A Phlebotomist?

When people ask me what I want to do when I grow up, I deflect the question by saying that I 'will rule the world from the comfort of my living-room."
But occasionally, people want a real answer. I deflect AGAIN by saying what I consider myself to be good at (a long list, I assure you.)

With responses so obviously useless as the ones that I give, sometimes others discuss what they think I should do. These things can be funny, too.

For example. My mother and my Aunt were giving the subject much discussion. For my Aunt Nan, most suggested careers end up in the medical field.

I heard about the conversation later that night. Aunt Nan had decided that I should be a ...phlebotomist.
What does that mean? It's a person that draws blood. I almost passed out on my last experience with "phlebotomy." I had no idea what could have given her the idea that I would join the medical field.
I like Art. I like History. I like English. Medicine is the farthest from what I want to do.

"What would make Aunt Nan think that I would make a good. phlebotomist?"
And then it hit me. In a moment, the biggest pun ever came to my mind.

"It's because a phlebotomist draws blood. And I'm and artist."

Genius. And also, a little bit of inspiration.
For my work of the week.  

And so, I "drew" blood.

The Big 5-0

THIS   IS  THE

POST ON THIS BLOG!!!

... but not many people have had the extreme pleasure of seeing all of these posts. 

And so. I think that this blog has come a long way from it's humble beginnings six months ago. Perhaps it isn't what I originally intended, but it's pretty good. 

And so. To those who have been here since the beginning... thanks. I hope you have seen some improvement, and I hope you like it. 

To those who have joined part-way through, I hope you go back and read the ones you've missed. They are... entertaining at least. 

To those that are new... welcome. Read my old posts. 

To everyone. Keep up with the blog...

...or  don't. It's up to you.

Sea Glass.

I have been a VERY busy Girl. (See previous blog post.)
It was VERY late, and I didn't have a "work of the week" done yet.

My Mom thinks that I am among the most fascinating people upon the face of this Earth, and LOVES to read my blog posts over my shoulder as I am writing them. (This is partially why I have fewer spelling mistakes.)

I was telling her my dilemma, about how I have been religious about my "work or the week" up to this point, and was a little sad that I couldn't think of anything to count for it now.

"What about that necklace you made at Girls Camp?" my brilliant mother suggested, "That was artistic."

And so it is. This isn't a very good picture, because my camera is almost as tired as I am, and was "out-of-battery," but you get the idea.

And so... goodnight.

Only Boring People are Bored.

Some people get bored during the summer.

I used to envy them.

Mom always made us do swim lessons, and library programs, piano practice, and housework (especially lately). As a kid, I  resented that. Now I see the wisdom in it.

Back to the point. Some people get bored during the summer.

For some, summer has just begun. For me, I've already done more things in two-ish weeks than most people do in an entire summer vacation.

Here is a rather impressive list

I have gone down 10 rappels, one of them from a height of over 100 feet. I have hiked down paths so narrow and nearly non-existent that I had to maneuver like a dance. I held a butterfly, and rescued it from drowning. Because of my role as "guinea pig," I was the "most injured person" on the Fourth Year hike. I canoed, swam, and went off of a small slide on a platform in the middle of a lake. I saw several fearless, huge, and grotesque bugs. I designed a T-shirt. I listened to some firesides. I drove around Zions and the ADORABLE little towns on it's outskirts. I saw a tree covered in tennis shoes. I got home from the  fourth year hike.
I packed for EFY and Girls camp.
I took the Saint George Shuttle for the first time, and found out how easy it is to spot a Mormon. I journaled. I was dropped off at EFY, and found out that Utah Mormons are REALLY nice. EFY Counselors are funny, and a lot younger than I expected. I was part of the first (and probably only) group of combined "Stay-at-home" and "Over-night" EFY's. It was the first EFY with the new Medley (Apparently, the real one is facing copyright issues. Ridiculous). I met people from Texas. I met people from Utah. I met a LOT of Mormons. I attended a LOT of morning sides/fire sides/ devotionals. I was escorted by guys EVERYWHERE. I learned that there ARE good Mormon guys out there. There are a lot of artistic guys too. Everyone knows Dr. Who. I spent a LOT more time with Uncle LaMont than I have ever done before. He talked at me a lot, which was annoying at first, and then endearing. I tried out for, and got, a solo in the musical program. I lost my camera. I went to the EFY dance and danced EVERY slow dance ( a first, I assure you). I learned how to "two-step" with a Texan guy who is TALLER than I am. My camera was found by the Music Director, Paige. I learned how to spin and double spin, and two-step REALLY fast. I learned how to Waltz from a guy named Teancum (Only in Utah), who also used a pick-up line on me later in the week. (Another first. He came up to me in the middle of a group of people at a dance, handed be a packet of sugar, and said, "You dropped your name-tag." Was it cheesy? Yes, but it was awesome.) I was BLOWN AWAY at the Variety show, which-despite my desperate pleading- Eliza had refused to tryout with me for. I spent a lot of time hanging out on the lawn with Eliza and the awesome BCs, waiting for Uncle LaMont. I Hung out in a dorm with people who love Newsies and Disney almost as much as I do. I made a bunch of crazy connections with a girl named Charity. We were the guinea-pig group for the Musical Program, but everyone loved the tiny solo I had. Random people would say "Hi," and tell me that my voice was angelic. (And I'm not even exaggerating) I wore a LOT of Orange, which was a good conversation starter. I look good in orange, apparently. I wasn't afraid to ask guys to take pictures with me on the last day. I took down a lot of personal information, most of which I don't think I'll use. 
 I rode horses with Uncle LaMont. I found out that I am not good at ridding horses. I watched almost the entire first season of "Monk" (all but the last episode). I went to the Wedding reception of a relative I have never met. I visited with relatives I have met, and met one of the coolest guys ever, who just happens to be related to me. He is "my Canadian Cousin," and is an AMAZING photographer/ special effects guy.
I went home.
It was Fathers Day. I got my "honor bee." We had birthday cup-cakes (left-over from the reception), and I BARLEY blew out all of the candles in one breath. I left for Camp. It was my birthday. I did traffic control with Emily.I experienced technical difficulties. I got to tote around a walkie-talkie and have limited use of the four-wheeler. I was in charge, and able to bore the world with many a speech. I sang to trees. I made us sing more camp songs, and learn a few new ones. I journaled, limitedly. I conducted and announced and lead. I climbed the rock wall more in an hour than I had in my entire 5 previous years at camp. I sang more than I ever have before... which is, for me, a LOT. I went to bed early, and woke up tired. I listened to amazing speakers. I took down two tents in the time it took all the other girls to finish one. I gave a testimony, and listened to a LOT of them. I stared at the stars. I climbed a rope with lots of gear. I got THREE "Nothing Bunt Cakes."I gave out awards. I worked, and waited to leave. We packed up. We left. I helped Emily find her keys, she took me home. I SHOWERED. I went shopping. 


And then I did one of the most life-threatening things of the entire two weeks... I drove. ;)


I tried to clean out my room and pack up my camping stuff. 
I gave a talk in Church. I figured out pricing (ish) for personal swim lessons in my backyard. I went to the neighbors house and ate dinner with the missionaries, which was interesting, to say the least. I went to the camp fireside and was in over 35 pictures. I gave the closing prayer.
I came home and watched a movie.


My list just made Phineas and Ferb jealous.







What now? Work. I have NO IDEA what I am doing, but I start tomorrow at 9:00am. 
Wish me luck?

In the Eye of the Beholder.

Art is like beauty.

It is in the eye of the beholder.

 

My parents happen to have a "picture" mobile in their room. It was empty. 

It is Fathers Day.

I filled the mobile with colored halves of index card, saying different things I love about my Dad.

Each color repeats only twice. 

As fate would have it, I magically made the exact number of cards for the exact number of clips.

Without checking before-hand or anything.

Amazing.

Is it art?

Sure. Why not.

Anything Goes

I had to do this for Girls Camp. It is super-secret, so don't spread it around or post the pictures illicitly on-line.

But I spent a lot of time on it, and it is kind- of nice. So it counts.

PLEASE tell me you understand it.

A Dead Thing

Hair

It's a dead thing that hangs around your face.

Now, I just have less of it. 

 This is not the first time that I have cut my hair for charity... but this time it is shorter.

 The first snip is kind of a bitter-sweet experience. That's when you know that, even if you want to, you know that there is no turning back now.

 Shorter. I guess I'll get used to it.

Eliza was a weirdo and kept putting the hairdryer in my face. So this is what comes out of it.

Anyway, my hair will grow eventually, but it has been so long for so long...
I'm about to get philosophical on you guys.
I've been having a really hard time lately...
Cutting my hair was kind-of a symbol of me... letting it all go.
All that dead weight from whatever crap I've been going through,
Now it is gone.
I've been set free.




or something philosophical like that.

Point-less-ism

 This is my work of the week. It is also the last thing that I did in my art class. She told us to use Q-tips, regular paint, and called it Pointillism. I groaned inwardly. I cut down the size of paper she gave us, got out a few tiny paint brushes, and decided to do some real art. I am such a rebel.

This is the final product. I am rather fond of it. 

This is an "close up" of the ridiculous amount of dots even a small picture must have. 

For some reason, this one won't rotate, but I just wanted to give you guys a glimpse of what it it looks like from farther away.

I called it "Pointless-ism" when we were doing it in art, but I guess that doesn't fit anymore. I'll use it anyway.

As a side note, I think that I may have become slightly blinder while doing this project. Just cross your "eyes" and dot your T's.... and no one will know what you're talking about. ;)