omg u guyz!!!!!!!!!!

one word: eclips!!!!!!!!!!!

im sooooo mad bc brock said we couldn't go to the midnite showing last nite bc he had work in the morning. so LAME!! i cryd like all day bc all day on fb all my friends were talking about how awsome it was and how good taylor lotner looked with his shirt off!!! but luckily brock is totally gonna redeem himself bc he said he would take me on friday nite and buy me tons of popcorn, soda and candy!! like a REAL movie nite!! not like the cheap ones he normaly takes me on wear all he buys is just the plane movie tickets and we have to sneak in popcorn in my purse...SAD!!!

ne way, im so excited i can hardly contane myself!!! i mean even tho ive read the book like a bajillion times and i alredy know the plot and caracters, im just so exited bc the movies for twilight and new moon totally rocked so i know this one will to!!!

and if ur one of those ppl who thinks there to smart or whatever for twilight than u need to grow up and just give it a chance because its' soooo good! u will laugh and cry i promise!! plus its kind of a sexy book but not TO sexy to wear your like braking the rules in the "for strenth of youth" pamflet LOL!!

if ne of you have seen it already (which you prolly ALL HAVE bc i swear im like the only 1 who has'nt!!!) PLZ dont tell me wat happens bc like i said even tho i know the plot and everything i still want to be suprised in case the directer throws in a twist or something!!!

A Bad Call

I once decided my ear canal would be the perfect "holding place" for the tooth that I yanked out during church. In 8th grade, I decided LIME GREEN eyeshadow looked good on me. When I was nine, I thought I'd be cool and quote something I'd heard in an episode of "Step by Step" to my dad ("Daaaad! I have the right to express my sexual needs!!")

These infractions pale in comparison to the bad call I made yesterday. Yes, my friends, I am referring to the Jim Joyceian--nay--Koman Coulibalian call I made last night to climb THIS:

Exhibit A

Some of you may know that I am currently in the throes of training for a 50-mile ultramarathon in September. Part of this training entails a multi-hour trail run every weekend. Last night, as I set off along the Bonneville Shoreline Trail near my house, I ran past an offshoot that headed literally straight up the face of the mountain. Having never run this way before, I decided to give it a go. And heck, while I was at it, why not climb the mountain above?! I figured I wouldn't get my requisite 15 miles in for the day, but it would probably take just as long plus build a little more endurance.

It wasn't long before the offshooting trail expired and I was on my own. Just how I liked it! Kristi Boyce: Conquistadora Extraordinaire! Armed with pepper spray and an iPod playlist teeming with Alanis Morrissette, I headed off into the wilderness. Fifty yards later, my first obstacle revealed itself: a swatch of deep thicket with no discernible pathway through it--not even a deer trail.

I distinctly remember this thought running through my head: "A good hiker can make a path where there is none, but a better hiker will know when to call it quits." I have no idea where this mystical bit of Mister Miyagism came from. Looking back, that was probably the Spirit tell me to wise up and turn around (which I should have been attune to--it was Sunday, after all), but my prideful heart kept pressing me forward.

So into the thicket I went! Step after miserable step, I forged my way through it as best I could, pushing branches out of my way and spider webs out of my hair along the way. Finally, I emerged into the open like a butterfly shedding its cocoon. Free! Legs and arms bleeding with scratches, yes, but free!!

. . . free to see that I had reached a tiny open spot of land . . . and that the peak of the mountain was surrounded by a another ring of thicket hundreds of yards deep.

Obviously, this was not going to work. I quickly abandoned my plans to summit and looked for the fastest way off the mountain (darkness was falling). I noticed that the mountain next to me was relatively thicket-free, but in order to get over to it I had to dip down into a ravine filled with the Brambles from Hell. Into the heart of darkness I ventured once again--more scratches, more bleeding--but I finally made it to the other side.

While this particular mountain was indeed thicket-free, it was covered in what I creatively like to call "mountain hay" (because it's on a mountain . . . and it looks like hay). Trudging through this stuff was just as annoying and almost as painful as going through the thicket, because it filled my shoes and socks with little "pokies" that jabbed my feet as I walked. Stopping to remove them was futile, as it only took four steps for my shoes and socks to become filled with them again.

I slowly became more and more frustrated; this was not the trail run/hike I'd been hoping for. I trudged up the mountainside toward the crest of a hill--hoping to get my bearings--only to be met with another bigger hill. I finally reached the top of that one, and saw my house: a teeny tiny speck in the distance.

With a demoralized sigh, I started down the mountain. It was extremely steep (40-degree pitch), but I made another grand decision and opted to save time by not using switchbacks. So straight down I went. The terrain was rocky, and I couldn't quite see where I was setting my trekking poles because the mountain hay was so high. Despite this, things were going okay when PHUMP SSSSSSSSSSHHHHH. I lost my balance and slid down the mountainside for 20 feet. With newfound rocks nestling in with the pokies in my shoes and socks, I continued my journey downward with a PHUMP SSSSSSSSHHHH occurring roughly every eight minutes. Exasperated, I figured a good primal scream would help me unleash my frustration.AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH!!!! I wailed. Of course, the acoustics of the mountain were such that the gratifying echo I'd been hoping for never came.

I got the strange feeling that the mountain was mocking me.

The ONLY redeeming part of the descent was scree surfing (see Exhibit B for example), which helped me get down the last quarter of the mountain.

FINALLY, two hours and innumerable scratches, bumps, bruises and bleeds later, I made it off the mountain. I was homeward bound! And gimping. I decided to call Brock and have him pick me up at the church near our house, which would shave a half-mile off my miserable return trip home.

His phone was turned off.

Blood n' scratches.

More dirt. More scratches.

A tiny sampling of what was in my socks.

For the Record . . .

I know that you pooped, Ms. Girl in the Stall Next to Me.

I heard the plop. You tried to synchronize it with my flushing the toilet, but you were too late. So go on and shamefully hide in that stall of yours until I exit the bathroom, but know that you're only making it more awkward for yourself. Because I'm going to take extra long washing my hands, fixing my hair, and doing anything I can to stay in the bathroom as long as possible. That way, you'll be trapped.

Trapped in that loathsome stall of yours, forced to think about how ridiculous it is that you can't own up to

your

own

poop.

Cutting the Cheese

Despite my running 7+ miles a day in the mountains and recently anted-up lifting regimen at the gym, I have seen the number on my scale creep up by about three pounds. While I would like to attribute this to muscle gain, I think the real culprit could very well be the fact that a few days ago, I unearthed a wire cheese slicer from the abyss that is my kitchen tools drawer. Since then, I have indulged daily in one of my favorite food combinations: thin slices of cheddar cheese dipped in applesauce. 

It's not like this indulgence is justifiable, at least not for me. I can't use the age-old "Cheese is dairy and has calcium" excuse because I get more calcium than anyone I know. I drink milk like a newborn. Well, not like that, but you know.

But seriously, if you've ever eaten Tillamook medium cheddar cheese right off the block, you know what I'm talking about. And if you're one of those lame people who buys the store brand instead of shelling out the extra $1.20 for Tillamook, I pity you.

Weird Things

Today I was talking to my friend about grandbabies, but for some reason I kept calling them gramberries. I said it like four times.

Also, I had a dream the other night that I shot a guy in the head. He was chasing me around a supermarket parking lot trying to abduct me. We were shooting at each other, and we were both horrible shots, but I must not have been too horrible because I shot him in the head. Luckily the bullets from my gun were really small so it didn't kill him. He just fell to the ground writhing and yelling "You shot me in the head!" Oh, and his nose fell off. So I picked it up and was like "Do you want your nose back? Then I better not ever see you again!" And I smeared it on his face.

What is my subconscious mind trying to tell me???

My Rad Dad

For the past 33 hours, my dad ran through 100 miles of ankle-deep MUD in Wyoming. Yes, you read that right: MUD. This is two months after spending 28 days trekking through Nepal, and two months before running yet another 100-miler. A few days ago, I was talking to him about this race.

"Dad, are you feeling good and ready for your ultramarathon tomorrow?"

His reply was nonchalant: "Meh. Not really. But I'm signed up, so I guess I'll do it."

Meh. Not really. But I'm signed up, so I guess I'll do it. This isn't a 10K we're talking about, people! This is ONE HUNDRED FREAKING CONTINUOUS MILES IN THE MOUNTAINS.

He finished last night at around 8pm. I called him this morning to see how he was doing.

"My balls hurt!" he said.

"Dad! And you tell me not to use potty language!"

"The balls of my feet."

Throughout the years, I have paced my dad through the nights of his 100-mile races. In my opinion, you haven't seen true grit until you've seen a man trudging along a mountain pass 4am with muddy legs and bloodshot eyes. That's probably why I have such a low tolerance for sissies, whiners, and juiced-up, expensive-supplement-popping, protein-pounding posers who think they're hard core.

My dad rinsing off his feet in Garden City, UT after finishing the Bear 100 ultra.

My dad flipping off a blinking light "Mormon style" at the Hardrock 100--arguably the toughest 100-miler in the world. I was pacing him this night. The blinking light is at the top of Engineer Pass--a get-on-all-fours-steep 1000-foot climb in the San Juan Mountains of Colorado. The blinking light taunts you the entire way up, never seeming to get any closer. This picture was taken at 2am.

Lance Armstrong lookalike, much?!

Rappelling Geneva style on a family rock climbing outing.

One of my favorite pictures of me and my dad :)

In addition to his indisputable hardcoreness, my dad is my hero for so many more reasons. He's a fantastic provider, friend, Priesthood holder, confidant, and husband to my mom. I have been so blessed to have his example in my life!

Real Love

Brock is currently on a camp-out with some of the Young Men from our ward, so I have the house all to myself tonight. I thought it would be fun but it sucks.

I went on a run and came home to an empty house. I watched the Lakers win the NBA championship alone. I ate a small bowl of tortellini for dinner by myself.

Seeing as how Brock hasn't even been gone a full 24 hours, I feel a little dumb missing him so much. I consider myself a pretty strong person in mind, body, spirit; but if you take away Brock, my keystone, I crumble to pieces. Call me weak, call me old-fashioned, call me insecure but I need Brock to feel whole.  As lonely as I am right now, I wish this upon everybody.

I hope everybody I know will one day feel a deep, aching emptiness when they climb into bed alone. I hope everybody I know will one day wander aimlessly around the kitchen when their spouse is gone. I hope everybody I know will one day glance down at their phone compulsively every two minutes--waiting for a call, a text, an "I love you."

Need A Male Escort??

If so, then today's your lucky day!

I found the following advertisement on the BYU Wilk Board.

Birthday Happenings

My 22nd was low key, but surprisingly fun! I was surprised by a sweet love letter from Brock here in the morning (Mrs. Deja Vu) and after school/work we went home and had PANCAKES for dinner! Then we went to the mall where I bought myself a good self-tanner from Clinique I've been wanting, and we met the coolest Clinique girl ever! She was from Zimbabwe, and after our purchase we stopped and talked to her for a good ten to fifteen minutes until other customers arrived.

A couple hours later my cousin Heidi and her fiancee Chad (aka our best friends) accompanied us to the theater where we saw The Karate Kid which was a surprisingly good movie! Then we hit up Sammy's for banana cream pie shakes and pepperjack/provolone grilled cheese sandwiches.

In closing, I decided to make a list of things that will either likely or most definitely happen by the time I turn 23. Here's to 22!

1. I will have GRADUATED FROM BYU!
2. I will have run a 50-mile trail race through the mountains of Colorado.
3. I will have been the most rockin' American Heritage TA ever.
4. I will be conversationally fluent in Arabic.
5. I will have read Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance. You know, that book that I was assigned to read during the last month of high school (senioritis, much?) that my husband has now read three times and loves? That one.
6. I will have re-read Life of Pi.
7. I will have re-read The Book of Mormon in its entirety.
8. I will be able to do a pull-up.

Twenty-Two

0-16: One big huge countdown until you can date.

17: Hey, cool! I'm the age of the magazine! (Still no dates.)

18: I'm LEGAL!! And MARRIED!

19: Last year in my teens!

20: First year in my 20s!

21: DRINKS ON ME! Sprite, anyone?

22: Okay. Now I'm just getting old.

Utah Drivers

For those of you who don't live in Utah: Consider yourselves lucky. Every day is a fight to survive here. It's crazy out on the streets. I'm not talking about gangs or drugs or prostitution. Nope, Utah has worse problems...namely, ITS DRIVERS.
Case Study #1: A couple weeks ago, I was coming home from school and the car in front of me was crawling along at 20 mph. 15 slower than the speed limit. I gave the driver a little slack--the car was, after all, a Buick, so there was no way the person behind the wheel wasn't a member of AARP. Sure enough, as I switched lanes and pulled out in front of it, I saw that the driver was indeed a hunched-over grandma sporting those just-got-back-from-the-optometrist shades and a handicapped pass on her rearview mirror.

Oh, and she was FLOSSING HER TEETH.
Case Study #2: Yesterday, my husband almost rear-ended somebody. This was, however, no fault of his own, seeing as how the driver had slowed to a stop AT A GREEN LIGHT.
Case Study #3: We live in a townhome at the base of the Uinta Mountains. Quail are a common sight in our area. As I was driving to school today, I saw two little quail scurry across the road ahead. I watched in horror as the driver in front of me skidded to a halt so as to avoid them (almost causing me to rear-end him in the process)--AND STILL ENDED UP RUNNING OVER ONE OF THEM. Seriously, had this guy never played Mario Kart??

Bismillah ir-Rahman ir-Rahim

In the Name of God, The Merciful, The Compassionate.

Isn't that beautiful?

I love Arabic.

On Faith

My brother, Caleb, is currently serving a two-year mission for our church in New York City.

Today, he said something in his weekly email that really hit me: The future is as bright as your faith.

It's a quote by President Thomas S. Monson. I love it.

Ode to the 'Jo

My dog is rad. Mojo has the best personality: The perfect mix of playful, chill, and quirky. Plus, he's really smart, obedient and loves to cuddle. Initially, Brock wanted to name him Optimus Prime (Transformers had just come out). For some reason, the name just didn't fit a cute, cuddly half-poodle, so we compromised and settled on Mojo (which was the name of Shia LaBeof's dog in Transformers).

I don't really know why I'm doing this post. I guess I'm just feeling extra grateful for my pooch today.

Picking up Mojo from the airport! He was born February 9th, 2008 in Missouri. We found him online (puppyfind.com) and his breeder was the nicest lady. 

He loved playing with this monkey toy. It was torn to shreds within two weeks!

He even pees cute.

Sometimes he'd get stuck under his bed and couldn't figure out how to escape.

So he would scurry around the room turtle-style and bump into furniture to free himself. Too funny!

A bad haircut. Mojo obviously isn't happy about it.

Sleeping on the drive home from California. He'd rather sleep in a terribly uncomfortable position near us than have the entire back seat to himself away from us. Such a sweetheart.

Pals :)

The Imposter of the Big Boy Gym

Tonight at the gym, I bravely decided to venture into The Heart of Darkness . . . AKA the "big boy" side of the gym where all the souped-up-truck-driving, Apex-security-selling, small-wienered creatine addicts work out. Oh, and that one tiny (albeit ripped) Mexican girl with the HUGEST implants I've ever seen. 

Anyway, so I go over to the little squat bar place thingy (my apologies: I don't speak meathead) and--lo and behold!--the toolbag who did squats before me decided not to re-rack his weights (so annoying). There are three 45-pound weights on both sides of the bar. I began taking the weights off one by one, mentally cursing its previous user who was no doubt downing a protein shake by now and wondering which Ed Hardy shirt to wear tomorrow . . .

Have you ever seen a cartoon where a fat kid jumps on the see-saw and sends the skinny kid flying?

I watched in horror as simple physics took place right before my very eyes. I had taken three 45-pound weights off one side of the squat bar . . . but none on the other side. Before I had time to warn the guy next to me doing clean-and-jerks to watch out for the flying squat bar, it landed with a deafening THUD against the gym floor. A hush fell over the gym as the echo rumbled through the air.

Dozens of eyes turned to look at the imposter of the big boy gym. I felt like a person who'd just farted loudly in a crowded elevator. It was awkward, embarrassing . . . and really, really funny.

The clean-and-jerker (now that sounds awkward) I almost killed graciously helped me put everything back together. My mess looked like a giant tetherball pole--what with the three sets of weights on the bottom and a long metal pole jutting upwards out of the hole in the middle.

For the record: I rocked that set of squats.

AND I re-racked the weights when I was done.

Committed

Who: Me

What: Run Rabbit Run 50-mile Ultramarthon.

When: September 18, 2010

Where: Steamboat, CO

Why: Who the hell knows.

50 miles.

I'm committed.

Memorial Day Weekend

I know I sound like a broken record, but seriously: Colorado is heaven.

After classes ended on Thursday, we jumped in the car for a weekend in Fort Collins--it's been almost a year since we last visited! We arrived late that night as my family was doing sparklers on the front lawn. After a late-night bowl of Cinnamon Life, we hit the hay (that drive over Wyoming on I-80 is a MO).

On Friday, Brock and I woke up early and took Mojo running on the Inlet Bay trail. It was so beautiful and green there! I felt like I was running through the hills of Scotland. After that, we went to a Dutch oven cooking class that my mom taught to her Relief Society ladies (fun fun) and then went boating on Horsetooth! The best ride of the day was Brock and Kiana  on the tube--Kiana climbed up and stood on his shoulders as they rode! Very acrobatic. 

After tubing we came home and to a fantastic dinner that my mom whipped up (beef brisket sandwiches, corn on the cob, baked beans, watermelon . . . ). We'd initially planned on having a picnic up Poudre Canyon, but everyone was so wiped that we opted to stay in and have a LOST marathon. My family had never watched it before and so one of my main goals for Memorial Day weekend was to get them addicted to it. I think I succeeded  :)Aside on the "LOST" series finale: That was, without a doubt, the most moving 2.5 hours of television I have ever seen. It really made me look at the bigger picture of my life, and inspired me to be a better person. Dare I say that it even strengthened my testimony of the gospel? Well, it did. I cried for hours when it ended (ask Brock--he says he has never seen me cry that much!), and I even welled up as we started the first episode with my family. It was like having all my old friends back :) 

On Saturday morning we celebrated Connor's "official" sixth birthday with a Thomas tradition--birthday pancakes! My dad and I ran off breakfast with ten miles on Bobcat Trail. Once again, it was a gorgeous day for a run. I had the entire trail to myself the whole time . . . except for the rattlesnake that I almost stepped on. After my run, I spent the rest of the afternoon shopping with my mom and Kiana. My mom had racked up a bunch of points at Kohl's and Ulta that had to be used by the end of Saturday, which she graciously gave to me as my birthday gift :) Thanks, Mom! The best part of the shopping trip was stopping by the GoLite warehouse sale, where I scored big time in the pants department. 
For dinner on Saturday night, Brock and I ate Nepalese food at Mt. Everest Cafe with my parents. This is one of my parents' favorite places to eat. They eat there so often, in fact, that they've become good friends with the owner--Dawa Sherpa. My dad is an especially good friend of Dawa now, seeing as how Dawa was his guide for a month-long trek in Nepal! They summitted Imja Tse on Mount Everest together--a point which marks the mountain's 21,000-ft mark and requires a 300-ft vertical ascent up an ice face to get to. Despite his crazy hardcoreness, Dawa is one of the kindest, gentlest, and most caring people I've ever met. You know how some people just exude goodness and light? He's one of those.

After dinner we had planned on going to see Prince of Persia at the drive-in, except the weather was bad. Instead, we opted for--you guessed it!--more LOST!  A few episodes later, after everyone had turned in for the night, Brock and I decided to go line-dancing at Sundance. Unfortunately, right as we pulled into the parking lot, I realized I'd forgotten my ID! As Connor would say: Awww, peanuts! (This was not the first time I'd done this . . . one time we drove an hour to go 80s dancing in SLC and I made the same mistake!) Instead, we went to Old Town for a double scoop of Walrus ice cream and people-watching. We saw a Storm Trooper (not kidding) and a girl with the BIGGEST ghetto booty wearing silver, glittery hotpants.

After church on Sunday, we had a big steak dinner with my Grandma Kern and watched a slideshow of all of my dad's pictures and videos from Nepal--it took a good two hours!  It was so cool to see all the people and places he had talked about in his emails. And it made me really want to visit Nepal :) Namaste! 

Before Brock and I left on Monday, we all (family + Grandma) went fishing up near the Wyoming border. It was kind of windy and the fish weren't exactly jumping out of the water . . . but we did catch one. I'm not too hot on fishing (BORING) so I sat down an finished off a book I was reading about punctuation (NOT BORING).

All in all, it was a fantastic weekend. I love my family so much and am so lucky to have grown up in such a beautiful place!