Mission Trip

So, I'm back and I survived. I must admit that I splurged a little on the trip. I packed SEVEN shirts and I enjoyed sweating in them all with equal vigour. It brought me great joy.

About the trip...nobody told me that it was going to take three days to get there...nevertheless...I got to skip the ten hour overnight ferry ride. That was a blessing.

I would also like to comment on the cleanliness of my team. It was superb. I congratulate them. I pat them on the back. No sarcasm...

I would like to note [without pointing a finger of blame] that our team was slightly malnourished due to theivery existed amongst other teams. Somebody stole our eggs, butter, peanut butter, jam and our two bags of perogies. With Mike and Neal (and those of German ancestry) on our team, that just wasn't a good thing. However, what we did have was a Linda (everyone should have one of those) who made the most of all our food. And it was delightful.

Enough whining, I got it all out of my system. It's okay now.

About the experience itself...I saw my first mountain. I was in awe. I looked like an absolute moron because everyone else had seen a mountain..and those that hadn't just played it cool. I have to work on that. I'm far too easily amused.

The people of Kingcome were great. They keep life nice and simple. I feel as if I learned far more from them than they could ever learn from me. They were so hospitable and hilarious...and so in shape!!! I would benefit a lot from surrounding myself with people such as the Kingcome folk.

FYI: everyone should read the Book "I Heard the Owl Call My Name".

The most random thought I had during the trip: the sudden urge to join a nunnery. The hats are cool and there are no stinky boys there. It's the whole silence thing that urks me.

My parents thought that I had died. OF course, they didn't seem to worried about my death. They developed some wonky idea that I was only going to be gone for about 7 days. Yeah right...cause it takes three days travel there and back...right. That leaves one glorious day of fun-filled mission work. I think they're crazy. I blame my insanity on genetics.

So yeah...you should really see my pictures from the mission trip. Oh, they're so bad...so bad. I am the least photogenic person I know.

My spoon is too big. I am a banana.

Boys+hair=no-comphrendi

So, last night I had the oppurtunity to visualize the after math of hairstraightening upon the male species. It was interesting. All I can say is that underneath that happy exterior, there is an emo dying to get out of Eric. And Rod, well, if he rolled around in radioactive waste for awhile with straightened hair...he would soon really start to look like a true anime character.

Wow.

The best part was when they asked how to 'undo' it and didn't believe me when I said 'just wash it out'. Wow...boys are so intellectual sometimes. Conversations are sometimes just riveting.

FYI. My dad has a blog space??? He should really fill it out more often. (*hint hint).

three shirts

Can you believe that I am only allowed to pack 3 shirts for the Mission Trip? Woe is me and my mission towards serving the Lord with a lack of personal hygiene.

Throughout all of this all I can do is think of how unsanitary things must have been when Jesus walked on the Earth. WWJD? My rebuttle: he would pack 5 shirts, especially that cute striped one.

House Hunting and morning constitutions

As most of you know, I am not one who is graceful, nor do I ever demonstrate symptoms of what you would call "Good Luck". It just doesn't happen.
I ask you then: how is it possible that the first boarding house I look at was absolutely perfect in every way? The rent is nice a cheap, the rooms are good-smelling and inviting, there is a kitchen, a wonderful land-lady, internet, washer and dryer, toilet paper, etc. etc. [no phone...argh...i don't want to get a cell phone]. Did I mention that it is so unbelieveably close to campus. Did I mention that there is no meal plan? Did I mention that Cheryl (the owner) can teach me cooking skills...life skills, essentially? A-ha!
I'll tell you why all of this goodness has been thrust forth in my direction: it is because of the fact that I have to con two other girls into living with me in order to shank the top floor. Yes. There is always a catch. I will use my outrageously awesome advertising skills. The first step would be to acquire some outrageously awesome advertising skills.
Hmmm...for all of you ladies out there (*cough lauren *cough)...it is sooooooo close to campus and soooooo nice.
I think the best part about all of this was when I finally told my parents...today. My dad is currently typing out a legal and binding agreement/lease to the apartment for Cheryl to sign. it just states when I will be living there and how much we agree rent to be. That is a sure sign that this man has been ripped off by more salesmen than you can shake a stick at. [Now, how many of you are picturing yourself shaking a stick at someone/something?] Yes...he is ridiculous...but oh so handy to have around.
So yes. This means that I might have to cook for myself sometimes...moreso if I excommunicate the handy man that I associate casually with. The question is: will the caf food kill me before my own cooking does?
May God have mercy on the family that has to survive on my cooking in the future. All I can really say is that I'm looking forward to some nice, solid morning constitutions next year as the result of my caf-food deprivation. Sick...but so true.

Muffins, Wallets and Nunneries.

Now for another melancholy meditation...

Once upon a time there was a lad most commonly refered to as...Muffin. The Muffin man was a snitch. Quite often he was caught stealing the keys of innocent young ladies. One memorable case in particular wasthe time dear Muffin stole Lady Meg's keys and hid them in a most undesirable place for the storage of men's undergarments. It was not the exemplary display of any form of gentleman quality. Nevertheless, Lady Meg's response to this exhausting event of maddening unchivalrous behaviour was mere laughter. She took it with a grain of salt (plus additional silent treatments to appease the daily entertainment of her lady friends).
Unfortunately, this is not the end of this classic tale of deception. A few weeks later, an oppurtunity arose. The Muffin man was walking nonchalantly about the hallways of the institution of post-secondary education attended by our villain and heroine when he obliviously dropped his wallet. There are many mystical and grand contents of this object; one being the document stating legal ownership of his soul. [one must take note of the fact that Muffin did not guard the licence to his soul with due respect] Anyhow...the contents of Muffin's wallet fell into the gracious hands of Lady Meg herself by sheer providence alone. It was handed down from the hands of Quinn (the president of this institution of post secondary education). Lady Meg was to swear to turn the wallet in to Mike, the one who was on a vicious hunt to snipe Muffin, thus restoring justice to an far too bitter world.
Only half of an hour later, Lady Meg was enjoying a most delightful lunch with her comrades Lady Leah and Lord Tim. They were engaging in intellectual discussions of theology and life in general when none other than Muffin interjected along with his henchman, Vincenzo. Together these two lads spoke of the villainy and treachery of Quinn and how awful this 'theft' of Muffin's wallet was. They basked in self-pity and ignorance for quite some time. All the while Lady Meg was hiding the wallet spoken of and plotting revenge on behalf of the keys Muffins once stole and hid in a most undesirable location for the sake of mere entertainment purposes for himself and his nearly anonymous henchman, Vincenzo.
It was after this endless drivvle that Muffin left alone on a journey of search and destroy aimed at Quinn's life. Meg was safe. Only the mindless Vincenzo was left. The most difficult part would be to engage him in mildly stimulating conversation.
No sooner had Meg began to keep it cool...The reknowned Rhonda came and undermined Meg's revenge upon the very soul of Muffin. 'Muffin is very upset with Quinn. He is sobbing like a colicky infant. Prithee, returneth the wallet of the one grief-stricken one i speaketh of. If you have any compassion, you will take heed, oh fairest lady.'
Lady Meg, having a heart two sizes too large for her own good, gave the wallet back to Rhonda straight off. No questions asked.
Nevertheless, Vincenzo thought it necessary to take to salvaging the dignity of his master (a mere muffin man). He said quite ungentlemanly things in a manner not to be used in the presence of a lady (both by birth and nature). It was appalling and all present in the dining hall became silent.
Lady Meg never smiled again, nor did she speak another word to a single member of the male species. She has taken a vow of silence and joined a nunnery where material things, such as wallets, are not to be seen anywhere in the vicinity.
Vincenzo was trampled to death by an unfortunate, rabid dog.
The Muffin man had his soul stolen and sold on the black market.
Rhonda is currently peacekeeping in Afghanistan.
Lady Lorne is mourning the loss of such a fine roomate to a nunnery in eastern Germany, but has learned the art of vacuuming once a day in Meg's absence.

Thus ends the tragic tale of Lady Meg and the muffin man.

Math is the...best.

Welcome to my blog. I am currently seated next to the computer whiz Krysta Earl. Thank goodness. As all of my good friends (or even my enemies) know, I am not too keen on computers. However, I AM keen on keeping my friends up to date, even the ones that I live with (*cough lauren *cough). I have a livejournal account...but I never use it. THis one is just far too pretty.
Yeah...as I was saying...I'm in math class now. No...not math for arts students. Real math (or so I am told). Jerrard is glaring at me...har har...must leave.