Remember these fun stories?
Remember how I was gone for a while?
Well guess what happened!
My dearest partner in crime and Roommate Cousin done gone and got herself hitched. Crazy, huh? She did it on my birthday! Happy birthday for me! And who was the lucky man to sweep her off her feet for all time and eternity? That same man she met from our pranking escapade.
Wouldn’t it be nice if all battles, fights, wars, and feuds ended this way?
P.S. I was just down the canyon and down the street from their reception, but I was in a training center and had been for a month. I had about a month left too.
P.P.S. I realize this happened almost half a year ago, but I thought you might be interested.
OH! Also! This is my 100th post! Im very glad I spent on my partner-in-crime and one my best friends. We’re kind of stuck with each other since we’re family, but I wouldn’t want to be stuck with anyone else. Even if forever was stuck in a dark closet, I know we would have more fun than anyone else. Thank you for being personally responsible for almost half of my nicknames. Luh ewe!
This is just a little diddy I’ve had stuck in my head. Its all in good fun! Perhaps I still have some Halloween stuck in my veins. Maybe the treatment from the doctors has some side effects… in any case, enjoy!
I am the monster under you bed/ I am the nightmare you cannot leave/ I am the pain that will not subside/ I am the broken heart that will not heal.
There’s nowhere you can hide/ no song I can’t break through/the drugs in your veins will never fully leave you.
If only you knew/ I could have warned you/ but then I wouldn’t be the monster who slayed you.
I am the monster under your bed/ I am the nightmare you cannot leave/ I am the pain that will not subside/ I am the broken heart that will not heal.
I am your monster.
Hey y’all! I’m back from my recent sojourn. Hopefully, this is just a temporary break and I’ll be able to return to my beloved new home. It really grows on you! To hear about those adventures, just go to sestrafarnsworth.blogspot.com! It’ll tell you where I was, what I did, and why I’m back in the states so soon.
I miss Serbia.
My plans for the future are uncertain. But that doesn’t keep me back from loving life.
I spend most of my days reading. I read language textbooks, mystery, philosophy, essays, pinterest (that counts, right?), and study books. Exciting, right?
But wait! It gets better!
Just bear with me.
You know those moments when you find out everybody does that thing that only you thought you did? There’s something more special than that. The moment when you find out someone else thinks like you do.
Now I have an extremely interesting brain if I may say so myself. Since stuffing it with more and more languages (Not only did I learn Croatian, but Serbian as well.) I have found it more and more difficult to put my thoughts into comprehensible words. I think in concepts and ideas. Now you may be thinking “Hey! Me too!” Cool! We have a similar thought process. But that doesn’t mean we think alike.
I have met some people who have been able to understand how I think, but they still don’t think the same as me. They just understand me. These people are very dear to me. I can count them on one hand. These people are precious. That also makes them special.
Some of you may have experienced this before. Perhaps you’ve connected with an artist? I was never one of those little teenage girls whose thoughts and feelings where embodied in Taylor Swift music (admittedly, she is a very talented musician). You’ve heard it. You’ve maybe even said it. “Oh my gosh! This song is SO me!” “Holy cow! This artist knows what I’m feeling.” “This song describes it perfectly.” Maybe it wasn’t a song. Maybe it was a movie.
So imagine my surprise when I am looking at a new… I don’t know what to call him… “creative extraordinaire?” I am looking at some new poetry and low and behold, I am reading my own thoughts and feelings. AH! Creepy but also exhilarating. (My Taylor Swift-ers may know the feeling.)
Check him out.
His name is Tyler Knott Gregson.
Aka Typewriter Series
He does everything. He’s a photographer, poet, an author, and an artist.
You might have seen some of his work floating around Pinterest. He’s most known for his Typewriter Series.
I may be bias just because I have finally found that there is someone else who thinks like I do. I love his photography, especially the ones that look like my homeland (I’m talking about the good ol’ west). They even helped me to feel reconnected and adjust back to American life. Weird, but there you go.
I wish could do justice in describing his work, but you’ll just have to discover it for yourself.
Check out his work here! This will also link you up with his twitter feed, Instagram, or whatever other medias you may favor.
Read it! Look at it! LOVE IT!
I promise you that you will find something in there for you.
Confession: I’m not much for romantic quotes. Sometime in the past 5 months I have developed the romantic interest of a 3 year old. Not kidding. Cooties? They’re real! Someone’s kissing on a movie? That’s me covering my face and possibly gagging. So if you’re not into the romantic stuff, that’s okay. Me neither. But I garentee that you will find something! And his romantic lyrics aren’t even that bad! You might even enjoy it. Maybe.
You can thank me later. Or now. You might not be so thankful when you find yourself addicted to Mr Gregson. I apologize in advance. But I am definitely not sorry.
Happy trails y’all!
Confession #2: He has a poem about clouds which I kid you not is a conversion I had with myself. Have you ever had a moment like that? “Oh! You wonder about that too? I thought I was the only one!”
Have you noticed an increase in Mormon missionaries recently? You haven’t yet, give it time. You’re about to get hit with a wave.
For those of you who do not know much about the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, or “Mormons”, I’ll catch you up on what’s going on. Every six months (April and October), there is a televised “conference” that lasts two days. Three sessions on Saturday (only two are televised over TV stations) and two on Sunday. We call this General Conference. It’s a chance for all members of the church or any one interested to hear from our Prophet, apostles, and other area leaders. Prophet? Yes, prophet. We believe God still puts prophets on the Earth and speaks to his children. This is called revelation. It’s inspiration and direction from God. Everyone is entitled to it.
This past October General Conference, Prophet Thomas S. Monson shared new revelation. Young men can start serving 2 year missions at age 18 instead of 19 as long as they have graduated or an equivalent and young women can serve 18 month missions starting at 19 instead of 21.
I never really saw it in my future to serve a mission. I wasn’t opposed, I just didn’t think I needed to worry about it for a while. However, when the Prophet made the announcement, I knew I was going. It wasn’t anything spectacular, just a knowing. I knew this is what was going to happen. It didn’t even feel new. I wasn’t the only one either. I’ve had friends and family members tell me that I came to mind when they also heard the announcement. Some friends I haven’t seen or talked to for a while.
The next Sunday I started the process. I met with my local leader, filled out questionnaires, met with a doctor, had a dental check-out, TB test, and finally met with my area leader, referred to as a Stake President.
3 weeks later I was told my mission call was assigned. The following Wednesday I got the well-known big white envelope in the mail. I stalked the mailman. I sat at the window and tracked his every movement as he drove past. He somehow was able to sneak the mail into the mailbox without me seeing. Tricky! I think the first person I told was my brother, Bryn. I can not describe the excitement that clouds the opening of the call. Bryn and I tried to figure out if I’d be serving state side or foreign. How thick is the envelope? How much did postage cost/what is the weight? Bryn guessed foreign but I really wasn’t sure.
If you try putting the envelope up to the light or see through the envelope, it’s not going to work. They put a thick white paper on top of the letter with the call. The people at the mission department are smart, although at the time I was thinking they were so mean.
The envelope almost did open prematurely. While on a pizza run, I put the boxes in the back with my call. The steam started to undo the seal of the envelope. Not badly though, just a corner.
Finally, it was time for the opening. Patience is near nonexistence in a situation like this. Even Grandma was about to rip it out herself. The wait seems even longer the hours the actually opening, like forever! Kind of like this post. It doesn’t help that you feel like a chihuahua on crack. The moment the last person came through the door, I was ripping open that envelope.
My dad couldn’t come in person because he had some kind of flu. So he Skyped. Just as I opened the envelope, one of my nieces leaned in front of the Ipad. “Hi Grandpa!” The timing was perfect. I almost waited for her to get out of the way.
The wait had been too long and patience really was non-existent. So I ripped it open and read out loud:
You are hereby called to serve as a missionary of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints . You are assigned to labor in the Adriatic North Mission.
“What state is that in?” Before a call opening, it is customary to have friends and family guess where the missionary will be assigned. No one came even close. No one had even heard of it. I’m pretty sure I even said it wrong.
You should report to the Provo Missionary Training Center 29 May 2013. You will prepare to preach the gospel in the Croatian language.
Thank goodness they give you a little booklet with information. My mission covers Slovenia, Croatia, Bosnia & Herzegovina, and Serbia. My sister-in-law is Serbian! She was especially ecstatic. The booklet also includes information like what to take, who my Mission President and his wife are and information about them. Map of the Adriatic North Mission
One of my friends and my sister-in-law had already planned my wardrobe. I didn’t get to look through that book until that night. Everyone wants to know about your Mission President and your mission and your guidelines and all such things. By the end of the night, my family and friends probably knew more about my mission then me.
That brings me to a good point. Don’t be frustrated because your lack of knowledge about your mission area. It’s natural that you won’t know much. Don’t worry. Soon you’ll realize you know more than you think. Just when you feel confident about where you’re going, you’ll find you still no nothing at all. But that is the same with any subject.
The choice of which environment you open your call in is personal. Some like big parties with all their friends and relations and the mailman and the random guy at the store, and some prefer to open it by themselves in their bathroom or in a special spot. I, personally, feel that my mission is a very close and personal thing. So I just had my direct family (brothers, sister, in-laws, nephews, nieces, grandma, grandpa, roommates, a couple friends, and a rockin’ awesome young women leader from my young and rowdy days).
My biggest advice would be to enjoy the moment. So it in. It’s pretty momentous to find out where you will be spending 2 years or 18 months on a life changing adventure. So be there. Be present in the moment. I know there are a million people that want to talk to you and people you want to call, but put it on hold. They can wait. If I did anything differently, I would told anyone who called me that I would call them back later. Be with your friends and family. Put that phone and Facebook status to the side for a little while.
Going on a mission is a huge thing! Getting the call is the first step. Honestly, I didn’t care where I was getting called. I still don’t. I decided I was going to serve a mission. A mission is mission, no matter where it is served. It’s the same message and the same purpose.
I started on this journey about 6 months ago. I finally leave next month. I’m still feel like a chihuahua on crack. So if you find a overexcited, nervous, red-headed missionary that can barely spit out any Croatian, it most likely will be me, thousands of thousands of miles away from my home. See you in about a month!
Sestra Farnsworth out!
Blood tests suck.
They just do.
I hate them. It’s not just another irrational fear. No… The feeling is mutual. I have yet to have one successful, uneventful draw.
But a couple weeks ago I had the best blood draw ever! Let me tell you how it went. I had to go see a NP. She said everything was perfectly normal but she wanted to do some “labs” just to be sure. When I think of “labs” I think of test subjects being poked, prodded and submitted to all over unpleasantness. When I coolly asked about the “labs” she confirmed this meant blood tests. Mental image confirmed.
I was not looking forward to it. Last time I had a blood test I could use my arm for two weeks and am now just getting over my “raptor arm”. But that’s a different story. I tried making a break for it but it didn’t work. Darn it! I’m an adult for crying out loud!
I am proud to say that I didn’t cry. But that didn’t keep the other people in the waiting room from looking slightly freaked out. I gave myself the pep talk/brain wash of the century.
Then they called my name.
I hate life.
But after such a great pep talk/brain wash attempt, and since I already used the bathroom excuse, I had to go through with it.
The technician was nice enough. She had red hair like myself. I told (calmly) about my dislike for needles, and to a greater extent blood tests. She told me how she had a bad experience once and that she use to not like blood tests either. So there’s hope for me!
After looking at my arm, she told me the source of all my problems. One of them shared. There is nerve really close to my vein. In addition, my tendons are like RIGHTTHERE. I would assume everyone has those next to their vein, but apparently mine are more buddy-buddy than all you. In summary, just about anything that could go wrong with a blood test has gone wrong. The technician was so nice and seemed to know what she was talking about so I just chilled back and relaxed.
I was thinking about how proud of myself I was and how well I was doing when I hear my name. This wasn’t like a “Good job!” or “Hey! You’re done! You did it.” There were two technicians saying “Are you there?” “Are you okay?” “How’s your stomach?”
My stomach? Then I realized something. I couldn’t see them. I could barely hear them. Dang.
I tried to brush it off. Not possible. I had slid in my seat to almost laying down position. I couldn’t hear and could barely see. It’s hard to be graceful like that. “Cough from the bottom of your stomach” What? “I know it’s weird but just do it.” Any grace I had remaining was gone. I sounded like a dying raptor.
I was then told that they needed more blood from me. Are you serious? At least they gave me the option of waiting a day or two.
When I could finally see again we moved to room with a reclining chair. It took my technician a while to figure out how to get to recline, and even then they had to put my feet up on a box. “Keep coughing.” Sure. What else could I lose. “If possible, you should just go home and sleep it off. ” Deal.
Advice I got for the future is to lay down for the blood draw. I also found out I have a brother with a similar problem. He’s no wimp either! He’s a big, buff, scary, Navy guy. I also found out whenever he asks to lay down for the test, they say things like “Oh you’ll be fine.” This doesn’t bode well for my future.
By the way, I tried just laying down for while when I got home. I ended up being down the day. Every time I got up, I want to keel over. That’s also when my stomach started acting up.
And that is my best experience with a blood test. Ever.
P.S. I never had to go back. I guess they had enough blood. Vampires.
As some of you dear followers/readers know, I am involved with a youth leadership organization. We are current planning the next summit.
I need your ideas. Any ideas. We are looking for a service project. We want to do something close to home, a local issue. If you have any ideas or whims then PLEASE post it in the comments. Right now we’re leaning towards Homelessness.
This can include illiteracy, hunger, underprivileged-ness, ANYTHING!
Please, please, please, PLEASE help!
In case you didn’t know, the most powerful man in the world has retired from what is usually a life long occupation. No, I’m not talking about Bill Gates. I’m talking about the Pope!
I have a cousin who at this time was not my cousin yet, he’s a recent addition to the family. By choice. Weirdo. He brought up the topic of the Pope around the Sunday dinner table by announcing ”I suppose you’ve all heard I’m running for Pope.”
His fiance: “What?! What does that mean for me?”
Me: “Can Mormon’s even be Pope?” (See answers at the end of this post)
Not long after my mom and I were walking out of her garage when she saw these stacks of old political signs. Vote for Education Board Person You Will Never Here About Again and such things. My dad is politically active so we have a few of these. That’s when I got a new chore on my “to-do” list that I probably will never do again.
For those of you at home who would like to increase the “Dave for Pope” effort, feel free to follow along at home.
2 old lawn signs (with white backs)
Marker (Black shows up best, but if you want to add color, then go for it!)
Tape the lawn signs back to back the the white sides facing out. You may desire to clean the dirt off, if there is any. If you do this make sure your sign is dry before you write on it. (I didn’t clean mine off. Nobody will really notice if it’s clean or not.) In big(ish) letters write DAVE FOR POPE. Then walk down the street as if it was normal to be carrying a double sided DAVE FOR POPE sign in a neighborhood that is strongly of another denomination. Don’t get caught by postmen. Place sign on lawn. Wait. Play innocent. Then ta-dah! You’re done! Don’t forget to take a picture and spread it onto the social media.
Aftermath: Remember how I said Dave was my soon-to-be cousin? His wedding was that weekend. That meant his mother was coming into town. In fact, he went to pick her up THAT DAY. And she was staying with him!
My cousin was very worried about it. She called me (which I missed because I was in the thrawls of laundry). She talked to my mom. The best part, she even called RoommateCousin thinking she had something to do with it. (I did send her a picture so she could share in on the joke. She new about it before our cousin did.) The truth is, I was just the foot soldier carrying out orders. It was my mom’s idea and my dad’s supplies. Family business!
(If I was a crafty graphic designer, here is where I would put the family business card)
Dave’s mom loved it! In fact, when we met later for dinner she already knew me by name. …And reputation.
DAVE FOR POPE!
Oh! The answers! Don’t let me forget! (you almost did, didn’t you? That’s okay. Me too.)
“Can a Pope be Mormon?” Seeing how the Pope is the head of the CATHOLIC church… no.
“What does that make me?!” Some Popes have been happily married. Which reminds me…