Look, he's waiting for me to come play with him. I love him. My favorite.
Friday, May 28, 2010
My boyfriend's birthday.
He's ONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Look, he's waiting for me to come play with him. I love him. My favorite.
Look, he's waiting for me to come play with him. I love him. My favorite.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Why Italy Is Hilarious: Part 1
So... I love Italy. I do. I always will. I love Italy for a lot of different reasons which I could spend a long time explaining to you but I won't do that. Nope. Not today. Today, I will elaborate on one of the many reasons that I love Italy.
Italy is hilarious.
Yep, hilarious. Italy is hilarious, Italians are hilarious, Italian history is hilarious, Italian culture is hilarious, Italian tradition is hilarious.
Example of the hilarity: I served in Prato (between Florence and Pisa) for a long time. Prato is a funny little city with really old buildings and a castle. A few times a year, they have this ceremony that not very many people go to. They have a little parade (I'm talking maybe 10 people tops) and they walk really slowly to the center of the city. Then they go to the top of the Duomo (the town's Cathedral) and trumpeters trumpet in their official Italian Medieval garb... like so...
And then they bring out this old belt called La Sacra Cintola (The Holy Belt) that they are absolutely certain belonged to the Mother Mary. And then they show it... like so...
And that's it. Then they go back inside.
Well, where did they get Mary's belt? In the 11th century they got it as a gift from a local merchant who got it from the dowry of the Palestinian woman he married, of course. And what do they do with the belt when it isn't being shown? It is kept in the Pulpit of the Sacred Girdle which is housed in the Chapel of the Sacred Girdle, naturally. Wait, so they built an entire church in honor of a belt? Yes. Perhaps you can see why Italy became the fashion rule-makers of the world.And how do they know it was Mary's belt? Because they just do, okay?
Stay tuned. I will occasionally be updating you with more "reasons Italy is hilarious" stories.
Italy is hilarious.
Yep, hilarious. Italy is hilarious, Italians are hilarious, Italian history is hilarious, Italian culture is hilarious, Italian tradition is hilarious.
Example of the hilarity: I served in Prato (between Florence and Pisa) for a long time. Prato is a funny little city with really old buildings and a castle. A few times a year, they have this ceremony that not very many people go to. They have a little parade (I'm talking maybe 10 people tops) and they walk really slowly to the center of the city. Then they go to the top of the Duomo (the town's Cathedral) and trumpeters trumpet in their official Italian Medieval garb... like so...
And then they bring out this old belt called La Sacra Cintola (The Holy Belt) that they are absolutely certain belonged to the Mother Mary. And then they show it... like so...
Well, where did they get Mary's belt? In the 11th century they got it as a gift from a local merchant who got it from the dowry of the Palestinian woman he married, of course. And what do they do with the belt when it isn't being shown? It is kept in the Pulpit of the Sacred Girdle which is housed in the Chapel of the Sacred Girdle, naturally. Wait, so they built an entire church in honor of a belt? Yes. Perhaps you can see why Italy became the fashion rule-makers of the world.And how do they know it was Mary's belt? Because they just do, okay?
Stay tuned. I will occasionally be updating you with more "reasons Italy is hilarious" stories.
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
The Swagger Wagon
Not kidding, this is the best thing I have ever seeeeeeeeeeeeeeeen.
It reminds me so much of my sister-in-law Taryn who absolutely LOVES mini-vans.
Seriously, how funny is the part where he's playing the toy piano?!?
It reminds me so much of my sister-in-law Taryn who absolutely LOVES mini-vans.
Seriously, how funny is the part where he's playing the toy piano?!?
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Dear Dad,
If you really want me to go hike Mt. Kilimanjaro with you in August, you probably shouldn't use such a nonchalant tone when you tell me that we will need to purchase death insurance that will pay to fly our bodies back to the family just in case we die on the mountain.
I love you but that wasn't your best idea.
All my best,
your daughter Lizzie "what-the-heck-did-I-get-myself-into" Jones
I love you but that wasn't your best idea.
All my best,
your daughter Lizzie "what-the-heck-did-I-get-myself-into" Jones
Tuesday, May 11, 2010
Awww, so little...
Sometimes I wish my life was still this simple...
...but then I remember that I love my life the way it is now.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Great news.
This BYU class I'm taking is just like every other class I have taken in that there are the stereotypical regulars. It's awesome. Observe:
The Loud Laugher:
Honking goose. Barking dog. Ambulance siren. Cannon fire. Blue whale mating call. Foghorn. Space shuttle launch. This guy puts them all to shame. At high frequency and with increasingly frequency he emits this sound that makes your eardrums turn inside out. And he thinks everything is so so funny funny funny.
The Nervous Leg Guy:
This guy will always and forever sit right behind you. He's always antsy and nervous and puts his foot right on the back of your chair... and for the entirety of the three hour class you feel like you're sitting in a grocery cart with three wheels that is being pushed along a dirt road at high speed. He either chugged way too much Mountain Dew before running on campus or he's got a super guilty conscience. Regardless, all of the vertebrae in your spine are slowly pooling near your butt.
The Mr. True BYU:
Wide grin, gold wire-rimmed glasses, blue BYU polo shirt tucked into jeans worn high with a belt, New Balance running shoes laced tight and tied in long droopy bows, a "red sea-esque" part through his missionary-short gelled hair, CTR ring, Jansport backpack with the straps pulled tight, firm handshake offered to all around him, mentions his recent return from his mission within the first 2 minutes of conversation, super nice. He sings in the Mens' Choir. He goes to Homecoming. He pronounces the "ed" on bless-ed and curs-ed and often adds "eth" to the end of any verb in the present tense (i.e. cometh, goeth, sayeth, smiteth, studyeth) When someone asks him if he will be watching the game on Saturday night, he says "The Spirit is willing but the Flesh will be studying." Go cougs.
The "I'm-So-Smart-I-Might-As-Well-Teach-The-Class" Guy:
Someone asks a question. Professor begins to answer. A short way into the explanation, The ISSIMAWTTC Guy isn't satisfied with the answer and stands up, charging to the front of the class. The Professor looks at him in surprise. He says, "I know how to answer this, I know how to explain it. Can I have the marker?" The Professor gapes at him as he takes the marker away from the Professor. "Don't worry, it'll be okay," The ISSIMAWTTC Guy assures The Professor. He explains using charts and graphs and condescension. The questioner really just wants him to sit down so he claims that he understands. The class sits in an awkward silence. The ISSIMAWTTC Guy sits down, smirking. The Professor says, "Well... that was unconventional..." (Note: Yes, that really did just happen. Not kidding. No exaggeration.)
The I-Don't-Get-It-like-EVER Girl:
It doesn't matter what you're talking about, she's always 7 billion steps behind you. "Waywaywaywaywait, so like a fourth plus a fourth is like a eighth?" If you're on page 65, she's gazing helplessly at page 3. If you've all jumped on the bandwagon, she still hasn't heard the band's first song. If you're nearing the end of the marathon, she's still looking for her other shoe. If you're talking in words, she's still working on letters. Every member of the class becomes more and more exasperated as her hand slowly raises, her brow furrowed and mouth drawn into a frown. Eventually The I'm-So-Smart-I-Might-As-Well-Teach-The-Class Guy across the room begins explaining things to her along with the professor and others join in and pretty soon the class turns into a 33-on-1 tutoring session. But hey, she's just learning, and good for her for asking questions and she really is trying better to listen and... no... wait... oh yeah. This is my last BYU class and I don't care. Your questions are infuriating. Please don't talk anymore.
The British Guy:
He's British. Everyone loves it when he talks. The girls all find him attractive.
The Disagree-er:
He always seems to be wearing a concerned frown or raised eyebrow. He refuses to raise his whole hand when he has a comment and opts to just use his pointer finger. His life-goal seems to be saving the general public from double negatives, hyperbole, and error. He disagrees with anything and everything, is the one to point out the spelling mistakes in the syllabus, and shamelessly challenges any and all text books, case studies, published statistics, or facts. His counter-arguments are always long and wordy, he nods slowly and deeply, and he kind of smells like your grandpa.
The Super Senior:
Disheveled. Often sleeping. Usually absent. Doesn't take notes, doesn't have a backpack, sometimes borrows a pen.
The Guy Who Uses Made-up Words:
He's trying to sound smart. More often than not he sounds super tired. "Allow me to be a bit perfectionistical. Is the hyperpracticaliticity of the juxtapositionaling of the rectangulism formations a positivocrity or a negativistic reflection of ambidextrousitarian?" Take a nap, Merriam-Webster.
The Thinker Before He Talks-er:
He raises his hand. The professor nods at him. He squints at the ceiling and strokes his chin with his thumb and index finger. He takes a breath. He shakes his head. He sighs. He looks up as if he's finally gathered his thoughts. You want to kick him. He finally make his comment. It doesn't even make sense. The class applauds anyway.
The Girl That Is Almost Entirely Tuned Out Most Of The Time:
Curly hair, blue eyes, hungry, sick of school, staring at her laptop, not listening to a word the Professor is saying although she'll glance up occasionally and nod as if she's still involved... oh wait... yeah. This one is me. But I would like to point out that I have gotten 100% on both quizzes so far. Take that, multi-taskers.
The Loud Laugher:
Honking goose. Barking dog. Ambulance siren. Cannon fire. Blue whale mating call. Foghorn. Space shuttle launch. This guy puts them all to shame. At high frequency and with increasingly frequency he emits this sound that makes your eardrums turn inside out. And he thinks everything is so so funny funny funny.
The Nervous Leg Guy:
This guy will always and forever sit right behind you. He's always antsy and nervous and puts his foot right on the back of your chair... and for the entirety of the three hour class you feel like you're sitting in a grocery cart with three wheels that is being pushed along a dirt road at high speed. He either chugged way too much Mountain Dew before running on campus or he's got a super guilty conscience. Regardless, all of the vertebrae in your spine are slowly pooling near your butt.
The Mr. True BYU:
Wide grin, gold wire-rimmed glasses, blue BYU polo shirt tucked into jeans worn high with a belt, New Balance running shoes laced tight and tied in long droopy bows, a "red sea-esque" part through his missionary-short gelled hair, CTR ring, Jansport backpack with the straps pulled tight, firm handshake offered to all around him, mentions his recent return from his mission within the first 2 minutes of conversation, super nice. He sings in the Mens' Choir. He goes to Homecoming. He pronounces the "ed" on bless-ed and curs-ed and often adds "eth" to the end of any verb in the present tense (i.e. cometh, goeth, sayeth, smiteth, studyeth) When someone asks him if he will be watching the game on Saturday night, he says "The Spirit is willing but the Flesh will be studying." Go cougs.
The "I'm-So-Smart-I-Might-As-Well-Teach-The-Class" Guy:
Someone asks a question. Professor begins to answer. A short way into the explanation, The ISSIMAWTTC Guy isn't satisfied with the answer and stands up, charging to the front of the class. The Professor looks at him in surprise. He says, "I know how to answer this, I know how to explain it. Can I have the marker?" The Professor gapes at him as he takes the marker away from the Professor. "Don't worry, it'll be okay," The ISSIMAWTTC Guy assures The Professor. He explains using charts and graphs and condescension. The questioner really just wants him to sit down so he claims that he understands. The class sits in an awkward silence. The ISSIMAWTTC Guy sits down, smirking. The Professor says, "Well... that was unconventional..." (Note: Yes, that really did just happen. Not kidding. No exaggeration.)
The I-Don't-Get-It-like-EVER Girl:
It doesn't matter what you're talking about, she's always 7 billion steps behind you. "Waywaywaywaywait, so like a fourth plus a fourth is like a eighth?" If you're on page 65, she's gazing helplessly at page 3. If you've all jumped on the bandwagon, she still hasn't heard the band's first song. If you're nearing the end of the marathon, she's still looking for her other shoe. If you're talking in words, she's still working on letters. Every member of the class becomes more and more exasperated as her hand slowly raises, her brow furrowed and mouth drawn into a frown. Eventually The I'm-So-Smart-I-Might-As-Well-Teach-The-Class Guy across the room begins explaining things to her along with the professor and others join in and pretty soon the class turns into a 33-on-1 tutoring session. But hey, she's just learning, and good for her for asking questions and she really is trying better to listen and... no... wait... oh yeah. This is my last BYU class and I don't care. Your questions are infuriating. Please don't talk anymore.
The British Guy:
He's British. Everyone loves it when he talks. The girls all find him attractive.
The Disagree-er:
He always seems to be wearing a concerned frown or raised eyebrow. He refuses to raise his whole hand when he has a comment and opts to just use his pointer finger. His life-goal seems to be saving the general public from double negatives, hyperbole, and error. He disagrees with anything and everything, is the one to point out the spelling mistakes in the syllabus, and shamelessly challenges any and all text books, case studies, published statistics, or facts. His counter-arguments are always long and wordy, he nods slowly and deeply, and he kind of smells like your grandpa.
The Super Senior:
Disheveled. Often sleeping. Usually absent. Doesn't take notes, doesn't have a backpack, sometimes borrows a pen.
The Guy Who Uses Made-up Words:
He's trying to sound smart. More often than not he sounds super tired. "Allow me to be a bit perfectionistical. Is the hyperpracticaliticity of the juxtapositionaling of the rectangulism formations a positivocrity or a negativistic reflection of ambidextrousitarian?" Take a nap, Merriam-Webster.
The Thinker Before He Talks-er:
He raises his hand. The professor nods at him. He squints at the ceiling and strokes his chin with his thumb and index finger. He takes a breath. He shakes his head. He sighs. He looks up as if he's finally gathered his thoughts. You want to kick him. He finally make his comment. It doesn't even make sense. The class applauds anyway.
The Girl That Is Almost Entirely Tuned Out Most Of The Time:
Curly hair, blue eyes, hungry, sick of school, staring at her laptop, not listening to a word the Professor is saying although she'll glance up occasionally and nod as if she's still involved... oh wait... yeah. This one is me. But I would like to point out that I have gotten 100% on both quizzes so far. Take that, multi-taskers.
The end is in sight...
I am taking my last BYU class.
Woohoo.
Gogogojoseph.
Yes, that last one has become my new favorite exclamatory phrase.
Try saying it. Gogogojoseph. Fun, isn't it?
My last class is Psychological Statistics. I know... what the heck does that have to do with English or Italian?
a. nothing
b. absolutely nothing
c. truly absolutely nothing
d. really really truly absolutely nothing
e. we should send Lizzie chocolate
If you answered f. all of the above then you win the prize of getting to read the rest of this post, you lucky duck you.
This class is only 7 weeks long. 7 weeks until I finally get that diploma. Truthfully, I've been done with my major for over a year now. There was just this one class. One rotten class that I had to take. My mind doesn't care about school anymore unfortunately. Quite a shame. My mind is in "I already have a great full-time job with a salary and benefits and a parking pass so why on earth am I back at BYU" mode and so I am having a hard time fooooooccccccuuuuuusssssssiiiiiiinnnnnnngggg.
My professor is interesting though. He swore on the syllabus, which made me like him a little more. He doesn't like BYU and thinks the honor code is kind of weird but he likes the church and he likes the students at BYU so he is here. He asked us the first day of class if anyone wanted to follow him on Twitter. We all stared at him blankly. The crickets, recognizing their silent cue, chirped.
"Are any of you on Twitter?"
The crickets chirped louder, thrilled to finally have the spotlight.
"Weird," he replied. "That's kind of weird."
Not really, you're kind of weird though, my head thought.
Other things I've discovered about my professor: he enunciates his words a loT (especially those "t"s), about every 15 minutes he exclaims with an uncomfortable smile how quiet we all are, sometimes he doesn't know the answers to questions and looks to the TA to explain, when he does explain things he says "Does that make sense or are you totally confused now?" and he's a pretty nice guy who really likes chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.
He also shot himself in the foot the first day by saying, "I'm not making much sense to you. Can anyone else explain this in a different way with different words than the words I'm using so this will make sense to you?"Since then he's made many a blunder. He's obviously a newer Professor and often talks himself into corners. We all wait patiently until he makes his 16-point-turn on his way out of there. This is only his 2nd semester teaching and he's not much older than we are. We (most of us at least) try to give him the respect he deserves because he has a PhD and we don't even have our BA so... yep.
He does sometimes say funny things like this: "The U.S. is ranked #1 in the infant mortality rate in America..." Insert awkward pause here. "Wait, ummm, no..."
I'm making him sound incompetent and he's not. In fact he's very smart. I am just glad to have a teacher for my last class that is a little fresher, a little more daring, and a little less difficult. Unfortunately I am kind of tuning him out right now on accident because he keeps saying a bunch of numbers and numbers in my brain all round up to boredom.
ERGO...
=your Mom =gogogojoseph
Woohoo.
Gogogojoseph.
Yes, that last one has become my new favorite exclamatory phrase.
Try saying it. Gogogojoseph. Fun, isn't it?
My last class is Psychological Statistics. I know... what the heck does that have to do with English or Italian?
a. nothing
b. absolutely nothing
c. truly absolutely nothing
d. really really truly absolutely nothing
e. we should send Lizzie chocolate
If you answered f. all of the above then you win the prize of getting to read the rest of this post, you lucky duck you.
This class is only 7 weeks long. 7 weeks until I finally get that diploma. Truthfully, I've been done with my major for over a year now. There was just this one class. One rotten class that I had to take. My mind doesn't care about school anymore unfortunately. Quite a shame. My mind is in "I already have a great full-time job with a salary and benefits and a parking pass so why on earth am I back at BYU" mode and so I am having a hard time fooooooccccccuuuuuusssssssiiiiiiinnnnnnngggg.
My professor is interesting though. He swore on the syllabus, which made me like him a little more. He doesn't like BYU and thinks the honor code is kind of weird but he likes the church and he likes the students at BYU so he is here. He asked us the first day of class if anyone wanted to follow him on Twitter. We all stared at him blankly. The crickets, recognizing their silent cue, chirped.
"Are any of you on Twitter?"
The crickets chirped louder, thrilled to finally have the spotlight.
"Weird," he replied. "That's kind of weird."
Not really, you're kind of weird though, my head thought.
Other things I've discovered about my professor: he enunciates his words a loT (especially those "t"s), about every 15 minutes he exclaims with an uncomfortable smile how quiet we all are, sometimes he doesn't know the answers to questions and looks to the TA to explain, when he does explain things he says "Does that make sense or are you totally confused now?" and he's a pretty nice guy who really likes chocolate chip cookie dough ice cream.
He also shot himself in the foot the first day by saying, "I'm not making much sense to you. Can anyone else explain this in a different way with different words than the words I'm using so this will make sense to you?"Since then he's made many a blunder. He's obviously a newer Professor and often talks himself into corners. We all wait patiently until he makes his 16-point-turn on his way out of there. This is only his 2nd semester teaching and he's not much older than we are. We (most of us at least) try to give him the respect he deserves because he has a PhD and we don't even have our BA so... yep.
He does sometimes say funny things like this: "The U.S. is ranked #1 in the infant mortality rate in America..." Insert awkward pause here. "Wait, ummm, no..."
I'm making him sound incompetent and he's not. In fact he's very smart. I am just glad to have a teacher for my last class that is a little fresher, a little more daring, and a little less difficult. Unfortunately I am kind of tuning him out right now on accident because he keeps saying a bunch of numbers and numbers in my brain all round up to boredom.
ERGO...
numbers
+ Lizzie
- sleep
+ computer
- coin flipping ability
/ the square root of a potato
+ genetics
x Dumbledore
- allergies
+ 16 point turns
= the placebo effect
=lurking variable
= Whatever, I don't care anymore. Go away.
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