Cost of tuition for PS100: $400
Opportunity cost of not working full-time: $1200
Being able to learn physical science from an instructor instead of not even remotely understanding what I'm reading: $1600
And you thought I was going to say "Priceless," didn't you? Well, you'd be wrong. As wrong as I was to think that I could possibly teach myself all this stuff in a weekend.
Scientific Experiment
Observation: Physical Science 100 is an expensive course when considering the following: Not taking PS100 will result in at least a $300 reduction in tuition. This decreased course load will allow a student to work 40 hours a week instead of 20 hours a week. Thus, not taking PS100 results in a decrease in tuition and an increase in income.
Hypothesis: A non-science-minded student who has not studied anything related to science for the last four or five years can dedicate an entire weekend to reading and studying the Physical Science 100 textbook and pass the PS100 exemption exam on Monday, July 3 with at least 60 percent.
Method: The student will immediately go to the library as soon as she finishes this post, study till the library closes at 10:00 p.m., and determine what progress has been made at that point. If the student is confident that she can make it through all the course work during the weekend (or at least know 60 percent of the course work really well), the student will take the exemption exam on Monday, July 3.
Variables: The student's success will depend on her ability to read and understand a huge amount of information this weekend. This experiment does not anticipate being able to tell what effect the prayers of the student and the student's friends and family will have on her exam performance.
Results: Wait for Monday, July 3.
Hypothesis: A non-science-minded student who has not studied anything related to science for the last four or five years can dedicate an entire weekend to reading and studying the Physical Science 100 textbook and pass the PS100 exemption exam on Monday, July 3 with at least 60 percent.
Method: The student will immediately go to the library as soon as she finishes this post, study till the library closes at 10:00 p.m., and determine what progress has been made at that point. If the student is confident that she can make it through all the course work during the weekend (or at least know 60 percent of the course work really well), the student will take the exemption exam on Monday, July 3.
Variables: The student's success will depend on her ability to read and understand a huge amount of information this weekend. This experiment does not anticipate being able to tell what effect the prayers of the student and the student's friends and family will have on her exam performance.
Results: Wait for Monday, July 3.
Bush's Best Buddy
Yesterday, I noticed that a friend's tagline on Google Talk was "George Bush called me." Knowing her to be one who changes her tagline several times a day to various sentences that are usually inside jokes with other friends, I assigned no value to her statement.
When I got off work, I realized that at some point during the day, I'd missed a phone call. It was from "No Number" but there was a message. So I listened to the message. And it was George Bush. I'm dead serious.
Well, it was a recorded message from George Bush, telling me to vote for Chris Cannon. I don't know how he got my number. I don't have a Utah number and as far as I'm aware, I'm not a registered voter anywhere [gasp!].
Did anyone else receive a phone call from George Bush? And does anyone know how I managed to make it to the list of people he calls? I can't help but think that if only I used Quest for my phone service, none of this would have ever happened.
Later in the day, I checked my friend's tagline again. It was changed to "I wonder if my phone is tapped now." Dear friends, as I now wonder the same thing, I urge you to be careful what you discuss with me when you call.
When I got off work, I realized that at some point during the day, I'd missed a phone call. It was from "No Number" but there was a message. So I listened to the message. And it was George Bush. I'm dead serious.
Well, it was a recorded message from George Bush, telling me to vote for Chris Cannon. I don't know how he got my number. I don't have a Utah number and as far as I'm aware, I'm not a registered voter anywhere [gasp!].
Did anyone else receive a phone call from George Bush? And does anyone know how I managed to make it to the list of people he calls? I can't help but think that if only I used Quest for my phone service, none of this would have ever happened.
Later in the day, I checked my friend's tagline again. It was changed to "I wonder if my phone is tapped now." Dear friends, as I now wonder the same thing, I urge you to be careful what you discuss with me when you call.
Sexual Harrassment
I once was spoken to by my boss about sexual harrassment. She noticed that I sometimes would make comments to Squirrel Boy that were inappropriate in the workplace. Squirrel Boy never complained, of course---we were good enough friends that we knew we were both kidding---but because my boss overheard some of my flirtatious teasing, she thought it was appropriate to talk to me about sexual harrassment. I'm just glad that she wasn't around when I ran into Squirrel Boy outside the office after he'd returned from the dentist. His entire mouth was frozen, and it took all the self restraint I had not to just lunge forward and kiss him. He was a VL at the time and I thought it would be just perfect that he wouldn't actually feel the first kiss he ever got. Unfortunately for our story, I was dating someone at the time and felt that out of respect for him, I should not rape him of his lip virginity.
This weekend, Viper and I broke up. It was a very amicable breakup and there's not much to tell other than the fact that we both knew that things weren't working out and that it was better for us to break things off and remain friends. Nemesis told me that after a breakup, some people tend to think that your breakup is public property and demand to know all the details. Well, I think that I've actually pretty much given all the details already in this paragraph. If you're looking for something juicy, allow me to present to you my entire courtship with Squirrel Boy. He posted it on his blog yesterday, and now I'm stealing it from his blog and posting it on mine.
The Turbulent Love Affair
[Squirrel Boy was going through his old emails and found this priceless correspondence between us.]
This weekend, Viper and I broke up. It was a very amicable breakup and there's not much to tell other than the fact that we both knew that things weren't working out and that it was better for us to break things off and remain friends. Nemesis told me that after a breakup, some people tend to think that your breakup is public property and demand to know all the details. Well, I think that I've actually pretty much given all the details already in this paragraph. If you're looking for something juicy, allow me to present to you my entire courtship with Squirrel Boy. He posted it on his blog yesterday, and now I'm stealing it from his blog and posting it on mine.
The Turbulent Love Affair
[Squirrel Boy was going through his old emails and found this priceless correspondence between us.]
Subject: we are all secretly in love with you
From: Cicada
To: Squirrel Boy
But don’t tell anyone I told you.
[There appears to be an e-mail missing here]
Subject: Re: we are all secretly in love with you
From: Cicada
To: Squirrel Boy
Don’t worry — your secret’s safe with me if my secret’s safe with you.
Subject: Re: we are all secretly in love with you
From: Squirrel Boy
To: Cicada
My lips are sealed.
Subject: Re: we are all secretly in love with you
From: Cicada
To: Squirrel Boy
Oh, but my dear . . . that’s contrary to the objective!
Subject: Re: we are all secretly in love with you
From: Squirrel Boy
To: Cicada
It’s a figure of speech. You know what I mean.
Subject: Re: we are all secretly in love with you
From: Cicada
To: Squirrel Boy
What do you mean, Squirrel Boy!? Pray, open those lips a little more and speak!
Subject: Re: we are all secretly in love with you
From: Squirrel Boy
To: Cicada
What do you want me to say?
Subject: Re: we are all secretly in love with you
From: Cicada
To: Squirrel Boy
Oh, does it matter? As long as you’re talking, sweet lips, I’ll be forever satisfied.
Subject: Re: we are all secretly in love with you
From: Squirrel Boy
To: Cicada
This is getting out of control. I’m feeling uncomfortable, like I’m just a piece of meat to you.
Subject: Re: we are all secretly in love with you
From: Cicada
To: Squirrel Boy
Squirrel Boy, sweet Squirrel Boy. I respect you as a person. If you really were just a piece of meat to me, I would be babbling on about your lucious legs, your strong, masculine jaw, your large, capable hands, your short, tempting hair . . . no, Squirrel Boy. When a girl wants, begs, NEEDS you to just talk to her . . . it is not meat she’s after.
Subject: Re: we are all secretly in love with you
From: Squirrel Boy
To: Cicada
Whoa.
Subject: Re: we are all secretly in love with you
From: Cicada
To: Squirrel Boy
That was anticlimactical . . . are you SURE you’re an English major?
Subject: Re: we are all secretly in love with you
From: Squirrel Boy
To: Cicada
Sometimes brevity is the essence of good communication.
Subject: Re: we are all secretly in love with you
From: Cicada
To: Squirrel Boy
yep.
Subject: Re: we are all secretly in love with you
From: Squirrel Boy
To: Cicada
It’s not that I’m unappreciative of the compliments (as varied and racy as they were). I was merely overwhelmed by the outpouring of affection. I thought our love affair was secret, Cicada. I’m beginning to suspect that Kristina might have suspicions, though. I don’t want anyone to be jealous, because you know they would all be blinded with jealous rage if they ever discovered our turbulent love affair.
Subject: Re: we are all secretly in love with you
From: Cicada
To: Squirrel Boy
Turbulent love affair . . . you have no idea what these words do to me, Squirrel Boy (scary, since they are my own). First of all, how can I continue to keep these feelings silent from you any longer!? Know you not how I have struggled to remain calm in your very presence? If you want a secret love affair, then fine, but as for ME, I am PROUD of my feelings for you and seek not to hide them from ANYone! Let Christina deal with her jealousy. I can take her on ANYday. She’s so tiny she’s not legally allowed to donate blood! I can donate 2 gallons in one sitting! (As long as I’m sitting in the same place for a year . . .)
Subject: Re: we are all secretly in love with you
From: Squirrel Boy
To: Cicada
I think you’re a little too clingy, Cicada. I need my space. I need time to think al lof this over. I think we should stop seeing each
other.
Subject: IT WAS ALL A LIE ANYWAY!!
From: Cicada
To: Squirrel Boy
Oh, don’t you think for a moment that I was ever REALLY in love with you, The Amazing Squirrel Boy! Clingy!? I was the best girlfriend you ever had. Go ahead and take ETERNITY to think it all over, because you’ll never get me back! I’M leaving YOU!! Consider yourself DUMPED because I was planning, in my next email, to DUMP YOU except that I would have said it more FORCEFULLY than that petty, inconsiderate, thoughtless, meaningless and CLICHE “I think we should stop seeing each other.” KINDLY consider yourSELF to be OFFICIALLY “without girlfriend!”
P.S., Christina says you have cute pants and she’s willing to hook it up if you like.
Wherein I Broke the Law
(or "Beer for a Minor")About four or five years ago, I was living with Sophie in a cute little apartment in a turquoise house and life was pretty much perfect. Sophie was an ideal roommate, and I don't just mean that she would go to SLC every weekend, leaving me with the entire apartment to myself, though she did that, and I was grateful.
One Monday afternoon I was at work and Sophie called. She asked if I would like to participate in an apartment FHE that night instead of attending our own FHE group. We rarely went to FHE, so this wasn't so out of the ordinary. And then she announced what our activity would be. We would be buying beer.
You see, Sophie is somewhat of a cuisine adventurer and she had recently been served a dish called two-beer-beef that she wanted to try making herself. The problem, for her, was buying the beer. She was only twenty. I was twenty-one.
First we went to the grocery store to look at their beer selection. It's undeniable that I felt a little dirty looking at the beer and discussing which brand to buy. I feared it would look like two Mormons going jack if Sophie and I went to the cash register with nothing but two cans of beer. However, neither of us could imagine roasting a beef in Coors Light or Miller. And we were shocked not to find Guinness at the grocery store.
So we set out to go to the liquor store. I wondered if Sophie was okay to come in with me, but indeed, she followed me. Once in the store, she started asking the employees what brand of beer they felt would suit the recipe well. After they gave her lots of advice and she made her decision, she handed me the two cans of beer and a ten dollar bill. I also wondered if that would, in any way, look suspicious.
When we got to the counter, they asked us for ID. I brought out my driver's license and before Sophie fished around for hers, she said matter-of-factly, "I'd show you mine, but I'm underage."
The girls behind the counter stopped and stared at us. One said, "Okay. Technically, we're not allowed to sell you this beer if you're underage."
Sophie said, pointing to me, "But she's the one buying it."
"Yes," said the liquor-seller, "but we know that the beer is for you, and you're underage." Here she paused, and then continued. "But, since we really do believe that you're buying this beer so that you can make two-beer-beef, we'll let it go this time. Just next time, don't even come into the store."
And that is the story of when I bought beer for a minor.
Duh-roo-ja-mont
As long as I'm complaining about French pronunciations, let me share a couple of beefs I've had with my professors this past term. After taking two lit classes this term, I have come to decide that all professors must take a credibility test before being allowed to teach. This credibility test ensures that the professor knows how to properly pronounce foreign names and terms so that they don't look ridiculous in front of the whole class, or at least in front of those who speak the foreign language where the names and terms come from.
Of course I'm going to have to focus on French here because that is the language that I'm familiar with, and because many French critics and philosophers are cited in our classes. But let me give you a few examples that have driven me nuts over the past two months.
La' Venir:
A professor was talking about Derrida's concept of l'avenir (or "what is to come") in class. She wrote on the board: l'avenir. A couple weeks later, she was talking about l'avenir again, but spelled it: La' Venir. Now, she was notorious for misspelling things on the board all the time (lectures would center around terms like sociolological and intertextextuality), but this was too painful to witness. First of all, if venir (verb meaning to come) were turned into a noun, it most certainly would not be feminine. Second of all, the apostrophe that comes after the La is now meaningless and superfluous. Third of all, and this is picky, I don't think that the French would have capitalized venir. I hoped to share some of my shock with my classmates. I looked around for the knowing looks that we would exchange when we found words like superficialuperficiality on the board but to my horror, I only saw my classmates dutifully writing La' Venir in their notes.
On the subject of Jocks Derrida...
No, I'm serious. My other professor actually called him Jocks. This is the same professor who helped a student who couldn't pronounce a name by stating firmly, "It's Duh-roo-ja-mont." I looked down at the passage the student was reading and found the name Derougemont. Now, I don't expect people to use their uvulas to pronounce the Rs. I don't expect people to say the name with an affected French accent. But at least try to approximate the French pronunciation with an English accent. She should have said "Duh-rou(g)-ma." (I didn't know how else to make the g into the soft French g, so give me a break.)
I know that I have an unfair advantage of having studied the language. I know that it's not the most phonetic language ever. But how can you look credible when you're talking about what Duhroojamont thought about Jocks Derrida's concept of La' Venir? I know that I probably foul up the pronunciation of Nietzsche but if I were going to be a professor and teach his philosophy, I might figure out exactly how to say his name before professing to know what he was talking about.
Of course I'm going to have to focus on French here because that is the language that I'm familiar with, and because many French critics and philosophers are cited in our classes. But let me give you a few examples that have driven me nuts over the past two months.
La' Venir:
A professor was talking about Derrida's concept of l'avenir (or "what is to come") in class. She wrote on the board: l'avenir. A couple weeks later, she was talking about l'avenir again, but spelled it: La' Venir. Now, she was notorious for misspelling things on the board all the time (lectures would center around terms like sociolological and intertextextuality), but this was too painful to witness. First of all, if venir (verb meaning to come) were turned into a noun, it most certainly would not be feminine. Second of all, the apostrophe that comes after the La is now meaningless and superfluous. Third of all, and this is picky, I don't think that the French would have capitalized venir. I hoped to share some of my shock with my classmates. I looked around for the knowing looks that we would exchange when we found words like superficialuperficiality on the board but to my horror, I only saw my classmates dutifully writing La' Venir in their notes.
On the subject of Jocks Derrida...
No, I'm serious. My other professor actually called him Jocks. This is the same professor who helped a student who couldn't pronounce a name by stating firmly, "It's Duh-roo-ja-mont." I looked down at the passage the student was reading and found the name Derougemont. Now, I don't expect people to use their uvulas to pronounce the Rs. I don't expect people to say the name with an affected French accent. But at least try to approximate the French pronunciation with an English accent. She should have said "Duh-rou(g)-ma." (I didn't know how else to make the g into the soft French g, so give me a break.)
I know that I have an unfair advantage of having studied the language. I know that it's not the most phonetic language ever. But how can you look credible when you're talking about what Duhroojamont thought about Jocks Derrida's concept of La' Venir? I know that I probably foul up the pronunciation of Nietzsche but if I were going to be a professor and teach his philosophy, I might figure out exactly how to say his name before professing to know what he was talking about.
Low-Speed Police Chase
This morning, I awoke to the sound of clopping. I sat wondering if it could possibly be horses, and realized that if I didn't sit up and look out the window, I'd miss my opportunity to actually find out. So I sat up and looked out my window just in time to see two horses galloping up 7th East, followed by a police jeep with its lights flashing.
And then I imagined the television spectacle this would make, helicopters floating above, filming everything for CNN a la O. J. Simpson: a low-speed police chase.
Will the horses be charged for resisting arrest? Were they running north to Canada?
The only thing that is certain is that it was worth waking up to witness.
And then I imagined the television spectacle this would make, helicopters floating above, filming everything for CNN a la O. J. Simpson: a low-speed police chase.
Will the horses be charged for resisting arrest? Were they running north to Canada?
The only thing that is certain is that it was worth waking up to witness.
Pet Peeves
In honor of the fact that today is my half birthday, and probably because of the fact that I'm PMSing, I would like to present a list of my pet peeves. I invite no one to tell me why any of my pet peeves is irrational---I admit that every one of them may well be irrational. If you are guilty of any of my pet peeves, I invite you to seriously consider the fact that you could be very, very wrong and I could be very, very right. Here they are in no particular order:
Hymn Number vs. Page Number:
When people in church refer to hymn numbers as page numbers. They're not page numbers. They're hymn numbers.
Craip vs. Crep
The word is crepe. Yes, the word comes from French. Yes, in French, they pronounce it crep. And returned missionaries from French-speaking missions insist on pronouncing it crep instead of the anglicized version craip. And that drives me nuts because although the word came from French, it is now officially English and we have our own pronunciation. When I argue this with people, I use the example of sushi. I ask how annoying it might be if every returned missionary from Japan insisted on pronouncing the word exactly how the Japanese might pronounce it. And I make an impression that is so indisputably annoying that the crep offenders can only hang their heads in shame.
Michelangelo
The i in Michelangelo is like the i in bike. It's not like the i in sit. I hate it when people pronounce it with the short i. In an English usage class, a teacher claimed that though she knows it sounds a little affected, she pronounces it with the soft i because that's more authentic. More authentic?? The soft i sound does not even exist in Italian and most Italians would be unable to even make the sound. If you're going for real Italian, start pronouncing it Meechelangelo. But look at my above pet peeve if you want to know how stupid I think you'll sound if you do that.
Panino vs. Panini
And now to go the complete opposite way (I know that everything I write here will contradict what I just said), I hate the fact that a panini is a type of sandwich here. First of all, panini is plural. Second of all, it means sandwich. Any sandwich is a panino. It grates my freaking ears to here people say, "I want a panini."
The Extended Goodbye on IM
When I'm talking on IM, I like a quick goodbye. But some people insist on extending the goodbye with useless communication. When it's clear to me that the conversation is over, I close the window, without even necessarily saying goodbye. But some people, when you end the conversation continue it with annoying meaningless words. Like: bye, see you later, talk to you later, ok, bye, talk to you later. Now, I'm not annoyed with any of these things as a signal of the end of the conversation, but if the end of the conversation has been made clear, then any of those things is really unnecessary.
Hymn Number vs. Page Number:
When people in church refer to hymn numbers as page numbers. They're not page numbers. They're hymn numbers.
Craip vs. Crep
The word is crepe. Yes, the word comes from French. Yes, in French, they pronounce it crep. And returned missionaries from French-speaking missions insist on pronouncing it crep instead of the anglicized version craip. And that drives me nuts because although the word came from French, it is now officially English and we have our own pronunciation. When I argue this with people, I use the example of sushi. I ask how annoying it might be if every returned missionary from Japan insisted on pronouncing the word exactly how the Japanese might pronounce it. And I make an impression that is so indisputably annoying that the crep offenders can only hang their heads in shame.
Michelangelo
The i in Michelangelo is like the i in bike. It's not like the i in sit. I hate it when people pronounce it with the short i. In an English usage class, a teacher claimed that though she knows it sounds a little affected, she pronounces it with the soft i because that's more authentic. More authentic?? The soft i sound does not even exist in Italian and most Italians would be unable to even make the sound. If you're going for real Italian, start pronouncing it Meechelangelo. But look at my above pet peeve if you want to know how stupid I think you'll sound if you do that.
Panino vs. Panini
And now to go the complete opposite way (I know that everything I write here will contradict what I just said), I hate the fact that a panini is a type of sandwich here. First of all, panini is plural. Second of all, it means sandwich. Any sandwich is a panino. It grates my freaking ears to here people say, "I want a panini."
The Extended Goodbye on IM
When I'm talking on IM, I like a quick goodbye. But some people insist on extending the goodbye with useless communication. When it's clear to me that the conversation is over, I close the window, without even necessarily saying goodbye. But some people, when you end the conversation continue it with annoying meaningless words. Like: bye, see you later, talk to you later, ok, bye, talk to you later. Now, I'm not annoyed with any of these things as a signal of the end of the conversation, but if the end of the conversation has been made clear, then any of those things is really unnecessary.
The Devil's Child
I was confused to have received a phone call from my mom at almost 10:00 last night. That's almost midnight, you know, and she's... well... she's of age to be a grandma, you know, and she's generally not up or making phone calls that late at night. She told me that Captain Mother (my sister-in-law) had gone into the hospital. At first, I was scared and worried---for about one second---before I remembered that Captain Mother going to the hospital was a good thing. To be sure, I clarified and asked, "In a good way?"
The baby was coming.
I asked if it was insensitive to go and see a movie right then, because Viper was buying tickets. She said that the baby wouldn't come while I was in the movie anyway, so I should go for it. Then I realized (my mom and Captains Fabuloso and Mother all realized this already) that if the baby didn't come before midnight... it would be a 6-6-6 baby. Ooooooooooo.
Captain Fabuloso had told my mother that if the baby came on 6-6-6, he'd name it Billy Bob, because that was clearly the anglicized version of Beelzebub.
I kept my phone in my lap during the movie so I could see it light up if my mom sent me a text message. It lit up during the credits because she was calling. I answered and she told me that Kian was born at 11:55. Apparantly he really did not want to be a devil baby.
So I am now officially an auntie. And my parents are now officially grandparents!
I'll post pictures later. Right now, I'm just going to hop on the freaking bus and make the trip up to SLC!!
The baby was coming.
I asked if it was insensitive to go and see a movie right then, because Viper was buying tickets. She said that the baby wouldn't come while I was in the movie anyway, so I should go for it. Then I realized (my mom and Captains Fabuloso and Mother all realized this already) that if the baby didn't come before midnight... it would be a 6-6-6 baby. Ooooooooooo.
Captain Fabuloso had told my mother that if the baby came on 6-6-6, he'd name it Billy Bob, because that was clearly the anglicized version of Beelzebub.
I kept my phone in my lap during the movie so I could see it light up if my mom sent me a text message. It lit up during the credits because she was calling. I answered and she told me that Kian was born at 11:55. Apparantly he really did not want to be a devil baby.
So I am now officially an auntie. And my parents are now officially grandparents!
I'll post pictures later. Right now, I'm just going to hop on the freaking bus and make the trip up to SLC!!
Underage Educating
So I have this lit and film class. It's English 345. And there's this girl who sits in front of me, and as as I'm bored in class, I have the opportunity to stare at her and wonder how old she is. Now, I don't normally stare at classmates and wonder about their age, but this girl is a special case. It's impossible that she's older than 16. She looks 16. She dresses 16. She doesn't sound 16 when she comments in class, but dammit, she looks and dresses 16!
She wears jeans that she and her friends have written messages on. She wears flip flops that have fabric sticking out all over the place. Nothing is wrong with either of those things, but they're both juvenile. You don't see them on a university campus when EFY isn't going on.
Finally on Tuesday, I asked her how old she was. She said that she is 16. Ha! I asked how she could possibly be taking English 345, because there are pre-reqs. She said that she has been at BYU for three semesters. She started when she was 15. So she explained that she'd been home-schooled and that her family said she was too young to go off to college, so they moved to Provo with her. So yes, she was a Mia Maid when she started school. And now she can date. Oh, and then she asked me if I would please take notes for her in class on Thursday because she would be away at Girl's Camp.
On Thursday, I headed off to campus to attend class and take extra-good notes for my 16-year-old friend. Only on my way there, an old Zone Leader called me and said that he and his wife (my greenie) were driving through town and wanted to get together with me for lunch. Immediately. (When they called, they were about a minute away from the place where I was actually standing.) So I did what anyone would do. I skipped class and went out with my friends who were visiting from out of town.
When I told this to my mother, she was appalled that I would not do my duty towards this sweet 16-year-old. I told my mom that I was offering the youngster a chance to grow up. Fast.
(Okay, so I feel bad, but really. I wasn't going to miss going out with my old mission buddies just to take notes in class. I'm sure that someone else took notes.)
She wears jeans that she and her friends have written messages on. She wears flip flops that have fabric sticking out all over the place. Nothing is wrong with either of those things, but they're both juvenile. You don't see them on a university campus when EFY isn't going on.
Finally on Tuesday, I asked her how old she was. She said that she is 16. Ha! I asked how she could possibly be taking English 345, because there are pre-reqs. She said that she has been at BYU for three semesters. She started when she was 15. So she explained that she'd been home-schooled and that her family said she was too young to go off to college, so they moved to Provo with her. So yes, she was a Mia Maid when she started school. And now she can date. Oh, and then she asked me if I would please take notes for her in class on Thursday because she would be away at Girl's Camp.
On Thursday, I headed off to campus to attend class and take extra-good notes for my 16-year-old friend. Only on my way there, an old Zone Leader called me and said that he and his wife (my greenie) were driving through town and wanted to get together with me for lunch. Immediately. (When they called, they were about a minute away from the place where I was actually standing.) So I did what anyone would do. I skipped class and went out with my friends who were visiting from out of town.
When I told this to my mother, she was appalled that I would not do my duty towards this sweet 16-year-old. I told my mom that I was offering the youngster a chance to grow up. Fast.
(Okay, so I feel bad, but really. I wasn't going to miss going out with my old mission buddies just to take notes in class. I'm sure that someone else took notes.)
Underage Educating
So I have this lit and film class. It's English 345. And there's this girl who sits in front of me, and as as I'm bored in class, I have the opportunity to stare at her and wonder how old she is. Now, I don't normally stare at classmates and wonder about their age, but this girl is a special case. It's impossible that she's older than 16. She looks 16. She dresses 16. She doesn't sound 16 when she comments in class, but dammit, she looks and dresses 16!
She wears jeans that she and her friends have written messages on. She wears flip flops that have fabric sticking out all over the place. Nothing is wrong with either of those things, but they're both juvenile. You don't see them on a university campus when EFY isn't going on.
Finally on Tuesday, I asked her how old she was. She said that she is 16. Ha! I asked how she could possibly be taking English 345, because there are pre-reqs. She said that she has been at BYU for three semesters. She started when she was 15. So she explained that she'd been home-schooled and that her family said she was too young to go off to college, so they moved to Provo with her. So yes, she was a Mia Maid when she started school. And now she can date. Oh, and then she asked me if I would please take notes for her in class on Thursday because she would be away at Girl's Camp.
On Thursday, I headed off to campus to attend class and take extra-good notes for my 16-year-old friend. Only on my way there, an old Zone Leader called me and said that he and his wife (my greenie) were driving through town and wanted to get together with me for lunch. Immediately. (When they called, they were about a minute away from the place where I was actually standing.) So I did what anyone would do. I skipped class and went out with my friends who were visiting from out of town.
When I told this to my mother, she was appalled that I would not do my duty towards this sweet 16-year-old. I told my mom that I was offering the youngster a chance to grow up. Fast.
(Okay, so I feel bad, but really. I wasn't going to miss going out with my old mission buddies just to take notes in class. I'm sure that someone else took notes.)
She wears jeans that she and her friends have written messages on. She wears flip flops that have fabric sticking out all over the place. Nothing is wrong with either of those things, but they're both juvenile. You don't see them on a university campus when EFY isn't going on.
Finally on Tuesday, I asked her how old she was. She said that she is 16. Ha! I asked how she could possibly be taking English 345, because there are pre-reqs. She said that she has been at BYU for three semesters. She started when she was 15. So she explained that she'd been home-schooled and that her family said she was too young to go off to college, so they moved to Provo with her. So yes, she was a Mia Maid when she started school. And now she can date. Oh, and then she asked me if I would please take notes for her in class on Thursday because she would be away at Girl's Camp.
On Thursday, I headed off to campus to attend class and take extra-good notes for my 16-year-old friend. Only on my way there, an old Zone Leader called me and said that he and his wife (my greenie) were driving through town and wanted to get together with me for lunch. Immediately. (When they called, they were about a minute away from the place where I was actually standing.) So I did what anyone would do. I skipped class and went out with my friends who were visiting from out of town.
When I told this to my mother, she was appalled that I would not do my duty towards this sweet 16-year-old. I told my mom that I was offering the youngster a chance to grow up. Fast.
(Okay, so I feel bad, but really. I wasn't going to miss going out with my old mission buddies just to take notes in class. I'm sure that someone else took notes.)
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