Fluffy Slippers and a Rubik's Cube

There is so much to tell, and I have all sorts of great posts stored up in my head, but the events of last night are simply too good to deny you the pleasure of reading for even one day.

As many of you know (and if you don't know, then shame on you for not knowing every little detail of my rather pathetic life) I am a little bit addicted to the television show Bones. It is an incredible show and I will do almost anything to ensure that I get to see it. My apartment complex actually supplies televisions and cable to every apartment which is wonderful except that for some reason the cable in my apartment refuses to let me watch the basic channels including FOX. I almost had a heart attack when I moved in and I discovered that I might not be able to see my most favorite of all shows. (Obviously this near-death experience was not enough to get me off my lazy butt to actually do something about getting my cable fixed but that is a story for a different time.) SO, my roommates from last year are still living at the same apartment complex and instead of a blue screen with a no signal sign they at least get an image. This really isn't saying much though because the entire time you try to watch the show the picture is bouncing around and cycling past the screen but at least it is something. (We tried calling some people the first week of classes to use their TV- and although we were successful it was a very uncomfortable situation - hey, do you mind if I use you for your TV for an hour?)

So last night at about 6:45 I ran up to 430 to go enjoy my show with my old roommates. The show was awesome! (Even with the slightly nauseating effect of the bouncing picture) After the show I stuck around to talk to my old roommates for a while and we had a good time dishing and re-living good times. About halfway through all the fun I realized that in my rush to see my show I forgot to take my keys upstairs with me. In the past this wasn't usually a problem because even if one of my roommates left, there were two others that could let me in. And more-often than not we left in pairs or groups and one of us had keys so it wasn't that big of a deal if one person forgot to grab theirs. I realized that there was a good possibility that my one and only roommate had left and that I would be locked out, but even then I wasn't too worried because there is a lock out number we can call after-hours and the first time is free.

I decided to check my apartment first and when I got there the door was, in fact, locked and my roommate was nowhere to be found. I then tried calling her cell phone but she didn't answer. That's alright, I still have the complex lock out number I can call. I go down to the front office figuring it would be a good place to post the number and EUREKA there it was.

To set the stage: when I first moved in I had to go to an orientation where they told us about two numbers, the lock out number and the emergency number. They are apparently very serious about their emergency number and will fine you something like $50 for calling the emergency number when there is no emergency.

Needless to say, I was very careful when I dialed the lock out number. I must have triple checked just to be sure (I can get a little paranoid) and I finally hit send (luckily I actually had my phone with me when I left the apartment). So I'm standing there, in my fluffy slippers wandering about the main lobby trying to look casual as I wait for someone to pick up on the other end. It just keeps ringing until it finally sends me to an answering machine. I ask you: how the heck is an answering machine supposed to unlock my door? Then, the message starts to play: "if this is a medical or other life-threatening emergency please call 911..." that's all I heard before I quickly hung up the phone hoping against hope that they wouldn't know it was me that called (now we just have to hope that none of them read this...). I'm freaked out 'cause I checked that number about five times and I was sure that I called the right one and then the irritation slowly sets in... There are two possible scenarios here:
1.) I called the correct number and instead of being connected to someone that could let me in to my apartment I was sent to an answering machine with a deceptive message and scared the tar out of me OR
2.) they had the wrong number written and I somehow called the emergency hot-line. In which
case, they really know how to show they care about their residents: "we take this hot-line seriously" - now please wait while we send you to our automated answering service which will tell you to call someone else.

Any way you look at it, I am still locked out of my apartment wandering around like a loser not only in my fluffy slippers but also carrying my Rubik's cube which I had taken over to play with during the show. I quickly tried to disappear and went as fast as I could (while still looking completely casual) back to my old roommate's apartment where one of the girls gave me a number that she had used the year before when she locked herself out. After my most recent experience making a phone call I wasn't extremely eager to make another and so I convinced McKenzie to call for me (yes, I'm lame, I know). She calls the number and BEHOLD the person no longer works here. She did say that if I went and knocked on the door of apartment 113 there would be someone there that could let me in.

I'm starting to get a little worried because I have no idea where my roommate is and how long she will be gone and I'm really not sure this new plan will work out any better than the others but I set off once again into the courtyard (with the fluffy slippers and the Rubik's cube - don't forget) and knock casually on the door of apartment 113. No answer! No big shocker there! After standing around just long enough to feel sufficiently stupid I decide that I will just have to wait it out and hope that my roomie will get home soon to let me in.

In the meantime I decide to call my mom to tell her about my pathetic evening. My wonderfully sympathetic and caring mother almost immediately starts to laugh at my misfortune. But before she can enjoy herself too fully I have an incoming call from my roomie! I immediately hung up on my mother and my roommate told me she had just returned to the apartment and that she would leave the door unlocked. Don't you just love a happy ending? I was still fuming a bit (it WAS a rather annoying situation) so I went in, grabbed my keys and I stalked off into the night to finish telling my mom the story. She, of course, thought the whole thing was hilarious and since I now had my keys even I was beginning to see the humor of the situation. I woke this morning wishing that I could have been watching the whole thing unfold. I'm pretty sure the movie of my life is going to be pretty comparable to one of those daytime comedies where the main character ends up in some uncomfortable, awkward or ridiculous situation in every episode.

To help you get the full effect I've decided to include these images:
















My fluffy slippers....

and


Me with the Rubik's Cube. At least I can make cool patterns with it right?

Excitement Excitement!

I know that you are all dying to hear how my first day of my Sophomore year went. Of course my first idea was to torture you by doing this whole blog thing in chronological order, you know, the things that happened first in the summer would come first as I posted. However, I've come to decide that is just much too predictable for my taste. Good luck trying to understand the time-line of my blog. (This is also my rather ingenious plan to keep some of the more dense individuals from reading my blog *insert evil laugh and hand wringing here*)

For weeks my parents were bugging me about packing, and telling me that I need to do all sorts of things before I left for school. Of course, being the wonderful child that I am I simply rolled my eyes and thought to myself: "Holy Crap! Could they BE anymore annoying? I have plenty of time and I really wish they would just get off my back. Seriously, Mom is acting like she wants to get rid of me which we all know can't be true!" Eventually, (ok, so a couple days later) I realized that I was only home for two more days but at this point it just seemed to depressing and daunting to pack so I put it off yet again. I figured it wasn't that big of a deal because I didn't have that much stuff and there was no way that it would take me very long. It wasn't until the morning of the last day I had to pack that I realized I hadn't packed a single thing and that I had all sorts of unfinished projects that I no longer had time to finish. Hmm.... it seems as though my parents were actually right. I hate it when that happens. I'm pretty sure that my crap multiplied and replenished my room while I was home this summer because there is no way that I could possibly own so much stuff. I think I could have built the Great Wall of Washington with all the boxes I filled with junk. And the saddest part is, it doesn't even look like I've left Vancouver my room still runneth over with crap. Yikes!

Somehow my incredible Dad was able to fit all my boxes and my humongous suitcase into the Camry the night before I was supposed to leave. I feel I experienced my own tiny miracle when I was able to finish packing in one day; and I even went to bed before 12:00. The day was finally here: August 28th. The day I would spend 16 hours cramped in a car with all my stuff as I headed out to start another year at the most wonderful college on earth! *sappy music playing in background* I actually drove all but one hour of the trip so that Mom could count it as a work day. Aren't I kind? I had a good time playing "spot the student" as I passed other cars (at a speed completely withing the confines of the law - *wink wink*). It was certainly a little depressing that I think my car was by far the most packed of any I saw. We finally arrived in Eagle Mountain around 10:00 and of course Uncle Carl's neighbor was out working in his garage. He was keeping a close eye on us until Mom finally decided to tell him that we were in fact related to the Johnsons and that although they do have an awesome ping-pong table we were not there to steal anything (as though we could fit anything else in the car).

Sadly, when we arrived at the house I remembered the second pile of boxes I had stored in his garage. Holy Crap! Just one more step on the path to the crazy cat lady! ('Cause they have all sorts of usless crap including their 500 cats) I wonder if there is professional help for this kind of thing... I hope the cure is a box full of kittens applied directly to the chest (if you don't understand, then you clearly don't watch enough stupid TV shows; if you do understand, I now like you so much more than I did just two seconds ago).

After a few trips to and from Eagle Mountain and a few more trips with a shopping cart full of junk we had filled up two of the rooms in my apartment. Get ready to jump with glee because here comes the exciting part: I only have one roommate! My first thought when I discovered this fact was "Awesome! More room for my food!" Mom quickly reminded me this also meant that I would have my own bathroom... which is definitely cool, don't get me wrong... but seriously, can you beat more room for food? My roommate seems really sweet and very tidy; so we'll see how that goes. I know Mom is hoping she rubs off on me.

Are you ready for a tangent? I hope so 'cause here I go: So, my Mom says that it is important to have a clean home when people see it because you want to make a good impression. However, if you are like me, then isn't that a false impression? Shouldn't I let people see me for who I am? I think they should know all the facts before making a decision about me. Ok, so maybe not ALL the facts. It's more just that I want an excuse to me messy. Oh! Wait! I already have one. The Law of Entropy!(I'd say look it up, but Wikipeida confused me so I'll fill you in: everything naturally goes to chaos - and it's just not right to fight nature). Don't you just love it when science works to your advantage?

After hours upon hours of back-breaking work I was finally able to organize my room just so. I think it looks pretty darn good. Mom of course offered to help me but I am a little obsessive-compulsive when it comes to putting things away, thanks though Mom. I know, even I don't understand how that is possible seeing as I seem to have no problem living in a pigsty. Regardless, all of my clothes need to be organized by sleeve (or pant) length then by color and they all have to hang the same direction. I must say though that I think my room looks pretty freaking awesome right now. I took pictures just to prove that at one point this year it was actually clean. (There is a good possibility that I will keep it a little cleaner now that anyone and everyone in the courtyard can see directly into my room but probably not).

Finally we get to today: I quickly remembered this morning just how much I despise the stairs to the campus. Although I was pleasantly surprised to discover that I was not nearly as winded upon reaching the top as I was at this time last year. Yay Kayla! *this is where we all do a choreographed happy dance* I was still mostly asleep for my first class but it seems like it should be interesting. Although my teacher felt it necessary to remind me that my planned major is extremely competitive - thanks buddy for the vote of confidence - I'm a little offended that he didn't just look at me and see all of my potential and awesome-ness! I then had a break from about 9:00 until work at 1:00 - future nap time? I'm think a definite yes! I'm not the youngest one at work any more which is SUPER fun. Plus, I'm the only one that knows how to work the machinery so I was teaching the newbies how to operate everything. I feel so special! I'm not positive, but I think if I were a cartoon character I would have a bubble of glowing happiness surrounding me.

That was until my second class of the day burst my happy little bubble. I'm more than a tad bit terrified. The teacher seems really nice and funny but there is something James Bond villain-esque lurking under the sweet exterior. Where is my English Q when I need him? This is actually starting to seem like school. Bummer. It was so fun to be back when all I had to do was clean up a room and make new friends and then they have to go ruin it with this education crap.

If you made it all the way through this blog then I bow down at your feet, jump up, light sparklers and do the chicken dance to celebrate your accomplishment. If, however, you did not finish reading my AMAZING and overly detailed description then I will now be forced to taunt you: your mother was a hamster and your Father smelled of Elderberries! Now go away or I shall be forced to taunt you again.

I'm an Auntie!!!

Hold your squealing and exclamations of surprise, Kira and Zac have not managed to keep you in the dark for the past nine months. As exciting as that might be, I'm pretty sure that a situation would never arise in which I would be allowed to announce the arrival of her child. What you may not know is that Kira is not my only sister. In fact, I have three older sisters, Kira, Britney and Lexy. Well, my sister, Alexis, just had her first baby. And I have decided that I will be the Auntie. Her name is Taylor Evelyn Perry and she is just the cutest little thing with the chubbiest little cheeks! When I sent a congratulatory text to Lexy welcoming the "tiny Perry" to the world she quickly informed me that her child was in no way 'tiny.' Apparently mommy wasn't too fond of the fact that her child decided to take an extra week to beef up for a final weight of 10 lbs. Yipes! Lexy says that when you hold her a certain way she looks like Jabba the Hut (Mean mom) but I think she is just so stinking cute and I love her chipmunk cheeks. If I was a faster runner I would have taken off with the little girl right then and there. Well, that's what I thought until I actually had her in my arms. She still remained the cutest little baby but I quickly realized that although I have many talents, a natural ability to care for children is not one of them.

Little babies are just so cute in all of their tiny-ness that I want to just scoop them up and snuggle them. However, once I actually have a baby in my arms I suddenly become very confused and afraid to move. Actually, I feel a lot like Lenny, from Of Mice and Men. Babies are just so flopsy and fragile, and I'm so clumsy that it seems like a horrible combination. Plus, the second a baby is placed in my arms I hear my mom's voice saying "now, Kayla, you have to be very careful, I'm going to put this baby in your arms and then I don't want you to move." This was good advice when I was five but you would hope by now I would be able to safely hold a child. I'm just not sure though... I've lived in the same house for almost 17 years and I still run into walls and door frames. Obviously I'm not a quick learner and I figure, it's probably best that I do a minimal amount of moving. This approach however, tends to lead to some uncomfortable situations for both myself and the baby as you can see from the pictures below.

No, I really can't explain why I felt it necessary to hold my wrist in that strange position. Maybe I was afraid the sleeping child would randomly roll out of my arms unless I had that extra, rather creepy looking hand, holding her to me...

So, if you ever feel that your little baby doesn't appreciate you as he/she should, just hand him/her over to me for a few minutes of intense awkwardness and your baby will never want to leave your side again. I mean, just look at how content little Taylor is to be with Mommy and Daddy in this picture.

Maybe one day that instinct will kick in and suddenly I will know how to hold a baby but until then I guess I will just have to stick to slightly larger children that are a little more durable...

Congratulations on the ADORABLE daughter Ben and Lexy!

The miraculous thing that is soap...

I've always wondered what it must be like to have your mouth washed out with soap. Luckily, I was a perfect daughter and an angel of a child, so I was never fortunate enough to have that particular experience. That is, until, last night. I have one of those fancy toothbrush holders. You know, the kind that holds your toothbrush upright so that is doesn't sit and fester in a pool of your germs. (Yes, I have a bit of a germ phobia. I'm also very scatter-brained and this allows me to keep track of the little bugger.) Well, this marvel of modern engineering made it so that my toothbrush was at exactly the same height as my hand soap thing. You know the kind... the bottle with the awesome press down top that seems to deliver just the right amount of soap directly into the palm of your hand. You get the joy of seeing a large cloud of puffy white suds all over your hands but without all that strenuous work of rubbing one of those bars of Ivory soap. Really, the only way it could be any cooler is if it was the kind with the instant foamy soap. (Come on. You know you love it too. There is just a child-like surge of joy associated with that stuff.) Anyway, back to where we left off: since they were the same height they looked so charming sitting next to each other on the bathroom counter. And for some reason it never occurred to me that they wouldn't get along. The two must have had a brawl at some point yesterday and the toothbrush lost. After washing my face I mechanically reached for my toothbrush without noticing that it had soap on it. I quickly realized my mistake as I began to brush my teeth but since I was tired and I had just killed off a number of brain cells by watching the TV for numerous hours I was convinced that if I simply brushed more vigorously I would be able to rid my mouth of the soapy taste. Since a large majority of the germs in your mouth reside on your tongue I have become accustomed to cleaning it, and the soapy toothbrush was not going to stop me. I wish that it had. I went to bed with my mouth tasting squeaky clean. While the soap says that it neutralizes odors I'm pretty sure this will not catch on as a way to rid yourself of morning breath. After about a minute ,I couldn't handle the awful taste any longer and I ransacked my room for gum. Of course, now that I needed it is was nowhere to be found. A light-bulb went on! Mom has gum in her desk. I crept out of my room and rummaged through a drawer or two before I found it. It didn't work out quite as planned. After only a few chews the gum too, tasted like soap which really wasn't incredibly helpful. I got rid of the gum and decided to simply ignore it and go to sleep. Easier said than done, but I was finally able to accomplish my goal. Even if I did fall asleep feeling like I could be a cartoon character - Donald Duck perhaps. Anyway, this was my long way of saying, thanks Mom and Dad for never washing my mouth out with soap.

BBAAAA

I never thought it would happen. I thought I was stronger. As it turns out I am strongly influenced by peer pressure and I have finally given in. I have joined the herd mentality of blogging. Tragic! All that time resisting appears to mean nothing. One little post on my mother's blog and suddenly I'm hooked. I'm beginning to think this is one of the worst drugs...

On to more serious business - to shed some light on my title choice:
I truly am unexplainable. You may think that I will now begin some entirely conceited description of just how amazing I am and how even though I will attempt to convey how awesome I am, words simply cannot describe just how mind-blowingly incredible a person Kayla McKay really is. But we all know that everyone would die of laughter before finishing my first blog and that would just be too incredibly pathetic so I will not try to kill you with my wonderful sense of humor just yet. I am unexplainable simply because no one has yet created a word that conveys just how weird and strange I am. Someone much more creative than myself should really work on that...
This leads to the second part of my title:
Dictionary.com defines an oddity as 1. an odd or remarkably unusual person, thing, or event 2. the quality of being odd; singularity, strangeness, or eccentricity 3. an odd characteristic or trait; peculiarity. I feel this is a perfectly fitting description of me so I guess I may have lied before, I guess there is a word that adequately defines me. Oh, dear, now I feel much less special.

Just in case you thought I was exaggerating just how strange I am I thought I would add in a glimpse of the me rarely seen outside of a few very close family members (who probably wish they saw it a lot less). On this particular day I decided to practice for the day that I will inevitably become that crazy cat lady down the street that all the neighborhood children fear.

Yes, I did put the cat on a leash and try to walk her (no Dacia, I do not abuse this adorable kitten, I promise). She certainly has a mind of her own though and I think she ended up walking me. That is until she saw a flower and freaked out - she is a huge wimp and is afraid of just about everything, including her own tail. I had to pick her up and carry her to the house as she tried to climb onto my head.

Oh, and, yes, I am wearing three slips. (Crazy cat ladies always have an eccentric wardrobe, do they not?) And although my father called me a shameless hussy for wandering about in my underwear I thought this was a HUGE improvement over the last time. I mean, I've got pants on. (I realized quickly the first time I attempted this stunt that although a slip is theoretically supposed help to keep you covered even three slips are incredibly see-through. - - ok so this was a complete lie, but is does make my life sound much more interesting).

As this is becoming a very long post I will say just one more thing. Although I have joined the herd in this blogging endeavor I refuse to give up my odd and unexplainable ways. If I must be a sheep than I will continue to be the black one...

BBAAAA!