Don't do the YMCA in Indiana

After a hot, McGrath-less summer we decided that a trip to Chicago was in order. We were a week from starting school and this would be our last hurrah. We headed out after my last day of work and drove the 14 hour stretch. This would allow us to arrive at about four a.m. Now, if any of you have ever lived with me you are aware of my many idiosyncrasies. One of the most glaring being that after 9 p.m., I kinda lose my mind. No alcohol necessary. I find everything, and I mean anything and everything, hilarious and have more energy than a three year old who just drank an entire pitcher of kool-aid. Now trap me in a car from 9 p.m. to 4 am. I know. My poor, poor husband. As we rolled through Indiana around 2:30 am, the elementary school dance jam YMCA graced the air waves. A dance party was in order. As I wildly busted out my 90's grooves, a blue and red flashing light appeared in our rear view mirror. Yes, despite Rory's fixed attention on the road, my dance moves caused the Indiana police force to believe we were very heavily under the influence of alcohol. My poor, poor husband. After being interrogated, it was determined that my dance moves were just a little out of control and we were let off with the warning that I better not bust a move while I was driving.

Top Two Reasons why I (Rory) Want to Live in Alabama.

I think that the following two videos speak for themselves.

And here's just one more reason why if you weren't completely convinced!

Top Two Reasons Why I (Lauren) Will Never Live in Alabama

I think that the following two videos speak for themselves.







If you get a chance watch the remix

Night Owl

I'm used to having a husband around to help me take care of myself. I know that sounds juvenile, but sometimes I forget. I get so wrapped up in reading that I forget to do normal things... like eat or sleep. This week he is starting his job in D.C. and I'm helping the fam out in Chicago, which means my sleeping habits have gone completely, utterly AWOL. Ever since I can remember I've been a night owl. As soon as I could pick up a book, I spent my nights with a flashlight reading until the batteries ran out or I feel asleep mid sentence. Then one day I got married. Just in case you were unaware, married people go to bed by 9:30. My apartment complex was silent by 10:00. Sometimes you'd think I lived in a geriatric ward. I tried to comply to the married-therefore-I-am-now-old-and-boring social rules and go to bed early, but 12:30 was the absolute earliest it ever got. Poor Rory. Rory left two days ago and since then I've read three going on four books, and now that I qualify as married-therefore-I-am-now-old-and-boring I don't even have to use a flashlight:)

Secret to Student Teaching Success

It was last November that I confided to my mother-in-law that I desperately wanted a Hannah Montana lunchbox. If you want to know the truth, I have never seen the Hannah Montana show or any of the High School Musical movies. It was pure peer pressure. I was employed at an elementary school as an ESL teacher, and I just wanted to fit in. Every student had Hannah Montana notebooks, folders, backpacks, t-shirts and stretchy pants. Since stretchy pants aren't really my thing, I knew I was destined to own a Hannah Montana lunchbox. Several months later I received a package containing just that! At this point I was student teaching at Timberline Middle School and wasn't sure how the students would react to my new shiny pink lunchbox sporting a Disney Channel character. But since it's kinda 'cool for school' and since I've always been kinda a rebel (it would be completely appropriate to scoff here) I decided to bring it anyways. Let me tell you, word spread like wildfire. Señora Hekking has a Hannah Montana lunchbox. I went from regular old teacher to the cool kid on the block. Within no time students where asking me for lunchbox-fashion advice and what Disney characters would be the next big thing. Thanks Susan! You rock!

New Found Joy

Several weekends ago, Rory and I had the pleasure of heading to Laguna Beach for an all-expense paid vacay. Friday evening we flew into John Wayne airport. Yes, an airport named after a cowboy. That's how you know you are going to have a great weekend- although I was disappointed to find it completely devoid of cowboy decor and southern accents. Even more alarming was the fact that not a single soul greeted me with the ultimate cowboy platitude: "Howdy Partner". Our driver picked us up at the baggage claim and escorted us to an Escalade which brought us through the glitz and glamour of Orange County before arriving at our beachside hotel: The Montage. Now don't worry, we ain't jaded. Our driver had a keen sense of chic-ness and quick to sniff out our completely un-chic status as poor-married-college student. On the way to the hotel he was sure to point out the local Taco Bell. After the personal tour of our hotel room, I discovered my current obsession. A fountain pen. Ladies and gentlemen, if you have never scripted a sentence with a fountain pen, I urge you to go to your local chic hotel because they give them away for FREE! Unbelievable, I know. Fountain pens are the most choice writing utensils I have ever chanced to use. This certainly was an epiphanous weekend.

Farewell, My Friend

By Rory
Throughout my life I have had friends come and go, and all of them have touched my life in some way. Each one has filled a void that had not been filled before, nor been filled in the same way after. Yet about a week ago I lost a friend that filled a void so huge, it can never be replaced. The size of that void is 22,700. The BYU Marriott Center has done/been every single thing that I could ever ask for in a friend. We first met in 2004, and while I was excited to be friends, there were many difficult times. In fact only 6 out of the 14 times we hung out that first year of frienship did we end the night happy with each other. Yet, this friendship persisted and I was rewarded with countless nights ending with everyone singing "Celebrate". The Marriott Center and I were best friends.

Before I go on, I want to explain to you why this friendship means so much to me. All my life I have loved sports, both watching them and playing them. On the rare occasion that my family and I went to games, I always wanted to cheer, stand up, shout and yell. But our seats were in the old people's sections and I felt out of place. I watched with envy as the students cheered, screamed and yelled, hoping one day that I too could cheer on my team. That opportunity was given to me at the Marriott Center. I got to do all that I wanted to encourage my team, and not only was it not strange, it was accepted and encouraged. My lifelong dream was realized. The Marriott Center allowed me to finally express myself in ways that I had never been able to before.

Now some of you might be saying, Rory, you're ridiculous; or Rory, get a life. But let me ask you something: what makes a good friend? Did we spend time together? Yes. More than many outsiders think might have been healthy. Did we party together? Yes. Twice we won the MWC and got to watch Lee Cummard and others cut down the nets. Did we have sleepovers? Yes. How many people can say that they have had sleepovers with friends other than roommates since high school? The Marriott Center and I have. It is for that reason that I shed tears as I left the Marriott Center after the New Mexico heartbreaker. I had said goodbye to my friend for the last time as a student, and though we might be reunited in the future, I will have changed, the familiar faces we hung out with will be long gone, and all that we will have left in common will be the memories we shared together.