I have not posted on here in a long time. I don't have a reason for not posting then or for posting now. I guess I'll be cheesy and say I've changed a lot. But I know I'm just as melodramatic as ever. Maybe I haven't changed.
Anyway, my brother got married this week (yay! yay! yay!) and of course the extended family frequently turned to questioning us younger girls about when we were getting married. This thought occurred to me as I was walking home from hanging out with my sister today.
For a girl, trying to get a date at BYU is a skillful endeavor. It's a lot like hunting. It requires the right amount of stalking and blending into the surroundings. And the goal is to acquire something rare and make it yours for ever. Who cares if you kill it in the process?! You might even say that it's a game or a sport for some. Is it rewarding? Heck yes. Do some girls like the challenge? You betcha. Am I up for the challenge? Honestly, no. I don't need to play that game. I'm cool.

And oh yeah, I realized that a contributing factor to my lack of blogging is that I actually started keeping a journal where I can rant and rave without anyone knowing...weird.

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.