When I talked about almost buying an Accent, I mentioned that Nemesis and I took a quick trip to California. About four years ago, I showed up to work one day and Nemesis said, "Want to go to California? We're leaving tomorrow." I called my mom to tell her that I was going to California. She was not pleased. I guess she wasn't really pleased because I called to tell her that I was going to California, not to ask her if I could go to California. I figured that because I was a college student, I didn't have to ask permission to go on trips anymore. My mom was seriously displeased. She asked who I was going with (I told her that Nemesis was my boss and the other girl was going to be in charge of fifty second-graders in a month, so my road trip mates were definitely responsible). She asked when we were leaving. How long we were going to be there. How we were traveling.
She was not pleased. She mentioned that if I went and died, she'd never forgive herself for letting me go. I pointed out that now, if I stayed in Provo for the weekend and died, she'd also never forgive herself for not letting me go. So either way, if I died that weekend, she'd never forgive herself. She also added, "I haven't even talked to your father about this, you know."
We talked about an hour later, after she had talked to my father. She thought he'd be even more reluctant to let me go than she was. Instead, he reminded her that I was an adult and she needed to let me grow up. (I should point out that at the time, I was already older than my mother was when she got married.) So she let me grow up, but reminded me that I was not a big city girl.
We went and met up with Amy Jane in California and had a great weekend. Oh, and I didn't die.
Well, on Wednesday, I got a random text message from Switchback that said, "Are you coming this weekend?" I was confused because I didn't know why she would even wonder if I was coming to San Diego this weekend. I thought maybe she read my blog about cars and assumed that I already had a car and would therefore immediately drive out to see her. No, she hadn't read my blog. She just figured it was a good idea for me to go to San Diego for the weekend. I patiently reminded her of all the reasons I could not go to San Diego (no money, no car, no air miles, no money, no car).
And yet, I started thinking about how I could possibly make it out to San Diego. And suddenly this morning, things came together when I found out that Kit was making a trip to southern California tomorrow and Captains Fabuloso and Mom were making their trip home from southern California on Monday.
So to you all, I say, "See you later, suckas. I'm going to California!"
BYU HonorColorado
I got an odd phone call today at work. The phone rang and Limon picked it up. He immediately shoved the phone to my ear and I listened to the garbled sounds of a recorded message. I didn't get the first part of the message and I had no idea why he was making me listen to it. I couldn't really figure out exactly what it was saying. When the message ended, I hung up and asked Limon why he'd given me the phone. "It said your name," he said, "and that it was a warning."
Soon after we hung up the phone, it rang again. Same number. I picked it up this time. The message said, "[Cicada--it used my first and last name]. This is a warning from the BYU HonorColorado. This is a demo. To remove your number from this list, press 3." I pressed 3, but nothing happened. I was just really confused. The BYU HonorColorado? An automated message? A warning? What could it mean?
Limon looked suspicious but maintained that it wasn't a joke he was playing on me. He openly acknowledged that he was looking and acting suspiciously but that was only because he was enjoying my confusion way too much. I explained to him that I'd given my work phone number to three people: Redras, Viper, and the car dealership I went to yesterday.
Limon and I checked out the phone number that the calls were coming from. It was an on-campus number, so I called it. The number belonged to someone in the Physical Science department (and I am enrolled in a PS class right now...) but it still didn't account for the fact that only three people had my work phone number. The call went through to voice mail.
About an hour later, the phone rang again. It was the same number. "Cicada. This is a warning from the BYU HonorColorado." A coworker who sits behind us started getting involved and I reminded him that I was at his house after midnight last night, so if I was getting in trouble with the BYU HonorColorado, I was going to get him in trouble with the BYU HonorColorado, too. Whatever the BYU HonorColorado is.
I talked to the secretary about it and she had no clue what it might be. Eventually, I called the BYU operator to explain what was going on and ask if they'd received similar reports. After talking to her supervisor, my operator told me that so far I'd done everything right (I'd called the number of origin and I'd called the BYU operator) and the next step was to call the campus police. She offered to connect me but I told her that I'd rather make sure that someone wasn't playing a prank on me before calling the police.
After hanging up the phone, I announced fairly loudly that the next step was calling the police, expecting some coworker to come forward and confess. But nothing happened. Limon told me that of all the people who could be pranking me, it was most likely a former coworker who we'll call Bengay. Recently, Bengay left our place of employment, but he was still on our work IM list. I sent him a message and asked him what he knew about the "BYU HonorColorado." He played dumb for a bit and then confessed that it was, in fact, him who was pranking me. But I couldn't believe his confession, either; I thought that he was joking again and I really didn't know what to believe. So I told him to prove it if it was really him. To make the phone ring and the message come back. He said, "Okay, but put it on speakerphone when it rings."
The phone rang.
I put it on speakerphone.
And a robotic, automated voice filled the whole office:
"Cicada. We have the results of your pregnancy test. It's a boy. Congratulations."
Soon after we hung up the phone, it rang again. Same number. I picked it up this time. The message said, "[Cicada--it used my first and last name]. This is a warning from the BYU HonorColorado. This is a demo. To remove your number from this list, press 3." I pressed 3, but nothing happened. I was just really confused. The BYU HonorColorado? An automated message? A warning? What could it mean?
Limon looked suspicious but maintained that it wasn't a joke he was playing on me. He openly acknowledged that he was looking and acting suspiciously but that was only because he was enjoying my confusion way too much. I explained to him that I'd given my work phone number to three people: Redras, Viper, and the car dealership I went to yesterday.
Limon and I checked out the phone number that the calls were coming from. It was an on-campus number, so I called it. The number belonged to someone in the Physical Science department (and I am enrolled in a PS class right now...) but it still didn't account for the fact that only three people had my work phone number. The call went through to voice mail.
About an hour later, the phone rang again. It was the same number. "Cicada. This is a warning from the BYU HonorColorado." A coworker who sits behind us started getting involved and I reminded him that I was at his house after midnight last night, so if I was getting in trouble with the BYU HonorColorado, I was going to get him in trouble with the BYU HonorColorado, too. Whatever the BYU HonorColorado is.
I talked to the secretary about it and she had no clue what it might be. Eventually, I called the BYU operator to explain what was going on and ask if they'd received similar reports. After talking to her supervisor, my operator told me that so far I'd done everything right (I'd called the number of origin and I'd called the BYU operator) and the next step was to call the campus police. She offered to connect me but I told her that I'd rather make sure that someone wasn't playing a prank on me before calling the police.
After hanging up the phone, I announced fairly loudly that the next step was calling the police, expecting some coworker to come forward and confess. But nothing happened. Limon told me that of all the people who could be pranking me, it was most likely a former coworker who we'll call Bengay. Recently, Bengay left our place of employment, but he was still on our work IM list. I sent him a message and asked him what he knew about the "BYU HonorColorado." He played dumb for a bit and then confessed that it was, in fact, him who was pranking me. But I couldn't believe his confession, either; I thought that he was joking again and I really didn't know what to believe. So I told him to prove it if it was really him. To make the phone ring and the message come back. He said, "Okay, but put it on speakerphone when it rings."
The phone rang.
I put it on speakerphone.
And a robotic, automated voice filled the whole office:
"Cicada. We have the results of your pregnancy test. It's a boy. Congratulations."
Sometimes you should settle.
About five or six years ago, I took a trip to California with Nemesis in her Hyundai Accent. And after learning a little more about Hyundai Accents and their incredible warranty, I decided that I would like to own one. I mean, the car fits me perfectly. It's small, it has great mileage, and it does have that incredible warranty. And so I started to dream about owning a Hyundai Accent.
I'd like to just pause to point out what a realistic dream this was. I wasn't dreaming about owning a Hummer or a Lamborghini or an El Camino. I was dreaming of owning a Hyundai Accent, one of the least expensive entry-level cars in existence.
I'm graduating in a month and I've decided it's time for me to own a car. I'll need a car to get around to job interviews and I'll need a car when my parents come to SLC to visit for two weeks and I'm the only child in Provo (so I'll have to commute to SLC to see them). And I'll need a car when my bus pass runs out. I set a cap of $5000 and took the bus to a car dealership yesterday morning.
And I found a cute little baby blue Accent. It was a 2004 with only 27,000 miles. And it had no price sticker. So when the dealer came to talk to me about it, I told him that I was thinking of spending about $5000 but I would be very interested in learning a little more about the 2004 Accent for sale. We took it for a test drive. And I knew that he wasn't really talking about price because he wanted to get me hooked before I actually committed to anything. But after a test drive, he and his boss sat me down and started saying stuff like "Six or seven thousand dollars instead of eleven thousand if you buy it today." I kept insisting that I have El Senor's approval before I made any decision about the car, and they offered to let me have the car for the day, go to work, take my test on campus, and drive to SLC to show the car to El Senor. The funny thing is that the better they made the offer, the more nervous I got.
But I took the car and started thinking that it was The One. I mean, come on. It was baby blue for heavens' sakes! I really fell in love. And while I took the day to think about it and spent a lot of time with El Senor on Google Talk discussing my options, Captain Fabuloso and Captain Mom (I need to change Peaches Mom's name to Captain Mom on my side bar) let me know that they were ready to sell me Clicky for substantially less than $6,000.
Clicky is Captain Fabuloso's '93 Honda Accord that used to smell like laundry detergent. He's called Clicky because for who knows how long, the turn signal was broken in the car and it made a non-stop clicking noise (seriously, I think that Captain Fabuloso waited over a year to get that thing fixed). Although Clicky is not as flashy and new as the little Accent, it's a reliable car and is financially the wiser choice. So I will soon have a car of my own. Sometimes it's okay to settle. And in the meantime, I can plan to purchase one of those incredibly cheap entry-level vehicles in a few years...
I'd like to just pause to point out what a realistic dream this was. I wasn't dreaming about owning a Hummer or a Lamborghini or an El Camino. I was dreaming of owning a Hyundai Accent, one of the least expensive entry-level cars in existence.
I'm graduating in a month and I've decided it's time for me to own a car. I'll need a car to get around to job interviews and I'll need a car when my parents come to SLC to visit for two weeks and I'm the only child in Provo (so I'll have to commute to SLC to see them). And I'll need a car when my bus pass runs out. I set a cap of $5000 and took the bus to a car dealership yesterday morning.
And I found a cute little baby blue Accent. It was a 2004 with only 27,000 miles. And it had no price sticker. So when the dealer came to talk to me about it, I told him that I was thinking of spending about $5000 but I would be very interested in learning a little more about the 2004 Accent for sale. We took it for a test drive. And I knew that he wasn't really talking about price because he wanted to get me hooked before I actually committed to anything. But after a test drive, he and his boss sat me down and started saying stuff like "Six or seven thousand dollars instead of eleven thousand if you buy it today." I kept insisting that I have El Senor's approval before I made any decision about the car, and they offered to let me have the car for the day, go to work, take my test on campus, and drive to SLC to show the car to El Senor. The funny thing is that the better they made the offer, the more nervous I got.
But I took the car and started thinking that it was The One. I mean, come on. It was baby blue for heavens' sakes! I really fell in love. And while I took the day to think about it and spent a lot of time with El Senor on Google Talk discussing my options, Captain Fabuloso and Captain Mom (I need to change Peaches Mom's name to Captain Mom on my side bar) let me know that they were ready to sell me Clicky for substantially less than $6,000.
Clicky is Captain Fabuloso's '93 Honda Accord that used to smell like laundry detergent. He's called Clicky because for who knows how long, the turn signal was broken in the car and it made a non-stop clicking noise (seriously, I think that Captain Fabuloso waited over a year to get that thing fixed). Although Clicky is not as flashy and new as the little Accent, it's a reliable car and is financially the wiser choice. So I will soon have a car of my own. Sometimes it's okay to settle. And in the meantime, I can plan to purchase one of those incredibly cheap entry-level vehicles in a few years...
If I die before I wake...
My house has had a spider problem lately. If Redras is around, I make her kill the spiders I find. Or if I man is around, I make him do his manly duty. But honestly, this is getting out of control.
Yesterday, without necessarily setting out on a "spider hunt," I managed to kill six spiders. And it was the sixth spider that concerns me the most. You see, I found spider number five as I was going to bed. It was a small black spider on the wall at the head of my bed---approximately one inch away from where my head would be if I had lain down. But I didn't. I immediately went and got tissue paper, smashed it, and flushed it. And I shudder still just to think about it.
Many of you may know that it's been hot here in Provo lately. I put a box fan in my window and during the night I turn it on and it blows the cool night air into my room. Since the cool night air hasn't been as cool lately, I've been forced to sleep upsidedown in my bed, which allows my body to benefit more greatly from the blowing of the fan (which according to some cultures is not a good thing). I did actually wonder about spiders when I was going to sleep. Killing five spiders in one's house during a day tends to do that to one. So every little tickle I felt I swore was a spider and sortof freaked out. Until I eventually calmed myself and allowed myself to go to sleep.
Only I woke up at one point and my finger was itching. And I scratched it and thought, "That's funny... it feels like a mosquito bite but I didn't hear any mosquitos... the fun must have drowned out the..." ---and I didn't finish that thought because I fell back asleep. Until I woke up what I imagine was about thirty seconds later and felt my other hand itching. At that point, I thought, "It's a spider! I know I'm being eaten by a spider! If it was a mosquito I would have heard it the second time because my brain would have been prepared to hear it!" And really, in the back of my mind, I was thinking that I was overreacting and it was not really a spider. But I flipped on the lamp beside my bed and witnessed a spider running across my pillow case---where my hands had been. I ran to the bathroom and got tissue paper and killed it and flushed it down the drain.
And then I was awake for the next hour or so, researching Utah spiders on the Internet. Ugh. At least Nemesis was there (God bless time zones!) and able to provide me comfort.
I have drawn a picture in Paint of how I was sleeping so that you can appreciate how close the spider was to my head. For your benefit, I have pretended that I was wearing pajamas at the time, which, of course, I was not. What bothers me the most is why the thing bit me! I can understand why mosquitos would bite, but what did a spider have to benefit by biting me while I was sleeping? Do they suck blood? I don't think so? Do they feast on rotting corpses? Maybe, but I certainly wasn't there yet. Do they avenge the deaths of their spider brothers? Probably. Probably, my friends.
Yesterday, without necessarily setting out on a "spider hunt," I managed to kill six spiders. And it was the sixth spider that concerns me the most. You see, I found spider number five as I was going to bed. It was a small black spider on the wall at the head of my bed---approximately one inch away from where my head would be if I had lain down. But I didn't. I immediately went and got tissue paper, smashed it, and flushed it. And I shudder still just to think about it.
Many of you may know that it's been hot here in Provo lately. I put a box fan in my window and during the night I turn it on and it blows the cool night air into my room. Since the cool night air hasn't been as cool lately, I've been forced to sleep upsidedown in my bed, which allows my body to benefit more greatly from the blowing of the fan (which according to some cultures is not a good thing). I did actually wonder about spiders when I was going to sleep. Killing five spiders in one's house during a day tends to do that to one. So every little tickle I felt I swore was a spider and sortof freaked out. Until I eventually calmed myself and allowed myself to go to sleep.
Only I woke up at one point and my finger was itching. And I scratched it and thought, "That's funny... it feels like a mosquito bite but I didn't hear any mosquitos... the fun must have drowned out the..." ---and I didn't finish that thought because I fell back asleep. Until I woke up what I imagine was about thirty seconds later and felt my other hand itching. At that point, I thought, "It's a spider! I know I'm being eaten by a spider! If it was a mosquito I would have heard it the second time because my brain would have been prepared to hear it!" And really, in the back of my mind, I was thinking that I was overreacting and it was not really a spider. But I flipped on the lamp beside my bed and witnessed a spider running across my pillow case---where my hands had been. I ran to the bathroom and got tissue paper and killed it and flushed it down the drain.
And then I was awake for the next hour or so, researching Utah spiders on the Internet. Ugh. At least Nemesis was there (God bless time zones!) and able to provide me comfort.
I have drawn a picture in Paint of how I was sleeping so that you can appreciate how close the spider was to my head. For your benefit, I have pretended that I was wearing pajamas at the time, which, of course, I was not. What bothers me the most is why the thing bit me! I can understand why mosquitos would bite, but what did a spider have to benefit by biting me while I was sleeping? Do they suck blood? I don't think so? Do they feast on rotting corpses? Maybe, but I certainly wasn't there yet. Do they avenge the deaths of their spider brothers? Probably. Probably, my friends.
Vending Machine Bandits
During my freshman year, I met my next-door neighbor, Magoo. It seemed that we were destined to be friends. And we were destined to get in trouble. (For other Magoo stories, see The Springboard Diving Fiasco and Police Beat.) Her nickname was Magoo and my nickname was Magoo, and our third friend's nickname was Dirtbag. (For other Dirtbag stories, see Things That Made Me Laugh Today and Phone Anxiety.)
One day Dirtbag and Magoo invited me to go and rip off vending machines with them. They explained that it wasn't actually ripping off the machines---it was just liquidating our Dining Plus money. If you're not familiar with Dining Plus, let me explain. At the beginning of the year, a freshman's parents pay for a meal plan that lasts the whole year. This meal plan put $9/day on your Signature Card (a card that is swiped like a credit card). You could use this money in any of the cafeterias, or at any of the restaurants on campus, or on any of the vending machines. You could not take money off your card, however. It had to be used for food. So sometimes, you'd build up an excess, and that would be a good time to start eating at the MOA cafe or the Skyroom.
Unless you found a way to liquidate your Dining Plus funds...
I believe that the same fat friend who could springboard dive perfectly was the one to tell Magoo how to rip off the BYU vending machines. And now I'll write this on the Internet with the disclaimer that I am not responsible for anyone who uses this information to perform illegal actions.
The three of us (Magoo, Dirtbag, and I) went out one evening to liquidate our Dining Plus funds. The procedure worked like this:
1. Choose a vending machine that has expensive and cheap items in it.
2. Swipe Signature Card. You will have over $2 of credit.
3. Unplug the phone cord around the back of the vending machine.
4. Buy the cheapest item---usually a brownie or Rice Krispie treat.
5. The vending machine will give you the treat plus change from the $2+ credit you had.
We did this all night. By the end, we each had about $20. We figured we'd made out pretty well, and really it wasn't stealing at all because we were just liquidating the money our parents had already put on our cards. Really, it was just like a bank transaction.
The next morning when I got home from class, Magoo was waiting outside my room. She said, "Magoo. Check your phone messages."
I did. There was one that said, "Yes, this is Jim from the Signature Card office. We have some questions about the vending machines in U-Hall, so if you could call me when you get this, I'd appreciate that." Magoo had the same message. We waited till Dirtbag came home and then discovered that her message was slightly different. It said, "Yes, this is Brother So-and-So [from her bishopric]. You have some explaining to do."
We decided together that we would all go to the Signature Card office together and offer back all the money we'd made from the U-Hall vending machines---not the other vending machines. Magoo was particularly worried because she'd been in to the Honor Code Office just the week before (because of the mooning incident described in Police Beat). I got all of my change from the U-Hall vending machine and waited in Magoo's car while Magoo and Dirtbag were getting their change.
And that gave me time to worry. I started worrying about what would happen if they took us in separate rooms and questioned us. Would our stories match up? What if we got there and offered them the money from the U-Hall vending machines, and they said, "Well, it seems that you also hit up several other vending machines on campus last night..." Would we say, "Yeah, well... actually, we thought you were too stupid to figure those ones out too and thought that we could get away with keeping the money. Guess we were wrong. Give us a few minutes to go home and get that money too, okay?"
By the time Magoo and Dirtbag came down to the car, I was a basket case. They got in the car and Magoo said, "Let's go to the Creamery for some ice cream." Dirtbag said, "Yeah, but let's swing by my place first to get film that I need to drop off to be developed." I started yelling at both of them: "WE NEED TO GO TO THE SIGNATURE CARD OFFICE! HOW CAN YOU THINK OF GETTING ICE CREAM RIGHT NOW! WE HAVE TO TURN OURSELVES IN! WE HAVE TO CONFESS TO EVERYTHING!"
Magoo said, "Yeah, Dirtbag, we can pick up your film."
Dirtbag said, "I love Creamery ice cream!"
At this point, I was probably foaming at the mouth or something, and Magoo and Dirtbag confessed. While I was waiting in the car, they decided to just call Jim from the Signature Card Office. After all, Dirtbag knew him. And Jim had told them that we could keep the money, just that we shouldn't ever do that again.
AND THAT GOES FOR YOU, TOO, READER. Although I have given you the know-how to liquidate your Dining Plus funds, you too are under the responsibility to not repeat our actions. Remember that we were caught and you will be caught, too.
One day Dirtbag and Magoo invited me to go and rip off vending machines with them. They explained that it wasn't actually ripping off the machines---it was just liquidating our Dining Plus money. If you're not familiar with Dining Plus, let me explain. At the beginning of the year, a freshman's parents pay for a meal plan that lasts the whole year. This meal plan put $9/day on your Signature Card (a card that is swiped like a credit card). You could use this money in any of the cafeterias, or at any of the restaurants on campus, or on any of the vending machines. You could not take money off your card, however. It had to be used for food. So sometimes, you'd build up an excess, and that would be a good time to start eating at the MOA cafe or the Skyroom.
Unless you found a way to liquidate your Dining Plus funds...
I believe that the same fat friend who could springboard dive perfectly was the one to tell Magoo how to rip off the BYU vending machines. And now I'll write this on the Internet with the disclaimer that I am not responsible for anyone who uses this information to perform illegal actions.
The three of us (Magoo, Dirtbag, and I) went out one evening to liquidate our Dining Plus funds. The procedure worked like this:
1. Choose a vending machine that has expensive and cheap items in it.
2. Swipe Signature Card. You will have over $2 of credit.
3. Unplug the phone cord around the back of the vending machine.
4. Buy the cheapest item---usually a brownie or Rice Krispie treat.
5. The vending machine will give you the treat plus change from the $2+ credit you had.
We did this all night. By the end, we each had about $20. We figured we'd made out pretty well, and really it wasn't stealing at all because we were just liquidating the money our parents had already put on our cards. Really, it was just like a bank transaction.
The next morning when I got home from class, Magoo was waiting outside my room. She said, "Magoo. Check your phone messages."
I did. There was one that said, "Yes, this is Jim from the Signature Card office. We have some questions about the vending machines in U-Hall, so if you could call me when you get this, I'd appreciate that." Magoo had the same message. We waited till Dirtbag came home and then discovered that her message was slightly different. It said, "Yes, this is Brother So-and-So [from her bishopric]. You have some explaining to do."
We decided together that we would all go to the Signature Card office together and offer back all the money we'd made from the U-Hall vending machines---not the other vending machines. Magoo was particularly worried because she'd been in to the Honor Code Office just the week before (because of the mooning incident described in Police Beat). I got all of my change from the U-Hall vending machine and waited in Magoo's car while Magoo and Dirtbag were getting their change.
And that gave me time to worry. I started worrying about what would happen if they took us in separate rooms and questioned us. Would our stories match up? What if we got there and offered them the money from the U-Hall vending machines, and they said, "Well, it seems that you also hit up several other vending machines on campus last night..." Would we say, "Yeah, well... actually, we thought you were too stupid to figure those ones out too and thought that we could get away with keeping the money. Guess we were wrong. Give us a few minutes to go home and get that money too, okay?"
By the time Magoo and Dirtbag came down to the car, I was a basket case. They got in the car and Magoo said, "Let's go to the Creamery for some ice cream." Dirtbag said, "Yeah, but let's swing by my place first to get film that I need to drop off to be developed." I started yelling at both of them: "WE NEED TO GO TO THE SIGNATURE CARD OFFICE! HOW CAN YOU THINK OF GETTING ICE CREAM RIGHT NOW! WE HAVE TO TURN OURSELVES IN! WE HAVE TO CONFESS TO EVERYTHING!"
Magoo said, "Yeah, Dirtbag, we can pick up your film."
Dirtbag said, "I love Creamery ice cream!"
At this point, I was probably foaming at the mouth or something, and Magoo and Dirtbag confessed. While I was waiting in the car, they decided to just call Jim from the Signature Card Office. After all, Dirtbag knew him. And Jim had told them that we could keep the money, just that we shouldn't ever do that again.
AND THAT GOES FOR YOU, TOO, READER. Although I have given you the know-how to liquidate your Dining Plus funds, you too are under the responsibility to not repeat our actions. Remember that we were caught and you will be caught, too.
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