The Bestest Burfday Ever.

Being a twin, growing up I never had a birthday to myself.
But I didn't mind. Much to the contrary in fact.

I loved always having a best friend to share everything with.
The only problem was, who throws the surprise party if your best friend is your twin. It's her birthday too!

The other problem was, our birthday was in the summer. So all school year long we decorated lockers and sent balloons to our friends during class to celebrate their b-days, but when July 7th came around and school was out, all of our friends seemed to be vacationing.

But this year, oh this year, I was spoiled rotten.
Somehow, a mixture of AMAZING roommates & not moving home for the summer equated to THE best birthday I've ever had.

This is how my day went:

Actually... I should probably preface.

The week before my birthday, Lacy-Hacy left for Minnesota to visit her older sister. Remembering the 500 sticky notes she had plastered on every available surface in my room upon my return from England, I decided to leave her a little welcome home present as well.

After weaving in and out of streamers for 30-minutes, I left to see a movie with my other roomie, Hamm, utterly pleased with myself. Little did I know, only a short two hours later I would come home to find the tables had been completely turned.

After walking in to the apartment, Lacy-Hacy was acting kinda strange... She kept trying to convince me that she needed to go get a drink while blocking the hallway and likewise the entrance to my room. Confused but determined to use my bathroom before we left, I pushed past her and around the corner to find...

All of the streamers transplanted to MY room!

But she didn't leave it at that. The girl's a criminal genius, I tell ya.

I was trip wired, my toilet bowl was saran wrapped, my bathroom mirror/sink was vandalized, my sock drawer emptied under my sheets and my immaculate shoe organization scrambled beyond belief.

And that was only the half of what she had PLANNED to do should I have given her more time!

But even her devious mind couldn't compare to my extraordinary intelligence, because I noticed the trip wire before it got me, I went to throw a tissue into the toilet before going and discovered her treachery and I felt the socks under my sheets before I climbed into bed.

The fact that I neglected to remove the trip wire promptly and later stumbled fantastically is besides the point.

Needless to say, she was pleased with herself.

Telling me it was an early birthday surprise, I expected nothing more on my actual birthday.

So I wake up early on the big day to get ready for a birthday breakfast with 'da twinneh' and open my door to find the first of many surprises.

A beautiful pink saucer chair, an amazing card/balloon, some certified Minnesota moose poop (chocolate covered peanuts) and Bananagrams. *YAY*

Lacy-Hacy and Hamm had remembered everything I wanted without me having to tell them a thing. :) The epitome of true friendship.

Smiling happily, I made my way out to the parking lot to find my car had also been visited during the night.

Lacy-Hacy had smeared every window with birthday wishes amongst other things... I couldn't believe it. The little turd.

One flamboyant car ride later, I ate a scrumptious breakfast and exchanged presents with 'da twinneh'. She gave me the cutest pink-orange nail polish, an adorable pair of purple earrings and a gift card to Walmart. Once again, exactly what I wanted.

We spent the remainder of the morning together, revelling in birthday excitement. If you weren't aware, 'da twinneh' lives everyday in preparation for her next birthday. And when that day comes, oh, we milk it for all it's worth. ("It's our burf-day!...")

At lunchtime, we left to meet up with the parents and Gem for lunch at Tucanos. Happily, I did not reenact the fantastical spill I had during my last visit.

Food went flying. Face went red. It wasn't pretty.

I was, however, required to dance around with a tambourine while the whole staff sang a Brazilian birthday song. 'Da Twinneh' refused.

Afterwards, I drove back to my parents' house and took it easy for a bit. My phone was constantly buzzing from all of the wall posts on Facebook from friends wishing me a happy birthday. I couldn't believe there were so many. (Over 50! Yes... I counted.)

I knew Hamm wanted to take me out to dinner, so I went back to the apartment. It was very... quiet. Little did I know, Hamm was crouched in my room, waiting to ambush me as soon as I rounded the corner.

 

Along with the 300 balloons she had inflated over the course of the day! How that girl didn't pass out, I'll never know. 

I thought surely this would be the last of many surprises, but I was wrong.

Earlier in the day, Gem answered a call from Lacy-Hacy in the car, leading me to believe they were both conspiring to throw me a surprise party. But being the best liar I've ever met, Gem had a completely one sided conversation about going country dancing that night (with Lacy-Hacy on the other end quite confused), in order to dispel my suspicion. The tricky devil. :P

Needless to say, I was completely oblivious when Hamm carted me all over Provo to look at different design styles in the architecture.

My mind: "Yay! Finally someone who appreciates design as much as I do! I'm going to spout out as many vocab terms as I can possibly remember. What a nice friend to indulge me on my birthday."

Hamm's mind: "You're really cute... but I have NO IDEA what your saying... I just need to keep you busy for a few more hours..."

So we eat dinner at Pizza Pie Cafe, which was ridiculously busy, much to her delight, I'm sure. Ready to leave, I start to stand up when she decides she needs another salad.

After dessert. After JUST telling me how stuffed she was.

Did I suspect? Of course not! Why would I?

Hamm's a healthy girl. She likes her greens...

And gullible is written on the ceiling.

I'm content. I've had an amazing birthday. I'm ready to go home and watch a movie with my besties. But, as I'm sure you've now realized, the celebrations are not quite over.

I begin up the three flights of stairs in my stairwell, getting to the second floor before realizing something... The steps are a little more colorful than they were before I left.

Yet another roomie, Chan, left me happy little notes all the way up, listing my best qualities and complimenting my undie drawer. Haha. I've never loved climbing stairs so much in my life.

I open the door and am welcomed with a cacophony.

Commence surprise party with 30+ friends. Insert fun-fetti birthday cake with trick candles that DO NOT extinguish. Notice pink streamer and balloon explosion. Find a present your amazing friend Stef left at your door containing fabulous scrapbooking items. Proceed with presents, sand volleyball and swimming. Remember to play the toothpick game and open a present from the Spanish Fork YSA guys containing a pregnancy test, toilet bowl cleaner, uglier-than-dirt China doll, glow sticks, regifted book, fairy doll and 'Get-Well-Soon' card.

Become overwhelmed and immensely happy. :)

So I went to sleep, feeling happier than ever and so, so blessed for good friends and family. I considered being sad that the day was over, but that only lasted a split second before I realized that I can live it up every day of the year!

I've already employed the 'last week was my burfday...' line successfully in various different scenarios. 100% positive results.

We'll see how well that works in six months.

Heart Crinkles

I know many of you have been waiting a solid six or so years for me to announce the existence of a 'significant other'.

Now, before you get too excited, that is not the purpose of this post. Believe me, when I make it official, you'll know.

What I am hear to document is a little system used to define how intense your attraction to someone is. Juliann Little, you are my inspiration. Feel honored.

The Four Steps and/or Levels of Attraction:
1) Crinkle
2) Crush
3) Like
4) Love

I'm sure you're all familiar with steps 2-4. But have you ever heard something so creatively genius as 'crinkle' in your life!?

I mean, it fits. Sometimes you see a man-dime and your heart flutters. Just a bit. It can't be called a 'crush', right?? I mean, you don't even know the fella!

Therefore, 'crinkle' is much more apt.

I see you're also concerned over my recent verbiage: man-dime.
Don't worry, so very many are.

It's simple, see.
Man + perfect 10 = man-dime.

Perfect-a-mento.

My roomies and I used to refer to attractive men as 'hunks of male'. But now, I think we might just need a change.

So here's to summer!
And findin' ourselves some 'hunks of male' man-dimes.

Yee-haw.

Whaur's the Cludgie?

*Translation: "Where's the toilet?"*
As promised, I am here to document my no good, terrible, very bad day in Scotland. 'Twas a wee bit o' Hell, that one.

My first clue should have been having to wake up at 5 AM to catch a plane at an airport that was an hour away.

Did I mention that there were 2,000 round abouts between point A and point B? How about that I am especially prone to motion sickness?

Needless to say, being in the front seat with the air on full blast drinking small sips of cool water couldn't have saved me from the impending dizziness.

After riding a transport bus (my first of what would be MANY unhappy methods of public transportation for the day) from the parking lot to the hangar, we spent the usual exorbitant amount of time wading through security and the likes.

Gem was strip searched. My one consolation.
(I shouldn't have laughed... Karma sucks.)

Knowing that I was fresh out of my new best friend, Dramamine, I planned on purchasing some at the airport. After searching through the nearest convenience booth, the closet thing I could find was Travella. The 'all-natural' solution to motion sickness.

Ya know, I've decided to avoid 'all-natural' products.
Considering people die from 'natural' causes.

Regardless, the stuff was worthless because, for the first time in my life, I felt like I was going to put that little white barf bag stowed in the seat in front of me to good use.

An hour later, I was in Scotland.
And wished I was dead.

I spent the next 45 minutes in and out of the nearest restroom. My stomach never did decide to rid it's contents but, boy howdy, it sure toyed with the idea.

By this time, it was mid-morning and time was a wastin'. So we hopped in the nearest 'people carrier' (what we would call a van) and made our way up the windy roads of Edinburgh to the castle.

You read that right. Windy roads.

I sat, staring forward blankly, with a Dr. Pepper (Dad thought it would 'help settle my stomach')  in hand listening to the larger-than-life taxi driver chatter on about anything and everything in a heavy Scottish accent.

He kept glancing at me warily, no doubt wondering why I looked like death and hoping that I wouldn't ornament his dashboard with sick.

It was a close call. I'm not gonna lie.

Lucky me. The main entrance to the castle was barricaded in preparation for a weekend celebration. This equated in having to use my legs to trek up the steep cobblestone the remainder of the way. Which I did not appreciate.

Just past the main portcullis entrance of the almost 600 year old fortification was a public 'toilet' which we decided to utilize before exploring the many grand structures.

To make a long story short, my day became oh-so-much better upon realizing that not only would I be making good friends with mister nausea, but I would also be graced with T.O.M.'s weekly presence (for which I was not prepared).

Trudging back outside, I asked if anyone had 20 pence to spare.
"What for??", my mom practically yelled.

This interrogation was exactly NOT what I needed.

My nerves were shot.

"To buy a TAMPON." I snapped, "Shall I announce it to the world??!" I've never seen pocket change appear so quickly.

But oh. I've neglected to mention is the lovely weather Scotland afforded me. Namely, penetrating rain and overcast chilliness. To combat the elements I naturally wore fabric ballet flats and a light jacket.

Perfect.

Being the gentleman that he is, my older brother offered me his fleece lined hoodie which made matters considerably warmer, if nothing else. But nothing could have saved my feet from soggily sloshing with each step.

And so, there I was. Sick. Tired. Ornery. Wet. PMSing. Drugged.

and surviving on a few bites of birdseed bagel I had stomached hours earlier.

On a happier note: I did like the castle's architecture and impressive history. I just wish that I had been lucid enough to enjoy it properly.

Once we had finished our tour and listened to the 1-o'clock gun, we started down the royal mile, stopping at shops here and there to look at the plethora of kilts, umbrellas and Celtic jewelry. Things were starting to look up because aside from being hit by a bus, that was really the only way left to go.

We ate dinner at a yummy little Italian place and then made our way back down to the airport. Even our stoic taxi driver couldn't have upset new perspective.

Hooray! I was almost home. I had Dramamine and hope.
Wait. What? The boarding passes are incorrect?

The flight home isn't from Edinburgh to Stansted? From Stansted to Edinburgh? But we're in Edinburgh. How does that even work?

Is there another flight?
We have to wait two hours?
It's to another airport?
Is this the lowest circle of Hell?

Okay. Whatever. Just get us home at all costs.

The cherry on top of this blessed day was being groped by airport security after setting off the metal detector wearing the EXACT same clothing, electronics removed, that I had earlier. Gem was smart enough not to laugh, though she deserved the revenge.

Thus, I spent the next six hours on a plane, then a tram, then the subway, then a transfer, then a bus, having a breakdown, then another bus, then a train, then a transport, then a car.

I stepped over the threshold at 4 AM.
It had been nearly 24 hours since I had left that fateful morning.

I had almost pulled my first all-nighter.
And I had almost died in the process.

Yet my life had been spared leaving only one thing certain:

You were NOT good to me Scotland.
No you weren't.

You Snooze, I Lose.

As you may know, I just got back from a month long whirlwind trip through England, Denmark and Scotland. On the whole, I had an amazing time seeing castles, famous landmarks, Broadway musicals, the works.

However, knowing me, the events that I am most likely to document are those in which I did NOT have such a pleasant experience.

Because hey, I'm free from all prejudices. I hate everyone equally.
(New favorite quote found in a quote book I purchased at Edinburgh Castle titled 'Now Panic and Freak Out'.)

So what I will now recount is the story of what was most possibly the 2nd or 3rd worst night of my life. Prepare yourself.

Here's how it went down:
The fam (including my mom, pops, Gem and brother's family) were on a week-long road trip through Wales. After a long day of England-y fun, we pulled into the closest Travelodge to spend the night.

My brother and his family bunked down in the first room along the hall while Gem, the parents and I caved out in the next.

Feeling particular grimy after a day on the road, I decided to take a shower before hitting the sack. So after adequately steaming, primping and lotioning, I made my way out into the silence.

Amazingly, everyone was already asleep.
(Because, heaven's knows, my short showers are legendary.)

Happily snuggling into the crisp white duvet atop my creaky trundle, I let out a sigh of relief. I had almost dozed into a blissful dreamland when I heard...

IT. (Please turn volume to it's highest level for full effect.)

There was a LAWNMOWER in my room.
A lawnmower I lovingly refer to as Daddy-O.

Instantly my eyes shot open.

"Crap!" I remembered, "Dad snores!"
Panic fluttered through me for a brief instant but then I remembered something: I can sleep through anything!
(Or so I thought...)

Summoning all the willpower I possessed, I tried to ignore the foghorn immediately to my left.

...

Unfortunately, counting sheep or finding my happy place just wasn't cutting it. It was time for more aggressive measures.

I plugged my ears. Hummed my favorite hymn. (All lies, it doesn't work.)
By that point, I had wrapped my pillow around head like a bonnet, all to no avail.

And then, as if she were mocking me in my own private Hell, on my other side Gem began to softly snort. She remained unfazed through the cacophony.

Rolling to my back, I looked up to the ceiling and imagined if this was what death felt like.

I had reached my last nerve.
Moaning, I rolled over and tapped Dad.
"Dad. Dad!" I whispered, "You're snoring."

*silence*

Was fate kidding me??! Why hadn't I thought of this before??!
I began to relax.

(I'm sure you know what comes next.)

"SNOOOOOOOOOOOOOORE!"
Immediately, I shot up.

"Dad, Dad, DAD.", I repeated, shaking him firmly.

He cleared his throat for a brief moment then rolled over.
Finally! I had achieved success! Because anyone who's endured my dad's roars knows he relentlessly claims that telling him to 'roll-over' is all you have to do.

After all, it's "NOT THAT BIG OF A DEAL". (His words. My eye!)

But it's all lies. Because, no joke, 30 seconds later, he started up the motor again.

If I were a nut, I would have cracked, and I think I did a little. Because suddenly, I found myself waking my mom. If I couldn't sleep, neither could she!

"Mom!" I hissed, "Keep Dad from snoring!"

She looked up, startled, and angrily made her way to the bathroom where she relieved herself, traipsed back to bed and within ten minutes was out cold.

SNORE.

That was it. I had hit the final straw.
"Oh my H***!!", came the war cry.
I was going to do something or I was going to die trying!

Gathering all of my bedding into my arms, I proceeded to drag my mattress into bathroom. I must have been making a zoo's worth of clamoring but, heck, why would anyone in this family rouse to excess noise??

Slamming the door behind me, I wedged the mattress into what little space the bathroom afforded, plopped down, accustomed myself to the muffled snoring seeping from under the door (doable) and remembered nothing else until the next morning when my very confused mother jammed the door into my side on her way to the loo.

In fact, it may be the best night's sleep I've ever had.

So it all goes to show that good things can come from bad situations. If you have a little ingenuity and a lot of pent up anger.

Stay tuned for a detailed description of my hellish day in Scotland.