The Witch and the Hamster

A little while ago, The Boy and I went to PetSmart and we witness an intriguing spectacle. In its little cage, a hamster was running on a wheel while another hamster watched. The second hamster came to the right side of the wheel and watched as the first hamster ran and ran and ran and ran. Then, suddenly, the second hamster lunged forward to get into the wheel. The spinning wheel, powered by the first hamster's insane need to run, pushed the body of the second hamster right into the supporting bar of the wheel. The little hamster's body bent completely in half and the wheel came to a full stop.

Then, squeezing his little hamster butt from where it was wedged between the bar and the wheel, the second hamster got onto the wheel. Both hamsters ran together for a few moments until the second hamster pushed the first hamster off. The first hamster ran around from the left side of the wheel to the right side and waited and watched. Suddenly, lunging forward, he half-inserted his body into the wheel. Then, powered by the second hamster, the wheel pushed his body against the supporting bar until the wheel came to a full stop and the first hamster's body was bent completely in half.

Ths continued and never actually ceased to be funny.

It was so funny, in fact, that I was telling this story to Brother 1 on Saturday. "I certainly don't know why they feel the need to run run run run run!" I said.

"It's just funny that the hamsters can seem to do it but you can't," remarked Brother 1. I considered changing his name to Terd McFurgeson in that moment, but I didn't.

Today, I was both a witch and a hamster for Halloween.

This morning, I put on a black skirt and a black shirt and some black fish nets over red tights. When I went to work, I grabbed my pointy witch hat, my broom, and my cauldron full of goodies. I was a witch, and I was ready for both work and my ward party.

When I got home, I realized that my ward party was a dance party. The last time I went to a dance, I promised myself that I would never ever go to a dance again. I knew that I had to get out and meet people, but I also knew that doing so at a dance would be of no benefit to me at all. So instead, I went to the gym for the first time in months to run on the wheel. I really need to lose this weight.

When I came home, I took all the candy that I had meant to bring to the dance and put it by the door and turned the lights on so that trick-or-treaters could come and take my candy away so that I wouldn't eat it all. Some trick-or-treaters never came. We did have several kids come during the evening, though, and Brother 2, The Boy, and I all carved pumpkins.

Happy Halloween! (Nightmare Before Christmas by Brother 2)

Are you still reading? Also, the best part about tonight was when an 11-year-old kid came to the door with his siblings and butted to be first in line for the candy (because apparently if you don't get there first, people run out) and then looked up at my apartment and said, "Wow. Cool apartment! This is really cool." I still only gave him one piece of candy, though, because he's a butter.

Night Terrors

I have been known to be a sleepwalker. And a sleep talker. And a sleep singer. And a sleep screamer, but that was only a long, long time ago.

When I was a little girl, I used to have nightmares and wake up screaming. It was only this past year that I learned that this is something called night terrors. I can't remember these dreams that caused my screaming, only I know that one involved a bear being in our bathroom and another involved monkeys, torches, a cave, and my grandma.

Of course, I would scream and my parents would come running into my bedroom to find me safe and sound and soiled. Finally my father lost patience and yelled at me (I don't remember this). He told me to never, never do that again.

And I never have. At that time, if a bad dream woke me up, I would go to my parents' bedroom and kneel beside my father's side of the bed, and put my little face right up to his until he woke up. Of course, this would very effectively scare him every time he gained consciousness. He finally commented to my mother that he much preferred the screaming, but he didn't have the heart to forbid me to pursue this course of action.

The other side effect of my getting in trouble for screaming is that I have never been able to scream in my sleep ever again. I remember the first time it happened to me as a child. A fat boy was in my house at night and he was coming to kidnap me. He approached me and grabbed me and I tried to scream, but nothing came out of my mouth. He laughed and said, "You cannot scream!" And I tried, and I tried, and I tried. But I could not scream.

Since that time, with a lot of practice, I've finally been able to make noise. It's certainly not a scream, though. In my dream, I still find myself powerless to make noise at first, and then I try and I try and I try and... something... comes... out. I cannot even describe the noise in writing. It sounds like a very scary ghost moaning. Or maybe even a deaf ghost trying to approximate screaming. But it's not loud enough to be screaming. Generally, I make this noise until I wake myself up or some other person wakes me up.

Notable Times When I Have Made This Noise:

After my freshman year I drove home to Canada with a family from our ward. We stopped in a hotel one night. I shared a bed with the mom, and the dad and three other boys slept on the other bed or on the floor. I woke up in the middle of the night, aware that I'd been making That Noise. I hoped that no one heard and went back to sleep. In the morning, one of the boys said, "Cicada... you were... making... a... noise... last night." The entire family looked at me expectantly. The mother said, "I had to shake you till you woke up."

On my mission, I was always very good to warn my companions on our first day together that it was possible that during our time together, I would make That Noise (my psychiatrist in the MTC who threatened to send me home because I was a sleep walker told me to remember to warn my companions). My second companionship was a threesome with two great girls. We had to spend about five days in Rome at one point, so we were staying in an apartment with two other sisters. Of course, warning other people about That Noise wasn't something that I ever thought to do. My companionship slept in the living room while the other girls slept in the bedroom. I started making That Noise in the middle of the night until my companions woke me up. The poor unwarned girls in the bedroom were scared for the rest of the night and perhaps even scarred for life.

Thursday night. It was raining, and I sleep with my window open. As I was falling asleep, I was thinking, "This is sooooo nice, this pitter-patter of rain, I could really get used to thisssssssssszzzzzzzzzz." So I was asleep. For about half an hour. After a half an hour, I woke up, convinced that there was someone standing outside my window. I peeked, I was scared, and I went back to sleep. This situation repeated itself for the rest of the night. At about four o'clock, I woke myself up because I was making That Noise quite loudly. I really thought that there was a rapist or other scary figure coming after me. To make matters worse, The Boy wasn't home that night, so I was all on my own. When I woke up, panicked, at six a.m., I finally decided to stay up, because it simply wasn't worth it to try and sleep again.

And so there we have it. My night terrors continue, but I am unable to scream (and for the record, I also no longer soil myself). I guess what I really wonder is what would have happened if my father hadn't told me not to scream anymore. Would my neighbors have rushed to my rescue Thursday night?

As long as we're on the subject...

I should share an experience from last summer. It's about dating, and about when I finally decided that I would say no to a man.

See, I get so few dates that I never say no. I'm willing to give pretty much anyone a chance, really.

So last summer, I was on the YSA committee and helped to plan activities and such and such (this was on the East Coast). I helped to plan this weekend retreat where we went to a farm house for two days. On the whole, it was a success, but during the two-day retreat, I acquired a sortof stalkerish little guy.

Let's call him Virgil.

So Virgil wasn't what one would call an attractive man, and Virgil wasn't what one would call a mentally balanced man, either. I discovered that whatever room I was in, Virgil was there. When I got tired of socializing, I exused myself and went to the kitchen to wash dishes. Soon, I found Virgil standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching me wash dishes, and waiting for me to start a conversation. I didn't really start a conversation, and he certainly didn't offer to help me wash dishes, but he did stay in the doorway to watch me the whole time I was cleaning up. Finally, a friend found me and said, "We're going to hop in the swimming pool. You coming?" I told her I wasn't sure. I was lying---of course I wanted to go swimming---but I didn't want to tip Virgil off to my whereabouts. My friend asked Virgil if he was going to come swimming, and he said he wasn't sure.

A few minutes later, as I was swimming in the pool, Virgil strutted on over in his bathing suit and canonballed into the pool, virtually emptying the pool of any water it previously contained.

The next day, it was time to clean up the farmhouse and leave. I took the vacuum and started vacuuming every room. Virgil followed me. He didn't do any cleaning work himself, and he didn't try to make conversation, but he did follow me from room to room, staring at me as I vacuumed.

I was dreading seeing him two days later at the FHE activity, but I successfully avoided him. At the end of the activity, he came up and stood beside me, and I knew that it was with the intention of talking to me for some very important purpose. So I avoided eye contact (I am a coward) and cheerily waved goodbye to him as my friends and I left the activity to go and get some Cold Stone ice cream.

I went with a couple girl friends and one girl friend's brother. He was 19 at the time and just about to go on a mission, and that night was the first time we were really hanging out.

When I was in line at Cold Stone, my phone rang: it was an unidentified number. More curious as to who it was than afraid of who it could be, I answered. It was Virgil.

Virgil: Hi. This is Virgil.

Cicada: Hi, Virgil!

[Very long pause as I wait for him to state the purpose of his call. Is this strange? I thought that it's generally the person who makes the call who is responsible for generating conversation.]

Virgil: That was a lot of food that we had at FHE tonight.

Cicada: Well, yes, it was. A family in the ward had leftovers from a barbeque they had, and they wanted us to eat up the leftovers, so we went ahead and threw a barbeque.

Virgil: Oh. I thought maybe it was leftovers from the retreat.

Cicada: No. Nope. Not leftovers from the retreat.

Virgil: Yeah, that would have been funny if they had been leftovers from the retreat because that means that the retreat had a lot of leftovers.

Cicada: Yes, yes, that would have been funny, but as I said, they weren't leftovers from the retreat.

Virgil: Well, because I was surprised at having a barbeque at FHE right after having the retreat.

Cicada: Yeah. But, you know, like I said, this family needed the food to be eaten so...

[Another very awkward pause.]

[Virgil's still not saying anything.]

[I had no other option but to end the conversation myself.]

Cicada: Well, Virgil, it was nice talking to you, but you see, I'm in line waiting to order ice cream, and there are machines that are making a lot of noise so I can hardly hear anyway, and I'm about to order, so...

Virgil: We'll just talk another time then.

Cicada: Okay. Another time, then. Goodbye, Virgil.

I got my ice cream and sat down with my girl friends and the 19-year-old. I started telling them what had just happened and sought advice for how to politely turn him down when he called to ask me out.

That started the 19-year-old on a tyrade:

19: That's just disgusting. That is just absolutely disgusting. It's girls like you who just make me absolutely sick. You're not even going to give this guy a chance! I can't believe it. I cannot believe it. People like you don't even deserve to date.

Cicada: I'm sorry, but I think that if I know that I have no intention of ever having a future with him, then it's only fair that I turn him down if he asks me a on a date!

19: I just can't believe it. Cannot believe it. Who is this guy, anyway? Who is he? Virgil? Who's Virgil?

We explained who Virgil was.

19: That Virgil? That Virgil? Oh my gosh! Do not go out with him! Oh my goodness! Now I completely understand. I thought we were talking about something totally different! Virgil?? No! Do not go out with Virgil.

At this point, he started laughing at the idea of me going out with Virgil.

Cicada: My problem is actually turning him down. I mean, I can't do it! I can't do it! I've never said no! I went out with a mentally retarded man when I was 18!

Now, a look of pure shock and disgust crossed my 19-year-old's face.

19: Don't ever tell anyone ever again that you did that! Why would you even admit to that?

Twenty minutes later, I was driving home and I got a phone call from an unidentified number. I had already programmed Virgil's number into my phone, so I knew it couldn't be him. I answered, carefully.

"A thirty-year-old mentally retarded man!" shouted the 19-year-old, on the other line. "What were you thinking??"

And basically, that's where the story ends. Virgil somehow picked up on the signals I was sending him and never asked me out. The 19-year-old became my fake boyfriend for the summer (I was, afterall, only four years older than him) and although I promised him that I'd write him while he was on his mission, I never have attended to my fake girlfriendly duties.

You know you're hard-up for loving when...

...you get a crush on your bus driver the second he opens the doors to let you on the bus.

• You realize you've got a crush before he even opens his mouth.
• He's got you blushing as soon as you step on the bus because although you have no idea what he just said to you, you know that it was more than he had to say, because all bus drivers actually have to do is nod their heads when they see that your card is valid.
• You stutter and can't get out a single real sentence when you ask him how long the bus takes to get to a certain point on the route.
• He calls you something ridiculous like, "Little Missy," and you think, "I could get used to that."
• You don't actually understand the rest of what he says because it's either in a hispanic accent or a New York accent or both, and you think, "Oooo! He sounds tough!"
• You watch him get out of the bus (because you're at the beginning of the line and he's early) and look for a ring as soon as he whips out his Book of Mormon to read it in the park during the five-minute break he has.
• You think, "Well, if he's a Book of Mormon reader, he must be worthy!"
• You're wondering if your children will be like their righteous father who reads the Book of Mormon in parks during five-minute breaks.
• You're wondering if you could ever marry a bus driver.
• You're wondering how big your house would be.
• You're wondering what your parents' reaction will be when you say, "Well, Mom, Dad, I've fallen in love with another foreigner who's significantly older than me."
• You wonder if you detected a hint of flirtation in his voice when he announces your stop on the P.A. system.
• You wonder if you'll ever see him again when you get off the bus.
• You're thinking about him again, an hour later, as you're waiting for that bus again and you're trying to do the math to see if it's possible that he could be the bus driver of the bus that's coming.
• You can't help a smile when you see that he's the driver of the approaching bus.
• You're nervous that he won't actually acknowledge that he recognizes you.
• You're thrilled when he acknowledges that he recongizes you.
• You practice in your head what you would say if he ever asked you out.
• You listen to every word he's saying to the other passengers.
• You think he's so smart when he points out a guy riding a segue and says, "Da thing, ee move wit your body gravity!"
• You wonder if you'll ever see him again when you get off the bus.
• You're thinking about him again, two hours later, as you're waiting for that bus again and you're wondering if he'll still be on shift.
• You're on the phone when he pulls up, but you both are still able to exchange a very meaningful, "Well hello again!"
• You wonder if you'll ever see him again when you get off the bus.
• You're thinking about him again, one and a half hours later as you're walking home in the dark.
• You're wondering if it could possibly be him when you see an approaching bus.
• You're frustrated because you can't see into the front window of the bus, but you know that if it is him, he can see you.
• You're wondering if you should just run to a bus stop and hop on the bus and ride it all the way to Walmart and back just to spend some time with your new boyfriend.
• You start waving vigorously when the bus passes and you notice that the bus driver is waving vigorously at you.
• You wonder if you'll ever see him again.

My life has reached a new level of patheticness.

French and Italian

Here's a picture of me at a funny fountain. It was a really cool fountain on a really cool street that one of my comps and I discovered one day when we were lost.

A couple months later, we were both training some new sisters and we took them for a walk on this street, too. As we were standing near the fountain, two French men in suits started looking over at us. As I was walking past them, one said to me, pointing at my name tag, "Qu'est-ce que c'est que ca?"

Those of you who don't speak French might be frustrated that I just put in an untranslated quote, but that was exactly the point. The point was that they were being French jerks in suits, talking down to the ignorant American girls. They worked at the embassy nearby, so you would think that they had people skills and didn't talk down to people from different countries, seeing as how they were representatives and all...

He had asked "What's that?" when he pointed to my name tag, so I responded in perfect French:

Sorella Cicada: We are missionaries from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

French Snooties: Ah! But you speak French?

SC: Yes, of course. I am Canadian. I started learning French when I started school.

FS: Ah! But you speak French very well!!

SC: Well, not as well as I used to. When I learned Italian, it replaced a lot of my French.

FS: Ah! But you speak Italian?

SC: [Switching into Italian] Yes, of course. Like I said, we're missionaries for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. We've come to Italy to share an important message.

FS: Ah! But you speak Italian very well!

SC: Yes, of course. At the expense of my French.

I would have loved to have said, "And don't forget that neither of these is my first language, you pompass punks. I'd love to listen to you guys speek zee engleesh!"

Of course, I didn't say or think anything like that because at the time, I was full of love and charity. I didn't smile smugly as I walked away, reflecting on their surprise when I actually understood what they had said when they pointed at my name tag. I certainly didn't think, "Couchons imbus qui osent parler en francais et qui pensent que je ne comprendrai pas! L'impudence est tout a fait incroyable. Celui qui parle une autre langue et qui se pense meilleur des autres pour ce fait-la est un imbicile. Imbicile, j'ai dit! Imbicile!"

Oh... did I not translate that last little bit for you all? That's just too bad, I suppose.

** I am making a funny face in the picture to match the funny face of the fountain, so if you're zooming in on that picture, just know that I don't look that weird.