Wipe away the anger

Dear ElissaGator,
I can't take it anymore. My roommate keeps stealing my stuff. When my shampoo bottle mysteriously went missing, she finally fessed up that she had been using it for the past weeks because she forgot hers at home. She said she was so embarrassed; only because she got caught! She also has her own bathroom, but uses mine for the toilet paper. This is just the tip of the iceberg. I really don't want to blow up at her, but something has to be done. -Annoyed Anna

Annie,
I hear you. I once had a roommate who did the exact same thing, how weird is that? Maybe my old roommate and your roommate are relatives. Being me, I was able to quickly solve the problem.

Depending on her hair color, you could always put bleach or blue dye into your shampoo bottle and you'll have proof if she uses it again. Seeing how she's already gotten caught, a better way to get even might be to put the dye or bleach in her shower head. I've seen it done in a couple of movies and it seems to work pretty well.

Now the toilet paper problem. There's so many things you could do, but instead of putting habanero chili powder on the toilet paper, a more humane thing is to put itching powder on the toilet paper roll. Make sure to keep a safe roll hidden for you to use so you don't become the butt of your own joke (get it?). She may or may not connect that by using your toilet paper she's putting her downunders at risk. Watch as she suffers; who knows, she may even do the butt-scoot-boogie like a dog with worms.

If you follow these simple, yet effective tips, she'll either never use your stuff ever again, or sign up as a North Korean spy. She probably wouldn't last very long as a North Korean spy, so odds are she'll never use your stuff again. You're welcome.

Oh what do you do in the winter time?

Up here in Rexburg many people complain that there ain't much fun to be had in the winter time. I disagree. One of my favorite activities is to grow my own icicles.

This here is Betsy May. Here's how you make your own Betsy May: take a cup of water and slowly drip it on metal railing. Mind you, the temperature has to be below freezing for this fun outdoor activity to work. Watch as the water drips, then stops dripping because it has frozen. Wait a minute and repeat again. 

Proceed to threaten anyone and everyone that if they mess with your birthed icicle, you will cut them like a heifer at a slaughter house. Such vivid imagery, but you need to get it through their heads. Curse the day that it gets warmer than freezing and your baby melts away like Frosty and the Wicked Witch. They both had magical hats. But one didn’t stop when the officer hollered “halt,” she turned him into a flying monkey. Wait until another cold day and begin again. With some luck, your icicle will be bigger than a goldilocks chia pet. 

See, how much fun can be had. Except losers like my 11 year old brother who live in such warm climates that you can't make icicles. Too bad for him.

Why I Hate Design

Not that any of you will read this, especially my friend J-dog (because it is too much text), but as I was visiting her tonight I was explaining to her why I hate graphic design. I came up with this one night (okay, it was early early morning) after working forever on a project and just had to write it down in my journal. Why I'm publishing this for the world to see, I'm not sure. Maybe it will inspire someone in some weird way.

Yes, I've procrastinated, but only because I still would have spent my life nudging and kerning and still wouldn't have been happy after five hours. But here it is 1:30 a.m. and I want to keep working on it. The sad thing is --I still won't be happy with the final result. It's almost like I get emotionally attached to these projects where I'm breathing and living only that. And in the end, it gives nothing back.

Design abuses me. It can't love me. It can't interact with me. It's inanimate. Maybe I've been trying to hide myself in design, using it as an excuse, only to find it's not the relationship I want or need. I'm the upset girlfriend on the porch running after it as it drives away into a sunset of no feeling. It's a complete one sided relationship. And I hate it.

That's why it has been so much easier not to care. To force myself not to work on it. To hate design. To hate typography. Because if I hate it I don't have to care for it. And caring means a fervent passion. For me there's no such thing as caring only a little.

And because I'm really crazy I've included the project. It's supposed to be an annual report. Don't judge me.

 

 

 

Faithful readers

This is to inform you that you will be involved in an important event in my life. It's called helping me compose a book for my typography class. I've decided to publish my advice column, as I feel it will be an important contribution to society. You're job is to tell me from my past advice posts which ones I should include, which ones I shouldn't and if I should enhance any of them. Also if you have ideas for other advice posts, that would be good too. Thank you, my gracious few in number readers.

Deer in Lights

Where in the world have I been? Obviously not on my blog. To say goodbye to November I've included a picture that may describe how I'm feeling about the holidays right about now. Other people say it has something to do with rednecks. Take your pick. Whatever you do, look closely at the picture. Embrace the symbolism. Happy holidays, everyone.

Bubbles and Boyfriends

Dear ElissaGator,
I have a problem. I've think I like one of my FHE brothers. We've been on a couple of dates and we hang out all the time. I'm not to the point where I'm in love him though. The problem is his parents invited me to Thanksgiving. I'm not going to my home for Thanksgiving, but I did have plans to stay with relatives near by. Should I say yes and go with him and potentially seal my fate with cranberry sauce? Or should I say no and potentially seal my single fate? 
Clueless Cara

Less than a clue,
Of course you have a problem. Or you wouldn't be writing into me. I decided to answer your question because I'm waiting for my laundry to be done, and we all know how annoying that can be. You really can't do much because you have to be on beckon call for when it's done, lest someone should take care of your laundry for you. Then you have no option but to punish the perpetrator.

My favorite way of laundry revenge is to pour a whole bottle of bubbles in their washer. Who said bubbles were only for happy people prancing in the park? The best part is watching them try to explain to the laudromat owners why the place looks like a gathering for a foam rave.  But enough about my sud life. The answer is... Opps- laundry's done. Thanks for writing in though. Hope it all works out! (And if you do get a cranberry sauce stain, I'd look up the proper way to get it out. Stains are almost as annoying as waiting for laundry to get done). You're welcome.

Total Eclipse of my Laugh

Once upon a time people were trying to think of a great music video for this 80's ( I assume) song. It seems like nobody's ideas were left out. This is the real music video for Bonnie Tyler's "Total Eclipse of the Heart," but the lyrics have been changed. I will not say that I believe this to be one of the strangest music videos I have ever seen. I'll leave that conclusion to you. Make sure you watch in full screen so that you can really feel the emotion of this video. I promise this is better than the "make my logo bigger" video -- that was a little much, I know. Please, feel free to leave your expressionless words of absolute amazement after watching this life changing movie. I understand.
 

Kittens Inspired by Kittens

This you tube video just brightens my day. It brings out the little kitten in all of us.

Candy Store

Whilest I was at Walmart today I happened upon these interesting m&m's: strawberried peanut butter. Upon further research, they came out in celebration of the second Transformers movie. But the real question, were they any good? I say yes, yes they were. Now, don't go expecting a lucious truffle, it's more like a fun surprise (that happens to be pleasent) in your mouth. It makes me wonder what it would taste like if I started dipping PB&J sandwhiches in melted chocolate. How about that for fondue? (Please don't say fondon't).

In regards to candy, my brother, Mitch, who is on a mission in England told about an experience he had. They were about to visit a member when they both got "bad feelings." Here's how he described it: "like i was in a really bad place kind of like when you are on a diet and you walk through the candy section in the store." Perfect analogy. See, missions do teach you something.

All the Leaves are Brown

First off, to those of you concerned with a dog pooping in the below alligator costume, there is an answer. Obviously the maker of this costume wasn't an ignorant bafoon, therefore I assume there is a "doggy door" in the costume. Don't alligators also answer nature's call? So not only is the costume alligator accurate it is also best friend friendly. Such sick people you are for thinking otherwise.

Second, I keep getting these letters asking for advice and crap. Good thing I'm so good at it.

Elissa Gator,
I just love the fall! The leaves chaning colors, the blustery wind, the smell of pumpkin. How do you enjoy fall? Any suggestions to further one's autumn experience?
Lesly Leave-it-to-Tree

Weird Name,
Glad someone loves tripping and scraping their knee. Don't know of many other people who enjoy falling. In regards to your other outlandish atempts to be poetic -- don't quit your day job (unless you're getting paid to be a poet, then by all  means, file for disability).

I don't know what it is with people and their obsession with leaves changing colors. Don't they understand that this is nature's way of killing off the tree's labor throughout the year? Leaves change colors because they are no longer getting food from the tree's branches, therefore starving them. Their calls for help include vibrant reds, oranges and golden yellows. They then start to dry out, withering away, until they can no longer hold onto the branch. At this point a brutal tornado (your "blustery wind") usually comes and finally rips their lifeless umbilical cord from the tree and drops them mercilessly on dirty parked cars. How does the tree feel? Seems to me the tree is okay with genocide, as it produces leaves each spring to be murdered in the fall.

So how do I enjoy autumn? I don't. Because I'm constantly raking dead lifes and gathering them into a mass grave. Some people enjoy jumping in this mass grave. Perverts, that's what they are. Does it pain me that not every leaf will have the proper burial it deserves? Yes. It pains me so much I eat more Halloween candy than is humanly possible. If you're serious about furthering my fall experience, you would send me more Halloween candy. I know not everyone can appreciate the grief a fallen leaf causes, but I will respect any little attempt you take to understanding. You're welcome.

Oh Halloween

Why is it that Halloween is just another excuse to be raunchy? Look at this clean costume above. Granted, I can't tell if it's a dog or a human inside (which wouldn't it be AWESOME if a human were in there) but look how clean and true to nature this is. Granted number two, I happen to love alligators. Ward party Monday night sprung up on me, and yes, we're supposed to dress up. The question is -- what as? To think that I, Elissa Stewart would have a hard time figuring out what to be. It's true. What can I say, I just like Halloween for the candy. Maybe I should just dress up as a pig. 

I'm Back to being barely alive

Elissa Gator,
I had a special occassion (not my wedding, but almost as important) and I needed my bangs cut. So, being a college student I went to the beauty school. I've been there before and they have been competent enough to do a decent job. Except this time. She chopped my bangs off so that it looked like a cancer patient growing my hair back. The worse part? The hair mentor said the hair murderer did a good job. What am I supposed to do?
Forehead Francine

Foward,
What were you thinking getting your hair cut before a special occasion? Don't you know the fates usually frown in frolicking fancy when people like you make these dumb decisions? Enough admonishing, I'm sure you learned your lesson. Do you have cancer? One more question, as an advice giver and cosmos knower, how do you expect me to answer a question like "what am I supposed to do?" Doesn't matter, because if you did know, you'd be writing this, and you obviously are not. In a few words, sometimes grocery stores will not carry candy corn pumpkins. You just have to go mental until you find one that does. Then you get them, eat them, and usually throw up globs of orange corn syrup clumps. What did you learn? Hopefully next Halloween you'll find them at the first store so you can throw up on a Tuesday instead of a Friday. You're welcome.

I've Even Barely Less Alive

I feel it a duty to let my faithful readers know what is going on in my life. I came down with a nasty cold. Or the swine flu. Whatever it is, it equals me wishing someone would surprise me with a bowl of made with love chicken soup. That is not a hint. More of a demand. Which is probably why you'll probably never want to visit my blog again. But to make up for it, I've included this amazing YouTube video that some of you may find hilarious while others of you may wonder if I've completly lost it. Don't worry- it's just geeky graphic design jokes. Enjoy.

Yes, I'm alive, but barely

Now that October is practically over, (in a relative sense), I'll update everyone on my life. I went on a horseback trail ride and here is my horse named Poncho. I don't know if he speaks Spanish.

And this past weekend I went to a mission reunion. For this special occassion I made an Alligator Cupcake Cake. Not only was it to die for cute, it was also to die for good. Chocolate Marshmallow Caramel Cupcakes with Cream Cheese frosting. No, I didn't think you'd be able to handle that. The only thing is I put caramel on top of the cupcakes and it was so gooey deliciousness that when I piped the green scaley frosting it kind of all started sliding off into a swampy mess. Whatever.

I'm in a Typography class and we got to learn how to use the letterpress and then we had to set a quote with a dingbat and run 25 sheets. Believe me, it takes FOREVER. It's confusing because you have to set the quote backwards, and it doesn't help if your type falls off. Makes me appreciate them setting stuff like the Bible and Book of Mormon. Maybe I'll show the finished project later. Depends on how I feel.

And this last image I saw on a car and just had to have the picture. Make of it what you will. I'm pretty sure he didn't win. The real question is, if he did win the presidency, would he have won the Nobel Peace Prize? Some things we won't know in this life. 

Bubble heads

We've all heard of bobble heads, well up here in the Burg there are some people who are bubble heads. The reason why they are called this is because they live in a bubble. Or they did before they came up; and it really irks them when someone tries to pop their bubble. Example (and this is a true story):

A girl goes over to a guys' apartment. She then preceedes to take off her shoes, then puts her bare feet on the coffee table (but no coffee, that's just what it's called). One of the roommates then says "I'm feeling very uncomfortable right now. I'm pretty sure that it's against the honor code for people to take off their shoes in the presence of the opposite sex." His roommates assure him that it is not against the honor code, but this bubble head is adament that this girl is breaking the rules and agains states his feelings of outisde-the-bubble-queasiness.

Now I've heard that it is against the law in China for a man to see his neighbor's wife with bare feet (and heck, that could have been 100 years ago, for all I know). And there are some interesting honor code rules that we abide by here on this campus. And some interesting laws in Rexburg (it is against the law to throw snowballs. Really? We live on the island of misfit cold and all fun has to be frozen away?). But. There is no such rule here at BYUI, or Rexburg, that says you can't show your feet to the opposite sex. I suppose that if your intentions include breaking the law of chastity that you shouldn't even take off your shoes. It may be your only link to reality. And unshaved legs.

So to all the bubble heads out there- good luck in life. I hope you never have to meet with a client from China during winter without a snowball.

Caution to Prude Readers

I realized that Sept is soon departing, and I figured that if I want to beat my June record of 13 blogs I better get my butt into gear. So this post fufills many purposes. One of which may or may not be the fact that I'm avoiding homework.

Tonight was the Relief Society General Broadcast. I was exhausted (thinking I may have Rexburg flu- strand known as HE11...partially joking). Are we putting two and two together? I decided to watch it from my own apartment, because I usually do better at paying attention that way (75% of my battle is lost when the church finds it necessary to turn off the lights in many of their venues). I barely heard the first opening choir number. It was touch and go from there.

As most of you know, I proceeded to make comments; sometimes slightly aware of what I was saying, other times not at all.The following story may be somewhat offensive, just remember I cannot be held accountable for what happens when I'm sleeping. Like buying milk (whole other story). And it was told to me by my roommate, who could have been making it up. But I sadly doubt it.

The second to last speaker, Sis Thompson ( I think that's her name- I was asleep, remember?) was apparently talking about how she was still single and had never been married. And right there from the comfort of my apartment living room I told her out loud in my sleep deprived state...  "no testicles." 

Yes, you read that right. I just put it in smaller text to lessen the damage it may have on your pysche. What did I mean of this? I have no idea. My roommate said she almost peed her pants. Yes, folks, I don't get embarrassed too easily, but I must say I'm embarrassed. Or maybe more ashamed then embarrassed. Please don't judge me.

This Title is Really Small

Dear Elissa Gator,
I have been with my roommates for exactly one and a half weeks. I thought we got along okay, but then they went and short sheeted my bed. Can we say rude? I was so mad. Touching my stuff, getting all over the place where I slumber- seriously, who does that? And you know what they did? Just laughed. And laughed. Now I'm somewhat paranoid and keep remaking my bed for fear of them having messed something up. Can you publicly let them know how wrong it is to do something that mean? -Shorter Sheets Sally


Sheet Face,
I hear your pain. Actually, no I don't. I just wanted you for a second to feel like the cosmos cared about your pathetic problem. Let me get this straight- your roommates loved you so much that they went and pulled a harmless prank on you as a form of bonding and you in turn rejected their form of love language? Do you even understand the language of love? It's supposedly Latin. But Latin is dead. Don't let your friendship die because you aren't able to translate. I've spent many years studying love languages. The most important thing that I learned from my time with the monks of south LA is that sometimes when you least expect it... love happens. Or in your case you get short sheeted. But don't ever expect Jennifer Anniston or Aaron Eckhart to short sheet you (not even if you're least expecting it). What I'm trying to say is, maybe you should try sleeping in a short sheeted bed before you judge someone. You're welcome.

Wait For It

Dear Elissa Gator,
I really like this girl. She sits in front of me in my class. I love smelling her hair. I love when she turns around to see what time it is and I get a chance to see her smile. I love hearing her answer questions. I think she just may be the one, but I'm kind of a shy guy. What am I supposed to do? Remember, I really like her and don't want to mess this up. -Lovestruck Larry

Lars,
Great. You like a girl. Here's what you need to do: nothing. You sound like you have stalker potential. Don't get me wrong, I don't think you're a stalker (okay, so I'm being nice), but the whole "I love putting my nostril near her scalp to smell a shampoo that I could just as easily buy-" it just has creepy written all over it. Do society a favor and ask out a girl that you find unattractive, repulsive even. I'm serious. You'll then have an easier time not obessing over her; you won't be on Facebook 24:7 seeing what new quiz she's taken; you'll for sure never stand outside her window waiting for a glimpse of her; and finally you'll never get that eyes glazed over look that is so unfortunate when people think they've found "love". When you propose to this hideous girl because that's the only way she'll stop stalking you, you can send me a wedding announcement. You're welcome.

Awkward...

And you thought your 6th grade photo was bad:
http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/2009/08/page/10/

This website will give you a good laugh when you most need it. Or when you don't need it, but really, who doesn't need a good laugh at any given time?

http://awkwardfamilyphotos.com/2009/06/page/5/

On a side note- sorry to those of you who have tried to comment. It has been brought to my attention that my blog is being dumb. (No surprise there). It does make me feel good to know that I haven't been forgotten. I'm working on the problems. It's possible I'll just make a new blog, but of course I'll let you know if that happens.

More Advice

Dear ElissaGator,
Sometimes, I hate this one person. I mean really hate. I know we shouldn't hate, but it seems like there should be an exception to the rule. Is there such an exception? Have you ever hated someone? -Hateful Hiedi

Hater,
Every so often a letter comes along that I have to agree with. There is an exception to the rule. That exception is that you can hate arm pits. Think about it, besides connecting your arm to your chest, what other redeeming qualities do they have? If you're a girl, you have to shave them. And just like how the cat came back the very next day, so does pit hair. If you're a boy, they're just micro storage bins for sweat and who knows what else.

They smell, they produce awful amounts of foul body fluid, and who looks good with their arms raised over their head showing the world the arm wasteland? Okay, maybe Michelle Obama, but we're obviously not going to reach her status. And when you're in a forsaken place with one gas station and one bathroom stall that has more profiles than eHarmony,  what do you call it? The pits. I'm glad I was able to help. Now I have to go earn money for laser hair removal.

Advice for the advice-less

Dear ElissaGator,
I just got up to school in a small town in the state OHADI* (names have been changed). I'll be graduating in two semesters but am just having such a hard time wanting to get into the whole school thing again. What should I do? -Apathetic Ann

Apathetic,
You sound like a loser. You obviously don't want to get into the whole school thing again because you probably have some sort of skin disease that makes people think they are seeing MJ's ghost walking. My advice to you would be to find a nice armadillo breeding farm and work as a sanitation officer there for the rest of your life. It's possible you'll find happiness. If not, maybe another syndicated help columnist can help, but I seriously doubt it. Good luck, not that you'll get any.

What's missing?

Here's a mind game. Look at the picture. Find out what's missing. Then pity me. Seriously, someone pity me for something. I just got to Rexburg and am for the most part happy, I just am in need of a couple of pity points. Please don't send pitas. Trying to cut down on the wheat intake.

I made it up myself

If you haven’t been able to deduce, it just so happens to be 1 am Sunday night but really Monday morning. I know. You’re thinking how jealous you are. I don’t want to make you jealous and therefore sin, it’s just a byproduct of who I am. Not byproduct like gas. That wouldn’t be so flattuencing. I mean flattering.

I was just about to type “when was the last time you had to pee in a cup” because it made me laugh because I saw this yellow cup sitting by me but then thought better of it and decided not to type it. Boy, sorry for the potty humor. It must be because I’ve been around my cousins’ kids all week and they’re young and in that potty stage. Which in reality I guess we all are. Until we die.

A couple of months ago I wanted to see if anyone would add me as a friend on facebook, so I looked up a random girl from Lehi or something who was still in highschool and requested to be her friend. She said yes. I can’t decide if that makes me feel better about myself or not. I haven’t written on her wall yet though. Maybe I should. Maybe that will make her feel better about herself.

I’m a little out of it. I should go to bed, but I took a late nap. Only because I didn’t have a nap during Sacrament meeting. Only because I went to my cousin’s baby’s blessing in a ward with 300 primary kids. Yep. Needless to say the energy in the room helped me stay awake. Maybe that’s what I need each week. To feed off the energy of others, especially little kids, like that Disney movie with Bette Midler “Hocus Pocus”. Needless to say there’s not as much type of energy in a single’s ward sacrament meeting. On an energetic side note, when the dad held up the baby to the congregation, his two younger daughters stood on the pew (not phew as in gross) and started clapping.  But needless to say once again that their clapping noises were engulfed by the sounds of the future leaders of Zion.

If you say needless to say is that some sort of cosmic point against you?

I think the other fact is that my brain may have slightly atrophied this past month or so. I just don't get near enough attention from people and because I'm not in school I have nothing to ruminate on. It must be true, I do feed off of other people. I should really consider that when I start eating cheese or some other lactose filled item. What if the people I’m feeding off of have just had a dairy snack? Will that induce a stomach ache? Oh, I just had another crazy thought that I’ll allude to without saying “what if I actually feed from people?” I’m glad that I don’t type basically whatever comes to mind. I mean I’m not Harry Potter. He wasn’t a cannibal, was he?

Sorry for the widows. What can I say, I’m a killer of complete lines of text. Does that mean I’m a textual predator?

Some Sunday Saunterings

I've decided I'm lactose intolerant. Does that make me stop eating ice cream? Not in particular. When I was younger I thought it was "lactose and tolerant". Which it obviously isn't.

Why is it that aliens usually look like a cross between insects,spiders, fish and human? Why don't they ever look like bambi? And they also usually have big eyes. I guess that's supposed to imply that the bigger the eyes the better you see the whole picture and then the better you see the whole universe. In which you can then attack it. I haven't even seen any alien movies lately. Okay, not entirely true, I did watch the end of Chicken Little.

If you blog in an empty forest, does anyone read it? Assuming you get WiFi.

What happens when I can't think of anymore profound things to say? Is anyone even reading this? Hello?

As they say in the South- I'm AGGRAVATED!

You would think that with me having had created a website and being somewhat knowledgeable in computers I would know how to fix this dumb problem, but I don't. It's my title posts. They're underlined and I hate them. They're ugly. And I tried the font and color settings, but for some reason it won't change a darn thing. Help me. Show me.

Austen could be rolling in her grave, or maybe walking...

"A woman must have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and the modern languages; she must be well trained in the fighting styles of the Kyoto masters and moderns tactics of weaponry of Europe." -Mr. Darcy

Well said, Mr. Darcy. Obviously, if you know anything, you know Mr. Darcy comes from Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice. And if you know more than anything, you'll know that this quote seems a bit off. That would be because this is from Pride and Prejudice and Zombies. The same classic story, but besides fighting the social atrocities of pride and prejudices, the Bennet girls and all of England must also fight Zombies who roam the land waiting to eat living flesh.

I've only just begun, and I dare say I might have been a little scared going to bed last night. Not for the Zombie aspect, but because I just don't know if Mr. Darcy will ever come around. That's not true either. I actually read the first version in High School, and am not ashamed of saying that I've seen the A&E 6 hour version, the Mormon version, and the latest version staring Keira Knightly (Mrs. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy. Mrs. Darcy.).

Bascially, I love it. Highly recommend it. Especially if you want to read about modest 1800 Englishwomen forming (as Mr. Bennet so lovingly puts it) "the pentagram of death" (in which they then slay their way through zombies that crashed the first ball of the novel).

And now I must go study the Kyoto masters, so I too can be considered a well rounded woman and someone like Mr. Darcy will want to marry me.

Heaven In a Basket

This is a real treat. It's me making up a song. I know, it doesn't get much better than this. Maybe finding my ice cream... wait, I'm over that. Please excuse the laundry basket looks Madison and I are sporting- it was the last day of classes, i.e. finals and cleaning. Yuck. But I think it added to the divine lyrics. Something like that.

Prodigal Hanky Dion

I know, the prodigal blogger writer returns. For my feast I would be okay with roast lamb, but only if it was on some gyros. Those are Greek yumminess, in case you didn’t know.

No, I have not been sleeping in a pig pen (in regards to being a prodigal blog writer). But here's a run down on my life so far. My aunt said that she would give me and/or her daughter (who is a year younger) $100 if we got married this school year. She said her and my mom are sick of their sisters having all these grandkids. Then she told her other daughter who is 18 and going to be attending BYUI in the fall that if she helps she gets a $50 finders fee.

I told my mom who said she would also pay the $100 and another $50 finders fee for Courtney (the 18 year old). On Sunday she held someone’s grandbaby and almost called me to raise it to $200, but against her better (or worse?) judgment she didn’t. So I'm sure if anyone out there wants to help find me a husband my mom and aunt would also pay you $50. Or if you want to be my husband you could get half my booty. Er, as in the money. Although I guess if we got married what's mine is yours and vice versa. Enough of that.

The first weekend I was done with school (can I get a witness?) I went to my roommate’s house in Preston, Idaho. She was leaving on a mission to Portugal and wanted me to come to her farewell. It was a lot of fun. The only thing that irritated me was when we went to a July 24^th firework show (Preston is so close to Utah they join in the pioneer day festivities) and the last song of the night was “God Bless America”. I have no problems with God blessing America. I hope He does. Unless we all turn wicked, but ask Ether about that.

The problem I have is when they play that song sung by someone like Celine Dion. Hello! She’s French Canadian! I said that too. Out loud. So the people in the stands who were enjoying a patriotic night looked at me. I’m sorry, but I must stand for truth and righteousness. Celine Dion singing that song is not truth or righteous. However, I love her “All By Myself” song. I think it helps represent the French Canadians very well. To honor Celine, I’ll include songs that she has sung (will show up italicized).

I then proceeded Monday morning to travel down to Utah where I would fly home to Cali the next day. Come to find out, my flight was Monday morning, not Tuesday. I should have listened closer to the lyrics of “Don’t Save it All for Christmas Day” Maybe then I would have not flaked my life like dandruff. Thankfully, they didn’t just keep all the money and let me apply my ticket cost to another ticket. So I flew out that night.

Little did I know my whole family had gotten the stomach flu. “I Feel Too Much” I told my mother. But I never did get sick. But I felt like I was going to get sick so I just acted that way. Without the vomiting of course. I think it’s all about “The Prayer”. Without faith, I would have for sure gotten sick.

Sunday it was off to Arizona for my Grandma’s birthday and an unofficial family reunion. Being amongst all that family I thought to myself “These are the Special Times”. Especially because Grandma sent all the grandkids to the Marriott hotel. She only said “No Hanky Panky” (not a C.D. song, but if it was, I bet she’d put her skinny little arm in and her skinny little arm out and her skinny little arm in and shake it until it fell off all about).

The only hanky panky we committed was making a midnight trip to In N Out. The panky part came when we handed the drive through girl a pass a long card and she gave us a dirty look (don’t worry, I’ve been off my mission far too long, remember how old I am, to think of that on my own. It was my cousin who has only been home for 2 month’s idea). At least she didn’t say to us “Ne Partez Pas Sans Moi” because I’m pretty sure that’s French Canadian and I have no clue what it means. I bet if Celine were there she could translate. But I also bet Celine wouldn’t have gotten a double double animal style.

Friday I drove back up to Utah (hey, the state you’re in!) in a long car ride. We finished the last hour of a book on tape written by an LDS author who probably went to hair school (cheesy romance fiction with tons off ADD tangents. Hmmm, maybe I should have gone to hair school). In between falling asleep I think I caught the main character saying things like “No Living Without Loving You,” and “Listen to the Magic Man.” I didn’t know that Celine went to the same hair school as the author. Then we listened to another book on tape, also written by an LDS author, but it was much better because it was a historical fiction about an oppressed Scottish royalty maiden during the 1700s and a horse named “Naked”. Okay, there were horses, but they weren’t part of the story, hence I don’t really know their names. But I bet there have been horses in history with that name.

And so here I have been ever since. And here I will be until Tuesday. At which point I will then travel to California. At which point I will come back to Utah after some days. At which point I will go back up to Rexburg. But through all of this, remember- My Heart Will Go On. And that sometimes Blogger is dumb and I can't get these dadgum lines off. Sorry.

Suddenly

I sat down to write on my blog and suddenly became very tired. Don't want to fall asleuiwotpu4i[oj4qgw;klvdsgmej4triepofdsklmgfjklejjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjj

I'm a Winner, but no Chicken Dinner

Remember how I rebelled blogging for a couple of weeks? Well during that time I won a couple of photography contests. It was for the Photographics Society at BYUI. Before you go thinking I'm ready to take on Ansel Adams- there weren't that many entries (probably around 20 for each category, edited and unedited). Shocking, I know. They have a contest where everyone in the Society votes on their favorite, and then a second contest where real photographers in the community (I think) judge. So you have the opportunity of winning multiple times for the same photos. That's what happened to me. I won 2nd place for Society choice (the vase pic). The best was that there was a three way tie for 2nd place for the judges competition and two of my photos won for 2nd place. I told them I had never been in contest with myself. I'll have to try it more often. Here are the two photos that got me $30 each, and the vase got me an additional $10-so $70 all together. I know I've already posted them, but just in case you forgot:



The park bench was entered in the non-edited category and didn't win anything, but hey I love it like the rest of my photo children. Let's be honest, it didn't bring in bacon, so actually it's towards the bottom of the totem pole. And if you couldn't guess, the contest was "nights and lights" hence the million night/light pics I've been posting. I guess it paid off. Literally.


You might want to know what I did with that money. Well that, combined with the fact that my birthday was around the same time, I bought Dreamweaver- Adobe's software for making websites. It's pretty cool and I'm glad I have it. I'll be a web desiging pro in no time. And no time=who knows how long. But I'm off to a good start.

Jellystone Without Peanut Butter

I've been rebelling the whole blog thing- I need to rebel in some aspects of my life or I don't think I'd feel human. And we know we're here to have a human experience. But to what you really wanted to hear about- my adventures in Jellystone National Park. Did you know that it actually used to be called Jellystone until 1992 when they found out people had a negative connotation of the word "jelly" so they changed it to Yellowstone? True story.(On a side note, is there a certain quota of lies you can tell until you're really thrust down to hell? Nothing relating with the above fact).
We were pretty darn close to these female moosen. When I changed lenses I did something funky to my camera (sorry, my father's camera) so the first couple of pics turned out weird but then we fixed it. One of them was going to let me ride on its back, but it didn't want to offend the other tourists. Right after we got in the car and I was slowly pulling out into the street and stopped because there was this old couple walking in front of us. They gave me the dirtiest looks and were saying something with their mouths, I think it was "Why, what a nice car full of youngsters. Too bad our grandchildren aren't nearly as good looking". To say the least I tried to hit at least one old couple at every place we went.

This is called "Medusa Geyser" as seen by the violent eruption of redhair.


How could we not go see Old Faithful? Or the man in the blue shirt.

Yes, this is a bird. No, it is not talking to Madison. Yes, I did capture him/her in its nest.

This is one of the prettiest/most photographed hot pools in Yellowstone. It's called Morning Glory. I don't know why it's one of the most photographed- I'm not there to enhance its beauty.


My two favorite named geysers. I think they named them after me. Touching.

I Need Help

Well, we all know I need help. But specifically, with my brand spanking new website. I'm pretty proud of it. Even though it's not finished, this little bun is baking quite well in the oven. And no, I'm not pregnant.

The thing is, there is just something missing on the home page. I don't know what to put in the black hole. I need suggestions. I've tried some photos, but it's a touchy sensitive easy to get offended design. Please offer advice. Be my muse.

Hence why I haven't gotten to the blog in awhile- finals are coming up and I'm beating my head into a peecan shell doing this website. Why I don't throw something easier together- well I may have taught myself to ease up on the perfection, but some things cannot lack perfection. This being one of them.

Maybe the person with the best idea will win some of my amazing chocolate chip cookies. Or a pet penguin. Haven't decided.

The site is (it's a no brainer) ElissaGator.com. Thanks!

The Case of the Missing Ben and Jerry's. (Unsolved)

I have a mystery to write to you. Last week, because it was my birthday, I decided to buy myself some Ben and Jerry’s Oatmeal Cookie Chunk ice cream. It’s their best kind. Seriously. You should get someone to buy it for you. I bought it Sat. night. (You getting down these details?).

At approximately 12:30a.m. I decided to be sinful because it was technically my birthday and have a couple of bites. So I did as I was meandering about the internet. Now here is where it gets tricky. I specifically remember restraining myself from eating all of it (even though it was so way yummy), and closing the lid. I then thought I put it back in the freezer.

The next day was Sunday. It wasn’t dark and stormy, so that doesn’t help set a mysterious mood for my mystery, but you can pretend like it was. I went to church at 9 a.m. I returned home at 12:20. (Only because the last speaker went over by 15 mins). I did visiting teaching. I laid down to take a nap. I woke up yearning for that sweet escape in its Ben and Jerry’s container. I walked to the freezer.

And it was gone.

Frantically, I searched through the freezer, calling its name so it would come to its momma. No such luck. The fridge, of course, I thought, then desperately guided my sorrowful hands amidst the leftovers and other perishable food. Talk about perishable. I was about to perish, for it was not in their either. My heart sank as I realized I must have thrown it away. Carefully, as obsessed as I was in finding it, I wasn’t too obsessed to take out all the contents of the trash, but I searched through our trash.

Still, nothing.

Cupboards, oven, microwave, under the bed covers, drawers, closet, bathroom, backpack.

Still, nothing.

It was time I profiled possible suspects. I had to confront the roommates. One by one I questioned them in a sunlit room with the light on overhead not making that big of an intimidation statement. They all said no. They said if they did take it they would have told me. Were the lying? I secretly searched through their bedroom trash.

Still, nothing.

Was my purchase so divine that I dreamed it in my head? It couldn’t have been, I remember the smooth texture of cinnamon ice cream gently welcoming itself into my mouth. The softened chunks of oatmeal cookie that I so tenderly chewed so as not to get a brain freeze. Chocolate pieces of heaven being rescued from the spoon by my tongue. No, it had not been a dream. It was as real as alligators in a swamp. And the reality was, it was still gone, and nothing could bring it back.

The truth was before my eyes. But I didn’t want to admit it. My beloved frozen love was cheating on me. It had run away to the neighbors to be with their popsicles. Did I have evidence? No, some things you just have a gut feeling about. I just hope that it’s happy. Wherever it may be. Such a story never was, that of the love between an ice cream and a 98.6 degree human being. Human girl.

The moral of the story; you misplace keys and pairs of socks, and occasionally kitchen sinks, but never a carton of ice cream. And so I hope you never have to experience such pain and misery.

Until next time, I bid thee ado.