Thursday, August 28, 2008

Argument


I was tired. When I'm tired on campus, my survival instincts kick in and I instantly search desperately for a place to take a nap. My preference is the plethora of leather chairs in the library on the 3rd floor but I was
really tired and didn't think I would make it so I looked around the H-FAC, noting that I had a good 2 hours to kill before my next class, and found a small room that was filled with promising looking furnishings and was separated from the noisy lobby by a thick pane of glass. I darted for the room and collapsed into one of the stuffed chairs and almost instantly fell asleep. 

Not long after, I awoke with a start surprised to hear angry voices. You know that confused and muddled state you're in upon waking from a nap? I cast my bleary eyes around the room, looking for the source of the ruckus that had pulled me out of my doze. Directly in front of me were two very upset individuals who were anxiously engaged in an argument. Fists were clenched, teeth gritted, voices raised. They didn't seem to notice their drowsy and confuddled audience member looking on with a facial expression of annoyance mingled with curiosity. 

"You always forget, Dad! Always!" she yelled. Her hot pink capris matched not only her hot pink shirt and her hot pink hair ribbon and the hot pink pin stripes in her black jacket but also her hot pink-colored lips, which at the moment were pursed.

"It isn't exactly easy with your mom gone! Cut me some slack, Ellen!" He looked like a tired father should: receding hairline with tufts of gray showing at his temples, dark circles under his eyes, hunched shoulders, a round belly, and wrinkles etched into his face by his eyes and mouth. I noticed the lack of a wedding ring, signifying a possible divorcee or widower.

"It's been on the calendar for months!"

"Well I'm sorry that the fact that I have to work for a house payment has inconvenienced you so much! I can't come. I'm sorry!" He sounded more exasperated than sorry. Ellen shook her ribboned head, irate. Spitting out a few stuttered syllables, she glared her worst, spun on her heel, and stamped out of the room. He ran after her screaming her name. 

I was fully awake now. I looked around to see if anyone else had shared my discomfort in accidentally intruding on a family moment, but I was very much alone in the room. As I blinked, trying to process what had just happened, I saw Ellen coming back in the room. She was followed closely by her father. I panicked, looking for a place to hide or a door I could slip out of. Unfortunately, they were currently at the only door I could exit from. I didn't want them to realize that I had been sitting there the whole time. And then I realized a crucial detail.

They were both smiling wide. 

Thinking that surely I was on Candid Camera or involved in some strange research project for a sociology class, I tried to look as nonchalant as possible. They seemed involved in conversation and I caught the end of what Ellen's father was saying as he pulled the glass door open and they entered.

"... yeah, but it went better this time. I like what you did at the end there with the stammering."

"Was that okay do you think? It's not too much?"

"No, it's good. Ellen is supposed to be angry. I like it. Let's try it again."

Once I came to my senses, I had to smile. As I gathered my things to go, I mentally applauded the BYU dramatic program. 

Friday, August 15, 2008

BRIAN REGAN!!!


I'm going to see Brian Regan's show!! RIGHT NOW!

That's all I'm trying to say. That's all that I'm driving at... really... if you think about it... that's all.

Monday, August 11, 2008

He-er cut.

New hair style.
























I'm still getting used to it. 

Sunday, August 3, 2008

Insert something profound here

Wow. Is this picture artistic or what? I bet you are thinking to yourselves "I didn't think Lizzie was so dang artistic but today she has proven me wrong." Because everyone knows if you take a picture of your hand with stuff written on it, you're WAY artistic. Especially if it is in black and white and you get extra artistic points if some of the things written on the hand are in different languages so this is major artistic, especially if you actually speak one of the languages ("bacio" means kiss and "amore" means love in Italian). I bet you now are all going to go on google images and look for your own artistic black and white different language pictures to put on your blogs so others will think you're artistic. And in a few days when I wander on to your blog, I'll think you're artistic too and we can be artistic friends who wear berets and speak in muted voices and raise are hands to snap our appreciation at the end of a job well done. Clapping is so offensive to one's ears, don't you agree? So lets do this. We can all meet at a coffee shop and get hot cocoa and I'm going to make sure mine is made out of really dark chocolate. And I won't add sugar or cream, because that is the artistic thing to do. We can sit on stools and talk about abstract ideas like prudence and captivity and innocence. We can go late into the night reading poetry that we pretend to understand and relate it to nature and our inner-child. Who wants to bring the bongos?