Why We Love President's Day!

There is something wrong with northern Utah in the winter. It is cold. There is something ideal about southern Utah. It is warmer! So as President's day neared I knew that staying put just wouldn't cut it. Despite being under the age of 65, I decided that it was time for me to become a snowbird. After a million calls we had 6 of us to up and go come Friday. Josh, Heather, Jimmy, Katie, Danielle, and I. On the way down we stopped in Beaver to get hooked up with some classic squeaky cheese. That was just the beginning of the party. We spent the weekend just rocking out, spending all the money I've earned this semester. We hit up Cafe Rio and the little 3 year old next to us kept pointing to Josh saying, "He's hot." I bought a Mexican flag bandana at Gen-ex from some socially backward employees. Then we got caught up in buying our $2.50 flip-flops from Old Navy and I left the bandanas on the floor. Luckily they were retrieved later. We spattered the weekend with stargazing, catch phrase, and mission talk. On Sunday we attended the Senior Branch and felt intimidated by the gray haired veterans. With a solid team effort, Sunday night we had a Tin-Foil-Dinner feast! Someone forgot to add water to the cake… Later we played around on the red rock and took lots of pictures. Hot tubing, midnight grocery runs, and Nacho Libre weren’t left out. Unfortunately Monday had to come and we had to pack up. Although too short, the trip was hipper then chip dip. Hipper then Tostitos with nacho cheese sauce! How could it get better then three good buddies hanging out with the girls they love for a weekend!? Thanks to the parents for the condos! Let’s do it again next month! P.s. Did I mention the insane-o go-cart race, a hilarious game of miniature golf, and rocking the arcades like 10 year olds?

Mr. Big Red Painful Zit

The drool of Professor Bowles’ voice made me yawn. I put my arm on the chair to rest my head for a few minutes of quality “shut-eye”. My finger grazed past my eyebrow and a surge of pain shot through the bridge of my nose. More cautiously I retraced my path and skimmed over the sensitive area. Sure enough, he was back, Mr. big red painful zit. Why me anyway? There were at least 200 other faces just in this same auditorium and he chose me. He could have attacked the gangly read head across the row. Or a perfect nose hit for Mrs. Glamour with the pink backpack upfront. I tinkered with the idea of popping him out of existence right there in the 8th row of Economics. Then I realized it was too risky without a mirror. Something could go wrong. Someone else could get hurt. I sighed in frustration. I looked at my watch. 20 minutes left. I decided to let him be. He would live, but not for long…

It's Just a Game!

Our second game of Intramural Basketball was last night. My team is a great group of guys who just want to go out on the court and play a little basketball. The first week we did just that, had a great time, and came away with a victory. Unfortunately, that wasn't possible last night. The team we played was a bunch of fowl-mouthed punks. In the first half we went up on them by 14 points and that is when they started getting pretty frustrated. They started pushing through screens, swearing, and the usual lack of sportsmanship. Then in the second half their "superstar" started taking it to the basket and they cut the lead. The superstar went up for a layup and missed and I came down with the rebound. Out of frustration he came around and whacked me in the eye. The ball went lose and he dove for it on the ground. No foul was called and I dove at both him and the ball. He flipped out, his teammates jumped, my teammates got in, and before anything erupted the ref had called off the game. Wow. What a joke. My team calmly walked to the bench as their team continued to spout their fowl language and antagonistic remarks. And that was that. Game over. It made me realize how ridiculous I must have looked as a kid when I got really worked up in the games. It is so much more fun to just go out and play basketball. Oh well, maybe next game!