open seating, and I got my seat all to myself. I stretched out, slept, drank some Ginger Ale, ate the smallest bag of peanuts in the world, and by the time I was finished the plane was starting its descent. I was finally home!

I went to the baggage place to track down my suitcase. There was no way of knowing where it would be. The very loud, very friendly man there told us that it would be coming in from a flight from Atlanta. We got home and found out that flight got canceled. I just laughed. Went to sleep, and when I woke up, it was sitting there waiting for me. My dear parents had gotten it when it came in. I love them. I missed them.

And that's my story. From the time I woke up to the time I fell asleep at home was about 35 hours. I feel like I could tackle the world after that. Go me.