Holy Ravioli!

*Note-I don't really know this kid. I'm not a creepster I just google imagesed "ravioli" and he's what I got--I thought it was hilarious! hahaha
All right, so I just discovered the "Followers" thingy on blogger--um, changed my life!!! So maybe I'm totally technologically illiterate, but seriously . . . no one told me about this. Anyone care to know what my process has been to check others blogs in the past? No joke I go to my own blog and click down the list of connect-ys I have on the side--so irritating. :( Half they time they haven't even updated and I just wasted tons of time or I have all sorts of issues with remembering where I left off, what I've all ready read, thus the re-reading issue and then remembering half way through the post, wasting more time . . . yeah, wrenching. This is MUCH better. In fact, I'm supre stoked about it. So--ya'all want to follow my blog? Cuz there is now a link on your right for it! What what!!! I know. I'm a nerd. But this is WAY important.


Judi Dench

Queen Latifah


I watched one of those CNN flahdy-floos a few months back which was about a professor at Columbia who believed he has written an equation for beauty. The man quite literally has a diagram which when set upon the photograph of a human face he can say if they will make money in the modeling business or not. He can predict how far they will go or what type of work they will be able to do based on this mathematical diagram. I say, what the hell does he think he is talking about. He has no idea what beauty is or how to define it.
Right now I am working on a scene in Acting II which deals with the theme of beauty and who and how is responsible for saying what it is or who is. As a part of this scene, I have been given the challenge of playing a heartbreaker, long-legged, stops-men-in-their-tracks model with a bit more nerdy best friend. The girl playing the "smart, frumpy one" is freaking gorgeous. And she's sweet and adorable and everything wonderful. This has been a very difficult challenge for me. I like to think I have a fairly okay self-esteem--I mean I have my issues like everyone else but I think I'm a good person and all that, but apparently I do not have any belief in my own beauty.
It was shocking to me to realize how hard it was to hear other people called me beautiful. I was quite genuinely surprised when my director asked, "Why is this hard for you, Katie?" I said, "I have nothing in my own life to draw from." And his response was, "Why? I think you're very beautiful, Katie." He then continued to say that I am a good dresser, I have good hair, a pretty smile, which inspired a cacophony of more compliments from the rest of the class (as this is a class discussion style feedback session) where even MORE people told me, "Oh yeah, you smell good, always look good, you have a great personal style" etc. etc. First of all, hearing comments like that at all struck me . . . in a very weird way. Second of all, hearing that from Chris Clark kind of meant the world to me. I respect him more than about 98% of the world's people--I mean, he's pretty high up there for me and today he took a good three minutes out of his day to tell me very sincerely he thinks I'm beautiful. Not just pretty, but beautiful. Even now, I tear up thinking about it. I've always tried to take compliments well but today I just . . . didn't know what to say. I don't hear that. Ever. Haven't since . . . Prom? Eleventh grade? That's three years ago. And everyone is supposed to look "beautiful" on Prom night. Duh. It's the rules. I don't hear it in that way, at least. I get "Cute sweater" comments and things like that which are so appreciated but today . . . today rocked my world. It almost made me care again. Care about . . . a lot of things. It came on a day when I needed to be told that I am beautiful. What a silly little word that our society puts so much meaning to--that I put so meaning to. But alas, who doesn't want to be told every now again, "Hey, you look good." I know it meant a lot to me today. So . . . I guess that's all I had to say. But, there you go. Also, above are a few pics of people I think are unconventially beautiful.

One of those thingys people ask you to do.

I was tagged in one of those "hey, here's a game to play on your blog" things. The fourth picture of the fourth folder of my "pictures" folder . . . here it is. Of course it's a picture of Scooter. And of course it's ADORABLE. So, I LOVE my nephew. A LOT. He is such an interesting and awesome little person--he's like a miniature sized man these days! He's two and he's definitely always been a big boy, but he is strong and active and curious and fun and playful and mischievous and all the great things a little boy should be. He's quite introverted, content to be in his own world of discovery, and is kind of a mute, but a GENIUS. I swear the kid will be reading in a year. We're working on him talking, but I can't say I'm surprised . . . I think he comes from the thought process of: "So, is my belly full? Yes. Bum clean? Check. Am I tired? Nope. Generally entertained? Enough. Well they obviously all ready get what I need, why talk about it?!" This doesn't surprise me because my dad and brother tend to come from the same school of thought. But anywho, Collin is awesome. And I love him. Fin.
Oh. And I tag Cooper, Landon, Meg, Liz, Margaret, and Emily. Aside from Meg, you ALL need to step up your blog updates game. Come on, team. I'm going to have to start reading like . . .the NEWSPAPER or something if this keeps up. :)

Feeling alone in a full room.

I never understood this saying.

It seems to hit home a lot lately.

Today, I would just like to say that I reformatted my music box . . . and I'm very proud of this week's selection. Listen and enjoy. Consider that your "reading Katie's blog" assignment right now. ;)

Here it goes!

So, here's the thing . . .

I don't let people read my poetry. Ever. Like not ever. I have been friends--really close friends--with Meg for a year and I finally just showed her some of my actual real poetry. . . and I did that because she shows me hers like a lot and I respect her literary opinion. I have posted one poem on here which was vague and generic and really not my best work, so I figured it was safe. Well, I'm going to post some now seeing as not many people really read this anyway and I really just use my blog for selfish "Let me release to the world" purposes. But, for those of you that do read it, please don't judge too hard, but feedback is appreciated--positive and negative. So here it goes:


Woe me! the savor of bitterness.
Is it but the knowledge of that which could be sour?
Tasting what thou tasteth, knowing what thou must see.
Wealth within itself is not a sin,
But what of the Gluttony which purgeth such a sin?
To purge is but to see,
To see is but to know,
And to know is but to understand.
A tender chuckle was once heard in the vast halls of my mind
But no longer will such a shine glimmer.
The muse of misery knows itself too well.
Knowing I will always return to it, wishing
For no more but unable to abstain.
The organization of the mind means nothing but to laugh.
And yet, where does laughter go but into the sour bitterness we all conceal?


To embark
Upon the world in its midst
Of Misunderstanding.
Who is to clear the clouds which crowd our view from what is most real?
My fingertips reach for warmth but find nothing in the fog.
Smog it now has become as man once again makes his footprint.
Oh how much there is to the green which should surround us.
The green which has been dissolved to such a sad gray.
When will we cease to blind ourselves?
Oedipus knew what we continue to deny.
Blindness comes not only in injury or birth,
But in Smog.
How I love to fly as the birds do rejoice—
Clear the clouds!
The rocks and mountains we care so much for
Beyond the green misunderstanding.
I will soon journey my way through the ashes.
When will be decided by the Smog
. . . And when it chooses to clear its ugly head of green blindness.


The sweetness of a word.
The need for that great juice to reach our fingers and glide its way through our blood.
Even the toes yearn for such nectar.
Wanting what we can not have and receiving what we do not want.
What wilst be most important will not reach us now, but in time.
Oh the joys of love—
Music be the food of love,
Yet where are all the musicians?
It seems strings grow quiet as words come to be still.
From the tips of my hairs to the pit of my gut
I know things are not as they believe themselves to be.
Yet what of that?
The existentialist will tell me to wait for the juice of life,
But the realist sitting upon my shoulder knows it will not be so.
Come back to me, sweet music.
Come back.

So, there you go . . . please don't judge too fiercely.

Am I "THAT" girl?

Okay yes, automatic mental reference everyone makes to "I'm not that girl . . . " WICKED moment right? Well, not the topic of today's blog post. I had a very serious 'aha' moment this evening when I was presenting for TAG at Company Call and used the phrase, "Yeah; I'm THAT girl." (Moment: for those in my audience who aren't UVU Theatre Majors, company call is a meeting which happens once a month in which everyone in the theatre department discusses EVERYTHING going on. TAG stands for Theatre Arts Guild which is glorified drama club [Don't tell Kyle Hess I said that] and I'm on the council as "Activities Chair," whatev . . . cool? So at company call, TAG gets to put in their two cents for what's happening with us.) So I'm telling the group about the TAG Opening Social on September 20th which is, yes ashamedly enough, at my parent's house in Orem. When I mentioned it was at my parent's house, I gave it a beat and tossed in, "Yes, I'm THAT girl." Well I thought I was funny and it got a laugh so I was feeling good. Totally tore myself apart, but who cares? Hours after this event, I began to ponder what it REALLY means to be THAT girl. First the thought crossed my mind, "Damn it, AM I THAT girl?!" But then I thought, wait . . . who ISN'T THAT girl at some time or another? "THAT girl" could refer to any number of things which people call the "THAT girl" thing. In all the many forms which "THAT girl" could come in, everyone is "THAT girl." I have composed a basic list here (Note-These are all drawn from real-life inspiration, some quite recently.):
The "THAT girl" which-
1. has her college drama club party at her parent's frilly, over-the-top home. *Connotation-"oh, snobby rich girl who goes to mommy and daddy for things . . . got it."
2. wears her high school drama sweater at her first college theatre meeting. *Connotation-"can't get over high school, making herself look young."
3. does an acting performance which can be defined by no other word but "sweet." *Connotation-"a horrible actress, but a really nice person and kind of a nerd so you give her points for trying hard . . . sweet points."
4. talks too loud and makes a spectacle of herself EVERYWHERE. *Connotation-"usually unattractive, can't get a man, but entertains everyone while making herself look even less attractive and more over-the-top."
5. wears too much make-up. *Connotation-"ho."
So, just with the few examples here we can all ready see the many levels of being THAT girl. Please note that while these probably seem horribly mean, please take note that most of them I drew from experiences from my own life, as in . . . I did them. This is not to be self-deprecating but to hopefully avoid hurting someone else. And I have no problem with it because it IS entertaining and hopefully with the idea of adult, growth, maturity, self-improvement, fladdy-floo, it's irrelevant to me anymore. Many of these stages I feel I have moved beyond.
Another level of the "THAT girl"ness which should be analyzed in all the ways the phrase can be said "THAT girl." Said with a sweet voice-a compliment. With a sarcastic tone on sweetness-a nerd or a "sweet spirit." In a tone of spite-sincere hating of that person's "THAT"ness, etc.
So we are lead to the eternal question . . . ARE we all "THAT girl" in our way? Does my theory prove to be true? And if so, can we ever break free of the "THAT girl" syndrome or is that once we stop being THAT girl, we become another?

What is going on?!

So, my friend Devin Malone is leaving for his mission. Above is him there. Definition of Devin? Quiet, deep-voiced, cynical, funny on accident, generally poor at extroverting himself but remarkably wonderful, fun, and genuine. Haha, but Devin is great and I've really enjoyed getting to know him better even just over the past year. Isn't it interesting how the older we get so much stays the same and so much changes? There are still people I have to sit next to in English class that say weird things and stare too much. But then there are the annoying friends I can choose to not have because when one is an adult, who they spend time with is 1000% in their power . . . especially when it's extra effort. I was surprised how willing Devin and I were to make the "hang out time" effort, even though we weren't THAT close in high school. I'd say we're closer now than we were then is what's interesting, even though I don't see him every day as I did then.

But anywho, I'd like to bring up an experience which took place at the "opportunity to speak" party for Devin, just this afternoon. There is a girl, for the sake of the story we'll call her Tracy, and Tracy is NOT one of my favorite people on this planet Earth. I never use the word hate because I think it's the cruelest thing a person can say, but if I were to make a list of the first nominee to be the recipient of such words should I choose to use them, she would be it. I know that sounds harsh but allow me to explain myself: Tracy has a BIG problem with "two-facedness." Now anyone who knows me well knows that my biggest issue is hypocrisy. I am not a judgemental person, I choose to accept people for who they want to be as long as they are honest and straightforward about it. Well, Tracy has a great gift for not doing that. She can turn herself into whoever she wants to be at the moment--there are some people who I know have only seen happy and good Tracy, and then there are others who have only seen crazy mean Tracy. Well, in high school, my group of friends and I got great helpings of crazy mean Tracy. Her boyfriend for quite a while was someone who is still one of my very best friends--due to this, I tried to be nice to her, but whenever he was able to con her into coming along to play with us, she did not socialize with us, continuously asking him when they could leave, etc. etc. In short, I feel she only chose to be nice to those she thought were "at her level." And apparently, we were NOT cool enough for her. The reason I know this is because I saw happy cool Tracy with people she thought were popular or great enough to deserve to see happy cool Tracy. There are many stories I could tell as to how my opinion of her continued to decline, but I will spare you the boring details. Well toward the end of high school my good friend and she broke up and I have not seen her since. And I had no desire to. In the last three months I have seen Tracy nearly five times! At, can you imagine? The mission farewells of my friends! The ones she ignored, snubbed, never spoke to, now she is showing up and is pretending to be a part of our group. My theory: many of her friends have left on their missions (she didn't have many girlfriends, either--hmm . . . coincidence?) and she has alienated many others, so . . . here she comes to us, the group of people that were always known in high school to be weird and crazy but nice to everyone and way fun. We EPITOMIZED what it means to be a "drama kid" in LDS terms. Why is it that there are some people we want so badly to be in our lives more and can never seem to schedule time with and others we pray to never see again who constantly reappear in our lives uninvited?! It is very frustrating. And thus, I conclude my prose of Tracy.

The Bug

I always know when it starts to haunt me again.

A Change of Heart

I never understood the world's obsession with African Art before. It was so primitive and caveman-like to me in style. I didn't get it. My thought process was, "Duh, isn't the point of art to force society to transcend above the carnal? Think beyond the body and simplicities of life and grasp the abstract?" This is a good point, I think. And it's in my opinion still that some art is intended to do that. But how naive I was to believe it was the ONLY purpose of art. Art is also to celebrate the simple, carnal, human! What a fool I could be to think the only important things in life are complex and distant--intangible. The everyday, the physical, the realistic . . . that's important too. Now my love for African art is ridiculous. Not only do I have strong opinions about what it means, but it also just makes me miss this land I love so much. These may be nondescript African artists I found from who knows where, but just viewing these images makes me tear in missing what I left behind. Some of them are almost photographs of people I saw. I left a part of my heart in Uganda. Margaret mentioned in her blog she left part of her heart in New York (sorry to share, Margie, but you got me to thinkin') and my comment to her surprised myself. One of those things you don't realize you believe until you say it, you know? I thought, "I think part of our purpose for being here is to find the places over this beautiful Mother Earth God has created which mean the most to us. We should find those places where we leave a part of our heart on purpose so that when we die, we die having our love speckled all over the globe." Check. I found one. I'll keep looking. Let you know how the next one goes.

LOOK! >>>>>

So I have this HORRIBLE fear. . . it's that no one ever notices my side bars and the things I put there because I actually have a lot of pride in my side bars and it hurts me to imagine no one is benefitting from my sidebar updates. So, shortly and sweetly said, check 'em out. I am a DANG good sidebarrer.


Dictionary definition:
1. excess in eating or drinking.
2. greedy or excessive indulgence.

MY definition:
1. taking more than one needs.
2. using more than one needs.
3. refusing to return what one takes to use.

The LITERAL definition:
1. In Los Angeles, there are fewer people than there are automobiles.
2. Only 67% of people in Southern American states recycle on a "semi-regular" basis. The highest percentage is in the Northeast--86%.
3. The median household income in the United States is $48,201.00. In Costa Rica, it is $2,595.00. In India, $1,724.00.

How much do we use versus how much we need? Including myself, Americans could do some work.


I had this thought and I think from here on it shall certainly serve as a great motivator for the rest of my days.
This day has come and gone and I have done nothing to contribute something good and selfless to the world. I have helped no one that needed it. I have done nothing to forget myself. I did not dirty my fingernails, I did not tire my ears, I did not weary my feet, none of this in the name of mankind. What a worthless day.

After All by Katie Sue Sullivan

Sometimes I want to cry.
For no reason at all.
Or for good reason.
Tears, after all, are used to abuse.

Sometimes I want to give butterfly kisses.
To show the butterflies we can have fun too.
Or to imitate the flutter I wish I had.
Kisses, after all, can flutter whenever they like.

Sometimes I want to learn about someone great.
To instill hope for mankind.
Or to instill fear of mankind’s power.
Greatness, after all, has many forms.

Sometimes I want her to let me hang on.
To simply prove to me she can.
Or to prove to her I wanted to.
Hanging on, after all, can take all it has to give.

Sometimes I want to laugh.
To enjoy God’s ability to tease.
Or to keep myself from crying for good reason.
Laughter, after all, knows its own motive.

Sometimes I want to be curious.
For the sake of the cat that couldn’t.
Or for my own.
Curiosity, after all, can be a very ignorant state.

Sometimes I want nothing.
For the sake of not wanting.
Or for the sake of wanting the void of something.
Nothing, after all, is not necessarily a bad thing.

*What do you think it means? I wrote it and have no idea. It just felt right.

Something Has Changed Within Me . . . :)

If there's one thing which is impossible to describe, it is the person I have become in such a short time. The old saying goes, "People don't change overnight," which I still believe is true . . . in 99% of the cases. Because even though six weeks still isn't overnight, it's pretty damn fast. I am now convinced that each person has something sometime at least once in their life that will take who they were, chew that person up, and poop out someone else entirely. Uganda definitely chewed up Katie Sue Sullivan and pooped out me. The amazing part about this experience that I had is that I'm not different because "I saw such shocking things," or "I found out about suffering in a way I never had," or something like that. I feel every American loves their drama and most of the people I tell about it want it to be all about the drama and heartbreak I saw, which I'm not saying I didn't see, but that's not the point. What changed me was that I met people I loved on a deeper more unique level than I had ever known before. In loving me they gave me a part of my soul I didn't know was missing and in leaving them another part of my soul died in a way I had never expected.
One program HELP International had set up while I was there was called PWD-"Persons with Disabilities." It was all about teaching mothers how to teach their disabled children, setting up volunteers in Uganda to visit these children and give them outside friendship and love from their families, and most importantly we, the HELP volunteers, were to love them ourselves on a personal level. One little girl's name was Jenny. She was shy and sweet, with one bad arm, a mental disability we never identified by a name, and she loved to play catch. Her other arm was stronger than one would have guessed. My experience with her went as follows:
-The first day I met Jenny she was unsure of me--afraid of my touch and suspicious of me when I looked into her eyes. We played catch for the entire two hours the meeting was and when it was time to go, she wasn't ready to.
-For a few more weeks it went that same way. In addition to being shy and very sweet, Jenny also proved to be a mama's girl. Occassionally she would just need her few minutes, five to ten, to sit by her mother while I played with other kids, and when she was content and done, she would return to where we played, I would notice after a few moments, and we would proceed as before.
-Week four. It's a very busy day at the PWD meeting--many of the volunteers seem to be missing or there have just been a number of children who showed up which normally don't, but either way I am running to keep up with these energetic kids. I get distracted several times from Jenny and my own normal routine of catch, but she is a patient girl. However when one distraction is just taking too long for her, Jenny, the girl who tenses at the touch of my hand, and challenges me with her eyes, takes MY hand and guides me over to where we play. I nearly cried I was so overwhelmed with emotion because I knew what that meant: Jenny trusted me.
-Week seven. It's my last week at PWDs. And I only have a few days more of being in Uganda period. My emotions were running high as it were and until then I had never cried or lost control, but nothing could have prepared me for that day. Jenny had shown signs of a more mischievous spirit underneath through the weeks; every now and again we would share in an unspoken joke, or she proved to do something completely unexpected and funny at the strangest times. And this day, my last day, Jenny showed me her true self. She spoke to me. Jenny never spoke a word to anyone over the past weeks, not once, and that day for whatever reason, Jenny couldn't stop telling me about all sorts of things. I've never wanted to speak Luganda so bad . . . I wanted to know each word she was sharing with me, but the fact that she WAS sharing proved to be the miracle. That day she also sang songs to me and with me, jumped all around the room, danced, spoke some more. There were even a number of ten minutes or so when we took a rest and Jenny sat and merely held my hand, talking and singing her heart out. Even now I can't write this without sobbign and staining my face with salty tears, but it is only because I nver felt such a gift before in my life. Who am I to have the love and trust of this beautiful daughter of our Heavenly Father? Who am I to be worthy to hold her hand and hear her voice sing light happy songs?
*I admit that now I have struggled at times with this odd feeling of almost . . . self-loathing. Allow me to explain I am not one to lack in self-worth, self-esteem, or self-confidence, but this is a unique kind of disdain in that I hate I am not where I felt more at home than I ever have. I feel horrible and disappointed with myself that I'm not where I feel, but logically know is not true, I should be. In my soul, I should be with Jenny still--loving her, serving her, I've never done something more worthwhile in my life. But I also know that my path is to be here for a reason and there will always be someone to be with Jenny. That's why God gives us mothers and sisters and more friends, like I was to Jenny, to his children. Jenny is fine. I know that. Heavenly Father will see to it. And yet, at the risk of sounding naive and cliche, I feel deeply in my heart that He wanted Jenny and I to meet, we were supposed to meet . . . so I would humble myself and remind myself how to love and be loved in the purest of ways. Jenny was... IS my friend. And I miss her terribly.

I Love Africa . . . Well, Everything But the Internet

It's all so new and strange here, but I finally feel like I've found a spot and figured out how I can best assist these people. The internet take a LONG time . . . thus why this is my first post, but I find myself being extremely grateful for the smaller things in life. I truly love the people. They love music and religion a LOT, they are very social and personal--for them the most important thing is not the task at hand but the people involved in that task. It's pretty great, actually. The boda boda rides (motorcycle taxis, basically) are fun and new, the food is good but very plain and simple, I, a curvacious white woman, is a HUGE commodity here and it's funny because that's how Africans like their women. I've never gotten so many whistles in my life. haha But all is well, I miss everybody, and life is good. LOVES!


*So, I think both Margaret and myself are not the best "Hey let's take pictures because I totally always remember my camera!" people. Which is why we don't seem to have any pictures with JUST us. But we are friends! Promise. :)

I miss Margaret keeper-of-all-my-love Huntington more than I can say. It hurts my heart. I forgot about my goal to create more "I love this person and this is why," things so I am hereby reinstating it. And I also remembered that I have forgotten to mention a very special someone in my recent blog creations: Landon Cole Welch, this is me expressing my love so you will continue to read my blog and love me back.

So . . . I love Margie. And this is why:

*She is hilarious and goofy and funny in a way that one would never expect. CRAZY, out-of-control funny.

*She does alien voices that are really addicting. Few and far between people can get me to use alien voices--when she's around, it never stops. That has to mean something.

*Margaret loves so much. She just loves. She shows she cares in her word and her touch. It's subtle but sweet and meaningful. And beautiful.

*I hereby quote Megzy: "Margaret is made of clouds." Translation: I don't know how or why, but Margaret's skin is so soft.

*Margie Wall-E style holds my hand. No one else could possibly understand. Just accept it.

*She is so incredibly talented. Her voice really is dynamite--it's mature but simple and almost a little edgy. Very interesting.

*Margie knows who she is. She knows the plan Father created for us and what that means for her life. She knows of her divine potential and believes in herself to live up to that. The kind of self-assuredness and confidence Margaret has makes her automatically just . . . appealing to people. Naturally individuals are drawn to those that love themselves because subconsciously we all know that means they are the people who best love others.

*Even though she's six hundred miles away, I feel her happiness with me.

I love you, friend. I'm Wall-E style hand holding you right now.

A Recurring Love Affair: My Anti-Drug

This one and another have my tie for favorite. Entitled: "Birthday Gifts"

Those goats. Always up to no good. ;)
Annoyingly well-known, but a goodie.

I think this one is my favorite. I would love to spend eternity in a flowing purple dress while my husband smiles and does all he can to keep my feet on earth.
And the pink house would be ours.

I've been obsessed with Chagall before, but it's been reignited as of late. But I've finally figured out why this reoccurring love affair has had such a place in my life. Chagall's work IS a love affair. I feel that Chagall depicts . . . well, love. Warm, lively, contagious, pure love--the kind of love everyone dreams about, the sort of love that keeps so many movies, books, television shows, and songs continuously earning money and coming back or being rewritten in a different setting, key, or lyric. And even though the love Chagall predicts is this same intangible thing I feel that he has a way of making it tangible. Making it real. It's romantic, but pure; and moving, but touchable. I don't know how else to describe it. His paintings are . . . healing for me. They're . . . warm. Notice the recurring themes of goats--historical symbols of creativity, fertility, verility, sensuality, livelihood, and contagious excitement. Dramatic color dicotomies between cool blues and greens with striking reds, yellow, and oranges. And floating people--as though they were light from love, or "walking on cloud 9." I think it's all fabulous. What a brilliant creator. Fin.

Really? I mean, REALLY?!

So let's talk about this . . . I apologize if the sexual undertone makes you at all uncomfortable like it did for me, but that's the video. And yes, it is sponsored by the United States government. This advertisement is a part of a federal campaign called "Declare Yourself," a line of advertisements, websites, and commercials to get young adults between the ages of 18-24 to get to vote. Naturally when I first read about this I was super excited and I really do think it's a great idea . . . our age group needs to be more involved. For me having the opportunity to finally vote was like Christmas--my siblings have always accused me of secretly getting a fake I.D. when I was younger so I could vote / they made jokes about me fighting politics with dad. . . I was that kid. So, I love the idea of this: I am in agreement with their goal--it's totally sad that this age range of people who are in college and university, supposedly preparing for making their impact on the world, and living in the epicenter of where all change has started throughout history, are not participating in the basic impact they can have right now. So the basic concept of this campaign I am in total support in--making politics appealing to younger demographics and increasing voter polls is all good. But watch this advertisement. Really? I mean, REALLY?! Apparently this girl is a boxer of sorts or something and it's not bad to show that, but shouldn't the emphasis be more of a Rocky / Million Dollar Baby, "Hey look, I'm tough and cool and a chick, but I vote too!"? The majority of the twenty second video is closeups of the director's favorite body parts and she hardly speaks at all. How can the United States government feel good about taking voting--a civic duty and overall regal activity, and making it about sex? I do NOT see the correlation. My favorite part is the sultry rhythmic music in the background which, sure, with the heavy breathing and such could suggest "boxing," but what 18-24 thought about that first? I know what the music brought to my mind . . . and it sure wasn't voting. What sort of message is the government sending to this demographic they're going after by basically indicating that something is only cool if it's sexy? There are so many other angles that could be taken to give voting appeal for young people and I'm disappointed that this is the one that was chosen. But "Declare Yourself" in concept is good, so whatever, I guess . . . right? I never want to be one of those people that makes a mountain out of a mole hill but I was just a little appauled at this ad and wanted to share. Maybe at the very least we can chuckle at our own society--how much more pleasure and personal gain-oriented could we get, do you think?

Picture worries

I thought I was cool. I had never played drum hero before.

I had a weird obsession with all the street statue advertisements in Europe.

I look posessed in this one. Haha, I'm not sure if I hate it or love it. And I wanted that bike REALLY bad. (Hey, hey my birthday's in August--there's still time! :)

I just realized I haven't had any pictures of me up for awhile. And I always get concerned about that because for me, sometimes, if I'm searching for a blog of someone I know, I'm not sure it's theirs until I scan through and see a picture of them. Well, I don't want to come up for anyone else and for them NOT to recognize my blog! That would be such a nuisance! So, here's some I guess. I'm just doing random stuff.
So, I have a secret to tell everyone. It's really embarrassing. Like two weeks ago, I was up way too late writing blog posts, and I saved them as drafts for "posting later." Yeah, well . . . this is what I came up with at five am. I am only sharing for the sake of how awful it is. But it gave me a chuckle reading it in hindsight. Haha, take caution and enjoy.
My blogging lately has been a little obsessive. I used to do it like once every two weeks, maybe. Probably not. And now I can't stop. The blog fire has been lit within me and nothing can extinguish it now. Such as:
"The spark of my blogging . . .
Is flickering within me.
The spark of my blogging . . .
Won't let me sleep at all.
Until I discover the perfect back cover
and the topics in love I will fall.
It's my newest calling . . .
the spark of my blogging."
And for my not-theatrically friends that don't know what this is from, I apologize. If you really care check out "Children of Eden"--it's a musical. As for the rest of y0u, if you don't think I am as hilarious as I know I am, shame on you.

I have no idea, friends. If I ever remember who sold me the crack I was on, I'll let you know. Because apparently it was really good. I'm most impressed with myself in the fact that I thought adding a Children of Eden picture added a lot to the post.


This is another one I wrote late at night. I think it's actually semi-sane, but you're allowed to beg to differ. I kind of like it maybe. It is a true story that happened a few weeks ago. Enjoy:

I LOVE hugs. From almost anyone, almost anytime, almost anywhere. I do toss in the almost because there are the exceptions: e.g. the smelly Jewish kid on my trip to Europe that tried to kiss me--not that his being Jewish had anything to do with it, but I'm creating an image. He was smelly and nerdy and weird. Also, when I've just come from the gym, a hot place, or sunbathing . . . aka anytime I am sweaty and gross. And I can't think of a place that I wouldn't like a hug, but I'm sure there's one that exists in the world, so I'm covering my bases. But, for the most part, I love a good hug. Just a campanionable, sweet, innocent gesture of affection that says, "I think I'm neat. I think you're neat. Let's hug." That means so much to me! Well, most of my friends know this about me and expect it as such. And this also makes my reunions with them after a long period of time such an experience of joy for me! This week has been a week of many reunions, it seems. I had family here from Texas, all of my high school friends are finally home and we've had some togetherness good times, I hadn't seen a number of my college friends since school got out and I hung with them, and my best friend is going on his mission. Bittersweet, naturally; but that's another story. And I choose not to be the whiney friend over missionness when that's the Lord's calling. (After I got out my day's worth of it to my best girlfriends and sister, of course. :) ) But anywho. There was one hug in particular that really just meant so much; it was totally, just . . . healing. I won't say who, or where, or when because I don't want to embarrass anyone for being a particularly fantastic hugger, but they just grabbed me and held on tight for a good like entire minute. But it just kind of filled my heart with happy because (Heart with happy? I think I like that.) it wasn't a creepy hug, or a lovey hug, or an awkward hug, or an obligatory hug . . . none of that. It just was like, "Hey, you're neat. I'm neat. Let's hug." And I love that. That's all--great hug story is all I got.
Ya know, I use the term "i.e." all the time. And really, I have no idea what it actually means.

did you ever know that you're my hero.

and everything i would like to be.

and i. i can fly higher than an eagle.

for you. you are the wind beneath my wings.

It seemed appropriate than only an incorrect minimalistic sort of punctuation here would suffice for how this bit of prose makes me feel. Bored. Completely and utterly bored. And yet, what is the song, nay not just song but same part of song that has been the bain of my existence i.e. constantly running through my brain, not letting me rest or stop thinking, or think of any other human being than Bette Midler as of late? This one. And when I say as of late I mean the last five weeks as of late. Yet, what do I do about it? Try to replace it with other songs . . . oh yes. Have tried. The new song will stick for a few minutes, hours, but sometime later the lines of this 80's hit creeps its scathing, slimy way back into my psyche. It also doesn't help that I'm the type who always has a song running through my head. Next possible options: always change the subject when it pops up--like one of those people who swears too much and thus carries around a new word with its definiton on a card in their pocket . . . but where does this lead? My issue with this attempt is that somehow I always end up thinking about how I started thinking about what I am now thinking about in the first place which roots me back to the song that I purposefully tried to stop thinking about. Fascist Bette Midler. And here we are again. Thinking to myself, "

did you never know that you're my hero.

and everything i would like to be.

and i. i can fly higher than an eagle.

for you. you are the wind beneath my wings.

It's made me start to hate the visual image of a regal, gorgeous flying bald eagle, too. And then that makes me feel a little unpatriotic. Which gets me thinking of my own patriotism. Which then makes me think of Bush. Which then leads my thoughts to McCain. And then Romney. Preceding Obama. Followed by Clinton. Hilary then Bill. And then Monica Lewinsky. And then back to Bette Midler. Fascist. (To which she responds, "Turncoat.")

Good Week

This week was really unique, full of events, and really fun. It was just a good week. Here's how it broke down:
Sunday-Mother's Day. Go to old home ward with my parents cuz it's the day of maternalism celebraty and I saw a number of old friends from my Young Women days that are home for the summer or the weekend and lots of similar faces in the adults. It was cool too to see some the kids I used to babysit; one was passing the sacrament and that tripped me out! I felt old for a second. But the rest of the day was great . . . my whole family went to my aunt's house for a grand celebration with my cousins that are in town from Wisconsin,? Michigan?, jk Texas. Then we all came back to the Sullivan casa and swam. Good day with family.
Monday-Went to class, felt academic. Went to work, felt like I contributed to the gross national product. Slept because I didn't feel well, felt revitalized. Went to my night class, professor didn't show up, thus played with Meg, Jake, Margaret, Margaret's friend. (Tom?) Then returned to the Sullivan casa, swam. Kim, Kristy, Cooper, and his friend Aubrey swam with us too. Good fun.
Tuesday-slept in . . . glorious. Went to temple with Liz . . . ethereal. Ran errands . . . accomplished. Watched 6 hour Pride & Prejudice with Liz (Not even kidding) . . . decadent with a twist of slothful. Swam with Liz . . . fun. I like this pool thing.
Wednesday-Test in government, think I did really well! Worked, feeling of "getting things done," or "checking off the list" is good. I like feeling like I did real, measurable, solid work. Played with Angie. That was great. I miss her. We caught up on a lot of things. Talked and then swam in my pool. Is that fourth night in a row? Oooo, and new clothes came in the mail! I buy my swimming suits online--have you ever tried to find a modest suit that doesn't look like it belongs on *insert favorite famous unattractive overweight old woman with bad style here*? It's impossible. Online searching is quicker--thus why I buy my suits there, and oldnavy.com was having a dress sale too, and my mom said she'd buy me these clothes, so naturally. . .
Thursday-Ran "me" errands. You know, the stupid things that stack up that just have to get done? Dumb things, random things, but still the same, things. Things that take time. But then, had a Caitlin day. So fun. Drove up to her coffee shop on Bangerter where she made me chai. (She really does make a fantastic chai.) Then we went to the yarn store of her heart, and an adorable pastry shop, and food at a pizzeria downtown, and then walked the Gateway--for hours. It was fantastic. I bought more than I can afford and nothing I really need, but it was fun. Two books of poetry, new purple nail polish (which I all ready got comments about so I know is a good purchase) a craft which was a color-it-yourself-door-hanger (worthless, but I'm excited) and of course the pastries, which were an event within themselves.
Friday-Next to nothing, which was great. Class . . . in my pajamas. It was a battle getting there at all and the second I was home I was back on the couch, vegging. Veg. Ran more random errands in the afternoon. Babysat Scoot for an hour--cake. Bought Cooper his birthday gift, went to his dinner, then Heather's house. Then I did a "5 day countdown to mission" present for Justin. I'll miss him, so I'm avoiding the thought process with worthless nothing gifts.
For tomorrow I have Uganda training, which has been really enjoyable and I daresay fun the last few weeks, and then of course the Masquerade ball! But it will most definitely be an entry all within itself.
But anyway, good week.

Muy Importante

Well, all right everybody I'm going out on a little ledge of faith here a little bit. This is the nearest and dearest piece of vocal music to my heart ever written and most likely ever to be written. There are others which come close, but nothing has ever quite reached it for me. Perhaps it's because this is the song which sprouted my deep and most profound love for the opera, perhaps it's because it is the first real difficult foreign language aria I ever worked on, (and hard and long I did work on it) or perhaps it's just because I've never been able to sit and listen to it understanding the context and the lyrics without getting at least a tad misty. :) But, whatever the reason here it is. I was hesitant to share this with the electronic world because it's so dear to my heart, but I figured the few which I believe do read my blog know all ready anyway and the rest of you I'm trusting not to make fun of it. Call it pride but there are some things I can't be mocked about and my adoration for this song is one, so just know you probably take a little piece of my heart with you when you listen to it. :)

Oh, to help you out a little bit, Mozart's Le Nozze Di Figaro (The Marriage of Figaro) is the opera which this piece is from. It's about a household of royalty who through miscommunication and zany scheming get all mixed up in who's in love with and having love with whom. It's a comedy and this is really the only truly tragic part of the opera, but that gives it an extra sweetness for me because of the dicotomy of her tragedy from the humor of the rest. The countess has just discovered that her husband is cheating, even though he really isn't, but that crazy plotting, and she is heart broken. The lyrics:

Porgi Amor

Porgi, amor, qualche ristoro, O Love, give me some remedy Al mio duolo, a'miei sospir! For my sorrow, for my sighs! O mi rendi il mio tesoro, Either give me back my darling O mi lascia almen morir. Or at least let me die.

I actually prefer the tempo to be a bit quicker than she chooses in this rendition, but she is just so fantastic.

Why Is It SO Difficult?

Ya know, all I want is a decent, fairly aesthetically pleasing backdrop that has all the right colors, accurately represents my personality, is kind of unique and fun, something not everyone has, something with all the right layout options, and that I won't get bored with. And actually I prefer to have several because, I will, inevitably, get bored no matter how cool it is. (I always look to the future and have an outstretched heart for the walls of my home. They'll have a LOT of paint on them by the time I leave I'm afraid.) :) This one I'm still not quite happy with . . . but keeping the old one was out of the question seeings how bored I was with it. So it'll do for now. I like it in theory but the execution is not as cool as I would like it to be. Darn it. I'll keep looking. I hope you feel creatively and cheerfully appeased for now.


Lately I've been obsessed with blogging it seems. I think I'm connecting back with my creative, literary soul--which I like to believe I have but who knows whats really true. Today's topic: BBC's version of Jane Austen's Persuasion. I'm obsessed. Like really. I watched it one night because my sister had bought it and I had nothing to do--so out of curiosity I popped it in. I was not prepared for what was in store for me. I was mauled with one of the greatest, most girly cinematic experiences of my life. It's like the six hour Pride & Prejudice, but better. Well . . . almost. They're equals. But those of you that know how I feel about the six hour Pride & Prejudice know what a big deal it is for me to be comparing it to anything. Men, don't judge. It's a girl thing. Women, watch and enjoy.

I usually hate these montage things, but I liked this one and I didn't want to do a way emotional clip from the movie. It would give away too much and I want you all to watch it. :)

It's fabulous. I know, I know--I think montage things on youtube are cheesy too. But this movie is too fantastic! And here are some photogs of the gorgeous Rupert Penry-Jones and the talented Sally Hawkins.

And no, of course his picture isn't grandly bigger for any specific purpose! ;)

Do you ever have the feeling that one day you'll wake up and find out the life you have right now is actually NOT your life? Ya know, like everything you remember and know to be true is actually a dream . . . or not what reality really is at all? Like the Matrix, kinda. No? Hmm . . . sometimes I do. But I also have a feeling that I have the soul of an existentialist deep down inside. When I told Meg that, she agreed. So it's probably true.

I Miss Cocoanut Mondays

I moved out of Ventana on Wednesday. No more roommates. No more 2 options of places to sleep at all times. No more completely on my own with no one to report to. No more of that. I'm not complaining. I like living at home. It's free and generally pleasant and usually not as stressful as living in an apartment. I'll move back in the fall but for right now, I'm good. Except for one thing. Cocoanut Mondays. Allow me to explain:

I always hate the concoctions of smells in apartment buildings . . . particularly the hallways. Have you noticed it? Each time I came home and was walking through the hallway to my door my nose was harrassed by all manner of fragrances. 301's Panda Express lunch, 306's plethora of counteracting french perfumes, 310's trash, 306's particularly pungent human being smell. Each time unpleasant, and worst of all, not at all consistent in funkiness. I would never know what the current funky smell was when approaching the building--it was always changing, but always unpleasant. Possibly my least favorite part of living in apartments. This was always the case except for Mondays. Mondays our lovely hallway cleaning lady would vaccuum and mop and wipe down the handrails in our building. And whatever the fantastic cleaning concoction was she used it smelled like cocoanuts. It smelled, essentially, like paradise--exotic and sweet. I loved it. I would look forward to it all week long and I always knew it was Monday because of the wonderful aroma which took the place on those days of horrendous inconsistency. Isn't it interesting the things we miss most of all? I always know how my home will smell when I get home and I feel that it's fairly positive; we don't have one of those funky-smell houses, I don't think. It's just normal. So I never have to worry about this element of life when living at home. And yet, I miss cocoanut Mondays.

Meg Rush

So . . . Meg is adorable. Like really. As she would say, and as I am now copying from her, I'm obsessed with her. The completely unique thing about Meg is that every time one learns something new about her it is never what one would have guessed previously. I will entail here:

Item #1: Meg is smart. Really smart. Not that I didn't think she would be smart, but like, um . . . well, I mean I just thought like she would be one of those really cute, nice girls that doesn't . . . exactly, um, know a whole lot? Oh dear, that sounds not the way I want it to. She's really smart! Like knows all sorts of things of crazy things and thinks really deeply and not just in a pretending cheesy type of way, but really. She's really smart. I hope that didn't come across rude--it's full of admiration.

Item #2: Meg loves EVERYONE. It's not just a facade, she really really truly cares and has concern for every human being which has ever set foot upon the earth. I do not know how she doesn't tire from caring and loving so hard.

Item #3: Which brings me to my next point--Meg loves hard. Not-let-go-hang-around-your-leg-while-you-try-to-leave-and-then-will-jump-a-plane-to-China-because-you-need-her-to-give-you-a-hug-and-balloon-animal-without-any-questions-asked kind of hard. It's fabulous. I'm in love with it.

Item #4: Meg loves to color. Any and all Disney princesses, animated cartoons, and / or mythical creatures. Namely unicorns, I imagine. And butterflies. It's great to watch. It's like a kid with their first art set at Christmas, but really its just Meg with a 3 year-old set of Crayola crayons and those smelly markers and sparkly gel pens everyone was obsessed with in the 90's. That Meg I think deep down inside never really got over.

Item #5: Meg makes lovey eyes at me when no one else will.

Item #6: Meg hugs me when no one else will.

Item #7: Meg cuddles with me when no one else will.

Item #8: Meg holds my hand when no one else will. And any other time.

Item #9: Meg and I share a deep and profound love of literature and the written word. She's a lyric obsessor / Thoreau style sort of poet; I'm a Shakespeare sonnet admirer and Greek play memorizer. Who knew we could fall in love? :)

Item #10: Meg loves me. And I never have to question it.

Item #11: We're both blondes at heart.

Item #12: Meg reminds me why I love to watch the clouds move. You might not get it; but I do.

Item #13: Meg moves like a lemur.

Item #14: And walks like an ostrich. But in an adorable, beautiful, sort of graceful way. It's great.

Item #15: Meg loves me. And I never have to question it.

And that makes me love her.

Forge of the Frostings: A Tragic Tale

So, my roommates and I discovered something incredible. INCREDIBLE. But first we will need some past explanation.
I will admit that I have always been an individual which shamefully and disgustingly, but deliciously, has enjoyed a spoonfull of frosting from time to time. It's a part of who I am and I've always been told not to hide my light under a bushel or, um, bushels under a lamp or is it the ferret on top of the sunbeam--well, that parts not important. Well, I realize there are others out there like me, suffering from the same passion, they may try to hide themselves, some of you, even, but late at night when you're all alone, and the half-empty carton of frosting left over from the last round of cupcake-making is sitting in the fridge, simply, innocently tantalizing you with its mere existence . . . we all know who wins that battle.
So, at some point in the year I found out that my recent roommates suffered from the same disease. . . the same curse . . . the same passion. I first realized when the carton of frosting I had purchased to decorate a birthday cake ever so slowly began to dissipate, one spoon scrape lower than the last time I looked at it. We all finally embraced our fate and experimented with different flavors of frosting, always having available a little carton of magic to give a moment of joy. It was in our search for the perfect frosting that we found something marvelous. Rainbow Chip frosting. That was the answer. Inside the virtually plain vanilla frosting there are little morsels of multi-colored white chocolate delight. And the combination creates an experience few could adequately describe.
Well, this last week as all the most frequent tenants of Ventana Student Housing have been preparing to move out there have been exchanges, give aways and take aways of many items tossed away by one man and wanted by another. One such item was a carton of this frosting. I, being the sly trader I am, quickly snatched it away before any others had a chance. As an apartment we decided we would eat it together our last night. Sweet moment. Relive the memories. However, to my great disappointment of this much-anticipated moment, we all went out to dinner together and when we returned home after a movie, were all still full. It was not the appropriate time to enjoy our treat. Yet the passion inside my heart burned on. The following day we moved out completely and said our goodbyes. Tender moment, swiped away tear, so on and so forth, I returned to the home of my parents in Orem, UT and continue my day.
And yet, as I unload this box and put away that knickknack, I knew that night the rainbow chips would be mine at last. Finally, it's 11:00 and all has finally gotten quiet in the house. Others are off in their rooms sleeping or reading . . . and all alone we are, the rainbow chips and myself. Ever so gently I lift the lid and remove the cunning, shining piece of hygienic aluminum foil. Slowly my hand slides to the silverware drawer and slips out a spoon. I inspect my specimen. Innocent whiteness. Oh coy rainbow chip. I dig the spoon deep into the vat and slide the concoction over my lips. . . sweetness, simplicity . . . I know the moment of truth will come any moment, just one little morsel of decadency . . . alas, nothing. I try again--another lick . . . to no avail. No rainbow chip. Where are the rainbow chips?! I look to the treacherous, vile cannister of masked lust--funfetti!?!? NOT the same as rainbow chip?!?! That's when I knew there would be no rainbow chip for me tonight. Here are the two brands of frosting. Please . . . tell me if you see the difference. Because I still don't!!!

Tags--A Bittersweet Experience

There was this one time that my sister tagged me with one of those, "You must do this or you die or have bad luck for 19 years or whatev" things . . . and I forgot. I really can't stand them 97% of the time. But, as ridiculous as it is, I recognize my own self and how I am ever so slightly superstitious so I guess I must do this. And . . . I kinda like it. Let's face it--it's an opportunity to talk about myself. More. How could I not love that? :)

A-Attached or single? Single and kinda loving it! Well . . . most days.

B-Best Friend? This is tricky because I feel like it's healthy, appropriate, and normal to have a lot of "best friends" in a lot of different areas of my life, ya know? Off of the top of my head, the group of people I put in my "best friend" category include: Kim Kitto, Angie Graham, Emily Peterson, Justin Benson, Wyatt Felt, Landon Welch, Cooper Howell, Meg Rush, Margaret Huntington, Jake Porter, and then I'd say there's an adequate number of further best friends which are a part of those groups. . . Make sense? Oh I hope I didn't forget or offend anyone that means a lot to me.

C-Cake or pie? Cake. Definitely cake. I only like pie for the filling . . . which means I normally don't eat the crust . . .which means that essentially, I just like pudding.

D-Day of Choice? Intriguing. Well, I'm not going to say any weekend day--those are obvious favorites of everyone. Um, tuesdays? They just seem to go well for me most of the time.

E-Essential item? Deoderant. And if I could have a second, toothpaste. Emitting good smells is the ongoing battle / goal of my life.

F-Favorite color? Yellow. Or sky blue. Or lime green. Or all three together.

G-Gummy Bears or Worms? Worms.

H-Hometown? Lindon, technically. But if I'm speaking to someone from a foreign Utah place, I say Orem. No one knows what Lindon is. Foreign US place, I say Provo. . . surprisingly most people know it. And foreign country place, Salt Lake.

I-Indulgence? It changes. Currently, McDonald's fruit and yogurt parfaits, shamefully. I hate McDonald's, but there's just something about those little cups!

J-January or July? Depends on my mood.

K-Kids? O boy--NOT yet!

L-Life is incomplete without: laughter.

M-Marriage date: Did no one give you the memo that I'm EIGHTEEN!?

N-Number of siblings? 3 . . . er, 4. Brother, sister-in-law, sister, brother.

O-Oranges or apples? Clementines

P-Phobias or Fears: Small heights. More than 10 feet, less than 75. Roughly. I know, I'm a freak.

Q-Quote: "This, above all, to thine own self be true." -Shakespeare

R-Reason to Smile: A brand new day.

S-Ya know, there was no S on your tag, Lindsi!

T-Tag:Meg, Landon, Jack-I'm reiterating Lindsi's. . . I dare ya!

U-Unknown fact about me: . . . unless you've ridden in a car with me. Or watched tv with me. I CAN NOT leave the volume setting in either of these places on an odd number unless it is a multiple of five. So I will set the volume to 24, 25, or 26, but not 27. I can't. It's terrible. I'm such a freak. 25 is acceptable because it is a multiple of five.

V-Vegetarian or Oppressor of Animal: I've always wanted to try to be a vegetarian . . . not neccessarily because I believe in it but I'm really interested in conducting an experiment with what that lifestyle is like and the changes it would make to my body. But I've never been able to give up my cheeseburgers!

W-Worst habit: Mine is really similar to my sisters--the volume of my voice. I'll be shouting practically and not even realize it.

X-X-rays or Ultrasounds? Just keep me out of the hospital! I like to be healthy ya crazy!

Y-Your favorite food: Depends on the day. Chile rellenos and pasta are both pretty constant.

Z-Zodiac: Virgo

Hare Krishna Festival of Colors!

I'm so happy Adam is making a Zoolander face here.
Cute nose, Sar-bear.
The temple . . . and just a taste of how many people were there.
Yeah . . . we were covered!
Adam and Meg . . . cutie little dancers!
Me . . . after the tumultuous event.

So . . . I went to the Hare Krishna festival of colors. And it was one of the best things I have ever done! It was just joyous and celebratory (Maybe that's not a word, but it fits this) and wonderful! In case you don't know this is what it is: Hare Krishna is roughly a form of Hinduism and there is a temple for this religion in Spanish Fork. It's a really interesting and beautiful building if you haven't seen it, I really suggest you take a trip. They have llama petting and yoga classes at random, almost all the time if you need an excuse. But several times a year they have festivals and this most recent one is called the festival of colors. The festival is intended to welcome springtime and all the colors this time of year brings with it. (Yes, completely ironic that this festival was the day before it snowed :) LOL) Thus, people go and you throw colored chalk at each other. That's the most complex part of the whole thing. It's just all about dancing and singing and joy and love and I think it's fantastic! Definitely as close as cute little Mormon Utah Valley kids can get to hippy celebration and still return home with honor. . . JOKE! Well, kinda. But I just think that it is a completely unique and life-altering experience. I feel good celebrating with these people in something they have strong convictions about. And it was way fun getting covered in chalk! Who am I kidding? All my roommates went along with a couple other people in my apartments and then in my group was Cooper, Landon(See, you did get mentioned! I love you!), Adam, and Meg. It was totally a perfect group. So much fun!