Favorite quote of the day

"I just hate their song What Makes You Beautiful. Any artist who comes out with a song that starts with "You're insecure" and ends with "That's what makes you beautiful" deserves to be punched in their esophagus."

Emotional Nightmares

She stared at them through the glass door.  She knew that the boy and girl inside couldn’t see her, it was just a mirror on their side.  She longed to say goodbye, but knew that it would make things worse.  She couldn’t bear it any longer.  As she crumpled to the floor sobbing, she pressed the button.  The noise alarmed them.  They started to panic.  With no one but each other, the boy threw his arms around the girl as they stood at the glass, trying to see what had happened.  They were crying out for their parents.  When someone fears the end of their life, they reach out for those closest to them, no matter what happened in the recent past.  

The countdown started.  She wanted to keep those two with her, but knew that it would end badly both for her and them.  She slid over next to the glass door.  She placed her hand on it, longing to touch them, as she might not ever see them again.  As the countdown neared zero, the two inside both slumped onto the floor as well; also touching the glass, although not in the same spot.  The girl inside whispered “Nicole.”  
The boy’s arm tightened around her.  “It will be alright, she knows what she’s doing.”  
“But she’s our little sister.  How can we leave her here?”  
“She told us to leave; she must have a plan.”  
“But she’s my little Nikki.  How can she have a plan to combat this.”  
“I don’t know, but she must.  She has to.”  

Nicole looked up, repositioned her hand to be over her older siblings hands, looked longingly at them for a moment before whispering “I love you.”  Zero.  The countdown finished, the engines started, the moment over.  The longing to be leaving with them ripped her heart apart and she curled up on the floor again.  But a minute was all she could spare for her own sorrows.  There was work to be done.  

Major majors

I was talking to a professor today, and he said something that really meant a lot to me. "If a guy is intimidated by your ambition by majoring in Chemical Engineering, he doesn't deserve you."  This sentence rang true.  I can't tell you for how long I have avoided talking about or bringing up majors with guys because I had a couple bad experiences.  They all have about the same basic story line.  It came up that I majored in Chemical Engineering and the conversation suddenly dies, and I never hear from him again.  If it makes him uncomfortable that I'm majoring in engineering, that means that he is embarrassed of me.  Our ambitions to live the gospel will never match, and that is really the most important.

The same goes the other way as well.  I can't be embarrassed about the major that is going to end up supporting my family.  I can't be embarrassed that I'm the one who wants to stay home.  Even though I'm majoring in Chemical Engineering, I don't want to work after I have kids.  I am getting my degree because I want to be educated and because I like it.  I will support myself if I never end up getting married, and I will help my husband if we need help getting on our feet, but I do not want to work once I have kids.  I don't want both of us to feel awkward about which adult is supporting the family.

Bottom line: It's not a bad thing that some guys are intimidated because of my major.  It helps weed out some of the ones I don't want anyway. I should just stop shying away from it.

Stream of Consciousness

No one actually reads this anyway, right? Sometimes it helps me to get some of my thoughts out in the open. Even writing in my journal doesn't do that for me always. There's something different about writing on a website that is public but also knowing that no one actually remembers the link or checks it ever.

With facebook, google plus and email there is a problem on the internet. It doesn't matter what name it goes by, it's still a problem that will never actually be taken care of. I don't even think SOPA would take care of it (although I don't actually know that much about SOPA). This problem makes me sad whenever I log in to any of these sites. Have I piqued your interest yet? Chain letters, reposts, forwards or whatever you call them is this parasite of these websites.

At first, these things were silly. "If you send this to 10 of your friends, and then hit ctrl and F11, the name of your crush will appear on the screen!" or "If you send this to 15 people, at midnight tomorrow, the love of your life will admit to you how much you mean to them." Then they started turning scary. "If you don't send this to 7 people in the next 7 minutes, something very bad will happen to you." I remember one specifically that talked about a lot of scary stories where the people ended up dead or seriously injured. Then it finished with "if you don't send this on, the same will happen to you!"

Recently, another has shown up and become the most prevalent to me. This one bothers me the most. It is posts about God and religion. Most of them have a wonderful point: God exists, he loves us, Christ died for us, and we need to remember these facts more often. The problem I have with these is, at the very end, it guilts you in to sending it on. "Are you ashamed of God?" or "If you deny God in front of your friends, he will deny you on the day of Judgement." or "Only 15% will repost this. Are you part of the 85% that hate God?" I am a strong believer of God. I know Christ atoned for my sins. I know He has felt my pains. I know God lives, loves me, and knows me personally. Just because I don't feel like reposting exactly what your post says doesn't mean I don't know any of those things, and the same goes for all your other friends who haven't reposted it. I am a strong believer that saying things in your own words means more. I believe in Christ because I do, not because one of my friends guilted me into saying I believe in what He has done. We do need to remember Him more, but posts that keep going around because of guilt are not the way to do it.

This isn't to make people who do post those things upset. I know many people who do it because they really do feel strongly about those things. They don't feel guilted in to posting them; they think the way that post was phrased was better than they could have done it. It is quite possible that I am just over sensitive to this, and no one else feels that way about these posts. If you feel that way, please, continue to post them. Just don't expect this believer to join in.

The Worst Time of the Year

I'm not talking about the Christmas season: the lights, the decorations, the songs, the shoppers or the sales. I'm talking about that time between finals and when grades are posted. Need I say more?

Sophomore. Why the silent "o"?

I survived the first week of classes of my second year! Unfortunately, I only had a few pieces of homework due this week; as a result, I've been struggling to find things to do. I'm trying not to bake too much, after all, we don't have a lot of guy friends in our apartment complex yet to give all the left overs to. I realized that I only have two professors this semester who speak English as their first language. It will definitely be the year for studying once we get a little further into the semester.

Funny moment in the apartment:

Guy opens door and calls down stairs: "Hey, are you guys still alive down there?"

Me: "You crossed the chastity line! Get back!"

Guy: "No I didn't! I'm not even in the hallway!"

Me: "Then how did you open the door?"

Guy: "Um... I'm a Jedi..."

Mother's Day

Today is a day for my mother. She isn't perfect, but she's my mom. I can't imagine life without her (probably cause I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for her). She has taught me so many things, and I'm so glad that I can be home this summer to learn more from her. Every time I have a problem, she's there for me. She listens and helps me figure out what to do. I would not be where I am without her. So here's to my mom, the mom I needed even when I didn't think I did.