There is no "Diane" in "Team".

I wouldn't call myself an athlete by any stretch of the imagination. Usually when I attempt to play a sport (with the exception of running and biking), people wonder if I'm joking or if I'm really that uncoordinated. They feel like they have to help me by giving tips so that I don't embarrass myself more than necessary. I always feel so awkward and embarrassed with the extra attention. I suppose I could practice, practice, practice like the good example of David O. McKay, but sports just aren't #1 in my life.

But just as soon as I classified myself, I realized that in reality I...
run out of time
jump to conclusions
hit on boys
and
hoola hoop like a champion.

I guess I'm not talentless after all. I'm also quite punny. :D

Proofread by Bobyn Ruff.

How do they know??

To all of you who are thinking of creative topics of conversation, it's not too late to enter the contest. In fact, please do. I still haven't received real responses from: archangel, cellob, wkh, tyrone, jarojito, naazju, hanabanana, and probably more of you. You know who you are.

Check it out! I've noticed this for a while, but tonight it really creeped me out. How does gmail know what my emails say? They always have little suggestions and advertisements relating to the email that's open.

There is no other explanation than the existance of a whole clan of government-hired hackers out there, who are spying on us. Their purpose? To send us subliminal messages and propaganda, altering our thinking and allowing the tyranny to continue. We are simply minions, being brainwashed into blindly obeying this so-called "authority". In this case, the government wants me to go study Spanish in Mexico. On the surface, it seems pretty great, but really it's all a twisted plot. While I'm gone, I bet they're gonna throw a huge party and I'll miss out. I bet they'll give away free Coldplay tickets.

I'm thinking seriously about going to Mexico for Spring Term though. That would be awesome. If I do go, let me know how the concert is.

Sick of the same old preguntas

I like making new friends. But what I don't like is all the predictable questions that always come when you first meet someone. It almost always goes something like this:

D: "Hi, I'm Diane! What's your name?"
F: "Fredrico. Sorry... was that Diane, or Diana?"
D: "Without the "uh" at the end."

Without fail. It doesn't matter how clearly I say it, everyone seems to think that I must've made a mistake and I actually meant Diana.

F: "So... what's your major?"
D: "Sociology"
F: "Oh....
A) What are you going to do with that?" (assuming I know what I'm gonna do with it. Gosh. Eyeroll.)
B) So can you analyze me right now?" (assuming by Sociology I meant Psychiatry)
C) What's that?"

Maybe I should change my major to Nursing or something. Nobody asks a Nursing major, "What are you going to do with that?"

F: "Where are you from?"
D: "Orem."
F: "Ah... you're pretty far from home!" (smug smile that clearly means "You don't know anything about the real world, do you?")

And then if they're brave...

F: "I think you have something on your nose."
D: "It's just part of my face. It's a freckle." (You gotta problem with that??!)

I think I'll just stop them while they're ahead, take a deep breath, and say, "HiI'mDianenotDianastudyingSociologyalthoughIdon'tknowwhatI'mgoingto dowithitandI'mfromOremandit'safreckle. You?"

Basically I just get tired of being asked the same questions over and over again. And then, because I'm such a hippo-cryte, I usually hear myself saying "What's your major?".

Please comment, sharing creative questions and topics of conversation. There will be a prize for the best one(s)!

Tiny buff marvelous chicas.

We are so awesome and lovely right now. Diane and Robyn are typing together. Robyn has the left hand and Diane has the right. I can't believe how in sync we are! WE ARE NOT EVEN TELLING EACH OTHER WHAT TO TYPE. That will be pretty young. It is getting a little harder hey stop Reaching over to my side. Don't worry be happy! that is what we are listening to right now. So, gulls can talk even when friends tickle each other; silly girls. what's with the semi-colon? an alligator on my tummy on grimy vintage. I want to snog willbur. who is willbur anyway? this is what it would be like if we were Siamese twins. This is not apprehensive. good writing, Robane (Robyn and Diane) we both did something cuddly bonding.

The End

Robyn: You'd be surprised how difficult it is to only control half the keyboard. We started off on the same page... sort of... but you can tell where two minds were at work instead of one.

Diane: Robyn is a cheat. She kept reaching to my side of the keyboard just to say what she wanted to instead of what would've naturally been said. Plus she took over the space bar. I wanted it!

Pretty much the most fun I've ever had. You should try it with someone you love.

*End note, we just came up with a title for the post using the two-person method, and when Diane ended the sentence, she said, "hey, that's kinda true!" and then giggled. :)

"Poet's Query"

On Thursday nights, a poetry night is held at my apartment complex. We have a free write for 5, 10, maybe 30 minutes and then share what we come up with. Then we read poems written by actual famous people. :) It's pretty fun, and really nice to just unwind and allow myself to spit something out onto paper. Kinda like blogging: quite therapeutic for me. This is what I came up with tonight.

What shall I write of?
It seems the books
are bursting at the bindings
with poems of love
or nature's glories:
of rain, leaving tear stains
on Mother Nature's weathered cheeks.
Surely this should not add to the masses.
What is my purpose?
Shall I write with hopes
to change a life, a nation?
or to simply scrawl my thoughts down,
leaving this, my fragile poem
unfinished and...

"Spontaneity killed the fish!" - well known proverb

Man, I sure wish I had wireless right now. My lappy just hooks up to the router with a long red cord, restricting me to the front room. Normally, that would be fine, but some real mature guys in the ward are pranking my roommates. Shaving cream on the door. Right after the huge snow pile on our welcome mat a few days ago, which left a major puddle as it started to melt. Pranks... are fun. And flirtatious. But I'm pretty annoyed right now. Every time we start cleaning off the door, they come with more shaving cream and even water balloons.

Some of you are laughing.

Anyway, eventually I came out from my sanctuary to risk being exposed to more immaturity and blog. Because I really wanted to. Because, you see, I got myself some fishnet tights.

I like to think that I'm spontaneous. But spontaneity to me means Denny's at 3 am or swinging on swings in the park. These things are just part of who Dianey Face is and what she does. But then there are times that I do things that are crazy and fun but give me an alternate identity. For example(s): Playing rock band is exhilarating. It's the one time that I feel like a rocker chic. And when I bought fishnet tights. Now everytime I donn them, I can feel like a fish who is preparing to suffocate, die, and be served on a platter, eaten by a rich man on a cruise with a triple chin named Edgar.

Maybe I should pick on somebody my own age...

I seem to be attracted to the "older guys". It all started in 8th grade. Once upon a time, a new family moved into the ward, and the son-who happened to be 5 years older than me-was the hunkiest hunk in hunkville! You should've seen him. It was one-sided infatuation at first sight. If you were to dig up some boxes from the storage room, you'd find fancy signatures of my first name next to his last name, and sketches of wedding dress ideas in all of my junior high notebooks. The crush lasted a pretty long time... before, during, and after his mission... until one day he was engaged to a girl who is older than him.

For a few years I was normal and had crushes on the guys in my own grade.

And then I returned to my old ways. I was 18 years old, and moved to my very first apartment. Within the first month, I was snatched up by a dashing 26 year old man. Ever since then, I think I typically justify, "Oh, you're 27? 28? 29? That's not that old." and it isn't. But maybe it is for me. I'm just 20. I'm a little girl! I've broken up *too many times because of the whole "different stages in life" thing. And yet, I keep falling for these serious, older guys who are so good, mature, and really attractive but they don't seem to even slightly appreciate me and my silliness. A wise philosopher once sang, "Girls just want to have fun."


Does anyone know a great 22 year old to set me up with?

*even twice is twice too many times.