Unnecessary Update of My Travels and Adventures

Here I am, driving the million miles (give or take a few thousand) to the foreign land of the Mormons. (That’s Utah, in case you haven’t heard of Mitt Romney.) Just kidding. There are definitely a number of Mormons out there but, while The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints does have a broad influence in the area, there are certainly members of other faiths or no faith at all, too.

The drive to and from Utah is a long one, and you need to find ways to entertain yourself if you don’t wanna die of boredom. So one time my little brother and I decided to talk in Southern American and English accents for a while. (My parents were none so thrilled that that was our choice of entertainment.)

This trip, here’s what I’ve done so far (this was written in Word, and I'm now able to post it several hours later, so many more exciting things have since occurred):

1. Gotten in the car. This, I’m told, is one of those inevitable parts of traveling. When I’m president, things will be different.

2. Buckled my seatbelt. Safety first. (However, throughout the trip, the seatbelt mysteriously kept adjusting itself so I wasn't wearing it properly. Also, I somehow didn't sit correctly for most of the drive.)

3. Neatly arranged my chevron electric blanket (not plugged in) to cover my legs and backpack on the floor (also not plugged in).

4. Read precisely 74 pages of a novel.

5. Texted my little brother, who is virtually incapable of texting more-than-one-word responses. (Don't judge me for using the word whom.)

6. Been pretty silent for most of the trip. My mom warned my dad of this pre-departure: I would either be sleeping or reading the whole time. But my grandma would be there for conversation.

7. Written. I like to write novels and stuff.

8. Slept. My mom is a wise woman. The seatbelt buckler thing was jabbing into my side, so I put my hand between it and me and woke up with an extremely sore ring finger.

9. Eaten at a franchised restaurant with a leak in the window-walls.

Aaaand, that about brings us up-to-hour. Just chuggin’ along. I’ve also ingested about 250% more than my appropriate daily chocolate intake. But it was dark chocolate, so it’s okay, right?

#RealTalk

The Name's Krista, But You Can Call Me Sherlock

What many people do not know (or refuse to admit) about me is that I'm so observant, I'm practically Sherlock Holmes's alter ego. Now, I do not say this to boast. Oh, no, I assure you I do this in full humility. Indeed, it is only with great reluctance that I write and publish a post about my super-sleuthing skills on the World Wide Web for all to see. On that note, I'm also pretty much Batman. And I won't even mention my similarities to Clark Kent.

The other day, I had an eye appointment (I lost my glasses in an airport in Texas. It was heartbreaking, actually). Prior to that, I was the only one home since my brother and parents had departed for their daily activities, and when I departed, I left the back door unlocked. An amateur move, I admit.

When I returned home, I went into the bathroom. My superhuman senses kicked in. Something wasn't right. It was then that I realized what horrendous disturbance had caused such an imbalance in the universe.

The toilet seat was up.

Why was the toilet seat up? ("Why is the rum gone?")

Like any intellectually sound individual would deduce, I knew at that moment that I was sharing the house with a serial killer. But not just any serial killer. He was dressed in jet black from head to toe, complete with a knit beanie. He was big. Huge, with the intimidating muscles of a WWE heavy-weight champion and the height of a small dragon. I braced myself for the worst.

I literally searched the entire house. I even had "91" dialed on my keypad, and I was ready to hit that last 1 if need be. But there was no felon to be found. I had the house to myself, with the dog in his cage.

The dog. He wasn't freaking out like somebody had broken into the house. Was I just going crazy? Were my super-sleuthing skills failing me?

I went to turn on the living room light. Ah.... The light switch. Another clue. On the double-light-switch-panel-thingy, the switches were facing different directions. One was up.... and one was down. Somebody had DEFINITELY been in the house. I would never leave one switch in the up-position while its compatriot was in the down-position. I now had a hunch about who had really been in the house. A glance at the table where a FedEx-delivered box for my dad's job once had been confirmed my suspicions.

My father. He was the guilty culprit. I telephoned him an interrogation and drew a confession out of him. He had come home to pick up his box. Balance was restored to the universe.

Case closed.

"She's got nice skin."

Ah, our dear Harry Potter. He is going to be our role model today in strangely attractive attributes. I personally think it's fascinating to find out what people think is attractive about the opposite sex. The more unusual, the better. (Unless it's bordering on the creepy. Creepery is not condoned.) So I decided to ask around to see what some things (many kinda weird or obscure) are that girls find attractive about guys (and a couple of extra things at the end).

Pointy canines. That's right, gentlemen! An unnamed source likes it when your canines are vampire-esque. But before you go out to get your teeth sharpened, I should warn you that your teeth kind of need to be nice anyway. Personal hygiene is key. Straight, white teeth are beautiful.

White patch in hair. You know how some guys have a dark helmet of hair on their heads, but then there's that one spot on their scalps that for some reason lacks the same amount of eumelanin as the rest of their hair? One source thinks that's A-OK.

Arm veins. Is it too presumptuous to assume all or most guys have veins in their arms? Well, according to one young lady, veins that pop out from working out rarely go unnoticed and unadmired. But be warned--some girls find veiny arms super gross. So don't go pumping iron too much.

Muscular (and tan) backs and calves. I think a lot of girls would agree that toned calves are a plus. Muscular backs, however, is one that most girls probably don't think of because, let's face it, who notices that? Even so. Flabby backs, beware.

Nice-smelling-ness. Smell good. Don't go overboard on the cologne. A little bit is enough. (On a related-but-not note, my mom told my twelve-year-old brother that he needed to shower and use deodorant because, ya know, and he said, "What? It's my natural musk.")

Kilts. Probably my favorite of all the responses I got. Kilts magnify the manliness of the manliest-mannered man. A man who can rock it like a Scot is a man worth knowing.

Scars. They boast of daring battles against those who would dare challenge justice. Girls like guys who can stick up for justice. Oh, and also, I guess sometimes they're kinda tough looking in general. Even if you got them from running for the ice-cream truck and tripping over a plush animal.

Other fashiony things. Suspenders were mentioned. Clark Kent-like glasses. Three-piece suits. Rolled-up dress shirt sleeves (surely to reveal your veiny forearms). Aviators.

Marriage Material. A few more serious ones. Girls aren't always "on the prowl," but we certainly notice things that we want in our future spouses. These don't guarantee you an easy-as-pie search for a suitable mate, but they sure help you become the person girls want to marry. Be kind to your younger (and older) siblings. Work hard without being asked. Be good with kids. Treat your mother well. Bonus points if you can cook.

Other POV Bonus:
One time, a good male friend of mine was asked what kind of hairstyle he likes the most on girls. He didn't have an answer other than "it depends on the girl" for a long time. But then, forever and a half later, he said, "Oh, I know. You know how girls kind of have their hair up when they work out, and then there's kind of sweat on their hairline? I like that."

Hm.

In Which She Meets an Idol

Once upon a summer's day in 2012, I met one of my idols.

Robert. Seely.

I know most of you are probably going, "Who?" right at this very moment. Robert Seely was the bass singer for BYU's all-male a capella group Vocal Point. I was majorly obsessed with Vocal Point at this point in my life. (I still like them, but not memorize-all-of-their-first-and-last-names like them like before.)

I was at a week-long church camp at BYU. I was in the Creamery on Ninth (sometimes affectionately called the CONE) with some friends. We were just hanging out. Sarah got some Purple Stuff. Mike got some fries. We all got a picture. Just a good time all around.

And then I saw him. I wasn't sure it was him at first, but a few additional glances confirmed my suspicions. It was totally him. Robert Seely, in the flesh. He was working at the Creamy. He had that magic blue apron on with a shining, glorious name tag pinned to the front.

I started freaking out to my friends, and they told me to go say hi to him. How dare they?! How was I, a mere mortal teenager, supposed to say hello to him, a demi-god of singing? I couldn't do it. I just plain couldn't work up the nerve.

But then, when Sarah was checking out in line, he walked by me. Some tiny shred of courage had found its way to my vocal chords, and I said, "Are you Robert Seely from Vocal Point?" Stupid question. Of course he was, and even if I hadn't been sure, his name tag spelled it out in bright black letters. Plain as day.

"Yeah, I am." He smiled. And thus commenced our awkward conversation. I was freaking out internally waaayyyy too much to be able to think of anything to say, so he pretty much asked all the questions and I did all the answering. Did I like EFY? Where was I from? Illinois? Oh, they'd been to Nauvoo recently!

Those two minutes were pure bliss. I returned to my friends and fangirled so hard. They told me my face had gotten bright red. I'm hardly surprised. It tends to do that when I'm overexcited.

I didn't even have the sense to ask him for an autograph or picture. But I suppose I got away with something better--I got away with a two-minute, only slightly uncomfortable conversation with a normal guy blessed with the voice of the heavens.

If You're Awkward and You Know It, Clap Your Hands Sporadically and Off-beat (An AKS Documentation)

AKS (Awkward Krista Syndrome): a condition often characterized by blundering words, awkward silences, two left feet, self-conscious chuckles, and inappropriate laughter.

Today, I drove with my mom to her job at the high school. She got out of the car, and I was going to take it for the day while she was at work. When we pulled up to the curb and she got out, I caught sight of one of my former teachers walking out to the parking lot. My mom pointed him out, too. Now, this happened to be one of my all-time favorite teachers. I wrote a scholarship essay using him as an example of what a great teacher should be. I've even thought if I ever get a book published to include him in the acknowledgments. Great teacher. Great guy.

And I didn't want him to see me.

Now you have to understand, I hadn't showered yet, so I felt gross. I was wearing the same shirt I'd slept in and lounging pants--also slept in. My hair was a mess, I hadn't cleaned off my makeup from the day before, and I just. Felt. Gross.

So instead of getting out and walking around the car to switch to the driver's seat, I climbed over the center console. My mom wasn't thrilled about that. She's convinced that one of these times, I'm gonna knock the gear into drive or reverse and it'll end in someone's death or serious injury.

"Why did you climb over? I told you not to do that," she said.

"I didn't hit it [the gear]," I responded. Weak justification.

"I know why," she claimed knowingly. "Because you didn't want to get out and have to say hi to him."

Despite myself, I had to chuckle. She was right. She knows me too well.

And the thing is, I'm pretty certain he saw me, anyway, through the windshield. Especially considering he knows my mom and most likely saw her get out. The encounter I had wished to avoid wasn't avoided; it was merely altered in a way that accentuated my discomfort in any semi-social situation.

But that's how life goes for someone like me, I suppose. What can I say? I'm a natural at making myself feel uncomfortable in virtually any setting. And by some misalignment of the stars, he's probably just gonna happen across this post, read it, and feel unsettled that I'm writing about it and publishing it on the World Wide Web.

Oh well.

A Gold Mine of Misunderstandings

Tonight has just been a gold mine of misheard and misunderstood words--mostly song lyrics.

For example. My little brother is writing a song. He came into my room to sing it for me, and this was one of his lines: "It's like a passion I can't control." When he was singing it, I heard something completely different.

I successfully resisted the sudden compulsion to burst out laughing and waited until he was done to ask him to re-sing the first part for me. Then I did burst out laughing because of how off I was. I thought it was just some really weird analogy. I told him what I thought he'd said: "It's like a passion against gun control."

And he started laughing and repeated back to me what he thought I had said: "It's like a passion against skunk control."

I walked into my parents' room for family prayer, and my mom and dad were in the middle of a conversation. My dad said, "Did Krista eat two of them?" I figured he was talking about the snack wraps he had brought home an hour or two earlier. So I jumped in with, "No, I had one and Jason had one..." And then I heard my mom answering back something to do with queen-sized mattresses and sheets. I, naturally, found myself in a whole whirl of confusion. What did mattresses have to do with snack wraps?

What my dad had really said was, "Were there fifty-two of them?" (This one's admittedly less funny because I still don't actually know the full context of the conversation.)

And then earlier, I was listening to "Unbreakable" by Jamie Scott. At the part where he says, "When you lose your way and the fight is gone," my mom mocked it because she thought he said, "When you lose your weight and the fat is gone." The song takes on a completely different meaning when you look at it that way. (Fun fact for ya.... The lyric video I linked the song title to has the lyrics as "When you lose your way and the fad is gone. *Ahem* Yet another interpretation.)

I'd like to say that so many misunderstandings are not common in the household... Actually, what am I saying? I wouldn't like to say that. I get a kick out of them. And I hope you did, too.

Of McFlurries and McBurgers (An AKS Documentation)

AKS (Awkward Krista Syndrome): a condition often characterized by blundering words, awkward silences, two left feet, self-conscious chuckles, and inappropriate laughter.

Once upon a time, in a Podunk town in northern Illinois, a quirky citizen called Krista made a New Years resolution: she vowed not partake of fast food for the month of January (so I guess that makes it a New Months resolution).

But this resolution extended well past the anticipated expiration date.

Krista did not partake of fast food for many a moon. (Umm... Pizza and Taco Bell don't count. And... neither does dessert from fast food places. There's a difference. Oh, and also "healthy" fast food places, like Subway and Jimmy Johns.)

As time went on, she gradually began to accept the consumption of sustenance from establishments such as Chick-Fil-A and Arby's (but just a few times). Finally, she gave in to her inner call for that blessed creation of Sir McDonald's--the snack wrap.

Krista had not eaten real food at McDonald's for many months (like, a year and a half, to be exact), and so she felt pressured when she could not see the menu in the drive-through.

One day, a McDonald's laborer stood outside the establishment, awaiting Krista's order. Her blood pressure increased. Her face flushed. Her pulse pulsed. She would not be able to look at the menu, for the laborer was standing several yards before the menu.

And thus commenced the awkward conversation...

The most disturbing fact is.... Krista DIDN'T EVEN WANT a double cheeseburger. OR a Reese's McFlurry. But due in grand part to her AKS, she could think of no other option. She had to order exactly that, for it was what first entered her mind. Or else face eternal humiliation.

The End.

Title and Registration

Hello!

(How terribly inconsiderate of me. Let's try that again.)

Hello! ¡Hola! Olá! Helo! Здравствуйте! Hei! こんにちは! Nnọọ! Bonjour! 안녕하세요!

If your preferred language was missed, I sincerely apologize. Google Translate can be entertaining for only so long.

You might recognize me from my religious blog, Seemingly Small! Or maybe not... Yeah, probably not... In fact, odds are, if you're reading this, you're doing it because you're a friend of mine who had pity on me. (Or maybe you actually had an ounce of curiosity about what goes on in my mind!) Regardless of what brought you here, here you are, and I hope you enjoy your stay.

Five-foot Girl in a Ten-foot World. That title is actually slightly inaccurate, considering I'm actually 4'11 3/4". (Don't forget the three-quarters part. That's important.) One of my very best (strictly platonic, especially considering he's a missionary right now) friends is about 6'5". Can you imagine how great we looked when we'd walk next to each other? The thing is, I rarely realized the height difference until I saw a picture or reflection of us standing side-by-side. Like this one:

Or this one:

(Honestly, I'm even questioning right now if that picture is real. He's not THAT much taller than me.) Just for fun, this song is like my theme song. It's "On the Brightside" by NeverShoutNever.

I'm honestly creating this blog because I've only posted religious things on my other one. I take religion quite seriously, so I didn't want to be goofing around and posting silly things on that one. That's what this one is for. You get a glance inside my mind. Exciting, right? Here, I anticipate you'll be able to read a few tales of my AKS (Awkward Krista Syndrome), a couple of stories about what it's like to be at BYU, and a handful of accounts dealing with my deeply philosophical and philosophically deep thoughts about... life and people and whatnot.

So, kick off your shoes, hang up your coats, and sit back and relax. Cuz if you're anything like me, you've probably got something important to do, but you're sitting here reading something random on the Internet!