Distraction

Ha ha. This is funny.



You aren't sure where you came from. Perhaps your sire did an embrace and run. Or maybe your sire was an outcast himself. Either way, your powers are unique and really don't belong to any clan...or maybe a little from each. Because you of these circumstances, you aren't really sure where you belong. You tend to wander and do a bit of soul searching in your eternal life. Maybe some day...you have a while after all

What Vampire Clan Do You Belong To?

I really need to get back to work....

Snow much fun!!

Okay, so it's been snowing for like two weeks straight now and I'm about ready to board myself up in the house and not come out till spring. But we've been having fun.

I've got some cool pictures. Check this out.

A White Apocolypse

If it snowed this much back home, the entire town would shut down. School's would be canceled due to the fact that the buses wouldn't be able to get up the unplowed gravel roads. Deliveries would never be made either. There would be riots in the grocery stores because they couldn't keep enough of the staples in stock. Hehe. I can imagine it now, people battling it out for the last loaf of bread.

It's a different kind of snow though. Here it a light, dry, powdery snow. Its extremely easy to brush off your car, and if you gently place some in your hand and then fling it into the air, the snow slowly drifts down like tiny white feathers. And it sparkles every where it touches, even when the sun isn't shining. This snow is like that magical fake stuff they use in movies.

I love and hate snow. From my bedroom window, I love the way it rests on the warm glass and glimmers underneath the streetlights. From my car, I hate the way it mocks me, attacking my windshield as if it where the white plague of death. As beautiful as this snow may be, I believe perhaps it is controlled by the forces of evil; shutting me up in my home, and making me late for work.

Getting to church this morning was a pain, but every morning for the last two weeks has been a pain and I'm reluctantly getting use to it. Matt didn't come with me. He caught the flu last night and couldn't even lift his head off the pillow this morning. So I brought him some medicine home and when he was up to it, fixed him some soup. I've been checking his temp about every forty five minutes, and the decimal is slowly dropping.

I'd never say this to his face but he's quite adorable when he's miserable; all pouty and wrapped up in a blanket. But it's a good day to be sick. The snow is not permitting us access to the outside world at the moment.

Let's just hope my flu shot does it's job and I don't get sick. Although I think I would have by now after all those snot faced hugs and months of kissing owies.

Funny Story...

Okay, so tonight I was at home and Matthew was at work. He calls me up on his break and asked, "Um....did you make an electronic withdraw for $75?"

75 dollars....75 dollars? Why did that sound so familiar? I usually don't spend that much money unless I'm paying bills, which I haven't done yet this month.

I gave him a long open ended "Nooooo."

"You didn't take out $75 today."

"No!" I affirmed with panic. We'd been identity thefted, I just knew it. Yesterday, going against my usual unnecessary anxiety, I made a Christmas purchase online while keeping my fingers crossed. But this time my feelings of impeding doom were dead on. It was only a matter of time before this crock drained our whole bank account.

I got off the phone with Matt and immediately called the bank. The lady said the $75 withdraw was made today to a company called HSBC. HSBC? never heard of them.

"Do you have a credit card?" she asked.

"No."

"Have you ever had a credit card?" she asked now with dry tone.

"NO," I repeated. Why wasn't she taking my urgency seriously? By now the crook was probably placing the winning bit for the entire series of "Lost" on ebay.

"Who is Matthew Roberts?" she asked to my surprise.

"My husband," I answered. How did he get involved in this? His name isn't even on the account.

"The transaction was supposedly made through him. Does he have a credit card?"

"No," I replied reassuringly.

Perhaps to reassuringly, because the "helpful" woman replied with a sigh, "Are you sure?"

"Yes!" I cried in my high pitched offended tone. "I think I know my own husband."

So I called Matt back and he was busy so he said he'd call me back. I waited the longest 20 minutes of my life. Someone sensitive to anxiety attacks cannot wait 20 minutes!

In the meantime I checked the website of this HSBC place. It was a bank, they did stocks, credit cards, all that jazz. Most of their offices were in Europe. I'm not sure if it was the writer in me, or if it was that "chemical imbalalnce" thing kicking in, but I started fabricating all these crazy possibilites as to why Matthew was involved with this company.

He's a spy. BYU is just a cover up. He's really goes to some secret goverment agency set up underground beneath the Hinkly building. (But that seemed a little far fectched, even to me.)

He was twisted up in the stock market, and didn't know how to tell me.

He has a love child somewhere and the babymama needed a little extra cash for "Christmas" i.e. get the loan sharks off her back for one more day. (Let's remember there was a 3 1/2 year period of our lives where we didn't speak.)

He somehow owed these people money for a Christmas present for me. (I liked that one.)

So FINALLY matt called back and was like, "Oh, HSBC. That's actually my bestbuy card. I remember now. I payed them yesterday."

His BestBuy card. I forgot about his BestBuy card. I shrunk down to about three inches tall.

On the brightside, it's nice to find out for sure that your husband doesn't have a secret babymama outthere somewhere.

Merry Christmas Everyone!

I just want to say, I love my friends here. I'm lucky to have them. I just get spells of anxiety and I need to spend a weekend or two alone. No biggie. I'm fine.

Hibernation

Aubrey finally ventured up to my apartment with the plate of fuchsia iced cupcakes she'd promised me - the kind of cupcakes that are made without the annoying paper that steals half the cake when you peel it off. My favorite. (Much appreciated, Aubs.) It took her inquiry about my lack of blogging to make me admit I haven't logged on to the internet for over a week.

I'd cancel our service if it weren't for Matt's homework.

I have to set a warning that this won't be one of my happier blogs. It so sounds petty and angsty (yes, "angsty" is a word) but I am so pissed off at the world right now!

Months ago, I swore off radio because I can't stand most of the crap they waste airtime with anyway. Every time I dare to turn on the television, I'm either disgusted or offended by what I see and hear. (Just don't ask. It's better not to get me started.) The cable company switched around all the channels and since then MTV and VH1 have moved to channels my crappy box t.v. won't pick up. And I'm glad. If I see Paris Hilton's arrogant smirk one more time I'm going to break something. And it will probably be something expensive that I will get in trouble for.

I don't like most music that is popular with this generation. I hate reality T.V. (Except ANTM. I don't know why. I have no desire to be a model, or dress like one. But I can't get enough of that show. I guess because I know what it's like to have that perfect unobtainable dream.) I will never spend more than $25 dollars on a pair of jeans. I can't understand why people my age read the books they read, make their hair look like a muppet, or consume the things they put into their body. And I'm so far away from my generations circle of political veiws it looks like a dot to me.

I thought Rexburg would be different. But I guess it doesn't matter where I go. Back home, people told me I have too many morals. Here, it seems I don't have enough.

Like every sullen teenager, I use to have a lot of self image and esteem issues. But I can honestly say that I truly love the flawed person I've become. But that person doesn't belong anywhere - except for this cozy little apartment with Matthew. So I've bolted myself in here, only emerging to go make money to support my writing habbit.


Matthew is good to me. I don't know how it happened, but he knows me better than anyone else. He knows when I'm hurting and he knows my remedies. One night, out of the blue, he came
home early from work with hot coco and an 80's movie. I love 80's films. No matter what problem I'm having, if I watch "Wayne's World" life just falls into place somehow. (ok so maybe that's early 90's. whatever.)

I'm tired of people telling me what to like, what to buy, and making me feel I'll be a nobody without it. I'm tired of being told what "a girl my age should be doing." I hate it when someone says I don't know what a good book is because I haven't been brainwashed into their vampire cult. (Which, if you know me, you know how deep that peirced my feelings.) I'm just tired of being told I'm wrong.

I don't want to "fit in." I don't want to change. I like me. I just wish I lived in a world where there was more of me. And where we all use correct grammer.

I still haven't quite recovered from my bought of anti-social behavior. I plan on staying in here just a little longer, reading by the lights of the Christmas tree my husband and I decorated together. Limited televsion. No cell phone. No myspace. Just absorbed in writing my book. Because my book is MY world. No one goes in or out without MY say.

Matt will be home soon. He'll see the Christmas presents I wrapped for him. I hope he likes them. I practiced cutting the paper till I got it right, till I could glide my siccors across the whole paper with one graceful stroke of my wrist. Like my mom does.