Enjoying Compliments, and Missing the Source of Said Compliments

During my junior year of college at BYU, I took a Shakespeare class. Andrew would be quick to point out that it was not the only one that I took, but he's at work now, so I can say whatever I want. Huzzah for free speech! Anyway, I took this class and it was pretty interesting. In case you didn't know, I graduated with an English degree, and I love reading, and I love Shakespeare as well. Not all of his plays, mind you, but a lot of them. This was no ordinary Shakespeare class, however. It was different.

Instead of the usual run of the mill 10 page research paper for the final and whatever piece of torture for the midterm, we kept a blog during the semester. The blog was to be the equivalent of the research paper in work, but it was spread out over the whole course instead of writing it all the night before it's due. Because, let's be honest, what English major actually has time to write the paper for THAT class when they're already working on the other three papers for THOSE classes? This blog project was to help us to get around that problem while at the same time allowing us to have more freedom of tone and expression, and a whole lot of fun with media clips.

During a peer review, a classmate decided that she was one of the awesomest people on the whole planet, and gave me some very nice and glowing remarks. She said that not only was I a "FANTASTIC WRITER," but that"throughout the blog Natashya maintain’s a personable and intelligent voice. If these posts were handed to me in paper form with no identifying markers I would quite reasonably be able to assume that they were written by one person." That really makes a writer feel pretty good. A consistent voice that actually sounds intelligent? Awesome! (The peer review was done via blog post, and it's here if you wanted to see it. Even if you didn't, it's good to cite your sources.) (OH! And here's my somewhat intelligent Shakespeare blog that I did last year.)

Not going to lie- I feel pretty good about myself, and very benevolent towards this person. I mean, what taste and discernment! But besides feeling great because of these wonderful compliments (most of which were probably undeserved, since I really wasn't the best about posting on that blog- but it WAS the semester that I started dating Andrew...), I now realize something.

I miss writing. 

True story. I am one of those weird people that actually love to read something, and then analyze it in a paper. I LOVE it. I don't always like writing the paper in a very stressful time frame, especially when grades are on the line, but I do enjoy the actual activity. Did you know that I wrote a 12 page research paper on Disney princesses? Yup. It was about how society's ideal feminine archetype has changed from the Maiden to the Modern. I used Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs, Enchanted, and The Princess and the Frog as my texts. It was a really great paper to write. I mean, how many people get to watch three Disney movies for HOMEWORK?!

I know that a lot of people have said that they like this blog because of my personable writing tone. Honestly, I just write things how they come to my mind, almost as if I were just speaking. Maybe that makes some of you wonder what the heck kind of conversations I have with people, but I can assure you that most people I spend time with are rather splendid at understanding my language. And at speaking my language.

All of this goes to say don't be surprised if you suddenly see an essay pop up on here. Or maybe I'll just start writing stories. Stories about life. Or maybe I'll just keep blogging and writing in my journal.

NOTE: I'm starting another type of blog postings- the kind where I just blurb out something, even though there may be no point to it. If nothing else, it should at least help me get into the habit of posting.

On an Addition Problem

Hello, everyone. I’m the other proprietor of this blog, Andrew.

I may write on it as well, from time to time, to add a few cents of my own or to set the record straight. If I don’t write often, it’s not that I have anything against it, but it’s a combination of several factors. First, I’m not as natural a writer as my darling, wonderful wife, Tashya. Second, she is. Third, she’s really lovely, too. Fourth, I spend my time doing lots of homework. (As I planned this post, I actually envisioned myself making a picture of my teachers and what they were thinking… but Tashya took that idea right out my head and then did a better job with it than I would have done.) Some of my homework assignments are a little like the following:

Semester project: Make an oil well. That is INVINCIBLE:

Make cold Nuclear fusion. On a $25 budget:

Solve this equation: 

Solve world peace:

Needless to say, I’m often busy. You’ll notice a theme – engineers like to make things or fix things. Some people simply assume I FIX THINGS. Like, any problem, upon my looking at it, can be resolved just as easily as saying, “Ah… I see!” Which, although occasionally true, is sadly not the case. Hence the above homework problems still lacking completion.

Enough about me.

So for today’s lecture, I would like to pose a question: What happens when you add a Tashya and a Squeakyhammer?

First, we need to cover what a Tashya is. A Tashya is a pretty lady who is intelligent, kind, thoughtful, lovely, and wonderful. This particular Tashya is better than all of the rest and is also my wife. And she also has a mischiveous streak a mile and a half wide. On a good day.

A Squeakyhammer is an inflatable hammer, standing about four feet tall, that most commonly presents itself in bright, flourescent colors. You have probably seen one like it somewhere. Squeakyhammers are a more specific breed of inflatable hammers, however, in that they squeak when you hit something with them. We have ourselves acquired a pair of such hammers, but how that happened is another story altogether. Suffice it to say that a squeakyhammer or two does present itself on occasion.

Now, the addition in question is also worth discussing. Normally, you would think of it as meaning the giving an item like a squeakyhammer to someone. In this case, however, the Tashya is most sneaky, and addition may present itself in the form of her sneaking the hammer, her sneaking up behind you with the hammer, her waking you up with the hammer in hand, or her luring you over to her when she insists she doesn’t have any malicious intent at all:

Well, what happens, you ask? Well, what do you think? As Einstein said, “Everyone is a genius. But if you judge a fish on its ability to climb a tree, it will live its whole life believing that it is stupid.”

She pounces on you and smacks you with the squeakyhammer until silly.  

Until you’re silly.

Or until she’s silly.

(But chances are one of you was silly to begin with).

Anyways, we have our answer for today’s discussion. Please join me next time for another enlightening discussion.

Homework this week: Watch your back when you hear someone tiptoeing up behin.. .AAAAHHHHH…...aaia ;li s[oyhp iausghpugb!!!!!

I'm a Pizza

Well, this week was hectic. No, more like it was characterized by activity, excitement, and/or confusion. There was a lot of homework assigned. You know what? I think that teachers just sit around and think we're bored, or we don't have anything else in life but their ONE class, or they're just downright sadistic and diabolical.

A real highlight this week was Monday. I was to give a French oral presentation class. It wasn't really supposed to be a scary thing, especially since this isn't a SPEAKING class, it's a LITERATURE class. That means we're not heavily graded on our speaking intelligence (which is REALLY great). Well, thanks to an excessively busy weekend, I didn't have as much time to prepare as I would have liked. That meant that I was doubly freaking out about this get-up-in-front-of-the-class-and-speak-intelligently-in-another-language-even-though-I-can't-speak-English thing.

Andrew, in his general goodness, took some time out of his busy schedule of homework to try to help me.

As useful as this effort was, it only served to make me more agitated when the little red YUMMIES! were gone away from me.

Andrew and I go to campus at 8:00 every morning for his Captstone class. I don't have class until 9:00. I spent an hour outside of my classroom awaiting my sure doom. Andrew sent many reassuring texts, and I promptly ignored them in my determinedness to vizualize the future of the world after my French presentation. It wasn't looking good.

I was going to single-handedly be the cause of the destruction of the entire world.

It was with this vision fresh in my mind that I heard my name called by my teacher in class. I went to the front of the room. All of the students were so eager to learn. They looked at me in great expectation, faces beaming with anticipation. They looked at me. I returned the favor, being too paralyzed to speak.

The class was growing dismayed at my lack of speech and awkward blank expression. People began to look concerned. I opened my mouth ...

And nothing came out. This didn't help matters. I took a deep breath, gathered my courage like a pig gathers truffles, and spoke.

My teacher and classmates seemed less weirded out when they heard some sound coming out of my mouth. They probably thought that I was needing to go through the entire evolution of speech just to give my 5-7 minute French presentation on Christine de Pizan. Taking some pride in my minute success, I again pulled in my five wits, and launched into my first use of words since Andrew had left me in front of my classroom that morning. I and my entire class wish I hadn't.

I just knew that the aliens were preparing to blast the world into smithereens. Why did I have to give MY presentation on the ONE DAY that the genteel, French-speaking aliens were passing by in their nifty flying machines?! I could see them in my mind's eye: ZUT ALORS! They were calling for backup! More alien ships approached Earth even as I was speaking! Earth was finished! I was responsible for billions of deaths!

The next thing I knew, I was sitting down in my desk, right next to my friend Tara. A while later, after some other presentations, class was over. I walked out of the room, not really looking where I was going, or what was going on. I sat down outside and waited for Andy. When he came, he gave me an expectant look. I gave him a blank, glazed over expression. He offered me a hug. I took the cinnamon bears.

Sweet solace found in a little red gummy. Who cares if I'm a pizza? Who cares if I told everyone? Who cares if the aliens are going to kill us all? Life was going to be alright.