That might not be a compliment ...

On occasion, I am accused (by three friends, one mother and one sister, at last count) of wearing jeans that do not fit properly. I disagree with this accusation. Call me crazy, but I like to do silly things like breathe, eat, and sit while wearing my pants. I know, insane. (And for the record, nearly every pair of pants I own stays on without even a belt, which proves these claims to be entirely unfounded.) Well, for Christmas, I received a new pair of jeans. I tried them on, and they seemed to fit just fine. Well, mother and sister intervened (to the delight of friends, I am sure) and acquired additional sizes for me to consider. Which I did, with some helpful input. And amidst this ask-the-audience decision-making process, my brother revealed that even if I wore too-tight pants, I would not look scandalous because I am apparently so far on the other end of the scandalous-clothing spectrum that I cannot even see whatever imaginary line exists between scandalous and non-scandalous clothing. Clearly, I have a brave brother, to be willing to make such a comment to someone who has been whining about becoming old for the past week. (My roommate C. tried to make me feel better about this by telling me that I will soon be a perfect cube, which apparently does not happen again until I turn 64. But seeing as how I do not do math, being a perfect cube does not sound that appealing. A perfect sentence, yes. But a perfect cube sounds pretty close to being really boring.) So after hearing from R. and looking at the calendar, I might need to take some drastic action. Then again, it might have to wait for another four months. I think the library will be seeing me quite a lot next semester ...

I Heard The Bells ...

We know I love listening to Christmas music. So imagine how much I love this scene: The annual playing of the bells (affectionately termed Hell's Bells) at our Christmas Day festivities. Now, I must admit that most of us lack any real musical ability (with the exception of Aunt J. and perhaps some assorted cousins), but who needs actual skill to make music by hitting varying-length pieces of pipe with long metal nails?! Not us. Besides, what we lack in talent we make up for with our own special flair ...

The boys always pretend to be too cool for the bells, ignoring whichever aunt has to conduct the music (helpfully numbered in red and green on big posters). But sorry boys, when you all start singing "Oh, Come All Ye Faithful" as we play it on the bells I stop believing that you really hate this tradition ...

Some fabulous playing by A., and D., who I am sure really loves playing the bells again instead of straining to listen to them during the missionary phone call ...

This couch looks pretty happy about the bells. The overachievers on the end played multiple bells at once ...

Quite possibly the most entertaining 15 minutes of my entire year ...

The Card ...

As requested ...

Three More ...

Semesters until I am reintroduced to the real world. Days until I go home. Finally.

I survived my finals, again. But since I can still vividly recall my mass quantities of complaints about my finals last year at this time, when I decided that the entire World Wide Web really, really wanted to know about my pathetic cold and ear infection during finals, I will avoid discussion of the loveliness that has been Finals Week this year and just say that I have never been so ready for a hug from my Mom. In just three more days ...

The Purple Couch ...

I wrote this post last night before my final final. But wisely did not post it without some daylight editing. I should really not be allowed to communicate after 11 p.m., when my brain officially stops functioning ...

It's 12:01 a.m. and I have a final today (which still feels like tomorrow) and I should really be either studying or sleeping. But I cannot stop thinking about the purple inflatable couch from my freshman dorm. The one we used to sled down the hill at the law school. The one under the ceiling of theories (near the door of happy thoughts and the quote wall). I might be the only person to ever write an entire personal essay about an inflatable couch (that I did not even own). And I miss it tonight.


I have a really great red leather sofa now, with matching curtains and adorable pillows. It makes me think of my mom, who found it on sale, and my dad, who covered it with tarps in the back of his truck for our 2,000-mile adventure. It makes me think of the Downington House and the mystery of the disappearing date. And this week, it makes me think of the purple couch. I am not sure why they suddenly connected. Maybe when I curled up there to talk to K., telling her my story and listening to her wise words and wishing we could be there together. Or when I did the same with J. and L. Or when I read all of the yellow notes in my jar on the window sill, my very own happy door and quote wall (no more theories for me, thank you very much, I am pretty sure I have already disproved all of ours), when I really needed to remember sledding on the purple couch, and laying on the floor with the lights off, listening to the same song for the 11th time, and laughing uncontrollably in the hallway, again ...

Exception To The Rule ...

I know I promised not to blog until the end of finals. So sue me. Actually please wait a year and a half so I can represent myself. I do not know much about the law yet, but I do know enough to know that every rule has an exception. So I am making an exception to my blogging ban for one extremely important announcement:

The (current) President and First Lady sent me a Christmas card.

I suppose I should end my blog forever now, because basically nothing I could ever report will be more exciting than this in the land of Capital C ...

Last Night ...

'Twas the night of my final, when all through my room,
We students were talking of test-taking doom;
Our books had been scattered without any care,
In hopes that some knowledge would float through the air.
The clock showed we should think of drifting to bed,
Though thoughts of the law still muddled our heads;
When what to my wondering eyes did appear,
But a huge, scary bug on my wall, very near!
With legs like a spider and stripes like a bee,
I screamed for my roommate to come over and see.
She, being the brave one, came back with a shoe,
(Apparently some girls know just what to do.)
She crouched and she lunged, and she aimed for the bug,
But it jumped up so high that she just hit our rug;
We screamed once again, now we knew it could jump,
And we wondered just how we could give it a bump.
We schemed and we thought of the ways it could die,
As we tried them in vain, fifteen minutes went by.
Finally injured, we wedged the bug in,
Its grasshopper tendencies starting to dim;
We killed it, indeed, and we flushed it away,
No more scaring poor students this first finals day.
But I think I could hear, as it drained out of sight,
Happy finals to all and to all a good night.

P.S. I am banning myself from the blog for the rest of finals. I will be back on December 13 ...