Category Archives: School

Twice The Money For Half the Brains…

There really is no rest for we wicked folks… summer semester started last Monday only a week after spring semester ended… so I got approximately 5 minutes of free time to stare at all the paint drying I could please!  It was a glorious 5 minutes, though!  I read an actual real book… that did not have any high-faluting, boring textbook speak in it.  I almost forgot that my brain actually likes to work sometimes… on things that are pleasant.

As for summer semester’s classes… it’s another case of Whitney did not pay attention whilst signing up for said classes and made a mistake.  Classes in summer semester vary… you have your shorter variety, where-in they cram 15 weeks of work into a few weeks and you have your longer variety… the regular 14- or 15-week course, homework at a more normal level of insanity.  I was sure I needed to pick two 14-week courses on account of the fact that trying to cram in more than that makes me irritable and bursitis-y and in need of a good ole-fashioned time-out session.  Plus, full-time working at my day job and Mary Poppins is in 1 month and the rehearsals and shows will be taking up more and more of my time.

I signed up for my classes, bought my books and waited for the semester to begin.  Monday, I logged on to read the syllabi, and discovered I’d signed up for a class that was a 7-week course instead of a 14-week one.  Meaning, twice the amount of work in half the time.  I kid you not… it’s been one week since classes started and I’ve already muddled my way through 12 assignments plus reading in that one class alone!  Add in the reading and assignments from the other very needy course and I’m already counting down until birthday numero 90!

The final week for the shorter course falls on the same exact week the MP show is… same exact week of Whitney having a smorgasboard of stress eating!  😛  Sue me… garlic bread.  Now that I’ve yammered on incessantly about mysterious classes, I guess I ought to mention what they are… said no one who cares to know this information… not even my own mother.  The longer course is a psychology class, specifically about child maltreatment (sad stuff), except the teacher is a rambler.  She has 8000000000 documents I’m supposed to read about how the class works.  I have no clue what I’m doing after reading all of the documents because they were like 15 pages each of incessant yammerizing (we may be related)… and I fell asleep approximately 12 times whilst reading them.  Fingers crossed she accepts flying by the seat of one’s pants work.

The shorter course is a class for my English minor… a literature class dealing with farming and agriculture.  I KNOW!?!?!?  Even after my 12 assignments and reading this week, I’m not exactly sure how they’re going to cram in more farming literature information, but we shall see.  In the meantime, I best get started on my final cumulative 14-page paper since it’s due like tomorrow… give or take 6 more weeks.  FYI:  I’m going to need all the no-doze I can get off the black market.

PS- Happy Birthday to Padre this past Fridee.  I bought him an apron he can wear with pride… it says: It took me 64 years to look this good!  Oh yeah… you best believe I find the quality gifts!  😛

Oh Spring… I delightest in thy beauty… said Whitney Shakespeare on ding dongs.

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Petrified Wood Shavings and Strait Jackets…

If you need me I’ve decided to take up whittling tiny animals out of Ivory soap whilst wearing a strait jacket and sipping denture-cream-flavored icees.  It’s a fascinating life soon to be portrayed on my new TLC reality show… Whittling Denture Jackets.  Why such a drastic life change?  I can’t bear the thought of making it through finals week.  My Spanish final set for this coming Thursday is 3 hours long… count them… THREE!  Within those three hours I will be writing prose in Spanish and then probably dialoguing with my imaginary boyfriend Juan about the weather in Spain.  Oh, the humanity!  I just have to re-learn 2 semesters worth of words and conjugations and grammar rules for constructing proper sentences in Spanish in the next 3 days.  No big deal.  Totally doable said the whittling freakazoid popping smarties like they’re the next MENSA medication.  Meanwhile, that show Freaky Friday would be really beneficial right now… as long as my traded body/brain is someone from Spain!

In other news, allow me to wax poetic about freeze-dried meats… aka petrified wood shavings.  Such an odd phenomenon.  We went to the restaurant, HuHot Mongolian Grill this weekend with some visiting family (what up, Jacque, et al.).  I’ve been to HuHot before… I am on the list of people who like HuHot.  It’s just weird.  For those of you not familiar.  Basically, you grab a bowl and walk through a line of freeze-dried food items (meats, vegetables, fruits, noodles, etc.) to make up your dish and then you take it to these guys working a large cirular-shaped skillet top where they stir fry it for you and then plop it on a plate for your digestive tract to make good use of.  This is the first time I’ve been there when not a vegetarian, so the meat threw me for a loop.  It was flat disks of freeze-dried meat, like cuzzin Clem laid out the venison meat he killed on the driveway and then backed over it several times in his Ford truck.  Then he scraped her up, stuck her in the freezer, and sold it to HuHot so that Whitney could have chicken stir fry.  FASCINATING!

Also, I could not be a worker on the gigantic skillet top… A.)  I would have burn marks all up and down both arms and my stomach… and 2.) I would have managed to trip someone else face first into the skillet whilst wielding my 2 metal spatulas.  Hi-ya!  Kudos to you, HuHot skilleters!  Kudos!  It should be an Olympic sport.

So, back to my Ivory whittling… I’m taking animal requests… scratch that… I can basically only do a blob of soap that if you squint real hard like can be whatever animal your imagination wants it to be.  Call up the people at Etsy… Whitney has a store to open!

If you need a Monday, smile-inducing pick-me-up… check out this video.  It’s from Williamsburg Retirement here in Logan.  My gramsy Berger lived there for a while when she lived in Logan and now our sweet family friend, LaVon graces it’s halls.  Apparently, only a few weeks old, this video has nearly 100,000 views and has been seen by people all over the world.  LaVon is in the video several times… she’s totally famous! (If the picture frozen on the video above is the one where they are eating a gigantic sink of ice cream, LaVon is the one in the middle wearing red!)

PSS – Prayers and thoughts to the people of Nepal who have suffered so much tragedy this past weekend.

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Recommendations Of (In)Sanity…

Floor boy is no more.  Insert sadface.  However will I make it through the entire Spanish class without such entertainment!?  He didn’t go without parting words, though… which the teacher actually typed up and included in her lecture during the next class… apparently he had that much pull.  They were something to the effect:  Remember:  The word “burro” in Spanish means both donkey and ironing board.  Don’t be like me and picture ironing on a donkey during the test.  Also, don’t be like me and give up.  I think those words came too late for most of us burros.  We started the class with 20 students total.   As of this typing, we have a grand total of 7, including myself!  Either I need to take 3 showers a day because they can smell me all over the state of Utah or this class be too much work and studying for the state of Utah.  I’d tend to agree… Español es muy dificíl.  Tambíen Whitney no es muy inteligente.  I took my mid-term this past Monday and wracked my brain so hard for 2-1/2 hours I’m pretty sure all the cranium fluid is gone… never again to be replaced!  Whatever happened to open book tests for geezer college students?  Scientifically, I’ve been losing brain storage space since I was a baby… what with all the new things crammed in the thing.  I have a whole section of brain dedicated to jelly bean flavors, for crying outloud!

As a gift for completing my mid-term on the first day of spring break, the lovely parking police gave me a ticket and a bunch of attitude. Oh no you just didn’t!  Spring break usually means no students on campus and a lot fewer teachers who need parking spaces… and the lot I parked in was large and completely empty when I parked in it… with a total of 3 cars when I returned.  Of course I wore my stanky, I’m-so-annoyed-at-you face the whole time I was paying for the ticket.  See if they ever give me a ticket on spring break again!  Note to self:  Don’t tempt fates… park at home and walk 3 miles.

In other recommendations… I went to the movie, McFarland, USA this weekend!  What a charmingly, inspirational true story.  I’m a sucker for a true story.  Of course it was the predictable inspirational sports movie… hard-working dudes who no one thought could amount to anything, eventually win… blah, blah, blah… and the peasants rejoice!  But, those are the kinds of things that bring out the goose pimples and the rooting for the underdog in a person… or maybe it’s the swelling music that does it for me.  Go root for Danny Diaz, the slightly overweight runner who whooped the more fit boys on the hills… or Thomas Valles, the head-strong, overworked runner extraordinaire!  Your heart will swell three times larger that day!   All the burros in the land agree!

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The Conjugator… I’ll Be Back…

It’s at this point in my life where I’d like to hunt down the inventor of the Spanish language and give he/she a good dressing down… and I don’t mean for prom!  Also, does anyone, preferrably someone who speaks Spanish fairly fluently (I know there are a handful of you reading this), who would be interested in trading brains for approximately a year and a half?  I think that should be sufficient to get me through the next 2-1/2 semesters of my Spanish learning… after I get back from the dress hunting shindig, I mean.

Everything seems to move so dang fast in this class.  I don’t remember moving this fast in high school Spanish… and I took like 85 years of Spanish in Jr. high and high school.  My brain is a lot older than it used to be and currently is so full of English words, it’s hard to cram the Spanish words into the crevices.  Translation:  I can’t remember a dang thing!  I might be a hopeless case.  I hate pronouns… I hate verbs… and I really hate conjugation… particularly conjugating imperfect and preterite tenses!  What the!?!?  Those tenses mean the same dang thing in English, Spanish inventor… get with the times!   I pretty much just have to guess between the two on every test because my translation skillz are horrid at best… 50/50 chance I’ll get it right and so far my running score is 1 right, 85,000 wrong.  Good odds, Vegas-ites… who wants to buy Whitney a lotto ticket!?

Update on the weird class members… donut box/85-ounce soda girl has dropped out, leaving me by my lonesome in the Logan classroom (along with the professor and an aide).  Floor boy is still in the class and is still as inappropriate as ever.  I bow to my profesora… along with dealing with the deer in the headlights look I give her on a weekly basis for the entire 3-hour class, she is also mastering the art of dealing with floor boy’s weird outbursts and interjections… like the time a few weeks back when he blurted out that there was no way he’d be able to take the test before the deadline because he just bought some new video game (insert the name I can’t remember here) and he was too busy to study.  Then, he promptly got out of his chair and left the classroom, only to waltz back in half an hour later eating an entire regular-sized bag of Doritos.  Let me tell you… you ain’t lived until you’ve practiced Spanish with someone who was too busy licking the cheese off his fingers to recall which activity we were on.  I had to work so hard not to tell him to go wash his hands before he touched his book, that I didn’t learn a dang thing that night.  Oh the horror!

Back to this Spanish language inventor… take some notes from the inventor of pig latin next time you invent a language.  Also, you owe me 80000000 brain cells and a brain eraser… I’m never going to get that Doritos picture out of my head otherwise.

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Back To Drool…

Snooooorrrrreeee…  I really don’t have anything to blather on about.  Spring (BWAHAHAHAHAHAH) semester at USU started this past Wednesday… because it’s fashionable to start in the middle of the week these days.  I’m taking a 2nd Spanish course and a sociology class.  So far, my motivation to want to read textbooks, study, and do assignments was left back in 1985… I was greatly motivated in 1985… that was a good year for first graders!

I went to my Spanish class on Thursday after not having cracked a Spanish study session for at least 3-1/2 weeks and basically it was like someone took one of them old geezer-fashioned chalkboard erasers and wiped out my memory bank… and let’s face it… the rest of the brain parts as well.  I sat there for the whole three-hour class drooling out my mouth hole whilst straining to remember the words.  I did remember muy estupida… so used that phrase often.  I might fit right in with the class because so far, the class (which is broadcast to several different cities throughout Utah joining in on the conversation via TV screens) is much smaller than it was last semester, but it’s also a lot weirder.  There’s me… that makes anything weird.  There’s some kid who took to lying on the ground in the middle of the class discussion and then chiming in every 5 minutes with the most bizarre questions/requests.  One of his requests was that the profesora not mark him down for lying on the ground because technically he’s still inside the classroom, but his back hurts so this is beneficial for him.  I thought about bringing my sleeping bag next week… might as well catch a few Zzzzzs.  Another of his bizarre requests… when taking proctored exams for the class, he is going to need his own separate special room without any people in it so that he can talk to himself outloud and/or lie on the ground at varying intervals.  I wonder if he’s single.

There was also the girl who brought in a 72-oz soda and a box of a dozen donuts, which she kept munching on throughout the class.  She happened to be directly in my same classroom… GO CHEWING NOISES!   I’ve never understood people who eat whole meals during a class.  It’s weird…  Granted, the class is 3 hours long, but if Whitney can lay off the booze for those 3 hours, you can leave your donut box in the car.

One chic left 10 minutes after the class started… pretty sure she got scared off by Weirdville and we will never see her face grace this classroom again.

Oh the lengths I go to to geezer my way through school.  Somebody send me a smart robot who speaks Spanish and knows sociology.  Whitney needs to get back to her crafting corner!

Oh hi January inversion central!  PAR-TAY!  These pictures are for former Cache Valleyans to realize what they’re missing by moving away.  You are welcome!

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Whitney Overly and Unecessarily Whelmed

You know how I get all uptight over pretty much everything out of the norm… and possibly norma… I’ll ask.  It’s like one of my least favorite pastimes… ye ole stick up the patookus chic!  Mostly I just sit around lamenting and don’t get anything worthwhile done and by the time I’m done lamenting it’s time for bed. It’s a very trying pastime wherein sometimes I’ll also watch really lame-wad shows on the Food Network.  Last month it was some show about outrageous gourds… tonight it was some show about outrageous holiday foods.  Apparently I didn’t learn my lesson… or else I was too busy lamenting.

What the helium balloon am I yammering about?  Well, it’s finals week this week and I have this sudden sense of holy crimeny… I have too much homework to get done!  This isn’t new.  There seems to be too much homework every week, but there’s something about the finality of it all that freaks me out.  Like if I do horrid on a test mid-semester… eh… I’ll make up for it as the semester goes on… but if I do horrid on a test during finals week… that’s it.  Wham bam, we be done, Loretta!  Where’s that tiny violin, Merle?  I need to be sawing on it whilst I’m lamenting.  I’m also attempting to put together a 7-page paper on escapism in “The Glass Menagerie” wherein my thesis statement I spent all weekend preparing is 45 kinds of nonsensicalness and at this point… eh… I don’t care!  Tomorrow I wake up, go to work for 7 to 8 hours and then after my paying job, I get to stare at the computer again for another 25 hours reading scholarly articles.  It really is a blessing because I shouldn’t have time to watch the next installment in the series… outrageous chics named Whitney.

I’d also be remiss if I didn’t remember to introduce you all to the newest ceramic reindeer in our collection:  Lucy-Fur the Pink-Nosed CatDeer… had a very wetly nose!

Ceramic Santa was all like, “On Comet, on Ajax, on Windex, and Clorox…”  Those are the best reindeer… said the tightly wound germ-a-phobe chic!

In other news, if you haven’t watched this yet, it’s definitely worth the 2:30 minutes.  A good reminder with all the hustle and bustle that this season brings, what our real reason for celebrating is!

He is the gift…

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Over-Analyzation 1010…

I would just like to point out that for the last 2 hours my brain has been unnecessarily fuming over the lyrics to the song My Funny Valentine.  The ironic part of this fumation is that My Funny Valentine just so happens to be my brain’s go-to singsong whilst in the shower.  I don’t know why this is.  I have never actually sang the song in public.  I don’t even particularly like the song made famous by Frank Sinatra and others about 3 billion years ago when the dinosaurs roamed the Wally World aisles.  It’s an earworm of a song.  And I’m fuming over the lyrics because… how dare he call her looks laughable and unphotographable… who died and made him Fabio but a lot hotter and with less hair?  I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter has never tasted the same, Fabio hair!  I’m really showing my age during this blog post!

I blame my over-analysis of random song lyrics on the fact that my literature class this semester often goes three hours discussing one small phrase in a poem.  Oh by golly… beat my ears in with dumbbells!  I kid you not… a few Tuesdays ago we went 3 hours discussing whether a pebble is considered a rock in this poem that wasn’t even about a dang pebble or a dang rock.  It’s like having to listen to your Great Uncle Ulceritis go on for a billion years about passing a kidney stone.  Well, it got stuck up near the urethra and from there it just sorta set there.  

I think there’s a place for analyzing a person’s words and then there’s NOT a place for over-analyzing a person’s words to death!  Maybe she/he just meant it was a rock… period…  No, it does not represent the darkness of his/her soul or a secret nod to the fact that he/she can’t bake bread products.  It’s just a rock and it happened to be a word in the poem… MOVING ON!  I think it’s safe to say that I will not be a book critic or a urologist in my second lifetime.

In other news… time flies when you’re over-analyzing.  Tomorrow is the day I have to sign up for classes for spring semester that starts in January… spring semester my rear patookus… more like inversion semester.  I’m having trouble deciding on a 2nd class.  I have to take Spanish 1020, but the 2nd one I’m trying to pick one that looks real easy like and my powers of brain psychicness are on vacation with the above-mentioned song analyzation.  Is there a class that condones napping for 3 hours during the actual class time and still acing the test… Sleeping 1010.  Sign me up.

This here is what happens with over analysis… your skiing creepy husband has to carry your head around on a pitchfork.  Stay away from analysis, friends!

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