THEORY IS KILLING MY LIFE.

That's the only way I can describe it. That's also why I haven't written anything on this blog. Seriously, we're reading our good buddy Immanuel today, and I just Kan't! (Oh no, I'm starting to sound like my dad . . . )

Someday you will hear from me again. After this class has killed me I'll come back from the grave and write on my blog. Until then, cheerio!

This is going to be a very long summer.

I've been here since eight this morning. And my boss is out of town. So when professors aren't bringing me projects, I sit here wondering why the heck the office isn't closed between semesters.
Classes start tomorrow. They might possibly be the worst ever. Or I could luck out and they could be the best ever. But I doubt they'll hit middle ground. Want to know why? They are: ELANG 325, English Grammar; and English 451, Critical Traditions of Theory. Seriously, Britt. What were you thinking? Theory and Grammar without anything fun? Come on.
That's okay. It'll be better than full time at the office. At least I'll have something to break up my day and keep my attention span at its optimal capacity (which . . . isn't very high).
So, today Mike applied for a job as a receptionist at a family practice within the hospital where he already volunteers. I think it would be ultra cool if he got to work there. He's ultra good with kids and ultra good at medicine, so what better mix? I think he'd be an amazing pediatrician, but he thinks that would be too sad. Oh well. I would rather he be happy. But this job will be cool if he gets it.
Also, the MCAT is in one month. Four weeks. Mike took a practice test from the people who actually make the MCAT for the first time this weekend and got a bit discouraged, but I think he's got time. Pray for him, will you?
I don't know what else to tell you other than that I'm really bored. Oh yeah! So, I totally made a green satin dress during finals week (I mean, I was studying the WHOLE time!!) Yeah. Well, it's a really pretty dress, and it actually looks good, which surprised me. I was totally expecting to bungle it all up. I guess low expectations make happy surprises, right?
So, I just realized something today. One year from now, I will have graduated from BYU, as will have Mike. And I don't think you can really major in Medical School. So our blog title will be a bit outdated. Any ideas for what we should rename it? Let's make this a contest! Your prize for winning will be . . . . a warm, fuzzy feeling! And maybe credit for giving us the cool name. We'll see.

Winter, Spring, Easter, and Winter again

Yeah, so I've been berated multiple times by various sisters and mothers who seem to think I don't put enough pictures on my blog. Thus, this will be a picture blog post.

Once upon a time it was spring in Provo, and there was lots of beautiful blue sky and sunshine, and we actually went outside to spend our lunch hour in the sunshine.

Alas, it was not to be forever. For, the very same week, we left for school in the morning only to see:

Mega. Lame. Oh well.

Well, then we went to Boise to spend Easter with people who were a lot more fun than school. This picture's title is "I'll pedal, Emma. You steer!"

Then, while my father was getting out his umpire stuff, including all the league's ump shirts, we happened across a two-headed monster! (wearing an XXXXL shirt!)

Luckily, we managed to avoid being mauled. Then, suddenly, it was Easter. The bunny decided to hide our baskets around the house, but certain obnoxious little brothers (cough cough JAMES cough) said, as soon as somebody would come downstairs, "I know where your basket is! It's _________!" Obnoxious. Still, there were some cute pictures of the sugar buzz that ensued.

Parker arrived from Washington DC in the midst of all this; it was later unanimously voted that Emma got the coolest president. I mean present. Whups. :)

One thing I did not realize was that the little brother who two months ago was shorter and still sounded like a little brother was now taller than my mother, and answered the phone in this deep, indifferent teenager voice. It was sick.

Luckily, we all got a turn in the awesome hat. Here, Nonny is practicing her vaudeville technique.

Soon enough, it was time for us Provo-ites to leave. Alas, it was a tragic day! But not tragic enough to stop the new-age musicians from shooting their music videos on our driveways.

As soon as the video was over, my dad discovered that he had the power to levitate objects, simply with his mind!

Then I got to take a screamy picture with the musician. If she'd stuck around I was going to have her sign my elbow with a sharpie.

In other news, Mike had a birthday a while ago, and the fam sent him an AMAZING picture of the temple, about which we are both very enthusiastic.

And now there are no new pictures because it's almost finals week and we're too busy playing. Whups! I mean studying.

THE END

Reason #47 why English majors are awesome: VERY WELL-WRITTEN ANGRY LETTERS!

Once upon a time, it was 7:30 on a lovely Thursday morning, and I and my husband were all asleep and cozy in our bed, waiting for the alarm to go off at 8--which I'm sure you'll agree is a perfectly reasonable time for college students, whose classes don't start until 9:30, to wake up. But alas! We were cruelly ripped from our dreams of ponies, rainbows, Organic Chemistry and the like, when someone began pounding on our door! I, in my half-awake doze, mumbled something about putting clothes on to see who it was, before the pounding ceased, someone actually tried to open the door (couldn't because it was chained), and we heard a voice yelling "HELLO! MAINTENANCE! MAINTENANCE! HELLO!"

I was slightly put-out.

You see, we knew that Thursday was to be our day for having our linoleum replaced--a fact that I was not displeased about--but this was contrary to all of our experiences with maintenance. They had posted a flyer on our door telling us what day to expect, and something about an information meeting, but the meeting was at 3:00 on a Friday afternoon, which is impossible for most people who have classes or jobs to make. We didn't bother about it, because what questions would we have? I had planned on making breakfast, cleaning out the pantry, and maybe seeing the workers in passing as we headed out to school. They'd replace our floor, everything would be fine.

But no. No, it was not fine.

Mike threw on some shorts, went to the door, and found the whole crew of linoleum guys waiting anxiously for us to get out of the apartment. He made some attempt at "we haven't even showered yet," to which the oh-so-compassionate gentlemen replied, "if you hurry, you'll be able to shower before we unplug your water heater." All this while I'm hiding in the bedroom in my garments, in shock at their callousness.

So, we tried to hurry. We were in the shower for ten minutes between us--Mike went in for five minutes, then I took a turn--but no sooner had I lathered up my head in shampoo than the water instantly became so cold it felt refrigerated. Doubtless it was my scream of insatiable rage that caused them to plug it back in for me, but they still sent Mike in every 30 seconds or so to say, "are you done yet?"

So to recap: we were woken up, my kitchen was destroyed by a bunch of dirty, disgusting footprints and gloves, I had to shower with a bunch of strange men in my apartment, AND they unplugged the water heater on me. Then, after I had hastily dressed and packed up, Mike and I had to leave for school without breakfast or packed lunches (=not good for our budget). I felt completely violated, like just because we're poor student renters, they could throw us out or subject us to any kind of indecent situation they wanted.

So I wrote a letter. And this was not the I'm-so-furious-I'm-going-to-spill-my-wounded-bleeding-heart-all-over-the-page-and-send-it-to-you kind of letter. No, this one took me an hour to write, making sure there were no excuses or loopholes they could find in it. No, this was one furious letter. It felt really good.

After all this happened, and I had related my experience to some friends who were about to go through the same experience (but with warning this time), they told me about someone else from our quad who had told the linoleum guys that his baby was still asleep, that building quiet hours were until 8, and then slammed the door in their face. Amen, brutha.

Today, Mike got home before I did, and texted me at work saying someone from the Wymount Office had hand-delivered a letter for me. When I got home, I discovered a very apologetic letter with two coupons for a free half-gallon of ice cream at the Creamery. I don't want to say I wrote the letter for the ice cream, but it sure was vindicating. :)

Mostly I hope they just stop doing that. If they're on such a tight schedule, they should put ON THE FLYER that they're coming at SEVEN THIRTY IN THE MORNING. Give people a chance to save their own humanity. Geez.

Sorry, guys. Writing this a little of my terrible anger is returning, just remembering how violated I felt. I hope this makes any horrible landlord situation seem a little better in comparison with mine. :)

A belated St. Paddy's Day Joke

So an Irishman walks out of a bar--

hey, it could happen! :)

Three O'Clock

Salty lamp-light tumbles

through the blinds, crashing

on the denim rocks, interspersed

with tiny yarn birds.

The cold breeze dries out wide-

open eyes. Above, fireworks

crash, their plaster explosions

keep you awake.

Behind, the carnival continues--

the merry-go-round begins to

turn, the quilt chasing

like an anxious parent.

Shrivel, exposed

to the incoming tide,

skin prickling

instantly. Turn back to the pier, catch

one of the porcelain horses,

taking shelter in the warmth

of the machine.

It reverses--

disappears with a snort--

His dream ends long enough to wrap long arms

around shivering shoulders.

Laundry soap, aftershave, a hint of something

sweet--

The churning waltz begins

its slow dance, the gears

rumbling

back into their pulsing rhythm.

Hold your breath, feel the heavy

sway of the engine. Feel the cool

of the sea pulling back, as the carnival drifts

away, leaving only the tappling

of the rain--

the tide bustling into the tiny

apartment, stare into a tiny

reality, three thousand miles

away from a New England shore,

where the beach is cinderblock

and chipped tile

and no children cry.

My New Favorite Scripture

Mostly just so I remember the reference. :)

Alma 38:5 - "And now my [daughter, Brittany,] I would that ye should remember, that as much as ye shall put your trust in God even so much ye shall be delivered out of your trials, and your troubles, and your afflictions, and ye shall be lifted up at the last day."