That Emerson is just a bowl full of fortune cookies

Today, in aphorism:

Pass or do not pass. There is no stepping-on-my-heels for three blocks straight, mister.

How do I love thee? Let me count the number of BYU basketball games you take me to.

I heard a fly buzz when I dried my pyre of laundry.

Good and bad are but names that I assign to people who ring doorbells vs. just walk right in.

Yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery, but today I ate a polish dog for lunch. That is why it is called the present.

CAPPED OFF

I am now officially, and curiously, what you might call "capped off."

As unbelievable as it sounds, I have been thinking in all caps for the past month. The once-gentle voice I use when I am thinking to myself somehow upgraded to booming I-told-you-it-was-better-at-the-IMAX surround sound. In other words, I thought in ALL CAPS.

Allow me to recap these loud conversations with myself:

When I brush my teeth in the morning with my extra soft brush toothbrush I think, GOSH, I HOPE MY GUMS DON'T RECEDE ANY FURTHER.

As I hurry up to campus in my navy pencil skirt with gray tights, I think, SORRY FEET-- THESE NEW SHOES ARE TOO PRETTY NOT TO WEAR TODAY.

While my mentor talks about taking his daughters to the Justin Bieber movie this weekend, I think, I KIND OF REALLY WANT TO SEE THAT MOVIE WHEN IT COMES TO THE DOLLAR THEATER. IF I'M BORED.

But some magic happened over the weekend:

I ate a pork taco at Los Hermanos,

saw a Cougarette concert,

had a massively girly sleepover,

flipped three fluffy pancakes,

engineered an enviable blanket fort,

cheered as Jimmer put up some shots,

played mini croquet,

bought shirts and jeans in Park City,

watched 4 episodes of The Office,

danced at a President's Day party,

gave a spiritual thought,

read a novella,

AND STOPPED THINKING IN CAPS!

That's right; I did all these things in a normal indoor thinking voice. Caps off to me!

Cupid, I think you missed one

Flower man: "Do you know [girl] in #4?"

Me: "Yeah. I mean, sort of. She's my neighbor."

Flower man: "Do you think you could sign for her flowers and keep them in your apartment until she comes home?"

Me: "Oh, um, sure."

Me (signing clipboard and joking): "Wow, there's nothing as depressing as signing for another woman's flowers."

Flower man (handing over flowers and being serious): "Try being the deliverer of other people's love."

Did he just--? Snarky flower man!

Rooting for the home team

A few days ago, a friend on facebook posted a status that asked,

"Why is it that we are so afraid of making mistakes?"

And for the first time ever, I had an optimistic answer to this question. Normally I chalk it up to the psychological nagging that we each have to be perfect or to fulfill self-made or societal expectations. But this time I thought,

"because we like ourselves. Deep down, we are rooting for the person we have known first and forever, and that we think is a pretty alright person. We are rooting for our success because we sympathize with ourselves."