So once upon a time there was a girl named Brittany, who thought it would be amusing to dig herself into a hole as deep as AP Chemistry and Math homework, and as deep as the commitment to three different drama classes. Whilst digging said hole, she began to fear that the hole was too deep, and that she might not be able to get out. But, rounding the corner on the 5th day of school, she realizes it’s not as bad as it seems. Sure, the hole is still too deep for any human being to climb out of, but thankfully, Brittany has a smart brain and carved climbing holes into the dirt so that she could escape. And hooray, HOORAY! Life is GOOD!

I am super excited, because I found out something: if you do the logical thing and take regular chemistry first, and then AP, life is so much easier. Last year was just…. well… a mess. I attempted to take AP chem before having any experience with chemistry at all. Yeah, it was a bad idea. But since I switched into regular chem last year, I am acing AP this time. I have high hopes for this year, and I just think I’m going to achieve them.

Another reason why life is almost perfect right now, is because auditions for Blithe Spirit are on TUESDAY! Hooray!!! I cannot even make you fathom a hundredth part of the excitement that is bursting inside of me now. I ache to be up onstage with people applauding up a storm. The play we are doing this year is so perfect for us. It is of the utmost hilariousness. I really really REALLY want the part of Elvira. The former wife-now-ghost figure of Charles. She has such a character! Every single one of her lines is so funny, that I wonder how I don’t die because I’m laughing so hard. Though half of her lines are innuendos, they are the kind that only some could understand. (The older some.) I’ll tell you what, I am going to work my hardest at the audition to get that part. I will prove to Ms Morrey that I am capable of holding such a large part. I want that part SO bad!!

And another reason to hooray! I got a job!!!…………..go on…… say it…… HOORAY!!!!!! I love my job. I love the people I work with, and I love the thought of my FIRST PAY CHECK that comes very soon. Nearly $300.00!! I get to pay for Shakespeare first, and then it’s decided that I’m going to reward myself for all the hard work (this first paycheck) and BLOW the last $100. I love life.

There lies a perfect plate of food. Spinach tortellini smothered in creamy alfredo sauce, tied together with strings of melted parmesan cheese. Yum.

Man, I wish I was a food critic. But not just any food critic, one that eats ONLY Italian food. I could always eat nothing but spaghetti, salad and gelato. So, the story goes, once upon a time, there was a girl named Brittany and she went to the Old Spaghetti Factory in Orem. I was a bit reluctant about eating out, I don’t like people spending their money on me, and it had just previously happened: my mom bought me a new dress. But, as downright cranky as I was, it was a girls’ night out, so I put on a grin and bore it. And boy, did I bear it.

I’m a picky eater when it comes to Italian. If it’s not good, it’s not worth eating. There are two things that I could eat every day and not get sick of; strawberries and the steak-Gorgonzola Alfredo from Olive Garden. I have now discovered a third thing that I cannot live without. Spinach tortellini.  Choosing my dish at the Spaghetti Factory was not hard. I picked the cheapest thing there, (well, the cheapest that sounded good) and expected to just be eating something as nice as a Sunday dinner. Double you, arr, oh, en, gee. Since I have not tasted heaven as of yet, this was as close as I have come. This was the most satisfied that I have been with food since Olive Garden. Green tortellini filled with meat, cheese and spinach sat in a HUGE pile on my plate. Carefully drizzled over them was a wonderful cream-Alfredo sauce, and topped over the whole thing was melted parmesan. The parmesan created strings of goodness in between each bite and the piping-hot noodles were…….. no comment.

Anyway, after a divine dinner, what could only come next is dessert. So, I officially decided that American Ice Cream is poop. Don’t get me wrong, I am all for the American way. I’m as patriotic as anyone you’ve ever seen, but when it comes to frozen treats, Roxberry and Italian gelato are the way to go. Apparently, dessert came included in the meal price, so I took it without question. I was a bit nervous though, when they brought me my gelato. Kind of like American Neapolitan ice cream, gelato contains chocolate, pistachio and cherry ice cream. Though a beautiful blend of brown, pink and green, I don’t even like 2 of the flavors on ice cream. Haha, I do now. It was so cold, that it had frozen to the sides of the metal tin that it was served in. Then, since the bowl was so cold, it had transferred the cold back into the gelato, and the whole thing had frozen into small ice crystals. There is nothing better than rich, soft, gelato.

After we ate dinner and that heavenly ice cream, we saw “Letters to Juliet” at the local (cheap) theater. It was such a good movie, and though full of cheese at the end, it was definitely a heart-breaker. The whole thing is set in Italy, and it just reminded me that I want to go there SO BAD. It is so beautiful there, and it has the BEST food. Italy has such heritage and history. So, with my new job, I’m going to save up for a car, going to college and maybe GOING TO ITALY.

Mine don’t make sense to me.

I mean, obviously, they’re significant. They’re meant to be there for me to learn things, I get it. But I don’t get why I have to learn these types of skills this way. Everyone gets along with their families most of the time, right? Despite sibling quarrels and “misunderstandings” with your parents, you’re still bound by an eternal love for each and every member. So, of course, I am too. You know, I often look at other families, usually noticing them in their good times, wondering, “What if she was my mom? What if I had a brother like him?” And then I step back and realize time and time again: God put me with this family for a reason. He knows that I wouldn’t function the way I do today without the proper back-up of a wonderful family. So if we’re meant to be together forever, then why do we have problems? I sort of feel like an idiot asking that, because I already know the all-too-obvious answer: because no family is perfect and we have to go through the hard times to realize the good ones. And I get that, I really do. But I suppose the point I’m trying to figure out is why can’t I be the one that gets along with everyone in my family? Why am I the hot-headed, “get off my Trojan horse”, one? Well, not to everyone, but to my mom in particular.

I love my mom. I don’t think she knows how much I love her–because I’m too proud to get off my Trojan horse and tell her–but I really do love my mom. And I don’t think she realizes how much she does for everyone in the family, especially for me. I’m not the perfect child everyone assumes that I am. I’ve had my fair share of mistakes, a lot of them bigger than anyone could really expect from me. But here I am, who I am, today, because of my mom. When I needed to get it all off my chest, when I needed to cry, when I needed to start that hard process of repentance, I would go to my mom and ask, “Mom? Can we talk?” She’d look at me and say in a perfectly calm voice, “Sure honey. Go sit on my bed and I’ll be there in a second.” I don’t think anyone can really appreciate the love and devotion a mother has for them, until she drops everything they’re doing so she can talk with you.

If I love my mom so much, then how come I can’t get along with her? I absolutely can say that it’s my fault. I’m too proud to say sorry when I mouth-off. I’m too sensitive to admit nicely that I’m wrong. And I’m too impatient to explain when I’m being misunderstood, or taken wrong. I feel absolutely horrid when I talk to my mom that way, and never in my life did I think that she’d “accept” that kind of attitude. (Well, sometimes she doesn’t. And that’s when I realize that I’ve gone too far.) Then, I feel horrid because I’ve treated my mom like that. Then… I think, “Well aren’t all mother-daughter relationships supposed to be like this? Constant disagreement and fighting, but in the midst of it, sincere love?” I settle on that statement for a while, and then think to myself, How can I ever hope to have a perfect, non-quarreling, always helping and loving relationship with my future daughters if I can’t even agree with my own mother?

You might be thinking, well why don’t you tell your mother all of this? Why don’t you get off this computer and go tell her, right now.

Because I’m scared. I don’t know if I can ever have that awesome relationship that I used to have with my mother. I used to make her laugh, all the time. It made me happy when I made her laugh. I sort of felt like that was the only thing I was good at, was making her laugh. My sister can make my mom happy by cleaning the entire house to boot. But let’s face it: I’ve never had, nor ever will have the patience to clean to make someone happy. I’ll clean when it’s dirty. The end. But I don’t share many things in common with my mom. So it’s not like I can go out and do stuff with her, because there’s really nothing to do. So I just continue to make her laugh.

And how can I politely tell my mom that something about her is bugging me? I’ve resorted to just not saying anything at all, because I hate hurting people’s feelings. So that leaves me with two other choices, saying it bluntly–which sometimes has worked, when I or my family has put a joke into it– or sitting down with her and discussing something. But she’s my mother. I can’t just say, “Mom, you’re bugging me, will you please knock it off?” I mean, not exactly those words, but you know what I mean. I’m so scared of hurting someone, making them feel bad for a short time, or even to the extent of leaving. So I just bite my tongue and bear it. But slowly, we are growing more and more opposite, less and less alike, and it’s tearing us apart. I didn’t ask for this.

So anyway, that’s been the tradition for FOREVER. The older girls take the younger ones snipe hunting, scare the pants off of them, and then reveal to the terrified 12-year-olds that they’ve been pranked. It’s awesome.

Well, the main point I was trying to come to was the adventures that I’ve had in snipe hunting. You see, this was my first year that I was going to be able to lead the snipe hunt, and actually catch the snipe. I asked Taylor, a girl older than me to bring up the rear on the hunt, and to throw small rocks into the bushes in front of us (so they’d move and give the illusion of something in the bush).

So we set on our hunt. Flashlights off, and faces burning with toothpaste. I had my pillowcase in hand as we walked in the pitch black night. Suddenly, I had a brilliant idea. Well, sort of brilliant. I thought, “What’s the fun in scooping up the snipe? Wouldn’t it be more heart-pounding for the girls and fun for me if I tackled the snipe?” GENIUS. So, as we trudged through the bushes and weeds, I spotted a perfect spot in front of me. The bushes were really tall, and I thought I’d just leap into the bushes and come back up with a pillowcase enclosing a snipe! (really it was just a t-shirt that I had previously rolled up) So, I shushed the girls, and told them that we had found our snipe. I told them to stay back as I crept up to the bush. Then, I crouched down and held my pillowcase up, I jumped into the tangle of bushes. But, to my utter and horrific surprise, the bushes concealed a small cliff about 1-2 feet. I fell in a crouched position, only to land my knees on some hard, sharp rocks. A shockwave went through my leg and instantly, I felt a lot of pain. The strangled cries behind me of, “Brittany? Did you catch it?” “Are you okay?” “Did the snipe get you?”. I immediately let out an “Umm, guys? I need help.” Taylor looked at me from above. “Are you okay?” I responded, “No. I fell on my knees and it really hurts.” Purely on adrenaline, I shakily got to my feet and almost immediately fell over. I couldn’t even stand up! The girls went into, ‘emergency mode’ and picked me up from the ground. As I was being carried back to camp, we started laughing and joking about how funny I looked. Sure, it may have looked hilarious, but at the moment, my right knee hurt so bad that I couldn’t even bend it.

When we got back to camp, I was sat on the table while my first-aid certified, coolest life-guard on the planet lifted up my pant-leg. The girls around me yelled audible, “Ohhhh’s” and “Ewww’s” as my knee was revealed. There was blood coming all out of a puncture wound and a rug-burn looking scrape. But that’s not what hurt. It felt as though someone had grabbed my knee cap and twisted it. O-U-C-H.

After my life-guard Jourdan cleaned my wound and taped a gauze pad onto it, I went to bed. The next morning, my knee was so stiff that I couldn’t even bend it. We cleaned up camp, and I hobbled around like a lame duck. When we got home, I took the bandage off. The nasty looking wound was still bleeding and my knee had now bloomed into a beautiful bruise. Purple, red and speckled, it formed a C around part of my knee. Numerous bruises scattered around it, and it was clearly swollen. It was so pretty.

Well, now that I’ve described that tale to seem like I just escaped death, I’ll tell you that my knee is healing nicely. Hobbling around isn’t fun, especially when my knee remains un-bendable. The bruise is going away, except for that C shape. The bleeding has stopped and it just looks like a healing, disgusting wound. All in all, it was a good adventure. Taylor said I’ll go down into the Snipe Hunting Hall of Fame.

Mom is mostly out and about, doing school and trying to teach impatient children piano, leaving me at home to babysit. I don’t mind much, except for the fact that there is nothing to do. I try to play with my siblings, but it doesn’t always work. They get obnoxious easily, and I get bored easily. (I think I may have the attention span of a first grader?) Anyway, so most of the time, I try to entertain myself. I found Mythbusters on Netflix, and so I added all 6 seasons plus a “Bonus Blasters” season compiling of the team’s biggest booms. I think I may have watched somewhere around 30 episodes so far? I also eat toast. Toast is the food of the Gods. Grandma Sycamore’s white bread with real salted butter… mmm….. I think I will eat some tomorrow for breakfast.

So, besides wasting my life on the floor in front of our TV, and repeatedly attempting to ignore my mother’s voice chanting “Brittany… bread makes your butt fat…”, I have hung out with the best people on the planet a few times, went to youth conference, packed for girl’s camp and am sitting here typing this pitiful tale. I am now at the height of boredom. That’s right, the “up to here”, last straw, end of my nerve board-um. What is with this summer?

And speaking of girl’s camp, what happens when you pack? Well for a girl, this means a lot of things. First, you need clothes, that’s kind of essential. For me, it’s pretty easy to find clothes. I have one pair of jeans that I’ll always take camping, throw in a few t-shirts, grab my sweats for sleeping and some socks and voilà. I can now clothe myself. But then comes the difficult part. You see, my pride and glory (sort of) is my hair. I’m not as vain about it as some people, but even at camp with a bunch of sweaty gross girls, I’d still like to have decent looking hair. So, into the duffel bag goes the brush and a couple of hair bands, hoping and praying that I don’t achieve some dramatic disaster such as falling into mud or some horrendous feat such as that. I throw in a toothbrush and some really strong mint toothpaste (for snipe hunting! muahaha!!) and deodorant. (So I don’t smell bad like the beehives do! bleghh.) Then, I stuff my secret sister gifts in the bag along with my “spoiling treats” for my girls. (Which by the way, is an epic failure, I’m pretty sure the other YCL’s girls are going to be much more spoiled… oh well, it’s the thought that counts?) Then, I gently place in my worn journal and my scriptures, along with a pen and pencil. This should be it, right? WRONG. I have to find a sleeping bag, grab a pillow and then that’s it…………. I think……….. gahhh. I give up. I’m sure to forget something really important, and then I’ll receive a tsk tsk from my disappointed leaders.

So you may be thinking, “Why don’t you just pack earlier? Then you’ll have time to remember things that you’ve forgotten? Well, I’ve tried that. And when I did, I packed pretty much my whole bedroom and then some. It’s a difficult task…. So, solution? Pack later?? No, because then the chances increase that I’ll forget something REALLY important.

Well, let’s just say that girl’s camp is Tuesday. We have to have all of our equipment in by tomorrow so it can be loaded onto the trailer. The horrible thing is that I haven’t even finished packing yet… oops. I better do that, huh? Want to know another sad thing? Too bad cuz you’re gonna hear it: I have summer school during camp. Wonderful, huh? Yeah, I have to leave with a leader, come down the mountain from clear up past Heber, come home and sleep, wake up the next morning to go to school from 10am-2pm, then drive back up the mountain in time for dinner and singing in the trees. Then at camp I get to do homework for the two days of school that I’m skipping so I can spend the remainder of my time at camp. The things I sacrifice for my religion *sighhh*  Don’t worry though, its totally worth it.

So… what happens now? Summer is turning out to be potentially the most boring thing that ever happened to me. I’d rather be in school right now. No, seriously…. but I guess I get my wish granted? Because I start summer school next week. Bleghh… I wish that I could rewind my life and relive the past several months. No, I would not change anything, I’d just relive it. Life has been so good to me, that I just want to get some more of it. But, as always, things have to change. People change and things change… life changes in huge ways and in the smallest ways that we can’t even recognize.

Speaking of people changing, youth conference was phenomenal. I would go back and do it all over again. Every day, we’d watch vignettes, little monologues done by some of the Church’s most famous actors. Inspirational to the maximum, I watched every scene with intent and realization. I could apply everything to my life, past, present and future, and I waited impatiently for the next one. I wish everyone could have seen and felt what I did….. We also played lots of games at youth conference. Haha, my least favorite one was the “lost sheep” game. They spread over 1000 easter eggs across a huge field. Inside 20 of them were little pieces of paper with a sheep on them. We could go out one team member at a time to get ONE egg to bring back to our team. It was highly obnoxious and I seriously gave up after the first one. : )

And… speaking of things changing, what do you do when your best friend moves away? What happens now? I’m not going to sit on my bed and cry, that’s for sure. I’ll be far too upset to do that. Right now, I think I’m a bit… in shock? I don’t know, it’s all very confusing. I think I’ll just… well I don’t know! I guess the real question is…

What happens now?

So my mom makes fun of me. When I’m sitting at home, bored out of my mind, all I can do is complain to her how much I want to see my friends, or hang out with my friends or even just talk to someone. But about two seconds later, when my siblings ask if I want to play outside with them, I immediately spurt a huge, “NO. I want to be alone right now.” Am I a hypocrite?…….. I don’t think so. Do I have issues……hmmm….. yes.

“So what do you do in the summertime, when all the world is green? Do you eat some ice cream, or lazily dream on the banks as the clouds go by? Is that what you do? So do I!” (my rendition of an LDS children’s song) So most every day is the same, I wake up late, (which makes me happy) and I roll out of bed to eat my cereal and I do chores around the house. I practice my piano and viola, play with my puppies, listen to my siblings complain that they’re hungry at 11:00 am, work on my lamesillydummypoop online class and then make lunch for me and my brothers and sisters. Then I might do something fun, like run around in circles, attempt handstands, trip over flat ground, or have a howling contest with my beagle. Usually around this time, my beloved mother calls to check up on us from her school of doom, (I feel for you mom) then I might watch a movie with my siblings. Sometimes, I’ll half attempt to contact my friends through Facebook, and most of the time, it fails miserably. I just have to wait one more day for something to maybe, mysteriously, hopefully, possibly pop up to do. Other than all this, I anxiously wait for a call from any place wishing to hire me for a part-time job. No success. I was hoping with extreme enthusiasm for someone to call me so that I can have a somewhat steady income. I have a whole bunch of stuff to pay for during the school year, and unfortunately, no money to pay for it.

Well, anyway, if anyone is listening, or anyone cares, this is what I do in the summertime. It’s kind of a downer entry, full of unhappy things, but hey… what can I say? Well I can say, I love watermelon, and parades, and loud drums, and music and all the fun and exciting things that come in the one gigantic package labeled, “SUMMER.”

So this morning, as planned by me and Jourdan, we rode our bikes to school. It was quite fun actually. I was all full of energy, so biking to the Chevron to meet the rest of our friends was really easy. It was the perfect temperature and everything. Plus, it was pretty much all downhill... When we got to school, it was just like we didn’t even have school. I got a few people’s signatures and talked to a couple of friends. Soon, we were sort of forced out of the building, and so we sat on the grass for a bit. School technically ended at 11 o’ clock, and with the predicament of no food, some of us were gettin’ a little…… cranky. So we packed up our things and left for Wal-Mart. We biked as a group and ate lunch at Subway. YUM.

When it was time to go home, there were two options: up hill, or up hill…. hmmm….. I choose neither… BUT unfortunately, that was not the case. About half way up route A (riding alongside the highway) we decided it was too dangerous and way too hard to bike up, so we turned onto the back roads through our two cities. Route B was not much easier. Although we didn’t have a bazillion cars driving right beside us at speeds upwards of 65 mph, this route was looonngg and windy. This was a bit difficult, because I’m not Miss Ima-swimmeriwiththeenduranceofacheetah. Jourdan was cruising up that hill while I pretty much walked my bicycle up the long road. Kudos to Bryce for staying with me, even though he didn’t have to.

After having a nasty prank pulled on me and going through an emotional phase of utmost horror, the three of us rode to Bryce’s house where he graciously tied Jourdan and my bike into the bed of his truck and drove us the last mile home. Let us just say that nearly 10 miles of biking is hard for a girl, I’ll tell you. (That, plus I’m a wimp. ) Now, as I cradle my sunburnt arms and glare at the bruises on my ankle, I still look back on it and have to smile. It was really, really fun. I would totally ride my bike to school every day, it didn’t take that long, considering it was downhill pretty much the whole way. But if I did? I would probably make someone with a truck drive me home.

The only good thing about this experience is, is that the time that I was at school? IT WAS THE LAST DAY! YAHOO!!! NO SCHOOL! NO SCHOOL! NO SCHOOL! NO SCHOOL!!!

Once upon a time, there was a creeper, and this creeper had friends. And my Emily walked by the creeper and his friends and they started saying not nice things to her. So my Emily came to the room and said, “There are creepers outside.” We looked outside and they beckoned the female gender from our group saying, “Come, we wish to talk to you.” Us of the female gender did hide behind the great and heavy door. The creepers pushed against the door saying, “We wish to come inside.” They pushed and shoved with all of their might and sent the great and heavy door open. This did hurt the female gender exceedingly and especially me, since I was sitting on the ground in front of the door. The main creeper did hold out his hand to me saying, “Take it, and I will help you up.” Knowing to be a child of politeness, I took his hand with gratitude until the creeper did rub his finger onto my hand. I was exceedingly afraid and did pull my hand from his. The men of the land did stand up for the women of the land and told the creepers to leave. When they did not, the men of the land took the women and left. They did stand guard at the great and heavy door even when the creepers did continue to beckon and make rude comments. Then, after many more terrifying moments, the creepers did take leave and abandoned the land of the practice room.

This story is to commend those men who stood bravely in the sight of evil. How valiantly they protect the women of the land. We congratulate them. Especially the ones who have respect and honor for the women of the land, if it was appropriate, I think we would all kiss you!

Amen.

Today: I have emptied my back pack. This task consists of several plastic bags full of old homework and random lined paper to be tossed in the dumpster, followed by a vigorous shake to my back pack to remove the random bits and pieces of paper that come off of notebooks. A momentous occasion, seeing as I don’t have to use it for another 3 MONTHS!!

Well, I’m keeping this entry short, I have some things to do.