Through and Through!

Dyed in the wool. True blue!

From the picture below, I am clearly truly actually blue.

"I don't only bleed blue. I AM blue!"

Before I share the story of that picture, let me preface:

I don't know what's wrong with me, but I have an unnatural amount of school spirit.

Not so much in elementary school (is it possible to have school spirit in elementary school?) and not so much in middle school (once again, no one has school spirit there. It's a spiritless place in general).

But HIGH SCHOOL. Woooo-eeee. In high school, it hit me hard.

I blame the fact that I participated in my high school's athletic teams. It was hard to be completely invested in a team's success and not have enthusiasm for the school, or the single unifying factor, for that team.

Translation: it was hard to want Silverado tennis to kick Coronado tennis's butt without cheering for Silverado hardcore. (man does Silverado tennis hate Coronado tennis! Or they did like 4 years ago...)

Anywho. This enthusiasm bleed over to school spirit for all aspects of Silverado.. dress up days, Powder Puff games, assemblies, sporting events, concerts, plays.. yup. The whole she-bang.

I classify "hardcore" as going to CVS at 10pm on a Thursday night to buy purple nail polish for a spirit day the next day.

I was hardcore.

Silverado boasted the purple and teal and man, did I rock that purple and teal.

Do you have teal eye shadow? I did. Did you actually wear it in public? I shouldn't have, but I did.

Purple eye shadow, teal-ish face paint and
Skyhawk tennis tshirt. the glory days. 

But high school is over. I don't want to go back, but that's okay. I'm at BYU now and that Silverado school spirit seed that I feed so lovingly in high school has grown into a beautiful BYU spirit plant.. that was a weird metaphor.

But why am I blue in the picture at the top? Because I have so much school spirit, I don't only bleed blue, I AM blue.

But really. Every Homecoming week, BYUSA hosts an event that's actually called "True Blue."

It's basically a whoooooole bunch of blue foam. On a tarp. Downhill. Run, jump and slide, baby. It was glorious.

You may have enough school spirit to go to basketball games or even football games, but come talk to me when you're willing to:

a) run and slide down a giant hill covered in blue foam risking suffocation underneath all that frothy goodness

b) risk your clothing (including underwear) being dyed blue (hint: it doesn't come out. At least it didn't for me!)

c) get sick for a week afterwards because, let's be real, sliding down a hill of foam in shorts in October in Utah just isn't smart

or, last but not least,

d) let two perfect strangers (on two separate occasions) wipe their faces on your shirt just because they asked politely.


Cause I totes did all that.

AND I WAS HAPPY ABOUT IT

Sadly, NO, I actually do not have blue eye shadow that I wear to basketball games. Not because I have lost any school spirit, but because I have lost at least a little of my fashion naivety. (who let me leave the house with purple eye shadow on??)

#TRUEBLUE #THROUGHANDTHROUGH

#cougarpride

and because you're all dying of curiosity.. some of my glorious dress up day outfits:

Would you believe me if I told you I was really shy and quiet in high school?
PS: the bottom right was my bowling team uniform. That's right. I was bowling team cool. 

I totally used the word "ooze" in this post #truestory

Sometimes, I feel like Mrs. Roosevelt here could add a little clause to the end: "but that doesn't mean that people won't still try."

Do you ever feel that? Do you ever feel like there are some people who just ooze superiority?  People who say that one liner that makes you feel dumb, or make that expression of skepticism that just makes you feel just so warm and fuzzy inside? People who save their sarcasm and pessimism just for you and your good mood? They're lurking around out there.

They're the people who never seem to be wrong.  They're the ones who will fight that their opinion is the correct one even though it's not quite possible to have an "incorrect" opinion.  They're the ones who get better grades than you in the same class even though they study less and do less work. They're the ones who, without a doubt, you ONLY see when you didn't shower the night before and you put your greasy hair in a bun in your first class of the day.

Don't think I'm whining, though. (I'm totally whining here).

The thing is, though, Eleanor Roosevelt is still right. 

Sometimes people can be rude, smelly jerks, but she's still right. No one can make you feel like you are less than what you worth.

Because, when it really comes down to it, it's your choice to let people's digs dig at you.

I tend to overreact when I see people who have made me feel dumb in the past. But think about it. Join me now and step aside from your frustrations and your biases and think about it objectively:

Maybe they didn't mean to.

Maybe they aren't struggling in the class you are, but they might be struggling in a class that you aren't. Maybe they're having a bad hair day too.

Maybe they hate to feel inferior as much as you do. (news flash: absolutely no one likes feeling inferior)

The key here is that you don't know. Just like they don't know everything you're going through, you can't possibly know exactly what they are going through. You just can't know. Give them, give EVERYONE, the benefit of the doubt, just as you want to receive.

"Love your enemies and bless them that curse you."  

It's definitely hard to do, but I know that it is possible. And, believe it or not, it's so worth it, too.

[But, in all your lovin', be sure you don't mis-interrupt. It definitely doesn't say "love your enemies and bless them that curse you and spend all of your free time and energy and emotional investments with your enemies and those that curse you."

Loving others, in my own opinion, isn't contingent upon allowing yourself, and your self-esteem, to be torn down constantly. Find the balance.]

But try it. Go on out and show some love. You'll love how it makes you feel.*

And if you didn't believe Eleanor Roosevelt, here's some Abe Lincoln for ya. 

(Just because I have an awesome Pinterest quote board and I couldn't resist)

*Or money back guaranteed. Because, really, you're going to love how much love is guaranteed to fill your heart. 

I don't have kids, but I'll help yours.

If you didn't know already... you now know from that title.. I ain't got kids. 

Nope. I've got a corner on the "single to the extreme" market.

But if you asked me two summers ago, I might have said I had 30 nine-year-olds. 

(30 nine-year-olds not 39-year-olds... big difference)

I was a day camp counselor and I loved it. Some days, I really hated it. It was hard. But, overall, I really loved it.

On my very first day of orientation, I sat in a conference room for a couple of hours and was told the protocol of how to be just a generic employee. There were lifeguards and supervisors and people who were hired who would never interact with children sitting in that training.

The lady was pretty fierce and she seriously got her points across. I will never forget one thing she said about working with children. I don't remember exactly how she said it, but it was pretty much, "kids don't need your pity. That doesn't help them." 

That scared me. I'm the youngest in my family and I never really babysat growing up. I wasn't very confident in being hired to be a day camp counselor and then I was scared. I was scared I would go in and pity the children and be the worst leader ever. 

I turned up for work the next week pretty nervous. I spent most of my time that summer with munchkins under the age of 10. I got the hang of the situation eventually. I don't remember when I stopped being nervous, though.  I remember learning how to be in charge of an activity. I learned what activities would be a hit with the group and which games I'd have to work really hard to sell to get them to participate. I learned how to discipline and how to avoid hurting 9-year-old feelings.  

I learned a lot that summer. I also learned a lot about the kids' family situations. Most of them were not ideal. Just the fact that the kids spent their summer in an all-day summer camp implied the limited amount of family time most of the kids had. 

The most important thing I learned that summer, however, was that kids are smart. Have you hung around kids recently? Sure, mock the generation for their obsession with Justin Bieber or belittle them for their sense of entitlement. But have you spent time with kids? Talked to them? Listened to them? You'll probably learn what I did: 

Kids are smart. 

I was fell for more riddles that summer than I would care to admit. I even fell for the "Ms. Sarah, you're funny... funny looking!" That was a big hit to my pride. 

But it wasn't the wit of the kids that taught me how smart kids are. It was little things. It was when I couldn't hide that I came to work 10 minutes late one day and they called me out on it. It was when they would question stupid rules that I questioned too. It was when they did exactly what I said, but found the loophole to get around what I really wanted. It was when they actually would do what we needed them to. It was when they showed more maturity than I felt I ever had. It was when they would sit with new kids. It was when they asked me questions I honestly had no idea the answers to. It was when they would accept "I don't know" from me as an answer when I honestly didn't know. 

It was all these things and a million more. 

Kids are dang smart. 

I'll admit it. That surprised me. I was genuinely surprised to learn how smart kids are. But they are. Sure, they make mistakes, but they're human. When's the last time you made a mistake? I guarantee it wasn't back when you were 8. 

Kids are smart. 

No one has a perfect life and just the fact that kids are little doesn't exclude them from that truth. Kids have struggles. They have bad days. They get sad. They get moody sometimes. They get annoyed at things. 

Sound familiar? If you're honest with yourself, you'll find I just described you. I just described everyone. 

Kids need to work hard to muck through all their trials. The kids I worked with (9-year-olds) were coming up to the age where they would have to figure out who they are and what they would stand for while still trying to understand about this crazy world and learn and live up to what is expected of them day-to-day. Remember that? It was hard. It's still hard for them. 

I can now agree with that scary orientation lady 100% without a speck of doubt in my mind. 

Kids most definitely do NOT need your pity. What does pitying them do? From experience, it'll pretty much just annoy them. 

Seriously. 

They'll just be bugged and then look at you funny and ignore you and keep trying what they were doing. Kids are so great.

Towards the end of the summer, I had a morning where one of the activities was jump roping. One of my boys had obviously never jump roped before. It was so funny. He didn't know what the heck he was doing. I might have laughed to myself for a second or two (it was so cute), but there were two things I then could have done (honestly, there are probably tons. I'm not a youth development expert, although I hope to be someday).

1) I could have felt sorry for him. The kid clearly never learned how to jump rope. How did that happen? Did he get forgotten that day in PE? Did his parents never want him want to learn something "girly?" Jump roping is not the most important life skill, but it is a pretty standard kid thing to know how to do.

Or what I actually did: 

2) "It works better if you hold your elbows next to your side and then just swing your arms in a circle from there. You don't have to throw your whole body, either. Just jump a little when you see the rope coming." 

Which do you think was the most beneficial? 

I have come up with a theory. It's based on a combination of that scary orientation lady, my youth development class last semester and my personal experience with these dang smart kids. Ready? Here goes. 

Kids don't need your pity; they need your help. 

It's true. They don't need pity. They just need you by their side to help them, as they need it, as they make their way growing up. Don't hold their hand too much. Don't take away their growing experiences and sugar-coat life until they turn 18. Don't dump too much reality on them at once. Let them be kids. Recognize their intelligence and abilities. Just help them. Be there. Teach them. Kids are smart.

I can't tell you how to do all these things. I sure don't know. I'm still learning. But I know it's worth it. Why?

Because, most importantly, kids are important. 

They'll make it. Just help them out. 

I plan to. 

The one time that I gave my sister a mullet..

It was really, REALLY funny.  And 100% accidental.  Which made it even funnier!

I guess I should clarify here.  I didn't pull a Stephanie Tanner and Uncle Jesse moment where I was playing beauty parlor and accidentally chop off a piece of her hair while laughing at Joey's funny cartoon voices. Also, I wasn't in elementary school.  It was this summer.

Look at that face. "HAVE MERCY."

This is also quite ironic because Stephanie cut OFF Uncle Jesse's mullet whilst I GAVE my sister a mullet. So dang ironic...

Okay, I guess I should clarify even more..

Once upon a time, my sister Amy saw a picture of a girl with braided bangs like unto this picture:

Since I am practically a professional hairstylist (lies) and love to play with Amy's hair, we decided to attempt it on her. Well, in my research of other braid hairstyles (Amy wanted to learn how to do fancy braids), I found a picture like unto this....

and got a little too excited... and decided to attempt that on her beautiful head of luscious blond locks instead of just a bang braid.

It started out grand. I was doing GREAT.  Braiding like a fiend while Amy nicely bent her head at weird angles.  The thing was, however, I didn't especially know what the heck I was doing. I started at one side and went across her forehead and got to the other side and decided to take a break and admit to myself that I honestly had no idea what I was doing and try to figure out how to finish. You know how it is.


ANYWAYS.  When I took a break with the braid, I showed Amy what I had accomplished thus far and the absolute FIRST thing that she said was

"It looks like I have a mullet!"

It did. It reallllllly did..

It was HILARIOUS.  

After we finished laughing really hard and taking like 9 bajillion pictures of her lovely redneck 'do, I finished braiding allllll the way around and gave her a nice, crown-like, NON mullet hairstyle. 

Ta-daaa

So regal! And she said it felt like she didn't have any hair, so I totes scored in the interesting hairstyle department that night... 

Moral of the story: if you do something ridiculous to someone's hair, make sure that it's your sister and she loves you, EVEN if you accidentally give her a mullet. 

THE END.

A New Direction

I'm quite the Pinterest addict.  No, really.  I am.  I primarily live in the Humor section; occasionally, I peek into the Food & Drink area, but where I really enjoy to venture is into the FASHION.

Most of the pins are from fashion bloggers.  I then creep on these hip, trendy, newly married, childrenless women's blogs.  They are so. dang. fashionable. Their lives seriously rock.  Due to my large amounts of research, I have decided that I will transform my lovely, fashion-less blog into a hip place of style, trends and fads GALORE.

 I don't have a rock on my left hand which means I am not provided with a photographer.  However, I do have my trusty-dusty camera I got for my birthday last year to start me out.

Dang.  I'm already behind.  No husband.  No fancy camera.  Let's see if I can actually make this transition into the fashion blogger world.

I'll start out by filling y'all in on what I wore this summer.  I didn't take a picture of my outfit every SINGLE day, but I think I have found a way to fill you guys in of what I wore most days anyway.

Here goes:

You get the idea, right? 

Maybe I'll change the name of this post to "How to Dress Appropriately For Work" instead...

If you can't guess, this was my uniform for my job this summer as a day camp counselor.  My ensemble every single day consisted of my office supplied shirt required to be tucked in, thick brown belt older than life itself and khaki shorts from Costco.  

This was, quite clearly, THE perfect summer job to start a fashion blog to show off my trendiness...

Don't be too jealous of my hipness.  

I wasn't even wearing my name badge lanyard in these photos. 

I'm confused.

I was born and raised in the lovely city of Las Vegas, Nevada.  Have you heard of it?  Well, if you haven't, let me fill you in on almost everything that you will ever need to know about Las Vegas.

Ahem.  Ahem.

It's hot.

That's about it. Oh, and there are things like gambling and casinos and schools and families and churches and cowboys and businesses, but let's be real here.  It's mostly just hot.

It's the oven-like type of heat, though.  You know the feeling of opening an oven to switch out another sheet of cookies and in that split-second when you are leaning forward when you open the door and you feel like your mascara is melting and your eyebrows just fell off?  That's what it's like when you open a front door in August.

However, I am glad that Vegas is just a dry heat.  I literally cannot handle humidity.  I DIE.  This past summer, it rained wayyyy more that normal and being outside was torture.  Give me all the heat, but without the side of moisture, please!

Not that I haven't experienced REAL humidity, though.  The summer that I was 15, I took a bus tour that went from Salt Lake City, Utah to New York City in 19 days.  Yup.  22 states in 19 days.  On a bus.  During said bus tour, (IN JULY) we stopped in Nauvoo.  Have you heard of Nauvoo?  Let me tell you about it.  It's HOT.  Not in the "wait-I-need-to-go-back-inside-to-find-my-eyebrows-that-just-fell-off" kind of hot, but the "I-just-opened-the-door-to-go-outside-and-I'm-already-dripping-in-sweat-and-will-never-be-dry-again-in-my-entire-life" kind of hot.

I saved a bunch on lotion.  It was great.

What's my point here?  I totally have one, I swear.

Well.  In all my time in the beautifully moist eastern side of the United States, I never got a single bug bite.  Not a single stinkin one.  I waded in rivers that I forgot the names of, stood by the banks of rivers at sunsets, hiked through a marsh, and just generally spent a LOT of time outdoors, but I never got a single bug bite.  Even wearing shorts for most of the time!  I got sunburned, yes. Sunburned badly? YES.  I literally turned into a redneck, but still no bug bites.

I thought that bugs just hated me, which I was totally fine with because I hated them too, but then something changed.

I go to school at BYU, which is in Utah... Utah is also a desert, although definitely a colder one! (Snow? What is this?)  Last night, I spent less than 2 hours outside for an FHE activity and go back to my apartment with what? Fond memories? Yes. New friends? Yes. But what? What else did I go home with??

EIGHT BUG BITES.

At least 8..  I have been finding more on my arms throughout the day!

What's the moral of this story?

Even if you can survive Illinois in July without getting any bug bites, be prepared for September in Provo because those suckers will come juuuuust for you.

Confusing? YES.

Proof of my redneckness and bug bitelessness 

(PS: notice how cloudy it looks? Still got buuurned.)

And another moral for you: if you wander Washington D.C. for an entire day, wear some sunscreen.

Just wear the dang sunscreen.

the Book of the Face

I've discovered many things about myself concerning the popular social networking site Bookface.

First, I stalk myself more than anyone else. It's very true! I go through my profile pictures countless times. I go through alllll the pictures/videos I've ever been tagged in. This week, I even scrolled down so far on my wall that I went back to when I first got a Facebook.

As a freshman. In high school. In 2008.

It's becoming a problem. I don't even know WHY I do this so often. I'm not vain; a lot of the pictures are, quite truthfully, terrible. Maybe it's just me looking back at past memories or because I like re-reading old comment conversations. Maybe I just like remembering how weird I was as a 14-year-old. I just really don't know!

Second, I pretty much only write on other people's walls to wish them Happy Birthday. I literally do very little else. In my intense self-stalking, I've seen that pretty much every lil snit-bit of what I write on walls consists of "Happy Birthday So-and-So! :)"

No, really.

Yes, it varies with how well I know said friend that I'm wishing a happy day of birth, buuuut other that that, it's pretty true! I just CAN'T not wish someone a happy birthday! It's their birthday after all! They deserve a birthday greeting from that girl (AKA me) that they haven't talked to since 8th grade even though they've been friends on Facebook since pretty much ever.

They love it.

Third, I've become paranoid to post a status perdy much ever. I have some friends who don't understand that Facebook does not equal Twitter and definitely does NOT equal the TMI sharing zone. Because I'm so freaked out by such gems of friends and don't want to be like them (but I'd never block them; they're hilarious), I rarely ever post Facebook statuses. If I do, I make sure that it's either clever or thoughtful or funny or something to be sure that I get a lot of likes. Don't lie. You do this to some degree too.

Fourth, Jim is hilarious.

'tis true.

Such a winner.