Is this little guy our new best friend?

Emma, who is really a girl :)

When I was little young(er), a family up the street from us wanted to get rid of their dog. Apparently the dog had...issues. Always up for a challenge, my mom decided now was the time to get a dog. Hours later, a small, fat wiener dog arrived at our home. My dad, having not grown up with a dog, was less than thrilled. Not only had he never wanted a dog, he was now stuck with a sausage with...issues. The poor little thing was not very bright, but made up for what it lacked in brains with it's cute little sausage body and stubby little legs that could barely waddle along. It was, in fact, endearing. The little wiener dog, Sunny, was here to stay.

What was not endearing, however, were the certain issues that came with the little thing. Coming home one day, we found that the new dog had peed in the house. Around the Christmas tree. In a circle. About five times. Now, everything I've read says, "If the dog pees in the house, it's your own damn fault." But, clearly everyone (my dad) decided it was the wiener's fault.

We left on vacation to Hawaii and that's when the mischief started. My dad devised a plan. Working in cahoots with my neighbor and OWN GRANDMOTHER, the wiener dog was taken away while we were out of town. Upon our return, my dad put up the garage where the wiener lived and shouted, "It's a SUNNY DAY!" Poor Sunny was no where to be found. She was taken away to a strange man with the name of Beefsteak and never had a chance. I was so upset, I drew a modern art piece depicting a Giant Hand Stealing the Dog in a sea of blue tears and emotion.

Fast forward. Bear and I are looking at the cute and little girl above tomorrow morning.

Maybe she'll be my new island friend!?

  whitters

Eyebrows are hard

My middle sister is a cosmetologist. She's good with hair. She always has been. Well, with the exception of one event:

Maddie was in fifth grade. Brocky Blue-Head and I cornered her.

"Hey, Maddie."

She was suspicious. As she should have been.

"Your eyebrows are looking a little hairy."

She stared at us.

"Yeah, they definitely are!" I piped up. "I think you might have a...uni-brow."

"Yeah, definitely!" Brock agreed.

"What's a uni-brow?" she asked.

"It's when your eyebrows grow over your nose and you have one. long. eyebrow."

After this brief torture, Brock and I laughed to ourselves and parted ways. There was no reason for our torture. We frequently came up with unique ways to inflict pain on our siblings, be it swirlys or holding the door open just long enough for the person walking through to be smashed like a small, stupid bug. Suckers.

The next day at the breakfast table, Maddie wandered in wearing a red and white stripped ski hat. The brim was pulled down low over her eyes. So low she could barely see her food. My mom became suspicious.

"Why are you wearing that hat?" she asked. Maddie, not one to be easily tricked (she thought!), replied that she just. really. liked. her. hat. My mom, also not easily tricked, pulled off the hat to reveal:

Maddie's half-shaved eyebrows.

Hearing that she had a horrible uni-brow, she ran into the bathroom and proceeded to shave her eyebrows. Holding the razor horizontally (that's hamburger-ly...), she manged to not only shave off her unsightly uni-brow, but also most of her (now missing) eyebrows. Instead of meeting in the middle like a giant roller coaster of hair, they now sadly attempted to gain momentum over the arch of her eyes...and failed. Crashed.

And burned.

The best-saddest part of all this:

It was school picture day.


-whitters

Brocky Blue Head

I am the oldest child. For awhile, I was an only child. Then this kid came along:

Notice the big, bald head.

This is my brother Brock.

I was not impressed.

For a year and a half, I had been the darling one. The adorable one. The one who screamed whenever I was put down. The one who talked at six months and yelled, "He's looking at me!!!" every time her dad glanced her way. The one who wouldn't eat unless she had something to distract her.

What was this thing?  This monster?

I did not like it. It cried, especially when I tried to put it in a headlock. Or bite it, which I frequently did. Gnawing on its little fingers, I quickly dropped them when my parents looked my way.

The face of an angel?

Plus, it was bald. I mean, really, really bald. Its little head wobbled all around, gleaming at me. It had hair once. When it was born, it had a full head of black hair. Then it all fell out.

I, ever the problem solver, decided that it may be ugly, it may cry and hog the attention, but it didn't need to be bald and frightening on top of everything else. Ugly as a baby bird at birth, I myself had only the thinnest of hair.

I had a plan.

My parents left me unsupervised. HaHA! Perfect. I sneaked into where it lay -- unsuspecting. Its little head bald as an egg. I took out my blue colored marker.

I approached, quietly. Sneakily. I uncapped the marker.

And colored all over its little head.

My parents suspected something. The jig was up.

Preemptively I screamed,

"LOOK! IT'S BROCKY-BLUE HEAD!!!!!" 

My parents were not amused. 

They took away my markers. 

And I my hair stopped growing until the age of four. 

Behold my bowl cut.

  -whitters

Eight Moments in the Life of the Writer: Number 7

As an avid reader, I tried fervently to emulate those writer whom I loved.  As any girl who grew up in the 90s was want to do, I loved Ann M. Martin and Paula Danzinger.  My friend Ashley and I were determined to write a book based on letters, just like our favorite characters Tara*Starr and Elizabeth.  The characters in our own novel were deep and complex.  My character’s name was Albany.  Like the city in New York.  Apparently great literary works tend to have girls with stripper names.  We saved our stories on a floppy disk and passed it back and forth to each other.  Ashely irritated my creative genius by balking at a chapter I wrote in which Albany fell from a fourth story window and was miraculously unharmed.  Slipping in the floppy disk, I noticed she commented, “um. This isn’t realistic.” Forget realistic!  Did this girl want a story or not!?  Would the great Ann M. Martin let such a pesky thing as realism hold her back?  No!  Her characters were always doing ridiculous things like getting stranded on islands after competing in sailboat races.  Stories needed drama.  They needed excitement.  “Fine.  Maybe it was a second story window,” I conceded.  We never did finish the story, but with a name like that, I’m sure Albany goes on to fall out sixth story windows, is hooked on drugs and rides a Harley.  In her stripper heels.  I learned to add creative flair, but not to be ridiculous.  I mean, what kind of name is Albany?

Eight Moments in the Life of the Writer: Number 6

By eleven, I was no longer hiding in the corner. I moved onto the glamorous world of broadcast journalism. Up in our tree house, I penned the talk of the town. Car crashes happened, babies were born, tornadoes zoomed through the city and ball games were won. Then, behind the official news desk of our trundle bed, my brother and I were live, my dad filming and our six year old sister forecasting the weather. She was at least as accurate as our local weatherman. I later related this tale to a boy in my Psych. class at BYU.

“And that,” I explained, “is why I want to be a journalist.”

He looked at me like I was, well, a girl who just told him her college education was based on a hide-a-bed, bad weather reports and fast-breaking news. We all can dream right? You’d think I would remember the Turkey Incident, but I didn’t. Sometimes people just don’t get it. Now, I tell myself, it’s important to tell the truth as a writer, but maybe not all of it at once.

Eight Moments in the Life of the Writer: Number 5

Next, I immersed myself into the world of a writer further still as I grew accustom to brooding in isolation.  While other fourth graders gathered with their friends to play kickball, four square and wall ball, I hunkered against the hot asphalt and cool orange-red bricks.  I fancied myself Harriet the Spy or Amelia as I scribbled furiously in my Amelia notebook my mom bought for me at the Bookfair.  The playground duty thought there was something oddly wrong with me.  Repeatedly, she tried to engage in conversation with me.  Asked what I was writing or reading.  After a few curt answers as I glowered at her through my bangs and hair-bow, she stopped trying.  Of course, there wasn’t anything wrong me!  Well, at least not because I was a skinny, scowling, quiet ten year old. Sitting contentedly in 15 minute intervals carving out, “I HATE WHEN MADDIE writes SCRIBBLES IN MY NOTEBOOK!  SHE THINKS SHE CAN WRITE AND IT’S SO ANNOYING!” I learned another lesson of writing: It’s important to be comfortable alone with your thoughts.

Eight Moments in the Life of the Writer: #3 and 4

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3. and 4.
As a girl of eight, I continued my lifelong quest to capture words.  Their crisp type looked like ants marching across the page.   Neat little rows.  I wrote a Christmas story that began with, "'Hark!'  The Herald Angles sang, as I watched them sing Christmas carols.  I don't remember the rest of the story, but I remember being impressed with my ingenuity.  I couldn't have been more proud than if I had actually penned the carol myself.   My second grade teacher patiently read through each masterpiece and declared, "Please be more descriptive."  The young writer was crushed and more than a little bit upset.  But, I learned two lessons about writing:  It's important to believe in yourself and it's also important to be willing to take criticism, to grow as a writer, an artists and mouse brown second grader with crooked teeth and a side ponytail.

Eight Moments in the Life of the Writer: # 2 Observations

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It started as a young girl of six months, little more than a baby really.  Like our earlier ancestors, I perfected storytelling, babbling to anyone who would listen and, much to my parents' dismay, even to those who would have rather not listened. 

 I mastered the art of simile at four when I exclaimed to my usually petite, pregnant aunt, 

"Aunt Sharla!  You look like a Big Fat Turkey!"

Charming. An astute observer, like any good writer, and I only spoke the truth.

Sabbath FAILURE

So, like any true addict, I failed at my Sabbath Manifesto.

But, I had to see?

The seat in Oliver (my little red car) got stuck.  All the way back.  So far back that my abnormally short legs couldn't reach the pedals.  Luckily, I have a really long torso.  Kind of like this guy:

I was able to lean alll the way forward in my seat, clutching wildly at the steering wheel as I drove up to watch  my sister play her harp in a children's program.  Not such a good idea.  Oliver lurched up the street like I was just learning to drive stick-shift.  screeeeeech. vrooooooom.

I live down the street from my destination.  Don't worry.

Natrually, I had to ask Google what was wrong with Oliver.  It was either that or risk hitting small children and old people.  And dogs.  My neighborhood is full of all of them.

Once I was on Google, I figured...it was all over. 

Might as well give up.

I'll try again next week.

I failed.  But, I was only thinking of the children!!!

:)

List 8: Songs You Remember Dancing To

1. Pioneer dances
In fourth grade, we had Pioneer day. We learned square dancing. I had to dance with a boy I didn't like. Gross.

2. Waltz

In sixth grade, for Valentine's Day, we learned to dance. We learned all the essentials, the waltz, the tango. We even had dance cards like in the 19th century. What the?

3. Boot Scootin' Boogie

Apparently, this dance is relegated to those places where conservatives, Bibles and rednecks abide. None of my friends in California knew what I was talking about. I performed it and everyone laughed at me.

4. Macarena

I loved this dance. I still love this dance. What's it to ya?

5. Awkward Middle School Slow Dance to Savage Garden
AHHHHHHH.

6. Cowboy Take Me Away
I danced to this at church camp. The boy asked me to dance on his feet. What the?

7. Any American hip-hop song
Italy. Every night straight for a week.

8. Smells Like Teen Spirit
Dance club in Monaco. A fat French man tried to kidnap me. He picked me up and I kicked his fat belly.

List 7: Fashion is Smashin

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Over at Yes and Yes, Sarah Von indulges in list making every Sunday. She also travels the world and is all sorts of awesome.

The List:

Fashion Trends.

1. Fifth Grade
Let's be honest. I didn't have the best fashion sense. For some reason, I decided I had to wear a dress for fifth grade picture day. Everyone else is in t-shirts and overalls. Then there's me. Bottom row. In a dress with a huuuuge collar and blue and yellow flowers. Keepin' it classy.

2. Sixth Grade
I had a track suit combo I loved. It was yellow and stretchy. Combined with tennis shoes (the big, white kind for running) and a stretchy tattoo necklace, I. was. so. cool. I also had a perma-ponytail. Everyone had a stretchy, fake tattoo necklace right?

3. Seventh Grade
My jr. high decided we needed to wear uniforms. However, some days, we got a free day to wear whatever we wanted. My mom bought me: a long sleeved Tommy Hilfinger shirt, a pair of Lucky jeans and Doc Marten mary janes. I also had short bleached blonde hair and wore a lot of white eye makeup. Nobody from elementary school recognized me. When I walked through the halls at school, a girl yelled at me, "Prep!"

4. Tenth Grade

I cut off my hair. It was supposed to look like Mia Farrow, but ended up looking more like a mushroom.

5. Eleventh Grade
My poor mushroom hair grew out. I decided that everything looked better with a bow and took long lengths of ribbon and tied them around the arm of my shirt and through the neckline. Big bows were always on my shoulder. Trend. Setter.

6. Senior Year
I had long, stringy bleached blonde hair, the result of a home highlighting gone wrong. I wore a lot of black eyeliner. Taylor Momson took inspiration from me. Kidding. Eventually, I got a normal hair cut and wore high heels. My teacher called me Barbie.

7. Freshman Year of College
Arrived in California with a whole mess of blonde curls. Scared my roommate and she thought I was a total weirdo.

Which I might be. :)

It's not Business...it's Personal

image credit heeey-o

It started at a young age. Gathering pens and several of my best notebooks, I climbed onto my bed to scribble out story after story. Using a mattress as a news desk, my brother and I were anchors. Dad was sound and camera crew and Mom was part of our loyal audience of one. Car accidents happened, babies were born, new shopping malls were opened and magic shows were announced. I was always busy writing as a child. Not only did I produce several years of Wood Television News; I also frequently penned The Wood Newsletter. There was nothing better than capturing the days' events, solidifying them into 12 point font. Letters marched across the page like ants, though I was unsure of their destination.

Years later, a high school teacher introduced me to a new passion. Sitting in a darkened classroom, the projector lighting the far wall of the room in blue haze, my teacher flipped through slides. We, a group of teenagers, sat silently dozing in the blue film. The slides advanced and an electricity permeated the air. The Calling of St. Matthew by Caravaggio filled screen, its tenebrisim breaking through our darkened stupor. It was as if every shard of Greek pottery, every serene Roman statue, every inch of canvas sped towards this painting and culminated in these brushstrokes, this contrast between darkness and light. This tension between changing one's life and rejecting an opportunity. It was then I realized my high school life hung on this tension. This was my defining moment. I could continue on towards the nearby colleges chosen by my friends, surrounded by the same people I grew up with, feel comfortable fitting the mold, or I could challenge my self. Break free from my comfortable surroundings and embrace a life changing opportunity. I left my home, moved to California and graduated early from university with a Bachelor's degree in Art History.

Returning to my home town after graduation has again placed me at that point of tenebrisim, that breaking point between light and dark. Rather than settle for unchanging experiences, I choose to continue carving my own path, create my own light. Ultimately, it is my goal to bring the same inspiration to others; sharing the world of culture and visual arts as well as continue to challenge myself, my world view, my beliefs and experiences.

List Six: Favorite Teachers

The wonderful Sarah Von over at Yes and Yes makes a list every Sunday. She also travels the world and loves cheese. In my mind, we could be best friends. Here's the list:

1. Mrs. Kahmedoost


Pretty sure I spelled that wrong. But, she let me tutor the other kids in reading (yes I was am nerd awesome) and recommended plenty of books that I loved including Mrs. Piggle Wiggle.

2. Mrs. Hinton-Smith

Epic puppet shows made with paper-mache and light bulbs. Water colored fish kites. And she helped me improve my writing.

3. Mrs. Winter

Introduced me to Sharon Creech. I love you Bloomability, Walk Two Moons and Chasing Redbird. Also led me to read Julie of the Wolves and almost every book by Scott O'Dell and fantasize about living in Alaska and racing in the Iditorod.

4. Miss Westenskow

Made college look easy. With monthly reports, handcrafted castles we lived in for a week AND a musical performed entirely by sixth grade students, I'm surprised she didn't go crazy. She also read to us everyday after lunch.

5. Mr. Hall

Taught me how to write. Taught me to love art history. Also called my group of friends moles after we fell asleep repeatedly in his first period class. My friend Lisie responded by laughing so hard she fell off her chair. He then called us monkeys. He also made fun of people behind their backs and once told me to watch out for birds trying to land in my nest of extra curly blonde hair.

6. Mrs. Riley

Taught me to write. Hands down, would not know how to write without her. I still have my English notebook from her AP English Lit class. When my little sister asks me to borrow it, I will not let her.

7. (Okay I had to cheat) Dr. Colburn

I'm sure she hates me for coming late to her class everyday. She edited my senior thesis and took us to all the coolest museums. She's also an AWESOME cook and very smart. And patient. And speaks Italian. And French. And German. Bear would also like me to add that her use of four letter words was especially fantastic as well.

8. (Had to cheat again) Melia

Taught me about Hindu art and caused me to be soo obsessed with India I had to visit. She took us to a Hindu temple. She was so excited about art, it made me excited to learn. She also has cool tattoos.


Honorable Mention:

Nelladet, my internship teacher. She called me Barbie and my friend Willis Skipper. She let us talk during class. Once, she sent us out to evaluate customer service in places around the area. My friend and I went to breakfast and then to a used car super sale where we proceeded to test drive vehicles. While we should have been in school. When we were in no way old enough to test drive anything. Another time, Willis and I evaluated the customer service of a custom jewelry shop and tried on $9,000 rings after we told the owner our parents were divorced and started dating after we introduced them and were going to get married. Not quite sure if he knew we were lying. Thanks Mr. Fadel! Hold onto that ring for me!

List 5: Favorite Cartoons

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Over at Yes and Yes, the fantastic Sarah Von is obsessed with lists.  She's also obsessed with travel, style and being insanely awesome.  Naturally, I'm obsessed with Yes and Yes. Each week she posts a new list. 

Here's mine:

 1. Lady Lovely Locks
I have no idea how these videos ended up at my house.  I watched them over and over and over again.  Lady Lovely Locks has colorful, flying squirrel things called Pixie Tails, that live in her magical hair. She's always trying to run away from the Evil Raven Waves.  I Youtubed this show in college and it kind of scared me.

2. Dark Wing Duck
Lets. Get. Dangerous.

3. Aladdin the Animated Series 
I was obsessed with Princess Jasmine as a child.  I was her twice for Halloween.  I might still be obsessed since my idea of Heaven is living in an Arabian palace wearing a Princess Jasmine costume and being fed grapes.

4. Recess
Who didn't love this show?

5. Pepperanne 
Remember One Saturday Morning on ABC?  For those of us without cable (yeah, that was me), this was the next best thing.  I had a love/hate relationship with Pepperanne.  She was simultaneously really obnoxious and really funny. 


Your turn.

Not Great at the GRE

On Saturday, I woke up at the bright hour of 8:30 and sped all the way to my GRE class. I felt like Elle Woods in Legally Blonde when she goes to Harvard for the first time. I (dressed up, despite the fact that I had maybe...ten seconds...to get ready) walked into a classroom full of people bumming it in their hoodies and baseball hats. Don't get me wrong, I love to be comfortable, but I was surprised that basically everyone looked like...a "typical" college student! I tried to smile and make friends with a few people sitting next to me, but everyone gave the "Okay Barbie, let's get serious" look to me. I went to college in California. A small, Christian college where "bumming" it meant rocking your Juicy sweats and Uggs. Basically everyone, even the boys, got dressed up every single day. Not only that, people were friendly. Not just a little friendly, really friendly. Even after the initial "Hey-I-Don't-Know-Anyone-Here-So-Let's-Be-Friends" wore off. If fact, I think most of California was significantly more friendly than anywhere else I've ever been. Bonus points if you can guess which university I attended.

Anyways, after the initial shock of that wore off, I proceeded to be shocked in another way.

Guys. The GRE is hard!

I'm not sure I remember how to do 8th grade math. It's possible it has been manymanymanyyears since I have done anything more complicated than adding and subtracting. We went to take the Quantitative portion of the test and wow! It was not exactly what I was expecting. I have the Verbal skills of a very intelligent person (as you can all tell right?) , but the math skills of this person:

( this is me. as a very small child. eating vegetable soup )

But, I will not get discouraged. I am DETERMINED! If I can learn to stop making crazy faces, I can make friends with these people. I can crack the Awful Quantitative part of the GRE.



Okay, I might have lied about the first part.











baby steps guys. baby steps.


Hey! Good job B. You got your white coat today. Good luck future Dr. B!!!