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.

Why I need to marry a chef... or a dietitian.

Tonight I introduced vegetables into my diet and now I'm waiting to see how much damage this drastic change is going to do to my body.

Complete shock, perhaps?

I know my roommates were.

But more than likely I'll be spending my night suffering through cold sweats from sugar and carb withdrawals.

Here's the thing, it’s not that I don’t like vegetables; the fact is I love them. I’m actually not particular about food at all, I eat anything. So here’s why I've reduced my diet to cheap and easy to make items… I don't cook.

So you're probably wondering "what do you eat?"

Well it varies.

For a while there my dinner consisted of random things {graham crackers, marshmallows, peanut butter} I could find to dip in Nutella....I'm not kidding.

Other weeks I would eat the best cheap noodles Walmart could buy; basically, the things that make your insides want to be on your outsides.

Another thing I did was buy a box of 30 frozen corn dogs from Costco {only 8 dollars!} and Voilà, dinner for a month {By far the most brilliant food purchase ever}.

My biggest problem with cooking and eating healthy is I simply don't want to spend my hard earned cash on it. IT'S EXPENSIVE. Before college I had no idea how much money my mom wasted on feeding me a ‘nutritious meal’.

And for what?

So I would live an extra couple of years.

HA, I'd rather blow the extra cash on a Barnes and Noble purchase.

So what do I do when noodles, Nutella, and cereal just won’t cut it? Well I have now settled into a wonderfully inspired habit of eating in excess at parties. This fact has now labeled me as the sad girl who won't leave the snack table. Well people, it's not because I'm too shy to make friends, it's because I'm starving.....

I only hope that one day my body will forgive me for the last 21 years.

Picking the right song is essential....

Saturday’s are for homework…and everyone knows one can’t study without obscenely loud music playing in the background.

It kills me I can’t find this on itunes. This song combines the quirkiness of passion pit with the groovy vibe of the Jackson five. I am forever grateful to Forever 21 for playing this whilst I was perusing clothes I couldn’t afford. So listen and you’re welcome.

Pumped Up Kicks by Foster the People

I can’t pin point exactly why I love this song. Maybe it’s the catchy beat or interesting vocals, but more than likely it’s the disturbing lyrics. “All the other kids with the pumped up kicks better out run out run my gun....better run, run faster than my bullet.” You gotta love unexplained and irrational violence.

She (for liz)

I got tickets to a Parachute concert and I’m in prep mode for the next month. Those tickets and the songs set me back groceries for the next 2 weeks, but it’s going to be totally worth it.

Before the Worst by the Script…I love this band. L.O.V.E

Every once in a while I throw in a song from a movie soundtrack and then just hit replay for a while.

Here are my top 3

River waltz from The painted veil - a sad movie that at one point makes you question if her husband is actually trying to kill her for having an affair. No worries though, they do fall in love, but then a disease turns him blue and eventually kills him. And even though she has a child with a man who is not her husband she still names the little boy after her dead husband and doesn't go back to her ex-lover {reminder: never use the word ‘lover’ on the blog again} awww how romantic....

503 from Angels and Demons {this is now the alarm I wake up to}

Discombobulate from Sherlock Holmes {brilliant, can’t wait for the sequel}

Keep Your Head Up by Andy Grammer….this is the rope of sanity pulling me up from the pit of despair.

After that I throw in some Adele and call it quits.

Sensibility vs. Irrationality

So you're probably all wondering "where has Lora gone. Has BYU actually killed her?"

Here's the answer, no, but not for lack of trying.

I am currently lying in my bed - blankets piled high, iPod playing, cup of hot chocolate within grasp - in a staring contest with a wall of text books aligned on the far side of my room.

I often find myself in this position: unblinking, staring into the vast wasteland of homework.

This is a time for self-pity. A time where I rethink the direction my life has taken. But more often than not, it is a time where my mind divides into two different beings: sensible Lora who wants all A’s and sees the need for showers; and irrational Lora, the snide, lazy Lora that will do anything for a nap and a cookie.

Sensible Lora: "It's going to be ok, there's probably only 4 hours of reading over there."

Irrational Lora: “I'd rather cut my hair into an unattractive bob"

Sensible Lora: "You chose to be an English major"

Irrational Lora: "Ya because I liked books like Les Miserables and Harry Potter, I have yet to encounter either. I've had plenty of Beowulf and Chaucer, but not a drop of Wilde."

Sensible Lora: "Think of all the authors and books you've found along the way; Emerson, Rossetti, Bronte."

Irrational Lora: "Wow, I think I've just pinpointed why we don’t get out much."

Sensible Lora: “At least read Shakespeare, you love Shakespeare.”

Irrational Lora: “Not if it’s forced! I wouldn’t love a cookie if someone was jamming it down my throat.”

Sensible Lora: “hmmm that’s debatable…"

As you can see the argument is ongoing with no resolution in sight. Sure there are small victories here and there: homework on occasion is finished in a timely matter, but all too often I can be found napping, having fun, or reading books that are not part of the curriculum.

Tonight's form of procrastination is this blog and you are all accomplices to the failing of my life.

Maybe I’ll get up the energy to read Wordsworth, or maybe I’ll go get some frozen yogurt, but most likely I will keep staring at those sadistic jeering books, willing them out of existence.

BYU Round Two

I can't believe It's been a year since I started at BYU. I remember last year at this time I came up a week early nervous for, well, everything.

That weekend my brothers gave me a tour around campus and if I remember correctly at one point Adam, in an attempt to recreate a normal day in the shuffle of BYU student body, called me a whore while he pushed and shoved me around....good times.

I'm proud to tell you BYU campus is not at all like Adam promised it would be.

That Monday Kyle {the slightly more helpful brother} had me meet him on campus because he was going to get me a job. Of course I wore heels and by the time I trekked it up to Campus my shoes had rubbed my feet raw {see post below for why shoes hate me so much}. After hours of begging for a job I ditched my shoes for the sweet relief of bare feet and to my great chagrin I discovered the sidewalks were boiling hot. By the time I got home my feet had sustained third degree burns that were birthing giant blisters {O you better believe I have a right to be dramatic}.

The rest of the week was spent hobbling around shopping for food, clothes, and furniture while trying desperately to make the most of my last days of freedom.

I distinctly remember how scared I was to be up here and now instead of feeling fear for the unknown I fully understand what I will be put through. I know exactly how much my classes will challenge me and in a weird way I'm more scared for this year than I was then.

BYU pushes you to your limits, but the interesting thing is it also shows you how much you are capable of. I have never felt more inadequate or more accomplished than during my time spent on this campus. It's given me my highest highs and my lowest lows and I am oddly grateful.

Those highs were worth it.

So today, when the thought of school turns me into a jittery insomniac with a vanishing appetite, I dig myself out of a nervous breakdown by remembering how this semester will be different.

I won't be working weekends or late hours.
I already have a solid foundation of amazing friends from this past year.
And most importantly I now know which flavors at the BYU creamery are my favorite.

I have high hopes for this semester, it won't be easy, but it will be worth it.

I'd Rather Be Barefoot....

Shoes are the silent killers.

I don't know if you've ever taken a gander at my feet, but they are simply atrocious. Here's a picturesque description; utterly flat, slightly vainy, lanky toes, and giant bunions....gross eh. I sure didn't win the gene pool lottery with these ugly whoopers.



{Mine are on the right}

I remember my mom even told me to never show a guy my feet because, apparently, that would be reason enough to dump me. Point taken, what guy would want to pass this gene onto their children {I avoid guys with lazy eyes for the same reason}.

Needless to say shoes are like the oil to my feets water and although I've been aware shoes resistance to handle my feet with care I had no idea shoes hate ran so deep. After many years of growing suspicion, I finally uncovered the secret plot of all shoes to destroy their ugliness. And in complete and utter betrayal my very own shoes have followed suit and conspired to kill off my poor feet.

Every shoe's job has been discovered; flats are over the smashing of my bunions {Should a lady ever mention the word bunions in relation to herself...probably not sigh}to the point of nonrecognition, flip flops supervise the digging of tiny straps into the bony tops of my feet, and heals have full control over punishing my feet for never being built to arch.

The sad thing is I keep buying different shoes in hopes that one day a pair will take pity on my Quasimodo feet. And on that day I won't have to fight the common urge to strip barefoot and scamper across campus as a free woman.

But today is not that day and so, just like the many days before it, my feet are aching and there's nothing I can do about it.

Anyone up for giving me a foot massage :)

...ya I wouldn't do it either.

Being a Lora

Something terrible has happened.

This Sunday I was in Relief Society and they started introducing the new girls and…gulp…there are now three more Lora’s in my ward.

Maybe you’re not so great at math but that is a total of four Lora’s.

I have never had this happen before.

On rare occasions I have met a Lora or two BUT NEVER THREE.

Where's the originality parents? Huh, how bout naming your girls things like Ava or Scarlet. There are no Ava's or Scarlet's in my ward. None.

One of these Lora's even had the audacity to have curly hair. Just who does she think she is? Curly hair is my territory. Thank goodness she was short or we would have had a throw down at ward prayer.

I bet they spell it Laura….lame.

Anyone can be a Laura, but it takes hard work being Lora, nae, it is quite an impossible task for the average human.

Being a Lora means being able to replace a nutritious diet with chocolate and still feel great. It means being able to read a book in a day simply because you can’t stand the thought of abandoning the story midway through. It means being so addicted to music you find it hard to walk without its constant flow. It means using laughter to express a full range of emotions; in Lora-land there is no difference between worry or rile, all is consumed with laughter. Ultimately, being a Lora means doing stupid things because you haven’t quite grasped how to be normal.

I almost feel bad for these other Laura’s because they’ll never get to be a Lora….but really who would wish it on them, it’s exhausting.

Why Wild Times?

A friend was reading my blog and he asked why I name the blog "Wild Times at BYU."

Here's the answer....I have no idea.

I never really thought it through. I needed a title when I started this shindig at EA and now I've gotten lazy and will probably always keep the title wild times and add things like....

Wild Times as a Spinster

Wild Times Stalking James Marsden

Wild Times Living With My Mom (That's right Mom, if this whole dating thing doesn't pan out we're going to be roomies again!)

I know I should come up with a title that's cute, witty, and makes you think (you know, something real philosophical and whatnot), but I kind of like wild times and the variety it offers me.

So just like that tattoo I got, I will continue on living with the impulsive decisions of 19 year old me.

(Kidding about the sweet tat MOM, but not about the living with you, bank on that)

Doppleganger's

For some strange reason people think I look like...well everybody.

Marisa Brown and I have been told on several occasions that we look like sisters. I can kind of see where they're going with this: tall, brunette, lacking in deformities. But the funniest comment came from our Hawaiian friends who thought we were identical twins and sometimes it was hard for them to tell us apart.....okay, have they not seen the furry animal currently residing on my head, that should distinguish me from the greater portion of the population.

Sandra Bullock: This is the most bizarre and untrue. Though it did up this girls status from
friend to best friend instantly.

Natalie Portman: I've had two girls say randomly I look like Natalie Portman. This makes me feel bad for Natalie Portman.....

Jessica Alba: This semester I was at a dance and this girl came up to me and said. "Do you know the first time I saw you I thought, she looks just like Jessica Alba." I really don't think this source counts because A). she was foreign and B) she was foreign.

Bella Swan: This is the strangest one I've ever gotten and it's happened twice. I've been told that I look like Bella Swan...not Kirsten Stuart, Bella Swan. I didn't even know it was possible to look like a fictional character...

Julia Roberts: Anna Herring has been convinced since we were little kids that I look like Julia Roberts. I'm convinced the only connection I have to this star is I am currently sporting her 80's do.


Alexis Vega: This is the one that bothers me the most. A girl from my last ward was positive that I looked just like that girl off of spy kids....I've never been so offended.

Emmy Rossum: But the one comment I hear all the time is "You look just like that girl off that one movie"
Me: "Phantom of the Opera"
Them: "ya"
Me:

This one is my favorite because I get to do things like convince my nieces and nephews that I am the girl off Phantom of the Opera and that's why they haven't seen me for so long (college shmollege). Though Nicholas is skeptical, I have Audrey and Sarah in the bag.

Ok, I've saved the best for last. A week ago I was visiting Kelly and I met a guy at her apartment. After I left the guy was asking Kelly who her friend was, you know the African American girl standing in the corner..

O come on, there is no way I look African American. When Kelly asked if it was because of my hair he said no.

I guess I just have one of those faces....