Things to do when you finish your test completely early and have an hour before class resumes:

• Call someone you know will be available. Force as much conversation as possible before the person realizes you're using them for a social shield and hangs up on your loser-self.


• Buy a blended mocha at a nearby coffee stand. Do not waste it's potential by drinking it quickly. Stir the whipped cream slowly. Sip the mocha as if you're deep in thought until it's finally gone and you're a pathetic geek-nerd again.


• Be sure not to impose on other classmates' territory. Since noone knows anyone else from class, they will have all claimed benches, tables, and space by the railing for themselves, so that they might chatter on their cell phones with their hip friends.


• Try calling someone - ANYONE - in the hopes that they will be willing to entertain you. Noone home? Then text message them. And do it slowly. S-L-O-W-L-Y. That way you can delay the appearance of extreme uncoolness a little longer.


• Finally, give up. You've done everything short of taking up smoking. Go sit in the classroom and scribble notes for blogging your geek-nerd experience. In doing so, you have embraced your nerdiness. Well done. Your geek-nerd membership card will arrive in the mail in 4-6 business days.

So, did everyone get through the hurricane okay? I figured I'd ask since I have friends/family in the South. My aunt and uncle had to leave Biloxi after their house was flooded. Otherwise, it seems like most of my family got through okay.

In light of the trouble many near the Gulf of Mexico are going through, it seems so petty that Californians complain about earthquakes. I know there have been some pretty bad ones over the years, but at least earthquakes are over pretty quickly. We don't have to anticipate an earthquake for days, as with hurricanes. We seldom have heavy rain or storms, and most of the year it's sunny and warm. I find it funny when my uncle, who is cognitively impaired (the new PC word), warns Brandon and me about the earthquakes in California. Though I know it's out of good intentions that he does so, I'm still tempted to warn him about the storms, tornadoes, suffocating humidity and other bad weather from which Alabama suffers, but I figure that wouldn't be for the best. He has earthquakes across the continent to worry about.

Caution: Spoilers

I love having books and movies spoiled for me. It makes the experience much more enjoyable. It's like I'm this omniscient being as I hear the story for the first time. "Oh, so she thinks this relationship will last? Little does she know he'll die on page 552!"

But others hate knowing the ending. For some reason, suspense makes books/movies more enjoyable for them. So at movies, I have to keep my mouth shut about how the dog is going to die and the ship is definitely going to sink. Even though it's more enjoyable to know that dog is going to get the mange or rabies or whatever makes it okay to shoot a golden retriever, so that one does not become emotionally attached to the dog and look stupid for crying at the end of the movie.

So at lunch yesterday, it was merely habit when I asked, "Is it sad because the woman dies?" and got the answer, amidst the disapproving groans of the others at the table. I mean, c'mon, if some one says "It's a good movie but it's really sad" that means some one has to die. Sorry if that spoiled it for you.

I made the mistake all wives make at some point. I washed a load of jeans, and I didn't check the pockets first. Of course, girls leave very few items in their pockets, because we have purses. So we can generally throw our pants into the washing machine without a second thought. Actually, I saw a guy at my college the other day who had a purse. Well, it looked a lot like a purse. Not a letter-bag, not a bookbag. An olive green purse. But what kind of bothered me was that I really liked his purse. So does that mean I'm masculine or he's feminine and has good taste in purses? Well, he does have a man-purse. I think he's effeminate. But I bet it is easier for his partner to do laundry.

Men are a bit different, in that one must inspect every pocket of every pair of their jeans before washing them. I've washed Brandon's wallet before, which cleaned his cards and money quite well and shredded business cards into tiny pieces which gleefully tumbled in the dryer like white confetti. This time, though, a pen found its way into the washing machine. And did it attack the pocket of his jeans? Why, no! It attacked my jeans. My new pair of jeans. And I tried Spray n' Wash, color-safe bleach, and even Goo Gone to get it out, to no avail. I searched briefly online for a solution, but most of the suggestions I found I had already tried or required that I buy a "wonderful, powerful, fail-proof cleanser" in order to get the ink off.

So does anyone have tips on getting ink out? I'd be much obliged, because I really did like that pair of jeans.

Eat My Dust

White Dirt
Originally uploaded by mosaiclife.

When my friend Melissa informed me that she knew of a gas station that sold edible dirt, I thought she was kidding. Or mistaken. Tobacco can look like dirt. Funky candy can look like dirt. And besides, who would EAT dirt?

But she proved it's existence by mailing me some dirt to dine on at my leisure. I laughed when I got it, because it does sort of look like a bag of chalk - or crack rock (and of course, I rarely get either in the mail). I also noticed on the back, in fine print, it states, "Not recommended for consumption." I guess the people that buy the "Best White Dirt" don't know the definition of consumption. Or they just don't care.

A conversation over Lucky Charms:

Wendy: When I think of a "lucky charm," I think of a rabbit's foot. How come there are no rabbit's foot marshmallows in here?

Brandon: Maybe a "lucky rabbit's foot" isn't Irish. Besides, there are all kinds of marshmallows in here. You can't tell what's what. There probably is a rabbit's foot in there.

Wendy: I think I could recognize a severed rabbit's foot, even in marshmallow form.

I began my math class last night. Since I'm in such a high-level math class, we began by reviewing how to add, subtract, and multiply positive and negative numbers. My teacher explained multiplying quite well I think, by saying the following:

If something good happens to a good person, we consider it a positive thing. If something bad happens to a bad person, in a morbid sort of way, it's a positive thing. If something bad happens to a good person, we consider it negative, because we don't want bad things to happen to good people. And if something good happens to a bad person - like if a bank robber gets away - then it's negative as well. Therefore, a positive times a positive is a positive, a negative times a negative is a positive, and a negative times a positive is a negative.

I really think I'd have enjoyed math much more if teachers had explained math that way.

The Lord Giveth

Pepper Buds
Originally uploaded by mosaiclife.

Just when I thought I was the black angel of death to all plants, the banana pepper seeds that I planted began to emerge from the dirt. I'll refrain from naming them until they're a little older.
Aren't they cute?

And the Lord Taketh Away

Death of Oskar
Originally uploaded by mosaiclife.

Poor Oskar seems to be coming down with a slight case of death. I don't know what the deal is. I tried laying off with water, then gave him more sun and a little water, but nothing seems to be working. He was perfectly healthy a few weeks ago.

Brandon says that Oskar is dying because he's an ivy plant, and all ivy plants die in the summer and grow back in the winter. I'm not so sure.

So, I thought since it was Friday and I couldn't think of anything to blog, I'd blog the Friday Five or whatever. But the one for this week was lame, so I chose one from a few weeks back. Here you have it:

1. Are you a dog or cat person?
Cat person, no question. I love cats, and I can't wait until we can get one. Every time I see a picture of Paulo's cat, Pandora, Brandon has to put up with five minutes worth of "AWWWW... I want a kitty!" And when we do get a kitty, I want it to be just like my old cat, who lives with my mom in Alabama. Sutty is 18 pounds and cute as a button. Plus he can shed twice his weight in fur.

2. How many pets do you have?
Not counting my plants? One. Dieter, my lovely betta fish. He's fiesty. That's why I love him.

3. What’s the best thing about your pets?
Um. Well, he can't chew anything up or pee on our carpet. And we don't have to pay a pet fee to our apartment complex for him.

4. What’s the weirdest thing your pet has done?
Well, the other night when Brandon was feeding him, he jumped and bounced off the side of the bowl. He definitely shares our zeal for food.

5. Plans for any more pets?
Most definitely. But not too many. As I said before, I want a cat, and Brandon wants a dog. He wants a golden retriever, I think, which is the default dog. If I got a dog, I'd want an English bull dog with a horrible overbite.

Just the Necessities

Wendy: What should I get at the store?
Brandon: Whatever will get us through the week.
Wendy: Does that include cake?
Brandon: How else would we get through the week?!

After tonight I will be finished with my Basic History of the U.S. class. But first, I have to write a paper about the causes/effects of the Civil War.

I'm tempted to write my paper with a southern slant. The term "dirty yankees" isn't offensive, is it? At least not to California people. They pretty much stayed out of the whole war thing. However, growing up in the South, I always identified yankees as people that said "You guys" or spoke with a nasal sort of accent. Yankees always reject the word "y'all" and take the word Coke to mean Coke, not Sprite, not Dr. Pepper. So it's hard to say if I would have considered Californians yankees.

Next semester will be punishment for all of my easy classes. I'll be taking nothing but math and science. "But Wendy," you say, "you've already taken biophysical science at BCF and Astronomy a few semesters ago. Do you really need more science?" Why, yes, I do. And why? Because evolution wasn't taught in my biophysical science class at BCF. As if I need a class to understand evolution. Primordial ooze turned into a fish, and then turned into a dinosaur, and then it turned into a bird, and then turned back into a fish, and then into a monkey, and finally, the ooze transformed into a human. And that is why we have snot - it's the primordial ooze. It's also why we taunt monkeys at the zoo. Our ooze was smart enough to keep going, and not stop as a banana-eating creature that can only speak sign language.

As you may know, Brandon has built up quite a little library for himself. He loves his books dearly. In fact, he has scanned most of his books into a database, and for those that are too old to scan, I'm sure he plans on making ISBN numbers and barcodes.

I tried to tell him that if a robber breaks in, he (or she, let's be PC about it) will probably not say, "Wow - Calvin's Commentaries! Jackpot!" In fact, I doubt a robber would say "Jackpot!" at any thing they found in our house. You hear that, potential robbers? We're not worth robbing. Unless you're a New Testament scholar or Classics major. And if so, you may want to get a different job if you want to seem upstanding.

I know it's late, but I thought I'd wish Waffle House a happy birthday. I'm sure Waffle House doesn't mind that it's late, because this is around the time I'd generally go there. Too bad the nearest one is quite a drive away.

Happy 50th, Waffle House. Keep on keeping on. And whatnot.

Small talk is necessary at some point, no matter who you are. Well, perhaps not if you're a hermit, but I'm sure you'd probably like to chit chat with a squirrel or something once the isolation gets to you. One basic thing to remember about small talk is not to get too personal. People (and probably squirrels) are rather paranoid these days. So, here are some pre-packaged conversations in order to avoid awkward silences with people you don't know:

1. The weather.
"Wow, it's pretty hot outside. It's been a while since we've had any rain. Where are you from?" If they say a location in the 909, continue, "Wow, I bet it gets REALLY hot there." If they name a location near the beach, say "Oh it's probably pretty bearable there. You're lucky."
2. Traffic. First, find out where they drove from.
"Oh, so traffic was pretty bad, huh?" If not, you're out of luck. If so, ask if there was a wreck, and if so, get details. Conversations with people you don't know can actually be enjoyable when there is wreck talk.
3. Ask how long they've lived here.
It'll take the person a little bit of time to describe the history of places they have lived. Maybe they'll even talk about how they lived in Hawaii when they were two, but don't remember it. Once they get to the California part, some one is generally required to complain about the price of living in California. If you don't live in California, you could perhaps talk about how expensive it is to live in the trailer park, hermit shack, or igloo.

By this point, you should have been relieved of the awkward conversation with the person you don't know. Otherwise, you're on your own.

To My Dearest Porcupine,
Today we've been married for three years. It seems odd that it was three whole years ago when we braved the heat of August in Alabama, posed for far more pictures than we imagined, and pledged to love one another for the rest of our lives. On that day I thought I couldn't possibly love you more. But it's funny how much more I've grown to love you, now that I know you so much better. Sure, we both have our quirks. You attempt to overflow our apartment with books, I name our plants and assign them personalities, but it works out well. I love that you refuse to let me put away the laundry without your help, how you bake the dessert when I cook dinner, how you always have dinner waiting for me when I get home late from school.

Our lives definitely became easier after the second year of marriage, mostly because before then we were haunted by health problems or financial difficulty. But in the midst of our different struggles, you always stayed hopeful, patient, and you trusted in God to get us through. I'm so glad that God blessed me with such a wonderful husband.

Happy Birthday, Marriage. Yay for year three!

All my life I've been told to smile more. The first few years in school, each yearbook picture I brought home was of me glaring. The photographer would say, SMILE! and then call me something like "Lil' Annie Oakley" or "Lil' Bo Peep." And I'd glare. Who wouldn't glare at the photographer? Plus he brushed my hair like a complete nerd. Since kicking him was out of the question (it's pretty obvious when I'm about to kick someone, so he'd have a chance to run away) all I could do was glare. Which probably gave the impression that I was a very angry, angry child from kindergarten to second grade.

In fifth grade, my music teacher told me to smile. She was nice enough, so I managed a smile, but without showing my teeth because she hadn't earned that much of a smile. She then said, "Don't you look pretty when you smile! You're much prettier when you're happy!" In that case, I was probably never "much prettier." Smiling just doesn't come naturally to me. Unless something is funny, of course. Or some one is taking a picture, because I figure, hey, that picture will last much longer than the memory of me. When they go back and see the pictures, all with me smiling, they'll think I was a much more cheerful person. And cheerful people are much prettier.

So I try to keep a half-smile most of the time, because my half-smile is equivalent to most people's pleasant expressions. Plus when I forget to half-smile, I get a lot more comments like "what's wrong?" and "are you mad?" Nope, just wasn't blessed with a perma-grin. I bet the Joker never got comments like that.

Yes, I feel slightly bad for using more than one Mefi link in two days, but this one is great. It's a site dedicated to bad poetry. Of course, it's not hard to find bad poetry since overly-emotional adolescents are free to run amuck, subjecting blog readers to such awful hormone-driven verse that it's impossible not to feel embarrassed for them. After all, it's the least one can do, as the kiddies do not know that they should be ashamed just yet. Anyhow, a couple of my favorites are this poem that praises a preacher mercilessly, and Tragedy. To quote Tragedy:

At the water that oozes up, plop and plop,
On the barges that flop
And dizzy me dead.
I might reel and drop.
Plop.
Dead.

Beat that, hormonal teenagers.

This fish is so gross. It totally made me shudder upon seeing it.

So, cigarette smoke leads to belly fat, apparently. Then how come everyone I know that smokes, even those who began smoking as teenagers, are totally thin? That's supposed to be the one good thing about smoking. That it keeps you slim. I think the report that smoking can cause "a big waist, high blood pressure, high levels of blood fats called triglycerides, low levels of good cholesterol, and evidence of insulin resistance" is just a scare tactic to keep teens from smoking. Because getting fat is totally worse than lung cancer.

So my brother-in-law, Sean, has become a Subway Sandwich Artist. Actually, he considers himself a Sandwich Apprentice, but I'm sure he'll work his way up. Sean informed me that Subway has discontinued the seafood and crab sub. That's like, the only sub I liked.

During my year at The Baptist College of Florida, the only thing to eat besides the cafeteria food was Subway. The seafood and crab and baked chicken with southwest sauce were the only sandwiches that weren't horribly bland. In fact, during my time at BCF, I discovered the real secret to the Subway diet: you get so sick of the food that you'd prefer to go hungry rather than choke down another sub.

Good job, Subway. You ruined the only good thing you had.