or something...

I keep debating writing this one blog. It's kinda embarrassing and sappy as anything though. I don't really know who actually reads this thing anyway. Not many people, that's for sure.
Anyway, I think this blog is just about writing that other blog. I'm reasoning it out and I'm thinking it's not gonna happen right now. Too bad for you. There would have been lots of juicy Carrotsoda gossip spilled everywhere.
And so yeah. Just letting my mind do the walking or something...

Just something cool from my life story.

So, the background you need to know for this story to make sense:
1. Sam is the mother of an Irish dancing family that used to go to my school. They had to move to Virginia last year though.
2. I went to Washington D.C. this summer with my Venturing crew.
3. There have been many points over the past year when I have prayed to be and instrument in God's hands. In my opinion, if I am only here on earth to make somebody else's day a little brighter than that's good enough for me.
4. Sam's family came down to our school's dance competition this past weekend. My mom got to talk to her and sent me this story. (I only edited it enough to take out distinct names.)

Now onto the story!

"Sam told me how happy she was to see you in Washington this summer. She said she'd really been missing familiar faces, she said she knew the Lord lead them to Virginia but it wasn't home yet. She was praying for some comfort and peace in her heart, but it wasn't happening. That Friday she decided to take the kids to Washington, to see her uncle's name on the Viet Nam memorial, but the kids were being uncooperative, so she decided not to go, but then she found out it was her uncle's birthday, so she felt like they really needed to go. So they went, but were later than she wanted to be. But when one of the kids saw you she felt like you were an answer to her prayers. She got such a sense of comfort from seeing you so far from home, it really brought her the peace she was looking for. Isn't it cool to be the answer to someone else's prayers?"

Yes Mommy, it is.

Shout it!

Just think about the millions (actually for most people I know it’s billions or more) of thoughts that go through your head in a day, an hour, a minute. If you’re at all like me than those things range from, “Man, I should really eat something more for breakfast.” to “Where’s a map?” But, I think that with my easily distracted brain most of my in-between thoughts are more along the lines of, “Wow, I really like her hair clip.” and “I wish I could get my trash in the basket from ten feet away.” Seriously, those are the simple kinds of things that chase each other through my mind for most of the day.

Anyway, so here I am thinking all this and it makes me wonder: If I said maybe 5% more of the compliments I was thinking out loud to the well dressed or highly skilled people I see, what kind of an affect would that have? I hope it wouldn’t be that unusual to those people. I want to think that people hear compliments all the time and receive them graciously. (Yeah, don’t just brush them off.) I almost hope my compliments would have no effect, but I’m pretty sure that’s not the kind of world we live in.

We don’t live in a world where people readily give compliments. Maybe that’s a result of the way competition is encouraged. You always have to be better than the next guy on the bus. On the other end, we don’t live in a world where compliments are readily accepted. People keep their focus on their flaws. We’re constantly seeing what we can improve rather than what is already great about us. Well I have something to say.

Hello world. My name is Carrotsoda and I’m GREAT. The better news is, everyone I know is GREAT too. And best of all you! YOU ARE FANTASTIC. You know how to dress in the morning. You can do so many things that I can’t. Hooray. You are so cool.

[Now that I’ve gone through quite the ramble, I want to thank my friend KJ. Thanks for telling me my hair looks great. I thought so, but it sure felt nice to hear it from somebody else!]

Can I Get A Witness?

Give these fingers a pen and a piece of paper and it’s more likely that you’ll end up with a poorly decaled paper airplane than a narrative. They’d rather cramp up holding someone else’s words than making their own. And their idea of a good time is more likely to involve permanent dirt under the nails or that pins-and-needles feeling from when I’ve fallen asleep on my arm than a graphite smear on the side of the pinky member.

My legs would rather dance than sit still long enough for a “two steps forward, one step back” tap dance on a keyboard. Those eyes up there prefer their relaxation in the shade to nearly anything they have to focus on. (Really they do. They’re asking for smoothies with the cute little umbrellas in them right now.) And that big blob of inefficient neurons yonder does not want any training in the rhetorical arts.

My name is Carrotsoda and I am not a writer.

So, Thanks!

When I think of my Uncle Robby Ray I think of

• playing Legos in my scrubs a long time ago.
• that weird guy at the family reunion, who I think spent more time with the kids than with the adults.
• "hiding" from and teasing him.
• Katie's favorite uncle.
• how awesome his kids are, although he has to share most of the credit for that with Aunt Val.
• not leaving without my hug at Grandpa's 70th birthday. (Or his 75th.)
  
• feeling more comfortable than I ever had with an "adult".
• keeping that towel away from Tary. (I totally owned that.)
• messy hair, complete with whatever kind of hairspray was in the back seat of the car.
• Barbecue.
• cameras.
• not watching Bill and Ted's excellent adventure because we were talking.
• how the only t-shirt I ever remember him wearing has hiking boots on the front.
• root beer and root beer floats.
• how I've improved.
• stickers.
• what he said about airplanes and Jen at Jason's wedding.
• a picture of my feet because my toes are "cool".
• big letters in the sand.
• a hard working guy.
• him frowning whenever he thought I wasn't looking. (He had good reasons. Besides, it was more of a thinking hard frown than an angry one.)
  
• sitting around and saying nothing and how that was time well spent.
• laughing so hard I cry.
• actually liking a dog.
• the best pizza and oatmeal chocolate chip cookie recipes.
• my cool clear rock.
• checking my quarters, even though I never remember what he needs.
• the count down. (By the way, it's currently at -295. We NEED to fix that.)
• a home that's not a building.
• other people my age who he has been there for.
• that goofy smile thing he does where he closes his eyes and turns his head sideways. (Actually, if he ever reads this, I'm going to insist that he does one of those.)
• Mountains.
• the first male who ever told me I was beautiful.
  
• doing things I shouldn't be able to do.
• Uncle Wall.
• how cool he says my parents are. (And it's all true.)
  
• peeling my socks off of my feet after our hike.
• snacks and how we like the same things. (Except he eats black licorice, and I don't.)
• Almond M&Ms.
• hugs. The best ones.
• his blog and reading every post as soon as I hear about it.
• lightning.
• that REI.
• basement bedrooms.
• fetching cinnamon bears.
• no judgments.
  
• the gorilla and sopapillas and general fun at Casa Bonitas.
• his huge sighs that are contagious like yawns.
• movie quotes.
• Tour Guide Barbie and all the random facts a mind could boggle.
• waiting for him to respond to an "important" question.
• being a kid and more mature than other teenagers.
  
• all the times he brags about how many girls he kissed.
• eighteen bowls of Cold Stone at Marie's reception.
• carrot cake even though it wasn't my birthday.
• how he thinks of everything.
  
• love.
  
• my stomach tying itself in knots (and sometimes worse than that) when I get to see him.
• How he can turn a umpteen hour drive into a 7 hour drive and how we somehow manage to stay awake and hold a conversation for the majority of those drives.
  
• "stay off my tundra, you moron!"
• The Court Jester and The Scarlet Pimpernel.
• those weird names he comes up with for me.
  
• how he would tell me I should go to sleep.

Actually, I should go to sleep. I promise there's a lot more. A whole bunches more.

Dear you, Stop it! Love, Kara

My very best friend Sharon and I have come to a decision and we are laying out the law. Listen up gentlemen.
If you don't like me, stop being so nice. It really is a huge problem considering I'm just used to jerk-wads. (Yes, those are wads of jerkiness.) So yeah, when a guy is excessively nice or even just uncommonly kind for that matter my girly brain goes, "Wow, he's being really nice. That makes me like you. And your behavior is implying that you like me too." Yeah, the girly part of me says that whether I believe any part of it is true or not. So gentlemen please, just stop being nice. Thanks.

People, People, PEOPLE!

I've said it before and I'll say it again. I hate people. Mostly just strangers. I mean, I'm a really warm person toward my friends (according to Beth), but if I don't actually know you, I don't care to get to know you usually. I love new friends though. It's just that I'm cruel and would rather leave church immediately afterward rather than standing around trying to talk to someone just because they're from the same state. (Sorry Laura. I think that's dumb.)I think that's all the explaining I'm going to do here. I really can't explain it any better.
People are stupid. Groups especially. I love BYU, but I kind of find the people as a whole to be completely dreadful. I like most of the individuals I've gotten to know, but when I think about groups of two or more than five-ish...I shudder. Sometimes I curl up in a ball and want to cry.
Well, I even think some of my best friends are idiots. Only because I'm reluctant to believe they do the stupid things they do intentionally. If I believed that, then I would just call them jerks. But anyway (I know there's a chance that some of the people I am thinking of may find this. It's ok. I still love you. I even still like you. The way I am to your face is super accurate.) Anyway, sometimes I make bad judgement too, but I have more fun complaining about other people. And those people are idiots.
And yeah, at the same time there are individuals I need, there are groups I need, and heck, everybody has to be a stranger at some point or other.

You make me feel so...

This is certainly going to be an incredibly whiny and likely intolerable post. Just understand I am in no way asking for a boyfriend. I don’t really care to have one right now, thanks so much. I was just thinking and this is what comes of that.

Have you ever had people tell you that they really admire you? I think most people have probably had it said to them at some point, but this is all just speculation. For me, I love it and it makes me get all these warm fuzzies. Hooray. That’s great news. The only thing is, it is quite often eligible young men who tell me this. And they use that exact word, “admire.” I would never want to give them cause to stop feeling that way about me, but it would be nice if they would do some other things too.

R-E-S-P-E-C-T. I don’t think it means anything special to me. Same as everyone else, I like it. I suspect that I’m not different in thinking that part of respect is keeping your word. Yeah, that would be nice too.

Also related to respect is friendship. I value my close friends a lot. It is you who have kept me on my feet through things I would never tell you about. Having said that, too often people seem to let their friendship with me get one sided. That is, I’m the one who starts a conversation with you. I make sure you are doing well. I offer my ear and my hands when things aren’t going exactly the way you want. Can I please be able to expect the same from you?! (Wow that sounds really biased. Well, I am writing from my perspective.)

The last point I’m going to make before I regret writing this. Oh man this is bad. I’m just gonna say it. LIKE ME! Yeah, a crush. I know it’s more of a girl thing to talk about, but guys have crushes too. Now, I am in no way saying that all my guy friends should like me in that way or even that every guy who admires me should have a crush on me. What I am saying is this. If I am so admirable (which I honestly don’t think I would ever say that I am) why don’t any guys like me? Seriously, the dirty little secret you get to know about Carrotsoda is this: no guy has ever admitted to liking me at all. At least not that I’ve heard of. Am I just to good for everyone? Of course not, but sometimes I feel like a person who everyone thinks well of and nobody actually wants to be around.

You know what, I think I’ll strike everything I just said. I don’t care if you like like me. But please, take me out for icecream or invite me to go hiking or play a board game or something. I think very few things make me feel as special as when a nice guy dedicates his time to me. I think that’s true of most girls, which means guys, you have a lot of power for good. USE IT PLEASE.

Well, that was a round about way of getting to it, but I think that last point is what I was getting at. Guys who make girls feel special…well…

Because I'm Selfish: My birthday wish list way in advanced

Black clothing. Specifically t-shirts, leggings, socks, dress pants. Those all need to be black.

New tennis shoes. Do you realize how quickly you wear through shoes when you walk everywhere?

More non-knee socks. I love knee socks, but I'm pretty well covered in that department.

Exercise pants and capris. When you have dance class every day, the three pairs you have tend to get very gross.

Otherwise clothing. Like mostly Sunday type clothes.

Quarters. Laundry. 'nough said about that.

Otherwise money. For textbooks and food and rent and such.

Notebooks and folders. Two of my favorite thing.

A small, inconspicuous, plain colored purse. I confess their usefulness.

A netbook, maybe.

4 black jubilee dance floor tiles. Kinda steep.


Yeah, that's pretty much what I want. I probably end up getting it all for myself before too long. My treat to me.

My first BYU writing assignment, only minorly edited.

I have always preferred mountain hikes to beach strolls. Something about smooth sailing does not float my boat. Footstep after footstep of the climb is taxing, but once I chose a path only a good mistake will make me stop and reevaluate my situation. That's not to say I shun advice. I seek it. The errors and successes of my friends have lead me to the path on which I trek. They have taught me a love for the steeper climbs. So now, I lace up my boots in preparation and anticipation for what lies ahead.

(Ok, so there was a lot of editing, but it's essentially a combination of my first and second drafts.)

Apparently I've started a poetry competition in my apartment.

So Sarah told Laura that she could write better popsicle poem than Laura. I refuse to judge. Here's Sarah's poems. The first one rhymes. The second one "is deep."

Popsicle Delight
by Que Sera Sarah

Orange, yellow, blue
Colors everywhere
Red and green too
Sticky in my hair

Juicy, soft, bright
Frozen taste of sun
Don’t take a bite
Or it will soon be done

Sweet, drippy, cold
On a summer’s day
A flavor so bold
I could melt away

Runny, grand, wet
Finished just right
A treat you can’t forget
Popsicle delight!


Popsicle Delight

Orange, yellow, blue
Colors everywhere
Red and green too
Sticky in my hair

Juicy, soft, bright
Frozen taste of sun
Don’t take a bite
Or it will soon be done

Sweet, drippy, cold
On a summer’s day
A flavor so bold
I could melt away

Runny, grand, wet
Finished just right
A treat you can’t forget
Popsicle delight!


Popsicle
Also by Que Sera Sarah.

Bright
Out of its prison of white
Orange and red
Perhaps blue
But altogether too new
Too cold
The colors too bold

Sweet
The colors begin to slide
Your tongue they ride
All alive
The flavors they now can drive
Sublime
Swirling in its prime

Soft
Melting dullness starts to reign
The warmth can explain
Growing weak
It can’t be stopped; juices leak
Drip away
Stick falls where it may

Yum yum dripping juice.

Popsicle Madness
another poem about me by Laura Kate

Popsicles are genius
I love them to death
They brighten my day
with colors on my tongue
My favorite part of the
day is licking the juice
with my fingers all sticky
When it melts to the floor
I am sad to no end
But that never happens
it is in my stomach
way before then
Popsicles are my best friends

Poem About Me. Because I am that hackin' AWESOME.

Passionate About Popcorn
By Laura Kate

Passion.
Popcorn.
They go hand in hand,
Or so I think.
When my need for popcorn
Grows too strong,
I throw a bag in the microwave
Or pop some in my popper.
My love for popcorn grows with each bite.
It fulfills my need,
Popcorn is my passion.
Popcorn.
Passion.

The Questions I'll Never Answer

If money didn't matter, if you knew you were smart enough, if no one took offense, if you could keep every promise, if you were strong enough, if you had enough time, if everything depended on now, if magic were real, if the world only knew good, if all the rain-drops were lemon-drops and gumdrops, if today were your last day, if all your friends were true friends, if life was forever, if the words "I love you" really meant something more than just words, if you could go anywhere, if you could do anything, if you could create something, if you had one wish, if Dr. Seuss was the only sane person, if bloggers ruled the world, if there were no distractions, if you had all the answers, if you had no need to fear, if you knew you could not fail what would you do?

Why I will be eating pistachio pudding on St. Patrick's Day.

I'm an Irish dancer. This year is the first time since I was five that I've been away from my dance school for the St. Patty's season. (Yeah, no joke. It's a whole season of its own.) I've been getting a bit nostalgic for all the little things that make March March. (Thanks Power Academy for letting me be in the parade and a show with you.) I've been trying to think of ways to celebrate St. Pat's this year and I think the best thing I have come up with is pistachio pudding. Just hear me out...erm...read it.
I remember some of the most insignificant things from Kindergarten. This would be one of those stories. On St. Pat's the leprechauns left us little jars (baby-food sized) of white powder. (Whoa, I just realized what the implications of that could be. Haha. No worries though.) Ms. Lamb and Ms. Weathers took us to the cafetorium (it had a stage) and poured milk in our jars. Then we shook the jars up and it became this white goop, which we proceeded to eat. It was sweet and delicious. There was definitely not enough in those tiny jars. Basically, the leprechauns left us magical green gloop powder. Until a couple years ago I had mostly forgotten about it, but I still didn't know what the magic powder was.
Then, I was walking through the grocery store and I see pistachio pudding. I have an imaginary giggle fit. THAT'S IT! I finally figured out the mystery of Kindergarten. (Who's ever heard of pistachio pudding anyway?)
So this year, I picked up my package of instant pistachio pudding and will be eating it to celebrate Christianity being brought to Ireland. Thanks St. Patrick for giving me a good excuse to eat this bizarre treat.

My Snow Blog.

Oh philosophy, how you take over my life when I don't want you. Yes, this blog will turn into some kind of a self philosophy discussion at about a seven-year-old's level. Hang on for the ride and I'll give you something special, like a high five.

Anyway, we went skiing on Friday. Way cool. And gorgeous. Cool and gorgeous.I like that combination. It was snowing and the ground was snow. (Not covered in snow. It was snow.)

So today, I was staring out the window in church, (thanks Harmon building) looking at the snow and it got me thinking. Here's what I wrote. Be warned, it's kind of stream-of-conscience-ish. That should strike fear into your heart.

(ahem)

"I'm looking at the snow. It's everywhere. I mean it. Thank you Utah. Now, if I focus on one cubic centimeter of snow, how many snow flakes are in that small area? I don't know, but it is definitely a lot more than I want to count. Now, multiply that times a whole lot and you basically have a ton of snow. And each little snow flake had to be created individually. Holy cow, wait what? I think of snow as a whole, but there are mazillions of individual flakes everywhere I focus my eye.
"Maybe, I do the same to other things. Maybe I see myself as one snow flake. Hey, I'm pretty and cool and shiny and white and glittery. Only problem is I'm so busy noticing myself a just one snow flake that I forget that the rest of the snow is actually a bunch of individual snow flakes too. Wowie."

Yessum, those are the kinds of things I think of during Relief Society. Interestingly though, I payed enough attention to notice that the lesson was about the Creation and they did take time to talk about what God created for us and why he would do something that cool. HA! I beat them to it and stayed on topic in my own little bubble without noticing I was doing that.

Boys of the World. Specifically YOU.

To you dumb bunny boys. These are the rules of dealing with the members of our apartment.

NO way should you ever:
1. Follow us home, invite yourself over, or force your company on us in anyway. Don't even ask if you're invited. We will invite you if we want you.
2. Touch one of my roommates in a way that makes her or anyone around her uncomfortable. That means all of you and any kind of uncomfortableness.
3. Expect anything. You are entitled to courtesy (most of the time) and that's about it.
4. Be annoying. If we don't sound happy, it's probably your fault. (Harsh? Yes, but recently this has been the case.)
5. Introduce the topic of marriage, make a statement about "girls" every other sentence, or in general imply that there are specific things the female gender shouldn't do. Yes, we hear about most all of those things in Relief Society. We don't need it from guys who have no idea what they're talking about.

You really really super should:
1. Treat us like ladies. Not that you have to open doors for us or anything like that, but giving up your seat when there aren't enough, that's what gets you bonus points.
2. Make us food. We feed you often enough. (Come to think of it, maybe your food isn't sanitary.)
3. Invite US over to YOUR apartment every once in a while. Sheesh!
4. Ask us on dates. NO, we don't want to be your girlfriends, but we're not completely heartless. It's your job to ask us. Unless we have a legitimate reason to say no, we'll probably agree to go AND at least pretend to have a good time. (For the record: first comes non-steady dating, then comes bf/gf grossness, then comes "affectionate touch" and the big three words, then maybe eventually not likely comes something more. Undying love is not where it starts. I thought I should clarify that for a certain someone.)
5. Have your own friends. You can even introduce them to us if you want us to be THAT included in your life (as it appears you do.)


Laura Johnson approves of this message.