Tag Archives: spanish

Wimpmeister Whitney…

To those of you giving birth this day… it’s your day… laboring next to an American flag is preferrable today, but if one isn’t available, a bedpan will do.  As for the rest of us, we’ll have to make due on this holiday not for us… change a diaper or something in memorium.  If anyone needs me, I’ll be curled up in the fetal position in the corner with my blanky and a binky.

Meanwhile, I mentioned briefly last week that fall semester started.  I had signed up for my classes, purchased all of my books, and was sitting in a pool of anxiety and dread at the thought of having to take a regular daytime class 3 days a week at my geezerly age of mid-30s.  It’s not geezerly to everyone, I realize, but if you be between the ages of 18 and 22, I might as well be taking my dentures out and walking around in adult diapers in my mid-30s.  I got up Monday morning early and I drug my aspercreme to that class.   Parking was horrendous on the first day and then I passed a dude wearing a pink bunny suit… which nearly made me sprint on back to my vehicle… you seen me sprint lately!?  I didn’t think so.  I made it to the classroom and settled into the back corner… the favorite of all introverted anti-socialites.  Hi Hermit Gertrude!  The professor knows me well.  I had her for Spanish both semesters last year, and I was basically the only student in the Logan classroom amidst 12 TVs from cities all over the state.  She is a sweet lady, but I’m pretty sure I’m older than her by a couple of years as well.  Hi… I’m apparently obsessed with my age.

There were about 30 or so students in that classroom and I was desperately looking around trying to find my fellow geezer compadres… who were not there!  The class consisted of us introducing ourselves to each other in Spanish in pairs of two, rotating out every couple of minutes.  I hated every minute of it.  When I’m shoved into making small talk with new people, I freeze and my brain gets all jumbled and it’s hard for me to get the right words to fit into the right sentence… and that’s when I’m introducing myself in English… my Spanish was rusty after having not touched a book for 4 months, so I mostly sat there and spoke awkward Spanglish… the language of the anxiety sufferers!  Everyone introduced them to me as being 20… I swear to you… every last one of them was 19 or 20… and so for every introduction I just said “muy vieja” (very old) for my age… that is when I could remember those words in my anxiety-seized brain.  One kid actually told me that because I was old, I’d have more world experience and could guide my compadres through the class.  Please shut thy mouth young fry.  When the class was over, I had made up my mind that I wasn’t ever coming back.  And when I make up my mind (which is rarely as I’m the wishy washy queen), it’s a hard sell for me to change it.

That night, I dropped the class and had to absorb the cost of the book since I had signed in using the access code and now no one else could use it.  Wimpmeister Whitney at your service…

Now, the rose-colored glasses part.  I honestly considered not finding another to replace the Spanish class… which would have messed up my graduation plan drastically and I’d have to attend at least a year more than I would have had I stayed in.  I have a handfull of semesters left before I can graduate and in my major I need at least 4 to 5 semesters of a foreign language.  I have 2 semesters of Spanish and if I were to switch to another language, I’d be looking at 3 more semesters of the other language, instead of 4 semesters of Spanish.  I bucked up and signed up for Italian, which is taught online, went up to the bookstore the next day and bought the book.  Honestly, as wimpy as it seems, I feel 10 times better about my decision now that it is done and over with.  Languages are hard for me to learn anyway, and I might as well make it as comfortable on myself as possible.  There are other things I can conquer the introvert issues with… and not be looked at as Grandma Whitney.

The other class is a requirement for one of the goals in my major, History of Jazz music, which is totally up my alley.  I love me some Jazz and it will be interesting to learn the history of it.  No wimping out there.
Here’s some angry BoBo Bourneo for your viewing pleasure.  He was pretty pissed when I told him about the class too!

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BoBo In Da’ House…

There are a lot of things I could blog about this night.  A lot has gone on the last 2 weeks whilst I slacked on blogging… no worries, blogging isn’t the only thing I slacked on.  Common sense went by the wayside as well… you’re welcome thin vanilla Oreos.  I’ll just start with this and see where it takes me in this clouded balloon brain I have attached to my shoulders.  My new nephew was born this past Tuesdee, August 25, 2015… and if he weren’t the cutest little pookle you ever did see said everyone who has ever been related to a newborn baby… translation… EVERYONE IN THE WORLD!  Some of those people may be lying, but I’m totally telling the truth… I’ve even foregone my favorite practice of extreme exaggeration for this very occasion.  His name?  Bourne Lucky Howell (I ain’t jokin’ neither).  The name will have to grow on me, but the little dude has already eeked his way into these family members’ sometimes Grinch-sized hearts.

I finally got the opportunity to go down and see him yesterday… and you best believe that 90-minute trip was for the record books since it was 100 degrees that day and my car has yet to blow any appropriately cooled air conditioning:  Translation… it’s totally broke!  So, here’s Whitney jetting down the freeway with all the winders rolled down in a rusty Beulah the Buick singing out-of-tune showtunes at the top of her lungs because she couldn’t hear the radio over the noise of the wind blowing through the open windows.  A gal has to have some sort of entertainment… and I really enjoy angering my fellow road drivers.  Road rage is real, y’all!

Here’s BoBo with the owlie owl I made and brought for him.  It’s not a modern fabric, so I’m not sure how long it will last in the land of Lindsay chique, but I’m trying to put in some subliminal owly owl  messages wherever I can.

This is BoBo and I sharing secrets… obviously he didn’t participate very well… there’s no excuse for bad manners!

I’ve decided Auntie Whitty Woo needs a nickname for Bourne.  Obviously, I’ve started calling him BoBo, but the possibilities are endless.

BoBo
B-How (ala J-Lo)
B-Luk
Bourneo
Matt Damon (Hear me out… the dude from the Bourne Identity movies… obviously!)
Luck Be A Binky Tonight
BoHow

Y’all need to vote… Pick the Nickname!  Lindsay may get 2 votes, but I have faith that enough of you will vote your one vote to overrule her!

BoBo has even already learned how to give me the side eye… will you please stop that infernal baby talking!  Welcome to the world, BoHow!  Congratulations, Lindsay, Shayne, Christian, and Ethan on the new addition to your tribe of crazy… but crazy in a good way!

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We also held Corbin’s 8th family birthday shindig tonight!  The Lord has certainly blessed me with many talents and gifts… one of which is NOT cake decoration.

Case in point… Firstly, you need steady hands… I have Grandma Berger tremor hands.  Secondly… it looks like they hired that one drunk dude to make the uneven lines on the football field… all in all it was a fun, albeit hilarious kindergarten school project for this chic!  Happy Birf-day Buddy!

Speaking of school… fall semester starts tomorrow.  Anxiety has been my unwelcome friend the last few weeks as I have to go to the 3rd semester of Spanish class 3 days a week in the morning up on campus.  Y’all best pray the senior citizen of the class brings her brain.

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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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Burrito Chimchanga en el Taco Bello…

There’s a new visitor in my window well of doom and gloom this night.  It seems to be a very PMS-y mouse… or at least one with 8 different personalities.  Right now the personality is the psycho serial killer named Manson as I’m pretty sure he’s eating a hole through my window screen as we speak… and by morning, he’ll have burrowed in through the glass and devoured my left pinky finger.  You don’t eat this body in a day!  It’s meant to be savoured for at least a century and a half!  Pass the bacon!

That aside… and believe you me, I’ve been shrieking every time I hear him rustling the dead leaves and picking at the window screen… how old am I!? We’re going into the 3rd week of fall semester.  I have 2 classes again this semester… another English literature class that meets on Tuesday nights from 5 to 8 and a Spanish class that meets on Thursday nights from 5 to 8.  They both require mucho class participation and basically make me want to vomit on a biweekly basis.  The Spanish class particularly is anxiety ridden.  When I get nervous, I have a hard time remembering words in English let alone a foreign tongue.  

It’s a broadcast course and our Logan classroom is the main classroom where the teacher resides in person.  There are a bajillion television screens throughout the room with people from other cities in Utah.  There’s one in Brigham City, Moab, Ephraim, Tooele, Mount Pleasant, etc.  So, it’s like we in Logan are Jem (she’s truly truly truly outrageous) and all of the other TV screens are the holograms and the misfits (our songs are better).  For most of the class we break into what the teacher calls “pods” (I guess… she teaches the class in Spanish, so basically I just sit there staring at her like a doof-bag while she repeats the same question 800 times hoping that one of the times I’ll be hit by the magical Espanol fairy and suddenly know what the crap she is saying).  A pod consists of one member of our Logan classroom (there are only 5 of us) sitting in front of a TV screen where there are a bunch of students from other cities.  So, it’s me… and then 10 people from Brigham City on a TV screen, which makes me feel like I’m the one who should be in charge of the group since I’m with the teacher and all by my lonesome on a TV screen.  We rotate screens in Logan, but the other cities just sit there and cross their fingers that that one awkward chic doesn’t sit down in front of them.  OH LAWSY!  

Of course, I’m most likely over exaggerating their thoughts, but what do you expect of me with a psycho serial killer mouse on the loose.  Whenever the teacher asks me a question in Spanish I immediately start panicking and then giggle like a 5-year-old on crack cocaine.  Teeheheeehheheheheheehheeeeeeeee   Breathe in… breathe out… this would be a good opportunity to practice my diaphragmatic breathing and/or hide the cookies… ALL the cookies!  

In other OTHER news… we finally got to the Ogden Temple Open House this past Friday.  Beautiful temple!  Except they had crystal candy dishes in every hallway with NO candy!  Grandma B would be appalled.

I’m posting this picture even though Madre’s eyes are closed… you snooze you lose.  Also, I am not in the picture… and that makes me happiest of all.

We also had Corbin’s 7th birthday party celebration with the world’s smallest cake.  Only because there was peach pie to be had.  Who passes that up for cake!?  

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Liberating the Wishy Washiness…

Not really.  The wishy washiness is still firmly implanted deep in the tendrils of my being.  I don’t think my being has tendrils, but it sounded really cool in my head and I went with it.

I am pretty sure I’ve mentioned on this blog once or never that I am not so enamoured with my major of choice, technical writting.  So, I’ve been wracking/racking/racketeering/ROCKING my brain as to what else to choose.  Math and Science extraordinaire was number 12 billion on my list of possible majors, so I’m pretty sure I’ll never make it that far down the list.  Sorry rocket scientists; I will not be gracing your presence any time soon.  I finally settled on liberal arts.  I’m durn sure the liberal arts major is a prime major for people who can’t make up their minds to save their lives.  Mostly because you don’t have to settle on one subject.  It’s a conglomeration of a bunch of subjects all rolled into one big ole ball of confusion.  And then there’s the never-ending question, Liberal arts, eh?  And what exactly will you do with that major when you graduate?   Pipe down, Barbara Walters!  Good laws!  Can’t please anyone up in this county.

A trip to the career center is in order, but I’ve seen my guidance counselor where she gave me a confusing rundown of all the requirements and then I decided to double minor in English and sociology.  The liberal arts major also requires 2 years of a foreign language.  Yo habla Espanol?  Me llama, Patricia.  Turns out knowing how to count to 10 in Spanish does not knock it down to a year requirement.  I already asked.

Onward and upward friends.  Until the next time we wishy washily meet.

 

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