I'm Bloody Right-handed!

You know how you never fully appreciate something until it’s gone?

Let me testify:

Yesterday I went on a bike ride along the boardwalk from about 30^th street in Newport Beach to Balboa. It was great, as imagined. The only thing I would change about the adventure was when I found a porch wall and lost the better part of my right middle fingernail, rendering my right hand temporarily useless. Arguably not one of my brighter moments, but proudly, one of my braver moments - the person I was riding with didn’t even stop (didn't need to) and had no idea how bad my finger was until we got home and I sheepishly asked for a band-aid.

I never realized how right-handed I really am. You know those people who are kind of naturally ambidextrous? Yeah. I’m not one of them. I’m bloody right-handed, both literally and emphatically right now. This whole not really being able to use my right hand is not okay with me. This fingernail better not take the year to heal that some sources say it will.

Let’s defy the odds, or at least the bandages.

In Living Color

Earlier this week I met with a doctor for the first time, and shortly into the visit he started to ask me the general, I’ve heard them a million times, questions. So, to speed things up, in a very efficient, matter-of-fact way, I gave him the run-down of my life. I guess you could say I felt accomplished as I rattled off the details of my life. But in the end, it was strange, or at least, I feel strangely about it.

This got me thinking and here's what I've come up with:

Sometimes the chronology of my life surprises me, but I wouldn’t change it, even if I could. However, I don’t like to be limited to the black and white of the spoken word, or in this case, the ink on my medical chart. Yes, those things undoubtedly contribute to who I am, but they do not fully explain me.

I decidedly will not be limited to a list of characteristics, or events for that matter; however, I will end with one of my favorite, true, black and white statements about me: I’m a survivor.

Backstreet's Back, Alright.

So I graduated college. NBD. As a recent college graduate, I went with my friend (also a recent college graduate) to perhaps the most epic concert of our lives: the NKOTBSB concert (code for New Kids On The Block and Backstreet Boys) at the Staples Center in L.A..

Oh yes. It wasn’t as cool as imagined. It was even better.

After the openers finally finished, New Kids on the Block and Backstreet Boys stormed the stage and captured the hearts of all women (and the few (whipped) men) in the audience. The setup was perfect. There was a main stage, a catwalk, and then a smaller, secondary stage. NKOTB and BSB took turns on each of the stages and were choreographed into the perfect battle of the bands.

The concert was epic in every possible way. I mean, what’s not to love about boys (more appropriately now, men) singing in harmony, dancing in unison, and hamming it up to the ladies? I dare any woman with a soul, and a warm, beating heart, to go watch a boy band and not melt a little bit inside, or go just a little weak in the knees. I just don’t think it’s humanly, or in this case, womanly, possible.

Which leads me to possibly my favorite moment of the night: Shortly after both boy bands got on stage and started singing, the perfect girlish squeal escaped my friend’s lips. Yes. It was glorious and it vocalized all the torrent of teenage hormones raging inside my not-13-year old body.

Towards the end of the show, Kevin (the oldest member of the original group, who left the band in 2006 to "pursue other interests") magically appeared on one of the stages and happily all of the Backstreet Boys did a few songs as an entire group before the concert officially ended. So now, the Backstreet Boys can fade into my memory as a complete, never tainted boy band.

After experiencing all of it, it's really hard for me to pick a favorite song from the concert. Naturally, being a child of the ‘90s, I already knew and loved BSB, so my favorite song from the concert has to be one of theirs, not the before-my-time New Kids. This narrows the choices, but still leaves me a plethora of worthy options. The Boys would start singing a song and I would realize what I felt I had been missing my entire life and they were now reminding me of, leaving me feeling momentarily satisfied. Until the next song that I had forgotten about and was again blissfully reminded of… With that cycle in mind, I think the happiest, most memorable reminder for me was Drowning.

In the end, here are the things the concert accomplished for me:

- Previously my ‘New Kids On The Block’ exposure consisted of the LFO song “Every Other Time’, with the oh-so-famous line, “New Kids On The Block had a bunch of hits, Chinese food makes me sick…”. Now I’ve heard them sing some of those hits.

- It made the 13-year old inside of me so insanely happy.

- Most importantly, the middle-schooler inside of me can now die a happy woman (Okay. Okay. A happy girl).

Divinely Creative

God is such a creative Being.

I was in Church one day learning about Jonah and it struck me how creative God is. The symbolism in Jonah's story is rather striking. But what really hit me that day (and obviously continues to hit me) is that God realized Jonah needed to be taught some lessons and in order to accomplish that (and His ultimate design) he essentially thought, “Let’s have Jonah get swallowed by a whale for three days”. Okay. Probably not the first thing that would come to my mind. Or the second. Or even at all. Yet I don't doubt the wisdom in the decision at all.

This idea provides interesting perspective on my own life. While I have yet to be swallowed by a whale, or any animal for that matter, what other Jonah-like stories have I had, if any? What about you?

Really?

I have grown up with people spelling my name wrong. Strangely enough, it’s happened to me more as an adult than as a child, but regardless, it’s never been a foreign concept to me. And while the concept is not inconceivable* to me, it still manages to take me by surprise sometimes.

Take facebook for example. Someone wrote me a love note on my wall, and spelled my name wrong. Yeah, I definitely had to look twice. It was recognizable, but blatantly spelled wrong. So I figure either it’s some inside joke/nickname that I have absolutely no recollection of, or it was written in a hurry while juggling/balancing on a tight rope/multi-tasking like crazy. Let’s give him/her the benefit of the doubt, shall we?

Another one that gets me – when people email me and spell my name wrong. My email address is my name. Essentially they are one in the same. So how can you successfully send me an email (remain oblivious to that spelling red flag) and proceed to spell my name wrong in the body of the email? It boggles the mind.

* p.s. I dare you to think of the word ‘inconceivable’ and not think of Vizzini in “Princess Bride”.

Weekly Assignment

Yesterday my MCom 320 teacher gave my class an assignment for the week (it’s beginning to sound like he runs my life, or at least tries to – good thing I put up such a fight, code for my senioritis puts up a pretty mean fight) … anyway, the reported weekly assignment was to “give a stranger a ‘coke’.” I decided it would be relatively easy to find someone on campus, ask him/her what their favorite candy bar was and if I could buy it for them at the nearest vending machine, then proceed accordingly.

Whilst leaving the Talmage building that afternoon I spotted a potential target: a woman dutifully laboring over some gross math problem, I’m sure. I strategically selected a middle-aged woman because think about my options:

1. Buy a piece of candy for a random boy. Call me old fashioned, but I don’t work that way. (Not to mention Elder Oaks would say that’s a big no-no.) - OR -
2. Buy a piece of candy for a random girl and run the risk that she’ll be super creeped out and not even eat the candy bar, essentially throwing away my freshly spent 65 cents. Pretty sure that’s a lose-lose situation.

So, naturally, I went with the safe motherly looking woman who, based on her very positive, appreciative response, was happier because of the surprise and the added chocolate in her life.

And there you have it, Mr. Shayne Clarke - I left the world a happier (or at least yummier, more Snickers-filled) place yesterday. Mission accomplished.

Confession...

Sometimes I wish my life was a musical. Okay, who am I kidding? I pretty much always wish my life was a musical. I’ve grown up on musicals and have been known to burst into song quite randomly at any time. Oh yeah, no warning (I think that’s why it’s called bursting into song.)

The real reason for the random confession is this: I have seen three musicals within the past month, and I love it. There is something magical about them. Maybe it’s because everything has music accompanying it? Maybe it’s because you get to watch the character development and the plot unroll, all in a short amount of time? Maybe it’s because there usually are fun costumes, or sets, or characters, or _____________ (you fill in the blank)?

I can’t diagnose the cause or figure out the exact etymology of my love. Moral of the story: I don’t know why exactly I love musicals so much. But, for now I know that they make me happy. Wishful, but happy, and that’s good enough for me.

First Good-bye

I said my first real college good-bye today, or at least the first one that I really took note of. Maybe it was because this was a friend who I met freshman year that it struck me so – I am about to leave Provo presumably for good.

While yes, it is sad to realize that in a lot of ways (most notably geographically) my friend and I are parting ways, we are both going on to great things. I will be pursuing a dream of mine, as will my friend.

For me, the past four years have seen a lot of personal growth. I am a different person today than I was four years ago, and if I’m being totally honest, I like the changes. It’s pretty cool to learn more about myself and to see what I am capable of.

All I’ll say is this: bring on the Lindsey 22.0 version.

I Do Not Believe In Umbrellas

It’s the middle of May and I am in a Spring mentality. So, yesterday I went off to school without a hooded jacket or an umbrella (typical), knowing that it could rain. I was only a little disappointed when I walked home from my stupid grammar test in the rain and struggled to get warm the rest of the night.

Even with experiences like that though, I still am resolute in my general refusal to tote around an umbrella the entire day to protect me from water for a few minutes because last time I checked, clothes dry and I don't melt.

Think about it. A wet umbrella is obnoxious, especially to a student. Once I have been dutifully escorted to class by an umbrella, having acted like a true gentleman and taking most of the blows for me (or in this case the rain), I’m left in a quandary with this wet plastic/fabric mess and nowhere to put it.

Would I object to an umbrella’s protection? No. But, am I willing to put up with the nuisance the entire day to save me from getting a few droplets? Not at all.

So bring on the rain.

M Com 320 Test for One, Please.

This morning as my M Com 320 class started, my teacher asked us who was going to take the test today. The test runs from May 16 (code for yesterday) until May 20 (this Friday) and yes, this is the dreaded, already hated (yes, hated in a premeditated manner. Deal with it), stupid grammar test that I desperately wanted to be done with. Call me crazy, call me impulsive, call it senioritis, whatever you will, but I don’t want this grammar nightmare hanging over my head any longer.

So I raised my hand since yes, I was planning on taking the test today. Shortly after I raised my hand, I looked around to notice that indeed I was the only one raising my hand. You may be asking me to hold the phone, but yes, in a class of 25, I was the only one planning to take the test today. Okay, that’s cool. I can handle it. I had already planned on studying and taking that blasted test today. I had mentally psyched myself out to take it today, so it was done – I had already decided.

Whatever. It’s my last semester before I finish my undergraduate education and I’m already accepted into Grad School. Read 'em and weep.

An Eventful Tuesday Night

It all started off in the car. They’re doing some construction on the west side of Campus resulting in some of the roads being blocked off (code for signs that say “Road Closed” and some obnoxious orange cones). I was in the front seat of the car on Tuesday night when the driver and I turned down a road that happened to sport a sign dutifully informing us that the road was indeed closed. Instead of taking an alternate route though, the driver decided that we were meant to go down that road and consequently, we braved the sidewalk in the car. (Oh yes, you wish you were as cool as we were.) We were totally safe (I obviously lived to tell the tale) and it did make the evening more eventful and memorable. Oh Yes. Check violating a minor traffic rule off the bucket list.

After the driving incident and some deep fried ice cream, we saw the movie “The Adjustment Bureau”. I didn’t know much about the movie going into it – I think I saw the trailer once before seeing the movie. Seriously, such a good movie. It was so thought-provoking and it sparked some great conversation. I would recommend the movie to anyone, especially the religious variety.

Many thanks Soccer.

Sad Day

Last Friday as I got into my car after running a bunch of errands, I heard that awful, jaw-clenching, heart breaking, nails on the chalkboard-esque noise of fabric ripping. Yes, brace yourself, my favorite pair of pants, maybe favorite pair of pants ever, had just ripped.

With my heart a little broken and in my refusal to accept that my favorite pants had indeed ripped, I wore them again. Don’t worry – I know now that it was a stupid idea, but in my defense the rip was in a very discreet spot and they were my favorite pants. We (the pants and I) made it through most of the day until (yep, you guessed it) they ripped again. Well there went all of my hopes and dreams of blissful denial, for the second rip brought me to the heartrending conclusion that my favorite pants=ripped. As in done-zo. As in I should not wear them again.

I explored some of the possibilities, namely, I entertained the thought of finding a favorite pair of pants and then starting a food storage-like collection of said pants, but ultimately decided that would just be plain ridiculous.

While I am still in a quandary and find myself favorite-pant-less (as in I don’t have a favorite pair of pants), I am currently holding auditions for the coveted role and am resolutely determined that the show must go on.

Declaration: I am a Communication Disorders major.

Explanation: Senior year of high school I knew where I wanted to go to school but I had no idea what I really wanted to study. Upon my parents’ wise suggestion I asked people what they had done and if they could go back and do it again what they would do. My Aunt Julie was one of the first people I asked. Her response was that she would have studied to become a Speech Therapist and told me some of her reasons why. The idea caught (and maintained) my interest, so I moved that direction as I started my undergraduate education.

Since that fortuitous conversation with my Aunt, I have fallen in love with Speech Therapy and all that it entails. For now, I’ll comment on how I love that it’s a dynamic profession – it requires the Therapist to be knowledgeable and apply that knowledge creatively to each individual client. I am both excited and scared to be that clinician (funny how often those emotions go together). In just a couple months (yikes!) some parents will bring their pride and joy, their baby in for Speech Therapy and they’ll get me. Talk about sink or swim.

Declaration, Part One

Declaration: I am not an English major.

Explanation: This declaration is not breaking news by any means, but certain classes help me to know that I picked the right profession. Today I had one of those moments.

Story: Thus far my M COM 320 class has been very grammar-heavy. This morning we discussed “Punctuation” and “Case-Agreement/Reference” and took a quiz as a means to stimulate group conversations. I sat with 3 other classmates and together we discussed the various questions we had from the quiz. Shortly into our discussion we were stumped, so we called the teacher over and asked him. After a lengthy discussion the question was left unresolved. We had no answer. The teacher had no answer and walked away saying he would ask another professor. Fast forward the next few minutes to the next question we were stumped on. Again, we called the teacher over and after another lengthy, unfulfilling discussion, again the teacher left saying he would ask another professor. Needless to say I was frustrated.

First of all, I feel like grammar should have a right and a wrong answer. I can tolerate uncertainty. I’m religious and I hope to work in a profession that does not have one right solution, but I feel like grammar should be more cut and dry than my teacher made it seem today.

Secondly, don’t mark me wrong for something when you don't know why it’s supposedly wrong. Thankfully we’re not being graded yet, but our first exam is all grammar. Yeah, not excited for that one.

Despite this minor rant, I’m realizing more and more that this class is just a means to an end. This is the last class I have to take where I have to study something I’m not interested in. Hopefully it will help me become a better writer and we can part as mutual friends in June.

Remember how it's almost May?

Allow me to give you a little insight into my world yesterday:

Hello April 29, 2011. Last day of class for the week, happy Friday, life is good. Enter snow. Como what?! No. No. No. No. This is completely unacceptable. It’s just not right – snow at the end of April? “Do the words cruel and unusual punishment mean anything to you?!”

Plain and simple (in the world according to Lindsey) snowing when it is practically May is just plain wrong. No way around it, it’s just plain wrong. I have never done this whole Spring Semester thing at BYU from the end of April to the middle of June, but I feel like it snowing at the end of April blatantly violates some natural, universal (albeit unwritten) law.

Okay, I know I am totally spoiled having grown up in Southern California my whole life. But, really Utah? Can we try to pull it together and act like it’s Spring? You’re threatening to snow today, but after that I expect nothing but clear skies and smooth sailing. That is not negotiable.

Sincerely,

Lindsey

Long Time Coming

Despite my own resistance to its advances, I acknowledge that technology is amazing and admit that I broke down and got a facebook account a year ago, just got a twitter account and am starting a blog today. However, I have done none of this of my own free will, or at least it has not been of my own design. Allow me to explain.

The Reader’s Digest version of the facebook story is this: one day I asked my madre if I could see somebody’s pictures via her facebook account. She said no and told me I had to get my own account. Thus I now have a facebook.

As for twitter and this blog, I am currently enrolled in my last two undergraduate classes one of which is MCom 320 - a business communication class. This class promises to be entertaining and helpful in my future endeavors, but unfortunately requires each class member to regularly post on a blog and a twitter. Thus this blog and the twitter account.

Technology's amazing but I am weary of some of its advances and at what cost they come at in our lives. Call me Amish but it’s true. For the sake of my MCom 320 grade though I will regularly post on this blog until the middle of June and then all bets are off.

Also, it’s pretty humbling/just plain weird to have parents and grandparents that are more technologically advanced than I am, or at least more involved in the technological world than I. This being said, I am proud to announce that as of right now I am more a part of the 21^st century than any of my elders. Bring it on world.