Fort, Sweet Fort

When I was younger I made forts. Not tree forts or bush forts – I left those up to my brothers whose trusty hands were more agile at wielding a hammer and saw– no, I built blanket forts. I built them in various places: my bedroom, around the pool table, in my 6th grade class….

These forts had three purposes: a nifty reading space, a nonjudgmental eating area, and awesomeness. Well two weekends ago my roommates and I were in the mood for reading, eating, and awesomeness. Our inspiration for the architecture was a mix between the inside of a genie’s lamp and an ancient concubine’s living space.

So how did this idea come to fruition, well I’ll tell you. Friday found us without plans and with an unquenchable desire to lounge. For each of us could not remember the last time we were left to read, to relax, and to be.

And so the fort came into existence. A place where problems were checked at the silky fold and we entered into a relaxing reality overflowing with desserts and literature…ok we also had what could be defined as the dumbest action movie courtesy of one Taylor Lautner.

What was a fun adventure for a lonely Friday night turned into a four day state of being. We sacrificed parties, homework, and hygiene, but by golly we were happy. We were happy.

But this way of life could not exist in the real world. Reality pushed against the blankets whispering “you’re going to fail your classes” “you should really be on a date” and “you should take that movie back before you get charged for late fees…” We ignored the whispers for as long as possible and then we gave in and the fort came down. Here are some photo's before the demolition.

The entrance to The Fort and yes, that is a fish tank and yes, I still haven't gotten over my fear of fish...

The ceiling: as you can see we have utilized our chandelier and it has proven a useful tool in keeping the walls up.

I wish there was a picture of the fort before we slept in it...it got o so messy after the first night.

Now whenever we think back on the fort we let out a blissful sigh and say in hushed reverent tones“oh fort, sweet fort.” Our fort was more than a child’s game, it was a way of life. We slept and read and lived and laughed within those cotton walls and we will forever be grateful for the time spent within them. Long live our fort.

Just a little something I found...

Date a Girl Who Reads
by Rosemarie Urquico
{with minor changes by Lora Patterson}

Date a girl who reads. Date a girl who spends her money on books instead of clothes. She has problems with closet space because she has too many books. Date a girl who has a list of books she wants to read, who has had a library card since she was eight.

Find a girl who reads. You’ll know that she does because she will always have an unread book in her bag. She’s the one lovingly looking over the shelves in the bookstore, the one who quietly cries out when she finds the book she wants. You see the weird chick sniffing the pages of an old book in a second hand book shop? That’s the reader. They can never resist smelling the pages, especially when they are yellow.

She’s the girl reading while waiting in that coffee shop down the street. If you take a peek at her cup of caramel apple spice, the caramel is floating on top because she’s kind of engrossed already. Lost in a world of the author’s making. Sit down. She might give you a glare, as most girls who read do not like to be interrupted. Ask her if she likes the book.

Buy her another cup.

Let her know what you really think of The Picture of Dorian Grey. See if she got through the first chapter of Fellowship. Understand that if she says she understood James Joyce’s Ulysses she’s just saying that to sound intelligent. Ask her if she loves Alice or she would like to be Alice.

It’s easy to date a girl who reads. Give her books for her birthday, for Christmas, and for anniversaries. Give her the gift of words, in poetry, in prose. Give her Shakespeare, Hugo, Austen, Wilde, Lewis. Let her know that you understand that words are love. Understand that she knows the difference between books and reality but she’s going to try to make her life a little like her favorite book. It will never be your fault if she does. She has to give it a shot somehow.

Lie to her. If she understands syntax, she will understand your need to lie. Behind words are other things: motivation, value, nuance, dialogue. It will not be the end of the world.
Fail her. Because a girl who reads knows that failure always leads up to the climax. Because girls who understand that all things will come to end. That you can always write a sequel. That you can begin again and again and still be the hero. That life is meant to have a villain or two.

Why be frightened of everything that you are not? Girls who read understand that people, like characters, develop. Except in the Twilight series.

If you find a girl who reads, keep her close. When you find her up at 2 AM clutching Harry Potter to her chest and weeping, make her chocolate milk. You may lose her for a couple of hours but she will always come back to you. She’ll talk as if the characters in the book are real, because for a while, they always are.

You will propose on a hot air balloon. Or in Italy on a Gondola ride. Or very casually next time she’s sick. Over Skype.

You will smile so hard you will wonder why your heart hasn’t burst and bled out all over your chest yet. You will write the story of your lives, have kids with strange names and even stranger tastes. She will introduce your children to Roald Dahl and Aslan, maybe in the same day. You will walk the winters of your old age together and she will recite Emerson under her breath while you shake the snow off your boots.

Date a girl who reads because you deserve it. You deserve a girl who can give you the most colorful life imaginable. If you can only give her monotony, and stale hours and half-baked proposals, then you’re better off alone. If you want the world and the worlds beyond it, date a girl who reads.

Or better yet, date a girl who writes.

Although this is far from a ploy to get me married, you do have to admit it presents my attributes impeccably.... kidding of course. But it should be incentive for all to pick up a book and get to it!

Happy Thursday!

Face transplants can't be that expensive...right?

Do you remember that time that one guy thought I was African American {click here}...well things have taken a turn for the specific. Instead of being just any African American girl, I apparently resemble Tyra Banks. This is an offense of the highest order. I loath Tyra Banks.

Entirely

Here are seeds from which my disdain for her has sprouted.

1. I personally think she is the most obnoxious person on TV, and that's saying a lot when you have people like Spencer and Heidi out there. While watching ANTM, I actually have to fast forward all scenes involving just to make it bearable. This inevitable reduced the show from 42 minutes to 13.

2. Her talk show...

3. Her affinity for jumpsuits ultimately leading to more people thinking it's ok to don them.

As you can see this doppelganger predicament is devastating, especially since the boy who thinks I look like her has taken it upon himself to show random people her picture then mine just to prove how uncanny this whole situation is. This fact has led me to investigate for myself and after a maddening 2 minute search to see where this resemblance may lie, I found these and it all made sense. We're basically twiners....

It's eerie right!? {I'm the one on the bottom...}

There are no words to describe my devastation so I borrow those of my favorite author of October, "at the time of writing this sad relation, I am throned in a broken chair, within an inch of a thundercloud." That basically says it all....

To all those who have kept this truth from me, the sham is up. I now know my greatest fear has come true and I bid you all adieu.

You Make My Dreams Come True

Having a bad day? Having a good day that you want to make exponentially better? Well give this little beaut a listen.

So why did Hall & Oates “You Make My Dreams” make it on the blog? Well It’s not because I spent a great deal of my Friday night and my friends Friday night playing the best of Hall and Oates muttering ‘who knew’ over and over again.

And it’s not because I woke up Saturday morning, instantly turned it on, and selected replay for the next couple of hours. {I’m pretty sure my roommates loved it…pretty sure}

No, the reason this song makes the blog is because of what happened Saturday afternoon. This Saturday I decided that instead of doing homework I was going to Barnes and Noble, my happy place. The one place where I can plunge shoulder deep into my eternal love of books and in the midst of this love be wrapped up in the divine smells of fresh coffee and new books. BUT there was one problem....

In order to go to Barnes and Noble I had to leave my song behind. See I don’t have and ipod connecter in my car and I didn’t have a cd to burn the song to. Alas, I was going to have to abandon one love for another.

When I got in my car I started thinking how magnificent that song was and how disturbing my love for it had become. Then I made a simple wish, “I wish I could listen to it now.” So I twisted my radio button and bam “you make my dreams come true” came bursting out of my stereo. Bursting. The lyrics were right, this song made my dream come true. And that is why a song made it on the blog.

And no shouting my love for this song of the rooftops of my blog is not my clever way of telling the world I’m in l.o.v.e. In fact, the internet will be the last person who finds out. Mostly because we had a brief fling in 08 and ever since things have been AWKward.

2012!

One of my favorite things in this world is quotes. I have no idea why, but for some reason a well written quote just tickles my fancy. I guess it stems from the fact that I love finding a more articulate person who thinks the same way I do, but has a significantly better way of expresssing themselves. Anyhoo, enough quote talk, the point of my mindless chatter is to say I have found the quote for this Winter semester. After attending my classes and realizing exactly what I got myself into I do believe this will be my new motto...

"In the midst of winter, I found there was, within me, an invincible summer" -Albert Camus

So here's hoping I can find summer in the day to day....and faith that winter can't last forever, even if I do live in Provo.

I am Legend meets Contagion

It’s Christmas time! Soon our houses will be filled with brothers, sisters, grandkids, and anyone else who can fit. During the celebrations, these houses become breeding grounds for sicknesses of all kinds and before long one cough becomes thousands and soon all sounds are drowned in their roar. Most people get over their cold quickly. A sniffle on Monday, a cough on Tuesday, a slight fever throughout, but by Wednesday all are a picture of health.

Not me.

My body goes around collecting sicknesses. First colds, then ear-aches, soon even stomach flu detains me from everything holy that is this holiday. And so it has been my entire life.

But not this year: No.

This year I was determined to rise above my defective immune system. Little did I know how hard this would be. Little did I know sickness had infected every corner of our house leaving few, if any survivors.

It’s Friday, two days till Christmas and I am writing you from ground zero. I’m currently hiding out in the ‘no no room’ so named for containing all things of extreme value, namely; priceless crystal and china, our baby grand piano, and the coveted Christmas tree. These items assure that the room is kept safe from intruders. How do we do this? Not by an intricate overlay of deathly laser beams, but by crisp vacuumed carpet lines. Every hour mom vacuums back and forth until perfection is attained. Perfection that can correctly identify all intruders by their unmistakable foot size and path of footprints through the room. So far it’s the only place that’s safe. Kids are scarce here and so the sickness stays at bay, waiting for me to leave. I’ve brought a book with me, but heaven only knows how long that will hold me.

This week the house has been a battle zone with the epidemic starting over the weekend when Nicholas didn’t feel well. By Sunday Audrey had fallen in its path taking with her seven others. So far the count is nine sick, three healthy. I’m one of the last. I try to stand strong, but even I know the odds aren’t good.

Tuesday, five days till Christmas: The house is now filled with sniffles and sneezes. No corner is safe. I try my best to blockade my room at night. So far Madilyn, Cara, and I are the only ones who have to succumb. But only time will tell: only time will tell.

Wednesday, four days till Christmas: I’ve started raiding the cabinets for vitamins. Mom’s upset the airborne is almost gone so we’ve started rationing it. I’ve already taken my dose for the day, but I fear the night.

Thursday, three days till Christmas: Madilyn started to sniffle today, I’m toying with the idea of kicking her out of my bed tonight. Adam decided to build a fire. We now sit in a furnace. Does no one realize heat breads bacteria? If I had it my way we would be putting ice blocks in the furnace, anything to kill this joy threatening disease. Jill just got home, which raises the healthy count to four. I just pray that number can hold.

Friday, two days till Christmas:I let Madilyn stay in the bed last night; I woke up with a sore throat. I regret that decision immensely. I snuck into the kitchen and did a double shot of airborne. My only hope is that it will be enough. This afternoon I found mom’s hidden stash of emergence c. I combined two packets with my daily dose of airborne in hopes that it can feed the insatiable appetite the illness growing in my body demands.

Later Friday,we're closing in on Christmas: The illness has spread from my throat to my nose and now my body is consumed. This is my new best friend.

Saturday, one day till Christmas: I’m sick and the healthy count is down to zero. My hopes for health have been dashed and now I enter into a comatose existence provided by a cocktail of drugs, vitamins, and coca-cola. Cross your fingers that I remember the next 24 hours.

Merry Christmas!

I'm ALIVE!

This basically sums up finals for me.

So how did I survive finals week?

Well it all comes down to the life preserving laughter received from these little gems I found on the internet.

First, BYU's testing center has a camera filming live footage of the line entering the main testing room. For some, this is a helpful means to check how long the lines are and determine how long they will have to wait in said line. For me this provides moments of immense entertainment as a periodically peaked in on those poor souls throughout the week. I don't know why this amuses me so, but watching the frustrated, desperate, anxious, sleep-deprived, plight of the average BYU college student has became my obsession this week. Just take a gander for yourself.

Second, if you haven't got my emails or checked out my link's on facebook then you've missed out on this blog post. At this very moment intense laughter awaits you at the touch of a button. This button. Click away my friend, but beware, the fit of giggles you are about to enjoy will most likely leave you with intense stomach pains. If you have read this, re-read it. Trust me, it just keeps getting better and better.

Here's a little preview. It just kills me every time I look at it. Anyhoo....


Third, there's pinterest. Beloved pinterest: filled with crafts I will never do, food I will never cook, clothes I can't afford, and hair styles physically impossible for my curls to perform. The best part of this site is the sayings and pictures it provides. For example:

If my phone could do this I would have sent you all whales on a daily basis. Be grateful.
This picture explains why I chose to run in sketchy neighborhoods.... at dusk....in dark clothes...all summer long. I was determined to have my awkward running/walking/panting seen by no one. It wasn't until I pointed out my running trail to my roommate and she said "I can't believe you haven't been raped yet," that I rethought this whole running thing...and no, running in a safer well lit neighborhood was not an option.

I have literally been waiting forever for someone to say "the more the merrier" just so I can answer with this response.

Caption not required.

So finals are over and I have officially survived three semester of BYU. Now I'm mentally preparing for two and a half glorious weeks filled with nothing but Christmas magic.

The Facts About ASL

Little known fact {well, unless you know me...} I am in my third semester of American sign language. Yes, that’s right I sign. While in sign I have learned a very important fact and by 'learn' I mean this fact have been shoved down my throat {or would it be hands?} since my first day of class.

Sign language is better that English

After learning this fact I have come to the conclusion that deaf people think a lot about themselves and their language. They get away with such strong ideas because no one has any idea what they’re saying.

Here's a fact I came up with...Lora struggles with paying attention during sign language. In fact I have gotten in the horrid habit of texting during class. Awful. But in my defense if I didn’t text I would most certainly fall asleep.

Picture you this: it’s three in the afternoon, you’re in a classroom that is completely silent, you’re warm - but not too warm - in fact you are the perfect temperature…maybe even a little too perfect.

A comatose existence lingers on the horizon waiting to envelop you. You fight if off for as long as humanly possible and then you give in. You give in to the sleepiness tempting you with its promises of soothing relief from your o so busy schedule. And heaven help you, you dose off.

Then in the middle of a perfect daydream you have a deaf person yell at you...

This is possibly the most terrifying thing that can happen to you and once it does you will do most anything to avoid it…so I text.

That’s not to say the teacher approves, in fact the last girl who was caught texting had the following conversation with the teacher.

Teacher: "Are you texting? I will kill you."

Student:

The convo was a bit one sided don’t you think?

For some odd reason deaf threats via hand gestures is a lot more petrifying than the spoken word. Insert the value of my ability to be above average sneaky while texting. AAS {wow some things shouldn’t be made into acronyms}

But I do listen, for instance the day the teacher signed about getting thrown in jail for being mistaken as a prostitute, ya you can bet I caught ever word.

Though I have to admit sometimes texting blows up in my face.

For instance: the day we talked about camels. I saw the sign for camels I looked down to read a text from Danica, and when I looked back up I caught the teachers gaze and in a moment of sheer panic I nodded. I was then asked about camels and I said “yes I know the sign for camels” and I demonstrated the sign.

She then asked me about the various ways one can get on a camel. I told her I did not posses that knowledge having never actually been around camels. After that she went on a rampage of signs where she called me a liar and said several others things I’m sure I should probably know by now. Unbeknownst to me, my nod meant that I agreed to being an expert camel rider. This leads me to fact number 3 of this post: be careful when you move your head in signs, it is far better to sit still and let the teacher think you are an imbecile.

I also have to say the tests have been interesting. I don’t want to get into too many details since this is already a long post, but I leave you with one thing. One should be careful how you sign riding a horse. Apparently, failure to do it correctly will result in you being laughed out of a test.

P.S I feel I should clarify that although this post makes it seem like I don’t like my teacher the reality is I think she is fantastic. Anyone who employs death threats to maintain class order has made an admirer out of me.

Parachute!

According to my family the blog has become quite depressing {not their actual words, but when your sister calls after reading it to make sure your not suicidal you start putting two and two together}.

In order to become less emo, I’m about to go full on rainbow, sparkles, and moonshine. Prepare to have sunshine thrown in your face!

This weekend Anna and I got tickets to PARACHUTE!

For those of you that have never experienced happiness {a.k.a. Parachute} here is a definition:

Parachute: noun. Five fantastic men that wow with their magnificent lyrics, catchy beats and powerful love songs.... plus the lead singer is to die for. Their music can most commonly be heard blasting from Lora Patterson’s bedroom. Her favorite songs are She (for liz), She is Love, What I know, Forever and Always and many more.

Friday finds me in a car on route to Salt Lake with Ms. Anna, music blasting, chocolate everywhere.

We arrive on location to find that the concert is in fact 100 people in a sketch bar in downtown Salt Lake. Upon entering we are pleasantly surprised to see that we are only mere yards from the stage.

Then the magic started

The opening act was Kate Voegle. Decent, but not Parachute.

She ends and the moment we’ve been waiting for is only minutes away and Anna and I wanted more than anything to get closer to the stage and meet up with Anna’s friends.

We slide through the crowd until we come upon that one weirdi guy that has been full blown dancing and singing to all of Kate’s songs…clearly not the most ideal location.

As we are deciding our best plan for getting to her friends said weirdi starts to be rather rude and even says some…um...unpleasant things about us to his friend. I really can’t explain what came over me, maybe I’ve finally inherited my mother’s spunk, but I decided to have a little chat with this fellow.

I simply told him he and I both knew I could hear his conversation and perhaps it would be easier if he just addressed me. I then told him there was no need for such language and that he should cease his jerky behavior. Then Anna and I went back to the concert.

And then they came in and the crowd went wild.

For the next two hours Anna and I were entranced, they were....brilliant.

Dreams really do come true.

The concert came quickly to an end because the drag queens needed the space for their costume party... I’m not kidding, the night just kept getting better and better.

On our way home Anna and I just kept smiling and silently wondering if we would ever recover fully functioning ear drums again.

The Neon Clad Tyrant

After the fiasco that ensued the last time I wrote about a boy I have firmly decided to never write about this gender ever again. But alas I have come in contact with what could possibly be the most obnoxious boy to ever grace a literature class. And now I find it hard not to compose scathing reviews of his very character and choice of clothes while suffering through his pompous banter. {ya I wrote this during class... you would to if you were reading Christabel for the 3rd time!}

He is a neon clad tyrant who sits high in his corner seat waiting to swoop in and save us from our failed attempts to glean personal truths from the text. Then he deems to enlighten us to his 'correct' way of thinking with his pointless and condescending opinions. Heaven forbid the nice lady {she's over 40 so I can call her this} dare comment without receiving an eye roll accompanied by an audible sigh.

He even has the audacity to go full on tool with the teacher {nothing bothers me more than someone being disrespectful to a teacher}. Example;


Teacher: Neon Clad Tyrant, why do you believe that really dumb thing you just said {this may or may not be what he actually said...but it's close}


NCT: It's self explanatory {gasp} {eye roll} is there really any point to me explaining it. {EXACTLY what he did}


He even was foolish enough to pull that with me. Here's what happened, the teacher told us to divide into groups and discuss our papers. I unfortunately sat too close to the NCT and was roped into his group. When I asked the NCT about his paper he looked at me, looked back at his papers, started rubbing his ever-rolling-eyes in frustration, looked back at his paper and physically turned away from me.


To which I responded by laughing and laughing and laughing {I have come to learn that nothing annoys an arrogant boy more than laughing at him}.


Now on to his clothes. His colors of choice have a running theme of random, bright, madness. Who ever thought to pair neon yellow pants with red socks and purple shoes had to be deeply intoxicated. Where do you even find these clothes {perhaps the men's section of Forever 21}. Each outfit is more disturbing than the last and makes me question his right to criticize other peoples opinions while his ability to choose a wardrobe is so obviously lacking.


So what makes me so brazen to post about his boy without fear that he will find out. Three reasons:


1. I'm positive we have no friends in common. There is no way on this green earth that any friend of mine would associate with this fiend.


2. He would never lower himself to read the rif raf that is this blog.


3. I kind of hope he does read this. Maybe it will make him reconsider his life choices; namely his choices to be rude, intolerant, and ill-dressed.