Burning, Waiting and Bleeding.

I hate to admit this, because it makes me less wife-able, but I am not a very good cook at all. Baking is a different story, though. I can make cookies and unhealthy sweets like nobody's business, make a mean smoothie, but when it comes to real food, I lack in those cooking abilities. I believe I even burned soup once (yes, it's possible).

So last Tuesday, I attempted what for me is impossible. To broil some chicken. Simple enough right? So I called up my momma, and she gave me some directions and made it seems so easy. Which is was, I am just...yeah. Anyways I put the tin foil on the pan, laid my defrosted chicken on it and doused it in Mrs. Dash. One thing my mom said was to move the oven rack higher, but not too close to the heating element. Well, mine was one below the top, so I moved it to the top one, without thinking that maybe it was too high up. So, I threw in my chicken and sat down on couch to wait for the timer. I got really into whichever of the 4 movies I own that I happened to be watching, that I didn't realize that the kitchen was full of smoke. Eventually, I turned my head and freaked out, seeing the foggy, polluted apartment. I ran over to the oven and opened it up, to see that the chicken wasn't as severely burned as I thought. I figured I'd take out the chicken, move the rack down one and then cook the other side of the chicken. So I grabbed two kitchen towels (since we have no oven mitts) and realized all too soon how bad of an idea it was. I barely got the chicken out without burning myself. I then, strategically, put enough padding of kitchen towel between me and the metal (or so I thought) and started to pull it out. I didn't have as good as a grip as I thought, so the weight of the rack caused it to slip out of my hand, so I had to re situate my hands and in doing so burned my right index finger, and the pain caused me to not only drop the rack inside the oven, but to let out a string of profanities of which I am not proud. But, I couldn't leave my chicken half cooked, so I quickly fixed the rack and flipped the chicken and put it back in. I ran my finger under cold water for a bit, and then went over and opened the door so the smoke would get out and then sat back down, this time paying more attention to watching the time that to the movie. My roommate comes in and gasps, waving out the smoke like a maniac. "Laura, it's okay I have the door open!" She turns around, "Oh! I thought you weren't here and something was just burning by itself!" "Nope, I just such at cooking." "Well, our oven also sucks." Which actually is true. It really actually does. Remember how I said my appliances are from the 80's? I wasn't kidding. 

By the way, after all that, my chicken tasted bad, so I threw it away.

Later in the week, I decided I was finally poor enough to donate plasma, upon discovering I had 20 bucks in my account (whoops). And this, like the rest of my life, could not be any harder than it was to do something so simple. 

I had gone in a couple days before, and they had told me that without an appointment and being a new donor, I'd have to wait 4-5 hours. So I made an appointment on Friday at 1:30.

On the day of my appointment, I decided that since I was riding the bus, I would have to give myself a good hour cushion between leaving and my appointment time. So the bus picked my up at the Veterinary Science Building at 12:35 (5 minutes late). This was the longest bus ride of my life. We went all around to each stops slower than usual since it had snowed that morning, and I kid you not, there was a small village on the bus. SO MANY PEOPLE. We didn't skip a stop. So part of me knew I was going to miss the transfer I needed to make from bus one to bus 5, the bus that took me to main street and the blood place from the transit center. I was right. I was so frustrated and went over to the bus time schedule and saw that, The next bus wasn't coming for another half an hour, so I was going to be late to my appointment. And there's nothing I hate more than being late to things. (Other than church. Judge away). So, I did what any person who hates being late would do. I decided to walk. Luckily, The transit center is only a couple blocks from Main Street (the only street I know in Logan). So I got there easy in about 5 minutes or so. But I was at 500 North and had to make it to 1000 North to the Blood Plasma place. 5 blocks in less than twenty minutes. In the snow.

I made it.

So I signed in, gave them my ID and Social Security card and sat down for about 20 minutes. They called me back to take a picture and have me read a binder about HIV/AIDS, Hemophilia, and other things that would make you unable to donate blood plasma. (such as having sex with a man who had sex with another man in the past 12 months, and other things of that nature). They sent me back to the waiting room for another 20 minutes or so, before calling me back to see if my blood was good enough.  I got in that mini room, with a lady across the counter from me who pricked the junk out of my finger. It hurt so bad. Then she proceeded to squeeze the blood of my finger into this little tube and put it in this mini machine to make sure I had enough iron and whatnot. Then she checked to see if my veins were good enough. Then she sent me to the waiting room again. 10 minutes later, they called me back to pee in a cup. I don't know why, but I did it anyway. Then went back to the waiting room. Got called back again with two other new donors, while a doctor lady read us the book we already had read. (The one about AIDS). Then I went to the waiting room one last time before they called me back for a physical. A full on physical. Where he listened to my lungs and heart, and felt my tummy and all that jazz. Finally, after that was over, we walked to the other room with all the beds and people hooked up to machines giving the plasma. I waited there for another 20 minutes, and then Garrett (my blood guy) took me to my own personalized bed. Now, everyone at the place kept telling me that the prick of my finger hurt worse than the needle going in. Um, BULL CRAP!!! That needle was BIG and it hurt like a MOTHER. The liars. Anyways, so they hooked me up to the machine and started pumping out my blood. And so it went on for half an hour, the machine took my blood transferred out the plasma, and then put the red blood cells and other stuff back in my system. I kept watching the container of plasma get fuller and fuller and it freaked me the crap out that I was taking that stuff out of my body! And that at one point that apple juice colored liquid was IN MY BLOOD. Such a weird realization I tell you. Even weirder, was when they put some water back into my system and it is FREEZING! you literally feel this coldness run up your arm and then disperse throughout your entire body. I was shaking. after being hooked up to this machine for about 45 minutes, a lady comes over and lets me free. Taking out the needle hurt almost as much as putting it in. She looked at me and said "Uh, you need some water. And some crackers. You don't look like you're doing too well." So I sat there while the guy fetched me my foodies (which were those orange crackers with peanut butter in the middle, AKA the jackpot) while the lady bandaged me up and waited for them to call my name.  They handed me a debit card that I get filled each time I go and then I was out the door into the cold to wait in the snow for the bus. I hadn't eaten my crackers yet, but as I started for the bus stop, I felt it like a wave over me that I was going down. I ripped open those crackers and down all six within thirty seconds. By the time I got home that night, it was almost 6. Yes, I went through a 5 hour ordeal. I needed a reward of some sort, so my friends and I headed to a snazzy little hipster pizza place where we had pizza with pulled pork and pineapples and were serenaded by men with beards and banjos. (Those alliterations though)

I woke up to surprise snow and I wasn't all too thrilled about it.

It doesn't get more grotesque than that iodine and bleeding out the side of the needle.

:(

My plasma.

The picture does not do these justice.

But this picture does them justice.

Laundry and grocery struggles.

These things literally just peeve me. They always have, even when I was at home. For whatever reason, when I started high school my mom just stopped doing my laundry. Just, out of the blue. I didn't understand it. She did everyone else's and just skipped mine. Like, I know I'm not the favorite kid because I don't believe in my curfew, but come on, I'm still pretty cool! Love me, dangit! I'd ask her why she skipped me and she says "you're grown up now!" Uh, what about Dad? He doesn't even go near the laundry room. (Yeah, I'm that kid. Pulling stupid arguments out of my butt to try and get my way). So if I wanted my clothes cleaned, I had to do it. Along with that, I had started buying my own food after I got a job. I did this because I wanted to be healthier, but also because my family hoarded the good stuff. We seriously would get fruit snacks or nutty bars one day, and they would be gone the next. I thought my family were all just hungry hippos, but I came to discover something else. One day I asked my sister to borrow socks and I opened her drawer to find at least 4 packages of Fruit Smiles and 2 pop tart packages nestled in there next to her undies! Little snack slut.

Anyways, at college things just got worse (of course). I go to the fridge and see a lack of chocolate almond milk (since my roommate drank a good 3 cups of it thinking it was hers for some reason?) or apple juice, I shudder. Then I go to my room to change and see I have 2 pairs of clean panties left. (I love to use this word because people are so uncomfortable with it and it makes me laugh. Haha, panties.) Upon seeing this, I start crying internally as I slide my phone open to call my brother so I can use his laundry services.

Now, groceries wouldn't be so bad if 1.) I wasn't poor 2.) I had a car and 3.) I didn't have to carry my grocery bags for a quarter mile. But, alas, my life is just not that easy. So when I see I have a need, I sadly pull out my back pack and wallet and trudge my way to the bus stop. The stop is across the street (which I almost get hit by a car while crossing almost every time at that because it's a surprise to drivers that they are at a college campus with lots of pedestrians in cross walks all the time.) and down a couple buildings. I have to sit and wait for about 15 minutes for the bus to come. Once I get on the bus, it's usually crowded with people to drop off. So for the next 20-45 minutes, we are starting and stopping. FINALLY, we get to the bus station, where the grocery store is right next to. I swear this place jacks up their prices because they know that the college kids that come here via bus are too lazy to get on another bus after getting to the station to go to Walmart. And they would be right. (the round trip to Walmart takes significantly longer, Today it took me 2 hours.)So I go in there, get lost for a while since none of their shelf placements make any sense to me, and then wait another 10 minutes for the bus to come back. From there, luckily the bus goes straight to the University first. I get off and have to make the journey to my apartment before my bags either rip, or my hands start to undergo major circulation problems. Usually, I can make it home before any issues arise, but sometimes as I get to the Institute parking lot 50 feet from my apartment, my bag rips, and my foods crashing down. Whenever this happens, I have to figure out a way to carry them all separately. It's also fun when my beverages roll around the ground and I am chasing them with these huge bags in my hands. I'm sure my neighbors and random bystanders get a kick out of it and go inside to laugh at me with their roommates.

Laundry though, is even worse. It has become the bane of my existence. Like I said before, I have a procrastination problem, so when I need to do laundry, I NEED to do it. I could go down stairs and pay for it, or I could go down the hill to my brothers apartment and do it for free. Oh the things you do when you are poor, just to save a few bucks. So I collect a mountain of clothes around the same general color, and start my way down the 60 outdoor steps, cross a street and then try to make it down the steep sidewalk without pulling a HotRod fall down the rest of the hill.It takes a lot of strategy actually. I finally get to his uncomfortably smelly apartment, and start my load. One load probably takes about 3 hours. I don't know why, but it does. To avoid smelling the stank, I usually go workout in the mean time, but when it's my undies being washed and dried, I have to stick around and bare it. The reason why it smells so bad, is the fact that one of Chet's roommates never does his dishes, so his leftover food just rots. He just pushes it aside until he needs to use that dish or pot again. Chet tried to give him a hint by putting all his dishes  in front of his door, but his roomie still didn't clean them. So there I sit on the couch, watching football until my panties are nice and dry, inducing vomiting at the same time. After they finish, I have to make my way up this freaking hill. I am already winded going up to my apartment from my brother's without carrying anything, so carrying a huge mound of jeans and such is exhausting beyond all reason. All to grab another set of clothes and do the process again. Yay.

Everyone, feel sympathy for me.

This is where my journey begins after my laundry is done. (Starting from my brother's apartment).This is a hill. a very steep hill. This picture does no justice to it whatsoever.

Then, I cross the road.

Hike up these steps.

Hike up a couple more steps.

And then I take a look around and see how far I have come. Good view though, right?

And so the blogging begins...

Here I am, writing a blog, as if I weren't already enough of a stereotypical white girl. In my defense, my yoga pants actually MAKE IT to yoga class, so I'm in the clear for that one. Anyways, the other day, my best friend Toree was talking to me on the phone and said:

"Cort, your college life is so funny. Most people have awesome college lives,  but yours is just weird."

And then today, my dad was on the phone with me and said something along the lines of how he just laughs at everything that happens to me here at USU, since it is so out of the ordinary. So, I figured I'd share my life with the world to see if everyone else can get a kick out of it as well.

First things first, you have to know my situation. I procrastinated big time when it came to housing, so I didn't make it in to the freshman dorms on campus. Upon learning that, I decided to live off campus. However, not much is left when there's only 3 weeks before school starts (whoops), but I eventually found an apartment. Tiny, crappy, and appliances from the eighties. The best part? It is LITERALLY attached to a fully operating Dentist Office. Before you ask, the answer is yes. I do hear the drill on the daily. Lovely, isn't it? The only redeeming quality is how close it is to campus, which is basically across the street. So, there's my home.

The Dentist Office isn't ALL bad. it has some pretty bushes.

Next, we have my roommates. The one who shares a room with me is named Jeongsong. We can't say that, so we call her Christine. She came straight from Korea to Utah for a student teaching program, and will be here for one semester. She's incredibly nice, giving me gifts and all the first day we met. And by gifts, I mean a face mask/wipe thing. She saw my acne and instantly knew I needed it. She also is really funny, and makes jokes, but most of the time I can't understand but I laugh anyways. She has to be out of the house every morning by 6:30 so she wakes me up every morning, without fail, at 5 by getting ready. She has this routine where she 'pats' the moisturizer into her face. It sounds like the little girl from Despicable Me who makes that noise while hitting her cheeks. Does that make sense? Anyway, I hear that every morning. Something that freaks me out everyday though that she also does, is when she reads things in Korean (more  like mouthing things but doesn't actually say the words) on her phone in her bed when I'm also in my bed, and it sounds like she is putting a curse on me.

This was my gift from Christine. She Laughed at me the entire time.

My other roommate is Laura. And she, my friends, is insane. In a good way and a bad way. I haven't really decided. She's super, super nice, always making me food and asking me about my day, but she just makes me wonder. She is a super huge fan of Marilyn Monroe and Bob Marley and has posters all over her room of them. She listens to reggae all the time, and loves to use an excess of essential oils that just makes our apartment reek. She has the tendency to put things on the stove and then leave the room. I can't tel you how many times things have boiled over, or when I come home to find my apartment smelling like something is burning. Apparently, I am going int the right major (social work) because people feel that they can just freely tell me things. Which I love, because I'm not quick to judge people. She confessed to me at one point that she is addicted to marijuana, wants to be a MMA fighter, and is only attracted to black boys. We'll get into other things that she does later, but one thing that you have to know is that she is CONSTANTLY making weird noises. Sighing, groans, shrieking, grunting, muttering to herself, farting, belching, ALL the time.

As well as my roommates and people around me, other things go on that are also worth sharing, so I will treat with those as well. :)

Twitter is basically a journal of my life in 140 characters every day. I don't to miss any of the vital strange occurrences that have happened in the past, so I am going to post some of my tweets I made when they happened and then explain the situation in more detail until I can catch up on it all. So here we go!

10/1/13 " I was at the grocery store today & two random little kids were next to me. Some guy came up & told me I look great for having two kids."

People in Utah just assume if you wear a Utah State shirt that you are married with kids. These kids were probably 5 and 3 and just so happened to be in the same aisle as me as their mother was around the corner. I mean, I guess people get married by 18 and have a kid by 19, but a 5 year old? Come on, do I really look 23? Welcome to the life of someone in a state that is prominently LDS. 

10/6/13 "I came back home and my roommate had shaved half her head and dreaded the other half. She also used my blender. Home sweet home...?"

Now this is a story. I had just gotten back from an amazing weekend in Salt Lake with Chase, where we had gone to a Tech N9ne concert and General Conference. (Yes, I am aware of the huge contrast, haha.) Anyway, I was walking back to my apartment from the bus with my suitcase and iPod blaring in my ears. It was almost 11 on a Sunday night, so I figured nothing was going on, so you can imagine how high I jumped when I see this random guy outside my apartment and my front door wide open. I thought he had robbed us! When he saw the look on my face, he quickly explained that he was there to see Laura. I walk in to, I kid you not, what looked like an exorcism or creepy ritual. There was a full length mirror in the front room, as well as 2 lit candles on the floor, with class broken on the sides and shards of glass all over the floor. My initial reaction was "what. the. h***." I see my roommate run up with a hood over her head and she gets all excited. "Cortney! You're home!" I don't even acknowledge her excitement, and just ask "what is all this?" The guy that was, for whatever reason, still at my door says "She did her hair." Oh, like that explains ANYTHING. He speaks again. "Laura, just show us." So, she does. She had added extensions to her reddish hair, dyed part of her hair blonde, and shaved the left side of her head almost completely. She went on to explain how she had to break the jars that the candles were in to get to the wax so she could put the wax in her hair to keep the extensions in. Okay?

After that, I just wanted to relax and make myself a smoothie. I almost missed my bus home, and was sad that I wouldn't see my boy for another month and a half and just wanted a smoothie for my troubles. I look high and low for my blender and can't find it anywhere. After 5 minutes of searching, I ask Laura and she"s all "Oh yeah! I used it this morning and forgot to wash it. I'll go get it" Oh. Cool. Now, if you know anything about me, you know I do not like to share my stuff. I absolutely HATE it. Especially if I pay for it, and especially if the person doesn't ask beforehand, and ESPECIALLY if it is easily breakable. I was already annoyed, so at this point I wanted to wring her neck. She brought back the blender jar and I just threw it in the sink and went to bed. Since that occasion my roommates have used my grill, plates, and Tupperware without asking and without washing them. So much consideration, right?

10/10/13 "No offense, but I really don't want to touch your disgusting dreads."

My roommate started to pay me $20 bucks to dread her disgusting unwashed hair. I do it twice a week, so that her dreads grow out right. The things you do when you are poor.

10/15/13 "Currently hiding out in the library to avoid going home and being forced into doing upkeep on my roommates dreads."

Self explanatory.

10/16/13 "I woke up in the middle of the night to my roommate's night terror. Cool."

I was almost into a deep sleep when Christine (korean) SCREAMS BLOODY MURDER out of no where. Not only did I jump, but I was shaking for the next couple of minutes. This has happened twice since then.

10/16/13 "My roommate tries to mask the smell of of her weed by overpowering it with other herbal scents. It works, but our apartment smells real funky."

She thinks I don't know she smokes in her room, but after the fact that she's offered it to me on multiple occasions, I'm more than on to her.

10/20/13 "My roommate is just walking about the apartment in her Walmart panties. Ok."

Now, I hate pants as much as the next person, and don't mind the casual "hanging out in your room alone in your undies" or that walk from the bathroom to the bedroom. But I don't want to sit on the couch next to you or at the dinner table when there is one layer separating me and your...privates. I don't know you like that, and nor do I want to. I spend time with you because I have to. I don't want to spend time with your lower body parts.

And now to the more recent things that I didn't tweet about.

10/26/13-The Howl

 Laura came into my room, as she always does (unannounced, too) and told me that she was going to be an Avatar for the Howl that night. I guess she gets a lot of comments that she looks like one because of her dreads. For those of you who don't know, the Howl is a big deal here in Utah. It's a HUGE Halloween event that takes place on Utah State's campus. People all the way from Salt Lake, Provo, Orem, etc, take the long drive up north to Logan just to come. There's always a relatively famous band that comes to play, lots of sweet costumes, and a MASSIVE dance party. Anyways, she wanted my help to get ready. The thing about Laura, is that she doesn't ask. She just says "Cortney, I need you to help me. You have to help me." So, I really can't get out of it. I help her paint herself, and put on lashes and the whole shabang. We paint stripes on her the way she liked and then went back to doing my thing. She was gone a half hour later, and I swear to you, there was blue streaks ALL OVER my apartment. On the walls, fridge, kitchen appliances, doors, bathroom, couch. And guess who had to clean it up? The only person who ever does. Yours truly.

10/28/13- The Oatmeal Incident

Monday. I had accidentally slept through part of my first class, so I decided to just not go. I was excited that I had more time to eat breakfast, since I usually have no time and am forced to wait until 10:30 to eat a good meal. I go to the fridge because I remembered that I had one last serving left over of the steel cut oatmeal I had made a couple days ago. I had already gotten excited about it, fantasizing about mixing it with peanut butter, throwing some granola and banana slices on top. Oh, I was ready to put that in my belly. To my surprise, I open my fridge and the first thing I see just doesn't make any sense to me. My Tupperware was there, and so was my oatmeal. But, not the way it should have been. The bowl and lid where perfectly intact, but my mound of cold, refrigerated oatmeal was ON TOP on the closed lid. Mind boggling. My hypothesis is that the Tupperware fell off the shelf of the fridge (which happens a lot since I have the smallest shelf in the fridge...surprised?) hit the ground, causing the lid to come off and oatmeal to hit the ground. What I don't understand though, is why the culprit didn't a.) just throw the oatmeal away and then notify me or b.) put the oatmeal back inside the container and back in the fridge, hoping I wouldn't notice. It makes no sense to me to leave put the container back in the fridge and then put the oatmeal on top of it. I do not understand this logic.

And now, I place an end to my first post. Here's a picture of me and my babies for some enjoyment.